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17820	----	Struggles for Freedom. [Illustration: (signed) Yours Truly, Lucy A. Delaney] FROM THE DARKNESS COMETH THE LIGHT OR STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM. [Illustration] ST. LOUIS, MO. PUBLISHING HOUSE OF J. T. SMITH, No. 11, Bridge Entrance. Dedication. To those who by their valor have made their name immortal, from whom we are daily learning the lessons of patriotism, in whom we respect the virtues of charity, patience and friendship as displayed towards the colored race and to those "Whose deeds crowd History's pages And Time's great volume make," is this little volume reverently dedicated-- THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC. Preface. So many of my friends have urged me to give a short sketch of my varied life that I have consented, and herewith present it for the consideration of my readers. Those who were with me in the days of slavery will appreciate these pages, for though they cannot recur with any happiness to the now "shadowy past, or renew the unrenewable," the unaccountable longing for the aged to look backward and review the events of their youth will find an answering chord in this little book. Those of you who have never suffered as we have, perhaps may suppose the case, and therefore accept with interest and sympathy the passages of life and character here portrayed and the lessons which should follow from them. If there is a want of unity or coherence in this work, be charitable and attribute it to lack of knowledge and experience in literary acquirements. As this is a world of varied interests and many events, although we are each but atoms, it must be remembered, that we assist in making the grand total of all history, and therefore are excusable in making our affairs of importance to ourselves, and endeavoring to impress them on others. With this reason of my seeking your favor, I leave you to the perusal of my little tale. L. A. D. STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM. CHAPTER I. "Soon is the echo and the shadow o'er, Soon, soon we lie with lid-encumbered eyes And the great fabrics that we reared before Crumble to make a dust to hide who dies." In the year 18--, Mr. and Mrs. John Woods and Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Posey lived as one family in the State of Illinois. Living with Mrs. Posey was a little negro girl, named Polly Crocket, who had made it her home there, in peace and happiness, for five years. On a dismal night in the month of September, Polly, with four other colored persons, were kidnapped, and, after being securely bound and gagged, were put into a skiff and carried across the Mississippi River to the city of St. Louis. Shortly after, these unfortunate negroes were taken up the Missouri River and sold into slavery. Polly was purchased by a farmer, Thomas Botts, with whom she resided for a year, when, overtaken by business reverses, he was obliged to sell all he possessed, including his negroes. Among those present on the day set apart for the sale was Major Taylor Berry, a wealthy gentleman who had travelled a long distance for the purpose of purchasing a servant girl for his wife. As was the custom, all the negroes were brought out and placed in a line, so that the buyers could examine their good points at leisure. Major Berry was immediately attracted by the bright and alert appearance of Polly, and at once negotiated with the trader, paid the price agreed upon, and started for home to present his wife with this flesh and blood commodity, which money could so easily procure in our vaunted land of freedom. Mrs. Fanny Berry was highly pleased with Polly's manner and appearance, and concluded to make a seamstress of her. Major Berry had a mulatto servant, who was as handsome as an Apollo, and when he and Polly met each other, day after day, the natural result followed, and in a short time, with the full consent of Major Berry and his wife, were married. Two children were the fruit of this marriage, my sister Nancy and myself, Lucy A. Delaney. While living in Franklin county, Major Berry became involved in a quarrel with some gentleman, and a duel was resorted to, to settle the difficulty and avenge some fancied insult. The major arranged his affairs and made his will, leaving his negroes to his wife during her life-time and at her death they were to be free; this was his expressed wish. My father accompanied Major Berry to New Madrid, where the fatal duel was fought, and stayed by him until the end came, received his last sigh, his last words, and closed his dying eyes, and afterwards conveyed the remains of his best friend to the bereaved family with a sad heart. Though sympathizing deeply with them in their affliction, my father was much disturbed as to what disposition would be made of him, and after Major Berry was consigned with loving hands to his last resting place, these haunting thoughts obtruded, even in his sleeping hours. A few years after, Major Berry's widow married Robert Wash, an eminent lawyer, who afterwards became Judge of the Supreme Court. One child was born to them, who, when she grew to womanhood, became Mrs. Francis W. Goode, whom I shall always hold in grateful remembrance as long as life lasts, and God bless her in her old age, is my fervent prayer for her kindness to me, a poor little slave girl! We lived in the old "Wash" mansion some time after the marriage of the Judge, until their daughter Frances was born. How well I remember those happy days! Slavery had no horror then for me, as I played about the place, with the same joyful freedom as the little white children. With mother, father and sister, a pleasant home and surroundings, what happier child than I! As I carelessly played away the hours, mother's smiles would fade away, and her brow contract into a heavy frown. I wondered much thereat, but the time came--ah! only too soon, when I learned the secret of her ever-changing face! CHAPTER II. Mrs. Wash lost her health, and, on the advice of a physician, went to Pensacola, Florida, accompanied by my mother. There she died, and her body was brought back to St. Louis and there interred. After Mrs. Wash's death, the troubles of my parents and their children may be said to have really commenced. Though in direct opposition to the will of Major Berry, my father's quondam master and friend, Judge Wash tore my father from his wife and children and sold him "way down South!" Slavery! cursed slavery! what crimes has it invoked! and, oh! what retribution has a righteous God visited upon these traders in human flesh! The rivers of tears shed by us helpless ones, in captivity, were turned to lakes of blood! How often have we cried in our anguish, "Oh! Lord, how long, how long?" But the handwriting was on the wall, and tardy justice came at last and avenged the woes of an oppressed race! Chickamauga, Shiloh, Atlanta and Gettysburgh, spoke in thunder tones! John Brown's body had indeed marched on, and we, the ransomed ones, glorify God and dedicate ourselves to His service, and acknowledge His greatness and goodness in rescuing us from such bondage as parts husband from wife, the mother from her children, aye, even the babe from her breast! Major Berry's daughter Mary, shortly after, married H. S. Cox, of Philadelphia, and they went to that city to pass their honeymoon, taking my sister Nancy with them as waiting-maid. When my father was sold South, my mother registered a solemn vow that her children should not continue in slavery all their lives, and she never spared an opportunity to impress it upon us, that we must get our freedom whenever the chance offered. So here was an unlooked-for avenue of escape which presented much that was favorable in carrying out her desire to see Nancy a free woman. Having been brought up in a free State, mother had learned much to her advantage, which would have been impossible in a slave State, and which she now proposed to turn to account for the benefit of her daughter. So mother instructed my sister not to return with Mr. and Mrs. Cox, but to run away, as soon as chance offered, to Canada, where a friend of our mother's lived who was also a runaway slave, living in freedom and happiness in Toronto. As the happy couple wandered from city to city, in search of pleasure, my sister was constantly turning over in her mind various plans of escape. Fortune finally favored Nancy, for on their homeward trip they stopped at Niagara Falls for a few days. In her own words I will describe her escape: "In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Cox went for a drive, telling me that I could have the day to do as I pleased. The shores of Canada had been tantalizing my longing gaze for some days, and I was bound to reach there long before my mistress returned. So I locked up Mrs. Cox's trunk and put the key under the pillow, where I was sure she would find it, and I made a strike for freedom! A servant in the hotel gave me all necessary information and even assisted me in getting away. Some kind of a festival was going on, and a large crowd was marching from the rink to the river, headed by a band of music. In such a motley throng I was unnoticed, but was trembling with fear of being detected. It seemed an age before the ferry boat arrived, which at last appeared, enveloped in a gigantic wreath of black smoke. Hastily I embarked, and as the boat stole away into the misty twilight and among crushing fields of ice, though the air was chill and gloomy, I felt the warmth of freedom as I neared the Canada shore. I landed, without question, and found my mother's friend with but little difficulty, who assisted me to get work and support myself. Not long afterwards, I married a prosperous farmer, who provided me with a happy home, where I brought my children into the world without the sin of slavery to strive against." On the return of Mrs. Cox to St. Louis she sent for my mother and told her that Nancy had run away. Mother was very thankful, and in her heart arose a prayer of thanksgiving, but outwardly she pretended to be vexed and angry. Oh! the impenetrable mask of these poor black creatures! how much of joy, of sorrow, of misery and anguish have they hidden from their tormentors! I was a small girl at that time, but remember how wildly mother showed her joy at Nancy's escape when we were alone together. She would dance, clap her hands, and, waving them above her head, would indulge in one of those weird negro melodies, which so charm and fascinate the listener. Mrs. Cox commenced housekeeping on a grand and extended scale, having a large acquaintance, she entertained lavishly. My mother cared for the laundry, and I, who was living with a Mrs. Underhill, from New York, and was having rather good times, was compelled to go live with Mrs. Cox to mind the baby. My pathway was thorny enough, and though there may be no roses without thorns, I had thorns in plenty with no roses. I was beginning to plan for freedom, and was forever on the alert for a chance to escape and join my sister. I was then twelve years old, and often talked the matter over with mother and canvassed the probabilities of both of us getting away. No schemes were too wild for us to consider! Mother was especially restless, because she was a free woman up to the time of her being kidnapped, so the injustice and weight of slavery bore more heavily upon her than upon me. She did not dare to talk it over with anyone for fear that they would sell her further down the river, so I was her only confidant. Mother was always planning and getting ready to go, and while the fire was burning brightly, it but needed a little more provocation to add to the flames. CHAPTER III. Mrs. Cox was always very severe and exacting with my mother, and one occasion, when something did not suit her, she turned on mother like a fury, and declared, "I am just tired out with the 'white airs' you put on, and if you don't behave differently, I will make Mr. Cox sell you down the river at once." Although mother turned grey with fear, she presented a bold front and retorted that "she didn't care, she was tired of that place, and didn't like to live there, nohow." This so infuriated Mr. Cox that he cried, "How dare a negro say what she liked or what she did not like; and he would show her what he should do." So, on the day following, he took my mother to an auction-room on Main Street and sold her to the highest bidder, for five hundred and fifty dollars. Oh! God! the pity of it! "In the home of the brave and the land of the free," in the sight of the stars and stripes--that symbol of freedom--sold away from her child, to satisfy the anger of a peevish mistress! My mother returned to the house to get her few belongings, and straining me to her breast, begged me to be a good girl, that she was going to run away, and would buy me as soon as she could. With all the inborn faith of a child, I believed it most fondly, and when I heard that she had actually made her escape, three weeks after, my heart gave an exultant throb and cried, "God is good!" A large reward was offered, the bloodhounds (curse them and curse their masters) were set loose on her trail. In the day time she hid in caves and the surrounding woods, and in the night time, guided by the wondrous North Star, that blessed lodestone of a slave people, my mother finally reached Chicago, where she was arrested by the negro-catchers. At this time the Fugitive Slave Law was in full operation, and it was against the law of the whole country to aid and protect an escaped slave; not even a drink of water, for the love of the Master, might be given, and those who dared to do it (and there were many such brave hearts, thank God!) placed their lives in danger. The presence of bloodhounds and "nigger-catchers" in their midst, created great excitement and scandalized the community. Feeling ran high and hundreds of people gathered together and declared that mother should not be returned to slavery; but fearing that Mr. Cox would wreak his vengeance upon me, my mother finally gave herself up to her captors, and returned to St. Louis. And so the mothers of Israel have been ever slain through their deepest affections! After my mother's return, she decided to sue for her freedom, and for that purpose employed a good lawyer. She had ample testimony to prove that she was kidnapped, and it was so fully verified that the jury decided that she was a free woman, and papers were made out accordingly. In the meanwhile, Miss Martha Berry had married Mr. Mitchell and taken me to live with her. I had never been taught to work, as playing with the babies had been my sole occupation; therefore, when Mrs. Mitchell commanded me to do the weekly washing and ironing, I had no more idea how it was to be done than Mrs. Mitchell herself. But I made the effort to do what she required, and my failure would have been amusing had it not been so appalling. In those days filtering was unknown and the many ways of clearing water were to me an unsolved riddle. I never had to do it, so it never concerned me how the clothes were ever washed clean. As the Mississippi water was even muddier than now, the results of my washing can be better imagined than described. After soaking and boiling the clothes in its earthy depths, for a couple of days, in vain attempt to get them clean, and rinsing through several waters, I found the clothes were getting darker and darker, until they nearly approximated my own color. In my despair, I frantically rushed to my mother and sobbed out my troubles on her kindly breast. So in the morning, before the white people had arisen, a friend of my mother came to the house and washed out the clothes. During all this time, Mrs. Mitchell was scolding vigorously, saying over and over again, "Lucy, you do not want to work, you are a lazy, good-for-nothing nigger!" I was angry at being called a nigger, and replied, "You don't know nothing, yourself, about it, and you expect a poor ignorant girl to know more than you do yourself; if you had any feeling you would get somebody to teach me, and then I'd do well enough." She then gave me a wrapper to do up, and told me if I ruined that as I did the other clothes, she would whip me severely. I answered, "You have no business to whip me. I don't belong to you." My mother had so often told me that she was a free woman and that I should not die a slave, I always had a feeling of independence, which would invariably crop out in these encounters with my mistress; and when I thus spoke, saucily, I must confess, she opened her eyes in angry amazement and cried: "You _do_ belong to me, for my papa left you to me in his will, when you were a baby, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk so to one that you have been raised with; now, you take that wrapper, and if you don't do it up properly, I will bring you up with a round turn." Without further comment, I took the wrapper, which was too handsome to trust to an inexperienced hand, like Mrs. Mitchell very well knew I was, and washed it, with the same direful results as chronicled before. But I could not help it, as heaven is my witness. I was entirely and hopelessly ignorant! But of course my mistress would not believe it, and declared over and over again, that I did it on purpose to provoke her and show my defiance of her wishes. In vain did I disclaim any such intentions. She was bound to carry out her threat of whipping me. I rebelled against such government, and would not permit her to strike me; she used shovel, tongs and broomstick in vain, as I disarmed her as fast as she picked up each weapon. Infuriated at her failure, my opposition and determination not to be whipped, Mrs. Mitchell declared she would report me to Mr. Mitchell and have him punish me. When her husband returned home, she immediately entered a list of complaints against me as long as the moral law, including my failure to wash her clothes properly, and her inability to break my head for it; the last indictment seemed to be the heaviest she could bring against me. I was in the shadow of the doorway as the woman raved, while Mr. Mitchell listened patiently until the end of his wife's grievances reached an appeal to him to whip me with the strength that a man alone could possess. Then he declared, "Martha, this thing of cutting up and slashing servants is something I know nothing about, and positively will not do. I don't believe in slavery, anyhow; it is a curse on this land, and I wish we were well rid of it." "Mr. Mitchell, I will not have that saucy baggage around this house, for if she finds you won't whip her, there will be no living with her, so you shall just sell her, and I insist upon it." "Well, Martha," he answered, "I found the girl with you when we were married, and as you claim her as yours, I shall not interpose any objections to the disposal of what you choose to call your property, in any manner you see fit, and I will make arrangements for selling her at once." I distinctly overheard all that was said, and was just as determined not to be sold as I was not to be whipped. My mother's lawyer had told her to caution me never to go out of the city, if, at any time, the white people wanted me to go, so I was quite settled as to my course, in case Mr. Mitchell undertook to sell me. Several days after this conversation took place, Mrs. Mitchell, with her baby and nurse, Lucy Wash, made a visit to her grandmother's, leaving orders that I should be sold before her return; so I was not surprised to be ordered by Mr. Mitchell to pack up my clothes and get ready to go down the river, for I was to be sold that morning, and leave, on the steamboat Alex. Scott, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. "Can't I go see my mother, first?" I asked. "No," he replied, not very gently, "there is no time for that, you can see her when you come back. So hurry up and get ready, and let us have no more words about it!" How I did hate him! To hear him talk as if I were going to take a pleasure trip, when he knew that if he sold me South, as he intended, I would never see my dear mother again. However, I hastily ran up stairs and packed my trunk, but my mother's injunction, "never to go out of the city," was ever present in my mind. Mr. Mitchell was Superintendent of Indian Affairs, his office being in the dwelling house, and I could hear him giving orders to his clerk, as I ran lightly down the stairs, out of the front door to the street, and with fleet foot, I skimmed the road which led to my mother's door, and, reaching it, stood trembling in every limb with terror and fatigue. I could not gain admittance, as my mother was away to work and the door was locked. A white woman, living next door, and who was always friendly to mother, told me that she would not return until night. I clasped my hands in despair and cried, "Oh! the white people have sold me, and I had to run away to keep from being sent down the river." This white lady, whose name I am sorry I cannot remember, sympathized with me, as she knew my mother's story and had written many letters for her, so she offered me the key of her house, which, fortunately, fitted my mother's door, and I was soon inside, cowering with fear in the darkness, magnifying every noise and every passing wind, until my imagination had almost converted the little cottage into a boat, and I was steaming down South, away from my mother, as fast as I could go. Late at night mother returned, and was told all that had happened, and after getting supper, she took me to a friend's house for concealment, until the next day. As soon as Mr. Mitchell had discovered my unlooked-for departure, he was furious, for he did not think I had sense enough to run away; he accused the coachman of helping me off, and, despite the poor man's denials, hurried him away to the calaboose and put him under the lash, in order to force a confession. Finding this course unavailing, he offered a reward to the negro catchers, on the same evening, but their efforts were equally fruitless. CHAPTER IV. On the morning of the 8th of September, 1842, my mother sued Mr. D. D. Mitchell for the possession of her child, Lucy Ann Berry. My mother, accompanied by the sheriff, took me from my hiding-place and conveyed me to the jail, which was located on Sixth Street, between Chestnut and Market, where the Laclede Hotel now stands, and there met Mr. Mitchell, with Mr. H. S. Cox, his brother-in-law. Judge Bryant Mullanphy read the law to Mr. Mitchell, which stated that if Mr. Mitchell took me back to his house, he must give bond and security to the amount of two thousand dollars, and furthermore, I should not be taken out of the State of Missouri until I had a chance to prove my freedom. Mr. H. S. Cox became his security and Mr. Mitchell gave bond accordingly, and then demanded that I should be put in jail. "Why do you want to put that poor young girl in jail?" demanded my lawyer. "Because," he retorted, "her mother or some of her crew might run her off, just to make me pay the two thousand dollars; and I would like to see her lawyer, or any other man, in jail, that would take up a d---- nigger case like that." "You need not think, Mr. Mitchell," calmly replied Mr. Murdock, "because my client is colored that she has no rights, and can be cheated out of her freedom. She is just as free as you are, and the Court will so decide it, as you will see." However, I was put in a cell, under lock and key, and there remained for seventeen long and dreary months, listening to the "----foreign echoes from the street, Faint sounds of revel, traffic, conflict keen-- And, thinking that man's reiterated feet Have gone such ways since e'er the world has been, I wondered how each oft-used tone and glance Retains its might and old significance." My only crime was seeking for that freedom which was my birthright! I heard Mr. Mitchell tell his wife that he did not believe in slavery, yet, through his instrumentality, I was shut away from the sunlight, because he was determined to prove me a slave, and thus keep me in bondage. Consistency, thou art a jewel! At the time my mother entered suit for her freedom, she was not instructed to mention her two children, Nancy and Lucy, so the white people took advantage of this flaw, and showed a determination to use every means in their power to prove that I was not her child. This gave my mother an immense amount of trouble, but she had girded up her loins for the fight, and, knowing that she was right, was resolved, by the help of God and a good lawyer, to win my case against all opposition. After advice by competent persons, mother went to Judge Edward Bates and begged him to plead the case, and, after fully considering the proofs and learning that my mother was a poor woman, he consented to undertake the case and make his charges only sufficient to cover his expenses. It would be well here to give a brief sketch of Judge Bates, as many people wondered that such a distinguished statesman would take up the case of an obscure negro girl. Edward Bates was born in Belmont, Goochland county, Va., September, 1793. He was of Quaker descent, and inherited all the virtues of that peace-loving people. In 1812, he received a midshipman's warrant, and was only prevented from following the sea by the influence of his mother, to whom he was greatly attached. Edward emigrated to Missouri in 1814, and entered upon the practice of law, and, in 1816, was appointed prosecuting lawyer for the St. Louis Circuit. Toward the close of the same year, he was appointed Attorney General for the new State of Missouri, and in 1826, while yet a young man, was elected representative to congress as an anti-Democrat, and served one term. For the following twenty-five years, he devoted himself to his profession, in which he was a shining light. His probity and uprightness attracted to him a class of people who were in the right and only sought justice, while he repelled, by his virtues, those who traffic in the miseries or mistakes of unfortunate people, for they dared not come to him and seek counsel to aid them in their villainy. In 1847, Mr. Bates was delegate to the Convention for Internal Improvement, held in Chicago, and by his action he came prominently before the whole country. In 1850, President Fillmore offered him the portfolio of Secretary of War, which he declined. Three years later, he accepted the office of Judge of St. Louis Land Court. When the question of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise was agitated, he earnestly opposed it, and thus became identified with the "free labor" party in Missouri, and united with it, in opposition to the admission of Kansas under the Lecompton Constitution. He afterwards became a prominent anti-slavery man, and in 1859 was mentioned as a candidate for the presidency. He was warmly supported by his own State, and for a time it seemed that the opposition to Governor Seward might concentrate on him. In the National Republican Convention, 1860, he received forty-eight votes on the first ballot, but when it became apparent that Abraham Lincoln was the favorite, Mr. Bates withdrew his name. Mr. Lincoln appointed Judge Bates Attorney General, and while in the Cabinet he acted a dignified, safe and faithful part. In 1864, he resigned his office and returned to his home in St. Louis, where he died in 1869, surrounded by his weeping family. "----loved at home, revered abroad. Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man's the noblest work of God.'" On the 7th of February, 1844, the suit for my freedom began. A bright, sunny day, a day which the happy and care-free would drink in with a keen sense of enjoyment. But my heart was full of bitterness; I could see only gloom which seemed to deepen and gather closer to me as I neared the courtroom. The jailer's sister-in-law, Mrs. Lacy, spoke to me of submission and patience; but I could not feel anything but rebellion against my lot. I could not see one gleam of brightness in my future, as I was hurried on to hear my fate decided. Among the most important witnesses were Judge Robert Wash and Mr. Harry Douglas, who had been an overseer on Judge Wash's farm, and also Mr. MacKeon, who bought my mother from H. S. Cox, just previous to her running away. Judge Wash testified that "the defendant, Lucy A. Berry, was a mere infant when he came in possession of Mrs. Fannie Berry's estate, and that he often saw the child in the care of its reputed mother, Polly, and to his best knowledge and belief, he thought Lucy A. Berry was Polly's own child." Mr. Douglas and Mr. MacKeon corroborated Judge Wash's statement. After the evidence from both sides was all in, Mr. Mitchell's lawyer, Thomas Hutchinson, commenced to plead. For one hour, he talked so bitterly against me and against my being in possession of my liberty that I was trembling, as if with ague, for I certainly thought everybody must believe him; indeed I almost believed the dreadful things he said, myself, and as I listened I closed my eyes with sickening dread, for I could just see myself floating down the river, and my heart-throbs seemed to be the throbs of the mighty engine which propelled me from my mother and freedom forever! Oh! what a relief it was to me when he finally finished his harangue and resumed his seat! As I never heard anyone plead before, I was very much alarmed, although I knew in my heart that every word he uttered was a lie! Yet, how was I to make people believe? It seemed a puzzling question! Judge Bates arose, and his soulful eloquence and earnest pleading made such an impression on my sore heart, I listened with renewed hope. I felt the black storm clouds of doubt and despair were fading away, and that I was drifting into the safe harbor of the realms of truth. I felt as if everybody _must_ believe _him_, for he clung to the truth, and I wondered how Mr. Hutchinson could so lie about a poor defenseless girl like me. Judge Bates chained his hearers with the graphic history of my mother's life, from the time she played on Illinois banks, through her trials in slavery, her separation from her husband, her efforts to become free, her voluntary return to slavery for the sake of her child, Lucy, and her subsequent efforts in securing her own freedom. All these incidents he lingered over step by step, and concluding, he said: "Gentlemen of the jury, I am a slave-holder myself, but, thanks to the Almighty God, I am above the base principle of holding anybody a slave that has as good right to her freedom as this girl has been proven to have; she was free before she was born; her mother was free, but kidnapped in her youth, and sacrificed to the greed of negro traders, and no free woman can give birth to a slave child, as it is in direct violation of the laws of God and man!" At this juncture he read the affidavit of Mr. A. Posey, with whom my mother lived at the time of her abduction; also affidavits of Mr. and Mrs. Woods, in corroboration of the previous facts duly set forth. Judge Bates then said: "Gentlemen of the jury, here I rest this case, as I would not want any better evidence for one of my own children. The testimony of Judge Wash is alone sufficient to substantiate the claim of Polly Crockett Berry to the defendant as being her own child." The case was then submitted to the jury, about 8 o'clock in the evening, and I was returned to the jail and locked in the cell which I had occupied for seventeen months, filled with the most intense anguish. CHAPTER V. "There's a joy in every sorrow, There's a relief from every pain; Though to-day 'tis dark to-morrow HE will turn all bright again." Before the sheriff bade me good night he told me to be in readiness at nine o'clock on the following morning to accompany him back to court to hear the verdict. My mother was not at the trial. She had lingered many days about the jail expecting my case would be called, and finally when called to trial the dear, faithful heart was not present to sustain me during that dreadful speech of Mr. Hutchinson. All night long I suffered agonies of fright, the suspense was something awful, and could only be comprehended by those who have gone through some similar ordeal. I had missed the consolation of my mother's presence, and I felt so hopeless and alone! Blessed mother! how she clung and fought for me. No work was too hard for her to undertake. Others would have flinched before the obstacles which confronted her, but undauntedly she pursued her way, until my freedom was established by every right and without a questioning doubt! On the morning of my return to Court, I was utterly unable to help myself. I was so overcome with fright and emotion,--with the alternating feelings of despair and hope--that I could not stand still long enough to dress myself. I trembled like an aspen leaf; so I sent a message to Mrs. Lacy to request permission for me to go to her room, that she might assist me in dressing. I had done a great deal of sewing for Mrs. Lacy, for she had showed me much kindness, and was a good Christian. She gladly assisted me, and under her willing hands I was soon made ready, and, promptly at nine o'clock, the sheriff called and escorted me to the courthouse. On our way thither, Judge Bates overtook us. He lived out a short distance in the country, and was riding on horseback. He tipped his hat to me as politely as if I were the finest lady in the land, and cried out, "Good morning Miss Lucy, I suppose you had pleasant dreams last night!" He seemed so bright and smiling that I was imbued with renewed hope; and when he addressed the sheriff with "Good morning Sir. I don't suppose the jury was out twenty minutes were they?" and the sheriff replied "oh! no, sir," my heart gave a leap, for I was sure that my fate was decided for weal or woe. I watched the judge until he turned the corner and desiring to be relieved of suspense from my pent-up anxiety, I eagerly asked the sheriff if I were free, but he gruffly answered that "he didn't know." I was sure he did know, but was too mean to tell me. How could he have been so flinty, when he must have seen how worried I was. At last the courthouse was reached and I had taken my seat in such a condition of helpless terror that I could not tell one person from another. Friends and foes were as one, and vainly did I try to distinguish them. My long confinement, burdened with harrowing anxiety, the sleepless night I had just spent, the unaccountable absence of my mother, had brought me to an indescribable condition. I felt dazed, as if I were no longer myself. I seemed to be another person--an on-looker--and in my heart dwelt a pity for the poor, lonely girl, with down-cast face, sitting on the bench apart from anyone else in that noisy room. I found myself wondering where Lucy's mother was, and how she would feel if the trial went against her; I seemed to have lost all feeling about it, but was speculating what Lucy would do, and what her mother would do, if the hand of Fate was raised against poor Lucy! Oh! how sorry I did feel for myself! At the sound of a gentle voice, I gathered courage to look upward, and caught the kindly gleam of Judge Bates' eyes, as he bent his gaze upon me and smilingly said, "I will have you discharged in a few minutes, Miss Lucy!" Some other business occupied the attention of the Court, and when I had begun to think they had forgotten all about me, Judge Bates arose and said calmly, "Your Honor, I desire to have this girl, Lucy A. Berry, discharged before going into any other business." Judge Mullanphy answered "Certainly!" Then the verdict was called for and rendered, and the jurymen resumed their places. Mr. Mitchell's lawyer jumped up and exclaimed: "Your Honor, my client demands that this girl be remanded to jail. He does not consider that the case has had a fair trial, I am not informed as to what course he intends to pursue, but I am now expressing his present wishes?" Judge Bates was on his feet in a second and cried: "For shame! is it not enough that this girl has been deprived of her liberty for a year and a half, that you must still pursue her after a fair and impartial trial before a jury, in which it was clearly proven and decided that she had every right to freedom? I demand that she be set at liberty at once!" "I agree with Judge Bates," responded Judge Mullanphy, "and the girl may go!" Oh! the overflowing thankfulness of my grateful heart at that moment, who could picture it? None but the good God above us! I could have kissed the feet of my deliverers, but I was too full to express my thanks, but with a voice trembling with tears I tried to thank Judge Bates for all his kindness. As soon as possible, I returned to the jail to bid them all good-bye and thank them for their good treatment of me while under their care. They rejoiced with me in my good fortune and wished me much success and happiness in years to come. I was much concerned at my mother's prolonged absence, and was deeply anxious to meet her and sob out my joy on her faithful bosom. Surely it was the hands of God which prevented mother's presence at the trial, for broken down with anxiety and loss of sleep on my account, the revulsion of feeling would have been greater than her over-wrought heart could have sustained. As soon as she heard of the result, she hurried to meet me, and hand in hand we gazed into each other's eyes and saw the light of freedom there, and we felt in our hearts that we could with one accord cry out: "Glory to God in the highest, and peace and good will towards men." Dear, dear mother! how solemnly I invoke your spirit as I review these trying scenes of my girlhood, so long agone! Your patient face and neatly-dressed figure stands ever in the foreground of that checkered time; a figure showing naught to an on-looker but the common place virtues of an honest woman! Never would an ordinary observer connect those virtues with aught of heroism or greatness, but to me they are as bright rays as ever emanated from the lives of the great ones of earth, which are portrayed on historic pages--to me, the qualities of her true, steadfast heart and noble soul become "a constellation, and is tracked in Heaven straightway." CHAPTER VI. After the trial was over and my mother had at last been awarded the right to own her own child, her next thought reverted to sister Nancy, who had been gone so long, and from whom we had never heard, and the greatest ambition mother now had was to see her child Nancy. So, we earnestly set ourselves to work to reach the desired end, which was to visit Canada and seek the long-lost girl. My mother being a first-class laundress, and myself an expert seamstress, it was easy to procure all the work we could do, and command our own prices. We found, as well as the whites, a great difference between slave and free labor, for while the first was compulsory, and, therefore, at the best, perfunctory, the latter must be superior in order to create a demand, and realizing this fully, mother and I expended the utmost care in our respective callings, and were well rewarded for our efforts. By exercising rigid economy and much self-denial, we, at last, accumulated sufficient to enable mother to start for Canada, and oh! how rejoiced I was when that dear, overworked mother approached the time, when her hard-earned and long-deferred holiday was about to begin. The uses of adversity is a worn theme, and in it there is much of weak cant, but when it is considered how much of sacrifice the poverty-stricken must bear in order to procure the slightest gratification, should it not impress the thinking mind with amazement, how much of fortitude and patience the honest poor display in the exercise of self-denial! Oh! ye prosperous! prate of the uses of adversity as poetically as you please, we who are obliged to learn of them by bitter experience would greatly prefer a change of surroundings. Mother arrived in Toronto two weeks after she left St. Louis, and surprised my sister Nancy, in a pleasant home. She had married a prosperous farmer, who owned the farm on which they lived, as well as some property in the city near-by. Mother was indescribably happy in finding her child so pleasantly situated, and took much pleasure with her bright little grandchildren; and after a long visit, returned home, although strongly urged to remain the rest of her life with Nancy; but old people are like old trees, uproot them, and transplant to other scenes, they droop and die, no matter how bright the sunshine, or how balmy the breezes. On her return, mother found me with Mrs. Elsie Thomas, where I had lived during her absence, still sewing for a livelihood. Those were the days in which sewing machines were unknown, and no stitching or sewing of any description was allowed to pass muster, unless each stitch looked as if it were a part of the cloth. The art of fine sewing was lost when sewing machines were invented, and though doubtless they have given women more leisure, they have destroyed that extreme neatness in the craft, which obtained in the days of long ago. Time passed happily on with us, with no event to ruffle life's peaceful stream, until 1845, when I met Frederick Turner, and in a few short months we were made man and wife. After our marriage, we removed to Quincy, Ill., but our happiness was of short duration, as my husband was killed in the explosion of the steamboat Edward Bates, on which he was employed. To my mind it seemed a singular coincidence that the boat which bore the name of the great and good man, who had given me the first joy of my meagre life--the precious boon of freedom--and that his namesake should be the means of weighting me with my first great sorrow; this thought seemed to reconcile me to my grief, for that name was ever sacred, and I could not speak it without reverence. The number of killed and wounded were many, and they were distributed among friends and hospitals; my husband was carried to a friend's, where he breathed his last. Telegraphs were wanting in those times, so days passed before this wretched piece of news reached me, and there being no railroads, and many delays, I reached the home of my friend only to be told that my husband was dead and buried. Intense grief was mine, and my repining worried mother greatly; she never believed in fretting about anything that could not be helped. My only consolation from her was, "'Cast your burden on the Lord.' _My_ husband is down South, and I don't know where he is; he may be dead; he may be alive; he may be happy and comfortable; he may be kicked, abused and half-starved. _Your_ husband, honey, is in heaven; and mine--God only knows where he is!" In those few words, I knew her burden was heavier than mine, for I had been taught that there was hope beyond the grave, but hope was left behind when sold "down souf"; and so I resolved to conceal my grief, and devote myself to my mother, who had done so much and suffered so much for me. We then returned to St. Louis, and took up the old life, minus the contentment which had always buoyed us up in our daily trials, and with an added sorrow which cast a sadness over us. But Time, the great healer, taught us patience and resignation, and once more we were "Waiting when fortune sheds brightly her smile, There always is something to wait for the while." CHAPTER VII. Four years afterward, I became the wife of Zachariah Delaney, of Cincinnati, with whom I have had a happy married life, continuing forty-two years. Four children were born to us, and many were the plans we mapped out for their future, but two of our little girls were called from us while still in their childhood. My remaining daughter attained the age of twenty-two years, and left life behind, while the brightest of prospects was hers, and my son, in the fullness of a promising youth, at the age of twenty-four, "turned his face to the wall." So my cup of bitterness was full to the brim and overflowing; yet one consolation was always mine! Our children were born free and died free! Their childhood and my maternity were never shadowed with a thought of separation. The grim reaper did not spare them, but they were as "treasures laid up in heaven." Such a separation one could accept from the hand of God, with humble submission, "for He calleth His own!" Mother always made her home with me until the day of her death; she had lived to see the joyful time when her race was made free, their chains struck off, and their right to their own flesh and blood lawfully acknowledged. Her life, so full of sorrow, was ended, full of years and surrounded by many friends, both black and white, who recognized and appreciated her sufferings and sacrifices and rejoiced that her old age was spent in freedom and plenty. The azure vault of heaven bends over us all, and the gleaming moonlight brightens the marble tablet which marks her last resting place, "to fame and fortune unknown," but in the eyes of Him who judgeth us, hers was a heroism which outvied the most famous. * * * * * I frequently thought of father, and wondered if he were alive or dead; and at the time of the great exodus of negroes from the South, a few years ago, a large number arrived in St. Louis, and were cared for by the colored people of that city. They were sheltered in churches, halls and private houses, until such time as they could pursue their journey. Methought, I will find him in this motley crowd, of all ages, from the crowing babe in its mother's arms, to the aged and decrepit, on whom the marks of slavery were still visible. I piled inquiry upon inquiry, until after long and persistent search, I learned that my father had always lived on the same plantation, fifteen miles from Vicksburg. I wrote to my father and begged him to come and see me and make his home with me; sent him the money, so he would be to no expense, and when he finally reached St. Louis, it was with great joy that I received him. Old, grizzled and gray, time had dealt hardly with him, and he looked very little like the dapper master's valet, whose dark beauty won my mother's heart. Forty-five years of separation, hard work, rough times and heart longings, had perseveringly performed its work, and instead of a man bearing his years with upright vigor, he was made prematurely old by the accumulation of troubles. My sister Nancy came from Canada, and we had a most joyful reunion, and only the absence of our mother left a vacuum, which we deeply and sorrowfully felt. Father could not be persuaded to stay with us, when he found his wife dead; he longed to get back to his old associations of forty-five years standing, he felt like a stranger in a strange land, and taking pity on him, I urged him no more, but let him go, though with great reluctance. * * * * * There are abounding in public and private libraries of all sorts, lives of people which fill our minds with amazement, admiration, sympathy, and indeed with as many feelings as there are people, so I can scarcely expect that the reader of these episodes of my life will meet with more than a passing interest, but as such I will commend it to your thought for a brief hour. To be sure, I am deeply sensible that this story, as written, is not a very striking performance, but I have brought you with me face to face with but only a few of the painful facts engendered by slavery, and the rest can be drawn from history. Just have patience a little longer, and I have done. I became a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1855; was elected President of the first colored society, called the "Female Union," which was the first ever organized exclusively for women; was elected President of a society known as the "Daughters of Zion"; was matron of "Siloam Court," No. 2, three years in succession; was Most Ancient Matron of the "Grand Court of Missouri," of which only the wives of Masons are allowed to become members. I am at present, Past Grand Chief Preceptress of the "Daughters of the Tabernacle and Knights of Tabor," and also was Secretary, and am still a member, of Col. Shaw Woman's Relief Corps, No. 34, auxiliary to the Col. Shaw Post, 343, Grand Army of the Republic. Considering the limited advantages offered me, I have made the best use of my time, and what few talents the Lord has bestowed on me I have not "hidden in a napkin," but used them for His glory and to benefit those for whom I live. And what better can we do than to live for others? Except the deceitfulness of riches, nothing is so illusory as the supposition of interest we assume that our readers may feel in our affairs; but if this sketch is taken up for just a moment of your life, it may settle the problem in your mind, if not in others, "Can the negro race succeed, proportionately, as well as the whites, if given the same chance and an equal start?" "The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling; And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be; And we all shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity. It is coming! it is coming! and men's thoughts are growing deeper; They are giving of their millions as they never gave before; They are learning the new Gospel; man must be his brother's keeper, And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more." Finis. * * * * * =Transcriber's Notes= Spelling variations have been retained for: Chapter I, Page 10: Polly Crocket (Living with Mrs. Posey was a little negro girl, named Polly Crocket, who had made it her home there, in peace and happiness, for five years.) Chapter IV, Page 43: Polly Crockett Berry (The testimony of Judge Wash is alone sufficient to substantiate the claim of Polly Crockett Berry to the defendant as being her own child.) Other minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected from the original to reflect the author's intent. 
15221	----	A NEW CONSCIENCE AND AN ANCIENT EVIL By JANE ADDAMS HULL HOUSE, CHICAGO Author of Democracy and Social Ethics, Newer Ideals of Peace The Spirit of Youth and the City Streets Twenty Years at Hull-House New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1912 To the Juvenile Protective Association of Chicago, whose superintendent and field officers have collected much of the material for this book, and whose president, Mrs. Joseph T. Bowen, has so ably and sympathetically collaborated in its writing. CONTENTS CHAPTER I As inferred from An Analogy CHAPTER II As indicated by Recent Legal Enactments CHAPTER III As indicated by the Amelioration of Economic Conditions CHAPTER IV As indicated by the Moral Education and Legal Protection of Children CHAPTER V As indicated by Philanthropic Rescue and Prevention CHAPTER VI As indicated by Increased Social Control PREFACE The following material, much of which has been published in McClure's Magazine, was written, not from the point of view of the expert, but because of my own need for a counter-knowledge to a bewildering mass of information which came to me through the Juvenile Protective Association of Chicago. The reports which its twenty field officers daily brought to its main office adjoining Hull House became to me a revelation of the dangers implicit in city conditions and of the allurements which are designedly placed around many young girls in order to draw them into an evil life. As head of the Publication Committee, I read the original documents in a series of special investigations made by the Association on dance halls, theatres, amusement parks, lake excursion boats, petty gambling, the home surroundings of one hundred Juvenile Court children and the records of four thousand parents who clearly contributed to the delinquency of their own families. The Association also collected the personal histories of two hundred department-store girls, of two hundred factory girls, of two hundred immigrant girls, of two hundred office girls, and of girls employed in one hundred hotels and restaurants. While this experience was most distressing, I was, on the other hand, much impressed and at times fairly startled by the large and diversified number of people to whom the very existence of the white slave traffic had become unendurable and who promptly responded to any appeal made on behalf of its victims. City officials, policemen, judges, attorneys, employers, trades unionists, physicians, teachers, newly arrived immigrants, clergymen, railway officials, and newspaper men, as under a profound sense of compunction, were unsparing of time and effort when given an opportunity to assist an individual girl, to promote legislation designed for her protection, or to establish institutions for her rescue. I therefore venture to hope that in serving my own need I may also serve the need of a rapidly growing public when I set down for rational consideration the temptations surrounding multitudes of young people and when I assemble, as best I may, the many indications of a new conscience, which in various directions is slowly gathering strength and which we may soberly hope will at last successfully array itself against this incredible social wrong, ancient though it may be. Hull House, Chicago. CHAPTER I AN ANALOGY In every large city throughout the world thousands of women are so set aside as outcasts from decent society that it is considered an impropriety to speak the very word which designates them. Lecky calls this type of woman "the most mournful and the most awful figure in history": he says that "she remains, while creeds and civilizations rise and fall, the eternal sacrifice of humanity, blasted for the sins of the people." But evils so old that they are imbedded in man's earliest history have been known to sway before an enlightened public opinion and in the end to give way to a growing conscience, which regards them first as a moral affront and at length as an utter impossibility. Thus the generation just before us, our own fathers, uprooted the enormous upas of slavery, "the tree that was literally as old as the race of man," although slavery doubtless had its beginnings in the captives of man's earliest warfare, even as this existing evil thus originated. Those of us who think we discern the beginnings of a new conscience in regard to this twin of slavery, as old and outrageous as slavery itself and even more persistent, find a possible analogy between certain civic, philanthropic and educational efforts directed against the very existence of this social evil and similar organized efforts which preceded the overthrow of slavery in America. Thus, long before slavery was finally declared illegal, there were international regulations of its traffic, state and federal legislation concerning its extension, and many extra legal attempts to control its abuses; quite as we have the international regulations concerning the white slave traffic, the state and interstate legislation for its repression, and an extra legal power in connection with it so universally given to the municipal police that the possession of this power has become one of the great sources of corruption in every American city. Before society was ready to proceed against the institution of slavery as such, groups of men and women by means of the underground railroad cherished and educated individual slaves; it is scarcely necessary to point out the similarity to the rescue homes and preventive associations which every great city contains. It is always easy to overwork an analogy, and yet the economist who for years insisted that slave labor continually and arbitrarily limited the wages of free labor and was therefore a detriment to national wealth was a forerunner of the economist of to-day who points out the economic basis of the social evil, the connection between low wages and despair, between over-fatigue and the demand for reckless pleasure. Before the American nation agreed to regard slavery as unjustifiable from the standpoint of public morality, an army of reformers, lecturers, and writers set forth its enormity in a never-ceasing flow of invective, of appeal, and of portrayal concerning the human cruelty to which the system lent itself. We can discern the scouts and outposts of a similar army advancing against this existing evil: the physicians and sanitarians who are committed to the task of ridding the race from contagious diseases, the teachers and lecturers who are appealing to the higher morality of thousands of young people; the growing literature, not only biological and didactic, but of a popular type more closely approaching "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Throughout the agitation for the abolition of slavery in America, there were statesmen who gradually became convinced of the political and moral necessity of giving to the freedman the protection of the ballot. In this current agitation there are at least a few men and women who would extend a greater social and political freedom to all women if only because domestic control has proved so ineffectual. We may certainly take courage from the fact that our contemporaries are fired by social compassions and enthusiasms, to which even our immediate predecessors were indifferent. Such compunctions have ever manifested themselves in varying degrees of ardor through different groups in the same community. Thus among those who are newly aroused to action in regard to the social evil are many who would endeavor to regulate it and believe they can minimize its dangers, still larger numbers who would eliminate all trafficking of unwilling victims in connection with it, and yet others who believe that as a quasi-legal institution it may be absolutely abolished. Perhaps the analogy to the abolition of slavery is most striking in that these groups, in their varying points of view, are like those earlier associations which differed widely in regard to chattel slavery. Only the so-called extremists, in the first instance, stood for abolition and they were continually told that what they proposed was clearly impossible. The legal and commercial obstacles, bulked large, were placed before them and it was confidently asserted that the blame for the historic existence of slavery lay deep within human nature itself. Yet gradually all of these associations reached the point of view of the abolitionist and before the war was over even the most lukewarm unionist saw no other solution of the nation's difficulty. Some such gradual conversion to the point of view of abolition is the experience of every society or group of people who seriously face the difficulties and complications of the social evil. Certainly all the national organizations--the National Vigilance Committee, the American Purity Federation, the Alliance for the Suppression and Prevention of the White Slave Traffic and many others--stand for the final abolition of commercialized vice. Local vice commissions, such as the able one recently appointed in Chicago, although composed of members of varying beliefs in regard to the possibility of control and regulation, united in the end in recommending a law enforcement looking towards final abolition. Even the most sceptical of Chicago citizens, after reading the fearless document, shared the hope of the commission that "the city, when aroused to the truth, would instantly rebel against the social evil in all its phases." A similar recommendation of ultimate abolition was recently made unanimous by the Minneapolis vice commission after the conversion of many of its members. Doubtless all of the national societies have before them a task only less gigantic than that faced by those earlier associations in America for the suppression of slavery, although it may be legitimate to remind them that the best-known anti-slavery society in America was organized by the New England abolitionists in 1836, and only thirty-six years later, in 1872, was formally disbanded because its object had been accomplished. The long struggle ahead of these newer associations will doubtless claim its martyrs and its heroes, has indeed already claimed them during the last thirty years. Few righteous causes have escaped baptism with blood; nevertheless, to paraphrase Lincoln's speech, if blood were exacted drop by drop in measure to the tears of anguished mothers and enslaved girls, the nation would still be obliged to go into the struggle. Throughout this volume the phrase "social evil" is used to designate the sexual commerce permitted to exist in every large city, usually in a segregated district, wherein the chastity of women is bought and sold. Modifications of legal codes regarding marriage and divorce, moral judgments concerning the entire group of questions centring about illicit affection between men and women, are quite other questions which are not considered here. Such problems must always remain distinct from those of commercialized vice, as must the treatment of an irreducible minimum of prostitution, which will doubtless long exist, quite as society still retains an irreducible minimum of murders. This volume does not deal with the probable future of prostitution, and gives only such historical background as is necessary to understand the present situation. It endeavors to present the contributory causes, as they have become registered in my consciousness through a long residence in a crowded city quarter, and to state the indications, as I have seen them, of a new conscience with its many and varied manifestations. Nothing is gained by making the situation better or worse than it is, nor in anywise different from what it is. This ancient evil is indeed social in the sense of community responsibility and can only be understood and at length remedied when we face the fact and measure the resources which may at length be massed against it. Perhaps the most striking indication that our generation has become the bearer of a new moral consciousness in regard to the existence of commercialized vice is the fact that the mere contemplation of it throws the more sensitive men and women among our contemporaries into a state of indignant revolt. It is doubtless an instinctive shrinking from this emotion and an unconscious dread that this modern sensitiveness will be outraged, which justifies to themselves so many moral men and women in their persistent ignorance of the subject. Yet one of the most obvious resources at our command, which might well be utilized at once, if it is to be utilized at all, is the overwhelming pity and sense of protection which the recent revelations in the white slave traffic have aroused for the thousands of young girls, many of them still children, who are yearly sacrificed to the "sins of the people." All of this emotion ought to be made of value, for quite as a state of emotion is invariably the organic preparation for action, so it is certainly true that no profound spiritual transformation can take place without it. After all, human progress is deeply indebted to a study of imperfections, and the counsels of despair, if not full of seasoned wisdom, are at least fertile in suggestion and a desperate spur to action. Sympathetic knowledge is the only way of approach to any human problem, and the line of least resistance into the jungle of human wretchedness must always be through that region which is most thoroughly explored, not only by the information of the statistician, but by sympathetic understanding. We are daily attaining the latter through such authors as Sudermann and Elsa Gerusalem, who have enabled their readers to comprehend the so-called "fallen" woman through a skilful portrayal of the reaction of experience upon personality. Their realism has rescued her from the sentimentality surrounding an impossible Camille quite as their fellow-craftsmen in realism have replaced the weeping Amelias of the Victorian period by reasonable women transcribed from actual life. The treatment of this subject in American literature is at present in the pamphleteering stage, although an ever-increasing number of short stories and novels deal with it. On the other hand, the plays through which Bernard Shaw constantly places the truth before the public in England as Brieux is doing for the public in France, produce in the spectators a disquieting sense that society is involved in commercialized vice and must speedily find a way out. Such writing is like the roll of the drum which announces the approach of the troops ready for action. Some of the writers who are performing this valiant service are related to those great artists who in every age enter into a long struggle with existing social conditions, until after many years they change the outlook upon life for at least a handful of their contemporaries. Their readers find themselves no longer mere bewildered spectators of a given social wrong, but have become conscious of their own hypocrisy in regard to it, and they realize that a veritable horror, simply because it was hidden, had come to seem to them inevitable and almost normal. Many traces of this first uneasy consciousness regarding the social evil are found in contemporary literature, for while the business of literature is revelation and not reformation, it may yet perform for the men and women now living that purification of the imagination and intellect which the Greeks believed to come through pity and terror. Secure in the knowledge of evolutionary processes, we have learned to talk glibly of the obligations of race progress and of the possibility of racial degeneration. In this respect certainly we have a wider outlook than that possessed by our fathers, who so valiantly grappled with chattel slavery and secured its overthrow. May the new conscience gather force until men and women, acting under its sway, shall be constrained to eradicate this ancient evil! CHAPTER II RECENT LEGAL ENACTMENTS At the present moment even the least conscientious citizens agree that, first and foremost, the organized traffic in what has come to be called white slaves must be suppressed and that those traffickers who procure their victims for purely commercial purposes must be arrested and prosecuted. As it is impossible to rescue girls fraudulently and illegally detained, save through governmental agencies, it is naturally through the line of legal action that the most striking revelations of the white slave traffic have come. For the sake of convenience, we may divide this legal action into those cases dealing with the international trade, those with the state and interstate traffic, and the regulations with which the municipality alone is concerned. First in value to the white slave commerce is the girl imported from abroad who from the nature of the case is most completely in the power of the trader. She is literally friendless and unable to speak the language and at last discouraged she makes no effort to escape. Many cases of the international traffic were recently tried in Chicago and the offenders convicted by the federal authorities. One of these cases, which attracted much attention throughout the country, was of Marie, a French girl, the daughter of a Breton stone mason, so old and poor that he was obliged to take her from her convent school at the age of twelve years. He sent her to Paris, where she became a little household drudge and nurse-maid, working from six in the morning until eight at night, and for three years sending her wages, which were about a franc a day, directly to her parents in the Breton village. One afternoon, as she was buying a bottle of milk at a tiny shop, she was engaged in conversation by a young man who invited her into a little patisserie where, after giving her some sweets, he introduced her to his friend, Monsieur Paret, who was gathering together a theatrical troupe to go to America. Paret showed her pictures of several young girls gorgeously arrayed and announcements of their coming tour, and Marie felt much flattered when it was intimated that she might join this brilliant company. After several clandestine meetings to perfect the plan, she left the city with Paret and a pretty French girl to sail for America with the rest of the so-called actors. Paret escaped detection by the immigration authorities in New York, through his ruse of the "Kinsella troupe," and took the girls directly to Chicago. Here they were placed in a disreputable house belonging to a man named Lair, who had advanced the money for their importation. The two French girls remained in this house for several months until it was raided by the police, when they were sent to separate houses. The records which were later brought into court show that at this time Marie was earning two hundred and fifty dollars a week, all of which she gave to her employers. In spite of this large monetary return she was often cruelly beaten, was made to do the household scrubbing, and was, of course, never allowed to leave the house. Furthermore, as one of the methods of retaining a reluctant girl is to put her hopelessly in debt and always to charge against her the expenses incurred in securing her, Marie as an imported girl had begun at once with the huge debt of the ocean journey for Paret and herself. In addition to this large sum she was charged, according to universal custom, with exorbitant prices for all the clothing she received and with any money which Paret chose to draw against her account. Later, when Marie contracted typhoid fever, she was sent for treatment to a public hospital and it was during her illness there, when a general investigation was made of the white slave traffic, that a federal officer visited her. Marie, who thought she was going to die, freely gave her testimony, which proved to be most valuable. The federal authorities following up her statements at last located Paret in the city prison at Atlanta, Georgia, where he had been convicted on a similar charge. He was brought to Chicago and on his testimony Lair was also convicted and imprisoned. Marie has since married a man who wishes to protect her from the influence of her old life, but although not yet twenty years old and making an honest effort, what she has undergone has apparently so far warped and weakened her will that she is only partially successful in keeping her resolutions, and she sends each month to her parents in France ten or twelve dollars, which she confesses to have earned illicitly. It is as if the shameful experiences to which this little convent-bred Breton girl was forcibly subjected, had finally become registered in every fibre of her being until the forced demoralization has become genuine. She is as powerless now to save herself from her subjective temptations as she was helpless five years ago to save herself from her captors. Such demoralization is, of course, most valuable to the white slave trader, for when a girl has become thoroughly accustomed to the life and testifies that she is in it of her own free will, she puts herself beyond the protection of the law. She belongs to a legally degraded class, without redress in courts of justice for personal outrages. Marie, herself, at the end of her third year in America, wrote to the police appealing for help, but the lieutenant who in response to her letter visited the house, was convinced by Lair that she was there of her own volition and that therefore he could do nothing for her. It is easy to see why it thus becomes part of the business to break down a girl's moral nature by all those horrible devices which are constantly used by the owner of a white slave. Because life is so often shortened for these wretched girls, their owners degrade them morally as quickly as possible, lest death release them before their full profit has been secured. In addition to the quantity of sacrificed virtue, to the bulk of impotent suffering, which these white slaves represent, our civilization becomes permanently tainted with the vicious practices designed to accelerate the demoralization of unwilling victims in order to make them commercially valuable. Moreover, a girl thus rendered more useful to her owner, will thereafter fail to touch either the chivalry of men or the tenderness of women because good men and women have become convinced of her innate degeneracy, a word we have learned to use with the unction formerly placed upon original sin. The very revolt of society against such girls is used by their owners as a protection to the business. The case against the captors of Marie, as well as twenty-four other cases, was ably and vigorously conducted by Edwin W. Sims, United States District Attorney in Chicago. He prosecuted under a clause of the immigration act of 1908, which was unfortunately declared unconstitutional early the next year, when for the moment federal authorities found themselves unable to proceed directly against this international traffic. They could not act under the international white slave treaty signed by the contracting powers in Paris in 1904, and proclaimed by the President of the United States in 1908, because it was found impossible to carry out its provisions without federal police. The long consideration of this treaty by Congress made clear to the nation that it is in matters of this sort that navies are powerless and that as our international problems become more social, other agencies must be provided, a point which arbitration committees have long urged. The discussion of the international treaty brought the subject before the entire country as a matter for immediate legislation and for executive action, and the White Slave Traffic Act was finally passed by Congress in 1910, under which all later prosecutions have since been conducted. When the decision on the immigration clause rendered in 1909 threw the burden of prosecution back upon the states, Mr. Clifford Roe, then assistant State's Attorney, within one year investigated 348 such cases, domestic and foreign, and successfully prosecuted 91, carrying on the vigorous policy inaugurated by United States Attorney Sims. In 1908 Illinois passed the first pandering law in this country, changing the offence from disorderly conduct to a misdemeanor, and greatly increasing the penalty. In many states pandering is still so little defined as to make the crime merely a breach of manners and to put it in the same class of offences as selling a street-car transfer. As a result of this vigorous action, Chicago became the first city to look the situation squarely in the face, and to make a determined business-like fight against the procuring of girls. An office was established by public-spirited citizens where Mr. Roe was placed in charge and empowered to follow up the clues of the traffic wherever found and to bring the traffickers to justice; in consequence the white slave traders have become so frightened that the foreign importation of girls to Chicago has markedly declined. It is estimated by Mr. Roe that since 1909 about one thousand white slave traders, of whom thirty or forty were importers of foreign girls, have been driven away from the city. Throughout the Congressional discussions of the white slave traffic, beginning with the Howell-Bennett Act in 1907, it was evident that the subject was closely allied to immigration, and when the immigration commission made a partial report to Congress in December, 1909, upon "the importation and harboring of women for immoral purposes," their finding only emphasized the report of the Commissioner General of Immigration made earlier in the year. His report had traced the international traffic directly to New York, Chicago, Boston, Buffalo, New Orleans, Denver, Seattle, Portland, Salt Lake City, Ogden, and Butte. As the list of cities was comparatively small, it seemed not unreasonable to hope that the international traffic might be rigorously prosecuted, with the prospect of finally doing away with it in spite of its subtle methods, its multiplied ramifications, and its financial resources. Only officials of vigorous conscience can deal with this traffic; but certainly there can be no nobler service for federal and state officers to undertake than this protection of immigrant girls. It is obvious that a foreign girl who speaks no English, who has not the remotest idea in what part of the city her fellow-countrymen live, who does not know the police station or any agency to which she may apply, is almost as valuable to a white slave trafficker as a girl imported directly for the trade. The trafficker makes every effort to intercept such a girl before she can communicate with her relations. Although great care is taken at Ellis Island, the girl's destination carefully indicated upon her ticket and her friends communicated with, after she boards the train the governmental protection is withdrawn and many untoward experiences may befall a girl between New York and her final destination. Only this year a Polish mother of the Hull House neighborhood failed to find her daughter on a New York train upon which she had been notified to expect her, because the girl had been induced to leave the New York train at South Chicago, where she was met by two young men, one of them well known to the police, and the other a young Pole, purporting to have been sent by the girl's mother. The immigrant girl also encounters dangers upon the very moment of her arrival. The cab-men and expressmen are often unscrupulous. One of the latter was recently indicted in Chicago upon the charge of regularly procuring immigrant girls for a disreputable hotel. The non-English speaking girl handing her written address to a cabman has no means of knowing whither he will drive her, but is obliged to place herself implicitly in his hands. The Immigrants' Protective League has brought about many changes in this respect, but has upon its records some piteous tales of girls who were thus easily deceived. An immigrant girl is occasionally exploited by her own lover whom she has come to America to marry. I recall the case of a Russian girl thus decoyed into a disreputable life by a man deceiving her through a fake marriage ceremony. Although not found until a year later, the girl had never ceased to be distressed and rebellious. Many Slovak and Polish girls, coming to America without their relatives, board in houses already filled with their countrymen who have also preceded their own families to the land of promise, hoping to earn money enough to send for them later. The immigrant girl is thus exposed to dangers at the very moment when she is least able to defend herself. Such a girl, already bewildered by the change from an old world village to an American city, is unfortunately sometimes convinced that the new country freedom does away with the necessity for a marriage ceremony. Many others are told that judgment for a moral lapse is less severe in America than in the old country. The last month's records of the Municipal Court in Chicago, set aside to hear domestic relation cases, show sixteen unfortunate girls, of whom eight were immigrant girls representing eight different nationalities. These discouraged and deserted girls become an easy prey for the procurers who have sometimes been in league with their lovers. Even those girls who immigrate with their families and sustain an affectionate relation with them are yet often curiously free from chaperonage. The immigrant mothers do not know where their daughters work, save that it is in a vague "over there" or "down town." They themselves were guarded by careful mothers and they would gladly give the same oversight to their daughters, but the entire situation is so unlike that of their own peasant girlhoods that, discouraged by their inability to judge it, they make no attempt to understand their daughters' lives. The girls, realizing this inability on the part of their mothers, elated by that sense of independence which the first taste of self-support always brings, sheltered from observation during certain hours, are almost as free from social control as is the traditional young man who comes up from the country to take care of himself in a great city. These immigrant parents are, of course, quite unable to foresee that while a girl feels a certain restraint of public opinion from the tenement house neighbors among whom she lives, and while she also responds to the public opinion of her associates in a factory where she works, there is no public opinion at all operating as a restraint upon her in the hours which lie between the two, occupied in the coming and going to work through the streets of a city large enough to offer every opportunity for concealment. So much of the recreation which is provided by commercial agencies, even in its advertisements, deliberately plays upon the interest of sex because it is under such excitement and that of alcohol that money is most recklessly spent. The great human dynamic, which it has been the long effort of centuries to limit to family life, is deliberately utilized for advertising purposes, and it is inevitable that many girls yield to such allurements. On the other hand, one is filled with admiration for the many immigrant girls who in the midst of insuperable difficulties resist all temptations. Such admiration was certainly due Olga, a tall, handsome girl, a little passive and slow, yet with that touch of dignity which a continued mood of introspection so often lends to the young. Olga had been in Chicago for a year living with an aunt who, when she returned to Sweden, placed her niece in a boarding-house which she knew to be thoroughly respectable. But a friendless girl of such striking beauty could not escape the machinations of those who profit by the sale of girls. Almost immediately Olga found herself beset by two young men who continually forced themselves upon her attention, although she refused all their invitations to shows and dances. In six months the frightened girl had changed her boarding-place four times, hoping that the men would not be able to follow her. She was also obliged constantly to look for a cheaper place, because the dull season in the cloak-making trade came early that year. In the fifth boarding-house she finally found herself so hopelessly in arrears that the landlady, tired of waiting for the "new cloak making to begin," at length fulfilled a long-promised threat, and one summer evening at nine o'clock literally put Olga into the street, retaining her trunk in payment of the debt. The girl walked the street for hours, until she fancied that she saw one of her persecutors in the distance, when she hastily took refuge in a sheltered doorway, crouching in terror. Although no one approached her, she sat there late into the night, apparently too apathetic to move. With the curious inconsequence of moody youth, she was not aroused to action by the situation in which she found herself. The incident epitomized to her the everlasting riddle of the universe to which she could see no solution and she drearily decided to throw herself into the lake. As she left the doorway at daybreak for this pitiful purpose, she attracted the attention of a passing policeman. In response to his questions, kindly at first but becoming exasperated as he was convinced that she was either "touched in her wits" or "guying" him, he obtained a confused story of the persecutions of the two young men, and in sheer bewilderment he finally took her to the station on the very charge against the thought of which she had so long contended. The girl was doubtless sullen in court the next morning; she was resentful of the policeman's talk, she was oppressed and discouraged and therefore taciturn. She herself said afterwards that she "often got still that way." She so sharply felt the disgrace of arrest, after her long struggle for respectability, that she gave a false name and became involved in a story to which she could devote but half her attention, being still absorbed in an undercurrent of speculative thought which continually broke through the flimsy tale she was fabricating. With the evidence before him, the judge felt obliged to sustain the policeman's charge, and as Olga could not pay the fine imposed, he sentenced her to the city prison. The girl, however, had appeared so strangely that the judge was uncomfortable and gave her in charge of a representative of the Juvenile Protective Association in the hope that she could discover the whole situation, meantime suspending the sentence. It took hours of patient conversation with the girl and the kindly services of a well-known alienist to break into her dangerous state of mind and to gain her confidence. Prolonged medical treatment averted the threatened melancholia and she was at last rescued from the meaningless despondency so hostile to life itself, which has claimed many young victims. It is strange that we are so slow to learn that no one can safely live without companionship and affection, that the individual who tries the hazardous experiment of going without at least one of them is prone to be swamped by a black mood from within. It is as if we had to build little islands of affection in the vast sea of impersonal forces lest we be overwhelmed by them. Yet we know that in every large city there are hundreds of men whose business it is to discover girls thus hard pressed by loneliness and despair, to urge upon them the old excuse that "no one cares what you do," to fill them with cheap cynicism concerning the value of virtue, all to the end that a business profit may be secured. Had Olga yielded to the solicitations of bad men and had the immigration authorities in the federal building of Chicago discovered her in the disreputable hotel in which her captors wanted to place her, she would have been deported to Sweden, sent home in disgrace from the country which had failed to protect her. Certainly the immigration laws might do better than to send a girl back to her parents, diseased and disgraced because America has failed to safeguard her virtue from the machinations of well-known but unrestrained criminals. The possibility of deportation on the charge of prostitution is sometimes utilized by jealous husbands or rejected lovers. Only last year a Russian girl came to Chicago to meet her lover and was deceived by a fake marriage. Although the man basely deserted her within a few weeks he became very jealous a year later when he discovered that she was about to be married to a prosperous fellow-countryman, and made charges against her to the federal authorities concerning her life in Russia. It was with the greatest difficulty that the girl was saved from deportation to Russia under circumstances which would have compelled her to take out a red ticket in Odessa, and to live forevermore the life with which her lover had wantonly charged her. May we not hope that in time the nation's policy in regard to immigrants will become less negative and that a measure of protection will be extended to them during the three years when they are so liable to prompt deportation if they become criminals or paupers? While it may be difficult for the federal authorities to accomplish this protection and will doubtless require an extension of the powers of the Department of Immigration, certainly no one will doubt that it is the business of the city itself to extend much more protection to young girls who so thoughtlessly walk upon its streets. Yet, in spite of the grave consequences which lack of proper supervision implies, the municipal treatment of commercialized vice not only differs in each city but varies greatly in the same city under changing administrations. The situation is enormously complicated by the pharisaic attitude of the public which wishes to have the comfort of declaring the social evil to be illegal, while at the same time it expects the police department to regulate it and to make it as little obvious as possible. In reality the police, as they themselves know, are not expected to serve the public in this matter but to consult the desires of the politicians; for, next to the fast and loose police control of gambling, nothing affords better political material than the regulation of commercialized vice. First in line is the ward politician who keeps a disorderly saloon which serves both as a meeting-place for the vicious young men engaged in the traffic and as a market for their wares. Back of this the politician higher up receives his share of the toll which this business pays that it may remain undisturbed. The very existence of a segregated district under police regulation means, of course, that the existing law must be nullified or at least rendered totally inoperative. When police regulation takes the place of law enforcement a species of municipal blackmail inevitably becomes intrenched. The police are forced to regulate an illicit trade, but because the men engaged in an unlawful business expect to pay money for its protection, the corruption of the police department is firmly established and, as the Chicago vice commission report points out, is merely called "protection to the business." The practice of grafting thereafter becomes almost official. On the other hand, any man who attempts to show mercy to the victims of that business, or to regulate it from the victim's point of view, is considered a traitor to the cause. Quite recently a former inspector of police in Chicago established a requirement that every young girl who came to live in a disreputable house within a prescribed district must be reported to him within an hour after her arrival. Each one was closely questioned as to her reasons for entering into the life. If she was very young, she was warned of its inevitable consequences and urged to abandon her project. Every assistance was offered her to return to work and to live a normal life. Occasionally a girl was desperate and it was sometimes necessary that she be forcibly detained in the police station until her friends could be communicated with. More often she was glad to avail herself of the chance of escape; practically always, unless she had already become romantically entangled with a disreputable young man, whom she firmly believed to be her genuine lover and protector. One day a telephone message came to Hull House from the inspector asking us to take charge of a young girl who had been brought into the station by an older woman for registration. The girl's youth and the innocence of her replies to the usual questions convinced the inspector that she was ignorant of the life she was about to enter and that she probably believed she was simply registering her choice of a boarding-house. Her story which she told at Hull House was as follows: She was a Milwaukee factory girl, the daughter of a Bohemian carpenter. Ten days before she had met a Chicago young man at a Milwaukee dance hall and after a brief courtship had promised to marry him, arranging to meet him in Chicago the following week. Fearing that her Bohemian mother would not approve of this plan, which she called "the American way of getting married," the girl had risen one morning even earlier than factory work necessitated and had taken the first train to Chicago. The young man met her at the station, took her to a saloon where he introduced her to a friend, an older woman, who, he said, would take good care of her. After the young man disappeared, ostensibly for the marriage license, the woman professed to be much shocked that the little bride had brought no luggage, and persuaded her that she must work a few weeks in order to earn money for her trousseau, and that she, an older woman who knew the city, would find a boarding-house and a place in a factory for her. She further induced her to write postal cards to six of her girl friends in Milwaukee, telling them of the kind lady in Chicago, of the good chances for work, and urging them to come down to the address which she sent. The woman told the unsuspecting girl that, first of all, a newcomer must register her place of residence with the police, as that was the law in Chicago. It was, of course, when the woman took her to the police station that the situation was disclosed. It needed but little investigation to make clear that the girl had narrowly escaped a well-organized plot and that the young man to whom she was engaged was an agent for a disreputable house. Mr. Clifford Roe took up the case with vigor, and although all efforts failed to find the young man, the woman who was his accomplice was fined one hundred and fifty dollars and costs. The one impression which the trial left upon our minds was that all the men concerned in the prosecution felt a keen sense of outrage against the method employed to secure the girl, but took for granted that the life she was about to lead was in the established order of things, if she had chosen it voluntarily. In other words, if the efforts of the agent had gone far enough to involve her moral nature, the girl, who although unsophisticated, was twenty-one years old, could have remained, quite unchallenged, in the hideous life. The woman who was prosecuted was well known to the police and was fined, not for her daily occupation, but because she had become involved in interstate white slave traffic. One touch of nature redeemed the trial, for the girl suffered much more from the sense that she had been deserted by her lover than from horror over the fate she had escaped, and she was never wholly convinced that he had not been genuine. She asserted constantly, in order to account for his absence, that some accident must have befallen him. She felt that he was her natural protector in this strange Chicago to which she had come at his behest and continually resented any imputation of his motives. The betrayal of her confidence, the playing upon her natural desire for a home of her own, was a ghastly revelation that even when this hideous trade is managed upon the most carefully calculated commercial principles, it must still resort to the use of the oldest of the social instincts as its basis of procedure. This Chicago police inspector, whose desire to protect young girls was so genuine and so successful, was afterward indicted by the grand jury and sent to the penitentiary on the charge of accepting "graft" from saloon-keepers and proprietors of the disreputable houses in his district. His experience was a dramatic and tragic portrayal of the position into which every city forces its police. When a girl who has been secured for the life is dissuaded from it, her rescue represents a definite monetary loss to the agency which has secured her and incurs the enmity of those who expected to profit by her. When this enmity has sufficiently accumulated, the active official is either "called down" by higher political authority, or brought to trial for those illegal practices which he shares with his fellow-officials. It is, therefore, easy to make such an inspector as ours suffer for his virtues, which are individual, by bringing charges against his grafting, which is general and almost official. So long as the customary prices for protection are adhered to, no one feels aggrieved; but the sentiment which prompts an inspector "to side with the girls" and to destroy thousands of dollars' worth of business is unjustifiable. He has not stuck to the rules of the game and the pack of enraged gamesters, under full cry of "morality," can very easily run him to ground, the public meantime being gratified that police corruption has been exposed and the offender punished. Yet hundreds of girls, who could have been discovered in no other way, were rescued by this man in his capacity of police inspector. On the other hand, he did little to bring to justice those responsible for securing the girls, and while he rescued the victim, he did not interfere with the source of supply. Had he been brought to trial for this indifference, it would have been impossible to find a grand jury to sustain the indictment. He was really brought to trial because he had broken the implied contract with the politicians; he had devised illicit and damaging methods to express that instinct for protecting youth and innocence, which every man on the police force doubtless possesses. Were this instinct freed from all political and extra legal control, it would in and of itself be a tremendous force against commercialized vice which is so dependent upon the exploitation of young girls. Yet the fortunes of the police are so tied up to those who profit by this trade and to their friends, the politicians, that the most well-meaning man upon the force is constantly handicapped. Several illustrations of this occur to me. Two years ago, when very untoward conditions were discovered in connection with a certain five-cent theatre, a young policeman arrested the proprietor, who was later brought before the grand jury, indicted and released upon bail for nine thousand dollars. The crime was a heinous one, involving the ruin of fourteen little girls; but so much political influence had been exerted on behalf of the proprietor, who was a relative of the republican committeeman of his ward, that although the license of the theatre was immediately revoked, it was reissued to his wife within a very few days and the man continued to be a menace to the community. When the young policeman who had made the arrest saw him in the neighborhood of the theatre talking to little girls and reported him, the officer was taken severely to task by the highest republican authority in the city. He was reprimanded for his activity and ordered transferred to the stockyards, eleven miles away. The policeman well understood that this was but the first step in the process called "breaking;" that after he had moved his family to the stockyards, in a few weeks he would be transferred elsewhere, and that this change of beat would be continued until he should at last be obliged to resign from the force. His offence, as he was plainly told, had been his ignorance of the fact that the theatre was under political protection. In short, the young officer had naïvely undertaken to serve the public without waiting for his instructions from the political bosses. A flagrant example of the collusion of the police with vice is instanced by United States District Attorney Sims, who recently called upon the Chicago police to make twenty-four arrests on behalf of the United States government for violations of the white slave law, when all of the men liable to arrest left town two hours after the warrants were issued. To quote Mr. Sims: "We sent the secret service men who had been working in conjunction with the police back to Washington and brought in a fresh supply. These men did not work with the police, and within two weeks after the first set of secret service men had left Chicago, the men we wanted were back in town, and without the aid of the city police we arrested all of them." When the legal control of commercialized vice is thus tied up with city politics the functions of the police become legislative, executive and judicial in regard to street solicitation: in a sense they also have power of license, for it lies with them to determine the number of women who are allowed to ply their trade upon the street. Some of these women are young earthlings, as it were, hoping to earn money for much-desired clothing or pleasure. Others are desperate creatures making one last effort before they enter a public hospital to face a miserable end; but by far the larger number are sent out under the protection of the men who profit by their earnings, or they are utilized to secure patronage for disreputable houses. The police regard the latter "as regular," and while no authoritative order is ever given, the patrolman understands that they are protected. On the other hand, "the straggler" is liable to be arrested by any officer who chooses, and she is subjected to a fine upon his unsupported word. In either case the police regard all such women as literally "abandoned," deprived of ordinary rights, obliged to live in specified residences, and liable to have their personal liberties invaded in a way that no other class of citizens would tolerate. The recent establishment of the Night Court in New York registers an advance in regard to the treatment of these wretched women. Not only does the public gradually become cognizant of the treatment accorded them, but some attempt at discrimination is made between the first offenders and those hardened by long practice in that most hideous of occupations. Furthermore, an adult probation system is gradually being substituted for the system of fines which at present are levied in such wise as to virtually constitute a license and a partnership with the police department. While American cities cannot be said to have adopted a policy either of suppression or one of regulation, because the police consider the former impracticable and the latter intolerable to public opinion, we may perhaps claim for America a little more humanity in its dealing with this class of women, a little less ruthlessness than that exhibited by the continental cities where regimentation is relentlessly assumed. The suggestive presence of such women on the streets is perhaps one of the most demoralizing influences to be found in a large city, and such vigorous efforts as were recently made by a former chief of police in Chicago when he successfully cleared the streets of their presence, demonstrates that legal suppression is possible. At least this obvious temptation to young men and boys who are idly walking the streets might be avoided, for in an old formula one such woman "has cast down many wounded; yea, many strong men have been slain by her." Were the streets kept clear, many young girls would be spared familiar knowledge that such a method of earning money is open to them. I have personally known several instances in which young girls have begun street solicitation through sheer imitation. A young Polish woman found herself in dire straits after the death of her mother. Her only friends in America had moved to New York, she was in debt for her mother's funeral, and as it was the slack season of the miserable sweat-shop sewing she had been doing, she was unable to find work. One evening when she was quite desperate with hunger, she stopped several men upon the street, as she had seen other girls do, and in her broken English asked them for something to eat. Only after a young man had given her a good meal at a restaurant did she realize the price she was expected to pay and the horrible things which the other girls were doing. Even in her shocked revolt she could not understand, of course, that she herself epitomized that hideous choice between starvation and vice which is perhaps the crowning disgrace of civilization. The legal suppression of street solicitation would not only protect girls but would enormously minimize the risk and temptation to boys. The entire system of recruiting for commercialized vice is largely dependent upon boys who are scarcely less the victims of the system than are the girls themselves. Certainly this aspect of the situation must be seriously considered. In 1908, when Mr. Clifford Roe conducted successful prosecutions against one hundred and fifty of these disreputable young men in Chicago, nearly all of them were local boys who had used their personal acquaintance to secure their victims. The accident of a long acquaintance with one of these boys, born in the Hull-House neighborhood, filled me with questionings as to how far society may be responsible for these wretched lads, many of them beginning a vicious career when they are but fifteen or sixteen years of age. Because the trade constantly demands very young girls, the procurers require the assistance of immature boys, for in this game above all others "youth calls to youth." Such a boy is often incited by the professional procurer to ruin a young girl, because the latter's position is much safer if the character of the girl is blackened before he sells her, and if he himself cannot be implicated in her downfall. He thus keeps himself within the letter of the law, and when he is even more cautious, he induces the boy to go through the ceremony of a legal marriage by promising him a percentage of his wife's first earnings. Only yesterday I received a letter from a young man whom I had known from his early boyhood, written in the state penitentiary, where he is serving a life sentence. His father was a drunkard, but his mother was a fine woman, devoted to her children, and she had patiently supported her son Jim far beyond his school age. At the time of his trial, she pawned all her personal possessions and mortgaged her furniture in order to get three hundred dollars for his lawyer. Although Jim usually led the life of a loafer and had never supported his mother, he was affectionately devoted to her and always kindly and good-natured. Perhaps it was because he had been so long dependent upon a self-sacrificing woman that it became easy for him to be dependent upon his wife, a girl whom he met when he was temporarily acting as porter in a disreputable hotel. Through his long familiarity with vice, and the fact that many of his companions habitually lived upon the earnings of "their girls," he easily consented that his wife should continue her life, and he constantly accepted the money which she willingly gave him. After his marriage he still lived in his mother's house and refused to take more money from her, but she had no idea of the source of his income. One day he called at the hotel, as usual, to ask for his wife's earnings, and in a quarrel over the amount with the landlady of the house, he drew a revolver and killed her. Although the plea of self-defense was urged in the trial, his abominable manner of life so outraged both judge and jury that he received the maximum sentence. His mother still insists that he sincerely loved the girl, whom he so impulsively married and that he constantly tried to dissuade her from her evil life. Certain it is that Jim's wife and mother are both filled with genuine sorrow for his fate and that in some wise the educational and social resources in the city of his birth failed to protect him from his own lower impulses and from the evil companionship whose influence he could not withstand. He is but one of thousands of weak boys, who are constantly utilized to supply the white slave trafficker with young girls, for it has been estimated that at any given moment the majority of the girls utilized by the trade are under twenty years of age and that most of them were procured when younger. We cannot assume that the youths who are hired to entice and entrap these girls are all young fiends, degenerate from birth; the majority of them are merely out-of-work boys, idle upon the streets, who readily lend themselves to these base demands because nothing else is presented to them. All the recent investigations have certainly made clear that the bulk of the entire traffic is conducted with the youth of the community, and that the social evil, ancient though it may be, must be renewed in our generation through its younger members. The knowledge of the youth of its victims doubtless in a measure accounts for the new sense of compunction which fills the community. CHAPTER III AMELIORATION OF ECONOMIC CONDITIONS It may be possible to extract some small degree of comfort from the recent revelations of the white slave traffic when we reflect that at the present moment, in the midst of a freedom such as has never been accorded to young women in the history of the world, under an economic pressure grinding down upon the working girl at the very age when she most wistfully desires to be taken care of, it is necessary to organize a widespread commercial enterprise in order to procure a sufficient number of girls for the white slave market. Certainly the larger freedom accorded to woman by our changing social customs and the phenomenal number of young girls who are utilized by modern industry, taken in connection with this lack of supply, would seem to show that the chastity of women is holding its own in that slow-growing civilization which ever demands more self-control and conscious direction on the part of the individuals sharing it. Successive reports of the United States census indicate that self-supporting girls are increasing steadily in number each decade, until 59 per cent. of all the young women in the nation between the ages of sixteen and twenty, are engaged in some gainful occupation. Year after year, as these figures increase, the public views them with complacency, almost with pride, and confidently depends upon the inner restraint and training of this girlish multitude to protect it from disaster. Nevertheless, the public is totally unable to determine at what moment these safeguards, evolved under former industrial conditions, may reach a breaking point, not because of economic freedom, but because of untoward economic conditions. For the first time in history multitudes of women are laboring without the direct stimulus of family interest or affection, and they are also unable to proportion their hours of work and intervals of rest according to their strength; in addition to this for thousands of them the effort to obtain a livelihood fairly eclipses the very meaning of life itself. At the present moment no student of modern industrial conditions can possibly assert how far the superior chastity of woman, so rigidly maintained during the centuries, has been the result of her domestic surroundings, and certainly no one knows under what degree of economic pressure the old restraints may give way. In addition to the monotony of work and the long hours, the small wages these girls receive have no relation to the standard of living which they are endeavoring to maintain. Discouraged and over-fatigued, they are often brought into sharp juxtaposition with the women who are obtaining much larger returns from their illicit trade. Society also ventures to capitalize a virtuous girl at much less than one who has yielded to temptation, and it may well hold itself responsible for the precarious position into which, year after year, a multitude of frail girls is placed. The very valuable report recently issued by the vice commission of Chicago leaves no room for doubt upon this point. The report estimates the yearly profit of this nefarious business as conducted in Chicago to be between fifteen and sixteen millions of dollars. Although these enormous profits largely accrue to the men who conduct the business side of prostitution, the report emphasizes the fact that the average girl earns very much more in such a life than she can hope to earn by any honest work. It points out that the capitalized value of the average working girl is six thousand dollars, as she ordinarily earns six dollars a week, which is three hundred dollars a year, or five per cent. on that sum. A girl who sells drinks in a disreputable saloon, earning in commissions for herself twenty-one dollars a week, is capitalized at a value of twenty-two thousand dollars. The report further estimates that the average girl who enters an illicit life under a protector or manager is able to earn twenty-five dollars a week, representing a capital of twenty-six thousand dollars. In other words, a girl in such a life "earns more than four times as much as she is worth as a factor in the social and industrial economy, where brains, intelligence, virtue and womanly charm should bring a premium." The argument is specious in that it does not record the economic value of the many later years in which the honest girl will live as wife and mother, in contrast to the premature death of the woman in the illicit trade, but the girl herself sees only the difference in the immediate earning possibilities in the two situations. Nevertheless the supply of girls for the white slave traffic so far falls below the demand that large business enterprises have been developed throughout the world in order to secure a sufficient number of victims for this modern market. Over and over again in the criminal proceedings against the men engaged in this traffic, when questioned as to their motives, they have given the simple reply "that more girls are needed", and that they were "promised big money for them". Although economic pressure as a reason for entering an illicit life has thus been brought out in court by the evidence in a surprising number of cases, there is no doubt that it is often exaggerated; a girl always prefers to think that economic pressure is the reason for her downfall, even when the immediate causes have been her love of pleasure, her desire for finery, or the influence of evil companions. It is easy for her, as for all of us, to be deceived as to real motives. In addition to this the wretched girl who has entered upon an illicit life finds the experience so terrible that, day by day, she endeavors to justify herself with the excuse that the money she earns is needed for the support of some one dependent upon her, thus following habits established by generations of virtuous women who cared for feeble folk. I know one such girl living in a disreputable house in Chicago who has adopted a delicate child afflicted with curvature of the spine, whom she boards with respectable people and keeps for many weeks out of each year in an expensive sanitarium that it may receive medical treatment. The mother of the child, an inmate of the house in which the ardent foster-mother herself lives, is quite indifferent to the child's welfare and also rather amused at such solicitude. The girl has persevered in her course for five years, never however allowing the little invalid to come to the house in which she and the mother live. The same sort of devotion and self-sacrifice is often poured out upon the miserable man who in the beginning was responsible for the girl's entrance into the life and who constantly receives her earnings. She supports him in the luxurious life he may be living in another part of the town, takes an almost maternal pride in his good clothes and general prosperity, and regards him as the one person in all the world who understands her plight. Most of the cases of economic responsibility, however, are not due to chivalric devotion, but arise from a desire to fulfill family obligations such as would be accepted by any conscientious girl. This was clearly revealed in conversations which were recently held with thirty-four girls, who were living at the same time in a rescue home, when twenty-two of them gave economic pressure as the reason for choosing the life which they had so recently abandoned. One piteous little widow of seventeen had been supporting her child and had been able to leave the life she had been leading only because her married sister offered to take care of the baby without the money formerly paid her. Another had been supporting her mother and only since her recent death was the girl sure that she could live honestly because she had only herself to care for. The following story, fairly typical of the twenty-two involving economic reasons, is of a girl who had come to Chicago at the age of fifteen, from a small town in Indiana. Her father was too old to work and her mother was a dependent invalid. The brother who cared for the parents, with the help of the girl's own slender wages earned in the country store of the little town, became ill with rheumatism. In her desire to earn more money the country girl came to the nearest large city, Chicago, to work in a department store. The highest wage she could earn, even though she wore long dresses and called herself "experienced," was five dollars a week. This sum was of course inadequate even for her own needs and she was constantly filled with a corroding worry for "the folks at home." In a moment of panic, a fellow clerk who was "wise" showed her that it was possible to add to her wages by making appointments for money in the noon hour at down-town hotels. Having earned money in this way for a few months, the young girl made an arrangement with an older woman to be on call in the evenings whenever she was summoned by telephone, thus joining that large clandestine group of apparently respectable girls, most of whom yield to temptation only when hard pressed by debt incurred during illness or non-employment, or when they are facing some immediate necessity. This practice has become so general in the larger American cities as to be systematically conducted. It is perhaps the most sinister outcome of the economic pressure, unless one cites its corollary--the condition of thousands of young men whose low salaries so cruelly and unjustifiably postpone their marriages. For a long time the young saleswoman kept her position in the department store, retaining her honest wages for herself, but sending everything else to her family. At length however, she changed from her clandestine life to an openly professional one when she needed enough money to send her brother to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where she maintained him for a year. She explained that because he was now restored to health and able to support the family once more, she had left the life "forever and ever", expecting to return to her home in Indiana. She suspected that her brother knew of her experience, although she was sure that her parents did not, and she hoped that as she was not yet seventeen, she might be able to make a fresh start. Fortunately the poor child did not know how difficult that would be. It is perhaps in the department store more than anywhere else that every possible weakness in a girl is detected and traded upon. For while it is true that "wherever many girls are gathered together more or less unprotected and embroiled in the struggle for a livelihood, near by will be hovering the procurers and evil-minded", no other place of employment is so easy of access as the department store. No visitor is received in a factory or office unless he has definite business there, whereas every purchaser is welcome at a department store, even a notorious woman well known to represent the demi-monde trade is treated with marked courtesy if she spends large sums of money. The primary danger lies in the fact that the comely saleswomen are thus easy of access. The disreputable young man constantly passes in and out, making small purchases from every pretty girl, opening an acquaintance with complimentary remarks; or the procuress, a fashionably-dressed woman, buys clothing in large amounts, sometimes for a young girl by her side, ostensibly her daughter. She condoles with the saleswoman upon her hard lot and lack of pleasure, and in the rôle of a kindly, prosperous matron invites her to come to her own home for a good time. The girl is sometimes subjected to temptation through the men and women in her own department, who tell her how invitations to dinners and theatres may be procured. It is not surprising that so many of these young, inexperienced girls are either deceived or yield to temptation in spite of the efforts made to protect them by the management and by the older women in the establishment. The department store has brought together, as has never been done before in history, a bewildering mass of delicate and beautiful fabrics, jewelry and household decorations such as women covet, gathered skilfully from all parts of the world, and in the midst of this bulk of desirable possessions is placed an untrained girl with careful instructions as to her conduct for making sales, but with no guidance in regard to herself. Such a girl may be bitterly lonely, but she is expected to smile affably all day long upon a throng of changing customers. She may be without adequate clothing, although she stands in an emporium where it is piled about her, literally as high as her head. She may be faint for want of food but she may not sit down lest she assume "an attitude of inertia and indifference," which is against the rules. She may have a great desire for pretty things, but she must sell to other people at least twenty-five times the amount of her own salary, or she will not be retained. Because she is of the first generation of girls which has stood alone in the midst of trade, she is clinging and timid, and yet the only person, man or woman, in this commercial atmosphere who speaks to her of the care and protection which she craves, is seeking to betray her. Because she is young and feminine, her mind secretly dwells upon a future lover, upon a home, adorned with the most enticing of the household goods about her, upon a child dressed in the filmy fabrics she tenderly touches, and yet the only man who approaches her there acting upon the knowledge of this inner life of hers, does it with the direct intention of playing upon it in order to despoil her. Is it surprising that the average human nature of these young girls cannot, in many instances, endure this strain? Of fifteen thousand women employed in the down-town department stores of Chicago, the majority are Americans. We all know that the American girl has grown up in the belief that the world is hers from which to choose, that there is ordinarily no limit to her ambition or to her definition of success. She realizes that she is well mannered and well dressed and does not appear unlike most of her customers. She sees only one aspect of her countrywomen who come shopping, and she may well believe that the chief concern of life is fashionable clothing. Her interest and ambition almost inevitably become thoroughly worldly, and from the very fact that she is employed down town, she obtains an exaggerated idea of the luxury of the illicit life all about her, which is barely concealed. The fifth volume of the report of "Women and Child Wage Earners" in the United States gives the result of a careful inquiry into "the relation of wages to the moral condition of department store women." In connection with this, the investigators secured "the personal histories of one hundred immoral women," of whom ten were or had been employed in a department store. They found that while only one of the ten had been directly induced to leave the store for a disreputable life, six of them said that they had found "it was easier to earn money that way." The report states that the average employee in a department store earns about seven dollars a week, and that the average income of the one hundred immoral women covered by the personal histories, ranged from fifty dollars a week to one hundred dollars a week in exceptional cases. It is of these exceptional cases that the department store girl hears, and the knowledge becomes part of the unreality and glittering life that is all about her. Another class of young women which is especially exposed to this alluring knowledge is the waitress in down-town cafés and restaurants. A recent investigation of girls in the segregated district of a neighboring city places waiting in restaurants and hotels as highest on the list of "previous occupations." Many waitresses are paid so little that they gratefully accept any fee which men may offer them. It is also the universal habit for customers to enter into easy conversation while being served. Some of them are lonely young men who have few opportunities to speak to women. The girl often quite innocently accepts an invitation for an evening, spent either in a theatre or dance hall, with no evil results, but this very lack of social convention exposes her to danger. Even when the proprietor means to protect the girls, a certain amount of familiarity must be borne, lest their resentment should diminish the patronage of the café. In certain restaurants, moreover, the waitresses doubtless suffer because the patrons compare them with the girls who ply their trade in disreputable saloons under the guise of serving drinks. The following story would show that mere friendly propinquity may constitute a danger. Last summer an honest, straightforward girl from a small lake town in northern Michigan was working in a Chicago café, sending every week more than half of her wages of seven dollars to her mother and little sister, ill with tuberculosis, at home. The mother owned the little house in which she lived, but except for the vegetables she raised in her own garden and an occasional payment for plain sewing, she and her younger daughter were dependent upon the hard-working girl in Chicago. The girl's heart grew heavier week by week as the mother's letters reported that the sister was daily growing weaker. One hot day in August she received a letter from her mother telling her to come at once if she "would see sister before she died." At noon that day when sickened by the hot air of the café, and when the clatter of dishes, the buzz of conversation, the orders shouted through the slide seemed but a hideous accompaniment to her tormented thoughts, she was suddenly startled by hearing the name of her native town, and realized that one of her regular patrons was saying to her that he meant to take a night boat to M. at 8 o'clock and get out of this "infernal heat." Almost involuntarily she asked him if he would take her with him. Although the very next moment she became conscious what his consent implied, she did not reveal her fright, but merely stipulated that if she went with him he must agree to buy her a return ticket. She reached home twelve hours before her sister died, but when she returned to Chicago a week later burdened with the debt of an undertaker's bill, she realized that she had discovered a means of payment. All girls who work down town are at a disadvantage as compared to factory girls, who are much less open to direct inducement and to the temptations which come through sheer imitation. Factory girls also have the protection of working among plain people who frankly designate an irregular life, in harsh, old-fashioned terms. If a factory girl catches sight of the vicious life at all, she sees its miserable victims in all the wretchedness and sordidness of their trade in the poorer parts of the city. As she passes the opening doors of a disreputable saloon she may see for an instant three or four listless girls urging liquor upon men tired out with the long day's work and already sodden with drink. As she hurries along the street on a rainy night she may hear a sharp cry of pain from a sick-looking girl whose arm is being brutally wrenched by a rough man, and if she stops for a moment she catches his muttered threats in response to the girl's pleading "that it is too bad a night for street work." She sees a passing policeman shrug his shoulders as he crosses the street, and she vaguely knows that the sick girl has put herself beyond the protection of the law, and that the rough man has an understanding with the officer on the beat. She has been told that certain streets are "not respectable," but a furtive look down the length of one of them reveals only forlorn and ill-looking houses, from which all suggestion of homely domesticity has long since gone; a slovenly woman with hollow eyes and a careworn face holding up the lurching bulk of a drunken man is all she sees of its "denizens," although she may have known a neighbor's daughter who came home to die of a mysterious disease said to be the result of a "fast life," and whose disgraced mother "never again held up her head." Yet in spite of all this corrective knowledge, the increasing nervous energy to which industrial processes daily accommodate themselves, and the speeding up constantly required of the operators, may at any moment so register their results upon the nervous system of a factory girl as to overcome her powers of resistance. Many a working girl at the end of a day is so hysterical and overwrought that her mental balance is plainly disturbed. Hundreds of working girls go directly to bed as soon as they have eaten their suppers. They are too tired to go from home for recreation, too tired to read and often too tired to sleep. A humane forewoman recently said to me as she glanced down the long room in which hundreds of young women, many of them with their shoes beside them, were standing: "I hate to think of all the aching feet on this floor; these girls all have trouble with their feet, some of them spend the entire evening bathing them in hot water." But aching feet are no more usual than aching backs and aching heads. The study of industrial diseases has only this year been begun by the federal authorities, and doubtless as more is known of the nervous and mental effect of over-fatigue, many moral breakdowns will be traced to this source. It is already easy to make the connection in definite cases: "I was too tired to care," "I was too tired to know what I was doing," "I was dead tired and sick of it all," "I was dog tired and just went with him," are phrases taken from the lips of reckless girls, who are endeavoring to explain the situation in which they find themselves. Only slowly are laws being enacted to limit the hours of working women, yet the able brief presented to the United States supreme court on the constitutionality of the Oregon ten-hour law for women, based its plea upon the results of overwork as affecting women's health, the grave medical statement constantly broken into by a portrayal of the disastrous effects of over-fatigue upon character. It is as yet difficult to distinguish between the results of long hours and the results of overstrain. Certainly the constant sense of haste is one of the most nerve-racking and exhausting tests to which the human system can be subjected. Those girls in the sewing industry whose mothers thread needles for them far into the night that they may sew without a moment's interruption during the next day; those girls who insert eyelets into shoes, for which they are paid two cents a case, each case containing twenty-four pairs of shoes, are striking victims of the over-speeding which is so characteristic of our entire factory system. Girls working in factories and laundries are also open to the possibilities of accidents. The loss of only two fingers upon the right hand, or a broken wrist, may disqualify an operator from continuing in the only work in which she is skilled and make her struggle for respectability even more difficult. Varicose veins and broken arches in the feet are found in every occupation in which women are obliged to stand for hours, but at any moment either one may develop beyond purely painful symptoms into crippling incapacity. One such girl recently returning home after a long day's work deliberately sat down upon the floor of a crowded street car, explaining defiantly to the conductor and the bewildered passengers that "her feet would not hold out another minute." A young woman who only last summer broke her hand in a mangle was found in a rescue home in January, explaining her recent experience by the phrase that she was "up against it when leaving the hospital in October." In spite of many such heart-breaking instances the movement for safeguarding machinery and securing indemnity for industrial accidents proceeds all too slowly. At a recent exhibition in Boston the knife of a miniature guillotine fell every ten seconds to indicate the rate of industrial accidents in the United States. Grisly as was the device, its hideousness might well have been increased had it been able to demonstrate the connection between certain of these accidents and the complete moral disaster which overtook their victims. Yet factory girls who are subjected to this overstrain and overtime often find their greatest discouragement in the fact that after all their efforts they earn too little to support themselves. One girl said that she had first yielded to temptation when she had become utterly discouraged because she had tried in vain for seven months to save enough money for a pair of shoes. She habitually spent two dollars a week for her room, three dollars for her board, and sixty cents a week for carfare, and she had found the forty cents remaining from her weekly wage of six dollars inadequate to do more than re-sole her old shoes twice. When the shoes became too worn to endure a third soling and she possessed but ninety cents towards a new pair, she gave up her struggle; to use her own contemptuous phrase, she "sold out for a pair of shoes." Usually the phrases are less graphic, but after all they contain the same dreary meaning: "Couldn't make both ends meet," "I had always been used to having nice things," "Couldn't make enough money to live on," "I got sick and ran behind," "Needed more money," "Impossible to feed and clothe myself," "Out of work, hadn't been able to save." Of course a girl in such a strait does not go out deliberately to find illicit methods of earning money, she simply yields in a moment of utter weariness and discouragement to the temptations she has been able to withstand up to that moment. The long hours, the lack of comforts, the low pay, the absence of recreation, the sense of "good times" all about her which she cannot share, the conviction that she is rapidly losing health and charm, rouse the molten forces within her. A swelling tide of self-pity suddenly storms the banks which have hitherto held her and finally overcomes her instincts for decency and righteousness, as well as the habit of clean living, established by generations of her forebears. The aphorism that "morals fluctuate with trade" was long considered cynical, but it has been demonstrated in Berlin, in London, in Japan, as well as in several American cities, that there is a distinct increase in the number of registered prostitutes during periods of financial depression and even during the dull season of leading local industries. Out of my own experience I am ready to assert that very often all that is necessary to effectively help the girl who is on the edge of wrong-doing is to lend her money for her board until she finds work, provide the necessary clothing for which she is in such desperate need, persuade her relatives that she should have more money for her own expenditures, or find her another place at higher wages. Upon such simple economic needs does the tried virtue of a good girl sometimes depend. Here again the immigrant girl is at a disadvantage. The average wage of two hundred newly arrived girls of various nationalities, Poles, Italians, Slovaks, Bohemians, Russians, Galatians, Croatians, Lithuanians, Roumanians, Germans, and Swedes, who were interviewed by the Immigrants' Protective League, was four dollars and a half a week for the first position which they had been able to secure in Chicago. It often takes a girl several weeks to find her first place. During this period of looking for work the immigrant girl is subjected to great dangers. It is at such times that immigrants often exhibit symptoms of that type of disordered mind which alienists pronounce "due to conflict through poor adaptation." I have known several immigrant young men as well as girls who became deranged during the first year of life in America. A young Russian who came to Chicago in the hope of obtaining the freedom and self-development denied him at home, after three months of bitter disillusionment, with no work and insufficient food, was sent to the hospital for the insane. He only recovered after a group of his young countrymen devotedly went to see him each week with promises of work, the companionship at last establishing a sense of unbroken association. I also recall a Polish girl who became utterly distraught after weeks of sleeplessness and anxiety because she could not repay fifty dollars which she had borrowed from a countryman in Chicago for the purpose of bringing her sister to America. Her case was declared hopeless, but when the creditor made reassuring visits to the patient she began to mend and now, five years later, is not only free from debt, but has brought over the rest of the family, whose united earnings are slowly paying for a house and lot. Psychiatry is demonstrating the after-effects of fear upon the minds of children, but little has yet been done to show how far that fear of the future, arising from economic insecurity in the midst of new surroundings, has superinduced insanity among newly arrived immigrants. Such a state of nervous bewilderment and fright, added to that sense of expectation which youth always carries into new surroundings, often makes it easy to exploit the virtue of an immigrant girl. It goes without saying that she is almost always exploited industrially. A Russian girl recently took a place in a Chicago clothing factory at twenty cents a day, without in the least knowing that she was undercutting the wages of even that ill-paid industry. This girl rented a room for a dollar a week and all that she had to eat was given her by a friend in the same lodging house, who shared her own scanty fare with the newcomer. In the clothing industry trade unionism has already established a minimum wage limit for thousands of women who are receiving the protection and discipline of trade organization and responding to the tonic of self-help. Low wages will doubtless in time be modified by Minimum Wage Boards representing the government's stake in industry, such as have been in successful operation for many years in certain British colonies and are now being instituted in England itself. As yet Massachusetts is the only state which has appointed a special commission to consider this establishment for America, although the Industrial Commission of Wisconsin is empowered to investigate wages and their effect upon the standard of living. Anyone who has lived among working people has been surprised at the docility with which grown-up children give all of their earnings to their parents. This is, of course, especially true of the daughters. The fifth volume of the governmental report upon "Women and Child Wage Earners in the United States," quoted earlier, gives eighty-four per cent. as the proportion of working girls who turn in all of their wages to the family fund. In most cases this is done voluntarily and cheerfully, but in many instances it is as if the tradition of woman's dependence upon her family for support held long after the actual fact had changed, or as if the tyranny established through generations when daughters could be starved into submission to a father's will, continued even after the rôles had changed, and the wages of the girl child supported a broken and dissolute father. An over-restrained girl, from whom so much is exacted, will sometimes begin to deceive her family by failing to tell them when she has had a raise in her wages. She will habitually keep the extra amount for herself, as she will any overtime pay which she may receive. All such money is invariably spent upon her own clothing, which she, of course, cannot wear at home, but which gives her great satisfaction upon the streets. The girl of the crowded tenements has no room in which to receive her friends or to read the books through which she shares the lives of assorted heroines, or, better still, dreams of them as of herself. Even if the living-room is not full of boarders or children or washing, it is comfortable neither for receiving friends nor for reading, and she finds upon the street her entire social field; the shop windows with their desirable garments hastily clothe her heroines as they travel the old roads of romance, the street cars rumbling noisily by suggest a delectable somewhere far away, and the young men who pass offer possibilities of the most delightful acquaintance. It is not astonishing that she insists upon clothing which conforms to the ideals of this all-absorbing street and that she will unhesitatingly deceive an uncomprehending family which does not recognize its importance. One such girl had for two years earned money for clothing by filling regular appointments in a disreputable saloon between the hours of six and half-past seven in the evening. With this money earned almost daily she bought the clothes of her heart's desire, keeping them with the saloon-keeper's wife. She demurely returned to her family for supper in her shabby working clothes and presented her mother with her unopened pay envelope every Saturday night. She began this life at the age of fourteen after her Polish mother had beaten her because she had "elbowed" the sleeves and "cut out" the neck of her ungainly calico gown in a vain attempt to make it look "American." Her mother, who had so conscientiously punished a daughter who was "too crazy for clothes," could never of course comprehend how dangerous a combination is the girl with an unsatisfied love for finery and the opportunities for illicit earning afforded on the street. Yet many sad cases may be traced to such lack of comprehension. Charles Booth states that in England a large proportion of parents belonging to the working and even lower middle classes, are unacquainted with the nature of the lives led by their own daughters, a result doubtless of the early freedom of the street accorded city children. Too often the mothers themselves are totally ignorant of covert dangers. A few days ago I held in my hand a pathetic little pile of letters written by a desperate young girl of fifteen before she attempted to commit suicide. These letters were addressed to her lover, her girl friends, and to the head of the rescue home, but none to her mother towards whom she felt a bitter resentment "because she did not warn me." The poor mother after the death of her husband had gone to live with a married daughter, but as the son-in-law would not "take in two" she had told the youngest daughter, who had already worked for a year as an apprentice in a dressmaking establishment, that she must find a place to live with one of her girl friends. The poor child had found this impossible, and three days after the breaking up of her home she had fallen a victim to a white slave trafficker, who had treated her most cruelly and subjected her to unspeakable indignities. It was only when her "protector" left the city, frightened by the unwonted activity of the police, due to a wave of reform, that she found her way to the rescue home, and in less than five months after the death of her father she had purchased carbolic acid and deliberately "courted death for the nameless child" and herself. Another experience during which a girl faces a peculiar danger is when she has lost one "job" and is looking for another. Naturally she loses her place in the slack season and pursues her search at the very moment when positions are hardest to find, and her un-employment is therefore most prolonged. Perhaps nothing in our social order is so unorganized and inchoate as our method, or rather lack of method, of placing young people in industry. This is obvious from the point of view of their first positions when they leave school at the unstable age of fourteen, or from the innumerable places they hold later, often as high as ten a year, when they are dismissed or change voluntarily through sheer restlessness. Here again a girl's difficulty is often increased by the lack of sympathy and understanding on the part of her parents. A girl is often afraid to say that she has lost her place and pretends to go to work each morning while she is looking for a new one; she postpones telling them at home day by day, growing more frantic as the usual pay-day approaches. Some girls borrow from loan sharks in order to take the customary wages to their parents, others fall victims to unscrupulous employment agencies in their eagerness to take the first thing offered. The majority of these girls answer the advertisements in the daily papers as affording the cheapest and safest way to secure a position. These out-of-work girls are found, sometimes as many as forty or fifty at a time, in the rest rooms of the department stores, waiting for the new edition of the newspapers after they have been the rounds of the morning advertisements and have found nothing. Of course such a possible field as these rest rooms is not overlooked by the procurer, who finds it very easy to establish friendly relations through the offer of the latest edition of the newspaper. Even pennies are precious to a girl out of work and she is also easily grateful to anyone who expresses an interest in her plight and tells her of a position. Two representatives of the Juvenile Protective Association of Chicago, during a period of three weeks, arrested and convicted seventeen men and three women who were plying their trades in the rest rooms of nine department stores. The managers were greatly concerned over this exposure and immediately arranged both for more intelligent matrons and greater vigilance. One of the less scrupulous stores voluntarily gave up a method of advertising carried on in the rest room itself where a demonstrator from "the beauty counter" made up the faces of the patrons of the rest room with the powder and paint procurable in her department below. The out-of-work girls especially availed themselves of this privilege and hoped that their search would be easier when their pale, woe-begone faces were "made beautiful." The poor girls could not know that a face thus made up enormously increased their risks. A number of girls also came early in the morning as soon as the rest rooms were open. They washed their faces and arranged their hair and then settled to sleep in the largest and easiest chairs the room afforded. Some of these were out-of-work girls also determined to take home their wages at the end of the week, each pretending to her mother that she had spent the night with a girl friend and was working all day as usual. How much of this deception is due to parental tyranny and how much to a sense of responsibility for younger children or invalids, it is impossible to estimate until the number of such recorded cases is much larger. Certain it is that the long habit of obedience, as well as the feeling of family obligation established from childhood, is often utilized by the white slave trafficker. Difficult as is the position of the girl out of work when her family is exigent and uncomprehending, she has incomparably more protection than the girl who is living in the city without home ties. Such girls form sixteen per cent. of the working women of Chicago. With absolutely every penny of their meagre wages consumed in their inadequate living, they are totally unable to save money. That loneliness and detachment which the city tends to breed in its inhabitants is easily intensified in such a girl into isolation and a desolating feeling of belonging nowhere. All youth resents the sense of the enormity of the universe in relation to the insignificance of the individual life, and youth, with that intense self-consciousness which makes each young person the very centre of all emotional experience, broods over this as no older person can possibly do. At such moments a black oppression, the instinctive fear of solitude, will send a lonely girl restlessly to walk the streets even when she is "too tired to stand," and when her desire for companionship in itself constitutes a grave danger. Such a girl living in a rented room is usually without any place in which to properly receive callers. An investigation was recently made in Kansas City of 411 lodging-houses in which young girls were living; less than 30 per cent. were found with a parlor in which guests might be received. Many girls quite innocently permit young men to call upon them in their bedrooms, pitifully disguised as "sitting-rooms," but the danger is obvious, and the standards of the girl gradually become lowered. Certainly during the trying times when a girl is out of work she should have much more intelligent help than is at present extended to her; she should be able to avail herself of the state employment agencies much more than is now possible, and the work of the newly established vocational bureaus should be enormously extended. When once we are in earnest about the abolition of the social evil, society will find that it must study industry from the point of view of the producer in a sense which has never been done before. Such a study with reference to industrial legislation will ally itself on one hand with the trades-union movement, which insists upon a living wage and shorter hours for the workers, and also upon an opportunity for self-direction, and on the other hand with the efficiency movement, which would refrain from over-fatiguing an operator as it would from over-speeding a machine. In addition to legislative enactment and the historic trade-union effort, the feebler and newer movement on the part of the employers is being reinforced by the welfare secretary, who is not only devising recreational and educational plans, but is placing before the employer much disturbing information upon the cost of living in relation to the pitiful wages of working girls. Certainly employers are growing ashamed to use the worn-out, hypocritical pretence of employing only the girl "protected by home influences" as a device for reducing wages. Help may also come from the consumers, for an increasing number of them, with compunctions in regard to tempted young employees, are not only unwilling to purchase from the employer who underpays his girls and thus to share his guilt, but are striving in divers ways to modify existing conditions. As working women enter fresh fields of labor which ever open up anew as the old fields are submerged behind them, society must endeavor to speedily protect them by an amelioration of the economic conditions which are now so unnecessarily harsh and dangerous to health and morals. The world-wide movement for establishing governmental control of industrial conditions is especially concerned for working women. Fourteen of the European countries prohibit all night work for women and almost every civilized country in the world is considering the number of hours and the character of work in which women may be permitted to safely engage. Although amelioration comes about so slowly that many young girls are sacrificed each year under conditions which could so easily and reasonably be changed, nevertheless it is apparently better to overcome the dangers in this new and freer life, which modern industry has opened to women, than it is to attempt to retreat into the domestic industry of the past; for all statistics of prostitution give the largest number of recruits for this life as coming from domestic service and the second largest number from girls who live at home with no definite occupation whatever. Therefore, although in the economic aspect of the social evil more than in any other, do we find ground for despair, at the same time we discern, as nowhere else, the young girl's stubborn power of resistance. Nevertheless, the most superficial survey of her surroundings shows the necessity for ameliorating, as rapidly as possible, the harsh economic conditions which now environ her. That steadily increasing function of the state by which it seeks to protect its workers from their own weakness and degradation, and insists that the livelihood of the manual laborer shall not be beaten down below the level of efficient citizenship, assumes new forms almost daily. From the human as well as the economic standpoint there is an obligation resting upon the state to discover how many victims of the white slave traffic are the result of social neglect, remedial incapacity, and the lack of industrial safeguards, and how far discontinuous employment and non-employment are factors in the breeding of discouragement and despair. Is it because our modern industrialism is so new that we have been slow to connect it with the poverty and vice all about us? The socialists talk constantly of the relation of economic law to destitution and point out the connection between industrial maladjustment and individual wrongdoing, but certainly the study of social conditions, the obligation to eradicate vice, cannot belong to one political party or to one economic school. It must be recognized as a solemn obligation of existing governments, and society must realize that economic conditions can only be made more righteous and more human by the unceasing devotion of generations of men. CHAPTER IV MORAL EDUCATION AND LEGAL PROTECTION OF CHILDREN No great wrong has ever arisen more clearly to the social consciousness of a generation than has that of commercialized vice in the consciousness of ours, and that we are so slow to act is simply another evidence that human nature has a curious power of callous indifference towards evils which have been so entrenched that they seem part of that which has always been. Educators of course share this attitude; at moments they seem to intensify it, although at last an educational movement in the direction of sex hygiene is beginning in the schools and colleges. Primary schools strive to satisfy the child's first questionings regarding the beginnings of human life and approach the subject through simple biological instruction which at least places this knowledge on a par with other natural facts. Such teaching is an enormous advance for the children whose curiosity would otherwise have been satisfied from poisonous sources and who would have learned of simple physiological matters from such secret undercurrents of corrupt knowledge as to have forever perverted their minds. Yet this first direct step towards an adequate educational approach to this subject has been surprisingly difficult owing to the self-consciousness of grown-up people; for while the children receive the teaching quite simply, their parents often take alarm. Doubtless co-operation with parents will be necessary before the subject can fall into its proper place in the schools. In Chicago, the largest women's club in the city has established normal courses in sex hygiene attended both by teachers and mothers, the National and State Federations of Women's Clubs are gradually preparing thousands of women throughout America for fuller co-operation with the schools in this difficult matter. In this, as in so many other educational movements, Germany has led the way. Two publications are issued monthly in Berlin, which promote not only more effective legislation but more adequate instruction in the schools on this basic subject. These journals are supported by men and women anxious for light for the sake of their children. Some of them were first stirred to action by Wedekind's powerful drama "The Awakening of Spring," which, with Teutonic grimness, thrusts over the footlights the lesson that death and degradation may be the fate of a group of gifted school-children, because of the cowardly reticence of their parents. A year ago the Bishop of London gathered together a number of influential people and laid before them his convictions that the root of the social evil lay in so-called "parental modesty," and that in the quickening of the parental conscience lay the hope for the "lifting up of England's moral tone which has for so long been the despair of England's foremost men." In America the eighth year-book of the National Society for the Scientific Study of Education treats of this important subject with great ability, massing the agencies and methods in impressive array. Many other educational journals and organized societies could be cited as expressing a new conscience in regard to this world-old evil. The expert educational opinion which they represent is practically agreed that for older children the instruction should not be confined to biology and hygiene, but may come quite naturally in history and literature, which record and portray the havoc wrought by the sexual instinct when uncontrolled, and also show that, when directed and spiritualized, it has become an inspiration to the loftiest devotions and sacrifices. The youth thus taught sees this primal instinct not only as an essential to the continuance of the race, but also, when it is transmuted to the highest ends, as a fundamental factor in social progress. The entire subject is broadened out in his mind as he learns that his own struggle is a common experience. He is able to make his own interpretations and to combat the crude inferences of his patronizing companions. After all, no young person will be able to control his impulses and to save himself from the grosser temptations, unless he has been put under the sway of nobler influences. Perhaps we have yet to learn that the inhibitions of character as well as its reinforcements come most readily through idealistic motives. Certainly all the great religions of the world have recognized youth's need of spiritual help during the trying years of adolescence. The ceremonies of the earliest religions deal with this instinct almost to the exclusion of others, and all later religions attempt to provide the youth with shadowy weapons for the struggle which lies ahead of him, for the wise men in every age have known that only the power of the spirit can overcome the lusts of the flesh. In spite of this educational advance, courses of study in many public and private schools are still prepared exactly as if educators had never known that at fifteen or sixteen years of age, the will power being still weak, the bodily desires are keen and insistent. The head master of Eton, Mr. Lyttleton, who has given much thought to this gap in the education of youth says, "The certain result of leaving an enormous majority of boys unguided and uninstructed in a matter where their strongest passions are concerned, is that they grow up to judge of all questions connected with it, from a purely selfish point of view." He contends that this selfishness is due to the fact that any single suggestion or hint which boys receive on the subject comes from other boys or young men who are under the same potent influences of ignorance, curiosity and the claims of self. No wholesome counter-balance of knowledge is given, no attempt is made to invest the subject with dignity or to place it in relation to the welfare of others and to universal law. Mr. Lyttleton contends that this alone can explain the peculiarly brutal attitude towards "outcast" women which is a sustained cruelty to be discerned in no other relation of English life. To quote him again: "But when the victims of man's cruelty are not birds or beasts but our own countrywomen, doomed by the hundred thousand to a life of unutterable shame and hopeless misery, then and then only the general average tone of young men becomes hard and brutally callous or frivolous with a kind of coarse frivolity not exhibited in relation to any other form of human suffering." At the present moment thousands of young people in our great cities possess no other knowledge of this grave social evil which may at any moment become a dangerous personal menace, save what is imparted to them in this brutal flippant spirit. It has been said that the child growing up in the midst of civilization receives from its parents and teachers something of the accumulated experience of the world on all other subjects save upon that of sex. On this one subject alone each generation learns little from its predecessors. An educator has lately pointed out that it is an old lure of vice to pretend that it alone deals with manliness and reality, and he complains that it is always difficult to convince youth that the higher planes of life contain anything but chilly sentiments. He contends that young people are therefore prone to receive moralizing and admonitions with polite attention, but when it comes to action, they carefully observe the life about them in order to conduct themselves in such wise as to be part of the really desirable world inhabited by men of affairs. Owing to this attitude, many young people living in our cities at the present moment have failed to apprehend the admonitions of religion and have never responded to its inner control. It is as if the impact of the world had stunned their spiritual natures, and as if this had occurred at the very time that a most dangerous experiment is being tried. The public gaieties formerly allowed in Catholic countries where young people were restrained by the confessional, are now permitted in cities where this restraint is altogether unknown to thousands of young people, and only faintly and traditionally operative upon thousands of others. The puritanical history of American cities assumes that these gaieties are forbidden, and that the streets are sober and decorous for conscientious young men and women who need no external protection. This ungrounded assumption, united to the fact that no adult has the confidence of these young people, who are constantly subjected to a multitude of imaginative impressions, is almost certain to result disastrously. The social relationships in a modern city are so hastily made and often so superficial, that the old human restraints of public opinion, long sustained in smaller communities, have also broken down. Thousands of young men and women in every great city have received none of the lessons in self-control which even savage tribes imparted to their children when they taught them to master their appetites as well as their emotions. These young people are perhaps further from all community restraint and genuine social control than the youth of the community have ever been in the long history of civilization. Certainly only the modern city has offered at one and the same time every possible stimulation for the lower nature and every opportunity for secret vice. Educators apparently forget that this unrestrained stimulation of young people, so characteristic of our cities, although developing very rapidly, is of recent origin, and that we have not yet seen the outcome. The present education of the average young man has given him only the most unreal protection against the temptations of the city. Schoolboys are subjected to many lures from without just at the moment when they are filled with an inner tumult which utterly bewilders them and concerning which no one has instructed them save in terms of empty precept and unintelligible warning. We are authoritatively told that the physical difficulties are enormously increased by uncontrolled or perverted imaginations, and all sound advice to young men in regard to this subject emphasizes a clean mind, exhorts an imagination kept free from sensuality and insists upon days filled with wholesome athletic interests. We allow this régime to be exactly reversed for thousands of young people living in the most crowded and most unwholesome parts of the city. Not only does the stage in its advertisements exhibit all the allurements of sex to such an extent that a play without a "love interest" is considered foredoomed to failure, but the novels which form the sole reading of thousands of young men and girls deal only with the course of true or simulated love, resulting in a rose-colored marriage, or in variegated misfortunes. Often the only recreation possible for young men and young women together is dancing, in which it is always easy to transgress the proprieties. In many public dance halls, however, improprieties are deliberately fostered. The waltzes and two-steps are purposely slow, the couples leaning heavily on each other barely move across the floor, all the jollity and bracing exercise of the peasant dance is eliminated, as is all the careful decorum of the formal dance. The efforts to obtain pleasure or to feed the imagination are thus converged upon the senses which it is already difficult for young people to understand and to control. It is therefore not remarkable that in certain parts of the city groups of idle young men are found whose evil imaginations have actually inhibited their power for normal living. On the streets or in the pool-rooms where they congregate their conversation, their tales of adventure, their remarks upon women who pass by, all reveal that they have been caught in the toils of an instinct so powerful and primal that when left without direction it can easily overwhelm its possessor and swamp his faculties. These young men, who do no regular work, who expect to be supported by their mothers and sisters and to get money for the shows and theatres by any sort of disreputable undertaking, are in excellent training for the life of the procurer, and it is from such groups that they are recruited. There is almost a system of apprenticeship, for boys when very small act as "look-outs" and are later utilized to make acquaintances with girls in order to introduce them to professionals. From this they gradually learn the method of procuring girls and at last do an independent business. If one boy is successful in such a life, throughout his acquaintance runs the rumor that a girl is an asset that will bring a larger return than can possibly be earned in hard-working ways. Could the imaginations of these young men have been controlled and cultivated, could the desire for adventure have been directed into wholesome channels, could these idle boys have been taught that, so far from being manly they were losing all virility, could higher interests have been aroused and standards given them in relation to this one aspect of life, the entire situation of commercialized vice would be a different thing. The girls with a desire for adventure seem confined to this one dubious outlet even more than the boys, although there are only one-eighth as many delinquent girls as boys brought into the juvenile court in Chicago, the charge against the girls in almost every instance involves a loss of chastity. One of them who was vainly endeavoring to formulate the causes of her downfall, concentrated them all in the single statement that she wanted the other girls to know that she too was a "good Indian." Such a girl, while she is not an actual member of a gang of boys, is often attached to one by so many loyalties and friendships that she will seldom testify against a member, even when she has been injured by him. She also depends upon the gang when she requires bail in the police court or the protection that comes from political influence, and she is often very proud of her quasi-membership. The little girls brought into the juvenile court are usually daughters of those poorest immigrant families living in the worst type of city tenements, who are frequently forced to take boarders in order to pay the rent. A surprising number of little girls have first become involved in wrong-doing through the men of their own households. A recent inquiry among 130 girls living in a sordid red light district disclosed the fact that a majority of them had thus been victimized and the wrong had come to them so early that they had been despoiled at an average age of eight years. Looking upon the forlorn little creatures, who are often brought into the Chicago juvenile court to testify against their own relatives, one is seized with that curious compunction Goethe expressed in the now hackneyed line from "Mignon:" "Was hat Man dir, du armes Kind, gethan?" One is also inclined to reproach educators for neglecting to give children instruction in play when one sees the unregulated amusement parks which are apparently so dangerous to little girls twelve or fourteen years old. Because they are childishly eager for amusement and totally unable to pay for a ride on the scenic railway or for a ticket to an entertainment, these disappointed children easily accept many favors from the young men who are standing near the entrances for the express purpose of ruining them. The hideous reward which is demanded from them later in the evening, after they have enjoyed the many "treats" which the amusement park offers, apparently seems of little moment. Their childish minds are filled with the memory of the lurid pleasures to the oblivion of the later experience, and they eagerly tell their companions of this possibility "of getting in to all the shows." These poor little girls pass unnoticed amidst a crowd of honest people seeking recreation after a long day's work, groups of older girls walking and talking gaily with young men of their acquaintance, and happy children holding their parents' hands. This cruel exploitation of the childish eagerness for pleasure is, of course, possible only among a certain type of forlorn city children who are totally without standards and into whose colorless lives a visit to the amusement park brings the acme of delirious excitement. It is possible that these children are the inevitable product of city life; in Paris, little girls at local fêtes wishing to ride on the hobby horse frequently buy the privilege at a fearful price from the man directing the machinery, and a physician connected with the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children writes: "It is horribly pathetic to learn how far a nickel or a quarter will go towards purchasing the virtue of these children." The home environment of such children has been similar to that of many others who come to grief through the five-cent theatres. These eager little people, to whom life has offered few pleasures, crowd around the door hoping to be taken in by some kind soul and, when they have been disappointed over and over again and the last performance is about to begin, a little girl may be induced unthinkingly to barter her chastity for an entrance fee. Many children are also found who have been decoyed into their first wrong-doing through the temptation of the saloon, in spite of the fact that one of the earliest regulations in American cities for the protection of children was the prohibition of the sale of liquor to minors. That children may be easily demoralized by the influence of a disorderly saloon was demonstrated recently in Chicago; one of these saloons was so situated that the pupils of a public school were obliged to pass it and from the windows of the schoolhouse itself could see much of what was passing within the place. An effort was made by the Juvenile Protective Association to have it closed by the chief of police, but although he did so, it was opened again the following day. The Association then took up the matter with the mayor, who refused to interfere, insisting that the objectionable features had been eliminated. Through months of effort, during which time the practices of the place remained quite unchanged, one group after another of public-spirited citizens endeavored to suppress what had become a public scandal, only to find that the place was protected by brewery interests which were more powerful, both financially and politically, than themselves. At last, after a peculiarly flagrant case involving a little girl, the mothers of the neighborhood arranged a mass meeting in the schoolhouse itself, inviting local officials to be present. The mothers then produced a mass of testimony which demonstrated that dozens and hundreds of children had been directly or indirectly affected by the place whose removal they demanded. A meeting so full of genuine anxiety and righteous indignation could not well be disregarded, and the compulsory education department was at last able to obtain a revocation of the license. The many people who had so long tried to do away with this avowedly disreputable saloon received a fresh impression of the menace to children who became sophisticated by daily familiarity with vice. Yet many mothers, hard pressed by poverty, are obliged to rent houses next to vicious neighborhoods and their children very early become familiar with all the outer aspects of vice. Among them are the children of widows who make friends with their dubious neighbors during the long days while their mothers are at work. I recall two sisters in one family whose mother had moved her household to the borders of a Chicago segregated district, apparently without knowing the character of the neighborhood. The little sisters, twelve and eight years old, accepted many invitations from a kind neighbor to come into her house to see her pretty things. The older girl was delighted to be "made up" with powder and paint and to try on long dresses, while the little one who sang very prettily was taught some new songs, happily without understanding their import. The tired mother knew nothing of what the children did during her absence, until an honest neighbor who had seen the little girls going in and out of the district, interfered on their behalf. The frightened mother moved back to her old neighborhood which she had left in search of cheaper rent, her pious soul stirred to its depths that the children for whom she patiently worked day by day had so narrowly escaped destruction. Who cannot recall at least one of these desperate mothers, overworked and harried through a long day, prolonged by the family washing and cooking into the evening, followed by a night of foreboding and misgiving because the very children for whom her life is sacrificed are slowly slipping away from her control and affection? Such a spectacle forces one into an agreement with Wells, that it is a "monstrous absurdity" that women who are "discharging their supreme social function, that of rearing children, should do it in their spare time, as it were, while they 'earn their living' by contributing some half-mechanical element to some trivial industrial product." Nevertheless, such a woman whose wages are fixed on the basis of individual subsistence, who is quite unable to earn a family wage, is still held by a legal obligation to support her children with the desperate penalty of forfeiture if she fail. I can recall a very intelligent woman who long brought her children to the Hull House day nursery with this result at the end of ten years of devotion: the little girl is almost totally deaf owing to neglect following a case of measles, because her mother could not stop work in order to care for her; the youngest boy has lost a leg flipping cars; the oldest boy has twice been arrested for petty larceny; the twin boys, in spite of prolonged sojourns in the parental school, have been such habitual truants that their natural intelligence has secured little aid from education. Of the five children three are now in semi-penal institutions, supported by the state. It would not therefore have been so un-economical to have boarded them with their own mother, requiring a standard of nutrition and school attendance at least up to that national standard of nurture which the more advanced European governments are establishing. The recent Illinois law, providing that the children of widows may be supported by public funds paid to the mother upon order of the juvenile court, will eventually restore a mother's care to these poor children; but in the meantime, even the poor mother who is receiving such aid, in her forced search for cheap rent may be continually led nearer to the notoriously evil districts. Many appeals made to landlords of disreputable houses in Chicago on behalf of the children living adjacent to such property have never secured a favorable response. It is apparently difficult for the average property owner to resist the high rents which houses in certain districts of the city can command if rented for purposes of vice. I recall two small frame houses identical in type and value standing side by side. One which belonged to a citizen without scruples was rented for $30.00 a month, the other belonging to a conscientious man was rented for $9.00 a month. The supposedly respectable landlords defend themselves behind the old sophistry: "If I did not rent my house for such a purpose, someone else would," and the more hardened ones say that "It is all in the line of business." Both of them are enormously helped by the secrecy surrounding the ownership of such houses, although it is hoped that the laws requiring the name of the owner and the agent of every multiple house to be posted in the public hallway will at length break through this protection, and the discovered landlords will then be obliged to pay the fine to which the law specifically states they have made themselves liable. In the meantime, women forced to find cheap rents are subjected to one more handicap in addition to the many others poverty places upon them. Such experiences may explain the fact that English figures show a very large proportion of widows and deserted women among the prostitutes in those large towns which maintain segregated districts. The deprivation of a mother's care is most frequently experienced by the children of the poorest colored families who are often forced to live in disreputable neighborhoods because they literally cannot rent houses anywhere else. Both because rents are always high for colored people and because the colored mothers are obliged to support their children, seven times as many of them, in proportion to their entire number, as of the white mothers, the actual number of colored children neglected in the midst of temptation is abnormally large. So closely is child life founded upon the imitation of what it sees that the child who knows all evil is almost sure in the end to share it. Colored children seldom roam far from their own neighborhoods: in the public playgrounds, which are theoretically open to them, they are made so uncomfortable by the slights of other children that they learn to stay away, and, shut out from legitimate recreation, are all the more tempted by the careless, luxurious life of a vicious neighborhood. In addition to the colored girls who have thus from childhood grown familiar with the outer aspects of vice, are others who are sent into the district in the capacity of domestic servants by unscrupulous employment agencies who would not venture to thus treat a white girl. The community forces the very people who have confessedly the shortest history of social restraint, into a dangerous proximity with the vice districts of the city. This results, as might easily be predicted, in a very large number of colored girls entering a disreputable life. The negroes themselves believe that the basic cause for the high percentage of colored prostitutes is the recent enslavement of their race with its attendant unstable marriage and parental status, and point to thousands of slave sales that but two generations ago disrupted the negroes' attempts at family life. Knowing this as we do, it seems all the more unjustifiable that the nation which is responsible for the broken foundations of this family life should carelessly permit the negroes, making their first struggle towards a higher standard of domesticity, to be subjected to the most flagrant temptations which our civilization tolerates. The imaginations of even very young children may easily be forced into sensual channels. A little girl, twelve years old, was one day brought to the psychopathic clinic connected with the Chicago juvenile court. She had been detained under police surveillance for more than a week, while baffled detectives had in vain tried to verify the statements she had made to her Sunday-school teacher in great detail of certain horrible experiences which had befallen her. For at least a week no one concerned had the remotest idea that the child was fabricating. The police thought that she had merely grown confused as to the places to which she had been "carried unconscious." The mother gave the first clue when she insisted that the child had never been away from her long enough to have had these experiences, but came directly home from school every afternoon for her tea, of which she habitually drank ten or twelve cups. The skilful questionings at the clinic, while clearly establishing the fact of a disordered mind, disclosed an astonishing knowledge of the habits of the underworld. Even children who live in respectable neighborhoods and are guarded by careful parents so that their imaginations are not perverted, but only starved, constantly conduct a search for the magical and impossible which leads them into moral dangers. An astonishing number of them consult palmists, soothsayers, and fortune tellers. These dealers in futurity, who sell only love and riches, the latter often dependent upon the first, are sometimes in collusion with disreputable houses, and at the best make the path of normal living more difficult for their eager young patrons. There is something very pathetic in the sheepish, yet radiant, faces of the boy and girl, often together, who come out on the street from a dingy doorway which bears the palmist's sign of the spread-out hand. This remnant of primitive magic is all they can find with which to feed their eager imaginations, although the city offers libraries and galleries, crowned with man's later imaginative achievements. One hard-working girl of my acquaintance, told by a palmist that "diamonds were coming to her soon," afterwards accepted without a moment's hesitation a so-called diamond ring from a man whose improper attentions she had hitherto withstood. In addition to these heedless young people, pulled into a sordid and vicious life through their very search for romance, are many little children ensnared by means of the most innocent playthings and pleasures of childhood. Perhaps one of the saddest aspects of the social evil as it exists to-day in the modern city, is the procuring of little girls who are too young to have received adequate instruction of any sort and whose natural safeguard of modesty and reserve has been broken down by the overcrowding of tenement house life. Any educator who has made a careful study of the children from the crowded districts is impressed with the numbers of them whose moral natures are apparently unawakened. While there are comparatively few of these non-moral children in any one neighborhood, in the entire city their number is far from negligible. Such children are used by disreputable people to invite their more normal playmates to house parties, which they attend again and again, lured by candy and fruit, until they gradually learn to trust the vicious hostess. The head of one such house, recently sent to the penitentiary upon charges brought against her by the Juvenile Protective Association, founded her large and successful business upon the activities of three or four little girls who, although they had gradually come to understand her purpose, were apparently so chained to her by the goodies and favors which they received, that they were quite indifferent to the fate of their little friends. Such children, when brought to the psychopathic clinic attached to the Chicago juvenile court, are sometimes found to have incipient epilepsy or other physical disabilities from which their conduct may be at least partially accounted for. Sometimes they come from respectable families, but more often from families where they have been mistreated and where dissolute parents have given them neither affection nor protection. Many of these children whose relatives have obviously contributed to their delinquency are helped by the enforcement of the adult delinquency law. One looks upon these hardened little people with a sense of apology that educational forces have not been able to break into their first ignorance of life before it becomes toughened into insensibility, and one knows that, whatever may be done for them later, because of this early neglect, they will probably always remain impervious to the gentler aspects of life, as if vice seared their tender minds with red-hot irons. Our public-school education is so nearly universal, that if the entire body of the teachers seriously undertook to instruct all American youth in regard to this most important aspect of life, why should they not in time train their pupils to continence and self-direction, as they already discipline their minds with knowledge in regard to many other matters? Certainly the extreme youth of the victims of the white slave traffic, both boys and girls, places a great responsibility upon the educational forces of the community. The state which supports the public school is also coming to the rescue of children through protective legislation. This is another illustration that the beginnings of social advance have often resulted from the efforts to defend the weakest and least-sheltered members of the community. The widespread movement which would protect children from premature labor, also prohibits them from engaging in occupations in which they are subjected to moral dangers. Several American cities have of late become much concerned over the temptations to which messenger boys, delivery boys, and newsboys are constantly subjected when their business takes them into vicious districts. The Chicago vice commission makes a plea for these "children of the night" that they shall be protected by law from those temptations which they are too young and too untrained to withstand. New York and Wisconsin are the only states which have raised the legal age of messenger boys employed late at night to twenty-one years. Under the inadequate sixteen-year limit, which regulates night work for children in Illinois, boys constantly come to grief through their familiarity with the social evil. One of these, a delicate boy of seventeen, had been put into the messenger service by his parents when their family doctor had recommended out-of-door work. Because he was well-bred and good-looking, he became especially popular with the inmates of disreputable houses. They gave him tips of a dollar and more when he returned from the errands which he had executed for them, such as buying candy, cocaine or morphine. He was inevitably flattered by their attentions and pleased with his own popularity. Although his mother knew that his duties as a messenger boy occasionally took him to disreputable houses, she fervently hoped his early training might keep him straight, but in the end realized the foolhardiness of subjecting an immature youth to these temptations. The vice commission report gives various detailed instances of similar experiences on the part of other lads, one of them being a high-school boy who was merely earning extra money as a messenger boy during the rush of Christmas week. The regulations in Boston, New York, Cincinnati, Milwaukee and St. Louis for the safeguarding of these children may be but a forecast of the care which the city will at last learn to devise for youth under special temptations. Because the various efforts made in Chicago to obtain adequate legislation for the protection of street-trading children have not succeeded, incidents like the following have not only occurred once, but are constantly repeated: a pretty little girl, the only child of a widowed mother, sold newspapers after school hours from the time she was seven years old. Because her home was near a vicious neighborhood and because the people in the disreputable hotels seldom asked for change when they bought a paper and good-naturedly gave her many little presents, her mother permitted her to gain a clientele within the district on the ground that she was too young to understand what she might see. This continued familiarity, in spite of her mother's admonitions, not to talk to her customers, inevitably resulted in so vitiating the standard of the growing girl, that at the age of fourteen she became an inmate of one of the houses. A similar instance concerns three little girls who habitually sold gum in one of the segregated districts. Because they had repeatedly been turned away by kind-hearted policemen who felt that they ought not to be in such a neighborhood, each one of these children had obtained a special permit from the mayor of the city in order to protect herself from "police interference." While the mayor had no actual authority to issue such permits, naturally the piece of paper bearing his name, when displayed by a child, checked the activity of the police officer. The incident was but one more example of the old conflict between mistaken kindness to the individual child in need of money, and the enforcement of those regulations which may seem to work a temporary hardship upon one child, but save a hundred others from entering occupations which can only lead into blind alleys. Because such occupations inevitably result in increasing the number of unemployables, the educational system itself must be challenged. A royal commission has recently recommended to the English Parliament that "the legally permissible hours for the employment of boys be shortened, that they be required to spend the hours so set free, in physical and technological training, that the manufacturing of the unemployable may cease." Certainly we are justified in demanding from our educational system, that the interest and capacity of each child leaving school to enter industry, shall have been studied with reference to the type of work he is about to undertake. When vocational bureaus are properly connected with all the public schools, a girl will have an intelligent point of departure into her working life, and a place to which she may turn in time of need, for help and advice through those long and dangerous periods of unemployment which are now so inimical to her character. This same British commission divided all of the unemployed, the under-employed, and the unemployable as the results of three types of trades: first, the subsidized labor trades, wherein women and children are paid wages insufficient to maintain them at the required standard of health and industrial efficiency, so that their wages must be supplemented by relatives or charity; second, labor deteriorating trades, which have sapped the energy, the capacity, the character, of workers; third, bare subsistence trades, where the worker is forced to such a low level in his standard of life that he continually falls below self-support. We have many trades of these three types in America, all of them demanding the work of young and untrained girls. Yet, in spite of the obvious dangers surrounding every girl who enters one of them, little is done to guide the multitude of children who leave school prematurely each year into reasonable occupations. Unquestionably the average American child has received a more expensive education than has yet been accorded to the child of any other nation. The girls working in department stores have been in the public schools on an average of eight years, while even the factory girls, who so often leave school from the lower grades, have yet averaged six and two-tenths years of education at the public expense, before they enter industrial life. Certainly the community that has accomplished so much could afford them help and oversight for six and a half years longer, which is the average length of time that a working girl is employed. The state might well undertake this, if only to secure its former investment and to save that investment from utter loss. Our generation, said to have developed a new enthusiasm for the possibilities of child life, and to have put fresh meaning into the phrase "children's rights," may at last have the courage to insist upon a child's right to be well born and to start in life with its tiny body free from disease. Certainly allied to this new understanding of child life and a part of the same movement is the new science of eugenics with its recently appointed university professors. Its organized societies publish an ever-increasing mass of information as to that which constitutes the inheritance of well-born children. When this new science makes clear to the public that those diseases which are a direct outcome of the social evil are clearly responsible for race deterioration, effective indignation may at last be aroused, both against the preventable infant mortality for which these diseases are responsible, and against the ghastly fact that the survivors among these afflicted children infect their contemporaries and hand on the evil heritage to another generation. Public societies for the prevention of blindness are continually distributing information on the care of new-born children and may at length answer that old, confusing question "Did this man sin or his parents, that he was born blind?" Such knowledge is becoming more widespread every day and the rising interest in infant welfare must in time react upon the very existence of the social-evil itself. This new public concern for the welfare of little children in certain American cities has resulted in a municipal milk supply; in many German cities, in free hospitals and nurseries. New York, Chicago, Boston and other large towns, employ hundreds of nurses each summer to instruct tenement-house mothers upon the care of little children. Doubtless all of this enthusiasm for the nurture of children will at last arouse public opinion in regard to the transmission of that one type of disease which thousands of them annually inherit, and which is directly traceable to the vicious living of their parents or grandparents. This slaughter of the innocents, this infliction of suffering upon the new-born, is so gratuitous and so unfair, that it is only a question of time until an outraged sense of justice shall be aroused on behalf of these children. But even before help comes through chivalric sentiments, governmental and municipal agencies will decline to spend the tax-payers' money for the relief of suffering infants, when by the exertion of the same authority they could easily provide against the possibility of the birth of a child so afflicted. It is obvious that the average tax-payer would be moved to demand the extermination of that form of vice which has been declared illegal, although it still flourishes by official connivance, did he once clearly apprehend that it is responsible for the existence of these diseases which cost him so dear. It is only his ignorance which makes him remain inert until each victim of the white slave traffic shall be avenged unto the third and fourth generation of them that bought her. It is quite possible that the tax-payer will himself contend that, as the state does not legalize a marriage without a license officially recorded, that the status of children may be clearly defined, so the state would need to go but one step further in the same direction, to insist upon health certificates from the applicant for a marriage license, that the health of future children might in a certain measure, be guaranteed. Whether or not this step may be predicted, the mere discussion of this matter in itself, is an indication of the changing public opinion, as is the fact that such legislation has already been enacted in two states, which are only now putting into action the recommendation made centuries ago by such social philosophers as Plato and Sir Thomas More. A sense of justice outraged by the wanton destruction of new-born children, may in time unite with that ardent tide of rising enthusiasm for the nurture of the young, until the old barriers of silence and inaction, behind which the social evil has so long intrenched itself, shall at last give way. Certainly it will soon be found that the sentiment of pity, so recently aroused throughout the country on behalf of the victims of the white slave traffic, will be totally unable to afford them protection unless it becomes incorporated in government. It is possible that we are on the eve of a series of legislative enactments similar to those which resulted from the attempts to regulate child labor. Through the entire course of the last century, in that anticipation of coming changes which does so much to bring changes about, the friends of the children were steadily engaged in making a new state, from the first child labor law passed in the English parliament in 1803 to the final passage of the so-called children's charter in 1909. During the long century of transforming pity into political action there was created that social sympathy which has become one of the greatest forces in modern legislation, and to which we may confidently appeal in this new crusade against the social evil. Another point of similarity to the child labor movement is obvious, for the friends of the children early found that they needed much statistical information and that the great problem of the would-be reformer is not so much overcoming actual opposition--the passing of time gradually does that for him--as obtaining and formulating accurate knowledge and fitting that knowledge into the trend of his time. From this point of view and upon the basis of what has already been accomplished for "the protection of minors," the many recent investigations which have revealed the extreme youth of the victims of the white slave traffic, should make legislation on their behalf all the more feasible. Certainly no reformer could ever more legitimately make an emotional appeal to the higher sensibility of the public. In the rescue homes recently opened in Chicago by the White Slave Traffic Committee of the League of Cook County Clubs, the tender ages of the little girls who were brought there horrified the good clubwomen more than any other aspect of the situation. A number of the little inmates in the home wanted to play with dolls and several of them brought dolls of their own, which they had kept with them through all their vicissitudes. There is something literally heart-breaking in the thought of these little children who are ensnared and debauched when they are still young enough to have every right to protection and care. Quite recently I visited a home for semi-delinquent girls against each one of whom stood a grave charge involving the loss of her chastity. Upon each of the little white beds or on one of the stiff chairs standing by its side was a doll belonging to a delinquent owner still young enough to love and cherish this supreme toy of childhood. I had come to the home prepared to "lecture to the inmates." I remained to dress dolls with a handful of little girls who eagerly asked questions about the dolls I had once possessed in a childhood which seemed to them so remote. Looking at the little victims who supply the white slave trade, one is reminded of the burning words of Dr. Howard Kelly uttered in response to the demand that the social evil be legalized and its victims licensed. He says: "Where shall we look to recruit the ever-failing ranks of these poor creatures as they die yearly by the tens of thousands? Which of the little girls of our land shall we designate for this traffic? Mark their sweet innocence to-day as they run about in our streets and parks prattling and playing, ever busy about nothing; which of them shall we snatch as they approach maturity, to supply this foul mart?" It is incomprehensible that a nation whose chief boast is its free public education, that a people always ready to respond to any moral or financial appeal made in the name of children, should permit this infamy against childhood to continue! Only the protection of all children from the menacing temptations which their youth is unable to withstand, will prevent some of them from falling victims to the white slave traffic; only when moral education is made effective and universal will there be hope for the actual abolition of commercialized vice. These are illustrations perhaps of that curious solidarity of which society is so rapidly becoming conscious. CHAPTER V PHILANTHROPIC RESCUE AND PREVENTION There is no doubt that philanthropy often reflects and dramatizes the modern sensitiveness of the community in relation to a social wrong, because those engaged in the rescue of the victims are able to apprehend, through their daily experiences, many aspects of a recognized evil concerning which the public are ignorant and therefore indifferent. However ancient a wrong may be, in each generation it must become newly embodied in living people and the social custom into which it has hardened through the years, must be continued in individual lives. Unless the contemporaries of such unhappy individuals are touched to tenderness or stirred to indignation by the actual embodiments of the old wrong in their own generation, effective action cannot be secured. The social evil has, on the whole, received less philanthropic effort than any other well-recognized menace to the community, largely because there is something peculiarly distasteful and distressing in personal acquaintance with its victims; a distaste and distress that sometimes leads to actual nervous collapse. A distinguished Englishman has recently written "that sober-minded people who, from motives of pity, have looked the hideous evil full in the face, have often asserted that nothing in their experience has seemed to threaten them so nearly with a loss of reason." Nevertheless, this comparative lack of philanthropic effort is the more remarkable because the average age of the recruits to prostitution is between sixteen and eighteen years, the age at which girls are still minors under the law in respect to all matters of property. We allow a minor to determine for herself whether or not she will live this most abominable life, although if she resolve to be a thief she will, if possible, be apprehended and imprisoned; if she become a vagrant she will be restrained; even if she become a professional beggar, she will be interfered with; but the decision to lead this evil life, disastrous alike to herself and the community, although well known to the police, is openly permitted. If a man has seized upon a moment of weakness in a girl and obtained her consent, although she may thereafter be in dire need of help she is put outside all protection of the law. The courts assume that such a girl has deliberately decided for herself and that because she is not "of previous chaste life and character," she is lost to all decency. Yet every human being knows deep down in his heart that his own moral energy ebbs and flows, that he could not be judged fairly by his hours of defeat, and that after revealing moments of weakness, although shocked and frightened, he is the same human being, struggling as he did before. Nevertheless in some states, a little girl as young as ten years of age may make this irrevocable decision for herself. Modern philanthropy, continually discovering new aspects of prostitution through the aid of economics, sanitary science, statistical research, and many other agencies, finds that this increase of knowledge inevitably leads it from the attempt to rescue the victims of white slavery to a consideration of the abolition of the monstrous wrong itself. At the present moment philanthropy is gradually impelled to a consideration of prostitution in relation to the welfare and the orderly existence of society itself. If the moral fire seems at times to be dying out of certain good old words, such as charity, it is filling with new warmth such words as social justice, which belong distinctively to our own time. It is also true that those for whom these words contain most of hope and warmth are those who have been long mindful of the old tasks and obligations, as if the great basic emotion of human compassion had more than held its own. Certainly the youth of many of the victims of the white slave traffic, and the helplessness of the older girls who find themselves caught in the grip of an enormous force which they cannot comprehend, make a most pitiful appeal. Philanthropy moreover discovers many young girls, who if they had not been rescued by protective agencies would have become permanent outcasts, although they would have entered a disreputable life through no fault of their own. The illustrations in this chapter are all taken from the Juvenile Protective Association of Chicago in connection with its efforts to save girls from overwhelming temptation. Doubtless many other associations could offer equally convincing testimony, for in recent years the number of people to whom the very existence of the white slave traffic has become unendurable and who are determinedly working against it, has enormously increased. A surprising number of country girls have been either brought to Chicago under false pretences, or have been decoyed into an evil life very soon after their arrival in the city. Mr. Clifford Roe estimates that more than half of the girls who have been recruited into a disreputable life in Chicago have come from the farms and smaller towns in Illinois and from neighboring states. This estimate is borne out by the records of Paris and other metropolitan cities in which it is universally estimated that a little less than one-third of the prostitutes found in them, at any given moment, are city born. The experience of a pretty girl who came to the office of the Juvenile Protective Association, a year ago, is fairly typical of the argument many of these country girls offer in their own defense. This girl had been a hotel chambermaid in an Iowa town where many of the traveling patrons of the hotel had made love to her, one of them occasionally offering her protection if she would leave with him. At first she indignantly refused, but was at length convinced that the acceptance of such offers must be a very general practice and that, whatever might be the custom in the country, no one in a city made personal inquiries. She finally consented to accompany a young man to Seattle, both because she wanted to travel and because she was discouraged in her attempts to "be good." A few weeks later, when in Chicago, she had left the young man, acting from what she considered a point of honor, as his invitation had been limited to the journey which was now completed. Feeling too disgraced to go home and under the glamour of the life of idleness she had been leading, she had gone voluntarily into a disreputable house, in which the police had found her and sent her to the Association. She could not be persuaded to give up her plan, but consented to wait for a few days to "think it over." As she was leaving the office in company with a representative of the Association, they met the young man, who had been distractedly searching for her and had just discovered her whereabouts. She was married the very same day and of course the Association never saw her again. From the point of view of the traffickers in white slaves, it is much cheaper and safer to procure country girls after they have reached the city. Such girls are in constant danger because they are much more easily secreted than girls procured from the city. A country girl entering a vicious life quickly feels the disgrace and soon becomes too broken-spirited and discouraged to make any effort to escape into the unknown city which she believes to be full of horrors similar to those she has already encountered. She desires above all things to deceive her family at home, often sending money to them regularly and writing letters describing a fictitious life of hard work. Perhaps the most flagrant case with which the Association ever dealt, was that of two young girls who had come to Chicago from a village in West Virginia, hoping to earn large wages in order to help their families. They arrived in the city penniless, having been robbed en route of their one slender purse. As they stood in the railway station, utterly bewildered, they were accosted by a young man who presented the advertising card of a boarding-house and offered to take them there. They quite innocently accepted his invitation, but an hour later, finding themselves in a locked room, they became frightened and realized they had been duped. Fortunately the two agile country girls had no difficulty in jumping from a second-story window, but upon the street they were of course much too frightened to speak to anyone again and wandered about for hours. The house from which they had escaped bore the sign "rooms to rent," and they therefore carefully avoided all houses whose placards offered shelter. Finally, when they were desperate with hunger, they went into a saloon for a "free lunch," not in the least realizing that they were expected to take a drink in order to receive it. A policeman, seeing two young girls in a saloon "without escort," arrested them and took them to the nearest station where they spent the night in a wretched cell. At the hearing the next morning, where, much frightened, they gave a very incoherent account of their adventures, the judge fined them each fifteen dollars and costs, and as they were unable to pay the fine, they were ordered sent to the city prison. When they were escorted from the court room, another man approached them and offered to pay their fines if they would go with him. Frightened by their former experience, they stoutly declined his help, but were over-persuaded by his graphic portrayal of prison horrors and the disgrace that their imprisonment would bring upon "the folks at home." He also made clear that when they came out of prison, thirty days later, they would be no better off than they were now, save that they would have the added stigma of being jail-birds. The girls at last reluctantly consented to go with him, when a representative of the Juvenile Protective Association, who had followed them from the court room and had listened to the conversation, insisted upon the prompt arrest of the white slave trader. When the entire story, finally secured from the girls, was related to the judge, he reversed his decision, fined the man $100.00, which he was abundantly able to pay, and insisted that the girls be sent back to their mothers in Virginia. They were farmers' daughters, strong and capable of taking care of themselves in an environment that they understood, but in constant danger because of their ignorance of city life. The methods employed to secure city girls must be much more subtle and complicated than those employed with the less sophisticated country girl. Although the city girl, once procured, is later allowed more freedom than is accorded either to a country girl or to an immigrant girl, every effort is made to demoralize her completely before she enters the life. Because she may, at any moment, escape into the city which she knows so well, it is necessary to obtain her inner consent. Those whose profession it is to procure girls for the white slave trade apparently find it possible to decoy and demoralize most easily that city girl whose need for recreation has led her to the disreputable public dance hall or other questionable places of amusement. Gradually those philanthropic agencies that are endeavoring to be of service to the girls learn to know the dangers in these places. Many parents are utterly indifferent or ignorant of the pleasures that their children find for themselves. From the time these children were five years old, such parents were accustomed to see them take care of themselves on the street and at school, and it seems but natural that when the children are old enough to earn money, they should be able to find their own amusements. The girls are attracted to the unregulated dance halls not only by a love of pleasure but by a sense of adventure, and it is in these places that they are most easily recruited for a vicious life. Unfortunately there are three hundred and twenty-eight public dance halls in Chicago, one hundred and ninety of them connect directly with saloons, while liquor is openly sold in most of the others. This consumption of liquor enormously increases the danger to young people. A girl after a long day's work is easily induced to believe that a drink will dispel her lassitude. There is plenty of time between the dances to persuade her, as the intermissions are long, fifteen to twenty minutes, and the dances short, occupying but four or five minutes; moreover the halls are hot and dusty and it is almost impossible to obtain a drink of water. Often the entire purpose of the dance hall, with its carefully arranged intermissions, is the selling of liquor to the people it has brought together. After the girl has begun to drink, the way of the procurer, who is often in league with the "spieler" who frequents the dance hall, is comparatively easy. He assumes one of two rôles, that of the sympathetic older man or that of the eager young lover. In the character of the former, he tells "the down-trodden working girl" that her wages are a mere pittance and that he can procure a better place for her with higher wages if she will trust him. He often makes allusions to the shabbiness or cheapness of her clothing and considers it "a shame that such a pretty girl cannot dress better." In the second rôle he apparently falls in love with her, tells of his rich parents, complaining that they want him to marry, "a society swell," but that he really prefers a working girl like herself. In either case he establishes friendly relations, exalted in the girl's mind, through the excitement of the liquor and the dance, into a new sense of intimate understanding and protection. Later in the evening, she leaves the hall with him for a restaurant because, as he truthfully says, she is exhausted and in need of food. At the supper, however, she drinks much more, and it is not surprising that she is at last persuaded that it is too late to go home and in the end consents to spend the rest of the night in a nearby lodging house. Six young girls, each accompanied by a "spieler" from a dance hall, were recently followed to a chop suey restaurant and then to a lodging-house, which the police were instigated to raid and where the six girls, more or less intoxicated, were found. If no one rescues the girl after such an experience, she sometimes does not return home at all, or if she does, feels herself initiated into a new world where it is possible to obtain money at will, to easily secure the pleasures it brings, and she comes at length to consider herself superior to her less sophisticated companions. Of course this latter state of mind is untenable for any length of time and the girl is soon found openly leading a disreputable life. The girls attending the cheap theatres and the vaudeville shows are most commonly approached through their vanity. They readily listen to the triumphs of a stage career, sure to be attained by such a "good looker," and a large number of them follow a young man to the woman with whom he is in partnership, under the promise of being introduced to a theatrical manager. There are also theatrical agencies in league with disreputable places, who advertise for pretty girls, promising large salaries. Such an agency operating with a well-known "near theatre" in the state capital was recently prosecuted in Chicago and its license revoked. In this connection the experience of two young English girls is not unusual. They were sisters possessed of an extraordinary skill in juggling, who were brought to this country by a relative acting as their manager. Although he exploited them for his own benefit for three years, paying them the most meager salaries and supplying them with the simplest living in the towns which they "toured," he had protected them from all immorality, and they had preserved the clean living of the family of acrobats to which they belonged. Last October, when appearing in San Francisco, the girls, then sixteen and seventeen years of age, demanded more pay than the dollar and twenty cents a week each had been receiving, representing the five shillings with which they had started from home. The manager, who had become discouraged with his American experience, refused to accede to their demands, gave them each a ticket for Chicago, and heartlessly turned them adrift. Arriving in the city, they quite naturally at once applied to a theatrical agency, through which they were sent to a disreputable house where a vaudeville program was given each night. Delighted that they had found work so quickly, they took the position in good faith. During the very first performance, however, they became frightened by the conduct of the girls who preceded them on the program and by the hilarity of the audience. They managed to escape from the dressing-room, where they were waiting their turn, and on the street appealed to the first policeman, who brought them to the Juvenile Protective Association. They were detained for several days as witnesses against the theatrical agency, entering into the legal prosecution with that characteristic British spirit which is ever ready to protest against an imposition, before they left the city with a travelling company, each on a weekly salary of twenty dollars. The methods pursued on excursion boats are similar to those of the dance halls, in that decent girls are induced to drink quantities of liquor to which they are unaccustomed. On the high seas, liquor is sold usually in original packages, which enormously increases the amount consumed. It is not unusual to see a boy and girl drinking between them an entire bottle of whiskey. Some of these excursion boats carry five thousand people and in the easy breakdown of propriety which holiday-making often implies, and the absence of police, to which city young people are unaccustomed, the utmost freedom and license is often indulged in. Thus the lake excursions, one of the most delightful possibilities for recreation in Chicago, through lack of proper policing and through the sale of liquor, are made a menace to thousands of young people to whom they should be a great resource. When a philanthropic association, with a knowledge of the commercial exploitation of youth's natural response to gay surroundings, attempts to substitute innocent recreation, it finds the undertaking most difficult. In Chicago the Juvenile Protective Association, after a thorough investigation of public dance halls, amusement parks, five-cent theatres, and excursion boats, is insisting upon more vigorous enforcement of the existing legislation, and is also urging further legal regulation; Kansas City has instituted a Department of Public Welfare with power to regulate places of amusement; a New York committee has established model dance halls; Milwaukee is urging the appointment of commissions on public recreation, while New York and Columbus have already created them. Perhaps nothing in actual operation is more valuable than the small parks of Chicago in which the large halls are used every evening for dancing and where outdoor sports, swimming pools and gymnasiums daily attract thousands of young people. Unless cities make some such provision for their youth, those who sell the facilities for amusement in order to make a profit will continue to exploit the normal desire of all young people for recreation and pleasure. The city of Chicago contains at present eight hundred and fourteen thousand minors, all eager for pleasure. It is not surprising that commercial enterprise undertakes to supply this demand and that penny arcades, slot machines, candy stores, ice-cream parlors, moving-picture shows, skating rinks, cheap theatres and dance halls are trying to attract young people with every device known to modern advertising. Their promoters are, of course, careless of the moral effect upon their young customers if they can but secure their money. Until municipal provisions adequately meet this need, philanthropic and social organizations must be committed to the establishment of more adequate recreational facilities. Although many dangers are encountered by the pleasure-loving girl who demands that each evening shall bring her some measure of recreation, a large number of girls meet with difficulties and temptations while soberly at work. Many of these tempted girls are newly-arrived immigrant girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty, who find their first work in hotels. Polish girls especially are utilized in hotel kitchens and laundries, and for the interminable scrubbing of halls and lobbies where a knowledge of the English language is not necessary, but where their peasant strength is in demand. The work is very heavy and fatiguing and until the Illinois law limited the work of women to ten hours a day, it often lasted late into the night. Even now the girls report themselves so tired that at the end of the day, they crowd into the dormitories and fall upon their beds undressed. When food and shelter is given them, their wages are from $14.00 to $18.00 a month, most of which is usually sent back to the old country, that the remaining members of the family may be brought to America. Such positions are surrounded by temptations of every sort. Even the hotel housekeepers, who are honestly trying to protect the girls, admit that it is impossible to do it adequately. One of these housekeepers recently said "that it takes a girl who knows the world to work in any hotel," and regretted that the sophisticated English-speaking girl who might protect herself, was unable to endure the hard work. She added that as soon as a girl learned English she promoted her from the laundry to the halls and from there to the position of chambermaid, but that the latter position was the most dangerous of all, as the girls were constantly exposed to insults from the guests. In the less respectable hotels these newly-arrived immigrant girls, inevitably seeing a great deal of the life of the underworld and the apparent ease with which money may be earned in illicit ways, find their first impression of the moral standards of life in America most bewildering. One young Polish girl had worked for two years in a down-town hotel, and had steadfastly resisted all improper advances even sometimes by the aid of her own powerful fist. She yielded at last to the suggestions of the life about her when she received a telegram from Ellis Island stating that her mother had arrived in New York, but was too ill to be sent on to Chicago. All of her money had gone for the steamer ticket and as the thought of her old country mother, ill and alone among strangers, was too much for her long fortitude, she made the best bargain possible with the head waiter whose importunities she had hitherto resisted, accepted the little purse the other Polish girls in the hotel collected for her and arrived in New York only to find that her mother had died the night before. The simple obedience to parents on the part of these immigrant girls, working in hotels and restaurants, often miscarries pathetically. Their unspoiled human nature, not yet immune to the poisons of city life, when thrust into the midst of that unrelieved drudgery which lies at the foundation of all complex luxury, often results in the most fatal reactions. A young German woman, the proprietor of what is considered a successful "house" in the most notorious district in Chicago, traces her career directly to a desperate attempt to conform to the standard of "bringing home good wages" maintained by her numerous brothers and sisters. One requirement of her home was rigid: all money earned by a child must be paid into the family income until "legal age" was attained. The slightly neurotic, very pretty girl of seventeen heartily detested the dish-washing in a restaurant, which constituted her first place in America, and quite honestly declared that the heavy lifting was beyond her strength. Such insubordination was not tolerated at home, and every Saturday night when her meager wages, reduced by sick days "off," were compared with what the others brought in, she was regularly scolded, "sometimes slapped," by her parents, jeered at by her more vigorous sisters and bullied by her brothers. She tried to shorten her hours by doing "rush-work" as a waitress at noon, but she found this still beyond her strength, and worst of all, the pay of two dollars and a half insufficient to satisfy her mother. Confiding her troubles to the other waitresses, one of them good-naturedly told her how she could make money through appointments in a nearby disreputable hotel, and so take home an increased amount of money easily called "a raise in wages." So strong was the habit of obedience, that the girl continued to take money home every Saturday night until her eighteenth birthday, in spite of the fact that she gave up the restaurant in less than six weeks after her first experience. Although all of this happened ten years ago and the German mother is long since dead, the daughter bitterly ended the story with the infamous hope that "the old lady was now suffering the torments of the lost, for making me what I am." Such a girl was subjected to temptations to which society has no right to expose her. A dangerous cynicism regarding the value of virtue, a cynicism never so unlovely as in the young, sometimes seizes a girl who, because of long hours and overwork, has been unable to preserve either her health or spirits and has lost all measure of joy in life. That this premature cynicism may be traced to an unhappy and narrow childhood is suggested by the fact that a large number of these girls come from families in which there has been little affection and the poor substitute of parental tyranny. A young Italian girl who earned four dollars a week in a tailor shop pulling out hastings, when asked why she wore a heavy woolen gown on one of the hottest days of last summer, replied that she was obliged to earn money for her clothes by scrubbing for the neighbors after hours; that she had found no such work lately and that her father would not allow her anything from her wages for clothes or for carfare, because he was buying a house. This parental control sometimes exercised in order to secure all of a daughter's wages, is often established with the best intentions in the world. I recall a French dressmaker who had frugally supported her two daughters until they were of working age, when she quite naturally expected them to conform to the careful habits of living necessary during her narrow years. In order to save carfare, she required her daughters to walk a long distance to the department store in which one was a bundle wrapper and the other a clerk at the ribbon counter. They dressed in black as being the most economical color and a penny spent in pleasure was never permitted. One day a young man who was buying ribbon from the older girl gave her a yard with the remark that she was much too young and pretty to be so somberly dressed. She wore the ribbon at work, never of course at home, but it opened a vista of delightful possibilities and she eagerly accepted a pair of gloves the following week from the same young man, who afterwards asked her to dine with him. This was the beginning of a winter of surreptitious pleasures on the part of the two sisters. They were shrewd enough never to be out later than ten o'clock and always brought home so-called overtime pay to their mother. In the spring the older girl, finding herself worn out by her dissipation and having resolved to cut loose from her home, came to the office of the Juvenile Protective Association to ask help for her younger sister. It was discovered that the mother was totally ignorant of the semi-professional life her daughters had been leading. She reiterated over and over again that she had always guarded them carefully and had given them no money to spend. It took months of constant visiting on the part of a representative of the Association before she was finally persuaded to treat the younger girl more generously. While this family is fairly typical of those in which over-restraint is due to the lack of understanding, it is true that in most cases the family tyranny is exercised by an old-country father in an honest attempt to guard his daughter against the dangers of a new world. The worst instances, however, are those in which the father has fallen into the evil ways of drink, and not only demands all of his daughter's wages, but treats her with great brutality when those wages fall below his expectations. Many such daughters have come to grief because they have been afraid to go home at night when their wage envelopes contained less than usual, either because a new system of piece work had reduced the amount or because, in a moment of weakness, they had taken out five cents with which to attend a show, or ten cents for the much-desired pleasure of riding back and forth the full length of an elevated railroad, or because they had in a thirsty moment taken out a nickel for a drink of soda water, or worst of all, had fallen a victim to the installment plan of buying a new hat or a pair of shoes. These girls, in their fear of beatings and scoldings, although they are sure of shelter and food and often have a mother who is trying to protect them from domestic storms, have almost no money for clothing, and are inevitably subject to moments of sheer revolt, their rebellion intensified by the fact that after a girl earns her own money and is accustomed to come and go upon the streets as an independent wage earner, she finds unsympathetic control much harder to bear than do schoolgirls of the same age who have never broken the habits of their childhood and are still economically dependent upon their parents. In spite of the fact that domestic service is always suggested by the average woman as an alternative for the working girl whose life is beset with danger, the federal report on "Women and Child Wage Earners in the United States" gives the occupation of the majority of girls who go wrong as that of domestic service, and in this it confirms the experience of every matron in a rescue home and the statistics in the maternity wards of the public hospitals. The report suggests that the danger comes from the general conditions of work: "These general conditions are the loneliness of the life, the lack of opportunities for making friends and securing recreation and amusement in safe surroundings, the monotonous and uninteresting nature of the work done as these untrained girls do it, the lack of external stimulus to pride and self-respect, and the absolutely unguarded state of the girl, except when directly under the eye of her mistress." In addition to these reasons, the girls realize that the opportunities for marriage are less in domestic service than in other occupations, and after all, the great business of youth is securing a mate, as the young instinctively understand. Unlike the working girl who lives at home and constantly meets young men of her own neighborhood and factory life, the girl in domestic service is brought into contact with very few possible lovers. Even the men of her former acquaintance, however slightly Americanized, do not like to call on a girl in someone else's kitchen, and find the entire situation embarrassing. The girl's mistress knows that for her own daughters mutual interests and recreation are the natural foundations for friendship with young men, which may or may not lead to marriage, but which is the prerogative of every young girl. The mistress does not, however, apply this worldly wisdom to the maid in her service, only eighteen or nineteen years old, utterly dependent upon her for social life save during one afternoon and evening a week. The majority of domestics are employed in families where there is only one, and the tired and dispirited girl, often without a taste for reading, spends many lonely hours. That most fundamental and powerful of all instincts has therefore no chance for diffusion or social expression and like all confined forces, tends to degenerate. The girl is equipped with no weapon with which to contend with those poisonous images which arise from the senses, and these images, bred of fatigue and loneliness, make a girl an easy victim. This is especially true of the colored girl, who because of her traditions, is often treated with so little respect by white men, that she is constantly subjected to insult. Even the colored servants in the New York apartment houses, who live at home and thus avoid this loneliness, because their hours extend until nine in the evening, are obliged to seek their pleasures late into the night. American cities offer occupation to more colored women than colored men and this surplus of women, in some cities as large as one hundred and thirty or forty women to one hundred men, affords an opportunity to the procurer which he quickly seizes. He is often in league with certain employment bureaus, who make a business of advancing the railroad or boat fare to colored girls coming from the South to enter into domestic service. The girl, in debt and unused to the city, is often put into a questionable house and kept there until her debt is paid many times over. In some respects her position is not unlike that of the imported white slave, for although she has the inestimable advantage of speaking the language, she finds it even more difficult to have her story credited. This contemptuous attitude places her at a disadvantage, for so universally are colored girls in domestic service suspected of blackmail that the average court is slow to credit their testimony when it is given against white men. The field of employment for colored girls is extremely limited. They are seldom found in factories and workshops. They are not wanted in department stores nor even as waitresses in hotels. The majority of them therefore are engaged in domestic service and often find the position of maid in a house of prostitution or of chambermaid in a disreputable hotel, the best-paying position open to them. When a girl who has been in domestic service loses her health, or for any other reason is unable to carry on her occupation, she is often curiously detached and isolated, because she has had so little opportunity for normal social relationships and friendships. One of the saddest cases ever brought to my personal knowledge was that of an orphan Norwegian girl who, coming to America at the age of seventeen, had been for three years in one position as general housemaid, during which time she had drawn only such part of her wages as was necessary for her simple clothing. At the end of three years, when she was sent to a public hospital with nervous prostration, her employer refused to pay her accumulated wages, on the ground that owing to her ill health she had been of little use during the last year. When she left the hospital, practically penniless, advised by the physician to find some outdoor work, she sold a patented egg-beater for six months, scarcely earning enough for her barest necessities and in constant dread lest she could not "keep respectable." When she was found wandering upon the street she not only had no capital with which to renew her stock, but had been without food for two days and had resolved to drown herself. Every effort was made to restore the half-crazed girl, but unfortunately hospital restraint was not considered necessary, and a month later, in spite of the vigilance of her new employer, her body was taken from the lake. One more of those gentle spirits who had found the problem of life insoluble, had sought refuge in death. A surprising number of suicides occur among girls who have been in domestic service, when they discover that they have been betrayed by their lovers. Perhaps nothing is more astonishing than the attitude of the mistress when the situation of such a forlorn girl is discovered, and it would be interesting to know how far this attitude has influenced these girls either to suicide or to their reckless choice of a disreputable life, which statistics show so many of their number have elected. The mistress almost invariably promptly dismisses such a girl, assuring her that she is disgraced forever and too polluted to remain for another hour in a good home. In full command of the situation, she usually succeeds in convincing the wretched girl that she is irreparably ruined. Her very phraseology, although unknown to herself, is a remnant of that earlier historic period when every woman was obliged in her own person to protect her home and to secure the status of her children. The indignant woman is trying to exercise alone that social restraint which should have been exercised by the community and which would have naturally protected the girl, if she had not been so withdrawn from it, in order to serve exclusively the interests of her mistress's family. Such a woman seldom follows the ruined girl through the dreary weeks after her dismissal; her difficulty in finding any sort of work, the ostracism of her former friends added to her own self-accusation, the poverty and loneliness, the final ten days in the hospital, and the great temptation which comes after that, to give away her child. The baby farmer who haunts the public hospitals for such cases tells her that upon the payment of forty or fifty dollars, he will take care of the child for a year and that "maybe it won't live any longer than that," and unless the hospital is equipped with a social service department, such as the one at the Massachusetts General, the girl leaves it weak and low-spirited and too broken to care what becomes of her. It is in moments such as these that many a poor girl, convinced that all the world is against her, decides to enter a disreputable house. Here at least she will find food and shelter, she will not be despised by the other inmates and she can earn money for the support of her child. Often she has received the address of such a house from one of her companions in the maternity ward where, among the fifty per cent, of the unmarried mothers, at least two or three sophisticated girls are always to be found, eager to "put wise" the girls who are merely unfortunate. Occasionally a girl who follows such baneful advice still insists upon keeping her child. I recall a pathetic case in the juvenile court of Chicago when such a mother of a five-year-old child was pronounced by the judge to be an "improper guardian." The agonized woman was told that she might retain her child if she would completely change her way of life; but she insisted that such a requirement was impossible, that she had no other means of earning her living, and that she had become too idle and broken for regular work. The child clung piteously to the mother, and, having gathered from the evidence that she was considered "bad," assured the judge over and over again that she was "the bestest mother in the world." The poor mother, who had begun her wretched mode of life for her child's sake, found herself so demoralized by her hideous experiences that she could not leave the life, even for the sake of the same child, still her most precious possession. Only six years before, this mother had been an honest girl cheerfully working in the household of a good woman, whose sense of duty had expressed itself in dismissing "the outcast." These discouraged girls, who so often come from domestic service to supply the vice demands of the city, are really the last representatives of those thousands of betrayed girls who for many years met the entire demand of the trade; for, while a procurer of some sort has performed his office for centuries, only in the last fifty years has the white slave market required the services of extended business enterprises in order to keep up the supply. Previously the demand had been largely met by the girls who had voluntarily entered a disreputable life because they had been betrayed. While the white slave traffic was organized primarily for profit it could of course never have flourished unless there had been a dearth of these discouraged girls. Is it not also significant that the surviving representatives of the girls who formerly supplied the demand are drawn most largely from the one occupation which is farthest from the modern ideal of social freedom and self-direction? Domestic service represents, in the modern world, more nearly than any other of the gainful occupations open to women, the ancient labor conditions under which woman's standard of chastity was developed and for so long maintained. It would seem obvious that both the girl over-restrained at home, as well as the girl in domestic service, had been too much withdrawn from the healthy influence of public opinion, and it is at least significant that domestic control has so broken down that the girls most completely under its rule are shown to be those in the greatest danger. Such a statement undoubtedly needs the modification that the girls in domestic service are frequently those who are unadapted to skilled labor and are least capable of taking care of themselves, yet the fact remains that they are belated morally as well as industrially. As they have missed the industrial discipline that comes from regular hours of systematized work, so they have missed the moral training of group solidarity, the ideals and restraints which the friendships and companionships of other working girls would have brought them. When the judgment of her peers becomes not less firm but more kindly, the self-supporting girl will have a safeguard and restraint many times more effective than the individual control which has become so inadequate, or the family discipline that, with the best intentions in the world, cannot cope with existing social conditions. The most perplexing case that comes before the philanthropic organizations trying to aid and rescue the victims of the white slave traffic, is of the type which involves a girl who has been secured by the trafficker when so lonely, detached and discouraged that she greedily seized whatever friendship was offered her. Such a girl has been so eager for affection that she clings to even the wretched simulacrum of it, afforded by the man who calls himself her "protector," and she can only be permanently detached from the life to which he holds her, when she is put under the influence of more genuine affections and interests. That is doubtless one reason it is always more possible to help the girl who has become the mother of a child. Although she unjustly faces a public opinion much more severe than that encountered by the childless woman who also endeavors to "reform," the mother's sheer affection and maternal absorption enables her to overcome the greater difficulties more easily than the other woman, without the new warmth of motive, overcomes the lesser ones. The Salvation Army in their rescue homes have long recognized this need for an absorbing interest, which should involve the Magdalen's deepest affections and emotions, and therefore often utilize the rescued girl to save others. Certainly no philanthropic association, however rationalistic and suspicious of emotional appeal, can hope to help a girl once overwhelmed by desperate temptation, unless it is able to pull her back into the stream of kindly human fellowship and into a life involving normal human relations. Such an association must needs remember those wise words of Count Tolstoy: "We constantly think that there are circumstances in which a human being can be treated without affection, and there are no such circumstances." CHAPTER VI INCREASED SOCIAL CONTROL When certain groups in a community, to whom a social wrong has become intolerable, prepare for definite action against it, they almost invariably discover unexpected help from contemporaneous social movements with which they later find themselves allied. The most immediate help in this new campaign against the social evil will probably come thus indirectly from those streams of humanitarian effort which are ever widening and which will in time slowly engulf into their rising tide of enthusiasm for human betterment, even the victims of the white slave traffic. Foremost among them is the world-wide movement to preserve and prolong the term of human life, coupled with the determination on the part of the medical profession to eliminate all forms of germ diseases. The same physicians and sanitarians who have practically rid the modern city of small-pox and cholera and are eliminating tuberculosis, well know that the social evil is directly responsible for germ diseases more prevalent than any of the others, and also communicable. Over and over again in the history of large cities, Vienna, Paris, St. Louis, the medical profession has been urged to control the diseases resulting from the commercialized vice which the municipal authorities themselves permitted. But the experiments in segregation, in licensed systems, and certification have not been considered successful. The medical profession, hitherto divided in opinion as to the feasibility of such undertakings, is virtually united in the conclusion that so long as commercialized vice exists, physicians cannot guarantee a city against the spread of the contagious poison generated by it, which is fatal alike to the individual and to his offspring. The medical profession agrees that, as the victims of the social evil inevitably become the purveyors of germ diseases of a very persistent and incurable type, safety in this regard lies only in the extinction of commercialized vice. They point out the indirect ways in which this contagion can spread exactly as any other can, but insist that its control is enormously complicated by the fact that the victims of these diseases are most unwilling to be designated and quarantined. The medical profession is at last taking the position that the community wishing to protect itself against this contagion will in the end be driven to the extermination of the very source itself. A well-known authority states the one breeding-place of these disease germs, without exception, is the social institution designated as prostitution, but, once bred and cultivated there, they then spread through the community, attacking alike both the innocent and the guilty. We can imagine, after a dozen years of vigorous and able propaganda of this opinion on the part of public-spirited physicians and sanitarians, that a city might well appeal to the medical profession to exterminate prostitution on the very ground that it is a source of constant danger to the health and future of the community. Such a city might readily give to the board of health ordered to undertake this extermination more absolute authority than is now accorded to it in a small-pox epidemic. Of course, no city could reach such a view unless the education of the public proceeded much more rapidly than at present, although the newly-established custom of careful medical examination of school-children and of employees in factories and commercial establishments must result in the discovery of many such cases, and in the end adequate provision must be made for their isolation. A child was recently discovered in a Chicago school with an open sore upon her lip, which made her a most dangerous source of infection. She was just fourteen years of age, too old to be admitted into that most pathetic and most unlovely of all children's wards, where children must suffer for "the sins of their fathers," and too young and innocent to be put into the women's ward in which the public takes care of those wrecks of dissolute living who are no longer valuable to the commerce which once secured them, and have become merely worthless stock which pays no dividend. The disease of the little girl was in too virulent a stage to admit her to that convalescent home lately established in Chicago for those infected children who are dismissed from the county hospital, but whom it is impossible to return to their old surroundings. A philanthropic association was finally obliged to pay her board for weeks to a woman who carefully followed instructions as to her treatment. This is but one example of a child who was discovered and provided for, but it is evident that the public cannot long remain indifferent to the care of such cases when it has already established the means for detecting them. In twenty-seven months over six hundred children passed through this most piteous children's ward in Chicago's public hospital. All but twenty-nine of these children were under ten years of age, and doubtless a number of them had been victims of that wretched tradition that a man afflicted with this incurable disease might cure himself at the expense of innocence. Crusades against other infectious diseases, such as small-pox and cholera, imply well-considered sanitary precautions, dependent upon widespread education and an aroused public opinion. To establish such education and to arouse the public in regard to this present menace apparently presents insuperable difficulties. Many newspapers, so ready to deal with all other forms of vice and misery, never allow these evils to be mentioned in their columns except in the advertisements of quack remedies; the clergy, unlike the founder of the Christian religion and the early apostles, seldom preach against the sin of which these contagions are an inevitable consequence: the physicians, bound by a rigorous medical etiquette, tell nothing of the prevalence of these maladies, use a confusing nomenclature in the hospitals, and write only contributory causes upon the very death certificates of the victims. Yet it is easy to predict that a society committed to the abolition of infectious germs, to a higher degree of public health, and to a better standard of sanitation will not forever permit these highly communicable diseases to spread unchecked in its midst, and that a public, convinced that sanitary science, properly supported, might rid our cities of this type of disease, will at length insist upon its accomplishment. When we consider the many things undertaken in the name of health and sanitation it becomes easy to make the prediction, for public health is a magic word which ever grows more potent, as society realizes that the very existence of the modern city would be an impossibility had it not been discovered that the health of the individual is largely controlled by the hygienic condition of his surroundings. Since the first commission to inquire into the conditions of great cities was appointed in Manchester in 1844, sanitary science, both in knowledge and municipal authority, has progressed until advocates of the most advanced measures in city hygiene and preventive sanitary science boldly state that neglected childhood and neglected disease are the most potent causes of social insufficiency. Certainly a plea could be made for the women and children who are often the innocent victims of these diseases. Quite recently in Chicago there was brought to my attention the incredibly pathetic plight of a widow with four children who was in such constant fear of spreading the infection for which her husband had been responsible, that she touchingly offered to leave her children forevermore, if there was no other way to save them from the horrible suffering she herself was enduring. In spite of thousands of such cases Utah is the pioneer and only state with a law which requires that this infection shall be reported and controlled, as are other contagious maladies, and which also authorizes boards of health to take adequate measures in order to secure protection. Another humanitarian movement from which assistance will doubtless come to the crusade against the social evil, is the great movement against alcoholism with its recent revival in every civilized country of the world. A careful scientist has called alcohol the indispensable vehicle of the business transacted by the white slave traders, and has asserted that without its use this trade could not long continue. Whoever has tried to help a girl making an effort to leave the irregular life she has been leading, must have been discouraged by the victim's attempts to overcome the habit of using alcohol and drugs. Such a girl has commonly been drawn into the life in the first place when under the influence of liquor and has continued to drink that she might be able to live through each day. Furthermore, the drinking habit grows upon her because she is constantly required to sell liquor and to be "treated." It is estimated that the liquor sold by such girls nets a profit to the trade of two hundred and fifty per cent. over and above the girl's own commission. Chicago made at least one honest effort to divorce the sale of liquor from prostitution, when the superintendent of police last year ruled that no liquor should be sold in any disreputable house. The difficulty of enforcing such an order is greatly increased because such houses, as well as the questionable dance halls, commonly obtain a special permit to sell liquor under a federal license, which is not only cheaper than the saloon license obtained from the city, but has the added advantage to the holder that he can sell after one o'clock in the morning, at which time the city closes all saloons. The aggregate annual profit of the two hundred and thirty-six disorderly saloons recently investigated in Chicago by the Vice Commission was $4,307,000. This profit on the sale of liquor can be traced all along the line in connection with the white slave traffic and is no less disastrous from the point of view of young men than of the girls. Even a slight exhilaration from alcohol relaxes the moral sense and throws a sentimental or adventurous glamor over an aspect of life from which a decent young man would ordinarily recoil, and its continued use stimulates the senses at the very moment when the intellectual and moral inhibitions are lessened. May we not conclude that both chastity and self-restraint are more firmly established in the modern city than we realize, when the white slave traders find it necessary both forcibly to detain their victims and to ply young men with alcohol that they may profit thereby? General Bingham, who as Police Commissioner of New York certainly knew whereof he spoke, says: "There is not enough depravity in human nature to keep alive this very large business. The immorality of women and the brutishness of men have to be persuaded, coaxed and constantly stimulated in order to keep the social evil in its present state of business prosperity." We may soberly hope that some of the experiments made by governmental and municipal authorities to control and regulate the sale of liquor will at last meet with such a measure of success that the existence of public prostitution, deprived of its artificial stimulus of alcohol, will in the end be imperilled. The Chicago Vice Commission has made a series of valuable suggestions for the regulation of saloons and for the separation of the sale of liquor from dance halls and from all other places known as recruiting grounds for the white slave traffic. There is still need for a much wider and more thorough education of the public in regard to the historic connection between commercialized vice and alcoholism, of the close relation between politics and the liquor interests, behind which the social evil so often entrenches itself. In addition to the movements against germ diseases and the suppression of alcoholism, both of which are mitigating the hard fate of the victims of the white slave traffic, other public movements mysteriously affecting all parts of the social order will in time threaten the very existence of commercialized vice. First among these, perhaps, is the equal suffrage movement. On the horizon everywhere are signs that woman will soon receive the right to exercise political power, and it is believed that she will show her efficiency most conspicuously in finding means for enhancing and preserving human life, if only as the result of her age-long experiences. That primitive maternal instinct, which has always been as ready to defend as it has been to nurture, will doubtless promptly grapple with certain crimes connected with the white slave traffic; women with political power would not brook that men should live upon the wages of captured victims, should openly hire youths to ruin and debase young girls, should be permitted to transmit poison to unborn children. Life is full of hidden remedial powers which society has not yet utilized, but perhaps nowhere is the waste more flagrant than in the matured deductions and judgments of the women, who are constantly forced to share the social injustices which they have no recognized power to alter. If political rights were once given to women, if the situation were theirs to deal with as a matter of civic responsibility, one cannot imagine that the existence of the social evil would remain unchallenged in its semi-legal protection. Those women who are already possessed of political power have in many ways registered their conscience in regard to it. The Norwegian women, for instance, have guaranteed to every illegitimate child the right of inheritance to its father's name and property by a law which also provides for the care of its mother. This is in marked contrast to the usual treatment of the mother of an illegitimate child, who even when the paternity of her child is acknowledged receives from the father but a pitiful sum for its support; moreover, if the child dies before birth and the mother conceals this fact, although perfectly guiltless of its death, she can be sent to jail for a year. The age of consent is eighteen years in all of the states in which women have had the ballot, although in only eight of the others is it so high. In the majority of the latter the age of consent is between fourteen and sixteen, and in some of them it is as low as ten. These legal regulations persist in spite of the well-known fact that the mass of girls enter a disreputable life below the age of eighteen. In equal suffrage states important issues regarding women and children, whether of the sweat-shop or the brothel, have always brought out the women voters in great numbers. Certainly enfranchised women would offer some protection to the white slaves themselves who are tolerated and segregated, but who, because their very existence is illegal, may be arrested whenever any police captain chooses, may be brought before a magistrate, fined and imprisoned. A woman so arrested may be obliged to answer the most harassing questions put to her by a city attorney with no other woman near to protect her from insult. She may be subjected to the most trying examinations in the presence of policemen with no matron to whom to appeal. These things constantly happen everywhere save in Scandinavian countries, where juries of women sit upon such cases and offer the protection of their presence to the prisoners. Without such protection even an innocent woman, made to appear a member of this despised class, receives no consideration. A girl of fifteen recently acting in a South Chicago theatre attracted the attention of a milkman who gradually convinced her that he was respectable. Walking with him one evening to the door of her lodging-house, the girl told him of her difficulties and quite innocently accepted money for the payment of her room rent. The following morning as she was leaving the house the milkman met her at the door and asked her for the five dollars he had given her the night before. When she said she had used it to pay her debt to the landlady, he angrily replied that unless she returned the money at once he would call a policeman and arrest her on a charge of theft. The girl, helpless because she had already disposed of the money, was taken to court, where, frightened and confused, she was unable to give a convincing account of the interview the night before; except for the prompt intervention on the part of a woman, she would either have been obliged to put herself in the power of the milkman, who offered to pay her fine, or she would have been sent to the city prison, not because the proof of her guilt was conclusive, but because her connection with a cheap theatre and the hour of the so-called offence had convinced the court that she belonged to a class of women who are regarded as no longer entitled to legal protection. Several years ago in Colorado the disreputable women of Denver appealed to a large political club of women against the action of the police who were forcing them to register under the threat of arrest in order later to secure their votes for a corrupt politician. The disreputable women, wishing to conceal their real names and addresses, did not want to be registered, in this respect at least differing from the lodging-house men whose venal votes play such an important part in every municipal election. The women's political club responded to this appeal, and not only stopped the coercion, but finally turned out of office the chief of police responsible for it. The very fact that the conditions and results of the social evil lie so far away from the knowledge of good women is largely responsible for the secrecy and hypocrisy upon which it thrives. Most good women will probably never consent to break through their ignorance save under a sense of duty which has ever been the incentive to action to which even timid women have responded. At least a promising beginning would be made toward a more effective social control, if the mass of conscientious women were once thoroughly convinced that a knowledge of local vice conditions was a matter of civic obligation, if the entire body of conventional women, simply because they held the franchise, felt constrained to inform themselves concerning the social evil throughout the cities of America. Perhaps the most immediate result would be a change in the attitude toward prostitution on the part of elected officials, responding to that of their constituency. Although good and bad men alike prize chastity in women, and although good men require it of themselves, almost all men are convinced that it is impossible to require it of thousands of their fellow-citizens, and hence connive at the policy of the officials who permit commercialized vice to flourish. As the first organized Women's Rights movement was inaugurated by the women who were refused seats in the world's Anti-Slavery convention held in London in 1840, although they had been the very pioneers in the organization of the American Abolitionists, so it is quite possible that an equally energetic attempt to abolish white slavery will bring many women into the Equal Suffrage movement, simply because they too will discover that without the use of the ballot they are unable to work effectively for the eradication of a social wrong. Women are said to have been historically indifferent to social injustices, but it may be possible that, if they once really comprehend the actual position of prostitutes the world over, their sense of justice will at last be freed, and become forevermore a new force in the long struggle for social righteousness. The wind of moral aspiration now dies down and now blows with unexpected force, urging on the movements of social destiny; but never do the sails of the ship of state push forward with such assured progress as when filled by the mighty hopes of a newly enfranchised class. Those already responsible for existing conditions have come to acquiesce in them, and feel obliged to adduce reasons explaining the permanence and so-called necessity of the most evil conditions. On the other hand, the newly enfranchised view existing conditions more critically, more as human beings and less as politicians. After all, why should the woman voter concur in the assumption that every large city must either set aside well-known districts for the accommodation of prostitution, as Chicago does, or continually permit it to flourish in tenement and apartment houses, as is done in New York? Smaller communities and towns throughout the land are free from at least this semi-legal organization of it, and why should it be accepted as a permanent aspect of city life? The valuable report of the Chicago Vice Commission estimates that twenty thousand of the men daily responsible for this evil in Chicago live outside of the city. They are the men who come from other towns to Chicago in order to see the sights. They are supposedly moral at home, where they are well known and subjected to the constant control of public opinion. The report goes on to state that during conventions or "show" occasions the business of commercialized vice is enormously increased. The village gossip with her vituperative tongue after all performs a valuable function both of castigation and retribution; but her fellow-townsman, although quite unconscious of her restraint, coming into a city hotel often experiences a great sense of relief which easily rises to a mood of exhilaration. In addition to this he holds an exaggerated notion of the wickedness of the city. A visiting countryman is often shown museums and questionable sights reserved largely for his patronage, just as tourists are conducted to lurid Parisian revels and indecencies sustained primarily for their horrified contemplation. Such a situation would indicate that, because control is much more difficult in a large city than in a small town, the city deliberately provides for its own inability in this direction. During a recent military encampment in Chicago large numbers of young girls were attracted to it by that glamour which always surrounds the soldier. On the complaint of several mothers, investigators discovered that the girls were there without the knowledge of their parents, some of them having literally climbed out of windows after their parents had supposed them asleep. A thorough investigation disclosed not only an enormous increase of business in the restricted districts, but the downfall of many young girls who had hitherto been thoroughly respectable and able to resist the ordinary temptations of city life, but who had completely lost their heads over the glitter of a military camp. One young girl was seen by an investigator in the late evening hurrying away from the camp. She was so absorbed in her trouble and so blinded by her tears that she fairly ran against him and he heard her praying, as she frantically clutched the beads around her neck, "Oh, Mother of God, what have I done! What have I done!" The Chicago encampment was finally brought under control through the combined efforts of the park commissioners, the city police, and the military authorities, but not without a certain resentment from the last toward "civilian interference." Such an encampment may be regarded as an historic survival representing the standing armies sustained in Europe since the days of the Roman Empire. These large bodies of men, deprived of domestic life, have always afforded centres in which contempt for the chastity of women has been fostered. The older centres of militarism have established prophylactic measures designed to protect the health of the soldiers, but evince no concern for the fate of the ruined women. It is a matter of recent history that Josephine Butler and the men and women associated with her, subjected themselves to unspeakable insult for eight years before they finally induced the English Parliament to repeal the infamous Contagious Disease Acts relating to the garrison towns of Great Britain, through which the government itself not only permitted vice, but legally provided for it within certain specified limits. The primary difficulty of military life lies in the withdrawal of large numbers of men from normal family life, and hence from the domestic restraints and social checks which are operative upon the mass of human beings. The great peace propagandas have emphasized the unjustifiable expense involved in the maintenance of the standing armies of Europe, the social waste in the withdrawal of thousands of young men from industrial, commercial and professional pursuits into the barren negative life of the barracks. They might go further and lay stress upon the loss of moral sensibility, the destruction of romantic love, the perversion of the longing for wife and child. The very stability and refinement of the social order depend upon the preservation of these basic emotions. Social customs are instituted so slowly and even imperceptibly, so far as the conforming individual is concerned, that the mass of men submit to control in spite of themselves, and it is therefore always difficult to determine how far the average upright living is the result of external props, until they are suddenly withdrawn. This is especially true of domestic life. Even the sordid marriages in which the senses have forestalled the heart almost always end in some form of family affection. The young couple who may have been brought together in marriage upon the most primitive plane, after twenty years of hard work in meagre, unlovely surroundings, in spite of stupidity and many mistakes, in the face of failure and even wrongdoing, will have unfolded lives of unassuming affection and family devotion to a group of children. They will have faithfully fulfilled that obligation which falls to the lot of the majority of men and women, with its high rewards and painful sacrifices. These rewards as well as the restraints of family life are denied to the soldier. A somewhat similar situation is found in every large construction camp, and in the crowded city tenements occupied by thousands of immigrant men who have preceded their families to America. In the light of the history of prostitution in relation to militarism, nothing could be more absurd than the familiar statement that virtuous women could not safely walk the streets unless opportunity for secret vice were offered to the men of the city. It is precisely the men who have not submitted to self-control who are dangerous and they only, as the court records themselves make clear. In addition to the large social movements for the betterment of Public Health, for the establishment of Temperance, for the promotion of Equal Suffrage, and for the hastening of Peace and Arbitration is the world-wide organization and active propaganda of International Socialism. It has always included the abolition of this ancient evil in its program of social reconstruction, and since the publication of Bebel's great book, nearly thirty years ago, the leaders of the Socialist party have never ceased to discuss the economics of prostitution with its psychological and moral resultants. The Socialists contend that commercialized vice is fundamentally a question of poverty, a by-product of despair, which will disappear only with the abolition of poverty itself; that it persists not primarily from inherent weakness in human nature, but is a vice arising from a defective organization of social life; that with a reorganization of society, at least all of prostitution which is founded upon the hunger of the victims and upon the profits of the traffickers, will disappear. Whether we are Socialists or not, we will all admit that every level of culture breeds its own particular brand of vice and uncovers new weaknesses as well as new nobilities in human nature; that a given social development--such, for instance as the conditions of life for thousands of young people in crowded city quarters--may produce such temptations and present such snares to virtue, that average human nature cannot withstand them. The very fact that the existence of the social evil is semi-legal in large cities is an admission that our individual morality is so uncertain that it breaks down when social control is withdrawn and the opportunity for secrecy is offered. The situation indicates either that the best conscience of the community fails to translate itself into civic action or that our cities are too large to be civilized in a social sense. These difficulties have been enormously augmented during the past century so marked by the rapid growth of cities, because the great principle of liberty has been translated not only into the unlovely doctrine of commercial competition, but also has fostered in many men the belief that personal development necessitates a rebellion against existing social laws. To the opportunity for secrecy which the modern city offers, such men are able to add a high-sounding justification for their immoralities. Fortunately, however, for our moral progress, the specious and illegitimate theories of freedom are constantly being challenged, and a new form of social control is slowly establishing itself on the principle, so widespread in contemporary government, that the state has a responsibility for conditions which determine the health and welfare of its own members; that it is in the interest of social progress itself that hard-won liberties must be restrained by the demonstrable needs of society. This new and more vigorous development of social control, while reflecting something of that wholesome fear of public opinion which the intimacies of a small community maintain, is much more closely allied to the old communal restraints and mutual protections to which the human will first yielded. Although this new control is based upon the voluntary co-operation of self-directed individuals, in contrast to the forced submission that characterized the older forms of social restraint, nevertheless in predicting the establishment of adequate social control over the instinct which the modern novelists so often describe as "uncontrollable," there is a certain sanction in this old and well-nigh forgotten history. The most superficial student of social customs quickly discovers the practically unlimited extent to which public opinion has always regulated marriage. If the traditions of one tribe were endogamous, all the men dutifully married within it; but if the customs of another decreed that wives must be secured by capture or purchase, all the men of that tribe fared forth in order to secure their mates. From the primitive Australian who obtains his wives in exchange for his sisters or daughters, and never dreams of obtaining them in any other way, to the sophisticated young Frenchman, who without objection marries the bride his careful parents select for him; from the ancient Hebrew, who contentedly married the widow of his deceased brother because it was according to the law, to the modern Englishman who refused to marry his deceased wife's sister because the law forbade it, the entire pathway of the so-called uncontrollable instinct has been gradually confined between carefully clipped hedges and has steadily led up to a house of conventional domesticity. Men have fallen in love with their cousins or declined to fall in love with them, very much as custom declared marriages between cousins to be desirable or undesirable, as they formerly married their sisters and later absolutely ceased to desire to marry them. In fact, regulation of this great primitive instinct goes back of the human race itself. All the higher tribes of monkeys are strictly monogamous, and many species of birds are faithful to one mate, season after season. According to the great authority, Forel, prostitution never became established among primitive peoples. Even savage tribes designated the age at which their young men were permitted to assume paternity because feeble children were a drag upon their communal resources. As primitive control lessened with the disappearance of tribal organization and later of the patriarchal family, a social control, not less binding, was slowly established, until throughout the centuries, in spite of many rebellious individuals, the mass of men have lived according to the dictates of the church, the legal requirements of the state, and the surveillance of the community, if only because they feared social ostracism. It is easy, however, to forget these men and their prosaic virtues because history has so long busied herself in recording court amours and the gentle dalliances of the overlord. The great primitive instinct, so responsive to social control as to be almost an example of social docility, has apparently broken with all the restraints and decencies under two conditions: first and second, when the individual felt that he was above social control and when the individual has had an opportunity to hide his daily living. Prostitution upon a commercial basis in a measure embraces the two conditions, for it becomes possible only in a society so highly complicated that social control may be successfully evaded and the individual thus feels superior to it. When a city is so large that it is extremely difficult to fix individual responsibility, that which for centuries was considered the luxury of the king comes within the reach of every office-boy, and that lack of community control which belonged only to the overlord who felt himself superior to the standards of the people, may be seized upon by any city dweller who can evade his acquaintances. Against such moral aggression, the old types of social control are powerless. Fortunately, the same crowded city conditions which make moral isolation possible, constantly tend to develop a new restraint founded upon the mutual dependences of city life and its daily necessities. The city itself socializes the very instruments that constitute the apparatus of social control--Law, Publicity, Literature, Education and Religion. Through their socialization, the desirability of chastity, which has hitherto been a matter of individual opinion and decision, comes to be regarded, not only as a personal virtue indispensable in women and desirable in men, but as a great basic requirement which society has learned to demand because it has been proven necessary for human welfare. To the individual restraints is added the conviction of social responsibility and the whole determination of chastity is reinforced by social sanctions. Such a shifting to social grounds is already obviously taking place in regard to the chastity of women. Formerly all that the best woman possessed was a negative chastity which had been carefully guarded by her parents and duennas. The chastity of the modern woman of self-directed activity and of a varied circle of interests, which gives her an acquaintance with many men as well as women, has therefore a new value and importance in the establishment of social standards. There was a certain basis for the belief that if a woman lost her personal virtue, she lost all; when she had no activity outside of domestic life, the situation itself afforded a foundation for the belief that a man might claim praise for his public career even when his domestic life was corrupt. As woman, however, fulfills her civic obligations while still guarding her chastity, she will be in position as never before to uphold the "single standard," demanding that men shall add the personal virtues to their performance of public duties. Women may at last force men to do away with the traditional use of a public record as a cloak for a wretched private character, because society will never permit a woman to make such excuses for herself. Every movement therefore which tends to increase woman's share of civic responsibility undoubtedly forecasts the time when a social control will be extended over men, similar to the historic one so long established over women. As that modern relationship between men and women, which the Romans called "virtue between equals" increases, while it will continue to make women freer and nobler, less timid of reputation and more human, will also inevitably modify the standards of men. On the other hand, there is no doubt that this new freedom from domestic and community control, with the opportunity for escaping observation which the city affords, is often utilized unworthily by women. The report of the Chicago vice commission tells of numerous girls living in small cities and country towns, who come to Chicago from time to time under arrangements made with the landlady of a seemingly respectable apartment. They remain long enough to earn money for a spring or fall wardrobe and return to their home towns, where their acquaintances are quite without suspicion of the methods they have employed to secure the much-admired costumes brought from the city. Often an unattached country girl, who has come to live in a city, has gradually fallen into a vicious life from sheer lack of social restraint. Such a girl, when living in a smaller community, realized that good behavior was a protective measure and that any suspicion of immorality would quickly ruin her social standing; but when removed from such surveillance, she hopes to be able to pass from her regular life to an irregular one and back again before the fact has been noted, quite as many young men are trying to do. Perhaps no young woman is more exposed to temptation of this sort than the one who works in an office where she may be the sole woman employed and where the relation to her employer and to her fellow-clerks is almost on a social basis. Many office girls have taken "business courses" in their native towns and have come to the city in search of the large salaries which have no parallels at home. Such a position is not only new to the individual, but it is so recent an outcome of modern business methods, that it has not yet been conventionalized. The girl is without the wholesome social restraint afforded by the companionship of other working-women and her isolation in itself constitutes a danger. An investigation disclosed that a startling number of Chicago girls had found their positions through advertisements and had no means of ascertaining the respectability of their employers. In addition to this, the girls who seek such positions are sometimes vain and pretentious, and will take any sort of office work because it seems to them "more ladylike." A girl of this sort came to Chicago from the country three years ago at the age of seventeen and secured a position as a stenographer with a large firm of lawyers. She was pretty and attractive, and in her desire to see more of the wonderful city to which she had come, she accepted many invitations to dinners and theatres from a younger member of the firm. The other girls in the office, representing the more capable type of business women, among whom a careful code of conduct is developing, although at present it is often manifested only by the social ostracism of the one of their number who has broken the conventions, protested against her conduct, first to the girl and then to the head of the office. The usual story developed rapidly, the girl lost her position, her brother-in-law, learning the cause, refused her a home and she became absolutely dependent upon the man. As their relations became notorious, he at length was requested to withdraw from the firm. When brought to my knowledge she had already been deserted for a year. The only people she had known during that time were those in the disreputable hotel in which she had been living when her lover disappeared, and it was through their mistaken kindness in making an opportunity for her in the only life with which they were familiar, that she had been drawn into the worst vice of the city. She was but one of thousands of young women whose undisciplined minds are fatally assailed by the subtleties and sophistries of city life, and who have lost their bearings in the midst of a multitude of new imaginative impressions. It is hard for a girl, thrilled by the mere propinquity of city excitements and eager to share them, to keep to the gray and monotonous path of regular work. Almost every such girl of the hundreds who have come to grief, "begins" by accepting invitations to dinners and places of amusement. She is always impressed with the ease for concealment which the city affords, although at the same time vaguely resentful that it is so indifferent to her individual existence. It is impossible to estimate the amount of clandestine prostitution which the modern city contains, but there is no doubt that the growth of the social evil at the present moment, lies in this direction. Another of its less sinister developments is perhaps a contemporary manifestation of that break, long considered necessary, between established morality and artistic freedom represented by the hetaira in Athens, the gifted actress in Paris, the geisha in Japan. Insofar as such women have been treated as independent human beings and prized for their mental and social charm, even although they are on a commercial basis, it makes for a humanization of this most sordid business. Such open manifestations of prostitution hasten social control, because publicity has ever been the first step toward community understanding and discipline. Doubtless the attitude toward the victims of commercialized vice will be modified by many reactions upon the public consciousness, through a thousand manifestations of the great democratic movement which is developing all about us. Certainly we are safe in predicting that when the solidarity of human interest is actually realized, it will become unthinkable that one class of human beings should be sacrificed to the supposed needs of another; when the rights of human life have successfully asserted themselves in contrast to the rights of property, it will become impossible to sell the young and heedless into degradation. An age marked by its vigorous protests against slavery and class tyranny, will not continue to ignore the multitudes of women who are held in literal bondage; nor will an age characterized by a new tenderness for the losers in life's race, always persist in denying forgiveness to the woman who has lost all. A voice which has come across the centuries, filled with pity for her who has "sinned much," must at last be joined by the forgiving voices of others, to whom it has been revealed that it is hardness of heart which has ever thwarted the divine purposes of religion. A generation which has gone through so many successive revolts against commercial aggression and lawlessness, will at last lead one more revolt on behalf of the young girls who are the victims of the basest and vilest commercialism. As that consciousness of human suffering, which already hangs like a black cloud over thousands of our more sensitive contemporaries, increases in poignancy, it must finally include the women who for so many generations have received neither pity nor consideration; as the sense of justice fast widens to encircle all human relations, it must at length reach the women who have so long been judged without a hearing. In that vast and checkered undertaking of its own moralization to which the human race is committed, it must constantly free itself from the survivals and savage infections of the primitive life from which it started. Now one and then another of the ancient wrongs and uncouth customs which have been so long familiar as to seem inevitable, rise to the moral consciousness of a passing generation; first for uneasy contemplation and then for gallant correction. May America bear a valiant part in this international crusade of the compassionate, enlisting under its banner not only those sensitive to the wrongs of others, but those conscious of the destruction of the race itself, who form the standing army of humanity's self-pity, which is becoming slowly mobilized for a new conquest! 
21251	----	[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all other inconsistencies are as in the original. Author's spelling has been maintained. Missing page numbers correspond to blank pages. Page numbers are in format {p.xx}.] The Jefferson-Lemen Compact The Relations of Thomas Jefferson and James Lemen in the Exclusion of Slavery from Illinois and the Northwest Territory with Related Documents 1781-1818 A Paper read before the Chicago Historical Society February 16, 1915 By Willard C. MacNaul [Illustration: Arms] The University of Chicago Press 1915 Copyright by CHICAGO HISTORICAL SOCIETY 1915 CONTENTS {p.03} INTRODUCTION 1. Sketch of James Lemen.................................. 7 2. Lemen's Relations with Jefferson in Virginia........... 9 3. Lemen's Anti-Slavery Mission in Illinois-- Slavery in Illinois until 1787...................... 11 Prohibition of Slavery by Ordinance of 1787......... 11 The Slavery Conflict under Gov. St. Clair (1787-1800)....................................... 12 The Slavery Conflict under Gov. Harrison (1801-1809)....................................... 13 Slavery Question in the Movement for Division of Indiana Territory in 1808-9.................... 16 James Lemen's Anti-Slavery Influence in the Baptist Churches until 1809....................... 16 Slavery under Gov. Ninian Edwards (1809-1818)....... 19 Slavery in the Campaign for Statehood in 1818....... 19 4. Available Materials Relating to the Subject........... 23 5. Account of the "Lemen Family Notes"................... 24 DOCUMENTS I. Diary of James Lemen, Sr.............................. 26 II. History of the Relations of James Lemen and Thos. Jefferson, by J. M. Peck.................. 32 III. How Illinois Got Chicago, by Jos. B. Lemen............ 37 IV. Address to the Friends of Freedom..................... 38 V. Recollections of a Centennarian, by Dr. W. F. Boyakin................................... 39 VI. In Memory of Rev. Jas. Lemen, Sr...................... 41 VII. Statement by Editor of _Belleville Advocate_.......... 41 VIII. Letter of Rev. J. M. Peck on the Old Lemen Family Notes........................................ 42 PIONEER LETTERS {p.04} IX. Letter of Senator Douglas to Rev. Jas. Lemen, Sr...... 46 X. Announcement by J. B. Lemen........................... 48 XL. Letter of Gov. Ninian Edwards to Jas. Lemen, Jr....... 49 XII. Letter of A. W. Snyder to Jas. Lemen, Sr.............. 49 XIII. Letter of Abraham Lincoln to Jas. Lemen, Jr........... 50 XIV. The Lemen Monument--Lemen's War Record................ 51 XV. Sketch of Rev. James Lemen, Sr., by J. M. Peck........ 52 XVI. Old Lemen Family Notes, Statement by Jos. B. Lemen.... 56 References............................................ 59 NOTE {p.05} The materials here presented were collected in connection with the preparation of a history of the first generation of Illinois Baptists. The narrative introduction is printed substantially as delivered at a special meeting of the Chicago Historical Society, and, with the collection of documents, is published in response to inquiries concerning the so-called "Lemen Family Notes," and in compliance with the request for a contribution to the publications of this Society. It is hoped that the publication may serve to elicit further information concerning the alleged "Notes," the existence of which has become a subject of more or less interest to historians. The compiler merely presents the materials at their face value, without assuming to pass critical judgment upon them. W. C. M. INTRODUCTION {p.07} RELATIONS OF JAMES LEMEN AND THOMAS JEFFERSON IN THE EXCLUSION OF SLAVERY FROM ILLINOIS AND THE NORTHWEST TERRITORY In view of the approaching centennary of statehood in Illinois, the name of James Lemen takes on a timely interest because of his services--social, religious, and political--in the making of the Commonwealth. He was a native of Virginia, born and reared in the vicinity of Harper's Ferry. He served a two-years' enlistment in the Revolutionary War under Washington, and afterwards returned to his regiment during the siege of Yorktown. His "Yorktown Notes" in his diary give some interesting glimpses of his participation in that campaign.[1] His Scotch ancestors had served in a similar cause under Cromwell, whose wedding gift to one of their number is still cherished as a family heirloom. Upon leaving the army James Lemen married Catherine Ogle, daughter of Captain Joseph Ogle, whose name is perpetuated in that of Ogle county, Illinois. The Ogles were of old English stock, some of whom at least were found on the side of Cromwell and the Commonwealth. Catherine's family at one time lived on the South Branch of the Potomac, although at the time of her marriage her home was near Wheeling. Captain Ogle's commission, signed by Gov. Patrick Henry, is now a valued possession of one of Mrs. Lemen's descendants. James and Catherine Lemen were well fitted by nature and training for braving the hardships and brightening the privations of life on the frontier, far removed from home and friends, or even the abodes of their nearest white kinsmen. During, and even before the war, young Lemen is reputed to have been the protégé of Thomas Jefferson, through whose influence he became a civil and religious leader in the pioneer period of Illinois history. Gov. Reynolds, in his writings relating to this period,[2] gives various sketches of the man and his family, and his name occurs frequently in {p.08} the records of the times. He was among the first to follow Col. Clark's men to the Illinois country, where he established the settlement of New Design, one of the earliest American colonies in what was, previous to his arrival, the "Illinois county" of the Old Dominion. Here he served, first as a justice of the peace, and then as a judge of the court of the original county of St. Clair, and thus acquired the title of "Judge Lemen."[3] Here, too, he became the progenitor of the numerous Illinois branch of the Lemen family, whose genealogy and family history was recently published by Messrs. Frank and Joseph B. Lemen--a volume of some four hundred and fifty pages, and embracing some five hundred members of the family. True to his avowed purpose in coming to Illinois, young Lemen became a leader of anti-slavery sentiment in the new Territory, and, undoubtedly, deserves to be called one of the Fathers of the Free State Constitution, which was framed in 1818 and preserved in 1824. His homestead, the "Old Lemen Fort" at New Design, which is still the comfortable home of the present owner, is the birthplace of the Baptist denomination in Illinois; and he himself is commemorated as the recognized founder of that faith in this State, by a granite shaft in the family burial plot directly in front of the old home. This memorial was dedicated in 1909 by Col. William Jennings Bryan, whose father, Judge Bryan, of Salem, Illinois, was the first to suggest it as a well-deserved honor. James Lemen, Sr., also became the father and leader of the noted "Lemen Family Preachers," consisting of himself and six stalwart sons, all but one of whom were regularly ordained Baptist ministers. The eldest son, Robert, although never ordained, was quite as active and efficient in the cause as any of the family. This remarkable family eventually became the nucleus of a group of anti-slavery Baptist churches in Illinois which had a very important influence upon the issue of that question in the State. Rev. James Lemen, Jr., who is said to have been the second American boy born in the Illinois country, succeeded to his father's position of leadership in the anti-slavery movement of the times, and served as the representative of St. Clair county in the Territorial Legislature, the Constitutional Convention, and the State Senate. The younger James Lemen was on terms of intimacy with Abraham Lincoln at Springfield, and {p.09} his cousin, Ward Lamon, was Lincoln's early associate in the law, and also his first biographer. Various representatives of the family in later generations have attained success as farmers, physicians, teachers, ministers, and lawyers throughout southern Illinois and other sections of the country.[4] The elder James Lemen was himself an interesting character, and, entirely apart from his relations with Jefferson, he is a significant factor in early Illinois history. His fight for free versus slave labor in Illinois and the Northwest derives a peculiar interest, however, from its association with the great name of Jefferson. The principles for which the latter stood--but not necessarily his policies--have a present-day interest for us greater than those of his contemporaries, because those principles are the "live issues" of our own times. Jefferson is to that extent our contemporary, and hence his name lends a living interest to otherwise obscure persons and remote events. The problem of free labor versus slave labor we have with us still, and in a much more complex and widespread form than in Jefferson's day. According to the current tradition, a warm personal friendship sprang up between Jefferson and young Lemen, who was seventeen years the junior of his distinguished patron and friend. In a letter to Robert, brother of James Lemen, attributed to Jefferson, he writes: "Among all my friends who are near, he is still a little nearer. I discovered his worth when he was but a child, and I freely confess that in some of my most important achievements his example, wish, and advice, though then but a very young man, largely influenced my action." In a sketch of the relations of the two men by Dr. John M. Peck we are told that "after Jefferson became President of the United States, he retained all of his early affection for Mr. Lemen"; and upon the occasion of a visit of a mutual friend to the President, in 1808, "he inquired after him with all the fondness of a father."[5] Their early relations in Virginia, so far as we have any account of them, concerned their mutual anti-slavery interests. Peck tells us that "Mr. Lemen was a born anti-slavery leader, and had proved himself such in Virginia by inducing scores of masters to free their slaves through his prevailing kindness of manner and Christian arguments." Concerning {p.10} the cession of Virginia's claims to the Northwest Territory, Jefferson is thus quoted, from his letter to Robert Lemen: "Before any one had even mentioned the matter, James Lemen, by reason of his devotion to anti-slavery principles, suggested to me that we (Virginia) make the transfer, and that slavery be excluded; and it so impressed and influenced me that whatever is due me as credit for my share in the matter, is largely, if not wholly, due to James Lemen's advice and most righteous counsel."[5] Before this transfer was effected, it appears that Jefferson had entered into negotiations with his young protégé with a view to inducing him to locate in the "Illinois country" as his agent, in order to co-operate with himself in the effort to exclude slavery from the entire Northwest Territory. Mr. Lemen makes record of an interview with Jefferson under date of December 11, 1782, as follows: "Thomas Jefferson had me to visit him again a short time ago, as he wanted me to go to the Illinois country in the Northwest after a year or two, in order to try to lead and direct the new settlers in the best way, and also to oppose the introduction of slavery into that country at a later day, as I am known as an opponent of that evil; and he says he will give me some help. It is all because of his great kindness and affection for me, for which I am very grateful; but I have not yet fully decided to do so, but have agreed to consider the case." In May, 1784, they had another interview, on the eve of Jefferson's departure on his prolonged mission to France. Mr. Lemen's memorandum reads: "I saw Jefferson at Annapolis, Maryland, to-day, and had a very pleasant visit with him. I have consented to go to Illinois on his mission, and he intends helping me some; but I did not ask nor wish it. We had a full agreement and understanding as to all terms and duties. The agreement is strictly private between us, but all his purposes are perfectly honorable and praiseworthy."[6] Thus the mission was undertaken which proved to be his life-work. He had intended starting with his father-in-law, Captain Ogle, in 1785, but was detained by illness in his family. December 28, 1785, he records: "Jefferson's confidential agent gave me one hundred dollars of his funds to use for my family, if need be, and if not, to go to good causes; and I will go to Illinois on his mission next spring and take my wife and children." Such {p.11} was the origin and nature of the so-called "Jefferson-Lemen Secret Anti-Slavery Compact," the available evidence concerning which will be given at the conclusion of this paper.[7] The anti-slavery propaganda of James Lemen and his circle constituted a determining factor in the history of the first generation of Illinois Baptists. To what extent Lemen co-operated with Jefferson in his movements will appear as we proceed with the story of his efforts to make Illinois a free State. The "Old Dominion" ceded her "county of Illinois" to the National domain in 1784. Jefferson's effort to provide for the exclusion of slavery from the new Territory at that date proved abortive. Consequently, when James Lemen arrived at the old French village of Kaskaskia in July, 1786, he found slavery legally entrenched in all the former French possessions in the "Illinois country." It had been introduced by Renault, in 1719, who brought 500 negroes from Santo Domingo (then a French possession) to work the mines which he expected to develop in this section of the French Colonial Empire.[8] It is a noteworthy fact that slavery was established on the soil of Illinois just a century after its introduction on the shores of Virginia. When the French possessions were taken over by Great Britain at the close of the colonial struggle in 1763, that country guaranteed the French inhabitants the possession of all their property, including slaves. When Col. Clark, of Virginia, took possession of this region in 1778, the State likewise guaranteed the inhabitants the full enjoyment of all their property rights. By the terms of the Virginia cession of 1784 to the National Government, all the rights and privileges of the former citizens of Virginia were assured to them in the ceded district. Thus, at the time of Lemen's arrival, slavery had been sanctioned on the Illinois prairies for sixty-seven years. One year from the date of his arrival, however, the Territorial Ordinance of 1787 was passed, with the prohibition of slavery, as originally proposed by Jefferson in 1784.[9] Thus it would seem that the desired object had already been attained. By the terms of the famous "Sixth Article of Compact," contained in that Ordinance, it was declared that "there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said Territory, otherwise than in the punishment of crimes whereof the accused shall have been duly convicted." This looks like a sweeping and final disposition of {p.12} the matter, but it was not accepted as such until the lapse of another fifty-seven years. But neither Jefferson nor his agents on the ground had anticipated so easy a victory. Indeed, they had foreseen that a determined effort would be made by the friends of slavery to legalize that institution in the Territory. Almost at once, in fact, the conflict commenced, which was to continue actively for thirty-seven years. Like the Nation itself, the Illinois country was to be for a large part of its history "half slave and half free"--both in sentiment and in practice. Two attempts against the integrity of the "Sixth Article" were made during Gov. St. Clair's administration. The trouble began with the appeals of the French slave-holders against the loss of their slaves.[10] As civil administration under the Territorial government was not established among the Illinois settlements until 1790, both the old French inhabitants and the new American colonists suffered all manner of disabilities and distresses in the interval between 1784 and 1790, while just across the Mississippi there was a settled and prosperous community under the Spanish government of Louisiana. When, therefore, the French masters appealed to Gen. St. Clair, in 1787, to protect them against the loss of the principal part of their wealth, represented by their slaves, he had to face the alternative of the loss of these substantial citizens by migration with their slaves to the Spanish side of the river. And, in order to pacify these petitioners, St. Clair gave it as his opinion that the prohibition of slavery in the Ordinance was not retroactive, and hence did not affect the rights of the French masters in their previously acquired slave property. As this view accorded with the "compact" contained in the Virginia deed of cession, it was sanctioned by the old Congress, and was later upheld by the new Federal Government; and this construction of the Ordinance of 1787 continued to prevail in Illinois until 1845, when the State Supreme Court decreed that the prohibition was absolute, and that, consequently, slavery in any form had never had any legal sanction in Illinois since 1787.[11] It does not appear that Mr. Lemen took any active measures against this construction of the anti-slavery ordinance at the time. He was, indeed, himself a petitioner, with other American settlers on the "Congress lands" in Illinois, for the recognition of their claims, which were menaced {p.13} by the general prohibition of settlement then in effect.[12] Conditions in every respect were so insecure prior to the organization of St. Clair county in 1790, that it was hardly to be expected that any vigorous measure could be taken against previously existing slavery in the colony, especially as the Americans were then living in station forts for protection against the hostile Indians. Moreover, Jefferson was not in the country in 1787, and hence there was no opportunity for co-operation with him at this time. Mr. Lemen was, however, improving the opportunity "to try to lead and direct the new settlers in the best way"; for we find him, although not as yet himself a "professor" of religion, engaged in promoting the religious observance of the Sabbath on the part of the "godfearing" element in the station fort where, with his father-in-law, he resided (Fort Piggott). In 1789 Jefferson returned from France to become Secretary of State in President Washington's cabinet, under the new Federal Government. He had not forgotten his friend Lemen, as Dr. Peck assures us that "he lost no time in sending him a message of love and confidence by a friend who was then coming to the West." St. Clair's construction of the prohibition of slavery unfortunately served to weaken even its preventive force and emboldened the pro-slavery advocates to seek persistently for the repeal, or, at least, the "suspension" of the obnoxious Sixth Article. A second effort was made under his administration in 1796, when a memorial, headed by Gen. John Edgar, was sent to Congress praying for the suspension of the Article. The committee of reference, of which the Hon. Joshua Coit of Connecticut was chairman, reported adversely upon this memorial, May 12, 1796.[13] It is not possible to state positively Lemen's influence, if any, in the defeat of this appeal of the leading citizens of the old French villages. But, as it was in this same year that the first Protestant church in the bounds of Illinois was organized in his house, and, as we are informed that he endeavored to persuade the constituent members of the New Design church to oppose slavery, we may suppose that he was already taking an active part in opposition to the further encroachments of slavery, especially in his own community. The effort to remove the prohibition was renewed under Gov. Wm. Henry Harrison, during the connection of the Illinois {p.14} settlements with the Indiana Territory, from 1800 to 1809. Five separate attempts were made during these years, which coincide with the term of President Jefferson, who had removed St. Clair to make room for Gen. Harrison. Harrison, however, yielded to the pressure of the pro-slavery element in the Territory to use his power and influence for their side of the question. Although their proposals were thrice favorably reported from committee, the question never came to a vote in Congress. The first attempt during the Indiana period was that of a pro-slavery convention, called at the instigation of the Illinois contingent, which met at Vincennes, in 1803, under the chairmanship of Gov. Harrison. Their memorial to Congress, requesting merely a temporary suspension of the prohibition, was adversely reported from committee in view of the evident prosperity of Ohio under the same restriction, and because "the committee deem it highly dangerous and inexpedient to impair a provision wisely calculated to promote the happiness and prosperity of the Northwestern country, and to give strength and security to that extensive frontier." Referring to this attempt of "the extreme southern slave advocates ... for the introduction of slavery," Mr. Lemen writes, under date of May 3, 1803, that "steps must soon be taken to prevent that curse from being fastened on our people." The same memorial was again introduced in Congress in February, 1804, with the provisos of a ten-year limit to the suspension and the introduction of native born slaves only, which, of course, would mean those of the border-state breeders. Even this modified proposal, although approved in committee, failed to move Congress to action. Harrison and his supporters continued nevertheless to press the matter, and he even urged Judge Lemen, in a personal interview, to lend his influence to the movement for the introduction of slavery. To this suggestion Lemen replied that "the evil attempt would encounter his most active opposition, in every possible and honorable manner that his mind could suggest or his means accomplish."[14] It was about this time that the Governor and judges took matters in their own hands and introduced a form of indentured service, which, although technically within the prohibition of _involuntary_ servitude, amounted practically to actual slavery. Soon after, in order to give this institution a more secure legal sanction, by legislative enactment, the {p.15} second grade of territorial government was hastily and high-handedly forced upon the people for this purpose. It was probably in view of these measures that Mr. Lemen recorded his belief that President Jefferson "will find means to overreach the evil attempts of the pro-slavery party." Early in the year 1806 the Vincennes memorial was introduced into Congress for the third time and again favorably reported from committee, but to no avail. It was about this time, as we learn from his diary, that Mr. Lemen "sent a messenger to Indiana to ask the churches and people there to get up and sign a counter petition, to uphold freedom in the Territory," circulating a similar petition in Illinois himself.[15] A fourth attempt to bring the proposal before Congress was made in January, 1807, in a formal communication from the Governor and Territorial Legislature. The proposal was a third time favorably reported by the committee of reference, but still without action by the House. Finally, in November of the same year, President Jefferson transmitted to Congress similar communications from the Indiana government. This time the committee reported that "the citizens of Clark county [in which was located the first Baptist church organized in Indiana], in their remonstrance, express their sense of the impropriety of the measure"; and that they also requested Congress not to act upon the subject until the people had an opportunity to formulate a State Constitution[16]. Commenting upon the whole proceedings, Dr. Peck quotes Gov. Harrison to the effect that, though he and Lemen were firm friends, the latter "had set his iron will against slavery, and indirectly made his influence felt so strongly at Washington and before Congress, that all the efforts to suspend the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787 failed."[17] Peck adds that President Jefferson "quietly directed his leading confidential friends in Congress steadily to defeat Gen. Harrison's petitions for the repeal."[17] It was about this time, September 10, 1807, that President Jefferson thus expressed his estimate of James Lemen's services, in his letter to Robert Lemen: "His record in the new country has fully justified my course in inducing him to settle there with the view of properly shaping events in the best interest of the people."[18] It was during this period of the Indiana agitation for the introduction of slavery, {p.16} as we learn from an entry in his diary dated September 10, 1806, that Mr. Lemen received a call from an agent of Aaron Burr to solicit his aid and sympathy in Burr's scheme for a southwestern empire, with Illinois as a Province, and an offer to make him governor. "But I denounced the conspiracy as high treason," he says, "and gave him a few hours to leave the Territory on pain of arrest."[19] It should be noted that at this date he was not himself a magistrate, which, perhaps, accounts for his apparent leniency towards what he regarded as a treasonable proposal. The year 1809, the date of the separation of Illinois from the Indiana Territory, marks a crisis in the Lemen anti-slavery campaign in Illinois.[20] The agitation under the Indiana government for the further recognition of slavery in the Territory was mainly instigated by the Illinois slave-holders and their sympathizers among the American settlers from the slave states. The people of Indiana proper, except those of the old French inhabitants of Vincennes, who were possessed of slaves, were either indifferent or hostile towards slavery. Its partisans in the Illinois counties of the Territory, in the hope of promoting their object thereby, now sought division of the Indiana Territory and the erection of a separate government for Illinois at Kaskaskia. This movement aroused a bitter political struggle in the Illinois settlements, one result of which was the murder of young Rice Jones in the streets of Kaskaskia. The division was advocated on the ground of convenience and opposed on the score of expense. The divisionists, however, seem to have been animated mainly by the desire to secure the introduction of slavery as soon as statehood could be attained for their section. The division was achieved in 1809, and with it the prompt adoption of the system of indentured service already in vogue under the Indiana government. And from that time forth the fight was on between the free-state and slave-state parties in the new Territory. Throughout the independent territorial history of Illinois, slavery was sanctioned partly by law and still further by custom. Gov. Ninian Edwards, whose religious affiliations were with the Baptists, not only sanctioned slavery, but, as is well known, was himself the owner of slaves during the territorial period. It was in view of this evident determination to make of Illinois Territory a slave state, that James Lemen, with Jefferson's approval, took the radical step of organizing a {p.17} distinctively anti-slavery church as a means of promoting the free-state cause.[21] From the first, indeed, he had sought to promote the cause of temperance and of anti-slavery in and through the church. He tells us in his diary, in fact, that he "hoped to employ the churches as a means of opposition to the institution of slavery."[21] He was reared in the Presbyterian faith, his stepfather being a minister of that persuasion; but at twenty years of age he embraced Baptist principles, apparently under the influence of a Baptist minister in Virginia, whose practice it was to bar from membership all who upheld the institution of slavery. He thus identified himself with the struggles for civil, religious, and industrial liberty, all of which were then actively going on in his own state. The name of "New Design," which became attached to the settlement which he established on the upland prairies beyond the bluffs of the "American Bottom," is said to have originated from a quaint remark of his that he "had a 'new design' to locate a settlement south of Bellefontaine" near the present town of Waterloo.[22] The name "New Design," however, became significant of his anti-slavery mission; and when, after ten years of pioneer struggles, he organized The Baptist Church of Christ at New Design, in 1796, he soon afterwards induced that body--the first Protestant church in the bounds of the present State--to adopt what were known as "Tarrant's Rules Against Slavery." The author of these rules, the Rev. James Tarrant, of Virginia, later of Kentucky, one of the "emancipating preachers," eventually organized the fraternity of anti-slavery Baptist churches in Kentucky, who called themselves "Friends to Humanity." From 1796 to 1809 Judge Lemen was active in the promotion of Baptist churches and a Baptist Association. He labored to induce all these organizations to adopt his anti-slavery principles, and in this he was largely successful; but, with the increase of immigrant Baptists from the slave states, it became increasingly difficult to maintain these principles in their integrity. And when, in the course of the campaign for the division of the Territory in 1808, it became apparent that the lines between the free-state and the slave-state forces were being decisively drawn, Lemen prepared to take a more radical stand in the struggle. With this design in view he asked and obtained the formal sanction of {p.18} his church as a licensed preacher. In the course of the same year, 1808, he is said to have received a confidential message from Jefferson "suggesting a division of the churches on the question of slavery, and the organization of a church on a strictly anti-slavery basis, for the purpose of heading a movement to make Illinois a free state."[21] According to another, and more probable, version of this story, when Jefferson learned, through a mutual friend (Mr. S. H. Biggs), of Lemen's determination to force the issue in the church to the point of division, if necessary, he sent him a message of approval of his proposed course and accompanied it with a contribution of $20 for the contemplated anti-slavery church. The division of the Territory was effected early in the year 1809, and in the summer of that year, after vainly trying to hold all the churches to their avowed anti-slavery principles, Elder Lemen, in a sermon at Richland Creek Baptist church, threw down the gauntlet to his pro-slavery brethren and declared that he could no longer maintain church fellowship with them. His action caused a division in the church, which was carried into the Association at its ensuing meeting, in October, 1809, and resulted in the disruption of that body into three parties on the slavery question--the conservatives, the liberals, and the radicals. The latter element, headed by "the Lemen party," as it now came to be called, held to the principles of The Friends to Humanity, and proposed to organize a branch of that order of Baptists. When it came to the test, however, the new church was reduced to a constituent membership consisting of some seven or eight members of the Lemen family. Such was the beginning of what is now the oldest surviving Baptist church in the State, which then took the name of "The Baptized Church of Christ, Friends to Humanity, on Cantine (Quentin) Creek." It is located in the neighborhood of the old Cahokia mound. Its building, when it came to have one, was called "Bethel Meeting House," and in time the church itself became known as "Bethel Baptist Church." The distinctive basis of this church is proclaimed in its simple constitution, to which every member was required to subscribe: "Denying union and communion with all persons holding the doctrine of perpetual, involuntary, hereditary slavery." This church began its career as "a family church," in the literal sense of the word; but it prospered nevertheless, {p.19} until it became a numerically strong and vigorous organization which has had an active and honorable career of a hundred years' duration. Churches of the same name and principles multiplied and maintained their uncompromising but discriminating opposition to slavery so long as slavery remained a local issue; after which time they were gradually absorbed into the general body of ordinary Baptist churches. During the period of the Illinois Territory, 1809 to 1818, Elder Lemen kept up a most energetic campaign of opposition to slavery, by preaching and rigorous church discipline in the application of the rules against slavery. He himself was regularly ordained soon after the organization of his anti-slavery church. His sons, James and Joseph, and his brother-in-law, Benjamin Ogle, were equally active in the ministry during this period, and, before its close, they had two churches firmly established in Illinois, with others of the same order in Missouri. "The church, properly speaking, never entered politics," Dr. Peck informs us, "but presently, when it became strong, the members all formed what they called the 'Illinois Anti-Slavery League,' and it was this body that conducted the anti-slavery contest."[23] The contest culminated in the campaign for statehood in 1818. At the beginning of that year the Territorial Legislature petitioned Congress for an Enabling Act, which was presented by the Illinois Delegate, Hon. Nathaniel Pope. As chairman of the committee to which this petition was referred, he drew up a bill for such an act early in the year. In the course of its progress through the House, he presented an amendment to his own bill, which provided for the extension of the northern boundary of the new state. According to the provisions of the Ordinance of 1787, the line would have been drawn through the southern border of Lake Michigan. Pope's amendment proposed to extend it so as to include some sixty miles of frontage on Lake Michigan, thereby adding fourteen counties, naturally tributary to the lake region, to counterbalance the southern portion of the State, which was connected by the river system with the southern slave states. Gov. Thomas Ford states explicitly that Pope made this change "upon his own responsibility, ... no one at that time having suggested or requested it." This statement is directly contradicted in {p.20} Dr. Peck's sketch of James Lemen, Sr., written in 1857. He therein states that this extension was first suggested by Judge Lemen, who had a government surveyor make a plat of the proposed extension, with the advantages to the anti-slavery cause to be gained thereby noted on the document, which he gave to Pope with the request to have it embodied in the Enabling Act.[24] This statement was repeated and amplified by Mr. Joseph B. Lemen in an article in _The Chicago Tribune_.[25] It is a well-known fact that the vote of these fourteen northern counties secured the State to the anti-slavery party in 1856; but as this section of the State was not settled until long after its admission into the Union, the measure, whatever its origin, had no effect upon the Constitutional Convention. However, John Messinger, of New Design, who surveyed the Military Tract and, later, also the northern boundary line, may very well have made such a plat, either on his own motion or at the suggestion of the zealous anti-slavery leader, with whom he was well acquainted. As Messinger was later associated with Peck in the Rock Spring Seminary, and in the publication of a sectional map of Illinois, it would seem that Peck was in a position to know the facts as well as Ford. In the campaign for the election of delegates to the Constitutional Convention, slavery was the only question seriously agitated. The Lemen churches and their sympathizers were so well organized and so determined in purpose that they made a very energetic and effective campaign for delegates. Their organization for political purposes, as Peck informs us, "always kept one of its members and several of its friends in the Territorial Legislature; and five years before the constitutional election in 1818, it had fifty resident agents--men of like sympathies--quietly at work in the several settlements; and the masterly manner in which they did their duty was shown by a poll which they made of the voters some few weeks before the election, which, on their side, varied only a few votes from the official count after the election."[23] It is difficult to determine from the meager records of the proceedings, even including the Journal of the Convention recently published, just what the complexion of the body was on the slavery question. Mr. W. Kitchell, a descendant of one of the delegates, states that there were twelve delegates that favored the recognition of slavery by a {p.21} specific article in the Constitution, and twenty-one that opposed such action. Gov. Coles, who was present as a visitor and learned the sentiments of the prominent members, says that many, but not a majority of the Convention, were in favor of making Illinois a slave state.[26] During the session of the Convention an address to The Friends of Freedom was published by a company of thirteen leading men, including James Lemen, Sr., to the effect that a determined effort was to be made in the Convention to give sanction to slavery, and urging concerted action "to defeat the plans of those who wish either a temporary or an unlimited slavery."[27] A majority of the signers of this address were Lemen's Baptist friends, and its phraseology points to him as its author. James Lemen, Jr., was a delegate from St. Clair county and a member of the committee which drafted the Constitution. In the original draft of that instrument, slavery was prohibited in the identical terms of the Ordinance of 1787, as we learn from the recently published journal of the Convention. In the final draft this was changed to read: "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall hereafter be introduced," and the existing system of indentured service was also incorporated. These changes were the result of compromise, and Lemen consistently voted against them. He was nevertheless one of the committee of three appointed to revise and engross the completed instrument. The result was a substantial victory for the Free-State Party; and had the Convention actually overridden the prohibition contained in the original Territorial Ordinance, as it was then interpreted, it is evident, from the tone of the address to The Friends of Freedom, that the Lemen circle would have made a determined effort to defeat the measure in Congress.[27] Dr. Peck, who, like Gov. Coles, was a visitor to the Convention, and who had every opportunity to know all the facts, in summing up the evidence in regard to the matter, declares it to be "conclusive that Mr. Lemen created and organized the forces which confirmed Illinois, if not the Northwest Territory, to freedom." Speaking of the current impression that the question of slavery was not much agitated in Illinois prior to the Constitutional Convention, Gov. Coles says: "On the contrary, at a very early period of the settlement of Illinois, the question was warmly agitated by zealous {p.22} advocates and opponents of slavery," and that, although during the period of the independent Illinois Territory the agitation was lulled, it was not extinguished, "as was seen [from] its mingling itself so actively both in the election and the conduct of the members of the Convention, in 1818."[26] Senator Douglas, in a letter to James Lemen, Jr., is credited with full knowledge of the "Jefferson-Lemen Anti-Slavery Compact" and a high estimate of its significance in the history of the slavery contest in Illinois and the Northwest Territory. "This matter assumes a phase of personal interest with me," he says, "and I find myself, politically, in the good company of Jefferson and your father. With them everything turned on whether the people of the Territory wanted slavery or not, ... and that appears to me to be the correct doctrine."[28] Lincoln, too, in a letter to the younger James Lemen, is quoted as having a personal knowledge of the facts and great respect for the senior Lemen in the conflict for a free state in Illinois. "Both your father and Lovejoy," he remarks, "were pioneer leaders in the cause of freedom, and it has always been difficult for me to see why your father, who was a resolute, uncompromising, and aggressive leader, who boldly proclaimed his purpose to make both the Territory and the State free, never aroused nor encountered any of that mob violence which, both in St. Louis and in Alton, confronted and pursued Lovejoy."[29] Of the latter he says: "His letters, among your old family notes, were of more interest to me than even those of Thomas Jefferson to your father." Jefferson's connection with Lemen's anti-slavery mission in Illinois was never made public, apparently, until the facts were published by Mr. Joseph B. Lemen, of the third generation, in the later years of his life, in connection with the centennary anniversaries of the events involved. However, the "compact" was a matter of family tradition, based upon a collection of letters and notes handed down from father to son. Jefferson's reasons for keeping the matter secret, as Dr. Peck explains, were, first, to prevent giving the impression that he was seeking his own interests in the territories, and, second, to avoid arousing the opposition of his southern friends who desired the extension of slavery. Lemen, on the other hand, did not wish to have it thought that his actions were controlled by political considerations, or subject {p.23} to the will of another. Moreover, when he learned that Jefferson was regarded as "an unbeliever," he is said to have wept bitterly lest it should be thought that, in his work for the church and humanity, he had been influenced by an "infidel"; and, sometime before his death, he exacted a promise of his sons and the few friends who were acquainted with the nature of his compact with Jefferson that they would not make it known while he lived.[30] Under the influence of this feeling on the part of their father, the family kept the facts to themselves and a few confidential friends until after the lapse of a century, when the time came to commemorate the achievements of their ancestor. How much of the current tradition is fact and how much fiction is hard to determine, as so little of the original documentary material is now available. The collection of materials herewith presented consists of what purport to be authentic copies of the original documents in question. They are put in this form in the belief that their significance warrants it, and in the hope that their publication may elicit further light on the subject. These materials consist of three sorts, viz.; a transcript of the Diary of James Lemen, Sr., a manuscript History of the confidential relations of Lemen and Jefferson, prepared by Rev. John M. Peck, and a series of letters from various public men to Rev. James Lemen, Jr. The Diary and manuscript "History" were located by the compiler of this collection among the papers of the late Dr. Edward B. Lemen, of Alton, Illinois. These documents are now in the possession of his son-in-law, Mr. Wykoff, who keeps them in his bank vault. The collection of letters was published at various times by Mr. Joseph B. Lemen, of Collinsville, Illinois, in _The Belleville Advocate_, of Belleville, Illinois. The Diary is a transcript of the original, attested by Rev. James Lemen, Jr. The "History" is a brief sketch, in two chapters, prepared from the original documents by Dr. Peck while he was pastor of the Bethel Church, in June, 1851, and written at his dictation by the hand of an assistant, as the document itself expressly states. Mr. Joseph Lemen, who is responsible for the letters, is the son of Rev. James Lemen, Jr., and one of the editors of the Lemen Family History. The editor of _The Belleville Advocate_ states that Mr. Lemen has contributed to various metropolitan newspapers in the political campaigns of his party, from those of Lincoln to those of McKinley.[31] He also {p.24} contributed extended sketches of the Baptist churches of St. Clair county for one of the early histories of that county. He took an active part in promoting the movement to commemorate his grandfather, James Lemen, Sr., in connection with the centennary anniversaries of the churches founded at New Design and Quentin Creek (Bethel). The originals of these materials are said to have composed part of a collection of letters and documents known as the "Lemen Family Notes," which has aroused considerable interest and inquiry among historians throughout the country. The history of this collection is somewhat uncertain. It was begun by James Lemen, Sr., whose diary, containing his "Yorktown Notes" and other memoranda, is perhaps its most interesting survival. While residing in the station fort on the Mississippi Bottom during the Indian troubles of his early years in the Illinois country, he made a rude walnut chest in which to keep his books and papers. This chest, which long continued to be used as the depository of the family papers, is still preserved, in the Illinois Baptist Historical Collection, at the Carnegie Library, Alton, Illinois. It is said that Abraham Lincoln once borrowed it from Rev. James Lemen, Jr., for the sake of its historical associations, and used it for a week as a receptacle for his own papers. Upon the death of the elder Lemen the family notes and papers passed to James, Jr., who added to it many letters from public men of his wide circle of acquaintance. As the older portions of the collection were being worn and lost, by loaning them to relatives and friends, copies were made of all the more important documents, and the remaining originals were then placed in the hands of Dr. J. M. Peck, who was at the time pastor of the Bethel Church, to be deposited in the private safe of a friend of his in St. Louis. As the slavery question was then (1851) at white heat, it is not surprising that Dr. Peck advised the family to carefully preserve all the facts and documents relating to their father's anti-slavery efforts "until some future time," lest their premature publication should disturb the peace of his church. As late as 1857 he writes of "that dangerous element in many of the old letters bearing on the anti-slavery contest of 1818," and adds, "With some of those interested in that contest, in fifty years from this time, the publication of these letters would create trouble between the descendants of many of our old pioneer families."[6] A {p.25} man by the name of J. M. Smith is suggested by Dr. Peck as the custodian of the originals. When this gentleman died, the documents in his care are supposed to have been either lost or appropriated by parties unknown to the Lemen family. Mr. Joseph B. Lemen relates that a certain party at one time represented to the family that he had located the papers and offered, for a suitable consideration, to recover them. This proved to be merely a scheme to obtain money under false pretenses.[6] Various other accounts are current of the disposition of the original papers; but as yet none of them have been located. The transcripts of the collection, made by James Lemen, Jr., came into the hands of his son, Joseph Bowler Lemen, who is responsible for the publication of various portions of the story, including some of the letters entire. Even these copies, however, are not accessible at the present time, except that of the Lemen Diary, as located by the present writer. Joseph Lemen's account of the fate of the elusive documents is given in full at the end of this publication. He there states that every paper of any value was copied and preserved, but even these copies were dissipated to a large extent. He also claims that all the facts contained in these documents have been published in one form or another, "except a very few, including Rev. James Lemen's interviews with Lincoln, as written up by Mr. Lemen on ten pages of legal cap paper." This Joseph B. Lemen is now far advanced in years, has long been a recluse, and has the reputation of being "peculiar." In a personal interview with him, the present writer could elicit no further facts regarding the whereabouts of the "Lemen Family Notes." Nevertheless, the discovery of the copy of the Lemen Diary and the manuscript of Dr. Peck's "History" gives encouragement to hope for further discoveries, which should be reported to the Chicago Historical Society. DOCUMENTS {p.26} I. DIARY OF REV. JAMES LEMEN, SR. Ridge Prairie, Ill. June 4, 1867. The within notes are a true copy of the notes kept by the Rev. James Lemen, Sr., when in the siege at Yorktown. The original notes were fading out. By his son, REV. JAMES LEMEN, Jr. * * * * * Near Yorktown, Va. Sep. 26, 1781. My enlistment of two years expired some time ago, but I joined my regiment to-day and will serve in this siege. Quarters, near Yorktown, Sept. 27, 1781. I was on one of the French ships to-day with my captain. There is a great fleet of them to help us, it is said, if we fight soon. Sept. 30, 1781, Near Yorktown. Our regiment has orders to move forward this morning, and the main army is moving. Near Yorktown. Oct. 3, 1781. I was detailed with four other soldiers to return an insane British soldier who had come into our lines, as we don't want such prisoners. Near Yorktown. Oct. 4, 1781. I carried a message from my Colonel to Gen. Washington to-day. He recognized me and talked very kindly and said the war would soon be over, he thought. I knew Washington before the war commenced. Near {p.27} Yorktown. Oct. 4, 1781. I saw Washington and La Fayette looking at a French soldier and an American soldier wrestling, and the American threw the Frenchman so hard he limped off, and La Fayette said that was the way Washington must do to Cornwallis. Near Yorktown. Oct. 5, 1781. Brother Robert is sick to-day, but was on duty. There was considerable firing to-day. There will be a great fight soon. Near Yorktown. Oct. 15, 1781. I was in the assault which La Fayette led yesterday evening against the British redoubt, which we captured. Our loss was nine killed and thirty-four wounded. Near Yorktown. Oct. 15, 1781. Firing was very heavy along our lines on Oct. 9th and 10th. and with great effect, but this redoubt and another was in our way and we Americans under La Fayette captured one easily, but the French soldiers who captured the other suffered heavily. They were also led by a Frenchman. Yorktown. Oct. 19, 1781. Our victory is great and complete. I saw the surrender to-day. Our officers think this will probably end the war. * * * * * Ridge Prairie, Ill. June 4, 1867. I have examined the within notes and find them to be correct copies of notes kept by Rev. James Lemen, Sr., which were fading out. He originally kept his confidential notes, as to his agreement with Thomas Jefferson, in a private book, but as this is intended for publication at some future time, they are all copied together. By his son, REV. JAMES LEMEN, Jr. Harper's Ferry, Va. Dec. 11, 1782. [5]Thomas Jefferson had me to visit him again a short time ago, as he wanted me to go to the Illinois country in the North West, after a year or two, in order to try to lead and {p.28} direct the new settlers in the best way and also to oppose the introduction of slavery in that country at a later day, as I am known as an opponent of that evil, and he says he will give me some help. It is all because of his great kindness and affection for me, for which I am very grateful, but I have not yet fully decided to do so, but have agreed to consider the case. Dec. 20, 1782. During the war, I served a two years' enlistment under Washington. I do not believe in war except to defend one's country and home and in this case I was willing to serve as faithfully as I could. After my enlistment expired I served again in the army in my regiment under Washington, during the siege of Yorktown, but did not again enlist, as the officers thought the war would soon end. May 2, 1784. [6]I saw Jefferson at Annapolis, Maryland, to-day and had a very pleasant visit with him. I have consented to go to Illinois on his mission and he intends helping me some, but I did not ask nor wish it. We had a full agreement and understanding as to all terms and duties. The agreement is strictly private between us, but all his purposes are perfectly honorable and praiseworthy. Dec. 28, 1785. Jefferson's confidential agent gave me one hundred dollars of his funds to use for my family, if need be, and if not to go to good causes, and I will go to Illinois on his mission next Spring and take my wife and children. Sept. 4, 1786. In the past summer, with my wife and children I arrived at Kaskaskia, Illinois, and we are now living in the Bottom settlement. On the Ohio river my boat partly turned over and we lost a part of our goods and our son Robert came near drowning. May 10, 1787. I am very well impressed with this new country, but we are still living in the Bottom, as the Indians are unsafe. We prefer living on the high lands and we shall get us a place there soon. People are coming into this new country in increasing numbers. New {p.29} Design, Ill. Feb. 26, 1794. My wife and I were baptized with several others to-day in Fountain Creek by Rev. Josiah Dodge. The ice had to be cut and removed first. New Design, May 28, 1796. Yesterday and to-day, my neighbors at my invitation, gathered at my home and were constituted into a Baptist church, by Rev. David Badgley and Joseph Chance. New Design, Jan. 4, 1797. We settled here some time ago and are well pleased with our place. It is more healthy than the Bottom country. A fine sugar grove is near us and a large lake with fine fish, and soil good, but the Indians are not yet to be trusted. We have been here now a number of years and have quite a farm in cultivation and fairly good improvements. New Design, Jan. 6, 1798. I have just returned with six of my neighbors from a hunt and land inspection upon what is called Richland country and creek. We had made our camp near that creek before. On the first Sunday morning in December held religious services and on Monday went out to see the land. We found fine prairie lands some miles north, south and east and some timber lands along the water streams mostly. Game is plentiful and we killed several deer and turkeys. It is a fine country. New Design, May 3, 1803. As Thomas Jefferson predicted they would do, the extreme southern slave advocates are making their influence felt in the new territory for the introduction of slavery and they are pressing Gov. William Henry Harrison to use his power and influence for that end. Steps must soon be taken to prevent that curse from being fastened on our people. New Design, May 4, 1805. At our last meeting, as I expected he would do, Gov. Harrison asked and insisted that I should cast my influence for the introduction of slavery here, but I not only denied the request, but I informed him that the evil attempt would encounter my most active opposition in every possible and honorable manner that my mind could suggest or my means accomplish. New {p.30} Design, May 10, 1805. Knowing President Jefferson's hostility against the introduction of slavery here and the mission he sent me on to oppose it, I do not believe the pro-slavery petitions with which Gov. Harrison and his council are pressing Congress for slavery here can prevail while he is President, as he is very popular with Congress and will find means to overreach the evil attempt of the pro-slavery power. Jan. 20th 1806. [15]As Gov. William Henry Harrison and his legislative council have had their petitions before Congress at several sessions asking for slavery here, I sent a messenger to Indiana to ask the churches and people there to get up and sign a counter petition to Congress to uphold freedom in the territory and I have circulated one here and we will send it on to that body at next session or as soon as the work is done. New Design. Sept. 10, 1806. [19]A confidential agent of Aaron Burr called yesterday to ask my aid and sympathy in Burr's scheme for a Southwestern Empire with Illinois as a province and an offer to make me governor. But I denounced the conspiracy as high treason and gave him a few hours to leave the territory on pain of arrest. New Design. Jan 10, 1809 [1810]. [20]I received Jefferson's confidential message on Oct. 10, 1808, suggesting a division of the churches on the question of slavery and the organization of a church on a strictly anti-slavery basis, for the purpose of heading a movement to finally make Illinois a free State, and after first trying in vain for some months to bring all the churches over to such a basis, I acted on Jefferson's plan and Dec. 10, 1809, the anti-slavery element formed a Baptist church at Cantine creek, on an anti-slavery basis. New Design. Mar. 3, 1819. I was reared in the Presbyterian faith, but at 20 years of age I embraced Baptist principles and after settlement in Illinois I was baptized into that faith and finally became a minister of the gospel of that church, but some years before I was licensed to preach, I was active in collecting and inducing {p.31} communities to organize churches, as I thought that the most certain plan to control and improve the new settlements, and I also hoped to employ the churches as a means of opposition to the institution of slavery, but this only became possible when we organized a leading church on a strictly anti-slavery basis, an event which finally was marked with great success, as Jefferson suggested it would be. New Design. Jan 10, 1820. My six sons all are naturally industrious and they all enjoy the sports. Robert and Josiah excel in fishing, Moses in hunting, William in boating and swimming and James and Joseph in running and jumping. Either one of them can jump over a line held at his own height, a little over six feet. New Design. Jan. 12, 1820. A full account of my Indian fights will be found among my papers. New Design. Dec. 10, 1820. Looking back at this time, 1820, to 1809, when we organized the Canteen creek Baptist Church on a strictly anti-slavery basis as Jefferson had suggested as a [center] from which the anti-slavery movement to finally save the State to freedom could be directed, it is now clear that the move was a wise one as there is no doubt but that it more than anything else was what made Illinois a free State. New Design, Ill. Jan. 4, 1821. Among my papers my family will find a full and connected statement as to all the churches I have caused to be formed since my settlement in Illinois. * * * * * There were many of our family notes which were faded out and Rev. J. M. Peck retained some when he made father's history and many were misplaced by other friends, but we have had all copied [that] are now in our possession which are of interest. REV. JAMES LEMEN, Jr., (Son of Rev. James Lemen, Sr.). Ridge Prairie, Ill. June 4, 1867. My father's account of his Indian fights and statement of all the churches he caused to be founded in Illinois, above mentioned, {p.32} were loaned to Rev. John M. Peck a short time before his death and have not been returned, but the information contained has already been published except a few confidential facts as to his relations with Jefferson in the formation of the Canteen Creek Baptist Ch., now the Bethel Baptist Church. REV. JAMES LEMEN, Jr. (Son of James Lemen, Sr.) II. PECK'S HISTORY OF THE JEFFERSON-LEMEN COMPACT Rock Spring, Ill., June 4, 1851. The history of the confidential relation of Rev. James Lemen, Senior, and Thomas Jefferson, and Lemen's mission under him, which I have prepared for his son, Rev. James Lemen, Junior, at his request from the family notes and diaries. J. M. PECK, Per A. M. W. CHAPTER I. The leading purpose of Thomas Jefferson in selecting James Lemen, of Virginia, afterwards James Lemen, Senior, to go to Illinois as his agent, was no doubt prompted by his great affection for Mr. Lemen and his impression that a young man of such aptitude as a natural leader would soon impress himself on the community, and as the advantages in the territory were soon to be great, Jefferson was desirous to send him out, and with the help of a few friends he provided a small fund to give him, and also his friend who was going to Indiana on a like mission, to be used by their families if need be, and if not to go to good causes. There was also another motive with Jefferson; he looked forward to a great pro-slavery contest to finally try to make Illinois and Indiana slave states, and as Mr. Lemen was a natural born anti-slavery leader and had proved himself such in Virginia by inducing scores of masters to free their slaves through his prevailing kindness of manner and Christian arguments, he was just Jefferson's ideal of a man who could safely be trusted with his anti-slavery mission in Illinois, and this was an important factor in his appointment. The last meeting between Mr. Lemen and Jefferson was at Annapolis, Maryland, on May 2, 1784, a short time before he {p.33} sailed as envoy to France, and all the terms between them were fully agreed upon, and on Dec. 28, 1785, Jefferson's confidential agent gave Mr. Lemen one hundred dollars of his funds, and in the summer of 1786 with his wife and children he removed and settled in Illinois, at New Design, in what is now Monroe County. A few years after his settlement in Illinois Mr. Lemen was baptized into the Baptist church, and he finally became a minister of the people of that faith. He eventually became a great organizer of churches and by that fact, reinforced by his other wonderful traits as a natural leader, he fully realized Jefferson's fondest dreams and became a noted leader. In 1789 Jefferson returned from his mission to France and his first thought was of Mr. Lemen, his friend in Illinois, and he lost no time in sending him a message of love and confidence by a friend who was then coming to the West. [5]After Jefferson became President of the United States he retained all of his early affection for Mr. Lemen, and when S. H. Biggs, a resident of Illinois, who was in Virginia on business and who was a warm friend of both Jefferson and Mr. Lemen, called on him in 1808, when President, he inquired after him with all the fondness of a father, and when told of Mr. Lemen's purpose to soon organize a new church on a strictly anti-slavery basis Jefferson sent him a message to proceed at once to form the new church and he sent it a twenty-dollar contribution. Acting on Jefferson's suggestion, Mr. Lemen promptly took the preliminary steps for the final formation of the new church and when constituted it was called the Baptist Church of Canteen Creek and Jefferson's contribution, with other funds, were given to it. This church is now called the Bethel Baptist Church, and it has a very interesting history. But in view of the facts and circumstances the church might properly have been called the "Thomas Jefferson Church," and what volumes these facts speak for the beneficent and marvelous influence which Mr. Lemen had over Jefferson, who was a reputed unbeliever. The great love he had for James Lemen not only induced him to tolerate his churches but he became an active adviser for their multiplication. [30]The original agreement between Jefferson and Mr. Lemen was strictly confidential; on the part of Jefferson, because, had it been known, his opponents would have said {p.34} he sent paid emissaries to Illinois and Indiana to shape matters to his own interests, and the extreme South might have opposed his future preferment, if it were known that he had made an anti-slavery pact with his territorial agents; and it was secret on the part of Mr. Lemen because he never wished Jefferson to give him any help and his singularly independent nature made him feel that he would enjoy a greater liberty of action, or feeling at least, if it were never known that his plans and purposes to some extent were dictated and controlled by another, not even by his great and good friend Jefferson; so the agreement between them was strictly private. [30]And there was another circumstance which finally determined Mr. Lemen to always preserve the secrecy, and that was that some of Mr. Jefferson's opponents shortly before Mr. Lemen's death informed him that he had become an absolute unbeliever, and this so impressed his mind that he wept bitterly for fear, if the fact should ever be known that he had an agreement with Jefferson, that they would say that he was in alliance with an unbeliever in the great life work he had performed, and he exacted a promise from his sons, his brother-in-law, Rev. Benjamin Ogle, and Mr. Biggs, the only persons who then knew of the agreement, that they would never divulge it during his lifetime, a pledge they all religiously kept, and in later years they told no one but the writer and a few other trusted friends who have not, and never will, betray them. But the writer advised them to carefully preserve all the facts and histories we are now writing and to tell some of their families and let them publish them at some future time, as much of the information is of public interest. As to Jefferson's being an absolute unbeliever, his critics were mistaken. He held to the doctrine that the mind and the reason are the only guides we have to judge of the authenticity and credibility of all things, natural and divine, and this appears to have been the chief basis on which Jefferson's critics based their charges against him. But while these harsh criticisms in some measure misled Mr. Lemen he never lost his great love for Jefferson and to the latest day of his life he always mentioned his name with tenderness and affection. I had hoped to complete this history in one chapter, but there appear to be notes and materials enough for another. By oversight the notes of Mr. Lemen's war record were not given me, but he honorably served an enlistment of {p.35} two years under Washington, and returned to his regiment at the siege of Yorktown and served until the surrender of Cornwallis, but did not re-enlist. CHAPTER II. At their last meeting at Annapolis, Maryland, on May 2, 1784, when the final terms in their agreement as to Mr. Lemen's mission in Illinois were made, both he and Jefferson agreed that sooner or later, there would be a great contest to try to fasten slavery on the Northwestern Territory, and this prophesy was fully verified in spite of the fact that Congress, at a later period, passed the Ordinance of 1787 forever forbidding slavery; two contests arose in Illinois, the first to confirm the territory and the second to confirm the state to freedom. [17]From 1803 for several successive congresses Gen. William Henry Harrison, then governor of the Northwestern Territory, with his legislative council petitioned that body to repeal the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787 and to establish slavery in the territory, but without avail, and finally recognizing that the influence of Rev. James Lemen, Sr., was paramount with the people of Illinois, he made persistent overtures for his approval of his pro-slavery petitions, but he declined to act and promptly sent a messenger to Indiana, paying him thirty dollars of the Jefferson fund given him in Virginia to have the church and people there sign a counter petition, meanwhile circulating one in Illinois among the Baptists and others; and at the next session of Congress Gen. Harrison's pro-slavery petitions for the first time encountered the anti-slavery petitions of the Baptist people and others, and the senate, before which the matter went at that time, voted to sustain the anti-slavery petitions and against the repeal of the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787, and for the time the contest ended. [21]The next anti-slavery contest was in the narrower limits of the territory of Illinois, and it began with the events which called the Bethel Baptist Church into existence. When Mr. Lemen received President Jefferson's message in 1808 to proceed at once to organize the next church on an anti-slavery basis and make it the center from which the anti-slavery forces should act to finally make Illinois a free state, he decided to act on it; but as he knew it would create a {p.36} division in the churches and association, to disarm criticism he labored several months to bring them over to the anti-slavery cause, but finding that impossible he adopted Jefferson's advice and prepared to open the contest. The first act was on July 8, 1809, in regular session of the Richland Creek Baptist Church, where the people had assembled from all quarters to see the opening of the anti-slavery contest, when Rev. James Lemen, Sr., arose and in a firm but friendly Christian spirit declared it would be better for both sides to separate, as the contest for and against slavery must now open and not close until Illinois should become a state. A division of both the association and the churches followed, but finally at a great meeting at the Richland Creek Baptist Church in a peaceful and Christian manner, as being the better policy for both sides, separation was adopted by unanimous vote and a number of members withdrew, and on Dec. 10, 1809, they formed the "Baptist Church at Canteen Creek," (now Bethel Baptist Church). Their articles of faith were brief. They simply declared the Bible to be the pillar of their faith, and proclaimed their good will for the brotherhood of humanity by declaring their church to be "The Baptist Church of Christ, Friends to Humanity, denying union and communion with all persons holding the doctrine of perpetual, involuntary, hereditary slavery." [23]The church, properly speaking, never entered politics, but presently, when it became strong, the members all formed what they called "The Illinois Anti-Slavery League," and it was this body that conducted the anti-slavery contest. It always kept one of its members and several of its friends in the Territorial Legislature, and five years before the constitutional election in 1818 it had fifty resident agents--men of like sympathies--in the several settlements throughout the territory quietly at work, and the masterly manner in which they did their duty was shown by a poll which they made of the voters some few weeks before the election, which, on their side only varied a few votes from the official count after the election. [17]With people familiar with all the circumstances there is no divergence of views but that the organization of the Bethel Church and its masterly anti-slavery contest saved Illinois to freedom; but much of the credit of the freedom of Illinois, as well as for the balance of the territory, was due to Thomas Jefferson's faithful and efficient aid. True to his promise to Mr. Lemen that slavery should {p.37} never prevail in the Northwestern Territory or any part of it, he quietly directed his leading confidential friends in Congress to steadily defeat Gen. Harrison's pro-slavery petitions for the repeal of the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787, and his friendly aid to Rev. James Lemen, Sr., and friends made the anti-slavery contest of Bethel Church a success in saving the state to freedom. In the preparation of this history, to insure perfect reliability and a well-connected statement, I have examined, selected, and read the numerous family notes myself, dictating, while my secretary has done the writing, and after all was completed we made another critical comparison with all the notes to insure perfect accuracy and trustworthiness. I have had one copy prepared for Rev. James Lemen, Jr., and one for myself. I should have added that of the one hundred dollars of the Jefferson funds given him Rev. James Lemen, Sr., used none for his family, but it was all used for other good causes, as it was not Mr. Lemen's intention to appropriate any of it for his own uses when he accepted it from Jefferson's confidential agent in Virginia. III. "HOW ILLINOIS GOT CHICAGO" (Communication from Joseph B. Lemen, under head of "Voice of the People," in _The Chicago Tribune_ some time in December, 1908.) O'Fallon, Ill., Dec. 21, 1908. Editor of the Tribune:--In October, 1817, the Rev. James Lemen, Sr., had a government surveyor make a map showing how the boundary of Illinois could be extended northward so as to give a growing state more territory and a better shape and include the watercourses by which Lake Michigan might be connected with the Mississippi river. With these advantages marked in the margin of the map, he gave his plan and map to Nathaniel Pope, our territorial delegate in congress, to secure the adoption of the plan by that body, which he did. The facts were noted in the Rev. J. M. Peck's pioneer papers and others, and in commenting on them some of our newspapers have recently charged Nathaniel Pope with carelessness in not publishing Mr. Lemen's share in the matter, but unjustly. Mr. Lemen and Mr. Pope were ardent friends, and as the former was a preacher and desired no office, and he wished and sought for no private preferment and {p.38} promotion, he expressly declared that as Mr. Pope had carried the measure through Congress with such splendid skill he preferred that he should have the credit and not mention where he got the map and plan. Rev. Benjamin Ogle, Mr. Lemen's brother-in-law, and others mentioned this fact in some of their papers and notes. The omission was no fault of Mr. Pope's and was contrary to his wish. The present site of Chicago was included in the territory added, and that is how Illinois got Chicago. PIONEER. IV. ADDRESS TO THE FRIENDS OF FREEDOM (From _The Illinois Intelligencer_, August 5, 1818.) The undersigned, happening to meet at the St. Clair Circuit Court, have united in submitting the following Address to the Friends of Freedom in the State of Illinois. Feeling it a duty in those who are sincere in their opposition to the toleration of slavery in this territory to use all fair and laudable means to effect that object, we therefore beg leave to present to our fellow-citizens at large the sentiments which prevail in this section of our country on that subject. In the counties of Madison and St. Clair, the most populous counties in the territory, a sentiment approaching unanimity seems to prevail against it. In the counties of Bond, Washington, and Monroe a similar sentiment also prevails. We are informed that strong exertions will be made in the convention to give sanction to that deplorable evil in our state; and lest such should be the result at too late a period for anything like concert to take place among the friends of freedom in trying to defeat it, we therefore earnestly solicit all true friends to freedom in every section of the territory to unite in opposing it, both by the election of a Delegate to Congress who will oppose it and by forming meetings and preparing remonstrances against it. Indeed, so important is this question considered that no exertions of a fair character should be omitted to defeat the plan of those who wish either a temporary or unlimited slavery. Let us also select men to the Legislature who will unite in remonstrating to the general government against ratifying such a constitution. At a crisis like this thinking will not do, _acting_ is necessary. From {p.39} St. Clair county--Risdon Moore, Benjamin Watts, Jacob Ogle, Joshua Oglesby, William Scott, Sr., William Biggs, Geo. Blair, Charles R. Matheny, James Garretson, and [34]William Kinney. From Madison County--Wm. B. Whiteside. From Monroe County--James Lemen, Sr. From Washington--Wm. H. Bradsby. V. RECOLLECTIONS OF A CENTENNARIAN By DR. WILLIAMSON F. BOYAKIN, Blue Rapids, Kansas (1807-1907) (_The Standard_, Chicago, November 9, 1907.) The Lemen family was of Irish [Scotch] descent. They were friends and associates of Thomas Jefferson. It was through his influence that they migrated West. When the Lemen family arrived at what they designated as New Design, in the vicinity of the present town of Waterloo, in Monroe county, twenty-five miles southeast of the city of St. Louis, Illinois was a portion of the state of Virginia. [Ceded to U. S. two years previous.] Thomas Jefferson gave them a kind of carte blanche for all the then unoccupied territory of Virginia, and gave them $30 in gold to be paid to the man who should build the first meeting house on the western frontier.[32] This rudely-constructed house of worship was built on a little creek named Canteen [Quentin], just a mile or two south of what is now called Collinsville, Madison county, Illinois. In the mountains of Virginia there lived a Baptist minister by the name of Torrence. This Torrence, at an Association in Virginia, introduced a resolution against slavery. In a speech in favor of the resolution he said, "All friends of humanity should support the resolution." The elder James Lemen being present voted for it and adopted it for his motto, inscribed it on a rude flag, and planted it on the rudely-constructed flatboat on which the family floated down the Ohio river, in the summer of 1790 [1786], to the New Design location.[33] The distinguishing characteristic of the churches and associations that subsequently grew up in Illinois [under the Lemen influence] was the name "The Baptized Church of Christ, Friends to Humanity." One {p.40} of these Lemen brothers, Joseph, married a Kinney, sister to him who was afterwards governor [lieutenant governor] of the state. This Kinney was also a Baptist preacher, a Kentuckian, and a pro-slavery man.[34] When the canvass opened in 1816, 17, and 18 to organize Illinois into a state, the Lemens and the Kinneys were leaders in the canvass. The canvass was strong, long, bitter. The Friends to Humanity party won. The Lemen brothers made Illinois what it is, a free state. The Lemens were personally fine specimens of the genus homo--tall, straight, large, handsome men--magnetic, emotional, fine speakers. James Lemen [Junior] was considered the most eloquent speaker of the day of the Baptist people. Our present educated preachers have lost the hold they should have upon the age in the cultivation of the intellectual instead of the emotional. Religion is the motive power in the intellectual guidance of humanity. These Lemens were well balanced in the cultivation of the intellect and the control of the emotions. They were well educated for their day, self-educated, great lovers of poetry, hymnal poetry, having no taste for the religious debates now so prevalent in some localities. They attended no college commencements [?]. James Lemen, however, at whose grave the monument is to be erected, was for fourteen consecutive years in the Senate of the State Legislature, and would have been elected United States senator, but he would not accept the position when offered. [This was James, Jr., not his father.] Personally of fine taste, always well and even elegantly dressed, they rode fine horses, owned fine farms, well cultivated. They lived in rich, elegant style [?]. They were brimful and overflowing with spontaneous hospitality. All were married, with several sisters, and were blessed with large families. Almost all of them, parents and descendants, have passed away. Old Bethel, the church house, and the graveyard, in sight of the old mound, are yet there. NOTE.--Dr. Boyakin was a physician, Baptist minister, and newspaper editor for many years in Illinois. He delivered the G. A. R. address at Blue Rapids, Kansas, on his one hundredth birthday. He has confused some things in these "recollections," especially the story concerning the origin of the name "Friends to Humanity," but for his years his statements are unusually in accord with the facts. VI. {p.41} IN MEMORY OF REV. JAMES LEMEN, SR. BY A WELL-WISHER (_The Standard_, Chicago, November 16, 1907) When James Lemen's early anti-slavery Baptist churches went over to the cause of slavery, it looked as if all were lost and his anti-slavery mission in Illinois had failed. At that crisis Mr. Lemen could have formed another sect, but in his splendid loyalty to the Baptist cause he simply formed another Baptist church on the broader, higher grounds for both God and humanity, and on this high plane he unfurled the banner of freedom. In God's good time the churches and state and nation came up to that grand level of right, light, and progress. Of James Lemen's sons, under his training, Robert was an eminent Baptist layman, and Joseph, James, Moses, and Josiah were able Baptist preachers. [William, the "wayward" son, also became a useful minister in his later years.] Altogether they were as faithful a band of men as ever stood for any cause. This is the rating which history places upon them. The country owes James Lemen another debt of gratitude for his services to history. He and his sons were the only family that ever kept a written and authentic set of notes of early Illinois; and the early historians, Ford, Reynolds, and Peck, drew many of their facts from that source. These notes embraced the only correct histories of both the early Methodist and the early Baptist churches in Illinois and much other early matter.[35] NOTE.--This communication was probably from Dr. W. F. Boyakin. VII. STATEMENT REGARDING JOSEPH B. LEMEN "Joseph B. Lemen has written editorially for _The New York Sun_, _The New York Tribune_, _The Chicago Tribune_, _and The Belleville Advocate_. "During the McKinley campaign of 1896 he wrote editorials from the farmers' standpoint for a number of the metropolitan newspapers of the country at the personal request of Mark Hanna. "He also wrote editorials for the metropolitan newspapers during the first Lincoln campaign." --Editor, _Belleville Advocate_. December, 1912. VIII. {p.42} HISTORIC LETTER OF REV. J. M. PECK ON THE OLD LEMEN FAMILY NOTES (From _Belleville Advocate_, January, 1908) (Clipping in I.B.H.C., K11) To the Editor of the Belleville Advocate: We herewith send the Advocate a copy of a letter of the eminent historian and great Baptist divine, the late Rev. J. M. Peck, to his old ministerial associate, the late Rev. James Lemen, concerning the anti-slavery labors of his father, Rev. James Lemen, Sr., and also his views as to the old Lemen family notes, which will perhaps interest your readers. It seems quite appropriate for the Advocate to print these old pioneer matters, as it is one of the old pioneer landmarks. Rev. James Lemen took the paper when it started, under its first name, and it has come to his family or family members at his old home ever since. By order of the Family. [JOSEPH B. LEMEN.] REV. JAMES LEMEN, SR., AND HIS ANTI-SLAVERY LABORS Rev. James Lemen, Ridge Prairie, Illinois Dear Brother: At my recent very enjoyable visit at your house you made two important requests, which I will now answer. The first was as to my estimate or judgment of your father's anti-slavery labors, and the second was as to what disposition you had better make of your vast stock of old family notes and papers. Considering your questions in the order named, I will write this letter, or more properly, article, under the above heading of "Rev. James Lemen, Sr., and His Anti-Slavery Labors," as the first question is the most important, and then in conclusion I will notice the second. In considering your father's anti-slavery labors, I will proceed upon the facts and evidence obtained outside your old family notes, as it might be presumed that the trend of the notes on that matter would be partial. Not that the facts I would use are not found in your family notes, for they appear to cover about every event in our early state and church history; but that I would look for the facts elsewhere to prove the matter, and indeed I can draw largely from my own {p.43} knowledge of the facts upon which your father's success as an anti-slavery leader rested. Not only from my own personal observation, but scores of the old pioneers, your father's followers and helpers, have given me facts that fully establish the claim that he was the chief leader that saved Illinois to freedom. Not only the state, but on a wider basis the evidence is very strong that Rev. James Lemen, Sr., largely shared in saving the Northwestern Territory for free states. This was the estimate that General [Governor] William Henry Harrison placed on his labors in his letter to Captain Joseph Ogle after his term of the governorship had expired. [17]In his letter to Captain Ogle he said that, though he and Mr. Lemen were ardent friends, he [Lemen] set his iron will against slavery here and indirectly made his influence felt so strongly at Washington and before Congress, that all efforts to suspend the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787 failed. But James Lemen was not only a factor which saved the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787, but there is no doubt, after putting all the facts together, ... that his anti-slavery mission to the Northwestern Territory was inspired by the same cause which finally placed the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance, and that Lemen's mission and that clause were closely connected. Douglas, Trumbull, and Lincoln thought so, and every other capable person who had [been] or has been made familiar with the facts. Many of the old pioneers to whom the facts were known have informed me that all the statements as to Rev. James Lemen's anti-slavery teaching and preaching and forming his anti-slavery churches, and conducting the anti-slavery contest, and sending a paid agent to Indiana to assist the anti-slavery cause, were all true in every particular; and so the evidence outside and independently of that in the Lemen family notes is conclusive that Mr. Lemen created and organized the forces which finally confirmed Illinois, if not the Northwestern Territory, to freedom. But there was just one fact that made it possible for the old pioneer leader practically single handed and alone to accomplish such results; and that was because President Jefferson's great power was behind him, and through his secret influence Congress worked for the very purpose that Jefferson, more than twenty years before, had sent Lemen to Illinois, or the Northwestern Territory, to secure, namely, the freedom of the new {p.44} country. The claim that Mr. Lemen encompassed these great results would, of course, be ridiculous were it not known that the power of the government through Jefferson stood behind him. Hence Douglas, Trumbull, and others are correct, and I quite agree with them, that when you publish the old family notes on the matter, if, for reasons you state, you do not wish to publish Jefferson's letters to your father which concern the subject, it will be sufficient just to say he acted by and under his advice and aid, and people will accept it, as it is self-evident, because it is preposterous to hold that Mr. Lemen could have accomplished such results without some great power behind him. In conclusion, it is my judgment that your father's anti-slavery labors were the chief factor leading up to the free state constitution for Illinois. Now as to your old family notes. They are valuable. In their respective fields, they embrace by far the most trustworthy history in our state. They ought to be preserved, but your generous nature will not permit you to say no; and your friends, as you say, are carrying them off, and they will all be lost, and presently the vast and priceless collection will have disappeared, which will be an unspeakable loss. Like your friends, Dr. B. F. Edwards and J. M. Smith, I would advise you to make copies of all to keep for use, and then give Smith the old collection to keep and hold in St. Louis in his safe, and leave them there for good. This will save you an infinite amount of worry, as people will not trouble you to see the mere copies. It would be a good disposition to make of them, and thus bury that dangerous element in many of the old letters bearing on the anti-slavery contest of 1818. With some of those interested in that contest, in fifty years from this time, the publication of these letters would create trouble between the descendants of many of our old pioneer families. There is a danger lurking in many of these old collections where you would not suspect it. In 1851, when I wrote the first or preliminary part of the Bethel church history from your old family notes, now generally referred to as the history of the "Jefferson-Lemen Anti-Slavery Pact," and part second as the history proper of the church in the letter which was simply the history from its organization in 1809 to my pastorate of 1851, I carefully omitted all mention of the anti-slavery contest which gave the church its origin. I {p.45} did this so that that part of its history could then be recorded in the church book, which could not have been done had I mentioned the anti-slavery contest; because the bitterness of that period had not yet fully disappeared; and the full history of the church, with the causes creating, and the results flowing from its organization, if recorded or published then, would have aroused considerable ill feeling against the church in some parts of the state. So part second, or the history proper, was only recorded at that time. But having lately completed part third of the Bethel church history, showing the results of its organization, I sent it with a copy of part first, or the history of the Jefferson Lemen Anti-Slavery Pact, to our worthy and noble Christian brother, the Bethel church clerk, James H. Lemen, and the other brother whose name you suggested, and they can place them in safe keeping somewhere until after your old family notes are published, and then they should be recorded in the church book with the church history proper and all the papers be placed with the other church papers. I shall also send them a copy of this letter to be finally placed with the church papers, as it is in part the history of the founder of that church, all parties agreeing that your father created, though of course he did not formally constitute, it. The old church, when all the facts become known, will become noted in history, as it stands as the monument of the contest which began by putting the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787, and which concluded by making Illinois and her neighboring sisters free states. As to the more valuable letters in your family notes and collections, I have kept them securely for you. Douglas' and Lincoln's letters take very correct views as to your father's anti-slavery labors, and Jefferson's two letters to your father disclose his great friendship for him, and show that he placed the greatest confidence and trust in him. Poor Lovejoy's letter reads as if he had a presentment of his coming doom. There is no more interesting feature in all your old family notes than Lincoln's views at your many meetings with him, and your copy of his prayer is beautiful. Some of his views on Bible themes are very profound; but then he is a very profound thinker. It now looks as if he would become a national leader. Would not he and your father have enjoyed a meeting on the slavery question? I put all the letters with the other papers you gave me in a safe {p.46} in St. Louis, in a friend's care, where I sometimes put my papers. Your son, Moses, was with me and the check is given in his name. This will enable you to tell your friends that the papers are not now in your custody, and they will not bother you to see them. Hoping to see you soon, I remain as ever. Fraternally yours, Rock Spring, Ill. July 17, 1857. J. M. PECK. PIONEER LETTERS IX. SENATOR DOUGLAS'S LETTER (From _Belleville Advocate_, April 10, 1908. Clipping, I.B.H.C.,--K11) Springfield, Illinois. Mar. 10, 1857 Rev. James Lemen, Collinsville, Illinois, Dear Sir:--In a former letter I wrote you fully as to my views as to the "Jefferson-Lemen Anti-Slavery Pact," and that there is no doubt but that the anti-slavery contest of your father, Rev. James Lemen, Sr., and the organizing of Bethel church as one of the results, eventually led to our free state constitution. I also thank you again for the privilege of reading Jefferson's letters to your father, and other papers in connection with the matter, but desire to add a thought or two, or more properly expound [expand] some points in my recent letter. The anti-slavery pact or agreement between the two men and its far reaching results comprise one of the most intensely interesting chapters in our national and state histories. Its profound secrecy and the splendid loyalty of Jefferson's friends which preserved it, were alike necessary to the success of the scheme as well as for his future preferment; for had it been known that Jefferson had sent Lemen as his special agent on an anti-slavery mission to shape matters in the territories to his own ends, it would have wrecked his popularity in the South and rendered Lemen's mission worse than useless. It has always been a mystery why the pressing demands of Governor Harrison and his Council for the repeal of the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787 which excluded slavery {p.47} from the Northwest Territory, could make no headway before a encession [?] of pro-slavery Congress; but the matter is now clear. The great Jefferson, through his confidential leaders in Congress [held that body back, until Mr. Lemen, under his orders], had rallied his friends and sent in anti-slavery petitions demanding the maintenance of the clause, when the Senate, where Harrison's demands were then pending, denied them. So a part of the honor of saving that grand clause which dedicated the territory to freedom, belongs to your father. Indeed, considering Jefferson's ardent friendship for him and his admiration and approval of his early anti-slavery labors in Virginia, which antedated the Ordinance of 1787 by several years, there is but little doubt but that your father's labors were a factor of influence which quickened if it did not suggest to Jefferson the original purpose which finally resulted in putting the original clause in the Ordinance. This matter assumes a phase of personal interest with me, and I find myself, politically, in the good company of Jefferson and your father. With them, everything turned on whether the people of the territory wanted slavery or not. Harrison and his council had informed Congress that the people desired it; but Jefferson and Lemen doubted it, and when the latter assisted in sending in great anti-slavery petitions, Jefferson's friends in Congress granted the people their wish, and denied Harrison's pro-slavery demands. That is, the voice and wishes of the people in the territory were heard and respected, and that appears to me to be the correct doctrine. Should you or your family approve it, I would suggest that the facts of the "Jefferson-Lemen Anti-Slavery Pact" be fully written up and arranged for publication, since they embrace some exceedingly important state and national history, and, in fact, will necessitate a new or larger personal history of Jefferson, as these facts will add another splendid chapter to the great story of his marvellous career. If you think the publication of Jefferson's letters and suggestions to your father would rather tend to dwarf the legitimate importance of his great religious movement in the formation of our early churches, on account of the wonderful political results of the "anti-slavery pact" it would be sufficient to command belief everywhere just to simply state that in his anti-slavery mission and contest he acted under Jefferson's advice {p.48} and help; because the consequences were so important and far reaching that it is self-evident he must have had some great and all-prevailing power behind him. I was greatly pained to learn of your illness, in your last letter, but hope this will find you comfortable. Yours in confidence, S. A. DOUGLAS. I wrote this letter in Springfield, but by an over-sight neglected to mail it there. But if you write me in a fortnight, direct to Springfield, as I expect to be there then. Yours Secv. [_sic_] D. X. ANNOUNCEMENT BY J. B. LEMEN (From _Belleville Advocate_, April 17, 1908. Clipping, I.B.H.C.,--K11) It was our purpose in this letter [communication] to send the Advocate a copy of one of Abraham Lincoln's letters, and some other matter from him and Douglas, from the old family notes of Rev. James Lemen never yet published; but increased illness, and their greater length, prevented making the copy. In their place, however, we send a copy each of Governor Edward's and Congressman Snyder's letters. The prophetic utterances in this letter as to what would fall on Mexico's treachery and slavery's insolence, were so literally fulfilled that they emphasized anew Congressman Snyder's wonderful capabilities in sizing up public questions correctly and reading the coming events of the future, and prove him to have been a statesman of wonderful powers. The next, which will be the concluding article in this series, will contain the copy of Lincoln's letter and the other matter above referred to. The typos made one or two slight errors in Senator Douglas's letter in last week's issue. For "expound" the reader should have read "expand," and at another point the letter should read that "Jefferson, through his confidential leaders in Congress, held that body back until Mr. Lemen, under his orders, had rallied his friends and sent in anti-slavery petitions, etc," [JOSEPH B. LEMEN.] XI. {p.49} GOV. NINIAN EDWARDS TO REV. JAMES LEMEN. (From _Belleville Advocate_, April 17, 1908. Clipping, I.B.H.C.,--K11) Vandalia, Ill., Dec. 24, 1826. Rev. James Lemen, Collinsville, Illinois, Dear Sir:--Having great respect for your influence and reposing perfect confidence in your capable judgment on public affairs, I would be very much pleased to have you call as soon as you arrive here, as I desire to have your views and advice on some important matters. It is my hope, as it will be my pride, that the term upon which I enter shall be marked with a degree of educational interest and progress not hitherto attained in our young commonwealth; and I wish to ask for your counsel and aid in assisting to impress upon the General Assembly the importance of such subjects, and the necessity of some further and better legislation on our school matters; and I also wish to consult with you in regard to the matter of the proposed Illinois and Michigan Canal. Sincerely your friend, NINIAN EDWARDS. XII. HON. ADAM W. SNYDER TO REV. JAMES LEMEN. (From _Belleville Advocate_, April 17, 1908. Clipping, I.B.H.C.,--K11) City of Washington, Jan. 5, 1838. Rev. James Lemen, [Collinsville, Illinois] My Dear Friend:--To the letter which I wrote you a few days since I wish to add that the members of the Illinois delegation in Congress have read the letter you recently wrote me, and they are all willing and ready to assist in pressing the cause of the class of claimants whom you mentioned upon the attention of the government for a more liberal and generous allowance of lands. I have no further news to communicate, except that I believe Mexico's treachery and insolence will sooner or later call down upon her a severe chastisement from this country; and that our Southern friends in Congress are growing exasperatingly and needlessly sensitive on the slavery question, claiming that Jefferson's {p.50} views would sustain their positions, not knowing the splendid secret of your father's (Rev. James Lemen, Sr.) anti-slavery mission under Jefferson's orders and advice, which saved Illinois and we might say the Northwest Territory, to freedom. In fact, the demands of slavery, if not controlled by its friends, will eventually put the country into a mood that will no longer brook its insolence and greed. Yours in esteem and confidence, A. W. SNYDER. XIII. ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S LETTER _Belleville Weekly Advocate_, April 24, 1908 The following letter and remarks from Abraham Lincoln, hitherto unpublished, comprise the fifth letter of the series of old "Pioneer Letters" which Mr. J. B. Lemen of O'Fallon is sending to the Advocate.--Ed. Springfield, Illinois. March 2, 1857. Rev. James Lemen, [O'Fallon, Illinois,] Friend Lemen: Thanking you for your warm appreciation of my views in a former letter as to the importance in many features of your collection of old family notes and papers, I will add a few words more as to Elijah P. Lovejoy's case. His letters among your old family notes were of more interest to me than even those of Thomas Jefferson, written to your father. Of course they [the latter] were exceedingly important as a part of the history of the "Jefferson-Lemen Anti-Slavery Pact," under which your father, Rev. James Lemen, Sr., as Jefferson's anti-slavery agent in Illinois, founded his anti-slavery churches, among which was the present Bethel church, which set in motion the forces which finally made Illinois a free state, all of which was splendid; but Lovejoy's tragic death for freedom in every sense marked his sad ending as the most important single event that ever happened in the new world. Both your father and Lovejoy were pioneer leaders in the cause of freedom, and it has always been difficult for me to see why your father, who was a resolute, uncompromising, and aggressive leader, who boldly proclaimed his purpose to make both the territory and the state free, never aroused nor encountered any of that mob violence which both in St. {p.51} Louis and Alton confronted or pursued Lovejoy, and which finally doomed him to a felon's death and a martyr's crown. Perhaps the two cases are a little parallel with those of John and Peter. John was bold and fearless at the scene of the Crucifixion, standing near the cross receiving the Savior's request to care for his mother, but was not annoyed; while Peter, whose disposition to shrink from public view, seemed to catch the attention of members of the mob on every hand, until finally to throw public attention off, he denied his master with an oath; though later the grand old apostle redeemed himself grandly, and like Lovejoy, died a martyr to his faith. Of course, there was no similarity between Peter's treachery at the Temple and Lovejoy's splendid courage when the pitiless mob were closing around him. But in the cases of the two apostles at the scene mentioned, John was more prominent or loyal in his presence and attention to the Great Master than Peter was, but the latter seemed to catch the attention of the mob; and as Lovejoy, one of the most inoffensive of men, for merely printing a small paper, devoted to the freedom of the body and mind of man, was pursued to his death; while his older comrade in the cause of freedom, Rev. James Lemen, Sr., who boldly and aggressively proclaimed his purpose to make both the territory and the state free, was never molested a moment by the minions of violence. The madness and pitiless determination with which the mob steadily pursued Lovejoy to his doom, marks it as one of the most unreasoning and unreasonable in all time, except that which doomed the Savior to the cross. If ever you should come to Springfield again, do not fail to call. The memory of our many "evening sittings" here and elsewhere, as we called them, suggests many a pleasant hour, both pleasant and helpful. Truly yours, A. LINCOLN. XIV. THE LEMEN MONUMENT AND REV. LEMEN'S PART IN EARLY ILLINOIS HISTORY (From _Belleville Advocate_, Tuesday, April 6, 1909. Clipping in I.B.H.C.,--K11) The monument to be erected by the Baptist people of Illinois and others at the grave of Rev. James Lemen, Sr., near Waterloo in Monroe county, is not only to honor his memory {p.52} as a revolutionary soldier, territorial leader, Indian fighter, and founder of the Baptist cause in Illinois, but it is also in remembrance of the fact that he was the companion and co-worker with Thomas Jefferson in setting in motion the forces which finally recorded the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787, which dedicated the great Northwest territory to freedom and later gave Illinois a free state constitution. Only recently the Society of the Sons of the Revolution in Chicago, after a critical examination of James Lemen's military and civil record, by unanimous vote, appropriated twenty-five dollars for his monument fund; and we give below a copy of the papers which they used and which will interest our readers, the first being Gen. Ainsworth's letter: WAR DEPARTMENT Adjutant General's Office Washington, Feb. 13, 1908. The records show that James Lemen served as private in Captain George Wall's Company of the Fourth Virginia Regiment, commanded at various times by Major Isaac Beall and Colonels James Wood and John Neville in the Revolutionary war. Term of enlistment, one year from March 3, 1778. F. C. AINSWORTH, Adjt. Gen. ("In January 1779, James Lemen had his term of enlistment extended for two years and was transferred to another regiment. After his term expired he rejoined his old regiment and served through the siege at Yorktown. He was in several engagements.") [J. B. L.] XV. REV. JAMES LEMEN, SR. (Written by Rev. John M. Peck, in 1857. Published in _Belleville Advocate_, April 6, 1909. Clipping in I.B.H.C.,--K11) Rev. James Lemen, Sr., a son of Nicholas Lemen and Christian Lemen, his wife, was born at the family home near Harper's Ferry, Virginia, on November 20, 1760. He acquired a practical education and in early manhood married Miss Katherine Ogle, of Virginia, and they reared a family. He enlisted for a year as a soldier of the Revolutionary War, on March 3, 1778, but had his term extended to two years, and {p.53} was in several engagements. Sometime after his enlistment expired he rejoined his old comrades and served through the siege at Yorktown. From childhood, in a singular manner, James Lemen was the special favorite and idol of Thomas Jefferson, who was a warm friend of his father's family. Almost before Mr. Lemen had reached manhood, Jefferson would consult him on all matters, even on great state affairs, and afterwards stated that Mr. Lemen's advice always proved to be surprisingly reliable. Our subject was a born anti-slavery leader, and by his Christian and friendly arguments he induced scores of masters in Virginia to free their slaves; this quickly caught Jefferson's attention and he freely confessed that Mr. Lemen's influence on him had redoubled his dislike for slavery and, though himself a slaveholder, he most earnestly denounced the institution. The following paragraphs from a letter he wrote to James Lemen's brother, Robert, who then lived near Harper's Ferry, Virginia, on September 10, 1807, will disclose that Mr. Lemen's influence was largely concerned in connection with Jefferson's share in the Ordinance of 1787, in its anti-slavery clause. The paragraph is as follows:-- "If your brother, James Lemen, should visit Virginia soon, as I learn he possibly may, do not let him return until he makes me a visit. I will also write him to be sure and see me. [5]Among all my friends who are near, he is still a little nearer. I discovered his worth when he was but a child and I freely confess that in some of my most important achievements his example, wish, and advice, though then but a very young man, largely influenced my action. This was particularly true as to whatever share I may have had in the transfer of our great Northwestern Territory to the United States, and especially for the fact that I was so well pleased with the anti-slavery clause inserted later in the Ordinance of 1787. Before any one had ever mentioned the matter, James Lemen, by reason of his devotion to anti-slavery principles, suggested to me that we (Virginia) make the transfer and that slavery be excluded; and it so impressed and influenced me that whatever is due me as credit for my share in the matter is largely, if not wholly, due to James Lemen's advice and most righteous counsel. [18]His record in the new country has fully justified my course in inducing him {p.54} to settle there with the view of properly shaping events in the best interest of the people. If he comes to Virginia, see that he calls on me." James Lemen did not visit Virginia and President Jefferson did not get to see him, but his letters to him showed what a great affection he had for his friend and agent. On May 2, 1778 [1784], at Annapolis, Md., Thomas Jefferson and James Lemen made their final agreement under which he was to settle in Illinois to shape matters after Jefferson's wishes, but always in the people's interest and for freedom, and particularly, to uphold the anti-slavery policy promised by Jefferson and later confirmed by the anti-slavery clause in the Ordinance of 1787 which principle both Jefferson and Mr. Lemen expected would finally be assailed by the pro-slavery power, and the facts confirmed their judgment. In 1786 Mr. Lemen with his wife and young family settled finally at New Design, now in Monroe county. [3]He was a judge under the early Territorial law. He finally united with the Baptist church and immediately set about collecting the Baptists into churches, having the first church constituted at his house. Mr. Lemen created the first eight Baptist churches in Illinois, having them especially declare against slavery and intemperance. When General William Henry Harrison became Governor, he and his Territorial Council went over to pro-slavery influences and demands, and carried Mr. Lemen's seven churches, which he had then created, with them. For some months he labored to call them to anti-slavery grounds, but failing, he declared for a division and created his eighth church, now Bethel church, near Collinsville, on strictly anti-slavery grounds; and this event opened the anti-slavery contest in 1809 which finally in 1818 led to the election of an anti-slavery Convention which gave Illinois a free state constitution. [32]Jefferson warmly approved Mr. Lemen's movement and sent his new church twenty dollars, which, with a fund the members collected and gave, was finally transferred to the church treasury without disclosing Jefferson's identity. This was done in order not to disturb his friendly relations with the extreme South. But Jefferson made no secret of his antipathy for slavery, though unwilling that the fact should be known that he sent James Lemen to the new country especially to defend it against slavery, as he knew it would arouse the {p.55} resentment of the extreme pro-slavery element against both him and his agent and probably defeat their movement. [24]James Lemen also first suggested the plan to extend the boundary of Illinois northward to give more territory and better shape, and had a government surveyor make a map showing the great advantages and gave them to Nathaniel Pope, our territorial delegate, asking him to present the matter, which he did, and Congress adopted the plan. The extension gave the additional territory for fourteen counties and Chicago is included. James Lemen was a noted Indian fighter in Illinois, ever ready with his trusty rifle to defend the homes of the early settlers against the savage foe, and in every way he fully justified Jefferson's judgment in sending him to look after the best interests of the people in the new territory. Mr. Lemen possessed every moral and mental attribute in a high degree, and if any one was more marked than another it was his incomparable instinct against oppression, which his wonderful anti-slavery record accentuated as his chief endowment, though in all respects he was well equipped for a leader among men. That instinct, it might be said, fixed his destiny. At Jefferson's request he settled in the new territory to finally oppose slavery. That was before the Ordinance of 1787 with its anti-slavery clause, but Mr. Lemen had Jefferson's assurance beforehand that the territory should be dedicated to freedom; though they both believed the pro-slavery power would finally press for its demands before stated, and the facts proved they were right. The reasons which necessitated the secrecy of the Jefferson-Lemen anti-slavery pact of May 2, 1784, under which Mr. Lemen came to Illinois on his anti-slavery mission at Jefferson's wish, and which was absolutely necessary to its success at first, no longer exists; and the fear of James Lemen's sons that its publication would so overshadow his great church work in Illinois with Jefferson's wonderful personality, as to dwarf his merits, is largely groundless. Senator Douglas, who with others is familiar with all the facts, says that when the matter is fully published and well known, it will give to both Mr. Lemen and Jefferson their proper shares of credit and fame; and, while it will add a new star to Jefferson's splendid fame, it will carry James Lemen along with him as his worthy co-worker and companion. The {p.56} subject of our sketch died at his home near Waterloo, Monroe county, on January 8th, 1823, and was buried in the family cemetery near by. XVI. OLD LEMEN FAMILY NOTES, JAMES LEMEN HISTORY, AND SOME RELATED FACTS (MS. Document in I.B.H.C.,--C102. By Jos. B. Lemen) In 1857, to save the old "Lemen Family Notes" from loss by careless but persistent borrowers, Dr. B. F. Edwards, of St. Louis, and Rev. J. M. Peck, advised Rev. James Lemen, Jr., to make copies of all and then give the original stock to a friend whom they named to keep as his own in a safe vault in St. Louis, if he would pay all storage charges. But at that time he only gave the most important ones to Rev. J. M. Peck to place temporarily in a safe in St. Louis where he sometimes kept his own papers; though some years later he acted on their advice and making copies of all papers and letters of any value, gave the whole original stock to the party mentioned (we do not recall his name, but it is among our papers) [possibly the J. M. Smith mentioned in Dr. Peck's communication to James Lemen, Jr., July 17, 1857] and he placed them in the safe. Shortly after this their holder died, and they passed into the hands of others who removed them to another safe somewhere in St. Louis; but having no further title in the papers, and having copies of all for use, the family finally lost all traces of the papers and the parties holding them, and have only heard from them two or three times in more than 40 years. A few years ago, when a history of Rev. James Lemen, Jr., and his father, Rev. James Lemen, Sr., was in contemplation, a reputed agent of the parties whom he then claimed held the old family notes, informed us that the family could have them at any time they wished; and we promised some of our friends who wished to see them that after we had used them in connection with the proposed history, the old stock of papers would be placed where they could see and copy them, if they wished. It was intended to have a few of the more important letters photographed for the James Lemen history; though it was said that some years before some one had a few of them photographed and they were so indistinct as to be worthless; but we hoped for better results. But it {p.57} finally developed that the reputed agent would expect us to pay him (contrary to our first impressions) quite a round sum of money for the restoration and use of the papers before he would deliver them to us. This awakened suspicions as to his reliability and a detective, to whom we sent his name and number for investigation, informed us that no such man could be found; and undoubtedly he was some dishonest person seeking to obtain money under false pretenses. And so the family, as for many years past, now knows nothing as to the parties who hold the papers or where they are. A singular fatality seems to have awaited all the papers placed at Dr. Peck's disposal or advice. His own papers were generally destroyed or lost, and the old "Lemen Family Notes" placed some years after his death, partly as he had advised, cannot be found. But while Dr. Peck's lost papers are a distinct and irreparable loss, no loss is sustained in the misplacement of the old Lemen notes, as every line or fact of any value in them was copied and the copies are all preserved; and nearly all the more important ones have been published, except a very few, including Rev. James Lemen's interviews with Lincoln, as written up by Mr. Lemen on ten pages of legal cap paper, and that paper will probably be published soon, if it is not held specially for the James Lemen history. As to that history, it will be delayed for some time, as the writer, who was expected to see to its preparation, was named by the State Baptist Convention as a member of the Baptist State Committee to assist with the James Lemen monument; and much of the matter intended for the history was published in connection with the labors of the State Committee. One object of the history was to secure or to influence that degree of recognition of the importance of the services of Rev. James Lemen, Sr. and his sons, with a few co-workers of the latter, in the early history and interests of both the Baptist cause and the State, on the part of the Baptists, to which the family thought them entitled. But since the Baptists, the "Sons of the Revolution," and others have placed a monument at the grave of the old State leader and Baptist pioneer, the Rev. James Lemen, Sr., it is felt that the object for making the history has already been in part realized. Another circumstance which has delayed it, is the poor health of the writer; so the prospect is that the making of the history will be delayed for some time. This {p.58} is written entirely from memory, as the papers and dates to which we refer are not before me, but we will retain a copy and if there proves to be any errors in this one, we will have them corrected. There was such a demand for them that some of Dr. Peck's, Lovejoy's, Douglas's, Lincoln's and some other letters were published, and some of them are included in the papers we send. Some years ago some one claimed that the old family notes had been found, which led to statements in the papers that they would soon be placed where people could see and read them; but it proved to be a mistake. For the loss of the papers the family do not believe there was any fault with the parties originally holding them, as in fact they had the right to hold them where they pleased, according to the agreement; but that from sudden deaths and other circumstances, they were misplaced. It should be added that every paper of any value, which was given to the St. Louis parties to hold was copied and the copies preserved, except mere personal, friendship letters, and of these there was quite a large stock; also that much of Dr. Peck's writings and many letters of his and others were loaned out and could not be given to the St. Louis parties to keep, but all of any real value have been copied or published, except the Lemen-Lincoln interviews and some others, and that even some of these copies are loaned out, among them copies of letters from Dr. Peck, Douglas, Lincoln, Lovejoy, if I recall correctly, and others; though the facts or information in them have already been published, except such facts as will be held for the James Lemen history, and we have copies of them, so nothing will be lost. (Signed) JOSEPH B. LEMEN. O'Fallon, Illinois, January 10, 1911. [N. B. The above communication accompanied the gift of the walnut chest made by the elder James Lemen at Ft. Piggott, which was sent to the custodian of the Baptist Historical Collection at Shurtleff College, early in the year 1913--COMPILER.] REFERENCES {p.59} 1. See p. 26. 2. Reynolds "My Own Times" and "Pioneer History of Illinois." 3. See "Territorial Records of Illinois" (Illinois State Historical Library, _Publication_, III.), and compare p. 54 _post_. 4. See Biographical sketches in "Lemen Family History." 5. See pp. 33, 53. 6. See pp. 27, 28. 7. See pp. 23, 42, 56. 8. Peck, J. M., "Annals of the West," _in loco_. 9. See p. 54 _post_, and Hinsdale, "Old Northwest." 10. Alvord, "Cahokia Records," Introduction. 11. Reynolds, "My Own Times," p. 208. 12. McMaster, "People of United States," II: 30, 31; III: 108; St. Clair Papers. 13. Blake, "History of Slavery," p. 431. 14. See p. 29. 15. See p. 30, and compare No. 16 below. 16. Blake, "History of Slavery," _in loco_. 17. See pp. 35, 36, 43. 18. See p. 53. 19. See p. 30. 20. See p. 30, and compare, Patterson, "Early Illinois," Fergus Historical Coll., No. 14, pp. 141-2. 21. See pp. 30, 35. 22. Reynolds, "My Own Times," p. 170. 23. See p. 36. 24. See p. 55, and compare reference No. 19. 25. See p. 37. 26. See "Centennial History of Madison Co.," I: 52-55. 27. See p. 38. 28. See p. 47. 29. See p. 50. 30. See p. 34. 31. See p. 41. 32. See p. 54. 33. _Cf._ Smith, J. A., "History of the Baptists," p. 40; Benedict, "History of the Baptists," II: 246-8. 34. See p. 39. 35. See pp. 42, 56 and Peck, J. M., "Father Clark," _in loco_. 
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12183	----	WAU-BUN, THE EARLY DAY IN THE NORTHWEST. BY MRS. JOHN H. KINZIE, OF CHICAGO. "If we but knew the exact meaning of the word 'WAU-BUN,' we should be happy."--_Critic_. "WAU-BUN--The dawn--the break of day."--_Ojibeway Vocabulary_. * * * * * PHILADELPHIA 1873 PREFACE. Every work partaking of the nature of an autobiography is supposed to demand an apology to the public. To refuse such a tribute, would be to recognize the justice of the charge, so often brought against our countrymen--of a too great willingness to be made acquainted with the domestic history and private affairs of their neighbors. It is, doubtless, to refute this calumny that we find travellers, for the most part, modestly offering some such form of explanation as this, to the reader: "That the matter laid before him was, in the first place, simply letters to friends, never designed to be submitted to other eyes, and only brought forward now at the solicitation of wiser judges than the author himself." No such plea can, in the present instance, be offered. The record of events in which the writer had herself no share, was preserved in compliance with the suggestion of a revered relative, whose name often appears in the following pages. "My child," she would say, "write these things down, as I tell them to you. Hereafter our children, and even strangers, will feel interested in hearing the story of our early lives and sufferings." And it is a matter of no small regret and self-reproach, that much, very much, thus narrated was, through negligence, or a spirit of procrastination, suffered to pass unrecorded. With regard to the pictures of domestic life and experience (preserved, as will be seen, in journals, letters, and otherwise), it is true their publication might have been deferred until the writer had passed away from the scene of action; and such, it was supposed, would have been their lot--that they would only have been dragged forth hereafter, to show to a succeeding generation what "The Early Day" of our Western homes had been. It never entered the anticipations of the most sanguine that the march of improvement and prosperity would, in less than a quarter of a century, have so obliterated the traces of "the first beginning," that a vast and intelligent multitude would be crying out for information in regard to the early settlement of this portion of our country, which so few are left to furnish. An opinion has been expressed, that a comparison of the present times with those that are past, would enable our young people, emigrating from their luxurious homes at "the East," to bear, in a spirit of patience and contentment, the slight privations and hardships they are at this day called to meet with. If, in one instance, this should be the case, the writer may well feel happy to have incurred even the charge of egotism, in giving thus much of her own history. It may be objected that all that is strictly personal, might have been more modestly put forth under the name of a third person; or that the events themselves and the scenes might have been described, while those participating in them might have been kept more in the background. In the first case, the narrative would have lost its air of truth and reality--in the second, the experiment would merely have been tried of dressing up a theatre for representation, and omitting the actors. Some who read the following sketches may be inclined to believe that a residence among our native brethren and an attachment growing out of our peculiar relation to them, have exaggerated our sympathies, and our sense of the wrongs they have received at the hands of the whites. This is not the place to discuss that point. There is a tribunal at which man shall be judged for that which he has meted out to his fellow-man. May our countrymen take heed that their legislation shall never unfit them to appear "with joy, and not with grief," before that tribunal! CHICAGO, July, 1855. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Departure from Detroit CHAPTER II. Michilimackinac--American Fur Company--Indian Trade--Mission School--Point St. Ignace CHAPTER III. Arrival at Green Bay--Mrs. Arnot--General Root--Political Dispatches--A Summerset--Shanty-Town--M. Rolette--Indian Morning Song--Mr. Cadle's Mission--Party at Miss Doty's--Misses Grignon--Mrs. Baird's Party--Mrs. Beall CHAPTER IV. Arrangements for Travelling--Fox River--Judge Doty--Judge Réaume--M. Boilvin--Canadian Voyageurs: their Songs--The Kakalin--Wish-tay-yun--Rev. Eleazar Williams--Passage through the Rapids--Grande Chûte--Krissman CHAPTER V. Beautiful Encampment--Winnebago Lake--Miss Four-Legs--Garlic Island--Wild Rice CHAPTER VI. Breakfast at Betty More's--Judge Law--Fastidiousness; what came of it CHAPTER VII. Butte des Morts--French Cognomens--Serpentine Course of Fox River--Lake Puckaway--Lac de Boeuf--Fort Winnebago. CHAPTER VIII. Major and Mrs. Twiggs--A Davis--An Indian Funeral--Conjugal Affliction--Indian Chiefs; Talk-English--The Wild-Cat--The Dandy CHAPTER IX. Housekeeping--The First Dinner CHAPTER X. Indian Payment--Pawnee Blanc--The Washington Woman--Raising Funds CHAPTER XI. Louisa--Garrison Life--Dr. Newhall--Affliction--Domestic Accommodations--Ephraim--New-Year's Day--Native Custom--Day-kau-ray's Views of Education--Captain Harney's Mince-Pie CHAPTER XII. Lizzie Twiggs--Preparation for a Journey--The Regimental Tailor CHAPTER XIII. eparture from Fort Winnebago--Duck Creek--Upset in a Canoe--Pillon--Encamping in Winter--Four Lakes--Indian Encampment--Blue Mound--Morrison's--A Tennessee Woman CHAPTER XIV. Rev. Mr. Kent--Losing One's Way--A Tent Blown Down--Discovery of a Fence--Hamilton's Diggings--Frontier Housekeeping--Wm. S. Hamilton--A Miner--Hard Riding--Kellogg's Grove CHAPTER XV. Rock River--- Dixon's--John Ogie--Missing the Trail--Hours of Trouble--Famine in the Camp--Relief CHAPTER XVI. A Pottowattamie Lodge--A Tempest--Piché's--Hawley's--The Du Page--Mr. Dogherty--The Aux Plaines--Mrs. Lawton--Wolf Point--Chicago CHAPTER XVII. Fort Dearborn--Chicago in 1831--First Settlement of Chicago--John Kinzie, Sen.---Fate of George Forsyth--Trading Posts--Canadian Voyageurs--M. St. Jean--Louis la Liberté CHAPTER XVIII. Massacre at Chicago CHAPTER XIX. Massacre, continued--Mrs. Helm--Ensign Ronan--Captain Wells--Mrs. Holt--Mrs. Heald--The Sau-ga-nash--Sergeant Griffith--Mrs. Burns--Black Partridge and Mrs. Lee--Nau-non-gee and Sergeant Hays CHAPTER XX. Treatment of American Prisoners by the British--Captivity of Mr. Kinzie--Battle on Lake Erie--Cruelty of General Proctor's Troops--General Harrison--Rebuilding of Fort Dearborn--Red Bird--A Humorous Incident--Cession of the Territory around Chicago CHAPTER XXI. Severe Spring Weather--Pistol-Firing--Milk Punch--A Sermon--Pre-emption to "Kinzie's Addition"--Liberal Sentiments CHAPTER XXII. The Captives CHAPTER XXIII. Colonel McKillip--Second-Sight--Ball at Hickory Creek--Arrival of the "Napoleon"--Troubles of Embarkation CHAPTER XXIV. Departure for Port Winnebago--A Frightened Indian--Encampment at Dunkley's Grove--Horses Lost--Getting Mired--An Ague cured by a Rattlesnake--Crystal Lake--Story of the Little Rail CHAPTER XXV. Return Journey, continued--Soldiers' Encampment--Big-Foot Lake--Village of Maunk-suck--A Young Gallant--Climbing--Mountain-Passes--Turtle Creek--Kosh-ko-nong--Crossing a Marsh--Twenty-Mile Prairie--Hastings's Woods--Duck Creek--Brunet--Home CHAPTER XXVI. The Agency--The Blacksmith's House--Building a Kitchen--Four-Legs, the Dandy--Indian Views of Civilization--Efforts of M. Mazzuchelli--Charlotte CHAPTER XXVII. The Cut-Nose--The Fawn--Visit of White Crow--Parting with Friends--Krissman--Louisa again--The Sunday-School CHAPTER XXVIII. Plante--Removal--Domestic Inconveniences--Indian Presents--Grandmother Day-kau-ray--Indian Customs--Indian Dances--The Medicine-Dance--Indian Graves--Old Boilvin's Wake CHAPTER XXIX. Indian Tales--Story of the Red Fox CHAPTER XXX. Story of Shee-shee-banze CHAPTER XXXI. Visit to Green Bay--Disappointment--Return Journey--Knaggs's--Blind Indian--Ma-zhee-gaw-gaw Swamp--Bellefontaine CHAPTER XXXII. Commencement of the Sauk War--Winnebago Council--Crély--Follett--Bravery--The Little Elk--An Alarm--Man-Eater and his Party--An Exciting Dance CHAPTER XXXIII. Fleeing from the Enemy--Mâtâ--Old Smoker--Meeting with Menomonees--Raising the Wind--Garlic Island--Winnebago Rapids--The Waubanakees--Thunder-Storm--Vitelle--Guardapié--Fort Howard CHAPTER XXXIV. Panic at Green Bay--Tidings of Cholera--Green Bay Flies--Doyle, the Murderer--Death of Lieutenant Foster--A Hardened Criminal--Good News from the Seat of War--Departure for Home--Shipwreck at the Grand Chûte--A Wet Encampment--An Unexpected Arrival--Reinforcement of Volunteers--La Grosse Américaine--Arrival at Home CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion of the War--Treaty at Rock Island--Cholera among the Troops--Wau-kaun-kah--Wild-Cat's Frolic at the Mee-kan--Surrender of the Winnebago Prisoners CHAPTER XXXVI. Delay in the Annual Payment--Scalp-Dances--Groundless Alarm--Arrival of Governor Porter--Payment--Escape of the Prisoners--Neighbors Lost--Reappearance--Robineau--Bellaire CHAPTER XXXVII. Agathe--"Kinzie's Addition"--Tomah--Indian Acuteness--Indian Simplicity CHAPTER XXXVIII. Famine--Day-kau-ray's Daughter--Noble Resolution of a Chief--Bread for the Hungry--Rev. Mr. Kent--An Escaped Prisoner--The Cut-Nose again--Leave-taking with our Red Children--Departure from Fort Winnebago APPENDIX THE "EARLY DAY" IN THE NORTHWEST. CHAPTER I. DEPARTURE FROM DETROIT. It was on a dark, rainy evening in the month of September, 1830, that we went on board the steamer "Henry Clay," to take passage for Green Bay. All our friends in Detroit had congratulated us upon our good fortune in being spared the voyage in one of the little schooners which at this time afforded the ordinary means of communication with the few and distant settlements on Lakes Huron and Michigan. Each one had some experience to relate of his own or Of his friends' mischances in these precarious journeys--long detentions on the St. Clair flats--furious head-winds off Thunder Bay, or interminable Calms at Mackinac or the Manitous. That which most enhanced our sense of peculiar good luck, was the true story of one of our relatives having left Detroit in the month of June and reached Chicago in the September following, having been actually three months in performing what is sometimes accomplished by even a sail-vessel in four days. But the certainty of encountering similar misadventures would have weighed little with me. I was now to visit, nay, more, to become a resident of that land which had, for long years, been to me a region of romance. Since the time when, as a child, my highest delight had been in the letters of a dear relative, describing to me his home and mode of life in the "Indian country," and still later, in his felicitous narration of a tour with General Cass, in 1820, to the sources of the Mississippi--nay, even earlier, in the days when I stood at my teacher's knee, and spelled out the long word Mich-i-li-mack-i-nac, that distant land, with its vast lakes, its boundless prairies, and its mighty forests, had possessed a wonderful charm for my imagination. Now I was to see it!--it was to be my home! Our ride to the quay, through the dark by-ways, in a cart, the only vehicle which at that day could navigate the muddy, unpaved streets of Detroit, was a theme for much merriment, and not less so, our descent of the narrow, perpendicular stair-way by which we reached the little apartment called the Ladies' Cabin. We were highly delighted with the accommodations, which, by comparison, seemed the very climax of comfort and convenience; more especially as the occupants of the cabin consisted, beside myself, of but a lady and two little girls. Nothing could exceed the pleasantness of our trip for the first twenty-four hours. There were some officers, old friends, among the passengers. We had plenty of books. The gentlemen read aloud occasionally, admired the solitary magnificence of the scenery around us, the primeval woods, or the vast expanse of water unenlivened by a single sail, and then betook themselves to their cigar, or their game of euchre, to while away the hours. For a time the passage over Thunder Bay was delightful, but, alas! it was not destined, in our favor, to belie its name. A storm came on, fast and furious--what was worse, it was of long duration. The pitching and rolling of the little boat, the closeness, and even the sea-sickness, we bore as became us. They were what we had expected, and were prepared for. But a new feature of discomfort appeared, which almost upset our philosophy. The rain, which fell in torrents, soon made its way through every seam and pore of deck or moulding. Down the stair-way, through the joints and crevices, it came, saturating first the carpet, then the bedding, until, finally, we were completely driven, "by stress of weather," into the Gentlemen's Cabin. Way was made for us very gallantly, and every provision resorted to for our comfort, and we were congratulating ourselves on having found a haven in our distress, when, lo! the seams above opened, and down upon our devoted heads poured such a flood, that even umbrellas were an insufficient protection. There was nothing left for the ladies and children but to betake ourselves to the berths, which, in this apartment, fortunately remained dry; and here we continued ensconced the livelong day. Our dinner was served up to us on our pillows. The gentlemen chose the dryest spots, raised their umbrellas, and sat under them, telling amusing anecdotes, and saying funny things to cheer us, until the rain ceased, and at nine o'clock in the evening we were gladdened by the intelligence that we had reached the pier at Mackinac. We were received with the most affectionate cordiality by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Stuart, at whose hospitable mansion we had been for some days expected. The repose and comfort of an asylum like this, can be best appreciated by those who have reached it after a tossing and drenching such as ours had been. A bright, warm fire, and countenances beaming with kindest interest, dispelled all sensations of fatigue or annoyance. After a season of pleasant conversation, the servants were assembled, the chapter of God's word was solemnly read, the hymn chanted, the prayer of praise and thanksgiving offered, and we were conducted to our place of repose. It is not my purpose here to attempt a portrait of those noble friends whom I thus met for the first time. To an abler pen than mine should be assigned the honor of writing the biography of Robert Stuart. All who have enjoyed the happiness of his acquaintance, or, still more, a sojourn under his hospitable roof, will carry with them to their latest hour the impression of his noble bearing, his genial humor, his untiring benevolence, his upright, uncompromising adherence to principle, his ardent philanthropy, his noble disinterestedness. Irving in his "Astoria," and Franchere in his "Narrative," give many striking traits of his early character, together with events of his history of a thrilling and romantic interest, but both have left the most valuable portion unsaid, his after-life, namely, as a Christian gentleman. Of his beloved partner, who still survives him, mourning on her bereaved and solitary pilgrimage, yet cheered by the recollection of her long and useful course as a "Mother in Israel," we will say no more than to offer the incense of loving hearts, and prayers for the best blessings from her Father in heaven. CHAPTER II MICHILIMACKINAC. Michilimackinac! that gem of the Lakes! How bright and beautiful it looked as we walked abroad on the following morning! The rain had passed away, but had left all things glittering in the light of the sun as it rose up over the waters of Lake Huron, far away to the east. Before us was the lovely bay, scarcely yet tranquil after the storm, but dotted with canoes and the boats of the fishermen already getting out their nets for the trout and whitefish, those treasures of the deep. Along the beach were scattered the wigwams or lodges of the Ottawas who had come to the island to trade. The inmates came forth to gaze upon us. A shout of welcome was sent forth, as they recognized _Shaw-nee-aw-kee,_ who, from a seven years' residence among them, was well known to each individual. A shake of the hand, and an emphatic "_Bon-jour_--_bon-jour_," is the customary salutation between the Indian and the white man. "Do the Indians speak French?" I inquired of my husband. "No; this is a fashion they have learned of the French traders during many years of intercourse." Not less hearty was the greeting of each Canadian _engagé_, as he trotted forward to pay his respects to "Monsieur John," and to utter a long string of felicitations, in a most incomprehensible _patois_. I was forced to take for granted all the good wishes showered upon "Madame John," of which I could comprehend nothing but the hope that I should be happy and contented in my "_vie sauvage_." The object of our early walk was to visit the Mission-house and school which had been some few years previously established at this place by the Presbyterian Board of Missions. It was an object of especial interest to Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, and its flourishing condition at this period, and the prospects of extensive future usefulness it held out, might well gladden their philanthropic hearts. They had lived many years on the island, and had witnessed its transformation, through God's blessing on Christian efforts, from a worldly, dissipated community to one of which it might almost be said, "Religion was every man's business." This mission establishment was the beloved child and the common centre of interest of the few Protestant families clustered around it. Through the zeal and good management of Mr. and Mrs. Ferry, and the fostering encouragement of the congregation, the school was in great repute, and it was pleasant to observe the effect of mental and religious culture in subduing the mischievous, tricky propensities of the half-breed, and rousing the stolid apathy of the genuine Indian. These were the palmy days of Mackinac. As the head-quarters of the American Fur Company, and the entrepôt of the whole Northwest, all the trade in supplies and goods on the one hand, and in furs and products of the Indian country on the other, was in the hands of the parent establishment or its numerous outposts scattered along Lakes Superior and Michigan, the Mississippi, or through still more distant regions. Probably few are ignorant of the fact, that all the Indian tribes, with the exception of the Miamis and the Wyandots, had, since the transfer of the old French possessions to the British Crown, maintained a firm alliance with the latter. The independence achieved by the United States did not alter the policy of the natives, nor did our Government succeed in winning or purchasing their friendship. Great Britain, it is true, bid high to retain them. Every year the leading men of the Chippewas, Ottawas, Pottowattamies, Menomonees, Winnebagoes, Sauks, and Foxes, and even still more remote tribes, journeyed from their distant homes to Fort Malden in Upper Canada, to receive their annual amount of presents from their Great Father across the water. It was a master-policy thus to keep them in pay, and had enabled those who practised it to do fearful execution through the aid of such allies in the last war between the two countries. The presents they thus received were of considerable value, consisting of blankets, broadcloths or _strouding_, calicoes, guns, kettles, traps, silver-works (comprising arm-bands, bracelets, brooches; and ear-bobs), looking-glasses, combs, and various other trinkets distributed with no niggardly hand. The magazines and store-houses of the Fur Company at Mackinac were the resort of all the upper tribes for the sale of their commodities, and the purchase of all such articles as they had need of, including those above enumerated, and also ammunition, which, as well as money and liquor, their British friends very commendably omitted to furnish them. Besides their furs, various in kind and often of great value--beaver, otter, marten, mink, silver-gray and red fox, wolf, bear, and wild-cat, musk-rat, and smoked deer-skins--the Indians brought for trade maple-sugar in abundance, considerable quantities of both Indian corn and _petit-blé_,[1] beans and the _folles avoines_,[2] or wild rice; while the squaws added to their quota of merchandise a contribution in the form of moccasins, hunting-pouches, mococks, or little boxes of birch-bark embroidered with porcupine-quills and filled with maple-sugar, mats of a neat and durable fabric, and toy-models of Indian cradles, snow-shoes, canoes, etc., etc. It was no unusual thing, at this period, to see a hundred or more canoes of Indians at once approaching the island, laden with their articles of traffic; and if to these we add the squadrons of large Mackinac boats constantly arriving from the outposts, with the furs, peltries, and buffalo-robes collected by the distant traders, some idea may be formed of the extensive operations and important position of the American Fur Company, as well as of the vast circle of human beings either immediately or remotely connected with it. It is no wonder that the philanthropic mind, surveying these, races of uncultivated heathen, should stretch forward to the time when, through an unwearied devotion of the white man's energies, and an untiring sacrifice of self and fortune, his red brethren might rise in the scale of social civilization--when Education and Christianity should go hand in hand, to make "the wilderness blossom as the rose." Little did the noble souls at that day rejoicing in the success of their labors at Mackinac, anticipate that in less than a quarter of a century there would remain of all these numerous tribes but a few scattered bands, squalid, degraded, with scarce a vestige remaining of their former lofty character--their lands cajoled or wrested from them, the graves of their fathers turned up by the ploughshare--themselves chased farther and farther towards the setting sun, until they were literally grudged a resting-place on the face of the earth! Our visit to the Mission-school was of short duration, for the Henry Clay was to leave at two o'clock, and in the mean time we were to see what we could of the village and its environs, and after that dine with Mr. Mitchell, an old friend of my husband. As we walked leisurely along over the white, gravelly road, many of the residences of the old inhabitants were pointed out to me. There was the dwelling of Madame Laframboise, an Ottawa woman, whose husband had taught her to read and write, and who had ever after continued to use the knowledge she had acquired for the instruction and improvement of the youth among her own people. It was her custom to receive a class of young pupils daily at her house, that she might give them lessons in the branches mentioned, and also in the principles of the Roman Catholic religion, to which she was deeply devoted. She was a woman of a vast deal of energy and enterprise--of a tall and commanding figure, and most dignified deportment. After the death of her husband, who was killed while away at his trading-post by a Winnebago named _White Ox_, she was accustomed to visit herself the trading-posts, superintend the clerks and engagés, and satisfy herself that the business was carried on in a regular and profitable manner. The Agency-house, with its unusual luxuries of piazza and gardens, was situated at the foot of the hill on which the fort was built. It was a lovely spot, notwithstanding the stunted and dwarfish appearance of all cultivated vegetation in this cold northern latitude. The collection of rickety, primitive-looking buildings, occupied by the officials of the Fur Company, reflected no great credit on the architectural skill of my husband, who had superintended their construction, he told me, when little more than a boy. There were, besides these, the residences of the Dousmans, the Abbotts, the Biddles, the Drews, and the Lashleys, stretching away along the base of the beautiful hill, crowned with the white walls and buildings of the fort, the ascent to which was so steep that on the precipitous face nearest the beach staircases were built by which to mount from below. My head ached intensely, the effect of the motion of the boat on the previous day, but I did not like to give up to it; so, after I had been shown all that could be seen of the little settlement in the short time allowed us, we repaired to Mr. Mitchell's. We were received by Mrs. M., an extremely pretty, delicate woman, part French and part Sioux, whose early life had been passed at Prairie du Chien, on the Mississippi. She had been a great belle among the young officers at Fort Crawford; so much so, indeed, that the suicide of the post-surgeon was attributed to an unsuccessful attachment he had conceived for her. I was greatly struck with her soft and gentle manners, and the musical intonation of her voice, which I soon learned was a distinguishing peculiarity of those women in whom are united the French and native blood. A lady, then upon a visit to the Mission, was of the company. She insisted on my lying down upon the sofa, and ministered most kindly to my suffering head. As she sat by my side, and expatiated upon the new sphere opening before me, she inquired: "Do you not realize very strongly the entire deprivation of religious privileges you will be obliged to suffer in your distant home?" "The deprivation," said I, "will doubtless be great, but not _entire_; for I shall have my Prayer-Book, and, though destitute of a church, we need not be without a _mode_ of worship." How often afterwards, when cheered by the consolations of that precious book in the midst of the lonely wilderness, did I remember this conversation, and bless God that I could never, while retaining it, be without "religious privileges." We had not yet left the dinner-table, when the bell of the little steamer sounded to summon us on board, and we bade a hurried farewell to all our kind friends, bearing with us their hearty wishes for a safe and prosperous voyage. A finer sight can scarcely be imagined than Mackinac, from the water. As we steamed away from the shore, the view came full upon us--the sloping beach with the scattered wigwams, and canoes drawn up here and there--the irregular, quaint-looking houses--the white walls of the fort, and, beyond, one eminence still more lofty crowned with the remains of old Fort Holmes. The whole picture completed, showed the perfect outline that had given the island its original Indian name, _Mich-i-li-mack-i-nac_, the Big Turtle. Then those pure, living waters, in whose depths the fish might be seen gliding and darting to and fro; whose clearness is such that an object dropped to the bottom may be discerned at the depth of fifty or sixty feet, a dollar lying far down on its green bed, looking no larger than a half dime! I could hardly wonder at the enthusiastic lady who exclaimed: "Oh! I could wish to be drowned in these pure, beautiful waters!" As we passed the extreme western point of the island, my husband pointed out to me, far away to the northwest, a promontory which he told me was Point St. Ignace. It possessed great historic interest, as one of the earliest white settlements on this continent. The Jesuit missionaries had established here a church and school as early as 1607, the same year in which a white settlement was made at St. Augustine, in Florida, and one year before the founding of Jamestown, Virginia. All that remains of the enterprises of these devoted men, is the remembrance of their labors, perpetuated, in most instances, only by the names of the spots which witnessed their efforts of love in behalf of their savage brethren. The little French church at Sandwich, opposite Detroit, alone is left, a witness of the zeal and self-sacrifice of these pioneers of Christianity. Passing "Old Mackinac," on the main land, which forms the southern border of the straits, we soon came out into the broad waters of Lake Michigan. Every traveller, and every reader of our history, is familiar with the incidents connected with the taking of the old fort by the Indians, in the days of Pontiac. How, by means of a game of ball, played in an apparently friendly spirit outside the walls, and of which the officers and soldiers had come forth to be spectators, the ball was dexterously tossed over the wall, and the savages rushing in, under pretext of finding it, soon got possession and massacred the garrison. The little Indian village of L'Arbre Croche gleamed far away south, in the light of the setting sun. With that exception, there was no sign of living habitation along that vast and wooded shore. The gigantic forest-trees, and here and there the little glades of prairie opening to the water, showed a landscape that would have gladdened the eye of the agriculturist, with its promise of fertility; but it was evidently untrodden by the foot of man, and we left it, in its solitude, as we took our course westward across the waters. The rainy and gusty weather, so incident to the equinoctial season, overtook us again before we reached the mouth of Green Bay, and kept us company until the night of our arrival upon the flats, about three miles below the settlement. Here the little steamer grounded "fast and hard." As almost every one preferred braving the elements to remaining cooped up in the quarters we had occupied for the past week, we decided to trust ourselves to the little boat, spite of wind, and rain, and darkness, and in due time we reached the shore. CHAPTER III. GREEN BAY. Our arrival at Green Bay was at an unfortunate moment. It was the time of a treaty between the United States Government and the Menomonees and Waubanakees. Consequently, not only the commissioners of the treaty, with their clerks and officials, but traders, claimants, travellers, and idlers innumerable were upon the ground. Most of these were congregated in the only hotel the place afforded. This was a tolerably-sized house near the river-side, and as we entered the long dining-room, cold and dripping from the open boat, we were infinitely amused at the motley assemblage it contained. Various groups were seated around. New comers, like ourselves, stood here and there, for there were not seats enough to accommodate all who sought entertainment. The landlord sat calm and indifferent, his hands in his pockets, exhibiting all the phlegm of a Pennsylvania Dutchman. His fat, notable spouse was trotting round, now stopping to scold about some one who, "burn his skin!" had fallen short in his duty; now laughing good-humoredly until her sides shook, at some witticism addressed to her. She welcomed us very cordially, but to our inquiry, "Can you accommodate us?" her reply was, "Not I. I have got twice as many people now as I know what to do with. I have had to turn my own family out of their quarters, what with the commissioners and the lot of folks that has come in upon us." "What are we to do, then? It is too late and stormy to go up to Shanty-town to seek for lodgings." "Well, sit you down and take your supper, and we will see what we can do." And she actually did contrive to find a little nook, in which we were glad to take refuge from the multitudes around us. A slight board partition separated us from the apartment occupied by General Root, of New York, one of the commissioners of the treaty. The steamer in which we came had brought the mail, at that day a rare blessing to the distant settlements. The opening and reading of all the dispatches, which the General received about bed-time, had, of course, to be gone through with, before he could retire to rest. His eyes being weak, his secretaries were employed to read the communications. He was a little deaf withal, and through the slight division between the two apartments the contents of the letters, and his comments upon them, were unpleasantly audible, as he continually admonished his secretary to raise his voice. "What is that, Walter? Read that over again." In vain we coughed and hemmed, and knocked over sundry pieces of furniture. They were too deeply interested to hear aught that passed around them, and if we had been politicians we should have had all the secrets of the _working-men's party_ at our disposal, out of which to have made capital. The next morning it was still rain! rain! nothing but rain! In spite of it, however, the gentlemen would take a small boat to row to the steamer, to bring up the luggage, not the least important part of that which appertained to us being sundry boxes of silver for paying the annuities to the Winnebagoes at the Portage. I went out with some others of the company upon the piazza, to witness their departure. A gentleman pointed out to me Fort Howard, on a projecting point of the opposite shore, about three-quarters of a mile distant--the old barracks, the picketed inclosure, the walls, all looking quaint, and, considering their modern erection, really ancient and venerable. Presently we turned our attention to the boat, which had by this time gained the middle of the river. One of the passengers was standing up in the stern, apparently giving some directions. "That is rather a venturesome fellow," remarked one; "if he is not careful he will lose his balance." And at this moment we saw him actually perform a summerset backward, and disappear in the water. "Oh!" cried I, "he will be drowned!" The gentlemen laughed. "No, there he is; they are helping him in again." The course of the boat was immediately changed, and the party returned to the shore. It was not until one disembarked and came dripping and laughing towards me, that I recognized him as my own peculiar property. He was pleased to treat the matter as a joke, but I thought it rather a sad beginning of Western experience. He suffered himself to be persuaded to intrust the care of his effects to his friends, and having changed his dress, prepared to remain quietly with me, when just at this moment a vehicle drove up to the door, and we recognized the pleasant, familiar face of our old friend, Judge Doty. He had received the news of our arrival, and had come to take us at once to his hospitable mansion. We were only too happy to gather together our bags and travelling-baskets and accompany him without farther ceremony. Our drive took us first along the edge of Navarino, next through Shanty-town (the latter a far more appropriate name than the former), amid mud and mire, over bad roads, and up and down hilly, break-neck places, until we reached the little brick dwelling of our friends. Mrs. Doty received us with such true, sisterly kindness, and everything seemed so full of welcome, that we soon felt ourselves at home. We found that, expecting our arrival, invitations had already been prepared to assemble the whole circle of Green Bay society to meet us at an evening party--this, in a new country, being the established mode of doing honor to guests or strangers. We learned, upon inquiry, that Captain Harney, who had kindly offered to come with a boat and crew of soldiers from Fort Winnebago, to convey us to that place, our destined home, had not yet arrived; we therefore felt at liberty to make arrangements for a few days of social enjoyment at "the Bay." It was pleasant to people, secluded in such a degree from the world at large, to bear all the news we had brought--all the particulars of life and manners--the thousand little items that the newspapers of that day did not dream of furnishing--the fashions, and that general gossip, in short, which a lady is erroneously supposed more _au fait_ of, than a gentleman. I well remember that, in giving and receiving information, the day passed in a pretty uninterrupted stream of communication. All the party except myself had made the journey, or rather voyage, up the Fox River and down the Wisconsin to the Mississippi. There were plenty of anecdotes of a certain trip performed by the three, in company with a French trader and his two sisters, then making their debut as Western travellers. The manner in which Mademoiselle Julie would borrow, without leave, a fine damask napkin or two, to wipe out the ducks in preparation for cooking--the difficulty of persuading either of the sisters of the propriety of washing and rinsing their table apparatus nicely before packing it away in the mess-basket, the consequence of which was, that another nice napkin must be stealthily whisked out, to wipe the dishes when the hour for meals arrived--the fun of the young gentleman in hunting up his stray articles, thus misappropriated, from the nooks and corners of the boat, tying them with a cord, and hanging them over the stern, to make their way down the Wisconsin to Prairie du Chien. Then there was a capital story of M. Rolette himself. At one point on the route (I think in crossing Winnebago Lake) the travellers met one of the Company's boats on its way to Green Bay for supplies. M. Rolette was one of the agents of the Company, and the people in the boat were his employés. Of course after an absence of some weeks from home, the meeting on these lonely waters and the exchanging of news was an occasion of great excitement. The boats were stopped--earnest greetings interchanged--question followed question. "_Eh bien_--have they finished the new house?" "_Oui, Monsieur_." "_Et la cheminée, fume-t-elle?_" (Does the chimney smoke?) "_Non, Monsieur_." "And the harvest--how is that?" "Very fine, indeed." "Is the mill at work?" "Yes, plenty of water." "How is Whip?" (his favorite horse.) "Oh! Whip is first-rate." Everything, in short, about the store, the farm, the business of various descriptions being satisfactorily gone over, there was no occasion for farther delay. It was time to proceed. "_Eh bien--adieu! bon voyage!_" "_Arrachez, mes gens!_" (Go ahead, men!) Then suddenly--"_Arrêtez! arrêtez!_" (Stop, stop!) "_Comment se portent Madame Rolette et les enfans?_" (How are Mrs. Rolette and the children?) * * * * * This day, with its excitement, was at length over, and we retired to our rest, thankful that we had not General Root and his secretary close to our bed's head, with their budget of political news. My slumbers were not destined, however, to be quite undisturbed. I was awakened, at the first slight peep of dawn, by a sound from an apartment beneath our own--a plaintive, monotonous chant, rising and then falling in a sort of mournful cadence. It seemed to me a wail of something unearthly--so wild--so strange--so unaccountable. In terror I awoke my husband, who reassured me by telling me it was the morning salutation of the Indians to the opening day. Some Menomonees had been kindly given shelter for the night in the kitchen below, and, having fulfilled their unvarying custom of chanting their morning hymn, they now ceased, and again composed themselves to sleep. But not so their auditor. There was to me something inexpressibly beautiful in this morning song of praise from the untaught sons of the forest. What a lesson did it preach to the civilized, Christianized world, too many of whom lie down and rise up without an aspiration of thanksgiving to their Almighty Preserver--without even a remembrance of His care, who gives His angels charge concerning them! Never has the impression of that simple act of worship faded from my mind. I have loved to think that, with some, these strains might be the outpouring of a devotion as pure as that of the Christian when he utters the inspiring words of the sainted Ken-- "Awake, my soul! and with the sun," etc. * * * * * Among the visitors who called to offer me a welcome to the West, were Mr. and Miss Cadle, who were earnestly engaged in the first steps of their afterwards flourishing enterprise for the education of Indian and half-breed children. The school-houses and chapel were not yet erected, but we visited their proposed site, and listened with great interest to bright anticipations of the future good that was to be accomplished--the success that was to crown their efforts for taming the heathen and teaching them the knowledge of their Saviour and the blessings of civilized life. The sequel has shown how little the zeal of the few can accomplish, when opposed to the cupidity of the many. Our evening party went off as parties do elsewhere. The most interesting feature to me, because the most novel, was the conversation of some young ladies to whom I was introduced, natives of Green Bay or its vicinity. Their mother was a Menomonee, but their father was a Frenchman, a descendant of a settler some generations back, and who, there is reason to believe, was a branch of the same family of Grignon to which the daughter of Madame de Sévigné belonged. At least, it is said there are in the possession of the family many old papers and records which would give that impression, although the orthography of the name has become slightly changed. Be that as it may, the Miss Grignons were strikingly dignified, well-bred young ladies, and there was a charm about their soft voices, and original, unsophisticated remarks, very attractive to a stranger. They opened to me, however, a new field of apprehension; for, on my expressing my great impatience to see my new home, they exclaimed, with a look of wonder,-- "_Vous n'avez donc pas peur des serpens_?" "Snakes! was it possible there were snakes at Fort Winnebago?" "At the Portage! oh! yes--one can never walk out for them--rattle-snakes--copper-heads--all sorts!" I am not naturally timid, but I must confess that the idea of the _serpens sonnettes_ and the _siffleurs_ was not quite a subject of indifference. There was one among these young ladies whose tall, graceful figure, rich, blooming complexion, and dark, glancing eye, would have distinguished her in any drawing-room--and another, whose gentle sweetness and cultivated taste made it a matter of universal regret that she was afterwards led to adopt the seclusion of a convent. Captain Harney and his boat arrived in due time, and active preparations far the comfort of our journey commenced under the kind supervision of Mrs. Doty. The mess-basket was stowed with good things of every description--ham and tongue--biscuit and plum-cake--not to mention the substantiate of crackers, bread, and boiled pork, the latter of which, however, a lady was supposed to be too fastidious to think of touching, even if starving in the woods. We had engaged three Canadian voyageurs to take charge of our tent, mess-basket, and matters and things in general. Their business it was to be to cut the wood for our fires, prepare our meals, and give a helping hand to whatever was going forward. A messenger had also been sent to the Kakalin, or rapids, twenty-one miles above, to notify _Wish-tay-yun_,[3] the most accomplished guide through the difficult passes of the river, to be in readiness for our service on a specified day. In the mean time, we had leisure for one more party, and it was to be a "real Western hop." Everybody will remember that dance at Mrs. Baird's. All the people, young and old, that would be gathered throughout, or, as it was the fashion to express it, _on_ Green Bay, were assembled. The young officers were up from Fort Howard, looking so smart in their uniforms--treasures of finery, long uncalled forth, were now brought to light--everybody was bound to do honor to the strangers by appearing in their very best. It was to be an entertainment unequalled by any given before. All the house was put in requisition for the occasion. Desks and seats were unceremoniously dismissed from Mr. B.'s office, which formed one wing, to afford more space for the dancers. Not only the front portion of the dwelling, but even the kitchen was made fit for the reception of company, in case any primitive visitor, as was sometimes the case, should prefer sitting down quietly there and smoking his cigar. This was an emergency that, in those days, had always to be provided for. Nothing could exceed the mirth and hilarity of the company. No restraint, but of good manners--no excess of conventionalities--genuine, hearty good-humor and enjoyment, such as pleasant, hospitable people, with just enough of the French element to add zest to anything like amusement, could furnish, to make the entertainment agreeable. In a country so new, and where, in a social gathering, the number of the company was more important than the quality, the circle was not always, strictly speaking, select. I was aware of this, and was therefore more amused than surprised when a clumsy little man, with a broad, red, laughing face, waddled across the room to where I had taken my seat after a dance, and thus addressed me: "_Miss_ K----, nobody hain't never introduced you to me, but I've seen you a good many times, and I know your husband very well, so I thought I might just as well come and speak to you--my name is A----." "Ah! Mr. A----, good-evening. I hope you are enjoying yourself. How is your sister?" "Oh! she is a great deal worse--her cold has got into her eye, and it is all _shot up_." Then turning full upon a lady[4] who sat near, radiant with youth and beauty, sparkling with wit and genuine humor: "Oh! Mrs. Beall," he began, "what a beautiful gown you have got on, and how handsome you do look! I declare you're the prettiest woman in the room, and dance the handsomest." "Indeed, Mr. A----," replied she, suppressing her love of fun and assuming a demure look, "I am afraid you flatter me." "No, I don't--I'm in earnest. I've just come to ask you to dance." Such was the penalty of being too charming. CHAPTER IV. VOYAGE UP FOX RIVER. It had been arranged that Judge Doty should accompany us in our boat as far as the Butte des Morts, at which place his attendant would be waiting with horses to convey him to Mineral Point, where he was to hold court. It was a bright and beautiful morning when we left his pleasant home, to commence our passage up the Fox River Captain Harney was proposing to remain a few days longer at "the Bay," but he called to escort us to the boat and instal us in all its comforts. As he helped me along over the ploughed ground and other inequalities in our way to the river-bank, where the boat lay, he told me how impatiently Mrs. Twiggs, the wife of the commanding officer, who since the past spring had been the only white lady at Fort Winnebago, was now expecting a companion and friend. We had met in New York, shortly after her marriage, and were, therefore, not quite unacquainted. I, for my part, felt sure that when there were two of our sex--when my piano was safely there--when the Post Library which we had purchased should be unpacked--when all should be fairly arranged and settled, we should be, although far away in the wilderness, the happiest little circle imaginable. All my anticipations were of the most sanguine and cheerful character. It was a moderate-sized Mackinac boat, with a crew of soldiers, and our own three voyageurs in addition, that lay waiting for us--a dark-looking structure of some thirty feet in length. Placed in the centre was a frame-work of slight posts, supporting a roof of canvas, with curtains of the same, which might be let down at the sides and ends, after the manner of a country stage-coach, or rolled up to admit the light and air. In the midst of this little cabin or saloon was placed the box containing my piano, and on it a mattress, which was to furnish us a divan through the day and a place of repose at night, should the weather at any time prove too wet or unpleasant for encamping. The boxes of silver, with which my husband was to pay the annuities due his red children, by treaty-stipulation, were stowed next. Our mess-basket was in a convenient vicinity, and we had purchased a couple of large square covered baskets of the Waubanakees, or New York Indians, to hold our various necessary articles of outward apparel and bedding, and at the same time to answer as very convenient little work or dinner-tables. As a true daughter of New England, it is to be taken for granted I had not forgotten to supply myself with knitting-work and embroidery. Books and pencils were a matter of course. The greater part of our furniture, together with the various articles for housekeeping with which we had supplied ourselves in New York and Detroit, were to follow in another boat, under the charge of people whose business it professed to be to take cargoes safely up the rapids and on to Fort Winnebago. This was an enterprise requiring some three weeks of time and a great amount of labor, so that the owners of the goods transported might think themselves happy to receive them at last, however wet, broken, and dilapidated their condition might be. It was for this reason that we took our choicest possessions with us, even at the risk of being a little crowded. Until now I had never seen a gentleman attired in a colored shirt, a spotless white collar and bosom being one of those "notions" that "Boston," and consequently New England "folks," entertained of the becoming in a gentleman's toilette. Mrs. Cass had laughingly forewarned me that not only calico shirts but patch-work pillow-cases were an indispensable part of a travelling equipment; and, thanks to the taste and skill of some tidy little Frenchwoman, I found our divan-pillows all accommodated in the brightest and most variegated garb. The Judge and my husband were gay with the deepest of blue and pink. Each was prepared, besides, with a bright red cap (a _bonnet rouge_, or _tuque_, as the voyageurs call it), which, out of respect for the lady, was to be donned only when a hearty dinner, a dull book, or the want of exercise made an afternoon nap indispensable. The Judge was an admirable travelling companion. He had lived many years in the country, had been with General Cass on his expedition to the head-waters of the Mississippi, and had a vast fund of anecdote regarding early times, customs, and inhabitants. Some instances of the mode of administering justice in those days, I happen to recall. There was an old Frenchman at the Bay, named Réaume, excessively ignorant and grasping, although otherwise tolerably good-natured. This man was appointed justice of the peace. Two men once appeared before him, the one as plaintiff, the other as defendant. The justice listened patiently to the complaint of the one and the defence of the other; then rising, with dignity, he pronounced his decision: "You are both wrong. You, Bois-vert," to the plaintiff, "you bring me one load of hay; and you, Crély," to the defendant, "you bring me one load of wood; and now the matter is settled." It does not appear that any exceptions were taken to this verdict. This anecdote led to another, the scene of which was Prairie du Chien, on the Mississippi. There was a Frenchman, a justice of the peace, who was universally known by the name of "Old Boilvin." His office was just without the walls of the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called "taking a little _quelque-chose."_ A soldier, named Fry, had been accused of stealing and killing a calf belonging to M. Rolette, and the constable, a bricklayer of the name of Bell, had been dispatched to arrest the culprit and bring him to trial. While the gentlemen were making their customary morning visit to the justice, a noise was heard in the entry, and a knock at the door. "Come in," cried Old Boilvin, rising and walking toward the door. _Bell_,--Here, sir, I have brought Fry to you, as you ordered. _Justice_--Fry, you great rascal! What for you kill M. Rolette's calf? _Fry_,--I did not kill M. Rolette's calf. _Justice_ (shaking his fist).--You lie, you great ---- rascal! Bell, take him to jail. Come, gentlemen, come, _let us take a leetle quelque-chose_. * * * * * The Canadian boatmen always sing while rowing or paddling, and nothing encourages them so much as to hear the "bourgeois"[5] take the lead in the music. If the passengers, more especially those of the fair sex, join in the refrain, the compliment is all the greater. Their songs are of a light, cheerful character, generally embodying some little satire or witticism, calculated to produce a spirited, sometimes an uproarious, chorus. The song and refrain are carried on somewhat in the following style: BOURGEOIS.--Par-derrière chez ma tante, Par-derrière chez ma tante. CHORUS.--Par-derrière chez ma tante, Par-derrière chez ma tante. BOURGEOIS.--Il y a un coq qui chante, Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux. CHORUS.--Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux. BOURGEOIS.--Il y a un coq qui chante, Il y a un coq qui chante. CHORUS.--Il y a un coq qui chante, etc. BOURGEOIS.--Demande une femme à prendre, Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, etc. CHORUS.--Des pommes, dos poires, etc. BOURGEOIS.--Demande une femme à prendre, Demande une femme à, etc. And thus it continues until the advice is given successively, Ne prenez pas une noire, Car elles aiment trop à boire, Ne prenez pas une rousse, Car elles sont trop jalouses. And by the time all the different qualifications are rehearsed and objected to, lengthened out by the interminable repetition of the chorus, the shout of the bourgeois is heard-- "Whoop la! à terre, à terre--pour la pipe!" It is an invariable custom for the voyageurs to stop every five or six miles to rest and smoke, so that it was formerly the way of measuring distances--"so many pipes," instead of "so many miles." The Canadian melodies are sometimes very beautiful, and a more exhilarating mode of travel can hardly be imagined than a voyage over these waters, amid all the wild magnificence of nature, with the measured strokes of the oar keeping time to the strains of "_Le Rosier Blanc_," "En roulant ma Boule_," or "_Lève ton pied, ma jolie Bergère."_ The climax of fun seemed to be in a comic piece, which, however oft repeated, appeared never to grow stale. It was somewhat after this fashion: BOURGEOIS.--Michaud est monté dans un prunier, Pour treiller des prunes. La branche a cassé-- CHORUS.--Michaud a tombé? BOURGEOIS.--Ou est-ce qu'il est? CHORUS.--Il est en bas. BOURGEOIS.--Oh! reveille, reveille, reveille, Oh! reveille, Michaud est en haut![6] It was always a point of etiquette to look astonished at the luck of Michaud in remaining in the tree, spite of the breaking of the branch, and the joke had to be repeated through all the varieties of fruit-trees that Michaud might be supposed able to climb. By evening of the first day we arrived at _the Kakalin_, where another branch of the Grignon family resided. We were very pleasantly entertained, although, in my anxiety to begin my forest life, I would fain have had the tent pitched on the bank of the river, and have laid aside, at once, the indulgences of civilization. This, however, would have been a slight, perhaps an affront; so we did much better, and partook of the good cheer that was offered us in the shape of hot venison steaks and crêpes, and that excellent cup of coffee which none can prepare like a Frenchwoman, and which is so refreshing after a day in the open air. The Kakalin is a rapid of the Fox River, sufficiently important to make the portage of the heavy lading of a boat necessary; the boat itself being poled or dragged up with cords against the current. It is one of a series of rapids and _chûtes_, or falls, which occur between this point and Lake Winnebago, twenty miles above. The next morning, after breakfast, we took leave of our hosts, and prepared to pursue our journey. The bourgeois, from an early hour, had been occupied in superintending his men in getting the boat and its loading over the Kakalin. As the late rains had made the paths through the woods and along the banks of the river somewhat muddy and uncomfortable for walking, I was put into an ox-cart, to be jolted over the unequal road; saluting impartially all the stumps and stones that lay in our way, the only means of avoiding which seemed to be when the little, thick-headed Frenchman, our conductor, bethought him of suddenly guiding his cattle into a projecting tree or thorn-bush, to the great detriment not only of my straw bonnet, but of my very eyes. But we got through at last, and, arriving at the head of the rapids, I found the boat lying there, all in readiness for our re-embarking. Our Menomonee guide, _Wish-tay-yun_, a fine, stalwart Indian, with an open, good-humored, one might almost say _roguish_ countenance, came forward to be presented to me. "_Bon-jour, bon-jour, maman_," was his laughing salutation. Again I was surprised, not as before at the French, for to that I had become accustomed, but at the respectable title he was pleased to bestow upon me. "Yes," said my husband, "you must make up your mind to receive a very numerous and well-grown family, consisting of all the Winnebagoes, Pottowattamies, Chippewas, and Ottawas, together with such Sioux, Sacs and Foxes, and Iowas, as have any point to gain in applying to me. By the first-named tribe in virtue of my office, and by the others as a matter of courtesy, I am always addressed as '_father_'--you, of course, will be their '_mother_.'" Wish-tay-yun and I were soon good friends, my husband interpreting to me the Chippewa language in which he spoke. We were impatient to be off, the morning being already far advanced, and, all things being in readiness, the word was given: "_Pousse au large, mes gens!_" (Push out, my men). At this moment a boat was seen leaving the opposite bank of the river and making towards us. It contained white men, and they showed by signs that they wished to detain us until they came up. They drew near, and we found them to be Mr. Marsh, a missionary among the Waubanakees, or the New York Indians, lately brought into this country, and the Rev. Eleazar Williams,[7] who was at that time living among his red brethren on the right bank of the Fox River. To persons so situated, even more emphatically than to those of the settlements, the arrival of visitors from the "east countrie" was a godsend indeed. We had to give all the news of various kinds that we had brought--political, ecclesiastical, and social--as well as a tolerably detailed account of what we proposed to do, or rather what we hoped to be able to do, among our native children at the Portage. I was obliged, for my part, to confess that, being almost entirely a stranger to the Indian character and habits, I was going among them with no settled plans of any kind--general good-will, and a hope of making them my friends, being the only principles I could lay claim to at present. I must leave it for time and a better acquaintance to show me in what way the principle could be carried out for their greatest good. Mr. Williams was a dark-complexioned, good-looking man. Having always heard him spoken of, by his relations in Connecticut, as "our Indian cousin," it never occurred to me to doubt his belonging to that race, although I now think that if I had met him elsewhere I should have taken him for a Spaniard or a Mexican. His complexion had decidedly more of the olive than the copper hue, and his countenance was grave, almost melancholy. He was very silent during this interview, asking few questions, and offering no observations except in reply to some question addressed to him. It was a hard pull for the men up the rapids. Wish-tay-yun, whose clear, sonorous voice was the bugle of the party, shouted and whooped--each one answered with a chorus, and a still more vigorous effort. By-and-by the boat would become firmly set between two huge stones-- "Whoop la! whoop! whoop!" Another pull, and another, straining every nerve--in vain. "She will not budge!" "Men, overboard!" and instantly every rower is over the side and into the water. By pulling, pushing, and tugging, the boat is at length released from her position, and the men walk along beside her, helping and guiding her, until they reach a space of comparatively smooth water, when they again take their seats and their oars. It will be readily imagined that there were few songs this day, but very frequent _pipes_, to refresh the poor fellows after such an arduous service. It was altogether a new spectacle to me. In fact, I had hardly ever before been called upon to witness severe bodily exertion, and my sympathies and sensibilities were, for this reason, the more enlisted on the occasion. It seemed a sufficient hardship to have to labor in this violent manner; but to walk in cold water up to their waists, and then to sit down in their soaking garments without going near a fire! Poor men! this was too much to be borne! What, then, was my consternation to see my husband, who, shortly after our noon-tide meal, had surprised me by making his appearance in a pair of duck trowsers and light jacket, at the first cry of "Fast, again!" spring over into the water with the men, and "bear a hand" throughout the remainder of the long stretch! When he returned on board, it was to take the oar of a poor, delicate-looking boy, one of the company of soldiers, who from the first had suffered with bleeding at the nose on every unusual exertion. I was not surprised, on inquiring, to find that this lad was a recruit just entered the service. He passed by the name of Gridley, but that was undoubtedly an assumed name. He had the appearance of having been delicately nurtured, and had probably enlisted without at all appreciating the hardships and discomforts of a soldier's life. This is evident from the dissatisfaction he always continued to feel, until at length he deserted from his post. This was some months subsequent to the time of which I am writing. He was once retaken, and kept for a time in confinement, but immediately on his release deserted again, and his remains were found the following spring, not many miles from the fort. He had died, either of cold or starvation. This is a sad interlude--we will return to our boating. With all our tugging and toiling, we had accomplished but thirteen miles since leaving the Kakalin, and it was already late when we arrived in view of the "Grande Chûte," near which we were to encamp. We had passed the "Little Chûte" (the spot where the town of Appleton now stands) without any further observation than that it required a vast deal of extra exertion to buffet with the rushing stream and come off, as we did, victorious. The brilliant light of the setting sun was resting on the high wooded banks through which broke the beautiful, foaming, dashing waters of the Chûte. The boat was speedily turned towards a little headland projecting from the left bank, which had the advantage of a long strip of level ground, sufficiently spacious to afford a good encamping ground. I jumped ashore before the boat was fairly pulled up by the men, and with the Judge's help made my way as rapidly as possible to a point lower down the river, from which, he said, the best view of the Chûte could be obtained. I was anxious to make a sketch before the daylight quite faded away. The left bank of the river was to the west, and over a portion less elevated than the rest the sun's parting rays fell upon the boat, the men with their red caps and belts, and the two tents already pitched. The smoke now beginning to ascend from the evening fires, the high wooded bank beyond, up which the steep portage path could just be discerned, and, more remote still, the long stretch of waterfall now darkening in the shadow of the overhanging forests, formed a lovely landscape, to which the pencil of an artist could alone do justice. This was my first encampment, and I was quite enchanted with the novelty of everything about me. The fires had been made of small saplings and underbrush, hastily collected, the mildness of the weather rendering anything beyond what sufficed for the purposes of cooking and drying the men's clothes, superfluous. The soldiers' tent was pitched at some distance from our own, but not too far for us to hear distinctly their laughter and apparent enjoyment after the fatigues of the day. Under the careful superintendence of Corporal Kilgour, however, their hilarity never passed the bounds of respectful propriety, and, by the time we had eaten our suppers, cooked in the open air with the simple apparatus of a tea-kettle and frying-pan, we were, one and all, ready to retire to our rest. The first sound that saluted our ears in the early dawn of the following morning, was the far-reaching call of the bourgeois: "How! how! how!" uttered at the very top of his voice. All start at that summons, and the men are soon turning out of their tents, or rousing from their slumbers beside the fire, and preparing for the duties of the day. The fire is replenished, the kettles set on to boil, the mess-baskets opened, and a portion of their contents brought forth to be made ready for breakfast. One Frenchman spreads our mat within the tent, whence the bedding has all been carefully removed and packed up for stowing in the boat. The tin cups and plates are placed around on the new-fashioned table-cloth. The heavy dews make it a little too damp for us to breakfast in the open air; otherwise our preparations would be made outside, upon the green grass. In an incredibly short time our smoking coffee and broiled ham are placed before us, to which are added, from time to time, slices of toast brought hot and fresh from the glowing coals. There is, after all, no breakfast like a breakfast in the woods, with a well-trained Frenchman for master of ceremonies. It was a hard day's work to which the men now applied themselves, that of dragging the heavy boat up the Chûte. It had been thought safest to leave the piano in its place on board, but the rest of the lading had to be carried up the steep bank, and along its summit, a distance of some hundreds of rods, to the smooth water beyond, where all the difficulties of our navigation terminated. The Judge kindly took charge of me while "the bourgeois" superintended this important business, and with reading, sketching, and strolling about, the morning glided away. Twelve o'clock came, and still the preparations for starting were not yet completed. In my rambles about to seek out some of the finest of the wild flowers for a bouquet, before my husband's return, I came upon the camp-fire of the soldiers. A tall, red-faced, light-haired young man in fatigue dress was attending a kettle of soup, the savory steams of which were very attractive. Seeing that I was observing his occupation, he politely ladled out a tin-cupful of the liquid and offered it to me. I declined it, saying we should have our dinner immediately. "They left me here to get their dinner," said he, apparently not displeased to have some one to talk to; "and I thought I might as well make some soup. Down on the German Flats, where I come from, they always like soup." "Ah! you are from the German Flats--then your name must be Bellinger or Weber." "No, it isn't--it's Krissman." "Well, Krissman, how do you like the service?" "Very well. I was only recruited last summer. I used to ride horse on the _Canawl_, and, as I can blow a horn first-rate, I expect I will soon be able to play on a bugle, and then, when I get to be musician, you know, I shall have extra pay." I did not know it, but I expressed due pleasure at the information, and wishing Krissman all manner of success in his dreams of ambition, or rather, I should say, of avarice, for the hopes of "extra pay" evidently preponderated over those of fame, I returned to my own quarters. My husband, with his French tastes, was inclined to be somewhat disappointed when I told him of this little incident, and my refusal of Krissman's soup; but we were soon gratified by seeing his tall, awkward form bearing a kettle of the composition, which he set down before the two gentlemen, by whom, to his infinite satisfaction, it was pronounced excellent. Everything being at length in readiness, the tents were struck and carried around the Portage, and my husband, the Judge, and I followed at our leisure. The woods were brilliant with wild flowers, although it was so late in the season that the glory of the summer was well-nigh past. But the lupin, the moss-pink, and the yellow wallflower, with all the varieties of the helianthus, the aster, and the solidago, spread their gay charms around. The gentlemen gathered clusters of the bittersweet (celastrus scandens) from the overhanging boughs to make a wreath for my hat, as we trod the tangled pathway, which, like that of Christabel, was "Now in glimmer and now in gloom," through the alternations of open glade and shady thicket. Soon, like the same lovely heroine, "We reached the place--right glad we were," and, without further delay, we were again on board our little boat and skimming over the now placid waters. CHAPTER V. WINNEBAGO LAKE--MISS FOUR-LEGS. Our encampment this night was the most charming that can be imagined. Owing to the heavy service the men had gone through in the earlier part of the day, we took but a short stage for the afternoon, and, having pulled some seven or eight miles to a spot a short distance below the "little Butte," we drew in at a beautiful opening among the trees. The soldiers now made a regular business of encamping, by cutting down a large tree for their fire and applying themselves to the preparing of a sufficient quantity of food for their next day's journey, a long stretch, namely, of twenty-one miles across Winnebago Lake. Our Frenchmen did the same. The fire caught in the light dry grass by which we were surrounded, and soon all was blaze and crackle. Fortunately the wind was sufficient to take the flames all in one direction, and, besides, there was not enough fuel to have made them a subject of any alarm. We hopped upon the fallen logs, and dignified the little circumscribed affair with the name of "a prairie on fire." The most serious inconvenience was its having consumed all the dry grass, some armfuls of which, spread under the bear-skin in my tent, I had found, the night before, a great improvement to my place of repose. Our supper was truly delightful, at the pleasant sunset hour, under the tall trees beside the waters that ran murmuring by; and when the bright, broad moon arose, and shed her flood of light over the scene, so wild yet so beautiful in its vast solitude, I felt that I might well be an object of envy to the friends I had left behind. But all things have an end, and so must at last my enthusiasm for the beauties around me, and, albeit unwillingly, I closed my tent and took my place within, so near the fall of canvas that I could raise it occasionally and peep forth upon the night. In time all was quiet. The men had become silent, and appeared to have retired to rest, and we were just sinking to our slumbers, when a heavy tread and presently a bluff voice were heard outside. "Mr. Kinzie! Mr. Kinzie!" "Who is there? What is it?" "I'm Krissman; didn't you mean, sir, that the men should have any liquor to-night?" "Of course I did. Has not Kilgour given out your rations?" "No: he says you did not say anything particular about it, and he was not coming to ask you if you forgot it; but I thought I wouldn't be bashful--I'd just come and ask.'" "That is right. Tell Kilgour I should like to have him serve out a ration apiece." "Thank you, sir," in a most cheerful tone; "I'll tell him." Krissman was getting to be quite a character with us. A row of a few miles, on the following morning, brought us to Four-Legs' village,[8] at the entrance to Winnebago Lake, a picturesque cluster of Indian huts, spread around on a pretty green glade, and shaded by fine lofty trees. We were now fairly in the Winnebago country, and I soon learned that the odd-sounding name of the place was derived from the principal chief of the nation, whose residence it was. The inhabitants were absent, having, in all probability, departed to their wintering grounds. We here took leave of our friend Wish-tay-yun, at the borders of whose country we had now arrived. "_Bon-jour, Chon!_" (John:) "_bon-jour, maman_." A hearty shake of the hand completed his adieu, as we pushed off into the lake, and left him smoking his kin-nee-kin-nick[9] and waiting until the spirit should move him to take up his long _Indian trot_ towards his home in the Menomonee country. With him our sunshine seemed to have departed. The skies, hitherto so bright and serene, became overcast, and, instead of the charming voyage we had anticipated over the silver waters of the lake, we were obliged to keep ourselves housed under our canvas shelter, only peeping out now and then to catch a glimpse of the surrounding prospect through the pouring rain. It was what might have been expected on an autumnal day, but we were unreasonable enough to find it tedious; so, to beguile the time and lessen my disappointment, my husband related to me some incidents of his early history, apropos to the subject of "Four-Legs." While he was living at Prairie du Chien, in the employ of the American Fur Company, the chiefs and other Indians from the Upper Mississippi used frequently to come to the place to sell their furs and peltries, and to purchase merchandise, ammunition, trinkets, etc. As is usual with all who are not yet acclimated, he was seized with chills and fever. One day, while suffering with an unusually severe access of the latter, a chief of the Four-Legs family, a brother to the one before mentioned, came in to the Company's warehouse to trade. There is no ceremony or restraint among the Indians: so, hearing that Shaw-nee-aw-kee was sick, Four-Legs instantly made his way to him, to offer his sympathy and prescribe the proper remedies. Every one who has suffered from ague and the intense fever that succeeds it, knows how insupportable is the protracted conversation of an inconsiderate person, and will readily believe that the longer Four-Legs continued his pratings the higher mounted the fever of the patient, and the more intolerable became the pain of head, back, and limbs. At length the old man arrived at the climax of what he had to say. "It was not good for a young man, suffering with sickness, and away from his family, to be without a home and a wife. He had a nice daughter at home, handsome and healthy, a capital nurse, the best hand in all the tribe at trapping beaver and musk-rats. He was coming down again in the spring, and he would bring her with him, and Shaw-nee-aw-kee should see that he had told no falsehood about her. Should he go now, and bring his daughter the next time he came?" Stunned with his importunate babble, and anxious only for rest and quiet, poor Shaw-nee-aw-kee eagerly assented, and the chief took his departure. So nearly had his disorder been aggravated to delirium, that the young man forgot entirely, for a time, the interview and the proposal which had been made him. But it was recalled to his memory some months after, when Four-Legs made his appearance, bringing with him a squaw of mature age, and a very Hecate for ugliness. She carried on her shoulders an immense pack of furs, which, approaching with her awkward _criss-cross_ gait, she threw at his feet, thus marking, by an Indian custom, her sense of the relation that existed between them. The conversation with her father now flashed across his mind, and he began to be sensible that he had got into a position that it would require some skill to extricate himself from. He bade one of the young clerks take up the pack and carry it into the magazine where the furs were stored; then he coolly went on talking with the chief about indifferent matters. _Miss Four-Legs_ sat awhile with a sulky, discontented air; at length she broke out,-- "Humph! he seems to take no more notice of me than if I was nobody!" He again turned to the clerk.--"Give her a calico shirt and half a dozen bread-tickets." This did not dissipate the gloom on her countenance. Finding that he must commence the subject, the father says,-- "Well, I have brought you my daughter, according to our agreement. How do you like her?" "Ah, yes--she is a very nice young woman, and would make a first-rate wife, I have no doubt. But do you know a very strange thing has happened since you were here? Our father, Governor Cass,[10] has sent for me to come to Detroit, that he may send me among the Wyandottes and other nations to learn their customs and manners. Now, if I go, as I shall be obliged to do, I shall be absent two or three years,--perhaps four. What then? Why, the people will say, Shaw-nee-aw-kee has married Four-Legs' daughter, and then has hated her and run away from her, and so everybody will laugh at her, and she will be ashamed. It will be better to take some good, valuable presents, blankets, guns, etc., and to marry her to one of her own people, who will always stay by her and take care of her." The old man was shrewd enough to see that it was wisest to make the best bargain he could. I have no doubt it cost a round sum to settle the matter to the satisfaction of the injured damsel, though I have never been able to ascertain how much. This I know, that the young gentleman took care not to make his next bargain while in a fit of the ague. The lady up on the Mississippi is called, in derision, by his name to this day. About midway of the lake we passed Garlic Island--a lovely spot, deserving of a more attractive name. It belonged, together with the village on the opposite shore, to "Wild Cat," a fat, jolly, good-natured fellow, by no means the formidable animal his name would imply. He and his band were absent, like their neighbors of Four-Legs' village, so there was nothing to vary the monotony of our sail. It was too wet to sing, and the men, although wrapped in their overcoats, looked like drowned chickens. They were obliged to ply their oars with unusual vigor to keep themselves warm and comfortable, and thus probably felt less than we, the dulness and listlessness of the cold, rainy, October day. Towards evening the sun shone forth. We had passed into the Fox River, and were just entering that beautiful little expanse known as Butte des Morts Lake, at the farther extremity of which we were to encamp for the night. The water along its shores was green with the fields of wild rice, the gathering of which, just at this season, is an important occupation of the Indian women. They push their canoes into the thick masses of the rice, bend it forward over the side with their paddles, and then beat the ripe husks off the stalks into a cloth spread in the canoe. After this, it is rubbed to separate the grain from the husk, and fanned in the open air. It is then put in their cordage bags and packed away for winter use. The grain is longer and more slender than the Carolina rice--it is of a greenish-olive color, and, although it forms a pleasant article of food, it is far from being particularly nutritive. The Indians are fond of it in the form of soup, with the addition of birds or venison. CHAPTER VI. BREAKFAST AT BETTY MORE'S. The earth, the trees, and the shrubbery were all too much filled with the heavy rain which had fallen to allow us to think of encamping, so we made arrangements to bestow ourselves in our little saloon for the night. It was rather a difficult matter to light a fire, but among the underbrush, in a wild, undisturbed spot, there will always be found some fragments of dried branches, and tufts of grass which the rain has not reached, and by the assistance of the spunk, or light-wood, with which travellers always go well provided, a comforting fire was at length blazing brightly. After our chilling, tedious day, it was pleasant to gather round it, to sit on the end of the blazing logs, and watch the Frenchmen preparing our supper--the kettle nestling in a little nook of bright glowing coals--the slices of ham browning and crisping on the forked sticks, or "broches," which the voyageurs dexterously cut, and set around the burning brands--- the savory messes of "pork and onions" hissing in the frying-pan, always a tempting regale to the hungry Frenchmen. Truly, it needs a wet, chilly journey, taken nearly fasting, as ours had been, to enable one to enjoy to its full extent that social meal--a supper. The bright sun, setting amid brilliant masses of clouds, such as are seen only in our Western skies, gave promise of a fine day on the morrow, with which comforting assurance we were glad to take our leave of him, and soon after of each other. We had hardly roused up the following morning, in obedience to the call of the bourgeois, when our eyes were greeted with the sight of an addition to our company--a tall, stalwart, fine-looking young _mitiff_, or half-breed, accompanied by two or three Indians. Vociferous and joyous were the salutations of the latter to their "father" and their new "mother." They were the first Winnebagoes I had seen, and they were decidedly not the finest specimens of their tribe. The mitiff, a scion of the wide-spreading tree of the Grignons, was the bearer of an invitation to us from Judge Law, who, with one or two Green Bay friends, was encamped a few miles above, to come and breakfast with him in his tent. We had not dreamed of finding white neighbors here, but our vicinity could be no secret to them, as long as there was an Indian in the neighborhood. So, delaying only for the soldiers to finish their breakfast, we pushed on for the "Butte des Morts," or, as Mrs. A always persisted in calling it, _Betty More's_. The white tent of the Judge gleamed in the morning sun as we approached the little rising ground on which it stood. The river was filled with canoes, paddled principally by squaws. Many Indians were to be seen on the banks, all with their guns and hunting accoutrements, for the air was filled in every direction with flocks of teal, which at this season are most abundant and delicious. The immense fields of wild rice abounding here and in the little lake below, make this vicinity their favorite place of resort in the autumn months. The effect of this nourishing food is to make the flesh of the birds so fat, so white, and so tender, that a caution is always given to a young sportsman to fire only at such as fly very low, for if shot high in the air they are bruised to pieces and rendered unfit for eating by their fall to the ground. We were hemmed in by a little fleet of canoes which surrounded us, the women chattering, laughing, and eagerly putting forward their little wooden bowls of fresh cranberries as an offering of welcome to me. I amused myself with tossing crackers to them, some of which would reach them, others would fall into the water, and then such a scrambling and shouting! Hands and paddles were in requisition, and loud was the triumph of her who was successful in reaching a floating one. Among the Indians with whom Shaw-nee-aw-kee was now engaged in shaking hands, and who all seemed old friends, were many fine, straight, well-formed figures, all of them exhibiting frames capable of enduring fatigue and the hardships of their mode of life. One was describing with much gesticulation the abundance of the game in the neighborhood, and he seemed greatly delighted at receiving a quantity of ammunition, with which he instantly departed to make good his boasts in the matter. After walking a short distance, we reached the tent, where I was introduced to Judge Law and a pleasant little gray-haired French gentleman of the name of Porlier. Several voyageurs and half-breeds were near, the former busily at work, the latter lounging for the most part, and going through with what they had to do with a sort of listless indifference. The contrast between the "all-alive" air of the one class and the apathetic manner of the other, was quite striking. After a short conversation among the members of the party, breakfast was announced, and we entered the tent and took our seats on the ground around the Indian mat which supplied the place of a table. The post of honor, namely, the _head_ of the table, was of course given to me, so that I could not only look around upon the circle of the company, but also enjoy a fine view out of the open door of the tent, and take an observation of all that was going on at the _side-table_ outside. Judge Doty sat opposite me, with his back to the opening of the tent, and the other gentlemen on either hand. We had for our waiter the tall "mitiff" who had been the messenger of the morning. He was still in the same garb--calico shirt, bright-colored scarf around his waist, and on his head a straw hat encircled with a band of black ostrich feathers, the usual dress of his class. The tin cups which were to hold our coffee were duly set around, then breakfast-plates of the same metal, with knives and forks; then followed the viands, among the most conspicuous of which was a large tin pan of boiled ducks. The Judge, wishing to show, probably, that, although we were in the vast wilderness, all fastidious nicety had not been left behind, took up the plate which had been set before him, and, seeing something adhering to it which did not exactly please him, handed it over his shoulder to Grignon, requesting him to wipe it carefully. Grignon complied by pulling a black silk barcelona handkerchief out of his bosom, where it had been snugly tucked away to answer any occasion that might present itself, and, giving the tin a furious polishing, handed it back again. The Judge looked at it with a smile of approbation, and giving a glance around the table as much as to say, "You see how I choose to have things done," applied himself to his breakfast. The trail for Fort Winnebago then led from the shore opposite Butte des Morts, through _Ma-zhee-gaw-gaw_ swamp, and past Green Lake, and it was well for the Judge that his horses stood waiting for him to "mount and away" as early as possible after breakfast, or I am afraid the story I should have been tempted to tell would have made his ride an uncomfortable one throughout the day. We had hardly finished breakfast when our hunter, who had received the ammunition, returned, bringing with him about fifty fine ducks, which he had shot in little more than an hour. From that time until the close of our journey our supply of these delicate birds was never wanting. CHAPTER VII. BUTTE DES MORTS--LAKE PUCKAWAY. The Butte des Morts, or Hillock of the Dead, was the scene long since[11] of a most sanguinary battle between the French and the Mis-qua-kees, or Foxes. So great was the carnage in this engagement, that the memory of it has been perpetuated by the gloomy appellation given to the mound where the dead were buried. The Foxes up to this time had inhabited the shores of the river to which they had given their name, but, being completely overwhelmed and beaten in this conflict, they retired to the neighborhood of the Mississippi, and sought an asylum among their allies, the Saukies, or, as they are now called, the Sauks, with whom they became gradually incorporated, until the combined tribes came to be known, as at present, by the name of "Sauks and Foxes." Among the French inhabitants of the upper country, each tribe of Indians has a particular appellation, descriptive of some peculiarity of either their habits or their personal appearance. Thus, the Chippewas, from their agility, are denominated "Sauteurs," or Jumpers; the Ottawas, the "Courtes-oreilles," or Short-ears. The Menomonees, from the wild rice so abundant in their country, are called "Folles Avoines;"--the Winnebagoes, from their custom of wearing the fur of a polecat on their legs when equipped for war, are termed "les Puans;"--the Pottowattamies, from their uncleanly habits, "les Poux;"--the Foxes are "les Renards," etc. etc. Hence you will never hear a French or half-breed resident of the country mention an Indian in any other style. "Such a person is a 'Court-oreille.'" "Is that woman a 'Winnebago'?" "No, she is a 'Folle Avoine.'" In this manner a stranger is somewhat puzzled at first to classify the acquaintances he forms. All the native friends with whom we were here surrounded were "les Puans," or, to use their own euphonious appellation, the "_Ho-tshung-rahs_." Having with great regret said adieu to our friend Judge Doty, whose society had contributed so much to the pleasure of our trip, and whose example, moreover, had given us a valuable lesson to take things as we find them, we bade good-bye at an early hour after breakfast to our kind hosts, and set forward on our journey. From Butte des Morts to the Portage, the distance by land is about seventy miles; by water, it is not less than a hundred and thirty, so serpentine is the course of the river through the low swampy prairies which stretch over a great portion of this part of the country. About six miles above the Butte, a tolerably broad stream, called Wolf River, joins the Fox, and as it is much the more direct and promising of the two, strangers have sometimes mistaken it for the main stream, and journeyed up it a considerable distance before discovering, to their great chagrin, that they must retrace their steps. Beyond this place, the river begins to play its pranks with the compass. As I was always looking out for pretty scenery to sketch, I was at one spot much attracted by a picturesque group on a bank quite close to the stream. There were broad overhanging trees, and two or three wigwams nestled under their shade. Bright-looking little children, quite unencumbered with clothing, were sporting about, and their two mothers were sitting on the ground, engaged in the manufacture of a mat for their lodge. It was a pretty scene, and I commenced a sketch. As usual, the whole party on the bank set up a shout when they recognized Shaw-nee-aw-kee,-- "Ee-awn-chee-wee-rah, Hee-nee-kar-ray-kay-noo."[12] It was an occasion on which they became demonstrative. After a little time we proceeded, and I went on to complete my drawing. The sun kept coming more and more into the wrong place. He had been just behind me, presently he was on my left hand, now he was straight ahead. I moved from time to time; at length the sun was decidedly on my right hand. What could be the matter? I looked up. "Oh, here is a pretty scene; I must have this too! But how surprisingly like the one I have just finished, only in a different direction." Again we were greeted with shouts and laughter; it was the same spot which we had passed not an hour before, and, having taken a circuit of nearly four miles, we had returned to find that we had made an actual progress of only the width of the bank on which the trees and wigwams stood. Decidedly not very encouraging to an impatient traveller. We reached Lake Puckaway late in the evening of our second day from Butte des Morts. Here lived a white man named Gleason, the same concerning whom, owing to his vast powers of exaggeration, poor Hooe was fond of uttering his little pun, "All is not gold that Gleasons." We did not seek shelter at his house, for, late as the season was, we found the shore so infested with mosquitoes that we were glad to choose a spot as far as possible from the bank, and make ourselves comfortable in our boat. This lake has its name from the long flags or rushes which are found in its waters in great abundance, and of which the squaws manufacture the coarse matting used in covering their wigwams. Their mode of fabricating this is very primitive and simple. Seated on the ground, with the rushes laid side by side, and fastened at each extremity, they pass their shuttle, a long flat needle made of bone, to which is attached a piece of cordage formed of the bark of a tree, through each rush, thus confining it very closely, and making a fine substantial mat. These mats are seldom more than five or six feet in length, as a greater size would be inconvenient in adjusting and preparing the lodges. It is a species of labor usually assigned to the elder women of the family. When they become broken down and worn out with exposure and hardship, so that they cannot cut down trees, hoe corn, or carry heavy burdens, they are set to weaving mats, taking care of the children, and disciplining the dogs, with which every Indian lodge abounds. Lac de Boeuf, or Buffalo Lake, into which our course next brought us, is a lovely sheet of water. In some places its banks are exceedingly picturesque, with beautiful headlands jutting out into the clear depths, where they, and the magnificent groups of trees which crown them, lie reflected as in a mirror. Now and then we would catch a glimpse of deer darting across the glades which at intervals opened through the woodlands, or a pair of sand-hill cranes would rise, slowly flapping their wings, and seek a place of more undisturbed repose. The flocks of teal now skimming the surface of the water, now rising higher towards the shelter of the forests, tempted our sportsman sorely; but, as there was little prospect of finding his game when it was brought down, he did not give way to the wanton pleasure of shooting merely to destroy life. In quitting this charming lake, and again entering the narrow, tortuous course of the river, we bade adieu to everything like scenery, until we should reach our journey's end. We had now seventy miles to pass through a country perfectly monotonous and uninteresting, the distastefulness of which was aggravated by the knowledge that we could, had we been provided with horses or a carriage of any kind, have crossed over to the Portage from Gleason's, through a pleasant country, in little more than three hours. Even our great resource, the cheering, animating songs of our voyageurs, was out of the question; for the river, though deep, is so narrow that, in many places, there is no room for the regular play of the oars; and the voices of Frenchmen can never "keep tune" unless their oars can "keep time." Lapierre, one of our men, did his best with a paddle, or, as he called it, the "_little row_," but it was to no purpose--it _would not go_. Besides this, the wild rice abounds to such an extent in many places, that it almost completely obstructs the progress of even a moderate-sized boat, so that a passage through its tangled masses is with difficulty forced by the oars. Tedious and monotonous as was the whole course of the two following days, the climax of impatience and discouragement was not reached until we arrived in sight of the white walls of Fort Winnebago, looking down from a rising ground upon the vast expanse of low land through which the river winds. The Indians have a tradition that a vast serpent once lived in the waters of the Mississippi, and that, taking a freak to visit the Great Lakes, he left his trail through the prairies, which, collecting the waters from the meadows and the rains of heaven as they fell, at length became the Fox River. The little lakes along its course were probably the spots where he flourished about in his uneasy slumbers at night. He must have played all the antics of a kitten in the neighborhood of the Portage. When the fort was first pointed out to me, I exclaimed, with delight, "Oh, we shall be there in half an hour!" "Not quite so soon," said my husband, smiling. "Wait and see." We sat and watched. We seemed approaching the very spot where we were to disembark. We could distinguish the officers and a lady on the bank waiting to receive us. Now we were turning our backs on them, and shooting out into the prairie again. Anon we approached another bank, on which was a range of comfortable-looking log houses. "That's the Agency," said my husband; "the largest house belongs to Paquette, the interpreter, and the others are the dwellings of our Frenchmen. The little building, just at the foot of the hill, is the blacksmith's shop, kept there by the Government, that the Indians may have their guns and traps mended free of expense." "But are we going to stop there?" "No; do you not see we are going back to the fort?" And, to be sure, our course had now turned, and we were setting in our first direction. In this manner, after tacking to the right and left and putting backwards and forwards during the greater part of two hours, we at length reached the little landing, on which the assembled party stood ready to greet us. CHAPTER VIII FORT WINNEBAGO. Major and Mrs. Twiggs, and a few of the younger officers (for nearly all of the older ones were absent), with our brother Robert, or, as he is called throughout all the Indian tribes, "Bob," gave us a cordial welcome--how cordial those alone can know who have come, like us, to a remote, isolated home in the wilderness. The Major insisted on our taking possession at once of vacant quarters in the fort, instead of at "the Agency," as had been proposed. "No--we must be under the same roof with them. Mrs. Twiggs had been without a companion of her own sex for more than four months, and would certainly not hear of a separation now. But we must be their guests until the arrival of the boats containing our furniture," which, under the care of our old acquaintance, Hamilton Arndt, was making its way slowly up from Green Bay. A dinner had been prepared for us. This is one of the advantages of the zigzag approach by the Fox River--travellers never take their friends by surprise; and when the whole circle sat down to the hospitable board, we were indeed a merry company. After dinner Mrs. Twiggs showed me the quarters assigned to us, on the opposite side of the spacious hall. They consisted of two large rooms on each of the three floors or stories of the building. On the ground-floor the front room was vacant. The one in the rear was to be the sleeping-apartment, as was evident from a huge, unwieldy bedstead, of proportions amply sufficient to have accommodated Og, the King of Bashan, with Mrs. Og and the children into the bargain. We could not repress our laughter; but the bedstead was nothing to another structure which occupied a second corner of the apartment. This edifice had been built under the immediate superintendence of one of our young lieutenants, and it was plain to be seen that upon it both he and the soldiers who fabricated it had exhausted all their architectural skill. The timbers of which it was composed had been grooved and carved; the pillars that supported the front swelled in and out in a most fanciful manner; the doors were not only panelled, but radiated in a way to excite the admiration of all unsophisticated eyes. A similar piece of workmanship had been erected in each set of quarters, to supply the deficiency of closets, an inconvenience which had never occurred, until too late, to the bachelors who planned them. The three apartments of which each structure was composed, were unquestionably designed for clothes-press, store-room, and china-closet; such, at least, were the uses to which Mrs. Twiggs had appropriated the one assigned to her. There was this slight difficulty, that in the latter the shelves were too close to admit of setting in even a gravy-boat, but they made up in number what was wanting in space. We christened the whole affair, in honor of its projector, a "Davis," thus placing the first laurel on the brow of one who was afterwards to signalize himself in _Cabinet_ making of quite a different character. The bold promontory on which Fort Winnebago was built looked down upon the extended prairie and the Fox River on one side, and on the other stretched away into the thickly-wooded ridge that led off to Belle Fontaine and Lake Puckaway. In front lay an extent of meadow, across which was the Portage road, of about two miles in length, leading between the Fox and the Wisconsin Rivers. Teams of oxen and a driver were kept at the Agency by the Government, to transport the canoes of the Indians across this place, which at many seasons was wet, miry, and almost impassable. The woods were now brilliant with the many tints of autumn, and the scene around was further enlivened by groups of Indians, in all directions, and their lodges, which were scattered here and there, in the vicinity of the Agency buildings. On the low grounds might be seen the white tents of the traders, already prepared to furnish winter supplies to the Indians, in exchange for the annuity money they were about to receive. A great concourse had been for many days assembling in anticipation of the payment, which was expected to take place as soon as Shaw-nee-aw-kee should arrive with the silver. Preparatory to this event, the great chief of the nation, Four-Legs, whose village we had passed at the entrance to Winnebago Lake, had thought proper to take a little carouse, as is too apt to be the custom when the savages come into the neighborhood of a sutler's establishment. In the present instance, the facilities for a season of intoxication had been augmented by the presence on the ground of some traders, too regardless of the very stringent laws prohibiting the sale of liquor to the Indians. Poor Four-Legs could not stand this full tide of prosperity. Unchecked by the presence of his Father, the agent, he carried his indulgence to such excess that he fell a victim in the course of a few days. His funeral had been celebrated with unusual pomp the day before our arrival, and great was my disappointment at finding myself too late to witness all the ceremonies. His body, according to their custom, having been wrapped in a blanket, and placed in a rude coffin, along with his guns, tomahawk, pipes, and a quantity of tobacco, had been carried to the most elevated point of the hill opposite the fort, followed by an immense procession of his people, whooping, beating their drums, howling, and making altogether what is emphatically termed a "_pow-wow_" After the interment of the body, a stake was planted at its head, on which was painted in vermilion a series of hieroglyphics, descriptive of the great deeds and events of his life The whole was then surrounded with pickets of the trunks of the tamarack-trees, and hither the friends would come for many successive days to renew the expression of their grief, and to throw over the grave tobacco and other offerings to the Great Spirit. It was a consolation to find that, although delayed, we were yet in time to furnish a quantity of white cotton for a flag to wave over the grave, and also to pay a considerable bill at the sutler's for the different articles that had been found necessary for the funeral parade--it being a duty expected of their Father to bury the dead suitably. The funeral observances in honor of the chief had not yet ceased. Throughout the day, and all that night, the sound of instruments, mingled with doleful lamentations, and with the discordant whoops and yells of those in a partial state of intoxication, filled the air, and disturbed our repose. To these were added occasionally the plaintive sounds of the Indian flute, upon which the young savage plays when he is in love. Grief and whiskey had made their hearts tender, and the woods resounded to their melancholy strains. Early the following morning, before I left my room, I was startled by the sounds of lamentation and woe proceeding from the adjoining apartment. On entering it, I found several squaws seated on the floor, with downcast looks expressive of condolence and sympathy, while in their midst sat a little ugly woman, in tattered garments, with blackened face and dishevelled hair, sobbing and wailing bitterly. Not doubting they were the family of the deceased chief, I was quite troubled at my inability to express, otherwise than by gestures, my participation in their sorrows. Unacquainted as I was with their customs, I took it for granted from their wretched appearance that poverty and destitution formed one of the sources of their affliction. One of the party, at least, seemed in the very depths of misery. "Can it be possible," said I to myself, "that this poor creature has only these scanty rags to cover her?" Stepping back to my own room, I brought out a pretty calico wrapper, which I presented to the little, dirty, blackened object. She took it, and commenced a fresh series of sobbing and sighing. I made signs to her to put it on, opening it and explaining to her how it was to be worn, and recommending to her, by gestures, to lose no time in making herself more comfortable. At this, the other women burst into a laugh. "Very mal-à-propos," thought I, "and somewhat unfeeling." At that moment my husband, entering, explained to me that the chief mourner was Madame Four-Legs, the widow; that she had undoubtedly a comfortable wardrobe at home, but that it was part of the etiquette of mourning to go for a season with neglected persons and blackened faces. All this was told me in the intervals of shaking hands, and offering and receiving condolences in the most uncouth, guttural language I had ever heard. Their Father at length dismissed them, with a promise of some presents to help dry up their tears. It must not be inferred that the grief of the poor little widow was not sincere. On the contrary, she was greatly attached to her husband, and had had great influence not only with him but with the nation at large. She was a Fox woman, and spoke the Chippewa, which is the court language among all the tribes, so that she was often called upon to act as interpreter, and had, in fact, been in the habit of accompanying her husband, and assisting him by her counsels upon all occasions. She was a person of great shrewdness and judgment, and, as I afterwards experienced, of strong and tenacious affections. After breakfast I received a visit from the principal chiefs, who had put on their best of apparel and paint to receive their new mother. There was Naw-kaw, or Kar-ray-mau-nee, "the Walking Turtle," now the principal chief of the nation, a stalwart Indian, with a broad, pleasant countenance, the great peculiarity of which was an immense under lip, hanging nearly to his chin. There was the old Day-kau-ray, the most noble, dignified, and venerable of his own, or indeed of any tribe. His fine Roman countenance, rendered still more striking by his bald head, with one solitary tuft of long silvery hair neatly tied and falling back on his shoulders; his perfectly neat, appropriate dress, almost without ornament, and his courteous demeanor, never laid aside under any circumstances, all combined to give him the highest place in the consideration of all who knew him. It will hereafter be seen that his traits of character were not less grand and striking than were his personal appearance and deportment. There was Black-Wolf, whose lowering, surly face was well described by his name. The fierce expression of his countenance was greatly heightened by the masses of heavy black hair hanging round it, quite contrary to the usual fashion among the Winnebagoes. They, for the most part, remove a portion of their hair, the remainder of which is drawn to the back of the head, clubbed and ornamented with beads, ribbons, cock's feathers, or, if they are so entitled, an eagle's feather for every scalp taken from an enemy. There was _Talk-English,_ a remarkably handsome, powerful young Indian, who received his name in the following manner. He was one of a party of sixteen Winnebagoes who had, by invitation, accompanied their Agent and Major Forsyth (or the Chippewa, as he was called) on a visit to the President at Washington, the year previous. On the journey, the question naturally addressed to them by people not familiar with Western Indians was,-- "Do you talk English?" The young fellow, being very observant, came to his Father. "What do they mean by this? Everybody says to me, _talk English!_" The Agent interpreted the words to him. "Ah, very well." The next place they arrived at was Lockport, in the State of New York. Jumping off the canal-boat upon the lock, he ran up to the first man he met, and, thrusting forward his face, cried out, "Talk Eengeesh?" "Yes," said the man; "do you talk English?" "Ya-as." From that time forward he always bore the name of _Talk-English_, and was registered on the pay-rolls by a title of which he was not a little proud. Hoo-wau-ne-kah, "the Little Elk," was another of the distinguished men of the tribe. He had likewise been at Washington. Henry Clay, when he visited them, after looking carefully at the countenances and bearing of all the members of the deputation, had indicated him as the one possessing the greatest talent; and he was greatly pleased when informed that he was the principal orator of the nation, and decidedly superior in abilities to any other individual of the tribe. Wild-Cat, our Indian Falstaff in all save the cowardice and falsehood, I have already mentioned. Then there was Kau-ray-kaw-saw-kaw, "the White Crow," a Rock River Indian, who afterwards distinguished himself as the friend of the whites during the Sauk war. He was called by the French "le Borgne," from having lost an eye; and the black silk handkerchief which he wore drooping over the left side of his face to disguise the blemish, taken with his native costume, gave him a very singular appearance. There was a nephew of the defunct chief Four-Legs, to whom with justice was given, by both whites and Indians, the appellation of "the Dandy." When out of mourning his dress was of the most studied and fanciful character. A shirt (when he condescended to wear any) of the brightest colors, ornamented with innumerable rows of silver brooches set thickly together; never less than two pairs of silver arm-bands; leggings and moccasins of the most elaborate embroidery in ribbons and porcupine-quills; everything that he could devise in the shape of ornament hanging to his club of hair behind; a feather fan in one hand, and in the other a mirror, in which he contemplated himself every five minutes; these, with the variety and brilliancy of the colors upon his face, the suitable choice and application of which occupied no small portion of the hours allotted to his toilet, made up the equipment of young Four-Legs. This devotion to dress and appearance seemed not altogether out of place in a youthful dandy; but we had likewise an old one of the same stamp. Pawnee Blanc, or the White Pawnee, surpassed his younger competitor, if possible, in attention to his personal attractions. Upon the present occasion he appeared in all his finery, and went through the customary salutations with an air of solemn dignity, then walked, as did the others, into the parlor (for I had received them in the hall), where they all seated themselves upon the floor. Fortunately, the room was now bare of furniture, but "alas!" thought I, "for my pretty carpet, if this is to be the way they pay their respects to me!" I watched the falling of the ashes from their long pipes, and the other inconveniences of the use of tobacco, or kin-nee-kin-nick, with absolute dismay. The visit of the chiefs was succeeded by one from the interpreter and his wife, with all the Canadian and half-breed women, whose husbands found employment at the Agency or at the American Fur Company's establishment. By this time my piano had been taken from its case and set up in our quarters. To our great joy, we found it entirely uninjured. Thanks to the skill of Nunns and Clark, not a note was out of tune. The women, to whom it was an entire novelty, were loud in their exclamations of wonder and delight. "_Eh-h-h! regardez donc! Quelles inventions! Quelles merveilles!_"[13] One, observing the play of my fingers reflected in the nameboard, called in great exultation to her companions. She had discovered, as she thought, the hidden machinery by which the sounds were produced, and was not a little mortified when she was undeceived. CHAPTER IX. HOUSEKEEPING. As the boats might be expected in a few days, it was thought best to begin at once what preparations were in my power towards housekeeping. These were simply the fitting and sewing of my carpets, in which I was kindly assisted by Mrs. Twiggs; and, the wife of one of our Frenchmen having come over from the Agency and made everything tidy and comfortable, the carpets were soon tacked down, and the rooms were ready for the reception of the rest of the furniture. I had made many fruitless attempts, both in Detroit and Green Bay, to procure a servant-woman to accompany me to my new home. Sometimes one would present herself, but, before we could come to a final agreement, the thoughts of the distance, of the savages, the hardships of the journey, or, perhaps, the objections of friends, would interfere to break off the negotiation; so that I had at length been obliged to rest satisfied with the simple hope held out by my husband, that one of his French employés, with his wife, would be contented to take up their abode with us. In this state of things, all difficulties seemed to be obviated by the proposal of Major Twiggs, that we should take into our service a young colored girl whom he had brought from Buffalo, in the spring, to wait on Mrs. T. until her own servants should arrive from the South. Louisa was accordingly sent for, an uncommonly handsome young negress, with an intelligent but very demure countenance, who called herself fifteen years of age, but who, from the progress in vice and iniquity I afterwards discovered her to have made, must have been at least several years older. Be that as it may, she now seemed to have no fault but carelessness and inexperience, both of which I had great hopes she would get the better of, under careful training. My first week's visit with Mrs. Twiggs had just expired when word was given that the boats were in sight--the boats that contained our furniture--and the expected arrival of Louis Philippe to visit Queen Victoria could scarcely have created a more universal sensation, than did this announcement in our little community. Although we knew that some hours must yet elapse before they could reach the spot for disembarkation, we were constantly on the watch, and at length all the young officers, followed by as many of the soldiers as were off duty, accompanied Mr. Kinzie down the bank to the landing, to witness and, if necessary, to assist in helping everything safe to land. Sad was the plight in which matters were found. The water poured out of the corners of the boxes as they were successively hoisted on shore. Too impatient to wait until they could be carried up to the fort, the gentlemen soon furnished themselves with, hammers and hatchets, and fell eagerly to work, opening the boxes to explore the extent of the damage. Alas for the mahogany! not a piece from which the edges and veneering were not starting. It had all the appearance of having lain under the Grande Chûte for days. Poor Hamilton was load in his protestations and excuses. It was the fault of the men, of the weather, of the way the things were packed. "Confound it! he had taken the best care of the things he possibly could--better than he had ever taken before--it _would_ get done!" There was nothing but to be patient and make the best of it. And when the pretty sideboard and work-table had been thoroughly rubbed and set up, and all the little knick-knacks arranged on the mantel-piece--when the white curtains were hung at the windows, and the chairs and dining-table each in its proper place in relation to the piano, our parlor was pronounced "magnificent." At least so seemed to think Hamilton, who came to give one admiring look, and to hear the music of the piano, which was a perfect novelty to him. His description of it to the young officers, after his return to the Bay, was expressive of his admiration and wonder--"There it stood on its four legs! Anybody might go up and touch it!" In due time the dinner- and tea-sets were carefully bestowed in the "Davis," together with sundry jars of sweetmeats that I had prepared in Detroit; the iron and tin utensils were placed in a neat cupboard in the kitchen, of which my piano-box supplied the frame; the barrel of eggs and tubs of butter, brought all the way from Ohio, were ranged in the store-room; a suitable quantity of salt pork and flour was purchased from the commissary; and, there being no lack of game of every description, the offering of our red children, we were ready to commence housekeeping. The first dinner in her own home is an era in the life of a young housekeeper. I shall certainly never forget mine. While I was in the lower regions superintending my very inexpert little cook, my husband made his appearance, to say that, as the payment (then the all-absorbing topic of interest) would not commence until afternoon, he had invited M. Rolette, Mr. Hempstead, and four other gentlemen to dine with us. "So unexpected--so unprepared for?" "Never mind; give them anything you have. They have been living for some days in tents, and anything will taste well to them." My dinner had been intended to consist chiefly of a venison pasty, and fortunately the only dish among my store was of very large proportions, so that there was already smoking in the oven a pie of a size nearly equal to the famous Norwich pudding; thus, with some trifling additions to the bill of fare, we made out very well, and the master of the house had the satisfaction of hearing the impromptu dinner very much commended by his six guests. CHAPTER X. INDIAN PAYMENT--MRS. WASHINGTON. There were two divisions of the Winnebago Indians, one of which was paid by the Agent, at the Portage, the other at Prairie du Chien, by General Street. The first, between four and five thousand in number, received, according to treaty stipulations, fifteen thousand dollars annually, besides a considerable amount of presents, and a certain number of rations of bread and pork, to be issued in times of emergency throughout the year. The principal villages of this division of the tribe were at Lake Winnebago, Green and Fox Lakes, the Barribault, Mud Lake, the Four Lakes, Kosh-ko-nong, and Turtle Creek. Messengers were dispatched, at or before the arrival of the annuity-money, to all the different villages, to notify the heads of families or lodges to assemble at "the Portage." When arrived, the masters of families, under their different chiefs, give in their names, and the number in their lodges, to be registered. As, in paying, a certain sum of money is apportioned to each individual, it is, of course, an object to the head of a lodge to make the number registered as great as possible. Each one brings his little bundle of sticks, and presents it to the Agent to register. Sometimes a dialogue like the following occurs: "How many have you in your lodge?" The Indian carefully, and with great ceremony, counts his bundle of sticks--"Fifteen" "How many men?" "Two." The Agent lays aside two sticks "How many women?" "Three." Three more sticks are separated. "How many children?" "Eight" Eight sticks are added to the heap. "What is the meaning of these two sticks that remain?" The culprit, whose arithmetic has not served him to carry out his deception, disappears amid the shouts and jeers of his companions, who are always well pleased at the detection of any roguery in which they have had no share. The young officers generally assisted in counting out and delivering the money at these payments, and it was no unusual thing, as the last band came up, for the chiefs to take a quantity of silver out of the box and request their Father to pay his friends for their trouble, seeming really disturbed at his refusal. In this, as in almost every instance, we see the native courtesy and politeness, which are never lost sight of among them. If a party comes to their Father to beg for provisions, and food is offered them, however hungry they may be, each waits patiently until one of the company makes an equal distribution of the whole, and then, taking his share, eats it quietly, with the greatest moderation. I never saw this rule violated, save in one instance. Our friend, Pawnee Blanc, _the Old Dandy_, once came with a party of Indians, requesting permission to dance for us in the open space before the door. It was a warm, dusty afternoon, and as our friends grew heated and fatigued with the violent and long-continued exercise, a pitcher of raspberry negus was prepared and sent out to them. Pawnee received the pitcher and tumbler, and, pouring the latter about half full, gave it to the first of the circle, then filled the same for the next, and so on, until it suddenly occurred to him to look into the pitcher. What he saw there determined his course of action; so, setting the tumbler upon the ground, he raised the pitcher with both hands to his lips and gave a hearty pull, after which he went on, giving less and less, until he was called to have the pitcher replenished. All present agreed it was the only instance they had ever witnessed, of an Indian's appearing afraid of getting less of a thing than his share. During the payment a good many kegs of whiskey find their way into the lodges of the Indians, notwithstanding the watchfulness of both officers and Agent. Where there is a demand there will always be a supply, let the legal prohibitions be what they may. The last day of the payment is, invariably, one of general carousing. When the men begin their _frolic_, the women carefully gather all the guns, knives, tomahawks, and weapons of every description, and secrete them, that as little mischief as possible may be done in the absence of all restraint and reason. I am sorry to record that our little friend, Pawnee Blanc, was greatly addicted to the pleasures of the bottle. Among the presents for the chiefs, which Shaw-nee-aw-kee had brought from the East, was a trunk of blue cloth coats, trimmed with broad gold lace, and a box of round black hats, ornamented in a similar manner. All who are familiar with Indians, of whatever tribe, will have observed that their first step towards civilization, whether in man or woman, is mounting a man's hat, decorated with tinsel; ribbons, or feathers. Pawnee was among the happy number remembered in the distribution; so, donning at once his new costume, and tying a few additional bunches of gay-colored ribbons to a long spear, that was always his baton of ceremony, he came at once, followed by an admiring train, chiefly of women, to pay me a visit of state. The solemn gravity of his countenance, as he motioned away those who would approach too near and finger his newly-received finery--the dignity with which he strutted along, edging this way and that to avoid any possible contact from homely, every-day wardrobes--augured well for a continuance of propriety and self-respect, and a due consideration of the good opinion of all around. But, alas for Pawnee! late in the day we saw him assisted towards his lodge by two stout young Indians, who had pulled him out of a ditch, his fine coat covered with mud, his hat battered and bruised, his spear shorn of its gay streamers, and poor Pawnee himself weeping and uttering all the doleful lamentations of a tipsy Indian. * * * * * Among the women with whom I early made acquaintance was the wife of Wau-kaun-zee-kah, _the Yellow Thunder_. She had accompanied her husband, who was one of the deputation to visit the President, and from that time forth she had been known as "the Washington woman." She had a pleasant, old-acquaintance sort of air in greeting me, as much as to say, "You and I have seen something of the world." No expression of surprise or admiration escaped her lips, as her companions, with childlike, laughing simplicity, exclaimed and clapped their hands at the different wonderful objects I showed them. Her deportment said plainly, "Yes, yes, my children, I have seen all these things before." It was not until I put to her ear a tropical shell, of which I had a little cabinet, and she heard its murmuring sound, that she laid aside her apathy of manner. She poked her finger into the opening to get at the animal within, shook it violently, then raised it to her ear again, and finally burst into a hearty laugh, and laid it down, acknowledging, by her looks, that this was beyond her comprehension. I had one shell of peculiar beauty--my favorite in the whole collection--a small conch, covered with rich, dark veins. Each of the visitors successively took up this shell, and by words and gestures expressed her admiration, evidently showing that she had an eye for beauty--this was on the occasion of the parting visit of my red daughters. Shortly after the payment had been completed, and the Indians had left, I discovered that my valued shell was missing from the collection. Could it be that one of the squaws had stolen it? It was possible--they would occasionally, though rarely, do such things under the influence of strong temptation. I tried to recollect which, among the party, looked most likely to have been the culprit. It could not have been the Washington woman--she was partly civilized, and knew better. A few weeks afterwards Mrs. _Yellow Thunder_ again made her appearance, and carefully unfolding a gay-colored chintz shawl, which she carried rolled up in her hand, she produced the shell, and laid it on the table before me. I did not know whether to show, by my countenance, displeasure at the trick she had played me, or joy at receiving my treasure back again, but at length decided that it was the best policy to manifest no emotion whatever. She prolonged her visit until my husband's return, and he then questioned her about the matter. "She had taken the shell to her village, to show to some of her people, who did not come to the payment." "Why had she not asked her mother's leave before carrying it away?" "Because she saw that her mother liked the shell, and she was afraid she would say, No." This was not the first instance in which Madame Washington had displayed the shrewdness which was a predominant trait in her character. During the visit of the Indians to the Eastern cities, they were taken to various exhibitions, museums, menageries, theatres, etc. It did not escape their observation that some silver was always paid before entrance, and they inquired the reason. It was explained to them. The woman brightened up, as if struck with an idea. "How much do you pay for each one?" Her Father told her. "How do you say that in English?" "Two shillings." "_Two shinnin--humph_" (good). The next day, when, as usual, visitors began to flock to the rooms where the Indians were sojourning, the woman and a young Indian, her confederate, took their station by the door, which they kept closed. When any one knocked, the door was cautiously opened, and the woman, extending her hand, exclaimed--"_Two shinnin_." This was readily paid in each instance, and the game went on, until she had accumulated a considerable sum. But this did not satisfy her. At the first attempt of a visitor to leave the room, the door was held close, as before, the hand was extended, and "_Two shinnin_" again met his ear. He tried to explain that, having paid for his entrance, he must go out free. With an innocent shake of the head, "_Two shinnin_," was all the English she could understand. The Agent, who had entered a short time before, and who, overhearing the dialogue, sat laughing behind his newspaper, waiting to see how it would all end, now came forward and interfered, and the guests were permitted to go forth without a further contribution. The good woman was moreover admonished that it was far from the custom of white people to tax their friends and visitors in this manner, and that the practice must be laid aside in future. Another instance of the disposition of the Indians to avail themselves of all the goods that fortune throws in their way, was the following: Upon the same trip, while passing through Ohio, one of the party inquired of the Agent,-- "Do you pay for all those provisions that are set before us at the hotels?" "Yes. Why do you ask?" "Nothing: I thought you perhaps paid for just what we ate of them." At the next stopping-place a fine breakfast was set upon the table, of which, as usual, they partook plentifully. Just as they had finished, the horn sounded for all to take their places in the stage-coaches. Each sprang to his feet. One seized the plates of biscuits and poured them into the corner of his blanket; another the remains of a pair of chickens; a third emptied the sugar-bowls; each laid hold of what was nearest him, and in a trice nothing was left upon the table but the empty plates and dishes. The landlord and waiters, meanwhile, stood laughing and enjoying the trick as much as any of the spectators. Upon another occasion, their Father had endeavored to impress upon them the unseemliness of throwing their refuse pieces, bones, and fragments of food about on the table-cloth, pointing out to them the orderly manner of the whites at table, and the propriety of keeping everything neat and nice around them. At their next meal, they were served first with a chicken-pie, of which they ate very heartily, and the accumulation of bones on their plates was very abundant. Presently another and more favorite dish appeared,--a fine, large, roasted turkey. A gentleman sat near, and was evidently preparing to carve it. No time was to be lost. What was to be done with the bones? They looked around in some perplexity. A large apple-pie was standing near. The most eager drew it towards him, and quick as thought all the bones were deposited upon it, while, with a triumphant laugh at the happy idea, he coolly transferred the bird to his own dish, and proceeded to distribute it among his companions. The amazed stranger soon joined in the laugh at the unceremonious manner in which his share of the dinner had vanished. CHAPTER XI. LOUISA--DAY-KAU-RAY ON EDUCATION. The payment was now over, and the Indians had dispersed and gone to their wintering grounds. The traders, too, had departed, laden with a good share of the silver, in exchange for which each family had provided itself, as far as possible, with clothing, guns, traps, ammunition, and the other necessaries for their winter use. The Indians are good at a bargain. They are not easily overreached. On the contrary, they understand at once when a charge is exorbitant; and a trader who tries his shrewdness upon them is sure to receive an expressive _sobriquet_, which ever after clings to him. For instance, M. Rolette was called by them "Ah-kay-zaup-ee-tah," _five more_--because, as they said, let them offer what number of skins they might, in bartering for an article, his terms were invariably "five more" Upon one occasion a lady remarked to him, "Oh, M. Rolette, I would not be engaged in the Indian trade; it seems to me a system of cheating the poor Indians." "Let me tell you, madame," replied he, with great _naïveté_, "it is not so easy a thing to cheat the Indians as you imagine. I have tried it these twenty years, and have never succeeded!" * * * * * We were now settled down to a quiet, domestic life. The military system under which everything was conducted--the bugle-call, followed by the music of a very good band, at reveille; the light, animated strains for "sick-call," and soon after for "breakfast;" the longer ceremony of "guard-mounting;" the "Old English Roast-Beef," to announce the dinner-hour; the sweet, plaintive strains of "Lochaber no more," followed most incongruously by "The Little Cock-Sparrow," at retreat; and, finally, the long, rolling "tattoo," late in the evening--made pleasant divisions of our time, which, by the aid of books, music, and drawing, in addition to household occupations, seemed to fly more swiftly than ever before. It was on Sunday that I most missed my Eastern home. I had planned beforehand what we should do on the first recurrence of this sacred day, under our own roof. "We shall have at least," said I to myself, "the Sabbath's quiet and repose, and I can, among other things, benefit poor Louisa by giving her some additional lessons of a serious character." So, while she was removing the breakfast-things, I said to her,-- "Now, Louisa, get your work all finished, and everything put neatly aside, and then come here to me again." "Yes, ma'am." We sat down to our books, and read and waited; we waited and read another hour--no Louisa. There was music and the sound of voices on the parade in front of our windows, but that did not disturb us; it was what we were daily accustomed to. I must go at length, and see what could be keeping my damsel so. I descended to the kitchen. The breakfast-things stood upon the table--the kettles and spider upon the hearth--the fire was out--the kitchen empty. Passing back into the hall, which extended the whole length of the house and opened in front upon the parade, I perceived a group collected in the area, of all shades and colors, and in the midst, one round, woolly head which I could not mistake, bobbing up and down, now on this side, now on that, while peals of laughter were issuing from the whole group. "Louisa," I called, "come here. What are you doing there?" "Looking at inspection." "But why are not your breakfast-things washed, and your kitchen swept? Did I not tell you I wished you to come up and learn your lessons?" "Yes, ma'am; but I had to see inspection first. Everybody looks at inspection on Sunday." I found it was in vain to expect to do more for Louisa than give her an afternoon's lesson, and with that I was obliged to content myself. I felt that it would be very pleasant, and perhaps profitable, for all the inmates of the garrison to assemble on this day; one of our number might be found who would read a portion of the church-service, with a sermon from one of our different selections. I approached the subject cautiously, with an inquiry to this effect: "Are there none among the officers who are religiously disposed?" "Oh, yes," replied the one whom I addressed, "there is S----; when he is half tipsy, he takes his Bible and 'Newton's Works,' and goes to bed and cries over them; he thinks in this way he is excessively pious." S---- was among the officers who had never called upon us; it was fair to infer that if his religious principles did not correct his own evil habits they would not aid much in improving others; therefore it seemed useless to call in his co-operation in any scheme for a better observance of the Lord's day. We had to content ourselves with writing to our friends at the East to interest themselves in getting a missionary sent to us, who should officiate as chaplain in the garrison--a plan that seemed to find favor with the officers. The hope of any united religious services was, for the present, laid aside. The post-surgeon having obtained a furlough, his place was supplied by Dr. Newhall, of Galena, and thus, by the addition of his gentle, quiet wife, our circle of ladies was now enlarged to three. Here we were, in a wilderness, but yet how contented and happy! A gloom was soon to replace this envied tranquillity in our home. A Frenchman, named Letendre, one day suddenly presented himself. He had come from Chicago, with the distressing intelligence of the extreme--indeed, hopeless--illness of our dear relative, Dr. Wolcott. My husband immediately commenced his preparations for instant departure. I begged to be permitted to accompany him, but the rapidity with which he proposed to journey obliged him to refuse my entreaties. In a few hours his provisions, horses, and all other things necessary for the journey were in readiness, and he set off with Petaille Grignon, his usual attendant on such expeditions, leaving Letendre to follow as soon as recruited from his fatigue. Sad and dreary were the hours of his absence, notwithstanding the kind efforts of our friends to cheer me. In a few days I received the news of the fatal termination of Dr. W.'s illness, brought by another messenger. That noble heart, so full of warm and kindly affections, had ceased to beat, and sad and desolate indeed were those who had so loved and honored him. As soon as he could possibly leave his family, my husband returned; and it was fortunate that he had delayed no longer, for the winter now began to set in, and with severity. Our quarters were spacious, but having been constructed of the green trees of the forest, cut down and sawed into boards by the bands of the soldiers, they were considerably given to shrinking and warping, thus leaving many a yawning crevice. Stuffing the cracks with cotton batting, and pasting strips of paper over them, formed the employment of many a leisure hour. Then the chimneys, spite of all the currents of air, which might have been expected to create a draught, had a sad habit of smoking. To remedy this, a couple of gun-barrels were, by order of the commanding officer, sawed off and inserted in the hearth, one on each side of the fire-place, in the hope that the air from the room below might help to carry the smoke into its proper place, the chimney. The next morning after this had been done, Louisa was washing the hearth. "Pray, ma'am," said she, "what are these things put in here for?" I explained their use. "Oh, I am so glad it is only that! Uncle Ephraim (Major Twiggs's servant) said they were to be filled with powder and fired off Christmas Day, and he was terribly afraid they would blow the house up, and we in it." Ephraim, who was a most faithful and valuable servant, often amused himself with playing upon the credulity of the younger portions of the colored fraternity. "Is it true," asked Louisa, one day, "that Pillon and Plante were once prairie-wolves?" "Prairie-wolves! what an idea! Why do you ask such a foolish question?" "Because Uncle Ephraim says they, and all the Frenchmen about here, were once prairie-wolves, and that, living so near the white people, they grow, after a time, to be like them, and learn to talk and dress like them. And then, when they get to be old, they turn back into prairie-wolves again, and that all the wolves that the officers bait with their dogs used to be Frenchmen, once." After a time, however, I ceased to straighten out these stories of Uncle Ephraim, for I was gradually arriving at the conviction that my little colored damsel was by no means so simple and unsophisticated as she would have me believe, and that I was, after all, the one who was imposed upon. The snow this winter was prodigious, and the cold intense. The water would freeze in our parlors at a very short distance from the fire, for, although the "fatigue-parties" kept the halls filled with wood, almost up to the ceiling, that did not counterbalance the inconvenience of having the wide doors thrown open to the outer air for a great portion of the day, to allow of their bringing it in. We Northerners should have had wood-houses specially for the purpose, and not only have kept our great hall-doors closed, but have likewise protected them with a "hurricane-house." But the Florida frontier was not a climate in which our Southern bachelors could have acquired the knowledge available when the thermometer was twenty-five degrees below zero--a point at which brandy congealed in the sideboard. The arrival of Christmas and New-Year's brought us our Indian friends again. They had learned something of the observance of these holidays from their French neighbors, and I had been forewarned that I should see the squaws kissing every white man they met. Although not crediting this to its full extent, I could readily believe that they would each expect a present, as a "compliment of the season," so I duly prepared myself with a supply of beads, ribbons, combs, and other trinkets. Knowing them to be fond of dainties, I had also a quantity of crullers and doughnuts made ready the day before, as a treat to them. To my great surprise and annoyance, only a moderate share of the cakes, the frying of which had been intrusted to Louisa, were brought up to be placed in the "Davis." "Where are the rest of the cakes, Louisa?" "That great fellow, Hancock, came in with the fatigue-party to fill the water-barrels, and while I had just stepped into the store-room to get some more flour, he carried off all I had got cooked." And Louisa made a face and whined, as if she had not herself treated every soldier who had set his foot in the premises. At an early hour the next morning I had quite a levee of the Ho-tshung-rah matrons. They seated themselves in a circle on the floor, and I was sorry to observe that the application of a little soap and water to their blankets had formed no part of their holiday preparations. There being no one to interpret, I thought I would begin the conversation in a way intelligible to themselves, so I brought out of the sideboard a china dish, filled with the nice brown crullers, over which I had grated, according to custom, a goodly quantity of white sugar. I handed it to the first of the circle. She took the dish from my hand, and, deliberately pouring all the cakes into the corner of her blanket, returned it to me empty. "She must be a meat voracious person," thought I; "but I will manage better the next time." I refilled the dish, and approached the next one, taking care to keep a fast hold of it as I offered the contents, of which I supposed she would modestly take one. Not so, however. She scooped out the whole with her two hands, and, like the former, bestowed them in her blanket. My sense of politeness revolted at handing them out one by one, as we do to children, so I sat down to deliberate what was to be done, for evidently the supply would not long answer such an ample demand, and there would be more visitors anon. While I was thus perplexed, those who had received the cakes commenced a distribution, and the whole number was equitably divided among the company. But I observed they did not eat them. They passed their fingers over the grated sugar, looked in each other's faces, and muttered in low tones--there was evidently something they did not understand. Presently one more adventurous than the rest wet her fingers, and taking up a few grains of the sugar put it cautiously to her mouth. "Tah-nee-zhoo-rah!" (Sugar!) was her delighted exclamation, and they all broke out into a hearty laugh. It is needless to say that the cakes disappeared with all the celerity they deemed compatible with good-breeding. Never having seen any sugar but the brown or yellow maple, they had supposed the white substance to be salt, and for that reason had hesitated to taste it. Their visit was prolonged until Shaw-nee-aw-kee made his appearance, and then, having been made happy by their various gifts, they all took their departure. About this time, Mr. Kinzie received a letter from Colonel Richard M. Johnson, of Kentucky. This gentleman had interested himself greatly in a school established in that State for the education of Indian youths and children. The purport of his letter was to request the Agent to use every endeavor to induce the Winnebagoes not only to send their children to this institution for their education, but also (what was still more important) to set apart a portion of their annuity-money to assist in sustaining it. There happened to be, at this holiday season, a number of the chiefs in the neighborhood of the Portage, and a messenger was sent to convene them all at the house of Paquette, the interpreter, that their Father might hold a talk with them. On the day appointed they all assembled. The subject-matter of the letter was laid before them, and all the advantages of civilization and education duly set forth--the benefits which would arise to their nation, if even a small portion of the younger members could be well taught by the whites, and then return to their tribe, to instruct them in the learning, the arts, manufactures, and habits of civilized life. To each paragraph, as it was uttered to them, they responded with a unanimous "Humph!" (Good!) When their Father's address was ended, _Day-kau-ray_, the oldest and most venerable among the chiefs, rose and spoke as follows: "Father,--The Great Spirit made the white man and the Indian. He did not make them alike. He gave the white man a heart to love peace, and the arts of a quiet life. He taught him to live in towns, to build houses, to make books, to learn all things that would make him happy and prosperous in the way of life appointed him. To the red man the Great Spirit gave a different character. He gave him a love of the woods, of a free life, of hunting and fishing, of making war with his enemies and taking scalps. The white man does not live like the Indian--it is not his nature. Neither does the Indian love to live like the white man--the Great Spirit did not make him so. "Father,--We do not wish to do anything contrary to the will of the Great Spirit. If he had made us with white skins, and characters like the white men, then we would send our children to this school to be taught like the white children. "Father,--We think that if the Great Spirit had wished us to be like the whites, he would have made us so. As he has not seen fit to do so, we believe he would be displeased with us, to try and make ourselves different from what he thought good. "Father,--I have nothing more to say. This is what we think. If we change our minds, we will let you know." It will be seen from these remarks of Day-kau-ray that the Indians entertain a conviction that the Great Spirit himself teaches the white man the arts and sciences, and since he has given the red man no instruction in these branches, it would be unbecoming in him to attempt to acquire them in an irregular manner. With little incidents of this kind, and with an occasional dinner- or tea-party to the young officers, sometimes given at the Major's quarters, sometimes at our own, our course of life passed pleasantly on. At times I would amuse myself by making something _very nice_, in the form of a fruit cake or pie, to send to the quarters of the young officers as a present, it being supposed that possibly, without a lady to preside over their mess, it might be sometimes deficient in these delicacies. Mrs. Twiggs was so fortunate as to have well-trained servants to do for her that which, thanks to my little dark handmaid, always fell to my share. One day I had made some mince pies, which the Major and my husband greatly approved, and I thought I would send one to each of the young officers. It happened that my husband, that day, in returning from superintending his men on the other side of the river, had occasion to call on some errand at Captain Harney's quarters. Dinner had just been placed upon the table, and the Captain insisted on his visitor's sitting down and partaking with him and another gentleman who was present. The pork and beans were pronounced excellent, and being removed there followed a mince pie. The Captain cut it, and helped his guests, then taking a piece himself, he commenced tasting it. Pushing back his plate with an exclamation and a sudden jerk, he called to his servant, a little thick-set mulatto who waited--"David, you yellow rascal, how dare you put such a pie on my table?" And, turning to the company apologetically, he said,-- "If there is anything on earth David _does_ understand, it is how to make a mince pie, and here he has filled this with brandy, so we cannot eat a morsel of it!" "Please, sir," said David, modestly, "I did not make the pie--it is one Mrs. Kinzie sent as a present." The poor Captain was now in a predicament. He raved at himself, at the same time conjuring my husband most earnestly not to tell me what a mistake he had made--an injunction that was lost sight of as soon as the latter returned to his home. As for the unlucky Captain, he did not venture to call on me again until he felt sure I had forgotten the circumstance. CHAPTER XII. PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY. Early in January the snow fell in great abundance. We had an unusual quantity at the Portage, but in "the diggings," as the lead-mining country was called, it was of an unheard-of depth--five or six feet upon a level. An express had been dispatched to Chicago by the officers to take our letters, and bring back the mail from that place. A tough, hardy soldier, named Sulky, acted as messenger, and he had hitherto made light of his burden or the length of the way, notwithstanding that his task was performed on foot with his pack upon his shoulders. But now Sulky had been absent some weeks, and we had given him up entirely, persuaded that he must have perished with cold and starvation. At length he appeared, nearly blind from travelling in the snow. He had lain by three weeks in an Indian lodge, the snow being too deep to permit him to journey. The account he gave put an end to the hopes I had begun to entertain of being able to visit our friends at Chicago in the course of this winter. We had, before the last heavy fall of snow, been forming plans to that effect. Captain Harney had kindly commenced preparing some trains, or boxes placed on sledges, which it was thought would, when lined with buffalo-skins, furnish a very comfortable kind of vehicle for the journey; and I was still inclined to think a good, deep bed of snow over the whole country no great obstacle to a sleigh-ride. The whole matter was, however, cut short by the commanding officer, who from the first had violently opposed the scheme, declaring that he would order the sentinels to fire on us if we attempted to leave the fort. So, finding the majority against us, we were obliged to yield. The arrival of sweet, lovely little Lizzie Twiggs, before January was quite past, was an event that shed light and joy in at least two dwellings. It seemed as if she belonged to all of us, and as she increased in size and beauty it was hard to say who, among us all, was most proud of her. If we had ever felt any languid hours before, we could have none now--she was the pet, the darling, the joint property of both households. Whatever regret I might have had, previous to this event, at the idea of leaving my friend for the three weeks to which we proposed to limit our visit to Chicago, I felt now that she would scarcely miss me, and that we might hold ourselves in readiness to take advantage of the first improvement in the weather, to put this favorite project in execution. During the latter part of February the cold became less severe. The snows melted away, and by the beginning of March the weather was so warm and genial, that we were quite confident of being able to make the journey on horseback without any serious difficulty. Our plans once settled upon, the first thing to be provided was warm and comfortable apparel. A riding-habit of stout broadcloth was pronounced indispensable to my equipment. But of such an article I was destitute. Nothing among my wedding travelling gear seemed in any way to offer a substitute. What was to be done? The requisite material was to be found in abundance at the sutler's store (_the shantee_, as it was technically termed), but how to get it manufactured into a suitable garment was the question. The regimental tailor was summoned. He was cook to one of the companies, and there were at first some doubts whether he could be permitted to forsake the spit for the needle, during the time I should require his services. All his tailoring-work had, heretofore, been done at odd times on a bench in the company kitchen, and thither he now proposed to carry the riding-habit. I suggested that, in order to superintend the work, I should thus be driven to take up my abode for the time being in the barracks, which would be a decided inconvenience. To remedy the difficulty, he was finally so happy as to find a soldier in "Company D," who consented to officiate in his place as cook until his term of service to me should expire. Behold, then, a little, solemn-looking man in his stocking-feet, seated cross-legged on an Indian mat by my parlor window. He had made all his arrangements himself, and I deemed it wisest not to interfere with him. The cutting-out was the most difficult part, and, as he had never made a lady's riding-habit, that task fell to my share. I was as great a novice as himself, and I must admit that this, my first effort, was open to criticism. But the little tailor was of a different opinion. He was in an ecstasy with our joint performance. "Upon my word, madam," he would exclaim, surveying it with admiring eyes, "we shall have a very respectable garment!" I do not know how many times he repeated this during the three days that the work was in progress. I believe he had not perfect confidence in the culinary powers of his comrade of "Company D," for regularly a half-hour before beat of drum his work was folded and laid aside, his snips gathered up, and, all things being restored to order, he would slip out, resume his shoes, which, _Turk-like_, he had left outside the door, and speed over to the barrack-kitchen to see how matters were going on. In the mean time, great preparations were making below, under the supervision of our tidy, active little French servant, Mrs. Pillon, the wife of one of the _engagés_, by whom the irregular and unmanageable Louisa had been replaced. Biscuits were baked, a ham, some tongues, and sundry pieces of salt pork were boiled, coffee roasted and ground, sugar cracked, isinglass cut in pieces of the size requisite for a pot of coffee. For the reception of all these different articles cotton bags of different sizes had been previously prepared. Large sacks of skin, called by the Canadians _porches_, were also provided to hold the more bulky provisions, for our journey was to be a long one. The distance from Fort Winnebago to Chicago was not very formidable, it is true, if the direct route were taken; but that we knew to be impossible at this season of the year. The route by Kosh-ko-nong was out of the question; all the Indians being absent from their villages in the winter, and the ice being now gone, we could have no means of crossing the Rock River at that place. There remained therefore no alternative but to proceed south to Dixon, or, as it was then called, Ogie's Ferry, the only certain means of crossing this broad and rapid stream. This route being so much out of our direct course that we could not hope to accomplish it in less than six days, it was necessary to prepare accordingly. While the wardrobe and provisions were thus in preparation, arrangements were also being made as to our retinue and mode of conveyance. Mr. Kinzie decided to take with him but two men: Plante and Pierre Roy,--the former to act as guide, on the assurance that he knew every mile of the way, from the Portage to Ogie's Ferry, and from Ogie's Ferry to Chicago. The claims of the different saddle-horses were discussed, and the most eligible one was selected for my use. We hesitated for a time between "Le Gris" and "Souris," two much-vaunted animals, belonging to Paquette, the interpreter. At length, being determined, like most of my sex, by a regard for exterior, I chose "Le Gris," and "Souris" was assigned to young Roy; my own little stumpy pony, "Brunet," being pronounced just the thing for a pack-saddle. My husband rode his own bay horse "Tom," while Plante, the gayest and proudest of the party, bestrode a fine, large animal called "Jerry," which had lately been purchased for my use; and thus was our _cortége_ complete. CHAPTER XIII. DEPARTURE FROM FORT WINNEBAGO. Having taken a tender leave of our friends, the morning of the 8th of March saw us mounted and equipped for our journey. The weather was fine--the streams, already fringed with green, were sparkling in the sun--everything gave promise of an early and genial season. In vain, when we reached the ferry at the foot of the hill on which the fort stood, did Major Twiggs repeat his endeavors to dissuade us from commencing a journey which he assured me would be perilous beyond what I could anticipate. I was resolute. Our party was augmented by an escort of all the young officers, who politely insisted on accompanying us as far as Duck Creek, four miles distant. Indeed, there were some who would gladly have prosecuted the whole journey with us, and escaped the monotony of their solitary, uneventful life. In our rear followed an ox cart, on which was perched a canoe, destined to transport us over the creek, and also an extensive marsh beyond it, which was invariably, at this season, overflowed with water to a considerable depth. We had much amusement in watching the progress of this vehicle as it bumped and thumped over the road, unconscious hitherto of the dignity of a wheeled carriage. Our little, shock-headed, sunburnt, thick-lipped Canadian (who happened most miraculously to be the husband of my pretty servant, Mrs. Pillon) shouted vociferously as the animals lagged in their pace, or jolted against a stump, "_Marchez, don-g_," "_regardez_," "_prenez garde_," to our infinite diversion. I was in high spirits, foreseeing no hardships or dangers, but rather imagining myself embarked on a pleasure excursion across the prairies. It had not even suggested itself to me that a straw bonnet and kid gloves were no suitable equipment for such an expedition. Never having travelled at so inclement a season, I was heedlessly ignorant of the mode of preparing against it, and had resisted or laughed at my husband's suggestions to provide myself with blanket socks, and a woollen _capuchon_ for my head and shoulders. And now, although the wind occasionally lifted my head-gear with a rude puff, and my hands ere long became swollen and stiffened with the cold, I persuaded myself that these were trifling evils, to which I should soon get accustomed. I was too well pleased with the novelty of my outfit, with my hunting-knife in a gay scabbard hanging from my neck, and my tin cup at my saddle-bow, to regard minor inconveniences. On reaching Duck Creek, we took leave of our young friends, who remained on the bank long enough to witness our passage across--ourselves in the canoe, and the poor horses swimming the stream, now filled with cakes of floating ice. Beyond the rising ground which formed the opposite bank of the stream, extended a marsh of perhaps three hundred yards across. To this the men carried the canoe which was to bear us over. The water was not deep, so our attendants merely took off the pack from Brunet and my side-saddle from Le Gris, for fear of accidents, and then mounted their own steeds, leading the two extra ones. My husband placed the furniture of the pack-horse and my saddle in the centre of the canoe, which he was to paddle across. "Now, wifie," said he, "jump in, and seat yourself flat in the bottom of the canoe." "Oh, no," said I; "I will sit on the little trunk in the centre; I shall be so much more comfortable, and I can balance the canoe exactly." "As you please; but I think you will find it is not the best way." A vigorous push sent us a few feet from the bank. At that instant two favorite greyhounds whom we had brought with us, and who had stood whining upon the bank, reluctant to take to the water as they were ordered, gave a sudden bound, and alighted full upon me. The canoe balanced a moment--then yielded--and, quick as thought, dogs, furniture, and lady were in the deepest of the water. My husband, who was just preparing to spring into the canoe when the dogs thus unceremoniously took precedence of him, was at my side in a moment, and, seizing me by the collar of my cloak, begged me not to be frightened. I was not, in the least, and only laughed as he raised and placed me again upon the bank. The unfortunate saddle and little trunk were then rescued, but not until they had received a pretty thorough wetting. Our merriment was still further increased by the sight of the maladroit Pillon, who was attempting to ride my spirited Jerry across the marsh. He was clinging to the neck of the animal, with a countenance distorted with terror, as he shouted forth all manner of French objurgations. Jerry pranced and curveted, and finally shot forward his rider, or rather his _burden_, headforemost, a distance of several feet into the water. A general outcry of mirth saluted the unfortunate Frenchman, which was redoubled as he raised himself puffing and snorting from his watery bed and waddled back to his starting-place, the horse, meanwhile, very sensibly making his way to join his companions, who had already reached the farther bank. "Well, wifie," said Mr. Kinzie, "I cannot trust you in the canoe again. There is no way but to carry you across the marsh like a pappoose. Will you take a ride on my shoulders?" "With all my heart, if you will promise to take me safely." And I was soon mounted. I most confess that the gentleman staggered now and then under his burden, which was no slight one, and I was sadly afraid, more than once, that I should meet a similar fate to old Pillon, but happily we reached the other side in safety. There my husband insisted on my putting on dry shoes and stockings, and (must I confess it?) drinking a little brandy, to obviate the effects of my icy bath. He would fain have made a halt to kindle a fire and dry my apparel and wardrobe properly, but this I would not listen to. I endeavored to prove to him that the delay would expose me to more cold than riding in my wet habit and cloak, and so indeed it might have been, but along with my convictions upon the subject there was mingled a spice of reluctance that our friends at the fort should have an opportunity, as they certainly would have done, of laughing at our inauspicious commencement. Soon our horses were put in order, and our march recommenced. The day was fine for the season. I felt no inconvenience from my wet garments, the exercise of riding taking away all feeling of chilliness. It was to me a new mode of travelling, and I enjoyed it the more from having been secluded for more than five months within the walls of the fort, scarcely varying the tenor of our lives by an occasional walk of half a mile into the surrounding woods. We had still another detention upon the road, from meeting Lapierre, the blacksmith, from Sugar Creek, who with one of his associates was going to the Portage for supplies, so that we had not travelled more than twenty-three miles when we came to our proposed encamping-ground. It was upon a beautiful stream, a tributary of one of the Four Lakes,[14] that chain whose banks are unrivalled for romantic loveliness. I could not but admire the sagacity of the horses, who seemed, with human intelligence, to divine our approach to the spot where their toils were to cease. While still remote from the point of woods which foretold a halt, they pricked up their ears, accelerated their pace, and finally arrived at the spot on a full gallop. We alighted at an open space, just within the verge of the wood, or, as it is called by Western travellers, "the timber." My husband recommended to me to walk about until a fire should be made, which was soon accomplished by our active and experienced woodsmen, to whom the felling of a large tree was the work of a very few minutes. The dry grass around furnished an excellent tinder, which, ignited by the sparks from the flint (there were no _loco-focos_ in those days), and aided by the broken branches and bits of light-wood, soon produced a cheering flame. "The bourgeois," in the mean time, busied himself in setting up the tent, taking care to place it opposite the fire, but in such a direction that the wind would carry the smoke and flame away from the opening or door. Within upon the ground were spread, first a bear-skin, then two or three blankets (of which each equestrian had carried two, one under the saddle and one above it), after which, the remainder of the luggage being brought in, I was able to divest myself of all my wet clothing and replace it with dry. Some idea of the state of the thermometer may be formed from the fact that my riding-habit, being placed over the end of the huge log against which our fire was made, was, in a very few minutes, frozen so stiff as to stand upright, giving the appearance of a dress out of which a lady had vanished in some unaccountable manner. It would be but a repetition of our experience upon the Fox River to describe the ham broiled upon the "broches," the toasted bread, the steaming coffee, the primitive table-furniture. There is, however, this difference, that of the latter we carry with us in our journeys on horseback only a coffee-pot, a tea-kettle, and each rider his tin cup and hunting-knife. The deportment at table is marked by an absence of ceremony. The knife is drawn from the scabbard--those who remember to do so, vouchsafe it a wipe upon the napkin. Its first office is to stir the cup of coffee--next, to divide the piece of ham which is placed on the half of a travelling biscuit, held in the left hand, to fulfil the office of a plate. It is an art only to be acquired by long practice, to cut the meat so skilfully as not at the same time to destroy the dish. We take our places around the mat to enjoy what, after our fatiguing ride, we find delicious food. The Frenchmen are seated at a little distance, receiving their supplies of coffee, meat, and bread, and occasionally passing jokes with the bourgeois, who is their demi-god, and for whom their respect and devotion are never lessened by his affability or condescension. The meal being finished, the table-furniture is rinsed in hot water and set aside until morning. A wisp of dry prairie-grass is supposed in most cases to render the knife fit to be restored to the scabbard, and there being, at this season of the year, no amusement but that of watching the awkward movements of the spancelled horses in their progress from spot to spot in search of pasturage, we are usually soon disposed to arrange our blankets and retire to rest. At break of day we are aroused by the shout of the bourgeois,-- "How! how! how!" All start from their slumbers. The fire, which has been occasionally replenished through the night, is soon kindled into a flame. The horses are caught and saddled, while a breakfast, similar in kind to the meal of the preceding evening, is preparing--the tent is struck--the pack-horse loaded--"_tout démanché_," as the Canadian says. The breakfast finished, we rinse our kettles and cups, tie them to our saddle-bows, and then mount and away, leaving our fire, or rather our smoke, to tell of our visit. March 9th.--Our journey this day led us past the first of the Four Lakes. Scattered along its banks was an encampment of Winnebagoes. They greeted their Father with vociferous joy--"_Bon-jour, bon-jour, Shaw-nee-aw-kee_," "_Hee-nee-kar-ray-kay-noo?_" (how do you do?) To this succeeded the usual announcement, "_Wys-kap-rah tshoonsh-koo-nee-noh!_" (I have no bread.) This is their form of begging; but we could not afford to be generous, for the uncertainty of obtaining a supply, should our own be exhausted, obliged us to observe the strictest economy. How beautiful the entrapment looked in the morning sun! The matted lodges, with the blue smoke curling from their tops--the trees and bushes powdered with a light snow which had fallen through the night--the lake, shining and sparkling, almost at our feet--even the Indians, in their peculiar costume, adding to the picturesque! I was sorry to leave it, as we were compelled to do, in all haste, Souris, the pack-horse, having taken it into his head to decamp while we were in conversation with our red friends. As he had, very sensibly, concluded to pursue his journey in the right direction, we had the good fortune to overtake him after a short race, and, having received much scolding and some blows from young Roy, whose charge he specially was, he was placed in the middle of the cavalcade, as a mark of disgrace for his breach of duty. Our road, after leaving the lake, lay over a "rolling prairie," now bare and desolate enough. The hollows were filled with snow, which, being partly thawed, furnished an uncertain footing for the horses, and I could not but join in the ringing laughter of oar Frenchmen as occasionally Brunet and Souris, the two ponies, would flounder, almost imbedded, through the yielding mass. Even the vainglorious Plante, who piqued himself on his equestrian skill, was once or twice nearly unhorsed, from having chosen his road badly. Sometimes the elevations were covered with a thicket or copse, in which our dogs would generally rouse up one or more deer. Their first bound, or "lope," was the signal for a chase. The horses seemed to enter into the spirit of it, as "halloo" answered "halloo;" but we were never so fortunate as to get a shot at one, for although the dogs once or twice caught they were not strong enough to hold them. It was about the middle of the afternoon when we reached the Blue Mound. I rejoiced much to have got so far, for I was sadly fatigued, and every mile now seemed like two to me. In fact, the miles are unconscionably long in this country. When I was told that we had still seven miles to go, to "Morrison's," where we proposed stopping for the night, I was almost in despair. It was my first journey on horseback, and I had not yet become inured to the exercise. When we reached Morrison's I was so much exhausted that, as my husband attempted to lift me from the saddle, I fell into his arms. "This will never do," said he. "To-morrow we must turn our faces towards Fort Winnebago again." The door opened hospitably to receive us. We were welcomed by a lady with a most sweet, benignant countenance, and by her companion, some years younger. The first was Mrs. Morrison--the other, Miss Elizabeth Dodge, daughter of General Dodge. My husband laid me upon a small bed, in the room where the ladies had been sitting at work. They took off my bonnet and riding-dress, chafed my hands, and prepared me some warm wine and water, by which I was soon revived. A half-hour's repose so refreshed me that I was able to converse with the ladies, and to relieve my husband's mind of all anxiety on my account. Tea was announced soon after, and we repaired to an adjoining building, for Morrison's, like the establishment of all settlers of that period, consisted of a group of detached log houses or _cabins_, each containing one or at most two apartments. The table groaned with good cheer, and brought to mind some that I had seen among the old-fashioned Dutch residents on the banks of the Hudson. I had recovered my spirits, and we were quite a cheerful party. Mrs. Morrison told us that during the first eighteen months she passed in this country she did not speak with a white woman, the only society she had being that of her husband and two black servant-women. A Tennessee woman had called in with her little son just before tea, and we amused Mr. Kinzie with a description of the pair. The mother's visit was simply one of courtesy. She was a little, dumpy woman, with a complexion burned perfectly red by the sun, and hair of an exact tow-color, braided up from her forehead in front and from her neck behind. These tails, meeting on the top of her head, were fastened with a small tin comb. Her dress was of checkered homespun, a "very tight fit," and, as she wore no ruff or handkerchief around her neck, she looked as if just prepared for execution. She was evidently awestruck at the sight of visitors, and seemed inclined to take her departure at once; but the boy, not so easily intimidated, would not understand her signs and pinches until he had sidled up to Mrs. Morrison, and, drawing his old hat still farther over his eyes, begged for a _whang_, meaning a narrow strip of deer-skin. The lady very obligingly cut one from a large smoked skin, which she produced from its receptacle, and mother and son took their leave, with a smiling but rather a scared look. After tea we returned to Mrs. Morrison's parlor, where she kindly insisted on my again reposing myself on the little bed, to recruit me, as she said, for the ensuing day's journey. My husband, in the mean time, went to look after the accommodation of his men and horses. During the conversation that ensued, I learned that Mrs. Morrison had passed much time in the neighborhood of my recent home in Oneida County, that many of the friends I had loved and valued were likewise her friends, and that she had even proposed to visit me at Fort Winnebago on hearing of my arrival there, in order to commence an acquaintance which had thus been brought about by other and unexpected means. Long and pleasant was the discourse we held together until a late hour, and mutual was the satisfaction with which we passed old friends and by-gone events in review, much to the edification of Miss Dodge, and of the gentlemen when they once more joined us. CHAPTER XIV. WILLIAM S. HAMILTON--KELLOGG'S GROVE. The next morning, after a cheerful breakfast, at which we were joined by the Rev. Mr. Kent, of Galena, we prepared for our journey. I had reconciled my husband to continuing our route towards Chicago, by assuring him that I felt as fresh and bright as when I first set out from home. There seemed some apprehension, however, that we might have difficulty in "striking the trail" to Hamilton's _diggings_, our next point of destination. The directions we received were certainly obscure. We were to pursue a given trail for a certain number of miles, when we should come to a crossing into which we were to turn, taking an easterly direction; after a time, this would bring us to a deep trail leading straight to Hamilton's. In this open country there are no landmarks. One elevation is so exactly like another, that if you lose your trail there is almost as little hope of regaining it as of finding a pathway in the midst of the ocean.[15] The trail, it must be remembered, is not a broad highway, but a narrow path, deeply indented by the hoofs of the horses on which the Indians travel in single file. So deeply is it sunk in the sod which covers the prairies, that it is difficult, sometimes, to distinguish it at a distance of a few rods. It was new ground to Mr. Kinzie, whose journeys from the Portage to Chicago had hitherto been made in the direct route by Kosh-ko-nong. He therefore obliged Mr. Morrison to repeat the directions again and again, though Plante, our guide, swaggered and talked big, averring that "he knew every hill and stream and point of woods from that spot to Chicago." We had not proceeded many miles on our journey, however, before we discovered that Monsieur Plante was profoundly ignorant of the country, so that Mr. Kinzie was obliged to take the lead himself, and make his way as he was best able, according to the directions he had received. Nothing, however, like the "cross trails" we had been promised met our view, and the path on which we had set out diverged so much from what we knew to be the right direction, that we were at length compelled to abandon it altogether. We travelled the livelong day, barely making a halt at noon to bait our horses and refresh ourselves with a luncheon. The ride was as gloomy and desolate as could well be imagined. A rolling prairie, unvaried by forest or stream--hillock rising after hillock, at every ascent of which we vainly hoped to see a distant fringe of "_timber_." But the same cheerless, unbounded prospect everywhere met the eye, diversified only here and there by the oblong openings, like gigantic graves, which marked an unsuccessful search for indications of a lead-mine. So great was our anxiety to recover our trail, for the weather was growing more cold, and the wind more sharp and piercing, that we were not tempted to turn from our course even by the appearance, more than once, of a gaunt prairie-wolf, peering over the nearest rising-ground and seeming to dare us to an encounter. The Frenchmen, it is true, would instinctively give a shout and spur on their horses, while the hounds, Kelda and Cora, would rush to the chase; but the bourgeois soon called them back, with a warning that we must attend strictly to the prosecution of our journey. Just before sunset we crossed, with some difficulty, a muddy stream, which was bordered by a scanty belt of trees, making a tolerable encamping-ground; and of this we gladly availed ourselves, although we knew not whether it was near or remote from the place we were in search of. We had ridden at least fifty miles since leaving Morrison's, yet I was sensible of very little fatigue; there was, however, a vague feeling of discomfort at the idea of being lost in this wild, cold region, altogether different from anything I had ever before experienced. The encouraging tones of my husband's voice, however, "Cheer up, wifie--we will find the trail to-morrow," served to dissipate all uneasiness. The exertions of the men soon made our "camp" comfortable, notwithstanding the difficulty of driving the tent-pins into the frozen ground, and the want of trees sufficiently large to make a _rousing_ fire. The place was a _stony side-hill,_ as it would be called in New England, where such things abound; but we were not disposed to be fastidious, so we ate our salt ham and toasted our bread, and lent a pleased ear to the chatter of our Frenchmen, who could not sufficiently admire the heroism of "Madame John" amid the vicissitudes that befell her. The wind, which at bed-time was sufficiently high to be uncomfortable, increased during the night. It snowed heavily, and we were every moment in dread that the tent would be carried away; but the matter was settled differently by the snapping of the poles, and the falling of the whole, with its superincumbent weight of snow, in a mass upon us. Mr. Kinzie roused up his men, and at their head he sallied into the neighboring wood to cut a new set of poles, leaving me to bear the burden of the whole upon my shoulders, my only safety from the storm being to keep snugly housed beneath the canvas. With some difficulty a sort of support was at length adjusted for the tent-covering, which answered our purpose tolerably well until the break of day, when our damp and miserable condition made us very glad to rise and hang round the fire until breakfast was dispatched, and the horses once more saddled for our journey. The prospect was not an encouraging one. Around us was an unbroken sheet of snow. We had no compass, and the air was so obscured by the driving sleet, that it was often impossible to tell in which direction the sun was. I tied my husband's silk pocket-handkerchief over my veil, to protect my face from the wind and icy particles with which the air was filled, and which cut like a razor; but, although shielded in every way that circumstances rendered possible, I suffered intensely from the cold. We pursued our way, mile after mile, entering every point of woods, in hopes of meeting with, at least, some Indian wigwam at which we could gain intelligence. Every spot was solitary and deserted; not even the trace of a recent fire, to cheer us with the hope of human beings within miles of us. Suddenly, a shout from the foremost of the party made each heart bound with joy. "_Une clôture! une clôture!_" (A fence! a fence!) It was almost like life to the dead. We spurred on, and indeed perceived a few straggling rails crowning a rising ground at no great distance. Never did music sound so sweet as the crowing of a cock which at this moment saluted our ears. Following the course of the inclosure down the opposite slope, we came upon a group of log cabins, low, shabby, and unpromising in their appearance, but a most welcome shelter from the pelting storm. "Whose cabins are these?" asked Mr. Kinzie, of a man who was cutting wood at the door of one. "Hamilton's," was his reply; and he stepped forward at once to assist us to alight, hospitality being a matter of course in these wild regions. We were shown into the most comfortable-looking of the buildings. A large fire was burning in the clay chimney, and the room was of a genial warmth, notwithstanding the apertures, many inches in width, beside the doors and windows. A woman in a tidy calico dress, and shabby black silk cap trimmed with still shabbier lace, rose from her seat beside a sort of bread-trough, which fulfilled the office of cradle to a fine, fat baby. She made room for us at the fire, but was either too timid or too ignorant to relieve me of wrappings and defences, now heavy with the snow. I soon contrived, with my husband's aid, to disembarrass myself of them; and, having seen me comfortably disposed of, and in a fair way to be thawed after my freezing ride, he left me, to see after his men and horses. He was a long time absent, and I expected he would return accompanied by our host; but when he reappeared it was to tell me, laughing, that Mr. Hamilton hesitated to present himself before me, being unwilling that one who had been acquainted with his family at the East should see him in his present mode of life. However, this feeling apparently wore off, for before dinner he came in and was introduced to me, and was as agreeable and polite as the son of Alexander Hamilton would naturally be. The housekeeper, who was the wife of one of the miners, prepared us a plain, comfortable dinner, and a table as long as the dimensions of the cabin would admit was set out, the end nearest the fire being covered with somewhat nicer furniture and more delicate fare than the remaining portion. The blowing of a horn was the signal for the entrance of ten or twelve miners, who took their places below us at the table. They were the roughest-looking set of men I ever beheld, and their language was as uncouth as their persons. They wore hunting-shirts, trowsers, and moccasins of deer-skin, the former being ornamented at the seams with a fringe of the same, while a colored belt around the waist, in which was stuck a large hunting-knife, gave each the appearance of a brigand. Mr. Hamilton, although so much their superior, was addressed by them uniformly as "Uncle Billy;" and I could not but fancy there was something desperate about them, that it was necessary to propitiate by this familiarity. This feeling was further confirmed by the remarks of one of the company who lingered behind after the rest of the _gang_ had taken their departure. He had learned that we came from Fort Winnebago, and, having informed us that "he was a discharged soldier, and would like to make some inquiries about his old station and comrades," he unceremoniously seated himself and commenced questioning us. The bitterness with which he spoke of his former officers made me quite sure he was a deserter, and I rather suspected he had made his escape from the service in consequence of some punishment. His countenance was fairly distorted as he spoke of Captain H., to whose company he had belonged. "There is a man in the mines," said he, "who has been in his hands, and if he ever gets a chance to come within shot of him, I guess the captain will remember it. He knows well enough he darsn't set his foot in the diggings. And there's T. is not much better. Everybody thought it a great pity that fellow's gun snapped when he so nearly _had_ him at Green Bay." Having delivered himself of these sentiments, he marched out, to my great relief. Mr. Hamilton passed most of the afternoon with us; for the storm raged so without, that to proceed on our journey was out of the question. He gave us many pleasant anecdotes and reminiscences of his early life in New York, and of his adventures since he had come to the Western wilderness. When obliged to leave us for awhile, he furnished us with some books to entertain us, the most interesting of which was the biography of his father. Could this illustrious man have foreseen in what a scene--the dwelling of his son--this book was to be one day perused, what would have been his sensations? The most amusing part of our experience was yet to come. I had been speculating, as evening approached, on our prospects for the night's accommodation. As our pale, melancholy-looking landlady and her fat baby were evidently the only specimens of the feminine gender about the establishment, it was hardly reasonable to suppose that any of the other cabins contained wherewithal to furnish us a comfortable lodging, and the one in which we were offered nothing of the sort to view, but two beds, uncurtained, extended against the farther wall. My doubts were after a time resolved, by observing the hostess stretch a cord between the two, on which she hung some petticoats and extra garments, by way of a partition, after which she invited us to occupy one of them. My only preparation was, to wrap my cloak around me and lie down with my face to the wall; but the good people were less ceremonious, for at the distance of scarcely two feet, we could not be mistaken in the sound of their garments being, not "laid aside," but whipped over the partition-wall between us. Our waking thoughts, however, were only those of thankfulness for so comfortable a lodging after the trials and fatigues we had undergone; and even these were of short duration, for our eyes were soon closed in slumber. The next day's sun rose clear and bright. Refreshed and invigorated, we looked forward with pleasure to a recommencement of our journey, confident of meeting no more mishaps by the way. Mr. Hamilton kindly offered to accompany us to his next neighbor's, the trifling distance of twenty-five miles. From Kellogg's to Ogie's Ferry, on the Rock River, the road being much travelled, we should be in no danger, Mr. H. said, of again losing our way. The miner who owned the wife and baby, and who, consequently, was somewhat more humanized than his comrades, in taking leave of us "wished us well out of the country, and that we might never have occasion to return to it!" "I pity a body," said he, "when I see them making such an awful mistake as to come out this way; for comfort _never touched_ this Western country." We found Mr. Hamilton as agreeable a companion as on the preceding day, but a most desperate rider. He galloped on at such a rate that, had I not exchanged my pony for the fine, noble Jerry, I should have been in danger of being left behind. Well mounted as we all were, he sometimes nearly distanced us. We were now among the branches of the Pickatonick, and the country had lost its prairie character and become rough and broken. We went dashing on, sometimes down ravines, sometimes through narrow passes, where, as I followed, I left fragments of my veil upon the projecting and interwoven branches. Once my hat became entangled, and, had not my husband sprung to my rescue, I must have shared the fate of Absalom, Jerry's ambition to keep his place in the race making it probable he would do as did the mule who was under the unfortunate prince. There was no halting upon the route, and, as we kept the same pace until three o'clock in the afternoon, it was beyond a question that when we reached "Kellogg's" we had travelled at least thirty miles. One of my greatest annoyances during the ride had been the behavior of the little beast Brunet. He had been hitherto used as a saddle-horse, and had been accustomed to a station in the file near the guide or leader. He did not relish being put in the background as a pack-horse, and accordingly, whenever we approached a stream, where the file broke up to permit each horseman to choose his own place of fording, it was, invariably the case that just as I was reining Jerry into the water, Brunet would come rushing past and throw himself into our very footsteps. Plunging, snorting, and splashing me with water, and sometimes even starting Jerry into a leap aside, he more than once brought me into imminent danger of being tossed into the stream. It was in vain that, after one or two such adventures, I learned to hold back and give the vexatious little animal the precedence. His passion seemed to be to go into the water precisely at the moment Jerry did; and I was obliged at last to make a bargain with young Roy to dismount and hold him at every stream until I had got safely across. "Kellogg's"[16] was a comfortable mansion, just within the verge of a pleasant "grove of timber," as a small forest is called by Western travellers. We found Mrs. Kellogg a very respectable-looking matron, who soon informed us she was from the city of New York. She appeared proud and delighted to entertain Mr. Hamilton, for whose family, she took occasion to tell us, she had, in former days, been in the habit of doing needle-work. The worthy woman provided us an excellent dinner, and afterwards installed me in a rocking-chair beside a large fire, with the "Life of Mrs. Fletcher" to entertain me, while the gentlemen explored the premises, visited Mr. Kellogg's stock, and took a careful look at their own. We had intended to go to Dixon's the same afternoon, but the snow, beginning again to fall, obliged us to content ourselves where we were. In the mean time, finding we were journeying to Chicago, Mr. Kellogg came to the determination to accompany us, having, as he said, some business to accomplish at that place: so Mrs. Kellogg busied herself in preparing him to set off with us the following morning. I pleaded hard to remain yet another day, as the following was Sunday, on which I objected to travel; but in view of the necessities of the case, the uncertainty of the weather, and the importance of getting as quickly as possible through this wild country, my objections were overruled, and I could only obtain a delay in starting until so late in the afternoon as would give us just time to ride the sixteen miles to "Dixon's" before sunset. No great time was required for Mr. Kellogg's preparations. He would take, he said, only two days' provisions, for at his brother-in-law Dixon's we should get our supper and breakfast, and the route from there to Chicago could, he well knew, be accomplished in a day and a half. Although, according to this calculation, we had sufficient remaining of our stores to carry us to the end of our journey, yet my husband took the precaution of begging Mrs. Kellogg to bake us another bag of biscuits, in case of accidents, and he likewise suggested to Mr. Kellogg the prudence of furnishing himself with something more than his limited allowance; but the good man objected that he was unwilling to burden his horse more than was absolutely necessary, seeing that, at this season of the year, we were obliged to carry fodder for the animals, in addition to the rest of their load. It will be seen that we had reason to rejoice in our own foresight. My experience of the previous night had rendered me somewhat less fastidious than when I commenced my journey, so that, when introduced to our sleeping-apartment, which I found we were to share with six men, travellers like ourselves, my only feeling was one of thankfulness that each bed was furnished with a full suit of blue checked curtains, which formed a very tolerable substitute for a dressing-room. CHAPTER XV. ROCK RIVER--HOURS OF TROUBLE. It was late on the following day (March 13th) when we took leave of our kind hostess. She loaded us with cakes, good wishes, and messages to her sister Dixon and the children. We journeyed pleasantly along through a country beautiful in spite of its wintry appearance. There was a house at Buffalo Grove, at which we stopped for half an hour, and where a nice-looking young girl presented us with some maple-sugar of her own making. She entertained us with the history of a contest between two rival claimants for the patronage of the stage-wagon, the proprietors of which had not decided whether to send it by Buffalo Grove or by another route, which she pointed out to us, at no great distance. The _driver_, she took care to inform us, was in favor of the former; and the blush with which she replied in the affirmative to our inquiry, "Is he a young man?" explained the whole matter satisfactorily. At length, just at sunset, we reached the dark, rapid waters of the Rock River. The ferry which we had travelled so far out of our way to take advantage of, proved to be merely a small boat or skiff, the larger one having been swept off into the stream, and carried down in the breaking-up of the ice, the week previous. My husband's first care was to get me across. He placed me with the saddles, packs, etc. in the boat, and as, at that late hour, no time was to be lost, he ventured, at the same time, to hold the bridles of the two most docile horses, to guide them in swimming the river. When we had proceeded a few rods from the shore, we were startled by a loud puffing and blowing near us, and looking around, to our great surprise, discovered little Brunet just upon our "weather-bow." Determined not to be outdone by his model, Jerry, he had taken to the water on his own responsibility, and arrived at the opposite shore as soon as any of the party. All being safely landed, a short walk brought us to the house of Mr. Dixon. Although so recently come into the country, he had contrived to make everything comfortable around him; and when he ushered us into Mrs. Dixon's sitting-room, and seated us by a glowing wood fire, while Mrs. Dixon busied herself in preparing us a nice supper, I felt that the comfort overbalanced the inconvenience of such a journey. Mrs. Dixon was surrounded by several children. One leaning against the chimney-piece was dressed in the full Indian costume--calico shirt, blanket, and leggings. His dark complexion, and full, melancholy eyes, which he kept fixed upon the ashes in which he was making marks with a stick, rarely raising them to gaze on us, as children are wont to do, interested me exceedingly, and I inquired of an intelligent little girl, evidently a daughter of our host,-- "Who is that boy?" "Oh, that is John Ogie," answered she. "What is the matter with him? he looks very sad." "Oh, he is fretting after his mother." "Is she dead, then?" "Some say she is dead, and some say she is gone away. I guess she is dead, and buried up in one of those graves yonder"--pointing to two or three little picketed inclosures upon a rising ground opposite the window. I felt a strong sympathy with the child, which was increased when the little spokeswoman, in answer to my inquiry, "Has he no father?" replied,-- "Oh, yes, but he goes away, and drinks, and don't care for his children." "And what becomes of John then?" "He stays here with us, and we teach him to read, and he learns _dreadful_ fast." When the boy at length turned his large dark eyes upon me, it went to my heart. It was such a _motherless_ look. And it was explained when, long afterwards, I learned his further history. His mother was still living, and he knew it, although, with the reserve peculiar to his people, he never spoke of her to his young companions. Unable to endure the continued ill treatment of her husband, a surly, intemperate Canadian, she had left him, and returned to her own family among the Pottowattamies. Years after, this boy and a brother who had also been left behind with their father found their way to the Upper Missouri, to join their mother, who, with the others of her tribe, had been removed by the Government from the shores of Lake Michigan. A most savory supper of ducks and venison, with their accompaniments, soon smoked upon the board, and we did ample justice to it. Travelling is a great sharpener of the appetite, and so is cheerfulness; and the latter was increased by the encouraging account Mr. Dixon gave us of the remainder of the route yet before us. "There is no difficulty," said he, "if you keep a little to the north, and strike the great _Sauk trail_. If you get too far to the south, you will come upon the Winnebago Swamp, and, once in that, there is no telling when you will ever get out again. As for the distance, it is nothing at all to speak of. Two young men came out here from Chicago, on foot, last fall. They got here the evening of the second day; and, even with a lady in your party, you could go on horseback in less time than that. The only thing is to be sure and get on the great track that the Sauks have made, in going every year from the Mississippi to Canada, to receive their presents from the British Indian Agent." The following morning, which was a bright and lovely one for that season of the year, we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, in high spirits. We travelled for the first few miles along the beautiful, undulating banks of the Rock River, always in an easterly direction, keeping the beaten path, or rather road, which led to Fort Clark, or Peoria. The Sauk trail, we had been told, would cross this road at the distance of about six miles. After having travelled, as we judged, fully that distance, we came upon a trail bearing northeast, and a consultation was held as to the probability of its being the one we were in search of. Mr. Kinzie was of opinion that it tended too much to the north, and was, moreover, too faint and obscure for a trail so much used, and by so large a body of Indians in their annual journeys. Plante was positive as to its being the very spot where he and "Piché" in their journey to Port Winnebago, the year before, struck into the great road. "On that very rising-ground at the point of woods, he remembered perfectly well stopping to shoot ducks, which they ate for their supper." Mr. Kellogg was non-committal, but sided alternately with each speaker. As Plante was "the guide," and withal so confident of being right, it was decided to follow him, not without some demurring, however, on the part of the bourgeois, who every now and then called to halt, to discuss the state of affairs. "Now, Plante," he would say, "I am sure you are leading us too far north. Why, man, if we keep on in this direction, following the course of the river, we shall bring up at Kosh-ko-nong, instead of Chicago." "Ah! mon bourgeois," would the light-hearted Canadian reply, "would I tell you this is the road if I were not quite certain? Only one year ago I travelled it, and can I forget so soon? Oh, no--I remember every foot of it." But Monsieur Plante was convinced of his mistake when the trail brought us to the great bend of the river with its bold rocky bluffs. "Are you satisfied now, Plante?" asked Mr. Kinzie. "By your leave, I will now play pilot myself." And he struck off from the trail, in a direction as nearly east as possible. The weather had changed and become intensely cold, and we felt that the detention we had met with, even should we now be in the right road, was no trifling matter. We had not added to our stock of provisions at Dixon's, wishing to carry as much forage as we were able for our horses, for whom the scanty picking around our encamping-grounds afforded an insufficient meal. But we were buoyed up by the hope that we were in the right path at last, and we journeyed on until night, when we reached a comfortable "encampment," in the edge of a grove near a small stream. Oh, how bitterly cold that night was! The salted provisions, to which I was accustomed, occasioned me an intolerable thirst, and my husband was in the habit of placing the little tin coffee-pot filled with water at my bed's head when we went to rest, but this night it was frozen solid long before midnight. We were so well wrapped up in blankets that we did not suffer from cold while within the tent, but the open air was severe in the extreme. March 15th.--We were roused by the bourgeois at peep of day to make preparations for starting. We must find the Sauk trail this day at all hazards. What would become of us should we fail to do so? It was a question no one liked to ask, and certainly one that none could have answered. On leaving our encampment, we found ourselves entering a marshy tract of country. Myriads of wild geese, brant, and ducks rose up screaming at our approach. The more distant lakes and ponds were black with them, but the shallow water through which we attempted to make our way was frozen, by the severity of the night, to a thickness not quite sufficient to bear the horses, but just such as to cut their feet and ankles at every step as they broke through it. Sometimes the difficulty of going forward was so great that we were obliged to retrace our steps and make our way round the head of the marsh, thus adding to the discomforts of our situation by the conviction that, while journeying diligently, we were, in fact, making very little progress. This swampy region at length passed, we came upon more solid ground, chiefly the open prairie. But now a new trouble assailed us. The weather had moderated, and a blinding snow-storm came on. Without a trail that we could rely upon, and destitute of a compass, our only dependence had been the sun to point out our direction; but the atmosphere was now so obscure that it was impossible to tell in what quarter of the heavens he was. We pursued our way, however, and a devious one it must have been. After travelling in this way many miles, we came upon an Indian trail, deeply indented, running at right angles with the course we were pursuing. The snow had ceased, and, the clouds becoming thinner, we were able to observe the direction of the sun, and to perceive that the trail ran north and south. What should we do? Was it safest to pursue our easterly course, or was it probable that by following this new path we should fall into the direct one we had been so long seeking? If we decided to take the trail, should we go north or south? Mr. Kinzie was for the latter. He was of opinion we were still too far north--somewhere about the Grand Marais, or Kish-wau-kee. Mr. Kellogg and Plante were for taking the northerly direction. The latter was positive his bourgeois had already gone too far south--in fact, that we must now be in the neighborhood of the Illinois River. Finding himself in the minority, my husband yielded, and we turned our horses' heads north, much against his will. After proceeding a few miles, however, he took a sudden determination. "You may go north, if you please," said he, "but I am convinced that the other course is right, and I shall face about--follow who will." So we wheeled round and rode south again, and many a long and weary mile did we travel, the monotony of our ride broken only by the querulous remarks of poor Mr. Kellogg. "I am really afraid we are wrong, Mr. Kinzie. I feel pretty sure that the young man is right. It looks most natural to me that we should take a northerly course, and not be stretching away so far to the south." To all this, Mr. Kinzie turned a deaf ear. The Frenchmen rode in silence. They would as soon have thought of cutting off their right hand as showing opposition to the bourgeois when he had once expressed his decision. They would never have dreamed of offering an opinion or remark unless called upon to do so. The road, which had continued many miles through the prairie, at length, in winding round a point of woods, brought us suddenly upon an Indian village. A shout of joy broke from the whole party, but no answering shout was returned--not even a bark of friendly welcome--as we galloped up to the wigwams. All was silent as the grave. We rode round and round, then dismounted and looked into several of the spacious huts. They had evidently been long deserted. Nothing remained but the bare walls of bark, from which everything in the shape of furniture had been stripped by the owners and carried with them to their wintering-grounds, to be brought back in the spring, when they returned to make their corn-fields and occupy their summer cabins. Our disappointment may be better imagined than described. With heavy hearts, we mounted and once more pursued our way, the snow again falling and adding to the discomforts of our position. At length we halted for the night. We had long been aware that our stock of provisions was insufficient for another day, and here we were--nobody knew where--in the midst of woods and prairies--certainly far from any human habitation, with barely enough food for a slender evening's meal. The poor dogs came whining round us to beg their usual portion, but they were obliged to content themselves with a bare bone, and we retired to rest with the feeling that if not actually hungry then, we should certainly be so to-morrow. The morrow came. Plante and Roy had a bright fire and a nice pot of coffee for us. It was our only breakfast, for, on shaking the bag and turning it inside out, we could make no more of our stock of bread than three crackers, which the rest of the party insisted I should put in my pocket for my dinner. I was much touched by the kindness of Mr. Kellogg, who drew from his wallet a piece of tongue and a slice of fruit-cake, which he said "he had been saving for _the lady_ since the day before, for he saw how matters were a going." Poor man! it would have been well if he had listened to Mr. Kinzie and provided himself at the outset with a larger store of provisions. As it was, those he brought with him were exhausted early in the second day, and he had been _boarding_ with us for the last two meals. We still had the trail to guide us, and we continued to follow it until about nine o'clock, when, in emerging from a wood, we came upon a broad and rapid river. A collection of Indian wigwams stood upon the opposite bank, and, as the trail led directly to the water, it was fair to infer that the stream was fordable. We had no opportunity of testing it, however, for the banks were so lined with ice, which was piled up tier upon tier by the breaking-up of the previous week, that we tried in vain to find a path by which we could descend the bank to the water. The men shouted again and again, in hopes some straggling inhabitant of the village might be at hand with his canoe. No answer was returned, save by the echoes. What was to be done? I looked at my husband and saw that care was on his brow, although he still continued to speak cheerfully. "We will follow this cross-trail down the bank of the river," said he. "There must be Indians wintering near, in some of these points of wood." I must confess that I felt somewhat dismayed at our prospects, but I kept up a show of courage, and did not allow my despondency to be seen. All the party were dull and gloomy enough. We kept along the bank, which was considerably elevated above the water, and bordered at a little distance with a thick wood. All at once my horse, who was mortally afraid of Indians, began to jump and prance, snorting and pricking up his ears as if an enemy were at hand. I screamed with delight to my husband, who was at the head of the file, "Oh, John! John! there are Indians near--look at Jerry!" At this instant a little Indian dog ran out from under the bushes by the roadside, and began barking at us. Never were sounds more welcome. We rode directly into the thicket, and, descending into a little hollow, found two squaws crouching behind the bushes, trying to conceal themselves from our sight. They appeared greatly relieved when Mr. Kinzie addressed them in the Pottowattamie language,-- "What are you doing here?" "Digging Indian potatoes"--(a species of artichoke.) "Where is your lodge?" "On the other side of the river." "Good--then you have a canoe here. Can you take us across?" "Yes--the canoe is very small." They conducted us down the bank to the water's edge where the canoe was. It was indeed _very small_. My husband explained to them that they must take me across first, and then return for the others of the party. "Will you trust yourself alone over the river?" inquired he. "You see that but one can cross at a time." "Oh, yes"--and I was soon placed in the bottom of the canoe, lying flat and looking up at the sky, while the older squaw took the paddle in her hand, and placed herself on her knees at my head, and the younger, a girl of fourteen or fifteen, stationed herself at my feet. There was just room enough for me to lie in this position, each of the others kneeling in the opposite ends of the canoe. While these preparations were making, Mr. Kinzie questioned the women as to our whereabout. They knew no name for the river but "Saumanong." This was not definite, it being the generic term for any large stream. But he gathered that the village we had passed higher up, on the opposite side of the stream, was Wau-ban-see's, and then he knew that we were on the Fox River, and probably about fifty miles from Chicago. The squaw, in answer to his inquiries, assured him that Chicago was "close by." "That means," said he, "that it is not so far off as Canada. We must not be too sanguine." The men set about unpacking the horses, and I in the mean time was paddled across the river. The old woman immediately returned, leaving the younger one with me for company. I seated myself on the fallen trunk of a tree, in the midst of the snow, and looked across the dark waters. I am not ashamed to confess my weakness--for the first time on my journey I shed tears. It was neither hunger, nor fear, nor cold, which extorted them from me. It was the utter desolation of spirit, the sickness of heart which "hope deferred" ever occasions, and which of all evils is the hardest to bear. The poor little squaw looked into my face with a wondering and sympathizing expression. Probably she was speculating in her own mind what a person who rode so fine a horse, and wore so comfortable a broadcloth dress, could have to cry about. I pointed to a seat beside me on the log, but she preferred standing and gazing at me, with the same pitying expression. Presently she was joined by a young companion, and, after a short chattering, of which I was evidently the subject, they both trotted off into the woods, and left me to my own solitary reflections. "What would my friends at the East think," said I to myself, "if they could see me now? What would poor old Mrs. Welsh say? She who warned me that _if I came away so far to the West, I should break my heart?_ Would she not rejoice to find how likely her prediction was to be fulfilled?" These thoughts roused me. I dried up my tears, and by the time my husband with his party and all his horses and luggage were across, I had recovered my cheerfulness, and was ready for fresh adventures. CHAPTER XVI. RELIEF. We followed the old squaw to her lodge, which was at no great distance in the woods. I had never before been in an Indian lodge, although I had occasionally peeped into one of the many always clustered round the house of the Interpreter at the Portage. This one was very nicely arranged. Four sticks of wood placed to form a square in the centre, answered the purpose of a hearth, within which the fire was built, the smoke escaping through an opening in the top. The mats of which the lodge was constructed were very neat and new, and against the sides, depending from the poles or frame-work, hung various bags of Indian manufacture, containing their dried food and other household treasures. Sundry ladles, small kettles, and wooden bowls also hung from the cross-poles; and dangling from the centre, by an iron chain, was a large kettle in which some dark, suspicious-looking substance was seething over the scanty fire. On the floor of the lodge, between the fire and the outer wall, were spread mats, upon which my husband invited me to be seated and make myself comfortable. The first demand of an Indian on meeting a white man is for _bread_, of which they are exceedingly fond, and I knew enough of the Pottowattamie language to comprehend the timid "_pe-qua-zhe-gun choh-kay-go_" (I have no bread) with which the squaw commenced our conversation after my husband had left the lodge. I shook my head, and endeavored to convey to her that, so far from being able to give, I had had no breakfast myself. She understood me, and instantly produced a bowl, into which she ladled a quantity of Indian potatoes from the kettle over the fire, and set them before me. I was too hungry to be fastidious, and, owing partly, no doubt, to the sharpness of my appetite, I really found them delicious. Two little girls, inmates of the lodge, sat gazing at me with evident admiration and astonishment, which were increased when I took my little Prayer book from my pocket and began to read. They had, undoubtedly, never seen a book before, and I was amused at the care with which they looked _away_ from me, while they questioned their mother about my strange employment and listened to her replies. While thus occupied, I was startled by a sudden sound of "hogh!" and the mat which hung over the entrance of the lodge was raised, and an Indian entered with that graceful bound which is peculiar to themselves. It was the master of the lodge, who had been out to shoot ducks, and was just returned. He was a tall, finely-formed man, with a cheerful, open countenance, and he listened to what his wife in a quiet tone related to him, while he divested himself of his accoutrements, in the most unembarrassed, well-bred manner imaginable. Soon my husband joined us. He had been engaged in attending to the comfort of his horses, and assisting his men in making their fire, and pitching their tent, which the rising storm made a matter of some difficulty. From the Indian he learned that we were in what was called the Big Woods,[17] or "Piché's Grove," from a Frenchman of that name living not far from the spot--that the river we had crossed was the Fox River--that he could guide us to _Piché's_, from which the road was perfectly plain, or even into Chicago if we preferred--but that we had better remain encamped for that day, as there was a storm coming on, and in the mean time he would go and shoot some ducks for our dinner and supper. He was accordingly furnished with powder and shot, and set off again for game without delay. I had put into my pocket, on leaving home, a roll of scarlet ribbon, in case a stout string should be wanted, and I now drew it forth, and with the knife which hung around my neck I cut off a couple of yards for each of the little girls. They received it with great delight, and their mother, dividing each portion into two, tied a piece to each of the little clubs into which their hair was knotted on the temples. They laughed, and exclaimed "Saum!" as they gazed at each other, and their mother joined in their mirth, although, as I thought, a little unwilling to display her maternal exultation before a stranger. The tent being all in order, my husband came for me, and we took leave of our friends in the wigwam, with grateful hearts. The storm was raging without. The trees were bending and cracking around us, and the air was completely filled with the wild-fowl screaming and _quacking_ as they made their way southward before the blast. Our tent was among the trees not far from the river. My husband took me to the bank to look for a moment at what we had escaped. The wind was sweeping down from the north in a perfect hurricane. The water was filled with masses of snow and ice, dancing along upon the torrent, over which were hurrying thousands of wild-fowl, making the woods resound to their deafening clamor. Had we been one hour later, we could not possibly have crossed the stream, and there would have been nothing for us but to have remained and starved in the wilderness. Could we be sufficiently grateful to that kind Providence that had brought us safely through such dangers? The men had cut down an immense tree, and built a fire against it, but the wind shifted so continually that every five minutes the tent would become completely filled with smoke, so that I was driven into the open air for breath. Then I would seat myself on one end of the huge log, as near the fire as possible, for it was dismally cold, but the wind seemed actuated by a kind of caprice, for in whatever direction I took my seat, just that way came the smoke and hot ashes, puffing in my face until I was nearly blinded. Neither veil nor silk handkerchief afforded an effectual protection, and I was glad when the arrival of our huntsmen, with a quantity of ducks, gave me an opportunity of diverting my thoughts from my own sufferings, by aiding the men to pick them and get them ready for our meal. We borrowed a kettle from our Indian friends. It was not remarkably clean; but we heated a little water in it, and _prairie-hay'd_ it out, before consigning our birds to it, and with a bowl of Indian potatoes, a present from our kind neighbors, we soon had an excellent soup. What with the cold, the smoke, and the driving ashes and cinders, this was the most uncomfortable afternoon I had yet passed, and I was glad when night came, and I could creep into the tent and cover myself up in the blankets, out of the way of all three of these evils. The storm raged with tenfold violence during the night. We were continually startled by the crashing of the falling trees around us, and who could tell but that the next would be upon us? Spite of our fatigue, we passed an almost sleepless night. When we arose in the morning, we were made fully alive to the perils by which we had been surrounded. At least fifty trees, the giants of the forest, lay prostrate within view of the tent. When we had taken our scanty breakfast, and were mounted and ready for departure, it was with difficulty we could thread our way, so completely was it obstructed by the fallen trunks. Our Indian guide had joined us at an early hour, and after conducting us carefully out of the wood, and pointing out to us numerous bee-trees,[18] for which he said that grove was famous, he set off at a long trot, and about nine o'clock brought us to _Piché's_, a log cabin on a rising ground, looking off over the broad prairie to the east. We had hoped to get some refreshment here, Piché being an old acquaintance of some of the party; but, alas! the master was from home. We found his cabin occupied by Indians and travellers--the latter few, the former numerous. There was no temptation to a halt, except that of warming ourselves at a bright fire that was burning in the clay chimney. A man in Quaker costume stepped forward to answer our inquiries, and offered to become our escort to Chicago, to which place he was bound--so we dismissed our Indian friend, with a satisfactory remuneration for all the trouble he had so kindly taken for us. A long reach of prairie extended from Piché's to the Du Page, between the two forks of which, Mr. Dogherty, our new acquaintance, told us, we should find the dwelling of a Mr. Hawley, who would give us a comfortable dinner. The weather was intensely cold; the wind, sweeping over the wide prairie with nothing to break its force, chilled our very hearts. I beat my feet against the saddle to restore the circulation, when they became benumbed with the cold, until they were so bruised I could beat them no longer. Not a house or wigwam, not even a clump of trees as a shelter, offered itself for many a weary mile. At length we reached the west fork of the Du Page. It was frozen, but not sufficiently so to bear the horses. Our only resource was to cut a way for them through the ice. It was a work of time, for the ice had frozen to several inches in thickness during the last bitter night. Plante went first with an axe, and cut as far as he could reach, then mounted one of the hardy little ponies, and With some difficulty broke the ice before him, until he had opened a passage to the opposite shore. How the poor animals shivered as they were reined in among the floating ice! And we, who sat waiting in the piercing wind, were not much better off. Probably Brunet was of the same opinion; for, with his usual perversity, he plunged in immediately after Plante, and stood shaking and quaking behind him, every now and then looking around him, as much as to say, "I've got ahead of you, this time!" We were all across at last, and spurred on our horses, until we reached Hawley's[19]--a large, commodious dwelling, near the east fork of the river. The good woman welcomed us kindly, and soon made us warm and comfortable. We felt as if we were in a civilized land once more. She proceeded immediately to prepare dinner for us; and we watched her with eager eyes, as she took down a huge ham from the rafters, out of which she cut innumerable slices, then broke a dozen or more of fine fresh eggs into a pan, in readiness for frying--then mixed a _johnny-cake_, and placed it against a board in front of the fire to bake. It seemed to me that even with the aid of this fine, bright fire, the dinner took an unconscionable time to cook; but cooked it was, at last, and truly might the good woman stare at the travellers' appetites we had brought with us. She did not know what short commons we had been on for the last two days. We found, upon inquiry, that we could, by pushing on, reach Lawton's, on the Aux Plaines, that night--we should then be within twelve miles of Chicago. Of course we made no unnecessary delay, but set off as soon after dinner as possible. The crossing of the east fork of the Du Page was more perilous than the former one had been. The ice had become broken, either by the force of the current, or by some equestrians having preceded us and cut through it, so that when we reached the bank, the ice was floating down in large cakes. The horses had to make a rapid dart through the water, which was so high, and rushing in such a torrent, that if I had not been mounted on Jerry, the tallest horse in the cavalcade, I must have got a terrible splashing. As it was, I was well frightened, and grasped both bridle and mane with the utmost tenacity. After this we travelled on as rapidly as possible, in order to reach our place of destination before dark. Mr. Dogherty, a tall, bolt-upright man, half Quaker, half Methodist, did his best to entertain me, by giving me a thorough schedule of his religious opinions, with the reasons from Scripture upon which they were based. He was a good deal of a perfectionist, and evidently looked upon himself with no small satisfaction, as a living illustration of his favorite doctrine. "St. John says," this was the style of his discourse, "St. John says, 'He that is born of God, doth not commit sin' Now, _if_ I am born of God, I do not commit sin." I was too cold and too weary to argue the point, so I let him have it all his own way. I believe he must have thought me rather a dull companion; but at least he gave me the credit of being a good listener. It was almost dark when we reached Lawton's. The Aux Plaines[20] was frozen, and the house was on the other side. By loud shouting, we brought out a man from the building, and he succeeded in cutting the ice, and bringing a canoe over to us; but not until it had become difficult to distinguish objects in the darkness. A very comfortable house was Lawton's, after we did reach it--carpeted, and with a warm stove--in fact, quite in civilized style, Mr. Weeks, the man who brought us across, was the major-domo, during the temporary absence of Mr. Lawton. Mrs. Lawton was a young woman, and not ill-looking. She complained bitterly of the loneliness of her condition, and having been "brought out there into the woods; which was a thing she had not expected, when she came from the East." We did not ask her with what expectations she had come to a wild, unsettled country; but we tried to comfort her with the assurance that things would grow better in a few years. She said, "She did not mean to wait for that. She should go back to her family in the East, if Mr. Lawton did not invite some of her young friends to come and stay with her, and make it agreeable." We could hardly realize, on rising the following morning, that only twelve miles of prairie intervened between us and _Chicago le Désiré_, as I could not but name it. We could look across the extended plain, and on its farthest verge were visible two tall trees, which my husband pointed out to me as the planting of his own hand, when a boy. Already they had become so lofty as to serve as landmarks, and they were constantly in view as we travelled the beaten road. I was continually repeating to myself, "There live the friends I am so longing to see! There will terminate all our trials and hardships!" A Mr. Wentworth joined us on the road, and of him we inquired after the welfare of the family, from whom we had, for a long time, received no intelligence. When we reached Chicago, he took us to a little tavern at the forks of the river. This portion of the place was then called _Wolf Point_, from its having been the residence of an Indian named "_Moaway_," or "the Wolf." "Dear me," said the old landlady, at the little tavern, "what dreadful cold weather you must have had to travel in! Why, two days ago the river was all open here, and now it's frozen hard enough for folks to cross a-horseback!" Notwithstanding this assurance, my husband did not like to venture, so he determined to leave his horses and proceed on foot to the residence of his mother and sister, a distance of about half a mile. We set out on our walk, which was first across the ice, then down the northern bank of the river. As we approached the house we were espied by Genevieve, a half-breed servant of the family. She did not wait to salute us, but flew into the house, crying,-- "Oh! Madame Kinzie, who do you think has come? Monsieur John and Madame John, all the way from Fort Winnebago on foot!" Soon we were in the arms of our dear, kind friends. A messenger was dispatched to "the garrison" for the remaining members of the family, and for that day, at least, I was the wonder and admiration of the whole circle, "for the dangers I had seen." CHAPTER XVII. CHICAGO IN 1831. Fort Dearborn at that day consisted of the same buildings as at present.[21] They were, of course, in a better state of preservation, though still considerably dilapidated. They had been erected in 1816, under the supervision of Captain Hezekiah Bradley, and there was a story current that, such was his patriotic regard for the interests of the Government, he obliged the soldiers to fashion wooden pins, instead of spikes and nails, to fasten the timbers of the buildings, and that he even called on the junior officers to aid in their construction along with the soldiers, whose business it was. If this were true, the captain must have labored under the delusion (excusable in one who had lived long on the frontier) that Government would thank its servants for any excess of economical zeal. The fort was inclosed by high pickets, with bastions at the alternate angles. Large gates opened to the north and south, and there were small posterns here and there for the accommodation of the inmates. The bank of the river which stretches to the west, now covered by the light-house buildings, and inclosed by docks, was then occupied by the root-houses of the garrison. Beyond the parade-ground, which extended south of the pickets, were the company gardens, well filled with currant-bushes and young fruit-trees. The fort stood at what might naturally be supposed to be the mouth of the river. It was not so, however, for in those days the latter took a turn, sweeping round the promontory on which the fort was built, towards the south, and joining the lake about half a mile below. These buildings stood on the right bank of the river, the left being a long spit of land extending from the northern shore, of which it formed a part. After the cutting through of this portion of the left bank in 1833 by the United States Engineers employed to construct a harbor at this point, and the throwing out of the piers, the water overflowed this long tongue of land, and, continually encroaching on the southern bank, robbed it of many valuable acres; while, by the same action of the vast body of the lake, an accretion was constantly taking place on the north of the harbor. The residence of Jean Baptiste Beaubien stood at this period between the gardens and the river-bank, and still farther south was a rickety tenement, built many years before by Mr. John Dean, the sutler of the post. A short time after the commencement of the growth of Chicago, the foundations of this building were undermined by the gradual encroachment of the lake, and it tumbled backward down the bank, where it long lay, a melancholy spectacle. On the northern bank of the river, directly facing the fort, was the family mansion of my husband.[22] It was a long, low building, with a piazza extending along its front, a range of four or five rooms. A broad green space was inclosed between it and the river, and shaded by a row of Lombardy poplars. Two immense cottonwood-trees stood in the rear of the building, one of which still remains as an ancient landmark. A fine, well-cultivated garden extended to the north of the dwelling, and surrounding it were various buildings appertaining to the establishment--dairy, bake-house, lodging-house for the Frenchmen, and stables. A vast range of sand-hills, covered with stunted cedars, pines, and dwarf-willow-trees, intervened between the house and the lake, which was, at this time, not more than thirty rods distant. Proceeding from this point along the northern bank of the river, we came first to the Agency House, "Cobweb Castle," as it had been denominated while long the residence of a bachelor, and the _sobriquet_ adhered to it ever after. It stood at what is now the southwest corner of Wolcott[23] and N. Water Streets. Many will still remember it, a substantial, compact little building of logs hewed and squared, with a centre, two wings, and, strictly speaking, two _tails_, since, when there was found no more room for additions at the sides, they were placed in the rear, whereon a vacant spot could be found. These appendages did not mar the symmetry of the whole, as viewed from the front, but when, in the process of the town's improvement, a street was maliciously opened directly in the rear of the building, the whole establishment, with its comical little adjuncts, was a constant source of amusement to the passers-by. No matter. There were pleasant, happy hours passed under its odd-shaped roof, as many of Chicago's early settlers can testify. Around the Agency House were grouped a collection of log buildings, the residences of the different persons in the employ of Government, appertaining to that establishment--blacksmith, striker, and laborers. These were for the most part Canadians or half-breeds, with occasionally a stray Yankee, to set all things going by his activity and enterprise. There was still another house on the north side of the river, built by a former resident by the name of Miller, but he had removed to "Rivière du Chemin," or Trail Creek, which about this time began to be called "Michigan City."[24] This house, which stood near the forks of the river, was at this time vacant. There was no house on the southern bank of the river, between the fort and "The Point," as the forks of the river were then called. The land was a low wet prairie, scarcely affording good walking in the dryest summer weather, while at other seasons it was absolutely impassable. A muddy streamlet, or, as it is called in this country, a _slew_,[25] after winding around from about the present site of the Tremont House, fell into the river at the foot of State Street.[26] At the Point, on the south side, stood a house just completed by Mark Beaubien. It was a pretentious white two-story building, with bright-blue wooden shutters, the admiration of all the little circle at Wolf Point. Here a canoe ferry was kept to transport people across the south branch of the river. Facing down the river from the west was, first a small tavern kept by Mr. Wentworth, familiarly known as "Old Geese," not from any want of shrewdness on his part, but in compliment to one of his own cant expressions. Near him were two or three log cabins occupied by Robinson, the Pottowattamie chief, and some of his wife's connexions. Billy Caldwell, the Sau-ga-nash, too, resided here occasionally, with his wife, who was a daughter of Nee-scot-nee-meg, one of the most famous chiefs of the nation. A little remote from these residences was a small square log building, originally designed for a school-house, but occasionally used as a place of worship whenever any itinerant minister presented himself. The family of Clybourn had, previous to this time, established themselves near their present residence on the North Branch--they called their place _New Virginia_. Four miles up the South Branch was an old building which was at one time an object of great interest as having been the theatre of some stirring events during the troubles of 1812.[27] It was denominated Lee's Place, or Hardscrabble. Here lived, at this time, a settler named Heacock. Owing to the badness of the roads a greater part of the year, the usual mode of communication between the fort and the Point was by a boat rowed up the river, or by a canoe paddled by some skilful hand. By the latter means, too, an intercourse was kept up between the residents of the fort and the Agency House. There were, at this time, two companies of soldiers in the garrison, but of the officers one, Lieutenant Furman, had died the autumn previous, and several of the others were away on furlough. In the absence of Major Fowle and Captain Scott, the command devolved on Lieutenant Hunter. Besides him, there were Lieutenants Engle and Foster--the latter unmarried. Dr. Finley, the post surgeon, was also absent, and his place was supplied by Dr. Harmon, a gentleman from Vermont. My husband's mother, two sisters, and brother resided at the Agency House--the family residence near the lake being occupied by J.N. Bailey, the postmaster. In the Dean House lived a Mr. and Mrs. Forbes, who kept a school. Gholson Kercheval had a small trading establishment in one of the log buildings at Wolf Point, and John S.C. Hogan superintended the sutler's store in the garrison. There was also a Mr. See lately come into the country, living at the Point, who sometimes held forth in the little school-house on a Sunday, less to the edification of his hearers than to the unmerciful slaughter of the "King's English." I think this enumeration comprises all the white inhabitants of Chicago at a period less than half a century ago. To many who may read these pages the foregoing particulars will, doubtless, appear uninteresting. But to those who visit Chicago, and still more to those who come to make it their home, it may be not without interest to look back to its first beginnings; to contemplate the almost magical change which a few years have wrought; and from the past to augur the marvellous prosperity of the future. The origin of the name Chicago is a subject of discussion, some of the Indians deriving it from the fitch or polecat, others from the wild onion with which the woods formerly abounded; but all agree that the place received its name from an old chief who was drowned in the stream in former times. That this event, although so carefully preserved by tradition, must have occurred in a very remote period, is evident from an old French manuscript brought by General Cass from France. In this paper, which purports to be a letter from M. de Ligney, at Green Bay, to M. de Siette, among the Illinois, dated as early as 1726, the place is designated as "Chica-goux." This orthography is also found in old family letters of the beginning of the present century. * * * * * In giving the early history of Chicago, the Indians say, with great simplicity, "the first white man who settled here was a negro." This was Jean Baptiste Point-au-Sable, a native of St. Domingo, who, about the year 1796, found his way to this remote region, and commenced a life among the Indians. There is usually a strong affection between these two races, and Jean Baptiste imposed upon his new friends by making them believe that he had been a "great chief" among the whites. Perhaps he was disgusted at not being elected to a similar dignity by the Pottowattamies, for he quitted this vicinity, and finally terminated his days at Peoria, under the roof of his friend Glamorgan, another St. Domingo negro, who had obtained large Spanish grants in St. Louis and its environs, and who, at one time, was in the enjoyment of an extensive landed estate. Point-au-Sable had made some improvements at Chicago, which were taken possession of by a Frenchman named Le Mai, who commenced trading with the Indians. After a few years Le Mai's establishment was purchased by John Kinzie, Esq., who at that time resided at Bertrand, or _Parc aux Vaches_, as it was then called, near Niles, in Michigan. As this gentleman was for nearly twenty years, with the exception of the military, the only white inhabitant of Northern Illinois, some particulars of his early life may not be uninteresting. He was born in Quebec in 1163. His mother had been previously married to a gentleman of the name of Haliburton. The only daughter of this marriage was the mother of General Fleming, Nicholas Low, Esq., and Mrs. Charles King, of New York. She is described as a lady of remarkable beauty and accomplishments. Mr. Kinzie was the only child of the second marriage. His father died in his infancy, and his mother married a third time a Mr. Forsyth, after which they removed to the city of New York. At the age of ten or eleven years he was placed at school with two of his half-brothers at Williamsburg, L.I. A negro servant was sent from the city every Saturday, to bring the children home, to remain until the following Monday morning. Upon one occasion, when the messenger arrived at the school he found all things in commotion. Johnny Kinzie was missing! Search was made in all directions; every place was ransacked. It was all in vain; no Johnny Kinzie could be found. The heavy tidings were carried home to his mother. By some it was supposed the lad was drowned; by others that he had strayed away, and would return. Weeks passed by, and months, and he was at length given up and mourned as lost. In the mean time the boy was fulfilling a determination he had long formed, to visit his native city of Quebec, and make his way in life for himself. He had by some means succeeded in crossing from Williamsburg to the city of New York, and finding at one of the docks on the North River a sloop bound for Albany, he took passage on board of her. While on his way up the river, he was noticed by a gentleman, who, taking an interest in the little lonely passenger, questioned him about his business. "He was going to Quebec, where he had some friends." "Had he the means to carry him there?" "Not much, but he thought he could get along." It happened, fortunately, that the gentleman himself was going to Quebec. He took the boy under his care, paid his expenses the whole distance, and finally parted with him in the streets of the city, where he was, in truth, a stranger. He wandered about for a time, looking into various "stores" and workshops. At length, on entering the shop of a silversmith, he was satisfied with the expression he read in the countenance of the master, and he inquired if he wanted an apprentice. "What, you, my little fellow! What can you do?" "Anything you can teach me." "Well, we will make a trial and see." The trial was satisfactory. He remained in the family of his kind friend for more than three years, when his parents, who, in removing to Detroit, had necessarily returned to Canada, discovered his place of abode, and he was restored to them. There were five younger half-brothers, of the name of Forsyth. In the old family Bible, we find the following touching record of an event that occurred after the family had removed to Detroit:-- "George Forsyth was lost in the woods 6th August, 1775, when Henry Hays and Mark Stirling ran away and left him. The remains of George Forsyth were found by an Indian the 2d of October, 1776, close by the Prairie Ronde." It seems a singular fatality that the unhappy mother should have been twice called to suffer a similar affliction--the loss of a child in a manner worse than death, inasmuch as it left room for all the horrors that imagination can suggest. The particulars of the loss of this little brother were these. As he came from school one evening, he met the colored servant-boy on horseback, going to the common for the cows. The school-house stood quite near the old fort, and all beyond that, towards the west, was a wild, uncultivated tract called "the Common." The child begged of the servant to take him up and give him a ride, but the other refused, bidding him return home at once. He was accompanied by two other boys, somewhat older, and together they followed the negro for some distance, hoping to prevail upon him to give them a ride. As it grew dark, the two older boys turned back, but the other kept on. When the negro returned he had not again seen the child, nor were any tidings ever received of him, notwithstanding the diligent search made by the whole little community, until, as related in the record, his remains were found the following year by an Indian. There was nothing to identify them, except the auburn curls of his hair, and the little boots he had worn. He must have perished very shortly after having lost his way, for the Prairie Ronde was too near the settlement to have prevented his bearing the calls and sounding horns of those in search of him, had he been living. Mr. Kinzie's enterprising and adventurous disposition led him, as he grew older, to live much on the frontier. He early entered into the Indian trade, and had establishments at Sandusky and Maumee. About the year 1800 he pushed farther west, to St. Joseph's, Michigan. In this year he married Mrs. McKillip, the widow of a British officer, and in 1804 came to make his home at Chicago. It was in this year that the first fort was built by Major John Whistler. By degrees more remote trading-posts were established by him, all contributing to the parent one at Chicago; at Milwaukie with the Menomonees; at Rock River with the Winnebagoes and the Pottowattamies; on the Illinois River and Kankakee with the Pottowattamies of the Prairies, and with the Kickapoos in what was called "_Le Large_," being the widely extended district afterwards erected into Sangamon County. Each trading-post had its superintendent, and its complement of engagés--its train of pack-horses and its equipment of boats and canoes. From most of the stations the furs and peltries were brought to Chicago on pack-horses, and the goods necessary for the trade were transported in return by the same method. The vessels which came in the spring and fall (seldom more than two or three annually), to bring the supplies and goods for the trade, took the furs that were already collected to Mackinac, the depôt of the Southwest and American Fur Companies. At other seasons they were sent to that place in boats, coasting around the lake. * * * * * Of the Canadian voyageurs or engagés, a race that has now so nearly passed away, some notice may very properly here be given. They were unlike any other class of men. Like the poet, they seemed born to their vocation. Sturdy, enduring, ingenious, and light-hearted, they possessed a spirit capable of adapting itself to any emergency. No difficulties baffled, no hardships discouraged them; while their affectionate nature led them to form attachments of the warmest character to their "bourgeois," or master, as well as to the native inhabitants, among whom their engagements carried them. Montreal, or, according to their own pronunciation, _Marrialle_, was their depôt. It was at that place that the agents commissioned to make up the quota for the different companies and traders found the material for their selections. The terms of engagement were usually from four to six hundred livres (ancient Quebec currency) per annum as wages, with rations of one quart of lyed corn, and two ounces of tallow per diem, or "its equivalent in whatever sort of food is to be found in the Indian country." Instances have been known of their submitting cheerfully to fare upon fresh fish and maple-sugar for a whole winter, when cut off from other supplies. It was a common saying, "Keep an engagé to his corn and tallow, he will serve you well--give him pork and bread, and he soon gets beyond your management." They regard the terms of their engagement as binding to the letter. An old trader, M. Berthelet, engaged a crew at Montreal. The terms of agreement were, that they should eat when their bourgeois did, and what he did. It was a piece of fun on the part of the old gentleman, but the simple Canadians believed it to be a signal instance of good luck that had provided them such luxurious prospects. The bourgeois stuffed his pockets with crackers, and, when sure of being quite unobserved, would slily eat one. Pipe after pipe passed--the men grew hungry, but, observing that there were no preparations of a meal for the bourgeois, they bore their fast without complaining. At length the matter became too serious--they could stand it no longer. In their distress they begged off from the bargain, and gladly compounded to take the customary rations, instead of the dainty fare they had been promising themselves with their master. On arriving at Mackinac, which was the entrepôt of the fur trade, a small proportion of the voyageur's wages was advanced him, to furnish his winter's outfit, his pipes and tobacco, his needles and thread, some pieces of bright-colored ribbons, and red and yellow gartering (quality binding), with which to purchase their little necessaries from the Indians. To these, if his destination were Lake Superior, or a post far to the north where such articles could not be readily obtained, were added one or two smoked deer-skins for moccasins. Thus equipped, he entered upon his three years' service, to toil by day, and laugh, joke, sing, and tell stories when the evening hour brought rest and liberty. There was not wanting here and there an instance of obstinate adherence to the exact letter of the agreement in regard to the nature of employment, although, as a general thing, the engagé held himself ready to fulfil the behests of his bourgeois, as faithfully as ever did vassal those of his chief. A Story is told of M. St. Jean, a trader on the Upper Mississippi, who upon a certain occasion ordered one of his Frenchmen to accompany a party to the forest to chop wood. The man refused. "He was not hired," he said, "to chop wood." "Ah! for what, then, were you hired?" "To steer a boat." "Very well; steer a boat, then, since you prefer it." It was mid-winter. The recusant was marched to the river-side, and placed in the stern of the boat, which lay fastened in the ice. After serving a couple of hours at his legitimate employment, with the thermometer below zero, he was quite content to take his place with the chopping-party, and never again thought it good policy to choose work for himself. There is an aristocracy in the voyageur service which is quite amusing. The engagement is usually made for three years. The engagé of the first year, who is called a "_mangeur-de-lard_," or pork-eater, is looked down upon with the most sovereign contempt by an "_hivernant_," or one who has already passed a winter in the country. He will not only not associate with him, but if invited by him to join him in a friendly glass, he will make some excuse for declining. The most inveterate drunkard, while tortured by a longing to partake his favorite indulgence, will yet never suffer himself to be enticed into an infringement of this custom. After the first winter, the _mangeur-de-lard_ rises from his freshman class, and takes his place where he can in turn lord it over all new-comers. Another peculiarity of the voyageurs is their fancy for transforming the names of their bourgeois into something funny, which resembles it in sound. Thus, Kinzie would be called by one "_Quinze nez_" (fifteen noses), by another "_Singé_" (monkeyfied). Mr. Kercheval was denominated _Mons. Court-cheval_ (short horse), the Judge of Probate, "_le Juge Trop-bête"_ (too foolish), etc. The following is an instance in point. Mr. Shaw, one of the agents of the Northwest Fur Company, had passed many years on the frontier, and was by the voyageurs called Monsieur Le Chat.[28] On quitting the Indian country he married a Canadian lady and became the father of several children. Some years after his return to Canada, his old foreman, named Louis la Liberté, went to Montreal to spend the winter. He had heard of his old bourgeois' marriage, and was anxious to see him. Mr. Shaw was walking in the Champ de Mars with a couple of officers, when La Liberté espied him. He immediately ran up, and, seizing him by both hands, accosted him,-- "_Ah! mon cher Monsieur le Chat: comment vous portez-vous_?" (My dear Mr. Cat, how do you do?) "_Très-bien, Louizon_." "_Et comment se porte Madame la Chatte_?" (How is the mother cat?) "_Bien, bien, Louizon; elle est très-bien_" (She is very well.) "_Et tous les petits Chatons_?" (And all the kittens?) This was too much for Mr. Shaw. He answered shortly that the _kittens were all well_, and turned away with his military friends, leaving poor Louizon quite astonished at the abruptness of his departure. Cut off, in the manner described, from the world at large, with no society but the military, thus lived the family of Mr. Kinzie, in great contentment, and in the enjoyment of all the comforts, together with most of the luxuries, of life. The Indians reciprocated the friendship that was shown them, and formed for them an attachment of no ordinary strength, as was manifested during the scenes of the year 1812, eight years after Mr. Kinzie first came to live among them. Some of the most prominent events of that year are recorded in the following Narrative. CHAPTER XVIII. MASSACRE AT CHICAGO.[29] It was the evening of the 7th of April, 1812. The children of Mr. Kinzie were dancing before the fire to the music of their father's violin. The tea-table was spread, and they were awaiting the return of their mother, who had gone to visit a sick neighbor about a quarter of a mile up the river. Suddenly their sports were interrupted. The door was thrown open, and Mrs. Kinzie rushed in, pale with terror, and scarcely able to articulate, "The Indians! the Indians!" "The Indians? What? Where?" eagerly demanded they all. "Up at Lee's Place, killing and scalping!" With difficulty Mrs. Kinzie composed herself sufficiently to give the information, "That, while she was up at Burns's, a man and a boy were seen running down with all speed on the opposite side of the river; that they had called across to give notice to Barns's family to save themselves, for _the Indians_ were at Lee's Place, from which they had just made their escape. Having given this terrifying news, they had made all speed for the fort, which was on the same side of the river that they then were." All was now consternation and dismay. The family were hurried into two old _pirogues_, that lay moored near the house, and paddled with all possible haste across the river to take refuge in the fort. All that the man and boy who had made their escape were able to tell, was soon known; but, in order to render their story more intelligible, it is necessary to describe the scene of action. _Lee's Place_, since known by the name of Hardscrabble, was a farm intersected by the Chicago River, about four miles from its mouth. The farm-house stood on the western bank of the south branch of this river. On the north side of the main stream, but quite near its junction with Lake Michigan, stood (as has already been described) the dwelling-house and trading-establishment of Mr. Kinzie. The fort was situated on the southern bank, directly opposite this mansion--the river, and a few rods of sloping green turf on either side, being all that intervened between them. The fort was differently constructed from the one erected on the same site in 1816. It had two block-houses on the southern side, and on the northern a sally-port, or subterranean passage from the parade-ground to the river. This was designed either to facilitate escape in case of an emergency, or as a means of supplying the garrison with water during a siege. The officers in the fort at this period were Captain Heald, the commanding officer, Lieutenant Helm, the son-in-law of Mr. Kinzie, and Ensign Ronan--the two last were very young men--and the surgeon, Dr. Van Voorhees. The command numbered about seventy-five men; very few of whom were effective. A constant and friendly intercourse had been maintained between these troops and the Indians. It is true that the principal men of the Pottowattamie nation, like those of most other tribes, went yearly to Fort Malden, in Canada, to receive a large amount of presents, with which the British Government had, for many years, been in the habit of purchasing their alliance; and it was well known that many of the Pottowattamies, as well as Winnebagoes, had been engaged with the Ottawas and Shawnees at the battle of Tippecanoe, the preceding autumn; yet, as the principal chiefs of all the bands in the neighborhood appeared to be on the most amicable terms with the Americans, no interruption of their harmony was at any time anticipated. After the 15th of August, however, many circumstances were recollected that might have opened the eyes of the whites, had they not been lulled in a fatal security. One instance in particular may be mentioned. In the spring preceding the destruction of the fort, two Indians of the Calumet band came to the fort on a visit to the commanding officer. As they passed through the quarters, they saw Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm playing at battledoor. Turning to the interpreter, one of them, Nau-non-gee, remarked, "The white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves very much; it will not be long before they are hoeing in our corn-fields!" This was considered at the time an idle threat, or, at most, an ebullition of jealous feeling at the contrast between the situation of their own women and that of the "white chiefs' wives." Some months after, how bitterly was it remembered! * * * * * The farm at Lee's Place was occupied by a Mr. White and three persons employed by him in the care of the farm. In the afternoon of the day on which our narrative commences, a party of ten or twelve Indians, dressed and painted, arrived at the house, and, according to the custom among savages, entered and seated themselves without ceremony. Something in their appearance and manner excited the suspicions of one of the family, a Frenchman, who remarked, "I do not like the appearance of these Indians--they are none of our folks. I know by their dress and paint that they are not Pottowattamies." Another of the family, a discharged soldier, then said to the boy who was present, "If that is the case, we had better get away from them if we can. Say nothing; but do as you see me do." As the afternoon was far advanced, the soldier walked leisurely towards the canoes, of which there were two tied near the bank. Some of the Indians inquired where he was going. He pointed to the cattle which were standing among the haystacks on the opposite bank, and made signs that they must go and fodder them, and then they should return and get their supper. He got into one canoe, and the boy into the other. The stream was narrow, and they were soon across. When they had gained the opposite side, they pulled some hay for the cattle--made a show of collecting them--and when they had gradually made a circuit, so that their movements were concealed by the haystacks, they took to the woods, which were close at hand, and made for the fort. They had run about a quarter of a mile, when they heard the discharge of two guns successively, which they supposed to have been levelled at the companions they had left behind. They stopped not nor stayed until they arrived opposite Burns's,[30] where, as before related, they called across to advertise the family of their danger, and then hastened on to the fort. It now occurred to those who had secured their own safety, that the family of Burns was at this moment exposed to the most imminent peril. The question was, who would hazard his own life to bring them to a place of safety? A gallant young officer, Ensign Ronan, volunteered, with a party of five or six soldiers, to go to their rescue. They ascended the river in a scow, and took the mother, with her infant of scarcely a day old, upon her bed to the boat, in which they carefully conveyed her and the other members of the family to the fort. A party of soldiers, consisting of a corporal and six men, had that afternoon obtained leave to go up the river to fish. They had not returned when the fugitives from Lee's Place arrived at the fort, and, fearing that they might encounter the Indians, the commanding officer ordered a cannon to be fired, to warn them of danger. They were at the time about two miles above Lee's Place. Hearing the signal, they took the hint, put out their torches (for it was now night), and dropped down the river towards the garrison, as silently as possible. It will be remembered that the unsettled state of the country since the battle of Tippecanoe, the preceding November, had rendered every man vigilant, and the slightest alarm was an admonition to "beware of the Indians." When the fishing-party reached Lee's Place, it was proposed to stop and warn the inmates to be upon their guard, as the signal from the fort indicated danger of some kind. All was still as death around the house. They groped their way along, and as the corporal jumped over the small enclosure he placed his hand upon the dead body of a man. By the sense of touch he soon ascertained that the head was without a scalp, and otherwise mutilated. The faithful dog of the murdered man stood guarding the lifeless remains of his master. The tale was now told. The men retreated to their canoes, and reached the fort unmolested about eleven o'clock at night. The next morning a party of the citizens and soldiers volunteered to go to Lee's Place, to learn further the fate of its occupants. The body of Mr. White was found pierced by two balls, and with eleven stabs in the breast. The Frenchman, as already described, lay dead, with his dog still beside him. Their bodies were brought to the fort and buried in its immediate vicinity. It was subsequently ascertained, from traders out in the Indian country, that the perpetrators of this bloody deed were a party of Winnebagoes, who had come into this neighborhood to "take some white scalps." Their plan had been, to proceed down the river from Lee's Place, and kill every white man without the walls of the fort. Hearing, however, the report of the cannon, and not knowing what it portended, they thought it best to remain satisfied with this one exploit, and forthwith retreated to their homes on Rock River. The inhabitants outside the fort, consisting of a few discharged soldiers and some families of half-breeds, now intrenched themselves in the Agency House. This stood west of the fort, between the pickets and the river, and distant about twenty rods from the former. It was an old-fashioned log building, with a hall running through the centre, and one large room on each side. Piazzas extended the whole length of the building in front and rear. These were planked up, for greater security, port-holes were cut, and sentinels posted at night. As the enemy were believed to be lurking still in the neighborhood, or, emboldened by former success, likely to return at any moment, an order was issued prohibiting any soldier or citizen from leaving the vicinity of the garrison without a guard. One night a sergeant and private, who were out on a patrol, came suddenly upon a party of Indians in the pasture adjoining the esplanade. The sergeant fired his piece, and both retreated towards the fort. Before they could reach it, an Indian threw his tomahawk, which missed the sergeant and struck a wagon standing near. The sentinel from the block-house immediately fired, and with effect, while the men got safely in. The next morning it was ascertained, from traces of blood to a considerable distance into the prairie, and from the appearance of a body having been laid among the long grass, that some execution had been done. On another occasion the enemy entered the esplanade to steal horses. Not finding them in the stable, as they had expected, they made themselves amends for their disappointment by stabbing all the sheep in the stable and then letting them loose. The poor animals flocked towards the fort. This gave the alarm--the garrison was aroused--parties were sent out, but the marauders escaped unmolested. * * * * * The inmates of the fort experienced no farther alarm for many weeks. On the afternoon of the 7th of August, Winnemeg, or _Catfish_, a Pottowattamie chief, arrived at the post, bringing despatches from General Hull. These announced the declaration of war between the United States and Great Britain, and that General Hull, at the head of the Northwestern army, had arrived at Detroit; also, that the island of Mackinac had fallen into the hands of the British. The orders to Captain Heald were, "to evacuate the fort, if practicable, and, in that event, to distribute all the United States' property contained in the fort, and in the United States' factory or agency, among the Indians in the neighborhood." After having delivered his despatches, Winnemeg requested a private interview with Mr. Kinzie, who had taken up his residence in the fort. He stated to Mr. K. that he was acquainted with the purport of the communications he had brought, and begged him to ascertain if it were the intention of Captain Heald to evacuate the post. He advised strongly against such a step, inasmuch as the garrison was well supplied with ammunition, and with provisions for six months. It would, therefore, be far better, he thought, to remain until a reinforcement could be sent to their assistance. If, however, Captain Heald should decide upon leaving the post, it should by all means be done immediately. The Pottowattamies, through whose country they must pass, being ignorant of the object of Winnemeg's mission, a forced march might be made, before those who were hostile in their feelings were prepared to interrupt them. Of this advice, so earnestly given, Captain Heald was immediately informed. He replied that it was his intention to evacuate the post, but that, inasmuch as he had received orders to distribute the United States' property, he should not feel justified in leaving it until he had collected the Indians of the neighborhood and made an equitable division among them. Winnemeg then suggested the expediency of marching out, and leaving all things standing--possibly while the Indians were engaged in the partition of the spoils, the troops might effect their retreat unmolested. This advice was strongly seconded by Mr. Kinzie, but did not meet the approbation of the commanding officer. The order for evacuating the post was read next morning upon parade. It is difficult to understand why Captain Heald, in such an emergency, omitted the usual form of calling a council of war with his officers. It can only be accounted for by the fact of a want of harmonious feeling between himself and one of his junior officers--Ensign Ronan, a high-spirited and somewhat overbearing, but brave and generous young man. In the course of the day, finding that no council was called, the officers waited on Captain Heald to be informed what course he intended to pursue. When they learned his intentions, they remonstrated with him, on the following grounds: First--It was highly improbable that the command would be permitted to pass through the country in safety to Fort Wayne. For although it had been said that some of the chiefs had opposed an attack upon the fort, planned the preceding autumn, yet it was well known that they had been actuated in that matter by motives of private regard to one family, that of Mr. Kinzie, and not to any general friendly feeling towards the Americans; and that, at any rate, it was hardly to be expected that these few individuals would be able to control the whole tribe, who were thirsting for blood. In the next place--Their march must necessarily be slow, as their movements must be accommodated to the helplessness of the women and children, of whom there were a number with the detachment. That of their small force, some of the soldiers were superannuated, others invalid; therefore, since the course to be pursued was left discretional, their unanimous advice was, to remain where they were, and fortify themselves as strongly as possible. Succors from the other side of the peninsula might arrive before they could be attacked by the British from Mackinac; and even should they not, it were far better to fall into the hands of the latter than to become the victims of the savages. Captain Heald argued in reply, that a special order had been issued by the War Department, that no post should be surrendered without battle having been given, and his force was totally inadequate to an engagement with the Indians; that he should unquestionably be censured for remaining, when there appeared a prospect of a safe march through; and that, upon the whole, he deemed it expedient to assemble the Indians, distribute the property among them, and then ask of them an escort to Fort Wayne, with the promise of a considerable reward upon their safe arrival--adding, that he had full confidence in the friendly professions of the Indians, from whom, as well as from the soldiers, the capture of Mackinac had been kept a profound secret. From this time the officers held themselves aloof, and spoke but little upon the subject, though they considered the project of Captain Heald little short of madness. The dissatisfaction among the soldiers hourly increased, until it reached a high pitch of insubordination. Upon one occasion, as Captain Heald was conversing with Mr. Kinzie upon the parade, he remarked, "I could not remain, even if I thought it best, for I have but a small store of provisions." "Why, captain," said a soldier who stood near, forgetting all etiquette in the excitement of the moment, "you have cattle enough to last the troops six months." "But," replied Captain Heald, "I have no salt to preserve it with." "Then jerk[31] it," said the man, "as the Indians do their venison." The Indians now became daily more unruly. Entering the fort in defiance of the sentinels, they made their way without ceremony into the officers' quarters. On one occasion an Indian took up a rifle and fired it in the parlor of the commanding officer, as an expression of defiance. Some were of opinion that this was intended among the young men as a signal for an attack. The old chiefs passed backwards and forwards among the assembled groups, with the appearance of the most lively agitation, while the squaws rushed to and fro, in great excitement, and evidently prepared for some fearful scene. Any further manifestation of ill feeling was, however, suppressed for the present, and Captain Heald, strange as it may seem, continued to entertain a conviction of having created so amicable a disposition among the Indians as would insure the safety of the command on their march to Fort Wayne. Thus passed the time until the 12th of August. The feelings of the inmates of the fort during this time may be better imagined than described. Each morning that dawned seemed to bring them nearer to that most appalling fate--butchery by a savage foe--and at night they scarcely dared yield to slumber, lest they should be aroused by the war-whoop and tomahawk. Gloom and mistrust prevailed, and the want of unanimity among the officers debarred them the consolation they might have found in mutual sympathy and encouragement. The Indians being assembled from the neighboring villages, a council was held with them on the afternoon of the 12th. Captain Heald alone attended on the part of the military. He requested his officers to accompany him, but they declined. They had been secretly informed that it was the intention of the young chiefs to fall upon the officers and massacre them while in council, but they could not persuade Captain Heald of the truth of their information. They waited therefore only until he had left the garrison, accompanied by Mr. Kinzie, when they took command of the block-houses which overlooked the esplanade on which the council was held, opened the port-holes, and pointed the cannon so as to command the whole assembly. By this means, probably, the lives of the whites who were present in council were preserved. In council, the commanding officer informed the Indians that it was his intention to distribute among them, the next day, not only the goods lodged in the United States' factory, but also the ammunition and provisions, with Which the garrison was well supplied. He then requested of the Pottowattamies an escort to Fort Wayne, promising them a liberal reward on arriving there, in addition to the presents they were now about to receive. With many professions of friendship and good will, the savages assented to all be proposed, and promised all he required. After the council, Mr. Kinzie, who understood well, not only the Indian character, but the present tone of feeling among them, had a long interview with Captain Heald, in hopes of opening his eyes to the present posture of affairs. He reminded him that since the troubles with the Indians upon the Wabash and its vicinity, there had appeared a settled plan of hostilities towards the whites, in consequence of which it had been the policy of the Americans to withhold from them whatever would enable them to carry on their warfare upon the defenceless inhabitants of the frontier. Mr. Kinzie also recalled to Captain Heald how that, having left home for Detroit, the preceding autumn, on receiving, when he had proceeded as far as De Charme's,[32] the intelligence of the battle of Tippecanoe, he had immediately returned to Chicago, that he might dispatch orders to his traders to furnish no ammunition to the Indians; in consequence of which all they had on hand was secreted, and such of the traders as had not already started for their wintering-grounds, took neither powder nor shot with them. Captain Heald was struck with the impolicy of furnishing the enemy (for such they must now consider their old neighbors) with arms against himself, and determined to destroy all the ammunition except what should be necessary for the use of his own troops. On the 13th, the goods, consisting of blankets, broadcloths, calicoes, paints, etc., were distributed, as stipulated. The same evening the ammunition and liquor were carried, part into the sally-port, and thrown into a well which had been dug there to supply the garrison with water in case of emergency; the remainder was transported as secretly as possible through the northern gate, the heads of the barrels knocked in, and the contents poured into the river. The same fate was shared by a large quantity of alcohol belonging to Mr. Kinzie, which had been deposited in a warehouse near his residence opposite the fort. The Indians suspected what was going on, and crept, serpent-like, as near the scene of action as possible, but a vigilant watch was kept up, and no one was suffered to approach but those engaged in the affair. All the muskets not necessary for the command on the march were broken up and thrown into the well, together with the bags of shot, flints, gunscrews, and, in short, everything relating to weapons of offence. Some relief to the general feeling of despondency was afforded, by the arrival, on the 14th of August, of Captain Wells[33] with fifteen friendly Miamis. Of this brave man, who forms so conspicuous a figure in our frontier annals, it is unnecessary here to say more than that he had been residing from his boyhood among the Indians, and consequently possessed a perfect knowledge of their character and habits. He had heard, at Fort Wayne, of the order for evacuating the fort at Chicago, and, knowing the hostile determination of the Pottowattamies, he had made a rapid march across the country, to prevent the exposure of his relative, Captain Heald, and his troops, to certain destruction. But he came "all too late." When he reached the post he found that the ammunition had been destroyed, and the provisions given to the Indians. There was, therefore, now no alternative, and every preparation was made for the march of the troops on the following morning. On the afternoon of the same day, a second council was held with the Indians. They expressed great indignation at the destruction of the ammunition and liquor. Notwithstanding the precautions that had been taken to preserve secrecy, the noise of knocking in the heads of the barrels had betrayed the operations of the preceding night; indeed, so great was the quantity of liquor thrown into the river, that the taste of the water the next morning was, as one expressed it, "strong grog." Murmurs and threats were everywhere heard among the savages. It was evident that the first moment of exposure would subject the troops to some manifestation of their disappointment and resentment. Among the chiefs were several who, although they shared the general hostile feeling of their tribe towards the Americans, yet retained a personal regard for the troops at this post, and for the few white citizens of the place. These chiefs exerted their utmost influence to allay the revengeful feelings of the young men, and to avert their sanguinary designs, but without effect. On the evening succeeding the council, _Black Partridge_, a conspicuous chief, entered the quarters of the commanding officer. "Father," said he, "I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. But our young men are resolved to imbrue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy." Had further evidence been wanting, this circumstance would have sufficiently proved to the devoted band the justice of their melancholy anticipations. Nevertheless, they went steadily on with the necessary preparations; and, amid the horrors of their situation, there were not wanting gallant hearts, who strove to encourage, in their desponding companions, the hopes of escape they were far from indulging themselves. Of the ammunition there had been reserved but twenty-five rounds, besides one box of cartridges, contained in the baggage-wagons. This must, under any circumstances of danger, have proved an inadequate supply; but the prospect of a fatiguing march, in their present ineffective state, forbade the troops embarrassing themselves with a larger quantity. CHAPTER XIX. NARRATIVE OF THE MASSACRE, CONTINUED. The morning of the 15th arrived. All things were in readiness, and nine o'clock was the hour named for starting. Mr. Kinzie, having volunteered to accompany the troops in their march, had intrusted his family to the care of some friendly Indians, who promised to convey them in a boat around the head of Lake Michigan to a point[34] on the St. Joseph's River, there to be joined by the troops, should the prosecution of their march be permitted them. Early in the morning Mr. Kinzie received a message from To-pee-nee-bee, a chief of the St. Joseph's band, informing him that mischief was intended by the Pottowattamies who had engaged to escort the detachment, and urging him to relinquish his design of accompanying the troops by land, promising him that the boat containing himself and family should be permitted to pass in safety to St. Joseph's. Mr. Kinzie declined acceding to this proposal, as he believed that his presence might operate as a restraint upon the fury of the savages, so warmly were the greater part of them attached to himself and his family. The party in the boat consisted of Mrs. Kinzie and her four younger children, their nurse Josette, a clerk of Mr. Kinzie's, two servants and the boatmen, besides the two Indians who acted as their protectors. The boat started, but had scarcely reached the mouth of the river, which, it will be recollected, was here half a mile below the fort, when another messenger from To-pee-nee-bee arrived to detain them where they were. There was no mistaking the reason of this detention. In breathless anxiety sat the wife and mother. She was a woman of uncommon energy and strength of character, yet her heart died within her as she folded her arms around her helpless infants, and gazed upon the march of her husband and eldest child to certain destruction. As the troops left the fort, the band struck up the Dead March. On they came, in military array, but with solemn mien. Captain Wells took the lead at the head of his little band of Miamis. He had blackened his face before leaving the garrison, in token of his impending fate. They took their route along the lake shore. When they reached the point where commenced a range of sand-hills intervening between the prairie and the beach, the escort of Pottowattamies, in number about five hundred, kept the level of the prairie, instead of continuing along the beach with the Americans and Miamis. They had marched perhaps a mile and a half, when Captain Wells, who had kept somewhat in advance with his Miamis, came riding furiously back. "They are about to attack us," shouted he; "form instantly, and charge upon them." Scarcely were the words uttered, when a volley was showered from among the sand-hills. The troops were hastily brought into line, and charged up the bank. One man, a veteran of seventy winters, fell as they ascended. The remainder of the scene is best described in the words of an eye-witness and participator in the tragedy, Mrs. Helm, the wife of Captain (then Lieutenant) Helm, and step-daughter of Mr. Kinzie. * * * * * "After we had left the bank the firing became general. The Miamis fled at the outset. Their chief rode up to the Pottowattamies, and said: "'You have deceived the Americans and us. You have done a bad action, and (brandishing his tomahawk) I will be the first to head a party of Americans to return and punish your treachery.' So saying, he galloped after his companions, who were now scouring across the prairies. "The troops behaved most gallantly. They were but a handful, but they seemed resolved to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Our horses pranced and bounded, and could hardly be restrained as the balls whistled among them. I drew off a little, and gazed upon my husband and father, who were yet unharmed. I felt that my hour was come, and endeavored to forget those I loved, and prepare myself for my approaching fate. "While I was thus engaged, the surgeon, Dr. Van Voorhees, came up. He was badly wounded. His horse had been shot under him, and he had received a ball in his leg. Every muscle of his face was quivering with the agony of terror. He said to me, 'Do you think they will take our lives? I am badly wounded, but I think not mortally. Perhaps we might purchase our lives by promising them a large reward. Do you think there is any chance?' "'Dr. Van Voorhees,' said I, 'do not let us waste the few moments that yet remain to us in such vain hopes. Our fate is inevitable. In a few moments we must appear before the bar of God. Let us make what preparation is yet in our power.' "'Oh, I cannot die!' exclaimed he, 'I am not fit to die--if I had but a short time to prepare--death is awful!' "I pointed to Ensign Ronan, who, though mortally wounded and nearly down, was still fighting with desperation on one knee.[35] "'Look at that man!' said I. 'At least he dies like a soldier.' "'Yes,' replied the unfortunate man, with a convulsive gasp, 'but he has no terrors of the future--he is an unbeliever!' "At this moment a young Indian raised his tomahawk at me. By springing aside, I partially avoided the blow, which was intended for my skull, but which alighted on my shoulder. I seized him around the neck, and while exerting my utmost efforts to get possession of his scalping-knife, which hung in a scabbard over his breast, I was dragged from his grasp by another and older Indian. "The latter bore me struggling and resisting towards the lake. Notwithstanding the rapidity with which I was harried along, I recognized, as I passed them, the lifeless remains of the unfortunate surgeon. Some murderous tomahawk had stretched him upon the very spot where I had last seen him. "I was immediately plunged into the water and held there with a forcible hand, notwithstanding my resistance. I soon perceived, however, that the object of my captor was not to drown me, for he held me firmly in such a position as to place my head above water. This reassured me, and, regarding him attentively, I soon recognized, in spite of the paint with which he was disguised, _The Black Partridge_. "When the firing had nearly subsided, my preserver bore me from the water and conducted me up the sand-banks. It was a burning August morning, and walking through the sand in my drenched condition was inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I stooped and took off my shoes to free them from the sand with which they were nearly filled, when a squaw seized and carried them off, and I was obliged to proceed without them. "When we had gained the prairie, I was met by my father, who told me that my husband was safe and but slightly wounded. They led me gently back towards the Chicago River, along the southern bank of which was the Pottowattamie encampment. At one time I was placed upon a horse without a saddle, but, finding the motion insupportable, I sprang off. Supported partly by my kind conductor, _Black Partridge_, and partly by another Indian, Pee-so-tum, who held dangling in his hand a scalp, which by the black ribbon around the queue I recognized as that of Captain Wells, I dragged my fainting steps to one of the wigwams. "The wife of Wau-bee-nee-mah, a chief from the Illinois River, was standing near, and, seeing my exhausted condition, she seized a kettle, dipped up some water from a stream that flowed near,[36] threw into it some maple-sugar, and, stirring it up with her hand, gave it me to drink. This act of kindness, in the midst of so many horrors, touched me most sensibly; but my attention was soon diverted to other objects. "The fort had become a scene of plunder to such as remained after the troops marched out. The cattle had been shot down as they ran at large, and lay dead or dying around. This work of butchery had commenced just as we were leaving the fort. I well remembered a remark of Ensign Ronan, as the firing went on. 'Such,' turning to me, 'is to be our fate--to be shot down like brutes!' "'Well, sir,' said the commanding officer, who overheard him, 'are you afraid?' "'No,' replied the high-spirited young man, 'I can march up to the enemy where you dare not show your face.' And his subsequent gallant behavior showed this to be no idle boast. "As the noise of the firing grew gradually less and the stragglers from the victorious party came dropping in, I received confirmation of what my father had hurriedly communicated in our _rencontre_ on the lake shore; namely, that the whites had surrendered, after the loss of about two-thirds of their number. They had stipulated, through the interpreter, Peresh Leclerc, for the preservation of their lives, and those of the remaining women and children, and for their delivery at some of the British posts, unless ransomed by traders in the Indian country. It appears that the wounded prisoners were not considered as included in the stipulation, and a horrid scene ensued upon their being brought into camp. "An old squaw, infuriated by the loss of friends, or excited by the sanguinary scenes around her, seemed possessed by a demoniac ferocity. She seized a stable-fork and assaulted one miserable victim, who lay groaning and writhing in the agony of his wounds, aggravated by the scorching beams of the sun. With a delicacy of feeling scarcely to have been expected under such circumstances, Wau-bee-nee-mah stretched a mat across two poles, between me and this dreadful scene. I was thus spared in some degree a view of its horrors, although I could not entirely close my ears to the cries of the sufferer The following night five more of the wounded prisoners were tomahawked." * * * * * The Americans, it appears, after their first attack by the Indians, charged upon those who had concealed themselves in a sort of ravine, intervening between the sand-banks and the prairie. The latter gathered themselves into a body, and after some hard fighting, in which the number of whites had become reduced to twenty-eight, this little band succeeded in breaking through the enemy, and gaining a rising ground, not far from the Oak Woods. Further contest now seeming hopeless, Lieutenant Helm sent Peresh Leclerc, a half-breed boy in the service of Mr. Kinzie, who had accompanied the detachment and fought manfully on their side, to propose terms of capitulation. It was stipulated that the lives of all the survivors should be spared, and a ransom permitted as soon as practicable. But in the mean time a horrible scene had been enacted. One young savage, climbing into the baggage-wagon containing the children of the white families, twelve in number, tomahawked the entire group. This was during the engagement near the sand-hills. When Captain Wells, who was fighting near, beheld it, he exclaimed,-- "Is that their game, butchering the women and children? Then I will kill, too!" So saying, he turned his horse's head, and started for the Indian camp, near the fort, where had been left their squaws and children. Several Indians pursued him as he galloped along. He laid himself flat on the neck of his horse, loading and firing in that position, as he would occasionally turn on his pursuers. At length their balls took effect, killing his horse, and severely wounding himself. At this moment he was met by _Winnemeg_ and _Wau-ban-see_, who endeavored to save him from the savages who had now overtaken him. As they supported him along, after having disengaged him from his horse, he received his death-blow from another Indian, _Pee-so-tum_, who stabbed him in the back. The heroic resolution of one of the soldiers' wives deserves to be recorded. She was a Mrs. Corbin, and had, from the first, expressed the determination never to fall into the hands of the savages, believing that their prisoners were always subjected to tortures worse than death. When, therefore, a party came upon her, to make her a prisoner, she fought with desperation, refusing to surrender, although assured, by signs, of safety and kind treatment, and literally suffered herself to be cut to pieces, rather than become their captive. There was a Sergeant Holt, who, early in the engagement, received a ball in the neck. Finding himself badly wounded, he gave his sword to his wife, who was on horseback near him, telling her to defend herself; he then made for the lake, to keep out of the way of the balls. Mrs. Holt rode a very fine horse, which the Indians were desirous of possessing, and they therefore attacked her, in hopes of dismounting her. They fought only with the butt-ends of their guns, for their object was not to kill her. She hacked and hewed at their pieces as they were thrust against her, now on this side, now that. Finally, she broke loose from them, and dashed out into the prairie. The Indians pursued her, shouting and laughing, and now and then calling out,-- "The brave woman! do not hurt her!" At length they overtook her again, and, while she was engaged with two or three in front, one succeeded in seizing her by the neck behind, and dragging her, although a large and powerful woman, from her horse. Notwithstanding that their guns had been so hacked and injured, and even themselves cut severely, they seemed to regard her only with admiration. They took her to a trader on the Illinois River, by whom she was restored to her friends, after having received every kindness during her captivity.[37] Those of the family of Mr. Kinzie who had remained in the boat, near the mouth of the river, were carefully guarded by Kee-po-tah and another Indian. They had seen the smoke--then the blaze--and immediately after, the report of the first tremendous discharge sounded in their ears. Then all was confusion They realized nothing until they saw an Indian come towards them from the battle-ground, leading a horse on which sat a lady, apparently wounded. "That is Mrs. Heald," cried Mrs. Kinzie. "That Indian will kill her. Run, Chandonnai," to one of Mr. Kinzie's clerks, "take the mule that is tied there, and offer it to him to release her." Her captor, by this time, was in the act of disengaging her bonnet from her head, in order to scalp her. Chandonnai ran up, and offered the mule as a ransom, with the promise of ten bottles of whiskey as soon as they should reach his village. The latter was a strong temptation. "But," said the Indian, "she is badly wounded--she will die. Will you give me the whiskey at all events?" Chandonnai promised that he would, and the bargain was concluded. The savage placed the lady's bonnet on his own head, and, after an ineffectual effort on the part of some squaws to rob her of her shoes and stockings, she was brought on board the boat, where she lay moaning with pain from the many bullet-wounds she had received in both arms. The horse Mrs. Heald had ridden was a fine, spirited animal, and, being desirous of possessing themselves of it uninjured, the Indians had aimed their shots so as to disable the rider, without injuring her steed. She had not lain long in the boat, when a young Indian of savage aspect was seen appapproaching buffalo robe was hastily drawn over her, and she was admonished to suppress all sound of complaint, as she valued her life. The heroic woman remained perfectly silent, while the savage drew near. He had a pistol in his hand, which he rested on the side of the boat, while, with a fearful scowl, he looked pryingly around. Black Jim, one of the servants, who stood in the bow of the boat, seized an axe that lay near, and signed to him that if he shot, he would cleave his skull; telling him that the boat contained only the family of Shaw-nee-aw-kee. Upon this, the Indian retired. It afterwards appeared that the object of his search was Mr. Burnett, a trader from St. Joseph's, with whom he had some account to settle. When the boat was at length permitted to return to the mansion of Mr. Kinzie, and Mrs. Heald was removed to the house, it became necessary to dress her wounds. Mr. K. applied to an old chief who stood by, and who, like most of his tribe, possessed some skill in surgery, to extract a ball from the arm of the sufferer. "No, father," replied he. "I cannot do it--it makes me sick here"--(placing his hand on his heart.) Mr. Kinzie then performed the operation himself, with his penknife. At their own mansion the family of Mr. Kinzie were closely guarded by their Indian friends, whose intention it was to carry them to Detroit for security. The rest of the prisoners remained at the wigwams of their captors. The following morning, the work of plunder being completed, the Indians set fire to the fort. A very equitable distribution of the finery appeared to have been made, and shawls, ribbons, and feathers fluttered about in all directions. The ludicrous appearance of one young fellow, who had arrayed himself in a muslin gown and the bonnet of one of the ladies, would, under other circumstances, have afforded matter of amusement. Black Partridge, Wau-ban-see, and Kee-po-tah, with two other Indians, having established themselves in the porch of the building as sentinels, to protect the family from any evil that the young men might be excited to commit, all remained tranquil for a short space after the conflagration. Very soon, however, a party of Indians from the Wabash made their appearance. These were, decidedly, the most hostile and implacable of all the tribes of the Pottowattamies. Being more remote, they had shared less than some of their brethren in the kindness of Mr. Kinzie and his family, and consequently their sentiments of regard for them were less powerful. Runners had been sent to the villages to apprise them of the intended evacuation of the post, as well as of the plan of the Indians assembled to attack the troops. Thirsting to participate in such a scene, they hurried on; and great was their mortification, on arriving at the river Aux Plaines, to meet with a party of their friends having with them their chief Nee-scot-nee-meg, badly wounded, and to learn that the battle was over, the spoils divided, and the scalps all taken. On arriving at Chicago they blackened their faces, and proceeded towards the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. From his station on the piazza Black Partridge had watched their approach, and his fears were particularly awakened for the safety of Mrs. Helm (Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter), who had recently come to the post, and was personally unknown to the more remote Indians. By his advice she was made to assume the ordinary dress of a Frenchwoman of the country; namely, a short gown and petticoat, with a blue cotton handkerchief wrapped around her head. In this disguise she was conducted by Black Partridge himself to the house of Ouilmette, a Frenchman with a half-breed wife, who formed a part of the establishment of Mr. Kinzie and whose dwelling was close at hand. It so happened that the Indians came first to this house, in their search for prisoners. As they approached, the inmates, fearful that the fair complexion and general appearance of Mrs. Helm might betray her for an American, raised a large feather bed and placed her under the edge of it, upon the bedstead, with her face to the wall. Mrs. Bisson, a half-breed, the sister of Ouilmette's wife, then seated herself with her sewing upon the front of the bed. It was a hot day in August, and the feverish excitement of fear and agitation, together with her position, which was nearly suffocating, became so intolerable, that Mrs. Helm at length entreated to be released and given up to the Indians. "I can but die," said she; "let them put an end to my misery at once." Mrs. Bisson replied, "Your death would be the destruction of us all, for Black Partridge has resolved that if one drop of the blood of your family is spilled, he will take the lives of all concerned in it, even his nearest friends; and if once the work of murder commences, there will be no end of it, so long as there remains one white person or half-breed in the country." This expostulation nerved Mrs. Helm with fresh resolution. The Indians entered, and she could occasionally see them from her hiding-place, gliding about, and stealthily inspecting every part of the room, though without making any ostensible search, until, apparently satisfied that there was no one concealed, they left the house. All this time Mrs. Bisson had kept her seat upon the side of the bed, calmly sorting and arranging the patch-work of the quilt on which she was engaged, and preserving an appearance of the utmost tranquillity, although she knew not but that the next moment she might receive a tomahawk in her brain. Her self-command unquestionably saved the lives of all present. From Ouilmette's house the party of Indians proceeded to the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. They entered the parlor in which the family were assembled with their faithful protectors, and seated themselves upon the floor in silence. Black Partridge perceived from their moody and revengeful looks what was passing in their minds, but he dared not remonstrate with them. He only observed in a low tone to Wau-ban-see,-- "We have endeavored to save our friends, but it is in vain--nothing will save them now." At this moment a friendly whoop was heard from a party of new-comers on the opposite bank of the river. Black Partridge sprang to meet their leader, as the canoes in which they had hastily embarked touched the bank near the house. "Who are you?" demanded he. "A man. Who are _you_?" "A man like yourself. But tell me _who_ you are,"--meaning, Tell me your disposition, and which side you are for. "I am a _Sau-ga-nash_!" "Then make all speed to the house--your friend is in danger, and you alone can save him." _Billy Caldwell_[38] for it was he, entered the parlor with a calm step, and without a trace of agitation in his manner. He deliberately took off his accoutrements and placed them with his rifle behind the door, then saluted the hostile savages. "How now, my friends! A good-day to you. I was told there were enemies here, but I am glad to find only friends. Why have you blackened your faces? Is it that you are mourning for the friends you have lost in battle?" (purposely misunderstanding this token of evil designs.) "Or is it that you are fasting? If so, ask our friend, here, and he will give you to eat. He is the Indian's friend, and never yet refused them what they had need of." Thus taken by surprise, the savages were ashamed to acknowledge their bloody purpose. They, therefore, said modestly that they came to beg of their friends some white cotton in which to wrap their dead before interring them. This was given to them, with some other presents, and they took their departure peaceably from the premises. Along with Mr. Kinzie's party was a non-commissioned officer who had made his escape in a singular manner. As the troops were about leaving the fort, it was found that the baggage-horses of the surgeon had strayed off. The quartermaster-sergeant, Griffith, was sent to collect them and bring them on, it being absolutely necessary to recover them, since their packs contained part of the surgeon's apparatus, and the medicines for the march. This man had been for a long time on the sick report and for this reason was given the charge of the baggage, instead of being placed with the troops. His efforts to recover the horses being unsuccessful, he was hastening to rejoin his party, alarmed at some appearances of disorder and hostile indications among the Indians, when he was met and made prisoner by To-pee-nee-bee. Having taken from him his arms and accoutrements, the chief put him into a canoe and paddled him across the river, bidding him make for the woods and secrete himself. This he did; and the following day, in the afternoon, seeing from his lurking-place that all appeared quiet, he ventured to steal cautiously into the garden of Ouilmette, where he concealed himself for a time behind some currant-bushes. At length he determined to enter the house, and accordingly climbed up through a small back window into the room where the family were. This was just as the Wabash Indians had left the house of Ouilmette for that of Mr. Kinzie. The danger of the sergeant was now imminent. The family stripped him of his uniform and arrayed him in a suit of deer-skin, with belt, moccasins, and pipe, like a French engagé. His dark complexion and large black whiskers favored the disguise. The family were all ordered to address him in French, and, although utterly ignorant of the language, he continued to pass for a _Weem-tee-gosh_,[39] and as such to accompany Mr. Kinzie and his family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of safety. On the third day after the battle, the family of Mr. Kinzie, with the clerks of the establishment, were put into a boat, under the care of François, a half-breed interpreter, and conveyed to St. Joseph's, where they remained until the following November, under the protection of To-pee-nee-bee's band. They were then conducted to Detroit, under the escort of Chandonnai and their trusty Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered up, as prisoners of war, to Colonel McKee, the British Indian Agent. Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph's with his family, his Indian friends insisting on his remaining and endeavoring to secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions with them for that purpose, he wore the costume and paint of the tribe, in order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were still thirsting for blood. In time, however, his anxiety for his family induced him to follow them to Detroit, where, in the month of January, he was received and paroled by General Proctor. Captain and Mrs. Heald were sent across the lake to St. Joseph the day after the battle. The former had received two wounds, the latter seven, in the engagement. Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly Indians to their village on the Au Sable, and thence to Peoria, where he was liberated by the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half-brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm accompanied her parents to St. Joseph, where they resided in the family of Alexander Robinson,[40] receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality for several months. After their arrival in Detroit, Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband, when they were both arrested by order of the British commander, and sent on horseback, in the dead of winter, through Canada to Fort George, on the Niagara frontier. When they arrived at that post, there had been no official appointed to receive them, and, notwithstanding their long and fatiguing journey in weather the most cold and inclement, Mrs. Helm, a delicate woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle, outside the gate, for more than an hour, before the refreshment of fire or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered them. When Colonel Sheaffe, who had been absent at the time, was informed of this brutal inhospitality, he expressed the greatest indignation. He waited on Mrs. Helm immediately, apologized in the most courteous manner, and treated both her and Lieutenant Helm with the most considerate kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated, and found means to reach their friends in Steuben County, N.Y. Captain Heald had been taken prisoner by an Indian from the Kankakee, who had a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw the wounded and enfeebled state of Mrs. Heald, released her husband that he might accompany his wife to St. Joseph. To the latter place they were accordingly carried, as has been related, by Chandonnai and his party. In the mean time, the Indian who had so nobly released his prisoner returned to his village on the Kankakee, where he had the mortification of finding that his conduct had excited great dissatisfaction among his band. So great was the displeasure manifested, that he resolved to make a journey to St. Joseph and reclaim his prisoner. News of his intention being brought to To-pee-nee-bee and Kee-po-tah, under whose care the prisoners were, they held a private council with Chandonnai, Mr. Kinzie, and the principal men of the village, the result of which was a determination to send Captain and Mrs. Heald to the island of Mackinac, and deliver them up to the British. They were accordingly put in a bark canoe, and paddled by Robinson and his wife a distance of three hundred miles along the coast of Michigan, and surrendered as prisoners of war to the commanding officer at Mackinac. As an instance of the procrastinating spirit of Captain Heald, it may be mentioned that, even after he had received certain intelligence that his Indian captor was on his way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph to retake him, he would still have delayed another day at that place, to make preparation for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac. The soldiers, with their wives and surviving children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Pottowattamies upon the Illinois, Wabash, Rock River, and at Milwaukie, until the following spring, when they were, for the most part, carried to Detroit and ransomed. Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoner of a chief, who carried her to his village and treated her with great kindness. His wife, from jealousy of the favor shown to "the white woman" and her child, always treated them with great hostility. On one occasion she struck the infant with a tomahawk, and narrowly missed her aim of putting an end to it altogether.[41] They were not left long in the power of the old hag after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity were carried to a place of safety. The family of Mr. Lee had resided in a house on the Lake shore, not far from the fort. Mr. Lee was the owner of Lee's Place, which he cultivated as a farm. It was his son who ran down with the discharged soldier to give the alarm of "Indians," at the fort, on the afternoon of the 7th of April. The father, the son, and all the other members of the family had fallen victims on the 15th of August, except Mrs. Lee and her young infant. These were claimed by Black Partridge, and carried to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly attached to a little girl of Mrs. Lee's, about twelve years of age. This child had been placed on horseback for the march; and, as she was unaccustomed to the exercise, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest by any accident she should slip off or be thrown. She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement, and was severely wounded. The horse set off on a full gallop, which partly threw her, but she was held fast by the bands which confined her, and hung dangling as the animal ran violently about. In this state she was met by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged her from the saddle. Finding her so much wounded that she could not recover, and that she was suffering great agony, he put the finishing stroke to her at once with his tomahawk. He afterwards said that this was the hardest thing he ever tried to do, but he did it because he could not bear to see her suffer. He took the mother and her infant to his village, where he became warmly attached to the former--so much so, that he wished to marry her; but, as she very naturally objected, he treated her with the greatest respect and consideration. He was in no hurry to release her, for he was in hopes of prevailing on her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach were effectual, Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, where there was now a French trader living in the mansion of Mr. Kinzie, and procure some medical aid from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care, he set out on his journey. When he arrived at the residence of M. Du Pin, he entered the room where he was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor. "What have you there?" asked M. Du Pin. "A young raccoon, which I have brought you as a present," was the reply; and, opening the pack, he showed the little sick infant. When the trader had prescribed for its complaint, and Black Partridge was about to return to his home, he told his friend of the proposal he had made to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been received. M. Du Pin, entertaining some fears that the chief's honorable resolution to leave it to the lady herself whether to accept his addresses or not, might not hold out, entered at once into a negotiation for her ransom, and so effectually wrought upon the good feelings of Black Partridge that he consented to bring his fair prisoner at once to Chicago, that she might be restored to her friends. Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling in the matter than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say; we only know that in process of time Mrs. Lee became Madame Du Pin, and that the worthy couple lived together in great happiness for many years after. The fate of Nau-non-gee, one of the chiefs of the Calumet village, and who is mentioned in the early part of the narrative, deserves to be recorded. Daring the battle of the 15th of August, the chief object of his attack was one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had received many acts of kindness. After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to him to tomahawk him, when the sergeant, collecting his remaining strength, pierced him through the body with his bayonet. They fell together. Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and it was not until then that his bayonet was extracted from the body of his adversary. The wounded chief was carried after the battle to his village on the Calumet, where he survived for several days. Finding his end approaching, he called together his young men, and enjoined them, in the most solemn manner, to regard the safety of their prisoners after his death, and to take the lives of none of them from respect to his memory, as he deserved his fate from the hands of those whose kindness he had so ill requited. CHAPTER XX. CAPTIVITY OF J. KINZIE, SEN.--AN AMUSING MISTAKE. It had been a stipulation of General Hull at the surrender of Detroit, which took place the day after the massacre at Chicago, that the inhabitants should be permitted to remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly, the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their quarters with their friends in the old mansion, which many will still recollect as standing on the northwest corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street. The feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practised upon the American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground, were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages; and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the Government House, the residence of Colonel McKee. Some of the British officers looked on from their windows at these heart-rending performances; for the honor of humanity, we will hope such instances were rare. Everything that could be made available among the effects of the citizens was offered, to ransom their countrymen from the hands of these inhuman beings. The prisoners brought in from the River Raisin--those unfortunate men who were permitted, after their surrender to General Proctor, to be tortured and murdered by inches by his savage allies--excited the sympathies and called for the action of the whole community. Private houses were turned into hospitals, and every one was forward to get possession of as many as possible of the survivors. To effect this, even the articles of their apparel were bartered by the ladies of Detroit, as they watched from their doors or windows the miserable victims carried about for sale. In the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie one large room was devoted to the reception of the sufferers. Few of them survived. Among those spoken of as objects of the deepest interest were two young gentlemen of Kentucky, brothers, both severely wounded, and their wounds aggravated to a mortal degree by subsequent ill usage and hardships. Their solicitude for each other, and their exhibition in various ways of the most tender fraternal affection, created an impression never to be forgotten. The last bargain made was by black Jim, and one of the children, who had permission to redeem a negro servant of the gallant Colonel Allen, with an old white horse, the only available article that remained among their possessions. A brother of Colonel Allen afterwards came to Detroit, and the negro preferred returning to servitude rather than remaining a stranger in a strange land. Mr. Kinzie, as has been related, joined his family at Detroit in the month of January. A short time after, suspicions arose in the mind of General Proctor that he was in correspondence with General Harrison, who was now at Fort Meigs, and who was believed to be meditating an advance upon Detroit. Lieutenant Watson, of the British army, waited upon Mr. Kinzie one day with an invitation to the quarters of General Proctor on the opposite side of the river, saying he wished to speak with him, on business. Quite unsuspicious, he complied with the invitation, when to his surprise he was ordered into confinement, and strictly guarded in the house of his former partner, Mr. Patterson, of Sandwich. Finding that he did not return to his home, Mrs. Kinzie informed some of the Indian chiefs, his particular friends, who immediately repaired to the head-quarters of the commanding officer, demanded "their friend's" release, and brought him back to his home. After waiting a time until a favorable opportunity presented itself, the General sent a detachment of dragoons to arrest Mr. Kinzie. They had succeeded in carrying him away, and crossing the river with him. Just at this moment a party of friendly Indians made their appearance. "Where is the Shaw-nee-aw-kee?" was the first question. "There," replied his wife, pointing across the river, "in the hands of the red-coats, who are taking him away again." The Indians ran to the river, seized some canoes that they found there, and, crossing over to Sandwich, compelled General Proctor a second time to forego his intentions. A third time this officer made the attempt, and succeeded in arresting Mr. Kinzie and conveying him heavily ironed to Fort Malden, in Canada, at the mouth of the Detroit River. Here he was at first treated with great severity, but after a time the rigor of his confinement was somewhat relaxed, and he was permitted to walk on the bank of the river for air and exercise. On the 10th of September, as he was taking his promenade under the close supervision of a guard of soldiers, the whole party were startled by the sound of guns upon Lake Erie, at no great distance below. What could it mean? It must be Commodore Barclay firing into some of the Yankees. The firing continued. The time allotted the prisoner for his daily walk expired, but neither he nor his guard observed the lapse of time, so anxiously were they listening to what they now felt sure was an engagement between ships of war. At length Mr. Kinzie was reminded that the hour for his return to confinement had arrived. He petitioned for another half-hour. "Let me stay," said he, "till we can learn how the battle has gone." Very soon a sloop appeared under press of sail, rounding the point, and presently two gun-boats in chase of her. "She is running--she bears the British colors," cried he--"yes, yes, they are lowering--she is striking her flag! Now," turning to the soldiers, "I will go back to prison contented--I know how the battle has gone." The sloop was the Little Belt, the last of the squadron captured by the gallant Perry on that memorable occasion which he announced in the immortal words: "We have met the enemy, and they are ours!" Matters were growing critical, and it was necessary to transfer all prisoners to a place of greater security than the frontier was now likely to be. It was resolved therefore to send Mr. Kinzie to the mother-country. Nothing has ever appeared which would explain the course of General Proctor in regard to this gentleman. He had been taken from the bosom of his family, where he was living quietly under the parole which he had received, and protected by the stipulations of the surrender. He was kept for months in confinement. Now he was placed on horseback under a strong guard, who announced that they had orders to shoot him through the head if he offered to speak to a person upon the road. He was tied upon the saddle to prevent his escape, and thus they set out for Quebec. A little incident occurred, which will help to illustrate the course invariably pursued towards our citizens, at this period, by the British army on the Northwestern frontier. The saddle on which Mr. Kinzie rode had not been properly fastened, and, owing to the rough motion of the animal on which it was, it turned, so as to bring the rider into a most awkward and painful position. His limbs being fastened, he could not disengage himself, and in this manner he was compelled by those who had charge of him to ride until he was nearly exhausted, before they had the humanity to release him. Arrived at Quebec, he was put on board a small vessel to be sent to England. The vessel when a few days out at sea was chased by an American frigate and driven into Halifax. A second time she set sail, when she sprung a leak and was compelled to put back. The attempt to send him across the ocean was now abandoned, and he was returned to Quebec. Another step, equally inexplicable with his arrest, was soon after taken. This was, his release and that of Mr. Macomb, of Detroit, who was also in confinement in Quebec, and the permission given them to return to their friends and families, although the war was not yet ended. It may possibly be imagined that in the treatment these gentlemen received, the British commander-in-chief sheltered himself under the plea of their being "native-born British subjects," and perhaps when it was ascertained that Mr. Kinzie was indeed a citizen of the United States it was thought safest to release him. In the mean time, General Harrison at the head of his troops had reached Detroit. He landed on the 29th of September. All the citizens went forth to meet him--Mrs. Kinzie, leading her children by the hand, was of the number. The General accompanied her to her home, and took up his abode there. On his arrival he was introduced to Kee-po-tah, who happened to be on a visit to the family at that time. The General had seen the chief the preceding year, at the Council at Vincennes, and the meeting was one of great cordiality and interest. * * * * * In 1816, Mr. Kinzie and his family again returned to Chicago. The fort was rebuilt on a somewhat larger scale than the former one. It was not until the return of the troops that the bones of the unfortunate Americans who had been massacred four years before, were collected and buried. An Indian Agency, under the charge of Charles Jewett, Esq., of Kentucky, was established. He was succeeded in 1820 by Dr. Alexander Wolcott, of Connecticut, who occupied that position until his death in 1830. The troops were removed from the garrison in 1823, but restored in 1828, after the Winnebago war. This was a disturbance between the Winnebagoes and white settlers on and near the Mississippi. After some murders had been committed, the young chief, Red Bird, was taken and imprisoned at Prairie du Chien to await his trial, where he committed suicide in consequence of chagrin and the irksomeness of confinement. It was feared that the Pottowattamies would make common cause with the Winnebagoes, and commence a general system of havoc and bloodshed on the frontier. They were deterred from such a step, probably, by the exertions of Billy Caldwell, Robinson, and Shaw-bee-nay, who made an expedition among the Rock River bands, to argue and persuade them into remaining tranquil. The few citizens of Chicago in those days, lived for the most part a very quiet, unvaried life. The great abundance of game, and the immense fertility of the lands they cultivated, furnished them with a superabundance of all the luxuries of garden, corn-field, and dairy The question was once asked by a friend in the "East countrie," "How do you dispose of all the good things you raise? You have no market?" "No." "And you cannot consume them all yourselves?" "No." "What then do you do with them?" "Why, we manage, when a vessel arrives, to persuade the captain to accept a few kegs of butter, and stores of corn and vegetables, as a present, and that helps us to get rid of some of our overplus." The mails arrived, as may be supposed, at very rare intervals. They were brought occasionally from Fort Clark (Peoria), but more frequently from Fort Wayne, or across the peninsula of Michigan, which was still a wilderness peopled with savages. The hardy adventurer who acted as express was, not unfrequently, obliged to imitate the birds of heaven and "lodge among the branches," in order to insure the safety of himself and his charge. Visitors were very rare, unless it was a friend who came to sojourn for several months and share a life in the wilderness. A traveller, however, occasionally found his way to the spot, in passing to or from "parts unknown," and such a one was sure of a hospitable and hearty welcome. A gentleman journeying from the southern settlements once arrived late in the evening at Wolf Point, where was then the small trading-establishment of George Hunt and a Mr. Wallace. He stopped and inquired if he could have accommodation for the night for himself and his horse. The answer was, that they were ill provided to entertain a stranger--the house was small, and they were keeping "bachelor's hall." "Is there no place," inquired the traveller, "where I can obtain a lodging?" "Oh, yes--you will find a very comfortable house, Mr. Kinzie's, about half a mile below, near the mouth of the river." The stranger turned his horse's head and took the road indicated. Arrived at the spot, his first inquiry was,-- "Is this the residence of Mr. Kinzie?" "Yes, sir." "I should be glad to get accommodation for myself and horse." "Certainly, sir--walk in." The horse was taken to the stable, while the gentleman was ushered into a parlor where were two ladies. The usual preliminary questions and answers were gone through, for in a new country people soon become acquainted, and the gentleman ere long found himself seated at a comfortable hot supper--we will venture to say a fine supper, since the table in this domestic establishment has always been somewhat famous. Apparently, the gentleman enjoyed it, for he made himself quite at home. He even called for a boot-jack after tea, and drew off his boots. The ladies were a little surprised, but they had lived a good while out of the world, and they did not know what changes in etiquette might have taken place during their retirement. Before taking his leave for the night, the traveller signified what it would please him to have for breakfast, which was duly prepared. The next day proved stormy. The gentleman was satisfied with his quarters, and, having taken care to ascertain that there was no neglect or deficiency of accommodation so far as his horse was concerned, he got through the day very comfortably. Now and then, when he was tired of reading, he would converse with the family, and seemed, upon the whole, by no means disposed to hold himself aloof, but to indulge in a little becoming sociability, seeing they were all there away in the woods. The second day the weather brightened. The traveller signified his intention to depart. He ordered his horse to the door--then he called for his bill. "My house is not a tavern, sir," was the astounding reply. "Not a tavern! Good heavens! have I been making myself at home in this manner in a private family?" He was profuse in his apologies, which, however, were quite unnecessary, for the family had perceived from the first the mistake he had fallen into, and they had amused themselves during his whole visit in anticipating the consternation of their guest when he should be undeceived. * * * * * It was in the year 1816 (the year of the rebuilding of the fort, after its destruction by the Indians) that the tract of land on which Chicago stands, together with the surrounding country, was ceded to the United States by the Pottowattamies. They remained the peaceful occupants of it, however, for twenty years longer. It was not until 1836 that they were removed by Government to lands appropriated for their use on the Upper Missouri. In the year 1830 the town of Chicago was laid out into lots by Commissioners appointed by the State. At this time the prices of these lots ranged from ten to sixty dollars. * * * * * Mr. Kinzie, who, from the geographical position of this place, and the vast fertility of the surrounding country, had always foretold its eventual prosperity and importance, was not permitted to witness the realization of his predictions. He closed his useful and energetic life on the 6th of January, 1828, having just completed his sixty-fifth year. CHAPTER XXI. A SERMON. Chicago was not, at the period of my first visit, the cheerful, happy place it had once been. The death of Dr. Wolcott, of Lieutenant Furman, and of a promising young son of Mr. Beaubien, all within a few weeks of each other, had thrown a gloom over the different branches of the social circle. The weather, too, was inclement and stormy beyond anything that had been known before. Only twice, during a period of two months, did the sun shine out through the entire day. So late as the second week in April, when my husband had left to return to Fort Winnebago, the storms were so severe that he and his men were obliged to lie by two or three days in an Indian lodge. Robert Kinzie, Medard Beaubien, and Billy Caldwell had gone at the same time to the Calumet to hunt, and, as they did not make their appearance for many days, we were persuaded they had perished with cold. They returned at length, however, to our infinite joy, having only escaped freezing by the forethought of Robert and Caldwell in carrying each two blankets instead of one. Our only recreation was an occasional ride on horseback, when the weather would permit, through the woods on the north side of the river, or across the prairie, along the lake shore on the south. When we went in the former direction, a little bridle-path took us along what is now Rush Street. The thick boughs of the trees arched over our heads, and we were often compelled, as we rode, to break away the projecting branches of the shrubs which impeded our path. The little prairie west of Wright's Woods was the usual termination of our ride in this direction. When we chose the path across the prairie towards the south, we generally passed a new-comer, Dr. Harmon, superintending the construction of a _sod fence_, at a spot he had chosen, near the shore of the lake. In this inclosure he occupied himself, as the season advanced, in planting fruit-stones of all descriptions, to make ready a garden and orchard for future enjoyment. We usually stopped to have a little chat. The two favorite themes of the Doctor were horticulture, and the certain future importance of Chicago. That it was destined to be a great city, was his unalterable conviction; and in deed, by this time, all forest and prairie as it was, we half began to believe it ourselves. On the pleasant afternoons which we occasionally enjoyed as the season advanced, we found no small amusement in practising pistol-firing. The place appropriated to this sport was outside the pickets, the mark being placed on a panel in one of the bastions. The gentlemen must not be offended if I record that, in process of time, the ladies acquired a degree of skill that enabled them, as a general thing, to come off triumphant. One of the ladies, Mrs. Hunter, was a great shot, having brought down her grouse on the wing, to the no small delight of one of the officers, Captain Martin Scott, of raccoon celebrity. Now and then there was a little excitement within the fort, aroused by the discovery that _a settler_ had been engaged in selling milk-punch, instead of milk, to the soldiers, thereby interfering in no small degree with the regularity and perfect discipline of the service. The first step was to "drum out" the offender with all the honors of war--that is, with a party-colored dress, and the Rogue's March played behind him. The next, to place all the victims of this piece of deception in the guard-house, where the commanding officer's lady supplied them bountifully with coffee and hot cakes, by way of opening their eyes to the enormity of their offence. It is not to be wondered at that the officers sometimes complained of its being more of a strife with the soldiers who should get into the guard-house, than who should keep out of it. The poor fellows knew when they were well off. Once, upon a Sunday, we were rowed up to Wolf Point to attend a religious service, conducted by Father See, as he was called. We saw a tall, slender man, dressed in a green frock-coat, from the sleeves of which dangled a pair of hands giving abundant evidence, together with the rest of his dress, that he placed small faith in the axiom--"cleanliness is a part of holiness." He stepped briskly upon a little platform behind a table, and commenced his discourse. His subject was, "The fear of God." "There was a kind of fear," he told us, "that was very nearly a_lee_-a-nated to love: so nearly, that it was not worth while splitting hairs for the difference." He then went on to describe this kind of fear. He grew more and more involved as he proceeded with his description until at length, quite bewildered, he paused, and exclaimed, "Come, let's stop a little while, and clear away the brush." He unravelled, as well as he was able, the tangled thread of his ideas, and went on with his subject. But soon, again losing his way, he came to a second halt. "Now," said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief many degrees from clean, "now, suppose we drive back a little piece." Thus he recapitulated what he wished to impress upon us, of the necessity of cherishing a fear that maketh wise unto salvation, "which fear," said he, "may we all enjoy, that together we may soar away, on the rolling clouds of aether, to a boundless and happy eternity, which is the wish of your humble servant." And, flourishing abroad his hands, with the best of dancing-school bows, he took his seat. It will be readily imagined that we felt our own religious exercises at home to be more edifying than such as this, and that we confined ourselves to them for the future. The return of our brother, Robert Kinzie, from Palestine (not the Holy Land, but the seat of the Land Office), with the certificate of the title of the family to that portion of Chicago since known as "Kinzie's Addition," was looked upon as establishing a home for us at some future day, if the glorious dreams of good Dr. Harmon, and a few others, should come to be realized. One little incident will show how moderate were the anticipations of most persons at that period. The certificate, which was issued in Robert's name (he representing the family in making the application), described only a fractional quarter-section of one hundred and two acres, instead of one hundred and sixty acres, the river and Lake Michigan cutting off fifty-eight acres on the southern and eastern lines of the quarter. The applicants had liberty to select their complement of fifty-eight acres out of any unappropriated land that suited them. "Now, my son," said his mother to Robert, "lay your claim on the corn-field at Wolf Point. It is fine land, and will always be valuable for cultivation; besides, as it faces down the main river, the situation will always be a convenient one." The answer was a hearty laugh. "Hear mother!" said Robert. "We have just got a hundred and two acres--more than we shall ever want, or know what to do with, and now she would have me go and claim fifty-eight acres more!" "Take my advice, my boy," repeated his mother, "or you may live one day to regret it." "Well, I cannot see how I can ever regret not getting more than we can possibly make use of." And so the matter ended. The fifty-eight acres were never claimed, and there was, I think, a very general impression that asking for our just rights in the case would have a very grasping, covetous look. How much wiser five-and-twenty years have made us! * * * * * During my sojourn of two months at Chicago, our mother often entertained me with stories of her early life and adventures. The following is her history of her captivity among the Senecas, which I have put in the form of a tale, although without the slightest variation from the facts as I received them from her lips, and those of her sister, Mrs. William Forsyth, of Sandwich (C.W.), the little Maggie of the story. CHAPTER XXII. THE CAPTIVES. It is well known that previous to the war of the Revolution the whole of the western portion of Pennsylvania was inhabited by different Indian tribes. Of these, the Delawares were the friends of the whites, and, after the commencement of the great struggle, took part with the United States. The Iroquois, on the contrary, were the friends and allies of the mother-country. Very few white settlers had ventured beyond the Susquehanna. The numerous roving bands of Shawanoes, Nanticokes, etc., although at times professing friendship with the Americans and acting in concert with the Delawares or Lenape as allies, at others suffered themselves to be seduced by their neighbors, the Iroquois, to show a most sanguinary spirit of hostility. For this reason, the life of the inhabitants of the frontier was one of constant peril and alarm. Many a scene of dismal barbarity was enacted, as the history of the times testifies, and even those who felt themselves in some measure protected by their immediate neighbors, the Delawares, never lost sight of the caution required by their exposed situation. The vicinity of the military garrison at Pittsburg--or Fort Pitt, as it was then called--gave additional security to those who had pushed farther west, among the fertile valleys of the Alleghany and Monongahela. Among these were the family of Mr. Lytle, who, some years previous to the opening of our story, had removed from Baltimore to Path Valley, near Carlisle, and subsequently settled himself on the banks of Plum River, a tributary of the Alleghany. Here, with his wife and five children, he had continued to live in comfort and security, undisturbed by any hostile visit, and only annoyed by occasional false alarms from his more timorous neighbors, who, having had more experience in frontier life, were prone to anticipate evil, as well as to magnify every appearance of danger. * * * * * On a bright afternoon in the autumn of 1779, two children of Mr. Lytle, a girl of nine, and her brother, two years younger, were playing in a little dingle or hollow in the rear of their father's house. Some large trees, which had been recently felled, were lying here and there, still untrimmed of their branches, and many logs, prepared for fuel, were scattered around. Upon one of these the children, wearied with their sports, seated themselves, and to beguile the time they fell into conversation upon a subject that greatly perplexed them. While playing in the same place a few hours previous, they had imagined they saw an Indian lurking behind one of the fallen trees. The Indians of the neighborhood were in the habit of making occasional visits to the family, and they had become familiar and even affectionate with many of them, but this seemed a stranger, and after the first hasty glance they fled in alarm to the house. Their mother chid them for the report they brought, which she endeavored to convince them was without foundation. "You know," said she, "you are always alarming us unnecessarily: the neighbors' children have frightened you to death. Go back to your play, and learn to be more courageous." So the children returned to their sports, hardly persuaded by their mother's arguments. While they were thus seated upon the trunk of the tree, their discourse was interrupted by the note, apparently, of a quail not far off. "Listen," said the boy, as a second note answered the first; "do you hear that?" "Yes," was the reply, and, after a few moments' silence, "do you not hear a rustling among the branches of the tree yonder?" "Perhaps it is a squirrel--but look! what is that? Surely I saw something red among the branches. It looked like a fawn popping up its head." At this moment, the children, who had been gazing so intently in the direction of the fallen tree that all other objects were forgotten, felt themselves seized from behind and pinioned in an iron grasp. What were their horror and dismay to find themselves in the arms of savages, whose terrific countenances and gestures plainly showed them to be enemies! They made signs to the children to be silent, on pain of death, and hurried them off, half dead with terror, in a direction leading from their father's habitation. After travelling some distance in profound silence, the severity of their captors somewhat relaxed, and as night approached the party halted, after adopting the usual precautions to secure themselves against a surprise. In an agony of uncertainty and terror, torn from their beloved home and parents, and anticipating all the horrors with which the rumors of the times had invested a captivity among the Indians--perhaps even a torturing death--the poor children could no longer restrain their grief, but gave vent to sobs and lamentations. Their distress appeared to excite the compassion of one of the party, a man of mild aspect, who approached and endeavored to soothe them. He spread them a couch of the long grass which grew near the encamping-place, offered them a portion of his own stock of dried meat and parched corn, and gave them to understand by signs that no farther evil was intended them. These kindly demonstrations were interrupted by the arrival of another party of the enemy, bringing with them the mother of the little prisoners, with her youngest child, an infant of three months old. It had so happened that the father of the family, with his serving-men, had gone early in the day to a _raising_ at a few miles' distance, and the house had thus been left without a defender. The long period of tranquillity which they had enjoyed, free from all molestation or alarm from the savages, had thrown the settlers quite off their guard, and they had recently laid aside some of the caution they had formerly deemed necessary. These Indians, by lying in wait, had found the favorable moment for seizing the defenceless family and making them prisoners. Judging from their paint, and other marks by which the early settlers learned to distinguish the various tribes, Mrs. Lytle conjectured that those into whose hands she and her children had fallen were Senecas. Nor was she mistaken. It was a party of that tribe who had descended from their village with the intention of falling upon some isolated band of their enemies, the Delawares, but failing in this, had made themselves amends by capturing a few white settlers. It is to be attributed to the generally mild disposition of this tribe, together with the magnanimous character of the chief who accompanied the party, that their prisoners in the present instance escaped the fate of most of the Americans who were so unhappy as to fall into the hands of the Iroquois. The children learned from their mother that she was profoundly ignorant of the fate of their remaining brother and sister, a boy of six and a little girl of four years of age, but she was in hopes they had made good their escape with the servant-girl, who had likewise disappeared from the commencement. After remaining a few hours to recruit the exhausted frames of the prisoners, the savages again started on their march, one of the older Indians offering to relieve the mother from the burden of her infant, which she had hitherto carried in her arms. Pleased with the unexpected kindness, she resigned to him her tender charge. Thus they pursued their way, the savage who carried the infant lingering somewhat behind the rest of the party, until, finding a spot convenient for his purpose, he grasped his innocent victim by the feet, and, with one whirl, to add strength to the blow, dashed out its brains against a tree. Leaving the body upon the spot, he rejoined the party. The mother, unsuspicious of what had passed, regarded him earnestly as he reappeared without the child--then gazed wildly around on the rest of the group. Her beloved little one was not there. Its absence spoke its fate; but, suppressing the shriek of agony, for she knew that the lives of the remaining ones depended upon her firmness in that trying hour, she drew them yet closer to her and pursued her melancholy way without a word spoken or a question asked. From the depths of her heart she cried unto Him who is able to save, and He comforted her with hopes of deliverance for the surviving ones, for she saw that if blood had been their sole object the scalps of herself and her children would have been taken upon the spot where they were made prisoners. She read too in the eyes of one who was evidently the commander of the party an expression more merciful than she had even dared to hope. Particularly had she observed his soothing manner and manifest partiality towards her eldest child, the little girl of whom we have spoken, and she built many a bright hope of escape or ransom upon these slender foundations. After a toilsome and painful march of many days, the party reached the Seneca village, upon the head-waters of the Alleghany, near what is now called Olean Point. On their arrival the chief, their conductor, who was distinguished by the name of the _Big White Man_[42] led his prisoners to the principal lodge. This was occupied by his mother, the widow of the head-chief of that band, and who was called by them the _Old Queen_. On entering her presence, her son presented her the little girl, saying,-- "My mother, I bring you a child to supply the place of my brother, who was killed by the Lenape six moons ago. She shall dwell in my lodge, and be to me a sister. Take the white woman and her children and treat them kindly--our father will give us many horses and guns to buy them back again." He referred to the British Indian Agent of his tribe, Colonel Johnson, an excellent and benevolent gentleman, who resided at Port Niagara, on the British side of the river of that name. The old queen fulfilled the injunctions of her son. She received the prisoners, and every comfort was provided them that her simple and primitive mode of life rendered possible. * * * * * We must now return to the place and period at which our story commences. Late in the evening of that day the father returned to his dwelling. All within and around was silent and desolate. No trace of a living creature was to be found throughout the house or grounds. His nearest neighbors lived at a considerable distance, but to them he hastened, frantically demanding tidings of his family. As he aroused them from their slumbers, one and another joined him in the search, and at length, at the house of one of them, was found the servant-maid who had effected her escape. Her first place of refuge, she said, had been a large brewing-tub in an outer kitchen, under which she had, at the first alarm, secreted herself until the departure of the Indians, who were evidently in haste, gave her an opportunity of fleeing to a place of safety. She could give no tidings of her mistress and the children, except that they had not been murdered in her sight or hearing. At length, having scoured the neighborhood without success, Mr. Lytle remembered an old settler who lived alone, far up the valley. Thither he and his friends immediately repaired, and from him they learned that, being at work in his field just before sunset, he had seen a party of strange Indians passing at a short distance from his cabin. As they wound along the brow of the hill, he could perceive that they had prisoners with them--a woman and a child. The woman he knew to be a white, as she carried her infant in her arms, instead of upon her back, after the manner of the savages. Day had now begun to break, for the night had been passed in fruitless searches, and the agonized father, after a consultation with his kind friends and neighbors, accepted their offer to accompany him to Fort Pitt to ask advice and assistance of the commandant and Indian Agent at that place. Proceeding down the valley, as they approached a hut which the night before they had found apparently deserted, they were startled by observing two children standing upon the high bank in front of it. The delighted father recognized two of his missing flock, but no tidings could they give him of their mother and the other lost ones. Their story was simple and touching. They were playing in the garden, when they were alarmed by seeing the Indians enter the yard near the house. Unperceived by them, the brother, who was but six years of age, helped his little sister over the fence into a field overrun with bushes of the blackberry and wild raspberry. They concealed themselves among these for awhile, and then, finding all quiet, they attempted to force their way to the side of the field farthest from the house. Unfortunately, the little girl in her play in the garden had pulled off her shoes and stockings, and the briers tearing and wounding her tender feet, she with difficulty could refrain from crying out. Her brother took off his stockings and put them on her feet. He attempted, too, to protect them with his shoes, but they were too large, and kept slipping off, so that she could not wear them. For a time, they persevered in making what they considered their escape from certain death, for, as I have said, the children had been taught, by the tales they had heard, to regard all strange Indians as ministers of torture, and of horrors worse than death. Exhausted with pain and fatigue, the poor little girl at length declared she could go no farther. "Then, Maggie," said her brother, "I must kill you, for I cannot let you be killed by the Indians." "Oh, no, Thomas!" pleaded she, "do not, pray do not kill me! I do not think the Indians will find us." "Oh, yes, they will, Maggie, and I could kill you so much easier than they would.'" For a long time he endeavored to persuade her, and even looked about for a stick sufficiently large for his purpose; but despair gave the little creature strength, and she promised her brother that she would neither complain nor falter, if he would assist her in making her way out of the field. The idea of the little boy that he could save his sister from savage barbarity by taking her life himself, shows what tales of horror the children of the early settlers were familiar with. After a few more efforts, they made their way out of the field, into an uninclosed pasture-ground, where, to their great delight, they saw some cows feeding. They recognized them as belonging to Granny Myers, an old woman who lived at some little distance, but in what direction from the place they then were, they were utterly ignorant. With a sagacity beyond his years, the boy said,-- "Let us hide ourselves till sunset, when the cows will go home, and we will follow them." They did so, but, to their dismay, when they reached Granny Myers's they found the house deserted. The old woman had been called by some business down the valley, and did not return that night. Tired and hungry, they could go no farther, but, after an almost fruitless endeavor to get some milk from the cows, they laid themselves down to sleep under an old bedstead that stood behind the house. Their father and his party had caused them additional terror in the night. The shouts and calls which had been designed to arouse the inmates of the house, they had mistaken for the whoop of the Indians, and, not being able to distinguish friends from foes, they had crept close to one another, as far out of sight as possible. When found the following morning, they were debating what course to take next, for safety. The commandant at Fort Pitt entered warmly into the affairs of Mr. Lytle, and readily furnished him with a detachment of soldiers, to aid him and his friends in the pursuit of the marauders. Some circumstances having occurred to throw suspicion upon the Senecas, the party soon directed their search among the villages of that tribe. Their inquiries were prosecuted in various directions, and always with great caution, for all the tribes of the Iroquois, or, as they pompously called themselves, the Five Nations, being allies of Great Britain, were inveterate in their hostility to the Americans. Thus, some time elapsed before the father with his attendants reached the village of the _Big White Man_. A treaty was immediately entered into for the ransom of the captives, which was easily accomplished in regard to Mrs. Lytle and the younger child. But no offers, no entreaties, no promises, could procure the release of the little Eleanor, the adopted child of the tribe. "No," the chief said, "she was his sister; he had taken her to supply the place of his brother who was killed by the enemy--she was dear to him, and he would not part with her." Finding every effort unavailing to shake this resolution, the father was compelled to take his sorrowful departure with such of his beloved ones as he had had the good fortune to recover. We will not attempt to depict the grief of parents compelled thus to give up a darling child, and to leave her in the hands of savages, whom until now they had too much reason to regard as merciless. But there was no alternative. Commending her to the care of their heavenly Father, and cheered by the manifest tenderness with which she had thus far been treated, they set out on their melancholy journey homeward, trusting that some future effort would be more effectual for the recovery of their little girl. Having placed his family in safety at Pittsburg, Mr. Lytle, still assisted by the commandant and the Indian Agent, undertook an expedition to the frontier to the residence of the British Agent, Colonel Johnson. His representation of the case warmly interested the feelings of that benevolent officer, who promised him to spare no exertions in his behalf. This promise he religiously performed. He went in person to the village of the Big White Man, as soon as the opening of the spring permitted, and offered him many splendid presents of guns and horses, but the chief was inexorable. Time rolled on, and every year the hope of recovering the little captive became more faint. She, in the mean time, continued to wind herself more and more closely around the heart of her Indian brother. Nothing could exceed the consideration and affection with which she was treated, not only by himself, but by his mother, the _Old Queen_. All their stock of brooches and wampum was employed in the decoration of her person. The principal seat and the most delicate viands were invariably reserved for her, and no efforts were spared to promote her happiness, and to render her forgetful of her former home and kindred. Thus, though she had beheld, with a feeling almost amounting to despair, the departure of her parents and dear little brother, and had for a long time resisted every attempt at consolation, preferring even death to a life of separation from all she loved, yet time, as it ever does, brought its soothing balm, and she at length grew contented and happy. From her activity and the energy of her character, qualities for which she was remarkable to the latest period of her life, the name was given her of _The Ship under full sail_. * * * * * The only drawback to the happiness of the little prisoner, aside from her longings after her own dear home, was the enmity she encountered from the wife of the Big White Man. This woman, from the day of her arrival at the village, and adoption into the family as a sister, had conceived for her the greatest animosity, which, at first, she had the prudence to conceal from the observation of her husband. It was perhaps natural that a wife should give way to some feelings of jealousy at seeing her own place in the heart of her husband usurped by the child of their enemy, the American. But these feelings were aggravated by a bad and vindictive temper, and by the indifference with which her husband listened to her complaints and murmurings. As she had no children of her own to engage her attention, her mind was the more engrossed and inflamed with her fancied wrongs, and with devising means for their redress. An opportunity of attempting the latter was not long wanting. During the absence of the Big White Man upon some war-party or hunting-excursion, his little sister was taken ill with fever and ague. She was nursed with the utmost tenderness by the Old Queen; and the wife of the chief, to lull suspicion, and thereby accomplish her purpose, was likewise unwearied in her assiduities to the little favorite. One afternoon, during the temporary absence of the Old Queen, her daughter-in-law entered the lodge with a bowl of something she had prepared, and, stooping down to the mat on which the child lay, said, in an affectionate accent,-- "Drink, my sister, I have brought you that which will drive this fever far from you." On raising her head to reply, the little girl perceived a pair of eyes peeping through a crevice in the lodge, and fixed upon her with a very peculiar and significant expression. With the quick perception acquired partly from nature and partly from her intercourse with this people, she replied, faintly,-- "Set it down, my sister. When this fit of the fever has passed, I will drink your medicine." The squaw, too cautious to use importunity, busied herself about in the lodge for a short time, then withdrew to another, near at hand. Meantime, the bright eyes continued peering through the opening, until they had watched their object fairly out of sight; then a low voice, the voice of a young friend and playfellow, spoke: "Do not drink that which your brother's wife has brought you. She hates you, and is only waiting an opportunity to rid herself of you. I have watched her all the morning, and have seen her gathering the most deadly roots and herbs. I knew for whom they were intended, and came hither to warn you." "Take the bowl," said the little invalid, "and carry it to my mother's lodge." This was accordingly done. The contents of the bowl were found to consist principally of a decoction of the root of the May-apple, the most deadly poison known among the Indians. It is not in the power of language to describe the indignation that pervaded the little community when this discovery was made known. The squaws ran to and fro, as is their custom when excited, each vying with the other in heaping invectives upon the culprit. No further punishment was, however, for the present inflicted upon her, but, the first burst of rage over, she was treated with silent abhorrence. The little patient was removed to the lodge of the Old Queen, and strictly guarded, while her enemy was left to wander in silence and solitude about the fields and woods, until the return of her husband should determine her punishment. In a few days, the excursion being over, the Big White Man and his party returned to the village. Contrary to the usual custom of savages, he did not, in his first transport at learning the attempt on the life of his little sister, take summary vengeance on the offender. He contented himself with banishing her from his lodge, never to return, and condemning her to hoe corn in a distant part of the large field or inclosure which served the whole community for a garden. Although she would still show her vindictive disposition whenever, by chance, the little girl with her companions wandered into that vicinity, by striking at her with her hoe, or by some other spiteful manifestation, yet she was either too well watched, or stood too much in awe of her former husband, to repeat the attempt upon his sister's life. * * * * * Four years had now elapsed since the capture of little Nelly. Her heart was by nature warm and affectionate, so that the unbounded tenderness of those she dwelt among had called forth a corresponding feeling in her heart. She regarded the chief and his mother with love and reverence, and had so completely learned their language and customs as almost to have forgotten her own. So identified had she become with the tribe, that the remembrance of her home and family had nearly faded from her memory; all but her mother--her mother, whom she had loved with a strength of affection natural to her warm and ardent character, and to whom her heart still clung with a fondness that no time or change could destroy. The peace of 1783 between Great Britain and the United States now took place. A general pacification of the Indian tribes was the consequence, and fresh hopes were renewed in the bosoms of Mr. and Mrs. Lytle. They removed with their family to Fort Niagara, near which, on the American side, was the Great _Council-Fire_ of the Senecas. Colonel Johnson readily undertook a fresh negotiation with the chief, but, in order to make sure every chance of success, he again proceeded in person to the village of the Big White Man. His visit was most opportune. It was the "Feast of the Green Corn," when he arrived among them. This observance, which corresponds so strikingly with the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles that, together with other customs, it has led many to believe the Indian nations the descendants of the lost ten tribes of Israel, made it a season of general joy and festivity. All other occupations were suspended to give place to social enjoyment in the open air or in arbors formed of the green branches of the trees. Every one appeared in his gala-dress. That of the little adopted child consisted of a petticoat of blue broadcloth, bordered with gay-colored ribbons; a sack or upper garment of black silk, ornamented with three rows of silver brooches, the centre ones from the throat to the hem being of large size, and those from the shoulders down being no larger than a shilling-piece, and set as closely as possible. Around her neck were innumerable strings of white and purple wampum--an Indian ornament manufactured from the inner surface of the muscle-shell. Her hair was clubbed behind and loaded with beads of various colors. Leggings of scarlet cloth, and moccasins of deer-skin embroidered with porcupine-quills, completed her costume. Colonel Johnson was received with all the consideration due to his position, and to the long friendship that had subsisted between him and the tribe. Observing that the hilarity of the festival had warmed and opened all hearts, he took occasion in an interview with the chief to expatiate upon the parental affection which had led the father and mother of his little sister to give up their friends and home, and come hundreds of miles away, in the single hope of sometimes looking upon and embracing her. The heart of the chief softened as he listened to this representation, and he was induced to promise that at the Grand Council soon to be held at Fort Niagara, on the British side of the river, he would attend, bringing his little sister with him. He exacted a promise, however, from Colonel Johnson, that not only no effort should be made to reclaim the child, but that even no proposition to part with her should be offered him. The time at length arrived when, her heart bounding with joy, little Nelly was placed on horseback to accompany her Indian brother to the Great Council of the Senecas. She had promised him that she would never leave him without his permission, and he relied confidently on her word thus given. As the chiefs and warriors arrived in successive bands to meet their Father, the agent, at the council-fire, how did the anxious hearts of the parents beat with alternate hope and fear! The officers of the fort had kindly given them quarters for the time being, and the ladies, whose sympathies were strongly excited, had accompanied the mother to the place of council, and joined in her longing watch for the first appearance of the band from the Alleghany River. At length they were discerned, emerging from the forest on the opposite or American side. Boats were sent across by the commanding officer, to bring the chief and his party. The father and mother, attended by all the officers and ladies, stood upon the grassy bank awaiting their approach. They had seen at a glance that the _little captive_ was with them. When about to enter the boat, the chief said to some of his young men, "Stand here with the horses, and wait until I return." He was told that the horses should be ferried across and taken care of. "No," said he; "let them wait." He held his darling by the hand until the river was passed--until the boat touched the bank--until the child sprang forward into the arms of the mother from whom she had been so long separated. When the chief witnessed that outburst of affection, he could withstand no longer. "She shall go," said he. "The mother must have her child again. I will go back alone." With one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the boat. No arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the council, but, having gained the other side of the Niagara, he mounted his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the forest. After a sojourn of a few weeks at Niagara, Mr. Lytle, dreading lest the resolution of the Big White Man should give way, and measures be taken to deprive him once more of his child, came to the determination of again changing his place of abode. He therefore took the first opportunity of crossing Lake Erie with his family, and settled himself in the neighborhood of Detroit, where he continued afterwards to reside. _Little Nelly_ saw her friend the chief no more, but she never forgot him. To the day of her death she remembered with tenderness and gratitude her brother the Big White Man, and her friends and playfellows among the Senecas. CHAPTER XXIII. SECOND-SIGHT--HICKORY CREEK. At the age of fourteen the heroine of the foregoing story married Colonel McKillip, a British officer. This gentleman was killed near Fort Defiance, as it was afterwards called, at the Miami Rapids, in 1794. A detachment of British troops had been sent down from Detroit to take possession of this post. General Wayne was then on a campaign against the Indians, and the British Government thought proper to make a few demonstrations in behalf of their allies. Having gone out with a party to reconnoitre, Colonel McKillip was returning to his post after dark, when he was fired upon and killed by one of his own sentinels. Mrs. Helm was the daughter of this marriage. During the widowhood of Mrs. McKillip, she resided with her parents, at Grosse Pointe, eight miles above Detroit, and it was during this period that an event occurred which, from the melancholy and mysterious circumstances attending it, was always dwelt upon by her with peculiar interest. Her second brother, Thomas Lytle, was, from his amiable and affectionate character, the most dearly beloved by her of all the numerous family circle. He was paying his addresses to a young lady who resided at the river Trench,[43] as it was then called, now the river Thames, a stream emptying into Lake St. Clair about twenty miles above Detroit. In visiting this young lady, it was his custom to cross the Detroit River by the ferry with his horse, and then proceed by land to the river Trench, which was, at some seasons of the year, a fordable stream. On a fine forenoon, late in the spring, he had taken leave of his mother and sister for one of these periodical visits, which were usually of two or three days' duration. After dinner, as his sister was sitting at work by an open window which looked upon a little side inclosure filled with fruit-trees, she was startled by observing some object opposite the window, between her and the light. She raised her eyes and saw her brother Thomas. He was without his horse, and carried his saddle upon his shoulders. Surprised that she had not heard the gate opening for his entrance, and also at his singular appearance, laden in that manner, she addressed him, and inquired what had happened, and why he had returned so soon. He made her no reply, but looked earnestly in her face, as he moved slowly along the paved walk that led to the stables. She waited a few moments, expecting he would reappear to give an account of himself and his adventures, but at length, growing impatient at his delay, she put down her work and went towards the rear of the house to find him. The first person she met was her mother. "Have you seen Thomas?" she inquired. "Thomas! He has gone to the river Trench." "No, he has returned--I saw him pass the window not fifteen minutes since." "Then he will be in presently." His sister, however, could not wait. She proceeded to the stables, she searched in all directions. No Thomas--no horse--no saddle. She made inquiry of the domestics. No one had seen him. She then returned and told her mother what had happened. "You must have fallen asleep and dreamed it," said her mother. "No, indeed! I was wide awake--I spoke to him, and he gave me no answer, but such a look!" All the afternoon she felt an uneasiness she could not reason herself out of. The next morning came a messenger from the river Trench with dismal tidings. The bodies of the young man and his horse had been found drowned a short distance below the ford of the river. It appeared that, on arriving at the bank of the river, he found it swollen beyond its usual depth by the recent rains. It being necessary to swim the stream with his horse, he had taken off his clothes and made them into a packet which he fastened upon his shoulders. It was supposed that the strength of the rapid torrent displaced the bundle, which thus served to draw his head under water and keep it there, without the power of raising it. All this was gathered from the position and appearance of the bodies when found. From the time at which he had been seen passing a house which stood near the stream, on his way to the ford, it was evident that he must have met his fate at the very moment his sister saw, or thought she saw him, passing before her. I could not but suggest the inquiry, when these sad particulars were narrated to me,-- "Mother, is it not possible this might have been a dream?" "A dream? No, indeed, my child. I was perfectly wide awake--as much so as I am at this moment. I am not superstitious. I have never believed in ghosts or witches, but nothing can ever persuade me that this was not a warning sent from God, to prepare me for my brother's death." And those who knew her rational good sense--her freedom from fancies or fears, and the calm self-possession that never deserted her under the most trying circumstances--would almost be won to view the matter in the light she did. * * * * * The order for the evacuation of Port Dearborn, and the removal of the troops to Fort Howard (Green Bay), had now been received. The family circle was to be broken up. Our mother, our sister Mrs. Helm, and her little son, were to return with us to Fort Winnebago; the other members of the family, except Robert, were to move with the command to Green Bay. The schooner Napoleon was to be sent from Detroit to convey the troops with their goods and chattels to their destined post. Our immediate party was to make the journey by land--we were to choose, however, a shorter and pleasanter route than the one we had taken in coming hither. My husband, with his Frenchmen, Petaille Grignon and Simon Lecuyer, had arrived, and all hands were now busily occupied with the necessary preparations for breaking up and removal. I should be doing injustice to the hospitable settlers of Hickory Creek were I to pass by without notice an entertainment with which they honored our Chicago beaux about this time. The merry-making was to be a ball, and the five single gentlemen of Chicago were invited. Mr. Dole, who was a new-comer, declined; Lieutenant Foster was on duty, but he did what was still better than accepting the invitation, he loaned his beautiful horse to Medard Beaubien, who with Robert Kinzie and Gholson Kercheval promised himself much fun in eclipsing the beaux and creating a sensation among the belles of Hickory Creek. Chicago was then, as now, looked upon as the City _par excellence_. Its few inhabitants were supposed to have seen something of the world, and it is to be inferred that the arrival of the smart and dashing young men was an event looked forward to with more satisfaction by the fair of the little settlement than by the swains whose rivals they might become. The day arrived, and the gentlemen set off in high spirits. They took care to be in good season, for the dancing was to commence at two o'clock in the afternoon. They were well mounted, each priding himself upon the animal he rode, and they wore their best suits, as became city gallants who were bent on cutting out their less fashionable neighbors and breaking the hearts of the admiring country damsels. When they arrived at the place appointed, they were received with great politeness--their steeds were taken care of, and a dinner was provided them, after which they were ushered into the dancing-hall. All the beauty of the neighboring precincts was assembled. The ladies were for the most part white, or what passed for such, with an occasional dash of copper color. There was no lack of bombazet gowns and large white pocket-handkerchiefs, perfumed with oil of cinnamon; and as they took their places in long rows on the puncheon floor, they were a merry and a happy company. But the city gentlemen grew more and more gallant--the girls more and more delighted with their attentions--the country swains, alas! more and more scowling and jealous. In vain they pigeon-winged and double-shuffled--in vain they nearly dislocated hips and shoulders at "hoe corn and dig potatoes"--they had the mortification to perceive that the smart young sprigs from Chicago had their "pick and choose" among their very sweethearts, and that they themselves were fairly danced off the ground. The revelry lasted until daylight, and it was now time to think of returning. There was no one ready with obliging politeness to bring them their horses from the stable. "Poor fellows!" said one of the party, with a compassionate sort of laugh, "they could not stand it. They have gone home to bed!" "Serves them right," said another; "they'd better not ask us down among their girls again!" They groped their way to the stable and went in. There were some animals standing at the manger, but evidently not their horses. What could they be? Had the rogues been trying to cheat them, by putting these strange nondescripts into their place? They led them forth into the gray of the morning, and then--such a trio as met their gaze! There were the original bodies, it is true, but where were their manes and tails? A scrubby, pickety ridge along the neck, and a bare stump projecting behind, were all that remained of the flowing honors with which they had come gallivanting down to "bear away the bell" at Hickory Creek, or, in the emphatic language of the country, "to take the rag off the bush." Gholson sat down on a log and cried outright. Medard took the matter more philosophically--the horse was none of his--it was Lieutenant Foster's. Robert characteristically looked around to see whom he could knock down on the occasion; but there was no one visible on whom to wreak their vengeance. The bumpkins had stolen away, and, in some safe, quiet nook, were snugly enjoying their triumph, and doubtless the deceitful fair ones were by this time at their sides, sharing their mirth and exultation. The unlucky gallants mounted their steeds, and set their faces homeward. Never was there a more crestfallen and sorry-looking cavalcade. The poor horses seemed to realize that they had met the same treatment as the messengers of King David at the hands of the evil-disposed Hanun. They hung their heads, and evidently wished that they could have "tarried at Jericho" for a season. Unfortunately, there was in those days no back way by which they could steal in, unobserved. Across the prairie, in view of the whole community, must their approach be made; and to add to their confusion, in the rarity of stirring events, it was the custom of the whole settlement to turn out and welcome the arrival of any new-comer. As hasty a retreat as possible was beaten, amid the shouts, the jeers, and the condolences of their acquaintances; and it is on record that these three young gentlemen were in no hurry to accept, at any future time, an invitation to partake of the festivities of Hickory Creek. * * * * * In due time the Napoleon made her appearance. (Alas that this great name should be used in the feminine gender!) As there was at this period no harbor, vessels anchored outside the bar, or tongue of land which formed the left bank of the river, and the lading and unlading were carried on by boats, pulling in and out, through the mouth of the river, some distance below. Of course it always was a matter of great importance to get a vessel loaded as quickly as possible, that she might be ready to take advantage of the first fair wind, and be off from such an exposed and hazardous anchoring-ground. For this reason we had lived _packed up_ for many days, intending only to see our friends safe on board, and then commence our own journey back to Fort Winnebago. Our heavy articles of furniture, trunks, etc. had been sent on board the Napoleon, to be brought round to us by way of Fox River. We had retained only such few necessaries as could be conveniently carried on a pack-horse, and in a light dearborn wagon lately brought by Mr. Kercheval from Detroit (the first luxury of the kind ever seen on the prairies), and which my husband had purchased as an agreeable mode of conveyance for his mother and little nephew. It was a matter requiring no small amount of time and labor to transport, in the slow method described, the effects of so many families of officers and soldiers, with the various etceteras incident to a total change and removal. It was all, however, happily accomplished--everything, even to the last article, sent on board--nothing remaining on shore but the passengers, whose turn it would be next. It was a moment of great relief; for Captain Hinckley had been in a fever and a fuss many hours, predicting a change of weather, and murmuring at what he thought the unnecessary amount of boat-loads to be taken on board. Those who had leisure to be looking out towards the schooner, which had continued anchored about half a mile out in the lake, had, at this crisis, the satisfaction to see her hoist sail and leave her station for the open lake; those who were a little later could just discern her bearing away to a distance, as if she had got all on board that she had any idea of taking. Here we were, and here we might remain a week or more, if it so pleased Captain Hinckley and the schooner Napoleon, and the good east wind which was blowing with all its might. There was plenty of provisions to be obtained, so the fear of starvation was not the trouble; but how were the cooking and the table to be provided for? Various expedients were resorted to. Mrs. Engle, in her quarters above-stairs, ate her breakfast off a shingle with her husband's jack-knife, and when she had finished, sent them down to Lieutenant Foster for his accommodation. We were at the old mansion on the north side, and the news soon flew up the river that the Napoleon had gone off with "the plunder" and left the people behind. It was not long before we were supplied by Mrs. Portier (our kind Victoire) with dishes, knives, forks, and all the other conveniences which our mess-basket failed to supply. This state of things lasted a couple of days, and then, early one fine morning, the gratifying intelligence spread like wild-fire that the Napoleon was at anchor out beyond the bar. There was no unnecessary delay this time, and at an early hour in the afternoon we had taken leave of our dear friends, and they were sailing away from Chicago.[44] CHAPTER XXIV. RETURN TO FORT WINNEBAGO. A great part of the command, with the cattle belonging to the officers and soldiers, had, a day or two previous to the time of our departure, set out on their march by land to Green Bay, _via_ Fort Winnebago. Lieutenant Foster, under whose charge they were, had lingered behind that he might have the pleasure of joining our party, and we, in turn, had delayed in order to see the other members of our family safely on board the Napoleon. But now, all things being ready, we set our faces once more homeward. We took with us a little _bound-girl,_ Josette, a bright, pretty child of ten years of age, a daughter of Ouilmette, a Frenchman who had lived here at the time of the Massacre, and of a Pottowattamie mother. She had been at the St. Joseph's mission-school, under Mr. McCoy, and she was now full of delight at the prospect of a journey all the way to the Portage with Monsieur and Madame John. We had also a negro boy, Harry, brought a year before from Kentucky, by Mr. Kercheval. In the transfer at that time from a slave State to a free one, Harry's position became somewhat changed--he could be no more than an indentured servant. He was about to become a member of Dr. Wolcott's household, and it was necessary for him to choose a guardian. All this was explained to him on his being brought into the parlor, where the family were assembled. My husband was then a young man, on a visit to his home. "Now, Harry," it was said to him, "you must choose your guardian;" and the natural expectation was that Harry would select the person of his acquaintance of the greatest age and dignity. But, rolling round his great eyes, and hanging his head on one side, he said,-- "I'll have Master John for my guardian." From that day forward Harry felt as if he belonged, in a measure, to Master John, and at the breaking-up of the family in Chicago he was, naturally, transferred to our establishment. There were three ladies of our travelling party--our mother, our sister Mrs. Helm, and myself. To guard against the burning effect of the sun and the prairie winds upon our faces, I had, during some of the last days of my visit, prepared for each of us a mask of brown linen, with the eyes, nose, and mouth fitted to our features; and, to enhance their hideousness, I had worked eyebrows, eyelashes, and a circle around the opening for the mouth, in black silk. Gathered in plaits under the chin, and with strings to confine them above and below, they furnished a complete protection against the sun and wind, though nothing can be imagined more frightful than the appearance we presented when fully equipped. It was who should be called the ugliest. We left amid the good wishes and laughter of our few remaining acquaintances. Our wagon had been provided with a pair of excellent travelling horses, and, sister Margaret and myself being accommodated with the best pacers the country could afford, we set off in high spirits towards the Aux Plaines--our old friend, Billy Caldwell (the Sau-ga-nash), with our brother Robert, and Gholson Kercheval, accompanying us to that point of our journey. There was no one at Barney Lawton's when we reached there, save a Frenchman and a small number of Indians. My sister and I dismounted, and entered the dwelling, the door of which stood open. Two Indians were seated on the floor, smoking. They raised their eyes as we appeared, and never shall I forget the expression of wonder and horror depicted on the countenances of both. Their lips relaxed until the pipe of one fell upon the floor. Their eyes seemed starting from their heads, and raising their outspread hands, as if to wave us from them, they slowly ejaculated, "_Manitou!"_ (a spirit.) As we raised our masks, and, smiling, came forward to shake hands with them, they sprang to their feet and fairly uttered a cry of delight at the sight of our familiar faces. "Bon-jour, bon-jour, Maman!" was their salutation, and they instantly plunged out of doors to relate to their companions what had happened. Our afternoon's ride was over a prairie stretching away to the northeast No living creature was to be seen upon its broad expanse, but flying and circling over our heads were innumerable flocks of curlews, "Screaming their wild notes to the listening waste." Their peculiar, shrill cry of "crack, crack, crack--rackety, rackety, rackety," repeated from the throats of dozens, as they sometimes stooped quite close to our ears, became at length almost unbearable. It seemed as if they had lost their senses in the excitement of so unusual and splendid a cortége in their hitherto desolate domain. The accelerated pace of our horses, as we approached a beautiful, wooded knoll, warned us that this was to be our place of repose for the night. These animals seem to know by instinct a favorable encamping-ground, and this was one of the most lovely imaginable. The trees, which near the lake had, owing to the coldness and tardiness of the season, presented the pale-yellow appearance of unfledged goslings, were here bursting into full leaf. The ground around was carpeted with flowers--we could not bear to have them crushed by the felling of a tree and the pitching of our tent among them. The birds sent forth their sweetest notes in the warm, lingering sunlight, and the opening buds of the young hickory and sassafras filled the air with perfume. Nothing could be more perfect than our enjoyment of this sylvan and beautiful retreat[45] after our ride in the glowing sun. The children were in ecstasies. They delighted to find ways of making themselves useful--to pile up the saddles--to break boughs for the fire--to fill the little kettles with water for Petaille and Lecuyer, the Frenchmen, who were preparing our supper. Their amusement at the awkward movements of the horses after they were spancelled knew no bounds. To our little nephew Edwin everything was new, and Josette, who had already made more than one horseback journey to St. Joseph, manifested all the pride of an old traveller in explaining to him whatever was novel or unaccountable. They were not the last to spring up at the call "how! how!" on the following morning. The fire was replenished, the preparations for breakfast commenced, and the Frenchmen dispatched to bring up the horses in readiness for an early start. Harry and Josette played their parts, under our direction, in preparing the simple meal, and we soon seated ourselves, each with cup and knife, around the _table-mat._ The meal was over, but no men, no horses appeared. When another half-hour had passed, my husband took Harry and commenced exploring in search of the missing ones. The day wore on, and first one and then another would make his appearance to report progress. Petaille and Lecuyer at length brought two of the horses, but the others could nowhere be found. In time, Mr. Kinzie and Harry returned, wet to their knees by the dew upon the long prairie-grass, but with no tidings. Again the men were dispatched after having broken their fast, but returned unsuccessful as before. The morning had been passed by our party at the encampment in speculating upon the missing animals. Could they have been stolen by the Indians? Hardly: these people seldom committed robberies in time of peace--never upon our family, whom they regarded as their best friends. The horses would doubtless be found. They had probably been carelessly fastened the preceding evening, and had therefore been able to stray farther than was their wont. A council was held, at which it was decided to send Grignon back to Chicago to get some fresh horses from Gholson Kercheval, and return as speedily as possible. If on his return our encampment were deserted, he might conclude we had found the horses and proceeded to Fox River, where he would doubtless overtake us. He had not been gone more than an hour before, slowly hopping out of a point of woods to the north of us (a spot which each of the seekers averred he had explored over and over again), and making directly for the place where we were, appeared the vexatious animals. They came up as demurely as if nothing had happened, and seemed rather surprised to be received with a hearty scolding, instead of being patted and caressed as usual. It was the work of a very short half-hour to strike and pack the tent, stow away the mats and kettles, saddle the horses, and mount for our journey. "Whoever pleases may take my place in the carriage," said our mother. "I have travelled so many years on horseback, that I find any other mode of conveyance too fatiguing." So, spite of her sixty years, she mounted sister Margaret's pacer with the activity of a girl of sixteen. Lieutenant Foster had left us early in the morning, feeling it necessary to rejoin his command, and now, having seen us ready to set off, with a serene sky above us, and all things "right and tight" for the journey, our friend the Sau-ga-nash took leave of us, and retraced his steps towards Chicago. We pursued our way through a lovely country of alternate glade and forest, until we reached the Fox River. The current ran clear and rippling along, and, as we descended the steep bank to the water, the question, so natural to a traveller in an unknown region, presented itself, "Is it fordable?" Petaille, to whom the ground was familiar, had not yet made his appearance Lecuyer was quite ignorant upon the subject. The troops had evidently preceded us by this very trail. True, but they were on horseback--the difficulty was, could we get the carriage through? It must be remembered that the doubt was not about the depth of the water, but about the hardness of the bottom of the stream. It was agreed that two or three of the equestrians should make the trial first. My mother, Lecuyer, and myself advanced cautiously across to the opposite bank, each choosing a different point for leaving the water, in order to find the firmest spot. The bottom was hard and firm until we came near the shore; then it yielded a little. With one step, however, we were each on dry ground. "Est-il beau?" called my husband, who was driving. "Oui, monsieur." "Yes, John, come just here, it is perfectly good." "No, no--go a little farther down. See the white gravel just there--it will be firmer still, there." Such were the contradictory directions given. He chose the latter, and when it wanted but one step more to the bank, down sunk both horses, until little more than their backs were visible. The white gravel proved to be a bed of treacherous yellow clay, which, gleaming through the water, had caused so unfortunate a deception. With frantic struggles, for they were nearly suffocated with mud and water, the horses made desperate efforts to free themselves from the harness. My husband sprang out upon the pole. "Some one give me a knife," he cried. I was back in the water in a moment, and, approaching as near as I dared, handed him mine from the scabbard around my neck. "Whatever you do, do not cut the traces," cried his mother. He severed some of the side-straps, when, just as he had reached the extremity of the pole, and was stretching forward to separate the head-couplings, one of the horses gave a furious plunge, which caused his fellow to rear, and throw himself nearly backwards. My husband was between them. For a moment we thought he was gone--trampled down by the excited animals; but he presently showed himself, nearly obscured by the mud and water. With the agility of a cat, Harry, who was near him, now sprang forward on the pole, and in an instant, with his sharp jack-knife which he had ready, divided the straps that confined their heads. The horses were at this moment lying floating on the water--one apparently dead, the other as if gasping out his last breath. But hardly did they become sensible of the release of their heads from bondage, than they made, simultaneously, another furious effort to free themselves from the pole, to which they were still attached by the neck-strap. Failing in this, they tried another expedient, and, by a few judicious twists and turns, succeeded in wrenching the pole asunder, and finally carried it off in triumph across the river again, and up the bank, where they stood waiting to decide what were the next steps to be taken. Here was a predicament! A few hours before, we had thought ourselves uncomfortable enough, because some of our horses were missing. Now, a greater evil had befallen us. The wagon was in the river, the harness cut to pieces, and, what was worse, carried off in the most independent manner, by Tom and his companion; the pole was twisted to fragments, and there was not so much as a stick on our side of the river with which to replace it. At this moment, a whoop from the opposite bank, echoed by two or three hearty ones from our party, announced the reappearance of Petaille Grignon. He dismounted and took charge of the horses, who were resting themselves after their fatigues under a shady tree, and by this time Lecuyer had crossed the river, and now joined him in bringing back the delinquents. In the mean time we had been doing our best to minister to our sister Margaret. She, with her little son Edwin, had been in the wagon at the time of the accident, and it had been a work of some difficulty to get them out and bring them on horseback to shore. The effect of the agitation and excitement was to throw her into a fit of the ague, and she now lay blue and trembling among the long grass of the little prairie which extended along the bank. The tent, which had been packed in the rear of the wagon, was too much saturated with mud and water to admit of its being used as a shelter; it could only be stretched in the sun to dry. We opened an umbrella over our poor sister's head, and now began a discussion of ways and means to repair damages. The first thing was to cut a new pole for the wagon, and for this, the master and men must recross the river and choose an _iron-tree_ out of the forest. Then, for the harness. With provident care, a little box had been placed under the seat of the wagon, containing an awl, waxed ends, and various other little conveniences exactly suited to an emergency like the present. It was question and answer, like Cock Robin: "Who can mend the harness?" "I can, for I learned when I was a young girl to make shoes as _an accomplishment_, and I can surely now, as a matter of usefulness and duty, put all those wet, dirty pieces of leather together." So we all seated ourselves on the grass, under the shade of the only two umbrellas we could muster. I stitched away diligently, blistering my hands, I must own, in no small degree. A suitable young tree had been brought, and the hatchets, without which one never travels in the woods, were busy fashioning it into shape, when a peculiar hissing noise was heard, and instantly the cry,-- "_Un serpent sonnette_! A rattlesnake!" All sprang to their feet, even the poor, shaking invalid, just in time to see the reptile glide past within three inches of my mother's feet, while the men assailed the spot it had left with whips, missiles, and whatever would help along the commotion. This little incident proved an excellent remedy for the ague. One excitement drives away another, and by means of this (upon the homoeopathic principle) sister Margaret was so much improved that by the time all the mischiefs were repaired, she was ready to take her place in the cavalcade, as bright and cheerful as the rest of us. So great had been the delay occasioned by all these untoward circumstances, that our afternoon's ride was but a short one, bringing us no farther than the shores of a beautiful sheet of water, now known as Crystal Lake. Its clear surface was covered with loons, and _Poules d'Eau_, a species of rail; with which, at certain seasons, this region abounds. The Indians have the genius of Aesop for depicting animal life and character, and there is among them a fable or legend illustrative of every peculiarity in the personal appearance, habits, or dispositions of each variety of the animal creation. The back of the little rail is very concave, or hollow. The Indians tell us that it became so in the following manner:-- STORY OF THE LITTLE RAIL, OR _Poule d'Eau_ There is supposed, by most of the Northwestern tribes, to exist an invisible being, corresponding to the "Genie" of Oriental story. Without being exactly the father of evil, _Nan-nee-bo-zho_ is a spirit whose office it is to punish what is amiss. He is represented, too, as constantly occupied in entrapping and making examples of all the animals that come in his way. One pleasant evening, as he walked along the banks of a lake, he saw a flock of ducks, sailing and enjoying themselves on the blue waters. He called to them: "Ho! come with me into my lodge, and I will teach you to dance!" Some of the ducks said among themselves, "It is Nan-nee-bo-zho; let us not go." Others were of a contrary opinion, and, his words being fair, and his voice insinuating, a few turned their faces towards the land--all the rest soon followed, and, with many pleasant quackings, trooped after him, and entered his lodge. When there, he first took an Indian sack, with a wide mouth, which he tied by the strings around his neck, so that it would hang over his shoulders, leaving the mouth unclosed. Then, placing himself in the centre of the lodge, he ranged the ducks in a circle around him. "Now," said he, "you must all shut your eyes _tight_; whoever opens his eyes at all, something dreadful will happen to him. I will take my Indian flute and play upon it, and you will, at the word I shall give, open your eyes, and commence dancing, as you see me do." The ducks obeyed, shutting their eyes _tight_, and keeping time to the music by stepping from one foot to the other, all impatient for the dancing to begin. Presently a sound was heard like a smothered "quack," but the ducks did not dare to open their eyes. Again, and again, the sound of the flute would be interrupted, and a gurgling cry of "qu-a-a-ck" be heard. There was one little duck, much smaller than the rest, who, at this juncture, could not resist the temptation to open one eye, cautiously. She saw Nan-nee-bo-zho, as he played his flute, holding it with one hand, stoop a little at intervals and seize the duck nearest him, which he throttled and stuffed into the bag on his shoulders. So, edging a little out of the circle, and getting nearer the door, which had been left partly open, to admit the light, she cried out,-- "Open your eyes--Nan-nee-bo-zho is choking you all and putting you into his bag!" With that she flew, but Nan-nee-bo-zho pounced upon her. His hand grasped her back, yet, with desperate force, she released herself and gained the open air. Her companions flew, quacking and screaming, after her. Some escaped, and some fell victims to the sprite. The little duck had saved her life, but she had lost her beauty. She ever after retained the attitude she had been forced into in her moment of danger--her back pressed down in the centre, and her head and neck unnaturally stretched forward into the air. CHAPTER XXV. RETURN JOURNEY, CONTINUED. The third day of our journey rose brilliantly clear, like the two preceding ones, and we shaped our course more to the north than we had hitherto done, in the direction of _Big-foot_ Lake, now known by the somewhat hackneyed appellation, Lake of Geneva. Our journey this day was without mishaps or disasters of any kind. The air was balmy, the foliage of the forests fresh and fragrant, the little brooks clear and sparkling--everything in nature spoke the praises of the beneficent Creator. It is in scenes like this, far removed from the bustle, the strife, and the sin of civilized life, that we most fully realize the presence of the great Author of the Universe. Here can the mind most fully adore his majesty and goodness, for here only is the command obeyed, "Let all the earth keep silence before Him!" It cannot escape observation that the deepest and most solemn devotion is in the hearts of those who, shut out from the worship of God in temples made with hands, are led to commune with him amid the boundless magnificence that his own power has framed. This day was not wholly without incident. As we stopped for our noon-tide refreshment, and dismounting threw ourselves on the fresh herbage just at the verge of a pleasant thicket, we were startled by a tender _bleating_ near us, and presently, breaking its way through the low branches, there came upon us a sweet little dappled fawn, evidently in search of its mother. It did not seem in the least frightened at the sight of us. As poor Selkirk might have been parodied,-- It was so unacquainted with man, Its tameness was charming to us. But the vociferous delight of the children soon drove it bounding again into the woods, and all hopes of catching it for a pet were at once at an end. We had travelled well this day, and were beginning to feel somewhat fatigued, when, just before sunset, we came upon a ridge, overlooking one of the loveliest little dells imaginable. It was an oak opening, and browsing under the shade of the tall trees which were scattered around were the cattle and horses of the soldiers, who had got thus far on their journey. Two or three white tents were pitched in the bottom of the valley, beside a clear stream. The camp-fires were already lighted, and the men, singly or in groups, were busied in their various preparations for their own comfort, or that of their animals. Lieutenant Foster came forward with great delight to welcome our arrival, and accepted without hesitation an invitation to join our mess again, as long as we should be together. We soon found a pleasant encamping-ground, far enough removed from the other party to secure us against all inconvenience, and our supper having received the addition of a kettle of fine fresh milk, kindly brought us by Mrs. Gardiner, the hospital matron, who with her little covered cart formed no unimportant feature in the military group, we partook of our evening meal with much hilarity and enjoyment. If people are ever companionable, it is when thrown together under circumstances like the present. There has always been sufficient incident through the day to furnish themes for discourse, and subjects of merriment, as long as the company feel disposed for conversation, which is, truth to tell, not an unconscionable length of time after their supper is over. The poor Lieutenant looked grave enough when we set out in advance of him the next morning. None of his party were acquainted with the road; but, after giving him directions both general and particular, Mr. Kinzie promised to _blaze_ a tree, or _set up a chip_ for a guide, at every place which appeared more than usually doubtful. We now found ourselves in a much more diversified country than any we had hitherto travelled. Gently swelling hills, lovely valleys, and bright sparkling streams were the features of the landscape. But there was little animate life. Now and then a shout from the leader of the party (for, according to custom, we travelled Indian file) would call our attention to a herd of deer "loping," as the Westerners say, through the forest; or an additional spur would be given to the horses on the appearance of some small dark object, far distant on the trail before us. But the game invariably contrived to disappear before we could reach it, and it was out of the question to leave the beaten track for a regular hunt. Soon after mid-day, we descended a long, sloping knoll, and by a sudden turn came full in view of the beautiful sheet of water denominated Gros-pied by the French, _Maunk-suck_ by the natives, and by ourselves Big-foot, from the chief whose village overlooked its waters. Bold, swelling hills jutted forward into the clear blue expanse, or retreated slightly to afford a green, level nook, as a resting-place for the dwelling of man. On the nearer shore stretched a bright, gravelly beach, across which coursed here and there a pure, sparkling rivulet to join the larger sheet of water. On a rising ground at the foot of one of the bold bluffs in the middle distance, a collection of neat wigwams formed, with their surrounding gardens, no unpleasant feature in the picture. A shout of delight burst involuntarily from the whole party, as this charming landscape met our view. "It was like the Hudson, only less bold--no, it was like the lake of the Forest Cantons, in the picture of the Chapel of William Tell! What could be imagined more enchanting? Oh I if our friends at the East could but enjoy it with us!" We paused long to admire, and then spurred on, skirting the head of the lake, and were soon ascending the broad platform on which stood the village of Maunk-suck, or Big-foot. The inhabitants, who had witnessed our approach from a distance, were all assembled in front of their wigwams to greet us, if friends--if otherwise, whatever the occasion should demand. It was the first time such a spectacle had ever presented itself to their wondering eyes. Their salutations were not less cordial than we expected. "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" and his mother, who was known throughout the tribe by the touching appellation "Our friend's wife," were welcomed most kindly, and an animated conversation commenced, which I could understand only so far as it was conveyed by gestures; so I amused myself by taking a minute survey of all that met my view. The chief was a large, raw-boned, ugly Indian, with a countenance bloated by intemperance, and with a sinister, unpleasant expression. He had a gay-colored handkerchief upon his head, and was otherwise attired in his best, in compliment to the strangers. It was to this chief that Chambly, or, as he is now called, Shaw-bee-nay, Billy Caldwell, and Robinson were dispatched, by Dr. Wolcott, their Agent, during the Winnebago war, in 1821, to use their earnest endeavors to prevent this chief and his band from joining the hostile Indians. With some difficulty they succeeded, and were thus the means, doubtless, of saving the lives of all the settlers who lived exposed upon the frontier. Among the various groups of his people, there was none attracted my attention so forcibly as a young man of handsome face, and a figure that was striking even where all were fine and symmetrical. He too had a gay handkerchief on his head, a shirt of the brightest lemon-colored calico, an abundance of silver ornaments, and, what gave his dress a most fanciful appearance, one legging of blue and the other of bright scarlet. I was not ignorant that this peculiar feature in his toilet indicated a heart suffering from the tender passion. The flute, which he carried in his hand, added confirmation to the fact, while the joyous, animated expression of his countenance showed with equal plainness that he was not a despairing lover. I could have imagined him to have recently returned from the chase, laden with booty, with which he had, as is the custom, entered the lodge of the fair one, and thrown his burden at the feet of her parents, with an indifferent, superb sort of air, as much as to say, "Here is some meat--it is a mere trifle, but it will show you what you might expect with me for a son-in-law." I could not doubt that the damsel had stepped forward and gathered it up, in token that she accepted the offering, and the donor along with it. There was nothing in the appearance or manner of any of the maidens by whom we were surrounded, to denote which was the happy fair, neither, although I peered anxiously into all their countenances, could I there detect any blush of consciousness; so I was obliged to content myself with selecting the youngest and prettiest of the group, and go on weaving my romance to my own satisfaction. The village stood encircled by an amphitheatre of hills, so precipitous, and with gorges so steep and narrow, that it seemed almost impossible to scale them, even on horseback; how, then, could we hope to accomplish the ascent of the four-wheeled carriage? This was the point now under discussion between my husband and the Pottowattamies. There was no alternative but to make the effort, selecting the pass that the inhabitants pointed out as the most practicable. Petaille went first, and I followed on my favorite Jerry. It was such a scramble as is not often taken,--almost perpendicularly, through what seemed the dry bed of a torrent, now filled with loose stones, and scarcely affording one secure foothold from the bottom to the summit! I clang fast to the mane, literally at times clasping Jerry around his neck, and, amid the encouraging shouts and cheers of those below, we at length arrived safely, though nearly breathless, on the pinnacle, and sat looking down, to view the success of the next party. The horses had been taken from the carriage, the luggage it contained being placed upon the shoulders of some of the young Indians, to be _toted_ up the steep. Ropes were now attached to its sides, and a regular bevy of our red friends, headed by our two Frenchmen, placed to man them. Two or three more took their places in the rear, to hold the vehicle and keep it from slipping backwards--then the labor commenced. Such a pulling! such a shouting! such a clapping of hands by the spectators of both sexes! such a stentorian word of command or encouragement from the bourgeois! Now and then there would be a slight halt, a wavering, as if carriage and men were about to tumble backwards into the plain below; but no--they would recover themselves, and after incredible efforts they too safely gained the table-land above. In process of time all were landed there, and, having remunerated our friends to their satisfaction, the goods and chattels were collected, the wagon repacked, and we set off for our encampment at Turtle Creek. The exertions and excitement of our laborious ascent, together with the increasing heat of the sun, made this afternoon's ride more uncomfortable than anything we had previously felt. We were truly rejoiced when the whoop of our guide, and the sight of a few scattered lodges, gave notice that we had reached our encamping-ground. We chose a beautiful sequestered spot by the side of a clear, sparkling stream, and, having dismounted and seen that our horses were made comfortable, my husband, after giving his directions to his men, led me to a retired spot where I could lay aside my hat and mask and bathe my flushed face and aching head in the cool, refreshing waters. Never had I felt anything so grateful, so delicious. I sat down, and leaned my head against one of the tall, overshadowing trees, and was almost dreaming, when summoned to partake of our evening meal. The Indians had brought us, as a present, some fine brook trout, which our Frenchmen had prepared in the most tempting fashion, and before the bright moon rose and we were ready for oar rest, all headache and fatigue had alike disappeared. * * * * * One of the most charming features of this mode of travelling is the joyous, vocal life of the forest at early dawn, when all the feathered tribe come forth to pay their cheerful salutations to the opening day. The rapid, chattering flourish of the bob-o'-link, the soft whistle of the thrush, the tender coo of the wood-dove, the deep, warbling bass of the grouse, the drumming of the partridge, the melodious trill of the lark, the gay carol of the robin, the friendly, familiar call of the duck and the teal, resound from tree and knoll and lowland, prompting the expressive exclamation of the simple half-breed,-- "Voilà la forêt qui parle!"[46] It seems as if man must involuntarily raise his voice, to take part in the general chorus--the mating song of praise. Birds and flowers, and the soft balmy airs of morning! Must it not have been in a scene like this that Milton's Adam poured out his beautiful hymn of adoration,-- "These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good"? This day we were journeying in hopes to reach, at an early hour, that broad expanse of the Rock River which here forms the Kosh-ko-nong. The appellation of this water, rendered doubly affecting by the subsequent fate of its people, imports "_the lake we live on_." Our road for the early part of the day led through forests so thick and tangled that Grignon and Lecuyer were often obliged to go in advance as pioneers with their axes, to cut away the obstructing shrubs and branches. It was slow work, and at times quite discouraging, but we were through with it at last, and then we came into a country of altogether a different description,--low prairies, intersected with deep, narrow streams like canals, the passage of which, either by horses or carriages, was often a matter of delay and even difficulty. Several times in the course of the forenoon the horses were to be taken from the carriage and the latter pulled and pushed across the deep narrow channels as best it might. The wooded banks of the Kosh-ko-nong were never welcomed with greater delight than by us when they at length broke upon our sight. A ride of five or six miles through the beautiful oak openings brought us to _Man-Eater's_ village, a collection of neat bark wigwams, with extensive fields on each side of corn, beans, and squashes, recently planted, but already giving promise of a fine crop. In front was the broad blue lake, the shores of which, to the south, were open and marshy, but near the village, and stretching far away to the north, were bordered by fine lofty trees. The village was built but a short distance below the point where the Rock River opens into the lake, and during a conversation between our party and the Indians at the village, an arrangement was made with them to take us across at a spot about half a mile above. After a short halt, we again took up our line of march through the woods, along the bank of the river. A number of the Winnebagoes (for we had been among our own people since leaving Gros-pied Lake) set out for the appointed place by water, paddling their canoes, of which they had selected the largest and strongest. Arrived at the spot indicated, we dismounted, and the men commenced the task of unsaddling and unloading. We were soon placed in the canoes, and paddled across to the opposite bank. Next, the horses were swum across--after them was to come the carriage. Two long wooden canoes were securely lashed together side by side, and being of sufficient width to admit of the carriage standing within them, the passage was commenced. Again and again the tottering barks would sway from side to side, and a cry or a shout would arise from our party on shore, as the whole mass seemed about to plunge sideways into the water, but it would presently recover itself, and at length, after various deviations from the perpendicular, it reached the shore in safety. We now hoped that our troubles were at an end, and that we had nothing to do but to mount and trot on as fast as possible to Fort Winnebago. But no. Half a mile farther on was a formidable swamp, of no great width it is true, but with a depth of from two to three feet of mud and water. It was a question whether, with the carriage, we could get through it at all. Several of the Indians accompanied us to this place, partly to give us their aid and counsel, and partly to enjoy the fun of the spectacle. On reaching the swamp, we were disposed to laugh at the formidable representations which had been made to us. We saw only a strip of what seemed rather low land, covered with tall, dry rushes. It is true the ground looked a little wet, but there seemed nothing to justify all the apprehensions that had been excited. Great was my surprise, then, to see my husband, who had been a few minutes absent, return to our circle attired in his duck trousers, and without shoes or stockings. "What are you going to do?" inquired I. "Carry you through the swamp on my shoulders. Come, Petaille, you are the strongest--you are to carry Madame Kinzie, and To-shun-nuck there (pointing to a tall, stout Winnebago), he will take Madame Helm." "Wait a moment," said I, and, seating myself on the grass, I deliberately took off my own boots and stockings. "What is that for?" they all asked. "Because I do not wish to ride with wet feet all the rest of the day." "No danger of that," said they, and no one followed my example. By the time they were in the midst of the swamp, however, they found my precaution had been by no means useless. The water through which our bearers had to pass was of such a depth that no efforts of the ladies were sufficient to keep their feet above the surface; and I had the satisfaction of feeling that my burden upon my husband's shoulders was much less, from my being able to keep my first position instead of changing constantly to avoid a contact with the water. The laugh was quite on my side when I resumed my equipment and mounted, _dry-shod_, into my saddle. It will be perceived that journeying in the woods is, in some degree, a deranger of ceremony and formality; that it necessarily restricts us somewhat in our conventionalities. The only remedy is, to make ourselves amends by a double share when we return to the civilized walks of life. By dint of much pulling, shouting, encouraging, and threatening, the horses at length dragged the carriage through the difficult pass, and our red friends were left to return to their village, with, doubtless, a very exaggerated and amusing account of all that they had seen and assisted in. We had not forgotten our promise to Lieutenant Foster to put up a "guide-board" of some sort, for his accommodation in following us. We therefore, upon several occasions, carried with us from the woods a few pieces, of three or four feet in length, which we planted at certain points, with a transverse stick through a cleft in the top, thus marking the direction he and his party were to take. We therefore felt sure that, although a few days later, he would find our trail, and avail himself of the same assistance as we had, in getting through the difficulties of the way. Our encamping-ground, this night, was to be not far distant from the Four Lakes. We were greatly fatigued with the heat and exercise of the day, and most anxiously did we look out for the clumps of willows and alders which were to mark the spot where water would be found. We felt hardly equal to pushing on quite to the bank of the nearest lake. Indeed, it would have taken us too much off our direct course. When we, at a late hour, came upon a spot fit for our purpose, we exchanged mutual congratulations that this was to be our last night upon the road. The next day we should be at Winnebago! Our journey had been most delightful--a continued scene of exhilaration and enjoyment; for the various mishaps, although for the moment they had perplexed, yet, in the end, had but added to our amusement. Still, with the inconstancy of human nature, we were pleased to exchange its excitement for the quiet repose of home. Our next morning's ride was of a more tranquil character than any that had preceded it; for at an early hour we entered upon what was known as the "Twenty-mile Prairie,"--and I may be permitted to observe that the miles are wonderfully long on the prairies. Our passage over this was, except the absence of the sand, like crossing the desert. Mile after mile of unbroken expanse--not a tree--not a living object except ourselves. The sun, as if to make himself amends for his two months' seclusion, shone forth with redoubled brilliancy. There is no such thing as carrying an umbrella on horseback, though those in the wagon were able to avail themselves of such a shelter. Our mother's energies had sustained her in the saddle until this day, but she was now fairly obliged to give in, and yield her place on little Brunet to sister Margaret. Thus we went on, one little knoll rising beyond another, from the summit of each of which, in succession, we hoped to descry the distant woods, which were to us as the promised land. "Take courage," were the cheering words, often repeated; "very soon you will begin to see the timber." Another hour would pass heavily by. "Now, when we reach the rising ground just ahead, look _sharp_." We would look sharp--nothing but the same unvarying landscape. There were not even streams to allay the feverish thirst occasioned by fatigue and impatience. At length a whoop from Shaw-nee-aw-kee broke the silence in which we were pursuing our way. "Le voilà!" (There it is!) Our less practised eye could not at first discern the faint blue strip edging the horizon, but it grew and grew upon our vision, and fatigue and all discomfort proportionably disappeared. We were in fine spirits by the time we reached "Hastings's Woods," a noble forest, watered by a clear, sparkling stream. Grateful as was the refreshment of the green foliage and the cooling waters, we did not allow ourselves to forget that the day was wearing on, and that we must, if possible, complete our journey before sunset; so we soon braced up our minds to continue our route, although we would gladly have lingered another hour. The marsh of Duck Creek was, thanks to the heat of the past week, in a very different state from what it had been a few months previous, when I had been so unfortunately submerged in its icy waters. We passed it without difficulty, and soon found ourselves upon the banks of the creek. The stream, at this point, was supposed to be always fordable; and even were it not so, that to the majority of our party would have been a matter of little moment. To the ladies, however, the subject seemed to demand consideration. "This water looks very deep--are you sure we can cross it on horseback?" "Oh, yes! Petaille, go before, and let us see how the water is." Petaille obeyed. He was mounted on a horse like a giraffe, and, extending his feet horizontally, he certainly managed to pass through the stream without much of a wetting. It seemed certain that the water would come into the wagon, but that was of the less consequence as, in case of the worst, the passengers could mount upon the seats. My horse, Jerry, was above the medium height, so that I soon passed over, with no inconvenience but that of being obliged to disengage my feet from the stirrups and tuck them up snugly against the mane of the horse. Sister Margaret was still upon Brunet. She was advised to change him for one of the taller horses, but while the matter was under debate, it was settled by the perverse little wretch taking to the water most unceremoniously, in obedience to the example of the other animals. He was soon beyond his depth, and we were at once alarmed and diverted at seeing his rider, with surprising adroitness, draw her feet from the stirrups and perch herself upon the top of the saddle, where she held her position, and navigated her little refractory steed safely to land. This was the last of our adventures. A pleasant ride of four miles brought us to the Fort, just as the sun was throwing his last beams over the glowing landscape; and on reaching the ferry we were at once conducted, by the friends who were awaiting us, to the hospitable roof of Major Twiggs. CHAPTER XXVI. FOUR-LEGS, THE DANDY. The companies of the First Infantry, which had hitherto been stationed at Fort Winnebago, had before our arrival received orders to move on to the Mississippi as soon as relieved by a portion of the Fifth, now at Fort Howard. As many of the officers of the latter regiment were married, we had reason to expect that all the quarters at the post would be put in requisition. For this reason, although strongly pressed by Major Twiggs to take up our residence again in the Fort until he should go on furlough, we thought it best to establish ourselves at once at "the Agency." It seemed laughable to give so grand a name to so very insignificant a concern. We had been promised, by the heads of department at Washington, a comfortable dwelling so soon as there should be an appropriation by Congress sufficient to cover any extra expense in the Indian Department. It was evident that Congress had a great spite at us, for it had delayed for two sessions attending to our accommodation. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to make ourselves comfortable with the best means in our power. The old log barracks, which had been built for the officers and soldiers on the first establishment of the post, two years previous, had been removed by our French engagés and put up again upon the little hill opposite the Fort. To these some additions were now made in the shape of dairy, stables, smoke-house, etc., constructed of tamarack logs brought from the neighboring swamp. The whole presented a very rough and primitive appearance. The main building consisted of a range of four rooms, no two of which communicated with each other, but each opened by a door into the outward air. A small window cut through the logs in front and rear, gave light to the apartment. An immense clay chimney for every two rooms, occupied one side of each, and the ceiling overhead was composed of a few rough boards laid upon the transverse logs that supported the roof. It was surprising how soon a comfortable, homelike air was given to the old dilapidated rooms, by a few Indian mats spread upon the floor, the piano and other furniture ranged in their appropriate places, and even a few pictures hung against the logs. The latter, alas! had soon to be displaced, for with the first heavy shower the rain found entrance through sundry crevices, and we saw ourselves obliged to put aside, carefully, everything that could be injured by the moisture. We made light of these evils, however--packed away our carpets and superfluous furniture upon the boards above, which we dignified with the name of attic, and contentedly resolved to await the time when Government should condescend to remember us. The greatest inconvenience I experienced, was from the necessity of wearing my straw bonnet throughout the day, as I journeyed from bedroom to parlor, and from parlor to kitchen. I became so accustomed to it that I even sometimes forgot to remove it when I sat down to table, or to my quiet occupations with my mother and sister. Permission was, however, in time, received to build a house for the blacksmith--that is, the person kept in pay by the Government at this station to mend the guns, traps, etc. of the Indians. It happened most fortunately for us that Monsieur Isidore Morrin was a bachelor, and quite satisfied to continue boarding with his friend Louis Frum, _dit_ Manaigre, so that when the new house was fairly commenced we planned it and hurried it forward entirely on our own account. It was not very magnificent, it is true, consisting of but a parlor and two bedrooms on the ground-floor, and two low chambers under the roof, with a kitchen in the rear; but compared with the rambling old stable-like building we now inhabited, it seemed quite a palace. Before it was completed, Mr. Kinzie was notified that the money for the annual Indian payment was awaiting his arrival in Detroit to take it in charge and superintend its transportation to the Portage; and he was obliged to set off at once to fulfil this part of his duty. The workmen who had been brought from the Mississippi to erect the main building, were fully competent to carry on their work without an overseer; but the kitchen was to be the task of the Frenchmen, and the question was, how could it be executed in the absence of the _bourgeois_? "You will have to content yourselves in the old quarters until my return," said my husband, "and then we will soon have things in order." His journey was to be a long and tedious one, for the operations of Government were not carried on by railroad and telegraph in those days. After his departure I said to the men, "Come, you have all your logs cut and hauled--the squaws have brought the bark for the roof--what is to prevent our finishing the house and getting all moved and settled to surprise Monsieur John on his return?" "Ah! to be sure, Madame John," said Plante, who was always the spokesman, "provided the one who plants a green bough on the chimney-top is to have a treat." "Certainly. All hands fall to work, and see who will win the treat." Upon the strength of such an inducement to the one who should put the finishing stroke to the building, Plante, Pillon, and Manaigre, whom the waggish Plante persisted in calling "mon nègre," whenever he felt himself out of the reach of the other's arm, all went vigorously to work. Building a log house is a somewhat curious process. First, as will be conceived, the logs are laid one upon another and jointed at the corners, until the walls have reached the required height. The chimney is formed by four poles of the proper length, interlaced with a wicker-work of small branches. A hole or pit is dug, near at hand, and, with a mixture of clay and water, a sort of mortar is formed. Large wisps of hay are filled with this thick substance, and fashioned with the hands into what are technically called "_clay cats_," and these are filled in among the frame-work of the chimney until not a chink is left. The whole is then covered with a smooth coating of the wet clay, which is denominated "plastering." Between the logs which compose the walls of the building, small bits of wood are driven, quite near together; this is called "chinking," and after it is done, clay cats are introduced, and smoothed over with the plaster. When all is dry, both walls and chimney are whitewashed, and present a comfortable and tidy appearance. The roof is formed by laying upon the transverse logs thick sheets of bark. Around the chimney, for greater security against the rain, we took care to have placed a few layers of the palisades that had been left when Mr. Peach, an odd little itinerant genius, had fenced in our garden, the pride and wonder of the surrounding settlement and wigwams. While all these matters were in progress, we received frequent visits from our Indian friends. First and foremost among them was "the young Dandy," Four-Legs. One fine morning he made his appearance, accompanied by two squaws, whom he introduced as his wives. He could speak a little Chippewa, and by this means he and our mother contrived to keep up something of a conversation. He was dressed in all his finery, brooches, wampum, fan, looking-glass and all. The paint upon his face and chest showed that he had devoted no small time to the labors of his toilet. He took a chair, as he had seen done at Washington, and made signs to his women to sit down upon the floor. The custom of taking two wives is not very general among the Indians. They seem to have the sagacity to perceive that the fewer they have to manage, the more complete is the peace and quiet of the wigwam. Nevertheless, it sometimes happens that a husband takes a foolish fancy for a second squaw, and in that case he uses all his cunning and eloquence to reconcile the first to receiving a new inmate in the lodge. Of course it is a matter that must be managed adroitly, in order that harmony may be preserved. "My dear, your health is not very good; it is time you should have some rest. You have worked very hard, and it grieves me that you should have to labor any longer. Let me get you some nice young squaw to wait upon you, that you may live at ease all the rest of your life." The first wife consents; indeed, she has no option. If she is of a jealous, vindictive disposition, what a life the new-comer leads! The old one maintains all her rights of dowager and duenna, and the husband's tenderness is hardly a compensation for all the evils the young rival is made to suffer. It was on Sunday morning that this visit of the Dandy was made to us. We were all seated quietly, engaged in reading. Four-Legs inquired of my mother, why we were so occupied, and why everything around us was so still. My mother explained to him our observance of the day of rest--that we devoted it to worshipping and serving the Great Spirit, as he had commanded in his Holy Word. Four-Legs gave a nod of approbation. That was very right, he said--he was glad to see us doing our duty--he was very religious himself, and he liked to see others so. He always took care that his squaws attended to their duties,--not reading, perhaps, but such as the Great Spirit liked, and such as he thought proper and becoming. He seemed to have no fancy for listening to any explanation of our points of difference. The impression among the Winnebagoes "that if the Great Spirit had wished them different from what they are, he would have made them so," seems too strong to yield to either argument or persuasion. Sometimes those who are desirous of appearing somewhat civilized will listen quietly to all that is advanced on the subject of Christianity, then, coolly saying, "Yes, we believe that too," will change the conversation to other subjects. As a general thing, they do not appear to perceive that there is anything to be gained by adopting the religion and the customs of the whites. "Look at them," they say, "always toiling and striving--always wearing a brow of care--shut up in houses--afraid of the wind and the rain--suffering when they are deprived of the comforts of life! We, on the contrary, live a life of freedom and happiness. We hunt and fish, and pass our time pleasantly in the open woods and prairies. If we are hungry, we take some game; or, if we do not find that, we can go without. If our enemies trouble us, we can kill them, and there is no more said about it. What should we gain by changing ourselves into white men?"[47] Christian missionaries, with all their efforts to convert them, had at this day made little progress in enlightening their minds upon the doctrines of the Gospel. Mr. Mazzuchelli, a Roman Catholic priest, accompanied by Miss Elizabeth Grignon as interpreter, made a missionary visit to the Portage during our residence there, and, after some instruction from him, about forty consented to be baptized. Christian names were given to them, with which they seemed much pleased; and not less so with the little plated crucifixes which each received, and which the women wore about their necks. These they seemed to regard with a devotional feeling; but I was not sufficiently acquainted with their language to gather from them whether they understood the doctrine the symbol was designed to convey. Certain it is, they expressed no wish to learn our language, in order that they might gain a fuller knowledge of the Saviour, nor any solicitude to be taught more about him than they had received during the missionary's short visit. One woman, to whom the name of Charlotte had been given, signified a desire to learn the domestic ways of the whites, and asked of me as a favor through Madame Paquette that she might be permitted to come on "washing-day," and learn of my servants our way of managing the business. A tub was given her, and my woman instructed her, by signs and example, how she was to manage. As I was not a little curious to observe how things went on, I proceeded after a time to the kitchen where they all were. Charlotte was at her tub, scouring and rubbing with all her might at her little crucifix. Two other squaws sat upon the floor near her, watching the operation. "That is the work she has been at for the last half-hour," said Josette, in a tone of great impatience. "_She'll_ never learn to wash." Charlotte, however, soon fell diligently to work, and really seemed as if she would tear her arms off, with her violent exertions. After a time, supposing that she must feel a good deal fatigued and exhausted with the unaccustomed labor, I did what it was at that day very much the fashion to do,--what, at home, I had always seen done on washing-day,--what, in short, I imagine was then a general custom among housekeepers. I went to the dining-room closet, intending to give Charlotte a glass of wine or brandy and water. My "cupboard" proved to be in the state of the luckless "Mother Hubbard's"--nothing of the kind could I find but a bottle of orange shrub. Of this I poured out a wineglassful, and, carrying it out, offered it to the woman. She took it with an expression of great pleasure; but, in carrying it to her lips, she stopped short, and exclaiming, "Whiskey!" immediately returned it to me. I would still have pressed it upon her; for, in my inexperience, I really believed it was a cordial she needed; but, pointing to her crucifix, she shook her head and returned to her work. I received this as a lesson more powerful than twenty sermons. It was the first time in my life that I had ever seen spirituous liquors rejected upon a religious principle, and it made an impression upon me that I never forgot. CHAPTER XXVII. THE CUT-NOSE. Among the women of the tribe with whom we early became acquainted, our greatest favorite was a daughter of one of the Day-kau-rays. This family, as I have elsewhere said, boasted in some remote generation a cross of the French blood, and this fact might account for the fair complexion and soft curling hair which distinguished our friend. She had a noble forehead, full, expressive eyes, and fine teeth. Unlike the women of her people, she had not grown brown and haggard with advancing years. Indeed, with the exception of one feature, she might be called beautiful. She had many years before married a Mus-qua-kee, or Fox Indian, and, according to the custom among all the tribes, the husband came home to the wife's family, and lived among the Winnebagoes. It is this custom, so exactly the reverse of civilized ways, that makes the birth of a daughter a subject of peculiar rejoicing in an Indian family. "She will bring another hunter to our lodge," is the style of mutual congratulation. The Mus-qua-kee continued, for some few years, to live among his wife's relations; but, as no children blessed their union, he at length became tired of his new friends, and longed to return to his own people. He tried, for a time, to persuade his wife to leave her home, and accompany him to the Mississippi, on the banks of which the Sauks and Foxes lived, but in vain. She could not resolve to make the sacrifice. One day, after many fruitless efforts to persuade her, he flew into a violent passion. "Then, if you will not go with me," said he, "I will leave you; but you shall never be the wife of any other man--I will mark you!" Saying this, he flew upon her, and bit off the end of her nose. This, the usual punishment for conjugal infidelity, is the greatest disgrace a woman can receive--it bars her forever from again entering the pale of matrimony. The wretch fled to his own people; but his revenge fell short of its aim. Day-kau-ray was too well known and too universally respected to suffer opprobrium in any member of his family. This bright, loving creature in particular, won all hearts upon a first acquaintance--she certainly did ours, from the outset. She suffered much from rheumatism, and a remedy we gave her soon afforded her almost entire relief. Her gratitude knew no bounds. Notwithstanding that from long suffering she had become partially crippled, she would walk all the way from the Barribault, a distance of ten miles, as often as once in two or three weeks, to visit us. Then, to sit and gaze at us, to laugh with childish glee at everything new or strange that we employed ourselves about--to pat and stroke us every time we came near her--sometimes to raise our hand or arm and kiss it--these were her demonstrations of affection. And we loved her in return. It was always a joyful announcement when, looking out over the Portage road, somebody called out, "The _Cut-Nose_ is coming!" In time, however, we learned to call her by her baptismal name of Elizabeth, for she, too, was one of Mr. Mazzuchelli's converts. She came one day, accompanied by a half-grown boy, carrying a young fawn she had brought me as a present. I was delighted with the pretty creature--with its soft eyes and dappled coat; but having often heard the simile, "as wild as a fawn," I did not anticipate much success in taming it. To my great surprise, it soon learned to follow me like a dog. Wherever I went, there Fan was sure to be. At breakfast, she would lie down at my feet, under the table. One of her first tokens of affection was to gnaw off all the trimming from my black silk apron, as she lay pretending to caress and fondle me. Nor was this her only style of mischief. One day we heard a great rattling among the crockery in the kitchen. We ran to see what was the matter, and found that Miss Fan had made her way to a shelf of the dresser, about two feet from the ground, and was endeavoring to find a comfortable place to lie down, among the plates and dishes. I soon observed that it was the shelter of the shelf above her head that was the great attraction, and that she was in the habit of seeking out a place of repose under a chair, or something approaching to an "umbrageous bower." So after this I took care, as the hour for her morning nap approached, to open a large green parasol, and set it on the matting in the corner--then when I called "Fan, Fan," she would come and nestle under it, and soon fall fast asleep. One morning Fan was missing. In vain we called and sought her in the garden--in the enclosure for the cattle--at the houses of the Frenchmen--along the hill towards Paquette's--no Fan was to be found. We thought she had asserted her own wild nature and sped away to the woods. It was a hot forenoon, and the doors were all open. About dinner-time, in rushed Fan, panting violently, and threw herself upon her side, where she lay with her feet outstretched, her mouth foaming, and exhibiting all the signs of mortal agony. We tried to give her water, to soothe her, if perhaps it might be fright that so affected her; but in a few minutes, with a gasp and a spasm, she breathed her last. Whether she had been chased by the greyhounds, or whether she had eaten some poisonous weed, which, occasioning her suffering, had driven her to her best friends for aid, we never knew; but we lost our pretty pet, and many were the tears shed for her. * * * * * Very shortly after the departure of my husband, we received a visit from "the White Crow," the "Little Priest," and several others of the principal chiefs of the Bock River Indians. They seemed greatly disappointed at learning that their Father was from home, even though his errand was to get "the silver." We sent for Paquette, who interpreted for us the object of their visit. They had come to inform us that the Sauk chief Black Hawk and his band, who, in compliance with a former treaty, had removed some time previous to the west of the Mississippi, had now returned to their old homes and hunting-grounds, and expressed a determination not to relinquish them, but to drive off the white settlers who had begun to occupy them. The latter, in fact, the chief had already done, and having, as it was said, induced some of the Pottowattamies to join him, there was reason to fear that he might persuade some of the Winnebagoes to follow their example. These chiefs had come to counsel with their Father, and to assure him that they should do all in their power to keep their young men quiet. They had heard that troops were being raised down among the whites in Illinois, and they had hopes that their people would be wise enough to keep out of difficulty. Furthermore, they begged that their Father, on his return, would see that the soldiers did not meddle with them, so long as they remained quiet and behaved in a friendly manner. White Crow seemed particularly anxious to impress it upon me, that if any danger should arise in Shaw-nee-aw-kee's absence, he should come with his people to protect me and my family. I relied upon his assurances, for he had ever shown himself an upright and honorable Indian. Notwithstanding this, the thoughts of Indian troubles so near us, in the absence of our guardian and protector, occasioned us many an anxious moment, and it was not until we learned of the peaceable retreat of the Sauks and Foxes west of the Mississippi, that we were able wholly to lay aside our fears. We were now called to part with our friends, Major Twiggs and his family, which we did with heartfelt regret. He gave me a few parting words about our old acquaintance, Krissman. "When I went into the barracks the other day," said he, "about the time the men were taking their dinner, I noticed a great six-foot soldier standing against the window-frame, crying and blubbering. 'Halloo,' said I, 'what on earth does this mean?' "'Why, that fellow there,' said Krissman (for it was he), 'has scrowged me out of my place!' A pretty soldier your protége will make, madam!" added the Major. I never heard more of my hero. Whether he went to exhibit his prowess against the Seminoles and Mexicans, or whether he returned to till the fertile soil of his native German Flats and blow his favorite boatman's horn, must be left for some future historian to tell. There is one more character to be disposed of--Louisa. An opportunity offering in the spring, the Major placed her under the charge of a person going to Buffalo, that she might be returned to her parents. In compliment to the new acquaintances she had formed, she shortened her skirts, mounted a pair of scarlet leggings embroidered with porcupine-quills, and took her leave of military life, having deposited with the gentleman who took charge of her sixty dollars, for safe keeping, which she remarked "she had _saved up_, out of her wages at a dollar a week, through the winter." * * * * * A very short time after we were settled in our new home at the Agency, we attempted the commencement of a little Sunday-school. Edwin, Harry and Josette were our most reliable scholars, but besides them there were the two little Manaigres, Thérèse Paquette, and her mother's half-sister, Florence Courville, a pretty young girl of fifteen. None of these girls had even learned their letters. They spoke only French, or rather the Canadian _patois_, and it was exceedingly difficult to give them at once the sound of the words, and their signification, which they were careful to inquire. Besides this, there was the task of correcting the false ideas, and remedying the ignorance and superstition which presented so formidable an obstacle to rational improvement. We did our best, however, and had the satisfaction of seeing them, after a time, making really respectable progress with their spelling-book, and, what was still more encouraging, acquiring a degree of light and knowledge in regard to better things. In process of time, however, Florence was often absent from her class. "Her sister," she said, "could not always spare her. She wanted her to keep house while she herself went over oil Sunday to visit her friends the Roys, who lived on the Wisconsin." We reasoned with Madame Paquette on the subject. "Could she not spare Florence on some hour of the day? We would gladly teach her on a week-day, for she seemed anxious to learn, but we had always been told that for that there was no time." "Well--she would see. Madame Alum (Helm) and Madame John were so kind!" There was no improvement, however, in regularity. After a time Manaigre was induced to send his children to Mr. Cadle's mission-school at Green Bay. Thérèse accompanied them, and very soon Florence discontinued her attendance altogether. We were obliged, from that time forward, to confine our instructions to our own domestic circle. CHAPTER XXVIII. INDIAN CUSTOMS AND DANCES. Before we had any right to look for my husband's return, I one day received a message inviting me to come up to the new house. We all went in a body, for we had purposely stayed away a few days, expecting this summons, of which we anticipated the meaning. Plante, in full glee, was seated astride of a small keg on the roof, close beside the kitchen chimney, on the very summit of which he had planted a green bough. To this he held fast with one hand, while he exultingly waved the other and called out,-- "_Eh ban, Madame John! à cette heure, pour le régal!_" "Yes, Plante, you are entitled to a treat, and I hope you will not enjoy it the less that Pillon and Manaigre are to share it with you." A suitable gratification made them quite contented with their "_bourgeoise_," against whom Plante had sometimes been inclined to grumble, "because," as he said, "she had him called up too early in the morning." He might have added, because, too, she could not understand the philosophy of his coming in to work in his own garden, under the plea that it was too rainy to work in Monsieur John's. It was with no ordinary feelings of satisfaction that we quitted the old log tenement and took possession of our new dwelling, small and insignificant though it was. I was only too happy to enjoy the luxury of a real bedchamber, in place of the parlor floor which I had occupied as such for more than two months. It is true that our culinary arrangements were still upon no greatly improved plan. The clay chimney was not of sufficient strength to hold the trammel and pot-hooks, which at that day had not been superseded by the cooking-stove and kitchen-range. Our fire was made as in the olden time, with vast logs behind, and smaller sticks in front, laid across upon the andirons or _dogs_. Upon these sticks were placed such of the cooking-utensils as could not be accommodated on the hearth; but woe to the dinner or the supper, if through a little want of care or scrutiny one treacherous piece was suffered to burn away. Down would come the whole arrangement--kettles, saucepans, burning brands, and cinders, in one almost inextricable mass. How often this happened under the supervision of Harry or little Josette, while the mistress was playing lady to some visitor in the parlor, "'twere vain to tell." Then, spite of Monsieur Plante's palisades round the chimney, in a hard shower the rain would come pelting down, and, the hearth unfortunately sloping a little the wrong way, the fire would become extinguished; while, the bark on the roof failing to do its duty, we were now and then so completely deluged, that there was no resource but to catch up the breakfast or dinner and tuck it under the table until better times--that is, till fair weather came again. In spite of all these little adverse occurrences, however, we enjoyed our new quarters exceedingly. Our garden was well furnished with vegetables, and even the currant-bushes which we had brought from Chicago with us, tied in a bundle at the back of the carriage, had produced us some fruit. The Indian women were very constant in their visits and their presents. Sometimes it was venison--sometimes ducks or pigeons--whortleberries, wild plums, or cranberries, according to the season--neat pretty mats for the floor or the table--wooden bowls or ladles, fancy work of deer-skin or porcupine-quills. These they would bring in and throw at my feet. If through inattention I failed to appear pleased, to raise the articles from the floor and lay them carefully aside, a look of mortification and the observation, "Our mother hates our gifts," showed how much their feelings were wounded. It was always expected that a present would be received graciously, and returned with something twice its value. Meantime, week after week wore on, and still was the return of "the master" delayed. The rare arrival of a schooner at Green Bay, in which to take passage for Detroit, made it always a matter of uncertainty what length of time would be necessary for a journey across the lakes and back--so that it was not until the last of August that he again reached his home. Great was his surprise to find us so nicely moved and settled; and under his active supervision the evils of which we had had to complain were soon remedied. My husband had met at Fort Gratiot, and brought with him, my young brother Julian, whom my parents were sending, at our request, to reside with us. Edwin was overjoyed to have a companion once more, for he had hitherto been very solitary. The boys soon had enough to occupy their attention, as, in obedience to a summons sent to the different villages, the Indians very shortly came flocking in to the payment. There was among their number, this year, one whom I had never before seen--the mother of the elder Day-kau-ray. No one could tell her age, but all agreed that she must have seen upwards of a hundred winters. Her eyes dimmed, and almost white with age--her face dark and withered, like a baked apple--her voice tremulous and feeble, except when raised in fury to reprove her graceless grandsons, who were fond of playing her all sorts of mischievous tricks, indicated the very great age she must have attained. She usually went upon all-fours, not having strength to hold herself erect. On the day of the payment, having received her portion, which she carefully hid in the corner of her blanket, she came crawling along and seated herself on the door-step, to count her treasure. My sister and I were watching her movements from the open window. Presently, just as she had, unobserved, as she thought, spread out her silver before her, two of her descendants came suddenly upon her. At first they seemed begging for a share, but she repulsed them with angry gestures, when one of them made a sudden swoop, and possessed himself of a handful. She tried to rise, to pursue him, but was unable to do more than clutch the remainder and utter the most unearthly screams of rage. At this instant the boys raised their eyes and perceived us regarding them. They burst into a laugh, and with a sort of mocking gesture they threw her the half-dollars, and ran back to the pay-ground. In spite of their vexatious tricks, she seemed very fond of them, and never failed to beg something of her Father, that she might bestow upon them. She crept into the parlor one morning, then straightening herself up, and supporting herself by the frame of the door, she cried, in a most piteous tone,--"Shaw-nee-aw-kee! Wau-tshob-ee-rah Thsoonsh-koo-nee-noh!" (Silver-man, I have no looking-glass.) My husband, smiling and taking up the same little tone, cried, in return,-- "Do you wish to look at yourself, mother?" The idea seemed to her so irresistibly comic that she laughed until she was fairly obliged to seat herself upon the floor and give way to her enjoyment. She then owned that it was for one of the boys that she wanted the little mirror. When her Father had given it to her, she found that she had "no comb," then that she had "no knife," then that she had "no calico shawl," until it ended, as it generally did, by Shaw-nee-aw-kee paying pretty dearly for his joke. * * * * * When the Indians arrived and when they departed, my sense of "woman's rights" was often greatly outraged. The master of the family, as a general thing, came leisurely bearing his gun and perhaps a lance in his hand; the woman, with the mats and poles of her lodge upon her shoulders, her pappoose, if she had one, her kettles, sacks of corn, and wild rice, and, not unfrequently, the household dog perched on the top of all. If there is a horse or pony in the list of family possessions, the man rides, the squaw trudges after. This unequal division of labor is the result of no want of kind, affectionate feeling on the part of the husband. It is rather the instinct of the sex to assert their superiority of position and importance, when a proper occasion offers. When out of the reach of observation, and in no danger of compromising his own dignity, the husband is willing enough to relieve his spouse from the burden that custom imposes on her, by sharing her labors and hardships. The payment had not passed without its appropriate number of complimentary and medicine dances. The latter take place only at rare intervals--the former whenever an occasion demanding a manifestation of respect and courtesy presents itself. It is the custom to ask permission of the person to be complimented, to dance for him. This granted, preparation is made by painting the face elaborately, and marking the person, which is usually bare about the chest and shoulders, after the most approved pattern. All the ornaments that can be mustered are added to the hair, or headdress. Happy is he who, in virtue of having taken one or more scalps, is entitled to proclaim it by a corresponding number of eagle's feathers. The less fortunate make a substitute of the feathers of the wild turkey, or, better still, of the first unlucky "rooster" that falls in their way. My poor fowls, during the time of payment, were always thoroughly plucked. When their preparations are completed, the dancers assemble at some convenient place, whence they come marching to the spot appointed, accompanied by the music of the Indian drum and shee-shee-qua or rattle. They range themselves in a circle and dance with violent contortions and gesticulations, some of them graceful, others only energetic, the squaws, who stand a little apart and mingle their discordant voices with the music of the instruments, rarely participating in the dance. Occasionally, however, when excited by the general gaiety, a few of them will form a circle outside and perform a sort of ungraceful, up-and-down movement, which has no merit, save the perfect time which is kept, and for which the Indians seem, without exception, to possess a natural ear. The dance finished, which is only when the strength of the dancers is quite exhausted, a quantity of presents are brought and placed in the middle of the circle, by order of the party complimented. An equitable distribution is made by one of their number; and, the object of all this display having been accomplished, they retire. The medicine dance is carried on chiefly to celebrate the skill of the "Medicine-man" in curing diseases. This functionary belongs to a fraternity who are supposed to add to their other powers some skill in interpreting the will of the Great Spirit in regard to the conduct of his people. He occasionally makes offerings and sacrifices which are regarded as propitiatory. In this sense, the term "priest" may be deemed applicable to him. He is also a "prophet" in so far as he is, in a limited degree, an instructor; but he does not claim to possess the gift of foretelling future events. A person is selected to join the fraternity of the "Medicine-man" by those already initiated, chiefly on account of some skill or sagacity that has been observed in him. Sometimes it happens that a person who has had a severe illness which has yielded to the prescriptions of one of the members, is considered a proper object of choice from a sort of claim thus established. When he is about to be initiated, a great feast is made, of course at the expense of the candidate, for in simple as in civilized life the same principle of politics holds good, "honors must be paid for." An animal is killed and dressed, of which the people at large partake--there are dances and songs and speeches in abundance. Then the chief Medicine-man takes the candidate and privately instructs him in all the ceremonies and knowledge necessary to make him an accomplished member of the fraternity. Sometimes the new member selected is still a child. In that case he is taken by the Medicine-man so soon as he reaches a proper age, and qualified by instruction and example to become a creditable member of the fraternity. Among the Winnebagoes there seems a considerable belief in magic. Each Medicine-man has a bag or sack, in which is supposed to be inclosed some animal, to whom, in the course of their _pow-wows_, he addresses himself, crying to him in the note common to his imagined species. And the people seem to be persuaded that the answers which are announced are really communications, in this form, from the Great Spirit. The Indians appear to have no idea of a retribution beyond this life. They have a strong appreciation of the great fundamental virtues of natural religion--the worship of the Great Spirit, brotherly love, parental affection, honesty, temperance, and chastity. Any infringement of the laws of the Great Spirit, by a departure from these virtues, they believe will excite his anger and draw down punishment. These are their principles. That their practice evinces more and more a departure from them, under the debasing influences of a proximity to the whites, is a melancholy truth, which no one will admit with so much sorrow as those who lived among them, and esteemed them, before this signal change had taken place. * * * * * One of the first improvements that suggested itself about our new dwelling, was the removal of some very unsightly pickets surrounding two or three Indian graves, on the esplanade in front of the house. Such, however, is the reverence in which these burial-places are held, that we felt we must approach the subject with great delicacy and consideration. My husband at length ventured to propose to Mrs. "Pawnee Blanc," the nearest surviving relative of the person interred, to replace the pickets with a neat wooden platform. The idea pleased her much, for, through her intimacy in Paquette's family, she had acquired something of a taste for civilization. Accordingly, a little platform about a foot in height, properly finished with a moulding around the edge, was substituted for the worn and blackened pickets; and it was touching to witness the mournful satisfaction with which two or three old crones would come regularly every evening at sunset, to sit and gossip over the ashes of their departed relatives. On the fine moonlight nights, too, there might often be seen a group sitting there, and enjoying what is to them a solemn hour, for they entertain the poetic belief that "the moon was made to give light to the dead." The reverence of the Indians for the memory of their departed friends, and their dutiful attention in visiting and making offerings to the Great Spirit, over their last resting-places, is an example worthy of imitation among their more enlightened brethren. Not so, however, with some of their customs in relation to the dead. The news of the decease of one of their number is a signal for a general mourning and lamentation; it is also in some instances, I am sorry to say, when the means and appliances can be found, the apology for a general carouse. The relatives weep and howl for grief--the friends and acquaintance bear them company through sympathy. A few of their number are deputed to wait upon their Father, to inform him of the event, and to beg some presents "to help them," as they express it, "dry up their tears." We received such a visit one morning, not long after the payment was concluded. A drunken little Indian, named, by the French people around, "Old Boilvin," from his resemblance to an Indian Agent of that name at Prairie du Chien, was the person on account of whose death the application was made. "He had been fishing," they said, "on the shores of one of the little lakes near the Portage, and, having taken a little too much '_whiskee_,' had fallen into the water and been drowned." Nothing of him had been found but his blanket on the bank, so there could be no funeral ceremonies, but his friends were prepared to make a great lamentation about him. Their Father presented them with tobacco, knives, calico, and looking-glasses, in proportion to what he thought might be their reasonable grief at the loss of such a worthless vagabond, and they departed. There was no difficulty, notwithstanding the stringent prohibitions on the subject, in procuring a keg of whiskey from some of the traders who yet remained. Armed with that and their other treasures, they assembled at an appointed spot, not far from the scene of the catastrophe, and, sitting down with the keg in their midst, they commenced their affliction. The more they drank, the more clamorous became their grief, and the faster flowed their tears. In the midst of these demonstrations, a little figure, bent and staggering, covered with mud and all in disorder, with a countenance full of wonder and sympathy, approached them, and began,-- "Why? what? what? Who's dead?" "Who's dead?" repeated they, looking up in astonishment. "Why, you're dead! you were drowned in Swan Lake! Did not we find your blanket there? Come, sit down and help us mourn." The old man did not wait for a second invitation. He took his seat and cried and drank with the rest, weeping and lamenting as bitterly as any of them, and the strange scene was continued as long as they had power to articulate, or any portion of the whiskey was left. CHAPTER XXIX. STORY OF THE RED FOX. The Indians, of whatever tribe, are exceedingly fond of narrating or listening to tales and stories, whether historical or fictitious. They have their professed storytellers, like the Oriental nations, and these go about, from village to village, collecting an admiring and attentive audience, however oft-told and familiar the matter they recite. It is in this way that their traditions are preserved and handed down unimpaired from generation to generation. Their knowledge of the geography of their country is wonderfully exact. I have seen an Indian sit in his lodge, and draw a map, in the ashes, of the Northwestern States, not of their statistical but their geographical features, lakes, rivers, and mountains, with the greatest accuracy, giving their relative distances, by days' journeys, without hesitation, and even extending his drawings and explanations as far as Kentucky and Tennessee. Of biography they preserve not only the leading events in the life of the person, but his features, appearance, and bearing, his manners, and whatever little trait or peculiarity characterized him. The women are more fond of fiction, and some of their stories have a strange mingling of humor and pathos. I give the two which follow as specimens. The Indian names contained in them are in the Ottawa or "Courte-Oreilles" language, but the same tales are current in all the different tongues and dialects. * * * * * STORY OF THE RED FOX. This is an animal to which many peculiarities are attributed. He is said to resemble the jackal in his habit of molesting the graves of the dead, and the Indians have a superstitious dread of hearing his bark at night, believing that it forebodes calamity and death. They say, too, that he was originally of one uniform reddish-brown color, but that his legs became black in the manner related in the story. There was a chief of a certain village who had a beautiful daughter. He resolved upon one occasion to make a feast and invite all the animals. When the invitation was brought to the red fox, he inquired, "What are you going to have for supper?" "_Mee-dau-mee-nau-bo_," was the reply. (This is a porridge made of parched corn, slightly cracked.) The fox turned up his little sharp nose. "No, I thank you," said he; "I can get plenty of that at home." The messenger returned to the chief, and reported the contemptuous refusal of the fox. "Go back to him," said the chief, "and tell him we are going to have a nice fresh body,[48] and we will have it cooked in the most delicate manner possible." Pleased with the prospect of such a treat, the fox gave a very hearty assent to the second invitation. The hour arrived, and he set off for the lodge of the chief to attend the feast. The company were all prepared for him, for they made common cause with their friend who had been insulted. As the fox entered, the guest next the door, with great courtesy, rose from his place, and begged the new-comer to be seated. Immediately the person next him also rose, and insisted that the fox should occupy his place, as it was still nearer the fire--the post of honor. Then the third, with many expressions of civility, pressed him to exchange with him; and thus, with many ceremonious flourishes, he was passed along the circle, always approaching the fire, where a huge cauldron stood, in which the good cheer was still cooking. The fox was by no means unwilling to occupy the highest place in the assembly, and, besides, he was anxious to take a peep into the kettle, for he had his suspicions that he might be disappointed of the delicacies he had been expecting. So, by degrees, he was ushered nearer and nearer the great blazing fire, until by a dexterous push and shove he was hoisted into the seething kettle. His feet were dreadfully scalded, but he leaped out, and ran home to his lodge, howling and crying with pain. His grandmother, with whom, according to the custom of animals, he lived, demanded of him an account of the affair. When he had faithfully related all the circumstances (for, unlike the civilized animals, he did not think of telling his grandmother a story), she reproved him very strongly. "You have committed two great faults," said she. "In the first place, you were very rude to the chief who was so kind as to invite you, and by returning insult for civility you made yourself enemies who were determined to punish you. In the next place, it was very unbecoming in you to be so forward to take the place of honor. Had you been contented modestly to keep your seat near the door, you would have escaped the misfortune that has befallen you." All this was not very consolatory to the poor fox, who continued to whine and cry most piteously, while his grandmother, having finished her lecture, proceeded to bind up his wounds. Great virtue is supposed to be added to all medical prescriptions and applications by a little dancing; so, the dressing having been applied, the grandmother fell to dancing with all her might, round and round in the lodge. When she was nearly exhausted, the fox said, "Grandmother, take off the bandages and see if my legs are healed." She did as he requested, but no--the burns were still fresh. She danced and danced again. Now and then, as he grew impatient, she would remove the coverings to observe the effect of the remedies. At length, towards morning, she looked, and, to be sure, the burns were quite healed. "But, oh!" cried she, "your legs are as black as a coal! They were so badly burned that they will never return to their color!" The poor fox, who, like many another brave, was vain of his legs, fell into a transport of lamentation. "Oh! my legs! My pretty red legs! What shall I do? The young girls will all despise me. I shall never dare to show myself among them again!" He cried and sobbed until his grandmother, fatigued with her exercise, fell asleep. By this time he had decided upon his plan of revenge. He rose and stole softly out of his lodge, and, pursuing his way rapidly towards the village of the chief, he turned his face in the direction of the principal lodge and barked. When the inhabitants heard this sound in the stillness of the night, their hearts trembled. They knew that it foreboded sorrow and trouble to some one of their number. A very short time elapsed before the beautiful daughter of the chief fell sick, and she grew rapidly worse and worse, spite of medicines, charms, and dances. At length she died. The fox had not intended to bring misfortune on the village in this shape, for he loved the beautiful daughter of the chief, so he kept in his lodge and mourned and fretted for her death. Preparations were made for a magnificent funeral, but the friends of the deceased were in great perplexity. "If we bury her in the earth," said they, "the fox will come and disturb her remains. He has barked her to death, and he will be glad to come and finish his work of revenge." They took counsel together, and determined to hang her body high in a tree as a place of sepulture. They thought the fox would go groping about in the earth, and not lift up his eyes to the branches above his head. But the grandmother had been at the funeral, and she returned and told the fox all that had been done. "Now, my son," said she, "listen to me. Do not meddle with the remains of the chief's daughter. You have done mischief enough already. Leave her in peace." As soon as the grandmother was asleep at night, the fox rambled forth. He soon found the place he sought, and came and sat under the tree where the young girl had been placed. He gazed and gazed at her all the livelong night, and she appeared as beautiful as when in life. But when the day dawned, and the light enabled him to see more clearly, then he observed that decay was doing its work--that instead of a beautiful she presented only a loathsome appearance. He went home sad and afflicted, and passed all the day mourning in his lodge. "Have you disturbed the remains of the chief's beautiful daughter?" was his parent's anxious question. "No, grandmother,"--and he uttered not another word. Thus it went on for many days and nights. The fox always took care to quit his watch at the early dawn of day, for he knew that her friends would suspect him, and come betimes to see if all was right. At length he perceived that, gradually, the young girl looked less and less hideous in the morning light, and that she by degrees resumed the appearance she had presented in life, so that in process of time her beauty and look of health quite returned to her. One day he said, "Grandmother, give me my pipe, that I may take a smoke." "Ah!" cried she, "you begin to be comforted. You have never smoked since the death of the chief's beautiful daughter. Have you heard some good news?" "Never you mind," said he; "bring the pipe." He sat down and smoked, and smoked. After a time he said, "Grandmother, sweep your lodge and put it all in order, for this day you will receive a visit from your daughter-in-law." The grandmother did as she was desired. She swept her lodge, and arranged it with all the taste she possessed, and then both sat down to await the visit. "When you hear a sound at the door," said the fox, "you must give the salutation, and say, Come in." When they had been thus seated for a time, the grandmother heard a faint, rustling sound. She looked towards the door. To her surprise, the mat which usually hung as a curtain was rolled up, and the door was open. "Peen-tee-geen n'dau-nis!"[49] cried she. Something like a faint, faint shadow appeared to glide in. It took gradually a more distinct outline. As she looked and looked, she began to discern the form and features of the chief's beautiful daughter, but it was long before she appeared like a reality, and took her place in the lodge like a thing of flesh and blood. They kept the matter hid very close, for they would not for the world that the father or friends of the bride should know what had happened. Soon, however, it began to be rumored about that the chief's beautiful daughter had returned to life, and was living in the Red Fox's lodge. How it ever became known was a mystery, for, of course, the grandmother never spoke of it. Be that as it may, the news created great excitement in the village. "This must never be," said they all. "He barked her to death once, and who knows what he may do next time?" The father took at once a decided part. "The Red Fox is not worthy of my daughter," he said. "I had promised her to the Hart, the finest and most elegant among the animals. Now that she has returned to life, I shall keep my word." So the friends all went in a body to the lodge of the Red Fox. The bridegroom, the bride, and the grandmother made all the resistance possible, but they were overpowered by numbers, and, the Hart having remained conveniently waiting on the outside where there was no danger, the beautiful daughter of the chief was placed upon his back, and he coursed away through the forest to carry her to his own home. When he arrived at the door of his lodge, however, he turned his head, but no bride was in the place where he expected to see her. He had thought his burden very light from the beginning, but that he supposed was natural to spirits returned from the dead. He never imagined she had at the outset glided from her seat, and in the midst of the tumult slipped back, unobserved, to her chosen husband. One or two attempts were made by the friends, after this, to repossess themselves of the young creature, but all without success. Then they said, "Let her remain where she is. It is true the Red Fox occasioned her death, but by his watchfulness and care he caressed her into life again; therefore she rightfully belongs to him." So the Red Fox and his beautiful bride lived long together in great peace and happiness. CHAPTER XXX. STORY OF SHEE-SHEE-BANZE. There was a young man named Shee-shee-banze (the Little Duck) paddling his canoe along the shore of the lake. Two girls came down to the edge of the water, and, seeing him, the elder said to the younger, "Let us call to him to take us a sail." It must be remarked that in all Indian stories where two or more sisters are the _dramatis personae_, the elder is invariably represented as silly, ridiculous, and disgusting--the younger, as wise and beautiful. In the present case the younger remonstrated. "Oh, no," said she, "let us not do such a thing. What will he think of us?" But the other persevered, and called to him, "Ho! come and take us into your canoe." The young man obeyed, and, approaching the shore, he took them with him into the canoe. "Who are you?" asked the elder sister. "I am _Way-gee-mar-kin_," replied he, "the great chief." This Way-gee-mar-kin was something of a fairy, for when surrounded by his followers, and wishing to confer favors on them, he had a habit of coughing slightly, when there would fly forth from his mouth quantities of silver brooches, ear-bobs, and other ornaments, for which it was the custom of his people to scramble, each striving, as in more civilized life, to get more than his share. Accordingly, the elder sister said, "If you are Way-gee-mar-kin, let us see you cough." Shee-shee-banze had a few of these silver ornaments which he had got by scrambling, and which he kept stowed away in the sides of his mouth in case of emergency. So he gave some spasmodic coughs and brought forth a few, which the girl eagerly seized. After a time, as they paddled along, a fine noble elk came forth from the forest, and approached the water to drink. "What is that?" asked the spokeswoman; for the younger sister sat silent and modest all the time. "It is my dog that I hunt with." "Call him to us, that I may see him." Shee-shee-banze called, but the elk turned and fled into the woods. "He does not seem to obey you, however." "No; it is because you inspire him with disgust, and therefore he flies from you." Soon a bear made his appearance by the water's edge. "What is that?" "One of my servants." Again he was requested to call him, and, as the call was disregarded, the same reason as before was assigned. Their excursion was at length ended. There had been a little magic in it, for although the young girls had supposed themselves to be in a canoe, there was, in reality, no canoe at all. They only imagined it to have been so. Now, Shee-shee-banze lived with his grandmother, and to her lodge he conducted his young friends. They stood outside while he went in. "Grandmother," said he, "I have brought you two young girls, who will be your daughters-in-law. Invite them into your lodge." Upon this, the old woman called, "Ho! come in," and they entered. They were made welcome and treated to the best of everything. In the mean time, the real Way-gee-mar-kin, the great chief, made preparations for a grand feast. When he was sending his messenger out with the invitations, he said to him, "Be very particular to bid Shee-shee-banze to the feast, for, as he is the smallest and meanest person in the tribe, you must use double ceremony with him, or he will be apt to think himself slighted." Shee-shee-banze was sitting in his lodge with his new friends, when the messenger arrived. "Ho! Shee-shee-banze," cried he, "you are invited to a great feast that Way-gee-mar-kin is to give to-night, to all his subjects." But Shee-shee-banze took no notice of the invitation. He only whistled, and pretended not to hear. The messenger repeated his words, then, finding that no attention was paid to them, he went his way. The young girls looked at each other, during the scene, greatly astonished. At length the elder spoke. "What does this mean?" said she. "Why does he call you Shee-shee-banze, and invite you to visit Way-gee-mar-kin?" "Oh," said Shee-shee-banze, "it is one of my followers that always likes to be a little impudent. I am obliged to put up with it sometimes, but you observed that I treated him with silent contempt." The messenger returned to the chief, and reported the manner in which the invitation had been received. "Oh," said the good-natured chief, "it is because he feels that he is poor and insignificant. Go back again--call him by my name, and make a flourishing speech to him." The messenger fulfilled his mission as he was bid. "Way-gee-mar-kin," said he, pompously, "a great feast is to be given to-night, and I am sent most respectfully to solicit the honor of your company!" "Did I not tell you?" said Shee-shee-banze to the maidens Then, nodding with careless condescension, he added, "Tell them I'll come." At night, Shee-shee-banze dressed himself in his very best paint, feathers, and ornaments--but before his departure he took his grandmother aside. "Be sure," said he, "that you watch these young people closely until I come back. Shut up your lodge tight, _tight_. Let no one come in or go out, and, above all things, do not go to sleep." These orders given, he went his way. The grandmother tried her best to keep awake, but finding herself growing more and more sleepy, as the night wore on, she took a strong cord and laced across the mat which hung before the entrance to the lodge, as the Indians lace up the mouths of their bags, then, having seen all things secure and the girls quiet in bed, she lay down and soon fell into a comfortable sleep. The young girls, in the mean while, were dying with curiosity to know what had become of Shee-shee-banze, and as soon as they were sure the old lady was asleep, they prepared to follow him and see what was going on. Fearing, however, that the grandmother might awake and discover their absence, they took two logs of wood, and, putting them under the blanket, so disposed them as to present the appearance of persons sleeping quietly. They then cut the cords that fastened the door, and, guided by the sounds of the music, the dancing, and the merry-making, they soon found their way to the dwelling of Way-gee-mar-kin. When they entered, they saw the chief seated on a throne, surrounded by light and splendor. Everything was joy and amusement. Crowds of courtiers were in the apartment, all dressed in the most brilliant array. The strangers looked around for their friend Shee-shee-banze, but he was nowhere to be seen. Now and then the chief would cough, when a shower of silver ornaments and precious things would fly in all directions, and instantly a scramble would commence among the company, to gather them up and appropriate them. As they thus rushed forward, the brides-elect saw their poor little friend crowded up into a corner, where nobody took any notice of him, except to push him aside, or step on him whenever he was in the way. He uttered piteous little squeaks as one and another would thus maltreat him, but he was too busy taking care of himself to perceive that those whom he had left snug at home in the lodge were witnesses of all that was going on. At length the signal was given for the company to retire, all but the two young damsels, upon whom Way-gee-mar-kin had set his eye, and to whom he had sent, by one of his assistants, great offers to induce them to remain with him and become his wives. Poor Shee-shee-banze returned to his lodge, but what was his consternation to find the door open! "Ho! grandmother," cried he, "is this the way you keep watch?" The old woman started up. "There are my daughters-in-law," said she, pointing to the two logs of wood. Shee-shee-banze threw himself on the ground between them. His back was broken by coming so violently in contact with them, but that he did not mind--he thought only of revenge, and the recovery of his sweethearts. He waited but to get some powerful poison and prepare it, and then he stole softly back to the wigwam of Way-gee-mar-kin. All was silent, and he crept in without making the slightest noise. There lay the chief, with a young girl on each side of him. They were all sound asleep, the chief lying on his back, with his mouth wide open. Before he was aware of it, the poison was down his throat, and Shee-shee-banze had retreated quietly to his own lodge. The next morning the cry went through the village that Way-gee-mar-kin had been found dead in his bed. Of course it was attributed to over-indulgence at the feast. All was grief and lamentation. "Let us go and tell poor Shee-shee-banze," said one, "he was so fond of Way-gee-mar-kin." They found him sitting on a bank, fishing. He had been up at peep of day, to make preparation for receiving the intelligence. He had caught two or three fish, and, extracting their bladders, had filled them with blood, and tied them under his arm. When the friends of Way-gee-mar-kin saw him, they called out to him,-- "Oh! Shee-shee-banze--your friend, Way-gee-mar-kin, is dead!" With a gesture of despair, Shee-shee-banze drew his knife and plunged it--not into his heart, but into the bladders filled with blood that he had prepared. As he fell, apparently lifeless, to the ground, the messengers began to reproach themselves: "Oh! why did we tell him so suddenly? We might have known he would not survive it. Poor Shee-shee-banze! he loved Way-gee-mar-kin so." To their great surprise, the day after the funeral, Shee-shee-banze came walking towards the wigwam of the dead chief. As he walked, he sang, or rather chaunted to a monotonous strain,[50] the following:-- "Way-gee-mar-kin is dead, is dead, I know who killed him. I guess it was I--I guess it was I." All the village was aroused. Everybody flew in pursuit of the murderer, but he evaded them, and escaped to a place of safety. Soon after, he again made his appearance, mincing as he walked, and singing to the same strain as before,-- "If you wish to take and punish me, Let the widows come and catch me." It seemed a good idea, and the young women were recommended to go and entice the culprit into the village, so that the friends of the deceased could lay hold of him. They went forth on their errand. Shee-shee-banze would suffer them to approach, then he would dance off a little--now he would allow them to come quite near; anon he would retreat a little before them, all the time singing, "Come, pretty widows, come and catch me." Thus he decoyed them on, occasionally using honeyed words and flattering speeches, until he had gained their consent to return with him to his lodge, and take up their abode with him. The friends of the murdered chief were scandalized at such inconstancy, and resolved to punish all three, as soon as they could catch them. They surrounded his lodge with cries and threatenings, but Shee-shee-banze and his two brides had contrived to elude their vigilance and gain his canoe, which lay in the river, close at hand. Hardly were they on board when their escape was discovered. The whole troop flew after them. Some plunged into the stream, and seized the canoe. In the struggle it was upset, but immediately on touching the water, whether from the magical properties of the canoe, or the necromantic skill of the grandmother, they were transformed into ducks, and flew quacking away. Since that time the water-fowl of this species are always found in companies of three--two females and a male. * * * * * The _Canard de France_, or Mallard, and the _Brancheuse_, or Wood Duck, are of different habits from the foregoing, flying in pairs. Indeed, the constancy of the latter is said to be so great that if he loses his mate he never takes another partner, but goes mourning to the end of his days. CHAPTER XXXI. A VISIT TO GREEN BAY--MA-ZHEE-GAW-GAW SWAMP. The payment over, and the Indians dispersed, we prepared ourselves to settle down quietly in our little home. But now a new source of disturbance arose. My husband's accounts of disbursements as Agent of the Winnebagoes, which he had forwarded to the Department at Washington, had failed to reach there, of which he received due notice--that is to say, such a notice as could reach us by the circuitous and uncertain mode of conveyance by which intercourse with the Eastern world was then kept up. If the vouchers for the former expenditures, together with the recent payment of $15,000 annuity money, should not be forthcoming, it might place him in a very awkward position; he therefore decided to go at once to Washington, and be the bearer himself of his duplicate accounts. "Should you like to go and see your father and mother," said he to me, one morning, "and show them how the West agrees with you?" It was a most joyful suggestion after a year's separation, and in a few days all things were in readiness for our departure. There was visiting us, at that time, Miss Brush, of Detroit, who had come from Green Bay with Mr. and Mrs. Whitney and Miss Frances Henshaw, on an excursion to the Mississippi. Our little India-rubber house had contrived to expand itself for the accommodation of the whole party during the very pleasant visit they made us. The arrival of two young ladies had been, as may be imagined, quite a godsend to the unmarried lieutenants, and when, tired of the journey, or intimidated by the snow, which fell eight inches on the 4th of October, Miss Brush determined to give up the remainder of her excursion, and accept our pressing invitation to remain with us until the return of her friends, we were looked upon as public benefactors. She was now to accompany us to Green Bay, and possibly to Detroit. Our voyage down the river was without incident, and we reached Green Bay just as all the place was astir in the expectation of the arrival of one of Mr. Newbery's schooners. This important event was the subject of interest to the whole community, from Fort Howard to "Dickenson's." To some its arrival would bring friends, to some supplies--to the ladies, the fashions, to the gentlemen, the news, for it was the happy bearer of the mails, not for that place alone, but for all the "upper country." In a few days the vessel arrived. She brought a mail for Fort Winnebago, it being only in the winter season that letters were carried by land to that place, via _Niles's Settlement_ and Chicago. In virtue of his office as Postmaster, my husband opened the mail-bag, and took possession of his own letters. One informed him of the satisfactory appearance at the Department of the missing accounts, but oh! sad disappointment, another brought the news that my parents had gone to Kentucky for the winter--not to any city or accessible place, but "up the Sandy," and over among the mountains of Virginia, hunting up old land-claims belonging to my grandfather's estate. It was vain to hope to follow them. We might hardly expect to find them during the short period we could be absent from home--not even were we to receive the lucid directions once given my father by an old settler during his explorations through that wild region. "You must go up _Tug_," said the man, "and down _Troublesome_, and fall over on to _Kingdom-come_."[51] We did not think it advisable to undertake such an expedition, and therefore made up our minds to retrace our steps to Fort Winnebago. No boats were in readiness to ascend the river. Our old friend Hamilton promised to have one in preparation at once, but time passed by, and no boat was made ready. It was now the beginning of November. We were passing our time very pleasantly with the Irwins and Whitneys, and at the residence of Colonel Stambaugh, the Indian Agent, but still this delay was inconvenient and vexatious. I suggested undertaking the journey on horseback. "No, indeed," was the answer I invariably received. "No mortal woman has ever gone that road, unless it was some native on foot, nor ever could." "But suppose we set out in the boat and get frozen in on the way. We can neither pass the winter there, nor possibly find our way to a human habitation. We have had one similar experience already. Is it not better to take it for granted that I can do what you and others of your sex have done?" Dr. Finley, the post-surgeon at Fort Howard, on hearing the matter debated, offered me immediately his favorite horse Charlie. "He is very sure-footed," the doctor alleged, "and capital in a marsh or troublesome stream." By land, then, it was decided to go; and as soon as our old Menomonee friend "Wish-tay-yun," who was as good a guide by land as by water, could be summoned, we set off, leaving our trunks to be forwarded by Hamilton whenever it should please him to carry out his intention of sending up his boat. We waited until a late hour on the morning of our departure for our fellow-travellers, Mr. Wing, of Monroe, and Dr. Philleo, of Galena; but, finding they did not join us, we resolved to lose no time, confident that we should all meet at the Kakalin in the course of the evening. After crossing the river at what is now Depere, and entering the wild, unsettled country on the west of the river, we found a succession of wooded hills, separated by ravines so narrow and steep that it seemed impossible that any animals but mules or goats could make their way among them. Wish-tay-yun took the lead. The horse he rode was accustomed to the country, and well trained to this style of road. As for Charlie, he was perfectly admirable. When he came to a precipitous descent, he would set forward his forefeet, and slide down on his haunches in the most scientific manner, while my only mode of preserving my balance was to hold fast by the bridle and lay myself braced almost flat against his back. Then our position would suddenly change, and we would be scaling the opposite bank, at the imminent risk of falling backward into the ravine below. It was amusing to see Wish-tay-yun, as he scrambled on ahead, now and then turning partly round to see how I fared. And when, panting and laughing, I at length reached the summit, he would throw up his hands, and shout, with the utmost glee, "Mamma Manitou!" (My mother is a spirit.) Our old acquaintances, the Grignons, seemed much surprised that I should have ventured on such a journey. They had never undertaken it, although they had lived so long at the Kakalin; but then there was no reason why they should have done so. They could always command a canoe or a boat when they wished to visit "the Bay." As we had anticipated, our gentlemen joined us at supper. "They had delayed to take dinner with Colonel Stambaugh--had had a delightful gallop up from: the Bay--had seen no ravines, nor anything but fine smooth roads--might have been asleep, but, if so, were not conscious of it." This was the account they gave of themselves, to our no small amusement. From the Kakalin to the Butte des Morts, where lived a man named Knaggs, was our next day's stage. The country was rough and wild, much like that we had passed through the spring before, in going from Hamilton's diggings to Kellogg's Grove, but we were fortunate in having Wish-tay-yun, rather than "Uncle Billy," for our guide, so that we could make our way with some degree of moderation. We had travelled but forty miles when we reached Knaggs's, yet I was both cold and fatigued, so that the cosy little room in which we found Mrs. Knaggs, and the bright fire, were most cheering objects; and, as we had only broken our fast since morning with a few crackers we carried in our pockets, I must own we did ample justice to her nice coffee and cakes, not to mention venison-steaks and bear's meat, the latter of which I had never before tasted. Our supper over, we looked about for a place of repose. The room in which we had taken our meal was of small dimensions, just sufficient to accommodate a bed, a table placed against the wall, and the few chairs on which we sat. There was no room for any kind of a "shakedown." "Where can you put us for the night?" inquired my husband of Mr. Knaggs, when he made his appearance. "Why, there is no place that I know of, unless you can camp down in the old building outside." We went to look at it. It consisted of one room, bare and dirty. A huge chimney, in which a few brands were burning, occupied nearly one side of the apartment. Against another was built a rickety sort of bunk. This was the only vestige of furniture to be seen. The floor was thickly covered with mud and dirt, in the midst of which, near the fire, was seated an old Indian with a pan of boiled corn on his lap, which he was scooping up with both hands and devouring with the utmost voracity. We soon discovered that he was blind. On hearing footsteps and voices, he instinctively gathered his dish of food close to him, and began some morose grumblings; but when he was told that it was "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" who was addressing him, his features relaxed into a more agreeable expression, and be even held forth his dish and invited us to share its contents. "But are we to stay here?" I asked. "Can we not sleep out-of-doors?" "We have no tent," replied my husband, "and the weather is too cold to risk the exposure without one." "I could sit in a chair all night, by the fire." "Then you would not be able to ride to Bellefontaine to-morrow." There was no alternative. The only thing Mr. Knaggs could furnish in the shape of bedding was a small bear-skin. The bunk was a trifle less filthy than the floor; so upon its boards we spread first the skin, then our saddle-blankets, and, with a pair of saddle-bags for a bolster, I wrapped myself in my cloak, and resigned myself to my distasteful accommodations. The change of position from that I had occupied through the day, probably brought some rest, but sleep I could not. Even on a softer and more agreeable couch, the snoring of the old Indian and two or three companions who had joined him, and his frequent querulous exclamations as he felt himself encroached upon in the darkness, would have effectually banished slumber from my eyes. It was a relief to rise with early morning and prepare for the journey of the day. Where our fellow-travellers had bestowed themselves I knew not, but they evidently had fared no better than we. They were in fine spirits, however, and we cheerfully took our breakfast and were ferried over the river to continue on the trail from that point to Bellefontaine, twelve miles distant from Fort Winnebago. The great "bug-bear" of this road, Ma-zhee-gaw-gaw Swamp, was the next thing to be encountered. We reached it about nine o'clock. It spread before us, a vast expanse of morass, about half a mile in width, and of length interminable, partly covered with water, with black knobs rising here and there above the surface, affording a precarious foothold for the animals in crossing it. Where the water was not, there lay in place of it a bed of black oozy mud, which looked as if it might give way under the foot, and let it, at each step, sink to an unknown depth. This we were now to traverse. All three of the gentlemen went in advance of me, each hoping, as he said, to select the surest and firmest path for me to follow. One and another would call, "Here, madam, come this way!" "This is the best path, wifie; follow me," but often Charlie knew better than either, and selected a path according to his own judgment, which proved the best of the whole. On he went, picking his way so slowly and cautiously, now pausing on one little hillock, now on another, and anon turning aside to avoid a patch of mud which seemed more than usually suspicious, that all the company had got some little distance ahead of me. On raising my eyes, which had been kept pretty closely on my horse's footsteps, I saw my husband on foot, striving to lead his horse by the bridle from a difficult position into which he had got, Mr. Wing and his great white floundering animal lying sideways in the mud, the rider using all his efforts to extricate himself from the stirrups, and Dr. Philleo standing at a little distance from his steed, who was doing his best to rise up from a deep bog into which he had pitched himself. It was a formidable sight! They all called out with one accord,-- "Oh, do not come this way!" "Indeed," cried I, "I have no thought of it. Charlie and I know better." And, trusting to the sagacious creature, he picked his way carefully along, and carried me safely past the dismounted company. I could not refrain from a little triumphant flourish with my whip, as I looked back upon them and watched their progress to their saddles once more. Three hours had we been thus unpleasantly engaged, and yet we were not over the "Slough of Despond." At length we drew near its farthest verge. Here ran a deep stream some five or six feet in width. The gentlemen, as they reached it, dismounted, and began debating what was to be done. "Jump off, jump off, madam," cried Mr. Wing, and "Jump off, jump off," echoed Dr. Philleo; "we are just consulting how we are to get you across." "What do you think about it?" asked my husband. "Charlie will show you," replied I. "Come, Charlie." And as I raised his bridle quickly, with a pat on his neck and an encouraging chirp, he bounded over the stream as lightly as a deer, and landed me safe on _terra firma_. Poor Mr. Wing had fared the worst of the company; the clumsy animal he rode seeming to be of opinion when he got into a difficulty that he had nothing to do but to lie down and resign himself to his fate; while his rider, not being particularly light and agile, was generally undermost, and half imbedded in the mire before he had quite made up his mind as to his course of action. It was therefore a wise movement in him, when he reached the little stream, to plunge into it and wade across, thus washing out, as much as possible, the traces of the morning's adventures from himself and his steed; and the other gentlemen, having no alternative, concluded to follow his example. We did not halt long on the rising ground beyond the morass, for we had a long stretch before us to Bellefontaine, forty-five miles, and those none of the shortest. Our horses travelled admirably the whole afternoon, Charlie keeping a canter all the way; but it was growing dark, and there were no signs of the landmarks which were to indicate our near approach to the desired haven. "Can we not stop and rest for a few moments under one of the trees?" inquired I, for I was almost exhausted with fatigue, and, to add to our discomfort, a cold, November rain was pouring upon us. "If it were possible, we would," was the reply; "but see how dark it is growing. If we should lose our way, it would be worse than being wet and tired." So we kept on. Just at dark we crossed a clear stream. "That," said my husband, "is, I think, two miles from Bellefontaine. Cheer up--we shall soon be there." Quite encouraged, we pursued our way more cheerfully. Mile after mile we passed, but still no light gleamed friendly through the trees. "We have certainly travelled more than six miles now," said I. "Yes--that could not have been the two-mile creek." It was eight o'clock when we reached Bellefontaine. We were ushered into a large room made cheerful by a huge blazing fire. Mr. Wing and Dr. Philleo had arrived before us, and there were other travellers, on their way from the Mississippi. I was received with great kindness and volubility by the immense hostess, "la grosse Américaine," as she was called, and she soon installed me in the arm-chair, in the warmest corner, and in due time set an excellent supper before us. But her hospitality did not extend to giving up her only bed for my accommodation. She spread all the things she could muster on the hard floor before the fire, and did what she could to make me comfortable; then, observing my husband's solicitude lest I might feel ill from the effects of the fatigue and rain, she remarked, in tones of admiring sympathy, "How kind your _companion_ is to you!"--an expression which, as it was then new to us, amused us not a little. Our travelling companions started early in the morning for the Fort, which was but twelve miles distant, and they were so kind as to take charge of a note to our friends at home, requesting them to send Plante with the carriage to take us the rest of the distance. We reached the Portage in safety; and thus ended the first journey by land that any white woman had made from Green Bay to Fort Winnebago. I felt not a little raised in my own esteem when my husband informed me that the distance I had the previous day travelled, from Knaggs's to Bellefontaine, was sixty-two miles! CHAPTER XXXII. COMMENCEMENT OF THE SAUK WAR. A few weeks after our return, my husband took his mother to Prairie du Chien for the benefit of medical advice from Dr. Beaumont, of the U.S. Army. The journey was made in a large open boat down the Wisconsin River, and it was proposed to take this opportunity to bring back a good supply of corn for the winter's use of both men and cattle. The ice formed in the river, however, so early, that after starting with his load he was obliged to return with it to the Prairie, and wait until the thick winter's ice enabled him to make a second journey and bring it up in sleighs--with so great an expense of time, labor, and exposure were the necessaries of life conveyed from one point to another through that wild and desolate region! * * * * * The arrival of my brother Arthur from Kentucky, by way of the Mississippi, in the latter part of April, brought us the uncomfortable intelligence of new troubles with the Sauks and Foxes. Black Hawk had, with the flower of his nation, recrossed the Mississippi, once more to take possession of their old homes and corn-fields.[52] It was not long before our own Indians came flocking in, to confirm the tidings, and to assure us of their intention to remain faithful friends to the Americans. We soon heard of the arrival of the Illinois Rangers in the Rock River country, also of the progress of the regular force under General Atkinson, in pursuit of the hostile Indians, who, by the reports, were always able to elude their vigilance. It not being their custom to stop and give battle, the Sauks soon scattered themselves through the country, trusting to some lucky accident (and such arrived, alas! only too often) to enable them to fall upon their enemies unexpectedly. The experience of the pursuing army was, for the most part, to make their way, by toilsome and fatiguing marches, to the spot where they imagined the Sauks would be waiting to receive them, and then to discover that the rogues had scampered off to quite a different part of the country. Wherever these latter went, their course was marked by the most atrocious barbarities, though the worst had not, at this time, reached our ears. We were only assured that they were down in the neighborhood of the Rock River and Kishwaukee, and that they lost no opportunity of falling upon the defenceless inhabitants and cruelly murdering them. As soon as it became certain that the Sauks and Foxes would not pursue the same course they had on the previous year, that is, retreat peaceably across the Mississippi, Mr. Kinzie resolved to hold a council with all the principal chiefs of the Winnebagoes who were accessible at this time. He knew that the Sauks would use every effort to induce their neighbors to join them, and that there existed in the breasts of too many of the young savages a desire to distinguish themselves by "taking some white scalps." They did not love the Americans--why should they? By them they had been gradually dispossessed of the broad and beautiful domains of their forefathers, and hunted from place to place, and the only equivalent they had received in exchange had been a few thousands annually in silver and presents, together with the pernicious example, the debasing influence, and the positive ill treatment of too many of the new settlers upon their lands. With all these facts in view, therefore, their Father felt that the utmost watchfulness was necessary, and that the strongest arguments must be brought forward, to preserve the young men of the Winnebagoes in their allegiance to the Americans. Of the older members he felt quite sure. About fifty lodges had come at the commencement of the disturbances and encamped around our dwelling, saying that if the Sauks attacked us it must be after killing them; and, knowing them well, we had perfect confidence in their assurances. But their vicinity, while it gave us a feeling of protection, likewise furnished us with a channel of the most exciting and agitating daily communications. As the theatre of operations approached nearer and nearer, intelligence was brought in by their runners--now, that "Captain Barney's head had been recognized in the Sauk camp, where it had been brought the day previous," next, that "the Sauks were carrying Lieutenant Beall's head on a pole in front of them as they marched to meet the whites." Sometimes it was a story which we afterwards found to be unhappily true, as that of the murder of their Agent, M. St Vrain, at Kellogg's Grove, by the Sauks themselves, who ought to have protected him. It was after the news of this last occurrence that the appointed council with the Winnebagoes was to be held at the Four Lakes, thirty-five miles distant from Fort Winnebago. In vain we pleaded and remonstrated against such an exposure. "It was his duty to assemble his people and talk to them," my husband said, "and he must run the risk, if there were any. He had perfect confidence in the Winnebagoes. The enemy, by all he could learn, were now far distant from the Four Lakes--probably at Kosh-ko-nong. He would set off early in the morning with Paquette, bold his council, and return to us the same evening." It were useless to attempt to describe our feelings during that long and dreary day. When night arrived, the cry of a drunken Indian, or even the barking of a dog, would fill our hearts with terror. As we sat, at a late hour, at the open window, listening to every sound, with what joy did we at length distinguish the tramp of horses! We knew it to be Griffin and Jerry ascending the hill, and a cheerful shout soon announced that all was well. My husband and his interpreter had ridden seventy miles that day, besides holding a long "talk" with the Indians. The Winnebagoes in council had promised to use their utmost endeavors to preserve peace and good order among their young men. They informed their Father that the bands on the Rock River, with the exception of Win-no-sheek's, were all determined to remain friendly and keep aloof from the Sauks. To that end, they were abandoning their villages and corn-fields and moving north, that their Great Father, the President, might not feel dissatisfied with them. With regard to Win-no-sheek and his people, they professed themselves unable to answer. Time went on, and brought with it stories of fresh outrages. Among these were the murders of Auberry, Green, and Force, at Blue Mound, and the attack on Apple Fort. The tidings of the latter were brought by old Crély,[53] the father of Mrs. Paquette, who rode express from Galena, and who averred that he once passed a bush behind which the Sauks were hiding, but that his horse smelt the sweet-scented grass with which they always adorn their persons when on a war-party, and set out on such a gallop that he never stopped until he arrived at the Portage. Another bearer of news was a young gentleman named Follett, whose eyes had become so protruded and set from keeping an anxious look-out for the enemy, that it was many days after his arrival at a place of safety before they resumed their accustomed limits and expression. Among other rumors which at this time reached us, was one that an attack upon Fort Winnebago was in contemplation among the Sauks. That this was in no state of defence the Indians very well knew. All the effective men had been withdrawn, upon a requisition from General Atkinson, to join him at his newly-built fort at Kosh-ko-nong. Fort Winnebago was not picketed in; there were no defences to the barracks or officers' quarters, except slight panelled doors and Venetian blinds--nothing that would long resist the blows of clubs or hatchets. There was no artillery, and the Commissary's store was without the bounds of the Fort, under the hill. Mr. Kinzie had, from the first, called the attention of the officers to the insecurity of their position in case of danger, but he generally received a scoffing answer. "Never fear," they would say; "the Sauks are not coming here to attack us." One afternoon we were over on a visit to some ladies in the garrison, and, several officers being present, the conversation, as usual, turned upon the present position of affairs. "Do you not think it wiser," inquired I of a blustering young officer, "to be prepared against possible danger?" "Not against these fellows," replied he, contemptuously. "I do not think I would even take the trouble to fasten the blinds to my quarters." "At least," said I, "if you some night find a tomahawk raised to cleave your skull, you will have the consolation of remembering that you have not been one of those foolish fellows who keep on the safe side." He seemed a little nettled at this, and still more so when sister Margaret observed,-- "For my part, I am of Governor Cass's opinion. He was at Chicago during the Winnebago war. We were all preparing to move into the fort on the first alarm. Some were for being brave and delaying, like our friends here. 'Come, come,' said the Governor, 'hurry into the fort as fast as possible--there is no merit in being brave with the Indians. It is the height of folly to stay and meet danger which you may by prudence avoid.'" In a few days our friends waked up to the conviction that something must be done at once The first step was to forbid any Winnebago coming within the garrison, lest they should find out what they had known as well as ourselves for three months past--namely, the feebleness of the means of resistance. The next was to send fatigue-parties into the woods, under the protection of a guard, to cut pickets for inclosing the garrison. There was every reason to believe that the enemy were not very far distant, and that their object in coming north was to break a way into the Chippewa country, where they would find a place of security among their friends and allies. The story that our Indian runners brought in most frequently was, that the Sauks were determined to fall upon the whites at the Portage and Fort, and massacre all, except the families of the Agent and Interpreter. Plante and Pillon with their families had departed at the first word of danger. There only remained with us Manaigre, whose wife was a half-Winnebago, Isidore Morrin, and the blacksmiths from Sugar Creek--Mâtâ and Turcotte. At night we were all regularly armed and our posts assigned us. After every means had been taken to make the house secure, the orders were given. Sister Margaret and I, in case of attack, were to mount with the children to the rooms above, while my husband and his men were to make good their defence as long as possible against the enemy. Since I had shown my sportsmanship by bringing down accidentally a blackbird on the wing, I felt as if I could do some execution with my little pistols, which were regularly placed beside my pillow at night; and I was fully resolved to use them, if necessity required. I do not remember to have felt the slightest compunction at the idea of taking the lives of two Sauks, as I had no doubt I should do; and this explains to me what I had before often wondered at, the indifference, namely, of the soldier on the field of battle to the destruction of human life Had I been called upon, however, to use my weapons effectually, I should no doubt have looked back upon it with horror. Surrounded as we were by Indian lodges, which seldom became perfectly quiet, and excited as our nerves had become by all that we were daily in the habit of hearing, we rarely slept very soundly. One night, after we had as much as possible composed ourselves, we were startled at a late hour by a tap upon the window at the head of our bed, and a call of "Chon! Chon!"[54] (John! John!) "Tshah-ko-zhah?" (What is it?) It was Hoo-wau-ne-kah, the Little Elk. He spoke rapidly, and in a tone of great agitation. I could not understand him, and I lay trembling, and dreading to hear his errand interpreted. Now and then I could distinguish the words Sau-kee (Sauks) and Shoonk-hat-tay-rah (horse), and they were not very reassuring. The trouble, I soon learned, was this. A fresh trail had been observed near the Petit Rocher, on the Wisconsin, and the people at the villages on the Barribault were in a state of great alarm, fearing it might be the Sauks. There was the appearance of a hundred or more horses having passed by this trail. Hoo-wau-ne-kah had been dispatched at once to tell their Father, and to ask his advice. After listening to all he had to communicate, his Father told him the trail was undoubtedly that of General Henry's troops, who were said to have come north, looking for the enemy; that as the marks of the horses' hoofs showed them, by this report, to have been shod, that was sufficient proof that it was not the trail of the Sauks. He thought that the people at the villages need not feel any uneasiness. "Very well, Father," replied Hoo-wau-ne-kah; "I will go back and tell my people what you say. They will believe you, for you always tell them the truth. You are not like us Indians, who sometimes deceive each other." So saying, he returned to his friends, much comforted. The completion of the picketing and other defences, together with the arrival of a detachment of troops from Fort Howard under Lieutenant Hunter, at our fort, now seemed to render the latter the place of greatest safety. We therefore regularly, every evening immediately before dusk, took up our line of march for the opposite side of the river, and repaired to quarters that had been assigned us within the garrison, leaving our own house and chattels to the care of the Frenchmen and our friends the Winnebagoes. It was on one of these days that we were sitting at the windows which looked out over the Portage--indeed, we seldom sat anywhere else, our almost sole occupation being to look abroad and see what was coming next--when a loud, long, shrill whoop from a distance gave notice of something to be heard. "The news-halloo! what could it portend? What were we about to hear?" By gazing intently towards the farthest extremity of the road, we could perceive a moving body of horsemen, which, as they approached, we saw to be Indians. They were in full costume. Scarlet streamers fluttered at the ends of their lances--their arms glittered in the sun. Presently, as they drew nearer, their paint and feathers and brooches became visible. There were fifty or more warriors. They passed the road which turns to the Fort, and rode directly up the hill leading to the Agency. Shaw-nee-aw-kee was absent. The Interpreter had been sent for on the first distant appearance of the strangers, but had not yet arrived. The party, having ascended the hill, halted near the blacksmith's shop, but did not dismount. Our hearts trembled--it must surely be the enemy. At this moment my husband appeared from the direction of the Interpreter's house. We called to entreat him to stop, but he walked along towards the new-comers. To our infinite joy, we saw the chief of the party dismount, and all the others following his example and approaching to shake hands. A space was soon cleared around the leader and my husband, when the former commenced an oration, flourishing his sword and using much violent gesticulation. It was the first time I had seen an Indian armed with that weapon, and I dreaded to perceive it in such hands. Sometimes he appeared as if he were about to take off the head of his auditor at a blow; and our hearts sank as we remembered the stratagems at Mackinac and Detroit in former days. At length the speech was concluded, another shaking of hands took place, and we saw my husband leading the way to his storehouse, from which some of his men presently brought tobacco and pipes and laid them at the feet of the chief. Our suspense was soon relieved by being informed that the strangers were Man-Eater, the principal chief of the Rock River Indians, who had come with his band to "hold a talk" and bring information. These Indians were under the special care of Mr. Henry Gratiot, and his efforts had been most judicious and unremitting in preserving the good feeling of this the most dangerous portion of the Winnebagoes. The intelligence that Man-Eater, who was a most noble Indian in appearance and character, brought us, confirmed that already received, namely, that the Sauks were gradually drawing north, towards the Portage, although he evidently did not know exactly their whereabouts. There was, soon after they had taken leave, an arrival of another party of Winnebagoes, and these requested permission to dance for their Father. The compliment having been accepted, they assembled, as usual, on the esplanade in front of the house. My sister, the children, and myself stationed ourselves at the open windows, according to custom, and my husband sat on the broad step before the door, which opened from the outer air directly into the parlor where we were. The performance commenced, and as the dancers proceeded, following each other round and round in the progress of the dance, my sister, Mrs. Helm, remarked to me, "Look at that small, dark Indian, with the green boughs on his person--that is _a Sauk!_ They always mark themselves in this manner with white clay, and ornament themselves with leaves when they dance!" In truth, I had never seen this costume among our own Indians, and as I gazed at this one with green chaplets round his head and his legs, and even his gun wreathed in the same manner, while his body displayed no paint except the white transverse streaks with which it was covered, I saw that he was, indeed, a stranger. Without owing anything to the exaggeration of fear, his countenance was truly ferocious. He held his gun in his hand, and every time the course of the dance brought him directly in front of where we sat, he would turn his gaze full upon us, and club his weapon before him with what we interpreted into an air of defiance. We sat as still as death, for we knew it would not be wise to exhibit any appearance of fear; but my sister remarked, in a low tone, "I have always thought that I was to lose my life by the hands of the Indians. This is the third Indian war I have gone through, and now, I suppose, it will be the last." It was the only time I ever saw her lose her self-possession. She was always remarkably calm and resolute, but now I could see that she trembled. Still we sat there--there was a sort of fascination as our imaginations became more and more excited. Presently some rain-drops began to fall. The Indians continued their dance for a few minutes longer, then, with whoopings and shoutings, they rushed simultaneously towards the house. We fled into my apartment and closed the door, which my sister at first held fast, but she presently came and seated herself by me on the bed, for she saw that I could not compose myself. Of all forms of death, that by the hands of savages is the most difficult to face calmly; and I fully believed that our hour was come. There was no interruption to the dance, which the Indians carried on in the parlor, leaping and yelling as if they would bring down the roof over our heads. In vain we tried to persuade my husband and the children, through a crevice of the door, to come and join us. The latter, feeling no danger, were too much delighted with the exhibition to leave it, and the former only came for a moment to reassure me, and then judged it wisest to return, and manifest his satisfaction at the compliment by his presence. He made light of our fears, and would not admit that the object of our suspicions was in fact a Sauk, but only some young Winnebago, who had, as is sometimes the custom, imitated them in costume and appearance. It may have been "good fun" to him to return to his village and tell how he frightened "the white squaws." Such a trick would not be unnatural in a white youth, and perhaps, since human nature is everywhere the same, it might not be out of the way in an Indian. CHAPTER XXXIII. FLEEING FROM THE INDIANS. The danger had now become so imminent that my husband determined to send his family to Fort Howard, a point which was believed to be far out of the range of the enemy. It was in vain that I pleaded to be permitted to remain; he was firm. "I must not leave my post," said he, "while there is any danger. My departure would perhaps be the signal for an immediate alliance of the Winnebagoes with the Sauks. I am certain that as long as I am here my presence will act as a restraint upon them. You wish to remain and share my dangers! Your doing so would expose us both to certain destruction in case of attack By the aid of my friends in both tribes, I could hope to preserve my own life if I were alone; but surrounded by my family, that would be impossible--we should all fall victims together. My duty plainly is, to send you to a place of safety." An opportunity for doing this soon occurred. Paquette, the Interpreter, who was likewise an agent of the American Fur Company, had occasion to send a boat-load of furs to Green Bay, on their way to Mackinac. Mr. Kinzie, having seen it as comfortably fitted up as an open boat of that description could be, with a tent-cloth fastened on a frame-work of hoop-poles over the centre and lined with a dark-green blanket, and having placed on board an abundant store of provisions and other comforts, committed us to the joint care of my brother Arthur and our faithful blacksmith, Mâtâ. This latter was a tall, gaunt Frenchman, with a freckled face, a profusion of crisp, sandy hair, and an inveterate propensity to speak English. His knowledge of the language was somewhat limited, and he burlesqued it by adding an s to almost every word, and giving out each phrase with a jerk. "Davids," he was wont to say to the little yellow fiddler, after an evening's frolic at the Interpreter's, "Davids, clear away the tables and the glasses, and play _fishes-hornspikes."_[55] He was a kind, affectionate creature, and his devotion to "Monsieur Johns" and "Madame Johns" knew no bounds. Besides these two protectors, three trusty Indians, the chief of whom was called _Old Smoker_, were engaged to escort our party. The crew of the boat consisted entirely of French engagés in the service of the Fur Company. They were six gay-hearted, merry fellows, lightening their labor with their pipe and their songs, in which latter they would have esteemed it a great compliment to be joined by the ladies who listened to them; but our hearts, alas! were now too heavy to participate in their enjoyment. The Fourth of July, the day on which we left our home, was a gloomy one indeed to those who departed and to the one left behind. Who knew if we should ever meet again? The experience which some of the circle had had in Indian warfare was such as to justify the saddest forebodings. There was not even the consolation of a certainty that this step would secure our safety. The Sauks might, possibly, be on the other side of us, and the route we were taking might perhaps, though not probably, carry us into their very midst. It was no wonder, then, that our leave-taking was a solemn one--a parting which all felt might be for this world. Not _all_, however; for the gay, cheerful Frenchmen laughed and sang and cracked their jokes, and "assured Monsieur John that they would take Madame John and Madame Alum safe to the bay, spite of Sauks or wind or weather." Thus we set out on our journey. For many miles the Fort was in sight, as the course of the river alternately approached and receded from its walls, and it was not until nearly mid-day that we caught the last glimpse of our home. At the noon-tide meal, or pipe, of the voyageurs, an alarming discovery was made: no bread had been put on board for the crew! How this oversight had occurred, no one could tell. One was certain that a large quantity had been brought from the garrison-bakery for their use that very morning--another had even seen the sacks of loaves standing in Paquette's kitchen. Be that as it may, there we were, many miles on our journey, and with no provisions for the six Frenchmen, except some salted pork, a few beans, and some onions. A consultation was held in this emergency. Should they return to the Portage for supplies? The same danger that made their departure necessary, still existed, and the utmost dispatch had been enjoined upon them. We found upon examination that the store of bread and crackers with which our party had been provided was far-beyond what we could possibly require, and we thought it would be sufficient to allow of rations to the Frenchmen until we should reach Powell's, at the Butte des Morts, the day but one following, where we should undoubtedly be able to procure a fresh supply. This decided on, we proceeded on our journey, always in profound silence, for a song or a loud laugh was now strictly prohibited until we should have passed the utmost limits of country where the enemy might possibly be. We had been warned beforehand that a certain point, where the low marshy meadows, through which the river had hitherto run, rises into a more firm and elevated country, was the border of the Menomonee territory, and the spot where the Sauks, if they had fled north of the Wisconsin towards the Chippewa country, would be most likely to be encountered. As we received intimation on the forenoon of the second day that we were drawing near this spot, I must confess that "we held our breath for awe." The three Winnebagoes were in the bow of the boat. Old Smoker, the chief, squatted upon his feet on the bench of the foremost rowers. We looked at him. He was gazing intently in the direction of the wooded point we were approaching. Our eyes followed his, and we saw three Indians step forward and stand upon the bank. We said in a low voice to each other, "If they are Sauks, we are lost, for the whole body must be in that thicket." The boat continued to approach; not a word was spoken; the dip of the paddle, and perhaps the beating hearts of some, were the only sounds that broke the stillness. Again we looked at the chief. His nostrils were dilated--his eyes almost glaring. Suddenly, with a bound, he sprang to his feet and uttered his long, shrill whoop. "Hoh! hoh! hoh! Neechee (friend) _Muh-no-mo-nee!_" All was now joy and gladness. Every one was forward to shake hands with the strangers as soon as we could reach them, in token of our satisfaction that they were Menomonees and not Sauks, of the latter of whom, by the way, they could give us no intelligence. By noon of that day we considered ourselves to be out of the region of danger. Still, caution was deemed necessary, and when at the mid-day pipe the boat was pushed ashore under a beautiful overhanging bank, crowned with a thick wood, the usual vigilance was somewhat relaxed, and the young people, under the escort of Arthur and Mâtâ, were permitted to roam about a little, in the vicinity of the boat. They soon came back, with the report that the woods were "alive with pigeons,"--they could almost knock them down with sticks; and earnestly did they plead to be allowed to shoot at least enough for supper. But no--the enemy might be nearer than we imagined--the firing of a gun would betray our whereabouts--it was most prudent to give no notice to friend or foe. So, very reluctantly, they were compelled to return to the boat without their game. The next morning brought us to Powell's, at the Butte des Morts. Sad were the faces of the poor Frenchmen at learning that not a loaf of bread was to be had. Our own store, too, was by this time quite exhausted. The only substitute we could obtain was a bag of dark looking, bitter flour. With this provision for our whole party, we were forced to be contented, and we left the Hillock of the Dead, feeling that it had been indeed the grave of our hopes. By dint of good rowing, our crew soon brought us to the spot where the river enters that beautiful sheet of water, Winnebago Lake. Though there was but little wind when we reached the lake, the Frenchmen hoisted their sail, in hopes to save themselves the labor of rowing across; but in vain did they whistle, with all the force of their lungs--in vain did they supplicate _La Vierge_, with a comical mixture of fun and reverence. As a last resource, it was at length suggested by some one that their only chance lay in propitiating the goddess of the winds with an offering of some cast-off garment. Application was made all round by Guardapié, the chief spokesman of the crew. Alas! not one of the poor voyageurs could boast a spare article. A few old rags were at length rummaged out of the little receptacle of food, clothing, and dirt in the bow of the boat, and cast into the waves For a moment all flattered themselves that the experiment had been successful--the sail fluttered, swelled a little, and then flapped idly down against the mast. The party were in despair, until, after a whispered consultation together, Julian and Edwin stepped forward as messengers of mercy. In a trice they divested themselves of jacket and vest and made a proffer of their next garment to aid in raising the wind. At first there seemed a doubt in the minds of the boatmen whether they ought to accept so magnificent an offer; but finding, on giving them a preparatory shake, that the value of the contribution was less than they had imagined, they, with many shouts and much laughter, consigned them to the waves. To the great delight and astonishment of the boys, a breeze at this moment sprang up, which carried the little vessel beautifully over the waters for about half the distance to Garlic Island. By this time the charm was exhausted, nor was it found possible to renew it by a repetition of similar offerings. All expedients were tried without success, and, with sundry rather disrespectful reflections upon the lady whose aid they had invoked, the Frenchmen were compelled to betake themselves to their oars, until they reached the island. Two or three canoes of Winnebagoes arrived at the same moment, and their owners immediately stepped forward with an offering of some sturgeon which they had caught in the lake. As this promised to be an agreeable variety to the noon-tide meal (at least for the Frenchmen), it was decided to stop and kindle a fire for the purpose of cooking it. We took advantage of this interval to recommend to the boys a stroll to the opposite side of the island, where the clear, shallow water and pebbly beach offered temptation to a refreshing bath. While they availed themselves of this, under the supervision of Harry, the black boy, we amused ourselves with gathering the fine red raspberries with which the island abounded. Our enjoyment was cut short, however, by discovering that the whole place, vines, shrubs, and even, apparently, the earth itself, was infested with myriads of the wood-tick, a little insect, that, having fastened to the skin, penetrates into the very flesh, causing a swelling and irritation exceeding painful, and even dangerous. The alarm was sounded, to bring the boys back in all haste to the open and more frequented part of the island. But we soon found we had not left our tormentors behind. Throughout the day we continued to be sensible of their proximity. From the effects of their attacks we were not relieved for several succeeding days; those which had succeeded in burying themselves in the flesh having to be removed with the point of a penknife or a large needle. After partaking of our dinner, we stepped on board our boat, and, the wind having risen, we were carried by the breeze to the farther verge of the lake, and into the entrance of the river, or, as it was called, the Winnebago Rapids. On the point of land to the right stood a collection of neat bark wigwams--this was Four-Legs' village. It was an exciting and somewhat hazardous passage down the rapids and over the Grand Chûte, a fall of several feet; but it was safely passed, and at the approach of evening the boat reached the settlement of the Waubanakees at the head of the Little Chûte. These are the Stockbridge or Brothertown Indians, the remains of the old Mohicans, who had, a few years before, emigrated from Oneida County, in the State of New York, to a tract granted them by the United States, on the fertile banks of the Fox River. They had already cleared extensive openings in the forest, and built some substantial and comfortable houses near the banks of the river, which were here quite high, and covered for the most part with gigantic trees. It was determined to ask hospitality of these people, to the extent of borrowing a corner of their fire to boil our tea-kettle, and bake the short-cake which had been now, for nearly two days, our substitute for bread. Its manufacture had been a subject of much merriment. The ingredients, consisting of Powell's black flour, some salt, and a little butter, were mixed in the tin box which had held our meat. This was then reversed, and, having been properly cleansed, supplied the place of a dough-board. The vinegar-bottle served the office of rolling-pin, and a shallow tin dish formed the appliance for baking. The Waubanakees were so good as to lend us an iron bake-kettle, and superintend the cooking of our cake after Harry had carried it up to their dwelling. So kind and hospitable did they show themselves, that the crew of the boat took the resolution of asking a lodging on shore, by way of relief after their crowded quarters in the boat for the last three nights. Arthur and Mâtâ soon adopted the same idea, and we were invited to follow their example, with the assurance that the houses were extremely neat and orderly. We preferred, however, as it was a fine night, and all things were so comfortably arranged in the boat, to remain on board, keeping Edwin and Josette with us. The boat was tightly moored, for the little Chûte was just below, and if our craft should break loose in the rapid current, and drift down over the falls, it would be a very serious matter. As an additional precaution, one man was left on board to keep all things safe and in order, and, these arrangements having been made, the others ascended the bank, and took up their night's lodgings in the Waubanakee cabins. It was a beautiful, calm, moonlight night, the air just sufficiently warm to be agreeable, while the gentle murmur of the rapids and of the fall, at no great distance, soon lulled our party to repose. How long we had slumbered we knew not, when we were aroused by a rushing wind. It bent the poles supporting the awning, snapped them, and, another gust succeeding, tent and blanket were carried away on the blast down the stream. The moonlight was gone, but a flash of lightning showed them sailing away like a spectre in the distance. The storm increased in violence. The rain began to pour in torrents, and the thunder and lightning to succeed each other in fearful rapidity. My sister sprang to waken the Frenchman. "Get up, Vitelle, quick," cried she, in French, "run up the bank for Mâtâ and Mr. Arthur--tell them to come and get us instantly." The man made her no reply, but fell upon his knees, invoking the Virgin most vociferously. "Do not wait for the Virgin, but go as quickly as possible. Do you not see we shall all be killed?" "Oh! not for the world, madame, not for the world," said Vitelle, burying his head in a pack of furs, "would I go up that bank in this storm." And here he began crying most lustily to all the saints in the calendar. It Was indeed awful. The roaring of the thunder and the flashing of the lightning around us were like the continued discharge of a park of artillery. I with some difficulty drew forth my cloak, and enveloped myself and Josette--sister Margaret did the same with Edwin. "Oh I madame," said the poor little girl, her teeth chattering with cold and fright, "won't we be drowned?" "Very well," said my sister to the Frenchman, "you see that Madame John is at the last agony--if you will not go for help I must, and Monsieur John must know that you left his wife to perish." This was too much for Vitelle. "If I must, I must," said he, and with a desperate bound he leaped on shore and sped up the hill with might and main. In a few minutes, though it seemed ages to us, a whole posse came flying down the hill. The incessant lightning made all things appear as in the glare of day. Mâtâ's curly hair fairly stood on end, and his eyes rolled with ghastly astonishment at the spectacle. "Oh, my God, Madame Johns! what would Monsieur Johns say, to see you nows?" exclaimed he, as he seized me in his arms and bore me up the hill. Arthur followed with sister Margaret, and two others with Edwin and Josette. Nobody carried Vitelle, for he had taken care not to risk his precious life by venturing again to the boat. On arriving at the cabin where Arthur and Mâtâ had been lodged, a fire was, with some difficulty, kindled, and our trunks having been brought up from the boat, we were at length able to exchange our drenched garments, and those of the children, for others more comfortable, after which we laid ourselves upon the clean but homely bed, and slept until daylight. As it was necessary to ascertain what degree of damage the cargo of furs had sustained, an early start was proposed. Apparently, the inhabitants of the cottages had become weary in well-doing, for they declined preparing breakfast for us, although we assured them they should be well compensated for their trouble. We, consequently, saw ourselves compelled to depart with very slender prospects of a morning meal. When we reached the boat, what a scene presented itself! Bedclothes, cloaks, trunks, mess-basket, packs of furs, all bearing the marks of a complete deluge! The boat ankle-deep in water--literally no place on board where we could either stand or sit. After some bailing out, and an attempt at disposing some of the packs of furs which had suffered least from the flood, so as to form a sort of divan in the centre of the boat, nothing better seemed to offer than to re-embark, and endure what could not be cured. Our position was not an enviable one. Wherever a foot or hand was placed, the water gushed up, with a bubbling sound, and, oh! the state of the bandboxes and work-baskets! Breakfast there was none, for on examining the mess-basket everything it contained was found mingled in one undistinguishable mass. Tea, pepper, salt, short-cake, all floating together--it was a hopeless case. But this was not the worst. As the fervid July sun rose higher in the heavens, the steam which exhaled from every object on board was nearly suffocating. The boat was old--the packs of skins were old--their vicinity in a dry day had been anything but agreeable--now it was intolerable. There was no retreating from it, however; so we encouraged the children to arm themselves with patience, for the short time that yet remained of our voyage. Seated on our odoriferous couch, beneath the shade of a single umbrella, to protect our whole party from the scorching sun, we glided wearily down the stream, through that long, tedious day. As we passed successively the Kakalin, the Rapids, Dickenson's, the Agency, with what longing eyes did we gaze at human habitations, where others were enjoying the shelter of a roof and the comforts of food--and how eagerly did we count the hours which must elapse before we could reach Port Howard! There were no songs from the poor Frenchmen this day. Music and fasting do not go well together. At length we stopped at Shanty-town, where the boat was to be unloaded. All hands fell to work to transfer the cargo to the warehouse of the Fur Company, which stood near the landing. It was not a long operation, for all worked heartily. This being accomplished, the voyageurs, one and all, prepared to take their leave. In vain Mâtâ stormed and raved--in vain Arthur remonstrated. "No," they said, "they had brought the boat and cargo to the warehouse--that was all of their job." And they turned to go. "Guardapié," said I, "do you intend to leave us here?" "Bien, madame! it is the place we always stop at." "Does Monsieur John pay you for bringing his family down?" "Oh, yes, Monsieur John has given us an order on the sutler, at the Fort down below." "To be paid when you deliver us safe at the Fort down below. It seems I shall be there before you, and I shall arrange that matter. Monsieur John never dreamed that this would be your conduct." The Frenchmen consulted together, and the result was that Guardapié with two others jumped into the boat, took their oars, and rather sulkily rowed us the remaining two miles to Fort Howard. CHAPTER XXXIV. FORT HOWARD--OUR RETURN HOME. We soon learned that a great panic prevailed at Green Bay on account of the Sauks. The people seemed to have possessed themselves with the idea that the enemy would visit this place on their way to Canada to put themselves under the protection of the British Government. How they were to get there from this point--whether they were to stop and fabricate themselves bark canoes for the purpose, or whether they were to charter one of Mr. Newbery's schooners for the trip, the good people did not seem fully to have made up their minds. One thing is certain, a portion of the citizens were nearly frightened to death, and were fully convinced that there was no safety for them but within the walls of the old dilapidated fort, from which nearly all the troops had been withdrawn and sent to Fort Winnebago some time previous. Their fears were greatly aggravated by a report, brought by some traveller, that he had slept at night on the very spot where the Sauks breakfasted the next morning. Now, as the Sauks were known to be reduced to very short commons, there was every reason to suppose that if the man had waited half an hour longer they would have eaten him; so he was considered to have made a wonderful escape. Our immediate friends and acquaintances were far from joining in these fears. The utter improbability of such a movement was obvious to all who considered the nature of the country to be traversed, and the efficient and numerous body of whites by whom they must be opposed on their entrance into that neighborhood. There were some, however, who could not be persuaded that there was any security but in flight, and eagerly was the arrival of the "Mariner" looked for, as the anxiety grew more and more intense. The "Mariner" appeared at last. It was early in the morning. In one hour from the time of her arrival the fearful news she brought had spread the whole length of the settlement--"the cholera was in this country! It was in Detroit--it was among the troops who were on their way to the seat of war! Whole companies had died of it in the river St. Clair, and the survivors had been put on shore at Port Gratiot, to save their lives as best they might!" We were shut in between the savage foe on one hand and the pestilence on the other! To those who had friends at the East the news was most appalling. It seemed to unman every one who heard it. An officer who had exhibited the most distinguished prowess in the battle-field, and also in some private enterprises demanding unequalled courage and daring, was the first to bring us the news. When he had communicated it, he laid his head against the window-sill and wept like a child. Those who must perforce rejoin friends near and dear, left the Bay in the "Mariner;" all others considered their present home the safest; and so it proved, for the dreadful scourge did not visit Green Bay that season. The weather was intensely hot, and the mosquitoes so thick that we did not pretend to walk on the parade after sunset, unless armed with two fans, or green branches to keep constantly in motion, in order to disperse them. This, by the way, was the surest method of attracting them. We had somehow forgotten the apathetic indifference which had often excited our wonder in Old Smoker, as we had observed him calmly sitting and allowing his naked arms and person to become literally _gray_ with the tormenting insects. Then he would quietly wipe off a handful, the blood following the movement of the hand over his skin, and stoically wait for an occasion to repeat the movement. It is said that the mosquito, if undisturbed until he has taken his fill, leaves a much less inflamed bite than if brushed away in the midst of his feast. By day, the air was at this season filled with what is called the Green Bay fly, a species of dragon-fly, with which the outer walls of the houses are at times so covered that their color is hardly distinguishable. Their existence is very ephemeral, scarcely lasting more than a day. Their dead bodies are seen adhering to the walls and windows within, and they fall without in such numbers that after a high wind has gathered them into rows along the sides of the quarters, one may walk through them and toss them up with their feet like the dry leaves in autumn. As we walked across the parade, our attention was sometimes called to a tapping upon the bars of the dungeon in which a criminal was confined--it was the murderer of Lieutenant Foster. It may be remembered that this amiable young officer had been our travelling companion in our journey from Chicago the preceding year. Some months after his arrival at Port Howard, he had occasion to order a soldier of his company, named Doyle, into confinement for intoxication. The man, a few days afterwards, prevailed on the sergeant of the guard to escort him to Lieutenant Foster's quarters on the plea that he wished to speak to him. He ascended the stairs to the young officer's room, while the sergeant and another soldier remained at the foot, near the door. Doyle entered, and, addressing Lieutenant Foster, said, "Will you please tell me, lieutenant, what I am confined for?" "No, sir," replied the officer; "you know your offence well enough; return to your place of confinement." The man ran down-stairs, wrenched the gun from the sergeant's hand, and, rushing back, discharged it at the heart of Lieutenant Foster. He turned to go to his inner apartment, but exclaiming, "Ah me!" he fell dead before the entrance. Doyle, having been tried by a civil court, was now under sentence, awaiting his execution. He was a hardened villain, never exhibiting the slightest compunction for his crime. The commanding officer, Major Clark, sent to him one day to inquire if he wanted anything for his comfort. "If the Major pleased," he replied, "he should like to have a light and a copy of Byron's Works." Some fears were entertained that he would contrive to make way with himself before the day of execution, and, to guard against it, he was deprived of everything that could furnish him a weapon. His food was served to him in a wooden bowl, lest a bit of broken crockery might he used as a means of self destruction. One morning he sent a little package to the commanding officer as a present. It contained a strong rope, fabricated from strips of his blanket, that he had carefully separated, and with a large stout spike at the end of it. The message accompanying it was, "He wished Major Clark to see that if he chose to put an end to himself, he could find means to do it in spite of him." And this hardened frame of mind continued to the last. When he was led out for execution, in passing beyond the gate, he observed a quantity of lumber recently collected for the construction of a new Company's warehouse. "Ah, captain, what are you going to build here?" inquired he of Captain Scott, who attended him. "Doyle," replied his captain, "you have but a few moments to live--- you had better employ your thoughts about something else." "It is for that very reason, captain," said he, "that I am inquiring--as my time is short, I wish to gain all the information I can while it lasts." * * * * * We were not suffered to remain long in suspense in regard to the friends we had left behind. In less than two weeks Old Smoker again made his appearance. He was the bearer of letters from my husband, informing me that General Dodge was then with him at Port Winnebago, that Generals Henry and Alexander were likewise at the Fort, and that as soon as they had recruited their men and horses, which were pretty well worn out with scouring the country after Black Hawk, they would march again in pursuit of him towards the head-waters of the Rock River, where they had every reason, from information lately brought in by the Winnebagoes, to believe he would be found. As he charged us to lay aside all uneasiness on his account, and moreover held forth the hope of soon coming or sending for us, our minds became more tranquil. Not long after this, I was told one morning that "_a lady_" wished to see me at the front door. I obeyed the summons, and, to my surprise, was greeted by my friend _Madame Four-Legs._ After much demonstration of joy at seeing me, such as putting her two hands together over her forehead and then parting them in a waving kind of gesture, laughing, and patting me on my arms, she drew from her bosom a letter from my husband, of which she was the bearer. It was to this effect--"Generals Dodge and Henry left here a few days since, accompanied by Paquette; they met the Sauks near the Wisconsin, on the 21st. A battle ensued, in which upwards of fifty of the enemy were killed--our loss was one killed, and eight wounded. The _citizens_ are well pleased that all this has been accomplished without any aid from _Old White Beaver._[56] The war must be near its close, for the militia and regulars together will soon finish the remaining handful of fugitives." The arrival of Lieutenant Hunter, who had obtained leave of absence in order to escort us, soon put all things in train for our return to Fort Winnebago. No Mackinac boat was to be had, but in lieu of it a Durham boat was procured. This is of a description longer and shallower than the other, with no convenience for rigging up an awning, or shelter of any kind, over the centre; but its size was better fitted to accommodate our party, which consisted, besides our own family, of Lieutenant and Mrs. Hunter, the wife of another officer now stationed at Port Winnebago, and our cousin, Miss Forsyth. We made up our minds, as will be supposed, to pretty close quarters. Our crew was composed partly of Frenchmen and partly of soldiers, and, all things being in readiness, we set off one fine bright morning in the latter part of July. Our second day's alternate rowing and poling brought us to the Grande Chûte early in the afternoon. Here, it is the custom to disembark at the foot of the rapids, and, ascending the high bank, walk around the fall, while the men pull the boat up through the foaming waters. Most of our party had already stepped on shore, when a sudden thought seized one of the ladies and myself. "Let us stay in the boat," said we, "and be pulled up the Chûte." The rest of the company went on, while we sat and watched with great interest the preparations the men were making. They were soon overboard in the water, and, attaching a strong rope to the bow of the boat, all lent their aid in pulling as they marched slowly along with their heavy load. The cargo, consisting only of our trunks and stores, which were of no very considerable weight, had not been removed. We went on, now and then getting a tremendous bump against a hidden rock, and frequently splashed by a shower of foam as the waves roared and boiled around us. The men kept as close as possible to the high, precipitous bank, where the water was smoothest. At the head of the _cordel_ was a merry simpleton of a Frenchman, who was constantly turning his head to grin with delight at our evident enjoyment and excitement. We were indeed in high glee. "Is not this charming?" cried one. "I only wish----" The wish, whatever it was, was cut short by a shout and a crash. "Have a care, Robineau! Mind where you are taking the boat!" was the cry, but it came too late. More occupied with the ladies than with his duty, the leader had guided us into the midst of a sharp, projecting tree that hung from the bank. The first tug ripped out the side of the boat, which immediately began to fill with water. My companion and I jumped upon the nearest rocks that showed their heads above the foam. Our screams and the shouts of the men brought Lieutenant Hunter and some Indians, who were above on the bank, dashing down to our rescue. They carried us in their arms to land, while the men worked lustily at fishing up the contents of the boat, now thoroughly saturated with water. We scrambled up the high bank, in a miserable plight, to join in the general lamentation over the probable consequences of the accident. "Oh! my husband's new uniform!" cried one, and "Oh! the miniatures in the bottom of my trunk!" sighed another--while, "Oh! the silk dresses, and the ribbons, and the finery!" formed the general chorus. No one thought of the provisions, although we had observed, in our progress to shore, the barrel of bread and the tub of ice, which Lieutenant Hunter had providently brought for our refreshment, sailing away on the dancing waves. Among the boxes brought to land, and "toted" up the steep bank, was one containing some loaves of sugar and packages of tea, which I had bought for our winter's supply from the sutler at the post. The young Indian who was the bearer of it set it upon the ground, and soon called my attention to a thick, white stream that was oozing from the corners. I made signs for him to taste it. He dipped his finger in it, and exclaimed with delight to his companions, when he perceived what it was. I then pointed to his hatchet, and motioned him to open the box. He did not require a second invitation--it was soon backed to pieces. Then, as I beckoned up all the rest of the youngsters who were looking on, full of wonder, such a scrambling and shouting with delight succeeded as put us all, particularly the boys, into fits of laughter. Bowls, dippers, hands, everything that could contain even the smallest quantity, were put in requisition. The squaws were most active. Those who could do no better took the stoutest fragments of the blue paper in which the sugar had been enveloped, and in a trice nothing remained but the wet, yellow bundles of tea, and the fragments of the splintered box which had contained it. By this time fires had been made, and the articles from the trunks were soon seen covering every shrub and bush in the vicinity. Fortunately, the box containing the new uniform had been piled high above the others, in the centre of the boat, and had received but little damage; but sad was the condition of the wardrobes in general. Not a white article was to be seen. All was mottled; blue, green, red, and black intermingling in streaks, and dripping from ends and corners. To add to the trouble, the rain began to fall, as rain is apt to do, at an inconvenient moment, and soon the half-dried garments had to be gathered out of the smoke and huddled away in a most discouraging condition. The tent was pitched, wet as it was, and the blankets, wrung out of the water, and partially dried, were spread upon the ground for our accommodation at night. A Hamburg cheese, which had been a part of my stores, was voted to me for a pillow, and, after a supper the best part of which was a portion of one of the wet loaves which had remained in a barrel too tightly wedged to drift away, we betook ourselves to our repose. The next morning rose hot and sultry. The mosquitoes, which the rain had kept at bay through the night, now began to make themselves amends, and to torment us unmercifully. After our most uncomfortable and unpalatable breakfast, the first question for consideration was, what we were to do with ourselves. Our boat lay submerged at the foot of the hill, half-way up the rapids. The nearest habitation among the Waubanakees was some miles distant, and this there was no means of reaching but by an Indian canoe, if some of our present friends and neighbors would be so obliging as to bring one for our use. Even then it was doubtful if boats could be found sufficient to convey all our numerous party back to Green Bay. In the midst of these perplexing consultations a whoop was heard from beyond the hill, which here sloped away to the north, at the head of the rapids. "There is John! that is certainly his voice!" cried more than one of the company. It was, indeed, my husband, and in a moment he was among us. Never was arrival more opportune, more evidently providential. Not having learned our plans (for the unsettled state of the country had prevented our sending him word), he had come provided with a boat, to take us back to Fort Winnebago. Our drying operations, which we had recommenced this morning, were soon cut short. Everything was shuffled away in the most expeditious manner possible, and in an incredibly short time we were transferred to the other boat, which lay quietly above the Chûte, and were pulling away towards Winnebago Lake. We had resolved to go only so far as the vicinity of the lake, where the breeze would render the mosquitoes less intolerable, and then to stop and make one more attempt at drying our clothing. Accordingly, when we reached a beautiful high bank near the Little Butte, we stopped for that purpose again, unpacked our trunks, and soon every bush and twig was fluttering with the spoils of the cruel waves. Hardly had we thus disposed of the last rag or ribbon when the tramp of horses was heard, followed by loud shouts and cheers ringing through the forest. A company of about twenty-five horsemen, with banners flying, veils fluttering from their hats, and arms glittering in the sun, rode into our midst, and, amid greetings and roars of laughter, inquired into the nature and reasons of our singular state of confusion. They were Colonel Stambough and Alexander Irwin, of Green Bay, with a company of young volunteers, and followed by a whooping band of Menomonees, all bound for the seat of war. We comforted them with the assurance that the victories were by this time all won and the scalps taken; but, expressing the hope that there were yet a few laurels to be earned, they bade us adieu, and rapidly pursued their march. We crossed Lake Winnebago by the clear, beautiful light of a summer moon. The soft air was just enough to swell the sail, and thus save the men their labor at the oar. The witchery of the hour was not, however, sufficient to induce us to forego our repose after the heat and annoyances of the day--we therefore disposed ourselves betimes, to be packed away in the centre of the boat. How it was accomplished no one of the numerous company could tell. If any accident had occurred to disturb our arrangement, I am sure it would have been a Chinese puzzle to put us back again in our places. The men on the outside had much the best of it, and we rather envied those who were off watch, their ability to snore and change position as the humor took them. We reached Powell's just in time to have gone ashore and prepare our breakfast had we had wherewithal to prepare it. We had hoped to be able to procure some supplies here, for hitherto we had been living on the remains of my husband's ample stock. That was now so nearly exhausted that when we found the mess-basket could not be replenished at this place we began to talk of putting ourselves on allowance. The wet bread, of which there had remained an ample store, had, as may be readily imagined, soon fermented under the influence of a July sun. The tea, too, notwithstanding our careful efforts at drying it on newspapers and pieces of board, ere long became musty and unfit for use. There was, literally, nothing left, except the salted meat and a few crackers, hardly sufficient for the present day. The men were therefore urged to make all the speed possible, that we might reach Gleason's, at Lake Puckaway, in good season on the following day. At evening, when we stopped to take our tea at a beautiful little opening among the trees, we found our old enemies, the mosquitoes, worse than ever. It was necessary to put on our cloaks and gloves, and tie our veils close around our throats, only venturing to introduce a cracker or a cup of tea under this protection in the most stealthy manner. The men rowed well, and brought us to Gleason's about eleven o'clock the next day. We were greeted with the most enthusiastic demonstrations by my old friend _La Grosse Américaine,_ who had removed here from Bellefontaine. "Oh, Mrs. Armstrong," cried we, "get us some breakfast--we are famishing!" At that instant who should appear but our faithful Mâtâ, driving the old calèche in which we were in the habit of making our little excursions in the neighborhood of the Port. He had ridden over, hoping to meet us, in the idea that some of us would prefer this method of reaching our home. With provident thoughtfulness, he had brought tea, roasted coffee, fresh butter, eggs, etc., lest we should be short of such luxuries in that advanced stage of our journey. His "Good-morning, Madame Johns! How do you dos?" was a pleasant and welcome sound. We could not wait for our breakfast, but gathered round La Grosse Américaine like a parcel of children while she cut and spread slices of bread-and-butter for us. After our regular meal was finished, it was decided that sister Margaret should take Josette, and return with Mâtâ to open the house and make it ready for our reception. It had been the head-quarters of militia, Indians, and stragglers of various descriptions during our absence, and we could easily imagine that a little "misrule and unreason" might have had sway for that period. We had yet seventy-two miles, by the devious winding course of the river, over first the beautiful waters of Lac de Boeuf, and then through the low, marshy lands that spread away to the Portage. An attempt was made on the part of one of the gentlemen to create a little excitement among the ladies as we approached the spot where it had been supposed the Sauks might pass on their way to the Chippewa country. "Who knows," said he, gravely, "but they may be lurking in this neighborhood yet? If so, we shall probably have some signal. We must be on the alert!" Some of the ladies began to turn pale and look about them. After an interval of perfect silence, a low, prolonged whistle was heard. There was so much agitation, and even actual terror, that the mischievous author of the trick was obliged to confess at once, and receive a hearty scolding for the pain he had caused. Just before sunset of the second day from Gleason's we reached our home. Every thing was _radiant_ with neatness and good order. With the efficient aid of our good Manaigre and his wife, the house had been whitewashed from the roof to the door-sill, a thorough scrubbing and cleansing effected, the carpets unpacked and spread upon the floors, the furniture arranged, and, though last not least, a noble supper smoked upon the board by the time we had made, once more, a civilized toilet. Many of our friends from the Fort were there to greet us, and a more happy or thankful party has seldom been assembled. CHAPTER XXXV. SURRENDER OF WINNEBAGO PRISONERS. The war was now considered at an end. The news of the battle of the Bad Axe, where the regulars, the militia, and the steamboat Warrior combined, had made a final end of the remaining handful of Sauks, had reached us and restored tranquillity to the hearts and homes of the frontier settlers. It may seem wonderful that an enemy so few in number and so insignificant in resources could have created such a panic, and required so vast an amount of opposing force to subdue them. The difficulty had been simply in never knowing where to find them, either to attack or guard against them. Probably at the outset every military man thought and felt like the noble old veteran General Brady. "Give me two infantry companies mounted," said he, "and I will engage to whip the Sauks out of the country in one week!" True, but to whip the enemy you must first meet him; and in order to pursue effectually and _catch_ the Indians, a peculiar training is necessary--a training which, at that day, few, even of the frontier militia, could boast. In some portions of this campaign there was another difficulty,--the want of concert between the two branches of the service. The regular troops looked with contempt upon the unprofessional movements of the militia; the militia railed at the dilatory and useless formalities of the regulars. Each avowed the conviction that matters could be much better conducted without the other, and the militia, being prompt to act, sometimes took matters into their own hands, and brought on defeat and disgrace, as in the affair of "Stillman's Run." The feeling of contempt which the army officers entertained for the militia, extended itself to their subordinates and dependants. After the visit of the Ranger officers to Fort Winnebago, before the battle of the Wisconsin, the officer of the mess where they had been entertained called up his servant one day to inquire into the sutler's accounts, He was the same little "Yellow David" who had formerly appertained to Captain Harney. "David," said the young gentleman, "I see three bottles of cologne-water charged in the month's account of the mess at the sutler's. What does that mean?" "If you please, lieutenant," said David, respectfully, "it was to sweeten up the dining-room and quarters after them milish' officers were here visiting." Black Hawk and a few of his warriors had escaped to the north, where they were shortly after captured by the One-eyed Day-kau-ray and his party, and brought prisoners to General Street at Prairie du Chien. The women and children of the band had been put in canoes and sent down the Mississippi, in hopes of being permitted to cross and reach the rest of that tribe. The canoes had been tied together, and many of them were upset, and the children drowned, their mothers being too weak and exhausted to rescue them. The survivors were taken prisoners, and, starving and miserable, were brought to Prairie du Chien. Our mother was at the Port at the time of their arrival. She described their condition as wretched and reduced beyond anything she had ever witnessed. One woman who spoke a little Chippewa gave her an account of the sufferings and hardships they had endured--it was truly appalling. After having eaten such of the horses as could be spared, they had subsisted on acorns, elm-bark, or even grass. Many had died of starvation, and their bodies were found lying in their trail by the pursuing whites. This poor woman had lost her husband in battle, and all her children by the upsetting of the canoe in which they were, and her only wish now was, to go and join them. Poor Indians! who can wonder that they do not love the whites? But a very short time had we been quietly at home when a summons came to my husband to collect the principal chiefs of the Winnebagoes and meet General Scott and Governor Reynolds at Rock Island, where it was proposed to bold a treaty for the purchase of all the lands east and south of the Wisconsin. Messengers were accordingly sent to collect the principal men, and, accompanied by as many as chose to report themselves, he set off on his journey. He had been gone about two weeks, and I was beginning to count the days which must elapse before I could reasonably expect his return, when, one afternoon, I went over to pay a visit to my sister at the Fort. As I passed into the large hall of one range of quarters, Lieutenant Lacy came suddenly in from the opposite direction, and, almost without stopping, cried,-- "Bad news, madam! Have you heard it?" "No. What is it?" "The cholera has broken out at Rock Island, and they are dying by five hundred a day. Dr. Finley has just arrived with the news." So saying, he vanished, without stopping to answer a question. The cholera at Rock Island, and my husband there! I flew to the other door of the hall, which looked out upon the parade-ground. A sentinel was walking near. "Soldier," cried I, "will you run to the young officers' quarters and ask Dr. Finley to come here for a moment?" The man shook his head--he was not allowed to leave his post. Presently Mrs. Lacy's servant-girl appeared from a door under the steps. She was a worthless creature, but where _help_ was so scarce ladies could not afford to keep a scrupulous tariff of moral qualification. "Oh! Catharine," said I, "will you run over and ask Dr. Finley to come here a moment? I must hear what news he has brought from Rock Island." She put on a modest look, and said,-- "I do not like to go to the young officers' quarters." I was indignant at her hypocrisy, but I was also wild with impatience, when to my great joy Dr. Finley made his appearance. "Where is my husband?" cried I. "On his way home, madam, safe and sound. He will probably be here to-morrow." He then gave me an account of the ravages the cholera was making among the troops, which were indeed severe, although less so than rumor had at first proclaimed. Notwithstanding the doctor's assurance of his safety, my husband was seized with cholera on his journey. By the kind care of Paquette and the plentiful use of chicken-broth which the poor woman at whose cabin he stopped administered to him, he soon recovered, and reached his home in safety, having taken Prairie du Chien in his route and brought his mother with him again to her home. The Indians had consented to the sale of their beautiful domain. Indeed, there is no alternative in such cases. If they persist in retaining them, and become surrounded and hemmed in by the white settlers, their situation is more deplorable than if they surrendered their homes altogether. This they are aware of, and therefore, as a general thing, they give up their lands at the proposal of Government, and only take care to make the best bargain they can for themselves. In this instance they were to receive as an equivalent a tract of land[57] extending to the interior of Iowa, and an additional sum of ten thousand dollars annually. One of the stipulations of the treaty was, the surrender by the Winnebagoes of certain individuals of their tribe accused of having participated with the Sauks in some of the murders on the frontier, in order that they might be tried by our laws, and acquitted or punished as the case might be. Wau-kaun-kah (the Little Snake) voluntarily gave himself as a hostage until the delivery of the suspected persons. He was accordingly received by the Agent, and marched over and placed in confinement at the Fort until the seven accused should appear to redeem him. It was a work of some little time on the part of the nation to persuade these suspected individuals to place themselves in the hands of the whites, that they might receive justice according to the laws of the latter. The trial of Red Bird, and his languishing death in prison, were still fresh in their memories, and it needed a good deal of resolution, as well as a strong conviction of conscious innocence, to brace them up to such a step. It had to be brought about by arguments and persuasions, for the nation would never have resorted to force to compel the fulfilment of their stipulation. In the mean time a solemn talk was held with the principal chiefs assembled at the Agency. A great part of the nation were in the immediate neighborhood, in obedience to a notice sent by Governor Porter, who, in virtue of his office of Governor of Michigan Territory, was also Superintendent of the Northwest Division of the Indians. Instead of calling upon the Agent to take charge of the annuity money, as had heretofore been the custom, the Governor had announced his intention of bringing it himself to Fort Winnebago and being present at the payment. The time appointed had now arrived, and with it the main body of the Winnebagoes. Such of the Indians as had not attended the treaty at Rock Island and been instrumental in the cession of their country, were loud in their condemnation of the step, and their lamentations over it. Foremost among these was Wild-Cat, the Falstaff of Garlic Island and its vicinity. It was little wonder that he should shed bitter tears, as he did, over the loss of his beautiful home on the blue waters of Winnebago Lake. "If he had not been accidentally stopped," he said, "on his way to the treaty, and detained until it was too late, he would never, never have permitted the bargain." His Father, who knew that a desperate frolic, into which Wild-Cat had been enticed by the way, was the cause of his failing to accompany his countrymen to Rock Island, replied, gravely,-- "That he had heard of the chief's misfortune on this occasion. How that, in ascending the Fox River, a couple of kegs of _whiskey_ had come floating down the stream, which, running foul of his canoe with great force, had injured it to such a degree that he had been obliged to stop several days at the _Mee-kan,_ to repair damages." The shouts of laughter which greeted this explanation were so contagious that poor Wild-Cat himself was compelled to join in it, and treat his misfortune as a joke. The suspected Indians having engaged the services of Judge Doty to defend them on their future trial, notice was at length given that on a certain day they would be brought to the Portage and surrendered to their Father, to be by him transferred to the keeping of the military officer appointed to receive them. It was joyful news to poor Wau-kaun-kah, that the day of his release was at hand. Every time that we had been within the walls of the Fort we had been saluted by a call from him, as he kept his station at the guard-room window: "Do you hear anything of those Indians? When are they coming, that I may be let out?" We had endeavored to lighten his confinement by seeing that he was well supplied with food, and his Father and Paquette had paid him occasional visits; but, notwithstanding these attentions and the kindness he had received at the Fort, his confinement was inexpressibly irksome. On the morning of a bright autumnal day the authorities were notified that the chiefs of the nation would present themselves at the Agency to deliver the suspected persons as prisoners to the Americans. At the hour of ten o'clock, as we looked out over the Portage road, we could descry a moving concourse of people, in which brilliant color, glittering arms, and, as they approached still nearer, certain white objects of unusual appearance could be distinguished. General Dodge, Major Plympton, and one or two other officers took their seats with Mr. Kinzie on the platform in front of the door of our mansion to receive them, while we stationed ourselves at the window where we could both see and hear. The procession wound up the hill, and approached, marching slowly towards us. It was a grand and solemn sight. First came some of the principal chiefs in their most brilliant array. Next, the prisoners, all habited in white cotton, in token of their innocence, with girdles round their waists. The music of the drum and the shee-shee-qua accompanied their death-song, which they were chaunting. They wore no paint, no ornaments--their countenances were grave and thoughtful. It might well be a serious moment to them, for they knew but little of the customs of the whites, and that little was not such as to inspire cheerfulness. Only their Father's assurance that they should receive strict justice, would probably have induced them to comply with the engagements of the nation in this manner. The remainder of the procession was made up of a long train of Winnebagoes, all decked out in their holiday garb. The chiefs approached and shook hands with the gentlemen, who stood ready to receive their greeting. Then the prisoners came forward, and went through the same salutation with the officers. When they offered their hands to their Father, he declined. "No," said he. "You have come here accused of great crimes--of having assisted in taking the lives of some of the defenceless settlers. When you have been tried by the laws of the land, and been proved innocent, then your Father will give you his hand." They looked still more serious at this address, as if they thought it indicated that their Father, too, believed them guilty, and stepping back a little, they seated themselves, without speaking, in a row upon the ground, facing their Father and the officers. The other Indians all took seats in a circle around them, except the one-eyed chief, Kau-ray-kau-say-kah (the White Crow), who had been deputed to deliver the prisoners to the Agent. He made a speech in which he set forth that, "although asserting their innocence of the charges preferred against them, his countrymen were quite willing to be tried by the laws of white men. He hoped they would not be detained long, but that the matter would be investigated soon, and that they would come out of it clear and white." In reply he was assured that all things would be conducted fairly and impartially, exactly as if the accused were white men, and the hope was added that they would be found to have been good and true citizens, and peaceful children of their Great Father, the President. When this was over, White Crow requested permission to transfer the medal he had received as a mark of friendship from the President, to his son, who stood beside him, and who had been chosen by the nation to fill his place as chief, an office he was desirous of resigning. The speeches made upon this occasion, as interpreted by Paquette, the modest demeanor of the young man, and the dignified yet feeling manner of the father throughout, made the whole ceremony highly impressive; and when the latter took the medal from his neck and hung it around that of his son, addressing him a few appropriate words, I think no one could have witnessed the scene unmoved. I had watched the countenances of the prisoners as they sat on the ground before me, while all these ceremonies were going forward. With one exception they were open, calm, and expressive of conscious innocence. Of that one I could not but admit there might be reasonable doubts. One was remarkably fine-looking--another was a boy of certainly not more than seventeen, and during the transfer of the medal he looked from one to the other, and listened to what was uttered by the speakers, with an air and expression of even childlike interest and satisfaction. Our hearts felt sad for them as, the ceremonies finished, they were conducted by a file of soldiers and committed to the dungeon of the guard-house until such time as they should be summoned to attend the court appointed to try their cause. CHAPTER XXXVI. ESCAPE OF THE PRISONERS. The Indians did not disperse after the ceremonies of the surrender had been gone through. They continued still in the vicinity of the Portage, in the constant expectation of the arrival of the annuity money, which they had been summoned there to receive. But the time for setting out on his journey to bring it was postponed by Governor Porter from week to week. Had he foreseen all the evils this delay was to occasion, he would, possibly, have been more prompt in fulfilling his appointment. Many causes conspired to make an early payment desirable. In the first place, the Winnebagoes, having been driven from their homes by their anxiety to avoid all appearance of fraternizing with the Sauks, had made this year no gardens nor corn-fields They had, therefore, no provisions on hand, either for present use or for their winter's consumption, except their scanty supplies of wild rice. While this was disappearing during their protracted detention at the Portage, they were running the risk of leaving themselves quite unprovided with food, in case of a bad hunting-season during the winter and spring. In the next place, the rations which the Agent had been accustomed, by the permission of Government, to deal out occasionally to them, were now cut off by a scarcity in the Commissary's department. The frequent levies of the militia during the summer campaign, and the reinforcement of the garrison by the troops from Port Howard, had drawn so largely on the stores at this post that there was necessity for the most rigid economy in the issuing of supplies. Foreseeing this state of things, Mr. Kinzie, as soon as the war was at an end, commissioned Mr. Kercheval, then sutler at Fort Howard, to procure him a couple of boat-loads of corn, to be distributed among the Indians. Unfortunately, there was no corn to be obtained from Michigan; it was necessary to bring it from Ohio, and by the time it at length reached Green Bay (for in those days business was never done in a hurry) the navigation of the Fox River had closed, and it was detained there, to be brought up the following spring. As day after day wore on and "the silver" did not make its appearance, the Indians were advised by their Father to disperse to their hunting-grounds to procure food, with the promise that they should be summoned immediately on the arrival of Governor Porter; and this advice they followed. While they had been in our neighborhood, they had more than once asked permission to dance the _scalp-dance,_ before our door. This is the most frightful, heart-curdling exhibition that can possibly be imagined. The scalps are stretched on little hoops, or frames, and carried on the end of slender poles. These are brandished about in the course of the dance, with cries, shouts, and furious gestures. The women, who commence as spectators, becoming excited with the scene and the music which their own discordant notes help to make more deafening, rush in, seize the scalps from the hands of the owners, and toss them frantically about, with the screams and yells of demons. I have seen as many as forty or fifty scalps figuring in one dance. Upon one occasion one was borne by an Indian who approached quite near me, and I shuddered as I observed the long, fair hair, evidently that of a woman. Another Indian had the skin of a human hand, stretched and prepared with as much care as if it had been some costly jewel. When these dances occurred, as they sometimes did, by moonlight, they were peculiarly horrid and revolting. * * * * * Amid so many events of a painful character there were not wanting occasionally some that bordered on the ludicrous. One evening, while sitting at tea, we were alarmed by the sound of guns firing in the direction of the Wisconsin. All started up, and prepared, instinctively, for flight to the garrison. As we left the house we found the whole bluff and the meadow below in commotion,--Indians running with their guns and spears across their shoulders to the scene of alarm--squaws and children standing in front of their lodges and looking anxiously in the direction of the unusual and unaccountable sounds--groups of French and half-breeds, like ourselves, fleeing to gain the bridge and place themselves within the pickets so lately erected. As one company of Indians passed us hurriedly, some weapon carelessly carried hit one of our party on the side of the head. "Oh!" shrieked she, "I am killed! an Indian has tomahawked me!" and she was only reassured by finding she could still run as fast as the best of us. When we reached the parade-ground, within the Fort, we could not help laughing at the grotesque appearance we presented. Some without hats or shawls--others with packages of valuables hastily secured at the moment--one with her piece of bread-and-butter in hand, which she had not had the presence of mind to lay aside when she took to flight. The alarm was, in the end, found to have proceeded from a party of Winnebagoes from one of the Barribault villages, who, being about to leave their home for a period, were going through the ceremony of burying the scalps which they and their fathers had taken. Like the military funerals among civilized nations, their solemnities were closed on this occasion by the discharge of several volleys over the grave of their trophies. * * * * * At length, about the beginning of November, two months after the time appointed, Governor Porter, accompanied by Major Forsyth and Mr. Kercheval, arrived with the annuity money. The Indians were again assembled, the payment was made, and having supplied themselves with a larger quantity of ammunition than usual,--for they saw the necessity of a good hunt to remedy past and present deficiencies,--they set off for their wintering grounds. We were, ourselves, about changing our quarters, to our no small satisfaction. Notwithstanding the Indian disturbances, the new Agency House (permission to build which had, after much delay, been accorded by Government) had been going steadily on, and soon after the departure of the Governor and his party, we took possession of it. We had been settled but a few weeks, when one morning Lieutenant Davies appeared just as we were sitting down to breakfast, with a face full of consternation. "_The Indian prisoners had escaped from the black-hole_! The commanding officer, Colonel Cutler, had sent for Mr. Kinzie to come over to the Fort and counsel with him what was to be done." The prisoners had probably commenced their operations very soon after being placed in the _black-hole_, a dungeon in the basement of the guard-house. They observed that their meals were brought regularly, three times a day, and that in the intervals they were left entirely to themselves. With their knives they commenced excavating an opening, the earth from which, as it was withdrawn, they spread about on the floor of their prison. A blanket was placed over the hole, and one of the company was always seated upon it, before the regular time for the soldier who had charge of them to make his appearance. When the periodical visit was made, the Indians were always observed to be seated, smoking in the most orderly and quiet manner. There was never anything in their appearance to excite suspicion. The prisoners had never read the memoirs of Baron Trenck, but they had watched the proceedings of the badgers; so, profiting by their example, they worked on, shaping the opening spirally, until, in about six weeks, they came out to the open air beyond the walls of the Fort. That they might be as little encumbered as possible in their flight, they left their blankets behind them, and although it was bitter December weather, they took to the woods and prairies with only their calico shirts and leggings for covering. We can readily believe that hope and exultation kept them comfortably warm until they reached an asylum among their friends. It would be compromising our own reputation as loyal and patriotic citizens to tell of the secret rejoicing this news occasioned us. The question now was, how to get the fugitives back again. The Agent could promise no more than that he would communicate with the chiefs, and represent the wishes of the officers that the prisoners should once more surrender themselves, and thus free those who had had the charge of them from the imputation of carelessness, which the Government would be very likely to throw upon them. When, according to their custom, many of the chiefs assembled at the Agency on New-Year's Day, their Father laid the subject before them. The Indians replied, that _if they saw the young men_ they would tell them what the officers would like to have them do. They could, themselves, do nothing in the matter. They had fulfilled their engagement by bringing them once and putting them in the hands of the officers. The Government had had them in its power once and could not keep them--it must now go and catch them itself. The Government, having had some experience the past summer in "catching Indians," wisely concluded to drop the matter. About this time another event occurred which occasioned no small excitement in our little community. Robineau, the striker from the blacksmith establishment at Sugar Creek, near the Four Lakes, arrived one very cold day at the Agency. He had come to procure medical aid for Mâtâ's eldest daughter, Sophy, who, while sliding on the lake, had fallen on the ice and been badly hurt. Her father was absent, having gone to Prairie du Chien to place his youngest daughter at school. Two or three days had elapsed since the accident had happened; a high fever had set in, and the poor girl was in a state of great suffering; it had therefore been thought best to send Robineau to us for advice and aid, leaving Turcotte and a friendly Indian woman from a neighboring lodge to take charge of poor Sophy. The commanding officer did not think it prudent, when the subject was laid before him, to permit the surgeon to leave the post, but he very cheerfully granted leave of absence to Currie, the hospital steward, a young man who possessed some knowledge of medicine and surgery. As it was important that Sophy should have an experienced nurse, we procured the services of Madame Bellaire, the wife of the Frenchman who was generally employed as express to Chicago; and, as an aid and companion, Agathe, a daughter of Day-kau-ray, who lived in Paquette's family, was added to the party. Of Agathe I shall have more to say hereafter. The weather was excessively cold when Robineau, Currie, and the two women set out for Sugar Creek, a distance of about forty miles. We had provided them with a good store of rice, crackers, tea, and sugar, for the invalid, all of which, with their provisions for the way, were packed on the horse Robineau had ridden to the Portage. It was expected they would reach their place of destination on the second day. What, then, was our surprise to see Turcotte make his appearance on the fourth day after their departure, to inquire why Robineau had not returned with aid for poor Sophy! There was but one solution of the mystery. Robineau had guided them as ill as he had guided the boat at the Grande Chûte the summer before, and, although he could not shipwreck them, he had undoubtedly lost them in the woods or prairies. One comfort was, that they could not well starve, for the rice and crackers would furnish them with several days' provisions, and with Agathe, who must be accustomed to this kind of life, they could not fail in time of finding Indians, and being brought back to the Portage. Still, day after day went on and we received no tidings of them. Turcotte returned to Sugar Creek with comforts and prescriptions for Sophy, and Colonel Cutler sent out a party to hunt for the missing ones, among whom poor Currie, from his delicate constitution, was the object of our greatest commiseration. As the snow fell and the winds howled, we could employ ourselves about nothing but walking from window to window, watching, in hopes of seeing some one appear in the distance. No Indians were at hand whom we could dispatch upon the search, and by the tenth day we had almost given up in despair. It was then that the joyful news was suddenly brought us, "They are found! They are at the Fort!" A party of soldiers who had been exploring had encountered them at Hastings's Woods, twelve miles distant, slowly and feebly making their way back to the Portage. They knew they were on the right track, but had hardly strength to pursue it. Exhausted with cold and hunger, for their provisions had given out two days before, they had thought seriously of killing the horse and eating him. Nothing but Currie's inability to proceed on foot, and the dread of being compelled to leave him in the woods to perish, had deterred them. Agathe had from the first been convinced that they were on the wrong track, but Robineau, with his usual obstinacy, persevered in keeping it until it brought them to the Rock River, when he was obliged to acknowledge his error, and they commenced retracing their steps. Agathe, according to the custom of her people, had carried her hatchet with her, and thus they had always had a fire at night, and boughs to shelter them from the storms; otherwise they must inevitably have perished. There were two circumstances which aroused in us a stronger feeling even than that of sympathy. The first was, the miserable Robineau's having demanded of Currie, first, all his money, and afterwards his watch, as a condition of his bringing the party back into the right path, which he averred he knew perfectly well. The second was, Bellaire's giving his kind, excellent wife a hearty flogging "for going off," as he said, "on such a fool's errand." The latter culprit was out of our jurisdiction, but Mons. Robineau was discharged on the spot, and warned that he might think himself happy to escape a legal process for swindling. I am happy to say that Sophy Mâtâ, in whose behalf all these sufferings had been endured, was quite recovered by the time her father returned from the Prairie. CHAPTER XXXVII. AGATHE--TOMAH. Agathe was the daughter of an Indian who was distinguished by the name of _Rascal_ Day-kau-ray. Whether he merited the appellation must be determined hereafter. He was brother to the grand old chief of that name, but as unlike him as it is possible for those of the same blood to be. The Day-kau-rays were a very handsome family, and this daughter was remarkable for her fine personal endowments. A tall, well-developed form, a round, sweet face, and that peculiarly soft, melodious voice which belongs to the women of her people, would have attracted the attention of a stranger, while the pensive expression of her countenance irresistibly drew the hearts of all towards her, and prompted the wish to know more of her history. As I received it from her friend, Mrs. Paquette, it was indeed a touching one. A young officer at the Fort had seen her, and had set, I will not say his heart--it may be doubted if he had one--but his mind upon her. He applied to Paquette to negotiate what he called a marriage with her. I am sorry to say that Paquette was induced to enter into this scheme. He knew full well the sin of making false representations to the family of Agathe, and he knew the misery he was about to bring upon her. The poor girl had been betrothed to a young man of her own people, and, as is generally the case, the attachment on both sides was very strong. Among these simple people, who have few subjects of thought or speculation beyond the interests of their daily life, their affections and their animosities form the warp and woof of their character. All their feelings are intense, from being concentrated on so few objects. Family relations, particularly with the women, engross the whole amount of their sensibilities. The marriage connection is a sacred and indissoluble tie. I have read, in a recent report to the Historical Society of Wisconsin, that, in former times, a temporary marriage between a white man and a Menomonee woman was no uncommon occurrence, and that such an arrangement brought no scandal, I am afraid that if such eases were investigated, a good deal of deceit and misrepresentation would be found to have been added to the other sins of the transaction; and that the woman would be found to have been a victim, instead of a willing participant, in such a connection. At all events, no system of this kind exists among the Winnebagoes. The strictest sense of female propriety is a distinguishing trait among them. A woman who transgresses it is said to have "forgotten herself," and is sure to be cast off and "forgotten" by her friends. The marriage proposed between the young officer and the daughter of Day-kau-ray, was understood as intended to be true and lasting. The father would not have exposed himself to the contempt of his whole nation by selling his daughter to become the mistress of any man. The Day-kau-rays, as I have elsewhere said, were not a little proud of a remote cross of French blood which mingled with the aboriginal stream in their veins, and probably in acceding to the proposed connection the father of Agathe was as much influenced by what he considered the honor to be derived as by the amount of valuable presents which accompanied the overtures made to him. Be that as it may, the poor girl was torn from her lover, and transferred from her father's lodge to the quarters of the young officer. There were no ladies in the garrison at that time. Had there been, such a step would hardly have been ventured. Far away in the wilderness, shut out from the salutary influences of religious and social cultivation, what wonder that the moral sense sometimes becomes blinded, and that the choice is made, "Evil, be thou my good!" The first step in wrong was followed by one still more aggravated in cruelty. The young officer left the post, as he said, on furlough, but _he never returned_. The news came after a time that he was married, and when he again joined his regiment it was at another post. There was a natural feeling in the strength of the "woe pronounced against him" by more tongues than one. "He will never," said my informant, "dare show himself in this country again! Not an Indian who knows the Day-kau-rays but would take his life if he should meet him!" Every tie was broken for poor Agathe but that which bound her to her infant. She never returned to her father's lodge, for she felt that, being deserted, she was dishonored. Her sole ambition seemed to be to bring up her child like those of the whites. She attired it in the costume of the French children, with a dress of bright calico, and a cap of the same, trimmed with narrow black lace. It was a fine child, and the only time I ever saw a smile cross her face was when it was commended and caressed by some member of our family. Even this, her only source of happiness, poor Agathe was called upon to resign. During our absence at Green Bay, while the Sauks were in the neighborhood, the child was taken violently ill. The house at Paquette's, which was the mother's home, was thronged with Indians, and of course there was much noise and disturbance. My husband had a place prepared for her under our roof, where she could be more quiet, and receive the attendance of the post physician. It was all in vain--nothing could save the little creature's life. The bitter agony of the mother, as she hung over the only treasure she possessed on earth, was described to me as truly heart-rending. When compelled to part with it, it seemed almost more than nature could bear. There were friends, not of her own nation or color, who strove to comfort her. Did the father ever send a thought or an inquiry after the fate of his child, or of the young being whose life he had rendered dark and desolate? We will hope that he did--that he repented and asked pardon from above for the evil he had wrought. Agathe had been baptized by M. Mazzuchelli. Perhaps she may have acquired some religious knowledge which could bring her consolation in her sorrows, and compensate her for the hopes and joys so early blasted. She came, some months after the death of her child, in company with several of the half-breed women of the neighborhood, to pay me a visit of respect and congratulation on the advent of the _young Shaw-nee-aw-kee._ When she looked at her "little brother," as he was called, and took his soft, tiny hand within her own, the tears stood in her eyes, and she spoke some little words of tenderness, which showed that her heart was full. I could scarcely refrain from mingling my tears with hers, as I thought on all the sorrow and desolation that one man's selfishness had occasioned. * * * * * Early in February, 1833, my husband and Lieutenant Hunter, in company with one or two others, set off on a journey to Chicago. That place had become so much of a town (it contained perhaps fifty inhabitants) that it was necessary for the proprietors of "Kinzie's Addition" to lay out lots and open streets through their property. All this was accomplished during the visit in question. While they were upon the ground with a surveyor, the attention of my husband was drawn towards a very bright-looking boy in Indian costume, who went hopping along by the side of the assistant that carried the chain, mimicking him as in the course of his operations he cried, "Stick!" "stuck!" He inquired who the lad was, and, to his surprise, learned that he was the brother of the old family servants Victoire, Genevieve, and Baptiste. Tomah, for that was his name, had never been arrayed in civilized costume; he was in blanket and leggings, and had always lived in a wigwam. My husband inquired if he would like to go to Fort Winnebago with him and learn to be a white boy. The idea pleased him much, and, his mother having given her sanction to the arrangement, he was packed in a wagon, with the two gentlemen and their travelling gear, when they set forth on their return-journey. Tomah had been equipped in jacket and trousers, with the other articles of apparel necessary to his new sphere and character. They were near the Aux Plaines, and approaching the residence of Glode (Claude) Laframboise, where Tomah knew he should meet acquaintances. He asked leave to get out of the wagon and walk a little way. When the gentlemen next saw him he was in full Pottowattamie costume: although it was bitter winter weather, he had put on his uncomfortable native garb rather than show himself to his old friends in a state of transformation. On his arrival at Fort Winnebago, our first care was to furnish him with a complete wardrobe, which, having been placed in a box in his sleeping-apartment, was put under his charge. Words cannot express his delight as the valuable possessions were confided to him. Every spare moment was devoted to their contemplation. Now and then Tomah would be missing. He was invariably found seated by the side of his little trunk, folding and refolding his clothes, laying them now lengthwise, now crosswise, the happiest of mortals. Our next step was to teach him to be useful. Such little offices were assigned to him at first as might be supposed not altogether new to him, but we soon observed that when there was anything in the shape of work, Tomah slipped off to bed, even if it were before he had taken his supper. Some fish were given him one evening to scale; it was just at dark; but Tom, according to custom, retired at once to bed. The cook came to inquire what was to be done. I was under the necessity of calling in my husband's aid as interpreter. He sent for Tomah. When he came into the parlor Mr. Kinzie said to him, in Pottowattamie,-- "There are some fish, Tomah, in the kitchen, and we want you to scale them." "Now?" exclaimed Tom, with an expression of amazement. "It is very late." A young lady, Miss Rolette, who was visiting us, and who understood the language, could not refrain from bursting into a laugh at the simplicity with which the words were uttered, and we joined her in sympathy, at which Tom looked a little indignant; but when he understood that it was the _white custom_ to scale the fish at night, and put salt and pepper on them, he was soon reconciled to do his duty in the matter. His next office was to lay the table. There was a best service of china, which was only used when we had company, and a best set of teaspoons, which I kept in the drawer of a bureau in my own room above-stairs. I Was in the habit of keeping this drawer locked, and putting the key under a small clock on the mantel-piece. The first time that I had shown Tomah how to arrange matters for visitors, I had brought the silver and put it on the table myself. Soon after, we were to have company to tea again, and I explained to Tomah that the best china must be used. What was my surprise, on going through the dining-room a short time after, to see not only the new china, but the "company silver" also, on the table! I requested our mother, who could speak with him, to inquire into the matter. Tomah said, very coolly, "He got the silver where it was kept." "Did he find the drawer open?" "No--he opened it with a key." "Was the key in the drawer?" "No--it was under that thing on the shelf." "How did he know it was kept there?" This was what Mr. Tomah declined telling. We could never ascertain whether he had watched my movements at any time. No one had ever seen him in that part of the house, and yet scarcely an article could be mentioned of which Tomah did not know the whereabouts. If any one was puzzled to find a thing, it was always,-- "Ask Tomah--he will tell you." And so in fact he did. He was a subject of much amusement to the young officers. We were to have a tea-party one evening--all the families and young officers from the Fort. To make Tomah's appearance as professional as possible, we made him a white apron with long sleeves to put on while he was helping Mary and Josette to carry round tea--for I must acknowledge that Tomah's clothes were not kept in as nice order out of the trunk as in it. Tom was delighted with his new costume, as well as with the new employment. He acquitted himself to perfection, for he had never any difficulty in imitating what he saw another do. After tea we had some music. As I was standing by the piano, at which one of the ladies was seated, Lieutenant Vancleve said to me, in a low tone,-- "Look behind you a moment." I turned. There sat Tom between two of the company, as stately as possible, with his white apron smoothed down, and his hands clasped before him, listening to the music, and on the best possible terms with himself and all around him. Julian and Edwin were hardly able to restrain their merriment, but they were afraid to do or say anything that would cause him to move before the company had had a full enjoyment of the scene. It was voted unanimously that Tomah should be permitted to remain and enjoy the pleasures of society for one evening; but, with characteristic restlessness, he got tired as soon as the music was over, and unceremoniously took his leave of the company. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION. What we had long anticipated of the sufferings of the Indians began to manifest itself as the spring drew on. Its extent was first brought to our knowledge by those who came in little parties begging for food. As long as it was possible to issue occasional rations their Father continued to do so, but the supplies in the Commissary Department were now so much reduced that Colonel Cutler did not feel justified in authorizing anything beyond a scanty relief, and this only in extreme cases. We had ourselves throughout the winter used the greatest economy with our own stores, that we might not exhaust our slender stock of flour and meal before it could be replenished from "below." We had even purchased some sour flour which had been condemned by the commissary, and had contrived, by a plentiful use of saleratus and a due proportion of potatoes, to make of it a very palatable kind of bread. But as we had continued to give to party after party, when they would come to us to represent their famishing condition, the time at length arrived when we had nothing to give. The half-breed families of the neighborhood, who had, like ourselves, continued to share with the needy as long as their own stock lasted, were now obliged, of necessity, to refuse further assistance. These women often came to lament with us over the sad accounts that were brought from the wintering grounds. It had been a very open winter. The snow had scarcely been enough at any time to permit the Indians to track the deer; in fact, all the game had been driven off by the troops and war-parties scouring the country through the preceding summer. We heard of their dying by companies from mere inanition, and lying stretched in the road to the Portage, whither they were striving to drag their exhausted frames. Soup made of the bark of the slippery elm, or stewed acorns, were the only food that many had subsisted on for weeks. We had for a long time received our own food by daily rations from the garrison, for things had got to such a pass that there was no possibility of obtaining a barrel of flour at a time. After our meals were finished I always went into the pantry, and collecting carefully every remaining particle of food set it aside, to be given to some of the wretched applicants by whom we were constantly thronged. One day as I was thus employed, a face appeared at the window with which I had once been familiar. It was the pretty daughter of the elder Day-kau-ray. She had formerly visited us often, watching with great interest our employments--our sewing, our weeding and cultivating the garden, or our reading. Of the latter, I had many times endeavored to give her some idea, showing her the plates in the Family Bible, and doing my best to explain them to her, but of late I had quite lost sight of her. Now, how changed, how wan she looked! As I addressed her with my ordinary phrase, "_Tshah-ko-zhah_?" (What is it?) she gave a sigh that was almost a sob. She did not beg, but her countenance spoke volumes. I took my dish and handed it to her, expecting to see her devour the contents eagerly; but no--she took it, and, making signs that she would soon return, walked away. When she brought it back, I was almost sure she had not tasted a morsel herself. * * * * * Oh! the boats--the boats with the corn! Why did they not come? We both wrote and sent to hasten them, but, alas! everything and everybody moved so slowly in those unenterprising times! We could only feel sure that they would come when they were ready, and not a moment before. We were soon obliged to keep both doors and windows fast, to shut out the sight of misery we could not relieve. If a door were opened for the admission of a member of the family, some wretched mother would rush in, grasp the hand of my infant, and, placing that of her famishing child within it, tell us, pleadingly, that he was imploring "his little brother" for food. The stoutest man could not have beheld with dry eyes the heart-rending spectacle which often presented itself. It was in vain that we screened the lower portion of our windows with curtains. They would climb up on the outside, and tier upon tier of gaunt, wretched faces would peer in above, to watch us, and see if indeed we were as ill provided as we represented ourselves. The noble old Day-kau-ray came one day, from the Barribault, to apprise us of the state of his village. More than forty of his people, he said, had now been for many days without food, save bark and roots. My husband accompanied him to the commanding officer to tell his story and ascertain if any amount of food could be obtained from that quarter. The result was, the promise of a small allowance of flour, sufficient to alleviate the cravings of his own family. When this was explained to the chief, he turned away. "No," he said, "if his people could not be relieved, he and his family would starve with them!" And he refused, for those nearest and dearest to him, the proffered succor, until all could share alike. The announcement, at length, that "the boats were in sight," was a thrilling and most joyful sound. Hundreds of poor creatures were assembled on the bank, watching their arrival. Oh! how torturing was their slow approach, by the winding course of the river, through the extended prairie! As the first boat touched the land, we, who were gazing on the scene with anxiety and impatience only equalled by that of the sufferers, could scarcely refrain from laughing, to see old Wild-Cat, who had somewhat fallen off in his huge amount of flesh, seize "the Washington Woman" in his arms and hug and dance with her in the ecstasy of his delight. Their Father made a sign to them all to fall to work with their hatchets, which they had long held ready, and in an incredibly short time barrel after barrel of corn was broken open and emptied, while even the little children possessed themselves of pans and kettles full, and hastened to the fires that were blazing around to parch and cook that which they had seized. From this time forward, there was no more destitution. The present abundance was immediately followed by the arrival of supplies for the Commissary's Department; and, refreshed and invigorated, our poor children departed once more to their villages, to make ready their crops for the ensuing season. In the course of the spring, we received a visit from the Rev. Mr. Kent and Mrs. Kent, of Galena. This event is memorable, as being the first occasion on which the gospel, according to the Protestant faith, was preached at Fort Winnebago. The large parlor of the hospital was fitted up for the service, and gladly did we each say to the other, "Let us go to the house of the Lord!" For nearly three years had we lived here without the blessing of a public service of praise and thanksgiving. We regarded this commencement as an omen of better times, and our little "sewing-society" worked with renewed industry, to raise a fund Which might be available hereafter in securing the permanent services of a missionary. * * * * * Not long after this, on a fine spring morning, as we were seated at breakfast, a party of Indians entered the parlor, and came to the door of the room where we were. Two of them passed through, and went out upon a small portico--the third remained standing in the door-way at which he had at first appeared. He was nearly opposite me, and as I raised my eyes, spite of his change of dress, and the paint with which he was covered, I at once recognized him. I continued to pour the coffee, and, as I did so, I remarked to my husband, "The one behind you, with whom you are speaking, is one of the escaped prisoners." Without turning his head, Mr. Kinzie continued to listen to all the directions they were giving him about the repairing of their guns, traps, etc., which they wished to leave with the blacksmith. As they went on, he carelessly turned towards the parlor door, and replied to the one speaking to him. When he again addressed me, it was to say,-- "You are right, but it is no affair of ours. We are none of us to look so as to give him notice that we suspect anything. They are undoubtedly innocent, and have suffered enough already." Contrary to his usual custom, their Father did not ask their names, but wrote their directions, which he tied to their different implements, and then bade them go and deliver them themselves to M. Morrin. The rest of our circle were greatly pleased at the young fellow's audacity, and we quite longed to tell the officers that we could have caught one of their fugitives for them, if we had had a mind. * * * * * The time had now come when we began to think seriously of leaving our pleasant home, and taking up our residence at Detroit, while making arrangements for a permanent settlement at Chicago. This intelligence, when communicated to our Winnebago children, brought forth great lamentations and demonstrations of regret. From the surrounding country they came flocking in, to inquire into the truth of the tidings they had heard, and to petition earnestly that we would continue to live and die among them. Among them all, no one seemed so overwhelmed with affliction as Elizabeth, our poor _Cut-Nose_. When we first told her of our intention, she sat for hours in the same spot, wiping away the tears that would find their way down her cheeks, with the corner of the chintz shawl she wore pinned across her bosom. "No! I never, never, never shall I find such friends again," she would exclaim. "You will go away, and I shall be left here _all alone_." Wild-Cat, too, the fat, jolly Wild-Cat, gave way to the most audible lamentations. "Oh, my little brother," he said to the baby, on the morning of our departure, when he had insisted on taking him and seating him on his fat, dirty knee, "you will never come back to see your poor brother again!" And having taken an extra glass on the occasion, he wept like an infant. It was with sad hearts that on the morning of the 1st of July, 1888, we bade adieu to the long cortége which followed us to the boat, now waiting to convey us to Green Bay, where we were to meet Governor Porter and Mr. Brush, and proceed, under their escort, to Detroit. When they had completed their tender farewells, they turned to accompany their father across the Portage, on his route to Chicago, and long after, we could see them winding along the road, and hear their loud lamentations at a parting which they foresaw would be forever. APPENDIX. I. As I have given throughout the Narrative of the Sauk War the impressions we received from our own observation, or from information furnished us at the time, I think it but justice to Black Hawk and his party to insert, by way of Appendix, the following account, preserved among the manuscript records of the late Thomas Forsyth, Esq., of St. Louis, who, after residing among the Indians many years as a trader, was, until the year 1830, the Agent of the Sauks and Foxes. The manuscript was written in 1832, while Black Hawk and his compatriots were in prison at Jefferson Barracks. "The United States troops under the command of Major Stoddard arrived here[58] and took possession of this country in the month of February, 1804. In the spring of that year, a white person (a man or boy) was killed in Cuivre Settlement, by a Sauk Indian Some time in the summer following, a party of United States troops were sent up to the Sauk village on Rocky Biver, and a demand made of the Sauk chiefs for the murderer. The Sauk chiefs did not hesitate a moment, but delivered him up to the commander of the troops, who brought him down and delivered him over to the civil authority in this place (St. Louis). "Some time in the ensuing autumn some Sauk and Fox Indians came to this place, and had a conversation with General Harrison (then Governor of Indiana Territory, and acting Governor of this State, then Territory of Louisiana) on the subject of liberating their relative, then in prison at this place for the above-mentioned murder. "Quash-quame, a Sauk chief, who was the head man of this party, has repeatedly said, 'Mr. Pierre Chouteau, Sen., came several times to my camp, offering that if I would sell the lands on the east side of the Mississippi River, Governor Harrison would liberate my relation (meaning the Sauk Indian then in prison as above related), to which I at last agreed, and sold the lands from the mouth of the Illinois River up the Mississippi River as high as the mouth of Rocky River (now Rock River), and east to the ridge that divides the waters of the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers; but I never sold any more lands.' Quash-quame also said to Governor Edwards, Governor Clarke, and Mr. Auguste Chouteau, Commissioners appointed to treat with the Chippewas, Ottawas, and Pottowattamies of Illinois River, in the summer of 1816, for lands on the west side of Illinois River,-- "'You white men may put on paper what you please, but again I tell you, I never sold any lands higher up the Mississippi than the mouth of Rocky River.' "In the treaty first mentioned, the line commences opposite to the mouth of Gasconade River, and running in a direct line to the head-waters of Jefferson[59] River, thence down that river to the Mississippi River--thence up the Mississippi River to the mouth of the Ouisconsin River--thence up that river thirty-six miles--thence in a direct line to a little lake in Fox River of Illinois, down Fox River to Illinois River, down Illinois River to its mouth--thence down the Mississippi River to the mouth of Missouri River--thence up that river to the place of beginning. See treaty dated at St. Louis, 4th November, 1804. "The Sauk and Fox nations were never consulted, nor had any hand in this treaty, nor knew anything about it. It was made and signed by two Sauk chiefs, one Fox chief and one warrior. "When the annuities were delivered to the Sauk and Fox nations of Indians, according to the treaty above referred to (amounting to $1000 per annum), the Indians always thought they were presents (as the annuity for the first twenty years was always paid in goods, sent on from Georgetown, District of Columbia, and poor articles of merchandise they were, very often damaged and not suitable for Indians), until I, as their Agent, convinced them of the contrary, in the summer of 1818. When the Indians heard that the goods delivered to them were annuities for land sold by them to the United States, they were astonished, and refused to accept of the goods, denying that they ever sold the lands as stated by me, their Agent. The Black Hawk in particular, who was present at the time, made a great noise about this land, and would never receive any part of the annuities from that time forward. He always denied the authority of Quash-quame and others to sell any part of their lands, and told the Indians not to receive any presents or annuities from any American--otherwise their lands would be claimed at some future day. "As the United States do insist, and retain the lands according to the treaty of November 4, 1804, why do they not fulfil _their_ part of that treaty as equity demands? "The Sauk and Fox nations are allowed, according to that treaty, 'to live and hunt on the lands so ceded, as long as the aforesaid lands belong to the United States.' In the spring of the year 1827, about twelve or fifteen families of squatters arrived and took possession of the Sauk village, near the mouth of the Rocky River. They immediately commenced destroying the Indians' bark boats. Some were burned, others were torn to pieces, and when the Indians arrived at the village, and found fault with the destruction of their property, they were beaten and abused by the squatters. "The Indians made complaint to me, as their Agent. I wrote to General Clarke,[60] stating to him from time to time what happened, and giving a minute detail of everything that passed between the whites (squatters) and the Indians. "The squatters insisted that the Indians should be removed from their village, saying that as soon as the land was brought into market they (the squatters) would buy it all. It became needless for me to show them the treaty, and the right the Indians had to remain on their lands. They tried every method to annoy the Indians, by shooting their dogs, claiming their horses, complaining that the Indians' horses broke into their corn-fields--selling them whiskey for the most trifling articles, contrary to the wishes and request of the chiefs, particularly the Black Hawk, who both solicited and threatened them on the subject, but all to no purpose. "The President directed those lands to be sold at the Land Office, in Springfield, Illinois. Accordingly, when the time came that they were to be offered for sale (in the autumn of 1828), there were about twenty families of squatters at, and in the vicinity of, the old Sauk village, most of whom attended the sale, and but one of them could purchase a quarter-section (if we except George Davenport, a trader who resides in Rocky Island). Therefore, all the land not sold, still belonged to the United States, and the Indians had still a right, by treaty, to hunt and live on those lands. This right, however, was not allowed them--they must move off. "In 1830, the principal chiefs, and others of the Sauk and Fox Indians who resided at the old village, near Rocky River, acquainted me that they would remove to their village on Ihoway River. These chiefs advised me to write to General Clarke, Superintendent of Indian Affairs at this place (St. Louis), to send up a few militia--that the Black Hawk and his followers would then see that everything was in earnest, and they would remove to the west side of the Mississippi, to their own lands. "The letter, as requested by the chiefs, was written and sent by me to General Clarke, but he did not think proper to answer it--therefore everything remained as formerly, and, as a matter of course, the Black Hawk and his party thought the whole matter of removing from the old village had blown over. "In the spring of 1831, the Black Hawk and his party were augmented by many Indians from Ihoway River. This augmentation of forces made the Black Hawk very proud, and he supposed nothing would be done about removing him and his party. "General Gaines visited the Black Hawk and his party this season, with a force of regulars and militia, and compelled them to remove to the west side of the Mississippi River, on their own lands. "When the Black Hawk and party recrossed to the east side of the Mississippi River in 1832, they numbered three hundred and sixty-eight men. They were hampered with many women and children, and had no intention to make war. When attacked by General Stillman's detachment, they defended themselves like men; and I would ask, who would not do so, likewise? Thus the war commenced. * * * * * "The Indians had been defeated, dispersed, and some of the principal chiefs are now in prison and in chains, at Jefferson Barracks.... "It is very well known, by all who know the Black Hawk, that he has always been considered a friend to the whites. Often has he taken into his lodge the wearied white man, given him good food to eat, and a good blanket to sleep on before the fire. Many a good meal has _the Prophet_ given to people travelling past his village, and very many stray horses has he recovered from the Indians and restored to their rightful owners, without asking any recompense whatever.... "What right have we to tell any people, 'You shall not cross the Mississippi River on any pretext whatever'? When the Sauk and Fox Indians wish to cross the Mississippi, to visit their relations among the Pottowattamies of Fox River, Illinois, they are prevented by us, _because we have the power_!" I omit the old gentleman's occasional comments upon the powers that dictated, and the forces which carried on, the warfare of this unhappy summer. There is every reason to believe that had his suggestions been listened to, and had he continued the Agent of the Sauks and Foxes, a sad record might have been spared,--we should assuredly not have been called to chronicle the untimely fate of his successor, the unfortunate M. St. Vrain, who, a comparative stranger to his people, was murdered by them, in their exasperated fury, at Kellogg's Grove, soon after the commencement of the campaign. II. It seems appropriate to notice in this place the subsequent appearance before the public of one of the personages casually mentioned in the foregoing narrative. In the autumn of 1864 we saw advertised for exhibition at Wood's Museum, Chicago, "The most remarkable instance of longevity on record--the venerable Joseph Crély, born on the 13th of September, 1726, and having consequently reached, at this date, the age of ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINE YEARS!" Sundry particulars followed of his life and history, and, above all, of his recollections. "Well done for old Crély!" said my husband, when he had gone through the long array. "Come, let us go over to Wood's Museum and renew our acquaintance with the venerable gentleman." I did not need a second invitation, for I was curious to witness the wonders which the whirligig of time had wrought with our old _employé_. We chose an early hour for our visit, that we might pay our respects to both him and the granddaughter who had him in charge, unembarrassed by the presence of strangers. In a large room on the second floor of the building, among cages of birds and animals, some stuffed, others still living, we perceived, seated by a window, a figure clad in bright cashmere dressing-gown and gay tasselled cap, tranquilly smoking a tah-nee-hoo-rah, or long Indian pipe. His form was upright, his face florid, and less changed than might have been expected by the thirty-one years that had elapsed since we had last seen him. He was alone, and my husband addressed him at first in English:-- "Good-morning, M. Crély. Do you remember me?" He shook his head emphatically. "Je ne comprends pas. Je ne me ressouviens de rien--je suis vieux, vieux--le treize Septembre, mil sept cent vingt-six, je suis né. Non, non," with a few gentle shakes of the head, "je ne puis rappeler rien--je suis vieux, vieux."[61] My husband changed his inquiries to the patois which Crély could not feign not to comprehend. "Where is your granddaughter? I am acquainted with her, and would like to speak with her." The old man sprang up with the greatest alacrity, and, running to a door in the wooden partition which cut off a corner of the room and thus furnished an apartment for the ancient phenomenon, he rapped vigorously, and called, in accents quite unlike his former feeble, drawling tones,-- "Thérèse, Thérèse--il y a icite un monsieur qui voudrait vous voir."[62] The granddaughter presently made her appearance. She looked shyly at my husband from under her brows. "Do you know me, Thérèse?" he asked. "Yes, sir. It is Mr. Kinzie." "And do you know me also?" I said, approaching. She looked at me and shook her head. "No, I do not," she replied. "What, Thérèse! Have you forgotten Madame John, who taught you to read--you and all the little girls at the Portage?" "Oh, my heavens, Mrs. Kinzie!--but you have changed so!" "Yes, Thérèse, I have grown old in all these years; but I have not grown old quite so fast as your grandpapa here." There was a flash in her eye that told she felt my meaning. She hung her head without speaking, while the color deepened over her countenance. "Now," said I, in French, to the grandfather, "you remember me--" He interrupted me with a protest, "Non, non--je ne puis rappeler rien--je suis vieux, vieux--le treize Septembre, mil sept cent vingt-six, je suis né à Detroit." "And you recollect," I went on, not heeding his formula, "how I came to the Portage a bride, and lived in the old cabins that the soldiers had occupied--" "Eh b'an! oui--oui--" "And how you helped make the garden for me--and how Plante and Manaigre finished the new house so nicely while Monsieur John was away for the silver--and how there was a feast after it was completed--" "Ah! oui, oui--pour le sûr." "And where are all our people now?" I asked, turning to Thérèse. "Louis Frum _dit_ Manaigre--is he living?" "Oh, Madame Kinzie! You remember that--Manaigre having two names?" "Yes, Thérèse--I remember everything connected with those old times at the Portage. Who among our people there are living?" "Only Manaigre is left," she said. "Mais, mais, Thérèse," interposed the old man, "Manaigre's daughter Geneviève is living." It was a comfort to find our visit of such miraculous benefit to his memory. "And the Puans--are any of them left?" I asked. "Not more than ten or twelve, I think--" Again her grandfather promptly contradicted her:-- "Mais, mais, je compte b'an qu'il y en a quinze ou seize, Thérèse;" and he went quite glibly over the names of such of his red friends as still hovered around their old home in that vicinity. He was in the full tide of gay reminiscence, touching upon experiences and adventures of long ago, and recalling Indian and half-breed acquaintances of former days, when footsteps approached, and the entrance of eager, curious visitors suddenly reminded him of his appointed rôle. It was marvellous how instantaneously he subsided into the superannuated driveller who was to bear away the bell from Old Parr and all the Emperor Alexander's far-sought fossils. "Je suis vieux, vieux--l'an mil sept cent vingt-six--le treize Septembre, à Detroit--- je ne puis rappeler rien." Not another phrase could "all the King's armies, or all the King's men," have extorted from him. So we left him to the admiring comments of the new-comers. I think it should be added, in extenuation of what would otherwise seem a gross imposture, that his granddaughter was really ignorant of Crély's exact age--that he, being ever a gasconading fellow, was quite ready to personate that certain Joseph Crély whose name appears on the baptismal records of the Church in Detroit of the year 1726. He was, moreover, pleased with the idea of being gaily dressed and going on a tour to see the world, and doubtless rejoiced, also, in the prospect of relieving his poor granddaughter of a part of the burden of his maintenance. He was probably at this time about ninety-five years of age. There are those that knew him from 1830, who maintain that his age was a few years less; but I take the estimate of Mr. Kinzie and H.L. Dousman, of Prairie du Chien, who set him down, in 1864, at about the age I have assigned to him. THE END. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Corn which has been parboiled, shelled from the cob, and dried in the sun.] [Footnote 2: Literally, _crazy oats_. It is the French name for the Menomonees.] [Footnote 3: _Le Forgeron_, or Blacksmith, a Menomonee chief.] [Footnote 4: A niece of James Fenimore Cooper.] [Footnote 5: Master--or, to use the emphatic Yankee term, _boss_.] [Footnote 6: Michaud climbed into a plum-tree, to gather plums. The branch broke. _Michaud fell_! Where is he? _He is down on the ground_. No, he is up in the tree.] [Footnote 7: The supposed Dauphin of France.] [Footnote 8: The site of the town of Nee-nah.] [Footnote 9: The bark of the red willow, scraped fine, which is preferred by the Indians to tobacco.] [Footnote 10: General Cass was then Governor of Michigan, and Superintendent of the Northwestern Indians.] [Footnote 11: In the year 1714.] [Footnote 12: Father! How do you do?] [Footnote 13: Only look! what inventions! what wonders!] [Footnote 14: Between two of these lakes is now situated the town of Madison--the capital of the State of Wisconsin.] [Footnote 15: I speak, it will be understood, of things as they existed a quarter of a century ago.] [Footnote 16: It was at this spot that the unfortunate St. Vrain lost his life, during the Sauk war, in 1832.] [Footnote 17: Probably at what is now Oswego. The name of a portion of the wood is since corrupted into _Specie's Grove_.] [Footnote 18: The honey-bee is not known in the perfectly wild countries of North America. It is ever the pioneer of civilization, and the Indians call it "_the white man's bird_."] [Footnote 19: It was near this spot that the brother of Mr. Hawley, a Methodist preacher, was killed by the Sauks, in 1832, after having been tortured by them with the most wanton barbarity.] [Footnote 20: Rivière Aux Plaines was the original French designation, now changed to _Desplaines_, pronounced as in English.] [Footnote 21: 1855.] [Footnote 22: See Frontispiece.] [Footnote 23: Since called N. State Street (1870).] [Footnote 24: I can recall a petition that was circulated at the garrison about this period, for "building a brigg over Michigan City." By altering the orthography, it was found to mean, not the stupendous undertaking it would seem to imply, but simply "building a bridge" over _at_ Michigan City,--an accommodation much needed by travellers at that day.] [Footnote 25: The proper orthography of this word is undoubtedly _slough_, as it invariably indicates something like that which Christian fell into in flying from the City of Destruction. I spell it, however, as it is pronounced.] [Footnote 26: A gentleman who visited Chicago at that day, thus speaks of it: "I passed over the ground from the fort to the Point, on horseback. I was up to my stirrups in water the whole distance. I would not have given sixpence an acre for the whole of it."] [Footnote 27: See Narrative of the Massacre, p. 159.] [Footnote 28: Mr. Cat.] [Footnote 29: This Narrative, first published in pamphlet form in 1836, was transferred, with little variation, to Brown's "History of Illinois," and to a work called "Western Annals." It was likewise made, by Major Richardson, the basis of his two tales, "Hardscrabble," and "Wau-nan-gee."] [Footnote 30: Burns's house stood near the spot where the Agency Building, or "Cobweb Castle," was afterwards erected, at the foot of N. State Street.] [Footnote 31: This is done by cutting the meat in thin slices, placing it upon a scaffold, and making a fire under it, which dries it and smokes it at the same time.] [Footnote 32: A trading-establishment--now Ypsilanti.] [Footnote 33: Captain Wells, when a boy, was stolen, by the Miami Indians, from the family of Hon. Nathaniel Pope, in Kentucky. Although recovered by them, he preferred to return and live among his new friends. He married a Miami woman, and became a chief of the nation. He was the father of the late Mrs. Judge Wolcott, of Maumee, Ohio.] [Footnote 34: The spot now called Bertrand, then known as _Parc aux Vaches,_ from its having been a favorite "stamping-ground" of the buffalo which then abounded in the country.] [Footnote 35: The exact spot of this encounter was about where 21st Street crosses Indiana Avenue.] [Footnote 36: Along the present State Street.] [Footnote 37: Mrs. Holt is believed to be still living, in the State of Ohio.] [Footnote 38: Billy Caldwell was a half-breed, and a chief of the nation. In his reply, "_I am a Sau-ga-nash_," or Englishman, he designed to convey, "I am a _white_ man." Had he said, "_I am a Pottowattamie_," it would have been interpreted to mean, "I belong to my nation, and am prepared to go all lengths with them."] [Footnote 39: Frenchman.] [Footnote 40: The Pottowattamie chief, so well known to many of the citizens of Chicago, now (1870) residing at the Aux Plaines.] [Footnote 41: Twenty-two years after this, as I was on a journey to Chicago in the steamer Uncle Sam, a young woman, hearing my name, introduced herself to me, and, raising the hair from her forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been fatal to her.] [Footnote 42: Although this is the name our mother preserved of her benefactor, it seems evident that this chief was in fact _Corn-Planter_, a personage well known in the history of the times. There could hardly have been two such prominent chiefs in the same village.] [Footnote 43: From the French--_Tranche_, a deep cut.] [Footnote 44: It is a singular fact that all the martins, of which there were great numbers occupying the little houses constructed for them by the soldiers, were observed to have disappeared from their homes on the morning following the embarkation of the troops. After an absence of five days they returned. They had perhaps taken a fancy to accompany their old friends, but, finding they were not Mother Carey's chickens, deemed it most prudent to return and reoccupy their old dwellings.] [Footnote 45: It is now known as Dunkley's Grove.] [Footnote 46: How the woods talk!] [Footnote 47: It will be remembered that these were the arguments used at a period when the Indians possessed most of the broad lands on the Upper Mississippi and its tributaries--when they were still allowed some share of the blessings of life.] [Footnote 48: The Indians, in relating a story like this, apologize for alluding to a revolting subject. "You will think this _unpleasant_," they say.] [Footnote 49: Come in, my daughter.] [Footnote 50: The Indians sing these words to an air peculiar to themselves.] [Footnote 51: Three streams or water courses of that region.] [Footnote 52: See Appendix.] [Footnote 53: As "the venerable Joseph Crély" has become historic from his claim to have reached the age of one hundred and thirty-nine years, I will state that at this period (1832) he was a hale, hearty man of sixty years or less.] [Footnote 54: The Indians who had "been at Washington" were very fond of calling their Father thus. Black Wolf's son would go further, and vociferate "K'hizzie," to show his familiarity.] [Footnote 55: Fisher's Hornpipe.] [Footnote 56: General Atkinson.] [Footnote 57: A belt of land termed the Neutral Ground of the different opposing nations.] [Footnote 58: St. Louis, Mo.] [Footnote 59: There is no such river in this country, therefore this treaty is null and void--of no effect in law or equity. Such was the opinion of the late Governor Howard. (T.F.)] [Footnote 60: Superintendent of Indian Affairs at St. Louis.] [Footnote 61: I do not understand. I remember nothing. I am very, very old--the thirteenth of September, 1726, I was born. No, no--I can recollect nothing. I am old, old.] [Footnote 62: Thérèse, there is a gentleman here who wishes to see you.] 
31615	----	Chicago's Black Traffic in White Girls _An article on the Great "White Slave" Question_ _ILLUSTRATED_ By Mrs. Jean Turner-Zimmermann, M. D. [Illustration: JEAN TURNER-ZIMMERMANN, M. D.] CHICAGO'S BLACK TRAFFIC IN WHITE GIRLS _By_ _MRS. JEAN TURNER-ZIMMERMANN, M. D._ _President of the_ CHICAGO RESCUE MISSION and WOMAN'S SHELTER AND _Superintendent of_ The DEPARTMENT OF PURITY AND HEREDITY of the COOK COUNTY W. C. T. U. 733 Washington Boulevard, CHICAGO [Illustration: REV. R. IRA STONE _Superintendent of the Chicago Rescue Mission_] Foreword My sole aim in bringing this little pamphlet to you is to definitely call the attention of the men and women of the Central Western States, and especially those of the City of Chicago into whose hands it may come, to the vicious, thoroughly organized white-slave traffic of to-day, and its attendant, far-reaching, horrible results upon the young man and womanhood of our Land. During a constant residence covering seven years of time in the central slum districts of the West and South Sides of Chicago, I have gained much actual knowledge of the questions of poverty, drink and prostitution among the lost men and women of these great neighborhoods, have become personally acquainted with very many of them, visiting them, listening to their heart stories and growing to know much of their inside lives, and have learned a real tender interest and pity for them in their remorseful, helpless, hopeless condition. All incidents, references and statistics (as far as possible) herein given are strictly authentic, and have been collected with great care and fairness either by myself or my assistants. Statistical references have been taken from the writings of United States Attorney Sims, Rev. Ernest A. Bell and others engaged in prosecuting and reform work, all of whom I thank sincerely and wish well in what they are accomplishing for good where it is so desperately needed in this submerged underworld of our city. * * * * * So in bringing this eighth edition of CHICAGO'S BLACK TRAFFIC IN WHITE GIRLS to you, a part of which has already been published under the title of CHICAGO'S SOUL MARKET, it is the aim of the writer to give more thought and time to real, existing conditions--descriptions and actual facts relative to public prostitution and its attendant frightful results, rather than to such matter as incidents, "cases," etc., knowledge of which can usually be acquired by simply reading the daily press of Chicago or New York. All descriptions, statistics and photographs are taken by the author from actual contact with the great underworld and quoted with names, dates, etc., of those concerned and are absolutely authentic. We, together with thousands of others--editors, legislators, club women, ministers and everybody else who has the welfare of the girlhood of our Land at heart, believe that the time for prudery and concealment is past and that honest men and women should know what there is to know about this thoroughly organized, solidly financed system of White Slavery flourishing and growing in America to-day--a system which controls and ruins hundreds of thousands of women in our midst every year and which requires a constant sacrifice of more than sixty thousand young girls annually to feed its death and disease dealing machinery. Most people think of harlotry or prostitution as something secret--something to be kept from the public eye, something to be ashamed of. Not so to the great throng of Chicago whore-mongers. Everything that can be done to attract attention and custom is done by the five thousand men and hundreds of hideous, brutish madams who in this city exploit the bodies and live off the earnings of thirty thousand public women in our midst. The twenty-seven hundred (quoting from a statement of Chief of Police Stewart) houses of ill-fame here are conducted with as much publicity and advertising as the grocery or meat market nearby. Each adjoining and nearby saloon, with its wine rooms and booths, is an advertising and recruiting agency; the ward politician, the officers on the beat, the common "pimp" and the recognized whore-mongers, work harmoniously together to exploit this vast business. Reckoning the number of White Slaves in Chicago at thirty thousand, and the average number of men entertained by each of these unfortunate women nightly at five (a very low average) with an average per man of one dollar, there is poured monthly =Four Million Five Hundred Thousand Dollars=, blood money, into the coffers of these human dealers--as the rental for profit of the bodies of our American girl and her alien sister who has been mercilessly trapped, lured from her home and sold into the great festering cesspool, without the slightest knowledge of our customs and laws, and ruined forever. New York City is the great eastern headquarters and westward shipping point for Oriental and European White Slaves. Mark this statement: _"Seventeen hundred girls, by actual count, were lost on the way from New York to Chicago last year, according to an investigation now being made by the Commissioner of Immigration. Somehow these girls were spirited away from the care of the agents to whom they were entrusted and were never seen nor heard of again."_ Isn't that an appalling fact? for fact it is--seventeen hundred girls lost and gone forever just from this one line of travel alone and in just one year! These girls, who came to this Country to better themselves, to make an honest living, broken and rotting to-day behind bolts and bars in some of our cities' foul dives, or else shipped on and on until at last in some Chinese underground cellar or under the lash of a South American or Philippine whore-master, Death at last comes to the rescue. Please remember, as you read this, that America is becoming more and more un-American every day. Each ship, each train Westward or Eastward bound, the now daily dumping into our Land, so lately the goal of the home-seeker from Germany, Sweden, Ireland, etc., the real future citizen--thousands of the scum and vice and criminal element of South Eastern Europe, Asia and the Orient, and remember too that a short five-years of residence here converts the filthiest criminal from Turkey, Arabia, Syria, Italy, or of any place else where vice and brutality reign supreme, into an American citizen with the right to vote into office men who will and are sworn to protect and aid in every possible way the Jewish, Russian, French or Chinese whore-master as he rents a shanty and proceeds to fatten on the very life-blood of the young girlhood of this and other lands. JEAN TURNER-ZIMMERMANN, M. D. The "Protected" White Slave Traffic. Open prostitution--White Slavery, as it exists to-day in Chicago, is almost entirely under =foreign= control. Of the twenty-seven hundred houses of ill-fame in Chicago, a very large percentage are owned and controlled by foreigners from Southeastern Europe, while almost without exception all Levee and White Slave resorts in the segregated districts are under the direct ownership of the moral and civic degenerates of the French, Italian, Syrian, Russian, Jewish or Chinese races--once in a great while you may find a German or Swedish whore-master, but very seldom--an American or an Englishman conducting such a business is almost entirely unknown. American men raise the girlhood, make the laws and =elect= the officials whereby this bloody business may be carried on and exploited by a foaming pack of foreign hell-hounds, who after their work of death is accomplished and their coffers filled, go home to their South Europe or Turkish haunts with their blood and soul money, to lives of filth and idleness in their own lands. I appeal in the name of Jehovah, to the Church, to the women's clubs, to the labor federations and all honorable Jews and others of foreign birth who have come to America for a home and a decent, honorable living, to aid in every possible way the great work now going on to eradicate segregated, protected White Slavery from our Land. EXTRACTS FROM THE DAILY PAPERS Quoting from the Daily Press, May 4, regarding the recent investigations in New York concerning the question of White Slavery by the Rockefeller jury (which after buying two girls themselves, later declared, "there is no traffic in women in New York"): Harry Levenson, the acknowledged "trader" of women who is in the Tombs under $25,000 bail, made a startling confession to the District Attorney to-night, giving names of men and women whose sole occupation is dealing in unfortunates. "I know of three places in New York," Levenson said, "where five to ten girls are kept constantly at hand for sale. At any hour of the day or night one of them, two or the whole ten, can be bought by any one with the money to pay for them. They can be shipped anywhere at an hour's notice." GIVES HINT ON ARRESTS The "trader" gave to Mr. Whitman the addresses of the three places, which are known as "stockades." He also made suggestions as to how their operators might be apprehended. More than that, Levenson told how the financial arrangements of the sales are made and how recruits are obtained. Agents are continually at work obtaining young girls, the prisoner said. The slave sellers do not want hardened women, he explained; they want pretty, immature girls. The agents are generally well dressed women who ingratiate themselves with their childish victims at matinees and moving-picture shows, and by dining them and painting rosy pictures of a life of ease, win them away from their homes or their ill-paid positions. "When there is a call for girls," Levenson continued, "the buyer hands over the money paid for them to the keeper. Then an agent--these are usually men--take the girls to wherever the "order" comes from. These agents then collect 10 per cent of the girl's weekly earnings." Quoting from the National Prohibitionist, May 12: THE SLAVE TRADE AND THE VOTER The Christian voter who reads, and reads with blood boiling, as the blood of every honest man must, the shameful story of the exposure of the traffic in girls especially in New York, must not allow his imagination to run away with his reasoning faculties. Awful as the story is, we invite attention, not to its horror--the horror of herds of little girls sold at a per-head price below the value of pigs--but to the practical questions of responsibility and cure. Why does this infamy exist in our cities? How can it exist? Who is responsible? The answers all come to one point--the governments that rule our cities. The black and white wretches who are the immediate agents of vice are hardly worth considering. They are mere incidents. Practically it is a waste of time to even prosecute them. The trail of the real criminal leads into the police headquarters, leads up the steps of the city hall, goes across the threshold of the mayor's private office, enters the homes of Christian citizens and lies broad through the doors of the church. For this infamy of the sale of innocent girls for vice and the whole wider, deeper, fouler vice system is a part of governmental policy, not in New York and Chicago alone, but all over the Country, under Republican and Democratic administration. The very district attorney's office that exposes these particular instances of crime is one of the strong pillars of the system of which the crime is only an outcropping. Even now there is not a voice lifted in official Chicago and New York in favor of doing the one thing that alone can stop the sale of girls, the one thing that the law clearly prescribes in the matter--wiping out the vice preserves, stopping the whole system of trade in vice. This fact needs to be burned deeply into the hearts of American voters: =If you want this thing to go on, if you want little girls still to be bought and sold like pigs, if you want pure young lives to be overwhelmed in fathomless shame, all you need to do to help keep up the system is to keep on voting for men who protect these criminals.= Quoting from McClure's (July) Magazine concerning the recent investigation of the White Slave trade in New York City by a specially appointed jury: In order to establish the existence of the White Slave traffic Assistant District Attorney James B. Reynolds arranged to make actual purchases of girls in the Tenderloin and other sections of the underworld from those reputed to be large dealers. Skilled investigators who were not known in New York were engaged and put to work in the heart of the Tenderloin. They were represented as purchasers of girls. Friendly and confidential relations were established with some of the most influential White Slave dealers. By these means valuable first-hand information was obtained regarding the White Slave trade. The agents were told the price of girls, the methods employed in the business, and, in some cases, the corrupt relations existing between the traders and certain officials. Past and present conditions of the traffic were contrasted frequently, the trading during the present winter being described as exceptionally light because of the general alarm caused by the sitting of the "White Slave" Grand Jury. One large dealer told the agents that though two years ago he could have sold them all the girls they wanted at $5 or $10 apiece, he would not risk selling one in New York now for $1,000. In spite of this general caution, purchases for cash were made of four girls, two through an East Side dealer, who boasted of formerly having made large sales in other cities, and two from a so-called black and tan dealer. Two of the girls are under 18. ... With rare exceptions, not only the innocent women imported into this Country, but the prostitutes as well, are associated with men whose business it is to protect them, direct them, and control them, and who frequently, if not usually, make it their business to plunder them unmercifully. Now this system of subjection to a man has become common. The procurer or the pimp may put his woman into a disorderly house, sharing profits with the "madam". He may sell her outright; he may act as an agent for another man; he may keep her, making arrangements for her hunting men. She must walk the streets and secure her patrons, to be exploited, not for her own sake, but for that of her owner. Often he does not tell her even his real name. If she tries to leave her man, she is threatened with arrest. If she resists, she may be beaten; in some cases, when she has betrayed her betrayer, she has been murdered. The ease and apparent certainty of profit has led thousands of our younger men, usually those of foreign birth or the immediate sons of foreigners, to abandon the useful arts of life to undertake the most accursed business ever devised by man. Those who recruit women for immoral purposes watch all places where young women are likely to be found under circumstances which will give them a ready means of acquaintance and intimacy, such as picture shows, dance-halls, sometimes waiting rooms in large department stores, railroad stations, manicuring and hair dressing establishments. The strongest appeal to the instincts of humanity in every right-minded person is made by a consideration of the brutal system employed by these traffickers to in every way exploit their victims, the hardened prostitute as well as the innocent maiden. It is probable that a somewhat larger proportion of the American girls are free from the control of a master; and yet, according to the best evidences obtainable--according to the stories of the women themselves and the keepers of the houses--nearly all the women now engaged in this business in our large cities are subject to pimps, to whom they give most of their earnings, or else they are under the domination of keepers of houses, a condition that is practically the same. It is the business of the man who controls the women to provide police protection, either by bribing the police not to arrest her, or, in case of arrest, to secure bail, pay the fine, etc., to make all business arrangements, to decide what streets, restaurants, dance-halls, saloons and similar places she shall frequent. There are large numbers of Jews scattered throughout the United States, although mainly located in New York and Chicago, who seduce and keep girls. Some of them are engaged in importation, but apparently they prey rather upon young girls whom they find on the street, in the dance-halls, and similar places, and who, by the methods already indicated--love-making and pretense of marriage--they deceive and ruin. Many of them are petty thieves, pickpockets and gamblers. They also have various resorts where they meet and receive their mail, and transact business with one another, and visit. Perhaps the best known organization of this kind throughout this Country was one legally incorporated in New York in 1904, under the name of the New York Benevolent Association. It is, of course, difficult to prove by specific cases the relation of the police to this traffic, and to establish by specific evidence the fact generally accepted that the girls of disorderly house keepers regularly pay the police for protection; but high police officials, prosecuting officers, and social workers in all quarters assert that in many, if not all of our large cities, much corruption of this kind exists. The importation and harboring of alien women and girls for immoral purposes and the practice of prostitution by them--the so-called "white slave traffic"--is the most pitiful and revolting phase of the immigration question. This business has assumed large proportions, and it has been exerting so evil an influence upon our Country that the Immigration Commission felt compelled to make it the subject of a thorough investigation. The investigation was begun in November, 1907, under the active supervision of a special committee of the Immigration Commission; and the work was conducted by a special agent in charge, with numerous assistants. The investigation has covered the cities of New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, Salt Lake City, Ogden, Butte, Denver, Buffalo, Boston and New Orleans. There are between seven and eight hundred men in Seattle who live from the revenue from the "white slave traffic", almost all of whom could be reached by the State Courts, if proper efforts were made. It was established by the Grand Jury that the Federal Government has gone as far as the law allows. It is now up to the State authorities, who could break up this business in short order. What are We Going to Do About the Children? [Illustration: A Group of Children in the Midst of the "Red Light" District] Levee women, women living in prostitution, "madams," etc., do not bring up their children (and most of Chicago's female dealers in prostitution have several of them) in or =near= segregated districts of vice. Like the saloon keeper who moved to Evanston to get his children away from the harmful, degenerating influences of the saloon and its environing neighborhoods, so the "madam," that active principal in the slavedom of the girls of our Land, in almost every case sees to it that =her= children are well brought up, away from the influences and knowledge of prostitution, while her agents and keepers are out scouring the department stores, factories, villages and country homes for girls to fill the sickening, festering, shrieking ranks of the great death army of publicly protected White Slaves. The writer has investigated many cases, and in every instance has found the children of these vultures of girlhood in exclusive colleges or military schools, being excellently prepared to take decent positions in business and social life. Case after case has recently come to light of women supporting their children on the fashionable avenues, in Harvard and military colleges, while they themselves with hearts of hell, wring the dollars that pay for these luxuries from the bleeding, broken bodies of a gang of Levee White Slaves--your sister and mine--younger than her own, better born, better raised, but lost =forever= in the crushing, barred and screened gehenna of modern harlotry. Sixty-nine per cent of the children raised in the vast slum neighborhoods surrounding the segregated districts of prostitution are ruined before reaching the age of eighteen. This dreadful, appalling feature has been recently brought to light through close investigation by the writer and her co-workers, together with the sickening fact that little girls scarcely more than babies, are being constantly sought, secured and sacrificed to satisfy the cravings of abnormal, degenerate vice and debauchery abounding in every large city. These little children, painted and showily dressed, are fast making their appearance in such cities as New York and Chicago, and they are the forerunners of Oriental child debauchery. These little girls are seldom seen on the streets, but may be recognized when seen, by their deformed, bowed legs, bent backs and shrivelled little, old faces--such faces as we find in cripples aged by pain. Our hearts have been almost stilled as we have listened to the terrible stories of the hundreds of little girls in the ghastly fleshmarkets of India and China who, by the knife and the insertion into their tender bodies of wedges of expanding wood, are thus made ready, through months of torture, for the use of some inhuman Hindu or Chinese monster who for the sum of a few dollars purchases the use of their shrieking, quivering bodies, to leave them after a day or two of unparalleled debauchery, dead, or if still living, then with broken back or limbs, a human sacrifice indeed. We have read and known all this and wished that we could die that these children might be saved--but listen, do we realize that with the influx into our midst, into our larger cities, of the vilest, most degenerate men and women on earth, thousands upon thousands of the most hellish brutes of Asia and China--men who reckon girlhood lower than the female dog, has come this very thing--this reeking, diabolical crime against innocent girlhood. Two especially revolting cases have come under the direct notice of the writer, yet without sufficient legal proof to face in court the organized, thoroughly financed hand of men and women exploiting these dreadful conditions: one, a girl Louise, on Custom House Place; the other, Rosie from the 22nd Street environments. The last named, cut, torn and bleeding, made a statement to the writer that cannot be put in print; yet she was by her owners accused of masturbation. Both of these girls were under ten years of age. The exploitation of women in Chicago in the vast business of White Slavery and segregated vice, is carried on very openly and above board. Street walkers carry on their nefarious business of securing trade for the "house" almost entirely unmolested. Women stand in the doors of the West Side houses of ill-fame and solicit those who pass. At 737 Washington boulevard, two doors west of the Chicago Rescue Mission, with which the writer is connected, a woman[1] stands in the door constantly soliciting each male passer-by; boys are invited to come in and take their first lesson in vice, and on this block are many, many children, boys and girls. One of the "girls" kept by this woman was a harlot known as "No-nose" whose whole face was so sunken with syphilis that her nose was almost gone. The writer remembers well when through the efforts of a fellow-worker "No-nose" was sent to the County Hospital for medical treatment, and considers this girl one of the greatest menaces to Chicago boyhood. No man would have touched the woman. The blocks in this immediate vicinity are all thickly peopled by families with many children in them. The following group of little girls live in their alley-homes within a few doors of some of the worst sights and dives in Chicago. [Illustration: Children of the Slums] They see no sights but vice, they hear no talk but filth. At the age of ten they are perfectly familiar with all the ins and outs of harlotry, know many prostitutes, many pimps. Do you think these girls (each one is known to the writer personally) have any chance for virtue? * * * * * At 804 Washington Boulevard, almost across the street from the writer's office, appears the following sign on the window of the cigar store located there. [Illustration: GEO F. WALZ MANUFACTURER OF THE WHITE SLAVE CIGAR] Hundreds of the wreckage of typical White Slavery pass this place daily, for it is located at the edge of the great West Side dumping ground for broken, diseased women and young girls whose bodies can no longer be profitably used in the higher class dives of the South Side segregated districts, and who must at the end of a year or two become, if they are still living, the notorious women of the night who walk the streets and alleys, selling the use of their vile bodies for twenty-five cents, ten cents, a drink of beer or a crust of free lunch, becoming the prey of the drunken bum, the low vicious foreigner, the negro, or else the ruination of every young boy who falls into their vulture-like clutches. In all Chicago there could not be a generally worse neighborhood than the one in which the White Slave Cigar is manufactured and advertised for sale. Within a few blocks of the factory, which is two doors west of the corner of Washington Boulevard and Halsted Street, there are a thousand broken, pitiful lost White Slaves. Within two or three blocks of this corner, five typical White Slaves have been murdered (butchered would be a better word) within the space of just a few weeks. Here drunken women, the outcast element of the better class of dives, trail their filthy bodies day and night, their sunken, half-starved, syphiletic faces staring in your face, seeking the man or the young boy who will give them a drink of whiskey or a crust of bread in return for the wretched commerce they have to offer. Here, too, the children play and little girls grow into big girls with scarcely a ghost of a chance to be decent, and facing all hangs the sign "White Slave Cigar," manufactured by George F. Walz. It is out of this great outlaw district, this vast West Side charnal house of harlotry, that the City gets its supply of girls for that class of vice known as degeneracy. Five years of work in prostitution constitutes the life of the average harlot. Many, before the time allotted to them in a life of ill-fame expires, die; many commit suicide, yet some live on, their diseased bodies constituting that class of girls known as street walkers and degenerates. These women, who are really only young girls, hang around the back rooms and cellars of the barrel houses, consorting with the drunken, crippled, diseased men who congregate in such places, and from this vast army of lost girlhood is supplied the material for the immoral Oriental shows abounding in the segregated districts, where with dogs and burros, the bodies of ruined, diseased girls are finally used up and destroyed, or in the bestial dives in which are practiced that horrible crime known as the "French method." Sixty-nine per cent of the little girls who must, through necessity and environment, grow up in the neighborhoods immediately surrounding the segregated vice districts of such cities as Chicago, New York, Seattle, etc., are ruined before they reach the age of eighteen years. Think of it! These children know little else than drink and prostitution, hear little else, see little else. To them harlotry is in all its blasting, withering phases, a familiar story before they have reached the age of ten years. Hundreds of whore mongers, panderers, pimps and outlawed harlots, exploit their awful business and tell their vile stories as they walk the same pathway day by day with these children--little lost souls they are--the children of the poor, looked on in pity though by one who said "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me." THE TRANSIENT HOTEL EVIL. In this vast underworld another trap almost as dangerous as the house of prostitution abounds on every hand--the so-called "hotel"--really a mere house of assignation in almost every instance. These hotels are a constant menace to the girlhood of our Land--girls who come to the city strangers, and are unable to discriminate between the good and bad. Dozens of these hotels flourish all around the districts of vice in our cities, the abiding place of the pimp, the beggar, the criminal, and yet flourish under complete political protection. We sincerely believe that the time for cleaning up has come in such cities as New York, Chicago, etc., and we believe that we have with us in this stand, not only decent Chicago and New York, but decent America. CRUSADE AGAINST "WHITE SLAVERY." Thirteen governments have signed the international agreement to fight the traffic in women for immoral purposes. The terms have just been announced at Ottawa, Canada. The list of countries, British colonies and protectorates which have decided to adhere to the Anti-White Slave Traffic Agreement are: Austria-Hungary, Belgium, Brazil, Denmark, France, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Norway, Sweden, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Switzerland, the Bahamas, Barbadoes, British Guiana, Canada, Ceylon, Australia, Gambia, Gold Coast, Malta, Newfoundland, Northern Nigeria, Southern Rhodesia, Trinidad and the Windward Islands. [Illustration] [Illustration: The End of the Way. Where Young Girls, who attend Public Dances and Other Places of Amusement Unattended, are Likely to Wind Up] Escape from a Life of Prostitution is Almost Impossible After more than four years of experience, and after having visited in various capacities, disguised, etc., many of the worst haunts of vice and houses of prostitution in Chicago, =I= have personally come to this conclusion: There is but a small chance for a girl, once having been sold into or entered upon a life of prostitution, to ever escape therefrom. Invariably she is kept in debt to her masters; excessive bills for parlor clothes, board, dentistry, laundry and all conceivable expenses are kept charged up against her. She is under constant threat of personal violence and blackmail in every form (her owners securing whenever possible, some knowledge of her home and friends, and continually holding this knowledge as a dagger over her), and there is the ever-present whore-masters and madams with drugs, drinks and bolts and bars, guarding every avenue of escape with blows and curses and brutality beyond conception. Very few young girls enter a life of prostitution voluntarily, and few, having once entered, ever escape therefrom. A WORD OF PROTEST The writer just here wishes to enter vigorous protest against houses of prostitution in Chicago and in =America= furnishing the American girl or her alien sister for the use of that class of alien men who are either excluded from citizenship in our Country by law, or who without wife or family, are here temporarily and simply to make all the money possible, in as short a time and in any way possible. At 2130 Armour Avenue, Chicago, stands an old tenement house filled with girls--girls from all over the United States--a beautiful ruined girl from Georgia, girls from Europe. Good girls they were a year or two ago, but are now the chained, wrecked slaves of festering vice and habit. This place is said to be operated by a dope-fiend by the name of W---- and is exclusively for the use of a class of men debarred from the United States by law, except for educational purposes and mercantile interests among their own kind, a class of men with whom no white laborer will live or work--the class of men who a year or two ago murdered Elsie Siegel in New York--the lop-shouldered, smuggled-in, pig-tailed opium parched Chinese. It is a crying shame to-day against our Churches, our Union Labor and our Law that there is allowed to exist on a public street, in the second city in the United States, a public stock-market for wrecked girlhood where the filthy Chinese, in rows, wait their turn to rent for thirty minutes of unparalleled Asiatic debauchery, the bruised, bleeding wreckage of our American home or the girl who came to us a few months ago--to the greatest Christian Republic the World has ever builded, from some European home and a mother, asking only a chance to go to work with her bare hands and earn a decent living. The American citizen refuses to admit the Chinaman, refuses to work with him, refuses him all rights accorded other aliens coming to us, and yet, for the blood profits of vice and politics, allows to be placed to his exclusive privilege that which a short time ago was our Nation's best and cleanest womanhood. * * * * * For an American girl entering a life of public prostitution there is some chance of salvation, for the immigrant girl there is indeed little. Two years ago I had occasion to visit 21-- Armour Avenue, a "50-cent house" in the infamous "bedbug row district." It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, just before the beginning of regular business hours. In the reception room of the place, around a rusty old stove, sat eight or ten hopeless, lost girls; sick, smoking, cursing girls. Soon they would dress up, dope up with whiskey, cocaine or opium, dash some bella donna in their eyes and go on duty to meet all comers. Shivering by the stove sat a little foreign girl. I asked her name, the girls told me it was Josie and that she was an Italian. Speaking to her in that language, I soon learned that she was a young Russian Jewess. The house seemed to possess sufficient proof, as the law then required, that the girl had been in this Country three years; so there was little I could do except give her my card and tell her if she ever needed a friend to come to me. Less than a year ago there came a ring at my door, and opening it, I found a lost woman begging me to come at once into the West Side "levee" to see a girl who was dying. I went with her, and there, in a mouldy, wretched cellar I found "Josie" of the Armour Avenue resort, dying with syphilis. In that awful underground place I listened to her story and give it to you as she related it to me: "I am nineteen years old and my name is Gezie Bruvatsky. I saw my father bayonetted to the earth by Russian soldiers. I saw my mother work over the washtub until her hands were bloody that I and my little brother might have bread and my virtue be protected. One day a man came to our house, who was either a Jew or a German, saying he was agent for a steamship company and that he had good work in America for many girls where they could earn as much in one month as they could earn in two years in Russia. My heart leaped with joy. How could we know he was lying. I packed my clothes. I left all--my mother, my brother. I came to America. Soon I could send for them, for I was strong and could work--work day and night. At New York a man and woman met me and sent me on to Chicago. Here I was taken from the Polk Street Station to Armour Avenue where by force I was ruined. I was there many months, sick and starving, and finally got out and crawled over to the West Side where there are many Jews; but now I am dying and I want my mother." WHAT THE U. S. PROSECUTING ATTORNEY SAYS: Hon. Edwin Sims, ex-U. S. Prosecuting Attorney, in a recent conservative statement, says he believes that =fifteen thousand= immigrant girls are brought into this Country every year for commercialized prostitution. We believe the actual figures are nearer Twenty-five Thousand, and we appeal to the mothers and fathers of America, in the name of God and the heart-broken mothers and fathers of other lands, to use their personal influence and the money with which God has entrusted them, to wipe from our flag the leprous blotch of shame which permits the importing into our Republic every year of thousands of helpless girls to be ground up in the murder mills of the segregated harlotry of such districts as the 22nd Street district of Chicago, for it was the blood-covered hand of that district that reached across the lands and seas and into that Russian home and tore from it little Gezie Bruvatsky and led her across the waters and under the very shadow of the Statue of Liberty itself and pinning to her the little blue ticket of immigration, led her past the gates or Ellis Island, on past the statues of Washington and Jefferson, of Lincoln and Grant, and into the burning fire of American public prostitution to live a few months, and dying in an underground cellar, be cast, scarce cold, into our nation's great potter's field of lost women. [Illustration: The Wretched, Pitiful Ending of Gezie Bruvatsky, left by Her Heartless Masters to Die Unattended in Filthy, Squalid Surroundings] The Price of a Living Body Fifty years ago, down in the Southland of our America, we stood a well formed, sound limbed, healthy, intact young woman on the auction block and sold her to the biggest bidder for her beauty, her virtue, her heart, her honor, her soul and her body, and the established average price paid for such a young woman was eighteen hundred dollars ($1800.00). I take for granted as I write, that if the heart and soul and body of a young black woman of Kentucky, Georgia or Mississippi was in the slave market of fifty years ago worth intrinsically $1800.00, the soul and body of a clean, decent, young Northland white woman is to-day worth about the same. Assistant State Prosecuting Attorney Roe in his speech before the Illinois Vigilance Society, Chicago, February 7th, 1909, placed the number of women in disorderly resorts in Chicago alone at 30,000. Stop! Listen: If there are 30,000 young women on this City's Soul-Market, and we place the average value of one of these young women at $1,800, AND WE CERTAINLY DO PLACE IT THERE, by established, recognized precedent, then there is $54,000,000 worth of young womanhood in the Slave-Market of our City at the present time. In the same statistical speech Mr. Roe places the number of young girls necessary yearly to recruit the rapidly decimating ranks of this vast Death Army at six thousand; hence, $10,800,000 worth of innocent girlhood must be sacrificed from our stores and factories, our homes or firesides all over the Land every twelve mouths to feed and satisfy the horrible flesh-market of Human Slavery in the "levee" districts of Chicago alone. Harry A. Parkin, Assistant U. S. District Attorney, in WOMEN'S WORLD, March, 1909, says: "The Federal investigations in Chicago and other localities have clearly established the fact that, generally speaking, houses of ill-fame in large cities do not draw their recruits to any great extent from the territory immediately surrounding them; for various reasons the White Slavers who are the recruiting agents of this vile traffic prefer to work in States more or less distant from the centers to which victims are destined." In view of all this, it must be clearly apparent that the need of the hour is legislation which will make it as difficult and dangerous for a White Slaver to take his victim from one State into another as it is to bring them from France, Italy, Canada or any other foreign country, to a house of ill-fame in Chicago or any American city. Therefore, it is suggested that if each State in the Union would enact and enforce laws against this importation, this terrible traffic would be dealt a blow in its most vulnerable part. One of the strangest results brought about by the recent White Slave prosecutions in Chicago and the wide publicity which they have received has been the astonishment of thousands of persons, as evidenced by letters, at the fact that such a wholesale traffic is actually in existence, but what is still more astounding, not to say discouraging, is the reluctance of other thousands to believe that many hundreds of men and women are actually engaged in the business of luring young girls and women to their destruction and that this infamous traffic is being carried on in every state of the Union every day of the year. It is estimated by those who should know, that at least five thousand men in Chicago live off of the earnings of prostitution. For instance as to the plan: A young girl, alien or American, is sold into a life of ill-fame for say Two Hundred Dollars, as the actual price of her procuring. Before she suspects any real harm, she is lured into a restaurant or a wine-room, becomes intoxicated, is sufficiently doped to become passive, is taken to the "house" to which she has been consigned and is immediately "broken in" in the most violent and nauseating manner, perhaps becoming the prey of twenty or thirty men. Beaten, threatened with exposure, and, if necessary, purposely infected with gonorrhea, the girl is within twenty-four hours absolutely ruined for all time--"spoiled," the police say. Oh! what a whole world of agony and pain and bruises and disease and Hell is embodied in that one word "spoiled." She is immediately pressed into service and from that time on until death relieves her, or she is rescued by some one enough interested to help her, she must receive all comers THIRTY DAYS every month. This answers the question I have been asked a hundred times from all over the Country since CHICAGO'S SOUL MARKET was first published, as to whether a woman in a house of prostitution is allowed any respite from service during the Menstrual Period. SHE IS NOT ALLOWED A SINGLE DAY. The average number of men who must be served by each woman in a medium or lower class house of ill-fame is thirty-six per day. On entrance to the place, if the house be a "Dollar house," a metal room-check is purchased from the madam or attendant at the door for one dollar. This check is taken up by the girl in the room and is worth on presentation to the house fifty cents, half of its face value being received by the house for board, laundry, hair dressing, etc., all of which must be paid for at the highest possible rates. Of the remaining fifty cents, twenty-five cents goes to the man who sold the girl into the house, the remaining twenty-five cents going to the girl herself and from this amount must be paid all bills for clothes, dentistry, and all other expenses. In almost every known case, however, with which the writer is at all familiar, the entire fifty per cent goes intact to the owner of the girl, her necessary expenses being paid by him and the balance pocketed for his own use. Just as the liquor trade is thoroughly and carefully financed and organized even in its weakest points, making successful prosecution against it a thing impossible, just so is the traffic in young women protected in all its details. The writer has in mind the case of Josie E----, fifteen years old, who came from her suburban home in Illinois, hoping to secure employment in the City. Arriving at the Dearborn Street Railway Station about nine o'clock, she started out to find a hotel in which to spend the night. Walking a few steps from the Station, she was accosted at State and Polk streets by a young man who asked her what she was looking for. Replying that she was looking for a hotel, the man Thompson told her he was employed at a hotel on Polk Street opposite the railway station and offered to take the girl there. Unacquainted with the City and relying on his word, she accompanied him to the hotel, where she was outraged and detained for weeks. She was finally rescued by the writer and a Y. W. C. A. worker. Taking her to my rooms, I found her physical condition such that I sent for a detective from the Harrison Street Police Station who investigated her story and finding it true in every particular, arrested Thompson at his place of employment, 41 Polk Street. The case coming up in the Harrison Street Municipal Court, was so manipulated by the defense that in the transferring of it to the Criminal Court a technical error threw it out altogether. I simply give this as an example of how almost utterly impossible it is to secure a conviction in these cases. Is it any wonder when back of this great evil stands at least a hundred million dollars? Listen, seventy-five per cent of the women and girls entering lives of ill-fame in Chicago are from adjoining States and country districts--they are utter strangers in our City. Every hour, day or night, year in and year out, four great central railway passenger stations discharge their precious human freight within the first ward of Chicago, the richest and wickedest political ward in the world--the ward of Michael Kenna (Hinky Dink) and "Bathhouse" John Coughlin--the ward feeding every district of prostitution and gambling and unnatural horror in the City--the ward with two miles of indecent resorts, whole armies of reeking lost women, hundreds of pandering men procurers and White Slavers--the ward of thousands of Turkish, Italian and Arabian immigrants, and opium-parched pagan Chinese--the ward in which every day thousands of women, many of whom without money or friends, are looking for work, are unloaded in this seething cauldron of vice, their only refuge being, when without funds, the Police Station or the house of ill-repute. The horror of conditions surrounding a woman without money or friends in Chicago makes the living of a moral life almost impossible for her. I have in mind the case of a deserted little Italian woman, G. P----[2], living in Plymouth Court, south of Polk Street. G. had three little baby girls, the eldest only four years, and was expecting another child soon. She was deserted by her husband and left without a dollar or a friend to face life and care for herself and babies. The case came into the hands of the Mission and she was cared for by them until the time of her confinement, when, with her children, she was taken to Dunning Poorhouse where she was kindly cared for. A baby boy was born to G. Great pressure was brought to bear upon this little Italian mother who spoke no word of English, to induce her to give up her children. Frightened and weeping, she refused to do this, declaring she would make a living for them, and leaving the Poorhouse, she started out taking the baby and another child with her, hoping soon to earn the money to care for the other two. This she was fortunate enough to accomplish, and, taking the four little ones dear to her heart, went back to the little room on the top floor of the tenement in Plymouth Court. G. got work in a sweatshop and made button-holes at $2.50 a week. She worked hard to keep up, but the baby sickened and died. The other children began to get thin and wan. They grew hungry before her eyes and the mother's heart frightened and sank within her. A fiend in human form, J. F----, came by and offered the half-starved mother bread for herself and babies, offered her marriage as soon as it could be arranged for. G. took the bread and fed her children and to-day up on the top floor of the tenement in Plymouth Court, again deserted and hungry and helpless, she cries and prays and makes button-holes, and waits and waits with fear and wretchedness the coming of another little child. [Illustration: From a flashlight photograph showing 2-ton weight steel door connecting sound-proof dungeon cell with blind passage-way, between 114 and 116 Custom House Place] The proprietor of the great resort on the corner of 21st and Dearborn streets said not long ago to a co-worker of mine who forced her way into his infamous dive: "Don't come here to bother my girls; it is of no use; they are rotten and ripe for H----. Soon I will throw them out myself. Go to the department stores and the sweatshops and help the underpaid, friendless girl _there_ if you must work. I could write a book as large as that (pointing to the City Directory) filled with shrieks and groans of women _after they are lost_, but what good would it do? They are gone then _forever_." In a great measure, the man told the truth. It is hard to reach a woman after she has once entered a life of prostitution; for, like the Inferno of old, there should be emblazoned in letters of blood above the barred door of every White Slave mart in America, the ancient warning: "Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here." There's many a girl homeless and tempted, underpaid and destitute, who might be saved from a life of ill-fame if a helping hand and a shelter were offered her in her hour of indecision and hunger and despair. In the south wall of the basement of 114 Federal Street, formerly known as Custom House Place, that congested, central Redlight District of three years ago, there was a blind passage-way between 114 and 116 Custom House Place, 116 being the notorious dive "The California" now located at ---- Armour Avenue. On the inside, this door opened into a large dungeon, windowless, sound-proof (about 7x10 feet) and it is alleged that it was through the alley and into this blind passage-way that the unwilling victims of White Slavers (the same syndicate now operating with Chicago as headquarters) were carried into this little solitary cell to be "broken in" by fiendish, brute force to a life of shame. [Illustration: From a flashlight photograph showing heavy steel screen used inside the iron-barred windows of the houses of prostitution in the old Custom House district] The accompanying photograph secured by the writer gives at least a faint idea of this frightful trap against the pitiless walls of which have, no doubt, beat the agonized shrieks of many an innocent girl--your sister and mine--as, baptising this hell-hole with blood and tears, her quivering body was crucified upon a whore-monger's cross of gold and then torn down to be cast, bruised, bleeding, but yet alive, into five years of the awful, seething moral Golgotha of prostitution and then into =lingering death=. The Chicago Rescue Mission and Woman's Shelter of which the writer is President, has for two years occupied the premises at 114 Custom House Place. Upon moving into the place we found every window incased in heavy iron bars while between the bars and the glass of each window was mortised a one-half inch steel screen (see cut). Entrance or exit from the building was as utterly impossible as from a penitentiary, excepting by the =front door=, and to bring the place within the requirements of the City law it was necessary to bring a suit through the Municipal Court against the owner of the building, Mrs. Spiegel, against whom through the aid of Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Oleson, we obtained a verdict and forced her thereon to put in a rear stairway (see Court records). 114 Custom House Place is only one of the fifty similarly notorious dens in the old Redlight district, and yet it is impossible to make some people believe that there is such a thing as forcible detention of a woman in a Chicago house of prostitution. FROM THE "WOMAN'S WORLD" I quote the following incident cited by Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Roe in an article of recent date in WOMAN'S WORLD, illustrating some of the schemes and plans for leading a girl into a life of ill-fame. Mr. Roe says: "A year ago last summer, 15-year old Margaret Smith was working about her simple home near Benton Harbor, Michigan. The father, employed by the Pere Marquette Railroad, was away from home a good share of the time. One day a graphophone agent came to the house and the family became interested in one of his musical machines. Shortly afterward this agent brought with him to the Smith home Frank Kelly, and introduced him to Maggie, as she was called by her folks. In a day or two Margaret was on her way to Chicago with Kelly who promised her an excellent position in the City. Upon her arrival Margaret was sold to one of the worst dives in Chicago, located on South Clark Street and owned by an Italian named Baptista Pizza. Here she learned that her captor's name was not Frank Kelly, but an Italian whose real name is Alphonso Citro. For a year she was kept as a Slave in this resort, which was over a saloon, and the entrance was through a back alley. The only visitors were Italians, who came for immoral purposes. Learning last summer that Margaret's father, who had been hunting relentlessly for his daughter, was on the track of her, the girl was taken by Alphonso Citro, alias Kelly, to Gary, Indiana. When the father came to the resort with a policeman, he found that his daughter had gone. She was kept in Gary about two months and then returned to this disreputable place from which she escaped finally, the Monday before last Christmas. A young barber took pity on her after hearing her story, and enlisted the sympathies of his parents who took her to their home. Alphonso Citro (Kelly) looked for her almost a week, and at last saw her going from a store to this home, where she was staying. He went to the house and demanded at the point of a revolver that she be given up, as he said: "I am losing money every day she is gone." "There was a quarrel over the girl during which some people from the outside were attracted to the house by the commotion. Citro, becoming frightened, fled down the street, and as he ran, threw away the revolver with which he had tried to shoot the father of the barber during the quarrel, over the fence into a coal yard. After running two blocks, he was caught and arrested. Upon these facts this procurer, Citro, alias Kelly, was prosecuted and found guilty under the new pandering law of Illinois, and received a sentence of one year of imprisonment and a fine of five hundred dollars. The poor father and mother, distressed and heart-broken, were in Court during the trial with their arms around each other, sobbing with joy because their little girl had been found. Pizza[3], the owner of the place, was indicted by the State grand jury, but escaped to Italy. This case is told to show how girls leave home upon the promise of securing employment and are in this way procured for places of ill-repute." Chicago's Soul Market. "O, he keeps a bunch of 'fillies' in a shanty down near the corner of Monroe and Peoria streets, and they're not foreigners, either. They're American girls. No wonder he can make a bet like that on a mere chance from a roll of yellow backs." The speaker was the madam of a Peoria street resort, the listeners, a motley crowd of women gathered in the rear of a popular saloon and gambling house not far from the corner of Green and Madison streets, on the seething, congested West Side of Chicago. These women had assembled in that screened back room to risk their hard earned or evil-gotten money on the horses of the Louisville race track. There sat a little 18-year old, brown-eyed milliner, her dissipated face hollow and drawn from worry and lack of sleep and an insufficient quantity of nourishing food, while near her a white-haired old lady in shabby black was tightly grasping two quarters, her entire worldly possession. Just across sat a well-dressed woman restaurant keeper, a young eastern star and half a hundred others, above all of whom shone the yellow haired madam of the Peoria Street resort, the star patron of that great gambling room for women, each one of whom was eagerly beckoning the well-groomed book-maker, feverishly anxious to get her pittance on the race-track favorite, when a connecting door was pushed suddenly open and in rushed a fashionably dressed, brutal-faced young Russian Jew, holding loosely an immense roll of money. Tens, twenties, hundreds--he counted them until three hundred dollars had been placed to win upon a "clocker tip" in that day's last race in Louisville. There was grim, deadly silence--eating, unbearable silence in that gambling room as they waited the ring of the telephone and the name of the winner. Again the yellow haired madam's voice screamed shrilly out, for she was indeed ill at ease, her money was all on the favorite--"Yes, a bunch of American 'fillies' peddled out at 50 cents an hour to all comers, black or white, sick or sound. No wonder he can make a play like that on an outside chance." Three-hundred dollars! My heart stood still almost. The thought flashed through my brain that that wager meant hundreds of hours of shame and slavery and horror to those girls in the shanties down on Peoria street, some mother's girl, every one of them. I sat still for a little while and watched the feverish anxious throng about me. My heart kept going faster and faster until I could bear it no longer. American "fillies" and body and soul under a brutal Russian whore-monger! I slipped quietly out into the street; night was coming on, and I walked down Madison and south on Peoria. Yes, there were the shanties--poor, wretched hovels, every one of them. Out shone the flickering red lights, out came the discordant, rasping sound of the rented piano, out belched the shrieks and groans of drunken harlots mingled with the curses of task-masters in a foreign tongue, attracting the attention of the hundreds of laborers, negroes and boys, as they walked home on Peoria street from their day's work. On I went until I came to a little shed just north of the slum saloon occupied by one Shellstadt at the corner of Monroe and Peoria streets, and checking my steps, I looked around me on the squalid, wretched scene. I was in the midst of prostitution at its lowest--the heart-breaking dregs of Chicago's thirty thousand public women. Yes, there they were--the fair young American girl, the stolid Russian Jewess, the middle-aged, syphiletic harlot, living, prostituting, dying like so many hurt, broken moths around that great red-light--Chicago's West Side Soul Market--their poor, wrecked, foul smelling bodies sold day and night at from twenty-five to fifty cents an hour to all comers who could pay the pitiful price demanded by their brutal, soulless masters; and, as I looked, the burning fire of intense pity entered my soul for these drug and drink-sodden, diseased and chained slaves--my sisters in Christ and this great, free American Republic, and so, with a heart-consuming desire to know more of the lives of these scarlet women and to help them, if possible, I began at once a thorough personal investigation of Chicago's public Slave Market, visiting these people whenever occasion offered; talking with them, gaining their much abused confidence, until I gradually learned the inside lines of the saddest story America has ever known since the black mothers of our Southland were torn from their black and white babies and with shrieks of agony and heart strings bleeding and soul rent with blackened horror were sold to death on the plantations of Louisiana and Mississippi, and I want to tell you who read this and who think there is little truth in the now much agitated question of White Slavery in America, that in the dives and dens of our City's underworld I have heard shrieks and heart cries and groans of agony and remorse that have never been surpassed at any public slave auction America has ever witnessed, as these girls, many of them, oh! so young, realizing their awful fate, with scalding tears and moans of horror, shut out from their hearts and lives father or mother or husband and child, and turned their sob-shaken, tortured bodies to face the years of final, relentless wretchedness and woe, to be at last thrown out sick and broken, to die in some alley or to be carted off to Dunning poorhouse to gradual physical decay and a pauper's burial and grave of obliteration, while those who sold them just a few years before go out in their diamonds and fine linen and their great automobiles to buy up more girls (it might be your daughter, father, mother; or it might be mine) to fill the vacancy in the ranks of this vast army of White Slaves. A woman said to me the other day, and it was in a lofty, sneering tone, too: "I doubt if these women are ever coerced or even imposed upon." LISTEN; READ, THEN LISTEN. Sitting in my office one afternoon I listened, my blood almost freezing, to the following story vouched for by Mr. C----, an immigration inspector and brother of a well-known Chicago reform worker. Here it is as he told it to me: "One evening some time ago I was looking up a case down in the Twenty-Second Street red-light district, and visited and inspected, looking for immigrant girls held illegally, a certain house of the lower class in that neighborhood of prostitution. While in the house I noticed a young woman lying very ill (in the last stages of pneumonia, if I remember the story exactly) and in a semi-conscious condition, and to my horror upon inquiry I learned that in the rush hours of business this helpless, pain-racked young woman was _open to all comers_ holding an accredited room check." Dear friends, there are true stories heard and known every day around the City's seething, blood-red Soul Market that cannot be put into print--stories, though, that were they to become known, would make decent Chicago rise as one man and cry with a voice outspeaking Fort Sumter, "White Slavery in Chicago and in America must cease!" During my years of study of this question of prostitution I learned to know personally many of the characteristic White Slaves of the West and South Side "levees." One "Alice" I shall never, never forget. Beautiful aside from her dissipation, a high school graduate, grammar and syntax perfect, manner exquisite. "Alice," seduced at eighteen, was at the age of twenty-one away down the line in the West Side levee underworld. I used to talk many times with Alice as she sat in the back parlor of the "house" on Peoria street that gave her shelter, awaiting her call of "next" to go up stairs with whosoever--negro, white or Chinese--might buy for one dollar (one of the dollars of the Republic on which is eternally stamped the blessed words, "In God we Trust") possession of her beautiful body for one hour. Smoking, always smoking her doped Turkish cigarette, Alice told me much of her life, both in years gone forever and of a daily "levee" existence. She told me of a father and mother and a beautiful home, of a lover who came into it and led her away by night into "levee" Slavery--of the awful disgrace and disinheritance, of a little baby that she only knew an hour, of insane remorse and anguish, until at last she would stand and scream and scream with mental pain until some whore-monger knocked her senseless, and then how she would crawl away to some near-by shanty saloon and drink herself helpless, to forget. As far as I know Alice is still on Peoria street, and, oh! men and women, there are thirty thousand of these Alices in Chicago's great blasting Soul Market to-day. United States Attorney Sims puts the average life of a prostitute at ten years or less, while other excellent authorities put it as low as five years, as these women must constantly drink any and all drinks purchased for them by visitors (as much of the business revenue is derived from the sale of these drinks), thus forcing them at all times into a half-drunken condition, rendering them helpless to control the abnormal, sickening, mind and body wrecking demands made upon them by the gonorrheal, syphilitic, sodden wretches of whom not one in ten is capable of normal sexual coalition, yet whose debauched, drunken desires and requirements, no matter how unnatural and revolting, must be satisfied by the use of the bodies of their hopeless victims at fifty or even as low as twenty-five cents an hour. Very few young women entering this cesspool of prostitution are able to live therein an average of eight weeks without becoming infected with one or more of the loathsome diseases of the underworld, and thus ruined and horrible they live on and on for three, four or six years, and at the end of that time thirty thousand pure young girls, gathered from prairie homes and village firesides and from out of our own suburban and city families, must march out into this great Soul Market to take the place of the broken wretches whose decaying bodies are cast into the refuse of our alleys and sewers to become the menace of every girl and boy and drunken man who comes within their clutches or sets foot within their alley hovels. THE END OF THE WAY. At about ten o'clock on Saturday evening, September 19th, I boarded a West Madison street car and, transferring north at Halsted street, alighted at Lake and walked west to Lewinsky's saloon at the corner of Lake and Green streets. Going around to the side entrance on Green street, I discovered in the wine and back rooms of the wretched place a crowd of perhaps fifty drunken, dirty, diseased men and women, most of them foul-smelling, young white girls huddled in with the worst mob of negroes, whites and Chinese I have seen in Chicago's slums, all cursing, drinking, singing and blaspheming in plain view and hearing of the street. I stopped a moment to make sure I was making no mistake in what I saw and then crossed the street to interview the dark-eyed little foreign girl who at its door was boldly soliciting trade for the saloon and its adjacent evils, just opposite. I walked on down to Peoria and south on that notorious street. In the row of houses running from Lake to Randolph street there are approximately six hundred White Slaves, and diseased, crippled prostitutes of the lowest class, dumped from the city's cleaner dives, and on that night it was almost impossible to push one's way through the mass of men and boys--whites, negroes, Turks, Polocks, etc., gathered in front of these places of public abomination. At the corner of Randolph and Peoria streets several earnest men and women were holding a little gospel meeting, and, stopping with them, I counted during the thirty minutes I stayed there six hundred and forty (approximately) men and boys stop in front of or enter this horrible flesh market. As I left the scene, a young girl in a drunken, filthy, diseased condition slipped out of an alley and followed me, asking me to help her, and as we sat on the steps of Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral, corner of Washington boulevard and Peoria street, she told me the worst, most heart-breaking story of wrong and vice and ruin I have ever listened to (see note.)[4] As I left that West Side levee of vice I knew I had seen prostitution at its lowest ebb and that from these holes of horror finally went those awful alley women of the night to sell their soul and trail their black disease to any young boy or drunken man who could give them a few cents or even the price of a drink of whiskey. Coming down Custom House Place one night about 10:30 o'clock I overtook, without their knowledge, six boys, ranging from about twelve down to perhaps seven years, three of whom I knew fairly well. Following them from shadow to shadow, I gathered sufficient of their low-voiced conversation to make me certain they had been holding an orgy in a nearby cellar or basement with a drunken harlot, and that together they had paid her the small sum of seventeen cents for this damning, soul-destroying commerce. One boy, a lad of about nine years, had been wheedled by his companions into paying ten cents of this sum and was arguing for the return of at least a part of his money, because of the age and helplessness of the woman and the =extreme short time= allowed him by his companions in his relations with her. * * * * * Mr. J. J. Sloan, when he was superintendent of the John Worthy School, which is the local juvenile municipal reformatory, reported that one-third of the street boys sent to him were suffering from the loathsome diseases and distempers of the red-light district, nor is this to be wondered at when we consider the fact that sexual commerce may be purchased almost anywhere in South State street and in the West Side alleys for the remarkably low price of ten cents, or even a glass of beer or whiskey, from the gonorrheal, syphilitic denizens thrown out long ago from the better class houses of prostitution to live off of the half-drunken men and boys to be found in swarms along South State, Halsted and South Clark streets. Almost invariably, the street boy haunting these underworld sections of our city is first led into sexual sin by one of the crippled, half-rotten, yet painted vampires of the streets whose only care or hope is a crust of free lunch and enough whiskey or "dope" to drown for a time at least the last throb of heart and conscience and keep life a little longer in the wretched body, and the boy having purchased for a small fee his own destruction trails out again into the night and on into disease and crime and prison, and finally death. The average parent of to-day has little idea of the temptations which constantly surround and beset the growing boy. I recall a case in Des Moines, Iowa, where a little degenerate girl of sixteen caused the moral, and in several cases physical, ruin of five young boys, all this happening in an exclusive East Side neighborhood and under the watchful care of honest parents and friends, so what must be the temptation thrown out to the young boys of our city when through block after block of our central districts they must come in contact with those whose only mission is to ruin and debauch. It should be the direct object, morally and physically, of every father and mother in this city to banish these parasites--these leeches who suck the life blood of our boys--from Chicago's streets. Listen, father, mother, there are thirty thousand pure, dearly beloved young girls growing up in our midst to-day who within five years must, under the present business system of White Slavery, put aside father, mother, home, friends and honor, and march into Chicago's ghastly flesh market to take the place of the thirty thousand helpless, hopeless, decaying chattels who now daily, behind bolts and bars and steel screens (see note[5]), satisfy the abominable lust of (approximately) two hundred and ten thousand brutal, drunken adulterers. I believe, as I write, that the final solving of this reeking, hideous question lies in the moral and Christian teaching and protection of the growing girls of our Land. I believe in a rigidly enforced law that keeps girls under legal age and unattended, off the down town streets at nights after a reasonable hour. Harry Balding, the convicted White Slaver, in his confession before Judge Newcomer and State's Attorney Roe, said: "We would be sent out by resort keepers to work up some girls, for whom we were paid from $10 to $50 dollars each, though the cash bonus was much more. The majority of them were girls we met on the streets. We would go around to the penny arcades and nickel theaters, and when we saw a couple of young girls we would go up and talk with them. I will say for myself--I never took a girl away from her home; the girls I took down there I met in the stores or on the streets." There is a league of Masonry worldwide that makes it possible for a Mason anywhere, in trouble or distress, to raise his hand toward the heavens with a certain sign, and if there be a brother Mason within reach, that brother, no matter of what nationality, kindred or tongue, is sworn to give him all needed protection. Listen, father, mother, sister; listen, brother! To-day from beneath Chicago's awful moral sewerage system, which has sucked their hearts and souls under, thirty thousand trembling hands are held up to High Heaven and to you for help, hands reeking with the blood on which some whore monger has fattened, the hands though of your sisters and of mine. And I believe that here in Chicago, the greatest market for White Slaves on the Continent, should be formed a league that would become world-wide, of earnest, law-abiding men and women whose efforts, united with those of the proper police, municipal and Federal authorities, would make it practically impossible for a girl to be sold into or compelled to lead an immoral life, and through whose influence such open, publicly-protected flesh markets as our red-light and levee districts would be banished forever from Chicago streets. And I believe with all my heart that this can only be accomplished by education, by agitation, by legislation, by the ballot and by the power of God, directing a great national army of well informed, moral and Christian men and women against this vast, thoroughly organized, well administered and heavily financed public horror of our Republic. I believe in helping, God knows, with heart and hand and money every fallen, or as one has put it, every "knocked down" woman in our Land whom there is the slightest chance to help in any way; but I believe, first of all, in using every known measure =to keep our girls from falling=. You and I live beneath the only flag in all the world that has never known defeat, and the very basic principle upon which that flag is built is human liberty and human protection, and so by personal work and co-operation with every other reform and labor organization for the uplifting of womanhood, by song and by prayer and the Power of the Cross, let us set ourselves to help these helpless ones in our midst until the angels shall take up the story of shame and bitterness and wrong and bear to all the world and to Heaven itself the swift acknowledgment that you are your brother's keeper. [Illustration] [Illustration: The above picture is from a Flashlight Photograph taken by the author and is a side view of 114 Custom House Place. The demolishing of 116 Custom House Place and several adjacent buildings gave the chance of a life time in securing this and many other photographs. The demolishing of these houses, which up to three years ago were used exclusively for purposes of prostitution, brought to view a perfect network of bars, screens and steel doors (see heavy steel door at right of cut) scarcely dreamed of before as existing outside of our State Penitentiaries.] The Only Place of Its Kind In Chicago _Five Thousand and Forty Night's Lodging_ and over Six Thousand Meals furnished to _Homeless Women_ by the WOMAN'S SHELTER 733-735-737 Washington Boulevard (near Halsted) during the year ending September 1, 1911. Seventy per cent of these women have been aided into _honest employment_. A Hundred Girls have been _Saved from Lives of Sin and given a chance to earn a Respectable Living_. Our Doors are Never Closed We are in touch with every _Slum_ and _Vice District_ in the city--every Prison and Hospital, and with the Poorhouse at Oak Forest. We are Non-Sectarian and Co-operative with all Reform and Christian Works A dozen Christian Homes and a Municipal Lodging House care for the friendless down-and-out man. The Chicago Rescue Mission's Woman's Shelter cares for the Friendless "down-and-out" Woman. Our Shelter is not a "Rescue Home" in the ordinary sense of the word, but A Place where a Clean Bed, Food, Coffee and Clothing may be Obtained by any Homeless Woman not a subject for Police interference, for One or More nights as she needs; and where she is given Definite Aid to Immediate Employment and assured of shelter until she receives her week's wages. FIVE THOUSAND AND FORTY NIGHT'S LODGINGS TOGETHER WITH OVER SIX THOUSAND MEALS have been furnished to cold, hungry, Stranded Girls and Women this year by Our Institution. Seventy per Cent of These Have been Aided to Secure Honest Employment, but scores have been turned away because we lacked Equipment, Warmth, Funds, etc., to aid them. Our Work Reaches Every Slum and Redlight District in the City the Hospitals, Prisons, Poorhouses, everywhere unfortunate women are found. We co-operate with Churches, Missions, Employment Bureaus, Charitable Institutions, etc., throughout the City Our Institution has Thirty-one Large Rooms [Illustration: A Corner in Our Woman's Shelter] What We Need-- We need to add _Forty More Beds_. We need a _better Hot Water System_. We need a _Systematic Employment Bureau_. We need another good Outside Worker. We need Coffee, Clothing, Coal. We need _Your Help, generously_, in a supreme effort to raise _One Thousand Dollars_ with which to accomplish all these things. Schedule of Work Year ending August 31st, 1911. Number of Nights Lodgings Furnished by the Chicago Rescue Mission's Woman Shelter 5,040 Number of Meals 5,200 Special Lodgings 489 Special Meals 677 Calls and Distribution of Fruit at Oak Forest Poor House 4,914 Religious Services White Cross Woman's Shelter 26 Jail, Court and Slum Visits 1,210 Reform Literature Distributed, pages, about 300,000 Yours and His, CHICAGO RESCUE MISSION 733-735-737 Washington Blvd., NEAR HALSTED CHICAGO, ILL. PHONE MONROE 4833 Mrs. Jean T. Zimmermann, M. D. President Chicago Rescue Mission and Woman's Shelter. Superintendent Department of Health and Heredity of the Cook County and Chicago W. C. T. U. Footnotes: [1] Through the effort of the writer and the aid of the agent of the building this woman was made to move a little further west. [2] N.B.--G. P.'s is strictly authentic. The Chicago Rescue Mission will give you details and take charge of any help you may care to give her. [3] NOTE.--Baptista Pizza, it was discovered, did not go to Italy, but after a few months of hiding, again engaged in his nefarious business. He was recently arrested for selling an American girl, fined $1000.00 and sentenced to two years in the House of Correction. [4] This girl was turned over to the Chicago Rescue Mission, cleaned and clothed and fed and pointed to Jesus Christ. Her story was investigated and found true and after receiving medical attention she was quietly returned to her country home. [5] Visit any of the great line of abandoned houses in the red-light district of Custom House Place or Plymouth Court and note the bars and screens and underground steel doors. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. Footnote markers have been added on pages 38 and 45. The following misprints have been corrected: "neigborhood" corrected to "neighborhood" (page 23) "Squlid" corrected to "Squalid" (page 32) Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation usage have been retained. 
17890	----	WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING A Tale of the Illinois Country by RANDALL PARRISH Author of "My Lady of the North" A. L. Burt Company, Publishers New York Copyright by A. C. McClurg & Co. 1904 Published March 26, 1904 Second Edition, April 20, 1904 Third Edition, July 2, 1904 Fourth Edition, September 20, 1904 Fifth Edition, October 20, 1904 Sixth Edition, January 2, 1905 Seventh Edition, December, 1905 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London All Rights Reserved CONTENTS CHAPTER I. A Message from the West II. The Call of Duty III. A New Acquaintance IV. Captain Wells of Fort Wayne V. Through the Heart of the Forest VI. From the Jaws of Death VII. A Circle in the Sand VIII. Two Men and a Maid IX. In Sight of the Flag X. A Lane of Peril XI. Old Fort Dearborn XII. The Heart of a Woman XIII. A Wager of Fools XIV. Darkness and Surprise XV. An Adventure Underground XVI. "Prance wins, Monsieur!" XVII. A Contest of Wits XVIII. Glimpses of Danger XIX. A Conference and a Resolve XX. In the Indian Camp XXI. A Council of Chiefs XXII. The Last Night at Dearborn XXIII. The Death-Shadow of the Miamis XXIV. The Day of Doom XXV. In the Jaws of the Tiger XXVI. The Field of the Dead XXVII. A Ghostly Vision XXVIII. An Angel in the Wilderness XXIX. A Soldier of France XXX. The Rescue at the Stake XXXI. A Search, and its Reward XXXII. The Pledge of a Wyandot XXXIII. An Intervention of Fate XXXIV. A Stumble in the Dark XXXV. The Battle on the Shore XXXVI. In the New Gray Dawn "I saw a dot upon the map, and a housefly's filmy wing-- They said 'twas Dearborn's picket-flag, when Wilderness was King. * * * * * * I heard the block-house gates unbar, the column's solemn tread, I saw the Tree of a single leaf its splendid foliage shed To wave awhile that August morn above the column's head; I heard the moan of muffled drum, the woman's wail of fife, The Dead March played for Dearborn's men just marching out of life; The swooping of the savage cloud that burst upon the rank And struck it with its thunderbolt in forehead and in flank, The spatter of the musket-shot, the rifles' whistling rain,-- The sandhills drift round hope forlorn that never marched again." --_Benjamin F. Taylor_. When Wilderness Was King CHAPTER I A MESSAGE FROM THE WEST Surely it was no longer ago than yesterday. I had left the scythe lying at the edge of the long grass, and gone up through the rows of nodding Indian corn to the house, seeking a draught of cool water from the spring. It was hot in the July sunshine; the thick forest on every side intercepted the breeze, and I had been at work for some hours. How pleasant and inviting the little river looked in the shade of the great trees, while, as I paused a moment bending over the high bank, I could see a lazy pike nosing about among the twisted roots below. My mother, her sleeves rolled high over her round white arms, was in the dark interior of the milk-house as I passed, and spoke to me laughingly; and I could perceive my father sitting in his great splint-bottomed chair just within the front doorway, and I marked how the slight current of air toyed with his long gray beard. The old Bible lay wide open upon his knee; yet his eyes were resting upon the dark green of the woods that skirted our clearing. I wondered, as I quaffed the cool sweet water at the spring, if he was dreaming again of those old days when he had been a man among men. How distinct in each detail the memory of it remains! The blue sky held but one fleecy white cloud in all its wide arch; it seemed as if the curling film of smoke rising from our chimney had but gathered there and hung suspended to render the azure more pronounced. A robin peeked impudently at me from an oak limb, and a roguish gray squirrel chattered along the low ridge-pole, with seeming willingness to make friends, until Rover, suddenly spying me, sprang hastily around the comer of the house to lick my hand, with glad barkings and a frantic effort to wave the stub of his poor old tail. It was such a homely, quiet scene, there in the heart of the backwoods, one I had known unchanged so long, that I little dreamed it was soon to witness the turning over of a page of destiny in my life, that almost from that hour I was to sever every relation of the past, and be sent forth to buffet with the rough world alone. There were no roads, in those days, along that valley of the upper Maumee,--merely faint bridle-paths, following ancient Indian trails through dense woods or across narrow strips of prairie land; yet as I hung the gourd back on its wooden peg, and lifted my eyes carelessly to the northward, I saw a horseman riding slowly toward the house along the river bank. There were flying rumors of coming Indian outbreaks along the fringe of border settlements; but my young eyes were keen, and after the first quick thrill of suspicion I knew the approaching stranger to be of white blood, although his apparel was scarcely less uncivilized than that of the savage. Yet so unusual were visitors, that I grasped a gun from its pegs in the kitchen, and called warningly to my mother as I passed on to meet the new-comer. He was a very large and powerful man, with a matted black beard and an extremely prominent nose. A long rifle was slung at his back, and the heavy bay horse he bestrode bore unmistakable signs of hard travelling. As he approached, Rover, spying him, sprang out savagely; but I caught and held him with firm grip, for to strangers he was ever a surly brute. "Is this yere Major Wayland's place?" the man questioned, in a deep, gruff voice, reining in his tired horse, and carelessly flinging one booted foot across the animal's neck as he faced me. "Yes," I responded with caution, for we were somewhat suspicious of stray travellers in those days, and the man's features were not pleasing. "The Major lives here, and I am his son." He looked at me intently, some curiosity apparent in his eyes, as he deliberately drew a folded paper from his belt. "No? Be ye the lad what downed Bud Eberly at the meetin' over on the Cow-skin las' spring?" he questioned, with faintly aroused interest. I blushed like a school-girl, for this unexpected reference was not wholly to my liking, though the man's intentions were evidently most kind. "He bullied me until I could take no more," I answered, doubtfully; "yet I hurt him more seriously than I meant." He laughed at the trace of apology in my words. "Lord!" he ejaculated, "don't ever let that worry ye, boy. The hull settlement is mighty glad 'twas done. Old Hawkins bin on the p'int o' doin' it himself a dozen o' times. Told me so. Ye 're quite a lad, ain't ye? Weigh all o' hundred an' seventy, I 'll bet; an' strong as an ox. How old be ye, anyhow?" "Twenty," I answered, not a little mollified by his manner. "You must live near here, then?" "Wal, no, but been sorter neighbor o' yourn fer a month er so back; stoppin' up at Hawkins's shebang, at the ford, on the Military Road, visitin'; but guess I never met up with none o' your folks afore. My name 's Burns, Ol' Tom Burns, late o' Connecticut. A sojer from out West left this yere letter fer yer father at Hawkins's place more nor a week ago. Said as how it was mighty important; but blamed if this was n't the fust chance he 's hed to git it over yere sence. I told him I 'd fetch it, as it was n't more nor a dozen miles er so outer my way." He held out a square paper packet; and while I turned it over curiously in my hand,--the first letter I had ever seen,--he took some loose tobacco from an outside pocket and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe. My mother rolled my father's chair forward into the open doorway, and stood close behind him, as was her custom, one arm resting lightly upon the quaintly carved chair-back. "What is it, John?" she questioned gently. Instantly aroused by her voice, I crossed quickly over and placed the packet in my father's thin hands. He turned it over twice before he opened it, looking at the odd seal, and reading the superscription carefully aloud, as if fearful there might be some mistake: "Major David Wayland, Along the Upper Maumee. Leave at Hawkins Ford on Military Road." "Important." I can see him yet as he read it, slowly feeling his way through the rude, uneven writing, with my mother leaning over his shoulder and helping him, her rosy cheeks and dark tresses making strange contrast beside his pain-racked features and iron-gray hair. "Read it aloud, Mary," he said at last. "I shall understand it better. 'T is from Roger Matherson, of whom you have heard me speak." My mother was a good scholar, and she read clearly, only hesitating now and, then over some ill-written or misspelled word. At FORT DEARBORN, near the head of the Great Lake. Twelfth June, 1812. My DEAR OLD FRIEND: I have come to the end of life; they tell me it will be all over by the morrow, and there remains but one thing that greatly troubles me--my little girl, my Elsa. You know I have never much feared death, nor do I in this hour when I face it once more; for I have ever tried to honor God and do my duty as both man and soldier. David, I can scarcely write, for my mind wanders strangely, and my fingers will but barely grasp the pen. 'T is not the grip of the old sword-hand you knew so well, for I am already very weak, and dying. But do you yet remember the day I drew you out of the rout at Saratoga, and bore you away safely, though the Hessians shot me twice? God knows, old friend, I never thought to remind you of the act,--'twas no more than any comrade would have done,--yet I am here among strangers, and there is no one else living to whom I may turn in my need. David, in memory of it, will you not give my little orphan child a home? Your old comrade, upon his death-bed, begs this of you with his final breath. She is all alone here, save for me, and there is no blood kin in all the world to whom I may appeal. I shall leave some property, but not much. As you love your own, I pray you be merciful in this hour to my little girl. Your old comrade, ROGER MATHERSON. This had been endorsed by another and bolder hand: Captain Roger Matherson, late of the Massachusetts Continental Line, died at this fort, of fever, fourteenth June, 1812. His daughter is being cared for by the ladies of the garrison. NATHAN HEALD, Capt. First Regt. Inf., Commanding. The tears were clinging to my mother's long lashes as she finished the reading; she was ever tender of heart and sympathetic with sorrow. My father sat in silence, looking far off at the green woods. Presently he took the paper again into his hands, folded it carefully in the old creases, and placed it safely away between the Bible leaves. I saw my mother's fingers steal along the arm of the chair until they closed softly over his. "The poor little lamb!" she said gently. My father's old sword hung over the fireplace, and I saw his glance wander toward it, as something seemed to rise choking in his throat. He was always a man who felt deeply, yet said but little; and we both knew he was thinking about the old days and the strong ties of comradeship. The stranger struck flint and steel to light his pipe; the act instantly recalled my father to the demands of hospitality. "Friend," he said, speaking firmly, "hitch to the stump yonder, and come in. You have brought me sad news enough, yet are no less welcome, and must break bread at our board. John," and he turned toward me, "see to friend Burns's horse, and help your mother to prepare the dinner." Out in the rude shed, which, answered as a kitchen during summer weather, I ventured to ask: "Mother, do you suppose he will take the little girl?" "I hope so, John," she answered, soberly; "but your father must decide himself. He will not tell us until he has thought it all out alone." CHAPTER II THE CALL OF DUTY It was upon my mind all through that long afternoon, as I swung the scythe in the meadow grass. I saw Burns ride away up the river trail soon after I returned to work, and wondered if he bore with him any message from my father. It was like a romance to me, to whom so few important things had ever happened. In some way, the coming of this letter out of the great unknown had lifted me above the narrow life of the clearing. My world had always been so small, such a petty and restricted circle, that this new interest coming within its horizon had widened it wonderfully. I had grown up on the border, isolated from what men term civilization; and I could justly claim to know chiefly those secrets which the frontier teaches its children. My only remembrance of a different mode of life centred about the ragged streets of a small New England village, where I had lived in earlier childhood. Ever since, we had been in the depths of the backwoods; and after my father's accident I became the one upon whom the heavier part of the work fell. I had truly thrived upon it. In my hunting-trips, during the dull seasons, I learned many a trick of the forest, and had already borne rifle twice when the widely scattered settlements were called to arms by Indian forays. There were no schools in that country; indeed, our nearest neighbor was ten miles distant as the crow flies. But my mother had taught me, with much love and patience, from her old treasured school-books; and this, with other lore from the few choice volumes my father clung to through his wanderings, gave me much to ponder over. I still remember the evenings when he read to us gravely out of his old Shakespeare, dwelling tenderly upon passages he loved. And he instructed me in other things,--in honor and manliness, in woodcraft, and many a pretty thing at arms, until no lad in the settlements around could outdo me in rough border sport. I loved to hear him, of a boisterous winter night,--he spoke of such matters but seldom,--tell about his army life, the men he had fought beside and loved, the daring deeds born of his younger blood. In that way he had sometimes mentioned this Roger Matherson; and it was like a blow to me now to hear of his death. I wondered what the little girl would be like; and my heart went out to her in her loneliness. Scarcely realizing it, I was lonely also. "Has he spoken yet?" I questioned anxiously of my mother, as I came up to the open kitchen door when the evening chores were done. "No, John," she answered, "he has been sitting there silently looking out at the woods ever since the man left. He is thinking, dear, and we must not worry him." The supper-table had been cleared away, and Seth, the hired man, had crept up the creaking ladder to his bed under the eaves, before my father spoke. We were all three together in the room, and I had drawn his chair forward, as was my custom, where the candle-light flickered upon his face. I knew by the look of calm resolve in his gray eyes that a decision had been reached. "Mary," he began gravely, "and you, John, we must talk together of this new duty which has just come to us. I hardly know what to decide, for we are so poor and I am now so helpless; yet I have prayed earnestly for guidance, and can but think it must be God's will that we care for this poor orphan child of my old friend." My mother crossed the room to him, and bent down until her soft cheek touched his lips. "I knew you would, David," she whispered, in the tender way she had, her hand pressing back his short gray hair. "She shall ever be unto us as our own little girl,--the one we lost come back to us again." My father bent his head wearily upon one hand, his eyes upon the candle flame, his other hand patting her fingers. "It must be all of ten years," he said slowly, "since last I had word of Roger Matherson. He was in Canada then, yet has never since been long out of my mind. He saved my life, not once alone, as he would seem to remember, but three separate times in battle. We were children together in the blue Berkshire hills, and during all our younger manhood were more than brothers. His little one shall henceforth be as my own child. God hath given her unto us, Mary, as truly as if she had been born of our love. I knew that Roger had married, yet heard nothing of the birth of the child or the loss of his wife. However, from this hour the orphan is to be our own; and we must now decide upon some safe means of bringing her here without delay." He paused. No one of us spoke. His glance slowly wandered from the candle flame, until it settled gravely upon my face as I sat resting on a rude bench fitted into the chimney corner. He looked so intently at me that my mother seemed instantly to interpret his thought. "Oh, surely not that, David?" she exclaimed, pleadingly. "Not John?" "I know of no other fit messenger, little woman," he answered soberly. "It has indeed troubled me far more than all the rest, to decide on this; yet there is no one else whom I think equal to the task. John is a good boy, mother, and has sufficient experience in woodcraft to make the journey." "But the savages!" she insisted. "'T is said we are upon the verge of a fresh outbreak, stirred up by this new war with England, that may involve the settlements at any time. You know Burns told you just now,--and he is an old scout, familiar with the West,--that British agents were active along the whole border, and there was great uneasiness among the Indian tribes." "There is serious promise of danger, 't is true," he admitted, a flash of the old fire in his eyes. "Yet that is scarce likely to halt David Wayland's son. Indeed, it is the greater reason why this helpless orphan child should be early brought to our protection. Think of the defenceless little girl exposed alone to such danger! Nor have we means of judging, Mary, of the real seriousness of the situation to the north and west. War between the nations may very likely arouse the spirit of the savages, yet rumors of Indian outbreak are always on the lips of the settlers. Burns himself was upon his return westward, and did not seem greatly troubled lest he fail to get through. He claimed to live at Chicagou Portage, wherever that may be. I only know it is the extreme frontier." My mother did not answer; and now I spoke, my cheeks aflame with eagerness. "Do you truly mean, sir, that I am to go in search of the little girl?" I asked, barely trusting my own ears. "Yes, John," my father replied gravely, motioning me to draw closer to his chair. "This is a duty which has fallen to you as well as to your mother and me. We can, indeed, but poorly spare you from the work at this season; yet Seth will be able to look after the more urgent needs of the farm while you are absent, while he would prove quite useless on such a mission as this. Do not worry, Mary. Friend Burns is well acquainted with all that western country, and he tells me there is scarcely a week that parties of soldiers, or friendly Indians, do not pass along the trail, and that by waiting at Hawkins's place for a few days John will be sure to find some one with whom he may companion on the long journey westward. He would himself have accompanied him, but must first bear a message to friends at Vincennes. It is now some weeks since Roger Matherson died, and we shall prove unworthy of our trust if we delay longer in sending for his daughter." Though my mother was a western woman, patient and long habituated to sacrifice and peril, still her eyes, fixed upon my face, were filled with tears, and the color had deserted her cheeks. "I know not why it should be so, David," she urged softly; "but in my heart I greatly fear this trip for John. Yet you have ever found me ready to yield wherever it seemed best, and I doubt not you are right in your decision." At any other time I should have gone to her with words of comfort and good cheer; but now my ambition was so aroused by this impending adventure as to permit me to think of nothing else. "Is it so very far, father, to where I must go?" I questioned, eagerly. "Where is this Fort Dearborn, and how am I to journey in reaching there? 'T is no garrison of which I have ever heard." "Bring me the map your mother made of this country, and the regions to the westward," he said. "I am not over clear in regard to the matter myself, although friend Burns, who claims to know all that country, gave me some brief description; but I found him most chary of speech." I got the map out of the great square cupboard in the corner, and spread the paper flat upon the table, placing knives at each corner to hold it open. I rolled his chair up before it, and the three of us bent our heads over the map together, our faces glowing in the candle flame. It was a copy made by a quill from a great government map my mother had seen somewhere in her journeying westward; and, though only a rude design, it was not badly done, and was sufficiently accurate for our purpose. Much of it was still blank; yet the main open trails had been traced with care, the principal fords over the larger streams were marked, and the various government posts and trading settlements distinctly located and named. Searching for the head of the Great Lake, we were not long in discovering the position of the fort called Dearborn, which seemingly was posted upon the western shore, nearly opposite another garrison point at the mouth of the St. Joseph river. We were able to trace with clearness the military road that had been constructed northward from Fort Wayne, our nearest government post; but the map failed to exhibit evidence of any beaten track, or used trail, leading westward and around the head of the lake. There were numerous irregular lines which denoted unnamed streams, but by far the larger portion of the territory extending to the west beyond Fort Wayne had been simply designated as "forest land" and "unexplored." "Friend Burns tells me there is a trail used by both troops and savages, which he has traversed several times," my father explained, as he lifted his eyes from the map; "but it is not over plain, nor easily followed, as communication with the Fort is mostly maintained by means of the waterways to the northward. The overland journey, however, will prove speedier, besides being less liable to disaster for one unaccustomed to boats. How soon can John be ready, mother?" Her voice trembled, and I felt the pressure of her hand upon my sleeve. "It will take all of the morrow, David, to prepare his clothing properly," she replied, with the patient resignation of the frontier. "There is much that will need seeing after." "Then John will start the next dawn. You had best ride the brown colt, my son; he is of good breed, and speedy. Seth shall accompany you until you find suitable companionship at Hawkins's. He will bring back word of how you started, and that knowledge will greatly comfort your mother." He paused, and held out his thin hands. "You go upon this strange journey willingly, my son?" "Yes, father." "You will be both kind and thoughtful with Roger Matherson's little girl?" "She shall be to me as my own sister." I felt the confiding clasp of his fingers, and realized how much to him would be a successful termination of my journey. "Kiss your mother, John," he said, a trustful look coming into his kindly eyes. "We must all be astir early on the morrow." Beneath the rived shingles of my little room, under the sloping roof, how I turned and tossed through those long night hours! What visions, both asleep and awake, came to me, thronging fast upon my heated brain, each more marvellous than its fellow, and all alike pointing toward that strange country which I was now destined by fate to travel! Vague tales of wonder and mystery had come floating to me out of that unknown West, and now I was to behold it all with my own eyes. But marvellous as were my dreams, the reality was to be even more amazing than these pictures of boyish imagination. Had I known the truth that night, I doubt greatly whether I should have had the courage to face it. At last the gray dawn came, stealing in at the only window, and found me eager for the trial. CHAPTER III A NEW ACQUAINTANCE I drew rein upon the upper river bank, before we finally plunged into the dark woods beyond, and glanced back. I had to brush the gathering tears from my eyes before I could see clearly; and when I finally rode away, the picture of that dear old home was fixed in my memory forever. Our house stood near the centre of an oak opening,--a little patch of native prairie-land, with a narrow stream skirting it on one side, and a dense fringe of forest all about. The small story-and-a-half cabin of hewn logs, with its lean-to of rough hand-riven planks, fronted to the southward; and the northern expanse of roof was green with moss. My father sat in the open doorway, his uplifted hand shading his eyes as he gazed after us; while my mother stood by his side, one arm resting upon the back of his chair, the other extended, waving a white cloth in farewell. Rover was without, where I had bidden him remain, eagerly watching for some signal of relenting upon my part. Beyond stood the rude out-buildings, silhouetted against the deep green. It was a homely, simple scene,--yet till now it had been all the world to me. With a final wave of the hand, I moved forward, until the intervening trees, like the falling of a curtain, hid it all from view. Seth was astride the old mare, riding bareback, his white goat-like beard hanging down his breast until it mingled with her mane, while his long thin legs were drawn up in the awkward way he had. He was a strange, silent, gloomy man, as austere as his native hills; and we rode on with no exchange of speech. Indeed, my thoughts were of a nature that I had no wish to share with another; so it was some time before the depth of loneliness which oppressed my spirits enabled me to feel even passing interest in the things at hand. "I 'd hate like thunder ter be a-goin' on your trip, Maester John," volunteered Seth at last, solemnly turning on the mare's broad back to face me. "And why?" I asked, wonderingly; for the man's rare gift of silence had won him a certain reputation for deep, occult knowledge which I could not wholly ignore. "It will bring me the sight of some wonderful country, no doubt." His shrewd gimlet eyes seemed fairly to pierce me, as he deliberately helped himself to tobacco from a pouch at his waist. "Wal, that may all be, Maester John; but I've heerd tell ther is some most awful things goes on out yonder," and he swung his long arm meaningly toward the west. "Animyles sich as don't prowl raound yere, man-yeatin' snakes as big as thet tree, an' the blood-thirstiest salvages as ever was. An' arter a while ther ain't no more trees grows, ther lan' is thet poor, by gosh! jist a plumb dead levil er' short grass, an' no show ter hide ner nuthin'." "Were you ever there, Seth?" I questioned with growing anxiety, for I had heard some such vague rumors as these before. "Me? Not by a dinged sight!" he replied, emphatically. "This yere is a long way further west thin I keer 'bout bein'. Ol' Vermont is plenty good 'nough fer this chicken, an' many 's ther day I wish I was back ther. But I hed a cousin onct who tuk ter sojerin' 'long with Gineral Clarke, an' went 'cross them ther prairies ter git Vincennes frum the British. Lor'! it must a' bin more ner thirty year ago! He tol' me thet they jist hed ter wade up ter ther neck in water fer days an' days. I ain't so durn fond o' water as all thet. An' he said as how rattlesnakes was everywhere; an' ther Injuns was mos' twice es big es they be yere." "But Clarke, and nearly all of his men, got back safely," I protested. "Oh, I guess some on 'em got back, 'cause they was an awful lot in thet army, mighty nigh two thousand on 'em, Ephriam said; but, I tell ye, they hed a most terrible tough time afore they did git hum. I seed my cousin whin he kim back, an' he was jist a mere shadder; though he was bigger ner you whin he went 'way." "But Fort Dearborn is much farther to the north. Perhaps it will be better up there." "Wuss," he insisted, with a most mournful shake of the head, "a dinged sight wuss. Ephriam said es how the further north ye wint, the tougher it got. He saw an Injun from up near the big lake--a Pottamottamie, or somethin' like thet--what was nine fut high, an' he told him es how the rivers in his kintry was all full o' man-eatin' critters like snakes, an' some on 'em hed a hundred legs ter crawl with, an' cud travel a dinged sight faster ner a hoss. By gosh! but you bet I don't want none on it. Your father must 'a' been plum crazy fer ter sind ye way out ther all 'lone,--jist a green boy like you. What ye a-goin' fer, enyhow?" I explained to him the occasion and necessity for my trip, but he shook his head dubiously, his long face so exceedingly mournful that I could not remain unaffected by it. "Wal," he said at length, carefully weighing his words, "maybe it's all right 'nough, but I 've got my doubts jist the same. I 'll bet thet ther gal is jist one o' them will-o'-the-wisps we hear on, an' you never will find her. You 'll jist wander 'round, huntin' an' huntin' her, till ye git old, or them monsters git ye. An' I 'll be blamed if ever I heerd tell o' no sich fort as thet, nohow." Seth was certainly proving a Job's comforter; and I was already sufficiently troubled about the final outcome of my adventure. Hence my only hope of retaining any measure of courage was to discountenance further conversation, and we continued to jog along in silence, although I caught him looking at me several times in a manner that expressed volumes. We camped that night in the dense heart of some oak woods, beside a pleasant stream of clear, cool water. Late the following evening, just as the sun was disappearing behind the trees, our wearied horses emerged suddenly upon the bank of a broad river, and we could discern the dim outlines of Hawkins's buildings amid the deepening shadows of the opposite shore. Upon one thing I was now fully determined. Seth should start back with the first streak of the next dawn. His long face and dismal croakings kept me constantly upon nettles, and I felt that I should face the uncertain future with far stouter heart if he were out of my sight. Firm in this resolve, I urged my horse to splash his reluctant way through the shallows of the ford; and as our animals rose on the steep bank of the western shore, we found ourselves at once in the midst of a group of scattered buildings. It seemed quite a settlement in that dim light, although the structures were all low and built of logs. The largest and most centrally located of these was evidently the homestead, as it had a rudely constructed porch in front, and a thin cloud of smoke was drifting from its chimney. As I drew nearer, I could perceive the reflection of a light streaming out through the open doorway. No one appeared in answer to our shouting,--not even a stray dog; and, in despair of thus arousing the inhabitants, I flung my rein to Seth, and, mounting the doorstep, peered within. As I did so, a shiny, round, black face, with whitened eyes and huge red lips, seemed to float directly toward me through the inner darkness. It was so startling an apparition that I sprang back in such haste as nearly to topple over backward from the steps. Heaven alone knows what I fancied it might be; indeed, I had little enough time in which to guess, for I had barely touched the ground,--my mind still filled with memories of Seth's grotesque horrors,--when the whole figure emerged into view, and I knew him instantly for a negro, though I had never before seen one of his race. He was a dandified-looking fellow, wearing a stiff white waistcoat fastened by gilded buttons, with a pair of short curly mustaches, waxed straight out at the ends; and he stood there grinning at me in a manner that showed all his gleaming teeth. Before I could recover my wits enough to address him, I heard a voice from within the house,--a soft, drawling voice, with a marked foreign accent clinging to it. "Sam," it called, "have you found either of the scoundrelly rascals?" The darkey started as if shot, and glanced nervously back over his shoulder. "No, sah," he replied with vigor, "dat Mistah Hawkins am not yere, sah. An' dat Mistah Burns has gone 'way fer gud, sah. But dar am a gemman yere, sah,--" "What!" came a surprised ejaculation that caused the negro to jump, and I heard a chair overturned within. "A gentleman? Sam, don't deceive me! For the love of Heaven, let me see him. May I be bastinadoed if it hasn't been three months since my eyes beheld the last specimen! Sam, where was it I saw the last one?" "Montreal, sah." "By Saint Guise! 'tis gospel truth," and the speaker strode forward, candle in hand. "Here, now, you ace of spades," he cried impatiently, "hold the flame until I bid this paragon of the wilderness fit welcome in the name of Hawkins, who strangely seems to have vanished from the sylvan scene. Alas, poor Hawkins! two gentlemen at one time, I greatly fear, will be the death of him. Would that his good friend Burns might be with him on this festive occasion. Ye gods, what a time it would be!" As the black hastily reached out for the candlestick, his erratic master as quickly changed his mind. "No," he muttered thoughtfully, drawing back within the hall; "'tis far more fit that such formal greeting should occur within, where the essentials may be found with which to do full courtesy. I will instead retire. Sam, bid the gentleman meet me in the banquet hall, and then, mark you, thou archfiend of blackness, seek out at once that man Hawkins in his hidden lair, and bid him have ample repast spread instantly, on pain of my displeasure. By all the saints! if it be not at once forthcoming I will toast the scoundrel over his own slow fire." "Seth," I said to my staring companion, as soon as I could recover from my own surprise, "find a place for the horses somewhere in the stables, and come in." "Where is your master to be found?" I questioned of the black, whose air of self-importance had been resumed the moment he was left alone. "Second door to de right, sah," he answered, gazing curiously at my deerskin hunting-shirt as I pressed by. I had little difficulty in finding it, for all that the way was totally dark, as the fellow within was lustily carolling a French love-song. I hung back for a moment, striving vainly to distinguish the words. Without pausing to make my presence known, I opened the door quietly, and stepped within. The room was not a large one, though it occupied the full width of the house; and the two lighted candles that illumined it, one sitting upon a table otherwise bare, the other occupying the rude dresser in the far corner, revealed clearly the entire interior. The sole occupant of the room sat upon a corner of the table, one foot resting on the floor, the other dangling carelessly. Hardly more than a year my elder, he bore in his face the indelible marks of a life vastly different. His features were clear-cut, and undeniably handsome, with a curl of rare good-humor to his lips and an audacious sparkle within his dark eyes. His hat, cocked and ornamented in foreign fashion, lay beside him; and I could not help noting his long hair, carefully powdered and arranged with a nicety almost conspicuous, while his clothing was rich in both texture and coloring, and exhibited many traces of vanity in ribbon and ornament. Within his belt, fastened by a large metal clasp, he wore a pearl-handled pistol with long barrel; and a rapier, with richly jewelled hilt, dangled at his side. Altogether he made a fine figure of a man, and one of a sort I had never met before. If he interested me, doubtless I was no less a study to him. I could see the astonishment in his eyes, after my first entrance, change to amusement as he gazed. Then he brought a white hand down, with a smart slap, upon the board beside him. "By all the saints!" he exclaimed, "but I believe the black was right. 'Tis the face of a gentle, or I know naught of the breed, though the attire might fool the very elect. Yet, _parbleu_! if memory serves, 't is scarcely worse than what I wore in Spain." He swung down upon his feet and faced me, extending one hand with all cordiality, while lips and eyes smiled pleasantly. "Monsieur," he said, bowing low, and with a grace of movement quite new to me, "I bid you hearty welcome to whatsoever of good cheer this desert may have to offer, and present to you the companionship of Villiers de Croix. It may not seem much, yet I pledge you that kings have valued it ere now." It was a form of introduction most unfamiliar to me, and seemed bristling with audacity and conceit; but I recognized the heartiness of his purpose, and hastened to make fit response. "I meet you with much pleasure," I answered, accepting the proffered hand. "I am John Wayland." The graceful recklessness of the fellow, so conspicuous in each word and action, strongly attracted me. I confess I liked him from his first utterance, although mentally, and perhaps morally as well, no two men of our age could possibly be more unlike. "Wayland?" he mused, with a shrug, as if the sound of the word was unpleasant. "Wayland?--'t is a harsh name to my ears, yet I have heard it mentioned before in England as that of a great family. You are English, then?" I shook my head emphatically; for the old wounds of controversy and battle were then being opened afresh, and the feeling of antagonism ran especially high along the border. "I am of this country," I protested with earnestness, "and we call ourselves Americans." He laughed easily, evidently no little amused at my retort, twisting his small mustache through his slender fingers as he eyed me. "Ah! but that is all one to me; it is ever the blood and not the name that counts, my friend. Now I am French by many a generation, Gascon by birth, and bearing commission in the Guard of the Emperor; yet sooth, 't is the single accursed drop of Irish blood within my veins that brings me across the great seas and maroons me in this howling wilderness. But sit down, Monsieur. There will be both food and wine served presently, and I would speak with you more at ease." As he spoke he flung himself upon a low settee, carelessly motioning me toward another. "On my word," he said, eying me closely as I crossed over to the bench, "but you are a big fellow for your years, and 't is strength, not flabby flesh, or I know not how to judge. You would make a fine figure of a soldier, John Wayland. Napoleon perchance might offer you a marshal's baton, just to see you in the uniform. _Parbleu_! I have seen stranger things happen." "You are now connected with the French army?" I questioned, wondering what could have brought him to this remote spot. "Ay, a Captain of the Guard, yet an exile, banished from the court on account of my sins. _Sacre_! but there are others, Monsieur. I have but one fault, my friend,--grave enough, I admit, yet but one, upon my honor, and even that is largely caused by that drop of Irish blood. I love the ladies over-well, I sometimes fear; and once I dared to look too high for favor." "And have you stopped here long?" "Here--at Hawkins's, mean you? Ten days, as I live; would you believe I could ever have survived so grievous a siege?" and he looked appealingly about upon the bare apartment. "Ten days of Hawkins and of Sam, Monsieur; ay! and of Ol' Burns; of sky, and woods, and river, with never so much as a real white man even to drink liquor with. By Saint Louis! but I shall be happy enough to face you across the board to-night. Yet surely it is not your purpose to halt here long?" "Only until I succeed in joining some party travelling westward to the Illinois country." "No! is that your aim? 'T is my trip also, if Fate be ever kind enough to bring hither a guide. _Sacre_! there was one here but now, as odd a devil as ever bore rifle, and he hath taken the western trail alone, for he hated me from the start. That was Ol' Burns. Know you him?" "'T was he who brought the message that sent me here; yet he said little of his own journey. But you mention not where you are bound?" "I seek Fort Dearborn, on the Great Lake." "That likewise is to be the end of my journey. You go to explore?" "Explore? Faith, no," and he patted his hand upon the bench most merrily. "There are but two reasons to my mind important enough to lure a French gentleman into such a hole as this, and send him wandering through your backwoods,--either war or love, Monsieur; and I know of no war that calleth me." Love, as he thus spoke of it, was almost an unknown term to me then; and, in truth, I scarcely grasped the full significance of his meaning. "You seek some lady, then, at Fort Dearborn?" I asked, for his tone seemed to invite the inquiry. "Ay!" with quickened enthusiasm; "'tis there Toinette has hidden herself for this year or more,--Toinette, on my word as a French soldier, the fairest maid of Montreal. I have just discovered her whereabouts, yet I shall win her ere I traverse these trails again, or I am not Villiers de Croix." "I travel thither to bring back a little orphan child with me," I explained simply, in response to his look, "and will most gladly aid you where I can." Before he could answer, Hawkins, a gaunt, silent frontiersman, together with Sam, entered the room, bearing between them our evening meal. CHAPTER IV CAPTAIN WELLS OF FORT WAYNE We tarried at the table a considerable time,--not because of any tempting variety in the repast, as the food furnished was of the coarsest, but for the sake of companionship, and because we discovered much of passing interest to converse about. De Croix had travelled widely, and had seen a great variety of life both in camp and court. He proved a vivacious fellow, full of amusing anecdote,--a bottle of rich wine drawn from his own private stock so stimulating his imagination that I had little to do but sit and listen. Yet he contrived to learn from me,--how, I hardly know,--the simple story of my life, and, indeed, assumed a certain air of patronizing superiority, boasting unduly of his wider experience and achievements in a way that somewhat nettled me at last, as I began to comprehend that he was merely showing off his genteel graces the better to exhibit his contempt for my provincial narrowness. I did not permit this really to anger me, for our views upon such matters were totally different, and I could not help feel admiration for the brilliant and audacious fellow. The black waited upon us while we ate and drank, moving noiselessly across the rough floor, so keenly observant of his master's slightest wish as to convince me the latter possessed a temper which upon occasion burst its bounds. Yet now he was surely in the best of humors; and with the coming of our second bottle, after the remains of the repast had been removed, he sang several love-songs in his native tongue, the meaning of which I could only guess at. "Saint Guise!" he exclaimed at last, flinging one booted foot over the table corner. "You are a very sphinx of a fellow. You deny being English, yet you have all the silence of that nation. I am hungry, Monsieur, for the sweet sound of the French tongue." "'T is a language of which I know little," I answered, striving to speak pleasantly, although his manner was becoming less and less to my liking. "I have met with your _coureurs de bois_ in plenty, and picked up sufficient of their common phrases to enable me to converse on ordinary themes with them; yet I confess I find it difficult to follow your speech." "_Canaille_," he returned, in tone of undisguised contempt, "Canadian half-breeds, the very offscourings of our people. _Sacre_! but you should know us at home, Monsieur,--we are the conquerors of the world!" I wish I could picture to you how he said this. Simple as it now reads, he made it vital with meaning. The insolent boast was uttered with such a swagger that my face instantly flushed, and he noted it. "Is it not true, Monsieur?" he asked quickly, his own blood heated by the wine. "I tell you, the whole of Europe has trembled, and will again, at the nod of our Napoleon. Why, even over here we had to come with our legions to help you repel the redcoats. Saint Guise! but it was the Frenchmen who made you a nation." "Ay! but only that they might revenge themselves upon England," I retorted blindly, "and the force sent merely hurried a result already inevitable; yet we gave you a slight touch of our own quality in '98 that stung a bit, I warrant." "Bah! a ship or two. 'Twas well for you that our army was so closely engaged elsewhere, or the story would have a different ending." We were both of us upon our feet by this time, glaring at each other across the board, our faces hot with the ill-restrained passion of youth. A word more from either would surely have precipitated matters; but before it could be spoken the door leading into the hallway was hurriedly flung aside, and, without apology for the intrusion, two men strode forward into the glare of light. "Serve supper here, Hawkins," commanded the first, his back still turned toward us. "Anything you may chance to have in the house,--only let there be little delay." He was a tall, dark-featured man, smoothly shaven, as swarthy as an Indian, with stern dark eyes, thick coarse hair, and an abrupt manner born of long command. His companion, of lighter build and younger face, was attired in a travel-stained uniform of blue and buff; but he who was evidently the leader was so completely wrapped within the folds of a riding-cloak as to reveal nothing of rank other than his unmistakable military presence and bearing. Turning from the door, he swept a penetrating glance over us, loosening the clasp of his cloak as he did so. "I regret having thoughtlessly interrupted your quarrel, gentlemen," he said brusquely, "but this appears to be the sole excuse for a public-room in the place. However, my services are at your command if they be desired in any way." De Croix laughed, perfectly at his ease in a moment. "'T is scarce so serious," he explained lightly. "A mere interchange of compliments over the respective merits of our nations in war." The stranger looked at him intently, and with some manifest disapproval. "And yours, no doubt, was France," he said shortly. De Croix bowed, his hand upon his heart. "I have worn her uniform, Monsieur." "I thought as much, and fear my sympathies may be altogether with your antagonist in the controversy. Yet what's the use of wasting life like that? Surely there is fighting enough in this world of ours for such young blades, without inventing cause for quarrel. Come, sit down once more, and join with us in whatsoever cheer our landlord may provide." As he spoke, he flung aside his cloak, revealing beneath merely the well-worn dress of a frontiersman, with an army sword-belt buckled about the waist. "Come, Walter," he called to his companion, who remained standing, "there is to be no touch of ceremony here to-night. Gentlemen, I am Captain Wells, formerly of the army, now Indian agent at Fort Wayne; and this is Sergeant Jordan." The Frenchman bowed gracefully, and extended a card across the table. The other glanced at it carelessly. "Ah! De Croix; pleased to meet you. Think I heard some of our officers speak of seeing you a month ago at Detroit,--McBain or Ramsey, I have forgotten which." "I recall a game of cards with a Lieutenant Ramsey, a rather choleric Scotchman, with a magnificent capacity for strong whiskey." The Captain turned inquiringly toward me, and I hastened to name myself. "Wayland, did you say?" he asked, with deepened interest. "'T is not a common appellation, yet I once knew a Major by that name in Wayne's command." "My father, sir," I asserted proudly. With quick impulsiveness he extended his hand. "As noble a soldier as I have ever known," he exclaimed heartily. "I served with him in two campaigns. But what are you two young fellows doing here? for it would be hard to conceive of a more disheartening place of residence. Surely, De Croix, you are not permanently located in this delightful spot?" "The saints forbid!" ejaculated the other, with an expression of horror that caused the younger officer to smile. "Yet I have already survived ten days of it. We seek to join some party bound westward, either to Fort Dearborn or beyond." The elder officer smiled gravely, as his stern eyes wandered thoughtfully over our faces in the candle-light. "You will scarcely find those who go beyond," he said, at last, slowly. "That is our extreme frontier; and even this post, I hear it rumored, is to be abandoned shortly. Indeed, I am now proceeding thither, hoping to escort a niece safely eastward because of that very probability. I can offer you naught save companionship and guidance upon the journey; yet if you needs must go, you may ride with us and welcome. But 't is my first duty to advise you strongly against it." "You look for trouble?" I asked, for his words and manner were grave. "I am not one easily alarmed," he answered, scanning our faces as we fronted him; "but I have lived long among the Indians, and know them well. This new war with England will not pass without atrocities along the border, and in my judgment we are now on the eve of a general uprising of the savages. It will surely come with the first news of British success, and 't is the fear of reverses at Dearborn that has hurried me westward. You, sir," and he turned toward me, "are young, but it is evident you have been bred to the frontier, so you will realize what it may mean to us if we be caught in the Illinois country by such an uprising." I bowed, deeply impressed by his earnestness. "I have, indeed, seen something of savage warfare, and know much of its horror," I replied stoutly. "Yet what you say of the possible future only makes more urgent my duty to press on." "And you?" he asked De Croix. "Faith, Captain," was the instant reply, "it is the gentle hand of love which leads me westward, and never yet did a true Frenchman hesitate in such a quest because danger lurked between." Wells smiled grimly. "Then my conscience is left clear," he exclaimed heartily; "and if you ride with me to death, 'tis of your own choosing. However, glad enough we have cause to be thus to gain two more fighting men. I have a party of Miamis travelling with me, and I doubt not there will be ample work for all before we return. Here comes supper; let us eat, drink, and be merry, even though to-morrow it be our fate to die. 'T is the best border philosophy." CHAPTER V THROUGH THE HEART OF THE FOREST We lingered long over the wine,--for that which De Croix had furnished proved excellent, and greatly stimulated our discourse. Yet, I must confess, it was drunk chiefly by the Frenchman and Jordan; for Wells barely touched his glass, while I had never acquired a taste for such liquor. De Croix waxed somewhat boastful, toward the last; but we paid small heed to him, for I was deeply interested in Captain Wells's earlier experiences among the savages, which he related gravely and with much detail. Jordan proved himself a reckless, roistering young fellow, full of high spirits when in liquor; yet I formed an impression that he stood well in his commander's favor, for the latter warned him kindly to be more abstemious. However late it may have been when we finally sought rest, we were early astir the next morning. I despatched Seth upon his return journey to the farm, bearing under his girdle as cheerful a note of farewell as I could frame; and then, though it was scarce later than sun-up, the rest of us were fairly upon the westward trail. There were in the party thirty Miami Indians, strong, lusty-looking warriors, most of them. The larger portion of them travelled in our advance, under command of one of their chiefs; a smaller detachment acting in similar manner as a rear-guard. The white men, as well as the negro, who controlled a pack animal heavily laden with his master's baggage, were on horseback; and it pleased me greatly,--for I was young and easily flattered,--to have Captain Wells rein in his horse at my side as soon as we were safely across the ford, leaving the Frenchman either to companion with Jordan or ride alone. I looked at De Croix curiously, as he moved forward with slow carelessness in our front, for he had kept the entire company waiting outside the house for half an hour in the gray dawn while he curled and powdered his hair. Doubtless this was what so disgusted Wells, whose long black locks were worn in a simple queue, tied somewhat negligently with a dark cord. I almost smiled at the scowl upon his swarthy face, as he contemplated the fashionably attired dandy, whose bright-colored raiment was conspicuous against the dark forest-leaves that walled us round. "I have heard it claimed these gay French beaux fight well when need arises," he commented at last, thoughtfully; "but 't is surely a poor place here for flaunting ribbons and curling locks. Possibly my fine gentleman yonder may have occasion to test his mettle before we ride back again. Sure it is that if that time ever comes he will not look so sweet." "You make me feel that we go forward into real peril," I said, wondering that he should seem so fearful of the outcome. "Have you special reason?" "The Miamis have already been approached by Indian runners, and their young men are restless. It was only because I am the adopted son of Big Turtle, and a recognized warrior of their tribe, that these have consented to accompany me; and I fear they may desert at the first sign of a hostile meeting," he answered gravely. "There is an Indian conspiracy forming, and a most dangerous one, involving, so far as I can learn, every tribe north of the Ohio. Now that war with England has actually been declared, there can no longer be doubt that the chiefs will take sides with the British. They have everything to gain and little to lose by such action. The rumor was at Fort Wayne, even before we left, that Mackinac had already fallen; and if that prove true, every post west of the Alleghanies is in danger. I fear that death and flame will sweep the whole frontier; and I frankly acknowledge, Wayland, my only hope in this expedition is that, by hard travel, we may be able to reach Chicagou and return again before the outbreak comes. Tom Burns, an old scout of Wayne's, and a settler in that country, was at Fort Wayne a month since with an urgent message from the commandant at Dearborn. I tell you frankly, it will be touch and go with us." "Chicagou?" I questioned, for the word was one I had heard but once before and was of an odd sound. "Ay! old Au Sable called it the Chicagou portage long before the fort named Dearborn was ever established there. 'T is the name the French applied to a small river entering the Great Lake from the west at that point." "Have you journeyed there before?" "Once, in 1803. I held Indian council on the spot, and helped lay out the government reservation. 'T is a strange flat country, with much broken land extending to the northward." Little by little our conversation lapsed into silence; for the narrow trail we followed was a most difficult one, and at times taxed our ingenuity to the utmost. It led through dense dark woods, fortunately free from underbrush, skirted the uncertain edges of numerous marshes in the soft ooze of which the hoofs of our horses sank dangerously, and for several miles followed the sinuous course of a small but rapid stream, the name of which I have forgotten. There were few openings in the thick forest-growth, and the matted branches overhead, interlaced with luxuriant wild vines, so completely shut out all vestige of the sun that we toiled onward, hour after hour, in continuous twilight. What mysterious signs our guides followed, I was not sufficiently expert in woodcraft to determine. To my eyes,--and I sought to observe with care,--there was nowhere visible the slightest sign that others had ever preceded us; it was all unbroken, virgin wilderness, marked only by slow centuries of growth. The accumulation of moss on the tree-trunks, as well as the shading of the leaves, told me that we continued to journey almost directly westward; and there was no perceptible hesitancy in our steady progress, save as we deviated from it here and there because of natural obstacles too formidable to be directly surmounted. We skirted immense trees, veritable monarchs of the ages, hoary with time, grim guardians of such forest solitudes; climbed long hills roughened by innumerable boulders with sharp edges hidden beneath the fallen leaves, that lamed our horses; or descended into dark and gloomy ravines, dank with decaying vegetation, finally halting for a brief meal upon the southern edge of a small lake, the water of which was as clear and blue as the cloudless August sky that arched it. The sand of the shore where we rested was white as snow, yet De Croix had his man spread a cloak upon it before he ventured to sit down, and with care tucked a lace handkerchief about his throat to prevent stray crumbs from soiling the delicate yellow of his waistcoat. "One might fancy this was to be your wedding day, Monsieur," observed Wells, sarcastically, as he marked these dainty preparations, and noted with disgust the attentive negro hovering near. "We are not perfumed courtiers dancing at the court of Versailles." De Croix glanced about him carelessly. "_Mon Dieu_, no," he said, tapping the lid of a richly chased silver snuff-box with his slender fingers. "Yet, my dear friend, a French gentleman cannot wholly forget all that belongs to the refinements of society, even in the heart of the wilderness. Sam, by any foul chance did you overlook the lavender water?" "No, sah; it am safe in de saddle-bags." "And the powder-puff, the small hand-mirror, and the curling-iron?" "I saw to ebery one ob dem, sah." De Croix gave a deep sigh of relief, and rested back upon the cloak, negligently crossing his legs. "Captain," he remarked slowly and thoughtfully, "you 've no idea the trouble that negro is to me. Would you believe it? he actually left my nail-brush behind at Detroit, and not another to be had for love or money this side of Montreal! And only last night he mislaid a box of rouge, and, by Saint Denis! I hardly dare hope there is so much as an ounce of it in the whole party." "I rather suspect not," was the somewhat crusty reply; "yet if a bit of bear's grease could be made to serve your turn, we might possibly find some among us." "I know not its virtue," admitted the Frenchman gravely; "yet if it reddens the lips it might be useful. But that which I had came from the shop of Jessold in Paris, and is beyond all price." We were ten days upon this forest journey, from the time of our crossing the Maumee; and they were hard days, even to those of us long habituated to the hardships of border travel. Indeed, I know few forms of exertion that so thoroughly test the mettle of men as journeying across the wilderness. There are no artificial surroundings, either to inspire or restrain; and insensibly humanity returns to natural conditions, permitting the underlying savage to gain ascendency. I have seen more than one seemingly polished gentleman, resplendent with all the graces of the social code, degenerate into a surly brute with only a few hours of such isolation and the ceaseless irritation of the trail. Yet I must acknowledge that De Croix accepted it all without a murmur, and as became a man. His entire plaint was over the luxuries he must forego, and he made far more ado about a bit of dust soiling his white linen than about any real hardship of the march. 'T is my memory that he rather grew upon us; for his natural spirits were so high that he sang where others swore, and found cause for amusement and laughter in much that tested sorely even the Indian-like patience of Wells. He was like a boy, this gayly perfumed dandy of the French court; but beneath his laces and ribbons, his affectations and conceits, there hid a stout heart that bade him smile where other men would lie down and die. He companioned mostly with Jordan as we journeyed, for Wells never could become reconciled to his mincing ways; yet I confess now that I began to value him greatly, and longed more than once to join with the two who rode in our advance, cheering their wearisome way with quips of fancy and snatches of song. He knew it too, the tantalizing rascal, and would frequently send back a biting squib over his shoulder, hoping thus to draw me away from the silent grim-faced soldier beside whom I held place. It was truly a rough and wild journey, full enough of hardship, and without adventure to give zest to the ceaseless toil. I know now that we made a wide detour to the southward, trusting thus to avoid any possible contact with prowling bands of either Pottawattomies or Wyandots, whom our friendly Miamis seemed greatly to dread. This took us far from the regular trail, rough and ill-defined as that was, and plunged us into ah untrodden wilderness; so that there were times when we fairly had to cut our way through the twisted forest branches and tangled brakes of cane with tomahawks and hunting-knives. We skirted rocky bluffs, toiled painfully over fallen timber, or waded ankle deep in softened clay, in the black gloomy shadows of dense woods which seemed interminable, meeting with nothing human, yet constantly startling wild game from the hidden coverts, and feeling more and more, as we advanced, the loneliness and danger of our situation,--realizing that each league we travelled only added to the length and peril of our retreat if ever disaster came or Fort Dearborn were found deserted. Captain Wells, naturally grave and silent from his long training among savages, grew more and more reticent and watchful as we progressed, riding often at my side for hours without uttering a word, his keen eyes warily searching the dark openings upon every hand as if suspecting that each spot of gloom might prove the chosen place for an ambuscade. Our Indian allies moved like shadows, gliding over the ground noiselessly; and the occasional outbursts of merriment from De Croix and his equally reckless companion grew gradually less frequent, and appeared more forced. The constant and never-ending toil of our progress, the depressing gloom of the sombre primeval forest on every side of us, the knowledge of possible peril lurking in each league of this haunted silence, weighed upon us all, and at last closed the lips of even the most jovial of our number. It was the tenth day, as I remember,--though it may have been later, for I have no writing to guide me concerning dates,--when we emerged into a broad valley, treeless save for a thin fringe of dwarfed growth skirting the bank of a shallow stream which ran almost directly westward. I cannot describe how sweet, after our gloomy journey, the sunlight appeared, as we first marked it play in golden waves over the long grass; or the relief we felt at being able to gaze ahead once more and see something of the country that we were traversing. 'Twas like a sudden release from prison. Our jaded horses felt with us the exhilaration of the change, and moved with greater sprightliness than they had shown for days. As the sun began its circle downward, vast rolling hills of white and yellow sand arose upon the right of our line of march,--huge mounds, many of them, glistening in the sunshine, some jagged at the summit, others rounded as if by art, so unusual in form and presence that I ventured to address our leader regarding them, as he rode with his head bent low and a far-off look in his eyes. "The sand?" he questioned, glancing up as if startled at the sound of my voice. "Why, it has been cast there by the stormy waves of the Great Lake, my lad, and beaten into those strange and fantastic shapes by the action of the wind. Doubtless 'tis the work of centuries of storms." "Are we, then, so close to the lake?" I asked eagerly,--for I had never yet seen so large a body of water, and his description fired my imagination. "'T is but just beyond those dunes yonder, and will be still nearer when we come to camp. Possibly you might reach the shore before dark if you exercise care,--for there is danger of becoming lost in that sand desert. Those hills seem all alike when once you are among them." "What is it that so greatly disturbs your Miamis?" I ventured to ask, for I had been noticing for some time that they were restless and travelling poorly. "They have been counselling now for two hours." He glanced aside at me in apparent surprise. "Why, boy, I thought you were bred to the border; and can you ask me such a question? Do you observe nothing, like that fine gentleman yonder? What have we been following since first we entered this valley?" "An old Indian trail." "True," he exclaimed, "and one that has been traversed by a large war-party, bound west, within twelve hours." "How know you this?" "By a hundred signs far plainer than print will ever be to my eyes. In faith, I thought those fellows out yonder would have summoned me to council long ere this, instead of threshing it out among themselves. They are bolder warriors than I deemed, though they will doubtless revolt in earnest when we camp. We shall have to guard them well to-night." As he paused, his eyes fixed anxiously upon our Indian allies, De Croix began to hum a popular tune of the day, riding meanwhile, hat in hand, with one foot out of the stirrup to beat the time. Then Jordan caught up the refrain, and sang a verse. I saw one or two of the older Indians glance around at him in grave displeasure. "The young fools!" muttered Wells, uneasily. "I shall enjoy seeing if that French popinjay keeps all of his fine airs when the hour for stern work comes." He lifted his voice. "Jordan!" The young soldier instantly ceased his song, and turned in his saddle to glance back. "The time has come when I must insist on less noise, and more decorum upon the march," Wells said sternly. "This is not Fort Wayne, nor is our road devoid of danger. Captain de Croix, I shall have to request you also to cease your singing for the present." There was that in his voice and manner which forbade remark, and we rode on silently. I asked: "But you have not explained to me how you learned all this of which you spoke?" "By the use of my eyes, of course. It is all simple; there are marks beside the beaten trail, as well as in its track, which prove clearly the party ahead of us to be moving westward, that it travelled rapidly, and was certainly not less than a hundred strong, with ponies and lodge-poles. Not more than a league back we passed the evidences of a camp that had not been deserted longer than twelve hours; and when we crossed the river, a feather from a war-bonnet was lying in the grass. These are small details, yet they tell the story. That feather, for instance, was dropped from a Pottawattomie head-dress, and no doubt there are warriors among those Indians yonder who could name the chief who wore it. It simply means, my lad, that the savages are gathering in toward Dearborn, and we may reach there all too late." "Is the way yet long?" and my eyes sought the horizon, where the sun hung like a red ball of fire. "We should be there by the morrow," he answered, "for we are now rounding the head of the Great Lake. I wish to God I might see what fate awaits us there." Young and thoughtless as I was in those days, I could not fail to realize the depth of feeling which swayed this stern, experienced man; and I rode on beside him, questioning no more. CHAPTER VI FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH I think it must be in the blood of all of New England birth to love the sea. They may never have seen it, nor even heard its wild, stern music; yet the fascination of great waters is part of their heritage. The thought of that vast inland ocean, of the magnitude and sublimity of which I had only the vaguest conception, haunted me all that afternoon; and I scarcely removed my eyes from those oddly constructed mounds of drifted sand, striving vainly to gain, through some depression between them, a fleeting glimpse of the restless waters that had helped to shape them into such fantastic forms. As the sun sank, angry red in our faces, presaging a storm, the course of the little stream we had been following drew in closer toward these grotesque piles, and the trail we followed became narrower, with the sluggish current pressing upon one side and that odd bank of gleaming sand upon the other. In a little open space, where quite a carpet of coarse yellowish grass had found lodgment, beneath the protecting shadow of a knot of cottonwoods, we finally made camp, and proceeded to prepare our evening meal. Determined to strike north through those guarding sand-dunes, and reach the shore of the lake if possible before final darkness fell, I hastily crowded my pockets with food, and looked eagerly around for some congenial companion. Captain Wells, whom I should have preferred to be with me, was deep in conference with one of the Miami chiefs, and not to be disturbed; Jordan had seemingly been detailed to the command of the night-guard; so, as a last resort, I turned aside and sought De Croix. I found him seated cross-legged on a blanket beneath one of the cottonwoods, a silver-backed mirror propped against a tree-butt in his front, while the obsequious darkey was deliberately combing out his long hair and fashioning it anew. The Frenchman glanced up at me with a welcoming smile of rare good-humor. "Ah, sober-face! and have you at last mustered courage to break away from the commander of this most notable company?" he cried mockingly. "'T is passing strange he does not chain you to his saddle! By Saint Guise! 'twould indeed be the only way in which so dull a cavalier would ever hold me loyal to his whims. Friend Wayland, I scarce thought you would ever thus honor me again; and yet, 't is true, I have had an ambition within my heart ever since we first met. 'T is to cause you to fling aside those rough habiliments of the wilderness, and attire yourself in garments more becoming civilized man. Would that I might induce you, even now, to permit Sam to rearrange those heavy blond locks _à la Pompadour_. Bless me! but it would make a new man of you." "Such is not at all my desire, Monsieur," I answered, civilly. "I came now merely to learn if you would walk with me through these dunes of sand before the daylight fades." He looked out, idly enough, across that dreary expanse of desolation, and shrugged his shoulders. "Use the other powder, Sam, the lighter colored," he murmured languidly, as if the sight had wearied him; "and mind you drop not so much as a pinch upon the waistcoat." Then he lifted his eyes inquiringly to mine. "For what?" he asked. "To look forth upon the Great Lake. Captain Wells tells me 't is but a brief and safe walk from here to the shore-line." "The lake?--water?" and the expression upon his face made me smile. "_Mon Dieu_, man! have you become crazed by the hard march? What have I ever said in our brief intercourse that could cause you to conceive I care greatly for that? If it were only wine, now!" "You have no desire to go with me, then?" "Lay out the red tie, Sam; no, the one with the white spots in it, and the small curling-iron. No, Monsieur; what you ask is impossible. I travel to the west for higher purpose than to gaze upon a heaving waste of water. _Sacre_! did I not have a full hundred days of such pleasure when first I left France? My poor stomach has not fairly settled yet from its fierce churning. Know ye not, Master Wayland, that we hope to be at this Fort Dearborn upon the morrow, and 't is there I meet again the fair Toinette? Saints! but I must look my best at such a time, not worn and haggard from tramping through the sand. She was ever a most critical maid in such matters, and has not likely changed. 'T is curled too high upon the right brow, you black imp! and, as I live, there is one hair you have missed entirely." Realizing the uselessness of waiting longer, I turned my back upon his vanity, and strode off alone. It is not my nature to swerve from a purpose merely because others differ in desires; and I was now determined to carry out my plan. I took one of the narrow depressions between two mounds of sand and plunged resolutely forward, endeavoring to shape my course as directly northward as the peculiarities of the path would admit. To my mind, there was little to fear from the hostile Indians, as every sign proved them to be hastening westward in advance of us; while I was too long accustomed to adventure to be easily confused, even in the midst of that lonely desolation. I soon found the walking difficult; for I sank to the ankles with each step, while the soft sliding sand rolled beneath me so as to yield no solid foothold. The irregularity of the mounds continually blocked my passage, and caused me to deviate in direction, so that I grew somewhat bewildered, the entire surface bearing such uniformity of outline as to afford little guide. Yet I held to my original course fairly well, for I could pilot somewhat by the dim north star; and it was not long before my alert ears caught the pounding of surf along the shore-line. Much encouraged, I pressed forward with greater rapidity, ignoring the lanes between the dunes, and clambering over the mounds themselves in my eagerness to reach the lake before the complete closing down of night. At last I topped a particularly high ridge that felt solid to the feet; and as I did so the wind came, hard and biting, against my face. There, just below me, not fifty feet away, were rolling the great waves, white-capped and roaring, pounding like vast sledges upon the anvil of the sand. My entire being thrilled at the majestic sight, and for the moment I forgot everything as I gazed away across those restless, heaving waters, seemingly without limit, stretching forth into the dim northward as far as the eye could reach, until water and sky imperceptibly met and blended. Each advancing wave, racing toward the beach, was a white-lipped messenger of mystery; and the vast tumultuous sea, rolling in toward me out of that dark unknown, with its deep voice of thunder and high-bursting spray, breathed the sublimest lessons of the Infinite to my soul. It awed, impressed, silenced with the sense of its solemn power. No dream of ocean grandeur had ever approached the reality now outspread before me, as this vast inland sea tossed and quivered to the lashing of the storm-wind that swept its surface into fury. To the left and right of where I stood motionless, curved the shore-line, a seemingly endless succession of white shining sand-hills, with the sloping shingle up which the huge breakers tossed and rolled in continuous thunder and foam, rising, breaking, receding, chasing each other in gigantic play. How savagely strong it all looked! what uncontrollable majesty lived in every line of the scene! The very suggestion of tremendous power in it was, to my imagination, immeasurably increased by its unutterable loneliness, its seemingly total absence of life; for not a fin rose above the surface, not a wing brushed the air overhead. The sun, sinking slowly behind the rim of sand, shot one golden-red ray far out into that tumbling waste, forming a slender bridge of ever-changing light that seemed to rest suspended upon the breaking crests of the waves it spanned. Then, gradually, stealthily, silently, the denser curtain of the twilight drew closer and closer, and my vista narrowed, as the shadows swept toward me like black-robed ghosts. I turned about reluctantly, to retrace my steps while the dim light yet lingered. Some unseen angel of mercy it must have been that bade me pause, and led me gently down the steep bank to the waters edge, where the sharp spray lashed my cheeks. If this be not the cause, then I know not why I went; or why, once being there, I should have turned to the right, and rounded the edge of the little bay. Yet all of this I did; and God knows that many a time since I have thanked Him for it upon my knees. I saw first the thing bobbing up and down behind a bare wave-washed rock that lifted a hoary crown close beside the water's edge. A branch from off some tree, I thought, until I had taken a half-dozen curious steps nearer, and felt my heart bound as I knew it to be a boat. My first thought, of course, was of hostile Indians; and I swept the sand-hills anxiously for any other sign of human presence. The world about me was soundless except for the ceaseless roaring of the waves, and there was not even a leaf within my sight to flutter. I crept forward cautiously, seeing no footprints on the smooth sand, until my searching eyes rested upon a white hand, dangling, as if lifeless, over the boat's gunwale. Forgetting everything else in the excitement of this discovery, I sprang hastily forward and peered within the boat. It was an awkward and rudely-formed water-craft, with neither mast nor oars, yet of fair size, broad-beamed and seaworthy. In the forward part lay the body of a woman; curled up and resting upon the boat's bottom, the head buried upon the broad seat so that no face was visible, with one hand hidden beneath, the other outstretched above the rail. So huddled was her posture that I could distinguish few details in the fading light; yet I noted that she wore a white upper garment, and that her thick hair flowed in a dense black mass about her shoulders. For a moment I stood there helpless, believing I gazed upon death. She either moved slightly, or the waves rocked the boat so as to somewhat disturb her posture. That semblance of life sent my blood leaping once more within my veins, and I leaned over and touched her cautiously. "Oh, go away! Please go away!" she cried, not loudly, but with a stress of utterance that caused me to start back half in terror. "I am not afraid of you, but either take my soul or go away and leave me." "For whom do you mistake me?" I asked, my hand closing now over hers. "For another devil come out of the black night to torture me afresh!" she answered, never once moving even to my touch. "Ah, what legions there must be to send forth so many after the soul of one poor girl! 'T is not that I shrink from the end. Death! why, have I not died a hundred deaths already? Yet do I trust the Christ and Mother Mary. But why does the angel of their mercy hold back from me so long?" Was she crazed, driven mad by some extremity of suffering at which I could only guess? That oarless boat, beached amid the desolation of sand and the waste of water, alone told a story to make the heart sick. I hesitated, not knowing what I had best say. She lifted her head slowly, and gazed at me. I caught one glimpse of a pale young face framed in masses of black dishevelled hair, and saw large dark eyes that seemed to glow with a strange fire. "You,--you cannot be a devil also," she said, stammeringly. "You do not look like those others,--are you a man?" I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance. "Yet you are not of the garrison,--not of Dearborn. I have never seen your face before. Yet you are surely a man, and white. Holy Mother! can it indeed be that you have come to save me?" "I am here to serve you by every means in my power," I answered soberly, for the wildness of her speech almost frightened me. "God, I truly think, must have led me to you." Her wonderful eyes, questioning, anxious, doubtful, never once left my face. "Who are you? How came you here?" "I am named John Wayland," I replied, striving to speak as simply as might be, so that she would comprehend, "and form one of a small party travelling overland from the east toward the Fort. We are encamped yonder at the edge of the sand. I left the camp an hour ago, and wandered hither that I might look out upon the waters of the Great Lake; and here, through the strange providence of God, I have found you." She glanced apprehensively backward over her shoulder across the darkened waters, and her slight form shook. "Oh, please, take me away from it!" she cried, a note of undisguised terror in her voice, and her hands held out toward me in a pitiful gesture of appeal. "Oh, that horrible, cruel water! I have loved it in the past, but now I hate it; how horribly it has tortured me! Take me away, I beg,--anywhere, so that I can neither see nor hear it any more. It has neither heart nor soul." And she hid her face behind the streaming hair. "You will trust me, then?" I asked, for I had little knowledge of women. "You will go with me?" She flung the clinging locks back from her eyes, with an odd, imperious gesture which I thought most becoming, holding them in place with one hand, while extending the other frankly toward me. "Go with you? Yes," she replied, unhesitatingly. "I have known many men such as you are, men of the border, and have always felt free to trust them; they are far more true to helpless womanhood than many a perfumed cavalier. You have a face that speaks of honor and manliness. Yes, I will go with you gladly." I was deeply impressed by her sudden calmness, her rapid repression of that strange wildness of demeanor that had at first so marked her words and manner. As I partially lifted her from the boat to the sand, she staggered heavily, and would have fallen had I not instantly caught her to me. For a single moment her dark eyes looked up confidingly into mine, as she rested panting against my shoulder, and I could feel her slender form tremble within my arms. "You are ill--faint?" I questioned anxiously. She drew back from me with all gentleness, and did not venture again to attempt standing entirely without support. "I am ashamed so to exhibit my weakness," she murmured. "I fear I am greatly in need of food. What day is this?" "The twelfth of August." "And it was the night of the tenth when I drifted out of the mouth of the river. Ever since then I have been drifting, the sport of the winds and waves." "Sit you down here, then," I commanded, now fully awakened to her immediate need. "The sand is yet warm from the sun, and I have food with me in my pockets." CHAPTER VII A CIRCLE IN THE SAND I have since thought it almost providential that my food supply was so limited; for, after first asking me if I had eaten all I required, she fell upon it like a famished thing, and did not desist until all was gone. A threatening bank of dark cloud was creeping slowly up the northern sky as we were resting, but directly overhead the stars were shining brilliantly, yielding me sufficient light for the study of her face. She was certainly less than my own age by two or three years, a girl barely rounding into the slender beauty of her earliest womanhood, with hints of both in face and form. She was simply dressed, as, indeed, might naturally be expected in a wilderness far removed from marts of trade; but her clothing was of excellent texture, and became her well in spite of its recent exposure, while a bit of rather expensive lace at the throat and a flutter of gay ribbons about the wrists told plainly that she did not disdain the usual adornments of her sex. And this was quickly shown in another way. She had not yet completed her frugal meal when her mind reverted to her personal appearance, and she paused, with heightened color, to draw back her loosened hair and fasten it in place with a knot of scarlet cord. It was surely a winsome face that smiled up at me then. "I feel almost guilty of robbery," she said, "in taking all this food, which was no doubt intended for your own supper." "Merely what chanced to be left of it," I answered heartily. "Had I so much as dreamed this stretch of sand was to yield me such companionship, I should have stinted myself more." An expression of bewildered surprise crept into her eyes as I spoke. "Surely you are not a mere _coureur de bois_, as I supposed from your dress," she exclaimed. "Your expression is that of an educated gentleman." I smiled; for I was young enough to feel the force of her unconscious flattery. "I believe I can prove descent from an old and honorable race," I said; "but it has been my fortune to be reared in the backwoods, and whatever education has come to me I owe to the love and skill of my mother." My frankness pleased her, and she made no attempt to disguise her interest. "I am so glad you told me," she said simply. "My mother died when I was only ten, yet her memory has always been an inspiration. Are you a Protestant?" This unexpected question took me by surprise; yet I answered unhesitatingly, "Yes." "I was educated at the Ursuline Convent in Montreal. It was my mother's dearest wish that I should take the vows of that order, but I fear I am far too frivolous for so serious a life. I love happy things too well, and the beautiful outside world of men and women. I ran away from the Sisters, and then my father and I voyaged to this country, where we might lead a freer life together." "Here?" and I glanced questioningly about me into those darkening shadows which were momentarily hemming us in more closely. "To Fort Dearborn," she explained. "We came by boat through the straits at the north; and 'twas a trip to remember. My father brought out goods from Canada, and traded with the Indians. I have been in their villages. Once I was a week alone with a tribe of Sacs near Green Bay, and they called me the White Queen. I have met many famous warriors of the Wyandots and Pottawattomies, and have seen them dance at their council. Once I journeyed as far west as the Great River, across leagues and leagues of prairie," and her face lighted up at the remembrance. "Father said he thought I must be the first white woman who had ever travelled so far inland. We have been at Dearborn for nearly a year." She rose to her feet, and swept her eyes, with some anxiety, around upon dim mounds of sand that appeared more fantastic than ever in the darkness. "Had we not better be going?" she asked. "There is surely a storm gathering yonder." "Yes," I answered, for I had not been indifferent to the clouds steadily banking up in the north. "Yet you have not told me your name, and I should be most glad to know it." The girl courtesied mockingly, as though half inclined to laugh at my insistence. "What is a name?" she exclaimed. "'Tis not that for which we greatly care. Now I--I am simply Mademoiselle Antoinette,--at least, so most of those I care for call me; and from now on, the very good friend of Master John Wayland." I was deeply conscious that I blushed at her words and manner; but with it there arose an instant query in my mind: could this be the fair Toinette whom De Croix sought so ardently? I greatly feared it; yet I resolved I would not mention his name to her. "It has a decided French sound," I stammered. She laughed at my tone, with a quick shrug of her shoulders. "And pray, why not, Monsieur? Have you such a prejudice against that great people that you need speak of them with so glum a voice? Ah, but if I must, then I shall endeavor to teach you a higher regard for us." "That may not prove so hard a task," I hastened to assure her; "though I was surprised,--you speak English with so pure an accent that I had not dreamed you other than of my own race." "My father was of English blood," she answered more gravely; "but I fear you will find me quite of my mother's people, if ever we come to know each other well. But hark! that was surely thunder! We have loitered too long; the storm is about to break." It was indeed upon us almost before she ceased speaking. A sudden rush of wind sent my hat flying into the darkness, and whipped her long black hair loose from its restraining knot. I had barely time to wrap my hunting-jacket closely around her shoulders, when the rain came dashing against our faces. I drew her unresistingly around the edge of the nearest sand-pile; but this supplied poor protection against the storm, the wind lashing the fine grit into our faces, stinging us like bits of fire. I tried to excavate some sort of cave that might afford us at least a partial shelter; but the sand slid down almost as rapidly as I could dig it out with my hands. "Oh, let us press on!" she urged, laying her hand upon my arm, in entreaty. "We shall become no wetter moving, and your camp, you said, was only a short distance away." "But are you strong enough to walk?" And as I leaned forward toward her, a quick flash of vivid lightning, directly overhead, lit both our faces. I marked she did not shrink, and no look of fear came into her eyes. "I am quite myself once more," she answered confidently. "It was despair and loneliness that so disheartened me. I have never been timid physically, and your presence has brought back the courage I needed." There was a natural frankness, a peculiar confidence, about this girl, that robbed me of my usual diffidence; and as we struggled forward through the dampening sand, her dress clinging about her and retarding progress, I dared to slip one arm about her waist to help in bearing her along. She accepted this timely aid in the spirit with which it was offered, without so much as a word of protest; and the wind, battering at our backs, pushed us forward. "Oh, that troublesome hair!" she exclaimed, as the long tresses whipped in front of our faces, blinding us both. "I have never before felt so much like sacrificing it." "I beg that you will not consider such an act now," I protested, aiding her to reclaim the truants, "for as I saw it before the darkness fell, your hair was surely worthy of preservation." "You laugh at me; I know I must have been a far from pretty sight." "Do you wish me to say with frankness what I thought of your appearance under such disadvantages?" She glanced at me almost archly, in the flash of lightning that rent the sky. "I am really afraid to answer yes,--yet perhaps I am brave enough to venture it." "I have never been at court, Mademoiselle, and so you may not consider my judgment in such matters of much moment; but I thought you rarely beautiful." For a moment she did not attempt to speak, but I could distinctly feel the heaving of her bosom as I held her hard against the assault of the wind, and bent low hoping to catch an answer. "You are sincere and honest," she said at last, slowly, and I felt that the faint trace of mockery had utterly vanished from her soft voice. "'T is manifest in your face and words. You speak not lightly, nor with mere empty compliment, as would some gilded courtiers I have known; and for that reason I do value your opinion." "You are not angry at my presumption?" "Angry?--I?" and she stopped and faced me, holding back her hair as she did so. "I am a woman, Monsieur; and all women, even those of us hidden here in the wilderness, like best those who admire them. I do not know that I am as beautiful as you say, yet other men have often said the same without being pressed for their opinion. No, I am not angry,--I am even glad to know you think so." "And you surely do know?" I insisted, with a courage strange to me. "Yes," she answered, but her eyes fell before my eagerness; "you are not one who has yet learned to lie, even to women. 'T is a relief to know there are such men still in the world." We had come to a full halt by this time. "Do you have any idea where we may be?" she asked, peering anxiously about, and perhaps glad to change the tone of our conversation. "I cannot note a landmark of any kind. These sand-hills seem all alike." "I believe we have kept to the southward, for we have merely drifted with the storm; but I confess my sole guidance has been the direction of the wind, as these sand-lanes are most confusing. If there were the slightest shelter at hand, I should insist upon your waiting until the rain was over." "No, it is better to go on. I am now wet to the skin, and shall be warmer moving than resting on this damp sand." We must have been moving for an hour, scarcely speaking a word, for the severe exertion required all our breath. The rain had ceased, and stars began to glimmer amid the cloud-rifts overhead; but I knew now that we were lost. She stopped suddenly, and sank down upon the sand. "I am exhausted," she admitted, "and believe we are merely moving about in a circle." "Yes," I said, reluctantly; "we are wasting our strength to no purpose. 'T will be better to wait for daylight here." It was a gloomy place, and the silence of those vast expanses of desolate sand was overwhelming. It oppressed me strangely. "Let me feel the touch of your hand," she said once. "It is so desperately lonely. I have been on the wide prairie, at night and alone; yet there is always some sound there upon which the mind may rest. Here the stillness is like a weight." Possibly I felt this depressing influence the more because of my long forest training, where at least the moaning of limbs, fluttering of leaves, or flitting of birds brings relief to the expectant senses; while here all was absolute solitude, so profound that our breathing itself was startling. The air above appeared empty and void; the earth beneath, lifeless and dead. Although neither of us was cowardly of heart, yet we instinctively drew closer together, and our eyes strained anxiously over the black sand-ridges, now barely discernible through the dense gloom. We tried to talk, but even that soon grew to be a struggle, so heavily did the suspense rest upon our spirits, so oppressed were we by imaginings of evil. I remember telling her my simple story, gaining in return brief glimpses of her experiences in Canada and the farther West. She even informed me that orders had been received, the day before she became lost upon the lake, to abandon Fort Dearborn; that an Indian runner--whom she named Winnemeg--had arrived from General Hull at Detroit, bringing also news that Mackinac had fallen. "Doubtless your absence has greatly worried them also," I said. "Oh, no; none of them knew my plight. Possibly some may miss me, but they will naturally suppose I have been at Mr. Kinzie's house all this time. I have been there often for weeks together, and they have frequently urged me to take shelter with them. You see it is far safer there than at the Fort, for even the most hostile Indians remain on friendly terms with Mr. Kinzie and his family. He has been there so many years, and is so just a man in his dealings with them. 'T is really strange to see how he leaves his house unguarded, while the garrison at the Fort is almost in a state of siege. It makes it hard to realize how imminent is the danger. Yet they are terribly alarmed at the Fort, and I fear with cause. Even Mr. Kinzie feels the situation to be critical. There were fully three hundred Pottawattomie warriors encamped without the Fort two days ago; and they were becoming bold and impudent,--one chief even firing his gun in Captain Heald's office, thinking to frighten him into furnishing them with liquor." "But the Fort is strong?" I asked. "It is capable of resisting an attack?" "I should suppose so," she answered, hesitatingly; "but that is not a matter upon which a girl may judge. I fear, however, all is not harmony among its defenders. I know that Captain Heald and Ensign Ronan do not agree, and I have heard bitter words spoken by other officers of the garrison." I thought she did not care to speak more about this matter, and we drifted off upon other topics, until I felt her head sink slowly down upon my shoulder, and knew she slept. I sat there still, pillowing her tenderly upon my arm, when the gray light of the dawn stole slowly toward us across the ridges of sand and revealed the upturned face. CHAPTER VIII TWO MEN AND A MAID The emotion I felt was new and strange to me; for though I had known little of young women, yet as I looked upon her in that dim light of dawn I found myself wondering if I already loved this strange girl. Fair as her face certainly was, its beauty rendered even more striking by the pallor of her late exposure and the blackness of her dishevelled hair, it was her frankness and confidence which most appealed to me. She had held all my thoughts through the long hours of watchfulness as I sat there quietly, feeling the rise and fall of her regular breathing, and thrilled by the unconscious caress of stray tresses as they were blown against my cheek. How she trusted me, stranger though I was! Yet it was through no lack of knowledge of the great world of men, for this young girl had known court gallants and rough soldiery, soft-spoken courtiers and boastful men-at-arms. So the night through I dreamed of what might be; and when the light finally came slowly reddening the eastern sky, I feasted my eyes unchecked upon that sweet upturned face, and made a rash vow that I would win her heart. I was still mirroring her image in my memory, forgetful of all else,--the broad white brow, the long dark lashes resting in such delicate tracery against the smooth velvet of the cheek now slightly flushed, the witching pink of the ear, the softly parted lips between which gleamed the small and regular teeth of ivory, the round white throat swelling ever so slightly to her breathing,--when a sudden shout of surprised recognition aroused me from my reverie, and I looked up to see Jordan topping the sand-bank in our front, and waving his hand to some one beneath him and out of sight. "See here, De Croix!" he cried, excitedly, "the prodigal has had good cause to lag behind. He has found the lost fairy of this wilderness." Before I could relieve myself of my burden,--for the mockery of his words angered me,--the Frenchman appeared at his side, and glanced down where his companion's finger pointed. For a moment he gazed; then he murmured a sharp French oath, and strode heavily down the sand-bank. There was a look in his face that caused me to lay the girl's head back upon the sand and rise hastily. The sudden movement awoke her, and her dark eyes looked up in startled confusion. By this time I had taken a quick step forward, and faced De Croix. "This lady is under my protection," I said, a bit hotly, not relishing the manner of his approach, "and any disrespect from either of you will be unwarranted." He paused, evidently surprised at my bold front, and his lip curled contemptuously. "Ah, my young game-cock!" he ejaculated, surveying me curiously. "So you have spurs, and think you can use them? Well, I have no quarrel with you, but perchance I may have more reason to be the protector of this young lady than you suppose. Stand aside, Monsieur." She had risen from the sand, and now stood erect beside me. I saw Jordan grinning in great enjoyment of the scene, and that De Croix's eyes were full of anger; but I would not stir. In my heart I felt a dull pain at his words, a fear that they might prove too true; but I remained where I was, determined to take no step aside until she herself should judge between us. "Will you stand back, Monsieur?" he said, haughtily, dropping his hand upon the hilt of his rapier, "or shall I show you how a gentleman of France deals with such impertinence?" If he thought to affright me with his bravado, he reckoned ill of my nature, for I have ever driven badly; my blood seems slow to heat, though it was warm enough now. "If the lady wishes it, you may pass," I answered shortly, my eyes never leaving his face. "Otherwise, if you take so much as another step I will crush every bone in your body." He saw I meant it, but there was no cowardice in him; and the steel had already flashed in the sunlight to make good his threat, when she touched me gently upon the shoulder. "I beg you do not fight," she urged. "I am not worthy, and 't is all unneeded. Captain de Croix," and she swept him a curtsey which had the grace of a drawing-room in it, "'t is indeed most strange that we should meet again in such a spot as this. No contrast could be greater than the memory of our last parting. Yet is there any cause for quarrel because this young gentleman has preserved my life?" De Croix hesitated, standing half-poised for attack, even his glib tongue and ready wit failing as she thus calmly questioned him. Indeed, as I later learned, there was that of witchery about this young girl which held him at bay more effectually than if she had been a princess of the royal blood,--a something that laughed his studied art to scorn. She noted now his hesitancy, and smiled slightly at the evidence of her power. "Well, Monsieur, 'tis not often that your lips fail of words," she continued, archly. "Why is it I am made the subject of your quarrel?" The slight sarcastic sting in her voice aroused him. "By all the saints, Toinette!" he exclaimed, striving to appear at his ease, "this seems a poor greeting for one who has followed you through leagues of forest and across oceans of sand, hopeful at the least to gain a smile of welcome from your lips. Know you not I am here, at the very end of the world, for you?" "I think it not altogether unlikely," she replied with calmness. "You have ever been of a nature to do strange things, yet it has always been of your own sweet will. Surely, Monsieur, I did never bid you come, or promise you a greeting." "No," he admitted regretfully, "'t is, alas, true,"; and his eyes seemed to regain something of their old audacity. "But there was that about our parting,--you recall it, Toinette, in the shadow of the castle wall?--which did afford me hope. No one so fair as you can be without heart." She laughed softly, as though his words recalled memories of other days, pressing back her hair within its ribbon. "Such art of compliment seems more in place at Montreal than here. This is a land of deeds, not words, Monsieur. Yet, even though I confess your conclusion partially true, what cause does it yield why you should seek a quarrel with my good friend, John Wayland?" "You know him, then?" he asked, in quick astonishment. "Know him! Do you think I should be here otherwise? Fie, Captain de Croix, that you, the very flower of the French court, should express so poor a thought of one you profess to respect so highly!" He looked from one to the other of us, scarce knowing whether she were laughing at him or not. "_Sacre_!" he exclaimed at last. "I believe it not, Mademoiselle. The boy would have boasted of such an acquaintance long before this. You know him, you say,--for how long?" "Since yester even, if you must know. But he has a face, Monsieur, a face frank and honest, not like that of a man long trained at courts to deceive. 'T is for that I trust him, and have called him friend." "You may rue the day." "No, Captain de Croix," she exclaimed, proudly. "I know the frontiersmen of my father's blood. They are brave men, and true of heart. This John Wayland is of that race." And she rested one hand lightly upon my arm. The motion, simple as it was, angered him. "You ask why I sought quarrel," he said sternly. "'T was because I suspected this uncouth hunter had wronged you. Now I understand 't was of your own choice. I wish you joy, Mademoiselle, of your new conquest." I felt the girl's slight form straighten, and saw his bold eyes sink beneath the flame of her look. "Captain de Croix," and every sentence stung like the lash of a whip, "those are cowardly words, unworthy a French gentleman and soldier. Did you leave all your courtesy behind in Montreal, or dream that in this wilderness I should cringe to any words you might speak? You wish the truth; you shall have it. Three days ago, through an accident, I drifted, in an oarless boat, out from the river-mouth at Fort Dearborn to the open lake. None knew of my predicament. A storm blew me helpless to the southward, and after hours of exposure to danger, and great mental anguish, I was driven ashore amid the desolation of this sand. This comrade of yours found me scarce alive, ministered to my sore need, protected me through the hours of the night, stood but now between me and your ribaldry, counting his life but little beside the reputation of a woman. He may not wear the latest Paris fashions, Monsieur, but he has proved himself a man." "I meant not all I said, Toinette," he hastened to explain. "You will forgive, I know, for I was sorely hurt to find that some one else had done the duty that was plainly mine. Surely no rude backwoodsman is to come between us now?" She glanced from the one to the other, with true French coquetry. "Faith, I cannot tell, Monsieur," she said, gayly; "stranger things have happened, and 't is not altogether fine clothes that win the hearts of maidens on this far frontier. We learn soon to love strength, and the manly traits of the border. On my word, Monsieur, this John Wayland seems to have rare powers of body; I imagine he might even have crushed you, as he said." "Think you so?" he asked, eying me curiously. "Yet 't is not always as it looks, Mademoiselle." It came so quickly as to startle me. I was wondering at the smile that curled his lips, when he sprang upon me, casting his arms around my waist, and twining one leg about mine. The shock of this sudden and unexpected onset took me completely by surprise, and I gave back sharply, scarce realizing his purpose, till he had the under-hold, and sought to lift me for a throw. 'T was my weight alone that saved me, together with the rare good fortune that I had been leaning upon my gun. As the breath came back to me, we locked grimly in a fierce struggle for the mastery. I had felt the straining grip of strong arms before, but De Croix surprised me,--he was like steel, quick of motion as a wildcat, with many a cunning French wrestling trick that tried me sorely. I heard a quick exclamation of surprise from the girl, a shout of delighted approval from Jordan, and then there was no sound but the harsh trampling of our feet and the heavy breathing. De Croix's effort was to lift me to his hip for a throw; mine, to press him backward by bodily strength. Both of us were sadly hindered by the sliding sand on which we strove. Twice I thought I had him, when my footing failed; and once he held me fairly uplifted from the ground, yet could not make the toss. 'T was a wild grapple, for when we had exhausted all the tricks we knew, it came to be a sheer test of physical endurance. Then, for the first time, I felt myself the master,--though he was a man, that gay French dandy, and never did my ribs crack under the pressure of a stronger hand. But I slowly pressed him back, inch by inch, struggling like a demon to the last, until I forced his shoulders to the sand. For a moment he lay there, panting heavily; then the old frank and easy smile came upon his lips. "Your hand, monsieur," he said; "that is, if it yet retains sufficient strength to lift me." Upon his feet he brushed the sand from out his long hair, and bowed gallantly. "I have done my very best, Mademoiselle. 'Tis defeat, but not disgrace, for I have made your giant puff to win. May I not hope it has won me restoration to your good graces?" CHAPTER IX IN SIGHT OF THE FLAG It would have been impossible not to respond to his humor and good-nature, even had the girl been desirous of doing otherwise. From the first I felt that she liked this reckless courtier, whose easy words and actions made me realize more deeply than ever my own heaviness of thought and wit. As he stood there now, bowing low before her, his clothing awry and his long hair in disorder from our fierce contest, she smiled upon him graciously, and extended a hand that he was prompt enough to accept and hold. "Surely," she said mockingly, "no maid, even in the glorious days of chivalry, had ever more heroic figures to do battle for her honor. I accept the _amende_, Monsieur, and henceforth enroll you as knight at my court. Upon my word," and she looked about at the desolate sand-heaps surrounding us, "'tis not much to boast of here; nor, in truth, is Dearborn greatly better." She paused, drawing her hand gently from his grasp, and holding it out toward me. "Yet, Captain," she continued, glancing at him archly over her shoulder, "I have likewise another knight, this wood ranger, who hath also won my deep regard and gratitude." De Croix scowled, and twisted his short mustache nervously. "You put a thorn beside every rose," he muttered. "'T was your way in Montreal." "A few hundred miles of travel do not greatly change one's nature. Either at Dearborn or Montreal, I am still Toinette. But, Messieurs, I have been told of a camp quite close at hand,--and yet you leave me here in the sand to famish while you quarrel." The tone of her voice, while still full of coquetry, was urgent, and I think we both noted for the first time how white of face she was, and how wearily her eyes shone. The Frenchman, ever ready in such courtesies, was the first to respond by word and act. "You are faint, Toinette," he cried, instantly forgetful of everything else, and springing forward to give her the aid of his arm. "I beg you lean upon me. I have been blind not to note your weakness before. 'T is indeed not a long walk to our camp from here,--yet, on my life, I know nothing of where it lies. Jordan," he added, speaking as if he were in command, "lead back along the path we came. _Sacre_! the old bear was gruff enough over the delay of our search; he will be savage now." I know not how Jordan ever found his way back, for the sliding sand had already obliterated all evidences of former travel; but I walked sullenly beside him, leaving De Croix to minister to the needs of the girl as best he might. I felt so dull beside his ready tongue that, in spite of my real liking for the fellow, his presence angered me. 'T is strange we should ever envy in others what we do not ourselves possess, ignoring those traits of character we have which they no less desire. So to me then it seemed altogether useless to contend for the heart of a woman,--such a woman, at least, as this laughing Toinette,--against the practised wiles of so gay and debonair a cavalier. I steeled my ears to the light badinage they continued to indulge in, and ploughed on through the heavy sand at Jordan's heels, in no mood for converse with any one. We came upon the camp suddenly, and discovered Captain Wells pacing back and forth, his stern face dark with annoyance. At sight of me, his passion burst all restraint. "By God, sir!" he ejaculated, "if you were a soldier of mine, I would teach you what it meant to put us to such a wait as this! Know you not, Master Wayland, that the lives of helpless women and children may depend upon our haste? And you hold us here in idleness while you wander along the lake-shore like a moonstruck boy!" Before I could answer these harsh words, the girl stepped lightly to my side, and standing there, her hand upon my arm, smiled back into his angry eyes. I do not think he had even perceived her presence until that moment; for he stopped perplexed. "And am I not worth the saving, Monsieur le Capitaine," she questioned, pouting her lips, "that you should blame him so harshly for having stopped to rescue me?" His harsh glance of angry resentment softened as he gazed upon her. "Ah! was that it, then?" he asked, in gentler tones. "But who are you? Surely you are not unattended in this wilderness?" "I am from Fort Dearborn," she answered, "and though only a girl, Monsieur, I have penetrated to the great West even farther than has Captain Wells." "How know you my name?" "Mrs. Heald told me she believed you would surely come when you learned of our plight at the Fort,--it was for that she despatched the man Burns with the message,--and she described you so perfectly that I knew at once who you must be. There are not so many white men travelling toward Dearborn now as to make mistake easy." "And the Fort?" he asked, anxiously. "Is it still garrisoned, or have we come too late?" "It was safely held two days ago," she answered, "although hundreds of savages in war-paint were then encamped without, and holding powwow before the gate. No attack had then been made, yet the officers talked among themselves of evacuating." For a moment the stern soldier seemed to have forgotten her, his eyes fastened upon the western horizon. "The fools!" he muttered to himself, seemingly unconscious that he spoke aloud; "yet if I can but reach there in time, my knowledge of Indian nature may accomplish much." He turned quickly, with a sharp glance over his military force. "We delay no longer. Jordan, do you give this lady your horse for to-day's journey, and go you forward on foot with the Miamis. Watch them closely, and mark well everything in your front as you move." "But, Captain Wells," she insisted, as he turned away, "I am exceedingly hungry, and doubt not this youth would also be much the better for a bit of food." "It will have to be eaten as you travel, then," he answered, not unkindly, but with all his thought now fixed on other things, "for our duty is to reach Dearborn at the first moment, and save those prisoned there from death, and worse." I shall always remember each detail of that day's march, though I saw but little of Toinette save in stolen glances backward, Wells keeping me close at his side, while De Croix, as debonair as ever, was her constant shadow, ministering assiduously to her wants and cheering her journey with agreeable discourse. I heard much of their chatter, earnestly as I sought to remain deaf to it. To this end Wells aided me but little, for he rode forward in stern silence, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. During the first few hours we passed through a dull desolation of desert sand, the queerly shaped hills on either side scarcely breaking the dead monotony, although they often hid from our sight our advance scouts, and made us feel isolated and alone. Once or twice I imagined I heard the deepening roar of waves bursting upon the shore-line to our right, but could gain no glimpse of blue water through those obscuring dunes. We were following a well-worn Indian trail, beaten hard by many a moccasined foot; and at last it ran from out the coarser sand and skirted along the western beach, almost at the edge of the waves. 'T was a most delightful change from the cramped and narrowed vision that had been ours so long. Our faces were now set almost directly northward; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the noble expanse of water heaving and tumbling in the dazzling sunlight. Indeed, there was little else about our course to attract attention; the shore in front lay clear and unbroken, bearing a sameness of outline that wearied the vision; each breaking wave was but the type of others that had gone before, and each jutting point of land was the picture of the next to follow. To our left, there extended, parallel to our course of march, a narrow ridge of white and firmly beaten sand, as regular in appearance as the ramparts of a fort. Here and there a break occurred where in some spring flood a sudden, rush of water had burst through. Glancing curiously down these narrow aisles, as we rode steadily onward, I caught fleeting glimpses of level prairie land, green with waving grasses, apparently stretching to the western horizon bare of tree or shrub. At first, I took this to be water also; until I realized that I looked out upon the great plains of the Illinois. The Captain was always chary of speech; now he rode onward with so stern a face, that presently I spoke in inquiry. "You are silent, Captain Wells," I said. "One would expect some rejoicing, as we draw so close to the end of our long journey." He glanced aside at me. "Wayland," he said slowly, "I have been upon the frontier all my life, and have, as you know, lived in Indian camps and shared in many a savage campaign. I am too old a man, too tried a soldier, ever to hesitate to acknowledge fear; but I tell you now, I believe we are riding northward to our deaths." I had known, since first leaving the Maumee, that danger haunted the expedition; yet these solemn words came as a surprise. "Why think you thus?" I asked, with newly aroused anxiety, my thoughts more with the girl behind than with myself. "Mademoiselle Toinette tells me the Fort is strong and capable of defence, and surely we are already nearly there." "The young girl yonder with De Croix? It may be so, if it also be well provisioned for a long siege, as it is scarce likely any rescue party will be despatched so far westward. If I mistake not, Hull will have no men to spare. Yet I like not the action of the savages about us. 'T is not in Indian nature to hold off, as these are doing, and permit reinforcements to go by, when they might be halted so easily. 'T would ease my mind not a little were we attacked." "Attacked? by whom?" He faced me with undisguised surprise, a sarcastic smile curling his grim mouth. His hand swept along the western sky-line. "By those red spies hiding behind that ridge of sand," he answered shortly. "Boy, where are your eyes not to have seen that every step we have taken this day has been but by sufferance of the Pottawattomies? Not for an hour since leaving camp have we marched out of shot from their guns; it means treachery, yet I can scarce tell where or how. If they have spared us this long, there is some good Indian reason for it." I glanced along that apparently desolate sandbank, barely a hundred feet away, feeling a thrill of uneasiness sweep over me at the revelation of his words. My eyes saw nothing strange nor suspicious; but I could not doubt his well-trained instinct. "It makes my flesh creep," I admitted; "yet surely the others do not know. Hear how the Frenchman chatters in our rear!" "The young fool!" he muttered, as the sound of a light laugh reached us; "it will prove no jest, ere we are out of this again. Yet, Wayland," and his voice grew stronger, "the red devils must indeed mean to pass us free,--for there is Fort Dearborn, and, unless my sight deceive me, the flag is up." I lifted my eyes eagerly, and gazed northward where his finger pointed. CHAPTER X A LANE OF PERIL We passed a group of young cottonwoods, the only trees I had noted along the shore; and a few hundred feet ahead of us, the ridge of sand, which had obscured our westward view so long, gradually fell away, permitting the eye to sweep across the wide expanse of level plain until halted by a distant row of stunted trees that seemed to line a stream of some importance. As Captain Wells spoke, my glance, which had been fixed upon these natural objects, was instantly attracted by a strange scene of human activity that unfolded to the north and west. The land before us lay flat and low, with the golden sun of the early afternoon resting hot upon it, revealing each detail in an animated panorama wherein barbarism and civilization each bore a conspicuous part. The Fort was fully a mile and a half distant, and I could distinguish little of its outward appearance, save that it seemed low and solidly built, like a stockade of logs set upon end in the ground. It appeared gloomy, grim, inhospitable, with its gates tightly closed, and no sign of life anywhere along its dull walls; yet my heart was thrilled at catching the bright colors of the garrison flag as the western breeze rippled its folds against the blue background of the sky. But it was outside those log barriers that our eyes encountered scenes of the greatest interest,--a mingling of tawdry decoration and wild savagery, where fierce denizens of forest and plain made their barbaric show. No finer stage for such a spectacle could well be conceived. Upon one side stretched the great waste of waters; on the other, level plains, composed of yellow sand quickly merging into the green and brown of the prairie, while, scattered over its surface, from the near lake-shore to the distant river, were figures constantly moving, decked in gay feathers and daubed with war-paint. Westward from the Fort, toward the point where a branch of the main river appeared to emerge from the southward, stood a large village of tepees, the sun shining yellow and white on their deerskin coverings and making an odd glow in the smoke that curled above the lodge-poles. From where we rode it looked to be a big encampment, alive with figures of Indians. My companion and I both noted, and spoke together of the fact, that they all seemed braves; squaws there may have been, but of children there were none visible. Populous as this camp appeared, the plain stretching between it and us was literally swarming with savages. A few were mounted upon horses, riding here and there with upraised spears, their hair flying wildly behind them, their war-bonnets gorgeous in the sunshine. By far the greater number, however, were idling about on foot, stalwart, swarthy fellows, with long black locks, and half-naked painted forms. One group was listening to the words of a chief; others were playing at la crosse; but most of them were merely moving restlessly here and there, not unlike caged wild animals, eager to be free. I heard Captain Wells draw in his breath sharply. "As I live!" he ejaculated, "there can be scarce less than a thousand warriors in that band,--and no trading-party either, if I know aught of Indian signs." Before I could answer him, even had I any word to say, a chief broke away from the gathering mass in our immediate front, and rode headlong down upon us, bringing his horse to its haunches barely a yard away. He was a large, sinewy man, his face rendered hideous by streaks of yellow and red, wearing a high crown of eagle feathers, with a scalp of long light-colored hair, still bloody, dangling at his belt. For a moment he and Captain Wells looked sternly into each other's eyes without speaking. Then the savage broke silence. "Wau-mee-nuk great brave," he said, sullenly, in broken English, using Wells's Indian name, "but him big fool come here now. Why not stay with Big Turtle? He tell him Pottawattomie not want him here." "Big Turtle did tell me," was the quiet answer, "that the Pottawattomies had made bad medicine and were dancing the war-dance in their villages; but I have met Pottawattomies before, and am not afraid. They have been my friends, and I have done them no wrong." He looked intently at the disguised face before him, seeking to trace the features. "You are Topenebe," he said at last. "True," returned the chief, with proud gravity. "You serve me well once; for that I come now, and tell you go back,--there is trouble here." Wells's face darkened. "Have I ever been a coward," he asked indignantly, "that I should turn and run for a threat? Think you, Topenebe, that I fear to sing the death-song? I have lived in the woods, and gone forth with your war-parties; am I less a warrior, now that I fight with the people of my own race? Go take your warning to some squaw; we ride straight on to Dearborn, even though we have to fight our way." The Indian glanced, as Wells pointed, toward the Fort, and sneered. "All old women in there," he exclaimed derisively. "Say this to-day, and that to-morrow. They shut the gates now to keep Indian on outside. No trade, no rum, no powder,--just lies. But they no keep back our young men much longer." His face grew dark, and his eyes angry. "Why you bring them?" he asked hotly, designating our escort of Miamis, already shrinking from the taunts of the gathering braves. "They dog Indians, bad medicine; they run fast when Pottawattomie come." "Don't be so certain about that, Topenebe," retorted Wells, shortly. "But we cannot stop longer here; make way, that we may pass along, Jordan, push on with your advance through that rabble there." The Indian chief drew his horse back beside the trail, and we moved slowly forward, our Indian guides slightly in advance, and exhibiting in every action the disinclination they felt to proceed, and their constantly increasing fear of the wild horde that now resorted to every means in their power, short of actual violence, to retard their progress. As they closed in more closely around us, taunting the Miamis unmercifully, even shaking tomahawks in their faces, with fierce eyes full of hatred and murder, I drew back my horse until I ranged up beside Mademoiselle Antoinette, and thus we rode steadily onward through that frenzied, howling mass, the girl between De Croix and me, who thus protected her on either side. It was truly a weary ride, full of insult, and perchance of grave peril had we faced that naked mob less resolutely. Doubtless the chiefs restrained their young men somewhat, but more than once we came within a hair's-breadth of serious conflict. They hemmed us in so tightly that we could only walk our horses; and twice they pressed upon Jordan so hard as to halt him altogether, bunching his cowardly Miamis, and even striking them contemptuously with their blackened sticks. The second time this occurred, Captain Wells rode forward to force a path, driving the spurs into his horse so quickly that the startled animal fairly cut a lane through the crowded savages before they could draw back. Naught restrained them from open violence but their knowledge of that stern-faced swarthy soldier who fronted them with such dauntless courage. Hundreds in that swarm had seen him before, when, as the adopted son of a great war-chief of the Miamis he had been at their side in many a wild foray along the border. "Wau-mee-nuk, the white chief," passed from lip to lip; and sullenly, slowly, reluctantly, the frenzied red circle fell back, as he pressed his rearing horse full against them. How hideous their painted faces looked, as we slowly pushed past them, their lips shrieking insult, their sinewy hands gripping at our stirrups, their brandished weapons shaken in our faces. With firm-set lips and watchful eyes I rode, bent well forward, so as best to protect the girl, my rifle held across my saddle pommel. Twice some vengeful arm struck me a savage blow, and once a young devil with long matted hair hanging over his fierce eyes thrust a sharpened stake viciously at the girl's face. I struck with quick-clinched hand, and he reeled back into the mass with a sharp cry of pain. My eyes caught the sudden dazzle, as De Croix whipped out his rapier. "Not that, Monsieur!" I cried hastily, across her horse's neck. "Use the hilt, not the blade, unless you wish to die." He heard me above the clamor, and with a quick turn of the weapon struck fiercely at a scowling brave who grasped at his horse's rein. He smiled pleasantly across at me, his fingers twisting his small mustache. "'T is doubtless good advice, friend Wayland," he said, carelessly, "but these copper-colored devils are indeed most annoying upon this side, and I may lose my temper ere we reach the gate." "For the sake of her who rides between us, I beg that you hold in hard, Monsieur," I answered. "'T would be overmuch to pay, I imagine, for a hot brain." I glanced at her as I spoke, scarcely conscious even then that I had removed my eyes from the threatening mob that pressed me, though I know I must have done so, for I retain the picture of her yet. She rode facing me, although her saddle was of the old army type with merely a folded blanket to soften its sharp contours, and her foot could barely find firm support within the narrow strap above the wooden stirrup. She sat erect and easily, swaying gently to the slow step of the horse. Her face was pale, but there was no evidence of timidity in her dark eyes, and she smiled at me as our glances met. "You are surely a brave girl, Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, unable to restrain my admiration. "'T is a scene to try any nerves." "Yet almost worth the danger," she returned softly, "to realize what men can be in such stress of need. You are the real--Beware of that half-breed, Monsieur!" Her last words were a quick warning, yet my eyes were already upon the fellow, and as he dodged down, knife in hand, to aim a vicious lunge at the forward leg of her horse, I brought the stock of my rifle crunching against his shoulder. The next instant we had passed over his naked body as he lay gasping in the trail. "See!" she cried, with eagerness. "The gates are opened!" We were possibly a hundred yards from the southern front of the stockade, when I glanced forward and saw the level ground between a seething mass of savage forms, so densely wedged together as to block further progress. I could see hundreds of brown sinewy arms uplifted from a sea of faces to brandish weapons of every description, and marked how the Miamis cowered like whipped curs behind the protection of Wells's horse, while close beside him stood Jordan, erect and silent as it on parade, a rifle grasped in his hands, his head bare, a great welt showing redly across his white forehead. A little party, hardly more than twenty infantry-men, marched steadily out from the open gateway of the Fort. The first file bore bayonets fixed upon their guns, and the naked savages fell slowly back before the polished steel. It was smartly done, and it thrilled my blood to note with what silent determination that small band of disciplined men pressed their way onward, passing through the threatening mass of redskins as indifferently as if they had been forest trees. A young, smooth-faced fellow, wearing a new officer's uniform, led them, sword in hand, a smile of light contempt upon his lips. "Clear the space wider, Campbell!" he said sternly, to the big corporal at his side. "Swing your files to left and right, and push the rabble out of the way." They did it with the butts of their guns, laughing at the brandished knives and tomahawks and the fierce painted faces that scowled at them, paying no apparent heed to the taunts and insults showered from every side. There were some stones thrown, a few blows were struck, but no rifle-shot broke the brief struggle. The young officer strode forward down the open space, and fronted our advance. "I presume this is Captain Wells, from Fort Wayne?" he said, lifting his cap as he spoke. "It is," was the reply, "and I am very glad to find that you still hold Fort Dearborn." The other's frank and boyish face darkened slightly, as if at an unpleasant memory. "'T is no fault of some," he muttered hastily; then he checked himself. "We are glad to greet you, Captain Wells," he added, in a more formal tone, glancing about upon us, "and your party. I am Ensign Ronan, of the garrison; and if you will kindly pass between my guard lines, you will find Captain Heald awaiting you within." Thus we rode freely forward, with the guarding soldiery on either side of us, their faces to the howling savages; we passed in at the great southern gate, and halted amid the buildings of old Fort Dearborn. CHAPTER XI OLD FORT DEARBORN It makes my old head dizzy to recall the events of that hour across the years that have intervened. Possibly I, as I write these words, am the only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of a dream. That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation, for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages that hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops that guarded our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim impression. Yet the glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment, together with the subsequent experiences that came to me, have indelibly impressed each detail of the rude Fort upon my memory. It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early day the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores of others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the north, forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications against Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among the others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its small garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the heart of the great wilderness. The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great Lake from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the river Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time French trading-post had stood, although the latter had been deserted for so long that no remnant of it yet lingered when the Americans first took possession, and its site remained only as a vague tradition of those Indian tribes whose representatives often visited these waters. The earliest force despatched by the government to this frontier post erected here a simple stockade of logs. These were placed standing on end, firmly planted in the ground and extending upward some fifteen feet, their tops sharpened as an additional protection against savage assailants. This log stockade was built quite solid, save for one main entrance, facing to the south and secured by a heavy, iron-studded gate, with a subterranean or sunken passage leading out beneath the north wall to the river, protected by a door which could be raised only from within. The enclosure thus formed was sufficiently large to contain a somewhat restricted parade-ground, about which were grouped the necessary buildings of the garrison, the quarters for the officers, the soldiers' barracks, the commandant's office, the guardhouse, and the magazine. These rude structures were built in frontier style, of cleaved logs, and with one exception were but a single story in height, so that their roofs of rived shingles were well below the protection of the palisade of logs. Besides these interior buildings, two block-houses were built, each constructed so that the second story overhung the first, one of them, standing at the southeast and one at the northwest corner of the palisaded walls. A narrow wooden support, or walk, accessible only from one or the other of these block-houses, enabled its defenders to stand within the enclosure and look out over the row of sharpened logs. At the time of our arrival the protective armament of this primitive Fort, besides the small-arms of the garrison, consisted of three pieces of light artillery, brass six-pounders of antique pattern, relics of the Revolution. Outside the Fort enclosure, only a few yards to the west along the river bank, stood the agency building, or, as it was often termed, "goods factory," built for purposes of trading with the Indians, so that it would not be necessary to open the Fort to them. This agency building was a rather large two-story log house, not erected for any purposes of defence. Along the southern side of the stream, in both directions, the soldiers had excavated numerous root-houses, or cellars, in which to store the products of their summer gardens,--these excavations fairly honeycombing the bank. Such was Fort Dearborn in August of the fatal year 1812. It stood ugly, rude, isolated, afar from any help in time of need. Its nearest military neighbor lay directly across the waters of the Great Lake, where a small detachment of troops, scarcely less isolated than itself, garrisoned a similar stockade near the mouth of the river Saint Joseph. To the westward, the vast plains, as yet scarce pressed by the adventurous feet of white explorers, faded away into a mysterious unknown country, roamed over by countless tribes of savages; to the northward lay an unbroken wilderness for hundreds of leagues, save for a few scattered traders at Green Bay, until the military outpost at Mackinac was reached; to the eastward rolled the waters of the Great Lake, storm-swept and unvexed by keel of ship, an almost unsurpassable barrier, along whose shore adventurous voyagers crept in log and bark canoes; while to the southward alternating prairie and timber-land stretched away for unnumbered leagues the Indian hunting-grounds,--broken only by a few scattered settlements of French half-breeds. From the walls of the Fort the eye ranged over a dull and monotonous landscape, nowhere broken by signs of advancing civilization or even of human presence. A few hundred yards to the east the waves of Lake Michigan broke upon the wide, sandy beach, whence the tossing waters stretched away in tumultuous loneliness to their blending with the distant sky. Southward, along the shore of the lake, the nearly level plain, brown and sun-parched, soon merged into rounded heaps of wind-drifted sand, barely diversified by a few straggling groups of cottonwoods. To the westward extended the boundless prairie, flat and bare as a floor, except where the southern fork of the little river cut its way through the soft loam, and gave rise to a scrubby growth of cottonwood and willow; while northward, across the main body of the river, the land appeared more rugged and broken, and somewhat heavily wooded with oak and other forest trees, but equally devoid of evidences of habitation. In all this wide survey from the little knoll on which the Fort stood, five houses only were visible. These were built roughly of logs in the most primitive style of the frontier, and, with a single exception, were now deserted by their occupants, who had retreated for safety to the stockade of the Fort. The single exception was the larger and more ambitious dwelling standing on the north bank of the river, occupied by John Kinzie and his family, himself an old-time Indian trader, whose honesty and long dealing with the savages had made him confident of their friendship and fidelity. At one time, however, so threatening had become the strange bands that flocked in toward Dearborn, as crows to a feast, he also deserted his home, and, with those dependent upon him, sought refuge within the Fort walls; but, influenced by the pledge of the Pottawattomies, and believing that safety lay in trusting to their friendship, they had returned to their own house. The other cabins were scattered to the westward of the stockade, close to the river bank. These dwellings had been occupied by the families of Ouilmette, Burns, and Lee, respectively; while the last named owned a second cabin, built some distance up the south branch of the river, and occupied by a tenant named Liberty White. The prospect was in truth depressing to one accustomed to other and more civilized surroundings. A spirit of loneliness, of fearful isolation, seemed to hover over the restless waters upon the one hand, and those vast silent plains on the other; sea and sky, sky and sand, met the wearied eye wherever it wandered. The scene was unspeakably solemn in its immensity and loneliness; while irresistibly the thought would wander over those fateful leagues of prairie and forest that stretched unbrokenly between this far frontier and the few scattered and remote settlements that were its nearest neighbors. It was not until some time later that these sombre reflections pressed upon me with all their force. After the excitement of our first boisterous greeting was over, and I found opportunity to lean across the top of the guarded stockade and gaze alone over the desolate spectacle I have endeavored to describe, I could feel more acutely the hopelessness of our situation and the danger threatening us from every side. But at the moment of our entrance, all my interest and attention had been centred upon the scenes and persons immediately about me. It was my first experience within the stockaded walls of an armed government post. The scene was new to my young senses, and, in spite of the excitement that still heated my blood, I looked upon it with such absorbing interest as to be forgetful for the moment even of the fair girl who rode in at my side. The dull clang of the heavy iron-bound gate behind us was a welcome sound after the fierce buffetings of our perilous passage; yet it only partially shut off the savage howlings, while above the hideous uproar came the sharp reports of several guns. But the instant bustle and confusion within scarcely allowed opportunity to notice this disorder; moreover, there had come to us a sense of safety and security,--we were at last within the barriers we had struggled so long to gain. However the savage hordes might rage without, we were now beyond their reach, and might take breath again. Our little party, closely bunched together, with Wells and the timorous Miamis at its head, surged quickly through between the bars, and came to a halt in an open space, evidently the parade-ground of the garrison, the bare earth worn smooth and hard by the trampling of many feet. A tall flag-pole rose near the centre, and the wavering shadow of the banner at its top extended to the eastern edge of the enclosure. Out from the log-houses which bordered this enclosure there came a group of people to welcome us,--officers and soldiers, women neatly dressed and with bright intelligent faces, women of rougher mould attired in calico or deerskin, hardy-looking men in rude hunter's garb, picturesque French voyageurs wiry of limb and dark of skin, an Indian or two, silent, grave, emotionless, a single negro, and trailing behind them a number of dirty, delighted children, and dogs of every breed and degree. It was a motley gathering, and appeared almost like a multitude as it hurried forth into the open parade-ground, and surged joyfully about us, all eager to welcome us to Dearborn, and hopeful that we brought them encouragement and relief. We were of their own race, a link between them and the far-distant East; and our coming told them they were not forgotten. The odd commingling of tongues, the constant crowding and scraps of conversation, the volley of questioning from every side, was confusing and unintelligible. I could gain only glimpses here and there of what was going on; nor was I able to judge with any accuracy of the number of those present. I looked down upon their appealing, anxious faces, with a sad heart. In some way the sight of them brought back thoughts of the savage, howling mob without, clamoring for blood, through which we had won our passage by sheer good-fortune; of those leagues of untracked forest amid whose glooms we had ploughed our way. I thought of these things as I gazed upon the helpless women and children thronging about me, and my heart sank as I realized how great indeed was the burden resting upon us all, how frail the hope of safety. Death, savage, relentless, inhuman death in its most frightful guise with torture and agony unspeakable, lurked along every mile of our possible retreat; nor could I conceive how its grim coming might long be delayed by that palisade of logs. We were hopeless of rescue. We were alone, deserted, the merest handful amid the unnumbered hordes of the vast West. Swift and terrible as this conception was when it swept upon me, it grew deeper as I learned more fully the details of our situation. Just in front of where I lingered in my saddle, the crush slightly parted, and I noticed a tall man step forward,--a fair man, having a light beard slightly tinged with gray, and wearing the undress uniform of a captain of infantry. A lady, several years his junior, stood at his side, her eyes bright with expectancy. At sight of them, Captain Wells instantly sprang from his horse and hastened forward, his dark face lighted by one of his rare smiles. "Captain," he exclaimed, clasping the officers hand warmly, and extending his other hand in greeting to the lady, "I am glad indeed to have reached you in time to be of service; and you, my own dear niece,--may we yet be permitted to bring you safely back to God's country." I was unable to catch the reply of either; but I noted that the lady flung her arms about the speaker's neck and kissed his swarthy cheek. Then Captain Wells spoke more loudly, so that his words reached my ears. "But, Heald," he said, "what means all this litter of garrison equipment lying scattered about? Surely you have no present intention to leave the Fort, in face Of that savage mob out yonder?" "'T is the orders of General Hull," was the low; and somewhat hesitating response, "and the Pottawattomie chiefs have pledged us escort around the head of the lake. But this is no place to discuss the matter. As soon as possible I would speak with you more fully in my office." The look of undisguised amazement upon Wells's face startled me; and as I glanced about me, wondering whom I might take counsel with, I was astonished to note the horse that Toinette had ridden standing with empty saddle. De Croix, negligently curling his mustache between his slender fingers, gazed at me with a blank stare. "Where is Mademoiselle?" I questioned anxiously, as he remained silent. "Surely she was with us as we came in!" "Pish! of course," he returned carelessly; "if she chooses to dismount and rejoin her friends, what has that to do with John Wayland? Cannot the girl so much as move without your permission, Monsieur?" The words were insolent, not less than the manner that accompanied them. Instantly there flashed upon me the thought that this Frenchman sought a quarrel with me; but I could conceive no reason therefor, and was not greatly disposed to accommodate him. "'T was no more than curiosity that urged my question," I answered, assuming not to notice his bravado. "I was so deeply interested in other things as to have forgotten her presence." "Something no lady is ever likely to forgive," he interjected. "But what think you they propose doing with us here?" As if in direct answer to his question, the young officer who had met us without now elbowed his way through the throng, until he stood at our horses' heads. "Gentlemen," he said, with a quick glance into our faces, "dismount and come within. There is but little to offer you here at Dearborn, we have been cut off from civilization so long; but such as we possess will be shared with you most gladly." De Croix chatted with him in his easy, familiar manner, as we slowly crossed the parade; while I followed them in silence, my thoughts upon the disappearance of Toinette and the Frenchman's sudden show of animosity. My glance fell upon the groups of children scattered along our path, and I wondered which among them might prove to be Roger Matherson's little one. At the entrance of one of the log houses fronting the parade,--a rather ambitious building of two stories, if I remember rightly, with a narrow porch along its front,--an officer was standing upon the step, talking with a sweet-faced woman who appeared scarce older than seventeen. "Lieutenant Helm," said Ronan, politely, "this is Captain de Croix, of the French army." He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward me. "I believe I have failed to learn your name?" "I am simply John Wayland," I answered, and, with a glance at my face, Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand. "We are greatly pleased to welcome you both," he said earnestly, but with a grave side-glance at his young wife, "though I fear we have little to offer you except privation and danger." "How many have you in the garrison?" I questioned, my eyes upon the moving figures about us. "It looks a crowd, in that narrow space." "They are all there who are able to crawl," he said, with a grave smile. "But in this case our numbers are a weakness. In the garrison proper we have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four non-commissioned officers and privates. To these may be added twelve settlers acting as militiamen, making a total defensive force of seventy men. But fully twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and totally unfit for active duty; while we are further burdened by having under our protection twelve women and twenty children. It almost crazes one to think of what their fate may be." "Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages," broke in De Croix, "and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions. Saint Guise! I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet with plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have already greeted me here, 'twill not prove so bad for a few weeks." Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely thoughtful, wandered back to me. "We are to evacuate the Fort," he said quietly. "Evacuate?" echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing. "'T is a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave peril. Does such decision come from a council?" "There has been no council," broke in Ronan, hastily. "The commander has not honored his officers by calling one. Such were the orders as published on parade this morning." He would have added more, but Helm warned him, by a sudden look of disapproval. "I understand," he explained quietly, "that the instructions received from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald was left no discretion in the matter." "I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders," exclaimed the Ensign hotly, "and we all know it means death." Helm faced him sternly. "A soldier's first duty is obedience," he said shortly, "and we are soldiers. Gentlemen, will you not come in?" CHAPTER XII THE HEART OF A WOMAN As I sat in the officers' quarters, listening to the conversation regarding existing conditions at the Fort and the unrest among the Indians of the border, my thoughts kept veering from sudden and ungracious disappearance of Mademoiselle to the early seeking after that hapless orphan child for whose sake I had already travelled so far and entered into such danger. Evidently, if I was to aid her my quest must be no longer interrupted. With characteristic gallantry, De Croix had at once been attracted toward Lieutenant Helm's young and pretty bride, and they two had already forgotten all sense of existing peril in a most animated discussion of the latest fashionable modes in Montreal. I was not a little amused by the interest manifest in her soft blue eyes as she spoke with all the art of a woman versed in such mysteries, and at the languid air of elegance with which he bore himself. Meanwhile, I answered as best I might the flood of questions addressed to me by the two officers, who, having been shut out from the world so long, were naturally eager for military news from Fort Wayne and from the seat of government. As these partially ceased, I asked: "Has a date been set for the abandonment of the Fort?" "We march out upon the fifteenth," was Helm's reply, "the day after to-morrow, unless something occurs meanwhile to change Captain Heald's plans. I confess I dread its coming, much as I imagine a condemned man might dread the date of his execution," and his grave eyes wandered toward his young wife, as if fearful his words might be overheard by her. "There are other lives than mine endangered, and their peril makes duty doubly hard." "Lieutenant," I said, recalled to my own mission by these words, "I myself am seeking to be of service to one here,--the young daughter of one Roger Matherson, an old soldier who died at this post last month. He was long my father's faithful comrade in arms, and with his dying breath begged our care for his orphan child. It has come to us as a sacred trust, and I was despatched upon this errand. Can you tell me where this girl is to be found?" Before he could frame a reply, for he was somewhat slow of speech, his wife, who had turned from De Croix, and was listening with interest to my story, spoke impulsively. "Why, we have been wondering, Mr. Wayland, where she could have gone. Not that we have worried, for she is a girl well able to care for herself, and of a most independent spirit. She disappeared very suddenly from the Fort several days ago; we supposed she must have gone with my mother when Mr. Kinzie took his family back to their home." "With Mr. Kinzie?" I questioned, for at that moment I could not recall hearing the name. "May I ask where that home is?" "He is the very good step-father of my wife, and one she loves as truly as if he were her own father," answered Helm, warmly; "a man among a thousand. Mr. Kinzie is an Indian trader, and has been here for several years, if indeed he be not the first white settler, for old Pointe Au Sable was a West Indian mulatto. His relations with these savages who dwell near the Great Lake, and especially those of the Pottawattomie and Wyandot tribes, are so friendly that he has felt safe to remain with his family unguarded in his own home. They have always called him Shaw-nee-aw-kee, the Silver-man, and trust him as much as he trusts them. He is, besides, a great friend of Sau-ga-nash, the half-breed Wyandot; and that friendship is a great protection. His house is across the river, a little to the east of the Fort; it can easily be seen from the summit of the stockade. But we have had no direct communication for several days; the orders have been very strict since the gates were closed. It is not safe for our soldiers to venture outside except in force, and neither Kinzie nor any of his family have lately visited us. Doubtless they feel that to do so might arouse the suspicion of their Indian friends." "But are you sure they are there, and safe? And do you believe the one I seek will be found with them?" "Smoke rises from the chimney, as usual, and there was a light burning there last evening. We do not know certainly that your friend is there, but think such is the case, as she was extremely friendly with a young French girl in their employ named Josette La Framboise." I sat in silence for some time, thinking, and neglectful of the conversation being carried on around me by the others, until we were called to supper by the soldier who officiated as steward for the officers' mess. I remember many details of the situation, as they were frankly discussed in my presence while we lingered at the table; yet my own reflections were elsewhere, as I was endeavoring to determine my duty regarding the safety of her whom I had come so far to aid. Surely, my first object now must be to ascertain where she was, in order to be at her service when the hour for departure came. Nor had I any time to spare, if we were to march out on the fifteenth. I cannot describe, at this late day, how strangely my allegiance wavered, in that hour, between the unknown, unseen girl, and the fair, vivacious Toinette. My heart drew me toward the one, my clear duty to the other; and I could see no way out of the dilemma except to find Elsa Matherson without delay, in order that the two should be close together where, as need arose, I could stand between them and whatever of evil impended. I fear I was an indifferent guest, for I was never nimble of tongue, and that night I was more silent than usual. However, De Croix most effectually hid my retirement by his rare good-humor and the sparkling badinage with which he concentrated all attention upon himself, and was consequently soon in the happiest of moods. I know not how the fellow succeeded in working the miracle, but he sat at the board, upon Mrs. Helm's left hand, powdered and curled as if he were gracing a banquet at the Tuileries. His ruffled shirt, glittering buckles, and bright blue waistcoat, were startling amid such homely surroundings; while his neatly folded handkerchief of lace exhaled a delicate perfume. Deeply as I was immersed in my own thoughts and plans, I could not help admiring his easy grace, and more than once forgot myself in listening to his marvellous tales and witty anecdotes. He was detailing a recent scandal of the French court, passing delicately over its more objectionable features, when I grasped the opportunity to slip unobserved from the room into the open of the parade-ground. It proved a dark night without, but the numerous lights in the surrounding buildings, whose doors and windows were open, sufficiently illumined the place, so that I found my way about with little difficulty. A group of soldiers lounged at the open door of the guard-house, and I paused a moment to speak with one, a curly-headed lad, who sat smoking, his back resting easily against the logs. "Are the outer gates ever opened at night?" I asked. He glanced up at me in surprise, shading his eyes to be assured of my identity before speaking. "Scarcely either day or night now, sir," he replied, respectfully, "but between sunset and sunrise they are specially barred, and a double guard is set. No one can pass except on the order of Captain Heald." "In which direction is the Kinzie house?" He pointed toward the northeast corner of the stockade. "It is just over there, sir, across the river. You might see the light from the platform; beyond the shed yonder is the ladder that leads up into the blockhouse." Thanking him, I moved forward as directed, found the ladder, and pushed my way up through the narrow opening in the floor of the second story. The small square room, feebly lighted by a single sputtering candle stuck in the shank of a bayonet, contained half a dozen men, most of them idling, although two were standing where they could readily peer out through the narrow slits between the logs. All of them were heavily armed, and equipped for service. They looked at me curiously as I first appeared, but the one who asked my business wore the insignia of a corporal, and was evidently in command. "I wish to look out over the stockade, if there is no objection. I came in with Captain Wells's party this afternoon," I said, not knowing what their orders might be, or if I would be recognized. "I remember you, sir," was the prompt response, "and you are at liberty to go out there if you desire. That is the door leading to the platform." "The Indians appear to be very quiet to-night." "The more reason to believe them plotting some fresh deviltry," he answered, rising to his feet, and facing me. "We never have much to disturb us upon this side, as it overhangs the river and is not easy of approach; but the guard on the south wall is kept pretty busy these last few nights, and has to patrol the stockade. The Indians have been holding some sort of a powwow out at their camp ever since dark, and that 's apt to mean trouble sooner or later." "Then you keep no sentry posted on the platform?" I asked, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "Not regularly, sir; only when something suspicious happens along the river. There 's nobody out there now excepting the French girl,--she seems to be fond of being out there all alone." The French girl? Could it be possible that he meant Toinette? I was conscious of a strange fluttering of the heart, as I stepped forth upon the narrow footway and peered along it, searching for her. I could distinguish nothing, however; and as I slowly felt my way forward, testing the squared log beneath me with careful foot and keeping hold with one hand upon the sharpened palisades, I began to believe the corporal had been mistaken. The door, closing behind, shut off the last gleam of light, and I was left alone in utter darkness and silence, save for the low rumble of voices within the Fort enclosure, and the soft plashing below where the river current kissed the bank at the foot of the stockade. I had gone almost the full length of that side, before I came where she was leaning against the logs, her chin resting upon one hand, her gaze turned northward. Indeed, so silent was she, so intent upon her own thought, I might have touched her unnoticed in the gloom, had not the stars broken through a rift in the cloud above us, and sent a sudden gleam of silver across her face. "Mademoiselle," I said, striving to address her with something of the ease I thought De Croix would exercise at such a moment, "I meant not to intrude upon your privacy, yet I am most glad to meet with you once more." She started slightly, as though aroused from reverie, and glanced inquiringly toward me. "I supposed my visitor to be one of the guard," she said pleasantly; "and even now I am unable to distinguish your face, yet the sound of the voice reminds me of John Wayland." "I am proud to know that it has not already been forgotten. You deserted me so suddenly this afternoon, I almost doubted my being welcome now." She laughed lightly, tapping the ends of the logs with her finger-tips. "Have you, then, never learned that a woman is full of whims, Monsieur?" she questioned. "Why, this afternoon your eyes were so big with wonder that they had forgotten to look at me. Truly, I spoke to you twice to aid me from the saddle; but you heard nothing, and in my desperation I was obliged to turn to the courtesy of Captain de Croix. Ah, there is a soldier, my friend, who is never so preoccupied as to neglect his duty to a lady." "It was indeed most ungallant of me," I stammered, scarce knowing whether she laughed at me or not. "Yet my surroundings were all new, and I have the training of De Croix in such matters." "Pah! 't is just as well. I am inclined to like you as you are, my friend, and we shall not quarrel; yet, with all his love for lesser things, your comrade has always shown himself a truly gallant gentleman." I made no answer to these flattering words, for I felt them to be true; yet no less this open praise of him, falling from her lips, racked me sorely, and I lacked the art to make light of it. "The soldiers in the block-house tell me you come here often," I ventured at last, for the dead silence weighed upon me. "You have never seemed to me like one who would seek such loneliness." "I am one whom very few wholly comprehend, I fear, and surely not upon first acquaintance," she answered thoughtfully, "for I am full of strange moods, and perhaps dream more than other girls. This may have been born of my early convent training, and the mystic tales of the nuns; nor has it been lessened by the loneliness of the frontier. So, if I differ from other young women, you may know 't is my training, as well as my nature, that may account for it. I have led a strange life, Monsieur, and one that has known much of sadness. There are times when I seek my own thoughts, and find liking for no other company. Then I come here, and in some way the loneliness of water and plain soothe me as human speech cannot. I used to love to stand yonder by the eastern wall and gaze out over the Great Lake, watching the green surges chase each other until they burst in spray along the beach. But since I went adrift in the little boat, and felt the cruelty of the water, I have shrunk from looking out upon it. Monsieur, have you never known how restful it sometimes is to be alone?" "My life has mostly been a solitary one," I answered, responding unconsciously to her mood, and, in doing so, forgetting my embarrassment. "It is the birthright of all children of the frontier. Indeed, I have seen so little of the great world and so much of the woods, that I scarcely realize what companionship means, especially that of my own age. I have made many a solitary camp leagues from the nearest settlement, and have tracked the forest alone for days together, so content with my own thought that possibly I understand your meaning better than if my life had been passed among crowds." "Ah! but I like the crowds," she exclaimed hastily, "and the glow and excitement of that brighter, fuller life, where people really live. It is so dull here,--the same commonplace faces, the tiresome routine of drill, the same blue sky, gray water, and green plains, to look upon day after day. Oh, but it is all so wearisome, and you cannot conceive how I have longed again for Montreal and the many little gaieties that brighten a woman's world. There are those here who have never known these happier things; their whole horizon of experience has been bounded by garrison palisades; but 't is not so with me,--I tasted of the sweet wine once, when I was a girl, and the memory never leaves me." "Yet you are often happy?" "'T is my nature, Monsieur, a legacy of my mother's people; but I am not always gay of heart when my lips smile." "And the coming of the French gallant has doubtless freshened your remembrance of the past?" I said, a trifle bitterly. "It has indeed," was her frank admission. "He represents a life we know so little about here on the far frontier. To you, with your code of border manliness, he may appear all affectation, mere shallow insincerity; but to me, Captain de Croix represents his class, stands for the refinements of social order to which women can never be indifferent. Those were the happiest days of my life, Monsieur; and at Montreal he was only one among many." She was gazing out into the black void as she spoke, and the slowly clearing skies permitted the starlight to gleam in her dark eyes and reveal the soft contour of her cheek. "You do not understand that?" she questioned finally, as I failed to break the silence. "I have no such pleasant memory to look back upon," I answered; "yet I can feel, though possibly in a different way, your longing after better things." "You realize this sense of loneliness?--this absence of all that makes life beautiful and worth the living?" "Perhaps not that,--for life, even here, is well worth living, and to my eyes the great sea yonder, and the dark forests, are of more interest than city streets. But in one sense I may enter into your meaning; my thought also is away from here,--it is with a home, scarcely less humble than are our present surroundings, yet it contains the one blessing worth striving after--love." "Love!" she echoed the unexpected word almost scornfully. "'T is a phrase so lightly spoken that I scarce know what it may signify to you. You love some one then, Monsieur?" and she looked up at me curiously. "My mother, Mademoiselle." I saw the expression upon her face change instantly. "Your pardon," she exclaimed, hastily. "'T was not the meaning I had thought. I know something of such love as that, and honor you for thus expressing it." "I have often wondered, since first we met, at your being here, seemingly alone, at this outermost post of the frontier. It seems a strange home for one of your refinement and evident delight in social life." "'T is not from choice, Monsieur. My mother died when I was but a child, as I have already told you. I scarce have memory of her, yet I bear her name, and, I am told, inherit many of her peculiarities. She was the daughter of a great merchant at Montreal, and the blood of a noble family of France flowed in her veins. She gave up all else to become my father's wife; nor did she ever live to regret it." Her voice was so low and plaintive that I hesitated to speak; yet finally, as she ceased, and silence fell between us, I asked another question: "And 't was then you voyaged into this wilderness with your father?" "I have never since left him while he lived," she answered softly, her head resting upon her hand. "But he also has gone now, and I merely wait opportunity to journey eastward." "He was a trader, you told me once?" "A soldier first, Monsieur; a true and gallant soldier, but later he traded with the Indians for furs." I felt that she was weeping softly, although I could see but little, and I leaned in silence against the rough logs, gazing out into the black night, hesitating to break in upon her grief. Then a voice spoke rapidly at the farther end of the stockade, and a sudden glow of light shot like an arrow along the platform. I turned quickly, and there in the open doorway, clearly outlined against the candle flame, stood De Croix. CHAPTER XIII A WAGER OF FOOLS "It looks a narrow walk, my friend," he said rather doubtfully, peering forward with shaded eyes, "and 'tis dark as Erebus; yet gladly will I make the venture for hope of the reward." The door closed behind him, shutting off the last vestige of light; and we, with our eyes accustomed to the gloom, could mark his dim outline as he advanced toward us. His actions belied his words, for he moved with all his accustomed jauntiness along the uncertain foot-way, barely touching the top of the palisades with one hand to guide his progress. He was almost upon the girl before he perceived either of us; and then his earliest words surprised me into silence. "Ah, Toinette!" he cried eagerly, "I fear I must have kept you waiting overlong; yet I was with Mrs. Helm,--a most fair and charming bride,--and scarce noted the rapid passage of time." "I naturally supposed it was a woman," she answered, with what I interpreted as a strained assumption of indifference, "as that has ever been your sufficient reason for breaking faith with me." "Do not interpret it so, I beg," he hastened to implore. "Surely, my being a few moments in arrears is not a matter sufficiently serious to be called a breakage of faith. I do assure you, Toinette, you were never once absent from my thought." "Indeed?" she exclaimed incredulously, and with an echo of suppressed laughter in her voice. "Then truly you are far more to be commiserated on this occasion than I, for in truth, Monsieur de Croix, I have not missed you over-much. I have enjoyed most excellent company." "The mysterious spirits of the starry night?" he questioned, looking out into the darkness, "or the dim figures of your own imagination?" "Very far from either," she retorted, with a laugh; "a most substantial reality, as you are bound to confess. Master Wayland, is it not time for you fitly to greet Captain de Croix? He may deem you lax in cordiality." I can perceive now how dearly the laughing witch loved to play us one against the other, hiding whatever depth of feeling she may have had beneath the surface of careless innocence, and keeping us both in an uncertainty as aggravating as it was sweet. I could not read the expression upon De Croix's face in the gloom, yet I saw him start visibly at her almost mocking words, and there was a trace of ill-suppressed irritation in his voice. "Saint Guise! 'T was for that, then, he left us so mysteriously," he exclaimed, unconsciously uttering his first thought aloud. "But how knew he you were to be here?" Before she could answer, I spoke, anxious to relieve her of embarrassment; for 't was ever my nature to yield much without complaint. "As it chances, Captain de Croix, she did not know," I said, standing back from the palisades where he could see me more clearly. "I left the table below with no thought of meeting Mademoiselle, and came out on this platform for a different purpose. As you know, I am visiting Dearborn upon a special mission." "Ah, true," and I could feel the trace of relief in his voice as he instantly recalled my story. "You also sought a girl in this wilderness,--may I ask, have you yet found trace of her?" I heard Mademoiselle move quickly. "A girl?" she asked in surprise. "Here, at Dearborn?" "She was at Dearborn until very lately, but they tell me now I must seek for her at the Kinzie house. It was for the purpose of marking its position from the Fort that I came up here." For a moment no one of our voices broke the strained silence. I was troubled by this knowledge of a pre-arranged meeting between these two, yet felt it was nothing with which I had a right to interfere. This careless French girl, whom I had known for scarcely two days, was not one to be easily guided, even had I either reason or excuse for attempting it. "'T is strange," she said, musingly, "that she has never so much as spoken to me about it; yet she was always shy of speech in such matters." "Of whom do you speak, Toinette?" questioned De Croix. "Of Master Wayland's young friend with the Kinzies," she answered, the old sprightliness again in her voice. "I know her very well, Monsieur,--a dear, sweet girl,--and shall be only too glad to speed you on to her. Yet 't is not so easy of accomplishment, hemmed in as we are here now. Yonder is the light, Master Wayland; but much of peril may lurk between. 'Tis not far, were the way clear; indeed, in the old days of peace a rope ferry connected Fort and house, but now to reach there safely will require a wide detour and no little woodcraft. There were patrols of savages along the river bank at dusk, and it is doubtful if all have been withdrawn." I looked as she pointed, and easily distinguished the one glittering spark that pierced the darkness to the north and east. I wondered at her earlier words; yet they might all be true enough, for I knew nothing of this Elsa Matherson. Before I could question further, De Croix had interfered,--eager, no doubt, to be rid of me. "Upon my soul!" he exclaimed recklessly, "if I could voyage here from Montreal to win but a smile, it should prove a small venture for our backwoods friend to cover yonder small distance. _Sacre_! I would do the deed myself for one kiss from rosy lips." I have wondered since what there was about those words to anger me. It must have been their boastful tone, the sarcasm that underlay the velvet utterance, which stung like salt in a fresh wound. I felt that from the summit of his own success he durst laugh at me; and my blood boiled instantly. "You are wondrous bold, Monsieur," I retorted, "when the matter is wholly one of words. I regret I cannot pledge you such reward, so that I might learn how you would bear yourself in the attempt." He stared at me haughtily across the shoulder of the girl, as it doubting he heard aright. "You question my courage to venture it?" "It has been my experience that the cock that crows the loudest fights the least." "Oh, hush, Messieurs!" broke in Mademoiselle, her voice showing suppressed amusement. "This platform is far too narrow to quarrel upon; and, besides, the condition of the wager is most easily met,--that is, if my lips be deemed of sufficiently rosy hue." I know I stood with opened mouth, so astounded by these mocking words as to be stricken dumb; but not so De Croix. The audacity of his nature made eager response to the bold challenge. "Do you mean what you say, Toinette?" he asked, striving to gain a view of her face in the darkness. "Do I? And pray, why not?" she questioned lightly. "One kiss is not so very much to give, and I shall never miss it. 'T is duller here than at Montreal, and no doubt 't will greatly interest me to witness the race. Surely it will prove a better way to end your foolish quarrel than to shoot each other. But come, Messieurs, why do you hesitate so long? is not the prize enough?" He bowed gallantly, and took her hand. "'T would be the ransom of a king," he answered; "though first I wish to know the terms of this contest more clearly." She looked out into that silent and lonely night, her eyes upon the distant gleam, and instinctively our glances followed hers. It was a dull desolation, with no sound, no movement, in all the black void. The stars gleamed dull on the water of the river beneath us, and we could dimly see the denser shadow of the opposite shore; beyond this, nothing was apparent save that distant candle flame. What lay between,--what strange obstruction of land, what ambushed foes,--neither of us had means of knowing. We could simply plunge into the mystery of it blindfolded by the fates. Yet to draw back now would brand either of us forever with the contempt of her who had challenged us so lightly. "'T is all simple enough," she said at last, her eyes glowing with quick excitement. "The goal is yonder where that light glows so clearly, though I warn you the longest way round may prove the surest in the end. To the one of you who reaches there first and returns here, I am to give one kiss as a measure of reward. I care not how it may be accomplished,--such minor matters rest with your own wits." "But the young girl we seek," he insisted; "must she also be brought here upon the return?" "Pish! what care I what may be done with the girl? Besides, she is far safer from the savages there than she would be here." I saw De Croix lean far out over the sharpened palisades and peer downward. The movement gave me instantly a thought of his purpose, and, unnoticed, I loosened the pistol-belt about my waist and silently dropped it upon the platform. Whatever desperate chance he might choose to take, I was determined now to equal. "Doth the water of the river come to the very foot of these logs?" he asked, unable to determine in the darkness. "No, Monsieur, the earth slopes downward for some feet, yet the current is at this bank, and gives much depth of water at the shore." "But of what width is the strip of earth between?" "Perhaps the length of a tall man." "Saint Guise! 'tis well I thought to ask!" he explained jauntily. "And now, Mademoiselle, if you will but kindly hold this coat and sword, I shall strive to show you how highly I value the prize offered, and what a French gentleman can do for love." I fully grasped his purpose now, and even as he turned toward her, holding out the valuables he hesitated to lose, I scaled the low barrier in my front, planted my feet firmly between the pointed stakes, and sprang boldly into the darkness. CHAPTER XIV DARKNESS AND SURPRISE It was a greater distance to the water than I had supposed, but I struck at last fairly enough, and went down until I thought I should never come up again. As I rose to the surface and shook the moisture from my face and ears, a light laugh rang out high above me, and Mademoiselle's clear voice cried mockingly: "The backwoodsman has taken the first trick, Monsieur." I saw De Croix's body dart, like a black arrow, far out into the air, and come sweeping down. He struck to my left, and a trifle behind me; but I waited not to learn just how. With lusty strokes I struck out for the north shore. It was a hard swim, for my deerskins held the water like so many bags, and the current, though not rapid, was sufficiently strong to make me fight valiantly for every foot of way. I came out, panting heavily, upon a low bank of soft mud, and crept cautiously up under the black shadow of some low bushes growing there. I took time, as I rested, to glance back, hoping thus to learn more of the direction I should follow; for the Kinzie light was no longer visible, and my struggle with the current had somewhat bewildered me. I neither saw nor heard anything of De Croix; but the flame of the candle gleaming through the narrow slits of the block-house told me clearly where it stood, while a wild yelling farther to the southward convinced me that our Indian besiegers were yet astir and concocting some fresh deviltry at their camp. With a half-uttered prayer that they might all be there, I hastily pressed the water from my soggy clothes and plunged forward into the unknown darkness. A big cottonwood, as from its shape I judged it to be, rose against the stars in my front,--a dim outline swaying slightly in the westerly wind, and I took it as my first guide-mark, moving over the rough unknown ground as rapidly and silently as possible. The soft moccasins I wore aided me greatly, nor were there many trees along the way to drop twigs in the path to crackle under foot; yet I found the ground uneven and deceptive, rifted with small gullies, and more or less bestrewn with stones, against which I stumbled in the darkness. I was too thoroughly trained in the stern and careful school of the frontier not to be cautious at such a time, for I knew that silence and seeming desolation were no proof of savage desertion; nor did I believe that Indian strategy would leave the north of the Fort wholly unguarded. Any rock, any black ravine, any clump of trees or bushes, might well be the lurking-place of hostiles, who would only too gladly wreak their vengeance upon any hapless straggler falling into their hands. I was unarmed, save for the long hunting-knife I carried in the bosom of my shirt; but my thought was not of fighting,--it was to get through without discovery. To De Croix I gave small consideration, save that the memory of the wager was a spur to urge me forward at greater speed. The place was strangely, painfully still; even the savage yelling of the distant Indians seemed to die away as I advanced, and nothing broke the oppressive silence but an occasional flutter of leaves, or my own deep breathing. I had gone, I take it, half or three-quarters of a mile, not directly north, but circling ever to the eastward, seeking thus to reach the house from the rear, when I came to a sharp break in the surface of the land, somewhat deeper and more abrupt than those before encountered. It seemed like a cut or ravine made by some rush of water lakeward; and, as I hesitated upon the edge of it, peering across and wondering if I had better risk the plunge, my eyes caught the blaze of the Kinzie light scarce a hundred yards from the opposite bank of the ravine. Assured that I was headed right, I stepped off with a new confidence that, for the moment, conquered my usual prudence,--for the steep bank gave way instantly beneath my weight. I grasped vainly at the edge, fell heavily sidewise, and rolled like a great log, bruised and half-stunned, into the black gorge below. I remember gripping at a slender bush that yielded to my touch; but all the rest was no more than a breathless tumble, until I struck something soft at the bottom,--something that squirmed and gripped my long hair savagely, and pushed my head back with a grasp on the throat that nearly throttled me. It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that for the moment I was helpless as a child, struggling merely from the natural instinct of preservation to break free. I could perceive nothing, the darkness was so intense; yet as I gradually succeeded in getting my hands loose, I wound them in long coarse hair, pressed them against bare flesh, heard deep labored breathing close to my face, and believed I was struggling with a savage. It was a question of mere brute strength, and neither of us had had the advantage of surprise. I could feel the sharp prick of my own knife as he hugged me to him, but I dare not reach for it, and I held his arms so tightly that he lay panting and struggling as if in a vise. It was an odd fight, as we turned and tossed, writhed and twisted among those sharp pointed rocks like two infuriated wild-cats in the dark, neither venturing to break hold for a blow, nor having breath enough in our bodies for so much as a curse. My adversary struck me once with his head under the chin, so hard a blow that everything turned red before me; and then I got my knee up into the pit of his stomach and caused him to quiver from the agony of it; yet the fellow clung to me like a bull-terrier, and never so much as whined. It was never my nature to yield easily, and I felt now this struggle was to cost his life or mine; so I clinched my teeth, and sought my best to push back the other's head until the neck should crack. But if I was a powerful man, this other was no less so, and he fought with a fierce and silent desperation that foiled me. We dug and tore, gouged and struck, digging our heels into the soft earth in a vain endeavor to gain some advantage of position. My cheek, I knew, was bleeding from contact with a jagged stone, and I was fast growing faint from the awful tension, when I felt his arms slip. "My God!" he panted. "The devil has me!" So startled was I by these English words, that I loosed my grip, staring breathlessly through the darkness. "Are you white?" I gasped, so weakened I could scarce articulate. For a moment he did not answer, but I could hear his breath coming in gasps and sobs. Then he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse from exertion. "By the memory of Moses! I was once,--but that squeeze must have turned me black, I 'm thinkin'. An' ye're no Injun?" "Not so much as a feather of one," I retorted. "But that is what I took you to be." We were both sitting up by this time, he with his back against the bank, both of us panting as if we could never regain our breath, and eagerly seeking to see each other's features in the gloom. Any attempt at conversation was painful, but I managed at last to stammer: "You must be a whalebone man, or I 'd have broken every rib in your body." "An' I 'm not a bit sure ye did n't," was the response, uttered between puffs. "'T was the worst grip ever Ol' Tom Burns had squeeze him,--an' I 've felt o' bars mor' nor oncet. Who may ye be, anyhow, stranger? an' for what cause did ye jump down yere on me?" There was a trace of growing anger in his tone, as remembrance of the outrage returned to his mind, which caused me to smile, now that I could breathe less painfully. It seemed such a ludicrous affair,--that dark struggle, each mistaking the purpose and color of the other. "My name is Wayland," I made haste to explain, "and I left the Fort but now, hoping by this round-about route to reach the Kinzie place and return under cover of darkness. I slipped on the edge of the bank up yonder, and the next thing I knew we were at it. I can assure you, friend, I supposed myself in the arms of a savage. You say your name is Burns?" "Ol' Tom Burns." "What? It is not possible you are the same who brought a message to Major Wayland on the Maumee?" "I reckon I am," he said, deliberately. "An' be you the boy I met?" "Yes," I said, still doubtful. "But how came you here?" "Wal, here's whar I belong. I've bin a sorter huntin' an' trappin' yer'bouts fer goin' on nine year or so, an' I built a shanty to live in up yonder by the forks. I hed n't much more nor got home frum down east, when the Injuns burnt thet down; an' sence then I ain't bin much o' nowhar, but I reckon'd I 'd go inter ther Fort to-morrow and git some grub." He spoke with a slow, deliberate drawl, as if not much accustomed to converse; and I pictured him to myself as one of those silent plainsmen, so habituated to solitude as almost to shun companionship, though he had already let drop a word or two that made me deem him one not devoid of humor. Suddenly I thought of De Croix. "Has any one passed here lately?" I asked, rising to my feet, the old emulation throbbing in my veins. "A white man, I mean, going north." "Wal," he answered slowly, and as he also stood up I could make out, what I had not noted in our previous meeting, that he was as tall as I, but spare of build; "I ain't seen nuthin', but some sort o' critter went ploughin' down inter the gulch up yonder, maybe ten minutes 'fore ye lit down yere on me. Dern if I know whether it were a human er a bar!" "Will you show me the nearest way to the Kinzie house?" "I reckon I 'll show ye all right, but ye bet ye don't git me nigher ner a hundred foot o' the door," he returned seriously. "John Kinzie 's a mighty good man, stranger, but he an' Ol' Tom Burns ain't never hitched worth a cent." We climbed silently, and came out together upon the top. A slight beam of light crept along through the open door of the log house just in front of us, and for the first time I caught a fair view of my companion. He was a tall, gaunt, wiry fellow, typical in dress and manner of his class,--the backwoodsmen of the Southwest,--but with a peculiarly solemn face, seamed with wrinkles, and much of it concealed beneath a bushy, iron-gray beard. We eyed each other curiously. "Dern if ever I expected ter meet up with ye agin in no sich way as this," he said shortly. "But thet 's the house. Be ye goin' ter stay thar long?" "No," I answered, feeling anxious to have his guidance back to the Fort, "not over five minutes. Will you wait?" "Reckon I may as well," and he seated himself on a stump. No one greeted me at the house, not even a dog; though I could see figures moving within. Either the occupants felt that an assumption of confidence was their best security, or experienced no fear of Indian treachery, for I rapped twice before there was any response. A young girl, with a face of rare beauty and a pair of roguish black eyes, peered out curiously. At sight of a stranger she drew back slightly, yet paused to ask: "Did you wish to see some one here?" "I am seeking for a young girl," I answered, wondering if this could possibly be she, "and they told me at the Fort I should probably find her here. May I ask if you are Elsa Matherson?" For a moment she looked out at me, as if I might be an escaped lunatic. Then she turned her face over her shoulder toward those within. "Mr. Kinzie," said she, "here 's another man looking for Elsa Matherson." CHAPTER XV AN ADVENTURE UNDERGROUND A heavily-built man in shirt-sleeves, with a strong, good-humored face, and a shock of gray hair, appeared beside the girl in the doorway. "'T is not the same scamp that kissed you, Josette," he exclaimed, after examining me intently in the dim light, "but I doubt not he may prove of similar breed, and it behooves you to be careful where you stand." "Has De Croix been here?" I questioned, scarcely deeming it possible he could have outstripped me in our race through the night. "I know not the rascal's name," was the reply, in the man's deep voice, "but certain I am there was one here scarce ten minutes agone asking after this same Matherson girl. Saint James! but she must have made some sweet acquaintances, judging from the looks of her callers! Josette has been rubbing the fellow's kiss off her lips ever since he caught her unawares." "He was a dandified young fellow?" I urged, impatient to be off, yet eager to be sure. The girl laughed lightly, her roguish eyes ablaze with merriment. "He might be sometime, Monsieur," she cried, evidently glad to talk, "but to-night he reminded me of those scare-crows the farmers near Quebec keep in their fields; a little chap, with a bit of turned-up mustache, and a bright eye, but rags,--gracious, such rags as he wore!" 'T was De Croix, there could be no doubt of it,--De Croix, torn and dishevelled by his mad rush through the darkness, but with no shred of his reckless audacity gone. There was naught left me now but to race back upon his trail, hopeful for some chance that might yet allow me to come in first on the return journey. In my throat I swore one thing,--the graceless villain should never collect his reward at both ends of his journey. He had already stolen the sweets from Josette's red lips, but he should never claim those of Mademoiselle. I lingered for but a single question more. "But this Elsa Matherson,--she is not here, then?" "No," returned Mr. Kinzie, somewhat gruffly, "and has not been since the closing of the gates of the Fort. I think you are a parcel of mad fools, to be chasing around on such an errand; yet humanity leads me to bid you come in. There is not a safe foot of ground to-night for any strange white man within three hundred miles of Dearborn." I glanced about me into the black shadows, startled at his solemn words of warning. Away to the southward a faint glimmer told of the location of the Fort; farther to the west, a sudden blaze swept up into the sky, reflected in ruddy radiance on the clouds, and the thought came to me that the savages had put torch to the deserted cabin on the south branch of the river. "No doubt 'tis true," I answered hastily; "yet, whatever the danger may be, I must regain the stockade before dawn." I saw him step forward, as if he would halt me in my purpose; but, wishing to be detained no longer, my thoughts being all with De Croix and Mademoiselle, I turned away quickly and plunged back into the darkness. "You young fool!" he called after me, "come back, or your life will be the forfeit!" Without so much as answering, I ran silently in my moccasins to the spot where I had left Ol' Tom Burns. He sat upon his stump, motionless, apparently without the slightest interest in anything going on about him. "Ol' Kinzie was gol-dern polite ter ye, sonny," he commented. "Reckon if an Injun was a scalpin' me right on his front doorstep he 'd never hev asked me ter walk inside like that! He an' me sorter drew on each other 'bout a year ago, down at Lee's shebang; an' he don't 'pear ter fergit 'bout it." "Show me the nearest safe passage to the Fort," I said, interrupting him, almost rudely. He got up slowly, and cast his eyes with deliberation southward. "Oh, thar ain't no sich special hurry, I reckon," he answered with an exasperating drawl. "We 'll be thar long afore daylight,--perviding allers we don't hit no Injuns meantime,--an' the slower we travel the less chance thar is o' thet." "But, friend Burns," I urged, "it is a racing matter. I must reach there in advance of another man, who has already been here ahead of me." "So I sorter reckoned from what I heerd; but ye need n't rip the shirt off ye on thet account. The feller can't git in thar till after daylight, nohow. Them sojers is too blame skeered ter open the gates in the dark, an' all the critter 'll git if he tries it will be a volley o' lead; so ye might just as well take it easylike." The old man's philosophy seemed sound. De Croix would certainly not gain admittance until he could make himself known to the guard, and, carefully as the stockade was now patrolled, it was hardly probable he would be permitted to approach close enough for identification during the night. De Croix was no frontiersman, and was reckless to a degree; yet his long training as a soldier would certainly teach him a measure of caution in approaching a guarded fort at such a time. "'Tis doubtless true," I admitted, "yet I shall feel safer if we push on at once." "Ye called the feller De Croix, didn't ye?" he asked. "Is it the French dandy as was at Hawkins's?" "Yes," I answered, "and I guess you don't care much to help him." Burns wasted no breath in reply, but moved forward with noiseless step. Glancing back, I could clearly perceive Kinzie framed in the light of his open door. The vivacious French lass stood beside him, peering curiously out across his broad shoulders. Then we sank into the blackness of the ravine, and everything was blotted from our sight. Burns evidently knew the intricacies of the path leading to the Fort gate, for I soon felt my feet upon a beaten track, and stumbled no more over the various obstacles that rendered my former progress so uncertain. My guide moved with excessive caution, as it seemed to me, frequently pausing to peer forward into the almost impenetrable darkness, and sniffing the night air suspiciously as if hoping thus to locate any lurking foes when his keen eyes failed in the attempt. So dark was it that I had almost to tread upon his heels in order to follow him, as not the slightest sound came from his stealthy advance. As he surmounted the steeper inclines of land, I was able to perceive him dimly, usually leaning well forward and moving with the utmost caution, his long rifle held ready for instant use. As we drew nearer the river,--or where I supposed the river must be, for I could distinguish but little of our position,--he swerved from the footpath we were following, and the way instantly grew rougher to our feet. "Reckon we 'd better hit the crick a bit below the Fort," he muttered, over his shoulder; "less likely ter find Injuns waitin' fer us thar." "You think there are savages on this shore?" He turned partially, and peered at me through the darkness. "I never heerd tell as Injuns was fools," he answered briefly. "In course thar 's some yere, an' we 're almighty likely ter find 'em." On the bank of the river, which I could see dimly by the faint light of a star or two that had broken through the cloud-rifts, he paused suddenly, sniffing the air like a pointer dog. "The gol-dern fools!" he muttered, striking his rifle-butt on the ground with an expression of disgust. "They 've gone and done it now!" "Done what?" I questioned, almost guessing his meaning as a pungent odor assailed my nostrils. "That smells like rum!" "'T is rum. Dern if ever I see whar the A'mighty finds so many blame idjits ter make sojers of! Them ar' fellers in the Fort wer n't in tight 'nough pickle, with a thousand savages howlin' 'bout 'em, so they 've went an' poured all their liquor inter the river! If I know Injun nature, it jist means the craziest lot o' redskins, whin they find it out, ever was on these yere plains. I bet they make thet fool garrison pay mighty big fer this job!" "You mean the destruction of the liquor will anger them?" "Anger? It'll drive 'em plum crazy,--they'll be ravin' maniacs! It's the hope o' spoils thet's held 'em back so long. They 've wanted the Fort to be 'vacuated, so as they could plunder it,--thet's been the song o' the chiefs to hold their young men from raisin' ha'r. But come, sonny, thar 's nothin' gained a-stayin' here, an' dern me if I want ter meet any Injun with thet thar smell in the air. I don't swim no river smellin' like thet one does. We 'll hev ter go further up, I reckon, an' cross over by the ol' agency buildin'." We crept up the edge of the stream, keeping well in under the north bank, and moving with the utmost caution, for the chances were strong that this portion of the river would be closely watched by the redskins. We met with no obstacle, however, nor were we apparently even observed from the stockade, as we slowly passed its overhanging shadow. I could distinguish clearly its dark outlines, even making out a head or two moving above the palisades; but no hail of any kind rang out across the intervening water, and we were soon beyond the upper block-house, where a faint light yet shone. We could see the dim shape of the two-story factory building, looking gloomy and deserted on the south shore. Burns lay flat at the water's edge, studying the building intently; and his extreme caution made me a bit nervous, although I could scarcely determine why, for I had thus far marked not the slightest sign of danger. "I reckon we 'll hev ter risk it," he said at length, as he bound his powder-horn upon his head with a dark cloth. "Come right 'long arter me, and don't make no splashin'." He slipped off so silently that I scarcely knew he was gone, until I missed the dark outline of his figure at my side. With all possible caution, I followed him. The current was not strong, but I partially faced it, and struck out with a long, steady stroke, so that my progress, as nearly as I could judge, was almost directly across the stream. Burns had been completely lost to my sight, although as I looked along the slightly glistening water I could see for some distance ahead. I remember a black log bearing silently down upon me, and how I shrank from contact with it, fearful lest it might conceal some human thing. Soon after it had swirled by, my feet touched the shelving bank, and I crept cautiously up into the overhanging shadow. Burns was there, and had already reconnoitred our position; for my first knowledge of his presence came when he slowly lowered himself down the bank until he lay close beside me. "They're thar," he said, soberly. "Thought most likely they wud be." "Indians?" I asked, doubtfully,--for I had an impression the factory might be garrisoned by some of our own people. "Sure; I heerd as how the sojers hed been drawed in, an' naturally reckoned the Injuns would n't be over-long findin' it out. 'Nother fool thing fer the sojers ter dew." He paused, listening intently. In the silence, above the slight sound of the running water, I felt sure I could distinguish voices speaking not far distant. "It 's no place yere ter stay," he whispered, his lips close at my ear. "Reckon best thing we kin dew now is to find one o' the sojers' root-caves somewhar along the bank, an' crawl in thar till daylight. The Injuns ain't so likely to bother us when the guards kin see 'em from the Fort. They don't want no out-'n'-out fuss, to my notion, till they kin git inter the stockade for good. Creep 'long yere with me, sonny, an' 't won't be far till I find a hole somewhar thet 'll hide us fer awhile anyhow." We crawled slowly along, snake-fashion, at the edge of the river, for perhaps thirty feet, our movements hidden by the high and slightly overhanging bank at our left. The night was so dark that Burns relied more upon feeling than sight to guide him. At last he stopped suddenly. "Here's one o' 'em," he said. "Crawl along in, sonny; thar's lots o' room after ye go a foot er two." It was the merest hole dug into the bank, roughly lined with irregular bits of rock, which opened out into quite a cellar about a yard from the surface. The air within felt somewhat chill and damp, as I put my head cautiously down the narrow opening; but there seemed no cause for fear, and I crept nimbly forward, feeling my way as I advanced along the rude mud walls. I could hear Burns behind me on his hands and knees, puffing slightly as he squeezed through the small aperture that led into the larger chamber. I had advanced perhaps two yards without reaching the end of this odd underground apartment, when suddenly, and directly in my front, there sounded a deep, hollow, unearthly groan. The sound was so terrifying that I stopped with chilled blood and beating heart, gripping my knife-hilt and peering forward into the dark as frightened as ever I was in my life. I heard Burns gasp and half turn; then, before I could move, even had I dared venture such a thing, an instantaneous flash lit up the black interior. I caught one confused glimpse of a huge object, topped with a head of tumbled hair, of two flapping wings stretching out upon either side, and then the impenetrable curtain of the dark hid everything once more. Sweat bathed me in cold drops; nor could I have moved a limb to save my life. Behind me Burns was muttering what might have been a prayer; when the thing groaned again, a hollow, awful moan, thrilling with agony, that sent me grovelling upon my face as nearly dead as one could well be and yet breathe and know. CHAPTER XVI "FRANCE WINS, MONSIEUR!" For the moment, every muscle of my body seemed paralyzed. I distinctly heard the creature moving in my direction, and I backed away violently, actuated only by the thought of instant escape into the open air. But Burns blocked the solitary passage. "Back out of here, for God's sake!" I managed to exclaim through parched lips. "That devil-thing is coming this way!" He struggled desperately in the darkness, tugging madly at some obstacle, an oath smothered on his lips. I waited and listened, every nerve on edge. "Dern it all, but I can't!" he groaned at last. "My blame of gun hes got wedged, and won't give an inch." Then a half-smothered laugh rippled out of the gloom just in front of me. "Heaven protect me, but it's Wayland!" came a voice, and the laughter broke into a roar of merriment. "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! This will be the death of me!" The voice, choked and muffled as it was, sounded strangely hollow in that dark cave; yet it had a familiar tone. So surprising was the situation, that I could only stare into the black void, speechless. It was Burns who realized the need of action. "Whoever the dern fool is," he growled, his voice hoarse with anger, "choke the wind out of him, or his blame howling will bring every Injun on the river yere!" "De Croix!" I exclaimed quickly, aroused to recollection by the seriousness of the situation, "stop that infernal racket, or the two of us will throttle you!" He puffed and gurgled, striving his best to smother the sense of ludicrousness that mastered him. To me there was small cause for merriment; the supreme terror of those moments merged into hot anger at the deception, and I crept forward eager to plant my hand upon the rascal's throat. "What French mockery is this?" I exclaimed, my hand hard upon his arm. "Think you, Captain de Croix, that you can play such tricks in this wilderness, and not be made to pay for them?" I felt him tremble under my fierce grasp; yet it was not from fear, for my words only served to loosen his laughter once more. Burns now broke in, shoving the barrel of his long rifle forward over my shoulder till he struck the Frenchman a blow that effectually silenced him. "You chattering ape!" he said, growling like an angry bear, "another yawp like that, and I 'll blow a hole clean through you! Now, you French ninny, tell us what this means, an' be quick about it if ye want ter save yer hide!" De Croix did not answer, but he ceased to laugh, and panted as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Another impatient movement by Burns led me to speak up hastily in his defence. "Wait," I said, laying my grasp upon his gun, "he has no breath left with which to make reply. 'T is the French gallant who raced with me, the same whom you met at Hawkins's Ford; and no doubt he felt good reason to play the ghost here in this dark pit." "Ay," panted De Croix painfully, "I truly thought the savages were upon me, and sought to frighten them by the only means I could devise. _Sacre_! but you hit me a sore blow in the ribs! If I have frightened you, 't was no worse than the terror that took me at your entrance here." For a time none spoke, and no sound, save De Croix's labored breathing, broke the silence. Burns had turned slightly, and I knew was listening intently for any sound without. Apparently satisfied that the noise made by us had not been overheard, he asked in his old deliberate drawl: "How in thunder, Mister Parly-voo, did ye git up thet thar combination, anyhow?" I heard the Frenchman chuckle, and pinched him as a warning to be careful. He answered, in his reckless, easy way: "'T was all simple enough behind the scenes, Messieurs. I but took some old sacking discovered here, and used it as a robe, standing my hair well on end; and a flash of powder made the scene most realistic. The thing indeed worked well. I would I had a picture of Master Wayland's face to show Toinette!" This chance mention of her name recalled me to myself. The undecided wager was yet to be won, and the night was now nearly spent. There came to me a sudden determination to risk a rush through the darkness to the Fort gates, rather than chance any further defeat at the hands of this rash gallant. Yet prudence bade me question somewhat further before I ventured upon so mad a deed. "No doubt 't was most happy from your point of view, Monsieur. From ours, it was less so; and instead of laughing, you might better be thanking your lucky stars that you did not pay more dearly for such folly. But what brought you here? Why have you failed to reach the stockade?" "_Sacre_!" he muttered carelessly, "but I had a fierce enough run for it as it was. Why did I not reach the stockade? Because, my friend, I am no real ghost to be invisible in the night, nor am I a bird to fly. 'T was in the shadow of that big building yonder that I ran into a nest of those copper-colored fiends, and 't was nip and tuck which of us won, had I not, by pure good luck, chanced to stumble into this hole, and so escape them. Perchance they also thought me a ghost, who knows? But, be that as it may, they were beating the river bank for me in the flesh, when you came creeping here." We lay flat on the floor, the three of us, our eyes fastened upon the faint light that began to stream in through the entrance. I could hear Burns muttering to himself, as is often the way with men who lead lives of solitude; and every now and then De Croix would shake silently at the recollection of what had just occurred. I minded neither of them, but chiefly planned how best I might outwit De Croix and win the prize offered by Mademoiselle. The promise of dawning day was in the outer air, too dim as yet to render our faces visible. Suddenly the slight draft of air veered, and swept a tiny breath of smoke into my nostrils. It came so quickly that I scarcely realized its significance until Burns scrambled to his knees with a growl. "God! the devils have run us to cover!" he cried, sullenly. "They have started a fire to smoke us out!" It hardly needed a moment to prove this true; the thin smoke grew more and more dense, filling the narrow entrance until we lay gasping for breath. De Croix, ever the most impulsive, was the first to act. "_Parbleu_!" he gasped, pulling himself forward with his hands. "Better Indians than this foul air! If I die, it shall at least be in the open." To remain longer cooped in that foul hole was indeed madness; and as soon as I could I followed him, rolling out of the entrance to the water's edge, fairly sick with the pressure upon my lungs, and caring so little what the end might be, provided I might first attain one breath of pure air, that before I gained strength to resist I was prisoner to as ill-looking a crew of savages as ever my eyes encountered. The villains triced us firmly with thongs of skin, and sat us up against the bank like so many puppets, dancing about before us, snapping their dirty fingers in our faces, and treating us to all manner of taunts and insults. 'T was done so quickly as to seem a dream, had I not smarted so sorely from the blows dealt me, and my limbs chafed where the tight cords were drawn. I recall glancing aside at Burns; but his seamed and puckered face remained emotionless, as the red devils rolled him over till he stared straight up at the sky, now gray with coming dawn. The sight of De Croix almost set me laughing, which won for me a kick from the brute who had me in special charge. The Frenchman was surely no court dandy now; his fancy clothing clung to him in rags, while the powder-flash within the cellar had blackened his face and made sad havoc with his gay mustache. He endeavored to smile at me as our eyes met, but the effort produced only what seemed like a demoniac grin. "'T is a hard life, Monsieur," I could not forbear remarking, "and will hardly remind you of Versailles." His form stiffened in its bonds, as if the words spurred his memory of other days. "A French soldier smiles at fate, wherever it overtakes him," he answered, a touch of pride in his voice. "Besides, the game is not played out,--I may yet prove the first one in. But see! if I mistake not, here comes the chief of all these devils." The new-comer strode down the high bank alone, and was greeted noisily by our captors. It was the same Indian that had halted Captain Wells the day previous; and he looked us over with a contemptuous sneer that curled his lips and transformed the whole expression of his hideously painted face. I noted that he paid but small heed to either De Croix or myself, contenting his vengeance with sharp kicks at our prostrate bodies; but as he came to Burns, he paused, bending down till he could peer into the old borderer's upturned face. "Bah! I know you," he said, brokenly. "You Ol' Burns. Stake down in village for you." The old man neither moved his head nor gave the slightest sign that he had heard. "Squaw eat heart," went on the Indian, prodding him with his stick; "feed bones to dog. All white men go that way now,--Ol' Burns first." "Topenebe," was the quiet reply, as the victim rolled over until he half-sat against the bank, "I had the pleasure o' kickin' ye once down on the Kankakee, an' should be mighty glad ter do it agin. I reckon as how ye don't feel over friendly ter me, but ye 're simply wastin' yer breath tauntin' me. Any time yer derned old fire is hot, I 'm ready to dance." These calm words angered the warrior, and he spat at him; then he turned and grunted an order in his own language. With blows of their sticks the Indians got us on our feet; but when they sought to drive us up the steep bank to the prairie, Ol' Burns balked and absolutely refused to move. "Not one dern step, Topenebe," he swore grimly, "with these yere things on my legs. I 'm no pony ter be hobbled, an' blame if I 'll jump 'long fer any red-skin. Ye kin carry me, if ye ain't too lazy; but, by thunder! thar 'll be no walkin' till ye cut them bonds." Blows, curses, and threats failed alike to budge the old man. He simply sat down and smiled grimly at them; and we followed his example, dimly perceiving there must be a purpose in it. Sheer obstinacy wins many a battle, and when we went up the bank our lower limbs were free, although to my mind we were as hopelessly bound as ever. Not so with Burns. I chanced to press close to him, as we came out upon the prairie, and he muttered a quick word into my ear. "See how they herd us in the shade of the Agency! They are not yet ready to let the sojers know whut they're re'lly up to. Not an Injun will go beyond thet line long enough to be seen. Be ready to run fer it as soon as I say 'Go,' an' tell the Frenchman." I succeeded in making De Croix understand, by means of the mongrel French at my command, which seemed not to be intelligible to the savages; and we moved forward at as slow a gait as our vigilant guards permitted, with every muscle tense for the coming strain. We were bunched together, with no pretence of order on the part of our captors; indeed, they seemed to be of various minds over what was to be done with us, though Topenebe exercised sufficient control over his mongrel followers to compel at least partial obedience to his orders. We tramped along to the west of the factory, the walls of which shut off all view of the Fort, a half-dozen of the savages about us, while the chief stalked on a few feet in advance. We had almost reached the southwestern corner of the big Agency building, and Topenebe had already taken a step to the right, carefully keeping the log walls as a protection between our movements and the eyes of the garrison, when Burns, shaking off the Indians nearest him, bounded suddenly forward and struck Topenebe with his head, hurling the fellow by his side over backward as he passed. "Run for the gate!" he yelled. Like an arrow from the bow, I shot around the Agency corner, and raced for the stockade, De Croix, running like a deer, barely a foot behind me. I never dreamed, in that moment of intense action, that Burns was not also coming,--that he had deliberately sacrificed himself in order to hold back the savages and give us the better chance for life. Behind arose the sound of struggle, but there was no indication of pursuit, and as I rounded the end of the stockade the lower gate swung open just before me and I glanced back, half pausing as I realized the old borderer had not followed us; then some one tripped me, and I fell headlong. With a sudden rush, De Croix swept by. "France wins, Monsieur!" he cried back in mocking triumph, as I staggered to my knees. CHAPTER XVII A CONTEST OF WITS Though I was never of hasty or violent temper, it was quite as well that I failed to gain a sight of De Croix as I passed the posts and the sentry clanged the gate behind me. The Frenchman's scurvy trick would have heated cooler blood than mine; nor was my spirit soothed by the harsh fall I suffered. But De Croix had not waited; nowhere along the bare sunlit parade was he visible. I saw nothing but a squad of grinning soldiers lounging beside the barracks, until Captain Wells, issuing from the guard-house door, caught sight of me and came forward. "Back, are you, Master Wayland?" he said gruffly, and 't was easy to see he did not approve of my escapade. "I scarcely thought to see you here again with so full a head of hair, after I learned of your mad wager. Providence must indeed take special care of fools. Have the redskins captured our French friend?" "He entered a step in my advance." A gleam of amusement played over his swarthy face. "Ah, and so you let him win!" he exclaimed; "he, a mere voyager from the courts, unused to forest play! Such remissness deserves the guard-house, at the very least. Come, how happened it that this gay sprig outfooted you?" "'T was but a trick," I retorted, aroused by these contemptuous words, "and one I shall make him pay well for. But I pray you cut these bands and set me free." I think he had not noticed them before; but now, as he quickly drew his knife across the deerskin thongs, his whole expression changed. "'Tis Indian tying," he said earnestly; "you have been in the hands of the savages?" "Ay!" and the memory of it instantly brought back the recollection of the sacrifice that had won us our freedom. "There were three of us taken at daylight on the river bank, beyond the factory building. De Croix and I escaped through the efforts of one who is still a prisoner, and marked for torture." Many were gathering about us by this time, anxious to learn whatever news I brought from without; but it was Captain Heald himself who now pushed his way through the throng until he fronted me. "Who was it?" he asked, sharply. "We have lost no men!" "His name is Burns, sir. I ran across him just back of the Kinzie house." "Burns? Ol' Tom Burns?" "Yes, sir." Heald laughed, a look of evident relief on his haggard features. "We shall not have to worry much as to his fate," he said, turning toward Wells. "You remember the fellow, William? He was one of Mad Anthony's scouts, and came west with you in 1803 when you first held council here." The other nodded, a twinkle of pleasant recollection in his eyes. "Remember him?" he repeated. "I am not likely ever to forget him. He it was who brought me your message at Fort Wayne a month ago. My sympathies in this case are entirely with the Indians. There are likely to be things happening when Ol' Tom is around, unless he has lost his versatility and nerve in recent years. Come, my lad, give us the details of the story, for it must be worth the hearing if Ol' Burns played a leading part. He is as full of tricks as a dog of fleas." I repeated the story briefly, for I was now eager to be away before De Croix could dress and claim his wager. I knew well the conceited coxcomb would never seek the presence of Mademoiselle until he had shed the rags he wore on entering the Fort. I remember yet that throng of faces, anxious yet amused, peering over each other's shoulders to get a better view of me as I talked, and constantly augmented as the word passed quickly about the garrison that we had safely returned from our midnight adventures. "You will send aid to him?" I questioned, as I concluded, my eyes fixed appealingly upon Captain Heald. "Not I," was the prompt and decisive rejoinder. "No soldier of this command shall leave the stockade until the hour for our final departure. The fellow had a chance to come in here with the others before the gates were closed, but was obstinate as a mule, and must now take the consequences. But you need not worry about Ol' Tom, my boy; he 'll circumvent those red devils in some way, you may rest assured, nor would he even thank us for interference. I have no force with which to control the horde of savages that surround us here. A clash of arms would be their excuse for immediate attack, and might mean death and torture to the whole garrison. Our only hope lies in being permitted to pass out without armed collision; and to do this requires that we ignore such hidden deeds. 'Twas a mad prank of yours last night, and might have involved us all in common ruin. Go this time free, except for these words of censure; for you are not directly under my orders. Another such attempt, subversive of all discipline, and the gates of Dearborn will be closed against you." These harsh expressions stung me, but I felt them in a measure merited, and made no reply. "'T was but the act of a boy, Heald," interposed Wells kindly, resting his hand upon my shoulder, "and you will find the lad well worth having when time of trial comes." I slipped away through an opening in the curious throng, and hastened across the open parade toward the messroom. I felt dust-covered and bruised from my rough experiences, and hoped to discover opportunities for a bath. The building called the mess-room was long, running nearly half the length of the stockade, built like the others of logs, two stories in height, and containing a number of rooms. The single flight of stairs, opening just within the porch, was exceedingly rude, and built without any protecting rail. I hesitated a moment when fairly within the entrance, scarce knowing which way to turn in search of what I sought; but as I waited there, a light step sounded upon the bare floor above, and glancing up, with quickened beat of the heart, my eyes caught the soft drapery of a woman as she stepped on the upper stair. I could scarcely have retreated had I wished to do so, though I realized instantly who it was, and drew back against the wall, so that she came down, singing lightly to herself, without noticing my presence until we were face to face. It was a picture to touch the heart of any man, and abide forever in the memory. I saw the sunlight as it streamed through an upper window along the rough log wall and flecked her white dress with ever-changing spots of quivering gold, and, as she drew nearer to my standing-place, played softly amid the masses of her dark-brown hair, giving it a tinge of glory. How daintily fair she was! how archly sweet looked the clear girlish face under the coquettish sweep of the broad hat! and with what unconscious grace she moved down the rude stairway, one white hand steadying her against the brown logs, the other gathering her draperies so close that I could not be blind to the daintily slippered foot that shyly peeped below the petticoat of ruffled silk. I may not have loved her then as I learned to do in later days, but my heart throbbed riotously at her presence, and I stood forgetful of all else. As she turned aside at the foot of the stairs, she saw me, and the color deserted her face, only to return instantly in deeper volume, while her tell-tale eyes hid themselves behind long lashes. "And are you indeed returned, Master Wayland?" she asked quickly, conquering her first emotion with a proud uplifting of her head. "You surprised me greatly. I think I first mistook you for a ghost come back to haunt me for having despatched you on so perilous a quest. You cannot know how I have been scolded for doing such a thing; yet surely you would have gone, even if I had failed to encourage it." "Perhaps so, Mademoiselle," I answered, hoping I might lead her to speak with greater seriousness; "but it was the hope of the reward that spurred me forward." "Ah, of course," she said deliberately ignoring her own offer, and with a reckless toss of her head, "you sought a fair girl for whose sake you have travelled far. Pray tell me, Monsieur,--I am so curious to know,--do you truly think Josette fairer than I?" She spoke so lightly, smiling softly into my eyes, that I hardly detected the faint tinge of regretful sarcasm in her low voice. "Josette, you ask me? Why, Josette is indeed a most charming girl, Mademoiselle; but to my mind there can be no comparison between her and you, for you are the fairest woman I have ever known." Her dark eyes were full upon me, and I saw her parted lips move as if she would speak. But no words came, and we stood there silent except for the nervous tapping of her foot against the floor. Her look of seriousness changed into a smile. "By my faith, but you pay compliments with so grave a countenance, Monsieur, that I hardly know how to receive them. Most men whisper such things with a light laugh, or a twinkle of the eye, and I know their words to be empty as bubbles of air. But you,--why, you almost make me feel you are in earnest." "And I am," I interrupted, longing to seize her hand as I knew De Croix would have done, and pour forth the words that burnt upon my lips. "I have not been privileged to see much of the great outside world, Mademoiselle,--the world of courts and cities,--nor do I know how lovely its women may be; but no ideal formed in dreams satisfies me as you do. I know naught of idle compliments, nor the graces of a courtier; but my words are from the heart." "I do truly believe and trust you, John Wayland," and she gave me her hand. "But let us talk of this no longer. My vanity is already more than satisfied by your frank and honest speech. And so you found Josette?" "Yes," I answered, scarce noting what it was I said, so puzzled was I by her quick retreat. "And that meeting, perchance, was so pleasant that it has taken your thought from all else? It must indeed be so, or why is it that Master Wayland doth not claim of me the stake of the wager?" "Because," I stammered, greatly embarrassed by her roguish questioning eyes, "I fear it has not been fairly won." "Not fairly won?" she echoed, puzzled by my tone and manner. "Surely you have made the trip, and the terms were plain. Really, Monsieur, you do not think I would withhold so small a reward from the winner?" "But there was another,--the prize was destined for him who came back first." "And has Captain de Croix returned also?" "We arrived together, Mademoiselle, but it was his good fortune to be earliest through the gate." 'Twas good to see how her face lit up with the amusement this reply afforded her. "Pish! but you are in truth the most marvellous man I ever knew. 'T is good to meet with such open honesty; and when did maid ever have before so unselfish a cavalier to do her honor? Monsieur, I greatly doubt if Captain de Croix will prove so thoughtful when his hour comes." "You are right, Toinette," broke in a voice at my back. "I know not what Master Wayland may be yielding up so easily, but, like the Shylock of your William Shakespeare, I am here to claim my pound of flesh." I wheeled and faced him, standing firmly between his approach and the girl, my blood instantly boiling at the familiar sound of that drawling voice. "I have refused to accept from Mademoiselle what I had not fairly earned," I said, with quiet emphasis, "and so, no doubt, will you." There was that about my words and action that astonished him, and for the moment his old audacity was gone as he swept a puzzled glance over our faces. I have often reflected upon the contrast we must have presented to her sight as we stood there,--for De Croix had donned his best attire, and was once again resplendent in frills and ribbons, with heavily powdered hair. "Oh, most certainly, what I have not earned," he said at length, "but the kiss promised is surely mine by every right, as I was the first in." "'T was done by a most scurvy trick." "Poof! what of that? 'Tis the same whether the goal be won by wit and strategy, or mere fleetness of foot. Toinette will make no such fine distinction, I warrant you." "Mademoiselle," and I turned toward the smiling girl, who seemingly enjoyed our interchange of compliments, "what may have been your understanding of this wager?" "Why," she answered slowly, endeavoring to recall the details to mind, "Captain de Croix declared he would willingly make the trip for a touch of rosy lips, and in a spirit of venture I promised that whichever of you two first completed the journey and returned here should obtain such reward." "There, 't is plain enough," he cried, stroking his mustache complacently, "and I have won." "Most surely you have," I retorted, "and the reward has already been given you." "Been given?" she questioned, "and by whom?" "The girl Josette." She looked from the one to the other of us, puzzled for a brief moment at the odd situation. Then, as her eyes settled upon De Croix's flushed and angry face, she laughed gaily, even as she daintily drew aside her skirts to pass us by. "Pish, Monsieur!" she cried, shaking her finger at him, "I doubt it not. No, you need not deny it, for 't is but one of your old-time tricks, as I knew them well at Montreal. 'T would be no more than right were I even now to reward Master Wayland, for he hath truly won it,--yet for that I will delay awhile." And with a flash of her dark eyes that held us speechless, she was gone. CHAPTER XVIII GLIMPSES OF DANGER If any trace of anger held place in my heart, it utterly vanished as I noted the bewildered surprise with which De Croix gazed after Mademoiselle's departing figure. "_Sacre_!" he exclaimed presently, turning toward me, his face flushed, and forgetful of all his well-practised graces. "'T was an unworthy trick, Master Wayland, and one I am not likely to forget." "'T was a moment ago," I answered, in great good-humor at his discomfiture, "that you claimed wit was as important a factor as fleetness of foot in the winning of a race. I did no more than illustrate your theory, Monsieur." The humor of it failed to touch him, and there was a direct menace in his manner which caused me to fall back a step in the narrow passage and front him warily. "No boor of the woods shall laugh at me!" He exclaimed, his eyes aflame with passion, "be the cause love or war. What mean all these sly tricks of speech and action?--this hurried message to the ear of Mademoiselle? By my faith, you did not even pause to wash the dust from off your face before you sought her company. 'T is strange such intimacy could spring up between you in so short a time! But mark you this, Master Wayland, once and for all; I have not voyaged here from Montreal to be balked in my plans by the interference of an uncouth adventurer. I give you now fair warning that if you ever step again between Toinette and me, naught but the decision of steel shall end our quarrel." That he was indeed in deadly earnest, and indulged in no vain threat, I well knew; his passion was too strongly painted on his face. My own temper rose in turn. "I hear your words, Monsieur," I returned coldly, "and care no more for them than for a child's idle boasting. There is naught between Mademoiselle and me that the whole world might not know. We are good friends enough, but if by any chance love should be born from that friendship, no French gallant, though he sport a dozen swords, shall come between us. Win her if you can by reckless audacity and lavishness of perfume, but dream not to frighten me away from her presence by the mutterings of bravado. I am the son of a soldier, Monsieur, and have myself borne arms in battle." "You will fight, then?" "With pleasure, whenever the occasion arises," I replied slowly, struggling hard to keep back more bitter words. "But I see none at present, and, if I mistake not, all our skill at arms will soon be needed to save this girl, as well as ourselves, from savage hands." I know not how we would have parted, for 't was evidently his wish to goad me on to fight; and there are times when passion overwhelms us all. But at that moment I heard the soft rustle of a dress, and wheeled to face the fair young wife of Lieutenant Helm. It was plain she had been weeping; but De Croix, ever quicker than I in such matters, was first to accost her in words of courtesy. A pretty face to him was instant inspiration. "We bow to you, Madame," he exclaimed with excessive gallantry, doffing his hat till it swept the stairs; "your coming makes the very sunshine a brighter gold." "I trust it may bring peace as well," she answered, striving to smile back at him, although trouble yet shadowed her sweet face; "surely my ears caught the sound of harsh words." "A slight misunderstanding, which will hardly grow to any serious end," he protested. "I trust not, gentlemen, for the time is come when we women at Dearborn surely need you all to protect us. Our case already appears desperate." "Has something new occurred," I questioned anxiously, "that makes you more alarmed?" Her eyes, grown strangely serious once more, swept our faces. "You may neither of you comprehend this in its full meaning as clearly as I do," she returned gravely, "for I am frontier-bred, and have known the Indian character from childhood. We have long been acquainted, in my father's family, with many of the chiefs and warriors now encamped around us. We have traded in their villages, lived with them in their smoke-stained tepees on the great plains, and trusted them as they showed faith in us. You, I learn," and she looked at me more intently, "were at my father's house no later than last night. In spite of rumors of war and tightly guarded Fort-gates, you found his door wide open to whosoever might approach, with never a dog to bark at an intruder, be he white or red. This is because the Silver-man has always dealt fairly with the Indian, and won his respect and gratitude in return. Now, in time of peril this trader dares to believe in their good faith toward him and his. 'T is because of this I know so well all that is going on without, and have been able to inform Captain Heald of much his scouts were unable to discover. From the first there have been two factions among the savages gathered yonder; and whether we live or die may depend upon which counsel prevails among them--that of peace or that of war. Until within an hour I have hoped it might be peace,--that the older chiefs would hold their young men in control, and the red wampum be not seen at Dearborn. Twenty minutes ago one of the noblest advocates of peace,--a Pottawattomie warrior named Black Partridge,--sought interview with Captain Heald, and his words have shown me how desperate indeed has our situation become." "He threatened?" broke in De Croix, his hand upon his sword-hilt. "Nay, Monsieur, 't is not the way of an Indian, nor is Black Partridge one to indulge in vain words. I have known him long; in childhood I sat upon his knee, and believe him so friendly to the whites that naught but a sense of duty could move him otherwise. Yet, as I say, he came just now to the commandant of this garrison, and returned a medal once given him by the government. It was done sadly, and with deep regret,--for I overheard his speech. He said: 'Father, I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. Our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy.'" She stopped, her agitated face buried in her hands, and neither of us spoke. The solemnity of her words and manner were most impressive. "You feel, then, that the die is cast?" asked De Croix, all lightness vanished from his voice. "I believe we march forth from these walls to our death to-morrow." "But why," I protested, "should you, at least, take part in such hazard? Your father's family, you tell us, will be safe from attack. Surely, that home might also prove your refuge?" The little woman, with the face of a girl, looked up at me indignantly through her tears. "Lieutenant Helm marches with the troops," she answered quietly, "and I am his wife." I retain no memory, at this late day, of what conversation followed. I know that De Croix in his easy carelessness about the future, sought to laugh at her fears and restore a feeling of hopefulness; but all my thoughts were elsewhere,--upon the grave dilemma in which we found ourselves, and my duty to these helpless ones upon every side. I must have left the two standing there and conversing, though just how I moved, and why, is dim to me. I recall crossing the bare parade, and noting the company that formed the little garrison drawn up in the shadow of the south stockade. At any other time I should have paused in interest, for military evolutions always attracted my attention; but then I had no sense other than that of mental and physical exhaustion from the hours of toil and lack of rest. Owing to my absence the night before, no quarters had been assigned me; but finding the barracks of the troops unoccupied, and yielding to imperative need, I flung myself, without undressing, upon a vacant bunk, and lay there tossing with the burden of intense fatigue. And then how the thoughts I sought to banish thronged upon me! No effort of my will could shut them out. I went over again and again the quarrel with De Croix, the incidents of the night, the solemn words of Mrs. Helm. Little by little, each detail clear and absolute, there unrolled before my mind's view the picture of our situation. I saw it as a frontiersman must, in all its grim probabilities. The little isolated Fort was cut off from all communication, held by a weakened garrison. Hope of rescue there was none. Without were already gathered hundreds of warriors attracted by rumors of war and promise of pillage; and these were growing in number and increasing in ferocity each day. I had ridden through them once, when their mood was only to annoy, and realized with a shudder of horror what it would mean to face them in our retreat, with all restraint of their chiefs removed. I thought of those long leagues of tangled forest-land stretching between us and the nearest border settlements, of ambuscades, of constant and harassing attack on the ever-thinning column as we fought for each foot of the way. Once my mind dwelt for an instant upon the quiet home I had left on the banks of the Maumee; as my eyes filled at the memory I drove it from me, for the present necessity was all too stern to permit indulgence in such weakness. 'T was of the women and children I thought most, and their probable fate if we failed to win a passage. The half-framed thought of such a possibility made my heart throb with dread apprehension, as I set my lips together in firm resolve. What had become of Roger Matherson's orphan child? 'T was indeed strange that I could gain no trace of the little girl. At the Fort they said she was with the Kinzies, at Kinzies' they told me she was at the Fort. It was, as Seth had prophesied, like seeking after a will-o'-the-wisp; yet surely she must be in the flesh somewhere. My plain duty was to find her at once; and I resolved to take up the task anew that day, and question every one I met till some trace yielded to my persistency. However, I needed first to sleep; but as I resolutely closed my eyes, there came gliding into my memory another face,--an arch, happy face, with softly rounded cheeks and dark laughing eyes, a face that mirrored a hundred moods, and back of them all a sweet womanly tenderness to make every mood a new and rare delight. Toinette!--never before was woman's name so pleasant to my lips. Ignorant as I was in mysteries of the heart, I knew not clearly whether I loved her, though this I knew beyond cavil,--no savage hand should ever touch her while I lived; and if I had to fight each step of the path from that accursed spot to Wayne, I swore within my heart she should come safe through. Her gentle memory was with me when all the rest yielded to the drowsy god, and in sheer exhaustion I slept--to dream. CHAPTER XIX A CONFERENCE AND A RESOLVE "To my mind, the risk would be extreme; and I greatly doubt the wisdom of the step." "But, William, what other alternative offers us any hope?" "I confess I know not, for your last mistake has greatly aggravated the situation." I sat up hastily, for seemingly these words were spoken at the very side of the bunk on which I lay. As I glanced about me I saw the room was vacant; so I knew the conference thus accidentally overheard must be taking place in an adjoining apartment. I was thoroughly awake when Captain Heald's voice spoke again. "You say a mistake,--what mistake?" he questioned, as though aggrieved. "I have done no more than simply obey the orders of my superior officer." "That may be true," broke in the gentler tones of Lieutenant Helm, "but of that we are unable to judge, for not one of your officers has been privileged to see those orders." "You shall see them now. If I have been remiss in taking you into my confidence in these grave matters, it has been because of certain malcontents in the garrison with whom I hesitated to confer." There was a rustle of paper, and Heald read slowly. I failed to distinguish the opening words, but as he reached the more important portion of the document his utterance grew deeper, and I heard distinctly this sentence: "Evacuate the post if practicable, and in that event distribute the property belonging to the United States in the Fort, and in the factory or agency, to the Indians in the neighborhood." There was a pause as he concluded. Captain Wells spoke first. "To my mind, these orders are not positive, and leave much to your discretion. Who brought the message, and when?" "A Wyandot named Winnemeg. He reached here on the ninth." "I have heard the name, and believe him worthy of confidence. Did you advise with him?" "Ay! Though he had no oral message from General Hull, he counselled immediate evacuation. I also felt such action to be wise; but things were in such condition within the Fort,--so large a number of helpless women and children to be provided for, and so heavy a proportion of the garrison on the sick-list,--that I found it impossible to act promptly. The Indians gathered so rapidly without, and assumed so hostile a manner, that I thought it suicidal to attempt a march through the wilderness, encumbered as we should be, without some positive understanding with their chiefs." "I can easily comprehend all this, and that you have sought to act for the best," was Wells's comment; "but I fail to realize how you hoped to appease those same Indians by the wanton destruction last night of the liquor thrown into the river. It was done in direct opposition to the orders you have just read, and is bound to increase the hatred of the savages. You may be sure they are not ignorant of the contents of your despatch, and must resent the destruction of property they consider their own." "'Twas done upon the advice of two of their leading chiefs." "Indeed! Which two?" "Topenebe and Little Sauk." "The two biggest devils in that whole Pottawattomie camp, and the head and front of their war-party! Their purpose is clear enough to my mind, and seamed with treachery. Well, Heald, from my knowledge of Indian nature I must say that whoever goes forth now to confer with yonder redskins has a desperate mission; but if you are still determined upon such a conference, I will take my chances with you. 'T is given unto man but once to die." "No, William," replied Captain Heald, with more firmness. "It is your part to remain here in protection of your niece, my wife; and if my own officers refuse to volunteer in this service, I shall go forth alone to meet the chiefs. It is my duty as commandant." "Two of your officers are here," said Wells, "and they can probably answer for themselves. Ensign Ronan is not present." "He is acting as officer of the day," returned Heald, somewhat stiffly, "and is therefore not eligible for such service. Perhaps one of the officers here present possesses courage enough for the venture?" Apparently neither cared to express himself, after such an insinuation. At last one, whose voice I recognized as that of Surgeon Van Voorhis, gave utterance to his refusal. "As the only medical officer of the garrison, I feel justified in declining to go upon so desperate an expedition," he said gravely. "It would expose not only my own life to unnecessary peril, but the lives of many others as well." "And what say you, Lieutenant Helm? Have you also personal scruples?" I could detect a tremor in the younger officer's voice, as he answered promptly. "Captain Heald has before this seen me in time of danger," he said quietly, "and can have no reason for ascribing cowardice to me. But I will frankly say this, sir, and with all respect to my commanding officer, I believe such conference as now proposed with the hostile Indians yonder, at this late day, to be perfectly useless, and that every hour's delay since the receipt of orders to evacuate the post has only tended to increase our danger and lessen our hope of escape. I feel now that our only chance of safety lies in defending this stockade against attack until a rescue party from the East can reach us. I have a young wife among the women of this garrison; to her I owe allegiance, as well as to the flag I serve. Feeling as I do, Captain Heald, as a soldier I will obey any command you give, and will go forth upon this mission if ordered to do so, either in your company or alone; but I cannot volunteer for such service. I believe it to be foolhardy, and that whoever undertakes it goes forth to almost certain death." "Then I shall go alone," said Heald, sternly; "nor do I look forward to any such disastrous ending to so open a mission of peace." "Wait," broke in Wells, impulsively. "I have a final suggestion to make, if you are resolved to go. There rode in my party hither a rattle-brained gallant, bearing a French commission, who ought to prove sufficiently reckless to lend you his companionship. Faith! but I think it may well suit the fellow. Besides, if he wore his French uniform it might have weight with the reds." "Who is he?" asked Heald, doubtfully. "I seem not to have memory of him." "He calls himself Captain Villiers de Croix, and holds commission in the Emperor's Guard." Scarcely were the words spoken when I was on my feet, all vestige of sleep gone from my eyes. De Croix was hardly a friend of mine, since late developments, but he had been my comrade for many a league of hard forest travel, and I was unwilling to have him carelessly sacrificed in a venture regarding the danger of which he knew nothing. Besides, I counted on his sword to aid in the defence of Mademoiselle. I understood thoroughly the desperate chances of Indian treachery that lay before such a commission as was now proposed. It was rash in the extreme; and only the terrors of our position could sanction such an experiment. The savages that hemmed us in were already in an ugly mood, and fully conscious of their power. To go forth to them, unarmed and uninvited, as Captain Heald coolly proposed doing, was to walk open-eyed into a trap which treachery might snap shut at any time. It was not my purpose to halt De Croix, nor to stand between him and any adventure he might choose to undertake; but I could at least warn him, in a friendly spirit, of the imminent danger such a thing involved. With this thought in mind, I ran hastily across the open parade into the officers' mess-hall, hoping I might find him loitering there. To my hasty glance, the place appeared deserted; and I drew back, wondering where to turn next in search. As I hesitated on the threshold, the low voice of Mademoiselle fell upon my ear; and at that moment she emerged from behind the curtain which divided the officers' quarters. "May I hope you are seeking me?" she asked, graciously; "for it has been most lonely here all day,--even Captain de Croix seems to have forgotten my existence." "It was De Croix I sought," I answered, somewhat nettled by her prompt reference to him; "and doubtless you are well able to give me trace of him." She studied me keenly, marking an angry note in my voice that I sought vainly to disguise. "Forever a quarrel?" she said, regretfully. "Do you know, Master Wayland, I had thought better of you. Surely it is not your nature to be a brawler, and always seeking opportunity to show the strong hand! What has Captain de Croix done now to make you seek him so vengefully?" "'T is not in quarrel," I explained,--I fear with ill grace, for her words in his defence were little inclined to mollify me. "You may indeed have so poor conception of me as to misinterpret my coming; yet in truth I seek De Croix in friendship, hoping that I may by a chance word serve him." "Indeed! what danger threatens, that he needs to be warned against?" I hesitated; for, now that my blood had somewhat cooled, my mission seemed a bit foolish. "I insist upon knowing," she continued haughtily, her eyes full upon mine, "or I shall believe you sought him for hostile purpose, and would deceive me by fair words." "Mademoiselle," I answered gravely, "you do me wrong. Only a few moments ago I chanced to overhear a discussion, by the officers of this Fort, regarding a commission to go forth and hold council with the Indians. Captain Heald is determined upon such a course; but none will volunteer to accompany him, because of the grave danger of savage treachery. The Frenchman's name was mentioned as one reckless enough to join with such a party; and I sought to warn him ere he accepted blindly. He is hardly a friend of mine,--yet it seems no more than fair that he should know the full measure of his peril before saying 'yes.'" She came impulsively forward, with quickly extended hand, her face aglow. "You are indeed a true heart, John Wayland, and have shamed me rightly. I know well the deceit and treachery of Indian nature, and can understand the peril such a party would run. Promise me that you will prevent Captain de Croix from becoming one of them." "I?" I exclaimed in perplexed surprise; "I can do no more than warn him." "But you must do more!" she cried imperatively. "He will surely go if asked. A warning such as you propose would only stir his blood. I beg you to use your wits a little, so that he may know nothing of it." I looked at her, deeply hurt by the interest so openly displayed. "You are wondrously aroused for the Frenchman's safety, Mademoiselle!" "Yes, though not as you may fancy. Captain de Croix came here for my sake, even though no word of mine gave him reason for doing so. For this reason I could never forgive myself if harm befell him on such a journey. 'T would be as if I had lured him to his death. So 'tis for my sake, not his, that I ask the favor." I leaned against the log wall and thought quickly, her anxious eyes never leaving my face. There came into my mind a conviction that the girl really loved him; and this made the struggle harder for me to serve him. Nor did I see clearly how it could well be done, save through a sacrifice of myself, such as I had never intended. "Surely," she urged, "your wits will conceive some way in which it may be done?" "Yes," I answered, eager now to hide my own feeling from her; "'tis not hopeless. You desire that he be kept within the Fort, ignorant of this commission?" "I do; 't is the only way." "Very well, it shall be done, Mademoiselle. No, I need no thanks from you. Only do this simple thing, which, I am sure, you will find no hardship,--keep Captain de Croix from any possible contact with others for an hour. Your eyes will prove sufficient, no doubt, to enchain him that long; if not, use other measures." "But what will you do?" "That does not count. 'T is the result, not the means, that must content you. I have my plan, and it will work; but I cannot stay here longer to discuss it. Only do your part well, and I pledge you the safety of De Croix." I left her standing there, the light of questioning still in her eyes; but I wished mainly to be safely away, where I might hide my own sudden heart-ache in the energy of action. CHAPTER XX IN THE INDIAN CAMP It cut me deeply to think that this girl would willingly sacrifice me to save the French gallant from injury, and an anxiety to escape her presence before I should speak words I might always regret caused me to leave with scant ceremony. Yet I was none too soon; for scarce had I stepped without the door when I met Lieutenant Helm ascending the steps. "Ah, Wayland!" he said, catching sight of me, "do you happen to know where I am most likely to find Captain de Croix?" "He is scarcely to be disturbed at present, unless the matter be truly urgent," I replied, my plan hastily sketched in mind. "Have you arranged a banquet in honor of the Frenchman?" "No such good fortune," was the grave response. "Captain Heald desires his company upon an immediate mission to the Pottawattomie camp." "Oh, is that all? Well, Captain de Croix will hardly be found sufficiently recovered from his late adventure to enter upon another one so early. 'T is in my thought he either sleeps or is prinking himself for more pleasant conquests. But why worry him? In my judgment, no poorer choice could be made for so serious a task as you propose. He is a mere French courtier,--brave enough, and rash, I grant, yet without knowledge of Indian ways and treachery. Might not I answer better as his substitute?" "You?" "Ay! and why not? I am frontier-bred, long trained in woodcraft and savage ways, and surely far better fitted for such a task than is this petted darling of the courts. Were it a flirtation, now, the post might be truly his." "'T is true, you would be my choice; but do you realize the peril involved?" "Fully, my friend, yet scarce think it so desperate as you imagine. It is my judgment the savages yonder are seeking bigger game than so small a party would afford, and will therefore allow us to go free. However, if it should prove otherwise," and I spoke the words with a sore heart as I recalled what had just occurred, "I am a lone man in the world, and to such an one death is not so terrible, even at Indian hands. Come, I will go with you to confer with Captain Heald, and offer him my services. He can do no more than refuse." Helm offered no further objection, doubtless feeling it useless in my venturesome mood; and we crossed the parade together without speaking. Captain Wells was the first to see me as we entered, and some instinct told him instantly of my purpose. "Ah, Wayland, my boy! I have been troubled lest you might chance to hear of our plight, and jump in. Come now, lad! 't was not you we sent after, nor can we use you in so grave a matter." "And pray, why not?" I questioned, a little touched by this evidence of kindness, yet firmly determined to keep my pledge to Mademoiselle. "I am a better man for such deeds than the Frenchman, and am eager to go." "So this is not your Captain de Croix?" said Captain Heald, eying me curiously. "Saint George! but he is a big fellow,--the same who made the race last night, or I mistake greatly. And what is this man's name?" "It is John Wayland," I answered, anxious to impress him favorably; "a frontiersman of the Maumee country, and fairly skilled in Indian ways. I have come to volunteer my services to go with you." "You are anxious to die? have the spirit of a Jesuit, perchance, and are ambitious of martyrdom?" "Not unusually so, sir, but I think the danger overrated by these gentlemen. At least, I am ready and willing to go." "And so you shall, lad!" cried the old soldier, striking a hand upon his knee. "You are of the race of the long rifles; I know your kind well. Not another word, William! here is a man worth any twenty of your French beaux strutting with a sword. Now we start at once, and shall have this matter settled speedily." The earliest haze of the fast-descending twilight was hovering over the level plain as we two went forth. In the west, the red tinge of the sun, which had just disappeared below the horizon, lingered well up in the sky. Against it we could see, clearly outlined in inky blackness, the distant Indian wigwams; while to the eastward the crimson light was reflected in fantastic glow upon the heaving surface of the lake. For a moment we paused, standing upon the slope of the mound on which the Fort was built, and gazed about us. There was little movement to arrest the eye. The dull, dreary level of shore and prairie was deserted; what the more distant mounds of sand or the overhanging river banks might hide of savage watchers, we could only conjecture. Seemingly the mass of Indian life, which only the day before had overflowed that vacant space, had vanished as if by some sorcerer's magic. To me, this unexpected silence and dreary barrenness were astounding; I gazed about me fairly bewildered, almost dreaming for the moment that our foes had lifted the long siege and departed while I slept. Heald no doubt read the thought in my eyes, for he laid a kindly hand upon my sleeve and pointed westward. "They are all yonder, lad, at the camp,--in council, like enough. Mark you, Wayland, how much farther to the south the limit of their camp extends than when the sun sank last night? Saint George! they must have added all of fifty wigwams to their village! They gather like crows about a dead body. It has an ugly look." "Yet 't is strange they leave the Fort unguarded, so that the garrison may come and go unhindered. 'T is not the usual practice of Indian warfare." "Unguarded? Faith! the hundreds of miles of wilderness between us and our nearest neighbor are sufficient guard. But dream not, my lad, that we are unobserved; doubtless fifty pair of skulking eyes are even now upon us, marking every move. I venture we travel no more than a hundred yards from the gate before our way is barred. Note how peaceful the stockade appears! But for the closed gates, one would never dream it the centre of hostile attack. Upon my word, even love-making has not deserted its log-walls!" I lifted my eyes where he pointed, and even at that distance, and through the gathering gloom, I knew it was De Croix and Mademoiselle who overhung those eastern palisades in proximity so close. The sight was as fire to my blood, and with teeth clinched to keep back the mad utterance of a curse, I strode beside Captain Heald silently down the declivity to the deserted plain below. It is my nature to be somewhat chary of speech, and to feel deeply and long; but if I doubted it before, I knew now, in, this moment of keen and bitter disappointment, that my heart was with that careless girl up yonder, who had sent me forth into grave peril apparently without thought, and who cared so little even now that she never lifted her eyes from the sparkling water to trace our onward progress. Anger, disappointment, disgust at her duplicity, her cruel abuse of power, swept over and mastered me at the moment when I realized more deeply than ever my own love for her, and my utter helplessness to oppose her slightest whim. No Indian thongs could bind me half so tightly as the false smiles of Toinette. Plunged into this whirlpool of thought, I moved steadily forward at Captain Heald's shoulder, unconscious of what might be taking place about us, and for the moment indifferent to the result of our venture. But this feeling was not for long. Scarcely had our progress taken us across the front of the deserted agency building, and beyond the ken of the sentinels in the Fort, when a single warrior rose before us as from the ground, and blocked the path. He was a short, sturdy savage, bare to the waist save for a chain of teeth which dangled with sinister gleam about his brawny throat, and, from the wide sweep of his shoulders, evidently possessed of prodigious strength. He held a gun extended in front of him, and made a gesture of warning impossible to misapprehend. "What seeks the White Chief?" he questioned bluntly. "Does he come for peace or war?" The query came with such grave abruptness that Heald hesitated in reply. "Never since I have been at Dearborn have I sought war," he replied at last. "Little Sauk knows this well. We travel now that we may have council of peace with the chiefs of the Pottawattomies. See!" and he held up both empty hands before the Indian's eyes, "we are both unarmed, because of our trust in the good faith of your people." Little Sauk uttered a low grunt of disapproval, and made no motion to lower his threatening rifle. "Ugh! You talk strong! Did any Pottawattomie send to White Chief to come to council?" "No," admitted Heald. "We come because it is the wish of the Great Father of the white men down by the sea that we talk together of the wrongs of the red men, and make proposals of peace between us. There is no cause for these rumors of war, and the Great Father has heard that the Pottawattomies are dissatisfied, and it has made him sad." The Indian looked from one to the other of us in the growing darkness, and made a gesture of contempt. "The real Great White Father wears a red coat, and is friend to the Pottawattomie," he said with dignity. "He no lie, no shut Indian out of Fort, no steal furs, no throw rum in river. Who this man, White Chief? He no soldier,--he long-knife." "Yes, he is a frontiersman, and came to the Fort yesterday with Wau-me-nuk, bringing word of greeting from the Great Father to the Pottawattomies. He goes now with me to council. May we pass on to your camp?" For a moment Little Sauk did not answer, stepping closer in order that he might better scan my features. Apparently satisfied by the keen scrutiny, he turned his broad back upon us and strode off with contemptuous dignity. "Come," he said shortly; and without further word we followed across that dim plain and through the thickening darkness. The Indian's step was noiseless, and his figure cast the merest shadow; but as we moved onward others constantly joined us, stalking out of the black night like so many phantoms, gliding silently in their noiseless moccasins across the soft grass, until fully a dozen spectral forms hedged our pathway and kept step to every movement. It was a weird procession, through the shifting night-shadows; and although I could catch but fleeting glimpses of those savage faces and half-naked forms, the knowledge of their presence, and our own helplessness if they proved treacherous, caused my heart to throb till I could hear it in the painful silence like the beat of a drum. Now and then a guttural voice challenged from the darkness, to be instantly answered by those in advance, and another savage glided within our narrowed vision, scanned us with cruel and curious eyes, and fell in with the same silent, tiger-like tread of his fellows. It was not long that we were compelled to march thus, the gathering warriors pressing us closer at each step; and it was well it proved so soon ended, for the grim mockery set my nerves on edge. Yet the change was hardly for the better. Just before reaching the spot where the river forked sharply to the southward, we came to the upper edge of the wigwams, and into a bit of light from their scattered fires. There rushed out upon us a wild horde of excited savages, warriors and squaws, who pushed us about in sheer delirium, and even struck viciously at us across the shoulders of our indifferent guard, so that it was only by setting my teeth that I held back from grappling with the demons. But Heald, older in years and of cooler blood, laid restraining hands upon my arm. "'T is but the riff-raff," he muttered warningly. "The chiefs will hold them back from doing us serious harm." As he spoke, Little Sauk uttered a gruff order, and the grim warriors on our flank drove back the jeering, scowling crowd, with fierce Indian cursing and blows of their guns, until the way had been cleared for our advance. We moved on for two hundred yards or more, the maddened and vengeful mob menacing us just beyond reach of the strong arms, and howling in their anger until I doubted not their voices reached the distant Fort. We came to a great wigwam of deer-skin, much larger than any I had ever seen, with many grotesque figures of animals sketched in red and yellow paint upon the outside, and clearly revealed by the blazing fire without. A medicine-man of the tribe, hideous with pigment and high upstanding hair, sat beating a wooden drum before the entrance, and chanting wildly to a ferocious-looking horde of naked savages, many bleeding from self-inflicted wounds, who danced around the blaze, the leaping figures in the red glare making the scene truly demoniacal. Little Sauk strode through the midst of them, unheeding the uproar, and flung aside the flap of the tent. "White Chief and Long Knife wait here," he said Sternly. "Come back pretty soon." There was nothing to be seen within, excepting some skins flung carelessly upon the short trodden grass. We sat down silently upon these, gazing out through the narrow opening at the blazing fire and the numerous moving figures constantly crowding closer about the entrance, both of us too deeply immersed in thought to care for speech. The black shadows upon the tepee cover told me that guards had been posted to keep back the rabble from intrusion, and once I saw signs of a brief struggle in front when the swarm had grown too inquisitive and were forced back with scant ceremony. The weird dance and incantation continued; and although I knew but little of the customs of the Pottawattomies, there was a cruel savagery and ferocity about it which I felt held but little promise of peace. "'T is the war-dance," whispered Heald in my ear, "and bodes ill for our purpose. See! the red wampum is in the fellow's hand." As I bent forward to catch the gleam of it in the flames, a new figure suddenly flitted past our narrow vista, between us and the wild circle of dancers. It was a woman, attired in fanciful Indian dress; but surely no Pottawattomie squaw ever possessed so graceful a carriage, or bore so clear a face. "Captain!" I ejaculated eagerly. "Did you see that white woman there, with the long skirt and red hair?" "Ay!" he answered as though he scarce had faith in his own eyes. "I marked not the color of her hair, but I saw the lass, and, by Saint George! she looked to me like old Roger Matherson's daughter." CHAPTER XXI A COUNCIL OF CHIEFS I was on my feet in an instant, forgetful of everything excepting my duty to this girl whom I had come so far to find, and who now was plainly a prisoner in Indian hands. At the entrance of the tepee, a scowling warrior pushed me roughly back, pretending not to understand my eager words of expostulation, and, by significant gesture, threatening to brain me with his gun-stock if I persisted. A slight return of reason alone kept me from striking the fellow down and striding over his prostrate body. While I stood struggling with this temptation, Captain Heald grasped me firmly. "Are you mad, Wayland?" he muttered, dragging me back into the dark interior of the tepee. "For God's sake, don't anger these fellows! Think of all the helpless lives depending on the success of our errand here! What is the girl to you?" "I will wait," I answered, calmed by his earnestness, and ashamed of my boyish impetuosity; "but I am here at Dearborn seeking this young woman, whom I had supposed rather to be a young child. Her father was my father's dearest friend, and wrote us from his death-bed asking our protection for her." "You are Major Wayland's son,--I remember the circumstances now, and that I endorsed such a letter. 'T is most strange. This girl disappeared from Dearborn some days ago. Mrs. Heald heard the matter discussed among the ladies of the garrison, and then all supposed her to be at John Kinzie's in company with Josette La Framboise; yet I would almost have sworn I saw her again, and not two hours ago, within the Fort. By Saint George! the glimpse I got just now makes me doubt my own eyesight. She was ever an odd creature,--but what can bring her here, walking so freely about in this camp of vengeful savages?" I could not answer him; the mystery was beyond my clearing. Only, if this was the Elsa Matherson for whom I had sought so long, surely God had in some way led me on to find her; nor should any peril turn my quest aside. I had hardly time for this resolve, ere the flap of the tepee was held back by a dark hand, and in grimly impressive silence warrior after warrior, plumed, painted, and gaudily bedecked with savage ornaments, stalked solemnly within, circled about us without sign of greeting, and seated themselves cross-legged upon the bare ground. The uplifted door-skin permitted the red flames from without to play freely over their stern, impassive faces, and shone back upon us from their glittering eyes. It was an impressive scene, their stoical demeanor breathing the deep solemnity of the vast woods and plains amid which their savage lives were passed; nor could one fail to feel the deep gravity with which they gathered in this council of life or death. To them it was evident that the meeting was of most serious portent. I saw only two faces that I recognized in that red ring,--Topenebe and Little Sauk. I knew, however, it was probable there were some great chiefs among that company; and I marked especially two, one with long white hair, and a tall, slender, rather young fellow, having two wide streaks of yellow down either cheek. The Indians sat motionless, gazing intently at us; and I swept the entire dark circle of scowling faces, vainly endeavoring to find one hopeful glance, one friendly eye. Open hatred, undisguised distrust, implacable enmity, were stamped on every feature. Whatever our plea might be, I felt convinced that the chiefs were here only to carry out their own purposes and make mock of every offering of peace. After several moments of this painful silence, the chief with the long white hair deliberately lighted a large pipe drawn from his belt. It was curiously and grotesquely fashioned, the huge bowl carved to resemble the head of a bear. He drew from the stem a single thick volume of smoke, breathed it out into the air, and solemnly passed the pipe to the warrior seated upon his right. With slow deliberation, the symbol moved around the impassive and emotionless circle, passing from one red hand to another, until it finally came back to him who had first lighted it. Without so much as a word being uttered, he gravely offered it to Captain Heald. I heard, and understood, the quick sigh of relief with which my companion grasped it; he drew a breath of the tobacco, and I followed his example, handing back the smoking pipe to the white-haired chief without rising, amid the same impressive silence. The Indian leader spoke for the first time, his voice deep and guttural. "The Pottawattomies have met in council with the White Chief and the Long Knife," he said soberly, "and have smoked together the peace-pipe. For what have the white men come to disturb Gomo and his warriors?" I gazed at him with new interest. No name of savage chief was wider known along the border in those days, none more justly feared by the settlers. He was a tall, spare, austere man, his long coarse hair whitened by years, but with no stoop in his figure. His eyes, small and keen, blazed with a strange ferocity, as I have seen those of wildcats in the dark; while his flesh was drawn so closely against his prominent cheek-bones as to leave an impression of ghastliness, as of a corpse suddenly returned by some miracle to life. With dabs of paint across the forehead, and thin lips drawn in a narrow line of cruelty, his face formed a picture to be long remembered with a shudder. It was easy enough to see that Captain Heald felt uncertain how far to venture in his proposals, though he spoke up boldly, and with no tremor in his voice. His long frontier experience had taught him the danger that lay in exhibiting timidity in the face of Indian scorn. "Gomo," he said firmly, "and you other Chiefs of the Pottawattomies, there has never been war between us. We have traded together for many seasons; you have eaten at my table, and I have rested by your fires. We have been as brothers, and more than once have I judged between you and those who would wrong you. I have remembered all this, and have now come into your camp through the night, without fear and unarmed, that I might talk with you as friends. Am I not right to do this? In all the time I have been the White Chief at Dearborn, have I ever done wrong to a Pottawattomie?" He paused; but no warrior made reply. A low guttural murmur ran around the line of listeners, but the bead-like eyes never left his face. He went on: "Why should I fear to meet the Pottawattomies, even though word had come to me that their young men talk war, and seek alliance with our enemy the red-coats? The Chiefs have seen war, and are not crazed for the blood of their friends. They will restrain such wild mutterings. They know that the White Father to the east is strong, and will drive the red-coats back into the sea as he did when they fought before. They will ally themselves with the strong one, and make their foolish young man take up arms for their friends." Still no one spoke, no impassive bronze face exhibited the faintest interest. It was as if he appealed to stone. "Is this not so?" "The White Chief has spoken," was the cold reply. "His words are full of eloquence, but Gomo hears nothing that calls for answer. The White Chief says not why he has come and demanded council of the Pottawattomies." A low murmur, expressive of approval, swept down the observant line; but no man among them stirred a muscle. "I came for this, Gomo," said Heald, speaking now rapidly, and with an evident determination to trust all in a sentence and have it over with, for it was clear the savages were in no mood for diplomatic evasion: "to ask your guidance and protection on our march eastward on the morrow. I come to the Pottawattomies as friends; for I fear we may meet with trouble on the way, from roving bands of Wyandots and Miamis, and we are greatly burdened by our women and children. It is to ask this that I and the Long Knife are here." "You say the White Father is strong, and will drive the red-coats into the sea: did he at Mackinac?" "There was treachery there." "Ugh! Why, if White Father so strong, you leave Fort and go way off?" "Because just now I can serve him better elsewhere; but we shall come again." "My young men have rumor that Detroit go like Mackinac." "It is untrue; your young men bring false news." Gomo turned and looked about him upon the expectant warriors; and, as if the glance was an invitation to free speech, one sitting half-way across the circle asked gruffly: "Why you pour out rum, if you love Pottawattomie?" "Because I am only the White Chief at Dearborn," returned Heald, facing the questioner, "and, like Peesotum who asks, have higher chiefs elsewhere whom I must obey. What they tell me I have to do." "White Chief lies!" was the short, stern answer. "Winnemeg brought no such word." So furious were the many dark, glowering faces, that I braced myself, thinking the next moment would be one of struggle for life or death; but Gomo held them motionless with a wave of his hand. He rose slowly to his feet, and faced us with grave dignity. "It is true, as Peesotum says," he said impressively. "The White Chief has used a double tongue to the Red man; yet we will deal fairly with him, for he has come to us in peace. White Chief, there is to be war between us; 't is the will of our young men, and the red wampum has passed among our lodges and the lodges of our brothers the Wyandots. Yet when you unlock the gates we will go forth with you and your people, around the sweep of the water. Such is the will of the Great Spirit, and the decision of the Pottawattomie in council of chiefs." Heald looked about upon the scowling circle with disbelief so clearly expressed in his eyes, that Gomo, reading it, turned to his warriors and called upon them one by one to say if he spoke the truth. I heard him speak thus to Little Sauk, Black Bird, Topenebe, Mankia, Pipe Bird, Peesotum, and Ignance; and each answered with the low grunt of assent. He fixed his eyes upon the younger Indian who had already attracted my attention by the manliness of his face as well as the yellow stripes that disfigured him. "And you, Black Partridge?" "I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans," was the grave response. "I have no more to say." I confess these words chilled me, as I recalled their meaning; and Heald half rose to his feet as though he would protest, but not a stolid face among the warriors changed in expression. Gomo drew his robes more closely about his gaunt figure in simple but impressive dignity. "Doth Shaw-nee-aw-kee go east also with the white men?" he asked. "I have not of late conferred with the Silver-man. He has been at his own lodge, and doubtless you may know his purpose better than I." "We wish him to stay. He good man; Pottawattomie's friend." The Indian stood motionless, his eyes watching keenly the expression of each face. He added slowly: "The White Chief hears the promise of the Pottawattomies. It is enough. He can go forth in peace upon the morrow, with all his warriors, squaws, and pappooses, and the people of my nation will walk with them as guards. It is our pledge; we will counsel no longer." At a simple commanding gesture of his long arms, the circle melted away through the narrow opening as silently as it had gathered, the dark figure of each warrior silhouetted for an instant against the red glare of the fire, before it suddenly disappeared in the darkness beyond. At last Little Sauk alone stood between us and the blaze. "Come," he commanded gruffly, "White Chief go back to his people." Enclosed by that same phantom guard of savages, we passed out through the limits of the camp; but now the rabble paid not the slightest heed to our presence. Our mission known, and no longer a mystery, they treated us with the stolid indifference of Indian contempt. I walked with eyes alert upon either side of our path for another glimpse of that girlish figure that I had seen before so dimly; but we traversed nearly the full length of the tepee rows before I saw any one that at all resembled her. Even then, I was far from certain, until the sudden leaping up of a dying fire reflected on her crown of auburn hair, and set my heart to throbbing. "Little Sauk!" I cried, in my excitement clutching his naked arm, "who is that white girl yonder, and how comes she here?" The startled Indian sprang aside, flinging me from him with a violence that showed his giant strength. "No white girl," he protested, vehemently. "Pottawattomie." "No Pottawattomie has hair like the sunset," I retorted. "Come, I would speak with the girl." For an instant I saw the bead-like eyes of the savage glittering in the darkness and wandering where I pointed. He faced me doggedly. "Long Knife leave Indian maid alone," he said grimly. "Long Knife go Fort; no talk." I was in a mood to resist the fellow's dictation, and reckless enough of consequences at that moment to take the chance; but Heald interfered. "You can serve her far better, lad, in that way," he muttered hastily. "We shall not always be two to twelve." With teeth gritted to keep back the fierce anger that shook me, I strolled sullenly on, not even venturing to glance back lest I should give way. It was thus we reached the Fort gate, and entered, leaving our dusky escort to slink back into the night. An anxious crowd met us. It was Wells who questioned first. "So those devils have let you go unharmed? What answer made the savages?" "They pledge us safe convoy around the head Of the lake." "They do? Who spoke the words of the pledge?" "Old Gomo himself, and it was ratified by each of the chiefs in turn." "They are lying dogs,--all but one of them. What answered Black Partridge?" Heald made no response; and Wells wheeled impetuously to me. "Come, lad, the truth,--what reply did Black Partridge make to this Indian mummery?" "He said, 'I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans, and have nothing more to say.'" For a moment the old Indian soldier stared at me, his stern face fairly black with the cloud in his eyes. He brought his clinched hand down hard against the log wall. "By God! it is treachery!" he exclaimed fiercely, and turned and walked away. CHAPTER XXII THE LAST NIGHT AT DEARBORN It was evident that preparations were even then well under way for retreat the following morning. Trunks and boxes, together with various military stores and arms, strewed the sides of the parade-ground; farther back, a number of wagons, partially filled, stood waiting the remainder of their loads. Men and women were hastening back and forth, and children were darting through the shadows, their little arms piled high with bundles, and making play, as children ever will, of what was to prove an awful tragedy. A large fire, burning brightly before the deserted guard-house, cast its ruddy glow over the animated scene, checkering the rude walls with every passing shadow. I noticed, as I slowly pushed my way along, that the soldiers worked seriously, with few jests on their lips, as if they realized the peril that menaced them; while many among the women, especially those of the humbler sort, were rejoicing over the early release from garrison monotony, and careless of what the morrow might bring of danger and suffering. A few steps from the gate, I paused for a moment that I might watch their flitting figures, the incessant bustle being a positive relief after the dull and ghostly silence without. My mind,--though I strove to cast the thought aside,--was still occupied with the mystery of Elsa Matherson; but the more I dwelt upon it, the less I was able to penetrate the secret of her strange presence in the Indian camp, or devise any scheme for reaching her. The ache in my heart made me dread to meet again with Mademoiselle Toinette, lest I should utter words of reproach which she did not deserve; for, sad as such a confession was, I had to acknowledge that she had a perfect right to protect the man she loved, even at my cost. Nor did I greatly desire to run upon De Croix. I knew his temper fairly well, and doubtless by this time he had learned the story of my interference, and would be in fit mood for a quarrel. Still, as seems often to be the case at such a time, before I had taken a dozen steps away from the gate, I met him face to face. It was a jaunty picture he made in the glare of the fire, the fine gentleman sauntering lazily about, with hat of bleached straw pushed rakishly upon his powdered hair, and a light cane dangling at his wrist, as fashionably attired as if he were loitering upon the boulevards of an August evening, his negro man a yard behind, bearing a silken fan which flashed golden in the radiance. At sight of him, I stopped instantly, ready enough to resent attack if that had been his purpose, though anxious to avoid violence for the sake of Mademoiselle. But he merely laughed as he surveyed me critically, swinging his bamboo stick as if it were a whip-lash. "_Parbleu_, Master Wayland!" he said, seeming in rare good-humor, "I this moment learned of your safe return. 'T would have been an excellent joke had the savage found excuse to retain you out yonder, to form a part of one of their delightful entertainments! Fit revenge, indeed, for the foul deceit you played upon me!" "Think you so, Monsieur?" for his easy words relieved me greatly. "It would have been one less arm for our defence." "With safe convoy guaranteed by the Indian chiefs, that loss would make small odds," he replied carelessly. "But, truly, that was a most scurvy trick you played to gain the wager which was offered me. But for the happy ending, I should be sorely tempted to break this cane across your shoulders in payment therefor." "Indeed!" I said; "the act might not be as easily accomplished as you imagine. But what mean you by happy ending? Had the savages roasted me over a slow fire, I should hardly be here for the pleasure of your chastisement." He laughed lightly, his eyes wandering carelessly over the throng of figures in front of us. "Saint Guise! I thought not about your predicament, but rather of the happiness which came to me in the society of Mademoiselle. In faith, she was most gracious with her favor. 'T is thus you did me a great kindness, friend, and have won my gratitude." The words were as stinging as he meant them to be, for I marked his quick glance into my face. So I held my resentment well in check, and smiled back at him, apparently unconcerned. "Then we are again even, Monsieur," I returned quietly, "and can start anew upon our score. But why should I remain here to discuss matters of such small import, with all this work unfinished which fronts strong men to-night? I will break my long fast, and turn to beside these others." He seemed to have further words to say; but I minded him not, and pushed past, leaving him to saunter where he willed, accompanied by his black satellite. If I could not win Mademoiselle, as I now felt assured from his boastful speech I could not, I might at least work for her greater safety and comfort; and there was much I could do to help in burying my own disappointment. For all that, it was a night to live long in the memory,--that last night we spent at Dearborn. It remains a rare jumble in my mind,--its varied incidents crowding so fast upon each other as to leave small room for thought regarding any one of them. Without, the dim black plain stretched away in unbroken solemnity and silence; nor did the sentinels posted along the walls catch glimpse of so much as a skulking Indian form amid the grass and sand. A half-moon was in the sky, with patches of cloud now and then shadowing it, and in the intervals casting its faint silver over the lonely expanse and tipping the crest of the waves as they crept in upon the beach. The great Indian village to the westward was fairly ablaze with fires; while the unending procession of black dots that flitted past them, together with the echo of constant uproar, showed that the savages were likewise astir in eager preparation for the morrow. We could hear the pounding of wooden drums, mingled with shrill yells that split the night-air like so many war-missiles. Only those above, upon the platform, could mind these things; for the bustle within the enclosure below continued unabated until long after midnight. The report of our mission spread rapidly, and the pledge of protection given by the chiefs greatly heartened the men, so that they worked now with many a peal of laughter and careless jest. The women and children, ever quick to feel the influence of the soldiers, responded at once to this new feeling of confidence, which was encouraged by the officers, however they may have secretly doubted the good-faith of the savages. So the children tumbled about in the red glare of the flames, the soldiers swung their traps into the waiting wagons with good-natured badinage, their brawny breasts bare and glistening with sweat in the hot night; while, as the hour grew late and discipline sensibly relaxed, the women danced in the open and sang songs of home. It was hard enough to realize what it all meant,--what hardship and suffering and death lay just before these rejoicing people; what depths of cruel treachery and murder lurked for them so few hours away. We did not suspect it then; not even those among us who had long learned the deceit of Indian nature could unroll the shadowing veil of that morrow and reveal the forthcoming tragedy of those silent plains. I remember that, doubtful as I felt about the future, I could look on with interest at the busy scene, and that more than once a smile lay upon my lips. What an odd variety of figures that congested place disclosed! what strange life-histories were having their culmination there! I saw Ensign Ronan, young, slender, smooth of face, appearing scarce more than a boy, his short fatigue-jacket buttoned to the throat in spite of the heat, hurrying here and there in his enthusiasm, ever upon his lips some happy phrase to take the sting from his word of command. Lieutenant Helm, calm but observant of every detail, moved in and out among the busy throng, every now and then stealing aside to speak a word of encouragement to his young wife, who stood watching by the mess-room door. There was quite a bevy gathered there, officers' wives for the most part, gazing in mingled interest and apprehension upon the scene. I marked among them Josette, who had come in that evening with the Kinzies; and as I drew yet nearer the group, a sudden blazing up of the fire yielded me a glimpse of Mademoiselle, and I turned hastily away, unwilling still to greet or be greeted by her. Gaunt frontiersmen stalked about, having little to save and nothing to do, with the inevitable long rifle held in the hollow of the arm; Captain Wells's Miamis skulked uneasily in dark corners, or hung over the embers to cook some ration yet unused, their dark skins and long coarse hair a reminder to us of the hostiles who watched without. Captain Heald, in company with Captain Wells and John Kinzie, the latter conspicuous by his white beard, stood long in deep converse near the barracks, leaning against the black logs. I felt the two latter were urging some change of plan; but in the end Wells left in vexation, almost in anger, striding across the parade-ground to the northern block-house. In the shadow of the south stockade, some one was softly playing upon a violin, the sweet notes stealing up through the wild hubbub in strains of silvery sound. Close upon one side of the fire, forgetful of the heat in their deep interest, two young soldiers were engrossed in a game of cards, while a group of comrades commented freely on the fortunes of the play. Scarcely a yard distant, a grizzled old sergeant,--a veteran of the great war, no doubt,--bent above a book held open upon his knee, the shape of which bespoke a Bible; while on the other side a bevy of children were romping with their dogs or playing with sharp knives in the hard ground. A woman over by the gate lifted a sweet contralto voice in an old-time love-song, and had hardly lilted the opening line before others joined her, making the night resound to the tender melody. I saw the soldiers pause in their work to beat time, and marked the dark forms of the sentries above on the palisades as they leaned over to listen, every heart set throbbing with the memory of days gone by. "Man is indeed a strange animal," said a voice beside me, and I turned to greet Ensign Ronan. "He can sing, laugh, and jest, in death's very teeth." "'T is better, surely, than to cry," I commented. "But these do not so much as dream of death; the pledge of the Pottawattomies has brought renewed hope." "Yes, I know; though I confess I have little faith in it. And there will be plenty of danger about us before we see Fort Wayne, even if they pass us in safety around the lake. There will be leagues of travel through hostile territory. That," he added, "is, to my mind, the only sensible way of preparation, for the morrow." He pointed to the old sergeant seated beside the fire with his Bible; and I glanced into his boyish face with no little surprise. "Some remark Surgeon Van Voorhis made caused me to deem you indifferent in such matters." "No doubt," he said, dryly. "If one does not subscribe to the creeds, he is written down a heretic. I have laughed at folly, and so have won the reputation of being an unbeliever. Yet, Wayland, if we ride forth to a savage death to-morrow, no one will meet it with more faith in Christ than I. The years indeed have not left me spotless, but I have never wavered from the great truths my mother taught me. I know not the future, lad, but I believe there is ever mercy for the penitent." In an instant my own thought spanned the leagues of forest to my distant home; and I choked back a sob within my throat. "It is our mothers' love that makes us all better men," I said gravely. "And whatever may befall us upon the morrow, that God of whom they taught us will be true." "The words are spoken in the right spirit," he returned, soberly, "and have the soldier ring I like best to hear. If it chance that we both come forth from this venture in life, I should be most glad to know you better." I was deeply touched by his open, manly spirit, and especially impressed with his frank adherence to the Christian faith,--something too uncommon in that day along the border. "'T is rather my wish to begin friendship before that time of trial," I said eagerly, and with extended hand. "We shall fight the better for it when the hour for fighting comes; and if it be God's will to guide us safely through the wilderness, a friendship thus cemented in peril will have the strength of comradeship." The young man's strong and thoughtful face lighted up; but his eyes were resting upon the form of the sentry above us, and he did not speak. "Ronan," I questioned, somewhat doubtfully, "I have long wished to ask you the cause of the friction that apparently exists between Captain Heald and the officers of this garrison; but have felt it none of my business. I cannot but realize you are not in his good graces, although he appears to me to be a brave and capable man." "He is both," was the instant and manly reply; "for all that, he has constantly turned for counsel in military matters to others than his own officers,--why, I know not, unless he considered us unworthy of his confidence. Instead of confiding his orders to us, and asking judgment upon his plans, he has been swayed from the beginning by Indian advice; and it is only natural for us to resent such unjust and discourteous treatment. Moreover, each move thus far made has proved to be a mistake, and we must suffer from them in silence and without remedy." "He does indeed seem strangely headstrong," I admitted reluctantly, recalling to mind the words uttered in the room beyond my bed; "but surely his conference with the chiefs has resulted well, and is proof of his good judgment." The young officer turned quickly and faced me, his eyes full of emotion. "That remains to be decided," he exclaimed. "Such old frontiersmen as Captain Wells and John Kinzie say that pledge only hides black treachery. They urged him most earnestly, for an hour to-night, to reconsider his decision, and give up the immediate evacuation of the post. But he fully believes he can put faith in those lying, murderous hounds out yonder. So certain is Kinzie of trouble, that he has sworn to march forth with us, sending his family away by boat, in hope that his influence may hold back the savages from open attack; while Wells declares that he will ride forth with blackened face, as becomes a Miami who goes to certain death in battle. These men are no fools, no strangers to savage warfare and Indian deceit,--yet in spite of their warning, Captain Heald persists in driving us forth into the very fangs of the wolves. Brave! ay, he is indeed brave to the point of rashness; but this bids fair to be a fatal bravery to all of us who must obey his orders." The intense bitterness of these words shocked me and held me dumb,--the more so, as I could not be insensible to their truth. As I lifted my eyes, I beheld, crossing the parade through the mass of equipment scattered here and there, De Croix and Mademoiselle. With a half-muttered excuse, I drew hastily back into the protecting shadow of the stockade; and as they slowly passed, I heard him jesting lightly, and saw her laughing, with a side-glance up at his face. With these words of warning from Ronan's lips yet ringing in my ears, such reckless thoughtlessness of the danger encircling us astounded me; and I drew farther back, less willing than ever to make one of them. Deep in my heart, I knew this was no time for careless laughter or happy jest. CHAPTER XXIII THE DEATH-SHADOW OF THE MIAMIS It was after midnight when I finally ceased my labors, feeling I had performed my fair share of the hard work of preparation. By this time everything was comparatively quiet within the stockade enclosure; the wagons were piled with all that could be loaded before morning, and many of the wearied soldiers had flung themselves upon the ground to snatch what rest they might before the early call to march. The women and children had disappeared, to seek such comfort as was possible amid the ruins of their former quarters; and only the sentries remained alert, pacing their solemn rounds on the narrow walk overlooking the palisades and the silent plain without. Physically wearied as I was, my mind remained intensely active, and I felt no desire for sleep. I do not recall that I gave much thought to the perils of our situation. One grows careless and indifferent to danger,--and in truth I looked forward to no serious trouble with the Indians upon the morrow's march through the sand-dunes; not that I greatly trusted to those reluctant pledges wrung from the chiefs, but because I felt that if properly handled in that open country our force was of sufficient fighting strength to repel any ordinary attack from ill-armed savages, my long border experience rendering me a bit disdainful of Indian courage and resourcefulness. So it was that my restless mind dwelt rather upon other matters more directly personal. I could not put away the thought of the half-seen girl flitting about amid the dusk of the Pottawattomie camp, especially as Captain Heald had declared her to be Elsa Matherson. I was surprised to discover that she I sought, instead of being a mere child, was a woman grown; for in this we were all deceived by the words of her father. What did she there, passing with such apparent freedom from restraint among those fierce warriors? and how was I ever to reach her with any hope of rescue, even if she desired it? There was evidently a mystery here which I could never solve through idle musing; and yet I could but ask myself where lay my graver duty,--beside this single woman, who seemingly needed no defender, or with the many helpless ones who must march forth on the morrow on that long and dangerous passage through the wilderness? Indeed, what hope could I cherish of aiding the young girl, if I now deserted these others, and endeavored alone to penetrate that Indian camp in search of her? Then came another thought. It was of Mademoiselle. It was this that effectually halted me. To whomsoever else she might have given her heart, she was still the one for whom I was most glad either to live or die; and in spite of De Croix, I would ride at her side on the morrow, within striking distance of any prowling hostile. Let the Matherson girl wait; my arm belonged first of all to the defence of Mademoiselle. Busied with these thoughts, and endeavoring to adjust this decision with my conscience, I passed out upon the platform, that I might look forth once more upon the moonlit waters of the lake. There were a few dim figures to be seen, leaning over the logs; but I supposed them to be members of the night-guard, and, feeling no desire for companionship, I halted in a lonely spot at the northeastern corner of the stockade. How desolate, how solemnly impressive, was the scene! To the north all was black in the dense night, the shadows of the scattering trees obscuring the faint glow of the moon and yielding little of detail to the searching eye. Even the single ray of light which the evening previous had blazed forth as a friendly beacon from the Kinzie home, was now absent. I could vaguely distinguish the dim outlines of the deserted house in the distance, and noticed a large boat moored close to the bank beneath the Fort stockade,--doubtless the one in which the fugitives expected to venture out upon the lake on the morrow. It was the wide stretch of water, gleaming like silver, that fascinated me, as it always did in its numberless changing moods. What unutterable loneliness spoke to the soul in those unknown leagues of tossing sea! how far the eye wandered unchecked, searching vainly for aught to rest upon other than glistening surge or darkling hollow! The mystery of the ages lay unexpressed in those tossing billows, sweeping in out of the black east, making low moan to the unsympathetic and unheeding sky. Deeper and deeper the spirit of unrest, of doubt, of brooding discontent, weighed down upon me as I gazed; life seemed as aimless as that constant turmoil yonder, a mere silver-tinted heaving, destined to burst in useless power on a shore of rock, and then roll back again into the mighty deep. I leaned over the palisades, sunk deep in revery of home, recalling one by one the strange incidents of the last month that had so curiously conspired to cause a total upheaval of my life; and for the moment I grew oblivious of my surroundings. A mere lad, knowing little of himself and less of life, had ridden westward from the Maumee; a man, in thought and character, leaned now over that beleaguered stockade of Dearborn. I was recalled to actualities by a light touch on the sleeve of my shirt, and a half-laughing, half-petulant voice at my elbow. "Well, Master Laggard! do I not show you great honor in thus seeking you out, after your avoidance of me all these hours?" I glanced aside into the fair face and questioning eyes, noting at the same time that De Croix stood only a step beyond her in the shadows. "I have been very busy, Mademoiselle," I tried to explain; "it has been a time when every strong hand was needed." "Fudge!" was the indignant rejoinder. "Did I not perceive you loitering more than once to-night,--though each time I drew near, hopeful of a word of greeting, it was to behold you disappear as if by magic? Do I flatter you by thus showing my interest? Yet 't was only that I might have explanation, that I sought you thus. Come, confess that you feared my just resentment for going forth on so perilous a trip without telling me of your plans." "'T was not altogether that," I answered, for dissembling was never an easy task for me, "as I only did what I believed would most please you. Nor have I anything to regret in my action, now that we have thus gained the pledge of the Pottawattomies for protection upon the march." She watched me closely as I spoke, and I wondered if she realized ever so dimly the impulse of loving service that had inspired my deed. Whether 't was so or not, her whole mood quickly changed. "I must admit you are a constant puzzle to me, John Wayland,--yet rather an interesting one withal. For instance, here is Josette, who did assure me but an hour ago that your very name was unknown to her, although, if memory serves, you asserted only yesterday that you were seeking her from the Maumee country. Perhaps, sir, you can explain the contradiction?" "It was not altogether as you have stated it, Mademoiselle," I stammered, confused by the directness of her attack. "I said nothing of knowing this Josette, and you have deceived yourself in the matter. I came here seeking a young girl, 't is true, but found no trace of her until a few hours ago, most curiously, in the heart of that Indian camp yonder." "You found her there? How strange!" "Most strange indeed, Mademoiselle, especially as she appeared to enjoy perfect liberty among the savages." "You spoke with her?" "Not a word; it was only a glimpse I caught of her in the firelight, and when I sought to go to her the warriors interfered and forced me back. But Captain Heald, who saw her at the same time, assured me 't was the one I sought." "'T is small wonder, then, you could stand here at my very side so long, and yet see me not, or remain indifferent to my presence," she said, drawing slightly back. "Come, Captain de Croix, let us walk to the other corner of the stockade, and leave Master Wayland to dream of his mysterious beauty undisturbed." "You misapprehend me," I cried, awakened by her words, but more by De Croix's smile. "She has no such hold upon my memory as that, for until tonight I had supposed her a mere child. I knew not you were upon the platform, believing the forms I saw in the gloom to be those of the night-guard. What dark figure is that, even now leaning over the logs yonder?" It was De Croix's deeper voice that made answer. "'Tis Captain Wells; and we found him in no mood for conversation. Seemingly he hath small faith in the pledges of the chiefs." "My own hope rests far more upon our skill at arms, Monsieur," I answered directly; "for I have known Indian treachery all my life. They may keep faith with us to-morrow, for John Kinzie has great influence with them for good; nevertheless, I shall oil my gun carefully before riding forth." It was in his eyes to make reply, but before it could come the girl between us uttered a cry so piercing that it set us gazing where her finger pointed out across the lake. "Look there, Messieurs! Did ever mortal behold so grewsome a sight before? What means the portent?" It is before me now, in each grim, uncanny detail,--though I know well that my pen will fail to give it fit description, or convey even feebly a sense of the overwhelming dread of what we saw. Nature has power to paint what human hand may never hope to copy; and though, as I now know well, it was no more than a strange commingling of cloud and moon in atmospheric illusion, still the effect was awe-inspiring to a degree difficult of realization within the environments of peace and safety. To us, it appeared as a dreadful warning,--a mysterious manifestation of supernatural power, chilling our blood with terror and striking agony into our souls. Up from the far east had rolled an immense black cloud, rifted here and there by bars of vivid yellow as electric bolts tore it asunder. Moonlight tipped its heavy edges with a pale spectral gleam; and as it swiftly rose higher and higher into the sky, blotting out the stars, it seemed to dominate the entire expanse, hovering over us menacingly, and assuming the shape of some gigantic monster, with leering face and cruel mouth, bending forward as if to smite us with huge uplifted hand. Perchance our tensioned nerves may have exaggerated the resemblance, but nothing more horribly real have my eyes ever beheld. For a moment I cowered, like a nerveless craven, behind the logs, gazing up at that awful apparition, that mocking devil's-face, as a man fronts death in some terrible and unexpected form. It seemed as if the breath of the creature must be pestilence, and that it would smite us gasping to earth, or draw us helplessly struggling within its merciless clutch. A prayer trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered, for I could only stare upward at the mighty, crawling thing now overshadowing us, my arms uplifted in impotent effort to avert the crushing blow. I could hear the girl sob where she had sunk upon the platform, and caught one glimpse of De Croix, his face yellow in the weird glare as he stared in speechless terror out over the water, his hands clutching the palisades. It was Captain Wells, who had been standing near us, who first found voice. "'Tis the Death-Shadow of the Miamis!" he cried, in choked accents, striding toward us along the narrow plank, and pointing eastward. "I knew it must come, for our doom is sealed." What centuries of Indian superstition rested behind the fateful utterance, I know not; but facing that horrible spectre as we did, his words held me in speechless awe. In the blood of us all such terrors linger to unman the bravest; and for the moment such fright and panic swept me as I have never known before or since. I, who have laughed at death even in the hour of torture, sank in deadly agony before that mystery of light and shadow, as if it indeed foreshadowed the wrath of the Great Spirit. The sobs of Mademoiselle recalled me somewhat to myself, and led me to forget my own terror that I might help to relieve hers. "I beg you, fear not," I urged, though my voice trembled and my lips were dry. "Come, Mademoiselle," and I found her hand and clasped it, feeling the touch a positive relief to my unstrung nerves, "look up and see! the cloud is even now breaking asunder, and has already lost much of its form of terror. Mind not the words of Captain Wells; he has been raised among the Indians, and drunk in their superstitions. De Croix, arouse yourself, and help me to bring courage to this girl." He drew back from his grip on the palisades, as if, by sheer power of will, he forced his fascinated eyes from the cloud-bank, shivering like a man with an ague fit. "_Sacre_! did ever human eyes behold so foul a thing!" he cried, his voice shaking, his hand shading his face. "'T will haunt me till the hour I die." "Bah! 'T will all be forgotten with return of daylight," I was quick to reply; for had found relief in action, and could perceive already that the clouds were becoming shapeless and drifting rapidly southward in a great billowy mass. "Do not stand there moping like a day-blind owl, but aid me to make Mademoiselle see the foolishness of her fears." The sting of these words moved him more than a blow would have done; but as he knelt beside her, I noted there was little of the old reckless ring in his voice. "'T is indeed true, Toinette,--'t was but a cloud, and has already greatly changed in aspect. 'T will be no more than cause for laughter when the sun gilds the plain, and will form a rare tale to tell to the gallants at Montreal. Yet, Saint Guise! 't was grewsome enough, and my knees quake still from the terror of the thing." Mademoiselle was as brave and cool-headed a girl as ever I knew; but so thoroughly had she been unnerved by this dreadful happening, that it was only after the most persistent urging on our part that she consented to be led below. There, at the foot of the ladder, I stepped aside to permit De Croix to walk with her across the parade; but she would not go without a word of parting. "Do not think me weak and silly," she implored, her face, still white from the terror, upturned to me in the moonlight. "It was so spectral and ghastly that I gave way to sudden fear." "You need no excuse," I hastened to assure her. "When the thing frightened De Croix and me, and even set so old a soldier as Captain Wells to raving, it was no wonder it unnerved a girl, however brave she might prove in the presence of real danger. But you can sleep now, convinced it was naught but a floating cloud." She smiled at me over her shoulder, and I watched the pair with jealous eyes until they disappeared. I noticed Captain Wells standing beside me. "You thought I raved up yonder," he said gravely; "to-morrow will prove that my interpretation of the vision was correct." "You believe it a prophecy of evil?" "It was the warning of the Great Spirit--the Death-Shadow of the Miamis. Never has it appeared to men of our tribe except on the eve of great disaster, the forerunner of grave tragedy. We ride forth from these gates to death." It was plain that no amount of reasoning could change his Indian superstition; and with a word more of expostulation I left him standing there, and sought a place where I might lie down. Already the numbing sensation of supernatural fear had left me, for in the breaking up of that odd-formed cloud I realized its cause; and now the physical fatigue I felt overmastered all else. I found a quiet corner, and, with a saddle for a pillow, was soon fast asleep. CHAPTER XXIV THE DAY OF DOOM _Fifteenth August, 1812_.--My hand trembles and my pen halts as I write the words; for the memory of those tragic hours, far distant as they are now, over-masters me, and I see once again the faces of the dead, the mutilated forms, the disfigured features of the hapless victims of savage treachery. Were I writing romance merely, I might hide much of detail behind the veil of silence; but I am penning history, and, black as the record is, I can only give it with strict adherence to truth. I dread the effort to recall once more the sad incidents of that scene of carnage, lest I fail to picture it aright; but I can tell, and that poorly, only of what I saw within the narrowed vista of my personal experience, where the fate of the day found me. Out of the vortex of so fierce and sudden a struggle, the individual, battling madly for his own life, catches but hasty and confused glimpses of what others may do about him or in other portions of the field; and there has been much recorded in what men call the history of that day's battle, about which I know nothing. Nor shall I attempt to tell much more than the simple story of what befell me and those who faced the danger close at my side. In spite of the early bustle around me, incident to the preparations for departure, I slept late, stupefied by intense fatigue. The sun was already high, painting with gold the interior of the western wall of the stockade, when some unusual disturbance aroused me, so that I sat up and looked about, scarce realizing for the moment where I was. The parade was alive with moving figures; and I instantly marked the cheery look on the faces of those nearest me, as if the entire garrison rejoiced that the hour for departure had at last arrived. The northern half of the little open space was filled with loaded wagons of every description, to which horses, mules, and even oxen, were being rapidly hitched; while women and children were clambering in over the wheels, perching themselves upon the heaps of camp accoutrements, and rolling up the canvas coverings in order that they might the better see out and feel the soft refreshment of the morning air. The officers of the post were moving here and there among the throng of workers, grave of face, yet making no effort to curb the unusual gaiety of the enlisted men. For the time, all reins of discipline seemed relaxed. The few settlers and plainsmen who had gathered within the Fort for protection looked on stolidly, either lying in the shade of the log wall or lounging beside their horses already equipped for the trail; while the Miamis were gathered restlessly about their breakfast fires, their faces unexpressive of emotion, as usual, although many among them had blackened their cheeks in expectation of disaster. Evidently the hour fixed upon for our final desertion of Fort Dearborn was close at hand; and I hastened to seek opportunity for a bath and breakfast. I do not recall now, looking back after all these years upon the events of that day, any dreading of the future, or serious thought of the coming ordeal. The bustle of excitement about me, the high spirits of the men, were like a tonic; and I remembered only that we were east-bound once more, and my chief concern was to be ready to ride out promptly with the column. It could not have been far from nine o'clock when every preparation was completed, and the echoing bugle called the laggards from their quarters into the open parade. The officers, already mounted, rode about quietly, assigning each driver and wagon to position in the marching column, and carefully mustering the troops. The many sick of the garrison were brought forth from the barracks in their blankets, and gently lifted to places beside the women and children in the loaded wagons; while the men fit for active duty fell in promptly along the southern wall, the right of their slender column resting opposite the barred entrance. I was assigned to ride with the rear-guard beside the wagons, in company with the few settlers and fifteen of the Miamis under command of Sergeant Jordan. Captains Heald and Wells, the latter with face blackened so that at first glance I scarcely recognized him, took position at the head of the waiting column in front of the closed gates, and they sat there on their horses, facing us, and watching anxiously our rather slow formation. John Kinzie joined them, his features grave and careworn, a long rifle in his hands; while the ladies of the garrison, plainly dressed for the long and hard journey, came forth from their several quarters and were assisted to mount the horses reserved for them. De Croix accompanied Mademoiselle, attired as for a gay pleasure-ride in the park, and gave her his gloved hand to step from into the saddle, with all the gallantry he might have shown a queen. I knew this was no boy's play before us now; and, crushing back my natural diffidence, I spurred my horse boldly forward until we ranged up beside her, even venturing to uncover in polite salute. Never did I see her look fairer than beneath the wide-brimmed hat she had donned to keep the hot sun from her clear cheeks; nor was there the slightest vestige of last night's terror lurking in the laughing eyes that flashed me greeting. "I surely know of one sad heart amid this gay company," she exclaimed, "for while we rejoice at being once more bound for civilization, Master Wayland looks most truly mournful; doubtless his thought is with her who has turned Indian for a time." Her careless bantering tone nettled me; but I was quick enough to answer, having no wish to awaken her fears as to the safety of our journey. "'T is true, Mademoiselle. I dislike greatly to leave in peril one I have journeyed so far to seek; nor can I banish from my mind the thought that perhaps I am failing in my duty toward her. Yet surely you have small cause for complaint, as I have, instead, deliberately chosen to ride here at your side, in order that I may be near to defend you should occasion arise,--provided always that my presence shall meet your wishes and approval." She bowed as best she could in her high-peaked saddle, shooting a mischievous glance from me to the unconcerned and self-satisfied face of the Frenchman. "I am indeed most gratified and happy, Monsieur, thus to feel myself the object of such devotion; but I greatly fear you will prove but a poor companion on the journey if you wear so glum a look. Captain de Croix is full of wit and good-humor this morning, and has already cheered me greatly with reminiscences of happier days." "Indeed?" I said, looking at the fellow curiously. "He has quickly forgotten the baleful portent of last night. I thought the daylight would yield him new heart." "And why not? 'Twas but a cloud, as all of us know now,--though I confess it terrified me greatly at the time. You yourself seem not even yet to have wholly shaken off its terror." "'T is not the supernatural that so troubles me," I rejoined. "As you may perceive yonder, Captain Wells rides forth with blackened face to what he deems to be certain death. I acknowledge, Mademoiselle, that I look forward to a serious clash of arms before we are rid of the redskins, in spite of their pledges; and shall therefore keep close beside you, hopeful that my arm may show you better service than my tongue before nightfall." Her eyes had grown grave as she listened; for I spoke with soberness, and there crept into them a look that thrilled me. Before either could speak again, Ensign Ronan rode up beside me. "Wayland," he questioned anxiously, "what is this I hear about a strange portent in the eastern sky last night? Saw you anything terrifying there?" "'T was no more serious than a cloud which chanced to assume the form of a monster, and its aspect was most terrifying until we understood the nature of its formation. Then it became merely an odd memory to weave a tale about. Mademoiselle here saw it, and remains in most excellent spirits nevertheless." He lifted his hat to her, and stared hard at De Croix, who barely nodded to his greeting. "By Heavens!" he exclaimed, as if much relieved, "it seemed to me as if Nature had conspired with those red demons yonder to sap our courage, when first I heard the rumor. I am so convinced that there is trouble afoot, that my nerves are all a-tingle at such mystery." "Are the savages gathering without?" "Ay! they are in mass of hundreds, awaiting us at the foot of the mound, and have been since daybreak. See! the sentries are being called down, and the men are at the gate levers. I must be back at my post." He held out his hand, and I clasped it warmly, feeling my heart go out instantly to the brave, impetuous lad. "You ride this day with the rear-guard," he said, lingering as if loath to go, "and my duty lies with the van. We may not chance to meet again, but the God we spoke about together last night will strengthen our hearts to meet their duty. It matters not where men die, but how. Good-bye, Mademoiselle! Captain de Croix, I wish you a most pleasant journey." With doffed hat, he struck spurs into his nettlesome horse, and was gone; while the ringing notes of the bugle called the waiting column to attention. I watched with deepening interest all that was taking place before me. The heavy log-gates were unbarred, swung slowly inward, and left unguarded. Captain Heald uttered a single stern word of command, and Captain Wells, with a squad of his Miamis pressing hard at his horse's heels, rode slowly through the opening out into the flood of sunshine. Captain Heald and Mr. Kinzie, side by side, with Mrs. Heald mounted upon a spirited bay horse a yard in their rear, followed close; and then to Lieutenant Helm's grave order the sturdy column of infantrymen, heavily equipped and marching in column of fours, swept in solemn curve about the post of the gate, and filed out through the narrow entrance. The regular tramp-tramp, the evident discipline, and the confident look of the men, impressed me. While I was watching them, the small garrison band began suddenly to play, and the smiling soldier faces clouded as they glanced around in questioning surprise. "Saint Guise!" ejaculated De Croix, uneasily; "it is the Dead March!" I marked the sudden look of terrified astonishment in Mademoiselle's eyes, and dropped my hand upon hers where it rested against the saddle-pommel. Ensign Ronan spurred swiftly back down the column, with an angry face, and hushed the ill sound by a sharp order. "Another tune, you fool, or none at all!" he said, peremptorily. "The foul fiend himself must have assumed charge of our march to-day." As the column marched away, the groaning wagons one by one fell into line behind it, until at last our own turn came, and De Croix and I, each with a hand upon the bridle-rein of Mademoiselle's spirited horse, rode between the gate-posts out to where we had full view of that stirring scene below. It was a fair, bright morning, with hardly so much as a fleecy white cloud in all the expanse of sky; glorious sunlight was flashing its prismatic colors over a lake surface barely ruffled by the faintest breeze. Never did Nature smile more brightly back into my eyes than then, as I gazed out over the broad plain where the glow of the summer reflected back in shimmering waves from the tawny prairie and glittering sand. With all its desolation, it was a picture to be treasured long; nor has a single detail of it ever left my memory. How vast the distances appeared through that clear, sun-illumined atmosphere, and how pronounced and distinctive were the varied colors spread to the full vista of the eye, contrasts of shine and shadow no human brush, however daring, would venture to depict on canvas. A primitive land this, idealized by distance, vast in its wide, sweeping plains, its boundless sea, its leagues of glistening sand, and, bending over all, the deepest, darkest arch of blue that ever mirrored so fair a picture of the wilderness. Scattered groups of cottonwood trees, the irregular mounds and ridges of sand, the silvery ribbon of river, merely emphasized the whole, and gave new meaning to what might else have been but sheer desert waste. I knew little then of what other years had seen within these solitudes and within the circle of my view; yet scraps of border legend came floating back into memory, until I recalled the name of many an old-time adventurer,--La Salle, Joliet, Marquette the Jesuit,--who must have camped beside that very stream out yonder. The column had halted as our last laggards cleared the gate; and for a moment we rested in silence upon the side of the slope, while the long line was being re-arranged for travel. The Indians, in seemingly disorganized masses, were already enveloping the head of the column with noisy clamor, and Wells was having difficulty in holding his Miami scouts to their proper position. A few scattered and skulking savages,--chiefly squaws, I thought at the time,--were stealthily edging their way up the slope of the slight rise, eager to begin the spoliation of the Fort as soon as we had deserted it. Wild and turbulent as was the scene, I perceived no alarming symptoms of hostility, and turned toward Mademoiselle with lighter heart. Her dark eyes were full of suppressed merriment as they encountered mine. "I thought you would sit there and dream all day," she said pleasantly; "and I hardly have the heart to blame you. 'T is indeed a fair scene, and one I almost regret leaving, now that the time to do so has come. Never before has its rare beauty so strongly appealed to me." "'T is the great distance outspread yonder which renders all so soft to the eye," I answered, glad to reflect her mood; "yet Captain de Croix and I know well 't is far less pleasant travelling over than to look at here. We think of the swamps, the forests, the leagues of sand and the swift rivers which will hinder our progress." "I hardly imagine," she murmured softly, "that Captain de Croix is guilty of wasting precious time in reflection upon aught so trivial this morning. He has been conversing with me upon the proper cut of his waistcoat, and I am sure he is too deeply engrossed in that subject to give heed to other things." I glanced at him and smiled as my heart glowed to her gentle sarcasm, for surely never did a more incongruous figure take saddle on a western trail. By what code of fashion he may have dressed, I know not; but from his slender-pointed bronze shoes to his beribboned hat he was still the dandy of the boulevards, his dark mustaches curled upward till their tips nearly touched his ears, and a delicately carved riding-whip swinging idly at his wrist. He seemed to have already exhausted his powers of conversation, for he remained oblivious of our presence, fumbling with one yellow-gloved hand in the recesses of a saddle-bag. "By Saint Denis, Sam!" he exclaimed, angrily, to his black satellite, "I can find nothing of the powder-puff, or the bag of essence! _Parbleu_! if they have been left behind you will go back after them, though every Indian in this Illinois country stand between. Come, you imp of darkness, know you aught of these?" "Dey am wid de pack-hoss, Massa de Croix," was the oily answer. "I done s'posed you would n't need 'em till we got thar." "Need them! Little you know the requirements of a gentleman! Saint Guise! Why, I shall want them both this very day! Ride you forward there, and see if they cannot be picked out from among the other things." "See, Monsieur!" cried Mademoiselle suddenly, one hand pressing my arm, while she pointed eagerly with the other, "there goes the boat with Mistress Kinzie and her children! That must be Josette in the bow, with the gay streamer about her hat. She did wish so to ride with us, but Mr. Kinzie would not permit it." The boat had but just cleared the river mouth, and was working off-shore, with half a dozen Indians laboring at the oars. "Yet Josette has by far the easiest passage, as we shall learn before night," said I, watching their progress curiously. "I imagine you will soon be wishing you were with them." "Never, Master Wayland!" she cried, with a little shudder, and quick uplifting of hands to her face as if to shut out the sight. "Memory of the hours when I was last on the lake is still too vivid. I have grown to dread the water as if it were an evil spirit. See! the column resumes its march, and the savages are moving beside us as might a guard of honor." It was as she had said. The long, hard journey had begun; and slowly, like some great snake torpid with a winter's sleep, the crawling column drew forward. We at the rear rode down the incline and out upon the level plain, every step an unconscious advance toward battle and death. CHAPTER XXV IM THE JAWS OF THE TIGER We chatted carelessly about many things, as we rode slowly onward, our unguided horses following those in advance along the well-marked trail close beside the water along the sandy beach. Mademoiselle was full of life and bubbling over with good-humor; while De Croix, having found the essentials of his toilet safe, grew witty and light of speech, even interesting me now and then in the idle words that floated to my ears,--for he managed to monopolize the attention of the young girl so thoroughly that after a little time I sat silent in my saddle, scarce adding a word to their gay tilt, my eyes and thought upon the changing scene ahead. I know not why, as I reflect calmly upon the incidents of that morning, I should have grown so confident that the savages meant us fair; yet this feeling steadily took possession of me, and I even began to regret that I had not stayed behind in quest of her for whom I had come so far. Surely it was hopeless for me to dangle longer beside Mademoiselle, for De Croix knew so well the little ins and cuts of social intercourse that I was like a child for his play. Moreover, it was clear enough that the girl liked him, or he would never presume so to monopolize her attention. That she saw through much of his vain pretence, was indeed probable; her words had conveyed this to me. Nevertheless, it was plain she found him entertaining; he was like a glittering jewel in that rough wilderness, and I was too dull of brain and narrow of experience to hope for success against him in a struggle for the favor of a girl so fair and gay as this Toinette. I thought the matter all out as I rode on through the sunlight, my eyes upon the painted savages who trooped along upon our right in such stolid silence and seeming indifference, my ears open to the light badinage and idle compliments of my two companions. Yes, it would be better so. When the Indians left the column at the head of the lake, I would invent some excuse that might allow me to accompany them on their return, and I would remain in the neighborhood of the Fort until Elsa Matherson had been found. Just in front of us, a large army wain struggled along through the yielding sand, drawn by a yoke of lumbering oxen. The heavy canvas cover had been pushed high up in front, and I could see a number of women and children seated upon the bedding piled within, and looking with curious interest at the stream of Indians plodding moodily beside the wheels. Some of the little tots' faces captivated me with their expression of wide-eyed wonder, and I rode forward to speak with them; for love of children is always in my heart. As I turned my horse to draw back beside Mademoiselle, my eyes rested upon the stockade of the old Fort, now some little distance in our rear; and to my surprise it already swarmed with savages. Not less than five hundred Indians,--warriors, all of them, and well armed,--tramped as guards beside our long and scattered column, yet hundreds of others were even now overrunning the mound and pouring in at the Fort gates, eager for plunder. I could hear their shouting, their fierce yells of exultation, while the grim and silent fellows who accompanied us never so much as glanced around, although I caught here and there the glint of a cruel, crafty eye. The sight made me wonder; and I swung my long rifle out from the straps at my back down across the pommel of my saddle, more ready to my hand. The trail we had been following now swerved nearer the lake, deflected somewhat by a long high ridge of beaten sand, separating the shore from the prairie. Here the two advancing lines of white and red diverged, the Indians moving around to the western side of the sand-ridge, while Captain Wells and his Miami scouts continued their march along the beach. There was nothing about this movement to awaken suspicion of treachery, for the beach at this point had narrowed too much for so great a number moving abreast, and it was therefore only natural that our allies should seek a wider space for their marching, knowing they could easily reunite with us a mile or so below, where the beach broadened again. Their passing thus from our sight was a positive relief; and so quiet did everything become, except for groaning wheels and the heavy tread of horses, that Mademoiselle glanced up in surprise. "Why, what has become of the Indians?" she questioned. "Have they already left us?" I pointed to the intervening sand-ridge. "They move parallel with us, but prefer to walk upon the prairie grass rather than these beach pebbles. For my part, I would willingly dispense with their guard altogether; for in my judgment we are of sufficient strength to defend ourselves." "Ay, strong enough against savages," interposed De Croix, his eyes upon the straggling line ahead; "yet if by any chance treachery was intended, surely I never saw military formation less adapted for repelling sudden attack. Mark how those fellows march out yonder!--all in a bunch, and with not so much as a corporal's guard to protect the wagons!" I was no soldier then, and knew little of military formation; but his criticism seemed just, and I ventured not upon answering it. Indeed, at that very moment some confusion far in front, where Captain Wells led his scouts, attracted my attention. We must have been a mile and a half from the Fort by this time, and I recalled to memory the little group of trees standing beside the trail where we had halted on our journey westward to enjoy our earliest glimpse of Dearborn. At first I could make out little of what was taking place ahead; then suddenly I saw the squad of Miamis break hastily, like a cloud swept by a whirling wind, and the next instant could clearly distinguish Captain Wells riding swiftly back toward the column of infantry, his head bare, and one arm gesticulating wildly. In a moment the whole line came to a startled and wondering pause. "What is it?" questioned Mademoiselle anxiously, shading her eyes. "Have the Indians attacked us?" "God knows!" I exclaimed, clinching my rifle firmly. "But it must be,--look there!" Wheeling rapidly into line, as if at command, although we could hear no sound of the order, the soldiers poured one quick volley into the sand-ridge on their right, and then, with a cheer which floated faintly back to us, made a wild rush for the summit. This was all I saw of the struggle in front,--for, with a cry of dismay, the Miamis composing the rearguard broke from their posts beside the wagons and came running back past us in a panic of wild terror. I saw Sergeant Jordan throw himself across their line of flight, striking fiercely with his gun, and cursing them for a pack of cowardly hounds; but he was thrown helplessly aside in their blind rush for safety. "Wayland! De Croix!" he shouted, staggering to his knees, "help me stop these curs, if you would save our lives!" It was a fool thing, yet in the excitement I did it, and De Croix was beside me. Two or three of the settlers on foot rallied with us, and together we struck so hard against those cowering renegades that for the moment we held them, though their fear gave them desperation difficult to withstand. I recall noticing De Croix, as he pressed his rearing horse into the huddled mass, lashing at the faces of the fellows mercilessly with his riding-whip, as if thinking Mademoiselle would admire his reckless gallantry. A wild yell, with the mad thrill of the war-whoop in it, suddenly assailed our ears; the Miamis broke to the left like a flock of frightened birds, and my startled glance revealed a horde of naked Indians, howling like maniacs, and with madly brandished weapons, pouring over the sand-ridge not thirty feet away from us. With a shout of warning, which was half a curse at my own mad folly, I drove the spurs deep into my horse's side in a vain endeavor to fling myself between them and the girl. Hardly had the startled animal made one quick plunge, when we were locked in that human avalanche as if gripped by a vise of steel. A dozen dark hands grasped my bridle or clutched at me, their swarthy faces fierce with blood-lust, the eyes that fronted me cruel with passion and inflamed by hate. I heard shots not far away; but we were all too closely jammed to do more than fight in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with club and knife. The saddle is a poor place from which to swing a rifle, yet I stood high in my wooden stirrups and struck madly at every Indian head I saw, battering their faces till from the very horror of it they gave slowly back. I won a yard--two yards--three,--my horse biting viciously at their naked flesh, and lashing out with both fore-feet like a fiend, while I swept my gun-stock in a widening circle of death. For the moment, I dreamed we might drive them back; but then those devils blocked me, clinging to my horse's legs in their death agony, and laughing back into my face as I struck them down. Once I heard De Croix swearing in French beside me, and glanced around through the mad turmoil to see him cutting and hacking with broken blade, pushing into the midst of the mêlée as if he had real joy in the encounter. While I thus had him in view, a knife whistled through the air, there was a quick dazzle in the sunlight, and he reeled backward off his horse and disappeared in the ruck below. Never in a life of fighting have I battled as I did then, feeling that I alone might hope to reach her side and beat back these foul fiends till help should come to us. The stock of my rifle shattered like glass; but I swung the iron barrel with what seemed to me the strength of twenty men, striking, thrusting, stabbing, my teeth set, my eyes blurring with a mist of blood, caring for nothing except to hit and kill. I know not now whether I advanced at all in that last effort, though my horse trod on dead bodies. Only once in those awful seconds did I gain a glimpse of Mademoiselle through the mist of struggle, the maze of uplifted arms and striking steel. She had reined her horse back against a wheel of the halted wagon, and with white face and burning eyes was lashing desperately with the loaded butt of her riding-whip at the red hands which sought to drag her from the saddle. The sight maddened me, and again my spurs were driven into my horse's flanks. As he plunged forward, some one from behind struck me a crushing blow across the back of the head, and I reeled from my saddle, a red mist over my eyes, and went hurling face downward upon the mass of reeling, tangled bodies. CHAPTER XXVI THE FIELD OF THE DEAD The fierce plunging of my horse in his death agony, and his final pitching forward across my prostrate body, were doubtless all that saved my life. Yielding to their mad desire for plunder, the savages scattered when I fell, and left me lying there for dead. I do not think I quite lost consciousness in those first moments, although everything became blurred to my sight, and I was imprisoned by the weight above me so that the slightest effort to move proved painful; indeed, I breathed only with the greatest difficulty. But I both heard and saw, and my mind was intensely occupied with the rush of thought, the horror of all that was going on about me. How I wish I might blot it out,--forget forever the hellish deeds of those dancing devils who made mock of human agony and laughed at tears and prayers! It was plain, as the wild cries of rejoicing rose on every side, that the Indians had swept the field. The distant sound of firing ceased, and I could hear the pitiful cries of women, the frightened shrieks of children, the shrill note of intense agony wrung from tortured lips. Close beside me lay a dead warrior, his hideously painted face, with its wide, glaring, dead eyes, so fronting me that I had left only a narrow space through which to peer. Within that small opening I saw murder done until I closed my eyes in shuddering horror, crazed by my own sense of helplessness, and feeling the awful fate that must already have befallen her I loved. God knows I had then no faintest wish to live; nor did I dream that I should see the sun go down that day. Death was upon every side of me, in its most dreadful forms; and every cry that reached my ears, every sight that met my eyes, only added to the frightful reality of my own helplessness. The inert weight of the horse stifled me so that I drew my short breath almost in sobs; nor did I dare venture upon the slightest attempt at release, hemmed about as I was by merciless fiends now hideously drunk with slaughter. Once I heard a man plead for mercy, shrieking the words forth as if his intensity of agony had robbed him of all manliness; I saw a young woman fall headlong, the haft of a tomahawk cleaving open her head, as a brawny red arm gripped her by the throat; a child, with long yellow hair, and face distorted by terror, ran past my narrow outlook, a naked savage grasping after her scarcely a foot behind. I heard her wild scream of despair and his shout of triumph as he struck her down. Then I lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the multiplying horrors of that field of blood. It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating down upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound near at hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me were stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in sight. From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling; and as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more convinced that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that I alone of all that fated company was preserved, through some strange dispensation of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate than any on that stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly born within me a fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge on those red demons whose merciless work I had been compelled to see. Yet if I hoped to preserve my life, I must have water and air; a single hour longer in my present situation could only result in death. Fortunately, such relief, now that I felt free to exert myself and seek it, was not so difficult as it had seemed. The heavy horse rested upon other bodies as well as my own, so that, little by little, I succeeded in dragging myself out from beneath his weight, until I was finally able to lift my head and glance cautiously about me. I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish to try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled limbs, the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and ghastly in the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of slain, the seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies stretching far down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the sand, sobbing like a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How could creatures shaped like men prove themselves such fiends, such hideous devils of malignity? It sickened me with horror, and I shrank from those dead bodies as if each had been a grim and threatening ghost. Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly, seeking to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I struggled to my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of skulking Indians. Not a living creature was near enough to observe me. To the northward the savages were swarming about the Fort, and it was evident that they had left everything to search for plunder. My uncovered head throbbed under the hot sun, and my hair was thick with clotted blood; scarce a hundred feet away was the blue lake, and on my hands and knees I crawled across the beach to it, forgetful of everything else in my desire to roll in the cool sweet water. I realized that it would be far safer for me to remain there until darkness shrouded my movements; but I felt so revived by the touch of the water that the old desire for action overcame considerations of personal safety. Before night came I must somehow gain possession of a rifle, with powder and ball; and I must discover, if possible, the fate of Mademoiselle. I cannot describe how, like a frightened child, I shrank from going again amid those mutilated corpses. I started twice, only to crawl back into the water, nerveless and shaking like the leaf of a cottonwood. I knew it must be done, and that the sooner I attempted it the safer would be the trial; so at last, with set teeth and almost superhuman effort, I crept up the beach among the silent, disfigured dead once more. With little trouble I found the wagon against which I had seen Mademoiselle draw back her horse in that last desperate defence. It was overturned, scorched with flame, its contents widely scattered; while about it lay the bodies of men, women, and children. A single hasty glance at most of these was sufficient; but a few were so huddled and hidden that I was compelled to move them before I thoroughly convinced myself that Mademoiselle was not there. I finally found her horse, several rods away, lying against the sand-ridge; but she whose body I sought with such fond persistency was not among those mangled forms. Faint and sick from the awful scene, with head throbbing painfully, I sank down upon a slope of sand where I was able to command a clear view in either direction, and thought rapidly. I was alone with the dead. Of all those lying silent before me, none would stir again. Not a savage roamed the stricken field,--though doubtless they would again swarm down upon it as soon as the sacking of the Fort had been completed. I must plan, and plan quickly, if I would preserve my own life and be of service to others. And life was worth preserving now, for there was a possibility,--faint, to be sure, yet a possibility,--that Toinette still lived. How the mere hope thrilled and animated me! how like a trumpet-sound it called to action! She had told me once of friendships between her and these blood-stained warriors; of weeks passed in Indian camps on the great plains, both with her father and alone; of being called the White Queen in the lodges of Sacs, Wyandots, and Pottawattomies. Perchance some such friendship may have intervened to save her, even in that fierce mêlée, that carnival of lust and murder. Some chief, with sufficient power to dare the deed, may have snatched her from out the jaws of death, actuated by motives of mercy,--or, more likely still, have saved her from the stroke of the tomahawk for a far more terrible fate. This was the thought that brought me again to my feet with burning face and tightly clinched teeth. If she lived, a helpless prisoner in those black lodges yonder, there was work to be done,--stern, desperate work, that would require all my courage and resourcefulness. Firm in manly resolve, and rendered reckless now of contact with the dead, I crept back among the bodies in eager search for gun and ammunition. For a long time I sought vainly; the field had been stripped by many a vandal hand. At last, however, I turned over a painted giant of a savage whose head had been crushed with a blow, and beneath him discovered a long rifle with powder-horn half filled. As I drew it forth, uttering a cry of delight at my precious find, my eyes fell upon a pair of bronze boots, with long narrow toes, protruding from beneath a tangled mass of the slain. It was no doubt the tomb of De Croix; and without so much as a thought that he could be alive, I drew the bodies off him and dragged his form forth into the sunlight. Merciful Heaven! his heart still beat,--so faintly, indeed, that I could barely note it with my ear at his chest. But life was surely there, and with a hasty glance about to assure me that I was unobserved, I ran to the lake shore. I returned with hat full of water, with which I thoroughly drenched him, rubbing his numbed hands fiercely, and thumping his chest until at last the closed eyes partially opened, and he looked up into my anxious face, gasping painfully for breath. His lips moved as I lifted his head in my arms; and I bent lower, not certain but he was dying and had some last message he would whisper in my ear. "Wayland," he faltered feebly, "is this you? Lord, how my head aches! Send Sam to me with the hand-mirror and the perfumed soap." "Hush!" I answered, almost angry at his flippant utterance. "Sam is no doubt dead, and you and I alone are spared of all the company. Do you suffer greatly? Think you it would be possible to walk?" "I have much pain here in the side," he said slowly, "and am yet weak from loss of blood. All dead, you say? Is Toinette dead?" "I know not, but I have not found her body among the others, and believe her to be a prisoner to the savages. But, come, De Croix," I urged, anxiously, "we run great risk loitering here; there is but one safe spot for us until after dark,--yonder, crouched in the waters of the lake. The Indians may return at any moment to complete their foul work; and for us to be found alive means torture,--most likely the stake,--and will remove the last hope for Mademoiselle. Think you it can be made if you lean hard on me?" "_Sacre_! 't will not be because I do not try, Master Wayland," he answered, his voice stronger now that he could breathe more freely, and with much of his old audacity returned. "Help me to make the start, friend, for every joint in my body seems rusty." His face was white and drawn from agony, and he pressed one hand upon his side, while perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. But no moan came from his set lips; and when he rested a moment on his knees, looking about him upon the dead, a look of grim approval swept into his eyes. "Saint Guise, Wayland," he said soberly, "'t was a master fight, and the savages had it not all their own way!" It made me sick to hear such boasting amidst the horror that yet overwhelmed me, and I drew the fellow up to his feet with but little tenderness. "God knows 't is sad enough!" I answered, shortly. "Come, there are parties of Indians already straying this way from the Fort yonder, and it behooves us to get in hiding." He made the distance between us and the water with far less difficulty than I had expected, and with a better use of his limbs at each step. In spite of vigorous protest on his part, I forced him out from the shore until the water entirely covered us, save only our faces; and there we waited for the merciful coming of the night. CHAPTER XXVII A GHOSTLY VISION The touch of the water brought renewed life to De Croix. This was shown by the brighter color stealing into his cheeks, as well as by the more careless tone that crept into his voice. The lake proved shallow for some considerable distance off shore, and I compelled the Frenchman to wade with me southward, and as far out as we dared venture, until we must have reached the extreme limit of the field of massacre. Indeed, I fully believed we had passed beyond the point where the attack had first burst upon Captain Wells's Miamis; for I could perceive no sign of any bodies lying opposite us against the white background of sand. As the night drew on, squads of savages wandered over the scene of slaughter, despoiling the stiffening corpses, and taking from the wagons whatever might suit their fancy. Yet we were now so far removed that we could distinguish little of their deeds, although the sound of their voices echoed plainly enough across the water to our ears. As time passed, the numbness that had paralyzed my brain, either from the cruel blow that felled me or the terrible shock my nerves had experienced, gradually passed away, and our situation became more vivid to my mind. I thought again of all who had gone forth that morning filled with hope and life. I had, it is true, known none of them long, but there were many in that ill-fated company who had already grown dear to me, and one was among them who I now knew beyond all question was to remain in my heart forever. I recalled the faces one by one, with some tender memory for each in turn. I thought of the brave Captain Wells, with his swarthy face, and Indian training, who had proved himself so truly my friend for my father's sake; of Captain Heald, the typical bluff soldier of the border, ready to sacrifice everything to what he deemed his duty; of Lieutenant Helm, grave of face and calm of speech, always so thoughtful of his sweet girl bride; and of young Ronan, loyal of heart and impetuous of deed, whose frank manliness had so drawn me to him. And now all these brave, true comrades were dead! Only five or six hours ago I had spoken with them, had ridden by their side; now they lay motionless yonder, stricken down by the basest treachery, their poor bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. I could scarcely realize the awful truth; it rested upon me like some horrible dream, from which I knew I must soon awaken. But it was Mademoiselle,--Toinette, with the laughing eyes and roguish face, which yet could be so tender,--whose memory held me vibrating between constant dread and hope. Living or dead, I must know the truth concerning her, before I felt the slightest consideration for my own preservation. If I lived, it should be for her sake, not mine. Plan after plan came to me as I stood there, my face barely raised above the water level, praying for the westering sun to sink beneath the horizon. Yet all my plans were so vague, so visionary, so filled with difficulties and uncertainties, that at last I had nothing practical outlined beyond a firm determination in some way to reach the Indian camp and there learn what I could of its black secrets. I wondered whether this rash hare-brained Frenchman would aid or hinder such a purpose; and I glanced aside at him, curious to test the working of his mind in such a time of trial. "Saint Guise!" he exclaimed, marking my look, but misinterpreting it; "the sun has gone down at last, and there seems a chill in the air where it strikes my wet skin. It is in my thought to wade ashore, Master Wayland, and seek food for our journey, as I can perceive no savages near at hand." "It will be safer if we wait here another half-hour," I answered, almost inclined to smile at the queer figure he cut, with his long, wet hair hanging down his shoulders. Then I added, "What journey do you contemplate?" He gazed at me, his face full of undisguised amazement. "What journey? Why, Mon Dieu! to the eastward, of course! Surely you have no wish to linger in this pleasant spot?" "And is that the way of a French soldier?" I asked, almost angrily. "I thought you made the journey westward, Monsieur, for the sake of one you professed greatly to admire; and now you confess yourself willing to leave her here to the mercy of these red wolves. Is this the way of it?" I spoke the words coolly, and they cut him to the quick. His face flushed and his eyes flashed with anger; yet I faced him quietly, though I doubt not I should have felt his hand upon me had we been better circumstanced for struggle. "How know you she lives?" he asked sullenly, eying the rifle I still held across my shoulder. "I do not know, Monsieur, except that her body is not upon the field yonder; but I will know before I leave, or give my life in the search. And if you really loved her as you professed to do, you would dream of nothing less." "Love her?" he echoed, his gaze upon the sand, now partially obscured in the descending twilight. "_Sacre_! I truly thought I did, for the girl certainly has beauty and wit, and wove a spell about me in Montreal. But she has become as a wild bird out here, and is a most perplexing vixen, laughing at my protestations, so that indeed I hardly know whether it would be worth the risk to stay." Hateful and selfish as these words sounded, and much as I longed to strike the lips that uttered them so coolly, yet their utterance brought a comfort to my heart, and I stared at the fellow, biting my tongue to keep back the words of disgust I felt. "So this is the measure of your French gallantry, Monsieur! I am sincerely glad my race holds a different conception of the term. Then you will leave me here?" "Leave you? _Sacre_! how could I ever hope to find my way alone through the wilderness? 'T would be impossible. Yet why should we stay here? What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search amid all these savages? You speak harsh words,--words that under other conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the good of it all? You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need; yet to my mind no help can reach Toinette through us, while to remain here longer is no less than suicide." I saw he was in earnest, and I felt there was much truth in his words, however little they affected my own determination. "As you please, Monsieur," I answered coldly, turning from him and slowly wading ashore. "With me 't is not matter for argument. I seek Mademoiselle. You are at perfect liberty either to accompany me or to hunt for safety elsewhere, as you wish." I never so much as glanced behind, as I went up the beach, now shrouded in the swift-descending night; but I was aware that he kept but a step behind me. Once I heard him swear; but there was no more speaking between us, until, in the darkness, I stumbled and partially fell over a dead body outstretched upon the sand. "A Miami, judging from the fringe of his leggings," I said briefly, from my knees. "One of the advance guard, no doubt, brought down in flight. 'T is good luck, though, De Croix, for the fellow has retained his rifle. Perchance if you be well armed also, it may yield you fresh courage." "_Parbleu_! 'tis not courage I lack," he returned, with something of his old-time spirit, "but I hate greatly to yield up a chance for life on so mad an errand. More, Master Wayland, had this firearm been in my hands when you flouted me in the water yonder, your words should not have been so easily passed over." The stars gave me a dim view of him, and there was a look in his face that caused me to feel it would be best to have our trouble settled fully, and without delay. "Monsieur," I said sternly, laying my hand upon his shoulder, and compelling him to front me fairly, "I for one am going into danger where I shall require every resource in order to preserve my life and be of service to others. I have already told you that I care not whether you accompany me or no. But this I say: we part here, or else you journey with me willingly, and with no more veiled threats or side looks of treachery." "I meant no harm." "Then act the part of a man, Monsieur, and cease your grumbling. The very life of Mademoiselle may hang upon our venture; and if you ever interfere or obstruct my purpose, I will kill you as I would a dog. You understand that, Monsieur de Croix; now, will you go or stay?" He looked about him into the lonely, desolate shadows, and I could see him shrug his shoulders. "I go with you, of course. _Sacre_! but I have small choice in the matter; 't would be certain death otherwise, for I know not east from west in this blind waste of sand." I turned abruptly from him, and strode forward across the sand-ridge out into the short prairie grass beyond, shaping my course westward by the stars. However revengeful the Frenchman might feel at my plain speaking, I felt no hesitancy in trusting him to follow, as his life depended upon my guidance through the wilderness. My mind by this time was fairly settled upon our first movement. The only spot that gave promise of a safe survey of the Indian camp, where doubtless such prisoners as there were would be held, I felt sure would be found amid the shadows of the west bank of that southerly stream along which the lodges were set up. From that vantage point, if from any, I should be able to judge how best to proceed on the perilous mission of rescue. While we were feeling our way forward through the darkness, a great burst of flame soared high into the northern sky, the red light radiating far abroad over the prairie, until even our creeping figures cast faint shadows on the level plain. "Saint Guise! They have set fire to the Fort!" exclaimed De Croix, halting and gazing anxiously northward. "Ay, either to that or to the agency building," I answered. "It was not there I expected to find the prisoners, but rather hidden among those black lodges yonder whence all the shouting comes. 'T is torture, De Croix, which has so aroused those devils; and it will soon enough prove our turn to entertain them, if we linger long within this glare." "You have a plan, then?" "Only a partial one at present,--'t is to put the safeguard of the river between us and those yelling fiends. Beyond that it will all be the guidance of God." The stream proved to be a narrow one, and the current was not swift. We crossed it easily enough, without wetting our stock of powder, and found the western bank somewhat darkened by the numerous groups of small stunted trees that lined it. I moved with extreme caution now, for each step brought us in closer proximity to those infuriated tribesmen who were holding mad carnival in the midst of their lodges. I felt sure that our pathway along the western shore was clear, for the most astute chief among them would hardly look for the approach of enemies from that quarter; but I was enough of a frontiersman not to neglect any ordinary precautions, and so we crept like snakes along at the water's edge, under the shadow of the bank, until much of the wild scene in the village opposite was revealed to our searching eyes. It was a mad saturnalia, half light, half shadow, amid which the fierce figures of the painted warriors passed and repassed in drunken frenzy, making night hideous with savage clamor and frenzied gesticulations. I would have crept on farther, seeking a place for crossing unobserved, had not De Croix suddenly grasped me by the leg. As I turned, the play of the flames from across the water struck upon his white face, and I could read thereon a terror that held him motionless. "For Christ's sake, let us go!" he urged, in an agonized whisper, "See what those demons are about to do! I fear not battle, Wayland, as you know; but the scene yonder unmans me." It is hard for me to describe now what then I saw. The entire centre of the great encampment was brightly lit by a huge blazing fire, around which hundreds of Indians were gathered, leaping and shouting in their frenzy, while above the noise of their discordant voices we could distinguish the flat notes of the wooden drum, the dull pounding of which reminded me of the solemn tolling of a funeral bell. What atrocities had been going on, I know not; but as we gazed across at them in shuddering horror, forth from the entrance of a lodge a dozen painted warriors drove a white man, stripped to the waist, his hands bound behind him. As he stumbled forward, a bevy of squaws lashed him with corded whips. I caught one glimpse of his face in the light of the flames; it was that of a young soldier I recalled having seen the evening before within the Fort, playing a violin. He was a brave lad, and although his face was pale and drawn by suffering, he fronted the crazed mob that buffeted him with no sign of fear, his eyes roving about as if still seeking some possible avenue of escape. Once he sprang suddenly aside, tripping a giant brave who grasped him, and disappeared amid the lodges, only to be dragged forth a moment later and pushed forward, horribly beaten with clubs at every step. On a sudden, that shrieking, undulating crowd fell away, and we could see the young man standing alone, bound to a stake, his body leaning forward as if held to its erect posture merely by the bonds. The limp drooping of his head made me think him already unconscious, possibly dead from some chance fatal blow; but as the flames burst out in a roar at his feet, and shot up, red and glaring, to his waist, he gave utterance to one terrible cry of agony, and it seemed to me I gazed fairly into his tortured eyes and could read their pitiful appeal. Twice I raised my rifle, the sight upon his heart,--but durst not fire. No consideration of my own peril held back the pressure of the trigger,--'twas the remembrance of Mademoiselle. It was beyond my strength of will to withstand such strain long. "Come," I groaned to De Croix, my hands pressed tightly over my eyes to shut out the sight, "it will craze us both to stay here longer, nor dare we aid the poor fellow even by a shot." He lay face downward on the soft mud of the bank, and I had to shake him before he so much as moved. We crept on together, until we came out through the thick bushes into the open prairie, and faced each other, our lips white and our bodies shaking with the horror of what we had just seen. "Mon Dieu!" he faltered, "'twill forever haunt me." "It has greatly undone me," I answered, striving to control my voice, for I felt the necessity of coolness if I hoped to command him; "but if we would save her from meeting a like fate, we must remain men." "Then, for God's sake, find some spot where I may rest for an hour," he urged. "My brain seems reeling, and I fear it will give way it I remain in sight or sound of such horrors." In spite of all I had seen, it was still my desire to creep in among the deserted lodges while darkness shrouded the outermost of them; but I felt that some safe hiding-place must first be found for my companion. To attempt to take him with me while in such a nervous state would be only to invite disaster. "De Croix," I asked, "know you if the Indians have destroyed the house that stood by the fork of the north river, where the settler Ouilmette lived?" "I marked it through Lieutenant Helm's field-glass yesterday. 'T is partially burned, yet the walls still stand." "Then 't will serve us most excellently to hide in, for there will be naught left within likely to attract marauders. Think you that you could find it through the night?" He looked at me, and it was easy to see his nerves were on edge. "Alone?" he gasped brokenly. "My God, no!" There was seemingly no way out of it, for it would have been little short of murder to leave him alone on that black prairie, nor would harsh words have greatly mended matters. We were fully an hour at it, creeping cautiously along behind the scattered bushes until we passed the forks and swam the river's northerly branch. The action did him good, and greatly helped to steady my own nerves, as the uproar of the savages died steadily away behind us. At last we came out upon a slight knoll, and found ourselves close beside the low charred walls of what remained of Ouilmette's log-cabin. 'T was a most gloomy and desolate spot, but quiet enough, with never the rustle of a leaf to awake the night, or startle us. "Have you got back your nerve, Monsieur?" I asked, as we paused before the dark outline, "or must I also help you to explore within?" "'T is not shadows that terrify me," he answered, no doubt thoroughly ashamed of his weakness, and eager to make amends; "nor is it likely that anything to affright me greatly is behind these walls." I lay prone in the grass at the corner of the cabin, my eyes fixed upon the distant Indian village, where I could yet plainly distinguish numberless black figures dodging about between me and the flames; while further to the east, the greater blaze of the Fort buildings lighted up, in a wide arc, the deserted prairie. I gave little consideration to De Croix's exploit,--indeed, I had almost forgotten it, when suddenly the fellow sprang backward out of the open door, a cry of wild terror upon his lips, and his hands outstretched as it to ward off some unearthly vision. "Mon Dieu!" he sobbed hoarsely, falling upon his knees. "'T was the face of Marie!" CHAPTER XXVIII AN ANGEL IN THE WILDERNESS He acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies. "Be quiet, De Croix!" I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright. "What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?" He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the starlight and faint glare of the distant fires. "'T was the face of a dead woman," he gasped, pointing forward, "there, just within the door! I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom." "Pish!" I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his weakness, and rising to my feet. "Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead." "It is not so!" he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; "I saw her, Monsieur,--nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment." "Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within," I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it. "Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find." For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold. That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men. I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within. It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log walls were quite bare. The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant. There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open. As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman's form between me and the farther wall; but as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs. Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder. It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further. "Come, Monsieur!" I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, "there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat. Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness. I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark. Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own." "Where go you?" "To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved. There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder." He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering. "I would rather go with you," he protested, weakly. "I have not the heart to remain here alone." "Nevertheless, here you stay," I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; "you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder. Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well 't is not part of your nature so to exhibit fear." "'T is naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man." "True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm. But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here." I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river. A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there. The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened. I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers. The selfish cowardice of De Croix--if cowardice it truly was--served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her from the grasp of those red fiends. As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it. I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,--a strange voice, beautifully soft and low. "You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white. What seek you here?" I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action. The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp. For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively. "I asked, why are you here?" "I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre," I answered blindly. "But you?--I saw you within the Indian camp only last night. Surely you are not a savage?" "That I know not. I sometimes fear the savage is part of all our natures, and that I am far removed from the divine image of my Master. But I am not an Indian, if that is what you mean. If to be white is a grace in your sight, I am of that race, though there are times when I would have been prouder to wear the darker skin. The red men kill, but they do not lie, nor deceive women. I remember you now,--you were with the White Chief from Dearborn, and tried to approach me when Little Sauk interfered. Why did you do that?" Her manner and words were puzzling, but I knew no better way than to answer frankly. "I sought Elsa Matherson,--are you she?" The girl--for she could certainly have been little more--started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face. "Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?" "I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship." "Here?" "At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan." "How strange! how very strange indeed! 'T is a small world. Elsa Matherson!--and at Dearborn?" Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,--or what might be the secret of these strange expressions? "Then you are not the one I seek?" She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light. "I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'T is enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of God knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?" "He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew." "A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?" "Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army." She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking. "I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?" "I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not." "And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?" For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose. "I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians." "A maiden,--Elsa Matherson?" "Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake. You are a woman, and have a woman's heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages. I beg you to aid me." She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the grass. "Whatsoever power I have comes from God," she said solemnly; "and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust." "But you will aid me in whatever way you can?" "You are sure you love this maiden?" "Would I be here, think you, otherwise?" She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little space separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes. "You have the appearance of a true man," she said finally. "Does the maid love you?" "I know not," I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question. "I fear not; yet I would save her even then." I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy. "Monsieur," she spoke gravely, "love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men's lips. A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another. If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder." "I am not of that school," I protested earnestly. "I am of a race that love once and forever. But you, who are you? Why are you here in the midst of these savages? You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair." She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness. "It would do you little good to know my story," She said firmly. "I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice. Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely." "You have the freedom of the camp yonder?" "I hardly know," she responded sadly. "God has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there. Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them. I fled the camp to-night,--not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve. It is indeed Christ's mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer." She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror. "Yet know you who among the whites have thus far preserved their lives?" I urged, in an agony of suspense. "Were any of the women brought alive to the camp?" "It was my fortune to see but one; nor was I permitted to approach her,--a sweet-faced girl, yet she could not be the one you seek, for she wore a wedding-ring. She was saved through the friendship of Black Partridge, and I heard that she is a daughter of the Silver-man." "Ay! Mrs. Helm! Thank God! But was she the only one?" "Truly, I know not; for I was forced away from sight of much that went on. Little Sauk has a white maiden hidden in his lodge, who was brought from the battle. I have not seen the girl, but know this through others who were angry at his good-fortune." "Could we reach there, think you, unobserved?" She rose, and gazed anxiously across the stream, her face showing clear and fair in the faint light of those distant fires, while I caught the glimmer of a pearl rosary about her white throat and marked a silver crucifix resting against her breast. "It will be life itself you venture in such an attempt," she said softly, "even its loss through torture; yet 't is a deed that might be done, for the Indians are fairly crazed with blood and liquor, and will pay small heed to aught save their heathen orgies." "Then let us venture it." She turned slightly and looked at me intently, her dark eyes filled with serious thought. "Yes, we will go," she responded at last, slowly. "If through God's grace we may thus preserve a life, it will be well worthy the sacrifice, and must be His desire." For another moment we waited there silently, standing side by side, gazing anxiously across the dark water, and listening intently to the varied discordant sounds borne to us on the night air. I know not what may have been in her thought; but upon my lips there was a silent prayer that we might be safely guided in our desperate mission. I wondered still who this strange young woman could be, so surrounded by mystery, a companion of savages, and still gentle and refined in word and manner. I dare not ask again, nor urge her confidence; for there was that of reserve about her which held me speechless. I glanced aside, marking again the clear pure contour of her face, and my look seemed instantly to arouse her from her reverie. "I expect little trouble until we near the centre of the camp," she said, thoughtfully. "'T is dark amid the northern lodges, and we shall meet with no warriors there unless they be so far gone in intoxication as to be no longer a source of danger. But come, friend, the longer we tarry the less bright grows the hope of success." A slender bark canoe rested close beneath the bank, and she motioned me into it, grasping the paddle without a word, and sending the narrow craft with swift, silent strokes across the stream. The other shore was unprotected; so, hesitating only long enough to listen for a moment, much as some wild animal might, she crept forward cautiously into the black lodge-shadows, while I instantly followed, imitating as best I could her slightest movement. We met no obstacle to our advance,--not even the snarls and barkings of the innumerable curs, usually the sleepless guardians of such encampments of savages. I soon saw that as we crept around lodge after lodge in our progress, the light of the blazing fires in our front grew constantly brighter and the savage turbulence more pronounced. At last the girl came to a sudden pause, peering cautiously forward from beneath the shadow of the lodge that hid us; and as I glanced over her shoulder, the wild scene was revealed in each detail of savagery. "'T is as far as you will dare venture," she whispered, her lips at my ear. "I know not the exact limit of our progress, but the lodge of Little Sauk lies beyond the fire, and I must make the rest of the distance alone." "But dare you?" I questioned uneasily. "Will they permit even you to pass unharmed?" She smiled almost sadly. "I have many friends among them, blood-stained as they are, and little as I have accomplished for the salvation of their souls. I have been with them much, and my father long held their confidence ere he died. I have even been adopted into the tribe of the Pottawattomies. None are my enemies among that nation save the medicine-men, and they will scarce venture to molest me even in this hour of their power and crime. Too well they know me to be under protection of their chiefs; nor are they insensible to the sanctity of my faith. Ay, and even their superstition has proved my safeguard." The expression of curiosity in my eyes appealed to her, and as if in answer she rested one hand upon her uncovered head, the hair of which shone like dull red gold in the firelight. "You mean that?" I asked, dimly recalling something I had once heard. She shook the heavy coiled mass loose from its bondage, until it rippled in gleaming waves of color over her shoulders, and smiled back at me, yet not without traces of deep sadness in her eyes. "'T is an Indian thought," she explained softly, "that such hair as mine is a special gift of the Great Spirit, and renders its wearer sacred. What was often spoken most lightly about in other days has in this dread wilderness proved my strongest defence. God uses strange means, Monsieur, to accomplish His purpose with the heathen." She paused, listening intently to a sudden noise behind us. "Creep in here, Monsieur," she whispered, quickly lifting an edge of the skin-covering of the lodge. "A party is returning from the Fort, perchance with more prisoners. Lie quiet there until I return; it will not be long." I crawled through the slight opening into that black interior, turning to hold open the flap sufficiently to peer forth once more. I knew not where she vanished, as she faded away like a shadow; but I had hardly secured refuge, when a dozen painted warriors trooped by, shouting their fierce greeting. In the midst of them, half-stripped, and bleeding as if from freshly inflicted wounds, staggered a white man; and as the firelight fell full upon his haggard face, I recognized De Croix. CHAPTER XXIX A SOLDIER OF FRANCE What followed was so extraordinary and incredible that I hesitate to record it, lest there be those who, judging in their own conceit, and knowing little of savage Indian nature, may question the truth of my narration, Yet I am now too old a man to permit unjust criticism to swerve me from the task I have assumed. The extreme of misery that overwhelmed me at the moment when I beheld my comrade driven forward like a trapped beast to a death by torture, found expression in a sudden moan, which, fortunately for me, was unnoted amid the shouts of greeting that arose around the fire when those gathered there caught sight of the new-comers. Instantly all was confusion and uproar; a scene of savage debauchery, unrelieved by a redeeming feature or a sign of mercy. It was as if poor De Croix had been hurled, bound and gagged, into a den of infuriated wolves, whose jaws already dripped with the blood of slaughter. Gleaming weapons, glaring and lustful eyes, writhing naked bodies, pressed upon him on every side, hurling him back and forth in brute play, every tongue mocking him, in every up-lifted hand a weapon for a blow. The fierce animal nature within these red fiends was now uppermost, fanned into hot flame by hours of diabolical torture of previous victims, in which they had exhausted every expedient of cruelty to add to the dying agony of their prey. To this, fiery liquor had yielded its portion; while the weird incantations of their priests had transformed the most sober among them into demons of malignity. If ever, earlier in the night, their chiefs had exercised any control over them, that time was long since past; and now the inflamed warriors, bursting all restraint, answered only to the war-drum or made murderous response to the superstition of their medicine-men. The entire centre of the encampment was a scene of drunken orgy, a phantasmagoria of savage figures, satanic in their relentless cruelty and black barbarity. Painted hundreds, bedecked with tinkling beads and waving feathers, howled and leaped in paroxysms of fury about the central fire, hacking at the helpless bodies of the dead victims of earlier atrocities, tearing their own flesh, beating each other with whips like wire, their madly brandished weapons flashing angrily in the flame-lit air. Squaws, dirty of person and foul of mouth, often more ferocious in appearance and cruel in action than their masters, were everywhere, dodging amid the writhing bodies, screaming shrilly from excitement, their long coarse hair whipping in the wind. Nor were they all Pottawattomies: others had flocked into this carnival of blood,---Wyandots and Sacs, even Miamis, until now it had become a contest for supremacy in savagery. 'T was as if hell itself had opened, to vomit forth upon the prairie that blood-stained crew of dancing demons and shock the night with crime. A dead white man,--the poor lad whose early torture we had witnessed,--his half-burnt body still hanging suspended at the stake, was in the midst of them, a red glare of embers beneath him, the curling smoke creeping upward into the black sky from about his head like devil's incense. In front of this hideous spectacle, regardless of the mutilated body, sat the ferocious old demon I had seen the evening previous, his head crowned with a bison's horns, his naked breast daubed with red and yellow figures to resemble crawling snakes, his face the hideous representation of a grinning skull. Above all other sounds rang out his yells, inciting his fellows to further atrocities, and accompanied by the dull booming of his wooden drum. It was into this pack of ravening beasts that poor De Croix staggered from the surrounding shadows; and they surged about him, clamoring for place, greeting their new-found victim with jeers and blows and hoots of bitter hatred, viciously slashing at him with their knives, so that the very sight of it turned me sick, and made me sink my head upon my arms in helplessness and horror. A sudden cessation in the infernal uproar led me to peer forth once more. They had dragged the charred and blackened trunk of the dead soldier down from the post where it had hung suspended, and were fastening De Croix in its place, binding his hands behind the support, and kicking aside the still glowing embers of the former fire to give him space to stand. It was brutally, fiendishly done, with thongs wound about his body so tightly as to lift the flesh in great welts, and those who labored at it striking cruel blows at his naked, quivering form, spitting viciously into his face, with taunting words, seeking through every form of ferocious ingenuity to wring from their helpless victim some sign of suffering, some shrieking plea for mercy. Once I marked a red devil stick a sharpened sliver of wood into the Frenchman's bare shoulder, touched it with fire, and then stand back laughing as the bound victim sought vainly to dislodge the torturing brand. Whatever of shrinking fear De Croix may have exhibited an hour before, however he may have trembled from ghostly haunting and been made coward by contact with the dead, he was a man now, a soldier worthy of his uniform and of his manhood. Merciful God! but it made my heart swell to see the lad, as he faced those dancing devils and looked coolly into the eyes of death. His face was indeed ghastly white in the fire-glow, save where the red stains of blood disfigured it; but there was no wavering in the bold black eyes, no cowardly shrinking from his fate, no moan of weakness from between his tightly pressed lips. Scarce could I think of him then as being the same gentle exquisite that rode on the westward trail in powdered hair and gaudy waistcoat, worrying lest a pinch of dust might soil his faultless linen,--this begrimed, blood-stained, torn figure, naked to the waist, his small-clothes clinging in rags from his thighs, his head bare and with long black locks streaming to his shoulders. Yet it was now, not then, he won my respect and honor. Once I saw him strain desperately at the cords in a mad endeavor to break free, his flashing eyes on the demons who were torturing him beyond endurance. Well I knew how he longed to lay hand on any weapon, and thus die, battling to the end; had he succeeded, I doubt not I should have been at his side, forgetful of all else in the struggle. The deer-skin thongs, as unyielding as iron, held him fast. I ground my teeth and dug my nails into the earth to hold me from leaping forward in hopeless attempt at rescue, as a huge brute struck him savagely with clinched hand across the lips. Suddenly, as if in response to some low spoken order, the jostling horde fell aside from before him, leaving a narrow space unoccupied. I had no time to wonder at this movement before a tomahawk, whirling rapidly and flashing like a ruby in the red glare, went hurling forward, and buried its shining blade deep in the post an inch from the prisoner's head, the handle quivering with the force of impact. Again and again, amid yells of derision and encouragement, they threw, twice bringing token of blood from the grazed cheek and once cleaving the ear nearest me as if by a knife-blow. In spite of all, De Croix sneered at them, mocked their efforts, taunted them with their lack of skill, no doubt seeking to infuriate them and cause the striking of a merciful death-blow. I trembled as I gazed, held there by a fascination I could not overcome, shading my eyes when I saw an arm uplifted to make a cast, and opening them in dread unspeakable as I heard the dull impact of the blow. Never in my life have I seen such marvellous nerve as this French gallant displayed in those awful moments; standing there motionless, with never a tremor, no twitching of a muscle, his scornful eyes following the deadly steel, his lips jeering at the throwers, as he coolly played the game whose stake was death. At last some savage cast from farther back amid the mass of howling contestants; I failed to see the upraised hand that grasped the weapon, but caught its sudden gleam as it sped onward, and De Croix was pinned helpless, the steel blade wedging his long hair deep into the wood. A dozen screaming squaws now hustled forward the materials for a fire; I saw branches, roots, and leaves, piled high about his knees, and marked with a shudder the film of blue smoke as it soared upward ere the flame caught the green wood. Then suddenly some one kicked the pile over, hurling it into the faces of those who stooped beside it; and the fierce clamor ceased as if by magic. I staggered to my knees, wondering what it could mean,--this strange silence after all the uproar. Then I saw. Out from the shadows, as if she herself were one, the strange girl who had been my companion glided forward into the red radius of the flame, and faced them, her back to De Croix. Never shall I fail to recall her as she then appeared,--a veritable goddess of light fronting the fiends of darkness. With cheeks so white as to seem touched with death, her dark eyes glowed in consciousness of power, while her long, sweeping tresses rippled below her waist, gleaming in a wild red beauty almost supernatural. How womanly she was, how fair to look upon, and how unconscious of aught save her mission! One hand she held before her in imperious gesture of command; with the other she uplifted the crucifix, until the silver Christ sparkled in the light. "Back!" she said clearly. "Back! You shall not torture this man! I know him. He is a soldier of France!" CHAPTER XXX THE RESCUE AT THE STAKE The word uttered by the strange woman was one to conjure with even then in the Illinois country. Many a year had passed since the French flag ruled those prairies, yet not a warrior there but knew how the men of that race avenged an injury,--how swift their stroke, how keen their steel. I watched the startled throng press closely backward, as if awed by her mysterious presence, influenced insensibly by her terse sentence of command, each dusky face a reflex of its owner's perplexity. Drunken as most of them were, crazed with savage blood-lust and hours of remorseless torture of their victims, for the moment that sweet vision of womanly purity held them motionless, as if indeed the figure of the Christ she uplifted before their faces had taught them abhorrence of their crimes. But it was not for long. To hundreds of those present she was merely an unknown white woman; while even to those who knew her best, the Pottawattomies, she appeared only as one who came to balk them of their revenge. They may have held her person inviolate amid their lodges, and even have countenanced her strange teaching; but now she had ventured too far in attempting thus to stand between them and their victim. They held back a single moment, halted by her fearlessness, rendered cowardly by vague superstitions regarding her religious power; but after the first breathless pause of dumb astonishment and irresolution, voice after voice arose in hoarse cries of rage and shouts of disapproval. There was a surging forward of the straining red line, while in their front howled and gesticulated the hideous old medicine-man, his painted face distorted by passion, eager to grasp this auspicious moment to cast down forever one who had sought to end his superstitious rule among the tribe. I marked how she drew back as they advanced, retreating step by step,--not, indeed, as if she feared them, but rather as if some definite purpose led her movement. Her eyes never wavered, her hand still uplifted the gleaming cross, as she retreated slowly, until she stood directly before De Croix, where he hung helplessly staring at her with an expression of fear in his face strangely at variance with his late show of desperate courage. "Back!" she cried again, but now in a deeper and fuller voice that sounded like a clear-toned bell above the uproar. "I tell you I will kill this man with my own hand before I permit you to put further torture upon him!" An instant only did this threat halt the gathering rush. Some one voiced an Indian insult, and there came a fierce surging forward, although no warrior among them seemed eager to lead in the attack. I saw the woman lift her hand, and caught the glimmer of a steel blade; and even as I sprang erect, partially flinging aside the obstructing flap of the lodge, an Indian, stalking silently forth from the shadows, faced the mob, standing motionless within a foot of the desperate girl, and with his back toward her. One glance at that tall thin figure, the stern face, the long white hair, told me it was the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, Gomo; and I sank back trembling from the reaction of that moment's strain. His words were calm, deliberate, commanding; but the angry roar with which they were greeted made me fear the horde he faced so resolutely was now beyond control. He smiled, his thin lips curling in derision as he gazed with contempt into the threatening faces pressing closer upon every side. "Fear not," he murmured aside to the watchful woman, and resting one hand upon her arm. "Cut loose the prisoner!" She turned instantly to her task, while he spoke briefly the names of his chiefs; and as each was called in turn, a warrior came from among the mass and silently stood beside him. A dozen came forth thus, stalwart, grim-faced braves, many with fresh scalps dangling at their belts. Gomo now spoke again, using the French tongue, that all present might better grasp his meaning. "Brothers," he said gravely, "this squaw is Pottawattomie. She was adopted by our people and lives in our lodges. Pottawattomies are friends to Frenchmen; there is no war between us. Why should Wyandots and Sacs wish to burn a Frenchman?" For a moment no one ventured to reply; the mob stood halted now, robbed of its leaders and its courage, even the noisy medicine-man silenced before this stern array of protecting chiefs. Loose as was Indian discipline and tribal authority, even in drunkenness those desperate warriors dared not openly disregard such a display of power. "Have the Pottawattomies spoken well?" questioned the old chief, sternly, "or have our words wronged our brothers?" A giant of a fellow, whose broad face and huge head seemed disproportionate even to his big body, his long coarse hair profusely ornamented with shells and beads flashing gaudily in the firelight, pushed his way out from among the silent mass. "Gomo, the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, has spoken well," he said in a deep voice that rolled like distant thunder. "The Wyandots did not know; they war not with Frenchmen, nor harm the women of the Pottawattomies. The Great Spirit hath made us brothers, and we have smoked together the pipe of peace." Gomo moved forward with Indian dignity, and exchanged solemn greeting with the new-comer. "It makes the hearts of the Pottawattomies light to hear the words of Sau-ga-nash," he said gravely. Then he turned and waved his hand to his clustered warriors. "Release the Frenchman, and place him for safety in the council lodge. Pass the woman free. It is the will of our chiefs." The council lodge! I glanced about me apprehensively; surely this must be the same tepee in which Captain Heald and I had met the chiefs! There were no signs of ordinary Indian occupancy, and now as I looked about me the firelight from without revealed clearly the shading of those grotesque figures I recalled as having been sketched upon the outer covering. So it was here that De Croix was to be confined! I crept back hastily, dropping into place the loosened flap through which I had been peering. A skin or two were lying on the grassy floor; and I grasped the larger of these, drawing it over me while I rolled as closely as possible against the farther wall, hoping desperately that no Indian guards would be posted within. The uproar outside continued, as if there were still opposition to the commands of the chiefs; but presently, as I peeped through a hole in the skin held over me, I perceived a sudden flash of light as the flap covering the entrance was drawn aside. I saw a number of dark hands thrust within, a savage face or two peering for a moment about the darkened interior; but to my inexpressible relief only one body was thrust inside, with such violence, however, as to cause the man to fall face downward at full length. The next instant the lodge was again wrapped in utter darkness. By God's mercy I remained undiscovered, and was alone with De Croix. For a short time, assured as I was of this fact, I did not venture to creep from my place of concealment, or make my presence known to my companion. What ears might be listening, I knew not; nor dared I trust too much to the Frenchman's already over-taxed nerves. He did not move from the position where he fell; but I could hear him groan and sob, with now and then a broken ejaculation. Without, the yelling and uproar grew perceptibly less, although an occasional outburst gave evidence that the carousal was not wholly ended. Finally I pushed back the robe that covered me, now grown uncomfortably warm, and crept cautiously toward the place where I knew him to be lying. It was intensely dark, and I was still fearful lest he might cry out if I startled him. "De Croix," I whispered, "make no alarm; I am Wayland." "Wayland!" I could mark the amazement in his tone, as he instantly sat upright, peering through the gloom in the direction whence my voice came. "_Mon Dieu_! You are here? You saw all of it?" "Ay," I answered, reaching out and groping in the darkness until I grasped his hand. "You have had a hard time, my lad; but the worst is over, and hope remains for us both." He shuddered so violently I could feel the spasm shake his body. "'Twas not the dying," he protested; "but did you see her, Wayland? Merciful God! was it really a living woman who stood there, or a ghost returned from the other world to haunt me and make living worse than death?" "You mean the sister who interposed to save you?" I asked. "She was as truly alive as either of us. Think you she is not a stranger?" He groaned, as if the confession was wrung from him by the terror of eternal torment. "_Mon Dieu_! She is my wife!" "Your wife?" "Ay, my wife,--Marie Faneuf, of Montreal." "But how comes she here, Monsieur, living in the Pottawattomie camp? And how comes it that you sought another in this wilderness, if you were already long wedded?" "Saint Guise! but I cannot tell you," and his voice shook with the emotion that swept him. "'T is like a black dream, from which I must yet awaken. She died, I swear she died; the sisters told me so at the convent of the Ursulines, whither she fled to escape my unkindness,--for I did her wrong; and I stood by the grave as the body they called hers was lowered into the ground. For all these years have I thought it true; yet the girl yonder was Marie. But you, Wayland,--know you aught of her?" "Only that she guided me hither in search of Mademoiselle. On the way we conversed, and she let me know that she had dedicated her life to the service of these Indians, seeking to save their souls." "'T is like enough; she was ever half a nun, and most religious. Yet made she no mention of me, and of my crying out at the house?--for I must indeed have seen her there!" "She asked me your name, Monsieur, and when I told her she said she recalled it not. Knew she you by some other?" He did not answer, though I could mark his heavy breathing, as if he strove with himself for mastery. Nor did I speak again, eager as I now was to arrange some plan for the future; for this man was certainly in no condition to counsel with. I know not how long I may have rested there in silence, seeking vainly in my own mind for some opening of escape, or means whereby I might communicate with Mademoiselle. Would the strange woman forget me now, or would she venture upon a return with her message? If not, I must grope forward without her, hampered as I should be by this unnerved and helpless Frenchman. Outside, the noise had almost wholly ceased,--at least, close to where we were,--and I could perceive that a slight tinge of returning day was already in the air, faintly revealing the interior of the lodge. As I sat thus, drifting through inaction into a more despairing mood, the rear covering of the tepee moved almost imperceptibly, and I turned hastily to seek the cause, my heart in my throat lest it prove an enemy, perhaps some stealthy savage still seeking the life of De Croix. It was far from being light as yet, but there was sufficient to show me the faint outline of a woman's figure. The Frenchman had seemingly heard nothing; and I rose quickly and faced her eagerly. "You have found her?" I questioned anxiously. "I beg you tell me that she yet lives!" "Hush! you speak too loud," was the low reply. "The one you seek is, I think, confined within the lodge of Little Sauk, and thus far remains unharmed. I have not been able to reach her, but she has been described to me as young, with dark hair and eyes, and as having been dragged from a horse near the rear of the column. Think you she is the one you seek?" "I do indeed!" I cried, in a rapture of relief. "Where is this lodge in which they hold her?" She hesitated to answer, as if she somewhat doubted my discretion. "It is the third from the fire, in the row west of this," she said at last. "But it is already daylight, and you must lie hidden amid these skins until another night, when I will strive to aid you. You will be safe here, if you only keep hidden; and I have brought with me food for you both." I had quite forgotten De Croix, in my eagerness to learn news of Mademoiselle; but now I realized he had risen to his knees, and was gazing at our visitor through the dim shadows as if half fearful even yet that she was but a spectre. In that gray dawn his face was ghastly in its whiteness,--the dark lines under his eyes, his matted hair, and the traces of blood upon his cheek, yielding a haggardness almost appalling. "Marie!" he sobbed, catching his breath between the words as if they choked him, "Marie, in God's name, speak one word to me!" I saw the girl start, looking around at him with eyes widely opened, yet with an expression in them I could not fathom; it was neither hatred nor love, though it might easily have been sorrow. "Marie," he urged, rendered despairing by her silence, "I have done you wrong, great wrong; but I thought you dead. They told me so,--they told me it was your body they buried. Will you not speak a word of mercy now?" Dim as the light was, I saw her eyes were moist as she gazed down upon him; but there was no faltering in her voice. "You were right, Monsieur le Marquis," she said slowly, "Marie Faneuf is dead. It is only Sister Celeste who has aided in the preservation of your life in the name of the Master. Make your acknowledgment to the Mother of Christ, not to me, for such mercy." I knew not when she passed out, or how; but we were alone once more, and De Croix was lying with his face buried in the short grass. CHAPTER XXXI A SEARCH, AND ITS REWARD I slept at last, soundly, for several hours, lying well hidden behind the skins at the back of the lodge. There seemed nothing else to do; for poor De Croix had no thought other than that of the woman who had just left us, and I was exhausted by hours of excitement and toil. He was asleep when I awoke, lying just as I had left him, his face still buried in the short trodden grass that carpeted the floor. It was so quiet without that I listened in vain for a sound to indicate the presence of Indians. Silence so profound was in strange contrast with the hideous uproar of the preceding night, and curiosity led me finally to project my head from beneath the lodge covering and gain a cautious glimpse of the camp without. The yellow sunshine of the calm summer afternoon rested hot and glaring on the draped skins of the tepees, and on the brown prairie-grass, trampled by hundreds of passing feet. I could perceive a few squaws working lazily in the shade of the trees near the bank of the river; but no other moving figures were visible. Several recumbent forms were within my sight, their faces toward the sun, evidently sleeping off the heavy potations of the night. Otherwise the great encampment appeared completely deserted; there were no spirals of smoke rising above the lodge-poles, no gossiping groups anywhere about. It was plain enough to me. Those of the warriors capable of further action were elsewhere engaged upon some fresh foray, while the majority, overcome by drinking, were asleep within their darkened lodges. Surely, daylight though it was, no safer moment could be expected in which to establish communication with Toinette. With night the camp would be again astir; and even if I succeeded in reaching her at some later hour it would leave small margin of darkness for our escape. Every moment of delay now added to our grave peril, and there was much planning to be done after we met. Possibly I should have waited, as I had been told to do; but it was ever in my blood to act rather than reason, and I am sure that in this case no cause remains for regret. I must confess that my heart beat somewhat faster, as I crept slowly forth and peered cautiously around the bulging side of the big lodge I had just left, to assure myself no savages were stirring. It was not that I greatly feared the venture, nor that a sense of danger excited my nerves; but rather the one thought in my mind was that now my way lay toward Mademoiselle. How would she greet me? Should I learn my fate from her tell-tale eyes, or by a sudden gleam of surprise in her lovely face? These were the reflections that inspired me, for a new hope had been born within me through the forced confession of De Croix. There was little danger of exposure while I advanced through the shelter of the lodges, for I was always under partial cover. But I waited and watched long before daring to pass across the wide open space in the centre of which the fire had been kindled. The torture-post yet stood there, black and charred, while the ground beneath was littered with dead ashes. The bodies of three white men, two of them naked and marked by fire, lay close at hand, just as they had been carelessly flung aside to make room for new victims; yet I dared not stop to learn who they might have been in life. The sight of their foul disfigurement only rendered me the more eager to reach the living with a message of hope. I moved like a snake, dragging my body an inch at a time by firmly grasping with extended hands the tough grass-roots, and writhing forward as noiselessly as if I were stalking some prey. There were times when I advanced so slowly it would have puzzled a watcher to determine whether mine was not also the body of the dead. At length, even at that snail's rate of progress, I gained the protection of the tepees upon the other side of the camp, and skulked in among them. The lodge just before me, blackened by paint and weather, must be the one I sought. I rested close within its shadow, striving to assure myself there was no possibility of mistake. As my eyes lifted, I could trace in dim outline the totem of the chief faintly sketched on the taut skin: it was the same I had noted on the brawny breast of Little Sauk. Never did I move with greater woodland skill, for I felt that all depended upon my remaining undiscovered; a single false move now would defeat all hope. Who might be within, concealed by that black covering, was a mystery to be solved only by extremest caution. Inch by inch I worked the skin covering of the tepee entrance up from the ground, screwing my eye to the aperture in an effort to penetrate the shrouded interior. But the glare of the sun was so reflected into my eyeballs, that it left me almost blind in the semi-gloom beneath that dark roof, and I could distinguish no object with certainty. Surely, nothing moved within; and I drew myself slowly forward, until half my body lay extended upon the beaten dirt-floor. It was then that I caught a glimpse of a face peering at me from out the shadows,--the face of Toinette; and, alas for my eager hopes of surprising her heart and solving its secrets! the witch was actually laughing in silence at my predicament. The sight made my face flush in sudden indignation; but before I could find speech, she had hastily accosted me. "Good faith, Master Wayland! but I greet you gladly!" she said, and her soft hand was warm upon mine; "yet it truly caused me to smile to observe the marvellous caution with which you came hither." "It must have been indeed amusing," I answered, losing all my vain aspirations in a moment under her raillery; "though it is not every prisoner in an Indian camp who could find like cause for merriment." Her eyes grew sober enough as they rested inquiringly on my face, for all that they still held an irritatingly roguish twinkle in their depths. "It was the expression upon your face which so amused me," she explained. "I am not indifferent to all that your coming means, nor to the horrors this camp has witnessed. More than that, you appear to me like one risen from the dead. I have truly mourned for you, John Wayland. I lost all power, all desire tor resistance, when I saw you stricken from your horse, and often since my eyes have been moist in thoughts of you. No doubt 't was but the sudden reaction from seeing you again alive that made me so forgetful of these dread surroundings as to smile. I beg you to forgive me; it was not heartlessness, but merely the way of a thoughtless girl, Monsieur." It had been impossible for me to resist her cajolery from the beginning; and now I read in her eyes the truth of all she spoke. "There is naught for you to forgive, Mademoiselle," I answered, drawing myself wholly within the tepee and resting on my knees. "But are you quite alone here, and without guards?" "For the present, yes. Little Sauk has been gone from the camp for some hours. They watch me with some care at night,--yet of what use can their guarding be? If I should get without the lodge, escape would be hopeless for a girl like me. But now tell me about yourself. Are you also prisoner to the Indians? Surely I saw you struck down in that mad mêlée. 'Twas then I lost heart, and gave up every hope of rescue." "No, I am not a prisoner, Mademoiselle. I fell, stunned by a blow dealt me from behind, but was saved from capture by the falling of my horse across my body. I am here now of my own will, and for no other purpose than to save you." "To save me! Oh, Monsieur! it would make me blush really to think I ranked so high in your esteem. Was it not rather that other girl you came to seek,--the one you sought so far through the wilderness, only to find hidden in this encampment of savages? Tell me, Monsieur, was she by any chance of fate the heroine who last night plucked Captain de Croix from the flames of torture?" "You know, then, of his danger and deliverance?" I said, not feeling eager to answer her query. "'T was a most brave and womanly act." "A strange exercise of power, indeed, Monsieur," and she looked directly into my eyes; "and the savages tell me she claimed to have knowledge of him." Surely I had a right to relate the whole story of De Croix's confession; yet somehow I did not deem it the manly thing to do. Rather, I would let her learn the truth in God's own time, and from other lips than mine. Perchance she would respect me more in the end for keeping silence now. But in this decision I failed to consider that hasty words of explanation might naturally lead her to believe the existing friendship mine instead of his. "We met her across the river in the darkness last night," I answered. "At my request, she acted as my guide into the Indian camp." The expression in her eyes puzzled me; nor could I interpret the sudden flush that lent color to her cheeks. "You are frank, Monsieur," she said quietly, "and doubtless 'tis better so. But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance about it, and interests me greatly. How chances she to be here? Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?" "She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies, seeking to win the heathen to Christ." "A Catholic?" she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest. "Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to me. Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our plans." "Doubtless," she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft voice. "But Captain de Croix,--he was not seriously injured, I trust? Where have the savages confined him? And know you what they intend as to his future?" "He will forever bear some scars, I fear," I answered, wondering dully at the calmness of her inquiry. "I have just left him sleeping quietly in the council tent. Know you anything of what fate has befallen other of our friends of the garrison?" Her eyes grew sad. "Only what little I have learned through the taunting of my own captor," she answered, her voice trembling. "Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van Voorhees. Both Captain Heald and his wife were sorely wounded, and they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but the Lieutenant's wife is safe with the Silver-man's family across the river. The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands alive. Yet few, I think, survived the massacre." "You have doubtless guessed aright. I noted with what fearful spirit of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing others. Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?" She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed her soft hair. "Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?" In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks. "I have already told you how greatly I admire you," I faltered, "and you make no less fair a picture now." "Then I shall not tempt you to add to your compliment," she hastily responded, rising to her feet, "for I like loyalty in a man better than mere gallantry of speech. You ask me about Little Sauk. He holds me for ransom,--although Heaven knows 'twill prove but waste of time, for I am aware of no one in all the East who would invest so much as a dollar to redeem me from Indian hands. Yet such is his purpose, as told to me this morning." "Perchance, then," I urged, doubtfully, "you may prefer remaining quietly here rather than risk the peril of trying to escape?" She looked at me keenly, as if in wonder at my words; and I could see that her eyes were moistening with the sudden rush of feeling. "You are either dull of comprehension, John Wayland," she said, a bit pertly, "or else you understand me less than any man I ever knew. If I seem brave and light of heart amidst all this horror, 't is merely that I may not utterly break down, and become an object of contempt. I feel, Monsieur, I am not devoid of heart nor of the finer qualities of womanhood. Prefer to remain here? Holy Mother of Christ! It would be my choice to die out yonder on the prairie, rather than stay here in these Indian lodges. There is no peril I would not face joyfully, in an effort to escape from this place of torture and barbarity. I confess that an hour ago I cared not greatly what my end might be; I had lost heart and hope. But now your coming, as of one risen from the dead, has brought back my courage." "You will go, then, whenever and wherever I say?" She stepped forward with her old frank confidence, resting both hands in mine, her eyes upon my face. "Out yonder in the night, and amid the sand, John Wayland," she said earnestly, "I remember saying I would travel with you whithersoever you wished. I know you far better now than I did then, and I hesitate not at taking upon myself the same vow." What power then sealed my lips, I know not. Doubtless there is a fate in such matters, yet 't is strange the light of invitation in her eyes did not draw me to lay bare my heart. In naught else had I a drop of coward blood within my veins; while here I hesitated, fearful lest her pleading face might change to sudden roguishness, and she laugh lightly at the love that held my heart in thrall. Truly, the witch had puzzled me so sorely with her caprices, her quick change of mood, her odd mixture of girlish frankness and womanly reserve, that I knew not which might prove the real Toinette,--the one to trust, or the one to doubt. So I stood there, clasping her soft hands in mine, my heart throbbing, yet my tongue hesitating to perform its office. But at last the halting words came in a sudden, irrepressible rush. "Toinette!" I cried, "Toinette! I could forget all else,--our danger here, the horrors of the night just passed, the many dead out yonder,--all else but you." She gave a sudden startled cry, her affrighted eyes gazing across my shoulder. I wheeled, with quick intuition of dangers and there, just within the entrance of the tepee, the flap of which he had let fall behind him, in grave silence stood an Indian. CHAPTER XXXII THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT A single glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,--him who had spoken for the warriors of this tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression. With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him, motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke slowly, and used perfect English. "Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?" "I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his watchful eyes might wander about the lodge long enough to yield me chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl." "No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a prisoner? To what chief?" "To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily. At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck. "Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!" I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause. "Sau-ga-nash"?--surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn. "You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me, her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the Wyandots?" He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes expressing wonder at the question. "The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?" "'T is the word used by the whites." I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation. "Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were out to revenge a bloody raid along the valley of the Maumee. That Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers, a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall you this, Sau-ga-nash?" The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement. "That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely. "Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly. "Nor the pledge. But what has all this to do here?" "Only, Sau-ga-nash, that I am Major David Wayland's son." The Indian sprang forward, his eyes burning fiercely; and thinking his movement to be hostile, I thrust the girl aside that I might be free to repel his attack. But he did not touch me, merely peering eagerly into my face with a keen questioning look that read my every feature. "You have the nose and forehead," he reflected aloud; "yes, and the eyes. Before the Great Spirit, I will redeem my pledge; a chief of the Wyandots cannot lie." He paused, and I could mark the varied emotions that swayed him, so deeply was he moved by this strange discovery. Unconsciously my hand clasped Mademoiselle's, for now I felt that our fate hung on his decision. "'T is a hard task, Master Wayland," he admitted at length, almost wearily, "but for your father's sake it shall be done. I see only one way for it, and that by water. Know you anything about the management of boats?" "Only as I have paddled upon the Maumee," I answered, doubtfully, "although I handled a small sail when a mere boy in the far East." "'T will suffice if the fair weather hold, as is likely at this season. At least it may be risked. The land trails are crowded by Indians from far-off tribes, hastening hither in hope of fight and spoils. More than a hundred came in to-day, painted for war, and angry because too late. You could not escape encountering such parties, were you to flee by trail eastward; nor would they show mercy to any white. The Silver-man has returned to his home north of the river; but 't is all that we who are friendly to him can do to keep these warriors from attacking even there. 'T is the Indians from far away that make the trouble; and these grow more numerous and powerful each day. We keep a guard at the house to save the Silver-man and his family; and were more whites to seek refuge there, we should lose all control. There is still safety at the mouth of the Saint Joseph River, and 't is there you must go. The venture must be made to-night, and by water. Is it known to any Indian that you are alive and within this camp?" "To none." "That is well; we can work best alone. Now listen. At midnight, Master Wayland, a boat, prepared for the trip, will await you, hidden under the ruins of the Agency building. The river flows under the flooring deep enough for the purpose, and I will place the boat there with my own hand. Beyond that, all must rest upon your own skill and good fortune. You will wait here," and he glanced about anxiously for some means of concealment, "lying behind those robes yonder, until the hour." "Here?" I questioned, thinking instantly of my duty to De Croix. "But I would first have speech with the Frenchman. He is my friend, Sau-ga-nash. Besides, I have left my rifle in the council lodge." The face of the savage darkened, and his eyes gleamed ominously as they roamed questioningly from my face to Toinette's. "I said you were to stay hidden here," he answered shortly, his tone showing anger, and his hand pointing at the robes. "Many of the sleeping Pottawattomies are again astir without, and you could not hope to gain the council lodge undiscovered. What care I for this Frenchman, that I should risk my life to save him? I pledge myself only to Major Wayland's son; and even if I aid you, it is on condition that you go alone." "Alone, say you?" and I rested my hand on Mademoiselle's shoulder. "I would die here, Sau-ga-nash, and by torture, before I would consent to go one step without this girl." The half-breed scowled at me, drawing his robe about him in haughty indifference. "Then be it so," he said mockingly. "'T is your own choice, I have offered redemption of my pledge." I started to utter some harsh words in answer; but before I could speak, Toinette pressed her soft palm upon my lips in protest. "Refuse him not," she murmured hastily. "'T is the only chance; for my sake, do not anger him." What plan her quick wit may have engendered, I did not know; but I yielded to the entreaty in her pleading eyes, and sullenly muttered the first conscious lie of my life. "I accept your terms, Sau-ga-nash, harsh as they are." He looked from one to the other of us, his face dark with distrust and doubt. "You are not mine to dispose of," he said sternly to the trembling girl, who visibly shrank from his approach, and clung once more to me. "You are prisoner to Little Sauk; nor will I release one thus held by the Pottawattomies. They and the Wyandots are brothers. But I trust you, and not the word of this white man. Pledge me not to go with him, and I will believe you." She glanced first at me, then back into the swarthy, merciless face. Her cheeks were white and her lips trembled, yet her eyes remained clear and calm. "I give you my word, Sau-ga-nash," she said quietly. "While I am held as prisoner by Little Sauk, I will not go away with John Wayland." Little as I believed these words to be true at the time, the sound of them so dulled me with apprehension that I could only stare at her in speechless amazement. It seemed to me then as if the power of reason had deserted me, as if my brain had been so burdened as to refuse its office. I recall that Toinette almost compelled me to lie down against the farther side of the lodge, placing a pile of skins in front of me and assuming a position herself where she could occasionally reach across the barrier and touch me with her soft hand. No doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure out the future for myself. Little by little I faced it, and came to an irrevocable decision. It was to be Toinette or nothing. While it might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast a sacrifice on her part. I thought to say this to her; but there was a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine, that somehow held me silent. I felt that in her own heart she must already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would prove sufficient test for her evident determination. Reassured here, my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless. I could send no message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages. Nay,--it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever. I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there. Neither of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled, making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences. The night found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an occasional movement or the sound of her low voice. Without, the rapidly increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the interior of the lodge. An Indian brought the girl some food, entering and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable. Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the lodge, at my back. At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of some kind. Could it be De Croix? Or was it the half-breed with some secret message he dared not deliver openly? I lifted the lodge covering slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture. "Is some one there?" I whispered cautiously. "Who is it?" "I am Sister Celeste," came the immediate low reply. "Are you the white man I guided?" "Ay," I answered, rejoicing at this rare good fortune, "and I beg you to listen to what I say. There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the old Agency building at midnight. You must be there with De Croix." "De Croix?" "Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman whose life you saved. Will you take him thither at midnight, together with the rifle I left in the council lodge?" For a moment she did not answer. Doubtless it was a bitter struggle for her thus to agree even to meet the man again. At last she made reply, although I could plainly mark the faltering of her voice. "The man of whom you speak shall be there," she said, "unless some accident make it impossible." As I drew back my head, and sat upright. Mademoiselle spoke questioningly. "With whom were you conversing just now, Monsieur?" "The young woman of whom we have spoken so often," I answered thoughtlessly. "She has pledged herself to bring De Croix to the meeting-place." "Indeed!" she exclaimed, with accent so peculiar I knew not how to interpret it. "It almost makes me desire to form one of your party." CHAPTER XXXIII AN INTERVENTION OF FATE "Form one of our party?" I echoed, believing I must have misunderstood her words. "Surely, Mademoiselle, you cannot mean that you take your promise to the half-breed so seriously as voluntarily to remain in captivity?" "Yes, but I do, Monsieur!" and the tone in which she said it was firm with decision. "The Indian asked my pledge in all solemnity, and has gone away trusting to it. My conscience could never again be clear did I prove false in such a matter. You also made a pledge, even before mine was given; was it not your purpose to abide by it?" "No," I answered, a bit shortly. "I merely agreed to his proposition at your expressed desire that I should, and because I believed you had framed some plan of escape. Have you such small respect for me, Mademoiselle, as to think I could consent to leave you here alone and at the mercy of these red fiends? Have I risked my life in coming here for no other end than this?" I felt her reach her arm across the pile of skins lying between us, and grasp my hand within her own. "But, dear friend, you must!" she said, pleadingly, her softly modulated voice dwelling upon the words as if they came hard. "Truly you must, John Wayland, and for my sake as well as your own. I am comparatively safe here,--safe at least from actual physical harm, so long as the savages dream that the sparing of my life will yield them profit. You have no right to remain in such peril as surrounds you here, when by so doing you benefit no one. You have father and mother awaiting in prayer your safe return to them yonder on the Maumee; while I,--I have no one even to ask how sad my fate may be. Think you that because I am a girl I must therefore be all selfishness? or that I would ever permit you thus to sacrifice yourself unnecessarily for me? No, no, Monsieur! I will remain prisoner to Little Sauk, for my sacred word has been pledged; and you must go, because there are others to whom your life is of value. Nor need you go empty-handed, for the one you have sought so far and long seems now ready enough to travel eastward with you." Scarcely had her voice ceased, leaving me struggling to find fit words to change her mad decision, when a rough hand flung back the entrance flap, and the naked body of an Indian, framed for a single instant against the light, lurched heavily through the opening. Even that brief glimpse told me the man had been drinking to excess; while for the moment, as I huddled down closer behind my robes, I was unable to make out his identity. "Where white woman?" he ejaculated gruffly, as he paused, blinded by the darkness. "Why she not come help me?" His quick ear evidently caught the slight rustle of the girl's skirt as she rose hastily to her feet, for with a muttered Indian oath the savage lurched forward. I could scarcely make out the dimmest shadow of them in the dense gloom, yet I seemed to know that he had grasped her roughly, though not the slightest sound of fear or pain came from her lips. "Ugh! better come!" he muttered, a veiled savage threat growling in his tone. "You my squaw; cook in my lodge; get meal now." "But where? and how?" she asked, her voice trembling perceptibly, yet striving to placate him by a seeming willingness to obey. "I have nothing here to cook, nor have I fire." "Indian squaw no talk back!" he retorted angrily. "This way I show white squaw to mind chief!" I heard plainly the brutal blow he struck her, though even as she reeled back she managed to stifle the scream upon her lips, so that it was barely audible. With one bound I was over the barrier of robes and clutching with tingling fingers for the brute. I touched his feathered head-dress at last, and he must have supposed me his helpless victim, for with a grunt of satisfaction he struck once again, the blow meeting my shoulder, where he judged in the dark her face would be. "White squaw mind now--" I had him gripped by the throat before he ended, and we went down together for a death-struggle in the darkness, from which each realized in an instant both could never rise again. My furious grip sobered him, and he made desperate efforts to break free, struggling vainly to utter some cry for rescue. Once I felt him groping at his waist for a knife; but I got first clasp upon its hilt, though I twisted helplessly for some minutes before I could loosen his hold at my wrist so as to strike him with the blade. His teeth closed upon my hand, biting deep into the flesh like a wildcat, and the sharp sting of it yielded me the desperate strength I needed to wrench my hand free, and with one quick blow the knife I clutched cut deep into his side, so that I could feel the hot blood spurt forth over my hand. I held him in a death grip, for I knew a single cry meant ruin to all our plans, until the last breath sped, and I knew I lay prostrate above a corpse. It had been so swift and fierce a contest that I staggered half-dazed to my feet, peering about me as if expecting another attack. I was steadied somewhat by the sound of a low sob from the darkness. "'T is well over with, Toinette," I murmured hastily, my voice trembling from the strain that still shook me. "Oh, John! John Wayland! And you are truly unhurt of the struggle?" It was scarcely her voice speaking, so agitated was it. "Have you killed him?" "Yes," I answered, finding my way cautiously toward her, and speaking in whispers. "I had no other choice. It was either his life or yours and mine. Knew you the savage?" "It was Little Sauk," she replied, clinging to me, and growing somewhat calmer from my presence. "Oh, what can we do now?" "There remains but one thing, and that is to accept the chance that Providence has given us. There remains no longer a shadow of excuse for your staying here, even by your own reasoning. You are no longer prisoner to Little Sauk. Your pledge has been dissolved by Fate, and it must be God's will that you go forth with me. What say you, Mademoiselle?" And I crushed her hands in mine. I could feel her slight form tremble as I waited her reply, and believed she peered across my shoulder through the darkness, imagining she saw the dead Indian's form lying there. "Do you truly wish it?" she questioned at last, as though warring with herself. "Think you she would greatly care?" 'T is a strangely perverse thing, the human mind. As there dimly dawned upon me a conception of her meaning,--a knowledge that this seemingly heart-free girl cared enough for me to exhibit such jealousy of another,--I would not undeceive her by a word of explanation. "I certainly do wish it," was my grave answer, "nor does it greatly matter what the desire of any other may be. This is not an invitation to a ball, Mademoiselle. I beg you answer me; will you go?" She looked toward me, wondering at my words. "Yes," she said simply. "Has the time come?" "I have no certain means of knowing; but it cannot be far from the hour, and we shall be much safer without." I took the Indian's knife with me, wiping the long blade upon the pile of skins, and placing it convenient to my hand within the bosom of my hunting-shirt. It was dark enough back of the lodge away from the glare of the fires, and we rested there well within the shadow, for some time, while I scanned the surroundings and planned as best I might our future movements. "Was it from dread of venturing once more upon the water that you held back so long?" I asked her, seeking rudely to delve into the secret of her reserve. "Have you ever found me of cowardly heart, Monsieur?" she questioned in return, parrying with quick skill, "that you should think any bodily terror could hold me back? If I had reasons other than those already given, they were worthy ones." "You are not afraid of the perils before us?" "No," she answered; "my heart beats fast, but 't is not from fear." Only a few scattered lodges had been raised to the eastward of where we were, nor did these show any signs of life. We crept forward with painful slowness, partially hiding our movements by following a shallow, curving gully, until we had gained the extreme limits of the encampment, where we crawled out into the gloom of the surrounding prairie. Not until then did either of us venture to stand erect, or advance with any degree of freedom. Directly ahead of us there was nothing by which I could safely guide our course. The flat sameness of the plain offered no landmarks, while the night sky was so thickly overcast as to leave no stars visible. Nor was there light of any kind, save that of the fires in the camp we had just left. I hesitated to risk the open prairie thus unaided, lest we should wander astray and lose much valuable time; so, although it measurably increased our peril of encountering parties of savages, I turned sharply northward, keeping the bright Indian fires upon our left, and groping forward through the gloom toward where I knew the main branch of the river must lie. It was neither the time nor place for speech. I held her hand closely while we moved onward silently, carefully guarding each step lest by mischance it should bring betrayal. Once, after we had reached the river and were moving eastward again, a party of Indians passed us, coming so silently out of the black void, in their soft moccasins, that I had barely time to hold her motionless before they were fairly upon us. I counted nine of them, moving rapidly in single file, like so many black ghosts. We waited with wildly throbbing hearts, listening for fear others might follow in their trail. We were almost beside the walls of the factory building before either of us was aware of its proximity. Even then, as I lay prone on the earth and studied its dim outlines, they possessed nothing of familiarity, for the high-pitched roof had fallen in and carried with it the greater portion of the upper walls, leaving a mere shell, shapeless and empty. I rested there, gazing at it, and wondering how best we might proceed to find our way beneath where the boat was to be moored, when I felt Mademoiselle's fingers press my arm warningly. Scarcely a yard away, on a ridge of higher ground, two dim figures came to a sudden pause. "I perceive naught of the presence of your friends as yet, Monsieur," spoke a soft voice, "but I will remain until certain of the outcome." "Then your decision is unchanged?" asked the other, in deeper accent, full of earnest pleading. "All is to be over between us from this hour? And you deliberately choose to devote your life to the redemption of these savages?" "We have discussed all this at length, Monsieur le Marquis, as we came along, and, as you fully know, my choice is made beyond recall. I am here to serve you to-night, because it seems to be a duty given unto me by some strange Providence; and I have relied upon your courtesy to make it as little unpleasant as possible. I pray you, beseech me no more. The girl I once was lives no longer; the woman I now am has been given a special mission by God, too sacred to be cast aside for aught that earth has to offer her of happiness. We part in kindness, Monsieur,--in friendship even; but that which was once between us may never be again." There was no answer; even the reckless audacity of a courtier was silenced by that calm final dismissal. It was Mademoiselle who spoke in swift whisper, her lips at my ear. "Speak! who is she?" "The woman of whom you have heard so often,--the missionary in the Indian camp." "Yes, I know," impatiently; "but I mean her name?" "She calls herself Sister Celeste; I have indeed heard mention of another, but it abides not in my memory." "You deceive me, Monsieur; yet I know, and will speak with her," was the quick decision. "Mother of God! 'tis a voice too dear ever to be forgotten." She was beside them with a step, seeming no doubt a most fair vision to be born so instantly of the night-shadows. "Marie Faneuf!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I know not by what strange fortune I meet you here, but surely you will not refuse greeting to an old friend?" The girl drew hastily back a step, as if her first thought was flight; but ere such end could be accomplished, Mademoiselle had clasped her arm impetuously. "Marie!" she pleaded, "can it be possible you would flee from me?" "Nay," returned the other, her voice trembling painfully, as she struggled to restrain herself. "It is not that. Dear, dear friend! I knew you were among the few saved from Dearborn. The American hunter told me, and ever since have I tried to avoid you in the camp. 'Twas not for lack of the old love, yet I feared to meet you. Much has occurred of late to make the keeping of my vow most difficult. I have been weak, and grievously tempted; and I felt scarce strong enough, even though protected by prayers, to withstand also my deep love for you." Their voices insensibly merged into French, each speaking so rapidly and low that I could get little meaning of it. Then I noted De Croix, half lying upon the ground, his head hidden within his hands. With sudden remembrance of the work before us, I touched his shoulder. "Come below, Monsieur, and help me search for the boat," I said, kindly, for I was truly touched by his grief. "It will help clear your mind to have some labor to accomplish." "I dare not, Wayland!" he answered hoarsely, and the face he uplifted toward me was strangely white and drawn. "I must stay with her; I dare not leave her again alone, lest she escape me once more. She is mine, truly mine by every law of the Church,--my wife, I tell you, and I would die here in the wilderness rather than permit her longer to doom herself to such a fate as this." His words and manner were so wild they startled me. Surely, in his present frame of mind he would prove useless on such a mission as that before us. "Then remain here, Monsieur!" I said, "and do your best to win her consent to accompany us. No doubt Mademoiselle will aid you all that is in her power." CHAPTER XXXIV A STUMBLE IN THE DARK Gloomy as the hole was, there was no help for it. I could perceive nothing below, not even my hand when held within a foot of my eyes; nor had I the slightest previous knowledge of the place to guide me, even had not the fire ruins above effectually blocked every passage-way with fallen debris. Listening however intently, my ears could distinguish only the faint lapping of the river as it crept about the log piling on which the house had been built; but beyond this dim guidance, I had to feel my way forward with extended hands and groping feet. Swinging to my back the rifle that De Croix had brought, and casting an inquiring glance backward at the little group huddled upon the bank, almost invisible even at that short distance, I grasped the piling nearest me and slid down into the unknown darkness. My feet found solid earth, although as I reached out toward the left my moccasin came in contact with water, which told me at once that only a narrow path divided the steep bank of the excavation from the encroaching river. The floor above was originally low, so that I could easily touch the heavy supporting beams; and I had felt my way scarcely a yard before coming in contact with a serious obstruction, where the weakened floor had sagged so as almost to close the narrow passage. This caused me to wade farther out into the water, testing each step carefully as I followed the sharp curving of the shore-line. I had no fear of meeting any living enemy within that silent cave, my sole doubt being as to whether the half-breed chief had fulfilled his promise and brought the boat, my gravest anxiety to discover it early and get my party safely away before the Indian encampment learned the truth. I must have reached the apex of the little cove, moving so cautiously that not a ripple of the water revealed my progress, and feeling for each inch of way like a blind man along city streets, when my knee suddenly struck some obstacle, and seeking to learn what it might be, I muttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving as I touched the unmistakable sides of a boat. It was a lumping, awkward craft, rudely fashioned, yet of a seeming length of keel and breadth of beam that set my heart beating with new joy, as I wondered if it was not the same craft in which the Kinzie family put forth upon the lake the morning of the massacre. This seemed very likely, for there could hardly be two such boats at hand, where the Indian water-craft were slender, fragile canoes, poorly fitted for serious battle with lake waves. Doubtless this was the only vessel Sau-ga-nash could find suitable for the venture, or he would never have chosen it for the use of a single man, as it was of a size to require the services of several paddles. Yet the thought meant much; for this very lack of water-craft was likely to render pursuit by the baffled savages impossible, if only once we got fairly away from the shore. With these reflections driving swiftly through my brain, I ran one hand hastily along the thwarts of the boat, seeking to discover if paddles had been provided, or even a sail of any kind. I touched a coil of rope, a rude oar-blade so broad as to seem unwieldy, a tightly rolled cloth,--and then my groping fingers rested on the oddest-feeling thing that ever a startled man touched in the dark. It was God's mercy I did not cry out from the sudden nervous fit that seized me. The thing I touched had a round, smooth, creepy feeling of flesh about it, so that I believed I fingered a corpse; until it began to turn slowly under my hand like a huge ball, the loose skin of it twitching yet revealing no human features to my touch. Saint Andrew! but it frightened me! I knew not what species of strange animal it might prove to be, nor whence its grip or sting might come. Yet the odd feeling of it was strangely fascinating,--I could not let it go; the damp flesh-like skin seemed to cling to my fingers in a horrible sort of magnetism that bound me prisoner, the cold perspiration of terror bursting from every pore, even as my other hand, trembling and unnerved, sought in my shirt for the knife of Little Sauk. As I gripped the weapon, the thing began to straighten out, coming up in the quick odd jerks with which some snakes uncoil their joints after the torpidity of winter. My hand, finding naught to grasp, slipped from the smooth round ball, and as it fell touched what seemed an ear, and then a human nose. "Merciful God! 't is a man!" I gasped, in astonishment and yet relief, as I closed upon his throat, madly determined to shut off his wind before he could give alarm. "Cuss the luck!" he gasped hoarsely, and I let go of him, scarcely able to ejaculate in my intense surprise at that familiar voice. "Burns? For Heaven's sake, Burns! can this indeed be you?" For an instant he did not speak, doubtless as greatly perplexed as I at the strange situation. "If ye 're Injun," he ventured at last gravely, "then I 'm a bloody ghost; but if by any chance ye 're the lad, Wayland, which yer voice sounds like, then it's Ol' Tom Burns as ye 're a-maulin' 'round, which seems ter be yer specialty,--a-jumpin' on unoffensive settlers in the dark, an' a-chokin' the life outer them." The growling tone of his voice was growing querulous, and it was evident that his temper, never quite childlike, had not been greatly improved by his late experiences as an Indian captive. "But Burns, old friend!" I persisted heartily, my courage returned once more, "it was surely enough to stir any man to violence to encounter such a thing in the dark! What in Heaven's name has happened to leave you with such a poll? What has become of your hair and beard? Is their loss a part of Indian torture?" There was a low chuckle in the darkness, as if the old rascal were laughing to himself. "Injun nuthin!" he returned with vehemence. "Thet 's jist my way of sarcumventin' the bloody varmints. I shaved the hull blame thing soon as ever they let me loose, an' then played loony, till thar ain't no Injun 'long the shore as 'd tech me fer all the wampum in the Illini country. 'T ain't the fust time I saved my scalp by some sech dern trick. I tell ye, it 's easy 'nough ter beat Injuns if ye only know how. By snakes! I 'm sacred, I am,--specially teched by the Great Spirit. I tell ye, ter be real loony is dern nigh as good in an Injun camp as ter hev red hair like thet thar little Sister Celeste with the Pottawattomies. She knows her business, you bet; an' so does Ol' Burns know hisn!" His mention of her name instantly recalled me to the little group waiting above us, and doubtless already worried at my prolonged absence. "Burns," I interrupted, "this is no time for reminiscences. I am here seeking some means of escape out of this place of horror. What were you doing down here?" "Sorter contemplatin' a sea v'yage," he said, dryly. "'T was rec'mended by my doctor fer the growth o' my har. So, snoopin' 'round yere in the dark, an' not over fond o' Injun com'any, I found this yere boat. Jest got in ter see how 't was fixed, when ye jumped down yonder. Reckon I 'd kinder like ter wet 'er up an' see wot she 's like." "Good! so would I. This boat was placed here for that very purpose. Now listen. The young woman you just mentioned, that Indian missionary with the auburn hair, is above yonder, together with another young white girl rescued from the massacre, and the Frenchman, De Croix. We have come here, on pledge of a half-breed chief that this boat would be ready for our escape. And we have no time to waste, for we may be followed at any moment." "They ain't seen ye stealin' outer the camp?" "No, but in doing it I was compelled to kill Little Sauk, and the others may find his body at any time." For a moment the sly old borderer made no response, and I knew he was quietly turning over the complicated situation in his own mind preparatory to intelligent action. I heard him step from the boat into the shallow water. "All right, lad! I understand," he said heartily, his former indifference vanished. "Derned if I wouldn't jist as soon leave that Parley-Voo behind; but I 'm with ye, an' I reckon Ol' Burns 'll give them thar redskins another dern good jolt. Take hold here, boy, an' we 'll run this yere man-o-war outside, where we kin ship the rest o' her crew." The back-water rippling among the old piling was shallow, but the boat had little aboard and floated free, so that we worked it forward with little difficulty until we succeeded in rounding the slight promontory and held its bulging sides close against the mud wall. Leaving Burns to keep it in place, I crept silently up the bank. "Come!" I whispered, making my way to the side of Mademoiselle more by instinct than sight. "The boat we sought is here and ready! I have even found a boatman to aid us, in the form of Ol' Burns, who, you remember, aided De Croix and me at the time of our famous race. Let us waste no more of the night here, but do the rest of your talking in greater safety on the water." They came with me down to the edge of the stream without a word of protest. I had taken Mademoiselle in my arms and lifted her slight form into the boat, when she turned suddenly, as it by an unrestrainable impulse, and held out her hands toward the dim figure of the silent girl who yet remained motionless several feet away. "Marie!" she said, anxiously, "it may be wrong of me to urge it, but I beg you to think again in this grave matter. Surely such horrible massacre as you have witnessed must absolve you from your vow, and yield you freedom to return eastward with those you love." The other did not respond to this passionate appeal, but stood facing us silent as a statue. "What mean you, Mademoiselle?" I asked. "Will not this Sister Celeste consent to leave the Indians?" "Nay, she has made a sacred vow of religion which binds her to this sacrifice. I implore you, John Wayland, urge her to go with us! 'T is but waste of her life here. She is an old schoolmate of mine, and 't will be hard to leave her alone in this wilderness. Captain de Croix, she was far from being a stranger to you in those other days at Montreal,--will you not add your entreaties to ours?" I saw him step forward toward that quiet bowed figure, and she straightened perceptibly, even in the darkness, as he drew near. His words were in French, and spoken so low I missed their meaning; yet we all heard plainly her calm answer, while marking the faltering accents of her lips. "Dear, dear friend!" and I felt her eyes, blinded by tears, were seeking out Mademoiselle through the gloom, "it breaks my heart to answer you nay in this hour of sore trial to us both. Yet my vow to God is more sacred than any earthly friendship; nor could peace ever again abide in my heart were I to break the vow so lightly. My duty is here, be it for life or death; and here I must abide until the Master sets me free." Then, addressing De Croix, she continued sadly, "No, Monsieur, the sense of duty that presses upon me and yields me such strength is beyond your comprehension. I bid you go back to that world of light and gaiety you have always loved so fondly, and think no more of me. To you I am, even as you have supposed, a dead woman, yet happier far in this sad exile than I ever was in that gilded social cage where men laugh while they break the hearts that trust them. My Indians are indeed cruel, but there is a deeper cruelty than that of bloodshed, and I prefer the open savagery of the woods and plains to things I have known in city life. So it must be good-bye, Monsieur!" I was looking directly at her when she uttered these last words of dismissal, yet as she ended she vanished into the black night beyond, I knew not how. A moment before, two figures had been standing there, De Croix's and hers; and although my eyes never once wavered, suddenly there remained but one, that of De Croix, peering forward with bent body as if he also knew not how or when the girl had vanished from his side. I was staring yet, half believing it was but a trick of my eyes, when suddenly, like phantoms from the mist, a half-dozen naked figures topped the high bank before me. It was the work almost of a second. I caught Burns's low cry of warning from where he sat watching within the boat. "Run!" I shouted to De Croix. "To the boat, quick! The savages are upon us!" He made no motion, and I grasped him. Rarely have I laid so heavy a hand on one in friendship; but I lifted him from off his feet and flung him bodily into the boat's bottom, scarce waiting till he struck before I had my shoulder against the stern to send the craft free from shore. I know not what mischance caused it, whether I slipped upon a stone or tripped over a hidden root; but as I shoved the boat far out into the dark current of the river, instead of springing after it, as I had meant to do, I toppled and plunged headlong down at the edge of the stream. CHAPTER XXXV THE BATTLE ON THE SHORE What followed was long a famous story on the border, and I have even read it written out most carefully in books purporting to tell the history of those troublous times. None of them have it as I recall the details of the incident, although it all occurred so rapidly that I myself can hardly tell just how 't was done. I know that I scrambled again to my knees, resting half in the water, my purpose being to fling myself into the river in an effort to regain the boat. But it was already out of sight in the dense gloom, while not the slightest sound reached me for guidance. Beyond this, I had no time for much save action. Above me, upon the high bank not three yards away, I saw several Indian forms peering over; and then others, three or four, I am uncertain which, sprang lightly down within a yard of where I crouched in waiting. My father gave me a frontier maxim once, which ran, "If you must fight, strike first, and strike hard." The words flashed in my memory, and I put them to the test straightway. These prowling savages were apparently unaware of my predicament; their sole thought was with the boat floating away lakeward down the stream. At all cost, they must be blocked in any purpose of pursuit. These were the thoughts that darted through my brain like fire through stubble. How many opposed me, how desperate would be the struggle, were matters of which I did not stop to think. I could at least busy them until the fugitives were safe; after that, it was God's affair, and theirs. My rifle was wet and useless from my recent tumble; but before the group at the water's edge even saw me I was fairly upon them, striking fiercely with my gunstock, and two savages went down, shrieking from pain and surprise, before so much as a return blow reached me. It was not a noisy battle; from the outset it was too fierce and rapid for any waste of breath. Never did I need my strength of body more, nor did the long training of my father come in better play. I made that long rifle-barrel both club and sword, knife and axe in one, striking, thrusting, clubbing, in the mad fury with which desperation bids a man battle for his life. I had no thought to live, but was determined that if I went down to earth many a painted savage should lie there with me. The enshrouding darkness proved a friendly help; for as I backed in closer against the bank, I gained a fair view of my opponents, while keeping myself more hidden. Again and again they charged upon me, joined now by the others from above; but the circling iron I swung with tireless arms formed a dead-line no leaping Indian burst through alive. Once a hurtling tomahawk half buried itself in my shoulder; a long knife, thrown by a practised hand, pierced the muscles of my thigh, and stuck there quivering, till I struck it loose; and twice they fired at me, the second shot tearing the flesh of my side, searing it like fire. Yet I scarcely realized I was touched, so fiercely was the battle-blood now coursing through my veins, so intense the joy with which I crushed them back. I grew delirious, feeling the rage to slay sweep over me as never before, giving me the crazed strength of a dozen men, until I lost all sense of defensive action, and sprang forth into their midst as might an avenging thunderbolt from the black sky. Never had I swung flail in peaceful border contest as I did that murderous iron bar in the dark of the river-shore, driving them back foot by foot against the high bank which held them helpless victims of my wrath. I struck again and again, my teeth set together in bulldog tenacity, my breath coming in gasps, the streaming blood from a deep cut over my eyes half blinding me, yet guided by fierce instinct to find and smite my foes. I trod on limp bodies, on writhing forms, and felt my weapon clash against iron rifle barrels and clang upon uplifted steel; but nothing stopped me,--no cry of terror, no plea for mercy, no clutching hand, no deadly numbing blow. God knows the story of that fight,--how long it lasted, by what miracle 't was won. To me it is--and was--little more than a dim haze of strange leaping figures, of fierce dark faces, of maddened cries of hate, of uplifted hands, of dull-clashing weapons. I seemed to see it all through a red fog whence the blood dripped, and I lost consciousness of everything save my unswerving duty to strike hard until I fell. At last out from the maelstrom of that wild mêlée but a single warrior seemed to face me; and some instinct of the fight caused me to draw back a pace and wipe the obscuring blood away, that I might see him better. It came to me that this was to be the end,--the final duel which was to decide that midnight battle. He and I were there alone; and the stars bursting through the clouds gave me faint view of him, and of those dark, silent forms that lined the shore where they had fallen. A chief, a Pottawattomie,--this much I knew even in that hasty shrouded glance. Writers of history affirm my opponent was Peesotum, the same fierce warrior whose cruel hand slew the brave Captain Wells and wrenched his still beating heart from out the mutilated body. All I realized then were his broad sinewy shoulders, his naked brawny body, his eyes ablaze with malignant hate. He was the first to close, his wild cry for vengeance piercing the still night; and before I knew it, the maddened savage was within the guard of my rifle-barrel, and we were locked in the stern grapple of death. It was knife to knife, our blades gleaming dull in the dim light of the stars, each man gripping the up-lifted wrist of the other, putting forth each last reserve of strength, each cunning trick of fence, to break free and strike the ending blow. Back and forth we strove, straining like two wild animals, our moccasined feet slipping on the wet earth, our muscles strained, and sinews cracking with intensity of effort, our breath coming in labored gasps, our bodies tense as bow-strings. Such merciless strain could not endure forever, and, strong as I was in those young days, the savage was far stronger and less exhausted by the struggle, so that inch by inch he pressed me backward, battling like a demon, until I could see the cruel gleam of his eyes as I gave slowly down. It was God who saved me, for as I fell I struck the sharp shelving of the bank, and the quick stoppage swung the savage to one side and below me, so that, even as he gave vent to an exulting yell of triumph, wrenching his hand loose from my weakening clasp to strike the death-blow, I whirled and forced him downward, his face buried in the stream. Those who write history say the rescuing warriors discovered him alive. I know not; but this I swear,--I held him there until every struggle ceased, until answering yells from the westward told me others were already close at hand, and then, breathless and trembling from the struggle, blinded by blood and faint from wounds, I sprang forward into the night-shadows, dimly conscious that my sole hope for escape lay lakeward. I ran but feebly at first, skirting the partially destroyed stockade of the old Fort, with its litter of debris, and stumbling constantly in the darkness over the obstructions that lined the river bank. As my breath returned, and I somewhat cleared my eyes of blood, I saw better; and at last ran from the darker soil on to the white sand of the beach. There were now many stars in the sky, with the moon struggling feebly to break through the haze; but to my anxious glance nothing was visible upon, the water. Surely the boat must have floated to the river-mouth by this time,--surely the force of the current would have accomplished that; nor was it likely that Ol' Burns would draw far away from shore until assured of my fate. The wild shouting told me that savages from the camp had already found their dead. A moment more would place them on my trail, hot for revenge; and there was no course left me but to take the water, before their keen eyes found me out. I waded out, seeking thus to get far enough from shore to baffle their search, when suddenly a quick spark of light winked from the blackness in front of me. Surely it could be nothing less than a signal, the swift stroke of flint on steel,--no doubt in the faint hope it would prove a beacon to me in my need. Desperate as the chance was, it was still a chance, and to my mind the only one. I glanced behind; a dim figure or two dotted the white sand, and my heart lifted a silent prayer to God for guidance. A second later I was beyond my depth, breasting the unknown waters, swimming steadily toward the place where that mysterious spark had glimmered. Once again it flashed, the barest glimpse of light through the intense gloom; and I pressed on with new vigor, certain now it was a real beacon. But I was so weakened by wounds and spent from exertion, and such desperate work is swimming fully clad, that my progress proved slow; and twice I was compelled to pause, paddling slowly on my back, in the buffeting of the waves, in order to gain strength to renew the struggle. I almost lost heart in the black loneliness, as the swirling water swept me back and confused me with its ever-tossing motion. Once I went down from sheer weakness, choking in a cloud of spray that swept my face; and doubtless I should have let the struggle end in despair even then, had not the spark leaped up once more through the deep haze; and this time so close was it that my ears caught the clashing of the flint and steel. With the new hope of life thus given me, I pushed grimly forward, using the silent Indian stroke that never tires, my eyes at the surface level where the light of the moon glimmered feebly. At last I saw it,--the black lumpy shadow of the boat. I must have splashed a little in my weakness and excitement, for I plainly perceived the figure of a man hastily leap to his feet, with an oar-blade uplifted threateningly above his head. "Don't strike, Burns!" I managed to cry aloud. "It's Wayland." The next moment, with scarce so much as a breath remaining in my battered body, I laid hand upon the boat's side, and clung there panting and well-nigh spent. I felt his hands pressed under my arms, and then, with the exercise of his great strength, he drew me steadily up, inch by inch, until I topped the rail, and fell forward into the bottom of the boat. An instant I rested thus, with tightly closed eyes, my head reeling, my breath coming in sobs of pain, every muscle of my strained body throbbing in misery. Scarcely conscious of what was being done about me, I could still realize that arms touched my neck, that my head was gently lifted to a softer resting-place, and that a hand, strangely tender, brushed back from my forehead the wet tangled hair. The touch was thrilling; and I unclosed my wearied eyes, looking up into the sympathetic face of Mademoiselle. The faint moonlight rested upon it gently, touching her crown of hair with silver; and within the dark depths of her eyes I read clearly the message I had waited for so long. "Toinette!" I murmured, half conscious. She bowed her head above me, and I felt a sudden plash of tears that could not be restrained. "Do not try to speak now, John!" she whispered softly, her finger at my lips. "I can only thank the good God who has brought you back to me." I made no effort to say more; I could only lie in silence and gaze up at her, pressing the hands resting so frankly within my own. Indeed, we needed no words in that hour; our hearts had spoken, and thenceforward we were one. Suddenly the heavy boat lurched beneath us, to some quick impetus that sent a shudder through every inch of it; and I heard a heavy splash alongside, which instantly brought me upright, anxiously grasping the rail. "May Heaven help him!" cried Burns excitedly, and pointing out at the black waters. "The Frenchman has gone overboard!" "Overboard?" I echoed, striving to regain my feet. "Did he fall?" "Fall? No; it was a dive off the back seat here. Save me! but he went into it like a gull." We sought for him long and vainly, peering over those dark swirling waters, calling his name aloud, and striking flint on steel in hope to guide him by the spark. Nothing appeared along the rolling surface, no answering cry came from the black void; De Croix had disappeared into the depths, as desperate men go down to death. Suddenly, as I leaned over, sick at heart, peering into the dimness, Toinette drew near and touched me softly. "Let us not mourn," she said, in strange quietness. "No doubt 't is better so." "How?" I questioned, shocked at her seemingly heartless words. "Surely you cannot rejoice at such a loss?" "'T is not a loss," she answered firmly, and the soft moon-rays were white upon her face. "He has only gone back to her we left behind; it was the beckoning hand of love that called him through the waters. Now it is only ours to pray that he may find her." CHAPTER XXXVI IN THE NEW GRAY DAWN My anxious glance wandered from the face I so dearly loved, out where those dark restless waters merged into the brooding mystery of the black night. How unspeakably dreary, lonely, hopeless it all was! Into what tragic unknown fate had this earliest comrade of my manhood been remorselessly swept? Was all indeed well with him? or had the Nemesis of a wrong once done dealt its fatal stroke at last? The voices of the night were silent; the chambers of the great tossing sea hid their secret well. Had this gallant and reckless young soldier of France, this petted courtier of the gayest court in Europe, whose very name and rank I knew not, succeeded in his desperate deed? Had he reached yonder blood-stained shore, lined with infuriated savages, and found safe passage through them to the side of the woman he had once called wife, and then forgotten? Or had he found, instead, the solemn peace of death, amid the swirling waters of this vast inland sea, so many leagues to the westward of that sunny land he loved? These were the thoughts that shook me, as I leaned out above the rail, her dear hand always on my shoulder. Never have the circling years found voice, nor the redeemed wilderness made answer. "Possibly it might be done," I admitted slowly. "'T is scarce farther than I swam just now, and he is neither weary nor wounded." We all realised it was a useless peril to remain there longer, and I sat at the helm and watched, while Burns, who developed considerable knowledge in such matters, fitted the heavy sail in place. With the North Star over the water for our guidance, I headed the blunt nose of the boat due eastward into the untracked waters. I confess that my memory was still lingering upon De Croix, and my eyes turned often enough along our foam-flecked wake in vague wonderment at his fate. It was Mademoiselle who laid hand softly on my knee at last, and aroused my attention to her. "Why did you tell Sister Celeste that you came to Dearborn seeking Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, her clear eyes intently reading my face. "I had even forgotten that I mentioned it," I answered, surprised at this query at such a time. "But it is strictly true. While upon his death-bed Elsa Matherson's father wrote to mine,--they were old comrades in the great war,--and I was sent hither to bring the orphan girl eastward. I sought her as a brother might seek a sister he had never seen, Mademoiselle; yet have failed most miserably in my mission." "How failed?" "In that I have found no trace of the girl, and beyond doubt she perished in the massacre. I know not how, but I have been strangely baffled and misled from the first in my search for her, and it was all to no purpose." For the first time since I had fallen dripping into the boat, a slight smile was visible in the dark eyes fronting me. "Why hid you from me with such care the object of your search?" "I hid nothing, Mademoiselle. We spoke together about it often." "Ay, indeed you told me you sought a young girl, and your words led me to think at first it must be Josette, and later still the Indian missionary. But not once did you breathe the name of the girl in my ears. The dwellers at Dearborn were neither so many nor so strange to me that I could not have aided you in your search." "You knew this Elsa Matherson?" "I am not so sure of that, Master Wayland." she returned gravely, her eyes wandering into the night. "Once I thought I did, but she has changed so greatly in the last few days that I am hardly sure. A young girl's life is often filled with mystery, and there are happenings that turn girlhood to womanhood in a single hour. Love has power to change the nature as by magic, and sorrow also has a like rare gift. Do you still greatly wish to find this Elsa Matherson?" "To find her?" and I gazed about me incredulously into those flitting shadows where the waves raced by. "Ay, for I have dreamed of her as of a lost sister, and it will sadly grieve those at home to have me return thus empty-handed. Yet the thought is foolishness, Mademoiselle, and I understand not why you should mock me so." She drew closer, in the gentle caressing way she had, and found my disengaged hand, her sweet face held upward so that I could mark every changing expression. "Never in my useless life was I farther removed from any spirit of mockery," she insisted, soberly; "for never before have I seen the presence of God so clearly manifest in His mysterious guidance of men. You, who sought after poor Elsa Matherson in this wilderness, looking perchance for a helpless orphan child, have been led to pluck me in safety out from savage hands, and yet never once dreamed that in doing so you only fulfilled your earlier mission." I stared at her, grasping with difficulty the full significance of her speech. "Your words puzzle me." "Nay, they need not," and I caught the sudden glitter of tears on her lashes; "for I am Elsa Matherson." "You? you?" and I crushed her soft hand within my fingers, as I peered forward at the quickly lowered face. "Why, you are French, Mademoiselle, and of a different name!" She glanced up now into my puzzled face, a bit shyly, yet with some of the old roguishness visible in her eyes. "My mother was indeed French, but my father was an American soldier," she said rapidly, as if eager to have the explanation ended. "You never asked my name, save that one night when we first met amid the sand, and then I gave you only that by which I have been most widely known. None except my father ever called me Elsa; to all others I was always Toinette. But I am Roger Matherson's only child." It was clear enough now, and the deception had been entirely my own, rendered possible by strange chances of omission, by rare negligence of speech--aided by my earlier impression that she whom I sought was a mere child. "And 't was Sister Celeste who told you whom I sought?" I asked, for lack of courage to say more. "Yes, to-night, while we waited for you beside the ruins of the old factory. Oh, how far away it all seems now!" and she pointed backward across the voters. "Poor, poor girl! Poor Captain de Croix! Oh, it is all so sad, so unutterably sad to me! I knew them both so well, Monsieur," and she rested her bowed head upon one hand, staring out into the night, and speaking almost as if to herself alone; "yet I never dreamed that he was a nobleman of France, or that he had married Marie Faneuf. She was so sweet a girl then,--and now to be buried alive in that wilderness! Think you that he truly loved her?" "I almost have faith that he did, Mademoiselle," I answered gravely. "He was greatly changed from his first sight of her face, though he was a difficult man to gauge in such matters. There was a time when I believed him in love with you." She tossed her head. "Nay," she answered, "he merely thought he was, because he found me hard to understand and difficult of conquest; but 't was little more than his own vanity that drew him hither. I trust it may be the deeper feeling that has taken him back now in face of death to Marie." "You have indeed proved hard to understand by more than one," I ventured, for in spite of her graciousness the old wound rankled. "It has puzzled me much to understand how you so gaily sent me forth to a mission that might mean death, to save this Captain de Croix." It was a foolish speech, and she met it bravely, with heightened color and a flash of dark eyes. "'T was no more than the sudden whim of a girl," she answered quickly, "and regretted before you were out of sight. Nor did I dream you would meet my conditions by such a sacrifice." "You showed small interest as you stood on the stockade when we went forth!" "You mean when Captain de Croix and I leaned above the eastern palisades?" "Ay, not once did your eyes wander to mark our progress." Her eyes were smiling now, and her face archly uplifted. "Indeed, Master Wayland, little you know of the struggles of my heart during that hour. Nor will I tell you; for the secrets of a girl must be her own. But I marked each step you took onward toward the Indian camp, until the night hid you,--the night, or else the gathering tears in my eyes." The sudden yawing of the boat before a gust of wind drew my thought elsewhere, and kept back the words ready upon my tongue. When once more I had my bearings and had turned back the plunging bow, she sat silent, deep in thought that I hesitated to disturb. Soon I noted her head droop slightly to the increased movement of the boat. "You are worn out!" I said tenderly. "Lean here against me, and sleep." "Indeed, I feel most weary," was her drowsy reply. "Yes, I will rest for a few moments." How clear remains the memory of those hours, while I sat watchful of the helm, her head resting peacefully on my lap, and all about us those lonely tossing waters! What a mere chip was our boat in the midst of that desolate sea; how dark and dreary the changeless night shadows! Over and over again I pictured the details of each scene I have here set forth so poorly, to dream at the end of a final homecoming which should not be alone. It was with heart thankful to God, that I watched the slow stealing upward of the gray dawn as the early rays of light crept toward us across the heaving of the waters. It was typical of all I had hoped,--this, and the black shadows fleeing away into the west. Brighter and brighter grew the crimsoning sky over the boat's bow, where Burns lay sleeping, until my eyes could distinguish a far-off shore-line heavily crowned with trees. I thought to rouse her to the glorious sight; but even as I glanced downward into the fair young face, her dark eyes opened in instant smile of greeting. "'T is the morning," she said gladly, "and that dark, dark night has passed away." "For ever, Mademoiselle; and there is even a land of promise to be seen out yonder!" She sat up quickly, shading her eyes with her hand as she gazed with eagerness toward where I pointed. "Think you we shall find shelter and friends there?" "The half-breed chief said there were yet white settlers upon the Saint Joseph, Mademoiselle; and the mouth of that river should be easily found." She turned toward me, a slight frown darkening her face. "I wish you would not call me Mademoiselle," she said slowly. "It is as if we were still mere strangers; and you said Elsa Matherson was to be as your sister." I bent over her suddenly, all my repressed love glowing in my face. "Toinette!" I whispered passionately, "I would call you by a dearer name than that,--by the dearest of all dear names if I might, for you have won my heart in the wilderness." For a single instant she glanced shyly up into my face, her own crimson at my sudden ardor. Her eyes drooped and hid themselves behind their long lashes. "Those who sent you forth seeking a sister might not thus wish to welcome Elsa Matherson," she said softly. "'Tis a venture I most gladly make," I insisted, "and would seal it with a kiss." Her eyes flashed up at me, full of sudden merriment. "The unpaid wager leaves me helpless to resist, Monsieur." * * * * * * The soft haze of Indian summer rested over the valley of the Maumee. We rode slowly along the narrow winding trail that hugged the river bank; for our journey had been a long one, and the horses were wearied. Burns was riding just in advance of Toinette and me, his cap pulled low over his eyes, his new growth of hair standing out stiff and black beneath its covering. Once he twisted his seamed face about in time to catch us smiling at his odd figure, and growled to himself as he kicked at his horse's flanks. It was thus we rounded the bend and saw before us the little clearing with the cabin in the centre of its green heart. At sight of it my eyes grew moist and I rested my fingers gently upon the white hand that lay against her saddle-pommel. "Fear not, dear heart!" I whispered tenderly. "It is home for both alike, and the welcome of love awaits you as well as me." She glanced up at me, half shyly as in the old way, and there was a mist of tears clinging to the long lashes. "Those who love you, John, I will love," she said solemnly. It was Rover who saw us first, and came charging forth with savage growl and ruffled fur, until he scented me, and changed his fierceness into barks of frantic welcome. Then it was I saw them, even as when I last rode forth, my father seated in his great splint chair, my mother with her arm along the carved back, one hand shading her eyes as she watched our coming. This is not a memory to be written about for stranger eyes to read, but as I turned from them after that first greeting, their glances were upon her who stood waiting beside me, so sweet and pure in her young womanhood. "And this, my son?" questioned my father kindly. "We would bid her welcome also; yet surely she cannot be that little child for whose sake we sent you forth?" I took her by the hand as we faced them. "You sent me in search of one whom you would receive even as your own child," I answered simply. "This is Roger Matherson's daughter, and the dear wife of your son." What need have I to dwell upon the love that bade her welcome? And so it was that out of all the suffering and danger,--forth from the valley of the shadow of death,--Toinette and I came home. 
32017	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) April 24, 1861. July 16, 1865. COMPANY K, Twentieth Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry. ROSTER and RECORD BY ANDREW BROWN. YORKVILLE, ILL. KENDALL COUNTY RECORD PRINT 1894. PREFACE. At the last annual reunion of the association of the survivors of the 20th Illinois Regiment, held in Chicago September 8, 1893, I was assigned the duty of preparing a roster of Company K. This little publication is the result of my efforts to perform that duty. It is intended for the surviving members of the Company and their descendants, for relatives and friends of deceased members and for all others into whose hands it may chance to come, who are interested in learning about the men who fought and won battles that secured to America liberty and union. ANDREW BROWN. NEWARK, ILLINOIS, June, 1894. ROSTER AND RECORD. REUBEN F. DYER, M. D., Ottawa, Ill. Born at Strong, Franklin county, Maine. Volunteered at Newark, Ill., April 15, 1861. Was elected Captain. Commanded Company at Fredericktown, Fort Henry and Fort Donelson. Resigned commission as Captain of Company K March 13, 1862, at Pittsburg Landing, Tennessee, with view of obtaining a position in the line of his profession. August 25, 1862, was commissioned Surgeon, 104th Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry, which commission he held till close of war, and, at close was acting Medical Director 14th Army Corps, General Jefferson C. Davis commanding. Has practiced medicine at Ottawa since 1865. For a number of years a member of U. S. Board Examining Surgeons. Is not a pensioner. A republican. A Methodist. BENJAMIN OLIN, Joliet, Ill. Born in State of New York. Volunteered at Newark, Ill., in April, 1861. Elected Orderly Sergeant of Company. May, 1861, commissioned First Lieutenant. Served with Company in Missouri till November, 1861, when he resigned on account of ill health. Has been in the practice of law since 1862. At present County Judge of Will county, Ill. Is not a pensioner. Has never applied for a pension. A liberal democrat. A Methodist. JOHN N. BOYER, Normal, Ill. Born in Centre county, Pennsylvania. Volunteered May 10, 1861, at Newark, Ill. Discharged February 15, 1864, on account of wound received at Vicksburg. Was appointed Orderly Sergeant June 13, 1861. Commissioned 2d Lieutenant January 22, 1862; Captain March 13, 1862. AT SHILOH. On April 6, 1862, had mumps very badly, and had neck wrapped with red flannel. Nevertheless, went out in command of the Company. Had sword struck by a missile and bent nearly double, and received two slight wounds in the face. At noon was compelled to retire from the Company. When going, several of the boys turned over their pocket-books to him for safe keeping. Joined us, and took command of the Company, at daylight the next morning and was in all the second day's fighting. AT BRITTON'S LANE. On September 1, 1862, was indisposed and was riding in an ambulance with Assistant Surgeon Bailey and Chaplain Button. When first shots were heard at Britton's Lane he jumped out, buckled on his sword and asked Dr. Bailey to give him a strong dose of whisky and quinine and then went forward on a run to take charge of the Company. This is a true story, because Chaplain Button tells it. AT VICKSBURG. On May 22, 1863, while in command of the Company at Vicksburg he was shot in the foot. On this occasion he lost his sword that had been battered at Shiloh; also, most of his other personal effects. He was discharged on account of this wound and receives pension therefor at the rate of twenty dollars a month. A MAN OF PEACE. Since war has been teacher, farmer, business man and cattle man in the West. Is broken in health. Rheumatism and other debilities. Says he can't work much. We understand he does not have to. In one sense of the word it is supposed he is well-heeled, although in another sense it is certain he is very badly heeled. In religion a Methodist; in politics a radical republican. PERRY W. SPELLMAN, Fellowship, Florida. Born in Pittsford, Monroe county, New York. Volunteered April 24, 1861, at Newark, Ill. Mustered out July 16, 1865, by reason of close of war. Was appointed Sergeant in May, 1861. Detailed on recruiting service from December, 1861, to June, 1862. Was Orderly Sergeant for a few months, then reduced to the ranks and detailed as acting Hospital Steward and dispenser of medicine. Was commissioned First Lieutenant March 2, 1863, and Captain February 23, 1865. On May 12, 1863, during our desperate struggle behind the rail fence at Raymond, Comrade Spellman had the command of the Company. Near the close of that battle, when our lines were advancing through the woods, he was hit in the side by a bullet and disabled for a time. From May 22, 1865, he commanded the Company during the siege of Vicksburg, and continued in command till the latter part of the siege of Atlanta. Was on detached service as acting assistant Quartermaster 3d Division 17th Army Corps, from October, 1864, till final muster out. Since the war has mostly followed business pursuits. Has lived in Illinois, in South Dakota, and is now in Florida. On December 25, 1893, he wrote thus: "I came to Florida in January, 1890, and will probably spend the remainder of my days here. The climate is much more agreeable to me than that of the chilly North. Roses in full bloom and fresh vegetables for the table all winter." Pensioned for disability incurred in the army. FAAGUST ANDERSON, Westport, Brown County, South Dakota. May, 1861-August 1, 1862. Born in Sweden. Came to America in 1852. Twenty years old when enlisted. Was shot in wrist at Shiloh and discharged because of wound. Enlisted in another regiment in August, 1863, and mustered out in December, 1865, on account of close of war. Is pensioned at rate of ten dollars a month for wound received at Shiloh, and other disabilities. Has been farming since the war. Is a republican, but not a church member. CHARLES BACON, Clinton, Oneida County, New York. April, 1861-July, 1865. Born in Paris, Oneida county, New York. Thirty-three years old when enlisted. Pensioned at rate of eight dollars a month for disability incurred in army. Pension granted December, 1893. Votes the republican ticket as often as he has a chance to do so, but in religion is not very particular. Just goes to whatever church is handiest. JAMES BARROWS, Newark, Ill. April, 1861-July 24, 1862. Born in Perry, Wyoming county, New York. Was twenty-six years old when enlisted. Pensioned at twelve dollars a month. Is a painter. A member of Baptist church. A republican. Was in the ranks of Company K at Fredericktown, Fort Henry, Fort Donelson and Shiloh. MARTIN BISSELL, Plano, Ill. May, 1861-October 3, 1862. Born in Addison county, Vermont. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Slightly wounded at Fort Donelson. At Shiloh was struck with fragment of bursting shell Sunday morning, in region of hip, while regiment was executing a retreat after first engagement with the enemy. Soon afterwards was struck in thigh with spent ball, and later in the battle had part of right thumb nail knocked off and bayonet scabbard cut by another ball. At Britton's Lane was shot in right shoulder; was discharged because of this wound, and draws pension therefor at the rate of eight dollars a month. Since discharged has been engaged in agricultural and mechanical pursuits. A republican. A Methodist. ANDREW BROWN, Newark, Illinois. April, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born of Irish parents, in Kendall county, Ill. Seventeen years old when enlisted. Did not go with Company from Newark to Joliet on Saturday, May 11, 1861, because, on that morning, clothes and other necessaries were missing, but the next day, being fairly equipped, he started on foot for Camp Goodell, east of Joliet, at 10 o'clock a. m. and reached destination at 4 p. m. Was farther away from home then than he had ever been before in his life. Had made a march of nearly thirty miles in six hours, but was in very "light marching order." Was not encumbered with a single superfluous article. When he reported in camp, Lieutenant Watson ordered the Company to form ranks and then called for three cheers for the boy they left behind them. From the day he left home till he returned, a period of more than three years, this volunteer never slept in a bed nor sat at a table to eat a meal of victuals. Was never on detailed duty, never straggled from the ranks and, while a soldier, never missed a march, campaign, skirmish or battle, except when wounded and a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. When long roll was beat Sunday morning at Shiloh, he had his gun off the stock and was swabbing out the barrel in a pail of water. Was under arrest and in guard house once only. Charges preferred were "committing depredations on private property." The "depredation" consisted of milking a cow in canteen. Read the New Testament through three times in the army. Has the little volume yet which Chaplain Button presented in May, 1861. It has been out in many a storm and is badly soaked and soiled. Was slightly wounded at Britton's Lane. Was shot twice through leg at Raymond and captured by the enemy. A prisoner for two months. Since discharged has been student, teacher, lawyer, farmer. Has never been greenbacker, free-silver man nor protective tariff man. Is a democrat, but has much regard and respect for prohibitionists. In religion liberal. Catholic rather than Protestant. JOHN CAREY, Blackstone, Ill. May, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Limerick, Ireland. Came to America in November, 1860. Was twenty-one years old when enlisted. The preliminary skirmishing of an impending battle always acted like a tonic on this comrade, and he was never known to be out of condition whenever a battle was on. Was as good a soldier as ever fought under the Stars and Stripes. Captured July 22, 1864, near Atlanta, and confined in Confederate prisons for nearly seven months. Finally escaped and reached Union lines near Wilmington, N. C., February 22, 1865. Pensioned at rate of twenty dollars a month for disabilities incurred in Andersonville Prison. Is a bachelor--to me it is an utterly unaccountable fact that so congenial a soul as John Carey should choose to live alone in life. Some girl may capture him yet. His widow would probably receive a nice pension when John is gone. Comrade Carey claims that he votes the republican ticket, although he is a true Irishman and a good Catholic. He did not reply to my letter of inquiry. CHARLES CLAYTON, 26 Union St., Wakefield Road, Stalysbridge, Lancashire, England, Europe. April, 1861-July 25, 1862. Born in England. Draws pension at rate of eight dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. Enrolled at Washington, D. C., Agency. Certificate No. 411,108. FRANKLIN CLIFFORD, Seneca, Ill. April, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in St. Louis, Missouri. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Received some slight wounds. There was no discount on this comrade's fighting qualities. I remember that very distinctly. Was captured near Atlanta July 22, 1864. A prisoner seven months and ten days. Exchanged at Wilmington, N. C., March 1, 1865. Is pensioned at twelve dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. Is a laborer. He writes thus: "I always vote the republican ticket. I suppose I ought to be a religious man, but I am not." ANDERSON CONNER, No. 2219 Messanie St., St. Joseph, Missouri. June 9, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Hunterdon county, New Jersey. Eighteen years old when enlisted. Wounded at Raymond and captured. Sent to Libby prison. A prisoner only seventeen days. Was then paroled and sent to St. Louis to await exchange. Remained at St. Louis nearly four months. Was then exchanged and served with Company K to close of war. Is pensioned at rate of ten dollars a month for disabilities incurred in the service. His paternal grandfather was in the Revolution and war of 1812. He says he has two big boys that might do for soldiers if they were drafted and put under guard where they could not run. From 1867 to 1893 lived in Wisconsin; was engaged in lumbering and farming, but did not make a fortune. In June, 1893, went to Dwight, Ill.; stayed there two months, then went west to take a new start in life. JAMES COYLE, St. Louis, Missouri, No. 624-626 Washington Ave. May, 1861-July 16, 1865. Was captured near Atlanta July 22, 1864, and confined in Confederate prisons. Escaped and recaptured in woods with dogs. Escaped again and succeeded in reaching the Union lines after traveling a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. Was wounded in trenches at Vicksburg. Is pensioned for wound. Was a very determined and resolute fighter in battle. Since war has been in business and has been successful. Is probably a democrat. Has a democratic name and lives in a democratic State. Did not answer my letter of inquiry. The facts here given are from previous knowledge. Since writing the foregoing I have received a letter from this comrade. He was not mustered out with the regiment in July, but was retained in service by special order of War Department and mustered out September 26, 1865, at Louisville. Was shot through the right hand in front of Fort Hill, Vicksburg, May 21, 1863. When captured near Atlanta July 22, 1864, he was sent to Andersonville. On September 11, 1864, while in transit from Andersonville to another prison he and George Wilson of Company K escaped from the cars at midnight and were out fifteen days. Traveled at night and lay in concealment during the day. Were finally captured and confined in a common prison at Augusta, Ga., for three weeks. Was then sent to the new prison at Millen. Was there only one day when he escaped for the second time with a soldier of the Fifteenth Ohio regiment. Was out the second time only eleven days and was again captured, and again taken to Augusta; was there two days when he made a third escape with a Pennsylvania soldier. "After twenty-one days by constant night travel, we reached Sherman's army at Atlanta." In politics a republican; in religion a Presbyterian. JEROME B. DANN, DeWitt, Saline County, Nebraska. June 4, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Pennsylvania. Seventeen years old when enlisted. Captured near Atlanta July 22, 1864. A prisoner for several months. Escaped and recaptured in the woods. Since the war has followed contracting and building, and is at it yet to some extent. Health is quite unsatisfactory. Draws pension at rate of twelve dollars a month.--Has been connected with Congregational church for twenty years. Has always been a republican and expects to die a republican. You may live a long time yet, Jerome. RUDOLPH FAVREAU, West New Brighton, Richmond County, N. Y. May, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born in Germany. Thirty-five years old when enlisted. Was the company fifer. Rudolph writes thus: "Ich bin 68 Yahre alt. Kam nach Amerika 1858, und bin ein Gartner. Ich leide an Reimatismus und kan garnicht mehr arbeiten und muss nun von meine Pension leben von $12 monathlich. Auszerdem gehöre ich zuder G. A. R. Post, No. 545, Port Richmond. Ich belange zu der Deutsche Kirche." JOHN T. GRAY, Blairsville, Indiana County, Pennsylvania. April, 1861-July 14, 1864. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Re-enlisted soon after discharge from Company K and served one year in U. S. veteran reserve corps. Is not in good health. Pensioned at rate of $4,00 a month for rheumatism contracted in the service. Since the war has done a little of a great many different things. When a boy he associated himself with the republican party in the days of Fremont and Dayton, and has never had just cause or provocation to change. Just now, December, 1893, he sees a blanked sight less cause to change his opinion than ever. In religion, a free thinker, he professes that he is not a Christian. He does not want to become a Christian and does not want to be classed as such. Has wife and happy family, owns the roof above them and lives contentedly. Has never, since his discharge, seen a single Company K man and but one man of the regiment. SAMUEL HAGERMAN, Yorkville, Ill. June 1, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Westmoreland county, Pennsylvania. Was twenty-seven years old when enlisted. At battle of Shiloh Samuel's gun was knocked to pieces by some kind of a missile. At Raymond he was shot in the shoulder and leg, and in the Georgia campaign had a finger shot off. Receives pension for wounds at rate of eight dollars a month. Member of Presbyterian church. A republican. NICHOLAS HANSON, Battle Creek, Ida County, Iowa. May 8, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Schoharie county, New York. He says he was only seventeen years old when he enlisted. Was wounded July 21, 1864, near Atlanta. Draws pension for wounds at rate of four dollars a month. Is farming now and has been most of the time since the war. Is a Presbyterian. Votes the republican ticket under all circumstances. Is willing to support anything the party puts up. "If you or any other Company K folks are ever out this way hunt me up. I own a quarter-section farm four miles west of town in as good a country as is around Newark. I have never been able to meet you at any of the reunions, but I am always glad to get a card of invitation." MARSHALL HAVENHILL, Miner, Miner County, South Dakota. Enlisted at Newark in April, 1861. July 20, 1861, was transferred to the regimental band. GEORGE HOPGOOD, Morton, Lewis County, Washington. April, 1861-July 23, 1862. Born in England. Came to America in 1857. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Is pensioned at the rate of four dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. Since the war has lived most of the time at Clinton, Missouri, and has worked as a stone-mason. Has gone west and taken a homestead and intends to grow up with the country. Is a "republican all the way through". In religion he is a true Christian. Adopts the grand principles of the Sermon on the Mount. Get your Bibles, turn to Matthew vii, 12, and read the rule that he lives by. That is good religion, George. None better was ever formulated. Live right up to it and you need have no fear of torment or torture in the life beyond this life. EDWIN HOWES, Eola, DuPage County, Illinois. April, 1861-July 15, 1865. Born in State of New York. Twenty-two years old when enlisted. Wounded and captured at Britton's Lane. Paroled. Captured again near Atlanta, July 22, 1864, and sent to Confederate prisons. Escaped from prison and reached Union lines near Wilmington, North Carolina, February, 1865. Pensioned at the rate of twelve dollars a month for disabilities incurred in the service. Is a farmer. A prohibitionist. Professes to be a Christian. DR. WILLIAM H. H. HUTTON, Surgeon U. S. Marine Hospital Service, Detroit, Mich. Born in York, Jefferson county, Ohio. Enlisted in Company K, 20th Illinois regiment, June 17, 1861, at the age of twenty-three years; discharged therefrom August 28, 1862, for deafness caused by concussion of cannon at battle of Pittsburg Landing. Had participated in all battles in which Company was engaged up to date of discharge. September 2, 1862, enlisted in Company D, 104th regiment Illinois volunteers. Reported to his Company at Louisville, Ky., October 2, 1862. Appointed Sergeant April 10, 1863. Appointed Color-Sergeant on battlefield of Chicamauga September 20, 1863. Wounded at battle of Missionary Ridge November 25, 1863. On account of disabilities was sent to Chicago, Ill., March, 1864. Was chief clerk Desmarres eye and ear military hospital, Chicago, from July 4, 1864, to March 8, 1865, at which date was discharged from 104th Illinois regiment by order of Secretary of War. Was appointed Hospital Steward U. S. A. March 8, 1864 in which capacity he served till April 1, 1871, thus making a military record of ten years. As Hospital Steward, U. S. A., he served at the following places: Chicago, Ill.; Montgomery, Mobile, and Forts Gaines and Morgan, Alabama; Charleston, S. C.; Newbern and Raleigh, N. C.; Key West and Dry Tortugas, Florida. September 8, 1871, was appointed Hospital Steward in U. S. Marine Hospital, Mobile, Alabama; resigned July 4, 1874. Graduated from Chicago Medical College March 16, 1875. May 8, 1875, was appointed Assistant Surgeon U. S. Marine Hospital service. This appointment was made on results of competitive examination. Promoted to Surgeon October 5, 1876. As a United States medical officer has served at ports of New York, Cincinnati, Mobile, Key West, New Orleans, Baltimore, and is now serving second tour at Detroit. Has served as Medical Inspector of the Life-Saving Service, is on several examing boards, and has had a great deal to do with National quarantine matters, especially as regards yellow fever and cholera. On one occasion represented the authority of the United States for several months, in quarantine matters, on the entire Florida coast. This is a very brief summary of Comrade Hutton's life for nearly thirty-three years. JAMES JENNINGS, Sheridan, LaSalle County, Ill. April, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in state of New York. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Was one of the very first to volunteer at Newark; probably signed the roll April 15, 1861. He also re-enlisted for another three years as soon as he had an opportunity to do so, which was December 16, 1863. Is well charged with grit. Was shot in shoulder at Britton's Lane. Was captured July 22, 1864, near Atlanta, and sent to Andersonville; made three escapes from prison; first and second were unsuccessful; was recaptured both times in the woods, after traveling many nights and undergoing great hardships. Third escape proved successful. Reached Union lines near Wilmington, N. C, Feb. 22, 1865. Is pensioned at rate of four dollars a month for wound received at Britton's Lane. Is a farmer. Non-sectarian in religion; republican in politics. Comrade Jennings has been greatly bereaved by the loss of his wife who died at South San Diego, Cal., April 14, 1894. He and daughter Edith accompanied her to the Pacific coast during the preceding autumn, vainly attempting to save her from the fatal malady to which she finally succumbed. Our comrade's home is now desolate. ELIAS KILMER, Prophetstown, Whiteside County, Ill. April 24. 1861-July 14, 1864. Born in Oswego county, New York. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. September 5, 1864, enlisted in 146th Regiment, Illinois Volunteers, and was discharged therefrom July 5, 1865, by reason of the termination of the war. Is pensioned at rate of six dollars a month. Since the war has been a farmer. This is the way Elias writes: "Politics, black republican. In regard to religion, my wife belongs to the Methodist church. I suppose you preached prohibition and voted democratic." There are very many republicans of my acquaintance whom I would be glad to see preaching prohibition although they continue to vote the republican ticket. No class of American citizens would be more greatly blessed and benefitted by prohibition than republicans. JOHN LEACH, Morris, Ill. April, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in West Virginia. Twenty-two years old when enlisted. A carpenter. A very active republican--never preaches prohibition. Is a christian, but has not worked at the trade for many years. Did not answer my letter, and am unable to give further facts from memory. JAMES B. LITTLEWOOD, Washington, D. C., No. 415, B Street, N. E. April, 1861-July, 1865. Born in England. Was struck, I think, by a spent ball at Britton's Lane. Was a good soldier. Since war, has held clerical positions in Washington; is now in the Patent Office. While performing clerical duty, studied medicine and graduated from Medical College at Georgetown, D. C. Owns a home in Washington. Is probably a democrat at the present time. Did not answer my letter of inquiry. JOHN P. MULLENIX, Fairfield, Iowa. May, 1861-March 25, 1862. Born in Ohio. Thirty-six years old when enlisted. Receives pension at rate of thirty dollars a month for disability incurred in service; has drawn pension from date of discharge. Badly crippled; cannot go without crutches; has no use of left arm and shoulder; rheumatism is the main difficulty. Is a Presbyterian in belief, and a republican from principle. ALBERT PIERSON, 10 Prospect Street, East Orange, New Jersey. June 3, 1861-November 20, 1862. In 1863, when Confederate army came up into Pennsylvania, enlisted in a militia company, and served thirty days. Born in Orange, N. J. Was twenty-two years old when enlisted. Had the pleasure of participating in only one battle during the war--that of Fredericktown, Missouri. About November 1, 1861, became very sick at Bird's Point, Missouri. On the 20th of that month received furlough and went to Mr. Jessup's, Na-au-say township, Kendall county, Illinois, where he remained for six months a very sick man. In May, 1862, was sent to East Orange, N. J., his former home, in charge of a personal attendant, and came near dying on the journey. Remained at East Orange, sick, for four months. In August reported to hospital, on Bedloe Island, from which he was discharged November 20, 1862, and it is the regret of Comrade Pierson that he was not with Company K, 20th Illinois Regiment, during the whole war. Since discharged he has been seriously sick, and has paid out money to doctors. "Yet, I believe there is One above who rules over all, and when my time comes no doctor can save me." (Doctor Taylor, what think you of this?) Comrade Pierson is a Presbyterian. He is not a pensioner; he has never applied for pension. He is a republican; is a powerful republican, and is in grief because of the ascendancy of the democratic party. This is the way he writes: "O, what a great big humbug Grover is, anyway; he ought to be in England, not America. I recall the night after the election; I expected nothing from New Jersey--she has always been a democrat--but I did expect good news from the Prairie state. At twelve o'clock report came, 'Illinois is against Harrison.' At first I refused to believe it. I had been proud of Illinois up to that time, as I had spent some years there, but now I am in sorrow for her." Albert, I am surprised that a grave and serious man of mature years would sit up till twelve o'clock watching election returns. Don't do it again. Retire at nine o'clock regularly the night after election and in the morning you will be in better condition to hear the news. You may get bad news next time, too. As ordered by the people, so will the result be. Comrade Pierson has been engaged in different lines of business since the war--is now, and has been for some years, in the wood and coal business. He gives this cordial invitation: "If any Company K boys ever come East, I want them to run out to Orange and see me; about fourteen miles from New York City, and trains run all the time. Remember!" In a subsequent letter, Comrade Pierson has given additional facts concerning himself. In the spring of 1857 he went out to Illinois to be a farmer. Was in Kendall county, Illinois, when the affair took place at Fort Sumpter in Charleston Harbor, and immediately joined a Company that was started at Oswego. That Company was unfortunate in not being accepted, and he was obliged to go back to work. In the meantime a Kendall county Company was organized at Newark and went into camp at Joliet. Some of the Oswego boys went to Joliet and joined that Company and sent back word that a few more men would be received. Comrade Pierson was full of the war, but was reluctant about quitting work again. One day he was plowing. His team consisted of a free horse and a very lazy one. He talked a great deal to the lazy horse and pelted him with chunks of dirt, but all this was unavailing and he decided to resort to harsher means. He stopped, threw the lines from his shoulders, swung them around the plow handle and went up alongside of the lazy animal to thrash him. But as soon as he commenced operations the free horse jumped and away went the team. After considerable time he caught them. He then felt very gritty and resolved to be a soldier. He tied the horses to a fence and started. As he passed the house he called at the door and said, "Good bye! I am off for the war," and moved on toward Joliet. On this journey he was troubled by the thought that he was liable to be rejected, as he was a small man and, at that time, first-class war material was in great abundance. When, however, he reached camp he passed muster successfully and was happy. Comrade Pierson closes his letter thus: "When another election comes 'round I want you fellows out there to attend to business better than you did before. Watch New Jersey next time." WILLIAM PRENTICE, Soldiers' Home, Quincy, Illinois. Enlisted in April, 1861; served for several months in Company K. Was discharged for disability, and afterwards enlisted in another Regiment. Is a pensioner. WILLIAM PRESTON, Steward, Illinois. April 24, 1861-July 16, 1865. Born in Kendall county, Illinois. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Receives pension for disability incurred in service. After war, engaged in farming; later was in business; now somewhat retired. Is interested in Company K matters, and is glad that a roster is likely to be made up. JAY DELOS PRUYN, Oneonta, New York. May 1, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born at Syracuse, N. Y., Twenty-two years old when enlisted. Is granted pension at rate of twelve dollars a month. Is painter and decorator. Republican. Presbyterian. I am under special obligation to Comrade Pruyn for aiding me while lying helpless and in danger of bleeding to death on the battlefield at Raymond. He bandaged my wounded leg with his big red handkerchief, knotted and drawn very tightly, and with my own suspenders; gave me a good drink out of his canteen, and then resumed his place in the ranks. Comrade Pruyn was a good soldier, a conscientious man, a man of many good qualities. My association with him in the army will continue a pleasant recollection. NARCISSE REMILLARD, Mount Taber, Multnomah County, Oregon. April 1861-July 14, 1864. September 5, 1864, enlisted in 146th Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry, and was discharged therefrom July 5, 1865. Was born at Naperville, Canada. Twenty-six years old when enlisted. Is pensioned at rate of ten dollars a month for disability incurred in service. In religion, Protestant; a member of Baptist church. In politics, non-partisan. Votes with reference to the good of the country. Does not consider the interests of politicians. That is correct; vote as you shot--for country and for right. WARREN ROCKWOOD, Sheridan, Illinois. April, 1861-November 15, 1861. Born in state of New York. Twenty-three years old when enlisted. Receives pension at rate of eight dollars a month. Was a farmer for a number of years; now works as carpenter. Republican. Non-sectarian in religion. BERDETTE SPENCER, Elmira, New York, No. 1024 College Avenue. May 13, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born at Mohawk, Herkimer county, N. Y. Thirty-three years old when enlisted. Was wounded in left forearm at Fort Donelson, and receives pension of ten dollars a month because of wound. On account of this wound he was away from the Company on furlough seven months, three months at Marine hospital, Chicago, and four months at home. During this time missed Shiloh and Britton's Lane; was in all other battles with the Company. Is now, and has been since July 24, 1876, employed at New York State Reformatory, which has about fifteen hundred prisoners. Has never seen a Company K man since the war. Wants to get all the news about the boys. Would like to attend a reunion and see them all once more. Does not know whether to call them boys now or not. Is not a church member; in belief, a spiritualist. RICHARD SPRINGER, Chicago, Ill., No. 99 Washington Street. April, 1861-August 31, 1865. Born at LaFayette, Indiana. Seventeen years old when enlisted. Shot in right arm July 21, 1864, near Atlanta, while attempting to rescue Martin Morley, the regimental standard bearer, who lay wounded between the lines. Draws pension for this wound at rate of seventeen dollars a month. Since war has been student, journalist, man of affairs, engaged in various business enterprises, now handles real estate in Chicago. Fearless and aggressive in politics, as upon battlefields, he has never winced under stroke of party lash. Has been liberal republican and greenbacker. Now looks with favor upon the independent populist movement. In religion, liberal. Protestant rather than Catholic. JOHN J. TAYLOR, M. D., Streator, Illinois. June 17, 1861-June 16, 1862. Born in Kent, England. Came to America in 1852 with his parents when eleven years old. Came on ship Prince Albert with five hundred emigrants; thirty-seven days on sea. Has renounced allegiance to the British crown. Is now American through and through. Was twenty years old when enlisted. Receives pension at rate of eight dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. Suffered for about twenty years after discharged from the army with alimentary and other difficulties. After coming home badly wrecked he attended Normal University with the purpose of preparing for a teacher, but was compelled by ill health to abandon the project. Began the study of medicine for personal benefit, afterwards adopted it as a profession. Studied medicine at University of Michigan in 1865-6, and in 1866-7 in Chicago at the Rush. Graduated from Rush Medical College January 25, 1867, and has since been engaged in the practice of the profession. Is a railroad surgeon, is secretary of LaSalle county Medical Society, and is examining surgeon for a number of life insurance companies. Has been president of North Central Medical Association. Has been captain of State Militia and alderman fourth ward, Streator. This comrade is a very zealous adherent of the republican party; he has great faith in the party. He thinks the republican party is right. He thinks it always has been right. He thinks it will soon again have control of the affairs of the government. We are in great danger of being deluged by foreign goods from which calamity the government should protect us. In religion he is broad and free. Is not priest-ridden. He cordially recognizes whatever of good there is in the "religious societies" and spreads the wide mantle of charity over all their errors. Is very willing and very anxious to learn in regard to the great beyond, but is not willing to take bit and be reined by priest or prelate. Desires liberty in regard to religious thought and action. "Be industrious, be honest, be clean, be true to yourself and charitable to others, and lift like a Hercules to lighten the burden of those who are heavily loaded and weary in the journey of life. These things are religion."--Taylor. "The practice of moral duties without a belief in a Divine law-giver, and without reference to His will or commands, is not religion."--Webster. Who shall decide when doctors disagree? WILLIAM TODD, Illinois Soldier's Home, Quincy, Illinois. April, 1861-May 25, 1865. Was born in Kirkcaldy, Scotland, but left the bleak, barren hills of his native land in 1849 and came to Chicago. Was twenty-nine years and nine months old when enlisted. Captured near Atlanta, Ga., July 22, 1864, and for many months confined in Confederate prisons. Since putting foot upon the western continent William has been an enthusiastic American. He believes America should be protected. We should not break down the walls and allow the country to be flooded with goods from foreign shores. We want work to do and plenty of it. An idle brain is the devil's shop. Don't let the English, the Dutch or the French work for us, howsoever cheaply they offer their services. Comrade Todd is an idolator. He worships the republican party. He is wedded to his idol--let him alone. In regard to religion, he writes this: "I am a Christian, _i. e._, a believer in Christ and his teachings. I am not connected with any denomination, but have a leaning to the Congregational. My father was of that denomination in Scotland, the name for them there and in England being Independents." Became a Kendall county man by adoption. "I enlisted at Champaign, Ill., April 18, 1861, but when we went into camp at Joliet that Company had four men above the maximum number, and the Kendall county Company lacked two men of the minimum number. I and another transferred ourselves from A to K, and were put on the muster roll as having enlisted in Company K April 24, 1861. So you can put me down in roster as having enlisted at Newark, Kendall county, Illinois, April 24, 1861." Comrade Todd is badly broken in health. Right side partly paralyzed. He says he "cannot write worth a continental." Is a shoemaker. Has worked at that trade principally since the war, but has been otherwise employed and, he writes, "I finally got in here." He receives from Uncle Sam at Washington a regular remittance at the rate of six dollars a month. I should think the old fellow could do a little better than that. SAMUEL TRENTOR, Morris, Illinois. April 24, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born at Moundsville, West Virginia. Nearly nineteen years old when enlisted. Sam thought that with his long arms he could do good work with a cavalry sabre, and did not re-enlist in the 20th Regiment, but when discharged therefrom joined Captain Collins' Company of the 4th Illinois Cavalry and served until the close of the war. Was shot in the neck at Britton's Lane. Receives pension at rate of twelve dollars a month for disabilities incurred in the service. Works for a living. Writes thus: "I am not a democrat. My religion I have not yet." WILLIAM VREELAND, Maurice, Iowa. April, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born in Hudson county, N. J. Twenty-four years old when enlisted. Receives pension at rate of eight dollars a month for disability incurred in the service. Was a farmer for several years after discharge, but the condition of his health forced him to abandon that vocation. Is now editor and proprietor of the Maurice Free Press. "A rock-ribbed republican and a Methodist. The two things go well together, you know." How would prohibition and Methodism go? Think about it brother! AMBROSE WALLACE. Born in England. Enlisted in April, 1861. One day while the Regiment was guarding a railroad near Charleston, Missouri, in the fall of 1861, Wallace disappeared. Returned to the Company in about two months. Said he had been captured and had been with Jeff. Thompson at New Madrid. Sunday, April 6, 1861, he deserted from the ranks on the battlefield of Shiloh and never afterwards appeared. He now lives in Tennessee. Was heard from a few months ago. At that time he was not a pensioner, but he wanted to be. As the law now stands he is barred by his record. His only recourse is to come North and employ some available Congressman to introduce and pass through Congress a special act granting him a pension. In all probability it would be vetoed during the present administration, but the Executive would be put on record as being opposed to pensions. That would be a point gained in politics. Undoubtedly it is to the interest of Ambrose Wallace to have a change. ANDREW WEST, Cabery, Illinois. April, 1861-November 1, 1861. Was born in state of New York. On August 8, 1862, he enlisted in the 91st Illinois Regiment, and was discharged therefrom January 2, 1863; afterwards joined a company of New York Artillery, and while in this organization was seriously wounded in leg at Petersburg, Virginia, and draws pension for wound. Did not reply to my letter of inquiry. I was sick of measles in a hospital at Cape Girardeau, Missouri, in September, 1861. At the same time Andrew West was very sick in another hospital close to the river. One evening, when convalescent and on the outlook for a boat upon which to return to the Regiment at Bird's Point, I sat beside Comrade West for nearly an hour and I thought every breath would be his last. The Surgeon in charge said he was dying and called an attendant, and directed him to remain with the patient, and gave the attendant specific instructions in regard to what he should do when the patient was dead. This attendant was Charles Halbert of the 7th Illinois Regiment. The end did not come as soon as anticipated, and as the attendant sat watching and waiting he reached for a sponge in a dish of water near by, squeezed it out, and with the wet sponge commenced to rub the dying man. After a little he fancied it gave relief. He continued the process of rubbing the whole body, and soon became certain that his patient was coming back to life. In the morning Andrew West was in a greatly improved condition and the doctor was astonished. Why did not the dying man die? Comrade Pierson would say it was because his time had not yet come. Charles Halbert says he saved him. ALONZO WHITE, Saunemin, Illinois. June 11, 1861-July 16, 1865. I saw Comrade White about six years ago. At that time he was a Methodist, a prohibitionist and was not a pensioner. He had never applied for pension and never expected to apply. I do not know whether he has held out faithfully up to the present time or not on all these points. He did not reply to my letter of inquiry. I wrote to the postmaster of his town and got this: "Yes, he is here. He runs a blacksmith shop in this town." ANDREW JACKSON WILSEY, Aurora, Illinois. April, 1861-June 9, 1862. Born in Madison county, New York. Twenty-one years old when enlisted. Since discharge has followed a diversity of pursuits. He is not a pensioner but, I think, would not object to being enrolled as one of Uncle Sam's beneficiaries. I meet him frequently. He has never given serious thought to religion and, I understand, has no well defined and settled theological opinions. In politics he is a democrat, a regular old-fashioned democrat of the Andrew Jackson type. He was not at New Orleans, however, but he faced fury of shot and shell at Shiloh. DEWITT C. WILSON, Plattville, Illinois. June 11, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born in Shelby county, Ohio. Nineteen years old when enlisted. Is not a pensioner. Since the war has been a farmer. In politics a straight republican. In religion aims to be a practical christian. He believes that good works are more efficacious than loud prayers and soul-saving sermons. He has no connection with any religious sect. On the morning of June 11, 1861, his father sent him into a field with a horse to cultivate corn with a shovel plow. After working a few hours he tied his horse to a fence at one end of the field and started directly to Joliet on foot to enlist. He did good work as a soldier for more than three years. All will have a vivid recollection of Fort Donelson. The lack of rations, the lack of tents or protection of any kind, the hard fighting and the hard weather, the rain, the sleet, the snow, the cold, the long dreary nights without fires. On one of those nights DeWitt Wilson and the writer stood on picket guard together close up to the enemy's works. We were posted stealthily after dark under a low bushy tree near a road which led to and from the town. We were to remain very quiet, not to speak louder than a whisper, and to watch closely all night. If the enemy sallied out in force we were to fire and run to the Regiment. It was very cold. The mercury was going down and was not far from zero. Our clothes had been soaked by previous rains and were now frozen stiff and clanked with every movement. We remained as posted for several hours. Finally, the Confederates came over their works and made a vigorous assault with intent to break the Union line. When the assault was made I was in an almost helpless condition. I could scarcely move and was nearly captured. I and my comrade became separated. I lost my course and went into the 11th Illinois Regiment. DeWitt and I frequently refer to that terrible night, the hardest in all our experience. At Britton's Lane Comrade Wilson and two others occupied a slight ambuscade. He was very anxious to have the enemy show up, and poked his cap out on the end of his ramrod. Just as he did this a glancing bullet struck the side of his head and caused him to roll over two or three times. His face and clothes were smeared with blood, and just then he would not be considered a good-looking man. GEORGE WILSON, Sharon Springs, Wallace County, Kansas. "Sharon is like a wilderness."--Isaiah 33: 9. April, 1861-July 16, 1865. Was born at Newark, Illinois, April 5, 1838. Twenty-three when enlisted. Was wounded in hand at Britton's Lane. Was captured near Atlanta, July 22, 1864, and confined in various Confederate prisons for nearly nine months. Pensioned for disabilities incurred in service at rate of four dollars a month. Is a "homesteader" in Western Kansas, seven miles from the Colorado line. "I belong to the prevailing church and I vote as I shot--against the South." "Cease firing! They have surrendered!" The men of the Twentieth heard those words on many battle fields. Finally they all surrendered and grounded arms. We whipped the rebels. We whipped them thoroughly. The entire South lay prostrate and bleeding and helpless at the feet of the conquering soldiers of the Union. Now, George, come out from the "prevailing church," the big wicked church of the world, and be a christian. Forgive your enemies and conquer by kindness. Bless them that curse you. Do good to them that despitefully use you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely. This is the true way. Consider these thoughts seriously, and when you vote again think of something else besides voting against the South. JOSIAH WRIGHT, Akron, Washington County, Colorado. April, 1861-August 9, 1862. Born in Luzern county, Pennsylvania. Twenty-two years old when enlisted. Was a non-commissioned officer and member of the color guard. Was shot through right wrist while bearing aloft the flag of the 20th Regiment at Shiloh. Was discharged because of wound. Pensioned for wound at rate of sixteen dollars a month. Lived in Pennsylvania till 1851. From 1851 to 1871 lived in Kendall county, Illinois. From 1871 till 1892 lived in Adair county, Missouri. From spring of 1892 to present time has lived on a homestead in Washington county, Colorado. Is now, and always has been, a farmer. In religion is a Methodist. In politics has been a populist since the date of the organization of that party. Frequently advocates the principles of the party from the rostrum. Is very friendly to silver. On his envelopes he has the motto: "Silver sixteen to one." I think Jo has a silver mine on his homestead in Colorado. Here is a vivid picture from Josiah Wright's pen which every man of the 20th Regiment who was on hand at Shiloh will appreciate: "I was at the spring in camp Sunday morning, April 6. The roar of the assault on General Prentis's division had become terrific. I heard drums beat the long roll as the signal of alarm. I rushed to the Colonel's tent and got the flag. In passing out I met the Color Sergeant and gave the flag to him. The boys of the 20th were swarming out of their tents with their guns. The Regiment was quickly formed and started on a run in the direction of the firing. Colonel Marsh rode rapidly up and down the column urging the men to their utmost. We did not have to go far. The Confederates were advancing with great impetuosity and sweeping the field before them. We took position to beat back the on-coming tide and then the flag was unfurled and waved in the face of the foe. The Color Sergeant was immediately shot down. I picked up the flag and was soon wounded. Another member of the color guard then took the flag. I was sent to a boat on the river and was nearly gone from loss of blood." This also from Comrade Wright's letter: "As I write grave thoughts crowd in upon me. I go back in memory to the days of '61. I am again at the war meeting in Newark, where I listened to the thrilling eloquence of Watson until fired by a new born purpose I there resolved to serve my country and, if so it be ordered, to die in the service. I was one of the first to sign the Company roll. We are now widely scattered, but are bound together by the strongest ties. We will hardly meet again in this life, but may we so live that we shall meet around our Father's throne where severed ties of earth shall be re-united in Heaven." To this closing sentiment of our brave Comrade say I, most heartily, Amen. So may we live. Let every Company K man, still left, use this prayer. Comrades Gray and Taylor, join in. Our Recruits. TWO SPLENDID ENGLISHMEN. On the 4th of July, 1861, two young men of good appearance walked into our camp and immediately declared their intentions. They proposed to unite with us. We cordially accepted, and the next day the ceremony was performed. JOHN BROAD, Schell City, Vernon County, Missouri. July 5, 1861-November 27, 1861. Born in England. Came to America in 1859. Twenty-two years old when enlisted. Pensioned at rate of four dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. A carpenter by trade, but now farming. Was brought up an Anglican. At present a member of the M. E. church, South. Formerly a democrat. Now votes with the Alliance. THOMAS HOPGOOD, Clinton, Henry County, Missouri. July 5, 1861-July 5, 1864. Born in England. Came to America May, 1859. Twenty-six years old when enlisted. Receives no pension. Politics, republican all the time. Religion, Protestant, a Presbyterian. Has not forgotten the time when we campaigned together. Remembers all the boys and wants to be remembered by all of them. TWO MORE RECRUITS, BUT NOT OF A KIND. About the middle of August, 1861, two large and very brave looking men, Bishop and another[1], came down from Kendall county, Illinois, to join Company K. We were then at Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and just at that juncture were in need of re-inforcements. A Confederate army under General Polk had crossed the river at Columbus, Kentucky, and was threatening the town. When the recruits arrived the camp was in commotion on account of the expected attack. Bishop immediately got a gun, took his place in the ranks and was ready for active hostilities. The other became sad and pensive. He did not want a gun, and did not appear so much of a warrior as at the moment of his arrival. He finally went on board of a boat with some women and children and crossed the Mississippi river. After remaining in the woods of Southern Illinois for a few days he came back to camp to get his carpet bag. He did not want to be mustered into the army. He wanted to go to his peaceful home, and he went. He still lives in Illinois. I am not informed as to whether he has succeeded in getting a pension or not. His case will require a special act. [1] In original manuscript the name of this recruit was given, but it is here omitted in compliance with the very earnest solicitation of the printer. LEWIS G. BISHOP, Grand Junction, Colorado. July 16, 1861-August 9, 1862. Born in Yorkshire, Cattaraugus county, New York, on St. Patrick's day, 1838. Was, therefore, twenty-three years old at time of enlistment. Was wounded in left arm and left leg at Shiloh. Was sent down the rivers to hospitals at Paducah and Mound City. In course of time obtained leave of absence and went up to Newark, Illinois. Was then made aware that the people appreciated the soldiers. Was lionized wherever he went in Kendall county, which was a source of embarrassment to him, as he was a modest and humble individual. Was discharged because of wounds and receives pension therefor at rate of twelve dollars a month. He is glad that he still has his left leg, although it is not as good as the other. He is obliged to wear a rubber stocking and use other appliances to suppress inflammation and reduce varicose veins. Comrade Bishop remembers with minute particularity the events of the Fort Henry and Fort Donelson campaigns. He remembers as though it were yesterday the morning, when, at dawn, we discovered lines of Confederates looking at us from their rifle pits and when Chaplain Button went upon his knees on the ground and prayed with great earnestness for the salvation of the souls of those who should be slain in the impending battle. He thinks that if the Chaplain had taken a fife and stepped out and played "Yankee Doodle" it would have a better effect. He confesses that the prayer depressed him. In the state of mind in which he was at that time he would greatly prefer to live than to die and take his chances for heaven. This was probably the prevailing sentiment among the soldiers of both armies. Comrade Bishop came West in the spring of 1860; went as far as Fort Larimie, Wyoming, returned in the fall to Illinois, taught school near Newark in winter of 1860-61; in spring of 1861 went to Wisconsin and helped to run a raft of lumber out of the Wisconsin river down to Muscatine; in July, 1861, returned to Kendall county, Illinois. When the disaster occurred at Bull Run he awoke to the fact that the country was seriously menaced and resolved to be a soldier. He was acquainted with many of the boys of Company K, had visited them in Joliet, and he decided to cast his lot with them. He picked up his carpet-bag and went to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and was mustered in. After discharge Comrade Bishop became a student and a teacher; later he studied dentistry, and for many years has been engaged in the practice of that profession. Religion: Agnostic. He neither asserts nor denies any theological dogma. Politics: Anything to beat the republican party. Believes that the principles and methods of that party should be relegated to "innosuous desuetude." The party is owned and fenced in by syndicates, corporations and factories, and is not worthy of public confidence. The people should rise in their sovereign capacity and decree that capital shall cease to dominate the legislation of the country. Comrade Bishop has been married and he has been un-married. He considers that St. Paul gave first-class advice when, in his letter to the Corinthians, he wrote, "Seek not a wife." AUGUSTUS GAY, No. 902 Second Street, Seattle, Washington. April 5, 1862-April 9, 1865. Was born at Albany, New York, in July, 1846. Was, therefore, fifteen years and nine months old when he enlisted. Was the youngest man in Company K, and looked very honest. No boy in the whole Union army had a more innocent face than Augustus Gay. He came to us at Joliet and was rejected. He followed up the Regiment for about a year and during most of that time had a position on Dr. Bailey's staff. Finally, at Pittsburg Landing, the day before the battle of Shiloh, he was mustered into the service as a member of Company K. Was mustered out at Raleigh, North Carolina, by reason of the expiration of his term of enlistment. Augustus Gay appeared to court danger. He went into battle with a broad smile on his face and a twinkle of the eye as though he were engaged in something pleasant and agreeable. Was very reckless and daring in action. The wonder was how it happened that he was never killed. Was captured near Atlanta July 22, 1864, and went to Anderson prison, where he spent several months. Was finally transferred by the Confederates from Andersonville to Savannah and was at that place when it was captured by the Union army December 21, 1864. I am in receipt of a long and interesting letter from Comrade Gay in which he gives facts concerning himself. This is dated March 26, 1894. I had previously written him up for the roster from memory and had classed him among the missing. He says he was very glad to hear from Company K. He has never seen any of the Company since the war, and had never heard from any of them. He was not sick a day while in the army and was never wounded. Since the war he has never been so seriously sick as to be confined to his bed. He is not a rich man and he is not a poor man. He weighs 250 pounds. He lives well. He never chews nor smokes tobacco nor drinks intoxicating liquors and never plays cards. He has been on the Pacific slope for twenty years and has not been back to the States during that time. He has been married for ten years and has now a boy more than half as old as he was when he joined Company K. After the war he studied dental surgery and has followed that profession continuously. Receives pension at rate of six dollars a month. Writes thus: "I want you to put in your roster that if ever a Company K man comes to this part of the world I want him to come and see me." He says that he is Protestant. But I don't think he is a full-blooded Protestant. If I remember correctly he used to tell us in the army that his parents were Hibernians, and that he was half Catholic and half Protestant, and had by inheritance all the good qualities of both kinds of religion. JAMES SPRINGER, Eighty-eighth and Throop Streets, Chicago, Illinois. Born on a farm near La Fayette, Indiana. Enlisted August 28, 1862, at the age of twenty-two years. Joined Company K at Holly Springs, Mississippi, in November, 1862, and served until mustered out at the close of the war in 1865. After discharge became a student at the University of Chicago, also, law department thereof, from which he graduated in June, 1868, and was then admitted to the bar. Practiced law for sixteen years. For a time was engaged in journalism. Since 1885 has followed a business career. In politics an independent; in religion a Methodist. LAMBERT CONNER, Braidwood, Illinois. Born in Hunterdon county, New Jersey. I think he enlisted in the spring of 1863. Was then eighteen years old. Mustered out July 16, 1865. Receives pension at rate of sixteen dollars a month for disabilities incurred in service. He did not reply to my letter of inquiry. FOUR KIDS. Four nice boys, in a bunch, came into our camp at Big Black river, Mississippi, about the first of April, 1864. These were Pease Barnard, Charles Hall, Luman Preston and Fayette Scofield. They were all "Suckers," were separated from their mothers for the first time and, to the old campaigners of Fort Donelson, Shiloh and Vicksburg, they, appeared very fresh and innocent. They had been mustered in several weeks before by a recruiting officer in Illinois, and fitted out with Uncle Sam's uniforms, and were now ready to assist in winding up the war. NATHANIEL PEASE BARNARD, Newark, Illinois. February 25, 1864-July 16, 1865. Born in LaSalle county, Illinois. Seventeen years old when enlisted. Served in Georgia, went with Sherman from Atlanta to the sea, and helped to eviscerate the Carolinas. Pensioned at rate of eight dollars a month. Member of M. E. church. An active member of republican party. A lawyer by profession. CHARLES HALL, Westport, Brown County, South Dakota. February 24, 1864-July 16, 1865. Born in Kendall county, Illinois. Eighteen years old when enlisted. July, 1864, in Georgia campaign, was shot in the neck, and for a time was supposed to be dead. This recruit was built of good material for a soldier. Did not answer my letter. LUMAN PRESTON, Dixon, Illinois. February 16, 1864-July 16, 1865. Born in Kendall county, Illinois. Eighteen years old when enlisted. Is in business. Did not reply to my letter of inquiry. Is probably very busily engaged attending to customers. I meet Luman occasionally. He is always in good shape and happy. I think he is a democrat. Is of the bluest Puritan blood, but has the figure of a Teuton. Our Missing Members. The following four Company K men I cannot find. If any Comrade can give me any information concerning any of them I desire to have him do so. They may be living, but I think it is more probable that they are dead: GEORGE ADAMS. June, 1861-October 14, 1862. Born in England. JOHN CONSTANTINE. May, 1861-August 29, 1861. Born in Ireland. Came to America when one year old. Claimed to have been discharged from the regular army a short time before enlisting in Company K. Was an intemperate, boisterous and quarrelsome man. Was dismissed from the army by sentence of a court martial. LOUIS MINTZ. April, 1861-August 24, 1863. Born in Portugal. In religion was supposed to be a Hebrew. I think he came to Newark as a peddler and there joined Company K. He was a good soldier, but was very excitable. On one occasion, when advancing on skirmish line through the woods, he fired into a dead rebel who was hanging on a fence. Comrade Mintz was overheated at Raymond, from which he never recovered, and on account of which he was discharged. JOHN PEPOON. May, 1861-December 16, 1862. At time of enlistment he lived in Oswego township, Kendall county, Illinois. OUR DEAD. For many years earth has held the ashes of our fallen Comrades in its bosom. We have kept their memories in our hearts. Slain in Battle. ANDREW WILSON, Plattville, Illinois. Born in Ohio. Enlisted June 17, 1861, at the age of twenty-three years. Shot through the head at Fort Donelson, and instantly killed, February 15, 1862, while the Union line was advancing on the enemy. Early on the morning of the 16th the Confederates surrendered. I was on the detail sent out that day to bury the dead of our Regiment. We went to the place where we had position in the line and there, on a hard hill, through stones and roots we dug a grave. This is the only grave I have ever helped to dig. It was thirty feet long and a little more than six feet wide. When of sufficient depth two men remained in the bottom, and others handed down, one by one, eighteen men of the 20th Illinois Regiment. Andrew Wilson was one of the number. When they had all been placed side by side across the grave, good Chaplain Button spoke solemn, earnest words in exhortation and prayer. Our dead were covered with earth, three volleys were fired over them as a parting salutation, and we then filed away into camp, weary and sad. CURTIS WANN, Newark, Illinois. Born in Clarion county, Pennsylvania, October 2, 1843. Enlisted in Company K, April, 1861. Shot and killed instantly in the battle of Shiloh, Sunday, April 6, 1862. I have a clear recollection of Curtis Wann on the morning of that dreadful day, when we were going forward to meet the enemy. His face was aglow with eagerness and courage, but alas! he was the first to fall. JAMES CRELLEN, Newark, Illinois. Born on the Isle of Man. Had not been in America many years. Was a shoemaker, and worked at his trade in Newark. Was well thought of by everybody. He was one of the first to sign the Company roll. He said at the outset that he wanted to be killed if he could not come out of the war entire. He dreaded mutilation more than death. At Shiloh, Sunday, April 6, 1861, he was shot through the neck and killed instantly. I had my eyes squarely upon him when he was struck. He dropped to the ground and never moved. Did not even quiver. While lying dead upon the battlefield he was again shot through the face. MARCUS MORTON. Enlisted at Joliet May, 1861. Was shot and mortally wounded at Shiloh April 6, 1861. Died in a few days after the battle. ISRAEL WATERS, Plattville, Illinois. Enlisted at Joliet in May, 1861. Was shot and instantly killed May 12, 1863, in the battle of Raymond. While we were engaged in the desperate fighting behind the rail fence I turned my eyes on Waters and he was cheering and shouting defiance to the enemy. In a few moments I looked again and he lay perfectly dead. A bullet had passed through his brain. WILLIAM SHOGER, Oswego, Illinois. Born in Germany. Came to America in 1855. Enlisted in May, 1861, at the age of nineteen years. Shot and killed instantly in the battle of Raymond May 12, 1863. Was brought up and confirmed a Lutheran. Later withdrew from Lutheran church and became an active member of Evangelical church. DAVID BARROWS, Newark, Illinois. Born in New Hampshire. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of thirty-five years. Shot and killed instantly in the battle of Raymond May 12, 1863. Was a married man and left a wife and three little girls lonely and sad. If I were asked who was the best soldier in Company K the first man I would think of would be David Barrows. He did not waste much powder. A good marksman, and level-headed under the most trying circumstances, he aimed and fired in the heat and fury of battle with the precision and accuracy of target practice. Comrades Waters, Shoger and Barrows were at my right. They were all shot through the head and, when killed, lay touching each other. BENJAMIN ADAMS, Newark, Illinois. Born in Kendall county, Illinois. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of twenty years. Killed in battle of Raymond May 12, 1863. Comrade Adams was shot at the very beginning of the battle, as we lay in the woods waiting for the skirmishers to rally in, and before we fired a gun. At the close of the battle he was still living. A comrade paused over him and said-- "Can I do anything for you?" "No." "Ben, you are badly hurt. Won't I stay with you?" "They are running, are they not?" "Yes, we have them on the run. Won't I stay with you?" "No; go on." He was taken by an ambulance to the field hospital and died in a few minutes after reaching that place. HENRY MITCHELL, Na-au-say Township, Kendall County, Illinois. Born of English parents on Prince Edward's Island January 31, 1836. Came to Kendall county, Illinois, in 1845. Enlisted in Company K May, 1861, at the age of twenty-five years. Killed in the battle of Raymond May 12, 1863. Henry Mitchell was in every sense a large, strong, brave man, and was highly regarded by all such as have regard for what is true and noble in human life and character. He was scrupulously correct in all his habits. Never played cards, was never profane in speech, and never had any use for whisky, tobacco or beer. He had five brothers in the Union army, all in Company C of the 7th Illinois Regiment, namely, Anthony, William, George, Robert and Samuel. These five in the 7th Regiment and Henry in the 20th were all in the battle lines at Fort Donelson and Shiloh. I do not believe that there is in the whole range of history another instance in which six brothers fought in the ranks of any army in the same great battles. I have read of Roman patriotism and Grecian valor, of Spartan mothers sending out their sons to battle with the injunction to come back either victorious or dead, but I have never read of anything that is equal to the case of the six Mitchell brothers in patriotism, devotion and valor, all of whom responded at once to their country's first call for volunteers. Of these six brave brothers only three now survive, namely--Anthony, in Kansas, and Robert and Samuel, in Colorado. George was slain on the second day at Shiloh. "We were all within six feet of George when he fell," writes Anthony. That is, the other four of the 7th Regiment; and Henry was close by in the 20th Regiment. William contracted disease in the army, came home sick and died. ROBERT TAYLOR, Lisbon, Illinois. Born in England. Came to America when a child. Enlisted in Company K, April, 1861, at the age of about twenty-three years. Shot through hip and mortally wounded in battle of Raymond May 12, 1863. Lived a few days after the battle and died in extreme agony. I lay near him in the hospital. His suffering was the most terrible that I have ever witnessed. WILLIAM READ, Newark, Illinois. Was a recruit. I think he came to the Company in 1862. Was shot in head and mortally wounded in battle of Raymond, May 12, 1863. Lived a few days after the battle. JOHN WOODRUFF, Oswego, Illinois. Enlisted in May, 1861. Shot and mortally wounded in the battle of Raymond, May 12, 1863. Was shot in leg below the knee. Three different amputations were performed, one below the knee and two above, but each was followed by unfavorable results. He and I were in the same hospital, and not very far apart. I witnessed the amputations. The patient in all his suffering exhibited the most incredible fortitude. He lived nearly three weeks and never groaned nor sighed. At last when informed that mortification was advancing and the end was near, he called an attendant, paid him for extra service rendered and then turned over to the attendant his pocket-book and some other personal effects to be sent to his sister at Iowa Falls, Iowa. This was done with perfect deliberation. He manifested no fear of death. I remember him very distinctly in former battles. He was a very brave soldier. RICE BAXTER, Na-au-say Township, Kendall County, Illinois. May, 1861-October 13, 1861. In a few months after being discharged from Company K he enlisted in another Regiment and was killed in the battle of Arkansas Post, January 10, 1863. I have been unable to obtain any information concerning Comrade Baxter from any of his relatives, although I have made persistent efforts to do so. Died in the Service. THOMPSON BRISTOL, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted in April, 1861, at the age of nineteen years. Went into camp at Joliet, became sick, went home on furlough and died June 16, 1861. Buried in Millington. Let his grave be decorated. WILLIAM ASHTON, Lisbon, Illinois. Born of English parents in Delaware county, Pennsylvania. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of nearly twenty-one years. Died at Cape Girardeau, Missouri, September 2, 1861. STEPHEN JENNINGS, Newark, Illinois. Born in State of New York. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of twenty-five years. Died of typhoid fever in hospital at Mound City, Illinois, October 15, 1861. RICHARD CONNER, Plattville, Illinois. Born in Hunterdon county, New Jersey. Enlisted June 12, 1861, at the age of twenty years. Died of measles in hospital at Mound City, Illinois, December 23, 1861. FRANK LEHMAN. Born in Germany. Enlisted May, 1861. Died at Bird's Point, Missouri, January 11, 1862. JOHN R. MCKEAN, Newark, Illinois. Was one of the first to volunteer in April, 1861. Had been in the regular army and, I think, for a short time in the Mexican war. Took a very active part in organizing the Company and drilling the boys. Was elected Second Lieutenant. A very efficient officer. Died at Bird's Point, Missouri, January 23, 1862. Does any comrade know anything about Lieutenant McKean's burial? If so, report to me, please. GEORGE MALLORY, Newark, Illinois. Born at Rome, Oneida county, New York, November 10, 1835. Came to Kendall county, Illinois, in 1838. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of twenty-five years. Died at Bird's Point, Missouri, January 28, 1862. WILLIAM CROWNER. Enlisted in May, 1861. Died in hospital at Mound City, March 10, 1862. EDWARD ATKINS, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted April, 1861. Died at Newark, Illinois, March 11, 1862, while home on furlough sick. AARON PAXSON, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted May, 1861. Died at Newark, Illinois, May 4, 1862, while home on furlough sick. WILLIAM BENNETT, Adams Township, La Salle County, Illinois. Born in England January 4, 1837. Enlisted at Newark April, 1861, at the age of twenty-four years. His vitality was overtaxed at Fort Donelson. He broke down and never recovered. Was sent down the river and died in general hospital at St. Louis, Missouri, May 5, 1862. ALBERT WILCOX, Lisbon, Illinois. Born in Kendall county, Illinois, January 21, 1842. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of twenty years. Died in hospital at St. Louis, Missouri, May 13, 1862. OTIS CHARLES, Bristol Station, Illinois. Born in Bristol township, Kendall county, Illinois. Enlisted May, 1861, at the age of twenty-five years. Overcome by the strain at Fort Donelson he went home on furlough sick, and died at his home June 1, 1862. WILLIAM SMITH, Plattville, Illinois. Born in Centre county, Pennsylvania. Enlisted May, 1861, at the age of twenty years. Died at Paducah, Kentucky, August 23, 1862, while on detailed duty in the Signal Corps. JOSEPH SPRINGER. Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, February 10, 1831. Enlisted as a recruit in Company K August 30, 1862. Died at Lake Providence, Louisiana, March 18, 1863. Was a member of the Protestant Methodist Church. Belonged to the society organized at Millbrook, Kendall county, Illinois. Was married, and when he went away to the war left at home a wife and three boys, whose respective ages were seven, five and about two and one-half years. His widow, Mrs. Ann Springer, now lives at Firth, Lancaster county, Nebraska, from whose letters I make the following extracts: "I am glad the survivors of Company K are hunting up the records of those that never returned, as well as the records of those who were spared to come back. I have been weighed down and almost crushed with sorrow and affliction. I have never re-married, and, of course, draw pension at the rate of twelve dollars a month. I have lived with my boys, the oldest of whom was taken away when nearly sixteen years of age. The other two are still spared. I had four brothers who went out to fight for the dear old flag. Two of them never returned. One was William Bennett of Company K. He responded to the first call and enlisted at Newark, Illinois, early in the spring of 1861. Another brother, who was in the artillery service, was killed in the battle of Stone River. God bless the soldiers; they did a noble work; they are the saviors of the country. If the Company K Roster is published I want a copy." ALFRED GRISWOLD, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted April 1861. Died at Berry's Landing, Louisiana, March 20, 1863. SUMNER COOK, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted April, 1861. Died at Vicksburg, Mississippi, of typhoid fever, July 20, 1863. GEORGE SLEEZER, Newark, Illinois. Born in Kendall county, Ill. Enlisted as a recruit for Company K September 26, 1864, at the age of eighteen years. Became sick at Camp Butler, near Springfield, Illinois, and died at that place November 13, 1864, before he reached the Company. WALTER LANDON, Fox Township, Kendall County, Illinois. Volunteered as a recruit for Company K October 3, 1864, and died in a short time afterward at Camp Butler, Illinois, before reaching the Company. GREENBURY LEACH, Lisbon, Illinois. Born in West Virginia. Enlisted April, 1861. Captured near Atlanta, Georgia, July 22, 1864. Confined in Confederate prisons from date of capture until the following spring. Died at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, April 30, 1865, just after being exchanged and while on his way to the north. Was a member of the Methodist Episcopal church. While in the army always attended whatever religious service was conducted in camp. Was a regular attendant and participant at regimental prayer-meetings. Died Since Date of Discharge. NELSON DAYTON, Newark, Illinois. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of eighteen years. Discharged for disability November 27, 1861. Died March 4, 1862, at Newark, Illinois. ROBERT LAWTON. May 1861-August 17, 1862. Born in Lancashire, England. Came to America in 1852. Died in Kendall county, Illinois, of the disease for which discharged from the army April 14, 1864, at the age of twenty-five years, three months and eight days. Robert was a good soldier. I remember him distinctly on the battlefield of Shiloh. During the terrible fighting of the first day he turned over his pocket-book to a member of the Company who retired on account of wounds. He did not want his money to be taken by the rebels if he were killed in the fight. Comrade Lawton's remains were interred in the little cemetery at Plattville. The slab marble which marks his final resting place has fallen down and is broken. When the flowers of May each year come, let patriot hands decorate this grave. GILBERT MORTON, Oswego, Illinois. Enlisted May, 1861. Mustered out July 16, 1865. Promoted to Quartermaster Sergeant of the Regiment at the outset and, I think, held that position during the entire war. After discharge he became a railroad official and had a highly successful career for about ten years. But evil days came, and he finally died by his own hand at a hotel in Chicago. This was about the year 1876. LONGEN MERKLI. Born in 1829 at Damsingan, Baden, Germany. Went into German army in his youth, and was thoroughly trained as a soldier. Participated in active warfare in 1848-'49. He handled sword and bayonet with great dexterity. Few men could stand before him with these weapons. After his service in the German army he spent several years as a student. Was a good latin scholar, and had a knowledge of the French language. Pursued a course of study in surgery and medicine in a German University, and, by members of his profession, was considered an expert anatomist. Had been reared in the faith of the Catholic church, but became a doubter of the fundamental doctrines of Christianity. Came to America in 1860 and engaged in the practice of medicine at Milford and Newark. Was one of the first to enlist in April, 1861. Served in the ranks of the Company for about a year and a half. Was in the battles of Fredericktown, Fort Donelson and Shiloh. Was shot in the foot at Shiloh. Was a remarkably brave and fearless man. About July, 1862, he was detailed to serve in a hospital at Jackson, Tennessee. When negro soldiers were enlisted he was offered a commission as assistant surgeon of a negro Regiment, but declined it. He continued on detailed duty and served as a medical man in various hospitals until the expiration of his term of enlistment. Was mustered out in July, 1864. After the war, located at Bristol, Illinois, and pursued the practice of medicine. In his best years he was unable to control his appetite for strong drink and, as time advanced, his appetite steadily increased and he became an abject slave. He died at Bristol, Illinois, August 20, 1879. GEORGE WATSON, Newark, Illinois. I doubt whether any man did as much as George Watson toward getting up Company K. He was a lawyer at Newark, was a democrat, voted for Bell and Everett in 1860, and was an enthusiastic Union man. He was a fluent off-hand speaker and was the main figure at all the war meetings in Newark. Had been in Pennsylvania militia and Mexican war and was a good drill master. Was elected First Lieutenant. About the first of June, 1861, he withdrew from the Company and joined Mulligan's Regiment in Chicago. Was captured with that command at Lexington, Missouri, in 1861. After this he served on a gunboat and, still later, had a commission in a Pennsylvania Cavalry Regiment. He was gifted with talent of a high order, but an uncontrollable appetite for intoxicating liquor barred all possibility of success in life. It caused his ruin and downfall and death. He made many spasmodic attempts at reformation, and at these times was a successful temperance talker. But all his efforts at reform ended in failure. From the United States Soldiers' Home at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, I have received this: "The records show that George W. Watson served in Company K, 20th Illinois Infantry; Company E, 23d Illinois Infantry; Company F, 2d Pennsylvania Cavalry, and in U. S. Navy. He was admitted here December 15, 1877, and was killed by a railroad train in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, at about 3 o'clock p. m., August 21, 1879." FAYETTE SCOFIELD, Newark, Illinois. Born in DuPage county, Illinois, January 25, 1847. Enlisted as a recruit for Company K February 25, 1864. Discharged July 16, 1865. Killed in a railroad wreck in Missouri February 17, 1881. AMON HEACOX, Lisbon, Illinois. Born in Oneida county, New York, June 6, 1817. Enlisted in Company K, May, 1861, at the age of forty-four years. Mustered out July 14, 1864. Was the oldest man in the Company. I have been informed that he was slightly wounded at Britton's Lane, but I have no recollection of it. I remember him very distinctly at Fort Donelson. He was a good man and a good soldier. Was a member of M. E. church. Was one of six, many years ago, to organize a Methodist Episcopal church in Lisbon, Illinois. He died in the Soldiers' Home at Quincy, Illinois, April 23, 1889, in the seventy-third year of his age. Is interred in the cemetery at Lisbon. HENRY HAVENHILL, Newark, Illinois. Born in LaSalle county, Illinois, June 17, 1842. Enlisted April, 1861. Discharged for disability April 27, 1862. Died in Chicago, Illinois, of paralysis, June, 1889. FRANCIS CROWELL, Newark, Illinois. Born in Tompkins county, New York. Enlisted April, 1861, at the age of eighteen years. Was wounded in the Georgia campaign July, 1864. Mustered out July 16, 1865. Died at Waterman, Illinois, of a complication of diseases, September 17, 1889. The address of his widow is Mrs. Mary A. Crowell, Waterman, Illinois. THOMAS GARNER. April, 1861-July 14, 1864. Born in England. Had been a British soldier, and saw active service in the Crimean war. Deserted from the British army. Captured and branded with letter D. Deserted again in Canada and succeeded in escaping to the United States. Thomas Garner was one of the best marchers and fighters in the Union army. He was always at his post. Never straggled from the ranks and never failed because of sore feet or anything else. Whenever there was fighting on hand Tom was in it. His great failing we all know, but, notwithstanding that, he was the best beloved man in Company K. Some years after the war he went back to England and, in time, returned again to the United States. Soon after his return he walked from Buffalo, New York, to Morris, Illinois, and then came to Newark and Sheridan looking for Company K folks. He found none and went away very despondent. These facts I learned from his friends in Morris. I have received a communication from the Pension Agent at Buffalo, New York, which informs me that Thomas Garner, Company K, 20th Illinois Regiment, was on the rolls of that agency as a pensioner at the rate of six dollars a month, and that he died during the year 1892. He drew pension to July 4 of that year. His address at that time was No. 58 Commercial Street, Buffalo, New York. This is the most definite information I have succeeded in obtaining. WILLIAM MINARD, Oswego, Illinois. Born at Walbrough, Ulster county, New York, September 26, 1840. Enlisted May, 1861. Became Commissary Sergeant of the Regiment. Mustered out July 14, 1864. Died at Chicago, Illinois, of disease of kidneys, January 10, 1894. Interred at Graceland. GEORGE CONNELLY. May, 1861-September 8, 1862. Born in Ireland. Had been a soldier in the regular army. Was a brave man. Was wounded at Shiloh. Was discharged on account of wound and pensioned therefor. He is now dead. Date of death not ascertained. JAMES HAGARDORN. Enlisted at Joliet in May, 1861, and, I think, served about a year and a half. Was discharged for disability and became a pensioner. After the war lived in State of New York. Is now dead. Date of death not ascertained. JAMES LORD. May, 1861-March 5, 1863. Was an actor. Came to Newark, Illinois, in the spring of 1861 with a theatrical troupe and there enlisted in Company K. He was a very intelligent man and a good soldier. Was wounded at Fort Donelson. Was discharged for disability and became a pensioner. He is now dead. Date of death not ascertained. RALPH PRATT. May, 1861-November 27, 1861. Discharged for disability. Became a pensioner. Is now dead. Date of death not ascertained. REMARKS. The names of those who served thirty days with Company K in the State service but who declined to join the Company for three years in the United States service do not appear in this roster; neither do the names of drafted men and substitutes who were assigned to the Company during the last few months of the war. The dates after a name indicate the time when the soldier first volunteered and the time when he was mustered out or discharged. Those who did not enlist for a second term of three years were nearly all mustered out July 14, 1864. Those who re-enlisted were mustered out July 16, 1865, on account of the close of the war. Those discharged at other dates were discharged for disability resulting from wounds or sickness. The names of 108 Company K men are herein given; 56 are living, 52 are dead. 4 are missing; of these four I have not been able to obtain any information whatever. I know not whether they are living or dead. Of the 56 men living, 41 receive pensions; 7 receive no pension. In regard to the others, it is not ascertained whether they are pensioners or not. 32 receive pensions for disabilities incurred in the army; 9 for disabilities not incurred in the army. Of the 56 men here reported as living, 23 at least were wounded in battle; 13 draw pension for wounds. Eight Company K men were buried at Raymond--Shoger, Barrows, Waters and Mitchell were buried in the same grave with others of the Regiment on the battlefield, near the rail fence. Adams was buried near the field hospital. Taylor, Reed and Woodruff were buried in the graveyard near the town. Crellen and Wann were buried on the battlefield of Shiloh. None of these graves are now marked or known. For courtesy, and for information furnished to assist me in tracing lost members of Company K, I am under special obligations to the Hon. WILLIAM LOCHREN, Commissioner of Pensions, Washington, D. C. I also acknowledge my indebtedness to many postmasters, to newspaper editors, to pension agents and others. If any Company K man dies or changes his place of residence I desire to be informed of the fact. In this way we will know where every man of the Company is located. Remember, please. A more lengthy sketch is given of some Comrades than of others. The reason is I have had more information in regard to some than in regard to others. In many cases what is said about each one of the living is his own letter to me re-cast and abridged. I have not intentionally slighted or misrepresented any. I may have made errors. If so, I hope they are few and not of a grievous nature. A BIT OF HISTORY. When the news of the President's first call for volunteers reached Newark the people were wild with excitement. "That night," writes Dr. Dyer, "I could not sleep. The next morning I was out very early. I went into Fowler's drug store and there with pen and ink drew up a company muster-roll and signed it, and united with others in calling a war meeting for that evening. I was called to make a long ride in the country and upon my return found five names on the muster-roll in addition to my own. I wish I had that paper now." This was the beginning of our Company. Volunteers continued to come forward and in a few days the requisite number had signed the roll. April 24, 1861, is on record as the date of our Company organization. We were not accepted under the President's call and were sorely disappointed. However, most of the boys continued to meet in Newark and were drilled by Lieutenants Watson and McKean. On May 11, 1861, our Company left Newark for Joliet and went into camp. The 20th Illinois Regiment was there organized and the Kendall county boys became Company K of that organization. After that the history of the Company became part of the history of the Regiment. June 13, 1861, we were mustered into the United States service for three years, if not sooner discharged. About the 17th of June we took the cars for the South. Stopped three weeks at Alton, Illinois, and drilled constantly. Early in July we went into camp for a short time in the United States Arsenal at St. Louis, Missouri, and were here armed with Enfield rifles and received new blue uniforms. We now had a very extravagant opinion of ourselves, of our fighting qualities in particular, and did not take the least pains to conceal that opinion from others. This is what a St. Louis paper said of us: ARRIVAL OF COLONEL MARSH'S REGIMENT FROM ALTON. At 11 o'clock a. m., of Saturday, the steamer, "City of Alton," from Alton, landed at the Arsenal the Twentieth Illinois Regiment, Colonel C. C. Marsh commanding. The boat brought also the entire camp equipage and stores of the Regiment. The spontaneous greeting tendered by our Missouri soldiers was hearty and enthusiastic. Cheers upon cheers of welcome rent the air and were responded to by the Illinoisans in magnificent style. The guests were assigned the western lawn of the Arsenal grounds for their camping site. Tents were speedily pitched, baggage distributed, and the newly arrived volunteers were soon perfectly at home. They are aching for active service wherever desired, and, we understand, are already under orders for "a forward movement." Other Regiments in Illinois are also in eager anticipation of lively "business" in Missouri or Arkansas. Colonel Marsh's Regiment is evidently in first-class condition and consists of strikingly vigorous and hardy men. They are brim full of health and energy and fun. The Regiment numbers nine hundred and sixty-one men rank and file. Success and joy to them. We left the Arsenal in a few days and for six months were engaged in "business" in southeast Missouri. On October 21 we met the Confederates in force, under Jeff. Thompson, at Fredericktown and succeeded in thoroughly convincing them that they were whipped. February 6, 1862, we entered Fort Henry and ten days later marched in triumph into Fort Donelson. April 6 and 7 we had position in the Union lines at Shiloh and after that took a hand in the siege of Corinth. September 1 were engaged in the sharp little battle of Britton's Lane. In the winter of 1862-3 were in the campaign in the mud in northern Mississippi. Were at Oxford when General VanDorn took Holly Springs and burned our supplies. In the spring and summer of 1863 we participated in all the battles of the Vicksburg campaign and in the siege of that stronghold. Were out on the Meridian expedition for twenty-nine days in the month of February, 1864, without tents or other protection from the elements except what every man carried on his back. In the spring and summer of 1864 were in the Georgia campaign and siege of Atlanta. In the fall went from Atlanta to the sea. In 1865 was in the campaign in the Carolinas and marched through Virginia to Washington after the Confederate armies had surrendered. On the 16th of July, 1865, at Louisville, Kentucky, the Twentieth Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry was mustered out of the United States service and disbanded, and the boys went home. INDEX. PAGE Adams, Benjamin 44 Adams, George 40 Anderson 6 Ashton 47 Atkins 48 Bacon 6 Barnard 39 Barrows, David 43 Barrows, James 6 Baxter 46 Bennett 48 Bishop 34 Bissell 7 Boyer 4 Bristol 47 Broad 33 Brown 7 Carey 8 Charles 49 Clayton 9 Clifford 9 Connelly 56 Conner, Richard 47 Conner, Anderson 10 Conner, Lambert 38 Constantine 40 Cook 50 Crellen 42 Crowell 55 Crowner 48 Coyle 10 Dann 11 Dayton 51 Dyer 3 Favreau 12 Garner 55 Gay 36 Griswold 50 Gray 12 Hagerdorn 56 Hagerman 13 Hall 39 Hanson 13 Havenhill, Marshall 13 Havenhill, Henry 54 Heacox 54 Hopgood, Thomas 33 Hopgood, George 13 Howes 14 Hutton 14 Jennings, Stephen 47 Jennings, James 16 Kilmer 16 Landon 50 Lawton 51 Leach, Greenbury 51 Leach, John 17 Lehman 47 Littlewood 17 Lord 56 Mallory 48 McKean 47 Merkli 52 Minard 56 Mintz 40 Mitchell 44 Morton, Marcus 43 Morton, Gilbert 52 Mullenix 18 Olin 3 Paxson 48 Pepoon 41 Pierson 18 Pratt 57 Prentice 20 Preston, William 21 Preston, Luman 39 Pruyn 21 Read 46 Remillard 21 Rockwood 22 Scofield 54 Shoger 43 Sleezer 50 Smith 49 Spellman 5 Spencer 22 Springer, Richard 22 Springer, James 38 Springer, Joseph 49 Taylor, Robert 45 Taylor, John 23 Todd 24 Trenter 26 Vreeland 26 Wallace 26 Wann 42 Waters 43 Watson 53 West 27 White 28 Wilcox 49 Wilsey 28 Wilson, Andrew 41 Wilson, DeWitt 29 Wilson, George 30 Woodruff 46 Wright 31 Preface 2 Remarks 57 A Bit of History 59 Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. The following misprints have been corrected: "accompauied" corrected to "accompanied" (page 16) "doctor's" corrected to "doctors" (page 24) "religous" corrected to "religious" (page 29) "Novembe" corrected to "November" (page 50) "Pennsylania" corrected to "Pennsylvania" (page 53) Some of the dates seem obviously incorrect; however, they are presented in this text as they appear in the original. 
33125	----	Wild Birds in City Parks Being hints on identifying 145 birds, prepared primarily for the spring migration in Lincoln Park, Chicago BY Herbert Eugene Walter AND Alice Hall Walter _REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION WITH CHART AND KEY_ Chicago A. W. Mumford & Company, Publishers 378 Wabash Avenue 1906 Copyright 1901, 1902 and 1904 by Alice Hall Walter Note to Third Edition. With the continued success of this little booklet the authors have been led to revise and enlarge the present issue in the hope that it will prove more helpful and complete to those beginning the outdoor study of birds. The new features of this edition are the addition of forty-five birds--the majority of which are shore and water birds--and a simple field key. The number of each bird as given in the check-list of the American Ornithologist's Union has also been inserted after its scientific name as an aid in referring to larger bird-books. The subject matter has been carefully rewritten and the order of the birds rearranged in accordance with data covering observations during the last seven years, as well as the charts which show the relative abundance of the birds and the height of the migration in Lincoln Park. We wish to thank our friends for their kind support in furthering our efforts to enlarge the circle of admirers which the wild birds so richly deserve. "All nature is so full that that district produces the greatest variety which is most examined." --_Gilbert White, 1768._ Preface. The object of this little book is to furnish those who may be interested in making the acquaintance of wild birds with a simple letter of introduction to 145 birds, the majority of which are commonly seen during the spring migration. Complete descriptions have been avoided, in the belief that the student should rely upon his own observation for the discovery of minor details. _The living bird_ is the one important fact which will make the brief hints offered of value. Anyone caring to make use of these hints may be assured that during the migrations of the birds city dwellers have one of the keenest delights of country life brought to their very doors, because many birds, migrating largely at night, are attracted by the lights of the city and stop off in their long journey to feed, so that a city park often contains a greater variety of feathered visitors than an equal area in the country. We wish to remind those of our friends who have asked for pictures in a future edition that this book actually is _copiously illustrated_ by hundreds of living birds every springtime in our parks and around our homes, illustrations that are all life size, absolutely accurate in detail and colored true to nature. "As for the birds * * * they add immeasurably to the wholesome beauty of life." --_Theodore Roosevelt, in Bird Lore, Vol. II, p. 98._ General Hints. "A good observer is quick to take a hint and follow it up."--_John Burroughs._ The identification of birds depends quite as much upon accurate observation of their size, motions, flight, characteristic attitudes, manner of feeding, company, song, call-notes and haunts, as upon details of form and color. Especial care is necessary to insure correct estimates of size for the reason that living birds often appear smaller to the unpracticed eye than they actually are. The familiar _English Sparrow_ is a convenient standard of size because it is usually at hand in our city parks for instant reference. Remembering that it is _6 inches long_ a practical though rough division of wild birds may be made as follows:-- 1. Birds smaller than the _English Sparrow_. 2. Birds about the size of the _English Sparrow_. 3. Birds decidedly larger than the _English Sparrow_. If a few general characteristics of the principal bird-families be kept in mind, and these are quickly and almost unconsciously learned, the identity of a strange bird may usually be narrowed down to a few possibilities. For example: *Woodpeckers climb up and down the trunks of trees bracing with their tails and tapping the bark vigorously; *Nuthatches are smaller than woodpeckers and have much the same habit of climbing up and down tree-trunks but with a freer wig-wagging motion, often descending head downward; *Flycatchers sit erect with drooping tails, watching alertly for insect prey upon which they pounce in mid-air, afterwards returning to their perch; *Swallows skim through the air in graceful and long sustained flights; *Sparrows have stout seed-cracking bills, feed upon the ground, seldom fly high or far at a time and are for the most part fine songsters; *Warblers are tiny, tireless, gaily-colored explorers of the twigs of trees and bushes; *Kinglets are smaller than warblers and quite as restless in their motions, but arrive earlier in the migration; *Wrens, with tails erect, slip mouse-like about brush heaps, crevices and bushes, though often perching in sight while singing; *Thrushes, who with the exception of the _Robin_ and _Bluebird_ are very plainly dressed, run about on the ground stopping suddenly in a listening attitude. When singing they fly up to some perch, although many of the unrivaled singers of this family are silent during their brief sojourn in city parks; *Vireos are most at home on the boughs of trees and sing freely as they glide in and out among the leaves to feed. Female birds can usually be identified after the adult males have been seen, although the females and young of many species are obscurely marked or quite different from the adult males, a fact especially true of the warblers. Immature birds are not considered in the present scheme of study since they are a source of confusion to the beginner and occur in any considerable number only during the fall migration. The time of arrival, that is, when a bird may be expected during the migration, is a point worthy of particular attention. Many wild guesses may be avoided by simply noticing the dates when a bird has been known to arrive in any given locality from year to year. As a rule birds are identified by the method of elimination. Suppose, for example, a small bird of lively motions is seen feeding among the twigs of a tree late in March. It is, of course, neither a warbler nor a vireo for these birds, although active and frequenting trees, arrive much later in the spring. Provided it does not brace its tail and climb up and around the trunk of the tree it is not likely to be a woodpecker, because the motions of woodpeckers are too characteristic to be mistaken. In similar manner, although sparrows and juncos may have arrived, it is probably neither of these since it does not feed upon the ground, while its size precludes the possibility of its being any bird larger than the _English Sparrow_. There are only a few birds therefore, which it might be and close observation together with the aid of a few leading hints, will usually settle the question. In any case _watch the bird_ for it is better to look at the bird than at a printed description of it. The safest way, however, is to make careful notes about a stranger on the spot. Memory is never more treacherous than in the case of the description of a doubtful bird when one appeals to some book of reference, a museum collection or the judgment of others. It is not advisable to attempt extensive "field-notes" at first but it is essential to keep a daily, dated list of all identified birds. A blank chart for this purpose is inserted in the back part of the book. Never _chase_ birds. Have patience, stand still a great deal and use your common sense all the time. Do not make yourself believe that you see a certain bird because it has been reported by others. Do your own looking and listening and do it well. If you cannot go birding alone take along as few friends as possible because birds are suspicious of human beings in flocks, especially when they talk much. A pair of field or opera-glasses is an invaluable aid, although practice is necessary in learning to adjust them rapidly and to fix them instantly upon the bird. Do not feel obliged to use the glasses when you are near enough to see well without them. Keep the sun at your back, otherwise colors will deceive you. Remember that birds do not stay "indoors" on account of rain, clouds or unfavorable weather. Warm spring rains literally fill the parks with feathered travelers who often tarry but a day. Particular Hints. Note:--The following one hundred and fourteen birds are arranged in the order of their _average first appearance in Lincoln Park_, based upon observations made during the last seven years. For the convenience of those desiring access to reliable sources of information, the scientific name of each bird is placed in parenthesis below its common name, followed by its number in the official list of the American Ornithologist's Union. Following the hints given about each bird are the names (in *black faced type) of any bird or birds for which it might easily be mistaken. 1. BLUE JAY. 11-1/2 in. (Cyanocitta cristata. 477.) Black collar; _crested_; wings and tail deep blue, white-tipped and black-barred; bold; harsh, noisy call-note; stays the year around in Lincoln Park. *Loggerhead Shrike. *Kingfisher. *Bluebird. 2. LOGGERHEAD SHRIKE. 9 in. (Lanius ludovicianus. 622.) Slaty-gray; commonly white beneath, _not marked with dark transverse lines_; wings and tail black, marked with white; _hooked_ bill; bar through the eye and _over forehead_, black; imitates notes of other birds. *Blue Jay. 3. ROBIN. 10 in. (Merula migratoria. 761.) Dark slate color; black head; yellow bill; throat white streaked with black; underparts bright chestnut red; sings "cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, cheer-up;" nests in Lincoln Park. *Towhee. 4. JUNCO. 6-1/4 in. (Junco hiemalis. 567.) Slate color; blackish bib (female brownish) over a white belly; _ivory bill_, _two white tail-feathers_; feeds in flocks on ground, often in company with other birds; "sucks its teeth" for a call-note; song, a melodious trill. 5. MEADOWLARK. 10-1/2 in. (Sturnella magna. 501.) Streaked; black crescent on a _bright yellow_ breast; _outer tail-feathers white_; flies straight, _hovering_ as it reaches the ground; noteworthy song. *Flicker. *Dickcissel. 6. CROW. 19 in. (Corvus americanus. 488.) Entirely black, including bill and feet; often seen in flocks; wings appear frayed and ragged in flight; note, a lusty "caw." *Bronzed Grackle. 7. BLUEBIRD. 6-1/2 in. (Sialia sialis. 766.) Sky-blue; brownish-red below; usually in pairs; sometimes nests in Lincoln Park; call, "pu-ri-ty, pu-ri-ty;" often heard before seen. *Blue Jay. 8. SAVANNA SPARROW. 5-1/4 in. (Passerculus sandwichensis savanna. 542a.) Much streaked above and below; line over eye and edge of wing, yellowish; cheek sometimes suffused with yellow tinge; _tail short_, feathers pointed; movements stealthy; song, a weak trill. *Henslow Sparrow. 9. BRONZED GRACKLE. 13 in. (Quiscalus quiscula æneus. 511b.) Iridescent black; _body_ distinctly bronzy; often carries its tail rudderwise in flight; pompous walk; rusty, grating call; nests in Lincoln Park. *Crow. 10. SONG SPARROW. 6-1/2 in. (Melospiza cinerea melodia. 581.) Reddish-brown, showing black streaks; _ashy_ line over eye; whitish below with dark-brown streaks which form a _spot in the middle of the breast_; noteworthy song. *Swamp Sparrow. *Lincoln Sparrow. 11. COWBIRD. 8 in. (Molothrus ater. 495.) Male black with glossy brown head and neck; sparrow-like bill; female brownish; fly in large flocks, uttering a greasy, squeaking note. *Bronzed Grackle. *Rusty Blackbird. 12. TREE SPARROW. 6-1/4 in. (Spizella monticola. 559.) Streaked; shows much grayish; two _showy white wing-bars_; chestnut-brown cap; breast whitish, _shading to a dark spot in the middle_; in flocks, often with _Juncos_; returns north early in the season; noteworthy song. *Chipping Sparrow. *Field Sparrow. 13. FOX SPARROW. 7-1/2 in. (Passarella iliaca. 585.) Fox-red back and tail; ashy about neck and head; white breast _thickly_ streaked with dark spots; scratches like a hen; alert; noteworthy song. *Brown Thrasher. *Hermit Thrush. 14. PHOEBE. 7 in. (Sayornis phoebe. 456.) Dull olive-brown; darker on head and tail; whitish below; _bill_ and feet black; tail drooping but jerking constantly; note, "phoe´be." *Wood Pewee. *Least Flycatcher. 15. TOWHEE. 8-3/4 in. (Pipilo erythrophthalmus. 587.) Black above and black bib (female rich brown); reddish-brown sides; white underneath; _outer tail-feathers white_; scratches about under bushes; brilliant notes, "tow-hee´" and "che-wink´." *Robin. 16. DOWNY WOODPECKER. 6-1/4 in. (Dryobates pubescens medianus. 394c.) Bill small; closely resembles the _Hairy Woodpecker_ but is _scarcely larger_ than the _English Sparrow_ and has the outer tail-feathers _barred with black_. *Hairy Woodpecker. *Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. 17. GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET. 4 in. (Regulus satrapa. 748.) Olivaceous; two whitish wing-bars; _orange-yellow stripe edged with black on crown_; restless and fearless; often seen feeding in evergreens; note, rapid "tzee, tzee, tzee." *Ruby-Crowned Kinglet. 18. FLICKER. 12-1/2 in. (Colaptes auratus luteus. 412a.) Brown, barred with black; head grayish; back of neck marked with bright red; black crescent on cinnamon-brown spotted breast; in flight shows _white rump_ and yellow lining of wings and tail; feeds much on ground, unlike other woodpeckers; call-note, "flee´-ker." *Meadowlark. 19. BROWN CREEPER. 5-1/2 in. (Certhia familiaris americana. 726.) Brown finely streaked with white; silky white below; long curved bill; _flies to the base of tree-trunks and works up in spirals_ bracing with its long pointed tail-feathers; calls softly, "screep, screep." *Nuthatches. 20. CHICKADEE. 5-1/4 in. (Parus atricapillus. 735.) Ashy-gray; black throat and _cap_; white cheeks; frowsy; lively; often swings head downward from the tips of twigs; song, "chick-a-dee-dee"; call-note musical, "pewee," sometimes confused with note of _Phoebe_. 21. WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH. 5-3/4 in. (Sitta carolinensis. 727.) Ashy-blue; cap and back of the neck, black; white below; constantly exploring the bark of trees but does not brace, woodpecker fashion, with its tail-feathers; note, nasal "yank, yank, yank." *Red-breasted Nuthatch. *Brown Creeper. 22. BELTED KINGFISHER. 14 in. (Ceryle alcyon. 390.) Blue-gray; white collar; _big, crested head_; sits erect watching for fish and flies near the surface of the water, uttering a _rattling_ call; summers in Lincoln Park. 23. YELLOW-BELLIED SAPSUCKER. 8-1/4 in. (Sphyrapicus varius. 402.) Mixed black and white; _yellowish-white underneath_; streaked on sides; white bar _lengthwise_ the wing; scarlet patch, bordered with black on crown _and throat_ (female with throat white); harsh, squealing note. *Downy Woodpecker. *Hairy Woodpecker. 24. RUSTY BLACKBIRD. 9-1/2 in. (Scolecophagus carolinus. 509.) Black, uniformly iridescent and more or less rusty; tail almost even; female smaller and rustier with pale line over eye. *Bronzed Grackle. *Red-winged Blackbird. 25. FIELD SPARROW. 5-3/4 in. (Spizella pusilla. 563.) Streaked; crown and _bill_ reddish-brown; neck ashy; brownish-white _unspotted_ breast; two indistinct white wing bars; song, "fe-u, fe-u, fu, fee, fee, fee," beginning slowly and ending almost in a trill. *Chipping Sparrow. *Tree Sparrow. 26. HERMIT THRUSH. 7-1/4 in. (Hylocichla guttata pallasii. 759b.) Olive-brown; _tail reddish-brown_; below dull white tinged with buff and thickly spotted across the breast; shy, hiding in bushes; famous for its song but silent during migration. *Other Thrushes. 27. RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. 9-1/4 in. (Agelaius phoeniceus. 498.) Black; scarlet shoulder-straps edged with yellow; female much streaked, marked with rusty; likes marshy places; note, "quonk-a-ree´." *Cowbird. *Rusty Blackbird. 28. RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET. 4-1/4 in. (Regulus calendula. 749.) Dark greenish-olive; light underneath; ring about eye and wing-bars white; male shows at will a brilliant ruby crown-patch; remarkable song. *Golden-crowned Kinglet. *Warblers. 29. HAIRY WOODPECKER. 9 in. (Dryobates villosus. 393.) White band down the middle of black back; wings black spotted with white; beneath white; outer tail-feathers white _not barred_; red band on neck of male; large bill; note, sharp resonant "plick." *Downy Woodpecker. *Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. 30. TREE SWALLOW. 6-1/4 in. (Iridoprocne bicolor. 614.) Metallic blue-green; _shining white below_; tail appears nearly square at end in flight; often seen skimming near the surface of still water. *Barn Swallow. *Purple Martin. 31. CARDINAL. 8-1/2 in. (Cardinalis cardinalis. 593.) Bright red, including large blunt bill; _crested_; black markings on face and throat; female olive-gray, tinged lightly with red and obscurely marked; fine songster. *Tanagers. 32. WHITE-THROATED SPARROW. 7 in. (Zonotrichia albicollis. 558.) _White throat_; unmarked ashy breast; whitish on belly; crown striped with black and white; broad white stripe over the eye shading to yellow in front; in flocks about shrubbery; clear, sweet whistle, "pee-bod-dee-dee-dee." *White-crowned Sparrow. 33. MARSH HAWK. 22 in. (Circus hudsonius. 331.) Bluish gray, showing light streaks; gray below, belly white marked with brown; tail barred; _white rump patch_; female brown, barred and streaked more heavily; note shrill. 34. CHIPPING SPARROW. 5-3/4 in. (Spizella socialis. 560.) Streaked; _plain ashy breast_; two faint white wing-bars; _chestnut-brown cap_; whitish line over eye; song, a strong clear trill. *Field Sparrow. *Tree Sparrow. 35. MOURNING DOVE. 12 in. (Zenaidura macroura. 316.) Gray-blue, tinged with brownish; tail broadly tipped with white, _tapering to a narrow point_; sides of neck iridescent; marked with black on wings and sides of head; rapid whistling flight; note, "coo-oo." *Pigeon. *Cuckoos. 36. WINTER WREN. 4-1/4 in. (Olbiorchiles hiemalis. 722.) Dark tawny-brown, barred on wings and tail; lighter below, barred posteriorly; pale line over eye; _stub tail, carried erect_; very fine song. *Other Wrens. 37. VESPER SPARROW. 6-1/4 in. (Poæcetes gramineus. 540.) Streaked above and below; underparts whitish, tinged with buff across breast and on sides; shows _two conspicuous white tail feathers in flight_; noteworthy song. *Female Purple Finch. 38. MYRTLE WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Dendroica coronata. 655.) Blue-gray, streaked; crown, _rump_ and spot on each side of breast, _yellow_; white below, marked on breast and sides with black; usually in small flocks. *Magnolia Warbler. 39. SWAMP SPARROW. 5-3/4 in. (Melospiza georgiana. 584.) Very darkly colored and heavily streaked; chestnut cap, sometimes indistinctly streaked; _black forehead_; plain ashy breast; shy; frequents bushes along the water's edge. *Song Sparrow. *Lincoln Sparrow. 40. PURPLE FINCH. 6-1/4 in. (Carpodacus purpureus. 517.) Not "purple," but faded crimson-red, somewhat streaky; belly whitish; _large, heavy bill_; female mottled olive-brown, resembling sparrows; noteworthy song. 41. CEDAR WAXWING. 7 in. (Ampelis cedrorum. 619.) Smooth snuff-brown; _crested_; chin and line from bill to crest, black; end of tail banded with yellow; in flocks; "monotonous lisping note." 42. WILSON THRUSH. 7-1/4 in. (Hylocichla fuscescens. 756.) _Uniform tawny brown_; no ring about the eye; below white, faintly tinged and lightly spotted; shy, about bushes; sometimes sings in Lincoln Park. *Other Thrushes. 43. AMERICAN SPARROW HAWK. 10-1/2 in. (Falco sparverius. 360.) Reddish-brown, usually barred or spotted with black; head bluish, _marked on sides with black_; tail white-tipped with one broad black bar; below white, more or less spotted; narrow pointed wings; female, much more barred, darker and _streaked_ below. _The smallest hawk._ 44. BARN SWALLOW. 7 in. (Hirundo erythrogastra. 613.) Blue-back; chestnut shading to white below; _deeply forked tail_. *Tree Swallow. 45. BROWN THRASHER. 11-1/4 in. (Toxostoma rufum. 705.) Bright rusty red; white below, much streaked; long bill and _long, sweeping tail_; song, loud, bold and varied; about bushes. *Fox Sparrow. 46. HOUSE WREN. 5 in. (Troglodytes aedon. 721.) Brown, barred with darker; below grayish, tinged with brown, also barred; rusty-colored tail, _two inches long_; remarkable song. *Other Wrens. 47. BLUE-GRAY GNATCATCHER. 5 in. (Polioptila cærulea. 751.) Blue-gray; white beneath; _long tail_ edged with white; male has a black line over eye; fidgety, never long in a place; wheezy song. *Black-throated Blue Warbler. *Cerulean Warbler. 48. WHITE-CROWNED SPARROW. 7 in. (Zonotrichia leucophrys. 554.) Ashy-gray; rump, tail and wings, brown, streaked with black; _crown conspicuously striped_ with black and white; no yellow; two white wing-bars; in flocks, often with _White-throated Sparrows_; scratches with both feet; notice the song. *White-throated Sparrow. 49. PALM WARBLER. 5 in. (Dendroica palmarum. 672.) Streaky olive-gray; _chestnut cap_; yellow line over eye; beneath yellowish (brightest on throat and under tail) streaked with brown; feeds on ground in flocks; constantly _tilts its tail_ up and down. *Water-Thrushes. 50. HENSLOW SPARROW. 5 in. (Coterniculus henslowii. 547.) Back conspicuously marked and streaked, showing much chestnut; head and neck a peculiar greenish tinge, _finely_ lined with black; below tinged with buff and finely streaked; dark stripes and spots on sides of head; _sharp tail_; hides in the grass and can be carefully observed only with patience. 51. GRINNELL WATER-THRUSH. 5-3/4 in. (Seiurus noveboracensis notabilis. 675a.) Very dark olive-brown; below yellowish white, thickly streaked; _pale stripe_ over the eye; skulks along the very edge of the water; _tilts its tail_; brilliant song. *Louisiana Water-Thrush. *Ovenbird. *Palm Warbler. 52. CATBIRD. 8-3/4 in. (Galeoscoptes carolinensis. 704.) Slate-gray; bill, crown and tail, black; chestnut patch under tail; about shrubbery; willing to be looked at; calls like a cat; song, greatly varied. 53. PINE WARBLER. 5-3/4 in. (Dendroica vigorsii. 671.) Olive-green; yellow breast; sides of head suffused with yellowish--sometimes forming a _yellow line over eye_; two dull white wing-bars; song, a loud, penetrating trill. *Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. *Female Western Yellow-throat. *Female Wilson Black-cap. 54. RED-BREASTED NUTHATCH. 4-3/4 in. (Sitta canadensis. 728.) Bluish-gray; crown and _stripe through eye, black_, with a white line over the eye; _below rusty-red_, throat white; climbs up and down and around trees; note, "cark, cark, cark." *White-breasted Nuthatch. 55. BLACK AND WHITE CREEPER. 5-1/4 in. (Mniotilta varia. 636.) Black and white, _striped_; white belly; female shows more white below; creeps up and down trees like the _Nuthatches_; song rapid and rasping, "he´-ho, he´-ho, he´-ho." *Black-poll Warbler. 56. BLACK-THROATED GREEN WARBLER. 5-1/4 in. (Dendroica virens. 667.) Olive-green; _bright yellow cheeks_; _throat and upper part of breast, black_; white wing-bars; song, repeated often and rapidly, "chee, chee, chee, chee, char, chee." *Cape May Warbler. *Hooded Warbler. 57. RED-HEADED WOODPECKER. 9-1/2 in. (Melanerpes erythrocephalus. 406) Black and white, not streaked; _entire head, neck and upper part of breast, crimson_; pure white belly; note, a loud "kr-r-r-r r." *Red-bellied Woodpecker. 58. MOCKINGBIRD. 10 in. (Mimus polyglottus. 703.) Ashy-gray, wings and tail darker; whitish below; wing shows white patch; outer tail-feathers white; famous for its song. *Loggerhead Shrike. *Cuckoos. *Catbird. 59. CHIMNEY SWIFT. 5-1/4 in. (Chætura pelagica. 423.) Dark sooty-gray; _bob-tail_; long, pointed wings, which often vibrate rapidly in flight; twittering note; never seen perching like other birds. *Swallows. 60. OLIVE-BACKED THRUSH. 7-1/4 in. (Hylocichla ustulata. 758a.) _Uniform dark olive_; below white, darker on sides; cheeks, throat, breast and ring about eye, buff; spotted on breast; noteworthy song. *Gray-cheeked Thrush. *Hermit Thrush. *Wilson Thrush. 61. GREAT-CRESTED FLYCATCHER. 9 in. (Myiarchus crinitus. 452.) Olive, showing rusty brown on wings and tail; _crested head_; throat and breast, ashy-gray; wing-bars; belly sulphur-yellow; usually perches high; note, "loud whistle." *Blue Jay. 62. LOUISIANA WATER-THRUSH. 6-1/4 in. (Seiurus motacilla. 676.) Olive; white below, buff-tinged posteriorly and streaked, but not thickly, with dusky; _throat and middle of belly, unmarked_; _white_ line over eye; loud, ringing song. *Grinnell Water-Thrush. *Ovenbird. *Palm Warbler. 63. LEAST FLYCATCHER. 5-1/4 in. (Empidonax minimus. 467.) Olive-gray; wings, tail and head, darker; two narrow wing-bars; decidedly grayish below, whiter on throat; _jerks its tail_ and utters a sharp, energetic call, "che-bec´." *Wood Pewee. *Phoebe. 64. WOOD THRUSH. 7-3/4 in. (Hylocichla mustelina. 755.) _Bright brown on head_ shading to olive-brown on rump and tail; white beneath, with conspicuous _round_ spots except on throat and middle of belly; remarkable song. *Other Thrushes. *Fox Sparrow. 65. WESTERN YELLOW-THROAT. 5-1/4 in. (Geothlypis trichas occidentalis. 681a.) Olive-green, showing brownish tinge; _broad, black stripe across forehead and through eye_; bordered broadly with white; yellow beneath; _female_ duller and without black stripe and easily confused with female _Mourning_, _Connecticut_ and _Pine Warblers_; in low bushes; song, "witch-i-ty, witch-i-ty, witch-i-ty." 66. MAGNOLIA WARBLER. 5 in. (Dendroica maculosa. 657.) Back and tail, black; crown blue-gray; yellow rump; _yellow_ below, streaked with black on breast and sides; white patch on wings; broad white band across tail, seen from below. *Myrtle Warbler. *Cape May Warbler. 67. AMERICAN GOLDFINCH. 5-1/4 in. (Astragalinus tristis. 529.) Canary-yellow, with black crown, tail and wings; white wing-bars; female olive-tinged, without pure black or yellow; in flocks; canary-like song; also sings in its undulating flight, "per-_chic_-o-ree, per-_chic_-o-ree." *Yellow Warbler. 68. YELLOW WARBLER. 5 in. (Dendroica æstiva. 652.) _Yellow all over_ shading to olive on back; orange-brown streaks on breast; female not so yellow and less streaked; song, penetrating and unceasing; nests in Lincoln Park. *American Goldfinch. 69. KINGBIRD. 8-1/2 in. (Tyrannus tyrannus. 644.) Dusky black; below white; _tail tipped with broad band of white_; fire-red patch on crown, usually concealed; spreads its tail like a fan when about to alight. 70. BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 7-1/2 in. (Icterus galbula. 507.) _Bright orange_, with black head, throat, back and wings; two white wing-bars; female smaller, brownish-yellow and showing little black; loud call, "co-weet´, co-weet´, co-weet´;" song noteworthy. *Orchard Oriole. *Scarlet Tanager. 71. SUMMER TANAGER. 7-1/2 in. (Piranga rubra. 610.) _Vermillion all over_; _no black_; female yellowish-olive and usually near the male; very rare. *Cardinal. 72. YELLOW-BELLIED FLYCATCHER. 5-1/2 in. (Empidonax flaviventris. 463.) Bright olive-green, with dark-brown tail and wings; yellowish wing-bars; sulphur-yellow below, _brightest between legs_ and tinged elsewhere with pale olive; yellow eye-ring; call, a soft, slow whistle, "pe´-a." *Yellow-throated Vireo. *Least Flycatcher. *Pine Warbler. 73. BLACKBURNIAN WARBLER. 5-1/4 in. (Dendroica blackburniæ. 662.) Black streaked with white; middle of crown, throat and sides of head, _flaming orange_; black patch behind eye; white wing-bars; female duller; usually high up among the leaves. *Prothonotary Warbler. 74. OVENBIRD. 6-1/4 in. (Seiurus aurocapillus. 674.) Olive-green showing yellow tinge; below pure white, thickly spotted; _orange-brown cap_ bordered with black stripes; scratches like a hen; tilts tail up and down; under shrubbery; note, "teacher" repeated rapidly with increasing emphasis. *Water-Thrushes. 75. RED-EYED VIREO. 6 in. (Vireo olivaceus. 624.) Olive-green; crown, slaty; white below, lightly tinged on sides; _dark line above a white one over eye_; clear, persistent song; nests in Lincoln Park. *Warbling Vireo. 76. AMERICAN REDSTART. 5-1/4 in. (Setophaga ruticilla. 687.) Male black, with _six flame-colored spots_; female olive, with _six yellow spots_; spreads its tail like a fan; song, "chee, chee, chee, chew." 77. CAPE MAY WARBLER. 5-1/4 in. (Dendroica tigrina. 650.) Yellowish-olive spotted with black on back; crown very dark; cheeks yellow with an _orange-brown ear patch_; yellow below, black streaks on breast; wing-bars; song all on one note. *Black-throated Green Warbler. *Magnolia Warbler. 78. SCARLET TANAGER. 7-1/4 in. (Piranga erythromelas. 608.) _Scarlet, with black wings and tail_; female olive-green, usually near by; rather sluggish; note, "chip, chree;" song noteworthy. *Cardinal. *Summer Tanager. 79. YELLOW-THROATED VIREO. 5-1/2 in. (Vireo flavifrons. 628.) Bright olive-green, shading to ashy-blue on rump; _yellow throat_ and breast, sharply defined against white belly; line around eye and to the bill, yellow; two white wing-bars; fine song. *Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. *Blue-headed Vireo. 80. ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK. 8-1/4 in. (Zamelodia ludoviciana. 595.) Black, including throat, with white rump and wing-patches; breast white with a brilliant rose-red blotch; lining of wings also rose-red; _large beak_; female yellowish-brown, darkly mottled, no red; sluggish; remarkable song. 81. PURPLE MARTIN. 7-1/2 in. (Progne subis. 611.) Blue-black all over; female lighter and streaked with grayish-white below; often nests in bird houses; twittering song. *Tree Swallow. *Chimney Swift. 82. YELLOW-BREASTED CHAT. 7-1/4 in. (Icteria virens. 683.) Olive-green; bright yellow below, belly _white_; region about eye black, marked with a white line above eye; white spot and shorter line below eye; the largest warbler; remarkable song. *Dickcissel. *Western Yellow-Throat. *Yellow-Throated Vireo. 83. BLACK-THROATED BLUE WARBLER. 5-1/4 in. (Dendroica cærulescens. 654.) Slaty-blue; below white, with black throat and sides; _conspicuous white patch on wing_; female grayish, no black, but may be recognized by _wing patch_; _hoarse_ note, "kree, kree." *Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. 84. NASHVILLE WARBLER. 4-3/4 in. (Helminthophila rubricapilla. 645.) Olive-green; head and neck bluish gray; indistinct brown patch on crown; _bright yellow below_; no wing bars; _white eye ring_; song, not loud, "wee´-see, wee´-see, wit´-a-wit´-a-wit´." *Tennessee Warbler. 85. WARBLING VIREO. 5-1/4 in. (Vireo gilvus. 627.) Mouse gray, with olive rump; white below, tinged with greenish yellow; creamy-white around the eye; song, rippling warble. *Red-eyed Vireo. *Least Flycatcher. 86. BLUE-HEADED VIREO. 5-1/2 in. (Vireo solitarius. 629.) Olive-green; _ashy-blue head_; pure white below, sides yellowish; line around the eye and to the bill, white; two white wing-bars; song, noteworthy. *Yellow-throated Vireo. 87. ORCHARD ORIOLE. 7 in. (Icterus spurius. 506.) Male, rich _chestnut-brown_ with black head, wings and tail, narrow white wing-bar; female olivaceous above and greenish-yellow below with two white wing-bars; young male like female but with black throat; high trees; loud, clear song. *Baltimore Oriole. 88. LONG-BILLED MARSH WREN. 5-1/4 in. (Telmatodytes palustris. 725.) Brown, almost black on head, tail and between shoulders, the latter streaked with white; barred only on wings and tail; _line over eye_ and middle of breast white; _long bill_; spluttering song. *Other Wrens. 89. BAY-BREASTED WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Dendroica castanea. 660.) Ashy-brown, black-streaked; black cheeks and forehead; throat, upper part of breast, sides and crown, _rich chestnut brown_; white wing-bars. *Chestnut-sided Warbler. 90. PARULA WARBLER. 4-1/2 in. (Compsothlypis americana. 648.) Grayish-blue, _yellowish across the back_; throat and breast yellow, latter crossed by brownish band; wing-bars; peculiar song. *Blue Golden-winged Warbler. 91. WOOD PEWEE. 6-1/4 in. (Contopus virens. 461.) Dark olive-brown; brownish black on wings and tail; frowsy head; below white, showing olive tinge on sides; two narrow white wing-bars; plaintive note repeated slowly and often, "pee´to-way´, pee´-to-way´, hee´-rue." *Phoebe. *Least Flycatcher. 92. BOBOLINK. 7-1/2 in. (Dolichonyx orizivorus. 494.) Male black with light back, creamy buff on neck; female, sparrow colored, streaked above; long merry musical song; open fields; in Lincoln Park usually seen in flocks flying overhead, singing on the wing. 93. BLUE GOLDEN-WINGED WARBLER. 5 in. (Helminthophila chrysoptera. 642.) Blue-gray; crown and _patch on wing_, golden yellow; _throat_, and stripe through eye, _black_; white below; song, drawling "zee, zee, zee, zee." *Parula Warbler. 94. INDIGO BUNTING. 5-3/4. in. (Cyanospiza cyanea. 598.) _Indigo blue_; wings and tail blackish; female brown; in flocks; often feeds in the grass; noteworthy song. *Bluebird. 95. PROTHONOTARY WARBLER. 5-1/4 in. (Prothonotaria citrea. 637.) Entire head, neck and breast, _bright orange yellow_; blue-gray wings, rump and tail; female duller; prefers shrubbery near water. *Blackburnian Warbler. *Yellow Warbler. 96. TENNESSEE WARBLER. 4-1/2 in. (Helminthophila peregrina. 647.) Olive-green, brightest on rump; head and neck, blue gray; _dull white below_; faint white line over eye; no wing-bars; song, shrill and feeble. *Nashville Warbler. 97. MOURNING WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Geothlypis philadelphia. 679.) Bright olive-green; head, neck, throat and upper part of breast, _bluish ash_; yellow belly; black band on breast; about bushes and in the grass; noteworthy song. *Connecticut Warbler. 98. CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER. 5 in. (Dendroica pennsylvanica. 659.) Back shows black streaks mixed with olive-green; yellow cap; white below with dainty _chestnut markings on sides of breast_; song, "chee, chee, chee, chee´ar." *Bay-breasted Warbler. 99. WHIP-POOR-WILL. 9-3/4 in. (Antrostomus vociferus. 417.) Mottled, strongly resembling the bark of certain trees; narrow white band across upper part of breast; big head; in daytime lies _motionless_, _lengthwise a branch_. *Nighthawk. 100. CERULEAN WARBLER. 4-1/2 in. (Dendroica cærulea. 658.) _Azure-blue_, marked with black on back and sides of head; white below, streaked with blue; two white wing-bars; frequents tree-tops; song resembles that of _Parula_. *Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. 101. HOODED WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Wilsonia mitrata. 684.) Olive-green; yellow below; head, neck and upper breast, black; _yellow "mask" across forehead and cheeks_; white spots on tail; female less black. *Western Yellow-throat. *Wilson Black-cap Warbler. *Canadian Warbler. 102. BLACK-POLL WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Dendroica striata. 661.) Streaked black and white; _black crown_; white cheeks; below white with line of black spots down sides; tree-tops; song, a staccato musical "chink" repeated rapidly. *Black and White Creeper. 103. YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO. 12-1/4 in. (Coccyzus americanus. 387.) Bronzy olive-gray; white below; _lower half of curved bill yellow_ tipped with black; outer tail-feathers black tipped _broadly_ with white; wings show a _reddish-brown tinge in flight_; glides stealthily from tree to tree and keeps concealed among the leaves; slowly droops and raises its tail when perching; song, loud "kuk-kuk, kuk-kuk." *Black-billed Cuckoo. *Mourning Dove. 104. CANADIAN WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Wilsonia canadensis. 686.) Bluish-lead color; yellow below with a necklace of black spots; no wing-bars; noteworthy song. *Magnolia Warbler. 105. WILSON BLACK-CAP WARBLER. 4-3/4 in. (Wilsonia pusilla. 685.) Bright olive-green; yellow below; _black cap_; in low bushes. *Pine Warbler. *Female Western Yellow-throat. 106. LINCOLN SPARROW. 5-3/4 in. (Melospiza lincolni. 583.) _Finely_ streaked with black and brown; white beneath, with *broad buff band across the breast and down the sides; narrow streaks on throat, upper breast and sides; dark stripe on each side of throat from corner of mouth; very shy. *Song *and *Swamp Sparrows. 107. RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD. 3-1/4 in. (Trochilus colubris. 428.) Iridescent green and purple; male has ruby-red throat; frequents flowering shrubs and plants; darts here and there and poises in mid air with wings vibrating so rapidly that they make a humming noise; "squeaky note." 108. NIGHTHAWK. 9-1/2 in. (Chordeiles virginianus. 420.) On the wing overhead after insects just before or at dusk; long, pointed wings _showing a white patch_; flight resembles that of _Chimney Swift_; sharp note, "skeep;" often nests on the flat roofs of city buildings. *Whip-poor-will. 109. BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO. 12 in. (Coccyzus erythropthalmus. 388.) Bronzy olive-gray; white below; bill _entirely_ black; _only a little white_ on tail; movements like those of _Yellow-billed Cuckoo_; song, soft "coo-coo, coo-coo." *Yellow-billed Cuckoo. *Mourning Dove. 110. GRAY-CHEEKED THRUSH. 7-1/2 in. (Hylocichla aliciae. 757.) Uniform olive; below white, _very palely_ suffused with buff; cheeks _gray tinged_; breast and sides of throat, spotted; usually silent in Lincoln Park. *Olive-backed and *other Thrushes. 111. YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD. 10-1/4 in. (Xanthocephalus xanthocephalus. 497.) Black; head, throat and breast, _yellow_; white wing patch; female dark brown, yellow markings duller, no wing patch; female smaller than male. 112. DICKCISSEL. 6 in. (Spiza americana. 604.) Streaked; ashy on head and neck; white chin; _black throat patch_; _yellow breast_; white belly; _line over eye, yellow_; wings show chestnut brown; female has less yellow and no throat patch. *Yellow-breasted Chat. *Meadowlark. 113. CONNECTICUT WARBLER. 5-1/2 in. (Geothlypis agilis. 678.) Olive-green; head ashy with throat darker; _white ring_ around eye; belly yellow; wings long and pointed; low bushes and swampy places; penetrating call-note. *Mourning Warbler. 114. RED-BELLIED WOODPECKER. 9-1/2 in. (Centurus carolinus. 409.) Black and white, back, wings and tail _barred transversely_ and very evenly; below grayish-white, _tinged with red_; top of head and back of neck crimson; female, crown gray; rare. *Red-headed Woodpecker. *Hairy Woodpecker. Table of Occurrence. In this table the birds are arranged according to the order of their comparative frequency or rarity, based upon personal observations in _Lincoln Park_. The abundance of the birds--that is, the number of individual birds of different species--is in no wise shown, but simply the relative representation of each species. For instance, out of a total of 454 mornings, covering observations during six years, the _Robin_ was seen on 383 different mornings. The record for 1902, during the absence of the authors, is that of Mr. H. V. Bozell. NUMBER OF MORNINGS SEEN IN LINCOLN PARK. 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 Total 1 Robin 62 52 57 69 61 82 383 2 Bronzed Grackle 57 58 57 60 57 72 361 3 Blue Jay 49 58 61 65 40 51 324 4 Cowbird 41 34 44 44 39 54 256 5 Junco 33 35 32 32 51 42 225 6 Towhee 35 18 24 44 45 48 214 7 Song Sparrow 27 33 19 38 37 36 190 8 Flicker 29 18 21 33 37 46 184 9 Ruby-crowned Kinglet 31 28 23 30 22 39 173 10 White-throated Sparrow 30 23 23 31 26 35 168 11 Bluebird 26 1 7 31 35 50 150 12 Wilson Thrush 34 35 23 21 11 20 144 13 Yellow-bellied Sapsucker 23 12 15 30 27 34 141 14 Yellow Warbler 27 30 24 18 13 27 139 15 Belted Kingfisher 25 21 24 27 21 19 137 16 Red-headed Woodpecker 23 23 16 26 16 26 130 17 Myrtle Warbler 19 25 11 21 22 31 129 18 Brown Thrasher 27 8 20 21 16 29 121 19 Brown Creeper 18 15 19 14 28 27 121 20 Catbird 22 27 16 17 10 17 109 21 Golden-crowned Kinglet 18 14 13 26 15 23 109 22 Chipping Sparrow 25 11 11 12 17 32 108 23 American Goldfinch 21 19 12 20 5 18 95 24 Tree Swallow 13 11 16 19 13 22 94 25 American Redstart 18 16 19 8 10 20 91 26 Barn Swallow 15 14 10 19 14 19 91 27 Fox Sparrow 11 9 14 9 27 21 91 28 Chimney Swift 16 11 14 15 11 22 89 29 Blue-gray Gnatcatcher 18 16 11 10 16 17 88 30 White-crowned Sparrow 9 5 18 22 16 17 87 31 Palm Warbler 8 21 7 11 19 20 86 32 Hermit Thrush 13 9 10 18 9 27 86 33 Black and White Creeper 15 15 11 13 12 18 84 34 Least Flycatcher 18 18 8 14 7 18 83 35 Magnolia Warbler 13 13 13 5 16 20 80 36 Black-throated Blue Warbler 12 14 9 13 12 16 76 37 Olive-backed Thrush 8 4 14 16 11 23 76 38 Phoebe 15 4 5 16 15 19 74 39 Baltimore Oriole 18 6 10 15 11 13 73 40 Grinnell Water-Thrush 17 6 9 14 8 17 71 41 Field Sparrow .. 2 12 17 23 17 71 42 Swamp Sparrow 4 4 14 12 17 17 68 43 Crow 4 11 7 11 16 18 67 44 Chestnut-sided Warbler 11 6 11 13 9 16 66 45 Ovenbird 9 11 11 12 11 11 65 46 White-breasted Nuthatch 12 6 17 21 6 2 64 47 Western Yellow-throat 18 17 10 8 3 15 61 48 Wood Pewee 12 14 9 6 7 13 61 49 Downy Woodpecker 14 7 4 8 17 10 60 50 House Wren 1 .. 10 11 13 24 59 51 Red-eyed Vireo 13 10 5 6 6 16 56 52 Loggerhead Shrike 5 1 16 13 7 13 55 53 Indigo Bunting 12 17 2 6 5 11 53 54 Black-throated Green Warbler 4 9 4 9 6 12 44 55 Blackburnian Warbler 11 4 9 7 5 6 42 56 Black-poll Warbler 6 7 8 3 3 15 42 57 Kingbird 8 1 5 3 6 17 40 58 Scarlet Tanager 7 3 7 4 3 10 34 59 Ruby-throated Hummingbird 7 9 4 3 1 10 34 60 Mourning Dove 5 3 6 10 2 8 34 61 Rose-breasted Grosbeak 5 2 6 8 6 6 33 62 Tree Sparrow .. .. 10 3 12 8 33 63 Winter Wren 3 5 11 .. 3 10 32 64 Meadowlark 3 .. 7 13 5 4 32 65 Purple Martin 1 .. .. 6 4 20 31 66 Cape May Warbler 3 2 9 2 6 7 29 67 Warbling Vireo 7 1 4 3 4 10 29 68 Mourning Warbler 5 8 2 4 4 5 28 69 Wilson Black-cap Warbler 9 1 3 2 5 8 28 70 Yellow-billed Cuckoo 8 7 1 3 1 7 27 71 Great-crested Flycatcher 5 2 .. 1 10 9 27 72 Bobolink 2 .. 9 10 1 4 26 73 Canadian Warbler 8 3 6 4 1 4 26 74 Red-winged Blackbird 4 .. 2 8 3 7 24 75 Wood Thrush 8 3 .. 5 3 3 22 76 Orchard Oriole 4 3 5 1 1 6 20 77 Red-breasted Nuthatch .. .. 10 .. 3 7 20 78 Marsh Hawk .. 2 1 8 5 4 20 79 Hairy Woodpecker 3 1 4 .. 4 7 19 80 Bay-breasted Warbler 1 1 2 1 4 10 19 81 Parula Warbler 6 .. .. 2 9 2 19 82 Chickadee 3 .. 7 8 .. .. 18 83 Pine Warbler .. .. 3 1 5 9 18 84 Henslow Sparrow 3 2 1 2 3 6 17 85 Nashville Warbler 1 1 4 1 .. 9 16 86 Yellow-throated Vireo 2 .. 2 2 3 7 16 87 Cedar Waxwing 6 5 .. 1 2 1 15 88 Purple Finch 4 .. 4 .. 1 5 14 89 Vesper Sparrow .. .. 6 .. 4 3 13 90 Blue-headed Vireo .. .. 2 1 6 4 13 91 Gray-cheeked Thrush .. .. .. .. 3 10 13 92 American Sparrow Hawk 1 1 .. 4 2 4 12 93 Yellow-bellied Flycatcher .. .. 5 .. 2 4 11 94 Nighthawk .. 2 1 1 .. 7 11 95 Lincoln Sparrow .. .. 1 .. 1 8 10 96 Black-billed Cuckoo .. 1 2 2 2 2 9 97 Rusty Blackbird .. 2 .. 3 .. 2 7 98 Yellow-breasted Chat .. .. .. .. 1 6 7 99 Long-billed Marsh Wren 1 2 .. .. .. 3 6 100 Louisiana Water-Thrush .. .. 1 .. 3 2 6 101 Prothonotary Warbler .. 1 .. .. 3 1 5 102 Savanna Sparrow .. .. .. .. .. 5 5 103 Blue Golden-winged Warbler 1 .. 1 1 1 .. 4 104 Whip-poor-will 1 1 .. 1 .. 1 4 105 Connecticut Warbler .. .. .. .. .. 3 3 106 Dickcissel .. .. .. 1 2 .. 3 107 Tennessee Warbler 2 .. .. .. .. .. 2 108 Mockingbird .. .. .. 2 .. .. 2 109 Cerulean Warbler .. .. 1 .. 1 .. 2 110 Summer Tanager .. 1 .. .. .. .. 1 111 Cardinal .. .. 1 .. .. .. 1 112 Red-bellied Woodpecker 1 .. .. .. .. .. 1 113 Hooded Warbler .. .. .. .. .. 1 1 114 Yellow-headed Blackbird .. .. .. 1 .. .. 1 Total number of days 66 77 74 78 72 87 454 Av'ge number of kinds seen daily 18.83 12.75 14.59 16.23 16.45 19.53 16.34 Table of Arrival. Note.--The following table gives the dates of the first arrival of each bird mentioned in the preceding list of one hundred and fourteen for the seven years from 1897 to 1903 inclusive, _as observed in Lincoln Park_. The birds are arranged in their respective families, and space is left for recording their first appearance in any succeeding year. The record for 1902, in the absence of the authors, was kept by Mr. Harold V. Bozell. Attention is called to the fact that many birds which are common summer residents in the neighboring country are rare migrants in the Park. Among these may be mentioned the _Red-winged Blackbird_, _Bobolink_ _and_ _Warbling Vireo_. Some fine singers also, for example, the _Vesper Sparrow_, _Yellow-throated Vireo_ and _Hermit Thrush_, are usually silent in the Park. |1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 _____| Family COLUMBIDAE | | 35 Mourning Dove | .. 5/9 3/25 4/6 4/10 4/26 4/1 _____| Family FALCONIDAE | | 33 Marsh Hawk | .. .. 4/25 4/19 3/25 4/21 4/1 _____| 43 Sparrow Hawk | .. 5/18 4/25 4/18 3/24 3/21 4/30 _____| Family CUCULIDAE | | 103 Yellow-billed Cuckoo | .. 5/19 5/1 5/16 5/17 5/17 5/12 _____| 109 Black-billed Cuckoo | .. .. 5/27 5/12 5/15 5/16 5/12 _____| Family ALCEDINIDAE | | 22 Belted Kingfisher |3/28 3/25 3/22 4/10 3/26 4/11 4/10 _____| Family PICIDAE | | 29 Hairy Woodpecker | .. 4/11 5/24 4/19 .. 3/25 3/6 _____| 16 Downy Woodpecker | 4/7 4/8 3/27 4/25 4/5 3/10 3/6 _____| 23 Yellow-bellied Sapsucker |4/25 3/30 4/8 4/6 3/19 3/27 4/1 _____| 114 Red-bellied Woodpecker | .. 5/22 .. .. .. .. .. _____| 57 Red-headed Woodpecker |4/26 4/29 4/28 5/6 4/27 4/27 4/28 _____| 18 Flicker |4/15 3/25 4/11 4/7 3/23 3/24 3/18 _____| Family CAPRIMULGIDAE | | 99 Whip-poor-will | .. 5/21 4/30 .. 5/9 .. 5/17 _____| 108 Nighthawk | .. .. 5/10 5/13 5/18 5/18 5/18 _____| Family MICROPODIDAE | | 59 Chimney Swift | 5/1 4/30 5/11 4/30 4/17 4/22 5/5 _____| Family TROCHILIDAE | | 107 Ruby-throated Hummingbird | .. 5/19 5/9 5/13 5/16 5/17 5/13 _____| Family TYRANNIDAE | | 69 Kingbird |4/29 4/30 5/10 5/6 5/10 4/21 5/5 _____| 61 Great-crested Flycatcher | .. 5/3 4/30 .. 5/11 4/21 4/29 _____| 14 Phoebe | 4/7 3/20 4/17 4/1 3/18 3/15 3/17 _____| 91 Wood Pewee |4/27 5/19 5/10 5/11 5/16 4/28 5/12 _____| 72 Yellow-bellied Flycatcher | .. .. .. 4/29 .. 5/1 5/12 _____| 63 Least Flycatcher |5/12 4/30 4/20 4/30 5/6 4/21 5/9 _____| Family CORVIDAE | | 1 Blue Jay | .. .. .. .. .. .. .. _____| 6 Crow | .. 3/9 3/26 3/12 3/3 3/6 3/8 _____| Family ICTERIDAE | | 92 Bobolink | .. 5/14 .. 5/8 5/4 5/12 5/8 _____| 11 Cowbird | 4/4 3/16 4/10 4/1 3/19 3/1 3/14 _____| 111 Yellow-headed Blackbird | .. .. .. .. 5/17 .. .. _____| 27 Red-winged Blackbird | .. 5/7 .. 4/18 3/22 3/26 3/17 _____| 5 Meadowlark | .. 3/14 .. 3/27 3/19 3/10 3/13 _____| 87 Orchard Oriole | .. 5/15 5/6 5/11 5/10 5/2 5/5 _____| 70 Baltimore Oriole | .. 4/30 5/2 5/6 5/4 5/2 5/5 _____| 24 Rusty Blackbird | .. .. .. 4/19 4/5 .. 3/17 _____| 9 Bronzed Grackle |3/29 3/14 3/20 3/24 3/23 3/10 3/14 _____| Family FRINGILLIDAE | | 40 Purple Finch | .. 4/24 .. 4/15 .. 4/11 4/15 _____| 67 American Goldfinch |4/25 5/6 4/28 5/7 4/30 5/2 5/7 _____| 37 Vesper Sparrow | .. .. .. 4/22 .. 4/18 4/1 _____| 8 Savanna Sparrow | .. .. .. .. .. .. 3/19 _____| 50 Henslow Sparrow | .. 4/29 4/26 4/21 4/30 4/24 4/15 _____| 48 White-crowned Sparrow | 5/5 5/9 4/29 5/2 4/20 3/11 4/29 _____| 32 White-throated Sparrow |4/26 4/13 4/19 4/21 4/17 3/24 3/21 _____| 12 Tree Sparrow | .. .. .. 4/6 4/5 3/7 3/13 _____| 34 Chipping Sparrow |4/15 4/13 4/18 4/8 4/8 4/13 4/12 _____| 25 Field Sparrow | .. .. 4/23 4/17 4/5 3/11 3/19 _____| 4 Junco |3/28 3/9 3/14 3/23 3/18 3/8 3/13 _____| 10 Song Sparrow | 4/8 3/15 3/19 3/27 3/18 3/8 3/12 _____| 106 Lincoln Sparrow | .. .. .. 5/10 5/23 5/12 5/10 _____| 39 Swamp Sparrow | .. 5/7 4/20 4/21 4/18 3/11 4/12 _____| 13 Fox Sparrow | 4/8 3/30 3/14 4/5 3/18 3/10 3/17 _____| 15 Towhee | 4/7 3/17 4/11 4/7 3/25 3/10 3/18 _____| 31 Cardinal |3/28 .. .. 4/25 .. .. .. _____| 80 Rose-breasted Grosbeak | .. .. 5/10 5/11 5/4 4/28 5/9 _____| 94 Indigo Bunting | .. 5/14 5/10 5/21 5/10 5/2 5/6 _____| 112 Dickcissel | .. .. .. .. 5/16 5/18 .. _____| Family TANAGRIDAE | | 78 Scarlet Tanager | .. 5/14 5/4 5/2 5/5 5/3 5/5 _____| 71 Summer Tanager | .. .. 5/4 .. .. .. .. _____| Family HIRUNDINIDAE | | 81 Purple Martin | .. 5/25 5/30 .. 4/27 4/23 4/17 _____| 44 Barn Swallow |4/18 5/1 4/23 4/26 4/10 4/18 4/24 _____| 30 Tree Swallow | .. 5/11 4/12 4/18 4/12 3/11 4/1 _____| Family AMPELIDAE | | 41 Cedar Waxwing | .. 4/11 3/27 .. 5/16 4/24 4/5 _____| Family LANIIDAE | | 2 Loggerhead Shrike | .. 3/14 4/11 3/9 3/3 3/9 3/1 _____| Family VIREONIDAE | | 75 Red-eyed Vireo | .. 5/10 4/29 5/12 5/4 5/2 5/4 _____| 85 Warbling Vireo |4/27 5/15 5/12 5/6 5/11 5/7 5/5 _____| 79 Yellow-throated Vireo | .. 5/1 .. 5/12 5/5 4/28 5/12 _____| 86 Blue-headed Vireo | .. .. .. 5/17 5/5 5/2 5/8 _____| Family MNIOTILTIDAE | | 55 Black and White Creeper |4/28 4/30 4/21 4/26 5/4 4/28 4/27 _____| 95 Prothonotary Warbler | .. .. 5/16 .. .. 4/27 5/19 _____| 93 Blue Golden-winged Warbler | .. 5/14 .. 5/12 5/12 5/2 .. _____| 84 Nashville Warbler | .. 5/10 5/4 5/9 5/19 5/2 5/1 _____| 96 Tennessee Warbler | .. 5/11 .. .. .. .. .. _____| 90 Parula Warbler | .. 5/11 .. .. 5/12 5/3 5/9 _____| 77 Cape May Warbler | .. 5/13 5/1 5/2 5/5 5/2 5/9 _____| 68 Yellow Warbler |5/11 4/30 4/29 4/30 5/6 5/2 4/29 _____| 83 Black-throated Blue Warbler |5/11 5/11 5/4 5/8 5/5 5/2 5/5 _____| 38 Myrtle Warbler |4/14 4/16 4/14 4/19 4/14 4/17 4/8 _____| 66 Magnolia Warbler |4/26 5/11 4/27 5/8 5/6 4/21 5/5 _____| 100 Cerulean Warbler | .. .. .. 5/12 .. .. .. _____| 98 Chestnut-sided Warbler |5/21 5/10 5/30 5/3 5/7 5/2 5/9 _____| 89 Bay-breasted Warbler | .. 5/20 5/4 5/11 5/15 4/22 5/9 _____| 102 Black-poll Warbler | .. 5/19 5/10 5/13 5/16 5/12 5/6 _____| 73 Blackburnian Warbler |5/12 5/10 5/3 4/28 5/10 4/28 4/30 _____| 56 Black-throated Green Warbler |4/18 5/17 4/23 4/27 4/26 4/28 5/2 _____| 53 Pine Warbler | .. .. .. 4/26 4/30 4/21 4/22 _____| 49 Palm Warbler | .. 4/29 4/20 4/27 4/26 4/21 4/22 _____| 74 Ovenbird |5/11 5/1 5/3 5/5 5/5 5/1 5/6 _____| 51 Grinnell Water-Thrush | .. 4/30 4/28 4/23 4/17 4/21 4/29 _____| 62 Louisiana Water-Thrush | .. .. .. .. .. 4/27 5/5 _____| 113 Connecticut Warbler | .. .. .. .. .. .. 5/20 _____| 97 Mourning Warbler | .. 5/20 5/13 5/6 5/16 5/2 5/11 _____| 65 Western Yellow-throat |4/26 5/1 4/28 5/5 5/5 5/2 5/1 _____| 82 Yellow-breasted Chat | .. .. .. .. .. 5/2 5/11 _____| 101 Hooded Warbler | .. .. .. .. .. .. 5/12 _____| 105 Wilson Black-cap Warbler |5/21 5/6 5/22 5/10 5/16 5/3 5/17 _____| 104 Canadian Warbler | .. 5/19 5/16 5/12 5/16 5/6 5/12 _____| 76 American Redstart |5/11 5/1 4/28 5/11 5/6 5/2 5/5 _____| Family TROGLODYTIDAE | | 58 Mockingbird | .. .. .. .. 4/29 .. .. _____| 52 Catbird |4/26 5/1 4/28 4/30 4/28 3/26 5/5 _____| 45 Brown Thrasher |4/26 4/24 4/27 4/16 4/24 4/22 4/12 _____| 46 House Wren |4/14 5/4 4/30 .. 4/21 4/23 4/12 _____| 36 Winter Wren | 4/8 4/25 4/30 .. 3/22 4/19 4/8 _____| 88 Long-billed Marsh Wren | .. 4/14 .. 4/12 .. .. 3/29 _____| Family CERTHIIDAE | | 19 Brown Creeper | 4/7 4/7 4/6 4/2 4/4 3/21 3/18 _____| Family PARIDAE | | 21 White-breasted Nuthatch | 4/7 3/29 4/11 4/2 3/18 3/31 4/2 _____| 54 Red-breasted Nuthatch | .. .. .. 5/3 .. 4/22 4/28 _____| 20 Chickadee | .. 4/1 .. 3/19 4/13 .. .. _____| Family SYLVIIDAE | | 17 Golden-crowned Kinglet | 4/7 3/14 4/11 4/6 4/5 3/28 3/19 _____| 28 Ruby-crowned Kinglet |4/14 4/1 4/13 4/7 4/17 4/13 3/19 _____| 47 Blue-gray Gnatcatcher | .. 4/25 4/22 4/18 4/28 4/22 4/25 _____| Family TURDIDAE | | 64 Wood Thrush |4/18 5/3 5/1 .. 5/4 4/29 5/12 _____| 42 Wilson Thrush |5/11 4/10 4/12 4/7 4/11 4/26 4/8 _____| 110 Gray-cheeked Thrush | .. .. .. .. .. 5/21 5/11 _____| 60 Olive-backed Thrush | .. 5/1 5/4 5/8 4/30 4/22 4/29 _____| 26 Hermit Thrush | .. 3/31 4/11 4/7 4/5 4/13 3/19 _____| 3 Robin |3/28 3/9 3/4 3/24 3/14 3/10 3/7 _____| 7 Bluebird |3/28 3/8 4/4 3/31 3/17 3/7 3/7 _____| WATER AND SHORE BIRDS. General Hints. The _Loon_ and _Grebes_ are common representatives of the order of Diving Birds. Their legs are set far back on the body, making it difficult for them to walk at all. *Grebes look like small, tailless ducks. They have long, slender necks, short wings, smooth glossy plumage and flat, lobed feet. They rarely leave the water and can dive or sink out of sight instantly when disturbed, swimming to a distance with only the tip of the bill out of water. *Loons are very large, with flat, heavy bodies, short tails and long, tapering bills. They are never crested, but are conspicuously marked, and are equally expert with the grebes in diving and sinking. _Gulls_ and _Terns_ belong to the order of the _Long-winged Swimmers_, but are better described by the name of _Skimmers_. *Terns are much slenderer and usually smaller than gulls, have very pointed bills and wings, and forked tails. They rarely if ever swim, but skim swallow-like over the water, bill downward, plunging into the water for their prey. *Gulls are plumper than terns, with heavier bills and tails usually even. They do not dive or plunge suddenly into the water, but fly and soar or float about on the surface, sitting well up out of the water. _Ducks_, _Geese and Swans_ have webbed feet and short legs, and in walking carry themselves almost horizontal. As a rule they have very strong wings, enabling them to fly long distances at great speed. Our ducks are most easily remembered in three groups:-- *1. The fish-eating Mergansers, whose plumage is largely black and white and which have saw-edged bills and, usually, conspicuous crests. *2. The Sea Ducks, which are conspicuously marked but plainly colored, frequent open water or the sea coast, diving, often to great depths, for their food. Descriptions are given of the _Lesser Scaup_, _Redhead_, _Canvas-back_, _American Golden-eye_, _Old-squaw_ _and_ _Buffle-head_. *3. The River Ducks, which have broad, rounded bills, are much variegated in color and markings, and have a peculiar habit of feeding head downwards, as though standing on their heads with the body tipped up. The _Teals_, _Mallard_, _Wood Duck_ and _Pintail_ belong to this group. The females of these ducks, though differing noticeably in size, may easily be confused. *Geese are larger than ducks, feed mostly on land and are usually seen during migration flying at a height in regular ranks after a leader. _Herons_ and _Bitterns_ belong among the _Wading Birds_. They have long, pointed bills, long legs, loose, baggy plumage, broad wings and long necks, curved s shaped in flight. *Herons are tall, crested birds, with very long legs, bills and necks and small tails. Their notes are harsh and squawking. Large numbers sometimes nest together. *Bitterns have shorter legs, necks and bills than herons and are very rarely crested. They utter hoarse, resounding calls, and are ordinarily solitary in habit. _Rails and Coots_ are known as _Marsh Birds_, although the latter are fine swimmers. *Rails as a rule are smaller than bitterns and frequent grassy marshes where they steal stealthily about, effectively concealed by their dull streaky plumage. Short turned-up tails, short wings and long legs are noticeable characteristics of these rapid runners. *Coots are ducklike in appearance and smoothly plumaged. Lobed feet enable them to swim easily. Their bills spread out at the base in the form of a plate or shield which extends up on to the forehead. _Plover_, _Sandpipers_ and the _Woodcock_ are strikingly different representatives of the great order of _Shore Birds_. The plover family have stout, short bills, while the sandpipers and woodcock belong to a family which have soft probing bills of greatly varying length, for obtaining their food in soft mud. *Sandpipers have pointed wings, are dull-colored, and are usually found slipping gracefully along the water's edge in search of food. They skim rapidly over the water on outspread wings, and their clear, reed-like notes are distinctly musical. *Plovers are small and plump, with long pointed wings, short necks and rather flat heads. They run and fly very rapidly, generally in flocks piping loudly but sweetly. They frequent the inland as well as the shore. _Shore_ and _Water Birds_ are often extremely shy and they can detect the presence of an observer at a distance. The caution is therefore emphasized to approach them slowly and quietly. Particular Hints. *Note:--Owing to a lack of sufficient data the following _Shore_ and _Water Birds_ are arranged according to the American Ornithologist's Union order instead of their average first appearance. They have all been seen, however, in Lincoln Park by the authors. 115. HORNED GREBE. 14 in. (Colymbus auritus. 3.) Brownish, sooty black, extending in narrow line up _back of neck_; rest of neck, sides and upper breast rich chestnut-brown; _silky_ white below; head and chin deep black, set off by buffy "horns" or crests, which slant abruptly backwards from the eyes; black bill, tipped with yellow; eye, red. Winter Plumage: Black parts sooty; brown replaced by white; grayer below; crests and ruff less conspicuous. *Pied-billed Grebe. 116. PIED-BILLED GREBE. 13-1/2 in. (Podilymbus podiceps. 6.) Brownish-black, showing gray on head and neck; belly, dusky white, otherwise brownish below; black throat-patch and a conspicuous black band across bill. Winter Plumage: Throat whitish; browner below; no band on bill. *Horned Grebe. 117. LOON. 33 in. (Gavia imber. 7.) Black, showing greenish on head and neck, spotted with square or oval patches of white on back and wings and striped with white in front of wings; white below; two conspicuous white-striped bars across the black neck give the effect of a _broad black collar_; tail, very short; eye, red; large black bill, long and pointed; dives and sinks like the _Grebes_; note, an eerie, prolonged cry. 118. AMERICAN HERRING GULL. 24 in. (Larus argentatus smithsonianus. 51a.) White; wings and back, pearly blue-gray; bill yellow, showing a small vermillion spot on either side; the longest wing feathers are partly black, marked and _tipped with white_; the closed wing therefore shows black towards the end, marked with a regular line of white spots and tipped with white at the extreme point; eyelids, bright yellow; looks large and heavy in flight. Winter Plumage: Streaked on head and neck with gray. Immature Plumage: Dark and much streaked with brownish; bill darker. *Ring-billed Gull. 119. RING-BILLED GULL. 19 in. (Larus delawarensis. 54.) Similar to the _American Herring Gull_, but _smaller_; bill, greenish-yellow, bright at tip, _banded with black around the middle_; wing tipped at extreme point with black; feet greenish-yellow; eyelids vermillion-red. *American Herring Gull. 120. BONAPARTE GULL. 13 in. (Larus philadelphia. 60.) Back and wings, light pearl-gray; head and throat, dark slate color; back of head, neck, underparts and square tail, white; wings tipped, and _bordered narrowly on the outside edge with black_; feet and legs, red; bill black. Winter Plumage: Hood, grayish white. Large flocks seen in Lincoln Park. *Common Tern. 121. COMMON TERN. 15 in. (Sterna hirundo. 70.) Pearly gray back and wings, whiter on rump; _top of head, shining black_; pure white on throat; dusky-white below; tail forked, _outer edge darkest_; bill long and red, blackening towards tip; feet reddish. Winter Plumage: Front of head and under-parts, white; bill nearly black. *Bonaparte Gull. 122. AMERICAN MERGANSER. 25 in. (Merganser americanus. 129.) Black; rump and tail, ashy gray; head, throat and upper part of neck, greenish black; wing, _largely white_, edged with black and crossed by a black bar; white below, extending around the neck in a narrow collar; long red bill tipped with black; eye, red; shows salmon tinge below in flight. Female: Ashy-gray, with sharply defined brown head and neck and a pale salmon or brownish tinge across upper breast; _throat_, _white_; wings largely dark with a white patch; small crest on back of neck; feet orange; eye yellow; rare; "pursues and catches food under water." *American Golden-eye. *Red-breasted Merganser. 123. RED-BREASTED MERGANSER. 22 in. (Merganser serrator. 130.) Long ragged crest; head and neck black; broad white collar; broad cinnamon band streaked with black across the breast, otherwise white below, showing salmon tinge in flight; wing largely white, edged and barred twice with black; eye and bill, red. Female: Back and wings dark gray turning to brown on head and neck; much paler on sides of neck and throat and gray across breast; crest, less prominent; white wing-patch; common. *American Merganser. 124. HOODED MERGANSER. 18 in. (Lophodytes cucullatus. 131.) Black, including throat and neck; large, circular crest, white, bordered with black; white below running up in front of the wings in two points; sides brownish, finely lined with black; white wing-patch, crossed by black bar; also lengthwise white streaks on end of wings; _short_ black bill; eye yellow. Female: Grayish-brown; throat white; crest small; sides unmarked. *Buffle-head. 125. MALLARD. 23 in. (Anas boschas. 132.) Head, throat and neck glossy green; _narrow_ white collar; breast, rich brown; back, dark brownish; underparts, silver-gray; tail white, set off by black feathers which curl up from either side of the black rump; wing-patch purple, bordered on either side with a black and then a white bar. Female: Buffy-brown and black; much streaked and speckled; lighter on throat; shows wing-patch as in male; common. 126. GREEN-WINGED TEAL. 14-1/2 in. (Nettion carolinensis. 139.) Gray, finely lined on sides and shoulders with black; _white bar in front of wing_; head, including throat, brown with a broad green stripe from eye to back of head, ending in a small tuft; wings, gray-brown with brilliant green and black wing-patch, bordered by buffy bars; breast very pale reddish-brown, speckled with round black spots; buffy patches on sides of tail; white belly. Female: Mottled brown; top of head and back of neck dark brown; sides of head and neck buff-colored and finely streaked; throat buff, unmarked; no green on head nor white bar in front of wings; wing-patch as in male, but smaller. *Blue-winged Teal. 127. BLUE-WINGED TEAL. 15 in. (Querquedula discors. 140.) Back and underparts thickly mottled brownish and black, lightest below; head slaty, showing purplish gloss; a conspicuous crescent-shaped white stripe in front of eye; _shows blue_ on bend of wing, followed by a white bar and a bright green wing-patch; white patch on sides of tail; bill black. Female: Dusky-brown; black on top of head; streaked and whitish on neck and sides of head; throat and about base of bill, _white_; back and underparts, mottled and spotted; wing shows blue but no green; white bars on head are wanting. *Green-winged Teal. 128. PINTAIL. 27 in. (Dafila acuta. 143.) Head, including throat, brown, darkest on top; long, swan-like neck, black above, finely waved white and dusky on back and sides; _long middle tail feathers_, black; white below with a conspicuous curved white stripe running up sides of neck to head and ending in a point; bronzy patch on wings. Female: Tail much shorter but pointed; dusky, everywhere streaked; no white stripe on neck; whitish wing-bars; smaller than male. *Old-squaw. 129. WOOD DUCK. 18 in. (Aix sponsa. 144.) Highly variegated; long, smooth, glossy crest, showing green and purple iridescence and marked by two very narrow white parallel lines, curving from bill and behind eye almost to end of crest; throat white, extending irregularly in two stripes, one up behind eye, the other nearly around neck; breast, glossy brown, spotted with white and set off on either side by a conspicuous white stripe bordered with black; wings highly iridescent, marked by green patch bordered with white. Female: Much duller and less conspicuously marked; head brownish-gray, slightly crested showing greenish tints; throat and line extending from it around base of bill, with space about eye, white. 130. REDHEAD. 20 in. (Aythya americana. 146.) Puffy head and _upper_ part of neck and throat, bright reddish brown; breast and upper part of back with rump, _black_; belly white; middle back and _sides_ evenly and finely waved black and white, _which shows gray at a distance_. Female: Grayish-brown, almost white on throat; brown on head, light brown on neck. *Canvas-back. 131. LESSER SCAUP DUCK. 16 in. (Aythya affinis. 149.) Head, neck and breast black, showing _purple_ reflections on head; back black and white, very narrowly barred; upper parts of wings dark, finely mottled with white; lower part of wing brownish-black, showing a small white patch; lower breast and belly white; bill, bluish, tipped with black. Female: Black replaced by brown, lighter on head; region around bill white. *Female Redhead, easily confused with female Lesser Scaup. 132. AMERICAN GOLDEN-EYE. 19 in. (Clangula americana. 151.) Black, glossed with green; white below, extending around the neck in a collar; head bunchy, slightly crested and marked _below eye_ and just back of eye by a nearly oval _white spot_; wings largely white; short bill. Female: Brown, snuff-colored on head; white collar; white wing patch; band of bluish gray across breast and down sides. *American Merganser. 133. BUFFLE-HEAD. 15 in. (Charitonetta albeola. 153.) Head, throat and upper neck, iridescent black; conspicuous black crest broadly banded with white over head from eye to eye; back black, ashy on tail; wings black with a very large white patch; _collar and entire under parts, white_. Female: Smaller; brownish, lighter below with no crest and only a white patch on cheeks and a small white wing patch. *Hooded Merganser. 134. OLD-SQUAW. 21 in. (Harelda hiemalis. 154.) Winter Plumage: Back, long tail-feathers and breast with conspicuous _patch on sides of neck_, black; throat and upper breast, top of head, neck and belly, white; cheeks grayish-brown; wings black and gray; bill crossed by yellowish band. Female: Dark brown, lighter on head, grayish on tail; throat, breast and region about the eye, gray-white; below white, brown on lower part of throat; no long tail-feathers; smaller than male. Summer Plumage: Head and neck, dusky black; grayish-white on sides of head, and female shows more brown. *Pintail. 135. CANADA GOOSE. 40 in. (Branta canadensis. 172.) Head and neck, black with white throat-patch extending up to and just behind eye; brownish-gray marked with lighter, darkest on back; rump and tail, black above and white below; fly after a leader in harrow-shaped ranks, often high up, crying, "honk, honk, honk." 136. AMERICAN BITTERN. 30 in. (Botaurus lentiginosus. 190.) Streaky tawny- and dark-brown; tawny-yellowish below, mixed with white and streaked with dark brown; conspicuous black streak on sides of neck; short brown tail; breast feathers loose and baggy; yellow eye; call, loud resounding squawk or booming notes which have given it the common name of "stake-driver." 137. LEAST BITTERN. 13 in. (Ardetta exilis. 191.) Crown, with back, tail and upper half of wings, shining greenish-black; rest of wing shows buff and bright chestnut; throat and baggy breast, whitish, shading into yellowish-brown on sides of neck, and chestnut on back of neck; buffy white below; tufts of dark feathers on either side of breast; yellow eye. *Green Heron. 138. GREEN HERON. 17 in. (Butorides virescens. 201.) Wings and back dark green, latter tinged with blue-gray; crown, greenish-black; neck and breast, rich reddish brown; throat and line down middle of neck to breast whitish, ending in light streaks on breast; the smallest heron; carries neck curved in flight; squawking note, "scow." *Least Bittern. 139. SORA. 8-1/2 in. (Porzana carolina. 214.) Olive-brown with lengthwise markings of black and some white; short tail turned up, showing buffy white underside; sides _barred_ posteriorily with white; front of head and _throat, black_; slaty line over eye; sides of neck and breast, grayish slate; bill _short and yellowish_; legs long. Young: No black; throat whitish and brown on breast; very stealthy; skulks and crouches in grass. 140. AMERICAN COOT. 15 in. (Fulica americana. 221.) Smooth blackish slate color, lighter below and black on head and neck; white bill shows _dark marks near the tip_; turned up tail; white underneath; wing edged with white; eye red; young show white below and no marks on bill; toes with scalloped edges. May be mistaken for a small duck. 141. AMERICAN WOODCOCK. 10-1/2 in. (Philohela minor. 228.) Black, mixed black and rusty slate; below reddish-brown, no markings; _large_ head with short neck and _very long straight bill_; eye set _high up and far back_; crown barred crosswise with black and rusty; short tail; burrows in soft mud for earthworms; nocturnal. 142. SEMI-PALMATED SANDPIPER. 6 in. (Ereunetes pusillus. 246.) Grayish-brown, marked with black and buffy; rump very dark; tail tapering; underparts _pure white_, slightly tinged and streaked across breast; white line over eye and dusky line beneath; note, "peep-peep." *Other Sandpipers. 143. SOLITARY SANDPIPER. 8-1/2 in. (Helodromas solitarius. 256.) Back, dusky olive-brown, _finely spotted with white_; crown and back of neck showing dark streaks; white below, throat unmarked; sides of head and neck with breast slightly buffy and _distinctly streaked_; sides lightly barred; wings dark brown with one narrow white wing-bar; middle of tail very dark; outer feathers _white, barred with black_; note, a soft whistle. *Spotted Sandpiper. 144. SPOTTED SANDPIPER. 7-1/2 in. (Actitis macularia. 263.) Greenish-ash marked lightly with black; _long white line over eye_; pure white below everywhere with dark round spots; wings brownish, marked broadly with white bar; flies close to the water with wings full-spread, showing white wing-bar; note, penetrating "pee-weet, weet;" walks with tilting motion. *Solitary Sandpiper. 145. KILLDEER. 10 in. (Oxyechus vociferus. 273.) Gray-brown; rump rusty-brown; tail rather long; white below; white collar followed by a black collar, and a _black band across breast_; forehead, line over eye and wing-bar, white; bill black; runs very swiftly; note, loud and persistent "kill-dee" often heard high overhead. Explanation of Chart. The "height of the migration" usually comes during the second or third week in May. This chart makes a comparison of the observations of six years graphic. For instance, the largest number of different species seen on any one morning in 1903 was 68 (May 12), while in 1901 it was 48 (May 16). The sudden rise or fall in the migration may also be seen at a glance. May 9, 1899, for example, only 16 different species were observed and May 10 the record was 40. Similarly, in 1901, the number of species seen May 17 dropped from 45 to 15 in three days. A chart showing the number of different kinds of birds seen in _LINCOLN PARK_ during the _HEIGHT OF THE MIGRATION_ Note to Key. In response to many demands, the following simple field-key has been devised, to the end that the beginner may be aided in learning to observe correctly those points about a bird that appear most conspicuous in the field or which are particularly distinctive. Technical analyses and measurements have not been employed, but instead, the birds are roughly placed in three groups according to size, the Robin and English Sparrow marking respectively the 10-inch and 6-inch lines of division. The first part of the key deals with _general_ differences in color and markings, while the second seeks to emphasize the most noteworthy _special_ points which distinguish the different species. Incidentally a few striking peculiarities of bill, wings and tail have been included. It will readily be seen that a key embracing so little cannot do more than reduce wild guessing to a few reasonable chances in identifying a strange bird. Some practice is of course necessary to enable the student to use the key readily. Its helpfulness will largely depend upon accuracy of observation and a careful application of the points which it suggests. Shore and water birds have been omitted--first, in order to keep the key as simple as possible; second, because quite full descriptions of these birds are given in the "Particular Hints;" and, third, for the reason that beginners, as a rule, meet with far better success by becoming familiar with the common land birds before attempting the study of water and shore birds. EXPLANATIONS. 1. The heading, "Dull Colors," includes all shades of gray or olive, very dull dark-brown and black not showing conspicuous iridescence. Birds in this group are very rarely streaked or spotted, never barred and seldom show any trace of bright colors. 2. To make the key compact and to avoid referring to the index the birds are indicated by their respective numbers as given under "Particular Hints." 3. Females differing greatly _in coloration_ from the males are denoted by heavy figures. Differences in markings are taken into account only when the female is particularly obscure or liable to be mistaken for another species. 4. Every bird appears once under the first six general headings, and a few twice, some of which come under apparently contradictory headings in order to cover incomplete as well as complete observations. For example, the _Robin_ has a streaked throat and the _Fox Sparrow_ an indistinctly streaked back, both inconspicuous points, often overlooked in the field, yet useful if complete observations have been made. Again, the _Yellow-bellied Flycatcher_, though brighter colored than most of its kind, would scarcely be described as having either brilliant or very dull plumage, and is therefore difficult to tabulate exclusively in one place. HOW TO USE THE KEY. Two illustrations will most briefly indicate the easiest method of using the key-- _Observation:_ A dull-colored bird of medium size, nearer six inches than ten, much streaked all over, showing nothing distinctive unless a kind of spot on the breast. Turning to the key, pass by "_Bright Colors_," "_Iridescent_" and "_Dull Colors_," choosing "_Streaked, Barred or Spotted._" Not being sure of the size, it may be necessary to try all the birds between "6 and 10 inches," as well as those "less than 6 inches." Before going to so much trouble, however, pass on to "_Under Parts_" and see whether an easier approach can be made there. The sub-heading "Spot or patch on throat, sides, breast or sides of neck" looks comprehensive enough to apply, while in this case it contains fewer examples. Comparing the numbers there given with those under the first heading selected, it is found that only 10 and 23 appear in both places. On looking up 10 and 23 it is found that they refer to the _Song Sparrow_ and _Sapsucker_, two species so widely different in coloration, habits and movements that it ought not to be necessary to study the key further in order to be sure of the bird in question--namely, the _Song Sparrow_. _Observation:_ A bird in flight, pure white below, without doubt over 10 inches on account of its long tail. Not having seen the general color with any certainty, but being fairly sure of the white breast and long tail, try "Under Parts" first. Only two birds over 10 inches are given under the sub-heading "Pure white or ashy," and these are 103 and 109. Turning to "Tail," both numbers appear under "very long, sometimes keeled or forked," but only 103, the _Yellow-billed Cuckoo_, comes under "Outer tail-feathers conspicuously white or spotted." _If conspicuous tail spots had been seen_ the key would have helped to identify the bird, but the key alone cannot make up for lack of observations. The second illustration may give force to the suggestion that certain birds can be satisfactorily identified only after very careful observation and some further study. BRIGHT COLORS Streaked Barred Spotted A1 Showing Blue, blue-gray or bluish-ash A2 Showing Red, chestnut, light or reddish-brown A3 Showing Yellow, orange or buff A4 Showing conspicuous Black markings _NEVER_ Streaked Barred Spotted A5 Showing Blue, blue-gray or bluish-ash A6 Showing Red, chestnut, light or reddish-brown A7 Showing Yellow, orange or buff A8 Showing much Black IRIDESCENT B1 Showing iridescent black, blue, green or brownish DULL COLORS Few Markings C1 Sharply defined C2 Obscure D1 NO MARKINGS STREAKED BARRED OR SPOTTED ON BREAST BACK OR BOTH E1 Above and Below, rarely bright colors Plain Above E2 Heavily streaked or spotted below E3 Lightly streaked or spotted below E4 Plain Below, rarely with one conspicuous spot on breast E5 Highly Variegated F1 HOOD UNDER PARTS No Markings G1 Pure white or ashy G2 Dull colors, indistinctly shaded Few, if any, Markings G3 Distinctive red, yellow or brown Breast G4 Belly white or yellow, sharply contrasting with breast Distinctive Markings G5 A line of streaks down sides or across breast G6 Spotted, finely streaked, or throat and middle of belly plain G7 Bib, collar, or band across breast G8 Spot or patch on throat, sides, breast, or sides of neck G9 Noticeably tinged with red, yellow, buff or brownish BILL H1 Hooked, or noticeably long and sometimes curved H2 Large and stout, or noticeably short and thick H3 Used for hammering HEAD Top I1 Crested, or red crown-patch displayed at will I2 Crown conspicuously Striped I3 Distinct Cap, no line over eye I4 Distinct Cap or crown-patch, with line over, through or back of eye I5 Forehead showing black, sometimes with bar through eye Sides I6 Conspicuous line over or through eye I7 Inconspicuous but distinctive line over eye I8 Conspicuous eye-ring, or black or yellow mask I9 Distinctively marked or colored on cheeks or sides of head WINGS J1 Long and pointed J2 One or two conspicuous WING-BARS, white or yellowish J3 Spots, patches or bright markings BACK Streaked K1 Entirely streaked or mottled, no distinct cap K2 Rump plain, cap or striped crown K3 Gray or ashy about head or neck Barred and Spotted K4 Barred, including wings K5 Black and white, wings barred or spotted K6 No Markings, back and wings alike Distinctive Markings or Colors K7 Rump patch, white, yellow or brown K8 On back of neck, between shoulders, or middle of back TAIL Color L1 Outer feathers conspicuously white or spotted L2 Reddish-brown, or tipped with white or yellow L3 Markings: Barred or banded with black or white Size L4 Very long, sometimes keeled or forked L5 Very short L6 Narrow and pointed L7 Movements: Used for bracing, or, jerking or tilting motions. 10 Inches or more Between 6 and 10 Inches Less than 6 Inches BRIGHT COLORS A1 1, 22. ... 38, 66, 100, 104. A2 3, 43, 45. 13, 40, 80. 76, 89, 98. A3 5. 112. 49, 56, 66, 68, 73, 77, 104. A4 1, 5, 43. 112. 38, 56, 66, 73, 76, 77, 89, 98, 104. A5 ... 7, 44. 21, 47, 54, 83, 84, 86, 90, 93, 94, 95, 97, 113. A6 3. 7, 15, 27, 31, 41, 57, 71, 78, 87. ... A7 111. 27, 41, 61, 70, 82, 92. 53, 65, 67, 79, 84, 90, 93, 95, 97, 101, 105, 113. A8 111. 15, 27, 57, 70, 78, 87, 92. 67, 83, 101. IRIDESCENT B1 9, 35. 11, 24, 30, 44, 81. 107. DULL COLORS C1 35, 58. 2, 4, 52, 69, *87. 17, 20, 28, 72, 83. C2 103, 109, *111. *11, 14, *24, *31, 75, *78, *81, 91. 28, 59, 63, *67, 85, *94, 96 NO MARKINGS D1 6. *11, 14, *24, *71, 81. 59, *65, 85, *94. STREAKED BARRED OR SPOTTED ON BREAST BACK OR BOTH E1 18, *33, 43. 10, 13, 23, *27, 37, *40, *80, *92, 99, 108. 8, 36, 46, 50, 55, 77, 102, 106. E2 *43, 45. 13, 26, 60, 62, 64, 74, 110. 51, 104. E3 33. 42, *81. 49, 68, *104. E4 5. 12, 16, 29, 32, 48, 112, 114. 19, 25, 34, 39, 88. E5 ... 80. 38, 56, 66, 73, 76, 77, 89, 98, 100. HOOD F1 111. 11, 57, 70, 87. 95, 101. UNDER PARTS G1 103, 109. 16, 29, 30, 48, 69, 75. 19, 21, 34, 85. G2 1, 58. 2, 14, *24, *70, *87, 91. 17, 20, 25, 28, 39, 47, 63, 88, 96. G3 3, 5. 7, 44, 82, 112. 53, 65, 79, 84, 95, 101, 105. G4 ... 4, 15, 61, 82. 79, 83, 97, 113. G5 ... 23. 38, 66, 73, 98, 100, 102, 104. G6 43. 62, 64. 50. G7 22. 4, 15, 99, 108. 56, 83, 89, 90, 100, 101, 106. G8 5, 18. 10, 12, 23, 32, 80, 112. 76, 93, 97, 107. G9 ... 23, 40, 60, 114. 25, 36, 49, *53, 54, 72, 86, 106. BILL H1 33, 43, 45, 103, 109. 2. 19, 88, 107 H2 ... 11, 31, 40, 80. 67. H3 18. 16, 23, 29, *57, 114. ... HEAD I1 1, 22. 31, 41, 61, 69. 28. I2 ... 32, 48, 74. 17, 55. I3 ... 52, 114. 20, 21, 67, 89, 102, 105. I4 ... 12. 25, 34, 38, 49, 54, 93, 98. I5 ... 31, 41. 39, 47, 65, 89. I6 5. 2, 16, 29, 32, 62, 82, 112. 47, 51, 53, 56, 66, *77, 79, 88. I7 *111. 24, 75. 8, 96, *100. I8 ... 60. 20, 65, 72, 79, 84, 86, 101, 113. I9 35, 43. 110, 114. 20, 49, 50, 73, 77, 89, 93, 100, 102. WINGS J1 ... 30, 44, 81, 99, 108. 59. J2 45. 12, 48, 70, *87, 91. 19, 28, 53, 56, 63, 67, 72, 79, 86, 89, 90, 98, 100, 102. J3 58, 111. 2, 15, 27, 57, 80, 108. 66, 76, 83, 93. BACK K1 *5. 10, 37, *40, *80, *92, 99, 108. 8, 50, 55, 106. K2 ... 32. 19, 54, 58, 73, 77, 102. K3 ... 12, 48, 112. 25, 39. K4 18, *43. 114. 36, 46. K5 ... 16, 23, 29. ... K6 3, 6, 9, 35, 109. 4, 7, 11, 14, 26, 42, 60, 62, 20, 51, 54, 59, 65, 84, 85, 96, 97, 64, 74, 75, 81, 82, 110. 101, 104, 105, 113. K7 18, 33. 80. 38, 66, 77, 88. K8 18. 16, 23, 29, 114. 50, 88, 90. TAIL L1 3, 5, 22, 58, 103. 2, 4, 15, 29, 37. 38, 47, 49, 53, 56, 76, 89, 100. L2 1, 35. 13, 26, 41, 61, 69. ... L3 1, 33, 43. 16, 23, 114. 36, 46, 66, 88. L4 9, 35, 45, 103, 109. 44. 19, 47. L5 ... ... 21, 36, 54, 59, 107. L6 35. ... 8, 50. L7 18. 16, 23, 29, 57, 62, 74, 114. 19, 49, 51. Glossary. *Barred--Marked with transverse lines. *Bib--Whole throat, with upper breast of same color, sharply defined. *Cap--Entire top of head defined by an oval patch of distinct and contrasting color. *Crest--A tuft of feathers carried erect on top or back of head. *Crown-patch--Smaller and less sharply defined than cap. *Hood--Whole head and neck all around of same color. *Mask--Forehead, together with broad stripe through eye, of same color. *Mottled--Colors and markings blended in no distinct patterns. *Patch--An oddly-shaped and conspicuous mark, never round. *Rump--The extreme lower portion of the back next the tail (easily seen in flight). *Spotted--Marked with nearly round spots or one irregular spot. *Streaked--Marked with _longitudinal_ lines or streaks. *Variegated--Showing a variety of colors and markings. *Wing-Bar--A line, usually white, running obliquely across wing. Supplementary List. Note.--Owing to the impossibility of determining what additional species are most likely to stray into a city park, the following list has been made to include certain species known to occur in Cook County, Illinois, some of which are of common occurrence in the vicinity of Chicago but have not yet been seen in Lincoln Park by the authors: Red-throated Loon (Gavin lumme. 11.) Glaucous Gull. (Larus glaucus. 42.) Franklin Gull. (Larus franklinii. 59.) Forster Tern. (Sterna forsteri. 69.) Black Tern. (Hydrochelidon nigra surinamensis. 77.) Shoveller. (Spatula clypeata. 142.) American Scaup Duck. (Aythya marila. 148.) Ring-necked Duck. (Aythya collaris. 150.) Great Blue Heron. (Ardea herodias. 194.) Black-crowned Night Heron. (Nycticorax nycticorax nævius. 202.) King Rail (Rallus elegans. 208.) Virginia Rail. (Rallus virginianus. 212.) Wilson Snipe. (Gallinago delicata. 230.) Pectoral Sandpiper. (Actrodramas maculata. 239.) Least Sandpiper. (Actrodramas minutilla. 242.) Greater Yellow-legs. (Totanus melanoleucus. 254.) Yellow-legs. (Totanus flavipes. 255.) Bartramian Sandpiper. (Bartramia longicauda. 261.) Black-bellied Plover. (Squatarola squatarola. 270.) American Golden Plover. (Charadrius dominicus. 272.) Sharp-shinned Hawk. (Accipiter velox. 332.) Cooper Hawk. (Accipiter cooperi. 333.) Red-tailed Hawk. (Buteo borealis. 337.) Red-shouldered Hawk. (Buteo lineatus. 339.) Broad-winged Hawk. (Buteo platypterus. 343.) American Rough-legged Hawk. (Archibuteo lagopus sancti-johannis. 347a.) Pigeon Hawk. (Falco columbarius. 357.) Short-eared Owl. (Asio accipitrinus. 367.) Barred Owl. (Syrnium varium. 368.) Saw-whet Owl. (Nyctala acadia. 372.) Screech Owl. (Megascops asio. 373.) Acadian Flycatcher. (Empidonax virescens. 465.) Traill Flycatcher. (Empidonax traillii. 466.) Prairie Horned Lark. (Otocoris alpestris praticola. 474b.) Evening Grosbeak. (Hesperiphona vespertina. 514.) Redpoll. (Acanthis linaria. 528.) Snowflake. (Passerina nivalis. 534.) Lapland Longspur. (Calcarius lapponicus. 536.) Grasshopper Sparrow. (Coturniculus savannarum passerinus. 546.) Eave Swallow. (Petrochelidon lunifrons. 612.) Bank Swallow. (Riparia riparia. 616.) Northern Shrike. (Lanius borealis. 621.) White-rumped Shrike. (Lanius ludovicianus excubitorides. 622a.) Philadelphia Vireo. (Vireo philadelphicus. 626.) White-eyed Vireo. (Vireo noveboracensis. 631.) Blue-winged Warbler. (Helminthophila pinus. 641.) Orange-crowned Warbler. (Helminthophila celata. 646.) Water-Thrush. (Seiurus noveboracensis. 675.) American Pipit. (Anthus pensilvanicus. 697.) Short-billed Marsh Wren. (Cistothorus stellaris. 724.) Tufted Titmouse. (Bæolophus bicolor. 731.) Index of Common Names. Page Bittern, American, 50 Least, 50 Blackbird, Red-winged, 16 Rusty, 15 Yellow-headed, 31 Bluebird, 12 Bobolink, 27 Buffle-head, 49 Bunting, Indigo, 28 Cardinal, 16 Catbird, 20 Chat, Yellow-breasted, 26 Chickadee, 14 Coot, American, 51 Cowbird, 13 Creeper, Black and White, 21 Brown, 14 Crow, 12 Cuckoo, Black-billed, 30 Yellow-billed, 29 Dickcissel, 31 Dove, Mourning, 17 Duck, Lesser Scaup, 49 Wood, 48 Finch, Purple, 18 Flicker, 14 Flycatcher, Great-crested, 22 Least, 22 Yellow-bellied, 24 Gnatcatcher, Blue-gray, 19 Golden-eye, American, 49 Goldfinch, American, 23 Goose, Canada, 50 Grackle, Bronzed, 12 Grebe, Horned, 44 Pied-billed, 44 Grosbeak, Rose-breasted, 25 Gull, American Herring, 45 Bonaparte, 45 Ring-billed, 45 Hawk, American Sparrow, 18 Marsh, 17 Heron, Green, 50 Hummingbird, Ruby-throated, 30 Jay, Blue, 11 Junco, 12 Killdeer, 52 Kingbird, 23 Kingfisher, Belted, 15 Kinglet, Golden-crowned, 14 Ruby-crowned, 16 Loon, 44 Mallard, 47 Martin, Purple, 25 Meadowlark, 12 Merganser, American, 46 Hooded, 46 Red-breasted, 46 Mockingbird, 21 Nighthawk, 30 Nuthatch, Red-breasted, 20 White-breasted, 15 Old-squaw, 49 Oriole, Baltimore, 23 Orchard, 27 Ovenbird, 24 Pewee, Wood, 27 Phoebe, 13 Pintail, 48 Redhead, 48 Redstart, American, 24 Robin, 11 Sandpiper, Semi-palmated, 51 Solitary, 52 Spotted, 52 Sapsucker, Yellow-bellied, 15 Shrike, Loggerhead, 11 Sora, 51 Sparrow, Chipping, 17 Field, 15 Fox, 13 Henslow, 20 Lincoln, 30 Savanna, 12 Song, 13 Swamp, 18 Tree, 13 Vesper, 17 White-crowned, 19 White-throated, 16 Swallow, Barn, 18 Tree, 16 Swift, Chimney, 21 Tanager, Scarlet, 25 Summer, 23 Teal, Blue-winged, 47 Green-winged, 47 Tern, Common, 45 Thrasher, Brown, 19 Thrush, Gray-cheeked, 31 Hermit, 15 Olive-backed, 21 Wilson, 18 Wood, 22 Towhee, 13 Vireo, Blue-headed, 26 Red-eyed, 24 Warbling, 26 Yellow-throated, 25 Warbler, Bay-breasted, 27 Blackburnian, 24 Black-poll, 29 Black-throated Blue, 26 Black-throated Green, 21 Blue Golden-winged, 28 Canadian, 30 Cape May, 25 Cerulean, 29 Chestnut-sided, 28 Connecticut, 31 Hooded, 29 Magnolia, 23 Mourning, 28 Myrtle, 17 Nashville, 26 Palm, 19 Parula, 27 Pine, 20 Prothonotary, 28 Tennessee, 28 Wilson Black-cap, 30 Yellow, 23 Water-Thrush, Grinnell, 20 Louisiana, 22 Waxwing, Cedar, 18 Whip-poor-will, 29 Woodcock, American, 51 Woodpecker, Downy, 14 Hairy, 16 Red-bellied, 31 Red-headed, 21 Wren, House, 19 Long-billed Marsh, 27 Winter, 17 Yellow-throat, Western, 22 Colored plates, 7-1/2 x 9-1/2 inches in size, of all the birds mentioned in this little book, except numbers 50, 53, 61, 63, 105, 106, 113, 115, 122, 142 and 143, will be sent by the publishers at 2 cents each, or a portfolio of 134 pictures for $2.00. Both book and pictures, if ordered together, $2.25. A. W. Mumford & Company, Publishers 378 Wabash Avenue Chicago, Ill. Transcriber's notes to the Electronic Edition --Spelling, capitalization, and punctuation of bird names was made consistent (_e.g._, "Redhead" _vs._ "Red-head" _vs._ "Redheaded"). All spelling changes were justified by usage elsewhere in the text. Unambiguous abbreviated names ("American Sparrow Hawk" _vs._ "Sparrow Hawk") were not changed. --Note that the "Yellow Warbler" is also once called "Summer Warbler". --The "Canvas-back Duck" was, apparently unintentionally, omitted from the bird list, but is referenced several times in the text. --Two tables, the "Identification Key" and "Tables of Arrival", were reformatted for vertical scrolling. --In the ASCII text file, an * (asterisk) indicates that the following bird name or number was printed in *bold font. 
26561	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 26561-h.htm or 26561-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/6/5/6/26561/26561-h/26561-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/6/5/6/26561/26561-h.zip) THE STORY OF A COMMON SOLDIER OF ARMY LIFE IN THE CIVIL WAR 1861-1865 Second Edition by LEANDER STILLWELL Late of Co. D, 61st Illinois Infantry [Illustration: JUDGE LEANDER STILLWELL December, 1909.] Franklin Hudson Publishing Co. 1920 Copyright 1920 by Leander Stillwell DEDICATED TO MY YOUNGEST SON, JEREMIAH E. STILLWELL. DEAR JERRY: You have earnestly asked me to write something in the nature of an extended account of my career as a soldier in the Union army during the Civil War. It will be a rather strenuous undertaking for a man of my age. I shall be seventy-three years old in about three months, and the truth is, I am now becoming somewhat indolent, and averse to labor of any kind, either mental or physical. But I have concluded to comply with your request, and undertake the work. Whether I shall complete it, or not, I cannot now positively say, but I will do the best I can. And I will also say, for whatever you may think it worth, that YOU are the only person, now living, whose request could induce me to undertake the sketch that you desire. L. STILLWELL. Erie, Kansas, July 3, 1916. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I.--The Beginning of the War. Life at Camp Carrollton, January and February, 1862 9 CHAPTER II.--Benton Barracks. St. Louis, March, 1862 22 CHAPTER III.--Off for the Seat of War. The Battle of Shiloh. March and April, 1862 30 CHAPTER IV.--Some Incidents of the Battle of Shiloh 54 CHAPTER V.--The Siege of Corinth. In Camp at Owl Creek. April and May, 1862 69 CHAPTER VI.--Bethel. Jackson. June and July, 1862 78 CHAPTER VII.--Bolivar. July, August, and September, 1862 90 CHAPTER VIII.--Bolivar. The Movement to the Vicinity of Iuka, Mississippi. September-December, 1862 98 CHAPTER IX.--The Affair at Salem Cemetery. Jackson, Carroll Station. December, 1862, January, 1863. Bolivar. February-May, 1863 114 CHAPTER X.--The Siege of Vicksburg. June and July, 1863 133 CHAPTER XI.--Helena, Arkansas. Life in a Hospital. August, 1863 149 CHAPTER XII.--Devall's Bluff. Little Rock. August-October, 1863 157 CHAPTER XIII.--Little Rock, October, 1863. Granted a Furlough. Chaplain B. B. Hamilton. The Journey on Furlough from Little Rock to Jersey County, Illinois. Return to Regiment, November, 1863 165 CHAPTER XIV.--Little Rock. Winter of 1863-4. Re-enlist for Three Years More 182 CHAPTER XV.--Little Rock. Expeditions to Augusta and Springfield. March, April, and May, 1864 190 CHAPTER XVI.--Devall's Bluff; The Clarendon Expedition. June and July, 1864 203 CHAPTER XVII.--Devall's Bluff Grand Reviews and Inspections. Surgeon J. P. Anthony. Private Press Allender. June and July, 1864 209 CHAPTER XVIII.--The Regiment Goes Home on Veteran Furlough. Interview with General W. T. Sherman After the War. A Short Tour of Soldiering at Chester, Illinois. August, September, and October, 1864 216 CHAPTER XIX.--Expedition to North Missouri. Back in Tennessee Once More. Murfreesboro. October and November, 1864 225 CHAPTER XX.--The Affair at Overall's Creek. Murfreesboro. December, 1864 233 CHAPTER XXI.--The Battle of Wilkinson's Pike. December 7, 1864 238 CHAPTER XXII.--The Fight on the Railroad Near Murfreesboro, December 15, 1864 247 CHAPTER XXIII.--Murfreesboro. Winter of 1864-1865. Franklin. Spring and Summer of 1865 258 CHAPTER XXIV.--The Soldier's Pay; Rations; Allusions to Some of the Useful Lessons Learned by Service in the Army in Time of War; Courage in Battle 265 CHAPTER XXV.--Franklin, Summer of 1865. Mustered Out, September 8, 1865. Receive Final Payment at Springfield, Illinois, September 27, 1865. The Regiment "Breaks Ranks" Forever 275 PREFACE. When I began writing these reminiscences it did not occur to me that anything in the nature of a preface was necessary. It was thought that the dedication to my son Jerry contained sufficient explanation. But I have now finished writing these recollections, and in view of all that they set forth, I believe that a few brief prefatory remarks may now be appropriate. In the first place it will be said that when I began the work it was only to gratify my son, and without any thought or expectation that it would ever be published. I don't know yet that such will be done, but it may happen. The thought occurred to me after I had written some part of it, and it is possible that about at that point some change began to take place in the style, and phraseology, and which perhaps may be observed. So much for that. Next I will say that all statements of fact herein made, based upon my own knowledge, can be relied on as absolutely true. My mother most carefully preserved the letters I wrote home from the army to her and to my father. She died on February 6, 1894, and thereafter my father (who survived her only about three years) gave back to me these old letters. In writing to my parents I wrote, as a rule, a letter every week when the opportunity was afforded, and now in this undertaking with these letters before me it was easy to follow the regiment every mile of its way from Camp Carrollton in January, 1862, to Camp Butler, in September, 1865. Furthermore, on June 1, 1863, at Memphis, Tennessee, as we passed through there on our way to join Grant's army at Vicksburg, I bought a little blank book about four inches long, three inches wide, and half an inch thick. From that time until we were mustered out, I kept a sort of very brief diary in this little book, and have it yet. The old letters and this book have been invaluable to me in writing my recollections, and having been written at or near the time of the happening of the events they mention, can be relied on as accurate and truthful. Though I attained the rank of a commissioned officer while in the service, yet that did not occur until near the end of my time, and after the war was over. So it is submitted that the title given these sketches, "The Story of a Common Soldier," is warranted by the facts. If this manuscript should ever be published, it will go to the world without any apology or commendation from me whatever. It is, though, only fair to say that I make no pretensions to being a "literary" man. This is simply the story of a common soldier who served in the army during the great war, and who faithfully tried to do his duty. L. STILLWELL. December 30, 1916. CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF THE WAR. LIFE AT CAMP CARROLLTON, JANUARY AND FEBRUARY, 1862. I was born September 16, 1843, on a farm, in Otter Creek precinct, Jersey County, Illinois. I was living with my parents, in the little old log house where I was born, when the Civil war began. The Confederates fired on Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861, and thus commenced the war. On April 15, 1861, President Lincoln issued a call for 75,000 men, to aid in putting down the existing rebellion. Illinois promptly furnished her quota, and in addition, thousands of men were turned away, for the reason that the complement of the State was complete, and there was no room for them. The soldiers under this call were mustered in for three months' service only, for the government then seemed to be of the opinion that the troubles would be over by the end of that time. But on May 3, 1861, Mr. Lincoln issued another call for volunteers, the number specified being a little over 42,000, and their term of service was fixed at three years, unless sooner discharged. The same call provided for a substantial increase in the regular army and navy. I did not enlist under either of these calls. As above stated, the belief then was almost universal throughout the North that the "war" would amount to nothing much but a summer frolic, and would be over by the 4th of July. We had the utmost confidence that Richmond would be taken by that time, and that Jeff Davis and his cabinet would be prisoners, or fugitives. But the battle of Bull Run, fought on July 21, 1861, gave the loyal people of the Nation a terrible awakening. The result of this battle was a crushing disappointment and a bitter mortification to all the friends of the Union. They realized then that a long and bloody struggle was before them. But Bull Run was probably all for the best. Had it been a Union victory, and the Rebellion then been crushed, negro slavery would have been retained, and the "irrepressible conflict" would have been fought out likely in your time, with doubtless tenfold the loss of life and limb that ensued in the war of the sixties. The day after the battle of Bull Run Congress passed a law authorizing Mr. Lincoln to call for five hundred thousand three-years volunteers. It was under this law, supplemented by authority from the Secretary of War, that the regiment was organized in which I subsequently enlisted. I was then only a boy, but somehow I felt that the war was going to be a long one, and that it was the duty of every young fellow of the requisite physical ability to "go for a soldier," and help save the Nation. I had some talk with my father on the subject. He was a strong Union man, and in sympathy with my feelings, but I could see that naturally he dreaded the idea of his boy going to the war, with the result that maybe he would be killed, or come home a cripple for life. But I gave him to understand that when they began organizing a regiment in our vicinity, and which would contain a fair proportion of my neighbor boys and acquaintances, I intended then to volunteer. It was simply intolerable to think that I could stay at home, among the girls, and be pointed at by the soldier boys as a stay-at-home coward. The work of organizing and recruiting for a regiment in our corner of the State began early in the autumn of 1861. The various counties in that immediate locality were overwhelmingly Democratic in politics, and many of the people were strong "Southern sympathizers," as they were then called, and who later developed into virulent Copperheads and Knights of the Golden Circle. Probably 90 per cent of the inhabitants of Greene, Jersey, Scott, Morgan, and adjoining counties came from the Southern States, or were the direct descendants of people from that part of the country. Kentuckians, Tennesseeans, and North and South Carolinians were especially numerous. But it is only fair and the truth to say that many of the most prominent and dangerous of this Copperhead element were men from remote Eastern States. What caused these persons to pursue this shameful course I do not know. President Lincoln was personally well aware of these political conditions in our locality, as his old home, at Springfield, the State Capital, was not far away, and he doubtless knew every man of reasonable prominence in our entire Congressional District. He wanted soldiers, regardless of politics, but it was necessary, in that locality, to hold out some special inducements to his constituents of the Democratic faith. So, for that reason, (with others,) as was well understood at the time, Gen. Jacob Fry of Greene County, a Kentuckian by birth and a life-long Democrat, was selected as the one to recruit and organize, and to be the colonel of the regiment to be raised from the counties above named and their vicinity. Aside from the political consideration, this selection of Gen. Fry was regarded at the time as a very good and appropriate one. He was an old-timer, having been a resident of Greene county from his boyhood, had been sheriff of the county, and had held other responsible offices. And, what was considered still more important, he had served with credit and distinction in the "Black Hawk War" in 1831-2, where he held the rank of Colonel. Soon after the close of this Indian disturbance, he was made Brigadier-General, and subsequently Major-General, of the Illinois militia. He was a grand old man, of temperate habits, strict integrity, and unflinching bravery. But he was sixty-two years old, and that proved to be a handicap that eventually resulted in his resignation, as will appear later. The Fair Grounds, about half a mile east of Carrollton, the county seat of Greene County, were designated as the "Camp of Instruction" for Col. Fry's regiment. Recruiting for it began about the last of September, but it proceeded very slowly. Several of the boys from my neighborhood had previously enlisted in other regiments, and it looked as if the "wiry edge" of volunteering had somewhat worn off. Co. F of the 14th Illinois Infantry had been raised almost entirely in Jersey county, and several of my old schoolmates were in that company. And there were little squads that had joined other regiments. The 22nd and the 27th Illinois Infantry and the 9th Missouri Infantry, (afterwards designated as the 59th Illinois Infantry,) each had some men and boys from our part of the county. Up in the northwest corner of Jersey County and close to the Greene county line lived an old farmer by the name of John H. Reddish. He, too, had served in the Black Hawk War, and under the command of Col. Fry. The highest position he attained in that scrap, as shown by the records, was that of corporal, but, regardless of his rank, it is entirely safe to say that he was a fighter. As soon as it was announced that Col. Fry was raising a regiment, and was to be its colonel, Uncle John Reddish forthwith took the field to recruit a company for this organization. The fact that he had been a Black Hawk war soldier gave him immense prestige, and settled in his favor the question of his military qualifications without further evidence. The truth is that at that time almost any man of good repute and fair intelligence, who had seen service in this Black Hawk racket, or the Mexican war, was regarded as fit and desirable for a commissioned officer, or, at the least, pretty high up in the non-commissioned line. But, as it afterwards turned out, that was an erroneous notion. There were exceptions, of course, but in any event, as regards the Black Hawk episode, service during it was of no practical benefit whatever to a man who became thereby an officer in the Civil war. Capt. Reddish was kind hearted, and as brave an old fellow as a reckless and indiscriminating bull dog, but, aside from his personal courage, he had no military qualities whatever, and failed to acquire any during his entire service. He never could learn the drill, except the most simple company movements. He was also very illiterate, and could barely write his name. And his commands on drill were generally laughable. For instance, in giving the command of right or left wheel, he would supplement it by saying, "Swing around, boys, just like a gate." Such directions would mortify us exceedingly, and caused the men of the other companies to laugh at and twit us about our Captain. He would have made a first-class duty sergeant, and that was as high a rank as he was capable of properly filling. But he was a good old man, and furiously patriotic. He loved a fighter and abominated a coward, and, on the whole, his men couldn't help but like him. Capt. Reddish selected for his first, or orderly sergeant, as the position was generally designated, Enoch W. Wallace, of my neighborhood. Enoch, as we usually called him, was an old acquaintance and intimate friend of my parents, and I too had known him from the time I was quite a little boy. Take him all in all, he was just one of the best men I ever knew. He had seen service as a Mexican war soldier, but owing to his youth, being only about sixteen when that war began, I think he did not get in till towards the last, and hence his service was short. But he learned something about company drill. When I heard that Wallace was to be the first sergeant of Capt. Reddish's company, I made up my mind, right then, that I would enlist in that company, and told my father I was going to do so. He listened in silence, with his eyes fixed on the ground. Finally he said, "Well, Leander, if you think it's your duty to go, I shall make no objection. But you're the only boy I now have at home big enough to work, so I wish you'd put it off until we get the wheat sowed, and the corn gathered. Then, if you're still of the same mind, it'll be all right." I felt satisfied that the regiment would not leave for the front until after we had done that work, so I at once consented to my father's request. [Illustration: J. O. Stillwell (Father of Leander Stillwell.)] An incident happened about this time that greatly stimulated my desire to get into the army. Harvey Edsall, a neighbor boy some four or five years my senior, had enlisted that summer in the 22nd Illinois Infantry. Harvey, with his regiment, was in the battle of Belmont on November 7, 1861, and in the action received a rather severe gun shot wound in the calf of one of his legs. As soon as he was able to stand the travel, he was sent home on furlough, and I met him soon after his arrival at his father's house, where the people had gathered to listen to "the preaching of the word" by Elder Harrison Rowden. (We had no regular church building in our immediate neighborhood then, and religious services were held at private houses.) Harvey was rapidly recovering, but his wounded leg was still swathed in bandages, and he walked on crutches. I well remember how we boys stood around and looked at him with wide-eyed admiration. And he had to tell us the story of the fight, and all about the circumstances connected with the shot he got in his leg, until he probably was sick and tired of the subject. But, for my part, I thought Harvey's story was just grand, and it somehow impressed me with the idea that the only life worth living was that of a soldier in time of war. The idea of staying at home and turning over senseless clods on the farm with the cannon thundering so close at hand that the old men said that when the wind was from the south they sometimes smelled the powder!--was simply intolerable. Remember all the time, as you read these recollections of an old man, that I am trying to give you merely some conception of the thoughts, feelings, hopes, and ambitions of one who, at the time of which I am now speaking, was only an eighteen year old boy. In the meantime, I went on helping my father do the fall work on the farm. In due time the wheat was sowed, the corn gathered, and a huge stack of firewood for winter cut and brought in, and piled near the dwelling-house. By this time the holiday season was approaching, which I wanted to spend at home, thinking, maybe, it might be the last. And the regiment was doing nothing but recruit, and drill at Camp Carrollton, and, as I looked at it, there was no special need to hurry. But Christmas and New Year's Day soon came, and went, and one evening I told my parents I intended to go to Carrollton the next day, and "maybe" would come back a soldier. Early next morning, which was Monday, January 6, 1862, I saddled and bridled Bill, the little black mule, and struck out. Carrollton was about twenty miles from our home, almost due north, and the road ran mainly through big woods, with an occasional farm on either side of the road. It is likely those woods are all gone now. I reached the camp about the middle of the afternoon, went to the quarters of Reddish's company, found Enoch Wallace, and told him I had come to enlist. He took me to Capt. Reddish, gave me a short introduction to him, and told him my business. The old Captain gave me a hearty greeting, and was so plain, kind and natural in his manner and talk, that I took a liking to him at once. He told me that the first step necessary was to be examined by the regimental surgeon as to my physical fitness, so we at once went to the surgeon's tent. I had previously heard all sorts of stories as to the thoroughness of this examination, that sometimes the prospective recruits had to strip, stark naked, and jump about, in order to show that their limbs were perfect. But I was agreeably disappointed in that regard. The surgeon, at that time, was a fat, jolly old doctor by the name of Leonidas Clemmons. I was about scared to death when the Captain presented me to him, and requested him to examine me. I reckon the good old doctor saw I was frightened, and he began laughing heartily and saying some kind things about my general appearance. He requested me to stand up straight, then gave me two or three little sort of "love taps" on the chest, turned me round, ran his hands over my shoulders, back, and limbs, laughing and talking all the time, then whirled me to the front, and rendered judgment on me as follows: "Ah, Capt. Reddish! I only wish you had a hundred such fine boys as this one! He's all right, and good for the service." I drew a long breath, and felt much relieved. Then we went to the adjutant's tent, there I signed something, and was duly sworn in. Then to the quartermaster's tent, where I drew my clothing. I got behind a big bale of stuff, took off my citizen's apparel and put on my soldier clothes then and there,--and didn't I feel proud! The clothing outfit consisted of a pair of light-blue pantaloons, similar colored overcoat with a cape to it, dark blue jacket, heavy shoes and woolen socks, an ugly, abominable cocky little cap patterned after the then French army style, gray woolen shirt, and other ordinary under-clothing. Was also given a knapsack, but I think I didn't get a haversack and canteen until later. Right here I will say that the regimental records give the date of my enlistment as the 7th of January, which is wrong. The date was the 6th. It was a day I did not forget, and never shall. How the authorities happened to get the date wrong I do not know, but it is a matter of only one day, and never was of any importance. It was the custom then in the regiment to give each recruit when he enlisted a two-days furlough, but I deferred asking for mine until the next morning. I spent that afternoon in the camp, and the night at the quarters of my company. As already stated, the camp was on the county Fair Grounds. They contained forty acres, and were thickly studded with big native trees, mainly white and black oak and shag-bark hickory. The grounds were surrounded by an inclosure seven or eight feet high, consisting of thick, native timber planks with the lower ends driven in the ground, and the upper parts firmly nailed to cross-wise stringers. There was only one opening, which was at the main gate about the center of the north side of the grounds. A line of guards was maintained at the gate and all round the inside of the inclosure, with the beat close to the fence, for the purpose of keeping the men in camp. No enlisted man could go out except on a pass signed by his captain, and approved by the colonel. The drilling of the men was conducted principally inside the grounds, but on skirmish drill we went outside, in order to have room enough. The quarters or barracks of the men were, for each company, a rather long, low structure, crudely built of native lumber and covered with clapboards and a top dressing of straw, containing two rows of bunks, one above and one below. These shacks looked like a Kansas stable of early days,--but they were abodes of comfort and luxury compared to what we frequently had later. Next morning, after an early breakfast, I pulled out for home, with my two-days furlough in my pocket. I was accompanied by John Jobson, one of Reddish's company, and who had enlisted about a month previous. He had obtained a short furlough for some purpose or other, and had hired a horse on which to make the trip. Prior to his enlistment he had been working as a farm hand for Sam Dougherty, one of our nearest neighbors, and I had become well acquainted with him. He was about twenty-five years old, of English birth, a fine, sensible young fellow, and made a good soldier. I well remember our high spirits on this journey home. We were young, glowing with health and overflowing with liveliness and animation. There was a heavy snow on the ground, but the sky was clear, and the air was keen and bracing. Occasionally, when we would strike a stretch of level road, we would loose all the buttons of our overcoats save the top one, put the gad to our steeds, and waving our caps, with our long coat tails streaming in the wind, would yell like Comanches, and "let on" that we were making a cavalry charge. I have no doubt that we believed we presented a most terror-striking appearance. Happy is man that to him the future is a sealed book. In the summer of 1863, while we were stationed near Vicksburg, Jobson was taken seriously ill, and was put on a transport to be taken to a general hospital at Mound City, Illinois. He died en route, on the boat, and was hastily buried in a sand bar at the mouth of White River. The changing currents of the mighty Mississippi have long since swallowed up that sand bar, and with it all that may have been left of the mortal remains of poor Jobson. I reached home sometime in the afternoon, relieved Bill of his equipments, put him in the stable, and fed him. No one was stirring about outside, and I walked into the house unannounced. My mother was seated in an old rocking-chair, engaged in sewing. She looked up, saw me in the uniform of a soldier, and she knew what that meant. Her work dropped in her lap, she covered her face with her hands, and the tears gushed through her fingers and she trembled in her chair with the intensity of her emotions. There was no sobbing, or other vocal manifestation of feeling, but her silence made her grief seem all the more impressive. I was distressed, and didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, and walked out into the kitchen, thence back to the barn. There I met father, who had come in from some out-door work. He looked at me gravely, but with an impassive countenance, and merely remarked, "Well, I reckon you've done right." Next morning everybody seemed more cheerful, and I had much to say at breakfast about things at Camp Carrollton. On the expiration of my furlough I promptly reported at the camp and entered on my duties as a soldier. The absorbing duty was the drill, and that was persistent, and consumed the most of the time. I knew nothing about it when I enlisted, and had never seen any except on the previous Monday afternoon. The system we then had was Hardee's Infantry Tactics. It was simple, and easily learned. The main things required were promptness, care, and close attention. All day long, somewhere in the camp, could be heard the voice of some officer, calling, "Left! left! left, right, left!" to his squad or company, to guide them in the cadence of the step. We were drilled at Carrollton in the "school of the soldier," "school of the company," and skirmish drill, with dress parade at sunset. We had no muskets, and did not receive them until we went to Benton Barracks, at St. Louis. I do not remember of our having any battalion drill at Camp Carrollton. The big trees in the fair grounds were probably too thick and numerous to permit that. Our fare consisted of light bread, coffee, fresh meat at some meals, and salt meat at others, Yankee beans, rice, onions, and Irish and sweet potatoes, with stewed dried apples occasionally for supper. The salt meat, as a rule, was pickled pork and fat side meat, which latter "table comfort" the boys called "sow-belly." We got well acquainted with that before the war was over. On the grub question I will say now that the great "stand-bys" of the Union soldiers during the war, at least those of the western armies, were coffee, sow-belly, Yankee beans, and hardtack. It took us, of course, some time to learn how to cook things properly, especially the beans, but after we had learned how, we never went back on the above named old friends. But the death of many a poor boy, especially during our first two or three months in the field, is chargeable to the bad cooking of his food. At Carrollton the jolliest time of the day was from the close of dress parade until taps sounded "Lights out." There was then a good deal of what you might call "prairie dogging," that is, the boys would run around and visit at the quarters of other companies. And Oh, how they would sing! All sorts of patriotic songs were in vogue then, and what was lacking in tone we made up in volume. The battle of Mill Springs, in Kentucky, was fought on January 19, 1862, resulting in a Union victory. A Confederate general, Felix K. Zollicoffer, was killed in the action. He had been a member of Congress from Tennessee, and was a man of prominence in the South. A song soon appeared in commemoration of this battle. It was called "The Happy Land of Canaan," and I now remember only one stanza, which is as follows: "Old Zolly's gone, And Secesh will have to mourn, For they thought he would do to depend on; But he made his last stand On the rolling Cumberland, And was sent to the happy land of Canaan." There was a ringing, rolling chorus to each verse, of course, and which was not at all germane to the text, and, moreover, as the newspapers sometimes say, is "not adapted for publication,"--so it will be omitted. Well, I can now shut my eyes and lean back in my chair and let my memory revert to that far away time, and it just seems to me that I can see and hear Nelse Hegans, of Co. C, singing that song at night in our quarters at old Camp Carrollton. He was a big, strong six-footer, about twenty-one years of age, with a deep bass voice that sounded when singing like the roll of distant thunder. And he was an all-around good fellow. Poor Nelse! He was mortally wounded by a musket ball in the neck early in the morning of the first day at Shiloh, and died a few days thereafter. The health of the boys while at Camp Carrollton was fine. There were a few cases of measles, but as I remember, none were fatal. Once I caught a bad cold, but I treated it myself with a backwoods remedy and never thought of going to the surgeon about it. I took some of the bark of a hickory tree that stood near our quarters, and made about a quart of strong hickory-bark tea. I drank it hot, and all at once, just before turning in for the night. It was green in color, and intensely bitter, but it cured the cold. A few weeks after my enlistment, I was appointed to the position of corporal. There are, or were in my time, eight corporals in an infantry company, each designated by a number, in numerical order. I was fifth. I owed this appointment to the friendship and influence of Enoch Wallace, and this was only one of the countless acts of kindness that he rendered me during my term of service. I just cannot tell you how proud I was over this modest military office. I am telling you the truth when I say that I felt more pride and pleasure in being a "Corporal of Co. D" than I ever did later in the possession of any other office, either military or civil. The boys framed up a story on me, to the effect that soon after my appointment I was seen in the rear of the company quarters, stooping over an empty barrel, with my head projected into it as far as possible, and exclaiming in a deep, guttural tone, "CORPORAL STILLWELL!" "CORPORAL STILLWELL!" This was being done, so the boys said, in order that I might personally enjoy the sound. In order to be strictly accurate, I will state that, although the appointment was made while we were at Carrollton, my official warrant was not issued until our arrival at Benton Barracks. The only thing recalled now that was sort of disagreeable at Camp Carrollton was the utter absence of privacy. Even when off duty, one couldn't get away by himself, and sit down in peace and quiet anywhere. And as for slipping off into some corner and trying to read, alone, a book or paper, the thing was impossible. To use a modern expression, there was always "something doing." Many a time after supper, on very cold nights, when the boys would all be in the barracks, singing or cutting up, I would sneak out and walk around under the big trees, with the snow crackling under my feet, for no other purpose whatever than just to be alone a while. But that condition of things changed for the better after we got down South, and were no longer cooped up in a forty acre lot. General Grant gained his great victory at Fort Donelson on February 16, 1862, and the news reached us a few days later. The boys talked about it with feelings of mingled exultation,--and mortification. Exultation, of course, over the "glorious victory," but mortification in regard to its effects and consequences on our future military career. We all thought, from the officers down, that now the war would end, that we would see no actual service, and never fire a shot. That we would be discharged, and go home just little "trundle-bed soldiers," and have to sit around and hear other sure-enough warriors tell the stories of actual war and fighting. If we only had known, we were borrowing unnecessary trouble,--as we found out later. CHAPTER II. BENTON BARRACKS. ST. LOUIS, MARCH, 1862. Sometime during the last of February, the welcome news was given out from regimental headquarters that we were soon to leave Camp Carrollton. Our first objective point was to be St. Louis, Mo., and what next nobody knew. Definite orders for the movement were issued later, and it then occurred to us that possibly all our recent apprehensions about not seeing any fighting were somewhat premature. Right here I will say that in the brief sketch of the regiment published in the reports of the Adjutant-General of the State of Illinois, the date of our leaving Carrollton is given as February 21, which is wrong. That date is either a mistake of the person who wrote that part of the sketch, or a typographical error. I have in my possession, and now lying before me, a letter I wrote to my father from Benton Barracks, of date March 2, 1862, in which the date of our arrival at St. Louis is given as February 28th. And I well know that we were only two days on the trip. And besides the date given in my letter, I distinctly remember several unwritten facts and circumstances that satisfy me beyond any doubt, that the day we left Carrollton was February 27, 1862. Early in the morning of that day, the regiment filed out at the big gate, and marched south on the dirt road. Good-bye to old Camp Carrollton! Many of the boys never saw it again, and I never have seen it since but once, which was in the summer of 1894. I was back then in Jersey county, on a sort of a visit, and was taken with a desire to run up to Carrollton and look at the old camp. There was then a railroad constructed during the last years of the war, (or about that time), running south from the town, and less than an hour's ride from Jerseyville, where I was stopping, so I got on a morning train, and, like Jonah when moved to go to Tarshish, "paid the fare and went." I found the old camp still being used as a county fair ground, and the same big trees, or the most of them, were there yet, and looked about as they did thirty-two years before. Of course, every vestige of our old barracks was gone. I stood around and looked at things awhile,--and thought--then left, and have never been there again. [Illustration: Ann Eliza Stillwell (Mother of Leander Stillwell.)] The regiment arrived at Jerseyville about sunset. The word had gone out, all through the country, that Fry's regiment was leaving for the front, and the country people had come to town, from miles around, in their farm wagons, to have one last look, and bid us good-bye. The regiment, in column by companies, company distance, marched up the main street running south, and on reaching the center of the little town, we wheeled into line, dressed on the colors, and stood at attention. The sidewalks were thronged with the country people all intently scanning the lines, each little family group anxiously looking for their boy, brother, husband or father, as the case may have been. (But right here it will be said that the overwhelming majority of the enlisted men of the regiment, and the most of the line officers, were unmarried.) I was satisfied that my parents were somewhere among the crowd of spectators, for I had specially written them as to when we would pass through Jerseyville. I was in the front rank, and kept my face rigidly fixed to the front, but glanced as best I could up and down the sidewalk, trying to locate father and mother. Suddenly I saw them, as they struggled to the edge of the walk, not more than ten feet from me. I had been somewhat dreading the meeting, and the parting that was to come. I remembered the emotion of my mother when she first saw me in my uniform, and I feared that now she might break down altogether. But there she stood, her eyes fixed on me intently, with a proud and happy smile on her face! You see, we were a magnificent-looking body of young fellows, somewhere between 800 and 900 strong. Our uniforms were clean and comparatively new, and our faces were ruddy and glowing with health. Besides the regimental colors, each company, at that time, carried a small flag, which were all fluttering in the breeze, and our regimental band was playing patriotic tunes at its best. I reckon it was a somewhat inspiring sight to country people like those who, with possibly very few exceptions, had never seen anything like that before. Anyhow, my mother was evidently content and glad to see me there, under the shadow of the flag, and going forth to fight for the old Union, instead of then being sneaking around at home, like some great hulking boys in our neighborhood who were of Copperhead sympathies and parentage. Arrangements had been made to quarter the regiment that night in different public buildings in the town, and the companies were soon marched to their respective places. Co. D had been assigned to the Baptist church, and there my parents and I met, and had our final interview. They were nine miles from home, in the old farm wagon, the roads (in the main) were through dense woods, and across ridges and hollows, the short winter day was drawing to a close and night approaching, so our farewell talk was necessarily brief. Our parting was simple and unaffected, without any display of emotion by anybody. But mother's eyes looked unusually bright, and she didn't linger after she had said, "Good-bye Leander." As for my father,--he was an old North Carolinian, born and reared among the Cherokee Indians at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains, and with him, and all other men of his type, any yielding to "womanish" feelings was looked on as almost disgraceful. His farewell words were few, and concise, and spoken in his ordinary tone and manner, he then turned on his heel, and was gone. Mother left with me a baked chicken, the same being a big, fat hen full of stuffing, rich in sage and onions; also some mince pie, old time doughnuts, and cucumber pickles. I shared it all with Bill Banfield (my chum), and we had plenty for supper and breakfast the next day, with the drum-sticks and some other outlying portions of the chicken for dinner. Early the next morning we pulled out for Alton, on the Mississippi River. But we did not have to march much that day. The country people around and near Jerseyville turned out in force with their farm wagons, and insisted on hauling us to Alton, and their invitations were accepted with pleasure. A few miles north of Alton we passed what was in those days (and may be yet) a popular and celebrated school for girls, called the "Monticello Female Seminary." The girls had heard of our coming, and were all out by the side of the road, a hundred or more, with red, white and blue ribbons in their hair and otherwise on their persons. They waved white handkerchiefs and little flags at us, and looked their sweetest. And didn't we cheer them! Well, I should say so. We stood up in the wagons, and swung our caps, and just whooped and hurrahed as long as those girls were in sight. We always treasured this incident as a bright, precious link in the chain of memory, for it was the last public manifestation, of this nature, of good-will and patriotism from girls and women that was given the regiment until we struck the soil of the State of Indiana, on our return home some months after the close of the war. We arrived at Alton about sundown, and at once marched aboard the big side-wheel steamboat, "City of Alton," which was lying at the wharf waiting for us, and guards were promptly stationed to prevent the men leaving the boat. But "some one had blundered," and no rations had been provided for our supper. We were good and hungry, too, for our dinner, at least that of Co. D, consisted only of the left-over scraps of breakfast. But the officers got busy and went up town and bought, with their own money, something for us to eat. My company was furnished a barrel of oyster crackers, called in those days "butter crackers," and our drink was river water. The novelty and excitement of the last two days had left me nerveless and tired out, and to tell the truth, I was feeling the first touch of "home-sickness." So, after supper I went up on the hurricane deck of the boat, spread my blanket on the floor, and with my knapsack for a pillow, laid down and soon fell asleep. The boat did not leave Alton until after dark, and when it pulled out, the scream of the whistle, the dashing of the paddles, and the throbbing and crash of the engines, aroused me from my slumber. I sat up and looked around and watched the lights of Alton as they twinkled and glimmered in the darkness, until they were lost to sight by a bend in the river. Then I laid down and went to sleep again, and did not wake until daylight the next morning, and found that our boat was moored to the wharf at St. Louis. We soon debarked, and marched out to Benton Barracks, which were clear out of town and beyond the suburbs. The shape of Benton Barracks, as I now remember, was a big oblong square. The barracks themselves consisted of a continuous connected row of low frame buildings, the quarters of each company being separated from the others by frame partitions, and provided with two rows of bunks around the sides and ends. At the rear of the quarters of each company was the company kitchen. It was a detached, separate frame structure, and amply provided with accommodations for cooking, including a brick furnace with openings for camp kettles, pots, boilers and the like. Both barracks and kitchen were comfortable and convenient, and greatly superior to our home-made shacks at Carrollton. The barracks inclosed a good sized tract of land, but its extent I do not now remember. This space was used for drilling and parades, and was almost entirely destitute of trees. The commander of the post, at that time, was Colonel Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, an old regular army officer, and who had been a noted western explorer in his younger days. I frequently saw him riding about the grounds. He was a little dried-up old Frenchman, and had no military look about him whatever. All the same, he was a man who had, as a soldier, done long and faithful service for his adopted country. Should you ever want to post up on him (if you have not already done so), read "Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U.S.A., in the Rocky Mountains and the Far West," by Washington Irving. You will find it deeply interesting. We remained at Benton Barracks about four weeks. Life there was monotonous and void of any special interest. We drilled but little, as I now remember, the reason for that being it rained the most of the time we were there and the drill grounds were oceans of mud. The drainage was wretched, and the most of the rain that fell stayed on the surface until the ground soaked it up. And how it did rain at Benton Barracks in March, 1862! While there, I found in some recently vacated quarters an old tattered, paper bound copy of Dickens' "Bleak House," and on those rainy days I would climb up in my bunk (an upper one), and lie there and read that book. Some of the aristocratic characters mentioned therein had a country residence called "Chesney Wold," where it seemed it always rained. To quote (in substance) from the book, "The rain was ever falling, drip, drip, drip, by day and night," at "the place in Lincolnshire." 'Twas even so at Benton Barracks. When weary of reading, I would turn and look a while through the little window at the side of my bunk that gave a view of the most of the square which the barracks inclosed. The surface of the earth was just a quagmire of mud and water, and nothing stirring abroad could be seen save occasionally a mounted orderly, splashing at a gallop across the grounds. Since then I have frequently read "Bleak House," and whenever that chapter is reached depicting the rainy weather at the Dedlock place, I can again see, and smell, and hear, and feel, those gloomy wearisome conditions at Benton Barracks of over half a century ago. I have read, somewhere in Gen. Sherman's Memoirs, a statement in substance to the effect that rain in camp has a depressing effect upon soldiers, but is enlivening to them on a march. From personal experience I know that observation to be true. Many a time while on a march we would be caught in heavy rains. The dirt road would soon be worked into a loblolly of sticky yellow mud. Thereupon we would take off our shoes and socks, tie them to the barrel of our muskets a little below the muzzle and just above the end of the stock, poise the piece on the hammer on either shoulder, stock uppermost, and roll up our breeches to the knees. Then like Tam O'Shanter, we "skelpit on through dub and mire, despising wind, and rain, and fire," and singing "John Brown's Body," or whatever else came handy. But rainy days in camp, especially such as we had at Benton Barracks, engender feelings of gloom and dejection that have to be experienced in order to be realized. They are just too wretched for any adequate description. One day while strolling around the grounds sight seeing, I fell in with a soldier who said he belonged to the 14th Wisconsin Infantry. He was some years older than me, but was quite sociable, and seemed to be a sensible, intelligent fellow. He was full of talk about his regiment,--said they were nearly all young men, big stalwart lumbermen from the pine woods of Wisconsin, and urged me to come around some evening when they were on dress parade, and look at them. I had found out by this time that almost every soldier would brag about his regiment, so allowance was made for what he said. But he excited my curiosity to see those Wisconsin boys, so one evening when I was at liberty, I did go and view them while they were on dress parade, and found that the soldier had not exaggerated. They were great, tall fellows, broad across the shoulders and chest, with big limbs. Altogether, they simply were, from a physical standpoint, the finest looking soldiers I ever saw during my entire term of service. I speak now of this incident and of these men, for the reason that later I may say something more about this 14th Wisconsin. While at Benton Barracks we were given our regimental number,--Sixty-first--and thenceforth the regiment was known and designated as the Sixty-first Illinois Infantry. We also drew our guns. We were furnished with the Austrian rifle musket. It was of medium length, with a light brown walnut stock,--and was a wicked shooter. At that time the most of the western troops were armed with foreign-made muskets, imported from Europe. Many regiments had old Belgian muskets, a heavy, cumbersome piece, and awkward and unsatisfactory every way. We were glad to get the Austrians, and were quite proud of them. We used these until June, 1863, when we turned them in and drew in lieu thereof the Springfield rifle musket of the model of 1863. It was not as heavy as the Austrian, was neater looking, and a very efficient firearm. No further change was made, and we carried the Springfield thenceforward until we were mustered out. It was also here at Benton Barracks that the mustering of the regiment into the service of the United States was completed. Ten companies, at that time, constituted a regiment of infantry, but ours had only nine. We lacked Company K, and it was not recruited, and did not join the regiment until in March, 1864. On account of our not having a full regiment, Col. Fry (as we always called him) was commissioned as Lieutenant Colonel only, which was his rank all the time he was with us, and Capt. Simon P. Ohr, of Co. A, was commissioned Major. Owing to our lack of one company, and the further fact that when that company did join us the other companies had become much depleted in numbers, the regiment therefore never had an officer of the full rank of Colonel until the summer of 1865, when it became entitled to one under the circumstances which will be stated further on. CHAPTER III. OFF FOR THE SEAT OF WAR. THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. MARCH AND APRIL, 1862. On March 25th we left Benton Barracks for the front. We marched through St. Louis and onto the steamboat that day, but from some cause I never knew, the boat did not leave the wharf until about dark the next evening. My company was quartered on the hurricane deck of the boat. Soon after the boat started down the river an incident befell me that looks somewhat comical now, but at that time it was to me a serious matter, and one that troubled my conscience a good deal. I had piled my knapsack, with the blanket strapped on the outside, and my other stuff, at the foot of the gun stack which included my musket. Suddenly I discovered, to my great consternation, that my blanket was gone! Yes, my lords and gentlemen, some "false Scot" had deliberately and feloniously appropriated my indispensable equipment for a night's repose. And a long, raw March night was coming on, and the damp and chilly air was rising, like a fog, from the cold surface of the river. All signs, too, portended a rainy night. The thunder was muttering off in the southwest, intermittent flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and scattering drops of rain were even then beginning to patter on the hurricane deck and ripple the bosom of the stream. What should I do? I must have a blanket, that was certain. But all my life the belief had been instilled into me that stealing was well-nigh the most disgraceful of all crimes, and that a thief was a most odious and contemptible wretch. Moreover, one of the ten commandments "pintedly" declared. "Thou shalt not steal." But something had to be done, and speedily. At last it occurred to me that being a soldier, and belonging for the time being to Uncle Sam, I was a species of government property, which it was my duty to protect at all hazards. That settled the question, and conscience and honesty withdrew. Without going into the demoralizing details, suffice it to say that I stole a blanket from some hapless victim belonging to another company, and thus safeguarded the health and military efficiency of a chattel of the Nation. How the other fellow got along, I don't know. I made no impertinent inquiries, and, during the day time, indefinitely thereafter, kept that blanket in my knapsack, carefully concealed from prying eyes. But it will be recorded here that this was the only act of downright larceny that I committed during my entire term of service, except the gobbling of a couple of onions, which maybe I'll mention later. Of course I helped myself many times, while on the march, or on picket, to roasting ears, sweet potatoes, apples, and the like, but that came under the head of legitimate foraging, and was sanctioned by the military authorities. The night we left St. Louis I had my first impressive object lesson showing the difference between the conditions of the commissioned officers and the enlisted men. I had spread my blanket at the base of the little structure called the "Texas," on which the pilot house stands. All around the bottom of the "Texas" was a row of small window lights that commanded a view of the interior of the boat's cabin below, and I only had to turn my head and look in and down, to see what was passing. The officers were seated in cushioned chairs, or sauntering around over the carpeted and brilliantly lighted room, while their supper was being prepared. Colored waiters dressed in white uniforms were bringing in the eatables, and when all was ready, a gong was sounded and the officers seated themselves at the table. And just look at the good things they had to eat! Fried ham and beefsteak, hot biscuits, butter, molasses, big boiled Irish potatoes steaming hot, fragrant coffee served with cream, in cups and saucers, and some minor goodies in the shape of preserves and the like. And how savory those good things smelled!--for I was where I could get the benefit of that. And there were the officers, in the warm, lighted cabin, seated at a table, with nigger waiters to serve them, feasting on that splendid fare! Why, it was the very incarnation of bodily comfort and enjoyment! And, when the officers should be ready to retire for the night, warm and cozy berths awaited them, where they would stretch their limbs on downy quilts and mattresses, utterly oblivious to the wet and chill on the outside. Then I turned my head and took in my surroundings! A black, cold night, cinders and soot drifting on us from the smoke stacks, and a drizzling rain pattering down. And my supper had consisted of hardtack and raw sow-belly, with river water for a beverage, of the vintage, say, of 1541. And to aggravate the situation generally, I was lying on a blanket which a military necessity had compelled me to steal. But I reflected that we couldn't all be officers,--there had to be somebody to do the actual trigger-pulling. And I further consoled myself with the thought that while the officers had more privileges than the common soldiers, they likewise had more responsibilities, and had to worry their brains about many things that didn't bother us a particle. So I smothered all envious feelings as best I could, and wrapping myself up good in my blanket, went to sleep, and all night long slept the unbroken, dreamless sleep of youth and health. The weather cleared up that night, and the next day was fine, and we all felt in better spirits. Our surroundings were new and strange, and we were thrilling with excitement and bright hopes of the future. The great majority of us were simple country boys, who had so far passed our lives in a narrow circle in the backwoods. As for myself, before enlisting in the army I had never been more than fifty miles from home, had not traveled any on a steamboat, and my few short railroad trips did not amount, in the aggregate, to more than about seventy-five miles, back and forth. But now the contracted horizon of the "Whippoorwill Ridges" adjacent to the old home had suddenly expanded, and a great big wonderful world was unfolding to my view. And there was the daring, heroic life on which we were entering! No individual boy expected that he would be killed, or meet with any other adverse fate. Others might, and doubtless would, but he would come out safe and sound, and return home at the end of a victorious war, a military hero, and as such would be looked up to, and admired and reverenced, all the rest of his life. At any rate, such were my thoughts, and I have no doubt whatever that ninety-nine out of a hundred of the other boys thought the same. On the afternoon of this day (March 27th) we arrived at Cairo, rounded in at the wharf, and remained a short time. The town fronted on the Ohio river, which was high at the time, as also was the Mississippi. The appearance of Cairo was wretched. Levees had been constructed to protect it from high water, but notwithstanding the streets and the grounds generally were just a foul, stagnant swamp. Engines were at work pumping the surface water into the river through pipes in the levee; otherwise I reckon everybody would have been drowned out. Charles Dickens saw this locality in the spring of 1842 when on a visit to America, and it figures in "Martin Chuzzlewit," under the name of "Eden." I never read that book until after the close of the war, but have several times since, and will say that if the Eden of 1842 looked anything like the Cairo of twenty years later, his description thereof was fully warranted. Our boat had hardly got moored to the wharf before the word went round that some Confederate prisoners were on the transport on our right, and we forthwith rushed to that side to get our first look at the "Secesh," as we then called them. It was only a small batch, about a hundred or so. They were under guard, and on the after part of the lower deck, along the sides and the stern of the boat. We ascertained that they were about the last installment of the Fort Donelson prisoners, and were being shipped to a northern military prison. Naturally, we scanned them with great curiosity, and the boys soon began to joke and chaff them in a perfectly good natured way. They took this silently, with no other manifestation than an occasional dry grin. But finally, a rather good looking young fellow cocked his eyes toward us and in a soft, drawling tone called out, "You-all will sing a different tune by next summah." Our boys responded to this with bursts of laughter and some derisive whoops; but later we found out that the young Confederate soldier was a true prophet. Our halt at Cairo was brief; the boat soon cast off and proceeded up the Ohio to the mouth of the Tennessee, and from thence up that river. Some time the next day we passed Fort Henry. We had read of its capture the month previous by the joint operations of our army and navy, and were all curious to see this Confederate stronghold, where a mere handful of men had put up such a plucky fight. My ideas of forts at that time had all been drawn from pictures in books which depicted old-time fortresses, and from descriptions in Scott's "Marmion" of ancient feudal castles like "Tantallon strong," and the like. And when we approached Fort Henry I fully expected to see some grand, imposing structure with "battled towers," "donjon keep," "portcullis," "drawbridges," and what not, and perhaps some officer of high rank with a drawn sword, strutting about on the ramparts and occasionally shouting, at the top of his voice, "What, warder, ho!" or words to that effect. But, to my utter amazement and disgust, when we steamed up opposite Fort Henry I saw only a little squatty, insignificant looking mud affair, without the slightest feature of any of the "pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war." It had been built on the low bottom ground near the bank of the Tennessee river, the stream was now high, and the adjacent land was largely covered with water, while the inside of the fort looked a good deal like a hog pen. I couldn't imagine how such a contemptible looking thing had stood off our gunboats as long as it did. But I did not know then that just such works, with earthen walls, were the strongest and best defenses against modern artillery that could be constructed. In fact, what I didn't know about war, at that stage of the proceedings, was broad and comprehensive, and covered the whole field. As we journeyed up the Tennessee we began to notice queer-looking green bunches of something on the trees. As the forest had not yet put forth its foliage, we knew that growth could not be leaves, and were puzzled to imagine what it could be. But we finally learned from some of the boat's crew that it was mistletoe. So far as I knew none of the private soldiers had ever before seen that curious evergreen, and it was to us a strange curiosity. But we got well acquainted with it later. We arrived at Pittsburg Landing on the evening of March 31, about sundown. On going into camp in our position upon the line, for the first time in our service we dwelt in tents. We had what was called the Sibley tent, an affair of a conical shape, rather large, and capable of accommodating about twelve men, with their accoutrements. As a circumstance bearing on our ignorance of life in tents, I will say that we neglected to ditch around them, and on the very first night we slept in them there came a heavy rain, and the next morning found us lying more or less in the water, and our blankets and other stuff sopping wet. But after that, on pitching our tents one of the first things we did was to dig around them a sufficient ditch with a lateral extension. I retain a vivid recollection of the kind of army cooking we had for the first few months in Tennessee. At Camp Carrollton and Benton Barracks we had company cooks who prepared the food for the entire company. They were merely enlisted men, detailed for that purpose, and while their cooking was nothing to brag about, it was vastly superior to what now ensued. We divided up into messes, of four, eight, or twelve men, or thereabouts, to the mess, and generally would take turns in the culinary line. Very few of us knew anything whatever about cooking, and our exploits in that regard would have been comical if the effects had not been so pernicious. Flour was issued to us after our arrival at Pittsburg Landing, but we had no utensils in which we could cook biscuits, or loaves. So we would make a batter out of flour, water, grease, and salt, and cook it in a mess pan, the product being the army "flapjack." It invariably was tough as a mule's ear, about as heavy as lead, and very indigestible. Later we learned to construct ovens of wood, daubed with mud, or of stone, and in them, in the course of time, we acquired the knack of baking good bread. But with us in the west the hardtack was generally our standard bread diet, and nothing could beat it. And for some time our cooking of "Yankee beans," as we called them, was simply atrocious. As you know, beans should be cooked until they are thoroughly done; otherwise they are decidedly harmful. Well, we would not cook them much more than half enough, the result being a sloppy, slimy mess, its looks alone being well-nigh sufficient to extinguish one's appetite. And as for the rice--the horrible messes we would make of that defy description. I know that one consequence with me was I contracted such an aversion to rice that for many years afterwards, while in civil life, I just couldn't eat it in any form, no matter how temptingly it was prepared. Owing to improperly cooked food, change of climate and of water, and neglect of proper sanitation measures in the camps, camp diarrhea became epidemic at Pittsburg Landing, especially among the "green" regiments like ours. And for about six weeks everybody suffered, more or less, the difference being only in degree. The fact is, the condition of the troops in that quarter during the prevalence of that disorder was simply so bad and repulsive that any detailed description thereof will be passed over. I never saw the like before, and never have seen it since. I always thought that one thing which aggravated this trouble was the inordinate quantity of sugar some of the men would consume. They would not only use it to excess in their coffee and rice, but would frequently eat it raw, by handfuls. I happen to think, right now, of an incident that illustrates the unnatural appetite of some of the men for sugar. It occurred in camp one rainy day during the siege of Corinth. Jake Hill, of my company, had covered the top of a big army hardtack with sugar in a cone-like form, piling it on as long as the tack would hold a grain. Then he seated himself on his knapsack and proceeded to gnaw away at his feast, by a system of "regular approaches." He was even then suffering from the epidemic before mentioned, and so weak he could hardly walk. Some one said to him, "Jake, that sugar ain't good for you in your condition." He looked up with an aggrieved air and responded in a tone of cruelly injured innocence, "Haven't I the right to eat my r-a-a-tion?" Strange to say, Jake got well, and served throughout the war. He was a good soldier, too. For my part, I quit using sugar in any form, early in my army service, (except a little, occasionally, with stewed fruit, or berries,) and didn't resume its general use until some years after my discharge from the army. In consequence of the conditions at Pittsburg Landing that have been alluded to, men died by the score like rotten sheep. And a great many more were discharged for disability and thereby were lost to the service. It is true that some of these discharged men, especially the younger ones, subsequently re-enlisted, and made good soldiers. But this loss to the Union armies in Tennessee in the spring of '62 by disease would undoubtedly surpass the casualties of a great battle, but, unlike a battle, there was no resulting compensation whatever. The battle of Shiloh was fought on April 6 and 7. In 1890 I wrote an article on the battle which was published in the New York Tribune, and later it appeared in several other newspapers. It has also been reprinted in book form in connection with papers by other persons, some about the war, and others of a miscellaneous nature. The piece I wrote twenty-five years ago is as good, I reckon, if not better than anything on that head I can write now, so it will be set out here. IN THE RANKS AT SHILOH. By Leander Stillwell, late First Lieutenant, 61st Illinois Volunteer Infantry. There has been a great deal said and written about the battle of Shiloh, both by Rebel and Union officers and writers. On the part of the first there has been, and probably always will be, angry dispute and criticism about the conduct of General Beauregard in calling off his troops Sunday evening while fully an hour of broad, precious daylight still remained, which, as claimed by some, might have been utilized in destroying the remainder of Grant's army before Buell could have crossed the Tennessee. On the part of Union writers the matters most discussed have been as to whether or not our forces were surprised, the condition of Grant's army at the close of the first day, what the result would have been without the aid of the gunboats, or if Buell's army had not come, and kindred subjects. It is not my purpose, in telling my story of the battle of Shiloh, to say anything that will add to this volume of discussion. My age at the time was but eighteen, and my position that of a common soldier in the ranks. It would therefore be foolish in me to assume the part of a critic. The generals, who, from reasonably safe points of observation, are sweeping the field with their glasses, and noting and directing the movements of the lines of battle, must, in the nature of things, be the ones to furnish the facts that go to make history. The extent of a battlefield seen by the common soldier is that only which comes within the range of the raised sights of his musket. And what little he does see is as "through a glass, darkly." The dense banks of powder smoke obstruct his gaze; he catches but fitful glimpses of his adversaries as the smoke veers or rises. Then, too, my own experience makes me think that where the common soldier does his duty, all his faculties of mind and body are employed in attending to the details of his own personal part of the work of destruction, and there is but little time left him for taking mental notes to form the bases of historical articles a quarter of a century afterward. The handling, tearing, and charging of his cartridge, ramming it home (we used muzzle loaders during the Civil War), the capping of his gun, the aiming and firing, with furious haste and desperate energy,--for every shot may be his last,--these things require the soldier's close personal attention and make him oblivious to matters transpiring beyond his immediate neighborhood. Moreover, his sense of hearing is well-nigh overcome by the deafening uproar going on around him. The incessant and terrible crash of musketry, the roar of the cannon, the continual zip, zip, of the bullets as they hiss by him, interspersed with the agonizing screams of the wounded, or the death shrieks of comrades falling in dying convulsions right in the face of the living,--these things are not conducive to that serene and judicial mental equipoise which the historian enjoys in his closet. Let the generals and historians, therefore, write of the movements of corps, divisions, and brigades. I have naught to tell but the simple story of what one private soldier saw of one of the bloodiest battles of the war. The regiment to which I belonged was the 61st Illinois Infantry. It left its camp of instruction (a country town in southern Illinois) about the last of February, 1862. We were sent to Benton Barracks, near St. Louis, and remained there drilling (when the weather would permit) until March 25th. We left on that day for the front. It was a cloudy, drizzly, and most gloomy day, as we marched through the streets of St. Louis down to the levee, to embark on a transport that was to take us to our destination. The city was enveloped in that pall of coal smoke for which St. Louis is celebrated. It hung heavy and low and set us all to coughing. I think the colonel must have marched us down some by-street. It was narrow and dirty, with high buildings on either side. The line officers took the sidewalks, while the regiment, marching by the flank, tramped in silence down the middle of the street, slumping through the nasty, slimy mud. There was one thing very noticeable on this march through St. Louis, and that was the utter lack of interest taken in us by the inhabitants. From pictures I had seen in books at home, my idea was that when soldiers departed for war, beautiful ladies stood on balconies and waved snowy-white handkerchiefs at the troops, while the men stood on the sidewalks and corners and swung their hats and cheered. There may have been regiments so favored, but ours was not one of them. Occasionally a fat, chunky-looking fellow, of a German cast of countenance, with a big pipe in his mouth, would stick his head out of a door or window, look at us a few seconds, and then disappear. No handkerchiefs nor hats were waved, we heard no cheers. My thoughts at the time were that the Union people there had all gone to war, or else the colonel was marching us through a "Secesh" part of town. We marched to the levee and from there on board the big sidewheel steamer, Empress. The next evening she unfastened her moorings, swung her head out into the river, turned down stream, and we were off for the "seat of war." We arrived at Pittsburg Landing on March 31st. Pittsburg Landing, as its name indicates, was simply a landing place for steamboats. It is on the west bank of the Tennessee river, in a thickly wooded region about twenty miles northeast of Corinth. There was no town there then, nothing but "the log house on the hill" that the survivors of the battle of Shiloh will all remember. The banks of the Tennessee on the Pittsburg Landing side are steep and bluffy, rising about 100 feet above the level of the river. Shiloh church, that gave the battle its name, was a Methodist meeting house. It was a small, hewed log building with a clapboard roof, about two miles out from the landing on the main Corinth road. On our arrival we were assigned to the division of General B. M. Prentiss, and we at once marched out and went into camp. About half a mile from the landing the road forks, the main Corinth road goes to the right, past Shiloh church, the other goes to the left. These two roads come together again some miles out. General Prentiss' division was camped on this left-hand road at right angles to it. Our regiment went into camp almost on the extreme left of Prentiss' line. There was a brigade of Sherman's division under General Stuart still further to the left, about a mile, I think, in camp near a ford of Lick Creek, where the Hamburg and Purdy road crosses the creek; and between the left of Prentiss' and General Stuart's camp there were no troops. I know that, for during the few days intervening between our arrival and the battle I roamed all through those woods on our left, between us and Stuart, hunting for wild onions and "turkey peas." The camp of our regiment was about two miles from the landing. The tents were pitched in the woods, and there was a little field of about twenty acres in our front. The camp faced nearly west, or possibly southwest. I shall never forget how glad I was to get off that old steamboat and be on solid ground once more, in camp out in those old woods. My company had made the trip from St. Louis to Pittsburg Landing on the hurricane deck of the steamboat, and our fare on the route had been hardtack and raw fat meat, washed down with river water, as we had no chance to cook anything, and we had not then learned the trick of catching the surplus hot water ejected from the boilers and making coffee with it. But once on solid ground, with plenty of wood to make fires, that bill of fare was changed. I shall never again eat meat that will taste as good as the fried "sowbelly" did then, accompanied by "flapjacks" and plenty of good, strong coffee. We had not yet got settled down to the regular drills, guard duty was light, and things generally seemed to run "kind of loose." And then the climate was delightful. We had just left the bleak, frozen north, where all was cold and cheerless, and we found ourselves in a clime where the air was as soft and warm as it was in Illinois in the latter part of May. The green grass was springing from the ground, the "Johnny-jump-ups" were in blossom, the trees were bursting into leaf, and the woods were full of feathered songsters. There was a redbird that would come every morning about sunup and perch himself in the tall black-oak tree in our company street, and for perhaps an hour he would practice on his impatient, querulous note, that said, as plain as a bird could say, "Boys, boys! get up! get up! get up!" It became a standing remark among the boys that he was a Union redbird and had enlisted in our regiment to sound the reveille. So the time passed pleasantly away until that eventful Sunday morning, April 6, 1862. According to the Tribune Almanac for that year, the sun rose that morning in Tennessee at 38 minutes past five o'clock. I had no watch, but I have always been of the opinion that the sun was fully an hour and a half high before the fighting began on our part of the line. We had "turned out" about sunup, answered to roll-call, and had cooked and eaten our breakfast. We had then gone to work, preparing for the regular Sunday morning inspection, which would take place at nine o'clock. The boys were scattered around the company streets and in front of the company parade grounds, engaged in polishing and brightening their muskets, and brushing up and cleaning their shoes, jackets, trousers, and clothing generally. It was a most beautiful morning. The sun was shining brightly through the trees, and there was not a cloud in the sky. It really seemed like Sunday in the country at home. During week days there was a continual stream of army wagons going to and from the landing, and the clucking of their wheels, the yells and oaths of the drivers, the cracking of whips, mingled with the braying of mules, the neighing of the horses, the commands of the officers engaged in drilling the men, the incessant hum and buzz of the camps, the blare of bugles, and the roll of drums,--all these made up a prodigious volume of sound that lasted from the coming-up to the going-down of the sun. But this morning was strangely still. The wagons were silent, the mules were peacefully munching their hay, and the army teamsters were giving us a rest. I listened with delight to the plaintive, mournful tones of a turtle-dove in the woods close by, while on the dead limb of a tall tree right in the camp a woodpecker was sounding his "long roll" just as I had heard it beaten by his Northern brothers a thousand times on the trees in the Otter Creek bottom at home. Suddenly, away off on the right, in the direction of Shiloh church, came a dull, heavy "Pum!" then another, and still another. Every man sprung to his feet as if struck by an electric shock, and we looked inquiringly into one another's faces. "What is that?" asked every one, but no one answered. Those heavy booms then came thicker and faster, and just a few seconds after we heard that first dull, ominous growl off to the southwest, came a low, sullen, continuous roar. There was no mistaking that sound. That was not a squad of pickets emptying their guns on being relieved from duty; it was the continuous roll of thousands of muskets, and told us that a battle was on. What I have been describing just now occurred during a few seconds only, and with the roar of musketry the long roll began to beat in our camp. Then ensued a scene of desperate haste, the like of which I certainly had never seen before, nor ever saw again. I remember that in the midst of this terrible uproar and confusion, while the boys were buckling on their cartridge boxes, and before even the companies had been formed, a mounted staff officer came galloping wildly down the line from the right. He checked and whirled his horse sharply around right in our company street, the iron-bound hoofs of his steed crashing among the tin plates lying in a little pile where my mess had eaten its breakfast that morning. The horse was flecked with foam and its eyes and nostrils were red as blood. The officer cast one hurried glance around him, and exclaimed: "My God! this regiment not in line yet! They have been fighting on the right over an hour!" And wheeling his horse, he disappeared in the direction of the colonel's tent. I know now that history says the battle began about 4:30 that morning; that it was brought on by a reconnoitering party sent out early that morning by General Prentiss; that General Sherman's division on the right was early advised of the approach of the Rebel army, and got ready to meet them in ample time. I have read these things in books and am not disputing them, but am simply telling the story of an enlisted man on the left of Prentiss' line as to what he saw and knew of the condition of things at about seven o'clock that morning. Well, the companies were formed, we marched out on the regimental parade ground, and the regiment was formed in line. The command was given: "Load at will; load!" We had anticipated this, however, as the most of us had instinctively loaded our guns before we had formed company. All this time the roar on the right was getting nearer and louder. Our old colonel rode up close to us, opposite the center of the regimental line, and called out, "Attention, battalion!" We fixed our eyes on him to hear what was coming. It turned out to be the old man's battle harangue. "Gentlemen," said he, in a voice that every man in the regiment heard, "remember your State, and do your duty today like brave men." That was all. A year later in the war the old man doubtless would have addressed us as "soldiers," and not as "gentlemen," and he would have omitted his allusion to the "State," which smacked a little of Confederate notions. However, he was a Douglas Democrat, and his mind was probably running on Buena Vista, in the Mexican war, where, it is said, a Western regiment acted badly, and threw a cloud over the reputation for courage of the men of that State which required the thunders of the Civil War to disperse. Immediately after the colonel had given us his brief exhortation, the regiment was marched across the little field I have before mentioned, and we took our place in line of battle, the woods in front of us, and the open field in our rear. We "dressed on" the colors, ordered arms, and stood awaiting the attack. By this time the roar on the right had become terrific. The Rebel army was unfolding its front, and the battle was steadily advancing in our direction. We could begin to see the blue rings of smoke curling upward among the trees off to the right, and the pungent smell of burning gun-powder filled the air. As the roar came travelling down the line from the right it reminded me (only it was a million times louder) of the sweep of a thunder-shower in summer-time over the hard ground of a stubble-field. And there we stood, in the edge of the woods, so still, waiting for the storm to break on us. I know mighty well what I was thinking about then. My mind's eye was fixed on a little log cabin, far away to the north, in the backwoods of western Illinois. I could see my father sitting on the porch, reading the little local newspaper brought from the post-office the evening before. There was my mother getting my little brothers ready for Sunday-school; the old dog lying asleep in the sun; the hens cackling about the barn; all these things and a hundred other tender recollections rushed into my mind. I am not ashamed to say now that I would willingly have given a general quit-claim deed for every jot and tittle of military glory falling to me, past, present, and to come, if I only could have been miraculously and instantaneously set down in the yard of that peaceful little home, a thousand miles away from the haunts of fighting men. The time we thus stood, waiting the attack, could not have exceeded five minutes. Suddenly, obliquely to our right, there was a long, wavy flash of bright light, then another, and another! It was the sunlight shining on gun barrels and bayonets--and--there they were at last! A long brown line, with muskets at a right shoulder shift, in excellent order, right through the woods they came. We began firing at once. From one end of the regiment to the other leaped a sheet of red flame, and the roar that went up from the edge of that old field doubtless advised General Prentiss of the fact that the Rebels had at last struck the extreme left of his line. We had fired but two or three rounds when, for some reason,--I never knew what,--we were ordered to fall back across the field, and did so. The whole line, so far as I could see to the right, went back. We halted on the other side of the field, in the edge of the woods, in front of our tents, and again began firing. The Rebels, of course, had moved up and occupied the line we had just abandoned. And here we did our first hard fighting during the day. Our officers said, after the battle was over, that we held this line an hour and ten minutes. How long it was I do not know. I "took no note of time." We retreated from this position as our officers afterward said, because the troops on our right had given way, and we were flanked. Possibly those boys on our right would give the same excuse for their leaving, and probably truly, too. Still, I think we did not fall back a minute too soon. As I rose from the comfortable log from behind which a bunch of us had been firing, I saw men in gray and brown clothes, with trailed muskets, running through the camp on our right, and I saw something else, too, that sent a chill all through me. It was a kind of flag I had never seen before. It was a gaudy sort of thing, with red bars. It flashed over me in a second that that thing was a Rebel flag. It was not more than sixty yards to the right. The smoke around it was low and dense and kept me from seeing the man who was carrying it, but I plainly saw the banner. It was going fast, with a jerky motion, which told me that the bearer was on a double-quick. About that time we left. We observed no kind of order in leaving; the main thing was to get out of there as quick as we could. I ran down our company street, and in passing the big Sibley tent of our mess I thought of my knapsack with all my traps and belongings, including that precious little packet of letters from home. I said to myself, "I will save my knapsack, anyhow;" but one quick backward glance over my left shoulder made me change my mind, and I went on. I never saw my knapsack or any of its contents afterwards. Our broken forces halted and re-formed about half a mile to the rear of our camp on the summit of a gentle ridge, covered with thick brush. I recognized our regiment by the little gray pony the old colonel rode, and hurried to my place in the ranks. Standing there with our faces once more to the front, I saw a seemingly endless column of men in blue, marching by the flank, who were filing off to the right through the woods, and I heard our old German adjutant, Cramer, say to the colonel, "Dose are de troops of Sheneral Hurlbut. He is forming a new line dere in de bush." I exclaimed to myself from the bottom of my heart, "Bully for General Hurlbut and the new line in the bush! Maybe we'll whip 'em yet." I shall never forget my feelings about this time. I was astonished at our first retreat in the morning across the field back to our camp, but it occurred to me that maybe that was only "strategy" and all done on purpose; but when we had to give up our camp, and actually turn our backs and run half a mile, it seemed to me that we were forever disgraced, and I kept thinking to myself: "What will they say about this at home?" I was very dry for a drink, and as we were doing nothing just then, I slipped out of ranks and ran down to the little hollow in our rear, in search of water. Finding a little pool, I threw myself on the ground and took a copious draught. As I rose to my feet, I observed an officer about a rod above me also quenching his thirst, holding his horse meanwhile by the bridle. As he rose I saw it was our old adjutant. At no other time would I have dared accost him unless in the line of duty, but the situation made me bold. "Adjutant," I said, "What does this mean--our having to run this way? Ain't we whipped?" He blew the water from his mustache, and quickly answered in a careless way: "Oh, no; dat is all ride. We yoost fall back to form on the reserve. Sheneral Buell vas now crossing der river mit 50,000 men, and vill be here pooty quick; and Sheneral Lew Vallace is coming from Crump's Landing mit 15,000 more. Ve vips 'em; ve vips 'em. Go to your gompany." Back I went on the run, with a heart as light as a feather. As I took my place in the ranks beside my chum, Jack Medford, I said to him: "Jack, I've just had a talk with the old adjutant, down at the branch where I've been to get a drink. He says Buell is crossing the river with 75,000 men and a whole world of cannon, and that some other general is coming up from Crump's Landing with 25,000 more men. He says we fell back here on purpose, and that we're going to whip the Secesh, just sure. Ain't that just perfectly bully?" I had improved some on the adjutant's figures, as the news was so glorious I thought a little variance of 25,000 or 30,000 men would make no difference in the end. But as the long hours wore on that day, and still Buell and Wallace did not come, my faith in the adjutant's veracity became considerably shaken. It was at this point that my regiment was detached from Prentiss' division and served with it no more that day. We were sent some distance to the right to support a battery, the name of which I never learned.[1] It was occupying the summit of a slope, and was actively engaged when we reached it. We were put in position about twenty rods in the rear of the battery, and ordered to lie flat on the ground. The ground sloped gently down in our direction, so that by hugging it close, the rebel shot and shell went over us. [1] Some years after this sketch was written I ascertained that this battery was Richardson's, Co. D, 1st Missouri Light Artillery. It was here, at about ten o'clock in the morning, that I first saw Grant that day. He was on horseback, of course, accompanied by his staff, and was evidently making a personal examination of his lines. He went by us in a gallop, riding between us and the battery, at the head of his staff. The battery was then hotly engaged; shot and shell were whizzing overhead, and cutting off the limbs of trees, but Grant rode through the storm with perfect indifference, seemingly paying no more attention to the missiles than if they had been paper wads. We remained in support of this battery until about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. We were then put in motion by the right flank, filed to the left, crossed the left-hand Corinth road; then we were thrown into the line by the command: "By the left flank, march." We crossed a little ravine and up a slope, and relieved a regiment on the left of Hurlbut's line. This line was desperately engaged, and had been at this point, as we afterwards learned, for fully four hours. I remember as we went up the slope and began firing, about the first thing that met my gaze was what out West we would call a "windrow" of dead men in blue; some doubled up face downward, others with their white faces upturned to the sky, brave boys who had been shot to death in "holding the line." Here we stayed until our last cartridge was shot away. We were then relieved by another regiment. We filled our cartridge boxes again and went back to the support of our battery. The boys laid down and talked in low tones. Many of our comrades alive and well an hour ago, we had left dead on that bloody ridge. And still the battle raged. From right to left, everywhere, it was one never-ending, terrible roar, with no prospect of stopping. Somewhere between 4 and 5 o'clock, as near as I can tell, everything became ominously quiet. Our battery ceased firing; the gunners leaned against the pieces and talked and laughed. Suddenly a staff officer rode up and said something in a low tone to the commander of the battery, then rode to our colonel and said something to him. The battery horses were at once brought up from a ravine in the rear, and the battery limbered up and moved off through the woods diagonally to the left and rear. We were put in motion by the flank and followed it. Everything kept so still, the loudest noise I heard was the clucking of the wheels of the gun-carriages and caissons as they wound through the woods. We emerged from the woods and entered a little old field. I then saw to our right and front lines of men in blue moving in the same direction we were, and it was evident that we were falling back. All at once, on the right, the left, and from our recent front, came one tremendous roar, and the bullets fell like hail. The lines took the double-quick towards the rear. For awhile the attempt was made to fall back in order, and then everything went to pieces. My heart failed me utterly. I thought the day was lost. A confused mass of men and guns, caissons, army wagons, ambulances, and all the debris of a beaten army surged and crowded along the narrow dirt road to the landing, while that pitiless storm of leaden hail came crashing on us from the rear. It was undoubtedly at this crisis in our affairs that the division of General Prentiss was captured. I will digress here for a minute to speak of a little incident connected with this disastrous feature of the day that has always impressed me as a pathetic instance of the patriotism and unselfish devotion to the cause that was by no means uncommon among the rank and file of the Union armies. There was in my company a middle-aged German named Charles Oberdieck. According to the company descriptive book, he was a native of the then kingdom of Hanover, now a province of Prussia. He was a typical German, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, quiet and taciturn, of limited and meager education, but a model soldier, who accepted without question and obeyed without a murmur the orders of his military superiors. Prior to the war he had made his living by chopping cord-wood in the high, timbered hills near the mouth of the Illinois river, or by working as a common laborer in the country on the farms at $14 a month. He was unmarried, his parents were dead, and he had no other immediate relatives surviving, either in his fatherland or in the country of his adoption. He and I enlisted from the same neighborhood. I had known him in civil life at home, and hence he was disposed to be more communicative with me than with the other boys of the company. A day or two after the battle he and I were sitting in the shade of a tree, in camp, talking over the incidents of the fight. "Charley," I said to him, "How did you feel along about four o'clock Sunday afternoon when they broke our lines, we were falling back in disorder, and it looked like the whole business was gone up generally?" He knocked the ashes from his pipe and, turning his face quickly towards me, said: "I yoost tells you how I feels. I no care anydings about Charley; he haf no wife nor children, fadder nor mudder, brudder nor sister; if Charley get killed, it makes no difference; dere vas nobody to cry for him, so I dinks nudding about myselfs; but I tells you, I yoost den feels bad for de Cause!" Noble, simple-hearted old Charley! It was the imminent danger only to the Cause that made his heart sink in that seemingly fateful hour. When we heard in the malignant and triumphant roar of the Rebel cannon in our rear what might be the death-knell of the last great experiment of civilized men to establish among the nations of the world a united republic, freed from the curse of pampered kings and selfish, grasping aristocrats--it was in that moment, in his simple language, that the peril to the Cause was the supreme and only consideration. It must have been when we were less than half a mile from the landing on our disorderly retreat before mentioned, that we saw standing in line of battle, at ordered arms, extending from both sides of the road until lost to sight in the woods, a long, well-ordered line of men in blue. What did that mean? and where had they come from? I was walking by the side of Enoch Wallace, the orderly sergeant of my company. He was a man of nerve and courage, and by word and deed had done more that day to hold us green and untried boys in ranks and firmly to our duty than any other man in the company. But even he, in the face of this seemingly appalling state of things, had evidently lost heart. I said to him: "Enoch, what are those men there for?" He answered in a low tone: "I guess they are put there to hold the Rebels in check till the army can get across the river." And doubtless that was the thought of every intelligent soldier in our beaten column. And yet it goes to show how little the common soldier knew of the actual situation. We did not know then that this line was the last line of battle of the "Fighting Fourth Division" under General Hurlbut; that on its right was the division of McClernand, the Fort Donelson boys; that on its right, at right angles to it, and, as it were, the refused wing of the army, was glorious old Sherman, hanging on with a bulldog grip to the road across Snake Creek from Crump's Landing by which Lew Wallace was coming with 5,000 men. In other words, we still had an unbroken line confronting the enemy, made up of men who were not yet ready, by any manner of means, to give up that they were whipped. Nor did we know then that our retreating mass consisted only of some regiments of Hurlbut's division, and some other isolated commands, who had not been duly notified of the recession of Hurlbut and of his falling back to form a new line, and thereby came very near sharing the fate of Prentiss' men and being marched to the rear as prisoners of war. Speaking for myself, it was twenty years after the battle before I found these things out, yet they are true, just as much so as the fact that the sun rose yesterday morning. Well, we filed through Hurlbut's line, halted, re-formed, and faced to the front once more. We were put in place a short distance in the rear of Hurlbut, as a support to some heavy guns. It must have been about five o'clock now. Suddenly, on the extreme left, and just a little above the landing, came a deafening explosion that fairly shook the ground beneath our feet, followed by others in quick and regular succession. The look of wonder and inquiry that the soldiers' faces wore for a moment disappeared for one of joy and exultation as it flashed across our minds that the gunboats had at last joined hands in the dance, and were pitching big twenty-pound Parrott shells up the ravine in front of Hurlbut, to the terror and discomfiture of our adversaries. The last place my regiment assumed was close to the road coming up from the landing. As we were lying there I heard the strains of martial music and saw a body of men marching by the flank up the road. I slipped out of ranks and walked out to the side of the road to see what troops they were. Their band was playing "Dixie's Land," and playing it well. The men were marching at a quick step, carrying their guns, cartridge-boxes, haversacks, canteens, and blanket-rolls. I saw that they had not been in the fight, for there was no powder-smoke on their faces. "What regiment is this?" I asked of a young sergeant marching on the flank. Back came the answer in a quick, cheery tone, "The 36th Indiana, the advance guard of Buell's army." I did not, on hearing this, throw my cap into the air and yell. That would have given those Indiana fellows a chance to chaff and guy me, and possibly make sarcastic remarks, which I did not care to provoke. I gave one big, gasping swallow and stood still, but the blood thumped in the veins of my throat and my heart fairly pounded against my little infantry jacket in the joyous rapture of this glorious intelligence. Soldiers need not be told of the thrill of unspeakable exultation they all have felt at the sight of armed friends in danger's darkest hour. Speaking for myself alone, I can only say, in the most heart-felt sincerity, that in all my obscure military career, never to me was the sight of reinforcing legions so precious and so welcome as on that Sunday evening when the rays of the descending sun were flashed back from the bayonets of Buell's advance column as it deployed on the bluffs of Pittsburg Landing. My account of the battle is about done. So far as I saw or heard, very little fighting was done that evening after Buell's advance crossed the river. The sun must have been fully an hour high when anything like regular and continuous firing had entirely ceased. What the result would have been if Beauregard had massed his troops on our left and forced the fighting late Sunday evening would be a matter of opinion, and a common soldier's opinion would not be considered worth much. My regiment was held in reserve the next day, and was not engaged. I have, therefore, no personal experience of that day to relate. After the battle of Shiloh, it fell to my lot to play my humble part in several other fierce conflicts of arms, but Shiloh was my maiden fight. It was there I first saw a gun fired in anger, heard the whistle of a bullet, or saw a man die a violent death, and my experiences, thoughts, impressions, and sensations on that bloody Sunday will abide with me as long as I live. CHAPTER IV. SOME INCIDENTS OF THE BATTLE OF SHILOH. There were many little incidents at Shiloh that came under my personal observation that I did not mention in the foregoing sketch. The matter of space was important, so I passed them over. But that consideration does not arise now, and as I am writing this for you, I will say something here about several things that I think may be of some interest. I distinctly remember my first shot at Shiloh. It was fired when we were in our first position, as described in my account of the battle. I think that when the boys saw the enemy advancing they began firing of their own motion, without waiting for orders. At least, I don't remember hearing any. I was in the front rank, but didn't fire. I preferred to wait for a good opportunity, when I could take deliberate aim at some individual foe. But when the regiment fired, the Confederates halted and began firing also, and the fronts of both lines were at once shrouded in smoke. I had my gun at a ready, and was trying to peer under the smoke in order to get a sight of our enemies. Suddenly I heard some one in a highly excited tone calling to me from just in my rear,--"Stillwell! shoot! shoot! Why don't you shoot?" I looked around and saw that this command was being given by Bob Wylder, our second lieutenant, who was in his place, just a few steps to the rear. He was a young man, about twenty-five years old, and was fairly wild with excitement, jumping up and down "like a hen on a hot griddle." "Why, lieutenant," said I, "I can't see anything to shoot at." "Shoot, shoot, anyhow!" "All right," I responded, "if you say shoot, shoot it is;" and bringing my gun to my shoulder, I aimed low in the direction of the enemy, and blazed away through the smoke. I have always doubted if this, my first shot, did any execution--but there's no telling. However, the lieutenant was clearly right. Our adversaries were in our front, in easy range, and it was our duty to aim low, fire in their general direction, and let fate do the rest. But at the time the idea to me was ridiculous that one should blindly shoot into a cloud of smoke without having a bead on the object to be shot at. I had shot squirrels and rabbits, and other small game, in the big woods adjacent to our backwoods home, from the time I was big enough to carry a gun. In fact, I began when I was too small to shoot "off hand," but had to fire from a "rest,"--any convenient stump, log, or forked bush. The gun I used was a little old percussion lock rifle, with a long barrel, carrying a bullet which weighed about sixty to the pound. We boys had to furnish our own ammunition,--lead (which we moulded into bullets), gun-caps, and powder. Our principal source of revenue whereby we got money to buy ammunition was hazel-nuts, which we would gather, shuck, and sell at five cents a quart. And the work incident to the gathering and shucking of a quart of hazel nuts was a decidedly tedious job. But it made us economical in the use of our ordnance stores, so we would never throw away a shot carelessly or unnecessarily. And it was a standing rule never to shoot a squirrel anywhere except in the head, save as a last resort, when circumstances compelled one to fire at some other part of the body of the little animal. And so I thought, at the beginning of my military career, that I should use the same care and circumspection in firing an old musket when on the line of battle that I had exercised in hunting squirrels. But I learned better in about the first five minutes of the battle of Shiloh. However, in every action I was in, when the opportunity was afforded, I took careful and deliberate aim, but many a time the surroundings were such that the only thing to do was to hold low, and fire through the smoke in the direction of the enemy. I will say here that the extent of wild shooting done in battle, especially by raw troops, is astonishing, and rather hard to understand. When we fell back to our second line at Shiloh, I heard an incessant humming sound away up above our heads, like the flight of a swarm of bees. In my ignorance, I at first hardly knew what that meant, but it presently dawned on me that the noise was caused by bullets singing through the air from twenty to a hundred feet over our heads. And after the battle I noticed that the big trees in our camp, just in the rear of our second line, were thickly pock-marked by musket balls at a distance of fully a hundred feet from the ground. And yet we were separated from the Confederates only by a little, narrow field, and the intervening ground was perfectly level. But the fact is, those boys were fully as green as we were, and doubtless as much excited. The Confederate army at Shiloh was composed of soldiers the great majority of whom went under fire there for the first time, and I reckon they were as nervous and badly scared as we were. I never shall forget how awfully I felt on seeing for the first time a man killed in battle. This occurred on our second position, above mentioned. Our line of battle here was somewhat irregular, and the men had become mixed up. The trees and stumps were thick, and we availed ourselves of their protection whenever possible. I had a tree, it was embarrassingly small, but better than none. I took to a log later. But there was a man just on my right behind a tree of generous proportions, and I somewhat envied him. He was actively engaged in loading and firing, and was standing up to the work well when I last saw him alive. But, all at once, there he was lying on his back, at the foot of his tree, with one leg doubled under him, motionless,--and stone dead! He probably had been hit square in the head while aiming, or peeking around the tree. I stared at his body, perfectly horrified! Only a few seconds ago that man was alive and well, and now he was lying on the ground, done for, forever! The event came nearer completely upsetting me than anything else that occurred during the entire battle--but I got used to such incidents in the course of the day. After rallying at our third position, we were moved a short distance to the rear, and formed in line at right angles to the road from our camp to the landing. While standing there I casually noticed a large wall tent at the side of the road, a few steps to my rear. It was closed up, and nobody stirring around it. Suddenly I heard, right over our heads, a frightful "s-s-wis-sh,"--and followed by a loud crash in this tent. Looking around, I saw a big, gaping hole in the wall of the tent, and on the other side got a glimpse of the cause of the disturbance--a big cannon ball ricochetting down the ridge, and hunting further mischief. And at the same moment of time the front flaps of the tent were frantically thrown open, and out popped a fellow in citizen's clothes. He had a Hebrew visage, his face was as white as a dead man's, and his eyes were sticking out like a crawfish's. He started down the road toward the landing at probably the fastest gait he had ever made in his life, his coat tails streaming behind him, and the boys yelling at him. We proceeded to investigate the interior of that tent at once, and found that it was a sutler's establishment, and crammed with sutler goods. The panic-struck individual who had just vacated it was of course the proprietor. He had adopted ostrich tactics, had buttoned himself up in the tent, and was in there keeping as still as a mouse, thinking, perhaps, that as he could see nobody, nobody could see him. That cannon ball must have been a rude surprise. In order to have plenty of "han' roomance," we tore down the tent at once, and then proceeded to appropriate the contents. There were barrels of apples, bologna sausages, cheeses, canned oysters and sardines, and lots of other truck. I was filling my haversack with bologna when Col. Fry rode up to me and said: "My son, will you please give me a link of that sausage?" Under the circumstances, I reckon I must have been feeling somewhat impudent and reckless, so I answered rather saucily, "Certainly, Colonel, we are closing out this morning below cost;" and I thrust into his hands two or three big links of bologna. There was a faint trace of a grin on the old man's face as he took the provender, and he began gnawing at once on one of the hunks, while the others he stowed away in his equipments. I suspected from this incident that the Colonel had had no breakfast that morning, which perhaps may have been the case. Soon after this I made another deal. There were some cavalry in line close by us, and one of them called out to me, "Pardner, give me some of them apples." "You bet;" said I, and quickly filling my cap with the fruit, handed it to him. He emptied the apples in his haversack, took a silver dime from his pocket, and proffered it to me, saying, "Here." "Keep your money--don't want it;" was my response, but he threw the coin at my feet, and I picked it up and put it in my pocket. It came agreeably handy later. Jack Medford of my company came up to me with a most complacent look on his face, and patting his haversack, said, "Lee, I just now got a whole lot of paper and envelopes, and am all fixed for writing home about this battle." "Seems to me, Jack," I suggested, "you'd better unload that stuff, and get something to eat. Don't worry about writing home about the battle till it's done fought." Jack's countenance changed, he muttered, "Reckon you're right, Lee;" and when next I saw him, his haversack was bulging with bologna and cheese. All this time the battle was raging furiously on our right, and occasionally a cannon ball, flying high, went screaming over our heads. Walter Scott, in "The Lady of the Lake," in describing an incident of the battle of Beal' an Duine, speaks of the unearthly screaming and yelling that occurred, sounding-- "As if all the fiends from heaven that fell Had pealed the banner-cry of hell." That comparison leaves much for the imagination, but, speaking from experience, I will say that of all the blood-curdling sounds I ever heard, the worst is the terrific scream of a cannon ball or shell passing close over one's head; especially that kind with a cavity in the base that sucks in air. At least, they sounded that way till I got used to them. As a matter of fact, artillery in my time was not near as dangerous as musketry. It was noisy, but didn't kill often unless at close range and firing grape and canister. As stated in the preceding sketch, sometime during the forenoon the regiment was sent to the support of a battery, and remained there for some hours. The most trying situation in battle is one where you have to lie flat on the ground, under fire more or less, and without any opportunity to return it. The constant strain on the nerves is almost intolerable. So it was with feelings of grim but heart-felt relief that we finally heard the Colonel command, "Attention, battalion!" Our turn had come at last. We sprang to our feet with alacrity, and were soon in motion, marching by the flank diagonally towards the left, from whence, for some hours, had been proceeding heavy firing. We had not gone far before I saw something which hardly had an inspiring effect. We were marching along an old, grass-grown country road, with a rail-fence on the right which enclosed a sort of woods pasture, and with a dense forest on our left, when I saw a soldier on our left, slowly making his way to the rear. He had been struck a sort of glancing shot on the left side of his face, and the skin and flesh of his cheek were hanging in shreds. His face and neck were covered with blood and he was a frightful sight. Yet he seemed to be perfectly cool and composed and wasn't "taking on" a bit. As he came opposite my company, he looked up at us and said, "Give 'em hell, boys! They've spoiled my beauty." It was manifest that he was not exaggerating. When we were thrown into line on our new position and began firing, I was in the front rank, and my rear rank man was Philip Potter, a young Irishman, who was some years my senior. When he fired his first shot, he came very near putting me out of action. I think that the muzzle of his gun could not have been more than two or three inches from my right ear. The shock of the report almost deafened me at the time, and my neck and right cheek were peppered with powder grains, which remained there for years until finally absorbed in the system. I turned to Phil in a fury, exclaiming, "What in the hell and damnation do you mean?" Just then down went the man on my right with a sharp cry, and followed by the one on the left, both apparently severely wounded. The thought of my shocking conduct, in thus indulging in wicked profanity at such a time, flashed upon me, and I almost held my breath, expecting summary punishment on the spot. But nothing of the kind happened. And, according to history, Washington swore a good deal worse at the battle of Monmouth,--and Potter was more careful thereafter. Poor Phil! On December 7, 1864, while fighting on the skirmish line near Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and just a few paces to my left, he was mortally wounded by a gun-shot in the bowels and died in the hospital a few days later. He was a Catholic, and in his last hours was almost frantic because no priest was at hand to grant him absolution. Right after we began firing on this line I noticed, directly in my front and not more than two hundred yards away, a large Confederate flag flapping defiantly in the breeze. The smoke was too dense to enable me to see the bearer, but the banner was distinctly visible. It looked hateful to me, and I wanted to see it come down. So I held on it, let my gun slowly fall until I thought the sights were about on a waist line, and then fired. I peered eagerly under the smoke to see the effect of my shot,--but the blamed thing was still flying. I fired three or four more shots on the same line as the first, but with no apparent results. I then concluded that the bearer was probably squatted behind a stump, or something, and that it was useless to waste ammunition on him. Diagonally to my left, perhaps two hundred and fifty yards away, the Confederate line of battle was in plain sight. It was in the open, in the edge of an old field, with woods to the rear. It afforded a splendid mark. Even the ramrods could be seen flashing in the air, as the men, while in the act of loading, drew and returned the rammers. Thereupon I began firing at the enemy on that part of the line, and the balance of the contents of my cartridge box went in that direction. It was impossible to tell if any of my shots took effect, but after the battle I went to the spot and looked over the ground. The Confederate dead lay there thick, and I wondered, as I looked at them, if I had killed any of those poor fellows. Of course I didn't know, and am glad now that I didn't. And I will say here that I do not now have any conclusive knowledge that during my entire term of service I ever killed, or even wounded, a single man. It is more than probable that some of my shots were fatal, but I don't know it, and am thankful for the ignorance. You see, after all, the common soldiers of the Confederate Armies were American boys, just like us, and conscientiously believed that they were right. Had they been soldiers of a foreign nation,--Spaniards, for instance,--I might feel differently. When we "went in" on the above mentioned position old Capt. Reddish took his place in the ranks, and fought like a common soldier. He had picked up the musket of some dead or wounded man, and filled his pockets with cartridges and gun caps, and so was well provided with ammunition. He unbuckled his sword from the belt, and laid it in the scabbard at his feet, and proceeded to give his undivided attention to the enemy. I can now see the old man in my mind's eye, as he stood in ranks, loading and firing, his blue-gray eyes flashing, and his face lighted up with the flame of battle. Col. Fry happened to be near us at one time, and I heard old Capt. John yell at him: "Injun fightin,' Colonel! Jest like Injun fightin'!" When we finally retired, the Captain shouldered his musket and trotted off with the rest of us, oblivious of his "cheese-knife," as he called it, left it lying on the ground, and never saw it again. There was a battery of light artillery on this line, about a quarter of a mile to our right, on a slight elevation of the ground. It was right flush up with the infantry line of battle, and oh, how those artillery men handled their guns! It seemed to me that there was the roar of a cannon from that battery about every other second. When ramming cartridge, I sometimes glanced in that direction. The men were big fellows, stripped to the waist, their white skins flashing in the sunlight, and they were working like I have seen men doing when fighting a big fire in the woods. I fairly gloated over the fire of that battery. "Give it to them, my sons of thunder!" I would say to myself; "Knock the ever-lastin' stuffin' out of 'em!" And, as I ascertained after the battle, they did do frightful execution. In consideration of the fact that now-a-days, as you know, I refuse to even kill a chicken, some of the above expressions may sound rather strange. But the fact is, a soldier on the fighting line is possessed by the demon of destruction. He wants to kill, and the more of his adversaries he can see killed, the more intense his gratification. Gen. Grant somewhere in his Memoirs expresses the idea (only in milder language than mine) when he says: "While a battle is raging one can see his enemy mowed down by the thousand, or the ten thousand, with great composure." The regiment bivouacked for the night on the bluff, not far from the historic "log house." Rain set in about dark, and not wanting to lie in the water, I hunted around and found a little brush-pile evidently made by some man from a sapling he had cut down and trimmed up some time past when the leaves were on the trees. I made a sort of pillow out of my gun, cartridge box, haversack and canteen, and stretched myself out on the brush-pile, tired to death, and rather discouraged over the events of the day. The main body of Buell's men,--"the army of the Ohio,"--soon after dark began ascending the bluff at a point a little above the landing, and forming in line in the darkness a short distance beyond. I have a shadowy impression that this lasted the greater part of the night. Their regimental bands played continuously and it seemed to me that they all played the tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me." And the rain drizzled down, while every fifteen minutes one of the big navy guns roared and sent a ponderous shell shrieking up the ravine above in the direction of the enemy. To this day, whenever I hear an instrumental band playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me," there come to me the memories of that gloomy Sunday night at Pittsburg Landing. I again hear the ceaseless patter of the rain, the dull, heavy tread of Buell's marching columns, the thunderous roar of the navy guns, the demoniacal scream of the projectile, and mingled with it all is the sweet, plaintive music of that old song. We had an army version of it I have never seen in print, altogether different from the original ballad. The last stanza of this army production was as follows: "If ever I get through this war, And a Rebel ball don't find me, I'll shape my course by the northern star, To the girl I left behind me." I have said elsewhere that the regiment was not engaged on Monday. We remained all that day at the place where we bivouacked Sunday night. The ends of the staffs of our regimental flags were driven in the ground, the banners flapping idly in the breeze, while the men sat or lay around with their guns in their hands or lying by them, their cartridge-boxes buckled on, and all ready to fall in line at the tap of the drum. But for some reason that I never knew, we were not called on. Our division commander, General B. M. Prentiss, and our brigade commander, Col. Madison Miller, were both captured on Sunday with the bulk of Prentiss' division, so I reckon we were sort of "lost children." But we were not alone. There were also other regiments of Grant's command which were held in reserve and did not fire a shot on Monday. After the battle I roamed around over the field, the most of the following two days, looking at what was to be seen. The fearful sights apparent on a bloody battlefield simply cannot be described in all their horror. They must be seen in order to be fully realized. As Byron, somewhere in "Don Juan," truly says: "Mortality! Thou hast thy monthly bills, Thy plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, yet tick, Like the death-watch, within our ears the ills Past, present, and to come; but all may yield To the true portrait of one battlefield." There was a small clearing on the battlefield called the "Peach Orchard" field. It was of irregular shape, and about fifteen or twenty acres in extent, as I remember. However, I cannot now be sure as to the exact size. It got its name, probably, from the fact that there were on it a few scraggy peach trees. The Union troops on Sunday had a strong line in the woods just north of the field, and the Confederates made four successive charges across this open space on our line, all of which were repulsed with frightful slaughter. I walked all over this piece of ground the day after the close of the battle, and before the dead had been buried. It is the simple truth to say that this space was literally covered with the Confederate dead, and one could have walked all over it on their bodies. Gen. Grant, in substance, makes the same statement in his Memoirs. It was a fearful sight. But not far from the Peach Orchard field, in a westerly direction, was a still more gruesome spectacle. Some of our forces were in line on an old, grass-grown country road that ran through thick woods. The wheels of wagons, running for many years right in the same ruts, had cut through the turf, so that the surface of the road was somewhat lower than the adjacent ground. To men firing on their knees this afforded a slight natural breast-work, which was substantial protection. In front of this position, in addition to the large timber, was a dense growth of small under-brush, post-oak and the like, which had not yet shed their leaves, and the ground also was covered with layers of dead leaves. There was desperate fighting at this point, and during its progress exploding shells set the woods on fire. The clothing of the dead Confederates lying in these woods caught fire, and their bodies were burned to a crisp. I have read, somewhere, that some wounded men were burned to death, but I doubt that. I walked all over the ground looking at these poor fellows, and scrutinized them carefully to see the nature of their hurts and they had evidently been shot dead, or expired in a few seconds after being struck. But, in any event, the sight was horrible. I will not go into details, but leave it to your imagination. I noticed, at other places on the field, the bodies of two Confederate soldiers, whose appearance I shall never forget. They presented a remarkable contrast of death in battle. One was a full grown man, seemingly about thirty years of age, with sandy, reddish hair, and a scrubby beard and mustache of the same color. He had been firing from behind a tree, had exposed his head, and had been struck square in the forehead by a musket ball, killed instantly, and had dropped at the foot of the tree in a heap. He was in the act of biting a cartridge when struck, his teeth were still fastened on the paper extremity, while his right hand clutched the bullet end. His teeth were long and snaggy, and discolored by tobacco juice. As just stated, he had been struck dead seemingly instantaneously. His eyes were wide open and gleaming with Satanic fury. His transition from life to death had been immediate, with the result that there was indelibly stamped on his face all the furious rage and lust of battle. He was an ill-looking fellow, and all in all was not an agreeable object to contemplate. The other was a far different case. He was lying on a sloping ridge, where the Confederates had charged a battery, and had suffered fearfully. He was a mere boy, not over eighteen, with regular features, light brown hair, blue eyes, and, generally speaking, was strikingly handsome. He had been struck on his right leg, above the knee, about mid-way the thigh, by a cannon ball, which had cut off the limb, except a small strip of skin. He was lying on his back, at full length, his right arm straight up in the air, rigid as a stake, and his fist tightly clinched. His eyes were wide open, but their expression was calm and natural. The shock and the loss of blood doubtless brought death to his relief in a short time. As I stood looking at the unfortunate boy, I thought of how some poor mother's heart would be well-nigh broken when she heard of the sad, untimely fate of her darling son. But, before the war was over, doubtless thousands of similar cases occurred in both the Union and Confederate armies. I believe I will here speak of a notion of mine, to be considered for whatever you may think it worth. As you know, I am not a religious man, in the theological sense of the term, having never belonged to a church in my life. Have just tried, to the best of my ability, to act according to the Golden Rule, and let it go at that. But, from my earliest youth, I have had a peculiar reverence for Sunday. I hunted much with a gun when a boy, and so did the people generally of my neighborhood. Small game in that backwoods region was very plentiful, and even deer were not uncommon. Well, it was a settled conviction with us primitive people that if one went hunting on Sunday, he would not only have bad luck in that regard that day, but also all the rest of the week. So, when the Confederates began the battle on Sunday, I would keep thinking, throughout its entire progress, "You fellows started this on Sunday, and you'll get licked." I'll admit that there were a few occasions when things looked so awful bad that I became discouraged, but I quickly rallied, and my Sunday superstition--or whatever it may be called--was justified in the end. In addition to Shiloh, the battles of New Orleans in 1815, Waterloo, and Bull Run were fought on a Sunday, and in each case the attacking party was signally defeated. These results may have been mere coincidences, but I don't think so. I have read somewhere an authentic statement that President Lincoln entertained this same belief, and always was opposed to aggressive movements on Sundays by the Union troops. The wildest possible rumors got into circulation at home, about some of the results of the battle. I have now lying before me an old letter from my father of date April 19th, in answer to mine (which I will mention later) giving him the first definite intelligence about our regiment and the neighborhood boys. Among other things he said: "We have had it here that Fry's regiment was all captured that was not killed; pretty much all given up as lost. That Beauregard had run you all down a steep place into the Tennessee river, * * * that Captain Reddish had his arm shot off, that Enoch Wallace was also wounded;"--and here followed the names of some others who (the same as Reddish and Wallace) hadn't received even a scratch. My letter to my father, mentioned above, was dated April 10, and was received by him on the 18th. It was brief, occupying only about four pages of the small, sleazy note paper that we bought in those days of the sutlers. I don't remember why I didn't write sooner, but it was probably because no mail-boat left the landing until about that time. The old mail hack ordinarily arrived at the Otter Creek post-office from the outside world an hour or so before sundown, and the evening my letter came, the little old post-office and general store was crowded with people intensely anxious to hear from their boys or other relatives in the 61st Illinois. The distribution of letters in that office in those times was a proceeding of much simplicity. The old clerk who attended to that would call out in a stentorian tone the name of the addressee of each letter, who, if present, would respond "Here!" and then the letter would be given a dexterous flip, and went flying to him across the room. But on this occasion there were no letters from the regiment, until just at the last the clerk called my father's name--"J. O. Stillwell!" and again, still louder, but there was no response. Whereupon the clerk held the letter at arm's length, and carefully scrutinized the address. "Well," said he finally, "this is from Jerry Stillwell's boy, in the 61st, so I reckon he's not killed, anyhow." A murmur of excitement went through the room at this, and the people crowded up to get a glimpse of even the handwriting of the address. "Yes, that's from Jerry's boy, sure," said several. Thereupon William Noble and Joseph Beeman, who were old friends of father's, begged the postmaster to "give them the letter, and they would go straight out to Stillwell's with it, have him read it, and then they would come right back with the news." Everybody seconded the request, the postmaster acceded, and handed one of them the letter. They rushed out, unfastened their horses, and left in a gallop for Stillwell's, two miles away, on the south side of Otter Creek, out in the woods. As they dashed up to the little old log cabin they saw my father out near the barn; the one with the letter waved it aloft, calling at the top of his voice: "Letter from your boy, Jerry!" My mother heard this, and she came running from the house, trembling with excitement. The letter was at once opened and read,--and the terrible reports which to that time had prevailed about the fate of Fry's regiment vanished in the air. It's true, it contained some sad news, but nothing to be compared with the fearful accounts which had been rife in the neighborhood. I have that old letter in my possession now. Soon after the battle Gov. Richard Yates, of Illinois, Gov. Louis P. Harvey, of Wisconsin, and many other civilians, came down from the north to look after the comfort of the sick and wounded soldiers of their respective states. The 16th Wisconsin Infantry was camped next to us, and I learned one afternoon that Gov. Harvey was to make them a speech that evening, after dress parade, and I went over to hear him. The Wisconsin regiment did not turn out in military formation, just gathered around him in a dense group under a grove of trees. The Governor sat on a horse while making his speech. He wore a large, broad-brimmed hat, his coat was buttoned to the chin, and he had big buckskin gauntlets on his hands. He was a fine looking man, heavy set, and about forty-two years old. His remarks were not lengthy, but were patriotic and eloquent. I remember especially how he complimented the Wisconsin soldiers for their good conduct in battle, that their state was proud of them, and that he, as Governor, intended to look after them, and care for them to the very best of his ability, as long as he was in office, and that when the time came for him to relinquish that trust, he would still remember them with interest and the deepest affection. His massive frame heaved with the intensity of his feelings as he spoke and he impressed me as being absolutely sincere in all that he said. But he little knew nor apprehended the sad and lamentable fate then pending over him. Only a few evenings later, as he was crossing the gang-plank between two steamboats at the Landing, in some manner he fell from the plank, and was sucked under the boats by the current, and drowned. Some days later a negro found his body, lodged against some drift near our side of the river, and he brought it in his old cart inside our lines. From papers on the body, and other evidence, it was conclusively identified as that of Gov. Harvey. The remains were shipped back to Wisconsin, where they were given a largely attended and impressive funeral. CHAPTER V. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. IN CAMP AT OWL CREEK. APRIL AND MAY, 1862. A few days after the battle Gen. H. W. Halleck came down from St. Louis, and assumed command of the Union forces in the field near Pittsburg Landing. Then, or soon thereafter, began the so-called siege of Corinth. We mighty near dug up all the country within eight or ten miles of that place in the progress of this movement, in the construction of forts, long lines of breast-works, and such like. Halleck was a "book soldier," and had a high reputation during the war as a profound "strategist," and great military genius in general. In fact, in my opinion (and which, I think, is sustained by history), he was a humbug and a fraud. His idea seemed to be that our war should be conducted strictly in accordance with the methods of the old Napoleonic wars of Europe, which, in the main, were not at all adapted to our time and conditions. Moreover, he seemed to be totally deficient in sound, practical common sense. Soon after the Confederates evacuated Corinth he was transferred to Washington to serve in a sort of advisory capacity, and spent the balance of the war period in a swivel-chair in an office. He never was in a battle, and never heard a gun fired, except distant cannonading during the Corinth business,--and (maybe) at Washington in the summer of 1864. During the operations against Corinth, the 61st made some short marches, and was shifted around, from time to time, to different places. About the middle of May we were sent to a point on Owl creek, in the right rear of the main army. Our duty there was to guard against any possible attack from that direction, and our main employment was throwing up breast-works and standing picket. And all this time the sick list was frightfully large. The chief trouble was our old enemy, camp diarrhea, but there were also other types of diseases--malaria and the like. As before stated, the boys had not learned how to cook, nor to take proper care of themselves, and to this ignorance can be attributed much of the sickness. And the weather was rainy, the camps were muddy and gloomy, and about this time many of the boys had home-sickness bad. A genuine case of downright home-sickness is most depressing. I had some touches of it myself, so I can speak from experience. The poor fellows would sit around in their tents, and whine, and talk about home, and what good things they would have there to eat, and kindred subjects, until apparently they lost every spark of energy. I kept away from such cases all I could, for their talk was demoralizing. But one rainy day while in camp at Owl creek I was in our big Sibley tent when some of the boys got well started on their pet topics. It was a dismal day, the rain was pattering down on the tent and dripping from the leaves of the big oak trees in the camp, while inside the tent everything was damp and mouldy and didn't smell good either. "Jim," says one, "I wish I could jest be down on Coon crick today, and take dinner with old Bill Williams; I'll tell you what I'd have: first, a great big slice of fried ham, with plenty of rich brown gravy, with them light, fluffy, hot biscuits that Bill's wife could cook so well, and then I'd want some big baked Irish 'taters, red hot, and all mealy, and then----" "Yes, Jack," interrupted Jim, "I've et at old Bill's lots of times, and wouldn't I like to be with you? You know, old Bill always mast-fed the hogs he put up for his own eatin', they jest fattened on hickory nuts and big white- and bur-oak acorns, and he'd smoke his meat with hickory wood smoke, and oh, that meat was jest so sweet and nutty-like!--why, the meat of corn-fed hogs was nowhere in comparison." "Yes, Jim," continued Jack, "and then I'd want with the biscuits and 'taters plenty of that rich yaller butter that Bill's wife made herself, with her own hands, and then you know Bill always had lots of honey, and I'd spread honey and butter on one of them biscuits, and----" "And don't you remember, Jack," chimed in Jim, "the mince pies Bill's wife could make? They were jest stuffed with reezons, and all manner of goodies, and----" But here I left the tent in disgust. I wanted to say, "Oh, hell!" as I went out, but refrained. The poor fellows were feeling bad enough, anyhow, and it wouldn't have helped matters to make sarcastic remarks. But I preferred the shelter of a big tree, and enduring the rain that filtered through the leaves, rather than listen to this distracting talk of Jack and Jim about the flesh-pots of old Bill Williams. But while on this subject, I believe I'll tell you about a royal dinner I had myself while the regiment was near Pittsburg Landing. It was a few days after the battle, while we were still at our old camp. I was detailed, as corporal, to take six men and go to the Landing and load three or four of our regimental wagons with army rations for our regiment. We reached the Landing about ten o'clock, reported to the proper officer, who showed us our stuff, and we went to piling it into the wagons. It consisted of big slabs of fat side-bacon ("sow-belly"), boxes of hardtack, sacks of rice, beans, coffee, sugar, and soap and candles. I had an idea that I ought to help in the work, and was trying to do so, altho so weak from illness that it required some effort to walk straight. But a big, black haired, black bearded Irishman, Owen McGrath of my company, one of the squad, objected. He laid a big hand kindly on my shoulder, and said: "Carparral, yez is not sthrong enough for this worrk, and yez don't have to do it, ayether. Jist give me the 't'ority to shupirintind it, and you go sit down." "I guess you're right, McGrath," I answered, and then, in a louder tone, for the benefit of the detail, "McGrath, you see to the loading of the grub. I am feeling a little out of sorts," (which was true,) "and I believe I'll take a rest." McGrath was about thirty years old, and a splendid soldier. He had served a term in the British army in the old country, and was fully onto his present job. (I will tell another little story about him later.) I sat down in the shade a short distance from my squad, with my back against some big sacks full of something. Suddenly I detected a pungent, most agreeable smell. It came from onions, in the sack behind me. I took out my pocket knife and stealthily made a hole in that sack, and abstracted two big ones and slipped them into my haversack. My conscience didn't trouble me a bit over the matter. I reckon those onions were hospital goods, but I thought I needed some just as much as anybody in the hospital, which was probably correct. I had asked Capt. Reddish that morning if, when the wagons were loaded, I could send them on to camp, and return at my leisure in the evening, and the kindhearted old man had given a cheerful consent. So, when the teams were ready to start back, I told McGrath to take charge, and to see that the stuff was delivered to our quartermaster, or the commissary sergeant, and then I shifted for myself, planning for the good dinner that was in prospect. There were many steamboats lying at the Landing, I selected one that looked inviting, went on board, and sauntered aft to the cook's quarters. It was near dinner time, and the grub dispenser was in the act of taking from his oven a number of nice cakes of corn bread. I sidled up to him, and displaying that dime the cavalryman gave me for those apples, asked him in a discreetly low tone, if he would let me have a cake of corn bread. He gave a friendly grin, pushed a cake towards me, I slipped it in my haversack, and handed him the dime. Now I was fixed. I went ashore, and down the river for a short distance to a spring I knew of, that bubbled from the ground near the foot of a big beech tree. It did not take long to build a little fire and make coffee in my oyster can of a quart's capacity, with a wire bale attachment. Then a slice of sow-belly was toasted on a stick, the outer skin of the onions removed--and dinner was ready. Talk about your gastronomic feasts! I doubt if ever in my life I enjoyed a meal better than this one, under that old beech, by the Tennessee river. The onions were big red ones, and fearfully strong, but my system craved them so much that I just chomped them down as if they were apples. And every crumb of the corn bread was eaten, too. Dinner over, I felt better, and roamed around the rest of the afternoon, sight-seeing, and didn't get back to camp till nearly sundown. By the way, that spring and that beech tree are there yet, or were in October, 1914, when I visited the Shiloh battlefield. I hunted them up on this occasion and laid down on the ground and took a long, big drink out of the spring for the sake of old times. Taking up again the thread of our life in camp at Owl creek, I will say that when there I was for a while in bad physical condition, and nearly "all in." One day I accidentally overheard two intelligent boys of my company talking about me, and one said, "If Stillwell aint sent north purty soon, he's goin' to make a die of it;" to which the other assented. That scared me good, and set me to thinking. I had no use for the hospital, wouldn't go there, and abominated the idea of taking medicine. But I was so bad off I was not marked for duty, my time was all my own, so I concluded to get out of camp as much as possible, and take long walks in the big woods. I found a place down on the creek between two picket posts where it was easy to sneak through and get out into the country, and I proceeded to take advantage of it. It was where a big tree had fallen across the stream, making a sort of natural bridge, and I "run the line" there many a time. It was delightful to get out into the clean, grand old woods, and away from the mud, and filth, and bad smells of the camp, and my health began to improve. On some of these rambles, Frank Gates, a corporal of my company, was my companion. He was my senior a few years, a lively fellow, with a streak of humor in him, and was good company. One day on one of our jaunts we came to a little old log house near the foot of a densely timbered ridge. There was nobody at home save some women and children, and one of the women was engaged on an old-fashioned churn, churning butter. Mulberries were ripe, and there was a large tree in the yard fairly black with the ripe fruit. We asked the women if we could eat some of the berries, and they gave a cheerful consent. Thereupon Frank and I climbed the tree, and proceeded to help ourselves. The berries were big, dead ripe, and tasted mighty good, and we just stuffed ourselves until we could hold no more. The churning was finished by the time we descended from the tree, and we asked for some buttermilk. The women gave us a gourd dipper and told us to help ourselves, which we did, and drank copiously and greedily. We then resumed our stroll, but before long were seized with most horrible pains in our stomachs. We laid down on the ground and rolled over and over in agony. It was a hot day, we had been walking rapidly, and it is probable that the mulberries and the buttermilk were in a state of insurrection. But Frank didn't think so. As he rolled over the ground with his hands on his bulging stomach he exclaimed to me, "Lee, by ----, I believe them ---- Secesh wimmen have pizened us!" At the time I hardly knew what to think,--but relief came at last. I will omit the details. When able to navigate, we started back to camp, almost as weak and helpless as a brace of sick kittens. After that I steered clear of any sort of a combination of berries and buttermilk. Soon after this Frank and I had another adventure outside the picket lines, but of an amusing nature only. We came to an old log house where, as was usual at this time and locality, the only occupants were women and children. The family consisted of the middle-aged mother, a tall, slab-sided, long legged girl, seemingly sixteen or seventeen years old, and some little children. Their surname was Leadbetter, which I have always remembered by reason of the incident I will mention. The house was a typical pioneer cabin, with a puncheon floor, which was uneven, dirty, and splotched with grease. The girl was bare-footed and wearing a dirty white sort of cotton gown of the modern Mother Hubbard type, that looked a good deal like a big gunny sack. From what came under my observation later, it can safely be stated that it was the only garment she had on. She really was not bad looking, only dirty and mighty slouchy. We wanted some butter, and asked the matron if she had any she could sell us. She replied that they were just going to churn, and if we'd wait until that was done, she could furnish us a little. We waited, and when the job was finished, handed the girl a pint tin cup we had brought along, which she proceeded to fill with the butter. As she walked towards us to hand over the cup, her bare feet slipped on a grease spot on the floor, and down she went on her back, with her gown distinctly elevated, and a prodigal display of limbs. At the same time the cup fell from her grasp, and the contents rolled out on the dirty floor, like melted lard. The girl arose to a sitting posture, surveyed the wreck, then laid down on one side, and exploded with laughter--and kicked. About this time her mother appeared on the scene. "Why, Sal Leadbetter!" she exclaimed, "you dirty slut! Git a spoon and scrape that butter right up!" Sal rose (cow fashion) to her feet, still giggling over the mishap, and the butter was duly "scraped" up, restored to the cup, and this time safely delivered. We paid for the "dairy product," and left, but I told Frank I wanted none of it in mine. Frank responded in substance, that it was all right, every man had to eat his "peck of dirt" in his life time anyway,--and the incident was closed. I never again saw nor heard of the Leadbetter family from that day, but have often wondered what finally became of poor "Sal." While we were at Owl creek the medical authorities of the army put in operation a method for the prevention and cure of malaria that was highly popular with some of the boys. It consisted of a gill of whisky, largely compounded with quinine, and was given to each man before breakfast. I drank my first "jigger," as it was called, and then quit. It was too intensely bitter for my taste, and I would secretly slip my allowance to John Barton, or Frank Burnham, who would have drunk it, I reckon, if it had been one-half aqua fortis. I happened to be mixed up in an incident rather mortifying to me, when the first whisky rations were brought to the regimental hospital in our camp for use in the above manner. The quartermaster came to Capt. Reddish and handed him a requisition for two camp kettlefuls of whisky, and told him to give it to two non-commissioned officers of his company who were strictly temperate and absolutely reliable, and order them to go to the Division commissary headquarters, get the whisky, bring it to camp, and deliver it to him, the quartermaster. Capt. Reddish selected for this delicate duty Corporal Tim Gates (a brother of Frank, above mentioned) and myself. Tim was about ten years my senior, a tall, slim fellow, and somewhat addicted to stuttering when he became nervous or excited. Well, we each procured a big camp kettle, went and got the whisky, and started back with it to camp. On the way we passed through a space where a large number of army wagons were parked, and when we were in about the middle of the park were then out of sight of everybody. Here Tim stopped, looked carefully around to see if the coast was clear, and then said, "Sti-Sti-Stillwell, l-l-less t-t-take a swig!" "All right," I responded. Thereupon Tim poised his camp-kettle on a wagon hub, inclined the brim to his lips, and took a most copious draught, and I followed suit. We then started on, and it was lucky, for me at any rate, that we didn't have far to go. I hadn't previously during my army career taken a swallow of whisky since one time at Camp Carrollton; I was weak and feeble, and this big drink of the stuff went through my veins like electricity. Its effects were felt almost instantly, and by the time we reached camp, and had delivered the whisky, I was feeling a good deal like a wild Indian on the war path. I wanted to yell, to get my musket and shoot, especially at something that when hit would jingle--a looking-glass, an eight-day clock, or a boat's chandelier, or something similar But it suddenly occurred to me that I was drunk, and liable to forever disgrace myself, and everybody at home, too. I had just sense enough left to know that the thing to do was to get out of camp at once, so I struck for the woods. In passing the tent of my squad, I caught a glimpse of Tim therein. He had thrown his cap and jacket on the ground, rolled up his sleeves, and was furiously challenging another fellow to then and there settle an old-time grudge by the "ordeal of battle." I didn't tarry, but hurried on the best I could, finally got into a secluded patch of brush, and tumbled down. I came to my senses along late in the evening, with a splitting headache, and feeling awful generally, but reasonably sober. And such was the conduct, when trusted with whisky, of the two non-commissioned officers of Co. D, "men who were strictly temperate and absolutely reliable." But Tim had no trouble about his break. I suppose he gave some plausible explanation, and as for me, I had lived up to the standard, so far as the public knew, and maintained a profound silence in regard to the episode. Tim and I in private conversation, or otherwise, both carefully avoided the subject until the time came when we could talk and laugh about it without any danger of "tarnishing our escutcheons." In the meantime the alleged siege of Corinth was proceeding in the leisurely manner that characterized the progress of a suit in chancery under the ancient equity methods. From our camp on Owl creek we could hear, from time to time, sporadic outbursts of cannonading, but we became so accustomed to it that the artillery practice ceased to excite any special attention. The Confederates began quietly evacuating the place during the last days of May, completed the operation on the 30th of the month, and on the evening of that day our troops marched into the town unopposed. CHAPTER VI. BETHEL. JACKSON. JUNE AND JULY, 1862. Soon after our occupation of Corinth a change in the position of our forces took place, and all the command at Owl creek was transferred to Bethel, a small station on the Mobile and Ohio railroad, some twenty or twenty-five miles to the northwest. We left Owl creek on the morning of June 6th, and arrived at Bethel about dark the same evening. Thanks to my repeated long walks in the woods outside of our lines, I was in pretty fair health at this time, but still somewhat weak and shaky. On the morning we took up the line of march, while waiting for the "fall in" call, I was seated at the foot of a big tree in camp, with my knapsack, packed, at my side. Enoch Wallace came to me and said: "Stillwell, are you going to try to carry your knapsack?" I answered that I reckoned I had to, that I had asked Hen. King (our company teamster) to let me put it in his wagon, and he wouldn't,--said he already had too big a load. Enoch said nothing more, but stood silently looking down at me a few seconds, then picked up my knapsack and threw it into our wagon, which was close by, saying to King, as he did so, "Haul that knapsack;"--and it was hauled. I shall never forget this act of kindness on the part of Enoch. It would have been impossible for me to have made the march carrying the knapsack. The day was hot, and much of the road was over sandy land, and through long stretches of black-jack barrens, that excluded every breath of a breeze. The men suffered much on the march, and fell out by scores. When we stacked arms at Bethel that evening, there were only four men of Co. D in line, just enough to make one stack of guns,--but my gun was in the stack. There was no earthly necessity for making this march in one day. We were simply "changing stations;" the Confederate army of that region was down in Mississippi, a hundred miles or so away, and there were no armed foes in our vicinity excepting some skulking bands of guerrillas. Prior to this our regiment had made no marches, except little short movements during the siege of Corinth, none of which exceeded two or three miles. And nearly all the men were weak and debilitated by reason of the prevailing type of illness, and in no condition whatever to be cracked through twenty miles or more on a hot day. We should have marched only about ten miles the first day, with a halt of about ten minutes every hour, to let the men rest a little, and get their wind. Had that course been pursued, we would have reached our destination in good shape, with the ranks full, and the men would have been benefited by the march. As it was, it probably caused the death of some, and the permanent disabling of more. The trouble at that time was the total want of experience on the part of the most of our officers of all grades, combined with an amazing lack of common sense by some of high authority. I am not blaming any of our regimental officers for this foolish "forced march,"--for it amounted to that,--the responsibility rested higher up. Our stay at Bethel was brief and uneventful. However, I shall always remember the place on account of a piece of news that came to me while we were there, and which for a time nearly broke me all up. It will be necessary to go back some years in order to explain it. I began attending the old Stone school house at Otter creek when I was about eight years old. One of my schoolmates was a remarkably pretty little girl, with blue eyes and auburn hair, nearly my own age. We kept about the same place in our studies, and were generally in the same classes. I always liked her, and by the time I was about fifteen years old was head over heels in love. She was far above me in the social scale of the neighborhood. Her folks lived in a frame house on "the other side of the creek," and were well-to-do, for that time and locality. My people lived in a log cabin, on a little farm in the broken country that extended from the south bank of Otter creek to the Mississippi and Illinois rivers. But notwithstanding the difference in our respective social and financial positions, I knew that she had a liking for me, and our mutual relations became quite "tender" and interesting. Then the war came along, I enlisted and went South. We had no correspondence after I left home; I was just too deplorably bashful to attempt it, and, on general principles, didn't have sense enough to properly carry on a proceeding of that nature. It may be that here was where I fell down. But I thought about her every day, and had many boyish day dreams of the future, in which she was the prominent figure. Soon after our arrival at Bethel I received a letter from home. I hurriedly opened it, anxious, as usual, to hear from the folks, and sitting down at the foot of a tree, began reading it. All went well to nearly the close, when I read these fatal words: "Billy Crane and Lucy Archer got married last week." The above names are fictitious, but the bride was my girl. I can't explain my feelings,--if you ever have had such an experience, you will understand. I stole a hurried glance around to see if anybody was observing my demeanor, then thrust the letter into my jacket pocket, and walked away. Not far from our camp was a stretch of swampy land, thickly set with big cypress trees, and I bent my steps in that direction. Entering the forest, I sought a secluded spot, sat down on an old log, and read and re-read that heart-breaking piece of intelligence. There was no mistaking the words; they were plain, laconic, and nothing ambiguous about them. And, to intensify the bitterness of the draught, it may be set down here that the groom was a dudish young squirt, a clerk in a country store, who lacked the pluck to go for a soldier, but had stayed at home to count eggs and measure calico. In my opinion, he was not worthy of the girl, and I was amazed that she had taken him for a husband. I remember well some of my thoughts as I sat with bitterness in my heart, alone among those gloomy cypresses. I wanted a great big battle to come off at once, with the 61st Illinois right in front, that we might run out of cartridges, and the order would be given to fix bayonets and charge! Like Major Simon Suggs, in depicting the horrors of an apprehended Indian war, I wanted to see blood flow in a "great gulgin' torrent, like the Tallapoosa river." Well, it was simply a case of pure, intensely ardent boy-love, and I was hit, hard,--but survived. And I now heartily congratulate myself on the fact that this youthful shipwreck ultimately resulted in my obtaining for a wife the very best woman (excepting only my mother) that I ever knew in my life. I never again met my youthful flame, to speak to her, and saw her only once, and then at a distance, some years after the close of the war when I was back in Illinois on a visit to my parents. Several years ago her husband died, and in course of time she married again, this time a man I never knew, and the last I heard of or concerning her, she and her second husband were living somewhere in one of the Rocky Mountain States. For a short time after the evacuation of Corinth, Pittsburg Landing continued to be our base of supplies, and commissary stores were wagoned from there to the various places where our troops were stationed. And it happened, while the regiment was at Bethel, that I was one of a party of about a hundred men detailed to serve as guards for a wagon train destined for the Landing, and, return to Bethel with army rations. There was at the Landing at this time, serving as guards for the government stores, a regiment of infantry. There were only a few of them visible, and they looked pale and emaciated, and much like "dead men on their feet." I asked one of them what regiment was stationed there, and he told me it was the 14th Wisconsin Infantry. This was the one I had seen at Benton Barracks and admired so much on account of the splendid appearance of the men. I mentioned this to the soldier, and expressed to him my surprise to now see them in such bad shape. He went on to tell me that the men had suffered fearfully from the change of climate, the water, and their altered conditions in general; that they had nearly all been prostrated by camp diarrhea, and at that time there were not more than a hundred men in the regiment fit for duty, and even those were not much better than shadows of their former selves. And, judging from the few men that were visible, the soldier told the plain, unvarnished truth. Our regiment and the 14th Wisconsin soon drifted apart, and I never saw it again. But as a matter of history, I will say that it made an excellent and distinguished record during the war. On June 16 our brigade left Bethel for Jackson, Tennessee, a town on the Mobile and Ohio railroad, and about thirty-five or forty miles, by the dirt road, northwest of Bethel. On this march, like the preceding one, I did not carry my knapsack. It was about this time that the most of the boys adopted the "blanket-roll" system. Our knapsacks were awkward, cumbersome things, with a combination of straps and buckles that chafed the shoulders and back, and greatly augmented heat and general discomfort. So we would fold in our blankets an extra shirt, with a few other light articles, roll the blanket tight, double it over and tie the two ends together, then throw the blanket over one shoulder, with the tied ends under the opposite arm--and the arrangement was complete. We had learned by this time the necessity of reducing our personal baggage to the lightest possible limit. We had left Camp Carrollton with great bulging knapsacks, stuffed with all sorts of plunder, much of which was utterly useless to soldiers in the field. But we soon got rid of all that. And my recollection is that after the Bethel march the great majority of the men would, in some way, when on a march, temporarily lay aside their knapsacks, and use the blanket roll. The exceptions to that method, in the main, were the soldiers of foreign birth, especially the Germans. They carried theirs to the last on all occasions, with everything in them the army regulations would permit, and usually something more. Jackson, our objective point on this march, was the county seat of Madison county, and a portion of our line of march was through the south part of the county. This region had a singular interest for me, the nature of which I will now state. Among the few books we had at home was an old paper-covered copy, with horrible wood-cuts, of a production entitled, "The Life and Adventures of John A. Murrell, the Great Western Land Pirate," by Virgil A. Stewart. It was full of accounts of cold-blooded, depraved murders, and other vicious, unlawful doings. My father had known, in his younger days, a good deal of Murrell by reputation, which was probably the moving cause for his purchase of the book. When a little chap I frequently read it and it possessed for me a sort of weird, uncanny fascination. Murrell's home, and the theater of many of his evil deeds, during the year 1834, and for some time previously, was in this county of Madison, and as we trudged along the road on this march I scanned all the surroundings with deep interest and close attention. Much of the country was rough and broken, and densely wooded, with high ridges and deep ravines between them. With the aid of a lively imagination, many places I noticed seemed like fitting localities for acts of violence and crime. I have in my possession now (bought many years ago) a duplicate of that old copy of Murrell we had at home. I sometimes look into it, but it no longer possesses for me the interest it did in my boyhood days. On this march I was a participant in an incident which was somewhat amusing, and also a little bit irritating. Shortly before noon of the first day, Jack Medford, of my company, and myself, concluded we would "straggle," and try to get a country dinner. Availing ourselves of the first favorable opportunity, we slipped from the ranks, and struck out. We followed an old country road that ran substantially parallel to the main road on which the column was marching, and soon came to a nice looking old log house standing in a grove of big native trees. The only people at the house were two middle-aged women and some children. We asked the women if we could have some dinner, saying that we would pay for it. They gave an affirmative answer, but their tone was not cordial and they looked "daggers." Dinner was just about prepared, and when all was ready, we were invited, with evident coolness, to take seats at the table. We had a splendid meal, consisting of corn bread, new Irish potatoes, boiled bacon and greens, butter and buttermilk. Compared with sow-belly and hardtack, it was a feast. Dinner over, we essayed to pay therefor. Their charge was something less than a dollar for both of us, but we had not the exact change. The smallest denomination of money either of us had was a dollar greenback, and the women said that they had no money at all to make change. Thereupon we proffered them the entire dollar. They looked at it askance, and asked if we had any "Southern" or Confederate money. We said we had not, that this was the only kind of money we had. They continued to look exceedingly sour, and finally remarked that they were unwilling to accept any kind of money except "Southern." We urged them to accept the bill, told them it was United States money, and that it would pass readily in any place in the South occupied by our soldiers; but no, they were obdurate, and declined the greenback with unmistakable scorn. Of course we kept our temper; it never would have done to be saucy or rude after getting such a good dinner, but, for my part, I felt considerably vexed. But there was nothing left to do except thank them heartily for their kindness and depart. From their standpoint their course in the matter was actuated by the highest and most unselfish patriotism, but naturally we couldn't look at it in that light. I will say here, "with malice towards none, and with charity for all," that in my entire sojourn in the South during the war, the women were found to be more intensely bitter and malignant against the old government of the United States, and the national cause in general, than were the men. Their attitude is probably another illustration of the truth of Kipling's saying, "The female of the species is more deadly than the male." We arrived at Jackson on the evening of June 17, and went into camp in the outskirts of the town, in a beautiful grove of tall young oaks. The site was neither too shady nor too sunny, and, all things considered, I think it was about the nicest camping ground the regiment had during its entire service. We settled down here to a daily round of battalion drill, being the first of that character, as I now remember, we had so far had. A battalion drill is simply one where the various companies are handled as a regimental unit, and are put through regimental evolutions. Battalion drill at first was frequently very embarrassing to some commanding officers of companies. The regimental commander would give a command, indicating, in general terms, the movement desired, and it was then the duty of a company commander to see to the details of the movement that his company should make, and give the proper orders. Well, sometimes he would be badly stumped, and ludicrous "bobbles" would be the result. As for the men in the ranks, battalion drill was as simple as any other, for we only had to obey specific commands which indicated exactly what we were to do. To "form square," an antique disposition against cavalry, was a movement that was especially "trying" to some company officers. But so far as forming square was concerned, all our drill on that feature was time thrown away. In actual battle we never made that disposition a single time--and the same is true of several other labored and intricate movements prescribed in the tactics, and which we were industriously put through. But it was good exercise, and "all went in the day's work." While thus amusing ourselves at battalion drill suddenly came marching orders, and which required immediate execution. Tents were forthwith struck, rolled and tied, and loaded in the wagons, with all other camp and garrison equipage. Our knapsacks were packed with all our effects, since special instructions had been given on that matter. Curiosity was on the qui vive to know where we were going, but apart from the fact that we were to be transported on the cars, apparently nobody knew whither we were bound. Col. Fry was absent, sick, and Major Ohr was then in command of the regiment. He was a fine officer, and, withal, a very sensible man, and I doubt if any one in the regiment except himself had reliable knowledge as to our ultimate destination. As soon as our marching preparations were complete, which did not take long, the bugle sounded "Fall in!" and the regiment formed in line on the parade ground. In my "mind's eye" I can now see Major Ohr in our front, on his horse, his blanket strapped behind his saddle, smoking his little briar root pipe, and looking as cool and unconcerned as if we were only going a few miles for a change of camp. Our entire brigade fell in, and so far as we could see, or learn, all of the division at Jackson, then under the command of Gen. John A. McClernand, was doing likewise. Well, we stood there in line, at ordered arms, and waited. We expected, every moment, to hear the orders which would put us in motion--but they were never given. Finally we were ordered to stack arms and break ranks, but were cautioned to hold ourselves in readiness to fall in at the tap of the drum. But the day wore on and nothing was done until late in the evening, when the summons came. We rushed to the gun stacks and took arms. The Major had a brief talk with the company officers, and then, to our great surprise, the companies were marched back to their dismantled camps, and after being instructed to stay close thereto, were dismissed. This state of affairs lasted for at least two days, and then collapsed. We were told that the orders had been countermanded; we unloaded our tents, pitched them again on the old sites, and resumed battalion drill. It was then gossiped around among the boys that we actually had been under marching orders for Virginia to reinforce the Army of the Potomac! Personally I looked on that as mere "camp talk," and put no confidence in it, and never found out, until about fifteen years later, that this rumor was a fact. I learned it in this wise: About nine years after the close of the war, Congress passed an act providing for the publication, in book form, of all the records, reports correspondence, and the like, of both the Union and Confederate armies. Under this law, about one hundred and thirty large volumes were published, containing the matter above stated. When the law was passed I managed to arrange to procure a set of these Records and they were sent to me from Washington as fast as printed. And from one of these volumes I ascertained that on June 28, 1862, E. M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, had telegraphed Gen. Halleck (who was then in command of the western armies) as follows: "It is absolutely necessary for you immediately to detach 25,000 of your force, and send it by the nearest and quickest route by way of Baltimore and Washington to Richmond. [This] is rendered imperative by a serious reverse suffered by Gen. McClellan before Richmond yesterday, the full extent of which is not known." (Rebellion Records, Series 1, Vol. 16, Part 2, pp. 69 and 70.) In obedience to the above, General Halleck wired General McClernand on June 30 as follows: "You will collect as rapidly as possible all the infantry regiments of your division, and take advantage of every train to transport them to Columbus [Ky.] and thence to Washington City." (Id. p. 76.) But that same day (June 30) a telegram was sent by President Lincoln to Gen. Halleck, which operated to revoke the foregoing order of Stanton's--and so the 61st Illinois never became a part of the Army of the Potomac, and for which I am very thankful. That army was composed of brave men, and they fought long and well, but, in my opinion, and which I think is sustained by history, they never had a competent commander until they got U. S. Grant. So, up to the coming of Grant, their record, in the main, was a series of bloody disasters, and their few victories, like Antietam and Gettysburg, were not properly and energetically followed up as they should have been, and hence were largely barren of adequate results. Considering these things, I have always somehow "felt it in my bones" that if Mr. Lincoln had not sent the brief telegram above mentioned, I would now be sleeping in some (probably) unmarked and unknown grave away back in old Virginia. While at Jackson an incident occurred while I was on picket in which Owen McGrath, the big Irishman I have previously mentioned, played an interesting part. As corporal I had three men under me, McGrath being one, and the others were a couple of big, burly young fellows belonging to Co. A. Our post was on the railroad a mile or two from the outskirts of Jackson, and where the picket line for some distance ran practically parallel with the railroad. The spot at this post where the picket stood when on guard was at the top of a bank on the summit of a slight elevation, just at the edge of a deep and narrow railroad cut. A bunch of guerrillas had recently been operating in that locality, and making mischief on a small scale, and our orders were to be vigilant and on the alert, especially at night. McGrath was on duty from 6 to 8 in the evening, and at the latter hour I notified one of the Co. A men that his turn had come. The weather was bad, a high wind was blowing, accompanied by a drizzling rain, and all signs portended a stormy night. The Co. A fellow buckled on his cartridge box, picked up his musket, and gave a scowling glance at the surroundings. Then, with much profanity, he declared that he wasn't going to stand up on that bank, he was going down into the cut, where he could have some shelter from the wind and rain. I told him that would never do, that there he could see nothing in our front, and might as well not be on guard at all. But he loudly announced his intention to stick to his purpose. The other Co. A man chimed in, and with many expletives declared that Bill was right, that he intended to stand in the cut too when his time came, that he didn't believe there was a Secesh within a hundred miles of us, anyway, and so on. I was sorely troubled, and didn't know what to do. They were big, hulking fellows, and either could have just smashed me, with one hand tied behind him. McGrath had been intently listening to the conversation, and saying nothing, but, as matters were evidently nearing a crisis, he now took a hand. Walking up to the man who was to relieve him, he laid the forefinger of his right hand on the fellow's breast, and looking him square in the eyes, spoke thus: "It's the ar-r-dhers of the car-r-parral that the sintry stand here," (indicating,) "and the car-r-parral's ar-r-dhers will be obeyed. D'ye moind that, now?" I had stepped to the side of McGrath while he was talking, to give him my moral support, at least, and fixed my eyes on the mutineer. He looked at us in silence a second or two, and then, with some muttering about the corporal being awful particular, finally said he could stand it if the rest could, assumed his post at the top of the bank, and the matter was ended. The storm blew over before midnight and the weather cleared up. In the morning we had a satisfying soldier breakfast, and when relieved at 9 o'clock marched back to camp with the others of the old guard, all in good humor, and with "peace and harmony prevailing." But I always felt profoundly grateful to grand old McGrath for his staunch support on the foregoing occasion; without it, I don't know what could have been done. CHAPTER VII. BOLIVAR. JULY, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1862. On July 17 our brigade, then under the command of Gen. L. F. Ross, left Jackson for Bolivar, Tennessee, a town about twenty-eight miles southwest of Jackson, on what was then called the Mississippi Central Railroad. (Here I will observe that the sketch of the regiment before mentioned in the Illinois Adjutant General's Reports is wrong as to the date of our departure from Jackson. It is inferable from the statement in the Reports that the time was June 17, which really was the date of our arrival there from Bethel.) We started from Jackson at about four o'clock in the morning, but marched only about eight miles when we were brought to an abrupt halt, caused by the breaking down, under the weight of a cannon and its carriage, of an ancient Tennessee bridge over a little stream. The nature of the crossing was such that the bridge simply had to be rebuilt, and made strong enough to sustain the artillery and army wagons, and it took the balance of the day to do it. We therefore bivouacked at the point where we stopped until the next morning. Soon after the halt a hard rain began falling, and lasted all afternoon. We had no shelter, and just had to take it, and "let it rain." But it was in the middle of the summer, the weather was hot, and the boys stood around, some crowing like chickens, and others quacking like ducks, and really seemed to rather enjoy the situation. About the only drawback resulting from our being caught out in the summer rains was the fact that the water would rust our muskets. In our time we were required to keep all their metal parts (except the butt-plate) as bright and shining as new silver dollars. I have put in many an hour working on my gun with an old rag and powdered dirt, and a corncob, or pine stick, polishing the barrel, the bands, lock-plate, and trigger-guard, until they were fit to pass inspection. The inside of the barrel we would keep clean by the use of a greased wiper and plenty of hot water. In doing this, we would ordinarily, with our screw-drivers, take the gun to pieces, and remove from the stock all metallic parts. I never had any head for machinery, of any kind, but, from sheer necessity, did acquire enough of the faculty to take apart, and put together, an army musket,--and that is about the full extent of my ability in that line. We soon learned to take care of our pieces in a rain by thoroughly greasing them with a piece of bacon, which would largely prevent rust from striking in. We resumed our march to Bolivar early in the morning of the 18th. Our route was practically parallel with the railroad, crossing it occasionally. At one of these crossings, late in the afternoon, and when only five or six miles from Bolivar, I "straggled" again, and took to the railroad. I soon fell in with three Co. C boys, who had done likewise. We concluded we would endeavor to get a country supper, and with that in view, an hour or so before sundown went to a nice looking farm-house not far from the railroad, and made our wants known to the occupants. We had selected for our spokesman the oldest one of our bunch, a soldier perhaps twenty-five years old, named Aleck Cope. He was something over six feet tall, and about as gaunt as a sand-hill crane. He was bare-footed, and his feet, in color and general appearance, looked a good deal like the flappers of an alligator. His entire garb, on this occasion, consisted of an old wool hat and his government shirt and drawers. The latter garment, like the "cuttie sark" of witch Nannie in "Tam O'Shanter," "in longitude was sorely scanty," coming only a little below his knees, and both habiliments would have been much improved by a thorough washing. But in the duty assigned him he acquitted himself well with the people of the house, and they very cheerfully said they would prepare us a supper. They seemingly were well-to-do, as several colored men and women were about the premises, who, of course, were slaves. Soon were audible the death squawks of chickens in the barn-yard, which we heard with much satisfaction. In due time supper was announced, and we seated ourselves at the table. And what a banquet we had! Fried chicken, nice hot biscuits, butter, butter-milk, honey, (think of that!) preserved peaches, fresh cucumber pickles,--and so forth. And a colored house-girl moved back and forth behind us, keeping off the flies with a big peacock-feather brush. Aleck Cope sat opposite me, and when the girl was performing that office for him, the situation looked so intensely ludicrous that I wanted to scream. Supper over, we paid the bill, which was quite reasonable, and went on our way rejoicing, and reached Bolivar soon after dark, about the same time the regiment did. But it will now be set down that this was the last occasion when I "straggled" on a march. A day or so after arriving at Bolivar the word came to me in some way, I think from Enoch Wallace, that our first lieutenant, Dan Keeley, had spoken disapprovingly of my conduct in that regard. He was a young man, about twenty-five years old, of education and refinement, and all things considered, the best company officer we had. I was much attached to him, and I know that he liked me. Well, I learned that he had said, in substance, that a non-commissioned officer should set a good example to the men in all things, and that he hadn't expected of Stillwell that he would desert the ranks on a march. That settled the matter. My conduct had simply been thoughtless, without any shirking intentions, but I then realized that it was wrong, and, as already stated, straggled no more. We went into camp at Bolivar a little south of the town, in a grove of scattered big oak trees. A few days after our arrival a good-sized body of Confederate cavalry, under the command of Gen. Frank C. Armstrong, moved up from the south, and began operating near Bolivar and vicinity. Our force there was comparatively small, and, according to history, we were, for a time, in considerable danger of being "gobbled up," but of that we common soldiers knew nothing. Large details were at once put to work throwing up breast-works, while the men not on that duty were kept in line of battle, or with their guns in stack on the line, and strictly cautioned to remain close at hand, and ready to fall in at the tap of a drum. This state of things continued for some days, then the trouble would seemingly blow over, and later would break out again. While we were thus on the ragged edge, and expecting a battle almost any hour, a little incident occurred which somehow made on me a deep and peculiar impression. To explain it fully, I must go back to our first days at Pittsburg Landing. A day or two after our arrival there, Lt. Keeley said to me that the regimental color guard, to consist of a sergeant and eight corporals, was being formed, that Co. D had been called on for a corporal for that duty, and that I should report to Maj. Ohr for instructions. Naturally I felt quite proud over this, and forthwith reported to the Major, at his tent, and stated my business. He looked at me in silence, and closely, for a few seconds, and then remarked, in substance, that I could go to my quarters, and if needed, would be notified later. This puzzled me somewhat, but I supposed it would come out all right in due time. There was a corporal in our company to whom I will give a fictitious name, and call him Sam Cobb. He was a big, fine looking fellow, and somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years old. And an hour or two after my dismissal by Maj. Ohr, I heard Sam loudly proclaiming, with many fierce oaths, to a little group of Co. D. boys, that he "had been promoted." That he was a "color corporal, by ----!" This announcement was accompanied by sundry vociferous statements in regard to Maj. Ohr knowing exactly the kind of men to get to guard the colors of the regiment in time of battle, and so on, and so on. I heard all this with mortification and bitterness of spirit. The reason now dawned on me why I had been rejected. I was only a boy, rather small for my age, and at this time feeble in appearance. Maj. Ohr, quite properly, wanted strong, stalwart, fine looking men for the color guard. A little reflection convinced me that he was right, and could not be blamed for his action. But he found out later, (in this particular case, at least) that something more than a fine appearance was required to make a soldier. Only two or three days after Sam's "promotion," came the battle of Shiloh, and at the very first volley the regiment received, he threw down his gun, and ran like a whipped cur. The straps and buckles of his cartridge box were new and stiff, so he didn't take the time to release them in the ordinary way, but whipped out his jack-knife and cut them as he ran. I did not see this personally, but was told it by boys who did. We saw no more of Sam until after the battle, when he sneaked into camp, with a fantastic story of getting separated from the regiment in a fall-back movement, that he then joined another, fought both days, and performed prodigies of valor. But there were too many that saw the manner of his alleged "separation" for his story ever to be believed. I will now return to the Bolivar incident. While the Confederates were operating in the vicinity of this place, as above mentioned, the "fall in" call was sounded one evening after dark, and the regiment promptly formed in line on the parade ground. We remained there an hour or so, when finally the command was given to stack arms, and the men were dismissed with orders to hold themselves in readiness to form in line, on the parade grounds, at a moment's warning. As I was walking back to our company quarters, Sam Cobb stepped up to me and took me to one side, under the shadow of a tall oak tree. It was a bright moonlight night, with some big, fleecy clouds in the sky. "Stillwell," asked Sam, "do you think we are going to have a fight?" "I don't know, Sam," I answered, "but it looks very much like it. I reckon Gen. Ross is not going out to hunt a fight; he prefers to stay here, protect the government stores, and fight on the defensive. If our cavalry can stand the Rebs off, then maybe they will let us alone,--but if our cavalry are driven in, then look out." Sam held his head down, and said nothing. As above stated, he was a grown man, and I was only a boy, but the thing that was troubling him was apparent from his demeanor, and I felt sorry for him. I laid a hand kindly on his shoulder, and said, "And Sam, if we should have a fight, now try, old fellow, and do better than you did before." He looked up quickly--at that instant the moon passed from behind a big cloud and shone through a rift in the branches of the tree, full in his face, which was as pale as death, and he said, in a broken voice: "Stillwell, I'll run; I just know I'll run,--by God, I can't help it!" I deeply pitied the poor fellow, and talked to him a few minutes, in the kindest manner possible, trying to reason him out of that sort of a feeling. But his case was hopeless. He was a genial, kind-hearted man, but simply a constitutional coward, and he doubtless told the truth when he said he "couldn't help it." In the very next fight we were in he verified his prediction. I may say something about that further on. Since leaving Camp Carrollton, Co. D had lost two sergeants, one by death from sickness, the other by discharge for disability, so while we were at Bolivar these vacancies were filled by appointments made by Maj. Ohr, who was then commanding the regiment. In accordance with the custom in such matters, the appointments were announced in orders, which were read on dress parade. As I now write, it is a little over fifty-four years since this event took place, but even now my heart beats faster as the fact is recalled that as the adjutant read the list, there came the name "Corporal Leander Stillwell, Co. D, to be 4th Sergeant." In the early part of August, 1862, while our regiment was at Bolivar, I cast my first vote, which was an illegal one, as then I was not quite nineteen years old. The circumstances connected with my voting are not lengthy, so the story will be told. In the fall of 1861 the voters of the state of Illinois elected delegates to a Constitutional Convention, to frame and submit to the people a new Constitution. A majority of the delegates so elected were Democrats, so they prepared a Constitution in accordance with their political views. It therefore became a party measure, the Democrats supporting and the Republicans opposing it. By virtue of some legal enactment all Illinois soldiers in the field, who were lawful voters, were authorized to vote on the question of the adoption of the proposed constitution, and so, on the day above indicated the election for this purpose was held in our regiment. An election board was duly appointed, consisting of commissioned officers of the regiment; they fixed up under a big tree some hardtack boxes to serve for a table, and the proceedings began. I had no intention of voting, as I knew I had not the legal right, but Enoch Wallace came to me and suggested that I go up and vote. When I said I was not old enough, he simply laughed, and took me by the arm and marched me to the voting place. The manner of voting was by word of mouth, the soldier gave his name, and stated that he was "For" or "Against" the constitution, as the case might be, and his vote was recorded. I voted "Against," and started away, no questions being asked me as to my age. But before getting out of hearing I heard one of the board say, somewhat sotto voce, "That's a mighty young looking voter." Capt. Ihrie, of Co. C, also on the board, responded carelessly in the same tone, "Oh well, it's all right; he's a dam good soldier." That remark puffed me away up, and almost made me feel as if I had grown maybe three feet, or more, in as many seconds, and needed only a fierce mustache to be a match for one of Napoleon's Old Guard. And my vote was not the same as Ihrie's, either, as he was a Democrat, and supporting the new constitution. When the regiment was recruited it was Democratic by a large majority, but under the enlightening experiences of the war it had become Republican, and out of a total vote of about two hundred and fifty, it gave a majority against the new constitution of twenty-five. The final result was that the proposed constitution was beaten by the "home vote" alone, which gave something over 16,000 majority against it. Consequently the soldier vote (although heavily against the measure) cut no figure, as it was not needed, and my illegal exercise of the right of suffrage did neither good nor harm;--and the incident has long since been barred by the statute of limitations. During the latter part of July, and throughout August and September, things were lively and exciting at Bolivar, and in that region generally. There was a sort of feeling of trouble in the air most of the time. Gen. Grant was in command in this military district, and he has stated in his Memoirs that the "most anxious" period of the war, to him, was, practically, during the time above stated. But we common soldiers were not troubled with any such feeling. We were devoid of all responsibility, except simply to look out for and take care of ourselves, and do our duty to the best of our ability. And, speaking for myself, I will say that this condition was one that was very "full of comfort." We had no planning nor thinking to do, and the world could just wag as it willed. CHAPTER VIII. BOLIVAR. THE MOVEMENT TO THE VICINITY OF IUKA, MISSISSIPPI. SEPTEMBER-DECEMBER, 1862. On September 16 the regiment (with the rest of our brigade) left Bolivar, on the cars, went to Jackson, and thence to Corinth, Mississippi, where we arrived about sundown. From here, still on the cars, we started east on the Memphis and Charleston railroad. The train proceeded very slowly, and after getting about seven or eight miles from Corinth, it stopped, and we passed the rest of the night on the cars. Early next morning the train started, and we soon arrived at the little town of Burnsville, about fifteen miles southeast of Corinth, where we left the cars, and went into bivouac near the eastern outskirts of the town. On the morning of the 19th, before daylight, we marched about two miles east of Burnsville, and formed in line of battle, facing the south, in thick woods, consisting mainly of tall pines. It was talked among us that the Confederate pickets were only a short distance from our front, and it certainly looked like a battle was impending. By this time the military situation was pretty well understood by all of us. A Confederate force of about eight thousand men under Gen. Sterling Price was at the town of Iuka, about two miles south of us, and Gen. Grant and Gen. Rosecrans had formulated a plan for attacking this force on two sides at once. Gen. Rosecrans was to attack from the south, while our column, under the immediate command of Gen. E. O. C. Ord, was to close in from the north. Gen. Grant was on the field, and was with the troops on the north. The plan was all right, and doubtless would have succeeded, if the wind, on September 19, 1862, in that locality had been blowing from the south instead of the north. It is on such seemingly little things that the fate of battles, and sometimes that of nations, depends. Gen. Rosecrans on the afternoon of the 19th encountered the enemy south of Iuka, had a severe battle, and was quite roughly handled. Only a few miles to the north was all of Ord's command, in line of battle, and expecting to go in every minute, but the order never came. So all day we just stood around in those pine woods, wondering what in the world was the matter. As already stated, the woods were dense, and the wind blowing from the north carried from us all sounds of the battle. I personally know that this was the case. There were a few cannon shots next morning, fired by a battery in Gen. Rosecrans' column, and those we distinctly heard from our position, and thought at the time they indicated a battle, but they were fired mainly as "feelers," and to ascertain if the enemy were present in force. But, as stated, all day on the 19th we heard not a sound to indicate that a desperate battle was in progress only a few miles from our front. Early in the morning of the 19th I witnessed an incident that inspired in me my first deep-seated hatred of whisky, and which has abided with me ever since. We had formed in line of battle, but the command had been given, "In place, rest!" (which we were allowed to give a liberal construction), and we were scattered around, standing or sitting down, near the line. About this time two young assistant surgeons came from the rear, riding up the road on which the left of the regiment rested. They belonged to some infantry regiment of the division, but personally I didn't know them. They were both fool drunk. On reaching our line of battle they stopped, but kept in their saddles, pulling their horses about, playing "smarty," and grinning and chattering like a brace of young monkeys. I looked at these drunk young fools, and thought that maybe, in less than an hour, one of them might be standing over me, probing a bullet wound in one of my legs, and then and there promptly deciding the question whether the leg should be sawed off, or whether it could be saved. And what kind of intelligent judgment on this matter, on which my life or death might depend, could this whisky-crazed young gosling be capable of exercising? I felt so indignant at the condition and conduct of these men, right on the eve of what we supposed might be a severe battle and in which their care for the wounded would be required, that it almost seemed to me it would be doing the government good service to shoot both the galoots right on the spot. And there were other boys who felt the same way, who began making ominous remarks. The drunken young wretches seemed to have sense enough to catch the drift of something that was said, they put spurs to their horses and galloped off to the rear, and we saw them no more. On the morning of the 20th some regiments of our division moved forward and occupied the town of Iuka, but Gen. Price had in the meantime skipped out, so there was no fighting. Our regiment, with some others, remained in the original position, so that I never got to see the old town of Iuka until several years after the war. Sometime during the afternoon of the 20th I went to Capt. Reddish and said to him that I had become so tired of just standing around, and asked him if I could take a short stroll in the woods. The old man gave his consent (as I felt satisfied he would) but cautioned me not to go too far away. The main thing in view, when I made the request, was the hope of finding some wild muscadine grapes. They were plentiful in this section of the country, and were now ripe, and I wanted a bait. I think a wild muscadine grape is just the finest fruit of that kind in existence. When ripe it has a strong and most agreeable fragrance, and when one is to the leeward of a vine loaded with grapes, and a gentle wind is blowing from the south, he is first made aware of their proximity by their grateful odor. I soon found some on this occasion, and they were simply delicious. Having fully satisfied my craving, I proceeded to make my way back to the regiment, when hearing the trampling sound of cavalry, I hurried through the woods to the side of the road, reaching there just as the head of the column appeared. It was only a small body, not more than a hundred or so, and there, riding at its head, was Grant! I had not seen him since the battle of Shiloh and I looked at him with intense interest. He had on an old "sugar-loaf" hat, with limp, drooping brim, and his outer coat was the ordinary uniform coat, with a long cape, of a private in the cavalry. His foot-gear was cavalry boots, splashed with mud, and the ends of his trousers' legs were tucked inside the boots. No shoulder-straps were visible, and the only evidence of rank about him that was perceptible consisted of a frayed and tarnished gold cord on his hat. He was looking downward as he rode by, and seemed immersed in thought. As the column passed along, I asked a soldier near the rear what troops they were, and he answered, "Co. A, Fourth Illinois Cavalry--Gen. Grant's escort." This was the last time that I saw Grant during the war. On the evening of the 20th the regiment was drawn back into Burnsville, and that night Co. D bivouacked in the "Harrison Hotel," which formerly had evidently been the principal hotel in the town. It was a rambling, roomy, old frame building, two stories and a half high, now vacant, stripped of all furniture, and with a thick layer of dust and dirt on the floors. We occupied a room on the second floor, that evidently had been the parlor. Being quartered in a hotel was a novel experience, and the boys got lots of fun out of it. One would call out, "Bill, ring the clerk to send up a pitcher of ice water, and to be quick about it;" while another would say, "And while you're at it, tell him to note a special order from me for quail on toast for breakfast;" and so on. But these pleasantries soon subsided, and it was not long before we were wrapped in slumber. It was a little after midnight, and I was sound asleep, when I heard someone calling, "Sergeant Stillwell! Where is Sergeant Stillwell?" I sprang to my feet, and answered, "Here! What's wanted?" The speaker came to me, and then I saw that it was Lt. Goodspeed, who was acting as adjutant of the regiment. He proceeded to inform me that I was to take charge of a detail of three corporals and twelve men and go to a point about a mile and a half east of Burnsville, to guard a party of section men while clearing and repairing the railroad from a recent wreck. He gave me full instructions, and then said, "Stillwell, a lieutenant should go in charge of this detail, but all that I could find made pretty good excuses and I think you'll do. It is a position of honor and responsibility, as there are some prowling bands of guerrillas in this vicinity, so be careful and vigilant." I was then acting as first sergeant, and really was exempt from this duty, but of course the idea of making that claim was not entertained for a moment. I took charge of my party, went to where the laborers were waiting for us with hand cars, and we soon arrived at the scene of the wreck. A day or two before our arrival at Burnsville a party of Confederate cavalry had torn up the track at this point, and wrecked and burnt a freight train. Some horses on the train had been killed in the wreck; their carcasses were lying around, and were rather offensive. The trucks and other ironwork of the cars were piled on the track, tangled up, and all out of shape, some rails removed and others warped by heat, and things generally in a badly torn-up condition. The main dirt road forked here, one fork going diagonally to the right of the track and the other to the left--both in an easterly direction. I posted three men and a corporal about a quarter of a mile to the front on the track, a similar squad at the same distance on each fork of the dirt road, and the others at intervals on each side of the railroad at the place of the wreck. The laborers went to work with a will, and about the time the owls were hooting for day the foreman reported to me that the track was clear, the rails replaced, and that they were ready to return to Burnsville. I then drew in my guards, we got on the hand cars, and were soon back in town. And thus ended my first, and only, personal supervision of the work of repairing a break in a railroad. I barely had time to make my coffee and toast a piece of bacon when the bugle sounded "Fall in!" and soon (that being the morning of September 21st) we started on the back track, and that day marched to Corinth. It so happened that on this march our regiment was at the head of the column. The proper place of my company, according to army regulations, was the third from the right or head of the line, but from some cause--I never knew what--on that day we were placed at the head. And, as I was then acting as first sergeant of our company, that put me the head man on foot. These details are mentioned for the reason that all that day I marched pretty close to the tail of the horse that Gen. Ord was riding, and with boyish curiosity, I scanned the old general closely. He was a graduate of West Point, and an old regular. He had served in the Florida and the Mexican wars, and he also had been in much scrapping with hostile Indians in the vicinity of the Pacific Coast. He looked old to me, but really he was, at this time, only about forty-four years of age. He certainly was indifferent to his personal appearance, as his garb was even plainer, and more careless, than Grant's. He wore an old battered felt hat, with a flapping brim, and his coat was one of the old-fashioned, long-tailed oil-cloth "wrap-rascals" then in vogue. It was all splattered with mud, with several big torn places in it. There was not a thing about him, that I could see, to indicate his rank. Later he was transferred to the eastern armies, eventually was assigned to the command of the Army of the James, and took an active and prominent part in the operations that culminated in the surrender of Lee at Appomattox. We reached Corinth that evening, went into bivouac, and remained there a couple of days. On the morning of September 24th we fell in, marched down to the depot, climbed on cars, and were soon being whirled north to Jackson, on the Mobile and Ohio railroad. We arrived there about noon, and at once transferred to a train on the Mississippi Central track and which forthwith started for Bolivar. I think the train we came on to Jackson went right back to Corinth to bring up more troops. We common soldiers could not imagine what this hurried rushing around meant, and it was some time before we found out. But history shows that Grant was much troubled about this time as to whether a threatened Confederate attack would be delivered at Corinth or at Bolivar. However, about the 22nd, the indications were that Bolivar would be assailed, and troops were at once brought from Corinth to resist this apprehended movement of the Confederates. This probably is a fitting place for something to be said about our method of traveling by rail during the Civil war, as compared with the conditions of the present day in that regard. At the time I am now writing, about fifteen thousand United States soldiers have recently been transported on the cars from different places in the interior of the country, to various points adjacent to the Mexican border, for the purpose of protecting American interests. And it seems that in some cases the soldiers were carried in ordinary passenger coaches. Thereupon bitter complaints were made on behalf of such soldiers because Pullman sleepers were not used! And these complaints were effective, too, for, according to the press reports of the time, the use of passenger coaches for such purposes was summarily stopped and Pullmans were hurriedly concentrated at the places needed, and the soldiers went to war in them. Well, in our time, the old regiment was hauled over the country many times on trains, the extent of our travels in that manner aggregating hundreds and hundreds of miles. And such a thing as even ordinary passenger coaches for the use of the enlisted men was never heard of. And I have no recollection now that (during the war) any were provided for the use of the commissioned officers, either, unless they were of pretty high rank. The cars that we rode in were the box or freight cars in use in those days. Among them were cattle cars, flat or platform cars, and in general every other kind of freight car that could be procured. We would fill the box cars, and in addition clamber upon the roofs thereof and avail ourselves of every foot of space. And usually there was a bunch on the cow-catchers. The engines used wood for fuel; the screens of the smoke-stacks must have been very coarse, or maybe they had none at all, and the big cinders would patter down on us like hail. So, when we came to the journey's end, by reason of the cinders and soot we were about as dirty and black as any regiment of sure-enough colored troops that fought under the Union flag in the last years of the war. When the regiment was sent home in September, 1865, some months after the war was over, the enlisted men made even that trip in our old friends, the box cars. It is true that on this occasion there was a passenger coach for the use of the commissioned officers, and that is the only time that I ever saw such a coach attached to a train on which the regiment was taken anywhere. Now, don't misunderstand me. I am not kicking because, more than half a century after the close of the Civil War, Uncle Sam sent his soldier boys to the front in Pullmans. The force so sent was small and the government could well afford to do it, and it was right. I just want you to know that in my time, when we rode, it was in any kind of an old freight car, and we were awful glad to get that. And now on this matter, "The words of Job are ended." The only railroad accident I ever happened to be in was one that befell our train as we were in the act of leaving Jackson on the afternoon of the 24th. There was a good deal of hurry and confusion when we got on the cars, and it looked like it was every fellow for himself. Jack Medford (my chum) and I were running along the side of the track looking for a favorable situation, when we came to a flat car about the middle of the train, as yet unoccupied. "Jack," said I, "let's get on this!" He was a little slow of speech; he stopped, looked and commenced to say something, but his hesitation lost us the place,--and was fraught with other consequences. Right at that moment a bunch of the 12th Michigan on the other side of the track piled on the car quicker than a flash, and took up all available room. Jack and I then ran forward and climbed on top of a box car, next to the tender of the engine, and soon after the train started. It had not yet got under full head-way, and was going only about as fast as a man could walk, when, from some cause, the rails spread, and the first car to leave the rails was the flat above mentioned. But its trucks went bouncing along on the ties, and doubtless nobody would have been hurt, had it not been for the fact that the car plunged into a cattle guard, of the kind then in use. This guard was just a hole dug in the track, probably four or five feet deep, the same in length, and in width extending from rail to rail. Well, the front end of the car went down into that hole, and then the killing began. They stopped the train very quickly, the entire event couldn't have lasted more than half a minute, but that flat car was torn to splinters, three soldiers on it were killed dead, being frightfully crushed and mangled, and several more were badly injured. The men on the car jumped in every direction when the car began breaking up, and so the most of them escaped unhurt. If the train had been going at full speed, other cars would have been involved, and there is simply no telling how many would then have been killed and wounded. On what little things does the fate of man sometimes depend! If in response to my suggestion Jack Medford had promptly said, "All right," we would have jumped on that flat car, and then would have been caught in the smash-up. But he took a mere fraction of time to look and think, and that brief delay was, perhaps, our temporal salvation. We arrived at Bolivar during the afternoon of the 24th and re-occupied our old camp. The work of fortifying that place was pushed with renewed vigor, and strong lines of breastworks, with earthen forts at intervals, were constructed which practically inclosed the entire town. But we never had occasion to use them. Not long after our return to Bolivar, Gen. Grant became satisfied that the point the enemy would assail was Corinth, so the most of the troops at Bolivar were again started to Corinth, to aid in repelling the impending attack, but this time they marched overland. Our regiment and two others, with some artillery, were left to garrison Bolivar. And so it came to pass that the battle of Corinth was fought, on our part, by the command of Gen. Rosecrans on October 4th, and the battle of Hatchie Bridge the next day by the column from Bolivar, under the command of Gen. Ord,--and we missed both battles. For my part, I then felt somewhat chagrined that we didn't get to take part in either off those battles. Here we had been rushed around the country from pillar to post, hunting for trouble, and then to miss both these fights was just a little mortifying. However, the common soldier can only obey orders, and stay where he is put, and doubtless it was all for the best. Early on the morning of October 9th, a force of about four thousand men, including our regiment, started from Bolivar, marching southwest on the dirt road. We arrived at Grand Junction at dark, after a march of about twenty miles. Grand Junction was the point where the Memphis & Charleston and the Mississippi Central railroads crossed. We had not much more than stacked arms, and of course before I had time to cook my supper, when I was detailed for picket, and was on duty all night. But I didn't go supperless by any means, as I made coffee and fried some bacon at the picket post. Early next morning the command fell in line, and we all marched back to Bolivar again. We had hardly got started before it began to rain, and just poured down all day long. But the weather was pleasant, we took off our shoes and socks and rolled up our breeches, after the manner heretofore described, and just "socked on" through the yellow mud, whooping and singing, and as wet as drowned rats. We reached Bolivar some time after dark. The boys left there in camp in some way had got word that we were on the return, and had prepared for us some camp-kettles full of hot, strong coffee, with plenty of fried sow-belly,--so we had a good supper. What the object of the expedition was, and what caused us to turn back, I have never learned, or if I did, have now forgotten. On returning to Bolivar we settled down to the usual routine of battalion drill and standing picket. The particular guard duty the regiment performed nearly all the time we were at Bolivar (with some casual exceptions) was guarding the railroad from the bridge over Hatchie river, north to Toone's Station, a distance of about seven miles. Toone's Station, as its name indicates, was nothing but a stopping point, with a little rusty looking old frame depot and a switch. The usual tour of guard duty was twenty-four hours all the while I was in the service, except during this period of railroad guarding, and for it the time was two days and nights. Every foot of the railroad had to be vigilantly watched to prevent its being torn up by bands of guerrillas or disaffected citizens. One man with a crow-bar, or even an old ax, could remove a rail at a culvert, or some point on a high grade, and cause a disastrous wreck. I liked this railroad guard duty. Between Bolivar and Toone's the road ran through dense woods, with only an occasional little farm on either side of the road, and it was pleasant to be out in those fine old woods, and far away from the noise and smells of the camps. And there are so many things that are strange and attractive, to be seen and heard, when one is standing alone on picket, away out in some lonesome place, in the middle of the night. I think that a man who has never spent some wakeful hours in the night, by himself, out in the woods, has simply missed one of the most interesting parts of life. The night is the time when most of the wild things are astir, and some of the tame ones, too. There was some kind of a very small frog in the swamps and marshes near Bolivar that gave forth about the most plaintive little cry that I ever heard. It was very much like the bleating of a young lamb, and, on hearing it the first time, I thought sure it was from some little lamb that was lost, or in distress of some kind. I never looked the matter up to ascertain of what particular species those frogs were. They may be common throughout the South, but I never heard this particular call except around and near Bolivar. And the woods between Bolivar and Toone's were full of owls, from great big fellows with a thunderous scream, down to the little screech owls, who made only a sort of chattering noise. One never failing habit of the big owls was to assemble in some grove of tall trees just about daybreak, and have a morning concert, that could be heard half a mile away. And there were also whippoorwills, and mocking birds, and, during the pleasant season of the year, myriads of insects that would keep sounding their shrill little notes the greater part of the night. And the only time one sees a flying squirrel, (unless you happen to cut down the tree in whose hollow he is sleeping,) is in the night time. They are then abroad in full force. When on picket in my army days I found out that dogs are great nocturnal ramblers. I have been on guard at a big tree, on some grass-grown country road, when something would be heard coming down the road towards me; pat, pat, pitty-pat,--then it would stop short. The night might be too dark for me to see it, but I knew it must be a dog. It would stand silent for a few seconds, evidently closely scrutinizing that man alone under the tree, with something like a long shining stick in his hands; then it would stealthily leave the road, and would be heard rustling through the leaves as it made a half circle through the woods to get by me. On reaching the road below me, its noise would cease for a little while,--it was then looking back over its shoulder to see if that man was still there. Having satisfied itself on that point, then--pat, pat, pitty-pat, and it went off in a trot down the road. When you see an old farm dog asleep in the sun on the porch in the day time, with his head between his paws, it is, as a general rule, safe to assume that he was up and on a scout all the previous night, and maybe traveled ten or fifteen miles. Cats are also confirmed night prowlers, but I don't think they wander as far as dogs. Later, when we were in Arkansas, sometimes a full grown bear would walk up to some drowsy picket, and give him the surprise of his life. One quiet, star-lit summer night, while on picket between Bolivar and Toone's, I had the good fortune to witness the flight of the largest and most brilliant meteor I ever have seen. It was a little after midnight, and I was standing alone at my post, looking, listening, and thinking. Suddenly there came a loud, rushing, roaring sound, like a passenger train close by, going at full speed, and there in the west was a meteor! Its flight was from the southwest to the northeast, parallel with the horizon, and low down. Its head, or body, looked like a huge ball of fire, and it left behind a long, immense tail of brilliant white, that lighted up all the western heavens. While yet in full view, it exploded with a crash like a near-by clap of thunder, there was a wide, glittering shower of sparks,--and then silence and darkness. The length of time it was visible could not have been more than a few seconds, but it was a most extraordinary spectacle. On October 19th the regiment (except those on guard duty) went as escort of a foraging expedition to a big plantation about twelve miles from Bolivar down the Hatchie river. We rode there and back in the big government wagons, each wagon being drawn by a team of six mules. Like Joseph's brethren when they went down into Egypt, we were after corn. The plantation we foraged was an extensive one on the fertile bottom land of the Hatchie river, and the owner that year had grown several hundred acres of corn, which had all been gathered, or shocked, and we just took it as we found it. The people evidently were wealthy for that time and locality, many slaves were on the place, and it was abounding in live stock and poultry of all kinds. The plantation in general presented a scene of rural plenty and abundance that reminded me of the home of old Baltus Van Tassel, as described by Washington Irving in the story of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,"--with this difference: Everything about the Tennessee plantation was dirty, out of order, and in general higgledy-piggledy condition. And the method of farming was slovenly in the extreme. The cultivated land had been cleared by cutting away the underbrush and small trees, while the big ones had merely been "deadened," by girdling them near the ground. These dead trees were all standing in ghastly nakedness, and so thick in many places that it must have been difficult to plow through them, while flocks of crows and buzzards were sailing around them or perched in their tops, cawing and croaking, and thereby augmenting the woe-begone looks of things. The planter himself was of a type then common in the South. He was a large, coarse looking man, with an immense paunch, wore a broad-brimmed, home-made straw hat and butter nut jeans clothes. His trousers were of the old-fashioned, "broad-fall" pattern. His hair was long, he had a scraggy, sandy beard, and chewed "long green" tobacco continually and viciously. But he was shrewd enough to know that ugly talk on his part wouldn't mend matters, but only make them worse, so he stood around in silence while we took his corn, but he looked as malignant as a rattlesnake. His wife was directly his opposite in appearance and demeanor. She was tall, thin, and bony, with reddish hair and a sharp nose and chin. And goodness, but she had a temper! She stood in the door of the dwelling house, and just tongue-lashed us "Yankees," as she called us, to the full extent of her ability. The boys took it all good naturedly, and didn't jaw back. We couldn't afford to quarrel with a woman. A year later, the result of her abuse would have been the stripping of the farm of every hog and head of poultry on it, but at this time the orders were strict against indiscriminate, individual foraging, and except one or two bee-stands full of honey, nothing was taken but the corn. And I have no doubt that long ere this the Government has paid that planter, or his heirs, a top-notch price for everything we took. It seems to be easy, now-a-days, to get a special Act through Congress, making "full compensation" in cases of that kind. Not long after the foregoing expedition, I witnessed a somewhat amusing incident one night on the picket line. One day, for some reason, the regiment was required, in addition to the railroad guards, to furnish a number of men for picket duty. First Lieut. Sam T. Carrico, of Co. B, was the officer, and it fell to my lot to be the sergeant of the guard. We picketed a section of the line a mile or so southwest of Bolivar, and the headquarters post, where the lieutenant and the sergeant of the guard stayed, was at a point on a main traveled road running southwest from the town. It was in the latter part of October, and the night was a bad and cold one. Lieut. Carrico and I had "doubled up," spread one of our blankets on the ground, and with the other drawn over us, were lying down and trying to doze a little, when about ten o'clock we heard a horseman coming at full speed from the direction of Bolivar. We thereupon rose to a sitting posture, and awaited developments. The horseman, on nearing our post and being challenged, responded, "Friend, without the countersign!" and in a peremptory manner told the sentinel on duty that he wanted to see the officer of the guard. Lieut. Carrico and I walked up to the horseman, and, on getting close to him, saw that he was a Union officer of the rank of Captain. Addressing himself to the lieutenant, in a loud and hasty manner he told him his story, which, in substance, was that he was Captain ---- (giving his name), on Gen. Grant's staff, that he had just arrived in Bolivar on the train from Memphis, that he had important business a few miles outside of the lines, and being in a great hurry, he had not gone to post headquarters to get the countersign, as he felt satisfied that the statement of his rank and business would be sufficient to insure his being passed through the picket line, and so on. Lieut. Carrico listened in silence until the fellow finished, and then said, quietly but very firmly, "Captain, if you claimed to be Gen. Grant himself, you shouldn't pass through my line without the countersign." At this the alleged "staff officer" blew up, and thundered and bullied at a great rate. Carrico was not much more than a boy, being only about twenty-two years old, and of slight build, but he kept perfectly cool and remained firm as a rock. Finally the officer wheeled his horse around and started back to town at a furious gallop. Carrico then walked up to the sentinel on duty and said to him, "Now, if that fellow comes back, you challenge him, and make him conform to every item of the army regulations;" and to make sure about it, he gave the guard specific instructions as to his duties in such cases. We stood around and waited, and it was not long before we heard the horseman returning at his usual rate of speed. He never checked his gait until the challenge of the sentinel rang out, "Halt! Who comes there?" "Friend, with the countersign!" was the answer. "Dismount, friend, advance, and give the countersign!" cried the sentinel. Kuh-sock, went the fine, high-top boots of the rider in the mud, and leading his horse, he walked up, gave the talismanic word, to which the response was made, "Countersign's correct! Pass, friend." The officer then sprang into the saddle, and rode up to the lieutenant and me. Taking a memorandum book and pencil from one of his pockets, he said to Carrico, "Give me your name, company, and regiment, sir." "Samuel T. Carrico, first lieutenant Co. B, 61st Illinois Infantry." The officer scribbled in his note-book, then turned to me, "And yours?" "Leander Stillwell, sergeant Co. D, 61st Illinois Infantry;" and that answer was also duly recorded. "Good night, gentlemen; you'll render an account for this outrage later;" and with this parting salutation, the officer galloped away. "All right!" Carrico called after him, "you know where to find us." The victim of the "outrage" had not returned when we were relieved at 9 o'clock the next morning, and we never saw or heard of him any more. Of course his threat on leaving us was pure bluff, for Lieut. Carrico had only done his plain and simple duty. The fellow was probably all right; his returning with the countersign would indicate it. But his "important business" was doubtless simply to keep a date with some lady-love out in the country, and he wanted to meet her under the friendly cover of the night. [Illustration: Samuel T. Carrico 1st Lieutenant Co. B, 61st Illinois Infantry. Bolivar, Tenn., Oct., 1862.] A few words will here be said in the nature of a deserved tribute to Lieut. Carrico. Later he rose to the rank of Captain of his company, and was one among the very best and bravest of the line officers of the regiment. He had nerves like hammered steel, and was as cool a man in action as I ever have known. Of all the officers of the regiment who were mustered in at its organization, he is now the only survivor. He is living at Alva, Oklahoma, and is a hale, hearty old man. CHAPTER IX. THE AFFAIR AT SALEM CEMETERY. JACKSON, CARROLL STATION. DECEMBER, 1862, JANUARY, 1863. BOLIVAR. FEBRUARY-MAY, 1863. On the afternoon of December 18th, suddenly, without any previous warning or notification, the bugle sounded "Fall in!" and all the regiment fit for duty and not on guard at once formed on the regimental parade ground. From there we marched to the depot, and with the 43rd Illinois of our brigade got on the cars, and were soon being whirled over the road in a northerly direction. It was a warm, sunshiny day, and we common soldiers supposed we were going on just some little temporary scout, so we encumbered ourselves with nothing but our arms, and haversacks, and canteens. Neglecting to take our blankets was a grievous mistake, as later we found out to our sorrow. We arrived at Jackson a little before sundown, there left the cars, and, with the 43rd, forthwith marched out about two miles east of town. A little after dark we halted in an old field on the left of the road, in front of a little old country graveyard called Salem Cemetery, and there bivouacked for the night. Along in the evening the weather turned intensely cold. It was a clear, star-lit night, and the stars glittered in the heavens like little icicles. We were strictly forbidden to build any fires, for the reason, as our officers truly said, the Confederates were not more than half a mile away, right in our front. As before stated, we had no blankets, and how we suffered with the cold! I shall never forget that night of December 18th, 1862. We would form little columns of twenty or thirty men, in two ranks, and would just trot round and round in the tall weeds and broom sedge to keep from chilling to death. Sometimes we would pile down on the ground in great bunches, and curl up close together like hogs, in our efforts to keep warm. But some part of our bodies would be exposed, which soon would be stinging with cold, then up we would get and renew the trotting process. At one time in the night some of the boys, rendered almost desperate by their suffering started to build a fire with some fence rails. The red flames began to curl around the wood, and I started for the fire, intending to absorb some of that glowing heat, if, as Uncle Remus says, "it wuz de las' ack." But right then a mounted officer dashed up to the spot, and sprang from his horse. He was wearing big cavalry boots, and jumped on that fire with both feet and stamped it out in less time than I am taking to tell about it. I heard afterwards that he was Col. Engelmann, of the 43rd Illinois, then the commander of our brigade. Having put out the fire, he turned on the men standing around, and swore at them furiously. He said that the rebels were right out in our front, and in less than five minutes after we had betrayed our presence by fires, they would open on us with artillery, and "shell hell out of us;"--and more to the same effect. The boys listened in silence, meek as lambs, and no more fires were started by us that night. But the hours seemed interminably long, and it looked like the night would never come to an end. At last some little woods birds were heard, faintly chirping in the weeds and underbrush near by, then some owls set up a hooting in the woods behind us, and I knew that dawn was approaching. When it became light enough to distinguish one another, we saw that we presented a doleful appearance--all hollow-eyed, with blue noses, pinched faces, and shivering as if we would shake to pieces. Permission was then given to build small fires to cook our breakfast, and we didn't wait for the order to be repeated. I made a quart canful of strong, hot coffee, toasted some bacon on a stick, and then, with some hardtack, had a good breakfast and felt better. Breakfast over (which didn't take long), the regiment was drawn back into the cemetery, and placed in line behind the section of inclosing fence that faced to the front. The fence was of post and plank, the planks arranged lengthwise, with spaces between. We were ordered to lie flat on the ground, and keep the barrels of our guns out of sight, as much as possible. Our position in general may be described about as follows: The right of the regiment rested near the dirt road, and at right angles to it. The ground before us was open for more than half a mile. It sloped down gently, then it rose gradually to a long, bare ridge, or slight elevation of ground, which extended parallel to our front. The road was enclosed by an old-time staked and ridered fence, of the "worm" pattern. On our right, and on the other side of the road, was a thick forest of tall trees, in which the 43rd Illinois was posted. The cemetery was thickly studded with tall, native trees, and a few ornamental ones, such as cedar and pine. Soon after we had been put in position, as above stated, Col. Engelmann, the brigade commander, came galloping up, and stopped about opposite the front of the regiment. Maj. Ohr, our regimental commander, who was in the rear of the regiment on foot, walked out to meet him. Engelmann was a German, and a splendid officer. "Goot morning, Major," he said, in a loud voice we all heard. "How are de poys?" "All right," answered the Major; "we had rather a chilly night, but are feeling first rate now." "Dat iss goot," responded the Colonel; and continued in his loud tone, "our friends are right out here in de bush; I reckon dey'll show up presently. Maybe so dey will give us a touch of deir artillery practice,--but dat hurts nobody. Shoost have de poys keep cool." Then he approached the Major closer, said something in a low tone we did not hear, waved his hand to us, and then galloped off to the right. He was hardly out of sight, when sure enough, two or three cannon shots were heard out in front, followed by a scattering fire of small arms. We had a small force of our cavalry in the woods beyond the ridge I have mentioned, and they soon appeared, slowly falling back. They were spread out in a wide, extended skirmish line, and acted fine. They would trot a little ways to the rear, then face about, and fire their carbines at the advancing foe, who, as yet, was unseen by us. Finally they galloped off to the left and disappeared in the woods, and all was still for a short time. Suddenly, without a note of warning, and not preceded by even a skirmish line, there appeared coming over the ridge in front, and down the road, a long column of Confederate cavalry! They were, when first seen, at a walk, and marching by the flank, with a front of four men. How deep the column was we could not tell. The word was immediately passed down our line not to fire until at the word of command, and that we were to fire by file, beginning on the right. That is, only two men, front and rear rank, would fire together, and so on, down the line. The object of this was apparent: by the time the left of the regiment had emptied their guns, the right would have reloaded, and thus a continuous firing would be maintained. With guns cocked and fingers on the triggers, we waited in tense anxiety for the word to fire. Maj. Ohr was standing a few paces in the rear of the center of the regiment, watching the advance of the enemy. Finally, when they were in fair musket range, came the order, cool and deliberate, without a trace of excitement: "At-ten-shun, bat-tal-yun! Fire by file! Ready!--Commence firing!" and down the line crackled the musketry. Concurrently with us, the old 43rd Illinois on the right joined in the serenade. In the front file of the Confederate column was one of the usual fellows with more daring than discretion, who was mounted on a tall, white horse. Of course, as long as that horse was on its feet, everybody shot at him, or the rider. But that luckless steed soon went down in a cloud of dust, and that was the end of old Whitey. The effect of our fire on the enemy was marked and instantaneous. The head of their column crumpled up instanter, the road was full of dead and wounded horses, while several that were riderless went galloping down the road by us, with bridle reins and stirrups flapping on their necks and flanks. I think there is no doubt that the Confederates were taken completely by surprise. They stopped short when we opened on them, wheeled around, and went back much faster than they came, except a little bunch who had been dismounted. They hoisted a white rag, came in, and surrendered. The whole affair was exceedingly "short and sweet;" in duration it could not have exceeded more than a few minutes, but it was highly interesting as long as it lasted. But now the turn of the other fellows was to come. Soon after their charging column disappeared behind the ridge in our front, they put in position on the crest of the ridge two black, snaky looking pieces of artillery, and began giving us the benefit of the "artillery practice" Col. Engelmann had alluded to. They were beyond the range of our muskets; we had no artillery with our little force, and just had to lie there and take it. I know nothing about the technicalities of cannon firing, so I can only describe in my own language how it appeared to us. The enemy now knew just where we were, there were no obstructions between them and us, and they concentrated their fire on our regiment. Sometimes they threw a solid shot at us, but mostly they fired shells. They were in plain sight, and we could see every movement connected with the firing of the guns. After a piece was fired, the first thing done was to "swab" it. Two men would rush to the muzzle with the swabber, give it a few quick turns in the bore, then throw down the swabber and grab up the rammer. Another man would then run forward with the projectile and insert it in the muzzle of the piece, the rammers would ram it home, and then stand clear. The man at the breech would then pull the lanyard,--and now look out! A tongue of red flame would leap from the mouth of the cannon, followed by a billow of white smoke; then would come the scream of the missile as it passed over our heads (if a solid shot), or exploded near our front or rear (if a shell), and lastly we would hear the report of the gun. Then we all drew a long breath. When they threw shells at us their method was to elevate the muzzle of the gun, and discharge the missile in such a manner that it would describe what I suppose would be called the parabola of a curve. As it would be nearing the zenith of its flight we could follow it distinctly with the naked eye. It looked like a big, black bug. You may rest assured that we watched the downward course of this messenger of mischief with the keenest interest. Sometimes it looked as if it would hit our line, sure, but it never did. And, as stated, we could only lie there and watch all this, without the power on our part to do a thing in return. Such a situation is trying on the nerves. But firing at our line was much like shooting at the edge of a knife-blade, and their practice on us, which lasted at least two hours, for all practical results, to quote Col. Engelmann, "shoost hurt nobody." A private of Co. G had his head carried away by a fragment of a shell, and a few others were slightly injured, and that was the extent of our casualties. After enduring this cannonading for the time above stated, Col. Engelmann became apprehensive that the Confederate cavalry were flanking us, and trying to get between us and Jackson, so he ordered our force to retire. We fell back, in good order, for about a mile, then halted, and faced to the front again. Reinforcements soon came out from Jackson, and then the whole command advanced, but the enemy had disappeared. Our regiment marched in column by the flank up the road down which the Confederates had made their charge. They had removed their killed and wounded, but at the point reached by their head of column, the road was full of dead horses. Old Whitey was sprawled out in the middle of the lane, "with his nostrils all wide," and more than a dozen bullet holes in his body. Near his carcass I saw a bloody yarn sock, with a bullet hole square through the instep. I made up my mind then and there, that if ever I happened to get into the cavalry I would, if possible, avoid riding a white horse. I will now say something about poor Sam Cobb, heretofore mentioned, and then he will disappear from this history. Sam was with us at the beginning of this affair on December 19th, but the very instant that the enemy came in sight he broke from the ranks and ran, and never showed up until we returned to Jackson some days later. He then had one of his hands tied up, and claimed that he had been wounded in the fight. The nature of his wound was simply a neat little puncture, evidently made by a pointed instrument, in the ball of the forefinger of one of his hands. Not a shot had been fired at us up to the time when he fled, so it was impossible for his hurt to have been inflicted by the enemy. It was the belief of all of us that he had put his forefinger against a tree, and then jabbed the point of his bayonet through the ball thereof. I heard Capt. Reddish in bitter language charge him with this afterwards, and poor Sam just hung his head and said nothing. When the regiment veteranized in 1864, Sam didn't re-enlist, and was mustered out in February, 1865, at the end of his term of service. On returning to his old home, he found that his reputation in the army had preceded him, and it is likely that the surroundings were not agreeable. At any rate, he soon left there, emigrated to a southwestern State, and died there several years ago. In my opinion, he really was to be sincerely pitied, for I think, as he had told me at Bolivar, he just "couldn't help it." We advanced this day (December 19) only two or three miles beyond Salem Cemetery, and bivouacked for the night in an old field. The weather had changed, and was now quite pleasant; besides, the embargo on fires was lifted, so the discomfort of the previous night was only something to be laughed about. The next day we were afoot early, and marched east in the direction of Lexington about fifteen miles. But we encountered no enemy, and on December 21 turned square around and marched back to Jackson. Gen. Forrest was in command of the Confederate cavalry operating in this region, and he completely fooled Gen. J. C. Sullivan, the Union commander of the district of Jackson. While we were on this wild-goose chase towards Lexington, Forrest simply whirled around our flanks at Jackson, and swept north on the railroad, scooping in almost everything to the Kentucky line, and burning bridges and destroying culverts on the railroad in great shape. During our short stay that ensued at Jackson, an event occurred that I have always remembered with pleasure. In 1916 I wrote a brief preliminary statement touching this Salem Cemetery affair, followed by one of my army letters, the two making a connected article, and the same was published in the Erie (Kansas) "Record." It may result in some repetition, but I have concluded to here reproduce this published article, which I have called, "A Soldier's Christmas Dinner." A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS DINNER. By Judge Leander Stillwell. Christmas Day in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-two was a gloomy one, in every respect, for the soldiers of the Union army in West Tennessee. Five days before, the Confederate General Van Dorn had captured Grant's depot of supplies at Holly Springs, and government stores of the value of a million and a half of dollars had gone up in smoke and flame. About the same time Forrest had struck the Mobile and Ohio railroad, on which we depended to bring us from the north our supplies of hardtack and bacon, and had made a wreck of the road from about Jackson, Tennessee, nearly to Columbus, Kentucky. For some months previous to these disasters the regiment to which I belonged, the 61st Illinois Infantry, had been stationed at Bolivar, Tennessee, engaged in guarding the railroad from that place to Toone's Station, a few miles north of Bolivar. On December 18, with another regiment of our brigade, we were sent by rail to Jackson to assist in repelling Forrest, who was threatening that place. On the following day the two regiments, numbering in the aggregate about 500 men, in connection with a small detachment of our cavalry, had a lively and spirited little brush with the Confederate forces about two miles east of Jackson, near a country burying ground called Salem Cemetery, which resulted in our having the good fortune to give them a salutary check. Reinforcements were sent out from Jackson, and Forrest disappeared. The next day our entire command marched about fifteen miles eastwardly in the direction of the Tennessee river. It was doubtless supposed by our commanding general that the Confederates had retreated in that direction, but he was mistaken. Forrest had simply whipped around Jackson, struck the railroad a few miles north thereof, and then had continued north up the road, capturing and destroying as he went. On the succeeding day, December 21st, we all marched back to Jackson, and my regiment went into camp on a bleak, muddy hillside in the suburbs of the town, and there we remained until December 29th, when we were sent to Carroll Station, about eight miles north of Jackson. I well remember how gloomy I felt on the morning of that Christmas Day at Jackson, Tennessee. I was then only a little over nineteen years of age. I had been in the army nearly a year, lacking just a few days, and every day of that time, except a furlough of two days granted at our camp of instruction before we left Illinois for the front, had been passed with the regiment in camp and field. Christmas morning my thoughts naturally turned to the little old log cabin in the backwoods of western Illinois, and I couldn't help thinking about the nice Christmas dinner that I knew the folks at home would sit down to on that day. There would be a great chicken pot pie, with its savory crust and a superabundance of light, puffy dumplings; delicious light, hot biscuits; a big ball of our own home-made butter, yellow as gold; broad slices of juicy ham, the product of hogs of our own fattening, and home cured with hickory-wood smoke; fresh eggs from the barn in reckless profusion, fried in the ham gravy; mealy Irish potatoes, baked in their jackets; coffee with cream about half an inch thick; apple butter and crab apple preserves; a big plate of wild honey in the comb; and winding up with a thick wedge of mince pie that mother knew so well how to make--such mince pie, in fact, as was made only in those days, and is now as extinct as the dodo. And when I turned from these musings upon the bill of fare they would have at home to contemplate the dreary realities of my own possible dinner for the day--my oyster can full of coffee and a quarter ration of hardtack and sow-belly comprised the menu. If the eyes of some old soldier should light upon these lines, and he should thereupon feel disposed to curl his lip with unutterable scorn and say: "This fellow was a milksop and ought to have been fed on Christian Commission and Sanitary goods, and put to sleep at night with a warm rock at his feet;"--I can only say in extenuation that the soldier whose feelings I have been trying to describe was only a boy--and, boys, you probably know how it was yourselves during the first year of your army life. But, after all, the soldier had a Christmas dinner that day, and it is of that I have started out to speak. Several years ago my old army letters, which had been so carefully kept and cherished for all these many years, passed from the keeping of those to whom they had been addressed, back into the possession of him who penned them, and now, after the lapse of fifty-four years, one of these old letters, written to my father, shall re-tell the story of this Christmas dinner. "Jackson, Tennessee, December 27, 1862. "Mr. J. O. Stillwell, "Otter Creek, Illinois. "I wrote you a short and hasty letter the fore part of this week to let you know that I was all right, and giving you a brief account of our late ups and downs, but I doubt if you have received it. The cars have not been running since we came back to Jackson from our march after Forrest. The talk in camp is that the rebs have utterly destroyed the railroad north of here clean to the Mississippi river, and that they have also broken it in various places and damaged it badly south of here between Bolivar and Grand Junction. I have no idea when this letter will reach you, but will write it anyhow, and trust to luck and Uncle Sam to get it through in course of time. "We are now in camp on a muddy hillside in the outskirts of Jackson. I think the spot where we are must have been a cavalry camp last summer. Lots of corn cobs are scattered on the ground, old scraps of harness leather, and such other truck as accumulates where horses are kept standing around. When we left Bolivar we were in considerable of a hurry, with no time to primp or comb our hair, and neither did we bring our tents along, so we are just living out of doors now, and "boarding at Sprawl's." There is plenty of wood, though, to make fires, and we have jayhawked enough planks and boards to lie on to keep us out of the mud, so we just curl up at night in our blankets with all our clothes on, and manage to get along fairly well. Our worst trouble now is the lack of grub. The destruction of the railroad has cut off our supplies, and there is no telling just exactly how long it may be before it will be fixed and in running order again, so they have been compelled, I suppose, to cut down our rations. We get half rations of coffee, and quarter rations of hardtack and bacon. What we call small rations, such as Yankee beans, rice, and split peas, are played out; at least, we don't get any. The hardtack is so precious now that the orderly sergeant no longer knocks a box open and lets every man help himself, but he stands right over the box and counts the number of tacks he gives to every man. I never thought I'd see the day when army hardtack would be in such demand that they'd have to be counted out to the soldiers as if they were money, but that's what's the matter now. And that ain't all. The boys will stand around until the box is emptied, and then they will pick up the fragments that have fallen to the ground in the divide, and scrape off the mud with their knives, and eat the little pieces, and glad to get them. Now and then, to help out the sow-belly, we get quarter rations of fresh beef from the carcass of a Tennessee steer that the quartermaster manages to lay hands on somehow. But it's awful poor beef, lean, slimy, skinny and stringy. The boys say that one can throw a piece up against a tree, and it will just stick there and quiver and twitch for all the world like one of those blue-bellied lizards at home will do when you knock him off a fence rail with a stick. "I just wish that old Forrest, who is the cause of about all this trouble, had to go without anything to eat until he was so weak that he would have to be fed with a spoon. Maybe after he had been hungry real good for a while he'd know how it feels himself, and would let our railroads alone. "But I want to tell you that I had a real bully Christmas dinner, in spite of old Forrest and the whole caboodle. It was just a piece of the greatest good luck I've had for many a day. "When Christmas morning came I was feeling awful blue. In spite of all I could do, I couldn't help but think about the good dinner you folks at home would have that day, and I pictured it all out in my imagination. Then about every one of the boys had something to say about what he would have for Christmas dinner if he was home, and they'd run over the list of good things till it was almost enough to make one go crazy. To make matters worse, just the day before in an old camp I had found some tattered fragments of a New York illustrated newspaper with a whole lot of pictures about Thanksgiving Day in the Army of the Potomac. They were shown as sitting around piles of roast turkeys, pumpkin pies, pound cake, and goodness knows what else, and I took it for granted that they would have the same kind of fodder today. You see, the men in that army, by means of their railroads, are only a few hours from home, and old Forrest is not in their neighborhood, so it is an easy thing for them to have good times. And here we were, away down in Tennessee, in the mud and the cold, no tents, on quarter rations, and picking scraps of hardtack out of the mud and eating them--it was enough to make a preacher swear. But along about noon John Richey came to me and proposed that inasmuch as it was Christmas Day, we should strike out and forage for a square meal. It didn't take much persuasion, and straightway we sallied forth. I wanted to hunt up the old colored woman who gave me the mess of boiled roasting ears when we were here last summer, but John said he thought he had a better thing than that, and as he is ten years older than I am, I knocked under and let him take the lead. "About half a mile from our camp, in the outskirts of the town, we came to a large, handsome, two-story and a half frame house, with a whole lot of nigger cabins in the rear. John took a survey of the premises and said, 'Lee, right here's our meat.' We went into the yard at a little side gate between the big house and the nigger quarters, and were steering for one of the cabins, when out steps from the back porch of the big house the lady of the place herself. That spoiled the whole game; John whirled in his tracks and commenced to sidle away. But the lady walked towards us and said in a very kind and friendly manner: 'Do you men want anything?' 'Oh, no, ma'am,' replied John; 'we just came here to see if we could get some of the colored women to do some washing for us, but I guess we'll not bother about it today;' still backing away as he spoke. But the lady was not satisfied. Looking at us very sharply, she asked: 'Don't you men want something to eat?' My heart gave a great thump at that, but, to my inexpressible disgust, John, with his head thrown back and nose pointed skyward, answered, speaking very fast, 'Oh, no, ma'am, not at all, ma'am, a thousand times obleeged, ma'am,' and continued his sneaking retreat. By this time I had hold of the cape of his overcoat and was plucking it in utter desperation. 'John,' I said, speaking low, 'what in thunder do you mean? This is the best chance we'll ever have.' I was looking at the lady meanwhile in the most imploring manner, and she was regarding me with a kind of a pleasant, amused smile on her face. She saw, I guess, a mighty dirty looking boy, whose nose and face were pinched and blue with hunger, cold, loss of sleep, and hard knocks generally, and she brought the business to a head at once. 'You men come right in,' she said, as if she was the major-general commanding the department. 'We have just finished our dinner, but in a few minutes the servants can have something prepared for you,--and I think you are hungry.' John, with the most aggravating mock modesty that I ever saw in my life, began saying: 'We are very much obleeged, ma'am, but we haven't the slightest occasion in the world to eat, ma'am, and----' when I couldn't stand it any longer for fear he would ruin everything after all. 'Madam,' I said, 'please don't pay any attention to what my partner says, for we are most desperately hungry.' The lady laughed right out at that, and said, 'I thought so; come in.' "She led the way into the basement story of the house, where the dining room was, (all the rich people in the South have their dining rooms in the basement,) and there was a nice warm room, a dining table in the center, with the cloth and dishes yet on it, and a big fireplace at one end of the room, where a crackling wood fire was burning. I tell you, it was different from our muddy camp on the bleak hillside, where the wind blows the smoke from our fires of green logs in every direction about every minute of the day. I sat down by the fire to warm my hands and feet, which were cold. A colored girl came in and commenced to arrange the table, passing back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen, and in a short time the lady told us that our dinner was ready, to sit up to the table, and eat heartily. We didn't wait for a second invitation that time. And, oh, what a dinner we had! There was a great pile of juicy, fried beefsteak, cooked to perfection and tender as chicken; nice, warm light bread, a big cake of butter, stewed dried apples, cucumber pickles, two or three kinds of preserves, coffee with sugar and cream, and some of the best molasses I ever tasted,--none of this sour, scorched old sorghum stuff, but regular gilt-edge first class New Orleans golden syrup, almost as sweet as honey. Then, to top off with, there was a nice stewed dried apple pie, and some kind of a custard in little dishes, something different from anything in that line that I had ever seen before, but mighty good. And then, in addition to all that, we were seated on chairs, at a table with a white cloth on it, and eating out of china plates and with knives and forks, a colored girl waiting on us, and the lady of the house sitting there and talking to us as pleasantly as if we were Grant and Halleck in person. Under the influence of the good grub, John thawed out considerably, and made a full confession to the lady about his queer actions at the beginning. He told her that we were going to the nigger quarters to try to get something to eat, and that when she came out and gave us such a kind invitation to come in the house, he was too much ashamed of our appearance to accept. That we had come up from Bolivar about a week before, riding on top of the box cars, where we got all covered with smoke, dust, and cinders; then ordered out to the front that night, then the fight with Forrest the next day, then the march towards the Tennessee river and back of about forty miles, and since then in camp with no shelter, tramping around in the mud, and sleeping on the ground; that on account of all these things we looked so rough and so dirty that he just felt ashamed to go into a nice house where handsome, well-dressed ladies were. Oh! I tell you, old John is no slouch; he patched up matters remarkably well. The lady listened attentively, said she knew we were hungry the moment she saw us, that she had heard the soldiers were on short rations in consequence of the destruction of the railroad, and turning towards me she went on to say: 'There was such a pitiful, hungry look on this boy's face that it would have haunted me for a long time if I had let you go away without giving you a dinner. Many a hungry soldier,' she continued, 'both of the Northern and Southern army, has had something to eat at this table, and I expect many more will in the future, before this terrible and distressing war shall have come to an end.' She didn't say a word, though, by which we could tell whether her sympathies were on the Union side or against us, and of course we didn't try to find out. She was just the sweetest looking woman I have yet seen in the whole Southern Confederacy. If they have any angels anywhere that look kinder, or sweeter, or purer than she did, I would just like to see them trotted out. I guess she was about thirty-five years old. She was of medium height, a little on the plump order, with blue eyes, brown hair, a clear, ruddy complexion, and the whitest, softest looking little hands I ever saw in my life. "When we had finished our dinner, John and I thanked her ever so many times for her kindness, and then bade her a most respectful good-by. He and I both agreed on our way back to camp to say nothing about the lady and the nice dinner she gave us, because if we blowed about it, the result would probably be more hungry callers than her generosity could well afford. "But these close times I guess are not going to last much longer. The talk in camp this evening is that we are going to have full rations once more in a day or two, that the railroad will soon be in running order again, and then we can just snap our fingers at old Forrest and his whole outfit. "Well, I will bring my letter to a close. Don't worry if you fail to get a letter from me now as regularly as before. Things are a trifle unsettled down here yet, and we may not be able to count on the usual regularity of the mails for some time to come. "So good-by for this time. "LEANDER STILLWELL." Soon after we returned to Jackson a detail of some from each company was sent to Bolivar and brought up our knapsacks and blankets, and we were then more comfortable. On December 29th, my company and two others of our regiment were sent by rail to Carroll Station, about eight miles north of Jackson. There had been a detachment of about a hundred men of the 106th Illinois Infantry previously stationed here, guarding the railroad, but Forrest captured them about December 20th, so on our arrival we found nothing but a crude sort of stockade, and the usual rubbish of an old camp. There was no town there, it consisted only of a platform and a switch. Our life here was somewhat uneventful, and I recall now only two incidents which, possibly, are worth noticing. It has heretofore been mentioned how I happened to learn when on picket at night something about the nocturnal habits of different animals and birds. I had a somewhat comical experience in this respect while on guard one night near Carroll Station. But it should be preceded by a brief explanation. It was no part of the duty of a non-commissioned officer to stand a regular tour of guard duty, with his musket in his hands. It was his province simply to exercise a general supervisory control over the men at his post, and especially to see that they relieved each other at the proper time. But it frequently happened in our regiment that our numbers present for duty were so diminished, and the guard details were so heavy, that the sergeants and corporals had to stand as sentries just the same as the privates, and this was especially so at Carroll Station. On the occasion of the incident about to be mentioned, the picket post was on the crest of a low ridge, or slight elevation, and under some big oak trees by an old tumble-down deserted building which had at one time been a blacksmith shop. There were three of us on this post, and one of my turns came at midnight. I was standing by one of the trees, listening, looking, and meditating. The night was calm, with a full moon. The space in our front, sloping down to a little hollow, was bare, but the ascending ground beyond was covered with a dense growth of young oaks which had not yet shed their leaves. We had orders to be extremely watchful and vigilant, as parties of the enemy were supposed to be in our vicinity. Suddenly I heard in front, and seemingly in the farther edge of the oak forest, a rustling sound that soon increased in volume. Whatever was making the noise was coming my way, through the trees, and down the slope of the opposite ridge. The noise grew louder, and louder, until it sounded just like the steady tramp, over the leaves and dead twigs, of a line of marching men, with a front a hundred yards in width. I just knew there must be trouble ahead, and that the Philistines were upon me. But a sentinel who made a false alarm while on duty was liable to severe punishment, and, at any rate, would be laughed at all over the regiment, and never hear the last of it. So I didn't wake up my comrades, but got in the shadow of the trunk of a tree, cocked my gun, and awaited developments. And soon they came. The advancing line emerged from the forest into the moonlight, and it was nothing but a big drove of hogs out on a midnight foraging expedition for acorns and the like! Well, I let down the hammer of my gun, and felt relieved,--and was mighty glad I hadn't waked the other boys. But I still insist that this crackling, crashing uproar, made by the advance of the "hog battalion" through the underbrush and woods, under the circumstances mentioned, would have deceived "the very elect." A few days later I was again on picket at the old blacksmith shop. Our orders were that at least once during the day one of the guard should make a scout out in front for at least half a mile, carefully observing all existing conditions, for the purpose of ascertaining if any parties of the enemy were hovering around in our vicinity. On this day, after dinner, I started out alone, on this little reconnoitering expedition. I had gone something more than half a mile from the post, and was walking along a dirt road with a cornfield on the left, and big woods on the right. About a hundred yards in front, the road turned square to the left, with a cornfield on each side. The corn had been gathered from the stalk, and the stalks were still standing. Glancing to the left, I happened to notice a white cloth fluttering above the cornstalks, at the end of a pole, and slowly moving my way. And peering through the tops of the stalks I saw coming down the road behind the white flag about a dozen Confederate cavalry! I broke into a run, and soon reached the turn in the road, cocked my gun, leveled it at the party, and shouted, "Halt!" They stopped, mighty quick, and the bearer of the flag called to me that they were a flag of truce party. I then said, "Advance, One." Whereupon they all started forward. I again shouted "Halt!" and repeated the command, "Advance, One!" The leader then rode up alone, I keeping my gun cocked, and at a ready, and he proceeded to tell me a sort of rambling, disjointed story about their being a flag of truce party, on business connected with an exchange of some wounded prisoners. I told the fellow that I would conduct him and his squad to my picket post, and then send word to our commanding officer, and he would take such action as he thought fit and proper. On reaching the post, I sent in one of the guards to the station to report to Lieut. Armstrong, in command of our detachment, that there was a flag of truce party at my post who desired an interview with the officer in command at Carroll Station. The Lieutenant soon arrived with an armed party of our men, and he and the Confederate leader drew apart and talked awhile. This bunch of Confederates were all young men, armed with double-barreled shot-guns, and a decidedly tough-looking outfit. They finally left my post, escorted by Lieut. Armstrong and his guard, and I understood in a general way that he passed them on to someone higher in authority at some other point in our vicinity, possibly at Jackson. They may have been acting in good faith, but from the manner of their leader, and the story he told me, I have always believed that their use of a flag of truce was principally a device to obtain some military intelligence,--but, of course, I do not know. My responsibility ended when Lieut. Armstrong reached my picket post in response to the message sent him. We remained at Carroll Station until January 27, 1863, were then relieved by a detachment of the 62nd Illinois Infantry, and were sent by rail back to Bolivar, where we rejoined the balance of the regiment. We then resumed our former duty of guarding the railroad north to Toone's Station, and continued at this until the last of May, 1863. But before taking up what happened then, it will be in order to speak of some of the changes that in the meantime had occurred among the commissioned officers of my company and of the regiment. Capt. Reddish resigned April 3rd, 1863, First Lieutenant Daniel S. Keeley was promoted Captain in his place, and Thomas J. Warren, the sergeant-major of the regiment, was commissioned as First Lieutenant in Keeley's stead. Lieut. Col. Fry resigned May 14, 1863. His place was taken by Major Simon P. Ohr, and Daniel Grass, Captain of Co. H, was made Major. The resignations of both Fry and Reddish, as I always have understood, were because of ill-health. They were good and brave men, and their hearts were in the cause, but they simply were too old to endure the fatigue and hardships of a soldier's life. But they each lived to a good old age. Col. Fry died in Greene county, Illinois, January 27th, 1881, aged nearly 82 years; and Capt. Reddish passed away in Dallas county, Texas, December 30th, 1881, having attained the Psalmist's limit of three score and ten. CHAPTER X. THE SIEGE OF VICKSBURG. JUNE AND JULY, 1863. General Grant closed up against Vicksburg on May 19, and on that day assaulted the Confederate defenses of the place, but without success. On the 22nd a more extensive assault was made, but it also failed, and it was then evident to Grant that Vicksburg would have to be taken by a siege. To do this he would need strong reinforcements, and they were forthwith sent him from various quarters. So it came to pass that we went also. On May 31st we climbed on the cars, headed for Memphis, and steamed away from old Bolivar--and I have never seen the place since. For my part, I was glad to leave. We had been outside of the main track of the war for several months, guarding an old railroad, while the bulk of the western army had been actively engaged in the stirring and brilliant campaign against Vicksburg, and we were all becoming more or less restless and dissatisfied. From my standpoint, one of the most mortifying things that can happen to a soldier in time of war is for his regiment to be left somewhere as a "guard," while his comrades of the main army are in the field of active operations, seeing and doing "big things," that will live in history. But, as before remarked, the common soldier can only obey orders, and while some form the moving column, others necessarily have stationary duties. But at last the old 61st Illinois was on the wing,--and the Mississippi Central Railroad could "go hang." The regiment at this time was part of Gen. Nathan Kimball's division of the 16th Corps, and the entire division left Tennessee to reinforce Grant at Vicksburg. We arrived at Memphis in the afternoon of the same day we left Bolivar, the distance between the two places being only about 72 miles. The regiment bivouacked that night on a sandbar on the water front of Memphis, which said bar extended from the water's edge back to a high, steep sand-and-clay bank. And that, by the way, is the only night I have ever spent within the limits of the city of Memphis. While we were there on this occasion, I witnessed a pathetic incident, which is yet as fresh and vivid in my memory as if it had happened only yesterday. Soon after our arrival I procured a pass for a few hours, and took a stroll through the city. While thus engaged I met two hospital attendants carrying on a stretcher a wounded Union soldier. They halted as I approached, and rested the stretcher on the sidewalk. An old man was with them, apparently about sixty years old, of small stature and slight frame, and wearing the garb of a civilian. I stopped, and had a brief conversation with one of the stretcher-bearers. He told me that the soldier had been wounded in one of the recent assaults by the Union troops on the defenses of Vicksburg, and, with others of our wounded, had just arrived at Memphis on a hospital boat. That the old gentleman present was the father of the wounded boy, and having learned at his home in some northern State of his son being wounded, had started to Vicksburg to care for him; that the boat on which he was journeying had rounded in at the Memphis wharf next to the above mentioned hospital boat, and that he happened to see his son in the act of being carried ashore, and thereupon at once went to him, and was going with him to a hospital in the city. But the boy was dying, and that was the cause of the halt made by the stretcher-bearers. The soldier was quite young, seemingly not more than eighteen years old. He had an orange, which his father had given him, tightly gripped in his right hand, which was lying across his breast. But, poor boy! it was manifest that that orange would never be tasted by him, as the glaze of death was then gathering on his eyes, and he was in a semi-unconscious condition. And the poor old father was fluttering around the stretcher, in an aimless, distracted manner, wanting to do something to help his boy--but the time had come when nothing could be done. While thus occupied I heard him say in a low, broken voice, "He is--the only boy--I have." This was on one of the principal streets of the city, and the sidewalks were thronged with people, soldiers and civilians, rushing to and fro on their various errands,--and what was happening at this stretcher excited no attention beyond careless, passing glances. A common soldier was dying,--that was all, nothing but "a leaf in the storm." But for some reason or other the incident impressed me most sadly and painfully. I didn't wait for the end, but hurried away,--tried to forget the scene, but couldn't. On the evening of June 1st we filed on board the big, side-wheel steamer "Luminary," which soon cast off from the wharf, and in company with other transports crowded with soldiers, went steaming down the Mississippi. Co. D, as usual, was assigned to a place on the hurricane deck of the boat. After we had stacked arms, and hung our belts on the muzzles of the guns, I hunted up a corner on the forward part of the deck, sat down, looked at the river and the scenery along the banks,--and thought. There came vividly to my mind the recollection of the time, about fourteen months previous, when we started out from St. Louis, down the "Father of Waters," bound for the "seat of war." The old regiment, in every respect, had greatly changed since that time. Then we were loud, confident, and boastful. Now we had become altogether more quiet and grave in our demeanor. We had gradually realized that it was not a Sunday school picnic excursion we were engaged in, but a desperate and bloody war, and what the individual fate of each of us might be before it was over, no one could tell. There is nothing which, in my opinion, will so soon make a man out of a boy as actual service in time of war. Our faces had insensibly taken on a stern and determined look, and soldiers who a little over a year ago were mere laughing, foolish boys, were now sober, steady, self-relying men. We had been taking lessons in what was, in many important respects, the best school in the world. Our voyage down the river was uneventful. We arrived at the mouth of the Yazoo river on the evening of June 3rd. There our fleet turned square to the left, and proceeded up that stream. Near the mouth of the Chickasaw Bayou, the fleet landed on the left bank of the stream, the boats tied up for the night, we went on the shore and bivouacked there that night. It was quite a relief to get on solid ground, and where we could stretch our legs and stroll around a little. Next morning we re-embarked at an early hour, and continued up the Yazoo. During the forenoon we learned from one of the boat's crew that we were approaching a point called "Alligator Bend," and if we would be on the lookout we would see some alligators. None of us, so far as I know, had ever seen any of those creatures, and, of course, we were all agog to have a view of them. A few of the best shots obtained permission from the officers to try their muskets on the reptiles, in case any showed up. On reaching the bend indicated, there were the alligators, sure enough, lazily swimming about, and splashing in the water. They were sluggish, ugly looking things, and apparently from six to eight feet long. Our marksmen opened fire at once. I had read in books at home that the skin of an alligator was so hard and tough that it was impervious to an ordinary rifle bullet. That may have been true as regards the round balls of the old small-bore rifle, but it was not the case with the conical bullets of our hard-hitting muskets. The boys would aim at a point just behind the fore-shoulder, the ball would strike the mark with a loud "whack," a jet of blood would spurt high in the air, the alligator would give a convulsive flounce,--and disappear. It had doubtless got its medicine. But this "alligator practice" didn't last long. Gen. Kimball, on learning the cause, sent word mighty quick from the headquarters boat to "Stop that firing!"--and we stopped. About noon on the 4th we arrived at the little town of Satartia on the left bank of the Yazoo, and about 40 miles above its mouth; there the fleet halted, tied up, and the troops debarked, and marched out to the highlands back of the town. We were now in a region that was new to us, and we soon saw several novel and strange things. There was a remarkable natural growth, called "Spanish moss," that was very plentiful, and a most fantastic looking thing. It grew on nearly all the trees, was of a grayish-white color, with long, pendulous stems. The lightest puff of air would set it in motion, and on a starlight night, or when the moon was on the wane and there was a slight breeze, it presented a most ghostly and uncanny appearance. And the woods were full of an unusual sort of squirrels, being just as black as crows. They were in size, as I now remember, of a grade intermediate the fox-and gray-squirrels we had at home. But all their actions and habits appeared to be just the same as those of their northern cousins. And there was a most singular bird of the night that was quite numerous here, called the "chuck-will's widow," on account of the resemblance its note bore to those words. It belonged to the whippoorwill family, but was some larger. It would sound its monotonous call in the night for hours at a stretch, and I think its mournful cry, heard when alone, on picket at night out in dense, gloomy woods, is just the most lonesome, depressing strain I ever heard. On the afternoon of the 4th all our force advanced in the direction of the little town of Mechanicsburg, which lay a few miles back of the river. Those in the front encountered Confederate cavalry, and a lively little skirmish ensued, in which our regiment was not engaged. Our troops burnt Mechanicsburg, and captured about forty of the Confederates. I was standing by the side of the road when these prisoners were being taken to the rear. They were all young chaps, fine, hearty looking fellows, and were the best looking little bunch of Confederates I saw during the war. Early in the morning of June 6th we fell into line and marched southwest, in the direction of Vicksburg. Our route, in the main, was down the valley of the Yazoo river. And it will be said here that this was the hottest, most exhausting march I was on during my entire service. In the first place, the weather was intensely hot. Then the road down the valley on which we marched mostly ran through immense fields of corn higher than our heads. The fields next the road were not fenced, and the corn grew close to the beaten track. Not the faintest breeze was stirring, and the hot, stifling dust enveloped us like a blanket. Every now and then we would pass a soldier lying by the side of the road, overcome by the heat and unconscious, while one or two of his comrades would be standing by him, bathing his face and chest with water, and trying to revive him. I put green hickory leaves in my cap, and kept them well saturated with water from my canteen. The leaves would retain the moisture and keep my head cool, and when they became stale and withered, would be thrown away, and fresh ones procured. Several men died on this march from sun-stroke; none, however, from our regiment, but we all suffered fearfully. And pure drinking water was very scarce too. It was pitiful to see the men struggling for water at the farm house wells we occasionally passed. In their frenzied desperation they would spill much more than they saved, and ere long would have the well drawn dry. But one redeeming feature about this march was--we were not hurried. There were frequent halts, to give the men time to breathe, and on such occasions, if we were fortunate enough to find a pool of stagnant swamp-water, we would wash the dirt and dust from our faces and out of our eyes. As we trudged down the Yazoo valley, we continued to see things that were new and strange. We passed by fields of growing rice, and I saw many fig trees, loaded with fruit, but which was yet green. And in the yards of the most of the farm houses was a profusion of domestic flowers, such as did not bloom in the north, of wonderful color and beauty. But, on the other hand, on the afternoon of the second day's march, I happened to notice by the side of the road an enormous rattlesnake, which evidently had been killed by some soldier only a short time before we passed. It seemingly was between five and six feet long, and the middle of its body appeared to be as thick as a man's thigh. Its rattles had been removed, presumably as a trophy. It was certainly a giant among rattlesnakes, and doubtless was an "old-timer." On the evening of June 7th, about sundown, we arrived at Haines' Bluff on the Yazoo river, and there went into camp. This point was about twelve miles north of Vicksburg, and had been strongly fortified by the Confederates, but Grant's movements had compelled them to abandon their works without a battle. There had been a large number of the Confederates camped there, and the ground was littered with the trash and rubbish that accumulates in quarters. And our friends in gray had left some things in these old camps which ere long we all fervently wished they had taken with them, namely, a most plentiful quantity of the insect known as "Pediculus vestimenti," which forthwith assailed us as voraciously as if they had been on quarter rations, or less, ever since the beginning of the war. On June 16th we left Haines' Bluff, and marched about two miles down the Yazoo river to Snyder's Bluff, where we went into camp. Our duties here, as they had been at Haines', were standing picket, and constructing fortifications. We had the usual dress parade at sunset, but the drills were abandoned; we had more important work to do. General Joe Johnston, the Confederate commander outside of Vicksburg, was at Jackson, Mississippi, or in that immediate vicinity, and was collecting a force to move on Grant's rear, in order to compel him to raise the siege. Grant thought that if Johnston attacked, it would be from the northeast, so he established a line of defense extending southeast, from Haines' Bluff on the north to Black river on the south, and placed Gen. Sherman in command of this line. As Grant has said somewhere in his Memoirs, the country in this part of Mississippi "stands on edge." That is to say, it consists largely of a succession of high ridges with sharp, narrow summits. Along this line of defense, the general course of these ridges was such that they were admirably adapted for defensive purposes. We went to work on the ridges with spades and mattocks, and constructed the strongest field fortifications that I ever saw during the war. We dug away the crests, throwing the dirt to the front, and made long lines of breastworks along our entire front, facing, of course, the northeast. Then, at various places, on commanding points, were erected strong redoubts for artillery, floored, and revetted on the inner walls with thick and strong green lumber and timbers. On the exterior slopes of the ridges were dug three lines of trenches, or rifle pits, extending in a parallel form from near the base of the ridges almost to the summit, with intervals between the lines. All the trees and bushes in our front on the slopes of the ridges were cut down, with their tops outwards, thus forming a tangled abattis which looked as if a rabbit could hardly get through. And finally, on the inner slope of the ridges, a little below their summits, was constructed a "covered way;" that is, a road dug along the sides of the ridges, and over which an army, with batteries of artillery, could have marched with perfect safety. The purpose of these covered ways was to have a safe and sheltered road right along our rear by which any position on the line could be promptly reinforced, if necessary. Sometimes I would walk along the parapet of our works, looking off to the northeast where the Confederates were supposed to be, and I ardently wished that they would attack us. Our defenses were so strong that in my opinion it would have been a physical impossibility for flesh and blood to have carried them. Had Johnston tried, he simply would have sacrificed thousands of his men without accomplishing anything to his own advantage. It will be said here that I have no recollection of having personally taken part in the construction of the fortifications above mentioned. In fact, I never did an hour's work in the trenches, with spade and mattock, during all my time. I never "took" willingly to that kind of soldiering. But there were plenty of the boys who preferred it to standing picket, because when on fatigue duty, as it was called, they would quit about sundown, and then get an unbroken night's sleep. So, when it fell to my lot to be detailed for fatigue, I would swap with someone who had been assigned to picket,--he would do my duty, and I would perform his; we were both satisfied, and the fair inference is that no harm was thereby done to the cause. And it was intensely interesting to me, when on picket at night on the crest of some high ridge, to stand and listen to the roar of our cannon pounding at Vicksburg, and watch the flight of the shells from Grant's siege guns and from the heavy guns of our gunboats on the Mississippi. The shells they threw seemed principally to be of the "fuse" variety, and the burning fuse, as the shell flew through the air, left a stream of bright red light behind it like a rocket. I would lean on my gun and contemplate the spectacle with far more complacency and satisfaction than was felt when anxiously watching the practice on us by the other fellows at Salem Cemetery about six months before. There was another thing I was wont to observe with peculiar attention, when on picket at night during the siege; namely, the operations of the Signal Corps. In the night time they used lighted lanterns in the transmission of intelligence, and they had a code by which the signals could be read with practically the same accuracy as if they had been printed words. The movements of the lights looked curious and strange, something elf-like, with a suspicion of witchcraft, or deviltry of some kind, about them. They would make all sorts of gyrations, up, down, a circle, a half circle to the right, then one to the left, and so on. Sometimes they would be unusually active. Haines' Bluff would talk to Snyder's; Snyder's to Sherman's headquarters; Sherman's to Grant's, and back and forth, all along the line. Occasionally at some station the lights would act almost like some nervous man talking at his highest speed in a perfect splutter of excitement,--and then they would seem as if drunk, or crazy. Of course, I knew nothing of the code of interpretation, and so understood nothing,--could only look and speculate. In modern warfare the telephone has probably superseded the Signal Service, but the latter certainly played an important part in our Civil War. During the siege we lived high on some comestibles not included in the regular army rations. Corn was in the roasting ear state, and there were plenty of big fields of it beyond and near the picket lines, and we helped ourselves liberally. Our favorite method of cooking the corn was to roast it in the "shuck." We would "snap" the ears from the stalk, leaving the shuck intact, daub over the outside a thin plaster of mud (or sometimes just saturate the ears in water), then cover them with hot ashes and live coals. By the time the fire had consumed the shuck down to the last or inner layer, the corn was done, and it made most delicious eating. We had no butter to spread on it, but it was good enough without. And then the blackberries! I have never seen them so numerous and so large as they were there on those ridges in the rear of Vicksburg. I liked them best raw, taken right from the vine, but sometimes, for a change, would stew them in my coffee can, adding a little sugar, and prepared in this manner they were fine. But, like the darkey's rabbit,--they were good any way. The only serious drawback that we had on our part of the line was the unusual amount of fatal sickness that prevailed among the men. The principal types of disease were camp diarrhea and malarial fevers, resulting, in all probability, largely from the impure water we drank. At first we procured water from shallow and improvised wells that we dug in the hollows and ravines. Wild cane grew luxuriantly in this locality, attaining a height of fifteen or twenty feet, and all other wild vegetation was rank in proportion. The annual growth of all this plant life had been dying and rotting on the ground for ages, and the water would filter through this decomposing mass, and become well-nigh poisonous. An order was soon issued that we should get all water for drinking and cooking purposes from the Yazoo river, and boil it before using, but it was impossible to compel complete obedience to such an order. When men got thirsty, they would drink whatever was handy,--orders to the contrary notwithstanding. And the water of the river was about as bad as the swamp water. I have read somewhere that "Yazoo" is an Indian word, signifying "The River of Death," and if so, it surely was correctly named. It is just my opinion, as a common soldier, that the epidemic of camp diarrhea could have been substantially prevented if all the men had eaten freely of blackberries. I didn't have a touch of that disorder during all the time we were in that locality, and I attribute my immunity to the fact that I ate liberally of blackberries about every day. But camp diarrhea is something that gets in its work quick, and after the men got down with it, they possibly had no chance to get the berries. And all the time we were at Snyder, nearly every hour of the day, could be heard the doleful, mournful notes of the "Dead March," played by the military bands, as some poor fellow was being taken to his long home. It seemed to me at the time, and seems so yet, that they should have left out that piece of music. It did no good, and its effect was very depressing, especially on the sick. Under such circumstances, it would seem that common sense, if exercised, would have dictated the keeping dumb of such saddening funeral strains. Sometime during the latter part of June the regiment was paid two months' pay by Major C. L. Bernay, a Paymaster of the U.S. Army. He was a fine old German, of remarkably kind and benevolent appearance, and looked more like a venerable Catholic priest than a military man. After he had paid off the regiment, his escort loaded his money chest and his personal stuff into an ambulance, and he was soon ready to go to some other regiment. Several of our officers had assembled to bid him good-by, and I happened to be passing along, and witnessed what transpired. The few farewell remarks of the old man were punctuated by the roar of the big guns of our army and navy pounding away at Vicksburg, and the incident impressed me as somewhat pathetic. "Goot-by, Colonel," said Major Bernay, extending his hand; (Boom!) "Goot-by Major;" (Boom!) "Goot-by, Captain;" (Boom!) and so on, to the others. Then, with a wave of his hand to all the little group, "Goot-by, shentlemens, all." (Boom!) "Maybe so (Boom!) we meet not again." (Boom, boom, boom!) It was quite apparent that he was thinking of the so-called "fortunes of war." Then he sprang into his ambulance, and drove away. His prediction proved true--we never met again. The morning of the Fourth of July opened serene and peaceful, more so, in fact, than in old times at home, for with us not even the popping of a fire-cracker was heard. And the stillness south of us continued as the day wore on,--the big guns of the army and navy remained absolutely quiet. Our first thought was that because the day was a national holiday, Grant had ordered a cessation of the firing in order to give his soldiers a day of needed rest. It was not until some time in the afternoon that a rumor began to circulate among the common soldiers that Vicksburg had surrendered, and about sundown we learned that such was the fact. So far as I saw or heard, we indulged in no whooping or yelling over the event. We had been confident, all the time, that the thing would finally happen, so we were not taken by surprise. There was a feeling of satisfaction and relief that the end had come, but we took it coolly and as a matter of course. On the same day that Vicksburg surrendered Grant started the greater part of his army, under the command of Gen. Sherman, in the direction of Jackson for the purpose of attacking Gen. Johnston. Our division, however, remained at Snyder's until July 12th, when we left there, marching southeast. I remember this march especially, from the fact that the greater part of it was made during the night. This was done in order to avoid the excessive heat that prevailed in the daytime. As we plodded along after sunset, at route step, and arms at will, a low hum of conversation could be heard, and occasionally a loud laugh, "that spoke the vacant mind." By ten o'clock we were tired (we had been on the road since noon), and moreover, getting very sleepy. Profound silence now prevailed in the ranks, broken only by the rattle of canteens against the shanks of the bayonets, and the heavy, monotonous tramp of the men. As Walter Scott has said somewhere in one of his poetical works: "No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread and armor's clang, The sullen march was dumb." The column halted about midnight, we bivouacked in the woods by the side of the road, and I was asleep about as soon as I struck the ground. We resumed the march early in the morning, and during the forenoon arrived at Messinger's ford, on Black river, where we went into camp. We remained here only until July 17, and on that day marched a few miles south to the railroad crossing on Black river, and bivouacked on the west bank of the stream. The Confederates during the campaign had thrown up breastworks of cotton bales, which evidently had extended for quite a distance above and below the railroad crossing. When our fellows came along they tore open the bales and used the cotton to sleep on, and when we arrived at the place the fleecy stuff was scattered over the ground, in some places half-knee deep, all over that portion of the river bottom. It looked like a big snowfall. Cotton, at that very time, was worth one dollar a pound in the New York market, and scarce at that. A big fortune was there in the dirt, going to waste, but we were not in the cotton business just then, so it made no difference to us. At the beginning of the war, it was confidently asserted by the advocates of the secession movement that "Cotton was king;" that the civilized world couldn't do without it, and as the South had a virtual monopoly of the stuff, the need of it would compel the European nations to recognize the independence of the Southern Confederacy, and which would thereby result in the speedy and complete triumph of the Confederate cause. But in thus reasoning they ignored a law of human nature. Men, under the pressure of necessity, can get along without many things which they have previously regarded as indispensable. At this day, in my opinion, many of the alleged wants of mankind are purely artificial, and we would be better off if they were cut out altogether. Aside from various matters of food and drink and absurdities in garb and ornaments, numbers of our rich women in eastern cities regard life as a failure unless they each possess a thousand dollar pet dog, decorated with ribbons and diamond ornaments and honored at dog-functions with a seat at the table, where, on such occasions, pictures of the dogs, with their female owners sitting by them, are taken and reproduced in quarter-page cuts in the Sunday editions of the daily papers. If these women would knock the dogs in the head and bring into the world legitimate babies, (or even illegitimate, for their husbands are probably of the capon breed,) then they might be of some use to the human race; as it is they are a worthless, unnatural burlesque on the species. But this has nothing to do with the war, or the 61st Illinois, so I will pass on. While we were at the Black river railroad bridge thousands of paroled Confederate soldiers captured at Vicksburg passed us, walking on the railroad track, going eastward. We had strict orders to abstain from making to them any insulting or taunting remarks, and so far as I saw, these orders were faithfully obeyed. The Confederates looked hard. They were ragged, sallow, emaciated, and seemed depressed and disconsolate. They went by us with downcast looks and in silence. I heard only one of them make any remark whatever, and he was a little drummer boy, apparently not more than fifteen years old. He tried to say something funny,--but it was a dismal failure. While in camp at the railroad crossing on Black river, a most agreeable incident occurred, the pleasure of which has not been lessened by the flight of time, but rather augmented. But to comprehend it fully, some preliminary explanation might be advisable. Before the war there lived a few miles from our home, near the Jersey Landing settlement, a quaint and most interesting character, of the name of Benjamin F. Slaten. He owned and lived on a farm, but had been admitted to the bar, and practiced law to some extent, as a sort of a side-line. But I think that until after the war his practice, in the main, was confined to the courts of justices of the peace. He was a shrewd, sensible old man, of a remarkably kind and genial disposition, but just about the homeliest looking individual I ever saw. And he had a most singular, squeaky sort of a voice, with a kind of a nasal twang to it, which if heard once could never be forgotten. He was an old friend of my father's, and had been his legal adviser (so far as his few and trifling necessities in that line required) from time immemorial. And for a year or so prior to the outbreak of the war my thoughts had been running much on the science of law, and I had a strong desire, if the thing could be accomplished, to sometime be a lawyer myself. So, during the period aforesaid, whenever I would meet "Uncle Ben" (as we frequently called him), I would have a lot of questions to fire at him about some law points, which it always seemed to give him much pleasure to answer. I remember yet one statement he made to me that later, (and sometimes to my great chagrin,) I found out was undeniably true. "Leander," said he, "if ever you get into the practice of law, you'll find that it is just plum full of little in-trick-ate pints." (But things are not as bad now in that respect as they were then.) The war ensued, and in September, 1862, he entered the service as Captain of Co. K of the 97th Illinois Infantry. He was about forty-two years old at this time. In due course of events the regiment was sent south, and became a part of the Army of the Tennessee, but the paths of the 61st and the 97th were on different lines, and I never met Capt. Slaten in the field until the happening of the incident now to be mentioned. When we were at Black river I was on picket one night about a mile or so from camp, at a point on an old country road. Some time shortly after midnight, while I was curled up asleep in a corner of the old worm fence by the side of the road, I was suddenly awakened by an energetic shake, accompanied by the loud calling of my name. I sprang to my feet at once, thinking maybe some trouble was afoot, and, to my surprise, saw Capt. Keeley standing in front of me, with some other gentleman. "Stillwell," said Keeley, "here's an old friend of yours. He wanted to see you, and being pressed for time, his only chance for a little visit was to come to you on the picket line." My caller stood still, and said nothing. I saw that he was an officer, for his shoulder straps were plainly visible, but I could not be sure of his rank, for there was no moon, and the night was dark. He was wearing an old "sugar-loaf" hat, seemingly much decayed, his blouse was covered with dust, and, in general, he looked tough. His face was covered with a thick, scraggy beard, and under all these circumstances it was impossible for me to recognize him. I was very anxious to do so in view of the trouble the officer had taken to come away out on the picket line, in the middle of the night, to see me, but I just couldn't, and began to stammer a sort of apology about the darkness of the night hindering a prompt recognition, when the "unknown" gave his head a slant to one side, and, in his never forgettable voice, spoke thus to Keeley: "I told you he wouldn't know me." "I know you now," said I; "I'd recognize that voice if I heard it in Richmond! This is Capt. Ben Slaten, of the 97th Illinois;" and springing forward I seized his right hand with both of mine, while he threw his left arm about my neck and fairly hugged me. It soon came out in the conversation that ensued that his regiment had been with Sherman in the recent move on Jackson; that it was now returning with that army to the vicinity of Vicksburg, and had arrived at Black river that night; that he had at once hunted up the 61st Illinois to have a visit with me, and ascertaining that I was on picket, had persuaded Capt. Keeley to come with him to the picket line, as his regiment would leave early in the morning on the march, hence this would be his only opportunity for a brief meeting. And we all certainly had a most delightful visit with the old Captain. From the time of his arrival until his departure there was no sleeping, by anybody, on that picket post. We sat on the ground in a little circle around him, and listened to his comical and side-splitting stories of army life, and incidents in camp and field generally. He was an inimitable story teller, and his peculiar tone and manner added immensely to the comicality of his anecdotes. And somehow he had the happy faculty of extracting something humorous, or absurd, from what the generality of men would have regarded as a very serious affair. He did the most of the talking that night, while the rest of us sat there and fairly screamed with laughter. It was well known and understood that there were no armed Confederates in our vicinity, so we ran no risk in being a little careless. Finally, when the owls began tuning up for day, the old Captain bade us good-by, and trudged away, accompanied by Capt. Keeley. To fully comprehend this little episode, it is, perhaps, necessary to have some understanding and appreciation of how a soldier away down south, far from home and the friends he had left behind, enjoyed meeting some dear old friend of the loved neighborhood of home. It was almost equal to having a short furlough. I never again met Capt. Slaten during the war. He came out of it alive, with an excellent record,--and about thirty-seven years after the close died at his old home in Jersey county, Illinois, sincerely regretted and mourned by a large circle of acquaintances and friends. CHAPTER XI. HELENA, ARKANSAS. LIFE IN A HOSPITAL. AUGUST, 1863. General Sherman soon drove General Johnston out of Jackson, and beyond Pearl river, and then his column returned to the vicinity of Vicksburg. On July 22nd our division marched back to Snyder's Bluff, and resumed our old camp. But we had not been here long before it was rumored that we were under marching orders, and would soon leave for some point in Arkansas. Sure enough, on July 29th we marched to the Yazoo river and filed on board the side-wheel steamer "Sultana," steamed down the river to its mouth, and there turned up the Mississippi, headed north. I will remark here that one of the most tragical and distressing incidents of the war was directly connected with a frightful disaster that later befell the above named steamboat. It left Vicksburg for the north on or about April 25, 1865, having on board nearly 1900 Union soldiers, all of whom (with few exceptions) were paroled prisoners. On the morning of April 27th, while near Memphis, the boilers of the boat exploded, and it was burnt to the water's edge. Over 1100 of these unfortunate men perished in the wreck, in different ways; some scalded to death by escaping steam, some by fire, others (and the greatest number) by drowning. Besides the soldiers, cabin passengers and members of the boat's crew, to the number of about 140, also perished. It was the greatest disaster, of that kind, that ever occurred on the Mississippi. It may, perhaps, be noticed that the regiment is leaving the vicinity of Vicksburg without my saying a word about the appearance, at that time, of that celebrated stronghold. There is good reason for it; namely, it so happened that we never were in the place. We were close to it, on the north and on the east, but that was all. And I never yet have seen Vicksburg, and it is not probable now that I ever shall. We arrived at Helena, Arkansas, on July 31st, debarked and went into camp near the bank of the river, about two miles below the town. There were no trees in our camp except a few cottonwoods; the ground on which we walked, sat, and slept was, in the main, just a mass of hot sand, and we got water for drinking and cooking purposes from the Mississippi river. The country back of the town, and in that immediate vicinity generally, was wild and thinly settled, and had already been well-foraged, so we were restricted to the ordinary army diet, of which one of the principal items, as usual, was fat sow-belly. I never understood why we were not allowed to camp in the woods west of the town. There was plenty of high, well-shaded space there, and we soon could have sunk wells that would have furnished cool, palatable water. But this was not done, and the regiment remained for about two weeks camped on the river bank, in the conditions above described. A natural result was that numbers of the men were prostrated by malarial fever, and this time I happened to be one of them. I now approach a painful period of my army career. I just lay there, in a hot tent, on the sand,--oh, so sick! But I fought off going to the hospital as long as possible. I had a superstitious dread of an army hospital. I had seen so many of the boys loaded into ambulances, and hauled off to such a place, who never returned, that I was determined never to go to one if it could be avoided in any honorable way. But the time came when it was a military necessity that I should go, and there was no alternative. The campaign that was in contemplation was a movement westward against the Confederates under Gen. Sterling Price at Little Rock, with the intention of capturing that place and driving the Confederates from the State. The officer in command of the Union forces was Gen. Frederick Steele. Marching orders were issued, fixing the 13th of August as the day our regiment would start. All the sick who were unable to march (and I was among that number) were to be sent to the Division Hospital. So, on the morning before the regiment moved, an ambulance drove up to my tent, and some of the boys carried me out and put me in the vehicle. Capt. Keeley was standing by; he pressed my hand and said, "Good-by, Stillwell; brace up! You'll be all right soon." I was feeling too wretched to talk much; I only said, "Good-by, Captain," and let it go at that. Later, when I rejoined the regiment, Keeley told me that when he bade me good-by that morning he never expected to see me again. Our Division Hospital, to which I was taken, consisted of a little village of wall tents in the outskirts of Helena. The tents were arranged in rows, with perhaps from fifteen to twenty in a row, with their ends pinned back against the sides, thus making an open space down an entire row. The sick men lay on cots, of which there was a line on each side of the interior of the tents, with a narrow aisle between. I remained at the hospital eight days, and was very sick the most of the time, and retain a distinct recollection of only a few things. But, aside from men dying all around me, both day and night, nothing important happened. All the accounts that I have read of this movement of Gen. Steele's on Little Rock agree in stating that the number of men he left sick at Helena and other places between there and Little Rock was extraordinary and beyond all usual proportions. And from what I saw myself, I think these statements must be true. And a necessary consequence of this heavy sick list was the fact that it must have been impossible to give the invalids the care and attention they should have received. We had but few attendants, and they were soldiers detailed for that purpose who were too feeble to march, but were supposed to be capable of rendering hospital service. And the medical force left with us was so scanty that it was totally inadequate for the duties they were called on to perform. Oh, those nights were so long! At intervals in the aisle a bayonet would be stuck in the ground with a lighted candle in its socket, and when a light went out, say after midnight, it stayed out, and we would toss around on those hard cots in a state of semi-darkness until daylight. If any attendants moved around among us in the later hours of the night I never saw them. We had well-water to drink, which, of course, was better than that from the river, but it would soon become insipid and warm, and sometimes, especially during the night, we didn't have enough of that. On one occasion, about midnight, soon after I was taken to the hospital, I was burning with fever, and became intolerably thirsty for a drink of water. No attendants were in sight, and the candles had all gone out but one or two, which emitted only a sort of flickering light that barely served to "render darkness visible." My suffering became well-nigh unendurable, and I could stand it no longer. I got up and staggered to the door of the tent and looking about me saw not far away a light gleaming through a tent that stood apart from the others. I made my way to it as best I could, and went in. A young fellow, maybe an assistant surgeon, was seated at the further end cf a little desk, writing. My entrance was so quiet that he did not hear me, and walking up to him, I said, in a sort of a hollow voice: "I want--a drink--of water." The fellow dropped his pen, and nearly fell off his stool. The only garment I had on was a white, sleazy sort of cotton bed-gown, which they garbed us all in when we were taken to the hospital; and this chap's eyes, as he stared at me, looked as if they would pop out of his head. Perhaps he thought I was a "gliding ghost." But he got me some water, and I drank copiously. I don't clearly remember what followed. It seems to me that this man helped me back to my tent, but I am not sure. However, I was in the same old cot next morning. The fare at the hospital was not of a nature liable to generate an attack of the gout, but I reckon those in charge did the best they could. The main thing seemed to be a kind of thin soup, with some grains of rice, or barley, in it. What the basis of it was I don't know. I munched a hardtack occasionally, which was far better than the soup. But my appetite was quite scanty, anyhow. One day we each had at dinner, served in our tin plates, about two or three tablespoonfuls of preserved currants, for which it was said we were indebted to the U.S. Sanitary Commission. It seemed that a boat load of such goods came down the river, in charge of a committee of ladies, destined for our hospitals at Vicksburg. The boat happened to make a temporary stop at Helena, and the ladies ascertained that there was at the hospitals there great need of sanitary supplies, so they donated us the bulk of their cargo. I will remark here that that little dab of currants was all the U.S. Sanitary stuff I consumed during my army service. I am not kicking; merely stating the fact. Those goods very properly went to the hospitals, and as my stay therein was brief, my share of the delicacies was consequently correspondingly slight. As regards the medicine given us in the hospital at Helena, my recollection is that it was almost entirely quinine, and the doses were frequent and copious, which I suppose was all right. There was a boy in my company of about my age; a tall, lanky chap, named John Barton. He had lived in our neighborhood at home, and we were well acquainted prior to our enlistment. He was a kind hearted, good sort of a fellow, but he had, while in the army, one unfortunate weakness,--the same being a voracious appetite for intoxicating liquor. And he had a remarkable faculty for getting the stuff, under any and all circumstances. He could nose it out, in some way, as surely and readily as a bear could find a bee-tree. But to keep the record straight, I will further say that after his discharge he turned over a new leaf, quit the use of whisky, and lived a strictly temperate life. He was "under the weather" when the regiment left Helena, and so was detailed to serve as a nurse at the hospital, and was thus engaged in my tent. Since making that bad break at Owl Creek I had avoided whisky as if it were a rattlesnake, but somehow, while here in the hospital, I began to feel an intense craving for some "spiritus frumenti," as the surgeons called it. So one day I asked John Barton if he couldn't get me a canteenful of whisky. He said he didn't know, was afraid it would be a difficult job,--but to give him my canteen, and he would try. That night, as late maybe as one or two o'clock, and when the lights were nearly all out, as usual, I heard some one stealthily walking up the aisle, and stopping occasionally at different cots, and presently I heard a hoarse whisper, "Stillwell! Stillwell!" "Here!" I answered, in the same tone. The speaker then came to me,--it was old John, and stooping down, he whispered, "By God, I've got it!" "Bully for you, John!" said I. He raised me to a sitting posture, removed the cork, and put the mouth of the canteen to my lips,--and I drank about as long as I could hold my breath. John took a moderate swig himself, then carefully put the canteen in my knapsack, which was serving as my pillow, cautioned me to keep it concealed to avoid its being stolen, and went away. I was asleep in about five minutes after my head struck my knapsack, and slept all the balance of the night just like a baby. On waking up, I felt better, too, and wanted something to eat. However, let no one think, who may read these lines, that I favor the use of whisky as a medicine, for I don't. But the situation in those Helena hospitals was unusual and abnormal. The water was bad, our food was no good and very unsatisfactory, and the conditions generally were simply wretched. I am not blaming the military authorities. They doubtless did the best they could. It seemed to me that I was getting weaker every day. It looked as if something had to be done, and acting on the maxim that "desperate cases require desperate remedies," I resorted for the time being to the whisky treatment. I made one unsuccessful attempt afterwards to get some to serve as a tonic, which perhaps may be mentioned later, and then forever abandoned the use of the stuff for any purpose. Immediately succeeding the above mentioned incident, the fever let up on me, and I began to get better, though still very weak. My great concern, right now, was to rejoin the regiment just as soon as possible. It was taking part in an active campaign, in which fighting was expected, and the idea was intolerable that the other boys should be at the front, marching and fighting, while I was in the rear, playing the part of a "hospital pimp." It was reported that a steamboat was going to leave soon, via Mississippi and White rivers, with convalescents for Steele's army, and I made up my mind to go on that boat, at all hazards. But to accomplish that it was necessary, as I was informed, to get a written permit from the Division Surgeon, Maj. Shuball York, of the 54th Illinois Infantry. So one morning, bright and early, I blacked my shoes and brushed up my old cap and clothing generally, and started to Maj. York's headquarters to get the desired permission. He was occupying a large two-story house, with shade trees in the yard, in the residence part of town, and his office was in the parlor, in the first story of the building. I walked in, and found an officer of the rank of Major seated at a table, engaged in writing. I removed my cap and, standing at attention, saluted him, and asked if this was Maj. York, and was answered in the affirmative. I had my little speech carefully prepared, and proceeded at once to deliver it, as follows: "My name is Leander Stillwell; I am a sergeant of Co. D, of the 61st Illinois Infantry, which is now with Gen. Steele's army. The regiment marched about a week ago, and, as I was then sick with a fever, I could not go, but was sent to the Division Hospital, here in Helena. I am now well, and have come to you to request a permit to enable me to rejoin my regiment." The Major looked at me closely while I was speaking, and after I had concluded he remained silent for a few seconds, still scrutinizing me intently. Then he said, in a low and very kind tone: "Why, sergeant, you are not able for duty, and won't be for some time. Stay here till you get a little stronger." His statement was a bitter disappointment to me. I stood there in silence a little while, twisting and turning, with trembling hands, my old faded and battered cap. I finally managed to say, "I want--to go--to--my regiment;"--and here my lips began to tremble, and I got no further. Now don't laugh at this. It was simply the case of a boy, weak and broken down by illness, who was homesick to be with his comrades. The Major did not immediately respond to my last remark, but continued to look at me intently. Presently he picked up his pen, and said: "I am inclined to think that the best medical treatment for you is to let you go to your regiment;" and he thereupon wrote and handed me the permit, which was quite brief, consisting only of a few lines. I thanked him, and departed with a light heart. I will digress here for a moment to chronicle, with deep sorrow, the sad fate that ultimately befell the kind and noble surgeon, Maj. York. While he, with his regiment, was home on veteran furlough, in March, 1864, an organized gang of Copperheads made a dastardly attack on some of the soldiers of the regiment at Charleston, Illinois, and murdered Maj. York and five privates, and also severely wounded the Colonel, Greenville M. Mitchell, and three privates. (See Official Records, War of the Rebellion, Serial No. 57, page 629, et seq.) The war ended over half a century ago, and the feelings and passions engendered thereby, as between the people of the Nation and those of the late Confederate States, have well-nigh wholly subsided, which is right. But nevertheless I will set it down here that in my opinion the most "undesirable citizens" that ever have afflicted our country were the traitorous, malignant breed that infested some portions of the loyal States during the war, and were known as "Copperheads." The rattlesnake gives warning before it strikes, but the copperhead snake, of equally deadly venom, gives none, and the two-legged copperheads invariably pursued the same course. They deserved the name. On leaving Maj. York's office I returned to the hospital and gathered up my stuff, which included my gun, cartridge box, knapsack, haversack, and canteen,--and said good-by to Barton and the other boys I knew. Then to the commissary tent, and exhibiting my permit, was furnished with five days' rations of hardtack, bacon, coffee, and sugar. Thence to the river landing, and on to the steamboat "Pike," which was to take the present batch of convalescents to Steele's army. CHAPTER XII. DEVALL'S BLUFF. LITTLE ROCK. AUGUST-OCTOBER, 1863. On the morning of August 21st, the "Pike" cast off, and started down the Mississippi river. On reaching the mouth of White river, we turned up that stream, and on August 26th arrived at Devall's Bluff, on the west bank, where we debarked. Our trip from Helena was slow and uneventful. The country along White river from its mouth to Devall's Bluff was wild, very thinly settled, and practically in a state of nature. We passed only two towns on the stream--St. Charles and Clarendon, both small places. On different occasions I saw several bears and deer on the river bank, they having come there for water. Of course they ran back into the woods when the boat got near them. All of Steele's infantry was temporarily in camp at Devall's Bluff, while his cavalry was some miles further out. I soon found the old regiment, and received a warm welcome from all of Co. D. They were much surprised to see me, as they had no idea that I would be able to leave the hospital so soon. They had had no fighting on this campaign, so far, and they said that their march across the country from Helena had been monotonous and devoid of any special interest. During my first night at Devall's Bluff there came a heavy and protracted rain storm, and on waking up the following morning I found myself about half hip-deep in a puddle of water. And this was the beginning of more trouble. My system was full of quinine taken to break the fever while in the hospital, and the quinine and this soaking in the water did not agree. In a short time I began to feel acute rheumatic twinges in the small of my back, and in a day or two was practically helpless, and could not get up, or walk around, without assistance. [Illustration: Enoch W. Wallace 2nd Lieutenant Co. D, 61st Illinois Infantry.] The regiment left Devall's Bluff, with the balance of the army, on September 1st, advancing towards Little Rock. I was totally unable to march, but was determined to go along some way, and with Capt. Keeley's permission, the boys put me into one of the regimental wagons. This wagon happened to be loaded with barrels of pickled pork, standing on end, and my seat was on top of one of the barrels, and it was just the hardest, most painful day's ride in a wagon I ever endured. I was suffering intensely from acute rheumatism in the "coupling region," and in this condition trying to keep steady on the top of a barrel, and being occasionally violently pitched against the ends of the barrel staves when the wagon gave a lurch into a deep rut,--which would give me well-nigh intolerable pain. To make matters worse, the day was very hot, so, when evening came and the column halted, I was mighty near "all in." But some of the boys helped me out and laid me on my blanket in the shade, and later brought me some supper of hardtack, bacon, and coffee. Except the rheumatism, I was all right, and had a good appetite, and after a hearty supper, felt better. Next morning, in consequence of the active exertions of Capt. Keeley in the matter, an ambulance drove up where I was lying, and I was loaded into it, and oh, it was a luxury! Poor Enoch Wallace had been taken down with a malarial fever, and he was also a passenger, likewise two other soldiers whose names I have forgotten. Enoch had been promoted to second lieutenant and had been acting as such for some months, but his commission was not issued until September 3rd,--a day when he was a very sick man. From this on, until September 10th, the day our forces captured Little Rock, my days were spent in the ambulance. At night, the sick of each division (of whom there were hundreds) would bivouac by the side of some lagoon, or small water course, the attendants would prepare us some supper, and the surgeons would make their rounds, administering such medicine as the respective cases required. The prevailing type of sickness was malarial fever, for which, the sovereign specific seemed to be quinine. As for me, I was exempt from the taking of medicine, for which I was thankful. The surgeon, after inquiry into my case, would sententiously remark, "Ah! acute rheumatism," and pass on. I was at a loss to understand this seeming neglect, but a sort of explanation was given me later, which will be mentioned in its order. The food that was given the sick was meager and very unsatisfactory, but it was probably the best that could be furnished, under the circumstances. Each man was given an oyster-can full of what seemed to be beef-soup, with some rice or barley grains in it. By the time it got around to us there was usually a thin crust of cold tallow on the top, and the mere looks of the mess was enough to spoil one's appetite,--if he had any. One evening, Wallace and I were sitting side by side with our backs against a tree, when an attendant came to us and gave each one his can of the decoction above mentioned. It was comical to see the look of disgust that came over the face of poor Enoch. He turned towards me, and tilting his can slightly to enable me to see the contents, spoke thus: "Now, ain't this nice stuff to give a sick man? I've a good notion to throw the whole business in that fellow's face;" (referring to the attendant). "The trouble with you, Enoch," I said, "is that you are losing your patriotism, and I shouldn't be surprised if you'd turn Secesh yet. Kicking on this rich, delicious soup! Next thing you'll be ordering turtle-soup and clamoring for napkins and finger-bowls. You remind me of a piece of poetry I have read somewhere, something like this: 'Jeshurun waxed fat, And down his belly hung, Against the government he kicked, And high his buttocks flung'." The poor old fellow leaned back against the tree, and indulged in a long, silent laugh that really seemed to do him good. I would joke with him, after this fashion, a good deal, and long afterwards he told me that he believed he would have died on that march if I hadn't kept his spirits up by making ridiculous remarks. (In speaking of Wallace as "old," the word is used in a comparative sense, for the fact is he was only about thirty-four years of age at this time.) On the evening of September 9th, the sick of our division bivouacked by the side of a small bayou, in a dense growth of forest trees. Next morning the rumor spread among us that on that day a battle was impending, that our advance was close to the Confederates, and that a determined effort would be made for the capture of Little Rock. Sure enough, during the forenoon, the cannon began to boom a few miles west of us, and our infantry was seen rapidly moving in that direction. As I lay there helpless on the ground, I could not avoid worrying somewhat about the outcome of the battle. If our forces should be defeated, we sick fellows would certainly be in a bad predicament. I could see, in my mind's eye, our ambulance starting on a gallop for Devall's Bluff, while every jolt of the conveyance would inflict on me excruciating pain. But this suspense did not last long. The artillery practice soon began moving further towards the west, and was only of short duration anyhow. And we saw no stragglers, which was an encouraging sign, and some time during the afternoon we learned that all was going in our favor. From the standpoint of a common soldier, I have always thought that General Steele effected the capture of Little Rock with commendable skill and in a manner that displayed sound military judgment. The town was on the west side of the Arkansas river, and our army approached it from the east. Gen. Price, the Confederate commander, had constructed strong breastworks a short distance east of the town, and on the east side of the river, commanding the road on which we were approaching. The right of these works rested on the river, and the left on an impassable swamp. But Gen. Steele did not choose to further Price's plans by butting his infantry up against the Confederate works. He entertained him at that point by ostentatious demonstrations, and attacked elsewhere. The Arkansas was very low, in many places not much more than a wide sandbar, and was easily fordable at numerous points. So Steele had his cavalry and some of his infantry ford the river to the west side, below the town, and advance along the west bank, which was not fortified. Gen. Price, seeing that his position was turned and that his line of retreat was in danger of being cut off, withdrew his troops from the east side and evacuated Little Rock about five o'clock in the afternoon, retreating southwest. Our troops followed close on his heels, and marched in and took possession of the capital city of the State of Arkansas. Our loss, in the entire campaign, was insignificant, being only a little over a hundred, in killed, wounded, and missing. The 61st was with the troops that operated on the east side of the river, and sustained no loss whatever. A few cannon balls, poorly aimed and flying high, passed over the regiment, but did no mischief,--beyond shaking the nerves of some recruits who never before had been under fire. About sundown on the evening of the 10th, the ambulance drivers hitched up, and the sick were taken to a division hospital located near the east bank of the river. Capt. Keeley came over the next day to see Wallace and myself, and, at my urgent request, he arranged for me to be sent to the regiment. As heretofore stated, I just loathed the idea of being in a hospital. There were so many disagreeable and depressing things occurring there every day, and which could not be helped, that they inspired in me a sort of desperate determination to get right out of such a place,--and stay out, if possible. Early next morning an ambulance drove up, I was put in it, and taken to the camp of the old regiment. Some of the boys carried me into a tent, and laid me down on a cot, and I was once more in the society of men who were not groaning with sickness, but were cheerful and happy. But it was my fate to lie on that cot for more than a month, and unable even to turn over without help. And I shall never forget the kindness of Frank Gates during that time. He would come every day, when not on duty, and bathe and rub my rheumatic part with a rag soaked in vinegar, almost scalding hot, which seemed to give me temporary relief. There was an old doctor, of the name of Thomas D. Washburn, an assistant surgeon of the 126th Illinois Infantry, who, for some reason, had been detailed to serve temporarily with our regiment, and he would sometimes drop in to see me. He was a tall old man, something over six feet high, and gaunt in proportion. I don't remember that he ever gave me any medicine, or treatment of any kind, for the reason, doubtless, that will now be stated. One day I said to him, "Doctor, is there nothing that can be done for me? Must I just lie here and suffer indefinitely?" He looked down at me sort of sympathetically, and slowly said: "I will answer your question by telling you a little story. Once upon a time a young doctor asked an old one substantially the same question you have just asked me, which the old doctor answered by saying: 'Yes, there is just one remedy:--six weeks'." And, patting me lightly on the shoulder, he further remarked, "That's all;" and left. The sequel in my case confirmed Dr. Washburn's story. The spot where the regiment went into camp on the day of the capture of Little Rock was opposite the town, on the east bank of the Arkansas, not far from the river, and in a scattered grove of trees. The locality was supposed to be a sort of suburb of the town, and was designated at the time in army orders as "Huntersville." But the only house that I now remember of being near our camp was a little, old, ramshackle building that served as a railroad depot. Speaking of the railroad, it extended only from here to Devall's Bluff, a distance of about fifty miles, and was the only railroad at that time in the State of Arkansas. The original project of the road contemplated a line from Little Rock to a point on the Mississippi opposite Memphis. Work was begun on the western terminus, and the road was completed and in operation as far as Devall's Bluff before the war, and then the war came along and the work stopped. Since then the road has been completed as originally planned. This little old sawed-off railroad was quite a convenience to our army at the Rock, as it obviated what otherwise would have been the necessity of hauling our supplies in wagons across the country from Devall's Bluff. It also frequently came handy for transporting the troops, and several times saved our regiment, and, of course, others, from a hot and tiresome march. For some weeks while in camp at Huntersville, we lived high on several articles of food not included in the army rations. There were a good many sheep in the country round about that the military authorities confiscated, and so we had many a feast on fine, fresh mutton. Corn was plentiful also, and corn meal was issued to us liberally. Last, but not least, the rich Arkansas river bottom lands abounded in great big yellow sweet potatoes that the country people called "yams," and we just reveled in them to our entire satisfaction. There was a boy in my company named William Banfield, about the same age as myself. We had been near neighbors at home, and intimate friends. Bill was a splendid soldier, seldom sick, and always performed his soldier duties cheerfully and without grumbling. And Bill was blessed with a good digestion, and apparently was always hungry. The place where he would build his cook-fire in this camp was near the front of my tent, where I had a good view of his operations. I was lying helpless on my cot, and, like others so situated from time immemorial, had nothing to do, and scarcely did anything else but watch the neighbors. Among the cherished possessions of our company was an old-fashioned cast-iron Dutch oven, of generous proportions, which was just the dandy for baking mutton. Well, Bill would, in the first place, get his chunk of mutton, a fine big piece of the saddle, or of a ham, and put it on to cook in the oven. Then we had another oven, a smaller affair of the skillet order, in which Bill would set to cooking a corn meal cake. At the right stage of the proceedings he would slice up some yams, and put them in with the mutton. Next, and last, he would make at least a quart of strong, black coffee. Both from long experience and critical observation, Bill knew to the fraction of a minute how long it would take for all his converging columns of table comforts to reach the done point on time and all together, and the resulting harmony was perfection itself, and (to use an overworked phrase) "left nothing to be desired." Dinner now being ready, the first thing Bill did was to bring me an ample allowance of the entire bill of fare, and which, by the way, I had to dispose of as best I could lying down, as it was impossible for me to sit up. Having seen to the needs of a disabled comrade, Bill next proceeded to clear his own decks for action. He seated himself at the foot of a big tree, on the shady side, with his back against the trunk; then spreading his legs apart in the shape of a pair of carpenter's compasses, he placed between them the oven containing the mutton and yams, at his left hand the skillet with the cornbread, and on his right his can of coffee--and then the services began. And how Bill would enjoy his dinner! There was no indecent haste about it, no bolting of the delicacies, or anything of the sort. He proceeded slowly and with dignity, while occasionally he would survey the landscape with a placid, contented air. But everything was devoured,--the last crumb of cornbread did duty in sopping up the final drop of grease. The banquet over, Bill would sit there a while in silence, gazing, perchance, at the shimmering waters of the Arkansas, and its sandbars, glittering in the sun. But ere long his head would begin to droop, he would throw one leg over the Dutch oven, swinging the limb clear of that utensil, settle himself snugly against the tree, and in about five minutes would be asleep. At the time I am now writing, (October, 1916,) Bill is yet alive, and residing at Grafton, Illinois. He is a good old fellow, and "long may he wave." CHAPTER XIII. LITTLE ROCK, OCTOBER, 1863. GRANTED A FURLOUGH. CHAPLAIN B. B. HAMILTON. THE JOURNEY ON FURLOUGH FROM LITTLE ROCK TO JERSEY COUNTY, ILLINOIS. RETURN TO REGIMENT, NOVEMBER, 1863. About the middle of October the regiment shifted its camp ground from Huntersville to an open space on the west side of the river, near the State penitentiary, where we remained all the ensuing winter. Soon after this change of camp it was reported among us that one man from each company would soon be granted a thirty day furlough. Prior to this, while in Tennessee, there had been a very few furloughs granted in exceptional cases, which were all the indulgencies of that kind the regiment had so far received. I made no request to be the favored man of our company in this matter, but one day Capt. Keeley told me that he had decided that I should be the furloughed man from Co. D, and could make my arrangements accordingly. By this time I had so far recovered from my rheumatism that I could walk around with the aid of a cane, but was very "shaky" on foot, and any sudden shock or jar would make me flinch with pain. I wondered how I should be able to get from the camp to the railroad depot on the other side of the river, with my knapsack, haversack and canteen, and their necessary contents, for I was utterly unable to carry them. I happened to mention this problem to the chaplain of the regiment, B. B. Hamilton. He was an old and valued friend of my parents, and, as he had lived only a few miles from our home, I knew him quite well before the war, and had heard him preach many a time. He was of the Baptist denomination, and my parents were of the same religious faith. At this time he was still what I would now call a young man, being only about forty years old. My father's given name was Jeremiah, and the Chaplain almost invariably, when speaking to me, would, in a grave, deliberate manner, address me as "Son of Jeremiah." When I mentioned to him my perplexity above indicated, he responded: "Son of Jeremiah, let not your heart be troubled. The Lord will provide." Knowing that what he said could be depended upon, I asked no questions. The precious document giving me thirty-days leave of absence was delivered to me in due time, and our little squad arranged to start on the next train, and which would leave Little Rock for Devall's Bluff early the following day. I had my breakfast betimes the next morning, and was sitting on the ground in front of my tent, with my traps by me, when Chaplain Hamilton came riding up on his horse. He dismounted, and saying to me, "Son of Jeremiah, the Lord has provided," thereupon helped me on his horse, and we started for the depot, the Chaplain walking by my side. We crossed the Arkansas on a sort of improvised army bridge, and were approaching the depot, when a locomotive on the track near-by began to let off steam. The horse evidently was not accustomed to that, he gave a frantic snort, and began to prance and rear. For a second or so I was in an agony of apprehension. I was incumbered with my knapsack and other things, was weak and feeble, and no horseman anyhow, and knew that if I should be violently thrown to the ground, it would just about break me all to pieces, and my furlough would end then and there. But it is likely that the Chaplain may have apprehended the horse's conduct; at any rate, he was on the alert. With one bound he was in front of the frightened animal, holding him firmly by the bridle bits, and had him under control at once. And about the same time the engine stopped its noise, and the trouble was over. The cars destined for Devall's Bluff were on the track, and the Chaplain, and some of our furlough party who had already arrived, helped me on the train. Of course there were no passenger coaches,--just box and gravel cars, and I seated myself on the floor of one of the latter. I gratefully thanked the Chaplain for his kindness, he said a few pleasant words, gave me a kind message for the folks at home, wished me a safe and pleasant trip, and then rode away. This is probably a fitting place to pay a brief tribute to the memory of Chaplain Hamilton, so I will proceed to do so. The first chaplain of the regiment was a minister named Edward Rutledge. He was appointed May 16, 1862, and resigned September 3rd, of the same year. I do not remember of his ever officiating often in the capacity of chaplain. I recall just one occasion when he preached to us, and that was under somewhat peculiar circumstances. He came to the regiment when we were in camp at Owl Creek, Tennessee, and, soon after his arrival, there was read one Saturday evening at dress parade an order in substance and effect as follows: That at a designated time on the following morning the men would assemble on their respective company parade grounds, wearing their "side-arms," (which included waist- and shoulder-belts, cartridge-box, cap-pouch and bayonet,) and under the command of a commissioned officer each company would march to the grove where the chaplain would hold religious services. Well, I didn't like that order one bit, and the great majority of the boys felt the same way. The idea of having to attend church under compulsion seemed to me to infringe on our constitutional rights as free-born American citizens, that while it might have been a thing to be endured in the days described in Fox's "Book of Martyrs," nevertheless, it wasn't exactly fair right now. But orders must be obeyed, so we all turned out with the prescribed "side-arms," and, like the young oysters that were inveigled by the Walrus and the Carpenter,-- "Our clothes were brushed, our faces washed, Our shoes were clean and neat." But it is much to be feared that the chaplain's discourse didn't do anybody a bit of good. For my part, I don't now remember a word, not even the text. The order aforesaid gave so much dissatisfaction to the rank and file, and perhaps to some of the line officers also, that it was never repeated, and thereafter attendance on the chaplain's preaching was a matter left to each man's pleasure and discretion. Judging only from what came under my personal notice, I don't think that much good was ever accomplished by chaplains in the Western army, as regards matters of a purely theological nature. As some one has said somewhere: "Army service in time of war is d--d hard on religion." But in practical, everyday matters, chaplains had ample opportunities for doing, and did, a great deal of good. They held the rank and wore the uniform of a captain,--and, while they had no military command over the men, they were, nevertheless, so far as I ever saw, always treated by the soldiers with the most kind and respectful consideration. To fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of Rutledge, B. B. Hamilton was commissioned chaplain on October 30, 1862, and came to us about that date. He had been active in the ministry at home for many years, and during that time had preached in Jersey, Greene, and the adjoining counties, so he was personally known to many of the officers and men. He was a man of good, sound common sense, an excellent judge of human nature, and endowed with a dry, quaint sort of humor that was delightful. When talking with intimate friends, he was prone, at times, to drop into an Oriental style of conversation, well garnished with sayings and illustrations from the Bible. I don't remember now of his preaching to us very often, and when he did he was tactful in selecting a time when the conditions were all favorable. In his discourses he ignored all questions of theology, such as faith, free-will, foreordination, the final perseverance of the saints, and such like, and got right down to matters involved in our every-day life. He would admonish us to be careful about our health, to avoid excesses of any kind that might be injurious to us in that respect, and above all things, to be faithful and brave soldiers, and conduct ourselves in such a manner that our army record would be an honor to us, and a source of pride and satisfaction to our parents and friends at home. In camp or on the march, he was a most useful and industrious man. He would visit the sick, write letters for them, and in general look after their needs in countless ways. He wrote a fine, neat, legible hand, and rendered much assistance to many of the line officers in making out the muster and pay rolls of their respective companies, and in attending to other matters connected with the company records, or official correspondence. And when the regiment had fighting to do, or a prospect of any, Chaplain Hamilton was always at the front. In the affair at Salem Cemetery, Hez. Giberson of Co. G was knocked down and rendered insensible for a short time by the near-by explosion of a shell. Hamilton ran to him, picked him up, and taking him by the arm, marched him to the rear, while shells were bursting all around us. I saw them as they walked by,--Giberson white as a sheet, staggering, and evidently deathly sick, but the chaplain clung to him, kept him on his feet, and ultimately turned him over to the surgeon. [Illustration: B. B. Hamilton Chaplain 61st Illinois Infantry.] The spring of 1865 found the regiment at Franklin, Tennessee. The war was then practically over in that region, and any organized armies of the Confederates were hundreds of miles away. Hamilton's health had become greatly impaired, and in view of all those conditions, he concluded to resign, and did so, on March 3rd, 1865, and thereupon returned to his old home in Illinois. The vacancy caused by his resignation was never filled, and thereafter we had no religious services in the regiment except on two or three occasions, rendered by volunteers, whose names I have forgotten. After leaving the army, Chaplain Hamilton led a life of activity and usefulness until incapacitated by his final illness. He died at Upper Alton, Illinois, on November 11th, 1894, at the age of nearly seventy-three years, respected and loved by all who knew him. He was a good, patriotic, brave man. I never saw him but once after he left the army, but we kept up a fraternal correspondence with each other as long as he lived. I will now return to the little squad of furloughed Sixty-onesters that was left a while ago on the freight cars at Little Rock. The train pulled out early in the day for Devall's Bluff, where we arrived about noon. We at once made our way to the boat-landing,--and I simply am unable to describe our disappointment when we found no steamboats there. After making careful inquiry, we were unable to get any reliable information in regard to the time of the arrival of any from below,--it might be the next hour, or maybe not for several days. There was nothing to do but just bivouac there by the river bank, and wait. And there we waited for two long days of our precious thirty, and were getting fairly desperate, when one afternoon the scream of a whistle was heard, and soon the leading boat of a small fleet poked its nose around the bend about half a mile below,--and we sprang to our feet, waved our caps and yelled! We ascertained that the boats would start on the return trip to the mouth of White river as soon as they unloaded their army freight. This was accomplished by the next morning, we boarded the first one ready to start, a small stern-wheeler, and some time on the second day thereafter arrived at the mouth of White river. There we landed, on the right bank of the Mississippi, and later boarded a big side-wheeler destined for Cairo, which stopped to take us on. When it rounded in for that purpose, the members of our little squad were quite nervous, and there was a rush on the principle of every fellow for himself. I was hobbling along with my traps, as best I could, when in going down the river bank, which was high and steep, in some way I stumbled and fell, and rolled clear to the bottom, and just lay there helpless. There was one of our party of the name of John Powell, of Co. G, a young fellow about twenty-two or -three years old. He was not tall, only about five feet and eight or nine inches, but was remarkably broad across the shoulders and chest, and had the reputation of being the strongest man in the regiment. He happened to see the accident that had befallen me, and ran to me, picked me up in his arms, with my stuff, the same as if I had been a baby, and "toted" me on the boat. He hunted up a cozy corner on the leeward side, set me down carefully, and then said, "Now, you d--d little cuss, I guess you won't fall down here." And all the balance of the trip, until our respective routes diverged, he looked after me the same as if I had been his brother. He was a splendid, big-hearted fellow. While ascending the Mississippi, the weather was cloudy and foggy, the boat tied up at nights, and our progress generally was tantalizingly slow. We arrived at Cairo on the afternoon of October 26th. It was a raw, chilly, autumn day, a drizzling rain was falling, and everything looked uncomfortable and wretched. We went to the depot of the Illinois Central railroad, and on inquiry learned that our train would not leave until about nine o'clock that night, so apparently there was nothing to do but sit down and wait. My thoughts were soon dwelling on the first time I saw Cairo,--that bright sunny afternoon in the latter part of March, 1862. I was then in superb health and buoyant spirits, and inspired by radiant hopes and glowing anticipations. Only a little over a year and a half had elapsed, and I was now at the old town again, but this time in broken health, and hobbling about on a stick. But it soon occurred to me that many of my comrades had met a still more unfortunate fate, and by this comparison method I presently got in a more cheerful frame of mind. And something happened to come to pass that materially aided that consummation. Some of our party who had been scouting around the town returned with the intelligence that they had found a place called "The Soldiers' Home," where all transient soldiers were furnished food and shelter "without money and without price." This was most welcome news, for our rations were practically exhausted, and our money supply was so meager that economy was a necessity. It was nearing supper time, so we started at once for the Home, in hopes of getting a square meal. On reaching the place we found already formed a long "queue" of hungry soldiers, in two ranks, extending from the door away out into the street. We took our stand at the end of the line, and waited patiently. The building was a long, low, frame structure, of a barrack-like style, and of very unpretentious appearance,--but, as we found out soon, the inside was better. In due time, the door was opened, and we all filed in. The room was well-lighted, and warm, and long rows of rough tables extended clear across, with benches for seats. And oh, what a splendid supper we had! Strong, hot coffee, soft bread, cold boiled beef, molasses, stewed dried apples,--and even cucumber pickles! Supper over, we went back to the depot, all feeling better, and I've had a warm spot in my heart for the old town of Cairo ever since. But it certainly did look hard at this time. Its population, at the beginning of the war, was only a little over two thousand, the houses were small and dilapidated, and everything was dirty, muddy, slushy, and disagreeable in general. In October, 1914, I happened to be in Cairo again, and spent several hours there, roaming around, and looking at the town. The lapse of half a century had wrought a wonderful change. Its population was now something over fifteen thousand, the streets were well paved and brilliantly lighted, and long blocks of tall, substantial buildings had superseded the unsightly shacks of the days of the Civil War. But on this occasion I found no vestige of our "Soldiers' Home," nor was any person of whom inquiry was made able to give me the slightest information as to where it had stood. The only thing I saw in the town, or that vicinity, that looked natural, was the Ohio river, and even its placid appearance was greatly marred by a stupendous railroad bridge, over which trains of cars were thundering every hour in the day. But the river itself was flowing on in serene majesty, as it had been from the time "the morning stars sang together," and as it will continue to flow until this planet goes out of business. We left Cairo on the cars on the night of October 26th, and for the first time in our military service, we rode in passenger coaches, which was another piece of evidence that once more we were in that part of the world that we uniformly spoke of as "God's Country." I remember an incident that occurred during our ride that night that gave us all the benefit of a hearty laugh. There was (and is yet) a station on the Illinois Central, in Jackson county, Illinois, by the name of "Makanda." It was some time after midnight when we neared this station, the boys were sprawled out on their seats, and trying to doze. The engine gave the usual loud whistle to announce a stop, the front door of our coach was thrown open, and a brakeman with a strong Hibernian accent called out in thunder tones what sounded exactly like "My-candy!" as here written,--and with the accent on the first syllable. There were several soldiers in the coach who were not of our party, also going home on furlough, and one of these, a big fellow with a heavy black beard, reared up and yelled back at the brakeman,--"Well, who the hell said it wasn't your candy?" and the boys all roared. Many years later I passed through that town on the cars, and the brakeman said "My-candy," as of yore. I felt a devilish impulse to make the same response the soldier did on that October night in 1863, but the war was over, no comrades were on hand to back me,--so I prudently refrained. At Sandoval the most of our party transferred to the Ohio and Mississippi railroad, (as it was called then,) and went to St. Louis, reaching there on the afternoon of October 27th. Here all except myself left on the Chicago, Alton and St. Louis railroad, for different points thereon, and from which they would make their way to their respective homes. There was no railroad running through Jersey county at this time, (except a bit of the last named road about a mile in length across the southeast corner of the county,) and the railroad station nearest my home was twenty miles away, so I had to resort to some other mode of travel. I went down to the wharf and boarded a little Illinois river steamboat,--the Post-Boy, which would start north that night, paid my fare to Grafton, at the mouth of the Illinois river, arranged with the clerk to wake me at that place, and then turned in. But the clerk did not have to bother on my account; I was restless, slept but little, kept a close lookout, and when the whistle blew for Grafton, I was up and on deck in about a minute. The boat rounded in at the landing, and threw out a plank for my benefit,--the lone passenger for Grafton. Two big, burly deck-hands, rough looking, bearded men, took me by the arm, one on each side, and carefully and kindly helped me ashore. I have often thought of that little incident. In those days a river deck-hand was not a saint, by any means. As a rule, he was a coarse, turbulent, and very profane man, but these two fellows saw that I was a little, broken-down boy-soldier, painfully hobbling along on a stick, and they took hold of me with their strong, brawny hands, and helped me off the boat with as much kindness and gentleness as if I had been the finest lady in the land. I was now only five miles from home, and proposed to make the balance of my journey on foot. I climbed up to the top of the river bank, and thence made my way to the main and only street the little town then possessed, and took "the middle of the road." It was perhaps four or five o'clock in the morning, a quiet, starlight night, and the people of the village were all apparently yet wrapped in slumber. No signs of life were visible, except occasionally a dog would run out in a front yard and bark at me. The main road from Grafton, at that time, and which passed near my home, wound along the river bottom a short distance, and then, for a mile or more, ascended some high hills or bluffs north of the town. The ascent of these bluffs was steep, and hence the walking was fatiguing, and several times before reaching the summit where the road stretched away over a long, high ridge, I had to sit down and rest. The quails were now calling all around me, and the chickens were crowing for day at the farm houses, and their notes sounded so much like home! After attaining the crest, the walking was easier, and I slowly plodded on, rejoicing in the sight of the many familiar objects that appeared on every hand. About a mile or so from home, I left the main highway, and followed a country road that led to our house, where I at last arrived about nine o'clock. I had not written to my parents to advise them of my coming, for it would not have been judicious, in mere expectation of a furlough, to excite hopes that might be disappointed, and after it was issued and delivered to me, there was no use in writing, for I would reach home as soon as a letter. So my father and mother, and the rest of the family, were all taken completely by surprise when I quietly walked into the yard of the old home. I pass over any detailed account of our meeting. We, like others of that time and locality, were a simple, backwoods people, with nothing in the nature of gush or effervescence in our dispositions. I know that I was glad to see my parents, and the rest, and they were all unmistakably glad to see me, and we manifested our feelings in a natural, homely way, and without any display whatever of extravagant emotions. Greetings being over, about the first inquiry was whether I had yet had any breakfast, and my answer being in the negative, a splendid old-time breakfast was promptly prepared. But my mother was keenly disappointed at my utter lack of appetite. I just couldn't eat hardly a bit, and invented some sort of an excuse, and said I'd do better in the future, but, somehow, right then, I wasn't hungry, which was true. However, this instance of involuntary abstinence was fully made up for later. While on my furlough I went with my father in the farm wagon occasionally to Grafton, and Jerseyville, and even once to Alton, twenty miles away, but the greater part of the time was spent at the farm, and around the old home, and in the society of the family. I reckon I rambled over every acre of the farm, and besides, took long walks in the woods of the adjacent country, for miles around. The big, gushing Sansom Spring, about half a mile from home, was a spot associated with many happy recollections. I would go there, lie flat on the ground, and take a copious drink of the pure, delicious water, then stroll through the woods down Sansom branch to its confluence with Otter creek, thence down the creek to the Twin Springs that burst out at the base of a ridge on our farm, just a few feet below a big sugar maple, from here on to the ruins of the old grist mill my father operated in the latter '40s, and then still farther down the creek to the ancient grist mill (then still standing) of the old pioneer, Hiram White. Here I would cross to the south bank of the creek and make my way home up through Limestone, or the Sugar Hollow. From my earliest youth I always loved to ramble in the woods, and somehow these around the old home now looked dearer and more beautiful to me than they ever had before. The last time I ever saw my boyhood home was in August, 1894. It had passed into the hands of strangers, and didn't look natural. And all the old-time natural conditions in that locality were greatly changed. The flow of water from Sansom Spring was much smaller than what it had been in the old days, and only a few rods below the spring it sunk into the ground and disappeared. The big, shady pools along Sansom branch where I had gone swimming when a boy, and from which I had caught many a string of perch and silversides, were now dry, rocky holes in the ground, and the branch in general was dry as a bone. And Otter Creek, which at different places where it ran through our farm had once contained long reaches of water six feet deep and over, had now shrunk to a sickly rivulet that one could step across almost anywhere in that vicinity. And the grand primeval forest which up to about the close of the war, at least, had practically covered the country for many miles in the vicinity of my old home, had now all been cut down and destroyed, and the naked surface of the earth was baking in the rays of the sun. It is my opinion, and is stated for whatever it may be worth, that the wholesale destruction of the forests of that region had much to do with the drying up of the streams. But it is time to return to the boy on furlough. Shortly before leaving Little Rock for home, Capt. Keeley had confidentially informed me that if the military situation in Arkansas continued quiet, it would be all right for me before my furlough expired to procure what would effect a short extension thereof, and he explained to me the _modus operandi_. Including the unavoidable delays, over a third of my thirty days had been consumed in making the trip home, and the return journey would doubtless require about the same time. I therefore thought it would be justifiable to obtain an extension, if possible. My health was rapidly growing better, the rheumatism was nearly gone--but there was still room for improvement. I had closely read the newspapers in order to keep posted on the military status in the vicinity of Little Rock, and had learned from them that the troops were building winter quarters, and that in general, "All was quiet along the Arkansas." So, on November 9th, I went to Dr. J. H. Hesser, a respectable physician of Otterville, told him my business, and said that if his judgment would warrant it, I would be glad to obtain from him a certificate that would operate to extend my furlough for twenty days. He looked at me, asked a few questions, and then wrote and gave me a brief paper which set forth in substance that, in his opinion as a physician, I would not be able for duty sooner than December 5th, 1863, that being a date twenty days subsequent to the expiration of my furlough. I paid Dr. Hesser nothing for the certificate, for he did not ask it, but said that he gave it to me as a warranted act of kindness to a deserving soldier. (In September of the following year Dr. Hesser enlisted in Co. C of our regiment as a recruit, and about all the time he was with us acted as hospital steward of the regiment, which position he filled ably and satisfactorily.) But I did not avail myself of all my aforesaid extension. I knew it would be better to report at company headquarters before its expiration than after, so my arrangements were made to start back on November 16th. Some hours before sunrise that morning, I bade good-by to mother and the children, and father and I pulled out in the farm wagon for our nearest railroad station, which was Alton, and, as heretofore stated, twenty miles away, where we arrived in ample time for my train. We drove into a back street and unhitched the team--the faithful old mules, Bill and Tom, tied them to the wagon and fed them, and then walked to the depot. The train came in due season, and stopped opposite the depot platform, where father and I were standing. We faced each other, and I said, "Good-bye, father;" he responded, "Good-bye, Leander, take care of yourself." We shook hands, then he instantly turned and walked away, and I boarded the train. That was all there was to it. And yet we both knew more in regard to the dangers and perils that environ the life of a soldier in time of war than we did on the occasion of the parting at Jerseyville nearly two years ago--hence we fully realized that this farewell might be the last. Nor did this manner spring from indifference, or lack of sensibility; it was simply the way of the plain unlettered backwoods people of those days. Nearly thirty-five years later the "whirligig of time" evolved an incident which clearly brought home to me a vivid idea of what must have been my father's feelings on this occasion. The Spanish-American war began in the latter part of April, 1898, and on the 30th of that month, Hubert, my oldest son, then a lad not quite nineteen years old, enlisted in Co. A of the 22nd Kansas Infantry, a regiment raised for service in that war. On May 28th the regiment was sent to Washington, D. C., and was stationed at Camp Alger, near the city. In the early part of August it appeared that there was a strong probability that the regiment, with others at Washington, would soon be sent to Cuba or Porto Rico. I knew that meant fighting, to say nothing of the camp diseases liable to prevail in that latitude at that season of the year. So my wife and I concluded to go to Washington and have a little visit with Hubert before he left for the seat of war. We arrived at the capital on August 5th, and found the regiment then in camp near the little village of Clifton, Virginia, about twenty-six miles southwest of Washington. We had a brief but very enjoyable visit with Hubert, who was given a pass, and stayed a few days with us in the city. But the time soon came for us to separate, and on the day of our departure for home Hubert went with us to the depot of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, where his mother and I bade him good-by. Then there came to me, so forcibly, the recollection of the parting with my father at the Alton depot in November, 1863, and for the first time I think I fully appreciated what must have been his feelings on that occasion. But, (referring to the Washington incident,) it so happened that on the day my wife and I left that city for home, or quite soon thereafter, it was officially announced that a suspension of hostilities had been agreed on between Spain and the United States. This ended the war, and consequently Hubert's regiment was not sent to the Spanish islands. I will now resume my own story. [Illustration: Leander Stillwell Co. D, 61st Illinois Infantry, December, 1863.] My route from Alton, and method of conveyance, on returning to the regiment, were the same, with one or two slight variations, as those in going home, and the return trip was uneventful. But there were no delays, the boat ran day and night, and the journey was made in remarkably quick time. I arrived at Little Rock on the evening of November 20th, only five days over my furlough,--and with a twenty-day extension to show for that, reported promptly to Capt. Keeley, and delivered to him the certificate given me by Dr. Hesser. Keeley pronounced the paper satisfactory, and further said it would have been all right if I had taken the benefit of the entire twenty days. However, it somehow seemed to me that he really was pleased to see that I had not done so, but hurried back fifteen days ahead of time. After a brief conversation with him about the folks at home, and matters and things there in general, he treated me to a most agreeable surprise. He stepped to the company office desk, and took therefrom a folded paper which he handed to me with the remark: "There, Stillwell, is something I think will please you." I unfolded and glanced at it, and saw that it was a non-commissioned officer's warrant, signed by Major Grass as commanding officer of the regiment, and countersigned by Lieut. A. C. Haskins as adjutant, appointing me First Sergeant of Co. D. The warrant was dated November 4th, but recited that the appointment took effect from September 1st, preceding. As before stated, Enoch Wallace was our original first sergeant, and as he was promoted to second lieutenant on September 3, 1863, his advancement left his old position vacant, and his mantle had now fallen on me. I was deeply gratified with this appointment, and really was not expecting it, as there were two other duty sergeants who outranked me, and in appointing me I was promoted over their heads. However, they took it in good part, and remained my friends, as they always had been. And the plain truth is, too, which may have reconciled these sergeants somewhat, the position of first or orderly sergeant, as we usually called it, was not an enviable one, by any means. His duties were incessant, involving responsibility, and frequently were very trying. He had to be right with his company every hour in the day, and it was not prudent for him to absent himself from camp for even ten minutes without the consent of his company commander, and temporarily appointing a duty sergeant to act in his place while away. Among his multifarious duties may be mentioned the following: Calling the roll of the company morning and evening, and at such other hours as might be required; attending sick calls with the sick, and carefully making a note of those excused from duty by the surgeon; making out and signing the company morning report; procuring the signature of the company commander thereto, and then delivering it to the adjutant; forming the company on its parade ground for dress parade, drills, marches, and the like; making the details of the men required from his company for the various kinds of guard and fatigue duty; drawing rations for the company, and distributing them among the various messes; seeing to it that the company grounds (when in camp) were properly policed every morning;--and just scores of little matters of detail that were occurring all the time. It was a very embarrassing incident when sometimes a boy who was a good soldier was, without permission, absent at roll call. He might have strolled up town, or to a neighboring camp to see an old-time friend, and stayed too long. On such occurrences I would, as a general rule, pass rapidly from his name to the next--and just report the boy present, and later talk to him privately and tell him not to let it happen again. It is true, sometimes an aggravated case occurred when, in order to maintain discipline, a different course had to be pursued, but not often. Speaking generally, I will say that it was bad policy for the orderly to be running to the captain about every little trouble or grievance. The thing for him to do was to take the responsibility and act on his own judgment, and depend on the captain to back him (as he almost invariably would) if the affair came to a "show-down." Beginning as far back as the summer of 1862, I had frequently temporarily acted as orderly sergeant, for weeks at a time, and so possessed a fair amount of experience when I entered on the duties of the position under a permanent appointment. But my long, solitary rambles out in the woods, beyond the lines, were at an end, and that was a matter of more regret to me than anything else connected with the office of orderly sergeant. While on this topic I will remark that it always seemed to me that the men who had the "softest snaps" of any in a regiment of infantry were the lieutenants of the respective companies. The first lieutenant had no company cares or responsibilities whatever, unless the captain was absent, or sick in quarters, and the second lieutenant was likewise exempt, unless the captain and first lieutenant were both absent, or sick. Of course there were duties that devolved on the lieutenants from time to time, such as drilling the men, serving as officer of the guard, and other matters, but when those jobs were done, they could just "go and play," without a particle of care or anxiety about the services of the morrow. CHAPTER XIV. LITTLE ROCK. WINTER OF 1863-4. RE-ENLIST FOR THREE YEARS MORE. When I returned to Little Rock from my absence on furlough, the regiment was found installed in cosy, comfortable quarters of pine log cabins. There were extensive pine forests near Little Rock, the boys were furnished teams and axes to facilitate the work, and cut and shaped the logs for the cabin walls, and roofed them with lumber, boards or shingles, which they procured in various ways. The walls were chinked and daubed with mud, and each cabin was provided with an ample, old-fashioned fire-place, with a rock or stick chimney. As wood was close at hand, and in abundance, there was no difficulty whatever in keeping the cabins warm. But I will remark here that of all the mean wood to burn, a green pine log is about the worst. It is fully as bad as green elm, or sycamore. But there was no lack of dry wood to mix with the green, and the green logs had this virtue: that after the fire had once taken hold of them they would last a whole night. The winter of 1863-4 was remarkably cold, and to this day is remembered by the old soldiers as "the cold winter." On the last day of 1863 a heavy fall of snow occurred at Little Rock, and the first day of the new year, and several days thereafter, were bitterly cold. But the weather did not cause the troops in our immediate locality any special suffering, so far as I know, or ever heard. All of us not on picket were just as comfortable as heart could wish in our tight, well-warmed cabins, and those on guard duty were permitted to build rousing fires and so got along fairly well. Big fires on the picket line would not have been allowed if any enemy had been in our vicinity, but there were none; hence it was only common sense to let the pickets have fires and keep as comfortable as circumstances would permit. It was probably on account of the severe weather that active military operations in our locality were that winter practically suspended. There were a few cavalry affairs at outlying posts, but none of any material importance. The most painful sight that I saw during the war was here at Little Rock this winter. It was the execution, by hanging, on January 8, 1864, of a Confederate spy, by the name of David O. Dodds. He was a mere boy, seemingly not more than nineteen or twenty years old. There was no question as to his guilt. When arrested there was found on his person a memorandum book containing information, written in telegraphic characters, in regard to all troops, batteries, and other military matters at Little Rock. He was tried by a court martial, and sentenced to the mode of death always inflicted on a spy, namely, by hanging. I suppose that the military authorities desired to render his death as impressive as possible, in order to deter others from engaging in a business so fraught with danger to our armies; therefore, on the day fixed for carrying out the sentence of the court, all our troops in Little Rock turned out under arms and marched to the place of execution. It was in a large field near the town; a gallows had been erected in the center of this open space, and the troops formed around it in the form of an extensive hollow square, and stood at parade rest. The spy rode through the lines to the gallows in an open ambulance, sitting on his coffin. I happened to be not far from the point where he passed through, and saw him plainly. For one so young, he displayed remarkable coolness and courage when in the immediate presence of death. The manner of his execution was wretchedly bungled, in some way, and the whole thing was to me indescribably repulsive. In the crisis of the affair there was a sudden clang of military arms and accouterments in the line not far from me, and looking in that direction I saw that a soldier in the front rank had fainted and fallen headlong to the ground. I didn't faint, but the spectacle, for the time being, well-nigh made me sick. It is true that from time immemorial the punishment of a convicted spy has been death by hanging. The safety of whole armies, even the fate of a nation, may perhaps depend on the prompt and summary extinction of the life of a spy. As long as he is alive he may possibly escape, or, even if closely guarded, may succeed in imparting his dangerous intelligence to others who will transmit it in his stead; hence no mercy can be shown. But in spite of all that, this event impressed me as somehow being unspeakably cruel and cold-blooded. On one side were thousands of men with weapons in their hands, coolly looking on; on the other was one lone, unfortunate boy. My conscience has never troubled me for anything I may have done on the firing line, in time of battle. There were the other fellows in plain sight, shooting, and doing all in their power to kill us. It was my duty to shoot at them, aim low, and kill some of them, if possible, and I did the best I could, and have no remorse whatever. But whenever my memory recalls the choking to death of that boy, (for that is what was done), I feel bad, and don't like to write or think about it. But, for fear of being misunderstood, it will be repeated that the fate of a spy, when caught, is death. It is a military necessity. The other side hanged our spies, with relentless severity, and were justified in so doing by laws and usages of war. Even the great and good Washington approved of the hanging of the British spy, Maj. Andre, and refused to commute the manner of his execution to being shot, although Andre made a personal appeal to him to grant him that favor, in order that he might die the death of a soldier. The point with me is simply this: I don't want personally to have anything to do, in any capacity, with hanging a man, and don't desire even to be in eye-sight of such a gruesome thing, and voluntarily never have. However, it fell to my lot to be an involuntary witness of two more military executions while in the service. I will speak of them now, and then be through with this disagreeable subject. On March 18th, 1864, two guerrillas were hanged in the yard of the penitentiary at Little Rock, by virtue of the sentence of a court martial, and my regiment acted as guard at the execution. We marched into the penitentiary inclosure, and formed around the scaffold in hollow square. As soon as this had been done, a door on the ground floor of the penitentiary was swung open, and the two condemned men marched out, pinioned side by side, and surrounded by a small guard. The culprits were apparently somewhere between forty and fifty years of age. They ascended the scaffold, were placed with their feet on the trap, the nooses were adjusted, the trap was sprung,--and it was all over. The crimes of which these men had been convicted were peculiarly atrocious. They were not members of any organized body of the Confederate army, but guerrillas pure and simple. It was conclusively established on their trial that they, with some associates, had, in cold blood, murdered by hanging several men of that vicinity, private citizens of the State of Arkansas, for no other cause or reason than the fact that the victims were Union men. In some cases the murdered men had been torn from their beds at night, and hanged in their own door-yards, in the presence of their well-nigh distracted wives and children. There can be no question that these two unprincipled assassins richly merited their fate, and hence it was impossible to entertain for them any feeling of sympathy. Nevertheless, I stand by my original proposition, that to see any man strung up like a dog, and hanged in cold blood, is a nauseating and debasing spectacle. In January, 1864, while we were at Little Rock, the "veteranizing" project, as it was called, was submitted to the men. That is to say, we were asked to enlist for "three years more, or endurin' the war." Sundry inducements for this were held out to the men, but the one which, at the time, had the most weight, was the promise of a thirty-days furlough for each man who re-enlisted. The men in general responded favorably to the proposition, and enough of the 61st re-enlisted to enable the regiment to retain its organization to the end of the war. On the evening of February 1st, with several others of Co. D, I walked down to the adjutant's tent, and "went in" for three years more. I think that no better account of this re-enlistment business can now be given by me than by here inserting a letter I wrote on December 22nd, 1894, as a slight tribute to the memory of our acting regimental commander in February, 1864, Maj. Daniel Grass. He was later promoted to lieutenant-colonel, and after the war, came to Kansas, where, for many years, he was a prominent lawyer and politician. On the evening of December 18th, 1894, while he was crossing a railroad track in the town where he lived, (Coffeyville, Kansas,) he was struck by a railroad engine, and sustained injuries from which he died on December 21st, at the age of a little over seventy years. A few days thereafter the members of the bar of the county held a memorial meeting in his honor, which I was invited to attend. I was then judge of the Kansas 7th Judicial District, and my judicial duties at the time were such that I could not go, and hence was compelled to content myself by writing a letter, which was later published in the local papers of the county, and which reads as follows: "Erie, Kansas, "December 22, 1894. "Hon. J. D. McCue, "Independence, Kansas. "My Dear Judge: "I received this evening yours of the 20th informing me of the death of my old comrade and regimental commander during the war for the Union, Col. Dan Grass. I was deeply moved by this sad intelligence, and regret that I did not learn of his death in time to attend his funeral. I wish I could be present at the memorial meeting of the bar next Monday that you mention, but I have other engagements for that day that cannot be deferred. It affords me, however, a mournful pleasure to comply with your request suggesting that I write a few words in the nature of a tribute to our departed friend and comrade, to be read at this meeting of the bar. But I am fearful that I shall perform this duty very unsatisfactorily. There are so many kind and good things that I would like to say about him that throng my memory at this moment that I hardly know where to begin. "I served in the same regiment with Col. Grass from January 7th, 1862, to December 15th, 1864. On the last named day he was taken prisoner by the rebels in an engagement near Murfreesboro, Tenn. He was subsequently exchanged, but by that time the war was drawing to a close, and he did not rejoin us again in the field. In May, 1865, he was mustered out of the service. During his term of service with us, (nearly three years,) I became very well acquainted with him, and learned to admire and love him as a man and a soldier. He was temperate in his habits, courteous and kind to the common soldiers, and as brave a man in action as I ever saw. He was, moreover, imbued with the most fervid and intense patriotism. The war with him was one to preserve the Republic from destruction, and his creed was that the government should draft, if necessary, every available man in the North, and spend every dollar of the wealth of the country, sooner than suffer the rebellion to succeed, and the Nation to be destroyed. I think the most eloquent speech I ever heard in my life was one delivered by Col. Grass to his regiment at Little Rock, Arkansas, in February, 1864. The plan was then in progress to induce the veteran troops in the field to re-enlist for three years more. We boys called it 'veteranizing.' For various reasons it did not take well in our regiment. Nearly all of us had been at the front without a glimpse of our homes and friends for over two years. We had undergone a fair share of severe fighting and toilsome marching and the other hardships of a soldier's life, and we believed we were entitled to a little rest when our present term should expire. Hence, re-enlisting progressed slowly, and it looked as if, so far as the 61st Illinois was concerned, that the undertaking was going to be a failure. While matters were in this shape, one day Col. Grass caused the word to be circulated throughout the regiment that he would make us a speech that evening at dress parade on the subject of 'veteranizing.' At the appointed time we assembled on the parade ground with fuller ranks than usual, everybody being anxious to hear what 'Old Dan,' as the boys called him, would say. After the customary movements of the parade had been performed, the Colonel commanded, 'Parade, Rest!' and without further ceremony commenced his talk. Of course I cannot pretend, after this lapse of time, to recall all that he said. I remember best his manner and some principal statements, and the effect they produced on us. He began talking to us like a father would talk to a lot of dissatisfied sons. He told us that he knew we wanted to go home; that we were tired of war and its hardships; that we wanted to see our fathers and mothers, and 'the girls we left behind'; that he sympathized with us, and appreciated our feelings. 'But, boys,' said he, 'this great Nation is your father, and has a greater claim on you than anybody else in the world. This great father of yours is fighting for his life, and the question for you to determine now is whether you are going to stay and help the old man out, or whether you are going to sneak home and sit down by the chimney corner in ease and comfort while your comrades by thousands and hundreds of thousands are marching, struggling, fighting, and dying on battle fields and in prison pens to put down this wicked rebellion, and save the old Union. Stand by the old flag, boys! Let us stay and see this thing out! We're going to whip 'em in the end just as sure as God Almighty is looking down on us right now, and then we'll all go home together, happy and triumphant. And take my word for it, in after years it will be the proudest memory of your lives, to be able to say, "I stayed with the old regiment and the old flag until the last gun cracked and the war was over, and the Stars and Stripes were floating in triumph over every foot of the land!'" "I can see him in my mind's eye, as plain as if it were yesterday. He stood firm and erect on his feet in the position of a soldier, and gestured very little, but his strong, sturdy frame fairly quivered with the intensity of his feelings, and we listened in the most profound silence. "It was a raw, cold evening, and the sun, angry and red, was sinking behind the pine forests that skirted the ridges west of our camp when the Colonel concluded his address. It did not, I think, exceed more than ten minutes. The parade was dismissed, and the companies marched back to their quarters. As I put my musket on its rack and unbuckled my cartridge box, I said to one of my comrades, 'I believe the old Colonel is right; I am going right now down to the adjutant's tent and re-enlist;' and go I did, but not alone. Down to the adjutant's tent that evening streamed the boys by the score and signed the rolls, and the fruit of that timely and patriotic talk that Dan Grass made to us boys was that the great majority of the men re-enlisted, and the regiment retained its organization and remained in the field until the end of the war. "But my letter is assuming rather lengthy proportions, and I must hasten to a close. I have related just one incident in the life of Col. Grass that illustrates his spirit of patriotism and love of country. I could speak of many more, but the occasion demands brevity. Of his career since the close of the war, in civil life here in Kansas, there are others better qualified to speak than I am. I will only say that my personal relations with him since he came to this State, dating away back in the early seventies, have continued to be, during all these years, what they were in the trying and perilous days of the war--of the most friendly and fraternal character. To me, at least, he was always Col. Dan Grass, my regimental commander; while he, as I am happy to believe, always looked upon and remembered me simply as 'Lee Stillwell, the little sergeant of Company D.' "I remain very sincerely your friend, "L. STILLWELL." [Illustration: Daniel Grass (Late Lieut. Colonel, 61st Illinois Infantry.)] CHAPTER XV. LITTLE ROCK. EXPEDITIONS TO AUGUSTA AND SPRINGFIELD. MARCH, APRIL AND MAY, 1864. In the spring of 1864 it was determined by the military authorities to undertake some offensive operations in what was styled the "Red River country," the objective point being Shreveport, Louisiana. Gen. N. P. Banks was to move with an army from New Orleans, and Gen. Steele, in command of the Department of Arkansas, was to co-operate with a force from Little Rock. And here my regiment sustained what I regarded, and still regard, as a piece of bad luck. It was not included in this moving column, but was assigned to the duty of serving as provost guard of the city of Little Rock during the absence of the main army. To be left there in that capacity, while the bulk of the troops in that department would be marching and fighting was, from my standpoint, a most mortifying circumstance. But the duty that devolved on us had to be done by somebody, and soldiers can only obey orders. Our officers said at the time that only efficient and well-disciplined troops were entrusted with the position of provost-guards of a city the size of Little Rock, and hence that our being so designated was a compliment to the regiment. That sounded plausible, and it may have been true, probably was, but I didn't like the job a bit. It may, however, have all been for the best, as this Red River expedition, especially the part undertaken by Gen. Banks, was a disastrous failure. Gen. Steele left Little Rock about March 23rd, with a force, of all arms, of about 12,000 men, but got no further than Camden, Arkansas. Gen. Banks was defeated by the Confederates at the battle of Sabine Cross-Roads, in Louisiana, on April 8th, and was forced to retreat. The enemy then was at liberty to concentrate on General Steele, and so he likewise was under the necessity of retreating, and scuttling back to Little Rock just as rapidly as possible. But on this retreat he and his men did some good, hard fighting, and stood off the Confederates effectively. About the first intimation we in Little Rock had that our fellows were coming back was when nearly every soldier in the city that was able to wield a mattock or a spade was detailed for fatigue duty and set to work throwing up breastworks, and kept at it, both day and night. I happened to see Gen. Steele when he rode into town on May 2nd, at the head of his troops, and he looked tough. He had on a battered felt hat, with a drooping brim, an oil-cloth "slicker," much the worse for wear, the ends of his pantaloons were stuck in his boots, and he was just splashed and splattered with mud from head to foot. But he sat firm and erect in his saddle, (he was a magnificent horseman,) and his eyes were flashing as if he had plenty of fight left in him yet. And the rank and file of our retreating army was just the hardest looking outfit of Federal soldiers that I saw during the war, at any time. The most of them looked as if they had been rolled in the mud, numbers of them were barefoot, and I also saw several with the legs of their trousers all gone, high up, socking through the mud like big blue cranes. In view of the feverish haste with which Little Rock had been put in a state for defensive operations, and considering also all the reports in circulation, we fully expected that Price's whole army would make an attack on us almost any day. But the Confederates had been so roughly handled in the battle of Jenkins' Ferry, April 30th, on the Saline river, that none of their infantry came east of that river, nor any of their cavalry except a small body, which soon retired. The whole Confederate army, about May 1st, fell back to Camden, and soon all was again quiet along the Arkansas. I will now go back about two weeks in order to give an account of a little expedition our regiment took part in when Gen. Steele's army was at Camden. Late on the evening of April 19th, we fell in, marched to the railroad depot, climbed on the cars, and were taken that night to Devall's Bluff. Next morning we embarked on the steamboat "James Raymond," and started up White river. The other troops that took part in the movement were the 3rd Minnesota Infantry and a detachment of the 8th Missouri Cavalry. We arrived at the town of Augusta, (about eighty miles by water from Devall's Bluff,) on the morning of the 21st. It was a little, old, dilapidated river town, largely in a deserted condition, situated on low, bottom land, on the east bank of White river. On arriving we at once debarked from the boat, and all our little force marched out a mile or so east of the town, where we halted, and formed in line of battle in the edge of the woods, with a large open field in our front, on the other side of which were tall, dense woods. As there were no signs or indications of any enemy in the town, and everything around was so quiet and sleepy, I couldn't understand what these ominous preparations meant. Happening to notice the old chaplain a short distance in the rear of our company, I slipped out of ranks, and walked back to him for the purpose of getting a pointer, if possible. He was by himself, and as I approached him, seemed to be looking rather serious. He probably saw inquiry in my eyes, and without waiting for question made a gesture with his hands towards the woods in our front, and said, "O Son of Jeremiah! Here is where we shall give battle to those who trouble Israel!" "What! What is that you say?" said I, in much astonishment. "It is even so," he continued; "the Philistines are abroad in the land, having among them, as they assert, many valiant men who can sling stones at a hair's breadth and not miss. They await us, even now, in the forest beyond. But, Son of Jeremiah," said he, "if the uncircumcised heathen should assail the Lord's anointed, be strong, and quit yourself like a man!" "All right, Chaplain," I responded; "I have forty rounds in the box, and forty on the person, and will give them the best I have in the shop. But, say! Take care of my watch, will you? And, should anything happen, please send it to the folks at home;"--and handing him my little old silver time-piece, I resumed my place in the ranks. After what seemed to me a most tiresome wait, we finally advanced, preceded by a line of skirmishers. I kept my eyes fixed on the woods in our front, expecting every minute to see burst therefrom puffs of white smoke, followed by the whiz of bullets and the crash of musketry, but nothing of the kind happened. Our skirmishers entered the forest, and disappeared, and still everything remained quiet. The main line followed, and after gaining the woods, we discovered plenty of evidence that they had quite recently been occupied by a body of cavalry. The ground was cut up by horses' tracks, and little piles of corn in the ear, only partly eaten, were scattered around. We advanced through the woods and swamps for some miles and scouted around considerably, but found no enemy, except a few stragglers that were picked up by our cavalry. We left Augusta on the 24th, on our steamboat, and arrived at Little Rock on the same day. I met the chaplain on the boat while on our return, and remarked to him that, "Those mighty men who could kill a jaybird with a sling-shot a quarter of a mile off didn't stay to see the show." "No," he answered; "when the sons of Belial beheld our warlike preparation, their hearts melted, and became as water; they gat every man upon his ass, and speedily fled, even beyond the brook which is called Cache." He then went on to tell me that on our arrival at Augusta there was a body of Confederate cavalry near there, supposed to be about a thousand strong, under the command of a General McRae; that they were bivouacked in the woods in front of the line of battle we formed, and that on our approach they had scattered and fled. The enemy's force really exceeded ours, but, as a general proposition, their cavalry was reluctant to attack our infantry, in a broken country, unless they could accomplish something in the nature of a surprise, or otherwise have a decided advantage at the start. On May 16th we shifted our camp to Huntersville, on the left bank of the Arkansas river, and near our first location. We thus abandoned our log cabins, and never occupied them again. They were now getting too close and warm for comfort, anyhow. But they had been mighty good friends to us in the bitterly cold winter of '63-4, and during that time we spent many a cosy, happy day and night therein. On May 19th we again received marching orders, and the regiment left camp that night on the cars, and went to Hicks' station, 28 miles from Little Rock. We remained here, bivouacking in the woods, until the 22nd, when, at 3 o'clock in the morning of that day, we took up the line of march, moving in a northerly direction. The troops that composed our force consisted of the 61st, 54th, and 106th Illinois, and 12th Michigan (infantry regiments), a battery of artillery, and some detachments of cavalry; Brig. Gen. J. R. West in command. We arrived at the town of Austin, 18 miles from Hicks' Station, about 2 o'clock on the afternoon of the 22nd. It was a little country village, situated on a rocky, somewhat elevated ridge. As I understand, it is now a station on the Iron Mountain railroad, which has been built since the war. I reckon if in May, 1864, any one had predicted that some day a railroad would be built and in operation through that insignificant settlement among the rocks and trees, he would have been looked on as hardly a safe person to be allowed to run at large. Co. D started on the march with only one commissioned officer, Second Lieutenant Wallace. I have forgotten the cause of the absence of Capt. Keeley and Lieut. Warren, but there was doubtless some good reason. On the first day's march the weather was hot, and the route was through a very rough and broken country. Wallace was overcome by heat, and had to fall out, and wait for an ambulance. In consequence, it so happened that when we reached Austin, there was no commissioned officer with us, and I, as first sergeant, was in command of the company. And that gave rise to an incident which, at the time, swelled me up immensely. On arriving at the town, the regiment halted on some open ground in the outskirts, fell into line, dressed on the colors, and stood at ordered arms. Thereupon the adjutant commanded, "Commanding officers of companies, to the front and center, march!" I was completely taken by surprise by this command, and for a second or two stood, dazed and uncertain. But two or three of the boys spoke up at once and said, "You're our commanding officer, Stillwell; go!" The situation by this time had also dawned on me, so I promptly obeyed the command. But I must have been a strange looking "commanding officer." I was barefooted, breeches rolled up nearly to the knees, feet and ankles "scratched and tanned," and my face covered with sweat and dirt. The closest scrutiny would have failed to detect in me a single feature of the supposed "pomp and circumstance" of an alleged military hero. But I stalked down the line, bare feet and all, with my musket at a shoulder arms, and looking fully as proud, I imagine, as Henry of Navarre ever did at the battle of Ivry, with "a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest." By the proper and usual commands, the "commanding officers of companies" were brought up and halted within a few paces of Col. Ohr, who thereupon addressed them as follows: "Gentleman, have your men stack arms where they now are, and at once prepare their dinner. They can disperse to get wood and water, but caution them strictly not to wander far from the gun stacks. We may possibly pass the night here, but we may be called on, at any moment, to fall in and resume the march. That's all, gentlemen." While the Colonel was giving these instructions, I thought a sort of unusual twinkle sparkled in his eyes, as they rested on me. But, for my part, I was never more serious in my life. Returning to the company, I gave the order to stack arms, which being done, the boys crowded around me, plying me with questions. "What did the Colonel say? What's up, Stillwell?" I assumed a prodigiously fierce and authoritative look and said: "Say, do you fellows suppose that we commanding officers of companies are going to give away to a lot of lousy privates a confidential communication from the Colonel? If you are guilty of any more such impertinent conduct, I'll have every mother's son of you bucked and gagged." The boys all laughed, and after a little more fun of that kind, I repeated to them literally every word the Colonel said, and then we all set about getting dinner. About this time Lieut. Wallace rode up in an ambulance--and my reign was over. We resumed the march at 3 o'clock in the morning of the next day (May 23rd), marched 18 miles, and bivouacked that night at Peach Orchard Gap. This was no town, simply a natural feature of the country. Left here next morning (the 24th) at daylight, marched 18 miles, and bivouacked on a stream called Little Cadron. Left at daylight next morning (the 25th), marched 18 miles, and went into camp near the town of Springfield. By this time the intelligence had filtered down to the common soldiers as to the object of this expedition. It was to intercept, and give battle to, a force of Confederate cavalry, under Gen. J. O. Shelby, operating somewhere in this region, and supposed to have threatening designs on the Little Rock and Devall's Bluff railroad. But so far as encountering the Confederates was concerned, the movement was an entire failure. My experience during the war warrants the assertion, I think, that it is no use to send infantry after cavalry. It is very much like a man on foot trying to run down a jack-rabbit. It may be that infantry can sometimes head off cavalry, and thereby frustrate an intended movement, but men on horses can't be maneuvered into fighting men on foot unless the horsemen are willing to engage. Otherwise they will just keep out of the way. We remained at Springfield until May 28th. It was a little place and its population when the war began was probably not more than a hundred and fifty, or two hundred. It was the county seat of Conway county, but there was no official business being transacted there now. About all the people had left, except a few old men and some women and small children. The houses were nearly all log cabins. Even the county jail was a log structure of a very simply and unimposing type. It has always been my opinion that this little place was the most interesting and romantic-looking spot (with one possible exception I may speak of later) that I saw in the South during all my army service. The town was situated on rather high ground, and in the heart of the primitive forest. Grand native trees were growing in the door-yards, and even in the middle of the main street,--and all around everywhere. And we were there at a season of the year when Nature was at its best, and all the scenery was most attractive and charming. I sometimes would sit down at the foot of some big tree in the center of the little village, and ponder on what surely must have been the happy, contented condition of its people before the war came along and spoiled all. Judging from the looks of the houses, the occupants doubtless had been poor people and practically all on the same financial footing, so there was no occasion for envy. And there was no railroad, nor telegraph line, nor daily papers, to keep them nervous and excited or cause them to worry. And they were far away from the busy haunts of congregated men,-- "Their best companions, innocence and health, And their best riches, ignorance of wealth." Their trading point was Lewisburg, about fifteen miles southwest on the Arkansas river, and when that stream was at a proper stage, small steamboats would ply up and down, and bring to Lewisburg groceries and dry goods, and such other things as the country did not produce, which would then be wagoned out to Springfield and into the country generally. And judging from all that could be seen or heard, I think there were hardly any slaves at Springfield, or in the entire north part of Conway county, before the war. What few there may have been were limited to the plantations along the Arkansas river. I have never been at the little town since the occasion now mentioned, so personally I know nothing of its present appearance and condition. However, as a matter of general information, it may be said that after the war a railroad was built running up the Arkansas river valley, through the south part of the county. This road left Springfield out, so in course of time it lost the county seat, which went to a railroad town. And this road also missed Lewisburg, which has now disappeared from the map entirely. When in camp at Springfield, many of the boys, in accordance with their usual habits, of their own motion at once went to scouting around over the adjacent country, after pigs, or chickens, or anything else that would serve to vary army fare. While so engaged two or three of our fellows discovered a little old whisky still. It was about two miles from Springfield, situated in a deep, timbered hollow, near a big spring. It was fully equipped for active operation, with a supply of "mash" on hands, and all other essentials for turning out whisky. Some of the 10th Illinois Cavalry found it first, and scared away the proprietor, then took charge of the still and proceeded to carry on the business on their own account. The boys of the 61st who stumbled on the place were too few to cope with the cavalrymen; thereupon they hastened back to camp and informed some trusty comrades of the delectable discovery. Forthwith they organized a strong party as an alleged "provost guard," and all armed, and under the command of a daring, reckless duty sergeant, hastened to the still. On arriving there, in their capacity as provost guards, they summarily arrested the cavalrymen, with loud threats of condign punishment, but after scaring them sufficiently, and on their solemn promise to at once return to camp and "be good" in the future, released them, and allowed them to depart. Then our bunch stacked arms, and started in to make whisky. Some of the number had served in the business before, and knew all about it, so that little still there in the hollow was then and there worked to its utmost capacity, day and night, and doubtless as it never had been before. Knowledge of this enterprise spread like wild-fire among the enlisted men,--and oh, "how the whisky went down" at Springfield! Away along some hours after midnight, I would hear some of the boys coming in from the still, letting out keen, piercing whoops that could be heard nearly a mile. Like the festive Tam O'Shanter (with apologies to Burns),-- "The swats sae reamed in every noddle, They cared na rebs nor guards a boddle." I took just one little taste of the stuff, from Sam Ralston's canteen. It was limpid and colorless as water, and fairly burnt like fire as it went down my throat. That satisfied my curiosity, and after that many similar offers were declined, with thanks. Whether the officers at the time knew of this business or not, I do not know. If they did, they just "winked the other eye," and said nothing, for the boys ran the still, without restriction or interruption, until we left Springfield. Telling of the foregoing episode causes many other incidents to come flocking to my memory that came under my notice during my army career, and in which whisky figured more or less. The insatiable, inordinate appetite of some of the men for intoxicating liquor, of any kind, was something remarkable, and the ingenious schemes they would devise to get it were worthy of admiration, had they been exerted in a better cause. And they were not a bit fastidious about the kind of liquor, it was the effect that was desired. One afternoon, a day or two after we arrived at Helena, Arkansas, a sudden yell, a sort of "ki-yip!" was heard issuing from one of the company tents, soon followed by others of the same tone. I had heard that peculiar yelp before, and knew what it meant. Presently I sauntered down to the tent from whence the sounds issued, and walked in. Several of the boys were seated around, in an exalted state of vociferous hilarity, and a flat, pint bottle, with the figure of a green leaf on one side, and labeled "Bay Rum" on the other, was promptly handed to me, with the invitation to "drink hearty." I did taste it. It was oily, greasy, and unpleasant, but there was no doubt that it was intoxicating. It was nothing but bay rum, the same stuff that in those days barbers were wont to use in their line of business. It finally came to light that the sutler of some regiment at Helena had induced the post-quartermaster at Cairo to believe that the troops stood in urgent need of bay rum for the purpose of anointing their hair, and thereupon he obtained permission to include several boxes of the stuff in his sutler supplies. When he got it to Helena he proceeded to sell it at a dollar a bottle, and his stock was exhausted in a few hours. What may have been done to this sutler I don't know, but that was the last and only time that I know of bay rum being sold to the soldiers as a toilet article, or otherwise. Of course, all sutlers and civilians were prohibited, under severe penalties, from selling intoxicating liquor to the enlisted men, but the profits were so large that the temptation was great to occasionally transgress, in some fashion. But, as a general rule, I think that the orders were scrupulously obeyed. The risk was too great to do otherwise. I remember a little personal experience of my own, when once I tried to buy a drink of whisky. It is not a long story, so it will be told. It occurred at Devall's Bluff, in October, 1863, when our little furlough party was there, waiting the arrival of a boat from below on which to resume our homeward journey. One night in particular was quite cold. We slept in our blankets on the ground near the bank of the river, built good fires, and tried to keep as comfortable as possible. But the morning after this cold night I got up feeling wretched, both mentally and physically. I was weak from previous illness, my rheumatic pains were worse, and my condition in general was such as caused me to fear that I was liable to break down and not be able to go home. It occurred to me that a drink of whisky might brace me up some, so I started out to obtain one, if possible. There was a sort of a wharf-boat at the landing, moored to the bank, a stationary, permanent affair, with a saloon appurtenant. I went on the boat, walked up to the bar, and exhibiting a greenback to the bar-keeper, asked him if he would sell me a drink of whisky. "Can't do it," he answered, "the orders are strict against selling whisky to soldiers." I began moving away, and at that instant a big, greasy, colored deck-hand, or laborer of some sort, black as the ace of spades, crowded by me, brushing against me in the narrow passage on his way to the bar. "Boss," he called to the keeper, "want a dram!" A bottle and a glass were pushed towards him, he filled the glass to the brim, and drank the contents at a gulp. Then he smacked his big lips, rolled his eyes around, and with a deep breath exclaimed, "A-h-h! Dat whisky feels des pow'ful good dis cole mawnin'!" I looked at the darkey in bitterness of heart, and couldn't help thinking that it was all-fired mean, when a poor little sick soldier was not allowed to buy a drink of whisky, while a great big buck nigger roustabout had it handed out to him with cheerfulness and alacrity. But the orders forbidding the sale of intoxicating liquors to soldiers were all right, and an imperative military necessity. If the men had been allowed unlimited access to whisky, and the like, that would, in my opinion, simply have been ruinous to the good order, discipline, and efficiency of the army. That statement is based on events I saw myself while in the service, and which occurred when, in spite of the orders, the men managed to obtain liquor without let or hindrance. The scenes that would then ensue are too unpleasant to talk about, so they will be passed over in silence. It is only fair, however, to say that the same men who, when furiously drunk, were a disgrace to themselves and the organization to which they belonged, were, as a general rule, faithful and brave soldiers when sober. At 4 o'clock on the morning of the 28th we broke camp at Springfield, and started back to Little Rock, marching in a south-easterly direction. We marched all that day, the 29th, 30th, and 31st, and arrived at our old camp at Huntersville at 9 o'clock in the evening of the last mentioned day. According to the official report the entire distance marched on the expedition, going and coming, was 190 miles, and we didn't see an armed Confederate on the whole trip. Our return route was through the wilderness, most of it primeval forest, and we didn't pass through a single town. But now there is a railroad that runs practically over all the course we followed during the last three days we were on this march. I haven't been in that region since we passed through there in May, 1864, but at that time it certainly was a very wild, rough, and broken country. We here had our first experience with scorpions and tarantulas, and soon learned that it was prudent, when bivouacking on the ground, to carefully turn over all loose rocks and logs in order to find and get rid of those ugly customers. The scorpions were about four or five inches long, the fore part of the body something like a crawfish, with a sharp stinger on the end of the tail. When excited or disturbed, they would curl their tails over their backs, and get over the ground quite rapidly. The tarantulas were just big hairy spiders, of a blackish-gray color, about as big as toads, and mighty ugly-looking things. The sting of the tarantula, and the bite of a spider, were very painful, but when that happened to any of us (which was seldom), our remedy was to apply a big, fresh quid of tobacco to the wound, which would promptly neutralize the poison. CHAPTER XVI. DEVALL'S BLUFF; THE CLARENDON EXPEDITION. JUNE AND JULY, 1864. On June 20th we left Huntersville on the cars and went to Hicks' Station, hereinbefore mentioned, and there went into camp. In making this move, we left Little Rock for the last time, and from that day I have never seen the old town again. But our stay at Hicks' Station was brief. Marching orders came on June 24th, and on the next day we left on the cars and went to Devall's Bluff, and on reaching there filed on board the steamer "Kentucky," and started down White river, accompanied by several other boats also loaded with troops, all under the command of Gen. E. A. Carr. The object and purpose of this expedition was soon noised around among the men. The daring and enterprising Confederate General Shelby had on June 24th turned up at Clarendon, on White river, not far below Devall's Bluff, and here, with the aid of his artillery, had surprised and captured one of our so-called "tin-clad" gunboats, and had established a blockade of the river. As all our supplies came by way of that stream, it was necessary to drive Shelby away at once, hence our movement. We arrived at Clarendon on the morning of the 26th. Some of our gunboats were with us, in advance, and as soon as they came within range of the town began shelling it, and the woods beyond. The cannonade elicited no reply, and it was soon ascertained that the enemy had fallen back from the river. The transports thereupon landed, the men marched on shore, formed in line of battle, and advanced. The Confederates were found in force about two miles northeast of town, and some lively skirmishing and artillery practice began. But our regiment was stationed in the supporting line, (darn it!) and didn't get to pull a trigger. Cannon shot went over our heads now and then, but hurt nobody. While the racket was going on we were standing in line of battle, on the hither side of an extensive cotton field, and there was a big, tall cottonwood tree standing about a quarter of a mile in our front by the side of the road. I was looking in that direction when suddenly, as if by magic, a big forked branch of this tree quietly took leave of the trunk, as if it "didn't know how it happened." Before it struck the ground the shot from one of Shelby's guns that had done this pruning went screaming over our heads. It sounded just real good, like old times, with an effect, somehow, like a powerful tonic. But the affair didn't last long. Shelby had no stomach for fighting infantry, well supplied with artillery, and he soon fell back, and rapidly retreated in a northerly direction, leaving two pieces of his artillery in our possession. When the Confederates retired, we followed promptly and vigorously, but of course the infantry couldn't overhaul them, and neither could our cavalry bring them to a determined stand. Our route was largely through a low, swampy country, over a "corduroy" road. In many places there were large gaps in the corduroy, where the logs had rotted and disappeared, and the road was covered with green and slimy water about knee-deep. On encountering the first of these breaks, we took off our shoes and socks, tied them to the ends of the barrels of our muskets, rolled up our trousers, and waded in. As such places were numerous, it was not worth while to resume our foot-gear, so we just trudged on bare-footed. But the weather was warm, and it made no difference, and the boys would splash through the mud and water in great good humor, laughing and joking as they went. We followed hard after Shelby until the evening of the 27th, and it being impossible to catch up with him, we started back to Clarendon on the morning of the 28th. In the matter of rations I reckon "someone had blundered," when we started in pursuit of Shelby. We had left Clarendon with only a meager supply in our haversacks, and no provision train was with the command. So at the time we took the back track we were out of anything to eat. The country bordering on our route was wild, and thinly settled, and what people lived there were manifestly quite poor, hence there was very little in the shape of anything to eat that we could forage. On the first day of our return march our commissary sergeant, Bonfoy, did manage to capture and kill a gaunt, lean old Arkansas steer, and it was divided up among the men with almost as much nicety and exactness as if it was a wedding cake with a prize diamond ring in it; and we hadn't any salt to go with it, but in lieu of that used gun-powder, which was a sort of substitute. With that exception, (and a piece of hardtack, to be presently mentioned,) my bill of fare on the return march until we reached Clarendon consisted, in the main, of a green, knotty apple,--and some sassafras buds. About the middle of the afternoon on the second day the regiment made a temporary halt for some purpose, and we were sitting, or lying down, along the road side. There was a bunch of our cavalry on their horses, in column off the road a short distance, also at a halt, and I saw one of them munching a hardtack. I slipped out of ranks and approached the fellow, and when close to him said, "Partner, won't you give me a hardtack?" He looked at me a second or two without saying anything, and I was fearful that my appeal was going to be denied. But the look of ravenous hunger in my eyes probably gained the case, for at last he reached his hand into his haversack and handed me a tack, one of the big kind about four or five inches square. I was barely in time, for right then the cavalry moved on. I thrust the tack into my shirt bosom, gave a quick, furtive glance towards the company to see if anyone had observed me, and then started to get behind a big tree, where the precious morsel could be devoured without risk of detection. But John Barton had been watching, and was upon me before I could hide. "Hold on, Stillwell," said he, "that don't go! I divided with you as long as I had a crumb!" "That's so, John," I replied, heaving a mournful sigh, "here;" and breaking the hardtack in two, I gave him a fair half, and standing behind the tree we promptly gobbled down our respective portions. We arrived at Clarendon on the evening of the 29th--having marched, in going and returning, about seventy miles. Here everybody got a square meal, which was heartily appreciated. As bearing on the above mentioned incident about the hardtack, it will be said here, basing my remarks on my experience in the army, and elsewhere, that I think there is nothing that will reduce human beings so much to the level of the brute creation as intense, gnawing hunger. All the selfishness there is in a man will then come to the surface, and to satisfy the well-nigh intolerable craving for something to eat, he will "go back" on his best friend. I could cite several instances in support of this statement that have come under my observation, but it is unnecessary. Soon after reaching Clarendon, as above stated, fires burst forth, apparently simultaneously, all over the town, and soon every building was in ashes. It was a small place, and its population at the beginning of the war probably did not exceed three hundred. At this time the town had been abandoned by the residents, and so far as I know the houses were all vacant. The buildings were small frame or log structures, composed of cypress and pine lumber or logs, roofed with shingles, and highly combustible, and they made an exceedingly hot fire. I do not know the cause of the burning of the town. The soldiers were tired, mad, and out of sorts generally, and they may have fired it on their own motion, but it is more likely that it was done by order of the military authorities. The empty houses afforded excellent cover whereby the Confederates could slip up to the river bank and annoy our gunboats, even to the extent of capturing one, as they had done quite recently. So as a military measure the burning of the town was fully justified. We left Clarendon on the evening of the 29th, on the steamer "Lillie Martin," arrived at Devall's Bluff some time during the night, debarked from the boat next morning, and went into camp near the river, where we enjoyed for a time an agreeable rest. Before taking final leave of the Clarendon expedition I will, in the interest of the truth of history, indulge in a little criticism of the gallant and distinguished officer who was the Confederate commander in this affair. All who are conversant with the military career of General J. O. Shelby will readily concede that he was a brave, skillful, and energetic cavalry commander. He kept us in hot water almost continually in the Trans-Mississippi department, and made us a world of trouble. But I feel constrained to remark that, in reporting his military operations, he was, sometimes, a most monumental----well, I'll scratch out the "short and ugly" word I have written, and substitute "artist," and let it go at that. I have just been reading his reports of this Clarendon episode, as they appear on pages 1050-1053, Serial Number 61, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, and as he describes it, it is difficult to recognize it as being the same affair we took part in, in June, 1864. In the first place, he says that the loss of the Federals can "safely be put down at 250 killed and wounded," and that 30 will cover his own. On the other hand, our commander, Gen. Carr, says the Confederate loss, killed, wounded and captured, was "about" 74, and gives ours as 1 killed and 16 wounded. (Ib., p. 1047.) And from what I personally saw, I have no doubt that Gen. Carr's statements are correct. Shelby further asserts that "three times" he drove us "back to the river," and that later, while on his retreat, he "charged" us and "drove them (us) back three miles in confusion." Now, those statements are pure moonshine. I was there, and while, as previously stated, not on the firing line, was nevertheless in a position either to see or hear every thing of any material consequence that transpired. The force on each side was comparatively small, the field of active operations was limited, and it was not difficult for even a common soldier to have an intelligent idea of what was going on. And, for my part, with the natural curiosity of a boy, I was constantly on the alert to see or hear everything that was being done in the shape of fighting. In the operations near the town, we were not driven "back to the river," nor towards it, on any occasion. On his retreat, Shelby did make one or two feeble stands, the object being merely to delay us until his main body could get well out of the way, and when that was accomplished, his rear guard galloped after them as fast as they could. That it was mainly a race with him to get away is evident from a statement in his report, in which he says he was then (June 30th) "resting" his "tired and terribly jaded horses." But, in telling of his exploits, he says nothing about losing two pieces of his artillery. The saying of Bonaparte's, "False as a war bulletin," has passed into a proverb, and this bulletin of Gen. Shelby's is no exception. CHAPTER XVII. DEVALL'S BLUFF. GRAND REVIEWS AND INSPECTIONS. SURGEON J. P. ANTHONY. PRIVATE PRESS ALLENDER. JUNE AND JULY, 1864. I have said nothing so far about "grand reviews," or other functions of that sort, and here is as good a place as any to notice them. From some cause or other we had what seemed to us an undue proportion of grand reviews in Arkansas in the summer of 1864. They were not a bit popular with the common soldiers. It became a saying among us, when a grand review was ordered, that the reviewing officer had got a new uniform and wanted to show it--but, of course, that was only soldier talk. On June 10th, while in camp at Huntersville, all the troops at Little Rock were reviewed by Maj. Gen. Daniel E. Sickles, late of the Army of the Potomac. He lost a leg at the battle of Gettysburg, which incapacitated him for active service, so President Lincoln gave him a sort of roving commission to visit and inspect all the western troops. In conducting the review at Little Rock, on account of his maimed condition he rode along the line in an open carriage. The day was exceedingly hot, the troops on our side of the river were reviewed on low grounds where the air was stifling, we wore our jackets tightly buttoned, and we all suffered fearfully from heat. One man in the line near me went over with a crash, all in a pile, from sunstroke, and I heard that there were several other such cases. Nine days later, (June 19th,) we had division grand review conducted by our division commander, Gen. C. C. Andrews, and on July 11th another grand review by the same officer. And interspersed with the reviews were several brigade inspections of arms. But as those did not involve any marching, they were not as fatiguing as the reviews. I will mention specifically but one of these inspections, and do so for the reason that there were some things connected with it I have always remembered with interest and pleasure. It was held on July 4th, at Devall's Bluff, the inspecting officer being Col. Randolph B. Marcy, Inspector-General U.S. Army. He was a regular army officer, a graduate of West Point, and at this time was about fifty-two years of age. He was over six feet tall, straight as an arrow, and a splendid looking man in general. We had very short notice of this inspection, and having returned only a few days before from the Clarendon expedition, had not yet had time or opportunity to wash our shirts, and were in quite a rough and tough condition. And the fact that this inspection was to be conducted by the Inspector-General of the United States Army, an old regular, and a West Point graduate, made us nervous, and we apprehended all sorts of trouble. So far as I ever knew, the volunteers had not much love for the regular army officers. We regarded them as unreasonably strict and technical, and were of the impression that they were inclined to "look down" on volunteers. Whether this feeling was well founded, or not, I cannot say, but there is no question that it existed. On this occasion we went to work with a will, and soon had our muskets, bayonets, belt-plates, and accouterments in general, bright and shining, and in the very pink of condition. It was to be an inspection of arms only, and did not include knapsacks. About 9 o'clock on the morning of July 4th, we fell in on the regimental parade ground, broke into columns of companies, right in front, in open order, and the greatly feared Inspector-General entered on his duty. As already stated, we looked hard. Many of us were barefoot, and our clothes in general were dirty and ragged. But Col. Marcy knew we had just come off a march, he was a very sensible man, and capable of making some allowances. In accordance with the regulations, he passed in front of us, walking slowly and looking at us critically. As he came opposite each soldier, the latter brought his piece into the prescribed position for examination, but Col. Marcy contented himself with a sweeping glance, and did not take the musket in his hands. Then he passed to the rear of the ranks, and walked slowly along behind us, while we stood immovable, with eyes fixed to the front. It was soon all over. He then approached Col. Ohr, said something I did not hear, but which was evidently pleasant, for the Colonel smiled, then turned round facing us, and with a sweep of his arm in our direction said,--loud enough for many of us to hear, "Good soldiers!" whereupon we all felt much relieved and proud,--and the dreaded inspection was a thing of the past. Several years afterwards, when in civil life out in Kansas, I learned that Col. Marcy was not only a grand old soldier, but also a most interesting writer. I have two of his books in my library now, and have had for many years, one being his official report of the "Exploration of the Red River of Louisiana, in the year 1852;" the other, "Thirty Years of Army Life on the Border." Both are highly interesting, and I frequently take them from the shelf and look them over. And when I do so, there always rises up on about every page the recollection of the tall, imposing figure of Col. Marcy, as he stood beneath the oaks at Devall's Bluff, Arkansas, on the morning of July 4th, 1864, and waved his arm towards us, and said in a kind tone, and with approving look: "Good soldiers!" There was in Company D an original sort of a character, by the name of Ambrose Pressley Allender,--for short, generally called "Press." He was at this time (1864) about thirty-five years old. He had been a private in a regiment of Kentucky infantry during the Mexican War, but what the length of his service may have been I do not know. But in his Mexican War experience he had at least learned every possible trick and device that could be resorted to in "playing off," as the boys called it; that is, avoiding duty on the plea of sickness or any other excuse that would serve. He was not a bad man, by any means, but a good-hearted old fellow. He had re-enlisted, along with the rest of us, when the regiment "veteranized." But his propensity for shirking duty, especially anything severe or unpleasant, seemed inveterate and incurable. He made me lots of trouble, for some time, after I became first sergeant. I was only a boy, and he was a man of mature age, about fifteen years my senior, and looking back to those days, I can see now where many times he pulled the wool over my eyes completely and induced me to grant him favors in the matter of details that he was not entitled to. But it was not long before I began to understand Press, and then, if he was excused from duty, or passed over for a lighter job, the authority had to come from the regimental surgeon. Dr. Julius P. Anthony, of Brown county, Illinois, was appointed surgeon of the regiment in September, 1863, and remained with us in that capacity until we were mustered out of the service. He was not a handsome man, by any means. He was hawk-nosed, with steel-blue eyes, and had a most peculiar sort of a high-keyed, nasal toned voice. But he was an excellent physician, and a shrewd, accurate judge of men. So, when Press bucked up against Dr. Anthony, he found a foeman worthy of his steel, and the keen-eyed old doctor was a different proposition from a boy orderly sergeant. Press would keep close watch of the details as they progressed down the company roll, and when he was next in turn, and the impending duty was one he did not fancy, would then retire to his tent or shack, and when wanted for picket, or some laborious fatigue duty, would be found curled up in his bunk and groaning dismally. When we were at Devall's Bluff, at a time about the last of July, 1864, I discovered him in this condition one morning before sick-call, when I went to apprise him (out of abundant caution) that he was next for duty, and not to wander from the camp. He forthwith told me he was very sick, hadn't slept a wink all night, and that I must pass over him for the time being. I replied that if he was sick, he must fall in at sick-call, and have the surgeon pass on his case, so he climbed out of his bunk, put on his trousers, and made ready. Sick-call was sounded pretty soon, and I went with Press and two or three of the other boys to the surgeon's tent. Press kept in the background until the other cases were disposed of, and then stepped forward. His breeches were unbuttoned down to nearly the last button, he was holding them up with his hands, and his stomach protruded like the belly of a brood-sow. "Well, Allender," inquired Dr. Anthony, "egad, what's the matter with you?" Press was careful to put on all the military frills at such a time, and he began thus: "Major Anthony, First Sergeant Stillwell has several times putten me on duty when I was not fitten for duty, and so I am now compelled to come to you, and----" "That'll do, Allender," interrupted the doctor, "what are your symptoms?" Press then began the story of his woes. He had racking pains in the stomach, headache, couldn't sleep, "all bloated up," he said, "as you can see for yourself;" with a comprehensive gesture towards his abdominal region,--and numerous other troubles, including "night sweats." Dr. Anthony heard him patiently, and without interruption, but scanned him closely all the time he was talking. Press at last stopped to take breath, and then the doctor, in his rasping voice, spoke as follows: "Allender, the trouble with you is simply exercising too little, and eating too much. And if you don't quit stuffing yourself, and get around more, I shall instruct Sergeant Stillwell to put you on fatigue duty every day until you are rid of that mass of fermenting fecal matter in your bowels, and your stomach is restored to normal condition. That's all." Then addressing me, he said: "Allender's able for duty;" and Press and I walked out. As soon as we were beyond the hearing of Dr. Anthony, Press turned loose. He was a terribly profane fellow when, in his opinion, ordinary language would not do the subject justice, and had accumulated a stock of the most unique and outrageous expressions that could be invented, and all these he now fired at the Doctor. Having no desire to put salt on a green wound, I said nothing. In perhaps an hour or so the first sergeant's call was sounded at the adjutant's tent, which meant a detail. I responded to the call, and the Sergeant-Major, consulting the regimental detail slip he held in his hand, told me he wanted a corporal and five privates from my company, with two days' rations, to help make up a scouting party going up White river on a steamboat, and for them to report in fifteen minutes. That caught old Press, and I went to his shack expecting a scene. He was found lying on his bunk, in his drawers and shirt--as usual in such emergencies. I proceeded to detail him as one of the scouting party, and told him to be all ready within fifteen minutes. In the meantime, the weather had changed, and a disagreeable, drizzling rain was falling. Press heaved a deep sigh when informed of his detail, and began to beg and protest. I told him that the doctor had refused to excuse him, that he was the next man on the roll for duty, that I had no discretion in the matter, and he would have to get ready and go. But, if he was feeling worse, I would go with him again to the doctor, and request him to look further into his case. Press sprang out of his bunk with a bound, and grabbed his trousers. "Before I'll ever go again," he said, "to that hawk-nosed old blankety-blank-blank, to get excused from duty, I'll see him in hell further than a pigeon can fly in a leap year. He hasn't got sense enough, anyhow, to doctor an old dominecker hen that is sick with a sore [anus], much less a civilized human being. You could let me off this detail, if you wanted to, and let me tell you, Stillwell, if this trip kills me, which it probably will, I want you to remember, as long as you live, that the responsibility for my death lies on your head!" This last statement, I will confess, rather staggered me, and had it been delivered in a weak and pitiful tone, there is no telling what I might have done. But he didn't "roar" me "as gently as a sucking dove," by a long shot, for his voice was full and loud, and quivering with energy and power. So I made no response to this dire prediction; Press got ready, and went. The weather cleared up in a few hours, and was bright and pleasant, but nevertheless I became very uneasy about Press. If the old fellow really was sick, and if, by any possibility, this detail should result in his death, why, then, I felt that his last words would haunt me as long as I lived. I waited anxiously for the return of the scouting party, and when the whistle of the boat was heard on its arrival at the Bluff, went at once to the landing to learn the fate of Press, and stood on the bank where the men could be seen as they came ashore. Presently here came Press, very much alive, and looking fine! He bore, transfixed on his bayonet, a home-cured ham of an Arkansas hog; the tail feathers of a chicken were ostentatiously protruding from the mouth of his haversack, and which receptacle was also stuffed well-nigh to bursting with big, toothsome yams. And later the fact was developed that his canteen was full of sorghum molasses. As he trudged up the road cut through the bank, his step was springy and firm, his face was glowing with health, and beaded with perspiration. I felt greatly relieved and happy, and, inspired by the joy of the moment, called to him: "Hello, Press! You seem to be all right!" He glanced up at me, and in a sort of sheepish manner responded: "Ya-a-ss. As luck would have it, the trip 'greed with me." And from this time on, I had no more trouble with old Press. He turned over a new leaf, cut out completely his old-time malingering practices, and thenceforward was a good, faithful soldier. We were in some close places afterwards, and he never flinched, but stood up to the work like a man. He was mustered out with the rest of us in September, 1865, and after some going and coming, settled down in Peoria county, Illinois, where he died March 15, 1914, at the age of nearly eighty-five years. CHAPTER XVIII. THE REGIMENT GOES HOME ON VETERAN FURLOUGH. INTERVIEW WITH GEN. W. T. SHERMAN AFTER THE WAR. A SHORT TOUR OF SOLDIERING AT CHESTER, ILLINOIS. AUGUST, SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER, 1864. After our return from the Clarendon affair, we remained in camp at Devall's Bluff, where nothing more important occurred than drilling, reviews, inspections, and the like. The summer was rapidly passing away, and still the regiment had not received the 30-day furlough promised us when we veteranized. Nearly all the other regiments in the department that had re-enlisted had received theirs, and it looked as if the poor old 61st Illinois had been "lost in the shuffle." The boys began to get a little impatient about this, and somewhat disposed to grumble, which was only natural. But on August 8th the paymaster made us a visit, paid us six months' pay and our veteran bounty, and then the prospect for the furlough began to brighten, and we were assured by our officers that we had not much longer to wait. And sure enough, on August 14th we started home. We left the recruits and non-veterans at Devall's Bluff, to which we expected to return on the expiration of our furlough, but the Fates willed otherwise, as will be seen later. When we filed on board the steamboat that August morning, the old regiment, as an organization, was leaving Arkansas forever. I will say here that I have always regretted, and shall regret as long as I live, that after the capture of Vicksburg, the regiment happened to get switched off into Arkansas. We thereby were taken away from the big armies, and out of the main currents of the war, where great deeds were being done, and history made. Of course we couldn't help it; we had no choice; and, as I have remarked before, the common soldier can only do what those in authority direct. As connected with this subject, I will here tell the story of a little conversation I had with Gen. W. T. Sherman, at his office in Washington in February, 1883. I had gone to that city on a business matter, and while there met Col. P. B. Plumb, then one of the senators from Kansas. In the course of our conversation he asked if there were any of the "big bugs" in Washington I wanted to see,--if so, he would be glad to take me around and introduce me. I replied that there were only two; that just as a matter of curiosity I would like to see President Arthur, but I really was very desirous of having a little visit with Gen. Sherman. Plumb laughed, said that my desires were modest, and made a date with me when he would take me to see the President and Gen. Sherman. At the time appointed we went, first to the White House, where we met the President. I shook hands with him, and after a few commonplace remarks, retired to the background. The President and Plumb talked a minute or two about some public matter, and then we left. "Now," said Plumb, "we'll go and see 'Uncle Billy'." Sherman was then the General of the Army, and had his office, as I now remember, in the War Department building, near the White House. On entering his office, we found him seated at a desk, writing. I had seen him previously several times, but had no acquaintance with him whatever. Plumb introduced me to him, saying, as he gave my name, that I was one of his "boys." The General dropped his pen, shook hands with me heartily, and at once began talking. I think he was the most interesting talker I ever have known. He had lived a life of incessant activity, had done great things, and had mingled with great men, hence he was never at a loss for an engaging topic. After a while the monologue lulled, and gave me the opportunity for which I had been patiently waiting. "General," I began, "there is an incident connected with your military career during the Civil War that I have wanted for some time to speak to you about, and, if agreeable, will do so now." "Huh," said he, "what is it?" It was interesting, and a little amusing to me at the time, to see the instantaneous change that came over him. His face darkened, his eyes contracted, and a scowl appeared on his brow. His appearance and manner said, almost as plain as words: "Now here's a smart young Aleck, who never had a greater command than a picket post of three men, who is going to tell me how he thinks I should have fought a battle." Resuming, I said: "Some years ago I read Gen. Badeau's 'Life of Grant,' and found published therein a letter from Gen. Grant to you, written some time in the fall of 1863, when you were marching across the country from Memphis to reinforce him at Chattanooga, in which Grant said, in substance, 'Urge on Steele the necessity of sending you Kimball's division of the Sixteenth Corps.'[2] General," said I, "that meant us; it meant me; for my regiment was in Kimball's division, with Gen. Steele, in Arkansas. Now my point is, I am afraid that you didn't 'urge' Steele strongly enough, for we never got to you, and," I continued (in a tone of deep and sincere earnestness), "consequently we missed Missionary Ridge, the campaign of Atlanta, the March to the Sea, and the campaign of the Carolinas,--and I shall regret it as long as I live!" I noted with interest the change in the old General's countenance as I made my little speech. His face lighted up, his eyes sparkled, the scowl disappeared, and when I concluded he laughed heartily. "Didn't need you; didn't need you," he said; "had men enough,--and, let me tell you,--Steele needed every d--d man he had." It was quite evident that the General enjoyed the recital of my little alleged grievance, and he launched into a most interesting account of some incidents connected with the campaigns I had mentioned. I became fearful that I was imposing on his good nature, and two or three times started to leave. But with a word or gesture he would detain me, and keep talking. And when I finally did depart, he followed me out into the hall, and laying his hand on my shoulder in a most fatherly way, said, "Say! Whenever you are in Washington, come and see me! Don't be afraid! I like to see and talk with you boys!" and with a hearty shake of the hand he bade me good-by. He was a grand old man, and we common soldiers of the western armies loved him. [2] See "Military History of Ulysses S. Grant," by Adam Badeau, Vol. 1, page 456. In going home on our veteran furlough, the regiment went by steamer down White river, thence up the Mississippi to Cairo, where we debarked and took the cars, and went to Springfield, Illinois, arriving there August 24th. The Mississippi was low, and our progress up the river was very slow. Two or three times our boat grounded on bars, and after trying in vain to "spar off," had to wait until some other boat came along, and pulled us off by main strength. Near Friar's Point, not far below Helena, where there was a long, shallow bar, the captain of the steamer took the precaution to lighten his boat by landing us all on the west bank of the river, and we walked along the river's margin for two or three miles to the head of the bar, where the boat came to the shore, and took us on again. Our officers assured us that our thirty days furlough would not begin until the day we arrived at Springfield, so these delays did not worry us, and we endured them with much composure. On this entire homeward trip, on account of a matter that was purely personal, I was in a state of nervous uneasiness and anxiety nearly all the time. As heretofore stated, just a few days before starting home we were paid six months' pay, and our veteran bounty, the amount I received being $342.70. Several of the recruits and non-veterans whose homes were in my neighborhood gave me different amounts that had been paid them, with the request that I take this money home and hand it to their fathers, or other persons they designated. So, when we started, I had the most money on my person I ever had had before, and even since. The exact amount is now forgotten, but it was something over fifteen hundred dollars. Of nights I slept on the hurricane deck of the boat, with the other boys, and in the day time was mingling constantly with the enlisted men, and with all that money in my pocket. Of course, I said nothing about it, and had cautioned the boys who trusted me with this business also to say nothing, but whether they had all complied with my request I didn't know. I kept the money (which, except a little postal currency, was all in greenbacks) in my inside jacket pocket during the day time, didn't take off my trousers at night, and then stowed the bills on my person at a place--well, if a prowling hand had invaded the locality, it would have waked me quick! But I finally got home with all the money intact, duly paid the trust funds over to the proper parties, and then felt greatly relieved. When the regiment arrived at Springfield we stored our muskets and accouterments in a public building, and then dispersed for our respective homes. I arrived at the Stillwell home the following day, August 25th, and received a hearty welcome. But the admission must be made that I didn't enjoy this furlough near as much as the individual one of the preceding autumn, for reasons I will state. You see, we were all at home now, that is, the veterans, and there were several hundred of us, and it seemed as if the citizens thought that they must do everything in their power to show how much they appreciated us. So there was something going on nearly all the time; parties, oyster suppers, and gatherings of all sorts. There was a big picnic affair held in the woods at the Sansom Spring which was attended by a crowd of people. A lawyer came down from Jerseyville and made us a long speech on this occasion, in which he refreshed our recollection as to our brave deeds and patriotic services in battle, and in camp and field generally, which was doubtless very fine. It is true, I spent several very happy days at home, with my own folks, but they were frequently broken in on by the neighbors, coming and going, who wanted to see and talk with "Leander." And the girls! bless their hearts! They were fairly ready to just fall down and worship us. But I was young, awkward, and exceedingly bashful, and can now see clearly that I didn't respond to their friendly attentions with the same alacrity and heartiness that would have obtained had I been, say, ten years older. The French have a proverb with a world of meaning in it, something like this: "If youth but knew--if old age could!" But probably it is best as it is. [Illustration: S. P. Ohr Lieut. Colonel, 61st Illinois Infantry.] When home on our veteran furlough a sad event occurred which directly affected the regiment, and which it can be truly said every member thereof sincerely deplored. This was the death of Lieut. Col. Simon P. Ohr. He never was a strong man, physically, and the hardships and exposures incident to army life were really the cause of his death. He died at his home, in Carrollton, Illinois, of a bronchial affection, on September 14th, 1864. He was a man of temperate habits, honest and upright, and a sterling patriot. As an officer, he was kind, careful as to the wants and necessities of his men, and in battle, cool, clear-headed, and brave. In due course of time Maj. Daniel Grass was appointed to the office of Lieutenant-Colonel, to fill the vacancy thus created by the lamented death of Col. Ohr. The regiment rendezvoused at Springfield on September 26th, and left on the next day, on the cars, went to St. Louis, and were quartered in the Hickory Street Barracks, in the city. Another "Price Raid" was now on. Only a few days previously Gen. Sterling Price with a strong force, including, of course, Shelby's cavalry, entered southeast Missouri, and the day we arrived at St. Louis he showed up at Pilot Knob, only about 85 miles south of the city, where some sharp fighting occurred. There was now the biggest kind of a "scare" prevailing in St. Louis, and, judging from all the talk one heard, we were liable to hear the thunder of Price's cannon on the outskirts of St. Louis any day. We had been at Hickory Street Barracks only a day or two, when my company, and companies B and G, were detached from the regiment, embarked on a steamboat, and went down the Mississippi to the town of Chester, Illinois, which is situated on the Mississippi, at the mouth of the Kaskaskia river. We were sent here for the purpose, as we understood at the time, of guarding the crossing of the Mississippi at this place, and to prevent any predatory Confederate raid in that vicinity. We were quartered in some large vacant warehouses near the river, and had no guard duty to perform except a guard at the ferry landing, and a small one over our commissary stores. Altogether, it was the "softest" piece of soldiering that fell to my lot during all my service. We had roofs over our heads and slept at night where it was dry and warm, it was ideal autumn weather, and we just idled around, careless, contented, and happy. One lovely October day Bill Banfield and I in some way got a skiff, and early in the morning rowed over the river to the Missouri side, and spent the day there, strolling about in the woods. The country was wild and rough, and practically in a state of nature. We confined our rambling to the river bottom, which was broad and extensive, and densely covered with a primeval forest. Some of the trees, especially the sycamores and the cottonwoods, were of giant size. And the woods abounded in nuts and wild fruits; hickory nuts, walnuts, pecans, pawpaws, big wild grapes,--and persimmons, but the latter were not yet ripe. This locality was in Perry County, Missouri, and it seemed to be destitute of inhabitants; we saw two or three log cabins, but they were old, decayed, and deserted. We had brought some bacon and hardtack with us in our haversacks, and at noon built a fire and had an army dinner, with nuts and fruit for dessert. We got back to Chester about sundown, having had a most interesting and delightful time. There was another little incident that happened while we were at Chester, which I have always remembered with pleasure. Between companies D and G of our regiment was a strong bond of friendship. Many of the boys of the two companies had lived in the same neighborhood at home, and were acquainted with each other before enlisting. The first sergeant of G was Pressley T. Rice, a grown man, and some five or six years my senior. He came to me one day soon after our arrival at Chester, and in his peculiar nasal tone said: "Stillwell, some of my boys think that when we are soldiering here in 'God's Country,' they ought to have soft bread to eat. If 'D' feels the same, let's go down to the mill, and buy a barrel of flour for each company, and give the boys a rest on hardtack." I heartily assented, but asked what should we do about paying for it, as the boys were now pretty generally strapped. Press responded that we'd get the flour "on tick," and settle for it at our next pay day. To my inquiry if we should take Company B in on the deal (the other company with us at Chester), Press dryly responded that B could root for themselves; that this was a "cahootnership" of D and G only. Without further ceremony we went to the mill, which was a fair-sized concern, and situated, as I now remember, in the lower part of the town, and near the river bank. We found one of the proprietors, and Press made known to him our business, in words substantially the same as he had used in broaching the matter to me, with some little additional explanation. He told the miller that the only bread we had was hardtack, that the boys accepted that cheerfully when we were down South, but that here in "God's Country," in our home State of Illinois, they thought they were entitled to "soft bread," so we had come to him to buy two barrels of flour; that the boys had not the money now to pay for it, but at our next pay day they would, and we would see to it that the money should be sent him. While thus talking, the miller looked at us with "narrowed eyes," and, as it seemed to me, didn't feel a bit delighted with the proposition. But maybe he thought that if he didn't sell us the flour, we might take it anyhow, so, making a virtue of necessity, he said he would let us have it, the price of the two barrels being, as I now remember, seven dollars. I produced my little memorandum book, and requested him to write the name and address of his firm therein, which he did, in pen and ink, and it is there yet, in that same little old book, now lying open before me, and reads as follows: "H. C. Cole & Co., Chester, Ill." Well, he sent us the flour, and D and G had soft bread the balance of the time we were at Chester. I will now anticipate a few months, in order to finish the account of this incident. The spring of 1865 found the regiment at Franklin, Tennessee, and while there the paymaster made us a welcome visit. I then went to Press Rice, and suggested to him that the time had now come for us to pay the Chester miller for his flour, and he said he thought so too. We sat down at the foot of a tree and made out a list of all the boys of our respective companies who, at Chester, helped eat the bread made from the flour, and who were yet with us, and then assessed each one with the proper sum he should contribute, in order to raise the entire amount required. Of course the boys paid it cheerfully. Press turned over to me the proportionate sum of his company, and requested me to attend to the rest of the business, which I did. I wrote a letter to the firm of H. C. Cole & Co., calling their attention to the fact of our purchase from them of two barrels of flour in October of the previous year, and then went on to say that several of the boys who had taken part in eating the bread made from this flour had since then been killed in battle, or died of diseases incident to a soldier's life, but there were yet enough of us left to pay them for their flour, and that I here inclosed the proper sum. (I have forgotten in just what manner or form it was sent, but think it was by express.) In due course of time I received an answer, acknowledging receipt of the money, written in a very kind and complimentary vein. After heartily thanking us for the payment, the letter went on to state that in all the business dealings of H. C. Cole & Co. with Union soldiers the firm had been treated with fairness and remarkable honesty, and they sincerely appreciated it. Many years later out in Kansas I met a man who had lived in Chester during the war, and told him the foregoing little story. He said he knew the milling firm of Cole & Co. quite well, and that during the war they were most intense and bitter Copperheads, and had no use whatever for "Lincoln hirelings," as Union soldiers were sometimes called by the "Butternut" element. My informant was a respectable, truthful man, so it is probable that his statement was correct. It served to throw some light on the grim conduct of the miller with whom Press and I dealt. But they treated us well, and if they were of the type above indicated, it is hoped that the little experience with us may have caused them to have a somewhat kindlier feeling for Union soldiers than the one they may have previously entertained. CHAPTER XIX. EXPEDITION TO NORTH MISSOURI. BACK IN TENNESSEE ONCE MORE. MURFREESBORO. OCTOBER AND NOVEMBER, 1864. On October 14th we left Chester on the steamer "A. Jacobs," and went to St. Louis, where we arrived on the 15th, and marched out to Laclede Station, about six miles from St. Louis, on the Pacific railroad, where we found the balance of the regiment. There was a railroad bridge at this place, over a small stream, and I suppose that during the scare at St. Louis it was deemed prudent to have a force here to guard the bridge. On October 19th the regiment left Laclede, and went by rail on the North Missouri railroad, to Mexico, in Audrain county, Missouri, about 110 miles northwest of St. Louis. Here we reported to Col. Samuel A. Holmes, Colonel of the 40th Missouri Infantry. We left Mexico October 21st and marched northward 25 miles to Paris, the county seat of Monroe county. There was a body of irregular Confederate cavalry, supposed to be about 500 strong, under the command of a Col. McDaniel, operating in this region, and carrying on a sort of predatory and uncivilized warfare. We learned that it was our business up here to bring this gang to battle, and destroy them if possible, or, failing in that, to drive them out of the country. Our force consisted of about 700 infantry,--the 40th Missouri and the 61st Illinois, and a detachment of about 300 cavalry, whose state and regimental number I have forgotten. Our cavalry caught up with the Confederates at Paris, and had a little skirmish with them, but before the infantry could get on the ground the enemy lit out as fast as their horses could carry them. We lay that night at Paris, and the next day (the 22nd) marched to the little town of Florida, where we bivouacked for the night. It was a small place, situated on a high, timbered ridge, between the main Salt river and one of its forks. With the exception that it was not a county seat, it was practically a counterpart of the little village of Springfield, Arkansas, hereinbefore mentioned. It had only one street of any consequence, and all up and down this street, in several places right in the middle thereof, were grand, imposing native trees, such as oaks and hickories. But the place was now totally deserted, and looked lonesome and desolate. I ascertained several years later that it was the birthplace of Samuel L. Clemens, the author,--better known under his pen-name, "Mark Twain." It is also an interesting circumstance that the first military operation conducted by Gen. U. S. Grant was a movement in the summer of 1861 on this little village of Florida, with the intention and expectation of giving battle to a Confederate force in camp near the town. (Grant's Memoirs, 1st Edition, Vol. 1, pp. 248 et seq.) The next day (the 23rd) we turned south, and marched to the little town of Santa Fe, and the next day thereafter back to Paris, where we remained a day. On the 26th we went to Middle Grove, and on the following day again reached the railroad at Allen, some distance northwest of Mexico, where we first started out. It would seem that this little station of Allen has, since the war, disappeared from the map,--at least, I can't find it. On this expedition the infantry never caught a glimpse of an armed Confederate, but the object of the movement was accomplished. We kept after our foes so persistently that they left that locality, crossed the Missouri river, joined Price's army, and with it left the State. At this time the section of country over which we marched in the pursuit of McDaniel's command is now all gridironed by railroads, but in 1864 there were only two, the North Missouri, running north-west from St. Louis to Macon, and the Hannibal and St. Joe, connecting those two places and extending from the Mississippi river on the east to the Missouri river on the west. We always remembered this scout up in north Missouri with feelings of comfort and satisfaction. Compared with some of our Arkansas marches, it was just a pleasure excursion. The roads were in good condition, and the weather was fine;--ideal Indian Summer days. And in the fruit and vegetable line we lived high. The country through which we passed abounded in the finest of winter apples, Little Romanites and Jennetings being the chief varieties. The farmers had gathered and piled them in the orchards in conical heaps and covered them with straw and earth sufficient to keep them from freezing. We soon learned what those little earth mounds signified, and, as a matter of course, confiscated the apples instanter. And the country was full of potatoes, cabbages, and turnips, on which we foraged with great liberality. If any apology for this line of conduct should be thought proper, it may be said that many of the farms were at this time abandoned, the owners having fled to the garrisoned towns to escape the Confederate raiders; further, if we hadn't taken this stuff our adversaries would, if by chance they happened again to infest that locality. Anyhow, a hungry soldier is not troubled, in such matters, by nice ethical distinctions. We remained at Allen on the 28th, and until the evening of the following day, when we left there on the cars for St. Louis. But sometime near midnight the train stopped at Montgomery City, about midway between Allen and St. Louis, we were roused up, and ordered to get off and form in line, which we did. Our officers then proceeded to give us careful instructions, to the effect that a band of Confederate cavalry was believed to be at Danville, out in the country a few miles south, and that we were going there to surprise and capture this party, if possible. We were strictly enjoined to refrain from talking and singing, and to remain absolutely silent in ranks. We then fell into column and marched for Danville, where we arrived an hour or so before dawn. But our birds (if there when we started from Montgomery) had flown--there were no Confederates there. A party of guerrillas had been in the town about two weeks before, who had murdered five or six unarmed citizens, (including one little boy about eight or ten years old,) and it was believed when we started to march out here that this gang, or some of them, had returned. The party that had previously raided Danville were under the command of one Bill Anderson, a blood-thirsty desperado, with no more humanity about him than an Apache Indian. He was finally killed in battle with some Union troops about the last of October, 1864. When killed there was found on his person a commission as Colonel in the Confederate army, signed by Jefferson Davis, and the brow-band of his horse's bridle was decorated with two human scalps. (See "The Civil War on the Border," by Wiley Britton, Vol. 2, p. 546.) He was of that class of men of which Quantrell and the James and the Younger boys were fitting types, and who were a disgrace to mankind. Sometime during the day (October 30th) we marched back to Montgomery City, got on the cars, and again started for St. Louis, where we arrived the next day, and marched out to old Benton Barracks, where we took up our quarters for the time being. So we were once more "tenting on the old camp ground," after an absence of nearly three years. But the place did not look as it did before. It seemed old and dilapidated and there were only a few troops there. As compared with the active, stirring conditions that obtained there in February and March, 1862, it now looked indescribably dejected and forlorn. But our stay here this time was short. We left on November 5th, marched into St. Louis, and down to the wharf, where we embarked on the steamer "David Tatum," and started up the Mississippi. We were puzzled for a while as to what this meant, but soon found out. We were told that the regiment was being sent home to vote at the ensuing presidential election, which would occur on November 8th, that we would take the cars at Alton and go to Springfield, and from there to our respective homes. We surely were glad that we were going to be granted this favor. The most of the States had enacted laws authorizing their soldiers to vote in the field, but the Illinois legislature since 1862 had been Democratic in politics, and that party at that time in our State was not favorably disposed to such a measure. Consequently the legislature in office had failed to pass any law authorizing their soldier constituents to vote when away from home. We arrived at Alton about 9 o'clock on the evening of the 5th, and found a train waiting us (box cars), which we at once climbed on. We had just got our guns and other things stowed away in corners, and were proceeding to make ourselves comfortable for a night ride to Springfield, when Lt. Wallace came down from the officers' caboose, and stopped at the Co. D car. "Boys," he called, "get out, and fall in line here by the track. The order to go to Springfield has been countermanded by telegraphic dispatch and we are ordered back to St. Louis." "What! What's that?" we exclaimed, in astonishment. "It's so," said Wallace, in a tone of deep regret; "get out." "Well, don't that beat hell!" was the next remark of about a dozen of us. But orders are orders, and there was nothing to do but obey. The curses of the disappointed soldiers in thus having this cup of satisfaction dashed from their lips were "not loud, but deep." But we all swung down from the cars, fell in, and marched back to and on board the "David Tatum," and were back at the wharf in St. Louis by next morning. We stacked arms on the levee, and the next morning, November 7th, left St. Louis on the steamer "Jennie Brown," headed down stream. So here we were again on the broad Mississippi, duplicating our beginning of March, 1862, and once more bound for "Dixie's Land." By this time we had become philosophical and indifferent in regard to the ups and downs of our career. If we had been ordered some night to be ready the next morning to start to California or Maine, the order would have been treated with absolute composure, and after a few careless or sarcastic remarks, we would have turned over and been asleep again in about a minute. We had made up our minds that we were out to see the war through, and were determined in our conviction that we were going to win in the end. Election day, November 8th, was densely foggy, so much so that the captain of our steamboat thought it not prudent to proceed, so the boat tied up that day and night at the little town of Wittenburg, on the Missouri shore. Mainly to pass away the time, the officers concluded to hold a "mock" regimental presidential election. The most of the line officers were Democrats, and were supporting Gen. McClellan for President in opposition to Mr. Lincoln, and they were quite confident that a majority of the regiment favored McClellan, so they were much in favor of holding an election. An election board was chosen, fairly divided between the supporters of the respective candidates, and the voting began. As our votes wouldn't count in the official result, every soldier, regardless of age, was allowed to vote. But at this time I was a sure-enough legal voter, having attained my twenty-first year on the 16th of the preceding September. You may rest assured that I voted for "Uncle Abe" good and strong. When the votes were counted, to the astonishment of nearly all of us, Mr. Lincoln was found to have sixteen majority. As the regiment was largely Democratic when it left Illinois in February, 1862, this vote showed that the political opinions of the rank and file had, in the meantime, undergone a decided change. We left Wittenburg on the forenoon of the 9th, but owing to the foggy conditions our progress was very slow. We reached Cairo on the 10th, and from there proceeded up the Ohio, and on the 11th arrived at Paducah, Kentucky, where we debarked, and went into camp. We remained here nearly two weeks, doing nothing but the ordinary routine of camp duty, so life here was quite uneventful. Paducah was then an old, sleepy, dilapidated, and badly decayed river town, with a population at the outbreak of the war of about four thousand. After our brief stay here terminated, I never was at the place again until in October, 1914, when I was there for about a day, which was devoted to rambling about the town. The flight of fifty years had made great changes in Paducah. It now had a population of about twenty-five thousand, four different lines of railroad, street cars, electric lights, and a full supply generally of all the other so-called "modern conveniences." On this occasion I hunted faithfully and persistently for the old camp ground of the regiment in 1864, but couldn't find it, nor even any locality that looked like it. On the evening of November 24th the regiment left Paducah on the little stern-wheel steamboat "Rosa D," which steamed up the Ohio river as far as the mouth of the Cumberland, there turned to the right, and proceeded to ascend that stream. That move told the story of our probable destination, and indicated to us that we were doubtless on our way to Nashville to join the army of Gen. Thomas. There was another boat that left Paducah the same time we did, the "Masonic Gem," a stern-wheeler about the same size of our boat. It was also transporting a regiment of soldiers, whose State and regimental number I do not now remember. The captains of the two boats, for some reason or other, lashed their vessels together, side by side, and in this manner we made the greater part of the trip. In going up the Cumberland the regiment lost two men by drowning; Henry Miner, of Co. D, and Perry Crochett, of Co. G. There was something of a mystery in regard to the death of Miner. He was last seen about nine o'clock one evening on the lower deck of the boat, close to where the two boats were lashed together. It was supposed that in some manner he missed his footing and fell between the boats, and was at once sucked under by the current and drowned. His cap was discovered next morning on the deck near the place where he was last observed, but no other vestige of him was ever found. The other soldier, Perry Crochett, stumbled and fell into the river in the day time, from the after part of the hurricane deck of the boat. He was perhaps stunned by the fall, for he just sank like a stone. The boats stopped, and a skiff was at once lowered and manned, and rowed out to the spot where he disappeared, and which lingered around there a short time, in the hope that he might come to the surface. His little old wool hat was floating around on the tops of the waves, but poor Perry was never seen again. There was nothing that could be done, so the skiff came back to the boat, was hoisted aboard, the bells rang the signal "go ahead," and we went on. Miner and Crochett were both young men, about my own age, and had been good and brave soldiers. Somehow it looked hard and cruel that after over three years' faithful service they were fated at last to lose their lives by drowning in the cold waters of the Cumberland, and be devoured by catfish and snapping turtles,--but such are among the chances in the life of a soldier. On our way up the Cumberland we passed the historic Fort Donelson, where Gen. Grant in February, 1862, gained his first great victory. There was, at that time, desperate and bloody fighting at and near the gray earthen walls of the old fort. Now there was only a small garrison of Union troops here, and with that exception, the place looked about as quiet and peaceful as some obscure country graveyard. We arrived at Nashville after dark on the evening of the 27th, remained on the boat that night, debarked the next morning, and in the course of that day (the 28th) took the cars on what was then known as the Nashville and Chattanooga railroad, and went to Murfreesboro, about thirty miles southeast of Nashville. Here we went into camp inside of Fortress Rosecrans, a strong and extensive earthwork built under the direction of Gen. Rosecrans soon after the battle of Murfreesboro, in January, 1863. CHAPTER XX. THE AFFAIR AT OVERALL'S CREEK. MURFREESBORO. DECEMBER, 1864. The invasion of Tennessee by the Confederate army under the command of Gen. J. B. Hood was now on, and only a day or two after our arrival at Murfreesboro we began to hear the sullen, deep-toned booming of artillery towards the west, and later north-west in the direction of Nashville. And this continued, with more or less frequency, until the termination, on December 16th, of the battle of Nashville, which resulted in the defeat of the Confederates, and their retreat from the State. About December 3rd, the Confederate cavalry, under the command of our old acquaintance, Gen. N. B. Forrest, swung in between Nashville and Murfreesboro, tore up the railroad, and cut us off from Nashville for about two weeks. The Union forces at Murfreesboro at this time consisted of about 6,000 men,--infantry, cavalry, and artillery, (but principally infantry,) under the command of Gen L. H. Rousseau. December 4th, 1864, was a pleasant, beautiful day at old Murfreesboro. The sun was shining bright and warm, the air was still, and the weather conditions were like those at home during Indian summer in October. Along about the middle of the afternoon, without a single note of preliminary warning, suddenly came the heavy "boom" of cannon close at hand, in a northwesterly direction. We at once ran up on the ramparts, and looking up the railroad towards Nashville, could plainly see the blue rings of powder-smoke curling upwards above the trees. But we didn't look long. Directly after we heard the first report, the bugles in our camp and others began sounding "Fall in!" We hastily formed in line, and in a very short time the 61st Illinois and two other regiments of infantry, the 8th Minnesota and the 174th Ohio, with a section of artillery, all under the command of Gen. R. H. Milroy, filed out of Fortress Rosecrans, and proceeded in the direction of this cannonading. About four miles out from Murfreesboro we came to the scene of the trouble. The Confederates had opened with their artillery on one of our railroad block-houses, and were trying to demolish or capture it. The 13th Indiana Cavalry had preceded us to the spot, and were skirmishing with the enemy. Our regiment formed in line on the right of the pike, the Minnesota regiment to our right, and the Ohio regiment on the left, while our artillery took a position on some higher ground near the pike, and began exchanging shots with that of the enemy. The position of our regiment was on the hither slope of a somewhat high ridge, in the woods, with a small stream called Overall's creek running parallel to our front. We were standing here at ease, doing nothing, and I slipped up on the crest of the ridge, "to see what I could see." The ground on the opposite side of the creek was lower than ours, and was open, except a growth of rank grass and weeds. And I could plainly see the skirmishers of the enemy, in butternut clothing, skulking in the grass and weeds, and occasionally firing in our direction. They looked real tempting, so I hurried back to the regiment, and going to Capt. Keeley, told him that the Confederate skirmishers were just across the creek, in plain sight, and asked him if I couldn't slip down the brow of the ridge and take a few shots at them. He looked at me kind of queerly, and said: "You stay right where you are, and tend to your own business. You'll have plenty of shooting before long." I felt a little bit hurt at his remark, but made no reply, and resumed my place in the ranks. But he afterwards made me a sort of apology for his brusque reproof, saying he had no desire to see me perhaps throw my life away in a performance not within the scope of my proper and necessary duty. And he was right, too, in his prediction, that there would soon be "plenty of shooting." I had just taken my place in the ranks when a mounted staff officer came galloping up, and accosting a little group of our line officers, asked, with a strong German accent, "Iss ziss ze 61st Illinois?" and on being told that it was, next inquired for Col. Grass, who was pointed out to him. He rode to the Colonel, who was near at hand, saluted him, and said, "Col. Grass, ze Sheneral sends his compliments wiss ze order zat you immediately deploy your regiment as skirmishers, and forthwith advance on ze enemy, right in your front!" The recruits and non-veterans of the regiment being yet in Arkansas, its present effective strength hardly exceeded three hundred men, so there was just about enough of us to make a sufficient skirmish line, on this occasion, for the balance of the command. In obedience to the aforesaid order the regiment was promptly deployed as skirmishers, and the line advanced over the crest of the ridge in our front, and down the slope on the opposite side. At the bank of the creek a little incident befell me, which serves to show how a very trifling thing may play an important part in one's fate. I happened to reach the creek at a point opposite a somewhat deep pool. The water was clear and cold, and I disliked the idea of having wet feet on the skirmish line, and looked around for a place where it was possible to cross dry-shod. A rod or two above me the stream was narrow, and where it could be jumped, so I started in a run for that place. The creek bank on my side was of yellow clay, high and perpendicular, while on the other margin the bank was quite low, and the ground adjacent sloped upward gently and gradually. While running along the edge of the stream to the fording place, one of my feet caught on the end of a dead root projecting from the lower edge of the bank, and I pitched forward, and nearly fell. At the very instant of my stumble,--"thud" into the clay bank right opposite where I would have been, if standing, went a bullet fired by a Confederate skirmisher. He probably had taken deliberate aim at me, and on seeing me almost fall headlong, doubtless gave himself credit for another Yankee sent to "the happy hunting grounds." It is quite likely that owing to the existence of that old dead root, and my lucky stumble thereon, I am now here telling the story of this skirmish. By this time it was sunset, and darkness was approaching, but we went on. The Confederate skirmishers retired, but we soon developed their main line on some high ground near the edge of the woods,--and then we had to stop. We lay down, loaded and fired in that position, and nearly all of the enemy's balls passed over our heads. Presently it grew quite dark, and all we had to aim at was the long horizontal sheet of red flame that streamed from the muskets of the Confederates. In the mean time the artillery of both parties was still engaged in their duel, and their balls and shells went screaming over our heads. Occasionally a Confederate shell would explode right over us, and looked interesting, but did no harm. While all this firing was at its liveliest, I heard close by the heavy "thud" that a bullet makes in striking a human body, followed immediately by a sharp cry of "Oh!" which meant that someone had been hit. It proved to be Lieutenant Elijah Corrington, of Co. F. He was struck by the ball in the region of the heart, and expired almost instantly. He was a good man, and a brave soldier, and his death was sincerely mourned. The affair was terminated by the 174th Ohio on our left getting around on the enemy's right flank, where it poured in a destructive volley, and the Confederates retired. We followed a short distance, but neither saw nor heard anything more of the enemy, so we finally retired also. We recrossed the creek, built some big fires out of dry chestnut rails, which we left burning, in order, I suppose, to make our foes believe we were still there, and then marched to Murfreesboro, where we arrived about midnight. On the two following days, December 5 and 6, the Confederates showed themselves to the west of us, and demonstrated most ostentatiously against Murfreesboro. From where we stood on the ramparts of Fortress Rosecrans we could plainly see their columns in motion, with flags flying, circling around us as if looking for a good opening. They were beyond the range of musketry, but our big guns in the fortress opened on them and gave them a most noisy cannonading, but what the effect was I don't know,--probably not much. In the battles of the Civil War artillery playing on infantry at short range with grape and canister did frightful execution, of which I saw plenty of evidence at Shiloh; but at a distance, and firing with solid shot or shell, it simply made a big noise, and if it killed anybody, it was more an accident than otherwise. Beginning about December 5th, and continuing for several days thereafter, we turned out at four o'clock every morning, fully armed, and manned the trenches in the rear of the breastworks, and remained there till after sunrise. It was a cold, chilly business, standing two or three hours in those damp trenches, with an empty stomach, waiting for an apprehended attack, which, however, was never made. For my part, I felt like I did when behind our big works in the rear of Vicksburg, and sincerely hoped that the other fellows would make an attempt to storm our defenses, and I think the other boys felt the same way. We would have shot them down just like pigeons, and the artillery in the corner bastions, charged with grape and canister, would have played its part too. But the Confederates had no intention of making any attempt of this nature. The Official Records of the Rebellion hereinbefore mentioned contain the correspondence between Hood and Forrest concerning this movement on Murfreesboro, and which clearly discloses their schemes. The plan was simply to "scare" Rousseau out of Murfreesboro, and cause him to retreat in a northerly direction towards the town of Lebanon, and then, having gotten him out of his hole, to surround him in the open with their large force of cavalry, well supported by infantry, and capture all his command. But Rousseau didn't "scare" worth a cent, as will appear later. CHAPTER XXI. THE BATTLE OF WILKINSON'S PIKE. DECEMBER 7, 1864. Early in the morning of December 7th, General Rousseau started out General Milroy with seven regiments of infantry, (which included our regiment,) a battery of artillery, and a small detachment of cavalry, to find out what Gen. Forrest wanted. Our entire force consisted of a trifle over thirty-three hundred men. We first marched south from Murfreesboro, on the Salem pike, but gradually executed a right wheel, crossed Stone river, and worked to the northwest. We soon jumped up the Confederate cavalry vedettes, and a portion of the 61st was thrown out as skirmishers, and acted with our cavalry in driving back these scattered outposts of the enemy. Finally, about noon, we ran up against the main line of the Confederates, on the Wilkinson pike, protected by slight and hastily constructed breastworks, made of dirt, rails, and logs. Their artillery opened on us before we came in musket range, and we halted and formed in line of battle in some tall woods, with an open field in front. We were standing here in line when Gen. Milroy with some of his staff rode up right in front of our regiment, and stopped on a little elevated piece of ground. Then the old man took out his field-glass, and proceeded carefully and deliberately to scrutinize the country before him. My place in the line was only two or three rods from him, and I watched his proceedings with the deepest interest. He would look a while at the front, then sweep his glass to the right and scan that locality, then to the left and examine that region. While he was thus engaged, we all remained profoundly silent, his staff sat near him on their horses, also saying nothing. His survey of the country before him could not have lasted more than five minutes, but to me it seemed terribly long. At last he shut up his glass, returned it to its case, gave his horse a sort of a "haw" pull, and said something in a low tone to the different members of his staff, who forthwith dispersed in a gallop up and down our line. "Now," thought I, "something is going to happen." One of the staff stopped and said something to Col. Grass, and then came the command: "Attention, battalion! Shoulder arms! Face to the rear! Battalion, about face! Right shoulder shift arms! Forward, guide center, march!" And that, I thought, told the story. The other fellows were too many for us, and we were going to back out. They probably had someone up a tree, watching us, for we had hardly begun our rearward movement before their artillery opened on us furiously, and the cannon balls went crashing through the tree tops, and bringing down the limbs in profusion. But, as usual, the artillery hurt nobody, and we went on, quietly and in perfect order. After retiring through the woods for some distance, we gradually changed the direction of our march to the left, the result being that we executed an extensive left wheel, and pivoted towards the left flank of the enemy. Here our entire regiment was deployed as skirmishers, and we again advanced. We later learned that the enemy had made all their preparations to meet us at the point where we first encountered their line, so they were not fully prepared for this new movement. Gen. Milroy, in his official report of the battle, in describing this advance, says: "The Sixty-first Illinois was deployed as skirmishers in front of the first line, [and the] line advanced upon the enemy through the brush, cedars, rocks, and logs, under a heavy fire of artillery. * * * * Skirmishing with small arms began soon after commencing my advance, but my skirmish line advanced, rapidly, bravely, and in splendid order, considering the nature of the ground, driving the rebels before them for about a mile," [when their main line was struck]. See Serial number 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, p. 618. As we were advancing in this skirmish line across an old cotton field, the Confederates ran forward a section of artillery, placed it on some rising ground and opened on us a rapid fire. The shot and shell fell all around us, throwing up showers of red dirt, but doing no harm. While these guns were thus engaged, I noticed a large, fine-looking man, mounted on an iron gray horse, near one of the pieces, and who was intently watching our advance across the field. He evidently was a Confederate officer, and I thought possibly of high rank; so, taking careful aim each time, I gave him two shots from "Trimthicket," (the pet name of my old musket,) but without effect, so far as was perceivable. After each shot he remained impassive in his saddle, and soon after galloped away. After the battle I talked about the incident with some of the Confederates we captured, and they told me that this officer was Gen. Forrest himself. He was probably too far away when I fired at him for effective work, but he doubtless heard the bullets and perhaps concluded that he had better not expose himself unnecessarily. Our skirmish line continued to advance across the cotton field before mentioned. In our front was a dense thicket of small cedars occupied by the Confederate skirmishers, and as we approached these woods our progress was somewhat slow. I happened to notice in the edge of the thicket, and only a few rods in my front, a big, heavy log, which was lying parallel to our line, and would afford splendid protection. Thereupon I made a rush, and dropped behind this log. It was apparently a rail-cut, and had been left lying on the ground. A little fellow of Co. H, named John Fox, a year or two my junior, saw me rush for this log, he followed me, and dropped down behind it also. He had hardly done this when he quickly called to me--"Look out, Stillwell! You'll get shot!" I hardly understood just what caused his remark, but instinctively ducked behind the log, and at that instant "whis-sh" went a bullet from the front through the upper bark of the log, right opposite where my breast was a second or two before, scattering worm-dust and fragments of bark over my neck and shoulders. "I seed him a-takin' aim," dryly remarked little Fox. "Where is he?" I quickly inquired. "Right yander," answered Fox, indicating the place by pointing. I looked and saw the fellow--he was a grown man, in a faded gray uniform, but before I could complete my hasty preparations to return his compliment he disappeared in the jungle of cedar. An incident will now be described, the result of which was very mortifying to me at the time, and which, to this day, I have never been able to understand, or account for. We had passed through the cedar woods before mentioned, and entered another old cotton field. And right in the hither edge of that field we came plump on a Confederate cavalry vedette, seated on his horse. The man had possibly been on duty all the previous night, and perhaps was now dozing in his saddle, or he never would have stayed for us to slip up on him as we did. But if asleep, he waked up promptly at this stage of the proceedings. All along our line the boys began firing at him, yelling as they did so. The moment I saw him, I said to myself, with an exultant thrill, "You're my game." He was a big fellow, broad across the back, wearing a wool hat, a gray jacket, and butternut trousers. My gun was loaded, I was all ready, and what followed didn't consume much more than two seconds of time. I threw my gun to my shoulder, let the muzzle sink until I saw through the front and rear sights the center of that broad back--and then pulled the trigger. Porting my musket, I looked eagerly to the front, absolutely confident that my vision would rest on the horse flying riderless across the field, and the soldier lying dead upon the ground. But to my utter amazement, there was the fellow yet on his horse, and, like John Gilpin of old, going, "Like an arrow swift Shot by an archer strong." He had a small gad, or switch, in his right hand, with which he was belaboring his horse every jump, and the upshot of the matter was, he reached and disappeared in the woods beyond, without a scratch, so far as any of us on our side ever knew. How my shot happened to miss that man is just one of the most unaccountable things that ever happened to me in my life. I was perfectly cool and collected at the time, and my nerves were steady as iron; he was a splendid mark, at close range, and I took a deadly aim. And then to think that all our other fellows missed him too! It was certainly a thing that surpasses all comprehension. At the time I am now writing these lines, a little over half a century has passed away since this incident occurred, and it will here be recorded that now I am sincerely thankful that I failed to kill that man. Considering his marvelous escape on this occasion, the presumption is strong that he lived through the war, married some good woman, and became the father of a family of interesting children, and likely some one of his boys fought under the old flag in the Spanish-American War,--so it is probably all for the best. But,--how in the world did I happen to miss him? Only a few minutes after this incident I experienced the closest call (so far as can be stated with certainty) that befell me during my service. On this day it so happened that Co. D was assigned a position on the extreme right of the skirmish line. This was not the regulation place for the company in the regimental line, and just how this came about I don't know, but so it was. As the first sergeant of D, my position was on the extreme right of the company, consequently I was the right hand man of the whole skirmish line. We were continuing our advance across the field where we came on the vedette just mentioned, and all in high spirits. I had on a broad-brimmed felt hat, my overcoat, and beneath that what we called a "dress-coat," with the ends of my trouser legs tucked in my socks; was carrying my gun at a ready, and eagerly looking for something to shoot at. There was a little bunch of Confederates in the woods on our right that were sort of "pot-shooting" at us as we were moving across the field, but we paid no attention to them, as the main force of the enemy was in our front. Suddenly I was whirled around on my feet like a top, and a sensation went through me similar, I suppose, to that which one feels when he receives an electric shock. I noticed that the breast of my overcoat was torn, but saw no blood nor felt any pain, so it was manifest that I wasn't hurt. It was clear that the ball which struck me had come from the right, so some of us paid attention to those fellows at once, and they soon disappeared. At the first opportunity after the battle was over I examined my clothes to find out what this bullet had done. As stated, it came from the right, and first went through the cape of my overcoat, then through the right-arm sleeves of my overcoat and dress coat, thence through the right breast of both those coats, and then through the left breast thereof, and from thence went on its way. All told, it made nine holes in my clothes, but never touched my flesh. But it was a fine line-shot and had it been two inches further back all would have been over with me. Just after this episode, as we approached a rise in the field we came in sight of the main line of the enemy, in the edge of the woods on the opposite side of the field. The right wing of our skirmish line then took ground to the right and the other wing to the left in order to uncover our main line. It then marched up, and the action became general. The musketry firing on both sides was heavy and incessant, and, in addition, the enemy had a battery of artillery, which kept roaring most furiously. We also had a battery, but it was not now in evidence, the reason being as we afterwards learned, that it had exhausted its ammunition during the previous course of the day, and had returned to Fortress Rosecrans for a further supply, but before it got back the fight was over. The engagement had lasted only a short time, when the command was given to charge, and our whole line went forward. And thereupon I witnessed the bravest act that I ever saw performed by an officer of the rank of general. The regiment immediately on the left of the right wing of our regiment was the 174th Ohio. It was a new regiment, and had never been under fire but once before, that occasion being the affair at Overall's creek three days previous. So, when we started on this charge, I anxiously watched this big, new Ohio regiment, for it was perfectly plain that if it faltered and went back, our little right wing of the 61st Illinois would have to do likewise. And presently that Ohio regiment stopped!--and then we stopped too. I looked at those Ohio fellows; there was that peculiar trembling, wavy motion along their line which precedes a general going to pieces, and it seemed like the game was up. But just at that supreme moment, old Gen. Milroy appeared, on his horse, right in front of that Ohio regiment, at a point opposite the colors. He was bareheaded, holding his hat in his right hand, his long, heavy, iron-gray hair was streaming in the wind, and he was a most conspicuous mark. The Confederates were blazing away along their whole line, yelling like devils, and I fairly held my breath, expecting to see the old General forthwith pitch headlong from his horse, riddled with bullets. But he gave the enemy very little time to practice on him. I was not close enough to hear what he said, but he called to those Ohio men in a ringing tone, and waved his hat towards the enemy. The effect was instantaneous and sublime. The whole line went forward with a furious yell, and surged over the Confederate works like a big blue wave,--and the day was ours! The Confederates retreated on a double quick, but in good order. We captured two pieces of their artillery, a stand of colors, and about two hundred prisoners. We followed them a short distance, but saw them no more, and about sundown we marched back to Fortress Rosecrans. But before finally passing from this affair, a few other things connected therewith will be mentioned. As we went over the Confederate works on our charge, I saw lying on the ground, inside, a dead Confederate lieutenant-colonel. He was on his back, his broad-brimmed hat pulled over his face, and a pair of large gauntlet gloves tucked in his belt. His sword was detached from the belt, in the scabbard, and was lying transversely across his body. As I ran by him I stooped down and with my left hand picked up the sword, and carried it along. I brought it to camp with me, kept it until we were mustered out, and then brought it home. Later a Masonic lodge was organized in Otterville, and some of the officers thereof borrowed from me this sword for the use of the tyler of the lodge, in his official duties. In 1868 I came to Kansas, leaving the sword with the lodge. After the lapse of some years there came a time when I desired to resume possession of this relic of the war, but on taking action to obtain it, it was ascertained that in the meantime the lodge building, with all its furniture and paraphernalia, including the sword in question, had been accidentally destroyed by fire. And thus passed away the only trophy that I ever carried off a battlefield. Many years later I met here in Kansas the late Confederate Gen. John B. Gordon, of Georgia, and had a long and interesting conversation with him. I told him the facts connected with my obtaining this sword, and of its subsequent loss, as above stated. He listened to me with deep attention, and at the close of my story, said he was satisfied from my general description of the dead Confederate officer that the body on which I found the sword was that of W. W. Billopp, lieutenant-colonel of the 29th Georgia, who was killed in this action. Gen. Gordon also said that he was well acquainted with Col. Billopp in his life time, and that he was a splendid gentleman and a brave soldier. It has always been a matter of regret with me that the sword was destroyed, for I intended, at the time I sought to reclaim it from the Masonic lodge, to take steps to restore it to the family of the deceased officer, in the event that it could be done. When the Confederates retired from this battlefield of December 7th, they left their dead and severely wounded on the field, as it was impossible for them to do otherwise. I walked around among these unfortunates, and looked at them, and saw some things that made me feel sorrowful indeed. I looked in the haversacks of some of the dead to see what they had to eat,--and what do you suppose was found? Nothing but raw, shelled corn! And many of them were barefooted, and judging from appearances, had been so indefinitely. Their feet were almost as black as those of a negro, with the skin wrinkled and corrugated to that extent that it looked like the hide of an alligator. These things inspired in me a respect for the Confederate soldiers that I never had felt before. The political leaders of the Davis and Toombs type who unnecessarily brought about the war are, in my opinion, deserving of the severest condemnation. But there can be no question that the common soldiers of the Confederate army acted from the most deep-seated convictions of the justice and the righteousness of their cause, and the fortitude and bravery they displayed in support of it are worthy of the highest admiration. After the engagement of December 7th, the Confederates still remained in our vicinity, and showed themselves at intervals, but made no aggressive movement. Cold weather set in about this time, the ground was covered with sleet, and our situation, cooped up in Fortress Rosecrans, was unpleasant and disagreeable. We had long ago turned in our big Sibley tents, and drawn in place of them what we called "pup-tents." They were little, squatty things, composed of different sections of canvas that could be unbuttoned and taken apart, and carried by the men when on a march. They were large enough for only two occupants, and there were no facilities for building fires in them, as in the case of the Sibleys. Owing to the fact that the Confederates were all around us, we were short of fire-wood too. Stone river ran through the fortress, and there were some big logs in the river, which I suppose had been there ever since the work was constructed, and we dragged them out and used them to eke out our fires. They were all water-soaked, and hardly did more than smoulder, but they helped some. At night we would crowd into those little pup-tents, lie down with all our clothes on, wrap up in our blankets and try to sleep, but with poor success. I remember that usually about midnight I would "freeze out," and get up and stand around those sobbing, smouldering logs,--and shiver. To make matters worse, we were put on half rations soon after we came to Murfreesboro, and full rations were not issued again until the Confederates retreated from Nashville after the battle of December 15-16. CHAPTER XXII. THE FIGHT ON THE RAILROAD NEAR MURFREESBORO, DECEMBER 15, 1864. On the afternoon of December 12th the regiment fell in and we marched to the railroad depot at Murfreesboro, climbed on a train of box cars, and started for Stevenson, Alabama, about 80 miles southeast of Murfreesboro. The number of the regiment who participated in this movement, according to the official report of Maj. Nulton, was 150 men, and we were accompanied by a detachment of about forty of the 1st Michigan Engineers. (See Serial No. 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, p. 620.) We soon learned that the train was going to Stevenson to obtain rations for the troops at Murfreesboro, and that our province was to serve as guards for the train, to Stevenson and on its return. We had not gone more than eight or ten miles from Murfreesboro before we ran into the Confederate cavalry vedettes who were scattered along at numerous points of observation near the railroad. However, on our approach they scurried away like quails. But in many places the track had been torn up, and culverts destroyed, and when we came to one of these breaks, the train had to stop until our engineers could repair it, and then we went on. Right here I will say that those Michigan Engineers were splendid fellows. There was a flat car with our train, and on this car was a supply of extra rails, spikes, and other railroad appliances, with all the tools that the engineers used in their work, and it was remarkable to see how quick those men would repair a break in the road. They also were provided with muskets and accouterments the same as ordinary soldiers, and when the necessity arose, (as it did before we got back to Murfreesboro,) they would drop their sledges and crowbars, buckle on their cartridge boxes and grab their muskets, and fight like tigers. It was "all the same to Joe" with them. After getting about thirty-five miles from Murfreesboro we saw no more of the enemy, the railroad from thereon was intact, and we arrived at Stevenson about 10 o'clock on the morning of the 13th. The train was loaded with rations and early on the morning of the 14th we started back to Murfreesboro, having in addition to the force with which we left there, a squad of about thirty dismounted men of the 12th Indiana Cavalry, who joined us at Stevenson. The grade up the eastern slope of the Cumberland Mountains was steep, a drizzling rain had fallen the night before, making the rails wet and slippery, and the train had much difficulty in ascending the grade, and our progress was tedious and slow. This delay probably was the cause of our undoing, as will be revealed later. We didn't get over the mountains until some time in the afternoon, and went along slowly, but all right; and about dark reached Bell Buckle, 32 miles from Murfreesboro. Here trouble began on a small scale. A Confederate cavalry vedette was on the alert, and fired at us the first shot of the night. The bullet went over us near where I was sitting on top of a car, with a sharp "ping," that told it came from a rifle. But we went on, proceeding slowly and cautiously, for the night was pitch dark, and we were liable to find the railroad track destroyed at almost any place. At 2 o'clock in the morning, just after leaving Christiana, about 15 miles from Murfreesboro, our troubles broke loose in good earnest. We encountered the Confederate cavalry in force, and also found the track in front badly torn up. We got off the cars, formed in line on both sides of the road and slowly advanced, halting whenever we came to a break in the road, until our Michigan Engineers could repair it. As above stated, they were bully boys, and understood their business thoroughly, and very soon would patch up the breaks so that the train could proceed. But it went only about as fast as a man could walk, and during the balance of that cold, dark night, we marched along by the side of the track, skirmishing with the enemy. On one occasion we ran right up against their line, they being on their horses, and evidently awaiting our approach. Luckily for us, their guns must have been wet; they nearly all missed fire, with no result save a lively snapping of caps along substantially their entire line. But our guns went off, and we gave the fellows a volley that, at least, waked up all the owls in the neighborhood. It was so intensely dark that accurate shooting was out of the question, and whether we hurt anybody or not I don't know, but our foes galloped off in great haste, and disappeared for a while. Shortly before daylight, when we were within about six miles of Murfreesboro, we came to the worst break in the track we had yet encountered. It was at the end of a short cut in the road that was perhaps four or five feet deep. In front of this cut the track was demolished for several rods, and a deep little culvert was also destroyed. We sat down on the ground near the track, and our engineers went to work. The situation was like this: In our front, towards Murfreesboro, and on our right and left rear were corn fields, with the stalks yet standing, and on our left front was a high rocky ridge, heavily timbered with a dense growth of small cedars, and which ridge sloped abruptly down to the railroad track. A small affluent of Stone river, with a belt of willow along its banks, flowed in a winding course along our right, in the general direction of Murfreesboro. While we were sitting here on the ground, half asleep, waiting for the engineers to call out "All right!"--there came a volley of musketry from the woods of the rocky ridge I have mentioned. We sprang to our feet, formed in the cut facing the ridge, and began returning the fire. After this had continued for some time, a party of the enemy moved to our rear, beyond gunshot, and began tearing up the track there, while another party took up a position on the opposite side of the little stream on our right, and opened fire on us from that direction. A portion of our force was shifted to the right of the train to meet the attack from this quarter, and the firing waxed hot and lively. Our engineers had seized their guns, and were blazing away with the rest of us, and our bunch of dismounted cavalry men were also busy with their carbines. This state of things continued for fully an hour, and I think some longer, when suddenly, coming from our left rear, a cannon ball screamed over our heads, followed by the roar of the gun. The commanding officer of Co. D in this affair (and the only officer of our company present) was Lieut. Wallace, and he was standing near me when the cannon ball went over us. "What's that?" he exclaimed. "It means they have opened on us with artillery," I answered. "Well," he responded, "let 'em bang away with their pop-guns!" and I think we all felt equally indifferent. We had become familiar with artillery and knew that at long range it was not very dangerous. But the enemy's cannon kept pounding away, and pretty soon a shot struck somewhere on the engine with a resounding crash. About this time Col. Grass gave the order to retreat. There was only one way of escape open, and that was down the track towards Murfreesboro. We hastily formed in two ranks, and started down the right side of the track in a double quick. As we passed out of the cut a body of dismounted cavalry came out of the woods on the ridge to our left and gave us a volley of musketry. But, being on higher ground than we were, they overshot us badly, and did but little harm. We answered their fire, and their line halted. The command quickly went along our column to load and fire as we went, and "keep firing!" and we did so. We kept up a rattling, scattering fire on those fellows on our left which had the effect of standing them off, at any rate, and in the meantime we all did some of the fastest running down along the side of the railroad track that I have ever seen. Speaking for myself, I am satisfied that I never before surpassed it, and have never since equaled it. But we had all heard of Andersonville, and wanted no Confederate prison in ours. To add to our troubles, an irregular line of Confederate cavalry charged on us through the corn field in our rear, firing and yelling at the top of their voices, "Halt! Halt! you G---- d---- Yankee sons of ----!"--their remarks closing with an epithet concerning our maternal ancestors which, in the words of Colonel Carter of Cartersville, was "vehy gallin', suh." But, as said by the French soldier, old Peter, in "The Chronicles of the Drum," "Cheer up!'tis no use to be glum, boys,-- 'Tis written, since fighting begun, That sometimes we fight and we conquer And sometimes we fight and we run." Occasionally we would send a bullet back at these discourteous pursuers, and possibly on account of that, or maybe some other reason, they refrained from closing in on us. About half a mile from where we left the train the railroad crossed on a high trestle the little stream I have mentioned, which here turned to the left, and we had to ford it. It was only about knee-deep, but awful cold. The Confederates did not attempt to pursue us further after we crossed the creek, and from there we continued our retirement unmolested. I fired one shot soon after we forded the stream, and I have always claimed, and, in my opinion, rightfully, that it was the last shot fired in action by the regiment during the war. I will briefly state the circumstances connected with the incident. In crossing the creek, in some manner I fell behind, which it may be said was no disgrace, as the rear, right then, was the place of danger. But, to be entirely frank about it, this action was not voluntary on my part, but because I was just about completely played out. Firing had now ceased, and I took my time, and soon was the tail-end man of what was left of us. Presently the creek made a bend to the right, and circled around a small elevated point of land on the opposite side, and on this little rise I saw a group of Confederate cavalrymen, four or five in number, seated on their horses, and quietly looking at us. They maybe thought there was no more fight left in us, and that they could gaze on our retreat with impunity. They probably were officers, as they had no muskets or carbines, and were apparently wearing better clothes than private soldiers. I noted especially that they had on black coats, of which the tails came down to their saddle-skirts. They were in easy shooting distance, and my gun was loaded. I dropped on one knee behind a sapling, rested my gun against the left side of the tree, took aim at the center of the bunch, and pulled the trigger. "Fiz-z-z--kerbang!" roared old Trimthicket with a deafening explosion, and a kick that sent me a-sprawling on my back! There were two loads in my gun! My last preceding charge had missed fire, and in the excitement of the moment and the confusion and uproar around me, I had failed to notice it, and rammed home another load. But I regained my feet instantly, and eagerly looked to see the effect of my shot. Nobody was lying on the ground, but that entire party was leaving the spot, in a gallop, with their heads bent forward and their coat tails flying behind them. Their curiosity was evidently satisfied. There is no mistake that I sent two bullets through the center of that squad, but whether they hit anybody or not I don't know. At a point about a mile or so from where we left the train, we reached one of our railroad block houses, held by a small garrison. Here we halted, and reformed. As I came slowly trudging up to Co. D, Bill Banfield was talking to Lieut. Wallace, and said: "I guess Stillwell's gone up. Haven't seen him since we crossed that creek." I stepped forward and in a brief remark, containing some language not fitting for a Sunday-school superintendent, informed Bill that he was laboring under a mistake. Soon after we arrived at the blockhouse a strong force of our troops, having marched out that morning from Murfreesboro, also appeared on the ground. Gen. Rousseau had learned that we were attacked, and had sent these troops to our assistance, but they were too late. He had also sent a detachment to this point the evening before, to meet us, but on account of our being delayed, as before stated, we did not appear, so this party, after waiting till some time after sunset, marched back to Murfreesboro. In this affair we lost, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, about half the regiment, including Col. Grass, who was captured. He was a heavy-set man, somewhat fleshy, and at this time a little over forty years old. He became completely exhausted on our retreat, (being on foot,) tumbled over, and the Confederates got him. Many years later, when we were both living in Kansas, I had an interesting conversation with him about this affair. He told me that his sole reason for ordering the retreat was that he had ascertained shortly before the artillery opened on us, that our cartridges were almost exhausted. Then, when our assailants brought their artillery into play, he realized, he said, that the train was doomed, that it would soon be knocked to pieces, and also set on fire by the balls and shells of the enemy, and that we were powerless to prevent it. Under these circumstances he deemed it his duty to give up the train, and save his men, if possible. Col. Grass was a good and brave man, and I have no doubt that he acted in this matter according to his sincere convictions of duty. The Confederate commander in this action was Gen. L. S. Ross of Texas, who, after the war, served two terms as governor of that State. All his men were Texans, (with the possible exception of the artillery,) and, according to the official reports, were more than three times our number. I think it is permissible to here quote a small portion of the official report made by Gen. Ross of this engagement, as found on page 771, Serial No. 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion. Speaking of our defense of the train, he says: "The men guarding it fought desperately for over an hour, having a strong position in a cut of the railroad, but were finally routed by a most gallant charge of the Sixth Texas, supported by the Third Texas." While the tribute thus paid by Gen. Ross to the manner of our defense is appreciated, nevertheless I will say that he is absolutely wrong in saying that we were "routed" by the charge he mentions. We retreated simply and solely in obedience to the orders of Col. Grass, our commander, and neither the Sixth Texas nor the Third Texas had a thing to do in bringing that about. I don't deny that they followed us pretty closely after we got started. Among our casualties in this affair was Lt. Lorenzo J. Miner, of Co. B, (originally of Co. C,) a splendid young man, and a most excellent officer. In addition to his other efficient soldierly qualities he deservedly had the reputation of being the best drill-master in the regiment. I happened to see him on our retreat, shortly before we arrived at the blockhouse. He was being helped off the field by Sergt. Amos Davis of Co. C and another soldier, one on each side, supporting him. They were walking slowly. Miner's eyes were fixed on the ground, and he was deathly pale. I saw from his manner that he was badly hurt, but did not learn the extent of it till later. He was shot somewhere through the body. The wound proved mortal and he died a few days after the fight. And so it was, that after more than three years of brave and faithful service he was fated to lose his life in the last action the regiment was in--a small, obscure affair among the rocks and bushes, and which, when mentioned in the general histories at all, is disposed of in a paragraph of about four lines. But a soldier in time of war has no control over his fate, and no option in the selection of the time when, nor the place where, it may be his lot to "stack arms" forever. I will now resume the account of what occurred after we reached the blockhouse. It will be brief. We formed in line with the reinforcements that had come from Murfreesboro, and advanced toward the train. We encountered no opposition; the enemy had set fire to the cars, and then had hastily and entirely disappeared. I have recently discovered in a modern edition of the Reports of the Adjutant-General of Illinois, (the date on the title page being 1901,) that in the revised sketch of our regiment a recital has crept in stating that in our subsequent advance we "recaptured the train in time to prevent its destruction." How that statement got into the sketch I do not know, and I am sorry to be under the necessity of saying that it is not true. When we got back to the scene of the fight the train was a mass of roaring flame, the resulting consequence being that every car was finally consumed. No matter how much it may hurt, it is always best to be fair, and tell the truth. [Illustration: J. B. Nulton Major, 61st Illinois Infantry (later Colonel).] In the course of the day our troops all returned to Murfreesboro. Maj. Nulton, who was now our regimental commander, gave us of the 61st permission to march back "at will." That is, we could start when we got ready, singly or in squads, and not in regimental formation. So Bill Banfield and I started out to get something to eat, as we were very hungry. Since leaving Stevenson on the morning of the 14th, we had had no opportunity to cook anything, and had eaten nothing but some hardtack and raw bacon. Then that night we had left our haversacks on top of the cars when we got off the train to skirmish with the enemy, and never saw them again. And this was a special grievance for Bill and me. We each had a little money, and on the morning we left Stevenson had gone to a sutler's, and made some purchases to insure us an extra good meal when we got back to Murfreesboro. I bought a little can of condensed milk, (having always had a weakness for milk in coffee,) while Bill, with a kind of queer taste, invested in a can of lobsters. One time that night, while sitting on the ground, in the cold and dark, tired, hungry, and sleepy, waiting while our engineers patched a break in the railroad, Bill, with a view, I reckon, to cheering us both up, delivered himself in this wise: "This is a little tough, Stillwell, but just think of that bully dinner we'll have when we get to Murfreesboro! You've your can of condensed milk, and I've mine of lobsters; we'll have coffee with milk in it, and then, with some hardtack, we'll have a spread that will make up for this all right." But, alas! "The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley." My precious condensed milk, and the crustaceans aforesaid of Bill's, doubtless went glimmering down the alimentary canal of some long-haired Texan, to his great satisfaction. My wish at the time was that the darned lobsters might make the fellow sick,--which they probably did. So Bill and I were now at the burning train, looking for something to take the place of our captured Belshazzar banquet. We found a car that was loaded with pickled pork in barrels, and getting a fence rail, we finally succeeded, after some peril and much difficulty, in prying off one of the barrels, and it fell to the ground, bursting open as it did so, and scattering the blazing pieces of pork all around. We each got a portion, and then sat down on a big rock, and proceeded to devour our respective chunks without further ceremony. The outside of the meat was burned to a coal, but we were hungry, all of it tasted mighty sweet, and we gnawed it just like dogs. At the close of the repast, I took a look at Bill. His face was as black as tar from contact with the burnt pork, and in other respects his "tout ensemble" "left much to be desired." I thought if I looked as depraved as Bill certainly did it would be advisable to avoid any pocket looking-glass until after a thorough facial ablution with soft water and plenty of soap. Dinner over, we were soon ready for the march to camp, (there being no dishes to wash,) and started down the railroad track for Murfreesboro. We took our time, and didn't reach camp till about sundown. We were the last arrivals of Co. D, and, as there were all sorts of rumors afloat, we afterwards learned that Capt. Keeley had become quite anxious about us. As we turned down our company street I saw the Captain standing in front of his tent, looking in our direction. After the affairs of the 4th and the 7th, I had taken much satisfaction, in speaking to him of those events, in adopting the phraseology of the old chaplain, and had expressed myself several times in language like this: "And we smote them, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!" But it was now necessary to amend my boastful statement, so as I approached Capt. Keeley, and before anything else had been spoken, I made to him this announcement: "And they smote us, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!" Keeley laughed, but it was a rather dry laugh, and he answered: "Well, I'm glad they didn't smite you boys, anyhow--but, great God! go wash your faces, and clean up generally. You both look like the very devil himself." We passed on, complied with the Captain's directions, and then I curled up in my dog tent and slept without a break until next morning. [Illustration: Lorenzo J. Miner 1st Lieutenant Co. B, 61st Illinois Infantry. Died December 19, 1864, of a wound received in a fight on the railroad, near Murfreesboro, Tenn., December 15, 1864.] In concluding my account of this affair it will be stated that the most of our boys who were captured in the fight, and (I think) all the line officers who had the same bad luck, made their escape, singly, or in little parties, not long thereafter. Their Confederate captors, on or about the day after our encounter, had hurriedly joined the army of Gen. Hood, taking their prisoners with them. In their retreat from Tennessee on this occasion, the Confederates had a hard and perilous time. The guards of the captured Yankees were probably well-nigh worn out, and it is likely that, on account of their crushing defeat at Nashville, they had also become discouraged and careless. Anyhow, the most of our fellows got away while Hood was yet on the north side of the Tennessee river. He crossed that stream with the wreck of his army on the 26th and 27th of December, and fell back into Mississippi. CHAPTER XXIII. MURFREESBORO. WINTER OF 1864-1865. FRANKLIN. SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1865. After the retreat of Hood from Nashville, matters became very quiet and uneventful with us at Murfreesboro. The regiment shifted its camp from the inside of Fortress Rosecrans out into open ground on the outskirts of the town, and proceeded to build winter quarters. These consisted of log cabins, like those we built at Little Rock the previous winter, only now the logs were cedar instead of pine. There were extensive cedar forests in the immediate vicinity of Murfreesboro, and we had no difficulty whatever in getting the material. And we had plenty of nice, fragrant cedar wood to burn in our fire-places, which was much better than soggy Arkansas pine. And I remember with pleasure a matter connected with the rations we had in the fore part of the winter. For some reason or other the supply of hardtack became practically exhausted, and we had but little in the line of flour bread, even for some weeks after Hood retreated from Nashville. But in the country north of Murfreesboro was an abundance of corn, and there were plenty of water-mills, so Gen. Rousseau sent out foraging parties in that region and appropriated the corn, and set the mills to grinding it, and oh, what fine cornbread we had! We used to make "ash-cakes," and they were splendid. The method of making and cooking an ash-cake was to mix a quantity of meal with proper proportions of water, grease, and salt, wrap the meal dough in some dampened paper, or a clean, wet cloth, then put it in the fire and cover it with hot ashes and coals. By testing with a sharp stick we could tell when the cake was done, then we would yank it from the fire, scrape off the fragments of the covering and the adhering ashes,--and then, with bacon broiled on the cedar coals, and plenty of good strong coffee, we would have a dinner better than any (from my standpoint) that Delmonico's ever served up in its palmiest days. On February 4th, 1865, the non-veterans and recruits of the regiment came to us from Arkansas, and so we were once more all together, except a few that were in the Confederate prisons down South. We were all glad to see each other once more, and had many tales to "swap," about our respective experiences during our separation. On February 10th, Lieutenant Wallace resigned, and returned to his home in Illinois. The chief reason for his resignation was on account of some private matter at home, which was giving him much anxiety and trouble. Further, the war in the region where we were was practically over, and there was nothing doing, with no prospect, so far as we knew, of any military activity for the regiment in the future. Wallace's resignation left Co. D without a second lieutenant, as we then did not have enough enlisted men in the company to entitle us to a full complement of commissioned officers, and the place remained vacant for some months. On March 21st, we left Murfreesboro by rail and went to Nashville, and thence to Franklin, about twenty miles south of Nashville, and on what was then called the Nashville and Decatur railroad. A desperate and bloody battle occurred here between our forces under the command of Gen. Schofield and the Confederates under Gen. Hood, on November 30th, only two days after our arrival at Murfreesboro. I have often wondered why it was that Gen. Thomas, our department commander, did not send our regiment, on our arrival at Nashville, to reinforce Schofield, instead of to Murfreesboro, for Gen. Schofield certainly needed all the help he could get. But it is probable that Gen. Thomas had some good reason for his action. When we arrived at Franklin we relieved the regiment that was on duty there as a garrison, and it went somewhere else. It was the 75th Pennsylvania, and the officers and men composing it, so far as I saw, were all Germans. And they were fine, soldierly looking fellows, too. From this time until we left Franklin in the following September, our regiment comprised all the Union force that was stationed at the town. Maj. Nulton was in command of the post, and, subject only to higher authorities at a distance, we were "monarchs of all we surveyed." When we came to Franklin the signs of the battle of November 30th were yet fresh and plentiful. As soon as time and opportunity afforded, I walked over the whole field, (in fact, several times,) looking with deep interest at all the evidences of the battle. I remember especially the appearance of a scattered grove of young locust trees which stood at a point opposite the right center of the Union line. For some hours the grove was right between the fire of both the Union and the Confederate lines, and the manner in which the trees had been riddled with musket balls was truly remarkable. It looked as if a snowbird could not have lived in that grove while the firing was in progress. General William A. Quarles, of Tennessee, was one of the Confederate generals who were wounded in this battle, and after incurring his wound was taken to the house of a Tennessee planter, Col. McGavock, about a mile from Franklin, near the Harpeth river. Two or three other wounded Confederate officers of less rank were taken to the same place. When the Confederates retreated from Nashville, Gen. Quarles and these other wounded officers were unable to accompany the army. They remained at McGavock's, and were taken prisoners by our forces. They were put under a sort of parole of honor, and allowed to remain where they were, without being guarded. They had substantially recovered from their wounds at the time our regiment arrived at Franklin, and not long thereafter Capt. Keeley came to me one day, and handed me an order from Maj. Nulton, which directed me to take a detail of four men, with two ambulances, and go to McGavock's and get Gen. Quarles and the other Confederate officers who were there, and bring them into Franklin, for the purpose of being sent to Nashville, and thence to the north to some military prison. I thereupon detailed Bill Banfield and three other boys, told them what our business was, and instructed them to brush up nicely, and have their arms and accouterments in first class condition, and, in general, to be looking their best. Having obtained the ambulances, with drivers, we climbed aboard, and soon arrived at the fine residence of old Col. McGavock. I went into the house, met the lady of the establishment, and inquired of her for Gen. Quarles, and was informed that he was in an upper room. I requested the lady to give the general my compliments, and tell him that I desired to see him. She disappeared, and soon the general walked into the room where I was awaiting him. He was a man slightly below medium stature, heavy set, black hair, piercing black eyes, and looked to be about thirty years old. He was a splendid looking soldier. I stepped forward and saluted him, and briefly and courteously told him my business. "All right, sergeant," he answered, "we'll be ready in a few minutes." Their preparations were soon completed, and we left the house. I assigned the general and one of the other officers to a seat near the front in one of the ambulances, and Bill Banfield and I occupied the seat behind them, and the remaining guards and prisoners rode in the other conveyance. There was only one remark made on the entire trip back to Franklin, and I'll mention it presently. We emerged from the woods into the Columbia pike at a point about three-quarters of a mile in front of our main line of works that had been charged repeatedly and desperately by the Confederates in the late battle. The ground sloped gently down towards the works, and for fully half a mile was as level as a house floor. I noticed that at the moment we reached the pike Gen. Quarles began to take an intense interest in the surroundings. He would lean forward, and look to the right, to the front, to the left, and occasionally throw a hasty glance backward,--but said nothing. Finally we passed through our works, near the historic "cotton-gin," and the general drew a deep breath, leaned back against his seat, and said: "Well, by God, the next time I fight at Franklin, I want to let the Columbia pike severely alone!" No one made any response, and the remainder of the journey was finished in silence. I duly delivered Gen. Quarles and his fellow-prisoners to Maj. Nulton, and never saw any of them again. Early in April, decisive military operations took place in Virginia. On the 3rd of that month our forces marched into Richmond, and on the 9th the army of Gen. Lee surrendered to Gen. Grant. At Franklin we were on a telegraph line, and only about twenty miles from department headquarters, so the intelligence of those events was not long in reaching us. I am just unable to tell how profoundly gratified we were to hear of the capture of Richmond, and of Lee's army. We were satisfied that those victories meant the speedy and triumphant end of the war. It had been a long, desperate, and bloody struggle, and frequently the final result looked doubtful and gloomy. But now,--"there were signs in the sky that the darkness was gone; there were tokens in endless array"; and the feeling among the common soldiers was one of heart-felt relief and satisfaction. But suddenly our joy was turned into the most distressing grief and mourning. Only a few days after we heard of Lee's surrender came the awful tidings of the foul murder of Mr. Lincoln. I well remember the manner of the men when the intelligence of the dastardly crime was flashed to us at Franklin. They seemed dazed and stunned, and were reluctant to believe it, until the fact was confirmed beyond question. They sat around in camp under the trees, talking low, and saying but little, as if the matter were one that made mere words utterly useless. But they were in a desperate frame of mind, and had there been the least appearance of exultation over the murder of Mr. Lincoln by any of the people of Franklin, the place would have been laid in ashes instanter. But the citizens seemed to understand the situation. They went into their houses, and closed their doors, and the town looked as if deserted. To one who had been among the soldiers for some years, it was easy to comprehend and understand their feelings on this occasion. For the last two years of the war especially, the men had come to regard Mr. Lincoln with sentiments of veneration and love. To them he really was "Father Abraham," with all that the term implied. And this regard was also entertained by men of high rank in the army. Gen. Sherman, in speaking of Mr. Lincoln, says this: "Of all the men I ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of greatness, combined with goodness, than any other." (Memoirs of Gen. W. T. Sherman, revised edition, Vol. 2, p. 328.) For my part, I have been of the opinion, for many years, that Abraham Lincoln was the greatest man the world has ever known. In the latter part of June the recruits of the 83rd, the 98th, and the 123rd Illinois Infantry were transferred to the 61st, making the old regiment about nine hundred strong. Co. D received forty-six of the transferred men, all of these being from the 83rd Illinois. And they were a fine set of boys, too. Their homes were, in the main, in northwestern Illinois, in the counties of Mercer, Rock Island, and Warren. They all had received a good common school education, were intelligent, and prompt and cheerful in the discharge of their duties. They were good soldiers, in every sense of the word. It is a little singular that, since the muster-out of the regiment in the following September, I have never met a single one of these boys. [Illustration: Daniel S. Keeley Major, 61st Illinois Infantry.] The ranks of the regiment now being filled nearly to the maximum, the most of the vacancies that existed in the line of commissioned officers were filled just as promptly as circumstances would permit. Lieut. Col. Grass had been discharged on May 15th, 1865, and Maj. Nulton, who was now our ranking field officer, was, on July 11th, promoted to the position of Colonel. He was the first, and only, colonel the regiment ever had. The vacancy in the lieutenant-colonelcy of the regiment was never filled, for what reason I do not know. Capt. Keeley was promoted Major, and first Lieutenant Warren to Captain of Co. D in Keeley's stead. And thus it came to pass that on July 11th I received a commission as second lieutenant of our company, and on August 21st was promoted to first lieutenant. Soon after receiving my commission, Capt. Warren was detailed on some special duty which took him away from Franklin for some weeks, and consequently during his absence I was the commanding officer of Co. D. So far as ever came to my knowledge, I got along all right, and very pleasantly. It is a fact, at any rate, that I presented a more respectable appearance than that which was displayed during the brief time I held the position at Austin, Arkansas, in May, 1864. CHAPTER XXIV. THE SOLDIER'S PAY. RATIONS; ALLUSIONS TO SOME OF THE USEFUL LESSONS LEARNED BY SERVICE IN THE ARMY IN TIME OF WAR. COURAGE IN BATTLE. This story is now drawing to a close, so I will here speak of some things of a general nature, and which have not been heretofore mentioned, except perhaps casually. One important feature in the life of a soldier was the matter of his pay, and a few words on that subject may not be out of place. When I enlisted in January, 1862, the monthly pay of the enlisted men of a regiment of infantry was as follows: First sergeant, $20; duty sergeants, $17; corporals and privates, $13. By act of Congress of May 1st, 1864, the monthly pay of the enlisted men was increased, and from that date was as follows: First sergeant, $24; duty sergeants, $20; corporals, $18; privates, $16. That rate existed as long, at least, as we remained in the service. The first payment made to our regiment was on May 1st, 1862, while we were in camp at Owl Creek, Tennessee. The amount I received was $49.40, and of this I sent $45 home to my father at the first opportunity. For a poor man, he was heavily in debt at the time of my enlistment, and was left without any boys to help him do the work upon the farm, so I regarded it as my duty to send him every dollar of my pay that possibly could be spared, and did so as long as I was in the service. But he finally got out of debt during the war. He had good crops, and all manner of farm products brought high prices, so the war period was financially a prosperous one for him. And, to be fair about it, I will say that he later repaid me, when I was pursuing my law studies at the Albany, New York, Law School, almost all the money I had sent him while in the army. So the result really was that the money received by me, as a soldier, was what later enabled me to qualify as a lawyer. I have heretofore said in these reminiscences that the great "stand-bys" in the way of the food of the soldiers of the western armies were coffee, sow-belly, Yankee beans, and hardtack. But other articles of diet were also issued to us, some of which we liked, while others were flat failures. I have previously said something about the antipathy I had for rice. The French General, Baron Gourgaud, in his "Talks of Napoleon at St. Helena" (p. 240), records Napoleon as having said, "Rice is the best food for the soldier." Napoleon, in my opinion, was the greatest soldier that mankind ever produced,--but all the same, I emphatically dissent from his rice proposition. His remark may have been correct when applied to European soldiers of his time and place,--but I know it wouldn't fit western American boys of 1861-65. There were a few occasions when an article of diet was issued called "desiccated potatoes." For "desiccated" the boys promptly substituted "desecrated," and "desecrated potatoes" was its name among the rank and file from start to finish. It consisted of Irish potatoes cut up fine and thoroughly dried. In appearance it much resembled the modern preparation called "grape nuts." We would mix it in water, grease, and salt, and make it up into little cakes, which we would fry, and they were first rate. There was a while when we were at Bolivar, Tennessee, that some stuff called "compressed vegetables" was issued to us, which the boys, almost unanimously, considered an awful fraud. It was composed of all sorts of vegetables, pressed into small bales, in a solid mass, and as dry as threshed straw. The conglomeration contained turnip-tops, cabbage leaves, string-beans (pod and all), onion blades, and possibly some of every other kind of a vegetable that ever grew in a garden. It came to the army in small boxes, about the size of the Chinese tea-boxes that were frequently seen in this country about fifty years ago. In the process of cooking, it would swell up prodigiously,--a great deal more so than rice. The Germans in the regiment would make big dishes of soup out of this "baled hay," as we called it, and they liked it, but the native Americans, after one trial, wouldn't touch it. I think about the last box of it that was issued to our company was pitched into a ditch in the rear of the camp, and it soon got thoroughly soaked and loomed up about as big as a fair-sized hay-cock. "Split-peas" were issued to us, more or less, during all the time we were in the service. My understanding was that they were the ordinary garden peas. They were split in two, dried, and about as hard as gravel. But they yielded to cooking, made excellent food, and we were all fond of them. In our opinion, when properly cooked, they were almost as good as Yankee beans. When our forces captured Little Rock in September, 1863, we obtained possession, among other plunder, of quite a quantity of Confederate commissary stores. Among these was a copious supply of "jerked beef." It consisted of narrow, thin strips of beef, which had been dried on scaffolds in the sun, and it is no exaggeration to say that it was almost as hard and dry as a cottonwood chip. Our manner of eating it was simply to cut off a chunk about as big as one of our elongated musket balls, and proceed to "chaw." It was rather a comical sight to see us in our cabins of a cold winter night, sitting by the fire, and all solemnly "chawing" away, in profound silence, on the Johnnies' jerked beef. But, if sufficiently masticated, it was nutritious and healthful, and we all liked it. I often thought it would have been a good thing if the government had made this kind of beef a permanent and regular addition to our rations. As long as kept in the dry, it would apparently keep indefinitely, and a piece big enough to last a soldier two or three days would take up but little space in a haversack. Passing from the topic of army rations, I will now take leave to say here, with sincerity and emphasis, that the best school to fit me for the practical affairs of life that I ever attended was in the old 61st Illinois during the Civil War. It would be too long a story to undertake to tell all the benefits derived from that experience, but a few will be alluded to. In the first place, when I was a boy at home, I was, to some extent, a "spoiled child." I was exceedingly particular and "finicky" about my food. Fat meat I abhorred, and wouldn't touch it, and on the other hand, when we had chicken to eat, the gizzard was claimed by me as my sole and exclusive tid-bit, and "Leander" always got it. Let it be known that in the regiment those habits were gotten over so soon that I was astonished myself. The army in time of war is no place for a "sissy-boy;" it will make a man of him quicker, in my opinion, than any other sort of experience he could undergo. And suffice it to say, on the food question, that my life as a soldier forever cured me of being fastidious or fault-finding about what I had to eat. I have gone hungry too many times to give way to such weakness when sitting down in a comfortable room to a table provided with plenty that was good enough for any reasonable man. I have no patience with a person who is addicted to complaining or growling about his food. Some years ago there was an occasion when I took breakfast at a decent little hotel at a country way-station on a railroad out in Kansas. It was an early breakfast, for the accommodation of guests who would leave on an early morning train, and there were only two at the table,--a young traveling commercial man and myself. The drummer ordered (with other things) a couple of fried eggs, and that fellow sent the poor little dining room girl back with those eggs three times before he got them fitted to the exact shade of taste to suit his exquisite palate. And he did this, too, in a manner and words that were offensive and almost brutal. It was none of my business, so I kept my mouth shut and said nothing, but I would have given a reasonable sum to have been the proprietor of that hotel about five minutes. That fool would then have been ordered to get his grip and leave the house,--and he would have left, too. I do not know how it may have been with other regiments in the matter now to be mentioned, but I presume it was substantially the same as in ours. And the course pursued with us had a direct tendency to make one indifferent as to the precise cut of his clothes. It is true that attention was paid to shoes, to that extent, at least, that the quartermaster tried to give each man a pair that approximated to the number he wore. But coats, trousers, and the other clothes were piled up in separate heaps, and each man was just thrown the first garment on the top of the heap; he took it and walked away. If it was an outrageous fit, he would swap with some one if possible, otherwise he got along as best he could. Now, in civil life, I have frequently been amused in noting some dudish young fellow in a little country store trying to fit himself out with a light summer coat, or something similar. He would put on the garment, stand in front of a big looking glass, twist himself into all sorts of shapes so as to get a view from every possible angle, then remove that one, and call for another. Finally, after trying on about every coat in the house, he would leave without making a purchase, having found nothing that suited the exact contour of his delicately moulded form. A very brief experience in a regiment that had a gruff old quartermaster would take that tuck out of that Beau Brummell, in short order. Sometimes I have been, at a late hour on a stormy night, at a way-station on some "jerk-water" railroad, waiting for a belated train, with others in the same predicament. And it was comical to note the irritation of some of these fellows and the fuss they made about the train being late. The railroad, and all the officers, would be condemned and abused in the most savage terms on account of this little delay. And yet we were in a warm room, with benches to sit on, with full stomachs, and physically just as comfortable as we possibly could be. The thought would always occur to me, on such episodes, that if those kickers had to sit down in a dirt road, in the mud, with a cold rain pelting down on them, and just endure all this until a broken bridge in front was fixed up so that the artillery and wagon train could get along,--then a few incidents of that kind would be a benefit to them. And instances like the foregoing might be multiplied indefinitely. On the whole, life in the army in a time of war tended to develop patience, contentment with the surroundings, and equanimity of temper and mind in general. And, from the highest to the lowest, differing only in degree, it would bring out energy, prompt decision, intelligent action, and all the latent force of character a man possessed. I suppose, in reminiscences of this nature, one should give his impressions, or views, in relation to that much talked about subject,--"Courage in battle." Now, in what I have to say on that head, I can speak advisedly mainly for myself only. I think that the principal thing that held me to the work was simply pride; and am of the opinion that it was the same thing with most of the common soldiers. A prominent American functionary some years ago said something about our people being "too proud to fight." With the soldiers of the Civil War it was exactly the reverse,--they were "too proud to run";--unless it was manifest that the situation was hopeless, and that for the time being nothing else could be done. And, in the latter case, when the whole line goes back, there is no personal odium attaching to any one individual; they are all in the same boat. The idea of the influence of pride is well illustrated by an old-time war story, as follows: A soldier on the firing line happened to notice a terribly affrighted rabbit running to the rear at the top of its speed. "Go it, cotton-tail!" yelled the soldier. "I'd run too if I had no more reputation to lose than you have." It is true that in the first stages of the war the fighting qualities of American soldiers did not appear in altogether a favorable light. But at that time the fact is that the volunteer armies on both sides were not much better than mere armed mobs, and without discipline or cohesion. But those conditions didn't last long,--and there was never but one Bull Run. Enoch Wallace was home on recruiting service some weeks in the fall of 1862, and when he rejoined the regiment he told me something my father said in a conversation that occurred between the two. They were talking about the war, battles, and topics of that sort, and in the course of their talk Enoch told me that my father said that while he hoped his boy would come through the war all right, yet he would rather "Leander should be killed dead, while standing up and fighting like a man, than that he should run, and disgrace the family." I have no thought from the nature of the conversation as told to me by Enoch that my father made this remark with any intention of its being repeated to me. It was sudden and spontaneous, and just the way the old backwoodsman felt. But I never forgot it, and it helped me several times. For, to be perfectly frank about it, and tell the plain truth, I will set it down here that, so far as I was concerned, away down in the bottom of my heart I just secretly dreaded a battle. But we were soldiers, and it was our business to fight when the time came, so the only thing to then do was to summon up our pride and resolution, and face the ordeal with all the fortitude we could command. And while I admit the existence of this feeling of dread before the fight, yet it is also true that when it was on, and one was in the thick of it, with the smell of gun-powder permeating his whole system, then a signal change comes over a man. He is seized with a furious desire to kill. There are his foes, right in plain view, give it to 'em, d---- 'em!--and for the time being he becomes almost oblivious to the sense of danger. And while it was only human nature to dread a battle,--and I think it would be mere affectation to deny it, yet I also know that we common soldiers strongly felt that when fighting did break loose close at hand, or within the general scope of our operations, then we ought to be in it, with the others, and doing our part. That was what we were there for, and somehow a soldier didn't feel just right for fighting to be going on all round him, or in his vicinity, and he doing nothing but lying back somewhere, eating government rations. But, all things considered, the best definition of true courage I have ever read is that given by Gen. Sherman in his Memoirs, as follows: "I would define true courage," (he says,) "to be a perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it." (Sherman's Memoirs, revised edition, Vol. 2, p. 395.) But, I will further say, in this connection, that, in my opinion, much depends, sometimes, especially at a critical moment, on the commander of the men who is right on the ground, or close at hand. This is shown by the result attained by Gen. Milroy in the incident I have previously mentioned. And, on a larger scale, the inspiring conduct of Gen. Sheridan at the battle of Cedar Creek, Virginia, is probably the most striking example in modern history of what a brave and resolute leader of men can accomplish under circumstances when apparently all is lost. And, on the other hand, I think there is no doubt that the battle of Wilson's Creek, Missouri, on August 10, 1861, was a Union victory up to the time of the death of Gen. Lyon, and would have remained such if the officer who succeeded Lyon had possessed the nerve of his fallen chief. But he didn't, and so he marched our troops off the field, retreated from a beaten enemy, and hence Wilson's Creek figures in history as a Confederate victory. (See "The Lyon Campaign," by Eugene F. Ware, pp. 324-339.) I have read somewhere this saying of Bonaparte's: "An army of deer commanded by a lion is better than an army of lions commanded by a deer." While that statement is only figurative in its nature, it is, however, a strong epigrammatic expression of the fact that the commander of soldiers in battle should be, above all other things, a forcible, determined, and brave man. CHAPTER XXV. FRANKLIN, SUMMER OF 1865. MUSTERED OUT, SEPTEMBER 8, 1865. RECEIVE FINAL PAYMENT AT SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, SEPTEMBER 27, 1865. THE REGIMENT "BREAKS RANKS" FOREVER. Soldiering at Franklin, Tennessee, in May, June, July, and August, 1865, was simply of a picnic kind. The war was over in that region, and everything there was as quiet and peaceful as it was at home in Illinois. Picket guards were dispensed with, and the only guard duty required was a small detail for the colors at regimental headquarters, and a similar one over our commissary stores. However, it was deemed necessary for the health of the men to maintain company drills to a certain extent, but they were light and easy. Near the camp was a fine blue-grass pasture field, containing in a scattered, irregular form numerous large and magnificent hard maples, and the drilling was done in this field. Capt. Warren was somewhat portly, and not fond of strenuous exercise anyhow, so all the drilling Co. D had at Franklin was conducted by myself. But I rather liked it. With the accession of those 83rd Illinois men, the old company was about as big and strong as it was at Camp Carrollton, and it looked fine. But, to tell the truth, it is highly probable that we put in fully as much time lying on the blue grass under the shade of those grand old maples as we did in company evolutions. Sometime during the course of the summer a middle aged widow lady named House began conducting a sort of private boarding establishment at her residence in the city, and Col. Nulton, Maj. Keeley, and several of the line officers, including myself, took our meals at this place during the remainder of our stay at Franklin. Among the boarders were two or three gentlemen also of the name of House, and who were brothers-in-law of our hostess. They had all served in Forrest's cavalry as commissioned officers, and were courteous and elegant gentlemen. We would all sit down together at the table of Mrs. House, with that lady at the head, and talk and laugh, and joke with each other, as if we had been comrades and friends all our lives. And yet, during the four years just preceding, the Union and the Confederate soldiers thus mingled together in friendship and amity had been doing their very best to kill one another! But in our conversation we carefully avoided anything in the nature of political discussion about the war, and in general each side refrained from saying anything on that subject which might grate on the feelings of the other. On September 4th, 1865, the regiment left Franklin and went by rail to Nashville for the purpose of being mustered out of the service. There were some unavoidable delays connected with the business, and it was not officially consummated until September 8th. In the forenoon of the following day we left Nashville on the cars, on the Louisville and Nashville railroad, for Springfield, Illinois, where we were to receive our final payment and certificates of discharge. Early on Sunday morning, September 10th, we crossed the Ohio river at Louisville, Kentucky, on a ferry boat, to Jeffersonville, Indiana. This boat was provided with a railroad track extending from bow to stern, and so arranged that when the boat landed at either bank, the rails laid along the lower deck of the boat would closely connect with the railroad track on the land. This ferry transferred our train in sections, and thus obviated any necessity for the men to leave the cars. The ferrying process did not take long, and we were soon speeding through southern Indiana. As stated, it was Sunday, and a bright, beautiful autumn day. As I have hereinbefore mentioned, our train consisted of box cars, (except one coach for the commissioned officers,) and all the men who could find room had taken, from preference, seats on top of the cars. Much of southern Indiana is rugged and broken, and in 1865 was wild, heavily timbered, and the most of the farm houses were of the backwoods class. We soon began to see little groups of the country people, in farm wagons, or on foot, making their way to Sunday school and church. Women, young girls, and children predominated, all dressed in their "Sunday-go-to-meeting" clothes. And how the women and girls cheered us, and waved their handkerchiefs! And didn't we yell! It was self-evident that we were in "God's Country" once more. These were the first demonstrations of that kind the old regiment had seen since the girls of Monticello Seminary, in February, 1862, lined the fences by the road side and made similar manifestations of patriotism and good will. We arrived at Indianapolis about noon, there got off the cars and went in a body to a Soldiers' Home close at hand, where we had a fine dinner; thence back to the old train, which thundered on the rest of the day and that night, arriving at Springfield the following day, the 11th. Here we marched out to Camp Butler, near the city, and went into camp. And now another annoying delay occurred, this time being in the matter of our final payment. What the particular cause was I do not know; probably the paymasters were so busy right then that they couldn't get around to us. The most of us (that is, of the old, original regiment) were here within sixty or seventy miles of our homes, and to be compelled to just lie around and wait here at Camp Butler was rather trying. But the boys were patient, and on the whole endured the situation with commendable equanimity. "But the day it came at last," and in the forenoon of September 27th we fell in line by companies, and each company in its turn marched to the paymaster's tent, near regimental headquarters. The roll of the company would be called in alphabetical order, and each man, as his name was called, would answer, and step forward to the paymaster's table. That officer would lay on the table before the man the sum of money he was entitled to, and with it his certificate of discharge from the army, duly signed by the proper officials. The closing of the hand of the soldier over that piece of paper was the final act in the drama that ended his career as a soldier of the Civil War. Now he was a civilian, free to come and go as he listed. Farewell to the morning drum-beats, taps, roll-calls, drills, marches, battles, and all the other incidents and events of a soldier's life. "The serried ranks, with flags displayed, The bugle's thrilling blast, The charge, the thund'rous cannonade, The din and shout--were past." The scattering-out process promptly began after we received our pay and discharges. I left Springfield early the following day, the 28th, on the Chicago, Alton, and St. Louis railroad, and went to Alton. Here I luckily found a teamster who was in the act of starting with his wagon and team to Jerseyville, and I rode with him to that place, arriving there about the middle of the afternoon. I now hunted diligently to find some farm wagon that might be going to the vicinity of home, but found none. While so engaged, to my surprise and great delight, I met the old Chaplain, B. B. Hamilton. As heretofore stated, he had resigned during the previous March and had been at home for some months. His greeting to me was in his old-fashioned style. "Son of Jeremiah!" he exclaimed, as he extended his hand, "why comest thou down hither? And with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?" I promptly informed him, in effect, that my coming was regular and legitimate, and that the "few sheep" of the old regiment were forever through and done with a shepherd. Hamilton did not reside in Jerseyville, but had just arrived there from his home in Greene county, and, like me, was trying to find some farmer's conveyance to take him about five miles into the country to the home of an old friend. I ascertained that his route, as far as he went, was the same as mine, so I proposed that we should strike out on foot. But he didn't entertain the proposition with much enthusiasm. "Son of Jeremiah," said he, "you will find that a walk of nine miles" (the distance to my father's) "will be a great weariness to the flesh on this warm day." But I considered it a mere pleasure walk, and was determined to go, so he finally concluded to do likewise. I left my valise in the care of a Jerseyville merchant, and with no baggage except my sword and belt, we proceeded to "hit the dirt." I took off my coat, slung it over one shoulder, unsnapped my sword, with the scabbard, from the belt, and shouldered it also. Our walk was a pleasant and most agreeable one, as we had much to talk about that was interesting to both. When we arrived at the mouth of the lane that led to the house of the Chaplain's friend, we shook hands and I bade him good-by, but fully expected to meet him many times later. But our paths in life diverged,--and I never saw him again. I arrived at the little village of Otterville about sundown. It was a very small place in 1865. There was just one store, (which also contained the post-office,) a blacksmith shop, the old "Stone school house," a church, and perhaps a dozen or so private dwellings. There were no sidewalks, and I stalked up the middle of the one street the town afforded, with my sword poised on my shoulder, musket fashion, and feeling happy and proud. I looked eagerly around as I passed along, hoping to see some old friend. As I went by the store, a man who was seated therein on the counter leaned forward and looked at me, but said nothing. A little further up the street a big dog sprang off the porch of a house, ran out to the little gate in front, and standing on his hind legs with his fore paws on the palings, barked at me loudly and persistently,--but I attracted no further attention. Many of the regiments that were mustered out soon after the close of the war received at home gorgeous receptions. They marched under triumphal arches, decorated with flags and garlands of flowers, while brass bands blared, and thousands of people cheered, and gave them a most enthusiastic "Welcome Home!" But the poor old 61st Illinois was among the late arrivals. The discharged soldiers were now numerous and common, and no longer a novelty. Personally I didn't care, rather really preferred to come back home modestly and quietly, and without any "fuss and feathers" whatever. Still, I would have felt better to have met at least one person as I passed through the little village who would have given me a hearty hand-shake, and said he was glad to see me home, safe from the war. But it's all right, for many such were met later. I now had only two miles to go, and was soon at the dear old boyhood home. My folks were expecting me, so they were not taken by surprise. There was no "scene" when we met, nor any effusive display, but we all had a feeling of profound contentment and satisfaction which was too deep to be expressed by mere words. When I returned home I found that the farm work my father was then engaged in was cutting up and shocking corn. So, the morning after my arrival, September 29th, I doffed my uniform of first lieutenant, put on some of father's old clothes, armed myself with a corn knife, and proceeded to wage war on the standing corn. The feeling I had while engaged in this work was "sort of queer." It almost seemed, sometimes, as if I had been away only a day or two, and had just taken up the farm work where I had left off. Here this story will close. In conclusion I will say that in civil life people have been good to me. I have been honored with different positions of trust, importance, and responsibility, and which I have reason to believe I filled to the satisfaction of the public. I am proud of the fact of having been deemed worthy to fill those different places. But, while that is so, I will further say, in absolute sincerity, that to me my humble career as a soldier in the 61st Illinois during the War for the Union is the record that I prize the highest of all, and is the proudest recollection of my life. 
38321	----	TRANSCRIBER NOTES: Words in bold in the original are bracketed in equal signs (=). Words in italics in the original are bracketed by underscores (_). The tables have been modified to fit by creating a key for the first column. The key precedes the tables. Footnotes have been moved closer to the reference. Additional notes can be found at the end of the text. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS Agricultural Experiment Station BULLETIN NO. 143 ECONOMY OF THE ROUND DAIRY BARN BY WILBER J. FRASER [Illustration] URBANA, ILLINOIS, FEBRUARY, 1910 SUMMARY OF BULLETIN NO. 143 1. Round barns would be more generally built if their advantages were known and if the few which have been erected had been rightly constructed. Page 1. 2. The round dairy barn offers greater convenience in storing, handling and distributing the feed. Page 5. 3. In the circular construction, much greater strength is secured with less lumber. Page 6. 4. The material for rectangular barns costs from 34 to 58 percent more than for round barns of the same area and capacity. Page 7. 5. Round and rectangular barns compared. Page 11. 6. Round and rectangular barns, including silos, compared. Page 13. 7. Detailed account, with illustrations showing how the round barn at the University was built. Page 17. 8. Itemized statement of cost of a 60-foot round barn. Page 29. 9. Brief descriptions with illustrations and plans of several round dairy barns in actual use. Page 31. 10. Conclusions. The advantages of the round dairy barn are convenience, strength and cheapness. Page 44. ECONOMY OF THE ROUND DAIRY BARN FULL SPECIFICATIONS AND DETAILED COST AND CONSTRUCTION OF THE NEW SIXTY-FOOT CIRCULAR DAIRY BARN AT THE UNIVERSITY. SAVING OF ROUND OVER RECTANGULAR BARNS. NOTES ON SEVERAL ROUND BARNS ON DAIRY FARMS.[A] [A] Special acknowledgment is made to Mr. H. E. Crouch and Mr. R. E. Brand for their assistance in working out the detailed data which are the bases for the economic comparisons of the round and rectangular barns made in this bulletin. BY W. J. FRASER, CHIEF IN DAIRY HUSBANDRY The planning, construction, and arrangement of farm buildings do not usually receive the thought and study these subjects warrant. How many dairymen have compared a circular, 40-cow barn with the common rectangular building containing the same area? How many understand that the circular structure is much the stronger; that the rectangular form requires 22 percent more wall and foundation to enclose the same space; and that the cost of material is from 34 to 58 percent more for the rectangular building? In a community in which everyone is engaged in the same occupation, one person is likely to copy from his neighbor without apparently giving a thought as to whether or not there is a better way. In a district of Kane county, Illinois, a certain type of dairy barn is used by nearly everyone, while in the next county a distinctly different type prevails, and the dairy barns of another adjacent county differ from those of either of the former, simply because the early settlers of this particular locality came from an eastern state and started building the style of barn then common in Pennsylvania. In a certain community in Ohio where a milk condensing factory is located, a large number of farmers have barns 36 × 60 feet, with an "L" the same size. The loft of the "L" is used for the storage of straw, and the cows run loose in the lower portion. These barns are all built on practically the same plan and are usually of the same size, and this is the only community known to the writer where this form of barn is used in this manner. This tendency to imitate emphasizes the fact that men do not exercise sufficient originality. Because most barns are rectangular is no reason that this is the best and most economical form. WHY MORE ROUND BARNS ARE NOT BUILT [Illustration: FIG. 1. BARN NO. 5. 100 FEET IN DIAMETER, SCALE 20 FEET TO ONE INCH; SHOWING INCREASED MOW CAPACITY GIVEN BY SELF-SUPPORTING ROOF.] In an early day when lumber was cheap, buildings were built of logs, or at least had heavy frames. Under these conditions, the rectangular barn was the one naturally used, and people have followed in the footsteps of their forefathers in continuing this form of barn. The result is that the economy and advantages of the round barn have apparently never been considered. This is because they are not obvious at first sight, and become fully apparent only after a detailed study of the construction. For these reasons, the rectangular form still continues to be built, altho it requires much more lumber. As the price of lumber has advanced so materially in recent years, the possible saving in this material is a large item, and well worth investigating. The objections to round barns have usually been made by those who have only a superficial knowledge of the subject, and do not really understand the relative merits of the two forms. To the writer's knowledge, there has never been published a carefully figured out, detailed comparison of a properly constructed circular barn with the rectangular barn. The difficulty with most round barns that have been built, thus far, is that they do not have a self-supporting roof, and consequently lose many of the advantages of a properly constructed round barn. This is the principal reason why round barns have not become more popular. A straight roof necessarily requires many supports in the barn below. These are both costly and inconvenient, and make the roof no stronger than a dome-shaped, self-supporting roof which nearly doubles the capacity of the mow. See Fig. (1). Many who have thus disregarded capacity have also wasted lumber and made a needless amount of work by chopping or hewing out the sill and plate, thus requiring more labor and lumber, besides sacrificing the greater strength of a built-up sill. Rightly constructed round barns are, however, being built to a limited extent. One contractor has erected twenty-four round barns, with self-supporting roofs, in the last nine years. These barns vary in size from 40 feet in diameter with 18-foot posts to 102 feet in diameter with 30-foot posts. Another reason for the scarcity of round barns is the difficulty in getting them built. Most carpenters hesitate to undertake the work because in the erection of a round barn the construction should be entirely different from that of the rectangular form. Many new problems present themselves, but when these are once understood, the round barn offers no more difficulties in construction than the rectangular form. It is, however, important to have a head carpenter who is accustomed to putting up round barns, as a man with ingenuity and experience can take advantage of many opportunities to save labor and material. KIND OF BARN NEEDED The first thing to consider in the erection of a barn is a convenient arrangement for the purpose for which it is to be used. At the University of Illinois, two years ago, a twenty-acre demonstration dairy farm was started, the sole object being to produce the largest amount of milk per acre at the least possible cost. To meet the requirements of a barn for this purpose, it became imperative to build one that was convenient for feeding and caring for the cows, economical of construction, and containing a large storage capacity in both silo and mow. These are the requirements of a barn for every practical dairyman. [Illustration: FIG. 2. FILLING THE SILO.] A silo was needed that could be fed from the year round. With the small number of cows kept, a deep enough layer of silage could not be fed off each day to keep it good thru the summer, if the silo was more than 12 feet in diameter. As this small diameter was a necessity, it would require two silos 33 feet deep to supply enough silage. Two silos of such small diameter would not only be costly, but difficult to make stand, unless built of concrete. This difficulty was overcome by using the circular barn and placing in the center a silo which is 12 feet in diameter and 54 feet deep, thus making the one silo, with as much capacity as the two before mentioned, answer every purpose. This deep silo is an important part of the round barn, as it not only forms a support for the roof, but is protected by the barn, thus saving the cost of siding. Then, too, besides occupying the space least valuable for other purposes, it being centrally located, is in the most convenient place for feeding. The silage chute being open at the top forms a suction of air, which keeps the silage odor from the barn at milking time, and also assists in ventilation when the door to the chute is open. ADVANTAGES OF THE ROUND BARN The points of superiority that the round dairy barn shows over the rectangular form are convenience, strength, and cheapness. ROUND BARN MOST CONVENIENT Considering that the barn on a dairy farm is used twice every day in the year, and that for six months each year the cows occupy it almost continuously, and that during this time a large amount of the labor of the farm is done inside the barn, it is evident that the question of its convenience is a vital one. The amount of time and strength wasted in useless labor in poorly arranged buildings is appalling. People do not stop to consider the saving in a year or a lifetime by having the barn so conveniently arranged that there is a saving of only a few seconds on each task that has to be done two or three times every day. [Illustration: Fig. 3. INTERIOR OF BARN, SECOND FLOOR, SHOWING SILO AND LOCATION OF ENSILAGE CUTTER. (TEAM UNHITCHED TO SHOW CUTTER.)] The round barn has a special advantage in the work of distributing silage to the cows. The feeding commences at the chute where it is thrown down, and is continued around the circle, ending with the silage cart at the chute again, ready for the next feeding. The same thing is true in feeding hay and grain. Still another great advantage is the large unobstructed hay mow. With the self-supporting roof, there are no timbers whatever obstructing the mow, which means no dragging of hay around posts or over girders. The hay carrier runs on a circular track around the mow, midway between the silo and the outside wall, and drops the hay at any desired point, thus in no case does the hay have to be moved but a few feet, which means a saving of much labor in the mowing. To successfully embody all of the above discussed advantages in a dairy barn is one of the large problems in milk production. In a careful study of the barn question it soon became apparent that it was impossible to embody all of the requirements advantageously in anything but a circular form of building, and the 60-foot round barn, which is here described, was built. [Illustration: FIG. 4. SOUTH VIEW, SHOWING WELL LIGHTED STABLE.] CIRCULAR CONSTRUCTION THE STRONGEST The circular construction is the strongest, because it takes advantage of the lineal, instead of the breaking strength of the lumber. Each row of boards running around the barn forms a hoop that holds the barn together. A barrel, properly hooped and headed, is almost indestructible, and much stronger than a box, altho the hoops are small. This strength is because the stress comes on the hoops in a lineal direction. Any piece of timber is many times stronger on a lineal pull than on a breaking stress. Take for example a No. 1 yellow pine 2 × 6, 16 feet long, with an actual cross section of 1-5/8 × 5-5/8 inches. If placed on edge and supported at the ends, as a joist, the limit of safety for a load evenly distributed is 642 pounds, while the limit of safety for a load in the lineal direction of the same piece of timber is 12,800 pounds, or twenty times as great. [Illustration: FIG. 5. IN COW STABLE, SHOWING SILO AND FEED ALLEY IN CENTER OF BARN; STANCHIONS ON RIGHT, MILK SCALES AND RECORD SHEET ON LEFT.] All exposed surfaces of a round barn are circular, as both the sides and roof are arched, which is the strongest form of construction to resist wind pressure; besides, the wind, in striking it, glances off and can get no direct hold on the walls or roof, as it can on the flat sides or gable ends of a rectangular structure. If the lumber is properly placed in a round barn, much of it will perform two or more functions. Every row of siding boards running around the building serves also as a brace, and the same is true of the roof boards and the arched rafters. If the siding is put on vertically and the roof built dome-shaped, no scaffolding is required inside or out. These are points of economy in the round construction. RECTANGULAR BARNS REQUIRE 34 TO 58 PERCENT MORE MATERIAL In order to compare the amount and cost of material in round and rectangular barns, the following figures have been carefully worked out by an expert barn builder. Two comparisons, based on wood construction thruout, are made, in which round barns 60 feet and 90 feet in diameter are compared with both plank and mortise frame rectangular barns containing the same number of square feet of floor space, respectively. Since the most practical width of a rectangular dairy barn is 36 feet, its length will depend upon the number of square feet required in the barn. [Illustration: FIG. 6. SHOWING CONSTRUCTION OF MORTISE FRAME BARN, END VIEW.] [Illustration: FIG. 7. SHOWING CONSTRUCTION OF PLANK FRAME BARN, SIDE VIEW.] Figures 6 to 9 are side and end views, showing the detail construction and size of the timbers of the plank frame and mortise frame barns here figured. The detailed figures of the lumber bills for each of these barns were carefully worked out, but are too voluminous for publication here. The total number of feet of each kind of lumber required is given in Tables 1A and 1B. Since the proportion of the different kinds of lumber and shingles varied for the different barns, to draw an exact comparison it was necessary to base it upon the money value, and for this purpose the total cost of lumber has been figured in each case. The lumber values used thruout are the best average prices that could be obtained. As the same prices are used for the material of all the barns, the comparisons of cost are correct, altho these exact prices will not hold for all localities and all times. [Illustration: FIG. 8. SHOWING CONSTRUCTION OF PLANK FRAME BARN, END VIEW.] Since a silo cannot be economically built inside of a rectangular barn, the first comparison is made with the barns simply enclosed, altho one of the chief advantages of a round barn is the deep silo which it is possible to build so economically in the center. [Illustration: FIG. 9. SHOWING CONSTRUCTION OF MORTISE FRAME BARN, SIDE VIEW.] Another item of economy in the circular barn is less framing lumber. This form has the strongest possible construction with the least lumber in the frame, and the least bracing, not a single timber larger than a 2 × 6 being required above the sill. The arched circular roof requires no supports, and no scaffolding is needed inside during its construction. The accompanying tables show the comparative amount and value of lumber and cubical content in round barns 60 and 90 feet in diameter, and rectangular barns of equal area and height of posts. TABLE 1A.--A COMPARISON OF THE COST OF MATERIAL IN ROUND AND RECTANGULAR BARNS OF THE SAME AREA, _Not Including_ Foundation And Silos. A: Framing lumber, B: Sheathing, siding, and flooring, C: Shingles, D: Bolts, E: Total cost of lumber, F: Content, cubic feet, ==+=====================+=========================================== | | Rectangular barn, 36 × 78-1/2 ft. | Round barn, +---------------------+--------------------- | 60 feet in diameter | Plank frame | Mortise frame --+---------------------+---------------------+--------------------- A | 13,976 ft. @ $25 | 19,833 ft. @ $25 | 29,074 ft. @ $25 | = $349.40 | = $495.83 | = $726.85 B | 12,971 ft. @ $22 | 15,355 ft. @ $22 | 15,355 ft. @ $22 | = 285.36 | = 337.81 | = 337.81 C | 44,000 @ $3.75 | 45,000 @ $3.75 | 45,000 @ $3.75 | = 165.00 | = 168.75 | = 168.75 D | | 20.88 | --+---------------------+---------------------+--------------------- E | =$799.76=| =$1023.27=| =$1233.41= ==+=====================+=====================+===================== F | =117,669= | =117,138= | =117,138= ==+=====================+=====================+===================== TABLE 1B. A: Framing lumber, B: Sheathing, siding, and flooring, C: Shingles, D: Bolts, E: Total cost of lumber, F: Content, cubic feet, ==+=====================+=========================================== | | Rectangular barn, 36 × 176-3/4 ft. | Round barn, +---------------------+--------------------- | 90 feet in diameter | Plank frame | Mortise frame --+---------------------+---------------------+--------------------- A | 30,899 ft. @ $25 | 38,815 ft. @ $25 | 59,481 ft. @$25 | = $772.48 | = $970.38 | = $1487.03 B | 22,375 ft. @ $22 | 28,547 ft. @ $22 | 28,547 ft. @ $22 | = 492.25 | = 628.03 | = 628.03 C | 97,000 @ $3.75 | 102,000 @ $3.75 | 102,000 @ $3.75 | = 363.75 | = 382.50 | = 382.50 D | | 26.76 | --+---------------------+---------------------+--------------------- E | =$1628.48= | =$2007.67= | =$2497.56= ==+=====================+=====================+===================== F | =322,952= | =270,570= | =270,570= ==+=====================+=====================+===================== ROUND AND RECTANGULAR BARNS COMPARED In comparing the 60-foot round barn with a rectangular barn of the same area, the two barns should afford the cows the same amount of space on the platform. Allowing each cow in the 60-foot round barn 3 feet 6 inches in width at the rear of the platform, it will accommodate 40 cows and leave space for two passage ways. But in a rectangular barn, only 3 feet 4 inches of platform space need be allowed for each cow, and the 78-1/2 foot barn, with two 3-foot passage ways across it for convenience in feeding, will accommodate 42 cows. While the rectangular barn has stall room for two more cows, the round barn contains space in the center for a silo 18 feet in diameter. The floor space and cubical content of the round barn 60 feet in diameter, and the rectangular barn compared with it in these tables, are practically the same, and the barns are therefore directly comparable. This being true, the percentages which were figured from the complete bills of material for these barns show the exact saving in lumber on the 60-foot round barn over the plank and mortise frame rectangular barns 36 × 78-1/2 feet. The lumber bills of the rectangular barns show an increase in cost of 28 percent for the plank frame and 54 percent for the mortise frame. The round barn, 60 feet in diameter, contains 188-1/2, and the rectangular barn 225 lineal feet of wall. The rectangular barn has, therefore, 22 percent more lineal feet of outside barn wall, requiring a proportional increase in both paint and foundation. The 176-3/4-foot rectangular barn would hold 100 cows, allowing each cow 3 feet 4 inches in width and providing for 3 passage ways of 3 feet each across the barn. The 90-foot round barn would hold 100 cows in two rows headed together, 65 of which would be in the outer circle, and have 3 feet 6 inches each in width at the gutter. This leaves sufficient room for feed alleys and walks, and two passage ways, one three feet and the other seven feet wide for the manure and feed carriers. All of this is outside of a central space for a silo 20 feet in diameter and 71 feet high, with a capacity for 620 tons of silage, and in the mow there would still be an excess, above the capacity of the rectangular barn, of 33,000 cubic feet, which would hold 66 tons of hay, or as much as the entire mow of a barn 32 × 36 feet with 20-foot posts. TABLE 2A.--A COMPARISON OF THE COST OF MATERIAL IN ROUND AND RECTANGULAR BARNS, _Including_ FOUNDATION AND SILOS. ========================+=============+============================= | Round barn, | Rectangular barn, | 60 feet in | 36 × 78-1/2 ft. | diameter +-------------+--------------- | | Plank frame | Mortise frame ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Lumber in barn, | $799.76 | $1023.27 | $1233.41 Material in foundation, | 86.89 | 105.90 | 105.90 Material in silo, | 159.01 | 295.26 | 295.26 ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Total cost of material | | | in barn, | =$1045.66= | =$1424.43= | =$1634.57= ========================+=============+=============+=============== Actual money saved, | | =$378.77= | =$588.91= ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Proportional cost, | =100%= | =136%= | =156%= ========================+=============+=============+=============== TABLE 2B. ========================+=============+============================= | Round barn, | Rectangular barn, | 90 feet in | 36 × 176-3/4 ft. | diameter +-------------+--------------- | | Plank frame | Mortise frame ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Lumber in barn, | $1628.48 | $2007.67 | $2497.56 Material in foundation, | 130.35 | 196.80 | 196.80 Material in silo, | 265.00 | 513.52 | 513.52 ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Total cost of material | | | in barn, | =$2023.83= | =$2717.99= | =$3207.88= ========================+=============+=============+=============== Actual money saved, | | =$694.16= | =$1184.05= ------------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------- Proportional cost, | =100%= | =134%= | =158%= ========================+=============+=============+=============== The square feet of floor space in the round barn 90 feet in diameter and rectangular barn 36 × 176-3/4 feet are the same, but the cubical content of the former is more than that of the latter. The increase in the lumber bill is 23 percent in the plank frame and 53 percent in the mortise frame barn. The round barn 90 feet in diameter contains 283 and the rectangular barn 426 lineal feet of wall. The rectangular barn has, therefore, 50 percent more lineal feet of outside barn wall, requiring a proportional increase in both paint and foundation. The smaller surface on the outside wall of the round barn requires less paint and makes a proportional saving in keeping the round barn painted in after years. ROUND AND RECTANGULAR BARNS, _Including Silos_, COMPARED Owing to the fact that a silo is a necessity for the most economical production of milk, a barn is not complete for a dairyman's purpose unless it includes a silo with capacity to store sufficient silage for the herd. In the case of the round barn, the silo is most economically built inside, but in the rectangular form would cause a waste of space, and for that reason is best erected outside. Therefore, in comparing a round dairy barn with a rectangular dairy barn, silos should be included. In figuring the cost of materials in the silos for the round and rectangular barns, the capacity needed in each case was determined in the following manner: Allowing 40 pounds of silage per cow per day for 7 winter months and 25 pounds per cow per day for 3 months during the summer, would require for 40 cows 220 tons; then allowing one-eighth for waste would make the silage requirement 248 tons. As the silo in the round barn 60 feet in diameter is 53 feet deep, it would need to be only 16 feet in diameter to hold 250 tons. This diameter is sufficiently small to allow summer feeding without waste. To erect a silo outside of a barn, with sufficient stability to stand well, the height above ground should not be much more than twice the diameter, and in order to avoid waste for summer feeding, the diameter should not be greater than 16 feet for a herd of 40 cows. In order that a deep enough layer of silage can be fed off each day during the summer to avoid waste, it is evident that to store 250 tons of silage outside the barn, two silos would be required. One of these should be 16 feet in diameter and 36 feet deep, holding 154 tons, and the other 13 feet in diameter and 36 feet deep, holding 102 tons, making a total silo capacity of 256 tons. As the large barns hold 100 cows, the same allowance of silage per cow for the season would require silo capacity for 620 tons. As the silo in the round barn 90 feet in diameter would be 71 feet deep, it would need to be only 20 feet in diameter to hold 620 tons. To store 620 tons of silage in silos built outside the rectangular barn would require two silos, each 20 feet in diameter and 44 feet deep.[B] These are the sizes on which the figures for cost of silos of the Gurler type, given in Tables 2A and 2B, were used. [B] Since the deeper the silo the more firmly the silage packs, one silo 71 feet deep will hold as much as two silos of the same diameter and 44 feet deep. [Illustration: FIG. 10. INTERIOR OF COW STABLE, SHOWING WATER TROUGH WITH FLOAT VALVE, SALT BOX, AND DOOR INTO DAIRY.] The table (page 12) is the final summing up of the cost of all the material for the completed dairy barns, with silos, and shows a saving of from 34 to 58 percent in favor of the round barn and silo, or an actual money saving in this case of from $379 to $1184, depending upon the size and construction of the barns. Thoughtlessly, men go on building rectangular barns, but what would this reckless disregard of a possible saving of 34 to 58 percent mean in a year's business on the farm? Some illustrations may help us to understand what this money saved in building a round barn really amounts to, and its convenience is also a great saving. If the dairyman discarded the idea of a rectangular barn and built a round barn instead, he could take the money thus saved and buy one of the best pure-bred sires for his herd, and also three to ten pure-bred heifers or fine grade cows. Either of these purchases might double the profit of the herd. Or, this saving, properly applied, would purchase many labor-saving devices which would make life less of a drudgery on many dairy farms. Is not such a saving worth while? [Illustration: FIG. 11. COW COMFORT IN A ROUND BARN.] When the comparative cost and merit of two constructions are known, it is a poor financier who will pay extra for the one which is inferior. If a man received bids from contractors for a building, he would be a foolish man who would accept one which is from 34 to 58 percent higher than the lowest bidder, especially when he knew the lowest bidder would put up the most convenient and substantial building. DISADVANTAGES OF THE ROUND DAIRY BARN The disadvantages of the round dairy barn are, that it cannot be enlarged by building on as readily as can the rectangular form, but as the round barn may be built higher to the eaves than a rectangular barn 36 feet wide, provision can be made for the growth of the herd by building so as to put cows in the second story and still leave sufficient mow room for hay. The objection is frequently raised that a round barn is difficult to light. This difficulty is entirely overcome in a barn 90 feet or less in diameter, if a sufficient number of properly spaced windows are used. See Figs. 4 and 30. With the same number of windows, the light is more evenly distributed in a round barn and the sun can shine directly into some portion at all hours of the day during the winter. [Illustration: FIG. 12. FIRST STORY WALL, AND FOUNDATION FOR SILO, FEED ALLEY, AND MANGER; SILL IN PLACE, READY FOR JOISTS AND STUDS.] The objection has been raised that rectangular objects cannot be placed in a circle without a waste of space, but this does not apply to a dairy barn, as the storage of hay and grain depends upon cubical content, alone, and silos should always be circular, no matter where built. Cows, when lying down, are decidedly wedge-shaped, requiring much less space in front than behind. The objection may be raised, with round barns large enough for two rows of cows, that the row headed out does not use the space as economically as in the rectangular form, because a cow needs more width at the rear of the platform than at the manger. Where there are two rows of cows, the inner row is usually headed out, and as only about one-third of the cows are in this row, this loss of space is counterbalanced by the large number of cows in the outer circle using the space more economically than they do in the rectangular barn. Box stalls cannot be as conveniently arranged, but in a one-row barn, gates hung on the outside and swung around to the manger, form stalls for cows at freshening time, and in a barn with two rows, box stalls can be arranged in the inner circle. HOW THE ROUND BARN AT THE UNIVERSITY WAS BUILT The barn is located on the side of a hill, sloping gently to the south and east. With this location, it was an advantage to excavate 5 feet deep on the northwest and run out to the surface of the ground on the southeast. [Illustration: FIG. 13. SHOWING TEMPORARY BRACING TO HOLD STUDS IN PLACE WHILE SHIP LAP CEILING IS NAILED ON.] The footing for the foundation is 18 inches wide. A ten-inch brick wall was carried up nine feet above the stable floor. This wall contains a 2-inch air space to prevent moisture from condensing on the inner wall and making the barn damp. This is an important point, as barns with a solid stone or brick wall are very objectionable on account of dampness. It has been proven by two years' use that this difficulty is entirely obviated by the air space in the wall. The foundation for the manger and feed alley is built up 2 feet above the stable floor. The foundation for the silo extends 4 feet below the stable floor and is continued 9 inches above the floor in the feed alley. This silo wall, together with the foundation under the manger, forms the foundation for the center supports of the barn. Fig. 12 shows the foundation completed. The silo, which is the Gurler type, was then started and carried up with the barn. It was built by placing 2 × 4 studs around the circle, one foot on centers, and ceiling inside with 1/2 × 6-inch lumber. This 1/2-inch lumber was obtained by re-sawing 1 × 6 yellow pine fencing. Common lath were then put on horizontally in the regular way inside, without furring out, and plastered with rich cement plaster. The sill of the barn is 6 × 6, made up of 1 × 6s, and built on top of the wall. Building it up in this manner makes a stronger sill than can be obtained in any other way, as it forms a continuous hoop around the barn. [Illustration: FIG. 14. SHOWING HEIGHT AND CONSTRUCTION OF SILO, SIDING COMPLETED, AND FOUR MAIN RAFTERS IN PLACE.] The joists are 2 × 12s notched 6 inches to fit the sill, so that the outer ends rest on both the sill and the brick wall. The outer span of joists is 14 feet and the inner ends of these joists rest on a similar sill built of 1 × 6s on top of the 4 × 4 supports at the stanchions. The inner span of joists, between the stanchions and the silo, is 8 feet, the outer end resting on the sill over the stanchions, and the inner end on a 1-1/2 × 6-inch band, made up of three 1/2 × 6-inch pieces, running around the outside of the silo. These joists are placed 2-1/2 feet apart at the outside of the barn, and half as many joists are used in the inner span, making the joists at the silo one foot apart. The number of joists under the driveways are doubled, being only 1 foot and 3 inches apart at the outside of the barn. [Illustration: FIG. 15. SHOWING ALL RAFTERS IN PLACE AND METHOD OF SHEATHING ROOF.] The studs, which are 2 × 6s, 20 feet long, were then placed on the sill, about 2 feet 6 inches apart, being as evenly spaced between the windows as possible, and temporarily braced, as shown in Fig. 13, until the 8-inch ship lap ceiling could be nailed on the outside. This was carried up 5 feet to the second scaffold, and then covered to this height with shingles laid 5 inches to the weather. The scaffolding was then moved up and this process repeated until the siding was completed. The plate, made up of five 1 × 4s, was then built in the notch in the top of the studs shown in Fig. 13. [Illustration: FIG. 16. SHOWING HEIGHT OF SILO, CAPACITY OF BARN, AND CONSTRUCTION OF ROOF.] The silo was completed, as before described. The rafters, which were framed on the ground, were then erected, as shown in Fig. 14, the first eight going to the center of the roof, and the remaining ones were cut to rest on the plate of the silo. There are 64 framed rafters, and these are the only ones in the upper section of the roof. At the break in the roof, a header is cut in between the framed rafters, and in the lower section a rafter is placed between these, thus making twice as many rafters in the lower section of the roof as in the upper section. After the rafters were all in place and temporarily braced, the 1 × 2-inch sheathing was put on, as shown in Fig. 15, and the shingles, which were the best 5/2 red cedar, were laid 5 inches to the weather on the lower section of the roof, and 4 inches to the weather on the upper section, as this had less pitch. No chalk line was necessary, as the shingles were laid by the sheathing. [Illustration: FIG. 17. SHOWING ARRANGEMENT OF JOISTS AND HOW THE FLOOR IS LAID.] The floor was made of 1 × 8 ship lap, laid in four directions, as shown in Fig. 17. In the driveway an extra layer of ship lap was used, making this portion of the floor 2 inches thick. The doorways in the second story are 14 feet wide, and in the lower story 12 feet. These openings are closed by two sliding doors, each door being made of two sections, hinged together so as to follow the circular wall of the barn in opening. The cow stable is on the ground floor, and well lighted by 16 windows having twelve 9 × 12 lights each. There are also six windows in the doors. The windows are placed just below the ceiling and admit an abundance of sunshine at all times of the day, which is one of the essentials of a good dairy barn. [Illustration: FIG. 18. SHOWING PRESENT ARRANGEMENT OF COW STABLE. THERE ARE STANCHIONS AND MANGERS FOR 28 COWS, AND 2200 SQ. FT. OF FLOOR SPACE IN WHICH THE COWS CAN RUN LOOSE. THE GATES ARE SWUNG INTO THE PRESENT POSITION WHEN BOX STALLS ARE NEEDED.] The floor, back of the manger, is of clay, except at the door, where a small portion is covered with cement. The cows run loose except at feeding and milking time, when they are placed in rigid stanchions. It must be distinctly understood that rigid stanchions are strongly condemned as a cow tie, where cows are to remain in them all night, but as they are here used merely to hold the cow during milking, they are both economical and convenient. [Illustration: FIG. 19. SHOWING CROSS SECTION OF 60-FOOT ROUND BARN.] [Illustration: FIG. 20. CLEANING OUT COW STABLE WITH THREE-HORSE MANURE SPREADER.] [Illustration: FIG. 21. COWS IN STANCHION AT MILKING TIME.] Running cows loose in this manner is an excellent method, where bedding is abundant and sufficient space is available, as the cows are more comfortable, and all fertility is saved. There is no waste from leaching, as when the manure lies exposed to the weather. This method saves the labor of cleaning the stable, as the manure is loaded into the spreader and hauled directly upon the land whenever convenient, and the land is in the best condition to receive it.[C] [C] For a more detailed discussion of the advantages of keeping cows in this manner, see Illinois Agricultural Experiment Station Circular No. 93. Three gates are hung on posts at the outside wall, and when box stalls are needed, these are swung around to the manger, as shown in Fig. 18. The south door in the cow stable can be closed by slatted gates, thus affording an abundance of fresh air and sunshine on nice days, without letting the cows out of the barn. SYSTEM OF VENTILATION [Illustration: FIG. 21. CONTINUED.] The system of ventilation is the "King." To economize space and lumber, the hay chute is used for a ventilator. This chute, which extends to the cupola, is 2-1/4 × 3-1/2 feet, having a cross section area of 8 sq. ft., which, with a good draft, is sufficient for 40 cows. In order that this combination of ventilator and hay chute prove practical, doors thru which the hay could be thrust were placed at intervals in the side of the chute. These doors are hinged at the top, opening in, and close immediately after the hay drops, thus maintaining a closed ventilator chute. The air is drawn in at the bottom, the amount being regulated by means of a sliding door in the side. As this chute is 50 feet high, it creates a strong suction. THE MILK ROOM To economize space, the milk room, 12 × 16 feet, is located under the north driveway. The brick walls under the drive form the sides of this room, and the floor of the drive, which is made of 2 × 6s grooved on both edges, forms the roof. The grooves in the flooring were filled with white lead, and a wooden strip, fitted to fill the grooves of both planks, was driven in, forming a water-tight floor. This floor was covered with hot tar and sand 1/2 inch thick. The milk room is plastered on the inside, the plaster being applied directly to the brick walls, excepting in the case of the ceiling, which is lathed. The floor and cooling tank are of cement. The passage from the barn to the milk room is thru a small hallway, which is open to the outside, thus preventing the stable air getting into the milk room. [Illustration: FIG. 22. FEED ALLEY, SHOWING COMBINED HAY CHUTE AND VENTILATOR. A DOOR ON THE SIDE WHICH IS HINGED AT THE BOTTOM, 3 FEET FROM THE FLOOR, IS LET IN TOWARD THE SILO, SLIDING THE HAY ONTO THE FLOOR. IN HOT WEATHER THIS OPENING TAKES THE HEAT OUT OF THE BARN; DURING THE WINTER THIS DOOR IS KEPT CLOSED AND THE VENTILATION IS REGULATED BY RAISING THE SLIDE, AS SHOWN IN THE CUT.] BARN SATISFACTORY This round dairy barn above described has been in use for over two years at the University of Illinois, and has given entire satisfaction. [Illustration: FIG. 23. NORTHEAST VIEW, SHOWING DAIRY UNDER DRIVEWAY. THE BARN IS ON THE SAME SCALE AS THE DRAWING ON PAGE 28.] [Illustration: FIG. 24. INTERIOR OF DAIRY; COOLING TANK ON LEFT.] RE-ARRANGEMENT OF BARN TO ACCOMMODATE 40 COWS If it is desired to keep cows in stalls in a round barn of this size, the circular manger can be enlarged to 38 feet in diameter, which gives room for forty cows, as shown in Fig. 25, and the silo, to hold sufficient silage to feed the year round, enlarged to 18 feet in diameter. The present mow room is sufficient to store enough hay and bedding for this number of cows. The barn on the Twenty-acre Demonstration Dairy Farm was built this large, as it was thought it might be desired at some future time to increase the size of the farm and herd, and the barn could easily be changed to accommodate a larger herd by simply enlarging the silo, without rebuilding the barn. [Illustration: FIG. 25. SHOWING HOW THIS 60-FOOT BARN MAY BE ARRANGED TO ACCOMMODATE 40 COWS IN STALLS. TO SUPPLY THIS SIZED HERD AND THE NECESSARY YOUNG STOCK WITH SILAGE FOR EIGHT MONTHS WOULD REQUIRE A 370-TON SILO, OR ONE 18 FEET IN DIAMETER AND 56 FEET DEEP; WITH A SEVEN-FOOT FEED ALLEY AND A 2-1/2-FOOT MANGER, THE CIRCLE AT THE STANCHIONS WOULD BE 38 FEET IN DIAMETER, OR 119-1/3 FEET IN CIRCUMFERENCE; ALLOWING 4-1/4 FEET FOR TWO PASSAGE WAYS, THE STALLS WOULD BE 2 FEET 10-1/2 INCHES WIDE AT THE STANCHION, AND 3 FEET 6 INCHES AT THE DROP.] ITEMIZED COST OF THIS ROUND BARN Excavating, foundation, and first story brick wall $904.00 Lumber: 149 pieces, 1 × 4 × 16 Y. P. 31 " 1 × 4 × 14 Cypress 16 " 1 × 4 × 12 " 165 " 1 × 6 × 16 Y. P. 17 " 1 × 6 × 14 " 226 " 2 × 4 × 12 " 20 " 2 × 4 × 16 " 6 " 2 × 4 × 14 " 15 " 4 × 4 × 14 " 120 " 2 × 12 × 16 " 23 " 2 × 12 × 14 " 100 " 2 × 6 × 20 " 144 " 2 × 6 × 16 " 67 " 2 × 6 × 18 " 4 " 2 × 6 × 26 " 60 " 2 × 6 × 12 " 30 " 2 × 6 × 22 " 4 " 2 × 6 × 24 " 6 " 2 × 8 × 10 " 9 " 2 × 8 × 16 " 4 " 2 × 10 × 14 " 11 " 2 × 10 × 12 " 1 " 2 × 10 × 22 " 1 " 1 × 10 × 12 " 1 " 1 × 10 × 14 Cypress 2 " 1 × 12 × 14 " 22 " 1-1/8 × 8 × 10 Cyp. S2S 2 " 1 × 1-1/8 × 12 × 14 " 2 " 1 × 1-1/8 × 12 × 16 " 6000 feet of 8-inch ship lap 3150 feet of 10-inch ship lap 71 M 5/2 red cedar shingles 165 Lineal feet of 2-inch Cr. molding 240 Lineal feet of Cr. molding 270 feet of 4-inch Y. P. S1S 4000 feet of 6-inch rough pine 62 feet of 3/8-inch Y. P. Ceiling 850 feet of 6-inch No. 1 flooring 230 feet of 6-inch fence flooring 56 lineal feet of 1/2 × 3-inch battening 32 lineal feet of lattice 444 lineal feet of 4-inch cypress 3 10-foot cedar posts Total cost of lumber $1,313.63 Mill work: Window sash and doors $270.00 Window and door frames 71.00 Sawing lumber for silo, roof, bridge and stanchions 29.78 Cost of hardware 96.57 Carpenter work: Head carpenter 518 hrs. @ 40c = $207.20 Carpenters 1057 hrs. @ 35c = 369.95 Common labor 429 hrs. @ 20c = 85.80 ------- Total cost for carpenter work 662.95 Tiling around barn and silo, sewer from dairy room, retaining wall, cement floor in alley, dairy, doorway of barn, and steps and tanks 128.54 Plastering dairy room and inside of silo 104.60 Painting 89.54 -------- Total cost of barn $3670.61 [Illustration: FIG. 26. BARN NO. 2. 80 FEET IN DIAMETER; ENGINE ROOM IN FOREGROUND.] The cost of this barn, if built on the ordinary dairy farm, could be materially reduced without shortening the life of the barn. Owing to the conditions under which this barn was built, it was necessary to pay for hauling all material to the farm, two and one-half miles from town. All of the labor had to be hired, and as it was necessary for the men to board themselves the wages paid were proportionately higher. The farmer usually does the excavating and hauls the brick, sand, and lumber with his own teams, tends the mason, and does quite an amount of the rough work with his own help, besides boarding the men, all of which would greatly reduce the cost. The construction could also be cheapened by using drop siding to cover the outside, instead of shingles, which in this case were used over ship lap on the side walls to improve the appearance. This barn could be still further cheapened by putting hoops, five feet apart, around the studs, and covering with common 1 × 12 boards, put on vertically, as is done in some cases. A saving could also be made on the mill work and large doors by having the carpenters make these plainer and leave the windows out of them. Anyone wishing to build a round barn can get local bids on the lumber bill, and determine approximately the cost in his locality. This will vary with both the location and the year. OTHER ROUND DAIRY BARNS BARN NO. 2 Built 1897. Diameter, 80 feet. Capacity, 75 cows in 2 rows, tails together, 51 head in outer circle, 24 head in inner circle. [Illustration: FIG. 27. INTERIOR OF BARN NO. 2. SHOWING TWO ROWS OF STANCHIONS AND DRIVE BEHIND COWS WHICH IS USED IN CLEANING BARN; SILO ON RIGHT.] Cost, $1800. Studs, 2 × 6s, placed 2-1/2 feet on center. Supports, two 2 × 6s in each stanchion. Joists, main span 3 × 12s, 20 feet long, placed 14 inches on center. Short spans over feed alleys, 2 × 10s. Plate, 1 × 10-inch boards sprung around near top of studs. Roof supports, 6 × 6s placed 12 feet apart. Purline plate rests on these posts and consists of 1 × 8s sprung to the circle. Siding, 8-inch, put on horizontally, first story ceiled inside. To clean out, a wagon is driven around between the two rows of cows. The chief objection to this barn is insufficient light in the cow stable. This barn and No. 3 are approximately the same in construction, and are more substantially built than barns No. 4 and 5. [Illustration: FIG. 28. ARRANGEMENT OF COW STABLE IN BARN NO. 2; TWO ROWS OF COWS TAILED TOGETHER. THE BARN IS CLEANED BY DRIVING AROUND BEHIND THE COWS.] [Illustration: FIG. 29. BARN NO. 3. 80 FEET IN DIAMETER.] BARN NO. 4 Built in 1900. Diameter, 90 feet. Capacity, 105 cows, two rows heading together. Cost, $3000. Foundation, width at base and top, 18 inches; depth in ground, 20 inches, (not sufficient). Sills, 2 × 8s, sawed in short lengths, and placed flatwise. Studding, 20-foot 2 × 8s, placed 3 feet on center and toenailed to sill. Supports, first story 4 × 4s placed between stanchions in each row, making two rows of supports between the outside wall and the silo; 4 × 4s cut to a circle placed on top of these supports. The outside span, over cows, is 13 feet 6 inches; middle span, over feed alley, 6 feet 8 inches, and inside span, over cows, 13 feet. Joists, 2 × 8s placed 3 feet apart at studs on outside wall. There are as many joists in center of barn as at the outside. Supports, second-story, consist of one row of posts running around at a point immediately under the break in the roof. These are 16 feet apart and are made of three 2 × 8s kept 2 inches apart by horizontal braces which run from studding near the eave thru these posts to studding in silo. See Fig. 31. Plate, rafter is set on top of each stud, and no plate is used. Rafters, 2 × 6s resting on studs at outside and on circular plate at break in roof. [Illustration: FIG. 30. BARN NO. 4. 90 FEET IN DIAMETER; ONE OF THE FEW DAIRY BARNS WITH SUFFICIENT LIGHT; SAME SCALE AS DRAWING ON PAGE 37.] [Illustration: FIG. 31. SILO IN CENTER OF BARN NO. 4; UPPER PORTION IN HAY LOFT. LOWER PORTION IN COW STABLE.] Siding, 8-inch drop siding, put on horizontally, nailed with 10d nails. Ends holding well. Windows, 12 light, 10 × 12 glass; one window every six feet. This gives an abundance of light in the center of the barn. Doors, built on circle; (not satisfactory). Silo, round; diameter, 24 feet over all; height, 53 feet, exclusive of 12-foot space for water tank on top; capacity, 500 tons. Studs of silo, 2 × 4s placed 12 inches on center. Ceiled inside of studs with two thicknesses of half-inch lumber with paper between. [Illustration: FIG. 32. INTERIOR OF BARN NO. 4, SHOWING STALLS AND FEED ALLEY.] Remarks: Considering its size, the construction of this barn is apparently too light to be substantial, as the joists and studs are too small and too far apart, yet it has stood for nine years with no more evidence of wear than is common with any barn. Were the owner to build again he would place the studs only 2-1/2 feet apart and use 2 × 12 joists, 2-1/2 feet apart at the outside wall. He would also use cement plaster on inside of silo. The owner says it would have cost him as much to have built a rectangular barn without the 500-ton silo, and containing 1300 sq. ft. less floor space. In other words, he gained a 500-ton silo and 1300 sq. ft. of floor space, besides an immense amount of mow room, by building a circular barn. [Illustration: FIG. 33. ARRANGEMENT OF COW STABLE IN BARN NO. 4, 90 FEET IN DIAMETER; TWO ROWS OF COWS HEADED TOGETHER.] BARN NO. 5 Built in 1906. Diameter, 100 feet. Capacity, 115 cows. Cost, $3400. Studding, 16-foot 2 × 6s, placed 3 feet on centers. Supports, 3 rows 4 × 4s. Joists, 2 × 10s, placed 3 feet on centers. Hemlock and yellow pine. Floor, laid in eight directions. Rafters, 2 × 6s spiked to studs. A band of two 1 × 6s is placed around the studs just below the rafters, and helps support the rafters. Supports for roof. There are three purline plates. Two of these are supported by posts, the other by braces running out from the silo. The roof is straight from eaves to peak. The bracing is similar to that of barn No. 4. Silo, 18 feet in diameter, 56 feet deep, 2 feet in ground. Capacity, 350 tons. [Illustration: FIG. 34. BARN 92 FEET IN DIAMETER; TWO ROWS OF COWS HEADED TOGETHER; SILO IN CENTER.] [Illustration: FIG. 35. VIEW OF 70-FOOT SELF-SUPPORTING ROOF ON BARN SHOWN IN FIG. 36; NOTE HOOPS ON STUDS IN RIGHT FOREGROUND.] [Illustration: FIG. 36. BARN 70 FEET IN DIAMETER; FRAME HOOPED FOR PERPENDICULAR SIDING; LOWER SECTION SIDED.] THE SMALL DAIRYMAN'S BARN [Illustration: FIG. 37. BARN 40 FEET IN DIAMETER.] [Illustration: FIG. 38. BARN 48 FEET IN DIAMETER, 16-FOOT POSTS; NOTE METHOD OF TAKING HAY INTO SMALL ROUND BARN.] The round barns previously described do not meet the needs of the man with only a few cows. He usually wants a general-purpose barn. The circular form can be made satisfactory for this purpose if proper attention is given to the plan. It is necessary that the cow stable be distinctly separated from all other stock by a tight wall. Round barns with this arrangement are giving satisfaction in Illinois at the present time. [Illustration: FIG. 39. SHOWING CONSTRUCTION OF BARN IN FIG. 40. HOOPS IN PLACE READY FOR PERPENDICULAR SIDING; ROOF SHEATHED FOR SHINGLES.] [Illustration: FIG. 40. BARN 102 FEET IN DIAMETER AND 85 FEET HIGH.] DISADVANTAGES OF THE POLYGONAL BARN. A polygonal barn has the disadvantages of both the rectangular and the round barn, and is less stable than either. It must necessarily have a heavy frame, which is expensive, and as the siding cannot run around the corners, it is very difficult to tie the different sides together sufficiently to prevent the barn being racked by the wind. BARN NO. 6 16-sided. Built, 1888. [Illustration: FIG. 41. BARN NO. 6; 85 FEET IN DIAMETER; SAME SCALE AS DRAWING ON OPPOSITE PAGE.] Diameter, 85 feet. Height, 26-foot posts on 9-foot wall. Capacity, 88 cows; 350 tons of hay. Foundation and first story, cement wall 9 feet above cement floor. Supports, 4 × 8s, placed just back of stanchions, 3 feet on center. Studs, 2 × 10s, 26 feet long, placed 2-1/2 feet on center. Joists 3 × 12s, 20 feet long, 14 inches on center for main span. Rafters, self-supporting. Sheathed with 1 × 6s with no space between. This roof has a purline plate thrown in the gambrel. The plate is supported only by the braces which tie the joints. [Illustration: FIG. 42. ARRANGEMENT OF COW STABLE IN BARN NO. 6.] The barn has been racked three times by the wind, replumbed and heavy iron rods put in to brace it, yet it is out of plumb at the present time. CONCLUSIONS In summing up the data given in this bulletin, it is obvious that the advantages of the round barn are convenience, strength, and cheapness. The round barn is the more convenient, because of the unobstructed mow, which reduces the labor required in mowing hay, and because of the greater ease and fewer steps with which the feed can be gotten to the cows, owing to the central location of the supply. The circular construction is the strongest because advantage is taken of the lineal strength of the lumber. All exposed surfaces are circular, and withstand greater wind pressure, as the wind can get no direct hold, as on the sides or gable ends of a rectangular barn. In round numbers, rectangular barns require, according to their construction, from 34 to 58 percent more in cost of material than round barns with the same floor area and built of the same grade of material. * * * * * TRANSCRIBER NOTES: Punctuation has been normalized without note. Hyphenation of words has been changed to be more consistent throughout the text. Page 6: "betwen" changed to "between" (midway between the silo and the outside wall). 
36486	----	THE CITY OF THE MORMONS; OR, THREE DAYS AT NAUVOO, IN 1842. BY THE REV. HENRY CASWALL, M.A. AUTHOR OF "AMERICA AND THE AMERICAN CHURCH," AND PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN KEMPER COLLEGE, ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI. LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. G. F. & J. RIVINGTON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD, AND WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL: & SOLD BY W. GRAPEL, LIVERPOOL. 1842. O merciful God, who hast made all men, and hatest nothing that thou hast made: have mercy upon all Jews, Turks, Infidels, and HERETICS, and take from them all ignorance, hardness of heart, and contempt of thy word; and so fetch them home, blessed Lord, TO THY FLOCK, that they may be saved among the remnant of true Israelites, and be made one fold under one Shepherd, Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. A M E N. PREFACE. The following narrative, the result of a few weeks' leisure on shipboard, is presented to the Christian public, with a deep sense, on the Author's part, of the iniquity of an imposture, which, under the name of religion, is spreading extensively in America and in Great Britain. Mormonism needs but to be seen in its true light to be hated; and if the following pages, consisting almost exclusively of the personal testimony of the Author, should assist in awakening public indignation against a cruel delusion and a preposterous heresy, he will consider himself amply rewarded. A History of Mormonism, from its commencement to the present time, may perhaps form the subject of a future publication. _Liverpool, June 19, 1842._ THE CITY OF THE MORMONS, _&c._ The rise and progress of a new religion afford a subject of the highest interest to the philosophical observer. Under these circumstances human nature may be seen in a novel aspect. We behold the mind grasping at an ideal form of perfection, exulting in the imaginary possession of revelations, and rejoicing in its fancied intercourse with the Supreme Being. A new religion must, of necessity, be regarded by Christians as a mere imposture. Painful, however, as it is to contemplate our fellow-beings deceiving and deceived, it is instructive, on the one hand, to watch the demeanour of those who have succeeded in establishing a spiritual dominion, and, on the other hand, to notice the conduct of those who believe themselves surrounded by the full blaze of prophecy and miracle. Nor is the growth of a new religion a subject merely of philosophical curiosity. In a historical point of view it is worthy of all the light which careful investigation can bestow. The cause of truth imperatively demands that the progress of error should be diligently noted. How gladly should we receive the testimony of one who had been a witness of the early growth of the religion of Mahomet! How highly should we esteem an authentic account of the process by which the corrupt Christian of the seventh century was gradually alienated from the faith of his fathers, and induced to accept as divine the "revelations" of the Arabian impostor! To give such a testimony, to describe such a process, is within the power of the traveller at the present day. In Western America, amid countless forms of schism, a new religion has arisen, as if in punishment for the sins of Christendom. Like Mahometanism, it possesses many features in common with the religion of Christ. It professes to admit the inspiration of the Old and New Testaments, it even acknowledges the Trinity, the Atonement and Divinity of the Messiah. But it has cast away that Church which Christ erected upon the foundation of Apostles and Prophets, and has substituted a false church in its stead. It has introduced a new book as a depository of the revelations of God, which in practice has almost superseded the sacred Scriptures. It teaches men to regard a profane and ignorant impostor as a special prophet of the Almighty, and to consider themselves as saints while in the practice of impiety. It robs them sometimes of their substance, and too often of their honesty; and finally sends them, beneath a shade of deep spiritual darkness, into the presence of that God of truth whose holy faith they have denied. At the first preaching of Mormonism, sensible and religious persons, both in Europe and in America, rather ridiculed than seriously opposed it. They imagined it to be an absurd delusion, which would shortly overturn itself. But system and discipline, almost equal to those of Rome, have been brought to its aid. What was at first crude and undigested, has been gradually reduced to shape and proportion. At the present moment Mormonism numbers more than a hundred thousand adherents, a large portion of whom are natives of Christian and enlightened England. The immediate cause of my visit to Nauvoo was the following. Early in April, 1842, business took me to St. Louis, a city of thirty thousand inhabitants, situated on the western bank of the Mississippi, from which Kemper College is six miles distant. Curiosity led me to the river's side, where about forty steam-boats were busily engaged in receiving or discharging their various cargoes. The spectacle was truly exciting. The landing-place (or _levée_, as it is denominated) was literally swarming with life. Here a ponderous consignment of lead had arrived from Galena, four hundred miles to the north, and the crew were piling it upon the shore in regular and well-constructed layers. There a quantity of ploughs, scythes, and other agricultural implements, crowded the decks of a steamer which had just finished a westward voyage of fourteen hundred miles from Pittsburg. In another place, a vessel that had descended the rapid current of the Missouri for many hundred miles in an easterly direction, was landing pork and other produce of the fertile West; while farther down a large steam-boat from New Orleans, crowded with passengers from the South, having completed her voyage of twelve hundred miles, was blowing off the steam from her high pressure engines with a noise like thunder. Desiring to know something respecting the passengers in the last boat, I proceeded on board; and as soon as the stoppage of the steam permitted me to be heard, I inquired of the clerk of the boat how many persons he had brought from New Orleans. "Plenty of live stock," was his reply, "plenty of live stock; we have three hundred English emigrants, all on their way to join Joe Smith, the prophet at Nauvoo." I walked into that portion of the vessel appropriated to the poorer class of travellers, and here I beheld my unfortunate countrymen crowded together in a most comfortless manner. I addressed myself to some of them, and found that they were from the neighbourhood of Preston in Lancashire. They were decent-looking people, and by no means of the lowest class. I took the liberty of questioning them respecting their plans, and found that they were indeed the dupes of the missionaries of Mormonism. I begged them to be on their guard, and suggested to them the importance of not committing themselves and their property to a person who had long been known in that country as a deceiver. They were, however, bent upon completing the journey which they had designed, and although they civilly listened to my statements, they professed to be guided in reference to the prophet by that perverted precept of Scripture; "Prove all things, hold fast that which is good." From this moment I determined to visit the stronghold of the new religion, and to obtain, if possible, an interview with the prophet himself. Accordingly, on Friday evening, April 15th, I embarked on board the fine steamer "Republic," bound, as her advertisement assured me, "for Galena, Dubuque, and Prairie du Chien." I had laid aside my clerical apparel, and had assumed a dress in which there was little probability of my being recognized as a "minister of the Gentiles." In order to test the scholarship of the prophet, I had further provided myself with an ancient Greek manuscript of the Psalter written upon parchment, and probably about six hundred years old. Shortly after six o'clock our paddles were in motion, and we were stemming the rapid current of the "Father of waters," while the booming of our high-pressure engine re-echoed from the buildings and the woods along the shore. The passengers were principally emigrants from the eastern states, on their way to the new settlements in Iowa and Wisconsin. Those in the cabin were so numerous, that our long supper-table was three times replenished at our evening meal; while a still greater number crowded the apartments of the deck passengers. During the night we passed the confluence of the Missouri and the Mississippi, and in the morning we were pushing our way through the comparatively clear waters, and along the woody banks of the Upper Mississippi. Occasionally we passed a small village, and two or three times during the day we landed at some rising town; but generally the scene was one in which nature enjoyed undisturbed repose. The river was high from frequent rains in the upper country, and its surface was about one foot lower than the top of the verdant banks. Our cabin windows were frequently brushed by the branches and clustering foliage of the cotton-wood trees; the sugar-maple, and the sycamore, were putting forth their early leaves at a short distance in the background, and one dense mass of heavy timber covered the picturesque bluffs to their very summit. The day was pleasant, and I sat almost constantly upon the highest or "hurricane" deck, enjoying a fine prospect of the noble river and its shores. During the following night we continued our ascending course, and early on Sunday morning we were at the foot of the "Des Moines Rapids," with Illinois on the right hand, and Iowa on the left. The rapids prevent the passage of steam-boats during the greater part of the year, on account of the shallowness of the water and the strength of the current. As the river was now full, we experienced no difficulty, and slowly made our way against a stream running perhaps seven miles an hour. The Mississippi is here about a mile and a half in width, and forms a beautiful curve. On the western side were a number of new houses with gardens neatly fenced, and occupied, I was told, by Mormon emigrants who had recently arrived. Farther onward the bluffs of Iowa rose boldly from the water's edge, while on the Illinois or eastern side, as the steamer gradually came round the curve, the Mormon city opened upon my view. At length, Nauvoo in all its "latter-day glory" lay before me. The landing-place being difficult of access from the rapidity of the current, the steamer took me to Montrose immediately opposite, and touching for a moment, while I stepped on shore, in the next moment was again ploughing the descending waters. Here I was in Iowa, two hundred and thirty miles from St. Louis, fifteen hundred miles from the mouth of the majestic river before me, and two thousand miles west of New York by the ordinary course of travel. It was nine o'clock on Sunday morning; the sun was shining brightly, as usual in this region, and a strong breeze had raised a moderate swell on the face of the stream. No ferryman was to be found, and for a few minutes it was a problem how I should cross to Nauvoo. The problem was soon solved by the appearance of a long and narrow canoe, hewed from the trunk of a tree, and lying close to the bank. In this doubtful-looking craft, thirteen Mormons on their way to the meeting in Nauvoo, proceeded to take their seats. At my request they accommodated me with a place, and shortly afterwards pushed from the shore, and put their paddles in motion. They worked their way with some difficulty, until they reached two islands near the middle of the river. Between these there was no swell, and little wind; but the current ran against us through a narrow passage with the rapidity of a mill-race. Here I thought we should be effectually baffled, and more than once the canoe seemed to yield to the stream. At length the stout sinews of the Mormons prevailed, and we were again in open water. After labouring hard for more than half an hour we safely landed at Nauvoo. The situation of the place is rather striking. Above the curve of the Des Moines rapids the Mississippi makes another curve almost semicircular towards the east. The ground included within the semicircle is level, and upon this site the city has been laid out. The streets extend across the semicircle east and west, being limited at each extremity by the river. These streets are intersected at right angles by others, which, running northward to the river, are bounded on the south by a rising ground, on the summit of which the temple is in the course of erection. It was to this last-mentioned spot that with my companions I directed my steps. Having ascended the hill, I found myself close to a large unfinished stone building, the walls of which had advanced eight or ten feet above the ground. This was the Temple. The view of the winding Mississippi from this elevation was truly grand, and the whole of the lower part of the town was distinctly seen. I was informed by my companions that the population of Nauvoo was about ten thousand; but subsequent inquiry led me to place the estimate three or four thousand lower. The temple being unfinished, about half-past ten o'clock a congregation of perhaps two thousand persons assembled in a grove, within a short distance of the sanctuary. Their appearance was quite respectable, and fully equal to that of dissenting meetings generally in the western country. Many grey-headed old men were there, and many well-dressed females. I perceived numerous groups of the peasantry of old England; their sturdy forms, their clear complexions, and their heavy movements, strongly contrasting with the slight figure, the sallow visage, and the elastic step of the American. There, too, were the bright and innocent looks of little children, who, born among the privileges of England's Church, baptized with her consecrated waters, and taught to lisp her prayers and repeat her catechism, had now been led into this den of heresy, to listen to the ravings of a false prophet, and to imbibe the principles of a semi-pagan delusion. The officiating elders not having yet arrived, the congregation listened for some time to the performances of a choir of men and women, directed by one who appeared to be a professional singing-master. At length two elders came forward, and ascended a platform rudely constructed of planks and logs. One wore a blue coat, and his companion, a stout intemperate-looking man, appeared in a thick jacket of green baize. He in the blue coat gave out a hymn, which was sung, but with little spirit, by the congregation, all standing. He then made a few common-place remarks on the nature of prayer; after which, leaning forward on a railing in front of the platform, he began to pray. Having dwelt for a few minutes on the character and perfections of the Almighty, he proceeded in the following strain:-- "We thank thee, O Lord, that thou hast in these latter days restored the gifts of prophecy, of revelation, of great signs and wonders, as in the days of old. We thank Thee that, as thou didst formerly raise up thy servant Joseph to deliver his brethren in Egypt, so Thou hast now raised up another Joseph to save his brethren from bondage to sectarian delusion, and to bring them into this great and good land, a land flowing with milk and honey, which is the glory of all lands, and which Thou didst promise to be an inheritance for the seed of Jacob for ever-more. We pray for thy servant and prophet Joseph, that Thou wouldest bless him and prosper him, that although the archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him, his bow may abide in strength, and the arms of his hands may be made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob. We pray also for thy holy temple, that the nations of the earth may bring gold and incense, that the sons of strangers may build up its walls, and fly to it as a cloud, and as doves to their windows. We pray Thee also to hasten the ingathering of thy people, every man to his heritage and every man to his land. We pray that as thou hast set up this place as an ensign for the nations, so Thou wouldest continue to assemble here the outcasts, and gather together the dispersed from the four corners of the earth. May every valley be exalted, and every mountain and hill be made low, and the crooked places straight, and the rough places plain, and may the glory of the Lord be revealed and all flesh see it together! Bring thy sons from far, and thy daughters from the ends of the earth, and let them bring their silver and their gold with them." Thus he proceeded for perhaps half an hour, after which he sat down, and the elder in green baize, having thrown aside his jacket,--for the heat of the sun was now considerable,--commenced a discourse. He began by stating the importance of forming correct views of the character of God. People were generally content with certain preconceived views on this subject derived from tradition. These views were for the most part incorrect. The common opinion respecting God made him an unjust God, a partial God, a cruel God, a God worthy only of hatred; in fact, "the greatest devil in the universe." Thus also people in general had been "traditioned" to suppose that divine revelation was confined to the old-fashioned book called the Bible, a book principally written in Asia, by Jews, and suited to particular circumstances and particular classes. On the other hand, they supposed that this vast continent of America had been destitute of all revelation for five thousand years, until Columbus discovered it, and "the good, pious, precise Puritans brought over with them, some two hundred years since, that precious old book called the Bible." Now God had promised to judge all men without respect of persons. If, therefore, the American aborigines had never received a revelation, and were yet to be judged together with the Jews and the Christians, God was most horribly unjust; and he, for his part, would never love such a God; he could only hate him. He said there was a verse somewhere in the Bible, he could not tell where, as he was "a bad hand at quoting," but he thought it was in the Revelation. "If it's not there," he said, "read the whole book through, and you'll find it, I guess, somewhere. I hav'n't a Bible with me, I left mine at home, as it ain't necessary." Now this verse, he proceeded to observe, stated that Christ had redeemed men by his blood out of _every_ kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation; and had made them unto God kings and priests. But in America there were the ruins of vast cities, and wonderful edifices, which proved that great and civilized nations had existed on this continent. If the Bible was true, therefore, God must have had priests and kings among those nations, and numbers of them must have been redeemed by the blood of Christ. Revelations from God must consequently have been granted to them. The Old and New Testaments were therefore only portions of the revelations of God, and not a complete revelation, nor were they designed to be so. "Am I to believe," said he, "that God would cast me or any body else into hell, without giving me a revelation?" God now revealed Himself in America just as truly as he had ever done in Asia. The present congregation lived in the midst of wonders and signs equal to those mentioned in the Bible, and they had the blessing of revelation mainly through the medium of that chosen servant of God, Joseph Smith. The Gentiles often came to Nauvoo to look at the prophet Joseph--old Joe, as they profanely termed him--and to see what he was doing; but many who came to laugh remained to pray, and soon the kings and nobles of the earth would count it a privilege to come to Nauvoo and behold the great work of the Lord in these latter days. "The work of God is prospering," he said, "in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales; in Australia, and at the Cape of Good Hope, in the East and West Indies, in Palestine, in Africa, and throughout America, thousands and tens of thousands are getting converted by our preachers, are baptized for the remission of sins, and are selling off all they have that they may come to Nauvoo. The great and glorious work has begun, and I defy all earth and hell to stop it." A hymn was now sung; and afterwards a tall, thin, New-England Yankee, with a strong nasal twang and provincial accent, rose up, and leaning forward on the railing, spoke for half an hour with great volubility. He said that his office required him to speak of business. They were all aware that God had by special revelation appointed a committee of four persons, and had required them to build a house unto his name, such a one as his servant, Joseph, should show them. That the said house should be called the "Nauvoo House," and should be for a house of boarding: that the kings and nobles of the earth, and all weary travellers, might lodge therein, while they should contemplate the word of the Lord, and the corner-stone, which He had appointed for Zion. That in this house the Lord had said that there should be reserved a suite of rooms for his servant Joseph, and his seed after him from generation to generation. And that the Lord had also commanded that stock should be subscribed by the saints, and received by the committee for the purpose of building the house. The speaker proceeded as follows:--"Now, brethren, the Lord has commanded this work, and the work _must_ be done. Yes; it _shall_ be done--it _will_ be done. The Gentiles, the men of the world, tell us that such stock must pay twenty-five per cent. per annum, and the Lord hath required us to take stock; surely, then, when duty and interest go together, you will not be backward to contribute. But only a small amount of stock has hitherto been taken, and the committee appointed by the Lord have had to go on borrowing, and borrowing, until they can borrow no longer. In the mean time, the mechanics employed on the house want their pay, and the committee are not able to pay them. We have a boat ready to be towed up the river to the pine country, to get pinewood for the edifice. We have a crew engaged, and all ready to start; but we cannot send out the expedition without money. The committee have made great personal sacrifices to fulfil the commandment of the Lord: I myself came here with seven thousand dollars, and now I have only two thousand, having expended five thousand upon the work of the Lord. But we cannot go on in this way any longer. I call on you, brethren, to obey God's command, and take stock, even though you may not dress so finely as you do now, or build such fine houses. Let not the poor man say, I am too poor; but let the poor man contribute out of his poverty, and the rich man out of his wealth, and God will give you a blessing." During this address, I noticed some of the English emigrants whom I had seen a few days previously on board the steam-boat at St. Louis. They were listening with fixed attention, and, doubtless, considering how many of their hard-earned sovereigns should be devoted to the pious work of building a fine hotel for the prophet and his posterity. The thought arose in my mind, that these earnest appeals for money were designed mainly for the ears of the three hundred green saints who had just arrived. This address being concluded, two other elders followed in a similar strain. They spoke with great fluency, and appeared equally familiar with worldly business and operations in finance, as with prophecies and the book of Mormon. At length, having, as they supposed, wrought up the zeal of the congregation to a sufficient pitch, they called on all believers in the book of Mormon, who felt disposed to take stock, to come forward before the congregation, and give in their names with the amount of their subscriptions. Upon this appeal, there was much whispering among the audience; and I detected two Mormons, apparently from Yorkshire, in the very act of nodding and winking at each other. However, none came forward; and one of the elders coolly remarked,--that as they appeared not to have made up their minds as to the amount which they would take, he requested all who wished to become stockholders to come to his house the next afternoon at five o'clock. The elder who had delivered the first discourse now rose, and said that a certain brother, whom he named, had lost a keg of white lead. "Now," said he, "if any of the brethren present has taken it by mistake, thinking it was his own, he ought to restore it; but if any of the brethren present has stolen the keg, much more ought he to restore it; or else, may be, he will get _cotched_; and that, too, within the corporation limits of the city of Nauvoo." Another person rose and stated that he had lost a ten-dollar bill. He had never lost any money before in his life; he always kept it very safely; but now, a ten-dollar bill had escaped from him, and if any of the brethren had found it, or taken it, he hoped it would be restored. A hymn was now sung, and the service (if such it may be called) having continued from half-past ten o'clock till two, finally concluded. As the congregation dispersed, I walked with the Mormon who had brought me over in his canoe, to see the temple. The building is a hundred and twenty feet in length, by eighty in breadth; and is designed to be the finest edifice west of Philadelphia. The Mormon informed me, that in this house the Lord designed to reveal unto his Church things which had been kept secret from the foundation of the world; and that He had declared that He would here restore the fulness of the priesthood. He showed me the great baptismal font, which is completed, and stands at the centre of the unfinished temple. This font is, in fact, a capacious laver, eighteen or twenty feet square, and about four in depth. It rests upon the backs of twelve oxen, as large as life, and tolerably well sculptured; but for some reason, perhaps mystical, entirely destitute of _feet_, though possessed of legs. The laver and oxen are of wood, and painted white; but are to be hereafter gilded, or covered with plates of gold. At this place baptisms for the dead are to be celebrated, as well as baptisms for the healing of diseases; but baptisms for the remission of sins are to be performed in the Mississippi. My companion told me that he was originally a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Canada; but that he had obtained greater light, and had been led to join the "latter-day saints." While he was a methodist he felt that he was perfectly right, and could confute all other sects, except the Roman Catholics. These had so much of the true and ancient Church mixed up with their corruptions, that he could not readily confute them. Many passages of the Scriptures remained at that time perfectly inexplicable to him, and he felt that no denomination was organized exactly on the primitive plan. But since he had been led to embrace Mormonism, new light had opened upon his soul; the Scriptures had become perfectly clear, and he had discovered a Church entirely conformable to the primitive model; having the same divinely appointed ministry; the same miraculous gifts of healing, and the unknown tongues; the same prophetical inspiration; the same close intercourse with the Almighty. I observed, that the truth of Mormonism depended on the determination of the question, whether Joseph Smith was, in fact, a prophet of God. He replied, that the inspiration of Joseph could be proved more readily than that of Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Ezekiel. That Joseph had received revelations ever since he was fifteen years of age; and that the outlines of Mormonism were made known to him at a time when he could not possibly have planned so vast a work, or anticipated its triumphant success. While conversing on these subjects, we arrived at the "Nauvoo House," the hotel founded by "revelation." The walls are advanced about as much as those of the temple, and, when completed, will form a capacious building. Passing the prophet Smith's house, which is one of the best in the city, I arrived at a small, but neat, tavern, where I called to get dinner. An old woman, apparently the mistress of the house, was seated by the fire, devoutly reading the book of Mormon, from which she scarcely lifted her eyes as I entered. Here I found a decent, and probably intelligent, Scotchman. Conversing with him on the subject of the services which I had just witnessed, I remarked how greatly deficient they appeared in dignity and spirituality; and contrasted them with the decorous and solemn worship of the Church of England, and of the Scottish Kirk. I particularly referred to the keg of white lead and the ten-dollar bill, as well as to the derogatory manner in which the preacher had alluded to "the old-fashioned book called the Bible." Although I endeavoured to speak with mildness, the Scotchman replied with great warmth, that the English and Scottish Churches taught lies, and that their members loved lies more than truth. That all their solemnity was produced by hypocrisy and false doctrines respecting God. That the Mormons despised long faces, and all religions which required people to wear a sanctimonious and hypocritical exterior. He added, that Mormonism was making rapid progress in Scotland. From the tavern, I proceeded to the landing-place, and engaged the ferryman to take me over to Montrose, on the Iowa side of the river. I found this person to be a Mormon; and learned from him, that the ferry was the property of the prophet Joseph. He further informed me, that the number of passengers had become so considerable, that a steam ferry-boat had been purchased, and would soon be in operation. I afterwards found that his opinion of the character of his brethren, "the saints," was by no means flattering to them. He told a person in Montrose, that it was "no use to hoist a flag at Nauvoo as a signal to passengers, for it was sure to be stolen by the people there; they had so much of the devil in them." On arriving at Montrose, I went to the house of a gentleman to whom I had brought letters of introduction from St. Louis. This gentleman, with his lady and his brother, has resided many years at Montrose; and as he possesses the independence to resist the encroachments of the Mormons, and the ability to expose their designs, he has been an object of constant persecution since the settlement of these people in his vicinity. He at once desired me to make his house my home, and offered me every assistance in prosecuting my researches. Under his hospitable roof I spent a pleasant evening. His family united with me in religious services (for there is no place of worship in the neighbourhood); and, after the awful proceedings of the morning, I felt happy to be once more among Christians. On the following morning (Monday, April 18th), I took my venerable Greek manuscript of the Psalter, and proceeded to the ferry to obtain a passage. The boatman, being engaged to take over a family emigrating to Nauvoo, had provided himself with a heavy flat-boat, which promised us a long voyage. The family soon came on board. It consisted of a simple-looking American, his wife, and a numerous progeny. They had with them two oxen, two cows and a calf, bedding, tables, chairs, and a wooden clock. As we were about to push off, a traveller on horseback came on board, whom I found to be one of the numerous "Gentiles" induced by curiosity to visit the "Zion" of the West. The father of the family stated that he had become confounded by the conflicting doctrines of the sects, and imagined that in Mormonism he had finally discovered the only true Church. Our heavy boat was rowed up about a mile close to the Iowa shore. Having proceeded considerably above Nauvoo, the ferryman and his men began to venture out into the broad stream, in order to cross. As I was in haste to get over, I was permitted to take the small skiff alongside, and, in company with the emigrant, to pull over to Nauvoo. On the way, I held some conversation with my companion, and found him to be thoroughly wedded to his delusion. Arriving at the city, I passed along a straggling street of considerable length bordering on the strand. Perceiving a respectable-looking store (or shop), I entered it, and began to converse with the storekeeper. I mentioned that I had been informed that Mr. Smith possessed some remarkable Egyptian curiosities, which I wished to see. I added that, if Mr. Smith could be induced to show me his treasures, I would show him in return a very wonderful book which had lately come into my possession. The storekeeper informed me that Mr. Smith was absent, having gone to Carthage that morning; but that he would return about nine o'clock in the evening. He promised to obtain for me admission to the curiosities, and begged to be permitted to see the wonderful book. I accordingly unfolded it from the many wrappers in which I had enveloped it, and, in the presence of the storekeeper and many astonished spectators, whom the rumour of the arrival of a strange book had collected, I produced to view its covers of worm-eaten oak, its discoloured parchments, and its mysterious characters. Surprise was depicted on the countenances of all present, and, after a long silence, one person wiser than his fellows, declared that he knew it to be a revelation from the Lord, and that probably it was one of the lost books of the Bible providentially recovered. Looking at me with a patronizing air, he assured me that I had brought it to the right place to get it interpreted, for that none on earth but the Lord's prophet could explain it, or unfold its real antiquity and value. "Oh," I replied, "I am going to England next week, and doubtless I shall find some learned man in one of the universities who can expound it." To this he answered with a sneer, that the Lord had chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty; that he had made foolish the wisdom of this world; and that I ought to thank Providence for having brought me to Nauvoo, where the hidden things of darkness could be revealed by divine power. All expressed the utmost anxiety that I should remain in the city until the prophet's return. The storekeeper offered immediately to send an express eighteen miles to Carthage, to hasten the return of Joseph. This I declined, and told him that my stay in Nauvoo must be very limited. They promised to pay all my expenses, if I would remain; and assured me that they would ferry me over the river as often as I desired it, free of charge; besides furnishing me with a carriage and horses to visit the beautiful prairies in the vicinity. At length I yielded to their importunities, and promised, that if they would bring me over from Montrose on the following morning, I would exhibit the book to the prophet. They were very desirous that I should remain at Nauvoo during the night; but as I had my fears that some of the saints might have a revelation, requiring them to take my book while I slept, I very respectfully declined their pressing invitation. They then requested to know where I was staying in Montrose. I mentioned the name of my hospitable entertainer; upon which they used the most violent language against him, and said that he was their bitter enemy and persecutor, that he was as bad as the people of Missouri, and that I ought not to believe a word that he said. They again pressed me most earnestly not to return to Montrose; but I continued firm, and expressed my intention of hearing both sides of the question. The storekeeper now proceeded to redeem his promise of obtaining for me access to the curiosities. He led me to a room behind his store, on the door of which was an inscription to the following effect: "Office of Joseph Smith, President of the Church of Latter Day Saints." Having introduced me, together with several Mormons, to this _sanctum sanctorum_, he locked the door behind him, and proceeded to what appeared to be a small chest of drawers. From this he drew forth a number of glazed slides, like picture frames, containing sheets of papyrus, with Egyptian inscriptions and hieroglyphics. These had been unrolled from four mummies, which the prophet had purchased at a cost of twenty-four hundred dollars. By some inexplicable mode, as the storekeeper informed me, Mr. Smith had discovered that these sheets contained the writings of Abraham, written with his own hand while in Egypt. Pointing to the figure of a man lying on a table, he said, "That is the picture of Abraham on the point of being sacrificed. That man standing by him with a drawn knife is an idolatrous priest of the Egyptians. Abraham prayed to God, who immediately unloosed his bands, and delivered him." Turning to another of the drawers, and pointing to a hieroglyphic representation, one of the Mormons said, "Mr. Smith informs us that this picture is an emblem of redemption. Do you see those four little figures? Well, those are the four quarters of the earth. And do you see that big dog looking at the four figures? That is the old Devil desiring to devour the four quarters of the earth. Look at this person keeping back the big dog. That is Jesus Christ keeping the devil from devouring the four quarters of the earth. Look down this way. This figure near the side is Jacob, and those are his two wives. Now do you see those steps?" "What," I replied, "do you mean those stripes across the dress of one of Jacob's wives?" "Yes," he said, "that is Jacob's ladder." "That is indeed curious," I remarked; "Jacob's ladder standing on the ground, and only reaching up to his wife's waist." After this edifying explanation, a very respectable looking Mormon asked me to walk over to his house. This person was one of the committee appointed by "revelation" to build the "Nauvoo house." He informed me that he had migrated from the Johnstown District in Upper Canada. He would have returned to that country before, had he not been desirous of remaining to see the wonderful works of the Lord in Nauvoo. He preferred Canada to the United States; and the British government was, in his opinion, greatly superior to that of the Americans, which he considered little better than an organized mob, especially in the Western States. He regarded a strong monarchy as essential to good government, and believed that this opinion was generally held among the "Saints." In the event of a war between England and America, England might rely upon it that the Mormons would not be her enemies. The Indians, too, whom the Americans had persecuted almost as badly as the Missourians had persecuted the Mormons, were decidedly friendly to England. He had lately been among their tribes, and had found everywhere English muskets bearing the date of 1839. The Indians were already making preparations for espousing the cause of England in a war with America. He foretold that great desolation was about to be inflicted on America by England, with the assistance of the oppressed negroes and Indians. The conversation was now interrupted by the entrance of numerous Mormons, who begged to be permitted to see and handle the wonderful book. They all looked upon it as something supernatural, and considered that I undervalued it greatly, by reason of my ignorance of its contents. It was in vain I assured them that a slight acquaintance with Greek would enable any person to decipher its meaning. They were unanimous in the opinion that none but their prophet could explain it; and congratulated me on the providence which had brought me and my wonderful book to Nauvoo. The crowd having cleared away, my host asked me to give my opinion of Nauvoo. I told him that it was certainly a remarkable place, and in a beautiful situation; but that I considered it the offspring of a most astonishing and unaccountable delusion. He said that he admired my candour, and was not surprised at my unbelief, seeing that I was a stranger to the people and to the evidences of their faith. He then proceeded to inform me respecting these evidences. He assured me, in the first place, that America had been mentioned by the prophet Isaiah. I begged for the chapter and verse. He pointed to the sentence,--"Woe to the land shadowing with wings." Now to what land could this refer, but to North and South America, which stretched across the world with two great wings, like those of an eagle? "Stop," I said; "does not the prophet describe the situation of the land? Observe that he says, 'it is beyond the rivers of Ethiopia.'" "Well," said my host, "that may be true; but is not America beyond Ethiopia?" "Have you a map?" I said. "Yes," he replied, "here is my little girl's school atlas." "Now tell me," I said, "where Isaiah wrote his book." "In Palestine," he answered. "Very well," I replied; "now tell me in what direction from Palestine is Ethiopia?" "South, by the map," was the reply. "In what direction from Palestine is America?" "West," he answered. "Now do you think that Isaiah, as a man of common sense, to say nothing of his prophetical character, would have described a country in the west, as lying _beyond_ another which is due south?" He was silent for a moment, and then confessed that he had never thought of studying the Bible by the map; "but probably this map was wrong." I now requested him to let me know the number of troops composing the Nauvoo Legion. He informed me that they consisted at present of seventeen hundred men. He had taken the oath of allegiance to Queen Victoria, and on this account had not connected himself with the legion. The discipline of this band he considered superior to that of the American militia generally, but inferior to that of British troops, or even of the Canadian militia. He believed that the Mormons held many doctrines in common with the Irvingites and other sects in England. He cherished the belief in a separate place of departed spirits distinct from heaven and hell, and in a future restoration of all souls to the divine favour. He considered that when the restitution of all things takes place, the earth will be purified, and then transferred from its present sphere to a brighter and more glorious system. Having listened with due attention to the instructions of my host, I walked over to the store, where the storekeeper expressed his readiness to show me the mummies. Accordingly he led the way to a small house, the residence of the prophet's mother. On entering the dwelling, I was introduced to this eminent personage as a traveller from England, desirous of seeing the wonders of Nauvoo. She welcomed me to the holy city, and told me that here I might see what great things the Lord had done for his people. "I am old," she said, "and I shall soon stand before the judgment-seat of Christ; but what I say to you now, I would say on my death-bed. My son Joseph has had revelations from God since he was a boy, and he is indeed a true prophet of Jehovah. The angel of the Lord appeared to him fifteen years since, and shewed him the cave where the original golden plates of the book of Mormon were deposited. He shewed him also the Urim and Thummim, by which he might understand the meaning of the inscriptions on the plates, and he shewed him the golden breastplate of the high priesthood. My son received these precious gifts, he interpreted the holy record, and now the believers in that revelation are more than a hundred thousand in number. I have myself seen and handled the golden plates; they are about eight inches long, and six wide; some of them are sealed together and are not to be opened, and some of them are loose. They are all connected by a ring which passes through a hole at the end of each plate, and are covered with letters beautifully engraved. I have seen and felt also the Urim and Thummim. They resemble two large bright diamonds set in a bow like a pair of spectacles. My son puts these over his eyes when he reads unknown languages, and they enable him to interpret them in English. I have likewise carried in my hands the sacred breastplate. It is composed of pure gold, and is made to fit the breast very exactly." While the old woman was thus delivering herself, I fixed my eyes steadily upon her. She faltered, and seemed unwilling to meet my glance; but gradually recovered her self-possession. The melancholy thought entered my mind, that this poor old creature was not simply a dupe of her son's knavery; but that she had taken an active part in the deception. Several English and American women were in the room, and seemed to treat her with profound veneration. I produced my wonderful book. The old woman scrutinized its pages, and in an oracular manner assured me that the Lord was now bringing to light the hidden things of darkness according to his word; that my manuscript was doubtless a revelation which had long been hidden, and which was now to be made known to the world, by means of her son the prophet Joseph. She then directed me up a steep flight of stairs into a chamber, and slowly crept up after me. She showed me a wretched cabinet, in which were four naked mummies frightfully disfigured, and in fact, most disgusting relics of mortality. One she said was a king of Egypt whom she named, two were his wives, and the remaining one was the daughter of another king. I asked her by what means she became acquainted with the names and histories of these mummies. She replied, that her son had obtained this knowledge through the mighty power of God. She accounted for the disfigured condition of the mummies, by a circumstance rather illustrative of the back-woods. Some difficulty having been found in unrolling the papyrus which enveloped them, an axe was applied, by which the unfortunate mummies were literally chopped open. I requested her to furnish me with a "Book of Mormon." She accordingly permitted me to take one of the first edition belonging to her daughter Lavinia, for which I paid the young lady a dollar. From Mr. Smith's residence I proceeded to the Mormon printing office, where the official papers and "revelations" of the prophet are published in a semi-monthly magazine, denominated the "Times and Seasons." Here I purchased this magazine complete for the last year, the history of the persecution of the Mormons by the people of Missouri, and other documents of importance. The storekeeper met me at the printing-office, and introduced several dignitaries of the "Latter-day Church," and many other Mormons, to whom he begged me to exhibit my wonderful book. While they were examining it with great apparent interest, one of the preachers informed me that he had spent the last year in England, and that, with the aid of an associate, he had baptized in that country seven thousand saints. He had visited the British Museum, where he affirmed that he had seen nothing so extraordinary as my wonderful book. The Mormon authorities now formally requested me to sell them the book, for which they were willing to pay a high price. This I positively refused, and they next importuned me to lend it to them, so that the prophet might translate it. They promised to give bonds to a considerable amount, that it should be forthcoming whenever I requested it. I was still deaf to their entreaties, and having promised to shew the book to their prophet on the ensuing day, I left them and returned to Montrose. On arriving at the house of Mr. K. my hospitable entertainer, I was informed by him that the Mormons on the Iowa side of the river had been busily engaged in trying to find out who I was, and whence I came. They had generally come to the conclusion that I was a convert to Mormonism recently arrived from England. After tea Mr. K. provided me with a horse, and, in company with him, I took a delightful ride upon the prairie. The grass was of an emerald green, and enamelled with the beautiful wild flowers of spring. Far to the North West a line of bluffs seemed to bound the prairie at the distance of eight or ten miles, while in other directions it extended as far as the eye could reach. Numerous clumps of forest trees appeared at intervals, and herds of cattle were reposing on the grass or feeding on the rich herbage. The scene was one of novel and striking interest, and I felt pained at the reflection that so fine a region seemed destined to be given up to the followers of a mischievous delusion. Upon an eminence near Montrose, I was shewn the tomb of Kalawequois, a beautiful Indian girl of the tribe of Sacs and Foxes. She died recently at the early age of eighteen, having lingered six years in a consumption. She was buried on this spot by moonlight, with all the ancient ceremonies of her nation. Adjoining her grave was the tomb of Skutah, a full-blooded Indian "brave," and a distinguished warrior of the same tribe. Mr. K. stated, that previously to the arrival of the Mormons, his only neighbours were the Indians, with whom he lived on the most friendly terms. Nothing could exceed their honesty and good faith in all their intercourse with him: and although heathens, Mr. K. considered them superior in morality and common sense to the "latter-day saints." Keokuk is the present chief of the Sacs and Foxes, having succeeded to the jurisdiction on the demise of the venerable Black Hawk, who died of grief at the age of eighty, in consequence of the treatment experienced by his nation at the hands of the United States. The residence of Keokuk and the chief village of his tribe, are situated near the Des Moines river, and about a day's journey westward of Montrose. The tribe consisted, before the war, of about nine thousand persons, who are now reduced to three thousand. The two sons of Black Hawk still survive, and are noble and princely both in person and in character. The Indians have the greatest possible contempt for Joseph Smith, and denominate him a Tshe-wál-lis-ke, which signifies a rascal. Nor have other false prophets risen more highly in their estimation. A few years since, that notorious deceiver Matthias made his appearance one evening at the door of Keokuk's "waikeop," or cabin. He wore a long beard, which was parted on each side of his chin; a long gun was on his shoulder, and a red sash around his waist. Keokuk demanded who he was, to which question Matthias replied, that he was Jesus Christ the only true God, and that he was come to gather the Indians, who were of the seed of Israel. "Well," said Keokuk, who is a very dignified man, "perhaps you are Jesus Christ, and perhaps you are not. If you are Jesus Christ you cannot be killed. If you are not Jesus Christ, you are a rascal and deserve to be shot. Look at these two fine rifle pistols; they were made in New York; they never miss their aim. Now see me sound them with the ram-rod. They have a tremendously heavy charge. Now I point them at you. Now I am going to fire." At this Matthias suddenly bolted, being unwilling that his claims should be tested by so novel and so striking a mode of theological argument. He afterwards obtained admission, at Keokuk's request, to the waikeop of an old Indian man and woman who lived alone. They gave him supper, and when he had fallen asleep they made a fire, and watched him all night, believing him to be the devil, whom they had heard described by the Roman Catholic missionaries. These Indians have many remarkable customs. Before undertaking a war, their warriors fast forty days in a solitary cabin constructed of bark. During this period, they eat barely sufficient to keep themselves alive. They also sacrifice dogs; and having tied the dead bodies to trees about six feet above the ground, they proceed to paint the noses and stomachs of the victims with a deep red colour. They consult prophets, who are provided with sacred utensils, denominated medicine bags; and which contain the skins of "skunks," with other precious articles. When the warriors return from their fast, the people make a great feast on dogs which have been fattened for the occasion. None but men are allowed to attend. At the appointed hour, the warriors may be seen travelling to the rendezvous; each carrying, with great solemnity, his wooden bowl and wooden spoon. At the house appointed for the feast, the dead dogs are in readiness, together with a profusion of boiled Indian corn and beans. Mr. K. was present on one of these occasions, and took particular notice of the ceremonies. Some of the warriors began by cutting the dogs into equal portions, which they placed in a large iron kettle over a fire, and boiled for about half an hour. The remainder of the guests reclined upon mats on both sides of the house, while the fire burned briskly at the centre, the smoke escaping through an opening in the roof. The corn and beans were placed all round the room in wooden dishes upon the ground. The dog meat being sufficiently boiled, the pieces were taken out, and every person present received his share. A distinguished "brave" now arose, and made a speech; after which, a second stood up and repeated the monosyllable, "ugh." At this signal, all began to eat; holding the pieces of dog in their hands without knives or forks, and devouring with all their might. This feast on dogs is considered a sort of penance. Whoever swallows the whole of his portion is called a _big brave_; while those who are made sick by it, are denominated _squaws_. The men of this tribe enjoy themselves exceedingly at their villages during the winter, visiting one another with great sociability. All the hard work devolves upon the women, who cut down trees for firewood, make the fires, and minister like slaves to the comfort and luxury of their lords. These Indians, notwithstanding their neglect of the squaws, have many courteous and gentlemanly habits. They have no profane word in their vocabulary, and the most abusive words employed by them are _liar_, _rascal_, _hog_, and _squaw_. They, however, catch with facility the profane expressions of the whites, which they use with great readiness, and without understanding their signification. Thus, they will often employ an oath as a friendly salutation; and while kindly shaking hands with a friend, will curse him in cheerful and pleasant tones of voice. The following morning (Tuesday, April 19th), a Mormon arrived with his boat and ferried me over to Nauvoo. A Mormon doctor accompanied me. He had obtained, I was told, a regular diploma from a medical school as a physician; but since the Mormons generally prefer miraculous aid to medicine, it is probable that his practice is somewhat limited. He argued with me as we were on the passage, and evinced a tolerable share of intelligence and acuteness. The success of Mormonism in England was a subject of great rejoicing to him. I observed, that I had reason to believe that the conquests of Mormonism in Britain had been principally among the illiterate and uneducated. This, he partially admitted; but he maintained that God had always chosen the poor, for they were rich in faith. I replied, that the class of persons to whom he referred, abounded in wrong faith no less than in right faith; and that among the lower class of persons in England, the wildest delusions, of the most contradictory character, had, from time to time, been readily propagated. I further remarked, that the same class of people who believed in Joanna Southcote, might easily be persuaded to credit the divine mission of Joseph Smith. I begged him to inform me whether the Mormons believed in the Trinity. "Yes," he replied; "we believe that the Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is God; that makes three at least who are God, and no doubt there are a great many more." He went on to state, that the Mormons believe that departed saints become a portion of the Deity, and may be properly denominated "Gods." On landing at Nauvoo, I proceeded with the Doctor along the street which I mentioned before as bordering on the strand. As I advanced with my book in my hand, numerous Mormons came forth from their dwellings, begging to be allowed to see its mysterious pages; and by the time I reached the prophet's house, they amounted to a perfect crowd. I met Joseph Smith at a short distance from his dwelling, and was regularly introduced to him. I had the honour of an interview with him who is a prophet, a seer, a merchant, a "revelator," a president, an elder, an editor, and the general of the "Nauvoo legion." He is a coarse, plebeian person in aspect, and his countenance exhibits a curious mixture of the knave and the clown. His hands are large and fat, and on one of his fingers he wears a massive gold ring, upon which I saw an inscription. His dress was of coarse country manufacture, and his white hat was enveloped by a piece of black crape as a sign of mourning for his deceased brother, Don Carlos Smith, the late editor of the "Times and Seasons." His age is about thirty-five. I had not an opportunity of observing his eyes, as he appears deficient in that open, straightforward look which characterizes an honest man. He led the way to his house, accompanied by a host of elders, bishops, preachers, and common Mormons. On entering the house, chairs were provided for the prophet and myself, while the curious and gaping crowd remained standing. I handed the book to the prophet, and begged him to explain its contents. He asked me if I had any idea of its meaning. I replied, that I believed it to be a Greek Psalter; but that I should like to hear his opinion. "No," he said; "it ain't Greek at all; except, perhaps, a few words. What ain't Greek, is Egyptian; and what ain't Egyptian, is Greek. This book is very valuable. _It is a dictionary of Egyptian Hieroglyphics._" Pointing to the capital letters at the commencement of each verse, he said: "Them figures is Egyptian hieroglyphics; and them which follows, is the interpretation of the hieroglyphics, written in the reformed Egyptian. Them characters is like the letters that was engraved on the golden plates." Upon this, the Mormons around began to congratulate me on the information I was receiving. "There," they said; "we told you so--we told you that our prophet would give you satisfaction. None but our prophet can explain these mysteries." The prophet now turned to me, and said, "this book ain't of no use to you, you don't understand it." "Oh yes," I replied; "it is of some use; for if I were in want of money, I could sell it, and obtain, perhaps, enough to live on for a whole year." "But what will you take for it?" said the prophet and his elders. "My price," I replied, "is higher than you would be willing to give." "What price is that?" they eagerly demanded. I replied, "I will not tell you what price I would take; but if you were to offer me this moment nine hundred dollars in gold for it, you should not have it." They then repeated their request that I should lend it to them until the prophet should have time to translate it, and promised me the most ample security; but I declined all their proposals. I placed the book in several envelopes, and as I deliberately tied knot after knot, the countenances of many among them gradually sunk into an expression of great despondency. Having exhibited the book to the prophet, I requested him in return to shew me his papyrus; and to give me his own explanation, which I had hitherto received only at second hand. He proceeded with me to his office, accompanied by the multitude. He produced the glass frames which I had seen on the previous day; but he did not appear very forward to explain the figures. I pointed to a particular hieroglyphic, and requested him to expound its meaning. No answer being returned, I looked up, and behold! the prophet had disappeared. The Mormons told me that he had just stepped out, and would probably soon return. I waited some time, but in vain: and at length descended to the street in front of the store. Here I heard the noise of wheels, and presently I saw the prophet in his waggon, flourishing his whip and driving away as fast as two fine horses could draw him. As he disappeared from view, enveloped in a cloud of dust, I felt that I had turned over another page in the great book of human nature. The Mormons now surrounded me, and requested to know whether I had received satisfaction from the prophet's explanation. I replied that the prophet had given me no satisfaction, and that he had committed himself most effectually. They wished to know my own religious opinions. I informed them that I had been educated in the Church of England, to which I was conscientiously attached. One of the Mormons said that the Church of England had a form of godliness, but denied the power thereof, and that it was the duty of all men to turn away from her. I asked him what he understood by the _power_ of godliness. He replied, "the power of working miracles and of speaking in unknown tongues." He maintained that the Church of England denied that the gifts of the Holy Ghost are communicated at the present day to the people of God. I told him that he was mistaken, and referred him to the passages in the "Service for the Ordering of Priests," "Receive the Holy Ghost for the office and work of a Priest in the Church of God." And again, "Thou the Anointing Spirit art, Who dost thy _sevenfold gifts_ impart." And again, "Thou in thy gifts art manifold, By _them_ Christ's Church doth stand." Another said that the ministers of the Church of England were dumb dogs, that its bishops were regardless of the advancement of the gospel, that their belly was their God, and that money was their idol. I inquired whether he was particularly well acquainted with the English bishops and clergy. He replied, that he had never been out of America; but that he had received these accounts from travellers. I told him that I had been personally acquainted with many of the bishops and clergy of the English Church, and that his assertion was not agreeable to the truth. A renegade now came forward, who stated himself to have been a member of the Established Church of Ireland. He said that the Thirty-nine Articles were a bundle of inconsistencies from beginning to end. I begged him to specify some of the inconsistencies. He said that the first Article asserts that God is without body, parts, or passions; that the second Article teaches that Christ is God; and that the fourth Article states that Christ ascended into heaven with his body, flesh, and bones. Thus, he maintained, the fourth Article was inconsistent with the first. I replied, that the same charge of inconsistency might be applied to the Scriptures with equal fairness, and quoted the texts by which the doctrines of the first, second, and fourth Articles are distinctly proved. He flew off at once to another subject, and maintained that baptism in the Church of England is not valid, inasmuch as it is not administered by persons having authority. I asked him what constituted a sufficient authority. He replied, "a commission from Christ, proved by the possession of miraculous gifts." I said that the English clergy possessed a commission from Christ, which could be proved most conclusively, even in the absence of miraculous gifts at the present time. He wished to know how their commission could be proved without miracles. I told him that the bishops of the English Church, by whom the inferior clergy are ordained, are apostles just as truly as St. Barnabas and St. Timothy were. This statement took him altogether by surprise; he looked at me incredulously, and wished for proof. I presented him with a brief outline of the clear and simple argument for the Apostolic Succession, and showed him historically that bishops have been always consecrated by bishops from the age of inspiration to the present time; that the commission of our Saviour to the eleven, extending as it did through all time and all the world, _implied_ an apostolical succession till the day of judgment; that Scripture testifies to a succession of Apostles as long as Scripture can testify to it; and that afterwards the continuance of the succession is proved by a vast number of Christian writers down to the present time. He considered for a moment, and then said, that such a succession must have come through Rome; that Rome was the mother of harlots, and that the Church of England was the eldest of her numerous family of daughters. "The Church of England," said he, "reminds me of a story I heard about an old cow--" As he was becoming abusive I thought it best to check him, and seriously requested him to inform me whether it was an English cow or an Irish bull of which he was speaking. At this the younger Mormons began to laugh, and Paddy seemed rather disconcerted and was silent. An old American in a blue home-spun suit, and with a disagreeable expression in his face, now entered the lists against me. He told me that I was in great darkness and unbelief, and that I ought to repent, obey the gospel, and be baptized. I replied, that as for repentance, I repented every day; as for obedience, without boasting, I might claim to be equal to the "Latter-day Saints;" and as for baptism, I had been lawfully baptized by one having authority. He said that Church of England baptism possessed only the authority derived from Acts of Parliament, and that the English Church was merely a Parliament Church. I replied, that the English Church had a double sanction: first, that of Christ--who founded the Catholic Church, of which the English Church is a portion; and secondly, that of Parliament, by which, long after its foundation, it was acknowledged as the National Religion. "As for you Mormons," I said, "it is now my turn to say something about your religion, since you have spoken freely of mine. It is easy for you to argue as you do about the descent of the Indians from Israel, the probability of the restoration of miraculous powers to the Church, and the errors and inconsistencies of existing sects; but in regard to the real question at issue, on which your religion depends, namely, the inspiration of your prophet, you have given me no satisfaction whatever." They requested me to state what evidence I should consider satisfactory. I replied, "When the Jewish dispensation was to be introduced, God enabled Moses to work great wonders with his rod. God smote a mighty nation with miraculous plagues. He divided the Red Sea and the River Jordan. He came down on Mount Sinai amid clouds and lightnings and the terrific sound of the trumpet of heaven. He caused Moses to strike the rock and the waters gushed forth. He rained down manna for the space of forty years in the wilderness. Again, when the Christian dispensation was to be established, Christ walked upon the waters; He controlled the winds and the waves; He fed assembled thousands with a few loaves and fishes; He healed the sick; He opened the eyes of the blind; He brought the dead to life; and finally, He raised Himself from the grave. "You maintain that your prophet is sent to establish a third dispensation. I demand, therefore, what signs are given to prove his commission?" The old man replied, that the healing of the sick, the casting out of devils, and the speaking of unknown tongues, were very frequent in the "Latter-day Church." I said that signs of that kind were of a very doubtful description, since the imagination possessed great power over the nervous system. I inquired whether Smith had ever walked across the Mississippi, or brought a dead man to life, He replied in the negative; but said, that among them the blind received their sight, and the ears of the deaf were opened. I then observed, "You perceive that I am rather deaf, and you say that I have no faith. Now can you open my ears so that I may hear your arguments more distinctly?" Immediately the old man stepped forward, and before I was aware of his object, thrust his fore-fingers into my ears, and lifting up his eyes, uttered for about a minute in a loud voice some unintelligible gibberish. "There," he said finally, "the Holy Ghost prompted me to do that, and now you have heard the unknown tongue." "But my hearing is not improved," I said. "That," he replied, "is because you have no faith. If ever you believe the Book of Mormon, you will immediately recover perfect hearing, through the gift of the Holy Ghost." I looked at him somewhat severely and said, "Take care, old man, what you say. When you employ the names of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, you should speak with awe and reverence; but you and other Mormons here, as far as I have observed, employ the most sacred terms with the most disgusting levity. How miserable, how barren were your services on last Sunday; how cold your worship, how utterly unedifying and farcical your preaching. The Holy Ghost was manifestly absent from your assembly, which resembled a Jewish Synagogue more than a Christian congregation. There was no Bible, there was no Lord's Prayer, there were no motives presented to humiliation, self-examination, or any branch of devotion; nothing but senseless speculations on the character of God, idle assertions of special revelations and miraculous gifts, and disgraceful advertisements of stolen goods." Here they interrupted me and said, that their preachers did not need the Bible, being inspired by the Holy Ghost. "No," I said, "it is not inspiration, it is a Satanic delusion. Your prophet has committed himself to-day, and I will make the fact known to the world. Would you believe a man calling himself a prophet, who should say that black is white?" "No," they replied. "Would you believe him if he should say that English is French?" "Certainly not." "But you heard your prophet declare, that this book of mine is a Dictionary of Egyptian hieroglyphics, written in characters like those of the original Book of Mormon. I know it most positively to be the Psalms of David, written in ancient Greek. Now what shall I think of your prophet?" They appeared confounded for a while; but at length the Mormon doctor said, "Sometimes Mr. Smith speaks as a prophet, and sometimes as a mere man. If he gave a wrong opinion respecting the book, he spoke as a mere man." I said, "Whether he spoke as a prophet or as a mere man, he has committed himself, for he has said what is not true. If he spoke as a prophet, therefore, he is a false prophet. If he spoke as a mere man, he cannot be trusted, for he spoke positively and like an oracle respecting that of which he knew nothing. You have talked to me very freely respecting the Church to which I belong; but I hardly like to tell you what I think respecting your religion, lest I should hurt your feelings." "Speak out," said some. "Go on," said others. "If Smith be not a true prophet," I said, "you must admit that he is a gross impostor." "We must," they replied. "Then I will freely tell you my opinion, so that you may not think that I intend to say at a distance what I would not say in Nauvoo itself. I think it likely that most of you are credulous and ignorant, but well-meaning persons, and that the time at least _has_ been when you desired to do the will of God. A knot of designing persons, of whom Smith is the centre, have imposed upon your credulity and ignorance, and you have been most thoroughly hoaxed by their artful devices. Mahomet himself was a gentleman, a Christian, and a scholar, when compared with your prophet. And oh! how mournful to look round, as I can at present, and to reflect, how many have been drawn away from their homes, dragged across earth and sea, and brought to this unwholesome spot, where, with the loss of substance and of health, they are too often left to perish in wretched poverty and bitter disappointment." One of the Mormons who had listened attentively to what I said, now remarked with some solemnity of manner, "If we are deceived, then are we of all men the most miserable." "Indeed I believe you are most miserable," I replied, "and I pity you from the very bottom of my heart. And oh! how gladly would I see you delivered from this awful delusion, and returning to the bosom of that holy Catholic Church, from which many of you have apostatized. There you may find plain and honest teaching, without these lying signs and wonders. There you may find holy and solemn services fitted for the edification of the people of God. There you may find a true baptism, a true communion, true gifts of the Holy Ghost, and true ministers who descend in one unbroken line from the Apostles sent forth by Christ Himself." Several of them now said that faith is the gift of God, that God had promised to give wisdom to those who should ask it; that they had prayed to God to guide them into all truth, and that He had led them to believe in the book of Mormon. I replied that God had appointed certain means of ascertaining the truth, and that if we neglect those means it will be vain to pray to Him for guidance. Thus He had declared his Church to be the pillar and ground of truth. But it was evident that they had not built upon the true ground, for they had attached themselves not to the apostolic Church, but a sect barely fifteen years old. The old man in blue now told me that they pitied me as much as I pitied them. "Come, my friend," he said to me, "let you and I go down to the Mississippi, only let me put you under the water and baptize you, and when you come up again, you will see all mysteries clearly, and will believe in our great signs and wonders." I told him in reply, that to submit to such a baptism would be almost the greatest sacrilege which a Christian could commit. "I must now leave you," I proceeded, "I have been among you three days; I have expressed my sentiments freely respecting your religion and your prophet, and I heartily thank you that you have listened to me with attention, and that although you have had me altogether in your power, you have not put me under the Mississippi and kept me there." I walked to the ferry with the Mormon who had brought me over in the morning, the Mormon doctor, and one or two others. When we arrived at the boat we found it safe, as it had been carefully padlocked in the morning. The oars, however, were missing, a circumstance which caused great vexation to the owner. He exclaimed "My oars are gone; somebody has hooked my oars." "Who has taken your oars?" I asked. "Some of the boys, I guess," he replied. "What! some of the young Latter-day Saints?" I said. "I guess it was," he answered. "But do not the young saints learn the ten commandments," I demanded, "and especially the eighth, 'Thou shalt not steal?'" "I guess they know them all," the poor man answered, "but any how they don't practise them." Accordingly he took a piece of board in his hands, and having given another piece to one of his companions, he proceeded rather awkwardly to paddle across the wide and rapid stream. A third piece of board was given to the doctor, who sat with me in the stern, to be used as a rudder. For some time we advanced tolerably well; but before long the doctor began to argue with me vehemently. He said that no man could obtain salvation, who devoted so little attention to the truth of God as I had done; and that instead of spending only three days, I ought to have remained at least three weeks at Nauvoo. I told him that I had seen quite enough to convince any person of ordinary understanding, that Smith was an impostor. He replied that Smith might be as bad as he was reported to be, but that his prophecies would not thereby be proved false. He might be a swindler, a liar, a drunkard, a swearer, and still be a true prophet. David was a murderer and an adulterer, and yet was a true prophet. St. Peter said that even in his time "David had not yet ascended into heaven." David was in hell, for no murderer had eternal life abiding in him. So Smith might be as infamous as David was, and even deny his own revelations, and turn away from his religion, and go to hell; but this would not affect the revelations which God had given by him. It was in vain that I attempted to correct the doctor's false positions; the stream of his eloquence had begun to flow, and, finally, I suffered it to flow unchecked. He said that the truth of Mormonism did not depend on the character of Smith or of any other man. That our Lord had told the Jews that there were other sheep, not of that fold, whom He intended to bring, and that in accordance with this declaration, after his ascension into heaven, He descended again in America and preached the Gospel to the Indians, as the veracious history of the book of Mormon assured us. That for his own part, his faith had been produced solely by the power of God, and that if he was deceived, God Almighty had deceived him, and no other. "I was once an honest Atheist," he proceeded, "I felt that Christianity could not be true, since Christians have not yet decided among themselves what Christianity is. I was induced by curiosity to listen to the preaching of a Mormon elder. My attention was strongly arrested; I began to believe in God, and for many weeks and months was earnest in my prayers to Him for a knowledge of the truth. After the space of six months, I was one night lying awake in my bed meditating, when suddenly a conviction of the reality of the Christian religion flashed upon my mind like lightning. I saw the truth of the Scriptures and of the book of Mormon. I felt powerfully convinced that the prophecies of Joseph Smith were from God. At the same time I was filled with a supernatural extasy which resembled heaven itself. I could not restrain my feelings, but cried out, O my God, if it be thus to be baptized with the Holy Ghost, what must it be to be baptized with fire! From that time I have been a member of the 'Latter-day Church,' and, believe me, I would rather be an honest Atheist again, than embrace the doctrines of any of the sects. If the religion which I profess be false, there is no true religion upon earth." The doctor's zeal had so completely carried him away, that he quite forgot his duty as helmsman. The boat was now about the middle of the Mississippi, and after sundry tortuous windings, seemed about to return to Nauvoo. The poor fellows who were paddling with the boards complaining of the doctor's steering, I volunteered to take the helm, and the medical gentleman forthwith resigned his piece of board into my hands. The skiff now proceeded with a straight course, and we shortly landed in Iowa. The doctor, on parting from me, complimented me somewhat equivocally on my seamanship, by observing, that if I knew the way of salvation as well as I knew how to steer, I might have a good chance of getting to heaven. During the remainder of the day, I employed myself in obtaining testimony from persons residing in Iowa in reference to the conduct and character of their Mormon neighbours. I have every reason to believe that this testimony is correct, partly because it agrees with what I myself saw and heard in Nauvoo, and partly on account of the character and respectability of the witnesses. The reader must have already inferred from my description, that the false prophet himself is a coarse and gross personage, by no means punctilious in regard to truth. The following facts related by actual witnesses will not therefore appear incredible. Before the Mormons settled in the vicinity, no shop for the sale of spirituous liquors had been established in Montrose. After their arrival two of their preachers commenced a grog-shop in that place, which was principally supported by the "Latter-day Saints." In September 1841, the prophet being in Montrose, became intoxicated at this shop. While in this condition he told the by-standers "that he could drink them all drunk," and requested the shop-keeper to treat all his friends at his expense. On another occasion, having been discharged from arrest, through informality in the writ requiring his apprehension for high treason against the State of Missouri, Smith gave a party at Monmouth, and, after a regular frolic with his lawyers and friends, became thoroughly intoxicated. On being asked how it was that he, a prophet of the Lord, could get drunk, he replied, that it was necessary that he should do so, in order to prevent his followers from worshipping him as a God. While intoxicated at Montrose, at another time, he was heard by several persons saying to himself, "I am a P.R.O.F.I.T. I am a P.R.O.F.I.T."--spelling (or rather mis-spelling) the word deliberately, and repeating the letters in solemn succession. About two years since, at a political convention held in Nauvoo, the prophet became intoxicated, and was led home by his brother Hyrum. On the following Sunday, he acknowledged the fact in public. He said that he had been tempted, and had drunk too much; but that he had yielded to the temptation for the following reason:--Several of the elders had got drunk, and had never made confession; but he was desirous of getting drunk and confessing it, in order to set the elders a good example. The language of the prophet is gross in the extreme. A Mormon, for example, having made some remarks derogatory to "the elect lady," Mrs. Smith, the prophet was dreadfully exasperated. He endeavoured to find out the name of the offender; but, being unable to do so, he alluded to the subject in a sermon, preached in the open air, at Montrose, on the 9th of May, 1841. He said, "I hope I may never find out that person; for if I do, my appetite shall never be satisfied till I have his blood; and if he ever crosses my threshold I will send him to hell." I have already stated some circumstances which may appear to reflect on the common honesty of some of the Mormons. Mr. K. mentioned that he had lived five years among heathen Indians, and had never been robbed by them of the most trifling article. During the three years which have elapsed since the settlement of the Mormons at Montrose and Nauvoo, _fourteen robberies_, to the amount of two thousand dollars, have been committed upon his property. 1st, His store was robbed of goods worth five hundred dollars; 2nd, his warehouse was plundered of one barrel of pork, two barrels of sugar, and five kegs of lard; 3rd, his smoke-house was despoiled of thirty-three hams and eleven shoulders; the 4th robbery deprived him of a barrel and a half of salt; the 5th, of another barrel of salt; the 6th, of a saddle, bridle, and martingale, which were taken from his stable; 7thly, four wheels were taken from his waggon; 8thly, three saddles and bridles and a martingale from his stable; 9thly, sixty bushels of wheat from his granary; 10thly, six boxes of glass, a hundred and fifty pounds of bacon, and two boxes of axes, from his warehouse; 11th, six more barrels of salt; 12th, between three and four hundred bushels of Indian corn; 13th, one wheel was stolen from his chariot within an enclosure; and, 14th, his store was robbed of forty-two pieces of dark prints, five or six pieces of satinette, and other articles, worth about four hundred dollars. Joseph Smith, alluding to these robberies in a sermon, said that he "did not care how much was taken from Mr. K. and his brother." He cited the example of Christ and his apostles, who, he said, when hungry, scrupled not to steal corn while walking in the fields. He added the following words,--"The world owes me a good living; if I cannot get it otherwise, I will steal it, and catch me at it if you can." He has, however, thought fit to disavow these principles. In the "Times and Seasons" of Dec. 1, 1841, we have the following official document: "State of Illinois, } SS. Hancock County. } "Before me, John C. Bennett, Mayor of the City of Nauvoo, personally came Joseph Smith, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (commonly called Mormons), who, being duly sworn according to law, deposeth and saith, that he has never, directly or indirectly, encouraged the purloining of property, or taught the doctrine of stealing, or any other evil practice; and that all such vile and unlawful acts will ever receive his unqualified and unreserved disapproval, and the most vigorous opposition of the Church over which he presides; and further this deponent saith not. "JOSEPH SMITH, "President of the Church of Latter-day Saints." After this follows an account of two unlucky Mormons, who seem to be selected as scape-goats. Being officers of the Nauvoo legion, they are tried by court martial, found guilty of theft, and sentenced to be cashiered. Joseph Smith solemnly approves of this sentence, and the proceedings are published in the "Times and Seasons." About the same time, five Mormons are gazetted as being expelled from the church for larceny. The following circumstance was mentioned as a specimen of the manner in which these singular heretics endeavour to rid themselves of the imputation of thievishness universally cast upon them. In the winter of 1841, a Mormon was committed to the penitentiary on a charge of horse-stealing. Upon this, the "Saints" denied that he was a Mormon. Two Mormon preachers, however, offered themselves as bail for the prisoner, and having effected his liberation, speedily decamped. When the spring session of the court of Lee County for 1842 had arrived, it appeared that the accused had followed their example, for neither he nor his securities were to be found. The sufferings experienced by many of the English emigrants at Nauvoo were described as truly appalling. Nauvoo is one of the most unhealthy spots on the Mississippi, between New Orleans and the Falls of St. Anthony. This insalubrity is produced by the low islands adjoining the city, which are frequently overflowed. Sufficient evidence of the unhealthiness of the place is furnished in the following extract from a "revelation given to Joseph Smith, January 19th, 1841," and published in the "Times and Seasons" for June 1st, 1841: "Verily thus saith the Lord unto you, my servant, Joseph Smith,--I am well pleased with your offerings and acknowledgements which you have made; for unto this end have I raised you up, that I might show forth my wisdom through the weak things of the earth. * * * * * Let no man go from this place who has come here _a_ssaying to keep my commandments. If they live here, let them live unto me, and if they die, let them die unto me; for they shall rest from all their labour here, and shall continue their works. Therefore, let my servant William put his trust in me, and cease to fear concerning his family, because of the sickness of the land. If ye love me, keep my commandments, and the sickness of the land shall redound to your glory." I was informed again and again in Montrose, that nearly half of the English who emigrated to Nauvoo in 1841 died soon after their arrival. Far from the graves of their fathers, remote from the ministers of the true faith, they ended their days in want and wretchedness, and were buried without that respectful solemnity which in England is not denied even to the pauper from the workhouse. In his sermon of the 9th of May, 1841, the following words of _most Christian consolation_ were delivered by the prophet to the poor deluded English. "Many of the English who have lately come here have expressed great disappointment on their arrival. Such persons have every reason to be satisfied in this beautiful and fertile country. If they choose to complain, they may; but I don't want to be troubled with their complaints. If they are not satisfied here, I have only to say this to them,--Don't stay whining about me, but go back to England and be d--d." One of Joseph's missionaries, having returned from a mission to England, preached a sermon at Nauvoo on Sunday, July 4th, 1840. Having given an account of his proceedings during his absence, and alluded to the converts whom he had persuaded to settle near Nauvoo, he proceeded to speak as follows:--"I have not had an opportunity to visit these English brethren since my return. I cannot spend my time in visiting them. If they are as much dissatisfied as they are said to be, I have only this to say to them,--You had better go back to England; but if you go, go like men and be d--d, and don't whine about it." The Secretary for the territory of Iowa was present on this occasion, and remarked to my informant, that he was astonished at hearing these expressions from the very man who had brought these poor people a distance of six thousand miles. The method in which the Mormons baptize is a perfect burlesque on the holy initiatory sacrament of the gospel. On one occasion, a hundred and sixty-five persons were baptized by immersion at Nauvoo, some for the remission of sins, and some for their deceased friends, which is their baptism for the dead. This business was done by seven elders, who enjoyed it as a capital frolic. One of these elders baptized a woman six times during the same day. Not satisfied with this, she presented herself a seventh time, when the elder jocosely remarked, "What! haven't you got wet enough already?" A very tall man offering himself, the elder, who is very stout, laughed aloud, and said, "I am the only one big enough to put tall chaps like you under water." The Christian reader will feel that he has now had enough of these awful profanations; and I assure him that nothing but a sense of the duty of exposing imposture could have induced me to commit them to paper. A mere selection from the sayings, writings, and doings of the leading Mormons, equal to the preceding in horrid wickedness, would fill volumes. Enough has been said, however, to prove that Mormonism is associated in the minds of its most zealous advocates with dispositions and actions the very reverse of those which are inculcated by the Gospel, and exhibited in the example of Jesus Christ. In the evening subsequent to my last visit to Nauvoo, I walked by the western banks of the noble Mississippi. Beside me flowed its smooth waters, undisturbed by the slightest ripple. On the eastern bank the rays of the setting sun were reflected from the windows of Nauvoo, and his parting beams illuminated the white dwellings of the prophet and his followers. It was a time adapted to serious reflection. I felt convinced, that palpable as are the absurdities of Mormonism, it is a system which possesses many elements of strength, and of extension. When the present generation of deceivers and of dupes shall have gone to their graves, a new class of Mormons may have arisen, educated in the principles of the sect, and taught by experience to disavow some features in their religion which are at present its shame and its disgrace. They may consign Joseph Smith to perdition, together with the sweet Psalmist of Israel; while his doctrines, somewhat refined, may be a rule of faith and action to admiring millions. It remains (under God) for Christians of the present day to determine whether Mormonism shall sink to the level of those fanatical sects which, like new stars, have blazed for a little while, and then sunk into obscurity; or whether, like a second Mahometanism, it shall extend itself sword in hand, until, throughout western America, Christianity shall be levelled with the dust. And how shall Christians effectually avert the calamity? I reply, by encouraging the feeble and infant Christian institutions already existing in that wonderful land which Mormonism, even now, claims as its own. As a Churchman, I feel almost ashamed for my Church, when I reflect upon the heavy discouragements which are suffered to afflict the amiable and patient missionary bishop of Missouri, Iowa, and Wisconsin. Where are the zealous missionaries who should be flocking to his assistance? Where are the means which should be provided for the support of a learned clergy in the rising cities of the west? Why is Kemper College, the first and only institution of the Church beyond the Mississippi, permitted to languish, while the Mormon temple, and the Mormon university, offer their delusive attractions to the rising generation? Why is the venerable bishop of Illinois permitted to labour almost alone, while the missionaries of Joseph Smith, with a zeal worthy of the true Church, perambulate his diocese and plant their standard in every village? If the Churches of England and America possessed the activity of the Mormons, questions like the above would soon be needless. Churchmen would contribute from their poverty as well as from their riches; churches would be erected, missionaries maintained, and colleges in which a learned clergy could be educated, would be liberally endowed. Fanaticism, no longer rampant, would hide itself in the darkest recesses of the forest; while pure and genuine religion would be the comfort of the weary emigrant, and the faithful guide of the fifty millions who, doubtless, before another century, will occupy the valley of the Mississippi. How present exigencies shall be met, is a question worthy of the careful consideration of all, both in England and America, who are solicitous for the advancement of truth and piety. The appointment of a self-denying missionary to reside in the immediate vicinity of Nauvoo, might in some degree check the rising heresy. Such a missionary should be thoroughly acquainted with the Mormon controversy; patient, willing to endure contradiction and persecution, and able to accommodate himself readily to all circumstances, and to all classes of people. Those who become disgusted with Mormonism might thus be saved from embracing Atheism; the poor disappointed English might be relieved, encouraged, and restored to the Church of their fathers; the progress of the delusion might be closely watched, and the artifices of its leaders duly exposed. It is also worthy of remark, that the success of Joseph Smith appears to warrant a system of emigration and settlement conducted on religious principles. The notorious Owen, as is well known, attempted the establishment of an Infidel community at New Harmony, in Indiana, and totally failed. Joseph Smith has availed himself of the religious principle natural to man, and has triumphantly succeeded. If a false faith has thus prevailed, true religion might accomplish wonders. Whatever may be said, and much may be said with truth, respecting the superior claims of the British colonies, it is certain that a vast proportion of those who emigrate from Great Britain and Ireland, proceed to the United States. Numbers of these have been educated in the principles of the Established Church; and yet, from various causes, few of them comparatively attach themselves to the Church in America. Many connect themselves with various dissenting denominations; while still more, it is to be feared, sink into heartless apathy and irreligion. But we will suppose that a large body of members of the Church determine upon emigrating, on a system which shall secure mutual co-operation and religious fellowship. Before leaving home, the outlines of their plan are fixed: they are accompanied by a sufficient number of well-educated pastors and teachers: they purchase a district of four or five thousand acres in a healthy portion of Iowa, for example: they obtain from the legislature charters for a city, a college, and a church, respectively: they erect their own dwellings upon a handsome and tasteful design: they elect a mayor and a corporation for their rising city. A substantial Church is built, which may afterwards form one wing of a noble Gothic Cathedral. Schools and teachers are provided for the children, professors are appointed for the college, libraries are commenced, and halls are erected. Allotments of land are set aside for the perpetual maintenance of religion and Christian education. The clergy, if sufficiently numerous, elect, with the approbation of the laity, some learned and active man as their bishop, who is afterwards duly consecrated by the authorities of the American Church. The Church now appears in its fulness and dignity; and missionaries go forth from the city, in sincerity and truth, to traverse the land and to convert its inhabitants. This is not a chimerical idea, it is a sketch of what might be realized with little difficulty. Discouragements would occasionally arise; but ultimately, with proper management, such a plan would undoubtedly succeed. A new point of attraction would thus be presented to European and American emigrants, and the power of the false prophet would be shaken to its foundation. APPENDIX. PAGE 2. "Amid countless forms of schism." Bishop Kemper gives the following information on this subject, in a recent appeal to the European Churches. "Under a canon of the Protestant Episcopal Church, passed in the year 1835, I was consecrated a missionary Bishop for Indiana and Missouri, to which were afterwards added Wisconsin, Iowa, and the country beyond the Mississippi, extending southward to latitude 36° 30´, northward to the British possessions, and westward to the Pacific Ocean. This region contains a million of square miles, a million and a quarter of white and negro inhabitants, and numerous Indian tribes amounting in population to not less than three hundred thousand souls. I proceeded forthwith to my field of labour, and found many members of our Catholic and Apostolic Church straying from her fold through the want of pastors. Romanism, heresy, schism, infidelity, paganism, and a new religion--known as Mormonism, extensively pervading the land; and not more than six or seven clergymen of our church scattered at wide intervals over this prodigious surface. I also found that about thirty thousand emigrants from Europe annually settled within my jurisdiction, a large proportion of whom were members of the Reformed Churches of Great Britain, Germany, Prussia, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, in addition to a vast influx of settlers from the eastern parts of the United States, and British America." Speaking of the Roman Catholics, the Bishop says, "Within the bounds of my mission, where I have (1841) but twenty-three fellow-labourers, they have three bishops, and one hundred and six priests. They annually receive large funds from Vienna, Lyons, &c., by which they are enabled to erect splendid cathedrals, extensive colleges, large convents, and substantial stone churches. In St. Louis alone they have a large cathedral, which cost, it is said, eighty thousand dollars, to which, beside the bishop, there are attached four clergymen, who preach and catechise every Sunday in English, French, and German. They have also four chapels, and a splendid church, as yet unfinished, one hundred and twenty feet in length, and eighty in width. The present position of their diocese of St. Louis is as follows:--fifty-six churches, nine churches building, sixty other stations, seventy-three clergymen, two ecclesiastical seminaries, two colleges for young men, one academy for boys, ten female convents, ten academies for young ladies, four schools, and eight charitable institutions." PAGE 3. "A New Book." The Book of Mormon contains five hundred and eighty-eight duodecimo pages, consisting of fifteen different books, purporting to be written at different times, and by different authors, whose names they respectively bear. The period of time covered by these spurious records is about a thousand years, commencing with the time of Zedekiah, and terminating with the year of our Lord 420. It professes to trace the history of the American aborigines, from the time of their leaving Jerusalem in the reign of Zedekiah, under one Lehi, down to their final disaster near the hill Camorah, in the state of New York, in which contest, according to "the prophet Moroni," about 230,000 were slain in a single battle, and he alone escaped to tell the tale. These records, with which various prophecies and sermons are intermingled, are declared by Smith to have been written on golden plates, in "the reformed Egyptian character," and discovered to him by an angel in the year 1823. An English edition of the Book of Mormon, _revised and corrected_, has been published at Manchester, for the benefit of British "Saints." PAGE 4. "a large portion of whom are natives of Christian and enlightened England." I am permitted by a clergyman of the diocese of Chester to give the following extracts from a letter, addressed by him to me, February 4th, 1842. "For your very kind and satisfactory information as to that arch-impostor, Joe Smith, I most cordially thank you. Mormonism is a heresy of a very dangerous and disgraceful tendency; and I am sorry to add, it has produced effects already in some parishes in England which, in this enlightened age, one could scarcely imagine possible. They first of all laid their blasphemous scheme at Preston, in Lancashire, after taking out a licence at the quarter sessions. This occurred about the year 1836 or 37; and they soon numbered in that locality nearly 500 converts. In 1838, they extended their iniquitous operations to various villages on each side of the Ribble. At Ribchester, the famous Roman station of Ribcunium, they seduced many; and the same results followed in other places nearer Clitheroe. Since that time, itinerant preachers among the Methodists and Calvinists have joined the unholy compact; and even farmers, labourers, mechanics, and others,--in short, whoever among them could supply the _needful_,--have been persuaded to sell their property, and emigrate to Nauvoo. In 1838, every Mormon in one village, and in other villages probably the same, received a certificate, or passport, of which the following is a copy: "We do hereby certify that A. B., the bearer of this, is a regular member, and in good standing and fellowship, in the Church of the Latter-day Saints in Waddington, and is a worthy member of the same; and as a token also of our love and good will, we give unto him this letter of commendation to the esteem and fellowship of the Saints, in any land or country to which he may be pleased to remove. "_March 29, 1838._ "H. C. KIMBALL, "ORSON HYDE, "Presiding Elders of said Church. "This will be called for." Three hundred of these certificates were printed at Clitheroe, by which speculation about £15 were realized. The way in which a Mormon prophecy is given to produce effect on the converts, is artfully designing. A young man, for instance, is immersed. After his immersion, the elders write a letter, unknown to the proselyte himself. As long as he remains faithful, all is right; the letter remains carefully sealed, and is kept by third parties. If he leaves them, a meeting of all the Mormons in the neighbourhood takes place, the letter is brought out with solemn pomp, the seal is broken, and the contents are read publicly. The following will serve for an example of these prophetic letters: "Liverpool, _April 13, 1838_. "DEAR BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN PRESTON,--It seemeth good unto us, and also unto the Holy Ghost, to write to you a few words, which cause pain in our hearts, and will also pain you when they are fulfilled before you; yet you shall have joy in the end. Brother Webster will not abide in the Spirit of the Lord, but will reject the truth, and become the enemy of the people of God, and expose the mysteries which have been committed to him, that a righteous judgment may be executed upon him, unless he speedily repent. When this sorrowful prediction shall be fulfilled, this letter shall be read to the church, and it shall prove a solemn warning to all to beware. "Farewell in the Lord, "ORSON HYDE, "H. C. KIMBALL." In England, the preachers of Mormonism generally begin by insinuating among the astonished natives of rural villages, or the weak and wavering classes in larger towns, that our Bible has suffered by translation, and that it is deficient and incomplete in many particulars. They next declare that the Book of Mormon and the revelations bestowed on Smith and Rigdon are additional favours from the Deity, designed to explain the obscurities and supply the deficiencies of our Scriptures. It never enters into the minds of their dupes to inquire as to the _credentials_ of these preachers. They are the eye-witnesses of no miracle: they see no dead raised to life, no dumb qualified to speak, no blind enabled to see. One night the Mormon elder commences by observing to his congregation that he does not know what to say, but that he will say whatever the Lord shall put into his mouth. On another night, he gravely announces his intention to read a portion of the old Scriptures for edification; invariably, however, taking care not to confine himself to any particular subject, but to have as extensive a field as possible, in order to weave in from time to time such portions of the "Book of Mormon" as he knows to be best adapted to effect his object. The American edition of this book had no index to guide its readers to any particular passage or doctrine; it was not generally circulated in England, even among the converts; and hence very few were able to know precisely when the preacher's words were _Mormonic_, and when they were not. This peculiarity was remarked upon at the time, and in an English edition, printed at Manchester, an index was inserted. For the continuance of the fraudulent scheme, they proceed to enact a mock ordination, choosing out of the whole body of converts certain individuals who are deemed most trustworthy. These assume their blasphemous calling on the pretended sanction of the Deity, immerse converts after dark, _confirm_ the parties next day, and administer, in the course of two or three days at the farthest, a mock sacrament, to individuals who in the bewildered state of their minds scarcely know their right hand from their left. It is under the very convenient cloak of night, however, that Mormonism in England performs most of its operations. It is then in the zenith of its glory, converting ignorance into the tool of delusion, chaining it fast by iniquitous discipline, order, and system, and trying with all its energy to make the worse appear the better cause. In such beguiling hours, the secret "Church Meeting" is held, to the exclusion of every individual except the initiated. High and mighty is the business transacted on such occasions. It consists of exhortations to stand firm, instructions given, explanations offered, visions and revelations stated, gifts received for the "Bishop of Zion," confessions made, threatenings held out, converts reprimanded, apostates excommunicated, the successes of Mormonism described, and suggestions offered for removing the difficulties in its way. Enquiries are made in reference to other particulars: for example,--"What kind of people reside in this neighbourhood? What places of worship do they frequent? What opinions have you formed as to the natural bent of their respective dispositions? Will they be disposed to join us, or will they exercise an influence against us? Are they principally in the humble walks of life, or are they of some knowledge and understanding?" If the answer to these and other questions be apparently favourable, the necessary advice is given to the first converts how they may prevail upon more. Suggestions are thrown out how to persuade; and the next step is to urge in every possible way the grievous sin of baptizing infants, and the absolute necessity of _dipping_, as the very _sine quâ non_, the only effectual path to everlasting salvation. It was the opinion of many of our clerical brethren in England, at first, that the evil would upset itself. But system, order, and discipline are powerful ingredients, even in a bad cause. Smith writes to England as follows:--"The Nauvoo Legion embraces all our military power." "The University of Nauvoo will enable us to teach our children arts, sciences, and learned professions. The regents of the university will supervise all matters of education, from common schools up to the highest branches." PAGE 3. "St. Louis, a city of thirty thousand inhabitants." St. Louis was founded in 1764, under the auspices of the French government, by M. Laclede, who named it in honour of the reigning monarch, Louis XV. In 1770, it passed into the possession of Spain, and as the seat of government for Upper Louisiana was occupied by a Spanish governor. In 1800, Louisiana was retroceded to France, from which government it was purchased by the United States during the presidency of Mr. Jefferson. St. Louis increased slowly until the introduction of steam navigation on the western rivers; but during the last seven years its population has increased from 8000 to 30,000. It contains fifteen places of worship, viz., two Episcopalian churches, two Roman Catholic, two Methodist meeting-houses, two Presbyterian, one Associate Reformed Presbyterian, one German Lutheran, one Baptist, one Unitarian, an African Methodist, and an African Baptist meeting-house, besides a Jewish synagogue. A third Roman Catholic church is in progress, and the number of Roman Catholics in the city is not less than 14,000. The buildings are of brick or stone, and generally present a handsome appearance. PAGE 5. "Father of waters," &c. When the Mississippi is at its lowest stage, the depth of water at St. Louis is four feet; when full, the depth is twenty-nine feet. The width of the river is three-quarters of a mile; the average velocity four miles an hour; the average descent of the stream six inches in every mile. PAGE 8. "This was the Temple." The following are some of Joseph Smith's "Revelations" on the subject of the temple, extracted from the "Times and Seasons" for June 1, 1841. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, let all my saints come from afar, and send ye swift messengers, yea, chosen messengers, and say unto them, Come ye with all your gold, and your silver, and your precious stones, and with all your antiquities; and all who have knowledge of antiquities that will come, may come; and bring the box-tree, and the fir-tree, and the pine-tree, together with all the precious trees of the earth; and with iron, and with copper, and with brass, and with zinc, and with all your precious things of the earth; and build a house to my name, for the Most High to dwell therein: for there is not a place found upon earth, that he may come and restore again that which was lost unto you, or which he hath taken away, even the fulness of the priesthood. "* * * And again, verily, I say unto you, how shall your washings be acceptable unto me, except ye perform them in a house which you have built to my name? For this cause, I commanded Moses that he should build a tabernacle, that they should bear it in the wilderness, and to build a house in the land of promise, that those ordinances might be revealed which had been hid from before the world was. * * * * "And verily I say unto you, let this house be built unto my name, that I may reveal mine ordinances therein unto my people; for I design to reveal unto my church things which have been kept hid from the foundation of the world; things that pertain to the dispensation of the fulness of times. And I will show unto my servant Joseph, all things pertaining to this house, and the priesthood thereof, and the place whereon it shall be built. * * * * And it shall come to pass, that if you build a house unto my name, and do not the things that I say, I will not perform the oath which I make unto you; neither fulfil the promises which ye expect at my hands, saith the Lord: for instead of blessings, ye by your own works, bring cursings, wrath, indignation, and judgment upon your own heads by your follies, and by all your abominations which you practise before me, saith the Lord." PAGE 12. "In Palestine, &c." The following is from the 'Times and Seasons' for April 1st, 1842. "Another letter has just come to hand from Elder Hyde, dated Jaffa, Oct. He was then on his way to Jerusalem, the date being much earlier than the one inserted in another page. We have only room for the following extract, which we publish as among the most extraordinary signs of the times. 'On my passage from Beyroot to this place (Jaffa) the night before last, at one o'clock, as I was meditating on the deck of the vessel as she was beating down against a sultry wind, a very bright glittering sword appeared in the heavens, with a beautiful hilt, as plain and complete as any cut you ever saw. And what is still more remarkable, an arm with a perfect hand, stretched itself out and took hold of the hilt of the sword. The appearance really made my hair rise, and my flesh, as it were, crawl on my bones. The Arabs made a wonderful outcry at the sight. Oh, Allah! Allah! was their exclamation all over the vessel. I mention this, because you know there is a commandment of God for me, which says, 'Unto you it shall be given to know the signs of the times, and the sign of the coming of the Son of man.' Yours, in Christ, ORSON HYDE." PAGE 13. "Nauvoo House." The following is a further extract from the "Revelation" of January 19, 1841, quoted above. "Verily, I say unto you, let my servant George, and my servant Lyman, and my servant John Snider, and others, build a house unto my name, such an one as my servant Joseph shall show unto them, upon the place which he shall show unto them also. And it shall be for a house of boarding, a house that strangers may come from afar to lodge therein. * * * * Let it be built unto my name, and let my name be named upon it; and let my servant Joseph and his house have place therein, from generation to generation. For this anointing have I put upon his head, that his blessing shall also be put upon the heads of his posterity after him; and as I said unto Abraham, even so I say unto my servant Joseph, in thee and in thy seed shall all the kindreds of the earth be blessed. Therefore, let my servant Joseph and his seed after him have place in that house from generation to generation, for ever and ever, saith the Lord; and let the name of that house be called the Nauvoo House, and let it be a delightful habitation for man, and a resting-place for the weary traveller, that he may contemplate the glory of Zion, and the glory of this corner-stone thereof." PAGE 22. "The writings of Abraham." Smith's pretended version of these documents may be found in the "Times and Seasons" for March 1, and March 15, 1842, with the following heading: "A Translation of some ancient Records that have fallen into our hands from the Catacombs of Egypt, purporting to be the writings of Abraham while he was in Egypt, called the Book of Abraham, written by his own hand upon papyrus." PAGE 25. "The Nauvoo Legion." The subjoined will serve as a specimen of "General Orders," issued by Joseph Smith, in his military capacity: "Head Quarters. Nauvoo Legion, City of Nauvoo. "_May 25_, A. D. 1841. "The 1st Company (riflemen), 1st Battalion, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Cohort, will be attached to the escort contemplated in the general order of the 4th instant, for the 3rd of July next. In forming the Legion, the Adjutant will observe the rank of companies as follows, to wit: "1st Cohort.--The flying artillery first, the lancers next, and the riflemen next, visiting companies of dragoons next the lancers, and cavalry next the dragoons. "2nd Cohort.--The artillery first, the lancers next, the riflemen next, the light-infantry next, visiting companies in their appropriate places, on the right of the troops of their own grade: the ranking company of the 1st Cohort will be formed on the right of the said Cohort, and the ranking company of the 2nd Cohort will be formed on the left of the said Cohort, the next on the right of the left; and so on to the centre. The escort will be formed on the right of the forces. "JOHN C. BENNETT, "JOSEPH SMITH." "Major-General, "Lieutenant-General." PAGE 33. "The Mormons prefer miraculous aid to medicine." The following is abridged from a London paper:--"On Wednesday an investigation was gone into before Mr. Baker the coroner, at the Royal Oak, Galway Street, St. Luke's, on the body of Elizabeth Morgan, aged fifty-five years, whose death was alleged to have been caused through improper treatment by unqualified persons. Maria Watkins said she had known deceased about twelve months, and on Tuesday week witness was sent for to attend her. Witness found her very ill; but no medical gentleman was called in, it being against the religious tenets of the sect to which the deceased belonged to do so. The sect to which she belonged styled themselves 'The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,' their place of meeting being in Castle street, Cow-cross. They treated their sick according to a text taken from the last chapter of the Epistle of St. James. Witness had known of healing under such circumstances, but the deceased sank and died on Saturday last. No surgeon was sent for. The coroner said he hardly knew how to deal with the case, as he had his doubts whether it was not one of manslaughter. The jury, after some deliberation, returned a verdict of 'Natural death,' with a hope that the present inquiry would act as a caution for the future." PAGE 41. "The healing of the sick, the casting out of devils," &c. In the "Times and Seasons," vol. iii. p. 709, may be found Joseph Smith's creed, in which are contained the following articles:-- "We believe in the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healing, interpretation of tongues, &c." "We believe all that God has revealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the kingdom of God." PAGE 44. "A knot of designing persons." Professor Turner of Illinois College, thus addresses Joseph Smith. "I have charitably sought to find some ground for believing that you and your comrades were only a new species of religious maniacs. I have sought in vain. A man, however kindly disposed to think well of you, after a thorough examination of your career, might as well attempt to believe your religion, as to regard you in any other light than that of a deliberate, cold-blooded, persevering deceiver. I do not pretend that in the outset you even anticipated the final result. On the contrary, there is abundant evidence that at first your aims rose no higher than those of ordinary vagrants and jugglers. You have not even the poor merit of either talent or originality. Your highest aim has ever been to crawl among the droves of reptile impostors who have preceded you, and though your ignorance and utter incapacity have not suffered you to turn aside from their loathsome track, your fortunate union with others of greater ability, who have entered into your secrets, and the lamentable credulity of the times, have enabled you to attain a more signal and desolating success than most of your predecessors." PAGE 44. "Mahomet" &c. In the course of the trial of Joseph Smith and others, for high treason against the state of Missouri, George M. Hinkle testified as follows: "I have heard Joseph Smith say, that he believed Mahomet was a good man; that the Koran was not a true thing, but that the world belied Mahomet as they belied him, and that Mahomet was a true prophet." John Corrill also testified that he had heard Joseph Smith say publicly, "that if people molested him he would establish his religion by the sword; and that he would become to this generation a second Mahomet." PAGE 47. "David was in hell." In a report of Smith's sermon of May 16th, 1841, in the "Times and Seasons" of June 1st, 1841, we find the annexed passage:-- "Even David must wait for the times of refreshing before he can come forth and his sins be blotted out; for Peter speaking of him says, 'David hath not ascended into heaven, for his sepulchre is with us to this day:' his remains were then in the tomb. Now we read that many bodies of the Saints arose at Christ's resurrection, probably all the Saints, but it seems that David did not. Why? because he had been a murderer." PAGE 47. "He descended in America and preached the Gospel to the Indians." See Book of Mormon, 5th chapter of Nephi. "And now it came to pass that there were a great multitude gathered together of the people of Nephi; * * * and they cast their eyes up towards heaven, and behold they saw a man descending out of heaven; he was clothed in a white robe, and he came down and stood in the midst of them, and the eyes of the whole multitude was turned upon him, * * * and it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand and spake unto the people saying: 'Behold I am Jesus Christ of which the prophets testified that should come into the world, and behold I am the light and life of the world, and I have drank out of that bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father, in taking upon me the sins of the world.'" PAGE 55. "Baptism for the dead." Joseph Smith says in an article on this subject in the "Times and Seasons," for April 15th, 1842. "What has become of our fathers? will they be damned for not obeying the Gospel, when they never heard it? Certainly not. But they will possess the same privilege that we here enjoy through the medium of the _everlasting_ priesthood, which not only administers in earth, but in heaven, * * * they will come out of their prison upon the same principle as those who were disobedient in the days of Noah were visited by our Saviour, * * * and in order that they might fulfil all the requisitions of God, their living friends were baptized for their dead friends, and thus fulfilled the requirements of God: 'Except a man be born again of water, and of the Spirit, he can in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven;' they were baptized of course, not for themselves, but for their dead. _Crysostum_ says, that the _Marchionites_[A] practised baptism for the dead, 'after a catechumen was dead, they hid a living man under the bed of the deceased; then coming to the dead man, they asked him whether he would receive baptism; and he making no answer, the other answered for him, and said that he would be baptized in his stead,--and so they baptized the living for the dead." It appears by the above extract, that the prophet is beginning (in his own way) to quote the fathers. Footnote: [A] This is the prophet's own orthography. PAGE 57. "The amiable and patient missionary bishop of Missouri," &c. It is pleasing to turn from Joseph Smith, to the contemplation of the truly estimable person in question. Bishop Kemper is of German descent; his immediate ancestors having emigrated from Manheim on the Rhine. For many years he was assistant minister to the late bishop White, in the parochial charge of Christ-Church, Philadelphia. He was subsequently elected and consecrated by the House of Bishops, as the first missionary bishop. The expenses of his mission are borne by the committee for domestic missions in the United States. He is absolutely _without a home_, being almost perpetually engaged in visiting various portions of the enormous region committed to his ecclesiastical superintendence. A more difficult field of missionary duty can scarcely be imagined. PAGE 57. "Kemper College." This institution is the most western Protestant Episcopal college in the world, being nearly half-way between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. The main building was completed externally during the year 1841, Bishop Kemper having solicited and obtained funds for the purpose, to the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars, from zealous Christians in New York and Philadelphia. In the same year a considerable amount of valuable books was presented to the college by pious individuals in England, as well as by several of the great Societies. The object of the college, is the preparation of young men for the ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and, under the enlightened and active presidency of the Rev. E. C. Hutchinson, it bids fair ultimately to realize the sanguine expectations of the Church. PAGE 57. "The Mormon University." Under an act of the Illinois legislature, incorporating the city of Nauvoo, the following provisions are found:-- "Sec. 24. The city council may establish and organize an institution of learning within the limits of the city, for the teaching of the arts, sciences, and learned professions, to be called the 'University of the city of Nauvoo,' which institution shall be under the control and management of a board of trustees, consisting of a chancellor, registrar, and twenty-three regents, which board shall thereafter be a body corporate and politic, with perpetual succession, by the name of the chancellor and regents of the university of the city of Nauvoo, * * * provided that the trustees shall at all times be appointed by the city council, and shall have all the powers and privileges for the advancement of the cause of education, which appertain to the trustees of any other college or university of this state." PAGE 58. "Few attach themselves to the Church in America." The indifference of the poorer class of English emigrants to the Church of their fathers is truly lamentable. The Roman Catholic emigrant, however poor or friendless, retains his attachment to his faith. The German Lutheran is firm in his allegiance to the principles which he held in the land of his nativity. The same may be said of the Scottish Presbyterian, and of the Irish and Scottish Episcopalian. But the English labourer, mechanic, or small farmer, on his arrival in the United States, too often forgets his churchmanship, and, through ignorance or carelessness, readily connects himself with any schismatic conventicle which may be at hand. THE MORMON CREED. The Mormon Creed, as published by Joseph Smith himself, is given below. (See "Times and Seasons," vol. iii. p. 709.) "We believe in God the Eternal Father, and in his Son Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost. "We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam's transgression. "We believe that through the atonement of Christ all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel. "We believe that these ordinances are, 1st, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; 2nd, Repentance; 3rd, Baptism by immersion, for the remission of sins; 4th, Laying on of hands, for the gift of the Holy Ghost. "We believe that a man must be called of God by prophecy, and by laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel, and administer in the ordinances thereof. "We believe in the same organization that existed in the primitive church, viz, Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, Teachers, Evangelists, &c. "We believe in the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healing, interpreting of tongues, &c. "We believe the Bible to be the Word of God, as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the Word of God. "We believe all that God has revealed, all that he does now reveal, and we believe that he will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the kingdom of God. "We believe in the literal gathering of Israel, and in the restoration of the Ten Tribes; that Zion will be built upon this continent; that Christ will reign personally upon the earth; and that the earth will be renewed, and receive its paradisaic glory. "We claim the privilege of worshipping Almighty God according to the dictates of our conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may. "We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honouring, and sustaining the law. "We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous; and in doing good to all men; indeed we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul, 'we believe all things, we hope all things;' we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report, or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." Joseph Smith, by his own account, was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont (U. S.), on the 23rd of December, 1805. THE END. GILBERT & RIVINGTON, Printers, St. John's Square, London. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. Errors in punctuation have been corrected without note. Obvious typographical errors have been changed as follows: Page 15: "hav'nt" changed to "hav'n't" Page 30: "intercouse" changed to "intercourse" Page 70: the duplicate word "for" deleted 
32843	----	http://www.archive.org/details/sunmaidstoryoffo00raym THE SUN MAID A Story of Fort Dearborn by EVELYN RAYMOND Author of "The Little Lady of the Horse," Etc. New York E. P. Dutton & Company 31 West Twenty-Third St. Copyright, 1900 By E. P. Dutton & Co. The Knickerbocker Press, New York [Illustration: _Page 22._ KITTY AND THE SNAKE. _Frontispiece._] TO ALL YOUNG HEARTS IN THAT FAIR CITY BY THE INLAND SEA CHICAGO PREFACE. In some measure, the story of the Sun Maid is an allegory. Both the heroine and the city of her love grew from insignificant beginnings; the one into a type of broadest womanhood, the other into a grandeur which has made it unique among the cities of the world. Discouragements, sorrows, and seeming ruin but developed in each the same high attributes of courage, indomitable will power, and far-reaching sympathy. The story of the youth of either would be a tale unfinished; and those who have followed, with any degree of interest, the fortunes of either during any period will keep that interest to the end. There are things which never age. Such was the heart of the Maid who remained glad as a girl to the end of her century, and such the marvellous Chicago with a century rounded glory which is still the glory of a youth whose future magnificence no man can estimate. E. R., BALTIMORE, January, 1900. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. AS THE SUN WENT DOWN 1 II. TWO FOR BREAKFAST 13 III. IN INDIAN ATTIRE 27 IV. THE WHITE BOW 38 V. HORSES: WHITE AND BLACK 50 VI. THE THREE GIFTS 64 VII. A THREEFOLD CORD IS STRONGEST 77 VIII. AN ISLAND RETREAT 91 IX. AT MUCK-OTEY-POKEE 107 X. THE CAVE OF REFUGE 124 XI. UNDER A WHITE MAN'S ROOF 138 XII. AFTER FOUR YEARS 156 XIII. THE HARVESTING 169 XIV. ONCE MORE IN THE OLD HOME 180 XV. PARTINGS AND MEETINGS 194 XVI. THE SHUT AND THE OPEN DOOR 209 XVII. A DAY OF HAPPENINGS 231 XVIII. WESTWARD AND EASTWARD OVER THE PRAIRIE 247 XIX. THE CROOKED LOG 260 XX. ENEMIES, SEEN AND UNSEEN 272 XXI. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH 284 XXII. GROWING UP 296 XXIII. HEROES 306 XXIV. CONCLUSION 315 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE FORT DEARBORN _Title-page_ BLACK PARTRIDGE AND THE SUN MAID 6 KITTY AND THE SNAKE _Frontispiece_ 22 THE GIFT OF THE WHITE BOW 48 SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID 68 GASPAR AND KITTY REACH THE FORT 188 "KITTY! MY KITTY!" 258 OSCEOLO AND GASPAR 276 THE SUN MAID. CHAPTER I. AS THE SUN WENT DOWN. With gloom in his heart, Black Partridge strode homeward along the beach path. The glory of a brilliant August sunset crimsoned the tops of the sandhills on the west and the waters of the broad lake on the east; but if the preoccupied Indian observed this at all, it was to see in it an omen of impending tragedy. Red was the color of blood, and he foresaw that blood must flow, and freely. "They are all fools. All. They know that Black Partridge cannot lie, yet they believe not his words. The white man lies, and works his own destruction. His doom be on his head!" As his thought took this line the chief's brow grew still more stern, and an expression of contempt curled the corners of his wide, thin lips. A savage though he was, at that moment he felt himself immeasurably superior to the pale-faces whom he had known; and in the consciousness of his integrity he held his tall form even more erect, while he turned his face toward the sky in gratitude to that Great Spirit who had made him what he was. Then again he remembered the past, and again his feather-adorned head drooped beneath its burden of regret, while his brown fingers clasped and unclasped themselves about a glittering medal which decorated his necklace, and was the most cherished of his few possessions. "I have worn it for long, and it has rested lightly upon my heart; but now it becomes a knife that pierces. Therefore I must return it whence it came." Yet something like a sigh escaped him, and his hands fell down straight at his sides. Also, his narrow eyes gazed forward upon the horizon, absently, as if their inward visions were much clearer than anything external. In this manner he went onward for a little distance, till his moccasined foot struck sharply against something lying in his path, and so roused him from his reverie. "Ugh! Ugh! So. When the squaw dies the papoose must suffer." The soft obstruction was a little child, curled into a rounded heap, and fast asleep upon this primitive public highway. The touch of the red man's foot had partially wakened the sleeper, and when he bent and laid his hand upon her shoulder, she sprang up lightly, at once beginning to laugh and chatter with a gayety that infected even the stolid Indian. "Ugh! The Little-One-Who-Laughs. Why are you here alone, so far from the Fort, Kitty Briscoe?" "I runned away. Bunny rabbit runned away. I did catch him two times. I did find some posies, all yellow and round and--posies runned away, too. Ain't that funny? Kitty go seek them." Her laughter trilled out, bird clear, and a mischievous twinkle lighted her big blue eyes. "I runned away. Bunny rabbit runned to catch me. I runned to catch bunny. I caught the posies. Yellow posies gone--I go find them, too." As if it were the best joke in the world, the little creature still laughed over her own conceit of so many runnings till, in whirling about, she discovered the remnants of the flowers she had lost upon the heat-hardened path behind her. Indeed, when she had dropped down to sleep, overcome by sudden weariness, it had been with the cool leaves and blossoms for a couch. Now the love of all green and growing things was an inborn passion with this child, and her face sobered to a keen distress as she gazed upon her ruined treasures. But almost at once the cloud passed, and she laughed again. "Poor posies, tired posies, sleepy, too. Kitty sorry. Put them in the water trough and wake them up. Then they hold their eyes open, just like Kitty's." "Ugh! Where the papoose sleeps the blossoms wither," remarked Black Partridge, regarding the bruised and faded plants with more attention. They were wild orchids, and he knew that the child must have wandered far afield to obtain them. At that time of year such blooms were extremely rare, and only to be found in the moist shadows of some tree-bordered stream quite remote from this sandy beach. "Oh, dear! Something aches my feet. I will go home to my little bed. Pick up the posies, Feather-man, and take poor Kitty." With entire confidence that the Indian would do as she wished, the small maid clasped his buckskin-covered knee and leaned her dimpled cheek against it. It proved a comfortable support, and with a babyish yawn she promptly fell asleep again. Had she been a child of his own village, even of his own wigwam, Black Partridge would have shaken her roughly aside, feeling his dignity affronted by her familiarity; but in her case he could not do this and on this night least of all. The little estray was the orphan of Fort Dearborn; whose soldier father had met a soldier's common fate, and whose mother had quickly followed him with her broken heart. Then the babe of a few weeks became the charge of the kind women at the Fort, and the pet of the garrison in general. But now far graver matters than the pranks of a mischievous child filled the minds of all her friends. The peaceful, monotonous life of the past few years was over, and the order had gone forth that the post should be evacuated. Preparations had already begun for the long and hazardous journey which confronted that isolated band of white people, and the mothers of a score of other restless young folk had been too busy and anxious to notice when this child slipped away to wander on the prairie. For a brief time the weary baby slumbered against the red man's knee, while he considered the course he would best pursue; whether to return her at once to the family of the commandant, or to carry her southward to the Pottawatomie lodge whither he was bound. Then, his decision made, he lifted the child to his breast and resumed his homeward way. But the bright head pillowed so near his eyes seemed to dazzle him, and its floating golden locks to catch and hold, in a peculiar fashion, the rays of the sunset. From this, with his race instinct of poetic imagery, which finds in nature a type for everything, he caught a quaint suggestion. "She is like the sun himself. She is all warmth and brightness. She is his child, now that her pale-faced parents sleep the long sleep, and none other claims her. None? Yes, one. I, Black Partridge, the Man-Who-Lies-Not. In my village, Muck-otey-pokee, lives my sister, the daughter of a chief, her whose one son died of the fever on that same dark night when the arrow of a Sioux warrior killed a brave, his sire. In her closed tepee there will again be light. The Sun Maid shall make it. So shall she escape the fate of the doomed pale-faces, and so shall the daughter of my house again be glad." Thus, bearing her new name, and all unconsciously, the little Sun Maid was carried southward and still southward till the twilight fell and her new guardian reached the Pottawatomie village, on the Illinois prairie, where he dwelt. Sultry as the night was, there was yet a great council fire blazing in the midst of the settlement, and around this were grouped many young braves of the tribe. Before the arrival of their chief there had been a babel of tongues in the council, but all discussion ceased as he joined the circle in the firelight. The sudden silence was ominous, and the wise leader understood it; but it was not his purpose then to quarrel with any man. Ignoring the scowling glances bestowed upon him, he gave the customary evening salutation and, advancing directly to the fire, plucked a blazing fagot from it. This he lifted high and purposely held so that its brightness illuminated the face and figure of the child upon his breast. [Illustration: BLACK PARTRIDGE AND THE SUN MAID. _Page 6._] A guttural exclamation of astonishment ran from brave to brave. The action of their chief was significant, but its meaning not clearly comprehended. Had he brought the white baby as a hostage from the distant garrison, in pledge that the compact of its commandant would surely be kept? Or had some other tribe anticipated their own in obtaining the gifts to be distributed? Shut-Hand, one of the older warriors, whose name suggested his character, rose swiftly to his feet, and demanded menacingly: "What means our father, thus bringing hither the white papoose?" "That which the Black Partridge does--he does." Rebuked, but unsatisfied, the miserly inquirer sat down. Then, with a gesture of protection, the chief raised the sleeping little one, that all within the circle might better see her wonderful, glowing beauty, intensified as it was by the flare of the flames as well as by contrast to the dusky faces round about. "Who suffers harm to her shall himself suffer. She is the Sun Maid, the new daughter of our tribe." Having said this, and still carrying the burning fagot, he walked to the closed tepee of his widowed sister and lifted its door flap. Stooping his tall head till its feathered crest swept the floor he entered the spacious lodge. But he sniffed with contempt at the stifling atmosphere within, and laying down his torch raised the other half of the entrance curtain. At the back of the wigwam, crouching in the attitude she had sustained almost constantly since her bereavement, sat the Woman-Who-Mourns. She did not lift her head, or give any sign of welcome till the chief had crossed to her side, and in a tone of command bade her: "Arise and listen, my sister, for I bring you joy." "There is no joy," answered the woman, obediently lifting her tall figure to a rigidly erect posture; by long habit compelled to outward respect, though her heart remained indifferent. "Put back the hair from your eyes. Behold. For the dead son I give you the living daughter. In that land to which both have gone will her lost mother care for your lost child as you now care for her." Slowly, a pair of lean, brown hands came out from the swathing blanket and parted the long locks that served as a veil to hide a haggard, sorrowful face. After the deep gloom the sudden firelight dazzled the woman's sight, and she blinked curiously toward the burden upon her brother's breast. Then the small eyes began to see more clearly and to evince the amazement that filled her. "Dreams have been with me. They were many and strange. Is this another?" "This a glad reality. It is the Sun Maid. She has no parents. You have no child. She is yours. Take her and learn to laugh once more as in the days that are gone." Then he held the little creature toward her; and still amazed, but still obedient, the heart-broken squaw extended her arms and received the unconscious foundling. As the warm, soft flesh touched her own a thrill passed through her desolate heart, and all the tenderness of motherhood returned. "Who is she? Whence did she come? Where will she go?" "She is the Sun Maid. From the Fort by the great lake, where are still white men enough to die--as die they must. For there is treachery afoot, and they who were first treacherous must bear their own punishment. Only she shall be saved; and where she will go is in the power of the Woman-Who-Mourns, and of her alone." Without another word, and leaving the still blazing fagot lying on the earthen floor, the chief went swiftly away. But he had brought fresh air and light and comfort with him, as he had prophesied. The small Sun Maid was already brightening the dusky lodge as might an actual ray from her glorious namesake. It was proof of her utter exhaustion that she still slept soundly while her new foster-mother prepared a bed of softest furs spread over fresh green branches and went hurriedly out to beg from a neighbor squaw a draught of evening's milk. This action in itself was sufficiently surprising to set all tongues a-chatter. The lodge of Muck-otey-pokee had many of the comforts common to the white men's settlements. Its herd of cattle even surpassed that at Fort Dearborn itself, and was a matter of no small pride to the Pottawatomie villagers. From the old mission fathers they had learned, also, some useful arts, and wherever their prairie lands were tilled a rich result was always obtainable. So it was to a home of plenty, as well as safety, that Black Partridge had brought the little Sun Maid; and when she at length awoke to see a dusky face, full of wonderment and love, bending above her, she put out her arms and gurgled in a glee which brought an answering smile to lips that had not smiled for long. With an instinct of yearning tenderness, the Woman-Who-Mourns had lightened her sombre attire by all the devices possible, so that while the child slept she had transformed herself. She had neatly plaited her heavy hair, and wound about her head some strings of gay beads. She had fastened a scarlet tanager's wing to her breast, now covered by a bright-hued cotton gown once sent her from the Fort, and for which she had discarded her dingy blanket. But the greatest alteration of all was in the face itself, where a dawning happiness brought out afresh all the good points of a former comeliness. "Oh! Pretty! I have so many, many nice mammas. Are you another?" "Yes. All your mother now. My Sun Maid. My Girl-Child. My papoose!" "That is nice. But I'm hungry. Give me my breakfast, Other Mother. Then I will go seek my bunny rabbit, that runned away, and my yellow posies that went to sleep when I did. Did you put them to bed, too, Other Mother?" "There are many which shall wake for you, papoose," answered the woman, promptly; for though she did not understand about the missing blossoms, it was fortunate that she did both understand and speak the language of her adopted daughter. Her dead husband had been the tribe's interpreter, and both from him and from the Fort's chaplain she had acquired considerable knowledge. Until her widowhood and voluntary seclusion the Woman-Who-Mourns had been a person of note at Muck-otey-pokee; and now by her guardianship of this stranger white child she bade fair to again become such. CHAPTER II. TWO FOR BREAKFAST. The dead son of the Woman-Who-Mourns had never been disobedient, and small Kitty Briscoe had never obeyed anybody. She had laughed and frolicked her way through all rules and over all obstacles with a merry indifference that would have been insolent had it been less innocent and charming. During her short life the orphan had heard no voice but was full of tenderness, toward her at least; and every babyish misdemeanor had been pardoned almost before it was committed, by reason of her exceeding loveliness and overflowing affection. She had so loved all that she feared none, and not one of the kind mothers at the Fort had felt it her especial duty to discipline so sweet and fearless a nature. By and by, when she grew older, why, of course, the child must come under the yoke, like other children of that stern generation; but for the present, what was she but an ignorant baby, a motherless babe at that? So that, on that first morning of their life together, it gave the latest foster-mother a very decided shock when she directed: "Take your bowl of suppawn and milk, and eat it here by the fire, Girl-Child," to have the other reply, with equal decision: "Kitty will take it to the out-doors." "How? The papoose must eat her breakfast here, as I command." "But Kitty must take it out the doors. What will the pigeons say? Come with me, Other Mother." Quite to her own astonishment, the proud daughter of a chief complied. Superstition had suggested to her that this white-robed little creature, with her trustful eyes and her wonderful hair, who seemed rather to float over the space to the threshold than to tread upon the earthen floor, was the re-embodied spirit of her own lost child come back to comfort her sorrow and to be a power for good in her tribe. But if the Sun Maid were a spirit, she had many earthly qualities; and with a truly human carelessness she had no sooner stepped beyond the tent flap than she let fall her heavy bowl and spilled her breakfast. For there stood her last night's rescuer, his arms full of flowers. "Oh, the posies! the posies! Nice Feather-man did bring them." "Ugh! Black Partridge, the Truth-Teller. I have come to take my leave. Also to ask you, my sister, shall I carry away the Sun Maid to her own people? Or shall she abide with you?" "Take her away, my brother? Do you not guess, then, who she is?" "Why should I guess when I know. I saw her father die, and I stood beside her mother's grave. The white papoose has neither tribe nor kinsman." "There for once the Truth-Teller speaks unwisely. The Sun Maid, whom you found asleep on the path, is my own flesh and blood." In surprise Black Partridge stared at the woman, whose face glowed with delight. Then he reflected that it would be as well to leave her undisturbed in her strange notion. The helpless little one would be the better cared for, under such circumstances, and the time might speedily come when she would need all the protection possible for anybody to give. "It is well--as you believe; yet then you are no longer the Woman-Who-Mourns, but again Wahneenah, the Happy." For a moment they silently regarded the child who had thrown herself face downward upon the great heap of orchids that Black Partridge had brought, and which he had risen very early to gather. They were of the same sort that the little one had grieved over on the night before, only much larger and fairer, and of far greater number. Talking to the blossoms and caressing them as if they were human playmates, the Sun Maid forgot that she was hungry, until Wahneenah had brought a second bowl of porridge and, gently lifting her charge to a place upon the mat, had bidden her eat. "Oh, yes! My breakfast. I did forget it, didn't I? Oh, the darling posies! Oh! the pretty Feather-man, that couldn't tell a naughty story. I know 'bout him. We all know 'bout him to our Fort. My Captain says he is the bestest Feather-man in all the--everywhere." "Ugh! Ugh!" The low grunt of assent seemed to come from every side the big wigwam. At all times there were many idle Indians at Muck-otey-pokee, but of late their number had been largely increased by bands of visiting Pottawatomies. These had come to tarry with their tribesmen in the village till the distribution of goods should be made from Fort Dearborn, as had been ordered by General Hull; or until the hour was ripe for their treacherous assault upon the little garrison. The Man-Who-Kills was in the very centre of the group which had squatted in a semi-circle as near as it dared before the tepee of their chief's sister, and the low grunts came from this band of spectators. "We will sit and watch. So will we learn what the Black Partridge means," and when Spotted Rabbit so advised his brothers, they had come in the darkness and arranged themselves as has been described. The chief had found them there when, before dawn, he came with his offering of flowers, and Wahneenah had seen them when she raised the curtain of her tent and looked out to learn what manner of day was coming. But neither had noticed them any more than they did the birds rustling in the cottonwood beside the wigwam, or the wild creatures skurrying across the path for their early drink at the stream below. Neither had the Sun Maid paid them any attention, for she had always been accustomed to meeting the savages both at the Fort and on her rides abroad with any of her garrison friends; so she deliberately sipped her breakfast, pausing now and then to arrange the pouch-like petals of some favored blossoms and to converse with them in her fantastic fashion, quite believing that they heard and understood. "Did the nice Feather-man bring you all softly, little posies? Aren't you glad you've come to live with Kitty? Other Mother will give you all some breakfast, too, of coldest water in the brook. Then you will sit up straight and hold your heads high. That's the way the children do when my Captain takes the book with the green cover and makes them spell things out of it. Oscar doesn't like the green book. It makes him wriggle his nose--so; but Margaret is as fond of it as I am of you. Oh, dear! Some day, all my mothers say, I, too, will have to sit and look on the printing and spell words. I can, though, even now. Listen, posies. D-o-g--that's--that's--I guess it's 'cat.' Isn't it, posies? But you don't have to spell things, do you? I needn't either. Not to-day, and maybe not to-morrow day. Because, you see, I runned away. Oh, how I did run! So fast, so far, before I found your little sisters, posies, dear. Then I guess I went to sleep, without ever saying my 'Now I lay me,' and the black Feather-man came, and--that's all." Wahneenah had gone back to her household duties, for she had many things on hand that day. Not the least, to make her neglected tepee a brighter, fitter home for this stray sunbeam which the Great Spirit had sent to her out of the sky, and into which He had breathed the soul of her lost one. Indistinctly, she heard the murmuring of the babyish voice at the threshold and occasionally caught some of the words it uttered. These served but to establish her in her belief that the child had more than mortal senses; else how should she fancy that the blossoms would hear and understand her prattle? "Listen. She talks to the weeds as the white men talk to us. She is a witch," said the Man-Who-Kills to his neighbor in the circle, the White Pelican. "She is only a child of the pale-faces. The Black Partridge has set her among us to move our hearts to pity." "The White Pelican was ever a coward," snorted the Man-Who-Kills. But the younger warrior merely turned his head and smiled contemptuously. Then he critically scrutinized the ill-proportioned figure of the ugly-tempered brave. The fellow's crooked back, abnormally long arms and short legs were an anomaly in that race of stalwart Indians, and the soul of the savage corresponded to his outward development. For his very name had been given him in derision; because, though he always threatened and always sneaked after his prey, he had never been known to slay an enemy in open combat. "That is as the tomahawks prove. The scalps hang close on the pole of my wigwam," finally remarked the Pelican. "Ugh! But there was never such a scalp as that of the papoose yonder. It shall hang above all others in _my_ tepee. I have said it." "Having said it, you may unsay it. That is no human fleece upon that small head. She is sacred." "How? Is the White Pelican a man of dreams?" The elder brave also used a tone of contempt, though not with marked success. His thought reverted to the night before, when the chief had stood beside the council fire holding the sleeping child in his arms. Her wonderful yellow hair, fine as spun cobwebs and almost as light, had blown over the breast of Black Partridge like a cloud, and it had glistened and shimmered in the firelight as if possessed of restless life. The little figure was clothed in white, as the Fort mothers had fancied best suited their charge's fairness, even though the fabric must of necessity be coarse; and this garment likewise caught the glow of the dancing flames till it seemed luminous in itself. As an idle rumor spreads and grows among better cultured people so superstition held in power these watchful Indians. Said one: "The father of his tribe has met a spirit on the prairie and brought it to our village. Is the deed for good or evil?" This was what the men in the semi-circle had come to find out. So they relapsed again into silence, but kept a fixed gaze upon the indifferent child before them. She continued her playing and feeding as unconsciously as if she, the flowers, and the sunshine, were quite alone. Some even fancied that they could hear the orchids whispering in return; and it was due to that morning's incident that, thereafter, few among the Pottawatomies would lightly bruise or break a blossom which they then learned to believe was gifted with a sensate life. But presently a sibilant "Hst!" ran the length of the squatting line, and warriors who feared not death for themselves felt their muscles stiffen under a tension of dread as they saw the slow, sinuous approach of a poisonous reptile to the child on the mat; and the thought of each watcher was the same: "Now, indeed, the test--spirit or mortal?" The snake glided onward, its graceful body showing through the grass, its head slightly upraised, and its intention unmistakable. An Indian can be the most silent thing on earth, if he so wills, and at once it was as if all that row of red men had become stone. Even Wahneenah, in the wigwam behind, was startled by the stillness, and cautiously tiptoed forward to learn its cause. Then her heart, like theirs, hushed its beating and she rigidly awaited the outcome. Only the child herself was undisturbed. She did not cease the slow lifting of the clay spoon to her lips, and between sips she still prattled and gurgled in sheer content. "Kitty is most fulled up, 'cause she did have so big a breakfast, she did. Nice Other Mother did give it me. I wish my bunny rabbit had not runned away. Then he could have some. Never mind. Here comes a beau'ful cunning snake. I did see one two times to my Fort. Bad Jacky soldier did kill him dead, and that made Kitty cry. Come, pretty thing, do you want Kitty's breakfast? Then you may have it every bit." So she tossed her hair from her eyes and sat with uplifted spoon while the moccasin glided up to the mat and over it, till its mouth could reach the shallow bowl in the child's lap. "Oh! the funny way it eats. Poor thing! It hasn't any spoon. It might have Kitty's, only----" The bright eyes regarded the rudely shaped implement and the mouth it was to feed; then the little one's ready laughter bubbled forth. "Funny Kitty! How could it hold a spoon was bigger 'n itself--when its hands have never grown? Other pretty one, that Jacky killed, that didn't have its hands, either. Hush, snaky. Did I make you afraid, I laugh so much? Now I will keep very, very still till you are through. Then you may go back home to your childrens, and tell them all about your nice breakfast. Where do you live? Is it in a Fort, as Kitty does? Oh, I forgot! I did promise to keep still. Quite, quite still, till you go way away." So she did; while not only the red-skins, but all nature seemed to pause and watch the strange spectacle; for the light breeze that had come with the sunrise now died away, and every leaf stood still in the great heat which descended upon the earth. It seemed to Wahneenah, watching in a very motherly fear, and to the squatting braves, in their increasing awe, as if hours passed while the child and the reptile remained messmates. But at length the dangerous serpent was satisfied and, turning slowly about, retreated whence it came. Then Mistress Kitty lifted her voice and called merrily: "Come, Other Mother! Come and see. I did have a lovely, lovely creepy one to eat with me. He did eat so funny Kitty had to laugh. Then I remembered that my other peoples to my Fort tell all the children to be good and I was good, wasn't I? Say, Other Mother, my posies want some water." "They shall have it, White Papoose, my Girl-Child-Who-Is-Safe. She whom the Great Spirit has restored nothing can harm." Then she led the Sun Maid away, after she had gathered up every flower, not daring that anything beloved of her strange foster-child should be neglected. The watching Indians also rose and returned into the village from that point on its outskirts where Wahneenah's wigwam stood. They spoke little, for in each mind the conviction had become firm that the Sun Maid was, in deed and truth, a being from the Great Beyond, safe from every mortal hurt. Yet still, the Man-Who-Kills fingered the edge of his tomahawk with regret and remarked in a manner intended to show his great prowess: "Even a mighty warrior cannot fight against the powers of the sky." After a little, one, less credulous than his fellows, replied boastfully: "Before the sun shall rise and set a second time the white scalp will hang at my belt." Nobody answered the boast till at length a voice seemed to come out of the ground before them, and at its first sound every brave stood still to listen for that which was to follow. All recognized the voice, even the strangers from the most distant settlements. It was heard in prophecy only, and it belonged to old Katasha, the One-Who-Knows. "No. It is not so. Long after every one of this great Pottawatomie nation shall have passed out of sight, toward the place where the day dies, the hair of the Sun Maid's head shall be still shining. Its gold will have turned to snow, but generation after generation shall bow down to it in honor. Go. The road is plain. There is blood upon it, and some of this is yours. But the scalp of the Sun Maid is in the keeping of the Great Spirit. It is sacred. It cannot be harmed. Go." Then the venerable woman, who had risen from her bed upon the ground to utter her message, returned to her repose, and the warriors filed past her with bowed heads and great dejection of spirit. In this mood they joined another company about the dead council fire, and in angry resentment listened to the speech of the Black Partridge as he pleaded with them for the last time. "For it is the last. This day I make one more journey to the Fort, and there I will remain until you join me. We have promised safe escort for our white neighbors through the lands of the hostile tribes who dare not wage war against us. The white man trusts us. He counts us his friends. Shall we keep our promise and our honor, or shall we become traitors to the truth?" It was Shut-Hand who answered for his tribesmen: "It is the pale-face who is a traitor to honesty. The goods which our Great Father gave him in trust for his red children have been destroyed. The white soldiers have forgotten their duty and have taught us to forget ours. When the sun rises on the morrow we will join the Black Partridge at the Fort by the great water, and we will do what seems right in our eyes. The Black Partridge is our father and our chief. He must not then place the good of our enemies before the good of his own people. We have spoken." So the great Indian, who was more noble than his clansmen, went out from among them upon a hopeless errand. This time he did not make his journey on foot, but upon the back of his fleetest horse; and the medal he meant to relinquish was wrapped in a bit of deerskin and fastened to his belt. "Well, at least the Sun Maid will be safe. When the braves, with the squaws and children, join their brothers at the camp, Wahneenah will remain at Muck-otey-pokee; as should every other woman of the Pottawatomie nation, were I as powerful in reality as I appear. It is the squaws who urge the men to the darkest deeds. Ugh! What will be must be. Tchtk! Go on!" But the bay horse was already travelling at its best, slow as its pace seemed to the Black Partridge. CHAPTER III. IN INDIAN ATTIRE. Not many hours after Black Partridge turned his back upon Muck-otey-pokee, all its fighting men, with their squaws and children, also left it, as their chief had foreseen they would. They followed the direction he had taken, though they did not proceed to the garrison itself. The camp to which they repaired was a little distance from the Fort, and had been pitched beside the river, where was then a fringe of cottonwoods and locusts affording a grateful shade. Here the squaws cooked and gossiped, while their sons played the ancient games of throwing the spear through the ring, casting the hatchet, and shooting birds on the wing. The braves tested their weapons and boasted of many valorous deeds; or were else entirely silent, brooding upon mischief yet to come. Over all was the thrill of excitement and anticipation, which the great heat of the season seemed to deepen rather than dispel. At the Fort, Black Partridge pleaded finally and in vain. "We have been ordered to evacuate, and we will obey. All things are in readiness. The stores are already in the wagons, and other wagons wait for the sick, the women, and the children. Your people have promised us a safe conveyance through their country, and as far as we shall need it. They will be well paid. Part they have received, and the rest of their reward will be promptly delivered at the end of the journey. There is no more to be said"; and with this conclusion the weary commandant sat down in his denuded home to take a bit of food and a few moments' rest. He nodded hospitably toward an empty chair on the farther side of the deal table, by way of invitation that the Indian should join him, but this the honest chief declined to do. "No, good father, that can no longer be. I have come to return you this medal. I have worn it long and in peace. It was the gift of your people, a pledge between us of friendship. My friendship remains unbroken, but there also remains a tie which is stronger. I am the chief of my tribe. My young men are brave, and they have been deceived. They will punish the deceivers, and I have no power to prevent this. Nor do I blame them, though I would hold them to their compact if I could." "Cannot the Truth-Teller compel his sons to his own habit?" "Not when his white father sets them a bad example." "Black Partridge, your words are bold." "Your deed was bolder, father. It was the deed of a fool." "Take care!" As if he had not heard, the chief spoke steadily on: "My tribesman, Winnemeg--the white man's friend--brought the order that all goods stored here should be justly distributed among my people, to every man his portion. Was it thus done?" "Come, Black Partridge, you are not wanting in good sense nor in honesty. You must admit that such a course would have been hazardous in the extreme. The idea of putting liquor and ammunition into the hands of the red men was one of utter madness. It was worse than foolhardy. The broken firearms are safe in the well, and the more dangerous whiskey has mingled itself harmlessly with the waters of the river and the lake." "There is something more foolish than folly," said the Indian, gravely, "and that is a lie! The powder drowned in the well will kill more pale-faces than it could have done in the hands of your red children. The river-diluted whiskey will inflame more hot heads than if it had been dispensed honorably and in its full strength. But now the end. Though I will do what I can do, even the Truth-Teller cannot fight treachery. Prepare for the worst. And so--farewell!" Then the tall chief bowed his head in sadness and went away; but the terrible truth of what he then uttered all the world now knows. Meanwhile, in the almost empty village among the cottonwoods, the Sun Maid played and laughed and chattered as she had always done in her old home at the Fort. And all day, those wiser women like Wahneenah, who had refrained from following their tribe to the distant camp, watched and attended the child in admiring awe. By nightfall the Sun Maid had been loaded with gifts. Lahnowenah, wife of the avaricious Shut-Hand but herself surnamed the Giver, came earliest of all, with a necklace of bears' claws and curious shells which had come from the Pacific slope, none knew how many years before. The Sun Maid received the gift with delight and her usual exclamation of "Nice!" but when the donor attempted to clasp the trinket about the fair little throat she was met by a decided: "No, no, no!" "Girl-Child! All gifts are worthy, but this woman has given her best," corrected Wahneenah, with some sternness. This baby might be a spirit, in truth, but it was the spirit of her own child and she must still hold it under authority. At sound of the altered tones, Kitty looked up swiftly and her lip quivered. Then she replied with equal decision: "Other Mother must not speak to me like that. Kitty is not bad. It is a pretty, pretty thing, but it is dirty. It must have its faces washed. Then I will wear it and love it all my life." An Indian girl would have been punished for such frankness, but Lahnowenah showed no resentment. Beneath her outward manner lay a deeper meaning. To her the necklace was a talisman. From generations long dead it had come down to her, and always as a life-saver. Whoever wore it could never be harmed "by hatchet or arrow, nor by fire or flood." Yet that very morning had her own brother, the Man-Who-Kills, assured her that the child's life was a doomed one, and she had more faith in his threats than had his neighbors in their village. She knew that the one thing he respected was this heirloom, and that he would not dare injure anybody who wore it. The Sun Maid was, undoubtedly, under the guardianship of higher powers than a poor squaw's, yet it could harm nobody to take all precautions. So, with a grim smile, the donor carried her gift to the near-by brook and held it for a few moments beneath the sluggish water; then she returned to the wigwam and again proffered it to the foundling. "Yes. That is nice now. Kitty will wear it all the time. Won't the childrens be pleased when they see it! Maybe they may wear it, too, if the dear blanket lady says they may. Can they, Other Mother?" The squaws exchanged significant glances. They knew it was not probable that the Fort orphan and her old playmates would ever meet again; but Wahneenah answered evasively: "They can wear it when they come to the Sun Maid's home." Again Lahnowenah would have put the necklace in its place, and a second time she was prevented; for at that moment the One-Who-Knows came slowly down the path between the trees, and held up her crutch warningly, as she called, in her feeble voice: "Wait! This is a ceremony. Let all the women come." Lahnowenah ran to summon them, and they gathered about the tepee in expectant silence. When old Katasha exerted herself it behooved all the daughters of her tribe to be in attendance. Wahneenah hastened to spread her best mat for the visitor's use, and helped to seat her upon it. "Ugh! Old feet grow clumsy and old arms weak. Take this bundle, sister of my chief, and do with its contents as seems right to thee." The other squaws squatted around, eagerly curious, while Wahneenah untied the threads of sinew which fastened the blanket-wrapped parcel. This outer covering itself was different from anything she had ever handled, being exquisitely soft in texture and gaudily bright in hue. It was also of a small size, such as might fit a child's shoulders. Within the blanket was a little tunic of creamy buckskin, gayly bedecked with a fringe of beads around the neck and arms' eyes, while the short skirt ended in a border of fur, also bead-trimmed in an odd pattern. With it were tiny leggings that matched the tunic; and a dainty pair of moccasins completed the costume. As garment after garment was spread out before the astonished gaze of the squaws their exclamations of surprise came loud and fast. A group of white mothers over a fashionable outfit for a modern child could not have been more enthusiastic or excited. Yet through all this she who had brought it remained stolid and silent; till at length her manner impressed the others, and they remembered that she had said: "It is a ceremony." Then Wahneenah motioned the squaws to be silent, and demanded quietly: "What is this that the One-Who-Knows sees good to be done at the lodge of her chief's daughter?" "Take the papoose. Set her before me. Watch and see." Wide-eyed and smiling, and quite unafraid, the little orphan from the Fort stood, as she was directed, close beside the aged squaw while she was silently disrobed. Her baby eyes had caught the glitter of beads on the new garments, and there was never a girl-child born who did not like new clothes. When she was quite undressed, and her white body shone like a marble statue in contrast to their dusky forms, the hushed voices of the Indians burst forth again in a torrent of admiration. But Kitty was too young to understand this, and deemed it some new game in which she played the principal part. The prophetess held up her hand and the women ceased chattering. Then she pointed toward the brook and, herself comprehending what was meant by this gesture, the Sun Maid ran lightly to the bank and leaped in. With a scream of fear, that was very human and mother-like, Wahneenah followed swiftly. For the instant she had forgotten that the merry little one was a "spirit," and could not drown. Fortunately, the stream was not deep, and was delightfully sun-warmed. Besides, the Fort children had all been as much at home in the water as on the land and a daily plunge had been a matter of course. So Kitty laughed and clapped her hands as she ducked again and again into the deepest of the shallow pools, splashing and gurgling in glee, till another signal from the aged crone bade the foster-mother bring the bather back. "No, no! Kitty likes the water. Kitty did make the Feather-lady wash the necklace. Now the old Feather-lady makes Kitty wash Kitty. No, I do not want to go. I want to stay right here in the brook." "But--the beautiful tunic! What about that, papoose?" It was not at all a "spiritual" argument, yet it sufficed; and with a spring the little one was out of the water and clinging to Wahneenah's breast. As she was set down, dewy and glistening, she pranced and tossed her dripping hair about till the drops it scattered touched some faces that had not known the feel of water in many a day. With an "Ugh!" of disgust the squaws withdrew to a safe distance from this unsolicited bath, though remaining keenly watchful of what the One-Who-Knows might do. This was, first, the anointing of the child's body with some unctuous substance that the old woman had brought, wrapped in a pawpaw leaf. Since towels were a luxury unknown in the wilderness, as soon as this anointing was finished Katasha clothed the child in her new costume and laid her hand upon the sunny head, while she muttered a charm to "preserve it from all evil and all enemies." Then, apparently exhausted by her own efforts, the prophetess directed Lahnowenah, the Giver, to put on the antique White Necklace. This was so long that it went twice about the Sun Maid's throat and would have been promptly pulled off by her own fingers, as an adornment quite too warm for the season had not the fastening been one she could not undo and the string, which held the ornaments, of strong sinew. Then Wahneenah took the prophetess into her wigwam, and prepared a meal of dried venison meat, hulled corn, and the juice of wild berries pressed out and sweetened. Katasha's visits were of rare occurrence, and it had been long since the Woman-Who-Mourns had played the hostess, save in this late matter of her foster-child; so for a time she forgot all save the necessity of doing honor to her guest. When she did remember the Sun Maid and went in anxious haste to the doorway, the child had vanished. "She is gone! The Great Spirit has recalled her!" cried Wahneenah, in distress. "Fear not, the White Papoose is safe. She will live long and her hands will be full. As they fill they will overflow. She is a river that enriches yet suffers no loss. Patience. Patience. You have taken joy into your home, but you have also taken sorrow. Accept both, and wait what will come." Even Wahneenah, to whom many deferred, felt that she herself must pay deference to this venerable prophetess, and so remained quiet in her wigwam as long as her guest chose to rest there. This was until the sun was near its setting and till the foster-mother's heart had grown sick with anxiety. So, no sooner had Katasha's figure disappeared among the trees than Wahneenah set out at frantic speed to find the little one. "Have you seen the Sun Maid?" she demanded of the few she met; and at last one set her on the right track. "Yes. She chased a gray squirrel that had been wounded. It was still so swift it could just outstrip her, and she followed beyond the village, away along the bank. Osceolo passed near, and saw the squirrel seek refuge in the lodge of Spotted Adder. The Sun Maid also entered." "The lodge of Spotted Adder!" repeated Wahneenah, slowly. "Then only the Great Spirit can preserve her!" CHAPTER IV. THE WHITE BOW. Wahneenah had lived so entirely within the seclusion of her own lodge that she had become almost a stranger in the village. It was long since she had travelled so far as the isolated hut into which the youth, Osceolo, had seen the Sun Maid disappear, and as she approached it her womanly heart smote her with pain and self-reproach, while she reflected thus: "Has it come to this? Spotted Adder, the Mighty, whose wigwam was once the richest of all my father's tribe. I remember that its curtains of fine skins were painted by the Man-Of-Visions himself, and told the history of the Pottawatomies since the beginning of the world. Many a heap of furs and peltries went in payment for their adornment, but--where are they now! While I have sat in darkness with my sorrow new things have become old. Yet he is accursed. Else the trouble would not have befallen him. I have heard the women talking, through my dreams. He has lain down and cannot again arise. And the White Papoose is with him! Will she be accursed, too? Fool! Why do I fear? Is she not a child of the sky, and forever safe, as Katasha said? But the touch of her arms was warm, like the clasp of the son I bore, and----" The mother's reverie ended in a very human distress. There was a rumor among her people that whoever came near the Spotted Adder would instantly be infected by whatever was the dread disease from which he suffered. That the Sun Maid's wonderful loveliness should receive a blemish seemed a thing intolerable and, in another instant, regardless of her own danger, Wahneenah had crept beneath the broken flap of bark, into a scene of squalor indescribable. Even this squaw, who knew quite well how wretched the tepees of her poorer tribesmen often were, was appalled now; and though the torn skins and strips of bark which covered the hut admitted plenty of light and air, she gasped for breath before she could speak. "My Girl-Child! My Sun Maid! Come away. Wrong, wrong to have entered here, to have made me so anxious. Come." "No, no, Other Mother! Kitty cannot come. Kitty must stay. See the poor gray squirrel? It has broked its leg. It went so--hoppety-pat, hoppety-pat, as fast as fast. I thought it was playing and just running away. So Kitty runned too. Kitty always runs away when Kitty can." "Ugh! I believe you. Come." "No, Kitty must stay. Poor sick man needs Kitty. I did give him a nice drink. Berries, too. Kitty putted them in his mouth all the time. Poor man!" Wahneenah's anger rose. Was she, a chief's daughter, to be thus flouted by a baby, a pale-face at that? Surely, there was nothing whatever spiritual now about this self-willed, spoiled creature, whom an unkind fate had imposed upon her. She stooped to lift the little one and compel obedience, but was met by a smile so fearless and happy that her arms fell to her sides. "That's a good Other Mother. Poor sick man has wanted to turn him over, and he couldn't. Kitty tried and tried, and Kitty couldn't. Now my Other Mother's come. She can. She is so beau'ful strong and kind!" There was a grunt, which might have been a groan, from the corner of the hut where the Spotted Adder lay; and a convulsive movement of the contorted limbs as he vainly strove to change his uncomfortable position. Wahneenah watched him, with the contempt which the women of her race feel for any masculine weakness, and did not offer to assist. His poverty she pitied, and would have relieved, though his physical infirmity was repugnant to her. She would not touch him. But the Sun Maid was on her feet at once, tenderly laying upon the ground the wounded squirrel which she had held upon her lap. The wild thing had, apparently, lost all its timidity and now fully trusted the child who had caressed its fur and murmured soft, pitying sounds, in that low voice of hers, which the Fort people had sometimes felt was an unknown language. Certainly, she had had a strange power, always, over any animal that came near her and this case was no exception. Her white friends would not have been surprised by the incident, but Wahneenah was, and it brought back her belief that this was a child of supernatural gifts. She even began to feel ashamed of her treatment of Spotted Adder, though she waited to see what his small nurse would do. "Poor sick Feather-man! Is you hurted now? Does your face ache you to make it screw itself all this way?" and she made a comical grimace, imitative of the sufferer's expression. "Ugh! Ugh!" "Yes; Kitty hears. Other Mother, that is all the word he says. All the time it is just 'Ugh! Ugh!' I wish he would talk Kitty's talk. Make him do it, Other Mother. Please!" "That I cannot do. He knows it not. But he has a speech I understand. What need you, Spotted Adder?" she concluded, in his own dialect. "Ugh! It is the voice of Wahneenah, the Happy. What does she here, in the lodge of the outcast? It is many a moon since the footfall of a woman sounded on my floor. Why does one come now?" "In pursuit of this child, the adopted daughter of our tribe, whom the Black Partridge himself has given me. It was ill of you, accursed, to wile her hither with your unholy spells." "I wiled her not. It was the gray squirrel. Broken in his life, as am I, the once Mighty. Many wounded creatures seek shelter here. It is a sanctuary. They alone fear not the miserable one." "Does not the tribe see to it that you have food and drink set within your wigwam, once during each journey of the sun? I have so heard." "Ugh! Food and drink. Sometimes I cannot reach them. They are not even pushed beyond the door flap, or what is left of it. They are all afraid. All. Yet they are fools. That which has befallen me may happen to each when his time comes. It is the sickness of the bones. There is no contagion in it. But it twists the straight limbs into torturing curves and it rends the body with agony. One would be glad to die, but death--like friendship--holds itself aloof. Ugh! The drink! The drink!" The Sun Maid could understand the language of the eyes, if not the lips, and she followed their wistful gaze toward the clay bowl from which she had before given him the water. But it was empty now, and seizing it with all her strength, for it was heavy and awkward in shape, she sped out of the wigwam toward a spring she had discovered. "Four, ten, lots of times Kitty has broughted the nice water, and every time the poor, sick Feather-man has drinked it up. He must be terrible thirsty, and so is Kitty. I guess I will drink first, this time." Filling the utensil, she struggled to lift it to her own lips, but it was rudely pushed away. "Papoose! Would you drink to your own death? The thing is accursed, I tell you!" "Why, Other Mother! It is just as clean as clean. Kitty did wash and wash it long ago. It was all dirty, worse than my new necklace, but it is clean now. Do you want a drink, Other Mother? Is you thirsty, too, like the sick one and Kitty?" "If I were, it would be long before I touched my lips to that cup." "Would it? Now I will fill it again. Then you must take it, Other Mother, and quick, quick, back to that raggedy house. Kitty is tired, she has come here and there so many, many times." "Is it here you have spent this long day, papoose?" "I did come here when the gray squirrel runned away. I did stay ever since." Wahneenah's heart sank. But to her credit it was that, for the time being, she forgot the stories she had heard, and remembered only that there was suffering which she must relieve. It might be that already the soul of Spotted Adder was winged for its long flight, and could carry for her to that wide Unknown, where her own dead tarried, some message from her, the bereft. As this thought flashed through her brain she seized the bowl and hastened with it to the lodge. This time, also, she forgot everything but the possibility that had come to her, and kneeling beside the old Indian she held the dish to his mouth. "It is the fever, the fever! A little while and the awful chill will come again. The racking pain, the thirst! Ugh! Wahneenah, the Happy, is braver than her sisters. Her courage shall prove her blessing. The lips of the dying speak truth." "And the ears of the dying? Can they still hear and remember? Will the Spotted Adder take my message to the men I have lost? Sire and son, there was no Pottawatomie ever born so brave as they. Tell them I have been faithful. I have been the Woman-Who-Mourns. I have kept to my darkened wigwam and remembered only them, till she came, this child you have seen. She is a gift from the sky. She has come to comfort and sustain. She was born a pale-face, but she has a red man's heart. She is all brave and true and dauntless. None fear her, and she fears none. I believe that they have sent her to me. I believe that in her they both live. Ask them if this is so." "There is no need to ask, Wahneenah, the Happy. Happy, indeed, who has been blessed with a gift so gracious. She is the Merciful. The Unafraid. She will pass in safety through many perils. All day she has sat beside me whom all others shun. She has moistened my lips, she has kept the gnats from stinging, she has sung in her unknown tongue of that land whither I go, and soon,--the land of the sky from whence she came. The light of the morning is on her hair and the dusk of evening in her eyes. As she has ministered to me, the deserted, the solitary, so she will minister unto multitudes. I can see them crowding, crowding; the generations yet unborn. The vision of the dying is true." On the floor beside them the Sun Maid sat, caressing the wounded squirrel. Through the torn curtains the waning sunlight slanted and lighted the bleak interior. It seemed to rest most brilliantly upon the child, and in the eyes of the Spotted Adder she was like a lamp set to illumine his path through the dark valley, an unexpected messenger from the Great Father, showing him beforehand a glimpse of the beauty and tenderness of the Land Beyond. Yet even if a spirit, she wore a human shape, and she would have human needs. She would be often in danger against which she must be guarded. "Wahneenah, fetch me the bow and quiver." "Which?" she asked, in surprise, though in reality she knew. "Is there one that should be named with mine? The White Bow from the land of eternal snow; the arrows winged with feathers from the white eagle's wing,--light as thistle down, strong as love, invincible as death." The Spotted Adder had been the orator of his tribe. Men had listened to his words in admiration, wondering whence he obtained the eloquence which moved them; and at that moment it was as if all the power of his earlier manhood had returned. The White Bow was well known among all the Pottawatomie tribes. Even the Sacs and Foxes had heard of it and feared it. It was older than the Giver's historic necklace, and tradition said that it had been hurled to earth on the breath of a mighty snowstorm. It had fallen before the wigwam of the Spotted Adder's ancestor and had been handed down from father to son, as fair and sound as on the day of its first bestowal. None knew the wood of which it was fashioned, which many could bend and twist but none could break. The string which first bound it had never worn nor wasted, and not a feather had ever fallen from the arrows in the quiver, nor had their number ever diminished, no matter how often sped. It was the one possession left to the neglected warrior and had been protected by its own reputed origin. There were daring thieves in many a tribe, but never a thief so bold he would risk his soul in the seizure of the White Bow. Wahneenah felt no choice but to comply with the Indian's command. She took the bow and its accoutrements from the sheltered niche in the tepee where it hung; the only spot, it seemed, that had not been subjected to the destruction of the elements. She had never held it in her hand before, and she wondered at its lightness as she carried it to its owner, and placed it in the gnarled fingers which would never string it again. "Good! Call the child to stand here." With awe, Wahneenah motioned the little one within the red man's reach. The last vestige of fear or repulsion had vanished from her own mind before the majesty of this hour. "Does the poor, sick Feather-man want another drink? Shall Kitty fetch it now?" "Hush, papoose!" He would have opened the small white hand and clasped it about the bow, which reached full three times the height of the child, and along whose beautiful length she gazed in wonder, but he could not. "Take it, Girl-Child. It is a gift. It is more magical than the necklace. Take it, hold it tight--that will please him--and say what is in your heart." "Oh, the beau'ful bow! Is it for Kitty? To keep, forever and ever? Why, it is bigger than that one of the Sauganash, and far prettier than Winnemeg's. It cannot be for Kitty, just little Kitty girl." "Yes; it is." Then the Sun Maid laid it reverently down, and catching hold her scant tunic made the old-fashioned curtsey which her Fort friends had taught her. "Thank you, poor Feather-man. I will take care of it very nice. I won't break it, not once." "Ugh!" grunted the Indian, with satisfaction. Then he closed his eyes as if he would sleep. "Good-night, Spotted Adder, the Mighty. I thank you, also, on the child's behalf. It is the second gift this day of talismans that must protect. Surely, she will be clothed in safety. Hearken to me. I must go home. The Sun Maid must be fed and put to sleep. But I will return. I am no longer afraid. You were my father's friend. All that a woman's hand can now do for your comfort shall be done." [Illustration: THE GIFT OF THE WHITE BOW. _Page 48._] But the Spotted Adder made no sign, and whether he did or did not hear her, Wahneenah never knew. She walked swiftly homeward, bearing the White Papoose upon one strong arm and the White Bow upon the other. Yet she noticed, with a smile, that the child still clung tenderly to her own burden of the injured squirrel, and that she was infinitely more careful of it and its suffering than of the wonderful gift she had received. Long before her own tepee was reached the Sun Maid was fast asleep; and as the small head rested more and more heavily upon Wahneenah's shoulder, and the soft breath of childhood fanned her throat, the woman again doubted the spiritual origin of the foundling, and felt fresh gratitude for its simple humanity. "Well, whoever and whatever she is, she is already thrice protected. By her Indian dress, by her White Bow, and by Lahnowenah's White Necklace. She is quite safe from every enemy now." "Not quite," said a voice at Wahneenah's elbow. But it was only Osceolo, the Simple. Nobody minded him or his words. CHAPTER V. HORSES: WHITE AND BLACK. On the morning of the 15th of August, 1812, the sun rose in unclouded splendor, and transformed the great Lake Michigan into a sheet of gold. "It is a good omen," said one of the women at Fort Dearborn, as she looked out over the shining water. But only the merry children responded to her attempted cheerfulness. "We shall have a grand ride. I wish nobody need make the journey on foot; and I'm glad, for once, I'm just a boy, and not a grown-up man." "Even a boy may have to do a man's work, this day, Gaspar Keith. I wish that you were strong enough to hold a gun; but you have been taught how to use an arrow. Is your quiver well supplied?" That his captain should speak to him, a child, so seriously, impressed the lad profoundly. His ruddy cheek paled, and a fit of trembling seized him. A sombre memory rose to frighten him, and he caught his breath as he asked: "Do you think there will be any trouble, Captain Heald? I thought I heard the soldiers saying that the Pottawatomies would take care of us." "Who trusts to an Indian's care leans on a broken reed. You know that from your own experience. Surely, you must remember your earlier childhood, even though you have been forbidden to talk of it here." "Oh! I do, I do! Not often in the daytime, but in the long, long nights. The other children sleep. They have never seen what I did, or heard the dreadful yells that come in my dreams and wake me up. Then I seem to see the flames, the blood, the dead white faces. Oh, sir, don't tell me that must come again: don't, don't! I cannot bear it. I would rather die right now and here--safe in our Fort." Instantly the soldier regretted his own words. But the lad was one of the larger children at the garrison and should be incited, he thought, to take some share in the matter of defence, should defence be necessary. He had not known that under Gaspar's quiet, almost sullen demeanor, had lain such hidden experiences. Else he would have talked them over with the boy, and have tried to make him forget instead of remember his early wrongs. For Gaspar Keith was the son of an Indian trader, and had been born in an isolated cabin far to the northwest of his present home. The little cabin had been overflowing with young life and gayety, even in that wilderness. His mother was a Frenchwoman of the happiest possible temperament and, because no other society was available, had made comrades of her children. "What we did in Montreal" was the type of what she attempted to do under her more restricted conditions. So, for a long season of peace, the Keiths sang and made merry over every trifling incident. Did the father bring home an extra load of game, at once there was a feast prepared and all the friendly Indians, the only neighbors, were invited to come and partake. On one such occasion, when a red-skinned guest had brought with him a bottle of the forbidden "fire-water," a quarrel ensued. The trader was of sterner sort than his light-hearted wife, and of violent temper. In his own house his word was law, and he remonstrated with the Indian for his action. To little Gaspar, in his memories, it seemed but a moment's transition from a laughing group about a well-spread table to a scene of horror. He saw--but he could never afterward speak in any definite way of what he saw. Only he knew that almost before he had pushed back from his place he had been caught up on the shoulder of the chief Winnemeg, also a guest; and in another moment was riding behind that warrior at breakneck speed toward the little garrison, in pursuit of shelter for himself and aid for his defenceless family. The shelter was speedily found, but the aid came too late; and for a time the women of the Fort had a difficult task in comforting the fright-crazed boy. However, they were used to such incidents. Their courage and generosity were unlimited, and they persevered in their care till he recovered and repaid them by his faithful devotion and service. The manner of his arrival among them was never discussed in his presence, and as he gradually came to act like other, happier children, they hoped he had outgrown his troubles. He had now been at the Fort for two years, during all which time he had gone but short distances from it. Yet even in his restricted outings he had picked up much knowledge of useful things from the settlers near, and of things apparently not so useful from his red-faced friends. So it happened that there was not, probably, even any Indian boy who could string a bow or aim an arrow better than Gaspar. The Sauganash himself had presented the little fellow with a bow of finest workmanship, and had taught him the rare trick of shooting at fixed paces. It had been the delight of the garrison to watch him, in their hours of recreation, accomplish this feat. Sighting some bird flying high overhead, the lad would take swift aim and discharge each arrow from his quiver at a certain count. There never seemed any variation in the distances between the discharged arrows as they made the arc--upward with unerring aim, and downward in the body of the bird; hitting it, one by one, at proportionate intervals of time and space. The women thought it a cruel sport, and would have prevented it if they could; but the men knew that it was a wonderful achievement, and that many fine archers among the surrounding tribes would fail in accomplishing it. Therefore, it was natural that the Fort's commandant should be anxious to know if his ward's equipment were in order, on a morning so full of possible dangers as this. "There is no talk of dying, Gaspar. You are a man, child, if not full grown. You are brave and skilful. You have a clear head, too; so listen closely to what I say. In our garrison are not more than forty men able to fight. There are a dozen women and twenty children, of which none have been trained to use a bow as you can. Besides these helpless ones, there are many sick soldiers to occupy the wagons. I know you expected to be with your mates, but I have another plan for you. I want you to ride Tempest, and to sling your bow on your saddle horn." "Ride--Tempest! Why, Captain Heald! Nobody--that is, nobody but you--can ride him. I was never on his back----" "It's time you were. Lad, do you know how many Indians are in camp near us, or have broken camp this morning to join us?" "Oh! quite a lot, I guess." "Just so. A whole 'lot.' About five hundred, or a few less." The two were busily at work, packing the last of the few possessions that the commandant must convey to Fort Wayne, and which he could entrust to no other hands than his own and those of this deft-fingered lad, and they made no pause while they talked. Indeed, Gaspar's movements were even swifter now, as if he were eager to be through and off. "Five hundred, sir? They are friendly Indians, though. Black Partridge and Winnemeg----" "Are but as straws against the current. Gaspar, I shall need a boy who can be trusted. These red neighbors of ours are not so 'friendly' as they seem. They are dissatisfied. They mean mischief, I fear, though God forbid! Well, we are soldiers, and we cannot shrink. You must ride Tempest. You must tell nobody why. You can keep at a short distance from our main band, and act as scout. Captain Wells will march in front with his Miamis, upon whose assistance--the Miamis', I mean--I do not greatly count. They are cowards. They fear the 'canoe men.' Well, what do you say, my son?" Gaspar caught his breath. His own fear of an Indian had been nearly overcome by the friendship of those chiefs who were so constantly at the Fort; but the night before had brought him a recurrence of the terrifying visions which were as much memories as dreams. After such a night he was scarcely himself in courage, greatly as he desired to please the captain. Then he reflected how high was the honor designed him. He, a little boy, just past ten and going on eleven for a whole fortnight now, and--of course he'd do it! "Well, I'll ride him. That is, I'll try. Like as not, he'll shake me off first try." "Make the second try, then. You know the copy in your writing-book?" "Yes, sir. I wrote the whole page of it, yesterday, and the chaplain said it was well done. Shall I get him now? Are you almost ready?" The commandant looked at the waiting wagons, the assembled company, the women and little ones who were so dear and in such a perilous case. For a moment his heart sank, stout soldier though he was, and it was no detriment to his manhood that a fervent if silent prayer escaped him. "Yes, fetch him if you can. If not, I'll come." Tempest was a gelding of fine Kentucky breed. There were others of his line at the garrison, and upon them some of the women even were to ride. But Tempest was the king of the stables. He was the master's half-broken pet and recreation. For sterner uses, as for that morning's work, there was a better trained animal, and on this the commandant would make his own journey. A smile curled the officer's lips despite his anxiety as, presently, out from the stables galloped a bareheaded lad, clinging desperately to Tempest's back, who tried as desperately to shake off his unusual burden. But the saddle girth was well secured, and the rider clung like a burr. His bow was slung crosswise before him and his full quiver hung at his back. A cheer went up. The sight was as helpful to the soldiers as it was amusing, and they fell into line with a ready step as the band struck up--what was that tune? _The Dead March?_ By whose ill-judgment this? Well, there was no time to question. Any music helps to keep a line of men in step, and there was the determined Gaspar cavorting and wheeling before and around the soldiers in a way to provoke a mirth that no dismal strain could dispel. So the gates were flung open, and in orderly procession, each man in his place, each heart set upon its duty, the little garrison marched through them for the last time. Of what took place within the next dread hours, of the Indians' treachery and the white men's courage, there is no need to give the details. It is history. But of brave Gaspar Keith on the wild gelding, Tempest, history makes no mention. There is many a hero whose name is unknown, and the lad was a hero that day. He did what he could, and his empty quiver, his broken bow, told their own story to a Pottawatomie warrior who came upon the boy just as the sun crossed the meridian on that memorable day. Gaspar was lying unconscious beneath a clump of forest trees, and Tempest grazing quietly beside him. There was no wound upon the lad, and whether he had been thrown to the ground by the animal, or had slipped from his saddle out of sheer weariness, even he could never tell. The Indian who found him was none other than the Man-Who-Kills; and, from a perfectly safe distance for himself, he had watched the young pale-face with admiration and covetousness. "By and by, when the fight is over, I will get him. He shall be my prisoner. The black gelding is finer than any horse ever galloped into Muck-otey-pokee. They shall both be mine. I will tell a big tale at the council fires of my brothers, and they shall account me brave. Talking is easier than fighting, any time, and why should I peril my life, following this mad war-path of theirs to that far-away Fort Wayne? Enough is a plenty. I have hidden lots of plunder while the men of my tribe did their killing, and the Man-Who-Kills will always be wise, as he is always brave. I could shoot as fast and as far as anybody if--if I wished. But I do not wish. It is too much trouble. So I will tie the boy on the gelding's back and lead them home in triumph. Will my squaw, Sorah, flout me now? No. No, indeed! And there is no need to say that I dared not mount the beast myself. But I can lead him all right, and when the Woman-Who-Mourns, that haughty sister of my chief, sees me coming she will say: 'Behold! how merciful is this mighty warrior!'" These reflections of the astute Indian, as he rested upon the shaded sward, afforded him such satisfaction that he did, indeed, handle poor Gaspar with more gentleness than might have been expected; because such a person commonly mistakes brutality for bravery. Oddly enough, Tempest offered no resistance to the red man's plan, and allowed himself to be burdened by the helpless Gaspar and led slowly to the Indian village. There the party aroused less interest than the Man-Who-Kills had anticipated, for other prisoners had already been brought in and, besides this, something had occurred that seemed to the women far more important. This was the fresh grief of Wahneenah as she roamed from wigwam to wigwam, searching for her adopted daughter and imploring help to find her. For again the Sun Maid had disappeared, as suddenly and more completely than on the previous day though after much the same manner. The child had been attending her injured squirrel and giving her bowls of orchids fresh drinks, upon the threshold mat of her new home, and her indulgent foster-mother had gone to fetch from the stream the water needed for the latter purpose. At the brook's edge she had stopped, "just for a moment," to discuss with the other squaws the news of the massacre that was fast coming to them by the straggling bands of returning braves. But the brief absence was long enough to have worked the mischief. The small runaway had left her posies and her squirrel and departed, nobody could guess whither. Till at last again came Osceolo, the mischievous, and remarked, indifferently: "The Woman-Who-Mourns may save her steps. The White Papoose and the Snowbird are far over the prairie while the women search." "Osceolo! You are the son of the evil spirit! You bring distress in your hand as a gift! But take care what you say now. You know, as I know, that nobody can mount the White Snowbird and live. Or if one could succeed and pass beyond the village borders, it would be a ride to some far land whence there is no return. What is the mare, Snowbird, but a creature bewitched? or the home of the soul of a dead maiden, who would rather live thus with her people than without them as a spirit in the Great Beyond? You know all this, and yet you tell me----" "That the Sun Maid is flying now on the Snowbird's back toward the setting sun, who is her father." "How do you know this?" "I saw it." "Who took her to the Snowbird's corral? Who? Osceolo, torment of our tribe, it was you! It was you! Boy, do you know what you have done? Do you know that out there, on the prairie where you have sent her, the spirit of murder is abroad? Not a pale-face shall escape. She was safe here, where your own chief, the Black Partridge, placed her. Hear me. If harm befalls her, if by moonrise she is not restored to me, you shall bear the punishment. You----" By a gesture he stopped her. Now thoroughly frightened, the mischievous boy put up his arms as if to ward off the coming threat. Half credulous, and half doubtful that the Sun Maid was more than mortal, he had made a test for himself. He had remembered the Snowbird, fretting its high spirit out within the closed paddock, and a daring notion had seized him. It was this: "While the Woman-Who-Mourns gossips with her neighbors, I'll catch up the papoose and carry her there. She'll come fast enough. She ran away yesterday, and she played with me before the Spotted Adder's hut. She trusts everybody. I'll have some fun, even if my father didn't let me go with him to the camp yonder." Among all nations boyhood is the same--plays the same wild pranks, with equal disregard of consequences; and Osceolo would far rather have had a good time than a good supper. He thought he was having a perfectly fascinating good time when he bound a long blanket over the Snowbird's back and then fastened Kitty Briscoe in the folds of the blanket. He had laughed gayly as he clapped his hands and set the mare free, and the little one riding her had laughed and clapped also. He had watched them out of sight over the prairie, and had felt quite proud of himself. "If she is a spirit she'll come back safe; and if she's nothing but a white man's baby--why, that's all she is. Only a squaw child at that, though the silly women have made such ado. I wonder--will I ever see her again? Well, I'll go around by Wahneenah's tepee, after a while, and enjoy the worry. It's the smartest thing I've done yet; and she did look cunning, too. She wasn't a bit afraid--she isn't afraid of anything--which makes her better than most girl papooses, and she was laughing as hard as I was when she went away." With these thoughts, Osceolo had come back to the spot where Wahneenah met him and demanded if he knew aught of her charge; and there was no hilarity in his face now as he watched her enter her wigwam and drop its curtains behind her. He suddenly remembered--many things; and at thought of the Black Partridge's wrath he turned faint and sick. But the test had been made and no regret could recall it. Meanwhile, there came into his mind the fact: a black horse had just entered the village and a white one had gone out of it. The narrow superstition in which he had been reared taught him that the one brought misfortune and the other carried away happiness; and, in a redoubled terror at his own act and its consequences, Osceolo turned and fled. CHAPTER VI. THE THREE GIFTS. "The Black Partridge has served his white friends faithfully. He should now remember his own people, and rest his heart among them," said the White Pelican as he rode homeward beside his chief, not many hours after the massacre of the sandhills. The elder warrior lifted his bowed head, and regarded his nephew in sadness. His eyes had that far-away, dreamy look which was unusual among his race and had given him, at times, a strange power over his fellows. Because, unfortunately, the dreams were, after all, very practical, and the silent visions were of things that might have been averted. "The White Pelican, also, did well. He protected those whom he wished to kill. He did it for my sake. It shall not be forgotten, though the effort was useless. The end has begun." The younger brave touched his fine horse impatiently, and the animal sprang forward a few paces. As he did so, the rider caught a gleam of something white skimming along the horizon line, and wondered what it might be. But he had set out to attend his chief and, curbing his mount by a strong pull, whirled about and rode back to the side of Black Partridge. "What is the end that has begun, Man-Who-Cannot-Lie?" "The downfall of our nations. They have been as the trees of the forest and the grasses of the prairie. The trees shall be felled and the grasses shall be cut. The white man's hand shall accomplish both." "For once, the Truth-Teller is mistaken. We will wrest our lands back from the grasp of the pale-faces. We will learn their arts and conquer them with their own weapons. We will destroy their villages--few they are and widely scattered. Pouf! This morning's work is but a show of what is yet to come. As we did then, so we will do in the future. I, too, would go with my tribe to that other fort far beyond the Great Lake. I would help again to wipe away these usurpers from our homes, as I wipe--this, from my horse's flank. Only my promise to remain with my chief and my kinsman prevents." The youth had stooped and brushed a bit of grass bloom from the animal's shining skin; and as he raised his head again he looked inquiringly into the stern face of the other. Thus, indirectly, was he begging permission to join the contemplated raid upon another distant garrison. Black Partridge understood but ignored the silent petition. He had other, higher plans for the White Pelican. He would himself train the courageous youth to be as wise and diplomatic as he was brave. When the training was over, he should be sent to that distant land where the Great Father of the white men dwelt, and should there make a plea for the whole Indian race. "Would not a man who saved all this"--sweeping his arm around toward every point of the prairie--"to his people be better than one who killed a half-dozen pale-faces yet lost his home?" "Why--yes," said the other, regretfully. "But----" "But it is the last chance. The time draws near when not an Indian wigwam will dot this grand plain. Already, in the talk of the white men, there is the plan forming to send us westward. Many a day's journey will lie between us and this beloved spot. Our canoes will soon vanish from the Great Lake, and we shall cease to glide over our beautiful river. Hear me. It is fate. These people who have come to oust us from our birthright have been sent by the Great Spirit. It is His will. We have had our one day of life and of possession. They are to have theirs. Who will come after them and destroy them? They----" But the White Pelican could endure no more. The Black Partridge was not often in such a mood as this, stern and sombre though he might sometimes be, nor had his prophecies so far an outlook. That the Indians should ever be driven entirely away by their white enemies seemed a thing impossible to the stout-hearted young brave, and he spoke his mind freely. "My father has had sorrow this day, and his eyes are too dim to see clearly. Or he has eaten of the white man's food and it has turned his brain. Were it not for his dim eyesight, I would ask him to tell the White Pelican what that creature might be that darts and wheels and prances yonder"; and he pointed toward the western horizon. Now there was a hidden taunt in the warrior's words. No man in the whole Pottawatomie nation was reputed to have such clearness of eyesight as the Black Partridge. The readiness with which he could distinguish objects so distant as to be invisible to other men had passed into a proverb among his neighbors, who believed that his inward "visions" in some manner furthered this extraordinary outward eyesight. The chief flashed a scornful glance upon his attendant and, quite naturally, toward the designated object. White Pelican saw his gaze become intent and his indifference give way to amazement. Then, with a cry of alarm, that was half incredulity, the Black Partridge wheeled and struck out swiftly toward the west. "Ugh! It looked unusual, even to me, but my father has recognized something beyond my guessing. He rides like the wind, yet his horse was well spent an hour ago." Regardless of his own recent eagerness to be at Muck-otey-pokee, and relating the day's doings to an admiring circle of stay-at-homes, the young brave followed his leader. In a brief time they came up with a wild, high-spirited white horse, which rushed frantically from point to point in the vain hope of shaking from its back a burden to which it was not used. "Souls of my ancestors! It is--the Snowbird!" "It is the Sun Maid!" returned Black Partridge. But for all his straining vision, White Pelican could not make out that it was indeed that wonderful child who was wrapped and bundled in the long blanket and lashed to the Snowbird's back by many thongs of leather. Not until, by one dexterous swoop of his horsehair rope, the chief collared the terrified mare and brought her to her knees. "Cut the straps. Set the child free." The brave promptly obeyed; while the chief, holding the struggling mare with one hand, carefully drew the Sun Maid from her swathing blanket and laid her across his shoulder. Her little figure hung limp and relaxed where it was placed, and he saw that she had fainted. [Illustration: SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID. _Page 68._] "Take her to that row of alder bushes yonder. There should be water there. I'll finish what has been begun, and prove whether this is a beast bewitched, or only a vicious mare that needs a master." The White Pelican would have preferred the horse-breaking to acting as child's nurse to this uncanny small maiden who had ridden a creature none other in his tribe would have attempted. But he did as he was bidden and laid the little one down in the cooling shade of the alders. Then he put the water on her face and forced a few drops between her parted lips. After that he fixed all his attention on the efforts of Black Partridge to bring into subjection the unbroken mare. However, the efforts were neither very severe nor long continued. Like many another, the Snowbird had received a worse name than she deserved, and she had already been well wearied by her wild gallop on the prairie. She had done her best to throw and kill the child which Osceolo had bound upon her back, but she had only succeeded in tightening the bands and exhausting both herself and her unconscious rider. More than that, Black Partridge had a will stronger than hers and it conquered. "Well, I did ride a long, long way, didn't I? Feather-man, did you put Kitty on the nice cool grass? Will you give Kitty another drink of water? I guess I'm pretty tired, ain't I?" These words recalled the White Pelican's attention to his charge. "Ugh! It's a wonder you're alive." "Is it? I rode till I got so sleepy I couldn't see. The sky kept whirling and whirling, and the sun did come right down into my face. And I got so twisted up I couldn't breathe. I guess--I guess I don't much love that Osceolo. He said it would be fun, and it was--a while. But he didn't come, too, and--I'm glad I'm here now. Who's that walking? Oh! my own Black Partridge, the nicest Feather-man there is!" The Sun Maid sat up and lifted her arms to be taken, while she bestowed upon the chief one of her sweetest smiles. But he received it gravely, and regarded the child in her new Indian dress with critical scrutiny. Who had thus clothed her he could not surmise, for too short a time had elapsed since he had taken her to his village for his sister to prepare these well-fitting garments. Finally, superstition began to influence him also, as it had influenced the weaker-minded people at Muck-otey-pokee, as he spoke to the White Pelican, rather than to the child. "Place her upon the Snowbird. They belong to each other, though I know not how they found one another." "Osceolo," answered the younger brave, tersely. "Humph! Then there's more of black spirits than white in this affair. However, I have spoken. Place the Sun Maid on the Snowbird's back." Kitty would have objected and strongly; but there was something so unusually stern in the elder warrior's face and so full of hatred in that of the younger that she was bewildered and wisely kept silence. Having made a comfortable saddle out of the long blanket, they seated her again upon the white mare's back, and each on either side, they led her slowly toward Muck-otey-pokee. But the little one had again fallen asleep long before they reached it, and now there could have been no gentler mount for so helpless a rider than this suddenly tamed White Snowbird. At the entrance to the village Wahneenah met them. She had again put on her mourning garb, and her hair was unplaited, while the lines of her face had deepened perceptibly. She had lamented to Katasha: "The Great Spirit sent me back my lost ones in the form of the Sun Maid, and because of my own carelessness and sternness He has recalled her. Now is our separation complete, and not even in the Unknown Land shall I find them again." But the One-Who-Knows had answered, impatiently: "Leave be. Whatever is must happen. The child is safe. Nothing can harm her. Has she not the three gifts? The White Necklace from the shore of the Sea-without-end?[1] The White Bow from the eternal north? and the White Snowbird, into which entered the white soul of a blameless virgin? Have I not clothed her with the garb of our people? You are a fool, Wahneenah. Go hide in your wigwam, and keep silence." [Footnote 1: Pacific Ocean.] This was good advice, but Wahneenah couldn't take it. She was too human, too motherly, and under all her superstition, too sure of the Sun Maid's real flesh-and-blood existence to be easily comforted. So she went, instead, to the outskirts of the settlement to watch for what might be coming of good or ill. And so she came all the sooner to find her lost darling, and she vowed within herself that never again, so long as her own life should last, would she lose sight of that precious golden head. "My Girl-Child! My White Papoose, Beloved! Found again! But how could you?" "I did get runned away with myself this time, nice Other Mother. Don't look at Kitty that way. Kitty is very hungry. Nice Black Partridge Feather-man did find me, riding and riding and riding. The pretty Snowbird had lots of wings, I guess, for she flew and flew and flew. But I didn't see Osceolo. He couldn't have come, could he? I thought he was coming, too, when he clapped his hands and shooed me off so fast. Where is he?" That was what several were desirous to learn. The affair had turned out much better than might have been expected, but there would be a day of reckoning for the village torment when he and its chief should chance to meet. Knowing this, Osceolo remained in hiding for some time. Until, indeed, his curiosity got the better of his discretion. This happened when the Man-Who-Kills came stealing to his retreat and begged his assistance. "I want you to take my white boy-captive and lead him to the tepee of the Woman-Who-Mourns. My wife Sorah will not have him in her wigwam. She says that from the moment that other white child, the Sun Maid, came to the lodge of Wahneenah, there has been trouble without end, even though all the three charms against evil have been bestowed upon her. There are no charms for this dark boy, but there's always trouble enough (where Sorah is). He's so worn and unhappy, he'll make no objection, but will follow like a dog. He neither speaks nor sleeps nor eats. I have no use for a fool, I. You do it, Osceolo, and you'll see what I will give you in reward! Also, if the Woman-Who-Mourns has lost the Sun Maid, maybe this Dark-Eye will be a better stayer." "But what will you give me, Man-Who-Kills? I--I think I'd rather not meddle any more with the family of my chief." "Ugh! Are a coward, eh? Never mind. There are other lads at Muck-otey-pokee, and plenty of plunder in my wigwam." "All right. Come along, Dark-Eye. Might as well be Dark-Brow, too, for he looks like a night without stars. What will you do with his horse, Man-Who-Kills?" "Let you ride it for me, sometimes." "I can do it"; and without further delay, leading the utterly passive and disheartened Gaspar, the Indian lad set off for Wahneenah's home. The captive had no expectation of anything but the most dreadful fate, and his tired brain reeled at the remembrance of what he might yet undergo. Yet, what use to resist? Meanwhile, Osceolo, confident that all the braves whom he need fear were still absent from the village, started his charge along the trail at a rapid pace, and reached the wigwam of the Woman-Who-Mourns at the very moment when Black Partridge, White Pelican, and the Sun Maid came riding to it from the prairie. She was alive, then! She was, in truth, a "spirit"! His mischievousness had had no power to harm her, she was exempt from any ill that might befall another, she had come back to--How could such an innocent-appearing creature punish one who had so misled her? He had no time to guess. For the child had caught sight of the stupid lad he was leading, and with a cry of ecstacy had sprung from the Snowbird and landed plump upon the prisoner's shoulders. "Gaspar! My Gaspar, my Gaspar! Mine, mine, mine!" It was a transformation scene. The white boy had staggered under the unexpected assault of his old playmate, but he had instantly recognized her. With a cry as full of joy as her own, he clasped her close, and showered his kisses on her upturned face. "Kitty! why, Kitty! You aren't dead, then? You are not hurt? And we thought--oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Clinging to each other, they slipped to the ground, too absorbed in themselves to notice anything else; while Osceolo watched them in almost equal absorption. But he was roused sooner than they. A hand fell on his shoulder. A hand whose touch could be as gentle as a woman's, but was now like a steel band crushing the very bones. "Osceolo!" "Yes, Black Partridge," quavered the terrified lad. "You will come to my tepee. Alone!" CHAPTER VII. A THREEFOLD CORD IS STRONGEST. "She is a spirit. I know that nothing can harm her. Yet many things can harm me. I have no desire to suffer any further anxiety. Therefore--this. My Girl-Child, my White Papoose, come here." The Sun Maid reluctantly obeyed. It was the morning after her perilous ride on the back of an untamed horse and her joyful reunion with Gaspar, her old playmate of the Fort. The two were now just without the wigwam of Wahneenah, sitting clasped in each other's arms, as if fearful that a fresh separation awaited them should they once relinquish this tight hold of one another; and it was in much the same feeling that the foster-mother regarded them. "But why, Other Mother? I do love my Gaspar boy. I did know him always." "You've known me two years, Kitty," corrected the truthful lad. "But I suppose that is as long as you can remember. You're such a baby." "How old is the Sun Maid--as you white people reckon ages?" asked Wahneenah. "She is five years old. Her birthday was on the Fourth of July. We had a celebration. Our Captain fired as many rounds of ammunition as she was years old. The mothers made her a cake, with sugar on the top, and with five little candles they made themselves on purpose, and colored with strawberry juice. Oh, surely, there never was such a cake in all the world as they made for our 'baby!'" cried the lad, forgetting for the moment present troubles in this delightful memory. "Well, there are other women who can make other cakes," said Wahneenah, with ready jealousy. "Oh, but an Indian cake--" began Gaspar, then stopped abruptly, frightened at his own boldness. Wahneenah smiled. For small Kitty was swift to see the change in her playmate's face, and her own caught, for an instant, a reflection of its fear. The foster-mother wished to banish this fear. "Wahneenah likes those who say their thoughts out straight and clear. She is the sister of the Man-Who-Cannot-Lie. It is the crime of the pale-faces that they will lie, and always. Wherefore, they are always in danger. Take warning. Learn to be truth-tellers, like the Pottawatomies, and you will have no trouble." A quick retort rose to Gaspar's lips, but he subdued it. Then he watched what was being done to Kitty, and a faint smile brightened his face, that had been so far too gloomy for his years. Wahneenah had made a long rope of horsehair, gaily adorned with beads and trinkets, and was fastening it about the Sun Maid's waist. The little one submitted merrily, at first; but when it flashed through her mind that she was thus being made a prisoner, being "tied up," she burst into a paroxysm of tears and temper that astonished the others, and even herself. "I will not be 'tied up!' I was not a naughty girl. When I am bad, I will be punished, and I will not cry nor stamp my feet. But when I am good, I will be free--free! There shall nobody, nobody do this to me! Not any single body. Gaspar, will you let her do it?" The boy's timidity flew to the winds. His dark eyes flashed with indignation, and his heavy brows contracted in a fierce scowl. At that instant, he appeared much older than he really was, and he advanced upon Wahneenah with upraised hand and threatening gesture. She might easily have picked him up and tossed him out of the way; but there is nothing an Indian woman admires more greatly than courage. In this she does not differ from her pale-faced sisters, and, instead of resenting Gaspar's rudeness, she smiled upon him. "That is right, Dark-Eye. It is a warrior's duty to protect his women. You are not yet a warrior, nor is the Sun Maid yet a woman, but as you begin so you will continue. Hear me. Let us make compact. I was fastening the child for her own good, not in punishment. Is that a white mother's custom? Well, this is better. Let us three pledge our word: each to watch over and protect the other so long as our lives last. The Great Spirit sent the Sun Maid into my arms, by the hands of Black Partridge, my brother and my chief. The meanest Indian in Muck-otey-pokee brought you to the village, and the meanest boy to my wigwam. But when the chief saw you, he took you by the hand, and gave you, also, to me. A triple bond is the strongest. Shall we clasp hand upon it?" It was a curious proceeding for one so much older than these children, but it was in profoundest earnest. Wahneenah recognized in Gaspar a representative of a race whose wisdom exceeded that of her own, even if, as she believed, its morality was of a lower standard. But her brother and the other braves had already told her of his great courage on the day before, and of his wonderful skill with the bow and arrow. He had done a man's work, even though a stripling, and she would accord him a man's honor. As for the Sun Maid, despite her very human-like temper, she was, of course, a being above mortal, and therefore fit to "compact" with anybody, even had it been the case with one as venerable as old Katasha. So she felt that there was nothing derogatory to her own dignity in her request. Gaspar fixed his piercing eyes upon Wahneenah's face, and studied it carefully. The penetration of a child is keen, and not easily deceived. What he read in the Indian woman's unflinching gaze satisfied him, for after this brief delay, he lay his thin boyish hand within the extended palm in entire trust. Of course, what Gaspar did Kitty was bound to do. To her it was a game, and her own plump little fingers closed about the backs of the lad's with a mischievous pinch. Already her anger had disappeared, and her sunny face was dimpling with laughter. "Kitty was dreadful bad, wasn't she? She wouldn't be tied up first, because she wasn't naughty. Now she has been bad as bad, she did stamp and scream so; and she may be tied, if Other Mother wishes. Do you, nice Other Mother? It is a very pretty string. It wouldn't hurt, I guess." But Wahneenah's desire to fasten her ward to the lodge-pole had vanished. She would far rather trust the true, loving eyes of the boy Gaspar than the stoutest horsehair rope ever woven. "We will tie nobody. But hear me, my children, for you are both mine now. In this village are many friends and more enemies. Braves and their families, from other villages and other branches of our tribe, have raised their tepees here. It is easier for them to do this than to build villages of their own, and we are hospitable people. When a guest comes to us, he must stay until he chooses to go away again, and there are none who would bid them depart. Some of other tribes than our own are also here. It is they who are stirring up much mischief. They are giving the Black Partridge anxiety; they will not be wise. They will not learn that their only safety lies in friendship with the white faces. Therefore the heart of our chief is heavy with foreboding. He has the inner vision. To him all things are clear that to us are quite invisible. This is his command to me, ere he departed in the dawn of this day, to seek our friends who were of the Fort, and help them in their need, if need again arises. Listen to the words of Black Partridge: "'Have these white children trained to ride as an Indian rides. The boy Gaspar is to be given the black gelding, Tempest, for his very own. I shall see the man who owns it, and I will pay his cost. The White Snowbird belongs to the Sun Maid. Let nobody else dare touch the mare, except to handle it in care. The day is coming when they will need to ride fast and far, and with more skill than on yesterday. The Snake-Who-Leaps is the best horseman in our tribe. I have bidden him come to this tepee when the sun crosses the meridian. He is friendly to these prisoners, because they are mine, and he will guide them well.'" Gaspar's eyes had opened to their widest extent. The words he had heard seemed incredible; yet he was shrewd and practical by nature, and he promptly inquired: "Why? Why will the Indian chief bestow so rich a gift upon his white boy-prisoner? For if he buys Tempest from the Captain he will have to pay big money. There isn't another like the black gelding this side that far-away Kentucky where he was bred." "Hear me, Gaspar Keith; prisoner, if you will. But I would rather call you an adopted son of the Black Partridge, and by your new name of Dark-Eye. This is the reason: In these troubles which are coming, you may not only serve yourself, the Sun Maid, and me, by having as your own the gelding Tempest, but you may help the helpless, also. In this one village of Muck-otey-pokee are many old and many very young. The Spotted Adder was the oldest man I ever knew, and though he has died just now, there are others almost of his age. They ought to die, too, and not burden better people. But nobody dies who should while those who should not are snatched away like a feather on the breeze." Here Wahneenah became absorbed in her own reflections, and was so long silent that Kitty stole her arms about the woman's neck and kissed the dark face to remind her that they were still listening. "Yes, beloved, Child of the Sunshine and Love! You do well to call me back. Let the dead rest. You are the living. I will remember only you," and she laid the little one against her heart. "Gaspar, too, Other Mother," suggested the loyal little maid. But Gaspar was quite able to speak for himself. "No decent white person would wish the old to die!" he exclaimed, hotly. "There was a grandmother at our Fort, and she was the best loved, the best cared for, of all the women. That is what a white boy thinks, even if he is an Indian's prisoner!" "Ugh! So? You are an odd youth, Dark-Eye. As timid as a wild pigeon one minute, and the next--flouting your chief's sister." "I don't mean that, Wahneenah. I--I only--I don't just know what I do mean, except that it seems cowardly to wish the old should die. If you should grow very, very old some day, and Kitty and I should not be--be nice to you, then you would understand what I feel, if I cannot say it rightly." Wahneenah laughed. "Your halting speech makes me happy, Dark-Eye. Kitty and you and I; still all together, even when age shall have dimmed my sight and dulled my hearing. It is well. I am satisfied. But hear me. Herein lies the trouble: when folks are young they forget that they will ever be old. That is a mistake. One should remember that youth flies away, fast, fast. They should teach themselves wisdom. They should learn to be skilled in the things which will make them lovely when they are old. For, despite your judgment, there are some among us whom we would keep till all generations are past. Katasha, the One-Who-Knows; and the Snake-Who-Leaps--why, he is older even than Katasha. Yet there is nobody can ride a horse, or shoot a flying bird, or bring in the game that he can. He is the friend of his chief. He is the most honored one in our whole village. Why? Because he makes few promises, and breaks none. He has never lowered his manhood by drinking the fire-water that addles one's brains and sets the limbs a-tremble. He has talked little and done much. He is One-To-Be-Trusted. That was his name in his youth, when he began to practise all his virtues. The other name came afterward, because of the swift punishment he can also inflict upon his enemies. You would do well to pattern after your teacher, Dark-Eye." Gaspar listened respectfully; but this sounded so very much like the "lectures" he had received at the Fort that it had less originality than most of Wahneenah's conversations; and, besides that, he had just espied, approaching over the village street, a tall Indian leading the black gelding and Snowbird. Behind this man walked Osceolo; but greatly changed from the bullying youth whom Gaspar had met on the previous day. Whatever had occurred in the closed tepee of Black Partridge, when its door flaps fell behind himself and the lad he had ordered to accompany him, nobody knew; but, whatever it was, Osceolo was certainly--at least for the time being--a changed young person. He walked along behind the Snake-Who-Leaps in a meek, subdued manner quite new to him, but which immediately impressed Dark-Eye as being a vast improvement on his former bearing. He paused, when ordered to "Halt!" by the old man, as if he had been stricken into a wooden image, and only when requested to take the Snowbird's bridle did he make any other motion. "Why, Osceolo! What's the matter?" asked the Sun Maid, running toward him in surprise. But he did not answer, and she was hastily snatched back by the strong hand of the foster-mother. "The Girl-Child speaks to none who is in disgrace." "But I will speak to anybody who is unhappy, Other Mother! I cannot help that, can I? One day, Osceolo was all laughing and clapping; and now--now he looks like Peter Wilson did after his father had whipped him with a musket. Did anybody whip you with a musket, poor, poor Osceolo?" Not a sign from the disgraced youth. "Has you lost your tongue, too? Well as your eyes, that you can't look up? Never mind, Osceolo. Kitty is sorry for you. Some day Kitty will let you ride her beau'ful White Snowbird; some day." "The Sun Maid will first learn to ride the Snowbird, herself," corrected the Snake-Who-Leaps. "She will begin now." With unquestioning confidence, a confidence that Gaspar did not share, she ran back to the old warrior's side, and stood on tiptoe to be lifted into place. "Ugh!" he grunted in satisfaction. "That is well. The one who has no fear has already conquered the wildest animal. But the White Snowbird is not wild. She has been given an evil name, and it has clung to her as evil always clings," and the One-To-Be-Trusted turned to give his silent attendant a meaning glance. But Osceolo had not yet raised his gaze from the ground, and the reproof fell pointless. Nobody had observed that, from another direction, another youth had quietly led up a beautiful chestnut horse, whose cream-colored mane and tail would have made it a conspicuous object anywhere; but Wahneenah had expected this addition to their equestrian party and, as she turned to look for it, exclaimed in pleasure at its prompt appearance. The Snake-Who-Leaps heard her ejaculation, and evinced his disgust. "Ugh! Is it to teach a lot of women and a worthless pale-faced lad that I have left the comfort of my own lodge this hot summer day?" "The old forget. It was long ago, when I was no bigger than the Sun Maid here, that the One-To-Be-Trusted took me behind him on a wild ride over the prairie. It was the only lesson he ever gave--or needed to give--_me_. I will show him that I am still young enough to remember!" cried Wahneenah, with all the gayety of girlhood, and with so complete a change in her appearance that it was easy to see how she had come to be named The Happy. Even before the teacher had settled the Sun Maid in her tiny blanket saddle, Wahneenah had sprung upon the chestnut's back. As she touched it, a clear, determined, if very youthful voice, shouted behind her: "I am a white man! No Indian shall ever teach me a thing that I can learn for myself!" For suddenly Gaspar remembered the wrongs he had suffered at the red men's hands, and leaped to Tempest's back unaided. Another instant, and the trio of riders dashed away from Muck-otey-pokee in a mad rush that left their disgruntled instructor in doubt which was the better pupil of them all. "Who begins slow finishes fast; but who begins fast may never live to finish slow," he remarked, sententiously; then observing that Osceolo had, for the first time, raised his eyes, he promptly laid a heavy hand upon the youth's shoulder and wheeled him about. "To my wigwam--march!" And Osceolo marched--exactly as if all his limbs were sticks and his joints mechanical. "Ugh! So? Like the jointed dolls of the papooses, eh? Very good. Keep at it. From now till those three return, dead or alive, my fine young warrior, you shall be my pupil. You have set me the pace you like. You may keep at it. From the locust tree east of my lodge to the pawpaw on the west, as the branch swings in the wind, so shall you swing. Ugh! May they ride far and long. One--two--commence!" It was noonday when he began that weary, weary automatic "step, step"; but when the last rays of the sun had disappeared beyond the prairie, Osceolo was still enduring his discipline, and making his pendulum-like journey from locust-tree to pawpaw, from pawpaw to locust. His head swam, his sight dimmed, but still sat stolid Snake-Who-Leaps in the entrance of his tepee, "instructing" the only pupil fate had left him. CHAPTER VIII. AN ISLAND RETREAT. Under the incentive of love and excitement--heightened by a tinge of jealousy--all Wahneenah's former skill in horsemanship returned to her. When the Snake-Who-Leaps lifted the Sun Maid to the back of the Snowbird the woman felt an unreasoning anger against him. She could not patiently endure to have any other hand than her own touch the small body of her adopted child, upon whom had now centred all the pent-up affection of her starved heart. "If my darling must be taught, I will teach her myself!" she suddenly resolved, and promptly acted upon the resolution. Previously, and when she ordered the chestnut to be brought to her tepee, she had merely intended to ride in company with the others and in a limited circle about the village. Now a mad impulse seized her to be off over the prairie, farther than sight could reach, and on half-forgotten trails once familiar to her. It was the first time she had mounted any animal since her widowhood. When she heard Gaspar's daring declaration, she thrilled with delight. All the savage in her nature roused to enjoy this wild escapade, and, catching firm hold of the Sun Maid's bridle rein, she nodded over her shoulder to the lad, and led the way northward. "It's like that strange fairy story, in the book given Peter Wilson, that came from way over in England, and was the only one in the world, I guess. Was the only one at our Fort, anyway," thought Gaspar, as he followed in equal speed, and at imminent risk of his life. For a night's rest had restored the black gelding to all his spirit, and had the boy attempted to guide or control him there would have been serious trouble. As it was, Gaspar confined his efforts to just sticking on, and had all he could do at that; but after a short distance, the three horses broke into an even lope, keeping well together, and all under the command of the Indian woman. "Oh, I love it!" she cried, the rich blood flaming under her dusky skin, her eyes sparkling, and her long black hair streaming on the wind which their own motion created. "Kitty loves it--too--Kitty guesses!" echoed the child, entering into the other's mood with quick sympathy. Indeed, she was the safer of the three. There is a hidden understanding between horses and children, and numberless instances prove how carefully even an untamed beast will treat a little child--if nobody interferes. But let an adult attempt to avert a seeming danger, and the animal will promptly throw the responsibility on human shoulders, and act out its own mood at its own will. Wahneenah understood this, and, simply leaving her hand upon the Snowbird's rein, but quite without any pressure, rode where that frolicsome creature chose to lead. A strap, which the Snake-Who-Leaps had fastened around the waist of the Sun Maid, held her securely to her saddle, though her small hands clutched the flying mane of her mount so tightly that she could not well have been shaken off. It was a rough school in which to learn so dangerous an art, but it sufficed; and that one day's ride did more to help Gaspar and Kitty to good horsemanship than all the instruction they afterward received. "How far--nice Other Mother?" asked the little girl, when the three horses of their own accord began to slacken speed. "Not far now, papoose. See yonder, where the trees fringe the river? Among those trees is a wonderful spot I know. I've not seen it for years, but in its shelter my warrior and I spent many happy hours. There we used to take our son, and tell him the story of his people. It was a hiding-place, in the ancient years, when enemies of the Pottawatomies were on the war-path, and the chief would save his women and children. But nobody remembers that trail, at this late day, except those of my father's house. Besides me, not one soul lives who could find his way thither, save Black Partridge. It is even many moons since he has talked with me about it, and he may not recall it still. Though he is a man who never forgets, and the knowledge is doubtless merely sleeping in his brain." Kitty Briscoe understood but little of this speech, but Gaspar's interest was roused. Amid the discipline and routine of his old life at the Fort, his lighter, gayer qualities had lain dormant, but they were now rapidly awakening under the influence of his recent adventures. It was impossible, too, for anybody to be long with Wahneenah, in her present mood, without catching her spirit and gayety; and though the Sun Maid comprehended little save the liveliness of her companions, she could enter into that with all her heart. Therefore, it was a merry party which came at last to the river bank, where the horses were glad to pause for rest, and where they would eagerly have slaked their thirst, had they been permitted. "But that won't do, Wahneenah, will it? At our Fort we never watered a horse when it was warm. The Captain said they would be ruined, so." "You do well to remember all the wisdom you have been taught, Dark-Eye. Here, let me show you something even a white man may not know. How to tether a horse with a rope of prairie grass, made in a moment, but strong enough to last for long." "Lift me off, Other Mother," cried Kitty, from the Snowbird's back, and Wahneenah swung her down. "Now, Dark-Eye, pull as much of this rush grass as your arms can hold. It will take a heap for three ropes." "Have the pretty ponies been naughty? Must they be tied up, too?" "Not because they are bad, but because they are good, papoose! That is the way of life. It is full of contradictions. But, don't wrinkle your pretty brows puzzling what you cannot understand. Run and help the Dark-Eye pull the long grasses." It was so wonderful to see Wahneenah's skilful fingers twist and turn and thread the slender blades in and out that both children were fascinated by her deftness; and though Gaspar could not at all catch the trick of this curious weaving, he resolved to practise it in private till he could equal, or excel, this example. Again his ambition arose to prove that a pale-face was always superior to an Indian, and his dark eyes gazed so fixedly upon Wahneenah's flying fingers that she laughed, and demanded: "Are you jealous, my son? But there's no need. Nothing that I know will be hidden from you, if you choose to be taught. But, come. Take this rope that is finished. Twist it about the gelding's neck--so; now pass it downward between his front legs and hobble him by the right hind one. No, he'll not resist. Try it. Then you'll see that he'll neither nibble at his tether nor run away from us." Gaspar was too proud to show that he somewhat dreaded interfering with the restless legs of the spirited Tempest, and to his astonishment he found that the animal submitted very quietly to the tying. This may have been because Wahneenah stood by its beautiful head and murmured some soft sounds into its dainty ears. Though what the murmuring meant nobody save herself and Tempest understood. In like manner, and very quickly, all three horses were fastened in the shade of the trees, and as soon as they had cooled sufficiently, Gaspar was bidden to water them. Then the Sun Maid was called from her play among the wild flowers that fringed the bank, and made to walk behind Wahneenah's skirts. "Cling close, my Girl-Child! We're going into fairyland. Bow your pretty head till it is low--low--low down, like this"; and herself bending till her own head was very near the earth, the guide pushed forward into what appeared to be a solid tangle of bushes. "Why, Wahneenah! You can't go through there. It's a regular hedge. But if you want to try, I have a little knife in my pocket, that my Captain gave me. Let me go first--I am the man--and cut the way; though I don't see why. Isn't there a better place?" "There are many things a lad of ten cannot understand, Dark-Eye, even though he be as manly as you. Trust Wahneenah. An Indian never forgets, and never makes the haste that destroys. Watch me. Learn a lesson in woodcraft that will be useful to you more than once. Cut or broken twigs have tongues which betray. But thus--even a bird could find no trace." With infinite patience and accuracy of touch, the woman parted the slender, interwoven branches so delicately that scarcely a leaf was bruised, and little by little opened a clear passage into a downward sloping tunnel. This tunnel ran directly under the river bed, and was so steep in places that one might easily have coasted over it. "Why, how queer! It's like the underground passage from the Fort to the river, where we children used to peep, but were never allowed to enter. What is it? Why is it?" "Let your eyes ask and answer their own questions. They are safer than a tongue, my son. But fear nothing. Where Wahneenah leads the way for the children whom the Great Spirit has sent her they may safely follow." Then, without further speech, she went forward for what seemed a long distance, through the half light of the tunnel, until it opened into a wide chamber, across which trickled a clear stream and which was fanned by a strong current of air. The children were silent from curiosity, not unmixed with dread; and their guide had also become very grave and silent. Memories were crowding upon her soul, and banishing the present; but she was roused at length by the wild clutch of the Sun Maid's arms, as something winged swept by them in the twilight. "Other Mother! Other Mother! I--I don't like it! Take Kitty, quick!" "Ah! I was dreaming. My dead walked here beside me, and I forgot. But is the Sun Maid ever afraid? I did not think that. Well, it's over now. The gloomy passage, the big, dark room--See?" Suddenly, at a turn westward out of the chamber and beyond it, they entered upon what might, indeed, have been fairyland. The exit was another passage, rising gently to a rock- and tree-sheltered nook in the heart of a tiny island. From any outward point this retreat was invisible, and when they had emerged upon it the Indian woman's spirits rose again. She caught up the Sun Maid and tossed her lightly upon a bending branch, that seemed to have grown expressly for a child's swing. "My warrior trained that bough for our son's pleasure, and from it he rocked and danced as a tiny papoose. Now--in you, he lives again. Hold, Dark-Eye! What are you seeking?" "Oh, just nothing! I was poking around to see----" "If you could find anything to eat? The wild blackberries should grow just yonder, and, wait--I'll look." "For what will you look, Other Mother? Aren't these the prettiest posies yet?" and Kitty held upward a cluster of cardinal flowers which she had pulled from a mass by the water's edge. "Ah, they are alive! They have the heart of fire. But, take care. It is always wet where they grow and small feet slip easily. If you were to soil your pretty clothes, old Katasha might be angry." "I'll take care. May I have all I can gather?" "All. Every one." Then Wahneenah returned into the cave and to a niche in its wall where, years before, she had put a store of dried corn, some salt, and a bit of tinder. The articles had been stored in earthen jugs, and it was just possible they might be found in good condition. If they were, she would show the man-child how to catch a fish out of the little stream in the cavern, where the delicate trout were apt to hide. Then they would make a fire as they had used in the old days, and she would cook for these white children such a supper as her own dear ones had enjoyed. "See, Gaspar, Dark-Eye. I will fetch you a line and hook. Sit quiet and draw out our supper--when it bites!" "But I have a far better hook than that in my pocket; and a line the Sauganash gave me, one day. I am a good fisher, Wahneenah. How many fish do you want for your supper?" "You are a good boaster, any way, pale-face, like all your race; and I want just as many fish as will satisfy our hunger. If you had your bow here, you might wing us a bird. Though that would not be wise, maybe. Keep an eye to the Sun Maid, lest she slip in the brook." "This is a funny place. It is an island, isn't it? Like the pictures in my geography; and there is a little creek through it, and another in a cave, and--I think it is beautiful. But you're funny, too, Wahneenah. You say my Kitty is a 'spirit,' and 'nothing can harm her,' yet you watch out for her getting hurt closer than the other mothers did." "You see too much, Dark-Eye. But--well, she is a spirit in a girl's body. If you let evil happen her it will be the worse for you. Hear me?" "I wouldn't let her get into trouble any sooner than you would, Wahneenah. I love her, too. She hasn't any folks, and I haven't any, except you, of course. She belongs to me." "Oh! she does? Well. Enough. We all belong to each other. We have made the bond." When the woman returned from her search in the cavern her face was very grave. Yet it should have been delighted, for she had found not only the corn and the other things she remembered, but a goodly store of articles, quite too fresh and modern to have remained there since she last visited the spot. There were dried beans, salted beef, cakes of sugar from her old maple trees--she knew her own mark upon them; and, besides these, were flour and tea in packages, such as had been distributed from Fort Dearborn among as many Indians as were entitled to receive them. It was both puzzling and disappointing to find her retreat discovered and appropriated by somebody else. "It must be that Shut-Hand has, in some way, found this cavern out. All the other people would have eaten and enjoyed their good things, and not stored them up, like this. But he is crafty and secretive, and his name is his character." Had Wahneenah hunted further she would have found, in addition to the provisions, a considerable quantity of broadcloth, calico, and paint; which articles, also, had been among those recently secured from the garrison. But she neither examined very closely nor touched anything except that for which she had come to the recess; and she even forced herself to put the matter out of mind, for the time being. "I have brought my children here to make a holiday for them. I will not, therefore, darken it by my forebodings. The young live only in the present or the future. I, too, will again become young. I will forget all that is past." From that wonderful pocket of his, Gaspar took a decent hook and line, and easily proved his skill among fish that were too seldom disturbed to have learned any fear; while Wahneenah made a tiny fire of dried twigs, in the mouth of the cavern, and boiled her prepared corn, that she had broken and ground between two stones, into a sort of mush. With Gaspar's fish, broiled upon the live coals, the pudding sweetened by a bit of honey from a close sealed crock, and a draught of water from the underground stream, the trio made a fine supper; and afterward, when she had carefully cleared away the _débris_, Wahneenah rekindled the fire, and, sitting beside it, took the Sun Maid on her knee and drew the motherless Dark-Eye within the shelter of her arm. Then she told them tales and legends of the wide prairies and distant mountains; and her own manner gave them thrilling interest, because she believed in them quite as sincerely as did her small, wide-eyed listeners. "Tell it once more, Other Mother. That beau'ful one 'bout the little papoose that hadn't any shoes, and the flowers growed her some. Just like mine"; holding up her own tiny moccasined feet, and rubbing them together in the comfortable heat. "Once upon a time a little girl papoose was lost. The enemies of her people had come to her father's village, and had scattered all her tribe. There was not one of them left alive except the little maid." "I guess that's just like Kitty, isn't it?" "No. No, it is not," replied the story-teller, quickly. For she had felt a shiver run through Gaspar's body, and pressed it close in warm protection. "No. It is not like either of you. For to you is Wahneenah, the Mother; the sister of a chief who lives and is powerful. But this was away in the long past, before even I was born. So the girl papoose found herself wandering on the prairie, and it was the time of frost. The ground was frozen beneath the grasses, which were stiff and rough and cut the tender feet that a mother's hand had hitherto carried in her own palm." "Show me how, Mother Wahneenah." "Just this way Sweetheart," clasping the tiny moccasins in a loving caress. "Tell some more. I guess the fire is going to make Kitty sleepy, by and by." "Sleep, then, if you will, Girl-Child." "And then?" "Then, when the little one was very cold and tired and lonely she remembered something: it was that she had seen her own mother lift her two hands to the sky and ask the Great Spirit for all she might need." "He always hears, doesn't He?" "He hears and answers. But sometimes the answers are what He sees is best, not what we want." "Don't sigh that way, Other Mother! S'posin' your little boy did go away. Haven't you got Gaspar and Kitty?" "Yes, little one." "Go on, then. About the little maid--just like me." "So she put her own two tiny hands up toward the sky and asked the Great Spirit to put soft shoes on her tired little feet." "And He did, didn't He?" "Surely. First the pain eased and that made her look down. And there she saw a pair of the softest moccasins that ever were made. They were of pale pink and yellow, and all dotted with dark little bead-spots; and they fitted as easily as her own dainty skin. Then the girl papoose was grateful, and she begged the Great Spirit that He would make many and many another pair of just such comfortable shoes for every other little barefoot maid in all the world. That not one single child should ever suffer what the girl papoose had suffered." "Did He?" asked Gaspar, as interested as Kitty. "Yes. Surely. The prayer of the unselfish and innocent is always granted. He sent a voice out of the sky and bade the child look all about her. So she did, and the whole wide prairie was a-bloom with more pink and yellow 'shoes' than all the children in all the earth could ever wear. They were growing right out of the hard ground, reaching up to be plucked and worn. So she cried out aloud in her gratitude: 'Oh, the moccasin flower! the moccasin flower!' and ever since then this shoe-like blossom has been beloved of all the children in the world. But, because the heat burns as well as the cold pinches, it blooms nowadays at all times and seasons of the year. A few flowers here, a few there; but quite enough for any child to find--who has the right spirit." "Kitty must have had the spirit, mustn't she, Other Mother? That day when her feets were so tired and the good Feather-man found her. 'Cause she had lots and lots of them; only she went to sleep and they all solemned down. And----" Gaspar started suddenly and held up a warning hand. His quick ear had caught the sound of approaching feet, crushing boldly through the cavern, like the tread of one who knows his way well and is coming to his own. Wahneenah had also heard, though she had continued her story, making no sign that she was inwardly disturbed. But she now paused and listened whether this footfall were one she knew, either of friend or foe. Then a bush cracked behind them, and Gaspar's heart stood still, as the tall form of an Indian warrior pushed past them into the firelight. CHAPTER IX. AT MUCK-OTEY-POKEE. Wahneenah did not lift her eyes. For the moment an unaccustomed fear held her spellbound, and it was the Sun Maid's happy cry which roused her at length, and restored them all to composure. "Black Partridge! My own dear Feather-man!" With a spring, the child threw herself upon the Indian's breast and clasped his neck with her trustful arms. It was, perhaps, this confidence of hers in the good-will of all her friends that made them in return hold her so dear. Certain it was that the chief's face now assumed that expression of gentleness which was the attribute small Kitty ascribed to him, but which among his older acquaintances was not considered a leading trait of his character. Just he always was, but rather severe than gentle; and Wahneenah marked, with some surprise, the caressing touch he laid upon the Sun Maid's floating hair as he quietly set her down and himself dropped upon a ledge to rest. "You are welcome, my brother. Though, at first, I feared it was some alien who had discovered our cave." "It is not the habit of the Happy to fear. She who forebodes danger where no danger is but paves the way to her own destruction." Wahneenah glanced at her brother sharply. "It is the Truth-Teller himself who has put foreboding into my soul. He--and the new-born love which the Sun Maid has brought." The face of Black Partridge fell again into that dignified gravity which was its habitual expression and he sat for a long time with the "dream-look" in his eyes, gazing straightforward into the embers of their little fire. "Is you hungry, Feather-man? We did have such a beau'ful supper. Nice Other Mother can cook fishes and cakes and--things. Shall she cook you some fish, Black Partridge?" "Will my chief eat the food I prepare for him?" asked Wahneenah, seconding the child's invitation. "With pleasure. For one hour he will let the cares of his life slip from him. He will have this night of peace, and while the meal is getting he will sleep." With a sigh of relief the tall Indian moved a few steps back into the cave and stretched himself at length upon the ground. His eyes closed, and before Gaspar had made ready his line to catch the fresh trout he had sunk into a profound slumber. Wahneenah put her finger to her lip to signify silence, but she need not have done so. Gaspar had long ago learned the red man's noiseless ways, and the Sun Maid immediately placed herself beside the prostrate chief, and clasping his hand that lay on his breast snuggled her cheek against it, and followed his example. The Black Partridge, like most of his race, could sleep anywhere, at any time, and for as long as he chose. He had elected to wake at the end of a half-hour, and he did so on the moment. Sitting up, he gently placed the still slumbering Sun Maid upon the ground and moved forward to the fire. While he ate the food she had provided for him, Wahneenah continued standing near, but a little behind him; ready to anticipate his needs, and with a humility of demeanor which she showed toward no other person. Gaspar watched the pair, wondering if they could really be of the same race which had destroyed his childhood's home, and now again that second home of his adoption--the Fort. He liked, and was impelled to trust them both, and was already learning to love his foster-mother. But when they began to converse in their own dialect, and with occasional glances toward himself and the sleeping Kitty, the native caution of his mind arose, and made him miserable. He remembered a byword of the Fort: "The only safe Indian is a dead one"; and with a sudden sense of danger leaped to his feet and ran to bend above the unconscious maid. "If you harm her, I'll--I'll--kill you!" he shouted fiercely. Wahneenah looked amazed, but the Black Partridge instantly comprehended the working of the boy's thoughts, and a smile of satisfaction faintly illumined his sombre features. "It is well. Let every brave defend his own. The Dark-Eye is no coward. His years are few, but he has the heart of a warrior and a chief. He must begin, at once, to learn the speech of his new tribe. He that knows has doubled the strength of his arm. Draw near. There is good and not evil in the souls of the chief and his sister. We are Truth-Tellers. We cannot lie. We have pledged our faith to the Dark-Eye and the Sun Maid--though she needs it not." The sincerity and admiration in the Indian's eyes compelled the lad's obedience; and when, as he stepped into the firelight, the chief indicated that he should sit beside himself, and also nodded to Wahneenah to take her own place opposite, his heart swelled with pride and ambition. So had the white Captain trusted and counselled with him. He had been faithful through all that dreadful day of massacre, and he had felt the man's spirit within his child-body. Now again, a commander of others, the wise leader of a different people, was honoring him with a share in his council. There must be good in him, and some sort of wisdom--even though so young--else they had paid him no heed. His cheek flushed, his breast heaved, and his beautiful eyes shone with the exultation that thrilled him. "Let the chief pardon the child--which I was, but a moment ago. I am become a man. I will do a man's task, now and forever. If I suspected evil where there was none, is it a wonder? I have told Wahneenah, the Happy, the story of my life. The Black Partridge knew it already." Quite unconsciously, Gaspar dropped into the Indian manner of speech, and he could not have done a better thing for himself had he pondered the matter for long. Black Partridge nodded approvingly, and remarked: "Another Sauganash is here! Well, while the Sun Maid sleeps, let us consider the future. The evil days are near." "What is the evil that my brother, the chief, beholds with his inner vision?" questioned the woman. "War and bloodshed. Still more of war, still more of death. In the end will our wigwams lie flat on the earth as fallen leaves, while the remnant of my people moves onward, forever onward toward the setting sun." Wahneenah kept a respectful silence, but in her heart she resented the dire forebodings of her chief. At last, when her brooding thought forced utterance, she inquired: "Can not the wisdom of the Black Partridge hinder these days of calamity? If the great Gomo, and Winnemeg, and those white braves who have lived among us, as the Sauganash, take counsel together, and compel their tribes to keep the peace, and to copy of the pale-faces the arts which have made them so powerful--will not this avert the evil? Why may there not in some time and place, a mighty grave be digged in which may be buried all the guns that kill and the knives that scalp, with the arrows which fly more swiftly than a bird? Over all may there not be emptied the casks and bottles of the fearful fire-water, that, passing through the lips of a warrior, changes him to a beast? Then the red man and his pale brother may clasp hands together and abide, each upon the earth, where the Great Spirit placed him." "It is a dream. Dreams vanish. Even as now the night speeds, and we are far from home. It avails us not to think of what might--but never will--be. Occasional friendships bridge the feud between our alien races, but the feud remains. It is eternal. Endless as the years which will witness the gradual extinction of the weaker, because smaller, race. Let us dream no more. Has Wahneenah, my sister, observed how the store she left in the old cave has grown? How the few sealed jars have become many, and how there are heaps of the good gifts which the Great Father sent to his white children at the Fort for the red children's use?" "Yes. I thought it was the miser, Shut-Hand, who had placed them here in our cave." "It was I, the Black Partridge." "For what purpose, my brother?" "Against the needs of the time I have foretold. It is a sanctuary. Here may Wahneenah, and the young son and daughter which have been given her, find shelter and sustenance." Something of her old tribal exultation seized the woman, who was a great chief's daughter. Rising to her fullest height, her fine head thrown slightly back, she demanded, indignantly: "Is the heart of my brother become like that of the papoose upon its mother's shoulders? Was it not to the red men that the victory came, but so brief time past? What were all the pale-faces, in their gaudy costumes, with their music and their guns and their childish way of battle? The arrows of our people mowed them like the grass upon the prairie when a herd of wild horses feeds upon it. But yesterday they marched in pride and insolence, scorning us. To-day, they are carrion for the crows overhead, or they flee for safety like the cowards they were born. The Black Partridge has tarried too long among such as these. He has become their blood brother." The taunt was the fiercest she could give, and she gave it from a full heart. In ordinary so gentle and peace-loving she had been roused, for a moment, to a pitch of emotion which astonished even herself. Yet when, as if she had been a fractious child, the chief motioned her to again become seated, she obeyed him at once. She had set her thoughts free, indeed; but she would never presume to fight against the conditions which surrounded her; and obedience to tribal authority was inborn. "The Snake-Who-Leaps will be at the tepee of my sister each day when the sun climbs to the point overhead. The three horses will be always ready. The children who do not know, and Wahneenah who has, maybe, forgotten how to ride, will practise as he instructs, until there will be no horse they cannot master, or no spot to which a horse may be guided that they do not know. But here first. That is why the store of food and cloths. At the first assault upon our Muck-otey-pokee, mount and ride. Ride as no squaw nor papoose ever rode before. Here the Black Partridge will seek them, and here, if the Great Spirit wills, they may be safe. Enough. Let the Dark-Eye go forward and make the horses ready." The Black Partridge rose as he spoke, and striding toward the sleeping Sun Maid, took her in his arms and left the spot. Gaspar, already darting onward toward the beloved Tempest, paused, for an instant, and regarded his chief anxiously. But when he saw that the little girl had not awakened, he sped forward again, and by the time Wahneenah had disposed of the remnants of the chief's supper and followed, he had loosed the animals and led them to the nearest point for mounting. Still holding the Sun Maid motionless upon his breast, the Black Partridge leaped to the back of his own magnificent stallion, which whinnied in affectionate welcome of his approach. Then he ordered Gaspar: "Ride behind me on Tempest, and lead the Snowbird. Wahneenah will follow all on Chestnut." By the time they were out upon the prairie the wind had risen and the sky was heavily clouded. It was so dark that the boy could not see beyond the head of his own horse, but he could hear the steady, grass-softened footfall of the stallion as, with unerring directness, the Indian chieftain led the way homeward to the village. When they rode into it, all Muck-otey-pokee seemed asleep; but the perennially young, though still venerable, Snake-Who-Leaps, had been prone before Wahneenah's wigwam, and silently rose from the ground as they drew rein beside him. "Ah, the Sleepless! The Wise Man. Did he think his pupils had ridden away to their own destruction?" asked the squaw, as she stepped down from her saddle. "No harm can happen the household of my chief save what the Great Spirit wills." "And you think He will not waste time with three wild runaways?" "Wahneenah, the Happy, is in good spirit herself. I remembered her not, save as the message may concern. That is for the ear of my friend and the father of his tribe, the Black Partridge." Handing the Sun Maid into his sister's embrace, he for whom the message waited slipped the bridles of two horses over his arm while the Snake-Who-Leaps led the others. Whatever they had to say was not begun then nor there, and if Wahneenah had any curiosity in the matter it was not to be gratified. Yet she stood, for a moment, listening to the receding sounds as the darkness enveloped the departing group; and in her heart was born a fresh anxiety because of the little one she carried, and for the orphan lad who followed so closely at her skirts as she lifted her tent curtain and entered their home. But nothing occurred to suggest that the message of the Snake-Who-Leaps had been one of warning. He was at his post of teacher exactly on the hour appointed on the following day, and this time all his pupils conducted themselves with a grave propriety that greatly pleased him; and thereafter, for many days, and even weeks, while the dry season lasted, did he instruct and they perform the marvellous feats of horsemanship which have made the red man famous the world over. "But," said Osceolo one day, tauntingly: "you were the pale-face who would learn nothing from an Indian!" "Because a person is a fool once, need he remain so always?" answered Gaspar, hotly. "You were a fool then? I thought so. Once a fool always one." "Only an Indian believes that." "How? You taunt me? Fight, then!" Gaspar Keith was a curious mixture of courage and timidity. His courage came by nature, and his timidity was the result of the terrible scenes through which he had passed now twice, young though he was. The impress of this terror would remain with him forever; and if ever he became a hero in fact, it would be because of his will and not his inclination. At present neither the one nor the other inspired him; and though he eyed the larger boy scornfully, and felt that he could easily whip the bully, if he chose, he now turned his back upon him and walked away haughtily. But Osceolo's sneer followed him: "The One-Who-Is-Afraid-Of-His-Shadow! Gaspar--Coward!" No boy could patiently endure this insult, even though it came from one much larger and stronger than himself. Gaspar's jacket was off and his arms bared on the instant; but before he could fling himself against his enemy a strong hand was laid upon his own shoulder, and he was tossed aside as lightly as a leaf. "Hold! Let there be none of this. It is a time for peace in our village. Wait in patience. The hour is coming, is almost here, when both the pale-face and the son of my tribe will have need of all their prowess. Go. Polish your arrows and point their heads, but let there be none of this." It was the great chief himself, who had separated the combatants, and as he stalked majestically onward he left behind him two greatly astonished and ashamed young warriors. In common, no grown brave bothered himself over the petty squabbles of striplings; unless, indeed, it might be to incite them to further conflicts. For the Black Partridge to interfere now was significant of something far deeper than a boyish fight. Gaspar put on his coat and walked thoughtfully home to Wahneenah and Kitty, while Osceolo slunk away to his own haunts, to lie at length upon the grass and plot with a cunning worthy of better ends the various devices by which he could torment the young white lad of whom he was so jealous. Wahneenah heard the tale with a gravity that impressed the chief's action more strongly than before upon the lad's mind; while Kitty took it upon herself to lecture him with all severity about the dreadful "naughtiness of striking that poor, dear Ossy boy." "Hmm, Sunny Maid! you needn't waste pity on him. He doesn't deserve it." "Maybe not, Dark-Eye. Maybe not. But heed you the warning. The dwellers in one village should keep that village quiet," interrupted Wahneenah. "Yes, but they don't. There are almost as many sorts of Indians here as there are people. Some of them are horrible. I see them often watching Kitty and me as if they would like to scalp us. It's been worse within a little while. It grows worse all the time." "All the more reason why you should be wise and careful. But it is dark in the tepee, and that's a sign the Dust Chief is almost ready to shut up your eyes. Run, Gaspar, son, and Girl-Child. See which will sleep the first. And to the one who does, the bigger lump of my best sugar in the morning." They ran, as she suggested, but there was to be no further haste till Kitty had made Gaspar kneel beside her and repeat with her the "Now I lay me" little prayer, which her Fort mothers had taught her. The short, simple prayer, beloved of childhood the world over, that has carried many a white soul upward to its Father. Even to Wahneenah, though her mission training had been of another creed, the childish petition was full of sacredness and beauty; and as she stood near them, she bowed her head humbly and echoed it with all her heart. Each was in bed soon after, and each with a lump of the toothsome dainty they loved. "For Gaspar must have it because he was first; and my Girl-Child because she was the last. That equals everything." They thought it did, delightfully: if they stayed awake long enough to think at all. But when they were both asleep, and the sound of their soft breathing echoed through the dusky tepee, Wahneenah took her seat at its entrance, and began to sing low and softly, with a sweetness of voice which rendered even their rudeness musical, the love songs of her girlhood. As she sang and gazed upward through the trees into the starlit sky, an infinite peace stole over her. Indeed, the joy that possessed her seemed almost startling to herself. All that was sad in her memories dropped from them, and left but their happiness; while the present closed about her as a delight that nothing could disturb. Her love for the Sun Maid had become almost a passion with her, and for her Dark-Eye there was ever an increasing and comprehending affection. She remained so long, dreaming, remembering, and planning, that the first grayness of the dawn came before she could go within and take her own bit of sleep. But Muck-otey-pokee was always early astir; and if for no other reason, because the dogs which thronged the settlement would allow no quiet after daybreak. That morning they were unusually restless. Cried Wahneenah, rising suddenly, and now feeling somewhat the effects of her late sitting: "Can it be sun-up already? The beasts are wild this morning. I have never heard them so deafening." Nor had anybody else. There was no cessation in their barking. "It's a regular 'bedlam,' isn't it? That's what the Fort mothers used to say when there was target practice, and the children cheered the shooters. What makes them bark so?" answered Gaspar. Wahneenah shivered, and suggested: "Run out and play. Eh? What's that? The Snake-Who-Leaps? So early, and with the horses, too? But mind him not. Take the Sun Maid out-of-doors, but keep close to the green before the lodge. Where I can see you now and then, while I get breakfast ready." Everybody was up; and more than one commented upon the strangeness of the three horses being brought to the tepee so early. The warning message which had come from the south, and had been delivered to his chief by the Snake-Who-Leaps, on that dark night some weeks before, was now to be verified. "What the red men have done to the pale-faces, the pale-faces will now do to them. Retaliation and revenge!" Yet not one was quite prepared for the events which followed. Followed even so swiftly that the women left their porridge cooking in their kettles and their cows half-milked; while the men of the village promptly seized the nearest weapon, and rushed to the hopeless defence. The rude sound that had startled every dweller in that pretty settlement was the report of a gun. Then came a galloping troop of cavalry--more firing--incessant, indiscriminate! There was a babel of shrieks as the women and little ones fell where they stood, in the midst of their work or play. There were the blood-curdling war-whoops of the savages, answering the random shots. Above and through all, one cry rang clear to Wahneenah's consciousness. "The horses! The horses! Ride--ride--ride--as I have taught you! For your lives--Ride!" It was but an instant. Wahneenah and her children were amount and afield. But as, in an anguish of fear for his friends, and no thought of himself, once more the Snake-Who-Leaps shouted his warning, the whistle of a death-dealing bullet came to him where he watched, and struck him down across the threshold of Wahneenah's happy home. CHAPTER X. THE CAVE OF REFUGE. Three abreast, the chestnut in the middle, the fugitives from the doomed village of Muck-otey-pokee rode like the wind in a straight, unswerving line across the prairie. After they had left a considerable distance behind them, Wahneenah turned her stern face backward, and scanned the route over which they had passed; and when her keen vision detected something like a group of glistening bayonets--to ordinary sight no larger than a point against the horizon--she abruptly doubled on her course, then made a sharp detour westward. She had early dropped her own bridle, and had since guided her horse by her low spoken commands, while in either hand she clutched a bit-ring of the Snowbird and Tempest. Her change of direction must have brought her all the more plainly into view of the pursuing soldiers, but in a few moments she had gained the shelter of a group of trees. These sprang, apparently, out of the midst of the plain, but she knew that they really concealed the entrance to the underground pathway to the cave; and once within their shelter, she paused to breathe and gaze upon the startled faces of her children. That of the Sun Maid was pale, indeed, with the excitement of this mad ride, but showed no fear; while Gaspar's, alas! wore an expression of abject terror. His eyes stared wildly, his teeth were set, his nostrils drawn and pinched. He was, his foster-mother saw, already on the verge of a collapse. She leaped from her horse, and caught the fainting boy in her arms while she directed the Sun Maid: "Jump down and tie the horses, as the Snake-Who-Leaps showed you, by their long bridles. In any case, there is little fear but they will stand. Then follow me." "But what ails my Gaspar, Other Mother?" asked the child, as she sprang from her saddle. "Did somebody hurt him when the guns fired?" "No. Tie the horses. He will be right soon. It is the fright. Make haste, make haste!" "Yes, yes, I will. My dear old Feather-man taught Kitty everything. Every single thing about my Snowbird. I can fasten her all tight so she will never, never get away, unless I let her. I will tie Gaspar's, too; and shall your Chestnut stay here with them two?" But for once Wahneenah did not stop to hear her darling out. She had seen the deftness with which the little girl's small fingers had copied the instructions of her riding-master, and had wondered at it many times. She trusted it now, knowing that the lad needed her first care, and meaning to carry him through the passage into the cave, then return for the other. She knew, also, that if the soldiers she had seen following them should come upon the tethered horses, the fact of their presence would betray her own. But from this possibility there was no escape; and, had she known it, no need for such. She had scarcely laid the unconscious boy down upon the floor of her retreat when Kitty came flying down the tunnel, her task completed. "So quick, papoose?" "Yes. Every one is fastened to a pretty tree, and every one is glad. Why did we ride so fast, Wahneenah? It 'most took Kitty's breath out of her mouth. But I did like it till my Gaspar looked so queer. Is he sick, Other Mother? Why doesn't he speak to me?" "He is ill, in very fact, Girl-Child. Ill of terror. Young as he is, he has seen fearful sights, and they have hurt his tender heart. But he will soon be better; and when he is you must not talk to him of our old home, or of our ride, or of anything except that we are making another little festival here in our cave. One more cup of water, papoose, but take care you do not slip when you dip it from the spring. We will bathe his face and rub his hands, and by and by he will awake and talk." Then, leaving the lad to the ministrations of the child, and under pretence of making "all cosy for the picnic," Wahneenah sped cautiously back through the passage to the edge of the little grove, casting a searching glance in each direction. To her infinite relief, the glistening speck had vanished from the landscape, and she concluded that the white soldiers had ridden but a short distance north of the village, and then returned to it. She noticed with pride how the little maid had fastened each of the brave animals that had served them so well in a spot where the grass was still green and plentiful, and that there was no need of her refastening the straps which held them. "Surely, her wisdom is more than mortal!" she exclaimed in delight; such as more cultured mothers feel when they discover that their little ones are really gifted with the common intelligence that to them seems extraordinary. Gaspar was awake, and looking about him curiously, when she got back into the cavern; and, in response to his silent inquiry, she drew a tree-branch before the opening and nodded smilingly: "That is to keep the sunshine out of the Dark-Eyes." "But--where are we? Why--oh! I remember! I remember! Must I always, always see such awful things? Is there no place in this world where I can hide?" "Why, yes, Dark-Eye. There is just such a place; and we have found it. Don't you remember our sanctuary? Where the Black Partridge came to eat the fish you caught? Where we have such a store of good things put aside. Rest now, after your ride, and the White Papoose shall make a pillow for you of the rushes I will pull. Then we'll shut the branch in close, like the curtain of our wigwam, and be as safe and happy as a bird in its nest." Wahneenah's assumed cheerfulness did not deceive, though it greatly comforted, the terrified boy; and the quietude of the sheltered spot, added to its dimness and his own exhaustion, soon overcame him again, and his eyelids closed. But the sleep into which he drifted now was a natural and restful one, and he roused from it, at Kitty's summons, with something of his old courage--the courage which had made him a hero that day when he first rode the black gelding, and had used his boyish strength to do a man's work. "When Other Mother did make a fire and cook us such a nice breakfast, we must eat it quick. Kitty's ready. Kitty's dreadful hungry, Kitty is. Is you hungry, too, Dark-Eye?" He had not thought that he was. But now that she mentioned it, he realized the fact. Fortunately, he was so young and healthy that the scenes through which he seemed destined to pass at such frequently-recurring intervals could not really affect his physical condition for any length of time. To see Wahneenah moving about the little cavern as calmly as if it were her daily habit to be there, and to catch the sound of the Sun Maid's joyous laughter, was to make the present seem the only reality. "Why, it's another picnic, isn't it? Did the things actually happen back there as I thought? Were we here all night? I used to have such terrible dreams, when I lived at the Fort, that, when daylight came, I could not forget them. I get confused between the dreams and the true things." "An empty stomach makes a foolish head. Many a squaw is afraid of her warrior before he breaks his morning fast, and finds him a lamb after it is eaten," said Wahneenah, sententiously. "Gaspar is my warrior, Other Mother; but I am never afraid of him." "You are afraid of nothing, Kitty!" reproved the boy. "But I am! I am afraid I shall get nothing to eat at all, if you don't come!" So the children ate, and Wahneenah served them. She was herself too anxious to partake of any food, and under her placid exterior she was straining every nerve to listen for any outward sounds which might prove that their refuge had been discovered. But no sounds came to disturb them, and as the hours passed hope returned to her; and when the Sun Maid had fallen asleep, weary of frolic, and Gaspar again questioned her concerning the morning, she answered, in good faith: "Probably, it was not half so bad as it seemed. There were many bad Indians in the village, and it is likely for them that the white soldiers were searching. They must have gone away long since. By and by, if nothing happens, we will return to our own tepee, and forget this morning's fright. The Snake-Who-Leaps will be proud of his pupils for the way they rode at his bidding." A shiver ran through the lad's frame, and he crept within the shelter of Wahneenah's arm. "But did you not see what happened to him? He lies beneath the curtains of your lodge, and he will teach us no more. A white soldier shot him. I saw him fall." The woman herself had not seen this, and she now sprang to her feet in a fury of indignation. "A white man killed him! That grand old brave, who should have lived to be a hundred years! It cannot be." "But it was." She was the daughter of a mighty chief. Her blood was royal, and she gloried in it. All the race-hatred in her nature roused, and, for the moment only, she glowered upon the pale-faced youth before her, as if he represented, in his small person, all the sins of his own people. Then the paroxysm passed, and her nobler self triumphed. Sitting down again, she sought to draw the boy back into her embrace, but he held himself aloof, and would not. So she began to talk with him there, with a simple wisdom and dignity that she had learned from nature itself. "Why should we be angry, one with another, my son? The Great Spirit is our Father. No man comes into life nor leaves it by a chance. What the Mighty One decrees, that it is befalls. Between His red-skinned children and His pale-faced ones He has put an undying enmity. I have not always so believed. I have hoped and pleaded for the peace which should glorify the world, even as the sun is glorifying the wide land outside of this dim cavern. But it is not so to be. Even as the chief, the Black Partridge, said: there is a feud which can never be overcome, for it is of the Great Spirit's own planting. He that made us all permits it. Let us, then, in our small place, cease to fight against the inevitable. We have made the compact. We will abide by it. In a tiny corner of the beautiful world we three will live in harmony. Let the rest go. Put away your anger against my people, as I now put aside mine against yours. The Sun Maid is of both races, it seems to me. She is our Bond, our Peace-maker, our Delight. Behold! She wakes. Before her eyes, let no shadow of our mutual trouble fall. I go outside to watch. If all seems well, we may ride home at nightfall." Save for the danger to her young charges, she would have done so even then. Far superior though she had always been to them, her heart yearned over the helpless women of her tribe whom she had left behind. "But that cannot be. They were tied fast by their motherhood to the homes wherein they may have perished, even as I am tied here by my adopted ones. The beasts, too, are tied; but they, at least, may have a moment's freedom." So she loosed them, and guided them to the pool where they could drink, and watched them curiously, to see if they would avail themselves of the liberty she had thus offered. But they did not. They quaffed the clear water, then tossed their velvet nostrils about its depths till it was soiled and worthless; yet they turned of their own accord away from the wind-swept prairie into the shelter of the trees, and grouped themselves beneath one, as if uniting against some common, unseen enemy. "They are wiser than their masters," said Wahneenah, patting her Chestnut's beautiful neck; and seeing a deeper glade, where they might spend the night even more safely, she led them thither and fastened them again. Under ordinary circumstances she would have left them untethered; but she knew not then at what moment she might again need them, as they had been needed earlier in the day. When the darkness fell, Wahneenah put aside the brushwood door which she had placed before the entrance to the cave, and sat down upon the withering branch to watch and wait. The children were both asleep, and she knew that if the Black Partridge were still alive and able he would seek her there, as he had promised on that day in the past when they had discussed the possibility of what had really now occurred. She was not to be disappointed. While she sat, contrasting the happiness that had been hers on just the night before with the uncertainty of this, there sounded in the sloping tunnel the tread of a moccasined foot. Also, she could hear the crowding of a stalwart figure against its sides, and there was something in both sounds which told her who was coming. "My brother is late." "It is better thus, it may be, than not at all." "The voice of the Black Partridge is sorrowful." "The heart of the chief is broken within him." For a space after that neither spoke. Then Wahneenah rose and set a candle in a niche of the wall and lighted it. By its flame she could see to move about and she presently had brought some food in a dish and placed a gourd of water by the chief's side. The water he drank eagerly and held the cup for more; but the food he pushed aside, relapsing into another silence. Finally, Wahneenah spoke. "Has the father of his tribe no message for his sister?" "Over what the ear does not hear, the heart cannot grieve." "That is a truth which contradicts itself." "The warrior of Wahneenah judged well when he chose this cavern for a possible home." "It is needed, then? As the Black Partridge foretold." "It is needed. There is no other." The words were quietly spoken; but there was heart-break in each one. "Our village? The home of all our people? Is it not still safe and a refuge for all unfortunates among the nations?" "Where Muck-otey-pokee laughed by the waterside, there is now a heap of ruins. The river that danced in the sunlight is red with the blood of the slain and of all the lodges wherein we dwelt, not one remains!" "My brother! Surely, much brooding has made you distraught. Such cannot be. There were warriors, hundreds of them in the settlement and before their arrows the pale-faces fall like trees before the woodman's axe." "If the arrows are not in the quiver, can the warrior shoot? Against the man who steals up in the rear, can one be prepared? It was a short, sharp battle. The innocent fell with the guilty, and the earth receives them all. Where Muck-otey-pokee stood is a blackened waste. Those who survived have fled, to seek new homes wherever they may find them. In her pathways the dead faces stare into the sky as even yet, among the sandhills, lie and stare the unburied dead of the Fort Dearborn massacre. It is fate. It is nature. It is the game of life. To-day one wins, to-morrow another. In the end, for all--is death." For a while after that, Wahneenah neither moved nor spoke, and the Black Partridge lapsed into another profound silence. Finally, the woman rose, and going to the fireplace, took handsful of its ashes and strewed them upon her head and face. Then she drew her blanket over her features, and thus, hiding her sorrow even from the witness of the night, she sat down again in her place and became at once as rigid and impassive as her brother. Thus the morning found them. Despite their habit of wandering from point to point, the village of Muck-otey-pokee was the rallying-place of the Pottawatomies, their home, the ancient burial-ground of their dead. Its destruction meant, to the far-seeing Black Partridge, also the destruction of his tribe. Therefore, as he had said, his spirit was broken within him. But at the last he rose to depart, and still fasting. With the solemnity of one who parted from her forever, he addressed the veiled Wahneenah and bade her: "Put aside the grief that palsies, and find joy in the children whom the Great Spirit has sent you. They also are homeless and orphaned. There are left now no white soldiers to harry and distress. This cavern is warmer than a wigwam, and there is store of food for many more than three. Remain here until the springtime and by then I may return. I go now to my brother Gomo, at St. Joseph's, to counsel at his fireside on what may yet be done to save the remnant of our people. You are safer here than in any village that I know. Farewell." But, absorbed in his own gloomy reflections, the Black Partridge for once forgot his native caution; and without waiting to reconnoitre, he mounted his horse and rode boldly away from the shelter of the brush into the broad light of the prairie and so due north toward the distant encampment of his tribesmen. Yet the glittering eyes of a jealous Indian were watching him as he rode. An Indian who had been sheltered by the hospitality of the great chief, and for many months, in Muck-otey-pokee; but who had neither gratitude nor mercy in his heart, wherein was only room for treachery and greed. As Black Partridge rode away from the cave by the river, the other mounted his horse and rode swiftly toward it. CHAPTER XI. UNDER A WHITE MAN'S ROOF. The log cabin of Abel and Mercy Smith stood within a bit of forest that bordered the rich prairie. As homes went in those early days, when Illinois was only a territory, and in that sparsely settled locality, it was a most roomy and comfortable abode. The childless couple which dwelt in it were comfortable also, although to hear their daily converse with one another a stranger would not so have fancied. They had early come into the wilderness, and had, therefore, lived much alone. Yet each was of a most social nature, and the result, as their few neighbors said, of their isolated situation was merely "a case of out-talk." When Mercy's tongue was not wagging, Abel's was, and often both were engaged at the same moment. Her speech was sharp and decisive; his indolent, and, to one of her temperament, exceedingly aggravating. But, between them, they managed to keep up almost a continuous discourse. For, if Abel went afield, Mercy was sure to follow him upon various excuses; unless the weather were too stormy, when, of course, he was within doors. However, there were times when even their speech lagged a little, and then homesickness seized the mistress of the cabin; and after several days of preparation she would set out on foot or on horseback, according to the distance to be traversed, for some other settler's cabin and a wider exchange of ideas. On a late November day, when the homesickness had become overpowering, Mercy tied on her quilted hood and pinned her heavy shawl about her. She had filled a carpet bag with corn to pop and nuts to crack, for the children of her expected hostess and had "set up" a fresh pair of long stockings to knit for Abel. She now called him from the stable into the living room to hear her last remarks. "If I should be kep' over night, Abel, you'll find a plenty to eat. There's a big pot of baked beans in the lean-to, and some apple pies, and a pumpkin one. The ham's all sliced ready to fry, and I do hope to goodness you won't spill grease 'bout on this rag carpet. I'm the only woman anywhere 's round has a rag carpet all over her floor, any way, and the idee of your sp'ilin' it just makes me sick. I----" "But I hain't sp'iled it yet, ma. You hain't give me no chance. If you do--" "If I do! Ain't I leavin' you to get your own breakfast, in case I don't come back? It might rain or snow, ary one, an' then where'd I be?" "Right where you happened to be at, I s'pose," returned Abel, facetiously. But it was wasted wit. The idea of being storm-stayed now filled the housewife's mind. She was capable, and full of New England gumption; but her husband "was a born botch." True, he could split a log, or clear a woodland with the best; and as for a ploughman, his richly fertile corn bottom and regular eastern-sort-of-garden testified to his ability. But she was leaving him with the possibility of woman's work to do; and as she reflected upon the condition of her cupboard when she should return and the amount of cream he would probably spill, should he attempt to skim it for the churning, her mind misgave her and she began slowly to untie the great hood. "I believe I won't go after all." "Won't go, ma? Why not?" "I'm afraid you'll get everything upset." "I won't touch a thing more 'n I have to. I'll set right here in the chimney-corner an' doze an' take it easy. The fall work's all done, an' I'd ought to rest a mite." "Rest! Rest? Yes. That's what a man always thinks of. It's a woman who has to keep at it, early an' late, winter an' summer, sick or well. If I should go an' happen to take cold, I don't know what to the land would become of you, Abel Smith." "I don't either, ma." There was a long silence, during which Mercy tied and untied her bonnet-strings a number of times; and each time with a greater hesitancy. Finally, she pulled from her head the uneasy covering and laid it on the table. Then she unpinned her shawl, and Abel regarded these signs ruefully. But he knew the nature with which he had to deal; and the occasional absences that were so necessary to Mercy's happiness were also seasons of great refreshment to himself. During them he felt almost, and sometimes quite, his own master. He loafed, and smoked, and whittled, and even brought out his old fiddle and just "played himself crazy"--so his wife declared. Even then he was already recalling a tune he had heard a passing teamster whistle and was longing to try it for himself. He abruptly changed his tactics. Looking into Mercy's face with an appearance of great gladness, he exclaimed: "Now ain't that grand! Here was I, thinkin' of myself all alone, and you off havin' such a good time, talkin' over old ways out East an' hearin' all the news that's going. There. Take right off your things an' I'll help put 'em away for you. You've got such a lot cooked up you can afford to get out your patchwork, and I'll fiddle a bit and----" "Abel Smith! I didn't think you'd go and begrudge me a little pleasure. Me, that has slaved an' dug an' worked myself sick a help-meetin' an' savin' for you. I really didn't." "Well, I'm not begrudging anybody. An' I don't s'pose there is much news we hain't heard. Though there was a new family of settlers moved out on the mill-road last week, I don't reckon they'd be anybody that we'd care about. Folks have to be a mite particular, even out here in Illinois." Mercy paused, with her half-folded shawl in her hands. Then, with considerable emphasis, she unfolded it again, and deliberately fastened it about her plump person. "Well, I'm goin'. It's rainin' a little, but none to hurt. I've fixed a dose of cough syrup for Mis' Waldron's baby, an' I'd ought to go an' give it to her. Them new folks has come right near her farm, I hear. If you ain't man enough to look out for yourself for a few hours, you cert'nly ain't enough account for me to worry over. But take good care of yourself, Abel. I'm goin'. I feel it my duty. There's a roast spare-rib an' some potatoes ready to fry; an' the meal for the stirabout is all in the measure an'--good-by. I'll likely be back to-night. If not, by milkin' time to-morrow morning." Abel had taken down the almanac from its nail in the wall and had pretended to be absorbed in its contents. He did not even lift his eyes as his wife went out and shut the door. He still continued to search the "prognostics" long after the cabin had become utterly silent, not daring to glance through the small window, lest she should discover him and be reminded of some imaginary duty toward him that would make her return. But, at the end of fifteen minutes, since nothing happened and the stillness remained profound, he hung the almanac back in its place, clapped his hands and executed a sort of joy-dance which was quite original with himself. Then he drew his splint-bottomed chair before the open fire, tucked his fiddle under his chin, and proceeded to enjoy himself. For more than an hour, he played and whistled and felt as royal and happy as a king. By the end of that time he had grown a little tired of music, and noticed that the drizzle of the early morning had settled into a steady, freezing downpour. The trees were already becoming coated with ice and their branches to creak dismally in the rising wind. "Never see such a country for wind as this is. Blows all the time, the year round. Hope Mercy'll be able to keep ahead of the storm. She's a powerful free traveller, Mercy is, an' don't stan' for trifles. But--my soul! Ain't she a talker? I realize _that_ when her back's turned. It's so still in this cabin I could hear a pin drop, if there was anybody round hadn't nothin' better to do than to drop one. Hmm, I s'pose I could find some sort of job out there to the barn. But I ain't goin' to. I'm just goin' to play hookey by myself this whole endurin' day, an' see what comes of it. I believe I'll just tackle one of them pumpkin pies. 'Tain't so long since breakfast, but eatin' kind of passes the time along. I wish I had a newspaper. I wish somethin' would turn up. I--I wouldn't let Mercy know it, not for a farm; but _'tis_ lonesome here all by myself. I hain't never noticed it so much as I do this mornin'. Whew! Hear that wind! It's a good mile an' a half to Waldron's. I hope Mercy's got there 'fore this." Abel closed the outer door, and crossed to the well-stocked cupboard. As he stood contemplating its contents, and undecided as to which would really best suit his present mood, there came a sound of somebody approaching the house along the slippery footpath. This was so unexpected that it startled the pioneer. Then he reflected: "Mercy. She's come back!" and remained guiltily standing with his hand upon the edge of a pie plate, like a school-boy pilfering his mother's larder. "Rat-a-tat-a-tat!" "Somebody knockin'! That ain't Mercy! Who the land, I wonder!" He made haste to see and opened the heavy door to the demand of a young boy, who stood shivering before it. At a little distance further from the house was, also, a woman wrapped in a blanket that glistened with sleet, and which seemed to enfold besides herself the form of a little child. "My land! my land! Why, bubby! where in the world did you drop from? Is that your ma? No. I see she's an Indian, an' you're as white as the frost itself. Come in. Come right in." But the lad lingered on the threshold and asked with chattering teeth, which showed how chilled he was: "Can Wahneenah come too?" "I don't know who in Christendom Wahneeny is, but you folks all come straight in out of the storm. 'Twon't do to keep the door open so long, for the sleet's beating right in on Mercy's carpet. There'd be the dickens to pay if she saw that." Gaspar, for it was he, ran quickly back toward the motionless Wahneenah, and, clutching the corner of her blanket, dragged her forward. She seemed reluctant to follow, notwithstanding her half-frozen condition and she glanced into Abel's honest face with keen inquiry. Yet seeing nothing but good-natured pity in it, she entered the cabin, and herself shut the door. Yet she kept her place close to the exit, even after Gaspar had pulled the blanket apart and revealed the white face of the Sun Maid lying on her breast. "Why, why, why! poor child! Poor little creatur'. Where in the world did you hail from to be out in such weather? Didn't you have ary home to stay in? But, there. I needn't ask that, because there's Mercy off trapesing just the same, an' her with the best cabin on the frontier. I s'pose this Wahneeny was took with a gossipin' fit, too, an' set out to find her own cronies. But I don't recollect as I've heard of any Indians livin' out this way." By this time the water that had been frozen upon the wanderers' clothing had begun to melt, and was drip-dripping in little puddles upon Mercy's beloved carpet. Abel eyed these with dismay, and finally hit upon the happy expedient of turning back the loose breadth of the heavy fabric which bordered the hearth. Upon the bare boards thus revealed he placed three chairs, and invited his guests to take them. Gaspar dropped into one very promptly, but the squaw did not advance until the boy cried: "Do come, Other Mother. Poor Kitty will wake up then, and feel all right." The atmosphere of any house was always uncomfortable to Wahneenah. Even then, she felt as if she had stepped from freedom into prison, cold though she was and half-famished with hunger. Personally, she would rather have taken her bit of food out under the trees; but the thought of her Sun Maid was always powerful to move her. She laid aside the wet blanket, and carried the drowsy little one to the fireside, where the warmth soon revived the child so that she sat up on her foster-mother's lap, and gazed about her with awakening curiosity. Then she began to smile on Abel, who stood regarding her wonderful loveliness with undisguised amazement, and to prattle to him in her accustomed way. "Why, you nice, nice man! Isn't this a pretty place. Isn't it beau'ful warm? I'm so glad we came. It was cold out of doors, wasn't it, Other Mother? Did you know all the time what a good warm fire was here? Was that why we came?" "I knew nothing," answered Wahneenah, stolidly. "But I did!" cried Gaspar. "As soon as I saw the smoke of your chimney I said: 'That is a white man's house. We will go and stay in it.' It's a nice house, sir, and, like Kitty, I am glad we came. Do you live here all alone?" "No. My wife, Mercy, has gone a visitin'. That's why I happen to be here doin' nothin'. I mean--I might have been to the barn an' not heard you. You're lookin' into that cupboard pretty sharp. Be you hungry? But I needn't ask that. A boy always is." "I am hungry. We all are. We haven't had anything to eat in--days, I guess. Are those pies--regular pies, on the shelves?" "Yes. Do you like pies?" "I used to. I haven't had any since I left the Fort." "Left what?" "The Fort. Fort Dearborn. Did you know it?" "Course. That is, about it. But there ain't no Fort now. Don't tell stories." "I'm not. I'm telling the truth." If this was a refugee from that unhappy garrison, Abel felt that he could not do enough for the boy's comfort. He could not refrain his suspicious glances from Wahneenah's dark face, but as she kept her own gaze fixed upon the ground, he concluded she did not see them. In any case, she was only an Indian, and therefore to be treated with scant courtesy. Mercy would have been surprised to see with what handiness her husband played the host in her absence and now he whipped off the red woollen cover from the table and rolled it toward the fireplace. But she would not have approved at all of the lavishness with which he set before his guests the best things from her cupboard. There was a cold rabbit patty, the pot of beans, light loaves of sweet rye bread, and a pat of golden butter. To these he added a generous pitcher of milk, and beside Gaspar's own plate he placed both a pumpkin and a dried-apple pie. "I'd begin with these, if I was you, sonny. Baked beans come by nature, seems to me, but pies are a gift of grace. Though I must say my wife don't stint 'em when she takes it into her head to go gallivantin' an' leaves me to housekeep. 'Pears to think then I must have somethin' sort of comfortin'. I'd start in on pie, if I was a little shaver, an' take the beans last." This might not have been the best of advice to give a lad whose fast had been so long continued as Gaspar's, but it suited that young person exactly. Indeed, in all his life he had never seen so well spread a table, and he lost no time in obeying his entertainer's suggestion. But he noticed with regret that his foster-mother did not touch the proffered food, and that she ministered even gingerly to Kitty's wants. Yet there was nobody, however austere or unhappy, who could long resist the happy influence of the little girl, and least of all the woman who so loved her. As the Sun Maid's color returned to her face, and her stiffened limbs began to resume their suppleness, something of the anxiety left Wahneenah's eyes, and she condescended to receive a bowl of milk and a slice of bread from Abel's hand. The fact that she would at last break her own fast made all comfortable; and as soon as Gaspar's appetite was so far appeased that he could begin upon the beans, the settler demanded: "Now, sonny, talk. Tell me the whole endurin' story from A to Izzard. Where'd you come from now? Where was you bound? What's your name? an' her's? an' the little tacker's? My! but ain't she a beauty! I never see ary such hair on anybody's head, black or white. It's gettin' dry, ain't it; an' how it does fly round, just like foam." "I'm not 'sonny,' nor 'bubby.' I'm Gaspar Keith. I was brought up at Fort Dearborn. After the massacre, I was taken to Muck-otey-pokee. I--" But the lad's thoughts already began to grow sombre, and he became so abruptly silent that Abel prompted him. "Hmm, I've heard of that--that--Mucky place. Indian settlement, wasn't it? Took prisoner, was you?" "No. I wasn't a prisoner, exactly. I was just a--just a friend of the family, I guess." "Oh? So. A friend of an Indian family, sonny?" "If you'd rather not call me Gaspar, you can please say 'Dark-Eye.' That's my new Indian name; but I hate those other ones. They make me think I am a baby. And I'm not. I am a man, almost." "So you be. So you be," agreed Abel, admiring the little fellow's spirit. "I 'low you've seen sights, now, hain't you?" "Yes, dreadful ones; so dreadful that I can't talk about them to anybody. Not even to you, who have given us this nice food and let us warm ourselves. I would if I could, you see; only when I let myself think, I just get queer in the head and afraid. So I won't even think. It doesn't do for a boy to be afraid. Not when he has his mother and sister to take care of." There was the faintest lightening of the gloom upon the Indian woman's face as Dark-Eye said this. But he was, apart from his terror of bloodshed and fighting, a courageous lad, and had, during their past days of wandering, proved the good stuff of which he was made. Many a day he had gone without eating that the remnant of their food might be saved for the Sun Maid; and though it was, of course, Wahneenah who had taken all the care of the children, if it pleased him to consider their cases reversed he should be left to his own opinion. "You're right, boy. I'll call you Gaspar, easy enough. Only, you see, I hain't got no sons of my own an' it kind of makes things seem cosier if I call other folkes's youngsters that way. Every little shaver this side of Illinois calls me 'Uncle Abe,' I reckon. But go on with your yarn. My, my, my! Won't Mercy be beat when she comes home an' hears all that's happened whilst she was gone. Go on." So Gaspar told all that had occurred since the Black Partridge parted from his sister in the cavern and rode away toward St. Joseph's. How that very day came one of the visiting Indians who had been staying at Muck-otey-pokee and whose behavior toward the neighboring white settlers had been a prominent cause of bringing the soldiers' raid upon the innocent and friendly hosts who had entertained him. The wicked like not solitude, and in the train of this traitor had followed many others. These had turned the cave into a pandemonium and had appropriated to their own uses the stores which Black Partridge had provided for Wahneenah. When to this robbery they had added threats against the lives of the white children, whose presence at the Indian village they in their turn declared had brought destruction upon it, the chief's sister had taken such small portion of her own property as she could secure and had set out to find a new home or shelter for her little ones. Since then they had been always wandering. Wahneenah now had a fixed dread of the pale-faces and had avoided their habitations as far as might be. They had lived in the woods, upon the roots and dried berries they could find and whose power to sustain life the squaw had understood. But now had come the cold of approaching winter and the Sun Maid had shown the effects of her long exposure. Then, at Gaspar's pleading, Wahneenah had put her own distrust of strangers aside and had come with him to the first cabin of white people which they could find. "And now we're here, what will you do with us?" concluded the lad, fixing his dark eyes earnestly upon his host's face. Abel fidgetted a little; then, with his happy faculty of putting off till to-morrow the evil that belonged to to-day, he replied: "Well, son--bub--I mean, Gaspar; we hain't come to that bridge yet. Time enough to cross it when we do. But, say, that little creatur' looks as if she hadn't known what 'twas to lie on a decent bed in a month of Sundays. She's 'bout dried off now; an' my! ain't she a pretty sight in them little Indian's togs! S'pose your squaw-ma puts her to sleep on the bed yonder. Notice that bedstead? There ain't another like it this side the East. I'll just spread a sheet over the quilt, to keep it clean, an' she can snooze there all day, if she likes. I'll play you an' Wahneeny a tune on my fiddle if you want me to." Gaspar was, of course, delighted with this offer but the chief's sister was already tired of the hot house and had cast longing glances through the small window toward the barn in the rear. That, at least, would be cool, and from its doorway she calculated she could keep a close watch upon the door of the cabin, and be ready at a second's notice to rush to her children's aid should harm be offered them. Meanwhile, for this dark day, they would have the comfort to which their birthright entitled them. So she went out and left them with Abel. The hours flew by and the storm continued. Abel had never been happier nor jollier; and as the twilight came down, and he finally gave up all expectation of Mercy's immediate return, he waxed fairly hilarious, cutting up absurd antics for the mere delight of seeing the Sun Maid laugh and dance in response, and because, under these cheerful conditions, Gaspar's face was losing its premature thoughtfulness and rounding to a look more suited to his years. "Now, I'll dance you a sailor's hornpipe, and then I must go out and milk. If ma'd been home, it would have been finished long ago. But when the cat's away the mice will play, you know; so here goes." Unfortunately, at that very moment the "cat" to whom he referred, Mercy, in fact, approached the cabin from a direction which even Wahneenah did not observe, and opened a rear door plump upon this unprecedented scene. Abel stopped short in his jig, one foot still uplifted and his fiddle bow half drawn, while the Sun Maid was yet sweeping her most graceful curtsey; and even the serious Gaspar had left his seat to prance about the room to the notes of Abel's music. Mercy also remained transfixed, utterly dumfounded, and doubting the evidence of her own senses; but after a moment becoming able to exclaim: "So! This is how lonesome you be when I leave you, is it?" CHAPTER XII. AFTER FOUR YEARS. Despite a really warm and hospitable heart, it was not pleasant for Mercy Smith to find that her submissive husband had taken upon himself to keep open house in this fashion for all who chose to call; and, as she often expressed it, the settler's wife "hated an Indian on sight." Upon her unexpected entrance, there had ensued a brief silence; then the two tongues which were accustomed to wag so nimbly took up their familiar task and a battle of words followed. Its climax came rather suddenly, and was not anticipated by the housewife who declared with great decision: "I say the children may stay for a spell, till we can find a way to dispose of 'em. The boy's big enough to earn his keep, if he ain't too lazy. Male creatur's mostly are. An' the girl's no great harm as I see, 'nless she's too pretty to be wholesome. But that red-face goes, or I do. There ain't no room in this cabin for me an' a squaw to one time. You can take your druther. She goes or I do"; and she glanced with animosity toward Wahneenah, who, when hearing the fresh voice added to the other three, had come promptly upon Mercy's return to take her stand just within the entrance. There she had remained ever since, silent, watchful, and quite as full of distrust concerning Mercy as Mercy could possibly have been toward herself. "Well," said Abel, slowly, and there was a new note in his voice which aroused and riveted his wife's attention. "Well--you hear me. I don't often claim to be boss, but when I do I mean it. Them children can stay here just as long as they will. For all their lives, an' I'll be glad of it. The Lord has denied us any little shavers of our own, an' maybe just because in His providence He was plannin' to send them two orphans here for us to tend. As for the squaw, she's proved her soul's white, if her skin is red, an' she stays or goes, just as she elects--ary one. That's all. Now, you'd better see about fixing 'em a place to sleep." Because she was too astonished to do otherwise, Mercy complied. And Wahneenah wisely relieved her unwilling hostess of any trouble concerning herself. She followed Abel to the barn, to attend him upon his belated "chores," and to beg the use of some coarse blankets which she had found stored there. Until she could secure properly dressed skins or bark, these would serve her purpose well enough for the little tepee she meant to pitch close to the house which sheltered her children. "For I must leave them under her roof while the winter lasts. They are not of my race, and cannot endure the cold. But I will work just so much as will pay for their keep and my own. They shall be beholden to the white woman for naught but their shelter. For that, too, I will make restitution in the days to come." "Pshaw, Wahneeny! I wouldn't mind a bit of a sharp tongue, if I was you. Ma don't mean no hurt. She's used to bein' boss, that's all; an' she will be the first to be glad she's got another female to consort with. I wouldn't lay up no grudge. I wouldn't." But the matter settled itself as the Indian suggested. It was pain and torment to her to hear Mercy alternately petting and correcting her darlings, yet for their sakes she endured that much and more. She even failed to resent the fact that, after a short residence at the farm, the Smiths both began to refer to her as "our hired girl, that's workin' for her keep an' the childern's." It did not matter to her now. Nothing mattered so long as she was still within sight and sound of her Sun Maid's beauty and laughter; and by the time spring came she had procured the needful skins to construct the wigwam she desired. Her skill in nursing, that had been well known among her own people, she now made a means of sustaining her independence. Such aid as she could render was indeed difficult to be obtained by the isolated dwellers in that wilderness; and having nursed Abel through a siege of inflammatory rheumatism, as he had never been cared for before, he sounded her praises far and near, and to all of the chance passers-by. For her service among those who could pay she charged a very moderate wage, but it sufficed; and, for the sake of pleasing her children, she adopted a dress very like that worn by all the women of the frontier. Kitty, also, had soon been clothed "like a Christian" by Mercy's decision; but Wahneenah still carefully preserved the dainty Indian costume Katasha had given the child; along with the sacred White Bow and the priceless Necklace. As for the three horses on which she and the two children had stolen away from their enemies in the cave of refuge, Abel had long ago decided that they were but kittle cattle, unfitted for the sober work of life which his own oxen and old nag Dobbin performed so well. So they were left in idleness, to graze where they pleased, and were little used except by their owners for a rare ride afield. The Chestnut, however, carried Wahneenah to and fro upon her nursing trips; for, unless the case were too urgent to be left, she always returned at nightfall to her own lodge and the nearness of her Sun Maid. Thus four uneventful years passed away, and it had come to the time of the wheat harvest. "And it's to be the biggest, grandest frolic ever was in this part of the country," declared the settler, proudly. Whereupon, days before, Mercy began to brew and bake, and even Wahneenah condescended to assist in the household labor. But she did this that she might if possible lighten that of her Sun Maid, who had now grown to a "real good-sized girl an' just as smart as chain lightning." This was Abel's description. Mercy's would have been: "Kitty's well enough. But she hates to sew her seam like she hates poison. She'd ruther be makin' posies an' animals out my nice clean fresh-churned butter than learn cookin'. But she's good-tempered. Never flies out at all, like Gaspar, 'cept I lose patience with Wahneeny. Then, look sharp!" "Well, I tell you that out in this country a harvestin' is a big institution!" cried Abel to Gaspar as, early on the morning of the eventful day, they were making all things ready for the accommodation of the people who would flock to the Smith farm to assist in the labor and participate in the fun. "If there's some things we miss here, we have some that can't be matched out East. Every white settler's every other settler's neighbor, even though there's miles betwixt their clearin's. All hands helpin' so makes light work of raisin' cabins or barns, sowin', reapin', or clearin'. I--I declare I feel as excited as a boy. But you don't seem to. You're gettin' a great lad now, Gaspar, an' one these days I'll be thinkin' of payin' you some wages. If so be I can afford it, an'----" "And Mercy will let you!" "Hi, diddle diddle! What's struck you crosswise, sonny?" "I'm tired of working so hard for other people. I want a chance to do something for myself. I'm not ungrateful; don't think it. But see. I am already taller than you and I can do as much work in a day. Where is the justice, then, of my labor going for naught?" "Why, Gaspar. Why, why, why!" exclaimed the pioneer, too astonished to say more. Gaspar went on with his task of clearing the barn floor and arranging tying places for the visitors' teams; but his dark face was clouded and anxious, showing little of the anticipation which Abel's did. "I'm going to ask you, Father Abel, to let me try for a job somewhere else; that is, if you can't really pay me anything, as your wife declares. Then, by and by, when I can earn enough to get ahead a little, I'd pay you back for all you've spent on us three." Abel's face had fallen, and he now looked as if he might be expecting some dire disaster rather than a frolic. But it brightened presently. "Yes, Gaspar; I know you're big, and well-growed. But you're young yet--dreadful young----" "I'm near fifteen." "Well, you won't be out your time till you're twenty-one." "What 'time'?" asked the lad, angrily, though he knew the answer. "Hmm. Of course, there wasn't no regular papers drawed, but it was understood; it was always understood between ma and me that if we took you all in, and did for you while you was growin' up, your service belonged to us. Same's if you'd been bound by the authorities." "Get over there, Dobbin!" "Pshaw! You must be real tried in your mind to hit a four-footed creatur' like that. I hain't never noticed that you was short-spoke with the stock--not before this morning. I wish you wouldn't get out of sorts to-day, boy! I--well, there's things afoot 'at I think you'd like to take a share in. There. That'll do. Now, just turn another edge on them reapin' knives, an' see that there's plenty o' water in the troughs, an' feed them fattin' pigs in the pen, an'--Shucks! He's off already. I wonder what's took him so short! I wonder if he's got wind of anything out the common!" The latter part of Abel's words were spoken to himself, for Gaspar had taken his knives to the grindstone in the yard and was now calling for Kitty to turn the stone for him, while he should hold the blades against its surface. But it was Mercy who answered his summons, appearing in the doorway with her sleeves rolled up, her apron floured, and her round face aglow with haste and excitement. "Well? well, Gaspar Keith? What you want of Kit?" "To help me." "Help yourself. I can't spare her." "Then I can't grind the knives. That's all." He tossed them down to wait her pleasure, and Mercy groaned. "If I ain't the worst bestead woman in the world! Here's all creation coming to be fed, an' no help but a little girl like Kit an' a grumpy old squaw 't don't know enough to 'preciate her privileges. Hey! Gaspar! Call Abel in to breakfast. An' after that maybe sissy can turn the stun. Here 'tis goin' on six o'clock, if it's a minute, an' some the folks'll be pokin' over here by seven, sure!" Then Mercy retreated within doors and directed the Sun Maid to: "Fly 'round right smart now an' set the house to one side. Whisk them flapjacks over quicker 'an that, then they'll not splish-splash all over the griddle. When I was a little girl nine years old I could fry cakes as round as an apple. No reason why you shouldn't, too, if you put your mind to it." The Sun Maid laughed. No amount of fret or labor had ever yet had power to dim the brightness of her nature. Was it the Sun Maid, though? One had to look twice to see. For this tall, slender girl now wore her glorious hair in a braid, and her frock was of coarse blue homespun. Her feet were bare, and her plump shoulders bowed a little because of the heavy burdens which her "mother Mercy" saw fit to put upon them. "But I guess I don't want to put my mind to it. I can't see anything pretty in 'jacks which are to be eaten right up. Only I like to have them taste right for the folks. That's all." Abel and Gaspar came in, and Kitty placed a plate of steaming cakes before them. Mercy hurried to the big churn outside the door and began to work the dasher up and down as if she hadn't an ounce of butter in her dairy and must needs prepare this lot for the festival. As she churned she kept up a running fire of directions to the household within, finally suggesting, in a burst of liberality due to the occasion: "You can fry what flapjacks you want for yourself, Wahneeny. An' I don't know as I care if you have a little syrup on 'em to-day--just for once, so to speak." However, Wahneenah disdained even the cakes, and the syrup-jug was deposited in its place with undiminished contents. "Be you all through, then? Well, Kit, fly 'round. Clear the table like lightning, an' fetch that butter bowl out the spring, an' see if the salt's all poun' an' sifted; an' open the draw's an' lay out my clothes, an'--Dear me! Does seem 's if I should lose my senses with so much to do an' no decent help, only----" "Hold on, Mercy! What's the use of rushin' through life 's if you was tryin' to break your neck?" "Rushin'! With all that's comin' here to-day!" "Well, let 'em come. We'll be glad to see 'em. Nobody gladder 'n you yourself. But you fair take my breath away with your everlastin' hurry-skurry, clitter-clatter. Don't give a man a chance to even kiss his little girl good-mornin'. Do you know that, Sunny Maid? Hain't said a word to your old Daddy yet!" The child ran to him and fondly flung her arms as far as they would go around the settler's broad shoulders. It was evident that there was love and sympathy between these two, though they were to be allowed short space "for foolin'" that day, and Mercy's call again interrupted them: "Come and take this butter down to the brook, Kit, an' wash it all clean, an' salt it just right--here 'tis measured off--an' make haste. I do believe you'd ruther stand there lovin' your old Abel--homely creatur'!--than helpin' me. Yet, when I was a little girl your age, I could work the butter over fit to beat the queen. Upon my word, I do declare I see a wagon movin' 'crost the prairie this very minute! Oh! what shall I do if I ain't ready when they get here!" Catching at last something of the pleasurable excitement about her, Kitty lifted the heavy butter-tray and started for the stream. The butter was just fine and firm enough to tempt her fingers into a bit of modelling, such as she had picked up for herself; and very speedily she had arranged a row of miniature fruits and acorns, and was just attempting to copy a flower which grew by the bank when Wahneenah's voice, close at hand, warned her: "Come, Girl-Child. The white mistress is in haste this morning. It is better to carry back the butter in a lump than to make even such pretty things and risk a scolding." "But father Abel would like them for his company. He is very fond of my fancy 'pats'." "But not to-day. Besides, if there is time for idleness, I want you to pass it here with me, in my own wigwam." The Sun Maid looked up. "Shall you not be at the feasting, dear Other Mother? You have many friends among those who are coming." "Friendship is proved by too sharp a test sometimes. The way of the world is to follow the crowd. If a person falls into disfavor with one, all the rest begin to pick flaws. More than that: the temptation of money ruins even noble natures." "Why, Wahneenah! You sound as if you were talking riddles. Who is tempted by money? and which way does the 'crowd' you mean go? I don't understand you at all." "May the Great Spirit be praised that it is so. May He long preserve to you your innocent and loyal heart." With these words, the Indian woman stooped and laid her hand upon the child's head; then slowly entered her lodge and let its curtains fall behind her. There was an unusual sternness about her demeanor which impressed Kitty greatly; so that it was with a very sober face that she herself gathered up her burdens and returned to the cabin. Yet on the short way thither she met Gaspar, who beckoned to her from behind the shelter of a haystack, motioning silence. "But you mustn't keep me, Gaspar boy. Mother Mercy is terribly hurried this morning, and now, for some reason, Other Mother has stopped helping and has gone home to the tepee. If I don't work, it will about crush her down, Mercy says." "Hang Mercy! There. I don't mean that. I wish you wouldn't always look so scared when I get mad. I am mad to-day, Kit. Mad clear through. I've got to be around amongst folks, too, for a while; but the first minute you get, you come to that pile of logs near Wahneenah's place, and I'll have something to tell you." "No you won't! No you won't! I know it already. I heard father Abel talking. There is to be a horse race, after the harvesting and the supper are over. There is a new man, or family, moved into the neighborhood and he is a horse trader. I heard all about it, sir!" "You heard that? Did you hear anything else? About Wahneenah and money?" "Only what she told me herself"; repeating the Indian woman's words. "Then she knows, poor thing!" cried Gaspar, indignantly. CHAPTER XIII. THE HARVESTING. Kitty had no time to ask further explanation. Already there was an ox team driving up to the cabin and, scanning the prairies, she saw others on the way, so merely stopped to cry, eagerly: "They've come! The folks have come!" before she hastened in with the butter and to see if she could in any way help Mercy dress for the great occasion. She was just in time, for the plump housewife was vainly struggling to fasten the buttons of a new lilac calico gown which she had made: "A teeny tiny mite too tight. I didn't know I was gettin' so fat, I really didn't." "Oh! it's all right, dear Mother Mercy. It looked just lovely that day you tried it on. I'll help you. You're all trembling and warm. That's the reason it bothers." She was so deft and earnest in her efforts that Mercy submitted without protest, and in this manner succeeded in "making herself fit to be seen by folks" about the moment that they arrived to observe. Then everything else was forgotten, amid the greetings and gayety that followed. For out of what purported to be a task the whole community was making a frolic. While the men repaired to the golden fields to reap the grain the women hurried to the smooth grassy place where the harvest-dinner was to be enjoyed out-of-doors. Most of the vehicles--which brought whole families, down to the babe in long clothes--were drawn by oxen, though some of the pioneers owned fine horses and had driven these, groomed with extraordinary care and destined, later on, to be entered in the races which should conclude the business and fun of the day. Both horses and oxen were, for the present, led out to graze upon a fine pasture and were supposed to be under the care, while there, of the young people. These were, however, more deeply engaged in playing games than in watching, and for once their stern parents ignored the carelessness. "Oh, such bright faces!" cried the Sun Maid to Mercy. "And yours is the happiest of all, even though you did have such a terrible time to get ready. See, they are fixing the tables out of the wagon boards, and every woman has brought her own dishes. They're making fires, too, some of the bigger boys. What for, Mother Mercy?" "Oh! don't bother me now. It's to boil the coffee on, and to bake the jonny-cakes. 'Journey-cakes,' they used to call them. Mis' Waldron, she's mixin' some this minute. Step acrost to her table an' watch. A girl a'most ten years old ought to learn all kinds of housekeepin'." Kitty was nothing loath. It was, indeed, a treat to see with what skill the comely settler of the wilderness mixed and tossed and patted her jonny-cake, famous all through that countryside for lightness and delicacy; and as she finished each batch of dough, and slapped it down upon the board where it was to cook, she would hand it over to Kitty's charge, with the injunction: "Carry that to one of the fires, an' stand it up slantin', so 's to give it a good chance to bake even. Watch 'em all, too; an' as soon as they are a nice brown on one side, either call me to turn 'em to the other, or else do it yourself. As Mercy Smith says, a girl can't begin too early to housekeep." "But this is out-door keep, isn't it?" laughed the Sun Maid, as, with a board upon each arm, she bounded away to place the cakes as she had been directed. In ordinary, Mercy Smith was not a lavish woman; but on such a day as this she threw thrift to the wind and, brought out the best she could procure for the refreshment of her guests; and everybody knows how much better food tastes when eaten out-of-doors than in regular fashion beside a table. The dinner was a huge success; and even Gaspar, whom Kitty's loving watchful eyes had noticed was more than usually serious that day, so far relaxed his indignation as to partake of the feast with the other visiting lads. But, when it was over and the women were gathering up the dishes, preparatory to cleansing them for their homeward journey, the child came to where Mercy stood among a group of women, and asked: "Shall I wash the dishes, Mother Mercy?" "No, sissy, you needn't. We grown folks'll fix that. If you want something to do, an' are tired of out-doors, you can set right down yonder an' rock Mis' Waldron's baby to sleep. By and by, Abel's got a job for you will suit you to a T!" Kitty was by no means tired of out-doors, but a baby to attend was even a greater rarity than a holiday; so she sat down beside the cradle, which its mother had brought in her great wagon, and gently swayed the little occupant into a quiet slumber. Then she began to listen to the voices about her, and presently caught a sentence which puzzled her. "Fifty dollars is a pile of money. It's more 'n ary Indian ever was worth. Let alone a sulky squaw." "Yes it is. An' I need it. I need it dreadful," assented Mercy, forgetful of the Sun Maid's presence in the room. "Well, I, for one, should be afraid of her," observed another visitor, clattering the knives she was wiping. "I wouldn't have a squaw livin' so near my door, an' that's a fact." Kitty now understood that these people were speaking of Wahneenah, and listened intently. "Oh! I ain't afraid of her. Not that. But I never did like her, nor she me. She's sullen an' top-lofty. Why, you'd think I wasn't no better than the dirt under her feet, to see her sometimes. She was good to the childern, I'll 'low, afore me an' Abel took 'em in. But that's four years ago, an' I've cared for 'em ever since. Sometimes I think she's regular bewitched 'em, they dote on her so. If you believe me, they'll listen to her leastest word sooner 'n a whole hour of my talk!" "I shouldn't be surprised," quietly commented one young matron, who was jogging her own baby to sleep by tipping her chair violently back and forth upon its four legs. Continued Mercy: "She wouldn't eat a meal of victuals with me if she was starvin'. Yet I've treated her Christian. Only this mornin' I give her leave to fry cakes for herself, an' even have some syrup, but she wouldn't touch to do it. Yes; fifty dollars of good government money would be more to me 'n she is, an' she'd be took care of, I hear, along with all the rest is caught. It's time the country was rid of the Indians an' white folks had a chance. There's all the while some massacrein' an' fightin' goin' on somewhere." "Oh! I guess the government just puts 'em under lock an' key, in a guard-house, or some such place, till it gets enough to send away off West somewheres. I'd get the fifty dollars, if I was you, and march her off. She'll be puttin' notions into the youngsters' heads first you see an' makin' trouble." "I don't know just how to manage it. Abel, he's queer an' sot. He's gettin' tired, though, of some things, himself." "Manage it easy enough. Like fallin' off a log. My man could do you that good turn. She could be took along in our wagon as far as the Agency. Then, next time he comes by with his grist on his road to mill, he could fetch you the money. I'd do it, sure. I only wish I had an Indian to catch as handy as she is." Having given this advice, Mercy's guest sat down. There was a rush of small feet and the Sun Maid confronted them. Her blue eyes blazed with indignation, her face was white, and her hair, which the day's activity had loosed from its braid, streamed backward as if every fibre quivered with life. With heaving breast and clenched hands, she faced them all. "Oh, how dare you! How dare you! You are talking of my Wahneenah; of selling her, of selling her like a pig or a horse. Even you, Mrs. Jordan, though she nursed your little one till it got well, and only told you the truth: that if you'd look after it more and visit less it wouldn't have the croup so often. You didn't like to hear her say it, and you do not love her. But she is good, good, good! There is nobody so good as she is. And no harm shall come to her. I tell you. I say it. I, the Sun Maid, whom the Great Spirit sent to her out of the sky. I will go and tell her at once. She shall run away. She shall not be sold--never, never, never!" The women remained dumfounded where she left them, watching her skim the distance between cabin and wigwam, scarcely touching the earth with her bare feet in her haste to warn her friend of this new danger which threatened her and her race. For it was quite true, this matter that had been discussed. The Indians had given so much trouble in the sparsely settled country that the authorities had offered a price for their capture; and it was this price which money-loving Mercy coveted. Like a flash of a bird's wing, Kitty had darted into the lodge and out again, with an agony of fear upon her features; and then she saw Gaspar beckoning. As she reached him he motioned silence and drew her away into the shadow of the forest, that just there fringed the clearing behind the tepee. "But--Wahneenah's gone!" she whispered. "Don't worry. She's safe enough for the present. Listen to me. Do you remember the horse-racing last year?" "Course. I remember I got so excited over the horses, and so sorry for the boys that rode and didn't win. But what of that? Other Mother has gone!" "I tell you she's safe. Safer than you or me. Listen. Abel says _we_, too, will have to ride a race to-day! On Tempest and Snowbird. Even if we win, the money will belong to him; and if we lose--he's going to sell one of our horses to pay his loss. I heard him say it." "But they are ours!" "He's kept them all these years, he says. He claims the right to do with them as he chooses. Bad as that is, it isn't the worst. Though Wahneenah is safe, still she will not be always. You and I will have to ride this race--to save her life, or liberty!" "What do--you--mean?" "I haven't time to explain. Only--will you do as I say? Exactly?" "Of course." Kitty looked inquiringly into her foster-brother's face. Didn't he know she loved him better than anybody and would mind him always? "When we are on the horses if I say to you: 'Follow me!' will you?" "Of course. Away to the sky, over yonder, if you want me." "Even if any grown folks should try to stop you? Even if Abel or Mercy?" "Even"--declared the little girl, sincerely. "Now go back to the house, or anywhere you please till Abel calls you, or I do. Then come and mount. And then--then--do exactly as I tell you. Remember." He went away, back to the group of men about the barn, and Kitty sat down in the shady place to wait. But it was not for long. Presently she heard Mercy calling her, and saw Abel, with Gaspar, leading the black gelding and pretty Snowbird out of the stable toward a ring of other horses. She got up and passed toward the cabin very slowly. Oddly enough, she began to feel timid about riding before all those watching, strange faces; yet did not understand why. Then she thought of Wahneenah, and her returning anger made her indifferent to them. "Abel wants you, Kit!" cried Mrs. Smith, quite ignoring the child's recent outbreak, and the girl walked quietly toward him. But it was Gaspar who helped to swing her into her saddle, where she settled herself with an ease learned long ago of the Snake-Who-Leaps. The lad, also, found time to whisper: "Remember your promise! We are to ride this race for Wahneenah's life--though nobody knows that save you and me. So ride your best. Ride as you never rode before--and on the road I lead you!" The sons of the new settler and horse dealer were to ride against these two. There were three of these youths, all well mounted, and the course was to be a certain number of times around the great wheat field so freshly reaped. It was a rough route, indeed, but as just for one as another, and in plain sight of all the visitors. The five horses ranged in a row with their noses touching a line, held by two men, that fell as the word was given: "One--two--three--GO!" They went. They made the circuit of the field in fair style, with the three strangers a trifle ahead. On the completion of the second heat, the easterners passed the starting-point alone. "Why, Gaspar! Why, Kitty!" shouted Abel reprovingly. "How's this?" "Maybe they don't understand what's meant," suggested somebody. Seemingly, they did not. For neither at the third round did they appear in leading. On the contrary, they had started off at a right angle, straight across the prairie; but now so fast they rode, and so unerringly, that long before their deserted friends had ceased to stare and wonder they had passed out of sight. CHAPTER XIV. ONCE MORE IN THE OLD HOME. "We can rest a little now, Kit. We are so far away that nobody could catch us if they tried. They won't try, any way, I guess. They'll think we'll go back." "Didn't the horses do finely, Gaspar! I never rode like that, I guess. Where are we going? What did you mean about saving Wahneenah's life? Where is she?" "Don't ask so many questions. I've got to think. I've got to think very hard. I'm the man of our family, you know, Sun Maid. Wahneenah and you are my women." "Oh! indeed!" said the girl, moving a little nearer her foster-brother on the grassy hillock where they had slipped from their saddles, to rest both themselves and the beasts. "You see: we've all run away." "Pooh! That's nothing. I've always been running away. Black Partridge said I began life that way." "You're about ten years old, Kit. You're big enough to be getting womanly." "Father Abel said I was. I can sew quite well. If I'm very, very good, I'm to be let stitch a dickey all alone, two threads at a time, for him. Mercy said so." "Do you like stitching shirts for that old man?" "No. I hate it." "Poor little Sun Maid. You were made to be happy, and do nothing but what you like all day long. Well, I'll be a man some day, and build a cabin of my own for you and Wahneenah." "That will be nice. Though I'll be of some use some way, even if I don't like sewing. Where shall we go when we get rested, boy?" "To the Fort." "The--Fort! I thought it was all burned up." "There is a new one on the same old ground. It is our real home, you know. We will be refugees. When we meet Wahneenah, we'll go and claim protection." "Oh! Gaspar, where is she? I want her terribly. I am afraid something will happen to her." In his heart the lad was, also, greatly alarmed; but he felt it unwise to show this. So he answered, airily: "Oh! she's on, a piece. I pointed her the road, and told her where to meet us. At the top of the sandhills, this side the Fort." "The sandhills! That dreadful place. You must be getting a real 'brave,' Gaspar boy, if you don't mind going there again. I've heard you talk--" "I don't want to talk even now, Kit. But I had to have some spot we both knew, where we could meet, and we chose that. I expect she'll be there waiting, and as soon as the horses get cooled a little, and we do, we'll go on." "I'm hungry. I wish we had brought something to eat." "I did. It's here in my blouse. I noticed at the dinner that you did more serving than eating. There's water yonder, too; in that clump of bushes must be a spring," and the prairie-wise lad was right. The supper he produced was an indiscriminate mixture of meats and sweets and, had Kitty not been so really in need of food she would have disdained what she promptly pronounced "a mess." But she ate it and felt rested by it; so that she began to remember things she had scarcely noticed earlier in the day. "Gaspar, Wahneenah must have known about this--this money being offered for her and other Indians. She had taken everything out of her wigwam. I thought she was terribly grave this morning, and she kept looking at me all the time. Do you think she knew she was going to run away as she was?" "Course. She's known it some days." "And didn't tell me!" "She couldn't, because she loves you so. She wouldn't do a thing to put you in danger. So I thought the matter over, and I tell you I've just taken the business right out their hands. I was tired, any way. I'm glad we came. I'm almost a man, Kit; and I won't be scolded by any woman as Mercy has scolded me. And when I found Abel was getting stingy, too, and claiming our horses for their keep, when they've really just kept themselves out on the prairie, or anywhere it happened, I--" "Boy, you talk too fast. I--I don't feel as if I was glad. Except when I remember Other Mother. They were horrid, horrid about her. I hate them for that, though I love them for other things. I wonder what Mother Mercy will say when we don't come home!" "She'll have a chance to say a lot of things before we do, I guess. Well, we'll be going. I wouldn't like to miss Wahneenah, and I don't know but they close the Fort gates at night." "Did she ride Chestnut?" "Course. What a lot of questions you ask!" The Sun Maid looked into the boy's face. It was too troubled for her comfort, and she exclaimed: "Gaspar Keith! There's more to be told than you've told me. What is it you are keeping back?" "I--I wonder if you can understand, if I do tell you?" "I think I can understand a good many things. One is: you are making me feel very unhappy." "Well, then, I'm going to take Wahneenah to the Fort, and give her up myself!" They had remounted their horses, and were pacing leisurely along toward the rendezvous, keeping a sharp lookout for the Indian woman; but at this startling statement the Sun Maid reined up short, and demanded: "What--do--you--mean?" "Just exactly what I say. I'm going to give her up and get the money." Kitty could not speak; and with a perplexity that was not at all comfortable to himself, the lad returned her astonished gaze. "Then--you--are--just--as--mean--as--Mercy--Smith!" "I am not mean at all! Don't you say it. Don't you understand? I do--or I thought I did. It's this way. She can't be given up but once, can she? Well, I'll do it, instead of an enemy." "You--wicked--boy! I can't believe it! I won't! You shall not do it; never!" "Oh, don't be silly! Of course, I'll not keep the money. I'll give it right back to her. Then she can do what she likes with it--make a nice new wigwam near the Fort, and she can get lots of skins, or even canvas, there. Come, let's ride on." But there was a silence between them for some time, and the scheme that had seemed so brilliant, when it had originated in Gaspar's mind, began to lose something of its glitter under the clear questioning gaze of the Sun Maid. It was fast falling twilight when they came to the sandhills; and though, by all reckoning, Wahneenah should have been long awaiting them there was no sign of the familiar Chestnut or its beloved rider. "Gaspar, will Wahneenah understand it? Will she believe it is right for you to do what is wrong for another to do? Will the soldier men pay you--just a boy, so--the money, real money, for her, anyway?" Gaspar lost his patience, with which he was not greatly blessed. "Kit, I wish you wouldn't keep thinking of things. I didn't tell Other Mother, of course. She might--she might not have been pleased. I acted for the best. That's the way men always have to do." The argument was not as convincing to the Sun Maid as she herself would have liked; but she trusted Gaspar, and tried to put the money question aside, while she strained her eyes to search the darkening landscape for the missing one. But there was no trace of her anywhere; even though Gaspar dismounted and scanned the sward for fresh tracks, as his Indian friends had taught him; and when, at length, he felt compelled to hasten to the Fort and seek its shelter for the Sun Maid, his young heart was heavy with foreboding. However, he put the cheerful side of the subject before the little girl, observing: "It's the very easiest thing in the world for people to make mistakes in meeting this way. What seems a certain point to one person may look very different to another. I've noticed that." "Oh! you have!" commented Kitty. "I think you've noticed almost too much, Gaspar. I--I think it's awful lonely out here, and I don't believe Abel would have let anybody hurt Wahneenah, even if Mercy would. And--I want her, I want her!" "Sun Maid! Are you afraid?" "No, I am not. Not for myself. But if some of those dreadful white people whom Wahneenah thought were her friends should overtake her on their way home, and--and--take her prisoner! I can't have it,--I must go back, and search again and again." "Sing, Kit! If she's anywhere within hearing, she'll come at the sound of your voice. Sing your loudest!" Obediently, the Sun Maid lifted her clear voice and sang, at the beginning with vigor and hope in the notes, but at the end with a sorrowful trembling and pathos that made Gaspar's heart ache. So, to still his own misgivings, he commanded her, also, to be silent. "It's no use, girlie. She's out of hearing somewhere. Maybe she has gone to the Fort already. Any way, it's getting very dark, and the clouds are awful heavy. I believe there's a thunder-shower coming, and if it does, it will be a bad one. They always are worse, Mercy says, when they come this time of year. We would better hurry on to shelter ourselves. If she isn't there, we can look for her in the morning." "I like a thunder-storm. I believe it would be fine to go under that clump of trees yonder and watch it. I have to go to bed so early, always, that I think it is just grand to be up late and out-of-doors, too." "You are not afraid of anything, Kitty Briscoe! I never saw a girl like you!" cried the lad, reproachfully. "But you don't know other girls, boy. Maybe they are not afraid, either. I can't help it if I'm not, can I?" Gaspar laughed. "I guess I'm cross, child, that's all. Of course I wouldn't want you to be a scared thing. But, let's hurry. The later we get there the more trouble we may have to get in." "Why--will there be trouble? If there is, let's go home." "We can't go home. We've run away, you know. Besides, there would be the same anxiety about Wahneenah. All 's left for us is to go on." So the Sun Maid settled herself firmly in her saddle and followed Tempest's rather reckless pace forward into the darkness. Memory made the dim road familiar to Gaspar, and soon the garrison lights came into sight. But martial law is strict and the gates had been closed for the night, as the lad had feared. The sentinel on duty did not respond to his first summons with the promptness which the boy desired, so, springing to his feet upon the gelding's back, he shouted, over the stockade: "Entrance for two citizens of the United States! In the name of its President!" "Ugh. There is no need for such a noise, pale-face." These words fell so suddenly upon Gaspar's ears that he nearly tumbled backward from his perch. He was further amazed to see the Sun Maid leap from her horse, straight through the gloom into the arms of a tall Indian who seemed to have risen out of the ground beside them. In fact, he had merely stepped from a canoe at the foot of the path and his moccasined feet had made no sound upon the sward as he approached. He received the girl's eager spring with grave dignity, and immediately replaced her upon the Snowbird's back. [Illustration: GASPAR AND KITTY REACH THE FORT. _Page 188._] "Why, Black Partridge! Don't you know me? Aren't you glad to see me? Four years since we said good-by, that day at poor Muck-otey-pokee." "I remember all things. Why is the Sun Maid here, at this hour?" Gaspar had recovered himself and now broke into a torrent of explanation, which the chief quietly interrupted as soon as he had gathered the facts of the case. "But don't you think, dear Feather-man, that our Wahneenah will soon come?" demanded Kitty, anxiously. "The gates are open. Let us enter," he answered evasively; and the novelty of her surroundings so promptly engrossed the girl's mind that she forgot to question him further then. Somewhere on the dimly lighted campus a bugle was sounding; and it awakened sleeping memories of her earliest childhood. So did the regular "step-step" of soldiers relieving guard. A new and delightful sense of safety and familiarity thrilled her heart, and she exclaimed, joyfully: "Oh, Gaspar! it is home! it is home! More than the cabin, more than Other Mother's tepee, this is home!" "I hope it will prove so." "Do you suppose I will find any of the dear white 'mothers' who were so good to me? Or Bugler Jim, who used to play me to sleep under the trees in the corner? I wish it wasn't so dark. I wish----" "It's all new, Kit. They are all strangers. The rest, you know--well, none of them are here. But these will be kind, no doubt. Yet to me, even in this dark, it seems--it seems horrible! It all comes back: that morning when I first rode Tempest. The massacre----" The tone of his voice startled her, and she begged at once: "Let us go right away again. I am not afraid of the storm, nor the darkness, and nothing can harm us if we pray to be taken care of. The Great Spirit always hears. Let us go." "It is too late. It's beginning to rain and that man is ordering us to dismount, that he may put the horses in the stables. Jump down." There were always some refugees at the Fort. Just then there were more than ordinary; or, if all were not such, there were many passing travellers, journeying in emigrant trains toward the unsettled west, to make their new homes there, and these used "Uncle Sam's tavern" as an inn of rest and refreshment. Amid so many, therefore, small attention was paid to the arrival of these two young people. They were furnished with a plain supper, in the main living room of the building which seemed a big and dreary place, and immediately afterward were dismissed to bed. Kitty was assigned a cot among the women guests and Gaspar slept in the men's quarters. But neither had very comfortable thoughts, and the talk of her dormitory neighbors kept the Sun Maid long awake. Here, as in Mercy's cabin, the dominant subject was the reward offered for the capture of the Indians, and a fresh fear set her trembling as one indignant matron exclaimed: "There's one of those pesky red-skins in this very Fort this night. He came with that girl yonder, but I hope he won't be let to get away as easy. The country is overrun with the Indians, and is no place for decent white folks. They outnumber us ten to one. That's why I've got my husband to sell out. We're on our way back East, to civilization." "Well, if one's come here to-night, I reckon he'll be taken care of! Massacres are more plenty than money, and some man or other'll make out to claim the prize. What sort of Indian was he?" "Oh, like them all. All paint and feather and wickedness. I wish somebody'd take and hang him to the sally-port, just for an example." This was too much for loyal Kitty Briscoe. She could no more help springing up in defence of her friends than she could help breathing. "You women must not talk like that! There are good Indians, and they are the best people in the world. They won't hurt anybody who lets them alone. That Indian you're talking against is the Black Partridge. He is splendid. He is my very oldest friend, except Gaspar. He wouldn't hurt a fly, and he'd help everybody needed help. It's this horrible offer of money for every Indian caught that has set my precious Other Mother wandering over the country this dark night, and made Gaspar and me homeless runaways." There was instant hubbub in the room, and no more desire for sleep on anybody's part until Kitty had been made to tell her story, the story of her life as she remembered it, over and over again; and when finally slumber overtook her, even in the midst of her narrative, her dreams were filled with visions of Wahneenah fleeing and forever pursued by uniformed soldiers with glistening bayonets, who fired after her to the merry sound of a bugle and drum. In the morning she found Gaspar and related her night's experience. He received it gravely, without the sympathy she expected. "Kit, I don't understand. What you said was true, and right enough for me to say. But it's not like you to be so bold. Yesterday, you were saucy to the harvest-women and now again to these. Is it because you are growing up so fast, I wonder? All women are not like Other Mother. They might get angry with you, and punish you. If I should go----" "If what, Gaspar Keith?" "Kitty, _I can't stay here_. It would kill me. I must get out into the open. I am going away. Right away. Now. This very hour even. You must be brave, and understand." "Go away? I, too? All right. Only don't look so sober. I don't care. I promised to go anywhere you wished and I will. I'm ready." "But--but--It's only I, my Kit. Not you." "You would go away, and--leave me here? Just because you don't like it?" All the color went out of her fair, round face, and she caught his head between her hands, and turned it so that she could look into his dark eyes, which could not bear to look into her own startled and reproachful ones. CHAPTER XV. PARTINGS AND MEETINGS. Gaspar's courage returned, and he led her to a sheltered place under the stockade, where he made her sit beside him for the brief time that was his. "Not all because I do not like it; but because I am almost a man and I have found the chance of my life. There is one here, a _voyageur_, with his boat. The finest vessel I ever saw, though they've not been so many. He is going north into the great woods; will sail this morning. He is a great trader and hunter and he has asked me to apprentice myself to him. He promises he will make my fortune. He has taken as great a liking to me, I reckon, as I have to him. We shall get on famously together. In that broad, free life I shall grow a full man, and soon. I can earn money, and make a home for you and Wahneenah, and many another lonely, helpless soul. Yes, I must go. I can't let the chance pass. And you must be brave, and the Sun Maid still, and forever. I shall want to think of you as always bright and full of laughter. Like yourself. But you are not like yourself now, Girl-Child. Why don't you speak? Why don't you say something?" "I guess there isn't any 'say' left in me, Gaspar," answered the girl, in a tone so hopelessly sad that it almost made the lad waver in his determination. Only that wavering had no portion in the character of the ambitious youth, and he looked far forward toward a great good beyond the present pain. When the day was well advanced, the schooner sailed away, from the dock at the foot of the path from fort to lake, with Gaspar upon her deck, trying to look more brave and manly than he really felt. But a forlorn little maid watched with eyes that shed no tears, and a pitiful attempt at a smile upon her quivering lips till the vessel became a mere speck, then disappeared. After a long while, she was aroused by something again moving over the water. "He's coming back! My Gaspar's coming back!" she cried, and tossed back the hair which the wind blew about her face that she might see the clearer. A moment later her disappointment found words: "It's nothing but a common Indian canoe!" However, she remembered her foster-brother had set her a task to do. She must begin it right away. She was to be as helpful to everybody she ever should meet as it was possible. Here might be one coming who hadn't heard about that dreadful fifty-dollar prize money. She must call out and warn him. So she did, and never had human voice sounded pleasanter to any wayfarer. But her own intentness discovered something familiar in the appearance of the young brave, paddling so cautiously toward her and keeping so well to the shore. She began to question herself where she had seen him, and in a flash she remembered. Then, indeed, did she shout, and joyfully: "Osceolo! Osceolo! Don't you know me? Kitty? The Sun Maid? The daughter of your own tribe? Osceolo!" "By the moccasins of my grandfather! You here? How? When? No matter. The brother of the Sun Maid rejoices. Never a friend so convenient. Run around to the edge of the wharf. There must be talk between us, and at once." He pushed his little boat close under the shadow of the pier that had long since been deserted of those who had come down to watch, as Kitty had done, the sailing of the northern-bound schooner. There was none to hear them, yet Osceolo chose to muffle his tones and to make himself mysterious. In truth, he was fleeing from justice, having been mixed up in a raid upon a settler's homestead a few miles back; in which, fortunately, there had been no bloodshed, though a deal of thieving and other dirty work which would make it uncomfortable for the young warrior should he be caught just then. The story he was prepared to tell was true as far as it went; and the Sun Maid was too innocent to suspect guile in others. She thought he was referring to the prize money when he spoke of quite other matters; and after the briefest inquiry and answer as to what had befallen either since their parting at doomed Muck-otey-pokee, he concluded: "Now, Sister-Of-My-Heart, Blood-Daughter-Of-My-Chief, you must help me. You must give me, or lend me, a horse; and you must bring me food. Then I will ride to fetch you back Wahneenah." "Oh! You know where she is? Can you do it and not be taken?" "Is not the Brother of the Sun Maid now become a mighty warrior?" "You--you don't look so very mighty," returned the girl, truthfully. Osceolo frowned. "That is as one sees. Fetch me the horse and the meat, if you would have your Other Mother restored." "I will. I will!" she cried, and ran back to the Fort. She went first to the kitchen, and begged a meal "for a stranger that's just come," and the food was given her without question. Strangers were always coming to be fed; herself, also, no longer ago than the last evening. From the kitchen to the stables, where a bright thought came to her. She would lead the Tempest to Osceolo, and herself ride the Snowbird. Together they would go to find Wahneenah. "The black gelding?" asked the soldier of whom she sought assistance. "The hostler can maybe tell you. But I think the Black Partridge rode away on him before daybreak." "The Black Partridge! Oh! I had forgotten him in my trouble about Gaspar. Did any harm come to him, sir?" "No. What harm should? If every red-skin in Illinois was like him there'd be little need of us fellows out here in this mud-hole. But you look disappointed. If you want to take a ride, there's the white mare you came on. But you'd better not go far away. It isn't safe for a child like you." "I'm not afraid, but--Well, if Tempest's gone, I can't. That's all." So the Snowbird was brought out, and she led the pretty creature away behind the shelter of the few trees which hid the spot where Osceolo had bade her meet him. "I tried to get Tempest for you, but the Chief has ridden him away. I meant to go with you. But you'll have to go alone. Tell my darling Other Mother that I am here, and waiting. Tell her about Gaspar, and that he said he had found out she would be quite safe here. Why, so, I suppose, would you. I didn't think." "No, I shouldn't," returned the young Indian hastily. Then, noting her surprise, explained: "I'm a warrior, you see. That makes a difference." "It will be all right, though, I think. And if you cannot come back with Wahneenah, do hurry and send her by herself. Will you?" "Oh, I'll hurry!" answered the youth, evasively, and leaped to the Snowbird's back. The food he had stuffed within his shirt till a more convenient season, and with a cry that even to Kitty's trusting ears sounded in some way derisive, he was off out of sight along the lakeside. As the Snowbird disappeared, Kitty felt that the last link between herself and her friends had been severed, and for a moment the tears had sway. Then, ashamed of her own weakness and remembering her promise to Gaspar that she would be "just the sunniest kind of a girl, and true to her name," she brushed them away and entered the busy Fort, to proffer her services to the women in charge. These had already learned her story and had reprimanded her for running away from her protectors, the Smiths; but it was nobody's business to return her and, meanwhile, she was safe at the Fort until they should choose to call for her. "Well, there is always plenty of work in the world for the hands that will do it," said an officer's wife, with a kindly smile. "You seem too small to be of much practical use; but, however, if you want a task, there are some little fellows yonder who need amusing and comforting. Their mother has died of a fever, and their father is more of a student and preacher than a nurse. I guess his wife was the ruling spirit in the household, and now that she has left him, he is sadly unsettled. He doesn't know whether to go on and take up the claim he expected or not. He and you, and the oddly-named little sons, may all yet have to become wards of the Government." "I'm very sorry for him." "You well may be. Yet he's a gentle, blessed old man. No more fit to marry and bring that flock of youngsters out here into the wilderness than I am to command an army. She was much younger than he, and felt the necessity of doing something toward providing for their children and educating them. But the more I talk, the more I puzzle you. Run along and lend them a hand. The very smallest Littlejohn of the lot has filled his mouth with dirt, and is trying to squall it out. See if a drink of water won't mend matters." Kitty hastened to the child, and begged; "My dear, don't cry like that. You are disturbing the people." "Don't care. I ain't my dear; I'm Four." "You're what?" "Just Four. Four Littlejohns. What pretty hair you've got. May I pull it?" "I'd rather not. Unless it will make you forget the dirt you ate." But the permission given, the child became indifferent to it. He pointed to three other lads crouching against the door-step, and explained: "They're One, Two, and Three. My father, he says it saves trouble. Some folks laugh at us. They say it's funny to be named that way. I was eating the dirt because I was--I was mad." "Indeed! At whom?" "At everybody. I'm just mis'able. I don't care to live no longer." The round, dimpled face was so exceedingly wholesome and happy, despite its transient dolefulness, that Kitty laughed and her merriment brought an answering smile to the four dusty countenances before her. "Wull--wull--I is. My father, he's mis'able, too. So, course, we have to be. He's a minister man. He can't tell stories. He just tells true ones out the Bible. Can you tell Bible stories?" "No. I--I'm afraid I don't know much about that book. Mercy had one, but she kept it in the drawer. She took it out on Sundays, though. She didn't let Gaspar nor me touch it. She said we might spoil the cover. That was red. It was a reward of merit when she was a girl. It had clasps, and was very beautiful. It had pictures in it, too, about saints and dead folks; but I never read it. I couldn't read it if I tried, you know, because I've never been taught." This was amazing to the four book-crammed small Littlejohns. One exclaimed, with superior disgust: "Such a great big girl, and can't read your Bible! You must be a heathen, and bow down to wood and stone." "Maybe I am. I don't remember bowing down to anything, except when I say my prayers." "Your prayers! Then you can't be a real heathen. Heathens don't say prayers, not our kind. Hmm. What lovely eyes you've got and how pretty you are! All the women never saw such wonderful hair as yours, nor the men either. I heard them say so. If I had a sister, I'd like her to look just like you. But it's wicked to be vain." "What do you mean, you funny boy?" "I'm not funny. I'm serious. My mother--my mother said--my mother--Oh! I want her! I want her!" Religion, superiority, priggishness, all flew to the winds as his real and fresh grief overcame him; and it was a heart-broken lad that hurled himself against the shoulder of this sympathetic-looking girl who, though so much taller, was not so very much older than he. The Sun Maid's own heart echoed the cry with a keen pain, and she received the orphan's outburst with exceeding tenderness. Now, whatever One, the eldest, did the other young numerals all imitated, so that each was soon weeping copiously. Yet, from very excess of energy, their grief soon exhausted itself and they regarded each other with some curiosity. Then Three began to smile, in a shamefaced sort of way, not knowing how far his recovery of composure would be approved by sterner One. After a habit familiar to him the latter opened his lips to reprove but, fortunately, refrained, as he discovered a tall, stoop-shouldered man crossing the parade-ground. This gentleman seemed oddly out of place amid that company of immigrants and soldiers. Student and bookworm was written all over his fine, intellectual countenance, and his eyes had that absent expression that had made the commandant's wife call him a "dreamer." His bearing impressed the Sun Maid with reverent awe; a feeling apparently not shared by his sons. For Three ran to him and shook him violently, to secure attention, as he eagerly exclaimed: "Oh, father! We've found one of 'em already! A heathen. Or, any way, a heatheny sort of a girl, but not Indian. She doesn't know how to read, and she hasn't any Bible. Come and give her one and teach her quick!" "Eh? What? A heathen? My child, where?" "Right there with my brothers. That yellow-headed girl. She's nice. Are all the heathen as pretty as she is?" "My son, that young person? Surely, you are mistaken. She must be the daughter of some resident at the Fort, or of some traveller like ourselves." "I don't believe she is. She's been taking care of herself all day. I haven't heard anybody tell her 'Don't' once. If she belonged to folk they'd do it wouldn't they?" "Very likely. Parents have to discipline their young. Don't drag me so. I'm walking fast enough." "That's what I say, father. 'Don't' shows I belong to you. But I do wish you'd come. She might get away before you could catch her." "Catch her, Three? I don't understand." "I know it. My mother used to say you never did understand plain every-day things. That's why she had to take care of you the same as us. Oh! I wish we'd never come to this horrid place." The reference to his wife and the child's grief roused the clergyman more completely than even an appeal for the heathen. Laying his thin hand tenderly upon the small rumpled head, he stroked it as he answered: "In my flesh I echo that wish, laddie; but in my spirit I am resigned to whatever the Lord sends. If there is a heathen here, there is His work to do, and in that I can forget my own distress. I will walk faster if you wish." The other small Littlejohns, with Kitty, now joined their father and Three, the girl regarding him with some curiosity, for he was of a stamp quite different from any person she had ever seen. But he won her instant love as, holding out his hands in welcome, he exclaimed: "Why, my daughter! Surely the lads were jesting. You look neither ignorant nor heathen, and in personal gifts the Lord has been most kind to you." "Has He? But I am rather lonely now." "And so am I. Therefore, we will be the better friends. Why, sons, this is just what we need to make our group complete. Maybe, lassie, your parents will spare you to us, now and then." "I have no parents. I am a ward of Government, though I don't understand it. I wish--are you too busy to hear my story, and will you advise me? Gaspar told me some things, but he's not old and wise like you, dear sir." "Old I am, indeed, but far from wise. Though, so well as I know I will most gladly counsel you. Let us go yonder, to that shady place beside the great wall, where there are benches to rest on and quiet to listen in." Now small Four Littlejohns had heard a deal about heathen. They had been the dearest theme of all the stories told him, and he caught his father's hand with a detaining grasp: "She might eat you all up, father!" "Boy, what are you saying?" "She isn't like the picture in my story-book of the heathen that lived in India, and all the people worshipped, that was named a god, One told me when I asked him; but I guess heathens can change like fairies; and, please don't go, father, don't!" "Nonsense, Four. What trash are you talking? It is you who are the heathen now." "I, father? _I!_" In horror of a possible change in his person, the child began to feel of his plump face and pinch his fat body. He even imagined he was stiffening all over. Suddenly, he drew his wide mouth into a grotesque imitation of the engraving as he remembered it, planting his feet firmly and setting up a tragic wail. "I'm not like him. I won't be. I won't, I won't, I won't!" Kitty understood nothing but the evident distress, which she attempted to soothe and merely aggravated. "Get away! Don't you touch me! You go away home and sit on a table with your legs all crooked up--so; and stop playing you're a regular girl. Leave go my father's hand, I say!" Then One came to the rescue. As soon as he could stop laughing, he explained the situation to the others, and though the incident seemed a trivial one to the younger people to the good Doctor it was weighty with reproach for the ignorance he had permitted in his own household. It also had its far-reaching results; for it led him to observe the Sun Maid critically, and, when he had heard her simple story, to ask out of the fulness of his own big heart: "Will you come and share our home with us, my daughter? Surely, you have much good sense and many wonderful gifts. The Lord has thrown us into one another's company, and I believe you can, in large measure, take their mother's place to these sons of mine. Will you come and live in our home, dear Sun Maid?" "Indeed, I will! And love you for letting me!" cried the grateful girl, catching the Doctor's hand and kissing it reverently. But it did not occur to either of these innocents that there was, at that time, no home existing for them. CHAPTER XVI. THE SHUT AND THE OPEN DOOR. "They are all unfitted to take care of themselves, though the girl has the best sense of the lot. The Fort is always overfull. They would be happier by themselves, and it will be a blessing to have such a good man among us. Let us build them a log cabin and instal them in it." Such was the Fort commandant's decision and, as he suggested, it was quickly done. The old maxim of many hands and light work was verified, for in a magically short time the little parsonage was reared and the few belongings of the household moved into it. "That's what it seems to me,"--cried the Sun Maid, as the last stroke was given, and a soldier climbed to the roof-peak to thrust a fresh green branch into the crevice,--"as if yesterday we dreamed we wanted a home, and now it's ours. If only Wahneenah and Gaspar were here, I should be almost too happy to live. Yes, and poor Mercy Smith, who says she never did have a good time in her life; and Abel, and Black Partridge; and----" "Everybody! I guess you're wanting," reproved the elder son of the minister. For, during the time of building, short though it was, the orphan girl had become wholly identified with the Littlejohns' household and felt as full a right to the cabin as if it had been her own especial property. Now, suddenly, as she stood in the doorway there came into her mind the prophecy of old Katasha; and she looked afar, as if she saw visions and heard voices denied to the others. So rapt did her gaze become that little Four stole his pudgy hand into hers and inquired, beneath his breath: "What is it, Kitty? What do you see?" "I see crowds and crowds of people. Of all sorts, all forms, all colors, all races. Crowding, crowding, and yet not crushing. Only coming, more--and more--and more. I see strange buildings. Bigger than any pictures in that book you showed me yesterday. They keep rising and spreading out on every side. I see ships on the lake; curious ones, with tall masts, a hundred times taller than that in which my Gaspar sailed away. They are so laden with people and stuff that I--I--it seems to choke me!" She did not notice that the Doctor had drawn near and was listening intently; and even when his hand touched her shoulder she found it difficult to comprehend what he was saying. "Wake up, lassie! Why, what is this? My practical new daughter growing a star-gazer, like the foolish old man? That won't do for our little housekeeper." "Won't it, sir? I guess I've been dreaming. But I know I shall see all that some day, right here in this spot. This is the lake where the big ships sail, and this the ground where the houses stand." One was at hand with his ever-ready reproof. "That's all nonsense, Kitty Briscoe. A person can't see more than a person can. There are neither houses nor ships, such as you talk about, and you are sillier than any fairy story I ever read." Yet long afterward he was to remember that first hour in the new home, and the rapt face of the girl gazing skyward. Then they all went in to supper, which had been provided by the thoughtful friends at the Fort across the river; but which, the Sun Maid assured the busy women there, must be the only meal supplied that was ready prepared. "For, if I'm to be housekeeper I mean to learn all about that, even before I do the books, which the Doctor will teach me and that I am so eager to study. But I'll be his home-maker first, and I'll give them jonny-cake for breakfast. Mercy said it was cheap and wholesome, and we have to be very careful of the Doctor's little money." How wholesome, rather how most unwholesome, that first jonny-cake proved, Kitty never after liked to recall; but she was not the only young house mistress who has made mistakes; and, fortunately, the master of the house was not critical. And how far the study-craving girl would have carried out her own plan of housewifery before reading is not known; for, having done the best she could, and having, at least, swept and dusted the rooms carefully she took little Four by the hand and set out to ask instruction of her Fort friends against the dinner-getting. Now the fascinating dread and interest of this little fellow was an Indian; and, trudging along through the dirt, he scanned the horizon critically, then suddenly gripped her hand hard and tight. "Kitty! I do believe--there are--some coming! Run! Run!" "Why should I run? The Indians are my best and oldest friends. It might even be----" She paused so long, shading her eyes from the sunlight and gazing fixedly across the landscape with a gathering surprise and delight upon her face, that the child clutched her frock, demanding: "What is it, Kitty? What do you see? What do you see?" "The horses! White, black, and--Chestnut! It's Wahneenah! Wahneenah!" Four watched her disappear behind a clump of bushes that hid the sandhills from his lower sight, then hurried back to the new cabin, crying out: "Father, father! She's run away again! We've lost her!" Before the minister could be made to comprehend his son's excited story, voices without drew him to the entrance. Even to him the name of Indian had, in those days, a sinister significance. Yet, as he reached the threshold, there were the Sun Maid's arms about his neck and her ecstatic declaration: "It's my darling Other Mother! She's come! She'll live with us! And the Black Partridge; and Osceolo, and Tempest, and Snowbird, and the Chestnut! Oh, all together again; how happy we shall be!" "Eh? What? Yes, yes, of course," assented the Doctor, though he cast a rather perplexed glance about his limited apartments. "Well, if it's to be part of my work, I am ready," he added resignedly, and not without thought of the quiet study which would be out of the question in a tenement so crowded. The chief and the clergyman had met before, during the former's last visit to the Fort, and they greeted each other suavely, as would two white gentlemen of culture and unquestioned standing. Then, while the Sun Maid drew Wahneenah aside and exhibited the cabin, the two men talked together and rapidly became friends. "The Lord never shuts one door but He opens another. I came here to instruct, hoping to pass far onward into the wilderness. Behold! the heathen are at my very threshold. He took away my wife and sent me a daughter. Now, at her heels, follows a woman of the race I came to help, who looks more noble than most of her white sisters. As the Sun Maid said, shall we not do? Only--where to house them?" "That is soon settled. Neither the chief's daughter nor the youth, Osceolo, could sleep beneath the tight roof of the pale-face. Their wigwams shall be pitched behind this cabin, and there will they abide. So will I arrange with the people at the Fort, who are my friends. Yet, let the great medicine-man keep a sharp eye to the young brave, Osceolo. He is my kinsman. There is good in the youth, and there is, also, evil--much evil. He lies upon the ground to dream wild schemes, then rises up to practise them. He is like the pale-faces--by birth a liar. He is not to be trusted. Only by fear does he become as clay in the hands of the potter. If my brother, the great medicine-man, will accept this charge I ask of him there shall be always venison in plenty, and bear's meat, and the flesh of cattle, at his door. He shall have corn from the fields of the scattered Pottawatomies, and the fuel for his hearth-fire shall never waste. How says my brother, the wise medicine-man?" "What can I say but that the Black Partridge is as generous as he is brave, and that his readiness to support a minister of the gospel amazes me? In that more settled East, from which I came, the rich men gave grudgingly to their pastor of such things as themselves did not need, and I was always in poverty. Therefore, for the sake of my sons, I came hither. Truly, in this wilderness, I have received evil at the hand of the Lord; but I have, also, received much good. If He wills, from this humble tenement shall go forth a blessing that cannot be measured. Leave the woman and the undisciplined youth with me. I will deal with them as I am given wisdom." This was the beginning of a new, rich life for the Sun Maid. It opened to Wahneenah, also, a period of unbroken happiness. The minister, over whose household affairs she promptly assumed a wise control, honored her with his confidence and abided by her clear-sighted counsel. She was constantly associated with her beloved Girl-Child, and could watch the rapid development of her intellect and all-loving heart. Indeed, Love was the keynote to Kitty Briscoe's character; and out of love for everybody about her, and especially in hope to be of use to her Indian friends, sprang the greatest incentive to study. "The more I know, the better I can help them to understand," she said to Wahneenah, who agreed and approved. The years sped quietly and rapidly by, as busy years always do. Some changes came to the little settlement of Chicago, but they were only few; until, one sunny day in spring, there reached the ears of the Sun Maid a sudden cry that seemed to turn all the months backward, as a scroll is rolled. Bending above her table, strewn with the Doctor's notes which she was copying, in the pleasant room of a big frame house that was one of the few new things of the town, she heard the call; dimly at first, as an out-of-door incident which did not concern herself. When it was repeated, she started visibly, and cried out: "I know that voice! That's Mercy Smith! There was never another just like it!" She sprang up and ran to answer, shouting in return: "Halloo! What is it?" "Help!" A few rods' run beyond the clump of trees that bordered the garden revealed the difficulty. A heavy wagon, loaded with bags of grain, was mired in the mud of the prairie road. A woman stood upright in the vehicle, lashing and scolding the oxen, which tried, but failed, to extricate the wheels from the clay that held them fast. "I'm coming! I'm Kitty! And, Mercy--is it really you?" "Well, if I ain't beat! You're Kitty, sure enough! But what a size!" "Yes. I'm a woman now, almost. How glad I am to see you! How's Abel? Where is he?" "Must be glad, if you'd let so many years go by without once comin' to visit me." "I didn't know that you'd be pleased to have me. I didn't treat you well, to leave you as I did. But where's Abel?" "Home. Trying to sell out. My land! How pretty you've growed! Only that white dress and hair a-streamin'; be you dressed for a party, child?" "Oh, no, indeed! I'll run and get something to help you out with, if you'll be patient." "Have to be, I reckon, since I'm stuck tight. No hurry. The oxen'll rest. I've heard about you, out home--how 't you'd found a rich minister to take you in an' eddicate you, an' your keepin' half-Indian still. Might have taught you to brush your hair, I 'low; an' from appearances you'd have done better to have stayed with me. You hain't growed up very sensible, have you?" The Sun Maid laughed, just as merrily and infectiously as when she had first crept for shelter into Mercy Smith's cabin. "Maybe not. I'm not the judge. I'll test my wisdom, though, by trying to help you out of that mud. I'll be back in a moment." She turned to run toward the house, but Mercy remonstrated: "You can't help in them fine clothes. Ain't there no men around?" "A few. Most of them are out of the village on a big hunting frolic. We'll manage without." "Humph! They'd better be huntin' Indians." The girl looked up anxiously. "Is there any trouble?" "Always trouble where the red-skins are." Kitty departed, and the settler's wife watched her with feelings of mingled admiration, anger, and astonishment. "She's grown, powerful. Tall an' straight as an Indian, an' fair as a snowflake. Such hair! I don't wonder she wears it that way, though I wouldn't humor her by lettin' on. I've heard she did it to please her 'tribe' an' the old minister. Well, there's always plenty of fools. They're a crop 'at never fails." The Sun Maid reappeared. She had not stopped to change her white gown, but she brought a pair of snow-shoes, and carried three or four short planks across her strong, firm shoulder. "My sake! Ain't you tough! I couldn't lift one them planks, rugged as I call myself, let alone four. But--snow-shoes in the springtime?" "Yes. I've learned a way for myself of helping the many who get mired out here. See how quickly I can set you free." Putting on the shoes, the girl walked straight over the mud, and throwing down the planks before the animals, encouraged them to help themselves. "What are their names? Jim and Pete? Come on, my poor beasts; and, once clear, you shall have a fine rest and feed." "Shucks! There! Go on! Giddap! Gee! Haw!" There followed a time of suspense, but at last the oxen gained a little advance, when Kitty promptly moved the planks forward, and in due time the wagon rolled out upon a firmer spot. "Well, Kitty girl, you may not have sense, but you've got what's better--that's gumption. And that's Chicago, is it?" "Yes. I hope you like it." "I've got to, whether or no. I'm in awful trouble, Kitty Briscoe, an' it's all your fault." "What can you mean?" "Abel--Abel----" "Yes--yes! What is it?" "Ever sence you run away he's been pinin' to run after you. Said the house wasn't home no more. 'Twasn't; though I wouldn't let on to him. We've kept gettin' comfortabler off, an' I jawed him from mornin' to night to make him contented. But he wouldn't listen. Got so he wouldn't work home if he could help it, but lounged round the neighbors'. Got hankerin' to go somewheres, an' keep tavern, like his father afore him. Now, we've got burnt out----" "Burned out! Oh, Mercy, that _is_ trouble, indeed! Tell me--No, wait. Let us go and get something to eat first; and what were you intending to do with that load of stuff?" "Ship it East, if I can. I've heard there was consid'able that business bein' done. Or sell it to the Fort folks." "I think they'll be glad of it; they are always needing everything. I'll go with you there, and your team can be left there, too, till Abel comes." "Abel! You don't think I'd leave him to manage _business_, do you?" "I thought you said he was now staying behind to sell out--to 'manage.'" "He's stayin' to try. There's a big difference 'twixt tryin' an' doin'. He can't sell, not easy. And some day, when this whim of his is over, we'll go back an' settle again, or move farther on. It's gettin' ruther crowded where we be for comfort, these days." "Crowded? Are there many new neighbors?" "Lots. Some of 'em ain't more 'n a mile away, an' I call that too close for convenience. Don't like to have folks pokin' their noses into my very door-yard, so to speak." "How will you endure it here, where, according to your ideas, the houses are so very close?" "I don't expect to like it. But, pshaw! They be thick, ain't they? I declare it makes me think of out East, an' our village; only that wasn't built on the bottomless pit, like this." "This is the Fort. After you've finished your business with the officer in charge, we'll go home and get our dinner." The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her coming with exclamations of: "Oh, Kitty! You here? I'm so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my work"; or: "Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week old, that I've hidden for you to read first before the others get hold of them." One called after her, as they started homeward: "How are the sick ones to-day?" "What did she mean?" demanded Mercy. "Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness." "You're a great scholar now, Kitty, I s'pose--could even do figurin' an' writin' letters." "I can do that much without being a 'scholar.' I've learned all sorts of things that came my way, from civil engineering--enough to survey lots for people--to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave him. It's very useful here." "Can you sing, or play music?" "I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns 'in meeting.'" "What's that? A fiddle--to hymns!" "Yes. Why not, since it's the only instrument we have?" "My land! You'll be dancin' at worship next!" "Maybe. There _are_ religious people who dance at their services. But here we are. This is the Doctor's house, and you'll meet Wahneenah." "Wahneeny! You don't tell me that good, pious parson is consortin' with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!" "Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so. She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can't be love, between you two. It's better, isn't it, to understand thing in the beginning?" "Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that's all right. I don't care, child. I don't care. It does my old eyes good just to look at you; an', for once, I'll 'low Abel was right in wantin' to move out here. I'm lookin' for him 'fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who's that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an' a blue check shirt, grinnin' like a hyena, an' a knife stickin' out his pocket? Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!" Mercy's words poured out without breathing-space or stop, and the Sun Maid laughed as she replied: "Why, that's only Osceolo. Do you know him?" "Kitty Briscoe! All the wild horses in Illinois can't make me believe no different but 'twas him set our barn afire!" "When? He's not been away--for some days." "Wait till he catches sight of me!" But when the young Indian did turn around, and saw the pair watching him, he coolly walked toward them, regarding Mercy as if she were an utter stranger, and one whom he was rather pleased to meet. "Friend of yours, Sun Maid? Glad to see her." "Glad to see me, be you? Wait till Abel Smith comes an' identifies you. Then see which side the laugh's on, you--you----" "Osceolo is my name, ma'am." Foreseeing difficulties, the girl guided her guest into the kitchen, where Wahneenah was preparing dinner, and where the Indian woman greeted her old acquaintance with no surprise and, certainly, without any of the effusiveness that, for once, rather marked Mercy's manner toward her former "hired girl." "Well, it's a real likely house, now, ain't it? I'd admire to see the minister. It's years since I saw one. Is he about?" Kitty answered: "Yes. He is studying. I rather hate to disturb him; but at dinner you will meet him." "Studying! Studying what? Why, I thought he was an old man." "He is. So old, I sometimes fear we will not have him with us long." "What's the use learnin' anything more, then?" "One can never know too much, I fancy. Just at present he is writing a dictionary of the Indian dialects, so far as he has been able to obtain them." "The--Indian--language! He wouldn't be so silly, now come!" "He is just so wise. It is a splendid work. I am proud to be his helper, even by just merely copying his papers." "Well! You could knock me down with a feather! One thing--I sha'n't never set under his preachin'. I wouldn't demean myself. The idee!" "Mercy, do you remember the red-covered Bible? Have you it still?" "Course. I wouldn't let anything happen to that. It was a reward of merit. It's wrote in the front: 'To Mercy Balch, for being a Good Girl.' That was me afore I was married. It's in my carpet-bag. I mean to have it buried with me. I wouldn't never spile it by handlin'." "I hope you'll use it now, for it's so easy to get another. The Doctor will give you one at any time. The Bible Society in the East furnishes all he needs." Dinner was promptly ready, and, after it was over, the Sun Maid carried her old friend away with her to the government building, which was not only hospital, but schoolhouse and land-office all in one. Everything here was so new and interesting to Mercy that surprise kept her silent; until, happening to glance through the window, she beheld a rough-looking man approaching on horseback. "Pshaw! there's Abel! Wait an' see him stick where I stuck!" she chuckled. "Well, he sold out sudden, didn't he? He'd better come in the wagon, but he 'lowed he'd enjoy a ride all by himself. I reckon he's had it. See him stare and splash! There he goes! See that old nag flounder!" Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her clear tones. "Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my own lost little Kit!" As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy. "Oh, Abel! That's the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She plants them so deep in the mud that they can't get away! But wait. I'll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I'll get my arms about your neck, you dear old Abel!" "Help me out? Not much! Not when there's such a pretty girl a few feet away waitin' to kiss my homely face!" and, with a spring that was marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on the higher sod beside his "Kit." "Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree in bloom, with your white frock, an' all. I've got here at last! I can't scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you used to be when you made a promise? Then--don't tell Mercy; but--_I done it a-purpose_!" "Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk." "Shucks! He ain't worth pullin' out. If he ain't horse enough to help himself, let him stay there a spell, an' think it over. He'll flounder round----" "You don't know our mud, Abel." "He's all right. He's helpin' himself. He's makin' a genu_ine_ effort. A man--or horse--that does that is sure to win. That's how I put it to myself. After I'd wrastled with the subject up hill an' down dale, till I couldn't see nothin' else in the face of natur', I done it. Out in the East, where I come from, they'd 'a' had me up for it; an' I don't know but they will here. But I had to, Kit, I had to. I was dead sick an' starvin' for a sight of you an' the boy, an' mis'able with blamin' myself that I hadn't treated you different when I had you, so you wouldn't have run away. You was a master hand at that business, wasn't you, girl? I hope you've quit now, though." "I think so. Here I was born, and here I hope to stay. All my runnings have begun and ended here. But what did you do, Father Abel?" "Oh, Sis! that name does me good. Promise you'll never tell,--not till your dyin' day." "I can't promise that; but I'll not tell if I can help it." "Well, you always had a tender conscience. Yet I can trust your love better 'n ary promise. Well--_I--burnt--it!_" "Burned it? Your house? Your home? Yours and Mercy's? Why--Abel!" The pioneer squared his mighty shoulders, and faced her as a defiant child might an offended mother. "Yes, I did. The house, the bed-quilts, the antiquated bedstead, the whole endurin' business. It was the only way. Year after year she'd keep naggin' for me to move on further into the wilderness. _Me_, that was starvin' for folks, an' knew she was! It was just plumb lonesomeness made her what she is: a nagger. So, at last--you've heard about worms turnin', hain't you? I watched, an' when she'd gone trudgin' off on a four-mile tramp, pretendin' somebody's baby was sick, but really meanin' she was that druv to hear the sound of another woman's voice, I took pity on her--an' myself--an' set fire to that hateful old heirloom of a bedstead; an' whilst it was burnin' I just whipped out the old fiddle, an' I played--my! how I played! Every time a post fell into the middle, I just danced. 'So much nearer folks!' I thought. And the rag-carpet an' the nineteen-hunderd-million-patch-bedspread--Kit, I've set there, day after day, an' seen Mercy cuttin' up whole an' decent rags, an' sewin' 'em together again, till I've near gone stark mad. Fact. I used to wonder if it wasn't a sort of craziness possessed her to do that foolishness. Now, it's all over. She lays the fire to an Indian feller that I've spoke fair to, now an' again, an' that had been round our way huntin' not long before. I don't know where he come from, an' I never asked him. He never told. Pretended he couldn't talk Yankee. Don't know as he could, but he could talk chicken or little pig fast enough. Leastways, I missed such after he'd been there. Well, it wasn't him. _It was--me!_ I burnt the bedstead, an' now we're free folks!" "But, Abel, why not have brought the bedstead with you, if she loved it so? Why destroy----" "Sissy, you don't know Mercy--not as I do. It was that furniture kept her. So long as she had it, so long as she could kind of boast it over her neighbors, there she'd set. We couldn't have moved it. She near worried herself into her grave gettin' it into the wilderness, first off, an' she ain't so young now as she was then. She'd ruther lost a leg than had it scratched. I saved that load of feed, an' the ox team, an' the old horse. Yes, an' my fiddle. Mercy's got money. She had it hid. I'm goin' to settle here an' keep tavern, if I can. If not here, then somewheres else. Anywhere where there's folks. Trees are nice; prairies are nice; a clearin' of your own is nice; but human natur' is nicer. Don't tell Mercy, though, or there'll be trouble! Now, Kit, where's Gaspar?" "_Oh, Abel! Only the dear Lord knows!_" CHAPTER XVII. A DAY OF HAPPENINGS. "Abel! Abel Smith! Here I am. Right here, in our little Kitty's own house. How'd you get along? Did the man buy?" "Shucks!" groaned the pioneer, as these words reached him where he stood beside the Sun Maid, eager to hear what she could tell him of the lad Gaspar. "Shucks! I've had a right peaceful sort of day, me and old Dobbin, and I'd most forgot it couldn't last. Say, Kit, you look like a girl could do a'most ary thing she tried to. Just put your shoulder to the wheel, won't you, and shut the power off Mercy's tongue. Tell her 'tain't the fashion for women to talk much or loud, not in big settlements like this. She's death on the fashion, Mercy is. Why, that last gown of hers, cut out a piece of calico a neighbor brought from the East--you'd ought to see it. She got hold a picture-book, land knows when or where, and copied one the pictures. Waist clean up to her neck, it's so short, and sleeves big enough to make me a suit of clothes. Fact! Wait till you see it. She's a sight, I tell you. But so long 's she thinks it's a touch beyond, why she's happy. But don't let her talk so much. 'Tain't proper; not in settlements." The Sun Maid set her head on one side and regarded her old friend critically; then frankly, if laughingly, remarked: "Abel, you dear, you can beat Mercy talking, by a great length. It's funny to hear you blaming her for the very thing you do. But I like it. You can't guess how I like it, and how it brings back my childish days in the forest. Now come in and get something to eat. Then we can have another talk." "I ain't hungry. I had some doughnuts in my saddle-bags, and I munched them along the road. Say, Kit. Don't tell Mercy; but I didn't try to sell. Just put the question once, so to satisfy her when she asked. We hain't no need. She's got a lot of money in a buckskin bag tied round her waist. The land's all right. It's a good investment. I'll let it stand. This country is bound to grow. Some day it will be worth a power, and then I'll sell out, if I'm livin'; and if I ain't, you can. One of the reasons I came was to fix things up for you. I always meant to make you my legatee. We've no kith nor kin nigh enough to worry about, Mercy an' me; an' I 'low she'd be agreeable. So we'll let the land lie. Oh, bosh! There she is, calling again. May as well go in for she won't stop till we do." After all, there was real pleasure in the faces of both husband and wife at their reunion, short though their separation had been, and bitter though their words sounded to a stranger; and, already, there was a personal pride in Mercy's tones as she exhibited the house over which the Sun Maid presided, and explained the details--supplied by her own imagination--of its purposes. "But about Gaspar, Mercy. Has she told you anything about him yet? I'm 'lowing to have him help me keep tavern if he's grown up as capable as he promised when he was a little shaver." "No. She hain't said a word. Fact is, I hain't asked. We've been too busy with other things. Likely he's round somewheres. Maybe off hunting with them lazy soldiers. Shame, I think. The Government keepin' 'em just to loaf away their time." "Hmm! What on earth else could they do with it? I met a man, coming along, said there'd been a right sharp lot of wolves prowlin' this winter an' spring. They're gettin' most too neighborly for comfort for the settlers across the prairies, so the military are trying to clear them out. That's not a bad idee. But don't it beat all! That little sissy, that used to have to stand on a three-legged stool to turn the stirabout, grown like she has? I never saw a finer woman, never; and her hair's the same dazzlin' kind it always was. I 'low I'm proud of her, and no mistake. Hello! What's yonder? An Indian, on horseback, a-stoppin' to this place! What's he after? His face is painted black, too. There's Sunny Maid going out to talk with him, and Wahneeny, too. Must be somethin' up." "There's always somethin' up, where there's an Indian. I hate 'em, an' they know it." "I guess they do, ma. Wahneeny, for instance, and--Shucks! That long, lanky, copper-face out back there, settin' flat on the ground, trying to pitch jack-knives with a lot of other boys, white ones; he's the chap that hung around our place so much--the chicken-stealer. I'm going to speak to him." "And I'm going to get him took up, just as soon as the Captain gets back, for setting our house afire. It wouldn't have happened if I'd been home; but you never could be trusted to look after things." Abel thought it time to change the subject, and retreated, while Mercy's attention became riveted upon the group before the house. The faces of all three were very grave, and Wahneenah, who had come across to nurse a sick child, paid no heed to its fretful calls for her. The Indian horseman tarried but a brief time, then wheeled about and rode westward over the prairie, avoiding the regular road and the mud where the Smiths had suffered such annoyance. Wahneenah returned to her charge, and the Sun Maid disappeared in the direction of the Fort. Before Mercy could decide whether to follow or not, the girl reappeared, and her old friend viewed her with amazement. She had mounted the Snowbird, which looked no older than when Mercy had watched her gallop away across the prairie, and had slung the famous White Bow upon her saddle horn. About her floating hair she had wound a fillet of white beads and feathers, and fastened the White Necklace of Lahnowenah, the Giver, around her fair throat. She sat her horse as only one trained to the saddle from infancy could have done, and her commanding figure seemed perfect in every outline. "To the land's sake! Ain't she splendid! I never saw such a sight. Never. Never. Abel! Abel! A-b-e-l!!" "Yes, yes; what? Mercy, Mercy Smith, hold your tongue! Don't you know folks can't bawl in a settlement as they do in the backwoods? What ails you? I'm coming as fast as a man in reason can. Hey? Kitty? Well, why didn't you say so? Where? Out front? My--land! Well, well, well! It ain't--it can't be--it is! Well, Kitty girl, you beat the Dutch!" The young horsewoman rode up to the front door of her house, and paused to let her old friends admire her to their satisfaction. But their admiration aroused neither surprise nor vanity in her simple, straightforward mind. Years before, the old clergyman had said to her, upon their first meeting, that the Lord had been very good to her in giving her a beauty so remarkable and impressive; and under his wise instruction she had accepted the fact as she did all the others of her life. Only she had striven to keep her soul always worthy of the glorious form in which it was housed and to use all her gifts and graces for good. So she stood a while, letting the honest couple inspect and comment, and finally answering Abel's curiosity, in honest modesty. "Why am I so dressed up? Because I have a mission to perform, and I need to make myself as beautiful as possible." "Kit--ty Bris--coe! I've read in my red Bible that 'favor is deceitful and beauty is vain.' I'm amazed at you. Livin' with a minister, too. Well, _he_ can't preach to _me_. I'd despise to set under him." Abel's eyes twinkled, but the gravity of the Sun Maid's face did not lessen. She explained gently, yet with unshaken decision, that her self-adornment was right, and gave her reasons. "You will remember, dears, that I am a 'Daughter of the Pottawatomies.' They believe that I have supernatural gifts, and that I am a spirit living in a human form." "And you let 'em, Kit, you let 'em?" "I couldn't prevent it if I tried. And I do not try. That idea of theirs is far too powerful a factor for good. Even Wahneenah, who knows better and is to me as a real mother, even she treats me a little more deferentially when I attire myself like this." "Put on your war paint, eh?" "No, indeed: my peace paint," laughed the girl. "The messenger you saw talking with Wahneenah and me is from an encampment a dozen miles or so to the westward. There are about five hundred Indians in the camp, and they are getting restless. They are always restless, it seems to me," and she sighed profoundly. "It is such a problem, isn't it? They think they have right on their side, and the whites think _they_ have; and there is so much that is good, so much that is evil, on both. Well, the red people are planning treachery. The brave you saw is a real friend to the pale-faces, and one of my closest confidants. He came to warn me. His tribe, or the mixed tribes in the camp, are getting ready for an attack upon us, or some other near-by settlement. I must go out and stop it,--find out their grievance and right it if I can. If not--Well, I must make peace. I may be gone for several days, and I may be back before morning. You must make yourselves comfortable somewhere. Ask Doctor Littlejohn. If he is too absorbed in his studies, then talk with One, his eldest son. He is a fine fellow, and knows everything about this village. Good-by." "But, child alive! You ain't going alone, single-handed, to face five hundred bloody Indians! You must be crazy!" "Oh, no, I'm not. It is all right. I am not afraid. There isn't an Indian living who would harm a hair of my head, if he knew me; and almost all in Illinois do know me, either by sight or reputation. I am very happy with them and shall have a pleasant visit; that is, after I have dissuaded them from this proposed attack." "Kit, you couldn't do it. 'Tain't in nature. A young girl, alone, pretty as you are--You _sha'n't_ do it,--not with my consent; not while I'm alive and can set a horse or handle a gun. No, sirree. If you go, I go, and that's the long and short of it." "No, dear Father Abel; you must not go; indeed you must not. It would ruin everything. It makes me very sad to have these constant broils and ill-feelings coming up between my white-faced and red-faced friends; yet the Lord permits it, and I try to be patient. But I tell you again, and you must believe it, that I am as safe out yonder in that camp of savages as I am here, this minute, with you. I am the Sun Maid, the Unafraid, the Daughter of Peace, the Snowflake. They have as many names for me as I am years old, I fancy. Each name means some noble thing they think they see in my character, and so I try to live up to it. It's hard work, though, because I'm--well, I'm so quick-tempered and full of faults. But I suppose if God didn't mean me to do this work, be a sort of peacemaker, He wouldn't have made me just as I am or put me in just this place. That's what the Doctor says, and so I do the best I can. After all, it's a great honor, I think, to be let to serve people in this way, and so--Good-by, good-by!" The Snowbird sprang forward at a word and, by experience trained to shun the sloughs and mud-holes, skimmed lightly across the prairie and out of sight. The Smiths stood and watched its disappearance, and the erect white figure upon its back, till both became a speck in the distance. Then, completely dumfounded by the incident, Abel sat down near the door-step to reflect upon it, while the more energetic Mercy departed for the Fort, declaring: "I'll see what that all means, or I'll never say another word's long as I live! The idee! _Men_--folks calling themselves _men_--and wearing government breeches, as I suppose they do, letting a girl like that go to destruction without a soul to stop her! But, my land! she was a sight to see, and no mistake!" Meanwhile that was happening down at the little wharf which set all tongues a-chatter and fascinated all eyes. "A fleet is coming in! A regular fleet of schooners, from the north and the upper lakes!" Those who had not gone hunting crowded to the shore, and even the women caught their babies up and followed the men, Abel among the others, roused from his anxious brooding over the Sun Maid's daring and catching the excitement. "Shucks! Something must be up down that direction. Beats all. Here I've been only part of a day, and more things have gone on than would at our clearing in a month of Sundays. I--I'm all of a fluster to kind of keep my head level an' my judgment cool. 'Twouldn't never do to let on to ma how stirred up I be. Dear me! Seems as if I wouldn't never get there. I do hope they'll wait till I do." After all, it was the quietest and drowsiest of little hamlets, dropped down in the mud beside a great waterway; and the "fleet," which had roused so much interest, was but a modest one of a half-dozen small schooners, laden with furs and peltries and manned by the smallest of crews. However, to Abel, and to many another, it was a memorable event; and he made a pause at the Fort, which in itself was an object of great interest to him, to inform Mercy of the spectacle she was losing. "Come on, ma! It's a regular show down there. Real sailors and ships--we hain't seen the like since we left the East and the coast of old Massachusetts." "Ships? My heart! I never expected to look upon another. Just to think it!" The foremost vessel came to shore and was made fast; and there upon its deck stood a tall, dark-bearded man, who appeared what he was--the commander of the fleet; and he gave his orders in a clear, ringing voice that was instantly obeyed. His manner was grave, even melancholy; and his interest in the safe landing seemed greater than in any person among the expectant groups. He had tossed his hat aside and waited bareheaded in the sunshine till all was ready, when he stepped quietly ashore. Then, indeed, he cast an inquiring glance around, in the possibility, though not probability, of meeting a familiar face. All at once, his dark eyes brightened and his bearing lost its indifference. Pushing his way rapidly through the crowd, he approached Abel and Mercy and extended his hands in greeting. "Hail, old friends! Well met!" "Hey? What? Ruther think you've got the better of me, stranger," said the pioneer, awkwardly extending his own hardened palm. "Probably the years since we met have made a greater change in me than in you. You both look exactly as you did that last day I saw you at the harvesting." "Hey? Which? When? I can't place you, no how. I ain't acquainted with ary sailor, so far forth as I remember." "But Gaspar, Father Abel? Surely, you and Mercy remember Gaspar Keith, whom you sheltered for so many years, and who treated you so badly at the end?" "Glory! It ain't! My soul, my soul! Why, Gaspar--_Gaspar!_ If it's you, I'm an old man. Why, you was only a stripling, and now----" "Now, I'm a man, too. That's all. We all have to grow up and mature. I feel older than you look. And Mercy, the years have certainly used you well. It is good, indeed, to see your faces here, where I looked for strangers only." "Them's us, lad. Them's us. _We're_ the strangers in these parts. Just struck Chicago this very day. Got stuck in the mud, and had to be fished out like a couple of clams. And who do you think done the fishing? Though, if you hadn't spoke that odd way just now, I'd have thought you would have known first off. Who do you suppose?" "Oh, he'll never guess. A man is always so slow," interrupted Mercy, eagerly. "Well, 'twas nobody but our own little Kit! The Sun Maid, and looking more like a child of the sunshine even than when you run off with her so long ago." "The--Sun--Maid! _Kit-ty, my Kitty?_" Gaspar's face had paled at the mention of the Sun Maid to such a grayness beneath its brown that Mercy reached her hand to stay him from falling; but at his second question her womanly intuition told her something of the truth. "Yes, Gaspar, boy. Your Kitty, and ours. We hadn't seen her till to-day, neither; not since that harvestin'. But the longing got too strong and, when we was burnt out, we came straight for her. Didn't you know she was here yet? Or didn't you know she was still alive?" "No. No, I didn't. That very next winter after I went away--and that was the next day after we came here together--an Indian passed where I was hunting with my master and told me she had died. He was one we had known at Muck-otey-pokee--the White Pelican. He said a scourge of smallpox had swept the Fort and this settlement and that my little maid had passed out of the world forever. But you tell me--_she is alive_? After all these years of sorrow for her, she is still alive? I--it is hard to believe it." Mercy laid her hand upon the strong shoulder that now trembled in excitement. "There, there, son; take it quiet. Yes, she's alive, and the most beautiful woman the good Lord ever made. Never, even in the East, where girls had time to grow good-looking, was there ever anybody like her. I ain't used to it myself, yet. I can't realize it. She's that well growed, and eddicated, and masterful. Why, child, the whole community looks up to her as if she were a sort of queen. I've found that out in just the few hours I've been here, and from just the few I've met. Even Wahneeny--she's here, too; has been most all the time. The Black Partridge, Indian chief, he that was her brother, that took care of you two children when the massacre was, he didn't expect she'd ever come again; but still, it appears, just on the chance of it, he rode off up country somewhere, and he happened to strike her trail, and that Osceolo's--the scamp--that had run off with Kitty's white horse, and fetched 'em all back. The women in the Fort was tellin' me the whole story just now. I hain't got a word out of Wahneeny, yet. She's as close-mouthed as she ever was; but there's more to hear than you could hark to in a day's ride, and--Where you going, Gaspar?" "To find my Kitty." "Well, you needn't. And I don't know as she's any more yours than she is ours, seein' we really had the credit of raisin' her. For she's took her life in her hand, and has gone alone, without ary man to protect her, out across the prairie to face five hunderd Indians on the war-path, and--Hold on! What you up to?" The sailor, or hunter, whichever he might be, had started along the footpath to the Fort, and halted, half angrily, at this interruption. "Well? What? I'll see you by and by. I must find Kitty!" "Right you are, lad. Find her, and fetch her back. And, say! Mercy says your own old Tempest horse is in the stable at the Fort; that it now belongs to the Sun Maid, and she's the only one who ever rides it. The Captain gave it to her because she grieved so about you. I wouldn't wonder if he'd travel nigh as fast as he used--when he run away before. I never saw the beat of you two young ones! As fast as a body catches up to you, off you run!" Even amid the anxiety now renewed in Abel's mind regarding Kitty, the humorous side of the situation appealed to him; but there was no answering smile on Gaspar's face; only an anxiety and yearning beyond the comprehension of either of these honest, simple souls. "Well, go on, then. Run your beatingest, in a bee line, due west. That's the way she took, and that's the trail you'll find her on, if so be you find her at all." Those at the Fort looked, wondered, but did not object, as this dark _voyageur_ strode straight into the stables and to a box stall where Tempest enjoyed a life of pampered indolence. They realized that this was no stranger, but one to whom all things were familiar--even the animal which answered so promptly to the cry: "Tempest, old fellow!" It was a voice he had never forgotten. The black gelding's handsome head tossed in a thrill of delight, and the answering neigh to that love call was good to hear. In a moment Gaspar had found a saddle, slipped it into place, and, scarcely waiting to tighten its girth, had leaped upon the animal's back. "Forward, Tempest! Be true to your name!" Those who saw the rush of the gallant creature through the open gates of the stockade acknowledged that he would be. CHAPTER XVIII. WESTWARD AND EASTWARD OVER THE PRAIRIE. "Fast, Tempest, fast!" The sunshine was in his eyes, and a warmer sunshine in his heart, as Gaspar urged the gelding forward. Fast it was. The faithful creature recognized the burden he carried, and his clean, small feet reeled off the distance like magic, till the village by the lake was left far behind, and only the limitless prairie stretched beyond. Yet still there was no sign of the Snowbird along the horizon, nor any point discernible where an Indian encampment might be. At length the rider paused to consider the matter. "It's strange I don't see her. If she were crossing the level, anywhere, I should, for my eyes are trained to long distances. It must be that Abel gave me the wrong direction. I'll turn north, and try." But, keen-sighted though he was, for once the woodsman blundered. Between him and the lowering sun the prairie dipped and rose again, the two borders of the hidden valley seeming to meet in one unbroken plain. It was in this little depression that the wigwams were pitched, and among them the Sun Maid was already moving and pleading with her friends for patience and peace. Meanwhile, Gaspar continued on his chosen route, at a direct right angle from that he should have followed, till the twilight came down and the whole landscape was swathed in mist. For there had been heavy rains of late, and the vapor rose from the soaked and sun-warmed earth like a great white pall, filling the hunter's nostrils and blinding his sight. "Well, this is hopeless. I might ride over her and not find her in this fog. But I can't stay here. It's choking. Heaven grant my Kitty's safe under shelter somewhere. My own safety is to keep moving. Good boy, Tempest! Take it easy, but don't stop." After that, there was nothing to do but trust the horse's instinct to find a path through the mist and to be grateful that the ground was so level. "It's a long lane that has no turning. It must be that we'll strike something different after a while; if not a settler's house, at least a clump of trees. Any shelter would be better than none, in this creeping moisture. It would be easy to get lost; and what a situation! Oh! if I knew that she was out of it. A messenger to the Indians, eh? My little Kit, my dainty foster-sister!" The gelding's nose was to the ground and, as a dog would have done, he picked his way, cautiously, yet surely, straight north where lay, though Gaspar did not know it, a settler's clearing and comfortable cabin. The rider's thoughts passed from his present surroundings back to the past and forward to the future; and when there sounded, almost at his feet, a cry of distress he did not hear it in his absorption. But Tempest did. At the second wail he stopped short, and it was this that roused Gaspar from his reverie. "Tired, old Tempest, boy? It won't do to rest here. Take a breath, if you like, and get on again. Keeping at it is salvation." "Mamma! I want--my--mamma!" "Whew! What's that? Hello!" The sound was not repeated, and yet Tempest would not advance. "Hello!" shouted Gaspar; and after a moment of strained listening, again he caught the echo of a child's sob. "My God! A baby--here! Lost in this fog!" He was off his horse and down upon his knees, reaching, feeling, creeping--calling gently, and finally touching the cold, drenched garment of the child he could not see. In its terror at this fresh danger the little one shrieked and rolled away; but the man lifted it tenderly, and soothed it with kind words till its shrieks ceased and it clung close to its rescuer. "There, there, poor baby! How came you here? Don't be afraid. I'll take you home. Tempest will find the way. Feel--the good horse knows. It was he that found you; we'll get on his back and ride straight to mamma, for whom you called." Climbing slowly back into his saddle, because of the little one he held so carefully, Gaspar laid its cold hand upon the gelding's neck, but it slid listlessly aside and he realized that he had come not a moment too soon. All night they wandered, the child lying on Gaspar's breast wrapped in his coat, while the mist penetrated his own clothing and seemed to creep into his very thoughts, numbing them to a sort of despair that no effort could cast off. The wail of the child lost in that dreariness had brought back, like a lightning's flash, the earliest memories of his life and revived his never-dying hatred of his parent's slayers. "An Indian's hand was in this work!" he mused. "Doubtless, the mother for whom it grieved has met the fate which befell my own. And Abel said that it was among such as these my Sun Maid had gone!" Then justice called to mind his knowledge of Wahneenah, of the Black Partridge, old Winnemeg, and others, and his mood softened somewhat; but still memory tormented him and the white fog seemed a background for ghastly scenes too awful for words. Above all and through all, one consciousness was keener and fiercer than the others: "My Kitty is among them at this moment! O, God, keep her!" It was the strongest cry of his yearning heart; yet underneath lay an impotent rage at his own powerlessness to help in this preservation. "For what is my manhood or my courage worth to her now? And even the Deity seems veiled by this deadening, suffocating mist!" But Tempest moved steadily on once more, and the little child warmed to life on his breast; and by degrees the man's self-torment ceased. Then he lifted his eyes afresh and struggled to pierce the gloom. What was that? A light! A little yellow spot in the gray whiteness, which the horse was first to see and toward which he now hastened with a firmer speed. "It's a fire. No, a lamp in a house window. There, it's gone. A will-o'-the-wisp by some hidden pool. It shines again. Well, Tempest sees it and believes in it." The man lacked the animal's faith, and even when they had come to within a short distance of the glow, the clouds of vapor swept between it and them and Gaspar checked Tempest's advance. But at last a slight wind rose, and the mist which rolled toward them was tinged with the odor of smoke, so the rider knew that his first surmise had been correct. "It is a fire. A settler's cabin, probably once this lost child's home. The red man's work!" When he reached the very spot there were, indeed, the remnants of a great burning, yet in the circle of the light Gaspar saw a house still standing. He was at its threshold promptly, and entered through its open door upon a scene of desolation. A woman crouched by the hearth that was strewn with ashes, and her moans echoed through the gloom with so much of agony in them that the stranger's worst fears were confirmed. Then he caught her murmured words, and they were all of one tenor: "My baby! my baby! my baby! My one lost little child! The wolves--my little one--my all!" Gaspar strode into the room, lighted only by the fitful glare from the ruins without, and gently spoke: "Don't grieve like that! The child is safe. It is here in my arms." "What? Safe! safe!" The mother was up, and had caught the little one from him before the words had left her lips, and the passion of her rejoicing brought the tears to the man's eyes as her sorrow had not done. After a moment, she was able to speak clearly and to demand his story. Then she gave hers. "I was here alone. My husband had gone hunting, and I went into the barn to seek for eggs. The loft was dark----" "Spare yourself. I can guess. The Indians." "The Indians? No, indeed. Myself. My own carelessness. I carried a candle, and dropped it. The hay caught. I barely escaped from having my clothing burned on me; but I did. Then I forgot everything except my terrible loss and my husband's anger when he returns. I began to fight the fire. I remember my little one crying with fright, but I paid no attention, and when at length I realized that it was too late for me to save our stock I stopped to look for him. Fortunately, the cabin was too far from the barn to catch easily, and there was a wind blowing the other way. That's all that saved the home; yet, when I missed my baby, I wished that it would burn, too, and me with it. Life without him would be a living death. And he would have died, any way. The wolves are awful troublesome this spring. We've lost more than twenty of our hogs and the only pair of sheep we had. So husband joined a party and went out to hunt them. What will he say, what will he say, when he comes back!" In Gaspar's heart there sprang up a great happiness. The ill which had happened here was so much less than he had anticipated that he took courage for himself. After all, the Sun Maid might be safe, as Abel had declared she said she should be. He remembered, at last, that not all men are evil, even red ones; and in the reaction of his own feelings, he exclaimed: "What can he say, but give thanks that no worse befell him!" However, now that her child was safe within her arms, the woman began to suffer in advance the torment she would have to undergo when she faced her indignant husband; and she retorted sharply: "Worse! Well, I suppose so. But I don't see why in the name of common sense I was let to be such a fool in the first place. He won't, neither. It's all very well when you've lost half your property to give thanks for not losing your life, too; but I don't see any cause for losing ary one." This sounded so like Mercy and her philosophy that Gaspar threw back his head and laughed; which angered his new friend first, and then affected her, also, with something of his mirth. "I can't see a thing to laugh at, I, for one," she remarked, trying to be stern. "Oh! but I can. And I'm not a laughing man, in ordinary. But there's one thing I know--I'm powerful hungry. Can't we make another fire, one that we can control, and get a bit of supper? If there's anything in the house to cook, I can cook it while you tend baby. Then we'll talk over your affairs." "There's plenty to cook, but you'll not cook it, sir. I owe you my child's life, and now things are getting straighter in my muddled mind. I lost the barn for Jacob, and I must help replace it. I've been a hard worker always, but I can stretch another point, I guess. Pshaw! I believe it's getting daylight. It'll be breakfast instead of supper, this time." It was daylight, indeed; and in a half-hour the simple meal was smoking on the table, and Gaspar sitting to eat it with the hearty appetite of a man who has lived always out-of-doors. But he could talk as fast as eat, when he was anxious as on that morning; and before he had drained his last cup of the "rye coffee" he had learned from his hostess that the Indian encampment he sought lay well to the southwestward of her cabin, and that by a way she could direct him he could reach it easily in a two-hours' ride. This to Tempest, who had rested and fed, would be nothing, if he was anything the horse he used to be, and Gaspar believed, from the past night's experience, that sometimes even a horse can improve with age. "Well, I'll be off, then. I'm anxious to get there. If all goes well I'll get around this way again before long. Thank you for my entertainment, and here's a trifle for the baby." He tossed a gold piece on the table and was leaving the cabin. But she restrained him. "No, sir, I can't take that, nor let the little one. And as for thanking me, I shall never cease to thank you, and the Lord for you, that you lost your way last night. But let me beg you, sir, to take a second thought. Jacob says the Indians are getting ready for an outbreak. It is like running your neck into a halter to go among them just now. I--I wish you wouldn't. I couldn't bear to have harm come to you after what you've done for me." "Thank you, but I must go. I am not much afraid for myself at any time, for I've known the red-skins always and--trusted them never! But a girl--did you ever hear of the Sun Maid?" "Hear of her? Her? Well, I guess so! Who hasn't, in these parts? Why?" "It was to find her and protect her that I started last night from the Fort." "To _protect_ her? Well, you could have saved your trouble. I wish that I was as safe in this wild country as she is. There is an old saying that her life is charmed; that nothing evil can ever happen to her; and so far it has proved true. As for the Indians, even the wickedest in the whole race would die to save her life. I hope you'll find her, sir, all right; but if there's any protecting to be done, she'll protect you, not you her. Well, good-by, and good luck!" Gaspar bared his head and rode away, on a straight trail this time, and with the exhilaration of the morning tingling through his healthful veins. On every side the great clouds of white mist rose and rolled apart. Blue violets and white windflowers began to peep upward at him from his path, and he remembered Kitty's love for them. Then the sun broke through, and only those who have thus ridden across a dew-drenched prairie, at such an hour in such a season, can picture what that ride was like. The spirit of life and love and that glorious morning thrilled both horse and master as they leaped forward and still forward till, on the top of a grassy rise, a sudden halt was made. For what was this coming out of the west?--this fair white creature on her snowy mount, with the golden sunlight on her yellow hair, her glowing face, her modest maiden breast. Flowers wreathed her all about and a White Bow gleamed at her saddle horn. Behind her, and one on either side, rode dusky warriors, brave in their finest trappings and turning a reverent, attentive ear to the Maid's words. Their horses' footfalls deadened by the sodden grass, slowly they came into fuller view, as a picture grows under the painter's brush. Still the man on the black horse facing them sat still, spellbound. Could this be Kitty, his Kitty; to whom his thoughts had turned as to a half-grown, playful child, and over whom he had domineered with the masterful pride of boyhood? He was a man now, boyhood was past; but he had quite forgotten that girlhood also passes and the child becomes a woman. He had grown rich and strong. After her supposed death he had devoted himself wholly to money-getting with the singleness of purpose that never fails of its object. He had come back to his old home to spend the fortune he had gained, feeling himself a master among men and his strength that of wisdom as well as wealth. Now all his pride and arrogance passed from him before the nobility of this woman approaching. For on her youthful face sat the dignity which is higher than pride and from her beautiful eyes gleamed the beneficent love more far-reaching than wealth. After a moment Gaspar rode slowly forward again, and soon espying, but not recognizing, him, the Sun Maid advanced. Then all at once the black horse and the white galloped to a meet. "Kitty! My Kitty!" [Illustration: "KITTY! MY KITTY!" _Page 258_.] "Gaspar!" Their hands closed in a clasp that banished years of separation, and the black eyes searched the blue, questioning for the one sweet answer that rules all the world. There was a swift self-revelation in both hearts; a consciousness that this was what the God who made them had meant from the beginning. With a grave exaltation too deep and too high for words, the pure man and the pure woman came to their destiny and accepted it. Then their hands fell apart, the black Tempest wheeled into place beside the white Snowbird, and, as on a day long in the past, the pair passed swiftly and lightly eastward toward the lakeside village and their home. "Ugh! The Sun Maid has found her mate!" muttered the foremost warrior grimly, and followed with his company at a soberer pace. CHAPTER XIX. THE CROOKED LOG. "I tell you what, Chicago's a-growing. First _we_ come; then Gaspar; then Kitty and him get married; and I go to keeping tavern in the parson's house; and his son, One, goes up north to take a place in Gaspar's business; and Gaspar sends Two and Three east to study law and medicine; and Four and his pa come to board in our tavern; and Osceolo----" "For the land's sake, Abel Smith, do hold your tongue. Here you've got to be as big a talker as old Deacon Slim, that I used to hear about, who begun the minute he woke up and never stopped till his wife tied his mouth shut at night. Even then----" "Mercy, Mercy! Take care. Set me a good example, if you can; but don't go to denying that this is a growin' village." "I've no call to deny it. Why should I? But, say, Abel, just step round to the store, won't you, an' buy me some of that turkey red calico was brought in on the last team from the East. I'd admire to make Kitty a rising sun quilt for her bedroom. 'Twould be so 'propriate, too." "Fiddlesticks! Not a yard of stuff will I ever buy for you to set an' snip, snip, like you used to in the woods. We've got something else to do now. As for Kit, between the Fort folks and the Indians, she's had so many things give her a'ready, she won't have room to put 'em. The idee! Them two children gettin' married. Seems just like play make believe." "Well, there ain't no make believe. It's the best thing 't ever happened to Chicago. Wonderful how they both 'pear to love the old hole in the mud," answered Mercy. "Yes, ain't it? To hear Gaspar talk, you'd think he'd been to Congress, let alone bein' President. All about the 'possibilities of the location,' the 'fertility of the soil,' the 'big canawl,' and the whole endurin' business; why, I tell you, it badgers my wits to foller him." "Wouldn't try, then, if I was you. Poor old wits 'most wore out, any how, and better save what's left for this tavern business. Between you and your fiddle, thinkin' you've got to amuse your guests, I'm about beat out. All the drudgery comes on _me_, same's it always did." "Drudgery, Mercy? Now, come. Take it easy. Hain't Kitty fetched you a couple of squaws to do your steps and dish washin'? All you have to do is to cook and----" "Oh! go along, Abel, and get me that calico. Don't set there till you take root. I ain't a-complainin', an' I 'low I'm as much looked up to here in Chicago without my bedstead as I was in the woods with it." "Looked up to? I should say so. There ain't a woman in the settlement holds her head as top-lofty as you do. And with good reason, I 'low. I don't praise you often, ma, but when I do, I mean it. If you hadn't been smarter 'n the average, and had more gumption to boot, you'd never been asked in to help them army women cook Kitty's weddin' supper. By the way, where are the youngsters now? I hain't seen 'em to-day." "Off over the prairie on their horses, just as they used to be when they were little tackers. I never saw bridal folks like them; from the very first not hangin' round by themselves, but mixing with everybody, same's usual, and beginning right away to do all the good they can with Gaspar's money. Off now to see some folks burned their own barn up----" "W-H-A-T?" demanded Abel, with paling face. "What ails you? A fool of a woman took a lighted candle into her hay loft and ruined herself. That happened the night Gaspar found Kitty; and they call it part of their weddin' tower to go there and lend the farmer the money to replace it. Gaspar was for giving it outright, though he's a shrewd feller too, but Kit wouldn't. 'They aren't paupers, and it would hurt their pride,' she said. 'Lend it to them on very easy terms, and they'll respect themselves and you.'" "Well, of course he done it." "Sure. When a man gets a wife as wise as Kitty he'd ought to hark to her." "I'll go and get the calico now, Mercy," said Abel, and left rather suddenly. At nightfall the young couple rode homeward once more, facing the moonlight that whitened the great lake and touched the homely hamlet beside it with an idealizing beauty; and looking upon it, the Sun Maid recalled her vision concerning it and repeated it to her husband. "Ever since then, my Gaspar, the dream comes back to me in some form or shape. But it is always here, right here, that the crowds gather and the great roar of life sounds in my ears. In some strange way we are to be part of it; part of it all. In the dream I see the tall spires of churches, thick and shouldering one another like the trees in the forest behind us." "But, my darling, you have never seen a church of any sort. How, then, can you dream of them?" "That I don't know, unless it is from the pictures in the good Doctor's books. I have learned so much from the pictures always. But, oh! I wish I could make you know some of the delight I felt when first I could read!" "I do know it, sweetheart. I, too, craved knowledge and dug it out for myself, up there in the northern forests, from the few books that came my way and the rare visit of a man who could teach. The first dollar I had that was all my own I put aside for you. That was the beginning of our fortune. The second I invested in a spelling-book. The study, dear, was all that helped me bear the pain of your death. But you are not dead! Rather the most alive of any human being whom I ever saw." "That is true, Gaspar. I _am_ alive. I just quiver with the force that drives me on from one task to another, from one point reached to one beyond. And now, with you beside me, there is no limit, it seems, to the help we can be to every single person who will come within our reach. Wasn't the woman glad and grateful; and don't you see, laddie, that it is better as I planned? You say you have been penurious, saving every cent not expended for your books and necessaries: and yet, now that you are happy again, you are ready to rush to the other extreme and throw your money away in thoughtless charity." She looked so young, so childlike, in the glimmering moonlight that the tall woodsman laughed. "To hear my little Kit teaching her elders!" "The elders must listen. It is for our home. You must spend every dollar you have, but you must do it in such a way that somebody will be helped. We don't want money, just money, for itself. To hold it that way would make us ignoble. It's the wealth we spend that will make us rich." "Kit, there's some dark scheme afloat in that fair head of yours. Out with it!" "Just for a beginning of things--this: There was a family came to the Fort to-day. The father is a skilled wood-carver. He is not over strong and his wife is frailer than he. They have a lot of little children and he must earn money. It has cost them more than they expected to get as far as this, even, and they should not go farther. Yet he is a man, a master workman. It would be an insult to offer him money. But give him work and you feed his soul as well as his body." "How, my love? Who that dwells in a log cabin needs fine carvings or would appreciate them if they had them?" "Educate them to want and appreciate them. Open a school for just that branch. I myself will be his pupil. I remember with what delight I used to mould Mercy's butter. Well, I've been moulding something ever since." "Your husband, for instance." "He's a little difficult material; but time will improve him! Then there are the Doctor's botanical treatises and specimens. Open a school. If you have to begin with a few only, still _begin_. Lay the seed. From our little workroom and classroom may grow one of those mighty colleges that have made Englishmen great and are making Americans their equals." "Hello there, child! Hold on a bit. Their equals? And you a soldier's daughter!" "Since I am a soldier's daughter, I can afford to be just, and even generous. It is all nonsense, because we have gained our independence, to say we are better than our fathers were. For they were our fathers, surely; and they had had time in their rich country, with their ages of instruction, to grow learned and great. But we Americans are their children, and, just as is already proving, each generation is wiser than the one which went before. So presently we shall be able to do even better than they----" "Give them another dose of Yankee Doodle?" "If they require it, yes. But come back to just right here in this little town. Besides the schools for white children, can't we have those for the Indians?" "No, dear; not here. Not anywhere, I fear, that will ever result in permanent good. At least, the time is not yet ripe for that part of your dreaming to come true." "But think of Wahneenah. She is teachable and there is none more noble. Yet she is an Indian." "She is one, herself. In all her race I have seen none other like her. There is Black Partridge, too, and Gomo, and old Winnemeg. They are exceptions. But, my love, there are, also, the Black Hawk and the Prophet." He did not add his opinion, which agreed with that of the wisest men he knew, that Illinois would know no real prosperity till the savages, which disturbed its peace, were removed from its borders. For she loved them, hoped for them, believed in them; even though her own common sense forced her to agree with him that the time was not ripe then, if it ever would be, for their civilization. So he held his peace and soon they were at home. "Heigho! There are lights in our cabin. Hear me prophesy: Mother Mercy has come over with a roast for our supper and Mother Wahneenah has quietly set it aside to wait until her own is eaten. Ho there within!" he called merrily. "Who breaches our castle when its lord is absent?" Mercy promptly appeared in the doorway. She was greatly excited and hastily led them to the rear of the house, pointing with both hands to an animal fastened behind it. "There's your fine Indian for you! See that?" "Indeed I do!" laughed Kitty. "An ox, Jim, isn't it? with the Doctor's saddle on his back and his botanizing box, and--What does it mean? I knew he was absent-minded, but not like this." "Absent-minded. Absent shucks! That's Osceolo--_that_ is!" in a tone of fiercest indignation. "He's such a crooked log he can't lie still." "Is that his work? He dared not play his tricks on the dear Doctor!" "Yes, it's his'n. The idee! There was Abel went and gave old Dobbin to the parson, to save his long legs some of their trampin' after weeds and stuff and 'cause he was afraid to ride ary other horse in the settlement. And there was Osceolo, that for a feller's hired out to a regular tavern-keeper like us, to be a hostler and such, he don't earn his salt. All the time prankin' round on some tomfoolery. And Abel's just as bad. A man with only two or three little weeny tufts o' hair left on his head and mighty little sense on the inside, at his time of life, a-fiddlin' and cuttin' up jokes, I declare--I declare, I'm beat, and I wish----" "But what is it?" demanded Kitty, bringing her old friend back to facts. "Why, nothing. Only when the dominie came home and stopped here, as he always does after he's been a-prairieing, to show you his truck and dicker, Osceolo happens along and is took smart! The simpleton! Just set old Dobbin scamperin' off back into the grass again and clapped the saddle and tin box and what not on to the ox's back. Spected he'd see the parson come out and mount and never notice. 'Stead of that, along comes Abel--strange how constant he has to visit to your house!--and sees the whole business. Well, he'd caught some sort of a wild animal, and--say, Kitty Briscoe, I mean Keith!--_that Indian'd drink whiskey, if he got a chance_, just as quick as one raised in the woods, instead of one privileged to set under such a saint as the Doctor all his days. I tell you--Well, what you laughing at, Gaspar Keith? Ain't I tellin' the truth?" "Yes, Mother Mercy, doubtless you are. But it isn't so long back, as Abel says, that you objected to 'setting under' the Doctor yourself." "Suppose it wasn't? I didn't know him then, not as I do now. He's orthodox, I found out, and that's all I wanted. But I know what I'm talkin' about. Osceolo, he's always beggin' for Abel to keep liquor: an' we teetotallers! An' he's teased so much that the other day Abel thought he'd satisfy him. So he got an old bottle, looked as if some tipsy Indian had thrown it away, and filled it with a dose of boneset tea. He made a terrible mystery of the whole matter, pretendin' to be sly of me, and took it out from under his coat and gave it to Ossy out behind in the stable, like it was a wonderful secret. Do you know, that Indian hain't never let on a single word about that business yet? Oh! he's a master hand for bein' close-mouthed. They all be. They just _do_--but don't talk." "Mercy, if _you_ were only a little more talkative, you'd be better company!" teased Gaspar, who was eager for the finish of the story and his supper. "Now--you! Well, laugh away. I don't mind. All is, when Abel saw the trick Ossy had played on the Doctor, he plays one on Ossy. He'd caught a queer sort of animal, as I said, and he was fetchin' it to Kit. Everybody brings her everything, from rattlesnakes up. But when he saw that ox, he just opens the tin box and claps the creature inside and then hunts up Ossy. He says: 'There's something in that box pretty suspicious, boy. You might look an' see what 'tis but don't let on.' He's that curiosity, Osceolo has, that he forgot everything else and stuck his hand in sly. I expect he thought it was something to eat, or likely to drink, and he got bit. Hand's all tore and sore, and now Abel's scared and gone off with him to the surgeon at the Fort, and there'll be trouble. Ossy was muttering something about the 'Black Hawk coming and that he'd had enough of the white folks. He was born an Indian, and an Indian he'd die'; and to the land! I hope he will! He makes more mischief in this settlement than you can shake a stick at!" "'It's hard for a bird to get away from its tail,'" quoted Gaspar, lightly. "Osceolo began life wrong and his reputation clings to him. I'll take the saddle off Jim, and let's go in to supper. None of my Sun Maid's tribe is to be feared, I think, no matter how direly they may threaten." Yet the young husband glanced toward his wife with an anxiety that he would not have liked her to see. During the weeks since his return to the village he had learned much more than he had told her of a movement far beyond the Indian encampments she was accustomed to visit, which would bring serious trouble, if not complete disaster, upon their beloved home. Osceolo was the Sun Maid's devoted follower; yet the prank he had played upon the old Doctor, whom she so reverenced, showed that he was already throwing aside the restraints of his enforced civilization; and the sign was ominous. CHAPTER XX. ENEMIES, SEEN AND UNSEEN. But the time passed on and the rumors died away, or ended in nothing more serious than had always disturbed the dwellers in that lonely land. Now and again a friendly, peace-loving chief would ride up to the door of the Sun Maid's home, and, after a brief consultation she would put on her Indian attire and ride back with him across the prairies. As of old, she went with a heart full of love for her Indian friends, but it was not the undivided love that she had once been able to give them. Over her beautiful features had settled the brooding look which wifehood and motherhood gives; and though she listened as attentively as of old and counselled as wisely, she could not for one moment forget the little children waiting for her by her own hearthside or the brave husband who was so often away on his long journeys to the north; and the keen intelligence of the red men perceived this. "She is ours no longer," said a venerable warrior, after one such visit. "She has taken to herself a pale-face, he who met her on the prairie in the morning light, and her heart has gone from her. It is the way of life. The old passes, the new comes to reign. We are her past. Her Dark-Eye is her present. Her papooses are her future. The parting draws near. She is still the Sun Maid, the White Spirit, the Unafraid. As far as the Great Spirit wills, she will be faithful to us; but now when she rides homeward from a visit to our lodge it is no longer at the easy pace of one whose life is all her own, but wildly, swiftly, following her heart which has leaped before." Each morning, nearly, as the Sun Maid ministered to her little ones or busied herself among the domestic duties of her simple home she would joyfully exclaim to Wahneenah: "I don't believe there was ever a woman in the world so happy as I am!" And the Indian foster-mother would gravely reply: "Ask the Great Spirit that the peace may long continue." Till, on one especial day, the younger woman demanded: "Well, why should it not, my Mother? It is now many weeks since I have been called to settle any little quarrel among our people. Surely they are learning wisdom fast. Do you know something? I intend that some of the squaws who are idle shall make my baby, Gaspar the Second, a little costume of our own tribe. It shall be all complete; as if he were a tiny chief himself, with his leggings and head-dress, and--yes, even a little bow and quiver. I'll have it finished, maybe, before his father comes down from this last trip into the far-away woods. Oh! I shall be glad when my 'brave' can trust all his business of mining and fur-buying and lumbering to somebody else. I miss him so. But won't he be pleased with our little lad in feathers and buckskin?" Wahneenah's dark eyes looked keenly at her daughter's face. "No, beloved; he will not be pleased. In his heart of hearts, the white chief was ever the red man's enemy. Me he loves and a few more. But let the White Papoose" (Wahneenah still called her foster-child by the old love names of her childhood) "let the White Papoose hear and remember: the day is near when the Dark-Eye will choose between his friends and the friends of his wife. It is time to prepare. There is a distress coming which shall make of this Chicago a burying-ground. Our Dark-Eye has bought much land. He is always, always buying. Some day he will sell and the gold in his purse will be too heavy for one man's carrying. But first the darkness, the blood, the death. Let him choose now a house of refuge for you and the little children; choose it where there are trees to shelter and water to refresh. Let him build there a tepee large enough for all your needs,--a wigwam, remember, not a house. Let him stock it well with food and clothing and the guns which protect." "Why, Other Mother! What has come over you? Such a dismal prophecy as that is worse than any which old Katasha ever breathed. Are you ill, Wahneenah, dearest?" "There is no sickness in my flesh; yet in my heart is a misery that bows it to the earth. But I warn you. If you would find favor in the eyes of your brave, clothe not his son in the costume of the red man." Kitty was unaccountably depressed. Hitherto she had been able to laugh aside the sometimes sombre auguries of the chief's sister; but now something in the woman's manner made her believe that she knew more than she disclosed of some impending disaster. However, it was not in her nature, nor did she believe it right, that she should worry over vague suggestions. So she answered once more before quite dismissing the subject: "Well, we were already discussing the comfort of having another home out in the forest, and Abel has suggested that we build it on the land which was his farm and which Gaspar has bought. We both liked that; to have our own children play where we played as children. I want my little ones to learn about the wild things of the woods, and the dear old Doctor is still alive to teach them. You will like it, too, Other Mother. When the days grow hot and long we will ride to the 'Refuge'; and I think the wigwam idea is better, after all, than the house; though I do not know what my husband will decide." "Before the days grow long, the 'Refuge' must be finished, and the earlier the better. It is rightly named, my daughter, and the time is ripe." Ere many hours had passed, and most unexpectedly to his wife, Gaspar returned. In the first happiness of welcoming him she did not observe that his face was stern and troubled; but she did notice, when bedtime came, that he did what had never before been done in their home: he locked or bolted the doors and stoutly barred the heavy wooden shutters. He had also brought Osceolo with him, from Abel's tavern, and had peremptorily bidden the Indian to "Lie there!" pointing to a heap of skins on the floor beside the fire. Toward morning Kitty woke. To her utter amazement, she saw in her living room her Gaspar and Osceolo engaged in what seemed a battle to the death. Then she sprang up and ran toward them, but her husband motioned her back. [Illustration: OSCEOLO AND GASPAR. _Page 276_.] "Leave him to me. I'll fix him so that he'll do no more mischief for the present." "But, Gaspar! What is it?" "Treachery, as usual. Get into your clothes, my girl, and call Wahneenah. Let the children be dressed,--warmly, for the air is cool and we may have to leave suddenly." "_What_ is it?" "An outbreak! The settlers are flocking into the Fort in droves. Black Hawk and his followers have come too close for comfort. This miserable fellow has been tampering with the stores. He couldn't get at the ammunition, but he's done all the evil he could. I caught him hobnobbing with a low Sac; a spy, I think. There. He's bound, and now I'll fasten him in the wood-shed. He knows too much about this town to be left in freedom." Yet, after all, they did not have to flee from home, as Gaspar had feared, though the Sun Maid put on her peace dress and unbound her glorious hair, ready at any moment to ride forth and meet the Indians and to try her powers of promoting good-feeling. The Snowbird stood saddled for many days: yet it was only upon errands of hospitality and charity that he was needed. Gaspar, however, was always in the saddle. When he was not riding far afield, scouting the movements of the Black Hawk forces, he was searching the countryside for provisions and himself guiding the wagons that brought in the scant supplies. One evening he returned more cheerful than he had seemed for many days and exclaimed as he tossed aside his cap: "This has been a good trip, for two reasons." "What are they, dear?" "Starvation is staved off for a while and the Indians are evidently in grave doubts of their own success in this horrid war." "Starvation, Gaspar? Has it been as bad as that?" "Pretty close to it. But I've found a couple of men who had about a hundred and fifty head of cattle, and they've driven them here into the stockade. As long as they last, we shall manage. The other good thing is--that the Black Hawks are sacrificing to the Evil Spirit." "They are! That shows they are hopeless of their own success." "Certainly very doubtful of it. It is the dog immolation. I saw one instance myself and met a man who had come from the southwest. He has passed them at intervals of a day's journey; always the same sort. The wretched little dog, fastened just above the ground, the nose pointing straight this way and the fire beneath." "Oh, Gaspar, it's dreadful!" "That they are discouraged? Kit, you don't mean that?" "No. No, no! You know better. But that they are such--such heathen!" Another voice broke in upon them: "Heathen! Heathen, you say? Well, if ever you was right in your life, you're right now. I never saw such folks. Here I've been cookin' and cooking till I'm done clean through myself; and in there's come another lot, just as hungry as t'others. Dear me, dear me! Why in the name of common sense couldn't I have stayed back there in the woods, and not come trapesing to Chicago to turn head slave for a lot of folks that act as if I'd ought to be grateful for the chance to kill myself a-waitin' on them. And say, Gaspar Keith, have you heard the news? When did you get home?" It was Mercy, of course, who had rushed excitedly into the house, yet had been able to rattle off a string of sentences that fairly took her hearers' breath away, if not her own. But Kitty was at her side at once, tenderly removing the great sun-bonnet from the hot gray head and offering a fan of turkey wings, gayly decorated with Indian embroideries of beads and weavings. "No, Kit. No, you needn't. Not while I know myself; there ain't never no more red man's tomfoolery going to be around me! Take that there Indian contraption away. I'd rather have a decent, honest cabbage-leaf any day. I'm beat out. My, ain't it hot!" "Yes, dear, it is awfully hot. Sit here in the doorway, in this big chair, and get what little breeze there is. Here's another fan, which I made myself; plain, good Yankee manufacture. Try that. Then, when you get cooled off, tell us your 'news.'" "Cooled off? That I sha'n't never be no more; not while I've got to cook for all creation." "Mother Mercy, Mother Mercy! You are a puzzler. You won't let the people go anywhere else than to your house as long as there's room to squeeze another body in; and----" "Ain't it the tavern?" "Of course. But people who keep taverns usually take pay for entertaining their guests." "Gaspar Keith! You say that to me, after the raisin' I gave you? The idee! When not a blessed soul of the lot has got a cent to bless himself with." "But I have cents, plenty of them; and I want you to let me bear this expense for you. I insist upon it." "Well, lad, I always did think you was a little too sharp after the money. But I didn't 'low you'd begrudge folks their _blessings_, too." "Blessings? Aren't you complaining about so much hard work, and haven't you the right? I know that no private family has cared for so many as you have, and----" "Oh, do drop that! I tell you _I_ ain't a private family; I'm a tavern. Oh! I don't know what I am nor what I'm sayin'. I--I reckon I'm clean beat and tuckered out." "So you are, dear. But rest and I'll make you a cup of tea. If you leave those people to themselves and they get hungry again they'll cook _for_ themselves. They'll have to. But to a good many of these refugees this is a sort of picnic business. They have left their homes, it's true; but they haven't seen so many human faces in years and----" "They haven't had such a good time! I noticed that. They seemed as bright as children at a frolic. Well, we ought to help them get what fun they can out of so serious a matter," commented Gaspar. "Serious! I should say so. That's what sent me here. Abel, he was on the wharf, and he says the ships are coming down the lake full of soldiers; and what with them and the folks already here and only a hundred and fifty head to feed 'em with, and some of these refugees eat as much as ary parson I ever saw, and the old Doctor trying to preach to 'em, sayin' it's the best opportunity--my land! The way some folks can get sweet out of bitter is a disgrace, I declare. And as for that Ossy, the dirty scamp, he's broke more dishes, washing them, than I've got left. And I run over to see if you'd let me have ary dish you've got, or shall I give 'em their stuff right in their hands? And how long have I got to go on watchin' that wild Osceolo? I wish you'd take him back and shut him up in your wood-shed again." "But, Mother Mercy, it was you who begged his release. And I'm sure it's better for him in your kitchen, working, than lying idle in an empty building, plotting mischief. Hello, here's Abel. And he seems as excited as--as you were," said Gaspar. "Glory to government, youngsters! The military is coming! The General's in sight! Now hooray! We'll show them pesky red-skins a thing or two. If they ain't wiped clean out of existence this time my name's Jack Robinson. Say, Kit, don't look so solemn. Likely they'll know enough to give up licked without getting shot; and they're nothin' but Indians, any how." The Sun Maid came softly across and held up her little son to be admired. Her face was grave and her lips silent. All this talk of war and bloodshed was awful to her gentle heart, that was torn and distracted with grief for both her white and her red-faced friends. But there was only grim satisfaction on the countenance of her young husband; and he turned to Abel, demanding: "Are you sure that this good news is true? Are the soldiers coming? Who saw them?" "I myself, through the commandant's spy-glass. They're aboard the ships, and I could almost hear the tune of _Yankee Doodle_. They're bound to rout the enemy like chain lightning. Hooray!" The soldiers were coming indeed; but alas! an enemy was coming with them far more deadly than the Indians they meant to conquer. CHAPTER XXI. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. "Oh, Kit; I can't bear to leave you behind! It breaks my old heart all to flinders!" lamented Abel, laboriously climbing into the great wagon which Jim and Pete were now to draw back to their old home and wherein were already seated Mercy, with Kitty's children. "If it wasn't for these babies of yourn, I'd never stir stick nor stump out this afflicted town." "Well, dear Abel, the babies _are_, and must be cared for. I know that you and Mother Mercy will spoil them with kindness; but I hope we'll soon be all together again. Good-by, good-by." The Sun Maid's voice did not tremble nor the light in her brave face grow dim, though her heart was nearer breaking than Abel's; in that she realized far more keenly than he the peril in which she was voluntarily placing herself. "Well, Kitty, lamb, do take care. Take the herb tea constant and keep your feet dry." "That will be easy to do, if this heat remains," answered the other quietly, looking about her as she spoke upon the sun-parched ground and the hot, brazen sky. "And you must not worry, any of you. Gaspar says the tepees are as comfortable as the best log cabins, though so hastily put up. You will have plenty of air and the delicious shade of the trees; the blessed spring water, too; and if you don't keep well and be as happy as kittens, I--I'll be ashamed of you. I declare, Mercy dear, your face is all a-beam with the thought of the old clearing, and the bleaching ground, and all. So you needn't try to look grave, for, as soon as we can, Wahneenah and I will follow." Then she turned to speak to Gaspar, who sat on Tempest close at hand, his handsome face pale with anxiety and divided interests, but stern and resolute to do his duty as his young wife had shown it to him. And what these two had to say to one another is not for others to hear; for it was a parting unto death, it might be, and the hearts of the twain were as one flesh. Also, if Mercy's face was alight with the glow of her home returning, it was moved by the sight of the two women--Wahneenah and her daughter--who were taking their lives in their hands for the service of their fellow-men. Never had the Indian woman's comeliness shown to such advantage; and her bearing was of one who neither belittled nor overrated the dignity of the self-sacrifice she was making. She wore a white cotton gown, which draped rather than fitted her tall figure, and about her dark head was bound a white kerchief that seemed a crown. With an impulse foreign to her, Mercy held out her hand; because in ordinary she "hated an Indian on sight." "Well, Wahneeny, I'd like to shake hands for good-by. There hain't never been no love lost 'twixt you an' me, but I 'low I might have been more juster than I was. I think you're--you're as good as ary white women I ever see, savin' our Kit, of course; an'--an'--I--I wish you well." There was a moment's hesitation on Wahneenah's part; then her slim brown hand was extended and closed upon Mercy's fat palm with a friendly pressure. "In the light of the Unknown Beyond, the little hates and loves of earth must disappear. You have judged according to the wisdom that was in you, and if I bore you a grudge, it is forgotten. Farewell." Then the foster-mother slipped her arm about the waist of her beloved Sun Maid and supported her firmly as the oxen moved slowly forward, the heavy wheels creaking and the three children shouting and clapping their hands in innocent glee, quite unconscious of the tragedy of the parting they had witnessed. Abel gee-ed and haw-ed indiscriminately and confusingly, then belabored his patient beasts because they did not understand conflicting orders. Mercy sat twisted around upon the buffalo-covered seat, her arms holding each a child as in a vise and her neck in danger of dislocation, as long as her swimming eyes could catch one glimpse of the two white-robed women left on the dusty road. "They look as pure as some them Sisters of Charity I've seen in Boston city. And they won't spare themselves no more, neither. Poor Gaspar boy! How'll he ever stand it without his Kit, and if--ah, if--she should catch--Oh, my soul! oh--my--soul! I wonder if he's takin' it terrible hard!" But though she brought her body back to a normal poise, her morbid curiosity was doomed to disappointment, for Tempest had already borne his master out of sight at a mad pace across the prairie. The enemy which had come with the infantry over the great water was the most terrible known,--a disease so dread and devastating that men turned pale at the mere mention of its name--the Asiatic cholera. When it appeared, the garrison was crowded with the settlers who had fled before the anticipated attacks of the Indians and, as has been said, every roof in the community sheltered all it could cover. But when the soldiers began to die by dozens and scores the refugees were terrified. Death by the hand of the red man was possible, even probable; but death of the pestilence was certain. The town was now emptied far more rapidly than it had filled; and early in this new disaster Gaspar had hastened to the old clearing of the Smiths and had made Osceolo, aided by a few more frightened, willing men, toil with himself to erect wigwams enough to accommodate many persons. He had then returned for his household and had been met by his wife's first resistance to his will. "No, Gaspar, I cannot go. I have no fear. I am perfectly 'sound.' Probably no healthier woman ever lived than I am. I have learned much of nursing from Wahneenah, and my place, my duty, is here. I cannot go." "Kit! my Kitty! Are you beside yourself? Where is your duty, if not to me and to our children?" "Here, my husband, right here; in our beloved town, among the lonely strangers who have come to save it from destruction and have laid their lives at our feet." "That is sheer nonsense. Your life is at stake." "Is my life more precious than theirs?" "Yes. Infinitely so. It is mine." "It is God's--and humanity's--first, Gaspar." "Your children, then; if you scorn my wishes." "Don't make it hard for me, beloved; harder than God Himself has made it. Do you take Mother Mercy and Abel and go to the place you have prepared. The children will be as safe with her as with me; safer, for she will watch them constantly, while I believe in leaving them to grow by themselves. Between them and us you may come and go--up to a certain point; but not to the peril of your taking the disease. The Indians are no less on the war-path because the cholera has come. _Your_ duty is afield, guarding, watching, preventing all the evil that a wise man can. Mine is here, using the skill I have learned from Wahneenah and faithfully at her side." "Wahneenah? Does she wish to stay too; to nurse the pale-faces, the men who have come here to fight her own race?" "Yes, Gaspar, she is just so noble. Can I do less? I, with my education, which the dear Doctor has given me, and my youth, my perfect health, my entire fearlessness. You forget, sweetheart; I am the Unafraid. Never more unafraid than now, never more sure that we will come out of this trouble as we have come out of every other. Why, dear, don't you remember old Katasha and her prophecy? I am to be great and rich and beneficent. I am to be the helper of many people. Well, then, since I am not great, and rich only through you, let me begin at the last end of the prophecy, and be beneficent. Wait; even now there is somebody coming toward us asking me for help." "Kit, I can't have it. I won't. You are my wife. You shall obey me. You shall stop talking nonsense. You may as well understand. Pick together what duds you need and let's get off as soon as possible. Every hour here is fresh danger. Come. Please hurry." But she did not hurry, not in the least. Indeed, had she followed her heart wholly, she would never have hastened one degree toward the end she had elected. But she followed it only in part; so she stole quietly up to where the man fumed and flustered and clasped her arms about his neck and laid her beautiful face against his own. "Love: this is not our first separation, nor our longest. Many a month have you been away from me, up there in the north, getting money and more money, till I hated its very name,--only that I knew we could use it for others. In that, and in most things, I will obey you as I have. In this I must obey the voice of God. Life is better than money, and to save life or to comfort death is the price of this, our last separation." After that he said no more; but recognizing the nobility of her effort, even though he still felt it mistaken, and with a credulous remembrance of Katasha's saying, he made her preparations and his own without delay and parted from her as has been told. "Well, my dear Other Mother, there is one thing to comfort! Hard as it was to see them all go, we shall have no time to brood. And we shall be together. Let us get on now to our work. There were five new cases this morning; and time flies! Oh, if I were wiser and knew better what to do for such a sickness! The best we can--that's all." "What the Great Spirit puts into our hands, that we can always lift," replied Wahneenah, and, with her arm still about her darling's waist, they walked together Fortward. It may be that in the Indian's jealous, if devoted, heart there was just a tinge of thankfulness for even an evil so dire, since it gave her back her "White Papoose" quite to herself again. "Well, I can watch her all I choose, and no burden shall fall to her share that I can spare her. The easy part--the watching and the soothing and the Bible reading--that shall be hers. Mine will be the coarsest tasks," she thought, and--as Gaspar had done--reckoned without her host. "It is turn and turn about, Other Mother, or I will drive you out of the place," Kitty declared; and after a few useless struggles, which merely wasted the time that should have been given their patients, it was so settled; and so continued during the dreadful weeks that followed. Until just before midsummer the nurses were almost wholly at the Fort, where it seemed to Kitty that a "fresh case" and a "burial" alternated with the regularity of a pendulum; and then a little relief was gained by taking their sick across to Agency House and its ampler accommodations. But even these were meagre compared to the needs; and more and more as the days went by did the Sun Maid long for greater wisdom. "That is one of the things Gaspar and I must do. We must have a regular hospital, such as are in Eastern cities; and there must be men and women taught to understand all sorts of diseases and how to care for them. I know so little--so little." But experience taught more than schools could have done; and many a poor fellow who had come from a far-away home sank to his last rest with greater confidence because of the ministrations of these two devoted women. And at last, very suddenly, there appeared one among them whom both Wahneenah and her daughter recognized with a sinking heart. "Doctor! Oh, Doctor Littlejohn! I thought you were safe at the 'Refuge' with Mercy and Abel. How came you here? and why? You must go away at once. You must, indeed. Where is the horse you rode?" "I rode no horse, my dear. If I had asked for one, I should have been prevented,--even forcibly, I fear. So I walked." "Walked? In this heat, all that distance? Will you tell me why?" But already, before it was spoken, the Sun Maid guessed the answer. "Because, at length, through all the shifting talk about me, it penetrated to my study-dulled brain that there was a need more urgent than that the Indian dialects should be preserved; that I, a minister of the gospel, was letting a woman take the duty, the privilege, that was mine. I have come, daughter of my old age, to encourage the sufferers you relieve and bury the dead you cannot save." "But--for _you_, in your feebleness----" He held up his thin white hand that trembled as an aspen leaf. "It is enough, my dear. Consider all is said. I heard a fresh groan just then. Somebody needs you--or me." Wahneenah now had two to watch, and she did it jealously, at the cost of the slight rest she had heretofore allowed herself. The result of overstrain, in the midst of such infection, was inevitable. One evening she crept languidly toward the empty house which had been her darling's home and behind which still stood her own deserted lodge. She was a little wearier than usual, she thought, but that was all. To lie down on her bed of boughs and draw her own old blanket over her would make her sleep. She longed to sleep--just for a minute; to shut out from her eyes and her thoughts the scenes through which she had gone. How long ago was it since the wagon and the fair-haired babies went away? She was a little confused. She was falling asleep, though, despite the agony that tortured her. _Her?_ She had always hated pain and despised it. It couldn't be Wahneenah, the Happy, crouching thus, in a cramped and becrippled attitude. It was some other woman,--some woman she had used to know. Why, there was her warrior: her own! And the son she had lost! And now--what was this in the parting of the tent curtains? The moonlight made mortal? No. Not a moon-born but a sun-born maiden she, who stooped till her white garments swept the earth and her beautiful, loving face was close, close. Even the glazing eyes could see how wondrously fair it was in the sight of men and spirits. Even the dulled ears could catch that agonized cry: "Wahneenah! Wahneenah! My Mother! Bravest and noblest! and yet--a savage!" "Who called her so knew not of what he spake. From one God we all came and unto Him we must return. Blessed be His Name!" answered the clergyman who had followed. Then the frail man, who had so little strength for himself, was given power to lift the broken-hearted Maid and carry her away into a place of safety. CHAPTER XXII. GROWING UP. "Well, I'm beat! I don't know what to do with myself. Out there to the clearing I was just crazy wild to get back to town; and now I'm here I'm nigh dead with plumb lonesomeness. My, my, my! Indians licked out of their skins, about, and cleared out the whole endurin' State. Old Black Hawk marched off to the East to be shown what kind of a nation he'd bucked up against, the simpleton! And Osceolo takin' himself and his pranks, with his tribe, clear beyond the Mississippi; an' me an' ma lived through watchin' them little tackers of Kit's--oh, hum! I'd ought to take some rest; but somehow I 'low I can't seem to." Mercy looked up from the unbleached sheet she was hemming and smiled grimly. "Give it up, pa. Give it up. I've been a-studyin' this question, top and bottom crust and through the inside stuffin', and I sum it this way: _It's in the soil!_" "What's in the soil? The shakes? or the homesickness when a feller's right to home? or what in the land do you mean?" "The restlessness. The something that gets inside your mind and keeps you movin'. I've noticed it in everybody ever come here. Must be doin'; can't keep still; up an' at it, till a body's clean wore an' beat out. Me, for one. Here I've no more need to hem sheets than I have to make myself a pink satin gown, which I never had nor hope to have even----" "The idee! I should hope not, indeed. You in a pink satin gown, ma; 'twould be scandalous!" "Didn't I say I wasn't thinkin' of gettin' one, even so be I could, in this hole in the mud? I was talkin' about Chicago. It ain't a town to brag of, seein' there ain't two hundred left in it after the ravagin' of the cholera; an' yet I don't know ary creature, man, woman, or child, ain't goin' to plannin' right away for something to be done. I've heard more talk of improvements and hospitals and schools an' colleges and land knows what more truck an' dicker--Pshaw! It takes my breath away." "It does mine, ma." "Well,--_that's_ Chicago! You can always tell by a child when it's a baby what it's goin' to be when it's a man. Chicago's a baby now, an' a mighty puny one, too; but it's kickin' like a good feller, an' it's gettin' strong; an', first you know, folks will be pourin' in here faster 'n the Indians or cholera carried 'em off, ary one." "Them ain't your own idees; they're Gaspar's and Kit's. He's gone right to work, an' so has she; layin' out buildin' sites an' sendin' East for any poor man that's had hard luck and wants to begin all over again. Say--do you know--I--believe--that our Gaspar writes for the newspapers. _Our Gaspar, ma! Newspapers! Out East!_" "Well, I don't know why he shouldn't. Didn't I raise him?" "Where do I come in, Mercy?" "Wherever you can catch on, Abel. The best place I can see for you to take hold is to start in an' build a new tavern,--a tavern big enough to swing a cat in. Then I'll have a place to keep my sheets an' it'll pay me to go and make 'em." "How'd you know what was in my mind, Mercy?" "Easy enough. Ain't I been makin' stirabout for you these forty years? Don't I know the size of your appetite? Can't I cal'late the size of your mind the same way? Why, Abel, I can tell by the way you brush your wisps----" "Ma, I'll send East an' buy me a wig. I 'low when a man's few hairs can tattle his inside thoughts to the neighbors, it's time I took a stand." "Well, I think you might 's well. I think you'd look real becomin' in a wig. I'd get it red and curly if I was you; and you'd ought to wear a bosomed shirt every day. You really had." "Mercy Smith! Are you out your head?" "No. But when a man's the first tavern-keeper in this risin' town he ought to dress to fit his station. I always did like you best in your dickeys." "Shucks! I'll wear one every day." "I'm goin' to give up homespun. Calico's a sight prettier an' we can afford it. We're real forehanded now, Abel." "Hello! Here comes Kit. Let's ask her about the tavern. She's got more sense in her little finger than most folks have in their whole bodies. She's a different woman than she was before Wahneeny died. I shall always be glad you an' her was reconciled when you parted. Hum, hum. Poor Wahneeny! Poor old Doctor! Well, it can't be very hard to die when folks are as good as they was. Right in the line of duty, too." "Yes, Abel; but all the same I'm satisfied to think _our_ duty laid out in the woods, takin' care Kit's children, 'stead of here amongst the sickness. Wonderful, ain't it, how our girl came through?" "She'll come through anything, Sunny Maid will; right straight through this open door into her old Father Abel's arms, eh? Well, my dear, what's the good word? How's Gaspar and the youngsters?" "Well, of course. We are never ill; but, Mother Mercy, I heard you were feeling as if you hadn't enough to do. I came in to see about that. It's a state of things will never answer for our Chicago, where there is more to be done than people to do it. Didn't you say you had a brother out East who was a miller?" "Yes, of course. Made money hand over fist. He's smarter 'n chain lightning, Ebenezer is, if I do say it as hadn't ought to, bein' I'm his sister." "Well, I'd like his address. Gaspar wants him here. We must have mills. The idea of our using hand-mills and such expedients to get our flour and meal is absurd for these days." "Pshaw, Kit! 'Tain't long since I had to ride as far as fifty miles to get my grist ground, and when I got there there'd be so many before me, I'd have to wait all night sometimes. 'First come first served' is a miller's saying, and they did feel proud of the row of wagons would be hitched alongside their places. I----" "Come, Abel, don't reminisce. If there's one thing more tryin' to a body's patience than another, it's hearin' about these everlastin' has-beens." Abel threw back his head and laughed till the room rang. "Hear her, my girl! Just hear her! That's ma! That's Mercy! She's caught the fever, or whatever 'tis, that ails this town. She's got no more time to hark back. It's always get up and go ahead. What you think? She's advising me to build a new tavern. _Me! Mercy_ advising it! What do you think of that?" "That it's a capital idea. We shall need it. We shall need more than one tavern if all goes well. And it will. Now that the Indians are gone forever,"--here Kitty breathed a gentle sigh,--"the white people are no longer afraid. They have heard of our wonderful country and our wonderful location,--right in the heart of the continent, with room on every side to spread and grow eternally, indefinitely." "Kitty, I sometimes think you an' Gaspar are a little _off_ on the subject of your native town; for 'twasn't his'n; seein' what a collection of disreputable old houses an' mud holes an' sloughs of despond there's right in plain sight. But you seem to think something's bound to happen and you two'll be in the midst of it." The Sun Maid laughed, as merrily as in the old days, and answered promptly: "_I've_ never found any sloughs of despond and something _is_ bound to happen. Katasha's dreams, or prophecies, whichever they were, are to come true. There is something in the very air of our lake-bordered, wind-swept prairie that attracts and exhilarates, and binds. That's it,--_binds_. Once a dweller here by this great water, a man is bound to return to it if he lives. Those soldiers who have gone away from us, a mere handful, so to speak, will spread the story of our beautiful land and will come again--a legion. It is our dream that this little pestilence-visited hamlet will one day be one of the marvels of the world; that to it will assemble people from all the nations, to whom it will be an asylum, a home, and a treasure-house for every sort of wealth and wisdom. In my fancies I can see them coming, crowding, hastening; as in reality I shall some day see them, and not far off. And in the name of all that is young and strong and glorious--I bid them welcome!" She stood in the open doorway and the sunlight streamed through it, irradiating her wonderful beauty. The two old people, types of the past, regarded her transfigured countenance with feelings not unmixed with awe, and after a moment Abel spoke: "Well, well, well! Kitty, my girl. Hum, hum! You yourself seem all them things you say. Trouble you've had, an' sorrow; the sickness an' Wahneeny; an' growin' up, an' love affairs; an' motherhood, an' all; yet there you be, the youngest, the prettiest, the hopefullest, the courageousest creature the Lord ever made. What is it, child; what is it makes you so different from other folks?" "Am I different, dear? Well, Mother Mercy, yonder, is looking mystified and troubled. She doesn't half like my prophetic moods, I know. I merely came, for Gaspar, to inquire about the miller. But I like your own idea of the new tavern, and you should begin it right away. Gaspar will lend you the money if you need it; and if you have time for more sheets than these, Mercy dear, I'll send you over some pieces of finer muslin and you might begin on a lot for our hospital." "Your hospital? 'Tain't even begun nor planned." "Oh, yes, it is planned. From my own experience and from books I can guess what we will need. But there are doctors and nurses coming after a time--There, there, dear. I will stop. I won't look ahead another step while I'm here. But--it's coming--all of it!" she finished gayly, as she turned from the doorway and passed down the forlorn little street. Was it "in the air," as the Sun Maid protested, that indomitable courage and faith to do and dare, to plan, to begin, and to achieve? Certain it is that in five years from that morning when Kitty Keith had lingered in Mercy's doorway foretelling the future some, at least, of her prophecies had materialized. Where then had been but two hundred citizens were now more than twenty times that number. The "crowding" had begun; and there followed years upon years of wonderful growth; wherein Gaspar's cool head and shrewd business tact and ever-deepening purse were always to the fore, at the demand of all who needed either. In an unswerving singleness of purpose, he devoted his energy and his ambition toward making his beloved home, as far as in him lay, the leading home and mart of all the civilized world. And the Sun Maid walked steadfastly by his side, adding to his efforts and ambitions the sympathy of her great heart and cultured, ever-broadening womanhood. Thus passed almost a quarter-century of years so full and peaceful that nothing can be written of them save the one word--happy. Yet at the end of this long time, wherein Abel and Mercy had quietly fallen on sleep and "Kit's little tackers" had grown up to be themselves fathers and mothers, the Sun Maid's joy was rudely broken. Not only hers, but many another's; for a drumbeat echoed through the land, and the sound was as a death-knell. Kitty looked into her husband's face and shivered. For the first time in all his memory of her the Unafraid grew timid. "Oh, Gaspar! War? Civil War! A family quarrel, of all quarrels the most bitter and deadly. God help us!" CHAPTER XXIII. HEROES. The Sun Maid's gaze into her husband's face was a prolonged and questioning one. Before it was withdrawn she had found her answer. There was still a silence between them, which she broke at last, and it touched him to see how pale she had become and yet how calm. "You are going, Gaspar?" "Yes, my love; I am going. Already I have pledged my word, as my arm and my purse." "But, my dear, do you consider? We are growing old, even we, who have never yet had time to realize it--till now. There are younger men, plenty of them. Your counsels at home----" "Would be empty words as compared to my example in the field. The young of heart are never old. Besides, do you remember that once, against my stubborn will, you resisted for duty's sake? We have never regretted it, not for a day. More than that, when our first-born came to us, do you remember how we clasped his tiny hand and resolved always to lead it onward to the right? _Lead_ it, sweetheart. We vowed never to say to him: 'Go!' to this or that high duty; but rather, still holding fast to him, say: 'Come.' There is such a wide, wide difference between the two." Then, indeed, again she trembled. The mother love shook her visibly and a secret rejoicing died a sudden death. "'Come,' you say. But they are not here, in our own unhappy land. Gaspar in Europe, Winthrop in South America, and Hugh in Japan. They are better so." "Are they better there? You will be the first to say 'no' when this shock passes. A telegram will summon each as easily as we could call them from that other room--supposing that they, your sons, wait for the call. But they'll not. I know them and trust them. They are already on the railways and steamships that will bring them fastest; and it will truly be the 'Come with me!' that we elected, for we shall all march together." So they did; and it was the Sun Maid herself, standing proudly among her daughters and daughters-in-law, yet more beautiful than any, who fastened the last glittering button over each manly breast and flicked away an imaginary mote from the spotless uniforms. Then she stood aside and let them go; two by two, "step," "step"--as if in echo to the first sound which had greeted her own baby ear. But as they passed out of sight, transgressing military discipline Gaspar turned; and once more the black eyes and the blue read in each other's depths the unfathomable love that filled them. Then he was gone and the younger Gaspar's wife lifted to her own aching bosom the form that had sunk unconscious at her feet. For the too prescient heart of the Sun Maid had pierced the future and she knew what would befall her. Yet before the gray shadow had quite left her face she rallied and again smiled into the anxious countenances bending over her. "Now, my dears, how foolish I was and how wasteful of precious time! There is so much to be done for them and for ourselves. Gaspar's business must not suffer, nor Son's (as she always called her eldest), nor his brothers'. There are new hospitals to equip and nurses to secure. Alas! there should be a Home made ready, even so soon, for the widows and orphans of our soldiers. Let us organize into a regular band of workers; just ourselves, as systematically as your father has trained us to believe is best. There are six of us, a little army of supplies and reinforcements. Though, Honoria, my daughter, shall I count upon you?" "Surely, Mother darling, though not here. Thanks to the hospital course you let me enjoy, I can follow my father and brothers to the front. I am a trained nurse, you know, and some will need me there." The Sun Maid caught her breath with a little gasp. Then again she smiled. "Of course, Honoria; if you wish it. It is only one more to give; yet you will be in little danger and your father in so much the less because of your presence. Now let us apportion the other duties and set about them." This was quickly done; and to the mother herself remained the assumption of all monetary affairs in her husband's private office in their last new home; where, when they had removed to it, she had inquired: "Why such a palace, Gaspar, for two plain, simple folk like you and me? It is big enough for a barrack, and those great empty 'blocks' on every side remind me of our old days in Mercy's log cabin among the woods." "I like it, dear. There will be room in this big house to entertain guests of every rank and station as they should be entertained in our dear city. These empty squares about us shall keep their old trees intact, but the grounds shall be beautified by the highest landscape art, to which the full view of our grand lake will give crowning charm. When we have done with it all we will give it to the little children for a perpetual playground. Even the proposed new enlargement of the city limits will hardly encroach upon us here." "But it will, Gaspar, it surely will! When I hark back, as Abel used to say, I find Katasha's prophecies and my old dreams more than fulfilled. But the end is not yet, nor soon." Now that her daughters were scattered to their various points of usefulness and the Sun Maid was left alone with Hugh's one motherless child--another Kitty--the great house seemed more empty than ever; and its brave mistress resolved to people it with something more substantial and needy than memories. So she gathered about her a host to whom the cruel war had brought distress of one form or another; while out among the trees of the park she erected a great barrack, fitted with every aid to comfort and convalescence. This, like the mansion, was speedily filled, and the "Keith Rest" became a household word throughout the land. The war which wise folk augured at its beginning, would be over in a few days dragged its weary length into the months, and though for a time there were many and cheerful letters, these ceased suddenly at the last, giving place to one brief telegram from Honoria: "Mother, my work here is ended. I am bringing home your heroes--four." Upon the hearth-rug, Kitty the younger, lay stretched at her ease, toying with the sharp nose of her favorite collie. She had the Sun Maid's own fairness of tint and the same wonderful hair; but her eyes were dark as her grandsire Gaspar's and saw many things which they appeared not to see; for instance, that one of the numerous telegrams her busy grandmother was always receiving had been read and dropped upon the floor. Yet this was a common circumstance, and though she felt it her duty to rise and return the yellow paper to the hand which had held it, she delayed a moment, enjoying the warmth and ease. Then Bruce, the collie, sat up and whined,--dolefully, and so humanly, it seemed, that the girl also sprang up, demanding: "Why, Bruce, old doggie, what do you hear? What makes you look so queer?" Then her own gaze followed the collie's to her grandmother's face and her scream echoed through all the house. "Grandmother! My darling Grandmother! Are you--are you dead--dying--what----" She picked up the telegram and read it, and her own happy young heart faltered in its rhythm. "Oh! awful! 'Bringing'--those precious ones who cannot come of themselves. This will kill her. I believe it will kill even me." But it did neither. After a space the rigidity left the Sun Maid's figure and her staring eyes that had been gazing upon vacancy resumed intelligence. Rising stiffly from her seat, she put the younger Kit aside, yet very gently and tenderly, because of all her race this was the dearest. Had not the child Gaspar's eyes? "My girl, you will know what to do. I am going to my chamber, and must be undisturbed." Then she passed out of the cheerful library into that "mother's room," where her husband and her sons had gathered about her so often and so fondly and in which she had bestowed upon each her farewell and especial blessing. As the portiere fell behind her it seemed to her that already they came hurrying to greet her, and softly closing the door she shut herself in from all the world with them and her own grief. For the first time in all her life the Sun Maid considered her own self before another; and for hours she remained deaf to young Kitty's pleading: "Let me come in, Grandmother. Let me come in. I am as alone as you--it was my father, too, as well as your son!" It was the dawn of another day before the door did open and the mourner came out. Mourner? One could hardly call her that; for, though the beautiful face was colorless and the eyes heavy with unshed tears, there was a rapt, exalted look upon it which awed the grandchild into silence. Yet for the first time she was startled by the thought: "We have lived together as if we were only elder and younger sister, for she has had the heart of a child. But now I see--she is, indeed, my grandmother--and she is growing old." "Let all things be done decently and in order when Gaspar and the boys come home," was all the direction the Sun Maid gave, and it was well fulfilled. Yet, because she could not bear to be far apart from them, she sat out the hours of watching in the little ante-room adjoining the great parlor where her heroes lay in state, while all Chicago gathered to do them reverence. There was none could touch her grief, not one. It was too deep. It benumbed even herself. Perhaps in all the land, during all that dreadful time, there was no person so afflicted as she, who had lost four at a blow. But she rose from her sorrow with that buoyant faith and hopefulness which nothing could for long depress. "There is unfinished work to do. Gaspar left it when he went away, knowing I would take it up for him if he could never do it for himself. There is no time in life for unavailing sorrow. Come, Kitty, child. Others have their dead to bury, let us go forth and comfort them." Obedient Kitty went, her thoughts full of wonder and admiration: "By massacre, famine, pestilence, and the sword! How has my dear 'Sun Maid' been chastened, and how beautifully she has come through it all! She could not have been half so lovely as a girl, when Grandfather met and wooed her that morning on the prairie. I wonder have her trials ended? or are there more in store before she is made perfect? I cannot think of anything still which could befall her, unless I die or her beloved city come to ruin. Well, I'll walk with her, hand in hand, and if I live, I'll be as like her as I can." CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION. "What shall we do to celebrate your birthday, my child?" asked Grandmother Kitty, early in that first week of October on whose Saturday the young girl would reach to the dignity of sixteen years. "All the conditions of your life are so different from mine at your age: seeming to make you both older and younger--if you understand what I mean--that I would like to hear your own wishes." "They shall be yours, Grandma dearest. You always have such happy ideas. I'd like yours best." "No, indeed! Not this time. I want everything to be exactly as you like this year; especially since you are now to assume the main charge of some of our charities." "I feel so unfitted for the responsibility you are giving me, Sun Maid. I'm afraid I shall make many blunders." "Doesn't everybody? And isn't it by seeing wherein we blunder and avoiding the pitfall a second time that we learn to walk surely and swiftly? You have been well trained to know the value of the money which God has given you so plentifully and of that loving sympathy which is better and richer than the wealth. I am not afraid for you, though it is an excellent sign that you are afraid for yourself. Now a truce to sermons. Let's hear the birthday wish. I am getting an old lady and don't like to be kept waiting." "Sunny Maid! you are not old, nor ever will be!" "Not in my heart, darling. How can I feel so when there is so much in life to do and enjoy? I have to bring myself up short quite often and remind myself how many birthdays of my own have gone by; though it seems but yesterday that Gaspar and I were standing by the Snake-Who-Leaps and learning how to hold our bows that we might shoot skilfully, even though riding bareback and at full speed, yet----" "I believe that you could do the very same still; and that there isn't another old lady----" "Let me interrupt this time. Aren't you contradicting yourself? Were you speaking of 'old' ladies?" "You funny Grandma! Well, then, I don't believe there's another young-old person in this great city can sit a horse as you do. If you would only ride somewhere besides in our own park and just for once let people see you! How many Snowbirds have you owned in your lifetime, Grandmother?" "One real Snowbird, with several imitations. Still, they have been pretty fair, for Gaspar selected them and he was a fine judge of horseflesh. You must remember that as long as he was with me we rode together anywhere and everywhere he wished. He was a splendid horseman." "He was 'splendid' in all things, wasn't he, Sun Maid?" asked the girl, with a lingering tenderness upon the other's Indian name and knowing that it still was very pleasant in the ears of her who owned it. "He was a man. He had grown to the full stature of a man. That covers all. But let's get back to birthday wishes. What are they?" "They're pretty big; all about the new 'Girls' Home' where I am to work for you. I think if the girls knew me, not as just somebody who is richer than they and wants to do them good, but as an equal, another giddy-head like themselves, it would make things ever so much easier for all of us. I would like to go through all the big stores and factories and places and find out every single girl who is sixteen and have them out to Keith House for a real delightful holiday. And because I like boys, and presume other girls do, too--Don't stiffen your neck, please, Grandmother; remember there were you and Gaspar----" "But we were different." "Maybe; yet these girls have brothers, and I wish I had. Never mind, though. I'd like to invite them all out here for Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday evening we'd have an old-fashioned young folks' party, with games and frolics such as were common years and years ago. Then, for Sunday, there'd be the ministers who are to stop here during that convention that's coming, and they'd be glad, I know, to speak to us young folks. It's perfect weather, and all day these young things who are shut up all the week could roam about the park, or read, or rest in the picture-gallery or library, and--eat." The Sun Maid laughed. "Do you really stop to think about the eating? How many do you imagine would have to be fed? And I assure you, my young dreamer, that, though it doesn't sound especially well, the feeding of her guests is one of the most important duties of every hostess. But I'll take that part off your hands. You attend to the spiritual and moral entertainment and I'll order the table part. Yet your plan calls for many sleeping accommodations. How about that?" "I thought, Grandmother, maybe you'd let me open the 'Barrack' again. That would do for the boys, and there's surely room enough in this great house for all the girls who'd care to stay." A shadow passed over the Sun Maid's face, but it--_passed_. In a moment she looked up brightly and answered as, a few hours later, she was to be most thankful she had done: "Very well. After the war was over and I closed it I felt as if I could never reopen the place. Though Gaspar and my boys never saw it, somehow it seemed always theirs. I suppose because it had been built for the benefit of those who had fought and suffered with them. Now I see that this was morbid; and I am glad I have never torn the building down, as I have sometimes thought I would. You may have it for your friends and should set about airing and preparing it at once. Also, if you are to give so many invitations, you would better start upon them." "Couldn't I just put an advertisement in the papers? That's so easy and short." "And--rude!" "Rude?" "Yes. There would be no compliment in a newspaper invitation. Would you fancy one for yourself?" "No, indeed, I should not. That rule of yours, to 'put yourself in his place,' is a pretty good one, after all, isn't it?" "Yes. Now order the carriage and I'll go with you on your rounds and make a list as we do so of how many will need to be provided for. We shall have a busy week before us." "But a happy one, Grandmother. Your face is shining already, even more than usual. I believe in your heart of hearts you love girls better than anything else in this world." "Maybe. Except--boys." "And flowers, and animals. How they will enjoy the conservatories! And it wouldn't be wrong, would it, to have out the horses between times on Sunday and let these young things, who'd never had a chance, see how glorious a feeling it is to ride a fine horse? Just around the park, you know." "Which would be quite as far as most of them would care to ride, I fancy, for there are very few people who call their first experience on horseback a 'glorious' one." It was a busy week indeed, but a joyful one, full of anticipation concerning the coming festivities. Never had the Sun Maid appeared younger or gayer or entered more heartily into the preparations for entertainment. A dozen times, maybe, during those mornings of shopping and ordering and superintending, did she exclaim with fervor: "Thank God for Gaspar's money, that makes us able to give others pleasure!" "Grandmother, even for a foreign nobleman you wouldn't do half so much!" "Foreign? No, indeed. To all their due; and to our own young Americans, these toilers who are the glory of our nation, let every deference be paid. Did you write about the orchestra? That was to play during Saturday's supper?" "Yes, indeed. I believe nothing is forgotten." To the guests, who came at the appointed time, it certainly did not seem so; and almost every one was there who had been asked. "I did not believe that there could be found so many working girls in Chicago who are just sixteen," cried the gay young hostess, standing upon the great stair and looking down across the wide parlor, crowded with bright, graceful figures. "I did. My Chicago is a wonderful city, child. But I do not believe that in any other city in the world could be gathered another such assemblage. Typical American girls, every one. May God bless them! Their beauty, their bearing, even their attire, would compare most favorably with any company of young women who are far more richly dowered by dollars. And the boys; even with their greater shyness, how did they ever learn to be so courteous, so----" "Oh, my Sun Maid! Answer yourself, in your own words. 'It's in the air. It's just--Chicago!'" When the fun was at the highest, there came a belated guest who brought news that greatly disquieted the elder hostess, though none of the merrymakers about her seemed to think it a matter half as important as the next game on the list. "A fire, broken out in the city? That is serious. The season is so dry and there are many buildings in Chicago that would burn like kindlings. However, let us hope it will soon be subdued; and there is somebody calling you, I think." Although anything which menaced the prosperity of the town she loved so well always disturbed the Sun Maid, she put this present matter from her almost as easily as she dismissed the youth who had brought the bad tidings. The housing and entertaining of Kitty's guests was an engrossing affair; and all Sunday was occupied in these duties; but on Sunday night came a time of leisure. It was then, while resting among her girls and discussing their early departure in the morning--which their lives of labor rendered necessary--that a second messenger arrived with a second message of disaster. "There's another fire downtown, and it's burning like a whirlwind!" "We have an excellent fire department," answered the hostess, with confident pride. "It can't make much show against this blaze. I think those of us who can should get home at once." The Sun Maid's heart sank. The coming event had cast its shadow upon her and, foreseeing evil, she replied instantly: "Those who must go shall be conveyed at once; but I urge all who will to remain. Keith House is as safe as any place can be if this fire continues to spread. It is not probable, even at the best, that any of you will be wanted at your employers' in the morning. The excitement will not be over, even if the conflagration is." The company divided. There were many who were anxious about home friends and hastened away in the vehicles so hastily summoned; but there were also many whose only home was a boarding-house and who were thankful for the shelter and hospitality offered. Among these last were some of the young men, and the Sun Maid summoned them to her own office and discussed with them some plans of usefulness to others. "We shall none of us be able to sleep to-night. I have a feeling that we ought not. I wish, therefore, you would go out and engage all the teams you possibly can from this neighborhood; and go with them and their drivers to the threatened districts, as well as those already destroyed. Our great house and grounds are open to all. Bring any who wish, and assure them that they will be cared for." "But there may be thieves among them," objected one lad, who had a keener judgment of what might occur. "There is always evil amid the good; but not for that reason should any poor creature suffer. Remember I am able to help liberally in money, and never so thankful as now that this is so. Go and do your best." They scattered, proud to serve her, and thrilled with the excitement of that awful hour; but many were amazed to find that after a brief time she had followed them herself. The younger Kitty pleaded, though vainly, to prevent her grandmother's departure, for the Sun Maid answered firmly: "You are to take my place as mistress here. I will have the old coachman drive me in the phaeton to the nearest point advisable. I must be on the spot, but I will not recklessly risk myself. Only, my dear, it is _our city_, Gaspar's and mine; almost a personal belonging, since we two watched its growth from a tiny village to the great town it has become. Gaspar would be there with his aid and counsel. I must take his place." There were many who saw her, and will forever remember the noble woman, standing upright in the low vehicle at a point where two ways met; with the light of the burning city falling over her wonderful hair, that had long since turned snowy white, and bringing out the beauty of a face whose loveliness neither age nor sorrow could dim. The sadness in her tender eyes deepened as she could see the cruel blaze sweeping on and on, wiping out home after home and hurling to destruction the mighty structures of which she had been so personally proud. "Oh, I have loved it, I have loved it! Its very paving-stones have been dear to me, and it is as if all these fleeing, homeless ones were my own children. Well, it is--Chicago,--a city with a mission. It cannot die. Let the fire do its worst; not all shall perish. There are things which cannot burn. Again and again and again I have thanked God for the wealth he led my Gaspar, the penniless and homeless, to gain--for His own glory. Let the flames destroy unto the limit He has set. Out of their ruins shall rise another city, fairer and lovelier than this has been; richer because of this purification and far more tender in its broad welcome to humanity." Hour after hour she waited there, directing, comforting, assisting; giving shelter and sustenance, and, best of all, the influence of her high faith and indomitable courage. As it had done before, her clear sight gazed into the future and beheld the glory that should be; and, like every prophecy her tongue had ever uttered, this, spoken there in the very light of her desolation, as it were, has already been more than verified. This all who knew the Beautiful City as it was and now know it as it is will cheerfully attest; and some there are among these who deem it their highest privilege to go sometimes to a stately mansion, set among old trees, where in a sunshiny chamber sits an old, old lady, who yet seems perennially young. Her noble head still keeps its heavy crown of silver, her eye is yet bright, her intellect keen, and her interest in her fellow-men but deepens with the years. Very like her is the younger Kitty, who is never far away; who has grown to be a person of influence in all her city's beneficence; and who believes that there was never another woman in all the world like her grandmother. "Yes," she assures you earnestly, "she is the Sun Maid indeed,--a fountain of delight to all who know her. She has still the heart of a child and a child's perfect health. I confidently expect to see her round her century." * * * * * Transcriber's note: Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. 
35275	----	30,000 LOCKED OUT. THE GREAT STRIKE OF THE BUILDING TRADES IN CHICAGO. BY JAMES C. BEEKS. CHICAGO: PRESS OF THE FRANZ GINDELE PRINTING CO. 1887. INTRODUCTION. The attention of the world has been called to the great strike and lockout in the building trades in Chicago because it rested upon the question of individual liberty--a question which is not only vital alike to the employer and the employe, but which affects every industry, every class of people, every city, state and country. It is a principle which antagonizes no motive which has been honestly conceived, but upon which rests--or should rest--the entire social, political and industrial fabric of a nation. It underlies the very foundation of free institutions. To antagonize it is to thrust at the beginning point of that freedom for which brave men have laid down their lives in every land since the formation of society. With this question prominently in the fight, and considering the magnitude of the interests affected, it is not at all surprising that the public has manifested interest in the agitation of questions which have affected the pockets of thirty thousand artisans and laborers, hundreds of employers, scores of manufacturers and dealers in building materials, stopped the erection of thousands of structures of all classes, and driven into the vaults of a great city capital amounting to not less than $20,000,000. The labor problem is not new. Neither is it without its perplexities and its grievances. Its entanglements have puzzled the brightest intellects, and its grievances have, on many occasions, called loudly for changes which have been made for the purpose of removing fetters that have bound men in a system of oppression that resembled the worst form of slavery. These changes have come none too soon. And, no doubt, there yet remain cases in which the oppressed should be speedily relieved of burdens which have been put upon working men and women in every country under the sun. But, because these conditions exist with one class of people, it is no justification for an unreasonable, or exacting demand by another class; or, that they should be permitted to reverse the order of things and inaugurate a system of oppression that partakes of a spirit of revenge, and that one burden after another should be piled up until the exactions of an element of labor become so oppressive that they are unbearable. When this is the case, the individual who has been advocating the cause of freedom--and who has been striving for the release and the elevation of the laboring classes--becomes, in turn, an oppressor of the worst kind. He stamps upon the very foundation on which he first rested his cause. He tramples upon the great cause of individual liberty and becomes a tyrant whose remorseless system of oppression would crush out of existence not only the grand superstructure of freedom, but would bury beneath his iron heel the very germ of his free existence. The laborer is a necessity. If this is true the converse of the proposition is equally true--the employer is a necessity. Without the employer the laborer would be deprived of an opportunity to engage in the avocation to which his faculties may have been directed. Without the laborer the employer would be in no position to carry forward any enterprise of greater or less magnitude. All cannot be employers. All cannot be employes. There must be a directing hand as well as a hand to be directed. In exercising the prerogative of a director the employer would be powerless to carry to a successful termination any enterprise if liberty of action should be entirely cut off, or his directing hand should be so fettered that it could not exercise the necessary freedom of action to direct. At the same time, if the employe should be so burdened that he could not exercise his talents in a manner to compass the line of work directed to be done, it would be unreasonable to expect from him the accomplishment of the task to which he had been assigned. There is a relation between the two around which such safeguards should be thrown as will insure that free action on the part of both that will remove the possibility of oppression, and at the same time retain, in its fullest sense, the relation of employer and employe. The necessity of the one to the other should not be forgotten. That the employer should have the right to direct his business in a manner that will make it successful, and for his interest, none should have the right to question. The successful direction of an enterprise by an employer results, necessarily, in the security of employment by the employe. A business which is unsuccessfully prosecuted, or which is fettered by the employe in a manner which prevents its successful prosecution, must, of necessity, result in displacing the most trusted servant, or the most skilled artisan. An employer, in the direction of his business, should not be denied the right to decide for himself whom he shall employ, or to select those who may be best fitted to accomplish his work. An employe should expect employment according to his ability to perform the work to be done. A skillful artisan should not be expected to accept the reward of one unskilled in the same trade. An unskilled workman should not receive the same wages paid to a skilled workman. Had these rules been recognized by the bricklayers in Chicago there would have been no strike, no lockout. The fight was against the right of the employer to direct his own business. It was originated by a class of men who claimed the right to demand that all bricklayers should be paid the same rate per hour, regardless of their ability; that none should be employed except those who were members of The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago; and that every edict issued by this union should be obeyed by the Master Masons, including the last one made viz: That the pay day should be changed from Monday, or Tuesday, to Saturday. NATIONAL ORGANIZATION. The National Association of Builders convened in Chicago March 29th, 1887, and continued in session three days. This convention was composed of representatives of the building trades from almost every section of the country. They came together for the purpose of perfecting the organization of a National Association in pursuance of a call which had been made by a committee which met in Boston the previous January. Delegates were present from twenty-seven cities, as follows: Cleveland, Ohio: Thos. Simmons, H. Kickheim, John T. Watterson, S. W. Watterson. Milwaukee, Wis.: Thos. Mason, Garrett Dunck, John Laugenberger, Richard Smith. Charleston, S. C.: D. A. J. Sullivan, Henry Oliver. Nashville, Tenn.: Daniel S. Wright. Detroit, Mich.: Thos. Fairbairn, W. E. Avery, W. J. Stapleton, Jas. Roche, W. G. Vinton. Minneapolis, Minn.: Thos. Downs, F. B. Long, H. N. Leighton, Geo. W. Libby, Herbert Chalker, F. S. Morton. Baltimore Md.: John Trainor, John J. Purcell, Geo. W. Hetzell, Wm. H. Anderson, Wm. Ferguson, Philip Walsh, Geo. Mann. Chicago, Ill.: Geo. Tapper, P. B. Wight, Geo. C. Prussing, W. E. Frost, F. V. Gindele, A. W. Murray, J. B. Sullivan. St. Paul, Minn.: Edward E. Scribner, J. B. Chapman, E. F. Osborne, G. J. Grant, J. H. Donahue, J. S. Burris, J. W. Gregg. Buffalo, N. Y.: Chas. Berrick, John Feist, Chas. A. Rupp. Cincinnati, Ohio: J. Milton Blair, L. H. McCammon, I. Graveson, Jas. Allison, H. L. Thornton, J. C. Harwood, Wm. Schuberth, Jr. Philadelphia, Pa.: John S. Stevens, Chas. H. Reeves, D. A. Woelpper, Geo. Watson, Wm. Harkness, Jr., Geo. W. Roydhouse, Wm. Gray. Columbus, Ohio: Geo. B. Parmelee. St. Louis Mo.: Andrew Kerr, H. C. Lindsley, John R. Ahrens, John H. Dunlap, Anton Wind, Richard Walsh, Wm. Gahl. Indianapolis, Ind.: John Martin, J. C. Adams, Fred Mack, G. Weaver, C. Bender, Wm. P. Jungclaus, Peter Rautier. New Orleans, La.: A. J. Muir, H. Hofield, F. H. West. Boston, Mass.: Leander Greely, Ira G. Hersey, John A. Emery, Wm. Lumb, J. Arthur Jacobs, Francis Hayden, Wm. H. Sayward. New York City: A. J. Campbell, A. G. Bogert, John Byrns, John McGlensey, Marc Eidlitz, John J. Tucker. Troy, N. Y.: C. A. Meeker. Albany, N. Y.: David M. Alexander Worcester, Mass.: E. B. Crane, O. W. Norcross, Henry Mellen, O. S. Kendall, Robt. S. Griffin, Geo. H. Cutting. Grand Rapids, Mich.: John Rawson, James Curtis, H. E. Doren, J. D. Boland, C. H. Pelton, W. C. Weatherly, C. A. Sathren. Sioux City, Iowa.: Fred F. Beck. Pittsburgh and Allegheny City, Pa.: Geo. A. Cochran, Saml. Francis, Alex. Hall, R. C. Miller, Geo. S. Fulmer. Providence, R. I.: Geo. R. Phillips, Richard Hayward. Geo. S. Ross. Rochester, N. Y.: Chas. W. Voshell. Washington, D. C.: Thos. J. King. George C. Prussing, of Chicago, presided, and William H. Sayward, of Boston, was secretary of the convention. Mr. Sayward appointed as his assistants J. Arthur Jacobs, of Boston, and W. Harkness, Jr., of Philadelphia. In adopting a constitution the objects of the organization were set forth in the following article: Article II. The fundamental objects of this association shall be to foster and protect the interests of contractors, manual workmen, and all others concerned in the erection and construction of buildings; to promote mechanical and industrial interests; to acquire, preserve and disseminate valuable information connected with the building trades; to devise and suggest plans for the preservation of mechanical skill through a more complete and practical apprenticeship system, and to establish uniformity and harmony of action among builders throughout the country. The better to accomplish these objects, this association shall encourage the establishment of builders' exchanges in every city or town of importance throughout the country, and shall aid them to organize upon some general system that will not conflict with local customs and interests, in order that through these filial associations the resolutions and recommendations of this National Association may be promulgated and adopted in all localities. Not content with setting out the objects of the association in a short section of a constitution, the convention deemed it advisable that its objects should be defined in a manner that could not be misunderstood. The members were aware of the fact that the convention was being watched by builders everywhere, and that the eye of the public was upon every movement made. But they more fully understood that the artisans and laborers connected with the building trades throughout the country would criticise their every act, and unless their position was definitely and clearly set out they might be misunderstood. To avoid this, and to place the objects fairly before the public, the convention unanimously adopted the following: DECLARATION OF PRINCIPLES. 1. This association affirms that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. While upholding this principle as an essential safeguard for all concerned, this association would appeal to employers in the building trades to recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, they should aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. When such conferences are entered into, care should be taken to state clearly in advance that this fundamental principle must be maintained, and that such conferences should only be competent to report results in the form of resolutions of recommendation to the individuals composing the various organizations participating, avoiding all forms of dictatorial authority. 2. That a uniform system of apprenticeship should be adopted by the various mechanical trades; that manual training schools should be established as a part of the public school system; and, that trade night schools should be organized by the various local trade organizations for the benefit and improvement of apprentices. 3. This association earnestly recommends all its affiliated associations to secure, as soon as possible, the adoption of a system of payment "by the hour" for all labor performed, other than "piece work" or "salary work," and to obtain the co-operation of associations of workmen in this just and equitable arrangement. 4. That all blank forms of contracts for buildings should be uniform throughout the United States. That such forms of contract, with the conditions thereof, should be such as will give the builder, as well as the owner, the protection of his rights, such as justice demands. That whenever a proper form has been approved by this association, after consultation with the American Institute of Architects, and the Western Association of Architects, we recommend its use by every builder and contractor. 5. The legislatures of the various states should be petitioned to formulate and adopt uniform lien laws and every organization represented in this association is recommended to use its best endeavors to secure the passage of the same. 6. Architects and builders should be required to adopt more effectual safeguards in buildings in process of construction, so as to lessen the danger of injury to workmen and others. 7. We recommend the adoption of a system of insurance against injuries by accident to workmen in the employ of builders, wherein the employer may participate in the payment of premiums for the benefit of his employes. Also in securing the payment of annuities to workmen who may become permanently disabled, through injuries received by accident or the infirmities of old age. When this declaration was sent out it set the laborer to thinking, and the public generally to reflecting upon the relation between the employer and the employe, especially in the building trades. The first paragraph affirming "that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed," was regarded as a declaration of right, justice and liberty that ought to be universally accepted. And yet it has not been so accepted. It is utterly rejected in practice, if not in so many words, in almost every case of strike. In one way or another the strikers prevent others from exercising that right to work and to employ, or attempt to do so, thus assuming for themselves superior rights and despotic powers. While the builders emphatically affirmed the fundamental principle of right and liberty, they did not condemn associations of workmen. On the contrary, they recognized the fact that there were "many opportunities for good" in such associations, and appealed to employers in the building trades to assist them in all just and honorable purposes. This was certainly liberal, in view of the fact that labor organizations are continually used as agencies for interfering with men in the exercise of their rights. The convention declared that upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer, or arbitrate. The members did not even stoop to notice the nonsensical notion of compulsory arbitration, or arbitration under the forms of law, which has found expression in one or two state laws and in one or two bills that have been introduced in congress, and which is not arbitration at all. But, while upon fundamental principles they perceived the uselessness of arbitration, yet they declared that there were many points upon which conferences and arbitration were perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it was a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances might be prevented. They did not, however, lose sight of the fundamental principle first affirmed, but held that the results of conferences should take the form of resolutions of recommendation, and that all forms of dictatorial authority should be avoided. They are evidently willing to meet the men half way when there is really anything to confer about. As a whole, the platform of principles upon which the convention planted itself is unassailable by the most critical objector among the disturbing element of labor. It was to be hoped that they would be fully accepted and thoughtfully regarded by the workmen in the building trades. But, such was not, generally, the case. The leading element in the labor organizations has cultivated an antagonistic spirit that rebels against every proposition or suggestion from any association that is not in strict accord with their own distorted views. This element watched the National Association of Builders very closely, and to them the fact that the constitution and the declaration of principles were eminently just and fair to the workingman, was the greater reason why they should exercise toward the whole a spirit of bitter antagonism. Otherwise, that element of labor which permits others to do their thinking, could not be moulded in the hand of the leader whose leadership depends upon the ability to make every act of the employer to appear in a hideous light. The fairness of the convention, and the justness of the principles enunciated, stimulated the leaders to renewed efforts to widen the breach between the employes and the employers in the building trades. They saw that unless the rebellious, revengeful spirit was nurtured, the thinking better, more reasonable element, might break away and follow the "master." New demands were made upon the employer with a full knowledge that they would not be acceded to, for the purpose of precipitating a general strike, and it came. THE CAUSE OF THE LOCK-OUT. The immediate cause of the great lockout dated to a proposition for Saturday as a pay-day, which was made April 11th, 1887, by the passage of a resolution by the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago, declaring that from and after that date the contracting masons should pay their employes on Saturday. The contractors were not asked to change the time of payment--from Monday or Tuesday, as had been the custom for many years--the union simply resolved that they should do so. No official notice of the passage of the resolution was sent to the Master Masons' association. They were not conferred with to see if it would be convenient, nor were they _requested_ to change the time. The resolution itself proposed to do the work for the employer without consulting him in reference to the change. The first intimation the Master Masons had of the passage of the resolution came in the shape of a demand of the foreman on each job to know if they were to be paid on Saturday. This demand was coupled with a statement that they would not work if they were not paid on that day, _as the union had changed the pay-day_. With some employers such a demand would have been a great surprise. It was not so with the Master Masons of Chicago. They had endured so much of an arbitrary character from the Bricklayers' union that they were not surprised at anything, unless it might have been the absence of a demand upon them for a change of some kind. This demand--had it come in the form of a request, or had a conference been invited to consider the proposition for a change of the pay-day--might have been conceded. But the manner in which it was presented gave notice to the Master Masons that the time had arrived for them to assert a little manhood, and to show to the great public that they had some "rights" which should be recognized. This--apparently minor--proposition dates back to "a long and distinguished line of ancestors," whose exactions have been of a character bordering upon oppression. They had their beginning with the strike of the bricklayers in the spring of 1883, when there was a stoppage of building for nine weeks on account of what were believed to be unreasonable demands of the Bricklayers' union. Jan. 1, 1883, the Union passed a resolution fixing the rate of wages at $4 a day, and another that they would not work with "Scabs." Previous to this the wages had been $3 and $3.50 per day. An attempt was made to put these resolutions in force the first week in April. The contractors had not been considered in arranging these questions, and for this reason they rebelled against what they regarded as arbitrary action. After a struggle which lasted nine weeks, three prominent architects, Messrs. D. Alder, W. W. Boyington and Julius Bauer, addressed communications to the Master Masons and the Union, requesting them to appoint committees to arbitrate their differences. The request was promptly acceded to by both sides, and on the 29th of May, 1883, the joint committee made the following award: In order to end the strike of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago (hereinafter designated as the union), who quit their work on March 31, 1883, and in the belief that, by the establishment of a standing committee of arbitration, all differences may be settled satisfactorily, and strikes and lockouts prevented in the future, and that this will lay the foundation for a better understanding and amicable relations such as should exist between employer and employe; now, therefore, We, the undersigned, Joseph J. Rince, William Ray and Peter Nelson, being a committee appointed for this purpose in special meeting of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, held on Monday evening, May 28, at Greenebaum's hall, and empowered to act for and in behalf of said organization, and to bind its members by our action, on the one part, and Messrs. George Tapper, George C. Prussing and E. F. Gobel, being the executive committee of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association, and who are fully authorized to act for the said organization in the premises, on the other part, have, and do agree that from and after this 29th day of May, 1883: 1. Foremen shall not be members of the journeymen's union, and when a member is made foreman he shall be suspended from active membership while employed in that capacity. Foremen may work on the wall. 2. Competent journeymen bricklayers and stonemasons working in the city may join the union in the regular way, should they so desire, by paying $10 as an initiation fee, but they shall not be compelled or forced to join in any way until July 1, 1883, and then only as provided in section 3 of article 4 of the by-laws of the union. 3. Former members of the union who returned to their work on or before May 26, 1883, and are for that act expelled, shall be regarded and treated in all respects like other outsiders. The members who returned to their work on and after May 28, 1883, are hereby declared in good standing. 4. The wages of competent journeymen are hereby declared to be 40 cents per hour. To such of the members of the union who can not earn the wages hereby established, their employer shall certify, upon application, this fact and the rate paid them, and the presentation of such certificate at the union shall entitle them to an "instruction card," and they shall be enrolled as "working under instructions" until they produce proof of being full and competent journeymen. 5. In January of each year a joint committee of conference and arbitration, consisting of five members of each--the Union and the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association--shall be appointed and serve for one year. To this joint committee shall be referred all questions of wages and any other subject in which both bodies are interested, and all grievances existing between members of one body and members of the other, or between a member of one body and a member of the other. This committee, properly constituted and assembled, shall have full power to decide all questions referred to them, and such decision shall be final and binding on all members of either organization. A majority vote shall decide. In case of a tie vote on any question, which consequently can not be decided by the committee as constituted, a judge of a United States court, or any disinterested person on whom the members thereof may agree, shall be elected umpire, who shall preside at a subsequent meeting of the committee and have the casting vote on the question at issue. All members of the union shall remain at their work continuously while said committee of arbitration is in session, subject to the decision of said committee. 6. Journeymen shall be paid by the hour for work actually rendered, with this exception: From April 1 to Nov. 1 work will be suspended at 5 o'clock on Saturdays, and all employes who have worked up to this hour on that day will receive pay for an extra hour. And we also agree and declare that the article of the constitution and by-laws of the union which refers to apprentices is wrong, and shall be referred to the joint committee of arbitration hereby provided in January next, for amendment, revision, or repeal. In witness whereof we have hereunto set our hands and seals this 29th day of May, 1883. JOSEPH J. RINCE, WILLIAM RAY, PETER NELSON, Committee of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago. GEORGE TAPPER, GEORGE C. PRUSSING, E. F. GOBEL, Committee of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association. The bricklayers met May 31, and repudiated the action of the joint committee. William Ray made the remarkable announcement to the Union that section four--relating to journeymen under "instructions"--was not in the original draft, and that he never would have signed the agreement if it had been. He charged Mr. Prussing with slipping that section in after the agreement had been signed. On motion of Mr. Mulrany the agreement, or award, was referred back to the joint committee. In view of the fact that it was the award of a committee which the Union had created, its repudiation was a startling act. But, under threats of violence to the union members of the committee, this action had to be taken as a precaution of safety. The Master Masons met the same day and unanimously approved the action of the joint committee. While they were in session information was received of the charge made against Mr. Prussing. The charge was not only denied by Mr. Prussing, but he at once procured affidavits from William E. Mortimer and two others, who had heard the original draft of the agreement read, all of whom swore that the document had not been tampered with, but contained section 4 when the committee signed it. Even this did not satisfy the Union. They met again June 1, and again repudiated the action of the joint committee by adopting the following, which they addressed to George Tapper, president of the Master Masons' and Builders' association: In view of the present difficulties which have arisen from the action of a committee appointed May 28 from this Union in acting contrary to their instructions, we offer the following for your consideration: 1. On April 1, this year, we asked $4 per day from April 1, 1883, to Nov. 1, 1883, and 40 cents per hour from Nov. 1, 1883, to April 1, 1884, as the minimum wages for all members of this Union, and this we strictly adhere to. 2. We accept the situation as it is, take back all deserters from our Union, and deal with all strangers according to article 4, section 3, contained in our constitution and by-laws. 3. We believe in arbitration, and will agree to appoint a committee of five for one year to meet a like committee from your association, to which joint committee will be referred all grievances which may hereafter arise, and for the purpose of preventing strikes in the future. Instead of showing a disposition to confer and adjust differences, the Union passed upon all question and notified the employers that the ultimatum must be accepted, as the Union would "strictly adhere to" the action of April 1, notwithstanding the fact that all differences had been adjusted by arbitration. In the face of the act of repudiation the Union made this amendment: "We believe in arbitration" ... "for the purpose of preventing strikes in the future." Two days later, June 3, the Union held another meeting which was enlivened by charging the arbitration committee with treason, and threatening to lynch them. William Ray, one of the committee, made the announcement that he had done right in signing the award, and if it was to do over he would do the same thing again. This statement inflamed the crowd to such an extent that Ray was attacked and severely beaten. The other members of the committee escaped without injury. On June 5, at another meeting of the bricklayers, President Rince was deposed, the open charge being made that he had "sold them out." A resolution was then passed directing the men to go to work at $4 a day wherever they pleased, provided they did not work under a non-union foreman. This section had the effect of settling the strike. It was a drawn battle. The men were only too glad to go to work, and took advantage of the first order made on the subject. They worked by the side of non-union men for a time, but gradually drove them out of the city or took them into the Union for the purpose of increasing their strength. They then cut loose from the International association, made the initiation fee $25, and shut out every bricklayer who would not join their Union. As has been frequently remarked, "they built a wall around the city," and then demanded everything and got it, because the "bosses" were powerless to refuse their demands. While the result of the strike of 1883 was referred to as a drawn battle, it was a defeat for the Master Masons, because they then laid the groundwork for other demands and strikes, the fruits of which they have been forced to eat when they were bitter as gall. The battle should have been won then, and the troubles which have since come might have been unknown. During the strike the International union had assisted the Chicago bricklayers to the extent of $13,000, which had enabled them to hold out longer than they otherwise could have done. After they recovered from the effects of the strike they were assessed $4,600 to aid the Pittsburgh strikers, which sum they repudiated, and then withdrew from the Internationals, claiming that they were independent of any other organization, and would pay tribute to no other trade. Their base ingratitude made them objects of scorn among the honest laborers. Their assessment to aid Pittsburgh was never adjusted. Following the strike of 1883 demands were made from time to time by the union, as follows: That the hours of labor be reduced while the pay remained unchanged. That the wages be increased. Cutting down the number of apprentices. An apprentice over eighteen years of age must be the son of a journeyman. Foremen must be members of the Union, "but shall not work on a wall." No non-union bricklayer shall be employed in Chicago. An acknowledgment of the potency of the "Walking Delegate." Payment of uniform wages to all, irrespective of their qualifications. Full pay for all delays, however unavoidable. Pay for a discharged employe on a job, or for his time while waiting for his pay to be taken to him. Time and a half for all work in excess of eight hours. Double pay for work on Sunday. Establishment of the "Walking Delegate." These are a few of the more important exactions which have been made, and to avoid strikes had been granted. There were many others, and they presented themselves from time to time when least expected. It was supposed that the entire vocabulary of demands had been exhausted, and that the season of 1887 would pass without a strike, when the Saturday pay-day bobbed up as a warning to the contractor that the striker was not without resources, and that there were more to come. The demands of the bricklayers had been met from time to time by the Master Masons, and they were generally met in a weak way. Some were conceded without question, and others were agreed to, after a mild protest, in order to prevent the stoppage of some important work. The striker had always been possessed of the knowledge _when to strike_, and this had been one of the secrets of his success. The rule has been to make a demand at a time when it was believed the employer would make the concession, because he could not afford to do otherwise--that the interest of the pocket of the employer would move him when his sympathy could not be enlisted. In the last strike the strikers were disappointed. They inaugurated their movement upon the contractors at the opening of the building season and went at it in the old way, assuming that the bosses, who had so generally conceded everything, would not dare to refuse a simple proposition like that which contemplated changing the pay-day. But they struck a snag which grew to immense proportions, especially when the manufacturers of and dealers in building material stepped up and said they would quit manufacturing, and would stop selling material until there was a settlement of the trouble and the principle of "individual liberty" was recognized. They became an important and strengthening root to the old snag. They held the key to the situation, and asserted the right to handle it. They turned it and thirty thousand employes were locked out. THE CARPENTERS. The strikes of 1887 originated with the carpenters. In January steps were taken which contemplated getting every carpenter in Chicago into a union. Notice was given by publication that on and after April 4th, 1887, eight hours should constitute a day, and 35 cents an hour should be the minimum wages for a carpenter. When the time came for the new order of things to go into effect the Master Carpenters were expected to meet the demands without objection. They had not been requested to grant the concessions, and no official notice was sent to the Master Carpenters' association of the fact that the carpenters had decided to change the working hours and the rate of pay per hour. On Saturday, April 2d, 1887, the carpenters made individual demands upon their several employers for eight hours a day instead of ten hours, and 35 cents an hour instead of 25 and 30 cents an hour, which had been the rule. Not receiving favorable answers to their demands a meeting was called for Sunday, April 3d, at Battery D. At this meeting four thousand carpenters assembled. Reports were made from one hundred and twenty "bosses," of whom but twenty favored the proposed changes. Seventy-nine had positively refused to grant any concession. After a lengthy discussion of the situation in secret session the question of ordering a general strike was submitted to a vote, and it was carried by what was said to have been an overwhelming majority. This was the manner in which the strike was ordered. After the meeting adjourned the cool announcement was made that if the Master Carpenters had any propositions to submit, or desired to communicate with the striking carpenters, they "would be received" at room 8, No. 76 Fifth avenue. An order was issued to the effect that no carpenter should be allowed to work for any contractor, no matter what wages might be offered, until permission was obtained from the executive board of the Carpenters' Council, or the strike had been declared off. On Monday morning there were six thousand idle carpenters in the city, and the threat was made by the strikers that if the "bosses" did not accede to their demands all workmen engaged in the building trades would be called out, and there would be a general strike. Before 6 o'clock Monday morning, the following notice was sent out to every carpenter in the city, it being the intention to officially notify each one of the action taken before they could reach their work: DEAR SIR: The decision of the executive board of the United Carpenters' Council, ratified by mass-meeting held April 3d, is that no union carpenter be allowed to work on any job whatever until the demand is acceded to by the bosses as a body. The committee is open to conference with the bosses as a body at their earliest convenience. J. M. STERLING, J. BRENNOCK, Committee. There were hundreds who were willing to work, but they were forced to obey the mandate of the union. They were receiving good wages, and were satisfied; but, because every "wood-butcher" would not be paid the wages which a good carpenter could command, they were forced to leave their work and suffer the consequences of idleness. If they attempted to work their lives were in danger. There were three hundred contracting carpenters in the city who employed from fifteen to two hundred men each. The number of carpenters in the city working on buildings was about 7,500, and 5,800 of these belonged to the union. The wages paid ranged from $2.50 to $3.50 a day. Those who were receiving the smaller amounts were not satisfied, and the strike was originated for the ostensible purpose of bringing the so-called "wood-butcher" up to the standard of a carpenter on the question of wages. On Monday, April 7th, the Carpenters' Union met and adopted the following as their ultimatum: These are the conditions upon which we will settle this strike: That contractors conduct their work under the eight-hour system and pay the regular scale of wages--35 cents per hour, subject to discharge for incompetency, said conditions to remain in force until April 1, 1888, subject, however, to arbitration in case of grievances of any kind on either side. EXECUTIVE BOARD, UNITED CARPENTERS' COUNCIL. On the same day the Carpenters and Builders held a mass-meeting at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. The first action taken was to agree to stand together on the questions of wages and hours. A resolution was adopted that eight hours should constitute a day's work, fixing 30 cents an hour as the minimum price, and to grade the wages from that price up, according to the worth of the employe. The executive board of the United Carpenters' Council made the following announcement: In view of the fact that no communication has been received from the bosses, it is ordered that no union carpenter be allowed to go to work until further notified. The board will be in session at 8 A. M., April 7, at room 8, Nos. 76 and 78 Fifth avenue. All carpenters not on committees are requested to report at 10 A. M. The strike of the carpenters had begun to affect labor of all kinds on buildings. Many walls were advanced as far as they could be without the intervention of the carpenter. No man, other than a union carpenter, would be allowed to even set a joist. Any attempt to infringe a union rule was sure to precipitate a strike in another trade. A nervous feeling pervaded the building interests generally. Every other trade was in a state of apprehension. The Master Masons were among these. In order to guard against complications with the bricklayers and stonemasons the Master Masons' association had a meeting April 7th and adopted the following resolution: _Resolved_, That a committee of three be appointed with full power to represent this body in all matters relating to the Bricklayers' union, and with instructions to pave the way for the appointment of a standing committee of arbitration, to which all questions and controversies shall be referred for settlement, in order to prevent pecuniary losses to both sides in the future and foster a friendly feeling among the members of both bodies. There had been a few slight differences between employers and employes which were not readily adjusted, because there seemed to be nobody with whom an adjustment could be made. A copy of this resolution was sent to the Bricklayers' union. April 8th a few boss carpenters called on President Campbell, of the carpenters' union, and asked for men in order to finish a little pressing work. They were refused, the president of the union saying: "Not a man will be allowed to go to work until the bosses recognize the union and the demands that have been made." The announcement was made that two hundred and sixty non-association bosses had signified their willingness to accede to all the union had asked, and that they would meet at 3 o'clock in Greenebaum's hall to organize a new association. None of them arrived until long after the hour, and at 4 o'clock nineteen of the two hundred and sixty got into the large hall and were comparatively lost. They adjourned to a small room where they remained but a few minutes and then dispersed. They acknowledged they had been misled by the strikers, some of whom had arranged the meeting for the purpose of ascertaining how much disaffection there was in the ranks of the employers. The small attendance was a great disappointment to those in charge of the strike. But they determined to secure an organization among the "outside bosses," believing it would weaken the effort of the "bosses" who were standing out against the demands which had been made. The United Carpenters' Council held a meeting and adopted a resolution that no terms should be accepted looking toward a settlement of the difficulty other than a full recognition of the union and every demand that had been made. The Bricklayers met and decided to take a hand in the strike of the carpenters. They adopted a resolution providing that members of their union should set no window frames, handle no joists, nor do similar work on buildings in course of construction until the pending trouble was adjusted. The carpenters were delighted when they were officially notified of this action, and once more reaffirmed their determination to stand out. Similar action was taken by the Hodcarriers' union. Eight union carpenters were arrested for intimidating non-union men employed on a building on Canal street. They became so violent that the patrol wagon was called and they were taken to the Desplaines street station. They were heavily fined. Prominent Knights of Labor were of the opinion that the offer of the Master Carpenters of eight hours and 30 cents an hour should have been accepted. Believing this, they called a meeting of the Knights of Labor at Uhlich's hall for the purpose of ordering the carpenters to return to work. This meeting was held April 10th. The hall was packed by a crowd that was opposed to conceding anything. Those who called the meeting soon discovered that they would be mobbed if they presented any proposition to order the carpenters to go to work. A. Beaudry, who was one of those who called the meeting, and who strongly favored accepting the offer of the bosses, presided at the meeting, but he dared not present such a proposition. Instead of the meeting accomplishing the object for which it had been called, it reversed the expected order and advocated unity of action, expressing its sentiments by adopting the following resolution: _Resolved_, That this meeting sustains the action of the United Carpenters Council and pledges our individual support in their future efforts during the struggle. The result of this attempt to restore harmony was enough to satisfy fair-minded men that the demands were not those of reason, but were backed by an element which was composed of the rule-or-ruin class, and they were satisfied that it was uncontrollable. A feeble attempt was made to hold a meeting of the "consulting" bosses at No. 106 Randolph street for the purpose of settling the strike, but less than a half-dozen appeared on the scene, and the meeting was not held. In the evening the Carpenters' and Builders' association met at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. Vice-President William Hearson presided. A delegation of sixty representatives of the Carpenters council invaded the corridors of the exchange. A committee composed of Messrs. Frost and Woodard, was sent out to see what they wanted, and returned with the statement that the carpenters were very pleasant, but full of fight and disposed to stand out all summer. William Mavor read a communication from the United Carpenters' Council, stating that it would stand by its original proposition for 35 cents an hour, and that the union must be recognized. Mr. Mavor stated that the latter proposition was the sticker, and a great many voices said that they would never consent. They were willing to treat with the men as individuals. The report of the committee was received and laid on the table by a unanimous vote. S. H. Dempsey presented the following resolution, which was adopted by a unanimous vote, followed by loud applause: _Resolved_, That the secretary of this association be instructed to notify through the newspapers all carpenters who are willing to go to work on Monday morning at the rate of wages offered by this association to appear at their respective places of work, and that they will be protected. Otherwise the Master Carpenters will advertise for outside workmen. The following committee was appointed to look after the general interests of the association: Francisco Blair, S. H. Dempsey, J. W. Woodard, Jonathan Clark and John Ramcke. Monday, April 10th. The executive committee met and organized by electing officers as follows: J. W. Woodard, chairman; Jonathan Clark, secretary; John Ramcke, treasurer. The committee issued the following notice to the public: As a notice has been circulated to-day among the master carpenters of this city, calling a meeting of the master carpenters for this afternoon, we would respectfully ask you to publish the fact that this meeting is in no way authorized by the Master Carpenters' association, and we will not in any way voice its sentiments or recognize its action. Also, that this association will hold no meetings, except those authorized by the president or secretary of the executive committee. We would also like to make public the fact that there are now 175 members in this association, and they represent about seven eights of the carpenters in the city. Because incorrect reports are apt to be published, and the public interests will suffer if this occurs, we would be glad to receive reporters at all meetings and place all information in our possession at their disposal. An erroneous idea of the present situation, or cause of disagreement exists, not through the fault of the press, but rather through an inaccuracy in presenting the matter. What we would lay down as our statement of principles is the following, which were formulated as a part of those adopted by the National Association of Builders: This association affirms that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen are equally interested in its defense and preservation. While upholding this principle as an essential safeguard for all concerned, this association would appeal to all employers in the building trades to recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, they should aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer and arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. When such conferences are entered into, care should be taken to state clearly in advance that this fundamental principle must be maintained, and that such conferences should only be competent to report results in the form of resolutions of recommendation to the individuals composing the various organizations participating, avoiding all forms of dictatorial authority. The present question is not one of wages or hours, but is solely upon our recognition of the union and our acceptance of the conditions proposed by the letter received from the Carpenters' Union at the meeting of this association Saturday night and printed last week. As our code of principles state, we do not oppose unions, as we affirm the right of all individuals to form associations. This body has received but one communication--that referred to--and that a week after all the carpenters in the union had struck work. This communication purported to be from the executive committee of the Carpenters' Union, but there was neither seal nor letter press on the stationery, and there were no names representing the executive committee. This association means to treat the present disagreement with all fairness, recognizing the entire rights of the journeymen, but claiming that we, as contractors, have rights as well. Very respectfully, JONATHAN CLARK, Secretary Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association. About thirty carpenters met at No. 106 Randolph street and organized an independent Master Carpenters' Association. Among them were several members of the union who were bosses in a small way. The new association at once agreed to the terms demanded by the carpenters, and a list of the members was sent to the United Carpenters' Council, after which an order was issued by the council, permitting the employes of the members of the new association to return to work. This action, it was claimed, would compel the members of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association to yield every point demanded, but it had no such effect. The agitation was kept up, and a mass-meeting was held by the strikers at No. 311 Larrabee street, at which they were urged to stand out. They were also told they never could win if the bricklayers did not support them. The council expected its action would meet the wishes of the men, but it did not. They saw that only a very few would be given work, and demanded that all remain out until the success of the strike was assured. A mass-meeting was held April 13th, at Twelfth street Turner Hall, at which the action of the council was severely criticised, and a resolution was adopted that all should remain out until their demands were recognized by every master carpenter in Chicago. The members of the new association of bosses were disappointed at the reflex action of the carpenters. They regarded it as a breach of faith, and were on the eve of breaking up their organization, but concluded to obey the mandates of the union and held together a few days longer. In the meantime a number of the carpenters had gone to work. These were immediately taken off by walking delegates, and the little bosses became satisfied that the fight was all on one side. But, as many of their members belonged to the union as well, they were forced to remain in the association and be laughed at. Many of the workmen were incensed at the breaking of the agreement and threatened to leave the union and return to their old employers. Some of them did so, and they took others with them afterwards. They lost confidence in the council and in the leaders of the strike. On Thursday, April 14th, the executive committee of the Carpenters' Council thought to heal all defection by the issuance of the following form of agreement, which, they said, they would require all master carpenters to sign before they would settle the strike: We, the undersigned contracting carpenters, agree to the following terms of settlement, and pledge ourselves to the following propositions, which shall be in force and binding upon us from this date until the 1st day of April, 1888, with the understanding that the carpenters' council pledges that there shall not be another demand for increase of wages or reduction of hours before said date--April 1, 1888. 1. We agree to pay as the minimum rate of wages to carpenters 35 cents per hour. 2. We agree that eight hours shall constitute a day's work. 3. We reserve the right to employ men of our own selection and to discharge anyone for reasons of incompetency, intemperance, or disorderly conduct, and we will co-operate with the carpenters' council in all their efforts to elevate the mechanical and moral standard of the craft. 4. We indorse the principle of arbitration as preferable to strikes, and will co-operate with the carpenters' council for the establishment of a board of arbitration. 5. The probable number of men each of us will require, at once on resumption of work is set opposite our respective names. Two hundred members of the Carpenters' and Builders' association met April 14th. William Hearson presided. Seventy new members were admitted. The executive committee submitted a basis upon which it was proposed to settle the strike. It was unanimously adopted, as follows: _Resolved_, That the Master Carpenters will, as a preliminary to any negotiations with the carpenters now on strike, require that the men now on strike without notice to their employers agree to resume work at the following scale of wages, to be agreed to by employer and employes--viz.: eight hours to constitute a day's labor, the wages to be 30 cents an hour and upward. _Resolved_, That the Master Carpenters lay down the following rules as a declaration of principles as the unquestionable rights of employers and employes, upon which there can be no arbitration or question. These rights to be conceded by both parties before any further action is taken looking toward a final settlement of differences for the future: Rule 1. The right of the employer to employ and discharge employes whether belonging to carpenters' unions or not. Rule 2. The right of the employe to work or not to work with non-union men. Rule 3. The right of the employer to hire unskilled labor that will best suit his purpose at any price at which he can get it. Rule 4: The right of the employe to get the wages he demands or not to work. Rule 5. The right of individuals to associate for all honorable purposes. After the meeting adjourned, the executive committee delivered a copy of the report to the Executive Council of the carpenters. The document was respectfully received, Mr. Parks remarking that the Master Carpenters would have to "come again," but the communication would be carefully considered. The resolutions and rules were also sent to the new carpenters' association. A motion was made to fully endorse them, especially in view of the recent action of the union in repudiating their agreement. The proposition was unanimously voted down. On Friday, April 15th, the Executive Council prepared a lengthy reply to the action of the Carpenters and Builders. It contained an extended statement of the situation, concluding as follows: In conclusion, we will agree with rule No. 1 in your document if the words "the right to discharge rests in and is confined to the individual employer and not the associated employers," were added. And you understand that under your own rule, No. 2, union men would have a right to refuse to work with non-union men, and to quit any job where such were employed, unless they were discharged when the request was made. Rule No. 3 must have the words: "But no unskilled man shall be allowed to do work which properly belongs to the trade of carpentering, or which necessitates the use of carpenter's tools," before we can accept it. The other rules in your document are immaterial and do not need review. Now, for a few words. We will state the terms upon which the journeyman carpenters of this city will return at once to work. There must be an agreement made and signed by the contractors, individually or collectively, through an authorized committee, and signed by the executive committee of the United Carpenters council on the part of the journeymen, and in addition to the two rules given as amended the following: The minimum rate of wages paid to journeymen carpenters shall be 35 cents per hour. Eight hours shall constitute a working day; overtime shall be paid as time and a half and double time for Sunday work. There shall be an arbitration board for the settling of grievances. The agreement shall be in force until the 1st day of April, 1888, and notices of desired changes at that time must be given by the party so desiring to the other party to the agreement on or before March 15, 1888. Hoping you will look at this communication from a business as well as humanitarian standpoint, and that you will keep in mind the fact that we are as desirous as you can possibly be of ending the strike, and that nothing is here set down in malice, every word being uttered in the spirit of harmony and justice. The statement was signed by J. B. Parks, Ed. Bates, Alfred A. Campbell, M. S. Moss, William Kliver, John H. McCune and William Ward, Executive Committee of the United Carpenters' council. The Executive Committee of the Carpenters' and Builders' association carefully considered the document and at once formulated and transmitted to the headquarters of the striking carpenters the following reply: TO THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE CARPENTERS NOW ON STRIKE-- _Gentlemen_: Your communication has been respectfully received and carefully considered by the executive committee of the Master Carpenters' association. We respectfully inform you that we can not in any manner deviate from the action of the association of Thursday night, which was embraced in the report delivered to you, and there is nothing in your communication which in the opinion of this committee justifies the calling of a meeting of the Master Carpenters' association. Very respectfully yours, J. W. WOODARD, JONATHAN CLARK, FRANCISCO BLAIR, JOHN RAMCKE, S. H. DEMPSEY, Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association of Chicago. The new association of bosses became exasperated at the action of the Carpenters' Council with regard to their agreement, and sent the council notice that unless the proposition for a settlement of the strike was agreed to by noon of April 16th, the association would not consider itself bound to pay 35 cents an hour, recognize the union, or make eight hours a day's work. They demanded that their employes be directed to return to work on Monday, April 18th. Early Saturday morning, April 16th, the executive committee of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association issued an address, as follows: Believing that the great majority of you are fair and honorable, the executive committee of the master carpenters take this means to address an appeal to you, as we believe you can not be reached in any other way, plainly, calmly, and without a coating of socialistic ideas being spread over by your so-called leaders, whose business it is to be agitators and disturbers of our mutual interests, and whose occupation would be gone if they could not find a constituency gullible enough to listen to and support them. It is impossible to say how much farther we would be advanced in material prosperity in this free country if we were free from the antagonistic feeling caused by this class of agitators, who are really out of their element here, and should be confined to the source of the oppression of labor, on the ground and among the institutions which support class distinction. Now we are all workers with you, our business is not speaking or writing, and we venture to say that nineteen-twentieths of the men who employ you started in from your body, and did not get where they are by listening to or following these imported ideas, but did the work they found to do, made the most of their opportunities, and we hope the same course will be left open to yourselves, and that the same spring will furnish more of the same stock, and that notwithstanding the foothold these perverted maxims (each for all and all for each) have gained among us, in the long run our plain judgment will lead us away from them and each will make his own endeavor to rise as high as his opportunities will allow him, and by doing so will stimulate his brother to follow in his footsteps. Is not this better than "each for all and all for each," which will load you down heavier than you can bear, so that none can rise, and a class will have to be furnished from some source to employ you who will surely not have your interests more at heart, and, in that event, we would be back again to whence we sprung from, or some other, where we can not tell. You surely will not be improved in your condition by wasting your time in contending with your employer for more than there is in existence to give you, for he can not give you what he has not got, nor can he give you wasted time nor the advance he has offered without risking a present loss in the hope of being able in the future to gradually increase the cost of production to cover his outlay. Men, go to work; form associations if you will; better your condition by that means if you can, but do not risk the driving away from this fair city that which supports you, nor listen, except to learn, to those born contenders who have no other gifts than "gab." Think of the $20,000 at least you are losing every day in wages, besides what you are spending, and think of those who are likely to suffer most by it. The wife and children, who have no voice in the matter, and also believe that your employers are not doing any better. Boys, this advice is from a committee of five who got every penny they possess from hard knocks and the work of their own hands and brains. J. W. WOODARD, JONATHAN CLARK, FRANCISCO BLAIR, JOHN RAMCKE, S. H. DEMPSEY, Executive Committee Carpenters' and Builders' Association of Chicago. The firmness of the employers and the disaffection among the carpenters, after two weeks of fruitless agitation, had produced no good results. No agreement was reached between the bosses and the strikers. The strike was simply declared off by what was regarded by the carpenters as competent authority. The edict which settled the strike was as follows: TO ALL ORGANIZED CARPENTERS--_Brothers_: You are ordered to report to your various jobs Monday at 8 A. M., and if your employer accedes to your demands for eight hours a day and 35 cents an hour, go to work, but on no account are you to work if your demands are not granted, neither will you work with scabs. You will make it your duty to see that every man has the working card issued by the United Carpenters' council for the months of April, May and June, and consider as a scab anyone who is not in possession of one. If your employer objects to the conditions do not stop to argue the question, but immediately report to headquarters. Some of you may not work the first nor the second day, but we will without fail win this battle if you follow instructions. Every brother in distress shall be assisted, and we pledge ourselves that not one of you shall want if only brought to our notice. Carefully take note of all jobs working more than eight hours, or employing scabs, and report to your headquarters. Also, any boss who defrauds brothers of their pay, with evidence necessary for prosecution. It shall be the duty of every man, especially foremen, to bring all influence they can to bear on their employers to induce them to join the new Builders' association. Now, brothers, with joy we say to you, go to work. You will get your demands. And we beseech you not to work for less. If you do, you will be found out. There are enough to watch those who will not do their duty, and you must be subject to a call when it is necessary. EXECUTIVE BOARD UNITED CARPENTERS' COUNCIL. When the news of the collapse of the strike reached the executive committee of the contracting carpenters at the Builders' and Traders' exchange it was at first discredited. When it was confirmed Chairman Woodard said he was glad such action had been taken, and that he knew the bosses would put the men to work Monday. "But," said he, "the members of the Carpenters' and Builders' association will not deviate from the action of Saturday night. We recognize eight hours as a day, but reserve the right to employ union or non-union men, and will pay from 30 cents an hour upward. We shall not hesitate to pay 35 cents, or more, to carpenters who are sufficiently skilled to earn such sums, but we must not be expected to employ men who are not able to earn more than 25 or 30 cents an hour. Our association has a membership that employs fully seven-eighths of the working carpenters, and we shall claim the right to employ competent men at fair wages and to discharge incompetent men at any time. I think it will be but a short time until nearly all of the carpenters will be at work, but not at 35 cents an hour." Francisco Blair said it would be unjust to require the bosses to discharge competent non-union men who had stood by them during the strike. He was satisfied that no member of the association would do so. There were plenty of bosses who would pay skilled workmen 35 cents an hour--a few men would receive 40 cents, as they had before the strike. Many of the assemblies of the carpenters met Saturday afternoon and evening and heartily endorsed the order directing them to return to work. They were tired of enforced idleness which had lasted sixteen days, and were ready to go to work on almost any terms. The following Monday--April 18th--four thousand of the striking carpenters returned to work, many of them secretly accepting the terms of the Carpenters and Builders, working for 30 cents an hour and upward, and pushing a plane or a saw by the side of a non-union carpenter who had not seen an idle day. AMALGAMATION. Trade organizations of almost every character had experienced difficulty in securing all they demanded from time to time, because of a want of co-operation--in their semi-tyrannical efforts--from kindred organizations. If the carpenters made a demand which was refused by the bosses, and non-union men should thereafter be employed on a building, they wanted the union employes in all other trades, working on the same job, to lay down their tools and walk out--a boycott must at once be established. If an employer assumed the right to carry on his own business in a manner which was distasteful to one or more employes in one trade, he must be forced to quit business until he was ready to obey the mandate of the trade affected. If he interposed an objection to such interference, he should be taught a severe lesson under the tyrannical, barbarous rule of the boycott. In order to lay the foundation for joint action in the direction indicated, a meeting was held April 10th, at which a plan of organization of the building trades was discussed. It was then deemed advisable to secure the consent of the various trade organizations in the city to the creation of a council for what was called "mutual protection." The proposition met with most hearty approval by ten trade organizations, the members of which saw at once how much more tightly the rein of tyranny could be drawn over a contractor who might be able to successfully vanquish one trade, but would have to accede to anything when employes in ten building trades were arrayed against him. Delegates were appointed to what it was proposed to call "The Amalgamated Council of the Building Trades of Chicago," from the following trade and labor organizations: Carpenters, Painters, Derrickmen, Hod-carriers, Steam-fitters, Lathers, Gas-fitters, Galvanized-iron and Cornice workers, Slaters and Stair-builders. A meeting was held at Greenebaum's hall on Sunday, April 17th. A constitution and by-laws were adopted and officers were elected as follows: President, J. H. Glenn; Vice-President, P. A. Hogan; Secretary, Ed. Bates; Financial Secretary, J. Burns; Treasurer, V. Carroll; Sergeant-at-Arms, J. Woodman. As soon as the organization was perfected it affected dictatorial powers, assuming the right to regulate nearly everything of any consequence for the unions which were represented. The objects of the Council were declared to be "to centralize the efforts and experience of the various organizations engaged in the erection and alteration of buildings, and, with common interest, prevent that which may be injurious, and also to properly perfect and carry into effect that which they deem advantageous to themselves. When any organization represented in the Council is desirous of making a demand for either an advance in wages or an abridgement of the hours of labor, it is required to make a report thereon to the Council, through its delegates, prior to the demand being made, when, if the action is concurred in by a two-thirds vote, it is to be declared binding." In effect, the Council became an offensive and defensive body, the principal business of which was to take advantage of every employer in the building trades. If one should refuse to yield a point demanded by one trade, however unjust the demand might be, it was the business of this boycott Council to "carry into effect that which they deemed advantageous to themselves," which, on ordinary occasions, would result in a stoppage of work of every kind upon a building until the employer should yield. They also expected to be in a position to compel all non-union men to obey the mandates of the organization. At a meeting of the Council, April 23d, the constitution was amended by adding the following section: It shall be the special duty of this Council to use the united strength of the organizations represented therein to compel all non-union men to conform to and obey the laws of the organizations to which they should properly belong. This stroke at personal liberty was strictly in furtherance of the "advantage" sought to be taken of the employer. The same power was to be brought to bear upon the workmen, who assumed the right to be independent, by seeking to "compel" them to "obey laws of the organizations to which they should properly belong." Not content with boycotting the employer, they must arrange a boycott upon a fellow-workman, because he might decline to join one of their unions. As if to "compel" a free man to do that against which his manhood revolts! HODCARRIERS AND LABORERS. There was comparative quiet for a week, during which time the carpenters were pushing their work rapidly. But the smooth order was soon broken. The first week in April the Hodcarriers' union had passed a resolution changing their pay from 25 to 30 cents an hour, and that of laborers from 22 to 25 cents an hour, and demanding recognition of their union. This order--for it was nothing less--was directed to take effect the first Monday in May. On Saturday, April 30th, the Hodcarriers and Laborers were instructed to make their demands, and report to a meeting to be held on Sunday, in order that the union might determine whether a strike should be ordered and the men called off on Monday. The bosses decided that under no circumstances would they recognize the Hodcarriers' union, maintaining that they were fully justified in so doing because the Bricklayers' union had refused to aid any proposition on the part of the Hodcarriers and Laborers to strike. The employers expected nothing less than a strike, as they universally refused the demands, claiming they could at once fill the places made vacant from the ranks of idle men in the city. In order to make their cause appear stronger the laborers claimed that numbers of bosses had acceded to their demands, but this was not true. Laborers in the stone yards took up the cause, concluding it was an opportune time to make some demands. They insisted upon eight hours a day, and two gangs of men when required to work overtime. The Stone-Cutters association met at once and put an end to the proposition for a strike by adopting the eight-hour day, resolving to work overtime and pay one-fourth extra for it--but not work two gangs of men--and at the same time refused to obey the dictation of the union by resolving that they would "employ men whether they belong to a union or not." This prompt action ended the strike of the laborers so far as the Stone-Cutters were concerned. The Bricklayers union met Friday night, April 29th, and discussed the proposed strike of the Hodcarriers and Laborers, and in a very peculiar manner lent assistance to their weak brethren. They passed a magnanimous resolution that "in the event of a strike no bricklayer should consent to do a hodcarrier's work." But further than this no action was taken. On the afternoon of Sunday, May 1st, four thousand hodcarriers and laborers assembled in the vicinity of Taylor street hall, near Canal street. At 3 o'clock the proposed meeting was held, but not more than one-half of those present could gain admission to the hall. The men inside and outside of the hall were discussing their grievances and "rushing the can" in a manner that promised a famine in beer on the following day. Patrick Sharkey presided at the meeting, at which there was a decided sentiment in favor of a strike. Speeches in English, German, Polish, and Bohemian were made to this effect, and a resolution was passed for a committee to wait on the contractors to see what they would do in answer to the demands that had been made. It was decided to allow men to work where the bosses acceded to the union demands, but no union man should work where there was one man employed who was not receiving the full scale of wages. It was decided that no man who could get the union wages should be asked to leave his work, but he would be asked to aid in supporting those who were compelled to take part in the strike. It was claimed, before the close of the meeting, that four thousand of the seven thousand Hodcarriers and Laborers in the city would remain at work, while the other three thousand would "be forced to strike." On Monday morning, May 2d, the promised strike of the Hodcarriers and Laborers began. More than four thousand quit work because their demands for 25 and 30 cents an hour, and recognition of their union, were not met. The men had reported at their respective jobs where they made their demands. When they were refused they were grievously disappointed, and sat and stood around waiting for the arrival of the "Walking Delegate," or for orders from the bosses to go to work at the increased rate of wages. In many instances they had to stand aside and see their places taken by non-union men. This was galling, but they remained, almost universally, quite orderly. What irritated them more than anything else was the fact that union Bricklayers offered no objection to working with non-union laborers. They had confidently expected that one union would support another, but the Bricklayers refused to recognize them as members of a union. They appeared to be too common for an aristocratic Bricklayer. Eight Walking Delegates paraded the city and endeavored to persuade non-union men to quit work and join the union. They were successful in but few instances. Non-union Laborers who had secured a good job were disposed to stick to it, and it seemed to require more than persuasion to draw them away from their work. In the treasury of the Hodcarriers' union there was the sum of $12,000, but that amount would not reach very far in a general lockout of five thousand members, each of whom was entitled to receive $5 a week while unemployed. They could expect no assistance from the Bricklayers, who had snubbed them; or the Carpenters, who had exhausted their treasury while on a strike lasting sixteen days; or the plasterers, who were not strong in numbers or finances, and had business of their own to look after. Their cause was helpless from the start, especially in view of the fact that there were thousands of idle laborers who were only too glad to step into the places made vacant without asking any questions about wages. On Tuesday the places of the four thousand strikers had been so nearly filled that but three hundred vacancies were reported. This was a hard blow to the union, but they stubbornly refused to yield a single point. A special meeting of the Master Masons' and Builders' association was held Tuesday night, May 3d, at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, at which a resolution was unanimously adopted to not accede to the demands of the Hodcarriers' and Laborers' Union for an increase in wages. There were eighty-seven of the members present, only thirty being absent. Expressions were taken from those present in regard to the course that should be pursued in reference to the strike, and there was not a dissenting voice on the proposition to refuse the demands made. The absentees were all heard from, and the president of the association said they were all of the same opinion. It was a quiet, earnest meeting, at which the members exhibited their determination to stand together, no matter what the result might be. On inquiry as to the number of Master Masons who needed laborers it was ascertained that there were but six members of the association who were without laborers, while less than a dozen others needed a few men. It was agreed that the members who had laborers to spare should lend some of them to those who most needed them until they could secure as many as they required. An executive committee was appointed, composed of Joseph Downey, Thomas E. Courtney, and Herman Mueller. This committee was instructed to hold daily sessions at the Builders' and Traders' exchange for the purpose of hearing complaints from members and supplying them with laborers, and to have a general supervision of the labor question pending a final settlement of the strike. They had no difficulty in securing all the men they wanted, the laborers being perfectly satisfied with the wages paid. On Thursday, May 5th, the Master Masons' association learned that a number of cases of intimidation had been attempted with their non-union laborers, but they passed them over because the battle had already been won. A STRIKE CLAUSE. On Friday, May 6th, Joseph Downey, President of the Master Masons' Association, sent the following communication to D. Adler, President of the Illinois Association of Architects. It was sent for the purpose of endeavoring to secure the co-operation of the Architects of the city--in view of a general strike in the building trades, which it was plain to be seen was impending: TO THE ARCHITECTS OF CHICAGO--_Gentlemen_: Owing to incessant and unreasonable demands being made upon us from time to time by our employes, causing incalculable delays, which mean disaster to those signing time contracts, the members of this association have, therefore, unanimously agreed to sign no contracts after May 1, unless the words "except in case of strikes or epidemics" are inserted in the time clause. Very respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. PAY ON SATURDAY. The Master Masons' Association unofficially received information that the Bricklayers' union had passed a resolution fixing Saturday as pay-day, instead of Monday, or Tuesday, which had been the rule for many years. This action was not taken by the union because it was believed greater good could be accomplished, or because it was a necessary change; but was for the purpose of further testing the temper of the employers and notifying them that they were subject to the dictation of the union. On Friday Mr. Downey sent the following unofficial communication to A. E. Vorkeller, President of the Bricklayers' union, hoping to secure a rescinding of the Saturday pay-day resolution, and avoid a strike: TO THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS-- _Gentlemen_: It has come to the knowledge of the Master Masons' and Builders' association that at your last meeting you passed a resolution that the members of your union should hereafter be paid on Saturday, instead of Monday and Tuesday, as is now and has been the custom. There has been no official action by the Master Masons' and Builders' association, but I have conferred with a number of them, and am impelled to write this letter to notify you of the fact that while we might prefer to comply with your request, we find it will be impossible to make up our pay-rolls in time to pay on Saturday, especially in the busy season, when some of us have from two hundred to three hundred men employed. We trust, gentlemen, that you will reconsider the action taken which resulted in the adoption of the resolution mentioned, as we are particularly anxious that the good feeling which has prevailed between your union and our association shall be continued without interruption. Very respectfully yours, JOSEPH DOWNEY. A DECLARATION. The evening of the same day a meeting of the Hodcarriers was held at West Twelfth street Turner Hall, at which a resolution was passed declaring it to be the duty of all employes in the building trades to go out in a body in order to support the strike which they had inaugurated, and in which they had been unsuccessful. GOING SLOW. A result of the strikes and unsettled state of affairs was to be seen in the disposition of contractors to go slow in bidding for new work, fearing they might be stopped by a strike and prevented from completing a building after the work had gotten well under way. Similar experience in past years had made them wary. THE BRICKLAYERS' STRIKE. Saturday, May 7th, was the first pay-day after the passage of the resolution by the Bricklayers' union fixing that day for payment. When the hour arrived for quitting work demand was made of the foreman on each job for payment in accordance with the resolution. It was refused, the Master Masons having determined that if the men were to strike because their demand was not conceded, they should be given an opportunity to do so at once. This general demand was taken as official notification that the resolution had passed. There was a universal expression of opinion among the Master Masons that they would refuse the demand--because of the spirit and manner in which it was made--and that they would stand firmly together upon the question. On Monday, May 9th, about two hundred bricklayers quit work because they had not been paid on the previous Saturday, but they were returned to work by President Vorkeller, of the union, because, he said, the rule for Saturday pay-day did not take effect until May 14th. Mr. Vorkeller called on President Downey and asked that a conference be held on the question of Saturday pay-day. In view of the action of the union in first resolving that the pay-day should be changed, this request was looked upon as very strange. But Mr. Downey notified him that he would present the question to the Master Masons' association. In referring to the situation Mr. Thomas Courtney voiced the sentiments of the builders when he said the only way to settle the prevailing uneasiness would be to stop all building at once and let it remain stopped until the strikers were tired of it. This seemed like a harsh measure, but it was the only sure way to success. All were tired of this labor agitation, and as the building of residence property especially was overdone, it was the best time he ever saw for a lockout. The workmen were not only fixing their own hours for work and their own pay, but now they wanted to fix their own pay-day. With so much labor disturbance it was a marvel to him that there was any disposition to erect a building in Chicago. A committee from the Amalgamated Trades Council called at the Builders' and Traders' exchange to see the executive committee of the Master Masons' association for the purpose of talking about the strike of the Hodcarriers. The committee was composed of Messrs. Brennock of the Carpenters, Carroll of the Stonecutters, and McBrearty of the Hodcarriers. They found President Downey, to whom they stated that they had called to see if the differences could be adjusted. Mr. Downey stated that the members of the executive committee were out paying their employes, and that another time would have to be fixed for the conference. He hoped the result of the conference would be satisfactory to all, and that at its conclusion they could say the strike was ended. The committee said that was what they wanted. Mr. Downey wanted to know what authority the committee had in the matter, and was told that they represented twelve of the building trades, and had the power to order every union man in those trades off a building where the union scale of wages was not paid or where non-union men were employed. But, they did not desire to exercise that power, as it was more the business of the Council to arbitrate and effect settlements than to encourage strikes. It was agreed that a conference should be had Tuesday morning, at which time the entire situation with reference to the Hodcarriers would be discussed. In order to exhibit the venomous spirit of some of the strikers an effort was made by the union Hodcarriers and Laborers to make the life of non-union Laborers a burden. A scheme was started for dropping mortar and pouring water on them in order to drive them away from any job where union men were at work. On Tuesday evening, May 10th, the Master Masons' association met. President Downey read a letter from the Bricklayers' Union which contained an unqualified statement that the union would not rescind the resolution making Saturday the pay-day. Mr. George C. Prussing submitted the draft of a communication to be sent to the Bricklayers' Union, and stated that he thought it was highly proper to send it, in the hope that by courteous treatment the differences would be settled with less difficulty. The proposition to send the communication was unanimously adopted. The communication was as follows: TO THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS-- _Gentlemen_: Notice of your resolution fixing pay-day every Saturday two weeks has been laid before this association. We submit to your consideration that a subject of this kind can hardly be "fixed" by a resolution in a meeting of employes, but should be referred to and properly discussed by a joint committee of both employers and employes before action is taken. Thus far the rule has been to pay up to and including Saturday on the following Tuesday among the members of this association, and as far as heard from no complaint of any irregularity in paying workmen has been made. In a city as large as this, covering such immense area, and where it is not infrequent for the same firm to be engaged upon work on the North, South, and West sides at the same time, two days at least are necessary to make up pay-rolls and envelope money properly. If, therefore, the change of pay-day from Tuesday to Saturday should be adopted, it would necessitate the closing of pay-day on Thursday night preceding. This, we submit, would not serve either you or us as well as to pay to the end of the previous week. You have not given us any reasons for your arbitrary demand for a change, and we have failed to find any in our judgment good and sufficient. If any such reasons exist we shall be pleased to know them. Until then we shall continue to pay as before, regularly every second Tuesday, up to the preceding Saturday night. By order of the CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. The communication was at once taken to the Bricklayers' Union by C. P. Wakeman, it having been stated that the union was in session and would receive any communication that should be sent. In about thirty minutes Mr. Wakeman returned from his visit to the Bricklayers, and reported that he had been received in grand shape. The hall was packed full, and when he took his place on the platform to read the communication he was loudly cheered. He asked the Bricklayers to lay the question of pay-day over and appoint a committee to see if the matter could not be settled. He was satisfied that two-thirds of those present were in favor of a compromise. They agreed to telephone the Builders' and Traders' exchange as soon as a conclusion was reached. The telephone was not used, but a committee from the Bricklayers' union called at 10:30 o'clock and notified Mr. Wakeman that the union had unanimously passed a resolution making Saturday the pay-day, and that it would not recede from it, but was willing to allow two days in which to make up the pay-roll, closing it on Thursday night. The report was received, after which a motion was made to lay the report on the table, but it was withdrawn. William O'Brien said the demand for pay on Saturday, if acceded to, would result in another demand for pay at noon on Saturday and give the men the afternoon, and then the contractors would have "blue Monday" in fact. He was in favor of acting like men and standing firmly by their principles, and they would command the respect of everybody. [Applause.] Mr. Charles W. Gindele said if the bricklayers had done the fair thing they would have conferred with the contractors before passing the resolutions, but they had made the demand arbitrarily. The community and the material men were watching the action of the association, and were ready to stand by it if it stood by its members. It was only a matter of time until the strike would have to burst, and he was in favor of bursting it then. If it was not done the community could not be expected to stand by them. If all building was stopped there were enough vacant buildings in the city to house everybody. [Applause.] A motion to not concur in the report of the committee was unanimously adopted, which was equivalent to a refusal to accede to the demands of the bricklayers in regard to making Saturday the pay-day. A resolution was then adopted refusing to comply with the demands of the bricklayers in regard to Saturday as a pay-day, fixing Monday or Tuesday of every other week as the day of payment, and agreeing to shut down all work if the bricklayers should strike on account of this action. There was but one opposing vote. President Downey submitted an agreement which had already been signed by a large majority of the members of the association. It embraced a proposition to stand together upon the question of pay-day, and to all stop work, if it should be necessary, in order to maintain their rights against unjust exactions of the laboring men. After the agreement was read an opportunity was given for members to sign it who had not done so, and twenty names were added to the list. The association then voted to approve the sentiments expressed in the agreement, the vote being unanimous. The Executive Committee submitted a report of the doings of its members in regard to the labor troubles. It was as follows: TO THE CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION--_Gentlemen_: Your executive committee does respectfully report that a committee of three, claiming to be appointed by and to represent the Amalgamated Trades council, and to be clothed by it with power to settle the existing laborers' strike, did call by appointment this morning at the exchange and met us, together with a number of members of this association whom we asked to join us for this particular purpose. After quite a lengthy and exhaustive discussion of the situation said committee of three insisted: Firstly, on the establishment of a minimum rate of wages for all masons' laborers at 23½ cents per hour. Secondly, one time and one-half to be granted for all work done over and above eight hours per day, no matter during which hours such work may be performed. Thirdly, for double pay for Sunday work, and, Lastly, on the recognition of their union. The first three propositions are debatable and might have been acceded to by your committee and this body, and if the fourth had been understood to mean an acknowledgement of the fact that a union of masons' laborers more or less numerous has been formed, and is now in existence, your committee would have been ready to go to that length. But the gentlemen wanted more--far more. They informed us that a recognition of their union means that the members of this association pledge themselves to employ henceforth none but laborers belonging to their union, to grant to it the practical control of the labor market, and to drive every laborer now employed from our buildings, and in reality out of the city all who have not now, or do not in near future, join the ranks of their union. In other words, to make ourselves the whippers-in of said union. It means that we sanction and support the aim and object of said union, which is that none shall work in Chicago at their calling except upon surrender of his manhood into its keeping and at its beck and call. It means that we sanction the employment of brute force to coerce men into their ranks. It means that we sanction and approve of the outrages committed daily against men now at work upon terms mutually satisfactory to themselves and their employers. We, the members of this association, must plead guilty, in common with the entire community, to suffering the fundamental principles underlying the very fabric of our government, and guaranteed by our constitution--principles called inalienable rights of man--to be overridden and practically abrogated by lawless bodies throughout the land. Thus far are we equally guilty with all other citizens in neglecting our duty as such. To uphold this government and constitution is the duty of all citizens. We are part of this community, and comparatively a small fraction. This community will awake from its lethargy and to its duty when that time comes, and God speed the coming. The voice of this association will give no uncertain sound. In the meantime, let us never voluntary do or sanction wrong. We may suffer, but we can not cope against it without the active support of the community. But never let it be said that we approved of the methods employed recently by trades-unions. Your committee would not make you liable to such charge by its act, and reports the whole matter to you for final action. Respectfully. JOSEPH DOWNEY, H. MUELLER, Executive Committee. We, the undersigned members, who were present at the committee meeting this morning do join in the report. G. C. PRUSSING, GEORGE TAPPER, C. P. WAKEMAN. The report was adopted by a rising vote, followed by prolonged applause. President Downey stated that he had recently seen a great many of the brick manufacturers and the officers of the stone pool in regard to selling materials in case of a lockout, and they had assured him that they would stand by the contractors in case of a general strike, and not sell a dollars' worth of building material while the strike lasted. The pulse of the manufacturers of and dealers in building materials was felt, and it was ascertained that they fully realized they were standing on a volcano that was likely to burst at any time and stop them. One of them covered the case fully when he said they were practically dependent upon the contractors, and if it became necessary for the Master Masons to shut down, the brick manufacturers and stone men would support them by shutting down their yards and stopping the manufacture of brick and the production of building stone. They were on the eve of a strike among their own employes, instances of discontent cropping out almost every day, and if the producers of building materials should elect to stand by the contractors he was satisfied the strike questions would not only be settled for the season, but for all time. The committee from the Amalgamated Building Trades Council, composed of Messrs. Brennock, Carroll and McBrearty again met the executive committee of the Master Masons' association and made its demand for the Hodcarriers. The Master Masons were asked to recognize the union, pay 25 cents an hour and agree to employ none but union hodcarriers and laborers. The executive committee of the Master Masons, composed of Messrs. Downey, Courtney and Mueller, with Mr. Prussing added, told the council committee that they would not accede to the demand. They insisted that they could not pay 25 cents an hour to laborers, and under no circumstances would they discharge the army of non-union laborers, as it would be an injustice to poor men who were dependent upon their labor for support. Mr. Courtney told them these men were not able, if inclined, to join the union, and it would be almost inhuman to throw them out of employment when they were faithful employes. Mr. Carroll admitted that the Council was not ready to order the union laborers to stop work, as there were too many non-union hodcarriers and laborers in the city, and until these were brought into the union a general strike would not accomplish what was wanted. He also remarked that the Council had decided to call off all union men on jobs where non-union men were employed, but he could not say whether it would carry out the declaration. The hodcarriers had inaugurated the strike, and might conclude to drop it until they were in better shape by having more non-union men in their assemblies. TWO THOUSAND BRICKLAYERS QUIT. On Monday, May 11th, the strike of the Bricklayers materialized. Two thousand members of the union dropped their trowels because the employers refused to recognize their edict in regard to Saturday pay-day. This act threw out of employment an equal number of Hodcarriers and Laborers, many of whom were not in sympathy with the movement of the Bricklayers. President Vorkeller of the Bricklayers' union, insisted that no strike had been ordered, but the men would not work unless the Saturday pay-day was granted. No "strike had been ordered," but the men were striking as fast as they could. Upon being informed that the pay-day would not be changed they stopped at once, all understanding that they must quit. Yet, according to the president of the union, "there was no strike ordered." They were simply "standing by the resolution." Some of the men quit work very reluctantly, remarking that it was the height of nonsense to strike on such a frivolous proposition. But they had to obey orders, and did so with military precision. The Walking Delegate was promptly on hand to see that every man obeyed orders, and the snap of his finger did its work on a great many jobs where the men were in no hurry to quit work. The president of the union claimed that they could endure a long lockout, as they had real estate and cash representing $75,000, and could make it $100,000 by assessments. But the Bricklayers were not Knights of Labor, and were not amalgamated with any other labor organization, and consequently were not in a position to give to or receive assistance from any other labor union. At the Builders' and Traders' exchange there was considerable bustle among the contractors. They realized that the strike for which they had been looking had commenced, and they put their heads together as if they were preparing for a long and hard fight. There was not a dissenting voice to be heard in regard to the question. Everyone who entered the exchange wore an earnest look, and expressed determination to not yield on the question of pay-day if the building business of the city was to stop a whole year. They had wrestled with the strike problem in almost every aspect in which it could be placed, until it had become a burden too heavy to bear. A period had been reached when the trouble could be settled for all time, and they were determined to settle it in a manner that would be effective. They realized that they might lose thousands of dollars while engaged in the effort, but with the co-operation of the material men they could reach a conclusion that would be lasting. It was not a question of hours or wages, as those had been conceded with many other exactions. It had become a question whether the contractor was to allow his employes to domineer over him and dictate everything, or whether he should have a little to do with the management of his own affairs. The building interests had been hampered for years by demand after demand, nearly all of which had been of an arbitrary character. It was more convenient for the contractors, and better for the men, that they should be paid on Monday or Tuesday. A majority of the Bricklayers did not object to the pay-day, but the leaders demanded the change, and they were forced to submit. Labor unions are generally managed by the leaders for their own interests. The Bricklayers were the best organized body in the city. They had no affiliations with other unions. If a Bricklayer entered Chicago with a card from another union in his hand he would not be permitted to work until he paid the Chicago Union $25. The result was that Bricklayers were driven from the city and the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons dictated for years rules, not only for their own government, but for the control of every Master Mason that attempted to fill a contract. Among the contractors the fight had become one for principle, and every element that was in sympathy with the maintenance of the right was invited to unite with the contracting Masons in their effort put forth to attain that object. In furtherance of the movement a committee was appointed by the Master Masons' association to confer with dealers in building materials and procure their signature to an agreement that they would not sell and deliver building material to any one pending a settlement of the labor troubles, except upon the authority of Joseph Downey, president of the Master Masons' associations. The agreement was as follows: _Whereas_, We believe the position taken by the Chicago Master Masons' association in the present building trade strike to be correct; and, _Whereas_, We believe that the more complete the cessation of all building work during the strike can be made, the shorter will be the interference with business. _Now_, _therefore_, Do we, the undersigned, hereby agree with and among one another not to sell or deliver materials to any building in Chicago or suburbs during the continuance of this strike, except as may be allowed or requested by the executive committee appointed by the Chicago Master Masons' association in charge of the strike. The committee was composed of Joseph Downey, president; Thomas Courtney, treasurer, (who went to Europe June 1st, and his place was filled by E. Earnshaw); Herman Mueller, secretary. A sub-committee was appointed, composed of C. W. Gindele, Daniel Freeman and E. S. Moss. The three divisions of the city were created "districts," and were put in charge of the following members: South side, William O'Brien; North side, John Mountain; West side, William Iliff. Visitors were then appointed and the city was thoroughly canvassed and patrolled in order to secure full co-operation of the material dealers, and to protect the interests of the members generally. Dealers in stone, brick, lime, cement, sand, architectural iron, tile, and every other class of building material, flocked to the exchange and appended their signatures to the agreement. They were only too glad to lend their assistance to break the backbone of a species of tyranny under which they had been oppressed for years. The committee reported that nearly every important dealer had signed the agreement. Backed by this element the contractors were relieved. They felt assured of success. There was joy in the camp of the Hodcarriers when it was announced that the Bricklayers had gone out. Their joy was not on account of the strike, but because it would result in throwing out of employment the non-union Hodcarriers and Laborers who had stepped into their places when they struck for an advance in pay, and were locked out. The idle men who were needy drew on the treasury of the Hodcarriers' union and took out of it nearly every dollar it contained. The Amalgamated Building Trades' Council met and attempted to order a general strike of all building trades, but discovered that they were powerless to do so, because the delegates had not been given "power to act" by their respective unions. The desire to order the general strike was present, but the authority was absent. There was no lack of willingness on the part of the leaders. They are always ready and willing to keep their positions at the sacrifice of anything and anybody. The leaders of the striking bricklayers were quietly, but actively engaged in laying plans for the future. They claimed to be ready to meet any emergency that might come. At the same time the contractors claimed to hold the key to the situation, and said they would never give up until they could have a little to say in the management of their own business. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association decided that there should be a general shutting down of all work on which bricklayers and stonemasons were engaged, and in pursuance of this decision the following notice was issued May 10th. Notice.--The members of the Master Masons' association now working men are hereby requested to stop work Friday night, May 13th, and to report to the executive committee. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. On Friday, May 13th, the idle army was largely increased. Of bricklayers, stonemasons, hodcarriers, laborers, teamsters, helpers, carpenters, and a few in other trades, there were fifteen thousand out of employment. Many of these were willing to work, but they were forced to be idle because of the strike of the bricklayers. The strikers threatened to bring into the city building material from Michigan, thinking by such a proceeding they could force the bosses to give in. The proposition was laughed at. In support of the Master Masons the North and Northwest Brick Manufacturers' association met and resolved that from May 14th no brick should be delivered from any of the yards in the association until the strike was ended, and that the yards would stop manufacturing brick May 18th. The association yards had a capacity of 1,250,000 brick per day, and employed 1,300 men. The bricklayers attempted to hold a meeting at Greenebaum's hall Friday night to discuss what they termed "the bosses' lockout." Every member of the union was on hand, and at least half of them were prepared to express their views on the subject. Over five hundred men were unable to gain entrance to the hall owing to its crowded condition, and finding themselves thus cut off from debate proceeded to interrupt those who were inside, so that it was impossible for anyone to hear what was said. A good many who were on the floor were determined to express disapprobation at the trivial demand that had precipitated the trouble, and to request that something be done to settle the dispute, but finding that the malcontents outside were bent on stopping all discussion it was determined to close the meeting. Upon a motion to this effect another noisy faction began to oppose it, and the shouting and stamping of feet became deafening. The floor quivered under the tumultuous mob, and many left the hall for fear it would give way. President Vorkeller could not control the men, and after two hours' labor to bring order out of chaos he made a proposition that battery D, or the cavalry armory, be secured, and thus obtain room for all. This met with favor, and the meeting adjourned with the understanding that the men assemble at battery D at 10 o'clock Saturday morning, May 14th. REVOLUTIONARY TALK. In order to inflame the strikers and keep them together they were frequently regaled by such poisonous talk as the following: "In a week the men will begin to get uneasy. They will assemble on the streets. The Internationalists [red-flag bandits] will be among them, notwithstanding the fact that they are alleged to have disbanded. Do you suppose that 50,000 or 100,000 men are going to starve and allow their families to die before their eyes without lifting a hand? It is against human nature. I am going to leave Chicago. It is not safe for men of my views to be around in times like these. If the lockout is continued, the people will arise and overthrow a system which permits a few men to starve the vast majority into slavery." It was of little use to point out to angry and ignorant men the absurdity of these revolutionary predictions of their worst enemies. It availed nothing to tell them that Capital had not refused to give them employment; that Capital was ready and more than willing to employ them, and was suffering loss every day and hour of their idleness; that Capital was the best friend they have in the world, a friend that respected their rights and required of them only that they should have equal respect for its rights; and that to maintain its rights against their annoying and persistent attacks was its sole aim in meeting them on their own ground and fighting them in their own fashion. Their blatant demagogues asserted the contrary, and they continued to listen to their blatant demagogues. PECULIAR METHODS. The Bricklayers' union was such a close corporation that it not only failed and refused to affiliate with bricklayers who were members of the International union, but proposed to debar every other mechanic from earning a living and force them to assist in securing a benefit for its own members. It was attempting to oust from employment all other building trades in order to carry a trivial point for its own benefit. A meeting of the Amalgamated Trades' Council was held May 14th, at which the action of the Bricklayers was discussed. Expressions of sympathy were made for the Hodcarriers--who were represented in the Council--and condemnation of the Bricklayers,--who were not represented,--and the following resolution was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the Bricklayers' union be requested to send a delegation to this Council and take part in its work, and failing so to do that this Council consider itself purposely ignored, and at liberty to support such members of the International Union of Bricklayers as may seek work in Chicago, and that the hodcarriers may supply said International men. A committee was appointed to convey the resolution to the president of the Bricklayers' union. When asked if he had received the resolution President Vorkeller at first emphatically denied it. But when James Brennock, Secretary of the Council, exhibited a reply to it from Vorkeller, he changed his manner of expression, and admitted that he had decided to send a committee to meet the members of the Council, but the union would not send delegates. He said he would have nothing to do with amalgamation, as the union was independent, and able to take care of itself. He afterwards changed his mind, however, and the Bricklayers' union, which was so independent, so powerful, so well organized--under a threat by the Hodcarriers to bring International bricklayers to Chicago--sent delegates to the Council and amalgamated. WALLING THE STRIKERS IN. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association busied itself in securing signatures to the agreement to not sell or deliver any building material pending the strike, and they were eminently successful. It divided the city into districts and appointed sub-committees to visit each job to see who were working and if any disposition was shown to violate the agreement. They daily added signatures to the document, fully realizing that by procuring a hearty co-operation from the material men they could build a wall so high that there would be no question of success in combatting the tyrannical acts of the union. The question of individual liberty was brought home to them in such a manner that they could not ignore it. A NEW PROPOSITION. Saturday, May 14th, a large meeting of representatives of the building trades met at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. The spacious rooms were crowded to their full capacity. George Tapper presided. The sentiments of the meeting were fully expressed in the following statement and resolutions, which were unanimously adopted: The members of the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, in special meeting assembled, in their capacity as citizens and as employers of labor, believe the time ripe to protest against the arrogant interference of labor organizations with business and the rights of man as guaranteed by the constitution of the United States. From year to year this evil of foreign importation has grown worse and worse, because the people, whose duty as citizens it is to uphold and enforce the laws, have not taken the time to oppose actively the aggressions and outrages committed in the name and by the instigation of the various labor organizations. We have seen this evil brought to and planted in our soil; we have allowed it to sprout and grow, and put forth new and stronger shoots every year, until now it is plain that it must either be stamped out by the active co-operation of all law-abiding citizens or it will overwhelm and destroy our very form of government. The dividing line between the permissible and objectionable, between right and wrong, should be clearly and unmistakably drawn, and the voice of the community should be heard with proper earnestness and determination, saying to the ignorant as well as the vicious, "thus far shall you go, but go no farther." We believe that the large majority sin from ignorance. Others have seen the wrong exist and tolerated, and wrong-doers prosper, until their moral perceptions are dulled and blunted. Those who know better, whose opportunity and education is superior, have neglected their duty to their misled fellow-citizens full long enough. A crusade must be inaugurated, and should be participated in by each and all who love and desire the perpetuation of this government, founded, in the words of the immortal Lincoln, "of the people, for the people, by the people." Let all unite and stand shoulder to shoulder in solid phalanx for the right and frown down the spirit of anarchy now rampant, and ere long the rights of the individual shall again be respected, and this country shall again and in fact become the "home of the free." _Whereas_, We recognize that the Master Masons' and Builders' association has taken a proper stand in its opposition to the arbitrary dictates of organized labor, and that its battle is our battle, and in the belief that the more complete the cessation of all building work during the present strike the shorter will be the interference with business; now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, That we indorse the action of said Master Masons' association and make its position our own, and will actively aid and assist it in and during this strike. _Resolved_, That while we condemn and oppose improper actions by trades unions, we still recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and shall aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conference and arbitration are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. _Resolved_, That this exchange do, and it does hereby, call upon all contractors and builders, be they members of this exchange or not, for co-operation and active assistance; it calls upon all architects; upon the owners of buildings in course of construction or about to be started; upon the press and pulpit; upon each and every citizen, and particularly upon all mechanics and laborers who believe that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employer and workman should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. Each association in the building trades, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, and the Chicago Real Estate board were requested to appoint three delegates to be present at a conference of building trades on Monday, May 19th. Mr. Prussing was asked to state the position of the Master Masons. In doing so he said: "It is no more walking delegate! [Cheers.] No more interference with the boy who wishes to learn a trade that he may earn an honest living. [Cheers.] But why ask for particulars? We ask that the wrongs and outrages perpetrated by the trades unions be wiped out, and we ask every minister in his pulpit and every editor in his chair to aid us. If we present a solid and united front the victory will soon be won. * * * * The spirit of anarchy is rampant and must be put down, or it will put you down." [Applause.] Just as the meeting adjourned a telegram was received from Boston, signed by William H. Sayward, secretary of the National Association of Builders. The assembly waited to hear it. It read as follows: We are watching your course with great sympathy and interest. Individual liberty must be preserved at any cost. It was received with a burst of applause, followed by three cheers and a "tiger." PRACTICAL WORK. A meeting of the directors of the Chicago stone pool was held, at which there was a full attendance. The building situation was carefully and thoroughly discussed, and without a dissenting voice it was agreed to sustain the Master Masons in the action taken relative to the strike. A resolution was adopted not to sell or deliver stone to anybody pending a settlement of the labor troubles. It was also agreed to stop work at the twenty-two quarries controlled by the pool if it should become necessary. The key to the situation was held by the stone pool, and when this action was taken the cause of the Master Masons was strengthened in a manner that caused a feeling of relief. Without stone building could not go on for any great length of time. PERMITS--ARCHITECTS. There was some work under contract which had to be done in order to protect it, or to avoid violating an agreement, and in such cases President Downey arranged for the issuance of permits for the sale of such material as was needed to complete the work. The Architects met and expressed approval of the course of the Master Masons, and the following resolution, presented by W. L. B. Jenney, was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the secretary be and he is hereby instructed to send to the Builders' and Traders' exchange, through its president, the announcement of our sincere co-operation. WHIPPING THE GERMANS INTO LINE. A mass meeting of the Bricklayers was held on the same day at Battery D, ostensibly for the purpose of discussing the strike, but really for the purpose of anathematizing the employers and forcing into line the dissatisfied and discontented Germans who had been forced to strike against their will. There was a majority of the Germans present, and if they had not been frightened into following the leaders, they could have rescinded the resolution making Saturday the pay-day. But they were timid and unorganized. Mr. Richter spoke in favor of rescinding the resolution, but his own German friends were not brave enough to accord him a cheer, while the opposition howled him down. When the orators thought they had the meeting in proper temper the following resolution was presented by George Childs: _Resolved._ That we strictly abide by the resolution that was passed by our Union as to a Saturday pay-day every two weeks, and refuse to work on any other terms. It was read in six different languages that it might be understood by the "congress of nations." President Vorkeller then requested those who favored its adoption to take a position on the right of the hall. A rush was made and but one man voted against the resolution. The objecting Germans had been intimidated to such an extent on that and previous occasions that they feared to vote against the edict of the leaders. A viva voce vote was then taken and the resolution was adopted without a dissenting voice. When the result of the meeting at Battery D was announced in the committee-room of the Master Masons there was a significant smile on the faces of those present. President Downey stated that a rescinding of the Saturday pay-day resolution by the bricklayers was not expected, and if it had been done it would not have restored the building interests to their normal condition. The contractors had been forced into a fight which they had staved off for years by making concessions, but now that they were in it they would not stop short of a permanent settlement of every grievance which had been borne until they were no longer to be endured. On Monday, May 16th, there were 18,000 mechanics locked out, and 1,100 laborers were being supported by the Hodcarriers' union. Four hundred bricklayers left the city to look for work. A PLATFORM OF PRINCIPLES. Tuesday evening, May 17th, the Master Masons' association met and unanimously adopted the following platform of principles: Your committee does respectfully report in favor of the reaffirmation of the following planks from the platform of the National Association of Builders as fundamental principles upon which must be based any and all efforts at settlement of the now existing lockout in building trades: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points on which conference and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented; or, in other language, that "the walking delegate must go;" that the laws of the state shall prevail in regard to apprentices and not the dictates of labor organizations; that "stewards" in control of the men employed at buildings will not be recognized, and that "foremen," as the agents of employers, shall not be under the control of the union while serving in that capacity. We report in favor of the above, and believe that no time should be wasted now in the discussion of details which can readily be adjusted by arbitration when an association of workmen shall be in existence which acknowledges the justice of the above principles. With such association, questions of detail or policy, such as minimum rate of wages to be paid, the hours of work per day, or any complaints or grievances now existing or hereafter arising, can readily be settled by a joint committee of arbitration, and we hold ourselves ready and willing to do so. The need of the day is a firm stand upon the question at issue--namely, the constitution-guaranteed rights of the individual. In our efforts to maintain these we have received the unanimous and hearty co-operation of the community, and we are sure of its continued support. All other questions are trivial in comparison, and the consideration thereof may well be postponed. And in this connection we take pleasure in acknowledging the receipt of sympathy and co-operation of the architects of this city, the active support of the manufacturers of and dealers in building materials, the uniform and readily-granted assistance of the building public and the many letters of sympathy with the cause received from people entirely disconnected with building interests, who feel with us that it is the duty of the American people to oppose this form of tyranny and crush it out now and forever. It is time, indeed, that the men in charge of unions should learn that they are not fighting this association, but run counter to the sentiments of the entire people and the institutions of this free country. They must learn to distinguish between liberty and license, between right and wrong. All who aid in this work deserve well by their country. In conclusion, we recommend the appointment of a committee of three by the president to represent this association at a conference to be held by representatives of all building trades at the Builders' Exchange to-morrow, and until the present lockout is finally settled. GEORGE C. PRUSSING, GEORGE TAPPER, GEORGE H. FOX, Committee. When that portion was read stating that the "walking delegate must go" there was loud applause, and every section of the platform was cheered. THE REAL ESTATE BOARD. A special meeting of the Real Estate board was held at which the labor question was fully discussed by Messrs. W. D. Kerfoot, H. L. Turner, M. R. Barnard, E. S. Dreyer, Bryan Lathrop, W. L. Pierce and others. The following resolution was presented by M. R. Barnard and adopted by the board: _Resolved_, That the Chicago Real Estate Board is in full sympathy with the Builders' and Traders' exchange, the contractors, architects, and owners in their efforts to check the evils of the labor troubles, and that the Real Estate Board expresses a willingness to co-operate with them in their efforts to devise such means as will result in an equitable and final settlement of the question. SOMEBODY WAS HURT. The Amalgamated Trades' Council held a meeting--which was attended by delegates from the Bricklayers' union--at which threats were made to prosecute Messrs. Downey, Prussing and other builders for "conspiracy" because they had been prominent in securing the co-operation of the dealers in building material, and a refusal to sell and deliver pending the strike. This movement had struck its mark. It hurt. In the meantime the poor Hodcarriers and Laborers were lost sight of. They had exhausted their treasury and were assessing members at work $1 a week to partially defray expenses of those who were idle. Very few were engaged in building, but were shoving lumber, working in ditches and sewers, and performing labor of any kind they could find to do. Their cause was lost. AN IMPORTANT MOVEMENT. The conference of Building Trades, which had been called by the Builders' and Traders' exchange, met Wednesday, May 18th. The various organizations were represented as follows: Architectural Iron-Work--Robert Vierling, A. Vanderkloof, M. Benner. Plumbers--Robert Griffith, William Sims, J. J. Wade. Steam-Fitters--H. G. Savage, L. H. Prentice, P. S. Hudson. Stone-Cutters--F. V. Gindele, T. C. Diener, John Rawle. Plasterers--J. N. Glover, A. Zander, John Sutton. Roofers--M. W. Powell. Master Masons--George C. Prussing, George Tapper, George H. Fox. Painters--J. B. Sullivan, H. J. Milligan, J. G. McCarthy. Galvanized-Iron-Work--Edward Kirk, Jr., F. A. E. Wolcott, W. B. Maypole. Carpenters--William Hearson, William Mavor, W. T. Waddell. North Side Brick Manufacturers--A. J. Weckler, F. Zapell, A. Hahne. Non-Union Stone-Cutters--C. B. Kimbell. Real Estate Board--Henry L. Turner, W. L. Pierce, E. S. Dreyer. Builders' and Traders' Exchange--F. E. Spooner, H. C. Hoyt, B. J. Moore. Architects--F. Bauman, J. W. Root, M. Pierce. Hollow-Tile Manufacturers--P. B. Wight. George Tapper was made president and F. C. Schoenthaler secretary. The members discussed the situation, all agreeing that it was necessary to stand together, and that prompt action should be taken to settle the strike. On motion of F. E. Spooner the two sections of the platform of the Master Masons, which were taken from the declaration of principles of the National Association of Builders, were read and adopted without a dissenting voice. The following committee was appointed to submit a plan for future action: George C. Prussing, Henry L. Turner, William Hearson, J. B. Sullivan and Edward Kirk, Jr. BRICK YARDS SHUT DOWN. Wednesday, May 18th, nearly all of the brick manufacturers in and adjacent to the city shut down their yards to not resume the manufacture of brick until there was a settlement of the labor troubles. Their action threw out of employment six thousand brickmakers, helpers, yardmen, and teamsters. This action was precipitated by the fact that there was a supply of brick on hand which could not be delivered until building operations were resumed, and the manufacturers saw nothing in the situation that made it necessary for them to make brick when their product could not find a market. They did not desire to invest large sums of money in making brick to store at a large expense, and few of them had an outside demand for their product. In nearly every yard in the vicinity of Chicago there had been strikes, and others were threatened. The feeling of uncertainty and insecurity was so prevalent that the brick manufacturers were more ready than ever to co-operate with the movement of the Master Masons in order to be placed in a position to begin anew on whatever basis might be adopted for a settlement of the labor question. They wanted to run full time when they did run, and not be regulated by the "gang" rule as to what should constitute a day's work for a machine and the attendant man. When a machine was guaranteed to make 50,000 brick in a day they objected to shutting it off at 35,000, and calling that number a day's work. Such rules were regarded as too arbitrary, and as the brickmaking season was limited to from 120 to 150 days it necessarily shortened the crop and prevented a fair income on the capital invested in machinery and grounds. A PLATFORM APPROVED. Thursday, May 19th, the conference of the Building Trades held a second meeting, and the committee on platform submitted a report which was discussed by the members and slightly amended. As adopted it was as follows: In order to carry into effect the platform adopted by us, your committee recommend: 1. That from this time forth the signature to the following code of principles by the employe be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago, viz: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, for whom he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the absolute right of the employer to decide for himself, without interference from any source, whom he shall employ or cease to employ; to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence and freedom, provided, only, that he deal lawfully, justly and honorable with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn, any lawful trade as on a plane with his right to a knowledge of reading, writing, or any other branch of learning, and should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. I hereby pledge myself, in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen, to maintain and live up to these principles. Your committee recommend, second, that the same code of principles be presented for signature to every employer with the pledge therein changed as follows: I hereby pledge myself to maintain and live up to these principles in the prosecution of my business, and to lend my aid to the full extent of my influence and power for their maintenance and protection among my fellow employers. I further pledge myself not to employ any workmen except upon his signature of this code of principles. Your committee recommend, third, that this conference recommend to our respective organizations to request of each of its members to employ such workmen only who recognize the inalienable rights as above set forth, and evidence their position by subscribing their names thereto. Your committee recommend, fourth, that public announcement be made at once that business will be resumed on or before June 1, with this code of principles as a basis. Your committee recommend, fifth, that a standing committee of one member from each of the building trades, Real-Estate Board, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, to be known as the central council of the building interests of Chicago be appointed, whose duty it shall be to see to the carrying out of these principles; that it shall have a sub-committee of safety, whose province it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded; with sub-committees on grievances, strikes, arbitrations, and such as may be found necessary, but that it work always and solely for the maintenance and protection of the principles herein laid down. Your committee recommend, sixth, that an address to the workingmen of the building trades and to the general public be prepared, setting forth your action and your reasons therefor; that fifty thousand copies be printed and immediately distributed. Your committee recommend, seventh, that the declaration of principles be printed at once and circulated for signatures. Your committee recommend, eighth, that a fund be created to defray the expenses of this central council, and that we request each association here represented to transmit to the order of George Tapper, chairman, the sum of 25 cents for each of their members, and that individual contributions of people interested in this work be accepted. The committee was instructed to have the report printed in six different languages for general distribution. A meeting of the Master Masons' association was held the same day at which objections were made to that portion of the platform which require the employe to _sign_ an agreement to abide by what had been laid down as the principles of the employers. It was regarded as impracticable and the association refused to approve it, deferring action until there was a full meeting. The Carpenters' and Builders' association met in the evening and unanimously approved the platform presented by the Conference of Builders, although some objection was offered to the clause requiring the employe to sign his name. SOME OBJECTIONS. At the rooms of the Builders' and Traders' exchange the members congregated in large number and earnestly discussed the situation and platform of principles adopted by the conference committee of the building trades. Everyone seemed to be loaded with an opinion which he wanted to shoot off at everybody else. The burden of the discussion was upon the proposition to require employers and employes to append their signatures to the declaration of principles. There was no disagreement as to the correctness of the principles, but a great many questioned the ability of the employers to put the first section into practice-- requiring the employe to sign before going to work. It was generally stated that this proposition was impracticable with the building trades, because many of the men were constantly moving about from one job to another, and unless they were known to have previously signed a new signature would be required on each job, to which the men would object. Masons generally favored a proposition to require the employes to assent to the principles enunciated, and if they did not want to work then they could remain idle. Some of the bosses, however, insisted that they would not only vote against the signing clause, but would refuse to put it into execution if it should be indorsed by a full meeting. It was suggested that an arrangement could be made for opening the doors and inviting the men to go to work. Each applicant for a job could be asked if he knew the principles which had been adopted, and under which work was to be resumed. If not, he could have a copy delivered to him to read, or have them read to him, and if he was then willing to resume work, all right. If not, he could reconsign himself to idleness. It was thought this would not antagonize the unions, and that a large majority of the men would return to work within a week. AN OFFICIAL VISIT. Notice having been received by the president of the Builders' and Traders' exchange that the officers of the National Association of Builders were to be in Chicago, the board of directors of the exchange met and appointed the following committee to receive them: George Tapper, Joseph Downey, George II. Fox, James John, M. Benner, Charles A. Moses, William E. Frost, F. C. Schoenthaler, and James C. Beeks. The officials were met and were fully informed by the committee of what had occurred in Chicago from the inception of the labor trouble which had paralyzed the building trades, and were furnished with a copy of the platform of principles adopted by the Conference committee of the building trades. The situation was informally discussed by the officers of the National Association and the reception committee, in order to put the visitors in a position to fully understand the ground upon which action had been taken. They were apprised of the demands which had been made from time to time for years, and of the fact that these demands had been generally acceded to until they had become almost unbearable, and that the builders of Chicago thought the time had arrived when decisive action should be taken in order to insure a permanent settlement of the troubles which had disrupted the employers and the employes. Referring to the situation William H. Sayward said it was not alone Chicago builders who were affected by the movement, but the whole country was interested in it. The builders of Chicago and those of other cities could see the benefits which were expected to be derived from a national association. Before that, when there had been a strike of any magnitude in any city, the builders engaged in the complications received not even a word of sympathy from their associates in other parts of the country. In their troubles the Chicago builders had received messages of sympathy and approval from almost every part of the country, because all felt and had a common interest in the questions at issue. A LITTLE SYMPATHY. The Central Labor union men met Sunday, May 22d, and compassed the situation by the passage of the following sympathetic resolution: _Resolved_, That the present lockout of the bosses is in every way unjustified; that the Central Labor union declares that it is a conspiracy against the rights of the working people, and extends to the locked out workmen hearty sympathy and financial as well as moral aid. ANOTHER THREAT. The Trade and Labor assembly met the same day and threatened to prosecute the Master Masons for "conspiracy" and agreed that they should be boycotted. The proposition to prosecute the bosses did not materialize, as wiser counsel prevailed, and showed that there was no foundation upon which to build the charge. OVER THE WIRE. Telegrams were received as follows: BOSTON, Mass., May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange--The executive board of the National Association of Builders to Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, Greeting: We have carefully examined the position you have taken, and the conditions which have led to your action, and hereby extend to you our most hearty approval and indorsement. Your position is entirely in accord with the principles of the National association. Opportunity should always be given for amicable settlement of differences that come within the rightful province of associations on either side. But when the line of right and justice is crossed, the prerogative of employers disregarded, and attempts made to coerce and force them from the exercise of their rights in the conduct of their business, then all lovers of law and order, all believers in individual liberty, will stand together with unbroken ranks until the recognition of this fundamental principle is thoroughly acknowledged. J. MILTON BLAIR, President. WILLIAM H. SAYWARD, Secretary. BOSTON, Mass., May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President of the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago: The Master Builders' association of Boston, in convention assembled, have unanimously adopted the following resolutions, and have ordered them sent to the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, as follows: While we acknowledge that in Boston the situation is fortunately harmonious between the employers and employes in the building trades, owing to the fact that reason has prevailed, the proper rights of the workmen having been recognized and the distinctive rights of the employers recognized by the workmen, and as a result thereof no organized attempt has been made in this city to overstep the bounds of proper jurisdiction by either party, we can not ignore the fact that our brother builders in Chicago have had forced upon them a problem which can only be solved by a firm denial of the assumed right of voluntary associations to disregard the rights of others, trample upon individual liberty, and blockade the progress of business thereby. We therefore hereby approve of the course taken by the Builders' and Traders' exchange, and assure them of our constant support upon that line. Let the principles for which we are all fighting be clearly defined, then stand. We are with you in behalf of right and justice for all and for the untrammeled liberty of every American citizen. WILLIAM H. SAYWARD, Secretary. CINCINNATI, May 19, 1887. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange: The Cincinnati Builders' exchange has just passed strong resolutions heartily commending your action and guaranteeing practical support. Stand by your colors. JAMES H. FINNEGAN, President. CINCINNATI, O., May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Builders' exchange of Cincinnati again indorse you, and if necessary will follow suit. Stand by your colors. Your cause is right. J. H. FINNEGAN, President. PHILADELPHIA, May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: At a special meeting of the corporation held this day at noon the preamble and resolution adopted by the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, together with the code of principles, was unanimously approved. WILLIAM HARKINS, JR., GEORGE WATSON, F. M. HARRIS, Committee. NEW YORK, May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: At a special meeting of the Mechanics' and Traders' exchange it was resolved that we tender you our sympathy in your present difficulties and assure you of our cordial support in the position assumed. D. C. WEEKS, President. E. A. VAUGHAN, Secretary. WORCESTER, Mass., May 20. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: We heartily indorse your efforts to crush out unwarrantable dictation and exalt labor to that position of dignity to which it belongs and which is truly expressed only in individual and personal liberty. E. B. CRANE, President Worcester Mechanics' Exchange. PROVIDENCE, R. I., May 20. TO BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Mechanics' exchange heartily approve your action, and are in full sympathy with you. WILLIAM F. CADY, Secretary. ST. PAUL, Minn., May 20. MR. F. C. SCHOENTHALER, Secretary Builders' and Traders' Exchange, Chicago: At a meeting of the board, held yesterday, the following resolution was unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That the Contractors' and Builders' Board of Trade of St. Paul, Minn., heartily and unreservedly approve of the stand taken by the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago in determining to transact their business in their own way and time. Respectfully, J. H. HANSON, Secretary. ALBANY, N. Y., May 21, 1887.--BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Master Builders' exchange, of Albany, N. Y., in meeting assembled, heartily endorse the action taken by you and trust you will manfully stand together. EDWARD A. WALSH, DAVID M. ALEXANDER, MORTON HAVENS, Committee. BALTIMORE, Md., May 21, 1887.--GEORGE C. PRUSSING: Maryland Trades exchange express their formal approval of your position in present labor troubles, and wish you success. WILLIAM F. BEVAN, Secretary. INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., May 21. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE, Chicago: The Builders' exchange of Indianapolis at its meeting to-night endorses and approves of the action of the Chicago Builders' and Traders' exchange in their existing difficulty. WILLIAM JUNGCLAUS, Secretary. CINCINNATI, Ohio, May 21. GEORGE TAPPER, President Builders' and Traders' exchange, Chicago: Every true American will indorse the sentiments promulgated in your code of principles. JAMES ALLISON, President National Association Master Plumbers. MILWAUKEE, Wis., May 23. GEORGE C. PRUSSING: The Milwaukee association wishes to convey to the Chicago exchange the fact of its full concurrent sympathy in the position it has assumed, as it believes the battle must be fought just on this line. O. H. ULBRICHT, Secretary. These telegrams were read in the exchange and were received with rounds of applause. THE PLATFORM MODIFIED. On Monday, May 23d, the Conference of the Building Trades met and modified the platform of principles which had been adopted May 19th. The principle change was in eliminating the clause requiring employes to _sign_ the code of principles, and making it necessary only for them to "_assent to_" them. The platform as amended was as follows: 1. From this time forth the assent to the following code of principles by the employe be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago--viz.: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, for whom he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the right of every employer to decide for himself, whom he shall employ or cease to employ; to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided only that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn, any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading, writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. By accepting of employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow workmen, to maintain and live up to these principles. 2. That this conference recommend to our respective organizations to request each of its members to employ such workmen only who recognize the inalienable rights as above set forth. 3. That public announcement be made at once that business will be resumed on or before June 1, 1887, with this code of principles as a basis. 4. That a standing committee of one member from each of the building trades, the Chicago Real Estate board, and the Illinois State Association of Architects, to be known as the Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago, be appointed, whose duty it shall be to see to the carrying out of these principles; that it shall have a sub-committee of safety, whose province it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded; with sub-committees on grievances, strikes, arbitrations and such as may be found necessary, but that it work always and solely for the maintenance and protection of the principles herein laid down. 5. That an address to the working men of the building trades and to the general public be prepared, setting forth your action and your reasons therefor; that fifty thousand copies be printed and immediately distributed. 6. That a fund be created to defray the expenses of this Central Council, and that we request each association here represented to transmit to the order of George Tapper, chairman, the sum of 25 cents for each of their members, and that individual contributions of people interested in this work be accepted. The officers of the National Association of Builders were present, and through Mr. Sayward congratulated the builders of Chicago for the noble stand that had been taken in the cause of individual liberty, adding that the whole country was looking to Chicago for a solution of the question of labor. NINE HOURS FOR BRICKLAYERS. In the evening the Master Masons met and by a rising vote unanimously adopted the amended code of principles. Working rules were adopted as follows: The following shall be the working rules for workmen employed by members of this association: Nine hours to constitute a day's work, except on Saturdays, when all work shall be suspended at 12 o'clock noon. Work to start at 7 o'clock A. M. Minimum wages for bricklayers and stonemasons to be 45 cents per hour. Pay-day to be regularly every two weeks on either Monday or Tuesday. OFFICIAL ACTION. The officers of the National Association of Builders invited the Bricklayers to meet them and to state their grievances. The invitation was accepted, and on Monday, May 23d, A. E. Vorkeller, president, and William Householder, C. J. Lindgren, James Sedlak and John Pierson, called upon the officials. After a session of three hours, during which the committee ventilated its opinions on almost every subject of grievance known to mortar-spreading humanity, the issue was finally reduced to the vexed question of a Saturday pay-day. Interrogated upon all subjects, the protesting committee acknowledged itself perfectly satisfied with every existing condition except that of being paid on Monday or Tuesday, instead of Saturday. This the committee claimed was an encroachment upon their Sabbatarian rights which no honest and industrious bricklayer would submit to with obedience or patient humility. Bankers, merchants, architects, builders, and all classes of citizens responded to an invitation to confer with the officers of the National Association, and offered suggestions in regard to the troubles which were prostrating business and unnecessarily causing losses to employer and employe which could never be recovered. After carefully considering the situation the Executive Board of the National Association made a comprehensive report, which is as follows: CHICAGO, May 24th, 1887. _To the Builders' and Traders' Exchange of Chicago and all filial bodies of the National Association of Builders, and to the general public_:-- In view of the serious disturbance to building interests in the City of Chicago, and the widespread influence likely to flow from it to other localities, affecting not only the building trades, but all branches of industry in the United States, it has been thought wise to call the Executive Board of the National Association of Builders to this city, to carefully examine the situation, investigate the causes which have produced the existing conditions, and report thereon to all filial bodies for their information, together with such suggestions for their future action as may seem wise and best. All interested parties (and every business has interests more or less directly involved in this question) should thoroughly understand that the National Association of Builders assumes no powers of a dictatorial character; it simply acts as an advisory body, and communicates its conclusions only in the form of recommendations, which its affiliated associations may or may not adopt or follow, as the circumstances by which they are surrounded demand. But it should also be borne in mind that the National Association endeavors to confine its expressions of advice and recommendation to the general principles that underlie and affect conditions in all localities, and in this especial issue and crisis which has arrived in one of the most important business centers in this country, the Executive Board intends to be particularly careful, while considering the facts that exist in this city, to avoid as much as possible in its advice or recommendations, all local or superficial issues, and deal largely with the problem that is rapidly demanding solution in every city and town in the land. It is one of the purposes of the National Association to keep watchful guard over the interests of builders everywhere throughout the country, giving its advice and assistance to all its members when difficulties arise, using its influence with them to secure and maintain just relations either in their contact with each other or in their relations to owners, architects or workmen, and prevent the encroachment of other interests upon ground that belongs to them. The exact circumstances that have brought about the present blockade of business in Chicago may not be absolutely identical with the issues that have caused similar disturbances in other cities, and they may not be exactly reproduced in the future in any other locality; but the root from which they spring has been planted everywhere, and while the plant may be good and worthy, it is a matter of the greatest concern to all that the growth from it be carefully watched and held in check, lest it assume such rank and oppressive proportions that other interests, equally valuable and necessary, be overgrown and choked. It is sometimes necessary to prune a vine of rank and unhealthy growth, in order that it may bear good fruit. We apprehend that the experience of the builders of Chicago in this crisis will be of great importance to builders in other cities, and we hope to utilize their experience in such a way that general business interests will be better protected and preserved in the future, the proper purposes, opportunities and interests of organizations of workmen maintained and encouraged, and that the individual workman himself, whether he be connected with organizations or independent of them, may be placed in a position where he may exercise unquestioned his rights as an American citizen. In this endeavor we ask the co-operation of all business men, particularly those whose affairs bring them into direct contact with the difficult and perplexing questions incident to the employment of labor, and the community generally, for the public as a whole has an immense stake in this question of individual liberty. We have endeavored to make our inquiries in a disinterested spirit, and, in pursuance of this purpose, have given hearings to the employing builders, the Bricklayers' Union, non-union workmen, manufacturers, merchants, bankers, architects and business men generally, believing that we could only consider the question fairly by listening to all sides and opinions. The result of our investigation leads us to report as follows: The demand for pay-day on Saturday by the Bricklayers' Union, which precipitated the present blockade of business in the building trades in Chicago, was in itself inconsequent and trivial, and a concession or denial of it, on its merits, would have been immaterial; but it was presented in such a manner, at a time when the hodcarriers' strike, in progress, had been supported by the Amalgamated Building Trades, and had been preceded by such concessions on the part of the employers, that they felt this to be the "last straw," and that their duty to themselves and others compelled them to make a stand and demand a surrender of the rights which had been previously abrogated. In this course, and in the manner in which the builders have presented their convictions and method of future action, we believe that nothing has been done beyond what the situation imperatively demanded, and the safe and proper conduct of business required; we are only astonished that the crisis has not been sooner reached. It seems to us that this strike or lockout was not caused by a demand that it was impossible to grant, but was the direct result of the assumption by organizations of workmen, for a number of years, of rights not properly within their jurisdiction, and the demand coming, as it did, under such aggravating circumstances, occasion was properly taken, in our opinion, for a complete cessation of business, in order that it might finally be decided and settled whether the employer should for the future be free from further encroachments, and that he might recover those rights and prerogatives which properly belong to him. It is worthy of note that this issue or demand was not made in the dull season, when it might have been more easily arranged, or at least considered, but after the busy season was reached, and in addition to and in support of existing strikes. The Union making it did not seek to consult the employers in regard to its feasibility, although after it was promulgated (the employers requesting a re-consideration), a slight alteration was made in one of the details. It appears, according to the testimony of the Bricklayers' Union, that there has been no general strike in their trade for the last four years, but they admit that during that period they have been successful in enforcing certain rules and regulations in regard to control of journeyman and apprentices (which are set forth in their printed Constitution and By-laws), and that the enforcement of these rules has caused strikes or stoppages of work in many cases, upon certain jobs. It is in the rules or regulations referred to that conditions are imposed which the builders claim are an encroachment on their peculiar rights as well as the rights of independent workmen, and that in submitting to them they have made concessions which they can no longer endure. In this opinion we entirely and heartily concur. We will cite a few of these rules, calling attention to the fact that although the employers have at least an equal interest in the matters treated, they have never been even consulted in their formulation, but have been expected to comply with them as presented, and have so complied, for the reason, as they claim, that they could not help themselves. The first rule, or regulation, or custom, which demands notice is that which prevents workmen, not members of the Union, from obtaining work. This is excused by the declaration of the Union that they do not claim that the non-union man shall not work--they simply will not work with him; but this explanation is purely a clever evasion of the point at issue, for the workman is by force of circumstances deprived of opportunity to labor, and the position taken by the Union is manifestly a conspiracy against the rights of the individual. It may truly be considered the first step towards setting up an oligarchy in the midst of a free people. This assumed right is most tenaciously held and is one of the most dangerous expedients ever adopted by a voluntary association. We believe it to be a direct attack upon individual liberty, and an evil that will re-act upon those who attempt to establish it. We also believe it to be entirely unnecessary for the welfare of Unions--that all the ends they wish to gain can be secured by legitimate measures, and that not until they cut out this cancer will harmony be restored and reforms established. This custom should be constantly and absolutely denied. The next rule which we wish to consider is that establishing a "walking delegate." Some of the functions of this officer (if he may be so designated), as explained by members of the Union, are perfectly harmless, and possibly quite a convenience; but if proper relations were permitted to exist between employer and workman these functions could be equally well sustained by the foreman on the job. There are other powers, however, with which he is invested, which are so arbitrary in their character, which deprive the employer so completely of that control of workmen necessary to the prosecution of his work, that it is simply ridiculous to submit to it. For instance, "He shall be empowered to use his personal judgment on all points of disagreement between employer and employe, between regular meetings."--ARTICLE V., SEC 4. The simplest mind can readily see how little control the employer has left him, when a man not in his employ is permitted to come upon his work and "use his personal judgment" in questions of disagreement, the workman being obliged to then obey his orders. The employer seems to be a mere cipher under this arrangement, and can only fold his hands and wait till the "regular meeting" (at which he has no opportunity to be heard) settles whether the "personal judgment" exercised be just and fair. The result can be imagined. In the hands of an exceptionally honest and discreet person such a power would be dangerous enough, but in the control of a man who may not possess these qualities, or possess one of them without the other, the chances of stoppage of work under his orders, the constant annoyances to which employers, architects and owners may be subjected, makes this infliction too grievous to be borne. The thousands of unnecessary strikes, stoppages and obstructions to work for every conceivable cause, or no cause, which have occurred in all parts of the country in the name of justice and the walking delegate, are evidence enough that to owner, architect, employer and workman, he is an abomination not to be tolerated. As an adjunct to the walking delegate comes the "steward," who, like him, has some functions perfectly unobjectionable, but who in other ways is empowered to assume certain direction and control which surely is not consistent with the duties of a workman, that is, if the workman is considered to have any duty to his employer. It is noticeable that in the description of the duties of these two gentlemen, it is the "interests of the Union" only that they are directed to observe; it is true that the walking delegate is not an employe, but he is to have free access to the work, can interfere and obstruct as he pleases, but the interest of the employer seems to have been omitted in the recital of his duties. When it is considered how much is taken off the hands of the employer by these two persons, it is somewhat a matter of surprise that owner and architect burden themselves with the useless middle man, the nominal employer, when they can have the whole matter handled by the Union and its agents. The rules in relation to apprentices are peculiarly restrictive and leave nothing whatever that is worth possessing in the hands of the employer. We cannot imagine why any contractor would care to have apprentices at all, if their direction and control is to be so completely out of his hands. These rules declare that "no contractor shall be allowed to have more than two apprentices at a time;" "he will not be allowed to have any more until their time is completed;" "he may then replace them." The contractor must sign such indentures as are prepared by the Union without consultation with him. "No contractor will be allowed to have an apprentice over eighteen years of age unless he be the son of a journeyman who is a member of the Union." Apprentices must also be members. The contractor is thus debarred from putting his own son at apprenticeship if he happens to be eighteen years of age. This appears to be most emphatic special legislation. In fact the whole management and control of apprentices is virtually in the hands of the Union, and we submit again that such action as this is most indefensive and pernicious. It has already caused a tremendous reduction in the number of young men learning the trade, and, if practiced in other branches of business, would create a state of revolt among the people, and would be denounced throughout the length and breadth of the land as a violation of rights heretofore supposed to be secured when this country became a Republic. Foremen upon the work must be members of the Union. Inspectors upon public buildings must be practical bricklayers in the opinion of the Union, and members of it; in fact there are so many points that demonstrate the development of this one-sided power of the Union, and showing abuse of their place and mission that we cannot take time or space to enlarge upon them. To our mind the Constitution of this Union, and many others, is framed upon the assumption that all employers are dishonest and bad men, so all are to suffer alike. The Union seem to have come to the conclusion that the laws of the land are not sufficient, and they propose to be not only a law unto themselves but a law unto all others who come in contact with them. This assumption, if permitted to stand and grow, will tend to disintegrate the whole social and political fabric upon which citizens of this country depend for protection; and we believe it to be our duty to call upon all good citizens to deny it in unequivocal terms. We submit that these "rules" which we have quoted, and other customs which have naturally grown from such development of power (which are neither written or admitted by the Union, but which nevertheless exist), are distinctly an encroachment upon the province of the employer; that under them he is robbed of that control and authority absolutely essential to the proper conduct of his business. Submission to such dictation as this simply opens the door wider for interference, and the employer is not secure from day to day from new and harassing demands, so that eventually he will have practically nothing left to him but the "privilege" of paying the bills. The crisis here in Chicago is of tremendous importance and significance to every builder and every business man, not alone in this great and rapidly growing city, but in every city of the country, for here is seen a demonstration of the tyranny which becomes possible when improper methods are submitted to; a tyranny which holds the workman in its grasp quite as surely as the employer, and this experience and demonstration should be a timely warning to all. Labor Unions have gone too far. They have mistaken their functions and over-stepped their boundaries. The time has come to "call a halt," and to demand a surrender of that which has been improperly obtained. To do this will require some patience and some sacrifice, but the end to be gained is but justice and right, and worth all that it may cost. Better that not another brick be laid or another nail be driven in Chicago for a year than this opportunity be lost to regain the rights and prerogatives which make it possible for employer and workman to be independent and successful. Let nothing be done to injure the Union in the prosecution of their rightful purposes; they have a most important mission and a great field for usefulness. Aid and assist them in these things by every means in your power, but for their own good, as well as your own safety, stand constantly and steadfastly opposed to any and every attempt to take away that which makes you an employer, or from the workman himself the right to work. Trade Unionism in theory, and as it may be consistently and intelligently carried out, can be a most useful aid to all concerned; but, as at present managed, clinging fast as it does to the cardinal principle of the right to prevent any and every man from working who does not happen to belong to the order, it is a bane to society and a curse to its members. We approve of the position taken by the builders of Chicago in this emergency, and we congratulate them that other branches of business, whose interests are so closely interwoven with theirs, have had the courage and willingness to make common cause with them, recognizing, as they evidently do, that if this sort of dictation is permitted to grow, that their own position will become undermined and security vanish. We congratulate them also that general business interests have given them such hearty co-operation and support, and we feel assured that will continue until the victory is won. We recommend all filial associations of this body to assume the same attitude in the event of an issue being forced upon them by further encroachments, and we suggest to them, as well as to the Builders' and Traders' exchange of Chicago, that, in order to encourage all workmen who wish to have an opportunity to freely work, untrammelled by the improper requirements and rules of voluntary associations (membership in which, as far as most workmen are concerned, have become involuntary), and be protected in their work, it will be wise to create and establish at once a Bureau of Record in connection with their associations, where any and all workmen may put themselves on record as assenting to the principles of individual liberty, announced here in Chicago, and by and through which the workmen so assenting will be kept at work, and protected in it, in preference to those who deny these principles. Let steps be taken, after a certain time given to develop the honest purpose, good character, skill and ability of the workmen, to make them members of your own associations, and so institute, for the first time, a union wherein employer and employe shall be joined, and their interests considered in common, as they properly should be. We believe this would be a step in the right direction, and the dawn of the day when the two branches of workmen--the directing workman and the manual workman--will not be arrayed against each other, but will consider and act in concert for their mutual benefit. Closing now our report to filial associations, we wish to address a few words to the public at large, whose servants we are. We believe that the builders of this country stand to-day in a position which commands the attention of all kinds and classes of business men everywhere. We wish to do only that which is right and in accordance with the principles upon which this Republic was founded. Individual liberty is the dearest possession of the American people; we intend to stand by it and protect it in every emergency, and, to our mind, there has never been before presented an occasion more significant and decisive than the present, and in doing all we can to sustain it we feel that we are fighting not for our selfish ends alone, but for the welfare and protection of every individual in the land. Individual liberty is not incompatible with associations, and associations are not incompatible with individual liberty; on the contrary, they should go hand in hand. We call upon all to sustain us in maintaining all that is good and in defeating all that is bad in this difficult problem of labor. Liberty is our watchword, and this struggle is but a continuation of that endeavor which began a hundred years ago, when a little band of patriots, at Concord Bridge, "fired that shot heard round the world," which was the first blow in establishing American independence. Signed, J. M. BLAIR, JOHN S. STEVENS, EDWARD E. SCRIBNER, WM. H. SAYWARD, JOHN J. TUCKER, Executive Board of the National Association of Builders. PERMISSION TO RESUME. It having been decided by the conference of building trades that work might be resumed by any contractor on or before June 1st, and the Master Masons' association having approved of the platform of principles and adopted rules for the government of its members, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association adopted the following form of notification for its members of their readiness to resume work and their willingness to adhere to the principles approved by the association at its last meeting: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association --_Sir:_ We are ready to start work, and hereby agree on our honor to abide by the rules and platform adopted by the Master Masons' association. ____________________________ In pursuance of this action a number of contracting masons notified President Downey of their readiness to resume work, and they were given permits for the purchase of building material, the following form being used: PERMIT, No. ______ | PERMIT. | | EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE, _Granted_ ______________ | | Master Masons' and Builders' Association, _to deliver_ ___________ |______________________ | _to_ ___________________ | _You are hereby requested_ | _to deliver to_ ____________________ _at No._ _______________ | ____________________________________ | _Purpose_ ______________ | _No_ ________________ | _________________________| _for the purpose of_ _______________ | ______________________ This form of permit was continued in use to contractors who were not members of the Master Masons' association. A different course was pursued with members, who were required to sign a request for a general permit, the form of the request being as follows: Chicago, May 24th, 1887. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. _Gents_:--I hereby make application for permit to resume work, and I agree on my honor to adopt the rules and platform as passed by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association, May 23d, 1887. HERMANN MUELLER. Upon the presentation of such an application to the executive committee a general permit was issued, which was in form as follows: MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION. Chicago, May 24th, 1887. HERMANN MUELLER.--In consideration of your signing an agreement to adhere to the Platform and Code of Working Principles adopted by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association May 23d, 1887, you are hereby granted a permit to resume work. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. In attempting to resume work the mason contractors were disposed to give preference to such bricklayers and stonemasons as had been working in Chicago, and who evinced a willingness to return to work under the code of principles and the rules of the association which had been adopted. A few workmen took advantage of the proposition at once, and went to work, but fear of fines by the union and assaults from the members of the union, deterred a great many from going to work who were perfectly willing to subscribe to the principles enunciated. The leaders of the strikers announced that under no conditions would the union accept the offer of 45 cents an hour and nine hours a day. By May 25th more than one thousand of the union bricklayers had left the city and were working in outside towns ten hours a day for $2.50 to $3 pay, rather than accept the offer of the Master Masons. Not being able to secure a large number of the home workmen the Master Masons' caused to be published in important towns in Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio and Missouri, a notice that there were wanted in Chicago one thousand bricklayers who would be given steady work at 45 cents an hour and would be guaranteed protection. They did not expect that the whole number would be secured, as it was the busy season for building everywhere, but they looked for a sufficient number of responses to meet the immediate demand. In this they were disappointed. The experience of outside bricklayers in Chicago had been of an unsavory character, and they respectfully declined to advance upon the city in a body. A few bold fellows made their appearance, but they numbered less than one hundred. Many of those who went to work were put under police protection in order to keep the strikers from committing depredations. DISCONTENTED LABORERS. The Hodcarriers became disgusted. Their feeling against the Bricklayers was very strong, and they said if the Bricklayers were possessed of more sense all the employes in the building trades would be at work at good wages and the Hodcarriers would be getting all they asked for. They were out of work and out of means, and the funds of the union were so low that little or no relief could be obtained from that source. The union funds had been exhausted for some time, and the weekly assessments upon men employed did not average over $200, while there was a demand for more than $10,000 per week to pay the $5 weekly, which was guaranteed to every member of the Hodcarriers' union who was on strike and in need. The outcome to the most of the men looked bad, and serious trouble was expected. Men with starving families and no prospect of getting work were not likely to long keep quiet. Only a few men showed themselves at headquarters, but there was an undercurrent of discontent that could not be kept down. Fears were entertained that it might lead to riot, and efforts were put forth to keep the rougher element out of the way. There were good grounds for apprehension, and it required careful manipulation to keep the dangerous element subdued. LISTING THE JOBS. On Friday, May 27th, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association appointed a sub-committee to make a list of jobs in the city giving the names of all the contractors, the location of the work, the number of bricklayers, stonemasons and laborers required, and the number at work, and this sub-committee rapidly got its work in shape. It also kept a memoranda of the character of material needed, and the quantity supplied from time to time, with the names of the dealers from whom it was procured. It was empowered to designate members of the association to visit jobs as often as necessary for the purpose of rendering any service that would facilitate the work, and contractors who were resuming business were requested to report to the committee what progress was being made. The executive committee realized that it would take no little time to get the business in good running order, and the organization was put in such shape as to make it effective in a long or short campaign. FALSE STATEMENTS. In order to create a break in the ranks of the material dealers, who were bravely supporting the Master Masons, the strikers circulated a report that permits for the purchase of building materials would only be issued to members of the Master Masons' association. When the attention of President Downey was called to the fact he said with considerable earnestness: "It is not so. I can not understand how such an impression got out, as there has been no thought of making or enforcing such a rule. There is no disposition on the part of the executive committee to take such action and there never has been. The fact is that more permits for material have been issued to builders who are not members of the Master Masons' association than have been issued to members. All that is required of an applicant for a permit is that he will agree to abide by the code of principles and the rules adopted and sign the card which has been prepared setting forth these facts." The only discrimination made by the executive committee was in its positive refusal to issue permits to small contractors or jobbers who were members of the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union. They were told that when they resigned from the union and brought evidence of the fact, and agreed to the code of principles and the rules, they could have all the material they wanted. ANOTHER TELEGRAM. The following telegram was received at the Builders' and Traders' exchange: ROCHESTER, N. Y., May 27. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association, Chicago: On behalf of the New York State Masons' association I wish you Godspeed in your code of principles. H. GORSLINE, President. BLACKMAIL. On Saturday, May 29th, the Master Masons' association met and talked over the situation, congratulating each other on the promised success of their movement for freedom. At the request of Mr. Tapper Mr. Victor Falkenau made a statement to show the corrupt methods of the walking delegate. He said that in October, 1886, he was erecting a building on Astor street for Mr. Post, when Walking Delegate Healy appeared on the scene and objected to some pressed brick being put into arches that had been cut at the manufactory, insisting that they should be cut on the job. Healy insisted on calling the men off the job, but in consideration of $5, which was then paid to him, he let the work proceed. A committee from the Bricklayers' union had called on him to ascertain what had been done, and he had put it in possession of the facts in the case. The money was paid to Healy Oct. 21st. In the face of this statement, which was backed by ample proof, the walking delegate was not removed from his high position. Other members referred to similar cases in which walking delegates had shown themselves to be walking blackmailers. When Delegate Healy heard of the statement of Mr. Falkenau he threatened to bring suit against him for $10,000 damages. Mr. Falkenau remarked that he was glad he was to be sued as a hearing of the cause in a court would bring out the facts under oath in a manner that would satisfy anyone as to the truth or falsity of the charge. A contractor who was familiar with the facts in the case said the statement of Mr. Falkenau would be supported by other testimony when the time came, but he was satisfied there would be no libel suit. And there was none. METAL WORKERS. The Association of Manufacturers in Metals met Saturday, May 28th, and unanimously adopted the following resolutions: _Whereas_, We know there are organizations existing which deny the rights of the individual as guaranteed by the constitution of the United States; and _Whereas_, We believe it our duty as citizens to range ourselves with others in the assertion and defense of the rights of man, be he employer or workman; now, therefore, We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to avail ourselves of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. We recognize that permanent harmony between employer and workman can only exist when both agree on the justice and right of the principles set forth. Now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, That all members of the Association of Manufacturers in Metals be, and they are hereby requested to display in office and workshop, the above declaration and the following code of principles: "I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, with employers, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. "I recognize the right of the employer to decide for himself whom he shall employ or cease to employ, and regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided only that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. "I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading and writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulations only by the laws of the land. "By accepting employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen to maintain and live up to these principles." _Resolved_, That full powers be and they are hereby granted to the executive committee to take all steps by them deemed necessary to carry into effect the principles heretofore set forth and to express the concurrence of this association with the position taken by the Master Masons' and Builders' Association. This action, it was stated during the discussion of the resolutions, was not the outgrowth of sympathy only, but caused by the fact that Metal men were suffering just as much as anybody under the then existing trouble in the building trades. There were not cast seventy-five tons of building ironwork a day in the city when there ought to have been three hundred tons at least. The depression of trade was so marked that two foundries shut down, throwing 250 men out of work, and all the establishments were glad to have a pretext for closing. DARK WAYS. At the headquarters of the Bricklayers the statement was made that there had been an important meeting of the dealers in Building material, May 30th, at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, at which it was agreed that the material men would not wait longer than June 1st for the Master Masons to get to work, as their agreement to not sell and deliver building material only extended to that date. When asked about the meeting, Mr. Mulrany, of the Union, could not say how many attended, or give the names of any who were present. He insisted that the Bricklayers would break the backs of the Master Masons, and would make them give up for good. He was sure the lockout would not last long, because there was so much disaffection among the bosses. Diligent inquiry was made at the Exchange to learn if such a meeting had been held as the one mentioned by Mr. Mulrany, but assurance was given that none had been. A dozen dealers in building material protested that such a meeting had not been held and would not be. The agreement to not sell or deliver material was limited only by the duration of the strike. The statement was on a par with many that emanated from the strikers. A LOST CAUSE. The Hodcarriers' Union, as a body, seemed to have entirely collapsed. The funds of the Union having entirely run out, the men found no attraction to the headquarters on West Taylor street. A great portion of the men found work in other quarters, and those still out were ready to go to work at the first opportunity which might offer, regardless of the demands which were made when the men struck six weeks previously. THE PLUMBERS. May 31st the Chicago Master Plumbers' association met and adopted the following resolution, which was sent to the Council of Building Interests: _Resolved_, That we, the Chicago Master Plumbers' association of Chicago, recognizing the right of employers heretofore jeopardized by the arbitrary interference of trades unions, do hereby tender our hearty sympathy and support to the Master Masons in their present struggle for the individual rights of employers. ROBERT GRIFFITH, President. J. R. ALCOCK, Secretary. THE BRICK YARDS. The Chicago Brickmakers' association, which represents all brick yards in the South and West Divisions of the city, met May 31st and adopted the following rules: We the brick manufacturers of the South and West divisions, believe the adoption of the following rules will tend to establish a system that strikes may be avoided in the manufacturing of brick in our divisions of the city: 1. By the appointment of a committee of three members from the Brick Manufacturers' association and three from the Brick Laborers' union, with full power to act in all matters pertaining to the interests of those they represent. 2. To hold regular meetings on the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month for the transaction of any business that may come before them. 3. No member of the organization represented shall strike or cease operation of their work for any individual grievance pending a meeting of any committee. 4. Any question said committee fails to agree upon they shall call in outside assistance and use all honorable means for a settlement before ordering a strike or lockout. 5. When said committee, after due care, fails to agree, they shall, before ordering a strike or lockout, give one week's notice. 6. All brick manufactured up to date of said strike or lockout shall be cared for by the men before abandoning their work. 7. The committee shall in no way interfere in any difficulty arising between the brick manufacturers and any other organization other than the one from which they were appointed. AN ADDRESS. June 1st. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association issued an address to their former employes, as follows: TO THE BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS OF CHICAGO--_Gentlemen_: To those of you who have families to support; who, by frugal saving, have laid by a store for rainy days; who, perhaps, have invested surplus earnings in a house and lot or made partial payments on a piece of land for a future homestead, and thereby have acquired an interest in Chicago--to you we speak. To those of you who have joined the now existing union under compulsion, and are to-day afraid of personal injury, should you in any way assert your independence; to those of you who feel the abuses practiced, who are not in accord with the ruling clique, who have informed us time and again that you are not granted a hearing when your opinion is not in harmony with that of "the gang," and that you consequently do not attend the meeting of said "union"--to you we appeal. To those of you who believe in arbitration as a better mode of redressing grievances or adjusting differences than the strike or lockout; to those of you who are old enough to remember that the members of our organization have all been journeymen bricklayers and stonemasons, that there are none among us who may not be compelled to take up tools again, nor any among you who may not at any time become employers, and that, consequently, there are no questions concerning one branch which are not of interest to the other--to you we address ourselves. This association, together with other associations of builders, has issued a platform affirming our adherence to the fundamental principle of individual liberty. Read it, discuss it, digest it. It is right. It is guaranteed by the constitution of the United States, and he who denies the rights of man is not an American citizen, and by his denial affirms that he does not intend to become such, although he may have gone through the form of acquiring citizenship. We are not opposed to all unions. In the second paragraph of our platform we recognize the right of organization among workmen for all just and honorable purposes. But we are opposed to the methods employed by the present union. Brute force is used in all directions to compel fellow-workmen to join and keep them in line in support of any action taken, no matter how unreasonable; to enforce the assumed control of the business of employers; to arbitrarily keep boys from learning the trade; to deny the right of mechanics to support their families by working at their trade in this city, etc. In all directions brute force is the foundation of the present union. This is wrong. Brute force can only be opposed by brute force, the strike on the one hand opposed by the lockout on the other, resulting in loss and suffering to both, and without any permanent results, for no matter which side is successful, the only thing proven is that it had the strongest organization, not that its position is right. Strikes and lockouts, with all the train of resulting evils, can only be prevented by organizations among both workmen and employers, both recognizing the same fundamental principles and agreeing to refer any question of temporary policy, such as the amount of wages to be paid, number of hours to be worked, pay-day, and others, or any grievances or differences arising in the future, to a joint committee of arbitration--work to continue without interruption, and questions at issue to be decided definitely by the committee. The "walking delegate" has proved himself an unmitigated nuisance. To give into the hands of one man power so absolute will always be dangerous and sure to be abused. Nor will the necessity exist for a "walking delegate." His place will be filled by the arbitration committee. That the laws of the state shall prevail in regard to apprentices, as well as on other subjects by them covered, needs no argument. All must recognize that foremen are hired to be the agents and representatives of the employer for the faithful and economic performance of the work, and, as such, should be under his exclusive control. Of "stewards" we not treat here. Acting for an organization which acknowledges as right and just the principles contained in our platform, their duties can not interfere with the proper prosecution of the work. To sum up, form a union on the same platform we uphold and men will join it because of the benefits to be derived--brute force will not be necessary in any direction,--and whenever one hundred, yes, fifty, members shall have enrolled themselves we will gladly recognize it and appoint members to serve on a joint committee of arbitration to have charge of all matters of mutual interests. We mean what we say. Fault has been found with the "working rules" adopted. These will be subject to joint discussion and adjustment when a joint committee of arbitration shall be in existence. Until then we have agreed to nine hours as a working day, because that is the rule adopted by other large cities, and Chicago should not be at a disadvantage as a point for investment in comparison with them. We believe the Saturday half-holiday has come to stay with us as one of the recognized institutions of the country, and we have adopted it freely and voluntarily. By agreeing to 45 cents per hour as a minimum rate of wages we trust to have proved that we do not desire to lower rates. A regular fortnightly pay-day has been guaranteed. These are our conditions. Discuss them as to their fairness, and if you find them just come to work, and we shall be glad to employ you as far as still in our power, for it is true that each day of continued strike does lessen the chance for a busy season. The situation in brief is as follows: The general public recognizes the present necessity of coming to a fair understanding between employer and workman--and thereby laying the foundation for future harmonious action--by refusing to build under present circumstances. Some work must be done, no matter what the conditions. But there is not one-fourth of the work on hand now there was last year at this time. For its future growth and prosperity Chicago needs manufacturing enterprises. In the selection of a site for such people with money to invest look for security from violent and arbitrary interruption to their business. Abolish the "walking delegates;" show that you have profited by the lessons of the past, and establish arbitration; lay the foundation for peace and harmony between employer and workmen, and Chicago will be the place selected; business, now dull and dragging, will revive, and steady employment will reward both you and us for sense and moderation shown. Fraternally yours, THE CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' ASSOCIATION. By Executive Committee. THE CONFERENCE ADJOURNED. A final meeting of the Conference Committee of the Building Trades was held June 1st. Reports were made showing that every organization represented had unqualifiedly endorsed the platform of principles which had been enunciated. The cut-stone contractors, through Mr. T. C. Diener, made the following report, premising it by saying that the members of the association were in accord with the principles which had been enunciated by the conference committee: TO THE CONFERENCE OF THE BUILDING TRADES: The Cut-Stone Contractors' association has carefully considered the code of principles adopted by your committee, and, although approving of the principles laid down, we could not adopt them as a whole, and therefore deem it not advisable to ask the assent of our employes as a condition of further employment after June 1st for the reasons hereafter mentioned: Fully endorsing the right of an employe to work for whom he chooses, we do not concede that individually he can regulate the number of hours he desires to work, but in that respect must comply with the established rule of number of hours per day. In our trade eight hours per day for stone-cutters has been the system for the last twenty years. It has been a success in every respect, for to-day, with improved machinery, cut-stone is fully 50 to 100 per cent cheaper than during the ten hour time. Conceding the right to each man for what wages he will work--we maintain that it is to the interest of the building trade generally that a rate of wages be adopted at the opening of the season, thus making it a standard basis for contractors to estimate by. In the matter of apprenticeship we also maintain that it is to the interest of the boy and the employer of the same. For by employing too many boys in our trade a foreman would not have the opportunity to train the boy, and he would turn out a poor mechanic. It is a rule and regulation similar to educational institutions. To make these rules has been the motive which has prompted employes and employers to organize. In the cut-stone trade we have an association of stone-cutters and an association of cut-stone contractors. These two bodies recognize each other, and at the beginning of the season, as has been done heretofore for years, they have agreed on a rate of wages, number of hours per day, and number of apprentices to a yard (which is about one to six men), and, therefore, we are in duty bound to abide by the same. We have, furthermore, a written agreement between our two organizations, of which article 1 is as follows: "All disputes or misunderstandings of any kind that may arise shall be submitted to committees, who shall report to their respective associations before final action shall be taken." And article 6 is as follows: "These rules not to be changed or altered except by the consent of each association, and in that case a thirty days' notice to be given by the party desiring to terminate said agreement." In our discussions and conclusions we have also been guided to a certain extent by the press, to avoid, if possible, a general lockout, and by that part of the platform of the National Association of Builders, "that good may be derived from proper organizations," and it is our aim that our associations shall not only be a benefit to themselves, but to the general public. Respectfully submitted. T. C. DIENER, Secretary. The conference then adjourned sine die. CENTRAL COUNCIL OF BUILDERS. Immediately after the adjournment of the Conference Committee the Central Council of Builders--which had been recommended by the Conference Committee--met, the various interests being represented as follows: Metal-Workers, Robert Vierling. Steam-Fitters, H. G. Savage. Cut-Stone Contractors, T. C. Diener. Master Plasterers, John Sutton. Gravel Roofers, M. W. Powell. Master Masons, George Tapper. Master Painters, J. B. Sullivan. Galvanized-Iron Cornice, Edward Kirk, Jr. Carpenters and Builders, William Hearson. North-Side Brick Manufacturers, A. J. Weckler. Fire-Proofers, P. B. Wight. Non-Union Stone-Cutters, C. B. Kimbell. Builders' and Traders' Exchange, F. C. Schoenthaler. Real Estate Board, Henry L. Turner. A delegate from the Master Plumbers was not present, because none had yet been appointed. On motion of William Hearson, George Tapper was elected chairman and F. C. Schoenthaler secretary. At the suggestion of Mr. Vierling a committee of three was appointed to prepare a plan of organization, with instructions to report at the next meeting. The committee was as follows: H. G. Savage, Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson. A DOLLAR A BRICK. A union bricklayer appeared in the corridor of the exchange and was boasting that he could buy all the brick he wanted of A. J. Weckler, a north-side manufacturer. The statement was denied by a contractor. About that time Mr. Weckler appeared on the scene and was informed of the statement that had been made. His reply was: "The only price I have had brick at my yard since the strike began was $1 a brick, and I think Mr. Downey would give a permit for me to sell every brick in the yard at that price. But, if a man thinks he can get any brick from me at the regular price, or for less than $1 a brick at present, he is very much mistaken." The bricklayer subsided and had no more statements to make. "WE'LL NEVER GIVE IN." Groups of idle bricklayers gathered in and around their headquarters, at Greenebaum's Hall, discussing the situation, and sometimes branching off into earnest conversation on the natural outcome of the labor movement. They claimed that they were a conservative body, seeking all reforms through the ballot, and all demands by legal and peaceful organization; yet it was plain that socialistic ideas were not uncommon to many of the talkers. All of them were determined to hold to their position to the end, and seemed confident that the bosses would have to give way, and that their combination was weakening and disintegrating. When it became known among them that the union had been called in to complete a large building at the corner of Chicago and Milwaukee avenues, and a four-story structure near the corner of Madison and Union streets, they became very jubilant and pointed them out as evidences that contractors were powerless. "They must come to our terms," was the general comment, "for they can not get men from abroad to fill our places." The opinion prevailed among them that they were the only bricklayers in the country that could work on a Chicago building. NINE HOURS FOR CARPENTERS. The Carpenters' and Builders' association met June 2d and adopted the following working rules: We agree to begin on the 13th day of June to work nine hours in each working day, beginning at 7 o'clock A. M. and ending at 5 o'clock P. M., with the usual hour at noon for dinner; under payment by the hour. All work done before 7 o'clock A. M. and after 5 o'clock P. M. to be paid for as overtime at such price as may be agreed upon by the workman and employer. The above number of working hours per day applies only to workmen engaged at buildings in course of construction or repair. THE DIFFERENCE. The consistency of the union bricklayers was exhibited in a case where a building was taken from a contractor and given to bricklayers to complete. The moment they became "bosses" they showed their regard for union principles by employing non-union hodcarriers and laborers. This action incensed the hodcarriers, and they forced the "union" bosses to discharge their non-union helpers and employ members of the laborers' union. STUBBORN BRICKLAYERS. June 3d the Bricklayers' union met at Berry's hall. An attempt was made to read a proposition to return to work, leaving the question of pay-day and hours to arbitration; but the proposition was howled down, and not even permitted to be read. The following resolutions were adopted: _Whereas_, The Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union of Chicago, on May 11th, in special meeting assembled, adopted Saturday as their regular pay-day, and _Whereas_, The so-called Master Masons' union of this city have refused to grant our reasonable request, and have entered into a conspiracy with the Builders' and Traders' exchange, the object of which is to disrupt our organization; therefore, be it _Resolved_, That we, United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, in regular meeting assembled, pledge our honor to stand firmly by the resolutions adopted May 11th. _Resolved_, That we condemn the Builders' and Traders' exchange for their cowardly action in locking up the building materials and forcing a lockout, thereby paralyzing the business interests of this city, and causing loss and suffering among thousands of our citizens who are in no way responsible for the differences existing between our organization and the master masons, so-called. THE CENTRAL COUNCIL ORGANIZED. The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago met Friday, June 3d, for the purpose of hearing a report from the committee appointed to prepare a working plan for the Council. Mr. H. G. Savage, of the committee, submitted the report, which was considered by sections and adopted as follows: 1. This body shall be known as the Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago. 2. The object of this Council shall be to promote the building interests of Chicago, harmonize the different branches, and adopt such measures as from time to time may be found beneficial, carrying out the following platform of principles, which has been adopted by the various associations herein represented: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and, while condemning and opposing improper action on their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conferences and arbitrations are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together, to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances may be prevented. 3. All associations of building-trade employers, the Real Estate board, the Illinois Association of Architects, and the Builders' and Traders' exchange shall be entitled to one representative each. 4. The officers shall be elected at the annual meeting, and shall consist of a president, vice-president, and financial secretary, to hold office for one year, or until their successors are duly qualified. 5. Regular meetings shall be held the first Friday of each month at 2 o'clock P. M. The first regular meeting in June shall be the annual meeting. Special meetings may be called by the president or any three members of the Council. 6. The following standing committees, consisting of three members each, shall be appointed by the president at the annual meeting, to hold office for one year, or until their successors are appointed: Credentials--To whom shall be referred all applications for membership. Safety--Whose duty it shall be to see that ample protection to all is afforded against unlawful interference. Strikes and Grievances--Whose duty it shall be to investigate all strikes and grievances and to report to the Council fully in regard to the same, with such recommendations as they may deem necessary. Arbitration--To whom shall be referred all questions of differences between employers and employes. 7. Annual dues shall be 25 cents for each member of the various associations belonging to the Council, and assessments may be made upon the same basis of representation. Officers were elected as follows: President, George Tapper; Vice President, H. G. Savage; Financial Secretary, F. C. Schoenthaler. Standing committees were appointed by the president as follows: Credentials--J. B. Sullivan, T. C. Diener, A. J. Weckler. Safety--H. L. Turner, C. B. Kimbell, Robert Vierling. Strikes and Grievances--P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage, M. W. Powell. Arbitration--Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson, John Sutton. AID FROM THE ARCHITECTS. Saturday, June 4th, the Illinois State Association of Architects met. In calling the meeting to order President D. Adler read a letter from the executive committee of the Builders' and Traders' exchange thanking the Association for the stand it had taken upon the labor troubles. He said that those present knew the demoralized condition of the building trades and the low character that they were drifting to in regard to the workmanship of mechanics engaged therein. It was becoming almost impossible to replace good men, because the trades-unions arbitrarily prevented the education of a sufficient number of apprentices to replace the good and competent mechanics, who appeared to be rapidly dying out. The difficulty was staring them in the face that soon they would not be able to secure competent mechanical skill at all. It was the architects' duty to assert the right of every American citizen to work at any trade he pleased, without interference from the walking delegate. It was the architects' duty to assist every young man who desired to learn a trade. There was more at stake in the contest than their own immediate interest as architects--more than the mere stoppage of work. The architects should strengthen the hands of those who were battling for the freedom of American citizens. Mr. John W. Root offered the following resolution, which was adopted: _Resolved_, That the Illinois State Association of Architects heartily indorse the general principles set forth in the recently published "platform and code of principles" adopted by the Builders' association and the Real Estate board of Chicago, and that we will use our utmost endeavors to see that these principles prevail in all building operations in Chicago. PROTECTION GUARANTEED. The committee of safety of the Central Council of Building Interests met June 4th and issued the following document: The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago having appointed, among other committees, a committee of safety, whose duty it is to "see that ample protection to all is afforded against unlawful interference," the committee desires to announce to all concerned in the building interests of the city that they are prepared to follow up and prosecute all offenders unlawfully interfering with or intimidating any workman or employer in the legitimate performance of his business. This announcement is hastened by the publication in the morning papers of an unlawful and unprovoked attack upon peaceable workmen at a job at the corner of Harrison street and Western avenue on Friday, June 3d. The committee will promptly investigate any such case when reported to Secretary Schoenthaler at the Builders' and Traders' exchange, where the committee will be in daily session at 2 o'clock P. M. MASS MEETING OF CARPENTERS. Monday, June 6th, a mass meeting of carpenters was held to receive P. J. McGuire, of Philadelphia, grand secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America. Mr. McGuire made an inflammatory speech, in which he said he came to Chicago to throw down the gauntlet to the master builders and was ready to make Chicago the battle ground for the fight on the nine-hour question. He came to stand by the carpenters. J. Milton Blair, of Cincinnati; William H. Sayward, of Boston; George C. Prussing, of Chicago, and other leaders in the Carpenters' and Builders' association were attempting to stamp out the carpenters' organizations, but they would find they had a bigger job on hand than any contractor in this country ever undertook. The master builders combined for mutual protection, and yet they denied the carpenters the same right. The speaker then took occasion to abuse the master builders for assuming the title of "masters." The contractors, he asserted, had not brains enough to carry out their work without the assistance of the foreman, who did the actual work, and yet the master builders assumed to dictate to their employes in such a manner as to place them on the same level with the slaves who were freed by Abraham Lincoln. Workingmen in 1887 ought to receive some of the benefits which machinery had brought. They did not believe in socialistic theories, or that the property of railroad companies, for instance, should be divided up and each man given a tie; but workingmen wanted to be given some of the benefits which they produced but which were appropriated entirely by the employers. Every carpenter who applied for work in Chicago after Monday, June 13th, should ask for 35 cents an hour and an eight-hour day, and if that was refused he ought not to go to work. STRIKES DEFINED. Tuesday, June 7th, the Central Council of the Building Interests met, and the committee on strikes and grievances, through P. B. Wight, its chairman, submitted a lengthy report. It defined strikes of two kinds--general and special. The general strike, which was more frequent, was a demand by a number of employes, acting in concert, for an increase in wages, or a change in working rules, or methods of conducting business, followed by a united refusal to work. A special strike was concerted refusal to work on a particular job, or for a particular employer, based on the assumption of a contract between employer and employe which never existed, and a pretense of a violation of a contract. A general strike was legitimate, in a business sense. A special was based on false premises, and was practically an attempt to regulate an employer's way of doing business by visiting upon him embarrassment in a temporary stoppage of his business. It was often settled by the employers paying a "fine" to the offended "union" as a condition of the men returning to work in a body. This was nothing less than blackmail, and a receipt of the fine was a criminal act. It was in the nature of conspiracy. It might be an attempt on the part of the strikers to obtain some advantage, which might occasion great annoyance or damage to the employers. Such was the demand of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons on the 29th of April last for a Saturday pay-day, which was resisted and refused by many employers. The report then gave a detailed account of the immediate and consequent results of the strike, with a statement of action taken by all building organizations to date, showing the manner in which the question affected all building trades, and resulting in locking out thousands of well-trained and well-behaved artisans, who obeyed the dictates of the handful of officials, committeemen, and a small army of walking delegates, who were to be seen daily at the union headquarters and who were paid by contributions from men whose dues were really filched from their wives and children. The report concluded as follows: We believe that the Master Masons' association has acted with the purest motives toward their employes, and in the spirit of self-sacrifice with regard to their own interest. They have gone so far as to encourage their men to form a union devoted to higher principles than the rule-or-ruin policy which actuates the present organization. This may all be well in the future, but it does not help to do away with the objection of the men to taking up their tools. A contract for labor differs from a contract for anything else only in that the confidence of him who disposes of his labor must be unqualified to the last degree. If the employer appeals to the man as an individual he must inspire him with confidence in his representations. If the Master Masons' association intends never again to recognize the union rules, let it say so in terms so unqualified that no one can misunderstand it. If the individual workman fully believes it, he will be only too glad to come out like a man, and there will be a scramble to see who gets there first. If the master mason intends to live up to his profession, let him guarantee his employe work for a stated time--long enough to convince him that it is more to his interest to go to work than to cling to his union and stand still. If no one mason feels confident that he can guarantee steady work, say, for six months, let the master masons agree among themselves to provide work, so that, if a man is laid off on one job he can be sure of work on another where he will not meet with any interference. If the employer expects his men to work he must guarantee them full protection in case of interference. But more than all things he must guarantee his employe that he will never be displaced in consequence of any future compromise with any labor organization. If the master masons have faith in the stand they have taken, and mean to maintain it at all hazards, they will get all the help they want. If they have any idea that a strike is on their hands to be settled by compromise with any body of men, they may as well surrender to the union at once. We do not believe that this weakness exists among them, but the public and their unemployed mechanics must be convinced by their acts that they are thoroughly in earnest--as we believe they are--and that guarantees, such as have been suggested, will be carried out in good faith to the very letter, and at all hazards. The public, which must sustain us or we fall, will then be convinced that there is no strike, except a strike for right and justice. And if needs be that the employers must be responsible for it, let them glory in it as our forefathers did. There was a strike, as we admit. A strike did we say, for a Saturday pay-day? It was so called. It was resisted, and the men who were expected to pay on Saturday have not done so. It was a strike aimed at the Master Masons' association. It was not for any great benefit that Saturday pay-day should confer. It was a strike to show the power of the striker. It was an exhibition of strength from those whose strength has not been resisted or questioned for four years; a power which knew no resistance, but which must be periodically exhibited to make its presence felt. It is that same power which is still so strong that it makes your mechanics blind to all your heaven-born principles and deaf to all your promises. You, gentlemen of the Master Masons' association, and all you who have nailed our banner of liberty upon your walls, have strength also. In a battle of endurance you can win, but if you do win by extermination, then your sin will be greater than the fruit of your victory. But remember that those who live by the sword, if they die so living, shall also die by the sword. Your weapon is the olive branch. Your principles are just. Let your faith be strong, and in the end you will find your best friends in the camp of your enemy. The report was signed by P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage and M. W. Powell, who composed the committee. It was unanimously approved, and a copy was directed to be sent to the Master Masons' association. A NATIONAL CONVENTION CALLED. The Amalgamated Building Trades Council decided to call a national convention to form a federation of journeymen builders in the United States. An "Important Call" was issued which recited the fact that there was a national organization of employers in the building industry which proposed to regulate all matters relative to that interest, and that to successfully defend their rights the wage-workers in the building industry must be thoroughly organized and ever on the alert. The following two reasons were given why a national federation of the building trades should be at once perfected: 1. It has been proved beyond all doubt that the interests of a craft can be best protected by the complete unification of those engaged therein; and so we have formed our unions and trades-assemblies of Knights of Labor. It is also an undeviating fact that the closer those whose interests are identical are drawn together the easier and more satisfactory is the management of those interests. And realizing the identity of the interests of the building trades we, therefore, necessarily believe in their thorough federation upon such basis as will not interfere with the complete autonomy of each distinctive trade. [There are scores of reasons why such a move would be beneficial, which are apparent to all men of experience in labor organizations, and they need not be enumerated here.] 2. Because it being a recognized idea that all large industries shall be regulated by organizations of the employers on the one hand and the employes upon the other hand, and there already being in existence a national organization of the employers, or contractors, under the name of the National Builders' association, we believe that further delay in perfecting a national organization upon our side would be suicidal to the best interests of the men of the building trades, and fraught with danger to our separate trade organizations. We believe that steps should at once be taken to bring about this greatly-desired amalgamation, and that a convention looking to that end should be called together in this city as soon as practicable. The date for the convention was fixed upon Tuesday, June 28th. A CARPENTERS' COMMITTEE. June 9th the Carpenters' and Builders' association appointed a committee to take charge of all matters of the association, to furnish men, protect them, and look after the interests of the members. The chairman appointed the following on the committee: North side, Messrs. J. L. Diez, John Ramcke and M. Bender; South side, Messrs. Wm. Goldie, Wm. Jackson and S. H. Dempsey; West side, Messrs. M. Campbell, J. F. Tregay and Peter Kauff. The committee retired and elected Mr. Goldie chairman, and agreed to meet daily at the Builders' and Traders' exchange. A SCHEME THAT FAILED. June 9th a special meeting of the Bricklayers union, was held, at which an attempt was again made to have the code of principles of the Master Masons approved, but it was unsuccessful. The most that could be done was to secure the appointment of a committee to take steps looking to a settlement of the strike. This committee was composed of A. E. Vorkeller, John Pierson, C. J. Lindgren, P. J. Miniter and Fred Rebush. On Friday, June 10th, this committee met, after which Mr. Vorkeller, president of the union, called upon Mr. Downey, president of the Master Masons' association, and asked him when he would have a committee ready to meet his committee. Mr. Downey notified him that if he had any communication to make it should be presented in writing, in order that he might be able to submit it to his association. Mr. Vorkeller returned to his office and prepared a letter, which he delivered in person to Mr. Downey in the afternoon. Shortly after the delivery of the letter the Master Masons' association met in special session, with George Tapper in the chair. Five new members were admitted, which occasioned a remark from a member that it did not look like the association was falling to pieces, or that the members were weakening. The report of the committee on strikes and grievances of the Central Council of the Building Interests, adopted on Tuesday, June 7th, was read. It was received with applause. Mr. Downey then announced that he had received a letter from the president of the Bricklayers' Union, but before it was read he desired to make a statement in order that his position and the letter might be better understood. He said that on Monday evening, June 6th, Mr. A. E. Vorkeller, president of the Union, had called at his house, where they had a friendly chat. Mr. Vorkeller had then asked him how the strike could be settled, and he had informed Mr. Vorkeller that when the Union indorsed the platform of principles adopted by the builders they could arbitrate all questions of difference that were subjects of arbitration. On the following morning Mr. Vorkeller had called on him and suggested that he would bring with him four Union men to meet a like number of the Master Masons at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, to have an unofficial talk on the subject, it being agreed that no members of either executive committee should be present. Finding that he could not have one person present at that hour he had sent Mr. Vorkeller the following note: FRIEND VORKELLER: It will be impossible for me to meet you before 3:30, owing to one of the men I appointed not being able to meet before that time. I trust this will not inconvenience you in any way. Yours, respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY. They met at 3:30 o'clock Tuesday afternoon, there being present the following representatives: Master Masons--Joseph Downey, George Tapper, George H. Fox, C. W. Hellman, William O'Brien and Charles W. Gindele. Bricklayers--A. E. Vorkeller and Messrs. Taylor, Charles, Householder and Kraus. At the conference it was distinctly understood that the code of principles was to be first adopted and then they would arbitrate other questions. The whole talk was agreed and understood to be unofficial. Mr. Vorkeller then stated that he would call a special meeting of the union and see what could be done. Mr. Downey then read the following letter, which he had received from President Vorkeller: CHICAGO, June 10, 1887. MR. JOSEPH DOWNEY, President Master Masons' Association--_Dear Sir_: In accordance with interview with you on the 7th inst. in relation to appointing a committee with power to act, for the purpose of arbitration, and, if possible, end the differences which exist between our associations, and which are causing increased uneasiness, not only to those on both sides who are immediately concerned, but also to the public at large, who have been patient witnesses to this uncalled for and unnecessary lockout, so far as we are concerned we court the fullest investigation from the public of our side of the case without having the least fear of the result; but we are willing, and have agreed in special meeting, to send a committee to settle this difficulty honorably to ourselves as well as to you, according to the aforesaid interview. If this suits your convenience you will please notify us immediately, if possible, and oblige yours respectfully, A. E. VORKELLER, President. Mr. Charles W. Gindele remarked that when he entered the room where the meeting was held he made the announcement that the talk should be unofficial, which all acceded to. After a long conference they were led to conclude that the bricklayers would concede nearly everything but nine hours a day. The bricklayers were informed that they must adopt the platform of principles before there could be any arbitration. Mr. George H. Fox said Mr. Gindele's statement was correct, and it was distinctly understood that the representatives of the bricklayers should go before their own people and adopt the platform of principles. Mr. George Tapper, who was also at the meeting, said his impression of the conference was decidedly unfavorable. He had then called the attention of Mr. Vorkeller to the clause in the constitution of the Union in regard to apprentices, and told him that if he (Tapper) had a son who did not get his schooling before he was 18 years of age he would be debarred from learning the trade of a bricklayer. In reply to this Vorkeller had made the astounding statement that there was no trouble in such a case. All the boy had to do was to say he was 18 years old and he was all right, as they had boys come to them with long mustaches and had fixed them all right. Mr. Tapper said he replied by saying that was teaching boys to lie, and gave them the first steps toward the penitentiary, and if that was their way of doing business he wanted nothing more to do with them. He also said that Vorkeller had agreed that the section of the platform of principles providing for the free right to employ or to work was right, but when asked if his men would work alongside a non-union man he had said: "No; they would quit and carry off their tools." Mr. Tapper said he was disgusted with the whole business. Mr. C. P. Wakeman thought it would be no harm to appoint a committee to confer with the Union committee. He thought also that the appointment of the committee by the Union was an acknowledgment of the code of principles. If the Master Masons demanded more than partial justice they would lose. Mr. A. J. Hageman said if the Bricklayers' Union had not acknowledged the principles of the Master Masons there was nothing yet to arbitrate. Mr. C. W. Gindele said he understood the Bricklayers were to submit what they wanted to arbitrate, but they had not done so. Mr. E. Earnshaw said from the reading of the letter the Union had nothing to concede. It was endeavoring to lead the Masons into a trap in order to make capital out of it. By saying they "court the fullest investigation" the unionists emphatically claimed that they were right and the Master Masons were all wrong. Mr. Downey stated that Mr. Vorkeller had frequently stated to him that he was in favor of the code of principles, but would have to "shin around" to induce the union to recognize them, fearing he would not be successful. Mr. George C. Prussing said the arbitration movement had been instituted to keep the Union men together, as many of them were leaving, and an effort was being made to make these men understand that if a settlement should be reached they would be shut out. No arbitration should be had which meant only partial justice. There were principles that could not be arbitrated. When the Union amended its constitution so as to conform to their principles the Builders would be ready to join hands with them. Or, if a new Union should be organized on such a basis, it would be met with open hands. Compromise they would not. It would be stultification. The vote on the motion to appoint the committee was lost, only eight voting in favor of it. A motion was made to lay the communication on the table, which prevailed, only ten voting against it. Mr. G. C. Prussing submitted the following, which was adopted as the sense of the meeting, with but one dissenting vote: The position of this Association can hardly be misunderstood at this late day. It has been laid down in our platform in unmistakable language, and is further contained in an address to the Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago and published by the public press. We have addressed them as individuals, and shall continue to treat them as individuals, not an organization. Principles can never be subject to arbitration. And such matters as can properly be arbitrated--such as hours of work, wages, or other working rules--can not be discussed with any committee until an organization is in existence which has adopted the principle of individual liberty freely and fully, and is governed by constitution and by-laws based thereon. This community has suffered too often and too long, and the sacrifices brought have been too great to listen to any hint of a possible arbitration or compromise. We owe it to ourselves; to the other building trades who have taken the position held by us, we owe it to the entire community to settle the present troubles right. That is, on a basis that promises security against future arbitrary interruptions of business. To individuals we are ready to give work; we guarantee them steady employment as far as in our power, and will protect them in every way, and if the men who now take up their tools should choose to form an organization for mutual protection and any other honorable and lawful purposes, based on the principles we acknowledge, we will aid and assist them in perfecting such organization, and will treat with them, and arbitrate any and all questions properly subject to arbitration. After the meeting adjourned Mr. Downey sent a communication to Mr. Vorkeller in reply to his letter, of which the following is a copy: A. E. VORKELLER, President, etc.--_Dear Sir_: Your letter of this day contained more than a surprise for me. Any and all interviews held with you by me and other members of our Association were at your seeking and request, and with the distinct understanding that we were acting in our own individual capacity, without any authority from any organized body, and that I, as president of the Master Masons' association, have no authority to appoint any committee for purposes set forth in your communication. Nor is your letter written in the spirit you proposed, or your position as given by yourself in interviews with me. You certainly must have understood, for it was repeated over and over again, that I would not consent to any effort at arbitration until your body shall have adopted, plainly and fairly, the principles held by us as an Association. I refer to principles as stated in our platform. Nor can such agreement be expressed by a simple vote, but must be shown by eliminating all sections of your constitution and by-laws in conflict therewith. Your letter has been placed before our Association, and by it was laid on the table. Our position is again outlined by resolution adopted, and will be found in the daily papers. Very respectfully yours, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. IT WORKED WELL. Monday, June 13th, the rule of the Carpenter bosses for a nine-hour day was put into effect. It occasioned no such break with the men as had been promised. Nearly all acceded to the rule, and those who quit had their places filled at once by non-union men who were only too anxious to get a job. OUT OF FUNDS. Tuesday evening, June 14th, a special meeting of the Bricklayers' Union was held, at which the depleted condition of the treasury was made known. The men working were asked to divide their earnings with the idle men, which they flatly refused to do. A resolution was passed requiring the men to work alternate weeks. This occasioned trouble, the men refusing to obey the order. They were willing to pay the regular assessment of $1 a week, but no more. The executive committee was authorized to sell a lot owned by the Union at the corner of Monroe and Peoria streets, to raise funds to meet the demands of the idlers. In order to keep up a show with the men the officers continued to claim that money was plenty, and more could be had; yet their demands for a few dollars were not met in cash--only promises. INFLUENCE. The following invitation was sent to fifty prominent citizens of Chicago: UNION LEAGUE CLUB, CHICAGO, June 11th, 1887. _Dear Sir_:--You are requested to meet a number of gentlemen in the parlors of the Union League club, next Monday evening, June 13th, at 8 o'clock, P. M., sharp, to consider the present labor troubles, in our city and elsewhere, and to discuss the propriety of inaugurating a movement, the object and aim of which will be to harmonize existing and imaginary differences between employers and employes, and to restore and re-establish every and all rights of citizenship guaranteed by the constitution of the United States, and to maintain the supremacy of the law throughout the length and breadth of the land. The vital questions of the day must be met, calmly considered and settled. You are earnestly invited to respond to this call. By order of COMMITTEE ON POLITICAL ACTION. The guests assembled in the parlors of the club and were escorted to the library, where Mr. G. F. Bissell presided during a lengthy discussion of the labor question. At the close of the meeting resolutions were adopted for the appointment of a committee of seven whose duty it was to procure signatures of citizens to a paper endorsing the action of the Master Masons and Builders in the stand they had taken against the tyranny of the unions, and to request the press to keep the subject before the public. On Tuesday the committee met and prepared a heading for signatures, which contained extracts from the code of principles of the builders, in regard to the right of every man to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, and the right of every boy to learn a trade. To these extracts were appended the following: We, the undersigned, endorse the action of the Master Masons and other organizations of Builders and agree to use our best endeavors to bring about a resumption of building operations based on the Code of Principles at the head of this paper. Signatures were procured to these papers in large numbers and were presented to the Master Masons' association. They had a good effect, as some of the weaker members needed just such endorsement to make them strong. ANGRY BRICKLAYERS. Applications for the small stipend promised by the Union to men out of employment grew to be more frequent. The demands were not met with the promptitude which the idle men thought should characterize the occasion, and some of them became loud and emphatic in their protestations against what they said was unfair treatment. They became so earnest in their expressions that they were called to one side and cautioned to not be so bold as to give the Union away. Many of them heeded the caution for the time being, but as they filed out of the office they were very angry because they got no money, claiming that they were needy and had as much right to assistance as anybody. One of them boldly and rather roughly asserted that "the whole thing was bursted," and the managers were "making a play to keep the men together," but he thought it would play out in a few days. One of them who was well posted on some historical facts, made the following statement: "In 1883, at the time of the strike, the Bricklayers of Chicago got $13,000 from the International union in aid of the strikers. During the same year the Chicago union was assessed $4,600 to assist the strikers in Pittsburgh, but the assessment was never paid. The union then withdrew from the International union and became an independent organization. The cash in the treasury of the union has been exhausted, and if the lot is sold there will not be enough money to pay up the claims for relief to date. The International union has refused financial aid to the Chicago union until the Pittsburgh assessment is paid, and all other assessments made since then, amounting to about $17,000. President Darrow, of the International union, has written a letter to the Chicago union notifying the officers that if they will join the International union again and agree to make good all back assessments, he will send the Chicago union $5,000. If they do not accept this proposition and join now he will establish a branch of the International union in Chicago as soon as the present strike is over, if not sooner. The Chicago union will not accept the offer, and where is it to get assistance from? If it kept faith with the idle men it would require $10,000 a week to sustain itself. Under such pressure the union can not be expected to hold out very long." A BID FOR SYMPATHY. A mass meeting was called at Battery D by the Bricklayers' union for the purpose of eliciting sympathy from the public. It was held Thursday evening, June 16th, there being three thousand workingmen present. Revs. Lorimer and Goss and Gen. Beem were invited to be present, but they were not there. Persons who favored the builders' side of the question were conspicuous by their absence. One builder who was bold enough to get as far as the door was knocked down and driven away. Edward Mulrany, of the Bricklayers' union, presided, and the exercises were conducted by members of the union. The following lengthy preamble and resolutions were read and adopted unanimously, followed by great applause and loud cheers: The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons of the city of Chicago, in mass-meeting assembled at the armory of battery D, June 16, 1887, do adopt and declare the following preamble and resolutions: _Whereas_, Certain questions and matters of difference have arisen between us and the Master Masons' and Builders' association of Chicago, and the controversy over the same has resulted in a widespread suspension of building operations in this city, to the immense injury of both the employers and the employed, and to the great damage of the community at large; and _Whereas_, There is no adequate remedy for any such case under any existing law; and _Whereas_, The working people have often been admonished through the public press and otherwise that they should not resort to a strike or boycott to obtain their rights, but should appeal to the law for protection and relief, and in case the existing laws are insufficient to the lawmaking power for new and better enactments; and _Whereas_, In pursuance of such admonitions they earnestly appealed to the legislature at the last session to provide an adequate remedy for conflicts of employers and the employed; and _Whereas_, The legislature nevertheless wholly neglected and refused to provide any such remedy, or even to consider and discuss the subject in any open and public manner; and _Whereas_, There is now no other mode in which relief can be sought than retaliation by strike or boycott on the one hand, or by voluntary arbitration on the other; and _Whereas_, The same legislature that refused to provide any remedy for such cases, has sought to make every participant in any strike or boycott punishable as a criminal, without extending the same penalties to the corresponding offense of a lockout, so far as we are yet informed; and _Whereas_, We have heretofore offered and proposed, and do now again and openly and publicly offer and propose, to submit to the full and final decision of arbitrators, to be chosen in the usual manner, every question and matter of difference or controversy pending between us and said Master Masons' and Builders' association, and to abide by and perform such decision, and would be willing to have one of the judges of Cook county chosen to act as umpire in case of disagreement of the arbitrators; and _Whereas_, The power of public opinion is the only force by which we can compel such submission to arbitration; and _Whereas_, The public at large are deeply interested in the matter, and would be greatly benefited by an early resumption of the suspended building operations; and _Whereas_, We are willing and desire that a decision by arbitration should extend over and include the entire residue of the building season of the present year, that any future difficulty may be avoided; now, therefore, be it _Resolved_, As follows: 1. That we condemn in strong terms the neglect of the legislature to provide any adequate legal remedy by a state board of labor and capital, or otherwise, for conflicts between employers and the employed, and that we will continue the agitation of this subject till proper laws have been enacted providing such a remedy. 2. That we condemn in equally strong terms the refusal of said Master Masons' and Builders' association to submit to arbitration whatever claims, charges, questions, controversies, or differences they may have with or against us; and we appeal to the mighty power of public opinion to uphold our cause, and to compel the submission to the arbitration we desire. 3. That we purposely abstain from attempting to argue in the present preamble and resolutions the justice of the points for which we contend with the Master Masons' and Builders' association, because that is the matter which should be discussed before and determined by the arbitrators whose appointment we desire. 4. That we appeal to the two great organs of public opinion, the pulpit and the public press, to advocate the righteousness of our demands, or to point out to us if they can wherein the same are contrary to justice or offensive to law and order; and in that case to show us some other lawful way, if any exists, by which justice may be secured. When Drs. Lorimer and Goss and Gen. Beem could not be found in the assembly, the venerable Judge Booth, who has attended nearly every public meeting in Chicago for half a century, delivered a brief address in which he expressed himself in favor of arbitration. Other speeches of the evening were made by M. L. Crawford, of the typographical union; George Lang, a bricklayer; William Kliver, president of the trades assembly; John Pierson, ex-president, and A. E. Vorkeller, president of the Bricklayers' union; William Davidson and C. R. Temple. TO MAKE BRICK. Friday, June 17th, the Chicago brick manufacturers met and agreed to resume work in their yards Monday, June 20th, and to continue to work until they made enough brick to fill their sheds. If by that time the strike was not settled they were to close their yards for the season. AN ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC. June 18th the Central Council of the Building Interests issued the following address to the public: The Central Council of the Building Interests of Chicago, which now addresses you, was organized June 1st, 1887, under the following circumstances: When, on the 29th of April last, the United Order of Bricklayers and Stonemasons of Chicago decided, without consultation with their employers, that they would only receive their pay every two weeks on Saturdays, the Master Masons' association refused to comply with the demand, and the union men struck on their work wherever it was refused. The Master Masons' association then resolved to suspend all work on and after the 13th of May, and did so unanimously. The fire-proofing companies which employed men of the same union took the same action. The strike was made inoperative for the time being by the lockout of the employers. The Builders' and Traders' exchange met on the following day, resolved to sustain the Master Masons, and called upon each trade represented to send three representatives to a general conference to consider the situation. The conference was organized with a full representation, and on the 25th of May adopted the following platform and code of principles to be submitted and be ratified by all the building organizations: We affirm that absolute personal independence of the individual to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ, is a fundamental principle which should never be questioned or assailed; that upon it depends the security of our whole social fabric and business prosperity, and that employers and workmen should be equally interested in its defense and preservation. We recognize that there are many opportunities for good in associations of workmen, and while condemning and opposing improper action upon their part, we will aid and assist them in all just and honorable purposes; that while upon fundamental principles it would be useless to confer or arbitrate, there are still many points upon which conference and arbitration are perfectly right and proper, and that upon such points it is a manifest duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded by associations to confer together to the end that strikes, lockouts, and other disturbances maybe prevented. Code of principles by the employe to be made a universal condition of employment by all building interests of Chicago, viz: I recognize the right of every man to decide for himself, without dictation or interference, when he shall work or cease to work, where he shall work, how many hours he shall work, and for what wages he shall work. I recognize the right of the employer to decide for himself whom he shall employ or cease to employ, and to regulate and manage his business with perfect independence, provided, only, that he deal lawfully, justly and honorably with all men. I recognize the right of every father to have his son taught, and of every son to learn any lawful trade, to be the same as his right to a knowledge of reading and writing, or any other branch of learning, which should be subject to regulation only by the laws of the land. By accepting employment I agree in all my relations and intercourse with my employers and fellow-workmen to maintain and live up to these principles. The conference also asked each organization to nominate one member to a Central Council of the Building Interests. The platform was adopted by the several organizations, and representatives were appointed to this body, which is now recognized by the trades as the representative of all the building interests collectively, and is permanently organized. At the same time the Master Masons' association resolved to resume business on or before June 1, and adopted a uniform set of working rules, defining the hours of labor and other conditions necessary to the prosecution of their business, etc., in accordance with the platform that had been adopted. The fire-proofing companies did the same thing. The action of these bodies broke the lockout, which was of but brief existence. It is naturally asked, therefore: Why this continued stoppage and stagnation in the building business? It may be briefly said, in reply, that the men have in large numbers refused the work offered to them in accordance with the dictates of the United Order of Bricklayers and Stonemasons, and upon that body rests the responsibility entirely. Whatever dispute the Master Masons have had with their employes' union, has been taken up by the whole body of trades here represented, while the employers of the associations of master masons, fire-proofers, and carpenters have officially decided to treat no more with unions as unions, but with men as reasoning beings. With these facts before us it behooves us to look the question squarely in the face and see how we stand to-day. Some of the masons have small forces of bricklayers and stonemasons at work and all the laborers they want, for there is practically no strike among the laborers. The fire-proofers are well supplied and have practically resumed business. There are a few buildings in progress, on which we are informed that the owners have employed foremen and journeymen appointed by the union. There are others again, the contractors for which are "union bosses," or members of the union, who have become employers without severing their membership, and hence are strictly bound to all union rules. But we still see many deserted buildings where the sound of the trowel is not heard. Thousands of well-trained and to their credit, be it said, well-behaved artisans may be seen in the streets and about their homes. Many are Bricklayers, obeying the dictates of the handful of officials and committeemen and small army of walking delegates who may be seen daily at the union headquarters, placed there by their votes, or, at least, allowed to be there by their indifference, and certainly well paid by their contributions. The time of these officials is partly devoted to receiving contributions from men whose dues are now really filched from their wives and children, partly to having their vanity flattered by the obsequious prayers of so-called capitalists for help to satisfy their greed and avarice in getting their own buildings finished before their neighbors, and partly to giving out fulsome accounts of their victories over the bosses, in a supposed contest that really does not exist. In consequence of this we see the public misled by the daily press into a belief that nothing is going on but a strike between the boss Masons and the Bricklayers' union on the senseless question of a Saturday pay-day, characterized by nothing but the obstinacy on both sides, while in reality the united employers in all the building trades are contending simply for the natural rights of a man whether he be employer or employe, against a score of professional agitators who temporarily control the skilled mechanics of this country. Now, last of all, what do we see at the Master Masons' headquarters? A united body of men with large interests at stake, and great responsibilities, who have not attempted to enforce a long and exhausting lockout for bringing their misguided employes to terms through poverty and distress, but calmly and deliberately leaving to us, the representatives of the sister building trades, the arbitrament of their own interests. The principles that they have adopted are those which we formulated, and they have agreed to the broad doctrine of freedom and justice. They did not seek to prolong the contest with their employes which had arisen from such a slight pretext. But as soon as the conference advised they acted (and so have the Carpenters). They have offered immediate employment on a fair basis. Is it their fault that their employes do not all come back to them? They have used every means that they can with due regards to their own dignity and self-respect to bring their men back. If they do not come it is simply because of the authority which the Union holds over its members. They are more devoted to their Union, which says "no," restraining their individual acts, than to their employers, who say "come"--more even than to their wives and families. In other words, while individually they believe in the principles which we have enunciated, they hope for a reconciliation between the union and the bosses. From all past experience many of them believe that there will be a reconciliation or compromise, and they think their own safety is in waiting. We should remember that these men stand in a dilemma. Each one of them is in a state of mental perplexity trying to decide in his own mind which course to take for his own interest. Heretofore he has not exercised his own mind on these subjects. He has left all the details of the contract for his labor to the officials of his Union. It has become a second nature to him to look to his Union for protection in all things. He has voluntarily ceased to be a free agent. There has been much talk of late on the subject of arbitration. A proper understanding of the situation will show how impossible such a course is at present. The responsibility for the prevention of the men from working has been fixed where it belongs. It is useless to talk now of a settlement. There will be no solution until the idle men take up their tools and renounce their allegiance to the present Union. There will be no yielding until that is the case. The sister trades have and will continue to sustain the Masons and other trades affected by the encroachments of labor organizations until then. In the following resolutions, passed at the regular meeting held June 10, the Central Council thus expressed its views upon the importance of uniform working hours: _Whereas_, In the opening of this Council it is of the greatest interest to all of the trades here represented that the hours of work on buildings in course of erection should be uniform in all the trades. _Resolved_, That while we recognize the right of every trade to establish its own working hours, we think those established by a large majority, not only in Chicago but in other cities, should be considered as a precedent for others to follow. At the same meeting the stand taken by the Master Masons was thus indorsed: _Resolved_, That the Association of Master Masons and Builders has the heartiest support of the building trades here represented in its battle against exactions of an unscrupulous and tyrannical trade union, which is the enemy alike to the building trades and the interests of its own members. The position they have taken under the principles adopted by the conference is a just one, they have held out the olive branch to their former employes, and it only remains to inspire them with confidence in its representations to the end that work may speedily be resumed. GEORGE TAPPER, President. F. C. SCHOENTHALER, Secretary. THE BRICKLAYERS' UNION DESPISED. Organized labor in Chicago had no sympathy for the Bricklayers' union. Members of other unions entertained for it a feeling of bitterness which was constantly being manifested. This was fully illustrated at a meeting of the Amalgamated Building Trades Council held Saturday evening, June 18th, at which delegates stated that the Bricklayers' union had taken contracts from Master Masons for the erection of buildings, and had then hired non-union hod-carriers, carpenters, cornice-makers, lathers and laborers of all classes. The Bricklayers' union was characterized as "the meanest organization on God's green footstool," and it was remarked that it would be a good thing for Chicago if it was wiped out of existence. The union was bitterly denounced for its selfish, mercenary, unjust, tyrannical conduct toward other labor organizations. On Sunday, June 19th, at a meeting of the Trade and Labor Assembly, Edward Mulrany, of the Bricklayers' union, made a vicious attack upon James Brennock, of the Building Trades council, on account of the action of the previous evening. Mr. Brennock, an old man, attempted to explain the true situation, but his voice was drowned by Mulrany, who fairly yelled: "Lies! lies! you're a liar!" and heaped abuse upon the old man to such an extent that he was forced to subside. The Bricklayers' union had for so long had everything its own way that the leaders assumed the right to not only dictate to the bosses and other unions, but they usurped the prerogative of trampling upon anything and everything that attempted to question a single act of the union. They had made servile tools of the members of every other organization until all had grievances of such a character that they were in a position to sympathize with even an employer, in a fight against the oppression of the Bricklayers' union. The Hodcarriers went so far as to threaten to take up trowels and lay brick for members of the Master Masons' association in order to aid in breaking up the Union that had been so abusive to all other labor organizations. Under these circumstances it was but reasonable to expect that the tide of the strike would turn in favor of the Master Masons. A NEW UNION. A proposition was made for the organization of a new Union of the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' which should recognize the principles of right and justice laid down in the platform of the National Association of Builders, and approved by every organization of builders in Chicago. Blanks were printed and placed in the hands of the members of the Master Masons' association upon which to procure the signatures of their respective employes. The blanks were in the following form: We believe in the right of workmen to organize for mutual protection and all just and honorable purposes, and assert our right. We recognize the right of every man to work or not to work, to employ or not to employ. We recognize the right of every boy to learn any lawful trade. We recognize that strikes and lockouts are baneful and may be prevented by arbitration. We believe that all matters of joint interest to employers and workmen should be discussed and acted on by joint committees, representing organizations of both employers and workmen. We believe that by organizing upon the principles set forth the foundation to future harmony is laid and the best interests of all conserved. Now, therefore, do we, the undersigned, agree to attend a meeting to be called at an early day, to form ourselves into the "Chicago Union of Bricklayers and Stonemasons." This paper was circulated among the bricklayers and stonemasons who were working under the rules of the Master Masons' association, and in three days the signatures of two hundred and fifty men were procured. On Tuesday, June 21st, a committee issued a call for a meeting for the organization of a new union, which was as follows: MR. ............................ _Dear Sir_: Wednesday evening has been set for forming the Chicago Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' Union. Meeting will be held at the Builders' and Traders' Exchange at 7:30 P. M. Your presence is desired, with all the bricklayers and stonemasons in your employ, and if your men have any friends who wish to join said Union, bring them with you, for the purpose of taking your first step for liberty. THE COMMITTEE. The call had been signed by 284 bricklayers and stonemasons, 225 of which met and took the first steps necessary to an organization. All but 30 of those present were ex-members of the old union. A committee was appointed to draft a constitution and by-laws. Another meeting was held on Friday evening, at which a number of new members were received. On Wednesday, June 30th, the new union met and adopted a constitution which embraced as its basis the code of principles of the Master Masons' association and declared the objects to be as follows: The object of this Union is to carry into living effect the principles set forth; to do away with labor disturbances, such as strikes, lockouts, and boycotts; and to institute a practical mode of arbitration; to give all moral and material aid in its power to its members and those dependent upon them; to educate and elevate its members socially, morally, and intellectually; to establish and administer a fund for the relief of sick and distressed members, and for mortuary benefit. Other provisions were as follows: "Members shall consist of active, passive, and honorary members. Any bricklayer or stonemason who has worked in Chicago one week at the minimum rate of wages for competent journeymen may become an active member, or any journeyman who presents evidence of membership in any other union in the United States or Canada, which is founded on the same principles, may be enrolled as a member." "Members employed as foremen shall not be subject to the union during such employment." The initiation fee was fixed at $5 and the annual dues at the same amount. Provision was made for committees on arbitration, house and finance. The powers of the committee on arbitration were defined as follows: The arbitration committee shall have full power to adjust all grievances and make a written award after a joint meeting with the arbitration committee of the Master Masons' association. This committee shall have power to determine for the year all working rules, including the minimum rate of wages per hour for all competent mechanics, and for all overtime and Sunday work. The constitution also provided for rules for running the union, and for benefits for injuries received, and for the payment of funeral expenses of deceased members. Officers were elected as follows: President, Lewis Meyer; secretary, T. D. Price; treasurer, T. J. Fellows; sentinel, Henry Annes. The officers were directed to procure a charter. NATIONAL BUILDING TRADES COUNCIL. On Tuesday, June 28th, the first national convention of the Amalgamated Building Trades was held in Chicago. There were sixty-eight delegates present, of whom fifty were from Chicago. The others were from Detroit, 3; Washington, 1; Cincinnati, 2; New York, 3; Pennsylvania, 1; Bay City, 1; Brooklyn, 1; Denver, 1; Milwaukee, 1; Philadelphia, 2; Sioux City, 1; Pittsburgh, 1. P. W. Birk, of Brooklyn, presided during the session which lasted three days. The objects of the council were defined as follows: The objects of the Council are to assist in the organization of the journeymen workers of the building trades, and the federation of such trade organizations into building trade councils and central bodies in each locality of the United States; to create a bond of unity between the wage-working builders, and to aid by counsel and support all legitimate efforts made for the betterment of the condition of members of the building trades. The following appeal to the building trade organizations was adopted and directed to be sent all over the country: TO ALL COUNCILS, FEDERATIONS, AND ORGANIZATIONS OF THE BUILDING TRADES IN THE UNITED STATES--_Greeting_: The time has come in the wisdom of the soundest thinkers and most experienced workers in the ranks of labor when it is not only proper, but necessary, that the journeymen workers of the building industry in the United States should be thoroughly organized and federated under a national council. Such an organization, by the conservative exercise of the control delegated to it by a constitution upon which all local organizations can unite, could do a great work in looking after the interests of the various crafts and callings engaged in the building industry; and, by a timely and wise supervision in cases of wage or other difficulties, exercise an incalculable influence in directing the course of events to a solution favorable to the workers, by keeping the craftsmen of the whole country fully informed of the situation and the necessities of the case. The contractors, or "Master Builders," have formed and are endeavoring to perfect a National Association with the declared purpose of opposing the efforts of the labor organizations to regulate wages and the hours of labor. Pursuant to a call issued by the Amalgamated Building Trades' Council of Chicago, a convention of delegates from building trades organizations of the country met in this city on Tuesday June 28, and in a three days' convention perfected a national organization with the objects as set forth in the preceding paragraph. Notwithstanding the short notice given, there were in the convention delegates from fourteen of the principal cities of the union, representing one-half million journeymen builders. The result is that the National Building Trades' Council of the United States is now an established fact, working under a temporary constitution, copies of which accompany this circular. We submit the action of the convention and the constitution to the building trades organizations of the United States, and ask their prompt and active support of the movement. The convention, after due deliberation, decided, as it was hardly more than preliminary, that the first regular session of the national council should be held as soon as possible; that the delay in bringing all the building organizations under one head should not be greater than the time necessary to disseminate the work of the convention and to allow sufficient time for the many organizations to act; it was therefore decided to name the third Tuesday in September, 1887, as the date for holding such session. The place selected for the next convention is Chicago. All organizations receiving a copy of this circular are urged to take action in accordance with the constitution, and at once to open correspondence with the general secretary of the council, who will furnish information to those desiring it. Brothers, in conclusion, we urge you to give your support at once to this movement and to aid in perfecting an organization which may be made a power second to nothing of its character in the world, as its field is as broad as this great land, and its opportunities as limitless as humanity. On the last day the following resolutions were adopted: _Resolved_, That, in the event that the committee of the Chicago bricklayers do not succeed in making a satisfactory settlement with the Master Builders' association, the council declare the Chicago difficulty a national cause and appoint a committee on arbitration to meet the bosses, the power to appoint such committee resting in the hands of the president, in session or after adjournment. _Resolved_, That, in the event of failure of such committee to settle satisfactorily the trouble, the president, with the concurrence of the executive board, make an appeal to the building trades organizations of the United States, asking support--financial and moral--for the building-trades organizations of Chicago. Officers were elected as follows: President, J. S. Robinson, Cincinnati; Vice Presidents, George Keithly, Washington; William F. Abrams, Detroit; Louis Hartman, Milwaukee; Secretary, Peter A. Hogan, Chicago; Treasurer, L. C. Hutchinson, Detroit; Executive Board, W. H. Thomas, Philadelphia; Edward Farrell, New York; George E. Gray, Denver. ARBITRATION. On Tuesday, June 21st, three members of the old union met three Master Masons and told them they were ready to concede anything to preserve their union. They were advised to adopt the code of principles of the Master Masons, and agreed to have the union do so. A special meeting of the Bricklayers' union was called and held Thursday night for the purpose of endeavoring to induce the members to take a sensible view of the situation by adopting the code of principles. When the subject was proposed it met with howls of disgust, and had to be withdrawn. The members were not in proper temper to overturn their Union, even at the request of one who had been a leader. Being unable to keep their agreement in full with the contractors, the committee finally concluded to accomplish something. They introduced the following resolution: _Resolved_, That we withdraw our demand for Saturday pay-day, and declare the strike off. Even this ingenious little paper caused a bitter fight, the claim being made that there was trickery in it, and that it meant a complete "backdown" of the Union. But, with many assurances that the resolution was a "square deal" it was finally adopted by a bare majority. After the meeting it was stated that the stone pool--which held the key to the lockout--would have no excuse for refusing to deliver building material, as the strike was "declared off"; and that owners could compel them to "come to time." The action of the Bricklayers' union in rescinding the resolution in regard to Saturday pay-day, and "declaring the strike off," did not result in settling the differences between the two elements which had been at variance for nearly two months. Among the contractors this action was looked upon as a step taken toward a final settlement of the existing differences, and it inspired them with a belief that more would be done as soon as the arbitrary leaders of the union could be gotten in a proper temper. More was intended to be done, but the conservative, reasonable men in the union were not permitted to accomplish their whole purpose at once, and were forced to accept that which the union was willing at the time to concede. It was intended to fully recognize the code of principles of the Master Masons and accept the situation for the purpose of maintaining their union intact, but the temper of the men who made the most noise prevented any such action being taken. The feeling among the contractors generally was one of confidence in their ultimate success, and they expressed themselves in a manner that showed that they were as united as they had been at any time on the questions at issue. They said there had been no union bricklayers applying for work in consequence of the action rescinding the resolution in regard to Saturday pay-day, and that the adoption of such a resolution meant nothing unless the Bricklayers followed it up by going to work under the scale which had been adopted by the Master Masons' association. The executive committee of the Master Masons' association met Friday, June 24th, and decided to issue the following document, which, they said, might lead to an adjustment of the differences which had occasioned and prolonged the strike and lockout in the building trades: TO THE PUBLIC: In order to permanently settle the differences existing between employers and employes in the building trades and to show to the public that the Master Masons' association is willing to go on record as ready to do what is fair and reasonable in the present difficulty, we, the executive committee of the Master Masons' association, hereby offer to submit the platform and code of principles adopted by our association--the Bricklayers' and Stonemasons' union to submit their constitution and by-laws--to four business men and a judge of the United States court, said judge to select the four business men, who shall have full power to act as a board of arbitration as between the Master Masons' association and the bricklayers and stonemasons, and we hereby agree to abide by the decision of a majority of said board of arbitration. JOSEPH DOWNEY, HERMANN MUELLER, E. EARNSHAW, Executive Committee Master Masons' Association. When a copy of this paper was shown to some members of the executive committee of the Bricklayers' union, they grasped it eagerly, but suggested that they were afraid the four business men might not do them justice. One of them suggested that they might go so far as to agree to let the Master Masons select two and the Union two, and have a judge of the United States court for the fifth member, and then submit their constitution and by-laws and the code of principles of the Masons to them as proposed, and authorize the arbitrators to decide just what should be done by each party to settle the whole trouble. Saturday, June 25th, a committee from the Bricklayers' union, composed of A. E. Vorkeller, C. C. Scouller and C. J. Lindgren, met a committee of Master Masons, composed of C. A. Moses, Thomas Nicholson and E. S. Moss. The Union committee asked for and received an official copy of the proposition to allow a judge of the United States court to select four business men to arbitrate the case. They objected to the manner of selecting the arbitrators, and suggested that they be permitted to select their representatives, and the Master Masons do the same, and then select a judge as umpire. This action of the two committees was entirely unofficial, but the Union committeemen said they would officially present a proposition to the Master Masons on the subject. Monday, June 27th, the executive committee of the Bricklayers' union replied to the communication of President Downey, as follows: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President--_Dear Sir_: In reply to your communication of the 25th inst., submitting a proposition to settle permanently the differences existing between our union and your association, we beg leave to say that said proposition does not meet with our approval for the following reasons, viz: There is a want of confidence on the part of workingmen in such high officials as United States judges from the fact that they are not brought in close contact with workingmen in the settlement of their difficulties. Further, we believe a board of arbitration selected in the manner suggested by your committee would not be satisfactory to either side. Neither do we believe they would be as competent as a board selected from the employers and employes directly interested. We, therefore, take this opportunity to remind your association that we, on the 9th inst., appointed a committee of five from our organization to meet a like committee from your association (the joint committee to select an umpire) with full power to permanently settle the differences existing between our union and your association. By order of the executive committee of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons. A. E. VORKELLER, CHARLES J. LINDGREN, [Seal.] FRED RECKLING, JAMES SIDLAK, JOHN PEARSON. The objection to the United States judge was amusing to those who fully understood the situation. If he had been a judge whom they had helped to elect, or was a politician, there might have been no objection on the part of the executive committee of the union. But they would not submit to a United States judge because, they said, he did not come in "contact" with the laboring men. They wanted some one who did or had come in "contact" with them, because they believed such a judge or person would be afraid, for political reasons, to decide against the power of the union. The union was also afraid to submit to fair-minded men its constitution and by-laws in comparison with the code of principles of the Master Masons, because its rulers well knew that a decision would be against them, and their union would fall. It was well known that if President Vorkeller could have had his way, or could have controlled the union, a settlement would have been reached that would have been satisfactory to every builder in the city. But he was powerless, because every proposition he had made to adopt the code of principles of the builders had been howled down, and he had been threatened with violence if he persisted in his efforts to reach a settlement in that way. On one occasion, when Mr. Vorkeller insisted upon such a course, he was assaulted by an enthusiastic striker and was "struck like a dog." Wednesday, June 29th, the Master Masons' association held a meeting, and by a vote of 41 to 30 decided to appoint a committee of arbitration, and named George C. Prussing, Joseph Downey, George Tapper, William O'Brien and Charles W. Gindele. After the committee was created it was instructed to stand firmly by the code of principles of the Association and to require their recognition by the Bricklayers before proceeding to a settlement of differences. The action of the meeting did not meet the views of all the members of the Association, some of whom were fully determined that it was impolitic to appoint an arbitration committee, even when its powers were abridged by a demand for full recognition of the code of principles upon which they had been standing for weeks. The committee did not suit the Bricklayers. A dozen of them were standing outside the Exchange to hear the decision of the meeting. When they were informed that Mr. Prussing was on the committee they swore they would never arbitrate anything with a committee of which he was a member. What objection they had to Mr. Prussing they would not explain, but insisted that "it was of no use to talk of such a thing as arbitration with George C. Prussing." Some cooler heads among the party finally concluded that it would be time enough to object to the composition of the committee after they had received a communication from President Downey, and knew what they were expected to arbitrate. When it was suggested to them that they would be expected to subscribe to the code of principles of the Master Masons' Association, one of them said it made little difference who was on the committee, as that would never be done by the Union Bricklayers. Other members of the Union said this would make no difference, as the code of principles was just, but it would be very difficult to get the Union to adopt them. The conservative element on both sides of the question were encouraged by the action of the Master Masons, and said a settlement would be reached that would be satisfactory to everybody. President Downey prepared and caused to be sent to President Vorkeller official notification of the action of the association, as follows: A. E. VORKELLER, President United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons. _Sir_:--Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' Association has this day appointed a standing committee of arbitration of five of its members with full power to act for and in behalf of this organization in settlement of any and all differences existing. You have been informed of the platform and code of principles adopted by this body. On these it stands. All other questions may properly be arbitrated. Please inform this body whether your committee has been appointed with full power to bind your organization by joint action with us. If so, our committee is ready and shall be pleased to meet your committee at the earliest time convenient for the selection of an umpire and arrangement of preliminaries. The arbitration committee appointed by this association consists of Messrs. George C. Prussing, George Tapper, William O'Brien, Charles W. Gindele and Joseph Downey. Respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. H. MUELLER, Secretary. In reply to this communication President Vorkeller sent to President Downey an acceptance of the proposition, as follows: JOSEPH DOWNEY, President--_Dear Sir_: Your communication notifying me that your Association has appointed a committee of five to meet a like committee from our organization for the purpose of settling, if possible, the present lockout, is at hand. In reply will say that we await your convenience and will hold ourselves in readiness to meet your committee at any time and place you may appoint. Yours respectfully, A. E. VORKELLER, President. The time and place of meeting was fixed by President Downey in a note to President Vorkeller, as follows: A. E. VORKELLER, President.--_Sir_: Your communication received, and would say in reply that our committee will meet your committee at 10 o'clock to-morrow morning at the Grand Pacific hotel. Respectfully, JOSEPH DOWNEY, President. Friday morning, July 1st, the joint arbitration met. The members were on hand in full force, the opposing elements being represented as follows: Master Masons' association--Joseph Downey, George Tapper, George C. Prussing, Charles W. Gindele, William O'Brien. Bricklayers' union--Albert E. Vorkeller, P. J. Miniter, John Pearson, C. J. Lindgren, Fred Rebush. They pretended to be very glad to see each other, and smiles were exchanged freely. When they entered the committee room, President Downey introduced Mr. Prussing to President Vorkeller, and requested him to introduce him to the other members of the committee from the Union. This appeared to be an assumption that Mr. Prussing was a comparative stranger to the members of the committee, but he had been so well known that the bricklayers had repeatedly asserted that they would not arbitrate if he was on the committee. It was amusing to witness the cordiality with which John Pearson grasped Mr. Prussing's hand, and to hear him say he was glad to see him, when the bitter words of denunciation of the previous day had hardly got cold on Mr. Pearson's lips. Mr. Prussing was introduced all around, after which he suggested that they at once proceed to select a chairman and get down to the business of adjusting their differences in a manner that would insure a permanent settlement of their troubles and an assurance that for all time the friendliest relations might be maintained between employer and employe. "The first thing to do," said Mr. Prussing, "is to select a chairman." Mr. Vorkeller, president of the Union, half elevated his wiry form, and, looking toward four reporters in the room, said: "The first thing to do is to put these outsiders on the outside." The reporters retired. They had previously been advised that the Master Masons were in favor of an open meeting, but a secret session having been demanded by the bricklayers it was conceded by the masons. It was apparent that the bricklayers had determined that the public should know nothing of their deliberations, and as little as possible of the result. At the morning session George Tapper was selected chairman. An effort was then made to agree upon the eleventh member of the committee. The bricklayers insisted upon the appointment of Richard Prendergast, Judge of the County court of Cook county, and the master masons urged that Walter Q. Gresham, Judge of the U. S. circuit court, should be the man. The bricklayers strenuously opposed any United States officer, and the names of both judges were dropped. An umpire was parleyed over for an hour, and a general discussion of the situation occupied the remainder of the morning session without reaching a conclusion upon anything except a chairman. The afternoon session lasted three hours. When the committee adjourned it was announced that the members had done nothing for the public, and had agreed to not make known their work until it was completed. However, the deliberations of the afternoon were of a progressive character. Many questions were discussed and some rules were agreed to, which meant that there was a strong probability that the contending elements would get close enough together to agree upon an award. During the afternoon the names of many prominent citizens were suggested for the position of umpire, but no selection was made. It seemed to be the desire of both factions to secure someone who would not be prejudiced in favor of "the other fellow." The sessions of the day were "perfectly harmonious," and as the members of the committee became "better acquainted" with each other, they gave stronger assurances of a permanent friendship, if nothing else. The members of the committee slept over the list of names of prominent citizens, who had been suggested for the position of umpire, and on Saturday when they got together Judge Tuley, of the Superior court of Cook county, was unanimously chosen umpire. The judge was officially notified of the action taken, advised of the questions at issue between the contestants, and asked if he would accept the responsibility which was sought to be put upon him. A reply was received stating that from a sense of duty he would accept. A short session of the committee was held in the afternoon to receive the reply, and an adjournment was then taken until 9 o'clock Monday morning. The Fourth of July was celebrated by the joint committee sticking right to business. They believed the questions at issue were more momentous than a remembrance of the anniversary of the birth of the nation by a display of fireworks. According to agreement the joint committee met at 9 o'clock, and Judge Tuley assumed the chair as umpire. The work began by acquainting the umpire with the situation as it was viewed from both sides, the differences and grievances being rehearsed in such a graphic manner that the judge was profoundly impressed with the importance of the questions which he had been called upon to settle, and he announced his readiness to proceed to such a conclusion as would forever put at rest all contention over the labor problem in Chicago, as far as it related to the building interests. The entire morning session was taken up in debates and the umpire discovered that he would be required to call into requisition not only his knowledge of the law, but all the parliamentary tactics with which he was familiar, with a possibility that he would have to occasionally invent a ruling to suit the special occasion. The code of principles of the Master Masons was submitted and discussed at length. The code was not adopted as a whole, but was held in abeyance in order that other questions should be submitted to ascertain what bearing the code might have upon them. It was decided that the real issue should be narrowed down to facts which directly bore upon the foundation for differences between the contestants. At the afternoon session the order of business was first defined and then the struggle began over the items of difference, which were taken up in the order agreed upon and discussed. These points embraced the many hard questions which had occasioned strikes and lockouts for five years. They included the various demands of the bricklayers, which had been objected to or conceded from time to time, from the demand for an increase of wages in 1883 to the unsatisfied insistence upon a Saturday pay-day. A sub-committee, composed of Messrs. Prussing, of the Master Masons, and Miniter, of the Bricklayers, prepared a statement showing all points upon which the contestants agreed and disagreed. Every disputed point was then so thoroughly argued by both sides that Judge Tuley was fairly saturated with facts and eloquence. The umpire was very cautious, and asked a great many leading questions of both sides. He evinced a disposition to become fully advised and enlightened, not only as to the points of difference, but as to their effect upon the contestants. He wanted to know it all, but he expressed few opinions, and made very few decisions. His idea seemed to be to endeavor to lead the contestants up to points at which they might possibly be able to agree without the necessity for his casting a vote upon a disputed question, and in this course he was upheld by both sides, because it had a strong tendency to promote and preserve harmony between the two. In fact, the umpire endeavored to show them how they could reach a conclusion without the use of an umpire. As the time for making the award drew near, the members of both organizations, and in fact, of all trades, became very anxious to know the result. They used every means within their power to obtain some information from the committeemen in regard to the manner in which points of difference had been or would be adjusted, but the mouths of the arbitrators remained sealed. They simply said: "Wait for the verdict, and you will be satisfied." On Friday, July 8th, at 6 o'clock in the evening, the joint committee concluded its labors and adjourned, after having adjusted the differences between the Master Masons and the Bricklayers which had caused a strike and lockout in the building trades lasting nine weeks. The award was made and signed by the ten arbitrators and the umpire. After the committee adjourned both factions acknowledged themselves perfectly satisfied with the award, and congratulated each other upon a result which, they said, they hoped and believed would forever settle their differences, and in the future prevent strikes and lockouts in the building trades represented by the Master Masons on the one part and he Bricklayers and Stonemasons on the other part. The members of the committee parted as friends, and seemed to understand each other so well that if they could control the destinies of the two factions there would never be an occasion for an arbitration committee between the two to settle a strike. It was agreed that the award should be submitted to the Bricklayers' union and the Master Masons' association for ratification, and that building should be resumed on Monday, July 11th. The award of the committee was as follows: TO THE UNION OF THE UNITED ORDER OF AMERICAN BRICKLAYERS AND STONEMASONS AND TO THE MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO: The joint committee of arbitration, composed of an arbitration committee of five from each of your organizations, with Judge M. F. Tuley unanimously selected as umpire, have concluded their labors and respectfully report: That, recognizing the fact that organizations of employes and employers, like these from which this committee originated, do exist and have become important factors in our industrial society, and that they will, in all probability, continue to exist, we do not attempt to determine whether the motive or basis of either organization was right or wrong. They appear to be a necessity arising out of the present conditions of society, and while such combinations keep "from violence or show of violence" no great danger need be apprehended. Nor did we attempt to determine which organization was to blame for the present paralyzed condition of the building industry of this great city. We recognized the fact that the two organizations between which there should be many "bonds of sympathy and good feeling" were carrying on a bitter war with each other, by which many thousands of men were deprived of work, much suffering and privation brought upon innocent parties, and immense pecuniary losses daily sustained; and we determined, if possible, to reconcile the differences and place the relations of the two organizations upon a basis by which strikes, lookouts, and other like disturbances might in future be avoided. We discussed the relations of the contractor and the workmen, and found much in which they had a common or joint interest, and were mutually concerned. We endeavored to discuss and settle each trouble and grievance in a conciliatory spirit, not in way of compromise, to give and take, but in a spirit of fair play and upon just and equitable principles. We found that the main cause of trouble was in the separate organizations endeavoring to lay down arbitrary rules for the regulation of matters which were of joint interest and concern, and which should be regulated only by both organizations by some species of joint action. We, therefore, determined upon and submit herewith a project for the institution of a joint standing committee for that purpose. The article herewith submitted, providing for such a joint standing committee, to be elected annually in the month of January, defining its powers and duties, we request shall be incorporated into the constitution of each association. This joint committee will be constructed of an arbitration committee of five members from each organization (the president of each being one of the five) and an umpire who is neither a working mechanic nor an employer of mechanics, to be chosen by the two committees. This joint committee is given power to hear and determine all grievances of the members of one organization against members of the other, and of one organization against the other. To determine and fix all working rules governing employer and employes, such as: 1 The minimum rate of wages per hour. 2 The number of hours of work per day. 3. Uniform pay-day. 4. The time of starting and quitting work. 5. The rate to be paid for night and Sunday work, and questions of like nature. And it is also given power to determine what number of apprentices should be enrolled so as to afford all boys desiring to learn the trade an opportunity to do so without overcrowding, so as not to cause the coming workmen to be unskilled in his art or the supply of labor to grossly exceed the demand therefor. It is also given exclusive power to determine all subjects in which both organizations may be interested, and which may be brought before it by the action of either organization or the president thereof. It becomes necessary, in order that all questions and grievances which the committee has settled, and to make the constitution and by-laws of the organizations conform thereto, and to the powers given to future joint arbitration committees, that some changes should be made in such constitution and by-laws. The adoption by the Master Masons' and Builders' association of the article for the joint committee, as recommended, together with some slight changes in their constitution, will be sufficient. The United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons will be necessitated to make changes in its constitution and by-laws to make the same consistent with and to conform to the spirit and intent of the powers and duties conferred on the joint committee; and among other things the officer heretofore known as the walking delegate is to be known hereafter as the collector, and all the objectionable duties and powers of the office have been done away with. The steward will remain guardian of the men's interests and mediator for them; his arbitrary powers are taken away. The interests of the members of the union are protected by the foreman being required to be a member of the union, but he is restored to his position as the employe of the contractor, and, while so employed, is not subject to the rules of the union. The eight-hour day has been conceded to the workmen. It is in accordance with the state and, we believe, in accord with the spirit and progress of the age. The question of pay-day, whether on Saturday or on Tuesday, was not considered a question of vital importance, but, it being one of the questions left to the umpire, he decided that inasmuch as Tuesday has been the pay-day with the principal contractors in the trade of this city for more than twenty years last past, and, as experience in other trades and occupations has demonstrated that the pay-day of Monday or Tuesday has worked more beneficially to the workmen and their families than the Saturday pay-day, and, inasmuch as contractors ought not to be required to change the pay-day in the midst of the working season, having presumably made their pecuniary arrangements to meet the Tuesday pay-day, he would name Tuesday as the regular pay-day until the same should, if desired hereafter, be changed by the joint committee on arbitration. We have settled the differences between the two organizations. While every inch of the ground has been fought over, yet, having the task assigned us, we in good faith determined to do everything that was fair, just and honorable to accomplish our object. We feel we have succeeded without compromising the honor, the rights, or the dignity of either organisation, and hope that we have succeeded in establishing a basis upon which all future troubles may be settled and probably be prevented. We respectfully ask your adoption of this report and the article as to the joint arbitration committee, by immediate action, to the end that work may be commenced on Monday, July 11th, it being agreed that neither organization shall be bound by its action if the other should refuse to take similar action. A. E. VORKELLER, P. J MINNITER, JOHN PEARSON, THEODORE REBUSH, CHARLES J. LINDGREN, Arbitration Committee for the U. O. A. B. and S. M. Association. GEORGE C. PRUSSING, JOSEPH DOWNEY, GEORGE TAPPER, WILLIAM O'BRIEN, CHARLES W. GINDELE, Arbitration Committee for the Master Masons' and Builders' Association. M. F. TULEY, Umpire. One of the troublesome questions which was considered by the arbitrators was the one in relation to apprentices. On this question there was no agreement by the joint committee, but Judge Tuley made the following statement and recommendations, all of which met the approval of both organizations: A limitation upon the number of apprentices in a craft has always existed either by legislative action or by custom of the craft, and the number that should be taken must be affected to a large extent by the general principles of the demand and supply of labor. In France, in the seventeenth century, masters were limited to one apprentice. In England, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, apprentices became so numerous, and because of their numbers--when they became workmen--were so unskilled, that some crafts were for a time utterly ruined. Laws were passed from time to time limiting the number of apprentices in the trades and crafts; some to two apprentices, some to sons of master workmen and employes, and some to the sons of persons who had a £3 annual rental. It is a law of self-preservation to the craft, and also of equal interest to the responsible Master Mason, that there should be some limitation on the number of apprentices. If the number is unlimited, unscrupulous contractors may secure a large number of apprentices, and, with the help of a few journeymen, underbid all contractors who employ journeymen skilled in their craft, and also necessarily throw upon the journeymen large additions of unskilled workmen, thereby making the supply of labor largely in excess of the demand, and destroying the standard of the craft for good work. It is not a question whether everybody shall have the right to learn a trade, but whether the craft will teach every boy a trade, to its own destruction. It is a matter, however, that neither the journeymen nor the Master Masons' organizations should arbitrarily undertake to decide. It is a matter of joint interest, and should be decided from time to time by the joint arbitration committee in such a manner that the number of apprentices shall be sufficient to furnish the requisite number of journeymen to supply the demand, and also so as to prevent an abuse of the apprentice system and an injury to both employer and employe by a too large number of apprentices being secured to do work that should be done by the skilled journeymen. Three years, by common consent, is the period fixed for apprenticeship in these trades, and the Master Masons should be allowed, and if necessary required, to take one new apprentice each year. The number of apprentices can be increased from time to time as the interests of the crafts and their obligations to the youth of the country should demand. The apprentice should be allowed to join any organization of his craft, but in all respects be subject to the laws of the state and the contracts made in pursuance thereof. The joint committee also agreed upon working rules, which were established by being adopted by both organizations interested. They are as follows: SECTION 1. The minimum rate of wages shall be 40 cents per hour. SEC. 2. Eight hours shall constitute a day's work throughout the year, work to begin at 8 A. M. and end at 5 P. M., but the noon hour may be curtailed by special agreement between the foreman and the majority of the workmen, but not in such a way as to permit more than eight hours' work between the hours named. No member will be allowed to work overtime except in case of actual necessity. For such overtime time and one-half shall be allowed. SEC. 3. Eight hours shall constitute a night's work. Night work shall not commence until 7 P. M., and shall be paid for at time and a half. Sunday work shall be paid for at double time. SEC 4. Any member of this Union working for a Mason Contractor shall be paid every two weeks on Tuesday before 5 P. M. _Resolved_, That all members of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons who have, from actual necessity, taken up their work during the present strike, or lockout, and have thereby violated any rule of said organization, shall be reinstated within two weeks of the execution of the award of this arbitration committee, and shall not be fined or suffer any penalty for said violation of rules; and further _Resolved_, That all members of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association who have, from actual necessity, started to work with union men, and in opposition to a resolution of such organization, shall not be fined or suffer any penalty for infraction of the rules, and shall be considered in good standing. The working rules were signed by the joint committee and the umpire. The following amendments to the constitution of the two organizations were adopted, fixing a permanent board of arbitration: SECTION 1. This organization shall elect, at its annual meeting in January, a standing committee of arbitration, consisting of five members, to serve one year. The present standing committee shall continue in office until the election of its successor, in January, 1888. SEC. 2. The president shall be, ex-officio, one of said five members. He shall be chairman of committee, and in his absence the committee may designate one of its members to act in his place. SEC. 3. Within one week after the election the president of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons shall certify to the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association, and the president of the Chicago Master Masons' and Builders' association shall certify to the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, the fact that said committee has been regularly elected, and give the names of members thereof. SEC. 4. When notice of the selection of a committee of arbitration by the other association shall be received, or as soon thereafter as practicable, and within the month of January, the two committees shall meet and proceed to organize themselves in a joint committee of arbitration by electing an umpire, who is neither a working mechanic nor an employer of mechanics. The umpire, when present, shall preside at meetings of the joint committee, and have the casting vote on all questions. SEC. 5. Seven members, exclusive of the umpire, shall constitute a quorum of the joint arbitration committee, and in case of the absence of any member, the chairman of his committee shall cast the vote for such absent members. A majority vote shall decide all questions. SEC. 6. The joint committee of arbitration shall have all evidence in complaints and grievances of a member or members of one body against a member or members of the other, or of one organization against the other, referred to it by the president of either association, and shall finally decide all questions submitted, and shall certify by the umpire such decisions to the respective organizations. Work shall go on continuously, and all parties interested shall be governed by award made, or decisions rendered, provided, however, that work may be stopped by the joint order of the presidents of the respective associations until the decision of the joint committee is had. SEC. 7. The joint committee shall have exclusive power to determine and fix definitely from year to year all working rules. It shall also have all exclusive authority to discuss and determine all other subjects in which both organizations, or members of both organizations, may be jointly interested and concerned, which may be brought before the committee by either organization or the president thereof. SEC. 8. Working rules are rules governing employers and workmen at work, such as the establishment of a minimum rate of wages to be paid practical bricklayers and stonemasons per hour, and of a uniform pay-day, to determine the number of hours to be worked per day, the time of starting and quitting work, the remuneration to be paid for work done overtime and Sundays, and other questions of like nature. SEC. 9. The subject of apprentices being a matter of joint interest, and concern to both the union and the Master Masons' and Builders' association, the joint committee shall have power to decide from time to time the number of apprentices which master masons may take in service. Until further action by said committee all master masons shall be allowed a new apprentice each year, and the term of apprenticeship shall be three years, but any minor taken as apprentice shall be under 19 years of age. All apprentices shall be allowed to join any organization of their craft, but to be subject to the laws of this state and the contract of apprenticeship made in pursuance of such laws. SEC 10. This article having been agreed upon by the union of the United Order of American Bricklayers and Stonemasons, and the Master Masons' and Builders' association shall not be repealed or amended by either organization except upon six months' previous notice given to the other organization, and such notice shall not be given until after all honest efforts to settle the grievance or difficulty shall have been made. In addition to the provisions for changing the constitutions of the two organizations it was necessary for the Bricklayers' union to make a number of changes in its constitution in relation to the walking delegate, stewards, foremen, etc., but these could not be made at once, as there was a provision in the constitution of the union by which it could not be amended, except after two weeks' notice. This notice was given, and the amendments were made at the proper time. In the meantime the proposed changes were recognized and put into practice. The Bricklayers' union and the Master Masons' association met and ratified the action of the joint arbitration committee by unanimously indorsing the award and all accompanying recommendations. This ended the great strike and lockout. In the settlement which was made the greatest accomplishment was the securing of a standing committee on arbitration to adjust all grievances before the employes are permitted to strike, or be locked out by the employers. This is a hard blow to the agitators, whose thrift largely depended upon their ability to create strife and contention between capital and labor. The establishment of a joint council of employers and workmen secures and protects free labor. Instead of the pernicious strike, it was agreed that arbitration should be recognized as the first move in the settlement of differences, and that it was the only true solution of all misunderstandings. As nations never take up arms against each other until they have exhausted the experiments of diplomacy, so the workmen, or their leaders, were made to understand that arbitration was the true course in the adjustment of differences between employer and employe. Associations of employers, as well as associations of employes, may well profit by the experience of the building trades in Chicago. It was a hot struggle, which, after all, was brought to an end by arbitration--an experiment which, however unsatisfactory to the hot-heads, might as easily have been resorted to at the beginning. The employer, and not the Walking Delegate of the union, was given control over the employment of his own workmen. The declaration made at the first meeting of the Master Masons' association, that "the Walking Delegate must go," was put into force and effect by the award made. He has walked his last walk, and his finger has snapped its last snap in calling men off a job in Chicago. The tyrant's power was taken away. The foreman was made the servant of the contractor, who pays his wages, and is no longer the servant of the union, to which he pays taxes. The rights of the employer were recognized and harmony was secured. OUT OF POCKET. The losses to thirty thousand employes and seven hundred contractors during the lockout aggregated more than $4,000,000. They are fairly shown by the following statement: 4,000 Carpenters, 16 days, @ $2.50 $160,000 2,000 Carpenters, 30 days, @ $2.50 150,000 4,000 Hodcarriers and Laborers, 60 days, @ $2.00 480,000 3,000 Bricklayers, 54 days, @ $3.60 583,200 1,000 Brick Makers, 54 days, @ $5.00 270,000 8,000 Brick Laborers, 54 days, @ $1.75 756,000 1,000 Brick Teamsters, 54 days, @ $4.00 216,000 1,000 Stonecutters, 30 days, @ $4.00 120,000 500 Cornice men, 30 days, @ $3.00 45,000 500 Gravel Roofers, 30 days, @ $2.50 37,500 700 Plasterers, 30 days, @ $4.00 84,000 250 Lathers, 30 days, @ $2.50 18,750 600 Painters, 30 days, @ $2.50 45,000 1,000 Mill men, 30 days, @ $2.50 75,000 Iron men 10,000 Slate Roofers 5,000 Stair Builders 5,000 Lumber Yard Employes 5,000 Teamsters 5,000 Boatmen 5,000 _________ Total $3,075,450 The actual loss of the seven hundred contractors would average not less than $25 per day for sixty days, which would make their loss--exclusive of percentage on work delayed--$1,050,000. This sum, added to the loss of the idle man, makes a total loss in the building trades alone of $4,125,450. And this resulted from a demand for Saturday pay-day. This calculation does not include the percentage of losses to the builders upon work which was in hand, and which could have been pushed to completion during the pendency of the strike. They would have amounted at least to $1,000,000. These figures should be a warning to projectors of strikes in the future, but when a strike is determined upon, the results, in a financial way, are never considered. Nothing is looked to but the present imaginary wrong, which reckless leaders insist must be righted without reference to the effect upon their own pockets or those of the employer upon whom their demands are made. It is about time for the strike and boycott days to end, in order that prosperity may be assured to both the employer and the employe--at least in the building trades of this country. CONCLUSION. From the beginning to the close of the strike there were many difficulties to contend with, one of the most prominent of which was the timidity of some contractors, who were constantly exhibiting their weakness, and on the slightest pretext would have given up the battle and sacrificed principle for the sake of making a few dollars. These men were a constant care to the more earnest workers, who were compelled to put forth efforts at all times to strengthen the weak brethren and keep them in line. They believed in the correctness of the principles involved, but were ever ready to say they could not be enforced against the striking element, the strength of which at all times was made to appear in the unanimity with which the workmen seemed to stand together. If the strikers were weak they were so well drilled that they would not admit it, or show it to the contractors, while the few weak members of the Master Masons' association and material dealers who were disposed to give up, were constantly parading their cowardice to not only their associates, but to the strikers and to the public. But they were few in number. Another source of annoyance was the exhibition of selfishness by a few owners of buildings which had been projected. They would not consider the principle involved; but, looking at the dollar in sight, took their contracts from members of the Association and gave them into the hands of the strikers, thus furnishing aid and comfort to the enemy of liberty, and creating a feeling of discouragement in the ranks of the builders. All honor to the brave men who stood firm in the fight from the beginning to the end; who sacrificed everything but principle to sustain the proposition of individual liberty; who were early and late in the front to do battle alike for the strong and weak; who shirked no duty, no responsibility, but floated the banner of freedom on all occasions. Their names are enrolled on the books of the haters of free labor for a boycott in the future, but they are also enrolled in the deepest recesses of the memory of every good and true citizen, and their manly efforts for the establishment of the principle of individual liberty will never be forgotten. THE CARPENTERS AGAIN. When the Master Masons adopted the nine-hour day the Carpenters' and Builders' Association promptly backed them up by receding from the eight-hour rule and making their hours of work correspond with those of the Master Masons. The award of the arbitrators having restored to the masons the eight-hour day, the carpenters considered themselves absolved from any obligations to back up the masons, and said they would fix the hours to suit themselves. The satisfactory settlement of the strike of the bricklayers caused the working carpenters to move in the direction of arbitration. An uneasy feeling prevailed for some time among the employers and the workmen. On several occasions agitators tried to induce the men to order a strike for eight hours and 35 cents an hour as the minimum rate of wages, and the conservative element had great difficulty in preventing it. They succeeded in securing the appointment of an arbitration committee by the workmen, which was composed of Messrs. W. White, H. T. Castle, R. L. Hassell, Roscoe Palmer and A. S. F. Ballantine. This committee made several attempts to secure recognition at the hands of the Carpenters' and Builders' Association, but without success. The association met Saturday evening, July 23rd, and laid on the table three communications from the carpenters, all of which were in the direction of arbitration. The association then passed a resolution authorizing its members to work as they pleased during the remainder of the year, without reference to any rule in regard to the number of hours which should constitute a day's work, and almost universally work proceeded on the eight-hour basis. NATIONAL ORGANIZATIONS. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF BUILDERS. J. Milton Blair, President, Cincinnati, O. John S. Stevens, First Vice President, Philadelphia, Pa. E. E. Scribner, Second Vice President, St. Paul, Minn. Wm. H. Sayward, Secretary, Boston, Mass. John J. Tucker, Treasurer, New York, N. Y. DIRECTORS. David M. Alexander, Albany, N. Y. Wm. Ferguson, Baltimore, Md. Leander Greely, Boston, Mass. Charles Berrick, Buffalo, N. Y. Henry Oliver, Charleston, S. C. George C. Prussing, Chicago, Ills. James Allison, Cincinnati, O. Thomas Simmons, Cleveland, O. Thomas Kanauss, Columbus, O. W. G. Vinton, Detroit, Mich. W. C. Weatherly, Grand Rapids, Mich. W. P. Jungclaus, Indianapolis, Ind. Thomas Mason, Milwaukee, Wis. H. N. Leighton, Minneapolis, Minn. J. N. Phillips, Nashville, Tenn. F. H. West, New Orleans, La. Mark Eidlitz, New York, N. Y. Wm. Harkness, Jr., Philadelphia, Pa. Samuel Francis, Pittsburgh, Pa. George R. Phillips, Providence, R. I. Charles W. Voshall, Rochester, N. Y. E. F. Osborne, St. Paul, Minn. F. F. Beck, Sioux City, Iowa. C. A. Meeker, Troy, N. Y. E. B. Crane, Worcester, Mass. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF MASTER PLUMBERS. John Byrns, President, New York, N. Y. John Trainor, First Vice President, Baltimore, Md. H. G. Gabay, Recording Secretary, New York, N. Y. Walter T. Hudson, Corresponding Secretary, Brooklyn, N. Y. Enoch Remick, Financial Secretary, Philadelphia, Pa. M. J. Lyons, Treasurer, Brooklyn, N. Y. D. J. Collins, Sergeant at Arms, St. Louis, Mo. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. George D. Scott, New York, N. Y. E. J. Hannon, Washington, D. C. J. J. Sheehan, St. Louis, Mo. Wm. Harkness, Jr., Philadelphia, Pa. Rupert Coleman, Chicago, Ills. STATE VICE PRESIDENTS. Alex. W. Murray, Chicago, Ills. D. G. Finerty, Boston, Mass. D. O. McEwan, Omaha, Neb. Joseph C. Mitchell, Baltimore, Md. Richard Murphy, Cincinnati, O. T. J. White, Denver, Col. John Cameron, Detroit, Mich. John Madden, Fort Wayne, Ind. Michael J. Moran, Jersey City, N. J. Henry Goss, Kansas City, Mo. John E. Ford, Newton, Kas. Simon Shulbafer, Louisville, Ky. Wm. E. Goodwin, Milwaukee, Wis. John Shea, St. Paul, Minn. Robert Morgan, New Haven, Conn. W. E. Foster, Norfolk, Va. James E. Weldon, Pittsburgh, Pa. J. L. Park, Nashville, Tenn. Wm. Whipple, Providence, R. I. R. G. Campbell, Washington, D. C. J. L. Furman, San Francisco, Cal. Wm. Young, New York, N. Y. MASTER PAINTERS ASSOCIATION OF THE UNITED STATES. Titus Berger, President, Pittsburgh, Pa. Jesse Cornelius, Vice-President, St. Louis, Mo. J. G. McCarthy, Secretary, Chicago, Ills. Maurice Joy, Treasurer, Philadelphia, Pa. EXECUTIVE BOARD. Titus Berger, Chairman, Pittsburgh, Pa. J. B. Sullivan, Chicago, Ills. George B. Elmore, Brooklyn, N. Y. John Patterson, Philadelphia, Pa. J. B. Atkinson, Louisville, Ky. M. H. Godfrey, Detroit, Mich. George Howlett, Cleveland, Ohio. Charles H. Sefton, Boston, Mass. E. M. Gallagher, San Francisco, Cal. B. T. Collingbourne, Milwaukee, Wis. J. F. Van Brandt, Dubuque, Iowa. R. L. Hutchins, Wilmington, N. C. James S. Dowling, St. Louis, Mo. B. C. Bushell, Martinsburg, W. Va. James Marks, Bayonne, N. J. F. P. Martin, Atchinson, Kas. P. Coughlin, Bridgeport, Conn. Thomas A. Brown, Washington, D. C. A. T. Davis, Memphis, Tenn. E. W. Pyle, Wilmington, Del. NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF MASTER COMPOSITION ROOFERS. J. Wilkes Ford, President, Chicago, Ill. Samuel D. Warren, First Vice President, St. Louis, Mo. H. M. Reynolds, Second Vice President, Grand Rapids, Mich. William K. Thomas, Secretary, Chicago, Ills. H. R. Shaffer, Treasurer, Chicago, Ills. DIRECTORS. M. W. Powell, Chicago, Ills. John M. Sellers, St. Louis, Mo. E. S. Bortel, Philadelphia, Pa. J. L. Jones, Chicago, Ills. G. W. Getchell, Chicago, Ills. WESTERN ASSOCIATION OF ARCHITECTS. John W. Root, President, Chicago, Ills. J. F. Alexander, Secretary, LaFayette, Ind. Samuel A. Treat, Treasurer, Chicago, Ills. W. L. B. Jenney, Secretary Foreign Correspondence, Chicago, Ills. VICE PRESIDENTS. D. W. Millard, St. Paul, Minn. H. S. Josseyline, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. D. Adler, Chicago, Ills. J. J. McGrath, St. Louis, Mo. J. G. Haskel, Topeka, Kan. J. F. Alexander, LaFayette, Ind. George W. Rapp, Cincinnati, O. J. J. Kane, Fort Worth, Texas. BOARD OF DIRECTORS. Dankmar Adler, Chairman, Chicago, Ills. G. W. Rapp, Cincinnati, O. Charles Crapsey, Cincinnati, O. C. A. Curtin, Louisville, Ky. G. M. Goodwin, St. Paul, Minn. ILLINOIS STATE ASSOCIATION OF ARCHITECTS. D. Adler, President. S. A. Treat, } Vice-Presidents. M. S. Patton, } S. M. Randolph, Treasurer. C. L. Stiles, Secretary. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. L. D. Cleveland, C. M. Palmer, John W. Root, Wm. Halabird. CHICAGO ORGANIZATIONS. BUILDERS' AND TRADERS' EXCHANGE. George Tapper, President. Mat. Benner, First Vice-President. Alex. W. Murray, Second Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. Joseph Downey, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. Oliver Sollitt, D. V. Purington, Murdock Campbell, E. A. Thomas, F. W. H. Sundmacher, Ph. Henne, James John, S. S. Kimbell, Wm. Kinsella, George H. Fox. CENTRAL COUNCIL OF BUILDERS. George Tapper, President H. G. Savage, Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. STANDING COMMITTEES. Credentials--J. B. Sullivan, T. C. Diener, A. J. Weckler. Safety--H. L. Turner, C. B. Kimbell, Robert Vierling. Strikes and Grievances--P. B. Wight, H. G. Savage, M. W. Powell. Arbitration--Edward Kirk, Jr., William Hearson, John Sutton. CHICAGO MASTER MASONS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION. Joseph Downey, President. Thomas E. Courtney, Treasurer. Hermann Mueller, Secretary. THE CARPENTERS' AND BUILDERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. William Grace, President. William Hearson, Vice-President. F. C. Schoenthaler, Secretary. Peter Kauff, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. C. G. Dixon, William Mavor, J. W. Woodard, W. E. Frost, John Ramcke, J. W. Cassell. THE CHICAGO BUILDING STONE COMPANY. B. J. Moore, President. H. A. Sanger, Vice-President. D. E. Corneau, Secretary. E. F. Singer, Treasurer. J. A. Pettigrew, Manager. DIRECTORS. D. E. Corneau, J. G. Bodenschatz, B. J. Moore, H. A. Sanger, E. T. Singer, H. L. Holland, G. H. Monroe. QUARRY OWNERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. Gen. John McArthur, President. John Rawle, Vice-President. E. E. Worthington, Secretary. C. B. McGenness, Treasurer. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. E. T. Singer, John Worthy, M. B. Madden, P. G. Hale, W. Johnson. CUT-STONE CONTRACTORS' ASSOCIATION. F. V. Gindele, President. T. C. Diener, Secretary and Treasurer. TRUSTEES. John Tomlinson, John Tait, Henry Fürst. THE ASSOCIATION OF MANUFACTURERS IN METALS. R. T. Crane, President. J. McGregor Adams, First Vice-President. John T. Raffen, Second Vice President. W. J. Chalmers, Third Vice President. Robert Vierling, Secretary and Treasurer. EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. R. T. Crane, W. J. Chalmers, M. C. Bullock, George Mason, J. McGregor Adams, Frank I. Pearce, Louis Wolff, John T. Raffen, A. Plamondon. CHICAGO MASTER PLUMBERS' ASSOCIATION. H. Griffith, President. J. J. Wade, First Vice President. Wm. Sims, Second Vice President. M. H. Reilly, Third Vice President. Frank E. Rush, Fourth Vice President. Wm. Wilson, Fifth Vice President. J. R. Alcock, Recording Secretary. Charles S. Wallace, Corresponding Secretary. William Sims, Finance Secretary. J. J. Hamblin, Treasurer. P. L. O'Hara, Sergeant-at-Arms. MASTER PAINTERS' ASSOCIATION OF CHICAGO. President, J. G. McCarthy. Vice-President, H. J. Milligan. Secretary, B. S. Mills. Treasurer, N. S. Lepperr. TRUSTEES. Henry G. Emmel, Wm. H. Emerson, James C. Burns. THE GRAVEL ROOFERS' EXCHANGE. H. R. Shaffer, President. D. W. C. Gooding, Vice-President. John L. Jones, Secretary. S. E. Barrett, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. M. W. Powell, G. W. Getchell, W. K. Thomas. THE GRAVEL ROOFERS' PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION. M. W. Powell, President. A. L. Barsley, Vice-President. J. J. Wheeler, Secretary. S. E. Barrett, Treasurer. DIRECTORS. C. W. Randolph, J. W. Ford, D. W. C. Gooding, A. Burke, L. Daley. NORTH AND NORTHWEST BRICK MANUFACTURERS' ASSOCIATION. A. J. Weckler, President. August Wehrheim, Vice-President. F. W. Sundmacher, Secretary. George Lill, Treasurer. TRUSTEES. Thomas Moulding, Fred. Zapell, A. J. Weckler, August Wehrheim, John Labahn. CHICAGO BRICK MAKERS' ASSOCIATION. P. Lichtenstadt, President. John McKenna, Secretary. L. H. Harland, Treasurer. CONTRACTING PLASTERERS' ASSOCIATION. William Piggott, President. A. Zander, Vice President. James John, Treasurer. Andrew Corcoran, Secretary. GALVANIZED IRON CORNICE MANUFACTURERS. Edward Kirk, Jr., President. James A. Miller, Secretary and Treasurer. CHICAGO REAL ESTATE BOARD. William D. Kerfoot, President. M. R. Barnard, Vice President. George P. Bay, Treasurer. Edward F. Getchell, Secretary. W. J. Gallup, Assistant Secretary. 
35692	----	http://www.archive.org/details/historyofcompany00flet [Illustration: MAJOR JOHN R. HOTALING] THE HISTORY OF COMPANY A, SECOND ILLINOIS CAVALRY by SAMUEL H. FLETCHER A Member of the Company; In Collaboration with D. H. Fletcher AS A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE MEN WHO FOUGHT IN COMPANY A AND OF RESPECT TO ALL WHO STAND FOR WHAT THEY FOUGHT FOR THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHORS. TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Page. Causes of the war--Slavery, the national issue--Conditions immediately preceding the outbreak--Manifestations of patriotism 1 CHAPTER II. Organization and departure--Presentation of the Flag--Address by David B. Dewey--"Nick. Hotaling's Speech"--Capture of a masked battery--Mustered into service--Camp Butler--Fort Massac--Cairo--Bird's Point--Adventure of Harvey James--Paducah and Murray, Kentucky--Releasing imprisoned slaves 5 CHAPTER III. Embarcation from Paducah--Instance of official brutality--Capture of Fort Henry--Reconnoitering Fort Donelson--First meeting with Forest's men--Investment of Fort Donelson--McLernand's repulse --Attack by gunboats--Sortie--Grant turns the tide--Surrender by Buckner--Interest of Northern friends--Dr. Gould 25 CHAPTER IV. From Donelson to Metal Landing--Rescue from flooded camp--Pittsburg Landing--Grand review--Escort Wallace's men to Crump's Landing--The long-roll--Detailed to bring up Wallace--Hardship of men--Second day's battle--Retreat and pursuit--Dickey's cowardice--Charge against Forest's men--Pathetic incidents 45 CHAPTER V. The Corinth campaign--General Halleck--Manifestation of caution --"Better to retreat than to fight"--Spade-brigade--Elaborate fortifications--Battle of Davis' Bridge on the Hatchie River-- Bolivar--Death of Colonel Hogg--Water Valley--Fight at Holly Springs--Cowardice of Colonel Murphy--Foraging 59 CHAPTER VI. The final Vicksburg campaign--Situation at and around Vicksburg --Memphis--Lake Providence--Digging the canal--Cutting levee-- Running batteries--March through swamps--Grand Gulf--Feint by Sherman--Battle of Port Gibson--Death of McCorkle--Battles of Raymond and Jackson--Champion Hill--Casler and his "Base of Supplies"--Battle of Black River Bridge--Investment of Vicksburg --Grant--the "Silent"--the Invincible 77 CHAPTER VII. The siege of Vicksburg--The assault--Logan's Headquarters--The "Bull-pen"--"Boyce's Battery"--Scouting--The mine--The surrender --Phelps appropriates General Buckner's capitulation papers-- Significance of the victory--Credit due to Grant 99 CHAPTER VIII. Department of the Gulf--New Orleans--How Official Dignity was Vindicated by a Cat o'nine-tails--New Iberia--Vermillionville-- Chain-Vidette--"Bower's Charge"--How Ed. Baker won his spurs --Repulse of Generals Lucas and Franklin--Improvised Cavalry --Death of Crosby--Superior arms of Confederates--Brilliant capture of Confederate detachment--Commended by general order --Outrage committed by Banks and Franklin in confiscating horses--Cowardly manner of its perpetration--Re-enlistment --Veteran furlough--Return to the front 113 CHAPTER IX. The Red River Expedition--Death of Colonel Mudd--How Colonel Marsh held the line--Fighting Guerrillas--"Alton Hell-Hounds" --Their remedy for picket shooting--Incidents at Clinton, Louisiana--Colored wards and the River Jordan--Dash upon Liberty, Mississippi--Capture of Confederate officers-- Chivalry of prisoners and captors--How a Confederate Captain "made good" 135 CHAPTER X. "Davidson's sweet-potato raid"--Southern Alabama--Destruction of railroads--Oyster fishing--Red-pepper--Mobile Expedition-- Barancas--News of Lee's surrender--Assassination of Lincoln --Fort Blakely--Mobile--Explosion of Magazine--Return to New Orleans--Experience of Daniel Shaw in a Texas prison--Shreveport --"Salt-Horse" vs. Sumptuousness--Cantankerous cans--March into Texas--San Antonia--Mustered out--Jubilation--War's aftermath 155 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. Colonel Silas Noble 179 Lieutenant Colonel Harvey Hogg 181 Colonel John J. Mudd 189 Colonel Benjamin F. Marsh 199 Major John R. Hotaling 203 Roster 213 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Major John R. Hotaling Frontispiece Captain William B. Cummins Facing preface Lieutenant Frank B. Bennett Facing Chapter I, page 1 Lieutenant Albert J. Jackson Facing Chapter II, page 5 Lieutenant James S. McHenry Facing Chap. III, page 25 Cut Site of Fort Henry Facing Chapter III, page 25 Calvin Steel Facing Chapter IV, page 45 View of Pittsburg Landing Facing Chapter IV, page 45 Samuel H. Fletcher Facing Chapter V, page 59 Shiloh Monument (Cut) Special Commands Facing Chapter V, page 59 Joseph Sheaff Facing Chapter VI, page 77 Peter Sheaff Facing Chapter VI, page 77 Osborn Shannon Facing Chapter VII, page 99 James Bowers Facing Chapter VIII, page 113 James L. Padgett Facing Chapter IX, page 135 E. C. Chatterton Facing Chapter X, page 155 Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey Hogg Facing page 181 Colonel John J. Mudd Facing page 189 Colonel Benjamin F. Marsh Facing page 199 Major John R. Hotaling Facing page 203 Hotaling Group Facing page 207 Illinois State Monument at Shiloh Facing page 213 [Illustration: CAPT. WILLIAM B. CUMMINS] PREFACE The purpose of this sketch is to keep green the memory of that little band of men known as Company A, of the Second Illinois Cavalry, who fought in the Civil War. It is to be regretted that no record has been preserved and no attempt made to write a history of the company while the incidents involved were fresh in the minds of its members. As a result, the essential features of the story are based directly upon the memory of one of them and that without any memoranda made at the time. It is not strange therefore, if errors should occur after the lapse of fifty years. This little book does not pretend to be an accurate history but rather a fragmentary and imperfect sketch in which the aim has been to recount some of the worthy deeds and to recall some of the hardships endured by those who risked all and suffered much in an effort to do their part towards the preservation of freedom and right and justice among men. No apology is offered for its meagerness or fragmentary character. Should it meet the approval of the few comrades now living or receive a sympathetic response from others, the time and care expended upon it will have been rewarded. The writers desire to acknowledge their indebtedness to the Association of the Survivors of the Second Regiment, Illinois Veteran Cavalry Volunteers, from whose report of "Reunion Proceedings," published in 1907, the biographical sketches of Colonels Noble, Hogg, Mudd and Marsh have been prepared. They also desire to show their appreciation of the interest and sympathy manifested by Mr. James O. McConaughy, of Rochelle, Illinois, who was one of the first, if not the first, to suggest the writing of the book, and whose generous aid, rendered in every way, has made its publication possible. D. H. F. Chicago, Nov. 28, 1912. [Illustration: LIEUTENANT FRANK R. BENNETT] THE HISTORY OF COMPANY A SECOND ILLINOIS CAVALRY CHAPTER I. CAUSES OF THE WAR--SLAVERY THE NATIONAL ISSUE--CONDITIONS IMMEDIATELY PRECEDING THE OUTBREAK. "Once to every man and nation Comes the moment to decide." --Lowell. The attack upon Fort Sumpter was the final challenge to the birthright of a race. The North accepted the challenge. The traditions of a thousand years had prepared its people for the contest. They must fight. The struggle promised to be the deadliest of all the ages; and yet--they were ready. For years the question of slavery had been the all-absorbing theme. "The Missouri Compromise," "Slavery in the Territories," "The Underground Railroad," "Bleeding Kansas," "The Dred Scott Decision," "Uncle Tom's Cabin," the "John Brown Raid," all were household themes, discussed at the fireside in every farmer's home, at the cross-roads, the schoolhouses, at country stores and preached persistently in churches, at camp-meetings, caucuses and elections, until every man, woman, boy and girl had a settled conviction concerning them. Conflict seemed inevitable. The very atmosphere was charged with foreboding. Men were serious, alert and restless as if apprehensive of some impending calamity. Strange as it may now seem, this feeling was intensified among many by a vague and superstitious dread of which rural preachers were quick to take advantage as presaging "the end of the world." Ominous words of the prophets were recalled by them as having direct application to the time. "In those days," they quoted, "there shall be wars and rumors of wars"; "There shall be signs and wonders in the Heavens"--pointing with manifest aptness to Donati's great comet whose marvelous and awe-inspiring train dominated the sky, as a proof, the awful finality of which could not be questioned. The phenomenal auroral displays of that year accentuated the proof; the gorgeous red tones being likened to "streaks of blood" and the rapidly shifting lights to the "marching and countermarching of armies." If further proof were required, it was supplied by some who recalled that the Canadian rebellion occurred during "the year when the stars fell." It was a time of universal expectancy and profound conviction and required but one swift influence to unify and concentrate it, as the lightning flash precipitates the drops from the thunder-cloud. The flash came at Sumpter. "After this the deluge!"--and those awful words of Madam Roland were verified when two million men were opposed in a struggle to the death. War had come. The question throughout the South was: "Will the Northern man fight?" Its reply was the famous quotation: "He who hath no sword, let him sell his coat and buy one." Lincoln's proclamation, calling for three hundred thousand men for ninety days was soon supplemented by one involving a larger levy--"for three years or during the war." Preparation was everywhere. The recruiting officer was omnipresent. Hosts flocked to the standard like the "minute-men" at Lexington. As the summer advanced the excitement grew. Men carried their tools from the fields and hastened to enlist. A farmer-boy in the morning was a soldier at night. The fife and drum was the popular music. Every city, village, and hamlet in the land resounded with patriotic songs. Every letter-sheet, every envelop, bore a picture of the flag. Confections were stamped with union mottoes or symbols and their packages bore the national colors. The breast-pins of the girls were the brass-buttons of their soldier lovers and the shortest path to a sweetheart was through a recruiting office. The entire North was a hive of preparation and industry, the grewsome meaning of all of which was merged in the one word--WAR. Such was the condition in the little town of Lane, Ogle County, Illinois, in the early summer of 1861. [Illustration: LIEUTENANT ALBERT J. JACKSON] CHAPTER II. ORGANIZATION AND DEPARTURE--PRESENTATION OF FLAG--ADDRESS BY DAVID B. DEWEY--"NICK HOTALING'S SPEECH"--CAPTURE OF A MASKED BATTERY-- MUSTERED INTO SERVICE--CAMP BUTLER--FORT MASSAC--CAIRO--BIRD'S POINT --ADVENTURE OF HARVEY JAMES--PADUCAH AND MURRAY, KENTUCKY--RELEASING IMPRISONED SLAVES. "Then the grandsire speaks, in a whisper,-- 'The end no man can see; But we give him to his country And we give our prayers to Thee.'" John R. Hotaling, one of the pioneers of Lane (now Rochelle) who graded the first railway through the town and who was a veteran of the Mexican war, undertook to organize a company of cavalry under the three years call. He was well known and popular and his military experience aided the enterprise. The requisite quota for organization was soon obtained and on July 19th, 1861, the men, from various parts of Ogle and adjoining counties, assembled at Oregon and elected officers. John R. Hotaling was made Captain, Frank R. Bennett, First Lieutenant and A. J. Jackson of Morrison, Illinois, Second Lieutenant. Lieutenant Bennett had served in the regular army and as a cavalry drill-master, was without a superior in the service. Affable in manner, with a handsome, manly presence, he made an ideal officer. He was considerate and kind to his men and a favorite with all. Lieutenant Jackson was a manly, courteous and intelligent gentleman who soon won the respect and friendship of his comrades but, owing to failing health, was obliged to leave them before the close of the war. On the twenty-second or twenty-third of July, the men, sixty-four in number, twenty-nine of whom were from Lane, met in that town to start for the front. Each supplied his horse and equipment. Only the choicest animals were selected. The result was that no better mounted men were known to the service. The pride and independence fostered by proprietorship proved an important factor in the high efficiency attained, as will be shown later. The Government allowed forty cents per day for the use of each horse and in case one was killed, time was given in which to replace it. The occasion was memorable and typical of thousands then occurring throughout the land. It was in the midst of the harvest season and grain was spoiling in the fields for want of men to save it. Nevertheless, the streets were early filled with farmers' wagons and vehicles of all kinds, loaded with entire families who had come to bid the soldier-boys good bye. The men "lined up" upon Washington Street, in front of what is now Bain's Opera House. A silk flag was presented by the ladies of the town, but by whom the presentation was made or who were responsible for the gift, is not now known. The flag was accepted by David B. Dewey, who, in behalf of the company, made an earnest and appropriate speech. It was well received, but the feeling was too tense and serious for noisy demonstration. The grave, set faces of the men and the tearful eyes of the women and children, were the dominant and impressive features. A few tried to appear indifferent and to fortify their courage by attempts at wit or badinage but the gravity of the occasion was too apparent. Almost at the very last, and during a particularly trying moment, some one, to relieve the tension, shouted for a speech. Various names were called without response, and finally, that of "Nick" Hotaling, brother of the Captain, was named. Others, as a diversion, took up the call, not expecting it to be heeded. Hotaling was a well known character in the place. At the age of twelve, he ran away from home and shipped upon a New Bedford whaler; following the sea until within a few years previous to the war, when he purchased a farm near Lane and settled down as a farmer. He was a short, broad-shouldered, powerful man, whose presence carried the impression of great reserve-force. He had seen much of the world and was a shrewd observer. It was not known that he had ever uttered a word in public or that he could do so. Dismounting from his horse, he climbed into a wagon beside a man who was holding a flag, and faced the crowd. There were a few cat-calls and an attempt at bantering from those who looked upon his attempt as a joke. To all this he was oblivious. He stood like a statue, gazing at the sad and somber crowd, his dark hazel eyes growing more and more luminous. A tense silence followed, broken only by the suppressed sobs of the women. As if profoundly impressed by what he saw, he waited for a moment, during which he slowly reached out and grasped the flag-staff beside him. Then he spoke. In resonant, measured words, each syllable of which was distinct and impressive, he said, pointing to the flag: "It is against _this_ that they have made war. It is to defend _this_ that we have come. It was Washington's flag, it is yours and mine. I have followed that flag over continents and seas--from the frigid zones to the equator. I have saluted it beneath every star that shines upon the round world. In all my wanderings it has floated over me. In strange lands it has been my friend and my pride, my guardian and my protector." And so he went on. In brief and simple sentences, perfectly fitted to the subject and the occasion, he justified his right to talk. His presentation was a model of strength and symmetry, of poetic and patriotic zeal. With the exception of the closing sentence, the writer does not pretend to quote the exact words of his talk but only its substance and character as it left its impression upon him. The audience was transfixed. The speaker's sway was absolute. Following his preface, in a rapid flow of glowing sentences, as clear as they were simple, he stated the issue before the nation, showing the justice of the Union cause, the arrogance and infamy of the slave power, and the futility of compromise. Our choice, he insisted, lay between national right and national wrong; between freedom and oppression. After a superb climax, pointing again to the flag, he said: "That flag stands for humanity! I stand for that flag!" Then, drawing it to his breast, he arose to his full height and holding his right hand aloft as if taking an oath, continued: "AND BY THE GOD WHO GAVE ME BREATH, I WILL FIGHT FOR IT NOW!" With this, he seized the flag with both hands and stood behind it like a lion at bay. It was enough. The response which followed was not a cheer but a benediction; and those who parted with their loved ones, did it with a resignation they would not have known had they missed those simple, lofty, burning words. How much of the effect was due to the occasion and the dramatic setting, cannot be told. It is certain, however, that this could not have been the sole cause, for Dewey's speech, prepared for the day and approved by all, was soon forgotten. Hotaling's was remembered by those who heard it as something extraordinary and was often referred to during and after the war as "Nick Hotaling's speech." The fact that it made an impression upon the writer such as no words of the most impassioned orator have ever made and the fact that that impression remains vivid after the lapse of fifty years, would indicate that it must have been unusual. The crowd had partially separated and a portion had begun to move away when the speech commenced and it was barely concluded when the order was given to march. There was a hurried leave-taking and the "boys," for many of them were literally such,[1] were "off to the war," with Mendota as their first day's destination. [1] The records of the War Department show that the "men" who fought in the Civil War were largely boys. Of the 2,278,588 enlisted upon the Union side, all but 118,000 were less than twenty-one years of age. The list is as follows: 25 boys 10 years of age, 38 boys 11 years of age, 225 boys 12 years of age, 300 boys 13 years of age, 105,000 boys 14 and 15 years of age, 126,000 boys 16 years of age, 613,000 boys 17 years of age, 307,000 boys 18 years of age, 1,009,000 boys 18 to 21 years of age. It was assumed that the first stage of the march would be without incident, inasmuch as we were not supposed to be in the enemy's country. But war is full of surprises. We had scarcely proceeded a mile when we found ourselves in manifest peril. A formidable battery of six-inch guns was discovered directly in our path. When sighted, it was too late to retreat and the order was given to charge. The enemy was panic-stricken and capitulated without firing a gun. We at once found ourselves in possession of his entire commissary, including sandwiches, pies, cakes, fruit, about one hundred feet of bologna sausage and some kegs of ice-cold beer. The entire garrison was captured. The prisoners, Jay L. Putman, "Jack" Howlett, editor of "The Lane Leader," and George Turkington, were released upon parole, allowed to retain their side-arms and march out with the honors of war. The guns, consisting of three links of stove-pipe, were abandoned as inefficient and we went on. Arriving at Mendota, we remained over night and proceeded the next day to La Salle. From there we marched to Bloomington where we awaited transportation to Springfield. Upon our arrival at the latter place we marched about seven miles to Clear Lake, afterwards known as Camp Butler, where we encamped and commenced drilling. On August 12th, 1861, we were mustered into the State service. We remained at Camp Butler about two weeks, foot-drilling in squads and practicing the manual drill with wooden sabers. From there we were transferred to Carbondale where we commenced drilling with horses but for want of a satisfactory parade-ground, we were compelled to move to Duquoin where we were subjected to a rigid, steady drill. The men were in earnest and each did his best. The company's reward was the letter "A," of which we were justly proud. After two weeks of hard work we marched to Fort Massac on the Ohio River, near Metropolis, Illinois, about twelve miles below Paducah, Kentucky, where we arrived on September 24th, and encamped for ten or twelve days, during which time we did some scouting up the river. From Fort Massac we were transferred to Bird's Point, Missouri, opposite Cairo. From there we went to Cairo for a short time and then back to Bird's Point, from whence we did some scouting; but nothing of special interest occurred until December; when, in a scouting expedition after Jeff Thompson's command, the regiment met with its first loss. Josiah Clark, of Company B, was killed in a skirmish and was carried off the field by Lew Blake of the 11th Illinois Infantry. Clark had not been ordered out but went voluntarily. The Confederates early saw the importance of holding the Mississippi as a water-way, and almost at the outset, seized upon Columbus, Ky., and Belmont, Mo., nearly opposite thereto, as places to be fortified and held. It was known that troops in considerable numbers were being massed in both places and that the river between was strongly guarded by gun-boats. It became important, therefore, to know the strength and disposition of the enemy and the character and extent of the defenses. While we were stationed at Bird's Point, shortly before the battle of Belmont, Harvey R. James, who enlisted from Oregon, was detailed in the secret service for this purpose. James was a reticent, determined, clear-headed, resourceful young man of exceptional physical strength and endurance and as fearless as he was strong. Being supplied with an excellent horse, he started early in the morning and rode towards Belmont on the west bank of the Mississippi, about fifteen miles below Bird's Point. The country is low and swampy and covered in places with a thick growth of timber. Arriving in the vicinity of Belmont, he was obliged to use extreme caution. He could not afford to take the risk of riding into the lines, so, after approaching as near as he thought safe to do, he secured his horse in a dense thicket in a swamp, removed the saddle, arms and equipment, except a small pocket-pistol which he retained, and hid them near by. Fixing the location in his mind by means of carefully selected land-marks, he proceeded cautiously to skirt the enemy's camp. After seeing all that he could in this way and getting a good idea of the enemy's force and position, he returned to the river front which he carefully studied. An important object was to discover the number and strength of the river batteries and also as much as possible of the strength and disposition of forces at Columbus. This could not be accomplished without a boat. After much difficulty in eluding the guards, he succeeded in locating a small boat which, fortunately, was supplied with oars but could not be approached or used during the day. Success was more important to him than time; so he hid in a thicket and waited. When sufficiently dark he got into the boat and started down the river close to the Missouri shore, which he followed for five or six miles and then rowed across to the Kentucky side where he found a satisfactory place in which to hide the boat so that he might use it to return. After traveling two or three miles, he succeeded in locating the main Columbus road. It was then about midnight and he was very tired and hungry. Hiding near a plantation, he ate some food and slept until daylight, when he started towards Columbus. He had not gone far when he met a negro whom he told that he had been thrown from his horse during the night, that the horse had escaped and ran towards Columbus. As an excuse for being in that vicinity, he volunteered the information that his home was in Memphis; that he was hunting a truant brother whom he was anxious to take back to join a cavalry regiment then being formed there. Without appearing to be inquisitive, he succeeded in getting much information as to the names of the inhabitants, roads, locations, etc., which were of value. While talking, a farmer appeared on his way to the Columbus market with a load of vegetables. The negro suggested that James might ride with the farmer who, he said, knew everybody and would help him find his horse and locate the truant brother. The farmer took kindly to his new friend, by whom he was handsomely treated, and they both passed through the lines without suspicion. After the farmer had disposed of his load they went around together through the entire camp inquiring for the horse and brother, until much of the day was spent and James had acquired a complete knowledge of the situation. James early secured a supply of that liquid which is supposed to be especially potent in cementing friendship, treated the farmer and also the pickets as they passed out, told them that he would be back again in a day or two, cautioned them to look out for his horse and offered ten dollars in gold to anybody who would find it. When they reached the plantation near where they had met in the morning, James stopped on pretense of inquiring about his horse, promising to accept his friend's hospitality the next day. As soon as the farmer was out of sight he hastened to the hidden boat and recrossed the river. The current was very strong and carried the boat a considerable distance down stream. Thinking that he might make better time by walking than to row against the current, he landed and started towards Belmont. It was then near daylight. He had gone but a short distance when he was commanded to halt, and the presence of three or four guns aimed towards him at close range appeared to be a sufficient justification for doing so. He was immediately searched, his watch, knife, money and revolver taken from him but no papers were found. The guard escorted him to camp where he was scrutinized by several men, one of whom he had previously seen at Cairo and who was there known as a suspect. During the day a court martial, consisting of the commander and several officers, was convened and he was tried and condemned as a spy. The order accompanying the finding directed that he be shot by a file of soldiers at eight o'clock the next morning. It was about dark in the evening when the finding was announced. He was supplied with food and placed in an old log hut which had formerly been used for confining runaway negroes. Believing that they had taken away all of his personal effects, he was not handcuffed. There was but one means of escape from the hut and that was through the door, outside of which was stationed an armed guard. The prospect was far from reassuring but James realized that he had a long night before him and that many a man by wit and boldness had saved his life in less time. One strong hope was in his cavalry boots which had not been taken from him. Sewed within the tops, next to the seams, were several small, finely tempered, steel saws. He first examined the fastening of the door and found that it was secured by a bolt which could be cut; but it was necessary to wait until the camp was quiet. Another essential was to delay the discovery of his escape as long as possible by attacking the guard at the first opportunity after the shift. He could hear the bells on a gun-boat anchored near by, which were sounded every two hours for a change of watch. At twelve o'clock the camp was quiet and the bolt was nearly severed. Soon after the guard was relieved, he finished the work and opened the door slightly to watch for an opportunity. It was not long before the guard appeared to be drowsy and stood with his back to the door. James saw his chance. Opening the door with the utmost caution until he was able to slip through, he sprang like a panther upon the man outside, throttled and bore him to the ground. A terrific blow upon the temple rendered him unconscious. James hastily removed his shirt, tore it into strips, gagged his enemy, tied his hands and feet and dragged him into the hut. Removing his own coat and placing it over the body of the guard, he donned the other's coat and cap, took his gun and sheath-knife and stole out. He had little difficulty in avoiding the picket and before time for the next bell, had found his horse. The poor creature had been there for nearly three days and nights and was as anxious as he to get away. At dawn the two were within our lines at Bird's Point. James reported to his Chief and then to General Grant. The information was all that was wanted and in a few days the battle of Belmont was fought upon the ground where he had been condemned to be executed. James continued in the secret service and for a number of months we saw but little of him. During the following spring while preparing for an extended trip, he met with an accident which nearly proved fatal. Through some mishap in handling a revolver, the instrument was discharged. The bullet entered his breast above the heart and passed upwardly to his left shoulder. For months he lay very near to death, but his great vitality carried him through and he recovered, though not sufficiently to again enter the secret service. After leaving the hospital he joined the company at Jackson, Tennessee. He was a warm friend of the writer and we were much together. One day I noticed some frayed stitching in the tops of his cavalry boots. He reached down and drew out two small saws suspended upon strong silken threads. Then, under promise of secrecy until "after the war," he told me the story recounted above, assuring me that his chief and General Grant were the only ones who knew it. Thereupon, he produced the sheath-knife taken from the guard, which he preserved as a souvenir. In 1890, at Missoula, Montana, the writer met a man who was associated with James in the secret service, who told, in substance, the story given above and vouched for its truthfulness. After the battle of Belmont, we were transferred to Cairo and thence to Paducah, Ky., where we built stables for our horses. These were barely finished when we marched to Murray, Ky. The trip was intended for the purpose of practice, to teach us to make and break camp and to accustom us to picket duty in the enemy's country. While at Murray, we had an experience which gave us some conception of the horrors of slavery and the shocking and inhuman cruelties to which it led. We had heard much of these atrocities but had never been brought into contact with them. Owing to the cold rains which prevailed, we were forced to take shelter in buildings in order to be comfortable; and some of us were quartered in a carpenter-shop. I had been upon picket duty during the night and returned to quarters to prepare for breakfast. Looking out of the back-door, I saw Neil Belles and one or two others washing a negro in a horse-trough back of a stable where we kept our horses. The negro, with others of his race, had just been liberated from a jail, the filthy and repulsive condition of which was unspeakable. Around the neck of the wretched creature was a heavy iron collar and a similar band around his waist. Connecting these and firmly riveted to them, was an iron bar running down the back with a stout ring upon it to which was attached a chain about five feet long, which was, in turn, secured to a post in the middle of the room, or rather sty, where he was kept. The only clothing upon the man when found, was a thin cotton shirt; and this in winter, in a building reeking with dampness and filth unutterable. No attempt had ever been made to clean it and he was obliged to live and sleep there with no chance to move beyond the length of his chain. His food was thrown into a filthy pan which was never removed. He had been there several months. His body was terribly mangled from dog-bites and lashes. It seemed horrible; and it was; but, in the eyes of the law, he deserved it; for he had committed one of the gravest crimes possible for one of his race;--he had attempted to escape. Yes, a crime.--A crime recognized by the highest law of the land;--a wise, just, expedient and humane law,--sustained by a wise, just and learned tribunal,--the SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES;--and Chief Justice Taney "was it's prophet." There were a number of other negroes released and the condition of all was wretched; but I do not recall that there were any others who were manacled in the manner described. The type of iron harness mentioned however, was a favorite one for runaway negroes as I was assured by reliable authority. To have been consistent however, the collars should have been inscribed with Justice Taney's famous and humane announcement that: "A negro has no rights which a white man is bound to respect." The negro in question was taken to a blacksmith's shop where his harness was removed with cold-chisels and files and he, with the others, went with us to Paducah. It was not surprising that none seemed anxious to remain behind. After returning to Paducah, we stood picket around the town until we received orders to start for Fort Henry. [Illustration: LIEUTENANT JAMES S. MCHENRY] CHAPTER III. EMBARCATION FROM PADUCAH--INSTANCE OF OFFICIAL BRUTALITY--CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY--RECONNOITERING FORT DONELSON--FIRST MEETING WITH FOREST'S MEN--INVESTMENT OF FORT DONELSON--MCLERNAND'S REPULSE-- ATTACK BY GUNBOATS--SORTIE--GRANT TURNS THE TIDE--SURRENDER BY BUCKNER. "Tears may be ours but proud for those who win Death's royal purple in the foeman's lines." On February 2nd, 1862, Companies A and B, known as the First Battalion, 2nd Illinois Cavalry, under command of Major John J. Mudd, accompanied by Companies I and C of the U.S. Dragoons, embarked upon a transport for Fort Henry. For some reason which I cannot explain, we had proceeded but a short distance when we were disembarked to march the remainder of the way. An instance has been given in the last chapter, of the brutality to which unlimited power over men may lead when based upon selfish motives. At the time of landing our men we were forced to witness another crime of like character, committed in the name of military discipline. The dragoons were the last to go on board and hence, the first to disembark. In leaving the boat, the men led their horses to the shore where they mounted and formed in line. One of them had been drinking. While capable of leading and mounting his horse, he was bereft of all sense of propriety and in condition to attempt almost any foolish act. Imagining that his horse was thirsty, he left the line without permission and deliberately rode to the river. The water was shallow at the edge but within a few feet there was an abrupt descent to a considerable depth. The horse refused to go in, but a vigorous use of the spurs caused him to plunge forward and both horse and man disappeared beneath the water. When they arose the horse endeavored to swim out and would probably have succeeded had not the rider pulled back with the curb-bit. Four of the Regulars attempted to render assistance, as did our men on the boat, but the Regular officer, Lieutenant Du Boise, gave orders not to interfere. As a result, both horse and man were drowned. [Illustration: SITE OF FORT HENRY] Our camp that night was made at the landing which, owing to the high waters, was nearly overflowed. The landing was upon the north side of a deep slough extending from the Cumberland River to the Tennessee, about twelve or fifteen miles above Paducah. The slough was about forty rods wide where we were, and in order to proceed to Fort Henry, we were obliged to cross it, which we did early upon the following morning. The water was icy cold and came well up to the sides of our horses. The Regulars were in advance and their commanding officer evidently considered it an opportune time for showing the supreme importance of discipline. The four men who went to the assistance of their drowning comrade, were compelled to walk, lead their horses and carry their arms through the slough. They wore high cavalry boots which were filled with water, and in this condition the poor fellows were forced to walk with their horses in the deep mud during the entire day. Brutality and fatality have not infrequently been associated in war with subsequent engagements. Our sympathies instinctively turn to that crude method of obtaining justice. It is surprising that it was not resorted to in this case. There had been much rain, the streams were overflowing and the deep mud greatly impeded our progress. We had hoped to arrive at the fort on the fifth; but the condition of the roads made it impossible. General Grant, more than anybody, realized the great strategic importance of Forts Henry and Donelson and knew how highly they were prized by the enemy. In his "Memoirs" he says: "The two positions were so important to the enemy, _as he saw his interest_, that it was natural to suppose that reinforcements would come from every quarter from which they could be got. Prompt action on our part was imperative." Accordingly, on the 6th, without waiting for more troops, Grant ordered an attack upon Fort Henry. We heard the firing and used every effort to get there but without avail. Upon our arrival we found that the fort had been reduced by the gun-boats, that the greater portion of the garrison had retreated to Fort Donelson before the battle commenced and that only ninety, who had been left to man the guns and cover the retreat, had been captured. Fort Heiman was on the west bank of the Tennessee and commanded Fort Henry. It had been evacuated before the attack upon the latter and the garrisons of the two forts had gone to re-enforce that of Fort Donelson. Grant's problem, then, was to capture that stronghold, defended by twenty-one thousand men, with an available force at hand, of only fifteen thousand and that in mid-winter, with no alternative for his army but to move and fight and sleep in mud and rain and snow until victory brought them shelter. He has stated his view as follows: "I was impatient to get to Fort Donelson because I knew the importance of the place to the enemy and supposed he would re-enforce it rapidly. I felt that 15,000 men on the 8th, would be more effective than 50,000, a month later." He did not falter. Mud and rain and snow it must be; and he went on, inspiring his men with his splendid confidence. After our arrival at Fort Henry, Captain Hotaling went out with a platoon of sixteen men to reconnoiter Fort Donelson, eleven miles distant. They encountered some of Forrest's cavalry and drove them in. Several of the confederates were wounded in the conflict, one frightfully so, from a saber-stroke from the captain. Nicholas Hotaling received a buck-shot wound in the cheek and George Taylor, two shots in the jaw, resulting in a painful wound. After a day's rest at Fort Henry, Colonel Silas Noble, with Companies A and B and the two companies of Regulars who accompanied us from Paducah, in all about two hundred men, went out to make a reconnaissance in force and succeeded without mishap, in getting close to the enemy's works. Our road led along the crest of a high ridge with a deep ravine upon each side. Instead of deploying a skirmish-line, two men were stationed at a cross-road. While the Colonel was studying the works through his field-glass, shots were heard behind us. Instantly the Regulars went into line. At the same moment a thousand cavalry appeared upon our right in the ravine below. The Regulars fired a volley and the command was given: "Fours right! Gallop! March!" When they reached the road the confederates were swarming towards them. The command: "Left into line! Fire!" was followed by a volley which checked their assailants. Our two companies were back upon the ridge firing volley after volley and we did not realize that we were being surrounded--as we were--until warned by the second volley from the Regulars. Then we started back. The enemy had recovered from the volley given by the Regulars and filled the lane. Our fire checked them however but we were not out of our difficulties. A large body of infantry had appeared upon the river-side of the lane which we were obliged to traverse for half a mile, while many were upon the other side. It was an exciting ride. The "zip" of the bullets was constant but the enemy, being below us, made the common mistake under such circumstances, of aiming too high. The cavalry attempted to cut us off by another road but we were better mounted than they and escaped with a surprisingly small loss. One of our men, Frank Hatch, was captured and one of Company B's men mortally wounded. Aside from these and the wounding of several horses, we were unscathed and returned to Fort Henry some time after dark, very tired but well satisfied with our accomplishment. On the 12th of February we accompanied the army in a general move against Fort Donelson. The fact that there were but four companies of cavalry with the expedition proved to have been a misfortune as will be shown by the sequel. We reached the vicinity of the fort about eleven o'clock and commenced to feel our way and tighten our lines. The remainder of the day was spent by us in reconnoitering. During the evening of the 13th, Thayer's Brigade, which was sent around on the transports from Fort Henry, was landed from the Cumberland side and the night was spent in their disposal to complete the line of battle. About daybreak on the morning after our arrival, the first cannon was fired from a Confederate battery, a section of which was in charge of George Fletcher, an uncle of the writer. Twenty-six of our company, of which the writer was one, were sent out to reconnoiter when our presence drew the battery fire. The first was a solid shot, followed by grape. But one man, "Jim" Parsons, was injured. He insisted that his face was grazed by a grape-shot. A comrade near him was quite as confident that the injury was caused by the limb of a tree which flew back and hit him. There was an ambulance bearing a hospital-flag in front of us and when the enemy saw it they ceased to fire. Our companies were used to patrol the right army wing from the center to the extreme right, while the two companies of Regulars were used for a like purpose from the center to the extreme left of the left wing. About ten o'clock in the day matters upon the right began to assume a grave aspect. McLernand's division attempted to capture a battery which held a strong position near a line of rifle-pits. The slaughter was terrific and our men were forced to give it up. The 11th Illinois Infantry and the Chicago Batteries, A and B, suffered severely. We were nearly out of rations and had no forage of any kind for our horses. There was nothing to do but wait, however, as the enemy was absorbing all of our attention. On the afternoon of the 14th, our gun-boats made a severe attack upon the fort but were repulsed and forced to retire, two of them, including the flag-ship, being badly disabled. They had fought better than they then knew, however, as results soon showed. The enemy's lines were closely reconnoitered and in the afternoon, Captain Hotaling, who kept close watch, became satisfied that something unusual was going on within the enemy's lines. Before night he sent word to Colonel Babcock, General Grant's Chief of Staff, to come to the extreme right. The Colonel arrived just at dark, when the Captain informed him that it was his opinion that the enemy's cavalry would attempt to break out that night or in the morning. Should they do so, our line was too weak to withstand their charge; that we should be immediately strengthened with one brigade of infantry and two batteries of artillery. Babcock was said to have reported to General Grant and returned about nine o'clock with the statement that he did not think there would be a move of that kind before the next day and that there would be ample time in the morning to re-enforce the line. Hotaling was not convinced and we were kept near the road upon the extreme right where our Captain anticipated that Forrest's cavalry would attempt to break through. Grant makes no mention of having received any intimation of such a condition and the inference from his statements would indicate that he failed to receive Colonel Babcock's report. We remained in the rear of the line of battle until about 12 o'clock that night. It snowed hard and became very cold. Our horses were restless, so we moved towards the center, tore down a rail-fence and built fires in a vain effort to warm ourselves. About five o'clock a. m., we returned to our former position where we remained until nearly nine o'clock. Our horses became so hungry and exhausted that Lieutenants Bennett and Jackson took us back a mile or two upon the road leading towards the Tennessee River in the hope of finding forage but without success. From there we were moving towards our center, when a humming fire upon the extreme right attracted our attention. We returned upon the keen run, just in time to see the rear of a body of cavalry about a quarter of a mile away, in full retreat. The enemy had made a desperate attack upon our right wing, which was doubled back upon itself more than half a mile. Had they taken prompt advantage of the situation they might all have escaped; or, had they followed up back of our line, it is possible that our whole army might have been stampeded. When our company started back to find forage, Calvin Steel was unable to go. He had been very sick the night before, so we left him by the road-side with his horse and when the enemy advanced he was captured. They were obliged to make a temporary hospital for their wounded where they left Steel but took his horse and equipments. Steel wanted a drink of water and went to a pail for it. It was empty. He asked permission of the surgeon to fill it at a spring. Upon reaching the spring he found a horse tied to a fence. Forgetting his errand, he mounted the horse and came flying back to meet us upon our return near where he had been captured. He was very ill, however, and was sent to the hospital at St. Louis, where he remained until nearly fall, when he returned. He was still too weak for service and was detailed to the commissary department of General Logan's Division, where he remained until after the fall of Vicksburg. Much speculation has been given to the incident which involved the breaking of our line, as well as to the fact that Floyd and Pillow and Forrest were permitted to escape before the final surrender. It has been suggested that had re-enforcements been supplied, together with a battery to have prevented transports from plying up the Cumberland with escaping troops, the history of the war might have been changed and Shiloh might never have been fought. It must not be forgotten that General Grant was subject to the immediate command of a painstaking plodder who mistook arrogance for dignity and timidity for caution. Halleck's orders contemplated a very different thing from what happened at Donelson. We owe the capture of the fort and the discovery thereby to the world of General Grant, to the treachery of a telegraph operator at Cairo, who, in the belief that he was helping the Southern cause, held up Halleck's order to Grant to "fortify Fort Henry strongly on the land-side," until Grant, in ignorance of it, had gone on and invested Fort Donelson. Had Grant received that order, Donelson and Shiloh and Vicksburg might have had a very different history, and General Grant might not have been known. The fame given him by that one victory was too great even for General Halleck to take away, who did his utmost to do it. With Halleck tying the hands of Grant after his great victory, even to the extent of making groundless charges against him and causing his arrest and with the entire South frantically and hysterically pushing Albert Sidney Johnson forward to a sacrifice, the battle of Shiloh was as much of a logical result as that effect follows cause. Had Grant been given free rein, it could not have been fought; for he would have possessed Corinth before the Confederate armies could have concentrated. Grant's generalship and brilliant resourcefulness were never shown to better effect than when confronted with that crisis at Donelson. He had depended upon the gun-boats to help reduce the works, run the batteries and take position above. They did severe execution in the fort but in a few hours were helplessly disabled. Grant knew of his own loss but not of that in the fort. At this stage he writes: "The sun went down on the night of the 14th of February, 1862, leaving the army in front of Fort Donelson anything but comforted over the prospects. The weather had turned intensely cold; the men were without tents and could not keep up fires where most of them had to stay, &c." It was but natural for him to view the situation in the light of facts as they then appeared and not as he might guess them to be. Had he calculated upon the cowardice rather than the bravery of opposing commanders, he might have provided differently; but it was incredible to him that a fresh army of 21,000 men, within a well provisioned fortress, in direct communication with another army from which it could draw supplies and men, with the Federal gun-boats rendered helpless from its fire, would, at the very outset, without a siege, try to escape from one in an open field, when, by so doing, it was abandoning the key to an immense territory needed for its supplies, breaking, to a large extent, communication between its armies and submitting to lasting disgrace before its own people. That Grant was justified in this view is shown by the fact that the two Confederate Generals, Floyd and Pillow, were, after the surrender, promptly tried and summarily relieved from their commands. Flag-Officer Foote had been wounded when his flag-ship was disabled and before sunrise on the morning of the 15th, sent for General Grant to call upon him on his flag-ship about four miles below the fort. It was decided that the gun-boats should be sent away for repairs before it would be possible to renew the attack. This, it was estimated, would require about ten days. There was no alternative but a siege. While leaving the boat, Grant was notified of the severe attack upon our right and of the breaking of our line. He hurried to the scene, about seven miles away. Before knowing the true situation, he gave orders to retire and intrench with a view to a siege. When, however, he learned that the enemy was actually trying to escape, he at once saw its significance and said to Colonel Webster of his staff: "The one who attacks first now will be victorious." Instead of intrenching, he gave orders for an immediate and vigorous attack along the entire left before the enemy, who had withdrawn his forces to our right, could reform. The result was an irresistible onslaught upon the enemy's center and right. McClernand's men had failed mainly for want of ammunition. Grant gave orders for a supply and for reforming the line. The Confederates waited just long enough to permit this to be done. It subsequently developed that Pillow mistook his partial success for complete victory and stopped to talk about it when he should have been following it up. That he must have been wildly jubilant is indicated by the fact that he telegraphed to Johnson at Nashville, "on the honor of a gentleman," that "the day is ours." A controversy arose between Floyd and Pillow. Pillow, the veteran general, flushed with temporary success, refused to recognize the authority of Floyd, whom he regarded as a civilian, finally took matters into his own hands and ordered Buckner to renew the attack upon our right. Buckner obeyed but it was too late. Our line had been reformed and was ready. A desperate struggle ensued and the enemy was driven back into his works. In the meantime our left wing had pushed forward against the weakened defences upon the enemy's right and bivouacked that night within his lines. The fort was doomed. The famous night council was held by Floyd and his Staff. Before morning dawned Floyd and Pillow were aboard the transports on their way up the river with three thousand men and Forrest, with a thousand men and horses, was struggling in the icy waters of a bayou in a desperate effort to get away. It was one of the ironies of Fate that at about the same time, the authorities at Richmond were rejoicing over Pillow's grandiloquent message announcing Confederate victory. General Lew Wallace describes Forrest's escape as follows: "Col. Forrest was present at the council, and when the final resolution was taken he promptly announced that he neither could nor would surrender his command. He assembled his men, all as hardy as himself, and moved out and plunged into a slough formed by back water from the river. An icy crust covered its surface, the wind blew fiercely and the darkness was unrelieved by a star. There was fearful floundering as the command followed him. At length he struck dry land and was safe. "He was next heard of at Nashville." The surrender was made upon the following morning, and a very picturesque example of "Southern hospitality" occurred in connection with it. When General Buckner sent his first letter to General Grant, proposing an armistice with a view to the appointment of commissioners to consider the question of surrender, he directed that small white flags be displayed before the different commands in order to prevent hostilities pending the negotiations. No such flag was displayed over the fort. General Lew Wallace, upon seeing the flags, understood that there had been a surrender and went right into Buckner's headquarters where he was politely received by Buckner, introduced to his staff and invited to breakfast. This was an hour before Grant received Buckner's final letter of surrender. It may be interesting here to mention the 10th Missouri sharp-shooters who contributed much to the success of the battle. We first met them at Bird's Point. The organization was composed almost entirely of backwoodsmen who were skillful hunters and trappers. They wore grey uniforms with oddly shaped caps, each adorned with a squirrel's tail at the back, and they were armed with target-rifles. They were a shrewd, reticent, independent lot of fellows, knew how to use their weapons with deadly effect, and were, in a sense, entirely independent. Each man was expected to approach as closely as possible to the enemy's lines, choose a prominent position, conceal himself and pick off officers, gunners in batteries, orderlies and others. Three of these men succeeded in keeping one rebel battery silenced for an entire day. These same men afterwards did effective work at Shiloh. On the afternoon before the surrender, Fred, one of our faithful cooks, arrived at our lines in the rear with two camp-kettles, coffee, and a sack of hard-tack; all of which was gratefully received. That evening we rode back to Fort Henry to feed our horses and get some more substantial refreshments for ourselves. In the morning we returned, rode directly into the fort and were assigned to a camp within the works a short distance east and south of the town of Dover, where we remained about five or six days. Walking down one day to the water front to look at the gun and mortar-boats, I was surprised by meeting my old friend and neighbor, James Minnis, tugging at a long rope attached to a mortar-boat which the men were towing up stream. There were some others there of Battery G, 2nd Illinois Artillery but Minnis was the only one whom I knew. Our friends in the North were quick to realize conditions and needs among the soldiers. Dr. Gould of Lane, was soon there to minister to the wants of the sick and wounded and rendered valuable assistance, as did many other self-sacrificing physicians and surgeons. [Illustration: CALVIN STEEL Mr. Steel served with credit during the war and at its close returned to his home at Rochelle, where he married. In 1871 he moved to Fairbury, Nebraska, and engaged in mercantile business. He held various public offices, including County Clerk, County Treasurer, State Representative and State Senator. Upon the election of Governor Savage to the United States Senate, Mr. Steel, by virtue of his office as President of the Senate, became acting Governor of the State and completed the unexpired term with credit and distinction. Mr. Steel served one year as the Grand Army Department Commander of his State. He died at his home in March, 1910. As a soldier, he was faithful and brave--as a friend, loyal and true--as a man, just, sincere and lovable.] CHAPTER IV. FROM DONELSON TO METAL LANDING--RESCUE FROM FLOODED CAMP--PITTSBURG LANDING--GRAND REVIEW--ESCORT WALLACE'S MEN TO CRUMP'S LANDING--THE LONG ROLL--DETAILED TO BRING UP WALLACE--HARDSHIP OF MEN--SECOND DAY'S BATTLE--RETREAT AND PURSUIT--DICKEY'S COWARDICE--CHARGE AGAINST FORREST'S MEN--PATHETIC INCIDENTS. "And the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide; There was where they fell on Prentis,--there McClernand met the tide; There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut's heroes died,-- Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept charging 'til he died." --_Willson._ We remained at Fort Donelson about five or six days after the battle, when the two companies, A and B, moved to Metal Landing on the Tennessee River, a few miles above Fort Henry. There was a deep slough north of the landing and the water from the river, which was very high and still rising, poured rapidly into it. A small log building at the landing stood on the highest point of ground and it was near this that our cooking was done. As the water continued to rise we were confined to a space about twenty-five by fifty feet, which was all that was above water. Most of our horses were standing in water. For four days we hailed all passing boats but none came to our relief. Finally, we were taken upon a transport and carried to another landing above water, where we remained a short time before being transported to Pittsburg Landing. At the latter place we found quite a large camp and were assigned to a position south of Snake Creek, upon the extreme right wing, next to General John A. McArthur's Division. Our camp was about a mile and three-quarters west-north-west of the landing and upon one side of us was the 12th Illinois Infantry. The two companies did considerable scouting in the direction of Corinth. Troops continued to arrive and the camps of many were out two or three miles, the infantry being upon the outskirts, while the cavalry was stationed within the infantry and artillery lines. In the light of subsequent experience, it would seem that it would have been better had these conditions been reversed. The troops were assigned to their respective camps in the order in which they arrived; and inasmuch as the new arrivals were made up of troops of more recent levies, it followed that, whether intentional or not, the troops farthest out were those of least experience. Most of them had been drilled but slightly and but few had ever been in battle. [Illustration: View of Pittsburg Landing] On Monday, preceding the date of the battle of Shiloh, a grand review was held and it was afterwards reported that the confederates were then sufficiently near so that from the tops of high trees they were enabled, with the use of field-glasses, to watch a given point and in that manner estimate our force. This may have been true as to some of their scouts but only as to them, for it was not until April third, four days later, that Johnson issued his "Order No. 8," for an advance from Corinth and the concentration of his forces at Mickey's, eight miles southwest of Pittsburg Landing. On the day before the battle, Company B and a part of our company were scouting and encountered the enemy's cavalry in considerable numbers. The remainder of the company was detailed to escort some of General Lew Wallace's men to Crump's Landing, seven miles north, where he was stationed, after which they returned to Pittsburg Landing. This fact is significant as throwing some light upon a letter referred to by General Grant in a note on page 351, Vol 1, of his "Memoirs," which letter was written by General Lew Wallace to General W. H. L. Wallace and is referred to in the note in part as follows: "* * * In this letter General Lew. Wallace advises General W. H. L. Wallace that he will send 'to-morrow' (and his letter also says 'April 5th,' which is the same day the letter was dated and which, therefore, must have been written on the 4th) some cavalry to report to him at his headquarters and suggesting the propriety of W. H. L. Wallace's sending a company back with them for the purpose of having the cavalry at the two landings familiarize themselves with the road so that they could 'act promptly in case of emergency as guides to and from the different camps.'" General Grant's note states that this letter was sent "over the road running from Adamsville to the Pittsburg landing and Purdy road." It is presumable therefore, that they returned that way, but I was not with them and I do not know which way was taken. As far as I am aware, nothing has been published to show that the suggestion of General Lew Wallace was actually carried out. That they did return by way of the Purdy road is rendered still more probable by what occurred in connection with our company on the day of the battle. On Sunday, April 6th, it was our intention to visit friends in the other commands, as was our custom when the weather was fair as it was that day, and we were off duty. We had arisen as usual, cared for our horses and had about finished breakfast, when the report of fire-arms arrested our attention and we rushed to saddle our horses. Just then the long roll greeted our ears from various directions and our bugler, J. L. Padgett, sounded "Boots and saddles." In three minutes our two companies, under command of Captain Hotaling, were in line ready for action. We galloped towards Shiloh Church, where heavy firing was heard but before reaching it there was a lull in the firing which lasted about thirty-five or forty minutes. While waiting in line, General Grant rode up and saluted Captain Hotaling. I was very near to him and heard his order distinctly. "Captain Hotaling," he said, "I detail you on my staff today. I want you to take charge of the 10th Missouri Sharp Shooters. Place them and fight them." Then turning to Lieutenant Bennett, he said: "Lieutenant Bennett, you will take your Company A and go with as much dispatch as possible to Crump's Landing. Present my compliments to General Lew Wallace and tell him to come immediately, you being the escort." He then gave orders to Captain Larison of Company B, but I did not hear them as we were off instantly. The roads were very muddy, and after crossing Snake Creek, were almost impassable. The horses constantly floundered in mud and water which was often up to the saddle-skirts. As the road approached the river near to Crump's it became somewhat better but we were obliged to move slowly and it was about twelve o'clock when we reached Wallace's camp. He was apparently awaiting orders. The arms were stacked and the entire command was ready to march. Lieutenant Bennett delivered his message and the order was at once given to fall in line. Wallace's command started out ahead and our company, instead of being in advance as an escort in accordance with General Grant's order, was in the rear, apparently acting as a rear guard. Why this was I do not know; but it would indicate that Wallace relied upon the knowledge of his men who had been to Pittsburg Landing the day before to lead him. For some reason the River Road, the shortest route to the battlefield by several miles, was not taken. We marched a considerable distance until we came to an old overshot-mill, when, much to our surprise, we met the head of the column returning. They had spent several hours in marching upon the wrong road and were obliged to turn back to the River Road. From the old mill we could see a road which we thought to be the River Road but there was no apparent approach to it. We retraced our steps therefore, to the junction with the River Road which was followed to the battlefield, where we arrived about seven o'clock in the evening. The condition of Wallace's men upon reaching the front was pitiable--especially that of the infantry. They floundered and wallowed in the mud and water in which they frequently sank to their hips; but, with all this, nothing but eagerness was shown by officers and men to get to the front. Two regiments of Wallace's First Brigade, the 11th Indiana and the 8th Missouri, were conceded to have been the finest drilled of any regiments in the entire service. They had been in competitive drill against the 130th New York Zouaves and other famous regiments in both the volunteer and regular service and in every instance were the victors. Moreover, they were as brave and manly as they were matchless in manouvers. Upon the following day, in which a bloody and awful struggle occurred, they acquitted themselves nobly and did much to retrieve the almost fatal error of the day before. On the seventh we acted as a support for a battery known to us as Hoatling's Battery, next to that of McAllister, and saw the field extending south and east over a mile from Shiloh Church. The ground was fought over three times inch-by-inch. Bragg's Battery, in the extreme corner, was cut to pieces by Hoatling's and McAllister's batteries. Bragg's men stood up to their work until every gun was dismounted or disabled and all of the horses and mules were killed or mortally wounded. In the rear, dead mules and horses lay everywhere and in the ravine in front, for a distance of about forty rods, one could have walked upon dead men. It was the most appalling human slaughter that I have ever witnessed. There had been a severe rain the night before and as the water ran down the ravine past the bodies it became literally a stream of blood. In the afternoon of the second day's engagement, the rebels gave way and commenced to retreat. About four o'clock Companies A and B the 7th Illinois and the 5th Ohio Cavalry were placed under command of Colonel T. Lyle Dickey of the Fourth Illinois Cavalry who was ordered to pursue. These were fine regiments and we might have captured many prisoners had it not been for our commander. Dickey's cowardice, previously suspected, was soon demonstrated. As soon as the order to pursue was given, we started with a rush. This was not in accordance with Dickey's conception of pursuit. It meant overtaking the enemy who had shown a disposition to resent undue familiarities. Besides, what was the use?--it was raining hard anyway. So, we were ordered to halt and "await further orders," the meaning of which was easy to surmise, for night was approaching and the enemy was vanishing. While thus awaiting we dismounted in front of the remains of Bragg's famous battery. In a tent nearby we found two men who had brothers in our company. One, Daniel Twiney, with both legs shot off and another, James Prescott, slightly wounded. Our men bore them from the field to the hospital. Twiney was sent to St. Louis where he died shortly after his arrival. We remained there until it became sufficiently dark and foggy to render pursuit useless, when the redoubtable Dickey ordered "right about for quarters." On the morning after the battle, we received an early order to report to Dickey, whose martial figure was conspicuous at the head of his regiment. After marching about five miles from the battleground, we approached an opening more or less covered with scattered timber, where the enemy had taken a stand. Here the Colonel exhibited his remarkable characteristics as a military commander. The Fifth Ohio Cavalry and a regiment of Ohio infantry had preceded us. Dickey gave orders for the infantry to deploy as skirmishers in advance of the cavalry, with the Fourth Cavalry upon the right. Our two companies, A and B, and the Fifth Ohio were formed in line of battle upon the left. As soon as this disposition was made, our dauntless leader announced, loud enough, it seemed, to have been heard by the enemy, that "orders would come from the rear." General Forrest's cavalry, which was protecting the Confederate retreat, made a charge upon us. In doing so, they kept in column, a manouver I had never before heard of. In the meantime, the infantry regiment had deployed directly in our front. About the time the latter were engaged, Dickey gave orders for the cavalry to fire by battalion and retreat;--and this, while we were in line in a muddy slough. Our two companies waited until the enemy was close to us, when we gave them a volley. This was followed by the order: "Right about, gallop, march." In a moment Lieutenant Bennett gave the command: "Rally Company A." We delivered another volley and then by common consent, without an order having been given, our company charged them. Instead of meeting our charge, they made a hasty retreat and we followed them for about a mile. A considerable number of the enemy were wounded and among them, their dashing commander, who was shot in the back. This we learned through some of our command who, about an hour after the charge, visited a temporary Rebel hospital where they were told by the surgeon that General Forrest, who had just left there, had been slightly wounded. He did not state the location of the wound, but that information was supplied by a citizen. When we returned from the charge, our dapper commander with "orders from the rear," who was noted for his spick-and-span appearance, had retired; some said,--"to lace his corsets." In the absence of proof as to the character of his under-garments, the truthfulness of the statement is open to question; but whatever the reason, it must have been urgent, for we did not see him again that day. Upon our return from the charge we went over the entire field where the fight occurred. About twelve or fourteen of our infantry men were killed and several wounded. One poor fellow lay with his musket still in his hand. He had apparently been in the act of shooting but his enemy had shot first. His eyes were open and in the right one there appeared a perfect image of a man upon a white horse. This circumstance recalls another pathetic incident of the many which might be related. Battery A of the First Illinois Battery, which, with Battery B, stood next to that of McAllister's, had nearly all of its horses killed. With seven of his mates lying dead around him, one faithful old horse stood in harness all day on Monday and until Tuesday morning when he was cut loose. There was no further attempt at pursuit and the enemy was permitted to return to Corinth where ample time was given him to collect re-enforcements and to strengthen his position. The battle of Shiloh was the bloodiest of all the western battles. It has been claimed by some that our army was not surprised; but to those who were there, the claim is no less surprising than the fact appeared to be then. The successes at Forts Henry and Donelson had made our men and their leaders over-confident. They counted too much upon the moral effect of those victories upon the enemy. Besides, it seemed incredible that an army so recently defeated and apparently so demoralized, should leave a strongly intrenched position and march twenty miles over ground rendered almost impassable by mud and rain, to meet one of substantially equal force in an open field. If it was a surprise, as those who were there at the first onset and saw the conditions, believed it to have been, it is not for me, it may not be for anyone, to fix the responsibility. Let him bear it who may,--the thousands of graves and the long lines of trenches filled with Union dead, will remain as a proof of the appalling price that it is possible to pay for indifference and over-confidence. [Illustration: SAMUEL H. FLETCHER] CHAPTER V. THE CORINTH CAMPAIGN--BATTLE OF DAVIS' BRIDGE ON THE HATCHIE RIVER-- BOLIVAR--DEATH OF COL. HOGG--WATER VALLEY--FIGHT AT HOLLEY SPRINGS --COWARDICE OF COL. MURPHY--FORAGING. "The brave make danger opportunity;-- The waverer, paltering with the chance sublime Dwarfs it to peril. * * *" --_Lowell._ The severe losses at Shiloh resulted in a reorganization of a considerable portion of our army. Many fragmentary regiments were consolidated in order to make full ones. Much time was consumed in this process and we remained at Pittsburg Landing until its completion. On the eleventh of April, four days after the battle, Major General Henry Wagner Halleck appeared and assumed command in person. This was the beginning of a campaign in extraordinary contrast to that which had been so brilliantly prosecuted by Grant, whose methods and plans were held in contempt by his superior. Halleck was a man from whom the people had expected much. They believed, largely upon his own authority, that he was a great general, for his unqualified statement about anything was presumed to close discussion. Halleck had written a book upon military science which was generally supposed to contain the last word upon that subject. He was self-centered and opinionated to a degree and his arrogance was only equaled by his excessive caution, which nobody at that time was presumptuous enough to hint might have been called by another name. This general's policy, constantly impressed upon his officers, was to "do nothing to bring on an engagement." With an army of one hundred and twenty thousand men opposed to one whose effective force was considerably less than half that number, he instructed his generals that it was "better to retreat than to fight." This rule was strictly observed and upon different occasions important advantages were waived and reverse movements made in conformity to it. The result was an elaborate underground campaign in which the spade was the only aggressive factor. Except at the very outset, the army literally burrowed its way into Corinth. While the pioneer corps toiled beneath the surface, the others watched, not so much as guards but rather as sentinels to give the alarm. The vicinity of Corinth was a veritable labyrinth with complex runways such as might have been made by gigantic field-mice. This harmless procedure must have been quite as amusing to the Rebels as it was irksome to us. But even they grew tired of the farce and considerately exploded a magazine as a hint that they had marched out and would not hurt us if we had really set our hearts upon marching in. [Illustration: ILLINOIS MONUMENT AT SHILOH TO SPECIAL COMMANDS THE FRONT TABLET IS TO COMPANIES A AND B.] At last Corinth was "captured." The army did not start upon its advance until April 30th, when the men, burrowing through the ground like gophers, moved at an average rate of about 1700 feet per day. A month was consumed in this process. Trenches, rifle-pits and bomb-proofs were constructed to shelter one hundred thousand men; and all this to capture another lot of trenches, rifle-pits and bomb-proofs that were empty. It was a bloodless victory, and the countless hills and holes that cost so much labor and so many lives incident to the use of polluted surface-water and exposure under unsanitary conditions, will remain indefinitely as monuments to the caution and timidity of that unique general whose conception of prosecuting the war seemed to have been to treat the entire South as an immense garrison to be captured only after complete investment and a prolonged, careful and strictly methodical siege. Halleck's "caution" would appear to have been the result of a fevered imagination rather than the outgrowth of well considered military conditions which he should and might have known but did not; for, on the day following the evacuation of Corinth, when the Rebels were many miles away in full retreat, he caused his whole army to be drawn up in preparation for battle, announcing in orders that there was "every indication that our left was to be attacked that morning." The "indications" proved to be as humiliating as the preparations to meet them were preposterous; but their significance was entirely obscured by the cloud of egotism which seemed to envelop the personality of this overrated commander who might have been more successful had he possessed a sense of humor. In the light of Halleck's experience, it is refreshing to recall General Grant's opinion of what might have been: "For myself, I am satisfied that Corinth could have been captured in a two days' campaign commenced promptly on the arrival of re-enforcements after the battle of Shiloh." Memoirs, V. 1, pg. 381. During the Corinth campaign Companies A and B acted as escort to Brigadier General T. A. Davies. After the evacuation an order was issued directing them to report to the regiment but Captain Hotaling, who was originally responsible for their detachment, because he believed that he could do more effectual work with them separately, succeeded, through the influence of General Oglesby, in having the order changed to include Company B; whereupon Company A was, at the request of General O. A. C. Ord, who commanded the post at Corinth, assigned to his staff. I had previously been detailed to act as orderly to Colonel Baker of the Second Iowa regiment, who was then in command of a brigade. He was succeeded by General Thomas Sweeney and I was with the latter until he, in turn, was succeeded by General Hackelman with whom I remained until the battle of Iuca, just before the second fight at Corinth, when I returned to my company which was ordered to Jackson, Tennessee. The time spent at Corinth was dull and monotonous but the monotony ceased upon our arrival at Jackson. We remained in camp about seven or eight days until the battle of Corinth, where General Hackelman, Colonel Baker and Lieutenant Brainard, all good friends of mine, were killed. After the battle, General Ord, in command of Logan's and Hurlbut's Divisions, the latter of which had been sent ahead from Bolivar, Tennessee, attempted to intercept Price and Van Dorn at Davis' Bridge on the Hatchie River. About six o'clock in the evening orders were given to pack haversacks with two days' rations and be in the saddle in forty minutes. We marched to the depot, loaded our horses in box-cars, mounted the deck with our saddles and were off. The road was rough and the cars swayed like ships in a storm. By lying down and holding fast to the deck we were enabled to stay in place until our arrival at Bolivar, which we reached at about half past twelve that night. As soon as possible we commenced our march for Davis' Bridge which was about twenty miles away. Just as the sky began to redden in the east we arrived at Hurlbut's headquarters and found his command in line of battle near the bridge. We were none too soon. The battle began soon after our arrival and raged until afternoon. The enemy fought persistently but was slowly driven back and finally retreated up the stream. One of our men captured a rebel officer upon one of General Van Dorn's horses. W. B. Cummins was in command of the company in the absence of Captain Hotaling who was upon staff duty. General Ord was wounded in this battle which caused his retirement for a considerable time from active service. In his report of the battle he paid a high compliment to the men of our company, whom he commended for their rare intelligence and skill. At the beginning of General Ord's retirement he requested General Grant to reserve Company A as his personal guard but he was gone so long that the company was ordered to report to General Logan, with whom it had been but a short time when Captain Hotaling was appointed Senior Aid upon Logan's staff with the title of Major, in which capacity he served with distinction until the close of the war. Our company continued to act as escort for General Logan until after the surrender of Vicksburg. After the battle at Davis' Bridge I was detailed as hospital assistant to help in holding sponge and to assist in amputating legs and arms. It was a grewsome experience and my first of the kind. Between forty and fifty men were brought in in varying conditions and among them General Ord, who was wounded in the leg. The next morning we moved back to Bolivar where we were the guests of our regiment. It was a joyous reunion and we slept but little that night. Our joy was marred however, by the absence of our beloved Colonel Harvey Hogg, who met his death a few days previous in a heroic charge at the battle of Bolivar. His death was said to have occurred within sight of his mother's house. On the day of the battle, those of the regiment who were detailed to bury the dead, found the Colonel's body stripped of all clothing, and were told by the rebels that "the hogs did it." The statement is proof of its absurdity and of the unbelievable hatred which existed at the time against southerners who fought for the Union. The details of Colonel Hogg's death have been embodied in a separate sketch and need not be enlarged upon here. Our visit ended in the morning when we marched back to Jackson where we were engaged in picket duty and foraging until the weather began to get chilly. From Jackson we marched by way of Bolivar to Water Valley, Mississippi, about sixty miles south of Holly Springs. The latter place had been chosen as a secondary base of supplies for that portion of the army located south of there. General Grant, in what he regarded as an almost hopeless endeavor to fit his plans to those of Gen. Halleck and the orders resulting from the latter, was compelled to scatter his forces and to guard as best he could, a number of widely separated points in order to maintain railway communication with the North. Under the conditions existing, they could not all be adequately protected. Colonel R. C. Murphy, of the eighth Wisconsin, with about fifteen hundred men, including companies C, F, G, H, I and K, of the Second Illinois Cavalry, was left to guard the post. The companies mentioned were under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Quincy McNeil. Believing that the destruction of the munitions and stores accumulated there would greatly cripple our army, Van Dorn undertook to capture the place. He was especially anxious to secure the horses of our regiment which had the reputation of being one of the best mounted in the service. So, on the 20th of December, with a force of mounted infantry and cavalry outnumbering that of the Union troops more than ten to one, he made a dash to capture the place. Murphy had been notified of his approach but made no preparations to meet him nor did he take the trouble to inform his command. Van Dorn had no difficulty in "surprising" him and less in inducing him to surrender. Before the troops knew of the situation the town was surrounded by several thousand confederates and the post with stories and troops had been formally surrendered by Murphy. The six companies of our regiment were encamped upon the fair-grounds, over all parts of which they were scattered. Lieutenant Colonel McNeil, with Captains Jones and Higgins were upon the east side of the Camp, Captain Marsh upon the north and Majors Mudd and Bush upon the west and south sides respectively. The men were told that the Second had been surrendered with the other troops. "Not by a damned sight," was the reply, "If they want the Second, they must fight for it." At this instant the rebels rushed in upon the east side and immediately began shooting down those who were saddling their horses. McNeil rallied the men nearest to him and advanced to the attack. Captains Jones and Higgins seconded McNeil. There was no time to form. McNeil was pressed by overwhelming numbers, surrounded and captured. At the same time Marsh was rallying the men at the north and the conflict or series of conflicts, became an indiscriminate struggle to the death. Just then the enemy in still larger numbers poured into the camp and captured the stragglers and convalescents. Captain Jones' horse was shot under him, Lieutenant Garrett was wounded and both were made prisoners. Marsh ordered a saber charge and broke through the line at the north, followed by Captain Higgins and the men who had been with McNeil. Marsh charged west and then south in the hope of supporting Major Bush. Major Mudd, who had been ordered to Oxford by rail and was preparing to go, knew nothing of the situation until he heard of the surrender. He rallied a few men nearest to him and ordered a saber charge. The same order was simultaneously executed by Marsh and Bush, all of whom broke through the lines at different points. The several detachments were separated. Those of Marsh and Bush joined upon the south and charged through the town fighting desperately. The enemy swarmed like locusts but, unable to withstand the terrific onset, gave way at every point. Realizing that a considerable number of their comrades must have been captured, Major Bush charged back like a whirlwind, recaptured the camp and released the captives. Those behind seemed to realize that their comrades would return. Some were found crouched upon the ground behind their dead and dying horses which they used for breastworks, still fighting with coolness and desperation. When the rescue came, these men hurriedly mounted behind their comrades or captured loose horses and went on with them. The charge was scarcely halted. Turning to the west, they again broke through the line and escaped to Coldwater, a town about twenty miles distant. Captain Marsh received three severe wounds but kept on through the fight. In the meantime, Major Mudd, with a small detachment, succeeded in breaking through the western line, but in doing so, lost a number of his men. The fact of escape was not enough to satisfy his soldierly instinct. Seeing a band of rebels in front of him he gave chase, although at the time he was pursued by a much larger number. Twenty-four prisoners were captured, including one major; but being unable to take care of them, twelve were released. Whether these were a part of the detachment pursued, I have not been able to ascertain. Major Mudd with his detachment also escaped to Coldwater where he aided in preparations for the defense of that place which was threatened by the enemy. On the following Sunday, this officer, under orders from Colonel O'Meara, commanding at Coldwater, went back to Holly Springs under a flag of truce, but finding the place deserted and being joined by Lieutenant Stickel with a few men, took possession of the town and held it until the arrival of Colonel Marsh on the same day. Another detachment of men, numbering about seventy, broke through the rebel lines and escaped towards Memphis. They bivouacked that night several miles away from Holly Springs, without fire, food or shelter and reached Memphis in due time hungry, cold, exhausted and destitute. The loss in killed, wounded and missing was about one hundred and fifty; but, aside from prisoners captured, it was believed that the enemy's loss was much greater. In a general order issued on December 23rd, 1862, General Grant, after severely censuring Murphy and a part of the garrison, said: "It is gratifying to note in contrast with this, the conduct of a portion of the command; conspicuous among whom was the Second Illinois Cavalry, which gallantly and successfully resisted being taken prisoners. Their loss was heavy but the enemy's was much greater. Such conduct as theirs will always insure success, &c." The descendants of those men may be proud to read these words; but how about the descendants of Colonel Murphy? Here is their bequest:-- Headquarters, Department of the Tennessee. Holly Springs, Miss., Jan. 8th, 1863. General Orders No. 4. Colonel R. C. Murphy was dismissed from the service, to take effect from the 20th day of December, 1862, the day of his cowardly and disgraceful conduct. By order of Major General U.S. Grant. John A. Rawlins, Assistant Adjutant General. A large sum of money had been sent to Holly Springs for the army pay-roll. This was captured and diverted to a like use by the confederates. The men who escaped to Memphis, being without money or rations and having lost their camp equipage, following the motto that "all is fair in love or war," fixed upon a ruse whereby they might recoup in part from the rebel citizens. Good arms at high prices were in active demand throughout the South. A standard revolver was valued at from fifty to seventy-five dollars in "greenbacks." Southern citizens were always ready to buy arms from any of our men who were willing to sell. Knowing this, one of the officers sent out several men to sell their arms and with each was sent a guard to watch. Upon the completion of a sale the guard would arrest the citizen and confiscate his purchase. In this way they collected about one thousand dollars, which was credited against losses at Holly Springs. At the time our comrades were undergoing the experiences described, Company A was at Water Valley wading in mud and snow in an effort to rebuild the bridges which had been destroyed by the enemy. The appearance of Forrest upon the line of railroad between Jackson, Tennessee, and Columbus, Kentucky, cut off communication from the North for more than a week. This, in conjunction with the loss of supplies at Holly Springs, compelled the entire army to subsist upon the country. Our company was sent out with wagon-trains and detachments of infantry who loaded the wagons while we fought bushwhackers. Sometimes it was necessary to go fifteen or sixteen miles and we were invariably late in returning. Our diet was corn roasted or burnt, usually the latter, inasmuch as we were constantly harassed by the enemy and were given no chance to forage for other things. We soon became so worn and exhausted from this onerous work and meager diet that our haggard appearance was noted by those of the army who were in position to fare better. One night when we came in unusually late and had eaten our corn and turned in, there was an unusual commotion in the camp which at once aroused the entire company. We were not long in realizing and appreciating the cause of the disturbance. The 45th Illinois, knowing our scarcity and that we had been fighting constantly to protect the train, had brought over four fine porkers which they hung up at our headquarters with an invitation to make the most of the opportunity. In an incredibly short time each man had a piece of pork impaled upon a stick and was roasting it by the embers of his camp-fire. No chef ever prepared a more savory banquet and no hungry men ever appreciated one more than we did that. Tired and worn as we were, it was four o'clock in the morning before the camp became quiet. In the morning we received marching orders and started through mud and rain for Memphis. Our clothes were wet and our boots so sodden and shrunken that we dared not take them off for fear we could not get them on again. In a few days we reached Memphis and went into camp in the eastern part of the town. Mud was omnipresent. It was not only the quintessence of that well known compound, but the most persistent in its attachments of any that I have ever seen outside of Carrollton, Louisiana, which is second to no place in the universe in the quantity and quality of that annoying material. Our move to Memphis was the beginning, upon entirely new lines, of a second campaign for the capture of Vicksburg. [Illustration: JOSEPH SHEAFF] CHAPTER VI. THE FINAL VICKSBURG CAMPAIGN--SITUATION AT AND AROUND VICKSBURG-- MEMPHIS--LAKE PROVIDENCE--DIGGING CANAL--CUTTING LEVEE--RUNNING BATTERIES--MARCH THROUGH SWAMPS--GRAND-GULF--FEINT BY SHERMAN-- BATTLE OF PORT GIBSON--DEATH OF MCCORCLE--BATTLES OF RAYMOND AND JACKSON--CHAMPION HILL--CASLER AND HIS "BASE OF SUPPLIES"--BATTLE OF BLACK RIVER BRIDGE--INVESTMENT OF VICKSBURG--GRANT--THE SILENT --THE INVINCIBLE. "Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes They were men that stood alone." The capture of the forts upon the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers, together with the Corinth campaign, were merely preliminary to the opening of the Mississippi by the capture of Vicksburg, its chief stronghold. But it was necessary for our forces to get in the rear of that place in order to attack it. To proceed southwardly from Corinth necessitated the holding of long lines of railway and the scattering of our men to such an extent as to render such a campaign hazardous, prolonged and uncertain with the forces then available. The first Vicksburg campaign which, among other things, included an attempt by General Sherman to reach the coveted position by way of the Yazoo River, was, therefore, abandoned with a view of using the Mississippi itself as a means by which to pass below and approach it from the rear. The latter plan possessed important advantages but was a hazardous undertaking and because of the apparently insuperable difficulties involved, seemed almost chimerical. Vicksburg stood upon a high bluff, the base of which was washed by the river. A frontal attack was not to be contemplated. The problem then was, either to find or make a channel for gunboats and transports through the lakes, bayous and swamps west of Vicksburg to some point below where a successful landing could be made and maintained or to run the batteries directly with the gunboats and transports, so as to have both below for the use of the army when a feasible way could be found for moving the latter. [Illustration: PETER SHEAFF] There were fourteen miles of batteries in front of Vicksburg. No landing place existed upon the east side of the river between it and Grand Gulf, twenty-five miles below. The latter place was upon a high bluff and strongly fortified. Hence it was necessary to pass both of these places. It is not surprising therefore, that General Grant deemed it wise to carefully test the practicability of each expedient offered before finally acting upon any. Moreover, it was winter and the active prosecution of an elaborate campaign was not to be thought of. Nevertheless, the press, politicians and people of the North insisted that "something should be done." The scheme of cutting a canal across the peninsula formed by the great bend in the river opposite Vicksburg was a novel one, sounded well to everybody, was approved by Lincoln and Halleck and served to fill in the time. Aside from diverting attention, it had advantages so important that its attempt, after once having been suggested, was unavoidable. It would keep the men busy while waiting for spring and should it succeed, it would prove a happy solution of the problem in a way that would be clear gain. On the other hand, a failure in an effort to run the batteries without first trying it, would have been deemed suicidal; and the authorities might not have been able to have withstood the increasing force of clamor already raised for General Grant's removal. So the project of digging the canal was started while elaborate explorations were also being prosecuted through the bayous and swamps for some other feasible channel or road in case it should fail. While these things were being accomplished, the waiting, as well as the experiences associated with it, were tedious and trying. We were comfortably housed at Memphis pending the preparations for a general move. In due time General Logan and staff, with our company and other troops of the 17th Corps, took passage upon the steamer Maria Deering and were transported to Lake Providence. All of the 17th Corps, under command of General McPherson, was moved to that place, where a temporary base of supplies was established upon the Commissary boat N. W. Thomas. The operations upon the canal were commenced about the time of our arrival. At the beginning of February, in the hope of facilitating this work by washing out a channel, General Grant caused the levee at Lake Providence to be cut. The water flowed in at a terrific rate and compelled us to move our camp from the south side of the lake. It was difficult to find camping space and the levees were used for that purpose. The rush of waters did not increase the canal channel as expected. There were other difficulties which rendered the canal impracticable; and, during the latter part of April, the project was abandoned. In the meantime, no feasible channel was found elsewhere, so the pioneer corps was set to work to build a corduroy road across the swamps towards Lake St. Joseph southwest of Vicksburg, over which to move the troops. The previous cutting of the levee greatly increased the difficulty of the work by causing a complete inundation of the low lands and swamps to the west for a distance of from fifty to seventy-five miles. This apparent disadvantage was, however, largely compensated for by its advantage in another respect. It formed an impassable barrier at the west and south, insured us against an attack in those directions and relieved us from much picket duty. At last the time came for making the perilous movement of running the batteries. Transports, veneered with railroad iron and protected upon the outer edges with bales of hay and cotton, were loaded with supplies and started upon their way preceded by a flotilla of gunboats. The risk was considered so grave that all but two boat captains and one crew refused to attempt it. Volunteers were called for. Logan's command was composed of many river men and when the call was made, five times the requisite number volunteered. Many of our company asked to go but Logan said "No, I want you to navigate the horses." So, pending the success of the river movement, we remained at Lake Providence. It was unnecessary to inform us when the running of the batteries commenced. The roar of the guns, eighty miles away, was distinctly heard by us. It was an anxious time but we soon knew that the movement had been a success. McClernard's Division had previously been started by the improvised road and was at Hard Times, above and nearly opposite Grand Gulf, from whence it was to be transported to a landing upon the east bank of the Mississippi to aid in the capture of the latter place should the gunboats succeed in silencing the guns of the fort. On the 29th of April Admiral Porter commenced the bombardment and continued it during the day and far into the night without any apparent effect; whereupon the troops were debarked and under cover of night, marched down the levee upon the west side of the river to a safe point below the fort and while the gunboats continued the bombardment, the transports ran the batteries. Nearly all of the boats were more or less disabled. One transport was sunk nearly opposite Grand Gulf, and two were pulled up upon the west bank. Many of the artillery horses were wounded. Major Stalbrand lost a fine horse valued at one thousand dollars. In the meantime we had marched through the swamps over the corduroy road to Lake St. Joseph and thence to a camp nearly opposite Grand Gulf where it was arranged that we should embark for Bruinsville. A satisfactory landing had been found at the latter place which connected with a road leading to Port Gibson. The forces landed below Grand Gulf, including the 17th Corps, numbered about twenty thousand. The Confederates forces at Vicksburg, Haines Bluff, Jackson, Port Gibson and Grand Gulf, aggregated about sixty thousand. We were in an enemy's country, practically cut off from retreat as well as from our base of supplies. The only alternative, therefore, was to act quickly and attack the detached forces of the enemy in detail before they could concentrate or be defeated ourselves. Two days' rations were distributed and our forces advanced at once towards Port Gibson. In the meantime, a portion of the Grand Gulf garrison amounting to about eight thousand, had moved in a northeasterly direction in the hope of being re-enforced from Vicksburg so as to successfully dispute our passage. In anticipation of this, Grant had ordered Sherman to make an attack upon Haines Bluff with a view of deceiving Pemberton and holding his forces at Vicksburg. The ruse was successful. Sherman immediately withdrew and rapidly marched his division by the course we had taken to join us. Upon his arrival we had an available force of about thirty-three thousand to strike the forces east of Vicksburg before it would be possible for Pemberton to join them. The greater portion of the 17th Corps had been transported across the river during the night preceding the movement of our company. Ten of the latter, including our orderly sergeant, James McCorkle and myself, were detailed to cross the river with General Logan. Upon arriving at the landing the Division Surgeon called for an orderly. McCorkle sent me back to camp for another man to fill my place and detailed me to act as orderly for the surgeon. We were unable to obtain transportation and so were compelled to remain there until morning. McCorkle and I slept together. He was in an unusually serious mood, said but little and seemed to want to have me near him. We embarked upon the first boat in the morning and landed about ten miles below Grand Gulf, from whence we rode together to Thompson's Hill where the battle of Port Gibson was in progress. It had been raging for some time and was still being hotly contested. Governor Yates and some of his staff, together with E. B. Washburn, then a member of Congress from the Galena District, were with General Logan. Washburn was instrumental in organizing the 45th Illinois Infantry, known as "The Lead Mine Regiment," which was a part of Logan's Division. A charge was made by the regiment and Washburn took special pride in the prowess of the men. Forgetting the danger of the situation and everything but the enthusiasm of the moment, he rode behind them cheering and swinging his hat like a boy chasing a fire-engine. Yates, on the other hand, tempered his valor with discretion. From morning until late in the afternoon, he found an attractive resting place under the protecting brow of a hill near the general hospital where his presence attracted the attention of the surgeons. Shortly after one o'clock, James Padgett rode by and said: "Sam, Jim. McCorkle is killed and is lying between our lines and the Rebels." About three o'clock one of Logan's orderlies called out in passing: "Second your Orderly Sergeant is mortally wounded and lies just in the rear of the 45th Illinois." I at once asked permission to go and take him from the field. The main road which I was obliged to follow, was so jammed that it was difficult to proceed except at the slowest pace. The delay was torture. I did not find him until nearly dusk. His body was partially covered with a blanket but his cavalry boots were exposed and I knew from them that it was he. As I drew the blanket from his face he looked at me with a wild, vacant stare. Then an expression of intelligence and tenderness followed and he said: "Sam, you have come at last." He was removed to the hospital and lived until about six o'clock the following evening, retaining consciousness most of the time. After the battle he asked to see his comrades. I notified all that I could find, including Captain Hotaling, and General Logan and staff, to all of whom he bade an affectionate good-bye. He asked how the battle terminated and seemed satisfied when told that we had won. During the battle McCorkle was acting as orderly for Captain Hotaling. While crossing from one brigade to another, he was struck by the bullet of a sharpshooter stationed in a tree. The bullet, which was large, entered the body at the right of the saber-clasp and, striking the spinal column, was flattened until it was as thin as a sheet of tin and about three inches in diameter. McCorkle was a general favorite of the company, as just and fair as he was generous and brave, and we all mourned his loss as we would have mourned that of a brother. The battle lasted from early morning until ten o'clock at night when the rebels retreated, leaving their dead and wounded upon the field. The following day was spent in burying the dead, waiting for the rear-guard and provision-train to come up and in reorganizing for an advance. Any battle of importance necessarily results in confusion and this proved to be no exception to the rule. Aside from the loss of McCorkle, Clark Pond was fatally, and Jack Elder slightly wounded. The evacuation of Grand Gulf occurred on the day of the battle and on the following day our company remained at the general hospital and on the next moved to Port Gibson where it encamped about two hours when orders came for an advance. We marched nearly all night in a northeasterly direction and encamped near the Big Black River, remaining there two days. Then another move was made to a point about five miles from Raymond where we encamped for a day. Company A formed the advance guard of Logan's Division in its movement towards Jackson. After having advanced about two miles towards Raymond there began to be signs of trouble. The enemy's videttes appeared. Our men were deployed as skirmishers. The country was more or less wooded and the thick brush served to screen the Confederates whose main body, numbering about five thousand, was not far distant. We were met by volleys from small detachments at every turn in the road. This was continued for about three miles when the enemy came to a final stand. The battle which followed was severe and lasted about five hours. During the skirmishing which preceded it, I had an interesting experience. Our men had dismounted near a group of trees and were endeavoring to locate a detachment of the enemy. Asa Gillette was nearest to me. We were standing behind trees which were close together. Gillette, seeing a man in a fence corner, was endeavoring to point him out to me, and as he did so, our heads nearly touched. At that instant a ball passed between us, punctured my hat-rim in two places and cut away a lock of hair. It was the 12th of May and my twentieth birthday. I have had many since but none has brought me a birthday present so unwelcome as the one then offered. Our company was assigned to a position upon the right wing of the line of battle which was near to a creek, the banks of which were about ten feet in height and closely fringed with underbrush. A battery and a brigade of infantry were stationed upon our left, both actively engaged. After we had been there about two hours, our horses became very restless when we mounted and moved up the creek. We had advanced but a short distance when balls began to whistle over our heads. We soon discovered that an entire brigade, protected by the wooded banks of the creek had crawled down it and succeeded in almost surrounding us. They were lower than we however, and as they fired, their volleys went above us. We scattered like a flock of quail, retreated about forty rods, rallied and came to a halt. As we did so, we met General Logan with Leggett's Brigade advancing upon the double quick. Logan called out: "Boys, what is the matter?" "A hornet's nest," was the reply. Instantly came the command: "Go in boys and lift them out of that with the cold steel." They did. After half an hour of severe musketry fire the Confederate line began to waver and then broke into full retreat towards Raymond where they were followed by our men. The entire battle of Raymond was fought by Logan's Division with that of Carr's looking on ready to help but it was not called upon to do so. On the night following the battle, we bivouacked near Raymond and early the next morning, at the head of the Division, resumed our march towards Jackson. While at Raymond, General Grant's son Fred, a small, pale boy about twelve years of age, rode into town upon a black Shetland pony. His father states that he had left him asleep upon a gunboat below Grand Gulf, but the little fellow, hearing the sound of the guns at the battle of Port Gibson and, anxious to see what was being done, had, upon his own initiative, followed the direction of the sound and overtook the army. Where he found the pony can only be surmised. He had, before reaching Raymond, been seen, mounted upon a very large, old and decrepit beast, equipped with a primitive saddle and bridle, which make-shift answered his purpose for the time. The boy displayed the characteristics of his father, in that he was entirely independent, accepted all conditions as he found them, endured hardships and vicissitudes of camp life without a murmur, caused no trouble to anybody, and in this way is said to have gone through the entire campaign and a portion of the Vicksburg siege. During our march that day we saw nothing of the enemy and at night we bivouacked about six miles from Jackson. There was a deluge of rain during the night and the roads were submerged when we started in the morning. We realized then, if not before, what General Logan meant when he said at Lake Providence, that he "wanted us to navigate the horses." At a point about three miles from Jackson, our company was ordered upon the right flank. It was necessary to cross a stream and after marching about a mile we were blocked by cross-gullies filled with water. They were impassable and we were forced to return and recross the creek to the main road. In the meantime, the division had encountered the enemy and was hotly engaged. A short but decisive battle occurred. The Confederates gave way and our men marched into Jackson. Seeing this, we put spurs to our horses and galloped in to find them in full possession of the place and engaged in helping themselves to provisions, tobacco and other desirable things. Tobacco was the one luxury which we could carry and would keep and we secured a supply which lasted us until after the fall of Vicksburg. To many, the tobacco habit may be regarded as inexcusable; but to the soldier upon the march, there are few more consoling things. We bivouacked a short distance from Jackson and on the morning of the fifteenth started for Vicksburg. On the sixteenth the battle of Champion Hill was fought. Pemberton had marched out from Vicksburg with an army of about twenty-five thousand men to dispute our passage. The battle was bloody but brief and the Confederate loss was great. The engagement commenced about eleven o'clock and in the afternoon was very severe. Our company was assigned to a position upon the extreme right wing near to some heavy timber about twenty rods from where the 124th Illinois made its famous charge. In their pathway was a ditch where the enemy had taken a stand. This was filled with dead and dying Confederates. When our men returned from the charge, each had a prisoner. By night, the enemy was in full retreat and our company bivouacked where it had been stationed during the day. We had started from Port Gibson with three days' rations in our haversacks and had been fighting and undergoing forced marches over almost impassable roads for sixteen days. Under these conditions, it was necessary to live upon the country. Every planter had corn and a grinding mill driven by mule-power, and these little mills were kept busy by our men. Aside from these, there were cattle, hogs, sheep and poultry, but none of these things could be gotten to be distributed regularly. On the day of the battle, Orlando Casler, otherwise known as "Lon," who was one of the characters of the company, and nine others, including Ed Baker, had been sent out upon the right flank to forage, while the remainder of the company moved on with the command. We were very hungry and as the evening advanced with nothing edible in sight, had about concluded that it would be necessary to take another hitch in our belts as a substitute for supper, when Lon and his party appeared in a procession as surprising and unique as it was welcome. Casler, who was nothing if not dramatic, was appareled in a full broadcloth dress-suit and silk hat and sat upon the boot of a large family carriage. He had apparently appropriated the dress-suit of some aristocratic giant. Casler was a large man but his clothes were of such colossal proportions that he was compelled to put a wisp of straw under the sweat-band of his hat and a pillow in the front of his trowsers in order to locate his own anatomy. The carriage was drawn by two mules engineered by a colored driver and was filled to the limit of its capacity with smoked hams, shoulders, chickens, turkeys and jars of preserved fruit. Following the carriage was a wagon drawn by a four-mule team and loaded with hams, bacon, about sixty gallons of strained honey and a barrel of coffee. The necessity for these things and the joyousness of their welcome were both manifested by the astonishing rate at which they disappeared. In the morning we saw the men of Logan's Division who had fought so hard the day before, dig up a ten-acre field of sweet potatoes but recently planted and devour them like ravenous animals. Afterwards, as they marched by us, we stationed a number of men at "Casler's base of supplies," who tossed hams and bacon at them and filled their cups with coffee. We enjoyed it immensely, for it was our opportunity to pay a debt in kind to the 45th Illinois by whom we had been previously remembered in a similar manner. But little was reserved for ourselves and our supply that night was in inverse ratio to our satisfaction. Then followed the fight at Black River Bridge which was burned by the enemy to prevent our passage. This delayed us one day and prevented the possible capture or dispersion of Pemberton's army. Three temporary bridges were hurriedly built and on the 18th, we resumed our march. On the 19th, we had the satisfaction of taking a place in the semicircle which invested Vicksburg. At last the long sought goal had been reached. The position for which the Northern army had manouvered for more than a year had been gained. For three weeks we had endured forced marches over nearly impassable roads, had engaged in almost constant skirmishing when not fighting in important battles and had bivouacked in mud and rain without tents or cooking utensils, and this on five days' rations issued at the start. Hungry and worn, we stood between two armies whose combined numbers exceeded ours. Our problem was to capture the one, nearly as large as our own, protected behind seven miles of fortifications, while guarding ourselves against one in our rear that was being rapidly re-enforced. In securing our position, we had ended a great and successful campaign to begin a siege which, in view of all the adverse conditions, had in it the possibilities of utter defeat. We needed supplies and above all, re-enforcements to complete and strengthen a line twenty-one miles long and to ward off the enemy in the rear. Aside from our hope of immediate re-enforcements, our only assured reliance was in our determination and the ability of our imperial Commander. We _knew_ that we should win. [Illustration: OSBORN SHANNON] CHAPTER VII. THE SIEGE OF VICKSBURG--THE ASSAULT--LOGAN'S HEADQUARTERS--THE "BULL-PEN"--"BOYCE'S BATTERY"--SCOUTING--THE MINE--THE SURRENDER-- PHELP'S APPROPRIATES GENERAL BUCKNER'S CAPITULATION PAPERS-- SIGNIFICANCE OF THE VICTORY--CREDIT DUE TO GRANT. "How we marched together, sound or sick, Sank in the trench o'er the heavy spade-- How we charged on the guns, at double-quick, Kept rank for Death to choose and pick-- And lay on the bed no fair hands made." Upon the nineteenth of May Vicksburg was practically invested. Haines Bluff was evacuated and the rebel garrison had entered Vicksburg, thereby opening to our army the possibility of a base of supplies and direct communication with the North. There was much severe fighting during the day, including an assault upon the southern portion of the works, which was repulsed. All of this resulted in giving us better positions and enabled us to determine those of the enemy. By the 22nd, we had succeeded in opening up communication with the North by way of the Yazoo River and in obtaining supplies. Hard-tack and coffee were particularly welcomed. This greatly increased the confidence and enthusiasm of the men and on the same day a grand charge was made. The slaughter on our side was appalling. The enemy was strongly entrenched and our troops were compelled to fall back and to build temporary breast-works. Logan moved his quarters up to the firing-line within about forty rods from what was known to us as Fort Hill,[2] a high point near the middle of the line of the fortifications. His adjutant's quarters were nearly a mile in the rear, so that the shots from the enemy's guns passed over his headquarters and fell within a radius of about forty rods from those in the rear. His adjutant, Major Towne, owing to a prejudice against minnie balls, was disinclined to get closer. Our company, being the escort, was ordered to camp about ten rods south of headquarters. There was a swale between the two positions which grew wider and higher towards the east, and from the crest there was a plain view of Fort Hill. About that time large numbers of men had been recruited by the different regiments as substitutes for skulkers and "bounty jumpers." The natural diffidence of these men had a tendency to keep them away from the front. Many were found by our rear-guard five miles back hidden in negro quarters and cane-brakes. About two hundred were brought to General Logan, who located them upon a hill back of his headquarters and placed a strong guard around them. This enclosure was called the "Bull-Pen." When there was a heavy cannonade, the spent shells and minnie-balls would fall there. These reached our company also and made it quite unpleasant, but the fellows upon the hill were kept busy inventing and practicing new dodging methods. [2] It appears that this name was improperly applied by our men and should not be mistaken for the real Fort Hill which is on the river bluff about two miles north of Vicksburg. The name applies to an old fort built by the Spaniards as a defence against the Indians. There were several clowns in our company, the chief of whom was Ben Boyce, a brother of Caleb Boyce, at that time a well known Rochelle merchant. Boyce constructed a formidable battery of two guns made from stalks of sugar-cane, wound with marline and mounted upon small trucks. His gun crew was usually composed of four men. They had a pole about fifteen feet long upon which was tied an old shirt which served as a guidon. Ben wore a paper cap two feet high and carried a field-glass six feet long made from cane. With this instrument he would mount a bale of hay and with all hands at the guns, was ready for action. When the "camp-kettles" from the enemy's mortars commenced to drop, Ben would issue his commands with the gravity of a general and they were followed with a fidelity and heroism equal to any shown upon other parts of the field. His guns were phenomenal. They required only about half the charge used for a Sharp's carbine, but their effectiveness exceeded that of the largest ordnance, for they frequently dismounted the enemy's cannon at Fort Hill and sometimes silenced all his batteries. Ben's battery men were usually Jim Bowers, Martin Klock and Henderson Gordonier. Grand Townsend was one of the invincibles and sometimes volunteers were called upon to lead a forlorn hope. This by-play formed an amusing recreation and frequently served to divert our minds from the more serious and grewsome happenings around us. The fun was by no means devoid of danger but that only served to give zest to its enjoyment. After the terrific assault and repulse of May 22nd, it became manifest that Vicksburg could not be captured except by a prolonged siege. Pemberton had previously disobeyed the order of Johnson, his superior in command, to evacuate, giving as his reason that he regarded the place as "the most important point in the Confederacy." Johnson was in our rear and Pemberton had reason to believe that the latter would be re-enforced and would exhaust every effort to raise the siege. Under these conditions, it was clear that Pemberton intended to hold the place at any cost. It was essential that Johnson should be watched; and our company, under command of Lieutenant W. B. Cummins, a section of a battery, the 21st Illinois, Grant's old regiment and some other troops, including the 2nd Iowa Cavalry, was ordered out for this purpose under the command of Colonel Johnson. Our course led past Haines' Bluff, up the Yazoo River to Mechanicsburg and thence along the Black River. A Confederate force was met near Mechanicsburg which was charged and driven off by the Second Iowa Cavalry. We continued our advance north and east and again met them in the evening, when an engagement ensued. The action had barely commenced when the enemy began to run. The fear of our foe seemed to have a reflex action upon our commander who ordered a retreat to Haines' Buff, about forty miles distant. We returned to Vicksburg, where we were stationed at Logan's hind quarters. During this time I acted as orderly for Dr. Trowbridge who was acting Division Surgeon in the absence of Dr. Goodleak who was sick at the time. The method employed by our men in planting the mine under Fort Hill was interesting and involved some features which I have not seen in print. It was known to but few outside of Logan's Division. Captain Tressiline, Logan's engineer, known as the "Wild Irishman," planned the work. It was executed with the help of the pioneer corps and infantry detailed for the purpose. The work was commenced at the top of a hill northeast of Fort Hill and was complicated by an intervening sag which had to be taken into account. A platform of heavy timbers about twelve feet wide and sixteen feet long, was built and supported upon strong wheels. Upon the platform was mounted two large wooden guns which were painted black and varnished, each having what appeared to be a ten inch bore. This formidable engine of war, suggestive of the famous wooden-horse at the siege of Troy, was moved ahead of the workmen and served to shield them and their work from the enemy. As the machine was advanced, a trench was dug behind it, ceiled by timbers and covered with the excavated material. When the sag was reached the Rebels could not get their cannon to bear upon the moving structure from any point and small arms were useless. There was a moat at the base of the fort, and when our men reached the sag they tunneled beneath it to plant the mine. This moat proved a boon to us, for it necessitated the running of the tunnel at so low a level that the enemy in counter-mining, missed it. There was lively work at this place. The enemy, being above us, had a great advantage. They not only threw hand-grenades, but rolled heavier explosives over the ramparts. All our men had to send in return was twenty-four pound shells and these had to be thrown by hand. When the fuse chanced to be a little too long, the enemy would cut or pull it out. This was hazardous work and not always successful. Sometimes the fuse was too short. Captain Hotaling had an experience with one of these which exploded prematurely. A piece of it struck him a glancing blow in the breast and he lay, apparently dead, for over two hours. A few days before the surrender, the mine, containing three hundred kegs of powder, was exploded. The explosion was to be the signal for the grand charge; and in order that all might be ready for it, Grant had previously caused the watches of all the commanding officers to be set by his. The eruption was terrific and blew the top off the hill, but the enemy had anticipated the result by building a second line of works immediately within the other and the breach was not sufficient to permit the passage of enough men to carry them. Our men were unable to hold the positions taken along the line and at night fell back to those formerly occupied. An armistice was declared and the dead were buried where they fell. A negro in Fort Hill was blown into our lines more frightened than hurt. Grant quotes him as saying, when asked how high he went up: "Dunno, Massa, but 'tink 'bout 'tree mile." The negro remained in service at Logan's quarters and was ultimately sent by him to the then famous showman, P. T. Barnum, for exhibition. During an armistice upon July 3rd, papers of capitulation were signed by Grant and Pemberton, by which it was agreed that the surrender should take place at ten o'clock upon the following day. Logan's command, being at the center, was among the first of our troops to enter the fort. Our company, as escort for Logan, reported at his headquarters, where we waited for General Grant, his staff and escort to take the advance. Then followed General McPherson, our Corps commander, with staff and escort and General Logan, with staff and escort brought up the rear. We passed into the fortifications and marched directly to the court-house, where General Logan, who was assigned as Post Commander, established a temporary office. The plight of the Confederates as we marched in appealed to our tenderest sympathies. They were a sorry looking lot. The rank and file were as simple minded as their condition was pathetic. It was one of the provisions of the surrender that the men were to be paroled. The word "parole" was apparently construed by many to mean a reward; for we were frequently asked how soon the "pay-roll" would be ready for them. Some asked: "What are you'ns goin' to do now? We'ns is mighty hungry. Our mules is most all dead and et up." The Confederate Guard at the Court House had some mule ham and black peas for dinner. This was tasted by some of our boys but they were not enthusiastic in their approval of it, owing, probably to conventional prejudice. Permission was given us to ride around the town to satisfy our curiosity. Most of the inhabitants were living in caves dug in the clay banks. Many of these were divided into a number of rooms and well furnished. About four o'clock, as I was going from the Washington Hotel to the Court House, I passed a residence which was swarming with Confederate officers and ladies. There were two vacant lots adjoining in which the officers' horses were tied. Among them was a fine, well bred black horse that took my fancy. Upon him was an elegant English cavalry saddle upon which was strapped a tin telescoping-tube about three inches in diameter and sixteen inches long, such as was used for carrying official papers. It shone in the sun like silver. The horse was the embodiment of beauty and I might have taken him but did not. I rode to the Court House in search of a comrade to accompany me to camp. I had been there but a short time when Henry Phelps of our company appeared riding the horse I had just been admiring. The tin-tube was still upon the saddle. I asked if he was going to camp and he replied, "Yes, come on." His newly found horse proved to be a fast pacer and he rode him at such a speed that I was obliged to put mine upon the run in order to keep up with him. I said: "Hank, what is the use of riding so fast?" He replied: "Some one may want this horse." So we kept up the speed until we reached our lines. That evening I noticed Phelps and Lon Casler examining some papers but paid little attention to it and did not know what they were. The next morning our company moved into Vicksburg and went into camp. Upon our arrival Phelps was called before Logan who said: "Phelps, you got a horse yesterday when you were here, didn't you?" "Yes, sir." "And what was on him?" "A saddle and tin case with some papers in it." "Was that all?" "Yes, sir." "And you got all that money, fourteen thousand dollars in greenbacks?" "No sir, I did not find any money." The general then turned to a Confederate officer who was present, and said: "Did you say the money was in the tin case?" "Yes, sir." Turning again to Phelps, he said: "Well Phelps, what was the nature of the papers you got?" "They were the capitulation papers of the surrender of Vicksburg, signed by Generals Grant and Pemberton." "You must produce them at once." Phelps went out, returned with the case and handed it to General Logan who opened it and removed the papers. He found, upon rolling them closely, that they fitted the case and completely filled it. Turning to the officer he told him that he must have been mistaken about where he put the money. Logan then ordered Phelps to produce the horse and saddle, which he did and was then dismissed. To us, who had fought and striven at the front, it was difficult to realize that Vicksburg had fallen or to conceive the significance of its fall. The coveted position for which we had so long fought and endured, was again an integral part of the Federal Union with all that that fact implied. The heroism, bravery and fortitude of the men who fought and won can never be too strongly commended; but all this would have gone for naught without the commanding genius, the prescience, the broad grasp of military situations and the superb poise and indomitable will of the one regal mind by which it was inspired and directed. General Grant in this campaign executed one of the most daring and brilliant movements known to military history. In opposition to the most revered precedents of military science as well as to the judgment of his foremost general, he deliberately moved his army into an enemy's country beyond a great river, between two strongly fortified positions held by the enemy, severed that army from its base of supplies, placed it between opposing forces outnumbering it two to one, fought them in detail, laid siege to the larger one behind fortifications of almost unprecedented extent and strength, while still warding off the other, fought his way back into communication with his original base and brought the siege to a successful issue. It was the most Napoleonic campaign of the war and the most decisive and far reaching in its direct results and final significance. It secured to us "the most important point in the Confederacy." It insured the segregation of all the Confederate forces west of the Mississippi and the freeing of our western army for the capture of Mobile, Atlanta and Chattanooga. In short, considering all things, it was, of all our victories, the boldest, the greatest, the most audacious and the most prophetic,--the most prophetic, because it foretold the doom of Richmond. [Illustration: JAMES BOWERS] CHAPTER VIII. DEPARTMENT OF THE GULF--NEW ORLEANS--HOW OFFICIAL DIGNITY WAS VINDICATED BY A CAT-O'-NINE-TAILS--NEW IBERIA--VERMILLIONVILLE-- CHAIN-VIDETTE--"BOWERS' CHARGE"--HOW ED BAKER WON HIS SPURS--REPULSE OF GENERALS LUCAS AND FRANKLIN--IMPROVISED CAVALRY--DEATH OF CROSBY --SUPERIOR ARMS OF CONFEDERATES--BRILLIANT CAPTURE OF CONFEDERATE DETACHMENT--COMMENDED BY GENERAL ORDER--OUTRAGE COMMITTED BY BANKS AND FRANKLIN IN CONFISCATING HORSES--COWARDLY MANNER OF ITS PERPETRATION--RE-ENLISTMENT--VETERAN FURLOUGH--RETURN TO THE FRONT. "Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade."--_Defense of Lucknow._ The surrender of Vicksburg was quickly followed by the news of the Union victory at Gettysburg which occurred on the same day, and in a short time we heard of the fall of Port Hudson which, with its garrison of 8,000, was given up by its commander three days later upon being assured of the fall of Vicksburg. This left the Union forces in the possession of the Mississippi from its source to its mouth. It began to look like the beginning of the end. Our company remained at Vicksburg until about the middle of August. A number of our men were sick. Shortly after the beginning of the siege, two of them, Robert McAdams and Smith Wheeler, died of malarial fever. Morgan Haymaker and Leroy Herbert had died before the company left Memphis. General Grant was about to leave for the Eastern army and our company was ordered to the Department of the Gulf. Upon our arrival we were detailed as an escort to General Ord at New Orleans where we remained for three or four weeks, when we received orders to join our regiment at New Iberia, Louisiana. At New Orleans, I was detailed as orderly at General Ord's headquarters. He occupied a part of a large plantation mansion in the outskirts of Carlton, Louisiana. While at this place I again had an experience which opened my eyes, not only to the horrors of slavery, but to the brutality of some of our own officers who were only too willing when opportunity offered, to adopt the worst features of that wretched institution when they could be used for their own tyrannical purposes. The place was very old and bore evidence of opulence and aristocratic antecedents. Surrounding the house was a spacious yard filled with bearing orange trees, some of which were unusually large. It was a charming and delightful spot and suggested the peace and contentment of a real Arcadia. As I lounged around the place, the thought uppermost in my mind was, how was it possible that a people blessed with such surroundings could cause or in any way tolerate a devastating war, such as was being waged? The answer soon came in concrete form. In the yard, fronting the house, there were a number of tents occupied by the Adjutant General and his staff. A negro had committed some trifling offense which had aroused the ire of three of the staff officers, one of whom was Major Seward, General Ord's Adjutant General,--who was reputed to have been a nephew of William H. Seward,--and two others whose names I did not know. While sitting alone beneath a tree, the overseer of the plantation, a creole of the Simon Legree type, with all the diabolical vindictiveness of generations of evil ancestors shining from his malignant reptilian eyes, appeared leading a large, finely formed intelligent looking negro. The man's arms were bound together in front and a strong rope was tied to each arm above the elbow. The overseer led his victim to a large orange tree standing near the Adjutant's tent and proceeded to lash him to the tree with his face towards it. The poor creature was the picture of abject terror and trembled from head to foot. I was about to interfere, when Major Seward and the two other officers came out of their tents with camp-stools in their hands and, with an air of expectancy, silently seated themselves, as if they well understood what was about to occur. I looked on with surprise and wrath. I could not believe my eyes. The negro's body was bare to the hips, and the overseer bore a peculiar whip with a short thick stalk and a number of heavy braided lashes about two feet in length. The bearer of the whip--a muscular brute--had every appearance of being an adept in its use. Looking around with the air of a stage-manager, to see that his distinguished audience was properly composed, he commenced. The first stroke brought blood and a cry of torture that was sickening. Then followed lash after lash until the wielder of the whip was exhausted and literally spattered with the red drops from his victim. When the negro was about to faint, and it was apparently unsafe to give him another stroke, he was released and led away by his captor, his back dripping and his skin in shreds. The official defenders of the "honor of the flag" and the keepers of the seals of military justice whose honor had been appeased by the enlightening spectacle, withdrew to their tents in dignified silence and with an apparently satisfied air. What was the cause of the hellish act or why it was tolerated, I never knew. Ten or twelve of our men, whose names I have forgotten, were left in the general hospital at New Orleans, where some of them died. We joined our regiment about a week after leaving the latter place. It was located in one of the most charming and beautiful sections of Dixie. Later, it was advanced to Vermillionville, Louisiana, where we were entertained by the music of minnie balls almost constantly until January, 1864. The conditions there were peculiar and called for unusual military methods and constant watchfulness in order to insure camp protection. There were many large corn and cotton-fields which, from neglect, were over-grown with rank weeds from seven to ten feet in height. They made a tangle as thick as a jungle and afforded complete concealment to the enemy. Our system of camp protection was devised and adapted to meet these conditions. Our camp was encircled by a chain-vidette system located at a distance therefrom of about two miles. The men were stationed about twenty rods apart. All were required to move at once in the same general direction to the ends of their respective beats and then to return. This constituted each man a rear-guard for the one in front of him. In the rear of each five or six videttes, about forty rods back, there was stationed a relief or first reserve. About the same distance back of these, in turn, was stationed the second or grand reserve composed of fifteen to twenty-four men who, in turn, were supported by a number of primary reserves, thereby forming an elastic combination, each unit of which was in touch with all of the others, while at the same time it provided for speedy concentration at any threatened point. The utmost vigilance was necessary and we were compelled to change our lines after dark either by advancing or drawing them in. The wisdom of this precaution was constantly demonstrated, for it became the established custom of the "Johnnies" to give us a dose of "blue pills" each morning as an appetizer. We always expected them and soon found out that the term "southern hospitality," was capable of varied application. Sometimes their attentions were forced upon us to an annoying extent during the entire day. At such times it was not unusual for our men to fire from twenty to forty rounds of ammunition. We were frequently required to shoot so rapidly that our carbines became heated and we were obliged to swab them out with brush and water before the cartridges could be inserted. Sometimes we would call out the reserve, charge upon and drive them off four or five miles which usually settled it for that day. One day Jim Bowers was Sergeant of the reserve. He had about twenty-five or thirty boys of Company A, who had been nagging him about his lack of courage which they pretended to question. Jim's health was poor but it did not prevent him from being a good soldier and he always kept a supply of courage where he could find it when needed. On the day in question the chaffing annoyed him and he determined to give us an object lesson. The Johnnies had appeared in unusual force. About two hundred were in sight and more in the distance. Bowers at first seemed to think his band too small for so large a force and sent to camp for help. Captain Kelly started with his company but Bowers' aggressiveness got beyond his control and he gave the command to charge. The rebels at first showed fight but soon broke and ran. Ed Baker was one of Bowers' party. He was mounted upon a thoroughbred of great power and endurance. The horse and the man appeared to have been made for each other. Ed was an athlete and every inch a soldier; as manly and lovable as he was heroic and daring. A college graduate, he enlisted as a private with the sole thought of doing his duty. He was regarded as the best educated man in the regiment. There were five lawyers in our company, but Ed outclassed them all. The only thing he did not know and never learned, was when to stop fighting. With his powerful horse, he found no difficulty in overtaking the flying men. He used his sword only. He would ride a man down, capture, pass him back to his comrades and start for another. He rode like a knight of old, keeping constantly ahead of the charging party and upon the heels of the enemy until he out-distanced all of his friends and found himself within a mile of the enemy's lines, nearly sixteen miles from his own camp and facing a body of about twelve hundred Confederates who came out to re-enforce their friends. Then discretion came to his rescue for he realized that he could not capture them all. Turning to retreat, he discovered that there was not a man of his company in sight. He had ridden two miles ahead of them. His sole chance of escape lay in the remaining strength of his horse. It was enough however, and he won. The little party returned to camp with their horses so jaded that several of them never recovered from that day's work. A count showed thirty-five prisoners captured by the little band, a goodly percentage of which was credited to Baker, who, as a reward for his work, was given a commission as Second Lieutenant. The charge was afterwards known as "Bowers' charge"; but Baker was the Sir Lancelot of the day. Shortly after this incident, two of our generals, Lucas and Franklin, decided to chastise the Confederate Generals, Green and Motaw who had a large force in the vicinity. Our cavalry had shown such high efficiency that they considered that the only factor necessary to success was more cavalry. This they did not have, but it was easy to get. Cavalry was composed of men on horseback. Why not mount the infantry? If not enough, mount more infantry. The reasoning was sounder than the premises but was followed enthusiastically and we were soon able to muster about nine regiments including ours and the Sixth Missouri Cavalry. With this force, we marched out to meet the enemy, our regiment and the Sixth Missouri holding the center of the line upon the main road between Vermillion and Carrion Crow Bayou. As soon as we reached the open prairie, a line of battle was formed facing a corresponding line of the enemy about a mile distant. The Confederates had better guns than we and their shots reached us as we advanced. The wings, composed of mounted infantry, soon began to fall back and to become displaced. They were good men but as little at home on horseback as a lands-man upon a yardarm. They could not manage their horses and were greatly handicapped with their long guns. These gave them a grotesque appearance which would have been ludicrous had the occasion been less grave. We were soon forced to retreat. The Second and Sixth fell back alternately, forming a line upon each side of the road. In the meantime the enemy began to rush our wings which were about a mile ahead. We were in a sack and the foe was pouring an enfilading fire upon us. We soon reached an open field of about eighty acres which, with the exception of a few rods of rail fence next to the road, was almost surrounded by a high hedge. Some rails were removed and our company marched in and formed upon the south side of the road. It was a hot place. The bullets zipped past our ears like a flight of hornets. Just then the order, "Fours right," was given. I was number three and George Crosby, the next man upon my left, was four. A ball struck his right arm, passed through his body and out through the other arm. His horse came around by the side of mine and I did not know that anything unusual had occurred until Henry Knuppeneau, the next file behind me, cried out: "Fletch, Crosby is killed!" Then we stopped and fought until his body was taken off the field. About half a mile further back the 132nd New York and a battery came to our support. At the same time it was discovered that infantry was not cavalry. The men comprising the wings were ordered to dismount and the stampede was arrested. I think that with two more good cavalry regiments, such, for example, as the Fourth Missouri, Tenth Illinois, or the Third Michigan, we could have changed a repulse into a victory and could have driven them to the Texas line. Their arms were superior to ours and they knew it. They would stand off and shoot indefinitely but were afraid to charge, which is the true way to fight with cavalry. Almost any man will fight well in a charge; if not, he is useless as a soldier. Not only is he obliged to go with his horse, but the very dash of the thing acts as a moral support. The horses imbibe the spirit of the men and of each other and the whole becomes an irresistible mass like the rush of a torrent; but the men and horses must be trained until they become a unit. A successful cavalry force cannot be improvised. All the Confederates whom we met in that section had fine arms. They would throw a ball a mile with great force and accuracy and at three quarters of a mile would often go over our lines, while ours only served to kick up a dust a quarter of a mile ahead of the enemy, who would shout, "A little more powder." I never saw one of their guns to examine it, but understood that they were of French manufacture. We had nothing in our army to compare with them. The Texas men were all armed with these guns which must have been received through Mexico at the instance of Maximillian or his representatives. The enemy continued to annoy us in about the same way as long as we remained at Vermillionville. A skirmish of half a day or a day was a common occurrence. We remained there until the weather began to get cold and frosty, when, late in the fall of 1863, we moved back about twenty miles to New Iberia, which was a more secure position. Bayou Teche served as a protection upon one side and the Gulf coast was only about four or five miles away with intervening low lying land so interspersed with sloughs as to render it almost impassable for an enemy. So we were free from the constant embarrassment experienced at Vermillionville. After the commencement of cold weather, there were several hard rains and a snow-storm. We were in need of supplies and Colonel Mudd, with a force which included our company, under Lieutenant J. S. McHenry, started out upon the Abbeville road with a view of gathering a supply of Confederate cattle. After going about nine miles we arrived at a small marshy creek. The Confederates had destroyed the bridge and, as the creek was practically impassable, we set to work to construct a bridge from some plank and stringers that were left and were soon able to cross in single file. The Colonel left McHenry with sixteen men to guard the bridge and picket the approaching roadways. There was a patch of woods north of the bridge, near which was a large house and some negro quarters. Here we arranged for a sumptuous dinner of sweet-potatoes, roast pork and corn-bread, which was just about to be served, when one of our pickets rode up and said that there was a company of cavalry near the picket-post; that they wore blue overcoats, but he thought that they were Rebels. McHenry left three men to guard the bridge and with the other thirteen, rode out to meet the strangers. When within about twenty rods he asked them what their command was but received no reply. One of the men, Waldo Aulis, who was given to playful remarks, said, "I will just speak to them gently and see if they will answer." With that, he fired at them and wounded a horse. The act seemed to flurry them and they turned and trotted away. McHenry's orders to guard the bridge, precluded him from ordering a charge; but by common impulse we made one--shooting as we went--they returning the fire over their shoulders. After pursuing them about a mile we ran them into a fence corner. They turned, and as they did so, Nick Hotaling and Jack Rhodes wheeled in front of them and called to them to surrender. The remainder of our company was in their rear. Nick rode a Grimsey saddle with a high cantle, and as he passed in front he threw his body, Indian fashion, upon the near side of the horse. This caused the tail of his overcoat to stand up in the air where it invited the fire of the enemy and received several bullet wounds. The fray did not last long however, and they soon surrendered. We captured nineteen men, including one lieutenant. One escaped. The latter was mounted upon a thoroughbred, and during the excitement quietly moved away a short distance and then put spurs to his horse. Chase was given, but our men, having dismounted at the surrender, were unable to overtake him. During the main chase I captured a prisoner and, while changing revolvers, accidently discharged one and wounded my mare in the shoulder. The wound was not serious however, and that, with the holes through Hotaling's coat-tail, summed up the injury to our little band of thirteen. All things considered, we had reason to believe it to be a lucky number. Some of the other companies of our regiment thought that because we were so much upon detached service, we were not entitled to the letter "A." After that, however, it was freely conceded to us. Colonel Mudd and his men soon arrived with the cattle. He was more than pleased with our behavior. General Franklin however was loth to give us any credit, presumably because we were western men. The Colonel told him that he could do as he liked about it, but that if he refused, it would be sought elsewhere. As a result, the following order was issued: Headquarters, Cavalry Division, In the Field near New Iberia, La., Dec. 5th, 1863. General Order No. 10. The Colonel commanding is glad to be able to publish to this command the following communication received today from Major General Franklin, to show that gallant deeds are appreciated: "The commanding General directs that you publicly express his thanks to Lieutenant McHenry, Co. A, 2nd Ill. Cavalry and the detachment of seventeen men under his command, for their gallant conduct on the 30th Nov. last, in charging and capturing an equal number of the rebel force. Acts of daring of this kind, while they encourage our own troops, demoralize the enemy. Treat them in this way whenever opportunity offers and they will soon abandon a service for which they now have little heart. "By order of T. J. Lucas, Col. Com'g. F. W. Emery, A.A.G." So far as I can remember them, the names of those connected with the incident, in addition to the writer, are as follows: Lieutenant James McHenry, Nicholas Hotaling, Grant Townsend, James L. Padget, William Stilwell, John Elder, John Rhodes, George Burkhardt, Joseph Sheaff, George Hemstock, Waldo Aulis and Calvin Steel. Including the guard at the bridge, there were three or four others, but I have forgotten their names. We remained at New Iberia until shortly after January 4, 1864, the date of our re-enlistment, when we went to New Orleans. In the early part of February we left there for home upon a veteran furlough. Twenty-two of our old company veteranized. The new organization however, never seemed like the old one. There was a lack of a certain charm, a lack of unity, a lack of that intimate comradeship that we had known before. Upon our arrival at New Orleans, Banks and Franklin did a most shameful thing. Our men owned their horses and equipment. Upon entering the service, each had selected the best horse he could get in his neighborhood, and the result was that we, as privates, were better mounted than the eastern officers. Their envy was shown upon all occasions and they made our re-enlistment an excuse for confiscating our horses. They first attempted to take them arbitrarily by allowing each officer to choose; but, when given to understand that they were our private property, an order was issued by Banks or Franklin, I am not certain which, to appraise the horses in the name of the Government and place a U.S. brand upon them. In order to carry it out successfully, the order was, for a time, kept secret. When the time came to take possession, our men were ordered out without arms and with nothing but the bridles upon the horses. We were marched into an alley and thence into a cotton shed with high brick walls. Then two or four were ordered to dismount and lead their horses into another shed where an appraiser was stationed with men having red-hot brands, ready for their repulsive work. Exasperating as it was, our feeling for the branders was one of respect compared to our unspeakable contempt for those who commanded them to do it. The injustice and tyranny of the act was only equaled by the cowardly and brutal manner of its perpetration. During the entire time, a regiment of infantry and a battery of artillery were in line commanding the place. We never recovered from the moral effect of this dastardly act by which the Government was the greater loser. Before, the horses were scrupulously cared for. At the end of a long march, the men might be hungry but the horses were fed; the men might be tired to exhaustion, but to groom their horses before sleeping was a duty never neglected. It was not uncommon for a soldier to take another horse or a mule and ride four or five miles at night to get forage for the tired one. All this ceased under the new order of things, and neglect and indifference was the rule. Government vouchers were given to us for our horses; but inasmuch as these were made payable at St. Louis, most of them were cashed by speculators in New Orleans at a modest discount of ten per cent. It was gratifying to know that the eastern officers who wanted our horses, failed in the end to get them. For some reason, all but a few of the poorer ones, were taken by new recruits. All of those who veteranized were required to move to the Conley Depot, about three miles north of Canal Street where they waited until they were paid. In a day or two after this, orders were received to march to the boat. Early in the morning, Gilmore's famous Boston Band, composed of one hundred and twenty-five pieces, marched to our quarters and escorted us to the Clay Monument at St. Charles and Canal Streets, where we were addressed by Colonel Marsh of our regiment. When he had finished, General John A. McClernand appeared and bade us good bye and wished us a happy time. The band then escorted us to the boat, played while we were waiting, and closed, as the boat left the dock, with "The Girl I Left Behind Me." We had a most delightful trip and were received by all at home with open arms. Our home-going was one round of delightful entertainment and generous hospitality. But it was all too short. It seemed to end almost as soon as it began, and our faces were again turned to the front. It did not seem so hard to start however, as when we first enlisted. We had become seasoned, had a definite aim, a justifiable pride in our appearance and record as soldiers, and success in the past gave us confidence in the future. Moreover, there was a strong tie of fraternity which was born of the trying experiences through which we had passed. At the outset it was different. All was new and strange and confusing. We knew nothing of camp duties or methods, had no conception of military discipline, and it was more than two years before we were enabled to fully care for ourselves as soldiers. Our hard-won experience prompted the wish to again go to the front and remain there to the end. The regiment first assembled at Springfield. Our Colonel, who had formerly lived at St. Louis, where he had a large acquaintance, was very proud of his command and wanted us to visit St. Louis, which we did. Upon our arrival there we were received by a large deputation of citizens who gave a banquet in our honor, at which several of the men of the regiment made telling speeches. War songs were sung and we had a general good time. The entertainment lasted about three days. From St. Louis we went to New Orleans upon the steamer "Olive-Branch." Upon our arrival, which was in April, we were ordered to Baton Rouge, where we went into camp. Our time there was occupied in infantry drill with old Springfield rifles, until about July, when we received our mounts and were again ready for service. [Illustration: JAMES L. PADGETT] CHAPTER IX. THE RED RIVER EXPEDITION--DEATH OF COLONEL MUDD--HOW COLONEL MARSH HELD THE LINE--FIGHTING GUERRILLAS--"ALTON HELL-HOUNDS"--THEIR REMEDY FOR PICKET SHOOTING--INCIDENTS AT CLINTON, LOUISIANA--COLORED WARDS AND THE RIVER JORDAN--DASH UPON LIBERTY, MISSISSIPPI--CAPTURE OF ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR CONFEDERATE OFFICERS--CHIVALRY OF THE PRISONERS AND CAPTORS HOW A CONFEDERATE CAPTAIN "MADE GOOD." "The greatest gift a hero leaves his race is to have been a hero. Say we fail! We feed the high traditions of the world And leave our spirit in our children's breast." --_George Eliot._ One of the important and humiliating campaign features of 1864 was the Red River Expedition, which was foredoomed to ignominious failure. It was one of Halleck's favorite projects and was started before Grant received his general command; otherwise, it probably would not have been ordered. Grant, in his "Memoirs," says of it: "I had opposed the movement strenuously but acquiesced because it was the order of my superior (Halleck) at the time." Another sentence of Grant's indicates the disadvantage at which it placed our army, aside from the great and needless loss of life and property entailed by it. He says: "The services of forty thousand veteran troops, over and above the number required to hold all that was necessary in the Department of the Gulf, were thus paralyzed." The Second Illinois Cavalry, with the exception of the re-enlisted men, including a part of Company A, was one of the regiments which accompanied this ill advised and ill fated expedition. It was charged at that time, and quite generally believed, that the movement had its inception in commercialism. The enormous profits upon the sale of captured cotton furnished the motive. At a time when there was not enough cotton in the North to make wrapping-twine, and resort was had to twisted strips of Manila paper as a substitute for that commodity, the value of cotton may be imagined. Any general who was in position to connive at this traffic, had a fortune at his command; and it was claimed that Banks was eager for some of the spoils. This charge is not consistent however, with General Grant's statement that Banks "opposed the expedition." Whatever the truth may have been as to that, Banks had another and more trifling weakness which was much in evidence; he was passionately fond of dress-parades. This may have had some influence in bringing about his undoing. It was currently reported at the time that a part of his train was loaded with paper-collars and white gloves. It was soon found however, that there were more vital things required for the welfare of an army than these agreeable accessories. That portion of our regiment which was involved in the enterprise, started for Alexandria, Louisiana, on February 29, 1864. After a long and trying experience in marching through swamps and cane-brakes, they arrived at that place where a large force of infantry and artillery and a flotilla of twenty-five gunboats had assembled. The plan was to move on to Shreveport, which was what the Confederates did not intend to permit. The enemy apparently realized his advantage from the outset. But little opposition was made until the expedition had left Alexandria and was well under way. On the eighth of April, at Sabine Cross Roads near Mansfield, the opposition developed; and, according to the statements of those who were in it, the fighting was severe and continuous. The Confederate force, under command of Generals Taylor, Price and Muttal, was concentrated in a well chosen position, while that of Banks was hopelessly scattered. With our thin lines strung out for 30 miles in a swampy country which afforded every advantage of concealment to the Confederates who were familiar with it, it was an easy matter to harass our army and defeat its scattered units in detail. The enemy was strong, determined, and, worst of all, in many cases--invisible. Allowing for the difference of climate, conditions were not unlike those which confronted Napoleon in a part of his Russian campaign with the exception that our commander was entirety lacking in the military skill and resourcefulness of that famous leader. The deplorable tragedies of the Banks enterprise would fill volumes. The failure was not because our men did not fight; it was their fighting which saved them from utter annihilation; but even that was of little avail, except to accentuate instances of heroism. On one occasion, amid a deluge of bullets, a stampede was started, when Colonel Dudley rode up to Colonel Marsh of our regiment and said: "Colonel, can you hold this line for five minutes?" Marsh replied, "I can hold it until I die." Each color-bearer was shot down the instant he raised the flag, until five were killed in succession. Thereupon Colonel Marsh grasped the colors and standing in his stirrups, sang, "Rally 'Round the Flag Boys." It was effectual. The struggle was terrific and at times looked hopeless, but he held the line for an hour and gave our men a chance to retreat in some semblance of order. Instead of an aggressive campaign as was intended, the whole series of battles were but desperate efforts to cover a retreat. Of about one hundred and fifty of our men who were in the fight at Sabine Cross Roads, more than one-third were killed, wounded and missing and eighty-six horses were slaughtered. Most of those who were captured, died in those unspeakable Texas prisons of which mention has been made. One of the tragedies directly chargeable to lack of foresight in an attempt to fight an invisible enemy, was that which resulted in the death of our former Colonel, John J. Mudd and the slaughter of a large number of helpless men. At the outset of the expedition, Colonel Mudd was promoted to the rank of Brigadier General and was on his way to take command of a brigade of cavalry. We were glad of his promotion but sorry to lose him, for he was loved by all. As he rode along the line shaking hands with the boys and bidding them good-bye, some, in order to hide their real feelings, pretended to make light of the matter and simulated a mock-grief; a thing which would not have happened had they foreseen the near future. The General embarked upon a transport loaded with troops; but, with the characteristic lack of foresight of the project, no gun-boat was provided to escort it. Three days later, the transport was surprised by a terrific fire from a masked battery, captured and destroyed. General Mudd was killed and most of the others either killed or captured, and that without any opportunity for defense. Those left behind, received the sad news in silence. As our Colonel, he was loved and revered. He was always in closest sympathy with his men whose welfare was his constant study. His wish was recognized as a command and obeyed with pleasure. General Sherman's famous aphorism that "War is Hell," has become classic. Indeed, for one who has been through it, it is not possible to realize that it can be anything else; but if there are compensations for such a brutalizing calamity, one of them must be the development and example of such princely characters as that of General John J. Mudd, whose transcendent virtues outlive the sickening horrors amid which they were so uniformly displayed. While our regiment was stationed at Baton Rouge, the bushwhackers became so bold and aggressive that it was decided to chastise them. Their headquarters were at Clinton, a small town about twenty miles northeast of Baton Rouge. The expedition was commanded by General Lee of Kansas, whose force consisted of our regiment, the Fourth Wisconsin Cavalry and Nimms' Massachusetts Battery. After crossing a deep river, the name of which I have forgotten, we soon arrived at a larger stream where the enemy in considerable force endeavored to prevent our passage. A sharp engagement took place which lasted about an hour, during which the Colonel of the Fourth Wisconsin was killed. His body was sent back to Baton Rouge with a detail from his regiment, a platform having been improvised for the purpose upon one of the caisson carriages of Nimms' Battery. We succeeded in crossing the stream and soon reached Clinton. The skirmish with the enemy was continued during the entire day. In the evening we moved out of town about two miles and went into camp, the men lying upon their arms. There was every reason to anticipate a night attack and all were prepared for it. George Taylor and myself were stationed as pickets upon the main Clinton Road. There was no moon and the night was still and dark. Our position was in a hollow by the side of a turn-pike. About twelve o'clock our horses began to show signs of uneasiness and soon became quite restless. It was apparent that something unusual was about to happen. We dismounted and took positions upon opposite sides of the pike with our carbines cocked and nerves under tension. Our attention was soon attracted by a peculiar sound; a kind of pat, pat, pat, upon the ground. It seemed to be several rods away and yet it was distinct. We knew that it was somebody or something approaching upon the road. As it came nearer we called "Halt!" but there was no reply and no stop. We then stepped upon the grade and again called "Halt!" It was hard to keep from pulling our triggers. Suddenly, those whom we took to be the enemy, commenced to jabber in a plantation negro dialect. Still we were uncertain, thinking that it might be the enemy attempting to deceive us. We called the corporal of the guard and ordered them to advance one at a time. They proved to be negroes, two men and four women. Others soon followed and the procession continued until morning. It was made up of all ages, shades and conditions. They had evidently cast their lot with us and showed every evidence that they were going to stay. In the morning when we broke camp, our guests were ready to move with us and they kept closely to the head of the column during the entire day. There were two streams to cross, both nearly deep enough to swim a horse. We crossed our stirrups over the saddles, held up our arms and plunged in in "column of fours." The darkies followed by a common impulse and could not have shown less hesitation had it been the River Jordan. Men and women, boys and girls, all floundered through and shook themselves upon the opposite bank as complacently as if they had reached the promised land. This was one of many like experiences. It was common for negroes to approach the guards at night, but it was not pleasant to have them do so, in view of the fact that all kinds of strategy were resorted to by the enemy to enable them to either capture or shoot down our pickets. Constant and careful vigilance was necessary to protect us against these things. We had not been in Baton Rouge long before it become a common practice for the enemy to steal upon out pickets and shoot them. The ground was swampy for several miles along the Clinton road and afforded concealment for roving bands of guerrillas. It was their custom to locate a picket, tie their horses in the swamp, steal as closely to the picket as they could with safety, shoot him and escape. Every precaution was exercised to safeguard the men but without success. Finally our men grew desperate and some of them decided to meet this brutal practice in a like spirit. Company D of our regiment was recruited from Alton. Many were river men and they were all rough fellows; so much so that they had acquired the suggestive name of "The Alton Hell-Hounds." On one occasion when these men were on guard, about the middle of the day, two fellows crawled up and shot at the men on post, slightly wounding one of them. The reserve was called out, a charge made and the sneaks captured. Picket ropes from their own mules were then placed around their necks, thrown over the limb of a tree and made fast. They were then ordered to stand upon the mules which were driven from under them. For two days the bodies were left there as a warning to their associates, when they were cut down and buried. The example was a grewsome one and not pleasant to relate; but it proved effectual, for it practically ended the shooting of our pickets from that time. Upon a subsequent trip to Clinton, one hundred of our men were dressed in rebel uniforms to act as decoys. They were chosen from "Scott's Nine Hundred," which was a New York regiment, the Fourth Wisconsin and the Second Illinois. They succeeded in getting in with the Confederates and captured a number of prisoners. Later in the year when it began to get cold, Colonel Marsh, with four hundred men from our regiment and one hundred from the 12th Illinois, started out in the afternoon with Clinton as his apparent destination, but his real objective was elsewhere. We followed the Clinton road until dark and then turned abruptly to the right and swam a stream the crossing of which was generally considered impracticable on account of its steep banks and swift current. The rebels depended entirely upon a ferry to make the passage. We succeeded however, in getting over without accident and kept right on pell-mell. Before realizing it we found ourselves in the midst of a camp of about fifty bushwhackers. William Stilwell who was with the advance, received a shot through the arm. We gave them a volley and passed on. After marching about two hours, a terrible storm burst upon us. We were in a lane fenced with rails. Dismounting, we tied our horses to the fence and hastily constructed what the boys called a "floating-dock." Two rails were laid parallel upon the ground to serve as supports or sills, and upon these were placed cross-rails which were arranged side by side in groups of two or three. Each group was straddled by a number of men who sat upon them back to back in pairs, a poncho being placed over the heads of each pair as a protection. With our feet several inches in water and mud, we remained in this attitude until the storm ceased. At daylight, we fed our horses, ate some hard-tack and resumed our march through woods and blind trails until nearly dark, when we arrived at a plantation where a carriage and team were pressed into service for Stilwell's use. This was about eight miles from Liberty, the County Seat of Amite County, Mississippi, where we expected to surprise and capture a large number of Confederate officers and men. It was as dark as ink when we came to a long covered bridge on the Port Hudson road, leading over the Amite River to the town. Great care was necessary to prevent an alarm. We succeeded in capturing the bridge guard, passed quietly into the town where we secured the pickets, one by one, without alarm and placed a guard at every outlet. All night the Confederates continued to enter the town where they were captured as soon as they appeared. This continued until we had about two hundred prisoners, of whom more than half were commissioned officers. The prisoners were lodged in the Court House, a brick building two stories high. There were double-doors in front and three windows upon each floor at the sides. In the morning the command started out upon a short raid, leaving Company A, under charge of Lieutenant James J. Tipton, of Company E, to guard the town and prisoners. The latter were in charge of Calvin Steel of our company. All went well until about noon, when a Confederate force of about eight hundred men under command of Colonel Scott, was seen approaching the town. Steel, with three men, was left to guard the prisoners, while the remainder of the company stole out to intercept the enemy. Hiding our horses behind a knoll, we took a position by some abatis, which had been constructed for the defense of the town and waited until the enemy had approached within about ten rods, when we fired. The volley completely staggered the oncomers who had scarcely recovered from their surprise when the remainder of our command returned to our assistance. The Confederates, sighting them, immediately retreated. In the meantime, Steel passed some anxious moments with his two hundred prisoners. He placed one man at each side to guard the windows, while he, with another, guarded the doors. The men were surging to get out and they could have succeeded had they made a rush, but no one dared meet Steel's ultimatum and take the risk of being first. Steel afterwards told me that it was the most trying and critical position that he had ever held. That evening Major Hughes arrived from Port Hudson with the Forty-Sixth Illinois and a battery. He took the foot-prisoners back to Port Hudson, while our detachment, under command of Lieutenant James J. Tipton, returned to Baton Rouge with the others. There were one hundred and four of the latter and, what then seemed inexplicable to us, all of them were commissioned officers. This incident led to one of the most remarkable exhibitions of real chivalry that occurred during the war; and one that did more to make us respect our enemies than any acts of bravery upon the field. The weather had become intensely cold and the prisoners had only their ordinary clothing. As night came on a severe storm arose which rapidly turned into a blizzard. We had been marching, fighting and undergoing the most trying hardships for forty-eight hours without sleep and with no food except hard-tack, and this was the third night. To stand guard over our prisoners under these conditions, and that in a raging storm, seemed beyond endurance. Besides, we felt that it was our duty to make the prisoners as comfortable as possible. The country was sparsely settled and there seemed to be but little prospect of shelter. At last we came to a building which was large enough to hold the prisoners but not ourselves. Lieutenant Tipton was a Mason, as were all but four of the prisoners. Tipton spoke to one of the former, Captain Grant, of Shreveport, Louisiana, and frankly told him the situation; stating that he would do all in his power to make them comfortable but that he could not do so and guard them well; that if Grant would give his word "upon the square" that the prisoners would not attempt to escape, they would be given shelter and protection in preference to our own men. Grant consulted with his associates and, as spokesman for them, accepted Tipton's proposal. The men were all quite comfortably housed, while their captors, who had blankets and ponchos, protected themselves outside in the storm as best they could. In the morning, all of the prisoners were present except the four who were not Masons. Captain Grant was greatly mortified and indignant when he learned of the escape of the four, and offered to go back and bring them in. Tipton could not, under his orders, permit this, but offered to report the matter to his superior at Baton Rouge. Upon arriving at the latter place the report was made and as a result, Captain Grant was passed through our lines, found his men and preferred charges against them. A military court was convened, the offenders tried, reduced to the ranks and given in charge of Captain Grant who brought them under guard into our lines, where he formally surrendered himself and them as prisoners of war. All the men, including Captain Grant, were sent to the Dry Tortugas. At the instance of Lieutenant Tipton, a subscription was circulated among our men and a purse of eight hundred dollars was raised and presented to them upon their departure as a testimonial from their captors. Nor was Lieutenant Tipton forgotten by his friends, "the enemy," who subsequently indicated their appreciation of his conduct by placing his portrait upon the east wall of St. James Lodge at Baton Rouge. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to outmatch this incident in the entire history of war. It is not so surprising that the men did not attempt to escape, but that Captain Grant should have been permitted by either side to carry out his proposal, is, so far as I am aware, in direct violation of all military laws and precedents. When peace was declared, our regiment was stationed at Shreveport, Louisiana, the home of Captain Grant, and our then Colonel, D. B. Bush, occupied a part of Captain Grant's house as his headquarters. I met the Captain there a number of times and had several pleasant conversations with him. He looked sad and broken, but met us with a cordial hand-shake and seemed to accept the situation philosophically and manfully. On one occasion I asked him why it was that we captured so many officers at Liberty. He replied, "Now that the war is over, I can tell you." He then stated that in view of the numerous raids upon Clinton, their cavalry scouts were greatly disconcerted; and in order to decide upon some satisfactory way of meeting conditions, a council, composed of delegations from various cavalry commands within a radius of a hundred miles, was called to meet at Liberty upon the day following the night of our arrival. It was thus evident that our commander at Baton Rouge had been secretly advised of the proposed meeting and had acted accordingly. [Illustration: E. C. CHATTERTON] CHAPTER X. "DAVIDSON'S SWEET POTATO RAID"--SOUTHERN ALABAMA--DESTRUCTION OF RAILROADS--OYSTER FISHING--MOBILE EXPEDITION--BARANCAS--NEWS OF LEE'S SURRENDER--ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN--FORT BLAKELY--MOBILE--EXPLOSION OF MAGAZINE--RETURN TO NEW ORLEANS--EXPERIENCE OF DANIEL SHAW IN A TEXAS PRISON--SHREVEPORT--"SALT-HORSE" VS. SUMPTUOUSNESS--CANTANKEROUS CANS--MARCH INTO TEXAS--SAN ANTONIO--MUSTERED OUT--JUBILATION--WAR'S AFTERMATH. "Closed is the bitter but glorious fight: And the day like a conqueror bursts on the night." --_Schiller._ Shortly after the Liberty raid, General Davidson, who was given command of the cavalry at Baton Rouge, organized an expedition for the purpose of destroying railroads in the territory northeast of Baton Rouge and extending in a circuit to Pascagoula Bay, Alabama, about fifty miles south-west from Mobile, in aid of Sherman's movement towards Atlanta. The command comprised the Fourth Wisconsin, Twelfth Illinois, Eighteenth New York, "Scott's Nine Hundred," and the Second Illinois Cavalry. Its course lay through a barren, sparsely settled country more or less covered with scrub and pitch-pine and interspersed with swamps. The streams were swollen and almost impassable and the roads were so bad that the expedition was compelled to abandon a number of its wagons which were burned. Forage was scarce and the men were soon reduced to quarter rations. Owing to the fact that about the only food to be found was sweet-potatoes, the expedition came to be known as "Davidson's sweet-potato raid." There were not more than a dozen shots fired upon the whole trip. Upon our arrival at Pearl River we camped for the night and during that time ten men succeeded in swimming across with ropes with a view of bridging the stream. A few went beyond to stand guard while pontoons were laid and in an hour the cavalry was crossing. This was followed by the artillery, consisting of Nimm's Massachusetts Battery and a small train. The pontoon bridge was soon removed when our march was resumed towards Pascagoula Bay, where we arrived hungry and worn, with scarcely any food for ourselves or horses. A double-handful of corn was all that could be spared for each horse during twenty-four hours. There was no grazing and no fodder--nothing but water, sand and pine-needles. In this condition we waited for five days until a consignment of grain and rations was received by boat from Lake Port Louisiana. In the meantime, some oyster-boats and tongs were discovered in a small bayou near the bay, which indicated the presence of oyster-beds. We improved the opportunity. There was always a rush in the early morning for an outfit. The lucky ones were soon able, however, to fill a few gunny-sacks and then give the others a chance. Those who came late would stick poles in the mud at low tide in about seven or eight feet of water and then, holding onto the poles, would go to the bottom and grope around until they found a cluster of shells which would be brought to the surface and handed to another to take to shore. Bunches were sometimes found as large as a bushel-basket. To hungry men, oysters without sauce was a most delightful substitute for nothing; but we longed for the trimmings, especially pepper. A raid upon the country soon furnished us with many strings of home-grown red-peppers. They were hot, but they served the purpose, and after three weeks of short rations we welcomed the combination; but no stretch of a Northern man's imagination was capable of bringing it up to the standard of a Northern Christmas or New Year's dinner--for both of which it had to serve. About the last of January we embarked for Lake Port Louisiana, from whence we returned to Baton Rouge, where we remained until March, 1865. We then took boat for New Orleans and camped in Carlton until the latter part of March. From New Orleans we went upon the Mobile Expedition by way of Barancas, Florida. I did not go directly with the regiment, having been detailed to the Quartermaster's Department which went upon a later boat. When I arrived at Barancas I found that my company had gone to Fort Blakely. It was considered unsafe for us to follow without an escort, and we were ordered to remain at the former place. While there, we received the news of Lee's surrender. Everybody was elated and appeared to be walking upon air. The guns at the navy-yard belched forth national salutes and these in turn were answered by the battle-ships. All were drunk with joy. About ten o'clock the next day, in the midst of our rejoicing, an officer rode into camp and stopped to speak to the men. A large and joyous group at once gathered to hear more of the good news. The officer spoke in a low tone. The men looked eager but there were no cheers. A hush fell over the crowd. Then words--almost whispered--passed from man to man: "_Lincoln has been assassinated!_" It was a staggering, benumbing, crushing blow. The men were dazed; they could not talk. Tears were everywhere--tears and silence. The grief of the men was indescribable. But the silence was of short duration. A fool in Company B, apparently in a spirit of bravado, said that he was "glad of it." Instantly the pent up wrath of the men burst out. There was a rush to quarters for arms. An officer, seeing the situation, placed an armed guard around the man. The guard was soon doubled and the offender rushed to a boat at the water front followed by about fifty men with drawn revolvers. The man was taken to Fort McCrea for safety, where he was court-martialed and sent to the Dry Tortugas to be discharged in disgrace. This was only one of numberless instances of a similar nature which occurred at the time. In a short time we marched across the country to Fort Blakely, from whence we were transported by boat to Mobile and went into camp near the Mobile and Ohio Railroad about four miles east of the town, where we remained for some days. Our regiment was at Columbus, Mississippi. Orders had been sent from there to Colonel Bush to forward the regimental mail and two hundred outfits of clothing. I was acting as clerk to the Regimental Quartermaster and was detailed by the Colonel to take the mail and stores to the regiment. My orders were to report to the Quartermaster in Mobile at three o'clock P.M., for a pass and instructions. In order to provide for the care of my horse, I left camp about ten o'clock and was in the eastern part of the city. My attention was attracted for a moment to an officer who was making his rounds and was being saluted by a guard near by, when a blinding flash occurred which caused my horse to rear so that I stood upon my toes in the stirrups. For an instant my strength seemed to leave me and I almost fell from the horse as he came down. Looking up, I saw an immense blaze which seemed to be a mile high, followed by great rolling cotton-like masses of clouds which flaked off into sheets. Debris of all descriptions, mingled with some human bodies, soon began to drop back to the earth. The Confederate magazine with five hundred tons of ammunition had exploded. It was a wonderful and appalling sight. The depot was blown to pieces, cotton sheds were destroyed and all of the glass in the city was broken. The Battle House, the largest hotel in the city, was wrecked and every dish in it broken. Great fissures and rents were everywhere seen in the streets and walls. The stores, which I was to have taken away that evening, had been loaded and stood upon the street, but the wagon was overturned and all of the cases crushed. As I rode along the street I met Captain Fred Pike of the Forty-Sixth Illinois. One of his legs had been cut by falling slate from a roof and he was hopping along by the side of a building. I dismounted and gave him my horse to go to camp. On the following evening I started to Columbus with the supplies. The regiment had broken camp before my arrival and I met the command at Artesia, twelve miles from Columbus, where I delivered the mail but was obliged to go on to Columbus to turn over the supplies. I then returned to Mobile and there embarked for New Orleans where I was temporarily stationed at regimental headquarters at Carlton, a short distance above the city. A day or two after my arrival, as I lay in my blankets under an orange tree, I was aroused just before daylight and gradually realized that somebody was shaking me. It proved to be Daniel Shaw, one of our company from Mount Morris, Illinois, who had been captured upon the Red River Expedition, about a year previous and confined in that horrible corral at Tyler, Texas. He hugged me frantically and wept like an hysterical child. It was a long time before he could speak; and then, amid tears and sobs he told a most harrowing and revolting story of the inconceivably brutal treatment to which he had been subjected. The prisoners were confined in an open corral or field without any shelter or protection whatever. Their food consisted of offal and discarded portions from the cattle and sheep slaughtered by their captors, who appropriated the edible parts for their own use. The most was eaten raw or in the form of a stew. The story was too revolting for repetition. The poor fellow was a mere skeleton and in a most wretched condition. Had he not been one of the most hardy men in the regiment, he could not have survived. His experience was but another proof that "War is Hell." From New Orleans we took steamer for Vicksburg but before we arrived at Baton Rouge, our boat took fire three times, which caused much delay. We reached our destination, however, about the tenth of June, where we joined our regiment and after a day or two, took passage on the "Superior," General Logan's old headquarters boat, for Shreveport, Louisiana. Under a general order, all companies having less than the full quota of men were required to consolidate with others. In compliance with this order our company was merged with Company E, while another took the letter A. It was the fault of the Colonel, who could have graded us fairly had he been so disposed. Although greatly dissatisfied, we were obliged to accept the situation as well as to endure other and more trying things. The men had received no pay since March and were destitute and discouraged. Under these conditions we were not in a mood to see others enjoy privileges which were denied to us. We spent the Fourth of July at Shreveport; our only food being "salt-horse," "hard-tack" and coffee. Some of the officers failed to appreciate the condition of the men and seemed to think that it afforded no reason why they should not have a good time and good things themselves. In harmony with this view, Colonel Mizner, of the Third Michigan, who was in command of the Brigade, prepared to give a sumptuous banquet in an old church which he occupied as headquarters and which was also the office of the Brigade Quartermaster by whom I was employed. Those who were compelled to confine their diet to salt-horse and hard-tack were not in sympathy with the spread and not averse to having it known. Through the concerted action of several hundred apparently inanimate oyster-cans belonging to our regiment, the Third Michigan and the Fourth Wisconsin, those innocent receptacles seemed to become suddenly endowed with life, became mysteriously filled with powder and succeeded in burying themselves in a kind of under-ground cordon around that church. The first course had scarcely been served and the banqueters were just enjoying their whiskey and other appetizers, when the cans registered a protest. The opening of the ground around that sanctuary was suggestive of the resurrection morn. The officers rushed out of the room in the wildest confusion. Persistent inquiry failed to develop the cause. After fruitless efforts they went back to finish their collation and had barely begun to taste the good things again, when the cans once more showed their cantankerousness. Pandemonium broke loose with ten times more din than ever. The banquet was called off and the officers ordered to their respective companies to "preserve order." It had its effect. The men were as demure as monks in a monastery. While perfect order was preserved by them, an astonishing amount of disorder was still "preserved" in the oyster-cans and the preserves--like all preserves subjected to too much warmth--continued to "work." From that time on, all through the night, the mysterious process went on. The hint was effectual. There were no more officer's banquets in the presence of the ill-fed and dissatisfied men. On the ninth of July, 1865, we left Shreveport and took up our long and tiresome march of six hundred miles to San Antonio, Texas. Through Louisiana it was not especially trying; but when we reached Texas and were obliged to travel over barren wastes, frequently as far as sixty miles without finding a drop of water, it seemed unendurable. A tropical mid-summer sun burned its way through the sky and onto the dusty, treeless plains until the heat-waves quivered upon the horizon like a blast from a furnace. Horses and men suffered intensely. One stretch of about one hundred miles east of Austin was especially trying. It was a continuous test of endurance from the time we left Shreveport until we arrived at San Antonio, thirty days later. During the march, small towns were sometimes passed where Confederate companies turned over their arms to our command. Upon our arrival at San Antonio, there appeared to be nothing to do but to wait. Aside from inspection and drills, the men idled in camp until they became so discontented and homesick that many deserted. Most of these were fine men and good soldiers but poor loafers. Nobody blamed them. All realized that the war was over and were looking for discharge. Instead of that we had been sent hundreds of miles over a barren waste to the frontier under most trying and discouraging conditions. Why was all this senseless wandering? We did not know. We were not aware that secret history was being made and that we were instrumental, as a result of these apparently meaningless acts, in saving the nation a second time. We did not know that our country was upon the verge of a foreign war, and that Napoleon the Third, anxious to regain the Louisiana Territory, which the First Emperor in his dire need had sold to us for a song, had been making elaborate preparations for war; and, believing our people to be exhausted, as they appeared to be, by one of the greatest conflicts of history and torn by internal strife, would be unable to make more than a feeble defence, had chosen this moment to strike. We did not know that our government was then undergoing one of the most trying ordeals of its existence. Later developments showed that the sudden mobilization on the frontier of an army of tried veterans, ready if necessary, to fight another war, made the foreigners gasp. France and Austria and Maximillian quietly subsided and the map of the United States required no revision. About the tenth of November, 1865, the order came to muster out the Second and Tenth Illinois and the Fourth Wisconsin Cavalry. It was the signal for a jubilation. The yells of ten thousand Indians would have been "audible silence" compared to the noise made by those four regiments. The Tenth Illinois sutler rolled out four barrels of whiskey and broke in the heads. Tin cups, camp-kettles, canteens and every liquid holding thing was used for its distribution. How many were drunk I know not. Men indulged who never tasted the stuff before; and, strange to say, the whole thing took the form of a good natured frolic. Horse-play, clownish tricks, songs, practical jokes--all were taken as a part of the fun. Had we realized what we had been there for, we might have been heard in France. Instead of sleeping in tents, the men had previously procured raw cow-hides which they made into hammocks and stretched in the trees. Each cow-hide served as a hammock for two and some trees would have five or six in a tier. As the boys became tired of celebrating they would slip off to bed; but they could not escape the watchfulness of the others who would wait until they could get a tree full, when some sly rascal would climb the tree, cut the thongs and the whole combination would come down in a heap; the victims apparently enjoying the joke as much as the jokers. I have never seen drunken men retain their good nature as they did on that occasion. On the 24th of November, 1865, we were mustered out. I remained in Texas to aid in settling up the Quartermaster's accounts but was obliged to return North on account of a severe attack of ague and arrived at Rochelle on the 21st of March, 1866. In the meantime, there had been a general exodus of soldiers from the South to their northern homes and the transportation lines, particularly the river steamers, were crowded with them. The feeling among those who represented the lost-cause, was intensely bitter and no Union soldier was safe anywhere in the South. A secret organization known as "The Knights of the Golden Circle," was charged as being responsible for many assassinations and other outrages. It was significant of conditions, that boiler explosions and other "accidents" occurred to a number of river steamers--all upon homeward voyages and all loaded with discharged Union soldiers. The most appalling of these was probably that of the "Sultana" which was lost at a point about fifty miles above Memphis on its passage up the Mississippi. While in midstream the boiler exploded--caused, it was believed by an explosive secretly placed in the fuel--and nearly all of the passengers, numbering about fifteen hundred, mostly discharged soldiers, were drowned. Among the victims of the disaster was J. A. Butterfield of Company A, whose home was in Oregon, Illinois. Butterfield had just been admitted to practice at the Oregon Bar, when the war broke out. He enlisted at the organization of the Company in Oregon, was present at the first election of officers and served earnestly and faithfully during the term of his three years enlistment, after which he was appointed as chief citizen clerk for a Division Quartermaster at a considerable salary. At the close of the war he resigned his position and started home with the intention of announcing his candidacy for Sheriff of Ogle County. His body was never recovered. It was known that he had a large sum of money in his possession which would have been a great aid to the dependent mother and sister whom he left behind. Butterfield was a brave and manly soldier and a general favorite with the members of his company. Bitter as was the feeling against the Northern soldiers, it did not approach in vindictiveness and malignant hatred, that which existed against Southern men who fought upon the Union side. There were two Southerners in our company: John S. Elder and James Neiley whose experiences were typical of those of thousands throughout the South. Elder was a native of Tennessee. About three years before the war he migrated with his parents to Denton County, Texas. His father was a staunch supporter of the Union and did not hesitate to announce his principles. His attitude was well known in the community where he lived and as partizan feeling increased, he became a marked man. At the outbreak of hostilities, he was called to Austin and was never afterwards seen by his friends. While there was no proof as to the cause of his mysterious disappearance, circumstances pointed to but one conclusion. To his family, no proof was necessary: they _knew_ what had happened. Shortly after the father's loss, John, an only son, was forced into the Confederate service. He was discreet and bided his time. At the battle of Prairie Grove, he escaped, made his way into the Union lines and succeeded in reaching St. Louis. This was shortly after the battle at Holly Springs, at which a portion of the Second Illinois Cavalry gained wide distinction by refusing to surrender to greatly superior numbers. Elder was looking for a chance to fight by the side of fighting men. Seeing in the St. Louis papers a graphic account of the Holly Springs incident, he immediately embarked for Memphis in the hope of finding the regiment. He was too late however and went on to the vicinity of Vicksburg where he was informed that Company A was with General Logan at Lake Providence. Arriving at the latter place, he presented himself to Captain Hotaling with whom he had a long conference. Hotaling was strongly impressed by Elder's bearing and words and the conference resulted in his immediate enlistment. The new recruit proved to be a valuable acquisition. He was a skillful horseman, an unerring shot, always cheerful and courteous, ready to perform the most arduous duty and, withal, fearless. Shortly after his enlistment the company started upon the campaign in the rear of Vicksburg. Elder was wounded at the Battle of Port Gibson during the first day of the campaign but went on with the command and participated in every hardship and engagement until the surrender of Vicksburg. He was with the company in all of its campaigning in Louisiana and was one of the twenty-two who re-enlisted at New Iberia. Debarred from his home, he was adopted by the veterans of the company as a "war orphan"; and, when veteran furloughs were granted, accompanied his comrades to the North where he was the subject of universal sympathy and generous hospitality. Elder returned with his friends to the front and remained a valiant, fearless fighter to the end. During the last fight in which the company was engaged, which occurred at Fort Blakely, a charge was made upon the Confederate works. The latter were protected by an abatis in which torpedoes were placed and so connected by wires that an abnormal tension upon a wire would cause an explosion. Elder was mounted upon a fine horse which ran against one of these wires directly over a torpedo. The explosion which followed tore the horse into shreds, but, owing to the intervention of its body, did not kill but only served to stun the rider who soon recovered from the shock. When the regiment was mustered out at San Antonio, Texas, Elder wished to go home and visit his mother; but upon the advice of friends and some old citizens of San Antonio, he gave it up as involving too great a risk and accompanied his comrades to Rochelle, where he remained until the following spring when his anxiety to see his mother caused him to return to Texas. It was a fatal step. As soon as his presence became known, a party of ex-Confederates assembled at night, surrounded the mother's house, captured the son, hanged him to a tree and riddled the body with bullets. James Neiley who was reared in western Louisiana had a similar experience. He found his way into the Union lines during the Red River Expedition, and upon the return of General Banks' Army, enlisted in Company A. Neiley was quite young but proved himself an excellent and faithful soldier, was liked and respected by all of his comrades, and served with credit to the end of the war when he went to Rochelle with the others. In the following year he returned with Elder and went to his home near Alexandria, Louisiana, where he had been about a week when he met with the same dreadful fate that had been meted out to his friend. And so perished two manly souls--victims to the terrible aftermath of war. Can there be compensation for such unspeakable atrocities which take the best and leave the worst? It may be; but this is a grist for "the mills of the Gods" to grind. And now--my tale is told. My sole excuse for telling it is that others, who might have done it have not made the attempt, and but few are left. I offer no apology for its crudities, imperfections or omissions. I am confident that our Company engaged in not less than a hundred skirmishes and encounters of which I have made no mention. The space which should have been allotted to it in the Red River Expedition is almost a blank. My silence as to many individual deeds of valor and self-sacrifice has not been intentional. I would gladly have called the roll and enumerated them one by one, for it would have been a roll of honor of which all might be justly proud. The worth of my story, if it has worth, lies in what it has preserved to the world as worthy. If it be interesting at all, it is because it has been done as a work of love in an attempt to do justice to, and to preserve some faint memory of a handful of men who were typical of that great host--some of whom gave all--and all of whom risked all, for a cause which has struggled towards the light since the first man gazed longingly and reverently at the stars. In the outcome of the great struggle, both sides won an equal victory, our friends, as the liberators of a race, our foes as the liberated from a degrading curse; a success and a defeat which made victor and vanquished alike the beneficiaries of a great inheritance; an inheritance, sanctified by a higher hope and a broader love; an inheritance founded in the conviction of the regal souls of the past that that for which man has so long wrought amid travail and pain and joy and woe and sighs and tears and blood, "shall not perish from the earth," but that this nation shall be its sponsor and its incarnation and may say to all the lands of the earth, "Right is eternal; it must and shall reign; 'Your people shall be my people.'" "Here shall a realm rise Mighty in manhood." It has not fully arisen yet and many watchers are losing faith in view of the subtle and dangerous perils which now beset it. Those causing them may triumph for a time but they are sowers of dragon's teeth which will rise up as armed men to their defeat. The universe is not a blunder; there is a power in it which makes for right; and the finger wielded by that power, has always pointed and still points--to the Morning Star. "Truth forever on the scaffold,--Wrong forever on the throne,-- Yet that scaffold sways the future,--and beyond the dim Unknown Standeth God within the shadow,--keeping watch upon His own." COLONEL SILAS NOBLE. Colonel Silas Noble was born in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, on February 19th, 1808. But little is known of his early history, further than that he read law, and at the age of twenty-six, was admitted to practice in his native town. In the following year he moved to Towanda, Pennsylvania, where he continued the practice of his profession until 1841, when he emigrated to Dixon, Illinois, then a frontier town known as Dixon's Ferry. In 1846 he was elected State Senator and served one term. In 1853 he established a private bank in Dixon known as "S. Noble & Co." In connection with this business he continued the practice of law until the breaking out of the Rebellion in 1861. When the second call for troops was made by President Lincoln Mr. Noble offered his services to Governor Yates, by whom he was appointed Colonel of the Second Illinois Cavalry, and on July 21st, 1861, was mustered into service. Colonel Noble was a warm personal friend of President Lincoln, who often visited him at his home and with whom he practiced his profession. At the time of Lincoln's inauguration the Colonel accompanied him on his trip from Springfield to Washington. Colonel Noble remained with the main body of the Regiment, which made an expedition with General C. F. Smith towards Fort Henry; and it was upon the information thus obtained that the campaign was decided upon which ultimately led to the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson. The regiment was engaged in many scouting expeditions and other movements under the leadership of its first commander, but took part in no important battles. On one occasion, with 350 men, Colonel Noble took the advance of a recognizance in force from Bolivar to La Grange, Tennessee, and obtained much valuable information. He was mustered out of the service on February 16th, 1863, shortly after which he met with a severe accident from which he never fully recovered. Four years later, on February 3rd, 1867, he died at his home in Dixon, Illinois, from an acute attack of pneumonia. Colonel Noble had a wide acquaintance and was highly honored in his home community and by all who knew him. [Illustration: LIEUTENANT COLONEL HARVEY HOGG] LIEUTENANT COLONEL HARVEY HOGG. Harvey Hogg was a native of Tennessee, having been born at Carthage, Smith County, in that state on September 14th, 1833. His parents were of Scotch descent. The mother died when he was about three years of age. Afterwards, the father remarried. He lived but a short time, however, and died in 1840, leaving Harvey and a half-brother, Grant A. Hogg, in charge of the widow. The boy was carefully reared by his step-mother and given the best schooling available, preparatory to a college course. He took the lead in his class at Emory and Henry College, Virginia, where he won a prize-medal for oratory and was afterwards graduated at the law-school at Lebanon as valedictorian of his class. He was married at Clarksville, Tennessee, in 1855, and in a short time removed to Bloomington, Illinois, where he was admitted to the Bar and soon obtained a recognized standing as a young lawyer of ability and promise. For several years he held the position of City Attorney and was, later, elected Prosecuting Attorney for that judicial district, which position he filled with honor, ability and dignity. As a native of Tennessee, Colonel Hogg inherited slaves, but was opposed to the institution. As a student in one of the Virginia colleges, he chose as the subject of a thesis, "The Evils of Slavery." This aroused the indignation and opposition of the faculty; but the young man insisted that he should "speak his honest convictions or not at all," and he did. Upon leaving Tennessee, he freed his last slave. From the time of his advent in Illinois, he took a warm interest in the slavery question, aided in the formation of the Republican party, and in 1856, canvassed McLean County for "Freemont and Freedom." In the senatorial contest of 1858, he supported Lincoln as against Douglas and used his utmost efforts for the election of the latter as President. Colonel Hogg was a popular anti-slavery speaker. His intimate familiarity with slavery, his love for and understanding of the Southern people and his appreciation of their entanglement with that blighting institution, enabled him to present his side of the case with great fairness, force and conviction. Governor Yates was so strongly impressed with his ability that, upon the organization of the Second Illinois Cavalry, he tendered him the position of Lieutenant Colonel. It was at once accepted, and on July 24th, 1861, he was mustered into the service. While his regiment was stationed in Tennessee, Mrs. Hogg went there to be near him, but died soon after her arrival. This was a severe blow to her husband who was devotedly attached to her. During the winter of 1861-2, the regiment was stationed at Paducah, Kentucky, where much scouting was done. On the night of March 2nd, 1862, Lieutenant Colonel Hogg with two hundred men, started out in an attempt to reconnoiter Columbus, Kentucky. Upon the following day they learned that the place was being evacuated. Reaching it about sundown, they dashed into the town with drawn sabers and ran up the stars and stripes. Several large guns and a considerable quantity of military stores were secured. Upon the following day, General Sherman, with a fleet of gunboats and transports and three regiments of infantry, steamed carefully down the river and was surprised to find the place in possession of the Union forces. On March 31st, 1862, Colonel Hogg, with two companies of his regiment, took part in an expedition under General Quimby in the neighborhood of Union City, Tennessee, in which they dispersed a Confederate brigade, destroyed its camp-equipage and captured fourteen prisoners and a considerable quantity of stores. On July 4th, 1862, at Trenton, Tennessee, Colonel Hogg delivered an address to the citizens of that place and vicinity which produced a marked effect upon those who were in doubt and did much to aid the Union cause. This valiant soldier met his death at the battle of Bolivar, Tennessee, on August 30th, 1862. Colonel M. D. Leggett, of the 78th Ohio, being at that place, was attacked by a large force of Confederates, including the Second Missouri Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Robert McCullough and the First Mississippi Cavalry, of which Colonel Hogg's half brother, Dr. Grant A. Hogg, was surgeon. The following report of the battle is given by Colonel Leggett: "The infantry reinforcements had not arrived. The balance of the Seventy-eighth Ohio was reported close by, but not near enough to support the artillery, hence it could not be used. At this point, Lieut. Col. Harvey Hogg, of the Second Illinois Cavalry, came up with orders from you to report to me upon the field with four companies of his command. I immediately assigned him a position upon the right of the road, but discovering that the enemy would probably make a cavalry charge upon us before Colonel Force could reach me from Van Buren Road, I asked Colonel Hogg if he could hold a position on the left of the road and a little to the front of where he then was, against a charge from the rebel cavalry. He promptly said he could and besought me to give him the position, which was done. "He had not completed his change of place before the enemy charged down the line of the road in vast numbers, but meeting the deadly fire of the four infantry companies under command of Captain Chandler, they were compelled to retreat, leaving many of their men and horses strewn upon the ground. "They twice repeated their attempt to get possession of the road and were both times repulsed by the companies under Captain Chandler. Then they threw down the fences and entered the field upon our left and opened fire upon Colonel Hogg's cavalry and the two companies of the Twentieth Ohio attached to Captain Chandler's command. The infantry and cavalry returned the fire briskly and with terrible effect. I then discovered that a full regiment of cavalry was forming in the rear of those firing upon us, with the determination of charging upon our cavalry and that portion of the infantry on the left of the road. I said to Colonel Hogg if he had any doubt about holding his position he had better fall back and not receive their charge. He promptly replied: 'Colonel Leggett, for God's sake don't order me back.' I replied, 'Meet them with a charge, Colonel, and may Heaven bless you.' He immediately ordered his men to draw their sabers, and after giving them the order to 'Forward,' he exclaimed, 'Give them cold steel, boys,' and darting ahead of his men, he fell, pierced by nine balls." Dr. Grant A. Hogg, in a letter to William K. Baldwin, bearing date March 19th, 1900, writes: "* * * Gen. Bob. McCullough, now of Boonsville, Missouri, was in command of the regiment that killed my brother. * * * He (Col. Hogg) was trying hard to get to Col. McCullough to kill him with his saber and if it had not been for three of McCullough's men who shot him, he would have killed McCullough." Colonel Hogg's charge resulted in driving the enemy from the field and winning the battle at a time when the outlook seemed hopeless. William M. Baldwin, who was a member of Company K, and knew the Colonel well, has given the following estimate of his character: "Colonel Hogg was the picture of manly strength and soldierly bearing; about six feet in height, compactly built, erect, moving with the easy step of an athlete as if he delighted in action, a superb horseman, black hair, dark eyes and swarthy complexion; loved by his men for his ever courteous conduct to them and trusted by them for his bravery and courage, had he not been thus early cut down in his military career he would no doubt have achieved high military honors and placed himself beside the great cavalry leaders of the war." [Illustration: COL. JOHN J. MUDD] COLONEL JOHN J. MUDD. Colonel John J. Mudd was born on the ninth of January, 1820, in St. Charles County, Missouri, where his parents had emigrated during the previous year from Kentucky. When John was twelve years of age, his father died from an attack of Asiatic cholera, and within a few months thereafter the widow, with six children, moved to Pike County, Illinois, and located near Pittsfield where they thereafter made their home. In 1850 Colonel Mudd made an over-land trip to California, returned by sea, and during the following year made a second over-land trip. Many of the emigrants were unprovided for the long and tedious journey and would have faced starvation had not Colonel Mudd generously divided his supplies with them until they were exhausted. In 1854 Mr. Mudd moved to St. Louis, where he established an extensive mercantile business as well as a reputation for integrity and public spirit. In 1859, he moved with his family and business to Chicago, where, shortly after the outbreak of the war, he enlisted as a member of the Second Illinois Cavalry, and on September 23rd, 1861, received his commission as Second Major. Major Mudd was stationed for a time at Paducah, Kentucky, and participated in the subsequent campaigns in Kentucky, Tennessee and Mississippi. Immediately after the surrender of Fort Donelson, Major Mudd was informed that a man had just left with important papers. Mudd followed in the hope of overtaking the man, and in doing so, passed beyond the Federal lines. He had gone but a short distance when he met a citizen who asked for protection, which was granted. As the two were riding towards Dover, they were joined by two others who also asked for protection. While engaged in conversation with them the first one fell in the rear, drew his revolver and fired at the Major. The bullet struck near the spine but the wound was not fatal. The Major immediately put spurs to his horse, when the man fired a second time but without effect, and then fled. Upon his way to our lines, the Major, while suffering intensely from his wound and weak from the loss of blood, captured a rebel officer and, being loath to risk further bullets in the back, compelled him to ride into camp in advance. Owing to the confusion following the surrender of the fort, the Major had much difficulty in finding a surgeon to examine and dress his wound. It was decided not to extract the bullet, and he carried it until his death. The wound healed slowly and he never fully recovered from its effects. After a short leave of absence, the Major was ordered on detached service upon the staff of General McClernand, where he remained until that officer was relieved from his command at the surrender of Vicksburg. Major Mudd participated in the operations at the siege of Corinth; and during the following winter was with his regiment in that neighborhood. At the battle of Holly Springs, after the cowardly surrender of the place by Colonel Murphy, he not only refused to surrender, but, with a small detachment of his men, cut his way through the rebel lines by which the post had been surrounded, and escaped. His conduct upon that occasion won the respect and admiration of his men. His fighting spirit was shown by capturing a considerable number of prisoners while his own detachment was escaping from a large pursuing body. On December 31st, 1862, Major Mudd was promoted to the position of Lieutenant Colonel, to fill the vacancy formed by the resignation of Lieutenant Quincy McNeil; and a few weeks later, when Colonel Noble was mustered out of the service, he was promoted to fill the latter's position. Colonel Mudd was actively engaged in the Vicksburg campaign and participated in every battle from Port Gibson to that of Black River Bridge. During the siege of Vicksburg, his command was engaged in guarding the rear to prevent an attack by Johnson. Shortly before the surrender, while reconnoitering in the Black River swamp, he was shot by one of the enemy from a concealed position. One bullet struck below the left eye and lodged near the ear, while another struck near the collar-bone and passed nearly out through the shoulder. His aides supported him upon his horse and enabled him to escape capture. He bled profusely and suffered much but retained consciousness and sufficient strength to permit his removal to a place of safety at the house of a widow who did all in her power to render him comfortable until the arrival of a surgeon. He was sent to his home, where he soon recovered and again reported for duty at New Orleans, where his command was then stationed. Colonel Mudd, as Acting Brigadier General, was given command of a brigade of cavalry in the Bayou Teche campaign under General Banks. There was much fighting and skirmishing of which the Colonel's men bore the brunt. The health of their leader became so impaired from hardship and exposure that he was forced to return to New Orleans. Upon his arrival there he received an order to recruit his regiment, and immediately went to Springfield, Illinois, where he opened a recruiting office. Upon filling the ranks, he returned with his men to New Orleans, from whence he was ordered to Baton Rouge. At the latter place he received an order from General Banks to report without delay as Chief of Staff to General McClernand at Alexandria, Louisiana. On the first of May, 1864, he embarked upon the steamer "City-Belle," for Alexandria. Three days after, at Dunne's Bayou, upon the Red River, a band of guerrillas opened fire upon the steamer from a masked battery at close range. There were but two guns but they were enough for the purpose. The second shot broke the pilot-wheel and killed the pilot. Another caused an explosion of one of the boilers and the boat became unmanageable. This had barely occurred, when Colonel Speigle, of the 120th Ohio Infantry, senior officer in command, was killed. Colonel Mudd then assumed command and ordered the engineer to run the boat ashore to permit a dash upon the enemy. All efforts to accomplish this failed. After the fifth shot, the enemy fired grape and canister and the execution was appalling. In the hope of pulling the vessel to land, Colonel Mudd put a life-preserver upon one of the men who swam ashore with the line. At this juncture Colonel Mudd was instantly killed by a shot in the forehead as he stood upon the boat giving orders. Could the vessel have been landed, the guerrillas, who were greatly inferior in numbers, might easily have been driven off or captured. There was no alternative, however, and the vessel was surrendered. Of the six hundred soldiers on board, all but about one hundred and sixty were either killed or captured. The others escaped; Daniel Bates, who carried the line ashore, and the Colonel's orderly being among the number, and made their way to Alexandria. The guerrillas burned the boat and robbed both living and dead. All of the latter, except one, being stripped of their clothing. And here occurred one of those inexplicable things, of which examples may be found all through history, indicating how closely the highest and most admirable characteristics of men are intertwined with the most shockingly brutal ones. Colonel Mudd, whose commission as Acting Brigadier General was in his pocket, was buried in his uniform and his name marked upon the grave. Upon the retreat of our army, the grave was discovered and the body disinterred and removed to New Orleans in care of Lieutenant J. S. McHenry of Company A, Second Illinois Cavalry, where it was embalmed and taken to the General's home at Pittsfield, Illinois, for burial. At a meeting of the Second Illinois Cavalry, held at Baton Rouge, Louisiana, on May 22nd, 1864, to render respect to the memory of its former commander, the highest tribute was paid to him both as a soldier and a man. General Mudd was kind, genial, fair-minded, manly, loyal and true and possessed a moral courage not always associated with physical bravery. This characteristic is well illustrated by an incident which occurred shortly before the outbreak of the war. In December, 1860, he was at the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans. Feeling among the slave-holders was at high tension. It became known that Mr. Mudd, who was then a Chicago merchant, had voted for Lincoln, and those present insisted that he should express his views. He did so, frankly, fairly and fearlessly; closing with the statement: "The loyal North, with the loyal people of the South, will preserve the Union and sustain Mr. Lincoln as President at any cost." A citizen, Mr. Anthony Coyle, who heard him, said: "This was the most loyal act performed by any man in the city while I was there"; adding, "Colonel Mudd expressed his views with the best of judgment and intelligence and made a lasting impression upon the minds of friend and foe." It was not enough, however, to be fair. Sectional hatred had passed all bounds and Mr. Mudd was driven from the hotel and from the city. There were a few loyal men in New Orleans at the time who had aided in protecting Northern men and in helping them to leave the place. These, of whom Mr. Coyle was one, helped Mr. Mudd to escape in safety, but not until he had had the satisfaction of saying to those who drove him out and threatened his life, "I shall come again when I can publicly express my sentiments and announce for whom I have voted without fear of being murdered by a mob of traitors." Nothing could have been more gratifying to him than the subsequent realization that his prophecy had been fulfilled. By a strange coincidence, about one year after this occurrence, Mr. Coyle enlisted in Colonel Mudd's regiment. Colonel Mudd was survived by a widow and daughter. The latter, Ella Webb Mudd, who attended a reunion held at Pittsfield, Illinois, in 1893, was adopted as "Daughter of the Regiment." In reply to the vote of adoption, she said: "Gentlemen, Comrades of my father: I wonder if you all know how unprepared I am for this call to come before you; to be sure, I was told a day or so ago that this would probably be done tonight but I did not know until this afternoon that I was expected to appear in it. "However, a soldier's daughter should have some courage and certainly I may try, without apology, to tell you how thoroughly I appreciate the honor you have just given me--the highest in your power. And yet more highly I value the motive which prompted your action, for right well do I know that it is not for myself, but springs from your love and devotion to my father, and by it you give additional proof that his memory is still fresh in your hearts. "As I have met one and another of you, and read the many letters to my mother and myself from Comrades we have never seen, I have realized more and more how you loved him and what he was to you--as one so beautifully expressed it--'Not only our commander, but friend and brother as well.' So is it any wonder that I am glad to see you? "Let me once more thank you for what you have done--thank you in the name of my father--for all who knew him, either in the army or otherwise, know how well he would have enjoyed these occasions, and how this would have gratified him;--so, for him, my mother and myself, I thank you, and believe me, I shall ever proudly bear the title of 'Daughter of the Regiment' to which he belonged." The record of General Mudd is his epitaph. This can never be taken away, and to attempt to add to it by words would lessen its soldierly dignity. [Illustration: COL. BENJAMIN F. MARSH] COLONEL BENJAMIN F. MARSH. Benjamin F. Marsh was a native of the State which he served as a soldier. He was born in Warsaw County, Illinois, on November 19th, 1835. Reared upon a farm, he received the rudiments of an education in the public schools and subsequently spent four years at Jubilee College, but did not complete the course. Mr. Marsh was admitted to the Bar in 1860 and commenced practice in his native county; but the rebellion soon served to change his occupation. Early in the beginning of the war Mr. Marsh organized a cavalry company and tendered his services with that of the company to Governor Yates. The latter was unable to accept the offer owing to the fact that cavalry was not included in President Lincoln's call; whereupon Mr. Marsh at once enlisted as a private in the Sixteenth Illinois Infantry, in which regiment he was chosen as Quarter-Master. The regiment was sent to Missouri: and shortly after its arrival, Quarter-Master Marsh was recalled by a telegram from Governor Yates, offering to accept his company of cavalry. He immediately returned to his home at Warsaw and recruited the company afterwards known as Company G of the Second Illinois Cavalry, of which he was elected Captain. The brave, dashing, manly and noble qualities of Captain Marsh caused him to be popular with his superior officers as well as with his men, and he received rapid advancement. He was promoted to the position of Major on December 31st, 1862, Lieutenant Colonel, on May 3rd, 1864, and Colonel, on August 29th, 1865. Colonel Marsh was engaged in active service in the first and second Vicksburg campaigns and did much towards saving his command and others in the unfortunate and humiliating Red River Expedition. At Holly Springs he refused to be surrendered by the officer in command, and after cutting his way with a small detachment through the line by which they were surrounded, charged through another body and made a juncture with Major Bush, whereupon the two detachments charged back through the rebel lines, released their comrades who had been captured, and again cut their way out. During this engagement he received three severe wounds but kept on fighting. Upon one occasion upon the Red River Expedition, a shell exploded directly over his head and a fragment from it killed his horse. Of four gun-shot wounds, he carried the lead of a part of them throughout his life. With the exception of Virginia, and North and South Carolina, he campaigned in every State of the Confederacy. Colonel Marsh was mustered out of the service in January, 1866 and returned to his home where he resumed the practice of law. In 1876 he was elected to Congress as the representative of his District, which position he held for three successive terms until 1883. After a period of retirement, he was again elected for four successive terms. During the Spanish American war, he was offered a commission by President McKinley as Brigadier General, but refused it owing to the slight prospect for active service. Colonel Marsh was a large land-holder in his native County, and at the time of his death, was the owner of the farm upon which he was born. He died at his home in Warsaw on June 2nd, 1905, honored, respected and loved for what he was and what he did. [Illustration: MAJOR JOHN R. HOTALING] MAJOR JOHN R. HOTALING. John R. Hotaling (or Houghtaling, as originally spelled) was born in Sharon, Schoharie County, New York, on March 3rd, 1824. His parents were of the old "Knickerbocker" stock and he inherited the sturdy, persistent and manly characteristics of his race. At the age of fifteen, he was "bound out" for three years as an apprentice to a printer; but after serving for eighteen months, he bought his "time" and went to New York City where, after numerous disappointments, he obtained employment in a printing office and worked at the trade for a year. At the end of the year he went abroad with a Captain Hitchcock, with whose family he had become acquainted, and during an absence of five months, visited Antwerp, Rotterdam and other European cities. Upon his return he was employed as the overseer of a wire-mill and soon obtained a thorough knowledge of the business. His energy and ability attracted the attention of an English Company that was about to start a like enterprise and he was made foreman of their factory. A proof of the estimation in which he was held is indicated by the fact that he was the only one in the company's service who had not served an apprenticeship of seven years. Mr. Hotaling remained with the English company until the beginning of the Mexican War, when he enlisted in a New York company of mounted dragoons. The company shipped to Vera Cruz and from thence joined the main army which fought its way to the City of Mexico. Hotaling was one of the first to enter, and one of the last to leave that place. While there he had an encounter with guerrillas and received a severe saber-cut which came near being fatal and would have proven so but for the prompt assistance of a comrade. Mr. Hotaling made his home in the Southern States for about three years after the close of the Mexican war. Upon the discovery of gold in California, he was among the first to join the tide of immigration to that state. Going to New York he joined a company of sixty who chartered a ship to take them to their destination by way of Cape Horn. The voyage bore every promise of a most attractive outing. The chartered vessel was a thing of beauty for its day, the cabin being luxuriously furnished and all things betokened the most refined comfort. Much to their surprise, however, when the time came for sailing, there had been a complete transformation. The cabin had been stripped of everything suggestive of comfort and in place of rare china and the sumptuous service promised, they were introduced to tin cups and plates and iron spoons. Aside from this, the vessel proved to be unseaworthy and they were compelled to stop at Rio Janeiro for repairs, where complaint was made to the American Consul. The ship was detained at Rio Janeiro thirty-one days. During this time Mr. Hotaling became acquainted with some influential citizens who were attracted to him and by whom he was invited to attend a birthday reception given by the Emperor, Dom. Pedro, at which he was presented to the Emperor and Empress. Shortly afterwards he was entertained by the Emperor who exhibited great interest in the United States, and particularly in its public schools. The ship put in at the port of Calao where it remained fifteen days. During this time Mr. Hotaling visited Lima and other places of interest. Again the ship weighed anchor and resumed its tiresome course. At last, after a voyage of eight months and three days it arrived in the port of San Francisco in the autumn of 1849. Mr. Hotaling failed to find success in the land of gold, and in 1851 returned to New York. From there he emigrated to Illinois and located at the present site of Rochelle, then known as Hickory Grove, where he engaged in mercantile business and remained until the beginning of the Civil War. In the summer of 1861 he recruited a cavalry company, afterwards known as Company A, of the Second Illinois Cavalry. Captain Hotaling soon became dissatisfied with his superior officers and succeeded in having Companies A and B detailed upon detached service. It was his opinion that by so doing he could secure better results than could otherwise be accomplished, and time justified his judgment. Captain Hotaling was in the Fort Donelson campaign, and at the battle of Shiloh was detailed upon General Grant's Staff to command the Tenth Missouri Sharp-Shooters. His company acted as escort to General Ord and later, to General Logan, remaining with the latter until after the surrender of Vicksburg. After being with General Logan a short time, Captain Hotaling was appointed Senior Aid upon the latter's staff, with the title of Major, in which capacity he served until the close of the war. [Illustration: FIVE OF SIX HOTALING BROTHERS WHO FOUGHT IN THE WAR DIGHTON JOHN R. CHARLES NICHOLAS STUBEN] In the Atlanta campaign Major Hotaling performed an important service. He was conspicuous in the battle of Atlanta and took general supervision in General Logan's stead, of that part of the line represented by the Fifteenth Corps. When the Confederate assault was made, he was at the front with Smyth's Battery and narrowly escaped capture. As a result, he lost his horse and personal equipment. Later, he was instrumental in rallying the men of Jones' Brigade when they were badly disordered, and led them in a brilliant charge up to the guns of the enemy; thereby recapturing the rifle-pits and De Gress' Battery. Much of the credit for the victory at Atlanta was given to Major Hotaling by General Logan, who said of him that, "as a brave, diligent and faithful officer, he had no superior in the service." General C. C. Walcott, of Columbus, Ohio, who was present at the battle, is reported to have said that he "considered Major Hotaling as one of the bravest officers in the field and that our forces owed their success before Atlanta, more to him than to any other one man; that he had wondered why he did not receive promotion immediately afterwards." The Major's modest reply to this suggestion was characteristic. The substance of it was that in the position he then occupied, having as he did, the full confidence of General Logan and the control of fifteen thousand men, he thought that he could be of more service to his country than he could possibly have been by any promotion he might hope to have gotten. At the close of the war, Major Hotaling returned to his home in Rochelle, Illinois, and in 1869 was appointed Post Master of that place. Some of his later experiences were the outgrowth of early California history. For some years during the pioneer days of that State, Henry Meigs, of San Francisco, was the leading banker upon the western coast. His mining, lumbering and other interests grew so rapidly and required such a large capital that he suddenly found himself unable to meet his engagements. With bankruptcy before him, he collected as much gold as possible, bought a bark and put to sea with his treasure. The vessel was becalmed in a fog in the Golden Gate. Meigs' flight and the absence of the bark were discovered the same evening and a steamer was sent in pursuit. It passed so closely to the becalmed bark that its lights were seen and conversation upon it heard upon the fugitive ship. Nobody on board the bark, unless it may have been the captain, knew the identity of Meigs or that they were being pursued. Before morning a breeze enabled them to clear the harbor and they sailed for Otahitee. From there they touched at various islands in the Pacific but apparently without any definite destination in view. Nicholas Hotaling, a brother of the Major, who was the Second officer of the vessel, attracted the attention of Meigs, who seemed to take a warm interest in him. Hotaling was disposed to reciprocate the feeling but became suspicious, owing to the apparently aimless wandering of the vessel. His room was next to that of Meigs. One night he heard a sound in Meigs' room like the chinking of coin. Looking through a slight crack in the partition, he saw Meigs upon the floor before an open chest filled with gold coin and bullion, which convinced him that something was wrong. After a cruise of several months, the ship entered the harbor of Valparaiso, and Meigs was put on shore with his box. He offered fine inducements to Hotaling to stay with him, but the latter refused and neither saw the other for many years. With the money at his disposal (which, as afterwards learned, amounted to five hundred thousand dollars), coupled with his great business sagacity, Meigs was soon at the head of large projects, all of which were successful--the chief one being the Trans-Andean Railway. His first thought, after his great success, was to retrieve his good name which had stood as a synonym of honor in California before his default; and to make recompense to those who had been ruined or injured by his act. He had retained a list of the names of his creditors with the amount due to each, and in due time paid every debt in full, together with interest. Many indictments were pending against him in California, but when he made restitution, a special act of the Legislature was passed cancelling them all. Upon hearing of Meigs' fame, Hotaling wrote to him. Meigs had not forgotten his old friend. He immediately replied, offering him a liberal inducement to go to Chili. The offer was accepted and was soon followed by another to Major Hotaling of a position in Central America in connection with a railroad project then undergoing development in that country. Leaving the Post Office in charge of his wife, Major Hotaling went to Central America in the fall of 1871. The climate proved to be too trying and in a few months he was compelled to resign and returned home. In 1874 Major Hotaling was induced to visit the gold fields of South America; but again the climate and other things equally trying, compelled him to return. In 1883 he went to Huron, South Dakota, and finding the climate especially beneficial, resigned his position as Post Master, and in the spring of 1884 moved with his family to that place where he died on October 13th, 1886. His remains were interred in Lawnridge Cemetery, Rochelle, Illinois. Major Hotaling was one of six brothers who served during the war; three of whom, Nicholas, Charles and Dighton, were in his company; the others, Oscar and Steuben, were in Eastern regiments. The character of Major Hotaling was an attractive one. He was quiet, modest, sincere and dignified, but always pleasant and approachable. As a soldier, he was earnest, loyal and brave to a degree, and the welfare of his men was his first consideration. He never commanded a soldier to go where he would not lead, and never hesitated to lead because Death stood in the way. On one occasion at Vicksburg a shell fell in a trench where he was standing with others. Without hesitation he grasped the shell with its burning fuse and threw it over the ramparts almost at the instant of its explosion. This act was characteristic of the man in all emergencies, and was but one of many which went to make up his career as a soldier. THE END. [Illustration: ILLINOIS STATE MONUMENT AT SHILOH "Illinois erects this monument to commemorate her sons who here gave their services to perpetuate the honor and glory of the United States."] ROSTER OF COMPANY A Name and Rank. Residence. Date of rank Date of or enlistment. muster. Remarks. CAPTAINS-- John R. Hotaling Lane Aug. 24, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Promoted Major William B. Cummins Lane Nov. 19, 1863 Nov. 26, 1864 Discharged June 24, 1865 FIRST LIEUTS.-- Frank B. Bennett Lane Aug. 24, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Resigned June 3, 1862 William B. Cummins Lane June 3, 1862 July 17, 1862 Promoted Edward C. Baker White Rock Nov. 19, 1863 Nov. 26, 1864 Mustered out SECOND LIEUTS.-- Albert J. Jackson Morrison Aug. 24, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Resigned Mar. 19, 1862 William B. Cummins Lane Mar. 18, 1862 Nov. 16, 1862 Promoted Shepherd G. Patrick Dixon June 3, 1862 Aug. 14, 1861 Resigned Sept. 13, 1862 James S. McHenry Lane Sept. 13, 1862 Aug. 14, 1861 Resigned Mar. 3, 1864 FIRST SERGEANT-- William B. Cummins Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Promoted 2d Lieutenant Q. M. SERGEANT-- J. S. McHenry Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Promoted 2d Lieutenant SERGEANTS-- J. Q. Bowers White Rock Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Nicholas Hotaling Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 D. B. Dewey Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Apr. 22, 1862 Frank Hatch Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Prisoner of war since Feb. 12, 1862. Reported to have died in prison CORPORALS-- Isaac Brown Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as private B. F. Berry Dixon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died Mar. 27, 1862 Harvey R. James Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as private S. G. Patrick Dixon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Promoted 2d Lieutenant J. A. B. Butterfield Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Serg't. G. W. Hemstock Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Serg't. BLACKSMITH-- Edmond Connor Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged July 8, 1862 BUGLER-- Frank Clendenin Morrison Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Trans. to 8th Ill. Cavalry PRIVATES-- Antisdale, Simon L. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died, N. Orleans, Oct. 12, 1863 Allen, Charles Morrison Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Boyce, Benjamin Pine Rock Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Corp. Belles, Cornelius Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Corp. Beck, Anton Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Corp. Bechtol, Reuben Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Jan. 20, 1862 Baker, Edward C. White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Burghardt, Geo. H. White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 M. O., Sept. 3, 1864, as Serg't. Crosby, William White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Killed near Vermillion, La., Nov. 11, 1863 Curry, Charles White Rock Sept. 2, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Dunlap, Joseph Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Jan. 20, 1863 Doud, George Dixon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Feb. 3, 1862, to join gunboat service Dewey, L. F. White Rock Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Sept. 18, 1863 Denkler, S. F. Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Edwards, H. R. Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Fletcher, S. H. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Feland, Charles White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Gritz, John Franklin Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Gillet, Asa W. White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Hill, Hiram Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Sept. 9, 1862 Hotaling, D. W. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged July 11, 1862 Hotaling, Charles Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Dec. 20, 1861 Hodgsdon, Charles O. Dixon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Corp. Hunisdon, Lewis Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged June 30, 1862 Hardcastle, George Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 18, 1864 Haslett, S. W. Polo Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged April 11, 1864 Hicks, H. G. Freeport Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Prom. Sergeant Major Huffman, George Franklin Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged April 18, 1862 Hughes, John A. Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Aug. 11, 1864, as Serg't. Hubberd, Lewis Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died at Memphis, July 28, 1863; wounds Higgs, Thomas H. Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Hull, Jedediah D. White Rock Sept. 2, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Dec. 6, 1861 Harnaker, Morgan Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died, Memphis, Feb. 26, 1863 Hilands, Robert Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Johnson, Samuel Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Jan. 7, 1863 Klock, Martin P. Polo Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Lewis, Charles Byron Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Sept. 4, 1861 Luttis, Jacob Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died Feb. 25, 1862 Myers, William R. Morrison Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Feb. 3, 1862 Morrell, J. V. Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Sept. 5, 1862 Manning, Joseph Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Jan. 26, 1862 Mack, John P. Pecatonica Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Mills, G. H. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran McCorckle, James Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 1st Serg't. Killed in action at Port Gibson, Miss., May 20, 1863 Masaleo, William White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Deserted Aug. 1, 1862 Marson, Samuel G. White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Nuppenan, Henry White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Nelson, Charles Franklin Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged April 18, 1862 Pond, D. B. White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged April 28, 1862 Pottarf, B. R. Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died at Trenton, Tenn., Aug. 3, 1862 Prescott, William Winnebago Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Parsons, James F. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Padgett, James L. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Petrie, John R. Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Nov. 19, 1862 Place, Samuel M. Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Pond, C. K. White Rock Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died, St. Louis, July 19, 1863 Rhoades, John Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Rogers, William Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Jan. 20, 1862 Sheldon, Marion R. Dixon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Shaw, Daniel D. Mt. Morris Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out June 11, 1865 Smith, Frank Lane Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Steele, Calvin Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Sheaff, Peter White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Mustered out Sept. 3, 1864 Shannon, Osborn White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Feb., 1864, as Serg't. Sheaff, Joseph White Rock Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Disch. Sept. 3, 1864, as Serg't. Stillwell, William F. Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Townsend, Grant White Rock Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Taylor, George Pecatonica Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Twiney, Francis Mt. Morris Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged May 15, 1862 Van Wey, George Oregon Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Discharged May 8, 1862 Wells, D. J. Byron Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Wise, James Byron Aug. 8, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Re-enlisted as Veteran Winters, George W. Lane Sept. 4, 1861 Aug. 14, 1861 Died Sept. 22, 1862 VETERANS-- Baker, Edward C. Pine Rock Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Prom. Sgt., then 1st Lieut. Chatterton, Chas. E. Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Edwards, Hugh R. Leaf River Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Elder, John S. Lake Providence Jan. 5, 1864 Feb. 5, 1864 Corp'l M. O., June 22, 1865, as of first enlistment Feeland, Charles Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Fletcher, Samuel H. Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Gillet, Asa W. White Rock Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Higgs, Thomas H. Mt. Morris Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Klock, Martin J. Polo Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Mills, George H. Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Sgt. M. O. as supernumerary non-commis. officer, June 24, 1865 Mack, John P. Elida Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Prescott, William Elida Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Padgett, James L. Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Rhoades, John Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Stillwell, William F. White Rock Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Co. Q. M. Sgt. M. O., June 24, 1865, as supernumerary non-com. officer Steel, Calvin Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Smith, Frank Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Townsend, Grant White Rock Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. A, as consol. Taylor, George Pecatonica Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Towner, Seth S. Lane Jan. 5, 1864 Feb. 5, 1864 Died, N. Orleans, Dec. 16, 1864 Wise, James Leaf River Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Wells, David J. Leaf River Jan. 5, 1864 Jan. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. RECRUITS-- Airhart, William W. Lane Aug. 27, 1862 ---- Discharged Sept. 10, 1863 Aulis, Charles W. Lane Sept. 3, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Adams, Robert M. Lane Aug. 27, 1862 ---- Died, Vicksburg, Aug. 8, 1863 Allen, Hiram ---- Dec. 23, 1863 ---- Deserted Mar. 19, 1864 Austin, George Decatur Jan. 4, 1864 Feb. 2, 1864 Trans. to Co. D, as consol. Archer, John Carthage Aug. 12, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 13, 1865, See Recruits, Co. H. Brewin, George ---- ---- ---- -------- Boughman, Lewis Barry Nov. 18, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Missing in action at Sabine Cr. Roads, La., April 8, 1864 Beedle, John Douglas Co. Jan. 25, 1864 Jan. 25, 1864 Tr. to 2d La. Inf., Oct. 17, 1864 Chatterton, Chas. E. Lane Sept. 2, 1861 ---- Re-enlisted as Veteran Casler, Orlando C. Lane Aug. 27, 1862 Apr. 21, 1863 -------- Conaway, Jeremiah White Rock Sept. 3, 1862 ---- -------- Coe, George R. Union Grove Feb. 1, 1864 Feb. 10, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. DeGroudt, Clement Union Grove Feb. 1, 1864 Feb. 10, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Disbrow, Charles Decatur Jan. 4, 1864 Feb. 2, 1864 Mustered out June 22, 1865 Davis, Phillip Bourbon Feb. 3, 1864 Feb. 3, 1864 Deserted Nov. 18, 1864 Dewey, James C. Rockford Nov. 4, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Died at Baton Rouge, La. Elder, John S. Louisville, Tex. Mar. 3, 1863 Apr. 21, 1863 Re-enlisted as Veteran Ellis, John Douglas Co. Jan. 25, 1864 Jan. 25, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Fergus, James A. Jacksonville Sept. 24, 1862 Apr. 21, 1863 Mustered out June 11, 1865 Gordonier, Henderson Lane Oct. 9, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Garlock, James Lynnville Jan. 29, 1864 Mar. 28, 1864 Died at Baton Rouge, La., Jan. 25, 1864 Howlett, John R. Lane Dec. 1, 1861 ---- Prom. Adjutant 1st Bat. Hemstock, James L. Lane Aug. 20, 1862 Apr. 21, 1863 Discharged June 26, 1863 Hiland, Andrew Lane Sept. 3, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Hamlin, David Lane Sept. 25, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Hemstock, John D. Lane Aug. 12, 1863 ---- Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Hefzug, John G. Dixon Feb. 29, 1864 Feb. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Hart, Charles White Rose Feb. 26, 1864 Mar. 28, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Hicks, Henry S. Sugar Grove Dec. 9, 1863 Dec. 9, 1863 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Harbour, Elijah Sadorus Dec. 15, 1863 Dec. 15, 1863 Vet. M. O. May 11, 1865 Jewell, George W. Lane Aug. 12, 1863 Aug. 12, 1863 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Keith, Corwin B. Lane Aug. 12, 1863 Aug. 12, 1863 Discharged March, 1863 Kessler, Hartman Brooklyn Mar. 9, 1864 Mar. 9, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Lord, James W. Lane Sept. 17, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Lilley, Joshua D. Pine Rock Feb. 26, 1864 Mar. 28, 1864 Mustered out May 27, 1865 Lilley, Lazrus Marion Feb. 26, 1864 Apr. 13, 1864 Trans. to Co. B, as consol. Miers, Henry Lane Aug. 27, 1862 ---- Discharged Oct. 9, 1862 Myers, William R. Joliet Dec. 21, 1863 Dec. 21, 1863 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Martin, William Havana Dec. 1, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. McDonald, C. H. Lane Sept. 2, 1861 ---- -------- Phelps, Henry G. White Rock Aug. 27, 1862 Apr. 21, 1863 Mustered out June 11, 1865 Quigel, John Douglas Co. Jan. 25, 1864 Jan. 25, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Rathburn, Royal A. Lane Sept. 3, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Skelton, Thomas Lane Nov. 1, 1861 ---- Discharged May 16, 1862 Sternberg, Hezekiah Lane Aug. 27, 1862 Apr. 21, 1863 Mustered out June 11, 1865 Smith, Henry L. Lane ---- ---- Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Sanford, Richmond Springfield Dec. 16, 1863 Dec. 16, 1863 Deserted March 19, 1864 Stockman, Augustus Brooklyn Mar. 9, 1864 Mar. 9, 1864 Trans. to Co. D, as consol. Schubert, Charles Hardin Oct. 23, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Deserted Jan. 18, 1865 Scott, Frank B. Wills Mar. 29, 1864 Mar. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Towner, Seth S. Lane Sept. 3, 1862 ---- Re-enlisted as Veteran Towner, Wayne Lane Aug. 12, 1863 Feb. 26, 1864 Trans. to Co. B, as consol. Ulrich, William H. Dixon Feb. 29, 1864 Feb. 29, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Underwood, James A. Peoria Jan. 4, 1864 Jan. 5, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Van Isler, George Urbana Nov. 27, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Trans. to Co. D, as consol. Wheeler, Smith R. Cairo Oct. 12, 1861 Apr. 21, 1863 Died, Vicksburg, July 17, 1863 Wilt, Noah White Rock Aug. 27, 1862 ---- Died, Memphis, Mar. 18, 1864 Wheeler, Charles T. Lane Aug. 12, 1863 ---- Mustered out June 21, 1865 Wright, Benjamin L. Peoria Jan. 4, 1864 Jan. 5, 1864 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. Waters, George B. Urbana Aug. 1, 1862 ---- M. O. to date July 18, 1865 Warren, Stephen ---- ---- ---- Discharged Aug. 11, 1864 Neely, Jas. ---- Sept. 17, 1862 ---- Mustered out June 11, 1865 Wampler, M. J. S. Barry Nov. 18, 1863 Dec. 31, 1863 Trans. to Co. E, as consol. 
33773	----	A YANKEE FROM THE WEST. _FOURTEENTH EDITION._ A YANKEE FROM THE WEST A Novel BY OPIE READ, AUTHOR OF "JUDGE ELBRIDGE," "THE WATERS OF CANEY FORK," "AN ARKANSAS PLANTER." [Illustration] CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. Copyright, 1898, by Rand, McNally & Co. A YANKEE FROM THE WEST. CHAPTER I. MILFORD. In his mind the traveler holds of Illinois a tiresome picture, the kitchen garden of a great people, a flat and unromantic necessity. The greatest of men have trod the level ground, but it is hard to mark history upon a plane; there is no rugged place on which to hang a wreath, and on the prairie the traveling eye is accommodated by no inn whereat it may halt to rest. Such is the Illinois as remembered by the hastening tourist. But in the southern part of the State there are mountains, and in the north, the scene of this story, there is a spread and a roll of romantic country--the green billows of Wisconsin gently breaking into Illinois; lakes scattered like a handful of jewels thrown broadcast, quiet rivers singing low among the rushes. Traveling north, we have left the slim, man-tended tree of the prairies, and here we find the great oak. There are hillsides where the forest is heavy. There are valleys sweet in a riot of flowers. Along the roads the fences are almost hidden by grape-vines. On a knoll the air is honeyed with wild crab-apple; along a slope the senses tingle with the scent of the green walnut. There are lanes so romantic that cool design could have had no hand in their arrangement--they hold the poetry of accident. The inhabitants of this scope of country have done nothing to beautify it. They have built wooden houses and have scarred the earth, but persistent nature soon hides the scars with vines and grasses. The soil is wastefully strong. In New England and in parts of the South, the feeble corn is a constant care, but here it grows with the rankness of a jungle weed. And yet, moved by our national disease, nervousness, the farmer sells his pastoral dales to buy a wind-swept space of prairie in the far West. A strange shiftlessness, almost unaccountable in a climate so stimulating, has suffered many a farm to lie idle, with fences slowly moldering under flowering vines--a reproach to husbandry, but a contribution to sentiment. Amid these scenes many an astonished muser has asked himself this question: "Where are the poets of this land, where the bluebell nods in metre to the gentle breeze?" Not a poem, not a story has he seen reflecting the life of this rude England in America. In the summer the Sunday newspaper prints the names of persons who, escaping from Chicago, have "sardined" themselves in cottages or suffered heat and indigestion at a farm-house; the maker of the bicycle map has marked the roads and dotted the villages; the pen and ink worker for the daily press has drawn sketches of a lily pad, a tree and a fish much larger than the truth; the reporter has caught a bit of color here and there, but the contemplative writer has been silent and the American painter has shut his eyes to open them upon a wood-shod family group in Germany. This region was settled by Yankees. They brought with them a tireless industry and a shrewd humor. But to be wholly himself the Yankee must live on thin soil. Necessity must extract the full operation of his energy. Under his stern demand, the conquered ground yields more than enough. Vanquished poverty stuffs his purse. He sets up schools and establishes libraries. But on a soil that yields with cheerful readiness, he becomes careless and loses the shrewd essence of his energy. His humor, though, remains the same. Nervous and whimsical, he sees things with a hollow eye, and his laugh is harsh. Unlike his brother of the South, he does not hook arms with a joke, walk with it over the hill and loll with it in the shade of the valley; it is not his companion, but his instrument, and he makes it work for him. One afternoon in early summer a man got off a train at Rollins, a milk station, and stood looking at a number of farmers loading into wagons the empty milk cans that had been returned from the city. He was tall and strong-appearing. He wore a dark, short beard, trimmed sharp, and his face was almost fierce-looking, with a touch of wildness, such as the art of the stage-man tries in vain to catch. He was not well dressed; he carried the suggestion that he might have lived where man is licentiously free. With his sharp eye he must have been quick to draw a bead with a gun; but his eye, though sharp, was pleasing. A dog sniffed him and walked off, satisfied with his investigation. The countryman stands ready to sanction a dog's approval of a stranger--it is wisdom fortified by superstition, by tales told around the fire at night--so a look of mistrust was melted with a smile, and the owner of the dog spoke to the stranger. "Don't guess you've got a newspaper about you?" said the farmer, putting his last can into the wagon. "No. The afternoon papers weren't out when I left town." "Morning paper would suit me just as well--haven't seen one to-day. I get a weekly all winter, and I try to get a daily in the summer, but sometimes I fail. Goin' out to anybody's house?" "I don't know." The farmer looked at him sharply. A man who did not know--who didn't even guess that he didn't know--was something of a curiosity to him. "Did you expect anybody to meet you?" "No; I came out to look around a little--thought I might rent a farm if I could strike the right sort of terms." "Well, I guess you've come to the right place." He turned and pointed far across a meadow to a windmill above tree tops on the brow of a hill. "Mrs. Stuvic, a widow woman, that lives over yonder, has an adjoinin' farm to rent. Get in, and I'll drive you over--goin' that way anyhow, and it shan't cost you a cent. Throw your carpet-bag in there, it won't fall out. Whoa, boys! They won't run away. Yes, sir, as good a little place as there is in the county," he added, turning down a lane. "But the old woman has had all sorts of bad luck with it. That horse would have a fit if he couldn't clap his tail over that line every five minutes. But he won't run away." "I don't care if he does," said the stranger. "Well, you would if you had to pick up milk cans for half a mile. He scattered them from that house up yonder down to that piece of timber day before yesterday." "Did he run away?" "Well, he wasn't walkin'." "Then how do you know he won't run away again?" "Well, I think I've sorter Christian scienced him." The stranger laughed, and the farmer clucked an applause of his own wisdom. They had reached a corner where a large white house stood surrounded by blooming cherry trees. Bees hummed, and the air was heavy with sweetness. The stranger took off his hat, and straightening up breathed long. "Delicious," he said. The farmer turned to the right, into another road. "I'm almost glad I'm alive," said the stranger. "You must have paid your taxes and got it over with," the farmer replied. The stranger did not rejoin. His mind and his eye had gone forth to roam in a piece of woods gently sloping toward the road. He saw the mandrake's low canopy, shading the sod, the crimson flash of a woodpecker through the blue of the air beneath the green of the trees, like a spurt of blood. The farmer's eye, cloyed with the feasts that nature spreads, followed a horse that galloped through the rank tangle of a marsh-dip in a meadow. "Over on that other hill is where the old lady lives," he said. "What did you say her name was?" "Well, her name _was_ first one thing then another, but it's Stuvic now. She's been married several times--a Dutchman the last time, a good-hearted fellow that used to work for her first husband--a good talker in his way, smokin' all the time, and coughin' occasionally fit to kill himself. He liked to read, but he had to keep his books hid in the barn, for the old lady hates print worse than she does a snake. He'd wait till she was off the place, and then he'd go out and dig up his learnin'. But the minute he heard her comin'--and he could hear her a mile--he'd cover up his knowledge again. One day he told her he was goin' to die, and she might have believed him, but he had lied to her a good deal, so she hooted at him; but a few days afterwards he convinced her, and when she found he had told the truth, she jumped into a black dress and cried. Strangest creature that ever lived, I guess; and if you want to come to good terms with her tell her you can't read. She gets on a rampage once in a while, and then she owns the road. I saw her horse-whip a hired man. He had let a horse run away with him. She took the horse, hitched him to a buggy, jumped in, laid on the whip, and drove him at a gallop till he was only too glad to behave himself. Well, you can get out here." The stranger got down in front of a white "frame" house near the road. The farmer waved him a good-bye and drove on. From a young orchard behind the house there came the laughter of children at play. In the yard sat an aged man beneath an old apple tree. The place was a mingling of the old and the new, a farm-house with an extension for summer boarders. As the stranger entered the gate, a tall, heavy, but graceful old woman stepped out upon the veranda. "Wasn't that Steve Hardy that you rode up with?" she asked, gazing at him. The visitor bowed, and was about to answer when she snapped: "Oh, don't come any of your bowin' and scrapin' to me. All I want is the truth." "The man didn't tell me his name, madam." "Well, you didn't lose anythin'. It was Steve Hardy, and a bigger liar never trod luther. Come in." The visitor stepped upon the veranda, and sat down upon a bench. The old woman stood looking at him. "Do you want board?" she asked. He took off his hat and placed it upon the bench beside him. She gazed at his bronzed face, his white brow, and grunted: "I asked if you wanted board." "I want something more than board, madam; I want work." She snapped her eyes at him. "You look more like you was dodgin' it than huntin' for it; yes, you bet. I know all about a man lookin' for work. All he wants is a chance to get drunk and lie down in the corner of the fence. Yes, you bet. What sort of work do you want?" "A man that needs work is not very particular. I've never been lazy enough to look for an easy job." She leaned toward him; she held out her hand. "Shake! You've earned your supper by sayin' that." He took her hard hand and smiled. She frowned. "Don't try to look putty at me! No, you bet! It won't work with me." There came a hoarse cry from the old apple tree. An enormous Dutch girl ran by, laughing. An old man came forward, brushing himself. "Now what's the matter with you, Lewson?" the old woman asked. The aged man was in a rage. "That infernal Dutch cow ran over me again. Why the devil can't she walk? What does she want to snort around for like a confounded heifer? If I don't get me a gun and shoot her I'm the biggest liar on the earth." "Now, you keep still, Lewson; you keep right still!" "Still! How the deuce am I going to keep still when she's knocking me down all the time? Every time I walk out she runs over me; if I sit down she runs over me; if I go to my room to take a nap she runs against the house and wakes me up. She can't understand a word you say to her--and confound her, I hit her with a stick, and was three days trying to explain it. Why don't you drive her away?" A bell at the end of a pole at the kitchen door rang furiously. There came an answering shout from the lake across the meadow. "You've earned your supper," said the old woman. "Yes, you bet!" CHAPTER II. LIKED HIM. Summer was just opening, and there were not many boarders at Mrs. Stuvic's house. But the posting of a railway time-card in the dining-room showed that everything was in readiness. A cook had come from the city to set up her temper against the slouching impudence of the hired man, and an Irish girl stood ready to play favorites at the table. Mrs. Stuvic gave the stranger a seat at the head of the table, and three tired women--hens, worn out with clucking to their boisterous broods--began a whispered comment upon him. One, with a paper novel lying beside her plate, said that he was fiercely handsome. Mrs. Stuvic sat down near him. "What is your name?" she asked. "Milford," he answered, and the woman with the novel seemed pleased with the sound. "Yes, I know," said Mrs. Stuvic, as if she had divined as much, "but your other name. I can't remember outlandish names." "William." "Yes, Bill," she said. "Well, Bill, you hinted you wanted work." The woman with the novel withdrew her attention. Milford shot a glance at her. "Yes," he replied. "The man you say is the biggest liar that ever trod leather told me that you had a farm to rent." "Well, land sakes! when did he take to tellin' the truth? But just keep still now and say nothin'. Don't say a word, but keep still, and after supper I'll show you somethin'." A red-headed boy, the natural incumbrance of the woman with the novel, snorted over his plate, and the old woman set her teeth on edge and looked hard at him. "Yes, well, now what's the matter with you? Who told you to break out?" "Eat plenty of supper, Bobbie, or you'll be hungry before bed-time," said the mother. "He hasn't had much appetite lately," she added, and the boy tried to look pitiful. Mrs. Stuvic cleared her throat, and under her breath muttered "Calf." The mother looked at Milford. "I beg your pardon," she said, "but are you related to the Milfords that live down in Peoria County?" "I think not, madam," Milford answered. "They are such nice people," the woman went on; "distant relatives of mine. Sit up straight, Bobbie. One of the boys has made quite a name as a lawyer--Alfred, I think. And I hear that the daughter, Julia, is about to be married to a foreigner of considerable distinction." "I've lived down in that part of the country," said a woman with a lubberly cub in her arms, "and I know a family down there named Wilford. They have a son named Alfred, and a daughter Julia who is about to be married to a foreigner." "Wilford, now let me see," mused the mother of the red boy. "Well, I declare, I believe that is the name!" "And that," said Milford, "is no doubt the reason, or at least one of the reasons, why they are not kin to me." "Oh, you keep still!" Mrs. Stuvic cried, snapping a smile in two. "You didn't have to say that--but when you don't know what to say, Bill, say the next best thing. Yes, you bet! Oh, I know a lot, but I don't tell it all. People come here and think they can fool me, but they can't. Some of them come a turnin' up their noses at the table, when I know as well as I know anythin' that they haven't got half as good at home. We had one family in particular that was always growlin'. And when they went home in the fall I said to myself, 'I'll just slip into town one of these days, and see what you've got to eat.' I did, and I never set down to such a meal in my life--soup that looked like tea, and birds put on thin pieces of burnt bread. But if you are through, Bill, come with me; I want to show you somethin'." She put on her bonnet, and as she stepped out told the Irish girl to take Milford's bag upstairs. It was evident that her favorable impression of him extended as far as a night's lodging. They crossed the road, passed through a gate, so heavy on its hinges that it had to be dragged open, and entered a grove of hickory trees. The sward was thick. Here and there were patches of white and pink wild flowers. The sun was going down, and the lake, seen through a gap in the trees, looked like a prairie fire. They came to a broad lane shaded by wild-cherry trees. Milford stopped. "I've never seen anything more beautiful than this," he said. "You just keep still!" she replied. "Yes, and I'll show you somethin' worth lookin' at." They passed through another gate, went up a graceful rise, into a field, along a broad path hedged with vines and flowers. "Just look at this!" she said. "There ain't better land in this county, and here it lies all gone to waste. The men out here ain't worth the powder and lead it would take to kill 'em. I've rented this farm half a dozen times in the last three years. And what do they do? Get so drunk Sunday that it takes them nearly all week to sober up. I've had to drive 'em away. And the last one! Mercy sakes! The biggest fool that ever made a track; and a hypercrit with it. I found him in the corner of the fence prayin' for rain. Well, I just gathered a bridle and slipped up on him, and if his prayer didn't have a hot end I don't know beans when I see 'em. There was a streak of barbed wire on the fence, and in tryin' to get over he got tangled; and if I didn't give it to him! The idea of a fool gettin' down on his knees tryin' to persuade the Lord to change his mind! All that belongs to me," she went on, waving her hand--"best farm right now in Lake County. And there's the house on the hill, as nice a cottage as you'd want to live in. What do you think of it all?" "Charming," said Milford. "There's many an old cow in the West that would like to stick her nose up to her eyes into this rich grass." "You bet, Bill! Are you from the West?" "Yes, from all over the West. I used to herd cattle; I tried to raise sheep--and I could have done something, but I was restless and wanted to stir about. But I've got over that. Now I want to work." "That's the way I like to hear a man talk," she said, lifting the latch of a gate. "I don't believe you'd pray for rain." "The only thing worth prayin' for, madam, is a soul." "Good enough! Bill, I like you. They say you have to eat a barrel of salt with a man before you know him, and I reckon it's true. But I've eaten so many barrels of salt with men that I know one as far as I can see him. You don't profess to be so awful honest, do you?" There was hollowness in his laugh, and bitterness in his smile. "I haven't made any pretensions," he said. "Well, you just keep still and don't make any," she replied. Through an orchard, they passed to a house on a hill. It stood in the shade of a great walnut tree. She pointed out the barn, the garden-patch, and the woods that belonged to the place. In the soft light it appeared a paradise to the man from the West, green with grass, purple with flowers. She asked him a question, and he answered with a sigh. Then he told her that he was almost moneyless. He had no capital but his will--his muscle. Such a place would be a godsend to him. In his past life there was much to grieve over--time thrown away, opportunities laughed at, money squandered. He could not help dreaming over his follies, and his dream choked him; so he wanted to work with his hands, to fight against a blunt opposition. He stood bareheaded, his face strong. She looked upon him with admiration. From the first, something about him had caught her odd fancy. She was an implacable enemy and a surprising friend. She put her hand on his arm. "Now, don't you fret," she said. "You didn't have to tell me you had no money. That's all right. If you want this farm you can have it. It's no use to me, lyin' this way. Yes, Bill, you can take it right now. Oh, you may go around here, and some of 'em will tell you that a meaner woman never lived--them that's tried to have their own way over me--but the poor and the needy will tell a different tale. They know where to get somethin' to eat. Well, it's settled. Come on, now, and we'll go back and fix up the particulars when we get time." He was cheerful as they walked back toward the old woman's home. New tones came out of his voice. There was baritone music in his laugh. She assured him that the details could be arranged without a hitch, that for the present he might rest at ease. He replied that there could be no ease for him, except as he might dig it out of the ground; he seemed to crave a strain of the body to relieve a strain of the mind. She was accustomed to meet all sorts of men, the scum and the leisure of the city, but this man gave her a new feeling of interest. He looked like a man that would fight, and this kindled the fire of her admiration. She loathed a coward. As a girl, she had hunted with her father in the woods of Ohio. One night his house was attacked by roughs, and she had fought with him. To her there was no merit that did not show action; thought that did not lead to action was a waste of the mind. A book was the record of laziness. She tolerated newspapers--in one she had found the announcement that a man whom she hated was dead. Once a man slandered her. She laughed--a sound as cold as the trickling of iced water--and said that she would live to see his last home marked out upon the ground. She did. She was seen in the cemetery, digging. "What are you doing there?" was asked. And she answered: "I'm planting a hog-weed on Thompson's grave." Old Lewson, the man who sat under the apple tree, gave his meager property to his children. They turned him out to die. Mrs. Stuvic took him. "I won't live long," he said. "I'm eighty-three years old." "Don't you fret," she replied; "a man that's as big a fool as you be may live to be a hundred and fifty." And the heart of this old woman was deeply stirred by Milford, not by his misfortunes, his homelessness, the touch of the adventurous vagabond in his face, but by her belief that he possessed an unconquerable spirit. "Yes, you keep still, and we'll arrange it all in time," she said, as they entered the hickory grove. "And you needn't tell me anythin' about yourself, nuther. A man's never so big a liar as when he's tellin' things about himself or his enemy. It seems that he can't tell the truth about either one. So you keep still. It's most too late in the season for you to do very much now in the way of plantin', but you can make a good beginnin'. There's stuff enough in the cottage back yonder, and you may take possession to-morrow if you want to. There's a fellow named Bob Mitchell around here that's out of work, and you can hire him to help you. He's a good hand to work--the only trouble is, he thinks he's smart. But he'll follow if there's any one to lead." "Madam, I wish I knew how to thank you," said Milford, as he opened the gate leading into the main road. "I came without an introduction, without a single letter----" "Don't you dare come fetchin' any of your letters to me! There ain't nothin' much easier than to write a lie." "I'm not going in now. I'll walk about a while." "Do as you like," she replied. "Your room's at the end up there," she added, pointing. She went into the house, and he turned back into the grove. He sat down with his back against a tree, his hat on the ground. He muttered words to himself; he felt the cool air upon his moist brow; he breathed the perfume of the fresh night. CHAPTER III. INTERESTED IN HIM. Milford took possession of the farm-cottage. The terms were so loose-jointed that the neighbors lamented the old woman's lack of business sense. She told them to keep still. She said that for years she had been following the advice of a lawyer, and that every string of her affairs had come untied. Now she was going to act for herself. It was hinted that her methods would reflect discredit upon the practical sense of the community. She replied that she paid her own taxes. On the old farm there was a sprout of new life. At break of day the dozing idler heard a song afield; the hired man, going to milk the cows, the city man, snapping his watch, hastening to catch a train, saw the Westerner working, wet with dew. And when the evening's lamps were lighted, the wild notes of his cowboy song rang from the hillside. Farmers going to the village of a Saturday afternoon stopped at his fence to engage him in talk, but he answered their questions as he went on with his work. One day they heard him say to his hired man: "Go to the house, Mitchell, and rest a while. You are worn out." A man whose table was light, whose shipments of veal and poultry to town were heavy, and who had been requested to put a better quality of water into his milk, declared that he had lived too long and had too much experience of the world to be fooled by a man from the West. He had committed some crime--murder, no doubt--and Steve Hardy was censured for hauling him over from the station. This surmise reached the ears of Mrs. Stuvic. She waited till she saw the wise man driving past her house, and she stopped him in the road. "I'm glad you know all about my man over there, Hawkins." "Why, I don't know anything about him." "Oh, yes, you said he'd committed murder." "No, I said most likely; but I didn't want it repeated, for, of course, I don't know." "Yes, you bet! And there's a good many things you don't want repeated. You don't want it repeated that you put old Lewson's brats up to turning him out of the house." "Look here, madam, I didn't do anything of the sort. I simply said I didn't see how they could live with him; and I didn't, either." "Well, it's all right. The old man's got a better home than he ever had; and you needn't worry yourself about my man over yonder. He couldn't sell as much milk from five cows as you can do, and I don't believe you can keep it up unless we have rain pretty soon, but he knows how to attend to his own business, and that's somethin' you've never been able to learn." "Madam, if you'll step from in front of my horses I'll drive on." "Yes, and mighty glad of the opportunity. You stir trouble, and are the first one to hitch up and drive out of it. Now go on, and don't you let me hear of any more murder stories." Mrs. Blakemore, mother of the red boy, would not presume to say that there was a stain on Milford's character; but he was undoubtedly peculiar, with an air which bespoke a constant effort to hide something. She knew, however, that there was good blood somewhere in his family. She believed in blood. Her husband had failed in business, and she could afford to despise trade. One Sunday, with her vacant-eyed husband and her red tormentor, she halted at Milford's cottage. He was sitting on the veranda, with the billows of a Sunday newspaper about him on the floor. She introduced her husband, who nodded. She spoke of the fervor of the day and the ragged cloud-skirts flaunting in the sky. She thought it must be going to rain. In the city a rain was wasted, a sloppy distress; but in the country it was a beautiful and refreshing necessity. In each great drop there was a stanza of sentiment. Milford's eyes twinkled. "You ought to go to a mining-camp," he said. "Men who couldn't parse would call you a poem." She turned to her husband. "George, do you hear that? Isn't that sweet? So unaffected, too." George grunted; he was thinking of the receiver that had had charge of his affairs. His wife continued, speaking to Milford: "In my almost hothouse refinement, I have longed to see the rude chivalry of the West--where a rhythm of true gallantry beats beneath a woolen shirt." "Yes," said Milford, "and beneath a linen shirt, too. The West is just as wide but not so woolen as it was." "Oh, what quaint conceits! George, do you hear them? George, dear." "George, dear" turned a tired eye upon her. Affection seeking to console a loved one sometimes chooses an unseasonable moment for the exercise of its tender office. She felt the look of her husband's worry-rusted eye; a memory of his weary pacing up and down the floor at night came to her, of his groans upon a comfortless bed, his sighs at breakfast, his dark brow as he went forth to try again to save his credit. She thought of this; she felt that at this moment he needed her help. And affectionately she put her hand upon his arm, and said: "You have met reverses, George, but you've still got me." And George muttered: "You bet I have." She glanced at him as if she felt that he said it with a lack of enthusiasm, as if it were a sad fact acknowledged rather than a possession declared; and she would have replied with a thin sentiment strained through the muslin of a summer book, but George turned away. She followed and he opened a gate and halted, waiting for her to pass through. The boy crawled under the fence. She scolded the youngster, brushed at his clothes, and said to George: "He is almost a gentleman." "Who is so far gone as that?" "Why, the man back there on the veranda." "I don't know what you mean by almost a gentleman." "Oh, George, don't you know that there are distinctions?" "But I don't see how a man can be almost a gentleman. You might as well say that a man almost has money." "Bobbie, don't try to climb over that stump. There's a poison vine on it. Money is not everything, George." "Comes devilish near it." "No, George. Money is not love." "Well, I don't know about that," he said, in a way implying that he did know. "Don't be cynical, dear," she replied. "We are both young; we have everything before us." "Everything we had is behind us." She pulled upon his arm, and kissed his dry cheek. "Don't be downcast. Everything will come right." Mitchell, the hired man, came out upon the veranda. "A sappy pea-vine and a dried pea-stick," said Milford, pointing toward George and his wife. "He looks like he's tired," said the hired man. "Yes, a fly in a pot of jam. She's too sweet for him. He ought to break loose from her and run wild for a while--ought to rough it out West on fat sow bosom and heifer's delight. Never were married, were you, Bob?" "Well, not for any length of time. I did marry a girl over near Antioch once, but shortly afterwards they took me up for sellin' liquor without a license, and when I got through with the scrape I found my wife was gone with a feller to Kansas." "Did you ever hear of her?" "Oh, yes, she writ to me. She wanted to come back, but I scratched her word that I'd try to jog along without her. I don't guess women are exactly what they used to be. I reckon the bicycle has changed 'em a good bit." "They want money, Bob. That's what's the matter with 'em." "Well, they've got about all I ever had, them and liquor together, and still they don't seem to be satisfied. Ever married, Bill?" "No. But I was on the edge of falling in love once. She squirted poison at me out of her eyes, and I shook in the knees. Her smile kept me awake two nights, and on the third morning I got on my pony, said good-bye to the settlement, and rode as hard as I could. I don't suppose she really saw me--but I saw her, and that was enough. Well, I believe I'll go over and chin the old woman." Mrs. Stuvic was walking up and down the yard. A number of new boarders had arrived, and she was in a great flurry. She was ever on the lookout for new-comers, but was never prepared for them. She told every one to keep still; she spoke in bywords that barked the shins of profanity. Just as Milford came up, some one told her that her hired man was lying out in the grove, drunk and asleep. Upon her informer she bent a recognition of virtue. It was not exactly a grin. The boarders called it her barbed-wire smile. She thanked him with a nod and a courtesy caught up from a memory of her grandmother. She snatched a buggy whip and sallied forth into the grove. Milford followed her. She told him to stand back. She swore she would give it to him if he presumed to interfere. She knew her business. The Lord never shut her eyes to a duty that lay in front of her. The hired man went howling through the woods, and she returned to the house, smiling placidly. She was always better humored when she had kept faith with duty. "Bill," she said to Milford, "tell those women who you are. They are all crazy to know." "Why didn't you tell them?" "Well, how was I to tell 'em somethin' I didn't know? You haven't told me. Who are you, Bill? Come, speak up. I've fooled with you long enough. Come, who are you?" "A Yankee from the West." "Shut up. Go on away from here. Who told you to come? Did anybody send after you?" By this time they had reached the veranda. A kitten came out to meet her. She called to the Dutch girl to bring some milk in a saucer. "Poor little wretch," she said. "Well, sir, it do beat all. About a week ago I found that I'd have to drown a litter of kittens. I had a barrel of water ready at the corner of the house. I got all the kittens together except one. I couldn't find him. After a while, I heard him mewing under the house. I looked under and see him fastened, and he couldn't get out. He was nearly starved. I said, 'You little wretch, I'll fix you,' and I crawled under after him. I had a time at gettin' him, too; and when I did get him he looked so pitiful that I gave him some milk. Then I gave the others milk, and didn't drown 'em. I have provided homes for all except this one, and I'm goin' to keep him. Here, lap your milk." Old Lewson sat beneath an apple tree. Milford went out to talk with him. The old man looked up, his eyes red under white lashes. His hat was on the ground, and in it were two eggs. "My dinner," said he, pointing to the eggs. "If I didn't listen for the cackling of the hens I'd starve to death. I can't eat anything but eggs; and they must be fresh. That infernal Dutch girl spoiled my supper last night. She ran over me, as usual, and broke my eggs. I wish she was dead." "They ought to hobble her like a horse," said Milford. "They ought to break her bones, and I would if I was strong enough," the old man declared. "She kindled a fire with my spiritualist books. Are you a spiritualist?" "No, I'm merely an ordinary crank." "Fool, you mean," said the old fellow. "A man that shuts his eyes to the truth is a fool. See this?" He took from his pocket a pale photograph, and handed it to Milford. "That's a picture of my wife, taken ten years after the change. She came to see me not long ago, and I cut off a piece of her dress. Here it is." From a pocketbook he took a piece of white silk. "They dress pretty well over there," said Milford, examining it. "Yes. She wove it herself." "Looks as if it might have been done by a fine machine." "It was; it was woven in the loom of her mind. Over there, whatever the mind wills is done. But you can't make fools understand it." "I suppose not. What will become of the Dutch girl when she goes over?" "They'll make a dray-horse of her. Here comes the old woman. She pretends she don't believe in it. But she does. She can't help herself." The old fellow hid his eggs. She looked at him sharply. "He'd rather hear the cackle of a hen than a church organ," she said to Milford. "Yes, it means more," the old man replied. "Well, you won't rob my hens much longer. Your days are numbered." "So are yours, ma'am." "Now, don't you fret. I'll plant flowers on your grave." "See that you don't plant hog-weeds." "What difference will it make to you? Your soul will be gone. But what will you do over there? You'd be out of place makin' silk dresses. If you do make any send me one. I'll want it when I marry again." "Why do you want to dress up to meet a fool?" "Shut your rattle-trap. It will be a wise man that marries me. If Bill here was a little older, I'd set my cap for him. Wouldn't I, Bill?" "I don't doubt it. We can all set a trap for a fox, but it takes a shrewd trapper to catch him." The old man chuckled. She looked at him and said that he would have been hauled off long ago, but that the devil didn't care to hitch up for one--Yankee-like, wanting a load whenever he drove forth. "But before you go, Lewson, I want you to promise me one thing,--that you will come back. You've got me half-way into the notion that you can." "I will come back the third night, ma'am," he replied, his voice earnest. "When my body has been in the grave three days I will come back to my room and meet you there." Milford turned away. The old woman followed him. "Do you believe he can come back?" she asked. His sharp eyes cut round at her, like the swing of a scythe. "An old log may learn to float up-stream," he said. She stepped in front of him. "You've done somethin' that you don't want known," she declared. "As smart a man as you wouldn't come out here and work on a farm for nothin'." "I don't expect to work for nothing." "Come into the house, Bill. Those women want to get acquainted with you." "Why don't they get acquainted with their husbands?" "I know it," she replied, with a look, and in a younger eye the light would have been a gleam of mischief, but with her it was a glint almost of viciousness. "I know it. They are always after a curiosity. They've got it into their heads that you've done some sort of deviltry, and they want to talk to you. One of them said her husband was such a dear, dull business man. And nearly all of them hate children." "I hate a woman that hates children," Milford replied, and the old woman said, "I know it." Mrs. Blakemore, the tired George, and the tugging boy came into the yard. The woman's eyes brightened when she saw Milford. It seemed that the other women had commissioned her to sound his mysterious depth. His keen eyes, his sharp-cut beard, a sort of sly unconcern marked him a legitimate summer exploration. Men from the city came and went, shop-keepers, tailors, machinists, lawyers, driveling of hard times and the hope of a business revival, and no particular attention was paid to them, but here was a man with a hidden history. Perhaps he was a deserter from the regular army; doubtless he had killed an officer for insulting him. This was a sweet morsel and they made a bon-bon of it. "I hope you are not going just because we came," said Mrs. Blakemore to Milford. "George, do take that rocker and sit down. You look so tired. Go away, Bobbie. You are such a pest." A straining voice in the sitting-room and the tin-pan tones of a piano were hushed, and out upon the veranda came several women. Milford was introduced to them. Some of them advanced with a smile, and some hung back in a sweet dread of danger. Milford sat down on a corner of the veranda with his feet on the ground. A wagon load of beer-drinkers, singing lustily, drove past the house. From the lake came the report of a gun, some one firing at a loon. There seemed to be no law to enforce respect for the day which the Puritan called Sabbath, and which the austerity of his creed had made so cold and cheerless. On Sunday night there had been a hop on the shore of the lake, and a constable had danced with a skillet-wiper from town. The children of the New Englander sell their winter piety for the summer dollar. "I can't conceive of anything more delicious than this atmosphere," said Mrs. Blakemore. "It's heavenly down by the lake. And in the woods there are such beautiful ferns. Are you fond of ferns, Mr. Milford?" "Don't believe I ever ate any," Milford answered, and the women screamed with laughter. One of them spoke of such charming impudence, and George looked at her with his cankered eye. Mrs. Stuvic said, "Oh, you keep still!" The Dutch girl passed at a spraddling gallop, setting a dog at a chicken condemned to death. Old Lewson shouted and shrank behind a tree. Mrs. Blakemore's thin hand was seen in the air. It was a command, and silence fell. "Would you mind telling us something of the wild life in the West?" "There's no wild life in the West now," Milford answered. "It is there, as it is nearly everywhere, a round of stale dishonesty." "George, dear, do you hear that? Stale dishonesty! Really, there is thought in that. Western men are so apt in their phrasing. They aren't afraid of critical judgment. But they are too picturesque to be simple. They are like an old garden run to blossoming weeds--the impudent new springing from the venerable old. Did you hear me, George?" "How's that?" George asked, looking up from a dream of trouble. "Oh, I shall not repeat it. Mr. Milford, nearly all my thoughts are wasted on him. His mind is occupied by things sterner but not nearer true." George grunted something that sounded like "bosh." She smiled and tapped him on the arm. Her face was thin but pretty. Milford gave her an admiring look. She caught it in an instant and drooped her eyes at him. Some of the women saw it and pulled at one another, standing close together. But the old woman did not see it. Her eye was not set for so fine a mischief. A Mrs. Dorch began to hum a tune. She left off to tell Milford that she had a sister in Dakota. She had gone out as a school-teacher, and had been married by a rancher. His name was Lampton. It was possible that Mr. Milford might know him. He did not, but it gave her a chance to talk, and the slim Mrs. Blakemore began to droop her eyes. The man was nothing to her. She wouldn't stoop to set up a conquest over him, so much in love was she with her husband, but what right had this woman to cut in? "Oh, I could never think of talking commonplaces with a man from the wilds," she said. "He may never have read poetry, but he is a lover of it. Tell me, is it true that certain flowers disappeared with the buffalo?" "I don't know, ma'am, but a good deal of grass disappeared with him." It was a cue to laugh, and they laughed. Mrs. Blakemore said that Milford was becoming intentionally droll. She much preferred unconscious drollery. Attention was now given to three men who came across the meadow from the lake. One of them proudly held up a string of sun-fish. A fisherman's ear is keen-set for flattery. The women knew this, and they uttered "ohs" and "ahs" of applause. The fishermen came up, everybody talking at once, and Milford slipped away. He passed through the hickory grove and turned into the broad lane leading to the lake. He saw Mrs. Stuvic's hired man, sitting under a tree, muttering, a red streak across his face. CHAPTER IV. HE DID NOT COME. The neighbors continued to speculate and to ply Mrs. Stuvic with questions concerning Milford. Men who had spent many a rainy day in the hay-mow, gambling, knew that he had played poker. An old man, with a Rousseau love for botanizing, had been found dead in the woods, with five red leaves in his hand. And Milford had said: "The poor old fellow made his flush and died." They knew that he was brave, for, with a stick of brushwood, he had attacked a dog reported to be mad. But they believed, also, that he had something heavy on his mind, for they had seen him walking about in the woods at night, once when a hard rain was beating him. Steve Hardy, the man who had hauled the stranger from the station, was caught in a storm one night, and a flash of lightning revealed Milford standing gaunt in the middle of a marsh. But he had never attempted to borrow money in the neighborhood, and of all the virtues held dear by the rural Yankee, restraint in the matter of borrowing is the brightest. "Yes, sir, old Brady was as mean a man as ever lived among us, but, sir, he died out of debt." Old Brady could have illumined his death-bed with no brighter light. One evening, while Milford and Mitchell were at supper, the hired man said: "They keep on askin' me all sorts of questions about you. I never saw folks so keen. They are like spring sheep after salt. I've got so I throw up my hands whenever I meet any of 'em in the road." Milford reached over and turned down the ragged blaze of the smoking lamp. "Am I the first stranger that ever happened along here?" "It would look that way. But there is a sort of a somethin' about you, Bill. I heard Henwood's daughter say you was mighty good-lookin', but she hasn't got much sense." Milford looked up with a smile. "No, she ain't," Mitchell went on. "And if her daddy was to die she'd have to have a gardeen appointed. But to-day, while I was gettin' a drink at the windmill, I heard two or three of Mrs. Stuvic's women standin' over in the road talkin'. One of 'em said that she had a cousin that's a detective in Chicago, and she was goin' to bring him out here and let him investigate you just for fun." Milford turned down the light. "I'll throw this thing into the road the first thing you know. Bring a detective, eh? All right, let her bring him." "What will you do, Bill?" "Knock him down if he gets in my road." "I guess that's the way to look at it. But have you got any cause to be afraid of a detective, Bill?" "If I had, do you suppose I'd tell you?" "Well, I don't know why. We're workin' here together, and I wouldn't say anythin' about it. What did you do, Bill?" "Stole a saw-mill." "You don't say so! What did you want with a saw-mill?" "To rip out new territory--I wanted to make a state." "That's all right. You're guyin' me. But say, where did you get your education?" "I stole that, too. Did you ever hear of a French marquise that ran stage lines and shot fellows out West? Well, I robbed his ranch, and carried off a cook-book. That's how I learned to boil salt pork." "That's where you learned how to feed a fellow on guff. I'm givin' it to you straight. I want to know, for they say that a fellow never gets too old to learn, and I'd like to have education enough to get out of hard work." "You don't see me out of it, do you?" "No, but I guess you could do somethin' else if you wanted to. Did you go to school much when you was a boy?" "I saw the worn doorsteps in the old part of Yale, for two days, and then I turned away and went West. My father died, and I didn't want to be a tax on mother, so I decided to shift for myself." "Was it a good shift?" "I can't say it was. Are you going to bed?" Milford asked, as Mitchell got up from the table. "No, not now. I've got an engagement to take the Dutch girl out in a boat." "She'll upset your craft and drown you." "I'm goin' to take the scow." He went out whistling a light tune, but dragging his feet heavily, for he had worked hard all day, keeping pace with Milford's bounding energy. Milford sat musing, and his brow was not clear. From behind the clock on the mantel-piece, he took a newspaper, and strove to read it by the smoky light, but his mind wandered off. He went out and sat on the grass beneath the walnut tree. The night was hot. The slow air fumbled among the leaves. Far in the sultry west was an occasional play of lightning, the hot eye of day peeping back into the sweltering night. He heard some one coming up the hill, talking. It was Mrs. Stuvic's voice. She arose into the dim light, and he saw that she was alone. He called to her, and she came forward at a faster gait, still talking. "Wouldn't believe me--couldn't get him to believe me, but he does now--yes, you bet!" "What's the matter, ma'am?" "Old Lewson--told him he was dyin'--wouldn't believe me. He's dead. Conscience alive! and they were thumpin' on the piana all the time. The hired man can't be found since I gave him the larrupin'. I hope he's drowned himself. He's no account on the face of the earth, and I wish now I'd kept Mitchell when I had him. He seems to work well enough for you. But what I want you to do is to go to the old man's daughter and tell her. She lives about two miles down the road, just beyant the second corners--white house to the right. Come on with me. The buggy'll be hitched up by the time we get to the house. Yes, set right there, lookin' right at me, with his chin droppin' down. I says, 'Lewson, you are dyin'.' And he mumbled that he wan't. But I reckon he knows now whether he was or not." She talked nearly all the way over, sobbing at times, and then hardening herself with scolding. The buggy was ready in the road. Low tones came from the veranda. Through the shrubbery along the fence could be seen the ghost-like outlines of women dressed in white. A dog howled under the old apple tree. "Wait," said the old woman, as Milford gathered up the lines. "I want you to kill that infernal dog before you go. Never set down under that tree before in his life, and now that the poor old man's dead he goes there to howl, as if everythin' wan't dismal enough anyway. Get out and I'll fetch the gun." "Oh, no. Don't kill him. He doesn't know any better. By the way, what's the name of the woman I am going to see?" "Now, just look at that! If I haven't forgot her name I'm the biggest fool on earth. Did you ever see anythin' like that? If that confounded John, the hired man, was here, he'd know. I'm almost sorry now that I licked him. But if I ever ketch him again I'll give it to him for treatin' me this way when I need him. Well, go on, and stop at the house I told you. And if that horse don't want to go, lick the life out of him." Milford drove off, and the dog jumped over the fence and came trotting along behind the buggy. It did not take long to reach the place. A man came to the door in answer to Milford's knock. There was no attempt to soften the news. "I came to tell you that old Mr. Lewson is dead," said Milford. And there was no effort on the man's part to show surprise. "Well, I'm not an undertaker," he replied. "But you married his daughter." "But not with his consent or good-will. He was nothing to us. Well," he added, as Milford continued to stand there, "anything else?" "Yes, just a word or two more. I want to tell you that you are a brute and a coward; and if you'll just step out here I'll mop up the ground with you." The man stepped back and shut the door. Milford came away, the muscles in his arms hard with a desire to fight. He thought of the tenderness of a mining camp, of the cowboy's manly tear, of hard men who were soft toward a dead stranger. "Hearts full of cold ashes," he mused, bitterly. "And how can it be in a place so beautiful? An infidel from the sand-hills would here cry out that there is a God, an artist God. And some of these wretches would teach him that there is a hell. Well, I'm going to fight it out. I don't see any other way. I guess I'm a fool, but I've got that thing to do." Mrs. Stuvic tiptoed in her rage. "Horton," she said, almost dancing in the road. "That's the scoundrel's name. And don't you dare to judge us by him. He's a stranger here, too. I hope the hogs will root him up and crack his bones. Well, go on to bed, Bill. I guess the old man can take care of himself till mornin'." Early the next day, the old man's daughter came, stricken with grief and remorse. She said that her husband had forced her to treat her father cruelly. She knelt beside the poor old relic of weary bones, and prayed that the Lord might forgive her. Mrs. Stuvic relented. "Come," she said, leading the daughter away. "We believe you, and won't hold it against you, but I'll never love you till you poison that man of yours. There, now, don't whimper. Everythin's all right." The sympathy of the community was aroused, and it was a genuine sympathy. Milford found that this neighborhood was very much like the rest of the world, lacking heart only in places. He stood at the grave, listening to the faltering tones of an aged man, and he muttered to himself, "I've got to do that one thing." Old Lewson had convinced Mrs. Stuvic of the truth of spiritualism. She was attracted by a faith that entailed no prayers and no church-going. It left her free, not to lie down in the green pastures of the poetic psalmist, but to tramp rough-shod among the nettles of profanity. The church advised that no eye should be turned upon wine, rich in deceitful color, and the old woman was not always sober. Therefore, she took up old Lewson's faith, first because it was easy, and afterward because it seemed natural that she should come back and haunt her enemies. More than once she had been heard to say, gazing after some one driving along the road, "Oh, but I'll make it lively for him when I come back! He shan't sleep a wink!" But to the old man she did not make a complete confession of her conversion to his faith till she saw death staring out of his eyes, and then she reminded him of his promise to return on the third night, and make himself known to her. Had there remained in her heart any fag-end of rebellion gainst the pliable tenets of his credulous doctrine, the last look that he gave her would have driven it out. "I believe you, Lewson," she gasped, when his wrinkled chin sank upon his withered breast. The third night came. She did not give her secret to the boarders; she was not afraid of the heat of an argument or the scorch of a fight, but the thought of ridicule's cold smile made her shudder. She hated education, and was afraid of its nimble trickery. There was more of insult in a word which she did not understand than in a term familiarly abusive. But she told Milford. He was under obligations, and dared not scoff. She requested him to sit upon the veranda, to wait for her coming from the spirit's presence chamber. She drove the Dutch girl to bed, not in the house, but in an outlying cottage. In the dining-room she whispered to Milford, ready to turn him out upon the veranda. The clock's internals growled the five-minute verge of twelve. She turned Milford out, and hastened into Lewson's room. She sat down in a rocking chair, her nervous hands fidgeting in her lap. Spirits keep their promises best in the dark, and she had not lighted a lamp. Moonbeams fell through the window, a ladder of light, upon which a spirit might well descend to earth. The clock in the dining-room struck twelve. The dog howled under the apple tree. "Lewson, are you here?" Two eggs on a shelf caught the light of the moon. She started. Surely, they were not there a moment ago. Was the old man robbing hens' nests in the spiritual world? A breeze stirred, and there was a whisper of drapery at the window. "Lewson, is that you?" She glanced again at the eggs. Hadn't they moved? A midnight cock crew, and she started. Why should he crow just as she glanced at the eggs? She waited. "Lewson, oh, Lewson! Do you hear me? Don't you remember your promise? Come, now, don't treat me this way. You know how hard it was for me to believe in your doctrine. You know how I've tried to have some sort of religion. And now, please don't knock down all the props. Haven't I been kind to you? Didn't I take you when nobody else would? Then help me, Lewson. Give me something to cling to. Just say one word--just one--somethin' to let me know you have told the truth. I want the truth, that's all I want, Lewson. You haven't come. No, you haven't, and you needn't say you have. You can't come, and you know it. Well, I'm goin' now. Are you comin'? No, you ain't. You are an old fraud, that's what you are." She flounced out upon the veranda, and said to Milford: "Go to bed. There never was a bigger liar than that old fool." CHAPTER V. NEEDED HIS SPIRITUAL HELP. Early the next morning, before the clanging bell had shattered the boarder's dream, the old woman hastened to Milford's cottage. When she surprised him at breakfast, he thought that possibly the old man might have called at some time during the night, and that she had come to bring the good news, but this early hope was killed by the darkness of her brow. "I've come over to tell you that if ever you say a word about what happened last night, I'll drive you out of the county," she said, her lips parted and her teeth sharp-set. "Why, nothing did happen," he replied with a laugh. "No, you bet! But don't you ever dare to say that I expected anythin' to happen. I won't allow any old man, dead or alive, to make a monkey of me. Well, I'll eat breakfast with you. What, is this all you've got, just bread and bacon? Conscience alive! you are livin' hard." "I can't afford anything else," he replied, looking down upon his rough fare. "Well, you ought to get rich at this rate. There's not one man in a thousand that would be willin' to put up with it. What's your aim, anyway?" "To make money." "Money! It's some woman, that's what it is. Well, you're a fool. What thanks do you reckon she'll ever give you? She'll growl because you didn't make more. I'll get back. I don't like your grub. But recollect, now," she added, as she turned toward the door, "that if you say a word about what I expected to happen last night, I'll drive you out of the county." She went out, but her head soon reappeared at the door. "Bill," she said, "there's a sucker born every minute." "And sometimes twins," he replied. She leaned against the door-facing to laugh, not in the jollity of good-humor, but in the sharp and racking titter of soured self-pity. "Sometimes twins--yes, you bet!" "If I didn't have a word for it that I couldn't dispute, I'd think that I was the weakling of a set of triplets," said Milford. "Oh, you'll do. There's no flies buzzing around you, I tell you. Well, I'll leave you, sure enough now." For a time, he clattered the rough dishes, clearing them out of the way, despising the work--a loathing shared by all human beings. Mitchell was at the barn, among the horses, and there came the occasional and almost rhythmic tap, tap, tap of his currycomb against the thin wall. In the damp sags of the corn field, the plow could not be used with advantage, and Milford assigned to himself the work of covering this territory with a hoe. The advisory board, men who drove past in milk wagons, condemned it as a piece of folly. They said that a man might wear himself out among the clods, and to no great purpose, either; but Milford appeared to rejoice in his conquest over the combative soil. Steve Hardy said that he must be doing penance in the hot sun for some crime committed in the cool shade. But the old woman had given it out that her man was working for a woman, and the women commended it. How soft is the voice of woman when she speaks of one who sweats for her sex! They sat upon the veranda, watching Milford as he delved in the blaze of the sun. It was a romance. Afar off there must be a sighing woman, waiting for him. Mrs. Blakemore could see her, and she sighed with her, watching the hero dealing the hard licks of love. With her scampering son, she crossed the field, going toward the lake, the morning after the expected visit from Lewson. She was determined to speak to Milford. Mrs. Stuvic had just said, "That man is killin' himself for a woman." On she came, her feet faring ill among the clods. She stumbled and laughed, and the boy, in budding derision of woman's weakness, shouted contemptuously. "Why did you come across this rough place?" Milford asked, planting his hoe in front of him. To her he was a man behind the flag-staff of his honor. "Because it's so much nearer to the lake," she answered. The boy cried out that he had found a rattlesnake, and proceeded to attack with clods a rusty toad. "Come away, Bobbie. He'll bite you." She saw that it was a toad, and she knew that it would not bite him; but motherly instinct demanded that she must warn him. "Oh, it's such a jaunt, coming across here. Really, I don't see how you can stand it to work so long in the hot sun. Let me bring you some cool water." She felt that she ought to do something for him. He smiled, and glanced down at her thin-shod feet. He felt that there was genuineness in this slim creature, and he was moved to reply: "No, I thank you. Your sympathy ought to relieve a man of thirst." "Really, that is so nice of you. No wonder all the women like you when you say such kind things. But there is one thing I wish, Mr. Milford--I wish you'd taken more to my husband. He's awfully low-spirited, and I'm so distressed about him. He's worried nearly to death in town, and he comes out here and mopes about. I didn't know but you might say something to interest him. He'll be out again this evening. Will you please come over to the house to see him?" He thought of his weariness after his day of strain, of his own melancholy that came with the shades of night. He thought that, in comparison with himself, the man ought to be boyishly happy; but he told her that to come would give him great pleasure. "Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say so. Tell him of fights, of men that wouldn't give up, but fought their way out of hard luck. Tell him what you are doing. I know it's preposterous to ask you, but will you do it?" Her eyes were as bright as the dew caught by the cobweb, shaded by the clod, he thought--as he stood there leaning on the handle of his hoe, looking at her; and he read woman's great chapter of anxious affection. "I will tell him of a man who failed in everything, and then found that he had a fortune in his wife," he said. She put out her hand toward him, and snatched it back to hide her eyes for a moment. She turned toward the boy, and in a cool voice commanded him not to romp so hard over the rough ground. Milford saw a soul that loved to be loved, that lived to be loved, a soul that may not be the most virtuous, but which is surely the most beautiful. He did not presume to understand women; he estimated her by a "hunch" as to whether she was good or bad. He remembered that he had jumped upon his pony and galloped off to the further West, to keep from falling in love with one. And since that time he had felt himself safe, so into this woman's eyes he could look without fear. "Yes," she said, "tell him that love is the greatest estate. It will make him think, coming from a man. Poor George was in the hardware business, and he failed not long ago, and I don't know why, for I'm sure I saved every cent I could. What you tell him will have a good deal of weight." Milford had to laugh at this. "I don't know why," said he. "Because you are a good man." Milford sneered. "Madam, I'm a crank." He begged her pardon for his harshness. Her forgiveness came with a smile. He told her that he was as morbid as a mad dog, and he said it with such energy that she drew back from him. "But you won't fail to see George, will you? Come on, Bobbie. Oh, I forgot to tell you of some new arrivals--a Mrs. Goodwin, wife of a well-known doctor in town, and her companion, one of the handsomest young women I ever saw--a Norwegian girl, as graceful as one of her native pines. You won't fail to come, will you? Good-bye." The evening was sultry, with a lingering smear of red in the western sky. At the supper table Milford nodded in his chair. The hired man spoke to him, and he looked up, his batting eyes fighting off sleep. "Them slashes have about got the best of you, haven't they, Bill? I'd let that corn go before I'd dig my life out among them tough clods. I'm givin' it to you straight." "I don't doubt it. But it will pay in the end. I've come to the conclusion that all hard work pays. It pays a man's mind, and he couldn't get a much better reward. But I'd like to go to bed, just the same." "Why don't you? Not goin' to dig any more to-night, are you?" "No, but I've got to go over to Mrs. Stuvic's to see a man." "A man?" Mitchell asked, with a wink. "I said a man." "Yes, I know you said a man." "Then why not a man?" "Well, I don't know, only it seems to me that if I was as tired as you look I wouldn't go to see no man's man." "How about any woman's woman?" "Well, that's different. You can put off seein' a man, and you might put off seein' a woman, but you don't want to. But maybe you ain't as big a chump about a woman as I am." Milford said that the wisest man among wise men could easily be a fool among women. Solomon's wisdom, diluted by woman, became a weak quality. "Except once," he added, taking down his pipe from the clock shelf, "and that was when he called for a sword to cut a child in two to divide it between two mothers; but if the question had been between himself and a woman, I don't know but he'd have got the worst of it." It was the hired man's turn to clear away the dishes, and Milford sat smoking in a muse. Night flies buzzed about the lamp, and the mosquito, winged sting of the darkness, sang his sharp tune over the rain-water barrel beneath the window. The hired man put away the dishes, and went into his shell-like bedroom, a thin addition built against the house. Milford heard him sit upon the edge of his bed, heard his heavy shoes drop upon the floor, heard him stretch out upon the creaking slats to lie a log till the peep of day. The tired laborer's pipe fell to the floor. He got up with a straining shrug of his stiff shoulders, snatched off his sticking garments, bathed in a tub, put on clean clothing, and set out to keep his appointment. He muttered as he walked along the road. He halted upon a knoll in the oat-field, and stood to breathe the cool air from the low-lying meadow. As he drew near to the house, he heard the shouts of children and the imploring tones of nurses and mothers, begging them to go to bed. A lantern hanging under the eaves of the veranda shed light upon women eager to hear gossip from the city apartment house, and men, who, though breathing a fresh escape from business, had already begun to inquire as to the running of the trains. In the dooryard, a dull fire smoked in a tin pan,--a "smudge" to drive off the mosquitoes. Some one flailed the piano. The Dutch girl, singing a song of the lowlands, was grabbing clothes off a line, with no fear of running over an old man. Mrs. Blakemore and George were sitting at a corner of the veranda, apart from the general nest of gossipers. Bobbie had been bribed to bed. The woman got up and gave Milford her hand. In his calloused palm it felt like the soft paw of a kitten. George nodded with an indistinct grunt. "Well, how is everything?" Milford asked. "Rotten," George answered. His wife sighed, and brushed off a white moth that had lighted on his coat sleeve. "But it will get better," she said. "Don't you think so, Mr. Milford?" "Bound to," Milford agreed. "I'm a firm believer in everything coming out all right. I've seen it tested time and again. Hope is the world's best bank account." George looked at him. "That's all right enough," he admitted. "Hope is the soul's involuntary prayer," his wife observed, and he looked at her. "That's all well enough, too," said he, "but what's the use of tying a ribbon around your neck in a snow-storm, when what you need is an overcoat? A man can wrap all the hope in the world around himself, and then freeze to death." "That's true," said Milford, catching sight of the woman's eyes as she drew a long breath, "but hope may lead him out of the storm. Pardon me, but I infer that you've met business reverses." "Struck the ceiling," said George. "How often?" "Isn't once enough?" "Yes, but I've struck it a hundred times. I've been kept on the bounce, like a ball." "That's all right, but do you feel thankful for it?" "Well, my heart isn't bursting with gratitude, but it might have been worse--I might have stuck to the ceiling. When you throw a dog into the water, he always shakes himself when he comes out. It's a determination to be dry again. And that's the way a man ought to do--shake himself every time he's thrown." "I don't know but you're right. What are you doing here, anyway?" "Rooting like a hog for something to eat. And I've not only failed in nearly everything I undertook, but I've been a fool besides. But I've got sense enough to know that it has all been my own fault. I believe that, if a man's in good health, it's always his own fault if he don't succeed. I could sit down and growl at the world; I could wish I had it under my heel to grind the life out of it; and the truth is, we all have a part of it under our heels, and if we keep on grinding we'll make an impression. I am what you might call a national egotist. I believe that nearly everything lies within the range of an American. He may do wrong--he does do wrong. Sometimes he does a great wrong, but nine times out of ten he tries to make it right. I believe that the Yankee has more conscience than other men. He may keep it well sheathed, but after a while the edge eats through the scabbard and cuts him. He works with an object. They say it is to make money. That's true, but the money is to serve a purpose, a heart, a conscience." George turned about in his chair, and looked with keen interest at the laboring man. "Look here, you are a man of brains. Why do you stay here and dig? You are fitted for something better." Milford smiled at him. "How often that's said of a man who's not fitted for anything. As I remarked to your wife, I'm a crank. But I've got an object--there's something that must be done, and I'm going to do it or broil out my life in that field." "You are a brave man. Not all of us are so nervy. But you may not have to broil out your life." "Hope," said Milford. "And what a muscle it is, hardening with each stroke. Now, it's not my place to say anything to you, but don't fool along with affairs that are hopelessly tangled. Strike at something else. Perhaps that wasn't the business you were fitted for, anyway." "Can't tell. But I wasn't stuck on it, that's a fact. What line have you failed in, mostly?" he asked, laughing; and his wife's thin shoulders shook as if she were seized with a sudden physical gladness. "Oh I've been a sort of bounty jumper of occupations." "But we know," said Mrs. Blakemore, "that your work was always honest." "Well," he replied, his white teeth showing through the dark of his beard, "I never squatted on the distress of an old soldier to discount his pension." "That's not bad. Louise," he added, playfully touching his wife's hand, "how is it you took to me when you have a knack of finding such interesting fellows?" "Why, you were one of the most interesting fellows I ever found. Is that Bobbie crying? Yes. I must go to him. Good-night, Mr. Milford. I'm ever so glad you came over this evening." She gave him a grateful look, and hastened away, crying out, "Mamma's coming," as she ran up the stairs. And now Mrs. Stuvic's voice arose from the outlying darkness of the road. "Well," she shouted at some one, "you tell him that if he ever leaves my gate open again I'll fill his hide so full of shot he'll look like a woodpecker'd pecked him. A man that's too lazy to shut a gate ought to be made to wear a yoke like a breachy cow. Yes, you bet!" she said over and again as she came toward the veranda. "Like a breachy cow. And here's Bill, bigger than life! Why, the way I saw you pounding them clods over yonder, I didn't think you could move at night. This is Mr.--What-his-name? I never could think of it. Are you still mopin' about? Bah, why don't you get down to somethin'? Suppose the women was to mope that way? Do you reckon anythin' would be done. No, you bet! There's no time for them to mope. I saw Eldridge hauling a load of folks from the station to-day. And I know 'em--the Bostics, out here last year, and went off without payin' their board. Well, he can have 'em, for all of me. Stuck up. 'Please do this,' and 'Please do that,' and 'How do you feel this mornin', dear mamma?' 'Bah!' I said, 'why don't dear mammy get out and stir around?' Bill, I want you to come over here to dinner to-morrow--settin' about readin' all day Sunday. You come over here and get somethin' to eat. But don't let Mitchell come. I had a chance to hire him, and didn't do it, and now I haven't got any too much use for him. The rascal deceived me. I didn't know he was half as good a worker as he is. But you be sure to come," and leaning over, she added in a whisper: "I've got the putties gal here you ever saw in your life." "But that's not the question. Will you have anything to eat?" "Better than you've had for many a day, sir, I can tell you that." "I'll be here," he replied, getting up. "Going?" said George. "I'll walk out a piece with you." And talking knavishly of the old woman and the wives who pretended to be so glad to see their husbands, they walked out into the hickory grove. "The old lady whispered to you about a pretty girl," said George. "Might just as well have shouted it. But she is a stunner! I hunted deer up in the mountains once, and I never saw one, but I imagined what one ought to look like, stepping around in the tangle; and when I saw that girl out here in the woods to-day, I thought of the deer that I didn't see. She's with a fussy woman, a doctor's wife, a sort of companion, I believe. I should think so! Anybody'd like to be her companion. Well, sir, I'm just getting on to the beauty of this place. I never saw such grass, and between here and the station there's a thousand colors growing out of the ground. Huh!" he grunted, "and I'm just beginning to remember them. Old fellow, I guess the little talk we had to-night has done me good. Yes; and what's the use in worrying? Things are going to come out just as they are--they always do--and all the worry in the world won't help matters. I think you are right about the Yankee." "Children of fate, gathered from the four corners of the world, and planted here," said Milford. "I guess you are right. Well, I'm going back to town Monday and do a little hustling. I've got to. There's no two ways about it. I'll turn back here. Glad I met you again. So long." CHAPTER VI. THE "PEACH." Milford was at the dinner table, talking to Blakemore, when a young Norwegian woman entered the room. Blakemore nudged him. He looked up and quickly looked down. He heard a woman say, "Sit here, Gunhild." He heard her introduced as Miss Strand. "Isn't she a peach?" Blakemore whispered. "What did you say, George?" his wife asked, picking at him. "I didn't say anything." "What was it you whispered?" "About a peach," the boy blurted. "I want a peach. Maw, give me a peach." She commanded him to hush; she raked the wayward flax out of his eyes, and straightened him about in his chair. George shook with the abandoned laughter of a man's gross mischief. His wife did not see anything to laugh at; she thought it was impolite to whisper. Mr. Milford was not laughing. No, Mr. Milford was not. His face wore a look of distress. He shot sharp glances at the Norwegian girl. He heard her voice, her laugh. A moment ago he draped Mrs. Blakemore with an overflow of sentimental sympathy, but now his soul was as selfish as a hungry wolf. He had talked with pleasant drollery. Now he offered nothing, and cut his answers down to colorless brevity. Mrs. Stuvic came in and stood near him. He was silent under her Gatling talk, chill-armored against her fire. She said she would introduce him to the Norwegian girl, and he flinched. He excused himself, got up, and went out. He walked as far as the gate opening into the grove, stood there a moment, turned and came back to the veranda. "He was hit quick and hard," said George to his wife, as Mrs. Stuvic left them. "She's a stunner, and she stunned him." "George, please don't. She may remind him of some one, that's all. Why, he's engaged, and is working----" "That's all right. I said she hit him, and she did. Hit anybody." "George!" "Well, that's what I said. I can't help it." "I despise her." "Of course, but she's a stunner all the same. But come, now, don't look that way. I'm not in love with her." "I'm not so sure about it. You called her a 'peach'," she said, helping the boy out of his chair, and telling him to run along. It was too much to ask her not to suspect him, now that he was determined not to be cast down by business troubles. She had buoyed him with her sympathy, and it was natural that she should resent his notice of the young woman, if not his good humor. But after a lowly wallow in melancholy, a sudden rise of spirits is always viewed with suspicion by a woman. It is one of the sentimental complexities, of her nature. She looked at him with eyes that might never have been soft. No doubt there was in George's breast a strong cast of the rascal. He was not a stepson of old Adam, but a full blood. He knew, however, the proper recourse, and he took it. He began to fret over his vanished business, and, forgetting the "peach," she gave him her sympathy. Milford, meanwhile, was slowly striding up and down the veranda. Mrs. Stuvic came out, followed by the Norwegian. "She didn't want to meet you, Bill, but here she is." That was the introduction, an embarrassment that fed the old woman's notion of fun. Milford stammered, and the young woman blushed. "I did not say I did not want to meet you," she said, with a slight accent, her unidiomatic English learned at school. "I would not say such a thing. Mrs. Stuvic is full of jokes. She makes me laugh." And she did laugh, strange echo from North Sea cliffs, the glow of the midnight in her eyes, a thought that shot through the cowboy's mind as he gazed upon her. Mrs. Stuvic went back, laughing, to the dining-room, having flushed the young woman and turned the dark man red. "She is a very funny woman," said the "peach," looking far across the meadow toward the lake, her long lashes slowly rising and falling. She was not beautiful; her features were not regular, but there was a marvelous light in her countenance, and her bronze-tinted hair was as rank in growth as the yellowing oats where the soil is rich and damp. She looked to be just ripe, but was too lithe to be luscious. Mrs. Blakemore said that her nose was slightly tipped up, a remark more slanderous than true, and when taken to task by an oldish woman who had no cause to be jealous, declared that it was not a matter of taste but a question of observation. At any rate, she had come as a yellow flash, and must soon fade. Milford continued to gaze at her, wanting to say something, but not knowing what to say. He heard the gruff laughter of the men in the dining-room, joking with Mrs. Stuvic, and the romping of the children coming out. "I guess that's the best rabbit dog anywhere around here," he said, as a flea-bitten cur trotted past. He had never seen the dog hunt rabbits. He knew nothing about him except that he had been ordered to shoot him for howling, the dreary night when old Lewson died. "He does not look that he could run very fast," she replied, turning her eyes upon the dog. "Oh, yes, he runs like a streak. He outran a pack of wolves up in the Wisconsin woods." "Wolves!" she said, looking at him. He knew that he was a liar, but he said "wolves." He asked if she had ever seen any wolves. She had seen packs of coyotes on the prairie. "I went to my uncle when I came to this country," she said. "He lived away in the West. I stayed there two years, and then I came with him to Chicago. I did not like it so far off. The wind was always blowing lonesome in the night, and I thought of my old home where the grass fringed the edge of the cliff." "Did you speak English before you came to this country?" "I could read it, and I did read much--old tales of fierce fights on the sea." "How long do you expect to stay out here?" "I am with Mrs. Goodwin, and when she says go, I go. She is very kind to me." Mrs. Goodwin came out, calling "Gunhild." She was tall, with grayish hair, and on the stage might have played the part of a duchess. Her husband's affairs were prosperous, and she devoted herself to the discovery of genius. She had found a young girl with a marvelous voice, and had educated her into a common-rate singer, put her in opera, and the critics scorched her. The discoverer swallowed a lump of disappointment, and turned about to find another genius. In an obscure corner of a newspaper, she found a gem in verse, the soul-spurt of a young man. She sought him out, and paid for the printing of a volume of verses. The critics scoffed him, and she swallowed another lump. One of her assistant discoverers brought to her a pencil sketch of a buffalo, and this led to the finding of Gunhild Strand. The girl was modest. She disclaimed genius, but she was sent to the Art Institute; she would climb the mountain. But she got no higher than the foot-hills. "I did not have any confidence in myself," the girl declared. "And now I must work for you to pay you for what has been spent." This was surely a proof that she had no genius, but it was an evidence of gratitude, a rarer quality, and Mrs. Goodwin was pleased. "You shall be my companion," she said, "Your society will more than repay me. You must not refuse. I set my heart upon it." Milford was introduced, and the stately woman threw her searchlight upon him. Here might be another genius. "They tell me, Mr. Milford, that you are a man of great industry." "They might have told you, madam, that I am a great fool." Ha! a gleam of true light. She warmed toward him. She thought of Burns plowing up a mouse. But she was skeptical of poets. They have a contempt for their patrons if their wares do not sell. "You credit them with too shrewd a discovery," she replied. "I simply give them credit for ordinary eyesight, madam." "You prove the contrary." She smiled upon him. "They tell me that you came like a mist, out of the mysterious woods." "A fog from the marsh," he replied, laughing; and the "peach" laughed, too--more music from the North Sea. He saw the pink of her arm through the gauze of her sleeve. Mrs. Goodwin thought that he knew nothing about women, and she was right, but, as a rule, if rule can be applied, a woman thinks this of a man when, indeed, he has mastered innocent hearts to make wantons of them. "Where is your field?" the discoverer inquired. "Over yonder, where the sun is hottest." "And your house?" "Over on the hill, yonder, where the wind will blow coldest in winter." Surely, he had a volume of verse hidden under the old clothes in his trunk. She could have wished that he was even an inventor. She shuddered at the thought of another attempt to set up a shaft to American letters. The jovial doctor had shaken his fat sides at her. Suddenly she was inspired with forethought. She asked him if he had ever written any verse. He said that once he had been tempted to toss a firebrand into an enemy's wheat-rick, but had never ruined a sheet with measured lines. She saw that he had caught the spirit of the paragrapher's fling. So this fear was put aside; still, he must be a genius of some sort--an inventor, perhaps. She asked if he had ever invented anything, and he answered, "Yes, a lie." This stimulated her interest in him. He was so frank, so refreshing. She had heard that a laborer could be quaintly entertaining. She contrasted him with the numerous men of her acquaintance, men whose sentences were as dried herbs, the sap and the fragrance gone. She was weary of the doctor's shop-talk, the impoverished blood of conversation, the dislocated joint of utterance. She would have welcomed track talk with a race-horse starter. And the bluntness of this man from the hillside was invigorating. His words were not dry herbs, but fresh pennyroyal, sharp with scent. Milford smiled at her, wishing that she were locked among her husband's jars of pickled atrocities. He wanted to talk silliness with the girl. The other boarders came out, George and his wife among them. George handed Milford a cigar, telling him to light it,--that the ladies did not object to smoking. "You haven't asked them," said his wife. "Well, I know they don't." "There, don't you see? Mrs. Dorch is moving off." George grinned. "Her husband is a great smoker, and she don't want to be reminded of home," he said. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she replied. "I can't afford it. I'm too much loser." Mrs. Goodwin asked Gunhild to walk with her. She looked at Milford, but he lost his nerve and did not offer to go with them. "That was a bid," said George. His wife reprimanded him. "It is a wonder you didn't offer to go," she declared. "But let us take a walk," she added. "Too soon after eating. Believe I'll go up and take a snooze," he said. A mother, worn out with hot nights of worrying over the ills of a teething child, sat rocking the little one. Bobbie stood looking on with the critical eye of a boy. "A baby sticks out his tongue when you wipe his face with a wet rag," he said, and George snorted. "What a boy don't see ain't worth seeing," he said. The boy's mother reached out, drew him to her, and attempted to take from his clenched hands a piece of castiron, a rusty key, and a hog's tooth. "Throw those nasty things away." "Let him keep his tools," said George. "A boy can't work without tools." He clung to the implements of his trade. She turned him about and set him adrift. "Mr. Milford," she said, "you don't seem to be quite yourself this afternoon. You aren't enjoying yourself." He appeared surprised that she should think so. If he were not enjoying himself it was news to him, deserving of a big headline. She saw his eye searching the woods; she thought of the young woman who sighed out her breath at a window far away, waiting for him to hoe out a place for her. The wreath that she had hung upon him began to wither. After all, he was but a man with a shifting soul, and she did not believe that his talk had morally helped her husband. George was nodding. She shook him, and he looked up quickly, as if he expected a railway conductor to tell him that he was to get off there. "What makes you so stupid?" "The beastly weather. Well, I'm going up." She sat there rocking herself, with a knife in her bosom for the man who sat near, the deceitful laborer. He was, after all, nothing but a hired man. What could she have expected of him? She was foolish to believe that there was anything spiritual about him. She would give him a dig. "The young woman whom you were pleased to call a 'peach'----" "I didn't call her a 'peach'." "No matter. The young woman who has been called a 'peach,' with a bouquet of man's promises perfuming her heart, thinks, no doubt, that he is longing to see her again, when, perhaps, he has forgotten her, or remembers her only as a joke. Those foreign girls are so simple." She looked at him with her drooping eyes. Her fancy rewarded her with the belief that there was a sudden mixture of red in the brown of his face. "Don't you think she's handsome?" she asked, after waiting for him to speak. "No," he answered, glad to disappoint her. "Oh, I do. Don't you, really?" "Well, she's not ugly." "But don't you think she's handsome?" "Yes," he said, and looked as if he wanted to add: "Now what are you going to do about it?" "I knew you did. Men have such queer tastes. Well, I don't think she's a bit handsome. It's no trick at all to keep the eyes wide open; and any woman can let her hair go to seed. Of course, I ought not to say anything, but I should think that you would hold a brighter picture of some one who is waiting--but what am I saying? How warm it is! We are surely going to have rain." She heard the boy bawling out in the orchard. She ran to him. Milford stalked off toward home. "She's a little fool," he thought, and dismissed her. In the road he met the "discoverer" and the "peach," decked with purple flowers. He waited for them to show a disposition to halt. They did not, so he bowed and passed them by. On the knoll in the oat field he turned and looked back. On the veranda he saw a purple glimmer. Was the girl waving flowers at him? He turned toward home, with the music of her accent in his heart. The place was deserted. The hired man was out among the women, poverty once bitten, looking for another bite. Milford stretched himself out upon the grass under the walnut tree. Grimly, he compared himself with a man thrown from a horse, not knowing yet whether or not he was hurt. He had the plainsman's sense of humor, and he laughed at himself. "No matter which way I turn, I'm generally up against it," he said, and he could hear his words whispered up among the leaves of the tree. The earth seemed to throb beneath him. The heat made the whole world pant. He dozed, and dreamed that he saw violets rained from a purple cloud. CHAPTER VII. THE PROFESSOR. Milford was aroused from his dozing by some one walking up and down the veranda. "Don't let me disturb you," a cheery voice cried out, when he got up. "I dropped over to pay you a visit, and finding you asleep, thought I would wait till you reached the end of your nap. And I am sorry if I have disturbed you." He held out his hand as Milford came within reach, and in the heartiest manner said that his name was Professor Dolihide. "I suppose you heard that I moved into your neighborhood. Yes, sir, I have lived near you some ten days or more--a longtime to live anywhere during these grinding times, sir." Milford had heard that Professor Dolihide had moved into an old house that had long stood deserted. He shook hands on suspicion, and then, on better acquaintance, he brought out two chairs, planted the Professor in one, sat down himself, and said he hoped that his visitor found the new home pleasant. The Professor closed his eyes till he looked through narrow cracks. "Well, as to that, I must say that I never expect to find another pleasant home. It is one's occupation abroad that makes the home pleasant, and when one has been compelled against his liking to change his trade, the home suffers. But I must explain," he said, opening his eyes and rubbing his hands together. "For years, I held the chair of English literature in a Kansas college. My salary was small, but I was happy, and my family had an exalted respect for me, as a learned man. But now I keep books at a planing-mill up here at Lake Villa, and am entitled to no respect whatever, not because I am not respectable, but for the reason that I have failed." He came as a fresh breeze, and Milford enjoyed him. He possessed a sort of comical dignity. His eyes were lamp-dimmed. His beard was thin and red. "Failed," he repeated, "not on the account of incompetence, mind you, but traceable, I may say, to a changed condition of the times. I had been led to believe that my work was giving entire satisfaction. My scope was not broad, it is true, but the ground was thoroughly tilled. But a difference arose in the board of supervisors. And it was decided that I was not idiomatic enough in my treatment of our mother tongue. They argued that English is progressive. I did not doubt that, but I said that slang was not true progress. They cited an extract from a speech delivered by the president of an Eastern grove of learning, in which he said that the purist was as dead as stagnant water. I was pleased to be called a purist, sir. I had striven to maintain that position; but it did not compensate me for the loss of my living. After that, I taught in a common school, but they said I was wanting in discipline. Then I drifted about, and now here I am, bookkeeper at a planing-mill. But I have a hope that it will all come right, and I could exist fairly, but my wife and my daughter do not share my hope. I trust I do not shock you when I affirm that a woman has a contempt for the hope of a man. She is a materialist; she wants immediate results, and all that keeps her from being a gambler is the fear of losing. I trust I have not shocked you." He stroked his thin beard to a point, and twisted it. He cocked his head, and looked at Milford as if he expected a weighty decision concerning an important matter. His clothes were well-kept relics, but his dignity came out fresh, as if it had been newly dusted. What a tenderfoot he would have been in a mining camp; what a guy at a variety show! Milford agreed that his views were no doubt correct. The man was an unconscious joke, and argument would spoil him. "I thank you," said the Professor. "Such ready and cheerful agreement is rarely found, except between two intelligent men, and the admission of a third man of equal intelligence would greatly lessen the chances. And now I may tell you that my wife and daughter objected to my calling, affirming, as they had a right to do, that it was your place to call on me, as I was the newer comer. And I said, 'Madam, there are no women in this case, so, therefore, we have no need to be finical and unnatural.'" He cleared his throat, and cocked his head. The sharp face of his host looked serious, but there was a titter in his breast. "Of course," said the Professor, "one may have ever so hairy an ear, and yet the gossip of the neighborhood will force its way in. I have heard much concerning you. I heard that they did not understand you, and then I said to myself that you must be a man worth knowing." "Then I must be rare," said Milford. "Ah, sharp; that is sharp, sir. A dignified contempt for man may not belong to the text of the virtues, but it is one of the pictures that brightens the page. I beg pardon for even the appearance of infringement, but do you expect to reside here permanently?" "No, I have stopped to stay over night, and to chop wood for breakfast." "A judicious answer, sir; a shrewd statement. They told me that you were strangely guarded in speech, that you suffered yourself to seem dull rather than to trip off a waste of words. That is true wisdom, not, indeed, to have nothing to say, but keeping the something that fain would fly forth. I take it that you came from the city to these parts." "Yes, directly. But I was there only a short time." "A stranger, indeed. Have you ever chanced to live in Kansas?" "I've broken out there in spots." "Ha! an idiomatic answer. I see that you belong to the new school. Perhaps it is better, but I am too old to learn. Did you ever happen to break out in a spot called Grayson?" "I passed through there on my way to break out somewhere else." "You did? That was my town, sir--a seat of learning made famous by a bank robbery. When our city was ten years old, I read a paper at the celebration. Were you ever engaged in any educational work?" "Yes, one of the greatest. I sold a cook-book." "Shrewd; yes, sharp. From what I heard, I thought that you would be worth knowing. I have met your landlady, a most impressive woman, but with a vulgar contempt for my profession. She said that it was a good thing that I had left off fooling and at last got down to work. And I think that this has precluded any relationship between her and my wife. She can't stand a reference, not that kind of a reference, to my decline. In this regard, women haven't so much virtue as a man possesses. They can not piece a torn quilt with an aphorism. In what part of the country have your labors been mostly confined?" "Mostly between here and sunset." "More poetic than sharp," said the Professor, clearing his throat. "May I trouble you for a drink of water?" Milford drew water from the well near the walnut tree, and in the kitchen dipper conveyed a quart of it to the Professor, who drank with the thirst of a toper and the suck of a horse. "I am sufficiently watered," he said, bowing and returning the dipper to Milford, who threw it out upon the grass where the hired man could find it. "What a delightful way to live!" said the Professor. "You throw things about as you please, and there is no one to complain. You may leave your pipe anywhere, and probably find it again; you let hunger, instead of time, summon you to eat. I trust I do not shock you when I say that Adam enjoyed his greatest freedom before the appearance of Eve." Milford said that he was not shocked, and the Professor thanked him. It was pleasant to meet a philosopher, a man who did not foolishly feel called upon in resentment to declare, that his mother was a woman. A shrewder man than Milford might have inferred that the Professor had been nagged by his wife through the tedium of a Sunday forenoon. Work-day annoyances fester on Sunday. In the country, when a man has, on a Sunday, killed the chickens for dinner, salted the sheep in the pasture, and returned to the house, he is in the way; everything he does is wrong; everything he leaves undone is worse. He is kept on the ducking verge of a constant dodge. "No man has more respect for a woman than I have," said the Professor, "but I am forced to admit that she is a constant experiment. Nature herself does not as yet know what to make of her. One moment she is a joy, and the next she is searching for a man's weak spots, like a disease. I think that it was some such expression, spoken in a sententious mood, that helped to oust me from the easy chair of congenial letters." A clock struck the hour of five. The Professor seemed surprised at the swift rush of time. "Well, I must take my leave," said he, getting up and standing with his hands resting on the back of the chair. "Ah, and would you mind walking over to my home with me?" The lingering dawn of Milford's suspicions was now streaked with gray. "I'd like to, but the hired man's gone out, and I've got to do the chores about the place." "But perhaps I may return with you and assist you. I am an apt hand." "No, thank you, not to-day; some other time." A shade of disappointment fell upon him and darkened his dignity. "I am sorry," he said. "I had hoped to know you better, and we were making such fair progress. It is not often that I get along so well with a new acquaintance." He brightened suddenly, as if the reserve forces of his mind had been brought up. "Ah, would you object to my helping you with your work, and then taking a bachelor's supper with you?" "That's all right--fits me like a glove," said Milford. "Good!" cried the Professor. "Idiomatic, and divested of all shrewdness. Now, what shall we do first?" "I'll hatch up a bite to eat, and then we'll feed the stock. You sit here." He protested against a decree that might make a lazy guest of him, but he yielded, and sat down to hum a tune of contentment, pliant heart postponing trouble, procrastinator of annoyances. It did not take Milford long to prepare the meal, crisp strips of bacon, bread, and coffee boiled in a tin pail. The host said that it was but ranch fare. The guest rubbed his hands together, and declared that freedom was a pudding's sweetest sauce. He had read of many great feasts, in the days of the barons, when bulls were roasted whole, of the wild boar's head served upon the golden platter of the king, but to him there was one banquet mellower with sentiment than all the rest--General Marion and the British officer in the forest, with a pile of roasted sweet potatoes on a log. He sipped the dreggy coffee as if it were the mulled wine of a New Year's night. He talked loudly as if he enjoyed the resonant freedom of his own voice. He laughed in the present, and then was silent as a cool shadow of the future fell upon him. But he shifted from under the shadow, and went on with his talk, in florid congratulation of his host, his ease, his independence. There were no soft cushions, but there was rough repose, the undisturbed rest of honest weariness. Milford's judgment of men told him that this man had ever been a laughing-stock, afflicted as he was with a certain incompetent refinement of mind. But, in the varied society of life, how important is the office of such a failure! A shiftless man sometimes makes shiftless men more contented, softening enmities against life, and quieting clamors against discriminating nature. Here was a man who really was worth knowing, and the cowboy gratefully accepted him. He opened up his Noah's Ark of adventures, and entertained the man-child. He shoved back from the table, and sang a roaring song of a plainsman who died for love. He recited a poem by Antrobus, the herdsman's sneer of abandoned recklessness--"Like a Centaur, he speeds where the wild bull feeds." The Professor clapped his hands. He swore that no Eastcheap could afford a more delicious entertainment. Milford brought cider from the cellar, beading in a brown, earthen ewer, and the Professor snapped his eyes. "Where the wild bull feeds," he laughed, passing his cup for more. They shook hands, that they held in common so many old songs, lines familiar to our grandmothers--"Come, dearest, the daylight hath gone;" "The tiger's cub I'd bind with a chain." They sang till the daylight was gone, and then went forth laughingly to feed the stock. But the Professor left off his part of the singing before the work was completed. The shadow of the future had again fallen upon him, and he could not shift from under it. "Look here," he said, "you must go home with me. Do you understand?" "I think I do, and I'll go anywhere with you." "Idiomatic, and accommodating. Put her there!" he cried, striking hands with Milford. "Ha! how is that for idiom? Stay by me, gentle keeper, my soul is heavy, and I fain would--would duck." He leaned against the barn door and shook. Milford clapped him on the shoulder, and shook with him. Across a field, through a wood and along a grassy slope, they went, toward the Professor's home, passing a house which schoolboys said was haunted. The Professor talked philosophy. He had a religious theory, newly picked up on the way: If we die suddenly at night, dreaming a sweet dream, we continue the dream throughout eternity--heaven. If we die dreaming a troubled dream, we go on dreaming it after death--hell. Moral, then let us strive to live conducively to pleasant dreams. Milford agreed that, as a theory, it was good enough. Nearly anything was good enough for a theory. But wise men had summed up the future, and had died trusting in their creed. The Professor hung back at the word future. The future was now too near to be discussed as a speculation. He saw it shining through the window of his house. He heard it in the slamming of a door. "Well, here we are," he said, unwinding a chain from about a post, and opening a gate. "Step in. We will sit on the veranda--cooler than in the house." The door opened, and a large woman stepped out upon the veranda. Seeing who came, she uttered one of anger's unspellable words, a snort. She was a good woman, no doubt, but she was of the class who, in the old days, lent virtue to the ducking stool. In short, she was one who deemed herself the most abused of all earthly creatures, a scold. Pretending not to see her husband, she asked Milford what he wanted. "Mrs. Dolihide," said the Professor, "this is my very dear friend, Mr. Milford, our neighbor, and a man who has lived over most of the ground between here and sunset." "Oh, is that you? Really, I didn't expect to see you again. It's a pretty time to come poking home now, when you were to be here to go to church with us. Oh, you needn't blink your eyes, having us get ready and set here and wait and wait." "Mad and dressed up," muttered the Professor. "What could be more pitiable? Don't go," he whispered to Milford. "I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me. Idiomatically, I am half shot." "Let me go," said Milford. "Not on your idiomatic life," muttered the Professor. "Mother, I am very sorry that I didn't get here in time to accompany you and my daughter to the humble house of the Lord. But we may not be too late now to catch the welcome end of a long sermon." A voice came from within the house. "Is that pa?" "Yes," the Professor's wife replied, "and he's as drunk as a fool." "Oh, for pity sake! How dreadful, how humiliating to us! But he never thinks of us." An inner door slammed. Milford strove to pull away. The Professor clung to him. "It is not fear," he said. "It is a sort of awe that the sex inspires. But there is a time for boldness. Madam, you have told your daughter that I am drunk. I am here to refute that statement. I am not drunk. My friend is not drunk. We drank some cider, sinuous with age, but we are not drunk. He is a man of high moral character, and I breathe a respect for letters----" "Your breath would scorch a feather right now," she snapped, looking at him with contempt, her hands on her hips. "I deny that statement, also. I am here to refute it. I have been merrier than is my wont; we have shaken warm hands over a stone jug, but nobody's character was assailed. And I had thought, in view of the fact that I present a neighbor, you would treat me with a little more courtesy." "You didn't know me." "It appears not, madam. A man may think that he knows his wife to-day, but to-morrow there appears in her system the symptoms of a strange disease. But, if you will forgive me," he added, slowly advancing, "forgive a memory for slipping up in a slippery place, I will promise that there shall be no recurrence of the fall. Mrs. Dolihide, Mr. Milford." Milford roared with laughter. He broke loose from the Professor, and fled through the gate, and he did not check his flight till he was far down the road, and then he halted to laugh again. Since early evening, the sky had been overcast, and drops of rain began to fall. Milford hastened onward. In the woods, far across a willow flat, the wind blew hard, and the rain lashed the leaves. He turned aside into the haunted house. All the doors were open. He went to the back door and stood looking out at the coming of the rain. A noise quickened his blood, and looking about he saw a vision of white in the front door. "Who is that?" A slight cry, a swaying of the vision, a voice replying: "Oh, I did not know there was any one in here. I have stopped in out of the rain." And now his blood jumped. "Is that you, Miss Strand?" "Oh, yes, but I do not know you. Oh, is it Mr. Milford? How strange! But you do not live here?" "No, I've simply dodged in out of the wet. It's pouring down." "Yes, the clouds were a long time here, but the rain was quick. I went far over after a laundress. Mrs. Stuvic would have sent me in the buggy, but I wanted to walk; and now I shall be made sorry." "I hope not. Let me see if I can't make it more comfortable for you." He struck a match, and looked about. The room was bare. In places the floor was broken. She said, with a laugh, that she would not mind it so much but for the dark. "I hope you have many matches," she said. "I haven't, but I can remedy it. Here is an old smudge pan. I'll build a fire in it." He broke up a piece of board, split fine pieces with his knife, tore up a letter, and made a fire in the pan. In a shed-room he found a bench, dusted it, and brought it in for her. She sat down, and he stood looking at the play of the shadows and the light on her hair. The spirit of the cider was gone. He wondered why he had run down the road, laughing. He got down on his knees to feed the fire. It was a trick; it was stealing an attitude to pay a homage. "Mrs. Goodwin will be very much worried," she said. "I wish that I did not come. It was so much further than they said. I left when the sun was down. Now it is late, and I walked all the time." "I will run over there and bring the buggy for you." "Oh, no, no. The rain pours too much. When it is done I will go with you. The road is hard. There will be not much mud. We found many flowers in the woods to-day." "I saw you with an armful." "Did you see me wave at you when you stand on the high place in the oats?" "I did, but I was almost afraid to believe it." "Almost afraid? Why, what harm? There is no harm to wave a flower. Now it rains easier. It will soon quit." Never did a promised clearing of the sky so mock a man. He mended the fire, for, in his enraptured gazing, he had neglected it. He got up and looked out, to see a glimmer of the threatening moon and a star peeping from a nest of glinted cloud-wool. He returned and knelt near the fire-pan. "Is it clearing away?" she asked. "It's going to pour down." "But it is getting lighter." "I know, but another cloud is coming." "I may get home before the new rain falls." "No, I hear it in the woods off yonder." "If I run I may get to a house where some one lives." "The rain will catch you. A wind is behind it." "I don't hear the wind." "It is a low wind, but it will soon be high." "The smoke hurts my eyes. You have put on too much wood at once." "And we must stay till it burns out to keep the house from catching fire." "Oh, the moon is out. I must go now." "I will go with you." "Take me to the straight road, and then I will go alone." He took the pan between two sticks, and threw it far out upon the wet grass. A flock of sheep pattered by. "Sheep always run past a haunted house," he said, leading her to the road. "Is this place haunted?" she asked, looking back. "Yes, by a young man who drowned himself in the lake." "Why did he drown himself?" "On account of a young woman who lived here." She laughed at the cowboy's impromptu lie. "He was foolish to drown himself. Let us walk fast now. Mrs. Goodwin will be much afraid for me. Can you not walk faster?" When they reached the corners, where a broad road crossed their path, she turned to him and said: "I know where I am now. This is my road, and I am not far. I thank you ever so much, and I bid you good-night." She fled swiftly down the road, and he stood there long after she had faded from sight. CHAPTER VIII. THE GOSSIPERS. The low place where Milford hoed the young corn was not far from Mrs. Stuvic's, and more than once during the forenoon he went to the top of the rise and looked toward the house. He saw George out in the road, teaching his wife to ride a wheel, saw the Dutch girl driving the turkeys out of the garden, heard the old woman shout for the pony-cart to take her to the town of Waukegan, but saw nothing of the young woman who had filled his sleep with dreams. He returned to his work, chopping the stubborn clods, the heat growing fiercer with the approach of noon, the wet land steaming. Of a sudden, he cursed his hoe, and threw it from him. "But I've got to do it," he said, and resumed his labor. George came across the field. "Well, sir," said he, "I didn't go back to town this morning as I laid out to do, and now I'm like a fish out of water. Just as I got ready to go, my wife misunderstood something I said, and then it was all off. A man's a fool to leave his wife with a misunderstanding in her head. Everything ought to be smoothed over before he goes. One morning, not long ago, I scolded the boy at the breakfast table, and he was crying when I left the house. I got on the car and tried to read a newspaper, but couldn't. And, sir, I hopped off the car, took another one back, and made it up with him. He had forgotten all about it, but I hadn't. We were all pretty well stirred up over the 'peach' last night. Got caught out in the rain, and we thought the doctor's wife would have a fit. And at the breakfast table this morning, she gave an account of herself. Oh, she's straightforward. She said you entertained her with a fire." "A flash in the pan," said Milford. "Well, I don't know as to that, for when there's a flash in the pan there's no report, but I guess you'll hear report enough when you meet those women over at the house. They've made a love affair out of it--they say you're treating a certain young woman shamefully. Oh, they've got it all fixed up to suit themselves. They told the 'peach' you were engaged, and that she's wrong to encourage you." "The devil they did!" Milford shouted. "What right have they got to presume----" "It's not presuming on the part of a woman, my dear fellow; it's a natural conclusion. The girl couldn't say a thing. She stammered, and finally she stormed. She said it was nothing to her if you were engaged to a thousand women. She threatened to leave, and then the women apologized. And about that time I decided that I wouldn't go to town to-day." "I'll go over there," said Milford. "No, don't do anything of the sort, not while you're mad. It's all right now." "No, it's not all right, but I want to tell you that I'll make it all right." "Now, don't go on getting hot. The thing was a joke, and is all smoothed over. It arose out of pity for the other young woman." "Confound it! there isn't any other woman." "That's all right; that's what I told them. No other woman, of course not. There never is. Well, I'll be off. I go at twelve forty-five." George trudged off over the clods, and Milford stood looking after him, a dark scowl on his face. Those miserable women, not half so innocent as blanketed squaws drooling about a camp-fire. And that slim Mrs. Blakemore, lithe as a viper, had inspired it all. How could a refined woman be so full of the devil's poisonous juice? In his humble way, he had tried to help her out of a trouble. Tired, and with every bone aching, he had fought off sleep to make good his word with her. Wasp! she had stung him. It was nearly noon, and he went to the house to make fat meat hiss in a hot pan. He sat brooding over the table when Mitchell came in. "Are you stalled in sight of the stable?" the hired man asked, seeing that Milford had not begun to eat. "I'm down to the hub in a rut." "Prize out," said Mitchell, sitting down. "That's right, I guess; only thing I can do. Shove that hog down this way. How are you getting along over there?" "Be done by night. Rain put the ground in pretty good fix. You about done?" "Yes. I'll plow this afternoon." "Say, Bill, what are divorces worth?" "Divorces? I never bought one." "Well, it looks to me like I ought to get one pretty cheap under the circumstances. Wife ran away." "Yes, they ought to give you a good discount. Don't you think you'd better get two while you're at it? You might need another one after a while." "No, I guess one'll be about enough." "Generally, when a man is looking for a divorce, he wants to marry again. Have you got any such notion?" "Well, I know a woman that would make a man a mighty good livin'. She ain't putty; she's as freckled as a turkey egg, but she's a hustler from 'way back. I could bring her here. You could board with us. She's a rattlin' cook; and she's got land. What do you say?" "I say you are a scoundrel?" "Oh, that's all right; I'm a man. But I don't see anythin' wrong in it. She's a woman, and if it ain't right for a woman to keep house, then I don't know what it is right for her to do. She wants to marry, and I don't see that anybody is kickin' up much dust around her. What do you say?" "I told you what I said." "Yes, you said I was a scoundrel, and there hain't been any argument raised on that p'int. What do you say about her comin'?" "She'll not come while I'm here; I'll tell you that." "That's all you need to tell me. I'm a good scuffler, but I know when I'm flung down. You didn't see the Professor's daughter when you was over there, did you?" "Is she the woman?" "That I'm thinkin' of marryin'? Not much! Willie bows to her and passes on. She reminds me of a blue heron, and the wind whistles when she passes." "How did you happen to mention her?" "Oh, she flew into my head--so different from my woman. I know'd the Professor when he tried to keep boarders over near Antioch. Talked his house empty. Took up a tramp that had book sense, and kept him till the old woman drove him off. It took more than a hint to get rid of him. She throw'd his wallet and stick out into the road. He picked 'em up, and went back into the house to argy Scripture with the Professor. Then she flew at him with a fire-shovel, and he hulled out. What makes you so glum on women, Bill?" "What makes a dog so glum on cats?" "There must be somethin' wrong, sure enough, when you put it that way. What's wrong?" "Oh, they've raised hell over at the house." "The women have? Well, that's their business, Bill; that's their trade." "I guess you're right," Milford replied, with a laugh. He got up, took down his pipe, and went out for a half-hour's smoke on the grass, in the shade of the walnut tree. The smoke soothed him. Tobacco may be a great physical enemy, he argued, but a briar-root pipe is the most trustworthy timber for president of a peace society. Why are women so unforgiving? Because they do not smoke. Why was James the First a pedantic ass? Because he wrote a pamphlet against tobacco. Milford lay back in a forgiving muse. Perhaps, after all, the slim woman had not been so much at fault. She had too much sympathy to be very strong, and it is manly to forgive a woman's weakness; it is, at least, manly to acknowledge to ourselves that we do. It is also manly to hold a slight grudge as a warning against a recurrence of the offense. Milford would hold a grudge, and show it by sulking. He would keep himself apart from them during the week, and on Sunday he would walk high-headed past the house. This was a sound and respectable resolution, and he smiled upon his own resources. It took occasion to inspire a plan. And the woman who did not care whether he were engaged to a thousand women? He would--of course, he would speak to her, but with distinct reserve. However, some time must pass before he would give any of them a chance to speak to him. A boy came up through the orchard and halted at the garden fence. Milford asked him what was wanted. "They are going to have some music over at Mrs. Stuvic's to-night, and they told me to come over and tell you to be sure and come." CHAPTER IX. IN THE OLD WOMAN'S PARLOR. It was clearly an insult to ask him to come. They had slandered him, and now they wanted him at their entertainment. He told the boy to tell them that he would not be there. He plowed during the afternoon, with never a look toward the house when he turned at the end of a row. He hoped that they expected him; he would smack his lips over the vicious joy of disappointing them. The invitation had, no doubt, come from Mrs. Blakemore; Miss Strand could have had no hand in it. She did not care enough for him to wish for his company. But it made no difference who did the inviting, he would not go. He went home tired, and was sleepy at the supper table. He took down his pipe and lighted it. Mitchell talked about the woman whose freckles were as gold to him. He had found a valuable rod and reel in the rushes; he would sell them and buy a divorce. "If you take my advice," said Milford, "you'll let the women alone." "But a feller that's in love can't take advice." "Love!" Milford sneered. "You in love?" "That's what. Fell in love about a quarter to two, last Sunday was a week. What are you doin' with that boiled shirt lyin' out there? Goin' to put it on?" "I don't know. Is there any water in the rain barrel?" "Ought to be if it hain't leaked out; poured in there last night. Goin' to take a bath?" "Don't suppose I want to drink out of the rain barrel, do you?" "Didn't know; no tellin' much what a feller'll do. But it hits me that when a man begins to take baths he's sorter in love himself, now that we're on that subject." "Well, I don't have to get a divorce." "That don't sound like you, Bill. Don't believe I'd gouge you that way." Milford's dark countenance flushed; he made a noise in his throat. He held out his hand, and in a gentle voice said: "I beg your pardon. Shake." "You've said enough," Mitchell replied, shaking hands with him. "All that a son of old Illinois needs is that sort of play, and he's done. Goin' somewhere to-night?" "No; thought I'd put on clean clothes and walk about in the woods." He dressed himself and walked down by the lake. He heard the merry splashings of moonlight bathers, the hound-like baying of the bull frogs, far away in the rushes. He picked his way over a barbed-wire fence, and went into the thick woods where the close air still held the heat of the day. He came out into the road a quarter of a mile below Mrs. Stuvic's house. It was too dark to go back through the woods; there were numerous stumps, tangled vines, and the keen briar of the wild gooseberry. The grass field further along was drenched with dew. He would pass the house and take the road through the hickory grove. As he drew near, he heard the piano. It reminded him of an old box that had been hauled over the mountains and set up in a mining camp. The red lantern swung from the eaves of the veranda. Some one began to sing, and he halted at the gate. Why make an outcast of himself? he mused. He went into the yard, and stood there. Who was he, to be sulking? What right had he, a laborer, to expect anything? They had made him a gift of their attention. In the city, they would not have noticed him. He would go in, a nobody, and pick up a crumb of entertainment. The door stood open. Mrs. Blakemore saw him. She came out with a smile. "Oh, I thought you would come if you could," she said. "So kind of you. Come in." The first person whom he saw upon entering the room was the Professor, in earnest conversation with the "discoverer." He was telling her of the pleasure it would give him to have her meet his wife. They would strike up a friendship, both being patronesses of art and intellect. But his wife was a great home-body. She rarely went out; she was contented to have him represent her with his praises. And he thought that it was pardonable in a man to praise his wife. He offered no apology for it. Romance had not deserted his fireside. A fresh bow of blue ribbon was ever at the throat of his married life. At this moment he spied Milford, and blustered up to greet him. It was not enough to say that he was pleased; he was delighted. He grasped Milford's hand and shook it warmly. He spoke of Milford's charming visit to his home; it was an honor that his family keenly appreciated. "Oh, you are acquainted with Mrs. Goodwin. Yes, I remember now, you paid her a deserved compliment. He spoke of your great gifts, madam." Gunhild was not in the room. Footsteps came down the passage-way, and Milford's eyes flew to the floor. Some one at the piano loosened a dam, and let flow a merry rivulet, and into the room danced Mrs. Stuvic, her head high, and her back as straight as an ironing board. The children shrieked with laughter, and the men and women clapped their hands. She was oblivious to applause. She was looking far back upon a hewed log floor, bright faces about a great fireplace, and a fiddler in the corner, beneath a string of dried pumpkin, hanging from a rafter. The rillet of music ran out. "Yes, you bet!" she said, with tears in her eyes. "Many and many a time, Bill; and all night long, with the snow three feet outside, and the wolves howlin' in the woods. Yes, you bet! Who is this?" Mrs. Goodwin introduced the Professor. He hopped to one side, back again, bowed, and expressed his great pleasure. "Dolihide," said Mrs. Stuvic. "I'd forget that name even if it was my own. But my, what names they do fish up these days! Oh, let me see, you've moved over to the old Pruitt place. Yes, I saw your wife at Lake Villa. Big fat woman. And I've met you before." The Professor bowed. "Not lean, madam; not lean, but not fat. She couldn't dance as you do, but not fat, madam." "No, you bet she couldn't," said Mrs. Stuvic. "And there ain't many that can. Strike up a tune there, and, Bill, you come out here and dance with me." "Oh, yes, do!" Mrs. Blakemore cried. Milford not only declined; he "bucked." He was not to be caught in such a trap. He might be made to look ridiculous, but not with his willing assistance. He might have nerve enough to break wild horses, he said, but not enough to get out on a floor to dance. Why not take the Professor? Milford expected to see him run, but he stepped forth with a gracious smile, and took hold of the old woman. And while they were dancing Gunhild entered the room. Without even the slightest tint of embarrassment, she went straightway to Milford and shook hands with him. She had been out bareheaded, under the trees, and dewdrops gleamed in her hair. "Did you find Mrs. Goodwin much scared about you last night?" "Not much. She knew I would come home safe. This morning, when I said how kind it was of you to keep a light burning in a pan for me, they laughed. And I was angry till they told me it was all a joke." "I heard about it. Blakemore told me." "Did he? Oh, it was not much important." "And they tried to guy you about me, did they?" "Guy me? They tried to plague. Then I get mad till I understand, and then I laugh." "Blakemore said they told you that I--that I was engaged." "Yes, but that was of no difference. They tried to make me think I do wrong to walk with you when you engaged. I told them that it made no difference." "But I am not engaged." "No? But it makes no difference. You know, I think it almost a shame for that old woman to dance. It makes me feel--feel--I do not know, but you know--you understand." "Yes; I feel the same way." "Yes. Have you been working hard to-day?" "Pretty hard. What have you been doing?" "Reading a book and trying to draw. I could do neither. Spread everywhere was a drawing that I could not catch; and hummed in the air were words more beautiful than in the book. They have quit dancing. I am glad." The Professor resumed his talk with the "discoverer." "One of the truest pleasures enjoyed by man is to meet a woman with a mind." "Indeed! And are they so very rare?" "Oh, no, no," the Professor quickly replied, realizing that he had struck the wrong key. "As an educator, I know the scope and the power of the female mind--I do not like the expression, female mind, but I must employ it to make my meaning clear. Yes, I know the scope and the power, comparing more than favorably with the mind of man. But--" and here he halted, with a finger in the air, to give the word emphasis--"but, once in a long while, we meet an exceptional female mind, and it is then that we experience our truest pleasure. Such a mind, I may say, is possessed by my wife; and, begging the pardon of your presence, such is the mind that I have met here to-night." She looked at him with a woman's doubt, which means more than half believing. She glanced at Gunhild, wondering whether the girl had overheard the remark. She seemed anxious that some one should have caught it. Compliments are almost worthless when they reach none but the flattered ear. And to tell that they have been paid is too much like presenting one with a withered flower. Gunhild had not heard the remark. She was picking up Milford's slowly dropping words. "You are very kind, Professor, but, really, you don't expect me to believe you when you express such satisfaction at meeting me." The Professor appeared grief-smitten. "Madam, as an educator, I have been accustomed to deal with many phases of the human mind. And I have lived long enough to verify the adage that honesty is the best policy, in words as well as in acts; and I have learned that, while truth told to man is a virtue, it is, told to a woman, a sublimity." He bowed and twisted the sharp point of his red beard, a gimlet with which he would bore through the soft sheeting of a woman's incredulity. At this moment, it flashed upon her that she had made another discovery, not of a genius, but of a philosopher. But she must be cautious. He might have a treatise ready for the publisher. She sighed a regret that the doctor was not present to hear the exalted talk of this gifted man. How dim his eyes were, with groping in the dusk, looking for the learning of the ancients! In such wisdom there must be sincerity. But it was not wise to swallow with too keen a show of relish. She would dally with this delicious food. "Oh," she laughed, "it is so easy for a man to pay a compliment." "Madam, I admit that a studied art may become a careless grace, witness the Frenchman and the Spaniard; but the blunt Anglo-Saxon must still depend upon truth for his incentive--the others taste dainty viands; he feeds upon blood-dripping meat." She did not know exactly what he meant, but it sounded well, and bowing thoughtfully, she said: "How true!" Some one raised a clamor for a song from Mrs. Stuvic. She was as ready to sing as to dance. Her accomplishments belonged to her boarders. And she sang a song popular in her day: "Pretty little Miss, don't stand on beauty, That's a flower that must soon decay, Reddest rose in yonder's garden, Half an hour will fade away. No, no, no, sir, no; all the answer she made was no." Milford was called upon for a story. He refused, but the girl's eyes implored him, and he told a story of heroism in a blizzard. The Professor was then called out for a speech. The Liberty of the American was his theme; the glory of every man having a castle, his climax. Milford smiled to think of the road leading from the Professor's castle, of the portcullis that had come near falling on him. He saw the mistress of the castle standing with her hands on her hips. "He has so many fine words," said Gunhild. "Why don't they send him to the Congress?" "Because they've got too many fine words there already, I guess," Milford answered. "But is he not a very smart man?" "Oh, yes, smart enough, I guess. That's what's the matter with him--too smart." "But how can a man be too smart?" "I give it up. But it seems as if it takes a fool to make a success of life; the hogs of the business world root up money." "I do not understand. You are making some fun of me." "No, I'm giving it to you straight. The successful business man wears bristles on his back." She laughed at this. She said that she knew he was making fun of her; but she liked to hear him talk like that. It was so new to her. "Ha! her complexion reminds me of a tinted vase with the light seeping through it," said the Professor, talking to the "discoverer," but with his eyes fixed upon the Norwegian girl. "A flower come up out of the wild and long-neglected garden of the Viking. And how truly American those people soon become! Blood, madam; it is blood." "Gunhild is a good girl, and knows nothing so well as she does honor." "A girl who knows honor is splendidly equipped, madam. I have a daughter. And who is it that accompanies her? It is honor, madam. Throughout the seasons, they are together, arm about waist, like school girls, studying virtue from the same book." She leaned over and touched his arm. "I want to ask you something. Do you know very much about Mr. Milford?" "He warmed his hand with his heart, madam, and extended it to me." "But don't you think he's peculiar?" "All things are peculiar until we understand them." "I know, but isn't there something strange about his being here as he is, working on a farm?" "Not to me, when I meditate upon the fact that I myself keep books and do general roust-about work for a planing mill. Roust-about--idiomatic, good, and to the point." "But farm work is so hard," she persisted. "And he appears to be so well equipped for something better. At times, he is almost brilliant." "A brightness in the rough," said the Professor. "He has that crude quality of force which sometimes puts to shame the more nearly even puissance of a systematic training." She looked at him as if her eyes said, "Charming." And the world had suffered him to go to seed, nodding his ripe and bursting pod in the empty air. It was a shame. But his treatise on philosophy--she must find out about that. "Professor, have you ever written anything?" He smiled. "Madam, the web I have woven, if spun straight, would encircle the globe. I have written." "Philosophy?" "Finance, madam." She choked a laugh in its infant uprising. That this threadbare man should write about money! How ridiculous! But true genius has many a curious kink. Mrs. Blakemore, feeling that she was neglected, brought in Bobbie to annoy the company with him. She bade him shake hands with Mr. Milford; she commanded him to recite for the Professor. The learned man smiled. He said that there was nothing so sweet as the infant lip, lisping its way into the fields of knowledge. Multicharged by his mother, the boy began to fire off, "I am not mad, no, am not mad." Mrs. Stuvic, who had been remarkably quiet, got up and remarked as she passed Milford: "This lets me out; yes, you bet!" The Professor applauded the youngster. He would be a great man, some day. He had the voice and the manner of the true orator. Only seven years old? Quite remarkable. His mother stroked his hair, and said that, in fact, he would not be seven till the eighteenth of September. At this the Professor was much surprised. Really a remarkable boy. Mr. Josh Spence, a fat man rounding out a corner of the room with his retiring flesh, was called upon for a song. He was modest, and he declined, but yielded upon persuasion, and in strained tenor sang "Marguerite." "Do you like his voice?" Gunhild asked. "It's not big enough to fit him," Milford answered. "But let him sing. It keeps the boy quiet." "Oh, are you not ashamed? He is a nice little man, and his mother loves him so." "And only seven years old," said Milford. "You must not make fun. The boy is her heart. You must not laugh at a heart." Milford flinched. He had not said the right thing. "Mitchell, the man who works with me, called me down for saying something that I oughtn't to have said, and I apologized, and we shook hands. I apologize to you. Shall we shake hands?" She shook her head. "No, it will not be necessary. You do not mean to be cruel." This touched him. He tried to hide himself with a laugh. She looked at him earnestly, and his face sobered. He thought of the night before, his kneeling to her on the floor of the haunted house, and felt that it would be a comfort to drop upon his knees again, not to talk of the wind rising among the trees, but to tell her that she had clasped her hands about his heart. "Shall we go out on the veranda?" he asked, eating her with his glutton eyes. "No, it is getting late. See, Mrs. Goodwin is telling the Professor good-night. I must go too." "May I see you again soon?" "Oh, you may come. Mrs. Goodwin will not care." "But do you want me to--do you care if I come?" "Yes, I will like for you to come. We will be friends." "And shall we go over into the woods where the mandrakes are in bloom?" "Yes, Mrs. Goodwin likes the flowers that grow in the woods. She calls them beautiful barbarians." Mrs. Stuvic took the lantern down from under the eaves of the veranda. She called it a sign to every rat to hunt his hole. She joked at Milford as he passed her, going out. Even her blunt eye saw that he was enthralled. "Not so loud," he said. "Those people might hear you." "I'd better flag you down," she replied, swinging the red lantern before his face. Milford and the Professor walked off together along the road running through the grove. "Professor, you seemed to be happy to-night." "My dear fellow, I am the most miserable man alive--just at this time." "What's the trouble?" "Life insurance. It will be due on the ninth of this present month, three days from now, ninety-seven dollars and forty cents, and how I am to raise it the Lord only knows. I have been carrying it for seven years, a galling burden, shifted from shoulder to shoulder, with but a moment of relief between the shifts. Many a time as the day approached have I wished that the lightning might strike me. And I pledge you my word that I would rather die any sort of death than to have it lapse. It has been a hard fight, a fight that my wife and daughter, as intelligent as they are, could not fully understand. They argue sometimes that the money thus invested would make them comfortable, with better clothes and more furniture in the house. They cannot comprehend that I am making this great sacrifice for a rainy day, a day when I shall be out in the rain and they in a better house." "Well, I want to tell you that it's noble in you." "No, I don't look at it that way. It is a self-defense, an easing of my conscience for not providing better for them. But I must manage to raise it somehow, and I have an idea. I have been sounding Mrs. Goodwin. She has faith in my ability. I am going to write something and upon it borrow enough money from her to pay my installment. Her husband can send the paper to a medical review with his name signed to it. Some sanitary measures that I have long pondered shall be set forth. Result, notoriety for the doctor and his wife and a moment of ease between the shifts for me. Would you resort to anything like that?" "Would I? Well, I should think so. Do you know what I'd do? If I had--had some one dependent upon me and had my life insured, I'd go out on the highway and hold up a chosen servant of the Lord before I'd let it lapse." "My dear boy, I am delighted to know that you understand how I feel. I don't want to be a rascal; I would like to be honest. But I tell you that I have resorted to many a piece of trickery--almost treachery--to pay my premiums. I could tell you something, but you would hate me for it." "No, I wouldn't." "Well, I would better not tell it. What a charming young woman!" "Yes. Blakemore calls her a 'peach.'" "A vulgarism not altogether unbefitting," said the Professor, stumbling along in the dark. "She has not the dash of the American girl, perhaps, but I rather admire her for the lack of it. Well, our roads part here. From now until morning I must work on my medical paper." CHAPTER X. HIS NICKNAME. The hot weather fled before a cool mist that came floating over from Lake Michigan. A cold rain began to fall. Cows lowed, and dogs, soonest of all creatures to feel a change in the atmosphere, crouched shivering in the doorways. Milford worked in the barn till there was nothing more to do, and then he went to the house and sat down with a newspaper. But he could not find interest in it. He threw down the paper and from his bag he took out a worn copy of Whittier. It was a day when we like to read the old things which long ago we committed to memory. We know the word before we reach it, but reaching it, we find it full of a new meaning. But the hours are long when the heart is restless. Out in the woods the mist hung in the tree-tops as if vapor were the world's slow-moving time, balking among the dripping leaves. From a longing Milford's desire to go over to Mrs. Stuvic's became a feverish throb. But the old woman's grin and the red lantern waved in his face constantly arose before him. He strove to recall what the girl had said. He could not find the words that she had spoken, but he remembered that he had felt an encouragement. He went out in the drizzle, to the knoll in the oat field, and stood there, gazing toward the house. He cursed himself for a fool and returned to his cheerless shelter. The hired man sat at the dining-room table, playing solitaire with a pack of greasy cards. "I worked this thing the other day, but it won't come now," he said. "But what have you done when you do it?" "Well, not much of anything, but you're on top. Heigho! I'd almost rather work than to sit around such a day as this. I don't believe we can do anything in the field to-day. Think so?" "No. Thinking about going somewhere?" "Not exactly. Didn't know but I might go over to see my girl. Told me the other day she was lonesome without me. And when you get a woman so she's lonesome without you, why, you've got her foul. Haven't changed your mind about not wantin' her here, have you?" "No, and I don't expect to change it. I don't know how long I'll be here." He strode up and down the room. "But I'll stick it out," he added, talking to himself. "It's got to be done, no matter what comes." "Yes, stick it out," said the hired man. "You've got too good a hold to turn loose now. The fellers around have begun to praise you. They say you are goin' to make a go of it." "A go of what?" "I don't know, but that's what they said." "Bob, do you remember my telling you not long ago that I once jumped on a horse and galloped away from a girl." "Yes, and I thought of how different your case was from mine. Girl galloped away from me. But what about it?" "That woman is over at Mrs. Stuvic's now." "You don't mean the same woman?" "Yes, I do; the very same woman--a Norwegian." "Did she say she was the same?" "She hasn't said anything about it and neither have I. But I know she's the same. She wasn't quite grown when I saw her in a little town out West. She was at a hotel--I think her uncle ran the place. I don't believe she ever noticed me. But I noticed her, and I made up my mind that I wasn't going to be tangled up with her, so I rode away, whistling over the prairie. Yes, sir, the same woman. I never could forget that face, not so beautiful, but a face that takes hold and never turns loose." "Well, that is strange," said the hired man, looking at an ace of clubs and slowly placing it on the table. "Believe I'm going to fluke on this thing. Smart woman, Bill?" "I don't know; I can't tell." "But you've heard her talk, haven't you?" "Yes," said Milford, standing at the window, looking out at the mist, now trailing low over the fields. "I've heard her talk, but when a man has galloped away from a woman he's not much of a judge of her mind." "This ten specker wants to go right here. Now let me see. I guess you're right, Bill. But what are you goin' to do about it?" "I don't know." "Well, that's perfectly natural. Six goes here. You better not let the old woman find it out. She'll devil you to death." "She already knows there's something up. It didn't take but a moment for me to satisfy myself that this was the same girl; and I struck out again, intending to go away; but I stopped at the gate and went back." "But what makes you run away from 'em? I run after 'em. Built that way. Canal cook goes here," he said, referring to a queen. "Is she skittish, Bill?" "No," said Milford, turning from the window and walking up and down the room. "She's modest, but not skittish." "And you don't remember whether she's got good sense or not?" "Of course she has. What the devil are you talking about?" "All right. But you said you didn't know. I simply want to get at the merits of the case. I know a good deal about women as women go, and they go. Been married once and slipped up three times. Can she talk without smilin' all the time?" "Yes. She's very earnest at times." Mitchell raked the cards together, shuffled them and threw the pack on the table. "A woman that smiles all the time wants you to think she's better than she is. I married a smile." "A frown trailing the skirts of a smile," said Milford, and then with a laugh, he added: "I must have caught that from the Professor." "I don't know, Bill. But a man that'll sit up and read poetry is apt to say most anythin'. I once heard a fellow say that men read poetry because they like it and women because they think they do." "That fellow was a fool and a liar." "Well, it's easy enough to be both. That sort of double harness is always handy. I don't know much about your case, as I haven't seen her, but if I was in your place I don't believe I'd rush things. A man that starts in by being badly stuck generally has to win the woman--not often that they are stuck alike. I'd stay away and make her get lonesome to see me." "But how can I tell whether or not she's lonesome to see me?" "By her tryin' not to seem glad when she sees you again." "But that leaves the case open for a trip-up. How can I tell that she's trying not to seem glad?" "Well, your horse-sense will have to tell you that. But I thought you didn't want any woman on the place." "I don't. In looking at it I haven't strained my eye as far as marriage." "Then what's the use of lovin' her? It's a waste of raw material." "There's something I must do before I could permit myself to think of marrying, and I'm going to do it if it takes a leg. But I'll tell you what's a fact, I'd rather have that woman's love than anything on the earth. Sometimes I think that if I knew she loved me I'd be willing to die. There's somebody out there on the veranda." A boy came with a note from the Professor's wife, inviting Milford to supper that evening. There was no allusion to the cause that led to his kicking up the dust in front of her gate. It would give her husband, her daughter and herself great pleasure to have him come, and it was hoped that he would not disappoint them. The boy had not waited for an answer. The courtesy fell as an obligation. There was no easy way to dodge it. He would go. The afternoon was long. Mitchell rigged himself in his best, bought of a peddler after much haggling, and went forth to woo the freckled woman. Milford strolled out into the woods. It was a pleasure to stand in the mist, the trees shadowy about him. It was dreamy to fancy the fog a torn fragment of night, floating through the day. It was easy to imagine the lake a boundless sea. Over the rushes a loon flew, a gaunt and feathered loneliness, looking for a place to light. Milford strolled along a pathway, over high ground, once the brow of the receding lake; and here the growth was heavy, with great trees leaning toward the marsh and hawthorn thickets standing in rounded groups. He came to an open space. In the midst of it stood a sapling. A grape vine had spread over its branches, neatly trimming its outer edges, a hoisted umbrella of leaves. He stopped short. On a boulder beneath this canopy, with her back toward him, almost hidden, sat a woman. She was wrapped in a cloak. But there was no mistaking her hair. She heard his footstep and looked round. She did not appear much surprised. She arose with a smile. "I have been sitting here in Norway," she said. "See the cliffs?" she added, pointing to a mountain range of mist. "But you must have got wet." "No. But it would make no difference. I do not mind it. I love such a day. It is an etching. Do you go this way? I have stayed long enough." She walked along the path in front of him, bending to avoid the low boughs, laughing when a wet leaf slapped her cheek. "Let me go in front to clear the way," he said. "Oh, no, I like this." She leaped across a gulley. A briar pulled at her skirts. She turned about with the merest tint of a blush. He was not enough of an idealist to etherealize her. He felt her spirit, but acknowledged her a flesh and blood woman, belonging to the earth, but as the flower does, with a perfume. Her lips bespoke passion; her eyes control. He was glad that he saw her so clearly. "We shall soon be to the road," she said. "And you mean that you will leave me there as you did the other night?" "You are quick to guess." "Is it because you don't want to be seen with me?" "Yes. Those women talk." "But haven't they--haven't they any faith in their kind?" "Not much," she said frankly. "But why should you care what they say?" She looked back at him. "I mean that you are so far above them," he added. "You are worth all of them put together." "It is very kind of you to say so. But I am not." "I would swear it on a stack of Bibles." "Your oath would not be taken. But let us not talk about it. You do not know what you say when you praise me. I don't place myself above them. I know myself." She halted, turned about and held forth her hand. "See, I have worked in the potato field. I have been a laborer." "I am a laborer now," he said as they walked on. "There's no disgrace in work." "Not for a man, not for a woman, but in a field with rough men--" she shrugged her shoulders. "But the rough men--they had no effect on you," he said, almost pleadingly. "What effect could they have?" "I was very young. Even at school I had not forgotten their oaths. My uncle sent me to school. He was a poor man, but he sent me." "Didn't he run a hotel at one time?" he asked. "Yes, out in Dakota. I worked for him between terms. There were many Norwegians about, and I learned English slowly. But this is of no interest to you." "Yes, it is--the keenest sort of interest. I mean I like to hear it. What became of your uncle?" "He is a gripman on a cable train in the city. One of these days I am going to pay him back. And I am going to pay Mrs. Goodwin, too. I will be her companion as long as it pleases her, and then I must find work. I think I can teach drawing in the country. I could do nothing at it in town. Now, you see, I must be careful not to have any talk. I can take care of myself anywhere, in a potato field or in the woods, but I must not distress Mrs. Goodwin. This is the road." "Wait a moment. I feel more at liberty to talk to you." "Now that you find out that I have been a laborer? I do not like that. I wish you had not said it." "Wait. No, not that, but because we are more of a kind in a way--we both have an object. I am going to pay a man. That's the reason I dig in the hot sun." "Are you so honest?" "No, I'm worse than a thief. Don't go--just one moment, please. Sometime I may tell you. They think I like to work, but I hate it. In my thoughts I have committed a thousand murders with my hoe. Let me ask you a question, one laborer of another. Do you like me?" "Very much," she answered, looking at him steadily. "I thank the Lord for that much. We might help each other to--" "No, our battles are apart." "Oh, I didn't mean that. I mean we can help each other spiritually. Don't you think so?" "We can all help one another spiritually," she said. "May I go now?" she asked, smiling. "I wish I could keep you from going. Wait. I can't understand that you have labored in a field. You are the most graceful woman I ever saw--the most perfect lady couldn't discount you. You've got good blood. I believe in blood." "I am of a good family," she said. "My father was once a man of some importance. But the world turned against him. Blood is all that saved me." "I've got one more word to say, now that we are better acquainted. I jumped on a horse once and galloped away from you--out at the little town on the prairie. You don't remember me, but I do you." "Galloped away from me!" she said in surprise. "Why did you do that?" "Because I didn't want to get tangled up. Did you ever see a bigger fool? And when I saw you out here I started off again, but I stopped and said, 'I'll be damned if I do.' Once is enough. May I tell you more?" "No," she said, stepping back. "I have heard enough. And what you tell me may not be true--about galloping away. I don't mean to offend you. But I have been taught to believe--" "That all men are liars," he suggested. She nodded. "They taught you about right," he went on. "Yes, they did. But sometimes the biggest liar may tell the truest truth. They took you out of the field and taught you politeness. I went from a college out into the wilds and there I forgot learning and learned deviltry. Do you know what they used to call me? Hell-in-the-Mud. That was my nickname. Hell-in-the-Mud, think of it! And what saved me, if I am saved? An old woman living on a hillside in Connecticut--my mother--prayed for me and died. It's a fact. I don't know whether there's a God or not, that is, for the average run of us, but there's one for her. Prayed for Hell-in-the-Mud, and her prayer was printed in the village paper, and I got hold of it. Then I said I would pay him--a man. But go on, I'm telling you too much." She turned away without saying another word and almost ran along the road. He stood watching her, hoping that she would look back at him, but she did not. He went to the house. He snatched the cards from the table and tore them into bits. "I hate the sight of them," he said. The clock struck five. He was reminded of his engagement at the Professor's, and he hastened to fill it. He had dreaded to meet the woman who had scared him out of her dooryard. His nerve had been lead. Now it was iron. CHAPTER XI. A MAN As Milford hastened over the road that led to the Professor's house, a picture thrust itself into his mind, to shorten his stride, to make him slow. He saw the girl's hand held out to him, and he wondered why he had not dared to touch it. Surely, there was no labor mark upon it, pink and soft-looking, a hand for the pressure of love and not for work in a field. She had said that she liked him. But any one might have said that. She had said it with a frankness which showed that she had not told more than the truth. But why should she have told more than the truth? Why have had more than truth to tell? He put it all aside and strode onward toward the Professor's house. A light gleamed feebly through the mist. He unwound the chain from about the gate-post. A dog barked. The door opened and the Professor stepped out, gowned and slippered. He seized his visitor warmly by the hand and led him into the sitting-room, dim with faded furnishings. His fingers were ink-stained, and his red hair was awry as if he had raked his head for thought. Mrs. Dolihide came into the room. "My dear," said the Professor, "permit me to present to you, and to the humble hospitality of our home, our neighbor and my friend, Mr. Milford, the so-called mysterious, but, indeed, the plain and straightforward. Mrs. Dolihide, Mr. Milford." She smiled pleasantly, drew back with a bow, stepped forward and held out her hand. She said that she was delighted to meet him. She had heard her husband speak of him so often. Milford breathed a new atmosphere. He saw that there was to be no allusion to the dust that was kicked up in front of the house. From the dining-room there came a stimulating sniff of coffee. A cat came in with a limber walk and stiffened herself to rub against Milford's chair. "A fine cat," he said, stroking her. "A marvelous animal," replied the Professor. "We have had her now going on--how long have we had her, my dear?" "Oh, she's only been here about two weeks," his wife answered. "Ah, I was thinking of her predecessor, a most wonderful cat, with a keen sense of propriety, never disturbing the loose ends of thought that a student suffers to lie upon his table." Mrs. Dolihide agreed that the other cat was good enough, but that she had fits, and in his way Milford acknowledged that fits, while not necessarily arguing a want of merit, could not avoid giving an erratic cast even to most pronounced worth. This was all the Professor needed, and he forthwith launched a ship of disquisition, but when he had fully rigged it and neatly trimmed its sails, his wife broke in with the remark that the country was overrun with common people from the city. One would naturally expect noisy uncouthness, and a lack in many instances of refined reading, but-- "My dear," the Professor interrupted, "you must bear in mind that the minor summer resort is a kind of Castle Garden, with now and then a shining exception. Here we have the drudges of trade. Am I right, Mr. Milford?" "Yes, the experiments, the hagglers and the failures." The Professor slapped his leg. "A goodly remark, sir; upon my soul, a worthy illustration." "And I have a good deal of fault to find with the home society," said Mrs. Dolihide. "It is jagged and raw, with a constant scuffle after the dollar--" "The necessary dollar," observed the Professor. "The scarce dollar," she replied. "And therefore necessary, my dear. But you are right as to society. There are many good people here, excellent families, but the rank and file are common scratchers of the soil. But they thrive, a reproach to men of more intelligence. And now, sir," he added, turning to Milford, "upon what does success depend? Mind? Oh, no. Industry? No. What then? Temperament. Temperament is of itself a success. It--" "Supper," said a young woman appearing in the door. At the table Milford was presented to Miss Katherine Dolihide, slim, cold and prettyish. She might have had a respect for her father's learning, but it was evident that she held his failure in contempt. With her, a mind that gathered the trinkets of knowledge and fell short of providing luxuries for the body could not be reckoned among the virtues. Wisdom's reflected light was dimmer than an earring. She looked at Milford, and he felt that he failed to reach her mark. She gave him, he thought, the dry and narrow smile of ironic pity. She asked him if he liked the country. He answered that he did, and she remarked that it was a crude picture daubed with green. There were no old mills. She loved old mills; no country was beautiful without them. Had she seen old mills? No, she had not, but she had read of them and had found them scattered throughout the pages of art. She acknowledged after a time that the lakes were charming, the woods replete with sweet dreaming, the lanes full of a vagabond fancy, tinkers of imagination sleeping under the leaves; but without a ruined mill there could be no perfect rest for the mind. Milford knew that this was a pretense, not from any psychological reasoning, but because she was so unlike the Norwegian girl. To him there was more of conviction in silent opposites than in noisy arguments. "I heard of you the other night over at the honey sociable," she said. "Honey sociable?" "Yes, honey and biscuit for the benefit of the church. Quite a unique affair, and wholly new to me, I assure you. A Mrs. Blakemore was present and spoke of you; she said it was a pity that you hadn't come to tell stories of the West. A very intelligent woman, don't you think?" "Yes, I guess she is." "But the most intelligent woman over there," said the Professor, "is Mrs. Goodwin." "Over where?" his wife asked. "Why, over at Mrs. Stuvic's." "When did you meet her?" "Why--er--let me see. I was passing, stepped in to get a drink of water, and was presented to the lady by Mrs. Stuvic. I didn't stay long, mind you, but long enough to discover the lady's intelligence. Mr. Milford, it may take years to discover a comet, sir, but intelligence, brighter in quality, shines out at once. Pass your cup." "You didn't tell me you'd met her," said Mrs. Dolihide. "Didn't I mention it? I thought I did. Speaking of this part of the country, Mr. Milford, is like discussing a new picture with old spots on it; but all great pictures were once new. Take the view, for instance, from our veranda. Nothing could be more charming. The grass land, with scattered trees, trim and graceful in their individuality, the cattle beneath them, the woods beyond, and--" "No, you didn't mention meeting her," said Mrs. Dolihide. "But what difference does it make, mother?" the daughter spoke up. "By this time you ought to know that he meets many intelligent persons that we never see. Stuck here all the time," she added under her breath. "Ah," said the Professor, "man may be walking pleasantly with prosperity hooked upon his arm, talking of the deeds they are to perform in common, when up gallops misfortune on a horse, and that is the end. I was going to take my family to Europe, but there came a galloping down the road and overtook me. Since then my hands have been tied." "When I look around," said Mrs. Dolihide, "and see ordinary people living on the best in the land, it makes me mad to think that as smart a man as the Professor--" "My dear, like you I could question fate, but--" "Fate nothing; I don't know what it is, but it does seem strange to me. I don't understand why a man as well educated as you are has to struggle with the world when the commonest sort of a person can buy property. I don't understand it." "Easy enough," the Professor replied. "The commonest sort of a person may have money, and having money, buys property. Nut-shell argument, Milford," he added, slapping his hand flat upon the table. "Failure has always been easier to understand than success," said Milford. "Failure is natural, it seems to me. It comes from the weakness of man and nothing is more natural than weakness. I am arguing from my own case, and don't mean to reflect on any one else. I have thrown away many an opportunity, but that was in keeping with my weakness." "But I hear that you are anything but weak," said the Professor's daughter. "They call you a mystery, and a mystery is a success until it is solved." "But an unsolved conundrum might starve to death," he replied. "Not so long as it remained unsolved," the Professor declared. "We feed the performer till he explains the trick." "Then I suppose Mr. Milford will not explain his trick," said the girl. "I'd be foolish to shut off my supplies, wouldn't I?" "Yes," she admitted, "but if you have a mystery you ought to let your friends share it." "Ha," said the Professor, "that would mean the disposition of all the shares. But I don't see why they call my friend a mystery. A man comes into the neighborhood and goes to work. Is there anything so mysterious about that? It would be more of a mystery if he lived without work." "Father sometimes fails to catch the atmosphere of a situation," said the girl, giving Milford a smile not so narrow and not so dry with irony. "One's appearance might have something to do with the estimate formed of him," she continued. "The hired man marches from the east to the west and back again," said Milford. "And I am a hired man--hired by myself to do something, and I am going to do it," he added with a tightening of his face. "But that mysterious something?" queried the girl. "What is it?" "To make money," he answered. "Simmer it down and that's all there is to life." In her heart she agreed with him, but she took issue. She said that there was something better than money. He asked if it were an old mill, and they laughed themselves into better acquaintance. "It would be well to sit here," said the Professor to Milford, "but I want you to go up to my work shop with me. I wish to show you something." As Milford arose to follow him, he thought that on the woman's face he saw a sneer at "work shop," and he felt that she and her daughter had learned to look upon it as an idle corner, full of useless lumber. The schemes of this ducking failure of a man were not of serious interest to them. His readiness to talk made him seem light of purpose, and a sigh that came from his heart might have been an unuttered word breathed upon the air, a word in excuse of his poverty. Milford was conducted to an upper room, furnished with two chairs, a worn carpet and a table. But the Professor entered it reverently, as if it were the joss-house of hope. He turned down his light to steady the flame, placed the lamp upon the table, motioned his visitor to a chair, sat down, drew a pile of papers toward him, and said: "My dear fellow, I think I have something here that will tide me over the quarterly rapids. I believe that among these sheets lie a life insurance premium of ninety-seven dollars and forty cents. I want you to hear it, and then I will steal it forth to that woman. Now, in writing for a professional man, a physician, we will say, you must of all things employ sky-scraping terms. Medicine has no use for the simple. I wanted to start off with a cloud-capped sentence, a quotation, and here is one I found in Hazlett, referring to old Sir Thomas Brown: 'He scooped an antithesis from fabulous antiquity and raked up an epithet from the sweepings of chaos.' Isn't that a wild pigeon with the sun on its back?" "Yes, I know, but what has it to do with an article on medicine?" "Everything. Now let me tell you something. In a paper of this sort you must take a text, and with sophistry draw your deductions. You must never be clear. In the opinion of the world involution is depth. It takes a simple book a hundred years to become a classic. The writer has starved to death. He sleeps under marble. And who is it that is lost out there among the briars? The man who wrote the pampered fad. Yes, sir; let contemporaneous man seek to untangle your skein and you flatter him. Now, listen." He read his paper, making alterations from time to time, marking out small words and writing in larger ones; and when he was done he looked at his visitor with a smile. "It catches me," said Milford. "I don't know anything about it, but I'm caught all the same. Have you read it to the ladies?" "What!" gasped the Professor. "Read it to them? They would scoff at me, not because they would catch its pretentious weakness, but because I wrote it--because I am a failure. And now, sir, do you know I begin to fall down, as the idiomatics would have it? Yes, sir, I am weakening." "How so?" "Why, I've hardly got the nerve to take it to that woman. She hasn't said so, but I know she wants it. When do you expect to see her again?" "I don't know." "Now let me see. Would you mind taking this thing along and handing it to her the next time you see her? It would be one of the greatest favors you could do me. You can explain; I'll trust you for that. It is my only recourse; my hope has been built on it, and if I fail I swear I--but I must not fail. You remember I told you that I did something once to help out the amount, something that would cause you to hate me. I will tell you what it was. It was a mean trick--dastardly--but I had to do it. A dog came to my house, a handsome dog with a brass collar. And what did I do? I sneaked that dog off and sold him for six dollars. Now you'll hate me." "Give me the paper," said Milford, reaching for it. "Don't say another word. Give it to me. I don't know you very well as knowing men goes, but you are kind to me, and I want to put my arm around you. I said down there that money was everything. But it isn't. There's something better--to find a kinsman in the wilderness. She shall take this thing. She's got to. If she doesn't, I'll take it to her husband." He put his arm about the Professor. Tears streamed from the old man's eyes. "There, it's all right. I'll go over there now. If she won't have it, I'll take the train for town. I'm going now." "Wait a moment," said the Professor, wiping his eyes. "I must not go down this way. Let me recover myself. You have touched my heart, and, poor withered thing, it is fluttering. Just a moment. Now we'll go." He led the way down the stairs. "I wish you could stay longer," he said cheerily, "but you know your own affairs. My dear, Mr. Milford is going. We hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon. Our latch-string is out. Katherine, shake hands with Mr. Milford. I will light him out." He stood on the veranda holding the lamp. "It is a dark night, and I wish we had a lantern. But the road is straight to your house. Good-night, and God bless you." "They have struck up a warm friendship," said the girl. "Astonishing," her mother replied. The Professor put the lamp on the mantel-piece. "Is he your lost brother?" his wife asked. "He is more than that," the Professor answered, sinking into a chair. "He is a man." CHAPTER XII. THE OLD SOFA. Early the next morning, the Professor hastened from the dining-room to answer a rap at his door. And there stood Milford with a roll of bank notes in his hand. "Ha, you've got it; I see you have. Let me shut the door. They must not hear. Was there ever such luck? Yes, let me take it, the money. Is it all here? Yes, down to the forty cents." He stuffed the notes into his pocket. He held up his hand to enjoin caution. "They would rather have a new settee than an assurance of protection against want in the future. They live from sun to sun. I live for them, but my mind is fixed on the time to come. I don't know how to thank you. You are a man of nerve. And that woman! She is glorious. What did she say?" "Oh, nothing much." "Didn't she agree that it was the very thing for the Doctor? Didn't she acknowledge that it would spread the news of his high standing as a physician and a thinker?" "Yes, she said it would do him a great deal of good abroad." "A woman in a million. Did the abstruse parts seem to impress her?" "Yes, she caught all the kinks." "The Socrates of her sex. Did she say that she would send it off at once?" "By the first train. She was particular to ask if you had let any one else into the secret. She's sensitive--and as I was about to go, she asked me not to refer to the matter again, and she hoped that you wouldn't. I don't think she can bear to be thanked. So I promised that neither of us would speak of the transaction, even to her." "Delicate soul! And you did well to promise. My boy, if sincere thanks are winged things that fly to heaven, there is now a flight of gratitude to the sky. Won't you come in?" "No, I've just had breakfast and must go to work." "Well, I hope to see you again before long. And, by the way, I wish to tell you that my wife and daughter were charmed with your visit. They are dear to me, but they do not understand. Pardon me, I am detaining you." For more than a week the Professor had drooped under anxiety, but now he walked high of head. When he entered the dining-room his wife asked who had called. He answered that it was some one who wanted directions to Mrs. Stuvic's. Lying might at one time have been a luxury with him, but now it was a necessity. She rarely expected the truth from him. It took him longer to tell a lie, and he was fond of talking. And besides, a failure is under no obligations to tell the truth. "It took you quite a while to give him directions." "Yes, it is a roundabout way." "But you seem to have quite a knack for finding it yourself--to be presented to remarkable women." "My knack for finding remarkable women began in my earlier years." "Indeed! And you have been keeping yourself well in practice ever since." "Constant rehearsal with a former discovery keeps me from growing rusty." "Well, I don't care, but there's one thing certain! When you come home to-night you'll find that I have thrown that old sofa out into the back yard." "It's a dreadful thing, pa," said Miss Katherine. "It's a disgrace." "I know it, but we shall have a new one pretty soon." "I've heard that for years," said his wife. "Why don't you let that old life insurance go? Gracious alive, it's nonsense to deny yourself everything." "It's worse than that," the girl spoke up; "it's almost a crime. We don't want you to fret your life out for us. If we are to have anything we want you to share it. You haven't seen anything but worry since you took out the policy. Let it drop. The money you'd have to give for the next payment would make us happy. We could get so many nice things with it, and wouldn't feel ashamed every time a visitor comes into the house. Do, pa." She put her hand on his arm and looked at him appealingly. He shook his head. "A crime, you say. Then let us acknowledge it a crime. But let us also acknowledge that it is not so dark a crime as it is for a man to die and leave his family in distress. Look at Norwood; look at Bracken. The neighbors had to contribute." "But you aren't going to die yet a while," said his wife. "You are in good health. Well, there's no two ways about it. I'm going to throw that old sofa out into the yard. I've stood it as long as I can. It's the first thing a stranger sees when he comes into the house." "And I imagine that people stop just to look in at it," Katherine spoke up. "We might label it as having been the property of some great man," said the Professor. "Oh, I know it's a joke with you, but it's not with us," his wife retorted. "I don't see any fun in a disgrace." "Have you no respect for the aged?" he asked, trying to wink at his daughter, but she would not accept it. "Let us trail a vine about it and call it a ruined mill." "That's a stab at me, mother," said the girl. "I am not permitted to have a sentiment." "Well, I don't want any; I've had enough," the mother replied. "It's sentiment, sentiment ever since I can remember, and I'm sick of it." "You want poetry, my dear," said the Professor. "Or at least you set store by it, for didn't you give Tennyson to the preacher?" "I don't care if I did, I'm going to throw that old thing out. Wesley, when is your insurance due?" "It is paid, madam, thanks be to the Lord. I sent the money off yesterday." "Why didn't you tell me you were going to send it?" "Oh, it was a mere trifle, and I forgot it." "For pity sake! And where did you get the money?" "I combed it out of the grass." "Well, you'd better comb out some for us while you are combing. I've lived this way till I'm tired of it. Where did you get that money?" "The grass was thick, and the grass was long, and the comb pulled heavy and slow." "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That's all I've got to say." "I'm afraid not." "I'll talk just as much as I please." "I'm afraid so. But let us all be cheerful now. Yesterday it was dark and misty, and now the sun is bright. Here, mamma, kiss me to my labor. I haven't drawn at the weak sinews of my feeble salary, and you shall have enough to buy a new sofa." "That's a good dear," she said, kissing him. "Don't let what I said worry you. I didn't mean it." He whistled at the dog as he went out; he sang merrily as he walked along the road, with the sunrise on his face and the noontime in his heart. CHAPTER XIII. DORSEY. It was Mitchell's day to cook, and when Milford came in to dinner, the hired man told him that he had something of importance to tell. "Out with it," said Milford. "No, not till you eat. I never like to choke off a man's appetite. I wouldn't like to have a man choke off mine. I'd be like old Matt Lindsey. The court said he must hang for murderin' a peddler. His lawyers took his case before the supreme bench. And after it had been argued one of 'em came down to the jail to see old Matt. Just about that time the jailer brought in his dinner. Old Matt said to the lawyer, 'Don't tell me till I've eat this stuff. Afterwards I mightn't be in the humor, and I don't want to miss a meal.' And it was a good thing he eat first." "Well, is what you've got to say so bad as all that?" "Not a hangin' affair, but it's bad enough. The fact is, you can make it just as bad as you want it." "If it rests with me, I'll not make it very bad. I'll tell you that." "But I'll be hanged if it hain't made you turn pale. Why, you're scared, Bill. Oh, it's not so bad. I'll tell you now, seein' that I've already choked off your appetite. Why, there's a feller over at Mrs. Stuvic's that's too fresh. I was out by the windmill and your girl and a woman came along; and this feller was standin' off, not far away, talkin' to a chump that was with him, and he made a remark about the girl--won't tell you what it was, for a feller that's stuck don't like to hear such things repeated--I know I wouldn't. And I said to myself at the time, 'If Bill knowed that he'd mash your mouth.'" "What sort of a looking fellow is he?" Milford quietly asked. "Big feller. The hired man over there says his name's Dorsey. Just got here, I believe." "All right. Did you fix the fence where the sheep broke in?" "Somebody left the gap down. It's all right now." "Did you wrap the collar so it won't hurt the horse's shoulder?" "Yes, works all right, now. Haven't got enough to eat, have you?" "Not very hungry to-day," said Milford as he walked out. The hired man called after him, but he did not stop. He took the straight road to Mrs. Stuvic's. He saw Mrs. Blakemore coming out to the gate. She smiled upon him as he drew near. She said that she had just received a letter from George. He was in business again; a real estate firm had taken him as an experiment. He made a large sale the second day, and was now regularly employed at a good commission. It had made her very happy. She never would forget Mr. Milford; there was no doubt about it, he had inspired her husband with strength. Milford asked if a man named Dorsey were at the house. She said that she believed there was; he was at dinner. "If you want to see him, I'll tell Mrs. Stuvic," she said. "I wish you would. Tell her I want to see him now. I haven't time to wait." "I will. But isn't that glorious news from George? Oh, you don't know how low-spirited he was. Sometimes I thought he never would get up again. Don't you know that just a word, even though lightly spoken, may sometimes spur one to renewed action? Oh, it's undoubtedly a fact." "Yes, words may sometimes be ashes, but often they are coals of fire. Will you please--" "Oh, that's a good sentiment. I must remember it and tell George. He'll be out again Saturday evening. But I'll go and tell Mrs. Stuvic that you want to see--that's the man coming out now." A strong-looking man came walking out toward the gate. Mrs. Blakemore stepped aside, and he was about to pass when Milford said: "Your name is Dorsey, I understand." "That's it," the man replied, taking a toothpick out of his mouth. "I'd like to see you a moment on business; over in the grove." "What's your name?" "Come over into the grove. I want to see you a moment. My name's Milford." "Do you want to see me about a horse? I want to hire one. Is that it?" "Yes, over in the grove." "All right. Got him there? I don't care whether he's gentle or not. I can manage him all right. The first thing one of you farmers tells a fellow is that his horse is gentle, when he knows that all he wants is an opportunity to run away. So you may save yourself that trouble." Milford conducted him to a spot out of view from the house. He halted and threw his hat on the ground. He told him what the hired man had said. "Well," said Dorsey, "this is a fine proceeding." "Take off your coat." "What are you going to do?" "Whip you if I can." "But I'm not looking for any trouble." "You may not have looked for it, but you've found it." "Say, this is all nonsense. You won't tell me what I said, and I don't remember. But let me tell you something. You can't whip me. I can mop the earth with you--my way. Is that the way you want to fight?" "Yes. _My_ way would mean something. But it won't do in this country. Take off your coat." The fellow was an athlete. Milford was no match for him. He had the strength, but not the skill in boxing. But once Milford got him down, ran under and snatched his feet from under him. In a moment, though, he was up again, meeting strength with skill. Three times he knocked Milford down. It was useless to continue to fight. Milford held up his hands. "We'll call it off for the present," he said, panting. "Suit yourself. I've got nothing to fight about except to keep from getting licked, and it's for you to say when to stop." "Well, I say stop, for the present. I haven't been used to fighting your way. I'm from the West, and if I had you there we'd soon settle it. It's not over with as it is. I'll see you again. Do you expect to come back out here this summer?" "Well, I'm not going to let you keep me away. You don't know what you've run up against, young fellow. I teach boxing in town. That's my lay." "All right. I'll see you again." "But my way, understand. Don't come any Western business on me." "I'll see you again and your way. I never was beaten long at a time." "Good enough. Got through seeing me about the horse?" "I'm through. No, wait a moment. If you go back to the house and say anything about this affair, I'll try you the Western way. Do you understand?" "Oh, it's nothing to me. I won't mention it. Good-day. I'll take care of your horse." Milford went home, covered with blood. He washed himself and lay down under the walnut tree to steam in his anger. His lip was cut and his cheek was bruised. He jumped up suddenly, ran into the house and took two pistols out of a battered leather bag, but he put them back and sat down in the door to cool. The hired man came around the corner of the house. "I guess you must have found him," he said, halting with a smile and a nod. "Yes, and he was too much for me. But I'll get even with him." "That's the way to look at it. May take a long time, but it's to come round all right. I used to drive a team in Chicago. And one day I had to cuss the driver of a coal wagon, and he ups with a lump of coal and smashes my face. I was a long time getting even with him, but I got there." "Did you kill him?" "Kill him! Well, I should say not. I didn't have enough money to kill him and get away with it. I just waited, watchin' him close every time I saw him. And one day he jumped off his wagon, slipped on the ice and broke his leg. Satisfied me, and after that I turned him loose." "Bob, do you know anything about boxing?" "I used to be somethin' of a scrapper. Why?" "I want you to teach me." "Don't believe I'd be a very good teacher. But, say, I know a feller that's all right. He used to be a sort of a prize fighter and he's now got a little saloon up here at Antioch, 'bout ten miles up the road. His name's Mulligan." "All right. You go ahead with your work just as if I was with you. I'm going up there." "Sure enough? All right. When I get through with one thing I'll go at another." Milford trudged off across the fields toward the village of Antioch. At a well beneath a tree where cows stood in the shade, he stopped to bathe his face. He saw his dark countenance wrinkling in the disturbed water; he committed the natural folly of talking to himself. "You are a fool," he said, looking down into his wavering eye. "You are a fool, and you want to prove it." He smiled to think how easy it was to produce the testimony. In such cases nature cheerfully gives her deposition. He continued his way across the fields, through a skirt of wooded land and out into a road. Bicycles crackled past him. A buggy overtook him. Some one spoke. He looked round and recognized the "discoverer" and the Norwegian. It was only a two-seated vehicle, but they invited him to ride. He declined to accept their kindness, trying to hide his face. He said that he had heard Mrs. Stuvic say that the buggy was not strong. They were going to the village of Lake Villa. They might stop at the mill and have a word with the Professor. Milford remarked that the Professor would no doubt be pleased to see them, but that he was no doubt very busy. They drove on without having noticed the wounds on his face. To one not bent upon a vengeful mission, to a thoughtful man with a mind in tone with the scented air, the soft sky, the spread of green, the gleam of water, the clouds of blackbirds, such a stroll would have been rich with an inner music played upon many sweet chords. At a crossroads stood an old brick house, an ancient rarity upon a landscape white-spotted with wooden cottages. It was a rest for the eye, a place for a moment of musing, a page of a family's record, a bit of dun-colored history. It was built long before the railroad set the clocks of the country, before man entered into business copartnership with the minute and employed the second as his agent. It was a relief to look upon a worn door-sill, a rotting window-blind hanging by one hinge. In the years long gone the congressman's carriage, laboring through the mud, had halted there, and the statesman had warmed himself at a fire of wood, delighting an old Whig with predictions of a glorious victory. At this place Milford halted to get a drink of water and to sit for a few moments in the shade. A man came out and asked him if he wanted a team. He had a team that would not run away. He was not prepared to take boarders, but when it came to a team he was there. He had driven great men, pork-packers of Chicago. The man who owned the enormous ice-house over on the lake had ridden with him. And it was probably one of the largest ice-houses in the world. It took thousands of dollars the year before to paint it. Milford told him that he did not want a team, and the fellow shambled off in disgust. There was not much time to be wasted, for the sun was now far over toward the west. Milford's anger had settled into a cool determination, and he walked easier, not so hard upon the ground. He began to notice more things, a cat sitting at a window, looking out upon the narrow world, a boy with a goat harnessed to a wagon, a farmer who starved his boarders, hauling veal to the railway, to be shipped to town. He fell in with a tramp and divided smoking tobacco with him. They strolled along together. "Beautiful country to walk through," said Milford. "That's no lie," said the tramp. "But all countries are about the same when times are hard, I should think," Milford remarked. "That's no pipe," said the tramp. "They tell us, however, that we are to have better times." "They are smokin'," said the tramp. Their roads separated, and they parted company. The sun was down when Milford reached the village. It was an easy matter to find Mulligan's saloon. One of the oldest citizens pointed it out. Mulligan was half-dozing behind his bar. Several men were at a table, playing cards. Milford made short work of his introduction. He told his story. There was but one way to get even. Mulligan laughed. That sort of revenge appealed to his Irish heart. He would give lessons, and it should not cost a cent. He put out his whisky bottle. His face beamed. He was glad to meet a civilized man. The very fact that Milford had come on such a mission was a proof of an improvement in the country. "Dorsey," he said. "Dorsey. He can't box; I never heard of him. Well, we'll make a jelly out of his face." They went out to supper together. "This man has heard of me and has come miles to get lessons," said Mulligan to the tavern keeper. They boxed till late at night and shook hands warmly at parting. Earnestness is genius, and when Milford set out for home, the moon on his right shoulder, he felt that he had made surprising progress. It was nearly daylight when he reached the end of his journey. The hired man was going out to the barn. "You are born to be a great man," said Mitchell. "The cards are shuffled and cut that way and you can't help it. What are you goin' to do now?" "I'm going to sleep for a few hours and then get to work." "When are you goin' to take another lesson?" "Day after to-morrow." "Ain't that feller a bird?" "He understands his business." "About when do you think you can tackle your job again?" "Not till I have learned how. I'm going to get some gloves and have you box with me between times." He went into the house and lay down, and when Mitchell came in he was asleep with his head on his fist. CHAPTER XIV. PEEPED IN AT HIM. Blakemore came out on Sunday morning, snapping his watch and complaining against the pall-bearing march of time. He was full of business. His pockets were stuffed with papers. He made figures on the backs of envelopes as he sat at the table. He asked after Milford. His wife said that the place had somehow lost its charm for Mr. Milford. Mrs. Goodwin and Miss Strand had seen him in the road. Mrs. Stuvic, standing near, pressed her lips close together. She shook her head. She did not understand him, she declared. Lately he had been seen in Antioch. She did not know what business could have taken him there. "You may not be supposed to know," said George, making his figures. "Now you keep still," she replied. "I am supposed to know more than you think for. I wasn't born yesterday, and I'm goin' to live longer than any of you, I tell you that." "It's very natural for us to expect every one else to die," said George. "It's a pretty hard matter to picture one's self as dead. But the old fellow is coming along yonder whetting his scythe as he comes." "George," said his wife, "don't talk to her that way." "Oh, let him talk," the old woman spoke up. "I don't care what he says. Goes in at one ear and comes out at the other, with me. I'll live to see him cold, I'll tell you that." "Oh, please don't talk that way, Mrs. Stuvic; you give me the shudders. By the way, Mr. Dorsey has gone back to town, hasn't he?" "Yes," Mrs. Stuvic answered. "And he owes me, too." "That's what you say about everybody," George declared. "You'll be saying it about me, next." "Well, you did owe me till to-day; and see that you don't do it again. But that feller Dorsey'll pay. He'll be back again in about two weeks. He says I've got the finest place in the county." "The 'peach,'" George whispered, as Mrs. Goodwin and Gunhild came into the dining-room. His wife pulled at him. The boy wanted to know what he had said. For a wonder he had not heard. His mind was among the green apples in the orchard. George bowed to the ladies and began to tell them about the great improvement in business. The banks had plenty of money to lend. Real estate, the true pulse of the times, had begun to throb with a new life. Mrs. Goodwin did not think that there had been any improvement. The Doctor had written that money was scarce. Every one complained of slow collections. George asked the Norwegian if there were any sale for pictures. "There is no sale for mine," she answered. "I do not expect to sell any." "Then," said George, "it's a waste of time to paint them." "I do not paint," the girl replied. "My ambition was not dressed in colors." Mrs. Goodwin smiled upon her, and Mrs. Blakemore drew her husband's attention to what she termed the bright aptness of the remark. George said that it did not make any difference whether art was done with a brush or pencil, it was a waste of time if it failed to sell; and hereupon Mrs. Stuvic began to sniff as a preliminary to an important statement. "A man boarded with me a while last winter that could knock 'em all out when it comes to makin' pictures with a pen," she said. "He drew a bird without takin' his pen up from the paper, and it looked for all the world like it was flyin'. But when that was said all was said. He wan't no manner account. He went away owin' me. Now, what does he want to go to Antioch for? I'd just like for somebody to tell me that." "The man that drew the bird?" George spoke up. "Oh, you keep still. I mean Milford." "Probably the woman he's been working for so hard has moved into the neighborhood," said George. Mrs. Stuvic declared that you never could tell what a man was working for. No man was worth trusting. She knew; she had tried them. Milford was no better than the rest of them. Why didn't he explain himself? Why didn't he stand out where every one could see him? She had defended him. She was getting tired of it. He had not rewarded her with his confidence. He came a stranger and had been a stranger ever since. One of these days he might set fire to the house and run away. "You shall not talk about him so," the girl declared. "No one shall abuse him." "Good for you," Mrs. Stuvic cried. "I've been fightin' his battles all along and I'm glad to get some help. Why, she looks like a cat, don't she? And it's what I like to see, I tell you. But it's usually the way; a man works for one woman and is took up for and defended by another." "He is not working for any woman, madam," said Gunhild. "No woman has any claim on him." Mrs. Blakemore shook her head. "With that dark, handsome face it would be difficult long to escape the claim of a woman." "Come off," said George. "I don't see anything so killing about him." "Men never see killing features in man," his wife replied. "They are left for softer eyes to discover." "Oh," he rejoined, looking worriedly at her. "The 'peach,'" she whispered. "Am I to hear that again?" He scratched upon an envelope and handed to her the words: "I give in. Let us call it even and quits." Mrs. Goodwin looked at Gunhild as if by a new light. Next in importance to the discovery of genius itself, is the discovery that genius is picking its way along the briary path of love, lifting a thorny bough in bloom to peep blushingly from a hiding place, or boldly to tear through the brambles out into the open, and in honest resentment defy the wondering gaze of the common eye. It would be a pretty sight to see this girl in love, the woman mused. She did not wish to see her married to a man who labored in a field; but it would be delicious to see her love him and hating herself for it, fighting a rosy battle with her heart. There was no romance in loving an "available" man; there was no suffering in it, and how empty was a love that did not swallow a midnight sob! She asked Gunhild to walk out into the woods with her. They crossed a low, marshy place where pickerel split the trashy water in the spring of the year, and strolled up a slope into the woods. They gathered flowers, talking of things that interested neither of them; they found an old log covered with moss and here they sat down to rest. It was always sad to feel that the summer would soon be gone, the elderly woman said, gazing at a soldierly mullein stalk, nodding its yellow head. More summers were coming, and the leaves and the flowers would be the same, the grass as green, the birds as full of happy life; but the heart could not be turned back to live over the hours and the days--only, in dreaming, in reminders of the time forever gone. To the youthful, two summers are twins; to the older, they are relatives; to the aged, strangers. "You make me sad when you talk that way," said the girl. "My dear child, a sadness to-day may be food for sweet reflection in the future. Indeed, it would even be well for you to suffer now." "But I do not want to suffer. I do not see the need of it." "My dear, suffering prepares us for the better life. It makes us more thankful." "I do not know that," she said with energy. "Sometimes it may harden us. We may be kept from food so long that we have no manners when we come to the table." "Gunhild, that is a very good remark--a thoughtful remark, true in the main, but not illustrative of the point I wish to make. But you are so full of hope that--" "Full of hope, madam?" "Yes, the hope that rises from health and strength. You have so much to look forward to. You might make a brilliant match." "Then I must hope that sometime I may sell myself?" "Oh, no, no. I didn't mean that. I mean that you have prospects. Shall I be plain? You have the prospects of loving one man and marrying another. That is called a brilliant match, I believe. Or, at least, it is a feature of nearly all brilliant matches. Don't you think so?" "I am not supposed to know, madam." "Not even to please me?" "Oh, if it please you, I am supposed to know everything." "Good. Then tell me what you know about Mr. Milford. You understand that it is my mission to find interest in nearly all--well, I might say, odd persons. You have met him when I was not with you. And he must have told you something." "He has told me nothing that I can repeat." "Oh, is it that bad?" "Is what that bad, Mrs. Goodwin? I do not understand what you mean by that bad. Perhaps what he told me did not make enough impression to be remembered." "But didn't he say things you did not remember, but continued to feel?" "Yes, I believe so. You know that I do not understand men very well. I do not understand any one very well. They make remarks about him and say that he is mysterious, but he is plainer to me than any one. Somehow I feel with him. He has had a hard life, I think, and that brings him closer to me." "Ah, my dear, the suffering I spoke of just now." "But," the girl added, "I do not know that his hard life has made him any better." "Perhaps not. But it must have made him more thoughtful. After all, I'm not so much interested in him. He is one of the characters that throw a side-light on our lives. He can never take an essential part in our affairs. Do you think so?" "I must again say that I do not understand." "Why, don't you know that we meet many persons, and become quite well acquainted with them, and yet never feel that they belong to our atmosphere? They are not necessary to the story of our lives, so to speak, and yet that atmosphere of which they are not really a part, would not be wholly complete without them. They stand ready for our side talks; sometimes they even flip a sentiment at us. We catch it, trim it with ribbons and hand it back. They keep it; we forget. The Blakemores are such persons. We may never see them again--may almost wholly forget them, and yet something that we have said may influence their lives. And perhaps to Mr. Milford, we are but side-lights. He may soon be in his saddle again, forgetting that he ever knew us. But are we to forget him? Has his light been strong enough to dazzle us?" "I shall not forget him, madam." "Then he may have made himself essential to the story of your life." "He has made himself a part of my recollection." "No more than that? Sometimes we recall because it is no trouble, and sometimes we remember with pain. You know, Gunhild, that I think a great deal of you." "I can never forget that. It is an obligation--" "Now, my child, I don't want you to look at it that way. You must not. What I have done has given me pleasure. And if I deserve any reward, it is--well, frankness." "You deserve more than that--gratitude." "Then let frankness be an expression of gratitude. Are you in love with that man?" "Madam, a long time ago I used to slip to the door of the dining-room of the little hotel in the West and peep in at him. They said he was bad, that he would kill; but he came like a cavalier, with his spurs jingling, and fascinated me. I felt that my own spirit if turned loose would be as wild as his, for had not my forefathers fought on the sea till the waves were bloody about them, and had they not dashed madly into wild lands? I peeped in at him; I did not speak to him; but I watched for his coming. And late at night I have lain awake to hear his wild song in the bar-room, just below me. One day I met him in the passage-way, and looked into his eyes, with my heart in my own, I feared; and I did not see him again till I came out here. I did not know his name. They called him Hell-in-the-Mud." Mrs. Goodwin did not remain quiet to hear the story. With many exclamations, she walked up and down, sometimes with her back toward the girl sitting on the log, her hands in her lap, lying dreamily; sometimes she wheeled about and stood wide of eye and with mouth open. "Well, who ever heard of the like? But are you sure he is the same man?" "Yes. I did not remind him that I had seen him there. He said that he had seen me--he said--" "But what did he say? You must keep nothing back now. It would spoil everything. What did he say?" "He said that he got on his horse and galloped away--from me. He said that he did not want to be--be tangled up." "Well, well, who ever heard of such a thing? And you have met out here. Has he asked you to marry him?" "No, and I do not think he will. I must not marry him." "But you love him." "Bitterly, madam." "Oh, isn't that sweet--I mean, how peculiar a situation it is! No, you can't think of marrying him. It wouldn't at all do. I don't believe he could live tied down to one place. It is a first love and must live only as a romance. It will help you in your art. It will be an inspiration to all your after life, a poem to recite to your daughter in the years to come. I had one, my dear. He was wild, wholly impossible, you might say. And I was foolish enough to have married him, but my mother--she married me to the dear Doctor. And how fortunate it was for both of us, I mean for me and for Arthur! He threw himself away." "But he might not have thrown himself away, madam, if you had married him." "Oh, yes, he was really thrown away before I met him. My mother was right. She knew. She had married the opposite to her romance." "But are women never to marry the men they love?" "Oh, yes, to be sure. We all love our husbands. But we ought not to marry our first love. That would be absurd. It would leave our after life without a sweet regret. My dear, romantic love is one thing and marriage is another. Love is a distress and marriage is business. That's what the Doctor says." "And pardon me, madam, but he lives it." "How? What do you mean?" "Why, you are his business partner. You take care of his house. If you are not there your servants keep the house. He may be pleased to see you, but there is never any joy in his eyes--or yours. You are dissatisfied with life. You try to make yourself believe you are not, but you are. You look about for something, all the time. If you and the Doctor should fail in business, you would grow tired of each other. You told me to be frank." "Oh, yes, but you must not believe that. I think the world of him. I don't see how I could live without him. He is absolutely necessary to me. But he wasn't my romance. And I am glad of it. I couldn't dream over him if he were. But your story. It almost upsets me. Got on his horse and rode away! It is evident that he didn't want a romance. What wise man could have warned him against it? I am glad you told me, my dear. I can be of a great deal of assistance to you. Suppose we go back to the house. Well, well, you have given me a surprise." CHAPTER XV. WANTED THE HORSE. The days were linked out into weeks; there had been rag-time music and break-down dancing at Mrs. Stuvic's, but Milford had not shown himself. A farmer passing late at night had looked through the window and had seen him boxing with the hired man. Some one else had seen him sparring with an Irishman in Antioch. The old woman swore that he was "going daft." But it was noised around that he had threshed out nearly two thousand bushels of oats, and this redeemed his standing. He had not arrived in time to sow the oats, but the luck of the harvest had fallen to him. The crop had been threatened with rust and the old woman advised him to plow up the fields, but he had held out against her and was rewarded, not alone with a surprising yield of grain, but with a recognized right to exercise freedom of action, such as would not have been tolerated in a man who had fallen short. A wise old skinflint halted one day to ask his opinion of a bulky subscription book for which he had paid one dollar down and signed notes for three more, payable, of course, at times when money worries would buzz thickly about him. And news came through the hired man that a young woman, thin of chest and clumsy of foot, but worth a hundred acres, had set her cap for him. "Of course, I wouldn't advise you to take her," said Mitchell, putting on his necktie before a three-cornered fragment of a looking-glass, "but I want to tell you that land's land out here. And besides, she might die in a year or two. You never can tell. I may see her at church to-day. She and my girl are sorter kin to each other. I'm a marryin' man, myself. I don't see enough difference in married life or single life to get scared at either one, so I take the marryin' side. A married man has a place to keep away from and a single man hasn't any place to go to, so it's all about the same, that is, without property. Goin' anywhere to-day?" "There's no place for me to go except over to the old woman's, and I don't care to go there yet awhile. I wonder why she hasn't been over here?" "Who, the girl?" "No, the old woman. Do you suppose I expect the girl to come?" "Well, I didn't know," said Mitchell, brushing his stiff hair. "You never can tell what a girl will do. They keep me guessin' and I'm on to their curves pretty well. I see that Mrs. Goodwin yesterday evenin'. And she looked like a full-rigged ship. Guess I'd be a little afraid of her with her big talk. But you could tackle her all right enough. Say, I'm sore as I can be, boxin' with you. Is that cigar up by the clock, one that the prize-fighter give you? Let me take it along. I want to perfume my way with it. Thanks," he added, taking the cigar before Milford had said a word. "How do these pants set?" "They strike me as being a trifle short," said Milford, surveying him. "That's what I was afraid of, but they dragged the ground till the peddler left, and then they began to draw up. A man's sure to get the worst of it when he buys out of a pack. I'd like to have a suit of clothes made to order, but I can't afford it now. Did you ever have a suit put up to your own notion?" "Yes, a few." "Well, I said all the time that you wan't no common man." "And right there you struck the ancient and the modern idea of what a man is--garments. You can't get away from the effect of clothes. The city and the backwoods are alike. With the exception that the city insists that the coat shall fit better and the pantaloons be a little longer," he added, smiling. "Don't laugh at 'em, Bill; they're all I've got. When a man's got two pair of briches you may laugh at one, but when he's got only one pair, don't laugh. Are you goin' to set up here and read that book all day? What's his name? Whitson?" "Whittier. I don't know. I'm a Quaker waiting to be moved. I had this old book with me out West. We used to read it at night in the shack. We had some pretty smart fellows with us. Some of them pretended to be ignorant when in fact they had read their names on a sheepskin. They had been beaten over the head with books till they were sick of them." "I don't blame 'em," said the hired man. "I'd rather set up with a corpse than a book." "Sometimes it's about the same thing," Milford replied. "Did you ever read the Bible?" "What do you take me for?" "I don't take you for a man who has read very much of it. But it's the greatest thing ever written." "It's out of date, Bill." "Yes, to those who don't think. Why, there's more wisdom in it than in all other books put together. I don't care anything about creed, or what one man or another may believe; I don't care how or why it was written--I brush aside the oaths that have been sworn on it, and the dying lips that have kissed it; I shut my eyes to everything but the fact that it is the greatest opera, the greatest poem, the greatest tragedy ever written." "If I could talk that way I'd go out and preach about it, Bill." "Not with my record behind you, old fellow." "But why should a man that believes as you do have a record to hold him down?" "There you've got me. That's what I'd like to know. But when a man has learned to understand himself, then all things may become clear. We sometimes say that it was not natural for a man to do a certain thing. The fact is, it's natural for a man to do almost anything that he can do." "This is good Sunday mornin' talk, all right, Bill. But I've got to go after my girl. She's got lots of sense, horse sense and flap-doodle sense all mixed up. She's got more flap-doodle sense than I have; she reads books, and not long ago she give me a piece of poetry that she'd cut out of a newspaper. I said, 'Read her off and take her back.' And she did. Well, I'm off." Milford hailed a man who drove up in a buggy, gave ten cents for a Sunday newspaper, and sat on the veranda to read it. The wind blew a sheet out into the yard. He started after it, but halted, looking at a man who was crossing the field where the oats had been reaped, striding with basket and rod toward the lake. Milford left the paper to the wind. He hastened to the woods between the oat field and the lake and waited for the man, leaning musingly against a tree. The man got over the fence and came along the path. Milford stepped out. "Good-morning, Mr. Dorsey." "Why, helloa. How's everything?" "All right, I hope. Are you done with that horse?" "Oh, that horse. Yes, I'm about done with him." "Hold on. I want him." "What do you mean?" "You remember the last time we met I--well, we'll say, I let you have a horse." "You mean we fought over yonder in the grove." "That's what I mean." "Well, what about it?" "We are going to fight over here in this grove." "Why, I thought you had enough?" "I did have then, but I want more. I said then that I'd never been beaten for long at a time. I've been waiting for you." "A man don't have to wait for me very long. But say, this is all rank foolishness. I've got nothing against you; and as for what I said about the woman, why, I'm willing to apologize, although I don't know what it was." "You will apologize, but not till I get through with you. Take off your coat." "You beat any fellow I ever saw. I don't want to fight; I want to fish." "I don't want to fish, I want to fight. Take off your coat or I'll knock you down in it." "All right, my son." He threw his coat on a stump. Milford was in his shirt sleeves. "Wait a moment," said Dorsey. "You have brought this thing about, and I want to tell you that I won't let you off as easy as I did the last time." They went at it. Dorsey fell sprawling. He scrambled to his feet with trash in his hair and blood in his mouth. Milford knocked him over a stump. He got up again and came forward, cutting the capers of a tricky approach, but Milford caught him with a surprising blow and sent him to grass again. This time he did not get up. He squirmed about on the ground. Milford took him under the arms and lifted him to his knees. "Go away," he muttered, his head drooping. "You've--you've broken my jaw." Milford ran to the lake and brought water in his hat. Dorsey was sitting up when he returned. "You've knocked out two of my teeth," he mumbled. "Here, let me bathe your face." "Biggest fool thing I ever saw," Dorsey blubbered through the water applied to the mouth. "I told you I'd apologize." "Yes, and you may do so now. Do you?" "Of course. What else can I do?" "I'm almost sorry I hit you so hard." "Almost! I don't stop at that. I don't want you to say anything about it," he added. "It would hurt my business." "A horse kicked you," said Milford. "You're all right now. You can go to the house." "I'm going to town by the first train. I'm done up. You've been practicing. You ought to make a success of yourself if that's the sort of fellow you are." Milford helped him put on his coat. "Now, I wish I could do something for you," he said. "No matter what I do, I always get the worst of it." "You didn't get the worst of this, by a long shot." "Yes. Now I've got to grieve over it. I've been trying to do right, but the cards are against me." "You needn't grieve over me. You have licked a good man." "I grieve because you were willing to apologize." "Don't let that worry you. I wouldn't have apologized any too strong. Well, I don't believe the fish will bite to-day. I'll go back." Milford watched him as he walked slowly across the stubble field, and strove to harden his heart against the cutting edge of remorse. The fellow was a bully. To him there was nothing sacred, and he thought evil of all women. His manliest words waited to be knocked out of him. Milford returned to the house and gathered up the scattered sheets of his newspaper. But he sat a long time without reading. The gathered vengeance of his arm had been spent. It had shot forth with delight, like a thought inspired by devoted study, but like a hot inspiration grown cold, it faded under the strong light of reason. He heard the shriek of a railway train, rushing toward the city. He saw George Blakemore coming up the hill. CHAPTER XVI. THE GRIZZLY AND THE PANTHER. Blakemore came up briskly, shook hands with a quick grasp, looked at his watch and sat down on the edge of the veranda. His eye was no longer fixed and rusty, but bright and restless. He did not drool his words, hanging one with doubtful hesitation upon another, but blew them out like a mouthful of smoke. He talked business; he had just engineered another land deal. He had traveled about among the surrounding towns, and spoke of a railway ticket as a "piece of transportation." Sunday to him was a disease spot, the blotch of an inactive liver. Rest! There was no rest for a man who wanted to work. "What's to be the end of this rush?" Milford asked. "What's your object?" "Money, of course. You know what the object of money is, so there you are." "I don't know that I do. Money's object is to increase, but I've never been able to discover its final aim, except possibly in a few instances. We struggle to get rich. Then what? We read an advertisement and find that we have kidney trouble. We take medicines, go to springs, grow puffy, turn pale--die. That's the average man who makes money for money's sake. But it's a waste of words to talk about it." "It is undoubtedly a waste of time to think about it," said Blakemore. "Not only that, to give it daily attention would mean stagnation and dry rot. There'd be no land sales. But, speaking of an object, you have one, of course." "Yes, such as it is. And strain my eyes as I may, I can't look beyond it. I made up my mind a good while ago that there's not much to live for. This is an old idea, I know, but at some time it is new to every man. We fight off trouble that we may fight into more trouble. And our only pleasure is in looking back upon a past that was full of trouble, or in looking forward to a time that will never come." "You're a queer sort of a duck, anyhow," Blakemore replied, throwing the stub of a cigar out into the grass. "You must have been burnt sometime. And yet you're no doubt looking for the fire again." "Did you ever catch a bass with his mouth full of rusty hooks? I'm one--hooks sticking out all around, but I must have something to eat, and I may snap a phantom minnow." "Yes, sir, you're a queer duck. But there's a lot of good stuff in you, I'll tell you that; and I could take you in tow and make a winner of you. Drop this farm and come to town." Milford smiled and shook his head. "Winning looks easy to the man that wins. No, when I leave this place I'll have my object in my pocket." "Queer duck," Blakemore repeated. "Any insanity in your family?" "No, none to speak of. My father took the bankrupt law and paid his debts ten years afterwards." Blakemore lighted a cigar. "Did you disown him?" "No. He went to the springs, grew pale--and we buried him." Blakemore turned his cigar about between his lips. "And your idea is to pay your debts, grow pale, and let them bury you. Is that it?" "Not exactly," and then he added: "I owe a peculiar sort of debt." "A man's foolish to pay a peculiar debt," Blakemore replied. "But a peculiar debt might take a strange hold on the conscience." "Yes," Blakemore agreed, "but a tender conscience has no more show in business than a peg leg has in a foot-race. Do you know what I did? I moped about under a debt of twenty thousand dollars. After a while I looked up and didn't see anybody else moping. I quit. Am I going to pay it? Maybe, but not till the last cow has come home, I'll tell you that. They scalped me, and I'm going to scalp them. By the way, I met a fellow just now--fellow named Dorsey. You might have seen him out here. Met him a while ago, and he told me that a horse kicked him over yonder in the woods. Didn't do a thing but kick his teeth out. He's gone to town to have his jaw attended to. Your horse?" "No, a horse that Dorsey hired when he was out some time ago. He must have misused him." "He got in his work all right. Well, I've come after you. They want you at the house. Rig yourself up; I'll wait." Upon benches and in chairs, and lolling on the thick grass, Milford found Mrs. Stuvic's summer family. They told jokes and sang vaudeville songs and slyly tickled one another's necks with spears of timothy, frolicking in the shade while time melted away in the sun. The ladies came forward to shake hands. They called Milford a stranger. They inquired as to the health of the young woman in Antioch. He disclaimed all knowledge of a woman in Antioch. They knew better, shaking their fingers at him. Blakemore and Mrs. Stuvic entered upon a harangue. Milford sat down on a bench with Mrs. Goodwin and Gunhild. Although under the eye of the "discoverer," the girl had shaken hands warmly with him. Between them there was a quiet understanding, and he was at ease. Mrs. Blakemore sat in a rocking chair that threatened to tip over on the uneven ground. She liked the uncertainty, she said. It gave her something to think about. Mrs. Goodwin had read during all the forenoon, and was sententious. It would soon be time for her to return to the city, and she felt that she wore a yellow leaf in her hair. She was anxious to return, of course, but to go away from a sweet season's death-bed was always a sad departure. Mr. Milford, she said, would attend the summer's funeral. "I will help dig the grave," he replied. She thanked him for following her idea. So few men had the patience to fondle the whimsical children of a woman's mind. When they crept out to the Doctor he scouted them back to bed, and there they lay trembling, not daring to peep out at him. Some men thought it a manly quality to despise a pretty conceit, but it was pretty conceits that made marble live, that made a canvas breathe. At one time she had been led to believe that the realist was the man of the hour. And indeed, he was--just for one hour. And the veritist--what was he? One whose soul was kept cool in a moldy cellar. None but the artist had a right to speak. And what was art? A semblance of truth more beautiful than the truth. But writers were often afraid to be artists, even at the promptings of an artistic soul. They were told that women would not read them, and man must write for woman. What nonsense! Take up a book and find the beautiful passages marked. A woman has read it. "I can make a great noise in shallow water," said Milford, "but if I follow you, you'll lead me out over my head. I believe you, however; I believe you speak the truth. I don't know anything about art, but, so far as I am concerned, it is a waste of time for any scholar to pick flaws in a thing that makes me feel. He may tell me why it is bad taste to feel, but he can't convince me that I haven't felt." He said this looking at the girl, and their eyes warmed with the communion. "I have studied art," she said, "until I do not know anything about it; and I am beginning to believe if the world listens to--to a talk about it, it is with a sneer. No one wants to know. No one is willing to listen, except like this, out in the country when there is nothing else to do." "I find plenty to do," said Mrs. Stuvic, overhearing the remark and turning from Blakemore, who had been "joshing" her about an old man. "Yes, you bet. There's always a plenty to do in the country if a body's a mind to do it. The country people ain't such fools. No, you bet. The most of 'em's got sense enough to keep a horse from kickin' 'em. Yes, walked right over in the woods and let a horse kick him. Why, old Lewson would've knowed better than that, and he didn't have sense enough to know that he couldn't come back. Now, Bill, you keep quiet. Don't you say a word." "If you were afraid the old fellow would come back, why didn't you marry him?" said Blakemore. "Now, you keep still, too. I wan't so anxious about him comin' back. It wan't nothin' to me. But I do believe he robbed my hens' nests after he was dead. Now, whose team is that goin' along the road? If a man would rein up my horses that way I'd break his neck. Bill, why haven't you been over here?" "I've been too busy." "You haven't been too busy to trudge off to Antioch. What did you go for?" "Because it was nobody's business but mine." "Oh, you don't say so? What made you box with that Irishman? Oh, you can't fool me. I know more than you think I do. Went up there to practice. And then a horse kicked Dorsey over in the woods. How about that? You met him over in the grove some time ago, and he licked you. How about that? Then you took lessons till you was able to knock his teeth out. How about that?" "Who told you all that rubbish?" Milford demanded, uneasy under the gaze of the company. "Never mind. There's a freckled faced woman not far from here. And she couldn't keep a secret any more than a sieve could hold water. You've got a hired man, too, you must remember." "Yes, and I'll----" "You'll do nothin' of the sort. It was perfectly natural. I knowed it was comin'. I knowed that he mashed your mouth. And what was it all about? How about that?" Milford arose to go. Mrs. Goodwin begged him to sit down. Mrs. Blakemore was in a flutter of excitement. Blakemore stood with his mouth open. Gunhild looked straight at Milford. "Did you hit him, Mr. Milford?" she asked. "Yes," he promptly answered. "Then you must have had a good cause, and I shall wait before feeling sorry for him. But I could not feel very sorry anyway. I do not like him. He has the eye of a beast. May we ask why you struck him?" "He made a remark about you." The girl jumped up from her seat, anger flaming in her eyes. Mrs. Goodwin made some sort of cooing noise. Mrs. Blakemore cried "Oh!" and fluttered. "That's all I've got to say," said Milford. "I oughtn't to have said that much, and wouldn't if it hadn't come round as it did. And now I must ask you to let the subject drop." Gunhild sat down without a word. But in her quietness of manner was a turbulent spirit choked into subjection. In all things it seemed that her modesty was a conscious immodesty held in restraint. The uncouth girl, with utterance harsh in rough words of men from the far north, had been remodeled by the English school. But the blood of the Viking was strong within her, as she sat there, striving to appear submissive; but Milford fancied that she would like to dash out Dorsey's brains with a war-club. He sat down beside her, and with a cool smile she said: "Made a remark about me. It takes me back to the potato-field. I must thank you. We are fellow workmen." She spoke in a low voice. He looked from one to another, as if afraid that they might hear her. "It makes no difference," she said. "Yes, it does. It is none of their business. I am going to set claim to all that part of the past. You may share your pleasure with them, but your trouble belongs to me. I will mix it with mine." "The color might be dark," she replied. "But two dark colors may make a white hope." She shook her head and looked about as if now she were afraid that some one might hear. But the other boarders were talking among themselves. Mrs. Goodwin, at the far end of the bench, was giving to Blakemore her idea of the future life; Mrs. Blakemore had run off, summoned by an alarming howl from the boy; Mrs. Stuvic, still a believer in spiritualism and a devotee of fortune-telling, stood near, sniffing in contempt. "Nothing can keep us apart," said Milford. "I'm not a soft wooer; I don't know how to play the he dove; I don't know how to sing a lie made by some one else; I don't pretend to be a gentleman; I am out of the rut, and they may call me unnatural. But let me tell you that all hell can't keep us apart." "Mr. Milford, you must not talk like that. I too am out of the rut, and they may call me unnatural, but I do not like to hear you talk that way." "Yes, you do. You can't help yourself. If it's the devil that brought us together, then blessed be the name of the devil." "Hush, Mr. Milford." "I won't hush. I must talk. I suppose I ought to call you an angel. But you are not. You are a woman--once a hired hand. But you jump on me like a panther; you suck the blood out of my heart. Am I a brute? Yes. So are you. You are a beautiful brute--the panther and the grizzly. Is that it?" She looked at him, and her eyes were not soft. "I used to peep in at the grizzly--into the dining-room when he had come to feed. But no more now. No, nothing can keep us apart. But we must wait. What a courtship!" she said, with a sigh. "It's not a courtship," he replied. "It's a fight, a draw fight. Now I'll hush. What's the wrangle?" he asked, turning toward Mrs. Goodwin. "Nothing," she answered, moving closer to him. "It hasn't the dignity of a wrangle. Mrs. Stuvic is trying to convert me to fortune-telling." "Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Stuvic. "I don't care whether she believes in it or not. It's nothin' to me; but truth's truth, and you can't get round it; no, Bill, you bet. I know what I've been told, and I know what's come to pass. A woman told me that a man was goin' to beat me out of board, and he did. She never saw him. How about that? And she told me I was goin' to lose a cow, and I did. She was dead by the time I got home. How about that? Don't come talkin' to me about what you expect after you're dead. Truth's truth. Now, there's Bill. He thinks I'm an old fool. But I know more than he thinks I do. Yes, you bet!" "No, I don't think that, Mrs. Stuvic," Milford replied. "I'm under too many obligations to you to think that." "Now, there is honesty," Mrs. Goodwin spoke up. "Gunhild, my dear, do you catch the drift of it?" "It's not honesty, but villainy," Blakemore declared, and turning to his wife, who had just returned, he asked if the boy were hurt. She said that he had got hung in the forks of an apple tree. "But villainy holds a virtue when it tells the truth," Mrs. Goodwin replied. "Holds fiddlesticks," said Mrs. Stuvic, with a sniff. "Why can't you folks talk sense? Just as soon as a woman reads a book, she's got to talk highfurlutin' blabber. Now, what does that man out there want?" "He wants beer," said Blakemore. "Well, he can't get it. He looks like the man that had me fined last summer. I hate a detective on the face of the earth. One went down in my cellar and drank beer, and then had me up. Go on away from here," she shouted. "There's not a drop of beer on this place. Move on off with you. I'll let you know that I don't keep beer." The man went away, grumbling. Blakemore turned to Milford and said: "Come join me in a bottle." "Now, you keep still," Mrs. Stuvic snapped. "Bill don't drink. And the first thing I know you'll have me up." Milford asked Mrs. Goodwin when she expected to go home. She answered that she would leave on the following Tuesday. He remarked that he would come over to go to the station with her, and then, waving a farewell to the company, he strode off toward home. In his heart there flamed the exultation of a great conquest after a fierce battle. CHAPTER XVII. AN AMBITION. In the evening the hired man returned with his trousers drawing shorter every moment. He swore that he was going to kill the peddler, which of course meant that he would buy another pair from him. He would take off the wretched leg-wear and hang weights to the legs, he said. No peddler could get ahead of him. He called himself an inventive "cuss." He said that his grandfather had sat upon a granite hillside and with a jackknife whittled out a churn-dasher that revolutionized the art of butter-making in that community. He smacked his mouth as he spoke of the delights of the day just ended. It had been like sitting under a rose-bush, with sweetened dew dripping upon him. He had seen his girl trip from one rapture to another, mirroring a smile from the sun and throwing it at him. Her face was joy's looking-glass. And aside from all that, she had sense. She was an uncommon woman. He was not afraid to tell her everything. It was certain to go no further. He could read a woman the moment he set eyes upon her. They all invited confidence, but few of them were worthy of it. Milford did not have it in his heart to smash the fellow's idol. He said that he was pleased to know that so true a woman had been found. "Oh, you can trust her all right, Bill. But to tell you the truth, I don't believe you could trust the girl that has set her cap for you. Her tongue's too slippery, and I said to myself that you'd better stick to the Norwegian. I'm not stuck on foreigners myself. The girl I married had a smack of the Canadian French about her. But Lord, she was putty. You ought to have seen her eyes--black as a blackberry, and dancin' a jig all the time. And they danced me out of the set, I tell you that. I could have her again if I wanted her. But I don't exactly want her. Would you, Bill?" "I'd cut her throat." "Say, you ought to see her throat, speakin' about throats. Puttiest thing you ever seen in your life--white as snow----" "With the pink of the sunset falling on it," said Milford, with his gluttonous mind's eye upon the Norwegian's neck. "If that ain't it, I'm the biggest liar that ever milked a cow. Just exactly it. And yet you wouldn't advise me to take her again." "I'd kick her downstairs," said Milford. "Yes, that's all right, Bill; but it would save getting a divorce. Still, my other girl's the thing. I can put confidence in her, and the first one was tricky. I couldn't tell her a thing that wan't repeated. I'll stand for anythin' sooner than bein' repeated all the time. How are you gettin' along over at the house?" Milford put him off with the remark that everything was all right so far as he knew. A man may gabble of a love that is spreading over the heart, but when it has gathered the whole world beneath its wings he is more inclined to silence. The hired man continued to talk. Before he met the freckled woman he had looked forward to sixteen hours a day at eighteen dollars a month. He had not dared to see the flush of the sunrise light his bedroom window, except perhaps on some odd Sunday when he might steal the sweet essence of a forbidden nap, but his "love" for that woman had promised him an unbroken dream at dawn and a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs at eight. After all, it was fortunate that the first woman had run away. She was saucy and had made his heart laugh, at times, but he was a hired man still, and the cold dew of the morning had cracked his rough boots and caused his wet trousers to flap about his ankles. "Bill," he asked, "do you ever expect to wear a boiled shirt all the week and sleep till after sun-up?" Milford had learned that this was the hired man's notion of elegance and of ease. He answered that such a time might come. "It's got to come with me," said Mitchell. "It's comin', and I'd be a fool to dodge it. Yes, sir, and I'm goin' to have me about a dozen shirts made. I don't care so much about the coat and pants; I want the shirts. And I want 'em made as broad as I can fill 'em out, with a ruffle or two, and as white as chalk. That's the way I want to be dressed when fellers come to me and ask if I want to hire a man. Bill, you look like you've made up your mind to do some thin'. What is it? Git married?" "I came here with my mind already made up," Milford replied, new lines seeming to come to the surface of his countenance. "And I'm not going to change it," he declared, louder of tone, as if he had been debating with himself. "I'm going to follow the line, and then if something else comes, all the better." "What is your line, Bill?" "Haven't you learned enough not to ask that?" "Oh, well, but I didn't know but you'd found out there wouldn't be any harm in tellin' me. We've been working together a good while, and I've got an interest in you. I've told you what my object is." "To wear white shirts and to see the sun shine in on you of a morning, I believe. That's a good enough object." "I think so, Bill. At least, it won't do nobody no harm. And I tell you what's a fact: I'd like, after a while, to live in town, so's I could come out in the country and clar my throat and ask fellers about the crops. But you always sorter turn up your nose at my object. I wouldn't at yours. Tell a feller what it is, Bill." "The idea of every man having an object seems to have become rather popular in this community," said Milford. "Everybody looks on me with a sort of suspicion, and this object business comes out of that. You may not know it, but you've been set as a trap to catch me." The hired man was genuinely astonished. His mouth flew open, and he drooled his surprise. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve; he hemmed, hawed, and grunted. But, after a time, he admitted that his "girl" had shown the edge of a keen interest in Milford. However, there was nothing vicious in it. She had never been stirred by a vicious instinct. She was naturally interested in the man who gave employment to her future husband. Of course, his object did not amount to much when compared with Milford's; he was nothing but a hired man, but presidents had been hired men, and the world could not afford to turn its scornful back upon the affairs of the farm-hand. The field laborer had a heart, a talkative heart, perhaps, but a heart that society would one day learn to fear. It was not heartlessness that would overthrow the political state and trample upon the rich; it was heart, abused heart, that would give crushing weight to the vengeful foot. This was the substance of his talk, the egotism of muscle, a contempt for the luxuries of the refined brain, but with a longing to imitate the appearance of leisure by wearing white linen and lying in bed till the sun was high. Milford recognized the voice of the discontented farmer. "You remember the speeches of the last campaign," said he. "You believe that the laborer is to overturn society. All right. But that has nothing to do with my object. That makes no difference, however, since everything leads to the distress of the farmer. But I want to tell you and all the rest that it is your own fault, as one and as a whole. You never read anything but murders and robberies, or the grumblings of some skate that wants an office. You haven't schooled yourselves into sharpness enough to see that he is trying to use you. You get up before sunrise, and work till after dark, and think that the whole world is watching you. The world doesn't care a snap, I'll tell you that." "And that's just it, Bill; the world's tryin' to do us." "Yes, and it will do you." "I know it, and that's the reason I want to marry out of it." "That is to say, you want to 'do' a woman to get out of it yourself. What do you expect to give her?" "Why, I'll give her a good husband, a man that'll fight for her, do anything----" "Except to work for her," Milford broke in. The hired man grinned. "He said that a good husband was about all that a woman ought to expect, these days; he would not fall short, and a man who did not disappoint a good woman came very near to the keeping of all commandments. He was not going to marry for property. But if property made a woman beautiful to the rich, why should it make her ugly to the poor?" "But you say she is homely and freckled." "I said freckled, Bill; I didn't say homely. Why, I like freckles. I think they are the puttiest things in the world. They catch me every time. A trout wouldn't be half as putty if he wan't speckled. And if this woman is a trout and has snapped at my fly, all right. The world ain't got a right to say a word." "The world doesn't know that you are born or ever will be." "Oh, I know you don't think I amount to much, Bill; I know the world don't care for me, but I'll make her care one of these days." "When the worm turns on the woodpecker." "That's all right, Bill. Have all the flings you want. But I'll tell you one thing: I don't talk about the Bible bein' the greatest book in the world, and then go in the woods and lay for a feller to mash his mouth. Oh, I know all about it. My girl's brother see the feller git on the train with his jaw tied up, and I knowed what had happened." "You say the fellow's mouth was mashed?" said Milford. "Yes, mashed as flat as a pancake." "Then you want to keep your mouth shut." "All right, Bill, I understand." Milford walked about the room. "We are neglecting everything," he said. "It's time to feed the cattle." They went out to the barn, neither of them speaking. Mitchell climbed into the loft and tossed down the hay; Milford measured out oats to the horses. In silence they returned to the house. "Why don't you say something?" said Milford. "When I said the feller's mouth was mashed you said I wanted to keep mine shut. I help you learn how to box till you could out-box me, and I guess you can mash my mouth easy enough, Bill." "But do you think I would, Bob?" "No, I can't hardly think so. Got any smokin' tobacco?" "Fresh bag up there on the shelf. Fill up that briar of mine--the old-timer." "But you don't want nobody to smoke it, do you?" "You may keep it; I've got another one." "But you've had that one so long, Bill." "Then it's all the sweeter." "I'm a thousand times obliged to you." "All right." He was silent for a thoughtful minute, and then he said: "The summer is about gone. It will leave on the train next Tuesday." The hired man nodded as if he understood. "And I've got to be lookin' out for somethin' to do in the winter," he said. "I don't reckon you can afford to keep me." "Yes, I want you. I expect to be busy all winter, trading around. Your wages may go on just the same." "You don't mean at eighteen dollars?" "I said just the same." Mitchell's face beamed with satisfaction. "That would scare some of these farmers around here half to death," said he. "They never think of payin' more than ten in winter." "But I'm not one of these farmers round here." "That's what you ain't, and I don't know what you have been, nur what you're goin' to be, but to me you're about the best feller I ever struck up with." They talked of affairs on the farm, the hay, the ripening corn. In the renting of the place a number of ragged sheep had been included, a contingent sale; and a few months of care had wrought almost a miracle in the appearance of the flock, so much so that the old woman regretted her terms and would have withdrawn from them, but Milford had insisted upon a witnessed contract. They talked about the sheep, the increase to come in the winter, the sale of lambs in the early summer. They laid plans for work in the fall, for the cutting and the husking of the corn. "But I thought you were going to marry," said Milford. "Yes, but not for a year, Bill. I've got a good deal to attend to first. I've got to get a divorce, you know. That won't take long, of course, but a man's divorce ought to get cool before he marries again. I've talked to my girl about it, and she thinks so. She's a proper thing." "Did it ever occur to you that she can't be a very proper thing to talk to you about marriage or to receive attentions from you before you get your divorce?" "I don't guess she ever thought of that. But I believe she did say she wanted I should get a divorce before I said much more about it. It's all right, anyway. I don't believe in holding a woman to strict rule. If you force the rule on her before you're married, she'll force it on you afterwards, and then where'll you be? Well," he added, leaning over to untie his shoe, "believe I'll go to bed. I'm glad you're pleased with my work. I want to save up enough to git them shirts, you know. It wouldn't look right to draw on her at once. Some fellers would, but I'm rather careful that way." CHAPTER XVIII. ACROSS THE DITCH. Early Tuesday morning a girl from the poor-house went to Mrs. Stuvic's place. This meant that the season was about closed, that the "journeyman" cook had been discharged, the "help" told to go, and that this wretched creature was to do the work. Careful not to appear too early, Milford came almost too late. The carriage had set out for the station. He ordered the driver to stop. He reminded Gunhild of her promise to walk with him across the fields. She declared that she had not promised, but said that she was willing enough to walk. Mrs. Goodwin cautioned her not to loiter by the way; it would greatly put her out to miss the train. Gunhild jumped out, Milford catching at her, and the carriage drove on. They walked down the road to a place where there was a gap in the fence, and here they entered the field. Down deep in the grass a horde of insects shouted their death songs. Their day of judgment was soon to lie white upon the ground. Artists in their way, with no false notes, with mission ended, they were to die in art, among fantastic pictures wrought by the frost. Milford did not try to hide his sadness. The girl was livelier; the girl nearly always is. "The other day I got near you, although others were present, but now you are far off," he said. "Must I rope you every time I want you?" She laughed at this picture of life in the West, thrown in a word. Again she saw men lassoing the cattle. But the potato field came back to her, the rough words of the men, the drudgery, and her face grew sad. "I am as close to you now as I was then." "Not with your eyes. Stop. Let me look at you." They halted and stood face to face. "Give me your eyes." She gave them to him without a waver. But she reminded him that they must not miss the train. Afar off they could see the carriage turn a corner. "When am I to see you again?" he asked, as they walked on. "I do not know that," she answered. "I shall not stay in the winter time at Mrs. Goodwin's house. She will have many persons there then, and will not need me." "The kingdom of heaven, though it were full, would need you." "Sometimes you are a wild book, with sentences jumping out at me," she said. "I must rope you," she added, laughing. "I wish you would--I wish you'd choke me to death, and----" "And what?" "And then take my head in your lap." "In your other life you must have stood at the bow of a boat, making the sea red with the blood of your enemy--and in my other life I bound up your wounds." They came to a broad ditch. On each side was a forest of wild sunflowers. "You could stand in there and blaze with them," he said, stepping down into the ditch. "Give me your hand, and I'll help you across." "I can jump." "Give me your hand--and I hope you'll stumble and fall." She stood among the sunflowers, looking down at him. "Did you see the cowboy preacher that came West?" she asked. "Would he not have had a wild steer if he had roped your soul?" "Give me your hand--both." She gave him her hands, and leaped across the ditch. "I wish there were a thousand," he said, climbing out. "But you haven't answered me. When am I to see you again?" "I am coming again with Mrs. Goodwin next summer." "That'll be like a boy's Christmas--ten years in coming. Can't I come to see you in town?" "I shall not be in the town. I am going into the country to teach." "Then I can come into the country." "No. With your wild ways you would make me feel ashamed." "You are right--I've got sense enough to see it. But is there to be no better understanding between us?" "Didn't you say that all--something could not keep us apart? Is not that understanding enough?" They had halted again, and she had given him her eyes. "It's an acknowledgment, but not a plan. What I want is something to work up to." "There is the carriage coming down the road over yonder. Mrs. Goodwin is waving her handkerchief at me. The station is just across the fence." "I know all that. But won't you let me write to you?" "I should like to hear from you. A letter from you in the winter might bring the summer back--the crickets in the grass and the wild sunflowers by the ditch. Yes, you may write to me." "And you will send me your address?" "Yes, I will write first--when I go to the country. Not before." "And if you don't go to the country I am not to know where you are?" "But I am going to the country. You shall hear." Near the road, between them and the station, stood an old cheese factory, now inhabited by summer vagabonds. The windows were stuffed with cast-off clothes. It was a wretched place, but now it served a purpose--it shut off all view from the station. It made no difference as to who might peep from the windows. They walked on slowly a few paces, and halted behind the old house. They heard the rumble of the train. He looked down at her up-turned face. Her lips were slightly apart as if on the eve of Utterance. He thought of the seam in a ripe peach. "There, the train is coming," she said. "Plenty--plenty of time." "No. Mrs. Goodwin is calling me. Good-bye," she said, still suffering him to hold her hand. "Are you always going to be a wild man?" "You remember what they used to call me." "Yes, that bad name. But I must go." She ran away from him. He strode back across the field. He heard the train when it stopped and when it started again, but did not look round. He stood in the ditch where he had helped her across. There was the print of her foot in the moist earth. He heard the crickets crying in the deep grass. He lay down for a moment, and felt that the cry of his heart drowned all sounds of earth. "If it were only different," he said to himself, over and over again. "When she knows, what will she think? Must she know? Perhaps not--I hope not. When it is all over, I will kill it in my own breast." He was conscious of the theatrical. He was on the stage. Glow-worms were his footlights; his orchestra was deep-hidden in the grass. "Why can't a man be genuine?" he asked himself. "Why does a heart put on, talk to itself, and strut?" In the road he met Mrs. Blakemore walking with Bobbie. The boy had a long stick, pushing it on the ground in front of himself. He called it his plow. His mother cautioned him. He might hurt himself. The stick struck a lump in the road and punched him. He howled just as Milford came up. "I told you not to shove that stick. And now you've nearly ruined yourself. Here's Mr. Milford. Perhaps he will carry you." Milford took the boy on his back. "You are my horse," said the boy, whimpering. They turned toward the house, Mrs. Blakemore striving to keep step with Milford. "Don't go so fast. I can't keep step with you," she said. "Get up," the boy commanded. "How long do you expect to stay?" Milford asked. "I don't know," she answered. "George is away on a tour, and I am to wait till I hear from him. I don't think I'll be here but a few days longer. I ought to put Bobbie in school." "We'll have a good deal more of warm weather," Milford said; "and October out here I should think is the finest time of the year." "Oh, yes, but you know we must get back. After all, the summer spent in the country is a hardship. We give up everything for the sake of being out of doors. Put him down when he gets heavy." "He's all right. Yes, hardship in many ways. But hardships make us stronger; still, I don't know that we need to be much stronger. We are strong enough now for our weak purposes." "You mean spiritually stronger, don't you? Well, I don't know. But, of course, we are more meditative when we have been close to nature, and that always gives us a sort of spiritual help. But the time out here might be spent to great advantage, in reading and serious converse. As it is, however, people seem ashamed to talk anything but nonsense. They hoot at anything that has a particle of sentiment in it. And as for art--well, so few persons know anything about art. And on this account I shall miss Mrs. Goodwin so much. She talked beautifully on art. Don't you think so?" "She talks well on almost any subject." "And Gunhild is a real artist," she said, looking at him. "Did she show you any of her drawings?" "No. I didn't ask her and she didn't offer to show them." "Perhaps you were more interested in the artist than in her art." "Yes, that may be about the size of it." "Do you know, Mr. Milford, I can't fathom you. Sometimes you speak with positive sentiment and dignity, and then again you are a repository of slang. Why is it? Is it because that, at times, I am incapable of--shall I say inspiring?" "Yes, I guess that's about the proper thing to say. No. What am I talking about? You are always inspiring, of course. The fault lies with me." "Such a strange man!" she said, meditatively. "Mrs. Stuvic declares she doesn't know you any better now than she did the first day, but I believe I do, though not much better, I must confess. I wish you would tell me something." "Well, what is it?" "Did you know Gunhild before she came out here?" "I had never spoken to her." "Well, it's very strange. You got acquainted very soon. Oh, I know she was out here quite a while, still--oh, you know what I mean. Yes, you met her at the haunted house--once. More than once? Am I too inquisitive? But I am so interested." He acted the part of a politer man; he said that she was not too inquisitive--glad that she was interested. The boy, pulling at his ears, the bridle, turned his head toward her, and he caught the drooping of her eye. Over him she had established a sentimental protectorate, in accordance with a Monroe Doctrine of the heart, and resented foreign aggression. "So much interested in Gunhild, you know," she said. "Peculiar girl, not yet Americanized. Perhaps it is her almost blunt honesty that gives her the appearance of lacking tact. But tact is the protection of honesty. Don't you think so?" "I don't know anything about tact, as you understand it. I know what it is to get the drop on a man, and I suppose the woman of tact always has the drop. Is that it?" "Yes," she laughed, walking close beside him. "A woman of tact is never taken unawares." "A suspicious woman, I take it." "Well, a ready woman. And Gunhild is not dull, but she is not always ready. Do you think so?" "I'll be--I don't know what you're driving at." "Get up," the boy cried, clucking. "Perhaps I am a little obscure. But I thought you would understand." "But I swear I don't." "Then it would be cruel to explain." "It would? You've got to explain now." He halted and turned to her. The boy pulled at his ears. Her laughter came like the rippling of cool water. "You know that Gunhild is an experiment," she said. "She was a girl of talent with uncertain manners. Even her restraint is blunt. And I think that Mrs. Goodwin has found her a failure." Milford began to ease the boy to the ground. "I must bid you good evening here," he said. "Won't you come to the house to supper?" "No. I'll go and eat at a table where no restraint is blunt and where no experiment is a failure." "I have offended you," she said, taking the boy by the hand. "And I didn't mean it, I'm sure. I hope you don't think that I would say a word against her. We are all fond of her, I'm sure. But we are all interested in you." "In me? Who the--the deuce am I? What cause have you to be interested in me? You are not interested in me, except as a sort of freak--a mud-turtle, caught in the lake, viewed by woman with their 'ahs' and 'ohs,' standing back holding their skirts. I know that woman. She is worth----" "I thought you said you didn't know her till she came out here?" "I said I'd never spoken to her." "Know her but had never spoken to her. The plot curdles. Really, Mr. Milford, what I said was simply to draw you out. I don't know a thing against her; I don't think she's a failure. Now tell me what you know. I am hungry for something of interest; I'm tired to death of this everlasting market report. If she and you have been mixed up in a romance, tell me, please. Bobbie, don't pull at me. I'm going in a moment." "The ripening fruit of a romance," said Milford, putting his hand on the boy's head. "Isn't that enough for you?" "The fruit is a tender care; the bud a careless pleasure," she replied. "Tell me about it--now. I might not see you again." "Then you will soon forget." "Oh, no, I can't forget you. You have had a strong influence on me--for good, I am sure. You have some noble purpose, hidden away, and when we meet one with a noble purpose we feel stronger, though we may not know what that purpose is. I long to do something in the world, too----" "Then love your husband," said the tactless man. "What are you saying? I do love him." "If you love him, you have a noble purpose." "But who are you to talk so morally?" "A man who has seen so much vice that he would like to see virtue. There's my road," he said, pointing to the gate. "I must bid you good-bye." CHAPTER XIX. A WOMAN'S THREAT. A cow that had been hurt by a falling tree went limping down the road, and Milford, looking at her, said that she pictured the passing of time. And when at evening he saw her again, he said that she was the same hour, passing twice. In the woods he met the girl from the poor-house, and she told him that Mrs. Blakemore was gone. One afternoon Mrs. Stuvic sent for him, and when he went she scolded him for not having come sooner to lighten the dark hour of her loneliness. She was afraid of solitude. In the bustle of a boarding-house, in fault-finding, in all annoyances, there was life, with no time to muse upon the soul's fall of the year; but in the empty rooms, the quiet yard, the hushed piano, there was a mocking stillness, the companion of death. She hated death. It had a cold grip, and old Lewson had proved that there was no breaking away from it. To her it was not generous Nature's humane leveler; it was vicious Nature giving one's enemies an opportunity to exult. She declared that if all her enemies were dead, she would not oppose death. A woman in the neighborhood had sworn that she would drag a dead cat over her grave; she was a spiteful wretch, and she would do it. Years ago there had been a fight over a line fence, and Mrs. Stuvic had won the suit, hence the only proper thing to do was to wait till she was buried and then to drag a dead cat over her grave. A terrible triumph! The old woman shuddered as she spoke of it. She had a premonition that she was to die in the winter, alone, at night, while creaking wagons passed the gate and stiff-jointed dogs bayed the frozen moon. They would cut away the snow and bury her--and then at night would come the woman with the dead cat. She could see it all, the frozen clods, the pine head-board with her name in pencil upon it, the cat left lying there, the woman returning home to gloat in the light of a warm room. Upon a bench on the veranda Milford sat and listened and did not smile, and accepting his grimness as a sympathy, her hard eye grew moist, a flint-stone wet with dew. She asked him if he had an idea as to who that woman was; and when he answered that he did not, she said: "Nobody but my own sister. Now, you keep still. And that's the reason I was so quick to let you have that farm almost at your own terms. I was afraid some one would rent it for her. Oh, but you may call me unnatural and all that sort of thing, but you don't know what I've had to contend with. My first husband died a drunkard. Many a time I've hauled him home almost frozen. He'd leave me without a bite to eat and spend every cent of money he had. And many a time I told him I'd pour whiskey on him after he was dead--and I did--yes, you bet! I said, 'Now go soak in it throughout eternity.' Ah, Lord, one person don't know how another one lives. I've had nothin' but trouble, trouble--all the time trouble." "We all have our troubles, madam." "Hush your mouth. You don't know what troubles are. Think of havin' to fight with your own blood kin, your own children. Think of your own daughter slanderin' you, and your own son havin' you arrested!" "I expect you've had a pretty hard life, Mrs. Stuvic." "Hard life! That don't tell half of it." "And yet you want to stay here longer." "What! Do you reckon I want to give Nan a chance to drag that cat over my grave?" "Let her drag it. What's the difference? You won't know anything about it." "But how do I know that? And I'd be in a pretty fix, havin' her drag a cat over me and not bein' able to help myself. No, I want to wait till she dies, the unnatural thing." "Can't you make it up with her?" "Make it up with her? Do you reckon I want to make it up with her? Do you reckon I'd stoop that much?" "You call her unnatural. Don't you think you may be just a little unnatural yourself?" "Now, look here, if you're goin' to take her part you march yourself off this place." "I'm not taking her part. I don't know her." "Then keep still. Don't you think you'd better come over to the house and stay durin' the winter?" "No, I'd rather stay over there." "All by yourself?" "Bob'll be there." "Land's sakes, are you goin' to keep him all winter? I thought you had more sense than to put on such lugs. But you've got to come over here every night or two. I don't want to die here alone." A boy on a horse rode up to the gate. The old woman went out to him. She came running back, with her limp hands flapping in the air. Her sister had sent for her. She begged Milford to hitch up the pony as fast as he could. She said that he must drive her over there. On the road she did not speak a word, except to give directions. She sat stiff and grim. Persons whom they passed stared at her, straight, squaw-like, with a hawk feather standing sharp in her hat. They drew up at a small white house in the woods. Yellow leaves were falling about it. A peacock spread the harsh alarm of their arrival. The old woman commanded Milford to get out and to wait for her. She did not know how long she might stay. A woman opened the door for them. Mrs. Stuvic recognized her as the mother of the girl from the poor-house. Milford sat down in the dreary passage-way. Mrs. Stuvic followed the woman into a room. The lines about her mouth tightened as she caught sight of her sister, on a bed in a corner. She drew up a chair, and sat down by the bedside. "What's the matter, Nan?" The sister slowly turned upon her pillow and looked at her with gaunt eyes and open mouth. "Dying," she whispered in her hard breathing. "Do you think you be?" "I know it--taken last night--doctor's gone. Couldn't do anythin'. Worn out, Mary Ann." "No, Nan, you just think you be. Look at me. I've had twice as much trouble as you." The dying woman slowly shook her head. "It's been all trouble--nothin' but trouble. Mary Ann, you know the threat I made." "Don't now--keep still." "Well, the Lord has taken that out of my heart. Do you think--think you could kiss me, Mary Ann?" Milford heard the old woman sob, and he walked out beneath the trees where the leaves were falling. The day grew yellow, and brown, and the stars came out, and still he waited, with the leaves falling slowly in the quiet air. The insects sang, and sitting with his back against a tree, he fell asleep. Something touched him. He looked up with a start, and there stood Mrs. Stuvic, her feather sharp in the moonlight. "Drive me home," she said. On the way home she did not speak, but when the buggy drew up at the gate she said: "If there's a God--and there must be one--I thank him for the tears I've shed this night. Now, you keep still. Turn the pony loose and go home. Don't come into the house. I don't want to see anybody. Keep all my affairs to yourself and you'll make no mistake." CHAPTER XX. THE CUP AND THE SLIP. In a pelting rain a funeral passed along the road, and a man who had no time for such affairs, hastening with his milk-cans to the railway station, caught sight of Mrs. Stuvic's face, pressed against the water-streaked glass of a carriage window. He lashed his team to make up for loss of time in turning aside; he wondered at the mysterious tie that could have drawn her out, not indeed on such a day, but at all, for he knew her to be at enmity's edge with neighbors and frosty to every relative. At the station he met Milford, walking up and down beneath the shed. Milford remembered him, Steve Hardy, the man who had given him a "lift" from the station on the day of his coming into the neighborhood. And to his head-shakings, winks, nods, wise mutterings, the new-comer owed much of his reputation for mystery. "I see your old boss off down the road there goin' to a funeral," said Hardy. "Did you? It's one of the privileges granted by the constitution of the State." "Yes. They don't have to take out license to go to funerals, or I don't guess the old woman would er went. Guess all her boarders have gone, or I don't s'pose she'd found the time. Who's dead?" "Her sister, I believe." "That so? Then I wonder more than ever. Believe I did hear somethin' about it t'uther evenin', but I was milkin' at the time and I didn't think that she was the old woman's sister. They must have made it up." "Made what up?" "Why, the row they had over the line-fence a good while ago. Somebody told me you wanted to buy some calves." "Yes, I'd like to get a few good ones." "Well, mine are as good as ever stood on four feet. I guess you mean to settle here permanently. Well, folks that have stirred around a good bit tell me that there ain't a purtier place on the earth. I've had my house full all summer, and there ain't been a word of complaint. Goin' out my way?" "Not till after the mail comes." The post office was in a weather-beaten cottage, in the midst of an apple orchard, just across the railway tracks; and of late Milford had become well-acquainted with the postmaster, calling on him early and sitting with him till the last pouch had been thrown off for the day. But not a word had he received from Gunhild. He strove to console himself with the thought that it was too soon, that she had not gone to the country, but a consolation that comes with strife, consoles but poorly. The train came, the mail-pouch was thrown off, and he followed the postmaster to the house, stood close in anxiety till the letters were all put into the pigeon-holes, and then turned sadly away. He took his course through the wet grass, across the fields. He halted at the ditch, and in the rain and the gathering dark stood there to think, amid the wind-tangled stems and the rain-shattered blooms of the wild sunflowers. He stepped down into the ditch, deep with mire, and the grim humor of his nickname in the West, "Hell-in-the-Mud," fell upon him like a cowboy's rope. He drew himself out, threw down a handful of grass that he had pulled up by the roots, and strode on, through the green slop of the low land. As he turned in at the gate, to pass through the hickory grove, he saw the light of a lantern moving about in Mrs. Stuvic's barnyard. He spoke to a dog that came scampering to meet him; the light shot upward, came toward him; and he recognized the old woman, bareheaded, with the rain pattering on her gray hair. "Is that you, Bill? Now what are you pokin' round in this rain for? Come over to the house and get your supper." "No, I must go home." "Home? Why, you haven't got any home and never will have." "That's true," he agreed. "Not till you go where we took my old sister to-day," she said, letting the lantern down till her face was in the dark. "And just to think it should have come as it did, while I was talkin' about her! I'd been thinkin' about her all day, and I knowed somethin' was goin' to happen. But come on in the house, and don't be standin' here in the rain like a fool. Get away, Jack. I do think he's got less sense than any dog I ever set eyes on. Now, if you do put your muddy feet on me I'll cut your throat. You just dare to do it, you triflin' whelp! Are you goin' to the house with me, Bill?" "You're not afraid, are you?" he asked, now that her fear of the dead cat was gone. "Now you keep still. I'm not afraid of the devil himself. But this is just the sort of a night for me to die. Yes, I'll tell you that." "I thought you were to die on a cold night, with the wagons creaking along the road." "That was the plan, but it has been changed. Now I'm goin' to die when the ground is soaked. You don't know Peterson, do you? Well, no matter. But he lived just down the road there not long ago, and a meaner neighbor never breathed. I caught him drivin' his turkeys into my tomato patch. Yes. And his well went dry, and he come to my house and wanted to haul off water in barrels. Yes. And I wouldn't let him. And what did he say? He said he'd see my grave full of water. And now just think of what I've had to contend with all my life. Think of me lyin' there in the water, with that feller prancin' around!" "But the chances are that you'll outlive him, Mrs. Stuvic." "Yes, you bet, that's what I'm goin' to do," she said, her voice strong with encouragement. "I'll outlive the whole pack of 'em, and then mebbe they'll let me alone. Well, I'm not goin' to stand here any longer like a fool." When Milford reached home he found the Professor warm in a disquisition delivered to the hired man. He hopped up from his chair and seized Milford by the hand. "Ha," said he, "I was just telling our friend here that exact memory is not the vital part of true culture. It is the absorption of the idea rather than the catching of the words." "Sit down," said Milford. "But what does he know about it? Woman is his culture, and he's not only caught her idea, but has learned her by heart." "Now you're trottin'," spoke the hired man. "If there's anything in a woman's nature that I don't know, why, it must have come to her in the last hour or so." The Professor crossed his legs and slowly nodded his head. "You ask," said he, speaking to Milford, "what does he know about it? A man never knows unless he learns. Even to the ignorant, wisdom may be music. The man whose mind has been dried and hardened in the field of harsh toil, may sip the delicious luxury, the god-flavored juice of knowledge. Wisdom cannot be concealed. You may lock it in an iron box, but it will seep through." Upon entering the room Milford had seen the hired man put aside an earthen ewer, and now he knew that cider had been brought from the cellar. "Nearly all utterances upon knowledge, human nature or life, are trite," the learned man proceeded. "And so are herbs and flowers trite, the stars in the heavens common, but once in a while there appears from the ground a shoot so new that botany marvels, a star in the sky so strange that astronomers gape in the wonder of a discovery. And I, humble as the lowly earth, may sprout a new thought." "I was going to suggest more cider," said Milford, "but I guess you've had enough." "Ha! enough and not too much. To pause at the line, a virtue; to cross but an inch, a vice. Do you know of a publication that would buy a paper upon the decadence of the modern drama? I have one in my head, a hot and withering blast of fierce contempt." "The last play I saw was a hummer," said the hired man. "There was a whole lot of dancin' and cavortin' before they got down to it, fellers givin' each other gags, and women singin' songs. But when they got down to her she was there--a sort of a Mormon play; and they had a bed that reached clear across the platform." "Melpomene rioting as a bawd," declared the Professor. "I could elucidate if permitted one more russet cup, drawn from the oak." He looked at Milford. "One more, and let it be russet." "No more to-night, Professor," said Milford. "I am going to get a bite to eat pretty soon. Won't you join me?" "To eat, to clog the stomach, to stupefy the nimble brain, that fine machinery of wheels invisible and pulleys more delicate than the silkworm's dream of a gauzy thread! No, I will not eat, but I will drink--one more russet cup." "Just one," said Milford. "I spoke one, one in true sincerity; and if I squeeze the gentle hand of hospitality till the bones crack, and ask for more--give it to me," he roared, throwing his head back. "Bob, bring him a cup of cider," said Milford. "This has been an off day with me," the Professor remarked, following the hired man with his eyes. "The mill shut down to undergo repairs, and I am a boy out of school." He listened, as if straining his ears to catch the babble of the cider. "I sat about the house, with a dry book, to feel the contrast of the rain; I sniffed the dust of an Elizabethan's pedantry--and then my wife and my daughter began on me. I beggared myself and got them a sofa, and now they want a set of chairs. I made with them a treaty of peace, and, barbarians, they violated it. What a reproach it is to woman to see a man think! She must stir him up, scatter his faculties." "Not all women," said Milford. "Ha! About how many women have you married, sir?" Mitchell came in with the cider, and the Professor reached for it. He placed the cup on the table and gazed at the bursting beads as if counting them. He drank, smacked his mouth, and no whip-lash could have popped keener; he gazed down into the cup, regretting the fall of the yellow tide. He leaned back, with his eyes turned upward, and breathed long; he whistled softly as if to coax back a thought that had escaped him; he leaned forward, drained the cup, and sadly put it down, shoving it far across the table. "Just within arm's reach of a temptation to ask for more," he said, thrusting forth his hand. "But I will not. My word has been given. Yes, about how many women have you married?" "Well, just about one fewer than yourself if you've married only one," Milford answered. The Professor's eyes snapped. "Was that word fewer contemplated or was it an accident? Do you study to find such niceties of distinction?" "I don't give a snap for niceties of distinction, Professor; I don't know them, in fact. They might have been hammered into my head once, but they were jolted out by bucking horses. Sometimes we forced them out. We didn't want to be hampered. I knew a rancher, an Oxford man, who wilfully clawed the polish off his tongue. He wanted to live down among men, he said, and the rougher the better. One day I saw him get down off his horse to kick a book that some one had dropped in the trail." "I don't blame him for kicking a book that he might find out there," said the Professor. "You don't? A scholar lost an �schylus on the prairie, and some one might have kicked it." "Ha! I draw you on apace. We'll discuss the ancient goat-song next." "No, I'd rather talk about sheep and calves. I know more about them. I never look at a learned man that I don't fancy him weary of his burden. Think of a professor's moldy pack, dead languages, dried thought----" "Hold on, my dear friend. I was a professor, and I had no such pack. Like the modern peddler, I carried the wants of to-day. But, after all, I agree with you in the main. I know that the average doctor of learning is not able to see virtue in the new. To him old platitude is of more value than new vigor. And with one more cup I could----" "No more." "Not in the interest of clear elucidation?" "Not in any interest that you can fish up. I don't want you to go home drunk." "Drunk! Why, my dear boy, I hadn't thought of such a thing; it hasn't entered my head. You mistake me, and I am here to refute it. A man needs something beyond his needs; there are times when we look for something aside from our own natural forces; there are wants which nature was ages in supplying. Look at tobacco. The Greeks missed it as they sat deep in the discussion of their philosophy. They did not know what it was they were missing, but they knew it was something and I know it was tobacco. But be that as it may. You have said that I shall have no more, and I bow." He twisted his beard and seemed to force into himself the spirit of resignation. They heard a tramping on the veranda. A voice called Mitchell. He went to the door and opened it, told some one to come in, and then stepped out. There came a mumbling, and then a profane exclamation. Mitchell stepped back into the room and slammed the door. He sat down and leaned over with his arms upon his knees. The Professor looked at him, still twisting his beard. Milford asked him what had happened. He looked up with a sour snarl. "It's all off," he said. "What's all off?" Milford asked. "It's all off with me, that's what. My girl's married." "You don't mean it!" the Professor cried. "Then what the devil do I want to say it for? She married about two hours ago, so Miles Brent tells me, and he was there--married a feller named Hogan. I see him around there once or twice, but don't think anythin' of it. Well, I'll swear. I thought I knowed her, and I did know her at one time, but she changed. Blamed if you can tell how soon they'll change on you. Hogan--an old widower." "I know him," said Milford. "He milks fifteen cows. His milk caught her." "I hate to think that," Mitchell drawled, "but I'll have to. Yes, sir, hauled off in a milk-wagon. And she owns a piece of land worth fifty dollars an acre." "She must have wanted milk to wash off her freckles," said Milford. "Don't, Bill--don't make light of a man's trouble. She's a big loss to me, I tell you." "But, Bob, you didn't really love her, now, did you?" "Bill, there's different sorts of love. I loved her in my way, as much as any man ever loved a woman, I reckon, in his way. I put my faith in her, and that was goin' a good ways. Humph! I can't hardly believe it, but I know it's so." "When the heart is rent," said the Professor, twisting his beard to aid his thought; "when the heart is rent----" "It's the failure of the rent--on the land, that gets Bob," Milford broke in. "His heart has nothing to do with it." "Bill, I thought you had more sympathy than----" "Sympathy for a man who has failed to beat a woman out of her property? Of course, I wish you'd succeeded, but I'm not going to console you because you haven't. I'm a scoundrel all right enough, but a scoundrel has his limits." "That's all right, Bill, but somebody may give you the slip." "That's true enough, but my heart and not my pocket will do the grieving. I haven't any time to give to a man's pocket grief." "Wait till you have a real grief," said the Professor. "Wait till ignorance comes heavy of hoof down your hallway to tell you that your years of study are but a waste-land, covered with briars; to cut you with the blue steel of a chilling smile, and to turn you out of an institution that you hold dear. That's grief." He leaned forward upon the table, with his head on his arms. "You had no right to go to see her," said Milford. "You had no divorce." "But I could've got one, couldn't I? Are they so blamed scarce that a man can't get 'em? Well, let it go." "Yes, I must go," said the Professor, getting up. "Is it raining yet? I slipped off between showers without an umbrella." "Sorry I haven't one," Milford replied. "Yes, it's raining. Take that coat up there. It may protect you some." "Thank you. I shall avail myself of your offer." He put on the coat, bade them good-night, and set out for home. The road was muddy and he walked close to the fence. Once he strode into a patch of briars. "The waste land of my years of study," he said. He shied when he saw the light in his window, and he cleared his throat and braced himself. His wife and Miss Catherine, hearing him upon the veranda, sat down upon the floor, as if they had no chairs. He stepped in, looked at them, and sadly shook his head. "I would be polite enough to choose a finer insinuation," said he. "There may be virtue in a hint--there may be all sorts of spice in it, but there's nothing but insult in squatting around on the floor like this. I don't know how to choose words for the occasion. I will simply bid you good-night." He heard them talking after he went to bed. He sighed out his distemper and fell asleep. In the morning he found that he had hung Milford's coat upside down. A paper had fallen from the pocket. He took it up, opened it, and with a start he recognized his medical treatise. CHAPTER XXI. FROM HER. Early the next morning Milford was leading a horse out of the barn when he met the Professor at the door. For a moment the scholar stood puffing the short breath of his haste; he had not picked his way, for his clothes were bespattered with mud, as if in his eagerness he had split the middle of the road. "You're out early," said Milford. "But not early enough. One who has been deceived is always too late. Mr. Milford, I have been grossly imposed upon by--by your generosity, sir. That paper, the medical treatise. It fell out of your coat. I found it this morning. Can you explain?" "Well, I haven't time just now," said Milford, preparing to mount the horse. "I've got to ride over to Hardy's to see about some calves. We'll talk about the treatise some other time." "No, sir," the Professor replied, holding up his hand. "We must talk about it now. You were to take that paper to the Doctor's wife. You brought me the money for it. You said that she liked it. And this morning it fell out of the pocket of your coat." "It does seem a little strange, I admit." "Strange! No, it is not strange. It is a generous outrage. I don't know what else to call it. I have been tricked, laughed at in the pocket of your treacherous coat." Milford mounted the horse. The Professor took hold of the bridle rein. "You must not leave me thus. I have been left too long to simper and smirk in self-cajolery, with an inward swell to think that my pen had paid my insurance. You must explain." "All right, I'll tell you. I thought well of your paper, you understand, but when I got over to the house and faced the woman, my nerve failed me, and I couldn't ask her to buy it." "But you praised it," said the Professor, with a gulp, still holding the bridle reins. "Yes, and it was all right, but I lost my nerve. I had conjured up a sort of speech to make to her, but it slipped me, and then my nerve failed. It wasn't my fault, for I liked the paper all right enough, you understand." "But you brought the money. How about that?" "Well, I had a few dollars, and I borrowed the rest from the old woman. But that needn't worry you, for I paid her back when I sold my oats. It's all right." "Needn't worry me! Why, you fail to catch the spirit of my distress. Your act leaves me in debt. Why did you do it, Milford? Why?" Milford looked down at him, his eyes half closed. "You'd acknowledged yourself a thief. You said you'd stolen a dog." "Yes, I know," the Professor agreed, glancing about. "I know, but what of that?" "Well, it made you my brother. And don't you think a man ought to help his brother in distress? Don't let it worry you. Don't think about it. If you can ever pay it back, all right. If you can't, it's still all right, so there you are. Let me go." "Milford, in the idiom of the day, I am not a dead beat. I do not like the term, and I employ it only out of necessity. Beat is well enough, but dead is lacking in the significance of natural growth. I hope that you give me credit for seriousness. I am not a flippant man; I am innately solemn, knowing that the only progressive force in the human family is earnestness. But sometimes in the hour of my heaviest solemnity I may appear light; and why? In the hope that I may deceive my own heart into a few moments of forgetful levity. And you say that you are going over to look at some calves. Now that gives me an idea. I can fatten two calves very nicely--could keep them all winter and get a very good price for them in the spring. I abhor debt, but do you think you could make arrangements for me to get two, or three? Do you think you could?" "The man I am to deal with is close and I don't believe he'll give credit." "Very likely he might object. I didn't know, however, but that you might make some arrangements with him, and let me settle with you afterward. Such things have been done in trade, you know." "Yes, but I'm not prepared to do it now, Professor." "Well, you know best. But I want you to understand that the money you advanced me shall be repaid." "I understand that." "But you must understand it thoroughly. I am afraid that you do not grasp the full significance of it." "I think I do. Well, I must go." "Yes, and so must I. One of these days, Milford, you will think well of me." "I do now, Professor. You are my brother." "Ah! I have strengths that you----" "Your brother on account of your weaknesses, Professor." "I would rather that our kinship rested upon other qualities, but we will not discuss the question, since we both of us are in a hurry. Therefore, I bid you good-morning and wish you good luck." When Milford returned at noontime the hired man gave him a letter. It was from Gunhild. In a Michigan community she had found, not a field, indeed, but a garden-patch for her labors. "The pay is very small, but it is an encouragement," she said. "It has been hard to find a place, and I was willing to accept almost anything. The people are not awake to art; to them life demands something sterner, and I have come to believe that everything but a necessity is a waste of time, but then what I do is a necessity, and I find my excuse to myself in that. I had a letter from Mrs. Goodwin a few days ago, and I also met a woman who had seen her recently. She has made another discovery, a musical genius on the piano, a girl whom she found in a mission school. I take this to mean that she has put me aside, for with her the new blots out the old. And this makes my success as a teacher all the more----" Here she had erased several words and substituted "needful." "She will never remind me of my obligation, I am sure, but I cannot forget it. I feel that she was disappointed in me, but it is not my fault, for I all the time told her that I was not to be great. I will make no false modesty to hide that I have thought of you many times. I dreamed of you in English. This may not mean much to you, but I nearly always dream in Norwegian, and persons who speak English to me when I am awake, speak Norwegian in my dreams. But you did not. I thought I saw you standing in a ditch and the rain was falling, and it was night. I ran to you, and you spoke the name they used to call you in the West. It was the ditch you helped me over. I had been thinking about it in the day, and was sorry because the sunflowers must be all dead. I had to send some money to my uncle. He lost his place on the street-car, but they have taken him back. He has five children and cannot afford to be idle. Oh, that was a beautiful summer out there. Do you remember the night at the house where they said the spirits are? I can see you now, kneeling on the floor. I will be bold and say that I wanted to kneel beside you. Will there ever come another summer like that? It was my first rest. But I cannot hope for another soon. Mrs. Goodwin will not want me to come out with her next year. She will have with her the musical genius then. But we shall see each other. I feel that you spoke the truth when you said that all--something could not keep us apart. I board at the house of a man who had this season a large potato field. I went out when the digging time was at hand, and behind the plow I saw a woman from Norway and I wanted to help her, but it would not do for these people to know that I have ever worked in a field. The teacher of the public school spoke of me as the graceful young woman, and I thought that it might please you to know that he had said it." "Please me?" said Milford, talking aloud to himself. "Blast his impudence, what right----" "Anything wrong, Bill?" Mitchell inquired. "Oh, no, everything's all right." "Letter from her, ain't it?" "Yes. She's in Michigan." "I used to go with a woman from Michigan," said the hired man. "And I thought I'd like to marry her, but I found out she'd been married twice, and I didn't feel like bein' no third choice." "I didn't suppose you'd object to that," Milford replied, folding his letter. "Well, I may be more particular than most fellers, but it sorter stuck in my crop. I guess it's a good plan to let all the women alone. For awhile at least," he added. "The best of 'em don't bring a man nothin' but trouble. What does your girl say in her letter?" "Oh, nothing much. She's teaching." "I guess she's a pretty good sort of a woman. Are you goin' to bring her here?" "Not if I know myself." "Yes, but a feller that keeps on foolin' with a woman gits so after a while he don't know himself. What's your object in not wantin' to bring her here?" "I've got something else to do first. She may not want me after I've told her--the truth." "Then don't do it, Bill. Talk to a woman all you're a mind to, but don't tell her any more truth than you can help. It gives her the upper hand of you." "I don't know, Bob, that I'd be warranted in accepting your theories about woman." "Mebbe not, but I'm the chap that's had the experience." Milford replied in effect that experience does not always make us wise. It sometimes tends to weaken rather than to make us strong. It might make freshness stale; it is a thief that steals enthusiasm; it enjoins caution at the wrong time. He took out his letter and read it again, studying the form of each word. The hired man said that he had received many a letter, had read them over and over, but that did not alter the fact that the writer thereof had proved false to him. "I don't want to pile up trash in no man's path," he said, "but I want to give it out strong that it's a mighty hard matter for a woman to be true even to herself. Look how I've been treated." Milford did not reply. He studied his letter, and the words, "wanted to kneel beside you," gathered a melody, and were sweet music to him. CHAPTER XXII. REMEMBERED HIS OBLIGATION. Now and then there was a blustery day, but good weather remained till late in November. But the ground tightened with the cold, and a snow-whirlwind came from the Northwest. Nowhere had the autumn been fuller of color, but a hiss and a snarl had buried it all beneath the crackly white of winter. Windmills creaked in the fierce blast, sucking smoky water from the ground, to gush, to drip, and then to hang from the spout a frozen beard. Black-capped milkmen, with flaps drawn down over ears, sat upon their wagons, appearing in their garb as if the hangman had rigged them up for a final journey. To look upon the frozen fields and to stand in the groaning woods it did not seem possible that there had ever been a day of lazy heat and nodding bloom. At tightening midnight the flinty lake cracked with a running shriek. The dawn was a gray shudder, the sunrise a shiver of pale red, and then a black cloud blot-out and more snow. A day that promised to be good-tempered often ended in a fury; and sometimes, when it seemed that nature could not be more harsh, the wind would soften, a thaw come with rain, and then another freeze with a snow-storm fiercer than before. Sometimes thunder growled, a lost mood of summer in the upper air; sometimes a lagging autumn bird was whirled through the freezing wind. And with it all the Yankee man was full of spirit, almost happy, happy as the Yankee well can be. His cool nature demanded a fight with the cold. The ears of all his ancestors had been frozen in bleak New England. His religion had been nurtured in a snow-drift, and unlike the breath of a freezing rabbit, did not melt an inch of it. In the howl of a cutting wind he heard a psalm to his vengeful Deity. And to-day the winter reminds him that his army was victorious in the summer South. It was a fight of Winter against Summer. Milford had no idle time upon his hands. When not at work in the barn he was trading among the farmers. They called him sharp, and this was a compliment. He had beaten Steve Hardy in a trade, and this was praise. An honest sort of a fellow is an eyesore to the genuine Yankee. He must have other virtues--thrift. There was but one drawback in the Rollins community: The land was too productive. It yielded a good living without the full exercise of the Yankee quality. The Yankee is happiest when strongly opposed. His religion was sweetest when he had to pray with one eye open, sighting at the enemy, the dragoon sent by the king to break up the Conventicle, or the American Indian come to burn the meeting-house. The winter had brought out Milford's strong points. He doubled his money on a flock of sheep. Fathers spoke of it to their daughters. Mothers asked their sons if they were acquainted with Mr. Milford. Mrs. Stuvic was proud of him. "Oh, I knowed what I was doin'," she said one night, sitting near the hot stove in Milford's dining-room. "You can't fool me. I know lots, I tell you. Do you know the Bunker girl? Well, she was at my house yesterday, and she talked like she knowed you but wanted to know you better. Now put down that newspaper and talk to me. Do you know her?" "I think I've met her," said Milford. "You think you have. Well, a woman has taken mighty little hold of a man when he thinks he's met her. She'd make you a good wife; yes, you bet!" "I don't want a wife, good or bad." "Oh, you keep still. What the deuce are you workin' for? You know there's a woman somewhere waitin' for you." "And if there is, why should I want to marry the Bunker girl?" "Now listen at him! Why, I didn't know but you'd got tired of foolin' with the other one. Who is she? That tall critter that was out here? Well, I don't know about her, with her art. Art the cat's foot! You'd better marry a woman that knows how to do housework. She may be all right for summer, but you'd better marry a woman for winter. Don't you think so, Bob?" "For winter and summer, I should think," said the hired man. "But I married one for winter, and she went away along in July. But I guess I could get her again." "And he's just about fool enough to take her," Milford spoke up. "Why, she'd run away again." "I don't think that, Bill. I guess she's got more sense now." "At any rate, she's got more sense than you," said the old woman. "She had sense enough to run away and you didn't. But I hear that somebody else run away, Bill. I heard that you left a wife out West." "You heard a lie, madam," Milford replied. "But that's not hard to hear. A man may be ever so deaf, and sometimes might hear a lie." "That's gospel, Mrs. Stuvic," said the hired man. "I was out at the deaf and dumb asylum one time, and they had a boy shut up for lyin' with his fingers." "Well, what do you come tellin' me about it for? Do you s'pose I care? I wasn't talkin' about lyin'. I was talkin' about some folks not havin' much sense, and you was right at the top of the pot, I'll tell you that. You haven't got sense enough to catch a good woman." "I might not have from your standpoint, but I have from mine. I don't believe I'd want the woman you'd call good. She'd think it was her duty to keep a man stirred up all the time; she'd make him work himself to death." "Well," she snapped, "a woman's better off every time she makes a man work himself to death, I'll tell you that." "Yes, from your standpoint," drawled the hired man, opening the stove door to get a light for his pipe. "But I wouldn't kill myself for no woman, would you, Bill?" "I don't know that I'm called on to do it," Milford replied. "Give me that," he added, reaching for the bit of blazing paper which the hired man was about to put out. He lighted his pipe, threw the burning paper on the stove, and idly looked at the cinder waving in the draft. "As unsteadfast as Mitchell's love," he said. "What is?" the hired man inquired. "That thing, there? No, that's a woman's love. See, it's blowed away." "Such nonsense!" said the old woman. "How can you keep it up so long? I'd get sick to death of it. Woman's love, woman's love--I never was as tired of hearing of a thing. I hear it all summer, and now you're talkin' it. Conscience alive, how the wind blows! It makes me think of old Lewson, the cold made him shiver so. I've knowed him to sit up at night with his fire out and his teeth chatterin', waitin' for the spirits to come. One night I asked him who he expected, and he said his wife, and I told him she was a fool to come out such a night, and he flung his spirit book at me, and the Dutch girl kindled the fire with it the next mornin'. Poor old feller! I passed his grave the other day, all heaped up with snow; and it made me shake so to think I'd be lyin' there sometime, with the snow fallin' an' the cows mooin' down the road. But I'm not gone yet, Bill. Do you understand that? I say I'm not gone yet, and many a one of 'em 'll be hauled off before I do go. Yes, you bet! I'll outlive all of you; the last one of you." "I hope so, Mrs. Stuvic," said Milford. "You do? Thank you for the compliment." "But you've got to go sometime," Mitchell spoke up; and she frowned upon him. "You shut your mouth, now," she snapped. "I wan't talkin' to you. I'll go when I get ready, and it's none of your business. But ain't it awful," she added, speaking to Milford, "that we've got to go? And we don't know where and don't know what'll happen to us afterwards. Lord, Lord, such a world! If we could only be dead for a while to see what it's like; but to think forever and ever, all the summers and all the winters to come! Dead, all the time dead. I wake up in the night, and think about it and wish I'd never been born. Sometimes I look at my hand and say, 'Yes, the flesh has got to drop off.' Not long ago a doctor stopped at my house one night with a skeleton. He was a young fool, and had bought it somewhere. He jerked the thing around like it was a jumpin'-jack; and I said to myself, 'You'd do me the same way, you scoundrel.' And I told him to drive away from there as fast as he could. And old Lewson's failin' to come back has made it worse. I wonder if he did lie to me. I wonder if he could come back. And if he could, why didn't he? I'd always been kind to him; took him when his own flesh and blood turned him out. Then what made him lie to me? I don't care so much about his not comin' back; all I want is to know that he could have come. That would satisfy me. And why couldn't he let me know that much? Bill, you lump of mud, don't you think about dyin'?" "You're coming pretty close to my name, old lady. Yes, I think about it, but death will have to take care of itself. I haven't the time to worry with it just at present." "Yes, and the first thing you know you can't worry about it." "Then I'll be all right; won't need to worry." She reached over and gripped his wrist. "Ah, that's it; that's just it. How do you know that you won't need to worry? What proof have you got? Tell me, if you've got any." She jerked him. "Tell me. Don't you see how I'm sufferin'? If you know anythin', tell me. I want the truth. That's all I want, the truth." "I don't know anything, Mrs. Stuvic. I can only hope." She turned loose his wrist and shoved herself back further from him. "You can only hope. You mean that you're only a fool. That's what you mean. What do you want to hope for? Why don't you find out? What's all the smart men doin' that they don't find out? Talk to me about the world gettin' wiser! Oh, they can invent their machines and all that, but why don't they find out the truth?" "Some of the wisest of them think they have found out long ago," Milford replied. "Don't you see the churches? Somebody must believe that the truth is known or there wouldn't be so many churches." "Churches," she sneered, "yes, churches. But I don't believe in 'em, and you don't neither. Same old thing all the time; believe, believe, nothin' but believe. Well, I'm goin' home. I see you don't know any more than I do. We're all a pack of fools." Mitchell said that he was going her way, and she told him to come on. At the door going out they met the Professor coming in. The old woman fell back as if she had seen a ghost. She declared that for a moment he was Old Lewson, just as he looked on the day when last he urged her to accept his faith. She sat down to recover breath. The Professor assured her that he meant no harm. Any resemblance that he might bear to the living or the dead was wholly unintentional on his part. She told him to shut up, that he was a fool. He acknowledged it with a bow, and said that this fact also was wholly unintentional. "You pretend to be so smart," she said. "Yes, but why don't you know the truth?" "I should know it, madam, were I to hear it." "Oh, you get out! You don't know half the time what you're talkin' about. What's to become of us all? That's what I want to know." The Professor sat down. The hired man stood at the door. Milford leaned back in his chair. The old woman looked at the learned man and repeated her question. He began to say something about philosophy, and she broke in with a contemptuous snort and the cat's foot. She did not want philosophy; she wanted the truth. The Professor attempted to persuade her that philosophy was the truth, and she fluttered like a hen. It was nothing of the sort; it was ignorance put in big words. What she wanted was the truth. "But if you won't listen I can't give it to you," said the Professor. "You cut me off at the beginning. Now, you say that what you want is the truth. You demand an answer to your question of what is to become of us all, after this life. You want me to answer it in a word, when the books that have been written on the subject would sink the biggest ship afloat." "Yes, and you don't know anythin' about it. What I want to know is, can we come back? Answer me that." "Madam, in my opinion----" "I don't give a snap for your opinion. Come on, Bob Mitchell, if you're goin' with me." She bustled out of the room, leaving the Professor with his finger-tips pressed together and his head erect. "As odd a fish as was ever hooked," said he. "She must be afraid that she is going to die." "It's on her mind all the time," said Milford. "She wants to believe something, she doesn't know exactly what." "The pitiable case of one beyond the reach of philosophy. But in her struggling to land herself somewhere she keeps her interest in herself keenly alive. There is always some sort of hope as long as we are interested in ourselves. Trite, I admit that it is trite, but it is a fact that we should always bear in mind, endeavoring constantly to keep alive an interest in self so that we may not fail in the obligations which we owe to others. But well may the old woman ask what is to become of us all. I wash my hands of the spiritual part," he said, going through the motion of washing; "I can shift the responsibilities here, or at least feel that I can, but--bodily, bodily, what's to become of us bodily?" "When such riddles are asked of me, I'm always ready to give them up," said Milford. "I'm not asking myself any questions." "Ha! you don't need to," the Professor declared. "You bristle yourself against the world, and in the fight that ensues you are not always beaten. I am. Your nerve is sound. Mine has been broken many a time, tied together again, and is therefore weak. Leaving age out of the question, there is scarcely any comparison between our equipments for the fight. You have a habit of silence that enforces respect for your talk. I am talkative, and a talkative man utters many an unheeded truth. At times you are almost grim, and this makes your good humor the brighter. I am always pleasant, and as a consequence fail to hold the interest of the company. In overalls you can assert a sort of dignity, or rather what the thoughtless would take for dignity, but which I know to be a gruffism--permit the expression--a gruffism toned down. But I--even in a dress-suit I could not keep my dignity from cutting a prejudicial caper. The trouble is that my acquaintances will not take me seriously. I once heard a man say, 'Yes, as light as one of Dolihide's worries.' It angers me to feel that outwardly I am a caricature of my inner self. Not even my wife knows how serious I am, or what a tragedy life is to me. But, my dear fellow, my oddities are crystal, and I will not thread them off in spun glass. I came over for a different purpose. The money with which you so generously deceived me--I have raised it; it was a fearful scuffle, but I seized the obstacles that danced about me and threw them down, one by one. Here is the money." He took out a number of bank notes with a scattering of silver, and slowly spread them on the table, carefully placing one upon the other. "I said that I would pay you, and here's the money,--down to the forty cents." "I am much abliged to you, Professor. No hurry, though, you understand." "There has been no hurry, my dear friend. No one can ever know what a struggle it was to--to raise it at this time, this needful time." He leaned back, and with lips tightly sealed together, and with head slowly nodding, gazed at the pile of dirty paper. "This needful time, thou filth," he said. "Now, if you need it," Milford spoke up quickly, "take it. I'm not pressed. You can pay it some other time." "My life insurance will be due again within three days." "Then go ahead and pay it." The Professor continued to gaze at the bank notes. "Must I again crease you into uncleanly folds--I am a thousand times your debtor, my dear boy. I could spin fine, but I won't. I could pronounce a curse upon these pieces of motley paper, but I won't. I cannot afford to. In their mire they lie between me and my family's future misery. I don't know what your ultimate aim is in this life, but I know that you are a Christian. I don't know what you have done, but it is what a man does now that makes him a Christian. Well, solemn under the weight of a renewed obligation, I will return to my own fireside. Before touching this money again, let me shake your hand." CHAPTER XXIII. NOT THE OLD SUMMER. At no time during the lagging winter did the Professor mention his renewed obligation, but one night in April he came over with a tune in his voice, a laugh in his eye, and paid the debt. The bank notes were not ragged and soiled as if they had been snatched in the dust of a fierce scuffle; they were new, and as bright as if they had come as a gracious legacy. And, indeed, they had. A dead "lot," lying in the neighborhood of a punctured "boom" in Kansas, fluttered with the returning life of speculative resurrection. A new railway needed the site for a station. An agent found the Professor, reluctantly offered him half as much as the property was worth, and he gladly accepted it. For a day his household was happy in the possession of a set of new chairs, a rug and a center table, but soon fell to brooding over the lonesome absence of dining-room linen and new paper on the walls. The Professor had hoped that he might be able to buy a bookcase for his room upstairs, but realizing that it was impossible to fill up the rat hole of want in the floor below, did not dare to speak of his longing. But he was sharper than his family had suspected. With a wink he told Milford that he had, in the stealthy hour of midnight, put by enough to enable him to do a little speculating. Milford had set him an example of thrift. There was money to be made in buying and selling and he was going to buy and sell. All that he had needed was an example. A mind that could weigh a heavy problem could turn a trifle to account. The ancient philosophers, counseling contentment of the mind, had money loaned out at interest. It was no wonder that they could be contented. And, after all, they held the right idea of life, money first and philosophy afterward. He would go back to first principles; would deal in cattle, the origin of money. The bicycle might hurt the horse, but it could not hurt the steer. There was no invention to take the place of a beefsteak. Some men might argue that it was difficult if not impossible for a failure to become a success, but all astonishing success had come out of previous failure. Without failure the world could never have realized one of its most precious virtues--perseverance. Society placed a premium upon rascality. He could be a rascal. At one time he had thought it wise to lie down with his friend, death; but now he felt it expedient to stand up with his enemy, life. Milford did not take issue with his newly adopted creed. He brought up a jug of cider and they drank to it. The Professor had an option on four bullocks, and they drunk to them. And then filling his cup, the reformed scholar said: "To our dear enemies, the ladies." "No," Milford replied. He had that day received a letter. "I won't drink to them as our enemies." "Well, then, as our endeared mistakes." "No, they are not mistakes." "Ha! you put me to for a term. What shall we call them?" "The honest helpers of dishonest men," said Milford. The Professor frowned. "I cannot subscribe to a sentiment so ruffled and furbelowed with--shall I say tawdry flounces? Permit me; I have said it. My dear fellow, in this humid air of American sentimentalism, we are not permitted to talk rationally about woman. Some man is always ready to hop up and declare that his mother is a woman. Of course she is. Has any one ever disputed the fact? His mother is a woman, and so in fact we hope is the person whom he expects to marry--I say expects to marry, for it is usually an unmarried man who hops up. I would not abolish marriage, you understand. I would--well, I would insist upon both parties having a little more sense. I would enact a law, compelling a man, before being granted a license, to show a certificate of financial success. I would inquire into the amount of money he had realized on his last lot of bullocks." "You'd have a fine world." "Wouldn't I? There would be no scuffling for life insurance, no harassment over wall-paper, no daughters to pity a father's failure. If I could roll up the surface of the sea into a megaphone, I would shout a caution to the unmarried world." "What would you shout, Professor?" "Shut your eyes on love. If you have no money, throw your license into the fire and turn the preacher out at the back door. That is what I would shout." "There are millions of mistakes," said Milford. "But there are many happy hits. Your marriage----" "Thoroughly happy, my dear fellow--as a marriage, you understand. I wouldn't undo it for the world. My people are everything to me. They are too much to me, hence my everlasting worry over life insurance. But it is not possible for the average woman to understand, and nearly every woman is the average woman. But my worries are over now. I am to start out anew. Don't think ill of me for not having opened my eyes sooner. An eye is like a chestnut bur; it doesn't open till it is ripe, and up to this time mine has been green in ignorance. Don't call me eccentric. I would rather be called a thief than eccentric. What is eccentricity but a loose joint, a flaw in the machinery? I am not so much out of the common. The trouble is that I show effects more plainly perhaps than other men. But I am serious. I am not light. To the plodder, I have been chimerical, but I will shame him by becoming a plodder, by out-plodding him. For the first time in many months, I return to my home as much as half satisfied with myself." A few days later Milford saw him in the road, popping a whip behind four bullocks. Not long afterward, at a farmyard sale, he was seen haggling for a small flock of sheep. He bought a cow of Mrs. Stuvic. He urged her to come to terms. He was a man of business, and had no time for words. "Well, now you have woke up," she said. "Who would thought it? They might as well go out to the graveyard now and tell the rest of 'em it's time to get up. Gracious alive, take the cow. I don't want to stand in the way of a man that's just woke up. Have you quit the mill?" "No, but since I woke up I do my work in about two-thirds of the time." "Good for you! Oh, that feller Milford has stirred up the whole country." "And when he gets through with that farm, madam, I'll take it. I don't think he'll stay a great while longer." "Why, has he said anythin' about goin' away?" "No, but with my shrewd eye I can see that he's getting restless. But I have no time to talk to you." The season for breaking land and planting came, slowly through the stubborn and lingering cold, and Milford bent himself to the putting in of a large crop. His letters from Gunhild were rambling, but affectionate. She was now in Indiana. Her work in Michigan had been but partly successful. "I'm studying so that after awhile I may teach a regular school," she said. "But there is so much to learn and the examination is very hard. I met a man the other day who said that he knew you. He tried to sell you a book. He said that you were very hard to deal with. I told him that you must know what you wanted. Mr. Blakemore was here three days ago, to look at some land. He came to the house where I board, and said that he is making much money. There was a church sociable and he wanted me to go with him, but I refused. He said that I never would succeed as long as I was so particular. And I felt that you would rather I be particular than to succeed. I do not want any success that you would not like. His little boy has been sick, but is well now. They are not coming out to Rollins in the summer. They are going further away to a more fashionable place. Mrs. Goodwin writes to me yet, so she has not forgotten me. She says that her discovery is marvelous. She asked about you. She believes that you will be rich one of these days. I told her in my letter that I did not want to think so, but I know that she cannot understand. She will not know that I do not want you to get so far away from me. But you would not. It is a dream with me to come out there once again. I never have seen a place more beautiful. The woods here are not so full of the sketches that no one can draw, and there are no lakes scattered everywhere. I may come for one week during the vacation." June was cool, but July was hot, and with the change in the weather came Mrs. Goodwin and her discovery, a pale girl with long hands. The "discoverer" sent for Milford. She was graciously pleased to meet him again. "I am sorry we can't call back the old summer," she said, giving him her hand. "But the old summers never come back." She introduced him to the musical genius, Miss Swartz. Her pale lips parted in a white smile. Milford asked her to play. Mrs. Goodwin shrugged, glanced at the piano and said: "I can't let her touch that thing." If Mrs. Stuvic had heard this remark she would have bundled them off down the road. But she was out in the orchard at scolding heat with a retired policeman, sent by the city to board with her during the summer. Miss Swartz languidly waved herself out of the room, and Mrs. Goodwin, motioning Milford to a seat beside her on the sofa, commanded him to tell her all about himself. "I haven't anything of interest to tell." "Ah, the same close mouth. You hear from her quite often, I suppose. A strong woman. Don't you think so? I urged her to stay with me, but she thought it her duty to go away. Do you expect to reside here permanently? Gunhild likes this place so much. She's perfectly charmed with it." "Which question shall I answer first?" "Did I ask more than one? I haven't seen you in so long that I must rattle on at a fearful rate." "I don't expect to live here permanently." "Not if she should request it?" "She will not request it. Our arrangements are not yet quite clear enough for such requests." "Indeed? I fancied that it was all understood." "It is, in a way, but we must have a very serious talk before there can be--be----" "Anything definite," she suggested. "Yes, I understand. But this serious talk? How can that change your plans or have any bearing upon them?" "That is for her to decide. I had a certain object in view before she entered into any of my calculations." "Dear me, we are as far apart as ever. You must know that I dote upon that girl, and that consequently I am interested in you. But I needn't tell you this. You know it already." "Yes, and I am grateful." "But you will give me no hint as to what your object is. Don't you think I ought to know it?" "She doesn't know it yet." "But you must have told her something." "A little, and she didn't urge me to tell her more." "Do I deserve that reproach? I hope not. Really, she and you present a singular romance." "It is not a romance; it's only a sort of understanding." "But you say there is no perfect understanding. Oh, a sort of romance. I see. Well, you will make her a good husband and consequently a good living." A vision of the Professor as he had sat amid his shifting toasts to woman arose before Milford. "Good husband, I hope; and a good living, I am determined," he said. "You couldn't have made a better reply, Mr. Milford, if you had pondered a week. You are quite happy at times. It was voted last summer that you had good blood, and you must have it still," she added with a smile. "Although you call yourself a Westerner, you are really from the East, I believe." "Yes, but to live in the West soon rubs out the marks of all sections." "True enough, I suppose. But do you expect to go back there?" "Yes, but I don't know how long I'll stay. I may run out and come straight back. I can't tell. It all depends." "Upon Gunhild's decision?" "Not wholly. The fact is I can't explain myself. Oh, I could," he added, observing her wondering eye, "but I serve my purpose best by----" "By showing that you have no confidence in me," she suggested. "No," she hastened to continue, "you have none. You have shown it all along. But why should I ask you to have confidence? We met by accident at a farm-house, during a holiday, at a time when real friendships are rarely formed. Impressed by the ephemeral season, we recognize that we too are but fleeting, with changing likes and dislikes, the prejudices and predilections of an hour. Of course, my affection for Gunhild is lasting. Her interests and mine walk far down the road together, hand in hand. I could not expect you to see this; you saw her and all else stood about her in a dim radius. I was a shadow, dim or dark, as the day was light or heavy, the same as Mrs. Blakemore. My station entitled me to respect, and you gave it. But you did not feel that my love for the young woman entitled me to something closer than respect. You are no common man, Mr. Milford. Your face is a Vandyke conception of a spirit of adventure. You are a strength repenting a weakness; there are flaws in you, and yet I could wish that I were the mother of such a son." "Don't," said Milford, touching her hand; "please don't. I honor you; I could get down on my knees to you. You're not a shadow. There is nothing in a shadow that makes a man bow his head in reverence. But I can't tell you." "Is it so very bad, Mr. Milford?" "Yes, it is worse than very bad." He moved further from her, and looked at her as if he expected her to move also, but she did not. "There is redemption," she said; "moral redemption." "There must be a material redemption," he replied. "God demands that it must be spiritual," she said. "But man insists that it must be earthly," he persisted. "The gospel was tenderest coming from the mouth of one who had been infamous." "Yes," he replied, "but then the blood of the Virgin's Son was still red upon the earth, and in the heart of the changing world that blood atoned for everything. It is different now. Man may forgive, but he wants the dollar." "And he's goin' to get it unless you tie his hands behind him," said Mrs. Stuvic, stepping into the room. "Yes, you bet! Why don't you have that girl play the pian, Mrs.--I can't recollect your name to save my life." "She didn't bring her music," Mrs. Goodwin replied, and the old woman "whiffed." "Music the cat's foot! Don't she know a tune? Tell her to give me a jig and I'll dance it." "She won't play, Mrs. Stuvic. It's of no use to ask her." "She won't? Well, then, she needn't. Mebbe she don't like my pian. But I want to tell you that it's as good as anybody's. I give a hundred and fifty dollars and a colt for it, and the carpenter painted it fresh this spring. But if she don't want to play, she needn't. What's become of that woman--out here last year? Can't think of her name, but her husband moped about and ended up by callin' your young woman a peach. What's become of her?" "She's gone to the seashore, I understand," Mrs. Goodwin answered, looking slyly at Milford. "Oh, she has? Well, let her go, there wan't no string tied to her. Bill, I want you to drive over to Antioch for me if you've got the time, and you never appear to be busy when there's women around. They've got the pony hitched up." Mrs. Goodwin drove with him. Near the old brick house they met the Professor, leading a calf. He snatched off his hat, and the calf snatched him off his feet, but he scrambled up, tied the rope to a fence-post, and was then ready to do the polite thing, bowing and brushing himself. He had been on the keen jump, he said, catching drift-wood in the commercial whirlpool, but he had often thought of Mrs. Goodwin, one of the noblest of her honored sex. "I have turned from the sylvan paths where wild roses nod," said he, "turned into the dusty highway of trade, but I have not forgotten the roses, madam," he declared with a bow. "They come as a sweet reminiscence of my brighter but less useful days. Permit me to extend to you----" The calf broke loose and went scampering down the road, a twinkling of white hoofs in the black dust; and with a shout the Professor took to his heels in pursuit. "Something always happens to that man's dignity," said Mrs. Goodwin, laughing as they drove on. "Is he ever serious?" "He may not appear so, but he's serious now," Milford answered, looking back at him, galloping down the road. "Couldn't we have helped him in some way?" she asked, now that it was too late even to think about it. "We might have shouted advice after him, but that was about all we could have done," said Milford. "He'll catch him down there. Somebody'll head him off." As they drove through the village street, Milford pointed out the place wherein he had trained himself to meet the man Dorsey. He had worked during weeks that one minute might be a victory. She told him that it was the appearance of having a dauntless spirit that at first aroused in her an interest in him. She detested a quarrel, but she liked a man who would fight. Her father had been a captain in the navy, and he had taught her to believe that a courageous knave was more to be admired than an honest man without nerve. Of course this was an extreme view, the exaggerated policy of a fighting man, and though she did not accept it in full, yet it had strongly impressed her. She did not see how a man could be an American and not be brave. And frankness was a part of bravery. At least it ought to be. Milford was brave, but not frank enough, with her. On the way home she returned to the subject. There was a charm in the confidence of a brave man. It was strange that he had not told Gunhild more about himself. He surely loved her. She was capable of inspiring the deepest love. Of course she had seen him in the West, but had merely seen him, and his life was still a sealed book to her. Oh, no, she had not complained. That was not her nature. "She'll know enough one of these days," said Milford. "Perhaps too much," he added. "Well, I suppose we must wait," she replied. "And I hope you'll not think my curiosity idle. All interest is curiosity, more or less, but all interest is not idle. So you don't know how long you'll remain here?" "I haven't staked off the time." She sighed. She said that the summer had been a disappointment. She had not been happy since Gunhild left her. Her going away must have been a wild notion, caught from Milford. There was no necessity for teaching, till at least she had studied longer herself. She had not been disappointed in her development, not wholly. Her outcome as a woman had more than offset her failure as an artist. And she found that it was the woman whom she had liked, rather than the artist. With her new care it was different. She was all musician, a genius with whims and caprices, a moody companion, not capable of inspiring friendship. She had taken her as a duty, a duty which she felt that she owed to the musical world. "I am going home to-morrow," she said, when Milford helped her down at Mrs. Stuvic's gate. "I don't like these new people. They are coarse." "To-morrow I have business across the country," said Milford. "I may not see you again." "I am sorry. Will you do me a favor? When you write to Gunhild tell her that she must come back to me. I need her." "I will tell her that you have said so." "That won't be much of a favor, but tell her. And I want you to promise one thing--that you will come to see me, when you are married." "I'll promise that gladly, and keep it. I am very fond of you." "Are you?" "Yes. You said you would like to be the mother of such a son. That was the kindest thing ever said to me. It makes you my mother." "Oh," she said, falteringly, as he took her hand. "You will understand me better in the time to come. Good-bye." CHAPTER XXIV. DREAMED OF THE ANGELUS. Gunhild wrote that she could not spare the money to come out, and to Milford the summer fell flat and lay spiritless on the ground. He begged her to let him bear the expense, and for this she scolded him. But she enlivened him with a suggestion. Near the first of October she would visit her uncle in the city. "It will make me glad to have you come to see me then," she said. "And I shall feel that you have held the summer and brought it with you. Mrs. Goodwin wrote to me as soon as she came home. She said much about you, and I really think she likes you deeply. I have been astonished at her. I did not think that she would care for me more when her house I left, but she does. She is a good woman. Oh, you remember the Miss Swartz who was with her. Well, she wanted to keep company with a fiddler in a variety show, and Mrs. Goodwin objected, and that was not the end of it. The girl went out at night late and married the fiddler, and Mrs. Goodwin has seen her no more." There was a lament for the swift flight of the sunny days, by the woman on the bicycle and the man casting his line into the lake, but to Milford the time was slow. He remembered having seen a lame cow limping down the road, with the sluggish hours dragging at her feet, and he told the hired man that she had come back again to vex him. But time was never so slow that it did not pass, and one evening the sun went down beyond the fading edge of September. Milford waited two days longer and then went to the city; and just out of the fields, how confusing was the noise and the sight of scattering crowds that were never scattered! But his sense of the world soon came back to him. He had been moneyless in many a town, hanging about the gambler's table, feeding upon the chip tossed by the exultant winner. The woods, the cattle, the green and purple pictures, musings with his head in the grass, had taken the gamester's wild leap out of his blood, but he knew that he dared not go near the vice. He found the Norwegian's cottage, in the western part of town, and he stood at the door listening before he rang the bell. A little girl came out with a tin pail, the gripman's dinner. As she opened the door he saw Gunhild. She dropped a boy's jacket, which she had evidently been mending, and came bounding to meet him, with her welcome bursting out in a laugh. Her hands were warm, and her eyes full of happiness. There was no put-on and no disguises in their meeting. It was two destinies touching again, destinies that were to become as one. She led him into the neat little parlor, gave him a rocking-chair, and talked of her gladness at his coming, standing for a moment in front of a glass to put back into place a wayward wisp of hair. Their meeting had not been cool. She drew up a chair beside him and they talked about the country, of the haunted house, and the tree that had hoisted a vine like an umbrella. He told her that he had come through the fields to the station, and had stood in the ditch among the wild sunflowers. He had plucked some for her, but they were dead and had fallen to pieces. They went out into the park, not far away, and sat amid the scenes of a changing season, the leaves falling about them. It was an odd courtship, an indefinite engagement. There was no attempt at sentiment, no time when either one felt that something tender must be said, but between them there was a wholesome understanding of the heart. They were not living a love story. She was not clothed in the glamour-raiment of love's ethereal fancy, not sigh-fanned by the breath of reverential melancholy. Her hand did not feel like the velvet paw of a kitten; it was a hand that had toiled; and though easier days may come, the mark of labor can never be erased from the palm. She left him on the rustic seat, and hastened across the sward to pluck a bloom that had been sheltered from the early frost, and he looked at her, a gladness tingling in his nerves. How trim she was in her dark gown! She looked back at him, pointed at a policeman standing off among the trees, and imitated the walk of a sneak-thief. She returned laughing, and pinning the flower on his coat, stood to gaze upon him as if he were in bloom, and said in an accent that always reminded him of a banjo's lower tones, "See, the frost has not killed you." Simple, playful, loving, strong, were the words to express an estimate of her--the healthy refinement of an honest heart, and modest because she had seen immodesty. She possessed a knowledge that was a better safeguard than mere innocence, and her passion illumined her virtue. They strolled among the trees, society's forest; they listened co the ducks and the geese, the city's barnyard. "Would you rather live in the country?" he asked. "I would not rather teach art there," she laughed. "It must be very hard." "It is very stupid." "I don't suppose the farmers take to it any too kindly." "No, they often ask me why I do not draw comic as they see in the newspapers." "They must like to see themselves buying gold bricks." She did not understand him, and he explained that the honest farmer believing that a fortune was coming down the road to meet him, was the prey of sharp swindlers who prowled about through the country. Steve Hardy, one of the shrewdest men in the community, once had bought an express package filled with worthless paper. It was a case of "honesty" trying to beat the three-shell man at his own game. Ignorance always credits itself with shrewdness. Industry is no sure sign of honesty. "Worked like a thief" has become a saying. Smiling at his philosophy, she said that he never could have learned it in a school. "No," he replied. "In the school we are taught to believe in the true, the beautiful, and the good; but in life we find that the true as we learned it is often false, the beautiful painted, and the good bad." "I would not have you think that," she said. "The beautiful is not always painted." She stooped and picked up a maple leaf, blushed with the rudeness of the frost. "This is not painted, and it is beautiful. It was the cold that brought out its color. You must not be a--what would you call it?" "Cynic?" "Yes. You must not be that. It is an acknowledgment of failure." He took her hand, and they walked on among the trees. "You talk like a virtue translated from a foreign tongue," he said. He called her a heathen grace. She protested. She was a Christian, so devout that she would have hung her head in the potato field had she heard the ringing of the angelus. They saw a woman on a wheel, and he dropped her hand. The woman waved at them, jumped off and came to meet them, smiling. It was Mrs. Blakemore. "Oh, I am so surprised and delighted," she said, shaking hands. "Why, how unexpected! You must come home with me. I don't live far from here. Bobbie will be delighted to see you. He refuses to go to school, and we won't force him, he is so delicate. How well you look, Gunhild! And you too, Mr. Milford." The man would have yielded against his will; the woman saw this and declined the invitation. She said that they had an engagement to dine. Milford looked at her in surprise. He thought of the frost-tinted leaf. Mrs. Blakemore was sorry--she said. It would be such a disappointment to Bobbie. George was out of town. She bade them an effusive good-bye, mounted her wheel, pulling at her short skirts, and glided away. "Engagement to dine?" said Milford, as they turned from watching Mrs. Blakemore. "Yes, at the little bakery over by the edge of the park." "Oh, I see. But I thought you wanted to go with her." "I knew that you did not," she replied. "But did you?" he asked. "I would not spoil a beautiful day," she answered. They dined at the bakery, flattering themselves that the girl who waited on them did not know that they were lovers. They did not see her wink at her fat mother behind the showcase. "I haven't asked you how long I may stay," said Milford, as they walked out. "I was afraid to come to that," she replied. "I must leave on the train to-night. I have only waited for you." "When do you think I can see you again?" "I do not know. I will write." "Remember that nothing can keep us apart--nothing but yourself." "Then we shall not be kept apart. But why do you leave it with me?" "Because you are to decide when I tell you something." "Do you put it off because it is so hard to tell?" "No, because I'm not ready yet. I will be when I close out with the old woman." "I would like to know now." "It would be plucking green fruit," he replied. "You know best," she said, trustfully. The air grew chilly when the sun had set, and they returned to the cottage to sit alone in the parlor. They heard the kindly tones of the gripman talking to his children. There was a melodeon in the room, and she played a Norwegian hymn. The barefoot youngsters scampered in the passage-way. "Let them come in," he said. "No, they are undressed for bed," she replied. It was the evening romp, a tired mother's trial-time before the hour of rest when all are asleep. He went to the railway station with her; walked that they might be longer on the road, looked at cottages, gazed up at flats, planning for the future. In the deep secrecy of a crowd he kissed her good-bye, and then went forth to stroll about the town. He stood listening to the weird song of a salvation woman; he dropped a nickel into a rich beggar's hat; he saw the grief-stricken newsboy weeping in a doorway, and believing that he was a liar, gave him a penny; he went to sleep in a hotel and dreamed that he saw a woman with bowed head listening to the angelus. CHAPTER XXV. THE BIGGEST LIAR ON EARTH. When Milford reached Rollins he found the Professor at the station waiting for him. "I will go home with you," he said. "I have something of grave importance to communicate." Steve Hardy offered them a ride in his milk wagon, but they set out on foot, at the suggestion of the Professor, who said that in this way he could better lead up to his subject. Milford was silent till they had proceeded some distance down the lane, and then he asked if anything had gone wrong. The Professor answered that everything had gone wrong, but as he had not yet led up to his subject, he continued to walk on, brooding, sighing like the wind in the rushes. They turned the corner, went down a slope, and at the bottom, the scholar took Milford by the arm apparently to conduct him to the subject, which presumably was waiting on the top of the hill. "We are coming to it, my dear Milford. It is elusive, but we are almost to it. Now, here we are," he said, with evident relief, as they reached the top of the hill. "All right, go ahead," said Milford. "Shoot it off." "Idiomatic," breathed the Professor. "And, sir, to follow it with idiom, I am up against it." "Up against what?" "Failure, grinning and teeth-chattering failure. You have seen me turn defiantly upon my false training, and woo the ways of the world. You have seen me buy; you have seen me snatched off my feet by a yearling calf, in the presence of a dignified woman; you have heard me pop my whip at the crack of day. And what has it all come to? Failure. I know that this sounds funny to you, but it is my way, and I find it useless to attempt another. Now, to the point: On all my speculations I have lost money. My bargains turned out to be disasters. I sold at a sacrifice, and am still in debt. I don't know why I should not have succeeded. My object was as worthy as yours. But I failed." "That may be, but you're nearly as well off as you were before you made the attempt. You haven't so much to grieve over after all." "Oh, yes, I have. My life insurance. But for that I could snap my fingers at defeat." "When's the money due?" "Day after to-morrow." "I can let you have it. What are you trying to do?" "I am grabbing after your hand." "Let it alone." "But, my dear fellow, your kindness overwhelms me." "Then don't take the money." "Oh, yes, I shall; I am more than willing to be overwhelmed. Ha! I had set my heart on you, and was afraid that you might not be back in time. Thank the Lord for the man who comes in time. All others are a blotch upon the face of the earth. Last night was a torture to me. More than once my wife called out, 'You give me the fidgets with your walking up and down. I want to sleep.' Sleep! There was no sleep for me. I saw the sun rise, and I said to myself, 'If that man don't come you won't shine for me to-day.' But you came, God bless you. Well, I'll turn off here and go by home, to show them that I am not crushed into the earth, and will see you at your house this evening." Mrs. Stuvic saw Milford, and came out to the barnyard gate. She wanted to ask him if he had seen any of her boarders, but had forgotten their names. Some one had told her that Milford expected soon to quit the place, and she asked him why he had not told her. "I've told you as much as I have any one," said he. "I don't expect to go before next spring." "Well, we may all be dead and buried before then," she replied. "Yes, all except you." "You bet! Why, three men have been here lately wantin' to insure my life. Did you see that girl? But I know you did. Why don't you buy the farm and bring her out here? You could soon pay for it." "I'd rather live in the West." "The cat's foot! You don't know what you want. Was that the Professor man with you over there on the hill? I couldn't see very well. He's crazy. Yes, he is, as crazy as a loon, and I don't want him round here. He might set the house afire. Don't you think he's crazy?" "Well, he's one of the peculiar many that go to make up the world." "He's one of the peculiar many that go to make up an asylum, I'll tell you that. Everybody says he's crazy. Come in and set down a while." "No, I must go home." "You're in a mighty hurry now, ain't you? Crazy as a loon, and you ain't fur behind him. Go on with you." At night the Professor came whistling out of the dark. The sky was moonless, but brighter, he said, than the sunrise contemplated by him in the hour of his dejection. Once more had he proved himself a failure, but consoled himself with the assertion, made over and over again, that it required a peculiar sharpness to deal in cattle. There ought to be other ways by which a man might earn money; there were other ways, and he would find one of them. He believed that he could write a book and sell it himself, by subscription. He knew a man who had done this, and now there were stone gate-posts in front of his house. Talk was the necessary equipment, and he could talk. The agent ought to be the echo of the wisdom in the book, and to echo had been his fault in the practical world. But echo was worthy of its hire. "Why, let me tell you what I can do," he said, his face beaming. "I can take a book on Babylon, on Jerusalem, Nineveh, Jericho, the Red Sea, home, mother, and make a volume that the farmers will snap at. Easy! Why, slipping on the ice is hard compared with it. What do you think of it?" "Looks all right," said Milford. "Well, anything that looks all right is all right in the book business. I thought of it coming over to-night, and instantly the road was carpeted. Yes, sir, it is all right. I have the necessary books, and all I have to do is to begin work at once. No, there is perhaps a preliminary--a certain amount of correspondence with publishers. Chicago is the subscription book center of the country. Oh, it is the plainest sort of sailing." Milford gave him the life insurance money, and he smiled as he tucked it into his pocket. "This is my last worry," said he. "I have had hopes, mere hopes, you understand, but now I am confident. It is the speculative uncertainty that brings out a hope. But I am too old now to find pleasure in the intoxication of hope. I want assurance, and I have it. Well, I would like to sit longer and talk to you, but I must get to work." Milford walked a part of the way home with him, congratulating him upon his happy idea. It was an inspiration. They wondered why it had not come sooner. But inspirations have their own time, and we should be thankful for their coming rather than to carp at their lateness. As Milford was returning to the house, he heard the hired man singing at his work in the barn. He had been away from home, and had come back rather late for one who had stock to look after. When he came into the house Milford asked the cause of his delay. "Well, I got tangled up in an affair and had to see it through. I've been up to Antioch, and I see your prize-fighter there. He threw a drink into me because I worked for you, he said. He says you can get along anywhere with your dukes. Find everythin' in town all right?" "Had a great time, walking about in the park. Shortest day I ever spent." "Haven't fixed any date or anythin' of the sort, I guess." "We haven't said anything, but it's understood. We caught each other looking at houses and flats, and had to laugh." "I guess that's about as good a way as any. But love as a general thing is full of a good deal of talk. Well, my affairs of that sort are over now." "So the freckled woman has cured you." "Oh, no, I forgot her in no time. Fact is I never did love but one woman and I married her." "What's become of her?" "She's up at Antioch." "Did you see her?" "Oh, yes, and we made it up. We're goin' to live together. I understood from what you said t'other day that you wan't goin' to keep this place another year, so I told the old woman that I wanted it. Yes, we are goin' to take a fresh start. You said once that I ought to have cut her throat, but I can't look at it in that light. After all, she's as good as I am." "A devilish sight better," said Milford. "I guess you're right. So you wouldn't cut her throat?" "Well, not if I were you." "I don't exactly understand the difference, but it's all right. I got to thinkin' this way about it, Bill. Most any woman will take a man back, and I said to myself that it oughtn't to be so one-sided as that. I heard she was at Antioch, at her aunt's house, so I goes up there. She was a-sweepin' when I stepped up. And she dropped the broom. I says, 'Don't be in a hurry,' and she stopped and looked at me. 'And is this you, Bob?' she says. I told her it was, so far as I knowed. She come up close to me and said I'd been workin' too hard. She took hold of my hand and turned it loose quick, lookin' like she wanted to cry. I says, 'Don't turn me loose. I've been thinkin' about you.' 'About such a thing as I am?' she says. Then I told her she was a heap better than me, and she cried. She said she never would have run away, but she drank some wine with one of her aunt's boarders. I told her all that made no difference now if she could promise not to run away again. And then she grabbed me, Bill; she grabbed me round the neck, and that was the way we made up." "Go and bring her here," said Milford, turning his eyes from the light of the lamp. "It makes no difference what I said last week or the week before, or at any time. You bring her here, and take the best room. I'll take your old bunk in there. Hitch up and go after her now. Wait a minute. Take this and buy some dishes, and curtains for the windows. That isn't enough. Take this twenty," he added, giving him a bank note. "Good as you are! Why, she's worth both of us. Any heart that wants to be forgiven is one of God's hearts. Drive fast, and the stores won't be shut up. They keep open later Saturday nights. What are you staring at? I can see the poor thing now, clinging to you." "Wait a moment, Bill. I guess she'll be afraid to come. I told her what you said." "You did? Then go and tell her that I'm the biggest liar on earth. Wait! I'll go with you." CHAPTER XXVI. THE OLD STORY. A black-eyed little woman was installed in the house. Accepting her husband's story and her own statement, her life had not been wholly respectable, but she brought refinement into the animal cage. A new carpet lay soft and bright upon the floor. The windows, now curtained, no longer looked like browless eyes staring into cold vacancy. The dinner table lost the air and the appearance of a feed trough. Not in words nor in sighs, but in a hundred ways, she proved the sincerity of her repentance. The autumn lasted a long time, and wise men said that it would end in a snarl, and it did, for winter came in a night, like a pack of howling wolves. But their cold teeth did not bite through the walls of Milford's sitting-room. Black eyes had looked after the work of a carpenter and a paper-hanger. The Professor, thin-clad as he was, welcomed the change in the weather. The cold that made a dog scamper forced a new energy upon the mind. He had found that his book required the aid of rain and snow and every trick that the air could turn. One day he could write better because a tree in front of his window had been stripped of its leaves. One night the rattle of sleet graced a period that he had bungled under the energy-lacking influence of a full moon. This was but a prideful conceit, for the fact was that, like nearly every impractical man, he wrote with great ease at all times. Milford had faith in the outcome of his work, and often visited him at night. And the indorsement of so shrewd a man had encouraged Mrs. Dolihide and Miss Katherine. Sometimes the young woman would read a chapter. Once she said: "Ma, this is really good." It was not much for a daughter to say, but the Professor had been so repeated a failure that even a cool compliment was warm to him. His wife accepted the daughter's judgment. It is possible that she saw a vision of new gowns and a better house. One evening, after welcoming Milford into his workshop, the scholar declared himself on the verge of a great success. He was arrayed in an old dressing-gown, with a rope tied monkishly about his loins. His fingers were stained with ink, "the waste juice of thought," he said. "I should now be the happiest of men, and I am, but, my dear boy, it is not nearly so easy as I expected. I find that I cannot cut, slash, and piece; I must absorb and write, and what I thought could be done in a few weeks, will take months to perform. At first I thought it would be well to enter into correspondence with the publishers, but I put it off till now I have decided to surprise them with the work itself. Ah, work, work, true balm to the restless soul! I was never really happy until I took up this brightening task; I was never so serious; I was never before able to understand the necessity of my previous training, my struggles and disappointments. But now all is clear. How is everything with you?" "All right. Everything over my way is as neat as----" "A new gold dollar," suggested the Professor. "Yes, and my house is as comfortable as a fur-lined nest." "And at a time, too, when you are thinking about giving it up." "That's so. But I've got to go out West to see a man, and then I may return to this neighborhood." "Are you going to take any one with you on your trip?" "No, I'm going alone." "On important business, I presume?" "Very; so important that all my work here has been toward that end. How long before you'll have this thing done?" "I am working toward an end," the Professor said, smiling, "but I cannot work toward a date. But, to approximate, I should think about the middle of March." "Don't know but I bother you, coming over so often." "My dear boy, you help me. You are a constant encouragement. Ah, you are a double encouragement, for you encourage them." He pointed downward. "And that is the greatest good you could do me." They talked a long time about the book, the sure winner, and as Milford was taking his leave, the Professor followed him to the head of the stairway. "My dear boy," he said, putting his hand on his visitor's shoulder, "you must at last perceive that I am earnest." "I know it." "I hope you believe so, for I am. I may be odd--I may be amusing to the thoughtless, but to the wise I am serious." And it was thus, during all the cold months of his work, pleading to his friends to construe him seriously. Sometimes he would check his enthusiasm, fearful that his dancing spirits might make him appear grotesque. But the neighbors, among their rattling milk-cans, laughed at him, his walk, his gestures, the tones of his voice. One morning near the end of March, he got on the train, a precious bundle hugged under his arm. He had spent half the night with Milford, and had come away strengthened by the strong man. Now he flew toward the journey-end of hope. A brakeman on the milk train had heard the farmers laugh at him, and felt at liberty to poke fun at him. "Got your crop under your arm?" he asked. The Professor bristled. "If it were the straw of wild oats three times threshed, it would still hold more value than the chaff that blows about in your empty skull. Keep your place, which means--distance." He was serious; he felt it and gloated over it with a solemn pride. But before the train reached the city he begged the fellow's pardon. "I am worn out with hard work," he said, "and I hope you will forget my harshness." Cabmen bellowed at him as he passed out of the station, and ragged boys guyed him as he walked along the street. He had a list of the subscription book publishers, and decided to submit his favor to the nearest one. The elevator boy put him off on the wrong floor. A scrub-woman looked up and leered at him. "Poverty, like anger, hath a privilege," he mused. He found the publisher's quarters, but waited a long time before he was admitted to the presence of the manager. The great man was closeted with a book agent. In the subscription book house the author is nothing; the agent everything. The manager has been an agent, or perhaps a "fake" advertising man. He hates an author; he hated the Professor at sight, and flouted when he learned that the scholar had brought a book. What an insult! The idea of bringing a book to a publishing house! The Professor attempted to explain the scope of his work. The manager drew back. "No need to unwrap it," he said. "We've got more books now than we can sell. Say," he bawled, to some one outside his den, "tell Ritson I want to see him before he goes." "I thought," began the Professor, bowing;--but the manager shut him off. "We do our own thinking," he said. "Well, sir, I shall bid you good-morning." "Yes. Say," he shouted, "tell Bruck I want to see him, too." The list was followed, and a night of sorrow fell at the end of a heart-breaking day. Not in all instances had the publishers been gruff; some had spoken kindly, one had looked at the manuscript, and then had shown the Professor a bank of books written on the same line. At last, worn out with serving as pall-bearer to his own dead spirit, he offered the book for enough money to pay his life insurance. The publisher shook his head. Old, old story, gathering mold. CHAPTER XXVII. WARMER THAN THE WORLD. A bluster of warm wind brought a thaw, and the ice in the lake was breaking--a disjointing time, a cracking of winter's old bones, a time when being alone we feel less lonely than in a noisy company. At night Milford sat musing in the kitchen. The outer door stood open, and he heard the cattle tramping about in the mushy barnyard. The hired man and his wife were singing a lonesome song in the sitting-room. There came another tramping, not of cattle, but of one more weary, of a man, the Professor. He trod into the light that fell from the door, and Milford bounded up to meet him, but fell back in reverence of his grief-stricken face. For a time the old man did not speak. He dropped his bundle, once so precious, but now a sapless husk, laid his walking-stick across it, took hold of a chair, and let himself slowly down with a groan. "We are going to have rain," he said, attempting to smile, and unbuttoning his old coat with a palsied fumble. "Yes, I think so. The clouds have been tumbling about all day." "A weird song they are singing in there." "The love song of the ignorant and the poor," said Milford. "The poor and the wise would not have written it," the Professor replied. "Shall I tell them to stop?" Milford asked. "Oh, no, poor crickets. Bring some cider, my boy. Let us live for a time in recollection only. I will not take too much." "You may take as much as you like. It is time to drink." "Yes, to drink or to rave." Milford brought a jug of cider. "The devil's sympathy," said the old man, drinking. "More, give me more--promises heaven, but slippers the foot that treads its way to hell. But I will not take too much. Did I tell you that I had lost my place at the mill?" "No, you didn't say anything about it." "I was discharged the evening before I went to town, but it made no impression on me then." "Well, don't let it make any now. Everything will come all right." "Yes, it will. I have walked with many an experiment, but at last there is such a thing as facing a certainty." "Have you anything in view?" "Oh, yes. And everything will be all right." "I hope so." "I don't hope--I know. But enough of that. It is a philosopher who can say, 'Ha! old Socrates, pass your cup this way.' They have hushed their song. Even the poor and the ignorant grow weary of singing; then who can expect music from the wise? What have you there? Old Whittier? He died, and they gave him a stingy column in the newspapers, squeezed by the report of the prize fight at New Orleans. If a poet would look to his fame, let him die when there is no other news. But some have died in a spread of newspaper glory--Eugene Field, the sweetest lisper of a boy's mischief, the tuner of tenderest lyrics, but with a laugh for man that cut like a scythe. And some of the rich whom he had laughed at, scrambled for a place at his coffin to bear it to the grave--tuneless clay, scuffling over tuneful dust! Oh, hypocrisy, stamp thy countenance with a dollar!" "It's raining now," said Milford, seeking to draw his mind from the darkness of its wandering. "Yes, the falling of water, rhythmic, poetry--all poets have been as water. I will class them for you. Keats, the rivulet; Shelley, the brook; Byron, the creek; Tennyson, the river; Wordsworth, the lake; Milton, the bay; and Shakespeare, the waters of all the world, the sea. But I will not keep you up. You are a working-man, and must rest." "Don't go; I'm not tired; I haven't done a thing to-day. Shall I fill the jug?" "No, enough. Let me take up my gilded trash," he said, reaching for his bundle. "I wish you'd stay longer. Let me go home with you." "No, I prefer to walk alone. You remember in the old reader, the dog went out to walk alone." "It was the cat that walked alone," said Milford. "The dog sat down to gnaw his bone. Don't you recollect?" The old man touched his forehead, and shook his head. "So it was the cat that walked alone. But we will reverse it. The dog will walk alone to-night." "I wish you'd let me go with you." "Plead not your friendship, or I shall yield. But I want to be alone." "Then you shall be." "I thank you, and good-night." He strode off, with his bundle and stick; and out in the darkness he cried: "Don't forget my classification of the poets. Wordsworth! Wordsworth! And so, good-night." The hired man came into the kitchen. "Wan't that the Professor shoutin' out there?" he asked. "Yes, the poor old man has just come home, crushed." "Didn't find no market, then, for his book?" "No. He brought it back with him. And, by the way, his life insurance will soon be due, and I must pay it for him." "Don't he owe you for one?" "That makes no difference. I must help him. The world ought to help him, but he is laughed at by you clods." "Bill, don't call me a clod. I don't own enough dirt to be called a clod." "That's all right, Bob. I don't mean you. What day of the month is this?" "Second, ain't it?" "I asked you." "Then I guess it's the second." "His insurance will be due on the ninth. Bob, early in the morning you go over to Antioch and tell old Bryson that he may have those calves at the price he offered." "Yes, but I don't think it's enough, Bill." "Can't help it. I've got to raise money enough for that poor old fellow." Before breakfast the next morning Milford hastened to the Professor's house. Mrs. Dolihide heard him unchaining the gate, and came out upon the veranda. He did not care to go in; he dreaded to look again upon that blasted countenance. "Good morning, madam. I wish you'd tell the Professor not to worry over his insurance. Tell him I'll make it all right." "I will when he comes home. I expected him last night, but he didn't get back." "What----" But he checked himself. An alarm had arisen in his breast, but he would not spread it. He muttered something and turned away, leaving her to gaze after him in wonderment. A man came running down the road. Milford stopped him, and he stood panting until he could gather breath enough for his story. It was brief. The Professor's body had been taken from the lake. At daylight he had come down to the shore and had shoved out in a boat. A man warned him against the tumbling ice, for the wind was fresh. He had a rod, and said that he was going to fish. The man told him that the fish would not bite. He said that they would bite for him. Out beyond the dead rushes where the water was deep the boat tipped over. It looked like an accident--the ice. There were no means of rescue, and so he drowned. The man was excited, and could not say for certain, but he thought that the Professor had cried out, "Warmer than the world!" CHAPTER XXVIII. CONCLUSION. The neighbors dropped their milk-cans and flocked to the stricken home. A bundle and a walking-stick had been reverently carried to an upper room and placed upon a desk. These relics of despair's weary journey had been picked up from the ground, beneath the old man's window. He had stood there at night, alone, when the household was asleep. And now, when all were awake, he lay asleep, beflowered, roses on his breast, a broken heart perfumed. "He looks natural," said a man who had laughed at him. "But he doesn't seem to be tickling any one now," Milford was bitter enough to reply. The soft earth beneath the window, the window once of fair prospect, was many-tracked by the feet of indecisive agony, as if the old man had shambled there, debating with his despair. But that he had made up his mind early in the evening was now clear to Milford. Perhaps the sight of the window through which he had looked out upon the leafless tree, the hope that he had seen hanging from its branches--perhaps his nearness to the sleeping household had caused him for a brief time to waver, but not for long. Milford recalled his classification of the poets, "Wordsworth, the lake." And his cry out in the dark, "Wordsworth! Wordsworth!" His fishing-rod argued that he strove to hide the appearance of self-destruction, but in the iced water he forgot his last thin pretense of caution, shouting as the excited spectator believed, "Warmer than the world!" The awful agony of the first clod, falling with hollow sound, the tearing rush of memory, the gasp of the heart, missing a beat! The widow fell senseless at the grave, and they took her away, the daughter sobbing over her. Yes, they all took him seriously now. "It does seem that he could have done something," said Steve Hardy, waiting for Milford outside the graveyard. "He did," Milford replied. "I mean--you know what I mean. I don't see how a man can give up that way. Seems to me like I'd fight till the last." "Yes, but that man was more of a hero than you could ever be. He saw that he could not keep up his insurance, and he decided that it was better to die." "I understand that the widow'll get ten thousand." "Yes, the community is very quick to understand that point." "I was talkin' to a lawyer, and he said that they couldn't keep her out of the money. The courts have decided that the money in such cases has to be paid." "He understood it, too, or he wouldn't have drowned himself." "I guess so. Well, you never can tell what a man may do. You form your idea of him and find out afterwards that it was all wrong. But it would be a cold day when I'd kill myself for anybody. I hear you're goin' to have a sale at your house." "Yes, I don't care to stay here any longer." "Every man to his own taste, but you can't find a puttier country. I guess this community right here ships more milk that any section along the road. But they say that when a man once lives away out in the West he always has a likin' for it. Well, I'll be over there on the day of the sale." Milford sold all of his belongings, with the exception of some tools, a cow, and a loft full of cattle-feed which he gave to the hired man. He was not quite ready to go, but would remain a few days and perhaps a week longer. He was waiting for a letter, and he searched the newspapers every day. Mrs. Stuvic demanded that he should spend the remaining time at her house. She was sorry to lose him. She had confessed that she was half afraid of him, and this feeling had endeared him to her. "What makes you grab after the newspaper so?" she asked one morning, in the dining-room. "I want to know the news." "No, you don't; there's somethin' else. You've sold all your stuff and can't be interested in the markets." "I am looking for Western news. I want to keep track of a certain man." "Who was that letter from you got this mornin'?" "From her." "Where is she?" "In the city." "Has she quit her school?" "She's given it up as a failure." "Then you'll be goin' to town soon." "To-morrow morning. I see by the paper that my man is there." "Plague take your man and your woman too. Why can't you stay here and behave yourself? I do hate mightily to see you go. Why don't you say you hate to go?" "Because I don't. I have worked in order to be able to go." "What do you want to see the man for? You never have told me anythin' about yourself, and here you are, goin' away. What do you want with him?" "Want to tell him I'm well, and ask him how's all." "Oh, you'll do. Fainted at the grave," she said, after a moment's silence. "Yes, I know all about such faintin'. They can't fool me, Bill. It's been tried too often. Fainted at the thought of gettin' that ten thousand dollars, and I wish to the Lord I had half of it. I'd faint too; yes, you bet!" Early the next morning he bade the old woman good-bye. She scolded him, with tears in her eyes, wheeled about, and left him standing at the gate. At the station the milkmen gathered about him to shake hands. They were sorry to lose him. In trade some of them had been nipped by him, but that only proved his worth as a citizen. He waved them a farewell, and Rollins became a memory. Upon reaching the city, he went straightway to the Norwegian's cottage. There was a romping of children within, and it was some time before he made himself heard. But finally a woman came to the door. He asked for Gunhild, and was told that she had gone over to see Mrs. Goodwin, but would not long be absent. He stood for a moment with his hand on the door. "When she comes back," he said, "tell her that a Yankee from the West has called. She will understand. Tell her that he will be back soon." * * * * * Jim Mills, railway monarch of the West, sat in his room at a hotel. Strong, an engine of industry, he could do the work of three men. He had heard the hum of a multitude of enemies; he had climbed in slippery places, sliding back, falling, getting up, struggling onward to stand on the top of the mountain. Without a change of countenance he had swallowed the decree of many a defeat. In playful tones he had announced to his associate the news of many a victory. He was a reader of old books and of young men. His word could build or kill a city. Legislators traveled with his name in their pockets. Men who cursed him in private were proud to be seen with him in public. He could clap an enemy on the shoulder and laugh enmity out of him, but failing, would fight him to an end that was not sweet. A commercial viking, he was ever thrusting himself into unexplored territory, a great commander with his scouts snorting on iron across the plains. He was a generous host and a captivating companion, but it was said that with all his apparent heartiness, he never forgave an injury. This, however, was spoken by his enemies, men whose "real estate" had been slaughtered by him. Mills was busy in his room at the hotel, for neither at home nor abroad had he an aimless moment. His dozing on a train involved millions. A card, bearing a name in pencil, was handed to him. "I don't know him," he said, glancing at the name. "He says he must see you on most important business." "What sort of looking man is he? I can't recall his name." "Nice enough looking--hard worker, I should think." "Tell him to come in." Milford stepped into the room, looked at Mills and then at the secretary who stood near. "I should like to see you alone," he said. Mills glanced at the secretary. The man vanished. "Well, sir," said Mills, "what can I do for you? Sit down." Milford sat down, a table between them. "I wish to tell you of something that happened about five years ago." "Well, go ahead. But I'm busy." "I saw by the newspapers that you had arrived in town--you'll have to let me get at it in my own way." Mills glanced at him and moved impatiently. Milford cleared his throat. He leaned back and then leaned forward with his arms on the table. "Have just a little patience, please. For years I have worked toward this moment--have pictured it out a thousand times, but now that I'm up against it I hardly know how to begin. But let me say at the outset that I have come to repair a wrong done you." Mills grunted. "Rather an odd mission," said he. "Men don't read the newspapers to learn my whereabouts to repay any wrong done me. But does the wrong concern me?" "Yes, you and me. Now I'll get at it. I lived in Dakota. I was sometimes sober, but more often drunk. I gambled. I fought. At one time I was town marshal of Green Mound. Once I was station agent for you. An evil report reached the main office, and I was discharged. I was broke. I was mad. I was put out of a gambling house." "But what have I got to do with all this?" "Wait. I met a man, a twin-brother of the devil. He made a suggestion. I agreed to it. We heard that you and your pay-master were coming across in a stage. We stopped the stage, and robbed you of twelve hundred and fifty dollars. That was all you had in currency. We didn't want checks." "Go ahead," said Mills, without changing countenance. "I was called Hell-in-the-Mud. My partner was Sam Bradley. We got back to town, and were seen that night in a gambling house. But we didn't play--broke, presumably. We were not suspected. Sam died three months afterwards in Deadwood. We had run through with your money. The town buried him. I won't pretend to give you any flub-dub about reform, any of the guff of a mother's dying prayers, for that has been worked too often. But I got a newspaper from Connecticut with a prayer in it--the last words of an old woman. That's all right. We'll let that go. But I resolved to pay you--my part and Sam's too. So I drifted about looking for something to do, and at last I rented a farm not far from here, and went to work. My luck was good. I skinned every farmer in the neighborhood. All I wanted was enough money to clear my conscience. Something--it must have been the devil--gave me a strange insight into cattle trading. Anyway I prospered, and the other day sold out. And here's your money, with six per cent interest for five years." He placed a roll of paper on the table. Mills looked at him and then at the card which he had taken up. "My name is Newton," said Milford--"William Milford Newton. There's your money." Mills took up the money, and then looked at his visitor. "I remember the occasion," said he. "And you have worked all this time. Very commendable, I assure you. How much more have you?" "Less than ten dollars. Doesn't that satisfy you?" "Oh, yes, I'm satisfied, but did it occur to you that the law might have to be satisfied?" "The law?" Milford gasped. "Yes. You seem to have forgotten that part of it." "The law!" said Milford. "Yes, sir, the law." "And that means the penitentiary," said Milford, looking hard at him. "That's what it means. Will you go quietly with me, or shall I send for an officer?" "I came here quietly, didn't I? Yes, I'll go with you. I'm prepared to take my medicine. When do you leave?" "At twelve to-night." "Will you let me go out on my word of honor? I'll be back by six o'clock." "Yes, but on your word of honor." "Thank you. I will be here by six. I didn't think--but it's all right. Yes, the law, of course. I'll be here by six." * * * * * A loud knock startled Gunhild, and she ran to the door and opened it in nervous haste. Her eyes leaped out, and then she shrank back. "Oh, what is the matter?" she cried. "Nothing," Milford answered, trying to smile. "But you look old," she said. "You have scared me." She took hold of his hand to lead him into the sitting-room. "No, not in there," he said. "I will tell you out here. I must not go in. I am afraid that I might hear that Norwegian hymn--out here--let me tell you! There was a time when you might have gone with me, but not now--not where I am going." "Don't, dearest; don't. What are you saying? I will go with you anywhere. Yes, I will go with you. I dream of nothing but going with you--through the fields, across the ditches." "Will you go with me to the penitentiary?" She put her arms about his neck. "Anywhere," she said. "To the gallows, where we may both die. Yes, I will go to the penitentiary. And I will wait by the wall, and then we will go to the potato field." * * * * * It was nearly six o'clock. "Tell him to come in," said Jim Mills. Milford and Gunhild stepped into the room. Mills got up with a bow. "Who is this?" he asked. "My wife," said Milford. "You didn't tell me you were married." "I wasn't until a few moments ago. She knows all about it, and will go with me." Mills clapped Milford on the shoulder. "My dear sir," said he, "all my life I have been looking for an honest man, and now I have found him. Penitentiary! Why, you are worth five thousand dollars a year to me." He turned to Gunhild with a smile, and handing her a roll of bank notes, said: "A marriage dower from a hard-working man. Keep it, in the name of honesty; and, my dear, you and your honorable husband shall eat your wedding-supper with me." THE END. Standard and Popular Books FOR SALE BY BOOKSELLERS OR WILL BE SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE. RAND, MCNALLY & CO., PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO AND NEW YORK. 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37646	----	+-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: | | | | Names in bold characters are enclosed within plus signs. | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ [Illustration: Frontcover] STATE OF ILLINOIS OTTO KERNER, Governor FOREST TREES OF ILLINOIS HOW TO KNOW THEM A POCKET MANUAL DESCRIBING THEIR MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTERISTICS Revised by Dr. George D. Fuller, Professor Emeritus of Botany, University of Chicago, Curator of Botany, Illinois State Museum, and State Forester E. E. Nuuttila. (_1st. ed., 1927, by Mattoon, W. R., and Miller, R. B._) _Revised 1955_ DEPARTMENT OF CONSERVATION DIVISION OF FORESTRY SPRINGFIELD WILLIAM T. LODGE, Director (Printed by Authority of the State of Illinois) TABLE OF CONTENTS Page Ailanthus 54 Alder, black 19 speckled 19 Apple, crab 45 Arbor vitae 7 Ash, black 65 blue 65 green 64 pumpkin 65 red 64 white 64 Aspen, large-tooth 8 quaking 8 Bald cypress 6 Basswood 60 white 60 Beech 22 blue 19 Birch, black 21 river 21 white 20 yellow 21 Black locust 53 Black walnut 11 Bois d'arc 37 Box elder 58 Buckeye, Ohio 59 Buttonwood 44 Butternut 2 Catalpa 66 Cedar, northern white 7 red 7 Cherry, black 50 choke 50 wild red 50 Chestnut 22 Coffee tree, Kentucky 52 Cottonwood 9 swamp 9 Crab, apple 45 Bechtel's 45 prairie 45 sweet 45 Cucumber, magnolia 39 Cypress, bald 6 Dogwood, alternate-leaved 61 flowering 61 Elm, American 34 cork 34 red 35 rock 34 slippery 35 water 35 winged 34 Gum, cotton 62 sour 62 sweet 43 tupelo 62 Hackberry 36 southern 36 Haw, green 48 red 48 Hawthorn, cock-spur 47 dotted 47 green 48 red 48 Hedge apple 37 Hercules' club 63 Hickories, key of Illinois 13 Hickory, big shell-bark 16 bitternut 14 Buckley's 18 king-nut 16 mockernut 17 pecan 15 pignut 18 shag-bark 16 sweet pignut 17 water 14 white 17 Honey locust 51 Hornbeam, American 19 hop 20 Horse-chestnut 59 Kentucky coffee-tree 52 Larch, American 6 European 6 Linden, American 60 Locust, black 53 honey 51 water 51 Magnolia, cucumber 39 Maple, ash-leaved 58 black 56 Norway 58 red 57 river 57 silver 57 sugar 56 swamp 57 Mulberry, red 38 Russian 38 white 38 Oak, basket 26 black 29 black jack 32 bur 25 chinquapin 26 jack 29 northern pin 29 northern red 28 overcup 24 pin 30 post 27 red 28 rock chestnut 26 scarlet 30 shingle 33 Shumard's 28 southern red 31 Spanish 31 swamp chestnut 26 swamp Spanish 31 swamp white 25 white 24 willow 33 yellow chestnut 26 Oaks, of Illinois, a key 23 Ohio buckeye 59 Orange, osage 37 Papaw 41 Paulownia 66 Pecan 15 Persimmon 63 Pine, Austrian 4 jack 5 Scotch 5 shortleaf 5 white 4 Plane tree 44 Plum, Canada 49 wild 49 wild goose 49 yellow 49 Poplar, balsam 9 Carolina 9 European white 9 Lombardy 9 yellow 40 Redbud 52 Red cedar 7 Sassafras 42 Service-berry 46 smooth 46 Shadblow 46 Sour gum 62 Spruce, Norway 5 Sweet gum 43 Sumac, shining 55 smooth 55 staghorn 55 Sycamore 44 European 44 Tamarack 6 Thorn, cock-spur 47 dotted 47 pear 47 Washington 48 Tree of Heaven 54 Tulip tree 40 Tupelo gum 62 Walnut, black 11 white 12 Willow, black 10 crack 10 peach-leaved 10 weeping 10 white 10 See pages 70 and 71 for Index of Scientific Names +WHITE PINE+ _Pinus strobus_ L. [Illustration: WHITE PINE Two-thirds natural size.] THE white pine is found along the bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan in Lake and Cook counties and is also scattered along river bluffs in Jo Daviess, Carroll, Ogle and LaSalle counties. The only grove of this beautiful tree in Illinois is in the White Pines Forest State Park near Oregon, Ogle County, where there are trees over 100 years old that have attained a height of 90 feet with a diameter of 30 inches. This tree formerly formed the most valuable forests in the northeastern United States, stretching from Maine through New York to Minnesota. The straight stem, regular pyramidal shape and soft gray-green foliage made it universally appreciated as an ornamental tree and it has been freely planted throughout the State. The _leaves_, or needles, are 3 to 5 inches in length, bluish-green on the upper surface and whitish beneath, and occur in bundles of 5, which distinguishes it from all other eastern pines. The pollen-bearing _flowers_ are yellow and clustered in cones, about 1/3 inch long at the base of the growth of the season. The seed-producing flowers occur on other twigs and are bright red in color. The cone, or _fruit_, is 4 to 6 inches long, cylindrical with thin usually very gummy scales, containing small, winged seeds which require two years to mature. The _wood_ is light, soft, durable, not strong, light brown in color, often tinged with red, and easily worked. It was formerly much used in old colonial houses where even the shingles were of white pine. It is excellent for boxes, pattern making, matches, and many other products. Its rapid growth and the high quality of the wood make it one of the best trees for reforestation on light soils in the northern part of the State. The white pine blister rust was introduced into America about 35 years ago, and has since become widespread and highly destructive of both old trees and young growth. The Austrian pine, _Pinus nigra_ Arnold, has been naturalized in Lake County and has been planted as an ornamental tree throughout the State. Its leaves in 2's, from 3 to 5 inches long, stiff and dark green. The cone is heavy, 3 inches long with short prickles. +SHORTLEAF PINE+ _Pinus echinata_ Mill. [Illustration: SHORTLEAF PINE Leaves, one-half natural size. Fruit, natural size.] THE shortleaf pine, sometimes called yellow pine, occurs in very small stands in the "Pine Hills" of Union County, in Jackson County, in Giant City State Park, and near "Piney Creek" in Randolph County. It forms forests on light sandy soils in Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas. At maturity, the tree has a tall, straight stem and an oval crown, reaching a height of about 100 feet and a diameter of about 4 feet. The _leaves_ are in clusters of two or three, from 3 to 5 inches long, slender, flexible, and dark blue-green. The cones are the smallest of our pines, 1-1/2 to 2-1/2 inches long, oblong, with small sharp prickles, generally clustered, and often holding to the twigs for 3 or 4 years. The _bark_ is light brownish-red, broken into rectangular plates on the trunk but scaly on the branches. The _wood_ of old trees is rather heavy and hard, of yellow-brown or orange color, fine grained and less resinous than that of other important southern pines. It is used largely for interior and exterior finishing, general construction, veneers, paper pulp, excelsior, cooperage, mine props, and other purposes. The tree transplants readily, grows rapidly, succeeds on a variety of soils and has proved valuable for reforestation. A few trees of jack pine, _Pinus banksiana_ Lamb., are found in Lake County. It is a small northern tree with leaves about an inch long, borne in 2's, with cones about 2 inches long. It is planted for reforestation in the State. The Scots pine, _Pinus sylvestris_ L., has been freely planted in Illinois and may be known by its orange-brown bark and its twisted leaves 2 to 3 inches long, arranged in 2's. It has become naturalized on the sand dunes in Lake County. The Norway spruce, _Picea abies_ Karst., has been freely planted throughout the State. It forms a dense conical spire-topped crown and reaches a height of 50 to 70 feet. The leaves are needle-shaped, about an inch long, dark green, and persist for about 5 years. The pendulous cones are from 3 to 6 inches long. It is desirable for ornamental planting. +BALD CYPRESS+ _Taxodium distichum_ Richard [Illustration: CYPRESS Natural size.] THE bald cypress is a tree found exclusively in deep swamps and was found in southern Illinois from the Mississippi bottoms to Shawneetown. Its straight trunk with numerous ascending branches, and narrow conical outline makes the tree one of considerable beauty. In old age, the tree generally has a broad fluted or buttressed base, a smooth slowly tapering trunk and a broad, open, flat top of a few heavy branches and numerous small branchlets. The original-growth timber attained heights of 80 to 130 feet and diameters of 5 to 10 feet. The _bark_ is silvery to cinnamon-red and finely divided by numerous longitudinal fissures. The _leaves_ are about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch in length, arranged in feather-like fashion along two sides of small branchlets, which fall in the autumn with the leaves still attached. The _fruit_ is a rounded cone, or "ball", about one inch in diameter, consisting of thick irregular scales. The _wood_ is light, soft, easily worked, varies in color from light to dark brown, and is particularly durable in contact with the soil. Hence it is in demand for exterior trim of buildings, greenhouse planking, boat and shipbuilding, shingles, posts, poles and crossties. The tamarack, or American larch, _Larix laricina_ K. Koch, resembles the bald cypress in growing in swamps and in shedding its leaves in autumn. This tree is found in Illinois growing in bogs in Lake and McHenry counties. The leaves are flat, soft, slender, about one inch long and borne in clusters. The cones are only 1/2 to 3/4 inch long. The European larch, _Larix decidua_ Mill., may be distinguished from the native species by having slightly longer leaves and larger cones that are more than an inch long. +RED CEDAR+ _Juniperus virginiana_ L. RED cedar, the most plentiful coniferous tree in the State, is very valuable, growing on a great variety of soils, seeming to thrive on hills where few other trees are found. It is more common in the southern counties. [Illustration: RED CEDAR Natural size.] There are two kinds of _leaves_, often both kinds being found on the same tree. The commoner kind is dark green, minute and scale-like, clasping the stem in four ranks, so that the stems appear square. The other kind, often appearing on young growth or vigorous shoots, is awl-shaped, quite sharp-pointed, spreading and whitened beneath. The two kinds of _flowers_, appearing in February or March, are at the ends of the twigs on separate trees. The staminate trees assume a golden color from the small catkins, which, when shaken, shed clouds of yellow pollen. The _fruit_, ripening the first season, is pale blue with a white bloom, 1/4 inch in diameter, berry-like with sweet flesh. It is a favorite winter food for birds. The _bark_ is very thin, reddish-brown, peeling off in long, shred-like strips. The tree is extremely irregular in its growth, so that the trunk is usually more or less grooved. The _heartwood_ is distinctly red, and the sapwood white, this color combination making very striking effects when finished for cedar chests, closets, and interior woodwork. The wood is aromatic, soft, strong, and of even texture, and these qualities make it most desirable for lead pencils. It is very durable in contact with the soil, and on that account is in great demand for posts, poles and rustic work. The arbor vitae or northern white cedar, _Thuja occidentalis_ L., is found occasionally on the bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan, on the cliffs of Starved Rock, in Elgin City Park, and in bogs in Lake County. The leaves are aromatic, scale-like, 1/8 inch long, arranged to give small flat branches. The fruit is a cone 1/2 inch long. The wood is light, soft, durable, fragrant, and pale brown. +QUAKING ASPEN+ _Populus tremuloides_ Michx. THIS is one of the most widely distributed trees in North America. Its range goes from Labrador to British Columbia and from New England and New York far south in the Rocky Mountains to Arizona. In Illinois it is common in the north, but of infrequent occurrence in the south. [Illustration: ASPEN Three-fourths natural size.] The aspen is a small tree, reaching heights of 40 to 60 feet and diameters of 10 to 20 inches. The young branches are reddish-brown soon turning gray. The _winter buds_ are about 1/4 inch long, pointed and shining. The _bark_ is thin, smooth, light gray tinged with green. The _leaves_ are on slender flat petioles, arranged alternately on the twigs, and broadly oval, short pointed and shallowly toothed. They are green, shiny above and dull below, ranging from 2 to 4 inches long and about the same in breadth. The _flowers_ are in catkins and appear before the leaves begin to expand. The two kinds are borne on separate trees, the staminate catkins are about 2 inches long, but the seed-producing flowers form a long slender cluster 4 inches in length. The _fruit_ is a conical capsule filled with tiny cottony seeds which ripen in late spring before the leaves are fully expanded. The _wood_ is light brown, almost white. It is light, weak and not durable, and is used for pulpwood, fruit-crates and berry boxes. The large-tooth aspen, _Populus grandidentata_ Michx., is found in the northern half of Illinois and frequently grows alongside the quaking aspen. Its leaves are larger than those of the quaking aspen and the edges are coarsely and irregularly toothed. The winter buds have dull chestnut-brown scales and are somewhat downy. The bark is light gray tinged with reddish-brown. +COTTONWOOD+ _Populus deltoides_ Marsh. THE cottonwood, or Carolina poplar, is one of the largest trees in Illinois, growing on flood plains along small streams and in depressions in the prairie. It is one of the best trees for forestry purposes for planting where quick shade is desired. The wood is soft, light, weak, fine-grained but tough. It is good for pulp, boxes and berry baskets. [Illustration: COTTONWOOD Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, broadly triangular, pointed and coarse toothed on the edges, 3 to 5 inches across, thick and firm supported by flattened slender petioles, 2 to 3 inches long. The _winter buds_ are large and covered with chestnut-brown shining resinous scales. The _flowers_ are in catkins, of two kinds, on different trees and appear before the leaves. The _fruit_ ripens in late spring, appearing as long drooping strings of ovoid capsules filled with small seeds. These strings of fruit, 5 to 8 inches long, give to the tree the name of "necklace poplar." The seeds are covered with white cottony hairs. The swamp cottonwood, _Populus heterophylla_ L., occurs in swamps in the southern part of Illinois, and may be known by its broadly ovate leaves, 3 to 5 inches wide and 4 to 7 inches long with blunt-apex and cordate base. A few trees of the balsam poplar, _Populus tacamahaca_ Mill., are found in Lake County near the shores of Lake Michigan. The leaves are ovate-lanceolate, pointed, and cordate. The large buds are covered with fragrant resin. The European white poplar, _Populus alba_ L., with light gray bark and leaves, white wooly beneath, is often found near old houses and along roadsides. The Lombardy poplar, a tall narrow form of the European black poplar, _Populus nigra_ var. _italica_ Du Roi, is often planted and is a striking tree for the roadside. +BLACK WILLOW+ _Salix nigra_ Marsh. THE black willow is not only a denizen of the forest but it is at home on the prairies and on the plains and even invades the desert. It grows singly or in clumps along the water courses, a tree 40 to 60 feet in height with a short trunk. [Illustration: BLACK WILLOW Two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is deeply divided into broad flat ridges, often becoming shaggy. The twigs, brittle at the base, are glabrous or pubescent, bright red-brown becoming darker with age. The _winter buds_ are 1/8 inch long, covered with a single smooth scale. The _wood_ is soft, light, close-grained, light brown and weak. It is often used in the manufacture of artificial limbs. The alternate simple _leaves_ are 3 to 6 inches long, and one-half inch wide on very short petioles; the tips are much tapered and the margins are finely toothed. They are bright green on both sides, turning pale yellow in the early autumn. The _flowers_ are in catkins, appearing with the leaves, borne on separate trees. The staminate flowers of the black willow have 3 to 5 stamens each, while the white willow has flowers with 2 stamens. The native peach-leaved willow, _Salix amygdaloides_ Anders., is a smaller tree with leaves 2 to 6 inches long, 1/2 to 1-1/2 inches wide, light green and shining above, pale and glaucous beneath, on petioles about 3/4 inch long. The white willow, _Salix alba_ L., and the crack willow, _Salix fragilis_ L., with bright yellow twigs, are European species which are often planted for ornamental purposes. Their flowers have only 2 stamens each and their leaves are silky, bright green above and glaucous beneath. The latter has twigs that are very brittle at the base. Another European species is the weeping willow, _Salix babylonica_ L., which may be known by its slender drooping branches. +BLACK WALNUT+ _Juglans nigra_ L. [Illustration: BLACK WALNUT Leaf, one-fifth natural size. Twig, three-quarters natural size.] THIS valuable forest tree occurs on rich bottom lands and on moist fertile hillsides throughout the State. The black walnut is found from Massachusetts westward to Minnesota and southward to Florida and Texas. In the forest, where it grows singly, it frequently attains a height of 100 feet with a straight stem, clear of branches for half its height. In open-grown trees, the stem is short and the crown broad and spreading. The _bark_ is thick, dark brown in color, and divided by rather deep fissures into rounded ridges. The twigs have cream-colored chambered pith and leaf-scars without downy pads above. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, 1 to 2 feet long, consisting of from 15 to 23 leaflets of yellowish-green color. The leaflets are about 3 inches long, extremely tapering at the end and toothed along the margin. The _fruit_ is a nut, borne singly or in pairs, and enclosed in a solid green husk which does not split open, even after the nut is ripe. The nut itself is black with a very hard, thick, finely ridged shell, enclosing a rich, oily kernel edible and highly nutritious. The _heartwood_ is of superior quality and value. It is heavy, hard and strong, and its rich chocolate-brown color, freedom from warping and checking, susceptibility to a high polish, and durability make it highly prized for a great variety of uses, including furniture, cabinet work, and gun-stocks. Walnut is easily propagated from the nuts and grows rapidly on good soil, where it should be planted and grown for timber and nuts. It is the most valuable tree found in the forests of Illinois and originally grew extensively throughout the State. +BUTTERNUT+ _Juglans cinerea_ L. THE butternut, sometimes called the white walnut, is a smaller tree than the black walnut, although it may reach a height of 70 feet and a diameter of 3 feet. It is found all over the State, but the best is in the ravines of southern Illinois. The butternut is found from Maine to Michigan and southward to Kansas, Tennessee and northern Georgia. The trunk is often forked or crooked and this makes it less desirable for saw timber. [Illustration: BUTTERNUT Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ differs from that of the black walnut in being light gray on branches and on the trunk of small trees, becoming darker on large trees. This tree may also be distinguished from black walnut by the velvet collars just above the scars left by last year's leaves. The twigs have chocolate-brown chambered pith and bear obliquely blunt winter buds somewhat flattened, brownish and hairy. The compound _leaves_ are 15 to 30 inches long, each with 11 to 17 sharp-pointed, oblong, finely toothed leaflets 2 to 3 inches long. The staminate and pistillate _flowers_ are on the same tree, the former in long yellowish-green drooping catkins and the latter are short with red-fringed stigmas. The _fruit_ is a nut enclosed in an oblong, somewhat pointed, yellowish-green husk, about 2 inches long, which is covered with short, rusty, clammy, sticky hairs. The nut has a rough, grooved shell and an oily, edible kernel. The _wood_ is light, soft, not strong, coarse-grained, light brown, and takes a good polish. It is used for interior finish of houses and for furniture. A yellow or orange dye can be made from the husks of the nuts. A KEY TO THE ILLINOIS HICKORIES A. Bud scales opposite; appearing somewhat grooved lengthwise; leaflets usually lanceolate, generally curved backwards; nut-husks usually winged; nut thin-shelled. B. Leaflets 5-9; leaves 6-10 inches long, winter buds bright yellow; nut gray globose, meat bitter C. cordiformis BB. Leaflets 7-13; leaves 9-13 inches long, winter buds dark brown, nut brown, pear-shaped, meat bitter C. aquatica BBB. Leaflets 9-17; leaves 12-20 inches long, winter buds yellow, nut elongated, meat sweet C. illinoensis AA. Bud scales not in pairs; more than 6; leaflets not recurved; nut husks usually not winged; nut thick-shelled. B. Buds large; twigs stout; nut angled; kernel sweet. C. Leaflets 5; leaves 8-14 inches long, nut whitish, bark shaggy C. ovata CC. Leaflets 7-9; leaves 15-20 inches long, nut reddish-brown C. laciniosa CCC. Leaflets 7-9; leaves 8-12 inches long, hairy C. tomentosa BB. Buds small; twigs slender; nut angled. C. Leaflets usually 5; leaves 8-12 inches long; fruit pear-shaped; kernel astringent C. glabra CC. Leaflets usually 7; leaves 8-10 inches long; fruit ovoid; shell ridged, thin; kernel sweet C. ovalis CCC. Leaflets usually 7; leaves 10-12 inches long; shell thin, conspicuously veined C. buckleyi +BITTERNUT HICKORY+ _Carya cordiformis_ K. Koch THE bitternut hickory is a tall slender tree with broadly pyramidal crown, attaining a height of 100 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet. It is found along stream banks and on moist soil, and it is well known by its roundish bitter nuts. [Illustration: BITTERNUT HICKORY Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ on the trunk is granite-gray, faintly tinged with yellow and smoother than in most of the hickories, yet broken into thin plate-like scales. The _winter buds_ are compressed, scurfy, and of a bright yellow color. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, from 6 to 10 inches long, and composed of from 7 to 11 leaflets. The individual leaflets are smaller and more slender than those of the other hickories. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in long pendulous green catkins, the pistillate in 2 to 5 flowered spikes, 1/2 inch long, brown-hairy. The _fruit_ is about 1 inch long and thin-husked, while the nut is usually thin-shelled and brittle, and the kernel very bitter. The _wood_ is hard, strong and heavy, reddish-brown in color. From this last fact it gets its local name of red hickory. It is said to be somewhat inferior to the other hickories, but is used for the same purposes. +PECAN+ _Carya illinoensis_ (Wang.) K. Koch (_Carya pecan_ (Marsh.) E. & G.) THE pecan is a river-bottom tree found in southern Illinois extending its range northward to Adams, Peoria, Fayette and Lawrence counties. The tree is the largest of the hickories, attaining heights of over 100 feet and, when in the open, forming a large rounded top of symmetrical shape. It makes an excellent shade tree and is also planted in orchards for its nuts. The outer _bark_ is rough, hard, tight, but broken into scales; on the limbs, it is smooth at first but later tends to scale or divide as the bark grows old. [Illustration: PECAN One-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ resemble those of the other hickories and the black walnut. They are made up of 9 to 17 leaflets, each oblong, toothed and long-pointed, and 4 to 8 inches long by about 2 inches wide. The _flowers_ appear in early spring and hang in tassels from 2 to 3 inches long. The _fruit_ is a nut, 4-winged or angled, pointed from 1 to 2 inches long, and one-half to 1 inch in diameter, borne in a husk which divides along its grooved seams when the nut ripens in the fall. The nuts, which vary in size and in the thickness of the shell, have been greatly improved by selection and cultivation and are sold on the market in large quantities. The _wood_ is strong, tough, heavy and hard and is used occasionally in making handles, parts for vehicles, for fuel and for veneers. The water hickory, _Carya aquatica_ Nutt., is a smaller tree, found in swamps in southern Illinois, with leaves made up of 7 to 13 leaflets; the nut is thin-shelled, angular and bitter. +SHAG-BARK HICKORY+ _Carya ovata_ K. Koch THE shag-bark hickory is well known for its sweet and delicious nuts. It is a large commercial tree, averaging 60 to 100 feet high and 1 to 2 feet in diameter. It thrives best on rich, damp soil and is common along streams, on rich uplands, and on moist hillsides throughout the State. [Illustration: SHAG-BARK HICKORY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ of the trunk is rougher than other hickories, light gray and separating into thick plates which are only slightly attached to the tree. The terminal _winter buds_ are egg-shaped, the outer bud-scales having narrow tips. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, from 8 to 15 inches long, and composed of 5, rarely 7 obovate to ovate leaflets. The twigs are smooth or clothed with short hairs. The _fruit_ is borne singly or in pairs and is globular. The husk is thick and deeply grooved at the seams. The nut is much compressed and pale, the shell thick, and the kernel sweet. The flowers are of two kinds, opening after the leaves have attained nearly their full size. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, tough and strong; it is white largely in the manufacture of agricultural implements and tool handles, and the building of carriages and wagons. For fuel the hickories are the most satisfactory of our native trees. The big shell bark or king-nut hickory, _Carya laciniosa_ (Michx. f.) Loud., becomes a tall tree on the rich bottom lands in the southern half of Illinois. It resembles the shag-bark hickory but the leaves are longer with 7 to 9 leaflets, and the nuts are 2 inches long with a thick bony shell and a sweet kernel. +MOCKERNUT HICKORY+ _Carya tomentosa_ Nutt. THE mockernut, or white hickory, is common on well-drained soils throughout the State. It is a tall, short-limbed tree often 60 feet high and 1 to 2 feet in diameter. [Illustration: MOCKERNUT HICKORY Leaf, one-fifth natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is dark gray, hard, closely and deeply furrowed often apparently cross-furrowed or netted. The winter buds are large, round or broadly egg-shaped and covered with a downy growth. The _leaves_ are large, strong-scented and hairy, composed of 7 to 9 obovate to oblong, pointed leaflets which turn a beautiful yellow in the fall. The _flowers_, like those of all other hickories, are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in three-branched catkins, the pistillate in clusters of 2 to 5. The _fruit_ is oval, nearly round or slightly pear-shaped with a very thick, strong-scented husk which splits nearly to the base when ripe. The nut is of various forms, but sometimes 4 to 6 ridged, light brown, and has a very thick shell and small, sweet kernel. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, tough and strong; it is white excepting the comparatively small, dark-brown heart, hence the name white hickory. It is used for vehicle parts and handles. It furnishes the best of fuel. This and other hickories are very desirable both for forest and shade trees. In the southern part of Illinois, the small fruited or sweet pignut, _Carya ovalis_ Sargent, occurs on rich hillsides. The leaves have 7 leaflets on reddish-brown twigs, with small yellowish winter buds. The nut is an inch long, enclosed in a very thin hairy husk, the shell is thin and the kernel sweet. +PIGNUT HICKORY+ _Carya glabra_ Sweet THE pignut hickory is rare in the northern part of Illinois but occurs plentifully in the rest of the State, growing to a medium sized tree on rich uplands. It has a tapering trunk and a narrow oval head with drooping branches. [Illustration: PIGNUT HICKORY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ is close, ridged and grayish, but occasionally rough and flaky. The twigs are thin, smooth and glossy brown. The _leaves_ are smooth, 8 to 12 inches long and composed of 5 to 7 leaflets. The individual leaflets are rather small and narrow. The _winter buds_ are 1/2 inch long, egg-shaped, polished, and light brown. The _fruit_ is pear-shaped or rounded, usually with a neck at the base, very thin husks splitting only half way to the base or not at all. The nut is smooth, light brown in color, rather thick-shelled, and has a somewhat astringent edible kernel. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and flexible. Its uses are the same as those of the other hickories. Buckley's hickory, _Carya buckleyi_ Durand, occurs on sandy uplands in the southwest. It is a small tree with spreading, contorted branches. The fruit is contained in a hairy husk, the nut is angular, marked with pale veins and has a sweet kernel. +BLUE BEECH+ _Carpinus caroliniana_ Walt. THE blue beech, or American hornbeam, belongs to the birch family rather than to the beeches. It is a small slow-growing bushy tree, 20 to 30 feet tall with a diameter 4 to 8 inches. It is found along streams and in low ground through the State. [Illustration: BLUE BEECH Leaf, one-half natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The trunk is smooth fluted with irregular ridges extending up and down the tree. The _bark_ is light brownish-gray to dark bluish-gray in color, sometimes marked with dark bands extending horizontally on the trunk. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, oval, long-pointed, doubly-toothed along the margin, 2 or 3 inches in length. They resemble those of the American elm, but are smaller and thinner. The _flowers_, appearing after the leaves, are borne in catkins separately on the same tree; the staminate catkins are about 1-1/2 inches long, the pistillate being only 3/4 of an inch long with small leaf-like green scales each bearing 2 pistils with long scarlet styles. The _fruit_ ripens in midsummer, but often remains on the tree long after the leaves have fallen. It is a nutlet about 1/3 of an inch long, attached to a leaf-like halberd-shaped bract which acts as a wing in aiding its distribution by the wind. The _wood_ is tough, close-grained, heavy and strong. It is sometimes selected for use for levers, tool handles, wooden cogs, mallets, wedges, etc. Another small tree of the birch family is the speckled alder, _Alnus incana_ Moench, which is found occasionally in wet places in the northern part of the State. The black alder, _Alnus glutinosa_ Gaertn., a European tree, has been planted near ponds. The flowers of the alders are in catkins and among the earliest in the spring. The fruit is a small cone which persists throughout the winter. +HOP HORNBEAM+ _Ostrya virginiana_ K. Koch THIS tree is also called ironwood and gets its common names from the quality of its wood and the hop-like fruit. It is a small, slender, generally round-topped tree, from 22 to 30 feet high and 7 to 10 inches in diameter. The top consists of long, slender branches, commonly drooped toward the ends. It is found throughout the State. [Illustration: HOP HORNBEAM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ is mostly light brown or reddish-brown, and finely divided into thin scales by which the tree, after a little acquaintance, can be easily recognized. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, generally oblong with narrowed tips, sharply toothed along the margin, sometimes doubly toothed, from 2 to 3 inches long. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in drooping catkins which form the previous summer, the pistillate, in erect catkins on the newly formed twigs. The _fruit_, which resembles that of common hop vine, consists of a branch of leafy bracts 1 to 2 inches long containing a number of flattened ribbed nutlets. The _wood_ is strong, hard, durable, light brown to white, with thick pale sapwood. It is often used for fence posts, handles of tools, mallets and other small articles. The white birch, _Betula papyrifera_ Marsh., of the North Woods is rare in Illinois. It is found in Jo Daviess and Carroll counties and along the shores of Lake Michigan. The white papery bark distinguishes it from all other trees and was used by the northern Indians for covering their canoes and for making baskets, bags and other useful and ornamental things. +RIVER BIRCH+ _Betula nigra_ L. THE river, or back birch, is at home, as the name implies, along water courses, and inhabits the deep, rich soils along the borders of the larger rivers of the State and in swamps which are sometimes inundated for weeks at a time. [Illustration: RIVER BIRCH Two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ provides a ready means of distinguishing this tree. It varies from reddish-brown to cinnamon-red in color, and peels back in tough papery layers. These layers persist on the trunk, presenting a very ragged and quite distinctive appearance. Unlike the bark of our other birches, the thin papery layers are usually covered with a gray powder. On older trunks, the bark on the main trunk becomes thick, deeply furrowed and of a dark reddish-brown color. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 2 to 3 inches long, more or less oval in shape, with double-toothed edges. The upper surface is dark green and the lower a pale yellowish-green. The _flowers_ are in catkins, the two kinds growing on the same tree. The _fruit_ is cone-shaped about 1 inch long, and densely crowded with little winged nutlets that ripen from May to June. The _wood_ is strong and fairly close-grained. It has been used to some extent in the manufacture of woodenware, in turnery and for wagon hubs. The yellow birch, _Betula lutea_ Michx., one of the most valuable hardwood timber trees around the Great Lakes, is represented in Illinois by a few small trees in Lee and Lake counties. It may be known by its bark becoming silvery-gray as the trunk expands and breaking into strips curled at the edges. The wood is strong and hard, close-grained, light brown tinged with red. It is used for interior finish, furniture, woodenware and turnery. It is prized as firewood. +BEECH+ _Fagus grandifolia_ Ehrh. THE beech is found from Maine to Wisconsin south to the Gulf and Texas, growing along with maples, oaks and tulip trees. It occurs in the ravines of the southern Illinois counties up to Vermilion County. It is one of the most beautiful of all trees either in summer or winter. [Illustration: BEECH One-half natural size.] The _bark_ is, perhaps, the most distinctive characteristic, as it maintains an unbroken light gray surface throughout its life. So tempting is this smooth expanse to the owner of a jack-knife that the beech has been well designated the "initial tree." The simple, oval _leaves_ are 3 to 4 inches long, pointed at the tip and coarsely toothed along the margin. When mature, they are almost leathery in texture. The beech produces a dense shade. The _winter buds_ are long, slender and pointed. The little, brown, three-sided beech-nuts are almost as well known as chestnuts. They form usually in pairs in a prickly bur. The kernel is sweet and edible, but so small as to offer insufficient reward for the pains of biting open the thin-shelled husk. The _wood_ of the beech is very hard, strong, and tough, though it will not last long on exposure to weather or in the soil. It is used to some extent for furniture, flooring, carpenter's tools, and novelty wares and extensively in southern Illinois for railroad ties and car stock. The American chestnut, _Castanea dentata_ Borkh., extends its range from Maine to Michigan, and southward to Delaware and Tennessee. There is a stand of chestnuts in Pulaski County and some trees have been planted in the southern part of the State. They are easily recognized by their alternate simple, broadly lanceolate coarsely toothed leaves, and their prickly burs about 2 inches in diameter containing 1-3 nuts. A KEY TO THE OAKS OF ILLINOIS A. Leaves without bristle tips; bark gray; acorns maturing at the end of 1 season; white oaks. B. Leaves lobed. C. Acorn-cup not enclosing the acorn. D. Acorn-cup shallow, warted Q. alba DD. Acorn-cup covering 1/2 of the acorn Q. stellata CC. Acorn-cup enclosing the acorn. D. Acorn-cup not fringed Q. lyrata DD. Acorn-cup fringed Q. macrocarpa BB. Leaves not lobed, coarsely toothed. C. Acorn-stalked. D. Acorn-stalks longer than petioles Q. bicolor DD. Acorn-stalks short E. Acorn-cup flat-bottomed; bark like that of white oak Q. prinus EE. Acorn-cup deep; bark like that of red oak Q. montana CC. Acorns sessile, cup deep Q. muhlenbergii AA. Leaves with bristle tips; bark dark; acorns mature at the end of two seasons; black and red oaks. B. Leaves lobed. C. Deeply lobed. D. Leaves deep green on both sides. E. Acorn-cup broad and shallow a. Acorn large Q. rubra aa. Acorn small b. Acorn ovoid Q. shumardii bb. Acorn globose Q. palustris EE. Acorn-cup deep a. Cup-scales loosely imbricated winter buds large and hairy Q. velutina aa. Cup-scales tightly appressed, winter buds small and smooth b. Acorn small Q. ellipsoidalis bb. Acorn large Q. coccinea DD. Leaves pale green beneath Q. falcata CC. Leaves shallowly lobed, winter buds rusty-hairy Q. marilandica BB. Leaves entire. C. Leaves hairy beneath; acorn sessile Q. imbricaria CC. Leaves not hairy; acorn stalked Q. phellos +WHITE OAK+ _Quercus alba_ L. WITHIN its natural range, which includes practically the entire eastern half of the United States, the white oak is one of the most important timber trees. It commonly reaches a height of 60 to 100 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet; sometimes it becomes much larger. It is found in a wide variety of upland soils. When grown in a dense stand it has a straight continuous trunk, free of side branches for over half its height. In the open, however, the tree develops a broad crown with far-reaching limbs. Well-grown specimens are strikingly beautiful. [Illustration: WHITE OAK Twig, one-third natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple 5 to 9 inches long and about half as broad. They are deeply divided into 5 to 9 rounded, finger-like lobes. The young leaves are a soft silvery-gray or yellow or red while unfolding, becoming later bright green above and much paler below. The _flowers_ appear with the leaves, the staminate are in hairy catkins 2-3 inches long, the pistillate are sessile in axils of the leaves. The _fruit_ is an acorn maturing the first year. The nut is 3/4 to 1 inch long, light brown, about one-quarter enclosed in the warty cup. It is relished by hogs and other livestock. The _bark_ is thin, light ashy-gray and covered with loose scales or broad plates. The _wood_ is useful and valuable. It is heavy, strong, hard, tough, close-grained, durable, and light brown in color. The uses are many, including construction, shipbuilding, tight cooperage, furniture, wagons, implements, interior finish, flooring, and fuel. Notwithstanding its rather slow growth, white oak is valuable for forest, highway and ornamental planting. The overcup oak, _Quercus lyrata_ Walt., is similar to the white oak, but may be distinguished by the nearly spherical cup which nearly covers the somewhat flattened acorn. This oak occurs in the river bottoms in southern Illinois. +BUR OAK+ _Quercus macrocarpa_ Michx. THE bur oak, which occurs throughout the State takes its name from the fringe around the cup of the acorn. It usually has a broad top of heavy spreading branches and a relatively short body. It is one of the largest trees in the State. In maturity, it attains a diameter of 5 feet or more and a height of over 80 feet. The _bark_ is light gray and is usually broken up into small narrow flakes. The bur oak does not often form a part of the forest stand, as do some other oaks, but occurs generally singly in open stands and in fields. It requires a moist but well-drained soil. [Illustration: BUR OAK One-third natural size.] The _leaves_ resemble somewhat those of the common white oak, but have a pair of deep indentations on their border near the base, and wavy notches on the broad middle and upper portions of the leaf. They range from 6 to 12 inches long and 3 to 6 inches wide. The _fruit_, or acorn, is a nut set deeply in a fringed cup. It is sometimes 1 inch or more in diameter but varies widely in respect to size and the degree to which the nut is enclosed in the mossy fringed cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and durable. It is used for much the same purposes as the other white oaks, lumber, piling, veneer logs, crossties and fuel. The swamp white oak, _Quercus bicolor_ Willd., occurs scattered in swamps, through the State. The leaves are obovate, coarsely toothed and wedge-shaped below. They are thick, dark green and shining above, pale and downy beneath. The acorns are borne in a deep rough scaly cup, on stems 2-4 inches long. The wood is like that of the white oak. The bark is gray-brown, separating into large, papery scales which curl back. +YELLOW CHESTNUT OAK+ _Quercus muhlenbergii_ Engelm. THIS oak, also called the chinquapin oak, which is an excellent timber tree, occurs throughout the State. It grows on practically all classes of soil and in all moisture conditions except in swamps, and is a very tenacious tree on shallow, dry soil. The _bark_ is light gray, and breaks up into short narrow flakes on the main trunk and old limbs. It reaches a height of 70 to 90 feet. The straight shapely trunk bears a round-topped head composed of small branches, which makes it an attractive shade tree. [Illustration: YELLOW CHESTNUT OAK One-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are oblong, 3 to 6 inches in length, 1-1/2 to 3 inches wide, and equally toothed or notched on the edges, resembling the leaves of the chestnut oak. The _fruit_, which ripens in the fall of the first season, is light to dark brown when ripe, and edible if roasted. This acorn is from one-half to nearly an inch long, usually less than one inch in diameter, and is set in a shallow cup. The _wood_ is like that of the white oak, heavy, very hard, tough, strong, durable, and takes an excellent polish. It is used in manufacturing lumber and timbers, crossties, fence posts and fuel. A portion of the lumber no doubt goes into furniture. The basket oak, or swamp chestnut oak, _Quercus prinus_ L., is found in the woods in southern Illinois. It resembles the white oak in its bark and branches, but has larger acorns. The leaves resemble those of yellow chestnut oak. The rock chestnut oak, _Quercus montana_ Willd., is an eastern oak that is rare on the hills of Union and Alexander counties. +POST OAK+ _Quercus stellata_ Wang. THE post oak is usually a medium-sized tree, with a rounded crown, commonly reaching a height of 50 to 80 feet and a diameter of 1 to 2 feet, but sometimes considerably larger. It occurs from Mason County south to the Ohio River being most common in the "Post Oak Flats." The soil is a light gray silt loam underlaid by "tight clay." [Illustration: POST OAK One-third natural size.] The _bark_ is rougher and darker than the white oak and broken into smaller scales. The stout young twigs and the leaves are coated at first with a thick light-colored fuzz which soon becomes darker and later drops away entirely. The _leaves_ are usually 4 to 5 inches long and nearly as broad, deeply 5-lobed with broad rounded divisions, the lobes broadest at the ends. They are thick and somewhat leathery, dark green and shiny on the upper surface, lighter green and rough hairy beneath. The _flowers_, like those of the other oaks, are of two kinds on the same tree, the male in drooping, clustered catkins, the female inconspicuous. The _fruit_ is an oval acorn, 1/2 to 1 inch long, set in a rather small cup which may or may not be stalked. The _wood_ is very heavy, hard, close-grained, light to dark brown, durable in contact with the soil. It is used for crossties and fence posts, and along with other oaks of the white oak class for furniture and other purposes. +NORTHERN RED OAK+ _Quercus rubra_ L. (_Quercus borealis_ Michx.) THE red oak of the North occurs throughout the State. It usually attains a height of about 70 feet and a diameter ranging from 2 to 3 feet, but is sometimes much larger. The forest-grown tree is tall and straight with a clear trunk and narrow crown. [Illustration: NORTHERN RED OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on young stems is smooth, gray to brown on older trees, thick and broken by shallow fissures into regular, flat smooth-surfaced plates. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 5 to 9 inches long, and 4 to 6 inches wide, broader toward the tip, divided into 7 to 9 lobes, each lobe being somewhat coarsely toothed and bristle-tipped, and firm, dull green above, paler below, often turning to a brilliant red after frost. The _winter buds_ are small, light reddish-brown and smooth. The _flowers_, as in all the oaks, are of two kinds on the same tree, the staminate in long drooping, clustered catkins, opening with the leaves, the female solitary or slightly clustered. The _fruit_ is a large acorn maturing the second year. The nut is from 3/4 to 1-3/4 inches long, blunt-topped, flat at base, with only its base enclosed in the very shallow dark brown cup. The _wood_ is hard, strong, coarse-grained, with light, reddish-brown heartwood and thin lighter-colored sapwood. It is used for cooperage, interior finish, construction, furniture, and crossties. Because of its average rapid growth, high-grade wood and general freedom from insect and fungus attack, it should be widely planted in the State for timber production and as a shade tree. This red oak, _Quercus shumardii_ Buckley, is found only in the southern counties along the borders of streams and swamps. Its leaves are dark green and lustrous, paler beneath and have tufts of pale hairs in the angles of the veins. The acorns are long-oval in shape, held in thick saucer-like cups composed of closely appressed hairy scales. +BLACK OAK+ _Quercus velutina_ Lam. THE black oak, sometimes farther north called yellow oak or yellow-barked oak, usually grows to be about 80 feet in height and 1 to 3 feet in diameter. It is found commonly throughout the State. The crown is irregularly shaped and wide, with a clear trunk for 20 feet or more on large trees. The _bark_ on the very young trees is smooth and dark brown but soon becomes thick and black, with deep furrows and rough broken ridges. The bright yellow color and bitter taste of the inner bark, due to tannic acid, are distinguishing characteristics. [Illustration: BLACK OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 5 to 10 inches long and 3 to 8 inches wide, thick leathery shallow or deeply lobed, the shape varying greatly. When mature, the leaves are dark green and shiny on the upper surface, pale on the lower, more or less covered with down, and with conspicuous rusty brown hairs in the forks of the veins. The _winter buds_ are large, strongly angled, gray and hairy. The _fruit_ matures the second season. The light brown nut is from 1/2 to 1 inch long, more or less hemispherical in shape, and from 1/2 to 3/4 enclosed in the thin, dark brown, scaly cup. The scales on the upper part of the cup are loosely imbricated. The kernel is yellow and extremely bitter. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, coarse-grained and checks easily. It is a bright red-brown with a thin outer edge of paler sapwood. It is used for the same purposes as red oak, under which name it is put on the market. Its growth is rather slow. The jack oak, _Quercus ellipsoidalis_ Hill, is a smaller tree found frequently alongside black oak in the northern third of the State. The acorn is ellipsoid, small and enclosed in a deep cup, whose scales are closely appressed. The winter buds are slightly angular, smooth, and red-brown in color. Many small, drooping branches are sent out near the ground, which soon die, and the stubs or "pins" have given this oak the name of northern pin oak. +PIN OAK+ _Quercus palustris_ Muench. PIN oak is rarely found naturally except on the rich moist soil of bottom lands and the borders of swamps. It is usually not abundant in any locality, but found scattered with other kinds of trees. It more commonly attains heights of 50 to 70 feet, with diameters up to 2 feet, but sometimes larger. The tree commonly has a single, upright stem with numerous long, tough branches, the lower ones drooping, the middle horizontal, and the upper ascending. Many of the lower branches soon die and their stubs are the "pins" which give the tree its name. [Illustration: PIN OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on young stems is smooth, shining and light brown; on old trunks light gray-brown and covered by small, close scales. Because of its beauty, its hardiness, and its fairly rapid growth, pin oak makes an exceptionally fine street tree. The _leaves_ generally resemble those of the northern red oak, but they are smaller and much more deeply lobed. They are 3 to 5 inches long and 2 to 4 inches wide. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree, and appear when the leaves are about one-third grown. The _fruit_, taking two years to mature, is an acorn nearly hemispheric, about one-half inch long, light brown, often striped, enclosed only at the base in a thin, shallow, saucer-shaped cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, and usually knotty. It is light brown, with thin, darker-colored sapwood. It is sold and has the same uses as red oak, although it is generally not so good in quality. The scarlet oak, _Quercus coccinea_ Muench., has deeply lobed leaves which turn brilliant scarlet in the autumn. The winter buds are reddish-brown and pubescent. The acorns are ovoid, enclosed for about half their length in a thick, deep cup. It is rarely found in the southern half of the State. +SPANISH OAK+ _Quercus falcata_ Michx. THIS oak, one of the common southern red oaks, ranges from Virginia and Florida to Texas and Missouri, and appears in a dozen of the southern counties in Illinois. It is usually called the Spanish oak, or southern red oak, and has been known as _Quercus rubra_ L. or _Quercus digitata_ Sudw. [Illustration: SPANISH OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] It is a variable species and hence has been known under so many names. It grows to a height of 70 to 80 feet, and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet, though larger trees are not infrequently found. Its large spreading branches form a broad, round, open top. The _bark_ is rough, though not deeply furrowed and varies from light gray on younger trees to dark or almost black on older ones. The _leaves_ are of two different types: (1) irregular-shaped lobes, mostly narrow, bristle-tipped, the central lobe often the longest; or (2) pear-shaped with 3 rounded lobes at the outer end. They are dark lustrous green above and gray downy beneath, the contrast being strikingly seen in a wind or rain storm. The _flowers_ appear in April while the leaves are unfolding. The _fruit_ ripens the second year. The small rounded acorn, about half an inch long, is set in a thin saucer-shaped cup which tapers to a short stem. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained and is less subject to defects than most other red oaks. It is used for rough lumber and for furniture, chairs, tables, etc. It is a desirable timber tree, especially on the poorer, drier soils. The bark is rich in tannin. _Q. rubra_ var. _pagodaefolia_, called swamp Spanish oak, has been collected in four southern counties of Illinois. +BLACK JACK+ _Quercus marilandica_ Muench. THE black jack oak is a tree of sandy and clayey barren lands where few other forest trees thrive. It ranges from New York to Florida and westward into Illinois, Arkansas, and Texas. It reaches its largest size in southern Arkansas and eastern Texas. It is found as one of the main species in the "Post Oak Flats" in the southern half of the State and in the sands along the Illinois River, near Havana. The tree sometimes reaches a height of 50 to 60 feet and a diameter of 16 inches, but it is usually much smaller. Its hard, stiff, drooping branches form a dense crown which usually contains many persistent dead twigs. The _bark_ is rough, very dark, often nearly black, and broken into small, hard scales or flakes. [Illustration: BLACK JACK OAK Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are of a leathery texture, dark green on the upper surface, lighter, hairy, and brown-scurfy below. The leaves are wedge-shaped, 4 to 10 inches long and about the same in width. There is a considerable difference in the leaves of this oak both in size and shape. The _fruit_ is an acorn about three-quarters of an inch long, yellow-brown and often striped, enclosed for half its length or more in a thick light brown cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard and strong; when used at all, it is used mostly for firewood and mine props. It is also used for the manufacture of charcoal. +SHINGLE OAK+ _Quercus imbricaria_ Michx. THIS oak is found throughout the State with the exception of the extreme north portion. When growing alone, the tree develops a symmetrical rounded top, conspicuous on account of the good-sized, regular-shaped, oblong leaves which differ in shape from most other native oaks. It forms a handsome tree. It is sometimes incorrectly called "laurel" oak. [Illustration: SHINGLE OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, three-fourths natural size.] The _bark_ is rather thin and divided by shallow fissures into broad ridges of a dark brown color. The _leaves_ are alternate in arrangement along the stem, oblong in shape, 4 to 6 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, leathery in texture with smooth margins sometimes wavy in outline, dark green and shiny above, and thick downy or velvety below. The _fruit_ is an acorn about one-half inch in length, borne singly or in pairs on stout stems, full or rounded at the end and faintly streaked, enclosed for about one-half its length in a thin-walled cup. Like all members of the black oak group, the fruit requires two seasons to mature. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, rather coarse-grained, and used for common lumber, shingles (whence it gets its common name), posts and firewood. The willow oak, _Quercus phellos_ L., is a river bottom tree rarely found in southern Illinois. It is readily identified by its leaves, which as the name implies, resemble those of the willows. These leaves are from two to four inches long and one-half to one inch wide, light green, shiny above and smooth beneath. +AMERICAN ELM+ _Ulmus americana_ L. THIS is a famous shade tree of New England, whose range, however, extends to the Rocky Mountains and southward to Texas. Within this vast area, it is generally common except in the high mountains. It reaches an average height of 60 to 70 feet and a diameter of 4 to 5 feet. The _bark_ is dark gray, divided into irregular, flat-topped thick ridges, and is generally firm, though on old trees it tends to come off in flakes. An incision into the inner bark will show alternate layers of brown and white. [Illustration: AMERICAN ELM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 4 to 6 inches long, rather thick, somewhat one-sided, doubly toothed on the margin, and generally smooth above and downy below. The leaf-veins are very pronounced and run in parallel lines from the mid-rib to leaf edge. The _winter buds_ are pointed, brown, ovoid and smooth. The _flowers_ are small, perfect, greenish, on slender stalks sometimes an inch long, appearing before the leaves in the early spring. The _fruit_ is a light green, oval shaped samara (winged fruit) with the seed portion in the center and surrounded entirely by a wing. This wing has a conspicuous notch at the end and is hairy on the margin, a mark distinctive of the species. The seed ripens in the spring and by its wing is widely disseminated by the wind. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and difficult to split. It is used for hubs of wheels, saddle trees, boats, ships, barrel hoops, and veneer for baskets and crates. Because of its spreading fan-shaped form, graceful pendulous branches, and long life, the white elm justly holds its place as one of the most desirable shade trees. The rock or cork elm, _Ulmus thomasi_ Sarg., is found occasionally in northern Illinois. Its excurrent branches are very different from those of other elms. Its twigs often have corky ridges and the winter buds are somewhat hairy. The winged elm, _Ulmus alata_ Michx., a small tree, is found in the southern part of the State. The twigs have two thin corky wings. +RED OR SLIPPERY ELM+ _Ulmus rubra_ Muhl. (_Ulmus fulva_ Michx.) THE red elm, or slippery elm, is a common tree in all sections of the State. It is found principally on the banks of streams and on low hillsides in rich soil. It is a tree of small to moderate size, but noticeably wide-spreading. It is usually less than 50 feet in height and 16 inches in diameter although trees of larger dimensions are occasionally found. [Illustration: SLIPPERY ELM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on the trunk is frequently one inch thick, dark grayish-brown, and broken by shallow fissures into flat ridges. The inner bark is used to some extent for medical purposes, as it is fragrant and when chewed, affords a slippery, mucilaginous substance, whence the tree gets its name. The _winter buds_ are large and conspicuously rusty-hairy. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate on the stem, 4 to 6 inches in length, sharp pointed, their bases unsymmetrical, doubly-toothed on the edges, thick, dark green, and rough on both sides. The _fruit_ consists of a seed surrounded by a thin, broad, greenish wing, about one-half an inch in diameter; the _flowers_ appear in early spring and the fruit ripens when the leaves are about half-grown. The _wood_ is close-grained, tough, strong, heavy, hard, moderately durable in contact with the soil. It is used for fence posts, crossties, agricultural implements, ribs for small boats and for some other purposes. The water elm, _Planera aquatica_ Gmel., is a small tree with slender branches forming a low broad head and is found in swamps in the valley of the Wabash River in this State. It reaches its best development in Arkansas and Louisiana. It has dull green leaves 2 inches long and 1 inch wide. The fruit is an oblong, dark brown drupe. +HACKBERRY+ _Celtis occidentalis_ L. THE rough-leaved hackberry is found sparsely throughout the State. It occurs most abundantly and of greatest size in the rich alluvial lands in the lower part of the State, but thrives, however, on various types of soil, from the poorest to the richest. It is usually a medium-sized tree from 30 to 50 feet high and 10 to 20 inches in diameter, but trees 3 feet in diameter are found in the Wabash bottoms in southern Illinois. Its limbs are often crooked and angular and bear a head made of slender, pendant branches or short, bristly, stubby twigs. In the open the crown is generally very symmetrical. It makes an excellent shade tree. [Illustration: HACKBERRY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ is grayish and generally rough with scale-like or warty projections of dead bark. In some instances the bark is smooth enough on the limbs to resemble that of the beech. The _leaves_ are simple, ovate, alternate, one-sided, 2 to 4 inches long, the edges toothed towards the long point. The _flowers_ are inconspicuous, and the two kinds are borne on the same tree. They appear in April or May, and are of a creamy, greenish color. The _fruit_ is a round, somewhat oblong drupe, or berry, from 1/4 to 1/3 of an inch in diameter. It has a thin, purplish skin, and sweet, yellowish flesh. From this characteristic it is sometimes called sugarberry. The berries frequently hang on the tree most of the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, rather soft, weak, and decays readily when exposed. It is used chiefly for fuel, but occasionally for lumber and railroad ties which are given preservative treatment. The southern hackberry, _Celtis leavigata_ Willd., having narrow leaves, is found occasionally along the streams in southern Illinois. The fruit hangs from the axils of the leaves on slender stems. It is orange-red in color, changing to purple-black as it matures. +OSAGE ORANGE+ _Maclura pomifera_ Schneid. THE osage orange, hedge apple, or mock orange, although not a native of Illinois, is found distributed throughout the State, but does not as a rule occur as a forest tree. It grows chiefly in open fields along fence rows, and as a pure hedge fence. Occasionally it reaches a height of 60 feet and a diameter of 30 inches, but more usually it is found from 20 to 40 feet in height and from 4 to 12 inches in diameter. This tree is sometimes used for shade, but mostly for hedges, and as living fence posts. The _bark_ is thin, gray, sometimes tinged with yellow, and on old trees divided into strips or flakes. The bark of the root is used as a yellow dye; that of the trunk has been used for tanning leather. [Illustration: OSAGE ORANGE Leaf and fruit, one-quarter natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are deciduous, with milky sap and producing stout axillary thorns. They are green on the upper surface, 3 to 5 inches long and 2 to 3 inches wide, and turn bright yellow in the autumn. The yellowish _flowers_ appear in May. They are of two kinds on the same tree--the staminate flowers in a linear cluster and the pistillate flowers in a rounded ball. The _fruit_ is globular, from 2 to 5 inches in diameter, somewhat resembling a very rough green orange. The _wood_ is heavy, exceedingly hard, very strong and very durable in contact with the soil. The heartwood is bright orange in color, turning brown upon exposure. The Indians called it "bois d'arc", or bow-wood, and used it for their finest bows. It does not shrink with weather changes. It is largely used for posts; sometimes for wheel-stock, lumber and fuel. +RED MULBERRY+ _Morus rubra_ L. THE red mulberry occurs throughout the State. It prefers the rich, moist soils of the lower and middle districts, but it is nowhere abundant. It is a small tree, rarely 50 feet high and 2 feet in diameter, often growing in the shade of larger trees. [Illustration: RED MULBERRY Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ is rather thin, dark reddish-brown, peeling off in long narrow flakes. The _leaves_ are alternate, thin, rounded or somewhat heart-shaped, toothed, pointed, 3 to 5 inches long, rough hairy above and soft hairy beneath. Often some of the leaves, especially on the young trees and thrifty shoots, are mitten-shaped or variously lobed. The _flowers_ are of two kinds, on the same or different trees, in drooping catkins. The catkins of the staminate flowers are about 2 inches long; the spikes of the pistillate flowers are about half as long and stand on short stalks. The _fruit_ is dark red or black, and resembles a blackberry; however, a stalk extends through it centrally, and it is longer and narrower. The fruit is sweet and edible and greatly relished by birds and various animals. The _wood_ is rather light, soft, not strong, light orange-yellow, very durable in contact with the soil. It is chiefly used for fence posts. The tree might be planted for this purpose and to furnish food for birds. The white mulberry, _Morus alba_ L., is a native of China, where its leaves are the chief food of the silkworm. Several varieties are planted for ornamental purposes. Its leaves are broad and smooth; its fruit is long, white, sweet, and insipid. A variety, under the name of the Russian mulberry, _Morus alba_ var. _tatarica_ Loudon, has been introduced into this country and has been cultivated for its fruit. This fruit varies from creamy white to violet and almost black. +CUCUMBER MAGNOLIA+ _Magnolia acuminata_ L. THE cucumber magnolia attains an average height of 40 to 80 feet and a diameter of 1 to 2 feet. It occurs singly among other hardwood trees throughout the richer, cooler north slopes and bottom lands of southern Illinois, in Union, Johnson, Pope, Alexander and Pulaski counties. [Illustration: CUCUMBER MAGNOLIA Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is aromatic and bitter; that of the young twigs is a lustrous red-brown, while the bark of the trunk is rather thin, dark brown, furrowed and broken into thin scales. The _leaves_ are alternate, oblong, short-pointed, rounded at the base, silky, hairy when unfolding, later smooth or slightly silky, 6 to 10 inches long, 4 to 6 inches wide, often with wavy edges, dark green above, lighter beneath. The _flowers_ are single, large--though smaller than those of the other magnolias--2-1/2 to 3 inches long. The six upright petals are whitish-green tinged with yellow. The _fruit_ is a smooth, dark red, often crooked "cone", 2-1/2 to 3 inches long, somewhat resembling, when green, a small cucumber. The seeds are 1/2 inch long, and covered with a pulpy, scarlet coat, which attracts the birds, particularly as the seeds hang by thin cords from the opening "cones." The _wood_ is light, soft, close-grained, durable, of a light yellow-brown color and is used for the same purposes as yellow poplar. It is quite desirable for roadside and ornamental planting. +TULIP TREE+ _Liriodendron tulipifera_ L. THE tulip tree, tulip poplar, is one of the tallest trees in the State with its straight trunk rising to a height of 125 feet. It is one of the largest and most valuable hardwood trees of the United States. It reaches its largest size in the deep moist soils along streams and in the cool ravines of southern Illinois. Vermilion County on the east and Randolph on the west side of the State represent its northern limit. As more commonly seen, it has a height of 60 to 100 feet and a diameter of 3 to 4 feet. Growing with a straight central trunk like the pines, and often clear of limbs for 30 to 50 feet, it has a narrow pyramidal head which in older age becomes more spreading. The tree has been extensively cut, but is reproducing rapidly and remains one of the most abundant and valuable trees in our young second-growth forests. It has been planted as an ornamental and shade tree. [Illustration: TULIP TREE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, 4 to 6 inches in length and breadth, 4-lobed, dark green in summer, turning to a clear yellow in fall. The greenish-yellow tulip-shaped _flowers_ appear in May or June. The _fruit_ is a narrow light brown, upright cone, 2 to 3 inches long, made up of seeds, each enclosed in a hard bony coat and provided with a wing which makes it easily carried by the wind. The _wood_ is light, soft, easily worked, light yellow or brown, with wide cream-colored sapwood. It is extensively cut into lumber for interior and exterior trim, vehicle bodies, veneers, turnery and other high-grade uses. It is marketed under the name yellow poplar, because of the yellow color of the heartwood. The tulip tree transplants easily, grows rapidly and forms a tall stem. It is one of the best trees for forest planting on good moist soil. It can be recommended for roadside planting because it grows tall and has a deep root system. Where conditions of life are not too severe, it may be used for shade tree planting. +PAPAW+ _Asimina triloba_ Dunal THE papaw, which grows as a small tree or large shrub, is very well known throughout the State, except in the northern parts, and is sometimes called the "wild banana" tree. Most commonly it occurs as an undergrowth in the shade of rich forests of the larger hardwood trees. Its range extends from New York westward to Iowa and southward to Florida and eastern Texas. When growing alone, however, it forms dense clumps on deep, moist soils in creek bottoms. The _bark_ is thin, dark grayish-brown, and smooth, or slightly fissured on old trees. [Illustration: PAPAW Leaf, one-quarter natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate on the stem, pear-shaped with pointed ends and tapering bases, smooth and light green above, from 8 to 10 inches long, clustered toward the ends of the branches. The dark purple, attractive _flowers_ appear with the leaves singly or in two's along the branch, measure nearly 2 inches across, and produce nectar which attracts the bees. When thoroughly ripe, the _fruit_ is delicious and nutritious. It measures from 3 to 5 inches in length, turns from greenish-yellow to very dark brown in color, and holds rounded or elongated seeds which separate readily from the pulp. The _wood_ is light, soft or spongy, and weak, greenish to yellowish in color, and of no commercial importance. Because of its handsome foliage, attractive flowers and curious fruit, the papaw has been much used in ornamental planting. +SASSAFRAS+ _Sassafras albidum_ Nees. THE sassafras is an aromatic tree, usually not over 40 feet in height or a foot in diameter in Illinois. It is common throughout the State on dry soils as far north as La Salle County, and is one of the first broad-leaf trees to come up on abandoned fields, where the seeds are dropped by birds. Its range extends from Maine, southern Ontario to Iowa and south to Florida and west to Texas. In parts of its range it attains large size. [Illustration: SASSAFRAS Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ of the trunk is thick, red-brown and deeply furrowed and that of the twigs is bright green. The _leaves_ are very characteristic. It is one of the few trees having leaves of widely different shape on the same tree, or even on the same twig. Some are oval and entire, 4 to 6 inches long; others have one lobe, resembling the thumb on a mitten; while still others are divided at the outer end into 3 distinct lobes. The young leaves and twigs are quite mucilaginous. The _flowers_ are clustered, greenish, yellow, and open with the first unfolding of the leaves. The staminate and pistillate flowers are usually on different trees. The _fruit_ is an oblong, dark blue or black, lustrous berry, containing one seed and surrounded at the base by what appears to be a small orange-red or scarlet cup at the end of a scarlet stalk. The _wood_ is light, soft, weak, brittle, and durable in the soil; the heartwood is dull orange-brown. It is used for posts, rails, boat building, cooperage and for ox-yokes. The bark of the roots yields the very aromatic oil of sassafras much used for flavoring candies and various commercial products. The sassafras deserves more consideration than it has received as a shade and ornamental tree. The autumnal coloring of its foliage is scarcely surpassed by any tree, and it is very free from insect pests. +SWEET GUM+ _Liquidambar styraciflua_ L. THE sweet or red gum is a very common tree on low lands in southern Illinois, but it is seldom found north of Jackson County in the west or north of Richland in the east. It is usually abundant in old fields or in cut-over woods. The _bark_ is a light gray, roughened by corky scales, later becoming deeply furrowed. After the second year the twigs often develop 2 to 4 corky projections of the bark, which give them a winged appearance. [Illustration: SWEET GUM Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The simple, alternate star-shaped _leaf_, with its 5 to 7 points or lobes, is 5 to 7 inches across and very aromatic. In the fall its coloring is brilliant, ranging from pale yellow through orange and red to a deep bronze. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree, unfolding with the leaves. The _fruit_ at first glance reminds one of the balls of the sycamore, but on closer inspection proves to be a head. It measures an inch or more in diameter and is made up of many capsules with projecting spines. It frequently hangs on the tree by its long swinging stem late into the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, moderately hard, close-grained, and not durable on exposure. The reddish-brown heartwood, which suggests the name, red gum, is not present to any appreciable extent in logs under 16 inches in diameter. In the South, the wood is extensively used for flooring, interior finish, paper pulp and veneers for baskets of all kinds. Veneers of the heartwood are largely used in furniture, sometimes as imitation mahogany or Circassian walnut. This tree should be more widely planted for ornamental use. +SYCAMORE+ _Platanus occidentalis_ L. THE sycamore, also called buttonwood, is considered the largest hardwood tree in North America. It occurs throughout the State, but is most abundant and reaches its largest size along streams and on rich bottom lands. It is one of the more rapidly-growing trees. In maturity it occasionally attains a height of 140 to 170 feet and a diameter of 10 to 11 feet. It often forks into several large secondary trunks, and the massive spreading limbs form an open head sometimes 100 feet across. [Illustration: SYCAMORE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ of the sycamore is a characteristic feature. On the younger trunk and large limbs it is very smooth, greenish-gray in color. The outer bark yearly flakes off in large patches and exposes the nearly white younger bark. Near the base of the old trees the bark becomes thick, dark brown and divided by deep furrows. The _flowers_ are very small and arranged in dense globular green heads. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 4 to 7 inches long and about as broad, light green and smooth above, and paler below. The base of the leafstalk is hollow and in falling off exposes the winter bud. The _fruit_ is a ball about 1 inch in diameter, conspicuous throughout the winter as it hangs on its flexible stem, which is 3 to 5 inches long. During early spring, the fruit ball breaks up, and the small seeds are widely scattered by the wind. The _wood_ is hard and moderately strong, but decays rapidly in the ground. It is used for butchers' blocks, tobacco boxes, furniture and interior finish. The tree grows rapidly, bears transplanting well and is often planted as a shade tree. The European sycamore or London plane tree, _Platanus acerifolia_ Willd., is less subject to disease than our native species and has been widely planted in this country for ornament and shade. The leaves are more deeply lobed than our sycamore and there are two or three fruit balls on each stem. +WILD CRAB APPLE+ _Malus ioensis_ Britton THE wild crab apple, or prairie crab, is found throughout Illinois forming small trees 20 to 30 feet high with trunks from 6 to 12 inches in diameter. In the open it develops a broad open crown with rigid, contorted branches bearing many short, spur-like branchlets, some of which develop into sharp rigid thorns. Under less favorable conditions, these crab apples often form bushy shrubs. [Illustration: WILD CRAB APPLE Flower, fruit and leaves one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on the branches is smooth, thin and red-brown in color, while on the trunk the thicker bark often breaks into scales. The twigs are at first hoary-hairy, but soon become smooth and reddish. The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 3 to 4 inches long and almost as broad. They are sometimes slightly lobed and sharply and deeply toothed. They are dark green and shiny above, but pale and hairy beneath, borne on stout, hairy petioles. The _flowers_, which are from one to two inches broad, are borne in clusters of 3 to 8, on wooly pedicels about an inch long. The white or rosy petals form a cup which surrounds the numerous stamens and the five styles. The calyx is pubescent. The _fruit_ ripens in October, forming a globose, pale green, very fragrant apple with a waxy surface. It is about an inch in diameter, flattened at each end. Like the other crabs, its handsome flowers have a delicious fragrance which makes the tree popular for planting for ornamental purposes. The fruit is sometimes gathered for jelly. The _wood_ is heavy, close-grained and reddish-brown. The wild sweet crab, _Malus coronaria_ Mill., differs from the above in having more nearly smooth leaves and calyx. It is rarely found in Illinois but is common in Ohio. A cultivated variety, _Malus ioensis plena_ Rheder, is sold under the name of Bechtel's crab, and has large, double, rosy-pink blossoms. +SERVICE BERRY+ _Amelanchier arborea_ (Michx. f.) Fern. (_Amelanchier canadensis_ Medic.) THE downy service berry, or shadblow, as it is more commonly called in the East, has little economic importance except for its frequency throughout the State and the touch of beauty its flowers give to our forests early in the spring before the foliage has come out. It is a small tree 20 to 50 feet high and seldom over 8 inches in diameter, with a rather narrow, rounded top but is often little more than shrub. The name shadblow was given by the early settlers who noticed that it blossomed when the shad were running up the streams. [Illustration: SERVICE BERRY One-half natural size.] The _bark_ is smooth and light gray, and shallowly fissured into scaly ridges. The _winter buds_ are long and slender. The _leaves_ are alternate, slender-stalked, ovate, pointed, finely toothed, 2 to 4 inches long, densely white-hairy when young, then becoming a light green, and covered with scattered silky hairs. The white _flowers_ appear in erect or drooping clusters in early spring, before the leaves, making the tree quite conspicuous in the leafless or budding forest. The petals are slender and rather more than a half inch long. The _fruit_ is sweet, edible, rounded, reddish-purple when ripe, 1/3 to 1/2 an inch in diameter, ripening early in June. Birds and denizens of the forest are very fond of the berries. The _wood_ is heavy, exceedingly hard, strong, close-grained and dark brown. It is occasionally used for handles. This is a desirable ornamental tree and should be planted for this purpose and to encourage the birds. The smooth service berry, _Amelanchier leavis_ Wieg., differs from the above species in having smooth leaves, dark green and slightly glaucous when mature, and they are half grown at flowering time. The fruit is sweet, purple or nearly black, glaucous and edible. +COCK-SPUR THORN+ _Crataegus crus-galli_ L. THE hawthorns, or thorn-apples, are small trees or shrubs of the apple family which are widely distributed throughout the northeastern United States, with fewer species in the South and West. In North America, no less than 150 species have been distinguished, but their proper identification is a task for the expert. There are about a dozen haws that reach tree size in Illinois, attaining a height of 20 to 30 feet and a stem diameter of 8 to 12 inches. Of these, perhaps the best known is the cock-spur thorn with its many strong straight spines and shining leaves. Its _bark_ is pale gray and scaly. Its _winter buds_ are small, globose and lustrous brown. [Illustration: COCK-SPUR THORN Flowers and fruit one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are conspicuous because of their dark green glossy surface. They are broadest toward the apex tapering to the short petiole. They vary in size in different localities, the smaller-leaved varieties seem to be more frequently met with in the southern part of the State than in the north. These leaves are alternate, wedge-shaped, notched on the edges, and from 2 to 3 inches long. The _flowers_ are rather small, arranged in flat-topped clusters, white in color, with about a dozen pink stamens. The _fruit_ is 1/3 inch thick, greenish-red; the flesh is hard and dry. This haw is one of the best for planting for ornamental purposes; with its spreading branches, it forms a broad, rounded crown. It is hardy and succeeds in a great variety of soils. The dotted hawthorn, _Crataegus punctata_ Jacq., also has wedge-shaped leaves but they are leathery, dull gray-green in color with conspicuous veins. The tree reaches a height of 25 feet with distinctly horizontal branches forming a broad flat crown. It is often almost without thorns. The fruit is oblong, dull red with pale dots, becoming mellow. The pear-thorn, _Crataegus calpodendron_ Med., is a smaller tree, with broader leaves, very few thorns and pear-shaped fruit. The haw is scarlet or orange-red, the flesh is thin and sweet. +RED HAW+ _Crataegus mollis_ Scheele LIKE almost all the hawthorns, the red haw is a tree of the pasture lands, the roadside, the open woods and the stream banks. It is the largest of our haws, occasionally reaching a height of 30 feet, with ascending branches usually forming a low conical crown. The twigs are hairy during the first season, but are soon smooth, slender, nearly unarmed or occasionally armed with stout, curved thorns. [Illustration: RED HAW Flowers one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are ovate or nearly orbicular, coarsely toothed nearly to the base, usually 3 to 5 pairs of broad, shallow lobes. Both surfaces are hairy. The _flowers_ are often nearly an inch across, in compact clusters. They have about 20 cream-colored, densely hairy stamens. The _fruit_, or the haw, is large, nearly 3/4 inch across, bright crimson or scarlet in color. The edible sweet flesh is firm but mellow, surrounding 5 bony seeds. It is often used for making jelly. The _wood_ is strong, tough, heavy and hard, and is used for mallets, tool handles and such small articles. The Washington thorn, _Crataegus phaenopyrum_ Med., is a smaller tree, with bright red fruit, but its broad leaves are smooth and bright green. The flowers are small, in very large clusters, followed by small bright scarlet edible haws. In the southern half of Illinois, growing on moist river bottoms, the green haw, _Crataegus viridis_ L., becomes a tree 20 feet tall. The broad leaves are dark green and quite smooth. The fruit is small but produced in large clusters becoming bright red or orange-red as it ripens. +WILD PLUM+ _Prunus americana_ Marsh. THE common wild plum, or yellow plum, is a small tree which at a height usually of 3 to 6 feet divides into many spreading branches, often drooping at the ends. Not uncommonly it grows in thickets where it attains only large shrub size. The value of the tree lies in its fruit from which jelly and preserves are made, and its handsome form, and foliage, pure white fragrant flowers, and showy fruit which make it desirable for ornamental planting. [Illustration: WILD PLUM Three-quarters natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, oval, pointed, sharply toothed, (often doubly toothed) along the margin, thick and firm, 3 to 4 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, narrowed or rounded at the base, and prominently veined on both surfaces. The _flowers_ appear in numerous small clusters before, or simultaneously with, the leaves, and are white with small bright red portions in the center. The _fruit_, or plum, which ripens in late summer, is red or orange colored, about an inch in diameter, contains a stone or pit that is flattened and about as long as the pulpy part, and varies rather widely in its palatability. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, close-grained, reddish-brown in color and has no especial commercial uses. The Canada plum, _Prunus nigra_ Ait., is similar to the common wild plum, but the teeth of the leaves are blunt, the leaves are thin and the fruit is orange in color, almost without bloom. The wild goose plum, _Prunus hortulana_ Bailey, has thin lance-shaped leaves; its flowers have short petals and it has a rather hard, small globular fruit. +BLACK CHERRY+ _Prunus serotina_ Ehrh. A common tree in Illinois and attaining sizes up to about 70 feet in height and 1 to 3 feet in diameter, black cherry as a tree is found all over the State. The forest-grown trees have long clear trunks with little taper; open-grown trees have spreading crowns. The _bark_ on branches and young trees is smooth and bright reddish-brown, marked by conspicuous, narrow white, horizontal lines, and has a bitter-almond taste. On the older trunks the bark becomes rough and broken into thick, irregular plates. [Illustration: BLACK CHERRY Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, oval to lance-like in shape, with edges broken by many fine incurved teeth, thick and shiny above, and paler beneath. The _fruit_ is dull purplish-black, about as large as a pea, and is borne in long hanging clusters. It ripens in late summer, and is edible, although it has a slightly bitter taste. The _wood_ is reddish-brown with yellowish sapwood, moderately heavy, hard, strong, fine-grained, and does not warp or split in seasoning. It is valuable for its lustre and color and is used for furniture, interior finish, tools, and implement handles. With the exception of black walnut, black cherry lumber has a greater unit value than any other hardwood of the eastern United States. The wild cherry, _Prunus pennsylvanica_ L., is a small tree, growing on light soils, in the northern part of the State. The bark is a dark reddish-brown; the leaves are lance-shaped bright green and shiny above, while the fruit is round and bright red in color. The choke cherry, _Prunus virginiana_ L., is common along fences and under larger trees in the forest in the northern half of the State. It seldom becomes a tree but it bears a fruit which is sweet but very astringent and is dark purple when ripe. +HONEY LOCUST+ _Gleditsia triacanthos_ L. THE honey locust occurs scattered throughout the State. It grows under a wide variety of soil and moisture conditions. It sometimes occurs in the forest, but more commonly in corners and waste places beside roads and fields. It reaches a diameter of 30 inches and a height of 75 feet. The _bark_ on old trees is dark gray and is divided into thin tight scales. The strong thorns--straight, brown, branched, sharp and shiny which grow on the 1-year-old wood and remain for many years--are sufficient to identify the honey locust. [Illustration: HONEY LOCUST Twig, three-quarters natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaf_ is pinnate, or feather-like with 18 to 28 leaflets; or it is twice-pinnate, consisting of 4 to 7 pairs of pinnae or secondary leaflets, each 6 to 8 inches long and somewhat resembling the leaf of the black locust. The _flowers_ which appear when the leaves are nearly full-grown are inconspicuous, greenish-yellow and rich in honey. The petals vary from 3 to 5, the stamens are 3 to 10 and the ovary is wooly and one-celled. The _fruit_ is a pod, 10 to 18 inches long, often twisted, 1 to 1-1/2 inches wide, flat, dark brown or black when ripe and containing yellow sweetish pulp and seeds. The seeds are very hard and each is separated from the others by the pulp. The pods are eaten by many animals, and as the seeds are hard to digest, many are thus widely scattered from the parent tree. The _wood_ is coarse-grained, hard, strong and moderately durable in contact with the ground. It is used for fence posts and crossties. It should not be confused with the very durable wood of the black locust. The water locust, _Gleditsia aquatica_ Marsh., is found in river bottoms in southern Illinois, becoming a medium sized tree. It may be known by its short pods, 1 to 2 inches long, with only 2 or 3 seeds. +REDBUD+ _Cercis canadensis_ L. THE redbud is a small tree occurring under taller trees or on the borders of fields or hillsides and in valleys throughout the State. It ordinarily attains a height of 25 to 50 feet and a diameter of 6 to 12 inches. Its stout branches usually form a wide flat head. [Illustration: REDBUD Leaf, one-fourth natural size. Twig, and flowers, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is bright red-brown, the long narrow plates separating into thin scales. The _leaves_ are alternate, heart-shaped, entire 3 to 5 inches long and wide, glossy green turning in autumn to a bright clear yellow. The conspicuous bright purplish-red, pea-shaped _flowers_ are in clusters along the twigs and small branches and appear before or with the leaves in early spring. The _fruit_ is an oblong, flattened, many seeded pod, 2 to 4 inches long, reddish during the summer, and often hanging on the tree most of the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, not strong, rich, dark brown in color, and of little commercial importance. The redbud is cultivated as an ornamental tree and for that purpose might be planted more generally in this State. The Kentucky coffee-tree, _Gymnocladus dioicus_ K. Koch, though not anywhere a common tree, is found on rich bottom lands throughout the State. The much-divided leaves are 2 to 3 feet long. The pods are 5 to 8 inches long and 1 to 2 inches wide and contain hard seeds 3/4 inch long. It has few qualities to recommend it for ornamental planting. +BLACK LOCUST+ _Robinia pseudoacacia_ L. THE black locust is a native to the Appalachian Mountains but has been introduced into Illinois, and now occurs throughout the entire State growing on all soils and under all conditions of moisture except in swamps. It is found generally in thickets on clay banks and waste places or along fence rows. [Illustration: BLACK LOCUST Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig and flower, two-thirds natural size.] The twigs and branchlets are armed with straight or slightly curved sharp, strong spines, sometimes as much as 1 inch in length which remain attached to the outer bark for many years. The _bark_ is dark brown and divides into strips as the tree grows older. The _leaves_ are pinnate, or featherlike, from 6 to 10 inches in length, consisting of from 7 to 19 oblong thin leaflets. The _flowers_ are fragrant, white or cream-colored, and appear in early spring in graceful pendent racemes. The _fruit_ is a pod from 3 to 5 inches long containing 4 to 8 small hard seeds which ripen late in the fall. The pod splits open during the winter, discharging the seeds. Some seeds usually remain attached to each half of the pod; the pod thus acts as a wing upon which the seeds are borne to considerable distances before the strong spring winds. The _wood_ is yellow in color, coarse-grained, very heavy, very hard, strong, and very durable in contact with the soil. It is used extensively for fence posts, poles, tree nails, insulator pins and occasionally for lumber and fuel. The tree is very rapid in growth in youth but short-lived. It spreads by underground shoots and is useful for holding and reclaiming badly gullied lands. The usefulness of the black locust is, however, very greatly limited by the fact that it is subject to great damage from an insect known as the locust borer. +TREE OF HEAVEN+ _Ailanthus altissima_ Swingle THIS tree is a native of China but planted in Illinois because of its tropical foliage. It has escaped and become naturalized. It is a handsome, rapid-growing, short-lived tree, attaining a height of 40 to 60 feet, and a trunk diameter of 2 to 3 feet. Its crown is spreading, rather loose and open. The twigs are smooth and thick with a large reddish-brown pith. The _winter buds_ are small, globular and hairy, placed just above the large leaf-scars. [Illustration: TREE OF HEAVEN Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf and fruit, one-fourth natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, pinnately compound and one to three feet long. The leaflets number from 11 to 41, are smooth, dark green above, paler beneath, turning a clear yellow in autumn. The _flowers_ appear soon after the leaves are full grown, on different trees, borne in large upright panicles. They are small yellow-green in color with 5 petals and 10 stamens. The staminate flowers have a disagreeable odor. The _fruit_, ripening in October but remaining on the tree during the winter, is a one-seeded samara, spirally twisted, borne in crowded clusters. The tree of heaven is useful for landscape planting, succeeding in all kinds of soils and all kinds of growing conditions. It makes a rapid showing and is practically free from all diseases and insect injury. +SMOOTH SUMAC+ _Rhus glabra_ L. THE smooth sumac is usually a tall shrub but occasionally it develops as a tree 20 to 25 feet tall with a trunk diameter of 6 to 10 inches. A few large spreading branches form a broad, flat, open head. The twigs are smooth and glabrous and have a thick, light brown pith with small round winter buds. [Illustration: SMOOTH SUMAC Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf and fruit, one-fourth natural size.] The compound _leaves_ are 6 to 18 inches long, composed of 9 to 27 leaflets with sharply notched margins. They are dark green above, whitish beneath, changing to red, purple and yellow early in the autumn. The _flowers_ are small and green, produced in dense terminal panicles. The _fruit_ is a small globose berry, covered with crimson hairs and has a pleasant acid taste. The conspicuous deep red panicles of fruit remain unchanged on the tree during the winter. The _wood_ is light and of a golden yellow color. Either as a tree, or as a shrub, the smooth sumac is excellent for ornamental planting, being particularly desirable on terraces or hillsides, where mass effects are desired. It transplants very readily and spreads freely. The staghorn sumac, _Rhus typhina_ L., is a slightly taller tree, as it reaches a height of 20 to 35 feet, and a stem diameter of 8 to 12 inches. The twigs and leaves are similar to those of the smooth sumac but are conspicuously hairy. Its occurrence is limited to the northern part of the State. The shining sumac, _Rhus copallina_ L., usually occurs in shrub form but it occasionally reaches a height of 20 feet with a stem diameter of 6 inches. The leaves are smooth above but somewhat hairy beneath with a winged rachis and about 9 to 21 leaflets that are slightly toothed. Late in the summer its foliage turns a brilliant red. The fruit clusters are much smaller than the preceding species. It is found throughout the State. +SUGAR MAPLE+ _Acer saccharum_ Marsh. THE sugar maple is an important member of the climax forests which stretch from Maine to Minnesota and southward to Texas and Florida. It is an associate of the hemlocks and the birches in the North, with the beeches and chestnuts through the middle states, with the oaks in the West and with the tulip and the magnolias in the South. In Illinois it is a common and favorite tree throughout the State. In the open it grows fairly rapidly and has a very symmetrical, dense crown, affording heavy shade. It is, therefore, quite extensively planted as a shade tree. The _bark_ on young trees is light gray and brown and rather smooth, but as the tree grows older, it breaks up into long, irregular plates or scales, which vary from light gray to almost black. The twigs are smooth and reddish-brown, and the _winter buds_ are smooth and sharp-pointed. The tree attains a height of more than 100 feet and a diameter of 3 feet or more. The sap yields maple sugar and maple syrup. [Illustration: SUGAR MAPLE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are 3 to 5 inches across, simple, opposite, with 3 to 5 pointed and sparsely-toothed lobes, the divisions between the lobes being rounded. The leaves are dark green on the upper surface, lighter green beneath, turning in autumn to brilliant shades of dark red, scarlet, orange and clear yellow. The _flowers_ are yellowish-green, on long threadlike stalks, appearing with the leaves, the two kinds in separate clusters. The _fruit_, which ripens in the fall, consists of a two-winged "samara", or "key", the two wings nearly parallel, each about 1 inch in length and containing a seed. It is easily carried by the wind. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, close-grained and light brown in color. It is known, commercially as hard maple, and is used in the manufacture of flooring, furniture, shoe-lasts and a great variety of novelties. The black maple, _Acer nigrum_ Michx., occurs with the sugar maple with darker bark. The leaves are usually wider than long, yellow-green and downy beneath, and the base of the petioles enlarged. The two lower lobes are very small; the lobes are undulate or entire. +SILVER MAPLE+ _Acer saccharinum_ L. THE silver or river maple, also called the soft maple, occurs on moist land and along streams. It attains heights of 100 feet or more and diameters of 3 feet or over. It usually has a short trunk which divides into a number of large ascending limbs. These again subdivide, and the branches droop but turn upward at the tips. The _bark_ on the old stems is dark gray and broken into long flakes or scales; on the young shoots it is smooth and varies in color from reddish to a yellowish-gray. The silver maple grows rapidly and has been much planted as a shade tree. Because of the brittleness of its wood, it is often damaged by summer storms and winter sleet. [Illustration: SILVER MAPLE Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite on the stem, have from 3 to 5 lobes ending in long points with toothed edges and are separated by deep angular sinuses or openings; they are pale green on the upper surface and silvery-white underneath. The buds are rounded, red or reddish-brown, blunt-pointed; generally like those of red maple. The _flowers_ appear in the spring before the leaves, in dense clusters, and are of a greenish-yellow color. The _fruit_ ripens in late spring. It consists of a pair of winged seeds or "keys" with wings 1 to 2 inches long on slender, flexible, threadlike stems about an inch long. The _wood_ is soft, weak, even-textured, rather brittle, easily worked, and decays readily when exposed. It is considerably used for boxboards, furniture, veneers and fuel. The red maple, or swamp maple, _Acer rubrum_ L., has leaves deeply lobed with the lobes sharply toothed. The autumn color is deep red. The flowers also are red and the fruit is small reddish, maturing late in spring. +BOX ELDER+ _Acer negundo_ L. THE box elder is a fairly rapidly growing tree, found commonly along streams rather generally over the State. It is a tree of medium size, rarely reaching over 24 inches in diameter and 60 to 70 feet in height. It has been considerably planted for shade because in good soil its growth is rapid. Its limbs and branches, however, are fragile, and the tree as a whole is rather subject to disease. It is not long-lived or generally satisfactory for any purpose. It is prolific in reproduction but is largely destroyed by grazing and cultivation. [Illustration: BOX ELDER Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ on young branches is smooth and green to purple in color; on old trees it is thin, grayish to light brown and deeply divided. The _leaves_ are compound, with usually 3 leaflets (rarely 5 or 7), opposite, smooth and lustrous, green, and borne on a leaf stem or petiole 2 to 3 inches long. The leaflets are 2 to 4 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, making the whole leaf 5 to 8 inches in length. The _fruit_ is a samara, or key, winged similarly to that of a sugar maple, but smaller. It ripens in late summer or early fall, and so is like its close relative, the sugar maple, but unlike its close relatives, the red maple and silver maple. The _wood_ is soft, light, weak, close-grained and decays readily in contact with heat and moisture. It is used occasionally for fuel. The Norway maple, _Acer platanoides_ L., is a European species which has been extensively planted. It forms a round, spreading crown of stout branches with coarse twigs. The leaves resemble those of the sugar maple but somewhat broader and the petioles exude a milky juice when cut. The flowers are larger than those of our native maples and fruit is large with diverging wings. It holds its leaves longer in the fall and the autumn coloring is pale yellow. It succeeds well as a city shade tree. +OHIO BUCKEYE+ _Aesculus glabra_ Willd. THE buckeye is rare in the northern fourth of Illinois, but is known in the rest of the State, forming no considerable part of the forest stand. It reaches a height of 60 to 70 feet and a diameter of 18 to 24 inches. The trunk is usually short, limby, and knotty. The crown or head, is generally open and made up of small spreading branches and twigs orange-brown to reddish-brown in color. The _bark_ is light gray and, on old trees, divided or broken into flat scales, which make the stem of the tree rough; the bark is ill-smelling when bruised. [Illustration: OHIO BUCKEYE Twig, two-thirds natural size. Nut, one-third natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite on the twigs, compound and consisting of 5 long-oval, rarely 7, pointed, toothed, yellow-green leaflets, set like the fingers of a hand at the top of slender petioles 4 to 6 inches long. They usually turn yellow and then fall early in the autumn. The _flowers_ appear after the leaves unfold; are cream-colored; in terminal panicles 5 to 7 inches long and 2 to 3 inches broad, quite downy. The _fruit_ is a thick, leathery, prickly capsule about an inch in diameter, and, breaking into 2 or 3 valves, discloses the bright, shiny, mahogany colored seeds, or nuts. The _wood_ is light, soft and weak, and decays rapidly when exposed. It is used for woodenware, artificial limbs, paper pulp, and for lumber and fuel. The horse-chestnut, _Aesculus hippocastanum_ L., is a handsome European tree with a very symmetrical crown. The flowers are larger than those of our native species and add beauty to the foliage. It forms a desirable shade tree. +BASSWOOD+ _Tilia americana_ L. THE basswood, or American linden, is a rather tall tree with a broad, round-topped crown. It ranges throughout Illinois and may be found wherever rich, wooded slopes, moist stream banks and cool ravines occur. It grows best in river bottoms, where it is common and forms a valuable timber tree, attaining a height of 80 feet and a diameter of 4 feet. The _bark_ is light brown, deeply furrowed and the inner bark furnishes bast for making mats. [Illustration: BASSWOOD Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are broadly heart-shaped, 3 to 6 inches long, coarsely saw-toothed, smooth on both sides, except for some hairs on the axils of the veins. They are dark above but light green beneath. The _flowers_ are yellowish-white, in drooping clusters opening in early summer, and flower stem is united to the middle of a long narrow leaf-like bract. They are very fragrant and from them the bees make a large amount of choice grade honey. The _fruit_ is a berry-like, dry, 1 or 2 seeded, rounded nutlet 1/4 to 1/2 an inch in diameter, covered with short, thick and brownish wool. It remains attached in clusters to the leafy bract, which later acts as a wing to bear it away on the wind. The _wood_ is light, soft, tough, not durable, light brown in color. It is used in the manufacture of pulp, woodenware, furniture, trunks, excelsior and many other articles. It makes a fine shade tree, grows rapidly and is easily transplanted. The white basswood, _Tilia heterophylla_ Vent., is similar to the preceding species, but with somewhat lighter bark. The leaves are larger, dark yellow-green above, the under surface being generally densely covered with short, silvery or gray hairs with tufts of brown hairs in the axils of the veins. It is more plentiful in the southern part of the State. +FLOWERING DOGWOOD+ _Cornus florida_ L. THE flowering dogwood is rare in the northern third of the State. It is a small tree, growing under the larger forest trees, usually 15 to 30 feet in height and 6 to 12 inches in diameter, with a rather flat and spreading crown and short, often crooked trunk. The _bark_ is reddish-brown to black and broken up into small 4-sided scaly blocks. [Illustration: FLOWERING DOGWOOD Leaf and flowers, one-half natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite, ovate, 3 to 5 inches long, 2 to 3 inches wide, pointed, entire or wavy on the margin, bright green above, pale green or grayish beneath. The _flowers_, which unfold from the conspicuous round, grayish, winter flower buds before the leaves come out, are small greenish-yellow, arranged in dense heads surrounded by large white or rarely pinkish petal-like bracts, which give the appearance of large spreading flowers 2 to 4 inches across. The _fruit_ is a bright scarlet "berry", 1/2 inch long and containing a hard nutlet in which are 1 or 2 seeds. Usually several fruits, or "berries", are contained in one head. They are relished by birds, squirrels and other animals. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, very close-grained, brown to red in color. It is in great demand for cotton-mill machinery, turnery handles and forms. One other tree has quite similar wood--the persimmon. The dogwood, with its masses of early spring flowers, its dark red autumn foliage and its bright red berries, is probably our most ornamental native tree. It should be used much more extensively in roadside and ornamental planting. The alternate-leaved dogwood, _Cornus alternifolia_ L., occasionally reaches tree size with long slender branches arranged in irregular whorls giving the tree a storied effect. The flowers are small, followed by blue-black fruit borne in loose red-stemmed clusters. +SOUR GUM+ _Nyssa sylvatica_ Marsh. THE sour gum, often called black gum, is found in many types of soil and in most conditions of soil moisture in southern Illinois, but it becomes rare in the northern half of the State. In lowlands, it is occasionally found in year-round swamps with cypress, and in the hills on dry slopes with oaks and hickories. [Illustration: SOUR GUM One-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, 2 to 3 inches long, entire, often broader near the apex, shiny, dark green in color. In the fall the leaves turn a most brilliant red. The _bark_ on younger trees is furrowed between flat ridges, and gradually develops into quadrangular blocks that are dense, hard and nearly black. Most of the branches are nearly horizontal. The greenish _flowers_ on long slender stems appear in early spring when the leaves are about one-third grown. They are usually of two kinds, the male in many-flowered heads and the female in two to several-flowered clusters on different trees. The _fruit_ is a dark blue, fleshy berry, 2/3 of an inch long, containing a single hard-shelled seed, and is borne on long stems, 2 to 3 in a cluster. The _wood_ is very tough, cross-grained, not durable in contact with the soil, hard to work, and warps easily. It is used for crate and basket veneers, box shooks, rollers, mallets, rough floors, mine trams, pulpwood and fuel. The tupelo gum, or cotton gum, _Nyssa aquatica_ L., is found in deep river swamps which are flooded during a part of the year. It occurs in 4 or 5 of the southern counties of Illinois in cypress swamps. The enlarged base and the larger fruit serve to distinguish it from the sour gum. This fruit or "plum" is about an inch long, dark purple and has a tough skin enclosing a flattened stone. The wood is light, soft, and not strong and is used for woodenware, handles, fruit and vegetable packages. +PERSIMMON+ _Diospyros virginiana_ L. THE persimmon, often called "simmon", is well known throughout its range. It is a small tree, rarely exceeding 50 feet in height and 1 inch in diameter, occurring throughout the State from the southern part north to Peoria County. It seems to prefer dry, open situations, and is most abundant in the old fields, though it also occurs on rich bottom lands. The _bark_ of old trees is almost black and separated into thick nearly square blocks, much like the black gum. [Illustration: PERSIMMON Leaf, one-half natural size. Twig, three-quarters natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, oval, entire, 4 to 6 inches long, dark green and shining above, paler beneath. The small _flowers_, which appear in May, are yellowish or creamy white, somewhat bell-shaped, the two kinds occurring on separate trees; the male in clusters of 2 or 3, the female solitary. They are visited by many insects. The _fruit_ is a pulpy, round, orange-colored or brown berry, an inch or more in diameter and containing several flattened, hard, smooth seeds. It is strongly astringent while green, but quite sweet and delicious when thoroughly ripe. The _wood_ is hard, dense, heavy, strong, the heartwood brown or black, the wide sapwood white or yellowish. It is particularly valued for shuttles, golf-stick heads, and similar special uses, but is not of sufficient commercial use to warrant its general encouragement as a timber tree. The Hercules' club, _Aralia spinosa_ L., grows to tree size in southern Illinois, with a spiny stem 25 to 30 feet tall and a flat-topped head. The doubly compound leaves are often more than 3 feet long. Its small greenish-white flowers are followed by large clusters of purple juicy berries. It is desirable for ornamental planting. +WHITE ASH+ _Fraxinus americana_ L. THE white ash is found throughout the State, but grows to best advantage in the rich moist soils of bottom lands. It reaches an average height of 50 to 80 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet, though much larger trees are found in virgin forests. The _bark_ varies in color from a light gray to a gray-brown. The rather narrow ridges are separated with marked regularity by deep, diamond-shaped fissures. [Illustration: WHITE ASH Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The opposite _leaves_ of the white ash are from 8 to 12 inches long and have from 5 to 9 plainly stalked, sharp-pointed leaflets, dark green and smooth above, pale green beneath. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on different trees, the staminate in dense reddish-purple clusters and the pistillate in more open bunches. The _fruit_ of the ash is winged, 1 to 1-1/2 inches long, resembling the blade of a canoe paddle in outline, with the seed at the handle end. The fruits mature in late summer and are distributed effectively by the winds. The _wood_ of the white ash is extremely valuable on account of its toughness and elasticity. It is preferred to all other native woods for small tool handles, such athletic implements as rackets, bats, and oars, and agricultural implements. It is also used extensively for furniture and interior finish. The green ash, _Fraxinus pennsylvanica lanceolata_ Sarg., is common in stream valleys throughout the State. The hairy form of this tree is known as the red ash. This species differs from the white ash in having the leaves bright green or yellow-green on both sides. The fruit has the wing portion extending well down past the middle of the seed-bearing part, and with the wing sometimes square or slightly notched at the outer end. The wood is similar to that of the white ash, but is not quite so tough. +BLUE ASH+ _Fraxinus quadrangulata_ Michx. THE blue ash is not very common but widely distributed in the upland portions of the State, where it is limited to limestone bluffs, occasionally descending to the adjacent bottom lands. It becomes a large tree 60 feet or more in height with a trunk 2 feet in diameter. The young twigs are usually square, sometimes winged or 4-ridged between the leaf bases. [Illustration: BLUE ASH Leaf, one-third natural size. Fruit and twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is light gray tinged with red, 1/2 to 2/3 inch thick, irregularly divided into large plate-like scales. Macerating the inner bark in water yields a blue dye. The _leaves_ are 8 to 12 inches long, having 7 to 11 stalked leaflets, long pointed and coarsely toothed, thick and firm, smooth and yellowish-green above, paler beneath. The _flowers_ are without petals and appear in clusters when the buds begin to expand. The _fruit_ is flattened and oblong, 1 to 2 inches long and less than 1/2 inch wide and usually notched at the outer end. The wing is about twice the length of the seed-bearing portion and extends down the sides past the middle. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, and close-grained, light yellow, streaked with brown, with a very broad zone of lighter sapwood. It is not usually distinguished commercially from the wood of other ashes. The pumpkin ash, _Fraxinus tomentosa_ Michx., grows in deep river swamps in southern Illinois. It is a tall slender tree, usually with a much enlarged base. The twigs are light gray. The leaves, with 7 to 9 leaflets, smooth above and soft downy below, are from 10 to 18 inches long. The black ash, _Fraxinus nigra_ Marsh., appears occasionally on the flood plains in the northern part of the State. It may be known by its ashy light gray bark, its very thick twigs and sessile, long-pointed sharply serrate leaflets. +CATALPA+ _Catalpa speciosa_ Warder THIS is a native to the Wabash Valley of Illinois, but has been widely planted and has spread somewhat farther as a result of cultivation. It is a medium sized tree with a short trunk and broad head with spreading branches. Because of its attractive flowers and conspicuous heart-shaped leaves, it is considerably used for shade and ornament. The _bark_ varies from dark gray to brown, slightly rough, being divided in narrow shallow strips or flakes. The _leaves_ are simple, opposite, oval, long-pointed, 6 to 10 inches long, and heart-shaped at the base. [Illustration: CATALPA Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _flowers_ appear in clusters or panicles in May or June. They are white with purple and yellow markings, and this makes them decidedly showy and attractive. The _fruit_ consists of a bean-like pod, 8 to 16 inches long. It hangs on the tree over winter and gradually splits into 2 parts, or valves. The seeds are about 1 inch long and terminate in wings that are rounded and short-fringed at the ends. They are freely carried by the wind. The _wood_ is rather soft, light, coarse-grained and durable in contact with the soil. It is used for fence posts, poles and fuel, and occasionally for railroad ties. The paulownia, _Paulownia tomentosa_ (Thumb). Steud., is a large tree native of China with the aspect of the catalpa with broad opposite leaves. Its upright pyramidal clusters of pale violet flowers which appear with the unfolding of the leaves are strikingly handsome. The individual flowers are bell-shaped, two inches long and spotted with darker purple. DEPARTMENT OF CONSERVATION Division of Forestry THE State Division of Forestry was organized in 1926 as a division of the Department of Conservation. It was organized at that time as a result of an increased need for proper forestry practices within the State on the part of the owners of timber land and potential timber lands. The objectives of the Division are as follows: 1. To promote and assist in the reforestation of idle lands unfit for agriculture. 2. To prevent and control woods fires. 3. To control erosion by the planting of trees. 4. To establish State forests to act as demonstration areas in timber land management. 5. To assist Illinois farmers, landowners, and corporations in woodland management practices. 6. To assist in the establishment of county and community forests. 7. To disseminate forestry knowledge through the publication of forestry literature. Reforestation Illinois has within its total land area of approximately 35,800,000 acres, 2,500,000 acres of land that should be reforested. These lands are lying idle at present due to the fact that they are too poor for agricultural purposes. As such they provide an economic burden to their owners and to the State because they are unproductive. These same lands will grow trees profitably, therefore, it is necessary that they be planted to trees for a future timber crop which ultimately will bring a revenue to the landowners and community. To meet this situation, the Department of Conservation, Division of Forestry has developed two large forest tree nurseries capable of producing 15,000,000 trees annually for reforestation and erosion control purposes. These trees are available to farmers and landowners at prices varying from $5.00 to $15.00 per thousand, dependent upon the species of trees desired. Trees secured from the State must be used only for reforestation and erosion control and cannot be used for landscape or ornamental plantings. Definite progress has been made in the State reforestation program of idle lands. The first major distribution of trees took place in 1936 at which time 300,000 trees were planted in the State. Since 1936 the State's reforestation program has steadily been enlarged to the extent that in 1940, 6,250,000 trees were distributed from State nurseries and in 1954, 9,996,000 trees left the Division's nurseries to be planted by farmers and public agencies in the State. Considerable progress has been made, however, it is hoped that the reforestation program in Illinois will continue to expand until all idle lands in Illinois are growing a useful timber crop. Forest Fire Protection Woodland fires in Illinois always present a serious problem to the future growth and quality of our forests. Thousands of dollars worth of damage is done annually to our existing woodlands by fires which not only destroy our merchantable timber but also cause severe mortality to young forest seedlings. Fires seriously affect the soil, destroy wildlife and disrupt the entire biological balance of the forest. Every effort should be made, therefore, to prevent woods fires. In 1938 the State Division of Forestry inaugurated a program in forest fire protection. Since that time ten fire protection districts and a forest fire protection headquarters have been established in southern Illinois. Fire fighting personnel has been hired, radio communication established, and ten State forest fire towers have been erected. Fire protection has been established on all State forests. Necessary tools and equipment for use by both forestry personnel and volunteer groups have been purchased. As a result, 3,674,000 acres of State and private land are now receiving fire protection. This program will be enlarged as funds permit until all woodland acreage in need of protection will receive necessary fire protection. Our forest resources are a valuable asset to Illinois and one of the most valuable renewable resources that we have. They can only be so, however, if adequate forest fire protection is afforded them. Woodland Management Illinois' total forest acreage, when our first settlers came to the State, included 15,273,000 acres of the finest timber to be found in the Middle West. This represented 42 per cent of the total acreage. Although Illinois today is considered strictly an agricultural State, at one time we were rich in forest resources and they were the State's most valuable asset. Today Illinois has but 3,996,000 acres of woodlands of which 92% is in private ownership. The trained foresters of the Division of Forestry are making every effort to assist farmers and landowners in their woodland management problems. It is vitally necessary that proper forestry practices be conducted on our woodlands today in order that the landowners realize an income from their forest lands and thereby make them an asset rather than a liability. Advice on woodland management is available free of charge from the Division. The marketing and proper utilization of our existing forest resources is the concern of the Division of Forestry. Approximately 1,000 small sawmills are operating in the State and, of course, much timber is needed annually to keep such mills in operation. Every effort is being made to advise timber landowners as to proper cutting practices and disposal of merchantable timber. State Forests The State at present has 10,110 acres in State forests. It is hoped that this acreage can be enlarged in future years as State appropriations permit. The above acreage includes three State forests located in Union, Mason and Henderson counties. Illinois State forests will always be smaller than those of other states because of the unavailability of low valued land. The Division's proposed State forest plan provides for a large number of small State forests throughout the State which would serve as ideal examples of proper woodland management and reforestation practices. As funds permit these will be acquired in the future. Our State forests provide ideal recreational areas at present and thousands of visitors use them annually. In addition, as the timber matures on them, they will provide a revenue from timber sales and become self-sustaining. Community Forests Community forests are the oldest type of forest lands in public ownership. Some have been in existence for 200 years in the eastern states and records of older community forests have been found in some of the European countries. The Division of Forestry is cooperating with counties and communities in an effort to get a large scale community forest program in Illinois. To date there are 58 community forests having a total acreage of 52,296 acres. Up to the present time 700,000 trees have been planted on these areas in cooperation with the Division of Forestry. Nine counties in the State have County Forest Preserve Districts at present. The ratio of ten acres for each 1,000 population within the county appears to be a fair goal for county forest preserve systems in accordance with the Illinois State Planning Commission. On this basis 19 counties in Illinois should have forest preserves. Summary As a result of increased appropriations for forestry in recent years a definite well-planned forestry program is in effect in Illinois. For additional information on the Division's activities, write the State Forester, Springfield. INDEX OF SCIENTIFIC NAMES Page Acer negundo, 58 nigrum, 56 platanoides, 58 rubrum, 57 saccharum, 56 saccharinum, 57 Aesculus hippocastanum, 59 glabra, 59 Ailanthus altissima, 54 Alnus glutinosa, 19 incana, 19 Amelanchier arborea, 46 canadensis, 46 laevis, 46 Aralia spinosa, 63 Asimina tribola, 41 Betula lutea, 21 nigra, 21 papyrifera, 20 Carpinus caroliniana, 19 Carya aquatica, 13, 15 buckleyi, 13, 18 cordiformis, 13, 14 glabra, 13, 18 illinoensis, 13, 15 laciniosa, 13, 16 ovalis, 13, 17 ovata, 13, 16 pecan, 15 tomentosa, 13, 17 Castanea dentata, 22 Catalpa speciosa, 66 Celtis leavigata, 36 occidentalis, 36 Cercis canadensis, 52 Cornus alternifolia, 61 florida, 61 Crataegus calpodendron, 47 crus-galli, 47 mollis, 48 phoenopyrum, 48 punctata, 47 viridis, 48 Diospyros virginiana, 63 Fagus grandifolia, 22 Fraxinus americana, 64 nigra, 65 pennsylvanica, 64 quadrangulata, 65 tomentosa, 65 Gleditsia aquatica, 51 triacanthos, 51 Gymnocladus dioicus, 52 Juglans cinerea, 12 nigra, 11 Juniperus virginiana, 7 Larix decidua, 6 laricina, 6 Liquidambar styraciflua, 43 Liriodendron tulipifera, 40 Maclura pomifera, 37 Magnolia acuminata, 39 Malus coronaria, 45 iensis, 45 Morus alba, 38 rubra, 38 Nyssa aquatica, 62 sylvatica, 62 Ostrya virginiana, 20 Paulownia tomentosa, 66 Picea abies, 5 Pinus banksiana, 5 echinata, 5 nigra, 4 strobus, 4 sylvestris, 5 Planera aquatica, 35 Platanus acerifolia, 44 occidentalis, 44 Populus alba, 9 deltoides, 9 grandidenta, 8 nigra, 9 heterophylla, 9 tacamahaca, 9 tremuloides, 8 Prunus americana, 49 hortulana, 49 nigra, 49 pennsylvanica, 50 serotina, 50 virginiana, 50 Quercus alba, 23, 24 borealis, 28 bicolor, 23, 25 coccinea, 23, 30 digitata, 31 ellipsoidalis, 23, 29 falcata, 23, 31 imbricaria, 23, 33 lyrata, 23, 24 macrocarpa, 23, 25 marilandica, 23, 32 montana, 26 muhlenbergii, 23, 26 pagodaefolia, 31 palustris, 23, 30 phellos, 23, 33 prinus, 23, 26 rubra, 28, 31 shumardii, 23, 28 stellata, 23, 27 velutina, 23, 29 Rhus copallina, 55 glabra, 55 typhina, 55 Robinia pseudoacacia, 53 Sassafras albidum, 42 Salix alba, 10 amygdaloides, 10 babylonica, 10 nigra, 10 fragilis, 10 Taxodium distichum, 6 Thuja occidentalis, 7 Tilia americana, 60 heterophylla, 60 Ulmus alata, 34 americana, 34 fulva, 35 rubra, 35 thomasi, 34 [Illustration: Backcover] 
23097	----	Transcriber's notes: The dieresis is transcribed by a preceding hyphen. Caps and small caps have been set as upper and lower case. Names have been corrected Chapter VIII: "La Fayette", Indiana, kept as a contemporary variant spelling. McPherson, "clerk of the house" changed to "Clerk of the House" (of Representatives). LoC call number: E661.C9 FIFTY YEARS OF PUBLIC SERVICE [Frontispiece] _Photo, by Prince Tota, Washington, D. C._ [Facsimile signature] SMCullom FIFTY YEARS OF PUBLIC SERVICE _PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF_ SHELBY M. CULLOM _SENIOR UNITED STATES SENATOR FROM ILLINOIS_ WITH PORTRAITS _SECOND EDITION_ CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1911 Copyright A. C. McCLURG & Co. 1911 Published October, 1911 Second Edition, December, 1911 PRESS OF THE VAIL COMPANY COSHOCTON, U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER I Birth to Admission to the Bar, 1829 to 1855 II Service as City Attorney at Springfield, 1855 and 1856 III Election to the Illinois Legislature: Lincoln-Douglas Debates, 1856 to 1858 IV Other Distinguished Characters of that Day, 1858 and 1859 V Nomination of Lincoln and Douglas for the Presidency, 1859 and 1860 VI Speaker of the Illinois Legislature, and a Member of Congress, 1860 to 1865 VII Lincoln, 1860 to 1864 VIII Notables in the Thirty-ninth Congress, 1864 to 1870 IX The Impeachment of President Johnson X Speaker of the Legislature, and Governor, 1871 to 1883 XI Grant XII General John A. Logan XIII General John M. Palmer XIV Governor Richard J. Oglesby XV Senatorial Career, 1883 to 1911 XVI Cleveland's First Term, 1884 to 1887 XVII Cleveland's Defeat and Harrison's First Term, 1888 to 1891 XVIII Cleveland's Second Term, 1892 to 1896 XIX McKinley's Presidency, 1896 to 1901 XX Roosevelt's Presidency, 1901 to 1909 XXI Interstate Commerce XXII John Marshall Harlan XXIII Members of the Committee on Foreign Relations XXIV Work of the Committee on Foreign Relations XXV The Interoceanic Canal XXVI Santo Domingo's Fiscal Affairs XXVII Diplomatic Agreements by Protocol XXVIII Arbitration XXIX Titles and Decorations from Foreign Powers XXX Isle of Pines, Danish West Indies, and Algeciras XXXI Congress under the Taft Administration XXXII Lincoln Centennial: Lincoln Library XXXIII Consecutive Elections to United States Senate XXXIV Conclusion Index LIST OF PORTRAITS S. M. Cullom Shelby M. Cullom, while a Law Student Richard Yates Stephen A. Douglas Abraham Lincoln James G. Blaine Andrew Johnson Shelby M. Cullom, while Governor of Illinois Ulysses S. Grant John A. Logan John M. Palmer Richard J. Oglesby Grover Cleveland James A. Garfield William McKinley William Howard Taft Cushman K. Davis William P. Frye John C. Spooner Theodore Roosevelt Elihu Root FOREWORD "Oh, that mine adversary had written a book!" Such was the exclamation of one who, through the centuries, has been held up to the world as the symbol of patience and long suffering endurance, and who believed that he thus expressed the surest method of confounding an enemy. I have come to that age in life where I feel somewhat indifferent as to consequences, and, yielding to the suggestions and insistence of friends, I determined that I would undertake to write some recollections, as they occurred to me, of the men and events of my time. Naturally, to me the history of the period covered by my life since 1829 is particularly interesting. I do not think that I am prejudiced when I assert that while this period has not been great in Art and Letters, from a material, scientific, and industrial standpoint it has been the most wonderful epoch in all the world's history. About the period of my birth General Andrew Jackson was first elected President of the United States. Jackson to me has always been an interesting character. Theodore Roosevelt has declared very little respect for him, and has written deprecatingly--I might say, even abusively--of him. But the truth is, there were never two Presidents in the White House who, in many respects, resembled each other more nearly than Jackson and Roosevelt. Jackson was sixty-one years old when elected President--an unusually old man to be elected to that high office; and he had served his country during the War of the Revolution. When I consider this the thought occurs to me, How young as a Nation we are, after all. Why, I date almost back to the Revolution! President Taft jocularly remarked to me recently: "Here's my old friend, Uncle Shelby. He comes nearer connecting the present with the days of Washington than any one whom I know." And I suppose there are few men in public life whose careers extend farther into the past than mine. During my early life the survivors of the Revolutionary War, to say nothing of the War of 1812, were very numerous and abundantly in evidence. Up to that time, no man who had not served his country in some capacity in the Revolutionary War had been elevated to the Presidency, and this was the case until the year 1843. During the year 1829 the crown of Great Britain descended from King George IV to King William IV. That reign passed away, and I have lived to see the long reign of Victoria come and go, the reign of Edward VII come and go, and the accession of King George V. Charles X ruled in France, Francis I in Austria (the reign of Francis Joseph had not yet begun), Frederick William III in Prussia, Nicholas I in Russia; while Leo XII governed the Papal States, the Kingdom of Italy not yet having come into existence. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland had not yet a population of 24,000,000, all told. From the dawn of this epoch may well date the practical beginning of a long cycle of political and intellectual upheaval, and the readjustment of relations which go to make up world-history, arriving at a culmination in our great Civil War. In the last half-century--nay, I might say, within the last two decades--there has been a mighty impulse in the direction of scientific investigation, of mechanical invention, of preventive medicine, of economic improvement, and the like. Germany, in some respects, has led, but our own country has not been far behind. Independent research has been wonderfully productive, and rivalry has been keen. Often the mere suggestion of one scientist has been taken up and elaborated (or discredited) by other scientists; the idea of one inventor has been seized upon and bettered, or possibly proved valueless, by other inventors. The paths to the remote and inaccessible have been toiled over by rival explorers; new records have been made by rival aviators; while competitive and co-operative activities in every line have known a phenomenal growth. New names have been placed in the Pantheon of the immortals, new planets discovered in the solar system, new stars added to the clear skies of our nightly vision. Out of all the striving has come a sweeping advance in lingual requirements. In most departments of Science, Art, and Manufacture, the processes and methods of to-day are not those of yesterday, and the doers of new things have freely coined new words or given new meaning to old ones. The most complete and exhaustive encyclopaedia of yesterday is to-day found not entirely adequate to the already increased wants. Upon all these momentous factors must these "Recollections," in one way or another, touch from time to time. Shelby M. Cullom. Washington, D. C. _July, 1911_. FIFTY YEARS OF PUBLIC SERVICE CHAPTER I BIRTH TO ADMISSION TO THE BAR 1829 to 1855 Tides of migration set in about the close of the Revolutionary War, originating in the most populous of the late Colonies (now States), debouching from the western slopes of the mountain border-passes into the headwaters of Kentucky's rivers, and mingling at last in the fertile valley through which those rivers, in their lower reaches, find an outlet into the Ohio. The westward flowing current brought with it two families--the Culloms of Maryland, and the Coffeys of North Carolina--who settled in a beautiful valley, not far from the banks of the Cumberland, which bore the euphonious name of Elk Spring Valley. Richard Northcraft Cullom, of the first-named family, married Elizabeth Coffey. They remained in Kentucky until seven children had been born to them, I being the seventh, the date of my birth occurring on the twenty-second day of November, 1829. We were a large family, but not extraordinarily numerous for those times, there being five brothers and seven sisters. Kentucky was a Slave State, and my father did not believe in slavery. He was fairly well to do, and after considering the situation he determined to seek a home in a Free State and live there to the end of his days. A treaty with the Indians in 1784, at Fort Stanwix, had secured from the Iroquois all claims to the lands which now make up the States of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. At the time of our removal the State of Illinois was only eleven years old, and but a small portion of it had any considerable settlements. These were mainly in the south half of the State. Chicago was then a small village, Fort Dearborn being at that time of more consequence than the village. Now Chicago is the second greatest city in the Union in population and business. My father, together with Alfred Phillips and William Brown, his two brothers-in-law, entered land in the same portion of the County of Tazewell, and at once, on their arrival from Kentucky, pitched their tents and began the erection of log cabins, in preparation for winter. Phillips was a large, vigorous man, both in body and mind. He was a man of the highest integrity, and soon became one of the leading citizens of Tazewell County, continuing so until his death. William Brown was a Methodist preacher and was a worthy example of the consistent minister of the Gospel of Christ. He was called upon by the people for many miles around to perform ceremonies on wedding occasions and, in time of sorrow, to preach at the funerals of departed friends. My father lived longer than either Phillips or Brown. They both raised large families, and to-day the youngest son of Phillips-- the Hon. Isaac N. Phillips--is recognized as one of the able lawyers of the State, and is the reporter of the Supreme Court of Illinois. My father was a farmer, but he always took great interest in the affairs of the country, and especially of the State in which he lived. He was a Whig, and believed in Henry Clay. He took an active part in political campaigns, and was several times a member of the House of Representatives of the State Legislature, and once of the State Senate. Tazewell County, in which he resided, became a very strong Whig county, the Whigs having their own way until the Free-soil party, which soon became the Republican party, took its place as against the Democratic party. When that time came, Tazewell, like Sangamon, became Democratic. Sangamon County, in which I live, and Tazewell County, in which I was raised, were both strong Whig counties while the Whig party survived; but when it died, the population being largely from Kentucky and other Southern States, naturally sympathized with the South on the question of slavery. They drifted into the Democratic party in large numbers, and gave the control to the Democracy for a time; and the two parties still struggle for control in both counties. My father became well acquainted with Abraham Lincoln while the latter was a young man. The first time I ever heard of Lincoln, was when two men came to my father's house to consult with him on the question of employing an attorney to attend to a law case for them at the approaching term of the Circuit Court. I remember hearing my father say to them that if Judge Stephen T. Logan should be in attendance at court, they should employ him; but if he were not, a young man named Lincoln would be there, who would do just about as well. Readers will see by this that while Lincoln was yet a young man he was ranked among the foremost lawyers at the Bar. At that time Stephen A. Douglas was beginning to be heard from. Judge Logan was one of the best lawyers of the Mississippi Valley. He was a Kentuckian by birth, and, as a lawyer, was a very great man. Douglas was a great statesman and a leader of men; a great debater, but, in my opinion, not a great lawyer. The law is a jealous mistress; there are no great lawyers who do not give undivided attention to its study, and Douglas devoted much time to public affairs. On the arrival of my father at the grove where he had previously determined to locate his family, he pitched his tent near a little stream, then called Mud Creek, afterwards called Deer Creek, because it was a great resort for wild deer. He soon erected a log cabin and moved into it with his family. I was less than one year old when the family located in Illinois. We lived in the cabin for several years. It was not a single cabin, but there were two cabins connected together by a covered porch; which was a very pleasant arrangement in both summer and winter. Finally, my father built a frame house. During all this time the wild deer were numerous, and often I have counted from the door from five to twenty deer feeding in a slough not a quarter of a mile away. I never killed a deer. The beautiful animals always seemed to me so innocent that I had not the heart to shoot them. The Winter of 1830-31 was long remembered by the early settlers of Illinois, and of all the now so-called Middle States, as the "winter of the deep snow." For months it was impossible to pass from one community to another in the country. My education was obtained at the local schools and at the seminary at Mount Morris two hundred miles distant from my father's home. In my boyhood years there were no common schools. There were only such schools in the country as the people by subscription saw proper to provide. The schoolhouse in the neighborhood in which I lived was built of logs, covered with thick boards, and supplied with rude benches on its puncheon floor for the scholars to sit upon. We sat bolt upright, there being nothing to lean against. There were no desks for our books; and had desks been obtainable there were but few books to use or care for. We boys whispered to the girls at our peril; but we took the risk occasionally. It was my duty as a school-boy, after doing the chores and work inseparable from farm life, to walk every morning a long distance over rough country roads to school. After I had attained to a fair common-school education, I concluded that I could teach a country school, and was employed to teach in the neighborhood; first for three months at eighteen dollars per month, and then for a second term of three months at twenty. I think I have a right to assume that I did well as a teacher, since the patrons raised my wages for the second term two dollars per month. My efforts in teaching school did not secure sufficient funds to enable me to remain at school away from home very long, and I determined to try another plan. My father had five yoke of oxen. I prevailed on him to lend them to me. I obtained a plough which cut a furrow eighteen to twenty inches wide, and with the oxen and plough I broke prairie for some months. I thereby secured sufficient money, with the additional sums which I made from the institution at Mount Morris at odd times, to enable me to remain at the Mount Morris Seminary for two years. I never shall forget the journey from my home in Tazewell County to Mount Morris, when I first left home to enter the school. As it well illustrates the difficulties and hardships of travel in those early days in Illinois, I may be pardoned for giving it somewhat in detail. It was in the Spring of the year. My father started with me on horseback from my home in Tazewell County to Peoria, a distance of fifteen miles. A sudden freeze had taken place after the frost had gone out of the ground, and this had caused an icy crust to form over the mud, but not of sufficient strength to bear the weight of a horse, whose hoofs would constantly break through. Whereupon I dismounted and told father that he had better take the horses back home, and that I would go to Peoria on foot, which I did. The weather was cold, and I was certainly used up when I arrived in Peoria. I went to bed, departing early the following morning, by steamer, for Peru, a distance of twenty-five miles. From there I took the stage-coach to Dixon, a distance of twelve miles. There came up another storm during the journey from Peru to Dixon, and the driver of the stage-coach lost his way and could not keep in the road. I ran along in front of the coach most of the way, in order to keep it in the road, the horses following me. From Dixon I crossed the river, proceeding to Mount Morris by private conveyance. I never had a more severe trip, and I felt its effects for very many years afterwards. The days I spent in old Mount Morris Seminary were the pleasantest of my life. I was just at the age which might be termed the formative period of a young man's career. Had I been surrounded then by other companions, by other environment, my whole future might have been entirely different. Judged by the standard of the great Eastern institutions, Mount Morris was not even a third-class college; but it was a good school, attended by young men of an unusually high order. In those early days it was the leading institution of higher learning in Northern Illinois. I enjoyed Mount Morris, and the friendships formed there continued throughout my life. I do not know whether I was a popular student or not, but I was president of the Amphictyon Society, and, according to the usual custom, was to deliver the address on retiring from the presidency. During the course of the address I fainted and was carried from the chapel, which was very hot and very crowded. I was rolled around in the snow a while and speedily revived. I was immediately asked to let one of the boys read the remainder of the address, but the heroic treatment to which I had been subjected stirred me to profane indifference respecting its fate. Later I was selected to deliver the valedictory. So I suppose I must have enjoyed a reasonable degree of popularity among my fellow students. It was at Mount Morris that I first became intimate with the late Robert R. Hitt. He and his brother John, who recently died, were classmates of mine, their father being the resident Methodist preacher at Mount Morris. Robert R. Hitt remained my friend from our school days until his death. He was a candidate for the Senate against me at one time, but he was no politician, and I defeated him so easily that he could not harbor a bitter feeling against me. He was quite a character, and enjoyed a long and distinguished public career in Illinois. One of the early shorthand reporters of the State, the reporter of the Lincoln-Douglas debates, he became intimate with Lincoln, and Lincoln was very fond of him. He filled numerous important positions at home and abroad, and married a most beautiful lady, who still survives. He was later appointed Secretary of Legation at Paris. Bob Hitt told me that he asked President Grant for the appointment, and the President at once said that he would give it to him. Washburne, who had been Secretary of State for a few days, and who was then minister at Paris, was much astonished when Hitt appeared and said that he had been appointed Secretary of Legation. Mr. Washburne denounced both President Grant and Secretary of State Fish for appointing anybody to fill such an intimate position without his consent. Ambassadors and ministers, however, are not consulted as to who shall be appointed secretaries. These appointments are made by the President, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate; but Mr. Washburne, as usual, though that he was a bigger man than any one else, and that an exception should have been made in his case. But, when officially informed of the appointment, he submitted gracefully, and they got along together quite amicably. Strange to say, Hitt represented Washburne's old district in Congress for a number of years--many more years than Washburne himself represented it. It was as a member of Congress that Mr. Hitt distinguished himself. He did what every man should do who expects to make a reputation as a national legislator; and that is to specialize, to become an expert in some particular branch. He was peculiarly fitted for foreign affairs. He was a man of education and culture, a student always, had served abroad for years, had mingled in the highest society, and it is not strange than in a comparatively few years he was recognized as the leading authority on all matters coming before the House pertaining to our foreign relations. The Foreign Affairs Committee of the House is not nearly so important a committee as the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate, and I may be pardoned for saying that I am chairman of the latter committee myself. The reason is this: the Constitution provides that treaties shall be made only with the advice and consent of the Senate; hence it is that all such treaties, and consequently the foreign policy of the general Government, must pass the scrutiny of the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate while the House and its committees have nothing whatever to do with them. But nevertheless of all the House committees, that of Foreign Affairs is at times the foremost, and it never had an abler chairman than Robert R. Hitt. He was certainly in the most remarkable degree what might be termed a specialist in legislation. He gave but scant attention to any other branch of legislation. He had little time or liking for the tariff, finance, appropriations, or for any branch of legislation that failed to come within his own especial province. He was, in fact, so indifferent to the general business of the House that he told me one day that he did not even take the trouble to select a regular seat; that when any question came up in which he was interested he would talk from the seat of some absent colleague. Hence it was that he was seldom seen on the floor of the House except when some question was raised concerning our foreign relations; at which time he was immediately sent for. And it is only justice to him to say that he was the only man in the House in his time, and no one has since appeared there, who could so successfully defend or attack the policy of an administration concerning its foreign affairs. The late Senator Morgan of Alabama, a most extraordinary character, of whom I shall have something to say later, and Robert R. Hitt and myself were appointed members of a commission to frame a form of government for the Territory of Hawaii, which we had just acquired. We travelled to Hawaii together. No two more delightful, entertaining, or interesting men could be found. They are both dead, and it was my sad privilege to eulogize their public achievements in the Senate. In what I am writing from time to time, now, as the months and years go by, when I have the leisure from my public duties to devote to it, and without knowing whether what I am writing will ever be published, I do not want to eulogize any one. If what I say about men and events shall offend their friends living, I can not help it. I want only to give my own estimate of the men whom I have known. Robert R. Hitt was a good man; his honesty and uprightness were never questioned; he never did a great deal for his district but he was one of the most useful legislators in his own line-- foreign affairs--whom I have ever known during my service in Congress. I think this is a fair and just estimate of him. But to return to Mount Morris, Professor D. J. Pinckney was president of the Seminary when I was a student there. He knew my father intimately, and naturally took more than ordinary interest in me. When I became ill at school, he took me into his own home and kept me there for a month or more, treating me with the greatest kindness and consideration. Years after I left the institution he became interested in politics, and ran as an independent for Congress against Horatio C. Burchard, Republican (who was, by the way, a very excellent man and my friend). Burchard defeated him. When the campaign was on I was invited to go to Galena and make a speech for Mr. Burchard. It never occurred to me at the time that I was going into Pinckney's district; but when I discovered the truth, I could not very well back out. I made my speech, but was careful not to say a word against Professor Pinckney, simply advocating the election of Mr. Burchard as a good Republican. Professor Pinckney, however, took great offense, and was very cold toward me from that time until his death. I felt that he had been misled, that it would all come right, and that some day I would have a plain talk with him; but he died before we ever got together. He has a son now living in Chicago, a prominent circuit judge of Cook County. Among other classmates of mine at Mount Morris, was the late General John A. Rawlins, who became a distinguished officer and was General Grant's chief of staff. No better, no truer, man ever lived than General Rawlins. He was essentially a good man and never had a bad habit. Rawlins was a Democrat, and a strong one, during his school days, and I believe that he remained one until the Civil War. Robert Hitt and his brother John, together with Rawlins and myself, formed a sort of four-in-hand, and we were very intimate. We would take part in the discussions in our society, and Rawlins was especially strong when a political question was raised. I have heard him, during his school days, make speeches that would have done credit to a statesman. He would have done himself and country credit in any civil office. He served as Secretary of War a few months. Like so many others who entered the war without the slightest military training, he came out of it with a brilliant record as an officer and soldier. Judge Moses Hallett, a United States judge, retired, of Colorado, was another classmate of mine. He was an exceptionally good man, and developed into a very able lawyer and judge. He is still living, and has become quite wealthy through fortunate real-estate investments in the vicinity of Denver. But I fear I might tire the reader by dwelling longer on my school life at Mount Morris. To look back over those happy early days is interesting to me; but it is sad to think how few, how very few, of my schoolmates, then just beginning the journey of life, with all the enthusiasm and hope of youth, are living to-day. They soon scattered, some to one vocation, some to another; some to achieve distinction and fame, some failure; but certain it is that I know of very few who are now living. My health was impaired when I left school, and I returned home to work on the farm. Soon I became strong again, but the labor was so arduous and uncongenial that I determined upon a change: if there was any other way of making a honest living, I would try to find it. In the meantime I had leased a farm of one hundred and sixty acres from my father. When Spring came I told him that I wanted to be released from my contract; that I had deliberately come to the conclusion that I could make my living some other way--that I intended to study law. My father did not hesitate to relieve me of my obligations, and the succeeding October, 1853, I started for Springfield to enter upon the study of law. I consulted with Abraham Lincoln, and on his advice I entered the law offices of Stuart and Edwards, both of whom were Whigs and friends of my father. They were both very good men and distinguished lawyers. At that time Abraham Lincoln and Stephen T. Logan and Stuart and Edwards were the four ablest lawyers of the capital city. I studied two years in the offices of Stuart and Edwards, pursuing the usual life of a law student in a country law office, and was admitted to the Bar in 1855, and elected City Attorney the same year. Meanwhile, however, I had been ill of typhoid fever for several months. During the period of my convalescence, I was advised to return to my home in the country and spend much time riding horseback. I did so, but the time seemed to drag, and finally I went to the city of Peoria to learn whether I could direct my restorative exercise to an additional profitable end. The result was that for several ensuing weeks I rode about the countryside, buying hogs for Ting & Brotherson; at the expiration of which time I had regained my health, was richer by about five hundred dollars, and was thus enabled to return at once to Springfield and take up again my interrupted studies. Having been inducted into the office of City Attorney, I was fairly launched upon a political career, exceeding in length of unbroken service that of any other public man in the country's history. In fact I never accepted but two executive appointments: the first was an unsought appointment by Abraham Lincoln, after he had become the central figure of his time, if not of all time; and, second, an appointment from President McKinley as chairman of the Hawaiian Commission. CHAPTER II SERVICE AS CITY ATTORNEY AT SPRINGFIELD 1855 and 1856 My election as City Attorney of Springfield signalized at once my active interest in politics at the very moment when the war cloud was beginning to take shape in the political heavens--a portentous cloud, but recognized as such at that time by comparatively few of the thinking people. It had seemed certain for years that a struggle was sure to come. Being a very young man, I suppose I did not realize the horrors of a civil war, but I watched with keen interest the signs of dissolution in political parties, and realignments in party ties. In 1854 the country seemed on the verge of a war with Spain over Cuba which happily was averted. The _Black Warrior_ had been seized in Havana Harbor, and the excitement throughout the country when Congress prepared to suspend the neutrality laws between the United States and Spain was intense. It was about this time also that the famous Ostend manifesto was issued without authority from any one. The American representatives at the Courts of England, France, and Spain met at Ostend to confer on the best method of settling the difficulties concerning Cuba and obtaining possession of the island. They issued a manifesto in which they recommended that Cuba should be purchased if possible, failing which that it should be taken by force: "If Spain, actuated by stubborn pride and a false sense of honor, should refuse to sell Cuba to the United States, then by every law, human and divine, we shall be justified in wresting it from Spain, if we possess the power." The Ostend manifesto was repudiated; but it is certain that we would have then intervened in favor of freeing Cuba, had it not been for the dark war clouds which were so quickly gathering over our own country. Among the other vital conditions which helped to keep the country's interest and attention divided at this critical time was the Missouri Compromise repeal, May 30, 1855. This repealing act early began to bear political fruit. Already treaties had been made with half a score of the Indian Nations in Kansas, by which the greater part of the soil for two hundred miles west was opened. Settlers, principally from Missouri, immediately began to flock in, and with the first attempt to hold an election a bloody epoch set in for that region between the pro-slavery and anti-slavery factions, fanned by attempts in Massachusetts and other Eastern States to make of Kansas a Free State. By methods of intimidation, Whitfield, a slave-holder, was elected the first delegate to Congress. At a second election thirteen State Senators and twenty-six members of a Lower House were declared elected. For this purpose 6,320 votes were cast--more than twice the number of legal voters. Foreign affairs other than Spain's unfriendly activities also had a share in distracting attention. The United States paid Mexico ten million dollars to be free of the Guadalupe Hidalgo obligation to defend the Mexican frontier against the Indians. My first experience after I was elected City Attorney, was to prosecute persons charged with violating the ordinances prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors. One of my preceptors, the Hon. Benjamin S. Edwards, was a strong and earnest temperance man. He volunteered to assist me in the prosecution of what we called "liquor cases." The fact is that for a time he took charge of the cases, and I assisted him. Life was made a burden to violators of liquor ordinances that year in Springfield. The following year, 1856, was a Presidential year. I was chosen as an elector on what was called the "Fillmore Ticket." I did not at that time believe very strongly in Fremont for President. During the same year, I was nominated as a candidate for the House of Representatives of the Illinois Legislature, and was supported by both the Fillmore party and the Free-soil party and thus elected. The House of Representatives of the Legislature of 1856 was so close that if all the members who had not been elected as Democrats united, they had one majority. If any one of them went to the Democrats, the Democrats would have the control. One of the men elected on the Fillmore ticket went over, thus giving the Democracy the coveted one necessary. The Republicans, or as they were then called, Free-soilers, attempted to organize the House by recognizing the clerk of the previous House, who was a Free-soiler, it then being the custom to have the clerk call the House to order and preside until a temporary organization was perfected. The Democrats refused to recognize the clerk whom the opposition recognized. The Democrats declared by vote the election of a temporary chairman, nominated and elected a sergeant-at-arms and a deputy, and ordered the two latter officers to carry the clerk out of the hall; which was promptly done at the expense of a good suit of clothes to the clerk who departed reluctantly. This was my first experience in legislation. A careful reading of the annals of the State of Illinois will show that this incident is by no means unique in its history. To go back a few years, when Edward Coles, who had been private secretary to President Madison, was elected Governor, it was by a mere plurality vote over his highest competitor, and--to use the language of former Governor Ford--he was so unfortunate as to have a majority of the Legislature against him during his whole term of service. The election had taken place soon after the settlement of the Missouri question. The Illinois Senators had voted for the admission of Missouri as a Slave State, while her only Representative in the Lower House voted against it. This all helped to keep alive some questions for or against the introduction of slavery. About this time, also, a tide of immigrants was pouring into Missouri through Illinois, from Virginia and Kentucky. In the Fall of the year, every great road was crowded with them, all bound for Missouri, with their money and long trains of teams and negroes. These were the most wealthy and best educated immigrants from the Slave States. Many people who had land and farms to sell, looked upon the good fortune of Missouri with envy; whilst the lordly immigrant, as he passed along with his money and droves of negroes, took a malicious pleasure in increasing it by pretending to regret the short-sighted policy of Illinois, which excluded him from settlement, and from purchasing and holding lands. In this mode a desire to make Illinois a Slave State became quite prevalent. Many persons had voted for Brown or Phillips with this view, whilst the friends of a Free State had rallied almost in a body for Coles. Notwithstanding the defeat of the Democrats at this election, they were not annihilated. They had been beaten for Governor only by a division in their own ranks, whilst they had elected a large majority of each House of the Assembly, and were determined to make a vigorous effort to carry their measure at the session of the Legislature to be held in 1822-23. Governor Coles, in his first message, recommended the emancipation of the French slaves. This served as the spark to kindle into activity all the elements in favor of slavery. Slavery could not be introduced, nor was it believed that the French slaves could be emancipated, without an amendment to the Constitution; the Constitution could not be amended without a new convention, to obtain which two thirds of each branch of the Legislature had to concur in recommending it to the people; and the voters, at the next election, had to sanction it by a majority of all the votes given for members of the Legislature. When the Legislature assembled, it was found that the Senate contained the requisite two-thirds majority; but in the House of Representatives, by deciding a contested election in favor of one of the candidates, the Slave party would have one more than two- thirds, while by deciding in favor of the other, they would lack one vote of having the majority. These two candidates were John Shaw and Nicholas Hanson, who claimed to represent the County of Pike, which then included all the military tract and all the country north of the Illinois River to the northern limits of the State. The leaders of the Slave party were anxious to re-elect Jesse B. Thomas to the United States Senate. Hanson would vote for him, but Shaw would not; Shaw would vote for the convention, but Hanson would not. The party had use for both of them, and they determined to use them both, one after the other. For this purpose, they first decided in favor of Hanson, admitted him to a seat, and with his vote elected their United States Senator; and then, toward the close of the session, with mere brute force, and in the most barefaced manner, they reconsidered their former vote, turned Hanson out of his seat, and decided in favor of Shaw, and with his vote carried their resolution for a convention. There immediately resulted a very fierce contest before the people, characterized by lavish detraction and personal abuse--one of the most bitter, prolonged, and memorable in the history of the State --and the question of making Illinois permanently a Slave State was put to rest by a majority of about two thousand votes. The census of 1850 was the first that enumerated no slaves in our State. In this connection I cannot avoid giving a little account of Frederick Adolphus Hubbard, who was Lieutenant-Governor when Coles was Governor. Hubbard seemed to be a very ignorant man, but ambitious to become Governor of the State, or to attain some other position that would give him reputation. "It is related of him that while engaged in the trial of a lawsuit, involving the title to a certain mill owned by Joseph Duncan [who afterwards became Governor], the opposing counsel, David J. Baker, then recently from New England, had quoted from Johnson's New York reports a case strongly against Hubbard's side. Reading reports of the decisions of courts before juries was a new thing in those days; and Hubbard, to evade the force of the authority as a precedent, coolly informed the jury that Johnson was a Yankee clock-peddler, who had been perambulating up and down the country gathering up rumors and floating stories against the people of the West, and had them published in a book under the name of 'Johnson's Reports.' He indignantly repudiated the book as authority in Illinois, and clinched the argument by adding: 'Gentlemen of the jury, I am sure you will not believe anything that comes from that source; and besides that, what did Johnson know about Duncan's mill anyhow?'"( 1) Hubbard, in 1826, became a candidate for Governor of Illinois. He canvassed the State, and the following is a sample of his speeches, recorded by Ford: "Fellow-citizens, I offer myself as a candidate before you for the office of Governor. I do not pretend to be a man of extraordinary talents, nor do I claim to be equal to Julius Caesar or Napoleon Bonaparte, nor yet to be as great a man as my opponent, Governor Edwards. Nevertheless I think I can govern you pretty well. I do not think it will require a very extraordinary smart man to govern you; for to tell you the truth, fellow-citizens, I do not believe you will be very hard to govern, nohow."( 2) In 1825, Governor Coles notified Lieutenant-Governor Hubbard that he had occasion to leave the State for a time and required the latter to take charge of affairs. Hubbard did so, and when Governor Coles returned Hubbard declined to give up the office, asserting that the Governor had vacated it. He based his contention upon that clause of the Constitution that provided that the Lieutenant- Governor should exercise all the power and authority appertaining to the office of Governor, in case of the latter's absence from the State, until the time provided by the Constitution for the election of Governor should arrive. He claimed that the Governor had vacated the office until the time of the election of a new Governor, and declined to surrender. The result was, the Governor had to get a decision of the Supreme Court, which was to the effect that there was no ground on which to award the writ. Coles was obliged to submit, but not until he had appealed to the Legislature, where his contention was equally unsuccessful. At one time, after repeated and annoying application, Hubbard obtained from Governor Edwards what he had reason to believe was a recommendation for a certain office. He became a little suspicious that the letter was not very strong in his behalf, and in speaking of it afterwards, in his lisping manner, said: "Contrary to the uthage amongst gentlemen, he thealed it up; and contrary to the uthage amongst gentlemen, I broke it open; and what do you think I found? Instead of recommending me, the old rathcal abuthed me like a pickpocket." ( 1) Moses, page 334. ( 2) Ford, page 61. CHAPTER III ELECTION TO THE ILLINOIS LEGISLATURE: LINCOLN-DOUGLAS DEBATES 1856 to 1858 In the year 1856 I had rather unusual experiences of both victory and defeat in one and the same political campaign. As candidate for the Legislature I won out, being elected; as the chosen elector on the Fillmore ticket, I went down in the party's defeat. The Whig party was in its expiring days, and what was called the "Know- Nothing" party was apparently a temporary substitute for it. Fillmore carried one solitary state--Maryland. Buchanan was elected by quite a large majority over both Fremont and Fillmore combined. The administration of President Buchanan has been so frequently and fully described that there is little, if anything, new to say about it; but such were the fearful responsibilities incurred by it for the subsequent bloodshed, that its shortcomings cannot be entirely ignored in the intelligible presentation of the course of events which gave direction to my observations and activities. The campaign of 1856 had been one of the most exiting and hotly contested ever fought in the State. The only hope the Democrats had of success was in the division of their opponents and in preventing their fusion. Their denunciations of abolitionists and "Black Republicans," as they termed their antagonists, were without bounds. But here and there some one would be called to account, as in the case of the late John M. Palmer, since distinguished in war and peace, and some years ago candidate of the Gold Democrats for the Presidency. Between him and Major Harris, then running for Congress in his district, there had been considerable ill-feeling. The major had written a letter to be read at a Democratic meeting at which Palmer was present. It was very abusive of the Republicans, and Palmer rising, remarked the fact that the author would not dare make such charges to the face of any honest man. Harris, as related by the historian Moses, hearing of this, announced that he would resent it at the first opportunity. This Palmer soon gave him by attending one of his meetings. The major in the course of his remarks indulged in the most vituperative language against abolitionists, calling them disturbers of the peace, incendiaries, and falsifiers; and at length, turning to Palmer and pointing his finger at him, said, "I mean you, sir!" Palmer rising to his feet, instantly replied, "Well, sir, if you apply that language to me you are a dastardly liar!" And drawing a pistol, he started toward the speaker's stand. "Now, sir," he continued, "when you get through, I propose to reply to you." The major had not anticipated this turn of affairs, but prudently kept his temper and finished his speech. Then Palmer arose and, laying his weapon before him, cocked, proceeded to give the Democratic party such a castigation as none of those present had ever heard before. It was in the campaign of 1856 that I first began to make political speeches. James H. Matheny, who was then our circuit clerk, accompanied me to several meetings where we both delivered addresses. He was an old Whig inclined toward Democracy, and I was a Whig inclined toward Republicanism. The result was I made Republican speeches, while Judge Matheny made Democratic speeches. Our first meeting away from home was at Petersburg, Menard County. Being a candidate for elector on the Fillmore ticket, I made my first away-from-home speech, which I thought was a pretty good Republican speech. Matheny followed me with a hot Democratic speech, attacking especially Judge Trumbull, then our United States Senator. I remained pretty steadily in the campaign of that year, making about the same character of speech wherever I went. Fillmore was very popular in Central Illinois, where the Whig party also had quite a large following during its palmy days, but he did not receive votes enough to come anywhere near carrying the State. Sangamon, my home county, and Tazewell County, where I was brought up, both gave their majority votes for Fillmore. The Hon. John T. Stuart and his partner, the Hon. B. S. Edwards, with whom I studied law, besides being able lawyers and first-class men, were both Whigs; Mr. Stuart especially took an active part in the campaign. The latter was invited to attend what was called a Fillmore meeting at Shelbyville, several counties away from Sangamon. It so happened that he could not go, and the people of Shelbyville telegraphed for me. I went, and it turned out to be a combined Fremont, Buchanan, and Fillmore meeting--at least the three meetings there were held all on the same day. The Fillmore camp gathered its forces out in the woods until about two o'clock in the afternoon. The Buchanan and Fremont crowds then marched in, informing the first-comers that they regarded their right to have the first meeting pre-eminent. An agreement was arrived at after some little wrangling, and old General Thornton was chosen to preside. He determined that, as I was not only a young man but the farthest from home, I should make the first speech --an arrangement that suited me very well. I made my speech, as good a one as I could, and in closing, somewhat hurriedly announced that I was obliged to leave for home, much as I might wish to remain with them to the close of the meeting. The result was that most of the Fillmore people followed me away and came nearly breaking up the whole performance. I urged them to go back and listen to the other speakers; but they declined to do so until I had gotten off for home. It was my first venture at speech- making away from home on national issues. I worked and voted for Fillmore because I had a very high opinion of him as a good man, and did not then think very much of Fremont as a proper candidate for the Presidency. Subsequently Fremont became better known, and occupied a high place in the estimation of the people of the United States, as a gallant soldier and a statesman, enjoying the unique honor of having been the first candidate of the Republican party for President. I have taken an active part in every campaign since 1856, excepting when poor health prevented a regular speaking campaign. The animosities of the campaign of 1856 were carried into the Legislature and kept alive in the House during the entire session. Governor Bissell's inaugural address was a dignified State paper in which he referred to the administration of his predecessor in highly complimentary terms. He concurred in all his recommendations, but suggested no measures of his own. Although he had commented briefly upon the Kansas-Nebraska controversy, and in mild terms, his remarks stirred the ire of the Democrats. Upon the motion to print the address, a virulent attack was made upon him, led, strange to say, by John A. Logan, afterwards the foremost volunteer general of the Union, and a Republican of Republicans. The rancor of the Democrats against Governor Bissell, who at that time was a physical wreck from a stroke of paralysis, though mentally sound, was largely due to their recollection of the fearless manner in which he had responded, some years before, to a challenge given him by Jefferson Davis to a duel. That episode has long since become historic, and I need not enlarge upon it here. As was the political temper in the State of Illinois, so was it, to a greater or less degree, throughout the entire Nation. Buchanan's first message repeated the assurance that the discussion of slavery had come to an end. The clergy were criticised for fomenting prevalent disturbances. The President declared in favor of the admission of Kansas, with a Constitution agreeable to a majority of the settlers. He also referred to an impending decision of the Supreme Court, with which he had been made acquainted, and asked acquiescence in it. This was Judge Taney's decision in the Dred Scott case, rendered two days after Buchanan's inauguration. An action had been begun in the Circuit Court in Missouri by Scott, a negro, for the freedom of himself and children. He claimed that he had been removed by his master in 1834 to Illinois, a Free State, and afterwards taken into territory north of the compromise line. Sanford, his master, replied that Scott was not a citizen of Missouri, and could not bring an action, and that he and his children were Sanford's slaves. The lower courts differed, and the case was twice argued. The decision nullified the Missouri restriction, or, indeed, any restriction by Congress on slavery in the Territories. Chief-Justice Taney said: "The question is whether the class of persons (negroes) compose a portion of the people, and are constituent members of this sovereignty. We think they are not included under the word 'citizen' in the Constitution, and can therefore claim none of the rights and privileges of that instrument." Negroes, as a race, were at that time considered as a subordinate and inferior class who had been subjugated by the dominant whites, and had no rights or privileges except such as those who held the power and the government might choose to grant them. They had for more than a century been regarded as beings of an inferior grade-- so far inferior that they possessed no rights which the white man was bound to respect; and the negro might justly and lawfully be reduced to slavery for his (the white man's) benefit. The negro race by common consent had been excluded from civilized governments and the family of nations, and doomed to slavery. The unhappy black race was separated from the whites by indelible marks long before established, and was never thought of or spoken of except as property. The Chief-Justice further annulled the Missouri restriction, by asserting that "the act of Congress which prohibited a citizen from holding property of this kind north of the line therein mentioned is not warranted by the Constitution, and is therefore void." Benton said that it was "no longer the exception, with freedom the rule; but slavery was the rule, with freedom the exception." It was a year of financial distress in America, which recalled the hard times of twenty years before. The United States treasury was empty. Early in this year (1856) a Legislature had met at Topeka, Kansas, and was immediately dissolved by the United States marshals. A Territorial Legislature also met at Lecompton and provided for a State Constitution. The people of Kansas utterly refused to recognize the latter body which had been chosen by the Missouri invaders, and both parties continued to hold their elections. Thus it may be seen that these episodes were the culmination of a long series of events leading to a new alignment of the country's political forces. The Republican party was the child of this ferment of unrest. The formation of a new political party, or the regeneration of an old one, is always due to events, and not to the schemes and purposes of men except as events sometimes originate in such purposes and schemes. In this case the steps in the course of events which had rendered the formation of an anti-slavery party inevitable were: The pro-slavery provisions of the Constitution, the foreign slave trade, the acquisition of the Territory of Louisiana, the invention of the cotton-gin and its effects, the Missouri Compromise, the nullification schemes of South Carolina, the colonization and annexation of Texas, the Mexican War, the contest over the admission of California, the Compromise Measure of 1850, and finally the repeal of the Missouri Compromise in 1854. The name of the party was an incident only, and not an essential or very important incident; its principles and purposes were the vital facts. When events demand a new party, or the reorganization of an old one, all resistance is usually borne down speedily. On the other hand, it is a wasteful exhibition of human power to attempt the creation of a new party by the force of combined will and resolutions formulated in public meetings. Abraham Lincoln's great experience or keener penetration, or both, guided him at the outset of the realignments on political issues, and at the opening of the Congressional campaign of 1858, I followed him firmly and without mental reservation into the ranks of the Republican party. Hence it was that I was present on that historic occasion when the Republican party of the State of Illinois held a convention at Springfield, June 17 of the year named, and nominated Lincoln for the seat in the United States Senate, then held by Stephen A. Douglas, who at that time was usually affectionately referred to by his partisan followers as "The Little Giant." This nomination was anticipated, and Mr. Lincoln had prepared a speech, which he then delivered, in which he set forth, in a manner now universally recognized as masterly, the doctrines of the Republican party. He arraigned the administration of Mr. Buchanan and denounced the repeal of the Missouri Compromise under the lead of Senator Douglas. In that speech he made the declaration, which I remember as clearly as though an event of yesterday, then characterized as extravagant but long since accepted as prophetic: "I believe this Government cannot endure permanently, half slave and half free." That address inaugurated a discussion which has no exact parallel in history--certainly no equal in American political history. It introduced Mr. Lincoln to the country at large, and prepared the way for his nomination to the Presidency two years later. On the declaration above quoted Mr. Douglas based many arguments, in vain attempts to prove that Mr. Lincoln was a disunionist. During this period Douglas addressed an enthusiastic assemblage at Chicago, and in the course of his speech adverted to the arraignment of himself by Mr. Lincoln. He took direct issue with that gentleman on his proposition that, as to Freedom and Slavery, "the Union will become _all_ one thing or _all_ the other," and maintained strenuously that "it is neither desirable nor possible that there should be uniformity in the local institutions and domestic regulations of the different States of this Union." An announcement that Mr. Lincoln would reply to Mr. Douglas on the following evening brought out another assemblage, July 10, which was awakened, before the speaker had concluded, to an enthusiasm at least equal to that which the eloquence of Douglas had aroused. The issues involved in this famous series of debates are too familiar to all students of our Nation's political history to be considered at length in these pages. Mr. Lincoln analyzed and answered the various arguments advanced by Mr. Douglas the evening before; and the closing paragraphs of his reply to the insistent reminders "that this Government was made for white men," were memorable: "Those arguments that are made, that the inferior race are to be treated with as much allowance as they are capable of enjoying; that as much is to be done for them as their conditions will allow. What are these arguments? They are the arguments that kings have made for enslaving the people in all ages of the world. You will find that all the arguments in favor of kingcraft were of this class; they always bestrode the necks of the people, not that they wanted to do it, but because the people were better off for being ridden. That is their argument, and this argument of the Judge is the same old serpent that says: 'You work, and I eat; you toil, and I will enjoy the fruits of it.'" Six days thereafter, July 16, Senator Douglas in a great speech again tried to break the force of his opponent's facts and logic. This was at Bloomington, and Mr. Lincoln was again a careful listener. On the evening following, July 17, at Springfield, before an enthusiastic audience, he proceeded to dissect the matters so plausibly presented. At the same hour Douglas was addressing a Springfield audience of his own, ridiculing especially Mr. Lincoln's alleged attitude toward the Supreme Court. Contrasting the disadvantages under which, by reason of an unfair apportionment of State Legislature representation and otherwise, the Republicans labored in that campaign, Mr. Lincoln on that occasion said in the course of his talk: "Senator Douglas is of world-wide renown. All the anxious politicians of his party, or who have been of his party for years past, have been looking upon him as certainly, at no distant day, to be the President of the United States. They have seen in his round, jolly, fruitful face, post-offices, land-offices, marshalships, and cabinet appointments, _chargé_-ships and foreign missions, bursting and sprouting out in wonderful exuberance, ready to be laid hold of by their greedy hands. And as they have been gazing upon this attractive picture so long, they cannot, in the little distraction that has taken place in the party, bring themselves to give up the charming hope; but with greedier anxiety they rush about him, sustain him, and give him marches, triumphal entries, and receptions, beyond what even in the days of his highest prosperity they could have brought about in his favor. On the contrary, nobody has ever expected me to be President. In my poor, lean, lank face, nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out." He affirmed that Popular Sovereignty, "the great staple" of the Douglas campaign, was "the most arrant Quixotism that was ever enacted before a community." As a result of these preliminary speeches of the Congressional campaign it was generally conceded that, at last, the "Little Giant" had met his match, and the intellectual and political appetites of the public called for more. In recognition of this demand, Mr. Lincoln opened a correspondence which led to an agreement with Mr. Douglas for a series of joint discussions, seven in number, on fixed dates in August, September, and October. Alternately they were, in succession, to open the discussion and speak for an hour, with another half-hour at the close after the other had spoken for an hour and a half continuously. My friend and schoolmate, the late Mr. R. R. Hitt, an efficient stenographer, was employed to report the whole series, and thus we have a full record of the most remarkable debate, viewed from all points, that has ever occurred in American history--possibly without a parallel in the world's history. Vast assemblages gathered from far and near and listened with breathless attention to these absorbingly interesting discussions. Notwithstanding the intense partisan feeling that was evoked, the discussion proceeded amidst surroundings characterized by the utmost decorum. The people evidently felt that the greatest of all political principles, that of human liberty itself, was hanging on the issue of this great political contest between intellectual giants, thus openly waged before the world. They accordingly rose to the dignity and solemnity of the occasion, as has been well said by one who was then a zealous follower of Douglas, vindicating by their very example the sacredness with which the right of free speech should be regarded at all times and everywhere. I have elsewhere described the disappointment I personally felt at the result, when the election returns came in. Although the popular vote stood 125,698 for Lincoln to 121,130 for Douglas--showing a victory for Lincoln among the people--yet enough Douglas Democrats were elected to the Legislature, when added to those of his friends in the Illinois Senate elected two years before and held over, to give him fifty-four members of both branches of the Legislature on joint ballot, against forty-six for Mr. Lincoln. CHAPTER IV OTHER DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS OF THAT DAY 1858 and 1859 More than four months had elapsed since Lincoln's epoch-marking speech at Springfield had brought on his great discussion with Douglas, when on October 20, 1858, Governor Seward at Rochester, New York, intensified the political inflammation of the times by saying in a notable speech: "These antagonistic systems (free labor and slave labor) are continually coming close in contact. It is an irrepressible conflict between opposing and enduring forces; and it means that the United States must and will, sooner or later, become either an entirely slave-holding or entirely a free-labor nation." A book written by a young Southerner, "The Impending Crisis in the South--How to Meet It," was recommended in a circular signed by a large number of the Republican Congressmen, and thus given a vogue and weight out of all proportion to the standing of the author, whose recent death under tragic circumstances at an advanced age has drawn the name of Hinton Rowan Helper for a brief hour from its long obscurity. "Dred, a Tale of the Dismal Swamp," by the author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," served, if such service were at all needed, to keep fresh in all civilized lands the name of Harriet Elizabeth Beecher Stowe. The British Museum has a long shelf filled with different translations, editions, and versions of her greatest literary work. In the month of September Mr. Lincoln delivered a speech at Cincinnati, in reply to Mr. Douglas. In that speech he addressed himself to the citizens of Kentucky, and advocated the nomination of Mr. Douglas to the Presidency, upon the ground that he was more devoted to the South than were the Southern leaders themselves, and that he was wiser in methods for defending their rights. This was a form of attack which Douglas had not anticipated, and which he could neither resent nor answer. As the event proved, the seed thus sown was to bear fruit abundantly in results at the ensuing National Democratic conventions, and at the Presidential election two years later. Until June, Mr. Lincoln was unknown outside of Illinois and Indiana. Judge Douglas had already taken a high place among the able men of his time of national and international reputation. In September, Lincoln's character was understood and his ability was recognized in all the non-slaveholding States of the Union. His mastery over Douglas had been complete. His logic was unanswerable, his ridicule fatal; every position taken by him was defended successfully. At the end Douglas had but one recourse. He misstated Lincoln's positions, and then assailed them. But Lincoln was ever on the alert to expose his opponent's fallacies, and to hold up the author to the derision or condemnation of his hearers. Mr. Lincoln's first fame rests, therefore, on that great debate. Judge Douglas had long been famous as an experienced politician and an exceptionally skilful debater. As lawyers both ranked high in their State at a time when the bar of Illinois could boast of exceptionally brilliant and able forensic talent. As it is my purpose to treat of both these great men in some detail in subsequent pages of this work, devoting at least a full chapter to Mr. Lincoln, so long my admired and never failing friend, I shall now proceed to give some personal recollections concerning certain other of the distinguished characters of that day, chiefly those connected with the bar. I knew Judge David Davis very well. He was Circuit Judge on our State circuit for a number of years, and until Mr. Lincoln became President, when he was made Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. When a young lawyer Davis was a Whig; and my father, being also a Whig, took a great interest in him, as he did in every young lawyer he knew who became affiliated with that party. My father thought himself justified in believing that Davis would become a power in the land. Hence he took up the young man soon after he had settled in the practice of the law at Bloomington; and I have heard him state that he gave Davis the first case he ever had in Tazewell County, by advising another to employ him. But he re-enacted, on the less conspicuous forum, the distressing experience of failure of Disraeli in his first attempt to address the English House of Commons. Davis broke down in the speech he had prepared to make, to the great mortification of my father, who had exhibited such unusual pride and confidence as to counsel his employment in the case. Subsequently Davis redeemed himself, as did Disraeli, and became a most prominent and successful lawyer. Among other interesting circumstances of his career was that of a little claim he had for a client in Boston against a merchant in Chicago. He could not collect the debt, except by levying on a tract of land in Chicago--eighty acres, I think. Davis reported what he had done, and his client manifested dissatisfaction with the result. He so vigorously stated his disappointment to Davis, that the latter immediately redeemed the land by taking it himself and paying the amount of money due the client. This tract grew in value with the growth of Chicago until it became worth a million dollars or more. Judge Davis was a remarkably popular man on his circuit. He was thoroughly honest, and could not endure a dishonest man on the witness-stand or anywhere else. I remember a man in Chicago who on one occasion filed a bill of discovery for the purpose of finding real estate that he seemed once to have had an interest in, and which also involved the insertion of Judge Davis's own name, since he had himself at one time owned the tract of land involved. The man had lost his voice to a considerable extent, so that he had come to be called "Whispering Smith." He became notorious as a successful collector of debts, where persons had failed and were unable to pay their debts. He had filed in this case a bill of discovery consisting of thirty or forty printed pages which included the names of many persons who had been found to have owned the real estate at one time or another, among them being Judge Davis. Discovering this, and being entirely innocent of any complicity with the party who had failed, the Judge denounced Smith in open court for the outrage of swearing to something he did not know anything about, and practically threw him out of court. There was an incident characteristic of his fidelity to friendships which I think well worth relating. It occurred when I was Governor of Illinois. I was invited by the Agricultural Society of McLean County to deliver an address, and went to Bloomington on the day designated. I was called upon by Judge Davis, who resided there. He was a very polite man, and asked me if he could not take me out to the fair-ground. I told him I would be delighted if he would do so. He came for me with his carriage, and on our arrival at the grounds took me to the stand, disregarding the prearrangements of the officials of the fair, and introduced me to the audience. In doing so he made a speech, very complimentary to my father, but scarcely mentioning me at all--not more than to introduce me at the end of his eulogistic remarks. Many of the lawyers of the town were present. I knew them all, and they were much amused at this unusual style of introduction. And so was I. I knew, of course, that he was a great friend of my father, and a great friend of mine as well. Judge Davis was elected to the Senate in 1877 to succeed General Logan, and resigned his seat on the bench to accept the position. He became quite fond of the Senate, and during his one term there he was elected president _pro tempore_ of the body under somewhat unusual conditions. The Senate at that time was almost evenly divided between the two parties. The two senators from New York, however (both Republicans), and Mr. Aldrich, of Rhode Island, had been elected by their respective Legislatures, but had not taken their seats. This gave the Democrats a temporary majority, and the Senate proceeded to elect Senator Bayard, of Delaware, as its president _pro tempore_. Within the next day or two, however, the two New York senators and Senator Aldrich were admitted to their seats; this left a majority of two for the Republicans if Davis acted with them, and the two parties tied if Davis acted with the Democrats. Under these circumstances, General Logan, who after being out for two years had been re-elected to the Senate, moved in the caucus that David Davis be the Republican candidate for president _pro tempore_. Later he made the nomination in the Senate itself, and Senator Davis was elected, Senator Bayard descending, amid general laughter, from the chair which he had occupied for but a short time. Senator Davis was very proud of the position of president _pro tempore_, which he retained to the end of his Senate term. He had been acting quite independently, but seemed to incline a little toward the Democrats. After he became president _pro tempore_, while he never announced himself a Republican, he generally acted with the Republicans. I was in the Senate the day before Senator Davis's term expired. He was soliloquizing to himself in the intervals of putting motions and attending to the routine of his office. He was very fond of Senator Isham G. Harris of Tennessee, and when he had occasion to call a senator to the chair, generally it would be Harris. He called Harris to him while I was there, and I heard him say as his friend came up: "Harris, Harris! When I get out of here I won't have to listen to old Bayard any more!" He was a very remarkable man and a friend of Lincoln, and Lincoln was a friend of his. I suppose that Davis did as much to secure Lincoln's nomination over Seward as any one man, although Judge Logan worked with equal zeal. But Davis knew more people than did Judge Logan, although the latter was, in my opinion, the better lawyer. In the days of Davis's judicial life on the State bench, the judge and the lawyer had a pretty large circuit. Davis's circuit was composed of several large counties. It was the custom to travel the circuit, judge, lawyers, and all, together. At that period there were no railway facilities worth mentioning, and they had to go by private conveyance--wagon or carriage or on horseback as the case might be. Probably a dozen lawyers might go together, all putting up at the same hotel, and generally having a good time at night, spinning yarns. Lincoln was a good story-teller, and so was Davis; and the evenings were made exceedingly agreeable to all concerned. In no small measure as a result of the influences thus put into operation, the lawyers of the period were better qualified to get along in life than those of later days; that is to say, for the rough-and-tumble life they were better able to take care of themselves than the lawyers of a more recent date have been, as a general rule. Judge Stephen T. Logan was, I think, the best lawyer that I have ever known in Illinois. He went to Illinois at an early age and lived there until his death; he had attained the age of a little more than eighty years before he died. He was purely a lawyer. I think I never knew another lawyer who could so everlastingly ruin a man who undertook to misrepresent the truth. He seemed to understand intuitively whether a man was trying to tell the truth or was lying; if the latter, his words would so effectually be torn to pieces that they could be of no earthly value. But he was not an adept as a politician. He ran for Congress at one time against a man named Thomas L. Harris, and was beaten. He also ran later for Judge of the Supreme Court, and was beaten. This defeat was not his fault, however, as the community was a strongly Democratic one. I recall a story current in those days, to the effect that some man who had recently come from the east inquired, while talking with him, "By the way, Judge, didn't you run for the Supreme Court last year?" In his squeaky voice, the judge replied, "No; I hardly walked." But the judge was a true man in every respect,--honest, faithful to his friends, and fearless in doing whatever he believed to be right. He felt, I think, a little bit disappointed that President Lincoln did not appoint him instead of Davis a Judge of the Supreme Court. I came to Washington and saw Mr. Lincoln in Judge Logan's behalf without any suggestion that I do so from Logan or any one else, but simply because I believed that the President ought to appoint him on the Supreme Bench in preference to any other man in the State. Logan was a better lawyer than Davis; but Davis was an abler politician than Logan. I have always felt that in view of the fact that Lincoln and Logan had been partners earlier, and also neighbors and close friends, he ought to have nominated Logan instead of Davis. Davis, Logan, and Browning were all well qualified for the Supreme Court, all of them friends of Lincoln, and all Whigs. Lincoln had to make the choice, and I think the selection was influenced by Davis's great assistance in securing his nomination. Judge Logan was also a close Whig friend of my father, and earnest in his friendship for me on that account. When I was a candidate for the nomination for Governor I had a pretty stiff fight for the first term. There were rumors that men were going to attack my personal character. I did not know about the judge's action in the premises, but when the convention met, Judge Logan went to it as a private citizen and crowded himself into the hall, remaining here until I was nominated. Then he went home. I was told afterwards that he had gone there for the purpose of defending me in case of an attack against my personal character. Of course, I could not but greatly appreciate a friendship so manifest. He had a son, David Logan, who went to Oregon as a young lawyer, and became very eminent there. In later years the judge wrote to him, proposing that if he would come back home he would take him into partnership. To this the father received a reply from David, proposing that if he would come out there a partnership with the son was subject to his acceptance or refusal. The judge died after attaining full four-score years, and the son at an age less advanced. I think Judge Logan also felt a bit sour toward Mr. Lincoln because the latter, he thought, ought to have been more helpful than he was to his son in his effort to be elected to the United States Senate from Oregon, at the time Baker was elected. Speaking of Judges Logan and Davis, I am reminded of the exceptionally high character of the lawyers of Illinois of that day, and more especially of Springfield. I think there has never been a time when it had another such splendid bar. It must be that high personal character in leaders has a direct and marked influence in elevating the general characters of the followers. The young lawyers, especially, are impelled by a force implanted by nature to admire and to strive to imitate or attain to the great qualities manifested in life of those to whom leadership is conceded by common consent. Colonel E. D. Baker was a very good lawyer. Also Orville H. Browning, of Quincy, who was in Springfield attending the various courts whose sittings were at the State capital much of the time. Then there was Archibald Williams; and Stephen A. Douglas, a great man in every way, was on the bench a part of the time. Abraham Lincoln was, of course, the equal of any man, on the bench or off of it. Such men prominently in the lead as lawyers, and as men among men, could not but stimulate the ambitions and loftier aspirations of other lawyers, especially the younger ones. In striving to pay the tributes--imitation, etc.,--that can be accorded to greatness, they become great themselves; and perhaps here may be found the real or chief cause of the very large numbers of conspicuously eminent men congregated at the capital of Illinois in those days. Judge Lyman Trumbull I always regarded as one of the exceptional lawyers of the country. I came to know him well while I was a member of the House and he a United States Senator. During those days I saw very much of him. When Trumbull came to the Senate there was some prejudice against him, growing out of circumstances (related elsewhere in these pages) which prevented the election of Mr. Lincoln, and which seemed to be plainly within Mr. Trumbull's control. But the feeling soon vanished, and Trumbull's course in the Senate was so true to the principles of the party which Mr. Lincoln had championed, that the manner in which he had secured the election was soon forgotten, or at least condoned, and the judge remained there for a long period of service--three terms. While he was there I came to the House of Representatives, and came to be, as our association grew more and more intimate, very fond of Senator Trumbull. I also admired his ability. He was one of the few in that body who could hold his own with Judge Douglas in debate, and when he came into the Senate he at once took issue with Douglas, they being in controversy with each other very frequently on slavery and other political questions, until Douglas's career ended, about the beginning of the Civil War. I was, perhaps, as intimate personally with Judge Trumbull during my stay in the House as any other member. Barton C. Cook and Norman B. Judd also were as intimate with the judge, as any other members of the Illinois delegation. Nothing ever happened to change these conditions, until the vote which Trumbull cast against the impeachment of Andrew Johnson. Mr. Cook and Mr. Judd, especially the latter, seemed to be almost bitterly angry against Judge Trumbull. As a result of that vote opposition to him began to grow in the party. However, almost immediately after the impeachment he was re-elected, although at the time not a candidate. He was subsequently nominated by the Democratic party for Governor of Illinois. I ran against him as the candidate of the Republican party, and was elected over him by a majority of about thirty-eight thousand. He imagined, so I have heard, that he was going to beat me, and was considerably surprised at his failure to do so. He died only a few years ago, at an advanced age. His first wife was a sister of Dr. Jayne, an excellent man, and, I am glad to add, he and I are warm personal friends. I am very sorry to say, though, that his children, I believe, are all gone, as are mine. There were other men who had risen to prominence in Illinois, of whom I wish to write, and some who were then new upon the stage of public life, whom I knew and who subsequently achieved distinction. I have already postponed my reminiscences of Mr. Lincoln to a later chapter than I could wish, but in point of time we have now come to the year of his nomination and election to the Presidency of the United States, and the beginning of a career which was to be finished in the course of only a little over four years. The reference to my old friend Doctor William Jayne reminds me that I should say something of my Springfield friends,--some living, but many dead. It is to these friends that I am indebted for my success in public life, and they have generally loyally supported me, although friends in other parts of the State have been quite as loyal and devoted to my interests when I have been a candidate for high public office. In the days of Lincoln, I do not believe that there ever was a community that contained so many really splendid men, men who were so well fitted to fill any place in the State or Nation, as did Springfield. I can refer to only a few of those of State and National renown. If I have overlooked some whom I should have mentioned, I hope I shall be pardoned. First of all comes Lincoln. From time to time, as I have written these recollections, I have spoken of him. I will later give my estimate of Douglas, who, while not a citizen of Springfield, spent a great deal of time there as a member of the Supreme Court, as a member of the Legislature, and on legal, political, and social affairs. In the last-mentioned connection he at one time was a rival for the hand of Mary Todd, afterwards Mrs. Abraham Lincoln. I have thought and written something of Stephen T. Logan, and to my own old law partner, Milton Hay, I refer in other parts of these recollections. There were no better lawyers in their day. William H. Herndon, Lincoln's law partner, was a capable lawyer also. He wrote an excellent life of his distinguished partner. Herndon was one of the earliest Republicans of his State. While Lincoln believed in the principles of the party from the very beginning, the truth is, he was a little slow in becoming a member of it; and Herndon always claimed that he had much to do with making Abraham Lincoln an active member of the Republican party. Herndon believed that he was qualified to fill almost any office, and I think he was a little dissatisfied that Lincoln did not give him some high position. William Butler, belonging to this same period, was one of the leading citizens and a devoted friend of Lincoln and an excellent man. Nor can I forget Antram Campbell, one of my first law partners. We were always warm friends. I saw him on his death-bed when I returned home from Washington, where I was serving as a Member of Congress. He recognized me, but could not speak, and I can see now the tears falling from his eyes. Of the State officers of that day, Richard Yates was Governor. The State, under the lead of its War Governor, did not waste time or spare money in putting the troops in readiness for the field, and perhaps there was no governor of any State more watchful of the State's interests, or more devoted to the interests of the Union, or more loved by the people of his own State, including the troops in the field, than was Governor Yates. He was loyalty itself, and for many years was an apostle of liberty. He retired from the office of governor, to take his place as a senator from Illinois in the United States Senate. His fame, however, rests on being the great War Governor of the State of Illinois, the compeer of Morton, Andrews, and Curtin. His son, Richard Yates, many years later succeeded to the office of governor, and is one of the prominent men of Springfield to-day. O. M. Hatch was Secretary of State. He was among my early influential friends in Springfield. Uncle Jesse K. Dubois, for whom I had high regard, and who was quite well known in and out of Illinois, was one of the State officers. O. H. Miner was Auditor of the State at one time. He was a very good man. His son, Louis Miner, and Harry Dorwin, a nephew of my deceased wife, are joint owners of the Springfield _Journal_, one of the oldest Republican organs of the State. Colonel John Williams could not be said to be a National or State character, but he was a good business man, and one of the best friends I ever had, so I cannot refrain from a passing tribute to his memory. When I was elected to Congress the first time, in 1864, my friends knew that I had spent a considerable sum of money for election expenses. It being Lincoln's district, and Lincoln being a candidate for re-election as President, the National Committee helped some; but I was naturally compelled to spend a great deal myself. I considered to whom I should apply for assistance, and thought of Colonel Williams. I went to him, candidly explaining that I should be unable to make the race without financial assistance; he told me to draw on him for whatever funds I might want, and at the end to let him know the total amount, and that he would take care of it. I did so. He gave me what I asked for, and I gave him my note, which I paid as soon as I could; but he never bothered me about it. I always had a warm spot for him in my heart. Nicholas H. Ridgely, the grandfather of the Hon. William Barret Ridgely, who married one of my daughters, and who served as United States Comptroller of the Currency for a number of years, was one of the leading bankers of the State, and was reputed to be one of the first millionaires of Illinois. He was a very careful banker, and was probably too careful to be popular among the people generally; but every one knew that there was no sounder institution in the State than the Ridgely National Bank. His son, Charles Ridgely, whom I always regarded as one of the most interesting men in Springfield, has passed away just about the time that I am writing these lines. Mr. Charles Ridgely was a man of great reading and great cultivation, and a man whom any one would like to meet. His death was a loss to Springfield of one of its most interesting and enterprising characters. S. H. Jones ("Sam" Jones, as he was known) was another well-known character in Springfield, as well as throughout Illinois. He was a warm friend and supporter of mine in the early days. James C. Robinson was twice elected to Congress. He and Governor Oglesby were opponents for State Senator from the district. A little story in this connection occurs to me, which Oglesby used to tell. When running for the Senate, before the Civil War, Oglesby and Robinson travelled together over the district. The settlements in those days were very scattering, and as the rivals were good friends personally they agreed to go together and hold joint discussions. They held one every day, the understanding being that if either desired to talk anywhere else aside from the joint debate he had a right to do so. At one place Robinson announced that he would make a speech in the courthouse. A large crowd greeted him, which he captured with one of his characteristic speeches. Oglesby was sitting in front of the hotel across the way by himself, and listening to the cheering. He became very uneasy lest Robinson should get the best of it. Now it chanced that Oglesby could play a violin splendidly. A man came along with one in his hands, and Oglesby asked if he might borrow it for the evening, to which the man consented. He commenced playing in order to attract the crowd from Robinson, and in order to break up his meeting. He succeeded; one by one they came out of the courthouse, and when Oglesby swung into a stirring dance measure the crowd at once responded with an impromptu hoe-down. Robinson, seeing his audience dwindling, quit speaking and came out himself. Taking in the situation at a glance, he pulled off his shoes and became the most enthusiastic participant, dancing first with one and then with another of his late hearers, winning them all back again and completely turning the tables against his adroit opponent. This is a good illustration of early campaigning in the country districts of Illinois. There was the utmost good feeling, and a disposition to let the best man win. Among the early men and incidents connected with the practice of the law in Springfield, in the sixties, and before and during the time I was Speaker of the House, the Rev. Peter Cartwright must not be forgotten. He was one of the prominent figures in the pioneer educational and religious life of the Western country, more particularly of Illinois. He was a wonderful type of the times-- a man of great courage, of considerable ability, and most remarkable in his capacity as a minister of the Gospel. He believed in camp- meetings; and when Peter Cartwright conducted a camp-meeting the loafers and rowdies inclined to interrupt the worship knew they would invite trouble if they ventured to interfere with or annoy the meeting. He was ready, not only to preach the Gospel but to fight, as sometimes he felt it his duty to do. No man dared in the presence of Cartwright to interrupt the meeting, as in those times irresponsible parties hanging about such gatherings frequently attempted to do in his absence. Cartwright was not only an able pioneer preacher, but he was a loyal Democrat, too. He believed in Democracy, and was ready to run on the Democratic ticket, or to advance the party's cause in any other way. He was nominated for Congress as against Mr. Lincoln, the only time Lincoln ever ran for Congress. Some persons disapproved of Cartwright's activity in politics, questioning the propriety of it on the part of a minister. Among these was Judge Treat, then our Federal Judge in the Springfield district. The story goes that the Judge signified to Mr. Lincoln his dislike of Cartwright, and his willingness to lend a helping hand in case Lincoln should need help and would let him know the fact. He thought he could get a good many votes for Lincoln, and the latter thanked him and told him if he found need of his help he would let him know. On one occasion during the campaign Lincoln was walking along one side of the street when he saw Treat on the farther side, proceeding in the opposite direction, toward his home. Lincoln called out to him: "Judge, I won't need your help. I have got the better of the old Methodist preacher, and I will beat him; so I will not have to call upon you for help." This so embarrassed the judge, lest some one should hear what was being said, that he almost ran, in his hurry to get into his house. It so happened that some of Peter Cartwright's grandchildren were somewhat reckless boys, and one of them killed another young man. Mr. Peyton Harrison, the father of the slayer, was a friend of Mr. Lincoln and also of Judge Logan, and had grown to be a good friend of mine, I being a young lawyer. The two and I were employed in the defence of the young man. I did the running about, and other things necessary to be done until the time arrived for the trial. I had the accused man in my house part of the intervening time. When the Circuit Court convened he, having been previously indicted, was delivered up and the trial came on. It lasted some ten or twelve days. In the meantime, Peter Cartwright, and his daughter Mrs. Harrison, the mother of the young man on trial, were at my house most of the time. They drove into town from where they lived, some ten or twelve miles out, every day, and remained until nearly night, going back and forth as long as the trial lasted. Cartwright became somewhat attached to me on account of my efforts in the young man's behalf. The trial resulted in the acquittal of young Harrison, in whose behalf Mr. Lincoln and Judge Logan exerted themselves very earnestly. Springfield seems changed to me since my old friend, David T. Littler, passed away. If I visited Springfield during the heat of Summer, when every one else was gone, I was always sure that Dave Littler would be there to greet me. Littler was a unique character. His manners and speech were bluff and frank; he never was afraid of any one, and never was afraid to speak just exactly what he thought. Senator Littler, Colonel Bluford Wilson, a particularly devoted friend, and I travelled through Europe together, and we had a great time. Littler was for many years a member of the State Senate of Illinois, and was a very useful member in securing favors for his district; and there is no district in the State more dependent upon the Legislature than the Springfield district. He was very ambitious, and when many of my friends in Illinois believed that President McKinley would honor me with an appointment to his cabinet, he thought he was pretty sure to succeed me in the United States Senate. My secret opinion was that the politicians who were running State affairs at that time were fooling him; but it never came to a test, as I did not enter the cabinet. It is a pleasure to record that I was able to show a substantial token of friendship when, through my influence, Senator Littler was appointed by President Cleveland one of the Pacific Railroad Commissioners. Speaking of Colonel Littler reminds me of our mutual friend, Mr. Rheuna Lawrence, an estimable citizen of Springfield in his day. When I was re-elected to the Senate in the Winter of 1901, Rheuna Lawrence and David Littler were both desperately ill. I visited them both before leaving for Washington. Lawrence died soon after, but Littler recovered and lived for a year or two. Rheuna Lawrence was intensely interested in my campaign in 1900. He attended the Peoria convention as one of the Springfield delegates. There was a contesting delegation from Sangamon County, and my friends, among whom were Lawrence and Littler, were seated. My friends won out all along the line, and the excitement was too much for Rheuna, who was not a drinking man at all; but he and Dave got in their cups, and it was very amusing to those who knew Mr. Lawrence as one of the cleanest and most estimable of our citizens to hear Littler refer to him as "my drunken friend, Rheuna." All of which, of course, was only a little pleasantry which I repeat for the benefit of those who attended that convention, and knew Lawrence and Littler well. James C. Conkling was a prominent lawyer at home, in the days of Lincoln. He was a zealous Republican and a stanch supporter of Lincoln; also a lawyer and a business man; but for some reason or other, I do not know why, he became involved and failed, and the people, especially the older citizens, insisted that he be appointed postmaster. I recommended him, and the appointment was made. He served a term and passed away. His son, Mr. Clinton Conkling, is now one of the leading attorneys of the city. Henry Green was noted as a great lawyer. He came to Illinois from Canada and studied law in Clinton County with the Hon. Lawrence Weldon, who was a prominent lawyer himself, and for years served as a member of the Court of Claims at Washington. Weldon was a lovable character. Green was for some years the partner of Milton Hay, the firm being Hay, Green, and Littler; it changed later to Green and Humphrey. While I always believed that Hay was the best lawyer in the State, many lawyers believed that Green was the ablest in connection with railroad litigation. The Hon. O. H. Browning was one of the most prominent men of Illinois in the early times, and was about Springfield, the capital, a great deal, attending the Federal Court, and also the Supreme Court of the State. Browning, Archibald Williams, and Jack Grimshaw were all three very excellent lawyers, quite prominent in their profession, as well as associates in the Whig party. Browning was probably the most prominent of the three. He was appointed by Governor Yates to succeed Douglas, after the death of the latter, in the United States Senate. Of course he did not remain there long, being succeeded, I think, by William A. Richardson, a strong Democrat of Quincy, and a man of considerable ability. After he went out of the Senate, Browning was appointed by Andrew Johnson as Secretary of the Interior. He became a follower of Mr. Johnson, who had broken with the Republican party, and when he got out of office, I think he ceased to take any part in politics. He had been talked about a good deal at one time as the proper man for the Supreme bench, but as between him and Logan and Davis, Mr. Lincoln decided in favor of Davis. It is impossible to mention all the many friends and supporters loyal and devoted to me who are now living, but I shall be pardoned, I am sure, for saying a few words in reference to some of them at present in Springfield, who are especially esteemed. I have been away from Springfield most of the time for nearly thirty years, and as I go back there during the vacations for brief periods, I feel lonely, because so many of the familiar faces of earlier days have passed away. As I walk the streets now it seems that I know comparatively few people; but I have the best of reasons for knowing that among them are many splendid men. I like to feel, on the eve of visiting Springfield, that I shall see my friend, Judge J. Otis Humphrey, United States District Judge for the Southern District of Illinois. I have all the affection and interest in Judge Humphrey that one could entertain for a brother, and I know that he has the same feeling for me. He is an able man, and is regarded by the Bar as the ablest judge who has ever occupied the United States District Bench at Springfield. I have known him from his boyhood, and knew his father before him. It was one of the great pleasures of my public career to have been able to secure from the late President McKinley his appointment as United States Attorney for the Southern District of Illinois, and later to have secured his promotion to the position of United States District Judge. He is now the senior United States District Judge of the seventh circuit, and I regard him as the ablest judge of them all. I sincerely hope that higher honors, which he so well deserves in his chosen career, are still in store for him. In connection with Judge Humphrey I am reminded of the late Judge Solomon H. Bethea, who was appointed United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois, and who was later promoted to the Federal Bench. Humphrey and Bethea I have always regarded as my two judges, as they were both appointed on my recommendation. Bethea was a man of very strong and positive character. These traits were so conspicuous that his manners were, by some, regarded as extremely dictatorial. He was highly educated, a student all his life, and a very cultivated man. At the same time he was a first-rate politician. I do not know of two more useful men to lead a floor fight in a convention than Bethea and Humphrey. Judge Bethea was my friend and supporter from the time I was elected to the United States Senate, in 1883, until his death. He made a splendid record as United States Attorney, and am informed that during his incumbency of that office, he never lost a case before a jury. Very unfortunately, just when he reached the goal of his highest ambition, a Federal judgeship, his health failed. I have never for a moment doubted that had he lived and retained his health he would have made an enviable record on the bench. There is no better man in Springfield than John W. Bunn. He has been my friend ever since I first went to Springfield. He was a friend of Lincoln, and there was no one in Springfield in whom Lincoln placed more confidence. I believe that one of the first appointments he made, after entering the office of President, was that of John W. Bunn as Pension Agent at Springfield. He was the trusted friend of the War Governor, Yates, and performed many important duties for him during the Civil War. From those early days down to the present, every one has had confidence in John W. Bunn and in his integrity and honesty. I am glad to say that he is still living as one of the foremost citizens of his city. The Hon. James A. Connelly, who for two terms represented the district in Congress, was a very influential and popular member of Congress; and being a good lawyer he was a prominent member of the Judiciary Committee of the House. He is a forcible speaker, and has always taken an active part in behalf of the party in campaigns in the State. Mr. E. F. Leonard--Frank Leonard, as he was familiarly known among his friends--was my secretary when I was Governor of Illinois. He was later president of the Toledo, Peoria and Western Railroad, stationed at Peoria, and I have always believed him to be one of the best railroad presidents in the State. He was particularly noted for his sound common sense and as a scholarly, well posted man in public affairs. I do not think he ever said or did a foolish thing in his life. He has retired from business, and lives quietly and elegantly, being a man of wealth, at the beautiful little college town of Amherst, Massachusetts, in the vicinity of which he was born. One of the oldest men in Springfield is Edward Thayer. He has been a merchant in that town ever since I first went there, and was engaged in business some years before that, I believe. His father was living when I first went to Springfield, and was a very refined, cultivated, elegant Eastern gentleman. Mr. Thayer, although over ninety-five, still seems to enjoy the best of health, and attends his store every day. The present Governor of Illinois, the Hon. Charles S. Deneen, although a citizen of Chicago, has lived in Springfield for nearly six years, during his incumbency of office. Governor Deneen has had a very successful public career. He has creditably filled every public office which he has held. I have been interested in him, not only on his own account, but on account of his father, whom I knew well and whom I respected highly. Years ago I obtained his appointment in the consular service, in which he served during the Harrison administration. Governor Deneen has taken a prominent part in public affairs in Cook County and has held several responsible positions there. He made a splendid State's Attorney of Cook County. His honor and integrity were above suspicion. His record as State's Attorney paved the way to the higher office of Governor of Illinois. He is a conservative man, and has given the State a conservative administration. Unfortunately he has had difficulties with the Legislature, but on the whole I regard his administration as a successful and creditable one. Governor Deneen and I are the only two men in the history of the State who have been honored by its people by being re-elected to succeed themselves as Governor. CHAPTER V NOMINATION OF LINCOLN AND DOUGLAS FOR THE PRESIDENCY 1859 and 1860 Returning to the period preceding the Civil War, we observe that the whole nation was stirred by the conduct of a man whom most people believed to be crazy, but who in my judgment was not. He was an enthusiast, fired by an abnormal zeal, perhaps; but he filled a most important place in the development leading to the Civil War. I refer to old John Brown. With a score of followers he seized the arsenal at Harpers Ferry in October, 1859. The nation was then on the very verge of civil war. There was tremendous excitement even in far-off Springfield when the news came over the wires that John Brown had opened war almost single-handed and alone. Under orders from General-in-Chief Winfield Scott, Colonel Robert E. Lee with a battalion of soldiers marched on Harpers Ferry, and, after a series of siege operations, summoned John Brown to surrender, the demand being borne to the besieged by J. E. B. Stuart, a young lieutenant, afterwards distinguished as the foremost cavalry leader of the Confederacy. The story of John Brown is too familiar to be repeated here; but how strange that in so short a time his captor, Robert E. Lee, should become famous as one of the greatest leaders of force in rebellion against the government he then served. John Brown was captured and hanged. He had but few sympathizers in the North, but his attempt to incite the slaves to rebellion greatly stirred up the entire South, and hastened secession. Very soon the second National Republican Convention was held at Chicago. At this convention, which nominated Lincoln for the Presidency, the resolutions declared for "the maintenance inviolate of the right of each State to order and control its own domestic institutions according to its own judgment exclusively," and condemned the attempt to enforce the extreme pretensions of a purely local interest (meaning the slave interest), through the intervention of Congress and the courts, by the Democratic administration. They derided the new dogma that the Constitution of its own force carried slavery into the Territories, and denied the authority of Congress, or of a Territorial Legislature, or of any individual to give leave of existence to slavery in any Territory of the United States. After the failure of the efforts to make of Kansas a Slave State, it had become plain that the South could not hope to keep its equality of representation in the Senate without reversing what appeared to be settled popular opinion concerning the status of the Northern Territories. Resolutions to this general effect were moved by Jefferson Davis early in February, 1860, and passed by the Senate. It was in effect the ultimatum presented to the Democratic party at its National Convention when it assembled, April 23, at Charleston, S. C. The warring factions failed to come to an agreement, and the convention adjourned to meet at Baltimore on the eighteenth of June. There Douglas was at last nominated. The delegates who had seceded at Charleston were joined by other seceders at Baltimore, and nominated John C. Breckinridge of Kentucky for President. A month later, May 19, a third faction, calling itself the "Constitutional Union Party," assembled in convention at the same city, Baltimore, and nominated John Bell of Tennessee and Edward Everett of Massachusetts, on a platform whose distinguishing battle-cry was "The Constitution, the Union of the States, and the enforcement of the laws." Three days before this, May sixteenth, the Republican Convention had met at Chicago, and had nominated Lincoln and Hamlin on a platform which rang true on great principles and with high resolve. In many particulars this platform was a contrast to, rather than a growth from, that of 1856. It asserted that the normal condition of all the territory of the United States was that of freedom; it denounced the outrages in Kansas, and demanded her immediate admission into the Union, with her Constitution, as a Free State; it branded the re-opening of the African slave-trade as a crime; and in expressing the abhorrence of the Republican party to all schemes of disunion, the Democratic party was arraigned for its silence in the presence of threats of secession made by its own members. The doctrine of encouragement to domestic industry was announced; the sale of the public lands was condemned; the coming measure of securing homesteads for the landless was approved; and a pledge of protection was given to all citizens, whether native or naturalized, and whether at home or abroad. The party was again pledged to the construction of a railway to the Pacific Ocean, and to the improvement of the rivers and harbors of the country. During the four years preceding, the home State of Lincoln and Douglas had decreased its public debt $3,104,374. She had become the fourth State of the Union in population and wealth, having during the decade then closing outstripped Virginia, Massachusetts, North Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, and Indiana. In production of wheat and corn she now surpassed all other States and occupied the foremost position. She had in successful operation two thousand, nine hundred miles of railways, being surpassed in this respect by Ohio only. Chicago, her marvellous lake mart, had grown from a population of 29,963 to 109,206, an increase of nearly three hundred per cent. From nine Congressmen in 1850, she was entitled in 1860 to thirteen; and so, on every hand, might the recital of her growth be continued indefinitely. For the first time in twenty years, during the progress of a political campaign in Illinois, the voice of Lincoln was not heard. But the record of his former speeches, printed by an enterprising Ohio publishing firm, in a volume which sold in enormous numbers, afforded the text from which the Republican stump-orators in every Free State gathered at once their logic and their inspiration. Though the orator himself remained silent, the potent echo of his eloquence resounded in countless voices from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The political contest that followed the various nominations was a memorable one. Douglas made his last effort for the Presidency with wonderful vigor and spirit. He canvassed the whole country, and great throngs were greatly moved by his eloquent and energetic oratory. Jefferson Davis and other Southern orators canvassed portions of the Northern States in support of the nominee of the Southern wing of the Democratic party. In some parts of the North fusions were attempted among the opponents of the Republican candidate. In the South the interest in the contest was even more intense than in the North. Douglas had a good following in many portions of the South, but a majority of the ruling class there, whether they had formerly been Democrats or Whigs, were now disposed to bring the long sectional controversy to an issue. Therefore, besides the debate over the Presidential issue, there was a serious discussion also of what course the South should take in the event of Mr. Lincoln's election. In all the Cotton States the sentiment for secession was now very strong. The Alabama Legislature, early in 1860, had instructed her Governor to call a convention in case a "Black Republican" should be elected President in November. South Carolina had long been ready to join in such a movement, or to lead in it. At last, election day came, and the results, immediate as well as ulterior, are deserving of some remark. The aggregate popular vote exceeded four million, six hundred and eighty thousand; and of the total, one million, eight hundred and sixty-six thousand votes were given for Mr. Lincoln; and of the three hundred and three electoral votes, he received one hundred and eighty. Mr. Breckinridge, the candidate of the South, received eight hundred and forty-seven thousand votes, and seventy-two votes in the Electoral College; while Mr. Douglas received only twelve electoral votes, although his popular vote reached a million, three hundred and seventy-five thousand. Bell received thirty-nine electoral votes on a popular vote of less than six hundred thousand. Thus the popular vote for Mr. Lincoln was nearly a half-million less than a majority; but his predecessor, Mr. Buchanan, was also a minority President, so that this fact as a pretext for secession was wholly without point. Eleven States voted for Mr. Breckinridge, including Delaware and Maryland; and eleven States became members of the Confederacy, including Virginia and Tennessee, which had voted for Mr. Bell. It all went to show that the Democratic party as represented by Breckinridge was in fact a secession party first of all. The division of the Democratic party decided the election in favor of Mr. Lincoln. Had that party supported Mr. Douglas in good faith, his election would probably have been secured; but the South would have been left without excuse had it persisted in the scheme of secession. Therefore it came to pass that the Democratic party was disorganized by its own leaders of the South as a step preliminary to the election of Mr. Lincoln, and the making of that election a pretext for disunion. This part of the conspiracy was managed with consummate skill and eminent success; but the conspirators were perfectly well aware that ultimate success depended largely on prompt, effective, and decisive steps which must be taken while their efficient friend in the Executive Mansion still remained in office. This allowed them four months of precious time between the election of Mr. Lincoln and his inauguration as President. The vigilance and effectiveness of their work is an interesting and familiar story, but I shall not attempt here a narration of it. This work eventuated in war, and with the opening of war, Mr. Douglas was quickly found in the attitude of a leader in the cause of the Union --the closing and the noblest episode of his whole remarkable career. I knew Senator Douglas quite well. Of course, he was considerably older than I, and was one of the great men of the Nation, when I was just starting in public life. I knew him before the Civil War. He was a wonderful man with the people. I do not think there was ever a man in public life who was more thoroughly loved by the party to which he belonged than Senator Douglas. His adherents were devoted to him at all times and under all circumstances. When he came through the State, the whole Democratic party was alive and ready to rally to his support. I heard him deliver addresses on two occasions before the War. I heard one of the Lincoln-Douglas debates at Ottawa. I heard Lincoln deliver the famous Springfield address, in which he uttered the immortal sentiment, "A house divided against itself cannot stand." To this address Douglas afterwards replied. When Lincoln was inaugurated, Douglas was present on the platform and held Lincoln's hat while he delivered his inaugural address; the tremendous significance of which trivial act can be appreciated only in the light of later years. But Douglas did not hesitate for a moment after Fort Sumter was fired upon, April 12, 1861. He voluntarily called upon President Lincoln and tendered his support to the cause of the Union, and immediately gave out to the Associated Press a statement, calling upon the people of the North, regardless of party, to rally to its defence. I believe it was Mr. Lincoln who asked him to visit Illinois, where, especially in the southern part of the State, there was considerable disunion sentiment. There was a great effort to induce the region where the Democracy predominated, the people being loyal followers of Douglas, to go with the South instead of the North. Douglas alone could save it. He came to Illinois, as he told me, partly on that account; to rally the State to the support of the Union, earnestly desiring that the country should understand where he stood. He visited Springfield while the Legislature was in session. Senator Douglas was invited to address a joint session of that body, which he did on the evening of April 25, 1861. Being Speaker of the House, I presided. In addition to the members of the Legislature, there was a great crowd present. I have a vivid recollection of the evening. Prior to that time I had not believed in Senator Douglas; which was only natural, I having been a Whig and an enthusiastic adherent of Lincoln. The duty of introducing Senator Douglas to the joint Assembly devolved upon myself; I cannot at this late day recall the words I used, but I am sure that I presented him in as complimentary a manner as my prejudices allowed. As he continued speaking, however, I, as thousands--nay, millions --of others had done, succumbed to the magic of his eloquence and the irresistible logic of his brilliant mind; and I must here confess that never before or since have I heard a more masterful, a more inspired, plea for the integrity of the Union and the indivisibility of the Nation than Senator Douglas delivered upon that occasion. It seemed to me, as he hurled the thunders of his eloquence broadcast, that the very rafters rang in harmony, that the air vibrated in accord with his denunciations of rebellion. The address was not a long one. As it was printed by order of the General Assembly, I shall take the liberty of presenting it in full: "Mr. Speaker, and Gentlemen of the Senate and House of Representatives: I am not insensible to the patriotic motives which have prompted you to do me the honor to invite me to address you on the momentous issues now presented in the condition of our country. With a heart filled with sadness and grief, I proceed to comply with your request. "For the first time since the adoption of the Federal Constitution, a widespread conspiracy exists to destroy the best government the sun of heaven ever shed its rays upon. Hostile armies are now marching upon the Federal Capitol, with a view of planting a revolutionary flag upon its dome; seizing the National archives; taking captive the President elected by the votes of the people, and holding him in the hands of secessionists and disunionists. A war of aggression and of extermination is being waged against the Government established by our fathers. The boast has gone forth by the authorities of this revolutionary Government that on the first day of May the revolutionary flag shall float from the walls of the Capitol at Washington, and that on the fourth day of July the Rebel army shall hold possession of the Hall of Independence in Philadelphia. "The simple question presented to us is, whether we will wait for the enemy to carry out his boast of making war upon our soil; or whether we will rush as one man to the defence of the Government and its capital, and defend it from the hands of all assailants who have threatened to destroy it. Already the piratical flag has been unfurled against the commerce of the United States. Letters of marque have been issued, appealing to the pirates of the world to assemble under that revolutionary flag and commit depredations on the commerce carried on under the Stars and Stripes. The navigation of our great river into the Gulf of Mexico is obstructed. Hostile batteries have been planted upon its banks; custom houses have already been established; and we are now required to pay tribute and taxes, without having a voice in making the laws imposing them, or having a share in the proceeds after they have been collected. The question is, whether this war of aggression shall proceed, and we remain with folded arms, inattentive spectators; or whether we shall meet the aggressors at the threshold and turn back the tide of revolution and usurpation. "So long as there was a hope of peaceful solution, I prayed and implored for compromise. I can appeal to my countrymen with confidence that I have spared no effort, omitted no opportunity, to secure a peaceful solution of all these troubles, and thus restore peace, happiness, and fraternity to the country. When all propositions of peace fail, and a war of aggression is proclaimed, there is but one course left for the patriot, and that is to rally under that flag which has waved over the capitol from the days of Washington, and around the Government established by Washington, Madison, Hamilton, and their compeers. "What is the alleged cause for this invasion of the rights and authority of the Government of the United States? The cause alleged is that the institutions of the Southern States are not safe under the Federal Government. What evidence has been presented that they are insecure? I appeal to every man within the sound of my voice to tell me at what period from the time that Washington was inaugurated down to this hour, have the rights of the Southern States--the rights of the slave-holders--been more secure than they are at this moment? When in the whole history of this Government have they stood on so firm a basis? For the first time in the history of this republic, there is no restriction by act of Congress upon the institution of slavery, anywhere within the limits of the United States. Then it cannot be the Territorial question that has given them cause for rebellion. When was the Fugitive Slave Law executed with more fidelity than since the inauguration of the present incumbent of the Presidential office? Let the people of Chicago speak and tell us when were the laws of the land executed with as much firmness and fidelity, so far as the fugitive slaves are concerned, as they are now. Can any man tell me of any one act of aggression that has been committed or attempted since the last Presidential election, that justifies this violent disruption of the Federal Union? "I ask you to reflect, and then point out any one act that has been done--any one duty that has been omitted to be done--of which any one of these disunionists can justly complain. Yet we are told, simply because a certain political party has succeed in a Presidential election, they choose to consider that their liberties are not safe, and therefore they are justified in breaking up the Government. "I had supposed that it was a cardinal and fundamental principle of our system of government that the decision of the people at the ballot box, without fraud, according to the forms of the Constitution, was to command the implicit obedience of every good citizen. If defeat at a Presidential election is to justify the minority, or any portion of the minority, in raising the traitorous hand of rebellion against the constituted authorities, you will find the future history of the United States written in the history of Mexico. According to my reading of Mexican history, there has never been one presidential term, from the time of the Revolution of 1820 down to this day, when the candidate elected by the people ever served his four years. In every instance, either the defeated candidate has seized upon the Presidential chair by use of the bayonet, or he has turned out the duly elected President before his term expired. Are we to inaugurate this Mexican system in the United States of America? Suppose the case to be reversed. Suppose the disunion candidate had been elected by any means--I care not what, if by any means in accordance with the forms of the Constitution --at the last Presidential election; then, suppose the Republicans had raised a rebellion against his authority--in that case you would have found me tendering my best efforts and energies to John C. Breckinridge to put down the Republican rebels. And if you had attempted such a rebellion I would have justified him in calling forth all the power and energies of this country to have crushed you out. "The first duty of an American citizen, or of a citizen of any constitutional Government, is obedience to the Constitution and laws of his country. I have no apprehension that any man in Illinois, or beyond the limits of our own beloved State, will misconstrue or misunderstand my motive. So far as any of the partisan questions are concerned, I stand in equal, irreconcilable, and undying opposition both to the Republicans and the secessionists. You all know that I am a very good partisan fighter in partisan times, and I trust you will find me equally as good a patriot when the country is in danger. "Now permit me to say to the assembled Representatives and Senators of our beloved States, composed of men of both political parties, in my opinion it is your duty to lay aside, for the time being, your party creeds and party platforms; to dispense with your party organizations and partisan appeals; to forget that you were ever divided, until you have rescued the Government and the country from their assailants. When this paramount duty shall have been performed, it will be proper for each of us to resume our respective political positions according to our convictions of public duty. Give me a country first, that my children may live in peace; then we will have a theatre for our party organizations to operate upon. "Are we to be called upon to fold our arms, allow the national capital to be seized by a military force under a foreign revolutionary flag; to see the archives of the Government in the hands of a people who affect to despise the flag and Government of the United States? I am not willing to be expelled by military force, nor to fly from the Federal capitol. It has been my daily avocation six months in the year, for eighteen years, to walk into that marble building, and from its portico to survey a prosperous, happy, and united country on both sides of the Potomac. I believe I may with confidence appeal to the people of every section of the country to bear testimony that I have been as thoroughly national in my political opinions and actions as any man that has lived in my day. And I believe if I should make an appeal to the people of the State of Illinois, or of the Northern States, for their impartial verdict, they would say that whatever errors I have committed have been in leaning too far to the Southern section of the Union against my own. I think I can appeal to friend and foe--I use the term in a political sense, and I trust I use the word _foe_ in a past sense --I can appeal to them with confidence, that I have never pandered to the prejudice or passion of my section against the minority section of this Union; and I will say to you now, with all frankness and in all sincerity, that I will never sanction nor acquiesce in any warfare whatever upon the constitutional rights or domestic institutions of the people of the Southern States. On the contrary, if there was an attempt to invade these rights--to stir up servile insurrection among their people--I would rush to their rescue, and interpose with whatever of strength I might possess to defend them from such a calamity. While I will never invade them--while I will never fail to defend and protect their rights to the full extent that a fair and liberal construction of the Constitution can give them--they must distinctly understand that I will never acquiesce in their invasion of our constitutional rights. "It is a crime against the inalienable and indefeasible rights of every American citizen to attempt to destroy the Government under which we were born. It is a crime against constitutional freedom and the hopes of the friends of freedom throughout the wide world to attempt to blot out the United States from the map of Christendom. Yet this attempt is now being made. The Government of our fathers is to be overthrown and destroyed. The capital that bears the name of the Father of his Country is to be bombarded and levelled with the earth among the rubbish and the dust of things that are past. The records of your Government are to be scattered to the four winds of heaven. The constituted authorities, placed there by the same high authority that placed Washington and Jefferson and Madison and Jackson in the chair, are to be captured and carried off, to become a byword and a scorn to the nations of the world. "You may think that I am drawing a picture that is overwrought. No man who has spent the last week in the city of Washington will believe that I have done justice to it. You have all the elements of the French Revolution surrounding the capital now, and threatening it with its terrors. Not only is our constitutional Government to be stricken down; not only is our flag to be blotted out; but the very foundations of social order are to be undermined and destroyed; the demon of destruction is to be let loose over the face of the land, a reign of terror and mob law is to prevail in each section of the Union, and the man who dares to plead for the cause of justice and moderation in either section is to be marked down as a traitor to his section. If this state of things is allowed to go on, how long before you will have the guillotine in active operation? "I appeal to you, my countrymen--men of all parties--not to allow your passions to get the better of your judgment. Do not allow your vengeance upon the authors of this great iniquity to lead you into rash, and cruel, and desperate acts upon loyal citizens who may differ with you in opinion. Let the spirit of moderation and of justice prevail. You cannot expect, within so few weeks after an excited political canvass, that every man can rise to the high and patriotic level of forgetting his partisan prejudices and sacrifice everything upon the altar of his country; but allow me to say to you, whom I have opposed and warred against with an energy you will respect--allow me to say to you, you will not be true to your country if you ever attempt to manufacture partisan capital out of the misfortunes of your country. When calling upon Democrats to rally to the tented field, leaving wife, child, father, and mother behind them to rush to the rescue of the President that you elected, do not make war upon them and try to manufacture partisan capital at their expense out of a struggle in which they are engaged from the holiest and purest of motives. "Then I appeal to you, my own Democratic friends--those men that have never failed to rally under the glorious banner of the country whenever an enemy at home or abroad has dared to assail it--to you with whom it has always been my pride to act--do not allow the mortification, growing out of a defeat in a partisan struggle, and the elevation of a party to power that we firmly believe to be dangerous to the country--do not let that convert you from patriots into traitors to your native land. Whenever our Government is assailed, when hostile armies are marching under new and odious banners against the Government of our country, the shortest way to peace is the most stupendous and unanimous preparations for war. The greater unanimity, the less blood will be shed. The more prompt and energetic the movement, and the more imposing in numbers, the shorter will be the struggle. "Every friend of freedom--every champion and advocate of constitutional liberty throughout the land--must feel that this cause is his own. There is and should be nothing disagreeable or humiliating to men who have differed in times of peace on every question that could divide fellow men, to rally in concert in defence of the country and against all assailants. While all the States of this Union, and every citizen of every State has a priceless legacy dependent upon the success of our efforts to maintain this Government, we in the great valley of the Mississippi have peculiar interests and inducements to the struggle. What is the attempt now being made? Seven States of the Union chose to declare that they will no longer obey the Constitution of the United States; that they will withdraw from the Government established by our fathers; that they will dissolve without our consent the bonds that have united us together. But, not content with that, they proceed to invade and obstruct our dearest and most inalienable rights, secured by the Constitution. One of their first acts is to establish a battery of cannon upon the banks of the Mississippi, on the dividing line between the States of Mississippi and Tennessee, and require every steamer that passes down the river to come to under their guns to receive a custom-house officer on board, to prescribe where the boat may land and upon what terms it may put out a barrel of flour or a cask of bacon. "We are called upon to sanction this policy. Before consenting to their right to commit such acts, I implore you to consider that the same principle which will allow the cotton States to exclude us from the ports of the gulf, would authorize the New England States and New York and Pennsylvania to exclude us from the Atlantic, and the Pacific States to exclude us from the ports of that ocean. Whenever you sanction this doctrine of secession, you authorize the States bordering upon the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans to withdraw from us, form alliance among themselves, and exclude us from the markets of the world and from communication with all the rest of Christendom. Not only this, but there follows a tariff on imports, levying taxes upon every pound of tea and coffee and sugar and every yard of cloth that we may import for our consumption; the levying too of an export duty upon every bushel of corn and every pound of meat we may choose to send to the markets of the world to pay for our imports. "Bear in mind that these very cotton States, who in former times have been so boisterous in their demands for free trade, have, among their first acts, established an export duty on cotton for the first time in American history. "It is an historical fact, well known to every man who has read the debates of the convention which framed the Constitution, that the Southern States refused to become parties to the Constitution unless there was an express provision in the Constitution prohibiting Congress to levy an export duty on any product of the country. No sooner have these cotton States seceded than an export duty is levied, and if they will levy it on their own cotton do you not think they will levy it on our pork and our beef and our corn and our wheat and our manufactured articles, and all we have to sell? Then what is the proposition? It is to enable the tier of States bordering on the Atlantic and the Pacific and on the Gulf, surrounding us on all sides, to withdraw from our Union, form alliances among themselves, and then levy taxes on us without our consent, and collect revenues without giving us any just proportion or any portion of the amount collected. Can we submit to taxation without representation? Can we permit nations foreign to us to collect revenues off our products, the fruits of our industry? I ask the citizens of Illinois--I ask every citizen in the great basin between the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghenies, in the valley of the Ohio, Mississippi, and Missouri to tell me whether he is willing to sanction a line of policy that may isolate us from the markets of the world and make us dependent provinces upon powers that thus choose to surround and hem us in? "I warn you, my countrymen, whenever you permit this to be done in the Southern States, New York will very soon follow their example. New York--that great port where two-thirds of all our revenue is collected, and whence two-thirds of our products are exported, will not long be able to resist the temptation of taxing fifteen millions of people in the great West, when she can monopolize the resources and release her own people thereby from any taxation whatsoever. Hence I say to you, my countrymen, from the best consideration I have been able to give to this subject, after the most mature reflection and thorough investigation, I have arrived at the conclusion that, come what may,--war if it must be, although I deplore it as a great calamity,--yet, come what may, the people of the Mississippi Valley can never consent to be excluded from free access to the ports of the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Gulf of Mexico. "Hence, I repeat, that while I am not prepared to take up arms or to sanction war upon the rights of the Southern States, upon their domestic institutions, upon their rights of person or property, but, on the contrary, would rush to their defence and protect them from assault, I will never cease to urge my countrymen to take up arms and to fight to the death in defence of our indefeasible rights. "Hence, if a war does come, it will be a war of self-defence on our part. It will be a war in defence of our own just rights; in defence of the Government which we have inherited as a priceless legacy from our patriotic fathers; in defence of those great rights of the freedom of trade, commerce, transit, and intercourse from the centre to the circumference of our great continent. These are rights we can never surrender. "I have struggled almost against hope to avert the calamities of war and to effect a reunion and reconciliation with our brethren of the South. I yet hope it may be done, but I am not able to point out to you how it may be effected. Nothing short of Providence can reveal to us the issue of this great struggle. Bloody--calamitous --I fear it will be. May we so conduct it if a collision must come, that we will stand justified in the eyes of Him who knows our hearts and who will judge our every act. We must not yield to resentments, nor to the spirit of vengeance, much less to the desire for conquest or ambition. "I see no path of ambition open in a bloody struggle for triumph over my own countrymen. There is no path for ambition open for me in a divided country, after having so long served a united and glorious country. Hence, whatever we may do must be the result of conviction, of patriotic duty--the duty that we owe to ourselves, to our posterity, and to the friends of constitutional liberty and self-government throughout the world. "My friends, I can say no more. To discuss these topics is the most painful duty of my life. It is with a sad heart--with a grief that I have never before experienced, that I have to contemplate this fearful struggle; but I believe in my conscience that it is a duty we owe ourselves and our children and our God, to protect this Government and that flag from every assailant, be he who he may." Of all the members of that joint assembly who listened to the eloquence of Senator Douglas that evening, forty-nine years ago, aside from Dr. William Jayne of Springfield, and myself, I do not know of a single one now living. After he concluded his address, the joint session of the Legislature dissolved. He and I remained together in conversation, and I accompanied him to his hotel. During that talk he expressed to me the great anxiety which he felt for the safety of the country and the preservation of the Union. I am satisfied that it was his ambition to enter the army and possibly lead it in suppressing the Rebellion. What would have been the result in that case, no one can tell; but I am inclined to think that he would have made a very great general. Senator Douglas's Springfield speech had a tremendous effect on public opinion. It brought his followers, and they were legion in all parts of the country, to the support of the Government and the North. Senator Douglas went from Springfield to Chicago, where he delivered another eloquent address, along the same lines as the one delivered at Springfield, to tens of thousands of people. Very soon thereafter he was taken ill with pneumonia and passed away. He was a man of extraordinary intellect. He did his full part, at one of the most critical periods of our history, in saving the Nation. His speeches in and out of Congress are among the most able and eloquent delivered by any American statesman. CHAPTER VI SPEAKER OF THE ILLINOIS LEGISLATURE AND A MEMBER OF CONGRESS 1860 to 1865 The election of Mr. Lincoln was made the pretext for secession. It has always seemed to me that the South was determined to secede no matter at what cost; and it has also seemed to me that this determination was not due to the great body of the people of the South, than whom there were no better, but to the jealous politicians of that section, who saw the gradual growth in wealth and power of the Northern States threaten their domination of the National Government, which they had firmly held since the days of Washington. They saw that domination slipping away, and they determined to form a nation of their own--in which slavery, indeed, would be paramount; but it was not so much slavery as it was their own desire for control that influenced them. As soon, therefore, as Mr. Lincoln was elected President they began the organization of a Government of their own. President Buchanan declared in his message that the Southern States had no right to secede--"unless they wanted to," as some one aptly expressed it; in other words, that he had no right under the Constitution to keep them forcibly in the Union, and thus the constitutional opinions of the President harmonized effectively with the purposes of the secessionists. Fortunate it was that Mr. Buchanan had so short a term remaining after the election of Mr. Lincoln. Had a year or two elapsed, the Confederacy would have been firmly and irrevocably established. It has never been quite clear to my mind whether Mr. Buchanan cared to preserve the Union or not. In the heat and passion of that day, we all thought he was a traitor. As I look back now and think of it, remembering his long and distinguished service to the country in almost every capacity--as a legislator, as a diplomat, as Secretary of State, as President, I think now he was only weak. His term was about expiring, and he saw and feared the awful consequences of a civil war. One State after another seceded; the United States' arms and arsenals were seized; on January 9, the _Star of the West_, carrying supplies to Fort Sumter, was fired upon and driven off. South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas went out. The Confederate States of America were organized in the capital of Alabama on the fourth of February, and Jefferson Davis was elected President. We watched with great interest the famous Peace Conference which met in Washington and over which John Tyler, ex-President of the United States, presided. It sat during the month of February, preceding Mr. Lincoln's inauguration, and recommended the adoption of seven additional articles to the Constitution, which were afterwards rejected by the Senate of the United States. But the fourth of March finally came, and new life was infused into the national councils. Mr. Lincoln's speeches on his way East were a disappointment, in that they failed in the least to abate the rising Southern storm; the calmly firm tone of his inaugural address impressed the North, but his appeals to the South were in vain. Said he: "I declare that I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States where it exists. . . . The Union of these States is perpetual. It is safe to assert that no Government proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own termination. The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the Government and to collect the duties and imposts." It was a notable appeal that he made, in closing, to the Southerners: "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government, while I shall have the most solemn one to 'preserve, protect, and defend it.' "I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." At the same time that Mr. Lincoln was first elected President of the United States, I was for the second time elected to the Legislature of Illinois. I received the vote of what they called the Republicans, or Free-soil men, and of those who were previously known as Fillmore men. I was always in thorough accord with Mr. Lincoln in political sentiment, though I had supported Fillmore rather than Fremont in 1856. I most heartily supported Lincoln's candidacy, and as candidate for the Legislature received more votes than Mr. Lincoln received in Sangamon County. Douglas carried the county as against Lincoln, and I carried it as against my opponent. There was great enthusiasm for Mr. Lincoln in the county, but he was so positive and outspoken in his convictions on the slavery question that he failed to get a considerable number of votes; many went to other Republicans who did not express their views so vigorously as he did. Of course, what he lost at home because of zeal and earnestness in his cause, was more than made up to him on the wider field covered by his candidacy. Stephen A. Hurlbut was a member of that Legislature, and afterward became a prominent general in the army. I might say that General Hurlbut and Lawrence Church were two very strong men, both from the northern part of the State, and both became prominent in the public service. I might say also that but for these two men, who put me forward as a candidate for the Speakership, I probably would not have become a candidate. On the Saturday night before the Monday on which the Legislature was to convene, they pressed me so strongly that I consented, and became the nominee of my party associates. J. W. Singleton was the Democratic nominee. Before the Legislature convened, and during the intervening Sunday, a feeling got abroad among the older members of the Legislature that I was too young to be trusted in such a responsible position as that of Speaker. When I came down-town on Sunday I found that feeling prevailing. I at once took notice of it, and stated that if there was any feeling that I had done wrong in becoming a candidate, I would submit the question to another test of the sense of the Republicans in the Legislature, and if they thought I ought not to have the position I would cheerfully yield to their judgment. The caucus was called together Monday morning, and I stated that I had heard that there was some dissatisfaction, and I desired to have another vote. A vote was accordingly taken, and I was again nominated, and by a larger vote then in the first instance; whereupon the older men gave in, and I was duly elected, receiving thirty-nine votes to twenty-nine cast for the Democratic candidate. I think I made more friends, in the conduct of the office of Speaker during that term, than I ever did afterwards; and in subsequent campaigns I was frequently gratified to find men, some of them Democrats, who had been in the Legislature with me at that time, working for me with a stronger zeal and earnestness because of the associations and intimate relations there formed and cemented. All classes, Republicans and Democrats alike, took occasion to manifest their satisfaction, and some who became my friends then continued so as long as they lived. I think, of all that Legislature, I am the only one left. A little incident occurred at a reception given by Mr. Lincoln after he was elected President, but before he left his home to come to Washington, that vitally affected my life. In speaking to the President, I expressed a desire to visit Washington while he was President of the United States. He replied heartily: "Mr. Speaker, come on." And that was about the origin of my thinking seriously that I would like to come to Washington as a member of Congress. The more I thought of the idea, the more interested I became, and I so shaped matters during that session of the Legislature as to secure a district in which some Republican could hope to be elected. In the apportionment under the census of 1860, I had our Congressional district elongated to the north and south rather than to the east and west, and let it be known that I would be a candidate. But when the time came for a nomination the Hon. Leonard Swett, who was then a prominent lawyer and politician, also took the field to secure the Republican nomination. He visited Springfield, and persuaded some of his friends there that he ought to be the nominee, and they determined to try their hands toward securing my withdrawal, if possible by persuasion. They sent for me to come to the library, where they were proposing to hold a meeting. I went over, and found that their project was to get me to withdraw in favor of Swett, and I declined. But I said I would "draw straws," or assent to any other fair means that could be found by which it was to be settled who was to be the nominee of the party. Then, after some further parleying, I finally left the conference. That evening after dusk I met Swett on the street. We sat down upon the curbstone, as it was growing a little dark, and talked the matter over. Swett said to me that he was an older man than I was; that he had been knocked about a good deal, and, though he had done much work for the party, he had never got anything; and if the present opportunity for reward for services were allowed to pass him by another opportunity was not likely, at his age, to come to him. Finally, I said: "Mr. Swett, if you had come to me and made this suggestion at first, I would have been very glad indeed to make the concession to you, and I am ready to do so now. Here is my hand on it, and I will help you at the convention." He became the party candidate by general consent, as I remember it. At all events he was the candidate, and unfortunately he was beaten at the polls. That was in 1862. So that while the Congressional district was made by me, and for myself, I gave way to Mr. Swett, and the opposition carried it. Two years afterwards I was the candidate and was elected. The majority in the counties composing the district was ordinarily Republican. As a result of Mr. Swett's defeat, he left the district, though a very prominent lawyer, and went to Chicago, never to return to the Congressional district in which he had lived so many years, really quitting politics entirely. I suppose I ought to state the fact that, having made the district for myself and then given it up to Mr. Swett, I determined to be a candidate at the next election; whereupon I found that Mr. James C. Conkling, a friend of mine, and a special friend of Mr. Lincoln also, some of whose family are still living, was disposed to try for the same office. I made up my mind that in order to keep myself in trim for the future it was well to keep in touch with the voters; and I determined to run for the State Senate, though the four counties composing the Senatorial district were all Democratic and all in the Congressional district in which Swett was the defeated candidate, yet I desired to run for the Senate, in order to keep Conkling from getting such a hold on the district as to strengthen him for the contest two years afterwards. So I made the run, and was beaten, of course, every county in the district being Democratic; and the rest of my plans also worked out as I had calculated they would. Soon after I was elected to Congress, and soon after Mr. Lincoln was elected the second time, I came on to Washington. Having been intimate with Mr. Nicolay and Mr. Hay who were his secretaries, I was in the habit of frequenting their rooms without ceremony. One evening, just after dusk, I went to the White House and quietly, as usual, entered Mr. Nicolay's room. It so happened that Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward, with some other cabinet officers, were in the room, holding a consultation. I had opened the door before I observed who were there. President Lincoln saw me quite as soon as I saw him, and I was very much embarrassed. He sang out cheerily, "Come in!" and turning to his Secretary of State, he added, "Seward, you remember my old friend Stuart? Here is the boy that beat him." I stayed for only a moment, and then went out. That is the nearest I ever came to participating in a cabinet meeting. That incident in my life, as I now look back, punctuates, in my individual way of thinking at this moment, the substantial close of what was mortal in that great man's earthly career. The close of the four years of civil war was clearly in sight. It was in many respects a record-making and a record-breaking war. The navies of the world, rendered helpless by the incidental effects of its thundering guns, had to be rebuilt. For the first time in the world's history the railroad and the electric telegraph played a very considerable part. The grip of insatiate despotism on Democratic institutions was effectually loosened far and wide. For the first time in war the lessons taught in the art of warfare by Alexander and Caesar were utterly ignored, and the "Maxims of Napoleon" were relegated to the shelf, there to gather dust. In short, in inaugurated a new era in the history not only of our own country but of the entire world. CHAPTER VII LINCOLN 1860 to 1864 As days and years pass by and an enlightened humanity studies and comprehends the real greatness and simplicity of Abraham Lincoln, he comes nearer and becomes dearer to all. No weak compliment of words can add to his renown, nor will any petty criticism detract from the glory which has crowned his memory. The passing of time has only added brightness to his character; the antagonisms of bitter war have left no shade upon his name; and the hatred which, for a brief time, spent itself in harmless words has turned to reverence and love. Had he lived until February 12, 1911, he would have been one hundred and two years old. Less than forty-five years ago, in the very prime of life, he was the Chief Magistrate of the Nation, guiding and controlling it in its great struggle for national existence. Such a vast accumulation of history has been compressed into those years, and such a wonderful panorama of events has passed before us in that comparatively brief time, that we are apt to think of Lincoln as of the long ago, as almost a contemporary of Washington and of the Revolutionary fathers. The immensity of the history which has been crowded into those forty-five years has distorted our mental vision, as ordinary objects are sometimes distorted by refraction. Yet when we reflect, the distortion disappears. But the wonder still remains. The years during which the deeds of Lincoln have been a memory to us do not carry us back to the early days of our own country. They do not carry us back even to the time of Jackson, Webster, Clay, or Calhoun; yet the sacred halo of patriotic veneration invests as completely the name of Lincoln as of Washington. The many personal memories of the martyred patriot that I can recall seem almost a dream to me. It seems almost a vision of the unsubstantial imagination, when I think that I have known the one immortal man of the century, and enjoyed his friendship. He was the very impersonation of humanity; his stature was above and beyond all others. One hand reached back to the very portals of Mount Vernon, while the other, giving kindly protection to the oppressed, still reaches forward to guide, encourage, and sustain the people of this Nation. It was my great good-fortune to know something of Abraham Lincoln from the time I was about twelve years old, and even earlier than that I have a distinct recollection of hearing my father advising men to employ Lincoln in important litigation. Lincoln at that time was about thirty years old, and even then was regarded as a really great lawyer. The first time I ever saw him in court he, assisted by Colonel E. D. Baker (afterwards a senator from Oregon, and killed at Ball's Bluff), was engaged in the defence of a man on trial for murder. The conduct of the defence made by those great lawyers produced an impression on my mind that will never be forgotten. Lincoln became then my ideal of a great man, and has so remained ever since. In 1846, Mr. Lincoln was the Whig candidate for Congress, and it was then that I first heard him deliver a political speech. The county in which my father resided was a part of his Congressional district. When Lincoln came to the county my father met him with his carriage and took him to all his appointments. I went to the meeting nearest my home--an open-air meeting held in a grove. On being introduced, he began his speech as follows: "Fellow citizens, ever since I have been in Tazewell County my old friend, Major Cullom, has taken me around; he has heard all my speeches, and the only way I can hope to fool the old Major and make him believe I am making a new speech is by turning it end for end once in a while." When I determined to abandon the hard work on the farm to enter the study of law at Springfield, my father being so close to Mr. Lincoln, I went to him for advice. He expressed a willingness to take me into his own office as a student, but said that he was absent on the circuit so much that he would advise me to enter the law office of Stuart and Edwards, two prominent Springfield lawyers, of whom I have written more at length in an earlier chapter. There I would have the advantage of the constant supervision of one or the other member of the firm. From that time until he left Springfield never to return, I had constant means of observing Lincoln as a lawyer. I was at times associated with him as a junior counsel in the trial of law suits. I was employed in a murder case which Lincoln and Logan were defending, I being the boy lawyer in the case. They made a wonderful defence. I do not know whether the defendant was guilty or not, but I do know that he was acquitted. During my life I have been acquainted with very many able lawyers, and I have no hesitation in saying that Lincoln was the greatest trial lawyer I ever knew. He was a man of wonderful power before a court or jury. When he was sure he was right, his strength and resourcefulness were well-nigh irresistible. In the court-room he was at home. He was frank with the court, the juries, and the lawyers, to such an extent that he would state the case of the opposite side as fairly as the opposing counsel could do it; he would then disclose his client's case so strongly, with such honestly and candor, that the judge and jury would be almost convinced at once in advance of the testimony. Judge Davis once said that the framework of Lincoln's mental and moral being was honesty, and that a wrong cause was poorly defended by him. The story is told that a man offered to employ him in a case and told him the facts, which did not satisfy Lincoln that there was any merit in it. He said to him: "I can gain your case; I can set a whole neighborhood at loggerheads; I can distress a widowed mother and six fatherless children, and thereby get for you six hundred dollars, which it appears to me as rightfully belongs to them as to you. I will not take your case, but I will give you a little advice for nothing. You seem to be a sprightly young man, and I advise you to try your hand at making six hundred dollars in some other way." Mr. Lincoln was for a time employed by the Illinois Central Railroad as one of its attorneys. In a case in one of the counties of Judge Davis's circuit to which the railroad was a party, it was announced that the company was not ready for trial, and the court inquired the reason; to which Mr. Lincoln replied that Captain McClellan was absent. The court asked, "Who is Captain McClellan?" Lincoln replied that all he knew about him was that he was the engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad. What a strange juggling of destiny and of fate! In little more than two years McClellan's fame had become world-wide as the general in charge of all the armies of the Republic, only to prove in the estimation of many people the most stupendous failure as a commander in all our military history; Davis had become a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States; and Lincoln had reached the Presidency. In the trial of the murder case to which I have referred, I never saw more striking evidence of Mr. Lincoln's power over a court. There came a question of the advisability of certain testimony which was very vital to the defendant. The question was thoroughly argued by Judge Logan and Mr. Lincoln until the court took a recess for dinner at noon. The Judge announced that he would render his decision when the court reconvened. The courthouse was filled on the reconvening of court in the afternoon, and the Judge began rendering his opinion on the point in dispute. It seemed to Mr. Lincoln and those present that he was about to decide against the admissibility of the evidence. Lincoln sprang to his feet. Apparently he towered over the Judge, overawing him. He made such a tremendous impression that the court apparently gave way, and decided the point in the defendant's favor. Mr. Lincoln was not only a great statesman, but he was one of the ablest, most astute, and shrewdest politicians whom I have ever known. From my earliest recollection of him he took keen interest in public affairs and was the foremost public man or politician in his section of the State. He was not among the first to join the Republican party. He clung to the old Whig party as long as a vestige of it remained. Almost immediately after he drifted into the Republican party, he became its recognized leader in Illinois, and his public utterances attracted the attention of the Nation to him. I recollect having heard him utter the memorable words in the Republican Convention of my State in 1858: "A house divided against itself cannot stand. This Government cannot permanently endure half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved--I do not expect the house to fall--but I do expect that it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing, or all the other." What words of wisdom! He looked through the veil between him and the future and saw the end more clearly than any other man in public life. This was a carefully prepared speech, in which every word was weighed. Some of his friends, to whom it was read, advised him not to use the clause I have quoted, "a house divided against itself." He was wiser than any of them. With a self-reliance born of earnest conviction he said that the time had come when the sentiments should be uttered, and that if he should go down because of their utterance by him, then he would go down linked with the truth. I listened to much of the great debate between Lincoln and Douglas, the greatest political debate which ever took place in this country. I have always felt that Lincoln never expected to be elected to the Senate in 1858. I think he saw more clearly than any of us that the advanced position which he took in that debate made his election to the Senate at that time impossible. He was then fighting for a great principle. He did carry a majority of the popular vote, but Douglas secured a majority of the Legislature. His defeat apparently affected him little, if at all. I felt very badly when it became apparent that Douglas had secured a majority of the Legislature. I met Lincoln on the street one day, and said: "Mr. Lincoln, is it true that Douglas has a majority of the Legislature?" His reply was an affirmative. I then expressed the great sorrow and disappointment that I felt. He placed a hand upon my shoulder, and said: "Never mind, my boy; it will all come right." I believe that he then felt certain that the position he took in that memorable debate would make him the logical candidate of the Republican party for the Presidency in 1860, which it did. And two years from that very day the Republican party celebrated its first national victory in his election as President of the United States. It has been said that Mr. Lincoln never went to school; and he never did to any great extent, but in a broad sense of the word, he was an educated man. He was a student, a thinker; he educated himself, and mastered any question which claimed his attention. There was no man in this country who possessed to a greater degree the power of analyzation. He was a student all his life. One incident that occurred in Springfield, some years before he finally left, will serve as an illustration. An old German came through the town and claimed that he could teach us all to read and speak German in a few weeks. A class was organized for the purpose of studying German. Lincoln became a member of the class, and I also was in it, and I can see him yet going about with the German book in his pocket, studying it during his leisure moments in court and elsewhere. None of the rest of us learned much, but Lincoln mastered it, as he did every other subject which engaged his attention. His home life was a pleasant one. I often visited at his home, and so far as my observation went, I do not hesitate to say that not the slightest credence should be given to the many false stories that have from time to time appeared, manufactured largely by those who desired to write something new and sensational concerning the life of President Lincoln in his home, and concerning Mrs. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln was regarded generally as an ungainly man, and so he was; and yet on occasions he appeared to me to be superior in dignity and nobility to almost any other man whom I have ever seen. I was present when the committee from the National Convention, that gave his first nomination for President, came to Springfield to notify him of his nomination. He stood in the rear of a double parlor in his home, and as the Hon. George F. Ashmun, president of the convention, presented the members of the delegation one by one to him, I thought that he looked what he was--the superior of any man present. Many of the eminent men composing that delegation had believed that Lincoln was some sort of a monster. I stood among them after they had met him and listened to their comments. The lofty character, the towering strength, the majesty of the man had made a great impression upon them. They had come expecting to see a freak; they discovered one of the princes of men. In this connection, I must be permitted to refer to another occasion. It so happened that I was in Washington when the President's son Willie died. The funeral ceremony took place in the East Room of the White House, in the presence of the President and his cabinet and a few other friends. When the ceremony was about concluded and President Lincoln stood by the bier of his dead boy, with tear- drops falling from his face, surrounded by Seward, Chase, Bates, and others, I thought I never beheld a nobler-looking man. He was at that time truly, as he appeared, a man of sorrow, acquainted with grief, possessing the power and responsibilities of a President of a great Nation, yet with quivering lips and face bedewed with tears, from personal sorrow. The morning that Abraham Lincoln left his home in Springfield never to return is not to be forgotten. It was early on the morning of the eleventh of February, dark and gloomy, with a light snow falling. There was a large crowd of his neighbors and friends at the station to bid him good-bye. He held a sort of impromptu reception in the little railroad station. There was no noisy demonstration. As I recollect it now, it was a solemn leave-taking. Just before the train pulled out, Mr. Lincoln appeared on the rear platform of his car. Every head was bared, as if to receive a benediction, as he uttered his farewell address: "My Friends: No one not in my situation can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed; with that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him, who can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell." I was not present at the first inauguration of President Lincoln, but I visited Washington many times during the years that he was President, and, knowing him as well as I did, and having known both Nicolay and Hay, his secretaries, in Springfield, I naturally spent much time around the executive offices. I had many conversations with him during the early years of the war. He had no military education, but he soon demonstrated that he was in fact the real commander-in-chief. He liked General McClellan, and stuck to him until McClellan had demonstrated his absolute inefficiency for command. McClellan was a great organizer. He made the Army of the Potomac the most perfect fighting machine, I might almost say, that was ever known in military history. But there he stopped. He could organize, but he could not and did not, despite the urging and the anxiety of Mr. Lincoln, push forward his army to victory. I knew something of Mr. Lincoln's anxiety at the failure of McClellan to inaugurate an aggressive campaign. The late O. M. Hatch of Illinois told me of a rather interesting incident which occurred on one occasion when the President, accompanied by Mr. Hatch, visited McClellan's army a few days prior to the battle of Antietam in September, 1862. They spent the night in a tent, and, rising very early, at the President's suggestion they took a walk before sunrise about the great camp, inspecting the field, the artillery, the quarters, and all the appurtenances of the army. Lincoln was in a pensive mood, and scarcely a word was spoken. Finally, just as the sun was rising, they reached a commanding point; the President stopped, placed his left hand upon Mr. Hatch's shoulder, and slowly waving his right in the direction of the great city of tents, seriously inquired: "Mr. Hatch, what is all this before us?" "Why, Mr. President," was the surprised reply, "this is General McClellan's army." "No, Mr. Hatch, no," returned Lincoln soberly, "this is General McClellan's body-guard." It will be understood what these utterances signified: they expressed perfectly the prevailing belief that McClellan had failed to appreciate the purpose for which that magnificent fighting machine had been created. I think I am justified in saying that after the earlier contests of the war had proven that great soldiers and great generals were not always great leaders, President Lincoln became the able director, the actual commander-in-chief of the forces of the United States. He planned and ordered the larger movements of the War, and he held the reins above and about all his armies, scarcely relaxing his watchful care for a moment,--until events demonstrated the wisdom with which he confided the military interests of our beloved country and the conduct of the war to Ulysses S. Grant. Some of us remember with what persistence during the Winter of 1862 and 1863 many newspapers and a large share of the Northern people joined in the cry of "On to Richmond!" Censure and criticism ran riot even among Northern Republicans. In a three-line memorandum the President showed the fallacy of that outcry, when he wrote: "Our prime object is the enemy's army in front of us, and not with or about Richmond at all, unless it be incidental to the main object." At a later day he said to Hooker: "I think Lee's army, and not Richmond, is your sure objective point." Modest and simple as he always was, never seeking power with inordinate ambition, simply that he might use power; still he was never afraid to assume responsibility when it was his duty to assume it. I called on him one evening at the Soldiers' Home. We spent the evening together, and naturally we talked of the war. He discussed almost all of his generals, beginning with McClellan. At that time McClellan was down on the James, and Pope was in the saddle in Virginia. Pope, he feared, would be whipped, unless he could get more troops, and he was trying to get McClellan back in order to save Pope. At that time he had not yet lost his faith in McClellan, but he was complaining that McClellan was never ready for battle. After making all possible preparations, and with the enemy in front, he would overestimate the size of the enemy's force, and demand more troops. Yet Mr. Lincoln said that he would rather trust McClellan to get his army out of a tight place than any other general that he had. After his election he invited his principal competitors for the nomination to enter his cabinet. He had not the slightest jealousy of any living man. He was not afraid, as some of our Presidents have been, to have his cabinet composed of the greatest men of his time. He was a bigger man than any of them, and no thought of jealousy ever entered his mind. Both Seward and Chase fancied they were greater men than Lincoln, and each of them, at the beginning at least, entertained the idea that on him rested the responsibility of the administration. Seward felt that he should have been the nominee of his party. Chase felt perfectly sure that he, and not Lincoln, should have been President. Before many months had passed, Seward was compelled to acknowledge that Mr. Lincoln was the superior of any of them, as he expressed it in a letter to his wife. He soon became one of the most devoted friends and loyal supporters of the President. The publication of the diary of Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy from 1861 to 1865, shows that Mr. Lincoln was the leader of them all, and was in fact the real head of every department of his administration. Chase was an able man, and loyal to the Union; but, unlike Seward, he was never loyal to the President personally, and was constantly plotting in his own interest to supplant Lincoln as the nominee of his party in 1864,--a most reprehensible course on the part of a cabinet officer. This did not give concern to Mr. Lincoln in the slightest degree. He cared very little what Mr. Chase said or thought of him personally, so long as he was doing his duty as Secretary of the Treasury. I was in Washington the latter part of February, 1864, before he was nominated the second time. I happened to hear of the Pomeroy letter in behalf of Mr. Chase, and I learned with amazement that Chase was conspiring with his friends to secure the nomination for the Presidency, and was untrue and unloyal to his chief. I felt justly indignant. I saw Mr. Lincoln and talked with him about it with great earnestness. I told him that Chase should be turned out. He answered by saying: "Let him alone; he can do no more harm in here than he can outside." If things did not go to suit him, Chase was in the habit of tendering his resignation every few days. It was not accepted; but he offered it once too often, and, very much to his surprise and chagrin, it was promptly accepted; and Chase was relegated to private life, where he belonged, and where he should have remained. Chief Justice Taney passed away unmourned, the most pathetic and desolate figure in the Civil War, with his long, faithful, and distinguished service on the bench forgotten. Chase's friends, and Chase himself, at once commenced overtures of friendship toward Mr. Lincoln, in the interest, solely, of securing Chase's appointment as Chief Justice. Considerable pressure was brought to bear in behalf of Chase. The President would give no intimation as to what he intended to do, although I myself believe that he all the time intended appointing him to the vacant position, and that the so- called pressure on the part of Sumner and other radicals had little, if any, influence with him. During this period, after the death of Chief Justice Taney, Chase was not at all averse to writing the President the most friendly letters. One day his secretary brought him a letter from Mr. Chase. The President asked, "What is it about?" "Simply a kind and friendly letter," the secretary answered. Mr. Lincoln, without reading it, replied with his shrewd smile: "File it with his other recommendations." Chase was finally appointed Chief Justice of the United States. After his conduct as a member of the cabinet, I do not believe we have ever had another President, except Lincoln, magnanimous enough to have made that appointment under similar circumstances. Lincoln entertained a very exalted opinion of Chase's ability as a lawyer and a man. He believed that he possessed the qualifications of a great Chief Justice, and the appointment was made entirely free from any personal feelings or prejudices. I happened to be alone in Mr. Nicolay's room in the White House when Mr. Chase called to thank the President for his nomination. He came into Mr. Nicolay's room first, and inquired of me if the President was in. I told him I did not know, but his room was next to the one we were in, and he might ascertain for himself. Knowing of Chase's disparaging remarks concerning Mr. Lincoln, and of his disloyalty as a member of his cabinet, I was very curious to hear what he would have to say to the President. He left the door ajar, and I overheard the conversation. Mr. Chase proceeded to thank the President for his nomination. Mr. Lincoln's reply was brief, merely that he hoped Mr. Chase would get along well and would do his duty. Very few words passed between them, and the interview closed. Montgomery Blair was Postmaster-General in President Lincoln's cabinet. He was appointed from the District of Columbia. He was a man of considerable ability, and was thoroughly loyal to the President. Montgomery Blair became exceedingly unpopular among certain classes, not only on his own account, but because of his brother Frank, whose home was in Missouri. I thought his remaining in the cabinet was injuring the Administration, and I told Mr. Lincoln, in a conversation I had with him at the White House, that under all the circumstances Montgomery Blair should be relieved from office; that he was unpopular; that the people were not for him. Mr. Lincoln seemed annoyed, even to the extent of petulance (a rare thing with him), that I should say anything against Montgomery Blair. He asserted that Blair was a loyal man, was doing his full duty as Postmaster-General, and that he would not turn him out. Later, Montgomery Blair, always loyal under all circumstances, told the President that he was ready to tender his resignation whenever, in the judgment of the President, his remaining in the cabinet would be an embarrassment; and Mr. Lincoln in a very kindly note sometime afterwards said that he felt himself compelled to accept Mr. Blair's offer and ask for his resignation. They continued personal friends until the President's death. The year 1862, on account of the proclamation of President Lincoln, in September, that he would free the slaves in those States or parts of States whose people continued in rebellion on and after January 1, 1863, was a disastrous year to the Republican party; but the final effect of the proclamation was beneficial to the cause of the Union. It stimulated greater enthusiasm on the part of those who desired to see the end of slavery in this country. Many people so hated that institution that they were more desirous of having it abolished than to have the Union preserved with it. While President Lincoln was always opposed to slavery, unequivocally opposed to it, yet his oath called upon him to preserve the Constitution and the Union. He said that his paramount object was to save the Union and not to save or destroy slavery. In 1862 President Lincoln appointed three men, namely, Governor George S. Boutwell, the Hon. Stephen T. Logan, and the Hon. Charles A. Dana, a commission to go to Cairo, Illinois, and settle the claims of numerous persons against the Government, arising from property purchased by commissary officers and quartermasters in the volunteer service before the volunteers knew anything about military rules or regulations. Judge Logan went to Cairo, remained a few days, became ill, tendered his resignation, and returned home. The President telegraphed me an appointment, and asked me to go at once to Cairo for duty, which I did. I had not known either Boutwell or Dana before. The commission finished its work in about a month, and forwarded to Washington all papers, with its report. The claims were paid on the basis of our allowance, and justice was done to all concerned. Early in 1862 an old friend of President Lincoln's, James Lamb, came to see me, stating that he had been furnishing beef cattle to the army; that he had received orders to furnish a given number on the hoof at a certain place in the South, which he had done; but before his cattle arrived the army had gone, and he had thereby suffered great loss. He asked me to look after his claim when I went to the National capital, and I agreed to do so. I knew nothing about such things in Washington, nor how such business with the Government was transacted. I went to the President as the only official with whom I was acquainted, and stated to him, "Uncle Jimmie Lamb, your old friend, has a claim," setting forth the same in full. "You know he is a good man," I urged, "and he ought to have his money." Lincoln answered me by saying: "Cullom, there is this difference in dealing between two individuals and between an individual and the Government: if an individual does not do as he agreed and the other person is injured thereby, he can sue the one responsible for the injury, and recover damages; but in the case of the Government, if it does not do right, the individual can't help himself." He gave me a note, however, to the proper officer and the matter was arranged. The gossip around the Capitol in Washington among Senators and Representatives is a very poor gauge of public sentiment in the country toward a President. I was in Washington a few months before the second nomination. I talked with numerous Representatives and Senators, and it really seemed to me as if there was hardly any one in favor of the renomination of Mr. Lincoln. I felt much discouraged over the circumstance. When I was about to leave for home, I called at the White House. I asked the President if he permitted anybody to talk to him about himself. He replied that he did. I said: "I would like to talk to you about yourself." He asked me to be seated. Whereupon I told him that I had been in Washington some ten days or more, and that everybody seemed to be against him. "Well, it is not quite so bad as that," he said. He took down his directory, and I soon discovered that he had a far more intimate knowledge of the situation than I had. He had every one marked, knew how he stood, and the list made a better showing than I had expected. The truth is, however, that many of the strong men in Congress, especially the radicals, were against his renomination, and would have rejoiced to see some one else the nominee of the party; but they knew full well, that the great body of the people of the North were with him, and that it would be useless to attempt to prevent his renomination. The next time I called at the White House after the convention, he reminded me of our previous conversation, and remarked that it did not turn out so badly after all. He was reminded of a little story. A couple of Irishmen came to America and started out on foot into the country. They travelled along until they came to a piece of woods. They thought they heard a noise, but did not know what it was. They deployed on either side of the road to find out, but were unable to do so, and finally one called to the other, "Pat, Pat, let's go on; this is nothing by a domned noise." So the opposition to him, he said, was apparently nothing but a noise. But if he never had any doubts as to his renomination, he at one time almost despaired of being re-elected, as did many of his closest and most intimate friends. The Democrats had not yet selected their candidates, and as he remarked: "At this period we had no adversary, and seemed to have no friends." An incident in this connection is related by the late Secretary, John Hay. The President felt that the campaign was going against him, and he had made up his mind deliberately as to the course he should pursue. He resolved to lay down for himself a course of action demanded by his then conviction of duty. He wrote on the twenty-third of August the following memorandum: "This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable that this administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be my duty to so co-operate with the President-elect as to save the Union between the election and the inauguration; as he will have secured his election on such grounds that he cannot possibly save it afterwards." He then folded and pasted the sheet in such manner that its contents could not be read, and as the cabinet came together he handed this paper to each member successively, requesting him to write his name across the back of it, without intimating to any member of the cabinet what the note contained. In this manner he pledged himself to accept loyally the anticipated verdict of the people against him. Mr. Hay's diary relates what took place at the next cabinet meeting after the election, as follows: "At the meeting of the cabinet to-day the President took out a paper from his desk and said: 'Gentlemen, do you remember last summer I asked you all to sign your names to the back of a paper of which I did not show you the inside? This is it. Now, Mr. Hay, see if you can open this without tearing it.' He had pasted it up in so singular a style that it required some cutting to get it open. He then read this memorandum (quoted above). "The President said: 'You will remember that this was written at the time, six days before the Chicago nominating convention, when as yet we had no adversary and seemed to have no friends. I then solemnly resolved on the course of action indicated in this paper. I resolved in the case of the election of General McClellan, being certain that he would be the candidate, that I would see him and talk matters over with him. I would say, "General, the election has demonstrated that you are stronger, have more influence with the American people than I. Now let us together, you with your influence, and I with all the executive power of the Government, try to save the country. You raise as many troops as you possibly can for the final trial, and I will devote all my energies to assist and finish the war."' "Seward said: 'And the General would have answered you, "Yes, yes," and the next day when you saw him again and pressed these views upon him, he would have said, "Yes, yes," and so on forever, and would have done nothing at all.' "'At least,' rejoined Lincoln, 'I should have done my duty and have stood clear before my own conscience.'" Not the least of his troubles and embarrassments during the trying period preceding his second election was the overzealous advice,-- persistence, I might say--on the part of certain New Yorkers and New Englanders who seemed to think that they had the interest of the Union and the country more at heart than had Mr. Lincoln. Horace Greeley was one of the most troublesome of this lot. He was an honest and a most loyal man, but was willing to temporize upon the most vital questions. At one time he advised that the "erring sisters" should be permitted to depart in peace. At this particular time of which I speak he had devised a plan for a peace conference, with certain prominent Confederates, Clement C. Clay, among others, to be held in Canada. Mr. Lincoln felt sure that the conference would do no good, and that the Confederates were fooling Mr. Greeley, and that they had no real power to act. This turned out to be exactly the truth. I was with the President just as he was sending Mr. Hay to Niagara with written instructions, which were given to see that nothing which threatened the interests of the Government should be done. The President was very much annoyed, and he remarked to me: "While Mr. Greeley means right, he makes me almost as much trouble as the whole Southern Confederacy." While, as I have previously observed, Greeley was intensely loyal to the country, yet he was so nervous and unstable in his mind that he could not resist the effort to bring about a condition of peace. I think he would have consented to almost anything in order to secure it. He was very anxious for the issuance of a proclamation abolishing slavery, and on the nineteenth of August, 1862, addressed a very arrogant open letter to President Lincoln on the subject. Lincoln's reply was so good, so perfect, and so conclusive that I give it, as follows: "Executive Mansion, "Washington, _Friday, August 22, 1863_. "Hon. Horace Greeley: "Dear Sir: I have just read yours of the nineteenth instant, addressed to myself through _The New York Tribune_. "If there be any statements or assumptions of facts which I may know to be erroneous, I do not now and here controvert them. "If there may be any inferences which I may to believe to be falsely drawn, I do not now and here argue against them. "If there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone, I waive it in deference to an old friend whose heart I have always supposed to be right. "As to the policy 'I seem to be pursuing,' as you say, I have not meant to leave any one in doubt. I would save the Union. I would save it in the shortest way under the Constitution. "The sooner the National authority can be restored, the nearer the Union will be--the Union as it was. "If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not agree with them. "If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, I do not agree with them. "_My paramount object is to save the Union, and not either to save or destroy slavery_. "If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would do that. "What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the Union, and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. "I shall do less whenever I shall believe what I am doing hurts the cause, and shall do more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause. "I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so fast as they will appear to be true views. "I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty, and I intend no modifications of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men everywhere could be free. "Yours, "A. Lincoln." It is said that Mr. Greeley remarked after reading the letter that he had been knocked out by one letter from Mr. Lincoln, and that he "would be damned if he ever wrote him another." There was more personal bitterness evinced against Mr. Lincoln in the campaign of 1864 than ever before or since in a Presidential campaign. He was denounced in the most intemperate language as a tyrant, a dictator, whose administration had proven a failure. A certain element of so-called "high class" New Englanders, men of the Wendell Phillips type, were particularly bitter in their denunciation. And I may remark in passing that the New England men of letters never did have a proper appreciation of the worth of Abraham Lincoln. He was triumphantly re-elected amid the universal rejoicing of the friends of liberty throughout the North. He took the election very quietly. He apparently felt no sense of personal triumph over his opponents and those who had so bitterly attacked him during the campaign. He seemed only to have a feeling of deep gratitude to his fellow citizens who had testified their confidence in his administration. On the evening of election day, when it became evident that he was re-elected to the Presidency, in response to a serenade he said: "I am thankful to God for this approval by the people. While deeply grateful for this mark of their confidence in me, if I know my heart, my gratitude is free from any taint of personal triumph, but I give thanks to the Almighty for this evidence of the people's resolution to stand by free government and the rights of humanity." And again in that eloquent, simple little response which he made to the joint committee of Congress appointed to wait upon him to notify him of his second election, after the count of the electoral votes by a joint session of the Senate and House of Representatives in Congress, he said: "With deep gratitude to my countrymen for this mark of their confidence; with a distrust of my own ability to perform the duty required under the most favorable circumstances, and now rendered doubly difficult by existing national perils; yet with a firm reliance on the strength of our free Government, and the eventual loyalty of the people to the just principles upon which it is founded, and, above all, with an unshaken faith in the Supreme Ruler of Nations, I accept this trust. Be pleased to signify this to the respective Houses of Congress." These utterances show more clearly than any one else can describe the state of mind in which the President received his re-election, and in which he was about to enter his second term as President of the Republic. Without any personal feeling of pride, he was certain in his own mind that his re-election was necessary in order to save the Union. I attended the second inauguration, March 4, 1865. I have a particularly vivid recollection of the scene which took place in the Senate chamber when Mr. Johnson took the oath as Vice-President. The simple truth is, and it was plain to every one present in that chamber, Mr. Johnson was intoxicated. Johnson delivered a rambling, senseless address. I sat next to Senator Lane of Indiana, and I remarked that somebody should stop him. Lane sent up a note to the Secretary of the Senate, telling him to get Johnson to cease speaking and take the oath. We felt Johnson was making an exhibition of himself in the presence of the President, the Cabinet, the Foreign Representatives, and two Houses of Congress, and a gathering of the most distinguished men of the Nation. The Secretary wrote some lines and placed them before Mr. Johnson, who did not appear to notice them. Finally he was made to understand that he must take the oath, as the time had come when the President, according to usual custom, would have to go to the east front of the Capitol to take the oath as President of the United States. Johnson, with a sort of wild sweep of his arm said, "I will take the oath, but I regard my devotion to the Union as greater evidence of my loyalty than any oath I could take." I was close to Mr. Lincoln at the solemn moment when Chief Justice Chase administered to him the oath of office. There was a vast crowd of people, great enthusiasm and rejoicing, and the war was practically over,--a far different scene from the one which took place just four years before, when Chief Justice Taney in the same place administered the same oath. At that time there was no noisy demonstration. There was a solemn hush, as every one realized that the country was about to be plunged into one of the mightiest civil wars of all history. Indeed many men believed that there was a concerted plot to assassinate Mr. Lincoln at that time, and that he would never be permitted to enter upon the duties of his office. I heard him deliver his second inaugural address,--one of his two greatest speeches. The last time I saw Abraham Lincoln alive was about three weeks before his assassination, as I now recollect. He was at the White House. There had been constant rumors throughout his first term that he was in danger of some such outrage, but as the war drew to a close, with the natural bitter and resentful feeling in the South, these rumors seemed to increase. I told him what I had heard, and urged him to be careful. It did not seem to concern him much, and the substance of his reply was that he must take his chances; that he could not live in an iron box, as he expressed it, and do his duty as President of the United States. It is difficult for one who did not live in those terrible days from 1861 to 1865 to realize the awful shock of horror that went through the whole Nation on the morning of April 15, 1865, when the message came, "Abraham Lincoln is dead." In his old home at Springfield, it seemed the whole population assembled in the public square, and the duty devolved upon me to announce to the assembled people that the great President had passed away. There was intense suppressed excitement. No one dared utter a word in disparagement of Abraham Lincoln. The crowd was in the humor for hanging to the limb of the first convenient tree any one who dared to make a slighting suggestion. It was not alone in Springfield, but it was throughout the entire North that this feeling prevailed. There was fear that the Government would go to pieces, almost that the end of the world was at hand. Soon the news came from different sources that he was to be buried in Washington, or somewhere in the East. The people of Springfield became very much worked up. A committee was appointed to go to Washington to insist that the remains should be taken to Springfield. I was a member of this committee. We left immediately, but before we arrived at Harrisburg it had been determined that the only fitting final resting place of all that remained of the immortal Lincoln was at his old home in Springfield; and the funeral train had already left Washington. The committee waited at Harrisburg for its arrival. Through the courtesy of Governor Curtin, of Pennsylvania, we were permitted to board the train, and we accompanied the remains from there to Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Chicago, and finally to Springfield. At each place the remains lay in state and were viewed by hundreds of thousands of people. In all, the entire journey consumed some twelve days from the time the party left Washington until it arrived in Springfield. It was determined that the funeral train should follow the same route and stop at practically the same places that Lincoln visited on his way to Washington to be inaugurated as the first Republican President of the United States. The country was so wrought up no one seemed certain what was to happen; no one knew but that there would be a second and bloodier revolution, in which the Government might fall into the hands of a dictator; and it was thought the funeral trip would serve to arouse the patriotism of the people, which it did. I never witnessed anything like the universal demonstration of sorrow, not only at every city where the remains lay in state but all during the entire route, at every little village and hamlet; even at cross-roads thousands of people would be gathered to catch a glimpse of the funeral train as it passed by. In Philadelphia the casket rested in Independence Hall. In New York I suppose not less than half a million people passed by to view the body. General Scott came down with the procession to the station, and to him I introduced our Illinois friends. His response was given in a most dignified and ponderous style: "Gentlemen, you do me great honor." The farther west we proceeded, drawing constantly nearer to the home of Lincoln, the more wrought up the people seemed to be. In the West there were not only expressions of deep sorrow, but of vengeance as well, especially toward the South. Before the facts became fully known, it was thought that the assassination was the result of a Southern conspiracy, and there was a feeling that the whole South should be punished for the act of one of her misguided sons. The body lay in state for two days in Chicago, and then came the last stage of the journey to Springfield. It first was taken to the State House, and was afterwards placed in the old vault at the foot of the hill in Oak Ridge Cemetery, where it remained until the monument was completed. Bishop Simpson, one of the most eloquent men in the Methodist Church, and a devoted friend of Mr. Lincoln during his life, preached the funeral sermon. The services at Springfield were simple in the extreme, just as Mr. Lincoln would have wished. Steps were at once taken for the erection of the monument, which stands in Oak Ridge Cemetery to-day. So far as I can learn, every member of the funeral party that accompanied the remains of Abraham Lincoln from Washington to Springfield, with the exception of Mr. E. F. Leonard and myself, has passed away. It was my good fortune to know Abraham Lincoln in all the walks of life. I knew him as President, and I was permitted to know him in the sacred precincts of his family at home. I have studied the lives of the great men of the world, and I do not hesitate to say now, after nearly fifty years have passed away since his death, that Abraham Lincoln was the peer in all that makes a man great, useful, and noble, of any man in all the world's history. CHAPTER VIII NOTABLES IN THE THIRTY-NINTH CONGRESS 1864 to 1870 I had a very active campaign for election to Congress in 1864. As I have stated elsewhere, I had, while Speaker, so framed the district that I thought it would surely be a Republican one; but very much to my surprise, it went Democratic when Mr. Swett was a candidate. For a number of reasons I was more than anxious to carry the district. First, naturally I did not want to be defeated; second, I wanted to show that it was really a Republican district, and more especially still on President Lincoln's account, I was solicitous that a Republican should be elected from the President's own district, as was President Lincoln also. The National Committee assisted a good deal, and the President himself helped whenever there was an opportunity. I was elected by a good, safe majority, and entered the Thirty-ninth Congress in December, 1865. The Illinois delegation in the Thirty-ninth Congress, when I entered the House, while containing few members, still compared favorably with other delegations, and consisted of very good men who reflected credit on the State, and some of whom had far more than ordinary ability. General John A. Logan, of whom I have written in another part of these memoirs, was a very prominent member of the delegation and of the House. E. B. Washburne was also a leading member. He was very influential, and at one time was in a sense the leader of the House. He early became prominent as one of the intimate friends and supporters of General Grant, who, every one supposed, would be the nominee of the Republican party to succeed President Johnson. Thaddeus Stevens was the real leader on every occasion when he chose to assume that position. His whole interest, however, seemed to be concentrated on reconstruction, one of the greatest problems that has ever confronted this country, and consequently he gave little attention to general legislation. This gave Washburne quite a commanding voice in shaping the general legislation of the House. John Wentworth was one of the best known citizens of Chicago of his day, and was closely identified with the early history of the city. He was several times a member of the House. I found him to be a capable member of the Thirty-ninth Congress, a man of influence, and I liked him very much. He was Mayor of Chicago when President Lincoln was assassinated, and I recall that he was at the station at the head of the committee when the funeral train arrived in Chicago. John Wentworth was quite a character in our State politics, but he was particularly noted as being one of the foremost citizens of his home city. Burton C. Cook, of Ottawa, was one of the ablest men in the Illinois delegation. He was a splendid man, a man of high character, one of the leaders of the bar of the State of Illinois, and retired from Congress to become general counsel of the Northwestern Railroad. He occupied a very important place in the House, and was chairman of the Committee on the District of Columbia. He could not endure ridicule, and he was not particularly quick in argument, although a very good debater. A rather humorous incident occurred on one occasion when he was pushing a bill to have Pennsylvania Avenue paved. Proctor Knott, from Kentucky, was then a member of the House, and one of its cleverest and wittiest speakers. I was called to the chair because Cook knew that I would take care of him the best I could in the conduct of the bill through the committee of the whole. We got along with the bill very well for a good part of the day, until Knott took the floor and made one of his incomparably funny speeches, depicting the situation on Pennsylvania Avenue, with its fine carriages and outfits, with buckles on the coachmen's hats as big as garden gates. He made so much fun of the bill that Cook, being unable to stand it, moved that the committee rise. We never heard of the bill afterwards. S. S. Marshall, a Democrat from Southern Illinois, and prominent as such, was a member of Congress for many terms, and at one time was the leader of the minority in the House. At that time the Democrats in the House were so few in number that occasionally they were unable to secure the ayes and noes. They exercised very little influence on legislation, and were not much in evidence in debate, the main contest then being between the radical and conservative elements of the Republican party over Reconstruction. General John F. Farnsworth of St. Charles was quite influential as a member, and a very strong man, but was particularly noted for his dauntless courage. On one occasion I saw him shake his fist in General Benjamin F. Butler's face, daring him to resent it. Butler did not resent it, as the House was in session; and, any way, excepting with his tongue, Butler was not a fighting man. Ebon C. Ingersoll, who was familiarly called by his friends Clark Ingersoll, served in that Congress. He was a very clever man, possessed of considerable talent, and could on occasions deliver a capitally witty speech. I remember a rather ingenious passage from one of his speeches delivered when the controversy between the President and Congress was at its height. He asserted that the country was sorely afflicted; that it suffered all sorts of troubles, trials, embarrassments and difficulties. First, he said, it was afflicted with cholera, next with trichinae, and then with Andy Johnson, all in the same year, and that was more than any country could stand. Ebon C. Ingersoll was a brother of the famous Robert G. Ingersoll, the world's greatest agnostic. Robert G. Ingersoll was one of the most eloquent men whom I have ever heard. He could utter the most beautiful sentiments clothed in language equally beautiful. Speaking of death and the hereafter one day, I heard him express himself in about the same language he afterward used on the lecture platform. It made a wonderful impression on me. He said: "And suppose after all that death does end all? Next to eternal joy, next to being forever with those we love and those who have loved us, next to that, is to be wrapt in the dreamless drapery of eternal peace. Next to eternal life is eternal sleep. Upon the shadowy shore of death, the sea of trouble casts no wave. Eyes that have been curtained by the everlasting dark, will never know again the burning touch of tears. Lips touched by eternal silence will never speak again the broken words of grief. Hearts of dust do not break. The dead do not weep. Within the tomb no veiled and weeping sorrow sits, and in the rayless gloom is crouched no shuddering fear. "I had rather think of those I have loved, and lost, as having returned to earth, as having become a part of the elemental wealth of the world--I would rather think of them as unconscious dust, I would rather dream of them as gurgling in the streams, floating in the clouds, bursting in the form of light upon the shores of worlds, I would rather think of them as the lost visions of a forgotten night, than to have even the faintest fear that their naked souls have been clutched by an orthodox God. I will leave my dear where Nature leaves them. Whatever flower of hope springs up in my heart, I will cherish, I will give it breath of sighs and rain of tears. But I cannot believe that there is any being in this universe who has been created for eternal pain." Had it not been for the manner in which Robert Ingersoll outraged the members of every Christian denomination by attacking and ridiculing their beliefs, he would certainly have been called to high office in the Nation. He did not spare any denomination. Beginning with the Catholics and ending with the Baptists, he abused them all, made fun of them, and mercilessly pointed out their weak points. He was always particularly bitter against the Presbyterian Church, because, he declared, he was raised a Presbyterian, and knew more about that church than any other. The two brothers were very fond of each other, and Ebon C. never seemed to tire of talking about his brother's great talent. Robert G. was nearly broken- hearted when his brother died. One of the most touching and eloquent addresses which I have ever heard was the address he delivered on the occasion of Ebon's funeral. He stood at the head of the casket and once or twice nearly broke down. It was in that address, standing there in the presence of death, that he expressed some doubts as to the truth of his own teaching and intimated the possibility of some life beyond the grave. This was the only public occasion of which I have any knowledge in which Robert G. Ingersoll seemed to falter in his course. We were very intimate, and it is a real pleasure to me to pay him here a tribute. He was a man of extraordinary talent and ability, one of the most lovable natures, and a man of the cleanest, most delightful home life. In many respects, I regard him as one of the greatest men of his day; certainly he was the greatest agnostic of his time, if not of all time. No one has taken his place. The very name, Agnostic, is now rarely heard. And why? Because Robert G. Ingersoll mercilessly tore down. He did not create, or build anything; he attempted to take away the beliefs in all religion, and he offered nothing in return. Hence it is that his teachings have practically died with him. Another member of the Illinois delegation in the Thirty-ninth Congress, a well-known citizen of the State, was Anthony Thornton. He had been a member of the Supreme Court of the State, was a fine lawyer of the best type of manhood, and he enjoyed the confidence and respect of the members of the House. He resided in Shelbyville, but after retiring from Congress he decided to go to Decatur, where there was more business for a lawyer, and better opportunities. He did not succeed very well, however, because it was too late in his life to make a change and enter new fields. A little incident connected with him occurred while I was Governor of the State. A young boy, whose parents the Judge knew, committed a burglary and was sent to the penitentiary. The parents of the boy were naturally anxious to get him out, and appealed to Judge Thornton to assist in securing his pardon. The Judge and I had served in Congress together, and, naturally, any plea bearing his endorsement would have great weight with me. Believing that the boy had been influenced by bad companions, he yielded and came to Springfield to see me. I looked the case over and finally said: "Judge Thornton, you are an older man than I am; you were in Congress with me; you have been a Judge of the Supreme Court of the State; if you will say that you would issue this pardon if you occupied the chair I now occupy as Governor of this State, I will pardon him." He replied: "Governor, I would not ask you to do a thing I would not do myself, to save my right arm." Whereupon I at once issued the pardon. "Judge," I told him, "the train will leave in a short time; go to Joliet and take the boy home with you." He did not do this; but he thanked me very cordially and said that he would see the boy as soon as he got home. The very night the boy left the penitentiary and returned home, he committed another burglary and was immediately arrested. I happened to see an account of the crime in the papers next morning, and I cut it out and sent it to Judge Thornton, with the inquiry, "Judge, what does this mean?" He at once came to Springfield, and told me that he had been fooled in prevailing upon me to pardon the young man, and pledged me that he would follow him to the ends of the earth if necessary in order to punish him for his crime. The boy was sent back to the penitentiary and I never heard of him afterwards. Judge Thornton was one of the most honorable of men, a man of learning and legal ability as well. One day, before I was elected to the Thirty-ninth Congress, President Lincoln was talking with me about the different members of that body. "There is a young man by the name of Blaine now serving in Congress," said he, "who seems to be one of the brightest men in the House. His speeches are always short, always full of facts, and always forcible. I am very fond of him. He is one of the coming men of the country." This was one of the reasons why I was early attracted to Mr. Blaine. He was candidate for Speaker in the Forty-first Congress. I was rather zealous in his behalf, and had more or less of a prominent part in his selection. When Mr. Blaine concluded that he would be a candidate for the Speakership, a little dinner was given at Welkers', a rather famous restaurant in Washington, at which Judge Kelley, Judge Orth, the late Senator Allison, who was then a member of the House from the State of Iowa; Mr. Mercur of Pennsylvania, the gentleman at the head of the Associated Press in Washington, and myself were present. After the dinner it was given out to the press that Mr. Blaine was a candidate for Speaker. As the campaign progressed it seemed to depend on Mr. Allison and me more largely than on any other members to take care of his interests. He was elected Speaker, and I had been given to understand by him, and had so communicated to friends in Congress whom I had induced to support Mr. Blaine, that I should be consulted in the make-up of the committees. Mr. Blaine never said a word to me on the subject, but almost at the last moment wrote me this note: "Dear Cullom: "Which committee would you prefer, Territories or Claims? "James G. Blaine." I selected Territories and became chairman of that committee. Allison told me he never spoke to him in reference to committees, although he gave him important assignments. Probably the most bitter enemy Mr. Blaine ever had in public life was Roscoe Conkling, a Senator from New York. The quarrel between Blaine and Conkling commenced in the Thirty-ninth Congress, over some very trivial matter, and continued from that time on until Blaine was nominated as the candidate of the Republican party for the Presidency, in 1884, in which contest he was defeated by Grover Cleveland. I occupied a seat next to Mr. Conkling during the early years of my service in Congress. He was a very friendly, companionable man, especially to any one whom he did not consider a rival, and, as I was a young man just entering Congress and politics, he gave me his friendship. I was present, sitting next to Conkling, when the famous controversy in the House took place between Blaine and Conkling. During the session, from time to time, they had been quarreling. Conkling had seemed to have a little the best of the argument. Blaine became exasperated one day, and in the course of the debate gave Conkling the worst "tongue lashing" probably ever given by one man to another on the floor of the House. Conkling, although unable to reply effectively, demeaned himself with great dignity. His manners were placid and his reply was in measured terms. It was in striking contrast to what Mr. Blaine said. To use a phrase graphic if inelegant, he jumped on Conkling with both feet and literally tore him to pieces without any attempt at dignity. This controversy with Conkling probably caused the defeat of Mr. Blaine for the nomination--first, in conventions prior to 1884, and finally after he became the nominee of that year. Blaine was a candidate for President for many years. It seemed to be his destiny, as it was that of Henry Clay, to be able to secure the nomination only when the Republican party went down in defeat, as it did for the first time since the election of Lincoln. He was beaten in the Republican National Conventions by men of mediocre ability when the party was victorious. He was a leading candidate at the Cincinnati Convention, when Hayes was nominated. I was there and heard Ingersoll's great speech placing him in nomination. I have always felt that Blaine would have been nominated by that convention if a strong, courageous presiding officer had been in the chair. As I sat behind Mr. McPherson, the presiding officer, and watched the proceedings, I thought that if I had had that gavel in my hands there would have been no adjournment and James G. Blaine would have been nominated. An adjournment was secured, however; the lights were extinguished, and the enemies of Blaine united, and Hayes became the nominee. But at the convention held in Chicago, in 1884, no other candidate was seriously considered, and Blaine was nominated for President and Logan for Vice-President. I had to do much in connection with Blaine in the campaign of 1884. He was a very agreeable man so long as things went to suit him; but he did not attempt to control himself when things went at all against him. He was campaigning through Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois, in 1884; I had been on the platform with him at Massillon, Ohio, when the people would scarcely listen to any one except Mr. McKinley. It was arranged that Blaine should come from La Fayette, Indiana, to Springfield, Illinois. I was chairman of the delegation consisting of one hundred of the most prominent men of the State, selected to accompany him to Springfield. The delegation went to La Fayette, and the Adjutant-General of the State and I waited on Mr. Blaine at the residence of Mr. George Williams, who is still living and whom I have always known intimately. Mr. Blaine's son came down in response to our call, announcing that his father had retired, ill, and would not be disturbed until eight o'clock in the morning. At the hour appointed we still had difficulty in seeing him, and finally I enlisted the assistance of Mr. McKinley, who was there, and the Hon. Joseph Medill of _The Chicago Tribune_, to help me to prevail upon Blaine to keep his engagement. He had come to the conclusion that he ought to go back East; that he was needed there more than he was in the West. The truth was that he was trying to evade the Springfield engagement. I told him that there would be no less than a hundred thousand people from all parts of the State gathered at Springfield to see him, and it would not do to disappoint so vast a crowd. He finally consented to go, but was very ungracious about it, telling us not to disturb him during the trip from La Fayette to Springfield, and at once retired to his drawing-room. We soon came to a city in Indiana where there was a large crowd to greet him, and following his orders, the train did not stop. He emerged from his drawing-room very angry because the train had not been stopped when a crowd was waiting to hear him. Afterwards we halted at almost every station on the line to Springfield, where we did not arrive until almost dusk. Probably a hundred thousand people had been gathered there during the day, and at least fifty thousand waited until we arrived; but it was so dark that the audience could scarcely see the speaker. He left for Chicago that night, hurrying through that city; hence to Wisconsin, I believe, making enemies rather than friends. He had gained the election by his Western tour, but lost it during his stay in New York City. "Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion," the Delmonico dinner, the old row with Conkling beginning in the Thirty-ninth Congress, caused his defeat. I told him afterwards that if he had broken his leg in Springfield and been compelled to remain as my guest there, he would have been elected. He agreed with me that he would. Notwithstanding his defeat, however, he continued as one of the foremost leaders of the Republican party up to the time of his death. He might have been nominated at the Chicago Convention, when Mr. Harrison received the nomination the first time had he not retired to Europe, apparently so disgusted at his own defeat four years before that he had not the heart to make the race again. I do not think Harrison ever did like Blaine, but he invited him to become the Premier of his cabinet, a position which Mr. Blaine had held for a few months under General Garfield. Harrison and Blaine never got along. As I say elsewhere in these recollections, Harrison seemed jealous of Blaine, and Blaine was not true to his chief. Mr. Blaine sent for me one evening, and I called at his house. He related to me with considerable feeling how the President had treated both his family and himself. He urged me to become a candidate for President, but I told him that I would not think of doing so. I afterwards supported Mr. Harrison for reasons personal to myself, and not because I was particularly fond of Mr. Harrison. James G. Blaine retired to private life and died soon afterwards, a broken, disappointed man. He was one of the greatest men of his day, and was the most brilliant and probably the most popular man with the masses in the history of the Republican party. Rutherford B. Hayes was the nineteenth President of the United States, and preceded General Garfield in that office. He was neither as great a man nor as great an orator as General Garfield, although he was a much better executive officer, and in my opinion gave a better administration than General Garfield would have given had he served the term for which he was elected. Rutherford B. Hayes was an inconspicuous member of the House, as I recollect him now. He was what I would term a very good, conscientious man, who never made any enemies; but I do not think that any one would say that he was a great man. He did not talk very much in the House, nor accomplish very much. I became quite friendly with him there. Subsequently he was nominated for Governor of Ohio, and he invited me to come to the State and campaign for him, which I did. Thurman was his opponent, a very strong and able man, who subsequently became a Senator from Ohio, and was a nominee of the Democratic party for Vice-President. But Hayes defeated him for the Governorship, and was once re-elected. He was nominated for President at the Cincinnati Convention of 1876, when Blaine really should have been the nominee, and would have been had the permanent chairman of the convention, Edward McPherson, grasped the situation and held it with a firm hand. McPherson, while a man of good intentions, earnest and sincere, was Clerk of the House for many years and had occupied what might be termed a subordinate position. The fact of the matter is that he permitted the convention to get away from him; an adjournment was secured, and the same night it was framed up to beat Blaine by nominating Hayes. Hayes was just the kind of man for a compromise candidate. He was seriously handicapped all through his administration owing to the manner in which he secured the office. The Electoral Commission, an unheard-of thing, created by act of Congress, by eight to seven declared that Hayes was elected over Tilden. Very many people were of the opinion that Tilden was entitled to the office. The Electoral Commission never would have been agreed to by the Democrats had they known that Judge David Davis, of our own State, would retire from the Bench to take a place in the Senate; and it is almost certain that had Judge Davis remained on the bench he would have been a member of the Electoral Commission, and would have surely voted in favor of Tilden, which would have made him President. While Hayes was President the "green-back craze" seemed to almost take possession of the country. I delivered an address at Rockford, Illinois, before an agricultural society, taking issue to some extent with the public sentiment of the country, and favoring sound money. The President was going through the country at that time on a speaking tour, and in the course of some of his addresses he commended what I had said. He, accompanied by General Sherman, visited Springfield, and I entertained them at the Executive Mansion. President Hayes, himself realizing the embarrassment under which he entered the office of President, was not a candidate for renomination, and very wisely so. But as I have said, President Hayes was a good man; he made a very commendable record as President of the United States, and he was specially fortunate in the selection of his cabinet, showing rare discrimination in selecting some of the ablest men in the country as his advisers. Evarts was his Secretary of State, and John Sherman Secretary of the Treasury. It is a rather peculiar coincidence that both James A. Garfield and R. B. Hayes were members of the Ohio delegation in the Thirty- ninth Congress, and both afterwards arrived at the Presidency. James A. Garfield was a man of extraordinary ability. I was very intimate with him during our service in the House. He was an extremely likable man; I became very fond of him, and I believe the feeling was reciprocated. Also he was distinguished for his eloquence, and I have heard him make some of the most wonderfully stirring and impressive speeches in the House. He was probably not the orator that Robert G. Ingersoll was, but I should say that he was one of the most effective public speakers of his period; his speeches were deeper and more serious, uttered in a graver style than the beautiful poetic imagery of the great agnostic. President Lincoln liked Garfield, and he was one of the younger men in the House who always supported the President, and on whom the President relied. He entered the Thirty-eighth Congress and served many terms. He enjoyed the peculiar distinction of being a member of Congress from Ohio, Senator-elect from Ohio, and President-elect of the United States, all at the same time. I attended the National Republican Convention of 1880, in which Grant and Blaine were the leading candidates. I was at the time Governor of Illinois and a candidate for re-election myself; consequently I could not take any active part in the contest between Blaine and Grant, but of course, naturally, my sympathies were with General Grant. I was not a delegate to the National Convention, but I attended it, and it so happened that I occupied a room directly opposite that occupied by General Garfield. One evening, leaving my room, I met General Garfield just as he was leaving his, and we dropped into general conversation and walked along together. I have always been considered a pretty fair judge of a political situation in State and National conventions, and it struck me as soon as Garfield had completed one of the most eloquent of all his eloquent addresses, placing in nomination Mr. Sherman, that he was the logical candidate before that convention. To digress for a moment, it is a peculiar coincidence that McKinley made his great reputation, in part, by nominating Mr. Sherman as a candidate for the Presidency in the Minneapolis convention of 1892. Like General Garfield in 1880, Mr. McKinley was perfectly willing to receive the nomination himself, although he was then, as Garfield was in 1880, the leader of the Sherman forces. But to return. General Garfield and I walked down the hall together, and being very intimate friends, I used to call him by his first name, as he did me. I said: "James, if you will keep a level head, you will be nominated for the Presidency by this convention before it is over." This was a couple of days before he was actually nominated. He replied: "No, I think not." But as we walked along together discussing the matter, I contended that I was right. At the end of that memorable struggle between Grant and Blaine, in which the great Republican party refused to accept General Grant, the foremost Republican and soldier of his time, Garfield was nominated. I remember vividly the form and features of Garfield in that convention. I see him placing Sherman in nomination, probably not realizing at the time that he was nominating himself. I see him taking an active part in all the debates, and as I look back now I do not think I ever saw a man apparently so affected as General Garfield was when it was announced that he was the nominee of the Republican party for the Presidency of the United States. Seemingly he almost utterly collapsed. He sank into his seat, overcome. He was taken out of the convention and to a room in the Grand Pacific, where I met him a very few minutes afterward. After General Garfield was elected to the Presidency, but before his inauguration, I determined that I would urge upon him the appointment of Mr. Robert T. Lincoln as a member of his cabinet. I thought then that his selection would not only be an honor to the State, but that the great name of Lincoln, so fresh then in the minds of the people, would materially strengthen General Garfield's administration. With this purpose in view, I visited Garfield at his home in Mentor. This journey was an extremely difficult one, owing to the circumstance that the snow was yet deep on the ground; so I arranged with the conductor to stop at the nearest point to General Garfield's house to let me off, which he did. I walked from the train through banks of snow, and after the hardest kind of a walk, finally reached his house. I at once told him the mission on which I had come. We had quite a long talk, at the end of which he announced that he would appoint Mr. Lincoln his Secretary of War. In this connection I desire to say a few words concerning Robert T. Lincoln. He is still living. I have known him from boyhood. He has the integrity and the character which so distinguished his father, and was marked in his mother's people as well. It is my firm conviction that long ago Robert T. Lincoln could have been President of the United States had he possessed the slightest political aspiration. He has never been ambitious for public office; but, on the contrary, it has always seemed to me that the Presidency was especially repugnant to him, which would be natural, considering the untimely death of his father, if for no other reason. He was almost forced to take an active interest in public affairs, but as soon as he was permitted to do so he retired to private life to engage in large business undertakings, and finally to become the head of the Pullman Company. It seems strange to me that he should consider the presidency of a private corporation, no matter how great the emoluments, above the Presidency of the greatest of all Republics. How unlike his father! He was a most excellent Secretary of War, and one of General Garfield's cabinet officers whom General Arthur invited to remain in his cabinet, which he did. Under President Harrison he consented to become Minister to England. Neither my colleague, Senator Farwell, nor I favored this appointment --not because of any antipathy for Mr. Lincoln, for whom I not only have the highest respect and admiration, but like personally as well; but Mr. Blaine, who was Harrison's Secretary of State, called on me one day and asked me to recommend some first-class man from Illinois for the post. After a consultation with my colleague, we determined to recommend an eminent lawyer and cultured gentleman of Chicago, John N. Jewett. We did recommend him, and assumed that his appointment was assured; but Harrison--probably to humiliate Mr. Blaine--called Senator Farwell and me to him one day and announced that he had determined to appoint Robert T. Lincoln Minister to England. Farwell was extremely angry, and wanted to fight the nomination. However, I counselled moderation. I pointed out that no criticism could be made of Mr. Lincoln, and that since he was my personal friend I could not very well oppose him. So I was glad to favor the appointment, although I was as humiliated as my colleague at the cool manner with which Harrison had snubbed us after Mr. Blaine's overtures. I recollect very well the telegram which Mr. Lincoln received when he was in Springfield, attending the business of the Pullman Company. It was from his office in Chicago. It stated that there was a letter there that demanded immediate attention, and asked whether it should be forwarded. He gave instructions to forward it to Springfield. It turned out to be the invitation of General Garfield to enter his cabinet as Secretary of War, and asking an immediate reply. He brought it to me in the Governor's office, where he sat down and wrote his reply accepting General Garfield's invitation. But to return to General Garfield. He was not a strong executive officer. In the brief period in which he occupied the White House, he did not make a good President, and in my judgment would never have made a good one. He vacillated in the disposition of his patronage. When I visited him while he was yet President-elect, he told me that Mr. Conkling would be with him the next day, and asked my advice as to what he should say to him. It was understood that Conkling was coming to protest against the appointment of Blaine as Secretary of State. My advice was to let Mr. Conkling understand that he would appoint whomsoever he pleased as members of his cabinet; that he would run the office of President without fear or favor; and that he would appoint Mr. Blaine as Secretary of State because he considered him the very man best qualified for that high office. Garfield agreed with me, asserting that I had expressed exactly what he intended saying to Conkling; but if we are believe the stories of Senator Conkling's friends, he made far different promises to Senator Conkling in reference to this as also to other appointments. But the culmination of the trouble between Garfield and Conkling was the appointment of Robertson as Collector of Customs at the Port of New York. The President took the ground, for his own reasons, that the Collector of Customs of New York was a National office, in which every State had an interest, and was not to be considered as Senatorial patronage. Conkling strenuously contended that it was exclusively Senatorial patronage, and in this he was sustained by precedents. It so happened that I was in Washington when the trouble between Conkling and Garfield was at its height, over the appointment of Robertson. I called to see the President to pay my respects. He asked me if I knew what General Logan would do in reference to the nomination of Mr. Robertson. I told him I did not know, and he asked me if I could find out, and to come to breakfast with him next morning. I did find out that General Logan expected to stand by the President, and I so reported to him next morning. I bade him good-bye and this was the last time that I ever saw him alive. I attended his funeral at Cleveland, and as I saw his body laid away, I thought of the strange caprice of fate. Was it premonition that made him so sad and castdown--so utterly crushed, as it seemed to me--when he became the Republican candidate for President before that great convention of 1880? Had he not been elected President, he would probably have enjoyed a long, useful, and highly creditable public career. He would have been one of the most distinguished representatives that Ohio ever had in the upper branch of Congress. He was to the most eminent degree fitted for a legislator. In the national halls of Congress his public life had been spent; there he was at home. He was not at all fitted for the position of Chief Executive of the United States. And I say this not in a spirit of hostility, but in the most kindly way, because I loved General Garfield as one of my earliest friends, in those days of long ago, when I served in the Thirty-ninth Congress. There was no man in the Thirty-ninth Congress with whom I was afterwards so long and intimately associated as I was with the late Senator William B. Allison of Iowa, with whom I served in the Senate for a quarter of a century. Senator Allison was quite a prominent member of the House when I entered Congress, and was serving then as a member of the important Ways and Means Committee. He was regarded as one of the ablest and most influential of the Western members. From the very earliest time I knew him, Senator Allison was an authority on matters pertaining to finance. While he was in favor of a protective tariff, he was not particularly a high-tariff advocate; he, and the late General Logan who was then in the House, and I worked together on tariff matters, as against the high-tariff advocates, led by General Schenck. On one occasion we defeated a high-tariff proposition that General Schenck was advocating. He was furious, and rising up in his place, declared: "I might as well move to lay the bill on the table and to write as its epitaph--'nibbled to death by pismires!'" The remark made General Logan terribly angry; but Senator Allison, who had a quiet, keen sense of humor, and I were very much amused, --as much at the fury of Logan as at the remark of Schenck. As a member of the House, Senator Allison followed the more radical element against President Johnson. He was much more radical than I was in those days, and he attacked President Johnson repeatedly on the floor of the House, in tone and manner utterly unlike himself when later he served in the Senate. In the upper body he was decidedly a conservative. He never committed himself until he was absolutely certain. He was always regarded as a wise man, and he exercised an extraordinary control over members, in settling troublesome questions and bringing about harmony in the Senate. He had powerful influence, not only with members of his own party, but with members of the opposition. Every one had confidence in him. His statements were accepted without question. He never attempted oratory, but by cool statement of facts he moulded the opinions of legislators. He was one of those even tempered, level-headed, sound, sensible men to whom we naturally turned when there were difficult questions to settle. There has been no man in our history who had a longer or more distinguished public career, and I do not know of any man who was more often invited to enter the cabinets of different Presidents than was Senator Allison. The Secretaryship of the Treasury was urged and almost forced upon him repeatedly. I visited Indianapolis to see the President-elect, Mr. Harrison, and it so happened that Senator Allison and I entered together, Mr. Harrison having sent for him. I saw Harrison first, and he told me that he was going to ask Senator Allison to become his Secretary of the Treasury. I assured him that I was confident that he would decline the office --an assertion that occasioned much surprise, even a display of temper. Mr. Harrison seemed to think that it was Senator Allison's duty to accept the place. When Senator Allison saw him a short time later, the office was tendered him and he promptly declined to accept it. Nothing that Mr. Harrison could do or say would induce him to change his mind. Mr. McKinley was anxious to have Senator Allison in his cabinet, and I do not think I shall be violating any confidence, now that they are both dead, in saying that in declining the appointment Allison urged McKinley, as he afterwards told me, to appoint me as Secretary of the Treasury, and McKinley gave him so strong an assurance that he intended to invite me to enter his cabinet, that when Allison saw me in Washington at the beginning of the session, I being a member of his Committee on Appropriations, he said: "Cullom, you are to enter the cabinet; now you will not be able to do much work on the Appropriations Committee, and you had better devote your time to getting your affairs in shape preparing to leave the Senate and become Secretary of the Treasury." I had urged President McKinley to beg Senator Allison to enter his cabinet. Coming from the source that Allison's assurance did, I naturally took it more or less seriously, but I did not give the matter much thought. The nearest that Mr. McKinley came to inviting me to enter the cabinet, was an inquiry he made of me, which position I would prefer in a cabinet, Secretary of State or Secretary of the Treasury. I replied that, personally, I should prefer the Treasury, as I had at that time no particular interest or training in foreign affairs. I know now that Mr. McKinley did fully intend to tender to me the Treasury portfolio, and I also know, but I do not feel at liberty at this time to reveal, the influence in Illinois which induced him to change his mind. I am very glad now that the position was not tendered to me, as I might have accepted it, because of the known desire of certain friends in this State to secure my seat in the Senate, in which event I should have been long since retired to private life. Senator Allison was the trusted adviser of President after President --Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Arthur, Harrison, McKinley, Roosevelt all called upon him. There was no Senator who had to a greater extent their confidence. Had he lived he would have been as close, if not closer to President Taft. He served in the Senate longer than any other man in all our history. He broke Benton's long record. He broke the long record of Senator Morrill. He served eight years in the House and more than thirty-five years in the Senate, a total of forty-three years and five months in Congress. For forty-three years the history of his life embodies the complete financial legislative history of the United States. Another conspicuous member of the Thirty-ninth Congress was Nathaniel P. Banks of Massachusetts. He had a long, varied, and interesting career, both in public and private life. He was many times elected to Congress from Massachusetts, and in 1856, after a long contest which lasted more than two months, was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives. He was Governor of his State, and in 1861, for a short time, president of the Illinois Central Railroad, from which position he resigned to enter the Union army as a major- general, serving throughout the war. I did not know him when he was stationed at Chicago but I became very well acquainted with him in Congress. He was Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, of which committee I was a member. Not only was General Banks a polite, agreeable man, but he was an exceptionally effective speaker, and very popular in the House. There occurs to me a little controversy which he had with the late Senator Dawes, who was at that time a member of the House from Massachusetts. General Banks was undertaking to pass a bill to which Mr. Dawes objected. Banks was nettled. Taking the floor, he accused his colleague of always objecting to bills he attempted to pass. Dawes arose in his place, and in the most ponderous fashion, turned to Banks. "I appeal to my colleague," he asked, "when did I ever before object to any bill which he was attempting to pass?" Banks jumped to his feet, and said in his high-pitched voice: "I do not know that my colleague ever did, but I always thought that he was just about to." General Banks served during the six years that I was a member of the House, and several terms afterwards, his public service ending with the Fifty-first Congress. He died at his home in Massachusetts, in 1894. Daniel W. Voorhees was another celebrated member of the Thirty- ninth Congress, and was later a Senator from Indiana. Senator Voorhees was a very able man and a zealous, consistent Democrat. He was charged, and I have no doubt at all that it was true, with being a Rebel sympathizer, and a prominent member of the Knights of the Golden Circle. A fine, gifted speaker, a kind-hearted gentleman, he was very popular with the people of Indiana. Dan Voorhees and Thomas A. Hendricks, who was afterward Vice-President of the United States, were the two most prominent Democrats of Indiana in all its history, and indeed were two of the foremost Democrats of the North. Senator Voorhees' seat, as a member of the House in the Thirty- ninth Congress, was successfully contested; and I can see him now, with his imposing presence, making his final speech in the House, after the result of the contest had become known. Garbed in a long cloak, he defended his right to his seat with the greatest dignity. The vote was taken; his opponent was seated; then he drew his cloak about him, and with the air of a king, walked out of the House, almost triumphantly. I had voted against him, but the dignity with which he carried off the occasion certainly commanded my deepest admiration. He was a great admirer of Mr. Lincoln. He knew him well; had been associated with him in many lawsuits on the circuit, at Danville, and in the eastern part of the State; and although they belonged to opposing political parties, he evinced for Lincoln a very warm feeling. Senator Voorhees once told me a rather interesting story in connection with President Lincoln. It was the occasion of the dedication of what was known as the Foundery Methodist Church in Washington. Mr. Lincoln was present, Voorhees was there, and Bishop Simpson delivered the dedicatory address. The bishop was an eloquent speaker and his sermon was a characteristic one. The President was seated in an armchair in front of the pulpit, with his back to the minister, and after the sermon was over, an effort was at once made to raise funds to pay the debt of the church. This phase of the meeting was tiresomely protracted, the minister, in the customary style, earnestly urging an unresponsive congregation to contribute until nearly every inducement had been exhausted. Finally someone started a movement to raise a certain definite amount of money, the achievement of which would make the President a life member of some church society. But even this scheme was not accepted with much enthusiasm, and Bishop Simpson renewed his plea for donations. At last Mr. Lincoln, who had been growing tired and bored at the performance, craned his head around toward Bishop Simpson, and said in a tone that everybody heard: "Simpson, if you will stop this auction I will pay the money myself." And since Bishop Simpson's name has been mentioned, another incident in which he figured is suggested, which might as well be related here. In the Methodist Church Bishop Simpson's name is a household word. He was one of its most prominent divines, and in sympathy with that branch which remained loyal to the Union. Naturally he was a great admirer of Mr. Lincoln--in fact, so close was he to the President that it was his influence that secured the appointment of Senator Harlan of Iowa as Secretary of the Interior. What follows will demonstrate that this statement is not made on hearsay. Several prominent men of Illinois, and other parts of the country, were in Washington trying to secure the appointment of Uncle Jesse K. Dubois (the father of Senator Dubois of Idaho who served in the United States Senate two terms with great credit to himself and State), as Secretary of the Interior. Uncle Jesse Dubois was there himself, and we all met one evening at the National Hotel, at which meeting I was designated to go to the White House and use my influence with President Lincoln in Uncle Jesse's behalf. Uncle Jesse had no business coming to Washington when he was being pushed for a cabinet office; but he did, nevertheless, and he was not in good health. About ten o'clock at night I saw the President, and laid before him Uncle Jesse's claims. His reply was: "I cannot appoint him. I must appoint Senator Harlan. I promised Bishop Simpson to do so. The Methodist Church has been standing by me very generally; I agreed with Bishop Simpson to give Senator Harlan this place, and I must keep my agreement. I would like to take care of Uncle Jesse, but I do not see that I can as a member of my cabinet." I replied: "If you have determined it, that is the end of the matter, and I shall so report to the friends who are gathered at the National, so that Uncle Jesse may go on home." President Lincoln seemed much affected. He followed me to the door, repeating that he would like to take care of Uncle Jesse, but could not do so. Jesse Dubois went home to Springfield, but he remained as stanch a friend to Lincoln as ever, and was one of the committee sent from Springfield to accompany the remains of the immortal President to their last resting-place. George S. Boutwell was another member of the Thirty-ninth Congress who merits some attention. He afterward became very influential among the radical element, and was one of the managers on the part of the House in the impeachment of President Johnson. It is hard to understand in a man of his sober, sound sense; but I am convinced that he firmly believed President Johnson to have been a conspirator in securing the assassination of Mr. Lincoln. He was Secretary of the Treasury under President Grant, who had for him the greatest respect and confidence. I never was very intimate with him, but I knew him fairly well, and considered him one of the leading public men of Massachusetts of his day. One of the leading members of the Pennsylvania delegation in the Thirty-ninth Congress was William D. Kelley. He was a prominent member of the House, a good speaker, although he always prepared his addresses at great length, principally on the tariff; but he did not confine himself to his manuscripts entirely. His specialty in Congress was the tariff. He was called "Pig-iron Kelley" because he was for high duties on pig-iron and, in fact, everything manufactured in Pennsylvania. That State, as everybody knows, is the great iron and steel manufacturing State of the Union, and its representatives in Congress were in that day, as they are in this, the highest of high protective tariff advocates. Before entering Congress, William D. Kelley for a number of years had been a judge of one of the more important courts of Philadelphia. He was elected to and kept in the House, without any particular effort on his own part, because he was considered one of the most valuable men in Congress in matters pertaining to the tariff. When I was a candidate for re-election to the House he visited my district and made several very able speeches for me at my request, and, with his wife, was my guest in Springfield for several days. At that time Republicans were for a high protective tariff, and it was not considered then, as it seems to be in these days of so-called insurgency, a crime for a Republican to stand up and say that he was in favor of high tariff duties. In any event, Judge Kelley did me much good in the speeches he made in my district. We occupied apartments in the same house in Washington--on F Street near the Ebbitt House, at which hotel we took our meals. F Street is now the heart of the business centre, but it was then one of the principal residence streets, and many Representatives and Senators lived in that vicinity. The only objection I had to living in the same house with Judge Kelley was that he was always preparing speeches, and when he got ready to deliver a speech he would insist on reading it all over to me; and as his speeches were generally two or three hours long, and always on the tariff, in which I did not take an extraordinary amount of interest, I became pretty tired of hearing them. On one occasion when he was making quite an eloquent speech in the House, he was interrupted by a member from Kentucky, whose name I do not remember. He had already answered him once or twice and then gone on. He was interrupted again, and this time he answered: "Oh, don't interrupt me when the glow is on." The "glow" did happen to be on at that time, and naturally he did not desire to be interrupted. In the same Pennsylvania delegation there were two members named Charles O'Neill and Leonard Myers, who were very short in stature. For some reason or other, some wag dubbed them "Kelley's ponies." They heard of it and became very angry, and on every occasion, when there was half a chance, they watched to see how Judge Kelley voted and would then vote the opposite. They were both good men and good Republicans, and O'Neill served the same number of terms as Judge Kelley--fifteen--but O'Neill remained his full fifteen terms and retired from Congress. Judge Kelley was serving his fifteenth term when he died in Washington, in 1890. Samuel J. Randall was one of the prominent Democrats of his day; but strange to say he favored a protective tariff. He also served about fifteen terms, two of them in the Speaker's chair. He had an anxious solicitude for the success of his party, and made many political speeches. He was a young member when I first knew him, away back in the sixties, but even then he occupied an influential position. I remember meeting him in Mr. Blaine's office one day, when the latter was Secretary of State, and Mr. Blaine not being in, we sat on the settee and had a talk. He was in poor health, but curious respecting the relations between President Harrison and his party. I told him they were not getting along very well; that he satisfied his party about as well as Mr. Cleveland satisfied his when he was in the White House. "I think," he observed, "he is better than our President. We never could do much with Cleveland." Then he added this characteristic remark: "If you want an army to fight, you must feed it. It is the same with a political party: if a party is to take care of itself, its workers must be recognized in the distribution of its patronage." I never saw Samuel J. Randall afterwards. Judge Godlove S. Orth was one of my most intimate friends in the House of Representatives. He was a splendid man, and was regarded as an honorable and able member. He and I saw much of each other every day, as we roomed in the same neighborhood and generally visited the departments together. We were seen with each other so often on the streets, in fact, that when we were separated, friends would ask either one or the other of us: "What has become of your partner?" At one time I canvassed his district for him and he was re-elected. He had a peculiar name, "Godlove." I never heard of a man named Godlove, either before or since. The story was told of a lady sitting in the gallery, listening to the proceedings of the House. She could not hear very well. When the roll was being called, and she heard the name "Godlove" called by the clerk, she did not understand it; she wend down stairs and told her friends that the House of Representatives was a most pious body; that every time they called the roll, and the clerk got about half way through, he would stop and exclaim: "God love us all!" Judge Orth has been dead for many years, but I have always remembered with great pleasure our friendship when we served as colleagues in the House, nearly half a century ago. Oakes Ames of Boston was a prominent member of the House. He had charge of the Union Pacific Railroad construction, and it was charged--and proven, I believe, afterwards--that he secured the concessions for the railroad by undue influence,--the use of money, gifts of stock, etc.,--and the whole thing finally culminated in what is known as the _Crédit Mobilier_ scandal, the exposure of which came after I retired from the House. Ames was a member of the Thirty-eighth, Thirty-ninth, Fortieth, Forty-first, and Forty-second Congresses, and I knew him very well during my six years' service. I was made chairman of the Committee on Territories in the Forty-first Congress, by Mr. Blaine, who was then Speaker. Ames annoyed me very much by coming to me almost every day in the interest of legislation in the Territories affecting the Union Pacific, and I asked him one day, being a little out of temper, whether he was so absorbed in the Pacific Railroad that he had not time to devote to anything else. He made some light rejoinder; sometime later the exposure came, and I found that he was engaged in most unfortunate and unlawful practices in securing legislation in the interest of his road. I never believed that Oakes Ames was naturally a dishonest man, but the proof was against him, and the scandal resulted in his death, as it also did in the death of James Brooks, of New York, and the ruination of other public men. I knew S. S. Cox ("Sunset" Cox, as he was called), as a member of the Forty-first Congress. He had served in some previous Congress as a member from Ohio; but when I knew him he was serving as a member from New York. Cox was an able man, as a speaker, a writer, and a diplomat. He was always listened to with great respect and attention when he addressed the House, but a considerable amount of fun was poked at him after a certain occasion when he had interrupted General Butler a time or two in debate, and the General, finally losing patience, replied to one of his questions with the admonition: "Shoo, fly, don't bodder me!" I was present at the time; the galleries were filled, as they always were in those days; and when General Butler uttered this reproof the whole House, galleries, and floor, was in an uproar, maintaining the confusion for some minutes. When it seemed like subsiding, it would break out again and again, and so it continued for quite a while. When order was finally restored Cox undertook to reply; but he could not do so. He had been so crippled by the response of the audience to Butler's remark that he never recovered from it. Cox was a splendid man. He always thought in those days that he had not been quite appreciated by his friends in the Democratic party, and they thought the same way; but he was so good-humored, and such a whole-souled man and so fond of wit that he really never did get what he was entitled to. I was trying to pass a bill which I had prepared for the purpose of prohibiting and wiping out polygamy in Utah. I had reported the bill from the Committee on Territories, and I was doing my best to pass it. For some reason or other (afterwards I learned it was an ulterior reason to help out a friend), General Schenck undertook to defeat the measure, and for this purpose he asked to have it referred to the Committee on Judiciary. This committee probably had jurisdiction over the subject; I did not think so at the time, and believed that such a reference would kill the bill. He seemed to be making some headway with the Republicans, when Cox came over to me from the Democratic side of the House, and proposed that if I would yield to him for five minutes he would help me to pass the bill. I told him to go back to his seat and that I would yield to him directly. When I did Cox took the floor, and to my utter astonishment he denounced the bill as the most outrageous bill that had ever been brought before the House, declaring in the most spirited manner that of course it ought to be referred to the Judiciary Committee, because every one knew that such a reference would kill it. But he was shrewder than I apprehended at the moment. His talk had the desired effect, for the Republicans who had been following Schneck determined that they would not be responsible for killing the bill; they came back to me, and the measure was passed through the House by a substantial majority. CHAPTER IX THE IMPEACHMENT OF PRESIDENT JOHNSON 1865 As I look back now over the vista of years that have come and gone, it seems to me that I entered the Lower House of Congress just at the beginning of the most important period in all our history. The great President had been assassinated; the war was over; Andrew Johnson, a Union Democrat, was President of the United States. Reconstruction was the problem which confronted us, how to heal up the Nation's wounds and remake a Union which would endure for all time to come. These were the difficult conditions that had to be dealt with by the Thirty-ninth Congress. Andrew Johnson was the queerest character that ever occupied the White House, and, with the exception of Lincoln only, he entered it under the most trying and difficult circumstances in all our history; but Lincoln had, what Johnson lacked, the support and confidence of the great Republican party. Johnson was never a Republican, and never pretended to be one. He was a lifelong Democrat, and a slave-holder as well; but he was loyal to the Union, no man living more so. As a Senator from Tennessee, alone of all the Southern Senators he faced his colleagues from the South in denouncing secession as treason. His subsequent phenomenal course in armed opposition to the rebellion brought about his nomination for the Vice-Presidency as a shrewd stroke to secure the support of the War Democrats of the North and the Union men of his State and section. He came to the Presidency under the cloud of President Lincoln's assassination, when the majority of the North believed that a Southern conspiracy had laid the great President low. The seceding States hated him as a traitor to his own section; the North distrusted him as a Democrat. At first I believe the very radical element of the Republican party in Congress, led by old Ben Wade of Ohio, than whom there was no more unsafe man in either house of Congress, were disposed, if not openly to rejoice, which they dared not do, to see with some secret satisfaction the entrance of Johnson into the White House. It is well known that Wade did say in his first interview with President Johnson, when, as a member of the committee on the conduct of the war, he waited on him, "Johnson, we have faith in you. By the gods, there will be no more trouble in running the Government." I have already, in another chapter, described the scene which took place in the Senate chamber when Johnson was inducted into office as Vice-President; the exhibition he made of himself at the time of taking the oath of office, in the presence of the President of the United States and the representatives of the Governments of the world. All this, advertised at the time in the opposition press, added to the prejudice against Johnson in the North and made his position more trying and difficult. There were two striking points in Johnson's character, and I knew him well: First, his loyalty to the Union; and, second, his utter fearlessness of character. He could not be cowed; old Ben Wade, Sumner, Stevens, all the great leaders of that day could not, through fear, influence him one particle. In 1861, when he was being made the target of all sorts of threats on account of his solitary stand against secession in the Senate, he let fall this characteristic utterance: "I want to say, not boastingly, with no anger in my bosom, that these two eyes of mine have never looked upon anything in the shape of mortal man that this heart has feared." This utterance probably illustrates Johnson's character more clearly than anything that I could say. He sought rather than avoided a fight. Headstrong, domineering, having fought his way in a State filled with aristocratic Southerners, from the class of so-called "low whites" to the highest position in the United States, he did not readily yield to the dictates of the dominating forces in Congress. Lincoln had a well-defined policy of reconstruction. Indeed, so liberal was he disposed to be in his treatment of the Southern States, that immediately after the surrender of Richmond he would have recognized the old State Government of Virginia had it not been for the peremptory veto of Stanton. Congress was not in session when Johnson came to the Presidency in April, 1865. To do him no more than simple justice, I firmly believe that he wanted to follow out, in reconstruction, what he thought was the policy of Mr. Lincoln, and in this he was guided largely by the advice of Mr. Seward. But there was this difference. Johnson was, probably in good faith, pursuing the Lincoln policy of reconstruction; but when the Legislatures and Executives of the Southern States began openly passing laws and executing them so that the negro was substantially placed back into slavery, practically nullifying the results of the awful struggle, the untold loss of life and treasure, Mr. Lincoln certainly would have receded and would have dealt with the South with an iron hand, as Congress had determined to do, and as General Grant was compelled to do when he assumed the Presidency. From April to the reassembling of Congress in December, Johnson had a free hand in dealing with the seceded States, and he was not slow to take advantage of it. He seemed disposed to recognize the old State Governments; to restrict the suffrage to the whites; to exercise freely the pardoning power in the way of extending executive clemency not only to almost all classes, but to every individual who would apply for it. The result was, it seemed to be certain that if the Johnson policy were carried out to the fullest extent, the supremacy of the Republican party in the councils of the Nation would be at stake. To express it in a word, the motive of the opposition to the Johnson plan of reconstruction was the firm conviction that its success would wreck the Republican party, and by restoring the Democrats to power bring back Southern supremacy and Northern vassalage. The impeachment, in a word, was the culmination of the struggle between the legislative and the executive departments of the Government over the problem of reconstruction. The legislative department claimed exclusive jurisdiction over reconstruction; the executive claimed that it alone was competent to deal with the subject. This is a very brief summary of the conditions which confronted us when I entered the Thirty-ninth Congress. Representatives of the eleven seceding States were there to claim their seats in Congress. The Republican members met in caucus the Saturday evening preceding the meeting of Congress on Monday. I, as a member-elect, was present, and I remember how old Thaddeus Stevens at once assumed the dominating control in opposition to the President's plan. Stevens was a most remarkable character,--one of the most remarkable in the legislative history of the United States. He believed firmly in negro equality and negro suffrage. As one writer eloquently expresses it: "According to his creed, the insurgent States were conquered provinces to be shaped into a paradise for the freedman and a hell for the rebel. His eye shot over the blackened southern land; he saw the carnage, the desolation, the starvation, and the shame; and like a battered old warhorse, he flung up his frontlet, sniffed the tainted breeze, and snorted 'Ha, Ha!'" It was at once determined by the Republican majority in Congress that the representatives of the eleven seceding States should not be admitted. The Constitution expressly gives to the House and Senate the exclusive power to judge of the admission and qualification of its own members. We were surprised at the moderation of the President's message, which came in on Tuesday after Congress assembled. In tone and general character the message was wholly unlike Johnson. It was an admirable state document, one of the finest from a literary and probably from every other standpoint that ever came from an Executive to Congress. It was thought at the time that Mr. Seward wrote it, but it has since been asserted that it was the product of that foremost of American historians, J. C. Bancroft, one of Mr. Johnson's close personal friends. There existed three theories of dealing with the Southern States: one was the President's theory of recognizing the State Governments, allowing the States to deal with the suffrage question as they might see fit; the Stevens policy of wiping out all State lines and dealing with the regions as conquered military provinces; and the Sumner theory of treating them as organized territories, recognizing the State lines. Johnson dealt in a masterful manner with the subject in his message. He said: "States, with proper limitations of power, are essential to the existence of the Constitution of the United States. "The perpetuity of the Constitution bring with it the perpetuity of the States; their mutual relations makes us what we are, and in our political system this connection is indissoluble. The whole cannot exist without the parts nor the parts without the whole. So long as the Constitution of the United States endures, the States will endure; the destruction of the one is the destruction of the other; the preservation of the one is the preservation of the other. "The true theory is that all pretended acts of secession were, from the beginning, null and void. The States cannot commit treason, nor screen the individual citizens who may have committed treason, any more than they can make valid treaties or engage in lawful commerce with any foreign power. The States attempting to secede placed themselves in a condition where their vitality was impaired but not extinguished, their functions suspended but not destroyed." It was but the Johnson theory which we presented to the world, denying the right of any State to secede; asserting the perpetuity, the indissolubility of the Union. But the question was, whether the members from the seceding States should be admitted to the Senate and House; and he dealt with this most difficult problem in a statesmanlike way. He said: "The amendment to the Constitution being adopted, it would remain for the States whose powers have been so long in abeyance, to resume their places in the two branches of the National Legislature, and thereby complete the work of restoration. Here it is for you, fellow citizens of the Senate, and for you, fellow citizens of the House of Representatives, to judge, each of you for yourselves, of the elections, returns and qualifications of your own members." On the suffrage question, he said: "On the propriety of making freedmen electors by proclamation of the Executive, I took for my counsel the Constitution itself, the interpretations of that instrument by its authors, and their contemporaries, and the recent legislation of Congress. They all unite in inculcating the doctrine that the regulation of the suffrage is a power exclusively for the States. So fixed was this reservation of power in the habits of the people, and so unquestioned has been the interpretation of the Constitution, that during the Civil War the late President never harbored the purpose,--certainly never avowed it,--of disregarding it; and in acts of Congress nothing can be found to sanction any departure by the Executive from a policy which has so uniformly obtained." Aside from the worst radicals, the message pleased every one, the country at large and the majority in Congress; and there was a general disposition to give the President a reasonably free hand in working out his plan of reconstruction. But as I stated, the Legislatures of the Southern States and their Executives assumed so domineering an attitude, practically wiping out the results of the war, that the Republican majority in Congress assumed it to be its duty to take control from the Executive. What determined Johnson in his course, I do not know. It was thought that he would be a radical of radicals. Being of the "poor white" class, he may have been flattered by the attentions showered on him by the old Southern aristocrats. Writers of this period have frequently given that as a reason. My own belief has been that he was far too strong a man to be governed in so vital a matter by so trivial a cause. My conviction is that the radical Republican leaders in the House were right; that he believed in the old Democratic party, aside from his loyalty to the Union; and was a Democrat determined to turn the Government over to the Democratic party, reconstructed on a Union basis. I cannot undertake to go into all the long details of the memorable struggle. As I look back over the history of it now, it seems to me to bear a close resemblance to the beginning of the French Revolution, to the struggle between the States General of France and Louis XVI. Might we not, if things had turned differently, drifted into chaos and revolution? If Johnson had been impeached and refused to submit, adopting the same tactics as did Stanton in retaining the War Department; had Ben Wade taken the oath of office and demanded possession, Heaven only knows what might have been the result. But reminiscing in this way, as I cannot avoid doing when I think back over those terrible times, I lose the continuity of my subject. An extension to the Freedman's Bureau bill was passed, was promptly vetoed by the Executive, the veto was as promptly overruled by the House, where there was no substantial opposition, but the Senate failed to pass the bill, the veto of the President to the contrary notwithstanding. I had not the remotest idea that Johnson would dare to veto the Freedman's Bureau bill, and I made a speech on the subject, declaring a firm conviction to that effect. A veto at that time was almost unheard of. Except during the administration of Tyler, no important bill had ever been vetoed by an Executive. It came as a shock to Congress and the country. Excitement reigned supreme. The question was: "Should the bill pass the veto of the President regardless thereof?" Not the slightest difficulty existed in the House; Thaddeus Stevens had too complete control of that body to allow any question concerning it there. The bill, therefore, was promptly passed over the veto of the President. But the situation in the Senate was different. At this time the Sumner-Wade radical element did not have the necessary two-thirds majority, and the bill failed to pass over the veto of the President. The war between the executive and legislative departments of the Government had fairly commenced, and the first victory had been won by the President. The Civil Rights bill, drawn and introduced by Judge Trumbull, than whom there was no greater lawyer in the United States Senate, in January, 1866, on the reassembling of Congress, was passed. Then began the real struggle on the part of the radicals in the Senate, headed by Sumner and Wade, to muster the necessary two-thirds majority to pass a bill over the veto of the President. Let me digress here to say a word in reference to Charles Sumner. For ten years he was chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee of the United States Senate, and no man, by education, experience, knowledge of world politics, and travel, was ever more fitted to occupy that high position. He was one of the most cultivated men of his day, a radical, and filled one of the most important places in the history of his time. When he entered the Senate, the South dominated this Government; the great triumvirate, Webster, Clay, and Calhoun, had just passed. The day he entered, Clay for the last time, feeble, emaciated, appeared on the Senate floor. Compromise was the word, and the Southerners so dominated that it was considered treason to mention the slavery question. Charles Sumner was an abolitionist; he was not afraid, and at the very first opportunity he took the floor and denounced the institution in no unmeasured terms. Chase and Seward were present that day, and quickly followed Sumner's lead. Seward, however, was far more conservative than either Sumner or Chase. It was the mission of Charles Sumner to awake the public conscience to the horrors of slavery. He performed his duty unfalteringly, and it almost cost him his life. Mr. Lincoln was the only man living who ever managed Charles Sumner, or could use him for his purpose. Sumner's end has always seemed to me most pitiful. Removed from his high position as chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate, followed relentlessly by the enmity of President Grant, than at the very acme of his fame; drifting from the Republican party, his own State repudiating him, Charles Sumner died of a broken heart. But to return to the struggle between the President and Congress. Trumbull, Sumner, Wade, and the leaders were bound in one way or another to get the necessary two-thirds. The vote was taken in the Senate: "Shall the Civil Rights bill pass the veto of the President to the contrary notwithstanding?" It was well understood that the vote would be very close, and the result uncertain. The excitement was intense. The galleries were crowded; members of the House were on the Senate floor. The result seemed to depend entirely upon the vote of Senator Morgan, of New York, and he seemed to be irresolute, uncertain in his own mind which way he would vote. The call of the roll proceeded. When his name was reached there was profound silence. He first voted nay, and then immediately changed to yea. A wonderful demonstration burst forth as it was then known that the bill would pass over the veto of the President, and that the Republican party in Congress at last had complete control. Senator Trumbull made a remarkable speech on that occasion, and I was never prouder of any living man. So the struggle went on from day to day and year to year, growing all the time more intense. I have always been disposed to be conservative; I was then; and it was with profound regret that I saw the feeling between the President and Congress becoming more and more strained. I disliked to follow the extreme radical element, and when the row was at its height, Judge Orth, a colleague in the House from Indiana, and I concluded to go and see the President and advise with him, in an attempt to smooth over the differences. I will never forget that interview. It was at night. He received us politely enough, and without mincing any words he gave us to understand that we were on a fool's errand and that he would not yield. We went away, and naturally joined the extreme radicals in the House, always voting with them afterwards. The row continued in the Fortieth Congress. Bills were passed, promptly vetoed, and the bills immediately passed over the President's veto. Many of the bills were not only unwise legislation but were unconstitutional as well. We passed the Tenure of Office bill; we attempted to restrict the President's pardoning power; and as I look back over the history of the period, it seems to me that we did not have the slightest regard for the Constitution. Some of President Johnson' veto messages were admirable. He had the advice and assistance of one of the ablest lawyers of his day, Jeremiah Black. To make the feeling more intense, just about this time Johnson made his famous "swing around the circle," as it was termed. His speeches published in the opposition press were intemperate and extreme. He denounced Congress. He threatened to "kick people out of office," in violation of the Tenure of Office act. He was undignified in his actions and language, and many people thought he was intoxicated most of the time, although I do not believe this. The radicals in both the House and Senate determined that he should be impeached and removed from office. They had the votes in the House easily, and they thought they could muster the necessary number in the Senate, as we had been passing all sorts of legislation over the President's veto. When the subject was up, I was doubtful, and I really believe, strong Republican that I was, that had it not been for Judge Trumbull I would have voted against the impeachment articles. I advised with the Judge, for whom I had profound respect. I visited him at his house. I explained to him my doubts, and I recall very clearly the expression he used in reply. He said: "Johnson is an obstruction to the Government and should be removed." Judge Trumbull himself changed afterwards, much to the astonishment of every one, and denounced the impeachment proceeding as unworthy of a justice of the peace court. It seems to me difficult to realize that it was as far back as March 2, 1868, that I addressed the House in favor of the impeachment articles. I think I made a pretty good speech on that occasion and supported my position very well. I took rather an extreme view in favor of the predominance of the legislative department of the Government, contending that the executive and judiciary departments of the Government, while they are finally responsible to the people, are directly accountable to the legislative department. The first and principal article in the impeachment proposed by the House was the President's issuance of an order removing Edwin M. Stanton as Secretary of War, he having been duly appointed and commissioned by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, and the Senate having been in session at the time of his removal. I contended then, on the floor of the House, that such a removal was a violation of the Constitution and could not be excused on any pretext whatever, in addition to being a direct violation of the Tenure of Office act. I do not intend to go into the details of the various articles proposed by the House; suffice it to say that they were mainly based on the attempted removal of Mr. Stanton, and the appointment of Mr. Thomas as Secretary of War. I was very serious in concluding my speech. My words were: "Mr. Chairman: The administration of Mr. Johnson since he became President of the United States has been characterized by an utter disregard of the laws and Constitution of the United States. And, sir, I am of the opinion that there should be another article adopted by this House, and sent to the Senate, upon which he should be tried, the substance of which should be that Andrew Johnson, President of the United States, is guilty of high crimes in office, in that he violated the Constitution and laws of the United States, by using his influence, patronage and power of said office to hinder, delay and prevent a restoration of the States lately in rebellion against the Government, to their proper practical relations to the Union. Congress provided by law for the reconstruction of the rebel States. The President, from whatever motives it matters not, stands in his Executive Office, and by all his influence and power opposes restoration according to law. As an Executive Officer, he has no such right, and his opposition to the laws of Congress on the subject of reconstruction has cost this Nation thousands of loyal men who have been murdered in the South on account of their devotion to the Flag, and millions of money which is to be added to the enormous public debt to be cast upon the necks of the people. Shall the Nation endure it longer? Shall we struggle on and on until the welcome day comes when his term shall expire? The people say 'No'; men struggling in business say 'No'; men longing for peace and harmony in the land say 'No'; the loyal men of the South, who have been abused and hunted by wicked rebels, say 'No'; and I trust that the answer of all these may be the answer of this House to-day, and the answer of the Senate of the United States within a reasonable time after these articles shall be sent to them." Needless for me to say, that as the subject continued feeling remained at a high pitch in the House. It was debated from day to day. Stevens was urging the impeachment with all the force at his command; some were doubtful and holding back, as I was; some changed --for instance, James G. Blaine, who was taunted by Stevens and sneered at for his change of front. Under the law then existing the President of the Senate succeeded a Vice-President who became, by the death or removal of the President, President of the United States. The radicals in complete control --and I have no doubt that Stevens had a hand in it--elected the most radical of their number as President of the Senate--Ben Wade, of Ohio. Johnson removed, Wade would have been President, and the extreme radicals would have been in supreme control of the legislative and executive departments of the Government. This condition is what made Mr. Blaine hesitate. He told me on one occasion: "Johnson in the White House is bad enough, but we know what we have; Lord knows what we would get with old Ben Wade there. I do not know but I would rather trust Johnson than Wade." But in the end Blaine supported the impeachment articles, just as I did, and as Senator Allison and other somewhat conservative members did, all feeling at the same time not a little doubtful of our course. Stevens, Logan, Boutwell, Williams, and Wilson were appointed managers on the part of the House, and solemnly and officially notified the Senate of the action of the House in impeaching the President of the United States. The Senate proceeded without long delay to resolve itself as a High Court of Impeachment, for the purpose of trying the President of the United States for high crimes and misdemeanors. The most eminent counsel of the Nation were engaged. Mr. Evarts was President Johnson's principal counsel. He was ably assisted by lawyers of scarcely less renown. The trial dragged along from day to day. Part of the time the Senate considered the matter in executive session. The corridors were crowded; and I remember with what astonishment we heard that Judge Trumbull had taken the floor denouncing the proceeding as unworthy of a justice of the peace court. The Illinois delegation held a meeting, and Logan, Farnsworth, and Washburne urged that we unite in a letter to Judge Trumbull, with a view to influencing his vote for conviction, or of inducing him to withhold his vote if he could not vote for conviction. A number of our delegation opposed it, and the letter was not sent. I do not think that it would have made the slightest effect on Judge Trumbull had we sent it. All sorts of coercing methods were used to influence wavering Senators. Old Bob Schenck was the chairman of this movement, and he sent telegrams broadcast all over the United States to the effect that there was great danger to the peace of the country and the Republican cause if impeachment failed, and asking the recipients to send their Senators public opinion by resolutions and delegations. And responses came from all over the North, urging and demanding the impeachment of the President. It is difficult now to realize the intense excitement of that period. General Grant was there, tacitly acknowledged as the next nominee of the Republican party for the Presidency. He took no active part, but it was pretty well understood, from the position of his friends such as Logan and Washburne, that the impeachment had his sympathy; and in the Senate Conkling was especially vindictive. Grimes, Fessenden, and Trumbull led the fight for acquittal. Many were noncommittal; but in the end the struggle turned on the one doubtful Senator, Edmund G. Ross of Kansas. It was determined to vote on the tenth article first, as that article was the strongest one and more votes could be mustered for it than any other. It was well understood that the vote on that article would settle the matter. More than forty-three years have passed into history since that memorable day when the Senate of the United States was sitting as a Court of Impeachment for the purpose of trying the President of the United States for high crimes and misdemeanors. The occasion is unforgettable. As I look back now, I see arising before me the forms and features of the great men who were sitting in that high court: I see presiding Chief Justice Chase; I see Sumner, cold and dignified; Wade, Trumbull, Hendricks, Conkling, Yates; I see Logan as one of the managers on the part of the House; I see old Thad Stevens, weak and wasted from illness, being carried in--all long since have passed to the beyond, the accused President, the members of the high court, the counsel. Of all the eminent men who were present on that day, aside from the Hon. J. B. Henderson, I do not know of a single one now living. As the roll was called, there was such a solemn hush as only comes when man stands in the presence of Deity. Finally, when the name of Ross was reached and he voted "No"; when it was understood that his vote meant acquittal, the friends of the President in the galleries thundered forth in applause. And thus ended for the first, and I hope the last, time the trial of a President of the United States before the Senate, sitting as a Court of Impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors. CHAPTER X SPEAKER OF THE LEGISLATURE, AND GOVERNOR 1871 to 1883 After my six years' service in the Lower House of Congress, I returned home, not expecting ever again to take office, or engage in politics. There was a contest going on in the State over the location of the State Capitol. The State had committed itself to the erection of a new Capitol building, and had really made considerable progress on its construction. In the meantime, the question of changing the location from Springfield to some other city was agitated. Peoria made a very strong effort for the removal to that city. The work on the new building, as an immediate result, was stopped. The Legislature had adjourned, and another election of members was to occur. This condition of local affairs existed when I returned home after my service was finished in Washington. The friends in my home county, in which the State Capitol is located, waited on me and expressed a desire that I should allow my name to be used as a candidate for the Legislature. I made known my resolve not to enter politics again; but they based the proposal upon a ground that made it extremely difficult and embarrassing not to accede, to-wit: they had been with me for anything I had ever wanted, and now they wanted me to reciprocate, and do as _they_ desired. I did not feel that I could disregard their wishes, and so yielded to their demand; it was nothing less. They then went to the Hon. Milton Hay, who was a great lawyer, and as good a man as I ever knew, and made the same demand upon him. He was under no special obligation to yield to their wishes, for he had never asked for office at the hands of the people. He declined; but they also declined to take "No" for an answer. The result was that both Hay and I became candidates, were both elected, and the contest over the removal of the State Capitol was renewed. I was chosen Speaker. Mr. Hay was the foremost lawyer of the Legislature. One million dollars was reported from the proper committee of the House, and passed without opposition, and the work on the Capitol was once more taken up. Finding myself again in politics, I determined to become a candidate for Governor. To be successful, it seemed to be important that I should go back into the Legislature, which I did. After my re- election I was supported by the Republican party for Speaker for my second term. However, the House of Representatives was in control of the opposition, composed of Democrats and Independents, the latter being more generally wrong than the Democrats, and much less reliable. The combination organized the House, the Hon. Elijah Haines being elected Speaker, and the Republicans casting their united vote for me. This Legislature has ever since been known as the "Haines Legislature," the most notorious Legislature ever known in the State. Haines was a man of ability--especially, to stir up strife and produce confusion. The Legislature convened in the Winter of 1875. I was nominated for Governor early in 1876, elected in November of the same year, and sworn in January, 1877. On re-examining my inaugural address, I find much stated there that is at the present time, and must long remain, of historic interest to the people of Illinois; but since its length precludes reproduction here, I can merely touch upon certain points, more fully covered in the address, that offer many curious aspects and contrasts in the light of latter-day conditions. To begin with, the Legislature of that year was the first to meet in the new Capitol. The effects of the financial panic of 1873 were still felt, but it was pointed out that the State's resources were in no way impaired; that on the contrary--circumstances to be proud of--the volume of private indebtedness had been materially reduced, while the productive wealth of farms, buildings, factories, mines, and railroads had never before been so great. Of matters educational, there had been enrolled as pupils the preceding year (1876) 687,446 persons, and appropriations for public- school purposes for the corresponding period had amounted to $8,268,539.58. Among other matters of local interest adverted to, which to-day are as alive and momentous as they were then, were the subjects of navigation--particularly on the Illinois River and the canal--and the supervision of the railroads by the Railroad and Warehouse Commission. At that time there were 7,285 miles of railroad in the State--a greater mileage than any other State in the Union could boast of. Only eleven years had elapsed since the close of the Civil War, and its after-effects still worked like an obnoxious ferment in the State's political conditions; closely allied with this was the influence of the Hayes-Tilden contest, all of which commanded a large proportion of my speech. One extract I wish to quote in full, since it was prelude to events which followed so soon afterwards: "I desire to add one suggestion in reference to the affairs of our own State, by calling your attention to the Militia Law. I believe a more perfect law should be enacted, which will secure a more thorough organization of the State militia. "The spirit of our institutions and the temper of our people are hostile to a standing army, and I am opposed to any policy, State or National, looking to governing the people by bayonet; yet in the most highly civilized communities a trained militia, recruited from the intelligent and industrious classes, is an almost indispensable auxiliary to the civil power in the interests of peace and good order." Little did I dream that within six months of my inauguration the timeliness and force of the suggestions, and any recommendations contained in the closing paragraphs above, would find convincing illustrations in conditions throughout the Nation, and especially in Illinois. In July, 1877, the famous strike of the railway employees came on. It was exceptionally strong in the cities of Illinois--Chicago, Decatur, Springfield, Galesburg, East St. Louis, and every other city of considerable size. The State was ill prepared for such a crisis. The strike ran along for several days with the State unready to bring the matter to a close. Having been in office but a few months, I had not yet secured any arms or other military equipment with which to combat organized violations of the law. The Illinois National Guard was inchoate--in fact, scarcely organized at all, except in companies voluntarily formed, which were almost entirely without military equipment. Finally, however, I determined to order the National Guard to East St. Louis. I telegraphed to Chicago for a locomotive and car to take me to East St. Louis about two o'clock on a specified night. After ordering the troops from different parts of the State to assemble at East St. Louis on a given day, I went to East St. Louis myself, three or four gentlemen accompanying me. There I found several thousand men sitting about on the curbs of the sidewalks, apparently perfectly quiet and inoffensive, if not unconcerned, and I concluded that there was no reason why trains should not move. However, I first consulted with several railroad men, expressing the opinion that the strikers and their sympathizers did not seem desirous of disturbing anybody, and insisted that they proceed to move out their trains. The superintendent of one of the roads finally promised to have a train made up, and undertake to move it. "All right," said I. "Fire up, and I will come around about the time you are ready to move." He did as he had promised, and I went around with the friends who were accompanying me. But about the time the train was ready to move, these mild-mannered laboring men, to the number of five or six hundred, gently closed in upon the train, and put out the fire in the engine so it could not be moved. Thereupon, I stood upon the sidewalk and addressed this crowd of five or six hundred fire-extinguishers. I told them that I had come there to move the trains, and while I did not want to hurt any one, that the trains would be started, if everybody who interfered first had to be disabled. They gradually skulked away, and I ordered the fire built up again, asserting that I would be back in half an hour to see the trains move. But the men notified the engineer that they would kill any man who undertook to take the train out, and in the fact of that threat no one could be prevailed upon the man engines or train. Finally, however, one man agreed, if I would accompany him as far as Decatur, about a hundred miles, to endeavor to go out with the train. I told him I could not do that, but I would stand by his side while he was going through the streets of East St. Louis. But he would not agree to this, so that my efforts to move a single train had met with complete failure. The result was that I was driven to the expediency of calling upon the military arm of the State authority. That evening the troops began to arrive. They were stationed at the strategic points of the city during the night, and the next morning the trains moved out without a single accident or disturbance. In Chicago, the National Guard did not seem to accomplish anything. The people there did not take them seriously, and the result was that I called upon the National Government to send to that city a few companies of regular troops. I think they came from Omaha. When they arrived, and marched up the streets--that was the end of the strike in that city. So I managed to get through the trouble without injury to a single person, or the loss of any property except that caused by the delay in the transaction of business. These results were quite different from those in some other parts of the country. My chief private secretary was in the East somewhere, and could not return to me until the trouble was all over. As Governor of a State in a time when actual war was not flagrant, I could only watch, as might any other American citizen, the exciting proceedings at the National Capital, and hope that our country might issue from the political contest without a weakening of our institutions or loss of prestige. At the same time, I felt that I might appropriately express my approval of the attitude of the National administration, which I did in a letter to the President. When I was Governor of the State of Illinois, I had the good fortune of becoming intimately acquainted with one of the great soldiers of the recent Civil War, who was, in my judgment, the greatest cavalry leader of modern times,--General Phil Sheridan. He was Commander of the Department of the Lakes during my administration, and I had the pleasure of meeting him on numerous occasions. At an immense reunion of volunteer soldiers from Northern Illinois, Michigan, and Wisconsin, which was held in Aurora, I, as Governor of the State, was invited to make the first address. General Sheridan was invited to be present and take part in this celebration, and he came down from Chicago, accompanied by his wife. I met them at Aurora. We rode in the same carriage, at the rear of the procession, to the fair grounds, a mile or so distant from the city. The day was hot, and as we entered a dense grove, on the road, the soldiers halted for a breathing spell, and while at rest many of them went to a well near by for water. It was observed by some of the soldiers that General Sheridan remained in the carriage, and they immediately surrounded us. He greeted all cordially and good-naturedly, being very fond of soldiers who had fought on the Union side of the great struggle between the North and the South. What immediately followed pleased Mrs. Sheridan and those who were near, and amused Sheridan himself. A big Irish soldier-boy got hold of Sheridan's hand and pulled him out of the carriage. Being of small stature, General Sheridan was at the mercy of the stalwart Irishman, who dealt with him in a very rough way, slapping him on the back with great force, and with as much earnestness exclaiming: "Boys, this is the damnedest, bravest little Mick in America!" As is well known now, the operations of General Sheridan in the Shenandoah Valley and the region of Richmond called forth the plaudits of the Nation and the commendation of his superiors. His victories had much to do with bringing the Civil War to a close. He was conscious of the power and value of the cavalry arm of the army. In discussing his great achievements he made the remarkable statement that with a force of five or ten thousand cavalrymen, will organized, he could run over an army of almost any size. Whether this be true or not, it remains that General Grant had implicit confidence in Sheridan's ability to command the cavalry forces in a manner superior to any other officer in the Union Army. It was on the suggestion of Grant that Sheridan was brought from the West to take command of the cavalry. After coming East, he was presented to President Lincoln. The President scrutinized him closely. He did not appear to be the officer recommended to him by Grant as the one man who could bring the cavalry forces to that standard which was so much desired. The first time Lincoln met Grant after Sheridan called on him he expressed his doubt. "The officer you brought from the West seems rather a little fellow to handle your cavalry," said he. Grant, however, unshaken in the belief that he at last had an officer under him whom he could trust in charge of all the armies of the Union if necessary, replied: "You will find him big enough for the purpose before we get through with him." Sheridan was not only popular with his superior officers and men under him, but with the people generally. He was held in the highest esteem by the people of my State. After his promotion to the rank of Lieutenant-General, the citizens of Chicago presented him with a house in Washington, as a mark of their friendship and devotion. While Governor I rendered a decision in an extradition case, which formed a precedent, and which is referred to by writers on extradition. Moore comments on it as follows: "In December, 1878, an interesting decision was made by Governor Cullom, of Illinois, in the case of two persons named Gaffigan and Merrick, whose surrender was demanded by the Governor of Pennsylvania on a charge of murder committed in that State in January, 1865. Accompanying the requisition was an indictment found against them in Pennsylvania in March, 1865, for the crime for which their rendition was demanded. It was alleged in their behalf that soon after the murder was committed, and before the indictment was found, they left their place of residence in Pennsylvania and went to Illinois, where they had resided continuously in an open manner, bearing their own names, transacting daily business, and holding responsible public positions. In 1870 or 1871 Gaffigan was joined by his father, who left their former place of residence in Pennsylvania with the avowed purpose of joining his son in Illinois. The residence of the latter in Illinois was also known to other persons in the particular locality in Pennsylvania, among whom were a constable and a witness whose name was endorsed on the indictment. On the other hand, the prosecuting attorney in Pennsylvania denied that there had been any laches in the matter, and declared that he had acted upon the first knowledge that he had acquired in respect to the whereabouts of the persons charged. Governor Cullom held that while it might be inferred from the fact that the accused left the State of Pennsylvania shortly after the date of the murder that they were fugitives from justice, yet this character did not always adhere to them; and that their long residence in Illinois, which was so entirely unconcealed and well known, that the officers of justice in Pennsylvania could have been ignorant of it only because they made no effort to find it out, had purged them of the character of fugitives from justice. It may be argued that this decision rests on moral rather than on strictly legal grounds. It is generally held that there is no limitation as to the time in recovery of fugitives from justice other than such as may be established by statutes of limitations of the Governments concerned, and it does not appear to have been suggested in the case under consideration that any such limitation had been established either by the laws of Pennsylvania or of Illinois. The decision of Governor Cullom may also be thought to involve the theory that the authorities of the demanding State may be called upon to show that they have used due diligence in pursuing the fugitives and in seeking their surrender." The decision created much comment at the time, some adverse, suggesting that it amounted to the exercise of the pardoning power by a Governor of one state for a crime committed in another. My administration as Governor of Illinois was a very quiet, uneventful one. I endeavored to give the State strictly a business administration, and I believe I succeeded. I appointed the very best men that I could find to State offices. I did not interfere with the conduct of the various departments and institutions, except to exercise a general supervision over them. I held my appointees strictly accountable for the conduct of the affairs of their respective offices, and did not attempt to dictate to them the appointment of their subordinates. During the six years I served as Governor there was not a single scandal connected with the executive department of Illinois. I never had the slightest trouble with the Legislature. I never interfered in the organization of the Senate or House. I believed then, and I believe now, in the independence of the three co-ordinate branches of the Government. I no more thought of influencing the Legislature than I would have thought of attempting to influence the Judiciary. My recommendations were made in official messages, as the Constitution prescribes, and generally, I might say, the Legislature carried out my recommendations. The administration was an economical one, and it was during this period that the entire State debt was paid. CHAPTER XI GRANT My acquaintance with General Grant began when he visited Springfield the first time immediately after the beginning of the Civil War. He came to Springfield with a company of soldiers raised at Galena. General John A. Rawlins, afterwards Secretary of War under President Grant, one of the best men whom I ever knew, and especially my friend, was with this company. General Grant offered his services to Governor Yates in any capacity, and the Governor requested him to aid General Mather, then our Adjutant-General. General Grant, having been a West Point graduate, and having served as a captain in the regular army, rendered the Adjutant-General very material service. On the morning I saw him in the Adjutant-General's office at Springfield, nobody ever dreamed that this quiet, unassuming subordinate would, in less than four years, become one of the greatest generals in all the world's history. At the outbreak of the war he resided at Galena, where he was in business. He was sent by Governor Yates to muster in the various regiments, and continued in that work until made Colonel of the Twenty-fist Illinois Regiment. This regiment had been raised and organized by another man, whose habits were not regular, and under whose command the regiment had become demoralized. General Grant took the Twenty- first Illinois on foot from Springfield into Missouri, and before he had travelled very far with it, the men quickly learned that he was a real commanding officer, a strict disciplinarian, and that orders were issued to be obeyed. The regiment became one of the best in the service. General Grant was soon made a Brigadier-General, the first to be commissioned from Illinois, and was sent to command at Cairo. I became pretty well acquainted with him at Springfield, and subsequently I visited Cairo, and found there General Grant, Governor Oglesby, and other Illinoisans in command of regiments. General Grant's career as a soldier is too well known to the world to be repeated by me here. The history of his career is the history of the Civil War. He was formally received by the people of Springfield on two occasions: once while he was still in command in the army; and again in 1880, after his trip around the world, he was my guest at the Executive Mansion in Springfield. He was then accompanied by Mrs. Grant, and by E. B. Washburne, who had been one of his closest personal friends during his administration. The time was approaching for the National Convention at Chicago, and General Grant's friends had prevailed upon him to permit the use of his name as a candidate for a third term. Washburne had become considerably flattered by the demonstration that was made over him on the road from Galena to Springfield, and I believe he had an idea that he might be the nominee instead of General Grant, and hence for some reason or other he did not want to identify himself with General Grant at all. When the time came to go to the reception at the State House, Washburne could not be found. It seemed that he had hid in his bedroom until the party left the Executive Mansion for the State House, and then went by himself to the State House, and secreted himself in the office of the Secretary of State, where he surreptitiously watched proceedings from behind the sheltering folds of a curtain. His conduct in the evening was still more remarkable. I had arranged a reception to General and Mrs. Grant and Mr. Washburne at the Executive Mansion that same evening, but Mr. Washburne gave some excuse which he claimed necessitated his presence in the East, and departed--apparently with the conviction that he might secure the Presidential nomination himself, and feeling that his presence in company with General Grant--an avowed candidate--created an embarrassing situation that he could not endure. I know that General Grant was deeply grieved at his conduct. The General's friends were so outraged that they determined Washburne should have no place upon the ticket at all. General Grant was not a candidate for re-election at the end of his second term; I am not at all sure whether he would not have been glad to be re-elected for a third term--at least, he would have accepted the nomination had it been tendered to him. But the third-term proposition, at that time, received a severe blow when, in December, 1875, the House of Representatives passed a resolution by a vote of 234 to 18, declaring that in its opinion, the precedent established by Washington and other Presidents of the United States, in retiring from the Presidential office after their second terms, had become, by universal concurrence, a part of our republican system of government, and that any departure from this time-honored custom would be unwise, unpatriotic, and fraught with peril to our free institutions. The passage of this resolution, the scandals in the administration, the hard times, and the bitter and determined opposition to General Grant at this time, put an end temporarily to all third-term talk. But during his absence, when he was making his tour of the world, after he had retired from the Presidency, Senator Conkling, General Logan, Don Cameron, and other leading politicians concluded that they would nominate him to succeed Rutherford B. Hayes, who was not a candidate. After his return to the United States, they secured his consent to use his name as a candidate for the nomination in 1880; but after a bitter fight in the Chicago Convention they failed, and General Garfield obtained the nomination. Mr. Blaine, before the Convention met, was the leading candidate against General Grant. I had been a warm friend of Mr. Blaine's in Congress; but as General Grant was a candidate from my own State, and as I was at that time Governor of Illinois and a candidate for renomination, I did not feel that I could take any part in the contest between Grant and Blaine. When the State Convention met to select a candidate to succeed me as Governor, the contest between Grant and Blaine was very bitter. Mr. Blaine and I had been very friendly in the House; indeed, I was one of the few personal friends who brought him out as a candidate for Speaker of the House. From our past relations, he felt perfectly free to write me, and about the time of the Convention, I received a letter from him, in which he said, among other things, "Why cannot you put yourself at the head of my forces, and lead them? If you are not careful you will fall between." The tone of the letter annoyed me, and I did not answer it until the contest was over, which resulted in my own nomination, and until after the National Convention met, in which Blaine was defeated. I then wrote him a letter, informing him that I had been nominated; but, of course, I did not refer to his defeat. During the session of the convention in Springfield, about the time it was to convene, General Logan came down from Chicago, proceeding at once to my house. He told me that he desired I should help him to secure the delegation for General Grant. I replied: "General Logan, if you are my friend, and I suppose you are, you will not ask me to take any part in this contest, as I am a candidate for renomination myself." He was a little huffy about it, and seemed to be disappointed that I would not do as he asked. And I may remark that this was characteristic of Logan. He went away considerably out of humor, but saying nothing especially to the point. A short time afterwards the Hon. Charles B. Farwell, who was later an honored colleague of mine in the Senate, drove up to my house and said: "Cullom, I want you to help me carry this State for Blaine." "Charley," I replied, "you know very well that I am a candidate for re-election; and you know very well, also, that if I were to take a hand in this contest, I would probably be beaten." He agreed with me, and went away satisfied, assuring me that in his opinion I was doing the right thing. The contest in our State Convention between Blaine and Grant lasted for at least three days, and resulted in the division of the delegation to the National Convention, part for Grant and part for Blaine. I had quite a contest for the nomination, but was finally named on the fourth ballot. I had expected to be nominated on the third ballot. Farwell was about my office a good deal during the convention. When the third ballot was taken, and I had not been nominated, I said: "Farwell, there is something wrong upstairs; I wish you would go up and straighten it out." He went; but what he did, if anything, I do not know. However, I was nominated on the next ballot. General Grant was nominated both the first and second times without opposition. He was first nominated in Chicago, with great enthusiasm. The second time he was nominated in Philadelphia. I was chairman of the Illinois delegation at Philadelphia, and as such placed him in nomination. I believe I made about the shortest nominating speech for a Republican candidate for President ever made in a National Republican Convention. I said: "Gentlemen of the Convention: On behalf of the great Republican party of Illinois, and that of the Union--in the name of liberty, of loyalty, of justice, and of law--in the interest of economy, of good government, of peace, and of the equal rights of all--remembering with profound gratitude his glorious achievements in the field, and his noble statesmanship as Chief Magistrate of this great Nation --I nominate as President of the United States, for a second term, Ulysses S. Grant." There was a considerable contest over the platform, and as usual, it was determined to adopt the platform before making the nominations of President and Vice-President. But the Convention became very restless after the day of speechmaking; evening was approaching, and the Committee on Platform being still out, it was determined to make the nomination for President that day. I mounted the platform, and in the brief speech I have quoted, placed General Grant in nomination. I never saw such a fervid audience. The floors and galleries were crowded, and the people seemed wild with enthusiasm for Grant. As I uttered the word "Grant," at the conclusion of my speech, and his picture was lowered from the ceiling of the hall, the demonstration was indescribable. While we were waiting for the Committee on Platform to report, there were quite a number of speeches by favorite sons of the different States, Senator Logan and Governor Oglesby, from Illinois, being among them. Senator Logan's speech is not very clear in my memory; but I do remember very well the speech by Governor Oglesby. He made a wonderful impression. I do not recall that I ever saw a man electrify an audience as did Governor Oglesby on that occasion. It was the first convention where there were colored men admitted as delegates. Some of the colored delegates occupied the main floor. Old Garret Smith, the great abolitionist, was in the gallery, at the head of the New York delegation. Oglesby took for his theme first the colored man, represented there on the floor of that convention, and then Garret Smith. He set the crowd wild. They cheered him to the echo. We adjourned for luncheon immediately after he concluded his speech, and many of the delegates asked me who that man was. I was proud to be able to tell them that it was Governor Oglesby of Illinois; and the remark was frequently made that it was no wonder that Illinois gave sixty thousand Republican majority with such a man as its Governor. The platform was finally adopted, and Wilson of Massachusetts was nominated for Vice-President, in place of Schulyer Colfax. Colfax was much mortified at his defeat, but it turned out for the best, because Colfax became involved in the _Crédit Mobilier_ before the campaign was over, and his name on the ticket would have injured the chances for success. Wilson, who was nominated to succeed Colfax for Vice-President, was a very good man. He was a Senator, and it was said of him that he came from the shoemaker's bench to the Senate of the United States. General Grant got along very well during his first term as President. He was wonderfully popular, and no one could have beaten him; but during his second term, so many scandals came to light, and the finances were in such bad shape, that generally his second term as President cannot be said to have been a success. One trouble with him as President was that he placed too much implicit reliance on those about him, and he never could be convinced that any friend of his could do a wrong. Some of his friends were clearly guilty of the grossest kind of misconduct, and yet he would not be convinced of it, and stuck to them until they nearly dragged him down into disgrace with them. He was not a politician. Before entering the White House he had had no previous experience in public office. For a considerable time he attempted to act as Chief Executive with the same arbitrary power that he used as commander of an army; hence he was constantly getting into trouble with Senators and Representatives. I remember one little experience along this line which I had with him. It is an unwritten rule that Representatives in Congress, if in harmony with the Administration, control the post-office appointments in their respective districts. On my recommendation Isaac Keyes was appointed postmaster of my own city of Springfield. Much to my astonishment and mortification, in a month, without any warning, without any request for Keyes' resignation, General Grant sent in the appointment of Elder Crane. When I came to inquire the cause, he said he had just happened to remember that he had promised the office to Elder Crane, and he immediately sent in the appointment without considering for a minute the position in which he left Keyes and the embarrassment it would cause me. Sometime afterward, as Colonel Bluford Wilson tells me, General Grant asked Colonel Wilson, then Solicitor of the Treasury, who would make a good Commissioner of Internal Revenue. Colonel Wilson replied that Cullom was just the man for the place, and General Grant said at once, "I will appoint him." When Colonel Wilson went to the White House with the commission prepared for my appointment, General Grant said: "I have changed my mind about making that appointment. I offended Cullom in reference to the appointment of a postmaster of his town; and if I should appoint him Commissioner of Internal Revenue now, I know he would decline it, so I will not appoint him." And in this he was quite right. I would have declined the office, not because I was offended at him, but because I would not accept that or any other appointive office. Not being quite certain that my memory served me correctly in reference to this incident, I took occasion to ask Colonel Bluford Wilson, who had called on me at Washington, to give me the facts, which he later did in a long letter that sets forth the facts somewhat more elaborately than I have given them, but presenting the incident in an identical light. While I would not say that General Grant was a failure as President, certain it is that he added nothing to his great fame as a soldier. Indeed, in the opinion of very many people, who were his friends and well-wishers, when he retired from the White House he had detracted rather than added to his name. It would probably have been better if General Grant had been content with his military success, and had entered neither politics nor business. General Grant was one of the greatest soldiers of modern times; indeed, if not of all time. Standing as he does the peer of Frederick, Napoleon, Wellington, the time will come when the very fact that he was President of the United States will be forgotten, while he will be remembered only as one of the world's great captains. The last time I saw the General was about a month before he died. I was in New York, with the select Committee on Interstate Commerce, and on Sunday morning we learned that General Grant, General Arthur, and ex-President Hayes were all in town, and that Grant and Arthur were ill. We determined to call on each of them. We first called on General Grant at his home, and found that his son, General Frederick D. Grant, was with him. To him we sent our cards and asked to see his father. He said he would ascertain, and he came back directly and said that his father would be glad to see us, but cautioned us not to permit him to talk too much, as the trouble was in his throat. We went in and took seats for a moment. He greeted us all very cordially, and seemed to be specially interested in meeting Secretary Gorman. He wanted to talk, and did talk so rapidly and so incessantly that, fearing it was injuring him, we arose from our seats and told him that we had called simply to pay our respects, and expressed our gratification that he was so well. I can see him yet, as I saw him then. He was sitting up, surrounded by the manuscript of his memoirs. He knew that his end was approaching, and he talked about it quietly and unconcernedly; said he was about through with his book, that if he could live a month or two longer he could improve it, but did not seem to feel very much concern whether he had any more time or not. Mrs. Grant and Nellie, and Mrs. Frederick D. Grant were in an adjoining room, with the door open, and knowing them all very well, I went in to pay my respects. Mrs. Grant at once inquired about my daughters. I told her that one of them was married, and she expressed surprise. General Grant, hearing us, came into the room and said, "Julia, don't you remember that we received cards to the wedding?" He again began to talk, so I took my leave. From there we called on General Arthur, and then on General Hayes. Both passed away within a short time. I returned to my home in Springfield, and in about a month the news came that General Grant was dead. On the day of his funeral in New York, in cities of any importance in the country, services were held. Services were conducted in Springfield, on which occasion I delivered the principal address. CHAPTER XII GENERAL JOHN A. LOGAN General John A. Logan was a man much more capable of accomplishing results than either General Palmer or General Oglesby. I first met him when he was a member of the Legislature, in 1856. He was a Democrat then, and a very active and aggressive one. It was in that year that we first elected a Republican Administration in Illinois, the Republican party having been organized only two years previously. Bissell was elected Governor; Hatch, Secretary of State; and Dubois, Auditor. Governor Bissell was ill, having suffered a stroke of paralysis, and it became necessary for the Legislature, after organizing, to go to the Executive Mansion to witness the administration of the oath of office to him. After the Legislature reconvened in their respective Houses, General Logan immediately obtained recognition and made a bitter attack on Governor Bissell on the ground that the latter had sworn to a falsehood, he having challenged, or been challenged by Jefferson Davis to fight a duel. The duel was never actually fought; but Governor Bissell took the ground that whatever did occur was outside the jurisdiction of the State of Illinois, and he therefore could truthfully take the oath of office. Logan was then about as strong a Democrat as he afterwards was a Republican. His attack on Bissell was resented by Republicans and under the circumstances was regarded as cruel. I became very much prejudiced against him. After this episode Logan was elected to Congress as a Democrat, and was a follower of Douglas. Douglas was true to the Union, and after he made his famous speech before the Legislature at Springfield, General Logan entered the war and finally became a Republican. It was alleged that there was an understanding between Douglas and the Democratic delegation in Congress from Illinois that they should all act together in whatever course they pursued. The delegation from Illinois contained some very able men, among them being General Logan. Douglas came out for the Union without consulting his colleagues in the delegation, and it was said that General Logan and the other Democratic members of the delegation were quite angry. However, they all followed Douglas and became loyal Union men. Like Governor Oglesby, General Logan had a brief military service in the Mexican War, and also like Governor Oglesby, and General McClernand, he was among the first to raise a regiment for service in the Civil War. He resigned his seat in Congress in 1861, and immediately went into active service. Senator Douglas and General Logan did much to save Southern Illinois to the Union, and that portion of the State contributed its full quota to the Union Army. To describe the part General Logan took in the Civil War, after he raised the Thirty-first Illinois Regiment and took the field, would be to recite the history of the war itself. The records of his bravery at Belmont; of his gallant charge at Fort Donelson, where, as a Colonel, he was dangerously wounded; of his service as Major- General commanding the Army of the Tennessee; of the memorable siege of Vicksburg, when with the great leader of the Union armies he stood knocking at the door of that invincible stronghold; of his service with Sherman on his famous march to the sea, all are written on the pages of history and lend undying lustre to the name of Logan. He was a natural soldier. His shoulders were broad, his presence was commanding; with his swarthy face and coal black hair, "and eye like Mars, to threaten and command," he was every inch a warrior. There is no question that General Logan was the greatest volunteer officer of the Civil War. After the war Logan returned to Illinois, intending to re-enter the practice of the law; but he loved public life and politics, was the idol of the people of his section of the State, and was soon elected Congressman-at-large on the Republican ticket. When I entered the House in 1865, I found General Logan there, ranking as one of the leaders of the more radical Republicans. He was a forceful speaker, and did his full share as one of the mangers on the part of the House in the impeachment of Andrew Johnson. He was devoted to General Grant and General Grant was very fond of him. General Grant, in talking of General Logan and Senator Morton of Indiana, used to say that they were the two most persistent men in the Senate in securing offices for their friends; but there was this difference between them: if Morton came to him and wanted ten offices and he gave him one, he would go away feeling perfectly satisfied, and make the impression on the people that he was running the Administration; while if Logan came to the White House to secure ten offices, and did not get more than nine of them, he would raise a great row, and claim that he could not get anything out of the Administration. But Logan stood strongly for General Grant, no only during his two terms, where he had little or no opposition, but he was one of the leaders in the unsuccessful attempt to nominate him for a third term. Logan, Conkling, Cameron and others failed, and I believe that General Logan felt the failure more than even General Grant himself. General Logan was a tremendously industrious man. He was always doing favors for his people, and seemed to delight in being of service to any one. That was the difference between him and Governor Oglesby. Logan was always willing and anxious to do favors for people, while Oglesby was not. I remember an incident that illustrates this very well. Jacob Bunn, of Springfield, as honest a man as ever lived and a man of high standing, was compelled to take a distillery in part payment of a very large debt which was owing to him, and to make it of any account he had to operate it until such a time as he could dispose of it. He had some explanation he desired to make to the Commissioner of Internal Revenue, and he came to Washington and asked Governor Oglesby, who was then in the Senate, to introduce him to the Commissioner of Internal Revenue. Oglesby knew Bunn very well, and yet he cross-examined him at great length and detail. Bunn left Oglesby and next morning sought Logan, who at once agreed to perform the favor, with the result that Mr. Bunn very readily adjusted the matter with the Commissioner of Internal Revenue. Bunn afterwards said to me: "I had a good deal more trouble convincing Governor Oglesby that I was an honest man than I had convincing the Commissioner of Internal Revenue." I give this incident as illustrating the difference between the characters of Oglesby and Logan. The latter's honesty and integrity were never doubted. I believe he would not have hesitated for a moment to kill any one who would have questioned his honesty. He was a poor man, and when I came to the Senate as his colleague we often sat together condoling with each other on our poverty, and "abusing" the men in the Senate who were wealthy. This was one of the common bonds between us. When I became well acquainted with General Logan, I believed in him and admired him as one of the ablest men of Illinois. He was a man of intense feeling, intense friendships, and I might also add that he was a man of the most intense hatreds. General Logan, while never doubting his friends, yet expected his friends to swear devotion to him every time they saw him. He was "touchy" in this respect, and would not readily overlook any fancied slights. On one occasion, my old friend, the Hon. David T. Littler, now deceased, of Springfield, Illinois, who was also a warm friend of Logan, went to Washington, and neglected to call on Logan until he had been there several days. Logan knew that he was in town, and when he finally did call, Logan abused him roundly for not coming to see him the first thing. It made Littler angry for the time being, and he showed his resentment as only Littler could. He made Logan apologize and agree never to find fault with him again. They were on good terms as long as they lived. General Logan was my friend, and was always for me when I was running for office. It was sometimes tolerably hard to him to be for me as against a soldier, because there was never a man who was more thoroughly devoted to the soldiers. As colleagues in the Senate, we got along very agreeably and never had any cross-purposes or differences of opinion. The only time I remember of ever having any feeling at all was on one occasion when Senator Logan, Senator Evarts, and Senator Teller were strongly advocating the seating of Henry B. Payne, of Ohio, as a matter of right and without investigation. I was disposed to vote for the taking of evidence and an investigation. When the discussion was going on, I stated to Logan that I felt like voting in favor of the investigation. He was very much out of humor about it. I consulted with some friends in the Senate as to what I ought to do under the circumstances, and they advised me, in view of General Logan's personal feeling on the subject--and he felt that he was personally involved--that I ought to vote with him. After the vote was announced, I went around to General Logan's seat, and he expressed intense gratification that I had voted with him, remarking that if I had been involved in a struggle as he was, he would take the roof off the house before he would let me be beaten; and I believe he would have gone to almost any extent. I then said to him: "General Logan, I want to assure you that hereafter you must not feel concerned about my vote being the same as yours. In other words, when I want to vote one way and you want to vote another, I shall be perfectly satisfied, and shall have no feeling against you on account of it; I want you to feel the same way when conditions are reversed." He acquiesced in this proposal; but we never afterwards had occasion to differ on any important question before the Senate. General Logan had an ambition to become President, and I believe he would have realized his ambition had he lived. I placed him in nomination for President at the National Convention which met at Chicago in 1884. In _The Washington National Tribune_ appears the following report: "The next State that responded was Illinois, and as Senator Cullom mounted the platform to present the name of General John A. Logan, cheer after cheer followed him. When he was at last allowed to proceed, he began by referring to the nominations of Lincoln and Grant, both from Illinois, and both nominated at Chicago: 'In 1880, the party, assembled again at Chicago, achieved success by nominating Garfield; and now in 1884, in the same State, Illinois, which has never wavered in its adherence to the Republican party, presents, as the standard-bearer of that party, another son, one whose name would be recognized from one end of the land to the other as an able statesman, a brilliant soldier, and an honest man --John A. Logan.' "The announcement of General Logan's name was received with a wild burst of applause, a great many persons rising to their feet, waving their hats and handkerchiefs, and the thousands of people in the gallery joining in the roars of applause. The cheers were renewed again and again. The speaker resumed: 'A native of the State which he represents in the Council of the Nation, reared among the youth of a section where every element of manhood is early brought into play, he is eminently a man of the people. The safety, the permanency, and the prosperity of the Nation depend upon the courage, the integrity, and the loyalty of its citizens. . . . Like Douglas, he believed that in time of war men must be either patriots or traitors, and he threw his mighty influence on the side of the Union; and Illinois made a record second to none in the history of States in the struggle to preserve the Union. . . . 'During the long struggle of four years he commanded, under the authority of the Government, first a regiment, then a brigade, then a division, then an army corps, and finally an army. He remained in the service until the war closed, when at the head of his army, with the scars of battle upon him, he marched into the capital of the Nation, and with the brave men whom he had led on a hundred hard-fought fields was mustered out of the service under the very shadow of the Capitol building which he had left four years before as a member of Congress to go and fight the battles of his country. 'When the war was over and peace victoriously restored, he was again invited by his fellow-citizens to take his place in the Councils of the Nation. In a service of twenty years in both Houses of Congress he has shown himself to be no less able and distinguished as a citizen than he was renowned as a soldier. Conservative in the advocacy of measures involving the public welfare, ready and eloquent in debate, fearless--yes, I repeat again, fearless--in defence of the rights of the weak against the oppression of the strong, he stands to-day closer to the great mass of the people of this country than almost any other man now engaging public attention.'" At the conclusion of my speech there was a tremendous demonstration, and General Prentiss seconded the nomination. General Logan received sixty-three and one-half votes on the first ballot, and sixty-one votes on the second and third ballots. Immediately after the third ballot, I received this telegram from General Logan, who was in Washington: "Washington, D. C., _June 6, 1884_. "To Senator Cullom, Convention Hall, Chicago, Ill.:" "The Republicans of the States that must be relied upon to elect the President having shown a preference for Mr. Blaine, I deem it my duty not to stand in the way of the people's choice, and recommend my friends to assist in his nomination. "John A. Logan." When Illinois was called on the fourth ballot, I attempted to read the telegram to the convention, but a point of order was raised by Senator Burrows, which the Chair sustained. It was thoroughly well understood in the convention that I had such a telegram, and after the chair sustained the point of order I made the following statement: "The Illinois delegation withdraws the name of General John A. Logan, and gives for Blaine thirty-four votes, for Logan seven, and for Arthur three." This announcement was punctuated with another deafening outburst, and Blaine was nominated amidst great enthusiasm. After I withdrew General Logan's name and cast the vote for Blaine the result was a foregone conclusion. There was immediately a strong disposition to place Logan on the ticket as our candidate for Vice-President. There was considerable doubt as to whether he would accept. Finally he sent a telegram in which he said: "The Convention must do what they think best under the circumstances." He was then nominated for Vice-President without much opposition. It was a superb ticket, and every one thought it would sweep the country. Blaine, in the opinion of many people, was the most popular statesman since the days of Henry Clay; Logan, the greatest volunteer officer of the Civil War. I do not, however, believe that Blaine and Logan got along very well together in the campaign. In my opinion Logan felt that he would have been a stronger candidate for the Presidency than Blaine, as after events proved that he would. Had Logan headed the ticket, there would have been none of the scandal nor charges of corruption that were made in the campaign with Blaine at the head. There would have been no "Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion," which in the opinion of many people resulted in the defeat of Blaine and Logan. Whatever the causes, the ticket was defeated; and then came Logan's famous fight for re-election to the Senate, continuing three and a half months, the Legislature being tied; but the fight ended by a rather clever trick on the part of Dan Shepard and S. H. Jones of Springfield, in electing by a "still hunt" a Republican in the thirty-fourth District to succeed a Democrat who died during the session, and finally on May 19, 1885, I received a telegram from Logan while in New York saying, "I have been elected." Three or four days before General Logan's death he and Mrs. Logan were at my house to dinner, to meet some friends--General and Mrs. Henderson and Senator Allison. After dinner, we were in the smoking- room. General Logan was talking about the book he had recently written, showing a conspiracy on the part of the South, entitled "The Great Conspiracy." He had sent each of us a copy of the book, and he remarked that he ventured to say that neither of us had read a word of it; the truth was that we had not, and we admitted it. General and Mrs. Logan went home a little early, because he was then suffering with rheumatism. They invited Mrs. Cullom and me to dinner the following Sunday evening. General Logan had grown worse, and he could not attend at the table, but rested on a couch in an adjoining room. He never recovered, and passed away some two or three days afterward. I was present at his death-bed. The last words he uttered were, "Cullom, I am terribly sick." The death of no other General, with the possible exception of General Grant, was so sorrowfully and universally mourned by the volunteer soldiery of the Union as was the death of General Logan. CHAPTER XIII GENERAL JOHN M. PALMER General Palmer had a long, varied, and honorable career, beginning as an Anti-Nebraska Democrat in the State Senate of Illinois, in 1855, and ending as a Gold Democrat in the United States Senate in 1897, after being for a time a Republican. I first met him as a member of the State Senate, in which service he showed considerable ability. His one leading characteristic, I should say, was his independence, without any regard to what party he might belong to or what the question might be. He would not yield his own convictions to his party. If the party to which he belonged differed from him on any question, he did not hesitate to abandon it and join the opposition party; and this change he did make several times during his public career. He was one of the four Anti-Nebraska Democrats in the Legislature of 1855, who might be said to have defeated Lincoln for the Senate by supporting Trumbull, until it became apparent that if Lincoln continued as a candidate, Governor Matteson would be elected. Lincoln sacrificed himself to insure the election of Judge Trumbull, a Free-soiler. The other Anti-Nebraska Democrats, who with General Palmer, elected Trumbull, were Norman B. Judd, Burton C. Cook, G. T. Allen, and Henry S. Baker, the last two from Madison County. For some reason or other General Palmer resigned from the Senate. He was one of the first to join the Republican party. He was a delegate to the first Republican State Convention of Illinois. I attended that convention, and recall that General Palmer made quite an impression on the assemblage, in discussing some question with General Turner, himself quite an able man, and then Speaker of the House of Representatives of the Illinois Legislature. Intellectually, General Palmer was a superior man, but he lacked stability of judgment. You were never quite sure that you could depend on him, or feel any certainty as to what course he would take on any question. His qualifications as a lawyer were not exceptional, nevertheless I would rather have had him as my attorney to try a bad case than almost any lawyer I ever knew; his talent for manipulating a jury nearly, if not quite, offset all his legal shortcomings. General Palmer was well known as the friend of the colored people, both individually and as a race. His sympathy for them was so thoroughly understood, that whenever a colored man had an important case, or whenever there was a case involving the rights of the colored people--such, for instance, as the school question of Alton --General Palmer was appealed to, and he would take the case, no matter how much trouble and how little remuneration there would be in it for him. He started out as a Democrat, but became a strong Republican, and so continued for many years; but finally he became dissatisfied with the Republican party and left it to support Tilden for President. He continued a Democrat, being elected to the United State Senate as such; but he left the regular organization of that party, and became the head of the Gold Democracy, was its candidate for President, and as such advised his friends to vote for McKinley. He was the Republican Governor of Illinois during the great Chicago fire. He acted with the poorest kind of judgment in his controversy with General Sheridan and the National Administration, for using the Federal troops in Chicago to protect the lives and property of the people of that stricken city. He had visited Chicago, witnessed the splendid work which the troops were doing, seemed to be satisfied, returned to Springfield, and commenced a quarrel with General Sheridan and President Grant over the right of the National Administration to send troops into Chicago, and this quarrel finally became so bitter that it was one of the reasons for his leaving the Republican party. General Palmer had a fairly good record as an officer during the Civil War; but he did far better at the head of the Department of Kentucky than he did as a fighting general. He was a native Kentuckian, understood the people, was a man of good nature and considerable tact, and handled that trying situation very much to the satisfaction of Mr. Lincoln. He might have had a brilliant record as a general had it not been for his unfortunate controversy with General Sherman at the capture of Atlanta, which resulted in his resigning his command as the head of the Fourteenth Army Corps, and being granted leave to return to Illinois, there to await further orders. General Sherman says of this incident in his memoirs: "I placed the Fourteenth Corps (Palmer's) under General Schofield's orders. This corps numbered at the time 17,288 infantry and 826 artillery; but General Palmer claimed to rank General Schofield in the date of commission as Major-General, and denied the latter's right to exercise command over him. General Palmer was a man of ability, but was not enterprising. His three divisions were compact and strong, well commanded, admirable on the defensive but slow to move or to act on the offensive. His corps had sustained up to the time fewer hard knocks than any other corps in the whole army, and I was anxious to give it a chance. I always expected to have a desperate fight to get possession of the Macon Road, which was then the vital objective of the campaign. Its possession by us would in my judgment result in the capture of Atlanta and give us the fruits of victory. . . . On the fourth of August I ordered General Schofield to make a bold attack on the railroad, anywhere about East Point, and ordered General Palmer to report to him for duty. He at once denied General Schofield's right to command him; but, after examining the dates of their respective commissions, and hearing their arguments, I wrote to General Palmer: 'From the statements made by yourself and General Schofield to-day, my decision is, that he ranks you as a Major-General, being of the same date of present commission, by reason of his previous superior rank as a brigadier-general. The movements of to-morrow are so important that the orders of the superior on that flank must be regarded as military orders and not in the nature of co-operation. I did hope that there would be no necessity for my making this decision, but it is better for all parties interested that no question of rank should occur in actual battle. The Sandtown Road and the railroad if possible must be gained to-morrow if it costs half your command. I regard the loss of time this afternoon as equal to the loss of two thousand men.' "I also communicated the substance of this to General Thomas, to whose army Palmer's corps belonged, who replied on the fifth: 'I regret to hear that Palmer has taken the course he has, and I know that he intends to offer his resignation as soon as he can properly do so. I recommend that his application be granted.' "On the fifth I again wrote to General Palmer, arguing the point with him, as a friend, not to resign at that crisis lest his motives might be misconstrued and because it might damage his future career in civil life; but at the same time I felt it my duty to say to him that the operations on that flank during the fourth and fifth had not been satisfactory, not imputing to him any want of energy or skill, but insisting that the events did not keep pace with my desires. . . . "I sanctioned the movement and ordered two of Palmer's divisions to follow in support of Schofield, and summoned General Palmer to meet me in person. He came on the sixth to my headquarters and insisted on his resignation being accepted, for which formal act I referred him to General Thomas. He then rode to General Thomas's camp, where he made a written resignation of his office as commander of the Fourteenth Corps and was granted the usual leave of absence to go to his home in Illinois, there to await further orders." I quote freely from General Sherman on this incident, as I do not want to do General Palmer an injustice. No one for a moment doubted General Palmer's bravery, and I must say that it took a brave man, and I might add an extraordinarily stubborn man, to resign a magnificent command just before one of the great movements of the war on a mere question of some other general's outranking him. I happened to be on the same ferry-boat crossing from St. Louis with General Palmer when he was taken home ill. He had brought a colored servant with him, who accompanied him to his home in Carlinville. It created considerable excitement, and General Palmer was indicted for bringing the colored man into the State. There was not much disposition to try him, but he insisted on being placed on trial, conducted his own defence, and was acquitted. He made an honest, conscientious Governor, but did not work in harmony with the Legislature. He vetoed more bills than any Governor before or since. His vetoes became too common to bear any influence, and a great many of the bills were passed over his veto. I was very much opposed to his renomination. I supported Governor Oglesby, and I prepared a letter, to be signed by members of the Legislature, asking Governor Oglesby to be a candidate. Furthermore, an agent was employed to go to Decatur to remain there until the obtained a favorable reply from Oglesby, and then go to Chicago and have the letter and reply published in the Chicago papers. The scheme worked successfully. Governor Oglesby was nominated and elected. Oglesby, Palmer, Logan, and Yates were all ambitious to go to the Senate, and were rivals for the place at one time or another, and they all succeeded in their ambition, Palmer being the last. When Governor Yates was a candidate, in 1865, Senator Palmer thought that he should have been elected. I liked Governor Yates and believed that his record as Governor entitled him to a seat in the Senate. Governor Palmer complained of me for taking any active part in the contest, and thought that as I was a member of Congress I should remain neutral. In those days Governor Palmer and I were not on very friendly terms, although after he came to the Senate we became quite intimate. He had a struggle in securing his election as Senator. It was a long contest, but he was finally successful. General Palmer was very popular with his colleagues in the Senate. He was one of the best _raconteurs_ in the Senate, and he delighted to sit in the smoking-room, or in his committee room, entertaining those about him with droll stories. During his term he made some very able speeches, and was always sound on the money question. He was consistently in harmony with President Cleveland, and consequently he controlled the patronage in the State. He was a man of great good heart, full of generosity and good humor; and altogether it would have been impossible to have a more agreeable colleague. We had been neighbors in Springfield, and when General Palmer was elected to the Senate, he felt quite free to write to me. I retain the letter and quote it here: "Springfield, _March 14, 1891_. "Hon. S. M. Cullom, "Washington, D. C. "My dear Sir:-- "I am just in receipt of your kind favor of the eleventh inst., and thank you for its friendly and neighborly expressions. More than once since my election, Mrs. Palmer has expressed the hope that when she meets Mrs. Cullom at Washington, or here, they may continue to enjoy the friendly relations that have so long existed between them, to which I add the expression of my own wish that in the future, as in the past, we may be to each other good neighbors and good friends. "I do not know what the usage is in such cases, but I suppose I might forward my credentials at an early date to the Secretary of the Senate, who is, I believe, my old army friend, Gen. Anson G. McCook. If such is the proper course I would be glad to do so through you, if agreeable to you. I will depend upon you also for such information as your experience will enable you to furnish me. I will be glad to know about what time you will probably leave Washington. "I am, very respectfully, "John M. Palmer." While General Sherman and General Palmer were not particularly friendly, General Palmer was always ready to forgive and forget and do the agreeable thing. On the occasion of a celebration in Springfield, where there was a very large crowd, General Sherman was present, and, with General Oglesby and General Palmer, occupied a seat on the platform. Looking over the crowd, General Palmer recognized General McClernand in the audience. McClernand and Sherman were not friends, McClernand being bitterly inimical to Sherman. General Palmer, thinking only of doing an agreeable act, at one pushed his way through the crowd to where General McClernand was seated and invited him to come onto the platform. It was only after a great deal of urging that he consented to go, but he finally said, "I will go, _pro forma_." He did go "_pro forma,_" and paid his respects to General Sherman, but remained only a short time. General Palmer retired from the Senate at the end of his term, the Legislature of Illinois being Republican. I recollect that I went home from Washington to Springfield, and on arriving there was informed that General Palmer had just died. I immediately called at the house. He had only just passed away, and was still lying on his death-bed. I attended the funeral at his old home in Carlinville, and I do not know that I was ever more impressed by such a ceremony. He was buried with all the pomp attending a military funeral. CHAPTER XIV GOVERNOR RICHARD J. OGLESBY I knew the late Governor Oglesby intimately for very many years. As a young man, he served as a lieutenant in the gallant Colonel E. D. Baker's regiment in the Mexican War, was at the battle of Cerro Gordo, and fought the way thence to the City of Mexico. He remained with the army until he saw the Stars and Stripes waving over the hall of the Montezumas. Returning to Illinois, he took up again the practice of law; but with the gold fever of 1849 he took the pioneers' trail to California, where, in a short time, he was financially successful, then returned home, and later went on an extended tour through the Holy Land, where he remained nearly two years. On his return home, in 1860, he was elected to the State Senate. I recall the night the returns came in. He had a fisticuff encounter with "Cerro Gordo" Williams, in which he came out victorious, having knocked Williams into the gutter. By many of the onlookers this was regarded as the first fight of the Rebellion. With his military experience in the Mexican War, it was only natural that he should be one of the first to enlist for service in the Civil War. He resigned from the Senate, raised a regiment, was appointed its Colonel, and participated in a number of important engagements under General Grant, acquitting himself with great honor at Donelson, and was subsequently appointed a Brigadier- General. He was severely wounded at Corinth, and his active service in the Civil War was over. Although he was elevated to the rank of Major-General, he was assigned to duty at Washington, where he remained until 1864, and saw no more service on the field of battle. He enjoyed the distinction of being elected Governor of Illinois three times, first in 1864, again in 1872, resigning the following year, after having been elected to the United States Senate; and after he had served one term in the Senate and retired to private life, he was again elected Governor of Illinois in 1884. Governor Oglesby was a remarkable man in many respects. Judged by the standards of Lincoln and Grant, he was not a great man. In some respects he was a man of far more than ordinary ability. He was a wonderfully eloquent speaker, and I have heard him on occasion move audiences to a greater extent than almost any orator, aside from the late Robert G. Ingersoll. I have already referred, in these reminiscences, to the speech he delivered at the Philadelphia Convention of 1872. He produced a greater impression on that assemblage than any orator who spoke. On rare occasions he would utter some of the most beautiful sentiments. For instance, his speech on "Corn" at Chicago was a masterpiece in its way. But generally speaking, with all his eloquence, he seldom delivered a speech that would read well in print; hence it was that his speeches were hardly ever reported. His earnestness, his appearance, his gestures, his personality, all carried the audience with him, as much as, if not more, than the actual words he used, and hence it was that when a speech appeared in print, one was very apt to be disappointed. His record in the Civil War was honorable, but not exceptional. He was not the dashing, brilliant soldier that General Logan was, and I may remark here in passing that after the war was over there was considerable jealousy between General Logan and General Oglesby. They were rivals in politics. On one occasion both Governor Oglesby and General Logan made each a splendid address, and each was cheered to the echo by the audience, but Governor Oglesby sat silent and glowering when the audience applauded General Logan, and General Logan occupied the same attitude when the audience cheered Governor Oglesby. I was present, and was glad to cheer them both. Under the administration of General Oglesby, as Governor, the affairs of the State were administered in an honest, businesslike manner. There was no scandal or thought of scandal, so far as the Executive was concerned, during all the years that he was Governor, although there was considerable corruption in one or two of the Legislatures, and some very bad measures were passed over his veto. Having been a Major-General in the Civil War, and considering his excellent record as Governor, his popularity, his eloquence, it seemed certain that Governor Oglesby would take his place as one of the foremost United States Senators, when he entered the Senate in 1873; but strange to say, his service in that body added nothing to the reputation he had made as a soldier and as Governor of Illinois; indeed, I am not sure but that it detracted from rather than added to his reputation. Perhaps too much was expected of him. The environment did not suit him. His style of oratory was neither appreciated nor appropriate to a calm, deliberative body such as the United States Senate. He did not have the faculty of disposing of business. As Chairman of the Committee on Pensions, he was so conscientious that he wanted to examine every little detail of the hundreds of cases before his committee, and would not trust even the routine to his subordinates. The result was the business of the committee was far behind, much to the dissatisfaction of Senators. I do not believe that Governor Oglesby ever did feel at home in the Senate; but nevertheless he was much chagrined at his defeat, and retired reluctantly. But he was soon again elected Governor of Illinois, a place that suited him much better than the Senate of the United States. His honesty, his patriotism, his earnest eloquence, the uniqueness of his character, made him beloved by the people of his State; and wherever he went, to the day of his death, Uncle Dick Oglesby, as he was called, was enthusiastically and affectionately received. He was a true Republican from the very beginning of the party, although toward the end of his life I do not believe that he was quite satisfied with the expansion policy of the party. The last campaign in which he took an active part was that of 1896. Owing to his advanced years and failing health, and perhaps being somewhat dissatisfied with our candidate for Governor, it took considerable urging to induce him to enter that campaign actively; but when it was arranged that all the living ex-Governors of Illinois --Oglesby, Beveridge, Fifer, Hamilton, and myself--should tour the State on a special train, he consented to join, and christened the expedition "The Flying Squadron." He did his full part in speaking, and seemed to enjoy keenly the enthusiasm with which he was everywhere received. He was particularly bitter in his denunciation of Mr. Bryan--even to the extent of using profanity (to which he was much addicted), greatly to the delight of the thousands of people whom he addressed. Governor Oglesby was one of the most delightfully entertaining conversationalists whom one would wish to meet. He will go down in the history of Illinois, as one of the most popular men among the people of our State. Late in life Governor Oglesby took up a church affiliation. It always seemed strange to me, in his later life, that a man of his undoubted bravery should have such a perfect horror of death, which was an obsession with him. To his intimate friends he constantly talked of it. It was not the physical pain of dying; with a man of his pronounced religious convictions it could not have been the uncertainty of the hereafter. What was the basis of the fear I cannot imagine--but certain it is, I do not remember ever knowing a man who seemed to have such a fear of death. At an advanced age, he passed away peacefully and painlessly at his beautiful home at Elkhart, Illinois, mourned by the people of the whole State, whom he had served so long and faithfully and well. CHAPTER XV SENATORIAL CAREER 1883 to 1911 After I was re-elected Governor of Illinois, in 1880, my friends in the State urged me to become a candidate for the United States Senate to succeed the late Hon. David Davis, whose term expired March 3, 1883. I finally consented. There were several candidates against me, Governor Richard Oglesby and General Thomas J. Henderson being the two most prominent. It was not much of a contest, and I had no serious struggle to secure the caucus nomination. The objection was then raised in the Legislature itself that I was not eligible under the Constitution of our State for election to the United States Senate while I was serving as Governor of Illinois. The point looked somewhat serious to me, and I consulted with my friend, the Hon. Wm. J. Calhoun, then a member of the Legislature, later Minister to China, for whose ability I had the most profound respect. I asked him to give attention to the subject and, if he agreed with me that I was eligible, to make the fight on the floor of the House. He looked into it and came to the conclusion there was no doubt as to my eligibility. He made a speech in the Legislature, which was regarded then as one of the ablest efforts ever delivered on the floor of the House, and he carried the Legislature with him. When the time came, I received the vote of every Republican member of both Houses, excepting one, the Hon. Geo. E. Adams. He was thoroughly conscientious in voting against me, and did so from no ulterior motive, as he honestly believed that I was not eligible. We became very good friends afterwards, and I never harbored any ill feeling against him on account of that vote. I appreciated the high distinction conferred upon me by the people of the State, through the Legislature, in electing me to the United States Senate, but I confess that I felt considerable regret on leaving the Governorship, as during my six years I had enjoyed the work and had endeavored to the best of my ability to give to the people of my State a businesslike administration. I retired from the office of Governor on February 5, 1883, and remained in Springfield until sworn in as a member of the Senate, December 4, 1883. General Arthur was President at that time, having succeeded to the office after the assassination of General Garfield. I liked General Arthur very much. I had met him once or twice before. I went with my staff to attend the Yorktown celebration, and I may remark here that it was the first and only time during my service of six years as Governor on which my whole military staff accompanied me. We stopped in Washington to pay our respects to the President. It was soon after the assassination of General Garfield, and Arthur had not yet moved into the White House. He was living in the old Butler place just south of the Capitol, and I called on him there and presented the members of my staff to him. The President was exceedingly polite, as he always was, and was quite interested, having been a staff officer himself, by appointment of Governor Morgan of New York. We were all very much impressed with the dignity of the occasion and the kindly attention the President showed us. General Arthur had taken considerable interest in New York politics and belonged to the Conkling faction. He came into the office of President under the most trying circumstances. The party was almost torn asunder by factional troubles in New York and elsewhere. Blaine, the bitter enemy of Conkling, had been made the Secretary of State; Garfield had made some appointments very obnoxious to Conkling--among them the Collector of the Port of New York--and, generally, conditions were very unsatisfactory. Arthur entered the office bent on restoring harmonious conditions in the party, as far as he could. He did not allow himself to be controlled by any faction, but seemed animated by one desire, and that was to give a good administration and unite the party. He was a man of great sense of propriety and dignity, believing more thoroughly in the observance of the etiquette which should surround a President than any other occupant of the White House whom I have known. He was very popular with those who came into contact with him, and especially was he popular with the members of the House and Senate. I have always thought that he should have been accorded the honor of a nomination for President in 1884; as a matter of fact most of the Republican Senators agreed with me, and many of us went to the National Convention at Chicago, determined to nominate him; but we soon found there was no chance, and that the nomination would go to Blaine. President Arthur was very kind to me in the way of patronage. He not only recognized my endorsement for Federal offices in my State, but gave me a number of appointments outside. One of the first of these was the appointment of Judge Zane as Territorial Judge of Utah. President Arthur showed his confidence in me by appointing Judge Zane, without any endorsement, excepting a statement of his qualifications, written by me on a scrap of paper in the Executive Office. The Senate Committee on the Judiciary called on the President for the endorsements of Judge Zane, and Senator Edmunds was quite disgusted when the President could send him only this little slip of paper written by me, which was all the President had when he made the appointment. Senator Edmunds hesitated to recommend his confirmation. There was no question about Judge Zane's qualifications. He had been a circuit judge in our State for many years. I saw Senator Teller, whom I knew, and who knew something of Judge Zane, and asked him to help us, as he could do, being then Secretary of the Interior. On one occasion I spoke to Teller about Judge Zane, and purposely spoke so loud that Senator Edmunds could hear me. I said, among other things, there had not been a man nominated for Territorial Judge in the country who was better qualified for the position. Judge Zane's nomination was soon reported from the committee and confirmed. He made a great record on the Bench and did much to break up the practice of polygamy. He is still living, a resident of Salt Lake City, Utah. I entered the Senate at a very uninteresting period in our history. The excitement and bitterness caused by the Civil War and Reconstruction had subsided. It was what I would term a period of industrial development, and there were no great measures before Congress. The men who then composed the membership of the Senate were honest and patriotic, trying to do their duty as best they could, but there was no great commanding figure. The days of Webster, Clay, and Calhoun had passed; the great men of the Civil War period were gone. Stevens, Sumner, Chase of the Reconstruction era, had all passed away. Among the leaders at the beginning of the Forty-eighth Congress were Senators Aldrich and Anthony, of Rhode Island; Edmunds and Morrill, of Vermont; Sherman and Pendleton, of Ohio; Sewell, of New Jersey; Don Cameron, of Pennsylvania; Platt and Hawley, of Connecticut; Harrison, of Indiana; Dawes and Hoar, of Massachusetts; Allison, of Iowa; Ingalls, of Kansas; Hale and Frye, of Maine; Sawyer, of Wisconsin; Van Wyck and Manderson, of Nebraska; all on the Republican side. There were a number of quite prominent Democrats--Bayard, of Delaware; Voorhees, of Indiana; Morgan, of Alabama; Ransom and Vance, of North Carolina; Butler and Hampton, of South Carolina; Beck, of Kentucky; Lamar and George, of Mississippi; and Cockrell and Vest, of Missouri. The Senate was controlled by the Republicans, there being forty Republican and thirty-six Democratic Senators; and Senator George F. Edmunds, of Vermont, was chosen President _pro tempore_. In the House the Democrats had the majority, and John G. Carlisle was chosen Speaker. Senator Edmunds is still living, and he has been for many years regarded as one of the foremost lawyers of the American bar. I know that in the Senate when I entered it, he was ranked as its leading lawyer. He was chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary of the Senate and, with Senator Thurman, of Ohio, dominated that committee. I became very intimately acquainted with him. He was dignified in his conversation and deportment, and I never knew him to say a vicious thing in debate. I believe I had considerable influence with Senator Edmunds. He always seemed to have a prejudice against appropriations for the Rock Island (Illinois) Arsenal. He had never visited Rock Island, but he seemed to think that the money spent there was more or less wasted, and he was disposed to oppose appropriations for its maintenance. One day we were considering an appropriation bill carrying several items in favor of Rock Island, and I anticipated Senator Edmunds' objections. Sitting beside him, I asked him not to oppose these items. I told him that I did not think he was doing right by such a course. He asked me where they were in the bill and I showed them to him without saying a word. Just before we reached them I observed him rising from his seat and leaving the chamber. He remained away until the items were passed, then he returned, and the subject was never mentioned between us afterwards. Senator Edmunds resigned before his last term expired. There were two reasons for his resignation, the principal one being the illness of his only daughter; but in addition, he had come to feel that the Senate was becoming less and less desirable each year, and began to lose interest in it. He did not like the rough-and-tumble methods of debate of a number of Western Senators who were coming to take a more prominent place in the Senate. On one occasion Senator Plumb, of Kansas, attacked Senator Edmunds most violently, and without any particular reason. During his service in the Senate, Senator Edmunds seemed to be frequently arguing cases before the Supreme Court of the United States. His ability as a lawyer made him in constant demand in important litigation before that court. Personally, I do not approve of Senators of the United States engaging in the active practice of the law or any other business, but his practice before the Supreme Court did not cause him to neglect his Senatorial duties. Justice Miller, one of the ablest members of the court, was talking with me one day about Senator Edmunds, and he asked me why I did not come into the Supreme Court to practise, remarking that Edmunds was there a good deal. I replied that I did not know enough law, to begin with; and in addition it did not seem to me proper for a Senator of the United States to engage in that kind of business. Justice Miller replied that Senators did do so, and that there seemed to be no complaint about it, and he urged me to come along, saying that he would take care of me. But needless for me to say, I never appeared in any case before the Supreme Court of the United States during my service as Senator. Senator Edmunds' colleague, Justin S. Morrill, was one of the most lovable characters I ever met. I served with him in the House. Later he was a very prominent member of the Senate, when I entered it, and was Chairman of the Committee on Finance. He was a wonderfully capable man in legislation. He had extraordinary power in originating measures and carrying them through. He was not a lawyer, but was a man of exceptional common sense. His judgment was good on any proposition. I do not believe he had an enemy in the Senate. Every one felt kindly toward him, and for this reason it was very easy for him to secure the passage of any bill he was interested in. While Senator Morrill was chairman of the Committee on Finance, owing to his advanced age and the feeble condition of his health the real burden of the committee for years before his death fell on Nelson W. Aldrich, of Rhode Island. He was prominent as far back as the Forty-eighth Congress, and was a dominant unit even then. His recent retirement is newspaper history and need not be aired here. Senator Aldrich has had a potent influence in framing all tariff and financial legislation almost from the time he entered the Senate. Personally, I have great admiration for him and for his great ability and capacity to frame legislation, and it is a matter of sincere regret with me that he has determined to retire to private life. His absence is seriously felt, especially in the Finance Committee. The Hon. John Sherman, of Ohio, was one of the most valuable statesmen of his day and one of the ablest men. He was exceedingly industrious, and well posted on all financial questions. Toward the close of his Senatorial term, he failed rapidly, but he was just as clear on any financial question as he was at any time in his career. He was Secretary of the Treasury when in his prime, and I believe his record in the office stands second only to Hamilton's. He was of the Hamilton school of financiers, and his judgment was always reliable and trustworthy. He was a very serious man and could never see through a joke. He was one of the very best men in Ohio, and would have made a splendid President. For years he was quite ambitious to be President, and the business interests of the country seemed to be for him. His name was before the National Convention of the Republican party many times, but circumstances always intervened to prevent his nomination when it was almost within his grasp. I have always thought that one reason was that his own State had so many ambitious men in it who sought the honor themselves, that they were never sincerely in good faith for Sherman. At least twice he went to National Conventions, apparently with his own State behind him, but he was unfortunate in the selection of his managers, and, really, when the time came to support him they seemed only too ready to sacrifice him in their own interests. I have always regretted that he closed his career by accepting the office of Secretary of State under President McKinley. It was unfortunate for him that it was at a most trying and difficult time that he entered that department. The Spanish-American War was coming on, and there was necessity for exercising the most careful and skillful diplomacy. Senator Sherman's training and experience lay along other lines. He was not in any sense a diplomat, and his age unfitted him for the place. He retired from office very soon, and shortly thereafter passed away. His brief service as Secretary of State will be forgotten, and he will be remembered as the great Secretary of the Treasury, and one of the most celebrated of Ohio Senators. Senator George F. Hoar, of Massachusetts, was quite prominent at the beginning of the Forty-eighth Congress. He was jealous of New England's interests, and was always prejudiced in its favor, and in favor of New England men and men with New England ancestry, or affiliations. He opposed the Interstate Commerce Act because he thought it would injuriously affect his locality, although he knew very well it would be of inestimable benefit to the country as a whole. Senator Hoar was a scholarly man. Indeed, I would say he was the most cultivated man in the Senate. He was highly educated, had travelled extensively, was a student all his life, and in debate was very fond of Latin or Greek quotations, and especially so when he wanted to make a point perfectly clear to the Senate. He opposed imperialism and the acquisition of foreign territory. He opposed the ratification of the treaty of peace with Spain. When the Philippine question was up in the Senate, I made a speech in which I compared Senator Hoar with his colleague, Senator Lodge, said that Senator Lodge had no such fear as did Senator Hoar on account of the acquirement of non-contiguous territory, and made the remark that Senator Hoar was far behind the times. He was not present when I made the speech, but afterwards read it in the _Record_. He came down to my seat greatly out of humor one day and stated that if three-fourths of the people of his State were not in harmony with his position he would resign. He was one of the most kindly of men, but during this period he was so deadly in earnest in opposition to the so-called imperialism that he became very ill-natured with his Republican colleagues who differed from him. I do not know but the passing of time has demonstrated that Senator Hoar was right in his opposition to acquirement of the Philippines; but at the time it seemed that the burden was thrust upon us and we could not shirk it. Senator Hoar was disposed to be against the recognition of the Republic of Panama, and it has been intimated that he was of the opinion that the Roosevelt Administration had something to do with the bloodless revolution that resulted in the uniting with the United States of that part of Colombia which now forms the Canal Zone. President Roosevelt entertained a very high regard for Senator Hoar, and he wanted to disabuse his mind of that impression. He asked him to call at his office one morning. I was waiting to see the President and when he came in he told me that he had an engagement with Senator Hoar, and asked me if I would wait until he had seen the Senator first. I promptly answered that he should see the Senator first at any rate, as he was an older man than I, and was older in the service. Senator Hoar and the President entered the room together. Just as they went in, the President turned to me. "You might as well come in at the same time," said he. I accompanied them. And this is what took place: The President wanted the Senator to read a message which he had already prepared, in reference to Colombia's action in rejecting the treaty and the canal in general; which message showed very clearly that the President had never contemplated the secession of Panama, and was considering different methods in order to obtain the right of way across the Isthmus from Colombia, fully expecting to deal only with the Colombian Government on the subject. The President was sitting on the table, first at one side of Senator Hoar, and then on the other, talking in his usual vigorous fashion, trying to get the Senator's attention to the message. Senator Hoar seemed adverse to reading it, but finally sat down, and without seeming to pay any particular attention to what he was perusing, he remained for a minute or two, then arose and said: "I hope I may never live to see the day when the interests of my country are placed above its honor." He at once retired from the room without uttering another word, proceeding to the Capitol. Later in the morning he came to me with a typewritten paper containing the conversation between the President and himself, and asked me to certify to its correctness. I took the paper and read it over, and as it seemed to be correct, as I remembered the conversation, I wrote my name on the bottom of it. I have never seen or heard of the paper since. Senator Hoar was very much interested in changing the date of the inauguration of the President of the United States. March, in Washington, is one of the very worst months of the year, and it frequently happens that the weather is so cold and stormy as to make any demonstration almost impossible. Inaugurations have cost the lives of very many men. I was looking into the subject myself, and I took occasion to write Senator Hoar a letter, asking his views. He replied to me very courteously and promptly. I was so pleased with the letter that I retained it, and give it here. "Worcester, Mass., _August 26, 1901_. "My dear Senator:-- "I do not think the proposed change of time of inauguration can be made without change in the Constitution. I prepared an article for so changing the Constitution. It has passed the Senate twice certainly, and I think three times. It was reported once or twice from the Committee on Privileges and Elections, and once from the Committee on the Judiciary. It received general favor in the Senate, and as I now remember there was no vote against it at any time. The only serious question was whether the four years should terminate on a certain Wednesday in April or should terminate as now on a fixed day of the month. The former is liable to the objection that one Presidential term should be in some cases slightly longer than another. The other is liable to the objection that if the thirtieth of April were Sunday or Saturday or Monday, nearly all persons from a distance who come to the inauguration would have to be away from home over Sunday. "The matter would, I think, have passed the House, if it could have been reached for action. But it had the earnest opposition of Speaker Reed. It was, as you know, very hard to get him to approve anything that was a change. "I have prepared an amendment to be introduced at the beginning of the next section, and have got some very carefully prepared tables from the Coast Survey, to show the exact length of an administration under the different plans. The advantage of the change seems to me very clear indeed. In the first place, you prolong the second session of Congress until the last of April; you add six or seven weeks, which are very much needed, to that session. And you can further increase that session a little by special statute, which should have Congress meet immediately after the November election, a little earlier than now. In that case, you can probably without disadvantage shorten the first session of Congress so as to get away by the middle of May or the first of June and get rid of the very disagreeable Washington heat. "I wish you would throw your great influence, so much increased by the renewed expression of the confidence of your State, against what seems to me the most dangerous single proposition now pending before the people, a plan to elect Senators of the United States by popular vote. "I am, with high regard, faithfully yours, "Geo. F. Hoar. "Hon. S. M. Cullom, "Chicago, Ills." Senator Dawes, of Massachusetts, Senator Hoar's colleague, was not the cultivated man that Senator Hoar was, and neither would I say he was a man of strong and independent character. He was very popular in the Senate, probably far more popular with Senators than his colleague, and it was much easier for him to pass bills in which he was interested. He was influential as a legislator and a man of great probity of character. For some reason or other--why, I never knew--he was one of the very few Eastern Senators of my time who gave special attention to Indian affairs. He was chairman of the Committee on Indian Affairs for years, and was the acknowledged authority on that subject in the Senate. When he retired he was placed at the head of the so-called Dawes Commission, having in charge the interests of the tribes of Indians in Oklahoma and the Indian territory. He was an honest man, and having inherited no fortune, he consequently retired from the Senate a poor man. The appointment was very agreeable to him on that account, but it was given to him more especially because he knew more about Indian matters than any other man. As I have been writing these recollections of the men with whom I have been associated in public life for the last half-century, I have had occasion to mention a number of times, Senator Orville H. Platt, of Connecticut, who was two years older than I, and who took his seat in the Senate in 1879, serving there until his death in 1905. We became very friendly almost immediately after I entered the Senate. One bond of friendship between us from the beginning was, we each had a senior colleague a celebrated General of Civil War fame--Hawley, of Connecticut and Logan, of Illinois. Senator Platt and I necessarily were compelled to take what might be termed a back seat, our colleagues being almost always in the lime-light. As a member of the select committee on Interstate Commerce, Senator Platt rendered much valuable assistance in the investigation and in the passage of the Act of 1887, although he was almost induced finally to oppose it on account of the anti-pooling and the long- and-short-haul sections. He was a modest man, and it was some years before Senators that were not intimate with him really appreciated his worth. Had he not yielded to the late Senator Hoar, he would have been made chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary instead of Senator Hoar, a position for which there was no Senator more thoroughly qualified than Senator Platt. It seems strange that he never did succeed to an important chairmanship until he was made chairman of the Committee on Cuban Relations during the war with Spain, and he really made that an important committee. Not only in name but in fact was he the author of those very wise pieces of legislation known as the Platt Amendments. I was a member of the Committee on Cuban Relations, and know whereof I speak in saying that it was Senator Platt who drafted these so-called amendments and secured their passage in the Senate. They were finally embodied in the Cuban Constitution, and also in the treaty between Cuba and the United States. After the late Senator Dawes retired, Senator Platt was an authority on all matters pertaining to Indian affairs. As the years passed by he became more and more influential in the Senate. Every Senator on both sides of the chamber had confidence in him and in his judgment. As an orator he was not to be compared with Senator Spooner, but he did deliver some very able speeches, especially during the debates preceding the Spanish-American War. I have often said that Senator Platt was capable in more ways than any other man in the Senate of doing what the exigencies of the day from time to time put upon him. He was always at his post of duty, always watchful in caring for the interests of the country, always just and fair to all alike, and ever careful and conservative in determining what his duty should be in the disposition of any public question; and I regarded his judgment as a little more exactly right than that of any other Senator. General Joseph R. Hawley, of Connecticut, was quite a figure in the Senate when I entered it, and was regarded as one of the leaders, especially on military matters. He was a man of fine ability and address, brave as a lion and enjoyed an enviable Civil War record. He was president of the Centennial at Philadelphia and permanent President of the Republican Convention of 1868, which nominated General Grant. He was a very ambitious man, and wanted to be President; several times the delegation from his State presented his name to national conventions. He had no mean idea of his own merits; and his colleague, Senator Platt, told me once in a jocular way that if the Queen of England should announce her purpose of giving a banquet to one of the most distinguished citizens from each nation, and General Hawley should be invited as the most distinguished citizen of the United States, he would take it as a matter of course. Senator F. M. Cockrell and Senator George Vest represented Missouri in the United States Senate for very many years. Senator Cockrell was one of the most faithful and useful legislators I ever knew. I served with him for years on the Committee on Appropriations. That committee never had a better member. He kept close track of the business of the Senate, and when the calendar was called, no measure was passed without his close scrutiny, especially any measure carrying an appropriation. He was a Democrat all his life, but never allowed partisanship to enter into his action on legislation. It was said of him that he used to make one fiery Democratic speech at each Congress, and then not think of partisanship again. He was not given much to talking about violating the Constitution, because he knew he had been in the Confederate Army himself and that he had violated it. One day Senator George, who was, by the way, a very able Senator from the South, was making a long constitutional argument against a bill, extending over two or three days. I happened to be conversing with Cockrell at the time, and he remarked: "Just listen to George talk. He don't seem to realize that for four years he was violating the Constitution himself." Senator Cockrell retired from the Senate in 1905, his State for the first time in its history having elected a Republican Legislature. President Roosevelt had the very highest regard for him, and as soon as it was known he could not be re-elected, he wired Senator Cockrell, tendering him a place on either the Interstate Commerce Commission or the Panama Canal Commission. He accepted the former, serving thereon for one term. He gave the duties of this position the same attention and study that he did when a member of the Senate. Senator Vest was an entirely different style of man. He did not pay the close attention to the routine work of the Senate that Senator Cockrell did, but he was honest and faithful to his duty, and an able man as well. He was a great orator, and I have heard him make on occasion as beautiful speeches as were ever delivered in the Senate. At the time of his death he was the last surviving member of the Confederate Senate. He told me a rather interesting story once about how he came to quit drinking whiskey. He said he came home to Missouri after the war, found little to do, and being almost without means, took to drinking whiskey pretty hard. He awoke one night and thought he saw a cat sitting on the end of his bed. He reached down, took up his boot-jack and threw it at the cat, as he supposed. Instead, a pitcher was smashed to atoms. Needless to add there was no cat at all, which he realized, and he never took another drink of liquor. Senator Vest was not a very old man, but he was in poor health and feeble for his years. One day he looked particularly forlorn, sitting at his desk and leaning his head on his hands. I noticed his dejected attitude, and said to Senator Morrill, who was then eighty-five or eighty-six years old: "Go over and cheer up Vest." Morrill did so in these words: "Vest, what is the matter? Cheer up! Why, you are nothing but a boy." Senator Vest retired from the Senate, and shortly thereafter died at his home in Washington. Allen G. Thurman, of Ohio, was another very prominent Democrat in this Congress. He was one of the leading lawyers of the Senate, ranking, probably, with Edmunds in this respect. He was chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary for a brief period, was later nominated for Vice-President of the United States, but was defeated with the rest of the Democratic ticket. Senator Eugene Hale, who retired from the Senate on his own motion, March 4, 1911, was elected in 1881, and was always regarded as a very strong man. It was unfortunate for the Senate and country that Senator Hale determined to leave this body. He was chairman of the Committee on Appropriations, and chairman of the Republican caucus, in which latter capacity I succeeded him in April, 1911. He was for years chairman of the Committee on Naval Affairs; and there is no man in the country, in my judgment, who knows more about the work and condition of the Navy and the Navy Department than does Senator Hale. Hence it has been for years past, that when legislation affecting the Navy came up to be acted upon by Congress, generally we have looked to Senator Hale to direct and influence our legislative action. He is a very independent character, and was just the man for chairman of the great Committee on Appropriations. Senator Hale was more than ordinarily independent, even to the extent of voting against his party at times, and was very little influenced by what a President or an Administration might desire. I regretted exceedingly to see him leave the Senate, where for many years he served his country so well. Charles F. Manderson, of Nebraska, was twice elected to the United States Senate, and was an influential member. I have regarded him as one of the most amiable men with whom I have served. He was a splendid soldier, a splendid legislator, and a splendid man generally. He was the presiding officer of the Senate, and a good one. I have always thought that he ought to have been the Republican nominee for Vice-President of the United States; but for some reason or other he never seemed to seek the place, and finally became one of the attorneys for the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad, since when he seems to have lost interest in political affairs. He visit old friends in Washington once each year, and it is always a great pleasure for me to greet Mr. and Mrs. Manderson. Another Senator who first served many years in the House, was Philetus Sawyer, of Wisconsin. It was in the Senate that I served with him, and came to have for him a very great respect. He was not very well educated, not a lawyer nor an orator, and excepting in a conversational way, not regarded as a talker; yet he was an uncommonly effective man in business as well as in politics, and was once or twice invited to become chairman of the National Republican Committee. I cannot resist the temptation to tell a little story in connection with Senator Sawyer. One day he was undertaking to pass an unimportant bill in the Senate concerning some railroad in his own State, and as was the custom when he had anything to say or do in the Senate, he took his place in the centre aisle close to the clerk's desk, so that he could be heard. Senator Van Wyck offered an amendment to the bill, and was talking in favor of the amendment, when Sawyer became a little alarmed lest the bill was going to be beaten. He turned his back to the clerk, and said in a tone of voice that could be distinctly heard: "If you will stop your damned yawp I will accept your amendment." Van Wyck merely said, "All right." The amendment was adopted, and the bill passed. As is quite the custom in the disposal of new members, I was appointed a member of the Committee on Pensions--really the only important committee appointment I received during my first service in the Senate. I naturally felt very liberal toward the old soldiers, and it seemed that every case that was referred to me was a worthy one, and that a liberal pension should be allowed. I became a little uneasy lest I might be too liberal, and I went to Sawyer, knowing that he was a man of large wealth, seeking his advice about it. He said, and I have been guided by that advice largely ever since: "You need not worry; you cannot very well make a mistake in allowing liberal pensions to the soldier boys. The money will get into circulation and come back into the treasury very soon; so go ahead and do what you think is right in the premises; and there will be no trouble." Senator Sawyer retired from the Senate voluntarily at a ripe old age. He was largely instrumental in selecting as his successor, one of the greatest lawyers and ablest statesmen who has ever served in that body, of whom I shall speak later, my distinguished friend, the Hon. John C. Spooner. In the Forty-eighth Congress the Democrats had a majority in the House and the Republicans a majority in the Senate, and as is always the case when such a situation prevails, little or no important legislation was enacted. I entered the Senate having three objects in view: First, the control of Interstate Commerce; second, the stamping out of polygamy; third, the construction of the Hennepin Canal. I was not quite as modest as I have since advised younger Senators to be, because I see by the _Record_ that on January 11, 1884, a little more than a month after I had entered the Senate, I made an extended address on the subject of Territorial Government for Utah, particularly referring to polygamy. I was especially bitter in what I said against the Mormons and the Mormon Church. I used such expressions as these: "There is scarcely a page of their history that is not marred by a recital of some foul deed. The whole history of the Mormon Church abounds in illustrations of the selfishness, deceit, and lawlessness of its leaders and members. Founded in fraud, built up by the most audacious deception, this organization has been so notoriously corrupt and immoral in its practices, teachings, and tendencies as to justify the Government in assuming absolute control of the Territory and in giving the Church or its followers no voice in the administration of public affairs. The progress of Mormonism to its present strength and power has been attended by a continual series of murders, robberies, and outrages of every description; but there is one dark spot in its disgraceful record that can never be effaced, one crime so heinous that the blood of the betrayed victims still calls aloud for vengeance." I introduced a bill on the subject, in which I provided for the appointment of a legislative council by the President, this council to have the same legislative power as the legislative assembly of a Territory. I distrusted the local Legislature because it was dominated by men high up in the Mormon Church. During this Congress I pushed the bill as best I could, but was never able to secure its passage. Laws were passed on the subject, and the Mormon question is practically now a thing of the past. Since that time conditions in Utah and in the Mormon Church have changed greatly. The Prophets received a new revelation declaring polygamy unlawful, and I believe that the practice has ceased. As a matter of fact, Judge Zane, the Territorial Judge of Utah, did more to stamp it out than any other one man. He sentenced those guilty of the practice to terms in the penitentiary, and announced that he would continue to do so until they reformed. I do not think that the Church or the Mormon people deserve to-day the severe criticism they merited twenty-five years ago. CHAPTER XVI CLEVELAND'S FIRST TERM 1884 to 1887 The Republican Convention of 1884 was held at Chicago. The names of Joseph R. Hawley, John A. Logan, Chester A. Arthur, John Sherman, George F. Edmunds, and James G. Blaine were presented as candidates for the Republican nomination for President of the United States. Blaine and Logan finally were the nominees, neither of them having much of a contest to secure the nomination for President and Vice- President respectively. The Democratic Convention met later, and nominated Grover Cleveland and Thomas A. Hendricks. The Presidential campaign of 1884 was unique in the extreme. It was the most bitter personal contest in our history. The private lives of both candidates, Cleveland and Blaine, were searched, and the most scandalous stories circulated, most of which were false. The tide was in favor of Blaine only a short time before the election. I do not intend to go into the cause of his defeat. It was accomplished by a margin so narrow that any one of a dozen reasons may be given as the particular one. The Burchard incident, the dinner given by the plutocrats at Delmonico's, certainly changed several hundred votes--important when we remember that a change of less than six hundred votes in the State of New York would have elected him. Conkling, too, was accused of playing him false, and it was alleged that there were hundreds of fraudulent votes cast in the city of New York and on Long Island. Colonel A. K. McClure, in "Our Presidents and How We Make Them," says, with reference to this contest: "Blaine would have been matchless in the skilful management of a Presidential campaign for another, but he was dwarfed by the overwhelming responsibilities of conducting a campaign for himself, and yet he assumed the supreme control of the struggle and directed it absolutely from start to finish. He was of the heroic mould, and he wisely planned his campaign tours to accomplish the best result. In point of fact, he had won his fight after stumping the country, and lost it by his stay in New York on his way home. He knew how to sway multitudes, and none could approach him in that important feature of a conflict; but he was not trained to consider the thousand intricacies that fell upon the management of every Presidential contest." Grover Cleveland was inaugurated on the fourth of March, 1885, being the first Democratic President since James Buchanan, who was elected in 1856, and marking the first defeat of the Republican party since the election of Lincoln. There was a wild scramble for offices on the part of the Democrats as soon as Cleveland was inaugurated. He proceeded to satisfy them as rapidly as he could, and out of 56,134 Presidential positions he appointed 42,992 Democrats. I always admired Grover Cleveland. I first saw him at the time of his inaugural address, which he delivered without notes. He never faltered from the beginning to the end, never skipped a line or missed a word, or made a false start. He was the first, and so far as I know the only President who did not read his inaugural address. His speeches, his messages, and his public utterances generally all showed that he was a man of extraordinary ability. He made a wonderful impression upon the country. As Chief Executive, he was strong-minded and forceful, and adhered to his views on public questions with a remarkable degree of tenacity, utterly regardless of his party. He appointed a very fair cabinet. There was really no great man in it, but they were all men of some ability. The Secretary of State, Thos. F. Bayard, of Delaware, was one of the prominent Democrats of the Senate when I entered it, and had represented his State in that body for many years. I believe he conducted the affairs of the State Department satisfactorily, and he was later made Minister to the Court of St. James. Daniel Manning, of New York, was Secretary of the Treasury. And, referring to Manning, I am reminded of a little story. Soon after he came into the office I had occasion to go to the Treasury Department on some business. I saw the office secretary, who had been there under the previous Administration, and whom I knew well. He informed me that the Secretary of the Treasury was not in, but that he would be in a few minutes. I expressed a desire to see him and said that I would like very much to be introduced to him. Mr. Manning came in presently, and I was introduced, after which I disposed of my business without delay. Looking around, I saw Senator Beck and a number of other Senators, accompanied by a horde of Democratic office-seekers from the South, sitting against the wall waiting for me to get through with my business. Beck came forward, and in a half serious sort of way said to me: "You do not seem to know that the Administration has changed. You march in here and take possession, and we Democrats are sitting here against the wall cooling our heels and waiting for an opportunity to see the Secretary. You have seen him already, and are ready to go." It did plague me a little, as I was not quite sure whether Beck was in earnest or not. He soon returned to the Senate from the Treasury, and coming into the Senate Chamber a little later I found that he had been telling my colleagues how he had "plagued Cullom" and how Cullom was much embarrassed about it. He considered it quite a joke on me. L. Q. C. Lamar, of Mississippi, was made Secretary of the Interior. Lamar was also one of the prominent Democrats of the Senate when I entered it. I had the very greatest respect for him as a Senator and as a man. Later, Mr. Cleveland nominated him for Associate Justice of the Supreme Court. The nomination pended before the Judiciary Committee for a long time, as it was well known that Mr. Lamar had not been an active, practising lawyer. I happened to be at the White House one day, and Mr. Cleveland said to me: "I wish you would take up Lamar's nomination and dispose of it. I am between hay and grass with reference to the Interior Department. Nothing is being done there; I ought to have some one on duty, and I can not do anything until you dispose of Lamar." He had, I suppose, spoken to other Senators along the same line. The nomination was taken up soon after, and he was confirmed. I voted against his confirmation in the Senate; not because I had anything against him personally, or because he was a Southern Democrat, but I understood that he had not practised law at all, and I did not believe that sort of man should be appointed to fill so high and responsible a position. Generally speaking, I got along very well with President Cleveland, considering the fact that he was a Democrat and I a Republican. I visited the White House frequently, and he generally granted anything that I asked for. He was keenly interested in the passage of the first Interstate Commerce Act. It became a law under his administration, and although the Democrats supported it, it succeeded mainly through the influence of Republican Senators and a Republican Senate. When the bill went to the President, and while he had it under consideration, he sent for me to explain one or two sections which he did not understand. I called one night about nine o'clock and found him surrounded by a multitude of papers, hard at work reading the bill. I explained the sections concerning which he was in doubt as best I could, and he said: "I will approve the bill." I immediately took advantage of the occasion to say: "Now, Mr. President, I might just as well take this opportunity to talk with you with reference to the appointment of a Commission. A Republican Senate has passed this bill, and as I had charge of it in the Senate, I think you ought to permit me to recommend the appointment of one commissioner." He agreed to this, asking me to present the name of some Republican whom I desired appointed. Afterward there were complications with the members of his own party in Congress, and he sent for me to tell me that Colonel Morrison, of Illinois, had been recommended by the whole "Free Trade Party," as he called it, and that he did not see how he was going to avoid appointing him. I suggested that he give Morrison something else. He undertook to do so; but Morrison, true to his independent nature, declined to accept anything else, declaring that he would like to have the office of commissioner, and if he could not have that he would accept nothing. The President sent for me again, and told me he could not satisfy Morrison, and he did not know how he was going to solve the complication. I said, in effect, that I had been a Governor of a State and I knew sometimes that an executive officer had to do things he did not expect to do, and did not desire to do, but that he had to yield to party pressure. I ceased insisting upon an appointment, and allowed Morrison to be named. At the same time I was a little provoked and out of patience and I added: "Colonel Morrison knows nothing about the subject whatever. If you are going to appoint broken-down politicians who have been defeated at home, as a sort of salve for the sores caused by their defeat, we might as well repeal the law." I inquired of him: "Who else are you going to appoint on that Commission?" I had previously recommended Judge Cooley. "I will appoint Cooley," promised the President. "Will Cooley take it?" I asked; to which he replied, "I will offer any place on the Commission he desires, and will telegraph him at once." I expressed my satisfaction with this arrangement. He did telegraph Judge Cooley, who accepted, and was the first and most distinguished chairman of the Interstate Commerce Commission. The Forty-ninth Congress assembled on December 7, 1885, with Thomas A. Hendricks, Vice-President, presiding in the Senate, John Sherman having been elected President _pro tempore_. The Senate was still in the control of the Republicans by a majority of five. The Democrats had a majority of something like forty in the House, and elected John G. Carlisle Speaker. This is practically the same situation that had prevailed during the previous Congress, except this time the Democrats, in addition to a majority, had the Chief Executive as well. But they were just as powerless to enact legislation as they had been before. Senators Evarts, of New York; Spooner, of Wisconsin; Teller, of Colorado; Stanford, of California; Gray, of Delaware; Brown, of Georgia; Blackburn, of Kentucky; and Walthall, of Mississippi, were a few of the prominent men who entered the Senate at the beginning of the Cleveland Administration. Senator Evarts was recognized for many years as the leader of the American Bar. He was not only a profound lawyer, but one of the greatest public speakers of the day. I remember him as a good natured, agreeable man, who was pre-eminently capable of filling the highest places in public life. He was Attorney-General under President Johnson, Secretary of State under President Hayes, and counsel representing the United States before many great international tribunals. He defended President Johnson in his impeachment proceedings, and I remember yet his lofty eloquence on that memorable occasion. He did not accomplish much as a Senator, but he did take an active part where a legal or constitutional question came before the Senate. Illustrating how great lawyers are as apt to be wrong on a legal question as the lesser legal lights, Senator Evarts expressed the opinion that Congress did not possess the constitutional power to pass the Act of 1887 to regulate commerce. He contended in the debate that the act was a restriction and not a regulation of commerce, and consequently was beyond the power of Congress. The Supreme Court of the United States very soon afterwards sustained the constitutionality of the act. Before his term expired he became partially blind, and the story is told by the late Senator Hoar that Senator Evarts and he had delivered speeches in the Senate on some great legal, constitutional question, Senator Hoar on one side, Senator Evarts on the other. The latter asked Senator Hoar to look over the proof of his speech and correct it, and in reading over the proof Senator Hoar told me that he became convinced that his position was wrong and that Evarts was right. I do not know of a Democrat with whom I have served in the Senate for whom I have greater respect than George Gray, of Delaware. We became quite intimate and were paired all during his service. He was one of the few Senators that every Senator on both sides believed in and was willing to trust. Indeed, our country would not suffer if he were elected President of the United States. He has held many important positions,--Senator, member of the Paris Peace Commission, United States Circuit Judge, member of many arbitration commissions,--in all of which he acquitted himself with great honor. My friend, Senator Henry M. Teller, of Colorado, returned to the Senate at the beginning of this Congress. He had previously served in the Senate, and resigned to accept a Cabinet position under President Arthur. Senator Teller has had a long and honorable public career. He was elected to the Senate several times as a Republican, and appointed to the office of Secretary of the Interior as a Republican. He continued this affiliation until the silver agitation, in 1896, when he regarded himself as being justified in leaving the party, and was twice elected afterward to the Senate by the Legislature of his State, and during this last term I believe he became a pretty strong Democrat; yet he never allowed partisanship to enter into his action on legislation, excepting where a party issue was involved, when he would vote with his party. I served with him on the Appropriation Committee and other committees of the Senate, and regarded him as one of the best Senators for committee service with whom I was ever associated. The friendly relations between Senator Teller and myself have been very close and intimate since I first knew him, and I am glad to say that the fact that he left the Republican party has not disturbed them in the least. Mr. Teller's withdrawal from the Republican party after its declaration for the Gold Standard in the St. Louis Convention of 1896 was due to his abiding conviction in support of the principles of bimetallism. He had been a member of the party almost since its organization, and up to '96, although independent upon many points at issue, had been regarded as one of the party's stanchest and most reliable adherents. The severance of the ties of a lifetime could not be made without producing a visible effect upon a man of Mr. Teller's fine sensibilities, but I was pleased to observe that he did not allow the incident to change his personal relations. He continued as a member of the Senate for twelve or thirteen years after he left the Republican party, and I am sure that he did not lose the respect or personal regard of a single Republican member of the body. Personally, I regarded him just as warmly as a Democrat as I had esteemed him as a Republican, and I am sure that my attitude toward him was reflected by his attitude toward myself. The Colorado Senator's nature is such that he cannot dissemble, and when his conviction led him to condemn the Republican party because of its position on the money question, he could not find it in his conscience to remain in that party. Time has shown that he was mistaken as to the results that might follow the adoption of the gold standard, but it has not served to alter the character of the man. He will stand for what he believes to be right, whatever the consequences to himself. As a legislator, he was faithful in his work in committee and in the Senate. No man was more constant in his attendance, and none gave more conscientious attention to the problems of legislation. An unusually strong lawyer and a man given to studious research, he never failed to strengthen any cause which he espoused nor to throw light upon any subject which came within his range of vision. With the exception of three years spent as Secretary of the Interior he was a member of the Senate from 1876, the year of Colorado's admission to the Union, until 1909, during which time he had nine different colleagues from his own State. Mr. Teller was a resident of Illinois before he removed to Colorado in 1861, and was one of the earliest supporters of Mr. Lincoln. His father and mother remained in Illinois as long as they lived, and Senator Teller always has retained interests in that State. I think he still has relatives residing in Whiteside County. William Eaton Chandler, of New Hampshire, was one of the first government officials with whom I became acquainted when I came to Washington, in 1865, as a member of the House of Representatives. He was Assistant Secretary of the Treasury. We became quite intimate and our relations ever since have been the most cordial and friendly. Senator Chandler is a man of wonderfully acute intellect. For many years he served his people in the Legislature of New Hampshire and was a member of the Senate of the United States for several terms. After he retired from the Senate in 1901, President McKinley appointed him a member of the Spanish Claims Commission. In the discharge of the duties of that office he manifested the same high conception of his trust as in every position he occupied, either elective or appointive, and I think he saved to the government of the United States many millions of dollars in the adjudication of claims growing out of the Spanish-American War. While Senator Chandler is very combative in his attitude toward others, yet his innate sincerity draws one close to him after becoming acquainted with him. A little incident which will illustrate this trait, occurred in the Senate of the United States some years ago. Mr. Chandler was induced to believe that the late Senator Proctor, of Vermont, did not like him very much. So Chandler went up to Proctor, and said: "Proctor, don't you like me?" Proctor in his coarse gruff voice replied: "I have acquired a liking for you." He established the point without circumlocution or diplomacy. As Chairman of the Committee on Interstate Commerce of the Senate, I objected to the appointment of Chandler as a member of that committee. I did not believe he would be very attentive. It turned out that I was mistaken and I often wished that he would stay away from the meetings, because he was always stirring up some new question that involved the time of the committee. He was inspired, however, by the highest motive, recognizing as he did that the control of the railroads of the country was a matter of supreme importance to the people of the United States. He rendered valuable service on the committee in the enactment of legislation on this important subject. Senator Leland Stanford, of California, was a man of large wealth, and became famous on account of his having built the Central Pacific Railroad. He was a man of business experience and made a valuable Senator. He died as a member of the Senate, and his wife founded Leland Stanford Jr. University. Senator Stanford's colleague, Senator Hearst, who entered the Senate two years after Senator Stanford, was also a man of very large wealth and possessor of a interesting character. Concerning him many amusing stories are told. He gave an elaborate dinner one evening, which I attended. There were twenty-five of us present with our wives, and after dinner was over the men went down to the smoking-room. Senator Hearst had thought out a little speech to make to us, in which he said: "I do now know much about books; I have not read very much; but I have travelled a good deal and observed men and things, and I have made up my mind after all my experience that the members of the Senate are the survival of the fittest." Senator Hearst died while serving as a member of the Senate. Matthew Stanley Quay was a conspicuous figure in our political history. He had been a soldier in the Civil War and afterwards occupied many positions of importance in the civil affairs in his State. Few men in American political life have had so constant a struggle as did Senator Quay to retain his ascendancy in Republican politics in Pennsylvania. Quay in Pennsylvania, and T. C. Platt in New York, were regarded as two of the greatest political bosses in the country. In national convention after national convention they exercised a paramount influence over the nomination of Presidents, and the two usually worked together. Their political methods were about the same. Quay was the bigger man of the two; but it must be said, in justice to both of them, that the word of either was as good as his bond. Senator Quay was returned to the Senate after a desperate struggle. I was glad to see him return, but saddened to see that he was sorely afflicted with a disease that finally proved fatal. Senator Quay and Senator Platt have both passed away. They were the two last survivors of the old coterie of politicians who so long dominated Republican national conventions. Toward the close of the Cleveland Administration, a vacancy occurred in the office of Chief Justice of the United States, to fill which President Cleveland appointed the Hon. Melville W. Fuller, of Illinois. I had something to do with this appointment. Chief Justice Fuller has only recently passed away, after serving as Chief Justice of the United States for a longer period than any of his predecessors in that high office, with the two exceptions of Marshall and Taney. I knew Melville W. Fuller for many years before he became Chief Justice. Away back in war times, I knew him as a member of the Illinois Legislature and as a member of the Constitutional Convention, and subsequently as one of the leading lawyers of the Chicago Bar. President Cleveland was in a considerable quandary over the appointment of a Chief Justice. He wanted to bestow the seat upon an able lawyer, and he wanted a Democrat, but as the Senate was in control of the Republicans he wanted to make sure to name some one whom the Senate would confirm. He at first seriously considered Judge Phelps, of Vermont, a cultivated and able man, who had been Minister to England, but for some reason or other--why I never knew --he finally rejected Phelps as an available candidate and determined upon a Western man as Chief Justice. Prior to this, however, he had considered the appointment of Justice Scholfield, of our own State, who was then a member of the Supreme Court of Illinois, which never had an abler or better lawyer as a member of its personnel. He would have been given the honor had he signified a willingness to accept; but when he was approached by Representative Townsend, at the suggestion of President Cleveland, after considering the matter, he demurred, asserting that although he would enjoy the distinction of being Chief Justice of the United States, he did not think that life in Washington, and especially the social side of the life which the Chief Justice of the United States naturally is expected to lead, would suit either him or his family. He had a family of growing children, who had been raised in the country, and they would naturally have to accompany him to Washington. He feared that Washington life would ruin them, so he finally declined the appointment. Judge Fuller had been a close friend of President Cleveland, had been a member of the national convention that nominated him, was recognized as one of the leading Democrats of Illinois, and had been consulted by Mr. Cleveland in the distribution of the patronage in that State; so naturally Judge Fuller was considered in connection with the office. It was not surprising, considering that the Senate was then in the control of the Republicans, that he would want to enlist my aid in securing his confirmation. I called on Mr. Cleveland about nine o'clock one morning in regard to some personal matter. He at once sent out word for me to come in, that he wanted to see me. I apologized for appearing at so early an hour, whereupon he said that he was very glad that I had come because he desired to have a talk with me. Then he inquired whom I considered the best lawyer, belonging to his party, in Illinois, who would make a good Chief Justice. He at once himself mentioned Judge Fuller. I told him that Judge Gowdy was probably the ablest Democratic lawyer in Illinois, but that he was a railroad attorney, and it would probably not be a good thing to appoint him. He next questioned me particularly about Fuller. I told him that I knew Fuller very well indeed; that if I were called upon to name five of the best lawyers of Illinois belonging to his party, I would name Fuller among the five; that he was not only a good lawyer, but a scholarly man, a gentleman who would grace the position. He at once intimated that he would send his name to the Senate. I said to him: "Mr. President, the selection of a Chief Justice is one of the greatest duties you have to perform. _You_ can make a mistake; we can raise the devil in Congress; but with a capable Supreme Court standing steady and firm, doing its full duty, the country is safe." He agreed with me; and very soon thereafter Melville W. Fuller was nominated as Chief Justice of the United States. But this was only the prelude to the real struggle. The nomination was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary, of which Senator Edmunds, of Vermont, was chairman. The latter was very much out of humor with the President, because he had fully expected that Judge Phelps, of his own State, was to receive the honor, and he did not take it kindly that the appointment should go to Illinois. He had told me himself, in confidence, that he had every assurance that Judge Phelps was to be nominated. The result was the Senator Edmunds held the nomination, without any action, in the Judiciary Committee for some three months, as I now recollect. Finally there began to be more or less scandal hinted at and suggestions of something wrong, and so forth; which I considered so entirely uncalled for and unfair to Judge Fuller that I appeared before the Judiciary Committee of the Senate and asked that the nomination be reported favorably if possible, unfavorably if the committee so determined; and if the committee was not disposed to report the nomination either favorably or unfavorably that they report the nomination to the Senate without recommendation, so that the Senate itself might have an opportunity to act upon it. The latter action was taken, and the nomination was laid naked before the Senate. The matter was considered in executive session. Senator Edmunds at once took the floor and attacked Judge Fuller most viciously as having sympathized with the Rebellion, together with much to the same effect. In the meantime some one had sent me a printed copy of a speech which Judge Phelps had delivered during the war, attacking Mr. Lincoln in the most outrageous and undignified fashion. When I read that speech I then and there determined that Judge Phelps would never be confirmed as Chief Justice, even though the President might send his nomination to the Senate. I put the speech in my desk, determining that if I ever had a good chance I would read it in the Senate, at the same time pointing out that the only objection which Senator Edmunds opposed to Judge Fuller was his pique because Phelps had not received the appointment. Edmunds' attack on Judge Fuller gave me the opportunity, and I read the speech of Judge Phelps to the Senate, much to the chagrin and mortification of Senator Edmunds. The Democrats in the Senate enjoyed the controversy between Senator Edmunds and myself; Senator Voorhees was particularly amused, laughing heartily all through it. Naturally, it appeared to them a very funny performance, two Republicans quarreling over the confirmation of a Democrat. They sat silent, however, and took no part at all in the debate, leaving us Republicans to settle it among ourselves. The vote was taken and Judge Fuller was confirmed by a substantial majority. Judge Fuller was very grateful to me for what I had done in behalf of his confirmation, and afterwards he wrote me a letter of thanks: "Chicago, _July 21, 1888_. "My dear Senator:-- "I cannot refrain from expressing to you my intense appreciation at the vigorous way in which you secured my confirmation. I use the word 'vigorous' because, though it was more than that, that was the quality that struck me most forcibly when I saw the newspapers this morning. When we meet, as I hope we will soon, I would very much like to talk this matter over with you. I hope you will never have cause to regret your action. I can't tell you how pleased I am that Maine and Illinois, both so dear to me, stood by me. But because I love them, I do not love my country any the less, as you know. "And so I am to be called 'Judge' after all! This is between ourselves. "Faithfully yours, "M. W. Fuller." Senator Frye voted in favor of Judge Fuller's confirmation. He did this partly, I believe, because Fuller was a Maine man and a classmate of his at Bowdoin College, he previously having entertained some doubts, as he told me afterwards, whether Fuller was really qualified to be Chief Justice of the United States. Very soon after his appointment, the Chief Justice was invited to deliver an address before the Joint Session of the two Houses of Congress. I think it was on the occasion of the one-hundredth anniversary of the inauguration of the first President of the United States. Senator Frye and I walked together over to the hall of the House where the joint session assembled, and he said as we went along: "I will determine to-day, after I hear Fuller deliver his address, whether I did right or wrong in voting for his confirmation as Chief Justice." Judge Fuller delivered a most beautiful speech, which would have done credit to any man, no matter how high a position he occupied in this or any other country; and as we returned together to our own chamber, Senator Frye remarked: "Cullom, it is all right. I am satisfied now that I did right in voting in favor of the confirmation of Fuller's nomination." Melville W. Fuller filled the position of Chief Justice of the United States with great credit and dignity. He wrote, during his long term of service, many very able opinions. I did not agree with his conclusions in the Income Tax case; but I think every lawyer will conceded that this opinion was about as able a presentation of that side of the case as could be made. He was a most conservative and safe man for the high position which he occupied. Of necessity the Chief Justice of the United States must be an executive officer as well as an able lawyer and judge. There was no better executive officer than Chief Justice Fuller. Justice Miller told me on one occasion that Fuller was the best presiding judge that the Supreme Court had had within his time; and in addition he was a most lovable, congenial man. The last time I saw Judge Fuller he was particularly agreeable. I called to invite him to deliver an address at a great banquet to be held in Springfield on Lincoln's birthday in February, 1909. I have had a great deal of experience in trying to prevail upon prominent men to deliver addresses in Illinois, and I know how they always hesitate, and hem and haw, then, if they do accept, destroy all feelings of gratitude and appreciation by the ungracious manner in which they do so. It was certainly a pleasant surprise and a contrast to custom to hear Judge Fuller's reply when I extended the invitation to him. "Why, certainly," he responded promptly; "I will be delighted to accept. I have been wanting to visit Springfield for twenty years, and I am glad to receive the invitation." This reply was quite characteristic of Chief Justice Fuller. I could not imagine him saying an unkind word to any one. His disposition was to treat his colleagues on the Bench, the members of the Bar who appeared before him, and every one with whom he came in contact, with the greatest kindness and consideration. He passed away, quietly and peacefully, as he would have wished, honored and respected by the Bench and Bar of the Nation, and by the people of his home State, who took pride in the fact that Illinois had furnished to the United States a Chief Justice for so long a period. Chief Justice Fuller was succeeded by Hon. Edward D. White, of Louisiana, with whom I served for three years in the Senate of the United States. Justice White was an able Senator, and in the disposition of some of the most important cases which have come before the Supreme Court in recent years affecting corporations he has shown great ability and is a worthy successor of his predecessors in that high office. Aside from the act to regulate commerce, an act providing for the Presidential succession, and an act in reference to polygamy, there was very little, if any, important legislation during the first Cleveland Administration. It was a very quiet administration. The country clearly comprehended that the Senate stood in the way of any Democratic doctrine being enacted into law, and generally, as I remember it now, the country was fairly prosperous. This condition continued until President Cleveland's famous Free Trade message of December 5, 1887, came as a startling blow to the business and manufacturing interests of the United States. Why he should have sent such a message to Congress when his administration was about to come to a close, and when he knew perfectly well that no tariff legislation could be enacted with a Democratic House and a Republican Senate, I do not know. He for the first time stepped out boldly and asserted his Free Trade doctrine, and made the issue squarely on tariff for protection as against Free Trade, or tariff for revenue. This message naturally precipitated a tariff discussion in both House and Senate, and the Democratic majority of the House considered it incumbent on them to make some attempt to carry out the President's policy. As a result the so-called Mills Bill was reported, upon which debates continued for many months. One member in closing this discussion very aptly said: "This debate will perhaps be known as the most remarkable that has ever occurred in our parliamentary history. It has awakened an interest not only throughout the length and breadth of our own country, but throughout the civilized world, and henceforth, as long as our government shall endure, it will be known as 'the great tariff debate of 1888.'" It was in this debate in the House that both Mr. Reed and Mr. McKinley so distinguished themselves as the great advocates of Protection. Mr. Reed was then the floor leader of the minority. He made a magnificent speech against Free Trade in which he used many familiar allegories, one of which I have often used myself in campaign speeches. It is substantially as follows: "Once there was a dog. He was a nice little dog--nothing the matter with him, except a few foolish Free Trade ideas in his head. He was trotting along, happy as the day, for he had in his mouth a nice shoulder of succulent mutton. By and by he came to a stream bridged by a plank. He trotted along, and looking over the side of the plank, he saw the markets of the world, and dived for them. A minute afterwards he was crawling up the bank the wettest, the sickest, the nastiest, the most muttonless dog that ever swam ashore." Thomas B. Reed was one whom I unquestionably would term a great man. He was conspicuous among the most brilliant presiding officers that ever occupied the chair of the Speaker. He ruled the House with a rod of iron, thus earning for himself the nickname of "Czar." And this was more or less warranted. He was the first Speaker to inaugurate the new rules. He found a demoralized House in which it was difficult to enact legislation, and in which the right of the majority to rule was questioned and hampered. He turned the Lower House into an orderly legislative body in which legislation was enacted expeditiously by the majority. He had more perfect control over the House than any former Speaker, and his authority remained unquestioned until he retired. He ruled alone; after he became Speaker he had no favorites; he had no little coterie of men around him to excite the jealousy of the members of the House, and it has even been said that so careful was he in this respect that he would scarcely venture to walk in public with a member of the House. He was a powerful man intellectually and physically, and he looked the giant he was among the members of the House. He wanted to be President; and it seems rather a queer coincidence that his election as Speaker paved the way for his rival, Mr. McKinley, as by his acceptance of the chair Mr. McKinley became the leader of the majority, chairman of the Committee on Ways and Means, the author of the McKinley Bill, which finally resulted in its author's defeat for Congress, but in his election as President of the United States in 1896. But to return to the Mills Bill. It passed the House by a substantial majority and came to the Senate, where a substitute was prepared by the Finance Committee and reported by Senator Allison early in October. I remember the discussion on it in the Senate very well. We all thought it incumbent upon us to make speeches for home consumption, for campaign use, showing the iniquities of the Mills Bill, and of the Democratic tariff generally, although we knew it was impossible for either bill to become law. The Congressional session continued until about the middle of October with nothing done in the way of practical legislation. This was the situation when the National Republican Convention assembled in 1888. CHAPTER XVII CLEVELAND'S DEFEAT AND HARRISON'S FIRST TERM 1888 to 1891 At the time the delegates gathered, Cleveland's Free Trade message of 1887 was before the country, interest in it having been augmented and enlivened by the passage of the Mills Bill and the renowned tariff debate of that year. The issue was clear. It was Protective Tariff _versus_ Free Trade. After a rather strenuous contest in the convention in which nineteen candidates were voted for, for the nomination for President, including the leading candidates, John Sherman, of Ohio, Walter Q. Gresham, of Indiana, Harrison, of Indiana, and Allison, of Iowa, Benjamin Harrison finally was chosen on the eighth ballot. In his autobiography Senator Hoar affirms that William B. Allison came nearer being the nominee of the party than any other man in its history who was a candidate and failed to secure the endorsement. According to Senator Hoar, it was the opposition of Senator Depew, angered by the agrarian hostility toward himself, that prevented Senator Allison's nomination. I have no personal knowledge that might refute this statement, but I have been disposed to question its correctness. President Cleveland was of course renominated. The campaign came on, and he was defeated squarely on the Tariff issue, and the Republicans were again in the ascendancy in both branches of the Government, the Senate being composed of forty-seven Republicans and thirty-seven Democrats, while the House contained one hundred and seventy Republicans and one hundred and sixty Democrats, Mr. Reed being elected Speaker. President Harrison was inaugurated with a great civic and military display, equalling, if not surpassing, that of any other President. There was great rejoicing among Republicans on account of the return of the party to power. The Cabinet was duly appointed, with Mr. Blaine, the foremost Republican and statesman of his day, as Secretary of State--which, by the way, was an unfortunate appointment both for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Blaine. There was the usual scramble for offices, the usual changes in the foreign service, in the executive departments in Washington and in the federal offices generally throughout the country. Robert T. Lincoln, of whom I have already written, was appointed Minister to the Court of St. James. Colonel Clark E. Carr, of Illinois, was appointed Minister to Denmark, and made a splendid record in that position. He was very popular with the royal family. I had the pleasure of visiting Copenhagen while he was Minister there, and was the guest of Colonel and Mrs. Carr, who entertained me very handsomely. They gave a dinner in my honor, which was attended by the whole diplomatic corps at Copenhagen. The Colonel also arranged for a private audience with the King, and he presented me to him, as he also did my friend, Colonel Bluford Wilson, who accompanied me on my visit to Copenhagen. Altogether, through the courtesy of Colonel Carr, I enjoyed my stay in Copenhagen exceedingly. He retired from office after Mr. Cleveland was elected, and has since achieved distinction as an author. He has written several very interesting books which have had a wide circulation. For many years Colonel Carr has taken an active part in our State and National campaigns. He is a forceful speaker, so naturally his services have been in constant requisition by the State and National Republican Committees. He has rendered very valuable service to the Republican party both in the State and in the Nation. I had known President Harrison for many years. He represented a neighboring State in the Senate, of which body he was a leader when I entered it in 1883. I probably knew him as well as any of my Republican colleagues; but his was a very cold, distant temperament, even in the Senate, hardly capable of forming a very close friendship for any one, and he had no particular friends. In justice to Mr. Harrison, however, it must be said that he was a masterly lawyer, and his appointments generally were first-class. Especially was he fortunate in his selection of Federal judges. He selected them himself, and would tolerate no interference from any one. He did select the very best men he could find. For instance, he appointed such men as Justice Brewer, of Kansas; Justice Brown, of Michigan; Judge Woods, of Indiana; and it was Harrison who appointed President Taft as a Federal Judge. He was an exceptionally able President, and gave the country an excellent administration. But at the same time he was probably the most unsatisfactory President we ever had in the White House to those who must necessarily come into personal contact with him. He was quite a public speaker, and the story has often been told of him that if he should address ten thousand men from a public platform, he would make every one his friend; but that if he should meet each of those ten thousand men personally, each man would go away his enemy. He lacked the faculty of treating people in a manner to retain their friendship. Even Senators and Representatives calling on official business he would treat with scant courtesy. He scarcely ever invited any one to have a chair. Senator Platt, of Connecticut, asked me one day if I was going to the White House to dine that evening, stating that he had an invitation. I told him no, that I had not yet been invited, that I had never yet during the Harrison administration even been invited to take a seat in the White House. Some one overheard the remark and it was published in the newspapers. I visited the White House shortly afterwards, and I assume that Harrison had seen it because as soon as he saw me, without a smile on his face or a gleam in his eye, he hastened to get me a chair, inviting me to be seated. I declined to sit down, explaining that I was in a hurry, and closed the business I had come for, and left. Afterwards he invited me to dinner and treated me with marked consideration. I have sometimes wondered whether President Harrison's apparent coldness may not be ascribed to an absorption in his duties that made him unintentionally neglectful of the little amenities of polite usage, they never even having occurred to him. Despite his cold exterior and frigid manner, it may have been he was sympathetic at heart. When the Tracey homestead was destroyed by fire, which resulted in the death of several persons, including the daughter, and finally resulted in the death of Mrs. Tracey, President Harrison took the family into the White House and did everything a man could do to relieve their sufferings. I suppose he treated me about as well in the way of patronage as he did any other Senator; but whenever he did anything for me it was done so ungraciously that the concession tended to anger rather than please. In looking over the letters which I received from President Harrison, I find one which would show that he placed considerable confidence in my recommendations. "Executive Mansion, "Washington, _Oct. 24, 1889_. "Hon. Shelby M. Cullom, "Springfield, Ills. "My dear Senator:-- "I want to say a few words further to you about the Chicago appointments. There has been for some months a good deal of complaint that changes were not made. "I find that the Collector of Customs and the Collector of Internal Revenue were appointed, the one Sept. 14, and the other Sept. 10, 1885, and that the first was confirmed May 17, 1886; and the last, April 17, 1886. I do not have before me the record as to the appointment of the United States District Attorney. The Assistant Treasurer was appointed Sept. 29, 1885, and confirmed May 6, 1886. If there had been no question raised as to the qualifications and fitness of the persons recommended, it is quite possible that I would have taken some steps in the matter during this month; but the fact is, as you have told me, that at least one, and possibly two, of the persons suggested were not of a high order of fitness, to say the least, and some members of your Congressional delegation interested have given me the same impression, while from outside sources there have been a good many things said to the prejudice of persons named for appointment. I am informed that Senator Farwell desires to leave the case just where his recommendations have placed it, feeling that he cannot change to any one else. I write to know whether you also feel in that way, or whether you desire to make any further suggestions about the matter. I have no other purpose in connection with these appointments than to find men, the mention of whose names will commend them to the great business community they are to serve. No one of those named, so far as I know, is suggestive of any personal claim upon me, and I have no personal ends to serve. You agreed with me, I think, when we conversed, that the appointees there should be men of as high character for integrity and intelligence, etc., as those they would supersede. "In the case of the Assistant Treasurer I found on examining the papers yesterday, very full and strong papers for Mr. Nichols, whom I do not know. He is supported, apparently, by the bankers and many leading merchants of Chicago, and their letters give in detail his business character and experience. Of the gentleman recommended by you and Senator Farwell, there is absolutely nothing said in the papers, so that Mr. Windom or I could have any information as to whether his business experience had been such as to fit him for this place. Now, I am sure that on reflection you will agree that we ought to have full information, and that it should be upon record. "I told Mr. Taylor, in conversation, day before yesterday, that I could not appoint Mr. Babcock marshal, as I told you when you were here; and I remember that you said you had yourself refused to recommend him. If things have assumed that shape that you are of the opinion that it must be left to me as it stands, then I will do the best I can with it. I do not conceal the fact that after the essential of fitness is secured that I have a desire to please our party friends in these selections. But I cannot escape the responsibility for the appointments, and must therefore insist upon full information about the persons presented, and upon my ultimate right, in all kindness to everybody, to decide upon what must be done. It would be very gratifying to me if the responsibility were placed upon some one else. "Please let me have any suggestions you may care to make. "Very truly yours, "Benj. Harrison. "P. S. Responding to your telegram asking delay till Nov. 5, I would say that I have no disposition to hurry a decision. Others have been pressing me and complaining bitterly of delay. I think, however, that the sooner some of these cases can be treated as submitted for decision the better. If the appointments are delayed till the middle of Nov. there is little use of making temporary appointments, as the appointee would have to make two bonds. If you can in writing, confidentially if you prefer, give me your views and submit any alternative suggestions for these places I will carefully consider them. But if you prefer to see me personally before any decision is made as to Collector of the Port I will of course lay that case to one side till the time you have suggested. "Yours, "B. H." I never became entirely estranged from him, however, and when his term was about to expire, and he wanted a renomination, I supported him. My motive in so doing was not so much that I favored Harrison as because I felt outraged at the way _The Chicago Tribune_ had treated me. The _Tribune_ was then supporting Blaine with all its power, and I determined that Mr. Medill should not have his way; hence I became one of the leaders in the renomination of President Harrison. Before leaving Washington for the convention I called to see the President to learn what information he had to impart to me as one of the delegates who expected to support him. He was more friendly, free, and frank than he had ever been during his term as President. We talked about different things, and in the course of the conversation he adverted to Secretary Blaine. Harrison and Blaine had fallen out. Jealousy was probably at the bottom of their disaffection. Harrison did not treat Blaine with that degree of confidence and courtesy one would expect from the Chief Executive to the premier of his cabinet; while on the other hand Blaine hated Harrison and was plotting more or less against him while he was a member of the cabinet. The President talked very freely about Mr. Blaine. He declared that he had been doing the work of the State Department himself for a year or more; that he had prepared every important official document, and had the originals in his own handwriting in the desk before him. And yet, he said, Mr. Blaine, as Secretary of State, was giving out accounts of what was being done in the State Department, taking all the credit to himself. He expressed himself as being perfectly willing, to use a familiar figure, to carry a soldier's knapsack when the soldier was sore of foot and tired, and all that he wanted in return was acknowledgment of the act and a show of appreciation. This was all he expected of Mr. Blaine. He said, in closing the conversation, that he intended some day to disclose the true condition of their relations. The Harrison Administration was a very busy one, and should have been a very satisfactory one to the country at large. The first great subject taken up by Congress was the tariff, the final disposition of which was embodied in what afterwards became known as the "McKinley Tariff Bill." I never thought that Mr. McKinley showed any particular skill in framing that tariff. My understanding is that it was prepared by the majority of the Committee on Ways and Means. The manufacturers of the country appeared before that committee and made known what protective duties they thought they ought to have in order to carry on their industries, and the committee gave them just about the rate of duty they desired. It was a high protective tariff, dictated by the manufacturers of the country. It resulted in a great stimulus to the country's industries, and great prosperity followed its enactment. It has been difficult from then till now to reduce duties below the McKinley rate. The manufacturers have since persisted and insisted upon higher duties than they really ought to have. I may remark here, in passing, that the McKinley Law was not passed until October, and we were immediately plunged into the campaign. The McKinley Law was the issue, and the Democrats swept everything before them, carrying the House by the overwhelming majority of ninety-seven. The Senate still remained Republican, forty-seven Republicans to thirty-nine Democrats. McKinley himself was beaten and never afterwards returned to Congress. It is strange what a revolution periodically occurs among the voters of the United States. When the Mills Bill was the issue the Democratic party was beaten, and badly beaten; the Republican party came into power; the McKinley Bill was passed, and we suffered about as bad a defeat as had the Democrats two years previously. The difference was that the Democrats were cleaned out on the shadow of an issue, without the reality (the Mills Bill never having become a law), and we went down in defeat on the reality, the McKinley Bill having become a law. It was during this time also that the bill known as the Sherman Law, or the Coinage Act of 1890, was passed, which directed the purchase of silver bullion to the aggregate of 4,500,000 ounces in each month, and the issuance for such purchases silver bullion treasury notes. This was probably the beginning of the silver agitation. It created a long discussion in the Senate and House, and that subject was constantly before Congress until it was finally settled by the election of McKinley, in 1896. It was this Congress also that passed the Sherman Anti-Trust Act (April 8, 1890). It was one of the most important enactments ever passed by Congress; and yet, if it were strictly and literally enforced, the business of the country would have come to a standstill. The courts have given it a very broad construction, making it cover contracts never contemplated when the act was passed. It was never seriously enforced until the coming in of the Roosevelt Administration, when the great prosperity brought about under the McKinley Administration tended to the formation of vast combinations which seriously threatened the country. The people do not seem disposed to consent even to its amendment, much less its repeal; and yet we all realize that if strictly enforced as construed by our courts, it would materially affect the business prosperity of the nation. The people take the same attitude towards the Sherman Law as they take toward the anti-pooling section of the Interstate Commerce Act; they will allow neither of them to be tampered with by Congress. There has been considerable dispute as to the paternity of the Sherman Anti-Trust Law. Senator Hoar claims he wrote it; it bears Senator Sherman's name; and my own opinion is that Senator Edmunds had more to do with framing it than any other one Senator. It was during the first and second session of the Fifty-first Congress that the Federal Election Bill, so-called, or as it is familiarly known, the "Force Bill," was discussed. It was in charge of Senator Hoar, and occupied the attention of both sessions for a long time. The Republicans seemed determined to force it through, but the Democrats from the South were bitterly opposed to it, resorting to all sorts of tactics to kill or delay it. This measure I never considered much of a "force" bill. I could never see that there was any force to it, but on the contrary, considered it a very mild measure, and gave it my support. The opposition to it was so bitter and strong and so skillfully managed by the late Senator Gorman on the part of the minority, and it stood for so long a time in the way of other legislation, that one after Senator Wolcott arose in his seat and, very much to the astonishment of every one, moved to lay it aside and take up some other bill. The motion carried, and that was the last we heard of the Force Bill. The McKinley Tariff, the Anti-Trust Law, the Sherman Coinage Act, and the Federal Election Bill were the important bills passed before this Congress. Notwithstanding the magnificent record in the way of legislation made by the first Congress under the Harrison Administration, the Democratic victory was so complete that at the beginning of the first session of the Fifty-second Congress, which met December 7, 1891, there were but eighty-eight Republicans in the House, as against two hundred and thirty-six Democrats, and Mr. Charles F. Crisp, of Georgia, was elected Speaker. The Senate still remained in the control of the Republicans. It was during this Congress that the silver agitation came to the front as one of the foremost issues. Senator Stewart of Nevada, introduced his bill for the free coinage of gold and silver bullion. The free coinage question consumed months of the time of both Senate and House, and finally came to naught. The Act to establish the World's Fair at Chicago was passed. I took a very active interest in this in behalf of Chicago. A meeting was held in the Marble Room of the Capitol, where Senator Depew represented New York, and Colonel Thomas B. Bryan, Chicago. They each made a speech. Very much to my surprise, Colonel Bryan's was the more effective. We afterwards, by all sorts of efforts in the House and Senate, captured the location for Chicago. The Fair, when it was finally held, was the greatest world's fair ever known. There was an almost utter abandon in the expenditure of money, and Congress assisted by a liberal appropriation. That Fair was a great injury, rather than a benefit, to the city of Chicago. The hard times came on, and it was years before the city was restored to normal conditions. Toward the end of this session, the Homestead riots were a subject of debate and investigation by Congress. A Presidential campaign was approaching, and the Democrats were eager to throw upon the Republicans the blame for all labor disturbances, the riots at Homestead in particular. CHAPTER XVIII CLEVELAND'S SECOND TERM 1892 to 1896 I have already, in other parts of these recollections, referred to the National Convention of 1892, and the reasons which induced me to support President Harrison for renomination. I attended as one of the delegates, and took a more or less active part in the work of the convention. Harrison was chosen on the first ballot. No other candidate had any chance. Mr. Blaine and Mr. McKinley on that ballot received one hundred and eighty-two votes each, but neither was really considered for the nomination. Grover Cleveland, of course, was the principal candidate before the Democratic Convention, and had no serious opposition aside from the bitter personal enmity evinced toward him by David B. Hill, of New York, who had succeeded him as Governor of that State, and had hoped to succeed him as President. Senator Hill has only recently passed away. He was one of the most astute and ablest politicians in the history of the Democratic party. President Cleveland determined, for some reason or other, to drive him out of public life, and he succeeded in doing so during his second administration as President. The campaign of 1892, just as the previous Presidential campaign had been, was entirely fought out on the tariff issue; and the question in general was the McKinley Law and its results. The Democrats were able to show that there had been increase in cost in many articles regarded as necessaries, while the Republicans pointed to a great era of national prosperity. The Republicans contended also that wages had advanced and prices declined under the McKinley Law; but I have always doubted whether we were able to sustain that contention. For instance, the department stores and retail merchants generally marked up prices, and wholly without reason, on articles on which there had been no increase in the tariff; and when asked why, they would reply, "It is because of the McKinley tariff." For these economic reasons, added to the labor disturbances, Mr. Cleveland was again elected President of the United States, and carried with him for the first time both the Senate and the House. The Democrats now had complete control of all branches of the Government, and were in a position, if united, to enact any legislation they might desire. The result of the election was a complete surprise to every one. Why the voters should have turned against the Republican administration, it is hard to say. Mr. Harrison's personality had much to do with it. The times were never more prosperous. In his message to the Congress which convened after his defeat, President Harrison appositely said: "There never has been a time in our history when work was so abundant, or when wages were so high, whether measured in the currency in which they are paid, or by their power to supply the necessaries and comforts of life." And yet, with this admitted condition prevailing, the Democratic party was returned to power. I felt very badly over President Harrison's defeat, as I had done everything I could to secure, first, his renomination and then his re-election. After the election I wrote President Harrison as follows: "U. S. Senate Chamber, "Washington, D. C., _Nov. 11, 1890_. "Dear Mr. President:-- "I have delayed writing you since the election for the reason that the result so surprised me I scarcely knew what to make of it. We lost Illinois by the overwhelming Democratic vote in Chicago. I feared that city all the time, but was assured by the committees that it would not be very much against us. I said all the time that we would take care of the country and carry the State if the Cook County vote could be kept below ten thousand Democratic, and was assured by all hands there that it would be. We did carry the country about as heretofore. As things have gone bad nearly everywhere, I am not feeling so chagrined as I would if Illinois had been the pivotal State. I specially desire to say that the cause of the defeat does not lie at your door personally. Any man in the country standing upon the doctrine of high protection would have been defeated. The people sat down upon the McKinley Tariff Bill two years ago, and they have never gotten up. They were thoroughly imbued with the feeling that the party did not do right in revising the tariff up instead of down. They beat us for it in '90 and now again. "Hoping to see you in ten days, I am, with great respect, "Truly yours, "S. M. Cullom." Curtis, in his work on the Republican party, in commenting on the result of this election, said: "It will be seen that to the Solid South were added, California, Connecticut, Illinois, Indiana, New Jersey, New York, West Virginia, and Wisconsin; while Mr. Cleveland obtained one electoral vote in Ohio, and five in Michigan. The result was certainly disastrous, and left no doubt that the people at large for the time being had rebuked the Republican party for what they wrongly supposed to be against their best interests. And yet, though a large majority of the people had voted for Mr. Cleveland, they were probably sorry for it within twenty-four hours after the election. There was no such rejoicing as took place in 1885. In fact, as soon as it was determined without doubt that the next Congress would be Democratic in both branches, and would enable Mr. Cleveland and his party to carry out their threats to repeal the McKinley Law and enact in its stead a Free Trade measure, apprehension and alarm took possession of the industrial and financial interests of the country, and could the election have been held over again within ten days, it may be estimated that a million or more votes would have been changed from the Cleveland column to that of Harrison. The people, as it were, awoke from a dream; they saw at once how they had been deceived by the methods of the Democratic campaign managers, and how an incident which had no bearing whatever upon the issue of the campaign had influenced their vote in a time of temporary anger and resentment." This perfectly sums up the situation, as I now recollect it, on the election of President Cleveland; it was the beginning of the most protracted era of hard times that this country has ever known. Mr. Cleveland was inaugurated the second time on March 4, 1893, and, as Mr. Curtis says, there was very little enthusiasm. The ceremonies were quiet and unenlivened. Of course, it goes without saying, that I was not glad to see the Democratic party returned to power; but I confess I was a little pleased to meet President Cleveland in the White House again. His manner, his treatment of those with whom he came in contact, was so different from that of his predecessor, that it was a real pleasure, rather than a burden, to call at the executive offices. Mr. Cleveland promptly proceeded to remove Republicans from Presidential offices and appoint Democrats. This even went to the extent of the removal of postmasters, large and small, against whom almost any sort of charge might be trumped up. Adlai E. Stevenson was a past master in this respect. He was First Assistant Postmaster-General under Cleveland's first Administration and removed Republican postmasters whose terms had not expired, without cause or reason. He was elected Vice-President when Mr. Cleveland again came into office. He was a great favorite among the Democrats, because he believed in appointing Democrats to every office within the gift of the Executive. I remember, after Stevenson was elected, Senator Harris, of Tennessee, remarking to me: "Now we have got Cleveland and Stevenson elected, if Cleveland would drop out and Stevenson was President, we would get along finely." He meant that Stevenson would never permit a single Republican to remain in office, if he could help it. Mr. Stevenson made a popular presiding-officer of the Senate. He has been a strong Democrat all his life, and it has repeatedly been charged against him, although I believe he denies it, that he was a Southern sympathizer during the Civil War. He served in Congress two terms, having been elected from the Bloomington district, and was quite an influential member. He was defeated as a candidate for Vice-President with Mr. Bryan in 1900, and was also defeated as a candidate of the Democratic party for Governor of Illinois, in 1908. As a candidate for Governor he made a splendid showing in 1908, as he was defeated by 23,164 votes, while President Taft carried Illinois by 179,122. President Cleveland's Cabinet contained some very able men. He appointed Judge Walter Q. Gresham as Secretary of State. Why he should have appointed Gresham, I do not know. It would seem to me that there were men of as much ability in his own party whom he might have selected, but for some reason or other he did appoint him. Judge Gresham was then serving as United States Circuit Judge, at Chicago. He had always been a Republican, and in the convention which nominated Harrison he received on one ballot one hundred and twenty-three votes as the candidate of the Republican party for President of the United States. He probably supported Mr. Cleveland, although of this I am not sure. He was a bitter enemy of President Harrison,--so much so, indeed, that he could scarcely be polite to any one whom he thought favored Harrison. He was holding court in Springfield, during the Harrison Administration, when I met him, and, not appreciating his feeling, I casually commended President Harrison for some particular thing which I approved. Gresham did not like it, and he almost told me in so many words that he did not think much of me or any one else who thought well of Harrison. Whereupon we separated somewhat coolly, I giving him to understand that I would insist upon my views and my right to commend a man who I thought was following a proper course. I do not believe he ever avowed himself a Democrat, and in the State Department he always declined to make any recommendations for appointments, on the ground that he was not a Democrat, and that those appointments must be left to the President himself. I had more or less intercourse with him as Secretary of State, and always found him polite and agreeable. He was regarded as an able Secretary, and served in that office until his death. Richard Olney succeeded him as Secretary of State. He had been the Attorney-General in the cabinet. He was to me a much more satisfactory Secretary than Judge Gresham, and fully as able as a lawyer. John G. Carlisle was appointed Secretary of the Treasury. He had been seven times elected to Congress and three times Speaker. He resigned his seat in the House, having been elected as a member of the Senate from Kentucky, and remained in the Senate until he resigned to accept the position of Secretary of the Treasury under Cleveland. Mr. Carlisle was in entire harmony with the President on the tariff and also on the monetary questions--and, indeed, I remark here that Mr. Carlisle had very much to do toward the defeat of Mr. Bryan in 1896. Although a life-long Democrat himself, he believed that Mr. Bryan's theories on the monetary question would ruin the country, and he stood with Mr. Cleveland in opposing his election. Had Cleveland, Carlisle, and other patriotic Gold Democrats stood with their party, Mr. Bryan would probably have been elected and the history of this country would have been written differently. After Mr. Cleveland's election, our industrial conditions became so depressed--and it was alleged by many that the cause for this was the Sherman Coinage Act of 1890--that a special session of Congress was called to meet August 7, 1893. The President said in his message to this Congress: "The existence of an alarming and extraordinary business situation, involving the welfare and prosperity of all our people, has constrained me to call in extra session the people's representatives in Congress, to the end that through a wise and patriotic exercise fo the legislative duty with which they are solely charged, present evils may be mitigated and danger threatening the future may be averted. . . . With plenteous crops, with abundant promise of remunerative production and manufacture, with unusual invitation to safe investment, and with satisfactory returns to business enterprise, suddenly financial fear and distrust have sprung up on every side. . . . Values supposed to be fixed are fast becoming conjectural, and loss and failure have involved every branch of business. I believe these things are principally chargeable to Congressional legislation touching the purchase and coinage of silver by the general Government." And Mr. Cleveland earnestly recommended the prompt repeal of the Sherman Coinage Act of 1890. The extra session continued until October 30, when the Sherman Act was finally repealed. But the repeal of the Sherman Act did not at all remedy industrial conditions. It was not the Sherman Act that was at fault, but the well-grounded fear on the part of our manufacturers of the passage of a free trade measure. The panic commenced, it is true, under the McKinley Bill, but it was the direct result of what the business interests felt sure was to come; and that was the passage of a Democratic Tariff act. The year 1893 closed with the prices of many products at the lowest ever known, with many workers seeking in vain for work, and with charity laboring to keep back suffering and starvation in all our cities. And yet, in view of the condition, Mr. Cleveland sent to Congress at the beginning of the annual session a free trade message, advocating the repeal of the McKinley Act and the passage of a Democratic free trade, or Tariff for Revenue, measure. From the tone of this message, however, he seems to have changed somewhat from his message of 1887; yet it was strong enough to startle the business interests, and make more widespread financial panic. Speaker Crisp at once proceeded to the formation of the committees of the House, and particularly the Committee on Ways and Means. I was naturally anxious concerning our industries in Illinois, and I wanted one of our strongest Illinois Representatives placed on that committee. I happened to enjoy particularly friendly relations with Mr. Crisp, he having been a House conferee on the Interstate Commerce Act of 1887, and I felt quite free to call upon him. After looking over the Illinois delegation, I came to the conclusion that the Hon. A. J. Hopkins, my late colleague in the Senate, and who was then serving in the House, was the very best man he could select for that place. I urged Mr. Crisp to appoint him, saying that he was capable of doing more and better work on the committee than any other man in the delegation. Crisp was very nice about it, and whether he did it on my recommendation or not I do not know; but he appointed Hopkins. Senator Hopkins was, during his service on that committee, regarded as one of its leading members, and had a prominent part in framing the Dingley tariff. He served in the House until elected to the Senate, where he remained for six years. Senator Hopkins is an able man, and was constantly growing in influence and power in the Senate. He was an agreeable colleague, and I regretted very much indeed that he was not re- elected. It did not take long for the Democratic majority of the Committee on Ways and Means of the House to frame and report the Wilson Bill, repealing the McKinley Bill, and recommending in its stead the enactment of a Tariff for Revenue, which was fairly in harmony with Democratic Free Trade principles, and in harmony with the President's message. The bill was passed without long delay, Mr. Reed leading the ineffectual opposition to its passage in the House, with a speech of great eloquence, in which he depicted conditions that would surely arise after the passage of such a measure. But this bill still had to run the gantlet of the Senate, where many Democratic Senators did not sympathize to the full extent with the Cleveland-Carlisle Free Trade theory. Senators Gorman, Hill, Murphy, Jones, Brice, and Smith of New Jersey, led the opposition, uniting with the Republicans in securing some seven hundred amendments, all in the interest, more or less, of Protection. The truth is, we were all--Democrats as well as Republicans--trying to get in amendments in the interest of protecting the industries of our respective States. I myself secured the adoption of many such amendments. After I had exhausted every resource, I went to Senator Brice one day and asked him if he would not offer some little amendment for me, as I felt pretty sure that if Brice offered it it would be adopted, and I knew if I did it myself it stood a good chance of being defeated. Brice, by the way, was a very bluff, frank man; he replied to me, half jocularly, "Now, you know when your party is in power you will never do anything for a Democrat, and I won't offer this amendment for you. You go and get your colleague, Senator Palmer, to offer it for you." I left him and went to General Palmer; he presented the amendment, and it was adopted. The bill passed the Senate; and after going to conference, when it seemed likely the Conference Committee would not agree, the Democratic leaders of the House, fearing the bill would fail entirely, decided to surrender to the Senate and accept the Senate bill with all its amendments. President Cleveland denounced this temporizing, coining the famous expression, "party perfidy and party dishonor" in the Wilson letter, evidently referring to Mr. Gorman and other leaders of the Senate. There has been endless controversy and discussion over the attitude of Senator Gorman on the Wilson Bill. I myself have always believed that Senator Gorman felt that the industries of the country could not prosper under a Democratic Free Trade Tariff, and that he was willing to afford them a certain amount of protection. Especially was he criticised on account of the sugar schedule. Senator Tillman in his memorial address in the Senate, on the occasion of the delivery of eulogies on Senator Gorman, said in reference to this: "In the conversations I had with the Democratic leaders, it was clearly brought out that the sugar refineries were ready to contribute to the Democratic campaign fund if it could be understood that the industry would be fostered and not destroyed by the Democratic Tariff policy, and I received the impression, which became indelibly fixed on my mind then and remains fixed to this day, that President Cleveland understood the situation and was willing to acquiesce in it if we won at the polls. I did not talk with Mr. Cleveland in person on this subject, though I called at his hotel to pay my respects, and I am thoroughly satisfied that the charge of party perfidy and party dishonor was an act of the grossest wrong and cruelty to Senator Gorman. If Mr. Cleveland, as I was told, knew of these negotiations and was the beneficiary of such a contribution, it is inconceivable how he could lend his great name and influence toward destroying Senator Gorman's influence and popularity, in the way he did." Senator Gorman himself was very justly indignant and displayed much feeling when he addressed the Senate on July 23, 1894, replying to Mr. Cleveland's letter. He used, in part, the following language: "As I have said, sir, this is a most extraordinary proceeding for a Democrat, elected to the highest place in the Government, and fellow Democrats in another high place, where they have the right to speak and legislate generally, to join with the commune in traducing the Senate of the United States, to blacken the character of Senators who are as honorable as they are, who are as patriotic as they ever can be, who have done as much to serve their party as men who are now the beneficiaries of your labor and mine, to taunt and jeer us before the country as the advocates of trust and as guilty of dishonor and perfidy." It was a Democratic controversy, and I am not in a position to say whether Mr. Cleveland or Mr. Gorman was right; whether it was a bargain in advance of the election to secure campaign funds; whether the sugar schedule was framed to secure the support of the Louisiana Senators; but I do know that Mr. Cleveland's attacks on Mr. Gorman turned the State of Maryland over to the Republicans and relegated Mr. Gorman to private life. The Wilson Bill became a law without the approval of the President, Mr. Cleveland taking the position that he would not permit himself to be separated from his party to such an extent as might be implied by a veto of the tariff legislation which, though disappointing to him, he said was still chargeable to Democratic efforts. There was one provision of the Wilson Bill which, I have been convinced since, was a very wise measure, and which will yet be enacted into law; and that is the income tax provision. That bill provided for a tax of two per cent on incomes above four thousand dollars. A separate vote was taken on this section and I voted against it. It was Republican policy then to oppose an income-tax, and the view I took then was, that if we started out taxing incomes the end would be that we would derive, from the source, sufficient amount of revenue to run the Government and that it would gradually break down the protective policy. It was declared unconstitutional by a vote of five to four of the Supreme Court. A previous income- tax had been declared constitutional during the Civil War, and I am very strongly of the opinion that if the case is again presented to the Court the decision will be in harmony with the first decision, overruling the decision of 1895. An income-tax is the fairest of all taxes. It is resorted to by every other nation. It falls most heavily on those who can best afford it. The sentiment in the Republican party has changed, and I believe that at no far distant day Congress will pass an income-tax as well as an inheritance-tax law. The passage of the Wilson Bill increased, rather than diminished, the hard times commencing with the panic of 1893. The Democratic party, or the free silver element of it, claimed that the panacea was the free and unlimited coinage of silver at the ratio of sixteen to one. The silver question was argued week after week in both branches of Congress, and was never finally settled until the election of McKinley and the establishment by law of the Gold Standard. In recent years we hear very little about free silver; but the Democratic party split on that issue, Mr. Cleveland heading the faction in favor of sound money. In those closing days of the Cleveland Administration, it was very seldom that a Democratic Senator was seen at the White House. The President became completely estranged from the members of his party in both House and Senate, but it seemed to bother him little. He went ahead doing his duty as he saw it, utterly disregarding the wishes of the members of his party in Congress. I saw him many times during this period, and I remember on one occasion I had seen a notice in one of the papers indicating that the President was about to appoint my old friend Mr. Charles Ridgely, of Springfield, Illinois, as Comptroller of the Currency. I had the highest regard for Mr. Ridgely, and I called at the White House to congratulate the President on the selection. He seemed to be out of humor, and was more than usually abrupt. He declared that he knew nothing about it, that he did not know Ridgely, and never had had any intention of appointing him. I repeated that I had seen the announcement in a newspaper, adding that it looked to me as though the report were authentic, and that I only wanted to congratulate him. But the President merely reiterated, somewhat curtly, that he knew nothing about it. I became a little annoyed, finally losing my temper. "I don't care a damn whether you appoint him or not," I exclaimed; "Ridgely's a Democrat, anyhow." Thereupon his attitude quickly changed, and he inquired about Ridgely, listening with interest to what I had to say. He then talked with me on the silver question and other matters, detaining me while he kept his back to the crowd waiting to see him. I almost had to break away in order to give others a chance. Among the other embarrassments and difficulties of the Cleveland Administration were the famous Chicago riots of 1893. The trouble grew out of a railroad strike; much damage was done and a great deal of property was destroyed, with consequent loss of life. The city itself seemed to be threatened, the business and manufacturing interests appealed to the Governor first, and then to the President, to send troops to Chicago to protect property. When the Governor failed to act, the President ordered Federal troops to Chicago. The action was regarded as very wise, and it endeared him to the business people of that city. Governor Altgeld protested, and that was one of the reasons why he became Mr. Cleveland's most bitter enemy. I think I should say a few words in reference to Governor Altgeld. He has been called an anarchist and a socialist. In my judgment, he was neither. Of his honesty, his integrity, his sincerity of purpose, his determination to give the State a good administration, I never had the slightest doubt. The mainspring of the trouble, I believe, was an inability to select good men for public office. He was not a good judge of men; he surrounded himself with a coterie that betrayed his trust and used the State offices for personal gain. I have always sympathized with Governor Altgeld. Had he been eligible I believe he would have been the nominee of his party for the Presidency; but he was born abroad. One can scarcely imagine industrial conditions in a worse state than they were at the close of the Cleveland Administration. The election of a Republican Congress in 1894 had helped some, but the revenues were not sufficient to meet the ordinary running expenses of the Government; bonds had to be issued, labor was out of employment, the mills and factories were closed, and business was at a standstill. This was the condition of affairs when the Republican National Convention assembled in 1896. CHAPTER XIX McKINLEY'S PRESIDENCY 1896 to 1901 The hard times, the business depression, all attributable to the Wilson Tariff Bill, made the Republicans turn instinctively to Governor McKinley, the well-known advocate of a high protective tariff, as the nominee of the Republican party, who would lead it to victory at the polls. The Republican National Convention of 1896 was held at St. Louis. It was one of the few national conventions which I failed to attend. Since entering the Senate, I have been usually honored by my party colleagues in the State by being made chairman of the Illinois delegation to Republican national conventions. But for some reason or other--just why I do not now recollect--I was not a delegate to the St. Louis Convention. Congress was in session until near the time when the convention was to meet, and Mr. McKinley, who, it was well known, would be the nominee of the party, invited me to stop off in Canton on my way from Washington to Illinois and spend a day with him. I did so, arriving at Canton about nine in the morning, Mr. McKinley meeting me at the station and driving me to his house, where I remained until my train left at nine in the evening. From his residence in Canton, I wired the Illinois delegation, appealing them to vote for McKinley. He received all but two of the votes of the delegation. He was nominated without any serious opposition, through the brilliant generalship of that master of party manipulation, the Hon. Marcus A. Hanna. I was talked about a little as a candidate for President during the closing days of the Cleveland Administration. I was urged to lend my name for the purpose, particularly by men in the East whom I always regarded as my friends. I afterwards learned, although I was not so informed at the time, that they had determined to beat McKinley at all hazards and nominate Speaker Reed if they could, their policy being to have the different States send delegations in favor of "favorite sons." Senator Allison was selected as the "favorite son" from Iowa, and efforts were made to carry the Illinois delegation for me. They hoped by this means, when the delegates assembled at St. Louis, to agree on some one, almost any one, except McKinley--Reed if they could, or Allison, or me. Mr. McKinley, through friends, about this time offered me all sorts of inducements to withdraw. Judge Grosscup was the intermediary, and there was hardly anything in the Administration, or hardly any promise, he would not have made me if I had consented to withdraw. I felt that I could not do so. When they found it was impossible to beg me off they determined to carry the State over me. Money was spent freely in characteristic Hanna fashion, his motto being, "accomplish results." McKinley was exceedingly popular, in addition, and after our State Convention had assembled and endorsed him, I withdrew from the contest. At the time I thought that if I could have carried the delegation from my own State, as Senator Allison did his, it would have broken the McKinley boom, and one or the other of us would have been nominated. But as I look back on it now, it seems to me that no one could have beaten McKinley; and even if he had lost Illinois, as he lost Iowa, he still would have had sufficient delegates to secure his nomination. The McKinley campaign was one of the most interesting and quite the liveliest in which I have ever participated. It was a campaign of education from beginning to end. At first the Republicans tried to make the tariff the issue, and in a sense it remained one of the most important; but we were soon compelled to accept silver as the issue, and fight it out on that line. Silver was comparatively a new question; the people did not understand it, and they attended the meetings, listening attentively to the campaign speeches. There was considerable satisfaction in speaking during the campaign of 1896: one was always assured of a large and interested audience. In addition to this, the prevailing sentiment was one of cheerful good-feeling; and while there had been several candidates before the St. Louis Convention, including Speaker Reed, Senator Allison, and Levi P. Morton, the convention left no bitterness--the party was united, and every Republican did his full duty. Southern Illinois was a little uncertain; but it finally came around, and the full Republican vote was cast for McKinley and Hobart. I took a very active part in this campaign. Mr. McKinley was exceedingly polite to me and invited Senator Thurston and me to open the campaign in Canton, which invitation I accepted, addressing there a vast audience. It was said that some fifty or seventy-five thousand people were assembled there that day. Subsequently I spoke in Kentucky and Michigan, and made a thorough campaign in my own State. While the Republicans were united, the Democrats were hopelessly divided. The so-called Gold Democrats held a convention and nominated my colleague, Senator Palmer, and General Buckner as its candidates for President and Vice-President respectively. They did not receive a very large vote, because I believe they advised the Gold Democrats to vote for McKinley. The Gold Democrats had great influence in the election. General Palmer was thoroughly in earnest on the silver question, more so perhaps than any Democrat whom I knew. He believed strongly in the Democratic doctrine on the tariff, and was a Democrat on every other issue; but he could not follow his party in espousing free silver. There was doubt all the time over the result of the election. After the Democratic convention was held in Chicago, and in the early Summer and Fall, the Democrats certainly seemed to have the best of it; but later in the campaign, as the people became educated, it began to look brighter. I was very much surprised at the result, however. McKinley carried the election by a vote of 7,111,000 as against 6,509,000 for Mr. Bryan, and the electoral vote by 271 as against 176 for Mr. Bryan. When Mr. McKinley was inaugurated I cannot forget the expression of apparent relief in President Cleveland's face, as he accompanied his successor to the ceremony. He seemed rejoiced that he was turning his great office over to Mr. McKinley. The last days of his Administration had been troublesome ones. Estranged from his own party, war clouds appearing in the near distance,--I do not wonder that he gladly relinquished the office. Mr. McKinley came into office under the most favorable circumstances. A Congress was elected fully in harmony with him, whose members gladly acknowledged him as not only the titular, but the real head of the Republican party. We never had a President who had more influence with Congress than Mr. McKinley. Even President Lincoln had difficulties with the leaders of Congress in his day, but I have never heard of even the slightest friction between Mr. McKinley and the party leaders in Senate and House. In many respects, President McKinley was a very great man. He looked and acted the ideal President. He was always thoroughly self-poised and deliberate; nothing ever seemed to excite him, and he always maintained a proper dignity. He had the natural talent and make-up to be successful to a marked degree in dealing with people with whom he came into contact. He grew in popular favor from the day of his election until his death, and I have always maintained that he would go down in history as our most popular President among all classes of people in all sections of the country. His long training in public life--his service as a member of the House and Governor of Ohio--had well fitted him for the high office of President. He had many favorites whom he desired to get into office; and on many occasions, instead of going ahead and appointing his friends without consulting any one, he asked me if I would have any objection to his appointing some personal friend living in Illinois to one office or another in or out of the State. I always yielded; in fact it was impossible to resist him. Illustrating this, there happened to be a vacancy in a Federal Judgeship in Chicago. Presidents usually have selected their own judges regardless of Senatorial recommendation, and McKinley selected his; but he managed to secure Senatorial recommendation at the same time. I was in favor of the appointment of a certain lawyer in Chicago whom I regarded as thoroughly well qualified for the place, and the President wanted to appoint Judge Christian C. Kohlsaat. My colleague and I insisted for a long time on our recommendation. The President and I debated the question frequently, he always listening to me and seeming impressed with what I had to say, at the same time remaining fully determined to have his own way in the end. Finally, when I was in the executive office one day, he came over to where I was and, putting his arm on my shoulder, said: "Senator, you won't get mad at me if I appoint Judge Kohlsaat, will you?" I replied: "Mr. President, I could not get mad at you if I were to try." He sent the nomination in; Judge Kohlsaat was confirmed, and is now serving on the United States Circuit Bench. Mr. McKinley wanted to appoint his old friend and commander, General Powell, as Collector of Internal Revenue at East St. Louis. I did not want General Powell to have the office, as I did not believe he had rendered any service to the party sufficient to justify giving him one of the general Federal offices in the State. State Senator P. T. Chapman, who has since been elected to Congress several times, and Hon. James A. Willoughby, then a member of the Illinois State Senate, were both candidates, and I should have been very glad to have had either one of them appointed. Chapman came to Washington to my office, where he waited while I went to the White House to attempt to have the matter of the appointment settled. I saw the President, to whom I expressed a willingness to have the post of Collector of Internal Revenue for the East St. Louis District to go either to Chapman or Willoughby. "Cullom," returned the President, "if you had come to me this way in the first place, and urged me to appoint one of them, I would have done it; but you have waited until everything is filled, and now I must either appoint Powell to this place, or turn him out to grass." He continued: "I was a boy when I entered the army, and General Powell took me under his wing; he looked after me, and I became very much attached to him. I was standing only a little way off and saw him shot through." The tears came to the President's eyes and ran down his cheeks. When I saw with what feeling he regarded the matter, I threw up my hands. "I am through," said I; "I have nothing more to say." General Powell was given the office. This illustrates the manner in which Mr. McKinley always managed to get his own way in the matter of appointments without the slightest friction with Senators and Representatives. During the early days of his Administration I did not feel so close to him as I had felt toward some of his predecessors. I did not feel that he quite forgave my not yielding to him, and declining to become a candidate for President in 1896. He was always polite to me, as he was to every one, yet I could not but feel that he was holding me at arm's length. My colleague, Senator Mason, who was an old friend of his, had secured a number of appointments, and the President himself was constantly asking me to yield to the appointment of this or that "original McKinley man," mostly either my enemies or men of whom I knew nothing. I was much out of humor about it, and several consular appointments having been made about that time, I wrote some one in the State a letter setting forth that those appointments were but the carrying out of promises made in advance of McKinley's nomination. This letter, or a copy of it, was sent to the President. I called at the White House one day concerning the appointment of some man, whose name I do not remember, but whom I regarded as my personal enemy. I told him I had no objection, but that I regarded the man as a jackass. McKinley evidently did not like my remark very well; he reached back on his table, pulled out this letter, or a copy of it, and asked me if I had written it. I replied that I did not know whether I had or not, but that it sounded very much as I felt at the moment. He said that he had not expected an expression of that sort from me. Whereupon we had a general overhauling, in the course of which I told him with considerable feeling that I had been more or less intimate with every President since, and including, Mr. Lincoln, and had always been treated frankly and not held at arm's length; but with himself that I had been constantly made to feel that he was reserved with me. We quarrelled about it a little, and finally he asked me what I wanted done. I told him. He promptly promised to do it, and did. That quarrel cleared the atmosphere, and we remained devoted friends from that day until his death. Had it not been for the Hon. Marcus A. Hanna, Mr. McKinley would probably never have been nominated or elected President of the United States. I knew Mr. Hanna very many years before he became identified with the late President McKinley. He always took an interest in Republican politics, particularly in Ohio politics; and when Mr. Blaine was a candidate for the Presidency, and I was campaigning in Ohio, I rode with Mr. Hanna from Canton to Massillon, some seven or eight miles distant, where a great meeting was held, with Mr. Blaine as the central figure. I was even then very much impressed with Mr. Hanna as a man of the very soundest judgment and common sense. But it was not until Mr. McKinley became a candidate for President that Hanna took a very great interest in national political affairs. He had the deepest affection for the late President, and was determined that he should be nominated and elected President of the United States, at whatever cost. Mr. Hanna took hold of Mr. McKinley's campaign for the nomination and controlled it absolutely and, to use the common expression, he "ran every other candidate off the track." He came into Illinois and carried the State easily. He was not sparing in the use of money, but believed in using it legitimately in accomplishing results. It must have been a great satisfaction to him when the St. Louis Convention nominated his candidate, William McKinley, of Ohio, on the first ballot by a vote of 661 as against 84 votes for Thomas B. Reed, of Maine, the next highest candidate. He had it all organized so perfectly that the St. Louis convention was perfunctory so far as Mr. McKinley's nomination was concerned. The Convention recognized that it was Mr. Hanna had achieved this great triumph; and after Senator Lodge, Governor Hastings, and Senators Platt and Depew had moved that the nomination of Mr. McKinley be made unanimous, a general call was made for Mr. Hanna. He finally yielded in a very brief address: "Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Convention:--I am glad there was one member of this Convention who has had the intelligence at this late hour to ascertain how this nomination was made--by the people. What feeble effort I may have contributed to the result, I am here to lay the fruits of it at the feet of my party and upon the altar of my country. I am now ready to take my position in the ranks alongside of my friend, General Henderson, and all good Republicans from every State, and do the duty of a soldier until next November." Naturally, Mr. Hanna was made chairman of the Republican National Committee, and as such conducted Mr. McKinley's campaign for election just as he had conducted the preliminary campaign for the nomination. He there showed the shrewdest tact and ability in its management, and many people believe that he elected McKinley very largely by his own efforts. I do not know whether Mr. Hanna was very ambitious to enter the Senate or not, but I do believe that Mr. McKinley saw that he would be probably the most useful Senator to his Administration; and he contrived to make a vacancy in the Senatorship from Ohio by inducing John Sherman to accept the position of Secretary of State in his Cabinet, thereby making a place for Mr. Hanna in the Senate. Senator Sherman resigned to enter the State Department; and on March 5, 1897, Mr. Hanna was appointed by Governor Bushnell to fill the vacancy. From the very first Mr. Hanna took rank as one of the foremost leaders of the Senate. Of course, he had everything in his favor. He had nominated and elected McKinley; he had been Chairman of the Republican National Committee, and it was known that he stood closer to the President than any other man in public life. But notwithstanding this, he had the real ability naturally to assume his place as a leader. He assumed a prominent place more rapidly than any Senator whom I have ever known. He took hold of legislation with a degree of skill and confidence that was remarkable, and carried his measures thorough apparently by his own individual efforts and energy. He changed the whole attitude of the Senate concerning the route for an interoceanic canal. We all generally favored the Nicaraguan route. Senator Hanna became convinced that the Panama route was best, and he soon carried everything before him to the end that the Panama route was selected. During the first McKinley campaign, Mark Hanna was probably the most caricatured man in public life. He was made an issue in the campaign and was usually pictured as being covered with money-bags and dollars. But it is very strange how public sentiment changed concerning him. Before the first McKinley Administration was over, Mark Hanna enjoyed quite a degree of popularity; but it was not until he entered the campaign of 1900 that he really became one of the popular figures in American politics. Some one, I do not know who, induced him to go among the people and show himself, and try to make some speeches. His first few efforts were so successful that it was determined he should make a speech-making tour. Senator Frye, of Maine, one of the oldest and most experienced and finest orators in the country, accompanied him on his tour. Senator Frye told me that he prevailed upon Senator Hanna to make short campaign speeches first. He requested him to try a fifteen-minute speech, then extend them to thirty minutes. Before their tour was ended, he was making just as long and just as good a speech as any old experienced campaigner. During this campaign, there were more calls on the Republican National Committee for Senator Hanna than there were for any other campaign speaker. Everywhere he went he made friends, not only for President McKinley, the nominee of the party, but for himself as well. Mark Hanna became one of the most popular leaders in the Republican party, and I have never for a moment doubted that he could have been the nominee of the party for the Presidency in 1904, had he consented to accept it. He told me in a private conversation had been gratified when he had seen his great personal friend, Mr. McKinley, twice elected President of the United States, and now that he had passed away he had no particular ambition on his own account. Mr. McKinley promptly proceeded to call a special session of Congress, which convened March 15, 1897, and in which Mr. Reed was elected Speaker of the House. This session was called for the purpose of enacting a law for the raising of sufficient revenue to carry on the Government; and on March 31 the Dingley Bill passed the House. The bill was debated in the Senate for several weeks, and after eight hundred and seventy-two amendments were incorporated, it passed the Senate July 7, 1897. The conference report was agreed to, and the act was approved July 24, 1897. The country was in such condition then that we heard no complaint concerning the high protective tariff. The Republicans were united in advocating such a protective tariff as would enable the mills and factories to open, thereby affording employment and restoring prosperity. From the election of President McKinley and the enactment of the Dingley Law I do not hesitate to say that we can date the greatest era of prosperity, and the greatest material advancement, of any period of like duration in our history. Toward the close of the Cleveland Administration and all during the first part of the McKinley Administration, conditions were leading up inevitably to the Spanish-American War. The enthusiasm of some Senators, especially Senator Proctor, of Vermont, and my own colleague, Senator Mason, of Illinois, became so intense that war was brought on before the country was really prepared for it. Mr. McKinley held back. He knew the horrors of war and, if he could avoid it, did not desire to see his country engage in hostilities with any other country. He acted with great discretion, holding things steadily until some degree of preparation was made; and I have no doubt at all that the war would have been averted had not the _Maine_ been destroyed in Havana harbor. The country forced us into it after that appalling catastrophe. The entire Nation stood behind the President, and so did Congress. One of the most dignified and impressive scenes I ever witnessed since I became a member of the Senate was the passage of the bill appropriating fifty million dollars to be expended under the direction of the President, in order to carry on the war. The Committee on Appropriations, of which I had long been a member, directed Senator Hale to report the bill. It was agreed in committee that we should endeavor to secure its passage without a single speech for or against it. Some of the Senators who seemed disposed to talk, were prevailed upon to desist, and it was passed without any speeches. The ayes and nays were called, and amid the most solemn silence the bill was passed. The galleries were crowded; a great many members of the House were on the floor, and it reminded me of the days when the great Reconstruction legislation was being enacted, in the sixties. It was a demonstration to the country and the world of our confidence in the President, and the determination on the part of Congress to do what was necessary to uphold the dignity and honor of the United States. The vote for the bill in the Senate was unanimous. The war came on immediately afterwards. The history of it is yet too fresh in the minds of the people to need repetition here. It was soon over, and with its conclusion came new and greater responsibilities. Whether it was wise for the United States to assume these new responsibilities, I am not prepared to say. Time alone can determine that. I have always had great sympathy for General Russell A. Alger, of Michigan, who was in President McKinley's Cabinet as Secretary of War. It was not his fault that conditions in the War Department were as they existed in 1897, when he assumed office. We must remember that the country had enjoyed a continuous period of peace from 1865 to 1898. We were unprepared for war, and in the scramble and haste the Department of War was not administered satisfactorily, the whole blame being laid upon General Alger. It had been the policy of the Democratic party in Congress to oppose liberal appropriations for the maintenance of the War Department and the Army. Many Republicans thought that the best means of limiting appropriations was in cutting down the estimates for the War Department. They seemed to think that we would never again engage in a foreign war. General Alger was a thoroughly honest man, of whose integrity I never had any doubt. He was made the scapegoat, and President McKinley practically was forced by public sentiment to demand his resignation. Personally, I have always believed the President should have stood by General Alger. I was much gratified when his own people in Michigan showed their confidence in him, very soon after he was forced out of the McKinley Cabinet, by electing him to a seat in the United States Senate made vacant by the death of the late Senator McMillan. During his Administration, President McKinley did me quite an honor by appointing me chairman of a commission to visit the Hawaiian Island, investigate conditions there, and report a form of government for those islands. He appointed with me my colleague, Senator Morgan of Alabama, and my friend the Hon. R. R. Hitt, chairman of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs. In all my public life this was the second executive appointment that I ever received, the first being from President Lincoln during the Civil War, to investigate commissary and quartermasters' accounts, to which I have already referred. It had been the well-known policy of the United States for many years that in no event could the entity of Hawaiian statehood cease by the passage of the islands under the domination or influence of another power than the United States. Their annexation came about as the natural result of the strengthening of the ties that bound us to those islands for many years. The people had overthrown the monarchy and set up a republic. It seemed certain that the republic could not long exist, and they appealed to the United States for annexation. The treaty of annexation was negotiated and then ratified by Hawaii, but it was withdrawn by President Cleveland before the Senate acted upon it; finally, the islands were annexed by the passage of an act of Congress during the McKinley Administration. It was under these circumstances that Senator Morgan, Mr. Hitt, and I visited the islands. The appointment came about in this way. I had been urging the President to appoint Mr. Rheuna Lawrence, of Springfield, Illinois, as one of the commissioners. The Hon. James A. Connolly, then representing the Springfield district in Congress, had also been very active in trying to secure Lawrence's appointment. He came to me in the Senate one day and told me that there was no chance of Lawrence being appointed and that the President had determined to appoint me. I told Connolly I did not see how I could accept an appointment, under the circumstances, and that Lawrence might misunderstand it. Connolly said he thought I must take the place. The President himself afterwards talked with me about it. I hesitated. He urged me, insisting that I could not very well afford to decline. Finally I said that if he insisted, I would accept. He nominated us to the Senate for confirmation. This precipitated considerable debate in the Senate, for, by the member of the Committee on the Judiciary, the appointment of Senators and members on such a commission was regarded as unconstitutional; but the committee determined to take no action on the nominations at all, so we were neither confirmed nor rejected. President McKinley urged us to go ahead, however, visit the islands, and make our report, which we did. This was the beginning of expansion, or Imperialism, in the campaign of 1900. One writer, in speaking of the acquisition of these islands, said: "One of the brightest episodes in American history was the acquisition of the Hawaiian Islands, and Senator Cullom's name is prominently associated with that act. He read aright our history as a nation of expansionists. He was not afraid to permit the great republic to become greater. He deemed it wise that to the lines of our influence on land should be added a national influence on the seas. This view was accepted by the people and by the national Legislature. By President McKinley, Senator Cullom was appointed chairman of the Hawaiian Commission, composed of Senator Morgan of Alabama, and Congressman Hitt of Illinois, and Senator Cullom, to visit the islands and frame a new law providing for their civil government and defining their future relations with the United States. Since the days of Clyde in India, few men have been clothed with a more important duty than this commission, whose mission it was to prepare a Government for the Hawaiian Islands. The bill recommended by the commission was enacted by Congress, and stands as the organic law of the islands to-day." We had an exceedingly interesting time in the Hawaiian Islands. They were not known so well then as they are to-day. We visited several of the islands composing the group, and publicly explained our mission. The people seemed to have the impression that American occupancy of the islands was only temporary, and that as soon as the Spanish-American War was over they would return to old conditions. We told them that annexation was permanent, and they would remain a part of the United States for all time to come. I did not favor giving them statehood. There was not a sufficient number of whites and educated natives to justify giving them the franchise as an independent State in the American Union. Senator Morgan and I differed on this a great deal, and on several occasions in the hearings of the commission, he stated that they were to become a State. I always interposed to the effect that, so far as my influence was concerned, they would remain a Territory. There was one island of the group called Molokai devoted entirely to the care of lepers, leprosy being quite common in the Hawaiian Islands. We deemed it our duty to visit this island as well as the others. It was one of the most interesting and pathetic places of which the human mind can conceive--a place of grim tragedies. There were about twelve hundred lepers on the island, divided into two colonies, one at each end of the island. The island itself forms a natural fortress from which escape is almost impossible, the sea on one side and mountains on the other. We spent the day there and ate luncheon on the island. We saw the disease in all its stages. We entered a schoolhouse in which there were a crowd of young girls ranging from ten to sixteen years of age. They were all lepers. They sang for us. It was very pathetic. We visited the cemetery and saw the monument erected to the memory of a Catholic priest, Father Damien, who went there from Chicago, to devote his life to the spiritual care of the unfortunates, but who, like all others residing on the island, finally succumbed to the disease. We met an old lady at the cemetery and I asked her if there was any danger of contracting the disease. She said there was not unless we had some abrasions on the skin, and advised us as a matter of caution to wear gloves. I promptly put mine on and kept them on until I left the island. I was told that they expected me to speak to them, and I did make them a speech. A large number of them assembled. I have addressed many audiences in my life, but this was the queerest I was ever obliged to face. There were men and women in all stages of the disease. Leprosy attacks the fingers and they fall off, and some natural instinct prompts the victim to hide his hands; but as my speech was translated to them, in the excitement they would forget and throw out their hands and applaud. It was a hideous sight and I most fervently wish never to see the like of it again. For our expenses one hundred thousand dollars had been appropriated. I am not one of those who believe in lavish expenditures of public money by commissions. While I was willing as chairman of the commission to permit travelling expenses and the reasonable necessaries and probably the luxuries of life while abroad, yet I differed with my colleague, Senator Morgan, and insisted that no money should be spent for entertaining. Out of the hundred thousand dollars we spent something like fifteen thousand; and Senator Morgan, Mr. Hitt, and I agreed that it would not be lawful or right for us to accept any compensation for our services as members of the commission. Something like eight-five thousand dollars reverted to the Treasury. We returned and made our report to Congress, and the bill which we recommended was enacted. I do not think the present form of government of Hawaii will be changed for many years to come. I have regretted exceedingly that, despite the repeated recommendations of Presidents McKinley and Roosevelt, Congress has not seen fit to make an appropriation to improve the harbor and fortify the islands. It is true they afford us a coaling station in the middle of the Pacific, but that is all. Should hostilities break out in the Far East, our country being a party, it would be almost impossible for us to defend them, and they would become easy prey to foreign aggression. I hope that this policy will change in the near future, and that Pearl Harbor will be improved and the islands fortified. The important events of the first McKinley Administration were the enactment of the Dingley Tariff, the successful conclusion of the war with Spain, the ratification of the Treaty of Peace, the independence of Cuba, and the acquisition of Porto Rico, the Philippines, and the Island of Guam; the establishment of the gold standard by law, and the annexation of the Hawaiian Islands. At the close of the Administration no one questioned that the country was in a more prosperous condition than it ever had been before, and that McKinley was probably the most popular President that ever occupied the White House. He was unanimously nominated at the Republican Convention, at Philadelphia, for a second term. The campaign of 1900 was fought out on the issue of Imperialism; the tariff was almost forgotten, and the silver question was only discussed incidentally. Mr. McKinley's popular vote was not much greater than it was in 1896. He received 7,207,000 as against 6,358,000 votes cast for Mr. Bryan. During the short session which convened after his election, the Platt amendment concerning our future relations with Cuba was passed. The War Revenue Act was reduced. It was an uneventful session, and Mr. McKinley was again inaugurated March 4, 1901. On September 6, 1901, the President attended the Buffalo Exposition, accompanied by Mrs. McKinley and the members of his cabinet, and during the reception which he held at the Temple of Music on that day, he was shot and wounded by an assassin, one Leon F. Czolgosz. After lingering along until Saturday, September 14, he passed away, and Theodore Roosevelt, Vice-President, was sworn in as President of the United States. On taking the oath of office, he uttered but one sentence: "I wish to say that it shall be my aim to continue absolutely unbroken the policy of President McKinley for the peace, prosperity, and the honor of our beloved country." CHAPTER XX ROOSEVELT'S PRESIDENCY 1901 to 1909 Colonel Roosevelt served as President of the United States from September 13, 1901, to March 4, 1909. What he accomplished during those years is still too fresh in the minds of the people of the United States to justify its recital by me here; suffice it to say that he gave one of the best Administrations ever known in the history of the United States. He accomplished more in that term than any of his predecessors; more laws were enacted, laws of more general benefit to the people; but above all, his Administration enforced all laws on the statute books as they had never been enforced before. The Sherman Anti-Trust Law was a dead letter until Mr. Roosevelt instructed the Attorney-General to prosecute its violators, both great and small. No fear or favor was shown in the enforcement of the laws against the rich and poor alike. There were many other notable features of his administration, but that, to my mind, stands out conspicuously before all the others. By his speeches, by his public messages, he awakened the slumbering conscience of the Nation, and he made the violators of the law in high places come to realize that they would receive the same punishment as the lowest offenders. He did more than any of his predecessors to prevent this country from drifting into socialism. I have known Colonel Roosevelt for many years. I knew him as Civil Service Commissioner under President Harrison. In that position, as in every other public office he held, he saw to it that the law was strictly enforced. I once wrote him a note, when he was Civil Service Commissioner, requesting him to act favorably on some matter, which he considered was contrary to his duty. He promptly returned this characteristic reply: "You have no right to ask me to do this, and I have no right to do it." As Assistant Secretary of the Navy under President McKinley, he was able, aggressive, and pushing in preparing the Navy for the Spanish-American War. He seemed so interested in what he was doing that he would appear to an outsider to be nervous and excitable. My old friend, the Hon. W. I. Guffin, than whom there was no better man, was visiting the Department with me one day, and I took occasion to introduce him to Colonel Roosevelt, who was then Assistant Secretary. Guffin was astonished at Roosevelt's manners and his way of speaking, and I recall Guffin's remark when we left the office. I was very much amused at it. He said: "Well, that is Roosevelt, is it! He is one hell of a Secretary." Doubtless that was the impression that Colonel Roosevelt left on many people whom he met in the Navy Department, who did not know him and who had not yet come to know the degree of promptness and ability with which he despatched public business. I was at the Philadelphia Convention which nominated Colonel Roosevelt for Vice-President. I know that he did not desire the nomination, but it was thrust on him through the manipulation of Senator T. C. Platt, of New York, then the acknowledged "easy boss" of that State. Platt himself said afterwards that he did it to get rid of him as Governor of New York, and that he regretted it every day of his life after Roosevelt became President. The politicians of New York did not want Roosevelt in control at Albany, and they thought it would be an admirable plan to remove him from the State, and eventually relegate him to private life--to nominate him for Vice-President. But the fates willed differently, and the nomination for Vice-President opened the way for him to become Mr. McKinley's successor, in which position he made such a splendid record that no one thought of opposing him for the nomination for President in 1904. As President, Colonel Roosevelt was not popular with Senators generally. Personally, I got along with him very well. In all the years that he was President, I do not think he ever declined to grant any favor that I asked of him, with one exception. In that case, while he declined to give a very distinguished gentleman in Illinois a position, for which I thought him admirably qualified, and for which I was urging him, he later tendered him another office, which my friend declined to accept. His methods of transacting business were far more expeditious than those of any of his predecessors. President McKinley, in every case, insisted on Senators placing in writing their recommendations for Federal offices; I do not think he ever made an appointment without such written endorsements; but Colonel Roosevelt never bothered much about written endorsements. He would either do or not do what you asked, and would decide the question promptly. He took a deep interest in the passage of the necessary amendments to the Interstate Commerce Act, and as I have said elsewhere, had it not been for Colonel Roosevelt, the Hepburn Bill would not have been passed. He thought that I could be of very great service in securing the passage of the amendments which both he and I deemed necessary to the Interstate Commerce Act, by remaining chairman of the Senate's Committee on Interstate Commerce, and when the time came for me to decide whether I should remain chairman of that committee, or accept the chairmanship of the Committee on Foreign Relations, he took occasion personally to urge me to remain at the head of the Interstate Commerce Committee. But at the time the personnel of the committee was such that I had despaired of securing favorable action in the committee on an amended Interstate Commerce Act, and I retired to accept the chairmanship of the Committee on Foreign Relations. Colonel Roosevelt has proven over and over again, in every position he has occupied, from Police Commissioner of New York to the Presidency itself, that he is a marvellous man, a man of great resources, great intellect, great energy and courage, and a man of the highest degree of integrity. He will go down in the history of this country as the most remarkable man of his day. The Hon. John Hay, at the urgent request of Colonel Roosevelt, continued to act as Secretary of State (to which position he had been appointed by President McKinley) until his death in 1905. John Hay was the most accomplished diplomat, in my judgment, who ever occupied the high position of Secretary of State. I knew him from his boyhood, and knew his father and all the members of his family. The Hon. Milton Hay, whom I have mentioned elsewhere, and who was my law partner, was an uncle of John Hay. John was a student in our law office in Springfield, and as a student of the law he showed marked intellectual capacity and grasp. It was from our law office that President Lincoln took him to act as one of his private secretaries when he left Springfield for Washington to be inaugurated as President of the United States, and Mr. Hay continued to act as such until the President's death. He abandoned the law as a profession and became finally the editor of _The New York Tribune_. I probably knew him more intimately than any one else in public life, and when Mr. McKinley became President I urged him to appoint Hay as Ambassador to Great Britain. He served in that position with great credit to himself and his country. He was very popular with the members of the British Government, and seemed to have more influence, and to be more able to accomplish important results, than any of his predecessors in that office. When it was rumored that there was to be a vacancy in the State Department, by the retirement of Mr. Day, who was ambitious to go on the Federal Bench, I wrote Mr. McKinley a letter, in which I told him that he could find no better man to succeed Mr. Day as Secretary than his Ambassador to Great Britain, John Hay. And he was appointed. As Secretary of State, Mr. Hay was successful in carrying to a triumphant conclusion our Far Eastern diplomacy. For years the situation in the Far East, and especially in China, had been delicate and critical to an extreme. The acquisition of Hawaii and the Philippines gave to the United States an extraordinary interest in events occurring in the Orient. The United States stood for the "open door" in China; and as the result of the diplomacy and influence of Secretary Hay, freedom of commerce was secured, and the division of China among the powers has been prevented. In our relations with China, we have pursued a disinterested policy of disavowal of territorial aggrandizement, and a disposition to respect the rights of that Government, confining our interests to the peaceful development of trade. Secretary Hay never hesitated on all proper occasions to assert our influence to preserve its independence and prevent its dismemberment. For many centuries China had been a hermit nation, successfully resisting foreign influence and invasion; but gradually, on one pretext or another, she was compelled to open her ports, and Great Britain, Russia, and Germany had gained special advantages and exceptional privileges in portions of China, where, under the guise of "spheres of interest," they were exercising considerable control over an important part of that Empire. It seemed probable that not only would these nations absorb the trade of China, but that the Empire itself would be dismembered and divided among the powers. To prevent this, Secretary Hay advanced the so-called "open door" policy and successfully carried it out. In September, 1899, he addressed communications to the Governments of Great Britain, Russia, Germany, Italy, and Japan, suggesting that, as he understood it to be the settled policy and purpose of those countries not to use any privileges which might be granted them in China as a means of excluding any commercial rival, and that freedom of trade for them in that ancient empire meant freedom of trade for all the world alike, he considered that the maintenance of this policy was alike urgently demanded by the commercial communities of these several nations, and that it was the only one which would improve existing conditions and extend their future operation. He further suggested that it was the desire of the United States Government that the interests of its citizens should not be prejudiced through exclusive treatment by any of the controlling powers within their respective spheres of interest in China, and that it hoped to retain there an open market for all the world's commerce, remove dangerous sources of international irritation, and promote administrative reform. Secretary Hay accordingly invited a declaration by each of them in regard to the treatment of foreign commerce in their spheres of interest. Without inconsiderable delay the Governments of Great Britain, Russia, Germany, Italy, and Japan replied to his circular note, giving cordial and full assurance of endorsement of the principles suggested by our Government. Thus was successfully begun the since famous "open door" policy in China. But this great triumph in the interest of the freedom of the world's commerce was followed by the Boxer outbreak of 1900. The German Minister was murdered in the streets of Peking, the legations were attacked and in a state of siege for a month. The Boxer outbreak was made the occasion of a joint international expedition for the relief of the diplomatic representatives and other foreigners whose lives were in peril. Congress was not in session, but on Secretary Hay's advice, there was despatched a division of the American Army composed of all arms of the service. This almost amounted to a declaration of war, or the waging of war without the consent of Congress. The Executive was justified, however, and did not hesitate to assume the responsibility. In the midst of the intense excitement throughout the world, when the downfall of the Empire of China seemed almost certain, Secretary Hay, with the foresight which always distinguished his official acts, issued a circular note on July 3, 1900, to all the powers having interests in China, stating the position of the United States; that it would be our policy to find a solution which would bring permanent safety and peace to China, preserve its territorial and administrative entity, protect all rights guaranteed by treaty and international law, and safeguard for the world the principle of equal and impartial trade with all parts of the Chinese Empire. Secretary Hay's note gave notice to the world that the United States would not permit the dismemberment of China, and it was so in accord with the principles of justice that it met with the approval of all. After the relief of the legations and the suppression of the Boxer troubles by the allied powers, there followed a long period of negotiation, and an enormous and exorbitant demand was made by the allies as an indemnity. So exorbitant was it as first that China probably never would have been able to pay. Secretary Hay constantly intervened to reduce the demands of the powers and cut down to a reasonable limit the enormous indemnity they were seeking to exact. Finally the protocol of 1901 was signed, imposing very heavy and humiliating burdens on China. It has been the province of the United States to alleviate these burdens, and we have only recently remitted a very large portion of the indemnity which was to have come to the United States. Later, Secretary Hay negotiated a very favorable commercial treaty with China which further strengthened the "open door," gave increased privileges to our diplomatic and consular officers, and to our citizens in China, and opened new cities to international trade and residence. One of Secretary Hay's last acts in the State Department was another diplomatic triumph in the interest of China. It had been apparent for some time that war between Russia and Japan was inevitable, and Mr. Hay realized that war might seriously impair the integrity of China and the benefits of the "open door" policy. Immediately after the war commenced, therefore, on February 10, 1904, Mr. Hay addressed to the Governments of Russia, Japan, and China, and to all other powers having spheres of influence in China, a circular note in which he said: "It is the earnest desire of the Government of the United States that in the military operations which have begun between Russia and Japan, the neutrality of China, and in all practicable ways her administrative entity, shall be protected by both parties, and that the area of hostilities shall be localized and limited as much as possible, so that undue excitement and disturbance of the Chinese people may be prevented, and the least possible loss to the commerce and peaceful intercourse of the world may be occasioned." Mr. Hay's proposition was commended by the world and was accepted by the neutral nations, and also by China, Russia, and Japan. Secretary Hay's measures respecting China were of the greatest importance and significance, because they not only tended to the peace of the world, but they have preserved the extensive territory and enormous population of that empire to the free and untrammelled trade and commerce of all countries. In addition to securing from Great Britain, through the Hay-Pauncefote treaty, the abrogation of the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, thereby making it possible for the United States to construct the Isthmian Canal, Secretary Hay succeeded in settling the controversy over the Alaskan boundary, which had been a subject of dispute between the United States and Great Britain for half a century. The treaty of 1868, between the United States and Russia, by which we acquired Alaska, in describing the boundary of Alaska, adopted the description contained in the treaty of 1825, between Great Britain and Russia. Years ago it was discovered that the boundary described in the treaty of 1825 was incorrect as a geographical fact. While the country remained unsettled the definite boundary was not so material, but since the first Cleveland Administration the Alaskan boundary had been an important subject of dispute. The feeling among our people in Alaska and among the Canadians became very bitter. This was one of the principal reasons for the creation of the Joint High Commission in 1899, whose purpose it was to settle all outstanding questions between the United States and Canada, the principal one being the Alaskan boundary. The Joint High Commission made considerable progress in adjusting these questions, but failing to reach an agreement as to the Alaskan boundary, the commission adjourned without disposing of any of the subjects in controversy. President Roosevelt and Secretary Hay, in view of our long and undisputed occupation of the territory in question, declined to allow the reference of the Alaskan boundary to a regular arbitration at the Hague, but instead, Secretary Hay proposed the creation of a judicial tribunal composed of an equal number of members from each country, feeling confident that our claim would be successfully established by such a body. There was very great opposition, and there were many predictions of failure, but on January 24, 1903, a treaty between the United States and Great Britain was signed, providing for such a tribunal. The treaty was duly ratified, and the tribunal appointed, and on October 20, 1903, reached a conclusion which was a complete victory for the United States, sustaining as it did every material contention of our Government. The settlement of the Alaskan boundary was a very notable diplomatic triumph, and Secretary Hay is entitled to much credit for it. I cannot go into the many important matters which Mr. Hay disposed of as Secretary of State. He left a splendid record. I made it a point to keep in constant touch with him by visiting at his office frequently, and he always talked with me frankly and freely concerning the important negotiations in which he was engaged. The only criticism I have to make of him as Secretary of State is, that he was disposed, wherever he could possibly do so, to make international agreements and settle differences without consulting the Senate. And, in addition, I never could induce him to come before the Committee on Foreign Relations and explain to the committee personally various treaties and important matters in which the State Department was interested. Why he would not do so I do not know. He was an exceedingly modest man and shrank from all controversy. It is seldom, however, that the State Department has had at its head so brilliant and scholarly a man as John Hay. He will go down in history as among the greatest of our Secretaries of State. I will make some further references to the important results of the Roosevelt Administration in what I shall say in a later chapter concerning the work of the Committee on Foreign Relations. William Howard Taft, now President of the United States, was President Roosevelt's Secretary of War, and a very able Secretary he was. I first knew him in Washington when, as a young man but thirty-three years of age, he was serving as Solicitor General under President Harrison. I followed his career very closely from the time that I first became acquainted with him. As a United States Circuit Judge, to which position he was appointed by President Harrison, he was regarded as one of the ablest in the country. The Circuit Court of Appeals on which he served was a notable one. It was composed of three men who have since occupied the highest positions in the United States. William R. Day was first Assistant Secretary of State, then Secretary of State, one of the negotiators of the Paris Peace Treaty, Circuit Judge, and later a Supreme Court Justice. Judge Taft was first civil Governor of the Philippines, Secretary of War, and then President; and he has only recently appointed his old colleague, Judge Lurton, the third member of the Court of Appeals, to the position of Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. Judge Taft has occupied many high positions, all of which he has filled with great honor and distinction. I doubt whether he has enjoyed the high office of President of the United States. I myself have always thought that he would have made one of our greatest Chief Justices had he been appointed to that position. Just before the National Convention of 1908 assembled at Chicago, in which convention I was chairman of the Illinois delegation, when every one knew that Taft was sure to be the nominee, I called on him at the War Department, and in the course of the conversation I took occasion to remark that I had always been in favor of him for Chief Justice, but it seemed now that he was certain to be the nominee for President, and his career would consequently go along another line. He replied: "If your friend Chief Justice Fuller should retire and the President should send me a commission as Chief Justice, I would take it now." It is my purpose to practically close these memoirs with the end of the Roosevelt Administration, for the reason that I do not feel at liberty to write in detail of events occurring within the past two years. All that I will venture to say is that my relations with Mr. Taft as President have been of the most cordial and friendly character; and no one can question that he has been thoroughly conscientious in the discharge of the duties of President of the United States. That in 1910 the party went down in defeat for the first time in eighteen years cannot be charged to President Taft. Nothing that he did as Chief Executive was responsible for that defeat. I myself believe that it was simply the result of the people becoming tired of too much prosperity under Republican administration. The newspaper agitation over the Aldrich-Payne Tariff Bill was mainly instrumental in turning the House of Representatives over to the Democracy. The Hon. Philander C. Knox was Attorney-General in President Roosevelt's cabinet, as he had been in the cabinet of his predecessor. He is now serving as Secretary of State under President Taft. He has had a long and highly distinguished career at the bar, and is probably one of the greatest lawyers of his day. He served in the Senate of the United States for some years, and upon entering that body he at once took his place as a leader on all questions of a legal and constitutional nature. As a member of the Judiciary Committee, he had quite a commanding influence on important legislation coming from that committee. As Secretary of State Mr. Knox has been successful to an eminent degree, and I have no doubt that his career as the Premier of the Taft Administration will add to his great fame as a lawyer and statesman. I cannot refrain from saying a word in reference to the Hon. James Wilson, who was appointed Secretary of Agriculture by President McKinley, in which position he has been retained by both President Roosevelt and President Taft. He has served as a cabinet officer for a longer consecutive term than any man in our history. I have been more or less familiar with the administration of the Agricultural Department ever since its creation, and I do not hesitate to say that Mr. Wilson has been the most efficient Secretary of Agriculture that we have ever had. He has accomplished greater results in that office than any of his predecessors, and should remain there as long as he will consent to serve. CHAPTER XXI INTERSTATE COMMERCE At the time I am writing these lines, no question of governmental policy occupies so prominent a place in the thoughts of the people as that of controlling the steady growth and extending influence of corporate power, and of regulating its relations to the public. And there are no corporations whose proceedings so directly affect every citizen in the daily pursuit of his business as the corporations engaged in transportation. Of the many new forms introduced into every department of civilized life during the past century, none have brought about more marvellous changes than the railroad, as an instrumentality of commerce. The substitution of steam and electricity for animal power was one of the most important events in our industrial history. The commercial, social, and political relations of the nations, have been revolutionized by the development of improved means of communication and transportation. With this changed condition of affairs in the commercial world came new questions of the greatest importance for the consideration of those upon whom devolved the duty of making the nation's laws. In the early days of railroads, the question was not how to regulate, but how to secure them; but in the early seventies their importance grew to such proportions that the railroads threatened to become the masters and not the servants of the people. There were all sorts of abuses. Railroad officers became so arrogant that they seemed to assume that they were above all law; rebating and discrimination were the rule and not the exception. It was the public indignation against long continued discrimination and undue preferences which brought about the Granger Movement, which resulted, seventeen years later, in the enactment of the first Interstate Commerce Act. With the Granger Movement of the early seventies, and the passage of State laws for the control of railroad transportation, began the discussion which is still before Congress and the public as one of the live issues of the day. It so happens that I have been intimately connected with this subject from the time I was serving as Speaker of the Illinois House of Representatives in 1873. The State of Illinois, like most of the Western States, had a law on the subject of railroad regulation; but it was ineffective, and the commission under it had no practical power. I appointed the committee of the House of Representatives of the Illinois Legislature in 1873, of which John Oberly, of Cairo, Illinois, was a member, and it was that committee that reported to the House the bill which finally became a law, known as the Railroad and Warehouse Law of 1873. It is still the existing law in Illinois, and was for many years regarded as one of the broadest and most far-reaching of State enactments. After I became Governor of the State, in 1877, I appointed a new Railroad and Warehouse Commission under the new law, and naturally took a deep interest in its work. During my term as Governor a resolution was adopted by the General Assembly really looking to the abolition of the Railroad and Warehouse Commission, but on its face inquiring of me as Governor for information concerning the cost of maintaining the Railroad and Warehouse Commission, and the benefits, if any, of the commission, to the people of the State of Illinois. To this resolution I promptly responded in a message to the General Assembly, dated February 17, 1879, which in part I take the liberty of quoting here, because never afterwards in Illinois, so far as I know, was there any movement to abolish the Railroad and Warehouse Commission and repeal the Illinois Railroad and Warehouse Act. After giving the pay and expenses of the board, I continued: "To answer this portion of the resolution in a manner satisfactory to myself would include a recital of the many attempts that have been made in this and other countries to control railroad corporations by legislation. In a paper of this kind such a reply can not be made. I must therefore be satisfied with a glance at the advance that resulted in the enactment of the railroad and warehouse laws of this State. "Since the passage of the laws creating the railroad and warehouse commission, in 1871, Illinois has made very important advances toward the solution of the railroad problem. "The questions involved in this problem have not only been before the people of this State, but in other States and countries. "In England, after the railroad had become a fact, it was recognized as a public highway. The right of Parliament to fix rates for the transportation of passengers and freight by railroad corporations was therefore asserted, and schedules of rates were put into their charters. Those familiar with the subject need not be told that the attempt to establish rates in this manner was a failure. Then it was asserted that competition, if encouraged by the Government, would prove a remedy for the abuses with which the railroads were charged. The suggestion was acted upon. The Government encouraged the construction of competing lines. As a result, rates fell. Competition, however, finally began to entail disaster upon the competitors and compel them to become allies to escape destruction. The competitors combined; railroads were consolidated; rival lines were united, and competition was thus destroyed. The danger of great combinations of this kind, not only to the business interests of the country, but also to the State, was at once suggested, and occasioned alarm. This alarm resulted in a public opinion that the Government should own the railroads. But consolidation, to the surprise of the prophets of evil, did not result in higher rates. On the contrary, lower rates and higher dividends resulted. "Thus by a logical process of attempt and failure to control railroad corporations, the conclusion was reached that wise policy required permission to such corporations to operate their railroads in their own way upon ordinary business principles. But at the same time a board of commissioners was wisely created and authorized to hear and determine complaints against railroad corporations, and to exercise other important powers. This board was created about five years ago; and the most notable feature in its career, says Charles Francis Adams, junior, is the very trifling call that seems to have been made upon it. The cases which come before it are neither numerous nor of great importance. It would, however, be unwholly safe to conclude from this fact that such a tribunal is unnecessary. On the contrary, it may be confidently asserted that no competent board of railroad commissioners clothed with the peculiar power of the English board, will, either there or anywhere else, have many cases to dispose of. The mere fact that a tribunal is there, that a machinery does exist for the prompt and final decision of that class of questions put an end to them. They no longer arise. "The process through which the public mind in America has passed on the railroad question is not dissimilar to that through which the public mind of England passed. But here competition was relied on from the first. To all who asked for them railroad charters were granted. The result has been the construction of railroads in all parts of the country, many of them through districts of country without business, or even population, as well as between all business centres and through populous, fertile, and well cultivated regions. Free trade in railroad building, and the too liberal use of municipal credit in their aid, has induced the building of some lines which are wholly unnecessary, and which crowd, duplicate, and embarrass lines previously built and which were fully adequate to the needs of the community. "In Illinois, railroad enterprises have been particularly numerous and have made the State renowned for having the most miles of railroad track--for being the chief railroad State. "But competition did not result according to public anticipation. The competing corporations worked without sufficient remuneration at competing points, and, to make good the losses resulting, were often guilty of extortion at the non-competing points. They discriminated against persons and places. Citizens protested against these abuses in vain. The railroad corporations, when threatened with the power of the Government, indulged in the language of defiance, and attempted to control legislation to their own advantage. At last public indignation became excited against them. They did not heed it. They believed the courts would be their refuge from popular fury. The indignation of the people expressed itself in many ways and finally found utterance in the Constitution of 1870. In this Constitution may be found all the phases of opinion on the railroad question through which the English mind has run. The railroad is declared a public highway. The establishment of reasonable rates of charges is directed; competition between railroads is recognized as necessary to the public welfare; and the General Assembly is required to pass laws to correct abuses and to prevent unjust discrimination and extortion in the rates and passenger tariffs on the different railroads of the State, and enforce such laws by adequate penalties to the extent, if necessary for that purpose, of forfeiture of their property and franchises. "The Constitution did more than this. To correct abuses of the interests of the farmers from whose fields warehousemen in combination with corporate common carriers had been drawing riches, it declared all elevators or structures where grain or other property was stored for a compensation, public warehouses, and expressly directed the General Assembly to pass laws for the government of warehouses, for the inspection of grain, and for the protection of producers, shippers, and receivers of grain and produce. "Promptly after the adoption of the Constitution the Legislature attempted to give these provisions vitality by the enactment of laws to carry them out. One of these created the Railroad and Warehouse Commission and imposed on it important duties. Another was an act to regulate public warehouses and warehousing. By this act other important duties were imposed upon the Railroad and Warehouse Commission." After reviewing the attempt to enforce these laws the message continues: "In 1873, the present law to prevent extortion and unjust discrimination in rates charged for the transportation of passengers and freight on railroads in this State was passed. It was prepared and enacted with the decision of the Supreme Court in the case of _Illinois_ vs. _C. and A. R. R._, fresh in the minds of the members of the General Assembly, and every suggestion made by the court was observed. "The Commission since the enactment of this statute has brought many suits against railroad corporations for violation of the law." After reviewing the various cases I proceeded: "In 1871, the Railroad and Warehouse Commission was established. Its creation was resisted by both railroad corporations and public warehousemen, and after its organization they treated it with little consideration. They refused to recognize its authority, but after the decision of the Supreme Court of the United States declaring the doctrine that the Government may regulate the conduct of its citizens to each other, and, when necessary, for the public good, the manner in which each shall use his own property, the railroad corporations and public warehousemen began to grow less determined in their opposition to the attempts to control them, until at this time there is very little opposition. They now give prompt attention to requests of the Commission for the correction of abuses called to its notice by their patrons; and thus the Commissioners not only settle questions arising between railroad corporations and those who patronize them, but it may as truthfully be said of this as of the English or Massachusetts Commission, that the very fact of its existence has put an end to many of the abuses formerly practised by such corporations, and which were angrily complained of by the people. . . . "It is a curious fact that the conclusion reached by the English statesmen in 1874, was reached in Illinois in 1873; the conclusion that railroad companies ought to have the right to control their own affairs, fix their own rates of transportation, be free from meddlesome legislation, and, as has been said, work out their own destiny in their own way, just so long as they show a reasonable regard for the requirements of the community." After analyzing the law of 1873, referring to the procedure under it, to the decision of the courts, and the fact that the Railroad and Warehouse Commissioners made under it a schedule of maximum rates of charges, I said: "The schedule will require revision from time to time, and this work can only be done by men who can give it their whole time, and who will become students of the great subject of transportation. "Before action by the Supreme Court it has not been deemed advisable that the Commissioners should revise the schedule, and put the State thereby to what might be unnecessary expense; nor that they should multiply suits under the law of 1873, against railroad companies for similar offences to those set up in the cases now pending. "Ever since its organization the board has been putting into operation new laws founded upon old principles applied to new facts and it has been compelled to walk with slow step. It has been required, in the assertion of its authority to go from one court to another, and await the approval by the Supreme Court of the legislation directed by the Constitution of 1870. "It has won a victory in the warehouse controversy and secured the judicial endorsement of doctrines which in this age of concentration and monopoly, are absolutely necessary to the public welfare. . . . "Leaving out of view the benefits that have resulted to the people by the mere fact of the existence of the Board, which has prevented many abuses that would have been committed save for its presence in the State, it has been at work, and useful. It has perfected the organization of the Grain Inspection Department at Chicago; it has gathered statistics in reference to transportation that are of very great benefit to the public; it has adopted the policy of railroad examinations with a view to security of life; and, in my judgment, the authority of the Commission ought to be enlarged so as to enable it to compel the railroad companies to improve their tracks and bridges, when, in the judgment of the Commission, such portions of railroads become unsafe. The Railroad Commissioners act as arbitrators between the railroad companies and their patrons; and in the Commissioners' report they say they have succeeded in settling most of the complaints made to them in a manner satisfactory to all the parties to the controversies. "In my judgment if the Commission were dispensed with by the Legislature, difficulties would soon arise, agitation would commence again, and controversies would run riot. New legislation would follow, another board of some kind would soon be created, and the track we have just passed over would be again travelled by the people's representatives. "The Board should be sustained in the interest of all the people. Instead of being destroyed it should be strengthened. It should not only have the authority with which it is now vested, but more. It should be made a legal arbitrator in all matters of controversy between railroad companies and warehouses and their patrons; and it should be required to make examination of roads, and be invested with authority to compel reparation of unsafe and defective bridges, culverts, track, and rolling-stock. "(Signed) S. M. Cullom, "Governor." My experience, as Chief Executive of the State, with the practical workings of the Railroad and Warehouse Law, clearly demonstrated to me that a State statute, no matter how drastic it might be, was utterly inadequate to meet the evils complained of, and that effective regulation must be Federal and not State, or probably Federal and State combined. Some of the States had attempted to exercise control over interstate traffic which originated in the State, but it seemed perfectly clear from a long line of decisions of the Supreme Court, beginning with _Gibbons_ vs. _Ogden_, and continuing with _Reading Railway_ vs. _Pennsylvania; Baltimore and Ohio_ vs. _Maryland_, and many other cases, that the States as such had no control over interstate commerce. But it was not until our own Illinois case (_Wabash Railroad_ vs. _Illinois_), that the Supreme Court settled it once and for all. It was clearly stated in that case that the power of Congress was exclusive, and the Court said that, "notwithstanding whatever _dicta_ might appear in other cases, this court holds now and has never consciously held otherwise, that a statute of a State intended to regulate or tax or to impose any restriction upon the transmission of persons or property from one State to another is not within the class of legislation which the States may enact in the absence of legislation by Congress, and that such statutes are void." This decision of the Supreme Court was rendered just about the time I was elected to the United States Senate, and I then and there determined that I would make it one of my great aims in the Senate to secure the enactment of a Federal statute regulating interstate commerce. It would seem astonishing that the Commerce clause of the Constitution should have remained dormant, as it did for nearly a century. Aside from two unimportant acts, no statute had been passed under it from the beginning of the Government until the Act to Regulate Commerce was passed in 1887. Not even a serious attempt had been made to pass an act for the regulation of interstate commerce. Bills were introduced from Congress to Congress and laid aside; some investigations were made --as, for instance, the Windom investigation by a select committee of the House in 1873--but it all came to naught. It seemed that no one man, either in the Senate or House, had made it his business to secure the passage of such an act. Very fortunately, as I see it now, when I first came to the Senate, I received no important committee assignments. Having been in public life for many years, member of Congress, Governor of my State, I naturally felt that I would be properly taken care of without appealing to my older colleagues for assistance. Even my own colleague, General Logan, did not interest himself in the matter. I attended the caucus when the committee announcements were made, and observing that I received nothing of any consequence, I addressed the caucus and protested that I had not been treated properly. Later Senator Edmunds resigned his place as a regent of the Smithsonian Institution and I was appointed to succeed him in that position. I was assigned, however, to the Committee on Railroads--which was then what we know now in the Senate as a non-working committee. I determined that the committee should have something to do, and I immediately became active in securing the consideration of an act for the regulation of interstate commerce. I drew up a bill, introduced it, had it referred to the committee, and finally secured its consideration and report to the Senate. No one paid any particular attention to what I was doing until then. When the bill was reported to the Senate, and I was pushing and urging and doing everything in my power to secure its consideration, Senator Allison, always my friend, always wanting to assist me in any way in his power, came to me one day and said: "Cullom, we know nothing about this question; we are groping in the dark; and I believe that there ought to be a select committee of the Senate appointed to investigate the question, to go out among the people, take testimony, and find out what they know about it,--what the experts know, what the railroad officials know, what public opinion generally is, and report their conclusions to the Senate at the beginning of the next session. I am willing to help you secure the passage of a resolution with that end in view." This was perfectly agreeable to me and, on March 17, 1885, a resolution of the Senate, introduced by me, was adopted. This resolution provided-- "That a select committee of five Senators be appointed to investigate and report upon the subject of the regulation of the transportation by railroad and water routes in connection or in competition with said railroads of freights and passengers between the several States, with authority to sit during the recess of Congress, and with power to summon witnesses, and to do whatever is necessary for a full examination of the subject, and report to the Senate on or before the second Monday in December next. Said committee shall have power to appoint a clerk and stenographer, and the expenses of such investigation shall be paid from the appropriation for expenses of inquiries and investigations ordered by the Senate." The committee, of which I was made chairman, was appointed in due course, my colleagues being Senator O. H. Platt, of Connecticut; Senator Warner Miller, of New York; Senator Arthur Pugh Gorman, of Maryland; and Senator Isham G. Harris, of Tennessee. Leaving out any reference to myself, the selection was regarded as having been most judicious and suitable. And here let me digress to say a few words in reference to my colleagues on that committee. Senator Warner Miller was a strong man intellectually, and a good business man. He had succeeded Senator T. C. Platt on March 4, 1881, and readily took his place in the Senate as one of its influential members, although he served but one term. He was a valuable man as a member of the committee, and took a very prominent part in the debates preceding the passage of the act. Senator Gorman had a remarkable public career. Without the advantages of influential family, without wealth, with only limited education, through his own exertions alone he arose from the position of a page in the United States Senate to the position of Senator and leader of his party in the Senate. He was a _protégé_, friend, and follower of that illustrious son of Illinois, Stephen A. Douglas. He was one of the most sagacious politicians of his day. By his shrewd management of the Cleveland campaign he secured the defeat of Mr. Blaine and the election of Mr. Cleveland. His charming personality, his suavity of manner, his magnetic influence over men with whom he came into contact, combined with his marked ability, made it easy for him to retain the difficult position of a leader of his great party. He enjoyed in the highest degree the respect and confidence of every Senator with whom he served, on both sides of the chamber, and specially was his influence felt in securing the support of the Democratic Senators in the passage of the Act of 1887. Senator Harris, of Tennessee, was a very useful member of the Senate, and was a man possessed of more than ordinary ability. His ability, perhaps, was not as great as Senator Gorman's, although he was a very influential and highly respected member of the Senate. He was a hard worker; and one trait in particular that I remember about him was, he never failed to attend promptly on time the meeting of any committee of which he was a member. Indeed, I do not know of any man with whom I have served in the Senate, aside from my respected colleague, Senator Frye, who was so punctual. He was a man of convivial habits, and used to poke considerable fun at me because I would not drink or play poker. At the time when the select committee was to meet in Memphis, the home of Senator Harris, the prominent business men of that place waited on him and told him they understood a very eminent committee was coming there in a few days, and they would like to show them some courtesies. Harris replied that he did not know who would be there; that Senator Platt would not, and he did not believe Senator Gorman would--in fact, he did not believe any one would be there, excepting the chairman and himself; and so far as the chairman, Senator Cullom, was concerned, they could not do anything for him, as he did not drink or smoke, and was "one of the damnedest, poorest card-players he had ever known." So, about all the entertaining they could do for him would be to show him about the city. Many amusing stories were told of him. When I called the committee together, preliminary to starting out on our tour, I told them that I would be very glad to allow them everything within reason that was necessary, but the Government would not pay for their whiskey and cigars. Harris promptly replied: "That's right, Mr. Chairman. So far as I am concerned, if I can't get my whiskey by standing around the bar when other people are drinking, I will pay for it myself." When the committee were in Minneapolis, we were sitting at a long table at dinner; I was at one end, and Harris was at the other, facing me. An old soldier came up to speak to me, and glancing down toward the other end of the table, he asked: "Is n't that old Harris of Tennessee?" When I replied that it was, he continued: "Well, well! The last time I saw him, he was wearing a linen- duster, riding a mule, and going South like hell." Harris was a man of the most rigid honesty. He not only rendered valuable assistance in conducting the investigation, especially through the South, which section of the country he particularly represented, but took a prominent part in the debates and generally performed his full share toward securing the passage of the act. Of Senator O. H. Platt I have already written. But to return. Immediately after the adjournment of Congress this select committee visited Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, Des Moines, Omaha, Minneapolis, and St. Paul, where we adjourned to meet in the South. We went to Memphis first, then to New Orleans and Atlanta, whence we returned to Washington, where I prepared the report of the committee which was submitted to the Senate, January 18, 1886. The committee began its work impressed with the importance of the duty with which it had been charged, and with each step taken in prosecuting the inquiry we realized more fully how heavy were the obstacles to be overcome, how serious were the abuses that existed, how the public sentiment over the entire country was aroused, and how difficult it was going to be to frame and secure the passage of a measure adequate to relieve the situation. After many sessions and long conferences the select committee finally agreed upon a bill which, in its opinion, would correct the evils complained of. Even after the committee had agreed to the bill, I was not entirely satisfied; I feared the existence of some absurdities, some features, which the railroads could not possibly comply with; and so I asked Senator Platt to meet me in New York, previously having arranged with Mr. Fink and Mr. Blanchard, two of the great railroad men of their day, and a gentleman representing specially the people's interests, whose name I do not recall, but who had been interested in securing regulation in New York and was an expert on the proposition, to meet with us in that city. We all met as planned. I stated that I desired to take the bill up with them, section by section, paragraph by paragraph, and if anything absurd or impracticable was found, or anything that could not be carried out, attention should be called to it, and we would discuss it and amend it if necessary. We went ahead on this line and were arguing over some proposition, when Mr. Fink got up and remarked: "Let it go; the whole thing is absurd anyhow." I arose and said that if that was the attitude of the railroad men, when the committee's only object was to report to the Senate a fair bill, that the conference might as well end. The other members of the conference intervened and said it was not fair that the chairman of the committee should be treated in this way, that Senator Cullom was acting in absolute good faith, whereupon Mr. Fink apologized, and the reading was resumed, and some amendments made where found necessary. And this incident recalls to mind another aspect of the investigation. While the select committee was considering the subject, travelling from city to city, the high railroad officials paid no attention to us; rather, I might say, they avoided being called before us, probably considering it a waste of time, as they had no serious thought that anything would come of the investigation. They considered the railroads superior to the laws of Congress, and depended upon their old State charters. In those days they were the most arrogant set of men in this country; they have since learned that they are the servants and not the masters of the people. But when the bill seemed pretty certain to pass, the attitude of the railroad officials suddenly changed. They came to Washington and complained that they had not been given the opportunity to be heard; that it would not be fair under the circumstances to pass a bill so largely affecting them; and they seemed to be sorely aggrieved when they could not prevent or delay its passage. I introduced the bill in the first session of the Forty-ninth Congress, and after a great deal of difficulty, even with my colleague, General Logan, against it, finally had it made the special order. General Logan knew nothing about the subject; he cared nothing about it, and on one occasion he told me that I would ruin myself by advocating it. When I called the bill up for consideration, I was so anxious to press it along that I did not care to make any general speech, excepting to explain as carefully and minutely as I could the various provisions of the measure. I said, in opening: "I believe I am justified in saying that there is no subject of a public nature that is before the country about which there is so great unanimity of sentiment as there is upon the proposition that the National Government ought in some way to regulate interstate commerce. The testimony taken by the Committee shows conclusively to my mind, and I think to every man's mind who reads it, that there is necessity for some legislation by the National Government, looking to the regulation of interstate commerce by railroad and by waterways in connection therewith. "I believe the time has gone by when it is necessary for any one to take up the time of the Senate in discussing the proposition that Congress has the power to regulate interstate commerce. These questions have been discussed over and over again in Congress, and the highest judicial tribunals of the country have decided over and over again that Congress has the power to regulate commerce among the States. So I do not feel at liberty, if I were disposed, to occupy the attention of the Senate in discussing the general subject of whether there is any necessity for our doing anything, or the question of constitutional right of Congress to pass some act regulating commerce among the States. "If the three propositions are correct: that the public sentiment is substantially unanimous that we should act; that the necessity for action exists; and that the power of Congress is admitted,-- the only question left is, what Congress ought to do specifically; in other words, what kind of an act should Congress pass. The committee has reported a bill which is the best judgment that the committee had upon the subject." I then proceeded to explain the bill carefully, section by section, and concluded by saying: "I am led to believe that the bill as it stands is perhaps a more perfect bill on this subject than has ever been introduced in the Congress of the United States before. There may be many suggestions of amendment by honorable Senators during the consideration of the bill; and if any Senator has any suggestion of amendment to make, of course it is within the privilege of the Senate to adopt it, but I am very anxious that this bill shall be as promptly considered as possible, and as promptly acted upon and passed as possible, if in the judgment of the Senate it ought to be passed at all. "As the Senate know, this subject has been up for consideration from one term of Congress to another, almost time out of mind; until the people of the United States have come almost to believe that there is no real purpose on the part of Congress to do anything more than introduce and report bills and discuss them a while, and then let them die before any final action is reached upon them. "I said in the outset that in my judgment there is no public question before the American people to-day about which there is greater unanimity of sentiment than there is upon the proposition that the Congress of the United States ought to enact some law looking to the regulation of commerce among the several States, and I trust without taking up the time of the Senate longer that every Senator will give attention to this subject until we can pass some bill and get it to the other branch of Congress in the hope that before this session adjourns we shall get some legislation on this subject that will be of some service to the people and reasonably satisfy public opinion." I pressed the bill on the attention of the Senate every day, never allowing it to be displaced where I could avoid it. I was determined that some bill should be passed at that session. The debate was long and interesting. There were comparatively few set speeches. It was a hot, running debate almost from the beginning, participated in by the strongest men in the Senate, many of whom were the ablest men of their day. Senators Aldrich, Edmunds, Evarts, Gorman, Hoar, Ingalls, Manderson, Miller, Mitchell, Morrill, Platt, Sewell, Sherman, Spooner, Teller, Vest, Morgan, Cameron, Dawes, Frye, Hale, Harrison, and Voorhees all engaged in it. The bill was finally passed May 12, 1886. In the meantime, Mr. Reagan, of Texas, who had been urging a bill in the House, and had it up for consideration during the same time the Senate bill was being considered, passed his bill, which differed essentially from the Senate bill. Both bills went to conference together, Mr. Reagan being the head of the conferees on the part of the House, and I being the head of the conferees on the part of the Senate. Then came the real struggle, the two measures remaining in conference from June to the following January. The contention finally centred on the pooling provision. Reagan had yielded on nearly everything else; but Platt of Connecticut was bound there should be no prohibition against pooling. Reagan affirmed that the whole matter would have to drop, that he would never yield on that. I came back and consulted the leaders in the Senate, Allison among others, and they advised me to yield; that the country demanded a bill, and I had better accept Reagan's anti-pooling prohibition section than offer no measure at all--which I did. Whether it is right or wrong, I do not know even to this day. I have never been quite certain in my mind on the question of pooling, and it is still a subject on which legislators and statesmen differ. But one thing does seem certain--public sentiment is as much opposed to pooling to-day as it was twenty years ago. There was a great fight in the Senate to secure the adoption of the conference report. Its adoption was opposed by such Senators as Cameron, Frye, Hawley, Hoar, Morrill, Sawyer, Sewell, Sherman, and Spooner. The pooling and long-and-short-haul clauses were the most fought over. Senator Platt, although a member of the conference, made a very able speech on the subject of pooling, in which he showed considerable feeling, and I at one time feared that he would oppose the adoption of the conference report on that account altogether. He concluded a very able address during the last days of the consideration of the report, by saying: "Nine-tenths of all the interstate commerce business done to-day is done under these arrangements which are sought to be damned because of the evil meaning which has been given to the word 'pooling.' Whatever stability has been given to the railroad business, and through it to other business of the country, has been secured by these traffic arrangements, and in my judgment a bill which breaks them all up ruthlessly within sixty days, which invites the competition which is to demoralize business, will be far-reaching in its injurious results. For one I prefer to stand by my judgment. I will try to have the courage of my convictions; I will try to do what I believe to be right, and I cannot consent to a bill which, though I accept its other provisions, contains a provision which I regard as positively vicious and wrong." I was greatly provoked, almost outraged, at the manner in which Senators opposed the adoption of the conference report. It became almost a personal matter with me, and I finally concluded on the very day the vote was to be taken, whether the adoption of the report was to be beaten or not, that I would make a speech, and in that speech I indicated just how I felt. I said in part: "I have been sitting here to-day listening to the assaults upon this bill, until I have become almost convinced that I am the most vicious man toward the railroads of any man I know. I started in upon the investigation of this subject two or three years ago with no prejudices, no bias of sentiment or judgment, no disposition whatever to do anything except that which my deliberate judgment told me was the best thing to do. I have believed I have occupied that position ever since, until within the last twenty-four hours, when the attacks upon this bill have become such that I have become a little doubtful whether I have not been inspired from the beginning, so far as my action has been concerned, with a determination to destroy the railroads of this country. To listen to the Senator from Alabama [Mr. Morgan] descanting upon the provisions of the bill, one can scarcely resist the conclusion that it is a bill to destroy the commerce of the country, and especially to break down all the railroads. "So far as I am concerned, I repeat that I have no disposition of that kind, and I am unaware that either of the Senators on the conference committee have had any such disposition. We tried to do the best we could with the bill the Senate passed during the last session, to keep the bill as near to what the Senate had it as we could do, and to arrive at an agreement between the House and Senate conferees. "I submit that the majority of the assaults have been against provisions that were in the bill when the Senate voted for it during the last session of Congress. I am of the opinion that if this discussion lasted another day Senators would find in every line of the bill a very serious objection to its adoption. They started in to object to some provisions of the fourth and fifth sections. The Senator who has just concluded his remarks got over to the thirteenth section and I believe went one or two sections beyond that, and if there are any more speeches to be made against the bill I suppose the very last section of it will be attacked before a vote is taken. "The Senate conferees regarded it as their duty to cling to every portion of the Senate bill, as it was passed, that they could cling to and reach an agreement between the conferees of the House and Senate. Hence it was that all these portions of the Senate bill not objected to by the House conferees were allowed to remain in the bill by the Senate conferees, the Senate conferees, as a matter of course, believing that the Senate of the United States knew what it was doing when it voted for the bill in the first place, and thinking that it remained of the same mind still. . . . "The Senator from Georgia assaults the bill because he says that under it the provisions are so rigid that the railroads of the country can do no business at all. The Senator from Oregon assaults the bill because he says the fourth section amounts to nothing, and that the words 'under like circumstances and conditions' ought to be taken out. "The Senator from Massachusetts [Mr. Hoar] assaults the bill because he says it is going to interfere with foreign commerce, and that the fourth section will be construed as not allowing a rebate of five cents a hundred upon commerce shipped across the country for exportation. . . . "So I might go on referring to every Senator who has spoken against the bill, and nearly every one of them has founded his objections to the bill upon the use of the language that he had previously voted for in the Senate of the United States before the bill went to conference at all." Men who opposed any legislation at all never supposed that the conference report would be agreed to, and I so stated in the Senate of the United States. I pointed out, moreover, that when they were met by a conference report the railroad men of the Senate rallied to the support of the transportation companies. I continued: "Sir, it has just come to the point where you have got to face the music and vote for an interstate commerce bill, or vote it down. That is all there is to it. I have nothing more to say. I have discharged my duty as best I knew how. I reported on the part of the Senate conferees the bill that is before you. I am not responsible for what the Senate does with it. I am not going to find fault with anybody upon the question whether we concur in the report or reject it, but I warn Senators that the people of the United States for the last ten years have been struggling to assert the principle that the Government of the United States has the power to regulate transportation from one end of the country to another. I believe that if this report is rejected it is very doubtful whether we shall get any legislation at all during this present Congress, so when the Senate acts upon the question my duty will have been done so far as I am able to see it. "I have believed from the time I have given any attention to public affairs that it was necessary to bring into force the provisions of the Constitution giving Congress the power to regulate commerce among the States. The Senator from New York [Mr. Evarts] attacked the bill and said that it was unconstitutional because, as I understand it, the Constitution was framed for the purpose of facilitating commerce, and this was a bill to hinder or to militate against it. "I undertake to say that the purpose of the bill, at least, whatever may be the strained construction which has been placed upon it or which may be placed upon it by the transportation companies of the country, has been to facilitate commerce and to protect the individual rights of the people as against the great railroad corporations. I have no disposition to interfere with their legitimate business. I have no disposition, God knows, to interfere with the commerce of the country, properly conducted, but I do say that it is the duty of the Congress of the United States to place upon the statute book some legislation which will look to the regulation of commerce upon the railroads that they will not treat one man differently under similar circumstances and conditions. . . . "The Senator from Alabama [Mr. Morgan] says that we had better go slow and remain quiet under the old regime. Well, Mr. President, I remember only a few days ago hearing the Senator from Alabama alleging that the railroads, the common carriers of the country, were eating up the people, were destroying the interests of the people. I do not know whether he confined his remark to his own State or extended it to the country, but I should have inferred from the language he used against the railroad companies that he would have been in favor of almost any legislation that would in any way restrict them in their reckless disregard of the rights of the people. I can only conclude that the Senator from Alabama would rather that destructive system should go on, as he charged it to exist when he made his speech the other day, without control, than to trust a commission who he says are individually liable to corrupt influences either at the hands of the President or somebody else outside. "Sir, we have got to trust somebody. We must either leave this matter to the discretion and judgment and sense of honor of the officers of the railroad companies, or we must trust the commission and the courts of the country to protect the people against unjust discrimination and extortion on the part of the common carriers. Is it the President of the United States as against a corporation? Is it an honest commission honestly selected by the President of the United States as against a railroad company? I say that there are not those inducements to be placed in the hands of a set of men selected for their integrity, selected for their ability, selected for their capacity to regulate railroads and enforce the law, that are left in the hands of the officers of the railroad companies themselves. "I take it that there is somebody honest in this country, and that the President, if this bill becomes a law, will select the broadest gauge men, the men highest in integrity and intelligence as the men to enforce this law as against the corporations and as a go- between, if you please, between the shippers and the railroads of the country. I am willing to trust them. If they are not honest the President has the right to remove them; and if the shipper is unwilling to submit to their judgment, under the bill he has a right to go directly to the courts. I say that there is not anything that can be done by these corporations against individuals where the shipper himself has not a right to get into court in some way or other, if he is not willing to abide by the decision of the commissioners appointed by the President." The conference report was adopted by a vote of thirty-seven yeas to twelve nays; but it was a rather significant fact that there were twenty-six absent, including Senators Aldrich, Dawes, Evarts, Morgan, and some of the most bitter opponents of railroad regulation. The provisions of the Act of 1887 are too well known to need any recital here. In a word, it was partly declaratory of the common law, its essential features being that railroad charges must be reasonable; that there must be no discriminations between persons and no preference between localities; railroads were prohibited from charging less for a long haul than for a shorter haul, "included within it under substantially similar circumstances"; pooling was prohibited; and a commission was established with power to hear and decide complaints, to make investigations and reports, and generally to see to the enforcement of the Act. Considering the abuses that existed, the Act of 1887 was conservative legislation, but in Congress and among the people generally it was considered radical, until the courts robbed it by judicial construction of much of its intended force. During the debates, Senators remarked that never in the history of governments was a bill under consideration which would inevitably affect directly or remotely so great financial and industrial interests. It marked the beginning of a new era in the management of the railway business of the United States. It was the beginning of Governmental regulation which has finally culminated in the legislation of the Sixty-first Congress. And it is no little satisfaction to me to say that the fundamental principles of the original Act of 1887 have been retained in all subsequent acts. No one has seriously advocated that the fundamental principles of the Act of 1887 be changed, and subsequent legislation has been built upon it. After the passage of the original Act of 1887, a permanent Interstate Committee of the Senate, of which I had the honor to be chairman, and in which position I remained for many years, was created. It was a very active committee at first. Necessarily, amendments were made to the law, and the railroads generally observed the law in good faith. Even the long-and-short-haul clause was observed, as it was intended by Congress that it should be. That is, the railroads did not set up at first that competition would create a dissimilarity of conditions and circumstances so as to justify them in charging more for the short haul than for the long haul. But it was not many years before the railroads attacked first one and then another provision of the law, and they generally secured favorable decisions from the courts. I do not intend to go into the details of these decisions, the last one being the decision in the case which held that the Commission had no power to fix a future rate, because the act did not give it that express power. My own judgment is, and was at the time, that the original act by implication did give to the Interstate Commerce Commission the power to say after complaint and hearing, and after a given rate had been declared to be unreasonable, what in that case would be a reasonable rate; but the courts decided otherwise. Immediately, I drew up and introduced a bill, number 1439, of the Fifty-sixth Congress, and had it referred to the Committee on Interstate Commerce. This bill contained provisions substantially the same as were contained in the Hepburn Bill which passed the Senate in 1906. And in addition it was designed to give effect to the provisions of the original act which had been nullified by judicial construction. I worked my hardest to secure a favorable report of this bill. We had many hearings; but the Committee on Interstate Commerce, far from being in favor of favorably reporting the bill, were inclined to decline to allow me to report it to the Senate at all. I insisted that I would report it even though adversely, which I was finally permitted to do. But when reported to the Senate I stated that I reported it adversely because a majority of the committee were against it, but that I favored the bill personally, and would do what I could to secure its passage. This was in the year 1899. It was not until seven years later that public sentiment was aroused to such an extent that it was possible to secure the amendments to the Act of 1887 which were embodied in Senate bill 1439. I think it is only justice to myself to say--and I say it with much regret--that there were two reasons why it was impossible to secure at that time the report and passage of Senate bill 1439. First of all, the Executive did not manifest any special interest in securing additional railroad regulation. Secondly, the railroads themselves had been very active in securing a change of the personnel of the Committee on Interstate Commerce, and men had been elected to the Senate and placed on that committee whose sympathies were in favor of very conservative regulation, if any regulation at all. The railroads had firmly determined to stop any further railroad regulation. And finally, in the make-up of the Committee, a majority of the Senators placed on the Committee on Interstate Commerce were men whose sympathies were with the railroads. But even with the personnel of the committee made up against me, I have thought that had the late President McKinley given me the active support which he could have given, I could have secured, in 1899, practically all the legislation that was secured six years later. It is only justice to ex-President Roosevelt to say that had it not been for his earnest advocacy of railroad rate regulation the Hepburn Bill would never have been passed. With a chairman of the Committee on Interstate Commerce well known for his conservatism on the subject, with a majority of Republicans on the committee in sympathy with him, without the arousing of public sentiment by President Roosevelt, nothing would have been done. I continued to take an exceptionally active part in railroad regulation until I was placed at the head of the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate, and even afterwards I remained as the ranking member, next to the Chairman, of the Committee on Interstate Commerce, where I was glad to further as best I could such measures as came before the Committee in the way of strengthening and giving force to the original act. I consented very reluctantly to leave the chairmanship of the Committee on Interstate Commerce, where I had served during all my term in the Senate, and I do not believe I would have done so had it not been for the manner in which the committee was packed against me in the interest of non-action. At the last it became so that even the simplest measures which affected the railroads in the slightest degree would receive adverse action or none at all. I was utterly disgusted, and on several occasions told prominent railroad men that if they continued such methods the time would surely come when the people would become so aroused that they would see enacted the most drastic of railroad rate laws. I had much to do with the passage of the Hepburn Act of 1906. After President Roosevelt had repeatedly urged it in his messages to Congress, and privately brought influence to bear on Senators, it seemed pretty certain that public sentiment demanded that practically the amendments to the original act embodied in Senate bill 1439, to which I have already referred, would sooner or later have to be enacted into law. As usual, those opposed to such legislation demanded that hearings be held, and the Committee on Interstate Commerce was authorized to sit during the recess of Congress and to hold hearings. Many weeks were consumed in these hearings, and many volumes of testimony were taken. I do not believe that I missed a session of the committee, and I tried as best I could to bring forth from the numerous witnesses summoned before the committee evidence to assist in securing the passage of the amendments to the original act, which I then thought necessary to perfect it. I had expected to render what assistance I could during the next session, which convened in December, in framing the bill in committee and to assist in its passage in the Senate. But very unfortunately, just at the beginning of the next session of Congress, when the hearings were all concluded and the committee was prepared to go into executive session to consider the bill itself, I was taken ill and compelled to spend a couple of months in Florida to recover my health. It may seem strange, but the fact is, that my absence expedited the consideration of the bill by the committee and its report to the Senate. I had telegraphed and written my late colleague, Senator Dolliver, to record me as voting for the favorable report of the bill from the committee to the Senate. It was expected that the committee would have to hold many sessions to consider the numerous amendments that had been offered. Senator Dolliver, at one of the first meetings of the committee called to consider the bill, read my telegram and letter asking to be voted in favor of reporting the bill. Objection was made to recording me, and one distinguished Senator raised the point respecting how I was to be recorded on the question of amendments. Considerable controversy, I understand, took place, and Senator Dolliver then moved to report the bill to the Senate with the amendments already adopted in committee. This closed the discussion in the committee; the vote was taken, and the bill was ordered reported to the Senate, my vote being recorded in the affirmative; after which Senator Aldrich, in order to make it appear all the more ridiculous, moved that Senator Tillman, a minority member of the committee, be authorized to report the bill. This motion prevailed; Senator Tillman did report it, and he had charge of its passage in the Senate. So, as I have stated, my absence, through the controversy over counting my vote, really expedited the bill through the committee. I returned to my seat in the Senate in February, while the bill was being considered, and assisted as best I could through conferences with President Roosevelt and members of the Senate in agreeing on sections of the bill which were in controversy, particularly the court review section. I was also one of the conferees on the part of the Senate that finally settled the differences between the two Houses. It was a very satisfactory bill, in the form in which it finally became a law. CHAPTER XXII JOHN MARSHALL HARLAN I have always admired Mr. Justice John Marshall Harlan, who has served some thirty-five years as a member of the Supreme Court of the United States, and who for a time after the death of Chief Justice Fuller acted as Chief Justice of the United States. Upon the death of Judge Allen, who had for many years been United States District Judge for the Southern District of Illinois, it was suggested that his portrait be placed in the court room of the United States Circuit and District Court at Springfield, Illinois. The movement developed into the broader suggestion that portraits of other distinguished judges, who had presided over the United States Court at Springfield, and also a portrait of Chief Justice Marshall, be procured and added to the collection. The portraits of Judges John Marshall, Walter Q. Gresham, David Davis, Samuel H. Treat, Thomas Drummond, William J. Allen, John McLean, Nathaniel Pope, and John Marshall Harlan were procured, and it was planned that a suitable ceremony should take place in Springfield on June 2, 1903. Judge Humphrey wrote me, telling me of the plans of the committee appointed by the Bar of the United States Court at Springfield, and asking me to say something concerning any one of these distinguished judges whom I might designate, leaving the selection to me. I thought the matter over and determined that, inasmuch as I had known Justice Harlan more or less intimately ever since I became a member of the Senate, I should like to talk about him. The occasion was quite a notable one. Vice-President Fairbanks delivered an address on Judge Gresham; Judge Kohlsaat, on Chief Justice Marshall; Lawrence Weldon, on David Davis; Judge Creighton, on Samuel H. Treat; Mr. John W. Jewett, on Thomas Drummond; J. C. Allen, on W. J. Allen; Mr. Logan Hay, on John McLean; General Alfred Orendorff, on Nathaniel Pope; and the portraits were accepted in the name of the Court at Springfield by the Hon. J. Otis Humphrey, the District Judge. There was a very distinguished gathering of lawyers, of Federal and State judges from Illinois and adjacent States, and of many members of the families of the deceased jurists. Judges Kohlsaat, Humphrey, and Anderson occupied the bench. The whole proceeding was a very dignified and appropriate one. I cannot give a better estimate of my regard for Justice Harlan than by quoting some extracts from the address I delivered on that occasion: "The Supreme Court to-day is composed on nine eminent justices, of one of whom I have been asked to speak; and I do believe that the Justice of whom I speak, in all that goes to make a noted and able jurist, is second only to that learned Chief Justice, John Marshall, of whom Judge Kohlsaat has so interestingly spoken. "I speak of John Marshall Harlan, who has been an honored member of the Supreme Court of the United States for more than a quarter of a century. "Justice Harlan from his youth was the architect of his own fortune; he has been a man of remarkable individuality and force of character; he impressed himself from boyhood upon the community in which he lived. Before he reached his nineteenth year he was made Adjutant- General of the State of Kentucky. Like Lincoln, he performed the obligations of a citizen, both in private and official life, with zeal and faithfulness to duty. . . . "When Justice Harlan was but a young man, slavery became the paramount issue of the day, and naturally being a staunch Union man, he took an active part in the discussion and struggles that became more or less bitter in his very early manhood. He was one of the first to enlist and lead his regiment in the field in favor of the Union and was assigned a place in that division of the army commanded by the gallant old soldier and patriot, General Thomas. . . . "Justice Harlan's record as a soldier was a brilliant one. Certain promotion and higher honors were assured him, and he was nominated by President Lincoln to the position of Brigadier-General; but the responsibilities resulting from the death of his father compelled him to abandon what was certain to have been a distinguished military career, and he reluctantly returned to Kentucky. . . . "Following the struggle in arms came important reconstruction legislation and important Constitutional amendments, necessitating judicial interpretations. These grave questions of state gave opportunity for the development of great statesmen and judges. "Great crises produce great men. Justice Harlan was at home in the thickest of the struggle, through the period of reconstruction, an able lawyer, an uncompromisingly bold man, asserting his position without fear or favor. While many of the important judicial and Constitutional questions growing out of reconstruction legislation remained unsettled, Justice Harlan took his place on the Supreme Bench, having been appointed by President Hayes in 1877, and an examination of the decisions of the Court since that year will show the prominent part he has taken in the disposition of these Constitutional questions. "It has been said that there never was a very powerful character, a truly masculine, commanding man, who was not made so by struggles with great difficulties. Daily observation and history prove the truth of this statement. Hence I believe that the rough-and-tumble existence to which the majority of ambitious young men of our country are subjected, does much to prepare them for the higher duties of substantial, valuable citizenship. The active life and early struggles of Justice Harlan in his State have had their influence in making him the fearless jurist that he is. "Shortly after his appointment, Justice Harlan was assigned as the Supreme Justice for this circuit, and served here for eighteen years. Many of you present remember his visit to Springfield and his holding court in this room. "To be a member of the Federal Judiciary is the highest honor that can be conferred upon an American lawyer. The crowning glory of our Nation was the establishment, by the fathers, of the independent Federal Judiciary, which is the conservator of the Constitution. I have unbounded faith in it. It is the protector of those fundamental liberties so dear to the Anglo-Saxon race. State Legislatures and the Congress may be swayed by the heat and passion of the hour; but so long as our independent Federal Judiciary remains, our people are safe in their legal, fundamental, Constitutional rights. "Perhaps there is nothing that illustrates so well Justice Harlan's character, the equality of all men before the law, as do some of his dissenting opinions." I then referred to his famous dissent in the Civil Rights case, delivered in 1883; to his dissent in the Income Tax case, and others of his notable utterances from the Supreme Bench; and at the same time I referred to the fact that he had written more than seven hundred opinions, covering nearly every branch of the law, the opinions on Constitutional questions being unusually large. I added: "In many respects Justice Harlan resembles his namesake, John Marshall. Like John Marshall, he received his early training for the bench in the active practice at the Bar. Like John Marshall, he enlisted and fought for his country. Like John Marshall, while still a young man, he was appointed a Justice of the Supreme Court, and has for more than a quarter of a century occupied that position. And like John Marshall, his great work on the bench has been in cases involving the construction and application of the Constitution. He has been especially assigned by the Court to the writing of opinions on Constitutional Law. In my opinion he stands to-day as the greatest living Constitutional lawyer. "If the Court please, I desire to refer to one more phase of Justice Harlan's character. He is a religious man. He does not parade his belief before the world, yet he possesses deep and devout convictions and has given deep study to church questions. And it may be said that the great men of the world from the earliest dawn of civilization, with but few exceptions, have believed that the life of the soul does not end with the death of the body. Cicero, long before the birth of the Saviour, said: 'When I consider the wonderful activity of the mind, so great a memory of what has passed, and such a capacity of penetrating into the future; when I behold such a number of arts and sciences, and such a multitude of discoveries thence arising, I believe and am firmly persuaded that a nature which contains so many things within itself can not be mortal.' "Centuries later the famous Dr. Johnson well said: 'How gloomy would be the mansions of the dead to him who did not know that he should never die; that what now acts shall continue its agency, and what now thinks shall think on for ever.' "Justice Harlan is a firm and devout believer in the immortality of the soul. "He is now approaching the age when under the law he may retire from the bench, yet he is in the vigor of health and is perhaps the greater judge to-day than at any time in his past career. I am sure I voice the general desire of the Bar of the whole country that he shall, so long as his health and strength continue, remain an active member of that great Court." It is more than eight years since I delivered that address. In the ensuing period, five justices of the Supreme Court have either retired under the law, or passed away, none of whom enjoyed a length of service equal to Judge Harlan's; and yet Justice Harlan is attending daily to his duties as a member of that court, apparently in vigorous health and certainly as profound and learned a judge to-day as at any time in his past career. And I repeat now what I said eight years ago--that I hope he shall for years to come remain an active member of that great court. CHAPTER XXIII MEMBERS OF THE COMMITTEE ON FOREIGN RELATIONS It has been said that Charles Sumner considered the chairmanship of the Committee on Foreign Relations as the highest honor that could have been conferred upon him by the United States Senate. I have been chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations for a longer consecutive period than any man in our history, aside from Mr. Sumner, who served as chairman for ten years. If I continue as chairman during the remainder of my term, I shall have exceeded the long service of Mr. Sumner. The Committee on Foreign Relations was among the first of the permanent standing committees of the Senate. Prior to 1816, there were no permanent standing committees, the custom being to appoint select committees to consider the different portions of the President's messages, and for the consideration of any other subject which the Senate might from session to session determine necessary for committee reference. On December 13, 1816, the Senate, by rule, proceeded to the appointment of the following standing committees, agreeably to the resolution of the tenth instant, which was as follows: "Resolved, that it shall be one of the rules of the Senate that the following standing committees be appointed at each session: a Committee on Foreign Relations, a Committee on Finance, a Committee on Commerce and Manufactures, a Committee on Military Affairs, a Committee on the Militia, a Committee on Naval Affairs, a Committee on Public Lands, a Committee on Claims, a Committee on the Judiciary, a Committee on Post-offices and Post-roads, and a Committee on Pensions." It will be noted that under this rule, the Committee on Foreign Relations was named first, and Mr. Barbour, of Virginia, was its first chairman. Whether it was at that time considered the most important committee, I do not know; but I do know that from the date of its formation, the Committee on Foreign Relations has been among the most important committees of the Senate, and at times in our history it has been _the_ most important committee. It has been from the beginning particularly noted for the high character of the men who composed its membership, and we find in the archives of the Senate the names of some of the greatest men in our national history, who have from time to time acted as its chairmen. Barbour of Virginia, Henry Clay, James Buchanan, Rives, Benton, King, Cass, Sumner, Windom, John F. Miller, John T. Morgan, John Sherman, and Cushman K. Davis are a few of those who have at different times occupied the position of chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations. My predecessors, as their names will indicate to those familiar with American history, have been noted for their conservatism in dealing with matters pertaining to our foreign relations, and there is no position in the Senate where conservatism is so essential. My ambition has been so to conduct the business coming before the committee as to keep up the high standard set and the high standing maintained by the distinguished statesmen who have preceded me in the position. The work of the Foreign Relations Committee is almost exclusively executive and confidential, and consists largely in the consideration of treaties submitted by the President to the Senate for ratification. Very little important legislative business comes before this committee, although it has jurisdiction over claims of foreign citizens against the United States, and all legislation that in any wise affects our relations with other nations. It was almost, I might say, by accident that I became a member of this important committee. I had been a member of the Committee on Commerce for a number of years, and took quite an interest in the very important legislation coming before that committee; and the improvement of rivers and harbors was a subject in which Illinois was greatly interested. The late Senator Mitchell, of Oregon, was in 1895 chairman of the Committee on Organization, having in charge the make-up of the committees of the Senate, and he wanted a place on the Committee on Commerce for some Western Senator. He came to me and explained his embarrassment, and asked me if I would be willing to be transferred from the Committee on Commerce to the Committee on Foreign Relations. I wanted to accommodate Senator Mitchell, and I told him that I would consent to be transferred, but at the same time I was not at all anxious to leave the Committee on Commerce. The transfer was made in due course, and I have served continuously on the Foreign Relations Committee since that time, 1895. John Sherman was chairman of the committee when I became a member of it. It was at a period when there were very few material foreign matters to engage the attention of the Senate. Sherman served as chairman of the committee, at different periods, for nearly ten years. He was a wise, conservative chairman; not especially brilliant, as was Senator Davis, or Senator Sumner; but every one had confidence in him and felt that in his hands nothing unwise or foolish would emanate from the committee. I was chairman of the Committee on Interstate Commerce at that time, and the work of that committee, added to the work devolving upon me as a member of the Committee on Appropriations, engrossed most of my time; and while I regularly attended the meetings of the Committee on Foreign Relations, I cannot say that I took a prominent part, or, indeed, a very deep interest, in it until I became its chairman, succeeding the late Cushman K. Davis in 1901. Cushman K. Davis was a warm personal friend of mine. As the years passed by and I grew to know him more and more intimately, I became more deeply attached to him, and my respect for him as a statesman constantly increased. He was what I would term a specialist in legislation. He took little or no interest in any other subject than matters pertaining to our foreign relations. He was a prominent figure in public affairs for many years. A soldier in the Civil War, serving in many prominent places in civil affairs in his State, including the position of Governor, he came to the Senate as a ripened statesman. He entered the Senate in 1887, and in 1891 became a member of the Foreign Relations Committee, and very early became one of its leading members. Succeeding the late Senator Sherman, in 1897, he became its chairman and served in that position until his death. Few more scholarly or cultivated men have ever occupied a seat in the Senate. He was a peculiar man in many respects, and did not court, or even encourage, the advice of his colleagues on the committee, or even of the Secretary of State. I had served on the Committee on Foreign Affairs of the House when Mr. Seward was Secretary of State and I knew what a help it was to the committee to have the Secretary meet with us personally and discuss matters of more or less importance. We all listened to Secretary Seward with the profoundest respect and attention; but as I look back on it now, I think that Secretary Seward probably entertained more than he instructed the members. He seemed to enjoy attending the sessions. I thought that it would be a help if we could have Mr. Olney, then Secretary of State, before us. I suggested to Senator Davis at one meeting, that Secretary Olney should be invited to come and explain some question concerning which we seemed to be in doubt. Senator Davis declined to invite him, and said so in so many words. Apparently he did not desire any interference or information from the Executive Department. I felt pretty free to express my opinion to Senator Davis, and I told him that inasmuch as he did not care to invite Secretary Olney, I would invite him myself, if he did not object. I did so, and Secretary Olney, at a subsequent meeting, met with the committee and very quickly explained the question under consideration. Senator Davis was a well recognized authority on international law, both as a lecturer on that subject and a writer. Judging from his display of ability, he ought to have been able to write a monumental work on the subject. But he was an indolent man and contented himself with publishing merely a little volume containing a _résumé_ of his lectures before a Washington college of law. The publication of this work detracted from, rather than added to, his reputation as a student and writer. He was not an orator, but on occasions, in executive session, when great international questions were before the Senate, I have heard him deliver wonderfully eloquent speeches. He always commanded the closest attention whenever he spoke in the Senate, whether in executive or open session (which latter he only infrequently did, by the way), and he always exhausted the subject. President McKinley appointed him a member of the Paris Peace Commission to frame the treaty of peace with Spain. How well he performed that service those of his colleagues on the commission who are still living, can attest. He returned from Paris and had charge of the ratification of the treaty in the Senate. I have always believed that Senator Davis's death was the result of his indolent habits. I do not believe he ever took any physical exercise; at least he did not do so during the time that I knew him. He was so much of a student, and so interested in books, that he seemed to think that time devoted to the proper care of his physical condition was so much time wasted. The result was that when disease attacked him he became an easy prey, and when he passed away it was said that he bore all the marks of a very old man, even though he was comparatively young in years. It was my sad duty, as a member of the United States Senate, to attend his funeral in St. Paul, in 1900. The northwest section of the United States has not now, and never had before, as capable a scholar and statesman as Cushman K. Davis. I succeeded Senator Davis as chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations. I have enjoyed my work on the committee more than I have enjoyed any other work that I have done in the Senate. There are a number of reasons for this. First, the members of the committee, during my service, have been particularly able and agreeable men, and during those years some of the greatest men of the Senate have been numbered among its members. Aside from one, whom I have long since forgiven, I do not recall now that I have had a single controversy or unkind word with any member. In addition, the work is not only of the greatest importance, but it has been very satisfactory, because partisanship has not at all entered into the disposition of matters pertaining to our foreign affairs. The members of the committee during my time have always seemed to take a deep interest in the work coming before them, and, unlike most of the committees of the Senate, it has never been difficult to secure the attendance of a working quorum. In the ten years that I have been chairman, I do not believe the committee has ever been compelled to adjourn for want of a quorum when any important business was before it. Until his death in 1911, Senator Wm. P. Frye, of Maine, was in point of service the oldest member of the committee. He had served as one of its members ever since 1885. He could have been chairman, by right of seniority, when Mr. Davis was made chairman in 1891, on the retirement of Mr. Sherman; and again he could have become chairman when Senator Davis died. He did act in that capacity for nearly a year, but he always seemed to prefer the chairmanship of the Committee on Commerce. I believe that the late Senator Hanna had a good deal to do with Senator Frye's declining to succeed the late Senator Davis as chairman. Ship-subsidy and the building up of the merchant marine of the United States were then before the Senate, and Senator Hanna, a ship owner himself, was deeply interested in that legislation. Senator Hanna and Senator Frye were devoted friends; and, although I do not know, I have always felt that it was Senator Hanna who induced Senator Frye to remain at the head of the Committee on Commerce. Senator Frye was a very capable and faithful Senator, and enjoyed the confidence and respect of the people of his State to a greater degree than any other Maine statesman, with the exception of Mr. Blaine. As chairman of the Committee on Commerce, I would say he dominated that committee, and at the same time he was a most satisfactory chairman to every Senator who served on it. He was thoroughly familiar with every question pertaining to rivers and harbors, the shipping interests, and the multitude of matters coming before the committee. Senator Burton, of Ohio, is probably the only member of the United States Senate at present who is as well posted on matters before the Committee on Commerce. Mr. Frye was an active member of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and during the brief periods when I have been compelled by reason of illness to remain away from the Senate I always designated Senator Frye to act in my stead. Among his colleagues in the Senate, he enjoyed the greatest degree of popularity; and aside from one or two occasions when his own colleague opposed him, no Senator ever objected to any ordinary bill which Senator Frye called up and asked to have placed on its passage. In fact it was his custom to report a bill from his committee, or the Committee on Foreign Relations, the only two working committees of which he was a member, and ask for its immediate consideration. No one ever objected, and the bill went through as a meritorious measure without question, on his word alone to the Senate. He was an ideal presiding officer. For years he was president _pro tempore_, and the death of Vice-President Hobart, and the accession of Mr. Roosevelt to the Presidency, necessitated his almost constant occupancy of the chair. With the peculiar rules existing in the Senate, the position of presiding officer is comparatively an easy one. Senator Frye made an especially agreeable presiding officer, expediting the business of the Senate in a degree equal to that of any presiding officer during my service. I recollect when he was elected president _pro tempore_, in 1896, I had been talked of for the place, but he had not heard that I desired it; and a Republican caucus was held which named him president. Senator Chandler, for whom I have always had the greatest respect as a man and as a Senator, after the caucus was held told Senator Frye that he had heard I had some ambition for the place. Mr. Frye came at once to my house and to my study and asked me, in so many words, if I had desired to be president of the Senate. I replied that I had not, adding that I had had no particular concern about it at any time. He thereupon asserted that he had called simply to apprise me that whenever I wanted the position he would very cheerfully resign and yield it to me. I assured him that if he did not yield it until I asked him to do so, he would hold it for a long time. He never had any opposition, and on both sides of the chamber he was, as presiding officer, equally popular. He voluntarily relinquished the office at the beginning of the Sixty- second Congress. When the tariff was one of the issues--during the first Cleveland, the Harrison, and the second Cleveland campaigns and to a lesser degree in 1896 and 1900,--Senator Frye was regarded as one of the foremost orators and stump speakers on the tariff question. During his later years it was very much to be regretted that he did not feel able to take an active part in national campaigns. The news of Senator Frye's death comes to me while I am engaged in reading the proof of what I have said about him in this book. He died at four o'clock on the eighth day of August, 1911, passing away at the age of eighty-one years. When asked by a newspaper man for a brief estimate of Mr. Frye's character, I said: "He was not only one of the ablest and most devoted of public servants, but one of the most charming men that I have ever known." This expression I desire to repeat here for perpetuation in endurable form. Seldom has this country commanded the services of a more enlightened or more self-sacrificing man than Mr. Frye. He was patriotic to the very heart's core; no sacrifice for the country would have been too great for him. He, and his colleague Mr. Hale, and Senators Allison, of Iowa, Platt, of Connecticut, Teller, of Colorado, Cockrell, of Missouri, Morgan, of Alabama, and Spooner, of Wisconsin, constitute a coterie of public men of the last half century such as any nation should be proud of. Unselfish, energetic, and patriotic, they have done much to keep the United States on the proper level. Let us hope, as we must, that the public councils of the nation may always be guided by men of their character and abilities. Senator Frye's death leaves me the oldest member of the Senate in point of service. He entered the Senate in March, 1881, giving him more than thirty years of service, while I entered in March, 1883, which gives me more than twenty-eight years up to date. It thus will be seen that we have served together for almost an average lifetime. Senator Jacob H. Gallinger of New Hampshire, who was promoted from the House to the Senate in 1891, now becomes the second member of the latter body in respect to length of service. Mr. Gallinger is not a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations, of whose membership I am now especially speaking, but it cannot be out of place for me to pause here to give him a word of commendation and salutation as I pursue my way through this maze of memory. A physician by profession, and a native of Canada, Mr. Gallinger has shown marked adaptability in taking on the American spirit and in performing the public's service. He has for many years been Chairman of the Senate Committee on the District of Columbia, which, possessing many of the attributes of an ordinary city council, requires minute attention to detail. Mr. Gallinger is the second member of the important Committee on Commerce, and one of the leading members of the Committee on Appropriations. His committee work therefore covers a wide range of subjects. Never has he been known to fail in the performance of his duties in all these connections. Moreover, he is a constant attendant upon the sessions of the Senate, and one of the most alert of its members. Apparently, often, he is impulsive and explosive, and occasionally under the excitement of debate says what seems to be a harsh thing. If, however, his manner is indicative of feeling, such a feeling, like a passing summer cloud, is soon dissipated, and almost immediately gives way to the sunshine of his really genial and lovable nature. Senator Gallinger as a member of the House and Senate has given the American public as much genuine and patriotic service as any man in public life during the past quarter of a century. I hope he may continue long to adorn the Senate. Senator John T. Morgan, of Alabama, was appointed a member of the Foreign Relations Committee in 1879, and served continuously as a member of it until his death in 1907, a total service of twenty- eight years. I do not know of any other Senator who served on that committee for so long a period. When the Senate was in control of the Democrats under the second Cleveland Administration, he was chairman of the committee. Senator Morgan was an extraordinary man in many respects. He had a wonderful fund of information on every subject, but was not a man of very sound judgment, and I could not say that he was a man on whose advice one could rely in solving a difficult problem. At the same time, no one could doubt his honesty and sincerity of purpose. He did not have the faculty of seeing both sides of a question, and once he made up his mind, it was impossible to change him, or by argument and reason to move him from a position deliberately taken. I probably had as intimate an acquaintance with him as any other Senator enjoyed, for we not only served as colleagues on the Committee on Foreign Relations, but, as I have stated in another chapter, we served together on the Hawaiian Commission. He was one of the most delightful and agreeable of men if you agreed with him on any question, but he was so intense on any subject in which he took an interest, particularly anything pertaining to the interoceanic canal, that he became almost vicious toward any one who opposed him. If an Isthmian canal be finally constructed, Senator Morgan must be accorded a large share of the credit; and his name will go down as the father of it, even though he himself affirmed in debate in the Senate one day, after the Panama route had been selected, that he would not be "the father of such a bastard." Senator Morgan fought for the Nicaraguan route with all the power at his command. He fought the treaties with Colombia and Panama, first for many weeks in the committee, and then in the executive sessions of the Senate. He wanted to arouse public sentiment against the Panama route, and he addressed the Senate about five hours every day for thirteen days on the subject, desisting only when we consented to publish his speeches and papers on the subject, notwithstanding they had been made and presented in executive session. Nevertheless, it was Senator Morgan who for very many years kept the subject of an interoceanic canal before Congress and the country, and finally, partially through his efforts, interest in the project was kept alive until it was determined, first, that the canal should be constructed; and second, that it should be over the Panama route. Many people thought that the selection of the Panama route would break Senator Morgan's heart; but they did not know him. He made the best fight he could, and when the Panama route was selected he took the same deep interest in the legislation to carry the work forward that he had always taken in the possible alternative route. He was firmly convinced that the canal, on account of certain physical reasons, could never be constructed across the Isthmus of Panama. Time alone will tell whether or not Senator Morgan was right. Time has demonstrated that he was right in his contention that the Panama Canal could never be constructed for the amount estimated by the engineers, one hundred and eighty-three million dollars. It has already cost over two hundred million dollars, and it is not yet nearly completed. The latest estimates are that it will cost over three hundred and eighty-five million dollars. How much more it will cost the United States, no one can say. During the later years of his life, he was probably the most interesting and unique figure in the Senate. Toward the close of his Senatorial career he became very feeble, but he attended to his Senatorial duties as long as he was able to be about at all. The last time I saw him alive was on the fourth of March, 1907, the last day of the session, and the last time he ever entered the Senate or the Capitol. He looked very emaciated and feeble. I spoke to him, inquiring about his health. He replied, "I am just tottering around," and after a pause, added, "Cullom, when I die and you die and Frye dies, and one or two others, this Senate will not amount to much, will it?" He died a few months afterwards at his home in Washington, and in his death there passed away the last of the old familiar type of Southern statesmen, so frequently to be met with in Washington before the Civil War, and the last Senator who served as a Brigadier- General in the Confederate Army. Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, of Massachusetts, became a member of the committee at the same time that I was placed on it; but, by reason of my longer service in the Senate, according to the usual custom, I outranked him. Senator Lodge, by general consent I believe, is regarded to-day as the most cultivated man in the Senate. He is a scholar, an author, and a noted historian. He is a very able man in any position in which he is placed. Judged by the standard of his great predecessor in the Senate from Massachusetts, Daniel Webster, he is not an orator, but he is a very effective speaker and a good debater. He is one of the very active members and has always taken a prominent part in the disposition of matters coming before the Upper House. He is always ready to work, and when I desire any matter to be disposed of without delay, I refer it to Senator Lodge as a subcommittee, with confidence that it will be attended to quickly and correctly. He is a strong, active Republican, and a politician (using that term in its higher sense) of no mean order. For years in Republican National Conventions he has been a conspicuous figure; and twice at least--once at Philadelphia in 1900, and again in Chicago in 1908--he has been permanent chairman. On both occasions--and I attended both conventions--he proved himself to be a splendid presiding officer. He regards his position as the senior Senator from Massachusetts, the successor of Webster and Sumner and a long line of noted men, as even a higher honor then the Presidency itself. I have seen it repeatedly stated that Senator Lodge is unpopular in the Senate,--that he is cold and formal. From my long acquaintance with him, extending over some seventeen years, I have not found this to be true. In times of trouble and distress in my own life, I have found him to be warm and sympathetic. I hope that he will remain in the Senate for many years to come. Should he retire, his loss would be severely felt both as a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations and as a member of the Senate. Senator Augustus O. Bacon, of Georgia, is now the senior member of the minority on the committee; and should the control of the Senate pass into the hands of the Democrats, he will, if he remain in the Senate, naturally become its chairman. He is an able lawyer, and if subject to criticism at all, I would say that he is a little too technical as a jurist. I do not say this to disparage him, because in the active practice of his profession at the bar this would be regarded to his credit rather than otherwise; and even as a member of the Judiciary Committee of the Senate, this disposition to magnify technicalities makes him one of the most valuable members of that committee. As a Senator, he is jealous of the prerogatives of the Senate, and vigorously resists the slightest encroachment on the part of the Executive. He is one of the effective debaters on the Democratic side of the Senate, and seems to enjoy a controversy for its own sake. My intercourse with Senator Bacon as a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations has been most agreeable, and I have come to like and respect him very much. In my time, he has been an exceptionally active, useful member, and he has often told me that he prefers his place as a member of the Foreign Relations Committee to any other committeeship in the Senate. He is well equipped, by education and training, for the work of the committee, and gives close attention to important treaties and other measures coming before it. He stood with Senator Morgan in opposing the ratification of the Panama canal treaty, and he was as much in earnest in his opposition to it as was Senator Morgan; but unlike the Senator from Alabama, he did not attack Senators personally who differed from him. When technical matters of importance came before the committee I usually appointed Senator Spooner and Senator Bacon as a subcommittee, as I felt that anything that these two might agree upon would be right, and would be concurred in by the committee and by the Senate as well. Senator Clarence D. Clark, of Wyoming, was a member of the House for two terms, and has served in the Senate for about fifteen years. In point of service, he is one of the oldest of the Western Senators. Unlike the Eastern States, very few of the Western States return their Senators for term after term; and the value of this, as a matter of State pride, is well demonstrated in the case of Senator Clark. It has enabled him to reach the high position of chairman of the Judiciary Committee, the successor of a long line of able lawyers,--Trumbull, Edmunds, Thurman, Hoar, and O. H. Platt being a few of his immediate predecessors. Senator Clark has been a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations for thirteen years, and a more agreeable member of a committee it would be difficult to find. He is a capable lawyer, and a man of sound common sense. I regret that his arduous duties as chairman of the Judiciary Committee do not permit him to give as close attention to the Foreign Relations Committee as I would like; but he always attends when there are matters of particular importance before it; and I have great respect for his judgment in the disposition of matters in which he takes any interest at all. The Hon. Hernando de Soto Money, of Mississippi, has for years been one of the leading Democratic members of Congress. For fourteen years he was a member of the House of Representatives, a prominent member, too, and he has been a member of the Senate since 1897. His long service in the House at once enabled him to take his place as a leader of his party, a Senator admired and respected by his colleagues on both sides. He was appointed to the Foreign Relations Committee in 1899, and I have been intimately acquainted with him since. Senator Money is a highly educated, cultured gentleman, and has travelled extensively over the world. His broad liberal education, added to his travel, and his extensive knowledge of world history, made him an especially valuable member of the committee of which I am chairman. During the past few years I have sympathized with him very greatly as he has suffered physical pain to a greater degree than any other man whom I have known, and yet has insisted on attending diligently to his official duties. He must be a man of extraordinary will power, or he would never have been able to conquer his physical suffering to such an extent as to enable him to attend to his Senatorial duties, and at the same time to obtain the fund of information which he possesses, as he demonstrated over and over again in the Senate. He retired voluntarily from the Senate on the fourth of March, 1911. Of the many Senators with whom I have been associated in the committee on Foreign Relations, and especially since I became its chairman, there are two, both now retired to private life, in whom I had the greatest confidence and for whom I entertained great affection, as they both did for me--these Senators were the Hon. J. B. Foraker of Ohio, and the Hon. John C. Spooner of Wisconsin. Senator Foraker preceded Senator Spooner as a member of this committee by some four years. I do not know how it first came about, but I became very intimate with Senator Foraker almost immediately after he entered the Senate, and at once grew to admire him exceedingly. He is a very brilliant man, and has had a notable career. He enlisted in the Union Army as a private when sixteen years old, and retired at the close of the war, a Captain. He then completed his education, and entered upon the practice of the law. He was elected Judge of the Superior Court at Cincinnati, and later became a candidate for Governor. The occupant of many civil positions of importance in his State, a prominent figure in national convention after national convention, nominating Senator Sherman for the Presidency in 1884 and 1888, and placing in nomination Mr. McKinley in 1896, Senator Foraker had established a record in public life, and had gathered a wealth of experience, sufficient to satisfy the ambitions of most men, before his great public career really commenced as a member of the United States Senate, in 1897. He also nominated McKinley in 1900. Senator Foraker was one of the most independent men with whom I ever served in the Senate. He was a man of such ability and unquestioned courage that he did not hesitate to take any position which he himself deemed to be right, regardless of the views of others. It would inure to the advantage of the country if there was a more general disposition among public men to adhere to their own convictions, regardless of what current opinion might be. Senator Foraker always made up his mind on public questions and clung to his own opinion in the face of all criticism. The most striking instance of this trait was when he, the only Republican Senator to do so, voted against the Hepburn Rate Bill, because he believed it to be unconstitutional. The very fact that he stood alone in his opposition to that bill did not seem to bother him in the least. On the recommendation of President Roosevelt, the Committee on Immigration of the Senate attempted to pass a very drastic Chinese exclusion law. I examined the bill and became convinced at once that it was absolutely contrary to and in violation of our treaties with China. I was very much surprised at the time that even Senator Lodge, one of the most conservative of Senators, supported the bill. I was deluged with telegrams from labor organizations, as I knew Senator Foraker was, favoring the passage of the bill; but he, with Senator Platt of Connecticut, and some others in the Senate, whom I assisted as best I could, led the opposition to the bill reported by the Committee on Immigration and defeated it. Senator Foraker very well knew that his opposition to this bill would not strengthen him at home, but he disregarded that fact and opposed it because he believed it was contrary to our treaty obligations. A more recent case in which he showed his independence was his taking up the fight of the troops dismissed on account of the so- called Brownsville affair. This was very unselfish on the part of Senator Foraker. He had nothing to gain by espousing the cause of a few negroes, but much to lose by antagonizing the National administration. He did not hesitate a moment, however. There is no question that President Roosevelt acted hastily in dismissing the entire company; but this was one occasion when President Roosevelt would not recede even though it became perfectly clear to almost every one in Congress that he was wrong. Senator Foraker always did make it a point to attend the meetings of the Committee on Foreign Relations, but for some reason or other he was never punctual and was seldom in attendance when the committee was called to order. But at the same time he was prepared on all important questions coming before the committee. He seemed to me to have given attention beforehand to subjects which he knew would come before a particular meeting, and his opinion on any treaty or bill before the committee was always sought by his colleagues and listened to with respect, and almost without exception his opinion prevailed. I regretted exceedingly to see him retire from the Senate. From the time he entered that body, he was consistently one of the principal defenders of Republican policies and Republican administrations on the floor of the Senate. Senator John C. Spooner, of Wisconsin, was, in my judgment, one of the best lawyers who ever served as a member of the Senate, and among its membership we find the names of the greatest lawyers and judges of America. He had served in the Civil War, having retired at its close with the brevet of Major. He early took up the law as a career, and never abandoned it, even when elected to the Senate; and as I write this, I believe he is regarded as one of the foremost lawyers of New York. He came into the Senate two years after I entered that body, and I remember him there as opposing the conference report on the Interstate Commerce Act. His State having passed into the control of the Democrats, he retired from the Senate in 1891, but was re- elected in 1897. He declined several tenders of cabinet positions, preferring to remain independent as a Senator. I knew him for a good many years. Representing a neighboring State, as he did in the Senate, I became very intimate with him, and never had the slightest hesitancy in seeking his advice when I was in doubt concerning any legal or constitutional question. Senator Spooner was a much more technical lawyer than Senator Foraker, but not quite so technical as Senator Bacon. On questions coming before the Committee on Foreign Relations, his advice was always to be trusted. My judgment in this respect may be influenced by our close personal friendship; but I always felt that when I had his support on any question I was safe and right in the position I took respecting it. Seldom within my knowledge did the Senate fail to agree with any attitude that Senator Spooner assumed on a controverted question. Senator Spooner was placed on the committee at the time I became its chairman. At that time there were before the committee treaties, legislation, and matters of the utmost importance. He entered upon the work with the greatest interest, and exercised commanding influence in the disposition of matters under consideration. He always seemed to take particular interest in my success as chairman of the committee, and always wanted to assist and help me wherever he could. We were wrestling with the Reciprocity treaty with Cuba at a meeting. It had been before the committee for a number of meetings; Senator Spooner feared that I was about to turn the treaty over to another Senator to report, and he sent me, while the committee was in session, a brief note marked "Confidential." It read: "The report is that you will give this treaty to another to report. I think you should report it yourself, as you are not only chairman of the committee, but you are also a member of the Committee on Relations with Cuba. Platt spoke to me about it. He felt sensitive in the first place because the treaty did not go to his committee. The fact that you and others on this committee were on his committee reconciled him. I will stand to your shoulder in the fight for its ratification. "Yours, "Spooner." I hope Senator Spooner, if he does me the honor of glancing through these rambling recollections, will forgive my quoting this confidential note without his consent; but I do so only to show the very friendly and confidential relationship that existed between us. I doubt very much whether the Colombia or Panama treaty would have been ratified, or the Panama route selected in preference to the Nicaraguan route for the Isthmian canal, despite the great influence of Senator Hanna, had not Senator Spooner joined in advocating the Panama route. It was a long and difficult struggle, not only before the Committee on Foreign Relations, but before the Committee on Interoceanic Canals, and resulted in the retirement of Senator Morgan as chairman of the last-mentioned committee--a position he had held for many years--and in the selection of Senator Hanna to succeed him. But Senator Spooner, through his technical knowledge, dominated the Committee on Interoceanic Canals, and succeeded finally in the passage of the Spooner act which designated Panama, if that route could be purchased, as the route for the canal. Senator Spooner was one of the real leaders of the Senate from 1897 until he retired. He was one of the most eloquent men who served in the Senate during that period. During all the debates on the Cuban question, the important results growing out of the Spanish- American War, the question of Imperialism--his participation in all these momentous subjects was above criticism. I have heard him in the Senate, speaking day after day. He never grew tiresome; never repeated himself; always held the most profound attention of the Senate; and his closing words were listened to with the same attention and with the same interest, by his colleagues and by the galleries, as marked the beginning of any of his speeches. After his conclusions his Republican colleagues invariably gathered around him, offering their congratulations. Senator Spooner and Senator Foraker have both retired. It was thought at the time that their places could not be filled, and I, as one of the older Senators who remember them well, can not believe that their places have been filled. Of all the Senators with whom I have served, Spooner and Foraker were most alike in their combative natures, in their willingness to take the responsibility to go to the front to lead the fight. Senators come and go, the personnel of the Senate changes, one Senator will be replaced by another, but the Senate itself will go on as long as the Republic endures. One of the most dignified, honest, straightforward, capable men with whom I have served, was the Hon. Charles W. Fairbanks, of Indiana. He was a devoted adherent, friend, and follower of the late President McKinley, and had been his friend long before he was nominated for President in 1896. Senator Fairbanks took a very prominent part in that convention, was its temporary chairman, and in 1900 was chairman of the Committee on Resolutions of the National Convention which met at Philadelphia. He entered the Senate in 1897, and during the following year was appointed by President McKinley a member of the United States and British Joint High Commission for the adjustment of all outstanding questions concerning the United States and Canada. The commission was an exceedingly important one, but failing to agree on the Alaskan boundary, it was compelled to adjourn without settling any of the questions before it. Its labors were not wasted, however, as it furnished the nucleus for the final adjustment of those questions under the administration of Mr. Root, in the State Department. Senator Fairbanks was a close personal friend of President McKinley, and almost immediately assumed quite an important position in the Senate. He was appointed to the Committee on Foreign Relations, of which he was quite an able and influential member, as he was of every committee of the Senate on which he served. He accepted the nomination of the Republican Convention of 1904 for Vice-President. I considered that his proper place was in the Senate; but for some reason or other he gave it out that he would not decline the nomination for the office of Vice-President, and neither would he seek it. The Convention very wisely determined that he was the best candidate that could be nominated. The duties of the Vice- President are not very arduous; but in all my service in the Senate I do not know of a Vice-President who so strictly observed the obligation adherent to the office as did Mr. Fairbanks. He was a candidate for President in 1908 but was defeated by President Taft. Since his retirement from the Vice-Presidency, he has at least twice been tendered high appointments in the diplomatic service, first as Ambassador to the Court of St. James, and, later (it having been rumored while he was travelling in China that he had expressed himself as favorably inclined toward the acceptance of the position of minister to that country), Secretary Knox indicated a desire through mutual friends to have him appointed. Mr. Fairbanks thanked his friends, but declined the appointment. In his tour around the world after retiring from the office of Vice- President, he conducted himself with great dignity and propriety. Senator Albert J. Beveridge succeeded Senator Fairbanks, as a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations. For years Senator Beveridge had seemed more than anxious to become a member of this committee. When he first entered the Senate he thought he should have been made one of its members, as he had always taken a deep interest in foreign matters; but the Committee on Organization determined that his colleague, Senator Fairbanks, was entitled to the preference. When Senator Fairbanks retired, I requested the Committee on Organization to place Senator Beveridge on my committee, which it did. I have always admired Senator Beveridge. He is an exceptionally engaging speaker, a brilliant man, and so talented that one cannot help being attracted to him. I had heard of him years before he entered the Senate. The late Senator McDonald of Indiana, a strong, gifted lawyer and the highest type of a man, told me one day that he had a young man in his office, named Beveridge, who knew more about the politics of the day than almost any other man in the State, and he believed he would be a controlling factor in Republican politics in Indiana. Senator Beveridge is a popular magazine writer, as he is one of the most popular public speakers of to-day. As a campaign orator, his services are constantly in demand. I regret very much to say, that notwithstanding Senator Beveridge's prior anxiety to become a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations, after his appointment he attended very few meetings and apparently took little interest in its business. His duties as Chairman of the Committee on Territories, combined with work on other committees, necessarily consumed most of his time. For a number of years after the Hon. John Kean, of New Jersey, entered the Senate, I had no special acquaintance with him, and I did not welcome him particularly when he was made a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations, in 1901. Since then I have become very intimate with Senator Kean, and there have been few men on the committee for whom I entertained a higher regard, or in whom I placed more confidence. He was a very industrious and useful member, as he is in the Senate. He filled quite a prominent place in the Senate, and watched legislation probably more closely than any other member. He was always familiar with the bills on the calendar, and made it a point to object to any questionable measures that came before the Senate. He advanced in influence and power very rapidly in the last few years of his service. Through Senator Kean, I have been enabled very often to expedite the passage of measures, not only coming from the Committee on Foreign Relations, but bills in which I have been interested pertaining to the affairs of my own State. If the Senate had what is known as a "whip," I would say that Senator Kean comes more nearly being the Republican "whip" than any other Senator, with the possible exception, in recent years, of Senator Murray Crane, of Massachusetts. Senator Thomas H. Carter, of Montana, a member of the committee in the Sixty-first Congress, was one of the most popular members of the Senate. His ability as a lawyer and legislator, combined with his wit and keen sense of humor, enabled him to assume quite a commanding position in that body. When feeling ran high in debate, sometimes almost to the point of personal encounter, Senator Carter would appear, and by a few well-chosen words, voiced in his calm, quiet manner, throw oil upon the troubled waters, and peace again reigned supreme. I have known Senator Carter for very many years. I knew him as a young man. His home was at one time in Illinois, at the little town of Pana, about twenty-five miles from my own home at Springfield. He has held many public offices. Delegate from the Territory of Montana, member of the Fifty-first Congress, Commissioner of the General Land Office, Senator from 1895 to 1901 and from 1905 to 1906, Chairman of the Republican National Committee in 1892, he has in all these positions distinguished himself as a man of a high order of ability. I have always liked Senator Carter very much, and I was glad indeed that he was named a member of the Committee on Foreign Relations. He is a very useful and influential member, as he is of the Senate. Senator William Alden Smith, of Michigan, was only recently placed on the Committee on Foreign Relations, quite a distinction for a Senator who had served for so brief a time as a member of the Senate. Senator Smith, however, was a prominent member of the House for many years, and was elected to the Senate while serving as a member of the House of Representatives. He has taken position in the Senate very rapidly. He is a lawyer of experience and long practice, and an industrious and competent legislator. He is always watchful of the interests of his State. He took a prominent part in the consideration of the treaties between the United States and Great Britain concerning Canada, more especially the boundary and water-way treaties. It was through his efforts that an amendment to the latter treaty was adopted, which he considered necessary to protect the interests of his State, and which I greatly feared would result in the rejection of the treaty by the Canadian Parliament. I am very glad to say, however, that the treaty has been ratified by both Governments, and only recently proclaimed. Senator Smith has taken a keen interest in matters before the Committee on Foreign Relations, and with his experience, industry, and capacity, he is bound to become a very useful member of the committee. One of the last members to be appointed on the Committee on Foreign Relations was the Hon. Elihu Root, of New York. He is one of the greatest men and ablest Senators who have ever been members of the committee. When he became a member of it, he was not at all a stranger, for the reason that he, on my invitation, had, while Secretary of State, for two years previous to his retirement from that office, attended almost every meeting of the committee. Between Mr. Hay and the members of the Senate, there was not the close relationship which should have existed between that body and the State Department. Secretary Hay was not disposed to cultivate friendly relations with Senators, and certain remarks he made concerning the Senate as a body were very distasteful to Senators; and although I had invited him, he seemed very averse to coming before the Committee on Foreign Relations. I did not press the point. The result was that important treaties and other matters were constantly sent in, with which the members of the committee were not familiar, and we had to grope in the dark, as it were, and inform ourselves concerning them as best we could. But when Mr. Root became Secretary of State, I resolved to insist that the Secretary meet with us from time to time, and explain such treaties and measures as might need explanation, and upon which the Administration was anxious to secure favorable action. In other words, there should be closer relationship between the Committee on Foreign Relations and the State Department than had formerly existed. I first saw President Roosevelt and told him I hoped Mr. Root would come before the committee as occasion might require. The President seemed at once impressed with the propriety of the proposed plan, and remarked in his own characteristic fashion: "That is just the thing." I then saw Mr. Root, whom I knew very well as Secretary of War, and he was more than pleased with the suggestion, asserting that it was just what he wanted to do. It so happened that during his administration of the State Department he found it necessary to negotiate more treaties, and treaties of greater importance, than any of his more recent predecessors in that high office, and he became so constant and punctual in his attendance at the meetings of the committee that we grew almost to regard him as a regular member, even before he entered the Senate. He has served on the committee but two sessions, but even in that short time he has proved his fitness to fill the gap left by the retirement of Senators Spooner and Foraker. As a lawyer he is as brilliant as either of those men, and probably, owing to his executive experience, a more efficient statesman. I regard him as the best qualified man in this country for any position in the public service which he would accept. He would make a strong President, and as a Senator he is equipped with extraordinary qualifications. If he remains in the Senate, by sheer force of ability alone he is bound to become its acknowledged leader. We have never had a stronger Secretary of State. Mr. Hay was a very great man in many respects, and could handle an international question, especially pertaining to the Far East, with more skill than any of his predecessors; but Mr. Root, while probably not as well versed in diplomacy as Mr. Hay, is one of the foremost lawyers in America, and has the faculty of going into the minutest details of every question, large or small, even to the extent of reorganizing all the multitude of details of the State Department. He was the real head of the department, and supervised every matter coming before it. As Secretary of State he made it one of his policies to bring the republics of this hemisphere into closer relationship with one another. He visited South and Central America, and did much to bring about a friendly feeling with the republics of those regions. He is one of those who insisted upon the absolute equality of nations, both great and small; and in this he was particularly pointed in his instructions to the delegates representing the United States at the Second Peace Conference at The Hague. He did not retire from the State Department until he had adjusted almost, if not all, outstanding questions between the United States and other Nations. He closed up the work of the Joint High Commission, and by a series of treaties adjusted every factor of difference between the United States and Great Britain concerning Canada. Bringing the consideration of the personnel of the committee up to the close of the Sixty-first Congress, there remain to be mentioned only William J. Stone, of Missouri, and Benjamin F. Shively, of Indiana, both Democrats. Mr. Stone and Mr. Shively are not only new men on the committee, but both of them are comparatively new to the Senate. They had, however, been sufficiently tried in other fields of effort to justify their States in sending them to this exalted body, and the records both have made here have well vindicated their selection. In a comparatively brief time they have attained to positions of leadership on the Democratic side of the chamber, and since they have become members of this committee they have manifested an unusual grasp of international subjects. They are from States which adjoin my own State of Illinois, and I am especially pleased to have them as members of the committee of which I am chairman. CHAPTER XXIV WORK OF THE COMMITTEE ON FOREIGN RELATIONS When I became chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, in 1901, I found a large quantity of undisposed of matter on the dockets, both legislative and executive. I determined that I would at once proceed to clear the docket and endeavor to make the committee an active working one. I have since made it a policy, as best I could, to secure some action, favorable or unfavorable, on every matter referred to the committee by the Senate. The first subject to which I turned my attention was the reciprocity treaties between the United States and Barbados, Bermuda, British Guiana, Turk Islands and Caicos, Jamaica, Argentine Republic, France, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, and Denmark. These treaties had been pending before the committee for two years, and I resolved as I expressed it to one Senator, who was opposed to them, that I would get them out of the committee "if I had to carry them out in a basket." These treaties were negotiated under the authority contained in the fourth section of the Dingley Act, which provided: "Section 4. That whenever the President of the United States, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, with a view to secure reciprocal trade with foreign countries, shall, within a period of two years from and after the passage of this act, enter into commercial treaty or treaties with any other country concerning the admission to such country of goods, wares, or merchandise of the United States . . . and in such treaty or treaties shall provide for reduction during a specified period of the duties imposed by this act, to the extent of twenty per centum thereof, upon such goods, wares, or merchandise as may be designated therein, . . . or shall provide for the transfer during such period from the dutiable list of this act to the free list thereof of such goods, wares, or merchandise the product of foreign countries; and when . . . any such treaty shall have been duly ratified by the Senate and approved by Congress, then and thereafter the duties which shall be collected by the United States upon any of the designated goods, wares, or merchandise from the foreign country with which such treaty has been made, shall, during the period provided for, be the duties specified and provided in such treaty, and none other." There was a considerable opposition to the ratification of these treaties in the Senate, and very strong opposition to them in the committee. President McKinley was very much in favor of their ratification, and as one treaty after another expired, a new one would be made reviving it. The first problem which confronted me was this: The fourth section of the Dingley Act provided that such treaties should be made only within two years after the passage of the act; the two years had long since expired--could the Senate ratify them at all? I submitted to the Senate a report on the constitutional question. The single question covered was, whether the treaties not having been ratified by the Senate within the two years specified in the Dingley Act were still within its jurisdiction. The committee determined that the President and the Senate are, under the Constitution, the treaty-making power. The initiative lies with the President. He can negotiate such treaties as may seem to him wise, and propose them to the Senate for the advice and consent of that body. The power of the President and the Senate is derived from the Constitution. There is under our Constitution no other source of treaty-making power. The Congress is without power to grant to the President or to the Senate any authority with respect to treaties; nor does the Congress possess any power to fetter or limit in any way the President or the Senate in the exercise of this constitutional function. It cannot in any way enlarge, limit, or attach conditions to the treaty-making power, and the subcommittee concluded their report on this branch of the subject with this statement: "The committee is clearly of the opinion that nothing contained in section four of the Dingley Act constitutes any valid restriction upon the jurisdiction and power of the Senate to act upon the commercial treaties now pending." That question being disposed of to my satisfaction, I proceeded to urge the consideration of the treaties at every meeting of the committee for many months, but it was not until June, 1902, that I secured the favorable report of all the treaties, excepting the treaty with the Argentine Republic and that with Jamaica. There was another very serious question which I raised myself, and that was, whether legislation was necessary to carry them into effect, or whether the treaties were self-executing. None of the treaties contained any provision for legislation, and by their terms, they would go into effect without legislation. John A. Kasson, who negotiated them, told me that he purposely left out any reference to legislative action, because the executive department had serious doubts on the subject, and preferred to permit the Senate itself to pass upon it. I have always contended that reciprocity treaties, like other treaties in general, are self-executing, if by their terms they do not provide for legislative action. I made a very extended address in the Senate on January 29, 1902, because I wanted to get the attention of the Senate to this important constitutional subject. I said in opening: "Has Congress any power or authority, under the Constitution, over treaties? This subject has been discussed at different times during our entire Constitutional history. It is a very complicated question, not only because the authority of the House on the subject of treaties has been disputed and argued almost from the very adoption of the Constitution, but the fourth section of the Dingley Act specifically provides how and when such treaties shall be made. . . . In my opinion the fourth section of the Dingley Act, so far as it attempts to confer, limit, or define the treaty-making power is not only an unwarranted interference with the powers of the President and Senate, but is unconstitutional, because it comes in conflict with that clause of the Constitution which says that the President shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate to make treaties. No law of Congress can in any way modify or limit those powers. The Dingley Law can not limit the time in which we shall be allowed to make a treaty; it can not give to Congress any power on the subject of treaties not given it by the Constitution, and under the Constitution Congress as a legislative body is not a part of the treaty-making power." I contended that the fourth section of the Dingley Act, if considered by the Executive at all, should be merely as an expression of the views of Congress in the adjustment of the specific terms of each treaty. But the particular question in which I was more interested and to which I devoted most of my remarks was, whether a reciprocity treaty, which by its terms provides that the duties to be collected after its ratification shall be those specified in the treaty, and none other (and which makes no reference to further Congressional action), would of its own force operate to repeal so much of the tariff act as may come in conflict with it, or whether it would be necessary for Congress to act on a treaty before those duties are reduced, and before the treaty shall become the supreme law of the land. I then proceeded to a minute examination into the history of the treaty-making provision in the Constitution, tracing it through the Constitutional Convention, and giving the views of the framers of the Constitution as to its scope and effect. It was Alexander Hamilton who drafted the treaty-making clause of the Federal Constitution, and it was purposely so framed as to exclude the House from all consideration of treaties. Twice it was proposed in the Constitutional Convention to unite the House of Representatives with the Senate in the approval of treaties, but both times it was rejected almost unanimously, Pennsylvania alone voting in the affirmative. The treaty-making clause of the Federal Constitution was adopted in the Constitutional Convention only after a most vigorous fight against it by those who contended that the authority conferred was too great. Patrick Henry thought that, "If the clause were adopted as it was submitted to the State, two-thirds of a quorum of the Senate would be empowered to make treaties that might relinquish and alienate territorial rights and our most valuable commercial advantages. In short, should anything be left, it would be because the President and Senators would be pleased to admit it. The power of making treaties under the Constitution extends farther than in any country in the world. Treaties have more force here than in any part of Christendom." And he begged the convention to stop before it conceded this power unguarded and unaltered. The power was conferred on the President and the Senate, unguarded and unaltered, when the Constitution was adopted. The question came before the House of Representatives the first time just seven years after the Constitution was adopted, and has been before the House many times since then. The Jay Treaty called for an appropriation of eighty thousand dollars. It was a very unpopular treaty, and a very notable debate took place on the resolution requesting the President to lay before the House copies of the correspondence and other papers relating to the treaty. President Washington declined to furnish the papers, on the ground that the treaty needed no legislative action, and the House had nothing whatever to do with treaties, but was morally bound to make the appropriation, thereby carrying out the contract. The House responded by passing a long series of resolutions; but finally the appropriation was made. The whole question has been discussed in the House, practically every time an appropriation has been called for to carry out a treaty; but the House, while always contending that it had a voice in the treaty-making power, never declined to make the appropriation, and only on one occasion do I now recall that the House declined to enact legislation to carry out a treaty where the treaty specifically itself provided for such legislation. This was in the case of the reciprocity treaty with Mexico, negotiated by General Grant. I concluded my speech in the Senate with this statement: "This question before us here has been before the Senate for a hundred years. The Executive and Senate have taken one position, and that is a treaty is the supreme law of the land. That position has been sustained by the Supreme Court. On the other hand, during all these hundred years, the House of Representatives has, as a rule, insisted that they should be considered in reference to certain treaties. That does not relieve the Senate from standing by its prerogatives and rights and insisting that the rights of the Executive be maintained. The point here is this: the Constitution gives to the Executive, with the advice and consent of the Senate, the right to negotiate treaties. We have been negotiating commercial treaties continuously prior and subsequent to the adoption of the Constitution, and those treaties have been sustained as the supreme law of the land. "It is said that the Constitution has given to Congress the right to regulate commerce with foreign nations, to lay and collect taxes, duties, and imposts, and to the House of Representatives the right to originate bills for raising revenues, and to the President and Senate the right to make and ratify treaties. These are all co- equal and independent powers. One does not interfere with the other. One is not exclusive of the other. A law passed in any of the ways provided by the Constitution is the supreme law of the land until it is changed or repealed. A treaty made by the Executive and ratified by the Senate is the supreme law of the land as well as an act of Congress. If the Congress is not satisfied with the treaty, it has a perfect right to repeal it, as it has any other law; but until such action is taken, the treaty remains as a part of the supreme law of the land; and I cannot see any distinction between treaties which affect the tariff laws, and treaties affecting any other law." The subject was very seriously and carefully considered, but it was thought expedient that the committee should not take any position either for or against the unlimited power of the Senate over reciprocity treaties. It was Senator Spooner who suggested that each of the treaties be amended by inserting therein a provision that "the treaty not take effect until the same shall have been approved by the Congress." The merits of the question were not considered; but my position was, and still is, that amending the treaties in the manner suggested by Senator Spooner, by inference indicated that if such a provision had not been inserted, the treaties would go into effect immediately without any Congressional action. Aside from the reciprocity treaty with France, none of the treaties was considered by the Senate itself. I pressed them as best I could, but Senator Aldrich, Senator Hanna, and other advocates of high protection, were so bitterly opposed to them--no one in the Senate aside from myself seeming to have much interest in them-- that they were dropped and allowed to expire by their own terms. I particularly regretted that the Kasson treaties were not ratified. Had the Senate ratified those treaties, a large number of other treaties probably would have been negotiated, and we would not have been compelled to go through the long struggle and agitation over the passage of the Aldrich-Payne Tariff Bill. There would have been no tariff revision necessary. At the same time, we could not possibly help vastly increasing our foreign commerce. It was a very short-sighted policy on the part of Senator Aldrich and others in the Senate when they insisted that those treaties should be killed. After it was determined, and it became so known to the country that it would be impossible to secure the ratification of reciprocity treaties, the agitation for tariff revision commenced, and finally culminated in the act of 1909, which resulted in the election of a Democratic House of Representatives. The committee did favorably report, and the Senate ratify, a reciprocity treaty with Cuba. This was the treaty of December 11, 1902, and it was the third reciprocal agreement in all our history ratified, proclaimed, and placed in effect. The first one was the treaty of 1854, providing for reciprocity with Canada. The second was the treaty of 1875, with the Hawaiian Islands, and the third and the only one now in effect is the treaty with Cuba. That treaty would never have been ratified, and would have suffered the same fate as the Kasson treaties, had it not been for the determined, vigorous fight made by President Roosevelt for its ratification, and had not Cuba stood in a relation to us entirely different from any other country. We bound her to us by insisting that the Platt amendments be made a part of her Constitution, and in addition that a treaty be made between the two countries embodying those amendments. This treaty with Cuba and the law carrying it into effect were the occasion of a very bitter struggle in both Senate and House. The sugar and tobacco interests used all the power at their command to defeat, first the treaty, and then the law carrying the treaty into effect. The beet-sugar people asserted that it would ruin that industry, and that a reduction of twenty per cent on Cuban sugar would enable the Cubans to ship their sugar into the United States and undersell the beet sugar. I never could see that there was any force in their contention, because the United States does not produce more than half the sugar we consume, and it was absolutely necessary to import sugar from Cuba and other sugar-producing countries. When the treaty was before the committee for consideration, it was amended by inserting the following proviso: "Provided that while this convention is in force, no sugar exported from the Republic of Cuba and being the product of the soil or industry of the Republic of Cuba, shall be admitted to the United States at a reduction of duty greater than twenty per centum of the rates of duty thereon as provided by the tariff act of the United States, approved July 24, 1897; and no sugar, the product of any other foreign country, shall be admitted by treaty or convention into the United States, while this convention is in force, at a lower rate of duty than that provided by the tariff act of the United States, approved July 24, 1897." The effect of this amendment was not only to prevent a greater reduction being made on Cuban sugar, but it had a more important effect that it made reciprocity treaties with the sugar-producing countries, including the West Indies, impossible so long as the Cuban treaty remains in force. I had charge of this treaty in the Senate, and addressed the Senate at considerable length explaining its provisions. There was a spirited contest in the Senate over the ratification of the treaty, but there was more of a contest both in the Senate and the House when the bill to carry the treaty into effect came up at the next session of Congress, it first having been considered at a special session called by President Roosevelt in November, 1903. A provision was inserted in the treaty (which I opposed, as I thought it was unnecessary), that it should not go into effect until it was approved by the Congress. The bill was passed in the House and came to the Committee on Foreign Relations, was considered there, and favorably reported to the Senate. The bill, of course, was considered in open session, and I again made some remarks, probably more in the nature of a report than a speech, trying to show where the treaty was not only absolutely necessary, if Cuba was to be prosperous at all, but that it would open a considerable market for American products. The Cuban reciprocity treaty has increased very materially our trade with that Republic. Since that treaty went into effect our imports from Cuba have increased from $62,942,000 in value to $122,528,000 in value; and our exports to Cuba have increased from $21,000,000 in 1903, to nearly $53,000,000 in 1910, or more than doubled. But even with this considerable increase in our exports to Cuba, I had hoped that by this time we should have increased them to at least one hundred million dollars. Our own exporters and manufacturers are at fault, because they will not do business with the Cubans on the same credit basis as will the exporters of Spain, Germany, and England; and American exporters do not cater to the peculiar needs of the Cubans. They seem to go on the theory that if their goods are good enough for Americans they should be good enough for Cubans, too. The Cuban treaty is a good illustration of the scare and the unwarranted opposition on the part of American industries when even the slightest reduction of the tariff is attempted. To listen to the beet-sugar and tobacco interests during the consideration of the Cuban treaty, one would think they would have been absolutely ruined if the treaty were ratified. The Cuban treaty has not in the slightest degree injuriously affected the American sugar or tobacco interests. The principle of Reciprocity as heretofore applied in this country has been extended somewhat by the agreement of 1911 between the United States and Canada. This compact was negotiated by President Taft and Secretary Knox on the one side, and by Premier Laurier and Mr. Fielding on the other. Under this agreement a wide exchange of articles of every-day use is provided for, and it is hoped and believed that if the treaty becomes effective it will prove more satisfactory and enduring than the previous reciprocal agreement with the Dominion of Canada. The pending agreement was entered into between representatives of the two Governments in January, 1911, but it was not until the latter part of July of that year that a law was enacted by Congress to provide for its enforcement. Much opposition was manifested, especially in the Senate, in both the Sixty-first and Sixty-second Congresses, on the ground that under its terms a great many agricultural products are admitted free from Canada; but this objection has been, I think, successfully met by the Administration and its friends in the argument that any injury that might be sustained by agriculture would be more than compensated for by the benefits derived by the manufacturing interests. For one I have never believed that agriculture would suffer in any degree through the operation of the agreement, and I do believe that the general industries of the country will experience much benefit. Too much is to be gained through the cultivation of proper trade relations with our great and growing neighbor on the North to abandon the general principle involved in the agreement on account of an apprehension which may not and probably will not be realized. In many respects nations are like individuals, and in their relations with one another they should be controlled by the same rules of amity and equity as pertain to the associations of mankind generally. In the end no nation can lose any material thing through an act of generosity or fair-dealing. Notwithstanding the United States has acted favorably upon the agreement, it is not yet in force. This circumstance is due to the fact that in the matter of ratification Canada has waited upon this country. There is opposition there as there was here, and at this writing (August, 1911) Sir Wilfred Laurier is engaged in a struggle for favorable endorsement such as that from which President Taft has just emerged. CHAPTER XXV THE INTEROCEANIC CANAL Probably the most important work before the Committee on Foreign Relations since the treaty of peace with Spain, were the several treaties concerning the construction of the Isthmian Canal. In 1850, the United States entered into what is known as the Clayton- Bulwer Treaty with Great Britain, the purpose of which was to facilitate the construction of a canal; but instead of operating to this end, it stood for fifty years or more as an effectual barrier against the construction by the United States of any canal across the Isthmus of Panama. Succeeding Administrations had endeavored to secure the consent of Great Britain to its abrogation, but it was not until Secretary Hay's time that Great Britain finally agreed to annul it and substitute in its place a new treaty. Secretary Hay had been Ambassador to Great Britain, and he enjoyed the confidence of the then existing British Ministry to a greater degree than almost any minister or ambassador we have ever sent to Great Britain. After entering the State Department, Mr. Hay at once directed his attention to the making of a new treaty with Great Britain and this resulted in the first Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. This convention was considered by the committee, but was not found satisfactory, and certain amendments were added to it. These amendments Great Britain would not accept, and the treaty died. Secretary Hay was very much disappointed, but he at once set to work to negotiate such a treaty as would go through the Senate without amendment and such a one as Great Britain would consent to. He wrote to a number of Senators, members of the committee, I suppose, asking for suggestions as to just what the Senate would agree to. I was not at that time chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, but I was very deeply interested in the subject and had given it considerable study and thought. Secretary Hay wrote me, and I replied at length, giving my views both as to the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty and what I thought should be inserted in the new treaty. Mr. Hay promptly renewed negotiations, which resulted in what is known as the second Hay-Pauncefote Treaty. After a good deal of effort this agreement was ratified without amendment. This act signalized the beginning of my service as chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations. The principal contention arose over the subject of fortifications, a question that is still a mooted one. It occurs to me that the proper reasoning is this--and I believe I took the same position when the treaty was under consideration: The first and second Hay-Pauncefote treaties must be construed together; the first Hay-Pauncefote Treaty contained a prohibition against fortification; the second Hay-Pauncefote Treaty neither prohibited nor in terms agreed to fortifications, but was silent on the subject; therefore, the legal construction would be that Great Britain had receded from the position that the canal should not be fortified. In any event, we will go ahead and fortify the canal, and do with it whatever we please, regardless of any of the nations of the world. That obstacle having been finally removed, the question which next arose was: What route should be selected? The selection of the route was not a subject over which the Foreign Relations Committee had jurisdiction; but after the Panama route was decided on, it became necessary to negotiate with Colombia, the owner of that route, for the right of way for the canal. Secretary Hay promptly proceeded with the negotiation, as it was his duty to do, under the Spooner Act, and on January 3, 1903, submitted the treaty to the Senate for its Constitutional action thereon. Senator Morgan and others led the fight against it; but a vote was taken, and the treaty was ordered favorably reported. On February 12, 1903, I called it up in the Senate and made quite an extended speech, explaining its provisions, and urging its ratification. The session was to close on March 4, and it finally became manifest that it would be hopeless to attempt to ratify it before that day, and the effort was abandoned. President Roosevelt called a special session of the Senate after the fourth of March, when there would be nothing for the Senate to consider except the Colombian treaty and other executive matters. According to the usual rule, the treaty was referred back to the committee, at the beginning of the special session, and the subject was again gone over in committee as if there had been no proceedings on it at all during the regular session. The proposed agreement was finally reported to the Senate, and ratified. There is no need for me to go over the story of its rejection by Colombia. The action of the Colombian Congress was a hold-up pure and simple, and the treaty was rejected in the hope that the United States would offer a greater amount for the right- of-way. Panama promptly seceded, which she had a perfect right to do. Many people have charged that the Roosevelt Administration actually incited the revolution. Whether this is true or not, I do not know. I contended at the time, and still believe, that it is not true. I hope it is not; but the correspondence did show that the State Department had pretty close knowledge of events which were occurring on the Isthmus, and had seen to it that there was a sufficient naval force in the vicinity "to protect American interests." It was a remarkable revolution--I think the most remarkable I have ever read of in history. It was practically bloodless. One or two shots were fired, a Chinaman was killed, and yet a new and independent republic entered the family of Nations. We were able to make with Panama a much more satisfactory treaty than we had with Colombia. Senator Morgan this time was assisted by most of his Democratic colleagues; he denounced the treaty and made all sorts of charges against the Administration; but after numerous long sessions of the Committee on Foreign Relations, I was authorized to report it to the Senate with certain minor amendments, which, in my opening speech, I asked the Senate to reject, and to ratify the treaty without amendment. I did this at the earnest insistence of the State Department. And, in addition, I did not think that the amendments were of such importance as would justify resubmitting the treaty to Panama after that little country had once ratified it. The State Department was led to this action by the receipt of the following cable from Mr. Buchanan, the first Minister of the United States to Panama: "Panama, _January 22, 1904_. "Hay, Washington: "I can not refrain from referring to my belief that no amendment to the treaty should be made. The delimitation of Panama and Colon involves several things which can only be satisfactorily adjusted on the ground by joint action. There are several other points in the treaty which will require a mutual working agreement, or regulation, including sanitation. While the treaty covers broadly all these things, my observation here is that the details of development of the authority conferred by the treaty in these regards can not be satisfactorily carried out by amendments, but should be done through a mutually agreed upon regulation or understanding reached here on the ground between the two countries. The executive power here can secure for the convention ample authority to do such things without their being referred to the convention hereafter. Would it not be possible and best to adopt this course with these amendments to the treaty; will bring up here much discussion of many articles which can all be avoided and our purpose gained by above course. Any time when any specific grants of land or power not implied in the treaty is desired, it appears to me the wise course to take will be to do this by a supplemental convention. "(Signed) Buchanan." Secretary Hay showed the most eager anxiety to have the treaty ratified as it stood, and he wrote me quite a lengthy letter on the subject, which I now feel at liberty to quote. "Department of State, Washington. "_January 20, 1904_. "Dear Senator Cullom:-- "I enclose a copy of a letter from the Panama Minister which he sent me last night. He, as well as Mr. Buchanan, who is on the ground, is greatly disturbed over the possible complications which may arise if amendments are added to the treaty in the Senate. Of course, I need not say nobody questions the right of the Senate to amend the treaty as may seem to them best. I am only speaking of the matter of opportuneness and expediency. We insisted on an immediate ratification of the treaty by the Panama Government, and they acceded to our wishes. If we now, after a very long delay, send the treaty back to them amended, you can at once imagine the state of things that it will find there. The moment of unanimity and enthusiasm, which only comes once in the life of a revolution, will have passed away and given way to the play of politics and factions. They will have a certain advantage which they have not had before in dealing with the matter. We shall have ratified the treaty with amendments, which gives them another chance to revise their perhaps hasty and enthusiastic action. They will consider themselves as entitled to make amendments as well as we, and it needs only a glance at the treaty to show what an infinite field of amendments there is from every point of view. The Junta in making their report to the present Constitutional Convention said that, although many of the provisions seemed harsh and hard, yet it was judged for the public good to accept it as it was. When they get the amended treaty in their hands again, they will compare it with the treaty we made with Colombia, and see how vastly more advantageous to us this treaty is than that one was, and there are never lacking in a body of men like the Constitutional Convention a plenty of members who like to distinguish themselves by defending the interests of their country through the advantageous amendment of a treaty. Meanwhile the country will be open to the intrigues of the Colombians, and even to the military attacks upon the frontier. "All these considerations would, of course, have no weight whatever if the amendments were vital to our interests, but, as I said to you yesterday, it was the opinion of all of us who have studied the matter that every point made by the amendments was intended to be covered--I do not say how successfully--by the provisions of the treaty itself. This letter of Mr. Varilla's shows that the intentions of each Government were thoroughly understood by the other, exactly in the sense of the amendments now proposed. I earnestly hope that our friends in the Senate may see the strength of our present position if the treaty is ratified without amendment, and the certain complications that will arise if, after a long debate here, the treaty is put once more in the hands of the Panamans for reconsideration and amendment. "If the object of the amendments, as some people say, is to get it ratified by the new permanent Government, nothing is easier. I have no doubt we can have a solemn resolution of that sort adopted by the Convention at any time. "Very sincerely yours, "John Hay. "The Honorable S. M. Cullom, "United States Senate." After nearly a month and a half of debate in executive session, devoted to its consideration, the treaty was finally ratified without amendment. Considerable discussion arose over the question of the recognition of Panama and the right of that country to make the treaty at all. I contended in the Senate, in open as well as executive session, that the new Republic of Panama had a perfect right to make the treaty with the United States because it was a complete, sovereign, and independent State. The recognition given the new Government was the highest recognition we could accord. It was not a recognition of belligerency, which is only a recognition that war exists; it was not a virtual recognition, which is a recognition only for commercial purposes; but it was what Pomeroy and Fillmore define to be a formal recognition--that is, an absolute recognition of independence and sovereignty. The recognition of the Republic was a complete and formal recognition of independence, because the President had received an envoy-extraordinary and minister- plenipotentiary from that State. The United States Senate was a party to that complete and formal recognition, because we confirmed the nomination of Mr. Buchanan as envoy-extraordinary and minister- plenipotentiary to that country. This ended the long fight over the construction of the Panama Canal --at least, so far as it in any way involved the jurisdiction of the Committee on Foreign Relations. With the ratification of the treaty, the subject was transferred to the Committee on Interoceanic canals, where, during every session, matters of more or less importance connected with the canal are considered. I do not know whether or not it was wise to change from the Nicaraguan to the Panama route. Senator Hanna and Senator Spooner were responsible for the change; and time alone will demonstrate whether we acted wisely. CHAPTER XXVI SANTO DOMINGO'S FISCAL AFFAIRS For some years the Santo Domingo protocol and treaty were before the Committee on Foreign Relations, and in the Senate. They came before the Senate very suddenly. On January 20, 1905, there appeared in the press what purported to be a protocol, agreed to by Commander Dillingham on the one hand, and Minister Sanchez of the Dominican Republic on the other, by the terms of which the United States was to take charge of the custom houses of the Dominican Republic, adjust and liquidate its debt, and generally to take charge of the fiscal affairs of the Republic. By the terms of this protocol, it was to go into effect February 1, and there was no provision at all for Senatorial action. Senator Bacon and other Democratic Senators became very much aroused over this as a usurpation of the rights of the Senate. Resolutions were introduced, calling upon the State Department for information, and the subject was considered by the committee at several meetings. I confess that I too was considerably surprised at the action of the State Department, and I called on Secretary Hay one morning and asked to be informed as to the facts. Secretary Hay stated that he would communicate with me in writing, which he did on March 13, 1905, saying: "In answer to your verbal request, I submit herewith a statement of the facts with reference to the making of the Santo Domingo protocol, and enclose herewith a copy of the protocol of January 20, 1905. That protocol was not drawn up by the Department of State and was never seen by any of its officials until it appeared in the newspapers on January 22d last, as given out by the Dominican officials. The Department has never authorized its signing; it never gave any instructions authorizing its signature; and no full powers had ever been given authorizing the signature on the part of the United States Government. The Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Dominican Republic visited Washington during the Spring of 1904, and during a stay of nearly three months repeatedly solicited the assistance of the United States Government for the restoration of order in the island and for the regeneration of his country, but the responsible officials of the Department advised against meeting his request, and the President, to whom the matter was referred, decided against taking any action as long as it could wisely be avoided. "The Dominican Government again brought the matter to the attention of the United States Minister at Santo Domingo the latter part of 1904. In the meantime an investigation had been going on quietly by our Government through Commander Dillingham, to obtain information as to the real condition in the island. After the President became thus familiar with the situation there, and on the report of the United States Minister, and after repeated requests for help from the Dominican Government, the Department of State, on January 6, 1905, prepared a cablegram setting forth the basis on which alone the United States would be able to render assistance. . . . "Neither that cablegram nor any other despatch whatsoever went further than simply lay down a basis; and acting on this, but without instructions authorizing it, the Dillingham-Sanchez protocol was signed. The Department was advised by cable on January 20 that an arrangement had been agreed to, and thereupon the Department officials at once set to work to prepare a treaty; and its officials were actually engaged in drafting one to send to Santo Domingo, when the publication of the protocol of January 20 appeared. The Department at once cabled to Santo Domingo to forward a copy of the protocol; and as soon as its text could be received, the Department began work in making amendments and adjusting terms on which the United States Government could consent to act. As soon as the two Governments could arrive at substantial agreement as to the terms, full powers were communicated to Dawson, and the protocol now before the Senate was accordingly signed. "In view of the misapprehensions that at once arose, growing out of publication of the protocol, which upon its face stated it was to go into effect February 1st, and from which it might naturally be inferred it was intended to go into effect before the Senate could have an opportunity to consider it, and without its having been referred to the Senate for consideration, I considered the question of the propriety of stating the fact that no instructions and no powers had ever been granted authorizing the signing of the protocol of January 20. The decision was reached that repudiation of the action of Dillingham and Dawson might be construed as a censure, and that it might cause offence to them as well as to their friends, who might feel that when the circumstances should become fully known, that Dillingham and Dawson were justifiable in assuming the responsibility they did in signing the protocol instead of making a formal memorandum of the basis agreed on and communicating it to the Department for the drafting of a treaty. Both of these officials have a record of faithful and skilful service and competency, and it was hoped when the facts should become more fully known, a correct understanding of the actual situation would remove any ill effects of previous misapprehension. "The department has been advised that the protocol of January 20 was given out for publication by the Dominican Government in order to calm the popular mind on account of its uncertainty as to the character of negotiations which were actually being carried on between the two Governments. "(Signed) John Hay." From 1865, until the time that the United States assumed the collection of customs, conditions in Santo Domingo were about as bad as they could be in every respect. One revolution succeeded another. There had been twenty-six different Administrations since 1865, only one of which was brought about by means of a regular election. Most of the others were caused by revolutions, assassination, forced resignations, and a general condition of anarchy. Debt after debt, bond issue after bond issue, piled up, each Administration seemingly bent only on seeing how much actual cash could be raised, utterly regardless of obligations assumed. None of the principal and only a trifling portion of the interest were paid, and it seems that the different Administrations never had any intention of liquidating the obligations of the Republic. The principal portion of the bonds was held by European creditors. But finally the Santo Domingo Improvement Company, an American corporation, succeeded as the fiscal agents of the Republic, to float its bond issues. The improvement company was displayed, and its claim was settled for four million, five hundred thousand dollars. Then a protocol was entered into between the United States and Santo Domingo by which the manner of payment was submitted to arbitration, our arbitrators being Judge George Gray and John G. Carlisle. An award was rendered providing that an agent of the United States should take possession of certain custom houses, in order to pay a debt which the Government of Santo Domingo had acknowledged to be due an American corporation. This did not satisfy foreign creditors, French, Belgian and Italian, who had actually been given, by an agreement with Santo Domingo, the right to collect revenues at certain custom houses. Santo Domingo appealed to the United States and the foreign Governments threatened that if the United States did not enforce some remedial plan, they would be compelled to take action for the relief of their own citizens, whose claims aggregated twenty million dollars. Italian warships were already in Santo Domingo waters ready to enforce their demands. This, briefly, was the condition of affairs when the protocol of 1905 was submitted to the Senate for ratification. For more than a quarter of a century we have had a peculiar interest in Santo Domingo. As is well known, under the Administration of President Grant a treaty was negotiated and sent to the Senate providing for the annexation of Santo Domingo. Senator Sumner was Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and as such was able to prevent the consideration of the treaty by the committee, and its ratification by the Senate. Some one said that the only objection that Charles Sumner had to the treaty was that President Grant had suggested it first. This was one of the reasons why Senator Sumner was deposed as chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee. It would probably have been better for the United States, and it certainly would have been better for the Dominican Republic, if the treaty had been ratified. The protocol submitted to the Senate involved very large responsibilities on the part of the United states. It provided that the United States was to adjust all the obligations of the Republic, the arrangement of the payment, to pass upon all claims of Santo Domingo, determine their amount and validity, take charge of all the custom houses, and collect and disburse the customs receipts, giving to Santo Domingo forty-five per cent of the customs receipts and devoting the balance to the liquidation of her debts. This protocol had the active opposition of the minority of the committee and in the Senate and, in addition, such conservative members as Senator Hale and other prominent Republicans opposed it. We fought over it in committee month after month; but finally, on March 10, 1905, it was reported by me to the Senate with a large number of amendments. It was considered by the Senate, recommitted at the end of the Congress, and again reported at the following Congress. But those in favor of it became convinced that we did not have the two-thirds necessary to ratify it, and it was never brought to a vote. It was thought that nothing more would be heard of the Santo Domingo protocol; but Senator Root, when Secretary of State, took the subject up _de novo_, and made a new treaty, in which the United States did not assume the broad obligations it assumed under the first one, and which was not generally of so complicated a character. It imposed the duty upon the Santo Domingo Republic itself of arriving at an adjustment with its creditors, conditioned only on the administration of the custom houses by the United States. In the meantime, an arrangement was made by American banking houses to furnish the money to liquidate the debt; the creditors were satisfied; the foreign debt was liquidated on a basis of fifty per cent of the face value, and domestic debts and other claims less than ten per cent. A loan of twenty million dollars was made through Kuhn, Loeb & Company, of which the Dominican Republic received nineteen million dollars for the payment of its debts; seventeen million dollars was used to satisfy thirty-one million, eight thousand dollars worth of bonded debts, and the remaining two million, two thousand dollars were to go for internal improvements. There was some objection to the ratification of the treaty negotiated by Secretary Root, but not of a very serious character, and the treaty went through, even Senator Morgan not opposing it. I had the honor of reporting it and having charge of it in the Senate. The treaty has now been in force several years, and it has proved even more advantageous than was expected when it was ratified. It has restored order in the Republic, and the country's debts are rapidly being liquidated. The time may come when the United States may be compelled to take similar action with some of the other republics south of us. Such action would be beneficial both to the United States and to the people of those republics. CHAPTER XXVII DIPLOMATIC AGREEMENTS BY PROTOCOL. During the public discussion of the Santo Domingo question and the protocol by which the Santo Domingo Improvement Company claim was sent to arbitration, and later during the consideration of it, there was criticism of the Executive branch of the Government on account of its disposition to make international agreements of various kinds, and put them into operation without submitting them to the Senate. The practice became more general under President McKinley and Secretary Hay than it had under other Administrations, and it seemed the policy to get along in every case, if possible, without Senatorial action. It was a subject in which I took very great interest; I came to the conclusion that the practice had become too general, and I took occasion to tell Secretary Hay my views. I found that the State Department, under different Administrations, had submitted private claims of our citizens against foreign Governments to arbitration by protocol. This has been the rule frequently adopted for very many years. There were cases, I found, where the protocol submitting a claim to arbitration had been sent to the Senate and ratified, and it was the general rule that where a claim is presented by a foreign Government against this government, and the same is submitted to arbitration, it is done by treaty. I took occasion to look into the question of the effect of an unratified protocol. It may be said generally that an unratified protocol differs from a treaty in that the protocol is not ratified by the Senate and is not a part of the supreme law of the land. Under our system of government, treaties occupy a unique position. They are not only binding internationally, but the Constitution makes treaties a part of the supreme law of the land--that is, a part of our own municipal law. A treaty, if of later date, and in conflict with a law passed by Congress, repeals so much of the law as it conflicts with; but an unratified protocol, or any other international agreement, no matter by what name it is called, not submitted to the Senate, does not have the effect of a treaty, as that term is defined in the Constitution. A protocol is binding merely on the Executive who makes it, and, as has been well said, such protocol is binding on the administration in a moral sense only. Nevertheless it has been the practice to make so-called diplomatic agreements concerning very important matters without their submission to the Senate. For instance, the agreement of 1817, concerning the naval forces on the Great Lakes, was considered in force and observed by the two Governments for a year or more before it was submitted to the Senate at all. Horse Shoe Reef, in Lake Erie, was transferred to the Government by a mere exchange of notes between Lord Palmerston and Mr. Lawrence, our Minister to Great Britain; and I might refer to a long list of arbitrations, some of very great importance, agreed to by unratified protocols. The very important protocol concluded by the powers after the Boxer troubles in China was not sent to the Senate. Important agreements are often made under the name of _modus vivendi_ without submission to the Senate. Very little comment is to be found in books on international law concerning protocols or diplomatic agreements. There is no doubt that the Executive has the right to enter into a protocol preliminary to the negotiation of a treaty. This is a common practice. We have such protocols preliminary to treaties of peace. As to the claims protocols, the Executive Department has taken the position that the President, who is in charge of our foreign relations, has wide discretion in settling disputes by diplomacy; and that a claims protocol is in the nature of a settlement of a claim of a citizen of our country against a foreign Government, by diplomacy. The term "protocol," or diplomatic agreement, or _modus vivendi_, is not found in the Constitution. The Constitution uses only one term in describing agreements between this Government and foreign powers, and that is the term "treaty"; and every agreement between the United States and a foreign Government, to have the effect of a treaty, to be a part of the supreme law of the land, must be ratified as the Constitution prescribes, by a two-thirds vote of the Senate. When Mr. Root entered the State Department, it seems to me that he stopped the practice very largely of making diplomatic agreements. It seemed to be his policy, and a very wise one, to seek, rather than avoid, consulting the Senate. I know that under his administration agreements were made in the form of a treaty and sent to the Senate which other administrations would consider they had a perfect right to make without consulting the Senate. It will be wise for future Administrations to adhere to Mr. Root's policy in this respect. CHAPTER XXVIII ARBITRATION During the year 1904, there was a great general movement all over the world in the direction of arbitration treaties. Indeed, so general did it become, and so universal was the form used, that it became known as the Mondel or world treaty. The treaties were very brief, and merely provided that differences which may arise of a legal nature or relating to the interpretation of treaties existing between two contracting parties, and which it may not have been possible to settle by diplomacy, shall be referred to the permanent court of arbitration established at The Hague; provided, nevertheless, that they do not affect the vital interests, the independence, or the honor of the two contracting States, and do not concern or involve the interests of third States. There was a second article in the treaty, which provided that in each case a special agreement should be concluded defining clearly the matter in dispute, the scope of the powers of the arbitrator, the periods to be fixed for the formation of the arbitral tribunal, and the several stages of the procedure. President Roosevelt and Secretary Hay were very much in favor of these treaties, and sent to the Senate, for its ratification, treaties in substantially the foregoing form, with France, Portugal, Great Britain, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, Spain, Austria, Sweden, Norway, and Mexico. The treaties were considered with great care by the Committee on Foreign Relations. We all favored arbitration in theory, and I do not think any one wanted to oppose the treaties; but a number of questions confronted us. I neither have the right nor do I expect to detail what has taken place in the Committee on Foreign Relations; but I can say that the subject was discussed in the press, whether such treaties would not compel us to consider as matters for arbitration claims against the States, growing out of the Civil War and Reconstruction. In the judgment of some, such claims were proper subjects of arbitration under this Mondel form of treaty. President Roosevelt, who was following closely the treaties in the Senate, and with whom I had talked concerning these objections, wrote me a letter, which he marked personal, but which appeared in the afternoon papers almost before the letter reached me, it having been given out at the White House, in which he said: "_January 10, 1905_. "My dear Senator Cullom: "I notice in connection with the general arbitration treaties now before the Senate, that suggestions have been made to the effect that under them it might be possible to consider as matters for arbitration claims against certain States of the Union in reference to certain State debts. I write to say, what of course you personally know, that under no conceivable circumstances could any such construction of the treaty be for a moment entertained by any President. The holders of State debts take them with full knowledge of the Constitutional limitations upon their recovery through any action of the National Government, and must rely solely on State credit. Such a claim against a State could under no condition be submitted by the general Government as a matter for arbitration, any more than such a claim against a county or municipality could thus be submitted for arbitration. The objection to the proposed amendment on the subject is that it is a mere matter of surplusage, and that it is very undesirable, when the form of these treaties has already been agreed to by the several Powers concerned, needlessly to add certain definitions which affect our own internal policy only; which deal with the matter of the relation of the Federal Government to the States which it is of course out of the question ever to submit to the arbitration of any outside tribunal; and which it is certainly absurd and probably mischievous to treat as possible to be raised by the President or by any foreign power. No one would even think of such a matter as being one for arbitration or for any diplomatic negotiation whatever. Moreover, these treaties run only for a term of five years; until the end of that period they will certainly be interpreted in accordance with the view above expressed. "Very truly yours, "(Signed) Theodore Roosevelt. "Hon S. M. Cullom, U. S. Senate." But a more serious question was met when we came to consider the second article of the treaty, which provided that in each case a special agreement should be made defining clearly the matter in dispute, the scope and powers of the arbitrators, and the periods to be fixed for the formation of the arbitral tribunal. The difficulty confronting us was whether it was the intention to submit the special agreements referred to in article two for the ratification of the Senate. It was the unanimous opinion that these special agreements should be submitted to the Senate. I believe that as the treaties were drafted it would be the Constitutional duty of the President to have each special agreement submitted for ratification, because the article provided that "the high contracting parties shall conclude such special agreement." The Senate is a part of the treaty-making power, and would be included in the term "high contracting parties." But the wording of article two left some doubt as to the intention of those negotiating the treaty; and then, again, it might have been claimed that article one, agreeing to arbitrate the questions therein enumerated, might be construed as an agreement in advance on the part of the Senate, to give to the Executive the general power to make arbitration agreements without reference to the Senate. Of course, the Senate, even if it so desired, could not thus delegate the treaty-making power to the Executive alone. There was so much difference of opinion that I took occasion to submit the question to both President Roosevelt and Secretary Hay, whether it was the intention on the part of the executive department to send these special agreements to the Senate for ratification. They both replied that it was not; that one of the purposes of the Executive in making the treaties was to enable the Administration to go ahead and make the special agreements without consulting the Senate. Under these circumstances, it was almost the unanimous judgment of the Senate that the treaties should be amended by striking out the words "special agreement": and substituting the word "treaty," a Constitutional term about which there could be no doubt. I considered at the time that the declaration and agreement contained in these treaties in favor of arbitration were just as strong, just as broad, and just as obligatory with the proposed amendment as without it. It was an agreement on the part of the President and Senate that the President and Senate, the treaty-making power, would submit differences to arbitration. The Senate was severely criticised at the time for being too technical and standing in the way of arbitration; but in my judgment it was not a trifling question. It could not be put aside. Even if the amendment had not been adopted, the President, if he followed the Constitution, should have submitted these special agreements to the Senate for ratification; but he took the positive stand that he would not submit them, and nothing remained for the Senate to do but to assert and uphold its rights as a part of the treaty- making power, and adopt the amendment to which I have referred. I do not think I violate any of the rules of etiquette by quoting here President Roosevelt's letter written to me after he had learned, through the press, that the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations had amended the treaties. "White House, Washington, "_February 10, 1905_. "My dear Senator Cullom: "I learn that the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations has reported the arbitration treaties to the Senate, amending them by substituting for the word 'agreement' in the second article the word 'treaty.' The effect of the amendment is to make it no longer possible, as between its contracting parties, to submit any matter whatever to arbitration without first obtaining a special treaty to cover the case. This will represent not a step forward but a step backward. If the word 'agreement' were retained it will be possible for the Department of State to do as, for instance, it has already done under The Hague treaty in the Pious Fund arbitration case with Mexico, and submit to arbitration such subordinate matters as by treaty the Senate had decided could be left to the Executive to submit under a jurisdiction limited by the general treaty of arbitration. If the word 'treaty' be substituted the result is that every such agreement must be submitted to the Senate; and these general arbitration treaties would then cease to be such, and indeed in their amended form they amount to a specific pronouncement against the whole principle of a general arbitration treaty. "The Senate has, of course, the absolute right to reject or to amend in any way it sees fit any treaty laid before it, and it is clearly the duty of the Senate to take any step which, in the exercise of its best judgment, it deems to be for the interest of the Nation. If, however, in the judgment of the President a given amendment nullifies a proposed treaty it seems to me that it is no less clearly his duty to refrain from endeavoring to secure a ratification by the other contracting power or powers, of the amended treaty; and after much thought I have come to the conclusion that I ought to write and tell you that such is my judgment in this case. "As amended, we would have a treaty of arbitration which in effect will do nothing but recite that this Government will when it deems it wise hereafter enter into treaties of arbitration. Inasmuch as we, of course, now have the power to enter into any treaties of arbitration, and inasmuch as to pass these amended treaties does not in the smallest degree facilitate settlements by arbitration, to make them would in no way further the cause of international peace. It would not, in my judgment, be wise or expedient to try to secure the assent of the other contracting powers to the amended treaties, for even if such consent were secured we would still remain precisely where we were before, save where the situation may be changed a little for the worse. There would not even be the slight benefit that might obtain from the more general statement that we intend hereafter, when we can come to an agreement with foreign powers as to what shall be submitted, to enter into arbitration treaties; for we have already, when we ratified The Hague treaty with the various signatory powers, solemnly declared such to be our intention; and nothing is gained by reiterating our adherence to the principle, while refusing to provide any means of making our intention effectual. In the amended form the treaties contain nothing except such expression of barren intention, and indeed, as compared with what has already been provided in The Hague arbitration treaty, they probably represent not a step forward but a slight step backward, as regards the question of international arbitration. As such I do not think they should receive the sanction of this Government. Personally it is not my opinion that this Government lacks the power to enter into general treaties of arbitration, but if I am in error, and if this Government has no power to enter into such general treaties, then it seems to me that it is better not to attempt to make them, rather than to make the attempt in such shape that they will accomplish literally nothing whatever when made. "Sincerely yours, "(Signed) Theodore Roosevelt. "Hon. S. M. Cullom, U. S. Senate." This letter was read to the Senate, and notwithstanding the positive declaration by Mr. Roosevelt that he would not ask any of the foreign Governments to consent to the amendment made by the Senate, the treaties were amended and ratified by the Senate. I told the President in advance of the action of the Senate what would be done, and he rather curtly remarked that the matter was closed, and that he would not ask the other Governments to agree to the treaties as amended. And no further action was taken on the treaties. When Secretary Root entered the State Department he took an entirely different view of the subject. I do not know whether Mr. Root was of the opinion that the Senate was right in insisting on what it considered to be its duty in amending the treaties, but I do know that he negotiated arbitration treaties with Austria, China, Costa Rica, Denmark, France, Great Britain, Haiti, Italy, Japan, Mexico, The Netherlands, Norway, Paraguay, Peru, Portugal, Salvador, Spain, Sweden, and Switzerland, every one of which treaties contained the stipulation that the special agreements referred to in article two were to be made by the President of the United States, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate. These treaties were promptly ratified and are a part of the supreme law of the land to-day. Secretary Root was very wise in negotiating and sending to the Senate this series of Mondel or world treaties. All the Nations of the world were agreeing to these treaties among themselves, and it would have been a rather remarkable condition if the United States, of all the great Nations, should have remained aloof. I do not believe that Mr. Root had any difficulty in obtaining the consent of the signatory powers to the treaties, with the stipulation that the special agreement should come to the Senate for ratification; but for some reason or other, at the time when the first treaties were under consideration, President Roosevelt, as indicated in the letter which I have quoted, and probably more particularly Secretary Hay, were both very much incensed at the action of the Senate, and permitted the first treaties to expire. This general movement in the direction of arbitration was one of the most important events of the beginning of the twentieth century. The importance of the adoption of this principle by the Nations of the world cannot be overestimated. It has been well said that international arbitration is the application of law and of judicial methods to the determination of disputes between Nations, and that this juristic idea in the settlement of international disputes is largely an outgrowth of the international relations, the new and advanced civilization of the nineteenth century. I do not believe the time will ever come when wars will cease,-- the United States obtained its independence by means of a revolution and war; but peace and arbitration have been advocated by the great majority of the enlightened statesmen of the world. There were many great wars during the nineteenth century, including our own Civil War, the greatest, the bloodiest, recorded in all history; but during this century arbitration has made wonderful strides. In the same period there were four hundred and seventy-one instances of international settlements involving the application of the principle of international arbitration. Many of these arbitrations were of the greatest importance; and I remark here that in the number of arbitrations and the importance of the questions involved, the United States and Great Britain have unquestionably led the way. In fact, since the War of 1812, every subject of dispute between the two Nations, which it was found impossible to settle by diplomacy, has been submitted to arbitration. Only within a few years the Alaskan boundary was settled by arbitration, and within the past year a fisheries dispute, a cause of embarrassment since 1818, was submitted to The Hague tribunal and a decision rendered, which, though not entirely satisfactory to the United States, we accepted as the final settlement. We have uniformly adopted arbitration as a means of settlement for disputes with the Central and South American Republics. With Mexico the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, of 1848, stipulates that future disputes between the two republics shall be submitted to arbitration. We have a general arbitration treaty for the settlement of pecuniary claims with all the Central and South American Republics. At the first Hague Conference, which met in 1899, a general arbitration treaty was agreed to. It was a non-compulsory arbitration, and at the time represented the farthest steps in advance in the direction of arbitration which all the Nations were willing to take together. That treaty was perfected at the second Hague Conference of 1907; and, in addition, a series of treaties were agreed to concerning the opening of hostilities, the laws and customs of war on land, the rights and duties of neutrals, submarine contact mines, bombardment by naval forces, the right of capture in naval war, neutral powers in naval war, an international prize court, and the discharge of projectiles from balloons, and the Geneva Convention was revised. Aside from the prize court treaty, concerning which there were Constitutional objections, these treaties were ratified by the Senate, the United States being one of the first Nations of the world to take this step. Unlike the first Hague Conference, the South American Republics participated in the Second Conference, and it was the first time in all the world's history that the representatives of all the independent Nations in the world gathered together in the interest of peace and agreed on certain principles which should guide them in the conduct of war, if war must come. I take pride in the fact that the treaties agreed to at the first Hague Conference, and the treaties agreed to at the second Hague Conference, and the series of Mondel treaties, were reported from the Committee on Foreign Relations, and ratified by the Senate during my chairmanship of the Committee on Foreign Relations. The last step to date in the interest of the peaceful settlement of international disputes has been taken by President Taft in the arbitration treaties between the United States and Great Britain and between the United States and France, both of which were signed by the representatives of this and the other two Governments in August, 1911. The ban of secrecy has been removed from these documents, and I feel at liberty to make brief mention of them, although, as they still are pending in the Senate, I should not feel disposed to discuss them at length. The treaties mark an advance over the arbitration treaties of 1908 in that they bring into arbitration a much wider range of subjects than is covered by the older conventions. In the latter, questions of "national honor," "vital interest," etc., were excluded from consideration, whereas, under the pending agreements, "all differences which are justiciable in their nature by reason of being susceptible of decision by the application of the principles of law and equity," are made subject to arbitration under the rules laid down in the documents. There also is a provision granting to the Commission created by the treaties the right to determine whether any given question presented to it may be considered justiciable under the language of the treaties. This latter provision is regarded by the President and Secretary Knox as highly desirable in the interest of the expedition of business, but it met such opposition in the Committee on Foreign Relations that its elimination from the treaties was recommended to the Senate. The objection to the provision is based upon the theory that it would deprive the Senate of its constitutional right to pass upon all treaties. I have not accepted this view, because I do not believe in hampering working bodies when such a course can be avoided without doing violence to the fundamental law as I believe in this case it can be. With this provision expunged, the Committee is largely favorable to the treaties, and they are now pending in the Senate. It, however, has become evident that they cannot be speedily acted upon, and as I write, in the closing days of the special session, called at the beginning of the Sixty-second Congress, the indications are strong that they will be compelled to go over to the regular session in December for final consideration. What their fate then may be no one can foretell. It is well understood that if these treaties should be ratified they will be followed by similar agreements with the other civilized nations of the world. The spirit of arbitration has taken strong hold on our big-hearted and peace-loving President, and I am confident that he will leave no stone unturned to promote good will among nations as he is wont to do among men. Whatever differences of opinion there may be, regarding the details of any particular negotiation, no person of whatever party or creed can doubt President Taft's splendid patriotism and devotion to the highest ideals of citizenship. I am sure that these treaties have been inspired by these sentiments, and, being honest and benevolent in their purpose, the principle they embody must prevail in the end. CHAPTER XXIX TITLES AND DECORATIONS FROM FOREIGN POWERS The Constitution of the United States provides: "No title of nobility shall be granted by the United States, and no person holding any office of profit or trust under them shall, without the consent of Congress, accept of any present, emolument, office, or title of any kind whatever from any king, prince, or foreign State." When I became chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, there were numerous bills pending, and numerous requests submitted through the State Department, for authority, on the part of officers of the United States, to accept gifts and decorations from foreign Governments. At first I was disposed to consent to the report and passage of such bills, and during the first year or two they were reported from the committee from time to time and passed in the Senate. The House did not act upon the individual bills, but a so- called "omnibus bill" was passed in the House containing all the bills that previously had been passed by the Senate, and in addition quite a number of House bills. I had not realized until then how extensive the practice had become, and I thereupon determined to use what influence I had to put a stop to it. Since then but two decorative bills of an exceptionally meritorious nature, one in favor of Captain T. deWitt Wilcox, and one in favor of Admiral B. H. McCalla, have been enacted by Congress. I thoroughly disapprove of the practice, and wanted to put an effectual stop to it. At the same time the requests came pouring in from session to session, and certain Senators, both on the committee and others who were not members of it, insisted and urged that favorable action be taken in behalf of officers of the United States in whom they were interested. After more than two hundred requests had accumulated, I determined to appoint a subcommittee to consider the whole matter and report to the committee such cases as were meritorious, or to adopt a general rule against the whole practice. As chairman of that subcommittee, I appointed Mr. Root, and with him Mr. Lodge, Mr. Carter, Mr. Bacon, and Mr. Stone. The subcommittee, on March 10, 1910, submitted its report, which was adopted by the full committee and submitted to the Senate. Besides reviewing at considerable length the reasons for legislation, the report included the following salient features: First, the existence of the provision in the Constitution indicates that the presumption is against the acceptance of the present, emolument, office, or title. A habit of general and indiscriminate consent by Congress upon such applications would tend practically to nullify the Constitutional provision, which is based upon an apprehension, not without foundation, that our officers may be affected in the performance of their duties by the desire to receive such recognition from other Governments. A strong support for the view that the practice should not be allowed to become general is to be found in the fact that the Government of the United States does not confer decorations or titles, or--unless in very exceptional cases--make presents to the officers of other Governments. The report then recommended that the following five rules be observed; "1. That no decoration should be received unless possibly when it is conferred for some exceptional, extraordinary, and highly meritorious act, justifying beyond dispute a special mark of distinction. "2. That no presents should be received except such articles as are appropriate for souvenirs and marks of courtesy and appreciation, and having an intrinsic value not disproportionate to such a purpose. "3. That the acceptance of presents within the limitation above stated should be further limited to cases in which some exceptional service or special relation justifying the mark of courtesy exists between the recipient and the Government offering the present. "4. That no offer of any other title or emolument or office should be considered. "5. We consider that membership in learned societies, even though the appointment thereto may have a _quasi_ Governmental origin, should not be considered as coming within the Constitutional provision, and it may well be that as to certain trifling gifts, such as photographs, the rule of _de minimis lex non curat_ should be deemed to apply." I agreed to the report of the subcommittee and agreed to the bill, permitting certain officers to accept the presents tendered to them, where there were good reasons therefor; but I am free to say that I was somewhat disappointed that the subcommittee had not reported in favor of abolishing the practice entirely, instead of discriminating between presents and decorations, as they did. The bill passed the Senate without debate and without objection. It went to the House, and the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, through Mr. Denby, of Michigan, submitted a most admirable report, which was far more in line with my own ideas than was the report of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. I agree with the conclusions arrived at by the Committee on Foreign Affairs so thoroughly that I am going to give most of that report here: " . . . The subcommittee expresses the hope that this adverse disposition of these bills, which contains items fairly representative of the great majority of the requests for Congressional sanction for the acceptance of foreign orders, decorations, or presents, by officials of the United States, will be regarded as notice to officials of the United States that this committee at least, and it is hoped all future committees dealing with this subject-matter, will refuse to consider such requests, except as hereinafter noted. "The Committee of Foreign Affairs has been required to devote much time to the consideration of bills to grant permission to accept such gifts. The committee has in the past very generally declined to recommend favorably any such legislation, except in the case of decorations offered to American citizens by official or quasi- official scientific associations for eminent scientific achievements." Article 1, section 9, paragraph 8, of the Constitution of the United States is quoted, and the report proceeds: "The Congress has been frequently importuned since the adoption of the Constitution to grant its consent for the acceptance of orders, decorations, and presents offered to officials of our Government, frequently upon pretexts the most trivial and for services the most commonplace, when services of any kind were rendered at all. A glance at the requests now on file, summarized in Calendar No. 378, which accompanies S. 7096, will show that the offers of foreign gifts, decorations, etc., have been made in the great majority of cases to officials for services in the direct line of their duty, and which in themselves, in the majority of cases, were not deserving of any special commendation. Following a practice which, because of reciprocal considerations, probably operates satisfactorily between foreign powers, the Governments of the world frequently tender to our officers decorations or presents upon such occasions as the first visit of a fleet to a foreign power, or the presence of individual officers representing our Government at reviews and public ceremonials, and to our diplomatic officials upon the termination of their missions, or upon occasions of rejoicing, jubilees of sovereigns, etc. While the practice of exchanging such graceful souvenirs is not unpleasing among the nations which recognize and reciprocate the courtesy, it is entirely inappropriate that officials of this Government should accept, or desire to accept, such presents. "The prohibition of the Constitution appears to have been put there out of a well-founded desire to safeguard our officials from the insidious influence of a natural but not desirable sense of obligation toward the powers donor. The history of nations abounds with instances of the giving of rich presents to retiring ambassadors and ministers upon the conclusion of treaties or the satisfactory termination of negotiations. There can be no doubt of the danger of recognizing that the agent of our Government may properly be compensated by another to which he is accredited. Another and obvious objection to permitting our officials to receive gifts or decorations from foreign powers is that, having no orders of nobility and no decorations in this country, and not recognizing the propriety of offering to officials of other powers, we can in no way reciprocate. It is beneath the dignity of the American Government to receive, through its representatives, presents for which it can make no return. The Constitutional prohibition is, in the opinion of the subcommittee, a wise one, to which Congress should very seldom permit any exception. "Therefore the subcommittee earnestly hopes that the Committee may put itself on record so unequivocally in this instance as to clearly indicate that it will not, except under circumstances the most unusual and extraordinary, grant permission to any official of the Government to receive such presents. "To that end the subcommittee further recommends that this report may, by resolution, be adopted as expressing the view of the members of the Committee on Foreign Affairs of the House of Representatives; that this report may be printed, and that a copy may be communicated to the Secretary of State. "(Signed) Edwin Denby, "H. W. Palmer, "H. D. Flood, Subcommittee, "Adopted by the Committee of Foreign Affairs, April 7, 1910. "Frederic L. Davis, Clerk." I have no doubt that these two reports, first the report of the Committee on Foreign Relations of the Senate, and second, the report of the Committee on Foreign Affairs of the House, taken together, will effectually stop the application for permission to accept both presents and decorations from foreign Governments. Indeed, I do not think that the Secretary of State will again consent to apply to Congress in behalf of officers who have been tendered presents and decorations. CHAPTER XXX ISLE OF PINES, DANISH WEST INDIES, AND ALGECIRAS For a number of years there was considerable controversy over the ownership of the Isle of Pines, a small island separated from Cuba by about thirty miles of water, containing 1200 square miles. This dot of land was not of the slightest account to the United States, so far as I could see; but after the treaty of peace with Spain, a number of Americans purchased land there for the purpose of establishing homes. When the United States withdrew from Cuba and the Cuban Republic was established, and the flag of Cuba was extended over the Island of Pines, those American residents protested and insisted that the island belonged to the United States. They had considerable ground for this contention, as Mr. Meikeljohn, when Assistant Secretary of War, had written a number of letters in which he stated that the Isle of Pines had been ceded to the United States by Spain, and therefore was a part of our territory, although attached at the time to the division of Cuba for governmental purposes. The treaty of peace provided in article one that Spain relinquishes all claims of sovereignty over, and title to, Cuba; and in article two, that Spain cedes to the United States the Island of Porto Rico, and other islands under Spanish sovereignty in the West Indies, and the Island of Guam in the Marianas or Ladrones. A strict construction of the treaty of peace with Spain would probably give the island to the United States under article two. Cuba, however, insisted that the island was a part of Cuban territory, but it was provided in article six of the Platt amendments that the title to the island should be left to future adjustment by treaty. Cuba granted to the United States two very valuable coaling stations, and the United States on its part agreed to enter into a treaty by which we should relinquish whatever title we might have to the Island of Pines in favor of Cuba. A rather interesting incident occurred in connection with this treaty which I believe I violate no confidence in now detailing, as both Presidents have retired from office. President Roosevelt was very anxious that the treaty be ratified; he was also most solicitous that we should retain friendly relations with the Republic of Cuba, and felt that the island was not of the slightest importance to the United States from any standpoint, declaring that he would not accept it. I was at the White House one day when the treaty was before the committee, and he showed me a letter written to him by President Palma, of Cuba, and my recollection is that he gave me a copy of it for such use as I might desire to make. Mr. Palma urged in that letter that the Senate act favorably on the treaty, because if it did not his re-election as President of the Cuban Republic would thereby be endangered. So much opposition to the treaty developed in the Senate that I deemed it useless to endeavor to bring it to a vote; and really, as I look at it now, there is very little use for the treaty at all, as Cuba is and has been exercising jurisdiction over the Isle of Pines. Cuba must be giving the island a good government for the American residents, as I have heard nothing from the island for several years. It was during the Fifty-seventh Congress that the treaty with Denmark, providing for the purchase by the United States of the Danish West Indies, consisting of the Islands of St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Croix, came before the committee. I reported the treaty to the Senate and urged, and finally secured, its ratification. The United States by this treaty agreed to pay five million dollars to Denmark for the islands. We first attempted to purchase the islands in 1865, during the administration of President Lincoln. Secretary Seward was particularly anxious that the United States should acquire them, and a treaty was negotiated and agreed to by Denmark. The treaty was not acted upon during the administration of President Johnson, and because President Grant was particularly anxious for its ratification, Charles Sumner, chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations (as in the case of the Santo Domingo treaty), opposed its ratification by the Senate, and it was defeated. President Grant showed a far-sighted policy in favoring the acquisition of every foot of territory which we could secure in the West Indies. The Danish islands are of great importance to the United States in a strategic way, whether the strategy be military or commercial. St. Thomas is the natural point of call for all European trade bound for the West Indies, Central America, or Northern South America. These islands, together with Porto Rico, occupy the north-eastern corner of the Caribbean Sea; and they are of more importance now than ever, because of the fact that we are constructing the Isthmian canal. In view of that canal, and the European settlements in South America, every additional acquisition by the United States in the West Indies is invaluable. Porto Rico is difficult of defense. The harbors are poor, while the harbor in the Island of St. Thomas can be made one of the very best in the West Indies. Our own officers who investigated the subject reported that the Island of St. Thomas possesses all the natural advantages of a second Gibraltar. The Danish Parliament, after a long debate, declined to ratify the treaty of 1901 which had been ratified by the Senate, and for the present at least the subject is in abeyance. I still hope, before I shall retire from the Committee on Foreign Relations, that the United States may succeed in purchasing these valuable islands. During the Winter of 1906 there occurred in the Senate a very interesting debate over the appointment of representatives of the United States to participate in the so-called Algeciras Conference, held in Algeciras in 1905 to consider conditions in Morocco. No action was taken by the Senate, and in due course the act or treaty agreed to at that conference was submitted to the Senate for ratification. I do not think there can be the slightest doubt that President Roosevelt had full authority to appoint the delegates on the part of the United States, and that he was thoroughly justified in contending that it was not only the right but the duty of the United States to participate in this conference. The action of the President in accepting the invitation to the conference and appointing the delegates, and the very important part therein which he took personally, in addition to the interest manifested through his representatives, very properly received the commendation of the people of this country and of the whole European world. The Moroccan Empire was one of the earliest and most interesting of the world's Governments. During the latter part of the eighteenth century Morocco occupied the attention of the maritime nations of the civilized world, as it was the home of the Barbary pirates who preyed upon the commerce of all the nations. The United States itself paid tribute for the purchase of immunity from these pirates. One of our earliest treaties, made before the adoption of the Constitution in 1787, was a treaty of peace and friendship with Morocco. We entered into several treaties with Morocco later, and joined in treaties concerning that country in 1865 and 1880 with Austria, Belgium, Spain, France, Great Britain, Italy, Portugal, and other Nations. For many years Great Britain and France have claimed to have superior rights in Morocco, and it has seemed to be the desire of France to annex it. Germany has intervened, and the country has been a bone of contention among the European Nations. In 1904 Great Britain and France, by a secret treaty, agreed that France should have the dominating control in Morocco, and that Great Britain should dominate in Egypt. Germany opposed the French Protectorate and insisted that an international conference of the powers should be called. At one time it seemed that war was inevitable, and it probably was averted only by the Algeciras Conference. The United States was asked to participate, as we had participated in the conference of 1880. If we had not accepted the invitation there would have been no conference, as two of the great powers had served notice that all nations represented at the 1880 conference must participate in the Algeciras Conference, or they would withdraw. Our participation was in the interest of averting a European war. The General Act or Treaty agreed to at that conference was a lengthy and important one. Its details are not of much importance, as our delegates signed it under a significant reservation that we would not assume any obligation or responsibility for the enforcement of the Act. When it came to the Senate, there was quite a combat over its ratification. We could not secure its endorsement during the session which closed the first of July, 1906, but we were able to reach an agreement that it should be voted on in committee and in the Senate during the month of December following. President Roosevelt was very much concerned about its ratification, and on June 26, 1906, when it seemed pretty certain that the Senate would adjourn without acting on the general Act, he wrote me this quite characteristic letter: "White House, Washington, _June 26, 1906_. "My dear Senator Cullom: "Having reference to the letter which Secretary Root wrote you yesterday about the Algeciras Convention, I can only add that I earnestly hope this matter will receive favorable report from the committee at this session. I am literally unable to understand how any human being can find anything whatever to object to in this treaty; and to reject it would mean that for the first time since the adoption of the Constitution this Government will be without a treaty with Morocco. It seems incredible that there should be a serious purpose to put us in such a position. "Sincerely yours, "(Signed) Theodore Roosevelt." The General Act would probably not have been ratified by the Senate had we not agreed on the form of the resolution of ratification. That resolution provided: "Resolved further, that the Senate, as a part of this act of ratification, understands that the participation of the United States in the Algeciras Conference and in the formation and adoption of the general Act and Protocol which resulted therefrom, was with the sole purpose of preserving and increasing its commerce in Morocco, the protection as to life, liberty, and property of its citizens residing and travelling therein, and of aiding by its friendly offices and efforts in removing friction and controversy which seemed to menace the peace between powers signatory with the United States to the treaty of 1880, all of which are on terms of amity with this Government, and without purpose to depart from the traditional American foreign policy which forbids participation by the United States in the settlement of political questions which are entirely European in their scope." After this form of resolution had been agreed to by those favoring and those opposing the treaty, I showed it to President Roosevelt. He expressed his satisfaction with it, and the Act was ratified by the Senate. I have endeavored to cover only a very few of the more important matters which have come before the Committee on Foreign Relations since I have been its chairman. The treaties before the committee have embraced almost every subject of contact between two independent Nations. Numerous treaties involving extradition, boundaries, naturalization, claims, sanitation, trade-marks, consular and diplomatic friendship, and commerce, and many other subjects, have been before the committee and have been acted upon and ratified by the Senate. During the period of which I am now writing, I believe that we have ratified treaties with almost every independent Nation of the world. The many important matters now pending, or of more recent date, I am not at liberty to refer to, the injunction of secrecy not yet having been removed. The Foreign Relations Committee will continue in the future, as it has in the past, one of the Senate's foremost committees. CHAPTER XXXI CONGRESS UNDER THE TAFT ADMINISTRATION It had been my intention to close these recollections with the beginning of the Taft Administration, but their publication has been deferred until the Administration extended so far that it seems proper to bring my observations up to date. I am especially impelled to this course by the fact that the present era has developed a very marked change in the character of the Senate, and, to a limited extent at least, in the trend of political thought in the country at large--a change which should be noted in any permanent writing dealing with the period. Still, I have no intention of entering upon a detailed consideration of men or of conditions. My only purpose is to make brief mention of these conditions and to refer in very general terms to some who have given direction to recent public affairs. Observers of public events and students of political questions probably were given their first insight into the tendency of the times through the resignation from the Senate of Honorable John C. Spooner, of Wisconsin, which was tendered March 30, 1907. I have made frequent reference to Mr. Spooner's connection with the Senate, and I do not intend to say more of him here than that he stood for conservatism and the old traditions. Sensitive to a degree to the promptings of his conscience, and still desirous of representing the sentiment of his constituents, apparently he found himself embarrassed by the growth in his State of what, without intending any disrespect, I may designate as "La Follette-ism." Gradually Hon. Robert M. La Follette, who previously had served several terms in the House of Representatives, had been forging his way to the front in Wisconsin politics until in 1905 he was elected to serve as Mr. Spooner's colleague in the Senate. He stood for radicalism in the Republican party as against Mr. Spooner's conservatism; he was the advocate of many innovations and experiments, while Mr. Spooner held to the old and tried forms of procedure in public affairs. Whether Mr. La Follette was the leader of this new propaganda or the follower of a growing sentiment in the State does not matter to this record. It is sufficient to know that apparently Wisconsin public opinion did not support Mr. Spooner to a sufficient extent to justify a man of his conscientious disposition in retaining his place as the representative of the people of that State in the highest legislative body of the Nation. Moreover, splendid lawyer that he was, he knew that he could find much more lucrative employment outside the halls of legislation, and he felt the need of making adequate provision for his family. In consequence of these conditions, he left the Senate, and thus opened the way for the more rapid promotion in that body of the new school of politics for which his colleague stood, a school which, while it has found some exponents in the House of Representatives, is not comparatively so largely represented there as in the Senate. The La Follette group is designated by its own disciples as "Progressivism," whereas by outsiders it is generally referred to as "Insurgency." Mr. La Follette came to the Senate with the Fifty- ninth Congress, and no sooner had he entered that body then he began to propound his doctrines there. At first, he stood alone, but natural inclination soon drew to him such of the older Senators as the late Jonathan P. Dolliver, of Iowa, and Moses E. Clapp, of Minnesota, both of them men of splendid attainments and of high moral character. With the incoming of Mr. Taft as President came also Albert B. Cummins, of Iowa, Joseph L. Bristow, of Kansas, and Coe I. Crawford, of South Dakota, all of whom joined heartily with Mr. La Follette in his efforts to shape legislation. During the Sixty-first Congress, the tariff law was revised. The Dingley Act of 1897 had grown unpopular in some portions of the country, because it was believed that under it the duties were not equitably distributed, and the campaign of 1908 had been fought upon a platform declaring for a revision. When, therefore, Congress met in March, 1909, being called together in extraordinary session by President Taft, every one recognized the necessity for entering upon this work. There had been no specific declaration in the platform as to the character of the revision. Some, commonly called "stand-patters," contended for a readjustment without any general lowering of rates, while others held out stiffly for a reduction all along the line. The result of the work of Congress was the enactment of what is known as the Payne-Aldrich Tariff Law of 1909, the measure taking its name on account of the joint efforts in its behalf of the Honorable Sereno Payne, of New York, Chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means of the House, and Honorable Nelson W. Aldrich, of Rhode Island, Chairman of the Committee on Finance of the Senate. The Payne-Aldrich law is a Protective measure, as it was intended to be. The Progressives, in both the Senate and House, sought at every step to reduce the schedules, but generally without success. In this effort, they were supported by Democratic Senators and Representatives, but the "Old Guard" controlled such a pronounced majority in both Houses as to render the opposing efforts futile, fierce though they were. So general was this conflict that in many matters the Progressives soon established a faction of their own. There were many skirmishes all along the line. Their divergence from the views of Regular Republicanism was indicated not on the tariff alone, but on many other questions of public policy which I may say I regard as extremely visionary and impracticable. The controversy also covered the methods of procedure of both the Senate and the House, and the fight on "Uncle" Joe Cannon as Speaker, or on "Cannonism," which characterized the last session of the Sixty-first Congress, was one of the instances of this difference of opinion in the party. In a less pronounced manner the Progressives also have shown an inclination to antagonize and overturn the customs of the Senate. They feel the restraint of some of the Senate's established rules, and, together with the radical element which has been introduced on the Democratic side of the Senate Chamber, they manifest evident impatience with these regulations. That fine old term "senatorial courtesy" has lost much of its meaning as a result of the brusque and breezy manner of the time. No longer is it said that the young Senator must be seen rather than heard. Indeed, while formerly the spectacle of a Senator rising to make a speech before the close of his second year in the Senate was regarded as unusual, it recently has come to be remarked upon if a new man remains in his seat for two months before undertaking to enlighten the Senate as to its duties towards itself and the world. I am not undertaking here to pronounce against these innovations, but merely to record facts. I have shown my advocacy of proper railroad legislation and of other progressive legislation which commended itself to my judgment. However, I am classed as a Regular and desire to be. My votes have been with the party organization. I have made it a rule throughout my political career to stand for the general principles of the party as enunciated by its authorized bodies; but while that is my course, I do not pretend to say that that organization always represents all that is good and best for the country or that in many cases the Progressives and Insurgents may not be nearer right than the Regulars. In the main, however, I have found that the best results are obtained through following the course indicated by the united wisdom of the party. My plan has been to exert my influence in the direction of careful and conservative progression within established party lines, and in such a course do I believe that the Republican party can best insure its perpetuity. Senator Spooner's resignation from the Senate was followed by the refusal of Senators Hale and Aldrich to stand for re-election in 1911. The retirement of those three distinguished leaders constitutes the best index of the tendency of the times. Men of experience, dignity, and conservatism, they voluntarily gave way before the press of public exigency. True, they consulted their own inclinations, but I always have thought that if the old conditions had continued in the Senate they would have elected to remain there. Their seats are filled by good and true men, but by men of very different characteristics, unless an exception may be made in Senator Aldrich's case, whose successor, Henry F. Lippitt, appears to be a man much like his predecessor. Whether the change will be beneficial or otherwise remains to be seen, but my optimism is so great I do not believe that anything but good can come permanently to this great country of ours. I confess to a liking for the old methods. This general change of public sentiment has brought into the Senate not only Mr. La Follette, Mr. Bristow, Mr. Clapp, Mr. Cummins, and Mr. Crawford, but also a number of other men of similar views, so that within six or seven years the progressive group has increased to thirteen members, more than one-fourth of the membership of the Senate. I shall not undertake to mention all of those contained in this little body, but I have been so impressed with the bearing of Senator William E. Borah, of Idaho, and Senator Joseph M. Dixon, of Montana, that I do not feel justified in passing them by unnoticed. They are both very able men and men of high purpose. They do not stand with this group all the time; neither goes where his convictions do not lead. Moreover, these Republicans of supposedly advanced thought have found their counterpart in a number of new Senators who have taken their seats on the Democratic side. The Democrats, as well as the Republicans, have their Progressive, or Radical, element, and while the Democratic representatives of this thought differ from those on the Republican side on the subject of Protection, they have co- operated in the interest of what they consider a closer approach to the demands of the people on other subjects of legislation. On the tariff schedules, which have been presented during the special session of the Sixty-second Congress now coming to a close, they also have stood together, forming what some have been pleased to christen the "Unholy Alliance." Both Republicans and Democrats of the radical type are contending for a lower tariff, but this one important difference is noticeable: while there is a tendency on the Democratic side toward free trade, the Republican members of the alliance hold out for the protective principle. It is pleasant to me to be able to record that while a sufficient number of new men have come into the Senate to cause a modification of its general appearance and apparent purposes, there still are enough representatives of the old element to cause it to retain its distinctive character as the most conservative deliberative body in this country. In addition to the new men, such capable legislators remain as Lodge and Crane, of Massachusetts, Brandegee, of Connecticut, Burton, of Ohio, Jones, of Washington, Root, of New York, Gallinger and Burnham, of New Hampshire, Heyburn, of Idaho, Penrose and Oliver, of Pennsylvania, Perkins, of California, Smoot and Sutherland, of Utah, Clark and Warren, of Wyoming, Dillingham and Page, of Vermont, Wetmore, of Rhode Island, Curtis, of Kansas, McCumber, of North Dakota, Gamble, of South Dakota, William Alden Smith and Charles E. Townsend, of Michigan, Bradley, of Kentucky, and others, all Republicans, while among the old-time Democrats should be mentioned such stanch and true men as Martin, of Virginia, Bacon, of Georgia, Bailey and Culberson, of Texas, Taylor, of Tennessee, Shively, of Indiana, Tillman, of South Carolina, Fletcher, of Florida, Foster, of Louisiana, Johnston and Bankhead, of Alabama, Stone, of Missouri, Clarke, of Arkansas, Newlands, of Nevada, and still others who, though their names may not be mentioned, all command the high regard of their colleagues. The question is often asked, "Who has succeeded Aldrich as leader of the Senate?" No one. Practically, there are three parties in the Senate, consisting of thirty-seven Regular Republicans, forty- one Democrats, and thirteen Insurgent Republicans. In caucus, the Insurgents act with the Regulars, but in legislation, they more frequently line up with the Democrats. The consequence is that no party is in control, and therefore that no party can dictate the course of leadership. Under such circumstances, real leadership is out of the question. Senator Penrose succeeds Senator Aldrich as Chairman of the Committee on Finance, and is proving thoroughly competent for his work in that capacity. If emergency should arise throwing the direction of affairs into the hands of the Republican party, he might also succeed the Rhode Island Senator to the leadership of the Republican forces, but until such emergency presents itself, no one can see whether that position would fall to him or to some other Republican. Leaders are born, not made. Leadership is not a matter of selection, but of fitness. Up to the present writing (August, 1911), President Taft has been in office almost two and a half years, and while, like all Presidents, he has been criticised, I am confident that in the end the first half of his administration will receive the approval of the historian. Personally, no more popular man ever occupied the office of Chief Executive, and his popularity is due to his honesty of purpose and his love for his fellow man. His administration has witnessed such a prosecution of the unlawful trusts as never before has been known, and the President himself has been engaged in a constant endeavor for legislation which would equalize the benefits of American citizenship, relieve the distresses of the less fortunate, and put a stop to graft, wherever found. Under his direction, the Interstate Commerce Law has been vastly improved, postal savings banks have been established, and the conservation of our natural resources has been placed upon a safe and sane basis. He has pressed Reciprocity and Arbitration with other Nations, and he has established such an era of good fellowship among public men of all parties and beliefs as seldom has been known in our history. If the remainder of his administration proves as successful as that which has passed, he will deserve, as I believe he will receive, the endorsement of the people through an election to a second term. The present presiding officer of the Senate is Hon. James Schoolcraft Sherman, who was elected Vice-President on the national ticket of 1908 with President Taft. Mr. Sherman brings to this office an experience of twenty years as a member of the House of Representatives from the Utica district, much of which time he was a member of the Committee on Rules. He is an accomplished parliamentarian, a fact which taken in connection with his genial disposition, his kindness of heart, and, above all, his love of justice, renders him one of the most acceptable presiding officers that the Senate ever has had. He has held his office during all of the regular session of the Sixty-first Congress and has been constantly in his seat during the special session of the Sixty-second Congress, and it is safe to say that in so brief a time no man has more thoroughly endeared himself to members of the Senate of whatever party or faction. Occasionally, of course, as is the case with all presiding officers, his decisions are challenged; but I believe he has been uniformly sustained; and even such proceedings are stripped of all appearance of rancor through his kindness of manner and his evident conviction. He is a fit successor of Hobart and Fairbanks. CHAPTER XXXII LINCOLN CENTENNIAL: LINCOLN LIBRARY The name of Springfield will forever be immortalized as the home and burial-place of Abraham Lincoln. As the hundredth anniversary of his birth approached, it was determined to hold a great celebration, and it was generally agreed that Springfield was the fitting and proper place in which to hold it. In 1907 the Legislature of Illinois passed a joint resolution providing: "Whereas, the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln will occur on the twelfth day of February, 1909; and, "Whereas, it is fitting and proper that the State of Illinois should celebrate the anniversary of the birth of this greatest of all American statesmen; therefore, be it "Resolved, by the Senate of the State of Illinois, the House of Representatives concurring therein, that the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln be celebrated in the City of Springfield, on the twelfth day of February, 1909, and, be it further "Resolved, that the Governor is hereby authorized and empowered to appoint a commission of fifteen representative citizens of this State to have charge of all arrangements for such celebration." The Governor thereupon appointed fifteen of the most distinguished citizens of Springfield as the State Centennial Commission to have charge of the celebration. It was determined that the celebration should not be a local one, but should be more in the nature of a State celebration, and that it would be well to incorporate it under the name of "The Lincoln Centennial Association." The original incorporators were: The Hon. Melville W. Fuller, Chief Justice of the United States; the Hon. Shelby M. Cullom, United States Senator; the Hon. Albert J. Hopkins, United States Senator; the Hon. Joseph G. Cannon, Speaker of the National House of Representatives; the Hon. Adlai E. Stevenson; the Hon. Charles S. Deneen, Governor of Illinois; the Hon. John P. Hand, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the State of Illinois; the Hon. J. Otis Humphrey, Judge of the United States District Court; the Hon. James A. Rose, Secretary of State of Illinois; the Hon. Ben. F. Caldwell, Member of Congress; the Hon. Richard Yates; Melville E. Stone, Esq.; Horace White, Esq.; John W. Bunn, Esq.; and Dr. William Jayne. I was requested to secure speakers of national reputation, and it at once occurred to me that I would invite the Ambassadors of France and Great Britain, and Senator J. P. Dolliver, to visit Springfield, on February 12, 1909, and deliver addresses. These distinguished gentlemen at once accepted the invitation which I extended them on behalf of the Governor and the committee. Later, the Hon. William Jennings Bryan was invited to be present also and deliver an address, which invitation he accepted. The memorial exercises celebrating the hundredth anniversary of Lincoln's birth were held under the direction of the State Centennial Commission, appointed by the Governor, working in conjunction with the Lincoln Centennial Association. There were a number of distinct events, but the most important were the great memorial exercises held in the State Armory, at which addresses were made by Ambassadors Jusserand and Bryce, and by Senator Dolliver and Mr. Bryan, and a banquet served to eight hundred guests. The celebration was in every way a great success, largely due to the efforts of Judge Humphrey. It was quite an event in the history of Springfield, as it was the first time, so far as I know, that the Ambassadors of two great Nations visited Springfield. I regretted very much that I was so engaged in matters pertaining to my official duties in Washington that it seemed impossible for me to be present. I was requested to write something which could be read at the banquet, and so I addressed to Judge Humphrey the following letter: "Washington, D. C., "_February 6, 1909_. "Hon. J. Otis Humphrey, "President Lincoln Centennial Association, "Springfield, Illinois. "My dear Judge: "It is a matter of sincere regret to me that I am unable to be present at your great anniversary celebration of the birth of the immortal Lincoln, and to welcome to my home city the Ambassadors of Great Britain and France and the distinguished guests who are to be with you. "Abraham Lincoln, greatest of Americans, greatest of men, emancipator, martyr, his service to his country has not been equalled by any American citizen, not even by Washington. His name and life have been an inspiration to me from my earliest recollection. "On this one hundredth anniversary of his birth, the people, without regard to creed, color, condition, or section, in all parts of this Union which he saved, are striving to do honor to his memory. No American has ever before received such deserved universal praise. Not only in his own country, but throughout the civilized world, Abraham Lincoln is regarded as one of the few, the very few, truly great men in history. His memory is as fresh to-day in the minds and hearts of the people as it was forty years ago, and the passing years only add to his fame and serve to give us a truer conception of his noble character. The events of his life, his words of wisdom, have been gathered together in countless volumes to be treasured up and handed down to generations yet to come. "I knew him intimately in Springfield; I heard him utter his simple farewell to his friends and neighbors when he departed to assume a task greater than any President had been called upon to assume in our history; it was my sad duty to accompany his mortal remains from the capital of the Nation to the capital of Illinois; and as I gazed upon his face the last time, I thanked God it had been my privilege to know him as a friend; and I felt then, as I more fully realize now, that the good he had done would live through all the ages to bless the world. "Springfield, his only real home, the scene of his great political triumph, was his fitting resting-place. In the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to his shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. "Again expressing regret that I can not be with you to take part in honoring the memory of our greatest President, on the one hundredth anniversary of his birth, and feeling sure that the Springfield celebration will be the most notable of all, as it should be, I remain "Sincerely yours, "(Signed) S. M. Cullom." Of all the notable celebrations held on the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Lincoln in every part of the United States, the Springfield observance was the most dignified and impressive; and it was determined that on Lincoln's birthday each year, under the auspices of the Lincoln Centennial Association, fitting memorial exercises should take place in Springfield, to which guests and speakers of national and international renown, from all parts of the United States, should be invited. Springfield has a great public library, called the "Lincoln Library," toward which Andrew Carnegie very generously contributed seventy- five thousand dollars. I took considerable interest in the Springfield Library, and I did what I could to prevail upon Mr. Carnegie to make as generous a contribution as he would toward the project. I remember that I wrote him a letter on the subject. It was at first proposed by the Springfield people to name the Library "The Lincoln-Carnegie Memorial Library"; but after Mr. Carnegie had made his contribution, through his secretary he informed the Rev. E. S. Walker, of Springfield, who carried on the correspondence with him, that he would consider it a desecration to have any name listed with that of Lincoln. "He trusts that the library will be known as the 'Lincoln Library,' not the 'Lincoln Memorial Library,' as Lincoln needs no memorial, being one of the dozen supremely great rulers of men the world has ever seen." The Library was completed in 1904, and I was invited to deliver the dedicatory address, which invitation I was very glad to accept. It was an interesting occasion, held in the main room of the library building, which was crowded with the very best people of the city. I give a few extracts from the speech I delivered that evening: "Mr. Chairman: It was a great pleasure to me to be invited by your library board to participate in these exercises attending the opening of this splendid library building. "I can not resist on this occasion the inclination to say a few words in reference to Springfield and my early relations to it. "Old historic Springfield! Here have taken place many of the most important events in the history of Illinois. Springfield has been the centre of the political struggles of both parties since it has been the capital of the State. Many of the great statesmen of Illinois have occupied seats in the legislative hall in Springfield. Here were mobilized during the Civil War the thousands of troops who went forth to do and die for the Union. Here the greatest General of the age received his first command. Here Lincoln and Douglas met, and from here Lincoln went forth to assume a task greater than any President has been called upon to undertake in all our history. "Springfield is endeared to me by all the sacred memories of friendship, family, and home. "I came here fifty years ago. In Springfield I received my legal education, was admitted to the Bar, and in your old courthouse here I practised my profession. In Springfield I married and reared my family, and here my children are laid in their final resting-place. "Those early days of my residence here are among the happiest of my life. Official duties have necessitated my absence a great part of the time for the past twenty years, but my heart lingers with it, and the ties which made those early days so happy will never be broken so long as I shall live." After giving a history of the library and referring to the generosity of Mr. Carnegie, I continued: "This is a material age. Carnegie, the great captain of industry, is a typical representative of the leaders of this age. It is well worth our while to stop to consider why he should devote a part of his great wealth to the founding of public libraries. "Andrew Carnegie was a poor boy, enjoying none of the advantages and opportunities which are afforded by a good library. He missed in his early life the opportunity for culture which is now obtained through the facilities supplied by libraries in the towns and cities. He knew that there was no other agency so valuable for the purpose of spreading culture among the people as the public library. No word so precisely describes the influence of good reading as does the word 'culture'. Emerson tells us that the word of ambition of the present day is 'culture.' "Andrew Carnegie, the great leader of the industrial world, desiring to give to the young men and the young women of this day an opportunity for education, for culture, whose value to the young he realizes so well, has devoted the enormous fortune of over one hundred million dollars for the founding of public libraries. . . . "There should be no pleasure like the pleasure derived from reading a good book. Emerson, expressing our debt to a book says: 'Let us not forget the genial, miraculous, we have known to proceed from a book. We go musing into the vaults of day and night; no constellation shines, no muse descends, the stars are white points, the roses brick-colored leaves; and frogs pipe, mice cheep, and wagons creak along the road. We return to the house and take up Plutarch or Augustine, and read a few sentences or pages, and lo, the air swims with life, secrets of magnanimity and grandeur invite us on every hand, life is made of them. Such is our debt to a book.' "The founding of public libraries is the surest mark of advanced civilization. The origin of libraries is lost in the dim twilight of the early ages. When they commenced, how they commenced, we do not know; but we have authentic records that centuries before the Christian era the temples of those countries of the East where civilization had made the greatest advances, contained libraries of clay tablets, carefully shelved in regular order. Among the Greeks, private libraries existed at least four hundred years before the birth of Christ. The Roman Caesars returning from conquest to the development of the arts of peace, established libraries in the then great Capital of the World. "But the United States is pre-eminently the home of the free public libraries, supported by taxation. This country has more free public libraries than any other country in the world. "What a great thing it is for our people to have these advantages! The foundations of our Republic are being well laid. The family, the church, the school--and the library! A people who will adhere to the great principles of the sacredness of the family, the church, and the school, will not perish from the earth. Virtue and intelligence are the necessary foundations on which a republic must rest. Education is more necessary in a republic, where the people are the sovereigns, than it is in a monarchy, where the people are subjects. With education and the library comes culture. The family, the church, the school, and the library are all necessary to qualify the citizen for the great duties of life. . . . "Mr. Carnegie has given us this building and has requested that it be named in honor of the great emancipator, Abraham Lincoln. Like a number of others who are in this room to-night, I knew Abraham Lincoln intimately and well. We are proud that this city was the home of Abraham Lincoln while living, and now that he has passed away, it is the home of his sacred dust. The words of Mr. Carnegie, that no name should be coupled with the name of Mr. Lincoln manifested the highest appreciation by him of the great name of Lincoln. He was a noble man. Only forty-three years ago, he was going in and out among us, interested in the local affairs of our city, doing his duty in the common affairs of our community, and at the same time grappling with the great questions pressing upon the attention of the people and touching the life of the Nation. "My friends, in the language of Mr. Carnegie, Lincoln has been 'one of a dozen supremely great rulers of men that the world has seen.' He was one of a few men in the world's history whose great and noble life and deeds will be remembered forever. I rejoice that he lived among us and that he was loved by our people while he lived, and that his memory is fresh and green in our hearts. "My friends, as we reflect upon the progress of our Nation in wealth and power and influence among the Nations of the world in the century just closed, our hearts swell with pride and thankfulness that we have been so favored. As a Nation we are now in the first rank of the nations of the earth. "Let us do our part in maintaining our national supremacy. We can hold our place by standing by the right as a community, as a State, and as a Nation, adhering rigidly to the foundation principles of our Republican Government, cherishing liberty, and obeying law; upholding the sacredness of the family, the church, and the school; with school, the library will follow, and in the time to come our Nation will endure, and its people will cultivate from generation to generation, a better and higher civilization." CHAPTER XXXIII CONSECUTIVE ELECTIONS TO UNITED STATES SENATE I was twice elected Governor of Illinois, and have been elected to the United States Senate for five consecutive terms, and as I write this narrative I have served in the Senate more than twenty-eight years. I consider this a greater honor than an election to the Presidency of the United States. I owe the deepest debt of gratitude to the people of the State of Illinois, who have for so many years continued me in the public service. To my many friends who have so loyally supported me during all these years, I am profoundly grateful. I have already referred to my first election to the United States Senate. At the conclusion of my first term, I was, on January 22, 1889, re-elected without opposition. The country had turned the Republican party out of power and elected Mr. Cleveland in 1892; and for the first time since 1856, the State of Illinois went Democratic and elected Mr. Altgeld as Governor. I returned to Illinois, from Washington, to enter the campaign in 1894, having little or no hope that I could be re-elected to the Senate, as I supposed, of course, that the State would continue in the control of the Democratic party. Having been twice elected to the United States Senate, I deemed it my duty to make the best fight I could for Republican success, regardless of my own personal interest in the matter. The Democrats were confident they would carry the Legislature, and Mr. Franklin MacVeagh, who is now Secretary of the Treasury under a Republican President, was the candidate of the Democratic party for the Senate to succeed me. Mr. MacVeagh made a canvass of the State as a candidate for United States Senator against me. Very much to his surprise, the State went overwhelmingly Republican and elected a Republican Legislature, insuring the election of a Republican to the Senate. While I had made the canvass of the State, it was not until after the election, when it became known that we had elected a Republican Legislature, that opposition to my re-election developed in the Republican party. Mr. George E. Adams, and Mr. George R. Davis who had served in Congress and been Director General of the World's Columbian Exposition at Chicago, were candidates against me. Mr. Joseph E. Medill, the owner of _The Chicago Tribune_, also considered the question whether he would be a candidate. He advised with the late Hon. John R. Tanner, asking him if he thought that he (Medill) could be elected if he could secure the solid support of the Cook County delegation. Mr. Tanner replied that he could not, that I had a sufficient number of votes in the country outside of Cook to defeat every candidate; whereupon he declined to consider the possibility of election at all. The Hon. John R. Tanner managed my campaign. He had served in the Legislature, where he had been a very influential member, and was then chairman of the State Central Committee. He was popular and possessed shrewd political sagacity. Tanner was very loyal to me then, and for many years I considered him my closest and most devoted political friend. I have always had the firm conviction that if he had remained loyal and had supported me for re-election in 1900, he would have been re-elected Governor himself, and would have succeeded the late John M. Palmer as my colleague in the Senate. The Legislature met in January, 1895. I secured the caucus nomination, and on January 22, in the joint session of the Thirty-ninth General Assembly, I was elected the third time to succeed myself in the United States Senate. There were a number of very complimentary speeches made on that occasion. My old friend, the Hon. David T. Littler, who then represented the Springfield District in the Senate, made the first speech. He began by saying: "Mr. President: Twelve years ago, from my seat as a member of the Lower House of this General Assembly, I had the honor to place in nomination as the candidate of the Republican party for the great office of United States Senator, the Hon. Shelby M. Cullom. I took occasion at that time to predict that in the office to which he had been elected he would show his usefulness and increase his reputation not only among the people of our own State, but the whole people of this country. After the lapse of twelve years and with his record perfectly familiar to the people of the whole country, I ask you Senators whether my prediction has not been fulfilled. His name has been connected with every important measure introduced in the United States Senate; and his discussion of important questions there on many occasions testified as to his patriotism and as to his ability as a statesman. I take great pleasure on this occasion to place in nomination for that high office the same Shelby M. Cullom who has served the people of this State so long and so creditably. In doing so I believe I state but the truth when I say he has the longest and most distinguished record in public life of any man who ever lived in the State of Illinois." Speeches were made in the Senate by Senators Coon, Aspinwall, and Mussett; and in the House of Representatives William J. Butler, of Springfield, E. Callahan, George W. Miller, D. S. Berry, A. J. Dougherty, J. E. Sharrock, and Charles E. Selby. I was present in Springfield, and was invited before the joint session of the General Assembly, after they had elected me, to deliver an address. I appeared before the joint session and expressed my obligations to the members of the Thirty-sixth General Assembly for the high honor conferred upon me. I made a short address, reviewing conditions in the State and the country generally, and concluded by saying: "The prosperity and happiness of the people depend upon wise and just laws to be enacted both by the State and by the Nation. In the discharge of the high duty which you have just imposed upon me, it shall be my single aim to dy my part in so shaping the policy of the country, that we shall soon stand upon the high ground of permanent prosperity. "Gentlemen, it should be our ambition so to legislate that the freedom and rights of every citizen shall be secured and respected; that all interests shall be protected; that one portion of our people shall not oppress another, and so that ample remedies shall be found and applied for every existing wrong. To this end an enlarged humanity bids us look forward with renewed hope and trust." My reference to the Hon. Joseph E. Medill in connection with this contest reminds me that I should say something of Mr. Medill. I regarded him as one of the three really great editors of his day-- Horace Greeley, Henry Watterson, and Joe Medill. He made _The Chicago Tribune_ one of the most influential newspapers of the United States. At time Medill and I were very friendly, and he gave me his hearty support. At other times he was against me, but we always remained on speaking terms at least, and I admired and respected him very much. He was one of the most indefatigable and inveterate letter-writers within my experience. From the time I was Governor of Illinois, and even before that, and almost to the time of his death, he wrote me at great length upon every conceivable public question. His letters were always interesting, but as he did not avail himself of a stenographer, and as he wrote a very difficult hand to read, they became at times a trifle tiresome. I have retained a large number of his letters, and as they are so characteristic of the man I venture to quote a few of them. "The Chicago Tribune, Editorial Rooms. "_Feb. 6, 1887_. "Hon. S. M. Cullom, "Dear Sir:-- "Well, he signed the bill, and it out of the woods. All right so far. His signing it shows that he is a candidate for a second term. That was the test. The next thing is the composition of the Board of Commissioners. The successful working of the law depends upon the action of the Board. There is an impression that he will probably let you name one of the commissioners and Reagan another. If that be so, let me suggest among other names Mr. C. M. Wicker, manager Chicago Freight Bureau, for the position. You probably know him. He has had large experience in freighting, and is widely known to both shippers and railroad men, and is well liked. He is a friend of the law, and supported it vigorously while before Congress, writing some good letters in its explanation and defence for _The Tribune_. He is a sound Republican though not much of a politician. You may find other and better men to recommend, but I don't think of any belonging to this State at this moment. I hear Judge Cooley's name mentioned. He is of course a first-class A No. 1 man, but I write on the hypothesis that your preference will be for an Illinois man if you are allowed to have a say in it. "The passage of the bill is a great triumph for you, if the bill works well. People always judge of measures by their effect; hence the act should have fair play. "Now that it is safely in the shape of a law, I thought _The Tribune_ might indulge in a little horn-blowing as per enclosed article, "Yours truly, "(Signed) J. Medill." "Hotel Ponce de Leon, "St. Augustine, Fla., "_March 13, 1888_. "Hon. S. M. Cullom, "My dear Sir:-- "I have just received your favor of 9 inst. and confess that I am taken a little by surprise. I had got the impression from various quarters that you did not desire to secure the Illinois delegation, and did not want to be considered a candidate. Acting on this idea _The Tribune_ has been leaning towards Gresham as an available candidate, as you have noticed. However, you have lost no ground by standing in the shade. If I was managing your boom I would keep your name in the background and out of the newspapers as a candidate seeking the nomination until the last. A few strong judicious friends among the Illinois delegation is all you want to watch events and move quickly at the opportune moment, if it arrives. I should say that on general principles you would be the second choice of any set of Illinois delegates and the chances are all in the direction of some second-choice candidate. Harrison is likely to have a pledged delegation from Indiana, but what good will it do him? Logan had a pledged delegation from Illinois; Sherman, from Ohio; Windom, from Minn.; and Hawley, from Conn. The convention will be largely chiefly actuated and governed by the stability idea. Personal friendship won't count for much in that search for the most available candidate. This you see as clearly as I do. Whatever Western man the New York delegates (or a majority of them) favor will stand a good chance of getting it. It is almost impossible to figure out a victory without the electoral vote of New York. Indiana and Connecticut would be absolutely indispensable in the absence of New York. But even then we have doubtful States that voted for Blaine. Michigan, for instance, and the three Pacific Coast States, in case any such man as Sherman, Harrison, or Hawley, who voted against restricting Chinese immigration, should be nominated. And then it remains to be seen what sort of action will be had in Congress on tariff reduction. If we are obliged to go before the people defending the present tariff, that is breeding trust monopolies all over the country, a nomination will not be worth having. High protection is a nice thing for those who pocket it, but not so fascinating to the unprotected classes who have to pay the big bounties out of their pockets sold at free trade prices. All those things must be taken into consideration. I am about leaving Florida for home, either via Atlantic or Washington. If the latter, I shall see you when I get there, when we can talk over the whole matter more fully than on paper. All I can really say is, I am peering about in the dark for the strongest candidate, the most available man on an available platform, and even then we shall have desperate hard work to win in the face of the immense losses our party is suffering from the ravages in the rank and file, committed by the prohibitionists. We shall have to face a loss of fifty thousand in New York. How is that to be made good? and twenty-five to thirty thousand in Illinois and five to seven thousand in Indiana, and thirty thousand in Michigan. How can we stand this loss of blood and men? "(Signed) J. Medill." "Niagara Falls, N. Y., "_Aug. 5, 1888_. "My dear Sir:-- "Searching for a cool place I found it here, where I shall remain a few days and then proceed to Kaetershill Mountain top, which is the best hot-weather place I found last year. "I take it for granted that none of your friends keep you posted about the secret negotiations going on between Palmer and the Socialistic Labor element for a fusion. You have seen by _The Tribune_ that all the labor element is not disposed to support Palmer, in consideration of his pardoning the imprisoned anarchists. You may rely on _The Tribune_ ventilating this unholy alliance. At the same time there are ten thousand to twelve thousand of these socialists who will vote for Palmer and the Democratic ticket in Cook County; and this fusion may with the aid of the prohibitionists cost the Republicans second seats in the Legislature, which is the phase of the matter in which you are specially interested. There is considerable coldness among the Irish Catholics toward Cleveland, but whether it will continue until election night remains to be seen. They think he is too pro-English, but they dislike Harrison. Blaine was their ideal. "I have spent a good deal of spare time to point out flaws and tricks in the sugar and whiskey sections of the Mills bill. The latter really opens and invites universal evasion of taxes and the multiplication of small moonshine distilleries; and the former perpetuates the sugar trust profits and affords the public no relief. "The Republican members of the House did not expose these defects enough. Cannon did well on sugar, but nobody dissected the whiskey section which bored gimlet holes into the bottom of every barrel of high wine to let it out without paying a cent of tax. The Democrats are therefore the real free whiskeyites. This ought to be shown up thoroughly in the Senate. Our miserable platform places us on the defensive. The Mills bill places the Democrats on the defensive if it is rightly handled. I do not mean attacking the free wool part of it, for that portion if enacted would do your constituents certainly ten or twenty times more good than harm, nor the free lumber or free salt or free soap, etc., etc., which would benefit all Illinois; but I mean fraud free sugar, and fraud free whiskey, and a hundred per cent tax on rice--these are the things to hit. On these the Democrats are placed with their noses on the grindstone. "I have been reading the discussion in the Senate over your resolution in regard to the competition of the Canadian railways with our transcontinental railway freight charges. It is well enough perhaps to inquire into the matter, but I have a notion that the sharp competition is of great benefit to the masses. I know that I am a little heterodox in looking at the interest of the consumers instead of railroad plutocrats, of the millions instead of the millionaires, but I can't help it. Senator Gorman had much to say in his speech about the undue advantage the Canadian roads had over ours by reason of Government subsidies received in constructing the Canadian railways, and to a line of steamers from Victoria to Japan and Hongkong. But his memory failed in the most astonishing manner to recall and perceive the fact that all the American roads west of the Mississippi to the Pacific have been enormously subsidized by our Government. In fact the subsidies amount to a good deal more than the actual total cost of the construction of the whole of them. For twenty years some of these roads have been plundering the American people by the most outrageous charges, and Congress, the people's representatives, have not lifted a finger to stop the rapacious robbery. And now, when the Canadian road, built by Government subsidies, begins to compete with the American roads built with Government subsidies, the latter who have pocketed hundreds of millions of subsidy spoils and overcharge plunder, appeal to the Senate to protect the scoundrels against a little healthy competition, and Senator Gorman pleads for the robbers on the floor of the Senate with tears in his eyes! So whatever extent the competing Canadian roads cause our contiguous roads to lower their freights so much the better for the public. They act just the same as competing waterways. The Grand Trunk, beginning at Chicago and running through Michigan to Sarma; crossing at Niagara Falls and feeding the Lackawanna and Erie to New York; running to Boston through Vermont, etc., and also to Montreal; and the Alden line of steamers carrying cattle to England, as a healthy competition with our pooling trunk lines east from Chicago, is of enormous value to Chicago and all the shippers, cattle-dealers, grain-raises, farmers, and merchants of half a dozen States in the Northwest. Any interference with its competitive activity will harm millions of Western people, tending as it will to increase cost of transportation and re-establish trunk line pooling monopoly. "So the competition of the Canadian transcontinental at the Red River and at the '500' ensures cheaper freights for all Minnesota and Dakota, and the effect extends clear down into Nebraska and Iowa. So, too, the Canadian road's rates at its Pacific terminal --Victoria--are exercising a most beneficent and ameliorating influence on the charges of the enormously subsidized Northern Pacific, forcing down to a reasonable rate Pacific Coast; and as it climbs down from its extortionate schedule of charges the Union and Central and Southern and Santa Fe Pacifics will be forced to do likewise. I'd give something handsome to have had the opportunity to reply for thirty minutes to Senator Gorman, to present the other side of the question from the American standpoint. On one point I am in agreement with you, viz.: that the British flag should be removed from this continent. This territory along our northern border should be incorporated into the American Union. It is ridiculous that Uncle Sam should allow a foreign power to hold it. We have as much need for it and right to it as England has for Scotland. If we had a respectable navy and a supply of fortification guns the problem would be easy of solution, and won't be until then. "Each day convinces me more and stronger that if we lose this election McKinley--will be the cause. They make the party say in its platform 'Rather than surrender any part of our protective system, the whiskey, tobacco, and oleomargarine excises shall be repealed.' The Democrats are making much capital out of this. The tax on lumber and on salt are parts of our 'protective system.' Now the Mc. plank discloses that rather than reduce the tax on lumber, the Rep. party will repeal the tax on oleo butter. How many farmers' votes will that give us? Rather than allow any lowering of the high taxes on clothes, or salt, or lumber or crockery, etc., the tax on whiskey must be repealed, and the old evil era of cheap rotgut and still-houses everywhere shall be restored! Do you really think that position will make votes for us this fall among the farmers? The final outcome will probably turn on the character of the Senate bill, of which I am not sanguine. About two thousand millionaires run the policies of the Rep. party and make its tariffs. What modifications will they permit the Rep. Senators to support? We other thirty million of Republicans will have precious little voice in the matter. Turn this over in your mind, and you will see that I am right. Whatever duties protect the two thousand plutocrats is protection to American industries. Whatever don't is free trade. "(Signed) J. Medill." "The Windsor, N. Y., "_Nov. 25, 1890_. "Senator Cullom. "Dear Sir: "I did not think the blow would be a cyclone when I saw you just before the election. I knew that a storm was coming, but did not dream that its severity would be so dreadful. "The thing to do this Winter is to repeal the McKinley bill, and strengthen the reciprocity scheme by giving Blaine the sugar duties to work on--freeing no sugar before reciprocal equivalents are secured from respective cane-sugar tropical countries; or (2) fail to pass the chief appropriation bills, so that an extra session of the Dem. Congress would be called, and that party must deal with the tariff and be responsible for their action or failure to act; or (3) pass the apn. bills; adjourn; next year, have the Senate defeat the Dem. tariff bill, or the President veto it, and go before the people in 1892 on the issue of standing by the McKinley bill till overwhelmed and wiped out in Nov. of that year, as the Whigs were in '52 when standing by the Forsythe-Stone Law of Fillmore and Clay. "The last course I presume is the one that will be pursued. When men who are statesmen of the Quay-Reid-McKinley calibre start in wrong their pride keeps them in the same downward path till they tumble the whole outfit into the bottomless pit. "I do not consider a Presidential nomination for any man worth a nickel on the issue of standing by the McKinley bill. The fate of Gen. Scott in '52 surely awaits him. "Either of the other mentioned courses might give our party a fighting chance. But it won't get it, if the perverse members who have landed us in the ditch have their way. "Read the suggestions from the article in _The N. Y. Times_ for Republicans. "Yours truly, "(Signed) J. Medill." I was elected to the Senate, the fourth time, in January, 1901. This time I had a very serious contest. More opposition had developed, and there were more strong men against me, than at any previous election. This was largely the outgrowth of the opposition of the late Governor Tanner, who had just completed his term as Governor of Illinois, and who had announced he would not be a candidate for renomination, but would be a candidate to succeed me. I believe it was mainly through the efforts of Governor Tanner and his friends that the Hon. Robert R. Hitt, the Hon. Joseph G. Cannon, and the Hon. George W. Prince were induced to become candidates, in the hope of weakening me in their respective districts. I do not believe that either Mr. Hitt or Mr. Cannon was a party to any particular scheme to defeat me. They were candidates in good faith, and aspired to the office of United States Senator, but neither of them had any desire to defeat me unless he could get the office himself. The campaign continued for a year or more. My friends were active, as were the friends of Governor Tanner. He had a horde of office- holders whom he had given places while Governor, who had been more or less actively working for him as my successor almost from the very time that the Governor entered that office. The bitter personal attacks made on me by the Governor and his friends did not help him, but tended rather to help me. The preliminary contest was in the State Convention held at Peoria in 1900. There were a number of candidates for Governor before that convention. The Hon. Walter Reeves, the Hon. O. H. Carter, and Judge Elbridge Hanecy were the leading aspirants. My friends had insisted that I should be endorsed for re-election by the State Convention, and my friends controlled the organization of the convention and elected the Hon. Charles G. Dawes temporary chairman and the Hon. Joseph W. Fifer permanent chairman. Governor Fifer has always been my friend, as I have always been his. He was a brave, gallant soldier in the Civil War, in which he served as a private until he was so badly wounded that his life was despaired of. He has been forced to go through life under exceptionally difficult circumstances, never fully recovering from his wound. He is entitled to far more than ordinary credit for the success which he achieved in life. He is an able lawyer, and as State's Attorney he was one of the most vigorous of prosecutors. He was nominated and elected Governor, and gave the State an honest and capable administration. He was renominated, but local questions in the State, combined with the Democratic landslide of 1892, resulted in his defeat. President McKinley, on my recommendation, appointed Governor Fifer a member of the Interstate Commerce Commission, in which position he served with credit for some years. He resigned voluntarily and returned to his home in Bloomington to resume the practice of law. I have always liked Governor Fifer, and consider him one of the foremost citizens of the State living to-day. Returning to the Peoria Convention, over which Governor Fifer presided, I will only say that Mr. Reeves had the votes in that convention to be nominated; but for reasons I do not have to discuss, he did not secure the nomination, and the Hon. Richard Yates became the nominee. I was endorsed by the convention as the candidate of the Republican party to succeed myself as United States Senator. The opposition to me in the convention was by Governor Tanner and his friends, he being the only avowed candidate against me. I thought that the endorsement of that convention should have settled the matter; but the contest went on, and Messrs. Hitt, Cannon, and Prince entered it actively. Several others were standing around waiting for a chance, and this continued to be the situation until the Legislature met in January. A sufficient number of the members of the Legislature to elect me had pledged themselves in writing to stand by me as long as I was a candidate. The other candidates, probably aside from Governor Tanner, did not believe I had these written pledges. I told them so, but they did not believe me. Governor Tanner and his friends realized that I would have a majority of the caucus, and they then began scheming for the purpose of having a secret ballot in the caucus, hoping that if certain members who had been pledged to me would not have to vote openly, they would go back on the pledges and vote secretly for one of the other candidates, thus defeating me. I had enough votes to defeat the secret ballot proposition, as many of the supporters of Tanner were really in favor of my re-election. Hon. Fred A. Busse, one of the most influential members of the State Senate at that time, and more recently Mayor of Chicago--one of the best the city ever had--and who has long been my personal friend, was pledged to vote for the Governor, but at heart was strongly for me. With many others, Busse would not consent to a secret caucus, and this really ended the contest. Tanner, after trying to induce the other candidates to unite on him, or on some one else to defeat me (which proposition Mr. Cannon and Mr. Hitt rejected), announced that he would withdraw. Friends of the Governor in the Legislature came to me and announced that Tanner had quit the race, and later Mr. Cannon and Mr. Hitt came to my room and announced their withdrawal. This ended the contest; my name was the only one presented to the caucus, and I was the only Republican voted for in the joint session of the Legislature. It was an interesting fight, and as it may well be supposed, the result was very satisfactory to my friends and to me. When I returned to Washington after having been re-elected, I was warmly greeted by my colleagues in the Senate who had been watching the contest; and I recollect that Senator Hanna was particularly warm in his congratulations, and remarked that it was the prettiest political fight he had witnessed in a long time. I want to say something in reference to the Hon. Joseph G. Cannon, who was a candidate against me at this time, and who is now, as he has been for years past, the leading member of the Illinois delegation. I regard him as my personal friend, and was very glad indeed to support his candidacy for the Presidency in 1908, I being chairman of the Illinois delegation to the Chicago convention that year. At the time he entered the contest against me, he had long been one of the leaders of the House of Representatives in Congress. After refusing to enter the scheme of Governor Tanner to defeat me, as I have stated, he retired from the contest, was soon re- elected to Congress, and almost immediately elected as Speaker, in which position he continued for a larger number of consecutive terms than any statesman in our history. He is a strong, courageous man, and a man of splendid ability. He had rather a stormy career as Speaker, but he controlled the situation all the time. During his last term as Speaker he might have gotten along with the House a little more smoothly, and at the same time just as satisfactorily to himself, if he had yielded a little to his colleagues in his party who differed from him. If he had been disposed to do so, much friction could have been avoided, and at the same time he would have had his own way in caring for the interests of the country. I have believed in him and have stood by him through thick and thin, and I know he has done nothing but what he himself believed right. Joseph G. Cannon has his own notions of what is right and what is wrong, and fearlessly follows what he thinks is right, without reference to what anybody else may think or say. The apparently determined effort on the part of the masses of the people, and especially the newspapers, to discredit the Payne-Aldrich Tariff Bill resulted in the Democrats carrying the House in the campaign of 1910 with the result that in the Sixty-second Congress the Democratic party has a substantial majority, causing the retirement of Mr. Cannon from the Speakership. For a time Mr. Cannon was apparently very unpopular and the people seemed disposed to hold him responsible for much they did not approve of in legislation; but his feeling is passing away, and Mr. Cannon will be regarded as an able legislator, an able Speaker, a man who has during his service in Congress saved the Government untold millions. His honesty and devotion to duty cannot be doubted, and he will go down in history as one of the foremost leaders in Congress of his day, when those who are now criticising him are forgotten. On January 16, 1907, I was by the Forty-fifth General Assembly elected for the fifth time as United States Senator from the State of Illinois. This was an entirely different contest from any previous one I had ever had, as the State had enacted a primary law which contained a proviso that the names of candidates for United States Senator could be placed on the ballot and voted for at the primaries, but that such vote was advisory merely. This is as far as the primary law can go on the question of the election of United States Senators. I had not the slightest objection to having my name go before the people, the individual voters, as a candidate for the Senate. The first primary law was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the State, and as soon as I heard the decision I promptly wired the Governor, commending him for his announcement that he would call a special session of the Legislature to enact a new primary law, and I took occasion to add that I hoped by friends would work with him in the passage of the law, and that it would provide for a vote on United States Senator. The Legislature did enact a new law, providing that the primaries be held in August, 1906. Former Governor Richard Yates was the only candidate against me. He made a canvass of the State, and a very thorough one. He had a considerable advantage in that he had almost all the politicians in the State who were holding State offices actively working for him. I made no canvass and personally did very little about it at all. I was willing to leave the matter to the people, and determined, if it was a fair vote, to abide by the result of the primaries, and if defeated at the primaries to support Governor Yates. I believe that Governor Yates had the same determination,--at least his conduct after the primaries, in withdrawing from the contest, would indicate that he had. I am glad to be able to say that throughout the contest and at its close, he acted very fairly. He made a straight, fair fight, and lost, then abided by the result, just as I would have done had I lost. My friends in different parts of the State took an active interest in my behalf, for which I want to avail myself of this opportunity to express to them my appreciation. I might add here that all during my public career it has been my good fortune to have the support and friendship of a very high class of men, men whose honor and integrity were beyond question, and who were capable of filling any office. I cannot undertake to name them, but I know that they will understand the deep debt of gratitude that I owe to them. It was very flattering to me that I carried the primaries by a substantial majority, having carried the popular vote, a majority of the Senatorial districts, and a majority of the Congressional districts. It demonstrated to me that the people had confidence in me and were satisfied with my record as a Senator. It was the first time that I had been voted for directly by the people for any office since my re-election as Governor in 1880. The result could not but be gratifying. Every one in the State accepted the result of the primaries, and the question was regarded as settled. When the Legislature convened, I was the unanimous choice of the Republican caucus and was voted for by every Republican in the Legislature on joint ballot. There seemed to be no bitterness or hard feeling on the part of any one. After the general election in November, I returned to Washington to prepare for the session of Congress, and there was so much important work before my committee and in the Senate generally, that it seemed impossible for me to leave there in order to thank the members of the Legislature for the high honor they had conferred upon me. I addressed a letter to the members of the Forty-fifth General Assembly, which was read, and from which I will quote: "I desire to express to the Republican members of the Forty-fifth General Assembly my profound gratitude for your action in unanimously declaring in favor of my re-election to again represent Illinois in the United States Senate. "In electing me to the United States Senate for five consecutive terms, a greater distinction will be conferred by the State than has been conferred upon any other man in the history of Illinois. "I shall appreciate this election the more, because for the first time the question of the selection of a United States Senator was submitted to the people, and without any active campaign on my part, the great majority of the voters declared me to be their preference. "Until the recent primaries, my name had not been submitted directly to the voters of the State since I was re-elected Governor in 1880, and it was no small gratification to me, after twenty-six years had come and gone, to have this expression of continued confidence and approval of my record as a Senator. "I wish now to return my most sincere thanks to the people of the State who have thus signally honored me. "During the twenty-four years I have represented the State in the Senate, I have endeavored to the best of my ability to perform my whole duty to the country and the State, and the only pledge I can make is, that I shall continue in the performance of my duty in the future as in the past. "I would prefer to have the pleasure of being present when a Senatorial election takes place, in order to express personally to the Legislature my appreciation; but there are so many important questions to settle, and so much important legislation to enact during the short session of Congress, ending as it does on March 4, that it has seemed to me to be more in accord with my duty to remain in Washington in the performance of my official business. "Your Legislature assembles this year in the midst of the greatest era of prosperity that has ever prevailed in this country. There has never been a time in our history that we have had so long an uninterrupted period of prosperity. This prosperous and happy condition has come as the result, in a large part, of Republican rule and Republican policy. "For nearly forty-five years the history of the United States has been the history of the Republican party, because, with the exception of two short periods, Republican administration has guided the destinies of the Nation; and the achievements of Republican administrations during those forty-five years constitute the greatest record in our history, and that record is a complete defence of the party against assaults from whatever quarter. "We stand to-day at the head of all the Nations in the value of imports and exports, and these maintain the prosperity our country has enjoyed since the American people declared in favor of a protective tariff and a sound-money standard. "The people do not prosper under vicious government. Good government is essential to real prosperity, to properly develop and to advance it. The Republican party has always secured for the Nation stability, confidence and prosperity at home, and respect and prestige abroad. "We are to-day at peace with all the Nations of the world. Perhaps never before in our history have we had such intimate and friendly relations with all the great Nations as we have to-day. Our country has the respect of all the Governments of the world, great and small. We are gradually assuming the first place among the naval powers; but, unlike the older Nations, we are acquiring a great navy in the interest of peace. Under the policy of this Government, such a navy is one of the surest assurances against war. The Nations know that the United States stands for peace, and under Roosevelt's Republican administration, greater progress has been made in the direction of international arbitration as a means of settling disputes among nations than under any other previous administration in our history. "While the nations know that we stand for peace, they also know that we will not tamely submit to the imposition of wrong, or to offenses against our own honor and dignity, or to the oppression of our sister republics in this Western world. We have no desire to rob these republics of their independence, or a single foot of their territory. Our recent action in Cuba has been an object lesson to these republics, and to the world at large, of our disinterested friendship. As we have repeatedly assured them, our only desire is that they shall follow us in peace and prosperity. "The construction of the great canal across the isthmus of Panama will bind them closer to us, and at the same time will almost double our strength as a naval power. "Too much credit cannot be given to President Roosevelt for the great and wonderful results which he has accomplished in the interest of the country, but the legislative branch of the Government has done its full share. "The record made during the last session of Congress in the enactment of wise laws for the direct benefit of the people has not been equalled since the Civil War--if at all, since the adoption of the Constitution. "I will not detain the caucus longer than to repeat my sincere obligations to you and to express through you my thanks to the people of the State, whose representatives you are, for the signal honor that has been conferred upon me." CHAPTER XXXIV CONCLUSION Generally I might say that I am quite content; but as I sit down now in the evening time of my life, it is a source of sadness and wonder to me that I have survived both my wives and all of my children. One by one I have laid them away in beautiful Oak Ridge Cemetery, in Springfield, where I myself will one day be laid beside them. I have had a delightful home life; no man could have had a more happy and peaceful one. As I look back now, I cannot remember that either wife or children ever caused me one moment's pain. I was twice married. My first wife, Hannah M. Fisher, to whom I was married in 1855, and who died in 1861, was of a very amiable spirit, a woman of more than ordinary culture, and was the mother of my first two children, Mrs. Ridgely and Mrs. Hardie, who lived to womanhood, but both of whom have passed away. My second wife, Julia Fisher, was the sister of my first wife. No better or truer woman ever lived. She was a devoted helpmate to me during all the years that I have occupied high public office and needed the support and help of a woman. She did her full part and filled her place on every occasion with dignity and propriety. It seems that her death is the last great sorrow I shall have to bear. The memory of the children whom I lost in their infancy is naturally dimmed by the passage of time, but it is hard for me to understand the justice of things when I remember the death of my two daughters, Ella, wife of William Barret Ridgely, and Carrie, wife of Robert Gordon Hardie, who were taken just in the very prime of womanhood, just in the most beautiful period of a woman's life, and just at a time when they had the most to live for. As I think of it now, I do not know where I obtained the strength to survive all these sorrows. I have no great fear of death, except the natural dread of the physical pain which usually accompanies it. I certainly wish beyond any words I have power to express that I could have greater assurance that there will be a reuniting with those we love and those who have loved us in some future world; but from my reading of Scripture, and even admitting that there is a hereafter, I cannot find any satisfactory evidence to warrant such a belief. Could I believe that I should meet the loved ones who have gone before, I do not know but that I should look forward with pleasure to the "passing across." Not having this belief, I am quite content to stay where I am as long as I can; and finally, when old Charon appears to row me over the river Styx, I shall be ready to go. INDEX [omitted] 
34266	----	THE GRAYSONS A STORY OF ILLINOIS BY EDWARD EGGLESTON AUTHOR OF "THE HOOSIER SCHOOLMASTER," "ROXY," "THE CIRCUIT RIDER," ETC., ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALLEGRA EGGLESTON THE CENTURY CO. NEW-YORK. COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY EDWARD EGGLESTON. THE DEVINNE PRESS. [Illustration: TURNING THE BIBLE.] PREFACE. _I had thought to close up the cycle of my stories of life in the Mississippi Valley with "Roxy" which was published in 1878. But when I undertook by request of the editor to write a short story for "The Century Magazine," and to found it on a legendary account of one of President Lincoln's trials, the theme grew on my hands until the present novel was the result. It was written mostly at Nervi, near Genoa, where I could not by any possibility have verified the story I had received about 1867 from one of Lincoln's old neighbors. To have investigated the accuracy of my version of the anecdote would have been, indeed, to fly in the face and eyes of providence, for popular tradition is itself an artist rough-hewing a story to the novelist's hands. During the appearance of this novel in serial form I have received many letters from persons acquainted in one way or another with the actors and sufferers in the events, of which these here related are the ideal counterparts. Some of these letters contain information or relate incidents of so much interest that I have it in mind to insert them in an appendix to some later edition of this book._ _EDWARD EGGLESTON._ _Joshua's Rock, Lake George, 1888._ This Book is respectfully inscribed to the Hon. Jonathan Chace, United States Senator from Rhode Island; the Hon. Joseph Hawley, United States Senator from Connecticut; the Hon. W. C. P. Breckenridge, Representative from Kentucky; and the Hon. Patrick A. Collins, Representative from Massachusetts, who have recently introduced or had charge of International Copyright Bills, and to those Members of both Houses of Congress who have coöperated with them in the effort to put down literary buccaneering. E. E. To my friend, Mabel Cooke, I Dedicate the Ideals of which these Illustrations are the Faint and Awkward Shadows. THE ILLUSTRATOR. CONTENTS. I TURNING THE BIBLE II WINNING AND LOSING III PAYING THE FIDDLER IV LOCKWOOD'S PLAN V THE MITTEN VI UNCLE AND NEPHEW VII LOCKWOOD'S REVENGE VIII BARBARA'S PRIVATE AFFAIRS IX BY THE LOOM X THE AFFAIR AT TIMBER CREEK CAMP-MEETING XI FRIENDS IN THE NIGHT XII A TRIP TO BROAD RUN XIII A BEAR HUNT XIV IN PRISON XV ABRAHAM LINCOLN XVI THE CORONER'S INQUEST XVII A COUNCIL OF WAR XVIII ZEKE XIX THE MYTH XX LINCOLN AND BOB XXI HIRAM AND BARBARA XXII THE FIRST DAY OF COURT XXIII BROAD RUN IN ARMS XXIV FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED XXV LIKE A WOLF ON THE FOLD XXVI CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE XXVII LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE XXVIII FREE XXIX THE CLOSE OF A CAREER XXX TOM AND RACHEL XXXI HIRAM AND BARBARA XXXII THE NEXT MORNING XXXIII POSTSCRIPTUM List of Illustrations TURNING THE BIBLE. BARBARA AND HIRAM BY THE LOOM. MR. BRITTON AND BIG BOB. "TELL ME TRULY, TOM, DID YOU DO IT?" JANET AT THE WINDOW. "WHERE'S THAT PIECE OF CANDLE GONE TO?" ZEKE AND S'MANTHY'S OLDEST SON. "'WHERE IS HE?' ASKED THE JUDGE." "SAY, TOM, WON'T YOU WAIT FOR ME?" THE GRAYSONS I TURNING THE BIBLE The place of the beginning of this story was a country neighborhood on a shore, if one may call it so, that divided a forest and prairie in Central Illinois. The date was nearly a lifetime ago. An orange-colored sun going down behind the thrifty orchard of young apple-trees on John Albaugh's farm, put into shadow the front of a dwelling which had stood in wind and weather long enough to have lost the raw look of newness, and to have its tints so softened that it had become a part of the circumjacent landscape. The phebe-bird, locally known as the pewee, had just finished calling from the top of the large barn, and a belated harvest-fly, or singing locust, as the people call him, was yet filling the warm air with the most summery of all summery notes--notes that seem to be felt as well as heard, pushing one another faster and yet faster through the quivering atmosphere, and then dying away by degrees into languishing, long-drawn, and at last barely audible vibrations. Rachel, the daughter of the prosperous owner of the farm, was tying some jasmine vines to the upright posts that supported the roof of a porch, or veranda, which stretched along the entire front of the house. She wore a fresh calico gown, and she had something the air of one expecting the arrival of guests. She almost always expected company in the evening of a fine day. For the young person whose fortune it is to be by long odds the finest-looking woman in a new country where young men abound, and where women are appreciated at a rate proportioned to their scarcity, knows what it is to be a "reigning belle" indeed. In the vigorous phrase of the country, Rachel was described as "real knock-down handsome"; and, tried by severer standards than those of Illinois, her beauty would have been beyond question. She had the three essentials: eyes that were large and lustrous, a complexion rich and fresh, yet delicately tinted, and features well-balanced and harmonious. Her blonde hair was abundant, and, like everything about her, vital. Her hands and feet were not over-large, and, fortunately, they were not disproportionately small; but just the hands and feet of a well-developed country girl used to activity and the open air. Without being more than ordinarily clever, she had a certain passive intelligence. Her voice was not a fine one, nor had her manners any particular charm except that which comes from the repose of one who understands that she is at her best when silent, and who feels herself easily ahead of rivals without making any exertion. Hers was one of those faces the sight of which quickens the pulses even of an old man, and attracts young men with a fascination as irresistible as it is beyond analysis or description. Many young men were visitors at John Albaugh's hospitable house, and where the young men came the young women were prone to come, and thus Albaugh's became a place of frequent and spontaneous resort for the young people from all the country round. But it had happened with this much-courted girl, as it has happened to many another like her, that with all the world to choose from, she had tarried single longer than her companions. Rachel was now past twenty-three, in a land where a woman was accounted something of an old maid if unmarried at twenty. Beauties such as she find a certain pleasure in playing with their destiny, as pussy loves the excitement of trifling with the mouse that can hardly escape her in any way. Prey that comes too easily in reach is not highly valued. Every bid for such a woman's hand leads her to raise her estimation of her own value. Rachel's lovers came and went, and married themselves to young women without beauty. Lately, however, Rachel Albaugh's neighbors began to think that she had at length fallen in love "for keeps," as the country phrase expressed it. "I say, Rache," called her brother Ike, a youth of fifteen, who was just then half-hidden in the boughs of the summer apple-tree by the garden gate, "they's somebody coming." "Who is it, Ike?" "Henry Miller and the two Miller girls." "Oh! is that all?" said Rachel, in a teasing tone. "Is that _all_?" said Ike. "You don't care for anybody but Tom Grayson these days. I'll bet you Tom'll be here to-night." "What makes you think so?" asked Rachel, trying not to evince any interest in the information. "Don't you wish you knew?" he answered, glad to repay her teasing in kind. "Did you see him to-day?" "Say, Sis," said Ike, affecting to dismiss the subject, "here's an awful nice apple. Can you ketch?" Rachel held up her hands to catch the apple, baring her pretty arms by the falling back of her loose sleeves. The mischievous Ike threw a swift ball, and Rachel, holding her hands for it, could not help shrinking as the apple came flying at her. She shut her eyes and ducked her head, and of course the apple went past her, bowling away along the porch and off the other end of it into the grass. "That's just like a girl," said Ike. "Here's a better apple. I won't throw so hard this time." And Rachel caught the large striped apple in her two hands. "I say, Ike," she said, coaxingly, "where did you see Tom?" "Oh! I met him over on the big road as I went to mill this morning; he was going home to his mother's, an' he said he was coming over to see you to-night. An' I told him to fetch Barbara, so 's I'd have somebody to talk to, 'cause you wouldn't let me get a word in ageways with him. An' Tom laughed an' looked tickled." "I guess you won't talk much to Barbara while Ginnie Miller's here," Rachel said; and by this time Henry Miller and his two sisters were nearing the white gate which stood forty feet away from the cool front porch of the house. "Howdy, Rachel!" said Henry Miller, as he reached the gate, and "Howdy! Howdy!" came from the two sisters, to which Rachel answered with a cordial "Howdy! Come in!" meant for the three. When they reached the porch, she led the way through the open front door to the "settin' room" of the house, as the living-room was always called in that day. The fire-place looked like an extinct crater; curtains of narrow green slats hung at the windows, and the floor was covered by a new rag-carpet in which was imbedded a whole history of family costume; a patient geologist might have discovered in it traces of each separate garment worn in the past five years by the several members of the Albaugh family. The mantel-piece was commonplace enough, of "poplar" wood--that is, tulip-tree--painted brown. The paint while fresh had been scratched in rhythmical waves with a common coarse comb. This graining resembled that of some wood yet undiscovered. The table at the side of the room farthest from the door had a cover of thin oil-cloth decorated with flowers; most of them done in yellow. A tall wooden clock stood against the wall at the right of the door as you entered, and its slow ticking seemed to make the room cooler. For the rest, there was a black rocking-chair with a curved wooden seat and uncomfortable round slats in the back; there were some rank-and-file chairs besides,--these were black, with yellow stripes; and there was a green settee with three rockers beneath and an arm at each end. Henry Miller was a square-set young fellow, without a spark of romance in him. He had plowed corn all day, and he would have danced all night had the chance offered, and then followed the plow the next day. His sisters were like him, plain and of a square type that bespoke a certain sort of "Pennsylvania Dutch" ancestry, though the Millers had migrated to Illinois, not from Pennsylvania, but from one of the old German settlements in the valley of Virginia. Ike jumped out of the apple-tree to follow Virginia, the youngest of the Millers, into the house; there was between him and "Ginnie," as she was called, that sort of adolescent attachment, or effervescent reaction, which always appears to the parties involved in it the most serious interest in the universe, and to everybody else something deliciously ridiculous; a sort of burlesque of the follies of people more mature. This was destined to be one of Rachel's "company evenings"; she had not more than seated the Millers and taken the girls' bonnets to a place of security, when there was a knock on the door-jamb. It was Mely McCord, who had once been a hired help in the Albaugh family. There were even in that day wide differences in wealth and education in Illinois, but class demarcations there were not. Nothing was more natural than that Mely, who had come over from Hubbard township to visit some cousin in the neighborhood, should visit the Albaughs. Mely McCord was a girl--she was always called a girl, though now a little in the past tense--with a stoop in the shoulders, and hair that would have been better if it had been positively and decoratively red. As it was, her head seemed always striving to be red without ever attaining to any purity of color. Half an hour later, Magill, an Irish bachelor of thirty-five, who, being county clerk, was prudently riding through the country in order to keep up his acquaintance with the voters, hitched his horse at the fence outside of the Albaugh gate, and came in just as Rachel was bringing a candle. Though he had no notion of cumbering himself with a family or with anything else likely to interfere with the freedom or pleasure of "an Irish gentleman," Magill was very fond of playing at gallantry, and he affected a great liking for what he called "faymale beauty," and plumed himself on the impression his own sprucely dressed person and plump face--a little overruddy, especially toward the end of the nose--might make on the sex. He could never pass Albaugh's without stopping to enjoy a platonic flirtation with Rachel. George Lockwood arrived at the same time; he was a clerk in Wooden's store, at the county-seat village of Moscow, and he could manage, on his busiest days even, to spend half an hour in selling a spool of cotton thread to Rachel Albaugh. He had now come five miles in the vain hope of finding her alone. The country beauty appreciated the flattery of his long ride, and received his attention with a pleasure undisguised. George Lockwood's was no platonic sentiment. He watched intently every motion of Rachel's arms only half-hidden in her open-sleeved dress; even the rustling of the calico of her gown made his pulses flutter. He made a shame-faced effort to conceal his agitation; he even tried to devote himself to Mely McCord and the "Miller girls" now and then; but his eyes followed Rachel's tranquil movements, as she amused herself with Magill's bald flatteries, and Lockwood could not help turning himself from side to side in order to keep the ravishing vision in view when he was talking to some one else. "You had better make the most of your chance, Mr. Lockwood," said pert little Virginia Miller, piqued by his absent-minded pretense of talking with her. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Oh, talk to Rachel while you can, for maybe after a while you can't!" "Why can't I?" "She's glad enough to talk to you now, but just you wait till Tom Grayson comes. If he should happen in to-night, what do you think would become of you?" "Maybe I'm not so dead in love as you think," he answered. "You? You're past hope. Your eyes go round the room after her like a sunflower twistin' its neck off to see the sun." "Pshaw!" said George. "You know better than that." But Virginia noted with amusement that his smile of affected indifference was rather a forced one, and that he was "swallowing his feelings," as she put it. He took her advice as soon as he dared and crossed to where Rachel was sitting with the back of her chair against the jamb of the mantel-piece. Rachel was smiling a little foolishly at the shameless palaver of Magill, who told her that there was a ravishing perfiction about her faychers that he'd niver sane surpassed, though he'd had the exquisite playsure of dancing with many of the most beautiful faymales in Europe. Rachel, a little sick of unwatered sweetness, was glad to have George Lockwood interrupt the frank criticisms of an appreciative connoisseur of loveliness. "I hear Tom Grayson outside now," said Mely McCord, in a half-whisper to Henry Miller. "George Lockwood won't be nowhere when he gits here"; and Mely's freckled face broke into ripples of delight at the evident annoyance which Lockwood began to show at hearing Grayson's voice on the porch. Tom Grayson was preceded by his sister Barbara, a rather petite figure, brunette in complexion, with a face that was interesting and intelligent, and that had an odd look hard to analyze, but which came perhaps, from a slight lack of symmetry. As a child, she had been called "cunning," in the popular American use of the word when applied to children; that is to say, piquantly interesting; and this characteristic of quaint piquancy of appearance she retained, now that she was a young woman of eighteen. Her brother Tom was a middle-sized, well-proportioned man, about two years older than she, of a fresh, vivacious countenance, and with a be-gone-dull-care look. He had a knack of imparting into any company something of his own cheerful heedlessness, and for this his society was prized. He spoke to everybody right cordially, and shook hands with all the company as though they had been his first cousins, looking in every face without reserve or suspicion, and he was greeted on all hands with a corresponding heartiness. But while Tom saluted everybody, his eye turned toward Rachel, and he made his way as quickly as possible to the farther corner of the room where she was standing in conversation with George Lockwood. He extended his hand to her with a hearty, "Well, Rache, how are you? It would cure fever and ague to see you"; and then turning to Lockwood he said: "Hello, George! you out here! I wouldn't 'ave thought there was any other fellow fool enough to ride five miles and back to get a look at Rachel but me." And at that he laughed, not a laugh that had any derision in it, or any defiance, only the outbreaking of animal spirits that were unchecked by foreboding or care. "I say, George," he went on, "let's go out and fight a duel and have it over. There's no chance for any of us here till Rachel's beaux are thinned out a little. If I should get you killed off and out of the way, I suppose I should have to take Mr. Magill next." "No, Tom, it's not with me you'd foight, me boy. I've sane too many handsome girls to fight over them, though I have never sane such transcindent----" "Ah, hush now, Mr. Magill," entreated Rachel. "Faymale beauty's always adorned by modesty, Miss Albaugh. I'll only add, that whoever Miss Rachel stoops to marry"--and Magill laughed a slow, complacent laugh as he put an emphasis on stoops--"I'll be a thorn in his soide, d'yeh mark that; fer to the day of me death, I'll be her most devoted admoirer"; and he made a half-bow at the close of his speech, with a quick recovery, which expressed his sense of the formidable character of his own personal charms. But if Magill was a connoisseur of beauty he was also a politician too prudent to slight any one. He was soon after this paying the closest heed to Mely McCord's very spontaneous talk. He had selected Mely in order that he might not get a reputation for being "stuck up." "Tom Grayson a'n't the leas' bit afeerd uh George Lockwood nur nobody else," said Mely rather confidentially to Magill, who stood with hands crossed under the tail of his blue-gray coat. "He all-ays wuz that away; a kind'v a high-headed, don't-keer sort uv a feller. He'd better luck out, though. Rache's one uh them skittish kind uh critters that don't stan' 'thout hitchin', an' weth a halter knot at that. Tom Grayson's not the fust feller that's felt shore she wuz his'n an' then found out kind uh suddently't 'e wuzn't so almighty shore _arter_ all. But, lawsee gracious! Tom Grayson a'n't afeerd uv nothin', nohow. When the master wuz a-lickin' him wunst, at school, an' gin 'im three cuts, an' then says, says he, 'You may go now,' Tom, he jes lucks at 'im an' says uz peart 's ever you see, says he, 'Gimme another to make it even numbers.'" "An' how did the master fale about that?" asked Magill, who had been a schoolmaster himself. "W'y he jes let him have it good an' tight right around his legs. Tom walked off an' never wunst said thank yeh, sir. He did n' wear uz good close in them days 's 'e does now, by a long shot. His mother's farm 's in the timber, an' slow to open; so many stumps and the like; an' 'f 'is uncle down 't Moscow had n't a' tuck him up, he 'd 'a' been a-plowin' in that air stickey yaller clay 'v Hubbard township yit. But you know _ole_ Tom Grayson, his father's brother, seein' 's Tom wuz named arter him, an' wuz promisin' like, an' had the gift of the gab, he thought 's how Tom mought make 'n all-fired smart lawyer ur doctor, ur the like; an' seein' 's he had n' got no boy to do choores about, he takes Tom an' sends him to school three winters, an' now I believe he's put him to readin' law." "Yis, I know he went into Blackman's office last May," said Magill. "Ole Tom Grayson 's never done nothin' fer the old woman nur little Barb'ry, there, an' little Barb'ry 's the very flower of the flock, accordin' to _my_ tell," Mely went on. "Mrs. Grayson sticks to the ole farm, yeh know, an' rents one field to pap on the sheers, an' works the rest uv it by hirin'. She sets a mighty sight uv store by Tom. Talks about 'im by the hour. She 'lows he'll be a-gittin' to Congress nex' thing. But I d' know"--and here Mely shook her head. "High nose stumped his toes," says _I_. "Jes look how he's a-carryin' on with Rache, now." "She's older 'n he is," said the clerk, knowing that even this half unfavorable comment would be a comfort to one so far removed from rivalry with her as Mely. "Three years ef she's a day," responded Mely promptly. "Jest look at that Lockwood. He's like a colt on the outside of a paster fence, now,"--and Mely giggled heartily at Lockwood's evident discomfiture. In gossip and banter the time went by, until some one proposed to "turn the Bible." I do not know where this form of sortilege originated; it is probably as old as Luther's Bible. One can find it practiced in Germany to-day as it is in various parts of the United States. "Come, Sophronia, you and me will hold the key," said Lockwood, who was always quick to seize an advantage. These two, therefore, set themselves to tell the fortunes of the company. The large iron key to the front door and a short, fat little pocket-Bible were the magic implements. The ward end of the key was inserted between the leaves of the Bible at the first chapter of Ruth; the book was closed and a string bound so tightly about it as to hold it firmly to the key. The ring end of the key protruded. This was carefully balanced on the tips of the forefingers of Lockwood and Sophronia Miller, so that the Bible hung between and below their hands. A very slight motion, unconscious and invisible, of either of the supporting fingers would be sufficient to precipitate the Bible and key to the floor. "Who can say the verse?" asked Lockwood. "I know it like a book," said Virginia Miller. "You say it, Ginnie," said her sister; "but whose turn first?" The two amateur sorcerers, with fingers under the key-ring, sat face to face in the dim light of the candle, their right elbows resting on their knees as they bent forward to hold the Bible between them. The others stood about with countenances expressing curiosity and amusement. "Rachel first," said Henry Miller; "everybody wants to know who in thunderation Rache _will_ marry, ef she ever marries anybody. I don't believe even the Bible can tell that. Turn fer Rachel Albaugh, and let's see how it comes out. Say the verse, Ginnie." "Letter A," said Virginia Miller, solemnly; and then she repeated the words like a witch saying a charm: "'Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried.'" The key did not turn. It was manifest, therefore, that Rachel would never marry any man whose name began with the first letter of the alphabet. The letter B was called, and again the solemn charm was repeated; the company resting breathless to the end. The Bible and key refused to respond for B, or C, or D, or E, or F. But when Ginnie Miller announced "Letter G," it was with a voice that betrayed a consciousness of having reached a critical point in her descent of the alphabet; there was a rustle of expectation in the room, and even McGill, standing meditatively with his hands behind his back, shifted his weight from his left foot to his right so as to have a better view of any antics the Bible might take a notion to perform. Just as Virginia Miller reached the words "and where thou diest will I die," the key slipped off Sophronia's fingers first, and the book fell to the floor. "G stands for Grayson," said Magill gravely, but he pronounced his "G" so nearly like "J" that a titter went around the room. "Don't you know better than to spell Grayson with a J, Mr. Magill?" asked Rachel. Magill did not see the drift of the question, and before he could reply, Lockwood, without looking up, broke in with: "What are you talking about, all of you? It's not the last name, it's the given name you go by." "Oh!" cried Mely McCord, in mild derision, "George begins with G. I didn't think of that." "Yis," said Magill, reflectively, "that's a fact; George does begin with jay too." "I tell you it's the last name," said Tom, laughing. "I tell you it isn't," said Lockwood, doggedly; but Henry Miller, seeing a chance for disagreeable words, made haste to say: "Come, boys, it's the good-natured one that'll win. Hang up the Bible once more and let's see if it 'll drop for Lockwood when it gets to L, or for Tom when we come to T. I don't more than half believe in the thing. It never will turn for me on anything but Q, and they a'n't no girl with Q to her name this side of Jericho except Queen Brooks, an' she lives thirteen miles away an' 's engaged to another feller, and I would n't look at her twiste if she wuz n't, nur she 't me like 's not. Come, Ginnie, gee-up your oxen. Let's have H." The Bible refused to turn at H. "Rachel won't marry you, Henry Miller," said the county clerk. "No," said Henry, "Rache an' me 's always been first-rate friends, but she knows me too well to fall in love with me, an' I'm the only feller in this end of the county that's never made a fool of myself over Rachel." Neither would the Bible turn at I, J, or K. But at L it turned. "Of course it'll turn at L, when Lockwood 's got hold of the key," said Tom with another laugh. "That 's what he took hold for." "That's the same as saying I don't play fair," said Lockwood, with irritation. "Fair and square a'n't just your way, George. But there's no use being cross about it." "Come, boys, if you 're going to quarrel over the Bible you can't have it," said Rachel, who loved tranquillity. "As for me, I'm going to marry whoever I please, and I won't get married _till_ I please, Bible or no Bible"; and she untied the string, put the rusty key in the door, and laid the plump little book in its old place on the mantel-piece, until it should be wanted again for religious disputation or fortune-telling. Grayson went rattling on with cheerful and good-natured nonsense, but George Lockwood, pushed into the shade by Tom's ready talk and by Rachel's apparent preference for him, was not in a very good humor, and departed early in company with Magill. After all the rest had gone, Barbara Grayson had to remind Tom more than once of the lateness of the hour, for nine o'clock was late in that day. "Send him home, Rachel," she said, "at half-past nine; he'll never go while you look good-natured." Then, taking her brother by the arm, Barbara led him to the gate. Rachel followed, almost as reluctant to close the evening as Tom himself. II WINNING AND LOSING The next Friday evening Grayson and Lockwood were again brought together; this time in the miscellaneous store of Wooden & Snyder, in which George Lockwood was the only clerk. Here after closing-time the young men of the village were accustomed to gratify their gregarious propensities; this was a club-room, where, amid characteristic odors of brown sugar, plug tobacco, new calico, vinegar, whisky, molasses, and the dressed leather of boots and shoes, social intercourse was carried on by a group seated on the top of nail-kegs, the protruding ends of shoe-boxes, and the counters that stretched around three sides of the room. Here were related again all those stock anecdotes which have come down from an antiquity inconceivably remote, but which in every village are yet told as having happened three or four miles away, and three or four years ago, to the intimate friend of the narrator's uncle. The frequency of such assemblies takes off something of their zest; where everybody knows all his neighbor's history and has heard everybody else's favorite story, a condition of mental equilibrium ensues, and there is no exchange of electricities. The new-comer, or the man who has been away, is a heaven-send in a village; he stirs its stagnant intellect as a fresh breeze, and is for the time the hero of every congregation of idlers. Such a man on this evening was Dave Sovine, the son of a settler from one of the Channel Islands. Four years ago, when but sixteen years old, Dave had unluckily waked up one summer morning at daybreak. Looking out of the little window in the end of the loft of his father's house, he had contemplated with disgust a large field of Indian corn to be "plowed out" that day under a June sun. So repulsive to his nature was the landscape of young maize and the prospect of toil, that he dressed himself, tied up his spare clothes in a handkerchief, and, taking his boots in his hand, descended noiselessly the stairway which was in the outside porch of the house. Once on the ground, he drew on his boots and got away toward the Wabash, where he shipped as cook on a flat-boat bound for New Orleans. No pursuit or inquiry was made by his family, and the neighbors suspected that his departure was not a source of regret. At Shawneetown the flat-boat was suddenly left without a cook. Dave had been sent up in the town with a little money to lay in supplies of coffee and sugar; instead of coming back, he surreptitiously shipped as cabin-boy on the steamboat _Queen of the West_, which was just leaving the landing, bound also for the "lower country." Sovine had afterward been in the Gulf, he had had adventures in Mexico, and he had contrived to pick up whatever of evil was to be learned in every place he visited. He had now come home ostensibly "to see the folks," but really to gratify his vanity in astonishing his old acquaintances by an admirable proficiency in deviltry. His tales of adventure were strange and exciting, and not likely to shrink in the telling. The youth of Moscow listened with open-mouthed admiration to one who, though born in their village, had seen so much of the world and broken all of the commandments. For his skill at cards they soon had not only admiration but dread. He had emptied the pockets of his companions by a kind of prestidigitation quite incomprehensible to them. He seemed to play fairly, but there was not a loafer in Moscow who had not become timid about playing with Dave; the long run of luck was ever on his side. It was much more amusing to his companions to hear him, with ugly winks and the complacent airs of a man who feels sure that he had cut his eye-teeth, tell how he had plucked others in gambling than to furnish him with new laurels at their own expense. On this particular evening Dave Sovine lounged on one of the counters, with a stack of unbleached "domestic" cloth for a bolster, while his bright patent-leather shoes were posed so as to be in plain view. Thus comfortably fixed, he bantered the now wary and rather impecunious "boys" for a game of poker, euchre, seven-up, or anything to pass away the time. George Lockwood, as representing the proprietors of the store, sat on a ledge below the shelves with his feet braced on a box under the counter. He was still smarting from his discomfiture with Rachel Albaugh, and he was also desirous of investigating Dave Sovine's play without risking his own "fips" and "bits" in the game. So, after revolving the matter in his mind as he did every matter, he said to Dave, with a half-sinister smile: "Tom Grayson's upstairs in Blackman's office. Maybe you might get up a game with him. He plays a stiff hand, and he a'n't afraid of the Ole Boy at cards, or anything else, for that matter." "You call him down," said Dave, winking his eye significantly, and involuntarily disclosing a vein of exultant deviltry which made the cool-blooded Lockwood recoil a little; however, George felt that it would be a satisfaction to see Tom's pride reduced. Lockwood got down off the ledge in a sluggish way, and walked around the end of the counter to the stove-pipe which ran from the box-stove in the store up through the office above. "I say, Tom!" he called. "What?" came out of the pipe. "Dave Sovine says he can beat you at any game you choose. Come down and try him." Grayson was bending over a law-book with only a tallow candle for light. Studying the law of common carriers was, in his opinion, dull business for a fellow with good red blood in his veins. He heard the murmur of conversation below, and for the last half-hour he had longed to put the book up beside its sheepskin companions on the shelves and join the company in the store. This banter decided him. "I'll come down a little minute and try just three games and no more," he said. Then he closed the book with a thump and went down the outside stairway, which was the only means of egress from the law-office, and was let into the back door of the store by George Lockwood. He got an empty soap-box and set it facing the nail-keg on which Dave Sovine had placed himself for the encounter. A half-barrel with a board on top was put between the players, and served for table on which to deal and throw the cards; the candle rested on the rusty box-stove which stood, winter and summer, midway between the counters. Lockwood snuffed the candle and then, with an affectation of overlistlessness, placed himself behind Sovine, so as to command a view of his cards and of all his motions. Tom had prudence enough to insist on playing for small stakes of a twelve-and-a-half-cent bit at a game;--his purse was not heavy enough for him to venture greater ones. At first the larger number of games fell to Grayson, and his winnings were considerable to one who had never had more than money enough for his bare necessities. He naturally forgot all about the law of common carriers and the limit of three games he had prescribed himself. Dave cursed his infernal luck, as he called it, and when the twelfth round left Tom about a dollar ahead, he gave the cards a "Virginia poke" whenever it came his turn to cut them; that is to say, he pushed one card out of the middle of the pack, and put it at the back. By this means Dave proposed to "change the luck," as he said; but George Lockwood, who looked over Dave's shoulder, was not for a minute deceived by this manoeuvre. He knew that this affectation of a superstition about luck and the efficiency of poking the cards was only a blind to cover from inexpert eyes the real sleight by which Dave, when he chose, could deal himself strong hands. Even the Virginia poke did not immediately bring a change, and when Tom had won a dozen games more than Dave, and so was a dollar and a half ahead, and had got his pulses well warmed up, Dave manifested great vexation, and asked Grayson to increase the stakes to half a dollar, so as to give him a chance to recover some of his money before it was time to quit. Tom consented to this, and the proportions of winnings passed to the other side of the board. Dave won sometimes two games in three, sometimes three in five, and Tom soon found a serious inroad made in the small fund of thirteen dollars which he had earned by odd jobs writing and even by harder and homelier work. This money had been hoarded toward a new suit of clothes. He began to breathe hard; he put up his hard-earned half-dollars with a trembling hand, and he saw them pass into Sovine's pocket with a bitter regret; he took his few winnings with eagerness. Every lost half-dollar represented a day's work, and after every loss he resolved to venture but one more, if the luck did not change. But how could he endure to quit defeated? He saw before him weeks of regret and self-reproach; he felt a desperate necessity for recovering his ground. As the loss account mounted, his lips grew dry, the veins in his forehead visibly swelled, and the perspiration trickled from his face. He tried to hide his agitation under an affectation of indifference and amusement, but when he essayed to speak careless words for a disguise, his voice was husky and unsteady, and he kept swallowing, with an effort as though something in his throat threatened him with suffocation. Dave noted these signs of distress in his adversary with a sort of luxurious pleasure; he had in him the instincts of a panther, and the suffering inflicted on another gave an additional relish to his victory. Lockwood watched the play with a sharp curiosity, hoping to penetrate the secret of Sovine's skill. He felt, also, a certain regret, for he had not expected to see Tom quite so severely punished. At length Tom's last dollar was reached; with a flushed face, he held the coin in his trembling hand for a moment, and then he said bravely: "It might as well go with the rest, if I lose this time," and he laid it down as a single stake, hoping that luck would favor him. When Dave had pocketed this he leaned back and smiled with that sort of ruthless content that a beast of prey feels when he licks his chops after having enjoyed a meal from his lawful prey. Tom's losses were relatively great; it was a kind of small ruin that had suddenly overtaken him. A month of writing, if he had it to do, would not have replaced the money, nor was his a nature that could easily brook defeat. The very courage and self-reliance that would have stood him in admirable stead in another kind of difficulty, and that in other circumstances would have been accounted a virtue, were a snare to him now. "Look here, Dave," he said, with a voice choked by mortification, "give me a chance to win a little of that back," and he laid his pocket-knife on the table. "Tom, you'd better quit," said three or four voices at once. But Dave rather eagerly laid a half-dollar by Tom's knife and won the knife. He liked this chance to give a certain completeness to the job. Then Tom laid out his silk handkerchief, which he also lost--for the games all went one way now. "Come, Tom, hold on now," said the chorus. But Tom was in the torment of perdition. He glared at those who advised him to desist. Then, in a mixture of stupor and desperation, he placed his hat on the board against a dollar and lost that; then he stripped the coat from his back and lost it, and at last his boots went the same way. When these were gone, having nothing further to wager without consigning himself to aboriginal nakedness, he sat in a kind of daze, his eyes looking swollen and bloodshot with excitement. "Come, Dave," said Lockwood, "give him back his clothes. You've won enough without taking the clothes off his back." "That's all you know about it," said Dave, who noted every token of Tom's suffering as an additional element in his triumph. "That may be your Illinois way, but that isn't the way we play in New Orleans. Winnings is winnings where I learnt the game." And he proceeded to lay Tom's things in a neat pile convenient for transportation. "Aw! come now, Dave," said one and another, "'t a'n't the fair thing to send a fellow home to his folks barefooted and in his shirt-sleeves." But Dave smiled in supercilious contempt at this provincial view of things, and cited the usages of the superior circles to which he had gained admission. Lockwood at length lent Tom the money to redeem his garments, and the necessity which obliged him to borrow from the man who had got him into the scrape was the bitterest of all the bitter elements in Tom's defeat. He went out into the fresh air and walked home mechanically. His dashing, headlong ways had already partly alienated his uncle, and the only hope of Tom's retaining his assistance long enough to complete his law studies lay in the chance that his relative might fail to hear of this last escapade. It was clear to Tom without much canvassing of the question that he could not borrow from him the money to replace what he had gotten from Lockwood to redeem his clothes. He entered the garden by the back gate, climbed up to the roof of the wood-shed by means of a partition fence, and thence managed to pull himself into the window of his own chamber as stealthily as possible, that his uncle's family might not know that he had come home at half-past twelve. He stood a long while in the breeze at the open window watching the shadows of clouds drift over the moonlit prairie, which stretched away like a shoreless sea from the back of his uncle's house. He could not endure to bring his thoughts all at once to bear on his affairs; he stood there uneasily and watched these flitting black shadows come and go, and he gnashed his teeth with vexation whenever a full sense of his present misery and his future perplexities drifted over him. He shut the window and went to bed at last, and by the time daylight arrived he had turned over every conceivable expedient. There was nothing for him but to accept the most disagreeable of all of them. He would have to draw on the slender purse of his mother and Barbara, for Lockwood's was a debt that might not be put off, and he could see no present means of earning money. He purposed to make some excuse to go home again on Saturday. It would be dreadful to meet Barbara's reproaches, and to see his mother's troubled face. How often he had planned to be the support of these two, but he seemed doomed to be only a burden; he had dreamed of being a source of pride to them, but again and again he had brought them mortification. Had he been less generous or more callous he would not have minded it so much. But as it was, his intolerable misery drove him to castle-building. He comforted himself with the reflection that he could make it all right with the folks at home when once he should get into practice. Barbara should have an easier time then. How often had he drawn drafts on the imaginary future for consolation! III PAYING THE FIDDLER "You didn't mean no harm, Tommy," said Mrs. Grayson, "I know you didn't." She was fumbling in the drawer of a clothes-press, built by the side of the chimney in the sitting-room of the Grayson farm-house in Hubbard township. She kept her money in this drawer concealed under a collection of miscellaneous articles. Tom sat looking out of the window. Ever since his gambling scrape he had imagined his mother's plaintive voice excusing him in this way. It was not the first time that he had had to be pulled out of disasters produced by his own rashness, and it seemed such an unmanly thing for him to come home with his troubles; but he must pay Lockwood quickly, lest any imprudent word of that not very friendly friend should reach his uncle's ears. Nothing but the fear of bringing on them greater evil could have scourged him into facing his mother and sister with the story of his gambling. Once in their presence, his wretched face had made it evident that he was in one of those tight places which were ever recurring in his life. He made a clean breast of it; your dashing dare-devil fellow has less temptation to lie than the rest of us. And now he had told it all,--he made it a sort of atonement to keep back nothing,--and he sat there looking out of the window at the steady dropping of a summer rain which had pelted him ever since he had set out from Moscow. He looked into the rain and listened to the quivering voice of his disappointed mother as she rummaged her drawer to take enough to meet his debt from the dollars accumulated by her own and Barbara's toil and management--dollars put by as a sinking fund to clear the farm of debt. But most of all he dreaded the time when Barbara should speak. She sat at the other window of the room with her face bent down over her sewing, which was pinned to her dress at the knee. She had listened to his story, but she had not uttered a word, and her silence filled him with foreboding. Tom watched the flock of bedraggled and down-hearted chickens creeping about under the eaves of the porch to escape the rain, and wondered whether it would not be better to kill himself to get rid of himself. His mother fumbled long and irresolutely in the drawer, looking up to talk every now and then, mostly in order to delay as long as possible the painful parting with her savings. "I know you didn't mean no harm, Tommy; I know you didn't; but it's awful hard on Barb'ry an' me, partin' with this money. Dave Sovine's a wicked wretch to bring such trouble on two women like us, that's had such a hard time to git on, an' nobody left to work the place. Out uv six children, you an' Barb'ry's all that's left alive. It's hard on a woman to be left without her husband, an' all but the two youngest children dead." Here she stopped ransacking the drawer to wipe her eyes. She gave way to her grief the more easily because she still lacked resolution to devote her earnings to filling up the gap made by Tom's prodigality. And in every trouble her mind reverted involuntarily to the greater tribulations of her life; all rills of disappointment and all rivers of grief led down to this great sea of sorrow. "You're the only two't's left, you two. Ef you'd just keep out uv bad comp'ny, Tommy. But," she said, recovering herself, "I know you're feelin' awful bad, an' you're a good boy only you're so keerless an' ventersome. You didn't mean no harm, an' you won't do it no more, I know you won't." By this time Mrs. Grayson's trembling hands, on whose hardened palms and slightly distorted fingers one might have read the history of a lifetime of work and hardship, had drawn out a cotton handkerchief in which were tied up thirty great round cumbersome Spanish and Mexican dollars, with some smaller silver. This she took to a table, where she proceeded slowly to count out for Tom the exact amount he had borrowed to redeem his clothes,--not a fi'-penny bit more did she spare him. At this point Barbara began to speak. She raised her face from her work and drew her dark eyes to a sharp focus, as she always did when she was much in earnest. "It don't matter much about us, Tom," she said, despondently. "Women are made to give up for men, I suppose. I've made up my mind a'ready to quit the school over at Timber Creek, though I do hate to." "Yes," said her mother, "an' it's too bad, fer you did like that new-fangled study of algebray, though I can't see the good of it." "I don't want to hurt your feelings," Barbara went on, "but maybe it'll do you good, Tom, to remember that I've got to give up the school, and it's my very last chance, and I've got to spin and knit enough this winter to make up the money you've thrown away in one night. You wouldn't make us trouble a-purpose for anything,--I know that. And, any way, we don't care much about ourselves; it don't matter about us. But we do care about you. What'll happen if you go on in this heels-over-head way? Uncle Tom'll never stand it, you know, and your only chance'll be gone. That's what'll hurt us all 'round--to give up all for you, and then you make a mess of it--in spite of all we've done." "You're awful hard on me, Barb," said Tom, writhing a little in his chair. "I wish I'd made an end of myself, as I thought of doing, when I was done playing that night." "There you are again," said Barbara, "without ever stopping to think. I suppose you think it would have made mother and me feel better about it, for you to kill yourself!" "Don't be so cuttin' with your tongue, Barb'ry," said her mother, "we can stand it, and poor Tom didn't mean to do it." "Pshaw!" said Barbara, giving herself a shake of impatience, "what a baby excuse that is for a grown-up man like Tom! Tom's no fool if he would only think; but he'll certainly spoil everything before he comes to his senses, and then we'll all be here in the mud together;--the family'll be disgraced, and there'll be no chance of Tom's getting on. What makes me mad is that Tom'll sit there and let you excuse him by saying that he didn't _mean_ any harm, and then he'll be just as gay as ever by day after to-morrow, and just as ready to run into some new scrape." "Go on, Barb, that's hitting the sore spot," said Tom, leaning his head on his hand. "Maybe if you knew all I've gone through, you'd let up a little." Tom thought of telling her of the good resolutions he had made, but he had done that on other occasions like this, and he knew that his resolutions were by this time at a heavy discount in the home market. He would liked to have told Barbara how he intended to make it all up to them whenever he should get into a lucrative practice, but he dreaded to expose his cherished dreams to the nipping frost of her deadly common sense. He looked about for a change of subject. "Where's Bob McCord?" he asked. "It was a rainy day, and he's gone off to the grocery, I guess," said Mrs. Grayson. "I'm afeerd he won't come home in time to cut us wood to do over Sunday." Tom had intended to ride back to Moscow and pay his debt this very evening. But here was a chance to show some little gratitude--a chance to make a beginning of amendment. He did not want to stay at home, where the faces of his mother and Barbara and the pinching economy of the household arrangements would reproach him, but for this very reason he would remain until the next day; it would be a sort of penance, and any self-imposed suffering was a relief. The main use that men make of penitence and the wearing of sackcloth is to restore the balance of their complacency. Tom announced his intention to see to the Sunday wood himself; putting his uncle's horse in the stable, he went manfully to chopping wood in the rain and attending to everything else that would serve to make his mother and sister more comfortable. IV LOCKWOOD'S PLAN George Lockwood, being only mildly malicious, felt something akin to compensation at having procured for Tom so severe a loss. But he was before all things a man secretive and calculating; the first thing he did with any circumstance was to take it into his intellectual backroom, where he spent most of his time, and demand what advantage it could give to George Lockwood. When he had let all the boys out of the store at a quarter past twelve, he locked and barred the door. Then he put away the boxes and all other traces of the company, and carried his tallow candle into his rag-carpeted bedroom, which opened from the rear of the store and shared the complicated and characteristic odors of the shop with a dank smell of its own; this last came from a habit Lockwood had when he sprinkled the floor of the store, preparatory to sweeping it, of extending the watering process to the rag-carpet of the bedroom. His mind gave only a passing thought of mild exultation, mingled with an equally mild regret, to poor Tom Grayson's misfortune. He was already inquiring how he might, without his hand appearing in the matter, use the occurrence for his own benefit. Tom had had presence of mind enough left to beg the whole party in the store to say nothing about the affair; but notwithstanding the obligation which the set felt to protect one another from the old fogies of their families, George Lockwood thought the matter would probably get out. He was not the kind of a man to make any bones about letting it out, if he could thereby gain any advantage. The one feeling in his tepid nature that had ever attained sufficient intensity to keep him awake at night was his passion for Rachel Albaugh; and his passion was quite outside of any interest he might have in Rachel's reversionary certainty of the one-half of John Albaugh's lands. This, too, he had calculated, but as a subordinate consideration. He reflected that Rachel might come to town next Saturday, which was the general trading-day of the country people. If she should come, she would be sure to buy something of him. But how could he tell her of Tom's unlucky gambling? To do so directly would be in opposition to all the habits of his prudent nature. Nor could he bethink him of a ruse that might excuse an indirect allusion to it; and he went to sleep at length without finding a solution of his question. But chance favored him, for with the Saturday came rain, and Rachel regretfully gave over a proposed visit to the village. But as some of the things wanted were quite indispensable, Ike Albaugh was sent to Moscow, and he came into Wooden & Snyder's store about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. George Lockwood greeted him cordially, and weighed out at his request three pounds of ten-penny nails to finish the new corn-crib, a half-pound of cut tobacco to replenish the senior Albaugh's pipe from time to time, a dollar's worth of sugar, and a quarter of a pound of Epsom salts,--these last two for general use. He also measured off five yards of blue cotton drilling, six feet of half-inch rope for a halter, and two yards of inch-wide ribbon to match a sample sent by Rachel. Then he filled one of the Albaugh jugs with molasses and another with whisky, which last was indispensable in the hay harvest. These articles were charged to John Albaugh's account; he was credited at the same time with the ten pounds of fresh butter that Isaac had brought. George Lockwood also wrapped up a paper of "candy kisses," as they were called, which he charged Ike to give to Rachel from him, but which he forgot to enter to his own account on the day-book. "By the way, Ike," he said, "did you know that Dave Sovine got back last week?" "Yes," said Ike; "I hear the Sovine folks made a turrible hullabaloo over the returned prodigal,--killed the fatted calf, and all that." "A tough prodigal _he_ is!" said Lockwood, with a gentle smile of indifference. "You'd better look out for him." "Me? Why?" asked Ike. "He never had any grudge ag'inst me, as I know of." "No," said Lockwood, laughing, "not that. But he's cleaned all the money out of all the boys about town, and he'll be going after you country fellows next, I guess. He's the _darnedest_ hand with cards!" "Well, he won't git a-holt of _me_," said Ike, with boyish exultation. "I don't hardly more 'n know the ace f'um the jack. I never played but on'y just once; two or three games weth one of the harvest hands, four years ago. He was showin' me how, you know, one Sunday in the big hay-mow, an' jus' as I got somethin' 't he called high low jack, the old man took 't into his head to come up the ladder to see what was goin' on. You know father's folks was Dunkers, an' he don't believe in cards. I got high low jack that time, an' I won't fergit it the longest day I live." Ike grinned a little ruefully at the recollection. "Could n' draw on my roundabout fer a week without somebody helpin' me, I was so awful sore betwixt the shoulders. Not any more fer me, thank you!" "It'u'd be good for some other young fellows I know, if they'd had some of the same liniment," said Lockwood, beginning to see his way clear, and speaking in a languid tone with his teeth half closed. "Blam'd 'f I didn't see Sovine, a-settin' right there on that kag of sixp'ny nails the other night, win all a fellow's money, and then his handkerchief and his knife. The fellow--you know him well--got so excited that he put up his hat and his coat and his boots, an' Dave took 'em all. He's got some cheatin' trick ur 'nother, but I stood right over 'im an' I can't quite make it out yet. I tried to coax 'im to give back the hat an' coat an' boots; but no, sir, he's a regular black-leg. He wouldn't give up a thing till I lent the other fellow as much money as he'd staked ag'inst them." "Who wuz the other fellow?" asked Ike Albaugh, with lively curiosity. "Oh! I promised not to tell"; but as Lockwood said this he made an upward motion with his pointed thumb, and turned his eyes towards the office overhead. "W'y, not Tom?" asked Ike, in an excited whisper. "Don't you say anything about it," said George, looking serious. "He don't want his uncle's folks to know anything about it. And besides, I haven't mentioned any name, you know"; and he fell into a playful little titter between his closed teeth, as he shook his head secretively, and turned away to attend to a woman who, in spite of the rain, had brought on horseback a large "feed-basket" full of eggs, and three pairs of blue stockings of her own knitting, which she wished to exchange for a calico dress-pattern and some other things. But Lockwood turned to call after the departing youth: "You won't mention that to anybody, will you, Ike?" "To b' shore not," said Ike, as he went out of the door thinking how much it would interest Rachel. Ike Albaugh was too young and too light-hearted to be troubled with forebodings. Rachel might marry anybody she pleased "f'r all of him." It was her business, and she was of age, he reflected, and he wasn't her "gardeen." At most, if it belonged to anybody to interfere, "it was the ole man's lookout." But the story of Tom Grayson's losing all his money, and even part of his clothes, was something interesting to tell, and it did not often happen to the young man to have the first of a bit of news. A farm-house on the edge of an unsettled prairie is a dull place, where all things have a monotonous, diurnal revolution and a larger annual repetition; any event with a parabolic or hyperbolic orbit which intrudes into this system is a godsend; even the most transient shooting-star of gossip is a relief. But this would be no momentary meteor, and Isaac saw in the newly acquired information something to "tease Rache with," and teasing one's sister is always lawful sport. He owed her some good-natured grudges; here was one chance to be even with her. Ike got home at half-past six, and Rachel had to spread for him a cold supper, chiefly of corn-bread and milk. He gave her the ribbon and the little package of square candy kisses from Lockwood. Rachel sat down at the table opposite her hungry brother, and, after giving him a part of the sweets, she amused herself with unfolding the papers that inclosed each little square of candy and reading the couplets of honeyed doggerel wrapped within. "Did you hear anything of Tom?" Rachel asked. "Yes." "What was it?" "Oh! I promised not to say anything about it." "You needn't be afraid of making me jealous," said the sister, with a good-natured, half-defiant setting of her head on one side. "Jealous? No, it's not anything like that. You ain't good at guessin', Sis; girls never air." "Not even Ginnie Miller," said Rachel. She usually met Ike's hackneyed allusions to the inferiority of girls by some word about Ginnie. It was plain her brother was in a teasing mood, and that her baffled curiosity would not find satisfaction by coaxing. She knew well enough that Ike was not such a fool as to keep an interesting secret long enough for it to grow stale and unmarketable on his hands. "Let it go,--I don't care," she said, as she got up and moved about the kitchen. "You would, if you knew," said Ike. "But I don't, and so there's an end of it"; and she began to hum a sentimental song of the languishing sort so much in vogue in that day. The melancholy refrain, which formed the greater part of this one, ran: "Long, long ago, long ago." It is one of the paradoxes of human nature that young women with all the world before them delight in singing retrospective melodies about an auld-lang-syne concerning which, in the very nature of the case, they cannot well know anything, but in regard to which they seem to entertain sentiments so distressful. "It wasn't so very long ago, nuther," said Ike, whose dialect was always intensified when there were harvest hands on the place. "What wasn't?" said Rachel, with her back to him. "Why, Tom's scrape, of course." "Was it a very bad one? Did he get took up?" Rachel's face was still averted, but Ike noted with pleasure that her voice showed a keen interest in his news. "Oh, no, 't's not him that ought to be took up; it's Dave Sovine." Rachel cleared her throat and waited a few seconds before speaking again. "Did Dave hurt Tom much?" she asked, groping after the facts among the various conjectures that suggested themselves. "Well, yes," said Ike, with a broad grin of delight at his sister's wide guessing; but by this time he was pretty well exhausted by the strain put upon his feeble secretiveness. "Yes, hurt him? I sh'd say so!" he went on. "Hurts like blazes to have a black-leg like Dave win all yer money an' yer knife, 'an yer hankercher, an' yer hat an' coat an' boots in the bargain. But you mus'n't say anything about it, Sis. It's a dead secret." "Who told you?" "Nobody," said Ike, feeling some compunction that he had gone so far. "I just heard it." "Who'd you hear it from?" "George Lockwood kind uh let 't out without 'xactly sayin' 't wuz Tom. But he didn't deny it _wuz_ Tom." Having thus relieved himself from the uncomfortable pressure of his secret, Ike got up and went out whistling, leaving Rachel to think the matter over. It was not the moral aspect of the question that presented itself to her. If Tom had beaten Sovine she would not have cared. It was Tom's cleverness as well as his buoyant spirit that had touched her, and now her hero had played the fool. She had the wariness of one who had known many lovers; her wit was not profound, and she saw rather than contrived the course most natural to one of her prudent and ease-loving temperament; she would hold Tom in check, and postpone the disagreeable necessity for final decision. V THE MITTEN Next to Tom's foreboding about his uncle was the dread of the effect of his bad conduct on Rachel. On that rainy Saturday afternoon he thought much about the possibility of making shipwreck with Rachel; and this led him to remember with a suspicion, foreign to his temper, the part that Lockwood had taken in his disgrace. By degrees he transferred much of his indignation from Sovine to George Lockwood. He resolved to see Rachel on his way back to town, and if possible by a frank confession to her to forestall and break the force of any reports that might get abroad. The bold course was always the easiest to one of so much propulsiveness. He remembered that there was a "singin'," as it was called in the country, held every Sunday afternoon in the Timber Creek school-house, half-way between his mother's house and the Albaugh's. This weekly singing-school was attended by most of the young people of the neighborhood, and by Rachel Albaugh among the rest. Tom planned to stop, as though by chance, at the gathering and ride home with the ever adorable Rachel. When Tom reached the school-house, Bryant, the peripatetic teacher of vocal music, was standing in front of his class and leading them by beating time with his rawhide riding-whip. Esteeming himself a leader in the musical world, he was not restricted to the methods used by musicians of greater renown. It is easy for ignorance to make innovation,--the America of a half century ago was seriously thinking of revising everything except the moral law. While Noah Webster in Connecticut was proposing single-handed to work over the English tongue so as to render it suitable to the wants of a self-complacent young nation, other reformers as far west as St. Louis were engaged in improving the world's system of musical notation. Of the new method Bryant was an ardent propagator; he made much of the fact that he was a musical new light, and taught the "square notes," a system in which the relative pitch was not only indicated by the position of the notes upon the clef, but also by their characteristic shapes. Any simpleton could here tell "do" from "me" at sight. In the "Missouri Harmonist" the lines and spaces were decorated with quavers and semi-quavers whose heads were circles, squares, and triangles; Old Hundred becoming a solemn procession of one-legged and no-legged geometric figures. But Bryant understood his business too well to confine his Sunday classes of young people to Sunday tunes. When Tom, after tying his horse to the inner corner of a rail-fence, pushed back the school-house door, creaking on its wooden hinges, the four divisions of the class were chasing one another through a "round," the words of which ran: "Now, Lawrence, take your bag, And go right straight to mill, And see, m--y b--o--y, That not a bit you spill!" This kind of music was naturally popular. Such a service relieves the tedium of a Sunday afternoon, and has something of the charm a dog finds in pursuing his own tail. Some of the members of the class turned their heads and their vocal mouths towards the door when Tom came in, but in the midst of this jangle of voices singing different portions of the same air most of them had all they could do to keep their time by waving their heads or thumping their toes on the puncheon floor, while they alternately looked at their books and at Bryant, who thrashed away with his whip, his lips seeming to say, though the words were inaudible in the general din: "Up, down, right, left, up," as he perpetually made right angles in the air. Rachel was in the act of drawing the word "boy" to the full length of a long note with a hold after it, but she looked up long enough to recognize the new arrival; then she dropped her eyes to the book again and gave the most severe attention to Bryant and the square notes thereafter, not once looking at Tom to the end. From this unwonted absorption in her music, Tom inferred that Rachel had somehow heard of his misconduct and was offended. But her charms enchanted him more than ever now that they were receding from him, and with a characteristic resolution he determined not to give her up without a sharp endeavor to regain his lost ground. When the "singing" "let out," Tom availed himself of the first moment of confusion, while Rachel stood apart, to ask permission to go home with her, in the well-worn formula which was the only polite and proper word to use for the purpose; for it is strange how rigidly certain exact forms were adhered to among people where intercourse was for the most part familiar and unconventional. "May I see you safe home?" he asked, as he had often asked before, but never before with trepidation. "No," said Rachel, with an evident effort, and without looking at Tom's face. Such an answer is technically known as "the sack" and "the mitten," though it would take a more inventive antiquary than I to tell how it got these epithets. But it was one of the points on which the rural etiquette of that day was rigorous and inflexible, that such a refusal closed the conversation and annihilated the beau without allowing him to demand any explanations or to make any further advances at the time. Tom was not of the sort easily snuffed out. He had to ride past Rachel's house, and it would be an addition to his disappointment that everybody would see his discomfiture. So he answered. "Well, I'll lead up your horse for you anyhow," and he went out before she could make up her mind to refuse him, and brought the sorrel filly alongside a tree-stump left standing in front of the school-house for a horse-block. The rest had by this time either mounted and gone, or were walking away afoot. Rachel felt a secret admiration for his audacity as she sprang into her saddle, while Tom held her bridle and adjusted the stirrup to her foot. "What have I done, Rachel?" "You know, well enough." Her voice was low and tremulous. She had dismissed other favorites, but never before had she found in herself so much reluctance. "Do you mean my gambling with Dave Sovine?" said Tom, driving, as usual, point-blank at the very center of things. "Yes." "Who told you?" He still held on to her bridle-rein with his left hand,--somewhat as a highwayman does in romances. "Oh! I guess everybody knows. Ike heard it yesterday, from George Lockwood or somebody." "It was Lockwood got me into it," said Tom, shutting his teeth hard. "If you'd let me go home with you, I could explain things a little." But those who are enervated by the balmy climate of flattery naturally dread a stiff breeze of ridicule. Rachel Albaugh did not like to bear any share of the odium that must come on Tom when his recklessness, and, above all, his bad luck, should become known. She drew the rein that Tom held, until he felt obliged to let it go, and said "No." "I have got what I needed," said Tom, making the best of his defeat. "What?" asked Rachel. "Oh! one mitten isn't of any use alone; you've given me a pair of them." Tom felt now the exhilaration of desperation. He gayly mounted his horse, and bade Rachel a cheerful good-bye as he galloped past her; then, when he had overtaken a group of those ahead of Rachel, he reined up and turned in the saddle, leaning his left hand on the croup, while he joked and bantered with one and another. Then he put his horse into a gallop again. When he was well out of hearing, Henry Miller, who was one of the party, remarked to his companions that he didn't know what was up, but it seemed to him as though Tom Grayson had got something that looked like a mitten without any thumb. "That's one more that Rache's shed," he remarked. "But when she gets a chance to shed me she'll know it." As Tom rode onward toward the village his spirits sank again, and he let his horse break down into an easy trot and then into a slow walk. It was no longer Sovine that he cursed inwardly. George Lockwood, he reflected, had called him away from the Law of Common Carriers to play a little game with Dave, and it was Lockwood who had reported his discomfiture to the Albaughs. He put these things together by multiplication rather than by addition, and concluded that Lockwood, from the first, had planned his ruin in order to destroy his chances with Rachel, which was giving that mediocre young man credit for a depth of forethinking malice he was far from possessing. Monday morning Tom went into Wooden & Snyder's store on the way to his office above. Lockwood had just finished sweeping out; the sprinkling upon the floor was not dry; it yet showed the figure 8s which he had made in swinging the sprinkler to and fro as he walked. The only persons in the store were two or three villagers; the country people rarely came in on Monday, and never at so early an hour. One frisky young man of a chatty temperament had stopped to exchange the gossip of the morning with George; but meaning to make his halt as slight as possible, he had not gone farther than the threshold, on which he now balanced himself, with his hands in his pockets, talking as he rocked nervously to and fro, like a bird on a waving bough in a wind. Another villager had slouched in to buy a pound of nails, with which to repair the damage done to his garden fence by the pigs during Sunday; but as he was never in a hurry, he stood back and gave the first place to a carpenter who wanted a three-cornered file, and who was in haste to get to his day's work. When Lockwood had attended to the carpenter, Tom beckoned him to the back part of the store, and without saying a word counted out to him the money he had borrowed. Something in Tom's manner gave Lockwood a sneaking feeling that his own share in this affair was not creditable. His was one of those consciences that take their cue from without. Of independent moral judgment he had little; but he had a vague desire to stand well in the judgment of others, and even to stand well in his own eyes when judged by other people's code. It was this half-evolved conscience that made him wish--what shall I say?--to atone for the harm he had but half-intentionally done to Tom? or, to remove the unfavorable impression that Tom evidently had of his conduct? At any rate, when he had taken his money again, he ventured to offer some confidential advice in a low tone. For your cool man who escapes the pitfalls into which better and cleverer men often go headlong is prone to rank his worldly wisdom, and even his sluggish temperament, among the higher virtues. Some trace of this relative complacency made itself heard perhaps in Lockwood's voice, when he said in an undertone: "You know, Tom, if I were you, I'd take a solemn oath never to touch a card again. You're too rash." This good counsel grated on the excited feelings of the recipient of it. "I don't want any advice from you," said Tom in a bitter monotone. I have heard it mentioned by an expert that a super-heated steam-boiler is likely to explode with the first escape of steam, the slight relief of pressure precipitating the catastrophe. Tom had resolved not to speak a word to Lockwood, but his wounded and indignant pride had brooded over Rachel's rejection the livelong night, and now the air of patronage in Lockwood drew from him this beginning; then his own words aggravated his feelings, and speech became an involuntary explosion. "You called me down-stairs," he said, "and got me into this scrape. Do you think I don't know what it was for? You took pains to have word about it go where it would do me the most harm." "I didn't do any such thing," said Lockwood. "You did," said Tom. "You told Ike Albaugh Saturday. You're a cold-blooded villain, and if you cross my path again I'll shoot you." By this time he was talking loud enough for all in the store to hear. The villager who wanted nails had sidled a little closer to the center of the explosion, the young man tilting to and fro on the threshold of the front door had come inside the store and was deeply engaged in studying the familiar collection of pearl buttons, colored sewing-silks, ribbons, and other knick-knacks in the counter showcase, while the carpenter had forgotten his haste, and turning about stood now with his tool-box under his arm, looking at Tom Grayson and Lockwood with blunt curiosity. "That's a nice way to treat me, I must say," said Lockwood, in a kind of whine of outraged friendship. "You'd 'a' gone home bareheaded and in your shirt-sleeves and your stocking-feet, if 't hadn't 'a' been fer me." "I'd 'a' gone home with my money in my pocket, if you and Dave Sovine hadn't fixed it up between you to fleece me. I 'xpect you made as much out of it as Dave did. You've got me out 'v your way now. But you look out! Don't you cross my track again, George Lockwood, or I'll kill you!" In a new country, where life is full of energy and effervescence, it is much easier for an enraged man to talk about killing than it is in a land of soberer thinking and less lawlessness. The animal which we call a young man was not so tame in Illinois two generations ago as it is now. But Tom's threat, having given vent to his wrath, lowered the pressure: by the time he had made this second speech his violence had partly spent itself, and he became conscious that he was heard by the three persons in the store, as well as by Snyder, the junior proprietor, who stood now in the back door. Tom Grayson turned and strode out of the place, dimly aware that he had again run the risk of bringing down the avalanche by his rashness. For if Tom was quickly brought to a white-heat, radiation was equally rapid. Long before noon he saw clearly that he had probably rendered it impossible to keep the secret of his gambling from his uncle. All the town would hear of his quarrel with Lockwood, and all the town would set itself to know to the utmost the incident that was the starting-point of a wrath so violent. If Tom had not known by many frosty experiences his uncle's unimpressionable temper, he would have followed his instinct and gone directly to him with a frank confession. But there was nothing to be gained by such a course with such a man. VI UNCLE AND NEPHEW Thomas Grayson the elder was one of those men who contrive to play an important part in a community without having any specific vocation. He had a warehouse in which space was sometimes let for the storage of other people's goods, but which also served to hold country produce whenever, in view of a probable rise in the market, he chose to enter the field as a cash buyer in competition with the "storekeepers," who bought only in exchange for goods. Sometimes, in the fall and the winter, he would purchase hogs and cattle from the farmers and have them driven to the most promising market. He also served the purpose of a storage reservoir in the village trade; for he always had money or credit, and whenever a house, or a horse, or a mortgage, or a saw-mill, or a lot of timber, or a farm, or a stock of goods was put on the market at forced sale, Grayson the elder could be counted on to buy it if no better purchaser were to be found. He had no definite place of business; he was generally to be found about the street, ready to buy or sell, or to exchange one thing for another, whenever there was a chance to make a profit. He had married late; and even in marrying he took care to make a prudent investment. His wife brought a considerable addition to his estate and no unduly expensive habits. Like her husband, she was of a thrifty disposition and plain in her tastes. The temptations to a degree of ostentation are stronger in a village than in a city, but Mrs. Grayson was not moved by them; she lent herself to her husband's ambition to accumulate. Not that the Graysons were without pride; they thought, indeed, a good deal of their standing among their neighbors. But it was gratifying to them to know that the village accounted Grayson a good deal better off than some who indulged in a larger display. The taking of Tom had been one of those economic combinations which men like Grayson are fond of making. He knew that his neighbors thought he ought to do something for his brother's family. To pay the debt on the farm would be the simplest way of doing this, but it would be a dead deduction from the ever-increasing total of his assets. When, however, Barbara had come to him with a direct suggestion that he should help her promising brother to a profession, the uncle saw a chance to discharge the obligation which the vicarious sentiment of his neighbors and the censure of his own conscience imposed on him, and to do it with advantage to himself. He needed somebody "to do choores" at his house; the wood had to be sawed, the cow had to be milked, the horse must be fed, and the garden attended to. Like most other villagers, Grayson had been wont to look after such things himself, but as his wealth and his affairs increased, he had found the chores a burden on his time and some detraction from his dignity. So he, therefore, took his namesake into his house and sent him to the village school for three years, and then put him into the office of Lawyer Blackman, to whom he was wont to intrust his conveyancing and law business. This law business entailed a considerable expense, and Thomas Grayson the elder may have seen more than a present advantage in having his nephew take up the profession under his protection. But the young man's unsteadiness, late hours, and impulsive rashness had naturally been very grievous to a cool-headed speculator who never in his life had suffered an impulse or a sentiment to obstruct his enterprises. Of domestic life there was none in the house of Thomas Grayson, unless one should give that name to sleeping and waking, cooking and eating, cleaning the house and casting up accounts. With his wife Grayson talked about the diverse speculations he had in hand or in prospect, and canvassed his neighbors chiefly on the business side of their lives, pleasing his pride of superior sagacity in pointing out the instances in which they had failed to accomplish their ends from apathy or sheer blundering. The husband and wife had no general interest in anything; no playful banter, no interesting book, no social assemblage or cheerful game ever ameliorated the austerity of their lives. The one thread of sentiment woven into their stone-colored existence was a passionate fondness for their only child Janet, a little thing five years old when Tom came into the house to do chores and go to school,--a child of seven now that Tom was drifting into trouble that threatened to end his professional career before it had been begun. Janet was vivacious and interesting rather than pretty, though her mass of dark hair, contrasting with a fair skin and blue eyes, made her appearance noticeable. Strict in their dealings with themselves and severe with others, Janet's father and mother did not know how to refuse her anything; she had grown up willful and a little overbearing; but she was one of those children of abundant imagination and emotion that sometimes, as by a freak of nature, are born to commonplace parents. Those who knew her were prone to say that "the child must take back"; for people had observed this phenomenon of inheritance from remote ancestors and given it a name long before learned men discovered it and labeled it atavism. A fellow like Tom, full of all sorts of impetuosities, could not help being in pretty constant conflict with his uncle and aunt. On one pretext or another he contrived to escape from the restraints of the house, and to spend his evenings in such society as a village offers. A young man may avoid the temptations of a great city, where there are many circles of association to choose from; but in a village where there is but one group, and where all the youth are nearly on a level, demoralization is easier. Tom had a country boy's appetite for companionship and excitement; he had no end of buoyant spirits and cordial friendliness; and he was a good teller of amusing stories,--so that he easily came to be a leader in all the frolics and freaks of the town. His uncle administered some severe rebukes and threatened graver consequences; but rebukes and threats served only to add the spice of peril to Tom's adventures. The austerity of acquisitiveness is more tedious to others, perhaps, than the austerity of religious conviction. To a child like Janet, endowed with passion and imagination, the grave monotony of the Grayson household was almost unbearable. From the moment of Tom's coming she had clung to him, rejoicing in his boyish spirits, and listening eagerly to his fund of stories, which were partly made up for her amusement, and partly drawn from romances which he had somewhat surreptitiously read. When he was away, Janet watched for his return; she romped with him in defiance of the stiff proprieties of the house, and she followed him at his chores. She cherished a high admiration for his daring and rebellious spirit, often regretting that she was not a boy: it would be fine to climb out of a bedroom window at night to get away to some forbidden diversion! On the other hand, the unselfish devotion of Tom to the child was in strange contrast with the headlong willfulness of his character. He made toys and planned surprises for her, and he was always ready to give up his time to her pleasure. It is hardly likely that Grayson would have borne with his nephew a single year if it had not been for Janet's attachment to him. More than once, when his patience was clean tired out, he said to his wife something to this effect: "I think, Charlotte, I'll have to send Tom back to his mother. He gets nothing but mischief here in town, and he worries me to death." To which Mrs. Grayson would reply: "Just think of Janet. I'm afraid she'd pine away if Tom was sent off. The boy is kind to her, and I'm sure that's one good thing about him." This consideration had always settled the question; for the two main purposes of life with Grayson and his wife were to accumulate property and to gratify every wish of their child. Having only one sentiment, it had acquired a tremendous force. VII LOCKWOOD'S REVENGE When Tom, after his violent speech on that unlucky Monday morning, had gone out of Wooden & Snyder's store, George Lockwood turned to Snyder, the junior partner, and said, with his face a little flushed: "What a fool that boy is, anyhow! He came in here the other night after the store was shut up and played cards with Dave Sovine till he lost all the money he had. I tried my best to stop him, but I couldn't do it. He went on and bet all the clo'es he could spare and lost 'em. I had to lend him the money to get 'em back. It seems Tom's girl--John Albaugh's daughter--heard of it, and now he will have it that I went in partnership with Sovine to get his money, and that I wanted to get Rachel Albaugh away from 'im." "You oughtn't to have any card-playing here," said Snyder. "I told the boys then that if they come in here again they mustn't bring any cards." "Tom's a fool to threaten you that way. You could bind him over on that, I suppose," said Snyder. "I s'pose I could," said George. But he did nothing that day. He prided himself on being a man that a body couldn't run over, but he had his own way of resisting aggression; he was not Esau, but Jacob. He could not storm and threaten like Tom; there was no tempest in him. Cold venom will keep, and Lockwood's resentments did not lose their strength by exposure to the air. The day after Tom's outburst, Lockwood, having taken time to consider the alternatives, suggested to Snyder, that while he wasn't afraid of Tom, there was no knowing what such a hot-head might do. Lockwood professed an unwillingness to bind Tom over to keep the peace, but thought some influence might be brought to bear on him that would serve the purpose. Snyder proposed that Lockwood should go to see Tom's uncle, but George objected. That would only inflame Tom and make matters worse. Perhaps Snyder would see Blackman, so that Lockwood need not appear in the matter? Then Blackman could speak to Grayson the elder, if he thought best. The calculating temper, and the touch of craftiness, pliancy, and tact in Lockwood served the ends of his employers in many ways, and Snyder was quite willing to put his clerk under obligations of friendship to him. Therefore, when he saw Tom go out of the office, Snyder mounted the stairs and had an interview with Blackman. As the lawyer was intrusted with all the bad debts and pettifogging business of Wooden & Snyder, any suggestion from a member of the firm was certain to receive attention. Snyder told the lawyer that Lockwood didn't want to drag Tom before a squire, and suggested that Blackman could settle it by getting the uncle to give the fellow a good admonition. He offered the suggestion as though it were quite on his own motion, he having overheard Tom's threat. The hand of George Lockwood was concealed; but it was only Lockwood who knew how exceedingly vulnerable Tom's fortunes were on the side of his relations with his uncle. That evening Blackman sat in Grayson's sitting-room. He was a man with grayish hair, of middle height, and rather too lean to fill up his clothes, which hung on his frame rather than fitted it; and if one regarded his face, there seemed too little substance to quite fill out his skin, which was not precisely wrinkled, but rather wilted. Grayson had turned around in his writing-chair and sat with one leg over the arm, but Blackman had probably never lolled in his life: he was possessed by a sort of impotent uneasiness that simulated energy and diligence. He sat, as was his wont, on the front rail of the chair-seat, as though afraid to be comfortable, and he held in his hand a high hat half full of papers, according to the custom of the lawyers of that day, who carried on their heads that part of their business which they could not carry in them. Blackman told the story of Tom's gambling as he had heard it, and of his threatening Lockwood, while the brows of Tom's uncle visibly darkened. Then the lawyer came to what he knew would seem to Grayson the vital point in the matter. "You know," he said, "if George Lockwood was a-mind to, he could bind Tom to keep the peace; though I don't s'pose Tom meant anything more than brag by talking that way. But it wouldn't be pleasant for you to have Tom hauled up, and to have to go his bail. I told Snyder I thought you could fix it up without going before the squire." Blackman passed his heavily laden hat from his right hand to his left, and then with the right he nervously roached up his stiff, rusty hair, which he habitually kept standing on end. After which he took a red silk handkerchief from his hat and wiped his face, while Grayson got up and walked the floor. "I shouldn't like to have to go anybody's bail," said the latter after awhile; "it's against my principles to go security. I suppose the best thing would be to send him back to the country to cool off." Blackman nodded a kind of half assent, but did not venture any further expression of opinion. He rose and deposited his silk handkerchief in a kind of coil on the papers in his hat, and then bent his head forward and downward so as to put on the hat without losing its contents; once it was in place he brought his head to a perpendicular position, so that all the mass of portable law business settled down on the handkerchief, which acted as a cushion between Blackman's affairs and his head. Tom came in as Blackman went out, and something in the manner of the latter gave him a feeling that he had been the subject of conversation between the lawyer and his uncle. He went directly to his room, and debated within himself whether or not he should go down and interrupt by a frank and full confession the discussion which he thought was probably taking place between Mr. and Mrs. Grayson. But knowing his uncle's power of passive resistance, he debated long--so long that it came to be too late, and he went to bed, resolved to have the first of it with his uncle in the morning. There was a very serious conference between the two members of the Grayson firm that evening. Mrs. Grayson again presented to her husband the consideration that, if Tom should go away, she didn't see what she was to do with Janet. The child would cry her eyes out, and there'd be no managing her. Grayson sat for some time helpless before this argument. "I don't see," he said at length, "but we've got to face Janet. We might as well teach her to mind first as last." It was a favorite theory with both of them that some day Janet was to be taught to mind. So long as no attempt was made to fix the day on which the experiment was to begin, the thought pleased them and did no harm. But this proposition to undertake the dreadful task at once was a spurt of courage in Thomas Grayson that surprised his wife. "Well, Mr. Grayson," she said, with some spirit, "the child's as much yours as she's mine; and if she's to be taught to mind to-morrow, I only hope you'll stay at home and begin." To this suggestion the husband made no reply. He got up and began to look under the furniture for the boot-jack, according to his custom of pulling off his boots in the sitting-room every night before going to bed. "You see, Charlotte," he said deprecatingly, when he had fished his boot-jack out from under the bureau, "I don't know what to do. If I keep Tom, Lockwood'll have him before the squire, and I'll have to pay costs and go bail for him." "I wouldn't do it," said Mrs. Grayson promptly. "We can't afford to have the little we've got put in danger for him. I think you'll have to send him home, and we'll have to get on with Janet. I'm sure we haven't any money to waste. People think we're rich, but we don't feel rich. We're always stinted when we want anything." The consideration of the risk of the bail settled the matter with both of them. But, like other respectable people, they settled such questions in duplicate. There are two sets of reasons for any course: the one is the real and decisive motive at the bottom; the other is the pretended reason you impose on yourself and fail to impose on your neighbors. The minister accepts the call to a new church with a larger salary; he tells himself that it is on account of opportunities for increased usefulness that he changes. The politician accepts the office he didn't want out of deference to the wishes of importunate friends. A widower marries for the good of his children. These are not hypocrites imposing on their neighbors; that is a hard thing to do, unless the neighbors really wished to be humbugged in the interest of a theory. But we keep complacency whole by little impostures devised for our private benefit. It is pleasant to believe that we are acting from Sunday motives, but we always keep good substantial week-day reasons for actual service. These will bear hard usage without becoming shiny or threadbare, and they are warranted not to lose their colors in the sunshine. "I'm sure," said Grayson, "Tom gets no good here. If anything will do him any good, it will be sending him to the country to shift for himself. It'll make a man of him, maybe." No better Sunday reason for his action could have been found. "I think it's your duty to send him home," said his wife, who was more frightened the more she thought of the possible jeopardy of a few hundred dollars from the necessity her husband would be under of going Tom's bail. "A boy like Tom is a great deal better off with his mother," she went on; "and I'm sure we've tried to do what we could for him, and nobody can blame us if he will throw away his chance." Thus the question was doubly settled; and as by this time Mr. Grayson's boots were off, and he had set them in the corner and pushed the boot-jack into its place under the bureau with his foot, there was no reason why they should not take the candle and retire. But when morning came Grayson was still loth to face the matter of getting rid of Tom, and especially of contending with Janet. Tom found no chance to talk with him before breakfast, for the uncle did not come out of his bedroom till the coffee was on the table, and he was so silent and constrained that Tom felt his doom in advance. Janet tried to draw her father and then her mother into conversation, but failing, she settled back with the remark, "This is the _crossest_ family!" Then she made an attempt on Tom, who began by this time to feel that exhilaration of desperation that was usually the first effect of a catastrophe on his combative spirit, for no man could be more impudent to fate than he. When Janet playfully stole a biscuit from his plate, he pretended to search for it everywhere, and then set in a breakfast-table romp between the two which exasperated the feelings of Grayson and his wife. When they rose from the table the uncle turned severely on his nephew, and said: "Tom----" But before he could speak a second word, the nephew, putting Janet aside, interrupted him with: "Uncle, I should like to speak with you alone a minute." They went into the sitting-room together, and Tom closed the door. Tom was resolved to have the first of it. "Uncle, I think I had better go home." Tom was looking out of the window as he spoke. "I got into a row last week through George Lockwood, who persuaded me to play cards for money with Dave Sovine. I don't want to get you into any trouble, so I'm off for Hubbard Township, if you don't object. There's no use of crying over spilt milk, and that's all there is about it." "I'm very sorry, Tom, that you won't pay attention to what I've said to you about card-playing." The elder Grayson had seated himself, while Tom now stood nervously listening to his uncle's voice, which was utterly dry and business-like; there was not the slightest quiver of feeling in it. "I've got on in the world without anybody to help me, but I never let myself play cards, and I've always kept my temper. You never make any money by getting mad, and if you're going to make any money, it's better to have people friendly. Now, I have to stand a good deal of abuse. People try to cheat me, and if I take the law they call me a skinflint; but I shouldn't make a cent more by quarreling, and I might lose something. I can't keep you, and have you go on as you do. I've told you that before. You'd better go home. Town will ruin you. A little hard work in the country'll be better, and you won't be gambling away the last cent you've got with a loafer like Dave Sovine, and then threatening to shoot somebody, as you did young Lockwood day before yesterday. Just think what you are coming to, Tom. I've done my best for you, and you'll never be anything but a gambler and a loafer, I'm afraid." These hard words sounded harder in the level and self-complacent voice of the senior Grayson, who spoke slowly and with hardly more intensity than there would have been in his depreciation of a horse he was trying to buy. "Just think what you're coming to," he repeated, because he felt that the proper thing to do under the circumstances was to give Tom a good "talking to," and he couldn't think of anything more to say. "I don't need you to tell me what I'm coming to," replied Tom, tartly; "I'm coming to the plow-handle and the grubbing-hoe. I'm sorry to give you trouble, but what I feel meanest about is mother and poor Barbara. I know what a fool I've been. But I'm no more a gambler and a loafer than you are. It'll take me longer to work into the law by myself, but I'll get there yet, and you'll see it." This was Tom's only adieu to his uncle, on whom confessions of wrong and expressions of gratitude, had he felt like uttering them, would have been wasted. Tom went to his room, thumping his feet defiantly on the stairs. He made a bundle of his clothes, while his uncle sneaked out of the house to avoid a collision with his little daughter, the only person of whom he was afraid. Tom told his Aunt Charlotte good-bye with a high head; but when it came to Janet, he put both arms about the child and drew her to him with a fond embrace. "You shan't go away, Tom," she said, disengaging herself. "What are you going for? Did they say you must?" By "they" Janet meant her parents, whom she regarded as the allied foes of poor Tom. She looked indignantly at her mother, who had turned her back on this scene of parting. "I'm going to help my mother," said Tom; "she's poor, and I oughtn't to have left her." He again embraced the child, who began to cry bitterly. "What _shall_ I do when you're gone?" she sobbed on his shoulder. "This house won't be fit to live in. _Such a lot of old pokes!_" And she stamped her feet and looked poutingly at her mother. Tom disengaged himself from her intermittent embraces, and went out with his bundle in his hand. He went first to the law-office, and sat his bundle on a chair, and addressed himself to Blackman, who had already arrived, and who was apparently much preoccupied with his writing. "Mr. Blackman, I've made a fool of myself by gambling, and Uncle Tom has concluded I can't stay with him any longer. I don't much wonder at it either. But I do hate to give up the study. Couldn't you give me something to do, so that I could earn my board at your house?" "No," said the lawyer, looking off horizontally, but not at Tom. "I was just going to tell you I couldn't keep you in the office. You've got altogether too much gunpowder for a lawyer. Better get into the regular army, Tom; that would suit your temper better." Then, after a moment's pause, he added: "I've got young sons, and your example might ruin them if you should come to my house to live." And he leaned forward as though he would resume his writing. These were sound and logical reasons that Blackman gave for not keeping Tom, and the lawyer was sincere as far as he went. But had he discovered by this time that Tom's mind was clearer and more acute than his own, and that if Tom should come to the bar with his uncle's backing he would soon be a formidable rival? "Besides," resumed the lawyer, as Tom turned reluctantly away, "it's better for you to go to the country. George Lockwood will have you bound over to keep the peace if you stay, and now you're out with your uncle, who's going your bail?" "Always George Lockwood," Tom thought, as he took up his bundle. "Good-bye, Mr. Blackman!" Tom's voice was husky now. But when he descended the stairs he went down the village street with a bold front, telling his old cronies good-bye, answering their questions frankly, and braving it out to the last. Put the best face upon it he could, his spirit was bitter, and to a group of old companions who followed him to the "corporation line," at the edge of the village, he said, almost involuntarily: "George Lockwood got me into this scrape to upset me, and he's purty well done it. If he ever crosses my path, I'm going to get even with him." Such vague threats do not bind one to any definite execution, and they are a relief to the spirit of an angry man. Having broken with his uncle, Tom must walk the long ten miles to his mother's farm in Hubbard Township. Before he got there his head was down; the unwonted fatigue of his journey, the bitter sense of defeat, the dark picture his imagination made of his mother's disappointment and of the despair of the ambitious Barbara took all the heart out of him. When he reached home he strode into the house and sat down without saying a word. "Has Uncle Tom turned you off?" asked Barbara, faltering a little and putting down her knitting. She had been dreading this end of all her hopes. "Yes," said Tom; "and I wish to the Lord I was dead and done for." And he leaned his head on his left hand. "Oh, my poor boy!" began Mrs. Grayson, "and you didn't mean no harm neither. And you're the only boy I've got, too. All the rest dead and gone. They's no end of troubles in this world!" Tom's shoulders were heaving with feeling. After a moment or two of silence, Barbara went over and put her hand on him. "Pshaw, Tom! what's the use of giving up? You're a splendid fellow in spite of all, and you'll make your way yet. You only needed a settler, and now you've got it. It won't look so bad by next week. You'll take a school next winter, and after that go back to study law again." Then she quietly went to the clothes-press by the chimney and got out a hank of yarn, and said to Tom: "Here, hold this while I wind it. I was just wishing you were here when I saw my ball giving out. That's like you used to do for me. Don't you remember? Mother, get Tom something to eat; he's tired and hungry, I expect." And choking down the disappointment which involved more than Tom suspected, the keen, black-eyed girl wound her yarn and made an effort to chat with Tom as though he had come home on a visit. As the last strands were wound on the ball, Tom looked at his sister and said: "Barbara, you're one of a thousand. But I know this thing's thundering hard on you. I'm going to try to make it up to you from this time. I wish to goodness I had half of your steady sense." VIII BARBARA'S PRIVATE AFFAIRS From childhood Barbara's ambition had centered in Tom; it was her plan that the clever brother should give standing to the family by his success in life. If Tom could only be persuaded to be steady, he might come to be a great man. A great man, in her thinking, was a member of the State legislature, or a circuit judge, for example: to her provincial imagination the heights above these were hazy and almost inaccessible. The scheme of a professional career for Tom had been her own, in conception and management; for though her brother was nearly two years her senior, she, being prudent and forecasting, had always played the part of an elder. Tom's undeniable "brightness" was a great source of pride to her. In spite of his heedless collisions with the masters, he was always at the head of his classes; and it seemed to Barbara the most natural thing in the world that she, being a girl, should subordinate herself to the success of a brother so promising. She had left school to devote herself to the house and the cares of the farm, in order that Tom might be educated--in the moderate sense of the word then prevalent. The brother was far from being ungrateful; if he accepted his sister's sacrifices without protest, he repaid her with a demonstrative affection and admiration not often seen in brothers; and there were times when he almost reverenced in her that prudence and practical wisdom in which he found himself deficient. It was only during this summer that Barbara had been seized with independent aspirations for herself; and perhaps even these were not without some relation to Tom. If Tom should come to be somebody in the county, she would sit in a reflected light as his sister. It became her, therefore, not to neglect entirely her own education. To go to Moscow to a winter school was out of the question. Every nerve was strained to extricate the farm from debt and to give a little help, now and then, to Tom. It chanced, however, that a student from an incipient Western college, intent on getting money to pay his winter's board bills, had that summer opened a "pay school" in the Timber Creek district school-house, which was only two miles from the Grayson farm. Those who could attend school in the summer were, for the most part, small fry too young to be of much service in the field, and such girls, larger and smaller, as could be spared from home. But the appetite for "schooling" in the new country was always greater than the supply; and when it was reported that a school was "to be took up" in the Timber Creek school-house, by a young man who had not only "ciphered plumb through the Rule of Three," but had even begun to penetrate the far-away mysteries of Latin and algebra, it came to pass that several young men and young women, living beyond the district limits, subscribed to the school, that they might attend it, even if only irregularly;--not that any of the pupils dreamed of attacking the Latin, but a teacher who had attained this Ultima Thule of human learning was supposed to know well all that lay on the hither side of it. The terms of a "pay school," in that day, were low enough,--a dollar and twenty-five cents was the teacher's charge for each pupil for thirteen weeks; but the new schoolmaster had walked from home to avoid traveling expenses, the log school-house cost him no rent, and he had stipulated that he should "board 'round" in the families of his patrons, so that the money he received from twenty pupils was clear profit, and at the price of living in those primitive times would pay his board at college for six months. Barbara, for one, had resolved to treat herself to a dollar and a quarter's worth of additional learning. The Timber Creek school-house was on the road leading to the village of Moscow; she could therefore catch a ride, now and then, on the wagon of some farmer bound to the village, by mounting on top of a load of wood, hay, or potatoes; and often she got a lift in the evening in a neighbor's empty wagon rattling homeward from town, or for a part of the way by sitting in the tail of some ox-cart plying between forest and prairie; but more frequently she had to walk both in going and coming, besides working early and late at her household duties. Hiram Mason was the name of the new teacher whom the pupils found behind the master's desk on the first day of school. He was the son of a minister who had come out from New England with the laudable intention of lending a hand in evangelizing this great strapping West, whose vigorous and rather boisterous youth was ever a source of bewilderment, and even a cause of grief, to the minds of well-regulated Down-easters. The evangelists sent out aimed at the impossible, even at the undesirable, in seeking to reproduce a New England in communities born under a different star. Perhaps it was this peninsular trait of mind that prevented the self-denying missionaries from making any considerable impression on the country south of the belt peopled by the current of migration from New England. The civilization of the broad, wedge-shaped region on the north side of the Ohio River, which was settled by Southern and Middle State people, and which is the great land of the Indian corn, has been evolved out of the healthier elements of its own native constitution. But it was indebted to New England, in the time of its need, for many teachers of arithmetic and grammar, as well as for the less-admirable but never-to-be-forgotten clock-peddlers and tin-peddlers from Connecticut, who also taught the rustics of southern Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois things they had never dreamed of before, and took high pay for the instruction. Young Mason, though he had mostly grown up in the new country, and would have scorned the name of Yankee, had got from his father that almost superstitious faith in the efficacy of knowledge which, in the North-eastern States, has been handed down from generation to generation, and which has produced much learning and some pedantry. Mason was of middle stature, good breadth of shoulder, prominent, broad forehead, and brows that overhung his eyes, but were rather high above them. He had a well-set chin and a solid jaw; his mouth was too large to be handsome and was firmly closed; his gait was strong, straightforward, resolute, and unhurried. There were little touches of eccentricity in him: he had a way of looking at an interlocutor askance, and his habitual expression was one of mingled shyness and self-contained amusement. The religious enthusiasm of his father had been transmuted in him to a general earnestness of character, which was veiled under a keen perception of the droll side of life, derived from a mother of Southern extraction. His early-and-late diligence in study was the wonder of the country, but the tastes and aspirations that impelled him to so much toil rarely found utterance in any confessions, even to his nearest friends. Reserved as he was, the people could never complain that he held himself above them. A new-country youth, the son of a minister on slender pay, Hiram understood how to extend a helping hand, when occasion required, in any work that might be going on. At school, when the young master saw the boys playing at the boisterous and promiscuous "soak about," he would sometimes catch the contagion of the wild fun, and, thrusting his "Livy" into the desk, rush out of the door to mix in the confusion, throwing the yarn ball at one and another with a vigor and an accuracy of aim that doubled the respect of his pupils for him. But when once he had extricated himself from the _mélée_, and had rapped on the door-frame with his ruler, crying, "Books, books!" the boy who a minute before had enjoyed the luxury of giving the master what was known in school-boy lingo as a "sockdolager," delivered full in the back, or even on the side of the head, did not find any encouragement to presume on that experience in school-hours. The new master's punishments usually had a touch of his drollery in them; he contrived to make the culprit ridiculous, and so to keep the humor of the school on his side. A girl who could not otherwise be cured of munching in school had to stand in front of the master's desk with an apple in her teeth; a boy who was wont to get his sport by pinching his neighbors, and sticking them with pins, was forced to make no end of amusement for the school in his turn, by standing on the hearth with a cleft stick pinching his nose out of shape. It was soon concluded that there was no fun in "fooling" with a master who was sure to turn the joke on the offender. The older pupils who occupied the "writing bench," in front of a continuous shelf-like desk fixed along the wall, spent much of their time in smuggling from one to another fervid little love notes, which, for disguise, were folded like the "thumb-papers" that served to protect their books from the wear and tear of their over-vigorous thumbs, and from soiling. By passing books from one to another, with such innocent-looking square papers in them, a refreshing correspondence was kept up. This exchange of smuggled billets-doux was particularly active when Rachel Albaugh was present. As for the love-letters thus dispatched, they were fearfully monotonous and not worth the pains of capture by a schoolmaster. Some were straightforward and shameless declarations of admiration and affection in prose scrawls, but a very common sort was composed entirely of one or another of those well-worn doggerel couplets that have perhaps done duty since the art of writing became known to the Anglo-Saxons. "If you love me as I love you, No knife can cut our love in two," was a favorite with the swains of the country school-house; but "The rose is red, the violet's blue, Sugar's sweet, and so are you," had a molasses-like consistency in its alliterative lines that gave it the preference over all other love poems extant. Amongst these unblushing scribblers of love doggerel and patient cutters and folders of many sorts of thumb-papers, whose fits of studying, like chills and fever, came on only "by spells," Barbara sat without being one of them. The last chance for education was not to be thrown away; and Mason soon singled out this rather under-sized, sharp-eyed girl, not only as the most industrious and clever of the pupils in the Timber Creek school, but as a person of quite another sort from the rest of them. When he was explaining anything to a group of half-listless scholars, her dark eyes, drawn to beads, almost startled him with their concentrated interest. She could not be taught in any kind of classification with the rest; her rate of progress was too rapid. So finding that Barbara studied all through the recess time, he undertook to give her extra instruction while the others were on the playground. The most agreeable minutes of his day were those in which he unfolded to her the prosaic principles of Vulgar Fractions, of Tare and Tret, and of the Rule of Three. This last was the great and final goal, and it was attained by few of those who attended an intermittent country school in that time. To reach it was to become competent to teach school. Barbara, with the help of the master, who directed her to save time by omitting some of the rubbish in Pike's Arithmetic, was soon in sight of this promised land of the Rule of Three, and it became a question of reviewing the book once more, when she should be through with it, so as to take rank among those who would certainly "do every sum in the book." "Why not take up algebra?" said the teacher to her, during a long noon recess as they sat side by side at his desk poring over a slate full of figures. "Do you think I could learn it?" she asked. "You could learn anything," he said; and the assurance gave Barbara more pleasure than any commendation she had ever received. But she did not know what to reply. To go beyond the arithmetic would be, according to the standard of the country, to have a liberal education, and she was ambitious enough to like that. But where would she get the money to buy a text-book? She didn't wish to confess her scruple of economy. It was not that she was ashamed of her poverty, for poverty might be said to be the prevailing fashion in the Timber Creek country; but it would be bringing to Mason's attention her private affairs, and from that she shrank with an instinct of delicacy for which she could not have given any reason. Yet there sat Mason, leaning back and waiting for her to reply to his question. After a few moments she mustered courage to ask timidly: "Would the book cost much?" "I wouldn't buy any book just now," said the master, seeing the drift of her thoughts. He went to one corner of the school-room, and, standing on the bench, pushed aside one of the boards laid loosely over the joists above. It was here, in the dark loft, that he kept the few articles not necessary to his daily existence in boarding 'round. Reaching his hand up above the boards, he found a copy of a school text-book on algebra, and brought it down with him, rapping it against his hand and blowing the dust off it. "Use that for a while," he said. "Oh, thank you!" said Barbara, taking hold of the book with a curious sense of reverence, which was greatly increased as she turned the leaves and regarded the symbols, whose nature and use were quite inconceivable to her. Here was a knowledge beyond any that she had ever dreamed of looking into; beyond that of any schoolmaster she had ever known, except Mason. "It looks hard," she said, regarding him. "Take it home and try it," he replied, as he took up his ruler to call the scholars to books. A closer companionship now grew up between the master and the pupil. Both of them anticipated with pleasure the coming of recess time, when the new study could be discussed together. Henceforth the boys looked in vain for Mason to take a turn with them in playing soak-about. To a man of high aims nothing is more delightful than to have a devoted disciple. Even the self-contained Mason could not be quite unmoved in contemplating this young girl, all of whose tastes and ambitions flowed in the same channel with his own, listening to him as to an oracle. If he had not been so firmly fixed in his resolve that he would not allow any woman to engage his affections before he had completed his college course, he might have come to fall in love with her. But all such thoughts he resolutely put aside. Of course, teaching her was a delight; but who could help feeling delight in teaching such a learner? Moreover, he was particularly fond of algebra. But he could hardly lay all of his enjoyment to his liking for algebra, or his pleasure in teaching a quick-witted pupil. He could not make himself believe that it was his enjoyment of algebraic generalizations that made his hand tremble whenever he returned a slate or book to Barbara Grayson. Barbara, for her part, was too intent on her work to think much about anything else. She had more than once caught sight of the furtive, inquiring glance of her teacher on her face before he could turn his eyes away; she was pleased to note that his voice had a tone in addressing her that it had not when he spoke to the others; and she took pleasure in perceiving that she was beyond question the favorite pupil. But Barbara was averse to building any castles in the air which she had small chance of being able to materialize. One evening, as she was going briskly toward home, she was overtaken by Mason, who walked with her up hill and down dale the whole long rough new-country road through the woods, carrying her books, and chatting about trivial things as he had never done before. He contrived, half in pleasantry, but quite in earnest, to praise her diligence, and even her mind. She had hardly ever thought of herself as having a mind. That Tom had such a gift she knew, and she understood how important it was to cultivate his abilities. But she was only Tom's sister. It seemed to her a fine thing, however, this having a mind of her own, and she thought a good deal about it afterward. When Hiram Mason reached the place where Barbara was accustomed to leave the main road, in order to reach her home by a shorter path through a meadow, he got over the fence first and gave her his hand, though he wondered afterward that he had had the courage to do it. Barbara had climbed fences and trees too, for that matter, from her infancy, and she was in the habit of getting over this fence twice a day, without ever dreaming that she needed help. But a change had come over her in this two-miles' walk from school. For the first time, she felt a certain loneliness in her life, and a pleasure in being protected. She let Mason take her hand and help her to the top of the fence, though she could have climbed up much more nimbly if she had had both hands free to hold by. Hiram found it so pleasant helping her up, by holding her hand, that he took both her hands when she was ready to jump down on the meadow side of the fence, and then, by an involuntary impulse he retained her right hand in his left a bare moment longer than was necessary. A little ashamed, not so much of the feeling he had shown as of that he had concealed, he finished his adieux abruptly, and, placing his hands on the top rail, vaulted clean over the fence again into the road. Then he thought of something else that he wanted to say about Barbara's new study of algebra,--something of no consequence at all, except in so far as it served to make Barbara turn and look at him once more. The odd twinkling smile so habitual with him died out of his face, and he looked into hers with an eagerness that made her blush, but did not make her turn away. Blaming himself for what seemed to him imprudence, he left her at last and started back, only stopping on the next high ground to watch her figure as she hurried along through the meadow grass, and across the brook, and then up the slope toward the house. There were several other evenings not very different from this one. The master would wait until all the pupils had gone, and then overtake Barbara. He solaced his conscience by carrying a book in his pocket, so as to study on the way back; but he found a strange wandering of the mind in his endeavors to read a dead language after a walk with Barbara. He still held to his resolution, or to what was left of his resolution, not to entangle himself with an early engagement. What visions he indulged in, of projects to be carried out in a very short time after his graduation, belong to the secrets of his own imagination; all his follies shall not be laid bare here. But to keep from committing himself too far, he drew the line at the boundary of Mrs. Grayson's farm,--the meadow fence. He gave himself a little grace, and drew the line on the inside of the fence. He was firmly resolved never to go quite home with his pupil, and never to call at her house. So long as he stopped at the fence, or within ten, or say twenty, or perhaps thirty, feet of it he felt reasonably safe. But he could not, in common civility, turn back until he had helped her to surmount this eight-rail fence; and indeed it was the great treat to which he always looked forward. There was a sort of permissible intimacy in such an attention. He guarded himself, however, against going beyond the limits of civility--of kindly politeness--of polite friendship; that was the precise phrase he hit on at last. But good resolutions often come to naught because of its being so very difficult to reckon beforehand with the involuntary and the uncontrollable. The goodman of the house never knows at what moment the thief will surprise him. One evening Mason had taken especial pains to talk on only the most innocent and indifferent subjects, such as algebra. On this theme he was the schoolmaster, and he felt particularly secure against any expression of feeling, for _x_, _y_, and _z_ are unknown quantities that have no emotion in them. Though Barbara was yet in the rudiments of the study, he was trying to make her understand the general principles involved in the discussion of the famous problem of the lights. To make this clear he sat down once or twice on logs lying by the roadside, and wrote some characters on her slate showing the relation of _a_ to _b_ in any given case, while Barbara sat by and looked over his demonstrations. But in spite of these delays, they got to the fence before he had finished, and the rest was postponed for another time. It didn't matter so much about the lights after all, whether they were near together or far apart; it does not matter to lights, but there _are_ flames much affected by proximity. As Mason helped Barbara down from the fence, his passion, by some sudden assault, got the better of his prudence, and looking intently into the eyes shaded by the sun-bonnet, he came out with: "It's all the world to a fellow like me to have such a scholar as you are, Barbara." The words were mild enough; but his eager manner and his air of confidence, as he stood in front of her sun-bonnet and spoke, with his face flushed, and in a low and unsteady voice, made his speech a half confession. Startled at this sudden downfall of his resolution, he got back over the fence and went straight away, without giving her a chance to say anything; without so much as uttering a civil good-bye. The precipitation of his retreat only served to lend the greater significance to his unpremeditated speech. Mrs. Grayson complained that there was "no sense in a girl's studyin' algebra, an' tryin' to know more 'n many a good schoolmaster ever knowed when I was a girl. Ever since Barbary's been at that new-fangled study, it's seemed like as if she'd somehow'r nuther gone deranged. She'll say supper's ready when they ain't knife nur fork on the table; an' she's everlastin'ly losin' her knittin'-needles an' puttin' her thimble where she can't find it, or mislayin' her sun-bonnet. Ef her head was loose, she'd be shore to leave that around somewheres, liker'n not." If Hiram Mason's half-involuntary love-making had not brought Barbara unmeasured pleasure she would not have been the normal young woman that she was. He filled all her ideals, and went beyond the highest standard she had set up before she knew him. She was not the kind of a girl that one meets nowadays; at least, that one meets nowadays in novels. She did not have a lot of perfectly needless and inconceivably fine-spun conscientious scruples to prevent the course of her fortune from running smoothly. She did find in herself a drawing back from the future which Mason's partiality had brought within the range of her vision. But her scruple was only one of pride; she exaggerated the superiority of an educated family, such as she conceived his to be, and she reflected that the Graysons were simple country people. She felt in herself that she could never endure the mortification she would feel, as Hiram's wife, if the Masons should look down on her good but unlettered mother, and say or feel that Hiram had "married below him." If, now, Tom should come to something, the equation would be made good. But the very day after Mason had spoken so warmly of the comfort he found in such a pupil was that disagreeable Saturday on which Tom had come home plucked in gambling, to ask for money enough to pay the debt he had incurred in redeeming his clothes. Was it any wonder that Barbara spoke to him with severity when she found her cherished vision becoming an intangible illusion? Tom would make no career at all at this rate; and to yield to Hiram Mason's wooing would now be to bring to him, not only the drawback of a family of humble breeding and slender education, but the disgrace of a rash, unsteady, and unsuccessful brother, whose adventures with gamblers would seem particularly disreputable to a minister's family. There was no good in thinking about it any more. Her pride could never bear to be "looked down on" by the family of her husband. It would be better to give it up at once--unless--she clung to this possibility--unless Tom should turn out right after all. The necessity for surrendering so much imminent happiness did not surprise her. She had always had to forego, and no prospect of happiness could seem quite possible of realization to an imagination accustomed to contemplate a future of self-denial. None the less, the disappointment was most acute, for she must even give up the school, and try, by spinning yarn, by knitting stockings, and by weaving jeans and linsey, to make up the money taken out of their little fund by Tom's recklessness. On the next Monday, and the days following, she staid at home without sending any word to the schoolmaster. She held to a lurking hope that Tom's affairs might mend, and she be able, by some good luck, to resume her attendance on the school for a part of the remainder of the quarter. But when on Wednesday Tom's haggard face appeared at the door, and she read in it that all her schemes for him had miscarried, she knew that she must give up dreaming dreams which seemed too good to be innocent. There was nothing for her but to give herself to doing what could be done for Tom. It was lucky that the poor fellow did not suspect what it cost her to put a smooth face on his disasters. IX BY THE LOOM On Monday, Mason saw with regret that Barbara was not at school. On Tuesday he felt solicitous, and would have made inquiry if it had not been for an impulse of secretiveness. By Wednesday he began to fear that his words spoken to her at the meadow fence had something to do with her absence. He questioned the past. He could not remember that she had ever repelled his attentions, or that she had seemed displeased when he had spoken his fervent and unpremeditated words. Aware that his bearing toward Barbara had attracted the observation of the school, he did not summon courage to ask about her until Thursday. Then when the voluble Mely McCord came to him before the beginning of the afternoon session, to ask how she should proceed to divide 130 by 9, he inquired if Barbara was ill. "No, I don't 'low she's sick," responded Mely. "I sh'd 'a' thought she'd tole you, 'f anybody, what't wuz kep' 'er"; and Mely laughed a malicious little snicker, which revealed her belief that the master was in confidential relations with his algebra scholar. "She thinks the worl'n'all of the school an' the master." Mely gasped a little as she ventured this thrust, and quickly added, "An' of algebray--she's _that_ fond of algebray; but I sh'd thought she'd 'a' tole _you_ what kep' 'er, ur'a' sen' choo word. But I 'low it's got sumpin' to do weth the trouble in the family." Mely made what the old schoolmasters called a "full stop" at this point, as though she considered it certain that Mason would know all about Barbara's affairs. "Trouble? What trouble?" asked the master. "W'y, I 'low'd you'd 'a' knowed," said the teasing creature, shaking her rusty ringlets, with a fluttering, half-suppressed amusement at the anxiety she had awakened in Mason's mind. "Hain' choo h-yeard about her brother?" "No; which brother? The one that's in Moscow?" "W'y, lawsy, don'choo know't she hain't got nary nuther one? The res' 's all dead an' buried long ago. Her brother Tom lost 'is sitooation along of gamblin' an' the like. They say he lost the boots offviz feet an' the coat offviz back." Here Mely had to give vent to her feelings in a hearty giggle; Tom's losses seemed to her a joke of the best, and all the better that the master took it so seriously. "I 'low it's cut Barb'ry up more'n a little. She sot sech store by Tom. An' he _is_ smart, the _smartest_ feller you'd find fer books an' the like. But what's the use a-bein' so smart an' then bein' sech a simple into the bargain? _I_ say." Mason did not like to ask further questions about Barbara's family affairs. He could hardly bear to hear Mely canvass them in this unsympathetic way. But there was one more inquiry that he made about Tom. "Does he drink?" "Mighty leetle. I 'xpect he takes a drop ur two now an' then, jest fer company's sake when he's a-cavortin' 'roun' weth the boys. But I 'low he hain't got no rale hankerin' fer the critter, an' he's that fond of Barb'ry 'n' 'is mother, an' they're so sot on 'im, that he would n' noways like to git reg'lar drunk like. But he's always a-gittin' into a bad crowd, an' tryin' some deviltry'r nuther; out uv one scrape an' into t'other, kind-uh keerless like; head up an' never ketchin' sight 'v a stump tell he's fell over it, kerthump, head over heels. His uncle's been a-schoolin' 'im, an' lately he's gone 'n' put 'im weth Squire Blackman to learn to be a lawyer; but now he's up 'n' sent him home fer a bad bargain. Ut's no go't the law, an' he won't never stan' a farm, yeh know. Too high-sperrited." Possessed of a share of Mely McCord's stock of information about Barbara's troubles, Hiram Mason saw that his resolution against calling on his pupil at her own house would have to go the way of most of his other resolutions on this subject. He set himself to find arguments against keeping this one, but he was perfectly aware, all the time, that his going to the Graysons' would not depend on reasons at all. He reflected, however, that Barbara's trouble was a new and unforeseen condition. Besides, his regulative resolutions had been so far strained already that they were not worth the keeping. It is often thus in our dealings with ourselves; we argue from defection to indulgence. Mely McCord felt sure of having the master's company after school as far as she had to go on the road leading to the Graysons'. But he went another way to Pearson's, where he was boarding out the proportion due for three pupils. Mrs. Pearson had intermitted the usual diet of corn-dodgers, and had baked a skilletful of hot biscuits, in honor of the master; she was a little piqued that he should absorb them, as he did, in a perfectly heartless way, and she even apologized for them, asserting that they were not so good as usual, in the vain hope that the master would wake up and contradict her. As soon as the early supper was over Hiram left the house, without saying anything of his destination. He took a "short cut" across a small prairie, then through the woods, and across Butt's corn-field, until he came out on the road near the place at which he had several times helped Barbara over the fence. By her path through the meadow he reached the house just as the summer twilight was making the vault of the sky seem deeper and mellowing all the tones in the landscape. In that walk Mason's mind had completely changed front. Why should he try to maintain a fast-and-loose relation with Barbara? She was in need of his present sympathy and help. Impulses in his nature, the strength of which he had never suspected, were beating against the feeble barriers he had raised. Of what use was this battle, which might keep him miserable awhile longer, but which could end in but one way? As he walked through the narrow meadow path, in the middle of which the heavy overhanging heads of timothy grass, now ready for the scythe, touched one another, so that his legs brushed them aside at every step, he cast away the last tatters of his old resolves. The dams were down; the current might flow whither it listed. He would have it out with Barbara this very evening, and end the conflict. It is by some such only half-rational process that the most important questions of conduct are usually decided--sometimes luckily; in other cases, to the blighting of the whole life. Is it not rather a poor fist of a world after all, this in which we live, where the most critical and irrevocable decisions must be made while the inexperienced youth is tossed with gusts of passion and blinded by traditional prejudices or captivated by specious theories? The selection of wives and vocations, the two capital elements in human happiness and success, is generally guided by nothing higher than the caprice of those whose judgments are in the gristle. Often the whole course of life of the strong, clear-seeing man yet to come is changed forever by a boy's whim. The old allegorists painted the young man as playing chess with the devil; but chess is a game of skill. What the young man plays is often a child's game of pitch and toss, cross or pile, heads or tails, for stakes of fearful magnitude. Luckily for Hiram, as you and I know from our present acquaintance with Barbara, nothing more disastrous than disappointment was likely to happen to him from his inability to keep his mortifying resolves. The abandonment of them had simplified his feelings and brought him present relief. When he knocked on the jamb of the open front door of the Grayson farm-house, and was invited to come in by the mother, there was a wholeness in his feelings and purposes to which he had been a stranger for weeks. "Barb'ry," said Mrs. Grayson as she entered the kitchen, after giving Hiram a chair, "here's the master come to see you. I 'low he thought you mought be sick ur sumpin'." Barbara sat perched on the loom-bench, with her back to the web she had been weaving. Just now she was peeling, quartering, and coring summer apples to dry for winter stores. She untied her apron and went from the kitchen into the sitting-room, where Mason was looking about, as was his habit, in a quizzical, half-amused way. He had noted the wide stone fire-place, the blackness of whose interior was hidden by the bushy asparagus tops which filled it, and the wooden clock on the unpainted mantel-piece, which had a print of the death-bed of George Washington impaneled in its door. A stairway winding up in one corner gave picturesqueness to the room; diagonally across from this was a high post bed; there were some shuck-bottom chairs, a splint-bottom rocking-chair, and a bureau with a looking-glass on top. The floor was covered with a new rag-carpet, and the comfortable, home-like sentiment excited in Hiram's mind by the general aspect of the room was enhanced by a hearth cricket, which, in one of the crevices of the uneven flag-stones, was already emitting little vibrant snatches like the black fiddler that he was, tuning up for an evening performance. The sight of Mason dissipated for the moment the clouds that darkened Barbara's thoughts; she saw blue sky for the first time since Tom's first return. It was a pleased and untroubled face that met his gaze when she extended her hand to him. "Howdy, Mr. Mason!" Mason fixed his eyes on her in his odd fashion, half turning his head aside, and regarding her diagonally. "Well, Barbara, you're the lost sheep," was his greeting. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back to the flock if I didn't come into the wilderness and look you up." "There's been such a lot of things to do this week," she answered hurriedly, "I didn't know how to get time to go to school." This was truthful, but it was far from being frank, and it was not on these terms that Mason wished to meet her. His first thought was to put her more at ease. "Can't we sit out on the porch?" he said; "I'm warm with walking." And he lifted two of the chairs and carried them to the covered porch. There would soon be no light outside but what came from the night sky, and what a dim candle in the sitting-room, when it should be lighted, might manage to spare through the open door. Hiram had a notion that in this obscurity he could coax Barbara out of the diplomatic mood into the plain indicative. But before they had sat down he had changed his plan. "Hold on," he said, more to himself than to her; and added, "What were you doing when I came?" "Only peeling some apples to dry." "Let me help you; we'll have an apple-peeling all to ourselves." "No," said Barbara, hesitatingly; but Mason went through the sitting-room and, opening the kitchen door, thrust his head through and said: "Mayn't I sit out there and help Barbara peel apples, Mrs. Grayson?" "You may do what you like, Mr. Mason," said the old lady, pleased with his familiarity; "but peelin' apples ain't jest the kind of work to set a schoolmaster at." "Schoolmasters a'n't all of them so good for nothing as you think. Come on, Barbara, a little apple-peeling will make it seem like home to me; and this living 'round in other people's houses has made me homesick." Barbara came out and took her old place on the loom-bench, beside the great three-peck basket of yellow apples. Her seat raised her considerably higher than Mason, who occupied a low chair. In front of Barbara was another chair, on which sat a pan to hold the quarters of apples when prepared for drying; on one of the rungs of this Barbara supported her feet. The candle which Mrs. Grayson lighted shed a dim yellow light from one end of the high smoke-blackened mantel-shelf, which extended across the chimney above the cavernous kitchen fire-place. The joists of the loft were of heavy logs, and these, and the boards which overlaid them, and all the woodwork about this kitchen, were softened and sombered by the smoke that had escaped from the great, rude chimney; for the kitchen was the original log-cabin built when Tom's father, fresh from Maryland, had first settled on the new farm; the rest of the house had grown from this kernel. The mother, who had not dreamed of any relation between Barbara and Hiram Mason more friendly than that of master and pupil, was a little surprised at the apparently advanced stage of their acquaintance; but she liked it, because it showed that the schoolmaster was not "stuck up," and that he understood that "our Barb'ry" was no common girl. Tom looked in at the open outside door of the kitchen after a while, and was pleased. "Barb deserved a nice beau if ever anybody did," he reflected, and it might keep her from feeling so bad over his own failures. Not wishing to intrude, and wearied to exhaustion with his first day of farm-work since his return, he went around to the front door and through the sitting-room upstairs to bed. When the mother had finished "putting things to rights" she went into the sitting-room, and the apple-peelers were left with only the loom, the reel, and the winding-blades for witnesses. They talked of school, of their studies, and of many other things until the great basket of apples began to grow empty while the basket of parings and corings was full. The pan of apple-quarters having overflowed had been replaced by a pail, which was also nearly full, when, after a playful scuffle of hands in the basket, Hiram secured the last apple and peeled it. Then laying down his knife, he asked: "You'll be back at school next week?" Barbara had been dreading this inquiry. She wished Mason had not asked it. She had heartily enjoyed his society while they talked of things indifferent, but the question brought her suddenly and painfully back into the region of her disappointment and perplexities. "I'm afraid I can't come any more. Things haven't gone right with us." The wide spaces between her words indicated to her companion the effort it cost to allude to her affairs. Mason was more than ever puzzled. By what means could he establish such a ground of confidence between them as would enable him to enter into her difficulties and give her, at the least, the help of his sympathy and counsel? There seemed no way so good as that by direct approach. "Barbara," he said, drawing his chair nearer to the loom-bench and leaning forward toward her, "won't you please tell me about your affairs, if--if you can do it? I don't want to intrude, but why can't you let me be your best friend and--help you if I can?" This speech had a different effect from what Mason had intended. Barbara's pride resented an offer of help from him. Of all things, she did not wish to be pitied by the man she was beginning to love. He would always think of her as lower than himself, and she had too much pride to relish anything like the rôle of Cophetua's beggar maid. "I can't do it, Mr. Mason; there's nothing anybody can do." She spoke with her eyes downcast. Having ventured so much and gained nothing, Mason leaned back in his chair and turned his head about to what a photographer would call a "three-quarters position," and looked at Barbara from under his brows without saying anything more. He was like a pilot waiting for the fog to lift. This silent regard made Barbara uneasy. She could not help feeling a certain appreciation of his desire to help her, however disagreeable it might be to her feelings. Perhaps she was wrong to repel his confidence so abruptly. "I suppose you know about poor Tom?" she said, making so much concession to his kindness, but half swallowing the rapidly spoken words. "Yes," said Hiram; "I heard he had got into a scrape such as many a bright boy gets into. A village like Moscow is a hard place for a boy raised in the country. But he'll pull out of that." It lifted a weight from Barbara's mind that Mason did not take a too serious view of Tom. She wished, however, that he would not look at her so long in that askance fashion. "Did the trouble cost you much money?" he ventured to inquire after a while. [Illustration: BARBARA AND HIRAM BY THE LOOM.] "Well, no, not much for some folks, but a good deal for us; we're rather poor, you know." There is a pride that conceals poverty; there is a greater pride that makes haste to declare it, feeling that only hidden poverty is shameful. "You know father was a smart man in some ways," Barbara continued, "but he hadn't any knack. He lost most of his money before he came to Illinois; and then when he got here he made the mistake, that so many made, of settling in the timber, though very little of the prairie had been taken up yet. If he hadn't been afraid of the winters on the prairie, we might have been pretty well off; but it's been a hard struggle opening a farm in the woods. Then we have had nothing but misfortune. My father died of a congestive chill, and then my three brothers and my sister died, and Tom and I are all that's left to mother. And there are doctor's bills to pay yet, and a little debt on the farm." "Yes, yes," said Hiram, wounded in thinking of the pain he was giving Barbara in forcing her to speak thus frankly of the family troubles. "I know what it is. Poverty and I are old acquaintances; regular old cronies. She's going to stand by my side till I graduate, anyhow; but as I have known her ever since I was born, I can afford to laugh in her face. There's nothing like being used to a thing." Barbara made no reply to this. Mason sat and looked at her awhile in silence. There was no good in trying to help her on his present footing. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the loom-bench by her side. "Look here, Barbara," he said, with abrupt decision, "let's, you and me, go in partnership with our poverty some day, and see what'll come of it. I suppose, so far as money is concerned, the equations would be about equal without the trouble of figuring it out." Barbara looked at her hands in her lap with her eyes out of focus, and made no reply. After a while Hiram spoke again. "Did I--make you mad, Barbara?" He used the word "mad" in the sense attached to it in that interior country, meaning angry. "No, not mad," said Barbara. "Not that--but--I don't know what to say. I don't believe what you propose can ever be." Mason waited for her to explain herself, but she did not seem to be able to get her own consent. At length he got up and went to the mantel-piece and took down Barbara's slate. "Let's talk about algebra awhile," he said. Barbara was fond enough of algebra, but it seemed droll that Mason, with an unsettled proposition of marriage on hand, should revert to his favorite study. She could not see what he was writing, but when he passed the slate to her, she read: _a_ = another lover. _b_ = objections to H. Mason. _c_ = interfering circumstances. _x_ = _a_ + _b_ + _c_. "Now," said Mason, when she looked up, "I'd like you to help me to get the exact value of _x_ in this little equation. It's a kind of fortune-telling by algebra. We must proceed by elimination; you may strike out such of the letters on the right side of the last equation as do not count for anything." But instead of proceeding as the master suggested, Barbara, whose reserve was partly dissipated by her amusement, took the pencil that he offered her, and after a moment's reflection wrote below: _a_ = 0 _b_ = 0 _x_ = _c_ "I never saw an equation more to my taste," said Hiram. "If it's only circumstances, then circumstances and I are going to fight it out. You think there are things that will keep us from making an equation between Barbara and Hiram?" "There wouldn't be any equation," she said, looking out of half-closed eye-lids, as she always did when speaking with feeling. "Your family is an educated one, and your father and mother wouldn't approve of us. Mother never had any chance to learn, and her talk is very old-fashioned, but she's just as good as good can be, all the same. Tom's unsteady; I hope he'll get over that yet; but your father and mother and your sisters wouldn't like it." "Yes, they would, if they knew you," said Mason, with enthusiasm; "and, besides, I don't see that I'm bound to get their consent." "But that wouldn't change matters," persisted Barbara, despondingly. "If they didn't like it, it wouldn't be nice." "Don't you bother about my happiness, Barbara. If I have you, do you think anything else will trouble me?" He got up and snuffed the candle with his fingers like the brave man that he was. "I'm not bothering about you at all," said Barbara. "I'm not so good as you think I am. I let you take care of yourself in this matter; you're strong, and such things won't worry you." She was picking at her dress as she spoke. "Ever since you said what you did when you helped me over the fence last,"--Barbara took a long breath as she thought of that scene; she had often retraced all its details in her memory,--"I've known that you felt so toward me that you would face any thing. But _I_--I couldn't bear it if your folks should look down on me and I be--your wife." It was hard to say the last words; they sounded strangely, and when they were uttered, the sound of them put her into a trepidation not altogether disagreeable. "Look down on _you_?" said Hiram, with a vehemence Barbara had never known him to manifest before. "Do you think my folks are such idiots? They don't meet a person like you often enough to get the habit of looking down on such." "But you don't know women folks," said Barbara. "I know my family better than you do, and you've got mighty curious notions about them and about yourself. You've always lived here in the woods, and you don't know what you're worth." He lifted the empty apple-basket out of the way and sat down by her. "Now, Barbara, you say you know how I feel toward you. You are the girl of all girls in the world for me. And now you won't spurn me, will you?" he said entreatingly. Barbara's lips quivered and she seemed about to lose control of herself. However, after a little period of silence and struggle, she suppressed her feelings sufficiently to speak: "I couldn't _spurn_ you," she said. Then, after another pause: "Maybe you don't care any more for me than I do for you. But I'm in such trouble--that I can't tell what to say. Won't you wait and give me a little time? Things may be better after a while." "How long shall I stay away? A week?" Mason's voice had a note of protest in it. "Don't be hurt," she said, lifting her eyes timidly to his. "But I'm in such a hard place. Let me have two weeks or so to think about it, and see how things are going to turn." It was not that Barbara saw any chance for a change of circumstances, but that she could not resolve to decide the question either way, and wished to escape from her present perplexity by postponement. "Just as you say," said Mason, regretfully; "but I tell you, Barbara, it's two weeks of dead lost time." Then he got up and held out his hand to her. "Good-bye, Barbara." "Good-bye, Mr. Mason." "Oh, call me Hiram! It's more friendly, and you call all the other young men by their first names." "But you're the master." "I'm not the master of you, that's clear. Besides, you've left school." He was holding her hand in gentle protest all this time. "Well, good-bye--Hiram!" said Barbara, with a visible effort which ended in a little laugh. Mason let go of her hand and turned abruptly and walked out of the door, and then swiftly down the meadow path. Barbara stood and looked after him as long as she could see his form; then she slowly shut and latched the kitchen door and came and covered with ashes the remaining embers of the fire, and took the candle from the mantel-piece and went through the now vacant sitting-room to her chamber above. X THE AFFAIR AT TIMBER CREEK CAMP MEETING When Tom Grayson found himself suddenly stranded on the farmstead in Hubbard Township he went to work to learn again the arts half forgotten during his three-years' absence in Moscow. It was necessary to put his soft hands to the plow, and to burn his fair face in the hot sun of the hay-field. With characteristic heedlessness of results he set out, on the very first day after his return, to mow alongside the stalwart hired man, Bob McCord, the father of Mely. Bob lived in a little cabin not far from the Grayson place, and since Tom left the farm he had done most of the work for Mrs. Grayson. He was commonly known as "Big Bob," because he had a half-brother of sinister birth who was older than himself, but a small man, and who for distinction was "Little Bob." Big Bob fulfilled his name in every dimension. His chest was deep, his arms were gigantic in their muscularity, and no man had ever seen his legs show signs of exhaustion. His immense muscles were softened in outline by a certain moderate rotundity; his well-distributed adipose was only one of many indications of his extraordinary physical thriftiness. In more than one stand-up fight he had demonstrated his right to the title of champion of the county. Yet he was a boyishly good-natured man, with no desire to hurt anybody, and he never fought from choice. But every rising fisticuffer within half a hundred miles round had heard of Bob's strength, and the more ambitious of these had felt bound to "dare" him. It was not consonant with the honor of such a man as Bob to "take a dare"; so against first one and then another aspiring hero he had fought, until at length there was none that ventured any more to "give a dare" to the victor of so many battles. His physical perfections were not limited to mere bull strength: no man had a keener eye or a steadier hand; none could send a rifle-ball to its mark with a more unerring aim. Had he lived in the days of the Saxon invasion of England, McCord would have stood high on the list of those renowned for exploits of strength and daring, the very darling hero of the minstrel. Our own Indian wars of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries brought renown to just such men as he, semi-barbarian path-makers for the advance of civilization. He had lagged a generation late. In the peaceful time, when strength of muscle was secondary to mental power, and when a sure aim was no longer important for the defense of one's life, nor the chief means for winning one's meat, the powerful Bob McCord saw degenerate men, whom he could have held at arms-length, prevail over him in the struggle for subsistence. For though he was capable of hard work he could never endure steady application; his nature was under mortgage to adventurous ancestors, the ancient Indian-fighters and scouts of the Appalachian country, and those more remote forefathers, the untamed emigrants who had been almost expelled from the Scottish border in the time of the Stuarts, to help resettle the devastated north of Ireland, to say nothing of the yet wilder Irish women with whom they had mated. Nothing less than the sound of the cup scraping on the bottom of the family meal-box would impel Bob to work. Every wind that came from the great sea of grass to the westward brought him the whir of the wings of prairie-hens; dreams of bear-hunting filled his mind whenever he looked into the recesses of the woods. At sight of the rising moon his hunter's soul imagined the innumerable deer which at that hour come from their coverts to graze on the prairies. Every stream tantalized him with the thought of darting perch, and great prowling cat-fish hidden beneath its surface, and challenging him to catch them if he could. If, as we are taught to believe, the manliness of the English aristocracy and that of the American apery is only kept alive by outdoor sports, how much their superior in surplus manhood must such a man as Bob McCord be! In his estimation no days were counted a part of human life except those passed in circumventing and taking the wild creatures of the woods or the prairie, and those others spent in the rude fun of musters, barbecues, elections, corn-shuckings, wood-choppings, and like assemblages, where draughts from a generous big-bellied bottle, with a twisted neck, alternated with athletic feats, practical jokes, and tales as rude as the most unblushing of those told by pious pilgrims to Canterbury in the old religious time. It was alongside this son of Anak that Tom set himself to do a full day's work at the start. The severity of labor accorded well with his pungent feeling of penitence. Big Bob regarded him as he might any other infant, not unkindly; he even had a notion that the Widow Grayson and her children were in some sense under his care, and he did not wish any harm to come to the boy, but a practical joke was too good a thing to be missed. For two hours and a half, on that morning of Tom's appearance in the field with a scythe, Bob did not once stop to take the usual rests. Tom felt inevitable exhaustion coming on, though he cut a much narrower swath than his companion. McCord's herculean right knee was bare, having that morning forced itself through his much-bepatched trousers of butternut-dyed cotton cloth. While swinging his wider-sweeping scythe at a desperate rate, he kept telling Tom stories of adventure and the well-worn joe-millers of the log-cabin firesides, never seeming to notice the poor fellow's breathless endeavors to keep up or his ever-narrowing swath. Only when at length he turned and looked at Tom's face and perceived that the persistency of his will might carry him too far, he said, as with his scythe he picked some bunches of good grass from the edge of an elder patch and cast a wistful glance at the jug standing in a cool fence corner: "Looky h-yer, Tom, you're a-gittin' kind-uh white-like about the gills, un 'f you try to keep up weth me, yer hide 'll be on the fence afore night." "I know that," said Tom, who found himself so thoroughly beaten that there was no use in denying it. "Well, hang yer scythe on that air red-haw over there un take a leetle rest, un then try a pitch-fork awhile. I 'lowed I'd see what sort uv stuff you've got, seein's you wuz so almighty gritty. A bigger man'n you couldn't hold agin me"; and Bob let the amusement he felt at Tom's discomfiture escape in a long hearty chuckle, rising at length into a loud laugh, as he reversed his scythe and fell to whetting it, making the neighboring woods ring with the tune he beat on the resonant metal,--a kind of accompaniment to the briskness of his spirit. And now Barbara appeared bringing the snack that was commonly served to the mowers in the forenoon. Bob hung up his scythe, and, having taken some whisky, joined the exhausted Tom under the shady boughs of a black walnut. Barbara uncovered her basket, which contained an apple-pie to be divided between the two and a bottle of sweet milk. Tom had stretched himself in sheer exhaustion on a swath of hay. "You foolish boy," said Barbara. "You've gone at your work too brash. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Here, take some of this pie; and don't you work so hard the rest of the day." "Tom," said Bob, speaking with his mouth full of pie, "'f I had the eddication you've got, you wouldn't ketch me in this yere hot sun. I'd take a school. What's eddication good fer, anyhow, ef 't ain't to git a feller out uh the hot sun?" But for the present Tom resolved to stick faithfully to his toil. As the days wore on, and he became accustomed to the strain, he found the work a sedative; he was usually too tired to think much of his disappointment. Only the face of Rachel Albaugh haunted his visions in lonely hours, and at times a rush of indignant feeling towards George Lockwood disturbed his quiet. In the early days of August there came a time of comparative leisure. The summer harvests were over, and the fields of tall corn had been "laid by" after the last plowing. Then Illinois had a breathing spell; and shutting up its house, and hitching up its horse, and taking all the children, it went to visit its "relations," staying a week at a place. Farmers frequented the town to meet old friends and get the better of them in swapping horses; and in this time of relaxation came the season of Baptist Associations and Methodist Camp-meetings and two-days' Basket Meetings--jolly religious picnics, where you could attend to your soul's salvation and eat "roas'in' ears" with old friends in the thronged recesses of the forests, among a people who were perhaps as gregarious as any the world has ever produced. Children looked forward to this gypsying with eagerness, and adults gave themselves over to it with the abandon of children. What night-scenes there were! Within the oval of tents at a camp-meeting two great platforms were raised on posts six or eight feet high and covered with earth; on these were built blazing bonfires, illuminating all the space inclosed by the tents and occupied by the enthusiastic assembly, which, as one great chorus, made the wide forest vocal with a tide of joyous or pathetic song. But there were two poles to the magnetism of a camp-meeting. In the region of outer blackness, quite beyond the reach of any illumination from platform bonfires or pulpit eloquence, there were also assemblies of those who were attracted by the excitement, but to whom the religious influences were a centrifugal force. Here jollity and all conceivable deviltry rejoiced also in a meet companionship. The Great Union Camp-Meeting was held in the first half of August on the Timber Creek camp-ground, only a mile and a half from the Grayson place. The mother and Barbara went every evening and came back with accounts of the attendance, of the old friends encountered, and of the sermons of favorite preachers. They told how "powerfully" the elder had preached, and how the eloquent young preacher, who was junior on the next circuit, had carried all before him in a pathetic exhortation. But Tom showed no desire to attend. He was slowly sinking into a depression quite unusual with him. He had been accustomed to the excitement of the town, and the prospect of a life of dull routine on a farm ate into his spirit like a biting rust. Barbara amused him with stories of the camp-meeting; she told him of the eccentric German exhorter whose broken English she mimicked, and of the woman she had heard relate in a morning "speaking-meeting" that, when convinced of the sin of wearing jewelry, she had immediately taken off her ear-rings and given them to her sister. These things lightened his spirit but for a moment; he would relapse soon into the same state of mental lassitude, or more acute melancholy. Barbara endeavored to cheer him with projects; he could take a school the next winter, and with the money earned pay his board somewhere in town and take up the study of law again. But all of Barbara's projects were moderate and took full account of difficulties. Tom had little heart for a process that demanded plodding and patient waiting; nor did any of Barbara's suggestions hold out any prospect of his recovering his ground with Rachel, which was the thing he most desired. One evening, as he finished a supper which he had eaten with little relish and in silence, he pushed back his chair and sat moodily looking into the black cave of the kitchen fire-place, where the embers were smoldering under the ashes. Then when his mother had left the kitchen, and Barbara was clearing away the plates, he said: "The more I think of it, the worse I feel about George Lockwood. The tricky villain got me into that scrape and then told all about it where he knew it would do me the most harm. I'd just like to shoot him." "You'd better shoot him and get yourself hanged!" said Barbara with impatience. "_That_ would mend matters, wouldn't it?" "'T wouldn't matter much to me," said Tom. "This country life doesn't suit me; I'd just as well be out of it, and they do say hanging is an easy way of dying." This last was spoken with a grim smile. "I suppose you don't think of _us_," said Barbara. "I'm more trouble than good to you and mother." "And now if you would only commit a crime"--Barbara was looking at him with a concentrated gaze--"that would put an end to all mother's sorrows; she would soon die in torture, and I would be left alone in the world to be pointed at by people who would say in a whisper: 'That's the sister of the fellow that was hanged.'" And Barbara caught her breath with a little gasp as she turned away. "Oh, don't talk that way, Barb! Of course I don't mean to do anything of the sort. It's a kind of relief to talk sometimes, and I do feel bitter enough." Barbara turned sharply on him again and said: "That's just the way to get to be a murderer--keep stirring up your spite. After a while the time'll come when you can't control yourself, may be, and then you'll do something that you only meant to think about." Tom shuddered a little and, feeling uncomfortable under Barbara's gaze, got up and started away. But Barbara followed him and caught hold of his arm, and pulled him around till she could look in his face, and said, with more feeling than she liked to show: "Look here, Tom! Give me your word and honor that you'll put all such thoughts out of your mind." "Of course I will, Sis, if you think there's any danger." "And come and go over to the camp-meeting to-night with mother and me. It'll do you good to see somebody besides the cows." "All right," said Tom, shaking himself to get rid of his evil spirit, and remembering, as he went out to harness old Blaze-face to the wagon, that he would stand a chance of catching a glimpse of Rachel in the light of the torches. The preaching was vigorous and stirring, and the exhorter, who came after the preacher, told many pathetic stories, which deeply moved a people always eager to be excited. The weird scene no doubt contributed by its spectacular effect to increase the emotion. The bonfires on the platforms illuminated the circle of white tents, which stood out against the wall of deep blackness in the forest behind; the light mounted a hundred feet and more through the thick branches of lofty beech and maple trees, and was reflected from the under side of leaves quivering in the breeze. The boughs and foliage, illuminated from below, had an unreal and unworldly aspect. No imagery of the preacher could make the threatened outer darkness of the lost so weird to the imagination as this scene, in which the company of simple-minded people found themselves in the presence of a savage Nature, and in a sphere of light bounded on every hand by a blackness as of darkness primeval. Tom paid little attention to the eloquence of the preacher or to the tearful words of him who came after. At first he was interested and even excited by the scene; he watched the flickering of the great shadows of the tree trunks as the platform fires rose and fell; but presently he set himself to searching under the large straw bonnets for a face. He knew well that the sight of that face could not make him happy, but he seemed driven by some evil impulse to seek for it. If Rachel was there he did not find her. When the exhorter had closed his artless string of disconnected anecdotes with an equally artless appeal, and a hymn was announced, Tom whispered to Barbara that he would go and see if the horse was all right, and would meet her at the door of the Mount Zion tent when meeting should "let out." Then as the congregation rose, he went out by a passage between two of the tents into the woods. The "exercises" lasted a full hour longer, and it was half-past ten before the presiding elder gave the benediction. Barbara and her mother went to the door of the Mount Zion tent, where they stood watching the moving people and waiting for Tom. Mely McCord, who was to ride home with them, was talking in her fluent way to Barbara when an excited man rushed into the space within the tents, and, finding himself obstructed by the groups of people in the aisles, ran hurriedly across the boards that served for backless benches until he reached the great rude pulpit. He addressed a word to the white-haired presiding elder, who was at that moment standing on the steps of the stand, engaged in shaking hands with old friends from all parts of his district. Then the new-comer seized the tin horn that hung against a tree, and which was used to call the people to meeting. With this in his hand he mounted the rude board rostrum and blew a long, harsh blast. Part of the people out of curiosity had stopped talking when he made his appearance, and when the strident tin horn ceased, there was a momentary murmur and then the stillness of death, except for confused cries of excitement in the remote outer regions, which now became audible. Then the man on the platform said, in a breathless voice: "A man has been killed in the woods outside of the camp-ground. The murderer has fled. The sheriff is wanted!" "Here he is!" cried some voices, and the sheriff stood up on a bench and waved his hand to the messenger, who came down and communicated in a few words what he knew of the murder. The sheriff then hurriedly departed. "Sit down there, mother," gasped Barbara. "Mely, you stay by mother." Then Barbara's slight form pushed through the crowd, until her progress was arrested by a dense knot of eager inquirers that encompassed the man who had brought the news. It was quite impossible to get within twenty feet of him, or to hear anything he was saying; but bits of intelligence percolated through the layers of humanity that enveloped him. Barbara could only wait and listen. At last a man a little nearer the radiating center said in reply to the query of one who stood next to her: "It's George Lockwood, that clerks for Wooden & Snyder down 't Moscow, that is killed, but I can't find out who 't wuz done it." Barbara's heart stood still within her for a moment. Then dreading to hear more, she pushed out of the ever-increasing crowd and reached her mother. "Come, mother; we must get home quick." "What's the matter, Barb'ry? Who's killed?" asked Mely McCord. "I don't know anything, only we _must_ get home. Quick, mother!" she was impelled by instinct to save her mother as long as possible from the shock she felt impending. But it was of no use. "What's the matter, Sam; can you make out?" cried a man near her to one just emerging from the crowd about the messenger. "W'y, they say as Tom Grayson's shot an' killed a feller from Moscow, an' Tom's made off, an' can't be found. They's talk of lynchin' him." Mrs. Grayson's lips moved; she tried to speak, but in vain; the sudden blow had blanched her face and paralyzed her speech. It was pitiable to see her ineffectual effort to regain control of herself. At length she sank down on a shuck-bottom chair by the door of the tent. "Yer's some smellin'-salts," said a woman standing by, and she thrust forward her leathery hand holding an uncorked bottle of ammonia. "He didn't do it," murmured Mrs. Grayson, when she had revived a little. "Our Tommy wouldn't do sech a thing. Go up there,"--and she pointed to the pulpit,--"you go up there, Barb'ry, an' tell the folks 't our Tommy never done it." "Come, mother; let's go home," said Barbara faintly, for all her energy had gone now. "I'll go with you," said Mely. But Mrs. Grayson did not wish to go; she was intent on staying in order to tell the folks that Tommy "never, never done sech a thing." She yielded at length to the gentle compulsion of Barbara and Mely and the neighbors who gathered about, and got into the wagon. Mely, who knew every inch of the road, took the reins, and drove slowly toward the Grayson house, picking a way among the stumps, roots, and holes of the new road. XI FRIENDS IN THE NIGHT The ride seemed to Barbara almost interminable. If she could have left her half-distracted mother she would have got out of the wagon and run through the fields, in hope of finding Tom and knowing from him the whole truth, and making up her mind what was to be done. When at length the wagon reached the gate in front of the Grayson house, Bob McCord was in waiting. He had heard that a bear had been seen on Broad Run, and had left the camp-meeting early, intent on a departure before daylight in pursuit of that "varmint." He had known nothing of the shooting, but he told Barbara that, when he came near the Grayson house, he had seen Tom run across the road and into the house,--and that Tom came out again almost at once, and reached the gate in time to meet the sheriff and give himself up. The sheriff had dismounted one of the men with him, and putting Tom in the saddle they had gone toward Moscow on a gallop. Bob wasn't near enough to hear what Tom had said when the sheriff took him; but knowing that something must be wrong, he had waited for the return of the wagon. It was some relief to the tension of Barbara's feelings to know that Tom was now in the hands of the lawful authorities and well on his way to Moscow, where he would be out of the reach of the angry crowd that was surging to and fro around the camp-meeting. But there followed the long night of uncertainty. The mother sat moaning in her chair, only rousing herself enough now and then to assure some newly arrived neighbor that "poor Tom never done it." Barbara confided only to Mely McCord the very faint hope she entertained that Tom was not guilty. She couldn't believe that he would break his solemn promise, made that very evening. But in her secret heart she could not get over the fact that George Lockwood was lying in the woods stark and dead, and no one was so likely to have killed him as her impetuous brother. About 1 o'clock, the dreadful monotony of the night was dreadfully broken by the arrival of the deputy-sheriff. He spoke in an unsympathetic, official voice, but in a manner externally respectful. He must search Tom's room; and so, taking a candle, he went to the room alone, and soon came back bringing an old-fashioned single-barrel, flint-lock pistol, of the kind in use in the early part of the century. It had belonged to Tom's father, and the officer had found it in one of the drawers in the room. Barbara sat down and shut her eyes as the deputy passed through the sitting-room with the weapon, but Mrs. Grayson called the officer to her. "I say, Mister--I don't know your name. Let me speak to you." "Yes, ma'am," said the man, "My name's Markham"; and he came and stood near her. "Air you the son of Lijy Markham?" Mrs. Grayson always identified people by recalling their filiation, and she could not resist this genealogical tendency in her mind even in the hour of sorest trial. "Yes," said the officer. "Well, now, what I want to say is that Tommy didn't kill that man. I'm his mother, an' I had ought to know, an' I tell yeh so. You hadn't ought to 'a' took 'im up fer what he didn't do." Markham was puzzled to know what to reply, but he answered presently: "Well, the court'll find out about it, you know, Mrs. Grayson." The man's official stiffness was a little softened by the tones of her heart-broken voice. Barbara never could tell how she got through the hours from half-past 10 to 3 o'clock. Neighbors were coming and going--some from a desire to be helpful, others from curiosity, but Mely remained with them. Bob McCord was too faithful to leave the Graysons when he might be needed but it was impossible for him to remain awake from mere sympathy. When Markham was gone, he lay down on the end of the porch farthest from the door, and slept the sleep of the man of the Bronze Age. His fidelity was like that of a great dog--he gave himself no anxiety, but he was ready when wanted. At 3 o'clock Barbara said to Mely: "I can't stand it a minute longer; I can't wait for daybreak. Wake up your father and ask him to hitch up Blaze. I'm going to see Tom as quick as I can get there. I ought to have started before." "I'm a-goin' too," said Mrs. Grayson. "No, mother; you stay. It's too much for you." "Me, Barb'ry?" The mother's lip quivered, and she spoke in a tremulous voice, like that of a pleading child. "Me stay 't home an' my Tommy--my boy--in jail! No, Barb'ry; you won't make me stay 't home. I'm goin' t' Moscow, ef it kills me. I must. I'm his mother, Barb'ry. He's the on'y boy 't 's left. All the rest is dead an' gone. An' him in jail!" "Pap! pap! you wake up!" Mely was calling to her father lying there asleep, and Barbara came and stood in the door, fain to hasten Bob McCord's slow resurrection from the deeps of unconsciousness and at the same time to escape from the sight of her mother's despair. As Bob got up and comprehended the urgent request that the horse be harnessed immediately, Barbara's attention was drawn to a man coming swiftly down the road in the moonlight. The figure was familiar. Barbara felt sure she recognized the new-comer; and when, instead of stopping to fumble for the gate-bolt, he rested his hands on the fence alongside and sprang over, she knew that it was Hiram Mason, whom she had not seen since the evening, nearly two weeks before, when they had peeled apples together. It would be hard to say whether pleasure or pain predominated in her mind when she recognized him. By the time Mason got over the fence Bob McCord had gone to the stable, and Mely had reëntered the house. Barbara went forward and met Hiram on the steps to the porch. "Poor, dear Barbara!" were his words as he took her hand. At other times her pride had been nettled by his pity, but her desolate soul had not fortitude enough left to refuse the solace of his tender words. "I came the very moment I heard," he said. "I was staying away down at Albaugh's, and Ike was the only one of them on the camp-ground. He was so excited, and so anxious to see and hear, that he didn't get home till 2 o'clock. And only think I was sleeping quietly and you in such trouble!" "You mustn't come in," said Barbara. "We're a disgraced family, and you mustn't come in here any more." "What notions!" answered Hiram. "I'm here to stay. Let me ask your mother." He took hold of her arms and put her aside very gently and pushed on into the house, where Mely was pinning on Mrs. Grayson's wide cape preparatory to her ride to Moscow. "Mrs. Grayson--" said he. "W'y, ef 't ain't the master!" she interrupted in a trembling voice. "Mr. Mason, Tommy never killed that man, an' he hadn't ought to 'a' been took up." "Mrs. Grayson, won't you let me stay with you a few days, now you're in trouble, and help you through?" The old lady looked at him for a moment before she was able to reply. "It ain't fer a schoolmaster an' a preacher's son to come here, now folks'll be a-sayin' 't we're--'t we're--murderers." This last word, uttered with tremulous hesitation, broke down her self-control, and Mrs. Grayson fell to weeping again. "I'm going to stay by you awhile, and we'll see what can be done," said Mason. "They've taken your boy, and you'll let me fill his place a little while, won't you, now?" "God bless you, my son!" was all the weeping woman could say; and Barbara, who had followed Hiram into the room and stood behind him while he talked to her mother, turned her face to the dark window and wept heartily for the first time in this sorrowful night. "You'd jest orter 'a' heerd the master a-talkin' to Mrs. Grayson," said Mely McCord afterward. "He stood there lookin' at her with his head turned kind-uh cornerin'-like, un his words was so soft-like un pitiful;--lawsey! ef he did n' make me feel jes like 's ef my heart wuz a-comin right up into my mouth." Bob McCord led old Blaze up in front of the gate, and all in the house went down to the road. "Mr. McCord," said Mason, "I want to drive that wagon." "I don't b'lieve you kin do this fust piece uv road with nothin' but a weakly moonshine," said Bob. "Oh, yes! I've been over it a good many times." Only Barbara knew how often Hiram had traversed it. When the schoolmaster had helped Mrs. Grayson and Barbara into the wagon, and while Mely was assisting them to adjust themselves, he went to the horse's head, where McCord was standing, and said in a low voice: "They told me there was a rush to lynch him last night; and Ike Albaugh says that Jake Hogan, who worked for them this last harvest-time, told him at the camp-ground that the Broad Run boys were going to make another of their visits to Moscow to-night if the coroner's inquest was against Tom. Now, Tom _may_ be innocent; and he ought to have a fair show anyhow." "I'd better see to _that_!" said Bob. "I 'low I'll jest drop in amongst 'em over onto the run, kind-uh accidental-like, afore dinner-time to-day, an' throw 'em off, one way er 'nother, ez the case may be." Mrs. Grayson was seated in a chair placed in the springless wagon for her comfort, while Hiram and Barbara sat on a board laid across from one side to the other of the wagon. They departed out of sight slowly, Mason guiding the horse carefully over the rough ground in the obscurity of a moonlight not yet beginning to give way to the break of day. XII A TRIP TO BROAD RUN As the wagon disappeared, Bob called to his daughter, who had been left in charge. "Mely! Mely! You jes stir up the kitchen fire there, honey, un bile me a cup of coffee, agin I go home un fetch my gun wi' the dogs, un come back." (Bob knew there was no coffee at home.) "I'm a-goin' over onto Broad Run arter bears." "Aw, now, pap, you're all-ays off fer a hunt at the wrong time. Don' choo go away now, un the folks in sech a world uh trouble. Un besides, mammy hain't got anough to eat in the house to do tell you come back." All this Mely said in a minor key of protest, which she had learned from her mother, who was ever objecting in a good-natured, pathetic, impotent way to her husband's thriftless propensities. "I know what I'm up to, Mely. They's reasons, un the schoolmaster knows'em. You keep your tongue still in yer head, honey. On'y be shore to remember, 'f anybody axes about me, 't I'm arter bears. Jes say't bears uz been seed over onto Broad Run, un't pap couldn't noways keep still, he wuz so sot on goin' over 'n' sayin' howdy to 'em. That'll soun' like me, un folks 'll never mistrust." "But mammy hain't akchelly got anough fer the children to eat," responded Mely. "Well, I 'low to fetch some bear meat home, un you kin borry some meal from Mrs. Grayson's bar'el tell I git back. 'F they knowed what kind uh varmints I wuz arter over there, they wouldn't begrudge me nuthin', Sis. Come, now, hump yer stumps; fer I'll be back in a leetle less'n no time." And Bob went off in the darkness. In about a dozen minutes he returned with his powder-horn slung about his shoulders over his hunting-shirt and carrying his rifle. He was closely followed by Pup, Joe, and Seizer, his three dogs, whose nervous agitation, as they nosed the ground in every direction, contrasted well with the massive stride of their master. Having swallowed such a breakfast as Mely could get him out of Mrs. Grayson's stores, and put a pone of cold corn-bread into the bosom of his hunting-shirt, McCord was off for the Broad Run region at the very first horizon-streak of daybreak. Though game was but a secondary object in this expedition, he could not but feel an exhilaration which was never wanting when he set out in the early morning with his gun on his shoulder and in the congenial companionship of his dogs. Hercules or Samson could hardly have rejoiced in a greater assurance of physical superiority to all antagonists. The most marked trait in Bob's mental outfit was the hunter's cunning, a craft that took delight in tricks on man and beast. The fact that he was akin to some of the families on Broad Run enhanced the pleasure he felt in his present scheme to get the better of them. He would "l'arn the Broad Run boys a thing or two that'd open their eyes." His great plump form shook with merriment at the thought. Plovers rose beating the air and whistling in the morning light as he passed, and the dogs flushed more than one flock of young prairie-chickens, which went whirring away just skimming the heads of the grass in low level flight, but Bob's ammunition was not to be spent on small game this morning. By 7 o'clock the increasing heat of the sun made the wide, half-parched plain quiver unsteadily to the vision. The sear August prairie had hardened itself against the heat--the grass and the ox-eyes held their heads up without sign of withering or misgiving: these stiff prairie plants never wilt--they die in their boots. But the foliage of the forest which Bob skirted by this time appeared to droop in very expectation of the long oppressive hours of breathless heat yet to come. In this still air even the uneasy rocking poplar-leaves were almost stationary on their edge-wise stems. Steady walking for more than three hours had brought Bob to the outskirts of the Broad Run region, and had sobered the dogs; these now sought fondly every little bit of shade, and lolled their tongues continuously. The first person that Bob McCord encountered after entering the grateful region of shadow was one Britton--"ole man Britton," his neighbors called him. This old settler led a rather secluded life. Neither he nor his wife ever left home to attend meetings or to share in any social assembly. They had no relatives among the people of the country, and there was a suspicion of mystery about them that piqued curiosity. Some years before, a traveler, in passing through the country, gave out that he recognized Britton, by his name and features, as one whom he had known in Virginia, where he said Britton had been an overseer and had run away with his employer's wife. The neighbors had never accepted the traveler's story in this way; though they were ready to believe that the woman might have run away with Britton. When Bob came in sight of him the saturnine old man was standing looking over the brink of a cliff into a narrow valley through which coursed the waters of Broad Run, steadying himself meanwhile by a sapling. Bob, following his first impulse, deposited his gun, beckoned his close-following little dog back, and crept stealthily towards Britton, keeping a tree between him and the old man when he could. Arrived in reach he made a spring, and laying firm hold of his victim by grasping him under the arms, he held him for a moment over the edge of the precipice. Then he brought him back and set him safely down as one might a child, and said innocently: "W'y, Mr. Britton, I do declare, 'f I hadn't'a' cotcht you, you'd'a' fell off!" The shriveled old man drew back to a safe distance from the brink, and tried to force his insipid face into a smile, but he was pale from the deadly fright. Big Bob rubbed his legs and gave way to a spasm of boisterous boyish laughter. "Seed any bear signs 'round about, Mr. Britton?" he said, when his laugh had died into a broad grin. "No." "What wuz you lookin' over the cliff fer?" "Zeke Tucker. He's workin' fer me, an' he's been gone all the mornin' arter my clay-bank hoss. I'm afeard sumpin's happened." "'F I find him I'll set the dogs onto him an' hurry him up a leetle," said Bob, laughing again and going on, intent now on encountering Zeke, alone, for purposes of his own. [Illustration: MR. BRITTON AND BIG BOB.] Then, when he had gone a little way, he stopped and looked back at the retreating old man, and grinned as he noted the doleful way in which his over-large trousers bagged behind. "Mr. Britton," he called, "which way'd Zeke go?" "Up the crick; the hoss is up thar sumers." Having secured this information, Bob went on, descending the cliff to the valley through which Broad Run rattled its shallow waters--a valley so broken and rugged as to render it almost unfit for cultivation. This glen was settled, as such regions are wont to be, by a race of "poor whiteys," or rather by a mixture of people belonging to two stocks originally different. The one race was descended from the lowest of the nomads, vagrants, and other poverty-stricken outcasts that had been spirited away from England by means legal and illegal, to be sold for a long term into bondage in the American colonies; the other, from the roughest wing of the great Scotch-Irish immigration of the last century--the hereditary borderers who early fought their way into the valleys and passes of the Alleghanies. Equally thriftless in their habits, and equally without any traditions of their origin, members of these two tribes mingled easily. The people in whom the Scotch-Irish blood preponderates are more given to violence, but their humor, their courage, and their occasional bursts of energy indicate that they have a chance of emerging from barbarism; while the poor whiteys of English descent are most of them beyond the reach of evolution, foreordained to extinction by natural selection, whenever the pressure of overpopulation shall force them into the competition for existence. With that instinctive unthriftiness which is the perpetual characteristic of the poor whitey in all his generations, the Broad Run people had chosen the least inviting lands within a hundred miles for their settlement, as though afraid that by acquiring valuable homes they might lose their aptitude for migration; or afraid, perhaps, that fertile prairies might tempt them to toil. The convenience of a brook by their doors, and a wood that was uncommonly "handy," had probably determined their choice. Then, too, the circumjacent cliffs gave them a sense of being shut in from prairie winds, and put some limit to the wanderings of their half-starved "critters." For the rest, their demands upon the land were always very modest--a few bushels of "taters," for roasting in the ashes; a small field of maize, for roasting-ears, hominy, and corn-dodgers; and such pumpkins and beans as could be grown intermingled with the hills of corn, were about all that one of these primitive families required, beyond what could be got with a gun or a fishing-line. The only real luxuries affected were onions and melons--"ing-uns un watermillions," in Broad Run phrase. Their few pigs and cows ran at large, and lived as they could. Oxen they rarely owned, but whenever a man was in the least prosperous he was sure to possess a single inferior saddle-horse, though he sometimes had no saddle but a blanket girt with a surcingle. A horse was kept at the service of neighbors; for, like other savages, the Broad Run people were hospitable and generous to members of their own tribe, and the only economy they understood was that of borrowing and lending, by which a number of families were able to make use of the same necessary articles. This happy device, for example, enabled one circulating flat-iron to serve an entire neighborhood. The Broad Run people entertained a contempt for the law that may have been derived from ancestors transported for petty felonies. It seemed to them something made in the interest of attorneys and men of property. A person mean enough to "take the law onto" his neighbor was accounted too "triflin'" to be respectable; good whole-souled men settled their troubles with nature's weapons,--fists, teeth, and finger-nails,--and very rarely, when the offense was heinous and capital, with bullets or buckshot. Men who were habitually disgraceful in any way--as, for example, those who could not get drunk without beating their wives--were punished, without the delay of trial, by the infliction of penalties more ancient than statutes, such as ducking, riding on a rail, whipping, or sudden banishment. Hanging by lynch-law was reserved for the two great crimes of horse-stealing and murder. They put the killing of George Lockwood into the category of grudge-murder, since he was shot at night "without giving him a show for his life." But the shooting did not immediately concern Broad Run, and Broad Run folks would not have felt themselves responsible for seeing justice done, if it had not been for concurring circumstances. Lynch law is an outbreak of the reformatory spirit among people of low or recent civilization. Like other movements for reform, it is often carried by its own momentum into unforeseen excesses. It had happened recently that two brothers, thieves of the worst class, who had infested the country and had long managed to escape from the law, had been sent to prison for four years. They were believed to be guilty of an offense much blacker than the robbery for which they were sentenced; but the murder of a strange peddler had escaped notice until the body had been discovered two years after the crime, and the crime could not then be brought home by legal evidence. Their attorney, a lawyer notorious for chicanery, had, by appeal, got a new trial on account of some technical error in the proceedings of the lower court. The county had already been heavily taxed to defray the expense of convicting them, and the people were exasperated by the prospect of a new expense with the possible escape of the criminals. Public expenses, it is true, sat lightly on Broad Run; the taxes levied on its barren patches and squalid cabins were not considerable, but Broad Run made much of the taxes it did pay, and it caught the popular indignation, and was indignant in its own prompt and executive fashion. The very night before the new trial was to begin, the doors of the jail were forced, and the two prisoners were shot to death by a mob. On the jail door was left a notice, warning the attorney of the criminals to depart from the county within thirty hours, on pain of suffering a like fate. Though Broad Run got most of the credit for this prompt vindication of justice, the leaving of this legible notice upon the door was taken as evidence of the complicity of some whose education was better than that of the settlers at the Run. This execution had taken place but three months before the shooting of George Lockwood, and the mob was like a were-wolf. Perhaps I ought rather to liken it to those professional reformers who, having abolished slavery, or waved their hats while others abolished it, proceed to inquire for the next case on the docket, and undertake forthwith to do away with capital punishment or the marriage relation. Having found its local self-complacency much increased by success in discovering a method cheaper and more expeditious than those of the courts, Broad Run was readily inclined to apply its system of criminal jurisprudence to a new case. But this local reformatory tendency, like many large movements of the sort, was very capable of lending itself to the promotion of personal aims and the satisfaction of private grudges. One of Tom Grayson's rash boyish exploits, soon after he took up his abode with his uncle in town, had been to avenge himself for an affront put upon him the year before by Jake Hogan of Broad Run. Jake, while working as a hired man for Butts, the next neighbor to the Graysons, had taken the side of his employer in the long-standing quarrel between the Buttses and the Graysons about pigs in the corn-field and geese in the meadow, "breachy" horses and line fences. Jake had gone so far one day as to throw Tom, then a half-grown boy, into the "branch." A boy's memory of such events is good, and when Jake rode into Moscow, a year later, in company with his sweetheart to see the circus, Tom repaid the old grudge by taking the stirrups from Jake's saddle and dropping them into the public well; so that the consequential Jake had the mortification of escorting a giggling Broad Run girl to her home with his lank legs and his big boots dangling, unsupported, against the flanks of his horse. Hogan would have beaten Tom, if he had not received an intimation that this would perhaps involve the necessity of his settling the matter a second time with big Bob McCord. But he laid up his grudge, and from that time he had taken pleasure in testifying to his settled conviction that Tom "wouldn' never come t' no good eend." He always lent emphasis to this sinister prediction by jerking his head back, with the self-confident air of a man who knows what he knows. From the moment of the shooting of Lockwood, when Jake found that Tom was on the direct road to the gallows, he began to twit all his cronies. "Hain't I all-ays said so? Go to thunder! D'yeh think Jake Hogan don't know a feller as the rope's already got a slip-knot onto?" And he would jerk his chin back, and stiffen his neck, as he defiantly waited for a reply. Not content with exulting in successful prophecy, Jake got a notion from the first that it devolved on him now to see that this young scapegrace should not fail of merited punishment. His neighbors at the Run, having boasted much of the value of what they called "Broad Run law," were willing to add a leaf to their laurels as reformers of the county; and he counted also on finding recruits among the loafers on the outskirts of the camp-meeting, if the coroner's jury should return a verdict adverse to Tom. Bob McCord was able to conjecture something of this state of affairs from the slender information the schoolmaster had given him. During all his morning's walk to Broad Run, Bob's thoughts had chiefly revolved about plans for circumventing Hogan. His first crude scheme was to join the reformers in their little excursion, and then mislead or betray them; but his friendly relations with the Graysons were too well known to Jake for this to be possible. It was not until the old man Britton had mentioned Zeke Tucker that there occurred to Bob's inventive mind a proper agent for his purpose. Wishing to have his coming known, he steered his course near to the rickety cabin of Eleazar Brown, or, as he was commonly called, "Ole Lazar Brown." "G'-mornin', S'manthy," Bob called to Lazar Brown's daughter, at the same time giving his head a little forward jerk,--the very vanishing point of a bow,--but without stopping his march. S'manthy had buried two husbands, and had borne eight white-headed children, but she had never been called by any other name than S'manthy. Just now she was "batting" clothes on a block in front of the house, turning a wet garment over with her left hand from time to time, and giving it the most vindictive blows with a bat held in her right. "Y' ain't heern nothin' 'v no bears a-cap'rin' 'round h-yer lately, eh?' Bob asked, relaxing his gait a little. "They say as they's a b'ar been seed furder upt the run, un I 'low you mout fine some thar ur tharabouts," replied the woman, intermitting her batting a moment and pushing back her faded pink sun-bonnet. "But wha' choo doin' away f'om home, I'd thes like to know, when they's so much a-goin' on in your diggin's? They say you've had a murder 'n' all that." "I don't talk, S'manthy. I'm a-lookin' fer bears. They 's times when yo'd orter hole onto yer tongue with both uh yore han's." Bob quickened his stride again and was soon out of sight among the scrubby trees of the rugged valley. "I say, daddy!" called S'manthy, when Bob had had time to get out of hearing; "looky h-yer, daddy!" Old Lazar Brown, in answer to this call, came and stood in the door, taking his cob-pipe from his mouth with his shaky hand and regarding his daughter. "Big Bob McCord's thes gone along upt the run a-hunt-in' fer b'ars," said S'manthy. "Un they say as the feller that killed t' other feller las' night's the son uh the woman 't 'e works fer. Bob's the beatinest hunter! Ef Gaberl wuz to toot his horn, Bob'd ax him to hole on long anough fer him to git thes one more b'ar, I'll bet." Lazar Brown had shaking-palsy in his arms, and, being good for nothing else, could devote his entire time to his congenial pursuits as gossip and wonder-monger of the neighborhood. Having listened attentively to S'manthy, he shook his head incredulously. "Yeh don't think ez he's arter b'ars, do yeh, S'manthy? Bob's got some trick er 'nother 'n 'is head. W'y, thes you look, he mus' uh le't home afore daybreak. Now, Bob'd natterly go to the carner's eenques' to-day, whar they'll be a-haulin' that young feller up that shot t' other feller las' night. Big Bob's got some ornery trick 'n 'is head." Here Lazar Brown stopped to replace his pipe in his mouth. He was obliged to use both hands, but after two or three attempts he succeeded. "Looky h-yer, S'manthy, you thes keep one eye out fer Bob; I 'low he'll go down the run towurds ev'nin'. He'll be orful dry by that time, fer he's one of the _driest_ fellers. Thes you tell him 't I've got a full jug, un ax him in, un we'll kind-uh twis' it out uh'im. I 'low I'll go 'n find Jake." Lazar returned to the house, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and refilled it. Then with some difficulty he succeeded in taking a live coal from the ashes; holding it in the leathery palm of his shaking left hand, he got it deposited at last on the corn-cob bowl of his pipe. As soon as this operation of firing-up was completed, he set out in a trotty little walk, glad to have news that would make the neighbors hearken to him. Meantime Bob McCord, having passed out of sight of S'manthy in his progress up the creek, had faced about and come back through the bushes to a point overlooking Lazar Brown's cabin, where, in a dense patch of pawpaws, he stood in concealment. This movement greatly perplexed the old dog Pup, who stood twitching his nose nervously, unable to discover what was the game that had attracted his master's eye. When at length Bob saw Lazar start off down the run, he smote his knee with his hand and gave vent to half-smothered laughter. "Tuck like the measles!" he soliloquized. "Un it'll spread too. See 'f it don't! Come, Pup--bears! bears! ole boy!"[1] [Footnote 1: Why it was that Bob said "bears," and did not say "b'ars," as some of his class did, I do not know. Broad as his dialect was, it was perceptibly less aberrant than that of Lazar Brown's family, for example. It is impossible to trace the causes for local and family variations of speech; nor is a word always pronounced in the same way in a dialect,--it varies in sound sometimes, when more or less stress is put upon it. The varieties are here set down as they existed, except that print can never give those shades of pronunciation and inflection that constitute so large a part of the peculiarities of speech, local, personal and temporary.] The dogs took the hint and ceased their nosing about the roots of trees for squirrels, and in beds of leaves and bunches of grass for hares. They began to make large circles through the trees about Bob, who moved forward as the center of a sort of planetary system, the short-legged dog keeping near the center, while Pup ranged as far away as he could without losing sight of his master,--the remote Uranus of the hunt. Joe, having "tairrier" blood in him, ran with his nozzle down; but long-legged Pup, with a touch of greyhound in his build, carried his head high and depended on his eyes. The fact that Tom Grayson's life was at stake afforded no reason, in Bob's view, for giving over the pursuit of bears. Nor did he hunt in serious earnest merely because there was neither bread nor meat at home. A cat will catch mice for the mere fun of it, and with Bob the chase was ever the chief interest of life. But Bob did not forget his other errand; while the dogs were seeking for bears, he was eagerly scanning the bushes in every direction for Zeke Tucker. Half a mile above Lazar Brown's he encountered Zeke, carrying a blind-bridle on his arm, and still looking in vain for Britton's stray horse. "Hello, Zeke! the very feller I wuz a-lookin' fer. Don't ax me no questions about what I'm a-doin' over h-yer, an' I won't tell you no lies. Let's set down a minute on that air hackberry log." The writer of a local guide-book to the city of Genoa recounts, among the evidences of piety exhibited by his fellow-citizens, the hospital built by them for those "_la quale non è conceduto di bearsi nel sorriso di un padre_." Zeke was one of those to whom, in the circumlocution of the Genoese writer, had not been granted the benediction of a father's smile. Such unfortunates were never wanting in a community like Broad Run, but no one had ever thought of building an asylum for them, though there were many ready to make them suffer the odium of sins not their own. From that unexpected streak of delicacy which is sometimes found in a rough man of large mold, Bob McCord had always refrained from allusion to the irregularity of Zeke's paternity, and had frequently awed into silence those who found pleasure in jibing him. This had awakened in Zeke a grateful adhesion to Bob, and in the young man's isolation among his neighbors and his attachment to himself Bob saw a chance to secure an ally. "Zeke," said McCord, when once they were seated on the hackberry log, "you 'n' me's all-ays been frien's, hain't we?" "Toobshore, Bob! they hain't no man a-livin' I'd do a turn fer quicker." "Well, now, you tell me this: Is Jake Hogan a-goin' to town weth the boys to-night?" "I hadn't no ways orter tell, but I 'low 't 'e is." "You a-goin' along?" "I dunno. 'F you don't want me to, I don't reckon ez I shall." "Yes, but I'd ruther you 'd go. I don't want that air fool boy hung 'thout a fair stan'-up trial, 'n' I may as well tell you 't I don't mean he shall be nuther, not 'f I have to lick Jake Hogan tell his ornery good-fer-nothin' hide won't hold shucks. But don't choo tell him a word 't I say." "Trust _me_." Zeke was pleased to find himself in important confidential relations with a man so much "looked up to" as Bob McCord. "Jake 's been the _hardest_ on me 'v all the folks, un they 's been times when I 'lowed to pull up un cl'ar out for the Injun country, to git shed uv 'im. I wish to thunder you _would_ lick him 'thin 'n inch 'viz life. He's a darn-sight wuss 'n git out." "Looky h-yer, Zeke; I'll tell you how you kin git even with Jake. You jest go 'long weth the boys to-night, wherever they go. I'm goin' to fix it so's they won't do nuthin' to-night. You're livin' 't ole man Britton's now, ainch yeh?" "Yes." "Well, you git off fer half a day f'om Britton's, un go to the eenques' this arternoon, un fine out all you kin. Arter supper, you go over to the groc'ry; un jest as soon's you fine out whech way the wind sets, you've got to let me know. 'T won't do fer me to be seed a-talkin' to you, ur fer me to loaf aroun' Britton's. But ef Jake makes up his mine to go to Moscow, you light a candle to-night un put it in the lof' where you sleep, so 't 'll shine out uv a crack on the south side uv the chimbley, in the furder eend uv the house." "But his mine 's already made up," said Zeke. "They's time to change afore night. Ef he's goin' to Perrysburg----" "Perrysburg? They ain't no talk uv Perrysburg," said Zeke. "They may be," answered Bob. "Un ef Perrysburg's the place, you put the candle at the leetle winder on the north side uv the chimbley. Un when I shoot you put out the candle, un then I'll know it's you, un you'll know 't I understan'. You see, 't won't do fer me to stop any nearder 'n the hill, un I'll wait there till I see your candle. Then you go weth Jake." Here Bob got up and strained his longsighted eyes at some object in the bushes on the other side of the brook. "Is yon hoss yourn, on t' other side of the branch?" "I don't see no hoss," said Zeke. "Well, you watch out a minute un you'll ketch sight uv 'im. He's gone in there to git shed of the flies." "That's our clay-bank, I believe," said Zeke, getting up and carefully scanning the now half-visible horse. "Mine! you hain't seen nor heern tell of me, un you b'long to Jake's crowd weth all your might." With these words Bob set out again for his bear-hunt, while the barefoot Zeke waded through the stream, which was knee-deep, and set himself to beguile Britton's clay-bank horse into standing still and forfeiting his liberty. XIII A BEAR HUNT Bob McCord had that quick, sympathetic appreciation of brute impulses which is the mark of a great hunter. Given a bear or a deer in a certain place, at a certain hour of the day, and Bob would conjecture, without much chance of missing, in which direction he would go and what he would be about. In a two-hours' beating-up the ravine he found no traces of bears. He then faced almost about and bent his course to where the illimitable western prairie set into the woods in a kind of bay. Why he thought that on a hot day like this a bear might be taking a sunning in the open grass I cannot tell; he probably suspected Bruin of an excursion to the corn-fields for "roas'in' ears." At any rate his conjecture was correct. Pup, beating forward in great leaps, with his head above the grass, caught sight of a female bear making her way to a point of timber farther down the run known as Horseshoe Neck. When the bear saw the dogs she quickened her leisurely pace into a lumbering gallop. Pup's long legs were stretched to their utmost in eager leaps which presently brought him in front of her; Joe, when he came up, annoyed her at the side; and stout little Seizer, watching the chance whenever she was making an angry lunge at Pup, would bravely nip her heels and so make her turn about. Before she could get her head fairly around the fiste would turn tail and run for his life. Bob tried to get within range before the bear should disappear in the forest, but as soon as she saw herself near the timber she charged straight for it, refusing to strike at Pup, and wholly disregarding the barking of bob-tail Joe, or the proximity to her heels of Seizer. She quickly disappeared from sight in the underbrush, and the embarrassed dogs came near losing her. A few moments too late to get a shot, McCord came running to the woods at the point of her entrance. He examined the brush and listened a moment. "She's gone up stream," he said, "bound to make her hole at Coon's Den, 'f I don't git there fust." He returned to the prairie and ran breathlessly along the edge of the woods for the better part of a mile; then he dashed into the timber, and pushing through the brush until he reached a cliff, he clambered down and stood with his back to the head of a ravine tributary to the valley in which Broad Run flowed. He was breathless, and his flimsy lower garments had been almost torn off him by the violence of his exertion and the resistance of underbrush and rocks; in fact, raiment never seemed just in place on him; the vigorous form burst through it now on this side, and now on that. Hearing the dogs still below him, he knew that he had come in time to intercept the progress of the bear toward the heap of rocky débris at the head of the ravine. Once in these fastnesses, no skill of hunter or perseverance of dogs would have been sufficient to get her out. The bear was soon in sight, and Bob saw that the nearly exhausted dogs were taking greater risks than ever. Little Seizer was particularly venturesome, and was so much overcome with heat and fatigue, and so breathless with barking, that it was hard for him to get out of the way of the bear's retorts. "She'll smash that leetle ijiot the very nex' time, shore," muttered Bob with alarm; and though he knew the range to be a long one, he took aim and fired. Unluckily the infuriated Seizer gave the bear's heel a particularly savage bite, and at the very instant of Bob's pulling the trigger she turned on the little dog, and thus caused the ball to lodge in her right shoulder just as she was striking out with her left paw. She barely reached the dog, and failed to crush him with the full weight of her arm, but she lacerated his side and sent him howling out of the fray. Now, wounded and enraged, she recognized in the hunter her chief enemy; and, neglecting the dogs, she rushed up the ravine toward McCord. Bob poured a large charge of powder into his gun, and, taking a bullet from his pouch, he felt in his pocket for the patching. A moment he looked blankly at the oncoming bear and muttered "Gosh!" between his set teeth. There was not a patch in his pocket. He had put some pieces of patching there in the darkness of the morning before leaving home, without remembering that his pocket was bottomless. He stood between a wounded bear and her cubs, and there was no time for deliberation. He might evade the attack if he could succeed in getting up the cliff where he had come down, but in that case she would reach her hole and he would lose the battle. He promptly tore a piece from the ragged leg of his trousers, and, wrapping his ball in it, rammed it home. Then he took a cap from a hole in the stock of his gun and got it fixed just in time to shoot when the bear was within a dozen feet of him. Uncultivated man that he was, he had the same refined pleasure in the death-throes of his victim that gentlemen and ladies of the highest breeding find in seeing a frightened and exhausted fox torn to pieces by hounds with bloody lips. Bob's first care was to look after Seizer, who was badly wounded, but whose bones were whole. The afternoon had passed its middle when he shot the bear, and by the time he had cared for the dog and dressed his game the sun was low and McCord was troubled lest he should have delayed too long the execution of his stratagem for the confusion of Jake Hogan. Another man might have been considerably embarrassed to dispose of the bear. But Bob proceeded first to divest it of every part that was of little value. Then he hoisted the carcass to his shoulder and tossed the bear-skin on top. Taking up his rifle and balancing his burden carefully before starting, he went swaying to and fro down the ravine, choosing with care the securest places among the rocks to set his feet in. It was thus that Samson went off with the great gates of Gaza. McCord was a primitive, Pelasgic sort of man, accustomed to overmatch the ferocities of Nature with a superior strength and cunning. Lacking the refinement and complexity of the typical modern, this antique human is more simple and statuesque; even the craft of such a man has little involution. There was joy in his bloody victory over the most formidable beast in his reach that was virile and unalloyed by ruth or scruple--a joy like that which vibrates in the verses of Homer. It was a good mile to Lazar Brown's, where Bob hoped to find a horse to take his bear home. When at length he stopped to unshoulder his burden on a salient corner of old Lazar's rail fence, sunset had begun to bless the overheated earth. "Got a b'ar, did n' choo?" said Old Lazar, who was in wait for Bob. "To be shore, Uncle Lazar. Whadje expeck?" "Come in, Bob, wonch yeh? I got a fresh jug full uv the critter yisterday, un I 'low you're purty consid'able dry agin this time. You purty much all-ays air dry, Bob." "Well, Uncle Lazar, I _am_ tol'able dry un _no_ mistake. I hain't had nuthin' to drink to-day 'ceppin' jes branch water, un clear water's a mighty weak kind uv a drink fer a pore stomick like mine. 'N, I'm hungry too. Don' choo 'low S'manthy could rake up a cole dodger summers about?" "Oh, stay tell she gits you some supper." "No, Uncle Lazar; I could n' stop a minute noways. They hain't got nary thing t' eat 't our house. Len' me your mare to git this 'ere varmint home?" "I could n', Bob. I'm thes uz willin' to 'commodate ez anybody kin be, but I've promised the mar' to one uv the boys to-night--to--to go a-sparkin' weth." "Oh, sparkin' kin wait. What's a feller want to go sparkin' a Friday night fer? Tell him to wait tell Sunday, so 's the gal 'll have a clean dress on." "But I've gi'n my word, Bob." "Your word hain't no 'count, un you don't fool me, Uncle Lazar," said Bob, with a broad grin. "Your mare's a-goin' to town to-night, un ef she sh'd git a bullet-hole put into her who'd pay the funeral ixpenses?" This consideration went for a good deal with Lazar. "I say, Bob," he said, coming closer and speaking low, "_is_ they goin' to be shootin' to-night?" "_Uv_ course they is, un plenty uv it. Don' choo know't the sheriff's gi'n bonds, un 'f 'e lets a prisoner go he's got to pay the damages? Un them town fellers is sot agin lynchin'." Seeing S'manthy in the cabin door straining her attention to the utmost, Bob spoke loud enough to reach her ears. "Lookey h-yer, Uncle Lazar," he went on; "d'you reckon 't that feller that's a-goin' to git your mare shot to-night 'll gin you a whole quarter uv bear-meat fer the use _an'_ the damages ef she's shot?" This last hint had the desired effect. "'T ain't no use a-talkin', Daddy," S'manthy called out; "I hain't a-go'n' to let a'ole frien' like Bob Mcord pack that-ar great big b'ar all the way over to Timber Crick on his shoulders ez long 's my name's S'manthy. Un I hain't a-go'n' to have the mar' shot. So thar 's 'n eend auv it." S'manthy's common "uv" or "uh" for "of" became "auv" when she wished to be particularly emphatic and full-mouthed in a declaration. "Good fer _you_, S'manthy," said Bob. "You sh'll have the best leg this critter's got. Take yer ch'ice." A rusty ax was brought out, and Bob stopped a moment to examine its serrated edge. "I say, Uncle Lazar, ez this a' ax _ur_ a saw? From the aidge uv it _I_ sh'd call it a saw, but the back uv it _is_ sumpin like a' ax." Then with a laugh he proceeded to cut off a liberal quarter of the bear, while S'manthy's ten-year-old tow-headed boy was sent to "ketch up the mar'," which was nibbling grass on the farther side of a patch of broad-leaved cotton-weeds. When the quarter of bear-meat had been hung up at the north end of the cabin, Lazar got out his jug and Bob began to satisfy the longings of his colossal thirst, while S'manthy set out on the poplar table which stood in the middle of the floor some "Kaintucky corn-dodger," as she called it; and despite Bob's protest against staying till she could cook some supper, she put a bit of fat salt pork in the skillet to fry. Meantime the old man plied Bob with more whisky, both before and after eating. When he thought it time for this to have taken effect, he began to try to satisfy his own curiosity. "D'joo h-yer about the carner's eenquest, Bob?" he said cautiously, feeling his way toward his point. "No, I didn't. You see, I hain't seed nobody but the bear, un she wuz the ign'rantest critter. Could n't tell me nuthin'." And Bob laughed at his own wit, as was his custom. "How 'd it go?" Bob had wanted to ask this question, but he wished to let Uncle Lazar begin. "Well, I hyern f'om Raphe Jackson, thes now, that the jury said 's Lockwood come to 'is final eend ut the han's uv Tom Grayson, ur sumpin like that; un they said 't wuz reg'lar bloody murder in the fust degree. My! ef that wuz n't a mad crowd! They made a rush fer Grayson, but the depitty shurriff 'd got 'im away. Ef they 'd 'a' cotcht him they would n't 'a' made two bites uv him." "You don't say!" Bob was a little stunned. He had not thought of Tom's being at the inquest. He felt that perhaps in coming away he had made a mistake that had come near to being a fatal one. "They wuz thes a-howlin', Raphe said, un they had n't lef' the place when he come away. They wuz made madder by the way the young scoundrel stood up un _de_clared 't he did n' know nuthin' about the murder, arter 't wuz proved on him, plain 's the nose on a man's face, an' the dead man a-layin' right thar afore 'is own eyes." Bob was in a brown study, and nothing was said on either side for half a minute. It made Bob uncomfortable to reflect that he had come near losing the game at the outset. "I 'low 't 'll go hard weth the young feller to-night." This roused McCord from the reverie produced from his surprise. "I reckoned the boys'u'd be a-goin' to Moscow to-night," he said; and added, "Let 'em go!" And then he laughed as though he knew something. "Say, Bob," said Uncle Lazar, whose curiosity was piqued beyond endurance, "what's in the wind? What wuz it fotcht you all the way over h-yer un the eenquest a-goin' on so closte to your house?" "Had n' got no meat," said Bob, with a wink. "They's sumpin more'n _that ar_. You've got sumpin ur nuther on Jake, I'll bet." "I 'ke speck you know a whole lot, Uncle Lazar," said Bob. "I sh'd think you'd jest right up un guess now." "Well, I can't seem to." "Well, I'm not a-goin' to let 't out, Uncle Lazar, 'thout this 'ere whisky uh yourn's a leetle _too_ powerful fer me." Bob did not fear the whisky: it was rare that whisky could get the better of such a frame as his; and, moreover, he was inured to it. He only threw out this hint to persuade his host to be more liberal in dispensing it. But it appeared that Lazar's liberality with his whisky was probably exhausted; and Bob rose to go, affecting to be unsteady on his legs. "Seddown, Bob; seddown, while I see about the mar'." "Well, I 'low I will, Uncle Lazar. That air whisky uh yourn has sort-uh settled into my feet a leetle." Lazar went out to see if the boy had brought the horse, making a signal to his daughter to try her skill at coaxing Bob to tell. Meantime Bob ogled S'manthy, who, like Delilah, was debating how she could win this Samson's secret. Presently he said, in a half-tipsy tone: "S'manthy, you 'n' me wuz all-ays good frien's, wuz n't we?" "Toobshore, Bob." "I used to think you wuz _some_ at a hoe-down; you wuz the best-lookin' un the liveliest dancer uv all. How you _did_ slam-bang the floor!" S'manthy smiled in her faded way. "Bob, that's all saf'-sodder, un you know it. Say, Bob, ef you're sech a frien' why on yerth don' choo tell a-body what fotcht you over h-yer to-day?" "Aw, well, I'd tell, on'y I'm afeared you'd go un let out." "Not me. 'T a'n't like me to blab." "Well, I don' mine tellin' _you_, S'manthy, 'f yeh won't tell the ole man tell mornin'." "Oh! I'd never tell _him_. He'd go potterin' all over Broad Run Holler weth it, fust thing." "'S the bes' joke," said Bob, rubbing his knees exultingly; "but I'm afeared you'll tell," he added, rousing himself. "'Pon my word 'n' honor, I won't. Nobody'll ever git 't out uh me." And S'manthy emphasized this assurance by a boastful nodding of the head forward and to one side. "Well, 'f you think you kin keep the sekert overnight--Don' choo tell no livin' critter tell mornin'." "I hain't no hand to tell sekerts, an' you 'd orter know that, Bob." "Well, you jes let Jake 'n' his crowd go to Moscow to-night," said Bob, chuckling in a semi-tipsy, soliloquizing tone. "I come over to make shore they _wuz_ a-goin', un I wuz to let the sher'f know ef they had got wind uv anything. I saw Markham, the deppitty, about one o'clock this mornin', un he tole me he 'd look arter the eenques' un I mus' keep a lookout over h-yer. Jake 'll have a rousin' time, un no mistake." "Shootin'?" queried S'manthy, with eagerness. "Naw! I wuz on'y a-lettin' on about shootin' to fool Uncle Lazar. Hain't got no needcessity to shoot. Better 'n that! Gosh!" "Goin' to take the young feller away?" "I 'low they did n't never take him back to Moscow arter the eenques'." "Tuh law! You don't say? Whar 've they tuck 'm to?" "I sha'n't tell," said Bob. "I sha'n't tell even _you_, S'manthy." "Perrysburg?" "You all-ays wuz some at guessin'. But I sha'n't say nary nuther word, on'y he 's whar Jake won't find him ef he goes to Moscow. They went summers, un that's anough. Perrysburg jail 's ruther stronger 'n ourn, I'll say _that_. 'T wuz all fixed, 'fore I lef' home, to run him off afore the verdick wuz in, un not to keep to the big road nuther, so 's Jake would n' git wind uv 'em. Don't you whisper Perrysburg to a livin' soul. You jes' let Jake go down to Moscow! I'm comin' over 'n the mornin' to fetch your mare home un git my little Seizer that 's got to stay h-yer to-night, un then I'll fine out how they come out." And Bob chuckled as he left the house, only turning back to say: "You keep closte, S'manthy, ur you'll spile it all. 'F you do tell, I won't _never_ forgive yeh." Bob now went out and down to the brookside, where he cut up and stripped three or four leatherwood bushes, and tied the tough, fibrous bark into one strong rope. With this he girded the bear to the horse's back, meantime resisting all of old Lazar's inquiries about the reason for his coming. At length he walked off in the dusk, unsteadily leaning against the horse on which the bear-meat was tied, and was soon out of sight. "Bob won't tell me," said the old man plaintively, as he came into the house. "He won't, won't he?" demanded S'manthy, with exultation in her voice. "You don' know how. Takes me to git at a sekert." "Did he tell _you_, S'manthy?" Uncle Lazar looked a little crest-fallen. "In _course_ he did. Think I couldn' make him tell? W'y, I kin thes twis' Big Bob 'roun' my little finger." "Well, what on yerth did he come over yer fer, S'manthy?" "I promised not to tell you." "To be shore you did. But you're a-goin' to." "Yes; but you'll let it out, un then what'll Bob say to me?" "What'll Jake say to you fer lettin' yer mar' go off, when one uv his boys had the promise? Un what 'll the folks say when they find out you knowed, un let 'em be fooled by Big Bob? You 've got to tell, S'manthy, ur else have all the Holler down on yeh. Besides, you could n' keep that sekert tell bed-time, noways, un you know you couldn'. 'T ain't in you to keep it, un you might thes ez well out weth it now ez arter awhile." "Aw, well, Daddy, Bob didn' say much, on'y ut Jake wouldn' fine the feller that done the shootin' when he got to Moscow." "Tuh law!" exclaimed the old man, waiting with open eyes for more. "He wuz tuck off, afore the eenques' wuz over, to Perrysburg, un Bob come over to see 't Jake didn' git no wind uv it. That 's all they is _to_ it. Un you need n' go un tell it, h-yer _an'_ yan, nuther." S'manthy knew well that this caution was of no avail. But by tacking the proviso to the information, she washed her hands of responsibility, and convinced herself that she had not betrayed a secret. It was an offering that she felt bound to make to her own complacency. Uncle Lazar, for his part, made no bones. He only tarried long enough to set his pipe to smoking. Bob McCord had stopped in the growing darkness under the shade of a box elder, a little beyond the forks of the road. He presently had the satisfaction of seeing the head of the old man as he trotted away through the patch of stunted corn toward a little grocery, which was located where the big road crossed Broad Run Hollow, and which was the common center of resort and intelligence for the neighborhood. XIV IN PRISON Hiram Mason managed with difficulty to drive the first two miles of forest road--over roots and stumps, through ruts and mud-holes, and with no light but that of a waning moon. When he reached Timber Creek bridge he got down and led the horse on its unsteady floor. Then came, like a dark spot in the pale moonlight, the log school-house, which reminded him that he was running away from his day's work. He stopped at the new log-house of John Buchanan, a Scotch farmer who had been one of his predecessors, and called him up to beg him to take his place. Buchanan, whose knowledge was of the rudimentary kind, had ceased to teach because he had not been able to meet the increased demands of the patrons of the school; it was a sort of consolation to his thwarted ambition to resume the beech-scepter if only for a day. When Buchanan's house had been left behind, the road passed into an outskirt of small poplars, and then finally shook off this outer fringe of forest and lay straight away over the dead level of the great prairie. By the time the wagon reached this point the dawn was beginning to reveal the landscape, though as yet the world consisted only of masses of shadow interspersed with patches of a somber gray. But the smooth road was sufficiently discernible for Hiram to put the horse into a trot, which afforded no little relief to the impatient Barbara. Up to this time they had traveled in silence, except for the groans and sighs of Mrs. Grayson. But at length Barbara took the lead. "I can't believe that Tom did that shooting," she said to Mason. "He promised me after supper last night that he would put all hard feelings against George Lockwood out of his mind. Tom is n't the kind of a fellow to play the hypocrite. Oh, I do hope he is innocent!" "So do I," said Mason. "To be sure he is," said Mrs. Grayson, with a touch of protest in her voice. Barbara had detected a note of effort in Hiram's reply, that indicated a prevailing doubt of Tom's innocence, and she did not speak again during the whole ride. When they entered the village, Mason drove first to the sheriff's house, and went in, leaving Barbara and her mother in the wagon. Sheriff Plunkett had not yet had his breakfast. He was a well-built man, of obliging manners, but with a look of superfluous discreetness in his face. Mason explained in few words that the mother and sister of Tom Grayson, who had not seen him since the shooting of Lockwood, were at the door in a wagon and wished to be admitted to the jail. The sheriff regarded Mason awhile in silence; it was his habit to examine the possible results of the simplest action before embarking in it. He presently went upstairs and came down bringing with him the jail keys. Mason drove the wagon to the jail, tied the horse to a tree, and suggested to Mrs. Grayson and Barbara that it would be better for him to go in first. He had a vague fear that there might be something in Tom's situation to shock the feelings of his mother and sister. The sheriff had walked briskly along the wagon track in the middle of the street to avoid the dew-laden grass on either side of the road. When he came to the door of the jail he said in an undertone as he shoved the great iron key into the door: "Tom's in the dungeon." "Why did you put him in the dungeon?" asked Mason. "We always put prisoners accused of murder in there." "You might put an innocent man in that place," said Mason. "Well, there ain't much doubt about Tom's being guilty; and anyways the jail's so weak that we have to put anybody accused of murder in the dungeon, where there ain't any outside windows." By the time he had finished this speech, Plunkett had admitted Mason and himself to the jail and locked the outside door behind them. The prison was divided into two apartments by a hall-way through the middle. The room to the left, as one entered, was called the dungeon; it was without any light except the little that came through at second-hand from the dusky hall by means of a small grating in the door; the hall itself was lighted by a simple grated window at the end farthest from the outside door. When the sheriff had with difficulty opened the door of the dungeon, he could not see anything inside. "Tom, come out," he called. Mason was barely acquainted with Tom, but he was shocked to see the fine-looking fellow in handcuffs as he came to the door, blinking his eyes at the light, and showing a face which wounded pride and anxiety had already begun to make haggard. "Mr. Mason, I didn't expect to see you," said Tom. "Did you hear anything from mother and Barbara?" "They're outside," said Mason. "I thought I'd just take your place at home for a few days." The sheriff had gone along the hall to open the door leading into the room on the side opposite the dungeon. Tom regarded Mason a moment in silence, and presently said with emotion: "How can I make anybody believe the truth? They'll say that a man who'd kill another would lie about it. I believe I should n't care so much about the danger of being hung, if I could only make a few people know that I did n't kill George Lockwood. I can't make you believe it, but I'm not guilty." As he said this, Tom dropped his eyes from Mason's face, and an expression of discouragement overspread his own. "You certainly don't seem like a guilty man," said Hiram. "The worst of it is," said Tom, as they followed the sheriff into the eastern room of the jail, "I can't think, to save my life, who 'twas that could have done the shooting. I don't know of any enemy that Lockwood had, unless you might have called me one. I hated him and talked like a fool about shooting, but I never seriously thought of such a thing." The eastern room of the wretched little jail was about fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long. In it were confined from time to time ordinary prisoners and occasionally lunatics, without separation on account of character or sex. Fortunately Tom had the jail now to himself. The sheriff, who in those days was also the jailer, locked Mason and Tom in the eastern room while he opened the outside door and admitted Mrs. Grayson and Barbara to the hall. Then he locked the front door behind them and proceeded to unlock the door of the eastern room. Barbara ran in eagerly and threw her arms about Tom. "Tell me truly, Tom," she whispered in his ear, "did you do it? Tell me the solemn truth, between you and me." [Illustration: "TELL ME TRULY, TOM, DID YOU DO IT?"] "Before God Almighty, Barb," he answered, "I didn't shoot George Lockwood, and I didn't even see him on the camp-ground. I wasn't in that part of the woods, and I hadn't any pistol." "Tom, I believe you," said Barbara, sobbing on his shoulder. Wondering that her brother did not return her embrace, she looked down and saw his handcuffs, and felt, as she had not before, the horror of his situation. Mrs. Grayson now gently pushed Barbara aside and approached Tom. "I didn't do it, mother," said Tom; "I didn't do it." "Of course you did n't, Tommy; I never thought you did--I just knew you _couldn't_ do it." And she put her trembling arms about him. Hiram had gone into the corridor from motives of delicacy. "Couldn't you move him into the east room?" he said to the sheriff. "It's too bad to have to lie in that dungeon, without air, and in August too. And is it necessary to keep his handcuffs on?" "Well, you see, it's the regular thing to put a man into the dungeon that's up for murder, and to put handcuffs on. The jail's rather weak, you know; and if he should escape--I'd be blamed." Mason went into the dark room and examined the dirty, uncomfortable cot, and felt of the damp walls. Then he returned to the east room just as Tom was explaining his flight from the camp-ground. "I saw a rush," he said, "and I went with the rest. A man was telling in the dark that George Lockwood had been shot, and that they were looking for a fellow named Grayson and were going to hang him to the first tree. I ran across the fields to our house, and by the time I got there I saw that I'd made a mistake. I ought to have come straight to Moscow. I went into the house and came out to go to Moscow and give myself up, but I met the sheriff at the gate." "The first thing is the inquest," said Mason. "Have you thought about a lawyer?" "There's no use of a lawyer for that," said Tom. "My fool talk about killing Lockwood is circumstantial evidence against me, and I'll certainly be held for trial--unless the real murderer should turn up. And I don't know who that can be. I've puzzled over it all night." "You studied with Mr. Blackman, I believe," said Mason. "Couldn't you get him to defend you?" "I don't know that I want _him_. He's already prejudiced against me. He wouldn't believe that I was innocent, and so he couldn't do any good." "But you've got to have somebody," said Barbara. "I've been over the whole list," said Tom, "and I'd rather have Abra'm than anybody else." "Abra'm 'll do it," said Mrs. Grayson; "I kin git him to do it. He's a little beholden to me fer what I done fer him when he was little. But he's purty new to the law-business, Tommy." "Abra'm Lincoln's rather new, but he's got a long head for managing a case, and he's honest and friendly to us. The circuit court begins over at Perrysburg to-morrow, and he'll like as not stop at the tavern here for dinner to-day. You might see him, mother." "Tom! Tom!" The voice was a child's, and it came from the outside of the window-grating. A child's fingers were clutched upon the stones beyond the grating; and before Tom could answer, the brown head of Janet Grayson was lifted to the level of the high, square little window, and her blue eyes were peering into the obscurity of the prison. [Illustration: JANET AT THE WINDOW.] "Tom, are you there? Did they give you any breakfast?" she faltered, startled and ready to cry at finding herself calling into a place so obscure and apparently so void. "O Janet! is that you?" said Tom, putting his face to the grating. "You blessed little soul, you! But you must n't come to this dreadful place." And Tom tried to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. "Yes, but I am sorry for you, Cousin Tom," she said, dropping to the ground again and turning her head on one side deprecatingly; "and I was afraid they wouldn't give you enough to eat. Here's three biscuits." She pulled them out of her pocket with difficulty and pushed them through the grating. "Thank you, thank you," said Tom. "You are a dear loving little darling. But see here, Janet, you'd better not come here any more; and don't call me cousin. It's too bad you should have to be ashamed of your cousin." "But I _will_ call you cousin, an' I don' care what they say. Are _you_ in there, too, Barbara? You didn't kill anybody, did you?" "No; neither did Tom," said Barbara, leaning down to the window. "Janet," said Tom, "d' you tell Uncle Tom and Aunt Charlotte that I didn't shoot anybody. They won't believe you, but it's a fact." Janet had heard the news at the breakfast-table. Sheriff Plunkett, wishing to conciliate so influential a person as Thomas Grayson the elder, had sent him word very early of the unfortunate predicament in which Tom found himself, and had offered to comply with any wishes Mr. Grayson might express concerning his nephew, so far as the rigor of the law allowed. To steady-going people like the Graysons the arrest of Tom on such a charge was a severe blow; and his execution would compromise for all time their hitherto unsullied respectability in their little world. They drank their breakfast coffee and ate their warm biscuit and butter and fried ham and eggs with rueful faces. The comments they made on Tom's career were embittered by their own share of the penalty. Janet had listened till she had made out that Tom was in jail for killing somebody. Then, after hearing some rather severe remarks from her parents about Tom, she burst into tears, rose up and stamped her feet in passion, and stormed in her impotent, infantile way at her father and mother and the people who had locked up Tom in jail. When the first gust of her indignation had found vent, she fled into the garden to cool off, as was her wont. After awhile she came back and foraged in the kitchen, where she pounced upon three biscuits which had been left on a plate by the fire to keep them warm. With these she had made off through the back gate of the garden, thence down the alley and across the public square to the jail. Meantime a lively discussion was carried on in the house. "We've got to do something for Tom, I suppose," said Mrs. Grayson, after the question of his blameworthiness was exhausted. "He's your nephew, and we can't get around that. Goodness knows he's given us trouble enough, and expense enough, already." It was a favorite illusion with the Graysons that they had spent money on Tom, though he had earned all he had received. "Yes," said Grayson reluctantly; "it'll be expected of us, Charlotte, to stand by him. He's got no father, you know. And I suppose George Lockwood was aggravating enough." "The Lord knows I'm sorry for Tom; he was always good to Janet." This reminded Mrs. Grayson of her daughter, and she went to the open door of the dining-room and called, "Janet! O Janet! It's curious how she stands by Tom. She's off in the sulks, and won't answer a word I say. I suppose you'll have to go his bail," she said with apprehension. "No, it's not bailable. They don't bail prisoners charged with capital offenses." "That's a good thing, anyhow. I hate to have you go security." "I suppose Martha'll be able to pay the lawyers," said Thomas Grayson. "She won't expect us to do any more for Tom. It's bad enough to have to stand the disgrace of it." "Janet! Janet! O Janet!" called Mrs. Grayson anxiously. "I declare, I'm uneasy about that child; it's nearly half an hour since she went out. I wish you'd go and have a look for her." But at that moment Janet rushed in breathless through the kitchen. "O Pa! I've been over to the jail to see Tom." "You've been to the jail!" said Grayson, recoiling in his heart from such an experience for Janet. "Yes, an' they've put Barbara and Aunt Martha in there too, along with Tom." She was bursting with indignation. "Thomas," said Mrs. Grayson, as she gathered up the hitherto neglected breakfast plates, "Martha and Barbara have come from home this morning." "I suppose so," said Grayson, looking out of the window. "Now it's not going to do for us to let them go without coming here to breakfast," said the wife. "People will say we're hardhearted; and when they once get to talking there's no knowing what they _won't_ say. They might blame us about Tom, though the Lord knows we did _our_ best for him." "Will you go and ask Martha and Barbara to come over?" said Grayson, with a sneaking desire to escape the disagreeable duty. "I can't bear to," said his wife. "I hate to go to the jail and see Tom there. Besides, if they're coming I must make some coffee." Grayson stood still and looked out of the window. "Will they let them come if you ask 'em?" inquired Janet. "Let who come?" said her father abstractedly. "Aunt Martha and Barbara and Tom." "Of course they'll not keep your Aunt Martha nor Barbara. They haven't killed anybody." "Neither has Tom. He told me to tell you he hadn't." "I suppose they all talk that way. 'T ain't like Tom to lie about anything though. He generally faces it out, rain, hail, or shine. I wish to goodness he could prove that he didn't kill George. Where are you going, Janet?" "To fetch Aunt Martha and Barbara. I wish they'd let Tom come too." Grayson spent as much time as possible in getting his hat and looking it over before putting it on. Then, when he could think of no other pretext for delay, he started as slowly as possible, in order to give Janet time to fetch his relatives away from the jail before he should encounter them. Janet found her aunt coming out of the prison in order to allow the sheriff to go to breakfast. "Aunt Martha," cried Janet, "Ma wants you an' Barbara to come to breakfast. She sent me to tell you." "I don't like to go there," said Barbara to her mother in an undertone. But Mason, who was behind, perceiving Barbara's hesitation, came up and whispered: "You'd better go, Barbara. Tom will need all the help he can get from your uncle's position. And I'll take the horse and put him into your uncle's stable." XV ABRAHAM LINCOLN The village of Moscow was founded by adventurous pioneers while yet Napoleon's Russian expedition was fresh in all men's minds, and took from that memory its Russian name, which, like most other transplanted names of the sort, was universally mispronounced. The village had been planted in what is called an "island," that is, a grove surrounded by prairie on every side. The early settlers in Illinois were afraid to seat themselves far from wood. As it stands to-day the pretty town is arranged about a large public square, neatly fenced, and with long hitching-rails on all four sides of it. The inside of the square is trimly kept, and is amply shaded by old forest-trees--the last survivors of the grove that formed the "island." Moscow contains a court-house, which is pretentious and costly, if not quite elegant, besides other public buildings. On the streets facing this park-like square nearly all the trade of the thriving country-town is carried on. But in the time of Tom Grayson's imprisonment the public square was yet a rough piece of woods, with roots and stumps still obtruding where underbrush and trees had been cut out. There was no fence, and there were no hitching-rails. The court-house of that day was a newish frame building, which had the public-grounds all to itself except for the jail, on one corner of the square. Facing the square, on the side farthest from the jail, stood the village tavern. One half of it was of hewn logs, which marked it as dating back to the broad-ax period of the town's growth; the other half had been added after the saw-mill age began, and was yet innocent of paint, as were the court-house and several other of the principal buildings in the town. In front of the tavern was a native beech-tree, left behind in the general destruction. Under it were some rude benches which afforded a cool and favorite resort to the leisurely villagers. One of the boughs of this tree served its day and generation doubly, for besides contributing to the shadiness of the street-corner, it supported a pendant square sign, which creaked most dolefully whenever there was wind enough to set it swinging in its rusty iron sockets. The name of the hotel was one common to villages of small attainments and great hopes; the sign bore for legend in red letters: "City Hotel, R. Biggs." To the City Hotel there came, on this first day after Tom's arrest, one of those solitary horsemen who gave life to nearly every landscape and mystery to nearly every novel of that generation. This horseman, after the fashion of the age, carried his luggage in a pair of saddle-bags, which kept time to his horse's trot by rapping against the flaps of his saddle. "Howdy, Cap'n Biggs," said the traveler to the landlord, who was leaning solidly against the door-jamb and showing no sign of animation, except by slowly and intermittently working his jaws in the manner of a ruminating cow. "Howdy, Abe," was the answer. "Where yeh boun' fer?" "Perrysburg," said the new arrival, alighting and stretching the kinks out of his long, lank limbs, the horse meanwhile putting his head half-way to the ground and moving farther into the cool shade. Then the horseman proceeded to disengage his saddle-bags from the stirrup-straps, now on one side of the horse and then on the other. "Have yer hoss fed some corn?" In asking this question Captain Biggs with some difficulty succeeded in detaching himself from the door-post, bringing his weight perpendicularly upon his legs; this accomplished he sluggishly descended the three door-steps to the ground and took hold of the bridle. "What's this I hear about Tom Grayson, Cap'n?" said the new-comer, as he tried to pull and wriggle his trousers-legs down to their normal place. "Oh, he's gone 'n' shot Lockwood, like the blasted fool he is. He wuz blowin' about it afore he lef' town las' month, but nobody reckoned it wuz anything _but_ blow. Some trouble about k-yards an' a purty gal--John Albaugh's gal. I s'pose Tom's got to swing fer it, 'nless you kin kinder bewilder the jury like, an' git him off. Ole Mis' Grayson's in the settin'-room now, a-waitin' to see you about it." Captain Biggs lifted his face, on which was a week's growth of stubby beard, to see how his guest would take this information. The tall, awkward young lawyer only drew his brow to a frown and said nothing; but turned and went into the tavern with his saddle-bags on his arm, and walking stiffly from being so long cramped in riding. Passing through the cool bar-room with its moist odors of mixed drinks, he crossed the hall into the rag-carpeted sitting-room beyond. "Oh Abra'm, I'm that glad to see you!" But here the old lady's feelings overcame her and she could not go on. "Howdy, Mrs. Grayson. It's too bad about Tom. How did he come to do it?" "Lawsy, honey, he _didn't_ do it." "You think he didn't?" "I know he didn't. He says so himself. I've been a-waitin' here all the mornin' to see you, an' git you to defend him." The lawyer sat down on the wooden settee by Mrs. Grayson, and after a little time of silence said: "You'd better get some older man, like Blackman." "Tom won't have Blackman; he won't have nobody but Abe Lincoln, he says." "But--they say the evidence is all against him; and if that's the case, an inexperienced man like me couldn't do any good." Mrs. Grayson looked at him piteously as she detected his reluctance. "Abra'm, he's all the boy I've got left. Ef you'll defend him I'll give you my farm an' make out the deed before you begin. An' that's all I've got." "Farm be hanged!" said Lincoln. "Do you think I don't remember your goodness to me when I was a little wretch with my toes sticking out of my ragged shoes! I wouldn't take a copper from you. But you're Tom's mother, and of course you think he didn't do it. Now what if the evidence proves that he did?" Barbara had been sitting in one corner of the room, and Lincoln had not observed her in the obscurity produced by the shade of the green slat curtains. She got up and came forward. "Abra'm, do you remember me?" "Is this little Barby?" he said, scanning her face. "You're a young woman now, I declare." There was a simple tenderness in his voice that showed how deeply he felt the trouble that had befallen the Graysons. "Well, I want to say, Abra'm," Barbara went on, "that after talking to Tom we believe that he doesn't know anything about the shooting. Now you'd better go and see him for yourself." "Well, I'll tell you what, Aunt Marthy," said he, relapsing into the familiar form of address he had been accustomed to use toward Mrs. Grayson in his boyhood; "I'll go over and see Tom, and if he is innocent, as you and Barby think, we'll manage to save him or know the reason why. But I must see him alone, and he mustn't know about my talk with you." Lincoln got up, and laying his saddle-bags down in one corner of the room went out immediately. First he went to inquire of Sheriff Plunkett what was the nature of the evidence likely to be brought against Tom. Then he got the sheriff to let him into the jail and leave him alone with his client. Tom had been allowed to remain in the lighter apartment since there was no fear of his escape on this day, when all the town was agog about the murder, and people were continually coming to peer into the jail to get a glimpse of the monster who in the darkness had shot down one that had helped him out of a gambling scrape. Lincoln sat down on the only stool there was in the room, while Tom sat on a bench. "Now, Tom," said the lawyer, fixing his penetrating gaze on the young man's face, "you want to remember that I'm your friend and your counsel. However proper it may be to keep your own secret in such a situation as you are, you must tell me the whole truth, or else I cannot do you any good. How did you come to shoot Lockwood?" "I didn't shoot Lockwood," said Tom brusquely; "and if you don't believe that it's no use to go on." "Well, say I believe it then, and let's proceed. Tell me all that happened between you and that young man." Tom began where this story begins and told all about turning the Bible at Albaugh's; about the gambling in Wooden & Snyder's store and how he was led into it; about his visit to Hubbard Township to get money to pay Lockwood, and Rachel's revelation of Lockwood's treachery in telling Ike. Then he told of his anger and his threatening, his uncle's break with him, and his talk with Barbara the evening before the murder; and finally he gave a circumstantial account of all that happened to him on the camp-ground, and of his flight and arrest. "But," said Lincoln, who had looked closely and sometimes incredulously at Tom's face while he spoke, "why did you take a pistol with you to the camp-meeting?" "I did _not_. I hadn't had a pistol in my hands for a week before the shooting." "But Plunkett says there's a man ready to swear that he saw you do the shooting. They've got a pistol out of one of your drawers, and this witness will swear that you used just such an old-fashioned weapon as that." "Good Lord, Abe! who would tell such an infernal lie on a fellow in my fix? That makes my situation bad." And Tom got up and walked the stone-paved floor in excitement. "But the bullet will show that I didn't do it. Get hold of the bullet, and if it fits the bore of that old-fashioned pistol I won't ask you to defend me." "But there wasn't any bullet." Lincoln was now watching Tom's countenance with the closest scrutiny. "No bullet! How in creation did they kill him, then?" "Can't you think?" He was still studying Tom's face. "I don't know any way of killing a fellow with a pistol that's got no bullet unless you beat his brains out with the butt of it, and I thought they said George was shot." "So he was. But, Tom, I've made up my mind that you're innocent. It's going to be dreadful hard to prove it." "But how was he killed?" demanded Tom. "With buckshot." Tom stood and mused a minute. "Now tell me who says I did the shooting." "I never heard of him before. Sovine, I believe his name is." "Dave Sovine? W'y, he's the son of old Bill Sovine; he's the boy that ran off four years ago, don't you remember? He's the black-leg that won all my money. What does he want to get me hanged for? I paid him all I owed him." Lincoln hardly appeared to hear what Tom was saying; he sat now with his eyes fixed on the grating, lost in thought. "Tom," he said at length, "who was that strapping big knock-down fellow that used to be about your place--hunter, fisherman, fist-fighter, and all that?" "Do you mean Bob McCord?" "That must be the man. Big Bob, they called him. He's friendly to you, isn't he?" "Oh, yes!" "Well, you have Big Bob come to see me next Tuesday at the tavern, as I go back. I'll be there to dinner. And if you are called to the inquest, you have only to tell the truth. We won't make any fight before the coroner; you'll be bound over anyhow, and it's not best to show our hand too soon." With that he took his leave. When he got out of the prison he found Mrs. Grayson and Barbara waiting to see him. "Well, Aunt Marthy," he said, "it don't seem to me that your boy killed that fellow. It's going to be hard to clear him, but he didn't do it. I'll do my best. You must get all Tom's relations to come to the trial. And have Big Bob McCord come to see me next Tuesday." The influence of Tom's uncle, judiciously directed by Hiram Mason, secured for the accused permission to remain in the light room of the prison in the day-time with manacles on, and to sleep in the dungeon at night without manacles. And the influence of Janet secured from Tom's aunt the loan of the clean though ancient and well-worn bedding and bed-linen that had been afforded him during his stay in his uncle's house. This was set up in the dark room of the jail in place of the bed that had been a resting-place for villains almost ever since the town was founded. Understanding that Tom was to be taken to the coroner's inquest that afternoon, Hiram tried to persuade the sheriff to take him to Perrysburg jail at night for safety; for he had no knowledge of Bob McCord's plan for sending the mob there. But Plunkett refused this. He knew that such a change might offend Broad Run in case it should take a notion to enforce law in its own way, and Broad Run was an important factor in an election for county officers. Plunkett felt himself to be a representative sheriff. The voters of Broad Run and others of their kind had given him his majority, and he was in his place to do their will. Elevation to office had not spoiled him; he recognized in himself a humble servant of the people, whose duty it was to enforce the law whenever it did not conflict with the wishes of any considerable number of his "constituents." To his mind it did not appear to be of much consequence that a man who deserved hanging should receive his merited punishment at the hands of a mob, instead of suffering death according to the forms of law, after a few weeks or months of delay. But he was too cautious to reveal to Mason the true state of his mind; he only urged that the removal of Tom to Perrysburg would be an act of timidity that might promote the formation of a mob while it would not put Tom out of their reach; and this Mason could not deny. XVI THE CORONER'S INQUEST The murder of George Lockwood furnished a powerful counter-excitement, which quite broke the continuity of religious feeling, and lacked little of completely breaking up the camp-meeting. Hundreds of men and women thronged about the place of the shooting and discussed all the probable and possible details of the affair, of which several versions were already current. The coroner ordered the body removed to a large barn in the neighborhood; whereupon the people rushed thither to get a sight of the dead man, for there is no source of excitement so highly prized by the vulgar as the ghastly. At 3 in the afternoon the barn was crowded. The people jostled one another closely upon the wide threshing-floor, and the wheat-mow alongside contained, among others, at least twenty women whose appetite for the horrible had led them to elbow their way early to this commanding situation. The hay-mow at the other end of the floor was full of men and boys, and the high girders were occupied by curious spectators, perched like rows of chimney-swifts at the time of autumnal flitting. More adventurous youth had managed to climb even into the dizzy collar-beams under the comb of the barn, to the dismay of the mason-swallows whose young were sheltered in adobe houses attached to the rafters. There were heads, and pendant legs, and foreshortened arms enough in the upper part of the barn to suggest a ceiling-fresco of the Last Judgment by an old Italian master. Other curious people had crowded into the horse stables below the wheat-mow, and were peering over the manger into the threshing-floor and intermingling their heads with those of the beasts of the stall, much as the aforementioned old Italian painters mix up brute and human faces in their Nativity pieces. The crowd upon the floor itself stretched out of the wide-open double doors on each hand, beyond which there was a surging mass of people blindly gravitating toward the center of excitement, though all the proceedings were invisible and inaudible to them. On two boards supported by kegs and boxes lay the lifeless body of Lockwood. The pitiful sight of the pallid face and the eyes sunken in their sockets exasperated the spectators. Between the body and the hay-mow the coroner took his place on the only chair in the barn; at the opposite side of the corpse the jury was seated on improvised benches. Markham, the sheriff's deputy, assisted by a constable, kept back the press, whose centripetal force threatened at every movement to overwhelm the innocent jurymen. As a matter of course, the first witness sworn was a doctor. Coroners begin at the beginning by first proving that the deceased is duly dead, and so within their jurisdiction; and by finding out by just what means the knife, rope, poison, or pistol ball severed the thread of existence. The human passion for completeness is as much prone to show itself in law proceedings as in art performances; coroners' inquests like to go down to the physiological principles that underlie the great fact of practical importance, and to inquire what was the name and function of the particular artery the severance of which put an end to consciousness in a set of ganglia which, with their complicated adjuncts, constitute what we call a man. It was in this case settled very promptly that the unfortunate deceased came to his death by a charge of buckshot. I shall not entertain the reader with the anatomical particulars, although these proved to be of the most pungent interest to the auditory at the inquest, and were scientifically expounded in every cross-roads grocery in the county for months afterward. There are old men in Illinois who haven't got done explaining the manner of it yet. But the important thing was accomplished when the coroner and his jury were convinced that the man was not only apparently, but scientifically, and therefore legally, dead; thus a basis was laid for the subsequent proceedings. It is one of the strong points of a coroner that he knows nothing about what is held to be competent testimony,--nothing of the strict laws of relevancy and irrelevancy. He therefore goes to work to find out the truth in any way that seems good to him, without being balked by that vast network of regulations which are sure to embarrass the best endeavors of a more learned court. Markham was sworn immediately after the doctor had finished. It was his business to identify Tom's pistol. I fancy a lawyer might have insisted that no foundation had been laid for this testimony; but to the coroner it seemed the most orderly way, immediately after proving that Lockwood had been killed, to show the weapon with which he might have been killed. Markham swore to finding this pistol in Tom's room; and the ocular proof of the existence of such a weapon, in juxtaposition with the ghastly evidence before them of Lockwood's violent death, went far to establish Tom's guilt in the minds of the people. Then other witnesses swore to Tom's presence on the camp-ground; and two young men from Moscow had heard him threaten, some weeks before, that he would shoot George Lockwood. It was just when the evidence of these two was finished that the people on the threshold of the south door of the barn began to sway to and fro in a sort of premonitory wave-motion, for outside of the door Sheriff Plunkett, having just arrived from Moscow with Tom Grayson, was battling with the condensed crowd in an endeavor to reach the presence of the coroner. "You can't git through, Sher'f," said one man. "This crowd's so thick you could bore a nauger into it." But the sheriff's progress was aided by the interest of the people in Tom. They could not resist turning about to look at him, and every movement displaced some human molecules; so that Plunkett, aided by the respect shown to him as an officer, was able to push a little farther in at every budge. But the people were not content with looking at Tom. "You've got to swing fer it, you young rascal," said one man as Tom passed. "Coward to shoot a man in the dark!" muttered another. And ever as in this slow progress Tom came nearer to the center he felt the breath of the mob to be hotter. When he got within the door there was a confused rustle among the people on the threshing-floor, a murmur from those who jostled one another in the hay-mows, and a sound of indignation from the people seated on cross-beams and clinging to girders; mutterings even came down from those lodged like overhanging angels in the dizzy collar-beams, fast by the barn-swallows' nests. Such excited crowds are choruses who wait for some one to give them the key; the pitch of the first resolute voice determines the drift of feeling. If somebody had called out at this moment for fair play, the solvent feeling of the crowd might have crystallized about this one. But indignation got tongue first. "Hang him!" The words came from the corner of the threshing-floor farthest from the coroner, and in an instant the tide of feeling ran swiftly to that side. Tom recognized the harsh voice, and realized his danger in perceiving that the resentful Jake Hogan was leading those who sought to lynch him. When the sheriff, with Grayson, had penetrated to the neighborhood of the coroner, the inquest was continued by calling David Sovine. This young man, with stylish trousers strapped down to patent-leather shoes, came forward chewing tobacco and affecting a self-confident swagger. He took the oath nonchalantly. "Tell us what you know of the murder of George Lockwood," said the coroner. "Well, me an' George had been together, an' we parted. He was goin' to-_wards_ his horse an' me to-_wards_ the camp-meetin'. I was about twenty foot, or maybe twenty-five foot, away from 'im when along come Tom Grayson an' says, says he, 'I'm boun' to git even with you wunst fer all.' I looked aroun', an' Tom was aimin' his pistol. George Lockwood says, says he, 'Don't shoot me, Tom'; but Tom he up an' fired, an' George jist keeled over like, an' never said another word. Tom run off as fast as his legs could carry him. I run up to George, an' he was layin' there dead 's a door-nail. Then the crowd come a-runnin', an' that's about all I know about it." "D' you remember the pistol?" "Yes." "Was it like this?" "Yes; an ole-fashioned big bore single-barrel like that, I should say." "That'll do. You can stand aside," said the coroner. "Hang him!" cried Jake Hogan; and there were other cries that showed how swiftly and terribly the current was setting in the direction indicated by Jake. Tom Grayson was sworn. "Now," said the coroner, "you don't have to criminate yourself. If you cannot answer any question asked of you without criminating you, you can decline to give an answer." For how many ages have Anglo-Saxons made their criminal law ridiculous by this rule! "Now," the coroner went on, "tell us just what you know about the shooting at the camp-meeting." "I don't know anything at all about it," said Tom with agitation. "I haven't seen George Lockwood since I quarreled with him in Moscow till I saw him here." And he pointed with a trembling finger to the stark form of the man he had hated. "Lie!" cried Hogan. The coroner called, "Order!" "Aw!" said one of the women in the wheat-mow. "To think he could have the impedence to hole up his head an' talk that away un the corpse right there afore his eyes!" "Do you know that pistol?" asked the coroner. Tom took it up and looked at some marks on the butt of it. "It's mine," he said. "Did you have it at the camp-meeting?" "No, nor any other." "You are not obliged to criminate yourself," said the coroner again; "but didn't you see Lockwood killed?" "No," said Tom. "It's all a lie that Dave Sovine swore to, and he knows it. I wasn't on that part of the ground." "Hang him!" interjected Hogan. "The bah-y is awful plucky, upon me sowl," said Magill, who was standing on a plow-beam in order to see over the heads of the crowd. "It would be a pity to hang a man of such good stuff." "The bare-faced villain!" growled the man next to him, and the unfavorable impression evidently had sway with the crowd. When people have once made up their mind as to how a thing has happened, they do not like to have their fixed notions disturbed. Tom's heart sank; he could see that the chance for his getting back to the jail alive was growing smaller. Hiram Mason had attached himself to Tom and the sheriff, and had elbowed his way to the front in their wake; the people, supposing that he had some official function, made way for him. He now got the ear of the sheriff. "If you don't get Tom away at once he'll be lynched," he said. "I know it; but I don't know what to do," said Plunkett. "If I make any move, I'll fetch the crowd down on Tom." "Get him down into the cow-stable under the barn, and let Markham take him off. You stay here and they won't suspect that he's gone." There was something pitiable about the sheriff's inability to make a decision at a critical moment. He looked at the angry crowd, who were paying little attention to the testimony of unimportant witnesses, and he looked at the coroner. He didn't like to bear the responsibility of having a prisoner taken from his hands; still more he disliked to offend so many voters. "Settle it with Markham and the coroner," he said, sneaking out of the decision he could not bring himself to make. "Mr. Markham," whispered Hiram, "the sheriff wants you and me to get Tom off. I'll get the horses ready, and you and Tom are to come out through the cow-stable. Speak to the coroner about it, and don't let the crowd see it. If we don't get him away before this thing breaks up he'll never get to town alive." "All right," said Markham. "I'll be in the cow-stable with Tom when you're ready." Jake Hogan had already gone out to muster his men, and Hiram was very impatient at the long time it took him to work his way outward. He was a little annoyed when Magill, getting down from the plow-beam, stopped him to whisper: "I say, you're Tom's friend. Now what can I do for the bah-y? I s'pose he's guilty, but I don't want to see such a bowld gintleman as he is lynched by such a set of howlin' blackguards as these." "Go over there and stand in front of Tom, so that the people won't see him and Markham when they get down into the cow-stable." Having whispered this between his teeth, Mason painfully worked his way out of the door, while Magill pushed forward toward the coroner. For Magill the people made way as best they could, supposing that the clerk was one of the functionaries without whom the performance could not proceed. The coroner had acceded to Markham's proposition and was contriving to protract the session. Magill called Sheriff Plunkett to him and made that worthy stand in unimportant conversation with him, so that they two covered from all observers first Markham's descent and then Tom's. The deputy sheriff and then his prisoner had to climb over a hay-rack and thence down to the ground. The cow-stable was beneath that end of the barn which jutted over a hill-side descending to a brook. As nothing was to be seen from this stable, there was nobody in it but a few boys. When Mason came to say that he was ready, Markham passed out with his prisoner and down the hill-side to the bed of the brook, where Mason had brought the deputy's horse and old Blaze. Tom had been brought to the inquest in a wagon; but as it was necessary to avoid the main road, Mason had unharnessed Blaze for Tom to ride. As the hoofs of the horses clattered down over the stones in the bed of the stream, Tom felt as a man might who had but just eluded the coils of a boa-constrictor. In a little while the two were galloping over the open prairie toward Moscow by by-roads. The prisoner's absence was observed; but, as the sheriff remained, it was not at first suspected that he had got entirely away. People looked for him and inquired of one another where "they had put him." At length the testimony was all in, and the case was given to the jury. These "good men and true," as the old English law supposes them to be, retired for consultation; that is, they changed places with the coroner and stood with their faces toward the wall in the corner and their backs toward the crowd, which now buzzed like a nest of indignant bumble-bees. After a few minutes, the jury turned and their foreman read the verdict: "We find that George Lockwood came to his death by being shot with buckshot, fired from a pistol by Thomas Grayson, Junior, and we recommend that the said Thomas Grayson be committed to answer to the charge of murder." When this formal condemnation had been read, the passions of the crowd broke over all bounds, and the words of the coroner, formally ordering the commitment of the prisoner, were not heard. Cries of "Hang him! Hang him to the first tree!" mingled with curses, broke forth. Men swung themselves down from the high beams and there was a rush from the mows, while the women among the wheat-sheaves drew back in terror as they might have done in a rising hurricane. The crowd surged hither and thither about the outside of the barn, and surrounded the sheriff and the coroner, demanding the prisoner. It was more than five minutes after the verdict was in before it was believed that Tom had been taken away, and then the mob were bewildered by the certainty that nobody had seen him taken down the Moscow road. Foiled in their purpose, they fell away, and the tide of passion began to ebb. But the more determined rallied about Hogan, and agreed to meet him at the Broad Run grocery after dark, to make arrangements for a trip to the county-seat during the night. XVII A COUNCIL OF WAR As soon as Zeke had eaten the frugal supper of mush and milk that Mrs. Britton set out for him, he sought the dilapidated little Broad Run grocery. The building was of logs, and had a pair of deer's antlers over the door for a sign that it was in one sense a public house. The low door, with its threshold on the level of the ground, the one square, dingy little window, and the shabby stick chimney, in the chinks of which the clay plaster was cleaving, gave the place a run-down expression. In looking at the building, one got a notion that it would like to slink away if it could. Zeke found nobody in but the proprietor, a boozy-headed looking man, with his hands usually in his trousers' pockets, and his swollen eye-lids never wide open. The stock of groceries was small; two barrels of corn-whisky and one of molasses were the dominant elements; a quart cup and some glasses stood on a dirty unpainted poplar counter, beside a pair of scales. The whole interior had a harmonious air of sloth, stupidity, and malpropriety; and its compound odors were as characteristic as indescribable. Zeke waited about awhile, wondering that no one should have come to the rendezvous. "Where's Jake Hogan?" he enquired of the "grocery-keeper." "I dunno." Zeke had anticipated this answer. The man never did know anything but the price of his liquors. It was the safest way for one who kept such a resort and heard so many confidences, and it was a way of answering questions that required the least exertion. "But I wuz to meet him here." "Oh, you wuz!" Then, after awhile, he asked, "Been over to his house?" "No." The grocery-keeper did not say any more, but Zeke conjectured that the meeting had adjourned to Jake Hogan's cabin for greater privacy. Zeke made his way over there with much stumbling, for the night was rather a dark one in the woods. The cabin which was now owned and occupied by Hogan was, like most of the Broad Run dwellings, built of round logs with the bark on; that is to say, the bark had been left on when the house was built, but years of rain and sun had peeled off about half of it, and left the house spotted and ragged. There was but one room, and one might enter this without ceremony, for the door stood wide open, though not on account of hospitality. This door was made of heavy puncheons and had originally hung on wooden hinges, but the uppermost hinge had come off six months before, and though Jake had "'lowed to fix it" nearly every day since, it had not been repaired, for Hogan was a public-spirited citizen, deeply interested in politics, and in reformatory movements like the present one for hanging Tom Grayson; and it was not to be expected that such a man could, in the nature of things, spare time to put a paltry hinge on a door, when grave questions were always likely to be mooted at the grocery. So every morning the clumsy door was lifted aside; at bed-time it was with difficulty partly hoisted and partly shoved back into its place. If the night was very warm, the ceremony of closing the door was omitted. Locks were not necessary in a neighborhood like Broad Run, where honesty was hardly a virtue, there being so little temptation to theft. Jake's house contained a rude home-made bedstead of poles, and two or three stools of the householder's own manufacture. Hogan "'lowed" some day to make one or two more stools and a table. At present, he and his wife patiently ate from skillet and pot, until the table should be made. It was something to have conceived the notion of a table, and with that Jake rested. There was a large fire-place built of sticks and clay; it had stones for andirons and was further furnished with a pot, not to mention a skillet, which stood on two legs and a stone and had lost its handle. Jake always 'lowed he'd get a new skillet; but he postponed it until he should have more money than was absolutely needful to buy indispensable clothes and whisky with. There was also a hoe, on which Mrs. Jake baked cold water hoe-cakes when she had company to supper. For shovel, a rived clapboard had been whittled into a handle at one end. Some previous owner had been rich enough and extravagant enough to have the four-light window glazed, but all the panes were now broken. An old hat, too shabby even for Jake to wear, filled the place of one of the squares of glass; the rest of the sash was left open for light and ventilation. Secure as Jake and his party felt from legal interference, they had chosen to retire to this cabin instead of remaining at the grocery. This secrecy was rather an involuntary tribute of respect for the law than an act of caution. Mrs. Hogan, whose household duties were of the lightest, had been sent away, and into Jake's cabin a party of twenty had crowded, so far as was possible for them to get in. Some stood outside of the door, and Zeke had to find a place at the broken window in order to hear what was going on. This was a muster of the leaders and the center of the party; one of the "boys" had been sent to the camp-ground to seek recruits who were not to be trusted in this council of war. The recruits were notified to assemble at the cross-roads "'twix midnight un moon-up." The first that Zeke made out was that Jake was relieving his mind in a little speech: "D' yeh know they've gone un set up the k-yards onto us, boys? Soon's Uncle Lazar h-yer tole me't Bob McCord ud come over h-yer a-huntin', I know'd he wuz arter sumpin' ur nother besides b'ars. Bob's purty tol'able cute, but he a'n't the on'y cute feller in the worl'. Me'n' Uncle Lazar jes laid fer 'im. Ketch Jake Hogan asleep, won' cheh! Uncle Lazar, thar, when he seen Bob a-comin' down the run weth a b'ar on 'is shoulder, he jes' soaks 'im weth whisky, un then 'im un S'manthy worms it out 'v 'm what he wuz a-loafin' over yer fer un not at the eenques'. He would n' noways tell Uncle Lazar, but he's kind-uh fond uv S'manthy, un she's smart, S'manthy is. She jes' kind-uh saf-sawdered 'im un coaxed 'im up, tell he could n' keep it in no longer, bein' a leetle meller, un he tole 'er 't 'e wuz a-spying aroun' so's to let the shurruff know 'f we'd got wind uv 'is plans, un 't 'e expected to have the larf on Jake to-morry. But Uncle Lazar 'n' me 've got that fixed up, un Bob wuzn't more'n out-uh sight afore Uncle Lazar wuz a trit-trottin' 'n 'is way, yeh know, fer Jake Hogan's. Bob's a-comin' over to-morry to fetch back Uncle Lazar's mar' un have the larf onto us. But he took jes' one too many pulls at Lazar's jug." Here Jake paused to vent a laugh of self-complacency and exultation. "Thunder 'n' light'in', Jake," called out one of the party who stood outside of the door, beyond the light of the flickering blaze on the hearth, "what did Bob tell S'manthy? Why don' choo tell us, anyways? You're a long time a-gittin' to the p'int. The business afore this yer meetin' is to hang Tom Grayson to a short meter toon. Now you tell me, what's Uncle Lazar's whisky-jug got to do weth that? What's the needcessity uv so much jaw?" "Don' choo fret the cattle now," said Jake. "You want to know what Bob tole S'manthy? W'y ut the shurruff was a-sendin' Tom Grayson f'om the eenques' over to Perrysburg jail to git him out-uh your way. I 'low that's got sumpin' to do weth the business afore the meetin' hain't it?" "Maybe he wuz a-foolin' S'manthy," said the interlocutor, in a voice a little subdued. "Maybe he _wuzn't_," retorted Jake. "He wuz drunk ez a fool," piped up Uncle Lazar in a quivering treble. "He mus' 'a' tuck 'most a quart out-uh my jug, un he could n' stan' straight w'en 'e went away. He tuck keer never to say Perrysburg to me, but he talked about shootin' you-all down at Moscow, jes zif shootin'-irons wuz a-goin' to skeer sech a devilish passel uv fellers ez you-all. I could n' git nuthin' more out 'v 'm. But I seed all the time 't they wuz sumpin' kinday kep' in, like. He on'y let on to S'manthy arter I'd gone outay doors, un when he wuz thes chock full un one over. Un he tied S'manthy up so orful tight about it, she kinday hated to tell me, un I had to thes tell 'er 't she mus'." "Jes y'all look at the case," said Jake, with a clumsy oratorical gesture. "Tom's uncle's one uv them ar rich men what always gets the'r own way, somehow ur nuther. That's what we're up fer. Ef we don't settle this yer business by a short cut acrost the woods, they'll be a pack uv lawyers a-provin' that black's white, un that killin' hain't no murder noways, un Tom'll git off 'cause he's got kin what kin pay fer the law, un buy up the jury liker'n not. A pore man don' stan' no kind uv a chance in this yer dodrotted country. Down in North Kerliny, whar I come from, 't wuz different. Now I say sass fer the goose is--" "Aw, well, what's sass got to do weth the question, Jake? We're all in favor uv the pore man, cause that's us," said his opponent, from outside the door. "Well," retorted Jake, "what would ole Tom do for young Tom 't this time? Ainh? Jes you screw up yer thinkin' machine, ef you've got ary one, un tell me that. Wouldn' he jes nat'rally get the shurruff to put out to Perrysburg weth 'im, un then git a change uv venoo, un then buy up a jury un a passel uv dodrotted lawyers un git 'im off; ur else hire some feller to break open the jail un sen' the young scamp to t' other side of the Mississip'? It stan's to nater 't Tom Grayson's in Perrysburg jail to-night." "Un it stan's to nater," said one of the company, "that Broad Run's a-goin' to make a frien'ly visit to the nex' county to-night. Un it stan's to nater we're goin' to settle Hank Plunkett's hash at the next 'lection fer shurruff." "Now yer a-talkin' sense," cried another of the crowd. As soon as it was clear that the meeting was in favor of going to Perrysburg, the gathering began to break up, some of the men feeling by this time a strong gravitation towards the grocery. Zeke went to Jake Hogan and explained that he "mus' be a-goin'." "You know," he added, "I've ruther got to steal my hoss. The ole man Britton mout lemme have one ef the ole woman'd let _him_. But I know she jest nat'rally won't. So I'd better go back un git to bed, then when the folks is asleep I'll crawl out." XVIII ZEKE Two things lay heavy on Zeke Tucker's mind as he hastened toward Britton's. For the life of him he could not tell whether Perrysburg was the destination to which Bob wished to send Jake, or whether Jake might not be right in supposing that Bob had incautiously betrayed his own secret. But this was Bob's affair; what troubled him most was to devise a way by which he could get possession of a piece of candle. Mrs. Britton would not allow a hired man to have a light. "Any man that could n' feel 'is way into bed mus' be simple," she said. Zeke found the old people out of bed later than usual. Mrs. Britton had been churning, and the butter "took a con_tra_ry streak," as she expressed it, and refused to come until she and the old man had churned alternately for two hours. She was working the butter when Zeke came in and sat down. Watching his chance, he managed to snatch a tiny bit of candle-end that had been carefully laid up on the mantel-piece. But when Mrs. Britton's lighted candle flickered in its socket, she went to get the piece that was already in Zeke's pocket. "I declare to goodness," she said, as she fumbled among the bits of string and other trumpery on the shelf, "where's that piece of candle gone to? Do you know, Cyrus?" [Illustration: "WHERE'S THAT PIECE OF CANDLE GONE TO?"] This question was addressed to her husband, who never did know where anything she wanted "had gone to." But she always gave vent to her feelings by asking him, and he always answered, as he did now, with an impassive "No." "Zeke, d' you see that short piece of candle that was here on the shelf?" Zeke rose and affected to look for it. "I don't see nothin' uv it," he said at length. "Well, if the rats ain't a-gittin' no better fast. Who'd a' believed they'd 'a' got up on the shelf?" So saying, she reluctantly lighted a fresh candle to take her butter to the spring. By the time she was well out of the back door, Zeke, with one eye on the lethargic Britton, who was now a-doze in his chair, raked a hot coal from the ashes, and blowing it to a flame lighted his bit of candle with it. Then he quickly climbed to the loft, and opening the window-shutter put the candle in the glassless window on the side of the chimney toward Perrysburg. He was shivering for fear the old woman would see the light, though she was at the other end of the house, and he was yet more afraid that Bob would not see it before it should burn out. Hearing, at length, the crack of Bob's rifle, he extinguished the expiring wick and slipped down the ladder without arousing the slumbering old man. "I expect they's another man shot," said Mrs. Britton, when she came back. If she had ever been a planter's wife her pronunciation had probably degenerated, though her archaic speech was perhaps a shade better than the "low down" language of Broad Run. "Why?" asked Zeke. "Oh! I heerd a gun go off, un guns ain't common at 9 o'clock at night. An' I thought I saw a flicker uv light in our loft jus' now, but it went out as soon as the gun went off. It made me feel creepy, like the house was ha'nted." And she again began to look on the mantel-piece for the lost bit of candle which she was loath to give up. "I'm a-goin' to bed," said Zeke, "ghos's ur no ghos's"; and he again mounted the ladder. After he had lain on the bed with his clothes on for an hour, keeping himself awake with difficulty, he felt sure that the old couple below stairs must be sound asleep. He softly opened the square window, the wooden shutter of which made no sound, as it swung on hinges of leather cut from an ancient boot-top. Then he climbed out on the projecting ends of the sticks which composed the chimney, and cautiously descended to the ground. "Cyrus!" said Mrs. Britton to her husband; "didn't you hear that noise?" "What noise?" "That scratchin' kind-uh noise inside of the chimbley." "No, I don't hear nothin'"; and the old man made haste to resume his sleep where he had left off. "I do believe this house is ha'nted," sighed Mrs. Britton to herself. The next morning when she woke up she called out, according to her wont, to the hired man in the loft: "Zeke! Zeke! O Zeke!" She got no reply. Vexed of all things that a hired man should lose a minute of time, she called again in vain. A minute later she was about to get up and go to the ladder so as to be better heard, when there came to her the sound of Zeke chopping wood at the back door. "Well, ef the world ain't a-comin' to 'n end, when Zeke Tucker gits up an' goes to choppin' of 'is own accord!" When Zeke came in to breakfast, she said: "You're out bright and airly this mornin." "Yes; I could n' sleep." "D' you hear that scratchin' in the chimbley?" "Ya-as," said Zeke, with hesitation. He was relieved that the conversation should be broken at this point by the entrance of the old man from the stable. "Zeke," said Britton, as he drew his chair to the table, "what's the matter with ole Gray?" "I never noticed nothin' when I gin him 'is oats. But 't wuzn't fa'rly light then." "He's been rode. They's sweat marks onto him, un the saddle's wet yet." The old woman put down her knife and fork. "That's witch-work," she said. "First, the butter wouldn't come, then I lost that piece of candle; un it's tee-totally gone too. Now rats don't never git up onto that shelf. Then I see a flicker of light in the loft while I was puttin' away the butter, an' you 'n' Zeke a-settin' h-yer by the fire. Then I wuz waked up by that scritch-scratchin' soun' in the chimbley, fer all the world like somebody a-climbin' down into the room, though they wa'n't nobody clum down, fer I listened. It kep' Zeke awake all night an roused 'im out airly this mornin'. Th' ain't nothin' short of witch-work gits Zeke up an' sets him to choppin' wood 'thout callin'. An' it's been a-ridin' ole Gray. Maybe the ghost of that feller that wuz shot over 't the camp-meetin' 's a-ha'ntin' roun' the country, like. I don' b'lieve it'll ever be quiet tell the feller that shot 'im's hung." The old man was very taciturn, and Zeke could not divine whether he was impressed by his wife's mysterious "it," or whether, suspecting the truth about old Gray, he thought best to say nothing. For if anything should set Mrs. Britton going she would not stop scolding for days, and Britton knew well that Zeke would not be the chief sufferer in such a tempest. As soon as he had eaten his breakfast Zeke went out to dig early potatoes in Britton's farther field. About 9 o'clock a clod of earth came flying past his legs and broke upon his hoe. He turned to look, and saw another one thrown from the corn-field near by ascending in a hyperbolic curve and then coming down so near to his head that he moved out of the way. He laid down his hoe and climbed the fence into the corn-field, which at this time of the year was a dense forest of green stalks higher than a man's head. Bob McCord was here awaiting Zeke. He had left Lazar Brown's horse tied in a neighboring papaw patch. "Did you go to Perrysburg?" began Bob. "Yes," said Zeke. "You played it onto 'em good. I wuz ruther more 'n half fooled myself. I 'lowed sometimes ut maybe S'manthy _had_ come it over you." Bob laughed all through his large frame. "When we got to Perrysburg un come to wake up the shurruff he wuz skeered, un ast what 't wuz we wuz arter. "'That murderer,' says Jake Hogan, like a ghos' fum behin' his false-face. "'What murderer?' says the shurruff. 'They hain't no murderer in the jail.' "'They hain't, sonny?' says Jake, weth _sech_ a swing. 'You ketch us with yer dodrotted foolin',' says he; 'we hain't the kind to be fooled. We know what we're about afore we begin, we do. We hain't the sort to be tuck in by lawyers nur nobody else,' says he. "'I tell you they hain't no murderer h-yer,' says the shurruff, says he. "'Tie 's han's, boys,' says Jake, in Jake's way, yeh know, like as if he wuz king uv all creation." "Weth Eelenoys throwed in like a spool uv thread, to make the bargain good," suggested Bob, losing all prudence and giving way to a long, unrestrained peal of laughter. "Jes' so," said Zeke. "When we come to the jail un got the door open they wuzn't nobody thar but Sam Byfiel', the half-crazy feller that wuz through h-yer last ye'r a-playin' his fool tricks, un a man name' Simmons, as had stole half a cord uh wood. Simmons was _that_ skeered when we come in, 't 'e got down on 'is knees un begged, un whined, un sniffled, un says, 'Boys,' says he, 'I hain't noways purpared to die. Don't hang me, un I won't never steal nothin' ag'in,' says he." "I'll bet Byfiel' wuzn't skeered," said Bob. "Not _him_. He'd been a-playin' the angel Gaberl about Perrysburg weth a long tin horn, blowin' it into people's winders at midnight, just to skeer 'em un hear 'em howl, un the watchman had jugged him. Jake says, says he, 'Sam Byfiel', tell us whar that air murderer is.' Jake put 'is voice away down in 'is boots,--it sounded like a mad bull a-bellerin'. But Sam jest lif's Jake's false-face, this away, un peeps under, un says, 'Jake Hogan,' says 'e, 'I knowed it mus' be you by yer big-feelin' ways. It's mighty hard fer a man that's a nateral born to make a fool uv hisself; but, Jake, I'll be derned ef you hain't gone un done it this time.' "'Hain't Tom Grayson h-yer?' says Jake. "'No,' says Byfiel'. 'Somebody's been a-greenin' on you, Jake; Tom hain't never been h-yer,' says he. "'Aw, you're a lunatic, Sam,' says Jake. "'Ditto, brother,' says Byfiel'. "The shurruff's folks had run out, un 'bout this time they'd began to raise the neighbors, un somebody run to the Prisbaterian church un commenced to pull away on the new church bell, 't a man Down East sent 'em. We thought we'd better be a-lightin' out mighty soon. But time we wuz in our saddles crack went a gun fum behin' the court-house. I s'pose 't wuz shot into the air to skeer us; but Jake, like a fool, out weth his pistol un shot back. The Perrysburg people wuz like a bee-gum that's been upsot. The people was now a-runnin', some one way un some t'other, un more guns wuz fired off fum summers,--we never stopped to eenquire fum whar, tell we'd got safe acrost the county line. One uv them guns must 'a' been a rifle, un it must 'a' been shot in bloody yarnest, fer I heerd the bullet whiz." "You never stopped to say good-bye!" said Bob. "Not me! Ole Gray wuz the very fust hoss that pulled hisself acrost the corporation line. I didn' seem to feel no interest in stayin', noways." "What's Jake goin' to do nex' thing?" asked Bob, not yet recovered from his merriment. "Wal, about half the fellers rode straight on home un wouldn't talk to Jake at all, 'cept maybe to cuss 'im now un then fer a fool, on'y fit to hole a snipe-bag fer Bob McCord. They swore they wuz done go'n' under sech as _him_. But Jake ain't the kind to gin it up; he says 'f 'e kin get a dozen he's boun' to go a Sunday night when they'll be lots of fellers about the camp-meetin', un some uh them'll go too, maybe." "We'll have to see about that," said Bob, getting up. "But you stick to Jake, closte ez a cuckle-burr." "All right," said Zeke, remembering his potato patch and looking ruefully at the ascending sun as he hurried back to his work. Bob went on his way and returned the horse to Lazar Brown's house; but Uncle Lazar was nowhere to be seen, and S'manthy was evidently out of humor. "S'manthy, yer 's yer hoss," said Bob. "Wal, you thes let 'im loose thar; I hain't got no time to bauther." "How'd the boys come out las' night down 't Moscow?" "Aw, I don' know, un I don' keer, neither. You're a low-lived passel uh loafers, all uh yeh, big _an'_ leetle." "W'y, S'manthy! You wuz that sweet las' night." S'manthy was in a hurry about something, but she showed her irregular teeth as she disappeared around a corner of the cabin, looking back over her shoulder to say: "You'e a purty one, hainch yeh, now?" Bob's face shone with delight as he went on up the run to look for the bear's cubs. He succeeded in killing one of them and capturing the other alive, but he had to take them and his wounded dog home afoot. It seemed too great a venture to ask S'manthy to lend the horse a second time. XIX THE MYTH Jake's leadership had received a severe blow, and Bob could hardly believe that he would be able to muster a company again. But Hogan's vindictiveness and persistence rendered it probable that he would not rest in his present ridiculous position without making an effort to redeem himself, even if he had to act with a small party. "You see," Bob explained to Mason that Saturday night, "Jake's got the most p'ison kind uv hold-on you ever seed. He's shore to try't over, fust _or_ last." "He won't let you fool him again," said Mason. Bob smiled and picked up a chip, which he began to whittle as an aid to reflection. "It would be a juberous thing to try again. But I'm goin' to see Pete Markham in the mornin'. He'll go apast h-yer to the camp-meetin', fer he's a Methodis' by marriage,--that is, his wife's a member, un that makes Pete feel 'z if he wuz a kind-uv a member-in-law. Un Pete knows mighty well 't when the time comes roun' fer him to run fer office, it'll be worth while to know pussidin' elders, un circus-riders, un locus' preachers, un exhausters, un all sorts uv camp-meetin' people. Pete's jes' as shore to go to camp-meetin' a Sunday mornin' 'z a bear is to eat honey when he comes acrost a tumble-down bee-tree." The next morning Bob stood in his shirt-sleeves leaning over Mrs. Grayson's gate and watching the people that rode to the great Sunday assembly at the Union camp-ground. Many a staid plow-horse, with collar-marks on his shoulders, had been diligently curried and brushed to transform him into a stylish saddle-nag; and many a young man, with hands calloused by ax-helve and plow-handle, rode to-day in his Sunday best with a blooming girl by his side, or behind him, and with the gay heart of a troubadour in his breast. Fresh calico dresses, in which the dominant tint was either a bright pink or a positive blue, were flaunted with more pride than a princess feels in her lace and pearls. The woman who has worked and schemed and skimped to achieve her attire knows the real pleasure and victory of self-adornment. The early comers of this Sunday-morning procession are, in the main, Methodists going to eat bread and water with the brethren in the 9 o'clock love-feast assembly, to sing together the touching songs of fellowship, and to tell, and to hear told, the stories of personal trials and sorrows,--to taste the pleasure of being one of a great company wrought to ecstasy by a common religious passion. But as the summer sun mounts higher, the road is more and more thronged with a miscellaneous company. For at 11 o'clock the presiding elder, a great man of all the country round, will preach one of his favorite sermons, and all the world--believers and scoffers, doctors and lawyers, and judges and politicians--will be there to hear him marshal in new forms the oft-repeated arguments in favor of the divine origin of Christianity, or the truth of the Arminian system of Wesley, and to admire the dramatic effect of his well-told anecdotes and the masterly pathos of his peroration. The people no longer go in couples; there are six and even ten in a group. And how well they sit their saddles! There is no "rising to the trot," in the ungraceful fashion of New York and Boston gentlemen and ladies who have put away the tradition of ancestors of unrivaled horsemanship, to adopt from England an ugly custom excusable only in a land of fox-hunting. You might find girls in their teens in this company who ride with grace and dash over difficult roads, and who could learn nothing worth their while from a riding-master,--for to ride perfectly consists chiefly in riding as naturally and unconsciously as one walks, and that is rarely given to any but those that are to the saddle born. But besides saddle-horses there are wagons, for wherever there is a prairie, wheels come early. One or two families not yet out of a pioneer state of existence go creaking painfully along in ox-carts; and there are barefoot boys skurrying afoot across fields to save distance. Everybody feels bound to go. The attraction of a crowd is proportioned to its greatness, like all other gravitation, and this one will drain the country dry of people. Scarcely any one stays at home, as you see. There are little children in the wagons and on the croups of the saddle-horses, while some supernumerary ones are held in place on the withers; it is in this way that the babies get their first lessons in horsemanship. At half-past 10 o'clock the roads are beclouded with dust that drifts to leeward, turning the green blades of the corn-field to gray and grizzling the foliage of the trees. All along the road there is the sound of voices in many keys--but all with a touch of holiday buoyancy in them. There is that universal interchange of good feeling which is only found in communities that have no lines of social cleavage. Everybody is talking to everybody,--about the weather, the crops, the latest weddings, the most recent deaths, and, above all, the murder at the camp-meeting. To this topic every party drifts when the Grayson farm-house comes in sight, if not before. Wild stories are repeated of Tom's profligacy, and of the causes that led to the feud between him and Lockwood. As the people come nearer to the house their voices fall into a lower tone, and they ride by the front gate in almost entire silence, scanning the house with eager curiosity, as though trying to penetrate the chagrin of those within. They all nod to Bob; it is the common and indispensable civility of the country. Bob nods to all in turn and grunts in a friendly way at those with whom he is acquainted; but to his best friends he gives a cheerful "Howdy!" At length the deputy sheriff, Markham, appears, riding alongside of his wife. She is also escorted on the other side by Magill, the county clerk, who is saying the pleasantest things he can think of to her. When Markham arrives at a point nearly opposite the gate, Bob does not nod, but gives his head a significant jerk backward and to the left,--a laconic invitation to stop a moment, rendered the more explicit by the utterance in a low tone of a single word, "Pete!" Markham draws rein and stops to hear what Bob has to say; and Mason, who has come out on the porch at that moment, descends to the gate to talk with Magill and Mrs. Markham, who have also pulled up. The whole five are presently engaged in conversation in one group, while the horses amuse themselves by thrusting their dusty noses through the cracks of the fence to nibble at such blades of grass as are within their reach. The sight of the deputy sheriff and the county clerk in front of the Grayson house piques yet more the curiosity of the passers-by, who wonder what those privileged folks can be talking about. "You cannot do that," Markham said presently, in reply to a suggestion that came from Mason. "It's no use talking to the sheriff about moving Tom to Perrysburg. He's made up his mind not to move him; and if he did move him, Perrysburg wouldn't be a safe place." "The shairiff seems to have one eye on Broad Run, ainh Pate?" said Magill chaffingly. But Pete Markham neither smiled nor said anything in reply. "It's a shame something can't be done for Tom," said Mason. "He's got a right to a fair trial; and we think he's innocent." "I'll do anything I can," said Markham, whose memory had been haunted by the appealing face of Mrs. Grayson ever since his domiciliary visit in search of Tom's pistol. "I'm not caring much whether he's innocent or not, meself," said Magill. "May be Lockwood aggravated 'im an' naded puttin' out of the way. All I say is, Tom faced that crowd the other day like a man, an' he's a born gintleman in me own istimation; an' I'd niver let a gintleman be hung by a gang of blackguards, if I could help it." "Broad Run don't vote for you, Magill," said Markham. "You wouldn't ixpict it to vote for a man with a clane shirt on, now would ye?" "Well," said Bob, "I've been a-thinkin' that ef Pete could make people b'lieve that they wuz another man wanted fer the shootin', it would sort uh muddle Jake's plans fer a while, un by that time liker'n not Abe Lincoln'll find out who the rale murderer is." "Tell me what's the color of his hair, Pate?" said Magill. "Then I'll help you foind him." "Well," drawled Markham, turning a little sidewise in the saddle to rest himself, and looking perfectly serious and secretive, "I haven't found out about his hair,--he wore a straw hat, you know. But he was a youngish fellow, with foxy whiskers under his chin." "Middlin' small?" suggested Magill, with a faint pucker of drollery about the corner of his mouth. "Yes," said Markham, biting the butt of his beech switch meditatively. "Ruther under the average, I should say, without being small." "One eye a leetle crossed?" Bob McCord inquired, laughing. "Right eye a little _out_," said Markham, waving his hand outwardly. "He had quarreled with Lockwood a good while ago and owed him a grudge. That's the man." "Know his name?" put in Magill. "N-o. That's one thing we're trying to find out. He come from off East where Lockwood used to live. We've got to try to find if anybody knows which way he went when he left the camp-meetin' that night, and if anybody can tell just where he come from." "Oh! I understand now what you're after," said Magill. "There'll be a plinty will remimber the man when you come to spake about him. Don't you say what you want him fer. L'ave all explinations to me. I'm not responsible, an' I'll let out the saycrits of the shairiff's office." The passers-by had grown visibly fewer in the last few minutes, and now the belated ones rode for the most part in a rapid trot or a gallop. Mrs. Markham began to warn her husband that there would not be a seat left; so the horses' heads were drawn up, and the trio set forward with a nod of good-bye to Bob and the schoolmaster. Markham went to work in all seriousness to get information about the imaginary young man with red whiskers under his chin and an outward cast in one eye who had been seen on the ground the night of the murder. Magill took occasion to remark that if the praycher 'd only 'a' known what Markham was looking for, and all about the rale facts of the murder, he mightn't have held Tom up for an awful warnin' to the young that mornin'. But he supposed it did not matter whether you had the roight fellow or the wrong one, if you were only praychin'. Some of those who heard the clerk describe the smallish man with the red goatee and one eye _out_ a little, thought they could remember having seen a man answering to this description; but as they could not give any information tending to secure his arrest, Magill did not think it worth while communicating their knowledge to Markham. But he quoted their sayings and surmises to the next persons he spoke to; so that, without ever straining his conscience to the point of positively asserting the substantive existence of such a red-whiskered young man with a squint, he had almost come to believe in him by the time the day was over. The story reached Broad Run in two or three forms before night, and served to throw Jake's forlorn hope into confusion. But Magill did not think best to leave the Broad Run people to the mercy of rumor in so important a matter. He rode up to the grocery about half-past 5 in the afternoon, and having hitched his horse to a neighboring dogwood, he walked in with a good-evening to the group at the door. Going up to the counter he called up the whole party to drink with him, as became an Irish gentleman of generous spirit, who was, moreover, a prudent politician. But Broad Run had never taken a fancy to Magill; there was a ceremoniousness about his attempts to flatter them which did not harmonize with their rough-and-ready ways. If he had said, "Come, boys, liquor up!" they would have thought his manner perfect; but he bowed blandly to Jake Hogan, and said, "Have something to drink, won't you?" and so to the rest. They mentally condemned him as "too all-fired fine in his ways and too much dressed up for a free country." But they did not neglect the opportunity to drink at somebody else's expense. Jake Hogan was the more ready to accept such hospitality because he had been feeling a little depressed since his unlucky trip to Perrysburg. And now this story which he had heard of another man who might be the murderer had destroyed what chance he had of mustering a party for Moscow; for Jake's most devoted partisans did not like to run any risk of hanging the wrong man. "Mr. Magill," said Jake, after he had turned his whisky-glass nearly to the perpendicular in the endeavor to extract the last drop, "what's this yer story about Tom's not being the ginooine murderer? I don't take no stock in the yarn, fer my part." "Well, it ain't best to say anything about it till they get the other man," said Magill, assuming a close look. "I hear they're purty hot on his track." "What kind of a lookin' creetur wuzzy?" asked Bijy Grimes, an oldish man with an effeminate chin and soft, fair cheeks which contrasted strangely with his slovenly and unkempt appearance. Bijy had drunk his liquor, and now sat resting on a keg with his mouth dropped wide open; it was a way he had of listening. "Well, I don't know anything only what I hear," said Magill. "I'm not the shairiff, you know. The story goes that he was a man with a red goatee--" "Un what fer sized man?" asked Bijy. "Rather under-sized, and with one eye a little walled," said Magill. "I'm darned ef 't ain't the wery man I seed," said Bijy, who never failed to know something about everything. "He wuz comin' towurds the camp-meetin' that wery arternoon. Dern!" and he shut his mouth, and got to his feet in excitement. "I kind-uh suspicioned 'im too," he added. "Well, I don't know anything," said the clerk; "but if they catch that stranger and prove it on him,--mind, I say, if they _prove_ it,--count me for one that will help get the world rid of him by Broad Run law, as they call it. But I've got to get on home, gintlemen. Good-bye, gintlemen, and good luck to you all!" So saying, Magill bowed respectfully. The rest nodded their heads and said good-bye. "He's too orful slick," said Jake, when Magill had gone. "Makes me kind uv sick. Now I like a man ut talks out like a man, you know; without so much dodrotted saf-sawder, un so on. He ain't none uh my kind, Magill hain't." XX LINCOLN AND BOB Fast by the "City Hotel" in Moscow stood a beech-tree, as we have said, and under this tree were two or three benches. This umbrageous spot was the cool and favorite loafing-place of the villagers, the trysting-place for making bargains or meeting friends. The ground was beaten by many feet to the hardness of a floor, and the village boys delighted to play marbles in this convenient spot. Their cries of "rounses," "taw," "dubs," "back licks," and "vent" might often be heard there before and after school hours. On one of these benches under the beech-tree Bob McCord had an interview with Tom Grayson's lawyer, according to appointment, on the day of Lincoln's return from court at Perrysburg. "What's this about lynching Tom?" Lincoln inquired. "A lot of fellows rode into Perrysburg looking for him last Thursday night." "Yes," said Bob, with a hearty chuckle: "I put 'em onto that air track myself. They wuz comin' down h-yer, but I made 'em think 't Tom wuz moved to Perrysburg." "Are they going to try it again?" asked Lincoln. "Not right off; they're sort-uh discairaged like. A few uv 'em wuz cocked un primed to come a Sunday night,--sech uv 'em as hadn't gin it up arter ridin' over to Perrysburg,--but we fooled 'em ag'in. Pete Markham, the depitty sher'f, jes' sidled over to camp-meetin' un let on 't he wuz a-lookin' fer somebody what knowed sumpin' about a young feller weth red whiskers un one eye a leetle crossed, like. Magill, the clerk, went over to camp-meetin' un down onto the Run, un gin it out on the sly like zif he could n' keep in, that they'd diskivered the tracks uv a young feller from another k-younty weth red whiskers, un so on, that had done the shootin'. The story run like a perrary fire in a high wind un sort-uh mixed 'em up in the'r minds, like. I've got it fixed so as they can't come down unbeknownst to me; un ef wust _comes_ to wust, w'y, I've got my eye sot onto a crowbar." "A crowbar? What would you do with a crowbar, Bob?" asked Lincoln, with a puzzled contraction of the brows. "You wouldn't try to whale the whole crowd with it, would you?" "W'y, Abe, I 'low ef a rale tight pinch comes, to try a tussle weth that air jail. I don't know's I could prize out one uv them air iron grates, but ef 't wuz to _come_ to that, I'd try to git Tom out uv harm's way. You say the word un I'll find some way to let 'im out anyhow." "No, no; don't do that. If he runs away he'll be caught, and then he'll be sure to be lynched, or hanged. Let me try the law first, and then it'll be time enough to use crow-bars afterward if I fail. Do you know Dave Sovine?" "When I see 'im. He's an ornery kind uv a cuss. I don't know 's he rickollecks me." "So much the better if he doesn't. You must get him to tell you all about the shooting--his story of it. Get him to tell more than was brought out at the inquest. Make him explain it, and find out if he's going to clear out before the trial." "I heern tell 't he won't talk," said Bob. "The prosecutin' attorney's shut 'im up tight 'z bees-wax, they say." Lincoln mused awhile. "If the prosecuting attorney has shut him up, you must open him. Contrive some way to get his story and find out what he means to do." But it was not easy to encounter Dave in these days. Since he had acquired notoriety, as the only witness of the murder, he had been seized with an unprecedented diffidence, and kept himself out of public gaze. The boys about the village conjectured that he was "laying low for big game." Bob, however, had no objection to waiting for Sovine's coming. He liked this lurking for prey as a cat likes the watching at a mouse-hole. Besides, loafing of any sort suited Big Bob's genius. He could sit astride a barrel on the shady side of a grocery for hours with no sense of exhaustion. More than one day McCord had passed in this way, when at last Dave Sovine came in sight, walking rather hurriedly and circumspectly toward the center of the village. Bob was in the middle of a hunting yarn which he was lazily telling to another loafer on the next barrel as he whittled a bit of hickory stripped from one of the hoops in front of him. Without betraying any excitement, he astonished his companions by bringing the long-drawn story to an abrupt conclusion. Then dismounting from his barrel he sauntered across the street in such a way as to encounter Dave and to fall in with the direction in which the latter was going. "Hot day!" Bob said, as he intersected Dave's course at an acute angle. "Yes," answered the other. "How's the corn crap out your way?" "Dunno," said Dave. "Goin' to be in town long?" Bob persisted. To this Dave made no response. He only turned off abruptly at the street-corner and left Bob behind. "A feller might as well try to git sugar-water by tappin' a dead sycamore as to git anything out uv him," Bob said to himself, as he turned and took the road toward Hubbard Township. As he walks homeward over the level prairie, which west-wardly has no visible limit, Bob can only think of one way to persuade Sovine to talk, and that way is out of the reach of a man so impecunious as he. It is in vain that you thrust your great fists down into the pockets of your butternut trousers, Bob. You know before you grope in them that there is no money there. You have felt of them frequently to-day and found them empty; that is why you are going home thirsty. Money will not be persuaded to remain in those pockets. Nevertheless, all the way home Bob mechanically repeats the search and wonders how he will get money to carry out his plan. He might go to Lincoln, but he has an instinctive feeling that Lincoln is what he calls "high-toned," and that the lawyer might see an impropriety in his new plan. By the time he passes into his own cabin he knows that there is no other way but to get the money from Mrs. Grayson. No easy task, Bob reflects. Mrs. Grayson has never shown any readiness to trust Bob McCord's business skill. But the next morning he takes the path to the Grayson house, walking more and more slowly as he approaches it, with head dropped forward and fists rammed hard into his pockets, while he whistles doubtfully and intermittently. Now and then he pauses and looks off scrutinizingly. These are the ordinary physical signs of mental effort in this man. In seeking a solution of any difficulty he follows his habits. He searches his pockets, he looks for tracks on the ground, he scans the woods. He approaches the back of the Grayson house and is relieved to see Barbara alone in the kitchen, spinning. "You see, Barb'ry," he said, as he half ducked his head in entering the door,--"you see, I'm in a fix." "Won't you take a chair, Mr. McCord?" said Barbara, as she wound the yarn she had been spinning on the spindle and then stopped the wheel. "No, I'm 'bleeged to yeh, I won't sed down," he replied, holding himself awkwardly as with a sense that indoors was not a proper or congenial place for him. "Abe Lincoln sot me a sum un I can't noways git the answer. He wanted me to git out uh that air Dave Sovine a full account uh the lie he's a-goin' to tell agin Tommy. But I can't git at it noways. The feller won't talk to me. I've thought uv ketchin' 'im by himself un lickin' 'im till 'e'd let it out, but I'm afeerd Abe 'u'd think ut that 'u'd flush his game afore he wuz ready to shoot. They ain't on'y jest one other way, un that's to gamble weth Dave un coax his secret that away. But you see I'm so oncommonly pore this year 't I couldn't gamble at a cent a game 'thout he'd trust me, un he wouldn't do that, I 'low." After cross-questioning Bob a little, Barbara went into the sitting-room to her mother and Bob went to the outer door to breathe the open air while he waited. Barbara's mother positively refused to let go of a dollar of her precious little hoard of silver. "D' you think, Barb'ry, 't I'd let a shif'less kind uv a man like Big Bob have my money to gamble it away to that Sovine? No, I won't, and that's all there is about it. Dave got a lot uv my money a-gamblin' with Tommy, an' he don't git no more uv it, that's as shore as my name's Marthy Grayson. They don't no good come uv gamblin' noways, an' I can't bear that Dave Sovine should git some more uv our money, an' him a-tryin' to swear away Tommy's life." Barbara stood still a minute to give her mother's indignation time to spend itself. Then she said: "Well, poor Tom'll have to die, I suppose, if you can't bring yourself to give Bob something to help Abraham save him." Mrs. Grayson stood for several seconds in self-conflict. Then she replied, "Well, Barb'ry, you always _will_ have your way." Saying this she turned irresolutely toward her money-drawer. "I s'pose I'd jest as well give up first as last. How much does Bob want?" "Ten dollars 'll be enough, he thinks." "Ten dollars! Does he think I'm made out of money? Now, looky here, Barb'ry; I'm not a-goin' to give him no sech amount. Here's five, an' you tell him I won't spare another red cent." Barbara took the silver pieces and went out to Bob. Possessed of funds, Bob again set out to meet Dave. This time he could not wait for Dave to come to town, but boldly sallied out along the road past the house of Sovine's father. How could he wait? His pockets and his fingers were burned by the possession of so much hard cash. He felt obliged to take it out and count it once or twice, and to make an inspection of his pockets, which had a treacherous way of coming into holes under the strain of the big, muscular hands, so often rammed into their depths for purposes of meditation. After walking past the Sovine house once or twice without encountering Dave, he sat down by a prairie brook, the gentle current of which slipped noiselessly along, dragging its margins softly against the grass, whose seed-laden heads at this season of the year hung over into the water, the matted blades lying prone upon the unbroken surface:--their tips all curved in one way mark the direction of the gentle stream. Bob reclined on the low bank, where he was concealed from the road by a little yellow-twigged water-willow, the only thing within a mile or two that could be called a tree. After awhile Dave Sovine, sauntering, ruminating tobacco, and looking warily about, as was his way, came slowly along the road. When he caught sight of Bob he started, and paused irresolutely as though about to retreat. But seeing that Bob was looking at him, he recovered himself and came toward the reclining figure. Truth to tell, Dave was lonesome in retirement, and the sight of Bob had awakened a desire to talk. "Have you seed a man go a-past h-yer weth a bag of wheat on his hoss?" queried Bob. "I'm a-waitin' h-yer to buy a half-bushel uv seed wheat fer fall sowin' f'om a feller what's a-comin' in f'om t' other eend uv the k-younty." The story was impromptu, and Bob had no time to fill in details. Dave looked at him suspiciously, and only replied by shaking his head. By way of confirming his theory of the reason for his waiting, Bob idly jingled the silver coins in his pocket as he talked about the crops and the relative advantage of living in the timber, where you can raise winter wheat, or out on the perrary. The sound of tinkling silver caught Dave's ear, as it was meant to. "Play a game of seven-up?" said Dave languidly. "You're too good a hand fer me," answered Bob with affected wariness. "Oh! we'll only try small stakes. Luck's ag'inst me here lately"; and he pulled out a well-worn pack of cards without waiting for Bob to reply. "No; ef I play, I want to play weth my k-yards," said Bob, who had a lurking hope of winning, notwithstanding Dave's reputation. "I don't mind where the cards come from," said Dave, as he took Bob's pack, which was in a worse state than his own. Then, with habitual secretiveness, he said, "Let's go into the corn-field." They crossed the road and climbed into the corn-field, seating themselves on the edge of the unplowed grassy balk between the corn and the fence. Here they were hidden and shaded by the broad-leaved horse and trumpet weeds in the fence-row. As was to be expected, Bob won rather oftener than he lost at first. After a while the luck turned, and Bob stopped playing. "You'd better go on," said Dave. "I d' know," answered Bob; "I'm about as well off now as I wuz in the beginnin'. I 'low I'd better hold up." "Aw, no; let's go on. You might make sumpin." "Well," said Bob, running the ends of the cards through his fingers, "ef you'll tell me jest how that air shootin' tuck place, I will." "I don't keer to talk about that," said Dave, with a nonchalant air, that hardly concealed his annoyance. "The prosecuting attorney thought I'd better not." "I wuzn't at the eenques'," Bob pleaded, "un they's so many stories a-goin' that I want to h-yer it f'om you." "Oh, I know _you_," said Dave. "You think I haven't got my eye-teeth cut yet. You have been a-layin' for me and I know what you are here fer. Do you think I don't see through your winter wheat? I know you're on Tom's side." "Well, in course I am," said Bob, roused to audacity by his failure to deceive. "But it mout be jest as well fer you to tell me. Un maybe a leetle better. It mout be the very k-yard fer you to throw at this p'int in the game." And Bob's face assumed a mysterious and suggestive look as he laid his cards on the grass and leaned forward regarding Dave. "Well," said Dave, in a husky half-whisper, letting his eyes fall from Bob's, "I'll tell you what: I don't really keer to have Tom hung, un I've been feelin' bad un wishin' I could git out ov it. Ef I had anuff money to go to New Orleans like a gentleman, I'd just light out some night, and give Tom a chance for his life." "Maybe you mout git the money," said McCord, picking up his cards. "But your story wouldn' hang him nohow, I 'low." Here Bob laid down a half-dollar for a new game, and Dave covered it. "Of course, if I stay he's _got_ to swing," said Dave; and by way of proving this to Bob, he told his story of the shooting with some particularity, while he proceeded to win one half-dollar after another almost without interruption. "Now," he said, when he had told the story and answered Bob's questions, "you can see that's purty tolerable bad. I sh'd think they'd ruther I'd clear out. An' if somebody'd give you a hundred dollars an' you'd let me play three or four games of poker with you some fine day I'd make tracks, an' the prosecuting attorney'd have to get along without me." By this time all of the five dollars that Barbara had furnished, except the last twenty-five-cent piece, had passed from Bob's reluctant hands to Dave Sovine's greedy pockets. This one quarter of a dollar Bob had prudently placed in the great pocket of his hunting-shirt, that he might have something to fill his stone jug with. For though he was devoted to the Graysons' side of the controversy, Bob McCord could hardly be called a disinterested philanthropist; and he held that even in serving one's friends one must not forget to provide the necessaries of life. "You're awful good on a game," said Bob, with a rueful face. "You've cleaned me out, by hokey; I'll see ef I can't git you that hundred dollars, so's you kin win it. But it'll take time fer the Widder Grayson to raise it, I 'low." "Oh! they ain't no _partik'lar_ hurry," said Dave, cheerfully counting over his winnings and stowing the silver about in his pockets as a ship-master might distribute his ballast. "Only if I don't get the money I'll have to stay h-yer an' go to court, I guess." And Dave hitched up his trousers and walked off with the air of a man who has a master-stroke of business in view. Lincoln came to town the next week and Bob told him the story, while Lincoln made careful notes of Dave's account of the shooting. "He says ef Widder Grayson'll let me have a hunderd dollars, un I'll let him play draw poker fer it, he'll light out fer parts onknown." "Oh! he wants pay, does he?" And the young lawyer sat and thought awhile. Then he turned full on Bob and said: "Could I depend on you to be in court at the trial without fail, and without my sending a subpoena?" "Oh, I'll be there un nowheres else," said Bob. "You needn't soopeeny me. I'll come 'thout callin', foller 'thout tollin', un stan' 'thout hitchin'." "Now if Dave Sovine comes after you for that hundred dollars, you'd better put him off, as easy as you can. If we should buy him off we wouldn't want to give the prosecution time to fetch him back." Bob thought he saw a twinkle in Lincoln's eye as he said this; a something in his expression that indicated more than he said. But though he looked at the lawyer curiously, he got no further light. That evening, as Bob passed the Grayson farm-house, he told the anxious Barbara something about it, and added: "Abe Lincoln's powerful deep. He's got sumpin ur nuther in 'is head 't I can't noways see into. I don't half believe 't 'e means to buy up that low-lived scoundrel arter all. He acts like a man that's got a deadfall all sot, un is a-tryin' to honey-fugle the varmint to git 'im to come underneath." And Barbara took what comfort she could out of this assurance. XXI HIRAM AND BARBARA To Barbara, indeed, the unrelieved apprehension and suspense of those long, hot August days were almost intolerable. The frequent excursions to the Moscow jail, to carry some tidbits of home cookery, or some article for Tom's personal comfort, afforded a practical outlet to feeling and a relief from the monotony of passive suffering, but these journeys also brought sharp trials of their own to Barbara's courage and self-control. She might not betray to Tom or to her mother how much she suffered; it was for her to support both the one and the other. Doubtless it would have been a relief could she have told Hiram Mason all the dreadful apprehensions that haunted her during the long, sleepless nights. But from the hour of Mason's entering the house he had avoided confidential relations with Barbara. Before and after school Hiram attended to all those small cares that about a farm-house usually fall to the lot of a man. Gentle and considerate to Mrs. Grayson and Barbara, he preserved toward the latter a careful reserve. He could not resume the subject discussed the evening they had peeled apples by the loom; it seemed out of the question that he should talk to Barbara of such things while her mind was engrossed with the curse of Cain impending upon her brother. He might have sought to renew the matter under cover of giving her a closer sympathy and a more cordial support in her sorrows, but he saw in her demureness only the same sensitive pride that had shrunk from his advances; and he knew that this pride had been wounded to the quick by the family disgrace. Moreover, to urge his claims as a lover at such a time would cover all his services to the family with a verdigris of self-interest; and he thought that such advances would add to Barbara's distress. In making them he would be taking an unfair advantage of the obligations she might feel herself under to him, and the more he thought of it the more he abhorred to put himself in such an attitude. So he daily strengthened his resolution to be nothing but Mrs. Grayson's next friend while he remained under her roof, and to postpone all the rest until this ordeal should be past. In many ways he was able to be helpful to the two troubled women. He stood between them and the prying curiosity of strangers, answering all questions about the family, about Tom, and about the case. He was their messenger on many occasions, and he went with them every Saturday or Sunday to Moscow. But at other times Barbara saw little of him except at the table, and he avoided all conspicuous attentions to her. Even Mely McCord, though often at the house, could find no subject for chaff in the relations of the two. When the matter was under discussion among the young gossips at the Timber Creek school-house, Mely declared she "did n' 'low they wuz anything in the talk about the master un Barbary,--he did n' pay Barbary no 'tention 't all, now 't 'e 'd got every chance." If Mason had been a person of less habitual self-repression he would not have been able to house his feelings so securely; but this man came of an austere stock; self-control was with him not merely habitual, it was hereditary. Hiram had besides a battle of his own to fight. The Monday morning after the killing of Lockwood, as he went to the school-house, he was met in the road by Lysander Butts, next neighbor to the Graysons--a square-built man with a cannon-ball head. Butts was from the hill country of New Jersey, a man of narrow prejudices and great obstinacy. "Looky here, Mr. Mason," he said, "d' you think now that a schoolmaster ought to take up for a rascal like Tom Grayson, that's a gambler, and I don't know what, and that's killed another fellow, like a sneak, in the dark?" "I have n't taken up for Tom any more than to want him to have fair play," said Mason. "But I thought that the poor old lady needed somebody to be her friend, and so I went there, and am going to do what I can for her." "Well, I know the Graysons mighty well, first and last, this many a ye'r, and they're all cut off of the same piece; and none of them is to be overly trusted, now you mind that." "You have a right to your opinion," said Hiram; "but I am Mrs. Grayson's friend, and that is my lookout." "Mrs. Grayson's friend?" said Butts, with a sneer. "Mrs. Grayson, ainh? As if you could make me believe it was the mother you're defending. It's Barbary _you_'re after." Mason colored as though accused of a crime. Then, recovering himself, he said: "It's very impudent of you to be meddling, Mr. Butts. So long as I behave myself, it's none of your business." And he went on toward the school. "None of my business, ainh? You'll find out whose business it is mighty shortly," Butts called after Hiram. The quarrel between the Buttses and the Graysons dated back to their first settlement in Illinois. Butts had regularly cut wild hay on the low-lying meadow between the two farms. Fond of getting something for nothing, he gave out among his neighbors that this forty acres was his own, but he put off entering it at the Land Office. When Tom Grayson's father entered his farm he found this piece blank and paid for it. From that time Butts had been his enemy, for there was no adjunct to a farm in the timber so highly prized as a bit of meadow. When once near neighbors in the country have quarreled their proximity is usually a guarantee that they will never be reconciled;--there are so many occasions of offense between people who must always be eating off the same plate. It was universally known that "the Buttses and the Graysons couldn't hitch." Where two of their fields joined without an intervening road they had not been able even to build a line fence together; but each man laid up a rail fence on the very edge of his own land, and the salient angles of the two hostile fences stood so near together that a half-grown pig could not have passed between. This is what is called, in the phrase of the country, a "devil's lane," because it is a monument of bad neighborhood. When Mason reached the school-house that morning Angeline Butts had her books and those of her younger brother and two younger sisters gathered in a heap, and the rest of the scholars were standing about her, while she did her best to propagate the family antagonism to the master. The jealousy of Lysander Butts's family had been much inflamed by Barbara's swift success in study. Angeline had never been able to get beyond the simple rules of arithmetic; her feeble bark had quite gone ashore on the sandy reaches of long division. The Buttses were therefore not pleased to have Barbara arrive at the great goal of the Rule of Three, and even become the marvel of the neighborhood by passing into the mysterious realm of algebraic symbols. For Angeline's part she "couldn't see no kind-uv good, noways you could fix it, in cipherin' with such saw-bucks." Figgers was good enough for common folks, she said, and all this gimcrack work with x's and y's was only just a trick to ketch the master. For her part she wouldn' fool away time settin' her cap for sech as him, not if he was the only man in the world. When Tom was arrested for murder, the Buttses felt that their day had come. Folks would find out what sort of people the Graysons were now; and what would become of all Barbary's fine match with the master? Hey? But when, on the very day after the shooting, Angeline came home bursting with indignation, that the master'd gone and took up his board and lodging at the Graysons', and had put John Buchanan into his place for a day and gone off down to the jail with the Graysons, their exasperation knew no bounds. Butts rose to the occasion, and resolved to take his children out of the school. No man that countenanced murder could teach Butts's children. It is the inalienable right of the free-born American citizen to relieve his indignation by taking his children from school, and by stopping his newspaper. When Mason entered the school-room after his encounter with the father he was not surprised to find the whole battalion of Butts infantry drawn up in martial array, while Angeline held forth to the assembled pupils on the subject of the master's guilt in countenancing Tom Grayson, and the general meanness of the whole Grayson "click," living and dead. When the auditors saw Hiram come in they fell away to their seats; but Angeline, pleased to show her defiance of the master, who could no longer punish her, stood bolt upright with her bonnet on until the school had been called to order. The younger Buttses sat down from habitual respect for authority, and the brother pulled off his hat; but Angeline jammed it on his head again, and pulled him to his feet. She might have left before the school began; but she preferred to have a row, if possible. So when the school had grown quiet, she boldly advanced to the space in front of the master's desk, with the younger and more timid Buttses slinking behind her. "Mr. Mason, father's goin' to take me out of school," she said. "So he told me." "He wants us to come right straight home this morning." "Well, you know the road, don't you?" said Hiram, smiling. "If he's in a hurry for you, I should have thought you might have been there by this time." This reply set the school into an audible smile. Angeline grew red in the face, but the master was standing in silence waiting for her to get out, and the scholars were laughing at her. There was nothing more to be said, and nothing for it but to be gone or burst. In her irritation she seized her youngest sister, who was shamefacedly sneaking into Angeline's skirts, and gave her a sharp jerk, which only added a fresh impulse to the titter of the scholars, and Angeline and her followers were forced to scuffle out of the door in confusion. Lysander Butts was not a man to give over a struggle. Conflict was his recreation, and he thought he could "spite the master" not only by refusing payment for the tuition his children had already received, but by getting the Timber Creek district to shut Mason out of their school-house. There were those in the district who resented Mason's friendship for the Graysons, but they were not ready to go so far as Butts proposed. And in asking Buchanan to teach school for him a single day Mason had unwittingly made friends against the time of trouble; for the old schoolmaster now took the young man's part, and brought over to his side the three Scotch families in the district, who always acted in unison, as a sort of clan. Butts was at a serious disadvantage in that he lived beyond the limits of the Timber Creek district. "What does he want to come a-maiddlin' wi'us fer?" Buchanan demanded of the Timber Creekers. "Let 'im attaind to the beesness of his own deestrict, and not go to runnin' his wee crookit daivils' lanes doun here." Such arguments, with the help of Mason's good-nature, his popularity with the pupils, and his inflexible determination to keep his own gait, caused the opposition to weaken and die out gradually without doing serious damage to the school. To this favorable issue the friendly influence of the Albaugh family, who were outside of the district on the other side from Butts, contributed something. With Rachel Albaugh Mason became better acquainted through her interest in Tom's fate. She sought a conversation with the master almost every day to gain information about the case. The placidity of her face was not ruffled by solicitude, the glory of her eyes was not dimmed by tears. But interest in Tom's fate there surely was. It did not greatly matter to her whether Tom had committed the deed or not: in any case he was a bold and daring fellow who had lifted himself out of the commonplace, and who was proportionately interesting to Rachel's imagination. But the people generally did not see things through the eyes of a romantic young woman. They were for the most part dead against Tom, and the adverse tide set more and more strongly against him when the long August days had worn themselves away and September with its bursts of storm had come in. If Tom had shot Lockwood in a street affray there would have been a disposition to condone the offense, seeing there was "a girl in the case," a circumstance that goes for much in the minds of pioneer people; for girls and horses are two things accounted well worth fighting for in a new country. Some philosophers explain this by saying that both the one and the other are means of ascent in the scale of civilization. But the fact is, that new-country people set much more store by their horses and their sweethearts than they do by civilization, for which, in the abstract, they care but little. They also esteem courage very highly. But to shoot a man in the dark as Lockwood had been shot was cowardly, and cowardice was in itself almost ground enough for hanging a man. This increased momentum in the popular feeling against Tom could not escape the knowledge of Mason, to whom people talked with some freedom, but he managed to conceal it from Barbara and Mrs. Grayson. His situation indeed was becoming more and more difficult. He foresaw that the maintenance of his present attitude toward Barbara might soon become impossible. To be always near to her, and yet to keep himself so aloof, was more than even his nature would bear. Above all, to see her consumed by sorrow and to be afraid to speak the tenderest word of sympathy was torment. The very aspect of her suffering face set his nerves in a tremor; it became difficult for him to say good-morning to her with composure. There is the uncontrollable in all of us; and self-contained as Hiram was, he came upon the uncontrollable in himself at last. He had reached the closing days of his school term, though it yet lacked a fortnight of the September "court week" at Moscow. It was his purpose to remain and see the Graysons through their trouble: what would become of his own trouble, when Tom's fate should have been settled one way or the other, he could not foretell. And he was, moreover, filled with the worst forebodings in regard to the issue of the trial. He came home from school a little earlier than usual on the last day but one of his school session, and fearing to trust himself too much in Barbara's presence, he had gone past the house directly to the barn, to do those night and morning things which are classed as chores or "choores," according to the accent of the region in which you chance to hear the word. On entering the barn he was surprised to find Barbara sitting on the "draw-horse" or shaving-bench. She had fled to the threshing-floor, with the belief that she was seeking for eggs, but really to find relief in tears that she could not shed in the house without opening the great deep of her mother's sorrows. She had remained longer than she intended, weeping heartily, with no witness but the chattering swallows in the rafters above, and old Blaze-face, who looked placidly at her from behind the bars of his hay-rack. The sight of Barbara alone in the dusky light of the threshing-floor awakened in Hiram an inexpressible longing to tell her of all there was in his heart; the vision of Barbara in tears was too much for his resolution. He went forward and sat down by her; he involuntarily put his right arm about her shoulders, and drew her to him in a gentle embrace; he took her handkerchief in his left hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks and said softly: "Dear Barbara, now don't cry any more; I'm so sorry for you." Barbara sat still; whether displeased or not Hiram could not tell, for she did not say a word. She neither accepted nor refused his embrace. Hiram felt a powerful impulse to say more, but he suddenly remembered that Barbara's grief had no relation to him, and it seemed hateful that he should intrude his own feelings and hopes upon her in her all-engrossing sorrow, and he feared to offend again a pride so sensitive as he knew hers to be. But he allowed himself once more to draw the silent Barbara toward him with a gentle pressure; then, with a resolute effort at self-control, he climbed into the mow to pitch down some hay for old Blaze. This duty he performed as quickly as possible, blindly intent on returning to Barbara once more. But when he came down again Barbara had gone, and he sat down on the draw-horse where she had been, and remained there long, all alone but for the swallows flitting in and out through the openings between the lower ends of the rafters, and gossiping from one mud-built nest to another. In this time he asked himself questions about his conduct in the difficult days yet to come, and tried to reproach himself for the partial surrender he had made to his feelings; though now he had given so much expression to his affection, he could not for the life of him repent of it. If he had known how much strength this little outbreak of sympathy on his part had given to Barbara, his conscience would have been quite at ease. Even Mrs. Grayson was sustained by the girl's accession of courage. In the darkest days that followed, Barbara liked to recall Hiram's voice soothing her, and begging her not to weep; and with blushes she remembered the pressure of his gentle embrace about her shoulders. This memory was a check to the bitterness of her grief. But Hiram had lost confidence in himself. There were yet two more weeks to be passed, and unless he should desert Barbara in her trouble, he would have to spend these weeks in unceasing conflict. The next day was the last of the school-term, and according to immemorial usage, the last Friday afternoon of a school-term was spent in a grand spelling-match, in which others than the regular pupils of the school were free to engage. It was while this orthographical scrimmage was going on that the county clerk, Magill, sprucely dressed, and ruddy-faced as ever, rode up to the school-house. He spent many of his days in riding about the county, palavering the farmers and flattering their wives and daughters, and, by his genial Irish manners, making friends against the time of need. Who could tell whether it might not also be worth while to make friends with the grown-up and growing-up pupils of the Timber Creek school; there would be elections after these boys came to vote. Besides, he remembered that Rachel Albaugh was one of Mason's postgraduate scholars, and it was not in such a connoisseur of fine women to miss an opportunity of seeing the finest in the county. So he went in and sat for an hour on the hard bench with his back against the stone jamb of the great empty fire-place, and smilingly listened to the scholars wrestling with the supreme difficulties of Webster's Elementary; such, for example, as "incomprehensibility," and other "words of eight syllables accented on the sixth." By the time the spelling-match was over and the school was ready to be dismissed he had evolved a new plan relating to his own affairs. In making friends and electioneering no one could excel Magill; but for attending to the proper work of his office he had neither liking nor aptitude, and the youth he kept there, though good enough at building fires and collecting fees, was not competent to transcribe a document. The records were behind, and he needed some one to write them up. He was too prudent to take into the office any man who in after years could use the experience that might be gained and the knowledge of his own dilatory habits that might be acquired there to supplant him. It occurred to him now that it would be a good stroke to engage Mason, who was not likely ever to be a resident of the county, and who could therefore never become a rival. While these thoughts were in Magill's mind, Hiram was indulging in a few words of that sort of sentiment to which schoolmasters are prone when the parting time comes. When the children were dismissed they formed themselves into two rows on the outside of the school-house door, according to an antique and, no doubt, Old-World custom still lingering in some rural places at that time. When the master made his exit the boys were on his right and the girls were on his left,--probably because of Eve's indiscretion in the garden of Eden. Between the two rows Hiram marched slowly, with a quizzical look on his face, as the boys, to the best of their knowledge and ability, bowed to him, and the girls, with an attempt at simultaneousness, dropped "curcheys" of respect. Magill stood in the door and smiled to see some of the boys bend themselves to stiff right angles on their middle hinges, while others grinned foolishly and bobbed their heads forward or sidewise, according to the string they chanced to pull. The performances of the other row were equally various; some of the girls bent their knees and recovered themselves all in one little jerk, while others dropped so low as to "make tubs" of their dress-skirts. When these last honors had been paid, the scholars broke ranks and started for their homes. As Magill put one foot into the stirrup he said: "Mason, how would yeh like to come down to Moscow an' help me write up me books? I'm a good dale behoind; an' ef you like to come for a wake or two an' help me to ketch up, I'll give yeh four bits a day an' yer board at the tavern." Hiram's finances were so straitened that this offer of fifty cents a day was very welcome to him. How could he serve the Graysons better than to be where he could see Tom every day, and look after his interest in any contingency that might arise? This and the recollection of his embarrassing situation in the Grayson household quickly decided him; and as the condition of Magill's office was distressing, he promised to come to town in time to begin by 9 o'clock the next morning. That evening he explained the matter to Barbara and her mother at the supper table; and before bed-time he had arranged with Bob McCord to look after the "critters," as Bob called them. The next morning Hiram was off by daybreak. Bob McCord took him half-way with old Blaze,--for the rest, he "rode shank's mare," as the people say,--and by 9 o'clock he was trying to thread the labyrinth of confusion in Magill's office. To Barbara it seemed the greatest good fortune to have Mason near to Tom, but the table was intolerably lonely when only two sorrow-smitten women sat down together. XXII THE FIRST DAY OF COURT The eventful morning at the opening of the "fall term" of the court of Moscow came at length. Mrs. Grayson again put her house into the care of her neighbor Mely McCord, and she arranged that Bob McCord should stay at home so as to feed the cattle that night and the next morning. It was thought that Tom's trial would take place on the second day. Mrs. Grayson and Barbara drove into Moscow early on the first day of court, that they might give Tom all the sympathy and assistance possible. On that very first forenoon the grand jury heard such fragments of evidence as the public prosecutor thought necessary to bring before them, and found an indictment against Thomas Grayson, Junior, for murder in the first degree. In the prevailing state of public opinion a true bill would almost have been found if no evidence had been before them. Delay in such cases was not to be thought of in that time of summary justice; dilatory postponements were certainly not to be expected in a court presided over, as this one was, by Judge Watkins. He was a man approaching sixty years of age, with a sallow, withered face; a victim to hot biscuit and dyspepsia; arbitrary and petulant, but with deep-set, intelligent black eyes. Though his temper was infirm, his voice crabbed, and his administration of justice austere and unrelenting, he was eminently just, and full of the honorable if somewhat irascible pride of a Virginian with a superstitious reverence for his "family." Judge Watkins came of an ancestry who were famous only for courageously holding up their heads and doing nothing that they considered unworthy of gentlemen. Their greatest pride was that they had always been proud. The judge's coat hung loosely on his frame, and his trousers were generally drawn up in wrinkles so as to show the half of his boot-legs. His garments were, moreover, well worn and rather coarse; like his planter ancestors, he never fancied that dress could add anything to the dignity of a gentleman. The substantial distinction of a gentleman, in his estimation, consisted in being of a "good family," and in preferring to lose one's life rather than to lie, and to take another man's life rather than to suffer the reproach of falsehood or cowardice. It was characteristic of a Virginian of this type to have something like a detestation for clothes, except in so far as they served for decency and warmth; all the great difference which separated a respected gentleman from a despised fop lay in this fierce contempt for appearances. Judge Watkins left fine coats and gold watches for those who needed such decorations; he clothed himself in homespun and family pride. When the indictment was read, the judge, looking from under his overhanging, grizzled eyebrows, said, "When can we try this case?" The counsel on both sides knew that he intended to dispatch this disagreeable business promptly. As he put the question, Judge Watkins looked first at Allen, the prosecuting attorney, and then at Lincoln. "We are ready, your Honor," said the prosecuting attorney, a little man with a freckled face and a fidgety desire to score a point on every occasion. "I hope there'll be no delay, your Honor. The defense knew six weeks ago that a true bill would be found. They've had time enough to prepare, and I hope we shall be able to go on." The judge listened impatiently to this, with the air of a man who has heard so much clap-trap that it has become nauseous to him. Indeed, before Allen had completed his little speech Judge Watkins had turned quite away from him and fastened his deep-set eyes on young Lincoln, who rose to his feet without succeeding in getting himself quite straight,--this was always a matter of time with him,--and said in a grave, half-despondent way: "Your Honor, we are ready." "I'll set the case for to-morrow, then," said the judge, and added in a sharper key, "Sheriff, command silence!" This last injunction was prompted by an incontinent rustle of interest in the court-room when the time for the murder trial was fixed for the next day. The judge's high-strung, irascible nerves, and his sense of the sacred dignity of his court, made him take offense at the slightest symptom of popular feeling. The sheriff, who sat at the judge's left a little lower than the judge, now stood up and rapped with a mallet on the plank desk in front of him, and cried lustily, "Si--lence in court!" And all was still again. The judge's dignity would not admit of his addressing the commonalty, who, since they were neither members of the bar, court officers, witnesses, nor criminals, were beyond official recognition, but he said to the sheriff in a severe tone: "Sheriff, you will arrest any person who makes any kind of disturbance in the court." Then the business of the court went on. One after another of the spectators, whose interest was centered in the next day's session, rose and tip-toed softly out of the room. They did not all go at once, nor did any one of them go noisily. The judge had been known to fine a man for treading heavily, and those who wore squeaking boots were in misery until they were quite clear of the door. XXIII BROAD RUN IN ARMS The popular imagination had made Tom into something monstrous. Visitors to the village went to the jail window to look at him, as one might go to look at a wild beast. Confinement, solicitude, and uncertainty had worn upon him. He shrank nervously into the darker corners of the jail to avoid observation. His mind was a very shuttlecock between the battledores of hope and fear. He knew no more than the public of the purposes or expectations of his lawyer. All that Lincoln would say to Tom or his friends was that the case was a difficult one, and that it was better to leave the line of defense wholly to himself. But in proportion as Tom's counsel was uncommunicative about his plans rumor was outspoken and confident, though not always consistent in its account of them. It was reported that Tom was to plead guilty to manslaughter; that Lincoln would try to clear him on the ground of justifiable homicide in self-defense; and that the lawyer had found a man willing to swear that he was in company with Tom on another part of the ground at the very time of the shooting. In any case, it was decided that Lincoln would move for a change of venue, for it was well understood that in Moscow the accused did not stand "a ghost of a chance." As the time of the court session drew on, a new and more exciting report had got abroad. It was everywhere said that Dave Sovine had been bought off, and that he was to get his money and leave the country in time to avoid testifying. How the story was set a-going, or who was responsible for it, no one could tell. Dave Sovine's conferences with Bob McCord may have raised surmises, for as the time of the trial approached, Dave grew more and more solicitous to get the hundred dollars and be off. He even hinted to Bob that he might refuse to accept it, if it did not come soon. Bob McCord had his own notions about the report. He thought that either Sovine had incontinently let the matter out, which was hardly probable, or that Abe Lincoln for some reason wanted such a belief to be spread abroad. Secretive and tricky as Bob was, there was a finesse about Lincoln's plans which he could not penetrate, and which led him more than once to remark that Abe was "powerful deep for a young feller." Whether the rumor was launched for a purpose or not, it had had the effect of waking up Allen, the public prosecutor, who put a watch on Sovine's movements, and gave his chief witness to understand that any attempt of his to leave the country, by night or day, would bring about his immediate arrest. The story that Sovine had been bought off produced another result which could not have been desired by either of the lawyers: it fanned to a blaze the slumbering embers of Broad Run. Jake Hogan's abortive expedition to Perrysburg had left resentment rankling in his manly bosom. He had reluctantly given over the attempt to redeem himself by making a raid on Moscow the Sunday night following, when Deputy Sheriff Markham had pretended to look up a hypothetical wall-eyed, red-whiskered man, who was believed to have had some reason for killing George Lockwood. It was, indeed, only by degrees that Broad Run came to understand that its dignity had been again trifled with. The first result of its indignation was that the Broad Run clan, attributing to Sheriff Plunkett all the humiliation put upon it, had unanimously resolved to compass his defeat at the next election. Plunkett, having heard of this, promptly took measures to avert the defection of his good friends on the Run. Markham, as the principal author of the difficulty, was dismissed from his place of deputy on some trifling pretext. It did not cost Sheriff Plunkett serious pain to let him go; Markham was becoming too conspicuous a figure. It is the way of shrewd small men to cut down in time an apprentice who is likely to overtop the master. Then Plunkett told his brother-in-law to go out to Broad Run and explain things. Greater diplomatists than he have prepared to make use of irresponsible ambassadors when they had that to say which it might be necessary to repudiate. The brother-in-law was one of those men who like to take a hand in local politics, not for the sake of holding office themselves, but for the pleasure of intrigue for its own sake. He first sought Jake Hogan at his cabin, and sat and whittled with him on the wood-pile in the most friendly way, laughing at Jake's lank jokes, flattering his enormous self-love, and by every means in his power seeking to appease Hogan's wrath against the sheriff. The sheriff hadn't anything to do with running Tom off after the inquest, said the envoy,--Markham had done that. It was Markham who had peddled around the story of the man with red whiskers. Markham had got too big-feeling for his place. The sheriff saw that Markham was against the Broad Run boys, and so he put him out--dropped him like a hot potato, you know. "Just consider," the brother-in-law urged, "how much Plunkett's done for the boys. He's refused tee-totally to let Tom go to Perrysburg. Plunkett ain't going to be dictated to by rich men like ole Tom Grayson. He knows who elected him. And he don't feel obliged to protect a murderer after the coroner's jury say's he's guilty." "They's been talk of his shootin' if any reg'laters come around," said Jake. "_Him_ shoot?" answered the brother-in-law. "He's done everything he could not to put out the boys, and what 'u'd 'e shoot for? He ain't anxious to have the job of hangin' Tom Grayson. He's heard tell of sheriffs, 'fore now, that's felt themselves ha'nted as long's they lived, because they'd hanged a man. He ain't goin' to fight for the privilege of hangin' Tom, and he ain't the kind to do anythin' brash, and he ain't ag'inst good citizens like the boys on the Run--depend on that. Of course,"--here the brother-in-law picked up a new splinter and whittled it cautiously as he spoke,--"of course you know't the sheriff's give bonds. He's got to make a show of defending his prisoner. He's took 'n oath, you see, 'n' people expect him to resist. But if a lot of men comes, what can one man do? S'posin' they was to tie his hands, and then s'pose they was to say if he moved they'd shoot. What _could_ he do?" The envoy stopped whittling and looked at Jake, giving the slightest possible wink with one eye. Jake nodded his head with the air of a man who is confident that he is not such a fool as to be unable to take a hint enforced by half a wink. "What does 'n oath amount to with a pistol at your head?" the brother-in-law inquired; "an' what's the use of bonds if your hands are tied? You can _talk_ strong; that don't hurt anybody." Jake nodded again, and said, "In course." "If you was to hear about the sheriff's sayin' he'd ruther die than give up his prisoner, you can just remember that he's _got_ to talk that way; he's under bonds, and he's swore in, and the people expect him to talk about doin' his dooty. But you're too old a hand to set much store by talk?" "Well, I 'low I am," said Hogan, greatly pleased that his experience and astuteness were at length coming in for due recognition. Then when Jake was pretty well mollified, the brother-in-law adjourned himself and Jake to the grocery, where he treated the crowd, and in much more vague and non-committal terms let all the citizens that resorted thither understand that Sheriff Plunkett was their friend, and that Pete Markham was the friend of the rich men and the lawyers. But he took pains to leave the impression that Tom would certainly meet his deserts at the hands of the court, for the sheriff desired to avoid the embarrassment of a mob if he could. The sweetness of Jake Hogan's spirit had been curdled by his disappointment and reverses, but these overtures from the sheriff to him as a high-contracting power were very flattering and assuring. When, a little later, the startling intelligence reached that center of social and intellectual activity, the Broad Run grocery, that Dave Sovine had been bought off, Broad Run was aroused, and Jake Hogan left off sulking in his tent and resumed his activity in public affairs. "Didn't I tell you," he asked, leaning his back against the counter and supporting himself on his two elbows thrust behind him, while one of his legs, ending in a stogy boot, was braced out in front of him, "you can't hang the nephew 'v a rich man in such a dodrotted country as this yer Eelenoys? Dave Sovine's bought off, they say, by an ornery young lawyer un that air Bob McCord." Jake was too prudent to apply any degrading adjectives to a man of Bob's size and renown. "Dave'll light out the day afore the trial with rocks in his pockets, un that air young coward'll git clean off. Where's yer spunk, I'd like to know? 'F you're go'n' to be hornswoggled by lawyers like that air long-legged Abe Lincoln, un skin-flints like ole Seven-percent Tom Grayson, w'y, you _kin_, that's all." Jake, with his head thrown forward, looked sternly around on the group about him, and they seemed to feel the reproach of his superior aggressiveness. Bijy Grimes was rendered so uneasy by Jake's regard that he shut his mouth; and then, not knowing what better to do, he ventured to ask humbly, "What kin we do about it, Jake?" letting his mouth drop open again in token that he waited for a reply. "Do?" said Jake contemptuously. "W'y, chain-lightnin', Bijy, what a thing, now, to ax! Show me two dozen, ur even _one_ dozen, men that'll stan' at my back tell the blood runs, un I'll show 'em 't folks can't take a change of venoo out-uh the k-younty that knows all about the rascality into one that don't. I'll show 'em how to buy off witnesses, un I'll l'arn these yer dodrotted lawyers un rich men how to fool wreth the very bone un sinoo uv the land." Notwithstanding the natural love of these men for a little excitement, they had been rendered somewhat unresponsive by Jake's failures. The most of them thought it best to go to town on the day of the trial and see how it would come out. But at 6 o'clock in the evening of the first day of court, Lew Baker, a farmer from the river valley beyond the Run, rode past the door of the grocery on his way home, and said a collective "Howdy" to the three or four who stood outside. Bijy Grimes, who was one of them, came out toward the middle of the road heading off the traveler. "Hello, Lew! Any nooze about the trial?" he said, dropping his lower jaw from between his fat infantile cheeks and waiting for a reply, while the rest of the group moved up to hearing distance. "Well, yes," said Baker, pulling up his horse and swinging himself round in the saddle so as to bring the most of his weight on the right stirrup, while he rested his left elbow on his left knee and his right hand on the horse's mane. "I heern tell, jest as I come away, that Dave what-ye-may-call-'im, the witness, had sloped, liker'n not. He hain't been seed aroun' for a right smart while, un they say he's gone off to New Ur_leans_ ur the Injun country. Moscow's stirred up about it." "Tu-lah!" said Bijy. "They 'low he'll be got off, don't they!" "They're shore sumpin's fixed, fer the young feller's lawyer hain't soopeenied a derned witness." "Tu-lah!" said Bijy. "Is that a fack?" "Shore 's shootin', they say. He's to be got off somehow, I s'pose." "Tu-laws-a-massy!" broke out Bijy; and turning to his fellow-loafers he said, "That'll rile Jake purty consid'able, now won't it?" It did stir up Jake when he heard of it. He promptly set to work to form a company to descend at once on Moscow and take the case out of the hands of the dodrotted lawyers. He could not at so late an hour get together more than twenty or twenty-five men from Broad Run and the regions within warning distance. Some of these joined him only because they could not endure to have anything very exciting take place in their absence: it would entail the necessity of their hearing for the rest of their lives the account given of the affair by the participators, who would always value themselves on it. Some of the larger boys, whose aid had been rejected in the previous excursion because they were not accounted mature enough for such public responsibilities, were now admitted: the company would be small, and a boy is better than nobody in a pinch. S'manthy's oldest son, a tow-headed fellow of fifteen, was one of these, and he was sent over the hill to warn Zeke Tucker, who was still at Britton's, a mile away from the borders of what was distinctively called "the Run Neighborhood." The September twilight was already fading when the lad presented himself in front of Zeke Tucker, who sat perched on top of a rail fence for rest and observation after his day's work. Mrs. Britton was making the house over-warm, and Zeke preferred the fresh air. "I say, Zeke," said the breathless boy, "it's to come off to-night, un I'm a-goin', by hokey!" "What's to come off to-night?" "W'y, the hangin'--the hangin' of that young chap Tom down't Moscow; un I'm goin' to take grandad's ole flint-lock." "Your grandad's ole flint-lock! You might as well take a stick," said Zeke. "Oh! it'll go off ef you tech it off weth a coal of fire, but I don't 'low I kin find any coal to tech it off weth down thar," and S'manthy's son scratched his head thoughtfully. "But, anyways, it'll look like a gun in the night." "Yes, un you'll look like a man, I s'pose. But what time's Jake goin'?" "Twix' ten un 'leven. Donchoo be late." "You tell Jake not to go, noways, wethout me," said Zeke, hoping by this to delay Jake's start. XXIV FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED Zeke sat restless on the fence until S'manthy's boy, exultant that his manhood was to be recognized by his admission to the band, had gone out of sight in the direction of the grocery. Then Zeke sprang from the fence and started, as fast as legs could carry, along an old Indian trail, hoping by this disused and in some places obstructed short cut across the prairie to save a mile of the eight-miles' journey to Bob McCord's cabin. Bob was already abed when Zeke, badly blown by his rapid walking, knocked at the door. "Who's there?" called Bob, emerging from his first heavy sleep. "It's me--Zeke Tucker! Git up, quick, Bob! Jake Hogan's off at ten 'r 'leven, un it's nigh onto that a'ready." And Zeke impatiently rattled the door of the cabin, the latch-string of which had been drawn in to lock it. Bob came down on the floor with a thump, and his few clothes were soon pulled on; then he came out and stood in the fresh air, on the "butt-cut" of a tulip-tree, or "flowering poplar," which, to compensate for the descent of the hill-side, had been laid against the bottom log of his cabin for a front-door step. Zeke explained to him how urgent the case was. [Illustration: ZEKE AND S'MANTHY'S OLDEST SON.] "Baub! don't you go 'n' go off down to Moscow to-night," called Mrs. McCord. "They hain't no airthly use in your botherin' yourself so much about other folkses business. You'd orter stay'n' look arter your own wife un childern." It was Mrs. McCord's invariable habit to object, in her plaintive and impotent fashion, to everything her husband proposed to do. She had not the slightest expectation that he would remain at home in consequence of anything she might say, nor did she care that he should; but she had a vocation to hold in check his thriftless propensities. This she tried to do by protests uttered indiscriminately against all his outgoings and his incomings, his downsittings and his uprisings. "We ain't got no hoss," said Bob, replying to Zeke, and paying no heed to his wife. "Mrs. Grayson un Barb'ry 've gone un gone to town weth ole Blaze, so's to be weth Tom airly in the mornin'. What on yerth to do I don't noways see." Bob was standing with his fists in his pockets, looking off anxiously toward the horizon. "Can't you git Butts's?" said Zeke. "Thunder! No! Buttses un Graysons don't hitch. Butts don't speak to none uv'em, un he hates Tom the wust, fer throwin' rocks at his geese when they got into the medder, un dauggin' his haugs out-uh the corn. They'd a leetle rather Tom'd be lynched un not. By blazes! I've _got_ to git one of Butts's hosses right straight off. Buchanan's hoss is lame, un they hain't nary nuther one to be got this side uv Albaugh's, and that's too fur away. You go down to the branch un wait fer me, un I'll git Butts's little wagon. I 'low they'll be hoppin' mad 'f they fine out what I got it fer, but I've got to git it, 'f I have to steal it. They hain't no two ways about it." "I don't think you'd ortuh go off that a-way, Baub," began Mrs. McCord again. "Un me more 'n half sick. I've been feelin' kind-uh slarruppy like fer two 'r three days. Un them air taters is to be dug, un Mely's gone away. You 'n' Zeke Tucker 'll make a purty fist uv it a-lickin' all Broad Run, now, wonch yeh? Wha' choo got to do weth Jake--" But Bob did not hear the rest of it, nor was it ever uttered indeed. For Mrs. McCord, when she found that her husband had gone, did not think it worth while to finish her lamentations; she only drew a sigh of complacent long-suffering and submission to fate, and went to sleep. Hardened sinner that he was, Big Bob felt a little twinge of shame as he made his way rapidly to Butts's house. His wife's set speech about being more than half sick, often as he had heard it, and little as he had ever heeded it, had now made a sufficient lodgment in his consciousness to suggest a way out of his difficulty; but it was a way which a loafer of the superior sort, such as Bob, might feel ashamed to take, knowing that such a scheme as he was concocting would be an outrage on all the sacred principles of good neighborhood--an outrage only to be justified by military necessity. All the way to Butts's, hurried as he was, his hands were ramming his trousers-pockets, after his fashion of groping there for a solution of his difficulties. It was the carrying over into other affairs the habitual research which the hunter makes for bullets, caps, patching, or jack-knife to meet the exigencies of the forest. Arrived at the unpainted, new frame-house, which, being two feet longer and one foot broader than any other in the neighborhood, was the particular pride of the Butts family, he noted that all the lights were out, and after hesitating whether to capture the horse by stealth or by strategy, he went to the front door and rapped. The head of the proprietor came out of one of the lower windows with an abrupt "Who's there?" spoken with that irritation a weary man is prone to express when awakened from his first nap to attend to some one else's wants. "I say, Mr. Butts," said Bob, pushing his hands harder against the bottoms of his pockets, "kin I git the loan uv one uv your hosses un your leetle wagon to fetch the doctor? My ole woman's purty bad; been sick ever sence the sun was 'n 'our high, un we can't git nothin' to do no good." "What seems to be the matter?" said Butts, wishing to postpone an unpleasant decision. Bob hesitated a moment: lying is a dangerous business unless it is carried on with circumspection. "Blamed 'f I know jest _what_ it is. I suspicion it's the _dys_pepsy." The name of dyspepsia was new to the country at that day, though the complaint was ancient enough, no doubt. Just what _dys_pepsy might be Bob did not know, but he hit on it as the vaguest term he could recall and one that had a threatening sound. It would not have served his purpose to have repeated Mrs. McCord's diagnosis of her own case, that she was "feelin' kind-uh slarruppy like." "Whatever 'tis, she don't think she kin git through till mornin' 'thout I git a doctor." "Well, I doan know. The sorrel's lame; un I don't like to let the bay colt go noways, he's sech a sperrited critter." Butts drew his head in at this point to consult with Mrs. Butts as to how he could evade lending the cherished bay colt. "Looky h-yer, Mr. McCord," presently called Mrs. Butts, keeping her nightcapped head well out of sight as she spoke, "you don't want no doctor nohow." Mrs. Butts had come by virtue of superior credulity to hold the position of neighborhood doctress, and she was not friendly to regular physicians. "You jest take along with you a bottle of my new medicine, 't I call the 'Scatter Misery,' It's made out-uh roots an' yarbs, an' it's the best thing I know fer mos' every kind of complaint. It's good insides an' outsides. You rub the Scatter Misery onto the outsides un give her a swaller now un then insides. It'll fetch 'er 'roun' in an hour or two." Bob felt himself fairly entangled in his own intrigue, but he gave his great fists another push into his trousers-pockets and said: "I'm much obleeged, Mrs. Butts, but my ole woman tole me ez I wuzn't to come back 'thout a doctor; un ef you hain't got no critter you kin len' me, I mus' be a-gittin' 'long down to Albaugh's mighty quick. That's a powerful ways off, though. I wish I'd gone there straight un not come over h-yer." This last was uttered in a tone of plaintive disappointment as Bob turned away, walking slowly and giving the family council time to change its mind. "Aw, well, Bob," called Butts, after a conference with his wife, "I don't like to disobleege a neighbor. You kin have the bay colt; but you must drive slow, Bob. He's a young thing un the fidgetiest critter." Bob would drive slow. He professed that he never drove faster 'n a slow trot, "nohows you can fix it." And he helped Butts to hitch up with no sense of exultation, but rather with a sneaking feeling of shame. However, nothing troubled Bob long or deeply, and when he had passed the branch and taken in Zeke Tucker, and got out of the woods to the smooth prairie road beyond, he forgot his scruples and tried to find out just how much speed Butts's bay colt might have in him. Nor did he slacken pace even when he got into the village streets; but remembering how near it was to Jake's time, he held the horse swiftly on till he reached an alley-way behind some village stores. Telling Tucker to tie the horse, he got over the fence and laid hold of a rusty crowbar that he had long kept his mind fixed on. Putting this on his shoulder, he was soon at the jail. "Tom!" he called, in a smothered voice, at the grated window on the east side. But all within was as silent as it was dark. For a moment Bob stood perplexed. Then he went to the grating at the back of the jail--the window that opened into the passage-way at the end opposite to the front door. "Tom, where air you?" he called, putting his hands up on each side of his mouth, that his words might not be heard in the street. "In the dungeon." Tom's voice sounded remote. Bob spent no time in deliberating, but thrust the crowbar between the cross-bars of the iron grating. His first difficulty was similar to that of Archimedes, he could not get a fulcrum; or, as he expressed it less elegantly to Zeke, "he couldn't git no purchase onto the daudblasted ole thing." But by persistently ramming the point of the crowbar against the stone-work at the side of the window he succeeded at length in picking out a little mortar and bracing the tip of the crowbar against a projecting stone. He had great confidence in his own physical strength, but the grating at first was too much for him; the wrought-iron cross-bar of the window bent under the strain he put upon it, but it would not loosen its hold on the masonry. At this rate it would take more time than he could hope to have to push the bars apart enough to admit even Zeke's thin frame, and he could not hope to bend them far enough to let his own great body through. He therefore changed his mode of attack. Withdrawing his crowbar from the grating, he felt for a seam in the stones at the base of the window and then drove the point of the bar into this over and over again, aiming as well as he could in the dark and taking the risk of attracting the attention of some wakeful villager by the sound of his ringing blows. At length, by drilling and prying, he had loosened the large stone which was in some sort the key to the difficulty. This accomplished, he made haste to insert the bar again into the grating, bracing its point as before in the seam he had already opened in the stone-work at the side of the window. Then, with his feet against the wall of the jail, he crouched his great frame and put forth the whole of his forces, thrusting his mighty strength against the crowbar, as blind Samson in his agony tugged at the pillars of the Philistine temple. In some colossal work of Michael Angelo's I have seen a tremendous figure so contorted, writhing in supreme effort. The mortar broke, some of the stones gave way at length, and one bar of the grating was wrenched reluctant from its anchorage in the wall below. Then, letting the crowbar fall, Bob seized the rod now loosened at one end and tore it quite out, and then threw it from him in a kind of fury. The process had to be repeated with each separate bar in the grating, though the breaking up of the wall about the window made each rod come more easily than the preceding one. When all had been removed he squeezed through the window-opening, feet first, and felt his way down the passage to the door of the dungeon, where Tom was anxiously waiting for his deliverer. Bob made what a surgeon would call a "digital examination" of the dungeon door, and found its strength to be such that to break it down would require the rest of the night, if, indeed, there was any hope of achieving it at all in a dark hall-way, too narrow to admit of a free use of the crowbar. "Dern the luck!" said Bob, pausing a moment. "What's the matter, Bob?" asked Tom anxiously. But Bob did not seem to hear the question. "We must git a cole-chisel," was all he said; and he hastened to creep back out of the broken-up window. "Whach yeh go'n' to do?" asked the waiting Zeke, as Bob emerged. But Bob only said, "Come on, quick!" and started off in a swinging trot toward the village blacksmith shop, a low, longish, wooden building, barely visible in the darkness. He pulled at the door, but it was firmly closed with a padlock. Then he felt his way along the side of the building to a window-sash, which was easily taken out of its place. "Heap uh use uh lockin' the door," he muttered, as he climbed in. "Blow up the belluses there un see ef you kin make a light." Zeke, who had followed his leader, pumped away on the bellows in vain, for the fire in the forge had quite gone out, though the ashes were hot to Zeke's touch. Both of the men set to work to find a blacksmith's cold-chisel, feeling and fumbling all over the disorderly shop. As it often took the smith half an hour to find this particular tool, it would have been a marvel for two strangers to find it at all in the darkness. "We'll have to gin up the c'nundrum," said Bob, with his hands again in his pockets. "Didn' you say as you 'lowed the sher'f was expectin' Jake?" "Yes," answered Zeke. "Jake's got a kind-uv a secret urrangement weth Plunkett's brother-in-law. They hain't to be shootin'-work on nary side, but on'y jist a-plenty uv thunderin' loud talk fer the looks uv the thing. Jake's to make the derndest kind uv a row, un the sher'f's to talk about dyin' 'n 'is tracks un all that, you know. That 's some weeks ago't the sher'f s brother-in-law fixed all that up, un Jake, he tole us they wouldn' be no danger." "Turn your coat wrong sides out," said Bob, turning his own. "Now tie your han'kercher acrost yer face, so 's to kiver all below yer eyes." When these directions had been carried out Bob climbed out of the window, and stopped to put his hands into his pockets again and consider. "Whach yeh go'n' to do?" asked Zeke. But Bob only asked, "What'll we do fer pistols'?" and with that set himself to feeling all about the ground in front of the smith's shop, picking up and rejecting now a bit of a dead bough from the great sycamore under the friendly shade of which the smith did all his horse-shoeing, now a bit of a board, and again a segment of a broken wagon-tire, and then a section of a felloe. At last Bob came upon the broken wheel of a farmer's wagon, leaning against the side of the shop in waiting for repairs to its woodwork and a new tire. From this he wrenched two spokes and gave one of them to Zeke. "There's your pistol, Zeke. Put it jam up agin Plunkett's head un tell him to hole still ur die. We've got to play Jake Hogan onto 'im un git the keys. Th' ain't nary nuther way." As Bob passed the jail in going toward the sheriff's house he took along the crowbar. Plunkett lived in a two-story frame dwelling on the eastern margin of the village. Bob sent Zeke to run around it and pound on the back door and bang on every window with his wagon-spoke and his fists, while Bob himself dealt rousing blows on the front door with his crowbar. When Zeke had made the circuit of the house, Bob put the crowbar under the door. "We mustn't wait fer him to open, he'll see how few we air," he whispered. "Prize away on this yer." Then, while Zeke lifted up on the bar, Bob hurled his whole bull weight against the door. The staple of the lock held fast, but the interior facing of the door-jamb was torn from its fastenings and fell with a crash on the floor, letting the door swing open. Not to lose the advantage of surprise, Bob and Zeke pushed up the stairway, guided by the noise made by some one moving about. By the time they reached Plunkett's sleeping-room the latter had struck a light with steel and flint, and had just lighted a tallow-candle, which was beginning to shed a feeble glimmer on the bed, the rag-carpeted floor, the shuck-bottom chairs, and the half-dressed man, when Bob, coming up quickly behind him, blew the light out, and seizing Plunkett with the grip of a bear crowded him down to the floor with a smothered oath. "Don't kill me, boys," said the sheriff in a hoarse whisper; for this rough usage frightened him a little, notwithstanding his good understanding with the mob. "Say one word un you're a dead man," said Zeke Tucker, pressing the cold muzzle of his wagon-spoke close to the sheriff's head. These melodramatic words were, I am glad to say, a mere plagiarism. In the absence of anything better, Zeke repeated the speech of a highwayman in an old-fashioned novel he had heard Mrs. Britton read on Sunday afternoons. Then he added on his own account: "We won't have no tricks; d' yeh h'yer?" "They's mor' 'n forty uv us," said Bob, "un we want them air keys right straight." "If I had half a chance I'd ruther die than give 'em up,"--this was all that Plunkett could remember of the defiant speech he was to have made on this occasion,--"but there they air, at the head of my bed"; and a cold shudder went over him as Zeke again touched him ominously with the end of the wagon-spoke. The sheriff's wife, though she had every assurance of the secret friendliness of the mob, now began to weep. "Not a word!" said Bob, who was continually scuffling his feet, in order, like Hannibal and other great commanders, to make his forces seem more numerous than they were. "We won't hurt you, Mrs. Plunkett, ef you keep still; but ef you make a noise while we're gone, the boys outside might shoot." The woman became silent. "Some of our men'll be left to guard your house till our business is finished," said Bob to the sheriff, who lay limp on the floor, growing internally angry that the Broad Run boys should not show more respect for his dignity. "Don't you move or make any soun', fer yer life," added Bob when he reached the top of the stairs, down which he descended with racket enough for three or four. As they left the house with the keys, Bob and Zeke gave orders in a low voice to an imaginary guard at the door. All that Tom had made out was that the irruption of Bob McCord into the jail signified imminent danger to himself, and when Bob had gone out again, Tom's heart failed him. He stood still, with his fingers on the iron grating in the dungeon door. For this last night the sheriff had taken the additional precaution of leaving Tom's manacles on when he had locked him in the dungeon, and the lack of the free use of his hands added much to his sense of utter helplessness in the face of deadly peril. He could not see any light where he stood, gripping the bars and staring into the passage-way; but he could not endure to leave this position and go back into the darker darkness behind him. Confinement and anxiety had sapped the physical groundwork of courage. When he heard Bob and Zeke come past the jail on their return from the blacksmith shop he had made out nothing but the sound of feet, whether of friends or foes he did not know; and when the sounds died away, a horror of deadly suspense fell upon him. All black and repulsive possibilities became imminent probabilities in the time that he waited. Over and over again he heard men and horses coming, and then discovered that he was hearkening to the throbbing of his own pulse. At last he heard the key turning in the lock of the front door, and was sure that the enemy had arrived. It was not till Bob said, when he had got into the hall and was trying the keys in the dungeon door, "Quick, Tom, fer God Almighty's sake!" that his spirit, numb with terror, realized the presence of friends. "What's the matter?" asked Tom, his teeth chattering with reaction from the long suspense. "Jake Hogan'll be h-yer in less'n no time"; and with that Bob, having got the door open, almost dragged the poor fellow out, taking time, however, to shut the front door and lock it, and taking the keys with him, "fer fear somebody might git in while we're away," as he said laughing. Once the jail was cleared, a new perplexity arose. Until this moment it had not occurred to Bob to consider what disposal he should make of the prisoner. "What am I goin' to do weth you, Tom?" he demanded, when they stood concealed in the thick obscurity under an elm-tree on the side of the court-house opposite to the jail. "I wonder 'f you hadn' better light out?" "Not without Abra'm says so," answered Tom, still shivering and feeling a strong impulse to run away in the face of all prudence. "Looky h-yer, Tom; when I got the keys from the sher'f, I brought them all along. They 's the big key to the jail, un the key to the dungeon. Now, h-yer, I've got two more. It seems like as ef one uv 'em had orter onlock the east room of the jail, un liker 'n not t' other's the court-house key. S'pose'n I put you in there; they'll never look there in the worl'." "I s'pose so," said Tom, "if you think it's safe." But in his present state he shuddered at the idea of being left alone in the dark. "If Abra'm thinks I'd better not clear out, I'll be where I'm wanted in the morning, and they can't say I have run off," he added. So Tom was locked in the court-house and left to feel his way about in the dark. He found, at length, the judge's bench, the only one with a cushion on it, and lay down there to wait for daylight, listening with painful attention to every sound in the streets. When at length he heard the tramp of horses and conjectured that Jake's party were actually looking for him, he could not overcome the unreasonable terror that weakness and suspense had brought upon him. He groped his way up the stairs and slunk into one of the jury rooms above for greater security. XXV LIKE A WOLF ON THE FOLD Barbara, at her uncle's house, had not been able to go to bed. Tom's fate, she knew, would be decided the next day, and whatever of hope there might be for him was hidden in the mind of his lawyer. Mrs. Grayson had involuntarily fallen into a slumber, and the anxious Barbara sat by her in the darkness, wishing for the coming of the day, whose coming was nevertheless dreadful to her. The sound of a wagon rattling in another street startled her; she went to the window and strained her eyes against the darkness outside of the glass. Though she could not suspect that in the wagon was Bob McCord hurrying to the rescue of Tom, she was yet full of vague and indistinct forebodings. She wished she might have passed the night in the jail. A little after midnight she thought she heard a sound as of horses' feet: again she went to the window, but she could not see or hear anything. Then again she heard it: there could be no mistake now; she could make out plainly the confused thudding of many hoofs on the unpaved road. Presently, from sound rather than from sight, she knew that a considerable troop of horsemen were passing in front of her uncle's house. She left the room quietly, and spoke to her uncle as she passed his door; but without waiting for him she went out into the street and ran a little way after the horsemen, stopping, hearkening, turning this way and that in her indecision, and at length, after groping among the trees and stumps in the public square, reached the jail. Jake Hogan had sent forward two men to watch the prison, while he with his main force surrounded Plunkett's house. The sheriff had obediently kept his place where Bob had laid him, in the middle of the floor, until he got into a chill. Then, as he heard no sound outside of the house, his courage revived, and he crept back into bed. Jake had come prepared to play the bully, according to agreement, in order to save Plunkett's reputation for courage and fidelity, but he was disconcerted at finding the door of the house wide open; he had not expected that things would be made so easy. After stumbling over the fallen door-facing, he boldly mounted the stairs with as much noise as possible. Entering Plunkett's bedroom, he cried out in what he conceived to be his most impressive tones: "Gin up the keys of that ar jail, ur your time has come." "What air you up to now?" cried the sheriff, angry at this second visit. "You knocked me down and got the keys nigh on to an hour ago. Now what in thunderation does this hullabaloo mean, I want to know." "Wha' choo talkin'?" said Jake. "We hain't on'y jest got yer." "Only just got here?" said the sheriff, rising up in bed. "Only just come? Then there's another crowd that must 'a' done the business ahead of you. There was more 'n forty men surrounded this house awhile ago, and beat down my door, and come upstairs here in this room, and knocked me down and choked me black and blue and went off with the keys. I guess they've hung Tom and gone before this." "Looky h-yer now, we don't want no more uv your tricks. We're the on'y party out to-night, sartin shore, un we're boun' to have them air keys ur die," said Jake, tragically. "You might's well gin 'em up fust _as_ last, Hank Plunkett, un save yourself trouble." "Well, if you want 'em, you'll have to look 'em up," said the sheriff. "I haven't got 'em, and I'll be hanged if I know who has. I was knocked down and nearly killed by a whole lot of men. Kill me, if you've got a mind to, but you won't find the keys in this house. So there now." And he lay back on his pillow. "Come on, boys; we'll s'arch the jail. Un ef we've been fooled weth, Hank Plunkett'll have to pay fer it." With that the Broad Run boys departed and the sheriff got up and dressed himself. There was a mystery about two lynching parties in one night; and there might be something in it that would affect his bond or his political prospects if it were not looked into at once. He resolved to alarm the town. At the jail door Hogan encountered Barbara piteously begging the men to spare her brother's life. "Looky h-yer," he said, in a graveyard voice, "this ain't no kind uv a place fer women folks. You go 'way." "No, I won't go away. I'm Tom's sister and I won't leave him. You mustn't shoot him. He didn't kill George Lockwood." "You mus' go 'way, ur you'll git shot yer own self," said Jake. "Well, shoot me--d' you think I care? I'd rather die with Tom. I know your voice, Jake Hogan; and if you kill Tom you'll be a murderer, for he isn't." "Take her away, boys," said Jake, a little shaken by this unexpected appeal. But nobody offered to remove Barbara. All of these rude fellows were touched at sight of her tears. It had not occurred to them to take into account the sister or the mother when they thoughtlessly resolved to hang Tom. But the path of the reformer is always beset by such thorns. "Down weth that ar door!" cried Jake, not to be baffled in his resolution, and convinced by Barbara's solicitude that Tom was certainly within. There was reason for haste too, for the villagers were already stirring, and there might be opposition to his summary proceedings. But pompous commands have not much effect on heavy doors, and Jake found that this one would not down so easily as he hoped. Jake began pounding on it with the poll of an ax borrowed from a neighboring wood-pile, and meanwhile dispatched two men to break open the blacksmith shop and fetch a sledge-hammer. But S'manthy's boy, on his own motion, went around to the back of the jail with the purpose of trying the window. Finding it as Bob had left it, with the grating torn out, he entered the jail and penetrated to the dungeon, coming back presently to tell Jake that he had found the window out, the dungeon door open, and Tom "clean gone." "Thunder!" said Jake, dropping his ax. "Who could they be? The shuruff says they wuz more 'n forty on 'em; so they couldn't be rescuers. They hain't ten men in the wide worl' 'at thinks Tom's innercent. Like 's not it's a lot uv fellers f'um the south-east of the k-younty, down to_wards_ Hardscrabble, whar Lockwood had some kin. They've hung him summers. Let's ride 'roun' un see ef we kin fin' any traces. Un ef Hank Plunkett has played a trick, we'll git squar' some day, ur my name hain't Hogan." The men mounted and rode off. Barbara, who stood by in agony while Jake beat upon the door, and who had heard the report that Tom was gone, could not resist the despairing conclusion that he must have suffered death. In her broken-hearted perplexity she could think of nothing better than to hurry to the tavern where Hiram Mason was a boarder. Half the people of the village were by this time in the streets, running here and there and saying the most contradictory things. Mason had been awakened with the rest, and by the time Barbara reached the tavern door, she encountered him coming out. "W'y, Barbara! for goodness' sake, what brought you out? What _has_ happened?" he said. "O Mr. Mason! I'm afraid Tom's dead. I ran after Jake Hogan and his men when I heard them pass, and begged Jake to let Tom off. They tried to drive me away, but I staid; and when they got into jail, Tom wasn't there. Jake said that the sheriff said he had been taken away and lynched by more than forty men. Oh, if they have killed the poor boy!" "Maybe it isn't so bad," said Hiram, as he took her left hand in his right and led her, as he might have led a weeping child, along the dark street toward her uncle's house. "Don't cry any more, Barbara!" "I shouldn't wonder," he said, after a while, "if Bob McCord knows something of this." "But we left him at home to-night," said Barbara; and then she began to weep again, and to say over and over in an undertone, "O my poor Tom!" Mason could not say any more. He only grasped her hand the more firmly in his and walked on. Presently a wagon came across the walk just in front of them, issuing from an alley. "That's Butts's wagon, and that's his bay colt, I do believe," said Barbara, looking sharply at the dark silhouette of the horse. "I know the way that horse carries his head. I wonder if Butts has been mean enough to have anything to do with this wicked business." What Barbara saw was Zeke Tucker hastening to replace the horse in the stable, while Bob remained in town to keep a furtive watch over the court-house till morning. Mason thought he saw some one moving in the alley, and a detective impulse seized him. "Stay here a moment, Barbara," he said, and letting go of her hand he ran into the alley and came plump upon the burly form of Bob McCord. "It's all right, Mr. Mason," chuckled Bob. "Tom's safe 'n' soun' where they'll never find him. By thunder!" And Bob looked ready to explode with laughter; the whole thing was to him one of the best of jokes. "Come and tell Barbara," said Mason. Bob came out of the alley to where Barbara was standing near the white-spotted trunk of a young sycamore, and recounted briefly how he had fooled Butts, and how he had got the keys from Plunkett. His resonant laughter grated on Barbara's feelings, but she was too grateful to him to resent the rudeness of his nature. "Where is Tom?" Barbara asked. "Oh! I'm a-playin' Abe Lincoln," said Bob in a whisper. "The fewer that knows, the better it'll be. Tom says he won't light out, unless Abra'm says to. Speak'n' of Abe Lincoln," he said, "I don't want to be seed weth him to-night. You go back, Mr. Mason, un tell Abe 't Tom's safe. Ef he thinks Tom's chances is better to stan' trial, w'y, he'll find 'im in the court-house to-morry when the court wants 'im, shore as shootin'. He's on'y out on bail to-night," said Bob, unwilling to lose his joke. "But ef Abe thinks Tom hain't got no chance afore a jury, let 'im jest wink one eye, kind-uh, un 'fore daybreak I'll have the boy tucked into a bear's hole 't I know of, un he kin lay there safe fer a week un then put out for Wisconsin, ur Missouri, ur the Ioway country. You go 'n' let Abe know, un I'll see Barb'ry safe home--she won't gimme the mitten to-night, I 'low." And Bob chuckled heartily; life was all so droll to this man, blessed with a perfect digestion and not worried by any considerable sense of responsibility. Mason went up to Lincoln's room and awakened him to tell him the story of the night. The lawyer's face relaxed, and at length he broke into a merry but restrained laughter. He saw almost as much fun in it as Bob McCord had, and Mason felt a little out of patience that he should be so much amused over such a life-and-death affair. "Tom doesn't want to be an outlaw," said Lincoln very gravely, when the question of Tom's going or staying was put to him. "I don't believe he could escape; and if he did, life would hardly be worth the having. There is only just one chance of proving his innocence, but I think he'd better stay and take that. Maybe we'll fail; if we do, it may yet be time enough to fall back on Bob and his bear's hole. By the way, where has Bob stowed Tom for the night?" "Bob won't tell," said Mason. "He says he's playing Abe Lincoln; and the fewer that know, the better." Lincoln laughed again, and nodded his head approvingly. "So he brings Tom to court in good time," he said. Mason went out and encountered Bob in the street, and gave him Lincoln's decision. Then Hiram went and told Barbara about it, and sat with her and her mother until morning. A while before daybreak, finding the town free from any person disposed to molest Tom, Bob came to Barbara and had her make a cup of coffee and give him a sandwich or two. These he took out of the back gate of the Grayson garden and left them with Tom in the court-house. The next morning at half-past 6 o'clock the lawyers of the circuit took their seats at the breakfast-table in the meagerly furnished, fly-specked dining-room of the tavern, the windows of which were decorated with limp chintz curtains, and the space of which was entirely filled with the odors of coffee and fried ham, mingled with smells emitted by the rough-coat plastering and the poplar of the woodwork: this compound odor of the building was a genius of the place. The old judge, who sat at the end of the table opposite to that occupied by the landlady, spread his red silk handkerchief across his lap preparatory to beginning his meal, and looked up from under his overhanging brows at Lincoln, who was just taking his seat. "What's this, Lincoln? I hear your client was carried off last night by a mob of forty or fifty men and probably hanged. And you don't even get up early to see about it." "My client will be in court this morning, Judge," said the lawyer, looking up from his plate. "What!" "I am informed that he is in a safe place, and he will be ready for trial this morning." "Where is he?" asked the judge, looking penetratingly at Lincoln. [Illustration: "'WHERE IS HE?' ASKED THE JUDGE."] "I should be glad to tell your Honor; but the fact is, I can't manage to find out myself." Then one of the other lawyers spoke up. "Lincoln, from what you say, I suppose the first mob took Grayson to save him from the second. But I don't see how the Old Boy you raised forty men on your side. I wouldn't have believed that the poor devil had so many friends." "I? I didn't raise any men. I was sound asleep, and didn't know a word about it until the row was all over." After breakfast there was much discussion of the case among the lawyers standing in a group in the bar-room. What would Lincoln do? Why had he not moved for a change of venue? Why had he subpoenaed no witnesses? Would he plead necessary self-defense, or would Tom plead guilty and throw himself on the mercy of the governor? The sheriff was very active in the latter part of the night in telling his story and in making a display of zeal. It was he who had taken time by the forelock in telling the judge all about the events of the night; how his door had been beaten in by a great mob; how he had been rudely knocked down and choked until he was almost insensible; and how pistols had been cocked and placed against his head. Then he told of the coming of the second mob. He did not know which way Tom had been taken, or whether he had been hanged or not, but he had sent the deputy to make inquiries. In making an examination of the prison after daylight, Sheriff Plunkett found the keys of the jail inside of the hall-way, as though they had been thrown in at the broken-down window. When he went to force the court-house door, the key belonging to it was found lying on the doorstep; and when on opening the door he saw Tom with his manacles on, awaiting him, his surprise was complete. "I thought you'd been hung," he said. "Not yet," said Tom, grimly. "Say, where did that mob come from that got you out?" "You can't question me," said Tom. "I'm not a witness to-day; I'm a prisoner." Many of the excited people, moved by the restive longings of a vague curiosity, had followed the sheriff into the court-room, and the news of Tom's presence there soon spread throughout the village. There were already all sorts of contradictory and exciting rumors in the streets about the events of the preceding night; women let their breakfast coffee boil over while they discussed the affair across back fences; men almost forgot to eat anything in their eagerness for news; country people were flocking in by all the roads and listening to all sorts of contradictory tales told by the villagers. When it became known that Tom was alive and awaiting his trial there was a general rush to secure seats, and the court-room was filled long before the bell in its belfry had announced the hour for the trial to begin. XXVI CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE At last the sheriff's new deputy went up the court-house stairs, and pulled away on the rope that rattled the bell in the belfry--a bell that uttered its notes in irregular groups, now pausing for breath, and now sending one hurried stroke clattering hard on the heels of another. Its clanking had no more dignity than the words of a gossip eagerly tattling small news. While the bell was yet banging, Judge Watkins's iron-gray head and stooped shoulders appeared; he pushed his way slowly through the press, his brows contracted in impatience at finding even the physical progress of the court obstructed by the vulgar. The people squeezed themselves as nearly flat as possible in the endeavor to make way for his Honor, of whom they were as much in awe as school-boys of a stern master. Bob McCord, erect in the aisle, was an island in the very channel, and the most serious obstacle to the judge's passage; nor did it help things for Bob to turn sidewise, for he was equally obtrusive in all his dimensions. The judge was a good deal ruffled in his endeavors to pull by him. "I wish I _wuz_ littler, Jedge," said Bob, with a fearless laugh that startled the bystanders, "but I can't seem to take myself in another eench." The dyspeptic judge was not without a sense of humor. It would be a derogation from his dignity to say that he smiled at Bob's apology; but certainly there was a little relaxation of his brows, and a less severe set to his lips, when he finally edged past and left the crowd to close around Big Bob again. The judge began the session by ordering the sheriff to bring in the grand jury. This in turn was no easy task; but at length that body succeeded in descending the stairs, defiling through the aisle, and getting into the jury box. In a few words, precise and tart, the judge charged the grand jurymen to inquire into two lawless attacks which had been made on the sheriff during the night; into the conduct of the sheriff; and into the evidently insecure condition of the county jail. Then, when the members of the grand inquest had reluctantly made their painful way up the stairs to their room overhead, the judge called the case of _The People of the State of Illinois versus Thomas Grayson, Junior_, and there was a hush in the crowded court-room. Tom sat regarding the crowd with such feelings as a gladiator doomed to mortal combat might have had in looking on the curious spectators in the Coliseum. Mrs. Grayson and Barbara had been provided with chairs within the bar; but on his mother and sister Tom did not dare to let his eyes rest. He saw, however, without looking directly at them, that little Janet was standing by Barbara, and that his uncle sat with crest-fallen face by his mother's side, and that his Aunt Charlotte had not come at all. Just outside of the bar, but immediately behind Mrs. Grayson, so as to form one of the group, stood Hiram Mason, erect and unblushing. One of the landmarks on which Tom's gaze rested oftenest was the burly form and round, ruddy face of Big Bob McCord, half way between the judge and the door. And at one of the open windows there presently appeared the lank countenance of Jake Hogan, who had climbed up from the outside, with the notion that he was somehow bound to supervise the administration of public justice. He managed with difficulty to get perching-room on the window-sill. Into two of the raised back seats a group of women had squeezed themselves to their last density, and among them, singular and conspicuous as she always was, sat Rachel Albaugh. Tom's was not the only eye that observed her; the lawyers from other counties were asking one another who she was, and she had even attracted the attention of the judge himself; for a gallant interest in good-looking women lingers late in a Virginia gentleman, no matter how austere his mold. At a pause in the preliminary proceedings the judge spoke to the clerk, sitting just below and in front of him, at a raised desk. "Magill, who is that girl?" he asked. "Which one, Judge?" queried Magill, pretending to be in doubt. "You needn't look so innocent. Of course I mean the one a modest man can't look at without being a little ashamed of himself. You know her well enough, I'm sure." "I s'pose yer Honor manes John Albaugh's daughter," said Magill. "She's the one that's at the bottom of all this row, they say." As soon as the judge heard that Rachel's beauty had something to do with the case in hand he fell back into his official reserve, as though he felt a scruple that to talk about her, or even to take note of her beauty, might be, in some sort, a receiving of evidence not properly before the court. The jury was very soon impaneled, for in that day entire ignorance of the matter in hand was not thought indispensable to a wise decision. Lincoln made no objection to any of the names drawn for jurymen except that of Abijah Grimes, of Broad Run Township. The exclusion of Bijy's open countenance from the jury box was another blow to Jake Hogan's faith in the institutions of the land. His brow visibly darkened; here was one more sign that a rich man's nephew could not be punished, and that a poor man hadn't no kind uv a chance in sech a dodrotted country. No time was spent in an opening speech; the preliminary oratory, by which our metropolitan barristers consume the time of an indulgent court and make a show of earning their preposterous fees, was rarely indulged in that simpler land and time. The fees paid, indeed, would not have justified the making of two speeches. No portion of the crowd tucked into the four walls of the Moscow court-house showed more interest in the trial than the members of the bar. The unsolved mystery that hung about Lincoln's line of defense, the absence of any witnesses in Tom's behalf, the neglect of all the ordinary precautions, such as the seeking of a change of venue, produced a kind of flurry of expectation inside of the bar; and the lawyers in their blue sparrow-tail coats with brass buttons, which constituted then a kind of professional uniform, moved about with as much animation as uneasy jay-birds, to which the general effect of their costume gave them a sort of family likeness. Their attention was divided, it is true; for when a member of the bar did succeed in settling himself into a chair, which he always canted back on its hind legs, he was pretty sure to get into a position that would enable him to get a glance now and then at the face of Rachel Albaugh, who was interesting, not only for her beauty, but on account of her supposed relation to the case actually before the court. Never had Rachel's lustrous eyes seemed finer, never had her marvelous complexion shown a tint more delicious; her interest in the case lent animation to her expression, and her attitude of listening set off the graceful turn of her features. The prosecuting attorney called Henry Miller to prove that Tom had been irritated with Lockwood at Albaugh's, but Henry did what he could for Tom, by insisting that it didn't "amount to anything" as a quarrel; it was "only a huff," he said. The next witness called was the nervous young man who had stood balancing himself on the threshold of Wooden & Snyder's store when Tom had threatened Lockwood, in paying back the money borrowed to discharge his gambling debt. He was a habitual gossip, and the story lost nothing from his telling. He did not forget to mention with evident pleasure that Rachel Albaugh's name had been used in that quarrel. At this point Rachel, finding too many eyes turned from the witness to the high seat at the back of the room, lowered her green veil. Then the carpenter who had bought a three-cornered file on the morning of Tom's outburst against Lockwood also swore to the details of that affair as he remembered them, and the villager who had come in to buy nails to repair his garden fence gave a third version of the quarrel; but Snyder, the junior proprietor of the store, told the incident as it was colored by his partisanship for Lockwood and in a way the most damaging to Tom. He swore that Lockwood was really afraid of Tom, and that at Lockwood's suggestion he had himself got Blackman to speak to Tom's uncle about it. The young men followed who had heard Tom say, as he left town after his break with his uncle, that George Lockwood was the cause of all his troubles, and that Lockwood "had better not get in his way again, if he knew what was good for him." Lincoln sat out that forenoon without making a note, without raising an objection, without asking the witnesses a question, and without a book or a scrap of paper before him. He did not break silence at all, except to waive the cross-examination of each witness. The impression made in Tom's favor by his voluntary appearance at the trial, when he might perhaps have got away, was by this time dissipated, and the tide set now overwhelmingly against him; and to this tide his self-contained lawyer had offered not the slightest opposition. It was a serious question even among the lawyers whether or not Lincoln had given up the case. But if he had given up the case, why did he not fight on every small point, as any other lawyer would have done, for the sake of making a show of zeal? To Allen, the public prosecutor, there was something annoying and ominous in Lincoln's silence; something that made him apprehensive of he knew not what. When the court took its noon recess Barbara and her mother were in utter despondency. It seemed to them that Lincoln was letting the case go by default, while the prosecuting attorney was full of energetic activity. "Abra'm," said Mrs. Grayson, intercepting Lincoln as he passed out of the bar with his hat drawn down over his anxious brows, "ain't ther' nothin' you kin do for Tom? Can't you show 'em that he never done it?" "I'll do whatever I can, Aunt Marthy, but you must leave it to me." So saying, he quickly left her and pushed on out of the door, while his learned brethren gathered into a group within the bar, and unanimously agreed in condemning his neglect of every opportunity to break the force of the evidence against Tom. Why had he not objected to much of it, why had he not cross-questioned, why did he not ask for a change of venue yesterday? When the sheriff and his deputy, at the close of this forenoon session, passed out of the court-house with Tom, there was a rush of people around and in front of them. Men and boys climbed up on wagons, tree stumps, and whatever afforded them a good view of the criminal. For the most part the people were only moved by that heartless curiosity which finds a pleasurable excitement in the sight of other people's woes, but there was also very manifest an increasing resentment toward Tom, and not a little of that human ferocity which is easily awakened in time of excitement and which reminds us of a sort of second cousinship that subsists between a crowd of men and a pack of wolves--or between a pack of men and a crowd of wolves. When Tom found himself at length landed within the friendly prison walls, out of sight and hearing of the unfeeling crowd, he was in the deepest dejection. For what, indeed, that could happen now would be sufficient to turn back such a tide of popular condemnation? Barbara came to him presently with a dinner more relishable than that which the sheriff was accustomed to serve to prisoners, and all the way to the jail idle people had strolled after her; and though no one treated her with disrespect, she could hear them saying, "That's his sister," and their voices were neither sympathetic nor friendly. When she set down the tray on one of the stools in front of Tom, she kept her eyes averted from his, lest he should detect the despondency that she knew herself to be incapable of hiding. On his part, Tom made a feint to eat the food, for Barbara's sake. But after examining first one tid-bit and then another, essaying to nibble a little first at this and then at that, he got up abruptly and left the whole. "'T isn't any use, Barb," he said, huskily. "I can't eat." And Barbara, knowing how much need her brother had for all his self-control, did not trust herself to speak, but took up the tray and went out again, leaving Tom, when the deputy had locked the door, sitting alone on the bench with his head between his hands. XXVII LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE The people who had seats in the court-room were, for the most part, too wise in their generation to vacate them during the noon recess. Jake Hogan clambered down from his uncomfortable window-roost for a little while, and Bob McCord took a plunge into the grateful fresh air, but both got back in time to secure their old points of observation. The lawyers came back early, and long before the judge returned the ruddy-faced Magill was seated behind his little desk, facing the crowd and pretending to write. He was ill at ease; the heart of the man had gone out to Tom. He never for a moment doubted that Tom killed Lockwood, but then a sneak like Lockwood "richly desarved it," in Magill's estimation. Judge Watkins's austere face assumed a yet more severe expression; for though pity never interfered with justice in his nature, it often rendered the old man unhappy, and therefore more than usually irascible. There was a painful pause after the judge had taken his seat and ordered the prisoner brought in. It was like a wait before a funeral service, but rendered ten times more distressing by the element of suspense. The judge's quill pen could be heard scratching on the paper as he noted points for his charge to the jury. To Hiram Mason the whole trial was unendurable. The law had the aspect of a relentless boa-constrictor, slowly winding itself about Tom, while all these spectators, with merely a curious interest in the horrible, watched the process. The deadly creature had now to make but one more coil, and then, in its cruel and deliberate fashion, it would proceed to tighten its twists until the poor boy should be done to death. Barbara and the mother were entwined by this fate as well, while Hiram had not a little finger of help for them. He watched Lincoln as he took seat in moody silence. Why had the lawyer not done anything to help Tom? Any other lawyer with a desperate case would have had a stack of law-books in front of him, as a sort of dam against the flood. But Lincoln had neither law-books nor so much as a scrap of paper. The prosecuting attorney, with a taste for climaxes, reserved his chief witness to the last. Even now he was not ready to call Sovine. He would add one more stone to the pyramid of presumptive proof before he capped it all with certainty. Markham was therefore put up to identify the old pistol which he had found in Tom's room. Lincoln again waived cross-examination. Blackman felt certain that he himself could have done better. He mentally constructed the questions that should have been put to the deputy sheriff. Was the pistol hot when you found it? Did it smell of powder? Did the family make any objection to your search?--Even if the judge had ruled out such questions the jury would have heard the questions, and a question often has weight in spite of rulings from the bench. The prosecuting attorney began to feel sure of his own case; he had come to his last witness and his great stroke. "Call David Sovine," he said, wiping his brow and looking relieved. "David Sovine! David Sovine! David Sovine!" cried the sheriff in due and ancient form, though David sat almost within whispering distance of him. The witness stood up. "Howld up your roight hand," said the clerk. Then when Dave's right hand was up Magill rattled off the form of the oath in the most approved and clerkly style, only adding to its effect by the mild brogue of his pronunciation. "Do sol'm swear 't yull tell th' truth, th' 'ole truth, en nuthin' b' th' truth, s' yilpye God," said the clerk, without once pausing for breath. Sovine ducked his head and dropped his hand, and the solemnity was over. Dave, who was evidently not accustomed to stand before such a crowd, appeared embarrassed. He had deteriorated in appearance lately. His patent-leather shoes were bright as ever, his trousers were trimly held down by straps, his hair was well kept in place by bear's oil or what was sold for bear's oil, but there was a nervousness in his expression and carriage that gave him the air of a man who has been drinking to excess. Tom looked at him with defiance, but Dave was standing at the right of the judge, while the prisoner's dock was on the left, and the witness did not regard Tom at all, but told his story with clearness. Something of the bold assurance which he displayed at the inquest was lacking. His coarse face twitched and quivered, and this appeared to annoy him; he sought to hide it by an affectation of nonchalance, as he rested his weight now on one foot and now on the other. "Do you know the prisoner?" asked the prosecutor, with a motion of his head toward the dock. "Yes, well enough"; but in saying this Dave did not look toward Tom, but out of the window. "You've played cards with him, haven't you?" "Yes." "Tell his Honor and the jury when and where you played with him." "We played one night last July, in Wooden & Snyder's store." "Who proposed to Tom to play with you?" "George Lockwood. He hollered up the stove-pipe for Tom to come down an' take a game or two with me." "What did you win that night from Tom?" "Thirteen dollars, an' his hat an' coat an' boots, an' his han'ke'chi'f an' knife." "Who, if anybody, lent him the money to get back his things which you had won?" "George Lockwood." Here the counsel paused a moment, laid down a memorandum he had been using, and looked about his table until he found another; then he resumed his questions. "Tell the jury whether you were at the Timber Creek camp-meeting on the 9th of August." "Yes; I was." "What did you see there? Tell about the shooting." Dave told the story, with a little prompting in the way of questions from the lawyer, substantially as he had told it at the coroner's inquest. He related his parting from Lockwood, Tom's appearance on the scene, Tom's threatening speech, Lockwood's entreaty that Tom would not shoot him, and then Tom's shooting. In making these statements Dave looked at the stairway in the corner of the court-room with an air of entire indifference, and he even made one or two efforts to yawn, as though the case was a rather dull affair to him. "How far away from Mason and Lockwood were you when the shooting took place?" asked the prosecutor. "Twenty foot or more." "What did Tom shoot with?" "A pistol." "What kind of a pistol?" "One of the ole-fashion' sort--flint-lock, weth a ruther long barrel." The prosecuting lawyer now beckoned to the sheriff, who handed down to him, from off his high desk, Tom's pistol. "Tell the jury whether this looks like the pistol." "'T was just such a one as that. I can't say it was that, but it was hung to the stock like that, an' about as long in the barrel." "What did Grayson do when he had shot George, and what did you do?" "Tom run off as fast as his feet could carry him, an' I went up to_wards_ George, who'd fell over. He was dead ag'inst I could get there. Then purty soon the crowd come a-runnin' up to see what the fracas was." After bringing out some further details Allen turned to his opponent with an air of confidence and said: "You can have the witness, Mr. Lincoln." There was a brief pause, during which the jurymen changed their positions on the hard seats, making a little rustle as they took their right legs from off their left and hung their left legs over their right knees, or vice versa. In making these changes they looked inquiringly at one another, and it was clear that their minds were so well made up that even a judge's charge in favor of the prisoner, if such a thing had been conceivable, would have gone for nothing. Lincoln at length rose slowly from his chair, and stood awhile in silence, regarding Sovine, who seemed excited and nervous, and who visibly paled a little as his eyes sought to escape from the lawyer's gaze. "You said you were with Lockwood just before the shooting?" the counsel asked. "Yes." Dave was all alert and answered promptly. "Were you not pretty close to him when he was shot?" "No, I wasn't," said Dave, his suspicions excited by this mode of attack. It appeared that the lawyer, for some reason, wanted to make him confess to having been nearer to the scene and perhaps implicated, and he therefore resolved to fight off. "Are you sure you were as much as ten feet away?" "I was more than twenty," said Dave, huskily. "What had you and George Lockwood been doing together?" "We'd been--talking." Manifestly Dave took fresh alarm at this line of questioning. "Oh, you had?" "Yes." "In a friendly way?" "Yes, tubby shore; we never had any fuss." "You parted from him as a friend?" "Yes, of course." "By the time Tom came up you'd got--how far away? Be careful now." "I've told you twiste. More than twenty feet." "You might have been mistaken about its being Tom then?" "No, I wasn't." "Did you know it was Tom before he fired?" "Tubby shore, I did." "What time of night was it?" "Long to_wards_ 10, I sh'd think." "It might have been 11?" "No, 't wusn't later'n about 10." This was said doggedly. "Nor before 9?" "No, 't wus nigh onto 10, I said." And the witness showed some irritation, and spoke louder than before. "How far away were you from the pulpit and meeting-place?" "'Twixt a half a mile an' a mile." "Not over a mile?" "No, skiercely a mile." "But don't you think it might have been a little less than half a mile?" "No, it's nigh onto a mile, I didn't measure it, but it's a mighty big three-quarters." The witness answered combatively, and in this mood he made a better impression than he did on his direct examination. The prosecuting attorney looked relieved. Tom listened with an attention painful to see, his eyes moving anxiously from Lincoln to Dave as he wondered what point in Dave's armor the lawyer could be driving at. He saw plainly that his salvation was staked on some last throw. "You didn't have any candle in your hand, did you, at any time during the evening?" "No!" said Dave, positively. For some reason this question disconcerted him and awakened his suspicion. "What should we have a candle for?" he added. "Did either George Lockwood or Tom have a candle?" "No, of course not! What 'd they have candles for?" "Where were the lights on the camp-ground?" "Closte by the preachers' tent." "More than three-quarters of a mile away from the place where the murder took place?" "Anyway as much as three-quarters," said Dave, who began to wish that he could modify his previous statement of the distance. "How far away were you from Lockwood when the murder took place?" "Twenty feet." "You said 'or more' awhile ago." "Well, 't wusn't no less, p'r'aps," said Dave, showing signs of worry. "You don't think I measured it, do yeh?" "There were no lights nearer than three-quarters of a mile?" "No," said the witness, the cold perspiration beading on his face as he saw Lincoln's trap opening to receive him. "You don't mean to say that the platform torches up by the preachers' tent gave any light three-quarters of a mile away and in the woods?" "No, of course not." "How could you see Tom and know that it was he that fired, when the only light was nearly a mile away, and inside a circle of tents?" "Saw by moonlight," said Sovine, snappishly, disposed to dash at any gap that offered a possible way of escape. "What sort of trees were there on the ground?" "Beech." "Beech-leaves are pretty thick in August?" asked Lincoln. "Ye-es, ruther," gasped the witness, seeing a new pitfall yawning just ahead of him. "And yet light enough from the moon came through these thick beech-trees to let you know Tom Grayson?" "Yes." "And you could see him shoot?" "Yes." "And you full twenty feet away?" "Well, about that; nearly twenty, anyhow." Dave shifted his weight to his right foot. "And you pretend to say to this court that by the moonlight that you got through the beech-trees in August you could even see that it was a pistol that Tom had?" "Ye-es." Dave now stood on his left foot. "And you could see what kind of a pistol it was?" This was said with a little laugh very exasperating to the witness. "Yes, I could," answered Dave, with dogged resolution not to be faced down. "And just how the barrel was hung to the stock?" There was a positive sneer in Lincoln's voice now. "Yes." This was spoken feebly. "And you twenty feet or more away?" "I've got awful good eyes, an' I know what I see," whined the witness, apologetically. Here Lincoln paused and looked at Sovine, whose extreme distress was only made the more apparent by his feeble endeavor to conceal his agitation. The counsel, after regarding his uneasy victim for a quarter of a minute, thrust his hand into the tail-pocket of his blue coat, and after a little needless fumbling drew forth a small pamphlet in green covers. He turned the leaves of this with extreme deliberation, while the court-room was utterly silent. The members of the bar had as by general consent put their chairs down on all-fours, and were intently watching the struggle between the counsel and the witness. The sallow-faced judge had stopped the scratching of his quill, and had lowered his spectacles on his nose, that he might study the distressed face of the tormented Sovine. Mrs. Grayson's hands were on her lap, palms downward; her eyes were fixed on Abra'm, and her mouth was half open, as though she were going to speak. Barbara found it hard to keep her seat, she was so eager for Lincoln to go on, and Tom was leaning forward breathlessly in the dock; his throat felt dry, and he choked when he tried to swallow; it seemed to him that he would smother with the beating of his heart. But it was worth while to turn away from these more interested parties to look for a moment at the ruddy face of Bob McCord, which was puckered to a kind of focus with an expression that was customary with him in a moment of supreme interest, as when he was drawing a sure bead on a bear or deer. It was worth while to regard Rachel Albaugh, who had lifted the veil from her face radiant with interest. Lincoln appeared to be the only perfectly deliberate person in the room. He seemed disposed to protract the situation as long as possible. He held his victim on the rack and he let him suffer. He would turn a leaf or two in his pamphlet and then look up at the demoralized witness, as though to fathom the depth of his torture and to measure the result. At last he fixed his thumb firmly at a certain place on a page and turned his eyes to the judge. "Now, your Honor," he said to the court, "this witness," with a half-contemptuous gesture of his awkward left hand toward Sovine, "has sworn over and over that he recognized the accused as the person who shot George Lockwood, near the Union camp-meeting on the night of the 9th of last August, and that he, the witness, was standing at the time twenty feet or more away, while the scene of the shooting was nearly a mile distant from the torches inside the circle of tents. So remarkably sharp are this witness's eyes that he even saw what kind of pistol the prisoner held in his hands, and how the barrel was hung to the stock, and he is able to identify this pistol of Grayson's as precisely like and probably the identical weapon." Here Lincoln paused and scrutinized Sovine. "All these details he saw and observed in the brief space of time preceding the fatal shot,--saw and observed them at 10 o'clock at night, by means of moonlight shining through the trees--beech-trees in full leaf. That is a pretty hard story. How much light does even a full moon shed in a beech woods like that on the Union camp-ground? Not enough to see your way by, as everybody knows who has had to stumble through such woods." Lincoln paused here, that the words he had spoken might have time to produce their due effect on the judge, and especially on the slower wits of some of the jury. Meanwhile he turned the leaves of his pamphlet. Then he began once more: "But, may it please the court, before proceeding with the witness I would like to have the jury look at the almanac which I hold in my hand. They will here see that on the night of the 9th of last August, when this extraordinary witness"--with a sneer at Dave, who had sunk down on a chair in exhaustion--"saw the shape of a pistol at twenty feet away, at 10 o'clock, by moonlight, the moon did not rise until half-past 1 in the morning." Sovine had been gasping like a fish newly taken from the water while Lincoln uttered these words, and he now began to mutter something. "You may have a chance to explain when the jury get done looking at the almanac," said the lawyer to him. "For the present you'd better keep silence." There was a rustle of excitement in the court-room, but at a word from the judge the sheriff's gavel fell and all was still. Lincoln walked slowly toward the jury-box and gave the almanac to the foreman, an intelligent farmer. Countrymen in that day were used to consulting almanacs, and one group after another of the jurymen satisfied themselves that on the night of the 9th, that is, on the morning of the 10th, the moon came up at half-past 1 o'clock. When all had examined the page, the counsel recovered his little book. "Will you let me look at it?" asked the judge. "Certainly, your Honor"; and the little witness was handed up to the judge, who with habitual caution looked it all over, outside and in, even examining the title-page to make sure that the book was genuine and belonged to the current year. Then he took note on a slip of paper of the moon's rising on the night of August 9 and 10, and handed back the almanac to Lincoln, who slowly laid it face downward on the table in front of him, open at the place of its testimony. The audience in the court-room was utterly silent and expectant. The prosecuting attorney got half-way to his feet to object to Lincoln's course, but he thought better of it and sat down again. "Now, may it please the court," Lincoln went on, "I wish at this point to make a motion. I think the court will not regard it as out of order, as the case is very exceptional--a matter of life and death. This witness has solemnly sworn to a story that has manifestly not one word of truth in it. It is one unbroken falsehood. In order to take away the life of an innocent man he has invented this atrocious web of lies, to the falsity of which the very heavens above bear witness, as this almanac shows you. Now why does David Sovine go to all this trouble to perjure himself? Why does he wish to swear away the life of that young man who never did him any harm?" Lincoln stood still a moment, and looked at the witness, who had grown ghastly pale about the lips. Then he went on, very slowly. "Because that witness shot and killed George Lockwood himself. I move your Honor, that David Sovine be arrested at once for murder." These words, spoken with extreme deliberation and careful emphasis, shook the audience like an explosion. The prosecutor got to his feet, probably to suggest that the motion was not in order, since he had yet a right to a re-direct examination of Sovine, but, as the attorney for the State, his duty was now a divided one as regarded two men charged with the same crime. So he waved his hand irresolutely, stammered inarticulately, and sat down. "This is at least a case of extraordinary perjury," said the judge. "Sheriff, arrest David Sovine! This matter will have to be looked into." The sheriff came down from his seat, and went up to the now stunned and bewildered Sovine. "I arrest you," he said, taking him by the arm. The day-and-night fear of detection in which Dave had lived for all these weeks had wrecked his self-control at last. "God!" he muttered, dropping his head with a sort of shudder. "'T ain't any use keepin' it back any longer. I--didn't mean to shoot him, an' I would n't 'a' come here ag'inst Tom if I could 'a' got away." The words appeared to be wrung from him by some internal agony too strong for him to master; they were the involuntary result of the breaking down of his forces under prolonged suffering and terror, culminating in the slow torture inflicted by his cross-examination. A minute later, when his spasm of irresolution had passed off, he would have retracted his confession if he could. But the sheriff's deputy, with the assistance of a constable, was already leading him through the swaying crowd in the aisle, while many people got up and stood on the benches to watch the exit of the new prisoner. When at length Sovine had disappeared out of the door the spectators turned and looked at Tom, sitting yet in the dock, but with the certainty of speedy release before him. The whole result of Lincoln's masterful stroke was now for the first time realized, and the excitement bade fair to break over bounds. McCord doubled himself up once or twice in the effort to repress his feelings out of respect for the court, but his emotions were too much for him; his big fist, grasping his ragged hat, appeared above his head. "Goshamity! Hooray!" he burst out with a stentorian voice, stamping his foot as he waved his hat. At this the whole court-roomful of people burst into cheers, laughter, cries, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs, in spite of the sheriff's sharp rapping and shouts of "Order in court!" And when at length the people were quieted a little, Mrs. Grayson spoke up, with a choking voice: "Jedge, ain't you a-goin' to let him go now?" There was a new movement of feeling, and the judge called out, "Sheriff, order in court!" But his voice was husky and tremulous. He took off his spectacles to wipe them, and he looked out of the window behind him, and put his handkerchief first to one eye, then to the other, before he put his glasses back. "May it please the court," said the tall lawyer, who had remained standing, waiting for the tempest to subside, and who now spoke in a subdued voice, "I move your Honor, that the jury be instructed to render a verdict of 'Not guilty.'" The judge turned to the prosecuting attorney. "I don't think, your Honor," stammered Allen, "that I ought to object to the motion of my learned brother, under the peculiar circumstances of this case." "I don't think you ought," said the judge, promptly, and he proceeded to give the jury instructions to render the desired verdict. As soon as the jury, nothing loath, had gone through the formality of a verdict, the sheriff came and opened the door of the box to allow Tom to come out. "O Tom! they are letting you out," cried Janet, running forward to meet him as he came from the dock. She had not quite understood the drift of these last proceedings until this moment. This greeting by little Janet induced another burst of excitement. It was no longer of any use for the judge to keep on saying "Sheriff, command order in court!" All the sheriff's rapping was in vain; it was impossible to arrest and fine everybody. The judge was compelled to avail himself of the only means of saving the court's dignity by adjourning for the day, while Mrs. Grayson was already embracing her Tommy under his very eyes. As for Barbara, overcome by the reaction of feeling, she sat still in passive happiness which she did not care to show to this crowd, whose late unfriendly manifestations toward Tom she could not yet quite forgive. Hardly conscious of what was passing around her, she did not observe that her mother had presently let go her hold on Tom, and that Tom had come near and was standing in front of her. Her natural reserve made her wish to avoid a scene in public, but there are times when natural reserve is not a sufficient barrier. Tom gently put his hand on her shoulder and said "Barb," then all sense of the presence of others was obliterated in an instant. The only fact that she took note of was that her brother was there before her with unmanacled hands, free to go where he listed and forever delivered from the danger that had hung over him so imminently. Of what she did you must not expect a description; embraces and kisses of joy would seem hysterical if set down here in black and white for readers of our time, who like the color washed out of a human passion before it is offered to them. No! no! let us turn away--we do not like such things. But those hearty Illinois folk who looked on that scene between Barbara and Tom, and whose quick sympathies made them part of it, did not feel the slightest disapproval when they saw the faithful sister put her arms about Tom's neck; and every one of her kisses they seconded with clapping of hands and cheers, and some of the people were even foolish enough to weep for sympathy. XXVIII FREE The lawyers presently congratulated Lincoln, Barbara tried to thank him, and Judge Watkins felt that Impartial Justice herself, as represented in his own person, could afford to praise the young man for his conduct of the case. "Abr'am," said Mrs. Grayson, "d' yeh know I kind uv lost confidence in you when you sot there so long without doin' _any_thing." Then, after a moment of pause: "Abr'am, I'm thinkin' I'd ort to deed you my farm. You've 'arned it, my son; the good Lord A'mighty knows you have." "I'll never take one cent, Aunt Marthy--not a single red cent"; and the lawyer turned away to grasp Tom's hand. But the poor fellow who had so recently felt the halter about his neck could not yet speak his gratitude. "Tom here," said Lincoln, "will be a help in your old days, Aunt Marthy, and then I'll be paid a hundred times. You see it'll tickle me to think that when you talk about this you'll say: 'That's the same Abe Lincoln that I used to knit stockings for when he was a poor little fellow, with his bare toes sticking out of ragged shoes in the snow.'" Mrs. Grayson tried to say something more, but she could not. Tom got his speech at length, when he saw the gigantesque form and big laughing red face of Bob McCord approaching him. "Bob!" he said, "you dear old Bob! God A'mighty bless you, old fellow." "I'm that tickled," said Bob, rocking to and fro with amusement. "Tom, you'd orto 'a' seed Jake Hogan's face. I watched it closte. Go to thunder! How it did git mixed about the time you wuz let out! I'm a-goin' to find 'im un see how he feels agin this time"; and Bob let go of Tom's hand and moved off through the crowd to look for Jake. Tom took mechanically all the congratulations offered to him. Rachel came with the rest; there were some traces of tears about her long lashes as she beamed on Tom the full effulgence of her beauty and friendliness. Tom gave a little start when he saw her; then he took her hand, as he did that of the others, in a half-unconscious way. He was everybody's hero in the reaction of feeling, but he had been so near to the gallows within an hour that he had difficulty yet in appreciating the change. "You'll come back into the office again, won't you, Tom?" said Blackman, in a spurt of good feeling. "I don't know, Mr. Blackman. I must go home and rest, and be sure I'm alive, before I know what I shall do." Tom's uncle had been utterly surprised by the turn affairs had taken, for he had never really doubted Tom's guilt. Now he was, for the first time, almost effusive; he gave himself credit that he had stood by his nephew. "We'd like to have you back, Tom," he said; "and you'd be a general favorite now." "I want to go home first, Uncle Tom, and get the place out of debt, so mother and Barb'll be easy in their minds. Then I don't know what I _shall_ do. I don't feel as if I could ever come to town again without fetching mother with me. But I can't tell; I want to get out of this town; I hate the very sight of it. Come, Barb; do let's get off. Where's the horse? I want to get home, where I won't see any more of this crowd, and where I can be alone with you and mother." Before they had made their way to the front door of the court-house the multitude outside had got firm hold of the fact of Tom's acquittal and the manner of it, and when he appeared they set up a shout; then there were cheers and more cheers. But Tom only looked worried, and sought to extricate himself from the people who followed him. At length he managed to get away from the last of them. "You haven't ate anything to-day," said Janet, who clung to his hand and danced along by his side. "Come to our house to supper. I expect we'll have warm biscuits and honey." "You dear little body!" said Tom. "I can't stop for supper to-night, Janet; I must go home with mother. I want to get out of the ugly town. I'll come and see you sometimes, and I'll have you out at the farm lots of times." He stopped to put his pale, trembling hand under her pretty chin; he turned her face up to his, he stooped and kissed her. But no entreaty could prevail on him to delay his departure. Not even the biscuits and honey on which Janet insisted. Hiram Mason helped him to hitch up old Blaze-face to the wagon. Then Tom turned to Hiram and grasped both his arms. "You're going with us," he said abruptly. "Not to-night, Tom. I'll come in a few days, when I've finished my writing in the clerk's office. I'll stop on my way home." "I want to thank you, but I can't; confound it," said Tom. "Never mind, Tom; I'm almost happier than you are." "I'm not exactly happy, Mason," said Tom; "I've got that plaguey feeling of a rope around my neck yet. I can't get rid of it here in Moscow. Maybe out at the farm I shall be able to shake it off. Janet, won't you run into the house and tell mother and Barbara to come out quick--I want to get away." Tom had expected that Bob McCord would take a place in the wagon, but Bob was not so modest as to forego a public triumph. He first went and recovered the wagon-spoke from beneath the court-house steps, where he had hidden it the night before. This he put into the baggy part of his "wamus," or hunting-jacket--the part above the belt into which he had often thrust prairie-chickens when he had no game-bag. Then he contrived to encounter Jake Hogan in the very thick of the crowd. "O Jake!" he called, "what's the price uh rope? How's the hangin' business a-gittin' along these days? Doin' well at it, ain't yeh?" "Wha' joo mean?" asked Jake, as he half turned about and regarded Bob with big eyes. "Seems like's ef you'd ort to be'n ole han' by this time, Jake. You sot the time fer Tom's funeral three deffer'nt nights: wunst you wuz a-goin' to have it over't Perrysburg, un wunst the Sunday night that Pete Markham throwed you off the track weth that air yarn about a wall-eyed man weth red whiskers, un wunst ag'in las' night. Ev'ry time you sot it they wuz some sort uv a hitch; it didn't seem to come off rightly. S'pose un you try yer hand on Dave Sovine awhile. They's luck in a change." "I hain't had no han' in no hangin's nor nuthin' uh that sort," snarled Jake. "_You_ hain't? Jest you go un tell that out on Broad Run, sonny. Looky h-yer, Jake. I've got the evidence agin you, un ef you _dare_ me I'll go afore the gran' jury weth it. I jest dare you to dare me, _ef_ you dare." But Jake did not dare to dare him. He only moved slowly away toward his horse, the excited crowd surging after him, to his disgust. "Looky h-yer, Jake," Bob went on, following his retreat. "I want to gin you some _ad_vice as a well-wishin' friend un feller-citizen. Barb'ry knowed your v'ice las' night, un Barb'ry Grayson hain't the sort uv a gal to stan' the sort uv foolin' 't you've been a-doin' about Tom." "Aw, you shet up yer jaw, now wonchoo?" said Jake. "I say, Jake," said McCord, still pursuing the crest-fallen leader of Broad Run, while the crowd moved about Big Bob as a storm center. "I say there, Jake; liker 'n not Barb'ry'll stay in town to-night un go afore the gran' jury to-morry. Now ef I wuz you I'd cl'ar the county this very _i_dentical night. Your ornery lantern-jawed face wouldn' look half's han'some as Tom's in that air box in front uv the sher'f." "You shet up!" said Jake. "Come un shet me up, wonch you?" said Bob, rubbing his hands and laughing. Jake had reached his horse now, and without another word he mounted and rode away. But Bob kept walking about with his fists in his pockets, his big elbows protruding, and his face radiant with mischief until Sheriff Plunkett came out of the court-house. "I say, Sher'f," he called, "how many men'd you say they wuz in that air fust mob?" "Nigh onto forty, I should think," said Plunkett; "but of course I can't just exactly say." And he walked away, not liking to be catechised. There was something mysterious about that mob, and he was afraid there might be something that would count in the next election. "They had pistols, didn't they?" Bob continued, following him. "Yes, to be sure," said Plunkett, pausing irresolutely. "Now looky h-yer, Sher'f; I know sumpin about that air mob. They wuzn't but jest on'y two men in the whole thing. I don't say who they _wuz_"; and here Bob looked about on the crowd, which showed unmistakable signs of its relish for this revelation. "Un as fer pistols, they did have 'em. I've got one of 'em h-yer." Bob here pulled the wagon-spoke from the depths of his hunting-shirt. "That's one of the identical hoss-pistols that wuz p'inted at your head las' night. Felt kind-uh cold un creepy like, didn't it now, Hank Plunkett, when its muzzle was agin yer head, un it cocked, besides? Ha-a! ha!" The crowd jeered and joined in Bob's wild merriment. "I'll have you arrested," said the sheriff severely. "You've confessed enough now to make the grand jury indict you." "Fer what? Fer savin' the life uv a innercent man? That'd be a purty howdy-do, now wouldn't it? Un it would be a lovely story to tell at my trial, that the sher'f uv this yere county gin up his keys to two men, _two lonesome men weth on'y wagon-spokes_! He-e! An' the wagon-spokes cocked! A wagon-spoke's a mighty bad thing when it does go off, especially ef it's loadened with buckshot." Plunkett came close to McCord, and said in an undertone loud enough to be heard by others: "Ah, Bob, I knowed it wuz your voice, un I knowed your grip. They ain't any other man in this county that can put me down the way you did las' night. But don't you tell Jake ur any of his crowd about it"; and he winked knowingly at Bob. "Aw, go to thunder, now!" said Bob, speaking loudly and not to be cajoled into giving up his fun. "Sher'f, you can't come no gum games on _me_. By jeementley crickets, you wuz skeered, un that's all they is about it. You wilted so 't I wuz afeerd you'd clean faint away afore I could git out uv yeh where the keys wuz. Why didn't you hide Tom summers? You wuz afeerd Broad Run'd vote agin you, un you as good as tole Jake Hogan ut you wouldn' make no trouble when he come to lynch Tom." "No, I didn't; I didn't have anything to say to Jake." "Ef you take my case afore the gran' jury un I'm tried, I'll prove it on yeh. Now, Hank Plunkett, they's two things that'll never happen." Here Bob smote his right fist into his left palm. "One is 't you'll ever fetch my case afore the gran' jury. That's as shore's you're born. T' other is that you'll ever be elected ag'in! Wha'd joo turn off Pete Markham fer? Fer tryin' to save Tom, un to please Broad Run. Now you're come up weth, ole hoss. Markham'll be the nex' sher'f. You jest cut a notch in a stick to remember't Big Bob McCord tole you so. Ef 't hadn' been fer me 'n' Abe Lincoln you 'n' Jake, 'twext and 'tween yeh, 'd 'a' hung the wrong feller. Now I jest want to see you fetch me afore the court wunst. Ef you pester me too much, I'm derned 'f I don't go thar on m' own hook." "You've been drinking, Bob," said Plunkett, as he hurried away; but the people evidently sided with McCord, whose exploit of mobbing the sheriff almost single-handed had made him more than ever the champion of the county. That night Jake Hogan, afraid of arrest, succeeded in trading his cabin, with the front door still unhinged, and his little patch of rugged ground for a one-horse wagon and some provisions. Over the wagon he stretched his only two bed-sheets of unbleached domestic for covering. Before noon the next day, he had passed safely out of the county. The raw-boned horse, the rickety wagon, the impoverished and unwilling cow tied behind, the two yellow mongrel pups between the wagon-wheels, and the frowsy-headed wife alongside of him were token enough to every experienced eye that here was a poor whitey on his travels. To all inquiries regarding his destination, Jake returned: "I'm boun' fer _Mes_souri. Yeh see they hain't no kind of a chance fer a poor man in this yer daudrautted Eelinoys country." Once an example of migration had been set, his neighbors grew restless also, and in a year or two nearly all of them had obeyed their hereditary instinct and followed him to Pike County in Missouri. The most of the Broad Run neighborhood is now included in a great grazing farm; here a few logs, there some tumble-down ruins of a stick-chimney, and in another place a rough stone hearth, only remain to indicate the resting-place for a few years of a half-nomadic clan, whose members or their descendants are by this time engaged, probably, in helping to rid the Pacific coast of its unchristian Chinese. XXIX THE CLOSE OF A CAREER Dave Sovine's partial confession, which had served to acquit Tom, was sufficient at the next term of the court to condemn him, for no plea of accidental shooting could save him after he had tried to escape at the expense of another man's life. During his trial the motive for shooting Lockwood remained an inexplicable mystery. But when once Dave was convinced that his execution was inevitable and there was an end to all the delights of deviltry, he proceeded to play the only card remaining in his hand, and to euchre Justice on her own deal. Like other murderers of his kind he became religious, and nothing could be more encouraging to criminals than the clearness and fervor of his religious experience, and his absolute certainty of the rewards of paradise. His superiority in wickedness had made him the hero of all the green goslings of the village; his tardy conversion and shining professions made him an object of philanthropic interest to sentimental people and gave him the consolations of conspicuity to the last. It was during this lurid sunset period of his unnecessary existence that Dave made confessions. These were not always consistent one with another; the capacity for simple and direct truth-telling is a talent denied to men of Sovine's stamp, nor can it be developed in a brief season of penitence. It is quite probable that Sovine failed to state the exact truth even when narrating his religious experiences. But by a comparison of his stories, with some elimination of contradictory elements, the main facts regarding the death of George Lockwood were made out with passable clearness. Being of a thrifty turn of mind, Lockwood had, by a series of careful observations, detected one of the principal tricks employed by Dave to win the money of the unwary. It had been Lockwood's purpose to play the trick back on Dave at some favorable opportunity, but this he found quite impossible. To bring himself to Dave's proficiency in manipulation no end of assiduous practice would be needful. There remained one other way in which he might utilize his discovery. It was an established rule in that part of the country that he who detected his opponent in the very act of cheating at cards might carry off the stakes. When Lockwood went to the camp-meeting he put into his pocket a bit of candle, in order to have a game with Dave; and when on encountering him Dave proposed the game, the two went out into the woods, remote from the meeting, Lockwood lighted his candle and they sat down on a log to play. Lockwood won at first and doubled the stakes at every game, until Dave, seeing that his pocket-money was running short, and the candle fast wasting in the breezes, concluded to sweep in the stakes with his favorite trick. George Lockwood exposed the cheat at the very instant, and put the stakes in his pocket. But Dave had received his education in its higher branches in the South-west of half a century ago, and he had no notion of suffering himself to be bankrupted so easily. He drew his pistol and demanded the stakes, following Lockwood with reiterated threats, until, in a moment of exasperation, he shot him. A crowd came quickly at the sound of the pistol, and Dave had the shrewdness not to run away and not to attempt to take any money from George Lockwood's person. Remembering Tom Grayson's threats, he declared, with his usual alertness in mendacity, that he had seen Grayson do the shooting, and thus diverted attention from himself. He had no further thought at the time than to get out of a present difficulty; it was his purpose to leave the country before the trial should come on. But he found himself watched, and he imagined that he was suspected. He saw no chance to move without making sure of his own arrest; he became alarmed and unfitted for decision by the sense of his peril; as the trial approached, his nerves, shaken by dissipations, were unstrung by the debate within him. He saw ghosts at night and his sleep almost entirely forsook him. This horror of a doom that seemed perpetually to hang over him was greatly enhanced by the cross-examination to which he was subjected; from the first he misdoubted that Lincoln had penetrated his whole secret and possessed the means of making it known. And when he heard himself charged publicly with the murder and as publicly arrested, he believed that some evidence against him had been found; he did not draw the line between the charge and the proof, and the half confession escaped him in the first breakdown produced by sudden despair. But at the last he spoke edifyingly from the scaffold, and died with as much composure and more self-complacency than Tom would have shown had he fallen a victim to Dave's rascality. What becomes of such men in another world is none of my business. But I am rather pleased to have them depart, be it to paradise, or purgatory, or limbo, or any other compartment of the world of spirits. In some moods I could even wish them a prosperous voyage to the Gehenna of our forefathers, now somewhat obsolescent, if only they would begone and cease to vex this rogue-ridden little world of ours. XXX TOM AND RACHEL When Tom rode home from the trial with his mother and Barbara, his emotions were not just what one might expect; the events of the day and the tremendous strain on his nerves had benumbed him. He was only conscious that it gave him a great pleasure to leave the village behind, and to get once more upon the open prairie, which was glorified by the tints and shadows of the setting sun. The fields of maize, with their tassels growing brown and already too ripe and stiff to wave freely, and with their long blades becoming harsh and dry, so that the summer rustle had changed to a characteristic autumnal rattling, seemed to greet him like old friends who had visibly aged in his absence. Tom found his mind, from sheer strain and weariness, fixing itself on unimportant things; he noted that the corn-silk which protruded from the shucks was black, and that the shucks themselves were taking on that sear look which is the sure token of the ripeness of the ear within the envelope. Now and then he marked an ear that had grown so long as to push its nose of cob quite beyond the envelope. The stretches of prairie grass showed a mixture of green and brown; the September rains had freshened a part of the herbage, giving it a new verdure, but the riper stalks and blades had maintained their neutral colors. These things interested Tom in a general way, as marking the peaceful changes that had taken place in the familiar face of nature during his period of incarceration. What he felt in regarding these trifles was simply that he was alive and once more free to go where he pleased. He said little, and replied to the remarks of his mother and Barbara briefly, and he drove old Blaze-face at a speed quite unbecoming a horse at his time of life. The people whom he passed cheered him, or called out their well-meant congratulation, or their bitter remarks about Dave Sovine, but Tom on his part was not demonstrative; he even drove past Rachel Albaugh and her brother Ike with only a nod of recognition. To any remark of his mother and Barbara about Dave's villainy, and to any allusion to the case, he returned the briefest answers, giving the impression that he wished to get mentally as well as physically away from the subject. When he got home he asked for an old-fashioned country hoe-cake for supper, and he would have the table set out on the kitchen porch; he said it seemed so delightful to be permitted to go out-of-doors again. After supper he turned old Blaze into the pasture, with a notion that he too might prefer his liberty. In reflecting on the events of the day, Barbara remembered with pleasure that Rachel had congratulated Tom. It made his vindication complete that the young woman who had refused his attentions when he was accused of nothing worse than foolish gambling had now taken pains to show her good-will in public. But when the question of a possible renewal of the relations between Tom and his old sweetheart came up in Barbara's mind, there was always a doubt. Not that there was anything objectionable about Rachel Albaugh. Barbara said to her mother over and over again, in the days that followed Tom's acquittal, that there was nothing against Rachel. If Rachel was not very industrious she was certainly "easy-tempered." In her favor it could be said that she had a beautiful face, and that she would be joint heiress with her brother to a large and well-improved prairie farm, to say nothing of her father's tract of timber-land. After a while Barbara came to wish that Tom's old affection for Rachel might be kindled again. She did not like to see him so changed. He plodded incessantly at farm work, and he seemed to have lost his relish for society. If any one came to the house, he managed to have business abroad. He was not precisely gloomy, but the change in him was so marked that it made his sister unhappy. "Why don't you go to see Rachel?" she asked, a week after the trial. Barbara was straining her eyes down the road, as she often did in those days. "Rachel would be glad to see you again, Tom, like as not." "Maybe she would," answered Tom, as he picked up the pail and started to the spring for water by way of cutting off all further talk on the question. The days went by without Tom's showing by any sign that he cared to see Rachel, and to Barbara's grief the days went by without Hiram Mason's promised arrival at the Graysons'. But there came presently a note from Hiram to Barbara, saying that he had been detained by the necessity he was under of finishing Magill's writing, and by the difficulty he found in getting his pay from the easy-going clerk for what he had done. But he hoped to stop on his way home in three or four days. This note was brought from Moscow by Bob McCord, who also brought Janet. The child had teased her father into letting her come out in Aunt Martha's wagon with Bob, whom she had seen driving past the house on his way in. Janet spent her time in the country wholly with Tom. She followed him afield, she climbed with him into the barn lofts, she sat on the back of old Blaze when Tom led him to water, she went into the forest when Tom went to fell trees for fire-wood, she helped him to pick apples, and she was as happy in all this as she would have been in the Elysian Fields. "Cousin Tom," she said, the day after her arrival, as she leaned out of the high, open window of the hay-loft, "yonder's a lady getting down on the horse-block at the house." Tom climbed up from the threshing-floor to the mow, and, standing well back out of sight in the gloom of the loft, he recognized Rachel Albaugh's horse. Then he went back again to his wheat-fanning on the threshing-floor. "Aren't you going to go and help her?" said Janet, when Tom stopped the noisy fanning-mill to shovel back the wheat and to rake away the cheat. "Pshaw!" said Tom. "A country girl doesn't need any help to get off a horse." Rachel had come to call on Barbara, nor did she admit to herself that her visit had anything to do with Tom. But she found herself in an attitude to which she was unaccustomed. From the moment that Tom had been charged with murder her liking for him increased. The question of his guilt or innocence did not disturb her--except in so far as it jeoparded his life; he was at least a dashing fellow, out of the common run. And now that he had been acquitted, and was a hero of everybody, Rachel found in herself a passion that was greater than her vanity, and that overmastered even her prudence. She was tormented by her thoughts of Tom in the day, she dreamed of him at night. Tom would not come to her, and she felt herself at length drawn by a force she could not resist to go to him. Barbara asked Rachel to stay to dinner, and promised that Tom would put away her horse as soon as he knew that she had come. This was but the common hospitality of the country, but Barbara hoped that Rachel's presence might evoke Tom's old buoyant self again. And so, while Barbara sat on the loom-bench weaving a web of striped linsey, Rachel sat near her, knitting. It appeared to Barbara that Rachel had undergone almost as great a change as Tom. She had lost her taciturnity. Her tongue kept pace with the click of her needles. She only broke the thread of her talk when she paused to take the end of one needle out of the quill of her knitting-case and put another in. Under color of sympathy for the Graysons in their troubles she talked of what was in her mind. How dreadful it must have been for Tom to be in jail! How anxious he must have been at the trial! How well he bore up under it all! How proud he must have been when he was acquitted! These and such remarks were web and woof of her talk, while Barbara was throwing her nimble shuttle to and fro and driving the threads home with the double-beat of her loom-comb. By half-past 11 the early farm dinner was almost ready, and Mrs. Grayson blew a blast on the tin horn which hung outside of the door, to let Tom and Janet know that they were to come in. When Tom heard the horn he went and led Rachel's horse to the stable, after perching Janet in the saddle; and then he delayed long enough to shuck out and give him eight or ten ears of corn. After this he came to the house and washed his hands and face in the country way, with much splash and spatter, in a basin that sat on a bench outside of the door, and Janet washed hers, imitating to the best of her ability Tom's splattering way of dashing the water about. Then the two used the towel that hung on a roller in the kitchen porch, and Tom entered the kitchen with his clothes soiled by labor and with that look of healthful fatigue which comes of plentiful exercise in the open air. "Howdy, Rachel? All well 't your house?" This was the almost invariable formula of country politeness, and it was accompanied by a faint smile of welcome and a grasp of her hand. "Howdy, Tom?" said Rachel, cordially. "I hope you are well." Rachel regarded him a moment, and then let her eyes droop. Had Rachel discovered that her face was at its best when her long eyelashes were lowered in this fashion, or was the action merely instinctive? "Oh, so-so!" answered Tom, uneasily, as he seated himself with the rest at the table. Rachel sat next to him, and he treated her with hospitable politeness, but she looked in vain for any sign of his old affection. She hardly once fairly encountered his eye during the meal. He seemed more indifferent to her attractions than she had ever known any man, old or young, to be. And yet she knew that her charms had lost nothing of their completeness. That very morning she had gone into the rarely opened Albaugh parlor and examined herself in the largest looking-glass in the house--the one that hung between the parlor windows, and that had a print of Mount Vernon in the upper panel of the space inclosed between the turned frames. Her fresh and yet delicate complexion was without a speck or flaw, her large eyes were as lustrous as ever, and there was the same exquisite symmetry and harmony of features that had made her a vision of loveliness to so many men. But Tom seemed more interested in his cousin, whom he kept laughing with a little childish byplay while talking to his sister's guest. Rachel felt herself baffled, and by degrees, though treated cordially, she began to feel humiliated. When dinner was finished by a course of pumpkin pie and quince preserves served with cream, Tom pushed back his chair and explained that he was just going to begin building some rail pens to hold the corn when it should be gathered and shucked, and that he could not allow himself the usual noon-time rest. The days were getting so short, you know. Would Rachel excuse him? Barbara would blow the horn so that he could put the saddle on Rachel's horse when she wanted it. But wouldn't she stay to supper? Rachel declined to stay to supper, and she was visibly less animated after dinner than she had been before. The conversation flagged on both sides; Barbara became preoccupied with her winding-blades, her bobbins, and her shuttle, while Rachel was absorbed in turning the heel of her stocking. By half-past 1 o'clock the guest felt bound to go home; the days were getting shorter and there was much to be done at home, she remembered. The horn was blown, and Tom led her horse out to the block and helped her to mount. As he held her stirrup for her to place her foot, it brought to his memory, with a rush, her refusal to let him ride home with her from the Timber Creek school-house after the "singing." When he looked up he saw that Rachel's mind had followed the same line of association; both of them colored at this manifest encounter of their thoughts. "I suppose I oughtn't to have said 'no' that day at the school-house." Rachel spoke with feeling, moved more by the desperate desire she felt to draw Tom out than by any calculation in making the remark. "Yes, you ought," said Tom. "I never blamed you." Then there was an awkward pause. "Good-bye, Tom," said Rachel, extending her hand. "Won't you come over and see us sometime?" "I'm generally too tired when night comes. Good-bye, Rachel"; and he took her hand in a friendly way. But this was one of those farewells that are aggravated by mental contrast, and Rachel felt, as she looked at Tom's serious and preoccupied face, that it was to her the end of a chapter. Tom started up the pathway toward the house, but stopped half-way and plucked a ripe seed-pod from the top of a poppy-stalk, and rubbed it out between his two hands as he looked a little regretfully after Rachel until she disappeared over the hill. Then he turned and saw Barbara standing on the porch regarding him inquiringly. "You aren't like yourself any more, Tom," she said. "I know that," he answered, meditatively, at the same time filliping the minute poppy-seeds away, half a dozen at a time, with his thumb. "I don't seem to be the same fellow that I was three months ago. Then I'd 'a' followed Rachel like a dog every step of the way home." "She's awfully in love with you, poor girl." "Oh! she'll get over that, I suppose. She's been in love before." "And you don't care for her any more?" "I don't seem to care for anything that I used to care for. I wouldn't like to be what I used to be." This sentence was rather obscure, and Barbara still looked at Tom inquiringly and waited for him to explain. But he only went on in the same inconsequential way, as he plucked and rubbed out another poppy-head. "I don't care for anything nowadays, but just to stay with you and mother. When a fellow's been through what I have, I suppose he isn't ever the same that he was; it takes the _ambition_ out of you. Hanging makes an awful change in your feelings, you know"; and he smiled grimly. "Don't say that; you make me shiver," said Barbara. "But I say, Barb," and with this Tom sowed broadcast all the poppy-seed in his hand, "yonder comes somebody over the hill that'll get a warmer welcome than Rachel did, I'll guarantee." How often in the last week had Barbara looked to see if somebody were not coming over the hill! Now she found her vision obstructed by a "laylock" bush, and she came down the path to where her brother stood. As soon as she had made out that the pedestrian was certainly Hiram Mason, she turned and went into the house, to change her apron for a fresher one, and with an instinctive wish to hide from Mason a part of the eagerness she had felt for his coming. But when he had reached the gate and was having his hand cordially shaken by Tom, Barbara came back to the door to greet him; and just because she couldn't help it, she went out on the porch, then down the steps and half-way to the gate to tell him how glad she was to see him. XXXI HIRAM AND BARBARA The cordiality of his welcome was a surprise to Mason; he could hardly tell why. The days had dragged heavily since his separation from Barbara, and his mind had been filled with doubts. The delay imposed upon him by Barbara's circumstances and then by his own was unwholesome; love long restrained from utterance is apt to make the soul sick. During his last week in Moscow he had copied court minutes and other documents into the folio records in an abstracted fashion, while the conscious part of his intellect was debating his chance of securing Barbara's consent. He fancied that she might hold herself more than ever aloof from him now; that her pride had been too deeply wounded to recover, and that she would never bring herself to accept him. When he had at length finished all there was for him to do in the clerk's office at Moscow, and Magill had contrived to borrow enough money to pay him his fifty cents a day, Mason was too impatient to wait for some wagon bound for the Timber Creek neighborhood. He started on foot, intending to pass the night under the friendly roof of the Graysons, and to push on homeward in the morning; for he would already be a month late in beginning his college year. His mind was revolving the plan of his campaign against Barbara's pride all the way over the great lonely level prairie, the vista of which stretched away to the west until it was interrupted by a column of ominous black smoke, which told of the beginning of the autumnal prairie fires that annually sweep the great grassy plains and keep them free of trees. At length the tantalizing forest, so long in sight, was reached, and he entered the pale fringe of slender poplar-trees--that forlorn hope thrown out by the forest in its perpetual attempt to encroach on a prairie annually fire-swept. But when at last he entered the greater forest itself, now half denuded of its shade, the problem was still before him. He contrived with much travail of mind what seemed to him an ingenious device for overcoming Barbara's fear of his family. He would propose that his mother should write her a letter giving a hearty assent to his proposal of marriage. If that failed, he could not think of any other plan likely to be effective. Like many conversations planned in absence, this one did not seem so good when he had the chance to test it. The way in which Tom welcomed him at the gate, shaking his hand and taking hold of his arm in an affectionate, informal way, gave him an unexpected pleasure, though nothing could be more natural under the circumstances than Tom's gratitude. And when Tom said, "Barbara'll be awful glad to see you, an' so'll Mother," Mason was again surprised. Not that he knew any good reason why Barbara and her mother should not be glad to see him, but he who broods long over his feelings will hatch forebodings. When Hiram looked up from Tom at the gate, he saw Barbara's half-petite figure and piquant face, full as ever of force and aspiration, waiting half-way down the walk. Barbara paused there, half-way to the gate, but she could not wait even there; she came on down farther and met him, and looked in his eyes frankly and told him--with some reserve in her tone, it is true, but with real cordiality--that she was glad to see him. And by the time he reached the porch, Mother Grayson herself--kindly, old-fashioned soul that she was--stood in the door and greeted Mason with tears in her eyes. After a little rest and friendly talk in the cool, well-kept, home-like sitting-room, Hiram went out with Tom to look about the familiar place. The fruit trees were pretty well stripped of their foliage by a recent wind and the ground was carpeted with brown and red and yellow leaves, while the rich autumn sunlight, which but half warmed the atmosphere, gave one an impression of transientness and of swift-impending change. It was one of those days on which the seasons are for the instant arrested--a little moment of repose and respite before the inevitable catastrophe. The busiest man can hardly resist the influence of such a day; farmers are prone to bask in the slant sunlight at such times and to talk to one another over line-fences or seated on top-rails. The crows fly hither and thither in the still air, and the swallows, gathered in noisy concourse, seem reluctant to set out upon their southward journey. But Mason soon left Tom and entered the kitchen, where he sat himself down upon a bench over against the loom and watched the swift going to and fro of Barbara's nimble shuttle, and listened to the muffled pounding of the loom-comb, presently finding a way to make himself useful by winding bobbins. The two were left alone at intervals during the afternoon, but Mason could not summon courage to reopen the question so long closed between them. His awkward reserve reacted on Barbara, and conversation between them became difficult, neither being able to account for the mood of the other. After a while Janet, tired with following Tom the livelong day, came into the kitchen and besought Barbara to sing "that song about Dick, you know"; and though Mason did not know who Dick might be, he thought he would rather hear Barbara sing than to go on trying to keep up a flagging conversation; so he seconded Janet's request. When Barbara had tied a broken string in the "harness" of the loom, she resumed her seat on the bench and sang while she wove. BARBARA'S WEAVING SONG. Fly, shuttle, right merrily, merrily, Carry the swift-running thread; Keep time to the fancy that eagerly Weaveth a web in my head. For Dick he will come again, come again, Dick he will come again home from afar With musket and powder-horn, Musket and powder-horn, home from the war. Beat up the threads lustily, lustily, Weave me a web good and strong; Heart brimful and flowing with joyousness Ever is bursting with song. For Dick he will come again, etc. Warp, hold the woof lovingly, lovingly, Taking and holding it fast; Hearts bound together in unity Love with a love that will last. For Dick he will come again, come again, Dick he will come again home from afar With musket and powder-horn, Musket and powder-horn, home from the war. By the time the ditty was ended, Mrs. Grayson was setting the supper-table by the fire-place, doing her best to honor her guest. She took down the long-handled waffle-irons and made a plate of those delicious cakes unknown since kitchen fire-places went out, and the like of which will perhaps never be known again henceforth. She got out some of the apple-butter, of which half a barrel had been made so toilsomely but the week before, and this she flanked with a dish of her peach preserves, kept sacredly for days of state. The "chaney" cups and saucers were also set out in honor of Hiram, and the almost transparent preserved peaches were eaten with country cream, from saucers thin enough to show an opalescent translucency, and decorated with a gilt band and delicate little flowers. This china, which had survived the long wagon-journey from Maryland, was not often trusted upon the table. "My! What a nice supper we've got, Aunt Marthy!" said Janet, clapping her hands, as they took their seats at the table. "It seems to me you're making company out of me," said Mason, in a tone of protest. "We sha'n't have you again soon, Mason," said Tom, "and we don't often see the like of you." The words were spontaneous, but Tom ducked his head with a half-ashamed air when he had spoken them. Barbara liked Tom's little speech: it expressed feelings that she could not venture to utter; and it had, besides, a touch of Tom's old gayety of feeling in it. When supper was well out of the way Hiram proposed a walk with Barbara, but it did no good. They talked mechanically about what they were not thinking about, and by the time they got back to the house Mason was becoming desperate. He must leave in the morning very early, and he had made no progress; he could not bring himself to approach the subject about which Barbara seemed so loath to speak, and concerning which he dreaded a rebuff as he dreaded death. They entered the old kitchen and found no one there; the embers were flickering in the spacious fire-place and peopling the room with grotesque shadows and dancing lights. "Let us sit here awhile, Barbara," he said, with a strange note of entreaty in his tone, as he swung the heavy door shut and put down the wooden latch--relic of the pioneer period. "Just as you please, Mr. Mason," answered Barbara, "Oh! say _Hiram_, won't you?" He said this with a touch of impatience. "Hiram!" said Barbara, laughing. He led her to the loom-bench. "Sit there on high, as you did the night you put me into a state of misery from which I haven't escaped yet. There, put your feet on the chair-rung, as you did that night." He spoke with peremptoriness, as he placed a chair for her feet, so that she might sit with her back to the loom. Then he drew up another shuck-bottomed chair in such a way as to sit beside and yet half facing her, but lower. "Now," he said, doggedly, "we can finish the talk we had then." "That seems ages ago," said Barbara, dreamily; "so much has happened since." "So long ago that you don't care to renew the subject?" "I--" But Barbara stopped short. The feeble blaze in the fire-place suddenly went out. Hiram did not know where to begin. He got up and took some dry chips from a basket and threw them on the slumbering coals, so as to set the flame a-going again. Then he sat down in his chair and looked up at the now silent Barbara, and tried in vain to guess her mood. But she remained silent and waited for him to take the lead. "Do you remember what you said then?" he asked. "No! how can I? It seems so long ago." "You said a pack of nonsense." As he blurted out this charge Mason turned his head round obliquely, still regarding Barbara. "Did I? That's just like me," Barbara answered, with a little laugh. "No, it isn't like you," he replied, almost rudely. "You're the most sensible woman I ever knew, except on one subject." "What's that?" Barbara was startled by the vehemence and abruptness of his speech, and she asked this in a half-frightened voice. "Your pride. I looked up to you then, as I do now. You're something above me--I just worship you." To a man of maturity this sort of talk seems extravagant enough. But one must let youth paint itself as it will, with all its follies on its head. You've said sillier things than that in your time, sober reader--you know you have! "I do just worship you, Barbara Grayson," Hiram went on; "but you talked a parcel of fool stuff that night about the superiority of my family, and about your not being able to bear it that my people should look down on you, and--well, a pack of tomfoolery; that's what it was, Barbara, and there's no use of calling it anything else." Barbara was silent. "Now, I'm not going to give you a chance to make any more such speeches. But I want to ask you whether, if I should send you a letter from my mother when I get home, and maybe from my sisters too, after I have told them the whole truth, urging you to accept me and become one of our family--I want to know whether, then, you would be willing; whether you'd take pity on a poor fellow who can't get along without you. Would that suit you?" "No, it wouldn't," said Barbara, looking at the now blazing chips in the fire-place with her head bent forward. "Well, what on earth _would_, then?" And Mason tilted back his chair in the nervousness of desperation and brought his eyes to a focus on her face, which was strangely illuminated in the flickering foot-lights from the hearth. "Did I talk that way last summer?" "Yes, you did." "It must have hurt you. I can see it hurt you, from the way you speak about it." "Yes," said Mason; "I've been in a sort of purgatory ever since." "And I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'd rather do anything than to hurt your feelings." Here she paused, unable to proceed at once, but he waited for her to show the way. Presently she went on: "Now, Mr. Mason,--Hiram, I mean,--I'm going to punish myself for my foolish pride. I must have felt very differently then to what I do now. The more I have seen of you the more I have--admired you." Barbara stopped and took up the hem of her apron and picked at the stitches as though she would ravel them. Then she proceeded, dropping her head lower, "Somehow I hate to say it,--but I'm going to punish myself,--the more I have seen of you the more I have--_liked_ you. It don't matter much to me now whether your mother likes me or not, and I really don't seem to care what your sisters think about your loving a poor girl from the country." "Hush! Don't talk that way about yourself," said Hiram. But Barbara was so intent on finishing what she had resolved to say that she did not give any heed to him, but only went on pulling and picking at the hem of her apron. "I only want to know one thing, Mr. Mason, and that is whether you--whether you really and truly want me?" Her face blushed deeply, she caught her breath, her head bowed lower than before, as though trying in vain to escape from Hiram's steadfast gaze. "God only knows how I do love you, Barbara," said Hiram, speaking softly now and letting his eyes rest on the floor. "Well," said Barbara, "as good a man as you deserves to have what he wants, you know"; and here she smiled faintly. "I'll put in the dust all the wicked pride that hurts you so." And Barbara made a little gesture. Then after a moment she began again, stammeringly, "If--if you really want me, Hiram Mason,--why--then--I'll face anything rather than miss of being yours. Now will that do? And will you forgive me for keeping you in purgatory, as you call it, all this time?" There were tears in her eyes as she spoke; partly of penitence, perhaps, but more than half of happiness. When she had finished, Mason got up and pushed his chair away and came and sat down on the loom-bench beside her, Barbara making room for him, as for the first time she lifted her eyes timidly to his. "I've been a goose, Barbara, not to understand you before. What a woman you are!" XXXII THE NEXT MORNING When Tom waked up the next morning in the gray daybreak, he found that Mason, who should have shared his room, had not come to bed at all. And when Tom came down to uncover the live coals and build up the kitchen fire, he found that the embers had not been covered under the ashes as usual; there were instead smoking sticks of wood that had newly burned in two, the ends having canted over backward outside of the andirons. The table stood in the floor set with plates and cups and saucers for two, and there were the remains of an early breakfast. There was still heat in the coffee-pot when Tom touched it, and from these signs he read the story of Barbara's betrothal to Mason; he conjectured that this interview, which was to precede a separation of many months, had been unintentionally protracted until it was near the time for Mason's departure. The débris of the farewell love-feast, eaten in the silent hour before daybreak, seemed to have associations of sentiment. Tom regarded these things and was touched and pleased, but he was also amused. This sitting the night out seemed an odd freak for a couple so tremendously serious and proper as the little sister and the schoolmaster. An hour later, when Tom, having finished his chores, came in for his breakfast, Barbara had reappeared below stairs with an expression of countenance so demure--so entirely innocent and unconscious--that Tom could not long keep his gravity; before he had fairly begun to eat he broke into a merry, boyish laugh. "What _are_ you laughing about?" demanded Barbara, looking a little foolish and manifesting a rising irritation, that showed how well she knew the cause of his amusement. "Oh! nothing; but why don't you eat your breakfast, Barb? You seem to have lost your appetite." "Don't tease Barb'ry now," said Mrs. Grayson. "I'm not teasing," said Tom; "but I declare, Barb, it must have seemed just like going to housekeeping when you two sat down to eat breakfast by yourselves this morning." "O Tom!" broke in Janet, who couldn't quite catch the drift of the conversation, "Barbara went to bed with her clothes on last night. When I waked up this morning she was lying on the bed by me with her dress on." Tom now laughed in his old unrestrained fashion. "Say, Barbara," Janet went on, "are you going to marry that Mr. Mason that was here yesterday?" Knowing that she could not get rid of Janet's inquiries except by answering, Barbara said: "Oh, I suppose so," as she got up to set the pot of coffee back on the trivet and hide a vexation that she knew to be foolish. "Don't you _know_ whether you're going to marry him or not?" put in Janet. "I sh'd think you'd know. And I sh'd think he'd be a real nice husband." Then after a few moments of silence, Janet turned on Tom. "Tom, who's _your_ sweetheart?" "Haven't got any," said Tom. "Isn't that purty girl that was here yesterday your sweetheart?" "No!" "Aren't you _ever_ going to get married?" "Maybe, some day. Not right off, though." "I wish you would find a good wife, Tom," said Barbara without looking from her plate. "It would cheer you up." Barbara felt a little guilty at the thought of leaving the brother who had always seemed her chief responsibility. "Say, Tom, won't you wait for me?" said Janet, solemnly. [Illustration: "SAY, TOM, WON'T YOU WAIT FOR ME?"] "Yes, that's just what I'll do," said Tom, looking at her. "I hadn't thought of it before; but that's just exactly what I'll do, Janet. I'll wait for you, now you mention it." "Will you, indeed, and double deed?" "Yes, indeed, and deed and double deed, I'll wait for you, Janet." "That'll be nice," said Janet, continuing her breakfast with meditative seriousness. "Now I'm your sweetheart, ain't I?" XXXIII POSTSCRIPTUM It was in the last days of October, a few weeks after the proper close of the story which I have just related, when Henry Miller--the most matter-of-fact and unsensational of young men--threw his family into a state of excitement and supplied the gossip of the neighborhood with a fresh topic by announcing at home and abroad that he was going to leave the country, either for the Iowa country to the west of the Mississippi or for the fertile bottom-lands up north on the "Wisconse" River, as it was called. He was the only son of his father, and had inherited the steady, plodding industry and frugality so characteristic of a "Pennsylvania Dutch" race. Until he was of age he was bound, not only by law, but by the custom of the country, to serve his father much as a bondsman or an apprentice might have served, for an able-bodied son was distinctly recognized as an available and productive possession in that day. When he became of age his close-fisted father made no new arrangement with him, offered him no start, paid him no wages, and gave him no share in the produce of the fields. It was enough, in the father's estimation, that Henry would succeed to a large part of the property at his death. But Henry, on mature reflection, had made up his mind that emigration would be better than a reversionary interest that must be postponed to the death of so robust a man as his father, who was yet in middle-life and who came of a stock remarkable for longevity. Was not his grandfather yet alive in Pennsylvania, while his great-grandfather had not been dead many years? It was after calculating the "expectation of life" in the Miller family that Henry notified his father of his intention to go where land was cheap and open a large farm for himself. In vain the father urged that he could not get on without him, and that there would be no one to look after things if the father should die. Henry persisted that he must do something for himself and that his father would have to hire a man, for he should surely leave as soon as the crops were gathered, so as to get land enough open in some frontier country to afford him a small crop of corn the first year. Henry's mother and sisters were even more opposed to his going than his father was, and they did not hesitate to blame the senior Miller with great severity for not having "done something" for Henry. Henry's father had never before known how unpleasant a man's home may come to be. He was reminded that Henry had not an acre, nor even a colt, that he could call his own, and that other farmers had done better than that. This state of siege became presently quite intolerable, and the elder Miller resolved not only "to do something" for Henry, but to do it in such a way that his son would begin life very well provided for. He wanted to silence the clamor of the house and the neighborhood once for all, and prove to his critics how much they were mistaken. It was about a week after Henry's first resolution was taken that he and his father were finishing the corn-gathering. They were throwing the unshucked ears into a great wagon of the Pennsylvania pattern--a wagon painted blue, the "bed" of which rose in a great sweep at each end as though some reminiscence of the antique forms of marine architecture had affected its construction. When all the corn within easy throwing distance had been gathered, Henry, who was on the near side, would slip the reins from the standard over the fore wheel and drive forward the horses, which even in moving bit off the ends of corn ears or nibbled at the greenest-looking blades within their reach. "Let's put on the sideboards," said the elder, "and we can finish the field this load." Though Miller's ancestors had come to this country with the Palatine immigration, away back in 1710, there was a little bit of German in his accent; he said something like "gorn" for corn. The sideboards were put up, and these were so adjusted that when they were on the wagon the inclosing sides were rendered level at the top and capable of holding nearly double the load contained without the boards. "Henry," said the father, when the two were picking near together and throwing corn over the tail-gate of the wagon, "if you give up goin' away an' git married right off, an' settle toun here, I'm a-mine to teed you that east eighty an' a forty of timber. Eh?" "That's purty good," said Henry; "but if your deed waits till I find a wife, it may be a good while coming." "That eighty lays 'longside of Albaugh's medder an' lower gorn-field," said the father, significantly. "You mean if I was to marry Rache, Albaugh might give us another slice." "Of gourse he would; an' I'd help you put up a house, an' maybe I'd let you hav' the roan golt. You'd hav' the red heifer anyhow." "But I never took a shine to Rache; and if I did, I couldn't noways come in. They's too many knocking at that door." "But Rachel ain't no vool," said the elder. "She knows a good piece of lant w'en she sees it, an' maybe she's got enough of voolin' rount." All that afternoon Henry revolved this proposition in his mind, and he even did what he had never done before in his life--he lay awake at night. The next day, after the midday dinner, he said to himself: "I might as well resk it. Albaugh's got an all-fired good place, and all out of debt. And that's a tre-mendous nice eighty father's offered to give me." So he went up stairs and put on a new suit of blue jeans fresh from his mother's loom. Then he walked over to Albaugh's, to find Rachel sewing on the front porch. Rachel had been "kindah dauncey like," as her mother expressed it, ever since her visit to Barbara. She had received as many attentions as usual, but they seemed flat and unrelishable to her now. She began seriously to reflect that a girl past twenty-three was growing old in the estimation of the country, and yet she was further than ever from being able to make a choice between the lovers that paid her court, more or less seriously. When she looked up and saw Henry Miller coming in at the gate she felt a strange surprise. She had never before seen him in Sunday clothes or visiting on a week-day. "Hello, Henry! Looking for Ike?" she asked, with neighborly friendliness. "No, not as I know of. I've come to talk to you, Rache." "To me? Well, you're the last one I'd look for to come to talk to me; and in day-time, and corn-shucking not begun yet." There was an air of excited curiosity in her manner. It was plain to be seen that she was inwardly asking, "What _can_ Henry Miller be up to, anyhow?" but to him she said, "Come in, Henry, an' take a cheer." "No, I'll sed down here," he answered, taking a seat on the edge of the porch, like the outdoor man that he was, approaching a house with half reluctance. The relations between Henry and Rachel were unconstrained. They had played "hide and whoop" together in childhood, and times innumerable they had gone on black-berrying and other excursions together; he had swung her on long grape-vine swings on the hill-side; they had trudged to and from school in each other's company, exchanging sweet-cakes from their lunch-baskets, and yet they had never been lovers. "Rache," he said, locking his broad, brown hands over his knee, "father says he'll give me that east-eighty whenever I get married, if I won't go off West." "You'll be a good while getting married, Henry. You never was a hand to go after the girls." "No, but I might chance to get married shortly, for all that. The boys that do a good deal of sparking and the girls that have a lot of beaux don't always get married first. You'd ought to know that, Rache, by your own experience." Rachel laughed good-naturedly, and waited with curiosity to discover what all this was leading up to. "What I 'm thinking," said Henry, with the air of a man approaching a horse-trade cautiously, lest he should make a false step, "is this: that eighty of our'n jines onto your medder and west corn-field." "Do you want to sell it?" said Rachel. "You might see father; he'd like to have it, I expect." "Can't you guess what it is that I'm coming at?" "No, I _can't_," said Rachel; "not to save my life." "Looky here, Rache," and Henry gave his shoulders a twitch, "the two farms jine; now, what if you and me was to jine?" "Well, Henry Miller, if you don't beat the Dutch! I never heard the like of that in all my born days!" Rachel had heard many propositions of marriage, but this sort of love-making, with eighty acres of prairie land for a buffer, was a novelty to her. "Looky here, Rache," he said, in a tone of protest, "I've knew you ever since you was knee-high to a grasshopper. Now, what's the use of fooling and nonsense betwixt you and me? You know what _I_ am--a good, stiddy-going, hard-working farmer, shore to get my sheer of what's to be had in the world without scrouging anybody else. And I know just _ex_actly what you air. We've always got along mighty well together, and if I haven't ever made a fool of myself about your face, w'y, so much the better for me. Now, whaddy yeh say? Let's make it a bargain." "W'y, Henry Miller, what a way of talking!" "Rache, come, go along with me and see where'bouts I'm going to put up a house. Father's promised to help me. It's down by the spring, just beyand your medder fence. Will you go along down?" "Well, I don't care if I do go down with you, Henry. But it's awful funny to come to such a subject in that way." Rachel put on her sun-bonnet, and they went through the orchard together. "We could put up a nice house there. Father's willing to throw in a forty of timber too--the forty that jines onto this eighty over yander. We'd be well fixed up to begin, no matter what your father done or didn't do for us. Whaddy you think of the plan?" "You--you haven't said you loved me, or anything," said Rachel, piqued at having her charms quite left out of the account. But she could not hide from herself that Henry's proposition had substantial advantages. She only added, "What a curious man you are!" "Don't you believe I'd make a good husband?" "Yes, of course you would." "And a good provider?" "Yes, I'm shore of that." "Well, now, I'm not going to pretend I'm soft on you. If you say 'No,' well and good; there's an end. I sha'n't worry myself into consumption. You've got a right to do as you please. I'm not going to have folks say that I'm another of the fools that's broke their hearts over Rache Albaugh. Once you're mine, I'll set my heart on you fast enough. But I never set my heart on anything I mightn't be able to get." Rachel did not say anything to this bit of philosophy. She had in the last two weeks recognized the advisability of her getting married as soon as she could settle herself. But on taking an inventory of her present stock of beaux, she had mentally rejected them all. They were prospectively an unprosperous lot, and Rachel was too mature to marry adversity for the sake of sentiment. She found herself able to listen to Henry Miller's cool-blooded proposition with rather more tolerance than she felt when hearing the kind of love-talk she had been used to. Why not get her father to do as well by her as the Millers would by Henry, or to do better, seeing he was the richer and had but two children? Then they might begin life with plenty of acres and a good stock of butter cows. Henry showed her where they could put their house, where the barn would be placed, and where they would have a garden. Rachel felt a certain pleasure in fancying herself the mistress of such a place. But it was contrary to all the precedents laid down in the few romances she had read for a woman to marry a man who was not her "slave"; that was the word the old romancers took delight in. She tried to coquet with Henry, in order to draw from him some sort of professions of love. A flirtation with a lay figure would have been quite as successful. He was plain prose, and she presently saw that if she accepted him it must be done in prose. She couldn't help liking his very prose; she was a little tired of slaves; it seemed, on the whole, better to have a man at least capable of being master of himself. In much the same tone--the tone of a man buying, or selling, or proposing a co-partnership for business purposes--Henry Miller carried on the conversation all the way back until they reached the corn-crib, where he came to a stand-still. "Whaddy yeh say, Rachel? Is it a bargain?" "Well, Henry, it's sudden like. I want to take time to think it over." "Then I'll take back the offer and put out for the Ioway country. I'm not a-going to have my skelp a-hanging to your belt for days and days, like the rest of them. What's the use of thinking? You don't want to take Magill, do you?" "He's too old, and his nose is rather red," laughed Rachel. "Nor Tom Grayson, I suppose?" Henry mentioned Tom as the second because he was the one about whom he had misgivings. "I give him the sack before the shooting, and I'm not going to go back to him now." Rachel faltered a little in this reply, but she spoke with that resolute insincerity for which women hold an indulgence in advance when their hearts are being searched. "Well," said Henry, "if you think you can do better by waiting, I m off. If you think I'm about as good a man as you're likely to pick up, here's your chance. It's going, going, gone with me. Either I marry you and take father's offer, or I put out for the Ioway country. I don't ask you to think I'm perfection, but just to take a sober, common-sense look at things." Rachel saw that it was of no use to expect Henry to court her, and she could not help liking him the better for his honest straightforwardness. She looked down a minute, in the hope that he would say something that might make it easier for her to answer, but he kept his silence. "Henry," she said at length, rolling a corn-cob over and over under the toe of her shoe, "I've got a good mind to say 'Yes.' You don't make me sick, like the rest of them. Father'll be struck when he hears of it. He's always said I'd marry some good-for-nothing town-fellow." "Is it a bargain, good and fast?" said Henry, holding out his hand, as he would have done to clinch the buying of a piece of timber land or a sorrel horse. "Yes," said Rachel, laughing at the oddness of it and the suddenness of it, "I'm tired of fooling. It's a bargain, Henry." "Good fer you, Rache! Now I begin to like you better than ever." 
36591	----	[Illustration: The House from which Mrs. Packard was Kidnapped in Manteno, Kankakee County, Illinois.] MARITAL POWER EXEMPLIFIED IN Mrs. Packard's Trial, AND SELF-DEFENCE FROM THE CHARGE OF INSANITY; OR Three Years' Imprisonment for Religious Belief, BY THE ARBITRARY WILL OF A HUSBAND, WITH AN APPEAL TO THE GOVERNMENT TO SO CHANGE THE LAWS AS TO AFFORD Legal Protection to Married Women. BY MRS. E. P. W. PACKARD. CHICAGO: CLARKE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 1870. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page Introduction, 3 The Great Trial of Mrs. Elizabeth P. W. Packard, who was confined Three Years in the State Asylum of Illinois, charged by her Husband, Rev. Theophilus Packard, with being Insane. Her discharge from the Asylum, and subsequent Imprisonment at her own House by her Husband. Her release on a Writ of Habeas Corpus, and the question of her Sanity tried by a Jury. Her Sanity fully established, 13 Narrative of events continued, 42 Miscellaneous questions answered, 61 False Reports corrected, 85 Note of thanks to my Patrons and the Press, 107 Testimonials, 117 Conclusion, 126 An Appeal to the Government, 130 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by MRS. E. P. W. PACKARD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Connecticut. INTRODUCTION. A brief narrative of the events which occasioned the following Trial seems necessary as an Introduction to it, and are here presented for the kind reader's candid consideration. It was in a Bible-class in Manteno, Kankakee County, Illinois, that I defended some religious opinions which conflicted with the Creed of the Presbyterian Church in that place, which brought upon me the charge of insanity. It was at the invitation of Deacon Dole, the teacher of that Bible-class, that I consented to become his pupil, and it was at his special request that I brought forward my views to the consideration of the class. The class numbered six when I entered it, and forty-six when I left it. I was about four months a member of it. I had not the least suspicion of danger or harm arising in any way, either to myself or others, from thus complying with his wishes, and thus uttering some of my honestly cherished opinions. I regarded the principle of religious tolerance as the vital principle on which our government was based, and I in my ignorance supposed this right was protected to all American citizens, even to the wives of clergymen. But, alas! my own sad experience has taught me the danger of believing a lie on so vital a question. The result was, I was legally kidnapped and imprisoned three years simply for uttering these opinions under these circumstances. I was kidnapped in the following manner.--Early on the morning of the 18th of June, 1860, as I arose from my bed, preparing to take my morning bath, I saw my husband approaching my door with our two physicians, both members of his church and of our Bible-class,--and a stranger gentleman, sheriff Burgess. Fearing exposure I hastily locked my door, and proceeded with the greatest dispatch to dress myself. But before I had hardly commenced, my husband forced an entrance into my room through the window with an axe! And I, for shelter and protection against an exposure in a state of almost entire nudity, sprang into bed, just in time to receive my unexpected guests. The trio approached my bed, and each doctor felt my pulse, and without asking a single question both pronounced me insane. So it seems that in the estimation of these two M. D.'s, Dr. Merrick and Newkirk, insanity is indicated by the action of the pulse instead of the mind! Of course, my pulse was bounding at the time from excessive fright; and I ask, what lady of refinement and fine and tender sensibilities would not have a quickened pulse by such an untimely, unexpected, unmanly, and even outrageous entrance into her private sleeping room? I say it would be impossible for any woman, unless she was either insane or insensible to her surroundings, not to be agitated under such circumstances. This was the only medical examination I had. This was the only trial of _any kind_ that I was allowed to have, to prove the charge of insanity brought against me by my husband. I had no chance of _self defence_ whatever. My husband then informed me that the "forms of law" were all complied with, and he therefore requested me to dress myself for a ride to Jacksonville, to enter the Insane Asylum as an inmate. I objected, and protested against being imprisoned _without any trial_. But to no purpose. My husband insisted upon it that I had no protection in the law, but himself, and that he was doing by me just as the laws of the State allowed him to do. I could not then credit this statement, but now _know_ it to be too sadly true; for the Statute of Illinois expressly states that a man may put his wife into an Insane Asylum without evidence of insanity. This law now stands on the 26th page, section 10, of the Illinois statute book, under the general head of "charities"! The law was passed February 15, 1851. I told my husband I should not go voluntarily into the Asylum, and leave my six children and my precious babe of eighteen months, without some kind of trial; and that the law of force, brute force, would be the only power that should thus put me there. I then begged of him to handle me gently, if he was determined to force me, as I was easily hurt, and should make no physical resistance. I was soon in the hands of the sheriff, who forced me from my home by ordering two men to carry me to the wagon which took me to the depot. Esquire Labrie, our nearest neighbor, who witnessed this scene, said he was willing to testify before any court under oath, that "Mrs. Packard was literally kidnapped." I was carried to the cars from the depot in the arms of two strong men, whom my husband appointed for this purpose, amid the silent and almost speechless gaze of a large crowd of citizens who had collected for the purpose of rescuing me from the hands of my persecutors. But they were prevented from executing their purpose by the lie Deacon Dole was requested by my husband to tell the excited crowd, viz: that "The Sheriff has legal papers to defend this proceeding," and they well knew that for them to resist the Sheriff, the laws would expose themselves to imprisonment. The Sheriff confessed afterwards to persons who are now willing to testify under oath, that he told them that he did not have a sign of a legal paper with him, simply because the probate court refused to give him any, because, as they affirmed, he had not given them one evidence of insanity in the case. Sheriff Burgess died while I was incarcerated. When once in the Asylum I was beyond the reach of all human aid, except what could come through my husband, since the law allows no one to take them out, except the one who put them in, or by his consent; and my husband determined never to take me out, until I recanted my new opinions, claiming that I was incurably insane so long as I could not return to my old standpoint of religious belief. Of course, I could not believe at my option, but only as light and evidence was presented to my own mind, and I was too conscientious to act the hypocrite, by professing to believe what I could not believe. I was therefore pronounced "hopelessly insane," and in about six weeks from the date of my imprisonment, my husband made his arrangements to have me, henceforth, legally regarded as hopelessly insane. In this defenceless, deplorable condition I lay closely imprisoned three years, being never allowed to step my foot on the ground after the first four months. At the expiration of three years, my oldest son, Theophilus, became of age, when he immediately availed himself of his manhood, by a legal compromise with his father and the trustees, wherein he volunteered to hold himself wholly responsible for my support for life; if his father would only consent to take me out of my prison. This proposition was accepted by Mr. Packard, with this proviso that if ever I returned to my own home and children he should put me in again for life. The Trustees had previously notified Mr. Packard that I must be removed, as they should keep me no longer. Had not this been the case, my son's proposition would doubtless have been rejected by him. The reasons why the Trustees took this position was, because they became satisfied that I was not a fit subject for that institution, in the following manner: On one of their official visits to the institution, I coaxed Dr. McFarland, superintendent of the Asylum, to let me go before them and "fire a few guns at Calvinism," as I expressed myself, that they might know and judge for themselves whether I deserved a life-long imprisonment for indulging such opinions. Dr. McFarland replied to my request, that the Trustees were Calvinists, and the chairman a member of the Presbyterian Synod of the United States. "Never mind," said I, "I don't care if they are, I am not afraid to defend my opinions even before the Synod itself. I don't want to be locked up here all my lifetime without doing something. But if they are Calvinists," I added, "you may be sure they will call me insane, and then you will have them to back you up in your opinion and position respecting me." This argument secured his consent to let me go before them. He also let me have two sheets of paper to write my opinions upon. With my document prepared, "or gun loaded," as I called it, and examined by the Doctor to see that all was right, that is, that it contained no exposures of himself, I entered the Trustees' room, arm in arm with the Doctor, dressed in as attractive and tasteful a style as my own wardrobe and that of my attendant's would permit. Mr. Packard was present, and he said to my friends afterwards that he never saw his wife look so "sweet and attractive" as I then did. After being politely and formally introduced to the Trustees, individually, I was seated by the chairman, to receive his permission to speak, in the following words: "Mrs. Packard, we have heard Mr. Packard's statement, and the Doctor said you would like to speak for yourself. We will allow you ten minutes for that purpose." I then took out my gold watch, (which was my constant companion in my prison,) and looking at it, said to the Doctor, "please tell me if I overgo my limits, will you?" And then commenced reading my document in a quiet, calm, clear, tone of voice. It commenced with these words: "Gentlemen, I am accused of teaching my children doctrines ruinous in their tendency, and such as alienate them from their father. I reply, that my teachings and practice both, are ruinous to Satan's cause, and do alienate my children from Satanic influences. I teach Christianity, my husband teaches Calvinism. They are antagonistic systems and uphold antagonistic authorities. Christianity upholds God's authority; Calvinism the devil's authority," &c., &c. Thus I went on, most dauntlessly and fearlessly contrasting the two systems, as I viewed them, until my entire document was read, without being interrupted, although my time had more than expired. Confident I had secured their interest as well as attention, I ventured to ask if I might be allowed to read another document I held in my hand, which the Doctor had not seen. The request was voted upon and met not only with an unanimous response in the affirmative, but several cried out: "Let her go on! Let us hear the whole!" This document bore heavily upon Mr. Packard and the Doctor both. Still I was tolerated. The room was so still I could have heard a clock tick. When I had finished, instead of then dismissing me, they commenced questioning me, and I only rejoiced to answer their questions, being careful however not to let slip any chance I found to expose the darkest parts of this foul conspiracy, wherein Mr. Packard and their Superintendent were the chief actors. Packard and McFarland both sat silent and speechless, while I fearlessly exposed their wicked plot against my personal liberty and my rights. They did not deny or contradict one statement I made, although so very hard upon them both. Thus nearly one hour was passed, when Mr. Packard was requested to leave the room. The Doctor left also, leaving me alone with the Trustees. These intelligent men at once endorsed my statements, and became my friends. They offered me my liberty at once, and said that anything I wanted they stood ready to do for me. Mr. Brown, the Chairman, said he saw it was of no use for me to go to my husband; but said they would send me to my children if I wished to go, or to my father in Massachusetts, or they would board me up in Jacksonville. I thanked them for their kind and generous offers; "but," said I, "it is of no use for me to accept of any one of them, for I am still Mr. Packard's wife, and there is no law in America to protect a wife from her husband. I am not safe from him outside these walls, on this continent, unless I flee to Canada; and there, I don't know as a fugitive wife is safe from her husband. The truth is, he is determined to keep me in an Asylum prison as long as I live, if it can be done; and since no law prevents his doing so, I see no way for me but to live and die in this prison. I may as well die here as in any other prison." These manly gentlemen apprehended my sad condition and expressed their real sympathy for me, but did not know what to advise me to do. Therefore they left it to me and the Doctor to do as we might think best. I suggested to the Doctor that I write a book, and in this manner lay my case before the People--the government of the United States--and ask for the protection of the laws. The Doctor fell in with this suggestion, and I accordingly wrote my great book of seven hundred pages, entitled "The Great Drama,--An Allegory," the first installment of which is already in print and six thousand copies in circulation. This occupied me nine months, which completed my three years of prison life. The Trustees now ordered Mr. Packard to take me away, as no one else could legally remove me. I protested against being put into his hands without some protection, knowing, as I did, that he intended to incarcerate me for life in Northampton Asylum, if he ever removed me from this. But, like as I entered the Asylum against my will, and in spite of my protest, so I was put out of it into the absolute power of my persecutor again, against my will, and in spite of my protest to the contrary. I was accordingly removed to Granville, Putnam County, Illinois; and placed in the family of Mr. David Field who married my adopted sister, where my son paid my board for about four months. During this time, Granville community became acquainted with me and the facts in the case, and after holding a meeting of the citizens on the subject the result was, that Sheriff Leaper was appointed to communicate to me their decision, which was, that I go home to my children taking their voluntary pledge as my protection; that, should Mr. Packard again attempt to imprison me without a trial, that they would use their influence to get him imprisoned in a penitentiary, where they thought the laws of this Commonwealth would place him. They presented me thirty dollars also to defray the expenses of my journey home to Manteno. I returned to my husband and little ones, only to be again treated as a lunatic. He cut me off from communication with this community, and my other friends, by intercepting my mail; made me a close prisoner in my own house; refused me interviews with friends who called to see me, so that he might meet with no interference in carrying out the plan he had devised to get me incarcerated again for life. This plan was providentially disclosed to me, by some letters he accidentally left in my room one night, wherein I saw that I was to be entered, in a few days, into Northampton Insane Asylum for life; as one of these letters from Doctor Prince, Superintendent of that Asylum, assured me of this fact. Another from his sister, Mrs. Marian Severance, of Massachusetts, revealed the mode in which she advised her brother to transfer me from my home prison to my Asylum prison. She advised him to let me go to New York, under the pretence of getting my book published, and have him follow in a train behind, assuring the conductors that I must be treated as an insane person, although I should deny the charge, as all insane persons did, and thus make sure of their aid as accomplices in this conspiracy against my personal liberty. The conductor must be directed to switch me off to Northampton, Mass., instead of taking me to New York, and as my through ticket would indicate to me that all was right, she thought this could be done without arousing my suspicions; then engage a carriage to transport me to the Asylum under the pretext of a hotel, and then lock me up for life as a state's pauper! Then, said she, you will have her out of the way, and can do as you please with her property, her children, and even her wardrobe; don't, says she, be even responsible this time for her clothing. (Mr. Packard was responsible for my body clothing in Jacksonville prison, but for nothing else. I was supported there three years as a state pauper. This fact, Mr. Packard most adroitly concealed from my rich father and family relatives, so that he could persuade my deluded father to place more of my patrimony in his hands, under the false pretense that he needed it to make his daughter more comfortable in the Asylum. My father sent him money for this purpose, supposing Mr. Packard was paying my board at the Asylum.) Another letter was from Dr. McFarland, wherein I saw that Mr. Packard had made application for my readmission there, and Dr. McFarland had consented to receive me again as an insane patient! But the Trustees put their veto upon it, and would not consent to his plea that I be admitted there again. Here is his own statement, which I copied from his own letter: "Jacksonville, December 18, 1863. Rev. Mr. Packard, Dear Sir: The Secretary of the Trustees has probably before this communicated to you the result of their action in the case of Mrs. Packard. It is proper enough to state that I favored her readmission"! Then follows his injunction to Mr. Packard to be sure not to publish any thing respecting the matter. Why is this? Does an upright course seek or desire concealment? Nay, verily: It is conscious guilt alone that seeks concealment, and dreads agitation lest his crimes be exposed. Mine is only one of a large class of cases, where he has consented to readmit a sane person, particularly the wives of men, whose influence he was desirous of securing for the support of himself in his present lucrative position. Yes, many intelligent wives and mothers did I leave in that awful prison, whose only hope of liberty lies in the death of their lawful husbands, or in a change of the laws, or in a thorough ventilation of that institution. Such a ventilation is needed, in order that justice be done to that class of miserable inmates who are now unjustly confined there. When I had read these letters over three or four times, to make it sure I had not mistaken their import, and even took copies of some of them, I determined upon the following expedient as my last and only resort, as a self defensive act. There was a stranger man who passed my window daily to get water from our pump. One day as he passed I beckoned to him to take a note which I had pushed down through where the windows come together, (my windows were firmly nailed down and screwed together, so that I could not open them,) directed to Mrs. A. C. Haslett, the most efficient friend I knew of in Manteno, wherein I informed her of my imminent danger, and begged of her if it was possible in any way to rescue me to do so, forthwith, for in a few days I should be beyond the reach of all human help. She communicated these facts to the citizens, when mob law was suggested as the only available means of rescue which lay in their power to use, as no law existed which defended a wife from a husband's power, and no man dared to take the responsibility of protecting me against my husband. And one hint was communicated to me clandestinely that if I would only break through my window, a company was formed who would defend me when once outside our house. This rather unlady-like mode of self defence I did not like to resort to, knowing as I did, if I should not finally succeed in this attempt, my persecutors would gain advantage over me, in that I had once injured property, as a reason why I should be locked up. As yet, none of my persecutors had not the shadow of capital to make out the charge of insanity upon, outside of my opinions; for my conduct and deportment had uniformly been kind, lady-like and Christian; and even to this date, January, 1866, I challenge any individual to prove me guilty of one unreasonable or insane act. The lady-like Mrs. Haslett sympathized with me in these views; therefore she sought council of Judge Starr of Kankakee City, to know if any law could reach my case so as to give me the justice of a trial of any kind, before another incarceration. The Judge told her that if I was a prisoner in my own house, and any were willing to take oath upon it, a writ of habeas corpus might reach my case and thus secure me a trial. Witnesses were easily found who could take oath to this fact, as many had called at our house to see that my windows were screwed together on the outside, and our front outside door firmly fastened on the outside, and our back outside door most vigilantly guarded by day and locked by night. In a few days this writ was accordingly executed by the Sheriff of the county, and just two days before Mr. Packard was intending to start with me for Massachusetts to imprison me for life in Northampton Lunatic Asylum, he was required by this writ to bring me before the court and give his reasons to the court why he kept his wife a prisoner. The reason he gave for so doing was, that I was Insane. The Judge replied, "Prove it!" The Judge then empannelled a jury of twelve men, and the following Trial ensued as the result. This trial continued five days. Thus my being made a prisoner at my own home was the only hinge on which my personal liberty for life hung, independent of mob law, as there is no law in the State that will allow a married woman the right of a trial against the charge of insanity brought against her by her husband; and God only knows how many innocent wives and mothers my case represents, who have thus lost their liberty for life, by this arbitrary power, unchecked as it is by no law on the Statute book of Illinois. THE GREAT TRIAL OF MRS. ELIZABETH P. W. PACKARD, WHO WAS CONFINED FOR THREE YEARS IN THE STATE ASYLUM, OF ILLINOIS, CHARGED BY HER HUSBAND, REV. THEOPHILUS PACKARD, WITH BEING INSANE. HER DISCHARGE FROM THE ASYLUM, AND SUBSEQUENT IMPRISONMENT AT HER OWN HOUSE BY HER HUSBAND. HER RELEASE ON A WRIT OF _Habeas Corpus_, AND THE QUESTION OF HER SANITY TRIED BY A JURY. HER SANITY FULLY ESTABLISHED. A FULL REPORT OF THE TRIAL, INCIDENTS, ETC. BY STEPHEN R. MOORE, ATTORNEY AT LAW. In preparing a report of this trial, the writer has had but one object in view, namely, to present a faithful history of the case as narrated by the witnesses upon the stand, who gave their testimony under the solemnity of an oath. The exact language employed by the witnesses, has been used, and the written testimony given in full, with the exception of a letter, written by Dr. McFarland, to Rev. Theophilus Packard, which letter was retained by Mr. Packard, and the writer was unable to obtain a copy. The substance of the letter is found in the body of the report, and has been submitted to the examination of Mr. Packard's counsel, who agree that it is correctly stated. This case was on trial before the Hon. Charles R. Starr, at Kankakee City, Illinois, from Monday, January 11th, 1864, to Tuesday the 19th, and came up on an application made by Mrs. Packard, under the _Habeas Corpus Act_, to be discharged from imprisonment by her husband in their own house. The case has disclosed a state of facts most wonderful and startling. Reverend Theophilus Packard came to Manteno, in Kankakee county, Illinois, seven years since, and has remained in charge of the Presbyterian Church of that place until the past two years. In the winter of 1859 and 1860, there were differences of opinion between Mr. Packard and Mrs. Packard, upon matters of religion, which resulted in prolonged and vigorous debate in the home circle. The heresies maintained by Mrs. Packard were carried by the husband from the fireside to the pulpit, and made a matter of inquiry by the church, and which soon resulted in open warfare; and her views and propositions were misrepresented and animadverted upon, from the pulpit, and herself made the subject of unjust criticism. In the Bible Class and in the Sabbath School, she maintained her religious tenets, and among her kindred and friends, defended herself from the obloquy of her husband. To make the case fully understood, I will here remark, that Mr. Packard was educated in the Calvinistic faith, and for twenty-nine years has been a preacher of that creed, and would in no wise depart from the religion of his fathers. He is cold, selfish and illiberal in his views, possessed of but little talent, and a physiognomy innocent of expression. He has large self-will, and his stubbornness is only exceeded by his bigotry. Mrs. Packard is a lady of fine mental endowments, and blest with a liberal education. She is an original, vigorous, masculine thinker, and were it not for her superior judgment, combined with native modesty, she would rank as a "strong-minded woman." As it is, her conduct comports strictly with the sphere usually occupied by woman. She dislikes parade or show of any kind. Her confidence that Right will prevail, leads her to too tamely submit to wrongs. She was educated in the same religious belief with her husband, and during the first twenty years of married life, his labors in the parish and in the pulpit were greatly relieved by the willing hand and able intellect of his wife. Phrenologists would also say of her, that her self-will was large, and her married life tended in no wise to diminish this phrenological bump. They have been married twenty-five years, and have six children, the issue of their intermarriage, the youngest of whom was eighteen months old when she was kidnapped and transferred to Jacksonville. The older children have maintained a firm position against the abuse and persecutions of their father toward their mother, but were of too tender age to render her any material assistance. Her views of religion are more in accordance with the liberal views of the age in which we live. She scouts the Calvinistic doctrine of man's total depravity, and that God has foreordained some to be saved and others to be damned. She stands fully on the platform of man's free agency and accountability to God for his actions. She believes that man, and nations, are progressive; and that in his own good time, and in accordance with His great purposes, Right will prevail over Wrong, and the oppressed will be freed from the oppressor. She believes slavery to be a national sin, and the church and the pulpit a proper place to combat this sin. These, in brief, are the points in her religious creed which were combatted by Mr. Packard, and were denominated by him as "emanations from the devil," or "the vagaries of a crazed brain." For maintaining such ideas as above indicated, Mr. Packard denounced her from the pulpit, denied her the privilege of family prayer in the home circle, expelled her from the Bible Class, and refused to let her be heard in the Sabbath School. He excluded her from her friends, and made her a prisoner in her own house. Her reasonings and her logic appeared to him as the ravings of a mad woman--her religion was the religion of the devil. To justify his conduct, he gave out that she was insane, and found a few willing believers, among his family connections. This case was commenced by filing a petition in the words following, to wit: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } KANKAKEE COUNTY. } _ss._ _To the Honorable_ CHARLES R. STARR, _Judge of the 20th Judicial Circuit in the State of Illinois_. William Haslet, Daniel Beedy, Zalmon Hanford, and Joseph Younglove, of said county, on behalf of Elizabeth P. W. Packard, wife of Theophilus Packard, of said county, respectfully represent unto your Honor, that said Elizabeth P. W. Packard is unlawfully restrained of her liberty, at Manteno, in the county of Kankakee, by her husband, Rev. Theophilus Packard, being forcibly confined and imprisoned in a close room of the dwelling-house of her said husband, for a long time, to wit, for the space of four weeks, her said husband refusing to let her visit her neighbors and refusing her neighbors to visit her; that they believe her said husband is about to forcibly convey her from out the State; that they believe there is no just cause or ground for restraining said wife of her liberty; that they believe that said wife is a mild and amiable woman. And they are advised and believe, that said husband cruelly abuses and misuses said wife, by depriving her of her winter's clothing, this cold and inclement weather, and that there is no necessity for such cruelty on the part of said husband to said wife; and they are advised and believe, that said wife desires to come to Kankakee City, to make application to your Honor for a writ of _habeas corpus_, to liberate herself from said confinement or imprisonment, and that said husband refused and refuses to allow said wife to come to Kankakee City for said purpose; and that these petitioners make application for a writ of _habeas corpus_ in her behalf, at her request. These petitioners therefore pray that a writ of _habeas corpus_ may forthwith issue, commanding said Theophilus Packard to produce the body of said wife, before your Honor, according to law, and that said wife may be discharged from said imprisonment. (Signed) WILLIAM HASLET. DANIEL BEEDY. ZALMON HANFORD. J. YOUNGLOVE. J. W. ORR, } H. LORING, } _Petitioners' Attorney_. STEPHEN R. MOORE, _Counsel_. STATE OF ILLINOIS, } KANKAKEE COUNTY. } _ss._ William Haslet, Daniel Beedy, Zalmon Hanford, and Joseph Younglove, whose names are subscribed to the above petition, being duly sworn, severally depose and say, that the matters and facts set forth in the above petition are true in substance and fact, to the best of their knowledge and belief. WILLIAM HASLET. DANIEL BEEDY. ZALMON HANFORD. J. YOUNGLOVE. Sworn to and subscribed before me, this } 11th day of January, A. D. 1864. } MASON B. LOOMIS, _J. P._ Upon the above petition, the Honorable C. R. Starr, Judge as aforesaid, issued a writ of _habeas corpus_, as follows: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } KANKAKEE COUNTY. } _ss._ _The People of the State of Illinois, To_ THEOPHILUS PACKARD WE COMMAND YOU, That the body of Elizabeth P. W. Packard, in your custody detained and imprisoned, as it is said, together with the day and cause of caption and detention, by whatsoever name the same may be called, you safely have before Charles R. Starr, Judge of the Twentieth Judicial Circuit, State of Illinois, at his chambers, at Kankakee City in the said county, on the 12th instant, at one o'clock, P. M., and to do and receive all and singular those things which the said Judge shall then and there consider of her in this behalf, and have you then and there this writ. Witness, Charles R. Starr, Judge aforesaid, this 11th day of January, A. D. 1864. CHARLES R. STARR, [SEAL.] _Judge of the 20th Judicial Circuit of the State of Illinois._ [_Revenue Stamp._] Indorsed: "By the _Habeas Corpus_ Act." To said writ, the Rev. Theophilus Packard made the following return: The within named Theophilus Packard does hereby certify, to the within named, the Honorable Charles R. Starr, Judge of the 20th Judicial Circuit of the State of Illinois, that the within named Elizabeth P. W. Packard is now in my custody, before your Honor. That the said Elizabeth is the wife of the undersigned, and is and has been for more than three years past insane, and for about three years of that time was in the Insane Asylum of the State of Illinois, under treatment, as an insane person. That she was discharged from said Asylum, without being cured, and is incurably insane, on or about the 18th day of June, A. D. 1863, and that since the 23rd day of October, the undersigned has kept the said Elizabeth with him in Manteno, in this county, and while he has faithfully and anxiously watched, cared for, and guarded the said Elizabeth, yet he has not unlawfully restrained her of her liberty; and has not confined and imprisoned her in a close room, in the dwelling-house of the undersigned, or in any other place or way, but, on the contrary, the undersigned has allowed her all the liberty compatible with her welfare and safety. That the undersigned is about to remove his residence from Manteno, in this State, to the town of Deerfield, in the county of Franklin, in the State of Massachusetts, and designs and intends to take his said wife Elizabeth with him. That the undersigned has never misused or abused the said Elizabeth, by depriving her of her winter's clothing, but, on the contrary, the undersigned has always treated the said Elizabeth with kindness and affection, and has provided her with a sufficient, quantity of winter clothing and other clothing; and that the said Elizabeth has never made any request of the undersigned, for liberty to come to Kankakee City, for the purpose of suing out a writ of _habeas corpus_. The undersigned hereby presents a letter from Andrew McFarland, Superintendent of the Illinois State Hospital, at Jacksonville, in this State, showing her discharge, and reasons of discharge, from said institution, which is marked "A," and is made a part of this return. And also presents a certificate from the said Andrew McFarland, under the seal of said hospital, marked "C," refusing to readmit the said Elizabeth again into said hospital, on the ground of her being incurably insane, which is also hereby made a part of this return. THEOPHILUS PACKARD. Dated _January 12, 1864_. The Court, upon its own motion, ordered an issue to be formed, as to the sanity or insanity of Mrs. E. P. W. Packard, and ordered a venire of twelve men, to aid the court in the investigation of said issue. And thereupon a venire was issued. The counsel for the respondent, Thomas P. Bonfield, Mason B. Loomis, and Hon. C. A. Lake, moved the court to quash the venire, on the ground that the court had no right to call a jury to determine the question, on an application to be discharged on writ of _habeas corpus_. The court overruled the motion; and thereupon the following jury was selected: John Stiles, Daniel G. Bean, V. H. Young, F. G. Hutchinson, Thomas Muncey, E. Hirshberg, Nelson Jarvais, William Hyer, Geo. H. Andrews, J. F. Mafet, Lemuel Milk, G. M. Lyons. CHRISTOPHER W. KNOTT was the first witness sworn by the respondent, to maintain the issue on his part, that she was insane; who being sworn, deposed and said: I am a practicing physician in Kankakee City. Have been in practice fifteen years. Have seen Mrs. Packard; saw her three or four years ago. Am not much acquainted with her. Had never seen her until I was called to see her at that time. I was called to visit her by Theophilus Packard. I thought her partially deranged on religious matters, and gave a certificate to that effect. I certified that she was insane upon the subject of religion. I have never seen her since. _Cross-examination._--This visit I made her was three or four years ago. I was there twice--one-half hour each time. I visited her on request of Mr. Packard, to determine if she was insane. I learned from him that he designed to convey her to the State Asylum. Do not know whether she was aware of my object, or not. Her mind appeared to be excited on the subject of religion; on all other subjects she was perfectly rational. It was probably caused by overtaxing the mental faculties. She was what might be called a monomaniac. Monomania is insanity on one subject. Three-fourths of the religious community are insane in the same manner, in my opinion. Her insanity was such that with a little rest she would readily have recovered from it. The female mind is more excitable than the male. I saw her perhaps one-half hour each time I visited her. I formed my judgment as to her insanity wholly from conversing with her. I could see nothing except an unusual zealousness and warmth upon religious topics. Nothing was said, in my conversation with her, about disagreeing with Mr. Packard on religious topics. Mr. Packard introduced the subject of religion the first time I was there: the second time, I introduced the subject. Mr. Packard and Mr. Comstock were present. The subject was pressed on her for the purpose of drawing her out. Mrs. Packard would manifest more zeal than most of people upon any subject that interested her. I take her to be a lady of fine mental abilities, possessing more ability than ordinarily found. She is possessed of a nervous temperament, easily excited, and has a strong will. I would say that she was insane, the same as I would say Henry Ward Beecher, Spurgeon, Horace Greely, and like persons, are insane. Probably three weeks intervened between the visits I made Mrs. Packard. This was in June, 1860. _Re-examined._--She is a woman of large, active brain, and nervous temperament. I take her to be a woman of good intellect. There is no subject which excites people so much as religion. Insanity produces, oftentimes, ill-feelings towards the best friends, and particularly the family, or those more nearly related to the insane person--but not so with monomania. She told me, in the conversation, that the Calvinistic doctrines were wrong, and that she had been compelled to withdraw from the church. She said that Mr. Packard was more insane than she was, and that people would find it out. I had no doubt that she was insane. I only considered her insane on that subject, and she was not bad at that. I could not judge whether it was hereditary. I thought if she was withdrawn from conversation and excitement, she could have got well in a short time. Confinement in any shape, or restraint, would have made her worse. I did not think it was a bad case; it only required rest. J. W. BROWN, being sworn, said: I am a physician; live in this city; have no extensive acquaintance with Mrs. Packard. Saw her three or four weeks ago. I examined her as to her sanity or insanity. I was requested to make a visit, and had an extended conference with her: I spent some three hours with her. I had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion, in my mind, that she was insane. _Cross-examination._--I visited her by request of Mr. Packard, at her house. The children were in and out of the room; no one else was present. I concealed my object in visiting her. She asked me if I was a physician, and I told her no; that I was an agent, selling sewing machines, and had come there to sell her one. The first subject we conversed about was sewing machines. She showed no signs of insanity on that subject. The next subject discussed, was the social condition of the female sex. She exhibited no special marks of insanity on that subject, although she had many ideas quite at variance with mine, on the subject. The subject of politics was introduced. She spoke of the condition of the North and the South. She illustrated her difficulties with Mr. Packard, by the difficulties between the North and the South. She said the South was wrong, and was waging war for two wicked purposes: first, to overthrow a good government, and second, to establish a despotism on the inhuman principle of human slavery. But that the North, having right on their side, would prevail. So Mr. Packard was opposing her, to overthrow free thought in woman; that the despotism of man may prevail over the wife; but that she had right and truth on her side, and that she would prevail. During this conversation I did not fully conclude that she was insane. I brought up the subject of religion. We discussed that subject for a long time, and then I had not the slightest difficulty in concluding that she was hopelessly insane. _Question._ Dr., what particular idea did she advance on the subject of religion that led you to the conclusion that she was hopelessly insane? _Answer._ She advanced many of them. I formed my opinion not so much on any one idea advanced, as upon her whole conversation. She then said that she was the "Personification of the Holy Ghost." I did not know what she meant by that. _Ques._ Was not this the idea conveyed to you in that conversation:--That there are three attributes of the Deity--the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost? Now, did she not say, that the attributes of the Father were represented in mankind, in man; that the attributes of the Holy Ghost were represented in woman; and that the Son was the fruit of these two attributes of the Deity? _Ans._ Well, I am not sure but that was the idea conveyed, though I did not fully get her idea at the time. _Ques._ Was not that a new idea to you in theology? _Ans._ It was. _Ques._ Are you much of a theologian? _Ans._ No. _Ques._ Then because the idea was a novel one to you, you pronounced her insane. _Ans._ Well, I pronounced her insane on that and other things that exhibited themselves in this conversation. _Ques._ Did she not show more familiarity with the subject of religion and the questions of theology, than you had with these subjects? _Ans._ I do not pretend much knowledge on these subjects. _Ques._ What else did she say or do there, that showed marks of insanity? _Ans._ She claimed to be better than her husband--that she was right--and that he was wrong--and that all she did was good, and all he did was bad; that she was farther advanced than other people, and more nearly perfection. She found fault particularly that Mr. Packard would not discuss their points of difference on religion in an open, manly way, instead of going around and denouncing her as crazy to her friends and to the church. She had a great aversion to being called insane. Before I got through the conversation she exhibited a great dislike to me, and almost treated me in a contemptuous manner. She appeared quite lady-like. She had a great reverence for God, and a regard for religious and pious people. _Re-examined._--_Ques._ Dr., you may now state all the reasons you have for pronouncing her insane. _Ans._ I have written down, in order, the reasons which I had, to found my opinion on, that she was insane. I will read them. 1. That she claimed to be in advance of the age thirty or forty years. 2. That she disliked to be called insane. 3. That she pronounced me a copperhead, and did not prove the fact. 4. An incoherency of thought. That she failed to illuminate me and fill me with light. 5. Her aversion to the doctrine of the total depravity of man. 6. Her claim to perfection or nearer perfection in action and conduct. 7. Her aversion to being called insane. 8. Her feelings towards her husband. 9. Her belief that to call her insane and abuse her, was blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. 10. Her explanation of this idea. 11. Incoherency of thought and ideas. 12. Her extreme aversion to the doctrine of the total depravity of mankind, and in the same conversation, saying her husband was a specimen of man's total depravity. 13. The general history of the case. 14. Her belief that some calamity would befall her, owing to my being there, and her refusal to shake hands with me when I went away. 15. Her viewing the subject of religion from the osteric standpoint of Christian exegetical analysis, and agglutinating the polsynthetical ectoblasts of homogeneous asceticism. The witness left the stand amid roars of laughter; and it required some moments to restore order in the court-room. JOSEPH H. WAY, sworn, and said: I am a practicing physician in Kankakee City, Illinois. I made a medical examination of Mrs. Packard a few weeks since, at her house; was there perhaps two hours. On most subjects she was quite sane. On the subject of religion I thought she had some ideas that are not generally entertained. At that time I thought her to be somewhat deranged or excited on that subject; since that time I have thought perhaps I was not a proper judge, for I am not much posted on disputed points in theology, and I find that other people entertain similar ideas. They are not in accordance with my views, but that is no evidence that she is insane. _Cross-examined._--I made this visit at her house, or his house, perhaps, at Manteno. I conversed on various subjects. She was perfectly sane on every subject except religion, and I would not swear now that she was insane. She seemed to have been laboring under an undue excitement on that subject. She has a nervous temperament, and is easily excited. She said she liked her children, and that it was hard to be torn from them. That none but a mother could feel the anguish she had suffered; that while she was confined in the Asylum, the children had been educated by their father to call her insane. She said she would have them punished if they called their own mother insane, for it was not right. ABIJAH DOLE, sworn, and says: I know Mrs. Packard; have known her twenty-five or thirty years. I am her brother-in-law. Lived in Manteno seven years. Mrs. Packard has lived there six years. I have been sent for several times by her and Mr. Packard, and found her in an excited state of mind. I was there frequently; we were very familiar. One morning early, I was sent for: she was in the west room; she was in her night clothes. She took me by the hand and led me to the bed. Libby was lying in bed, moaning and moving her head. Mrs. Packard now spoke and said, "How pure we are." "I am one of the children of heaven; Libby is one of the branches." "The woman shall bruise the serpent's head." She called Mr. Packard a devil. She said, Brother Dole, these are serious matters. If Brother Haslet will help me, we will crush the body. She said, Christ had come into the world to save men, and that she had come to save woman. Her hair was disheveled. Her face looked wild. This was over three years ago. I was there again one morning after this. She came to me. She pitied me for marrying my wife, who is a sister to Mr. Packard; said I might find an agreeable companion. She said if she had cultivated amativeness, she would have made a more agreeable companion. She took me to another room and talked about going away; this was in June before they took her to the State Hospital. She sent for me again; she was in the east room; she was very cordial. She wanted me to intercede for Theophilus, who was at Marshall, Michigan; she wanted him to stay there, and it was thought not advisable for him to stay. We wished him to come away, but did not tell her the reasons. He was with a Swedenborgian. After this I was called there once in the night. She said she could not live with Mr. Packard, and she thought she had better go away. One time she was in the Bible class. The question came up in regard to Moses smiting the Egyptian; she thought Moses had acted too hasty, but that all things worked for the glory of God. I requested her to keep quiet, and she agreed to do it. I have had no conversation with Mrs. Packard since her return from the Hospital; she will not talk with me because she thinks I think she is insane. Her brother came to see her; he said he had not seen her for four or five years. I tried to have Mrs. Packard talk with him, and she would not have anything to do with him because he said she was a crazy woman. She generally was in the kitchen when I was there, overseeing her household affairs. I was superintendent of the Sabbath School. One Sabbath, just at the close of the school, I was behind the desk, and almost like a vision she appeared before me, and requested to deliver or read an address to the school. I was much surprised; I felt so bad, I did not know what to do. (At this juncture the witness became very much affected, and choked up so that he could not proceed, and cried so loud that he could be heard in any part of the court-room. When he became calm, he went on and said), I was willing to gratify her all I could, for I know she was crazy, but I did not want to take the responsibility myself, so I put it to a vote of the school, if she should be allowed to read it. She was allowed to read it. It occupied ten or fifteen minutes in reading. I cannot state any of the particulars of that paper. It bore evidence of her insanity. She went on and condemned the church, all in all, and the individuals composing the church, because they did not agree with her. She looked very wild and very much excited. She seemed to be insane. She came to church one morning just as services commenced, and wished to have the church act upon her letter withdrawing from the church immediately. Mr. Packard was in the pulpit. She wanted to know if Brother Dole and Brother Merrick were in the church, and wanted them to have it acted upon. This was three years ago, just before she was taken away to the hospital. _Cross-examined._--I supposed when I first went into the room that her influence over the child had caused the child to become deranged. The child was nine years old. I believed that she had exerted some mesmeric or other influence over the child, that caused it to moan and toss its head. The child had been sick with brain fever; I learned that after I got there. I suppose the mother had considerable anxiety over the child; I suppose she had been watching over the child all night, and that would tend to excite her. The child got well. It was sick several days after this; it was lying on the bed moaning and tossing its head; the mother did not appear to be alarmed. Mr. Packard was not with her; she was all alone; she did not say that Mr. Packard did not show proper care for the sick child. I suppose she thought Libby would die. Her ideas on religion did not agree with mine, nor with my view of the Bible. I knew Mr. Packard thought her insane, and did not want her to discuss these questions in the Sabbath School. I knew he had opposed her more or less. This letter to the church was for the purpose of asking for a letter from the church. _Question._ Was it an indication of insanity that she wanted to leave the Presbyterian Church? _Answer._ I think it strange that she should ask for letters from the church. She would not leave the church unless she was insane. I am a member of the church--I believe the church is right. I believe everything the church does is right. I believe everything in the Bible. _Ques._ Do you believe literally that Jonah was swallowed by a whale, and remained in its belly three days and was then cast up? _Ans._ I do. _Ques._ Do you believe literally that Elijah went direct up to Heaven in a chariot of fire--that the chariot had wheels, and seats, and was drawn by horses? _Ans._ I do--for with God all things are possible. _Ques._ Do you believe Mrs. Packard was insane, and is insane? _Ans._ I do. I never read any of Swedenborg's works, I do not deem it proper for persons to investigate new doctrines or systems of theology. _Re-examined._--I became a Presbyterian eight years ago. I was formerly a Congregationalist; Mr. Packard was a Congregationalist. _Re-cross-examination._--_Ques._ Was it dangerous for you to examine the doctrines or theology embraced in the Presbyterian Church, when you left the Congregational Church, and joined it? _Ans._ I will not answer so foolish a question. Witness discharged. JOSEPHUS B. SMITH, sworn, says: Am aged fifty years; have known Mrs. Packard seven years. I cannot tell the first appearance of any abnormal condition of her mind. I first saw it at the Sabbath School. She came in and wished to read a communication. I do not recollect everything of the communication. She did not read the letter, but presented it to Brother Dole. She said something about her small children, and left. She seemed to be excited. There was nothing very unusual in her appearance. Her voice was rather excited; it could be heard nearly over the house. I merely recall the circumstance, but recollect scarce anything else. It was an unusual thing for any person to come in and read an address. I do not recollect anything unusual in her manner. (At this stage of the trial, an incident occurred that for a time stopped all proceedings, and produced quite an excitement in the court-room; and this report would not be faithful if it were passed over unnoticed. Mrs. Dole, the sister of Mr. Packard, came in, leading the little daughter of Mrs. Packard, and in passing by the table occupied by Mrs. Packard and her counsel, the child stopped, went up to her mother, kissed and hugged her, and was clinging to her with all child-like fervor, when it was observed by Mrs. Dole, who snatched the child up--and bid it "come away from that woman;" adding, "She is not fit to take care of you--I have you in my charge;" and thereupon led her away. The court-room was crowded to its utmost, and not a mother's heart there but what was touched, and scarce a dry eye was seen. Quite a stir was made, but the sheriff soon restored order.) _Cross-examined._--I had charge of the Sunday School; am a member of Mr. Packard's church. I knew Mr. Packard had considered her insane; knew they had had difficulties. I was elected superintendent of the school in place of Brother Dole, for the special purpose of keeping Mrs. Packard straight. SYBIL DOLE, sworn, and says-- I am Mr. Packard's sister; have known her twenty-five years. Her natural disposition is very kind and sweet. Her education is very good; her morals without a stain or blemish. I first observed a change in her, after we came to Manteno. I had a conversation with her, when she talked an hour without interruption; she talked in a wild, excited manner; the subject was partly religion. She spoke of her own attainments; she said she had advanced in spiritual affairs. This was two or three years before she went to the Asylum. The next time was when she was preparing to go to York State. She was weeping and sick. Her trunk was packed and ready to go, but Mr. Packard was sick. From her voice, and the manner she talked, I formed an opinion of her insanity. She talked on various points; the conversation distressed me very much; I could not sleep. She was going alone; we tried to persuade her not to go alone. She accused Mr. Packard very strangely of depriving her of her rights of conscience--that he would not allow her to think for herself on religious questions, because they disagreed on these topics. She made her visit to New York. The first time I met her after her return, her health was much improved; she appeared much better. In the course of a few weeks, she visited at my house. At another time, one of the children came up, and wanted me to go down; I did so. She was very much excited about her son remaining at Marshall. She was wild. She thought it was very wrong and tyrannical for Mr. Packard not to permit her son to remain there. She said very many things which seemed unnatural. Her voice, manner and ways, all showed she was insane. I was there when Mr. Baker came there, to see about Theophilus remaining at Marshall with him. She was calmer than she was the day before. She said that she should spend the day in fasting and prayer. She said he had came in unexpectedly, and they were not prepared to entertain strangers. She was out of bread, and had to make biscuit for dinner. (One gentleman in the crowd turned to his wife and said, "Wife, were you ever out of bread, and had to make biscuit for dinner? I must put you into an Insane Asylum! No mistake!") I occupied the same room and bed with her. She went to Mr. Packard's room, and when she returned, she said, that if her son was not permitted to remain at Marshall, it would result in a divorce. She got up several times during the night. She told me how much she enjoyed the family circle. She spoke very highly of Mr. Packard's kindness to her. She spoke particularly of the tenderness which had once existed between them. I did not notice anything very remarkable in her conduct toward Mr. Packard, until just before she was sent to the Hospital. One morning afterward, I went to her house with a lady; we wanted to go in, and were admitted. She seemed much excited. She said, "You regard me insane. I will thank you to leave my room." This was two or three months before she was sent to Jacksonville. Mr. Packard went out. She put her hand on my shoulder, and said she would thank me to go out too. I went out. I afterward wanted to take the baby home. One morning I went down to see her, and prepared breakfast for her. She appeared thankful, and complimented me on my kindness. She consented for me to take the child; I did so. In a short time, about ten days after, the other children came up, and said, that she wanted to take her own child. I took the child down. Her appearance was very wild. She was filled with spite toward Mr. Packard. She defied me to take the child again, and said that she would evoke the strong arm of the law to help her keep it. At another time, at the table, she was talking about religion, when Mr. Packard remonstrated with her; she became angry, and told him she would talk what and when she had a mind to. She rose up from the table, and took her tea-cup, and left the room in great violence. _Cross-examined._--I am a member of Mr. Packard's church, and am his sister. He and I have often consulted together about Mrs. Packard. Mr. Packard was the first to ever suggest that she was insane; after that, I would more carefully watch her actions to find out if she was insane. The religious doctrines she advanced were at variance with those entertained by our church. She was a good, neat, thrifty and careful housekeeper. She was economical; kept the children clean and neatly dressed. She was sane on all subjects except religion. I do not think she would have entertained these ideas, if she had not been insane. I do not think she would have wanted to have withdrawn from our church, and unite with another church, if she had not been insane. She said she would worship with the Methodists. They were the only other Protestant denomination that held service at Manteno at the time. I knew when she was taken to Jacksonville Hospital. She was taken away in the morning. She did not want to go; we thought it advisable for her to go. SARAH RUMSEY, sworn, and says: Have lived one week in Mrs. Packard's house. I was present at the interview when Mrs. Packard ordered us to leave the room. Mrs. Packard was very pale and angry. She was in an undress, and her hair was down over her face. It was 11 o'clock in the forenoon--I staid at the house; Mrs. Packard came out to the kitchen. She was dressed then. She said she had come to reveal to me what Mr. Packard was. She talked very rapidly; she would not talk calm. She said Mr. Packard was an arch deceiver; that he and the members of his church had made a conspiracy to put her into the Insane Asylum; she wanted me to leave the conspirators. Soon after dinner she said, "Come with me, I have something to tell you." She said she had a new revelation; it would soon be here; and that she had been chosen by God for a particular mission. She said that all who decided with her, and remained true to her, would be rewarded by the millennium, and if I would side with her, that I would be a chief apostle in the millennium. She wanted to go to Batavia, but that Mr. Packard would give her no money to take her there; that Mr. Packard called her insane. She started to go out, and Mr. Packard made her return; took her into Mr. Comstock's, and Mr. Comstock made her go home. I saw her again when Libby had the brain fever. She was disturbed because the family called her insane. She and Libby were crying together; they cried together a long time. This was Tuesday. She would not let me into the room. The next morning while at breakfast Mr. Labrie passed the window and came in. He said that Georgie had been over for him, and said that they were killing his mother. She acted very strangely all the time; was wild and excited. _Cross-examined._--Knew Mr. Packard two years before I went there to live. He was the pastor of our church. I am a member of the church. I did not attend the Bible class. Brother Dole came to me and said somebody of the church should go there, and stay at the house, and assist in packing her clothes and getting her ready to take off to the Hospital, and stay and take care of the children. I consented to go; I heard that Brother Packard requested Brother Dole to come for me. I never worked out before. They had a French servant, before I went there; Mr. Packard turned her off when I came, the same day. I did not want to take Mrs. Packard away. I did not think she exhibited any very unusual excitement, when the men came here to take her away. Doctors Merrick and Newkirk were the physicians who came there with Sheriff Burgess. She did not manifest as much excitement, when being taken away, as I would have done, under the same circumstances; any person would have naturally been opposed to being carried away. The church had opposed her, in disseminating her ideas in the church; I was opposed to her promulgating her religious ideas in the church; I thought them wrong, and injurious. I was present at the Sabbath School when she read the paper to the school; I thought that bore evidence of insanity. It was a refutation of what Mrs. Dixon had written; I cannot give the contents of the paper now. I was present when she read a confession of her conduct to the church; she had had her views changed partially, from a sermon preached upon the subject of the sovereignty and immutability of God. I did not think it strange conduct that she changed her views; and never said so. This was in the spring before the June when they took her away. The article she read in the school was by the permission of the school. I was present when she presented a protest against the church for refusing to let her be heard; I have only an indistinct recollection of it; it was a protest because they refused to listen to her. Mr. Dole was the only person who came to the house when she was taken away, except the men with Burgess. She said that Mr. Packard had deprived her of the liberty of conscience in charging her to be insane, when she only entertained ideas new to him. I thought it was an evidence of insanity, because she maintained these ideas. I do not know that many people entertain similar ideas. I suppose a good many do not think the Calvinistic doctrine is right, they are not necessarily insane because they think so. When she found I was going to stay in the house, and that the French servant had been discharged, she ordered me into the kitchen; before that, she had treated me kindly as a visitor. I thought it was an evidence of insanity for her to order me into the kitchen; she ought to have known that I was not an ordinary servant. The proper place for the servant is in the kitchen at work, and not in the parlor; I took the place of the servant girl for a short time. She wanted the flower beds in the front yard cleaned out, and tried to get Mr. Packard to do it; he would not do it. She went and put on an old dress and went to work, and cleaned the weeds out, and worked herself into a great heat. It was a warm day; she staid out until she was almost melted down with the heat. _Question._ What did she do then? _Answer._ She went to her room and took a bath, and dressed herself, and then lay down exhausted. She did not come down to dinner. _Ques._ And did you think that was an evidence of insanity? _Ans._ I did--the way it was done. _Ques._ What would you have done under similar circumstances? Would you have set down in the clothes you had worked in? _Ans._ No. _Ques._ Probably you would have taken a bath and changed your clothes too. And so would any lady, would they not? _Ans._ Yes. _Ques._ Then would you call yourself insane? _Ans._ No. But she was angry and excited, and showed ill-will. She was very tidy in her habits; liked to keep the house clean, and have her yard and flowers look well. She took considerable pains with these things. I remained there until she was taken away; I approved taking her away; I deemed her dangerous to the church; her ideas were contrary to the church, and were wrong. The baby was eighteen months old when she was taken away. She was very fond of her children and treated them very kindly. Never saw her misuse them. Never heard that she had misused them. Never heard that she was dangerous to herself or to her family. Never heard that she had threatened or offered to destroy anything, or injure any person. JUDGE BARTLETT was next called to the stand. Am acquainted with Mrs. Packard. Had a conversation with her on religious topics. We agreed very well in most things. She did not say she believed in the transmigration of souls; she said some persons had expressed that idea to her, but she did not believe it. It was spoken of lightly. She did not say ever to me, that Mr. Packard's soul would go into an ox. She did not say anything about her being related to the Holy Ghost. I thought then, and said it, that religious subjects were her study, and that she would easily be excited on that subject. I could not see that she was insane. I would go no stronger than to say, that her mind dwelt on religious subjects. She could not be called insane, for thousands of people believe as she does, on religion. MRS. SYBIL DOLE, recalled. At the time she got up from the table she went out. She said, "I will have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness. No! not so much as to eat with them." _Re-cross-examined._--_Question._ Did you deem that an evidence of insanity? _Answer._ I did. _Ques._ She called Mr. Packard the unfruitful works of darkness? _Ans._ I suppose so. _Ques._ Did she also include you? _Ans._ She might have done so. _Ques._ This was about the time that her husband was plotting to kidnap her, was it not? _Ans._ It was just before she was removed to the Asylum. _Ques._ He had been charging her with insanity, had he not, at the table? _Ans._ He had. The prosecution now wished to adjourn the court for ten days, to enable them to get Dr. McFarland, Superintendent of the State Hospital, who, they claimed, would testify that she was insane. Counsel stated, he had been telegraphed to come, and a reply was received, that he was in Zanesville, Ohio, and would return in about ten days. They claimed his testimony would be very important. This motion the counsel of Mrs. Packard opposed, as it was an unheard-of proceeding to continue a cause after the hearing was commenced, to enable a party to hunt up testimony. The matter was discussed on each side for a considerable length of time, when the court held that the defense should go on with their testimony, and after that was heard, then the court would determine about continuing the case to get Dr. McFarland, and perhaps he could be got before the defense was through, and if so, he might be sworn; and held that the defense should go on now. The counsel of Mrs. Packard withdrew for consultation, and in a brief time returned, and announced to the court that they would submit the case without introducing any testimony, and were willing to submit it without argument. The counsel for Mr. Packard objected to this, and renewed the motion for a continuance; which the court refused. The counsel for Mr. Packard then offered to read to the jury a letter from Dr. McFarland, dated in the month of December, 1863, written to Rev. Theophilus Packard; and also a certificate, under the seal of the State Hospital at Jacksonville, certifying that Mrs. Packard was discharged from the institution in June, 1863, and was incurably insane, which certificate was signed by Dr. McFarland, the Superintendent. To the introduction of this to the jury, the counsel for Mrs. Packard objected, as being incompetent testimony, and debarred the defense of the benefit of a cross-examination. The court permitted the letter and certificate to be read to the jury. These documents were retained by Rev. Theophilus Packard, and the reporter has been unable to obtain copies of them. The letter is dated in December, 1863, at the State Hospital, Jacksonville, Illinois, and written to Rev. Theophilus Packard, wherein Dr. McFarland writes him that Mrs. Packard is hopelessly insane, and that no possible good could result by having her returned to the Hospital; that the officers of the institution had done everything in their power to effect a cure, and were satisfied she could not be cured, and refused to receive her into the institution. The certificate, under the seal of the Hospital, was a statement, dated in June, 1863, at Jacksonville, Illinois, setting forth the time (three years) that Mrs. Packard had been under treatment, and that she had been discharged, as beyond a possibility of being cured. The above is the import of these documents, which the reporter regrets he cannot lay before the public in full. The prosecution now announced that they closed their case. DEFENSE. J. L. SIMINGTON was the first witness called for the defense. Being sworn, he said I live in Manteno; lived there since 1859, early in the spring. Knew Rev. Mr. Packard and Mrs. Packard. First became acquainted with them in 1858; I was then engaged in the ministry of the Methodist Church. I have practiced medicine eleven years. I was consulted as a family physician by Mrs. Packard in 1860. Was quite well acquainted with Mrs. Packard, and with the family. Lived fifty or sixty rods from their house. Saw her and the family almost daily. I did not see anything unusual in her, in regard to her mind. I never saw anything I thought insanity with her. So far as I know she was a sane woman. I have seen her since she came from the Hospital; have seen nothing since to indicate she was insane. My opinion is, she is a sane woman. No cross-examination was made. Dr. J. D. MANN, sworn, and says: I live in Manteno; have lived there nine years. Practiced medicine there six years. I am not very intimately acquainted with either Mr. or Mrs. Packard. Mr. Packard invited me to go to his house to have an interview with Mrs. Packard. I went at his request. He requested me to make a second examination, which I did. There had been a physician there before I went. The last time, he wanted me to meet Dr. Brown, of this city, there. This was late in November last. He introduced me to Mrs. Packard. I had known her before she was taken to the Hospital, and this was the first time I had seen her since she had returned. I was there from one to two hours. I then made up my mind, as I had made up my mind from the first interview, that I could find nothing that indicated insanity. I did not go when Dr. Brown was there. Mr. Packard had told me she was insane, and my prejudices were, that she was insane. He wanted a certificate of her insanity, to take East with him. I would not give it. The witness was not cross-examined. JOSEPH E. LABRIE, sworn, and says: Have known Mrs. Packard six years; lived fifteen or twenty rods from their house. Knew her in spring of 1860. Saw her nearly every day--sometimes two or three times a day. I belong to the Catholic Church. Have seen her since her return from Jacksonville. I have seen nothing that could make me think her insane. I always said she was a sane woman, and say so yet. _Cross-examined._--I am not a physician. I am not an expert. She might be insane, but no common-sense man could find it out. _Re-examined._--I am a Justice of the Peace, and Notary Public. Mr. Packard requested me to go to his house and take an acknowledgment of a deed from her. I went there, and she signed and acknowledged the deed. This was within the past two months. _Re-cross-examined._--I was sent for to go to the house in the spring of 1860. My wife was with me. It was about taking her to Jacksonville. Mrs. Packard would not come to the room where I was. I stayed there only about twenty minutes. Have been there since she returned from the Hospital. The door to her room was locked on the outside. Mr. Packard said, he had made up his mind to let no one into her room. The counsel for Mrs. Packard offered to read to the jury the following paper, which had been referred to by the witnesses, as evidence of Mrs. Packard's insanity, and which Deacon Smith refused to hear read. The counsel for Mr. Packard examined the paper, and admitted it was the same paper. The counsel for Mrs. Packard then requested permission of the court for Mrs. Packard to read it to the jury, which was most strenuously opposed. The court permitted Mrs. Packard to read it to the jury. Mrs. Packard arose, and read in a distinct tone of voice, so that every word was heard all over the court-room. HOW GODLINESS IS PROFITABLE DEACON SMITH--A question was proposed to this class, the last Sabbath Brother Dole taught us, and it was requested that the class consider and report the result of their investigations at a future session. May I now bring it up? The question was this: "Have we any reason to expect that a Christian farmer, _as a Christian_, will be any more successful in his farming operations, than an impenitent sinner--and if _not_, how is it that godliness is profitable unto all things? Or, in other words, does the _motive_ with which one prosecutes his secular business, other things being equal, make any difference in the _pecuniary_ results?" Mrs. Dixon gave it as her opinion, at the time, that the motive _did_ affect the pecuniary results. Now the _practical_ result to which this conclusion leads, is such as will justify us in our judging of Mrs. Dixon's true _moral_ character, next fall, by her _success_ in her farming operations this summer. My opinion differs from hers on this point; and my _reasons_ are here given in writing since I deem it necessary for _me_, under the existing state of feeling toward me, to put into a written form _all_ I have to say, in the class, to prevent misrepresentation. Should I be appropriating an unreasonable share of time, as a pupil, Mr. Smith, to occupy four minutes of your time in reading them? I should like very much to read them, that the class may pass their honest criticisms upon them. AN ANSWER TO THE QUESTION. I think we have no _intelligent_ reason for believing that the motives with which we prosecute our secular business, have any influence in the _pecuniary_ results. My reasons are _common sense_ reasons, rather than strictly Bible proofs, viz.: I regard man as existing in three distinct departments of being, viz., his physical or animal, his mental or intellectual, his moral or spiritual; and each of these three distinct departments are under the control of _laws_, peculiar to itself; and these different laws do not interchange with, or affect each other's department. For instance, a very _immoral_ man may be a very _healthy_, long-lived man; for, notwithstanding he violates the _moral_ department, he may live in conformity to the _physical_ laws of his animal nature, which secure to him his physical health. And, on the other hand, a very moral man may suffer greatly from a diseased body, and be cut off in the very midst of his usefulness by an early death, in consequence of having violated the physical laws of his animal constitution. But on the moral plane he is the _gainer_, and the immoral man is the _loser_. So our success in business depends upon our conformity to _those laws_ on which success depends--_not_ upon the _motives_ which act _only_ on the moral plane. On _this_ ground, the Christian farmer has no more _reason_ to expect success in his farming operations, than the impenitent sinner. In either case, the foundation for success must depend upon the degree of _fidelity_ with which the _natural laws_ are applied, which cause the natural result--_not_ upon the _motives_ of the operator; since these moral acts receive their penalty and reward on an entirely different plane of his being. Now comes in the question, how then is it true, that "godliness is _profitable_ unto all things," if godliness is no guarantee to success in business pursuits? I reply, that the profits of godliness cannot mean, simply, _pecuniary_ profits, because this would limit the gain of godliness to this world, alone; whereas, it is profitable not only for _this life_, but also for the _life to come_. Gain and loss, dollars and cents, are not the coins current in the spiritual world. But happiness and misery are coins which are current in _both_ worlds. Therefore, it appears to me, that happiness is the profit attendant upon godliness, and for this reason, a _practically godly_ person, who lives in conformity to all the various laws of his entire being, may expect to secure to himself, as a natural result, a greater amount of happiness than the ungodly person. So that, in this sense, "Godliness is profitable unto all things," to every department of our being. E. P. W. PACKARD. MANTENO, March 22, 1860. Mrs. Packard then stated that the above was presented to the class, the 15th day of the following April, and was _rejected_ by the teacher Deacon Smith, on the ground of its being irrelevant to the subject, since she had not confined herself to the Bible alone for proof of her position. As she took her seat, a murmur of applause arose from every part of the room, which was promptly suppressed by the sheriff. DANIEL BEEDY, sworn, and says: I live in Manteno. Have known Mrs. Packard six years; knew her in the spring of 1860. I lived a mile and a half from them. Have seen her very frequently since her return from Jacksonville. Had many conversations with her before she was taken away, and since her return. She always appeared to me like a sane woman. I heard she was insane, and my wife and I went to satisfy ourselves. I went there soon after the difficulties in the Bible class. She is not insane. We talked about religion, politics, and various matters, such as a grey-haired old farmer could talk about, and I saw nothing insane about her. Mr. BLESSING, sworn, and says: I live in Manteno; have known Mrs. Packard six years; knew her in the spring of 1860; lived eighty rods from their house. She visited at my house. I have seen her at church. She attended the Methodist church for a while after the difficulties commenced, and then I saw her every Sunday. I never thought her insane. After the word was given out by her husband that she was insane, she claimed my particular protection, and wanted me to obtain a trial for her by the laws of the land, and such an investigation she said she was willing to stand by. She claimed Mr. Packard was insane, if any one was. She begged for a trial. I did not then do anything, because I did not like to interfere between man and wife. I never saw anything that indicated insanity. She was always rational. Had conversations with her since her return. She first came to my house. She claimed a right to live with her family. She considered herself more capable of taking care of her family than any other person. I saw her at Jacksonville. I took Dr. Shirley with me to test her insanity. Dr. Shirley told me she was not insane. Cross-examination waived. Mrs. BLESSING, sworn, and says: Have known Mrs. Packard seven years; knew her in 1860. Lived near them; we visited each other as neighbors. She first came to our house when she returned from Jacksonville. I did not see anything that indicated that she was insane. I saw her at Jacksonville. She had the keys, and showed me around. I heard the conversation there with Dr. Shirley; they talked about religion; did not think she talked unnatural. When I first went in, she was at work on a dress for Dr. McFarland's wife. I saw her after she returned home last fall, quite often, until she was locked in her room. On Monday after she got home, I called on her; she was at work; she was cleaning up the feather beds; they needed cleaning badly. I went there afterward; her daughter let me in. On Saturday before the trial commenced, I was let into her room by Mr. Packard; she had no fire in it; we sat there in the cold. Mr. Packard had a handful of keys, and unlocked the door and let me in. Mrs. Hanford was with me. Before this, Mrs. Hanford and myself went there to see her; he would not let us see her; he shook his hand at me, and threatened to put me out. Mrs. HASLET, sworn, and said: Know Mrs. Packard very well; have known her since they lived in Manteno; knew her in the spring of 1860; and since she returned from Jacksonville, we have been on intimate terms. I never saw any signs of insanity with her. I called often before she was kidnapped and carried to Jacksonville, and since her return. I recollect the time Miss Rumsey was there; I did not see anything that showed insanity. I called to see her in a few days after she returned from Jacksonville; she was in the yard, cleaning feather beds. I called again in a few days; she was still cleaning house. The house needed cleaning; and when I again called, it looked as if the mistress of the house was at home. She had no hired girl. I went again, and was not admitted. I conversed with her through the window; the window was fastened down. The son refused me admission. The window was fastened with nails on the inside, and by two screws, passing through the lower part of the upper sash and the upper part of the lower sash, from the outside. I did not see Mr. Packard this time. _Cross-examination._--She talked about getting released from her imprisonment. She asked if filing a bill of complaint would lead to a divorce. She said she did not want a divorce; she only wanted protection from Mr. Packard's cruelty. I advised her to not stand it quietly, but get a divorce. Dr. DUNCANSON, sworn, and said: I live here; am a physician; have been a clergyman; have been a practicing physician twenty-one years. Have known Mrs. Packard since this trial commenced. Have known her by general report for three years and upwards. I visited her at Mr. Orr's. I was requested to go there and have a conversation with her and determine if she was sane or insane. Talked three hours with her, on political, religious and scientific subjects, and on mental and moral philosophy. I was educated at and received diplomas from the University of Glasgow, and Anderson University of Glasgow. I went there to see her, and prove or disprove her insanity. I think not only that she is sane, but the most intelligent lady I have talked with in many years. We talked religion very thoroughly. I find her an expert in both departments, Old School and New School theology. There are thousands of persons who believe just as she does. Many of her ideas and doctrines are embraced in Swedenborgianism, and many are found only in the New School theology. The best and most learned men of both Europe and this country, are advocates of these doctrines, in one shape or the other; and some bigots and men with minds of small calibre may call these great minds insane; but that does not make them insane. An insane mind is a diseased mind. These minds are the perfection of intellectual powers, healthy, strong, vigorous, and just the reverse of diseased minds, or insane. Her explanation of woman representing the Holy Ghost, and man representing the male attributes of the Father, and that the Son is the fruit of the Father and the Holy Ghost, is a very ancient theological dogma, and entertained by many of our most eminent men. On every topic I introduced, she was perfectly familiar, and discussed them with an intelligence that at once showed she was possessed of a good education, and a strong and vigorous mind. I did not agree with her in sentiment on many things, but I do not call people insane because they differ from me, nor from a majority, even, of people. Many persons called Swedenborg insane. That is true; but he had the largest brain of any person during the age in which he lived; and no one now dares call him insane. You might with as much propriety call Christ insane, because he taught the people many new and strange things; or Galileo; or Newton; or Luther; or Robert Fulton; or Morse, who electrified the world; or Watts or a thousand others I might name. Morse's best friends for a long time thought him mad; yet there was a magnificent mind, the embodiment of health and vigor. So with Mrs. Packard; there is wanting every indication of insanity that is laid down in the books. I pronounce her a sane woman, and wish we had a nation of such women. This witness was cross-examined at some length, which elicited nothing new, when he retired. The defense now announced to the court that they had closed all the testimony they wished to introduce, and inasmuch as the case had occupied so much time, they would propose to submit it without argument. The prosecution would not consent to this arrangement. The case was argued ably and at length, by Messrs. Loomis and Bonfield for the prosecution, and by Messrs. Orr and Loring on the part of the defense. It would be impossible to give even a statement of the arguments made, and do the attorneys justice, in the space allotted to this report. On the 18th day of January, 1864, at 10 o'clock, P. M., the jury retired for consultation, under the charge of the sheriff. After an absence of seven minutes, they returned into court, and gave the following verdict: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } _ss._ KANKAKEE COUNTY, } We, the undersigned, Jurors in the case of Mrs. Elizabeth P. W. Packard, alleged to be insane, having heard the evidence in the case, are satisfied that said Elizabeth P. W. Packard is SANE. JOHN STILES, _Foreman_. DANIEL G. BEAN. F. G. HUTCHINSON. V. H. YOUNG. G. M. LYONS. THOMAS MUNCEY. H. HIRSHBERG. NELSON JERVAIS. WILLIAM HYER. GEO. H. ANDREWS. J. F. MAFIT. LEMUEL MILK. Cheers rose from every part, of the house; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and pressed around Mrs. Packard, and extended her their congratulations. It was sometime before the outburst of applause could be checked. When order was restored, the counsel for Mrs. Packard moved the court, that she be discharged. Thereupon the court ordered the clerk to enter the following order: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } _ss._ KANKAKEE COUNTY, } It is hereby ordered that Mrs. Elizabeth P. W. Packard be relieved from all restraint incompatible with her condition as a sane woman. C. R. STARR, _Judge of the 20th Judicial Circuit of the State of Illinois_ January 18, 1864. Thus ended the trial of this remarkable case. During each day of the proceedings the court-room was crowded to excess by an anxious audience of ladies and gentlemen, who are seldom in our courts. The verdict of the jury was received with applause, and hosts of friends crowded upon Mrs. Packard to congratulate her upon her release. During the past two months, Mr. Packard had locked her up in her own house, fastened the windows outside, and carried the key to the door, and made her a close prisoner. He was maturing a plan to immure her in an Asylum in Massachusetts, and for that purpose was ready to start on the Thursday before the writ was sued out, when his plan was disclosed to Mrs. Packard by a letter he accidentally dropped in her room, written by his sister in Massachusetts, telling him the route he should take, and that a carriage would be ready at the station to put her in and convey her to the Asylum. Vigorous action became necessary, and she communicated this startling intelligence through her window to some ladies who had come to see her, and were refused admission into the house. On Monday morning, and before the defense had rested their case, Mr. Packard left the State, bag and baggage, for parts unknown, having first mortgaged his property for all it is worth to his sister and other parties. We cannot do better than close this report with the following editorial from the Kankakee Gazette, of January 21, 1864: MRS. PACKARD. The case of this lady, which has attracted so much attention and excited so much interest for ten days past, was decided on Monday evening last and resulted, as almost every person thought it must, in a complete vindication of her sanity. The jury retired on Monday evening, after hearing the arguments of the counsel; and after a brief consultation, they brought in a verdict that Mrs. Packard is a _sane_ woman. Thus has resulted an investigation which Mrs. Packard has long and always desired should be had, but which her cruel husband has ever sternly refused her. She has always asked and earnestly pleaded for a jury trial of her case, but her relentless persecutor has ever turned a deaf ear to her entreaties, and flagrantly violated all the dictates of justice and humanity. She has suffered the alienation of friends and relatives; the shock of a kidnapping by her husband and his posse when forcibly removed to the Asylum; has endured three years incarceration in that Asylum--upon the general treatment, in which there is severe comment in the State, and which in her special case was aggravatingly unpleasant and ill-favored; returning to her home she found her husband's saintly blood still congealed, a winter of perpetual frown on his face, and the sad dull monotony of "insane, insane," escaping his lips in all his communications to and concerning her; her young family, the youngest of the four at home being less than four years of age, these children--over whose slumbers she had watched, and whose wailings she had hushed with all a mother's care and tenderness--had been taught to look upon her as insane, and they were not to respect the counsels or heed the voice of a maniac just loosed from the Asylum, doom sealed by official certificates. Soon her aberration of mind led her to seek some of her better clothing carefully kept from her by her husband, which very woman-like act was seized by him as an excuse for confining her in her room, and depriving her of her apparel, and excluding her lady friends. Believing that he was about to again forcibly take her to an asylum, four responsible citizens of that village made affidavit of facts which caused the investigation as to her sanity or insanity. During the whole of the trial she was present, and counseled with her attorneys in the management of the case. Notwithstanding the severe treatment she has received for nearly four years past, the outrages she has suffered, the wrong to her nature she has endured, she deported herself during the trial as one who is not only not insane, but as one possessing intellectual endowments of a high order, and an equipoise and control of mind far above the majority of human kind. Let the sapient Dr. Brown, who gave a certificate of insanity after a short conversation with her, and which certificate was to be used in aid of her incarceration for life--suffer as she has suffered, endure what she has endured, and the world would be deprived of future clinical revealings from his gigantic mind upon the subject of the spleen, and he would, to a still greater extent than in the past, "fail to illuminate" the public as to the virtues and glories of the martyr who is "watching and waiting" in Canada. The heroic motto: "suffer and be strong," is fairly illustrated in her case. While many would have opposed force to his force, displayed frantic emotions of displeasure at such treatment, or sat convulsed and "maddened with the passion of her part," she meekly submitted to the tortures of her bigoted tormentor, trusting and believing in God's Providence the hour of her vindication and her release from thraldom would come. And now the fruit of her suffering and persecution have all the autumn glory of perfection. "One who walked From the throne's splendor to the bloody block, Said: 'This completes my glory' with a smile Which still illuminates men's thoughts of her." Feeling the accusations of his guilty conscience, seeing the meshes of the net with which he had kept her surrounded were broken, and a storm-cloud of indignation about to break over his head in pitiless fury, the intolerant Packard, after encumbering their property with trust-deeds, and despoiling her of her furniture and clothing, left the country. Let him wander! with the mark of infamy upon his brow, through far-off States, where distance and obscurity may diminish till the grave shall cover the wrongs it cannot heal. It is to be hoped Mrs. Packard will make immediate application for a divorce, and thereby relieve herself of a repetition of the wrongs and outrages she has suffered by him who for the past four years has only used the marriage relation to persecute and torment her in a merciless and unfeeling manner. NARRATIVE OF EVENTS--CONTINUED. When this Trial terminated, I returned to my home in Manteno, where five days previous I had bestowed the parting kiss upon my three youngest children, little thinking it would be the last embrace I should be allowed to bestow upon these dear objects of my warmest affections. But alas! so it proved to be. Mr. Packard had fled with them to Massachusetts, leaving me in the court room a childless widow. He could not but see that the tide of popular indignation was concentrating against him, as the revelations of the court ventilated the dreadful facts of this conspiracy, and he "fled his country," a fugitive from justice. He, however, left a letter for me which was handed me before I left the Court-house, wherein he stated that he had moved to Massachusetts, and extended to me an invitation to follow him, with the promise that he would provide me a suitable home. But I did not feel much like trusting either to his humanity or judgment in providing me another home. Indeed, I did not think it safe to follow him, knowing that Massachusetts' laws gave him the absolute custody of my person as well as Illinois' laws. He went to South Deerfield, Massachusetts, and sought shelter for himself and his children in the family of his sister, Mrs. Severance, one of his co-conspirators. Here he found willing ears to credit his tale of abuses he had suffered in this interference of his rights to do as he pleased with his lawful wife--and in representing the trial as a "mock trial," an illegal interference with his rights as head of his own household, and a "mob triumph,"--and in short, he was an innocent victim of a persecution against his legally constituted rights as a husband, to protect his wife in the way his own feelings of bigotry and intolerance should dictate! This was the region of his nativity and former pastorate, which he had left about eleven years previously, with an unblemished external character, and sharing, to an uncommon degree, the entire confidence of the public as a Christian man and a minister. Nothing had occurred, _to their knowledge_, to disturb this confidence in his present integrity as an honest reporter, and the entire community credited his testimony as perfectly reliable, in his entire misrepresentations of the facts in the case, and the character of the trial. His view was the only view the community were allowed to hear, so far as it was in his power to prevent it. The press also lent him its aid, as his organ of communication. He met also his old associates in the ministry, and by his artfully arranged web of lies, and his cunning sophistries, he deluded them also into a belief of his views, so that they, unanimously, gave him their certificate of confidence and fraternal sympathy. Yea, even my own father and brothers became victims also of his sophisms and misrepresentations, so that they honestly believed me to be insane, and that the Westerners had really interfered with Mr. Packard's rights and kind intents towards his wife, in intercepting as they had, his plans to keep her incarcerated for life. Thus this one-sided view of the facts in the case so moulded public sentiment in this conservative part of New England, that he even obtained a certificate from my own dear father, a retired orthodox clergyman in Sunderland, Massachusetts, that, so far as he knew, he had treated his daughter generally with propriety!! This certificate served as a passport to the confidence of Sunderland people in Mr. Packard as a man and a minister, and procured for him a call to become their minister in holy things. He was accordingly hired, as stated supply, and paid fifteen dollars a Sabbath for one year and a half, and was boarded by my father in his family, part of the time, free of charge. The condition in which Mr. Packard left me I will now give in the language of another, by inserting here a quotation from one of the many Chicago papers which published an account of this trial with editorial remarks accompanying it. The following is a part of one of these Editorial Articles, which appeared under the caption:-- "A HEARTLESS CLERGYMAN." _Chicago, March 6, 1864._ "We recently gave an extended account of the melancholy case of Mrs. Packard, of Manteno, Ill., and showed how she was persecuted by her husband, Rev. Theophilus Packard, a bigoted Presbyterian minister of Manteno. Mrs. Packard became liberal in her views, in fact, avowed Universalist sentiments; and as her husband was unable to answer her arguments, he thought he could silence her tongue, by calling her _insane_, and having her incarcerated in the Insane Asylum at Jacksonville, Illinois. He finally succeeded in finding one or two orthodox physicians, as bigoted as himself, ready to aid him in his nefarious work, and she was confined in the asylum, under the charge (?) of Dr. McFarland, who kept her there three years. She at last succeeded in having a jury trial, and was pronounced _sane_. Previous, however, to the termination of the trial, this persecutor of his wife, mortgaged his property, took away his children from the mother, and left her penniless and homeless, without a cent to buy food, or a place where to lay her head! And yet he pretended to believe that she was _insane_! Is this the way to treat an insane wife! Abandon her, turn her out upon the world without a morsel of bread, and no home? Her husband calls her _insane_. Before the case is decided by the jury, he starts for parts unknown. Was there ever such a case of heartlessness? If Mr. Packard _believed_ his wife to be hopelessly _insane_, why did he abandon her? Is this the way to treat a companion afflicted with insanity? If he believed his own story, he should, like a devoted husband, have watched over her with tenderness, his heart full of love should have gone out towards the poor, afflicted woman, and he should have bent over her and soothed her, and spent the last penny he had, for her recovery! But instead of this, he gathers in his funds, "packs up his duds," and leaves his poor, _insane_ wife, as _he_ calls her, in the court room, without food or shelter. He abandons her, leaving her penniless, homeless and childless! "Mrs. Packard is now residing with Mr. Z. Handford, of Manteno, who writes to the Kankakee _Gazette_ as follows: "In the first place, Mrs. Packard is now penniless. After having aided her husband for twenty-one years, by her most indefatigable exertions, to secure for themselves a home, with all its clustering comforts, he, with no cause, except a difference in religious opinions, exiled her from her home, by forcing her into Jacksonville Insane Asylum, where he hoped to immure her for life, or until she would abandon what _he_ calls her 'insane notions.' "But in the overruling providence of a just God, her case has been ventilated, at last, by a jury trial, the account of which is already before the public. "From the time of her banishment into exile, now more than three and a half years, he has not allowed her the control of one dollar of their personal property. And she has had nothing to do with their real estate, within that time, excepting to sign one deed for the transfer of some of their real estate in Mount Pleasant, Iowa, which she did at her husband's earnest solicitations, and his promise to let her have her 'defense,' long enough to copy, which document he had robbed her of three years before, by means of Dr. McFarland as agent. Her signature, _thus obtained_, was acknowledged as a valid act, and the deed was presented to the purchaser as a valid instrument, even after Mr. Packard had just before taken an _oath_ that his wife was an _insane_ woman! "He has robbed her of all her patrimony, including not only her furniture, but her valuable clothing also, and a note of six hundred dollars on interest, which he gave her seven years before, as an equivalent for this amount of patrimony which her father, Rev. Samuel Ware, of Sunderland, Massachusetts, sent Mrs. Packard for her special benefit, and to be used for her and her children as her own judgment should dictate. He has taken her furniture and clothing, or the avails of them, with him to Massachusetts, without allowing her a single article of furniture for her own individual comfort and use. Thus he has left her without a single penny of their common property to procure for herself the necessaries of life. "He has left her homeless. Before the court closed, Mr. Packard left this scene of revelations, and mortgaged and rented their home in Manteno, and dispossessed it by night of its furniture, so that when the court closed, Mrs. Packard had no sort of home to return to, the new renter having claimed possession of her home, and claiming a legal right to all its privileges, excluding her from its use entirely as a home, without leaving her the least legal claim to any of the avails of the rent or sales for the supply of her present necessities. "Again, she is childless. Her cruel husband, not satisfied with robbing his wife of all her rightful property, has actually _kidnapped_ all her dear children who lived at home, taking them with him, clandestinely, to Massachusetts, leaving her a 'childless widow,' entirely dependent for her living, either upon her own exertions, or the charities of the public. We will not attempt to describe the desolation of her maternal heart, when she returned to her deserted home, to find it despoiled of all her dearest earthly treasures; with no sweet cherub, with its smiling, joyous face to extend to her the happy, welcome kiss of a mother's return. "But one short week previous, Mrs. Packard had bestowed the parting kiss upon her three youngest children, little dreaming it would be the last embrace the mother would ever be allowed to bestow upon her dear offspring, in their own dear home. But now, alas! where is her only daughter, Elizabeth, of thirteen years, and her George Hastings, of ten years, and her darling baby, Arthur Dwight, of five years? Gone! gone! never to return, while the mandate of their father's iron will usurps supreme control of this household! "Yes, the mother's home and heart are both desolate, for her heart-treasures--her dear children--are no more to be found. At length, rumor reaches her that her babe, Arthur, is at their brother Dole's. The anxious mother hastens to seek for it there. But all in vain. The family, faithful to their brother's wishes, keep the babe carefully hid from the mother, so that she cannot get even one glimpse of her sweet, darling boy. Her cruel husband, fearing her attempts to secure the child might prove successful, has sent for it to be brought to him in Massachusetts, where he now is fairly out of the mother's reach." Z. HANFORD. I made various attempts to recover my furniture, which I found was stored at Deacon Doles' house, a brother-in-law of Mr. Packard's, under the pretense, that he had bought it, although he could never show one paper as proof of property transferred. I took counsel of the Judge and lawyers at Kankakee, to see if I could in any way recover my stolen furniture, which I had bought with my own patrimony. "Can I replevy it as stolen property?" said I. "No," said my advisers, "you cannot replevy anything, for you are a married woman, and a married woman has no legal existence, unless she holds property independent of her husband. As this is not your case, you are nothing and nobody in law. Your husband has a legal right to all your common property--you have not even a right to the hat on your head!" "Why?" said I, "I have bought and paid for it with my own money." "That is of no consequence--you can hold nothing, as you are _nothing and nobody_ in law! You have a moral right to your own things, and your own children, but no legal right at all; therefore you, a married woman, cannot replevy, although any one else could under like circumstances." "Is this so? Has a married woman no identity in Statute Book of Illinois?" "It is so. Her interests are all lost in those of her husband, and he has the absolute control of her home, her property, her children, and her personal liberty." Yes, all this is but too true, as my own sad experience fully demonstrates. Now I can realize the sad truths so often iterated, reiterated to me by my husband, namely: "You have no _right_ to your home, I have let you live with me twenty-one years in my home as a favor to you. You have no _right_ to your children. I let you train them, as far as I think it is proper to trust your judgment--this privilege of training and educating your own children is a favor bestowed upon you by me, which I can withhold or grant at my own option. You have no _right_ to your money patrimony after you intrusted it to my care, and I gave you a note for it on interest which I can either pay you or not at my own option. You have no _right_ to your personal liberty if I feel disposed to christen your opinions insane opinions, for I can then treat you as an insane person or not, just at my own option." Yes, Mr. Packard has only treated me as he said the laws of Illinois allowed him to do, and how can he be blamed then? Did not "wise men" make the laws, as he often used to assert they did? And can one be prosecuted for doing a legal act? Nay--verily--no law can reach him; even his kidnapping me as he did is legalized in Illinois Statute Book, as the following article which was published in several Boston papers in the winter of 1865, demonstrates, namely: "LEGAL KIDNAPPING," OR PROVISION FOR A SANE PERSON'S IMPRISONMENT. "From the 'Disclosures' of Mrs. Packard's book, it appears a self-evident fact that one State of our Union has an express provision for the imprisonment of married women who are not insane. And this process of legal kidnapping is most strikingly illustrated in the facts developed in Mrs. Packard's own experience, as delineated in her book entitled 'The Great Drama.' "The following is a copy of the Law, as it now stands on the Illinois Statute Book:-- "AMENDATORY ACT." "Session Laws 15, 1851. Page 96." "SEC. 10. Married women and infants who, in the judgment of the Medical Superintendent, [meaning the Superintendent of the 'Illinois State Hospital' for the insane] are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the Hospital on the request of the husband, or the woman or guardian of the infants, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." "Hon. S. S. Jones of St. Charles, Illinois, thus remarks upon this Act:-- "Thus we see a corrupt husband, with money enough to corrupt a Superintendent, can get rid of a wife as effectually as was ever done in a more barbarous age. The Superintendent may be corrupted either with money or influence, that he thinks will give him position, place, or emoluments. Is not this a pretty statute to be incorporated into our laws no more than thirteen years ago? Why not confine the husband at the instance of the wife, as well as the wife at the instance of the husband? The wife evidently had no voice in making the law. "Who, being a man, and seeing this section in the Statute Book of Illinois, under the general head of 'Charities,' does not blush and hang his head for very shame at legislative perversion of so holy a term? I have no doubt, if the truth of the matter were known, this act was passed at the special instance of the Superintendent. A desire for power. I do not know why it has not been noted by me and others before." "And we would also venture to inquire, what is the married woman's protection under such a Statute law? Is she not allowed counter testimony from a physician of her own choice, or can she not demand a trial of some kind, to show whether the charge of insanity brought against her is true or false? Nay, verily. The Statute expressly states that the judgment of the medical Superintendent, to whom the husband's request is made, is _all_ that is required for him to incarcerate his wife for any indefinite period of time. Neither she, her children, nor her relatives have any voice at all in the matter. Her imprisonment may be life-long, for anything she or her friends can do for her to prevent it. If the husband has money or influence enough to corrupt the officials, he can carry out his single wishes concerning his wife's life-destiny. "Are not the 'Divorce Laws' of Illinois made a necessity, to meet the demands of the wife, as her only refuge from this exposure to a 'false imprisonment' for life in an Insane Asylum? "We hope our readers will be able to read Mrs. Packard's book for themselves; especially her 'Self-defence from the charge of Insanity,' wherein the barbarities of this statute are made to appear in their true light, as being merely a provision for 'Legal Kidnapping.'" BOSTON, Feb. 24, 1865. Satisfied as I was that there was no legal redress for me in the laws, and no hope in appealing to Mr. Packard's mercy or manliness, I determined to do what I could to obtain a self-reliant position, by securing if possible the protection of greenbacks, confident that this kind of protection is better than none at all. I concluded, therefore, to publish the first installment of "The Great Drama," an allegorical book I wrote while in the Asylum, consisting of twelve parts. But how could this be done in my penniless condition? was the great question to be practically settled. I accordingly borrowed ten dollars of Mr. Z. Hanford, of Manteno, a noble, kind hearted man, who offered me a home at his house after the trial, and went to Chicago to consult the printers in reference to the expense of printing one thousand copies of this book, and get it stereotyped. I found it would cost me five hundred dollars. I then procured a few thousand tickets on which was printed--"The bearer is entitled to the first volume of Mrs. Packard's book, entitled the Great Drama. None are genuine without my signature. Mrs. E. P. W. Packard." And commenced canvassing for my unborn book, by selling these tickets for fifty cents each, assuring the purchaser I would redeem the ticket in three month's time, by giving them a book worth fifty cents. When I had sold about eight or nine hundred tickets, I went to Chicago to set my printers and stereotypers, engravers and binders, at work on my book. But I now met with a new and unlooked for difficulty, in the sudden inflation of prices in labor and material. My book could not now be printed for less than seven hundred dollars; so that my first edition would not pay for itself into two hundred dollars. As the case now was, instead of paying for my book by selling one thousand tickets, I must sell fourteen hundred, besides superintending the various workmen on the different departments of my book. Nothing daunted by this reverse, instead of raising the price of my tickets to seventy-five cents to meet this unfortunate turn in my finances, I found I must fall back upon the only sure guarantee of success, namely: patient perseverance. By the practical use of this great backbone of success, perseverance, I did finally succeed in printing my book, and paying the whole seven hundred dollars for it in three months' time, by selling four hundred tickets in advance on another edition. I sold and printed, and then printed and sold, and so on, until I have printed and sold in all, twelve thousand books in fifteen months' time. Included in this twelve thousand are several editions of smaller pamphlets, varying in price from five to twenty-five cents each. INTERVIEW WITH MAYOR SHERMAN. At this stage of my Narrative it may not be inappropriate to narrate my interview with Mayor Sherman, of Chicago, since it not only discloses one of the dangers and the difficulties I had to encounter, in prosecuting my enterprise, but also serves as another exemplification of that marital power which is legally guaranteed to the husband, leaving the wife utterly helpless, and legally defenceless. I called upon him at his office in the court house, and was received with respectful, manly courtesy. After introducing myself as the Mrs. Packard whose case had recently acquired so much notoriety through the Chicago press, and after briefly recapitulating the main facts of the persecution, I said to him: "Now, Mr. Sherman, as the Mayor of this city, I appeal to you for protection, while printing my book in your city. Will you protect me here?" "Why, Mrs. Packard, what protection do you need? What dangers do you apprehend?" "Sir, I am a married woman, and my husband is my persecutor, therefore I have no legal protection. The husband is, you probably know, the wife's only protector in the law, therefore, what I want now, Sir, is protection against my protector!" "Is he in this city?" "No, Sir; but his agents are, and he can delegate his power to them, and authorize them what to do." "What do you fear he will do?" "I fear he may intercept the publication of my book; for you probably know, Sir, he can come either himself, or by proxy, and, with his Sheriff, can demand my manuscript of my printer, and the printer, nor you, Sir, have no legal power to defend it. He can demand it, and burn it, and I am helpless in legal self-defense. For, Sir, my identity was legally lost in his, when I married him, leaving me nothing and nobody in law; and besides, all I have is his in law, and of course no one can prosecute him for taking his own things--my manuscript is his, and entirely at his disposal. I have no right in law even to my own thoughts, either spoken or written--he has even claimed the right to superintend my written thoughts as well as post office rights. I can not claim these rights--they are mine only as he grants me them as his gifts to me." "What does your printer say about it?" "He says if the Sheriff comes to him for the book he shall tell him he must get the book where he can find it; _I_ shall not find it for him. I then said to my printer, supposing he should come with money, and offer to buy the manuscript, what then?" "I say, it will take more money than there is in Chicago to buy that manuscript of us," replied my printer. "I think that sounds like protection, Mrs. Packard. I think you have nothing to fear." "No, Mr. Sherman, I have nothing to fear from the manliness of my printer, for this is my sole and only protection--but as one man to whom I trusted even myself, has proved a traitor to his manliness, is there not a possibility another may. I should not object to a double guard, since the single guard of manliness has not even protected me from imprisonment." "Well, Mrs. Packard, you shall have my protection; and I can also assure you the protection of my counsel, also. If you get into trouble, apply to us, and we will give you all the help the laws will allow." "I beg you to consider, Sir; the laws do not allow you to interfere in such a matter. Are you authorized to stop a man from doing a _legal_ act?" "No, Mrs. Packard, I am not. I see you are without any legal protection. Still I think you are safe in Chicago." "I hope it may so prove, Sir. But one thing more I wish your advice about; how can I keep the money I get for my book from Mr. Packard, the legal owner of it?" "Keep it about your person, so he can't get it." "But, Sir; Mr. Packard has a right to my person in law, and can take it anywhere, and put it where he pleases; and if he can get my person, he can take what is on it." "That's so--you are in a bad case, truly--I must say, I never before knew that any one under our government was so utterly defenceless as you are. Your case ought to be known. Every soldier in our army ought to have one of your books, so as to have our laws changed." Soldiers of our army! receive this tacit compliment from Mayor Sherman. _You_ are henceforth to hold the reins of the American Government. And it is my candid opinion, they could not be in better or safer hands. And in your hands would I most confidently trust my sacred cause--the cause of Married Woman; for, so far as my observation extends, no class of American citizens are more manly, than our soldiers. I am inclined to cherish the idea, that gallantry and patriotism are identified; at least, I find they are almost always associated together in the same manly heart. When I had sold about half of my twelve thousand books, I resolved to visit my relatives in Massachusetts, who had not seen me for about twelve years. I felt assured that my dear father, and brothers, and my kind step-mother, were all looking at the facts of my persecution from a wrong stand-point; and I determined to risk my exposure to Mr. Packard's persecuting power again, so far as to let my relatives see me once for themselves; hoping thus the scales might drop from their eyes, so far at least as to protect me from another kidnapping from Mr. Packard. I arrived first at my brother Austin Ware's house in South Deerfield, who lives about two miles from Mr. Severance, where were my three youngest children, and where Mr. Packard spent one day of each week. I spent two nights with him and his new wife, who both gave me a very kind and patient hearing; and the result was, their eyes were opened to see their error in believing me to be an insane person, and expressed their decided condemnation of the course Mr. Packard had pursued towards me. Brother became at once my gallant and manly protector, and the defender of my rights. "Sister," said he, "you have a right to see your children, and you shall see them. I will send for them to-day." He accordingly sent a team for them twice, but was twice refused by Mr. Packard, who had heard of my arrival. Still, he assured me I should see them in due time. He carried me over to Sunderland, about four miles distant, to my father's house, promising me I should meet my dear children there; feeling confident that my father's request joined with his own, would induce Mr. Packard to let me see once more my own dear offspring. As he expected, my father at once espoused my cause, and assured me I should see my children; "for," added he, "Mr. Packard knows it will not do for him to refuse me." He then directed brother to go directly for them himself, and say to Mr. Packard: "Elizabeth's father requests him to let the children have an interview with their mother at his house." But, instead of the children, came a letter from brother, saying, that Mr. Packard has refused, in the most decided terms, to let sister see her own children; or, to use his own language, he said, "I came from Illinois to Massachusetts to protect the children from their mother, and I shall do it, in spite of you, or father Ware, or any one else!" Brother adds, "the mystery of this dark case is now solved, in my mind, completely. Mr. Packard is a monomaniac on this subject; there is no more reason in his treatment of sister, than in a brute." These facts of his refusal to let me see my children, were soon in circulation in the two adjacent villages of Sunderland and South Deerfield, and a strongly indignant feeling was manifested against Mr. Packard's defiant and unreasonable position; and he, becoming aware of the danger to his interests which a conflict with this tide of public sentiment might occasion, seemed forced, by this pressure of public opinion, to succumb; for, on the following Monday morning, (this was on Saturday, P. M.,) he brought all of my three children to my father's house, with himself and Mrs. Severance, as their body-guard, and with both as my witnesses, I was allowed to talk with them an hour or two. He refused me an interview with them alone in my room. I remained at my father's house a few days only, knowing that even in Massachusetts the laws did not protect me from another similar outrage, if Mr. Packard could procure the certificate of two physicians that I was insane; for, with these alone, without any chance at self-defense, he could force me into some of the Private Asylums here, as he did into a State Asylum in Illinois. I knew that, as I was Mr. Packard's wife, neither my brother nor father could be my legal protectors in such an event, as they could command no influence in my defense, except that of public sentiment or mob-law. I therefore felt forced to leave my father's house in self-defence, to seek some protection of the Legislature of Massachusetts, by petitioning them for a change in their laws on the mode of commitment into Insane Asylums. As a preparatory step, I endeavored to get up an agitation on the subject, by printing and selling about six thousand books relative to the subject; and then, trusting to this enlightened public sentiment to back up the movement, I petitioned Massachusetts Legislature to make the needed change in the laws. Hon. S. E. Sewall, of Boston, drafted the Petition, and I circulated it, and obtained between one and two hundred names of men of the first standing and influence in Boston, such as the Aldermen, the Common Council, the High Sheriff, and several other City Officers; and besides, Judges, Lawyers, Editors, Bank Directors, Physicians, &c. Mr. Sewall presented this petition to the Legislature, and they referred it to a committee, and this committee had seven special meetings on the subject. I was invited to meet with them each time, and did so, as were also Mrs. Phelps and Mrs. Denny, two ladies of Boston who had suffered a term of false imprisonment in a private institution at Sommersville, without any previous trial. Hon. S. E. Sewall and Mr. Wendell Phillips both made a plea in its behalf before this committee, and the gallantry and manliness of this committee allowed me a hearing of several hour's time in all, besides allowing me to present the two following Bills, which they afterwards requested a copy of in writing. The three Superintendents, Dr. Walker, Dr. Jarvis, and Dr. Tyler, represented the opposition. And my reply to Dr. Walker constituted the preamble to my bills. MRS. PACKARD'S BILLS. PREAMBLE. _Gentlemen of the Committee_: I feel it my duty to say one word in defence of the Petitioners, in reply to Dr. Walker's statement, that, "in his opinion, nineteen twentieths of the petitioners did not know nor care what they petitioned for, and that they signed it out of compliment to the lady." I differ from Dr. Walker in opinion on this point, for this reason. I obtained these names by my own individual appeals, except from most of the members of the "Common Council," who signed it during an evening session, by its being passed around for their names. I witnessed their signing, and saw them read it, carefully, before signing it. And I _think_ they signed it intelligently, and from a desire for safer legislation. The others I _know_ signed intelligently, and for this reason. And I could easily have got one thousand more names, had it been necessary; for, in selling my books, I have conversed with many thousand men on this subject, and among them all, I have only found one man who defends the present mode of commitment, by leaving it all to the physicians. I spent a day in the Custom House, and a day and a half in the Navy Yard, and these men, like all others, defend our movement. I have sold one hundred and thirty-nine books in the Navy Yard within the last day and a half, by conversing personally with gentlemen in their counting-rooms on this subject, and they are carefully watching your decision on this question. Now, from this stand-point of extensive observation, added to my own personal experience, I feel fully confident these two Bills are needed to meet the public demand at this crisis. BILL NO. 1. No person shall be regarded or treated as an Insane person, or a Monomaniac, simply for the _expression of opinions_, no matter how absurd these opinions may appear to others. REASONS. 1st. This Law is needed for the personal safety of Reformers. We are living in a Progressive Age. Everything is in a state of transmutation, and, as our laws now are, the Reformer, the Pioneer, the Originator of any new idea is liable to be treated as a Monomaniac, with _imprisonment_. 2d. It is a _Crime_ against human progress to allow Reformers to be treated as Monomaniacs; for, who will dare to be true to the inspirations of the divinity within them, if the Pioneers of truth are thus liable to lose their personal liberty for life by so doing? 3d. It is _Treason_ against the principles of our Government to treat opinions as Insanity, and to imprison for it, as our present laws allow. 4th. There always are those in every age who are opposed to every thing _new_, and if allowed, will persecute Reformers with the stigma of Insanity. This has been the fate of all Reformers, from the days of Christ--the Great Reformer--until the present age. 5th. Our Government, of all others, ought especially to guard, by legislation, the vital principle on which it is based, namely: _individuality_, which guarantees an individual right of opinion to all persons. Therefore, gentlemen, _protect your thinkers!_ by a law, against the charge of Monomania, and posterity shall bless our government, as a model government, and Massachusetts as the Pioneer State, in thus protecting individuality as the vital principle on which the highest development of humanity rests. BILL NO. 2. No person shall be imprisoned, and treated as an insane person, except for _irregularities of conduct_, such as indicate that the individual is so lost to reason, as to render him an unaccountable moral agent. REASONS. Multitudes are now imprisoned, without the least evidence that reason is dethroned, as indicated by this test. And I am a representative of this class of prisoners; for, when Dr. McFarland was driven to give his reasons for regarding me as insane, on _this_ basis, the only reason which he could name, after closely inspecting my conduct for three years, was, that I once "_fell down stairs_!" I do insist upon it, gentlemen, that no person should be imprisoned without a _just cause_; for personal liberty is the most blessed boon of our existence and ought therefore to be reasonably guarded as an inalienable right. But it is _not_ reasonably protected under our present legislation, while it allows the simple _opinion_ of two doctors to imprison a person for life, without one _proof_ in the _conduct_ of the accused, that he is an unaccountable moral agent. We do not hang a person on the simple _opinion_ that he is a murderer, but _proof_ is required from the accused's _own actions_, that he is guilty of the charge which forfeits his life. So the charge which forfeits our personal liberty ought to be _proved_ from the individual's own conduct, before imprisonment. So long as insanity is treated as a _crime_, instead of a _misfortune_, as our present system _practically_ does so treat it, the protection of our individual liberty imperatively demands such an enactment. Many contend that _every_ person is insane on some point. On this ground, _all_ persons are liable to be legally imprisoned, under our present system; for intelligent physicians are everywhere to be found, who will not scruple to give a certificate that an individual is a Monomaniac on _that_ point where he differs from _him_ in opinion! This Monomania in many instances is not Insanity, but individuality, which is the highest _natural_ development of a human being. Gentlemen, I know, and have felt, the horrors--the untold _soul_ agonies--attendant on such a persecution. Therefore, as Philanthropists, I beg of you to guard your own liberties, and those of your countrymen, by recommending the adoption of these two Bills as an imperative necessity. The above Bills were presented to the Committee on the Commitment of the Insane, in Boston State house, March 29, 1865, by MRS. E. P. W. PACKARD. The result was, the petition triumphed, by so changing the mode of commitment, that, instead of the husband being allowed to enter his wife at his simple request, added to the certificate of two physicians, he must now get ten of her nearest relatives to join with him in this request; and the person committed, instead of not being allowed to communicate by writing to any one outside of the Institution, except under the censorship of the Superintendent, can now send a letter to each of these ten relatives, and to any other two persons whom the person committed shall designate. This the Superintendent is required to do within two days from the time of commitment. This Law is found in Chapter 268, Section 2, of the General Laws of Massachusetts. I regard my personal liberty in Massachusetts now as not absolutely in the power of my husband; as my family friends must now co-operate in order to make my commitment legal. And since my family relatives are now fully satisfied of my sanity, after having seen me for themselves, I feel now comparatively safe, while in Massachusetts. I therefore returned to my father's house in Sunderland, and finding both of my dear parents feeble, and in need of some one to care for them, and finding myself in need of a season of rest and quiet, I accepted their kind invitation to make their house my home for the present. At this point my father indicated his true position in relation to my interests, by his self-moved efforts in my behalf, in writing and sending the following letter to Mr. Packard.[1] [1] See Appendix, p. 138. COPY OF FATHER WARE'S LETTER TO MR. PACKARD. "_Sunderland, Sept. 2, 1865._ "REV. SIR: I think the time has fully come for you to give up to Elizabeth her clothes. Whatever reason might have existed to justify you in retaining them, has, in process of time, entirely vanished. There is not a shadow of excuse for retaining them. It is my presumption there is not an individual in this town who would justify you in retaining them a single day. Elizabeth is about to make a home at my house, and I must be her protector. She is very destitute of clothing, and greatly needs all those articles which are hers. I hope to hear from you soon, before I shall be constrained to take another step. Yours, Respectfully, "REV. T. PACKARD. SAMUEL WARE." The result of this letter was, that in about twenty-four hours after the letter was delivered, Mr. Packard brought the greater part of my wardrobe and delivered it into the hands of my father. In a few weeks after this event, Mr. Packard's place in the pulpit in Sunderland was filled by a candidate for settlement, and he left the place. The reasons why he thus left his ministerial charge in this place, cannot perhaps be more summarily given than by transcribing the following letter which father got me to write for him, in answer to Rev. Dr. Pomeroy's letter, inquiring of my father _why_ Mr. Packard had left Sunderland. LETTER TO REV. DR. POMEROY. _Sunderland, Oct. 28, 1865._ DR. POMEROY, DEAR SIR: I am sorry to say that my dear father feels too weak to reply to your kind and affectionate letter of the twenty-third instant, and therefore I cheerfully consent to reply to it myself. As to the subject of your letter, it is as you intimated. We have every reason to believe that father's defence of me, has been the indirect cause of Mr. Packard's leaving Sunderland; although we knew nothing of the matter until he left, and a candidate filled his place. Neither father, mother, nor I, have used any direct influence to undermine the confidence of this people in Mr. Packard. But where this simple fact, that I have been imprisoned three years, is known, to have become a demonstrated truth, by the decision of a jury, after a thorough legal investigation of five day's trial, it is found to be rather of an unfortunate truth for the public sentiment of the present age to grapple with. And Mr. Packard and his persecuting party may yet find I uttered no fictitious sentiment, when I remarked to Dr. McFarland in the Asylum, that I shall yet _live down_ this slander of Insanity, and also live down my persecutors. And Mr. Packard is affording me every facility for so doing, by his continuing strenuously to insist upon it, that I am, now, just as insane as when he incarcerated me in Jacksonville Insane Asylum. And he still insists upon it, that an Asylum Prison is the only suitable place for me to spend the residue of my earth-life in. But, fortunately for me, my friends judge differently upon seeing me for themselves. Especially fortunate is it for me, that my own dear father feels confident that his house is a more suitable home for me, notwithstanding the assertion of Mrs. Dickinson, (the widow with whom Mr. Packard boards,) that, "it is such a pity that Mrs. Packard should come to Sunderland, where Mr. Packard preaches!" Mr. Johnson replied in answer to this remark, that he thought Mrs. Packard had a right to come to her father's house for protection, and also that her father had an equal right to extend protection to his only daughter, when thrown adrift and pennyless upon the cold world without a place to shelter her defenceless head. Mr. Packard has withdrawn all intercourse with us all since he was called upon by father to return my wardrobe to me. Would that Mr. Packard's eyes might be opened to see what he is doing, and repent, so that I might be allowed to extend to him the forgiveness my heart longs to bestow, upon this gospel condition. Thankful for all the kindness and sympathy you have bestowed upon my father and mother, as well as myself, I subscribe myself your true friend, E. P. W. PACKARD. P. S. Father and mother both approve of the above, which I have written at father's urgent request. E. P. W. P. Fidelity to the truth requires me to add one more melancholy fact, in order to make this narrative of events complete, and that is, that Mr. Packard has made merchandise of this stigma of Insanity he has branded me with, and used it as a lucrative source of gain to himself, in the following manner. He has made most pathetic appeals to the sympathies of the public for their charities to be bestowed upon him, on the plea of his great misfortune in having an insane wife to support--one who was incapable of taking care of herself or her six children--and on this false premise he has based a most pathetic argument and appeal to their sympathies for pecuniary help, in the form of boxes of clothing for himself and his destitute and defenceless children. These appeals have been most generously responded to from the American Home Missionary Society. So that when I returned to my home from the Asylum, I counted twelve boxes of such clothing, some of which were very large, containing the spoils he had thus purloined from this benevolent society, by entirely false representations. My family were not destitute. But on the contrary, were abundantly supplied with a supernumerary amount of such missionary gifts, which had been lavished upon us, at his request, before I was imprisoned. I had often said to him, that I and my children had already more than a supply for our wants until they were grown up. Now, what could he do with twelve more such boxes? My son, Isaac, now in Chicago, and twenty-one years of age, told me he had counted fifty new vests in one pile, and he had as many pants and coats, and overcoats, and almost every thing else, of men's wearing apparel, in like ratio. He said I had a pile of dress patterns accumulated from these boxes, to one yard in depth in one solid pile. And this was only one sample of all kinds of ladies' apparel which he had thus accumulated, by his cunningly devised begging system. Still, to this very date, he is pleading want and destitution as a basis for more charities of like kind. He has even so moved the benevolent sympathies of the widow Dickinson with whom he boarded, as to make her feel that he was an honest claimant upon their charities in this line, on the ground of poverty and destitution. She accordingly started a subscription to procure him a suit of clothes, on the ground of his extreme destitution, and finally succeeded in begging a subscription of one hundred and thirteen dollars for his benefit, and presented it to him as a token of sympathy and regard. Another fact, he has put his property out of his hands, so that he can say he has nothing. And should I sue him for my maintainance, I could get nothing. His rich brother-in-law, George Hastings, supports the three youngest children, mostly, thus leaving scarcely no claimants upon his own purse, except his own personal wants. His wife and six children he has so disposed of, as to be almost entirely independent of him of any support. And it is my honest opinion, that had Sunderland people known of these facts in his financial matters, they would not have presented him with one hundred and thirteen dollars, as a token of their sympathy and esteem. Still, looking at the subject from their stand-point, I have no doubt they acted conscientiously in this matter. I have never deemed it my duty to enlighten them on this subject, except as the truth is sought for from me, in a few individual isolated cases. I do not mingle with the people scarcely at all, and have sold none of my books among them. Self-defence does not require me to seek the protection of enlightened public sentiment now that the laws protect my personal liberty, while in Massachusetts. But fidelity to the cause of humanity, especially the cause of "Married Woman," requires me to make public the facts of this notorious persecution, in order to have her true legal position known and fully apprehended. And since my case is a practical illustration of what the law is on this subject--showing how entirely destitute she is of any legal protection, except what the will and wishes of her husband secures to her--and also demonstrates the fact, that the common-law, everywhere, in relation to married woman, not only gravitates towards an absolute despotism, but even protects and sustains and defends a despotism of the most arbitrary and absolute kind. Therefore, in order to have her social position changed legally, the need of this change must first be seen and appreciated by the common people--the law-makers of this Republic. And this need or necessity for a revolution on this subject can be made to appear in no more direct manner, than by a practical case such as my own furnishes. As the need of a revolution of the law in relation to negro servitude was made to appear, by the practical exhibition of the Slave Code in "Uncle Tom's" experience, showing that all slaves were _liable_ to suffer to the extent he did; so my experience, although like "Uncle Tom's," an extreme case, shows how all married women are _liable_ to suffer to the same extent that I have. Now justice to humanity claims that such liabilities should not exist in any Christian government. The laws should be so changed that such another outrage could not possibly take place under the sanction of the laws of a Christian government. As Uncle Tom's case aroused the indignation of the people against the slave code, so my case, so far as it is known, arouses this same feeling of indignation against those laws which protect married servitude. Married woman needs legal emancipation from married servitude, as much as the slave needed legal emancipation from his servitude. Again, all slaves did not suffer under negro slavery, neither do all married women suffer from this legalized servitude. Still, the principle of slavery is wrong, and the principle of emancipation is right, and the laws ought so to regard it. And this married servitude exposes the wife to as great suffering as negro servitude did. It is my candid opinion, that no Southern slave ever suffered more spiritual agony than I have suffered; as I am more developed in my moral and spiritual nature than they are, therefore more capable of suffering. I think no slave mother ever endured more keen anguish by being deprived of her own offspring than I have in being legally separated from mine. God grant that married woman's emancipation may quickly follow in the wake of negro emancipation! MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS ANSWERED. In canvassing for my books various important questions have been propounded to me, which the preceding Narrative of Events does not fully answer. FIRST QUESTION. "Why, Mrs. Packard, do you not get a divorce?" Because, in the first place, I do not want to be a divorced woman; but, on the contrary, I wish to be a married woman, and have my husband for my protector; for I do not like this being divorced from my own home. I want a home to live in, and I prefer the one I have labored twenty one years myself to procure, and furnished to my own taste and mind. Neither do I like this being divorced from my own children. I want to live with my dear children, whom I have borne and nursed, reared and educated, almost entirely by my own unwearied indefatigable exertions; and I love them, with all the fondness of a mother's undying love, and no place is home to me in this wide world without them. And again, I have done nothing to _deserve_ this exclusion from the rights and privileges of my own dear home; but on the contrary, my untiring fidelity to the best interests of my family for twenty-one years of healthful, constant service, having never been sick during this time so as to require five dollars doctor's bill to be paid for me or my six children, and having done all the housework, sewing, nursing, and so forth, of my entire family for twenty-one years, with no hired girl help, except for only nine months, during all this long period of constant toil and labor. I say, this self-sacrifizing devotion to the best interests of my family and home, deserve and claim a right to be protected in it, at least, so long as my good conduct continues, instead of being divorced from it, against my own will or consent. In short, what I want is, _protection in my home_, instead of a divorce from it. I do not wish to drive Mr. Packard from his own home, and exclude him from all its rights and privileges--neither do I want he should treat me in this manner, especially so long as he himself claims that I have _always_ been a most kind, patient, devoted wife and mother. He even claims as his justification of his course, that I am so _good_ a woman, and he _loves_ me so well, that he wants to save me from fatal errors! It is my opinions--my religious opinions--and those alone, he makes an occasion for treating me as he has. He frankly owned to me, that he was putting me into an Asylum so that my reputation for being an insane person might destroy the influence of my religious opinions; and I see in one letter which he wrote to my father, he mentions this as the chief evidence of my insanity. He writes: "Her many excellences and past services I highly appreciate; but she says she has widely departed from, or progressed beyond, her former religious views and sentiments--and I think it is too true!!" Here is all the insanity he claims, or has attempted to prove. Now comes the question: Is this a crime for which I ought to be divorced from all the comforts and privileges of my own dear home? To do this,--that is, to get a divorce--would it not be becoming an accomplice in crime, by doing the very deed which he is so desirous of having done, namely: to remove me from my family, for fear of the contaminating influence of my new views? Has a married woman no rights at all? Can she not even think her own thoughts, and speak her own words, unless her thoughts and expressions harmonize with those of her husband? I think it is high time the merits of this question should be practically tested, on a proper basis, the basis of truth--of facts. And the fact, that I have been not only practically divorced from my own home and children, but also incarcerated for three years in a prison, simply for my religious belief, by the arbitrary will of my husband, ought to raise the question, as to what are the married woman's rights, and what is her protection? And it is to this practical issue I have ever striven to force this question. And this issue I felt might be reached more directly and promptly by the public mind, by laying the necessities of the case before the community, and by a direct appeal to them for personal protection--instead of getting a divorce for my protection. I know that by so doing, I have run a great risk of losing my liberty again. Still, I felt that the great cause of married woman's rights might be promoted by this agitation; and so far as my own feelings were concerned, I felt willing to suffer even another martyrdom in this cause, if so be, my sisters in the bonds of marital power might be benefited thereby. I want and seek protection, _as a married woman_--not divorce, in order to escape the abuses of marital power--that is, I want protection from the abuse of marital power, not a divorce from it. I can live in my home with my husband, if he will only let me do so; but he will not suffer it, unless I recant my religious belief. Cannot religious bigotry under such manifestations, receive _some_ check under our government, which is professedly based on the very principle of religious tolerance to all? Cannot there be laws enacted by which a married woman can stand on the same platform as a married man--that is, have an equal right, at least, to the protection of her inalienable rights? And is not this our petition for protection founded in justice and humanity? Is it just to leave the weakest and most defenceless of these two parties wholly without the shelter of law to shield her, while the strongest and most independent has all the aid of the legal arm to strengthen his own? Nay, verily, it is not right or manly for our man government thus to usurp the whole legal power of self-protection and defence, and leave confiding, trusting woman wholly at the mercy of this gigantic power. For perverted men will use this absolute power to abuse the defenceless, rather than protect them; and abuse of power inevitably leads to the contempt of its victim. A man who can trample on all the inalienable rights of his wife, will, by so doing, come to despise her as an inevitable consequence of wrong doing. Woman, too, is a more spiritual being than a man, and is therefore a more sensitive being, and a more patient sufferer than a man; therefore she, more than any other being, needs protection, and she should find it in that government she has sacrificed so much to uphold and sustain. Again, I do not believe in the divorce principle. I say it is a "Secession" principle. It undermines the very vital principle of our Union, and saps the very foundation of our social and civil obligations. For example. Suppose the small, weak and comparatively feeble States in our Union were not protected by the Government in any of their State rights, while the large, strong, and powerful ones had their State rights fully guaranteed and secured to them. Would not this state of the Union endanger the rights of the defenceless ones? and endanger the Union also? Could these defenceless States resort to any other means of self-defence from the usurpation of the powerful States than that of secession? But secession is death to the Union--death to the principles of love and harmony which ought to bind the parts in one sacred whole. Now, I claim that the Marriage Union rests on just this principle, as our laws now stand. The woman has no alternative of resort from any kind of abuse from her partner, but divorce, or secession from the Marriage Union. Now the weak States have rights as well as the strong ones, and it is the rights of the weak, which the government are especially bound to respect and defend, to prevent usurpation and its legitimate issue, secession from the Union. What we want of our government is to prevent this usurpation, by protecting us equally with our partners, so that we shall not need a divorce at all. By equality of rights, I do not mean that woman's rights and man's rights are one and the same. By no means; we do not want the man's rights, but simply our own, natural, womanly rights. There are man's rights and woman's rights. Both different, yet both equally inalienable. There must be a head in every firm; and the head in the Marriage Firm or Union is the man, as the Bible and nature both plainly teach. We maintain that the senior partner, the man, has rights of the greatest importance, as regards the interests of the marriage firm, which should not only be respected and protected by our government, but also enforced upon them as an obligation, if the senior is not self-moved to use his rights practically--and one of these his rights, is a right to protect his own wife and children. The junior partner also has rights of equal moment to the interests of the firm, and one of these is her right to be protected by her senior partner. Not protected in a prison, but in her own home, as mistress of her own house, and as a God appointed guardian of her infant children. The government would then be protecting the marriage union, while it now practically ignores it. To make this matter still plainer, suppose this government was under the control of the female instead of the male influence, and suppose our female government should enact laws which required the men when they entered the marriage union to alienate their right to hold their own property--their right to hold their future earnings--their right to their own homes--their right to their own offspring, if they should have any--their right to their personal liberty--and all these rights be passed over into the hands of their wives for safe keeping, and so long as they chose to be married men, all their claims on our womanly government for protection should be abrogated entirely by this marriage contract. Now, I ask, how many men would venture to get married under these laws? Would they not be tempted to ignore the marriage laws of our woman government altogether? Now, gentlemen, we are sorry to own it, this is the very condition in which your man government places us. We, women, looking from this very standpoint of sad experience, are tempted to exclaim, where is the manliness of our man government! Divorce, I say, then, is in itself an evil--and is only employed as an evil to avoid a greater one, in many instances. Therefore, instead of being forced to choose the least of two evils, I would rather reject both evils, and choose a good thing, that of being protected in my own dear home from unmerited, unreasonable abuse--a restitution of my rights, instead of a continuance of this robbery, sanctioned by a divorce. In short, we desire to live under such laws, as will _oblige_ our husbands to treat us with decent respect, so long as our good conduct merits it, and then will they be made to feel a decent regard for us as their companions and partners, whom the laws protect from their abuse. SECOND QUESTION. "What are your opinions, Mrs. Packard, which have caused all this rupture in your once happy family?" My first impulse prompts we to answer, pertly, it is no one's business what I _think_ but my own, since it is to God alone I am accountable for my thoughts. Whether my thoughts are right or wrong, true or false, is no one's business but my own. It is my own God given right to superintend my own thoughts, and this right I shall never guarantee to any other human being--for God himself has authorized me to "judge ye not of your own selves what is right?" Yes, I do, and shall judge for myself what is right for me to think, what is right for me to speak, and what is right for me to do--and if I do wrong, I stand amenable to the laws of society and my country; for to human tribunals I submit all my actions, as just and proper matter for criticism and control. But my thoughts, I shall never yield to any human tribunal or oligarchy, as a just and proper matter for arbitration or discipline. It is my opinion that the time has gone by for thoughts to be chained to any creeds or oligarchys; but on the contrary, these chains and restraints which have so long bound the human reason to human dictation, must be broken, for the reign of individual, spiritual freedom is about dawning upon our progressive world. Yes, I insist upon it, that it is my own individual right to superintend my own thoughts; and I say farther, it is not my right to superintend the thoughts or conscience of any other developed being. It is none of my business what Mr. Packard, my father, or any other developed man or woman believe or think, for I do not hold myself responsible for their views. I believe they are as honest and sincere as myself in the views they cherish, although so antagonistic to my own; and I have no wish or desire to harass or disturb them, by urging my views upon their notice. Yea, further, I _prefer_ to have them left entirely free and unshackled to believe just as their own developed reason dictates. And all I ask of them is, that they allow me the same privilege. My own dear father does kindly allow me this right of a developed moral agent, although we differ as essentially and materially in our views as Mr. Packard and I do. We, like two accountable moral agents, simply agree to differ, and all is peace and harmony. My individuality has been naturally developed by a life of practical godliness, so that I now know what I do believe, as is not the case with that class in society who dare not individualize themselves. This class are mere echoes or parasites, instead of individuals. They just flow on with the tide of public sentiment, whether right or wrong; whereas the individualized ones can and do stem or resist this tide, when they think it is wrong, and in this way they meet with persecution. It is my misfortune to belong to this unfortunate class. Therefore I am not ashamed or afraid to avow my honest opinions even in the face of a frowning world. Therefore, when duty to myself or others, or the cause of truth requires it, I willingly avow my own honest convictions. On this ground, I feel not only justified, but authorized, to give the question under consideration, a plain and candid answer, knowing that this narrative of the case would be incomplete without it. Another thing is necessary as an introduction, and that is, I do not present my views for others to adopt or endorse as their own. They are simply my individual opinions, and it is a matter of indifference to me, whether they find an echo in any other individual's heart or not. I do not arrogate to myself any popish right or power to enforce my opinions upon the notice of any human being but myself. While at the same time I claim that I have just as good a right to my opinions as Scott, Clark, Edwards, Barnes, or Beecher, or any other human being has to theirs. And furthermore, these theologians have no more right to dictate to me what I must think and believe, than I have to dictate to them what they must think and believe. All have an equal right to their own thoughts. And I know of no more compact form in which to give utterance to my opinions, than by inserting the following letter, I wrote from my prison, to a lady friend in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, and sent out on my "under ground railroad." The only tidings I ever got from this letter, was a sight of it in one of the Chicago papers, following a long and minute report of my jury trial at Kankakee. I never knew how it found its way there; I only knew it was my own identical letter, since I still retain a true copy of the original among my Asylum papers. The following is a copy of the original letter, as it now stands in my own hand-writing. The friend to whom it was written has requested me to omit those portions of the letter which refer directly to herself. In compliance with her wishes, I leave a blank for such omissions. In other respects it is a true copy. The candid reader can judge for himself, whether the cherishing of such radical opinions is not a _crime_ of sufficient magnitude, to justify all my wrongs and imprisonment! Is not my persecutor guiltless in this matter? COPY OF THE LETTER. _Jacksonville, Ill., Oct. 23d, 1861._ MRS. FISHER. MY DEAR OLD FRIEND:-- My love and sympathy for you is undiminished. Changes do not sever our hearts. I cannot but respect your self-reliant, independent, and therefore progressive efforts to become more and more assimilated to Christ's glorious image. I rejoice whenever I find one who dares to rely upon their own organization, in the investigation of truth. In other words, one who dares to be an independent thinker. * * * Yes, you, Mrs. Fisher, in your individuality, are just what God made you to be. And I respect every one who respects himself enough not to try to pervert their organization, by striving to remodel it, and thus defile God's image in them. To be natural, is our highest praise. To let God's image shine through our individuality, should be our highest aim. Alas, Mrs. Fisher, how few there are, who dare to be true to their God given nature! That terrible dogma that our natures are depraved, has ruined its advocates, and led astray many a guileless, confiding soul. Why can we not accept of God's well done work as perfect, and instead of defiling, perverting it, let it stand in all its holy proportions, filling the place God designed it to occupy, and adorn the temple it was fitted for? I, for one, Mrs. Fisher, am determined to be a woman, true to my nature. I regard my nature as holy, and every deviation from its instinctive tendency, I regard as a perversion--a sin. To live a natural, holy life, as Christ did, I regard as my highest honor, my chief glory. I know this sentiment conflicts with our educated belief--our Church creeds--and the honestly cherished opinions of our relatives and friends. Still I believe a "thus saith the Lord" supports it. Could Christ take upon himself our nature, and yet know no sin, if our natures are necessarily sinful? Are not God's simple, common sense teachings, authority enough for our opinions? It is, to all honest souls. Indeed, Mrs. Fisher I have become so radical, as to call in question every opinion in my educated belief, which conflicts with the dictates of reason and common sense. I even believe that God has revealed to his creatures no practical truth, which conflicts with the common instincts of our common natures. In other words, I believe that God has adapted our natures to his teachings. Truth and nature harmonize. I believe that all truth has its source in God, and is eternal. But some perceive truth before others, because some are less perverted in their natures than others, by their educational influences, so that the light of the sun of righteousness finds less to obstruct its beams in some than in others. Thus they become lights in the world, for the benefit of others less favored. * * * You preceded me, in bursting the shackles of preconceived opinions and creeds, and have been longer basking in the liberty wherewith Christ makes his people free, and have therefore longer been taught of him in things pertaining to life and godliness. Would that I had had the mental courage sooner to have imitated you, and thus have broken the fetters which bound me to dogmas and creeds. O, Mrs. Fisher, how trammelled and crippled our consciences have been! O, that we might have an open Bible, and an unshackled conscience! And these precious boons we shall have, for God, by his providence, is securing them to us. Yes, Mrs. Fisher, the persecutions through which we are now passing is securing to us spiritual freedom, liberty, a right, a determination to call no man master, to know no teacher but the Spirit, to follow no light or guide not sanctioned by the Word of God and our conscience--to know no "ism" or creed, but truthism, and no pattern but Christ. Henceforth, I am determined to use my own reason and conscience in my investigation of truth, and in the establishment of my own opinions and practice I shall give my own reason and conscience the preference to all others. * * * I know, also, that I am a sincere seeker after the simple truth. I know I am not willful, but conscientious, in my conduct. And, notwithstanding others deny this, I know their testimony is false. The Searcher of hearts knows that I am as honest with myself, as I am with others. And, although like Paul, I may appear foolish to others in so doing, yet my regard for truth, transcends all other considerations of minor importance. God's good work of grace in me shall never be denied by me, let others defame it, and stigmatize it as insanity, as they will. They, not I, are responsible for this sacrilegious act. God himself has made me dare to be honest and truthful, even in defiance of this heaven daring charge, and God's work will stand in spite of all opposition. "He always wins, who sides with God." Mrs. Fisher, I am not now afraid or ashamed to utter my honest opinions. The worst that my enemies can do to defame my character, they have done, and I fear them no more. I am now free to be true and honest, for this persecution for opinion and conscience' sake, has so strengthened and confirmed me in the free exercise of these inalienable rights in future, that no opposition can overcome me. For I stand by faith in what is true and right. I feel that I am born into a new element--freedom, spiritual freedom. And although the birth throes are agonizing, yet the joyous results compensate for all. How mysterious are God's ways and plans! My persecutors verily thought they could compel me to yield these rights to human dictation, when they have only fortified them against human dictation. God saw that suffering for my opinions, was necessary to confirm me in them. And the work is done, and well done, as all God's work always is. No fear of any human oligarchy will, henceforth, terrify me, or tempt me to succumb to it. I am not now afraid that I shall be called insane, if I avow my belief that Christ died for all mankind, and that this atonement will be effectual in saving all mankind from endless torment--that good will ultimately overcome all evil--that God's benevolent purposes concerning his creatures will never be thwarted--that no rebellious child of God's great family will ever transcend his ability to discipline into entire willing obedience to his will. Can I ever believe that God loves his children less than I do mine? * * * And has God less power to execute his kind plans than I have? Yes, I do and will rejoice to utter with a trumpet tongue, the glorious truth, that God is infinitely benevolent as well as infinitely wise and just. Mrs. Fisher, what can have tempted us ever to doubt this glorious truth? And do we not practically deny it, when we endorse the revolting doctrine of endless punishment? I cannot but feel that the Bible, literally interpreted, teaches the doctrine of endless punishment; yet, since the teachings of nature, and God's holy character and government, seem to contradict this interpretation, I conclude we must have misinterpreted its holy teachings. For example, Jonah uses the word everlasting with a limited meaning, when he says, "thine everlasting bars are about me." Although to _his_ view his punishment was everlasting, yet the issue proved that in reality, there was a limit to the time he was to be in the whale's belly. So it may be in the case of the incorrigible; they may be compelled to suffer what _to them_ is endless torment, because they see no hope for them in the future. Yet the issue will prove God's love to be infinite, in rescuing them from eternal perdition. Again, Mrs. Fisher, my determination and aim is, to become a perfect person in _Christ's_ estimation, although by so doing, I may become the filth and off-scouring of all perverted humanity. What consequence is it to us to be judged of man's judgment, when the cause of our being thus condemned by them as insane, is the very character which entitles us to a rank among the archangels in heaven? Again, I am calling in question my right to unite myself to any Church of Christ militant on earth; fearing I shall be thereby entrammelled by some yoke of bondage--that the liberty wherewith Christ makes his people free may thus be circumscribed. There is so much of the spirit of bigotry and intolerance in every denomination of Christians now on earth, that they do not allow us an open Bible and an unshackled conscience. Or, in other words, there are some to be found in almost every church, to whom we shall become stumbling blocks or rocks of offence, if we practically use the liberty which Christ offers us. Now what shall I do? I do want to obey Christ's direct command to come out from the world and be separate, while at the same time I feel that there is more Christian liberty and charity out of the Church than in it. I am now waiting and seeking the Spirit's aid in bringing this question to a practical test and issue. And, Mrs. Fisher, I fully believe, from God's past care of me, that he will lead me to see the true and living way in which I ought to walk. I will not hide my light under a bushel, but put it upon a candlestick, that it may give light to others. I will also live out, practically, my honestly cherished opinions, believing "that they that _do_ his commandments shall _know_ of the doctrine." I also fully believe that the more fully and exclusively I _live out_ the teachings of the Holy Spirit, the more persecution I shall experience. For they that will live godly, in Christ's estimation, "shall suffer persecution." Mrs. Fisher, I fully believe that Christ's coming cannot be far distant. His coming will restore all things, which we have lost for his sake. Our cause will then find an eloquent pleader in Christ himself, and through our Advocate, the Judge, Himself, will acknowledge us to be his true, loyal subjects, and we shall enter into the full possession of our promised inheritance. With this glorious prospect in full view to the eye of faith, let us "gird up the loins of our mind." In other words, let us dare to pursue the course of the _independent thinker_, and let us run with patience the race set before us. Let us carry uncomplainingly the mortifying cross, which is laid upon us, so long as God suffers it to remain; remembering that it is enough for the servant that he be as his Master. For "as they have persecuted me, they will persecute you also." "Be of good cheer." Mrs. Fisher, "I have overcome the world." Blessed consolation! Mrs. Fisher, the only response I expect to get from this letter, is your silent heartfelt sympathy in my sorrows. No utterance is allowed for my alleviation. And the only way that I am allowed to administer consolation through the pen is by stratagem. I shall employ this means so far as lies in my power, so that when the day of revelation arrives, it may be said truthfully of me, "she hath done what she could." Impossibilities are not required of us. Please tell Theophilus, my oft repeated attempts to send him a motherly letter, have been thwarted. And he, poor persecuted boy! cannot be allowed a mother's tender, heartfelt sympathy. O, my God, protect my precious boy! and carry him safely through this pitiless storm of cruel persecution. Do be to him a mother and a sister, and God shall bless you. Please deliver this message, charged to overflowing with a mother's undying love. Be true to Jesus. Ever believe me your true friend and sympathizing sister, E. P. W. PACKARD. THIRD QUESTION. "Do you think, Mrs. Packard, that your husband really believes you are an insane person?" I do not. I really believe he knows I am a sane person; and still, he is struggling with all his might to make himself and others believe this delusion, because his own conscience is accusing him constantly with this lie against it. With all his accumulated testimonials that I am insane, and all his sophistries and reasoning upon false premises to establish this lie, he cannot silence this accusing monitor within himself, testifying to the contrary. Either this is in reality the case, or he has at last reached that point, where a person has made such a sinner of his own conscience as to believe his own lies; or, in other words, he has so perverted his conscience as to become _conscientiously wrong_. But it is not for me to judge his heart, only from the standpoint of his own actions, and from this basis, I give the above as my honest opinion on this point. Two facts alone may be sufficient to give some corroboration in support of this opinion. After taking me from my asylum prison, and while his prisoner at my own house, he asked me to sign a deed for the transfer of some of his real estate in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, and finding I could not be induced to do it, without returning to me my note of six hundred dollars he had robbed me of, and also some of my good clothing, he sought to transfer it, as the law allows one to do, in case the needed witness is legally incapacitated by insanity to give their signature; and for this purpose he was obliged to take an _oath_ that I was insane. He did take this oath that I was insane, and thereby outlawed as a legal witness. It was administered by Justice Labrie. A few days after this, he called this same Justice in to our house to witness my signing this deed, and used it as a valid signature. Now to say under oath one thing one day, and to deny it the next, is rather crooked business for a healthy Christian conscience to sanction. Another fact. When he was preparing to put me into an Insane Asylum, I asked him why he was so very anxious to put the stigma of insanity upon me, when he knew I was not insane? Said he, "I am doing it so that your opinions need not be believed. I must protect the cause of Christ." Cause of Christ! I felt like exclaiming, if _your_ cause of Christ needs _such_ a defence, I think it must be in a sad condition. If it can't stand before the opinions of a woman, I shouldn't think a man would attempt to protect it! The truth is, the cause of Christ _to him_ is his creed--a set of human opinions. While the real cause of Christ is _humanity_; and a very important part of this cause of Christ to a true man, is the protection of his own wife. FOURTH QUESTION. "Could you forgive Mr. Packard, and live with him again as his wife?" Yes, I could, freely, promptly and fully forgive him, on the gospel condition of _practical repentance_. This condition could secure it, and this alone. As I understand Christ's teachings, he does not allow me to forgive him until he does repent, and in some sense make restitution. He directs me to forgive my brother _if he repent_--yea, if he sins and repents seventy times seven, I must forgive as many times. But if he does not repent, I am not allowed to forgive him. And so long as he insists upon it, both by word and deed, that he has done only what was right for him to do, and that he shall do the same thing again, if he has a chance to, I do not see any chance for me to bestow my forgiveness upon a penitent transgressor. He feels that I am the one to ask forgiveness, for not yielding my opinions to his dictation, instead of causing him so much trouble in trying to bring me under subjection to his will, in this particular. He does not claim that I ever resisted his will in any other particular--and I have not felt it my duty to do so. I had rather yield than quarrel any time, where conscience is not concerned. He knows I have done so, for twenty-one years of married life. But to tell a lie, and be false to my honest convictions, by saying, I believed what I did not believe, I could not be made to do. My truth loving nature could never be subjected to falsify itself--I must and shall be honest and truthful. And although King David said in his haste, "all _men_ are liars," I rejoice he did not say all _women_ were, for then there would have been no chance for my vindication of myself as a _truthful_ woman! This one thing is certain, I have been imprisoned three years because I could not tell a lie, and now I think it would be bad business for me to commence at this late hour. I cannot love oppression, wrong, or injustice under any circumstances. But on the contrary, I do hate it, while at the same time I can love the sinner who thus sins; for I find it in my heart to forgive to any extent the _penitent_ transgressor. I am not conscious of feeling one particle of revengeful feeling towards Mr. Packard, while at the same time I feel the deepest kind of indignation at his abuses of me. And furthermore, I really feel that if any individual ever _deserved_ penitentiary punishment, Mr. Packard does, for his treatment of me. Still, _I_ would not inflict _any_ punishment, upon him--for this business of punishing my enemies I am perfectly content to leave entirely with my Heavenly Father, as he requires me to do, as I understand his directions. And my heart daily thanks God that it is not my business to punish him. One sinner has no right to punish another sinner. God, our Common Father, is the only being who holds this right to punish any of his great family of human children. All that is required of me is, to do him good, and to protect myself from his abuse as best I can; and it is not doing him good to forgive him before he repents. It is reversing God's order. It is not to criminate him that I have laid the truth before the public. Duty demands it as an act of self-defence on my part, and a defence of the rights of that oppressed class of married women which my case represents. I do not ask for him to be punished at any human tribunal; all I ask is, protection for myself, and also the class I represent. One other fact it may be well here to mention, and that is: I have withdrawn all fellowship with him in his present attitude towards me. I do not so much as speak or write to him, and this I do from the principle of self-defence, and not from a spirit of revenge. I know all my words and actions are looked upon through a very distorted medium, and whatever I say or do, he weaves into capital to carry on his persecution with. And I think I have Christ's example too as my defence in this course; for when he was convinced his persecutors questioned him only for the purpose of catching him in his words, "he was speechless." I have said all I have to say to Mr. Packard in his present character. But when he repents, I will forgive him, and restore him to full communion. FIFTH QUESTION. "In what estimation is Mr. Packard held in the region where these scenes were enacted?" Where the truth is known, and as the revelations of the court room developed the facts exactly as they were found to exist, the popular verdict is decidedly against him. Indeed, the tide of popular indignation rises very high among that class, who defend religious liberty and equal rights, free thought, free speech, free press. I state this as a fact which my own personal observation demonstrates. In canvassing for my book in many of the largest cities in the State of Illinois, I had ample opportunity to test this truth, and were I to transcribe a tithe of the expressions of this indignant feeling which I alone have heard, it would swell this pamphlet to a mammoth size. A few specimen expressions must therefore be taken as a fair representation of this popular indignation. "Mr. Packard cannot enter our State without being in danger of being lynched," is an expression I have often heard made from the common people. From the soldiers I have often heard these, and similar expressions; "Mrs. Packard, if you need protection again, just let us know it, and we will protect you with the bullet, if there is no other defence." "If he ever gets you into another Asylum, our cannon shall open its walls for your deliverance," &c. The Bar in Illinois may be represented by the following expressions, made to me by the Judges of the Supreme Court, in Ottawa Court house. "Mrs. Packard, this is the foulest outrage we ever heard of in real life; we have read of such deep laid plots in romances, but we never knew one _acted out_ in real life before. We did not suppose such a plot could be enacted under the laws of our State. But this we will say, if ever you are molested again in our State, let us know it, and we will put Mr. Packard and his conspiracy where they ought to be put." The pulpit of Illinois almost universally condemns the outrage, as a crime against humanity and human rights. But fidelity to the truth requires me to say that there are some exceptions. The only open defenders I ever heard for Mr. Packard, came from the Church influence, and the pulpit. Among all the ministers I have conversed with on this subject, I have found only two ministers who uphold his course. One Presbyterian minister told me, he thought Mr. Packard had done right in treating me as he had; "you have no right," said he, "to cherish opinions which he does not approve, and he did right in putting you in an Asylum for it. I would treat my wife just so, if she did so!" The name and residence of this minister I could give if I chose, but I forbear to do so, lest I expose him unnecessarily. The other clergyman was a Baptist minister. "I uphold Mr. Packard in what he has done, and I would help him in putting you in again should he attempt it." The name and place of this minister I shall withold unless self-defence requires the exposure. When I have added one or two more church members to those two just named, it includes the whole number I ever heard defend, in my presence, Mr. Packard's course. Still, I have no doubt but that these four represent a minority in Illinois, who are governed by the same popish principles of bigotry and intolerance as Mr. Packard is. And I think it may be said of this class, as a Chicago paper did of Mr. Packard, after giving an account of the case, the writer said: "The days of bigotry and oppression are not yet past. If three-fourths of the people of the world were of the belief of Rev. Packard and his witnesses, the other fourth would be burned at the stake." The opinion of his own church and community in Manteno, where he preached at the time I was kidnapped, is another class whose verdict the public desire to know also. I will state a few facts, and leave the public to draw their own inferences. When he put me off, his church and people were well united in him, and as a whole, the church not only sustained him in his course, but were active co-conspirators. When I returned, he preached nowhere. He was closeted at his own domicil on the Sabbath, cooking the family dinner, while his children were at church and sabbath school. His society was almost entirely broken up. I was told he preached until none would come to hear him; and his deacons gave as their reason for not sustaining him, that the trouble in his family had destroyed his influence in that community. Multitudes of his people who attended my trial, whom I know defended him at the time he kidnapped me, came to me with these voluntary confessions: "Mrs. Packard, I always knew you were not insane." "I never believed Mr. Packard's stories." "I always felt that you was an abused woman," &c., &c. These facts indicated some change even in the opinion of his own allies during my absence. As I said, I leave the public to draw their own inferences. I have done my part to give them the premises of facts, to draw them from. SIXTH QUESTION. "Mrs. Packard, is your husband's real reason for treating you as he has, merely a difference in your religious belief, or is there not something back of all this? It seems unaccountable to us, that mere bigotry should so annihilate all human feeling." This is a question I have never been able hitherto to answer, satisfactorily, either to myself or others; but now I am fully prepared to answer it with satisfaction to myself, at least; that is, facts, stubborn facts, which never before came to my knowledge until my visit home, compel me to feel that my solution of this perplexing question, is now based on the unchangeable truth of facts. For I have read with my own eyes the secret correspondence which he has kept up with my father, for about eight years past, wherein this question is answered by himself, by his own confessions, and in his own words. And as a very natural prelude to this answer, it seems to me not inappropriate to answer one other question often put to me first, namely: "has he not some other woman in view?" I can give my opinion now, not only with my usual promptness, but more than my usual confidence that I am correct in my opinion. I say confidently, he has _not_ any other woman in view, nor never had; and it was only because I could not fathom to _the cause_ of this "Great Drama," that this was ever presented to my own mind, as a question. I believe that if ever there was a man who _practically_ believed in the monogamy principle of marriage, he is the man. Yes, I believe, with only one degree of faith less than that of knowledge, that the only Bible reason for a divorce never had an existence in our case. And here, as the subject is now opened, I will take occasion to say, that as I profess to be a Bible woman both in spirit and practice, I cannot conscientiously claim a Bible right to be divorced. I never have had the first cause to doubt his fidelity to me in this respect, and he never has had the first cause to doubt my own to him. But fidelity to the truth of God's providential events compel me to give it as my candid opinion, that the only key to the solution of this mysterious problem will yet be found to be concealed in the fact, that Mr. Packard is a _monomaniac_ on the subject of woman's rights, and that it was the triumph of bigotry over his manliness, which occasioned this public manifestation of this peculiar mental phenomenon. Some of the reasons for this opinion, added to the facts of this dark drama which are already before the public, lie in the following statement. In looking over the correspondence above referred to, I find the "confidential" part all refers to dates and occasions wherein I can distinctly recollect we had had a warm discussion on the subject of woman's rights; that is, I had taken occasion from the application of his insane dogma, namely, that "_a woman has no rights that a man is bound to respect_," to defend the opposite position of equal rights. I used sometimes to put my argument into a written form, hoping thus to secure for it a more calm and quiet consideration. I never used any other weapons in self-defence, except those paper pellets of the brain. And is not that man a coward who cannot stand before such artillery? But not to accuse Mr. Packard of cowardice, I will say, that instead of boldly meeting me as his antagonist on the arena of argument and discussion, and there openly defending himself against my knockdown arguments, with his Cudgel of Insanity, I find he closed off such discussions with his secret "confidential" letters to my relatives and dear friends, saying, that he had sad reason to fear his wife's mind was getting out of order; she was becoming insane on the subject of woman's rights; "but be sure to keep this fact a profound secret--especially, never let Elizabeth hear that _I_ ever intimated such a thing." I presume this is not the first time an opponent in argument has called his conqueror insane, or lost to reason, simply because his logic was too sound for him to grapple with, and the will of the accuser was too obstinate to yield, when conscientiously convinced. But it certainly is more honorable and manly, to accuse him of insanity _to his face_, than it is to thus _secretly_ plot against him an imprisonable offence, without giving him the least chance at self-defence. Again, I visited Hon. Gerrit Smith, of Peterborough, New York, about three years before this secret plot culminated, to get light on this subject of woman's rights, as I had great confidence in the deductions of his noble, capacious mind; and here I found my positions were each, and all, indorsed most fully by him. Said he, "Mrs. Packard, it is high time that you _assert your rights_, there is no other way for you to live a Christian life with such a man." And, as I left, while he held my hand in his, he remarked, "You may give my love to Mr. Packard, and say to him, if he is as developed a man as I consider his wife to be a woman, I should esteem it an honor to form his acquaintance." So it appears that Mr. Smith did not consider my views on this subject as in conflict either with reason or common sense. Again, his physician, Dr. Fordice Rice, of Cazenovia, New York, to whom I opened my whole mind on this subject, said to me in conclusion--"I can unravel the whole secret of your family trouble. Mr. Packard is a monomaniac on the treatment of woman. I don't see how you have ever lived with so unreasonable a man." I replied, "Doctor, I can live with any man--for I will never quarrel with any one, especially a man, and much less with my husband. I can respect Mr. Packard enough, notwithstanding, to do him good all the days of my life, and no evil do I desire to do him; and moreover, I would not exchange him for any man I know of, even if I could do so, simply by turning over my hand; for I believe he is just the man God appointed from all eternity to be my husband. Therefore, I am content with my appointed portion and lot of conjugal happiness." Again. It was only about four years before I was kidnapped, that Mr. O. S. Fowler, the great Phrenologist, examined his head, and expressed his opinion of his mental condition in nearly these words. "Mr. Packard, you are losing your mind--your faculties are all dwindling--your mind is fast running out--in a few years you will not even know your own name, unless your tread-mill habits are broken up. Your mind now is only working like an old worn out horse in a tread mill." Thus our differences of opinion can be accounted for on scientific principles. Here we see his sluggish, conservative temperament, rejecting light, which costs any effort to obtain or use--clinging, serf-like, to the old paths, as with a death grasp; while my active, radical temperament, calls for light, to bear me onward and upward, never satisfied until all available means are faithfully used to reach a more progressive state. Now comes the question. Is activity and progression in knowledge and intelligence, an indication of a sane, natural condition, or is it an unnatural, insane indication? And is a stagnant, torpid, and retrogressive state of mentality, a natural or an unnatural condition--a sane, or an insane state? In our mental states we simply grew apart, instead of together. He was dwindling, dying; I was living, growing, expanding. And this natural development of intellectual power in me, seemed to arouse this morbid feeling of jealousy towards me, lest I outshine him. That is, it stimulated his monomania into exercise, by determining to annihilate or crush the victim in whose mental and moral magnetism he felt so uneasy and dissatisfied with himself. While, at the same time, the influence of my animal magnetism, was never unpleasant to him; but, on the contrary, highly gratifying. Yea, I have every reason to believe he ever regarded me as a model wife, and model mother, and housekeeper. He often made this remark to me: "I never knew a woman whom I think could equal you in womanly virtues." Again. While on this recruiting tour, I made it my home for several weeks at Mr. David Field's, who married my adopted sister, then living in Lyons, New York. I made his wife my confidant of my family trials, to a fuller degree than I ever had to any other human being, little dreaming or suspecting that she was noting my every word and act, to detect if possible, some insane manifestations. But, to her surprise, eleven weeks observation failed to develop the first indication of insanity. The reason she was thus on the alert, was, that my arrival was preceded by a letter from Mr. Packard, saying his wife was insane, and urged her to regard all my representations of family matters as insane statements. Then he added, "Now, Mrs. Field, I must require of you one thing, and that is, that you burn this letter as soon as you have read it; don't even let your husband see it at all, or know that you have had a letter from me, and by all means, keep this whole subject a profound secret from Elizabeth." My sister, true to Mr. Packard's wishes, burned this letter, and buried the subject entirely in oblivion. But when she heard that I was incarcerated in an Asylum, then, in view of all she did know, and in view of what she did not know, she deeply suspected there was foul play in the transaction, and felt it to be her duty to tell her husband all she knew. He fully indorsed her suspicions, and they both undertook a defence for me, when she received a most insulting and abusive letter from Mr. Packard, wherein he, in the most despotic manner, tried to browbeat her into silence. Many tears did this devoted sister shed in secret over this letter and my sad fate--as this letter revealed Mr. Packard's true character to her in an unmasked state. "O, how could that dear, kind woman live with such a man!" was her constant thought. Nerved and strengthened by her husband's advice, she determined to visit me in the Asylum, and, if possible, obtain a personal interview. She did so. She was admitted to my room. There she gave me the first tidings I ever heard of that letter. While at the Asylum, my attendants, amongst others, asked her this question: "Mrs. Field, can you tell us why such a lady as Mrs. Packard, is shut up in this Asylum; we have never seen the least exhibition of insanity in her; and one in particular said, I saw her the first day she was entered, and she was then just the same quiet, perfect lady, you see her to be to day--now do tell us why she is here?" Her reply I will not give, since her aggravated and indignant feelings prompted her to clothe it in very strong language against Mr. Packard, indicating that he ought to be treated as a criminal, who deserved capital punishment. In my opinion, sister would have come nearer the truth, had she said he ought to be treated just as he is treating his wife--as a monomaniac. And I hope I shall be pardoned, if I give utterance to brother's indignant feelings, in his own words, for the language, although strong, does not conflict with Christ's teachings or example. Among the pile of letters above alluded to, which Mr. Packard left accidentally in my room, was one from this Mr. Field, which seemed to be an answer to one Mr. Packard wrote him, wherein it seemed he had been calling Mr. Field to account for having heard that he had called him a "devil," and demanded of him satisfaction, if he had done so; for Mr. Field makes reply: "I do believe men are possessed with devils now a days, as much as they were in Christ's days, and I believe too that some are not only possessed with one devil, but even seven devils, and I believe _you are the man_!" I never heard of his denying the charge as due Mr. Field afterwards! From my own observations in an insane asylum, I am fully satisfied that Mr. Field is correct in his premises, and I must also allow that he has a right of opinion in its application. Looking from these various stand-points, it seems to me self-evident, that this Great Drama is a woman's rights struggle. From the commencement to its present stage of development, this one insane idea seems to be the backbone of the rebellion: A married woman has no rights which her husband is bound to respect. While he simply defended his insane dogma as an _opinion_ only, no one had the least right to call him a monomaniac; but when this insane idea became a _practical_ one, then, and only till then, had we any right to call him an insane person. Now, if the course he has taken with me is not insanity--that is, an unreasonable course, I ask, what is insanity? Now let this great practical truth be for one moment considered, namely, All that renders an earth-life desirable--all the inalienable rights and privileges of one developed, moral, and accountable, sensitive being, lie wholly suspended on the arbitrary will of this intolerant man, or monomaniac. No law, no friend, no logic, can defend me in the least, _legally_, from this despotic, cruel power; for the heart which controls this will has become, as it respects his treatment of me, "without understanding, a covenant breaker, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful." And let another truth also be borne in mind, namely, that this one man stands now as a fit representative of all that class in society, and God grant it may be found to be a very small class! who claim that the subjection of the wife, instead of the protection of the wife, is the true law of marriage. This marriage law of subjection has now culminated, so that it has become a demonstrated fact, that its track lies wholly in the direction of usurpation; and therefore this track, on which so many devoted, true women, have taken a through or life ticket upon, is one which the American government ought to guard and protect by legal enactments; so that such a drama as mine cannot be again legally tolerated under the flag of our protective government. God grant, that this one mute appeal of _stubborn fact_, may be sufficient to nerve up the woman protectors of our manly government, to guard us, in some manner, against woman's greatest foe--the women subjectors of society. It may be proper here to add the result of this recruiting tour. After being absent eleven weeks from my home, and this being the first time I had left my husband during all my married life, longer than for one week's time, I returned to my home, to receive as cordial and as loving a welcome as any wife could desire. Indeed, it seemed to me, that the home of my husband's heart had become "empty, swept, and garnished," during my absence, and that the foul spirits of usurpation had left this citadel, as I fondly hoped, forever. Indeed, I felt that I had good reason to hope, that my logic had been calmly and impassionately digested and indorsed, during my absence, so that now this merely practical recognition of my womanly rights, almost instantly moved my forgiving heart, not only to extend to him, unasked, my full and free forgiveness for the past, but all this abuse seemed to be seeking to find its proper place in the grave of forgetful oblivion. This radical transformation in the bearing of my husband towards me, allowing me not only the rights and privileges of a junior partner in the family firm, but also such a liberal portion of manly expressed love and sympathy, as caused my susceptible, sensitive, heart of affection fairly to leap for joy. Indeed, I could now say, what I could never say in truth before, I am happy in my husband's love--happy in simply being treated as a true woman deserves to be treated--with love and confidence. All the noblest, purest, sensibilities of woman's sympathetic nature find in this, her native element, room for full expansion and growth, by stimulating them into a natural, healthful exercise. It is one of the truths of God's providential events, that the three last years of married life were by far the happiest I ever spent with Mr. Packard. So open and bold was I in this avowal, during these three happy years, that my correspondence of those days is radiant with this truth. And it was not three months, and perhaps not even two months, previous to my being kidnapped, that I made a verbal declaration of this fact, in Mr. Packard's presence, to Deacon Dole, his sister's husband, in these words. The interests of the Bible class had been our topic of conversation, when I had occasion to make this remark: "Brother," said I, "don't you think Mr. Packard is remarkably tolerant to me these days, in allowing me to bring my radical views before your class? And don't you think he is changing as fast as we can expect, considering his conservative organization? We cannot, of course, expect him to keep up with my radical temperament. I think we shall make a man of him yet!" Mr. Packard laughed outright, and replied, "Well, wife, I am glad you have got so good an opinion of me. I hope I shall not disappoint your expectations!" But, alas! where is he now? O, the dreadful demon of bigotry, was allowed to enter and take possession of this once garnished house, through the entreaties, and persuasions, and threats, of his Deacon Smith, and his perverted sister, Mrs. Dole. These two spirits united, were stronger than his own, and they overcame him, and took from him all his manly armor, so that the demon he let in, "brought with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there," still; so that I sadly fear "the last state of that man will be worse than the first." I saw and felt the danger of the vortex into which his sister and deacon were dragging him, and I tried to save him, with all the logic of love, and pure devotion to his highest and best interests; but all in vain. Never shall I forget this fatal crisis. When, just three weeks before he kidnapped me, I sat alone with him in his study, and while upon his lap, with my arms encircling his neck, and my briny cheek pressed against his own, I begged of him to be my protector, in these words: "O, husband! don't yield to their entreaties! Do be true to your marriage vow--true to yourself--true to God. Instead of taking the side of bigotry, and going against your wife, do just protect to me my right of opinion, which this deacon and sister seem determined to wrest from me. Just say to the class, "My wife has as good a right to her opinion as the class have to theirs--and I shall _protect_ her in this right--you need not believe her opinions unless you choose; but she shall have her rights of opinion, unmolested, for I shall be my wife's protector." I added, "Then, husband, you will be a _man_. You will deserve honor, and you will be sure to have it; but if you become my persecutor, you will become a traitor to your manliness; you will deserve dishonor, and you will surely get it in full measure." My earnestness he construed into anger. He thrust me from him. He determined, at all hazard, to subject my rights of opinion to his will, instead of protecting them by his manliness. The plot already laid, eight years previous, now had a rare opportunity to culminate, sure as he was of all needed help in its dreadful execution. In three short weeks I was a State's prisoner of Illinois Lunatic Asylum, being supported as a State pauper! From this fatal evening all appeals to his reason and humanity have been worse than fruitless. They have only served to aggravate his maddened feelings, and goad him on to greater deeds of desperation. Like Nebuchadnezzar, his reason is taken from him, on this one subject; and unrestrained, maddened, resentment fills his depraved soul--his manliness is dead. Is he not a monomaniac? FALSE REPORTS CORRECTED. I find in circulation various false reports and misrepresentations, so slanderous in their bearing upon my character and reputation, and that of my family relatives, that I think they demand a passing notice from me, in summing up this brief record of events. FIRST REPORT. "Mrs. Packard's mother was an insane woman, and several of her relatives have been insane; and, therefore, Mrs. Packard's insanity is hereditary, consequently, she is hopelessly insane." This base and most cruel slander originated from Mr. Packard's own heart; was echoed before the eyes of the public, by Dr. McFarland, Superintendent of the Insane Asylum, through the Chicago Tribune, in a letter which he wrote to the Tribune in self-defence, after my trial. The verdict of the jury virtually impeached Dr. McFarland as an accomplice in this foul drama, and as one who had prostituted his high public trust, in a most notorious manner. This presentation of him and his institution before the public, seemed to provoke this letter, as a vindication of his course. And the most prominent part of this defence seemed to depend upon his making the people believe that the opinion of the jury was not correct, in pronouncing me sane. And he used this slander as the backbone of his argument, to prove that I was hopelessly insane, there having been no change either for the better or worse, while under his care, and that I left the institution just as I entered it, incurably insane. I think I cannot answer this slander more summarily and concisely, than by quoting, verbatim, Mr. Stephen R. Moore's, my attorney, reply to this letter, as it was published at the time in the public papers. MR. MOORE'S REPLY TO DR. MCFARLAND'S SLANDER. "Your letter starts out with a statement of an error, which I believe, to be wholly unintentional, and results from placing too much confidence in the statements of your friend, Rev. Theophilus Packard. You say, "Mrs. P., as one of the results of a strongly inherited predisposition, (her mother having been for a long period of her life insane,) had an attack of insanity previous to her marriage." Such are _not_ the facts. Neither the mother, nor any blood relations of Mrs. Packard, were ever suspected or charged with being insane. And it is a slander of one of the best and most pious mothers of New England, and her ancestry, to charge her and them with insanity; and could have emanated only from the heart of the pious ----, who would incarcerate the companion of his bosom for three years, with gibbering idiots and raving maniacs. "Nor had Mrs. Packard an attack of insanity before her marriage. The pious Packard has fabricated this story to order, from the circumstance, that when a young lady, Mrs. Packard had a severe attack of brain fever, and under which fever she was for a time delirious, and no further, has this a semblance of truth." This is the simple truth, which all my relatives are ready, and many of them very anxious to certify to; but the limits of this pamphlet will not admit any more space in answer to this slander. SECOND REPORT. "Mrs. Packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity." This report originated from the same source, and I will answer it in the words of the same writer, as found in his printed reply: "You say, 'Mrs. Packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity.' She has indeed been most adroit in this concealment, when her family physician of seven year's acquaintance, and all her friends and neighbors, with whom she visited daily, and her children, and the domestics, and lastly, the court and jury had not, and could not, discover any traces of insanity; and the only persons who say they find her insane, were Dr. McFarland, your pious friend Rev. Packard, his sister, and her husband, one deacon of the church, and a fascinating young convert--all members of his church--and a doctor. These witnesses each and every one swore upon the stand, "That it was evidence of insanity in Mrs. Packard, because she wished to leave the Presbyterian church, and join the Methodist." I quote the reasons given by these "Lambs of the Church," that you may know what weight their opinions are entitled to. The physician, upon whose certificate you say you held Mrs. Packard, swore upon the trial, that three-fourths of the religious community were just as insane as Mrs. Packard." THIRD REPORT. "All her family friends, almost without exception, sustain Mr. Packard in his course." Not one of my family friends ever _intelligently_ sustained Mr. Packard in his course. But they did sustain him ignorantly and undesignedly, for a time, while his tissue of lies held them back from investigating the merits of the case for themselves. But as soon as they did know, they became my firm friends and defenders, and Mr. Packard's private foes and public adversaries. I do not mean by this, that they manifest any revengeful feelings towards him, but simply a God-like resentment of his inhuman course towards me. All my relatives, without exception, who have heard my own statement from my own lips, now unite in this one opinion, that Mr. Packard has had no right nor occasion for putting me into an insane asylum. But fidelity to the truth requires me to say in this connection, that among my family relatives, are three families of Congregational ministers--that each of these families have refused me any hearing, so that they are still in league with, and defenders of, Mr. Packard. All I have to say for them is, "May the Lord forgive them, for they know not what they do." But it may be urged that the published certificates of her friends contradict this statement. This is not the case. Those certificates which have appeared in print since my return to my friends, all bear date to the time they were given previous to my return. And in this connection I feel conscientiously bound, in defence of my kindred, to say, that some of these certificates are mere forgeries in its strict sense; that is, they were drafted by Mr. Packard, himself, and most adroitly urged upon the individual whose signature he desired to obtain, and thus his logic, being based in a falsehood, which was used as a truth, and received as such, they are thus made to certify to what was not the real truth. My minor children's certificates are the mere echoes of their father's will and dictation. He has tried to buy the signatures of my two oldest sons, now of age, in Chicago, by offering them some of his abundant surplus clothing, from his missionary boxes, if they would only certify that their mother was insane. But these noble sons have too much moral rectitude to sell their consciences for clothes or gold. Instead of being abettors in their father's crimes, they have, and do still, maintain a most firm stand in defence of me. And for this manly act of filial piety towards me, their father has disinherited both of them, as he has me, from our family rights. Another thing, it is no new business for Mr. Packard to practice forgery. This assertion I can prove by his own confession. Not long before I was exiled from my home, he said to me one day, "I have just signed a note, which, if brought against me in law, would place me in a penitentiary; but I think I am safe, as I have fixed it." Again, Mr. Packard sent a great many forged letters to the Superintendent of the Asylum, while I was there, professing to come from a different source, wherein the writer urged, very strongly, the necessity of keeping me in an asylum, and begging him, most pathetically, to _keep me there_, not only for Mr. Packard's sake, but also for his children's sake, and community's sake, and, lastly, for the cause of Christ's sake! Dr. McFarland used to come to me for an explanation of this singular phenomenon. I would promptly tell him the letters are a forgery--the very face of them so speaks--for who would think of a minister in Ohio writing, self-moved, to a Superintendent in Illinois, begging of him to keep another man's wife in his Asylum! Either these letters were exact copies of Mr. Packard's, with the exception of the signature, or, they were entirely drafted from Mr. Packard's statement, and made so as to be an echo of Mr. Packard's wishes, but seeming to be a self-moved act of the writer's own mind and wishes. O, how fruitful is a depraved heart in devising lies, and masking them with the semblance of truth! and how many lies it takes to defend one! The lie he was thus trying to defend was, that I was insane, when I was not, and all this gigantic frame work of certificates and testimony became necessary as props to sustain it. I now give the testimony of my lawyer, who, after witnessing the revelations of the court room, thus alludes to this subject in his reply to Dr. McFarland's letter. "The certificates produced, fully attesting her insanity, before she was admitted, I suspect were forgeries of the pious Packard, altered to suit the occasion, and your too generous disposition to rely upon the statements made to you, was taken advantage of again, and they were imposed upon you, without the critical examination their importance demanded." FOURTH REPORT. "Mrs. Packard is alienated from her kindred, and even her own father and husband." I will confess I am alienated from _such_ manifestations of love as they showed me while in the Asylum; that is, from none at all. Not one, except my adopted sister, and my two sons at Chicago, ever made an attempt to visit me, or even wrote me scarcely one line. I do say, this was rather cold sympathy for one passing through such scenes as I was called to pass through. This fact was not only an enigma to myself, but it was so to all my Asylum friends, and even to the Doctor himself, if I can believe his own words. He would often say to me, "Mrs. Packard, who are your friends? have you any in the wide world? If so, why do they not look after you?" I used at first to say, I have many friends, and no enemies, except Mr. Packard, that I know of in the whole world. All my relatives love me tenderly. But after watching in vain for three years of prison life for them to show me some proof of it, I changed my song, and owned up, I had no friends worth the name; for my adversity had tried or tested their love, and it had all been found wanting--entirely wanting. So it looked to me from _that_ stand point. And I still insist upon it, this was a sane conclusion. For what is that love worth, that can't defend its friend in adversity? I say it is not worth the name of love. But it must be remembered, I saw then only one side of the picture. The other side I could not see until I saw my friends, and looked from _their_ standpoint. Then I found that the many letters I had written had never reached them; for Mr. Packard had instructed Dr. McFarland, and had insisted upon it, that not a single letter should be sent to any of my friends, not even my father, or sons, without reading it himself, and then sending it to him to read, before sending it; and so he must do with all the letters sent to me; and the result was, scarcely none were delivered to me, nor were mine sent to my friends. But instead of this, a brisk correspondence was kept up between Dr. McFarland and Mr. Packard, who both agreed in representing me as very insane; so much so, that my good demanded that I be kept entirely aloof from their sympathy. I have seen and read these letters, and now, instead of blaming my friends for regarding me as insane, I don't see how they could have come to any other conclusion. From _their_ standpoint, they acted judiciously, and kindly. They were anxious to aid the afflicted minister to the extent they could, in restoring reason to his poor afflicted, maniac wife, and they thought the Superintendent understood his business, and with him, and her kind husband to superintend, they considered I must be well cared for. And again, how could they imagine, that a man would wish to have the reputation of having an insane wife, when he had not? And could the good and kind Mr. Packard neglect even his poor afflicted wife? No, she must be in good hands, under the best of care, and it is her husband on whom we must lavish our warmest, tenderest, sympathies! Yes, so it was; Mr. Packard managed so as to get all the sympathy, and his wife none at all. He got all the money, and she not a cent. He got abundant tokens of regard, and she none at all. In short, he had buried me in a living tomb, with his own hands, and he meant there should be no resurrection. And the statement that I was alienated from my friends when I was entered, is utterly _false_. No one ever loved their kindred or friends with a warmer or a purer love than I ever loved mine. Neither was I alienated even from Mr. Packard, when he entered me. As proof of this, I will describe my feelings as indicated by my conduct, at the time he forced me from my dear ones at home. After the physicians had examined me as described in my Introduction, and Mr. Packard had ordered me to dress for a ride to the Asylum, I asked the privilege of having my room vacated, so that I might bathe myself, as usual, before dressing; intending myself to then secure about my person, _secretly_, my Bible-class documents, as all that I had said in defence of my opinions was in writing, never having trusted myself to an extemporaneous discussion of my new ideas, lest I be misrepresented. And I then felt that these documents, alone, were my only _defence_, being denied all and every form of justice, by any trial. I therefore resorted to this innocent stratagem, as it seemed to me, to secure them; that is, I did not tell Mr. Packard that I had any other reason for being left alone in my room than the one I gave him. But he refused me this request, giving as his only reason, that he did not think it best to leave me alone. He doubtless had the same documents in view, intending thus to keep me from getting them, for he ordered Miss Rumsey to be my lady's maid, as a spy upon my actions. I dared not attempt to get them with her eye upon me, lest she take them from me, or report me to Mr. Packard, as directed by him so to do, as I believed. I resolved upon one more stratagem as my last and only hope, and this was, to ask to be left alone long enough to pray in my own room once more, before being forced from it into my prison. When, therefore, I was all dressed, ready to be kidnapped, I asked to see my dear little ones, to bestow upon them my parting kiss. But was denied this favor also! "Then," said I, "can I bear such trials as these without God's help? And is not this help given us in answer to our own prayers? May I not be allowed, husband, to ask this favor of God _alone_ in my room, before being thus exiled from it?" "No," said he, "I don't think it is best to let you be alone in your room." "O, husband," said I, "you have allowed me no chance for my secret devotions this morning, can't I be allowed this one last request?" "No; I think it is not best; but you may pray with your door open." I then kneeled down in my room, with my bonnet and shawl on, and in the presence and hearing of the sheriff, and the conspiracy I offered up my petition, in an audible voice, wherein I laid my burdens frankly, fully, before my sympathizing Saviour, as I would have done in secret. And this Miss Rumsey reports, that the burden of this prayer was for _Mr. Packard's forgiveness_. She says, I first told God what a great crime Mr. Packard was committing in treating his wife as he was doing, and what great guilt he was thus treasuring up to himself, by this cruel and unjust treatment of the woman he had sworn before God to protect; and what an awful doom he must surely meet with, under the government of a just God, for these his great sins against me, and so forth; and then added, that if it was possible for God to allow me to bear his punishment _for him_, that he would allow me so to do, if in that way, his soul might be redeemed from the curse which must now rest upon it. In short, the burden of my prayer was, that I might be his redeemer, if my sufferings could in any possible way atone for his sins. Such a petition was, of course looked upon by this conspiracy, as evidence of my insanity, and has been used by them, as such. But I cannot but feel that in God's sight, it was regarded as an echo of Christ's dying prayer for his murderers, prompted by the same spirit of gospel forgiveness of enemies. In fact, if I know anything of my own heart, I do know that it then cherished not a single feeling of resentment towards him. But my soul was burdened by a sense of his great guilt, and only desired his pardon and forgiveness. As another proof of this assertion, I will describe our parting interview at the Asylum. He had stayed two nights at the Asylum, occupying the stately guest chamber and bed alone, while I was being locked up in my narrow cell, on my narrow single bed, with the howling maniacs around for my serenaders. He sat at the sumptuous table of the Superintendent, sharing in all its costly viands and dainties, and entertained by its refined guests, for his company and companions. While I, his companion, ever accustomed to the most polished and best society, was sitting at our long table, furnished with nothing but bread and meat; and my companions, some of them, gibbering maniacs, whose presence and society must be purchased only at the risk of life or physical injury. He could walk about the city at his pleasure, or be escorted in the sumptuous carriage, while I could only circumambulate the Asylum yard, under the vigilant eye of my keeper. O, it did seem, these two days and nights, as though my affectionate heart would break with my over much sorrow. No sweet darling babe to hug to my heart's embrace--no child arms to encircle my neck and bestow on my cheek its hearty "good night" kiss. No--nothing, nothing, in my surroundings, to cheer and soothe my tempest tossed soul. In this sorrowful state of mind Mr. Packard found me in my cell, and asked me if I should not like an interview with him, in the parlor, as he was about to leave me soon. "Yes," said I, "I should be very glad of one," and taking his arm, I walked out of the hall. As I passed on, one of the attendants remarked: "See, she is not alienated from her husband, see how kindly she takes his arm!" When we reached the parlor, I seated myself by his side, on the sofa, and gave full vent to my long pent up emotions and feelings. "O, husband!" said I, "how can you leave me in such a place? It seems as though I cannot bear it. And my darling babe! O, what will become of him! How can he live without his mother! And how can I live without my babe, and my children! O, do, do, I beg of you, take me home. You know I have _always_ been a true and loving wife to you, and how can you treat me so?" My entreaties and prayers were accompanied with my tears, which is a very uncommon manifestation with me; and while I talked, I arose from my seat and walked the room, with my handkerchief to my eyes; for it seemed as if my heart would break. Getting no response whatever from him, I took down my hand to see why he did not speak to me when--what did I see! my husband sound asleep, nodding his head! "O, husband!" said I, "can you sleep while your wife is in such agony?" Said he, "I can't keep awake; I have been broke of my rest." "I see," said I, "there is no use in trying to move your feelings, we may as well say our 'good bye' now as ever." And as I bestowed upon him the parting kiss, I said, "May our next meeting be in the spirit land! And if there you find yourself in a sphere of lower development than myself; and you have any desire to rise to a higher plane, remember, there is one spirit in the universe, who will leave any height of enjoyment, and descend to any depth of misery, to raise you to a higher plane of happiness, if it is possible so to do. And that spirit is the spirit of your Elizabeth. Farewell! husband, forever!!" This is the exact picture. Now see what use he makes of it. In his letter to my father, he says: "She did not like to be left. I pitied her." (Pitied her! How was his sympathy manifested?) "It was an affecting scene. But she was very mad at me, and tried to wound my feelings every way. She would send no word to the children, and would not _pleasantly_ bid me good bye." Pleasantly was underlined, to make it appear, that, because I did not pleasantly bid him good bye, under these circumstances, I felt hard towards him, and this was a proof of my alienation, and is as strong a one as it is possible for him to bring in support of his charge. Let the tender hearted mother draw her own inferences--man cannot know what I then suffered. And may a kind God grant, that no other mother may ever know what I then felt, in her own sad experience! The truth is, I never was alienated from my husband, until he gave me just _cause_ for this alienation, and not until he put me into the Asylum, and then it took four long months more, of the most intense spiritual torture, to develop in my loving, forgiving heart, one feeling of hate towards him. As proof of this, I will here insert two letters I wrote him several weeks after my incarceration. COPY OF THE LETTER. _Jacksonville, July 14th, 1860, Sabbath, P. M._ MY DEAR CHILDREN AND HUSBAND: Your letter of July eleventh arrived yesterday. It was the third I have received from home, and, indeed, is all I have received from any source since I came to the Asylum. And the one you received from me is all I have sent from here. I thank you for writing so often. I shall be happy to answer all letters from you, if you desire it, as I see you do, by your last. I like anything to relieve the monotony of my daily routine. * * * Dr. McFarland told me, after I had been here one week, "I do not think you will remain but a few days longer." I suspect he found me an unfit subject, upon a personal acquaintance with me. Still, unfit as I consider myself, to be numbered amongst the insane, I am so numbered at my husband's request. And for his sake, I must, until my death, carry about with me, "This thorn in the flesh--this messenger of Satan to buffet me," and probably, to keep me humble, and in my proper place. God grant it may be a sanctified affliction to me! I do try to bear it, uncomplainingly, and submissively. But, O! 'tis hard--'tis very hard. O, may you never know what it is to be numbered with the insane, within the walls of an insane asylum, not knowing as your friends will ever regard you as a fit companion or associate for them again, outside its walls. O, the bitter, bitter cup, I have been called to drink, even to its very dregs, just because I choose to obey God rather than man! But, as my Saviour said, "the cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?" O, yes, for thy sake, kind Saviour, I rejoice, that I am counted worthy to suffer the loss of all things, for thy sake. And thou hast made me worthy, by thine own free and sovereign grace. Yes, dear Jesus, I believe that I have learned the lesson thou hast thus taught me, that "in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." Yes, content, to sit at a table with twenty-four maniacs, three times a day, and eat my bread and meat, and drink my milk and water, while I remember, almost each time, how many vegetables and berries are upon my own dear table at home, and I not allowed to taste, because my husband counts me unworthy, or unfit, or unsafe, to be an inmate at his fireside and table. I eat, and retire, and pray God to keep me from complaining. My fare does not agree with my health, and so I have begged of our kind attendants, to furnish me some poor, shriveled wheat, to keep in my room, to eat raw, to keep my bowels open. This morning, after asking a blessing at the table, I retired to my own room, to eat my raw, hard wheat alone, with my pine-apple to soften it, or rather to moisten it going down. Yes, the berries I toiled so very hard to get for our health and comfort, I only must be deprived of them at my husband's appointment. The past, O, the sad past! together with the present, and the unknown future. O, let oblivion cover the past--let no record of my wrongs be ever made, for posterity to see, for your sake, my own lawful husband. O, my dear precious children! how I pity you! My heart aches for you. But I can do nothing for you. I am your father's victim, and cannot escape from my prison to help you, even you--my own flesh and blood--my heart's treasures, my jewels, my honor and rejoicing. For I do believe you remain true to the mother who loves you so tenderly, that she would die to save you from the disgrace she has brought upon your fair names, by being stigmatised as the children of an insane mother, whom your father said he regarded as unsafe, as an inmate of your own quiet home, and, therefore, has confined me within these awful enclosures. O, may you never know what it is to go to sleep within the hearing of such unearthly sounds, as can be heard here almost at any hour of the night! I can sleep in the hearing of it, for "so he giveth his beloved sleep." O, children dear, do not be discouraged at my sad fate, for well doing. But be assured that, although you may suffer in this world for it, you may be sure your reward will come in the next. "For, if we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him." O, do commit your souls to him in well-doing for my sake, if you dare not for your own sake, for I do entreat you to let me be with you in heaven, if your father prevents it on earth. I may not have much longer to suffer here on earth. Several in our ward are now sick in bed, and I give them more of my fruit than I eat myself, hoping that, when my turn comes to be sick, some one may thus serve me. But if not, I can bear it, perhaps better than they can, to be without any solace or comfort in sickness here, such as a friend needs. I have nothing to live for now, but to serve you, as I know of. But you can get along without me, can't you? Pa will take care of you. Do be kind to him, and make him as happy as possible. Yes, honor your father, if he has brought such dishonor upon your name and reputation. I will devote my energies to these distressed objects around me, instead of attending to your wants, as a mother should be allowed to do, at least, so long as she could do so, as well as I could, and did, when I was taken from you. I know I could not, for lack of physical strength, do as much for you as I once could, still I was willing, and did do all I could for you. Indeed, I find I am almost worn out by my sufferings. I am very weak and feeble. Still, I make no complaints, for I am so much better off than many others here. Do bring my poor lifeless body home when my spirit, which troubled your father so much, has fled to Jesus' arms for protection, and lay me by my asparagus bed, so you can visit my grave, and weep over my sad fate in this world. I do not wish to be buried in Shelburne, but let me rise where I suffered so much for Christ's sake. O, do not, do not, be weary in well doing, for, did I not hope to meet you in heaven, it seems as though my heart would break! I am useful here, I hope. Some of our patients say, it is a paradise here now, compared with what it was before I came. The authorities assure me, that I am doing a great work here, for the institution. When I had the prospect of returning home in a few days, as I told you, I begged with tears not to send me, as my husband would have the same reason for sending me back as he had for bringing me here. For the will of God is still my law and guide, so I cannot do wrong, and until I become insane, I can take no other guide for my conduct. Here I can exercise my rights of conscience, without offending any one. Yes, I am getting friends, from high and low, rich and poor. I am loved, and respected here by all that know me. I am their confident, their counsellor, their bosom friend. O, how I love this new circle of friends! There are several patients here, who are no more insane than I am; but are put here, like me, to get rid of them. But here we can work for God, and here die for him. Love to all my children, and yourself also. I thank you for the fruit, and mirror. It came safe. I had bought one before. I am at rest--and my mind enjoys that peace the world cannot give or take away. When I am gone to rest, rejoice for me. Weep not for me. I am, and must be forever happy in God's love. The questions are often asked me, "Why were you sent here? you are not insane. Did you injure any one? Did you give up, and neglect your duties? Did you tear your clothes, and destroy your things? What did you do that made your friends treat such a good woman so?" Let silence be my only reply, for your sake, my husband. Now, my husband, do repent, and secure forgiveness from God, and me, before it is too late. Indeed, I pity you; my soul weeps on your account. But God is merciful, and his mercies are great above the heavens. Therefore, do not despair; by speedy repentance secure gospel peace to your tempest-tossed soul. So prays your loving wife, ELIZABETH. EXTRACT FROM ANOTHER LETTER. MY DEAR HUSBAND. I thank you kindly for writing me, and thus relieving my burdened heart, by assuring me that my dear children are alive and well. I have been sadly burdened at the thought of what they are called to suffer on their mother's account. Yes, the mother's heart has wept for them every moment: yet my heart has rejoiced in God my Savior, for to suffer as well as to do His holy will, is my highest delight, my chief joy. Yes, my dear husband, I can say in all sincerity and honesty, "The will of the Lord be done." I can still by his abundant grace utter the true emotions of my full heart, in the words of my favorite verse, which you all know has been my solace in times of doubt, perplexity and trial. It is this: "With cheerful feet the path of duty run, God nothing does, nor suffers to be done, But what thou wouldst thyself, couldst thou but see, Through all events of things as well as He." O, the consolation the tempest tossed spirit feels in the thought that our Father is at the helm, and that no real harm can befall us with such a pilot to direct our course. And let me assure you all for your encouragement, that my own experience bears honest, practical testimony that great peace they have who make God their shield, their trust, their refuge; and I can even add that this Insane Asylum has been to me the gate to Heaven. * * * By Dr. McFarland's leave, I have established family worship in our hall; and we never have less than twelve, and sometimes eighteen or more, quite quiet and orderly, while I read and explain a chapter--then join in singing a hymn--then kneeling down, I offer a prayer, as long as I usually do at our own family altar. I also implore the blessing of God at the table at every meal, while twenty-nine maniacs, as we are called, silently join with me. Our conversation, for the most part, is intelligent, and to me most instructive. At first, quite a spirit of discord seemed to pervade our circle. But now it is quiet and even cheerful. I find that we as individuals hold the happiness of others to a great degree in our own keeping, and that "A merry heart doeth good like medicine." * * * If God so permit, I should rejoice to join the dear circle at home, and serve them to the best of my ability. "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt." I thank you, husband, for your kindness, both past and prospective. Do forgive me, wherein I have wronged you, or needlessly injured your feelings, and believe me yours, ELIZABETH. P. S. Tell the dear children to trust God, by doing right. I now do frankly own, I am fully alienated from him, in his present detestable character, as developed towards me, his lawful wife. And I claim that it is not consistent with the laws of God's moral government, for a fully sane being to feel otherwise. But it is not so with my kindred, and other friends. I am not alienated from them, for I have had no just and adequate cause for alienation. They erred ignorantly, not willfully. They were willing to know the truth; they were convicted, and are now converted to the truth. They have confessed their sin against me in thus neglecting me, and have asked my forgiveness. I have most freely forgiven them, and such penitents are fully restored to my full fellowship and confidence. To prove they are penitent, one confession will serve as a fair representation of the whole. I give it in the writer's own words, verbatim, from the letter now before me. "We are all glad you have been to visit us, and we regret we have not tried to do more for _you_, in times past. I am grieved that you have been left to suffer so much _alone_--had we known, I think something would have been done for _you_. Forgive us, won't you, for our cruel neglect?" Yes, I do rejoice to forgive them, for Christ allows me to forgive the penitent transgressor. But he does not allow me to do better than he does--to forgive the impenitent transgressor. And I do not; but as I have before said, I stand ready with my forgiveness in my heart to extend it to him, most freely, on this gospel condition of repentance--_practical_ repentance. FIFTH REPORT. "Dr. McFarland, the Superintendent of the Asylum, says she is insane; and he ought to _know_." Yes, he ought to know. But, in my opinion, Dr. McFarland, does not know a sane from an insane person; or else, why does he keep so many in that Asylum, as sane as himself? And mine is not the first case a court and jury differed from him in opinion on this subject. He has been so long conversant with the insane, that he has become a perfect monomaniac on insanity and in his treatment of the insane. I never saw such inhumanity, and cruelty, and barbarity, practiced towards the innocent and helpless as he sanctions and allows in that Asylum. I could write a large volume in confirmation of this assertion, made up of scenes I myself witnessed, during my three years' incarceration in that terrible place. The material is all on hand for such a book, since I kept a secret journal of daily events, just as they occurred, so that my memory is not my only laboratory of such truths. And in arranging this matter for a book, I intend to turn Jacksonville Asylum inside out. That is, I shall report that Asylum from the standpoint of a patient, and if this book don't prove my assertion that Dr. McFarland is a monomaniac, I am sure it will prove him to be something worse. But I claim to defend his heart from the charge of villainy, and his intellect from imbecility, for I have often said of him, "Dr. McFarland is the _greatest_ man I ever saw, and he would be the _best_ if he wasn't _so bad_!" But this is not the place to make a defence for Dr. McFarland. Let him stand where his own actions put him, for that is the only proper place for either superintendent or patient to stand upon. But I will own, God made him fit for one of his great resplendent luminaries; but Satan has marred this noble orb, so that now it has some very dark spots on its disk, such as his patients can behold without the aid of a telescope! Yes, as a general thing, his patients are not allowed to behold anything else but these dark spots, while the public are allowed to see nothing except the splendors of this luminary. And when my telescopic book is in print, the public may look, or not look, at the scenes behind the curtain, just as they please. The exact scenes are now fully daguerreotyped on my brain and heart both, as well as on my manuscript journal. In this volume I am only allowed to report what relates to myself alone. Therefore I have but little to say; for as it respects his treatment of me, individually, I regard him as a practical penitent, and on this basis, I have really forgiven him. And God only knows what a multitude of sins this man's repentance has covered! And my Christianity forbids my exposing the sins of a practical penitent, after having practically forgiven him. As proof of his penitence, I bring this fact, that it was under his superintendence, and by his consent alone, that I was permitted to spend the last nine months of my prison life in writing "The Great Drama." This book was commenced as an act of self-defence from the charge of insanity, and this man was the first person in America that ever before allowed me any right of self-defence. And this act of practical manliness on his part, awakened, as its response, my full and hearty forgiveness of all the wrongs he had hitherto heaped upon me; and these wrongs had not been "like angels visits, few and far between." But I had, in reality, much to forgive. At least, so thought my personal friends at the Asylum, if their words echoed their real feelings. Their feelings on this subject were not unfrequently uttered in very strong language like the following: "If Mrs. Packard can forgive Dr. McFarland all the wrongs and abuses he has heaped upon her she must be more than human." And I now have before me a letter from one who had been for several years an officer in that institution, from which I will make an extract, as it corroborates this point. She says, "How the mind wanders back to those dark hours. O, that hated letter! once presented you by a ----, who delighted to torture those he could not subdue. Our hearts did pity you, Mrs. Packard. Mrs. Tenny, (now the wife of the then assistant physician, but my attendant at the time referred to,) and myself often said, everything was done that could be, to annihilate and dethrone your reason. Poor child! They had all fled--none to watch one hour! All I have to say is, if there can be found man or woman who could endure what you did in that three years, and not become a raving maniac, they should be canonized." Yes, God, God alone, saved me from the awful vortex Mr. Packard and Dr. McFarland had prepared for me--the vortex of oblivion--God has delivered me from them who were stronger than I, and to his cause, the cause of oppressed humanity, for which I there suffered so much in its defence, I do now consecrate my spared intellect, and reason, and moral power. This "Great Drama," written there, is my great battery, which, in God's providence, I hope sometime to get rich enough to publish; and it is to the magnanimity of Dr. McFarland alone, under God, that my thanks are due, for letting me write this book. He dictated none of it. He allowed me perfect spiritual liberty, in penning this voluminous literary production of seven hundred pages; and if ever there was a book written wholly untrammelled by human dictation, this is the book. But as I said, his magnanimity, even at the eleventh hour, has, so far as I am concerned, secured my forgiveness. But he has been, and I fear still is, a great sinner against others, also; for, as I have often said, it is my candid opinion, that there were fifty in that house, as patients, who have no more right to be there than the Doctor himself. Judging them from their own actions and words, there is no more evidence of insanity in them, than in Dr. McFarland's words and actions. He certainly has no scruples about keeping perfectly sane persons as patients. At first, this was to me an enigma I could not possible solve. But now I can on the supposition that he don't know a sane from an insane person, because he has become a monomaniac on this subject, just as Mr. Packard has on the woman question. The Doctor's insane dogmas are, first: all people are insane on some points; second: insane persons have no rights that others are bound to respect. He has never refused any one's application on the ground of their not being insane, to my knowledge, but he has admitted many whom he admitted were not near as insane as the friends who brought them were. He can see insanity in any one where it will be for his interest to see it. And let him put any one through the insane treatment he subjects his patients to, and they are almost certain to manifest some resentment, before the process is complete. And this natural resentment which his process evokes, is what he calls their insanity, or rather evidence of it. I saw the operation of his nefarious system before I had been there long, and I determined to stand proof against it, by restraining all manifestations of my resentful feelings, which his insults to me were designed to develop. And this is his grand failure in my case. He has no capital to make out his charge upon, so far as my own actions are concerned. No one ever saw me exhibit the least angry, resentful feelings. I say that to God's grace alone is this result due. I maintain, his treatment of his patients is barbarous and criminal in many cases; therefore he shows insanity in his conduct towards them. Again, he does not always tell the truth about his patients, nor to his patients. And this is another evidence of his insanity. I do say, lying is insanity; and if I can ever be proved to be a liar, by my own words or actions, I do insist upon it I merit the charge put upon me of monomania, or insanity. But, speaking the truth, and nothing but the truth, is not lying, even if people do not believe my assertions. For the truth will stand without testimony, and in spite of all contradiction. And when one has once been proved to have lied, they have no claims on us to be believed, when they do speak the truth. Were I called to prove my assertion that the Doctor misrepresents, I could do so, by his own letters to my husband, and my father, now in my possession, and by letters Mr. Field had from him while I was in the Asylum. For example, why did he write to Mr. Field that I "was a dangerous patient, not safe to live in any private family," and then refuse to answer direct questions calling for evidence in proof on this point, and give as his reason, that he did not deem it his duty to answer impertinent questions about his patients? Simply because the assertion was a lie, and had nothing to support or defend it, in facts, as they existed. These letters abound in misrepresentations and falsehoods respecting me, and it is no wonder my friends regarded me as insane, on these representations from the Superintendent of a State Asylum. I have every reason to think Dr. McFarland believes, in his heart, that I am entirely sane; but policy and self-interest has prompted him to deny it in words, hoping thus to destroy the influence of the sad truths I utter respecting the character of that institution. A very intelligent employee in that institution, and one who had, by her position, peculiar advantages for knowing the real state of feeling towards me in that institution, once said to me, "Mrs. Packard, I can assure you, that there is not a single individual in this house who believes you are an insane person; and as for Dr. McFarland he _knows_ you are not, whatever he may choose to say upon the subject." One thing is certain, his actions contradict his words, in this matter. Would an insane person be employed by him to carry his patients to ride, and drive the team with a whole load of crazy women, with no one to help take care of them and the team but herself? And yet Dr. McFarland employed me to do this very thing fourteen times; and I always came back safely with them, and never abused my liberty, by dropping a letter into the post-office, or any thing of the kind, and never abused the confidence reposed in me in any manner. Would he give a crazy woman money to go to the city, and make purchases for herself? And yet he did so by me. Would a crazy woman be employed to make purchases for the house, and use as a reason for employing her, that her judgment was superior to any in the house? And yet this is true of me. Would a crazy woman be employed to cut, fit and make his wife's and daughter's best dresses, instead of a dressmaker, because she could do them better, in their opinion, than any dressmaker they could employ? And yet I was thus employed for several weeks, and for this reason. And would his wife have had her tailoress consult my judgment, before cutting her boy's clothes, and give as her reason, that she preferred my judgment and planning before her own, if I was an insane person? And yet she did. Would the officials send their employees to me for help, in executing orders which exceeded the capacity of their own judgment to perform, if they considered my reason and judgment as impaired by insanity? And yet this was often the case. Would the remark be often made by the employees in that institution, that "Mrs. Packard was better fitted to be the matron of the institution than any one under that roof," if I had been treated and regarded as an insane person by the officials? And yet this remark was common there. No. Dr. McFarland did not treat me as an insane person, until I had been there four months, when he suddenly changed his programme entirely, by treating me like an insane person, and ordering the employees to do so to, which order he could never enforce, except in one single instance, and this attendant soon after became a lunatic and a tenant of the poor house. My attendants said they should not treat me as they did the other patients, if the Doctor did order it. The reason for this change in the Doctor's treatment, was not because of any change in my conduct or deportment in any respect, but because I offended him, by a reproof I gave him for his abuse of his patients, accompanied by the threat to expose him unless he repented. I gave this reproof in writing, and retained a copy myself, by hiding it behind my mirror, between it and the board-back. Several thousand copies of which are now in circulation. After this event, I was closeted among the maniacs, and did not step my foot upon the ground again, until I was discharged, two years and eight months afterwards. When he transferred me from the best ward to the worst ward, he ordered my attendants to treat me just as they did their other patients, except to not let me go out of the ward; although all the others could go to ride and walk, except myself. Had I not known how to practice the laws of health, this close confinement would doubtless have been fatal to my good health and strong nerves. But as it was, both are still retained in full vigor. My correspondence was henceforth put under the strictest censorship, and but few of my letters ever went farther than the Doctor's office, and most of the letters sent to me never came nearer me than his office. When I became satisfied of this, I stopped writing at all to any one, until I got an "Under Ground Express" established, through which my mail passed out, but not in. One incident I will here mention to show how strictly and vigilantly my correspondence with the world was watched. There was a patient in my ward to be discharged ere long, to go to her home near Manteno, and she offered to take anything to my children, if I chose to send anything by her. Confident I could not get a letter out through her, without being detected, I made my daughter some under waists, and embroidered them, for a present to her from her mother. On the inside of these bleached cotton double waists, I pencilled a note to her, for her and my own solace and comfort. I then gave these into the hands of this patient, and she took them and put them into her bosom saying, "The Doctor shall never see these." But just as she was leaving the house, the Doctor asked her, if she had any letter from Mrs. Packard to her children with her? She said she had not. He then asked be "Have you had anything from Mrs. Packard with you?" She said, "I have two embroidered waists, which Mrs. Packard wished me to carry to her daughter, as a present from her mother; but nothing else." "Let me see those waists," said he. She took them from her bosom and handed them to him. He saw the penciling. He read it, and ordered the waists to the laundry to be washed before sending them, so that no heart communications from the mother to the child, could go with them. I believe he sent them afterwards by Dr. Eddy. In regard to Dr. McFarland's individual guilt in relation to his treatment of me, justice to myself requires me to add, that I cherish no feelings of resentment towards him, and the worst wish my heart dictates towards him is, that he may repent, and become the "Model Man" his nobly developed capacities have fitted him to become; for he is, as I have said, the greatest man I ever saw, and he would be the best if he wasn't so bad! And the despotic treatment his patients receive under his government, is only the natural result of one of the fundamental laws of human nature, in its present undeveloped state; which is, that the history of our race for six thousand years demonstrates the fact, that absolute, unlimited power always tends towards despotism--or an usurpation and abuse of other's rights. Dr. McFarland has, in a _practical_ sense, a sovereignty delegated to him, by the insane laws, almost as absolute as the marital power, which the law delegates to the husband. All of the inalienable rights of his patients are as completely subject to his single will, in the practical operation of these laws, as are the rights of a married woman to the will of her husband. And these despotic superintendents and husbands in the exercise of this power, are no more guilty, in my opinion, than that power is which licenses this deleterious element. No Republican government ought to permit an absolute monarchy to be established under its jurisdiction. And when it is found to exist, it ought to be destroyed, forthwith. And where this licensed power is known to have culminated into a despotism, which is crushing humanity, really and practically, that government is guilty in this matter, so long as it tolerates this usurpation. Therefore, while the superintendents are guilty in abusing their power, I say that government which sustains oppression by its laws, is the first transgressor. Undoubtedly our insane asylums were originally designed and established, as humane institutions, and for a very humane and benevolent purpose; but, on their present basis, they really cover and shield many wrongs, which ought to be exposed and redressed. It is the _evils_ which cluster about these institutions, and these alone, which I am intent on bringing into public view, for the purpose of having them destroyed. All the good which inheres in these institutions and officers is just as precious as if not mixed with the alloy; therefore, in destroying the alloy, great care should be used not to tarnish or destroy the fine gold with it. As my case demonstrates, they are now sometimes used for inquisitional purposes, which certainly is a great perversion of their original intent. SIXTH REPORT. "Mrs. Packard's statements are incredible. And she uses such strong language in giving them expression, as demonstrates her still to be an insane woman." I acknowledge the fact, that truth _is_ stranger than fiction; and I also assert, that it is my candid opinion, that strong language is the only appropriate drapery some truths can be clothed in. For example, the only appropriate drapery to clothe a lie in, is the strong language of _lie_ or _liar_, not misrepresentation, a mistake, a slip of the tongue, a deception, an unintentional error, and so forth. And for unreasonable, and inhuman, and criminal acts, the appropriate drapery is, insane acts; and an usurpation of human rights and an abuse of power over the defenceless, is appropriately clothed by the term, Despotism. And one who defends his creed or party by improper and abusive means, is a Bigot. One who is impatient and unwilling to endure, and will not hear the utterance of opinions in conflict with his own, without persecution of his opponent, is Intolerant towards him; and this is an appropriate word to use in describing such manifestations. And here I will add, I do not write books merely to tickle the fancy, and lull the guilty conscience into a treacherous sleep, whose waking is death. Nor do I write to secure notoriety or popularity. But I do write to defend the cause of human rights; and these rights can never be vindicated, without these usurpations be exposed to public view, so that an appeal can be made to the public conscience, on the firm basis of unchangeable truth--the truth of facts as they do actually exist. I know there is a class, but I fondly hope they are the minority, who will resist this solid basis even--who would not believe the truth should Christ himself be its medium of utterance and defence. But shall I on this account withhold the truth, lest such cavilers reject it, and trample it under foot, and then turn and rend me with the stigma of insanity, because I told them the simple truth? By no means. For truth is not insanity; and though it may for a time be crushed to the earth, it shall rise again with renovated strength and power. Neither is strong and appropriate language insanity. But on the contrary, I maintain that strong language is the only suitable and appropriate drapery for a reformer to clothe his thoughts in, notwithstanding the very unsuitable and inappropriate stigma of Insanity which has always been the reformer's lot to bear for so doing in all past ages, as well as the present age. Even Christ himself bore this badge of a Reformer, simply because he uttered truths which conflicted with the established religion of the church of his day. And shall I repine because I am called insane for the same reason? It was the spirit of bigotry which led the intolerant Jews to stigmatize Christ as a madman, because he expressed opinions differing from their own. And it is this same spirit of bigotry which has been thus intolerant towards me. And it is my opinion that bigotry is the most implacable, unreasonable, unmerciful feeling that can possess the human soul. And it is my fervent prayer that the eyes of this government may be opened to see, that the laws do not now protect or shield any married woman from this same extreme manifestation of it, such as it has been my sad lot to endure, as the result of this legalized persecution. NOTE OF THANKS TO MY PATRONS. I deem it appropriate in this connection, to express the gratitude I feel for the kind, practical sympathy, and liberal patronage, which has been extended to me by the public, through the sale of my books. Had it not been for your generous patronage, my kind patrons, I, and the noble cause I represent, would have been crushed to the earth, so far as my influence was concerned. For with no law to shield me, and with no "greenbacks" to defend myself with, what could I have done to escape another imprisonment, either in some asylum or poorhouse? It has been, and still is, the verdict of public sentiment, which the circulation of these books has developed, that has hitherto shielded me from a second kidnapping. And this protection you have kindly secured to me by buying my books. I would willingly have given my books a gratuitous circulation to obtain this protection, if I could possibly have done so. But where could the $3000.00 I have paid out for the expense of printing and circulating these books have been obtained? No one could advance me money safely, so long as I was Mr. Packard's lawful wife, and I could not even get a divorce, without the means for prosecuting the suit. Indeed, it was your patronage alone, which could effectually help me on to a self-reliant platform--the platform of "greenback independence." I have never made any appeal to the charities of the public, neither can I do so, from principle. For so long as I retain as good health as it is my blessed privilege still to enjoy, I feel conscientiously bound to work for my living, instead of living on the toil of other. My strong and vigorous health is the only capital that I can call my own. All my other natural, inalienable rights, are entirely in the hands of my persecutor, and subject to his control. But while this capital holds good, I am not a suitable object of charity. I am prosecuting business on business principles, and I am subject to the same laws of success or failure as other business persons are. I intend, and hope to make my business lucrative and profitable, as well as philanthropic and benevolent. I maintain that I have no claims upon the charities of the public, while at the same time I maintain that I have a claim upon the sympathies of our government. It is our government, the man government of America, who have placed me in my deplorable condition; for I am just where their own laws place me, and render all other married women _liable_ to be placed in the same position. It is the "Common Law" which our government took from English laws which makes a nonentity of a married woman, whose existence is wholly subject to another, and whose identity is only recognized through another. In short, the wife is dead, while her husband lives, as to any legal existence. And where the Common Law is not modified, or set aside by the Statute Laws, this worst form of English despotism is copied as a model law for our American people! Yes, I feel that I have a just claim upon the sympathies of our government. Therefore, in selling my books, I have almost entirely confined my application to the men, not the women, for the men alone constitute the American government. And my patrons have responded to my claims upon their sympathy, in a most generous, and praiseworthy manner. Yea, so almost universally have I met with the sympathy of those gentlemen that I have freely conversed with on this subject, that I cherish the firm conviction, that our whole enlightened government would "en masse," espouse the principles I defend, and grant all, and even more than I ask for married woman, could they but see the subject in the light those now do, whom I have conversed with on this subject. I am fully satisfied that all that our manly government needs to induce them to change this "Common Law" in relation to woman is, only to know what this law is, and how cruelly it subjects the women in its practical application. For man is made, and constituted by God himself, to be the protector of woman. And when he is true to this his God given nature, he is her protector. And all true men who have not perverted or depraved their God-like natures, will, and do, as instinctively protect their own wives, as they do themselves. And the wives of such men do not need any other law, than this law of manliness, to protect them or their interests. But taking the human race as they now are, we find some exceptions to this general rule. And it is for these exceptions that the law is needed, and not for the great masses. Just as the laws against crimes are made for the criminals, not for the masses of society, for they do not need them; they are a law unto themselves, having their own consciences for their Judges and Jurors. I see no candid, just reason why usurpation, and injustice, and oppression, should not be legislated against, in this form, as well as any other. Developed, refined, sensitive woman, is as capable of feeling wrongs as any other human being. And why should she not be legally protected from them as well as a man? My confidence in this God-like principle of manliness is almost unbounded. Therefore I feel that a hint is all that is needed, to arouse this latent principle of our government into prompt and efficient action, that of extending legal protection to subjected married woman. There is one word I will here say to my patrons, who have the first installment of my "Great Drama" in their possession, that you have doubtless found many things in that book which you cannot now understand, and are therefore liable to misinterpret and misapprehend my real meaning. I therefore beg of you not to judge me harshly at present, but please suspend your judgment until this allegory is published entire, and then you will be better prepared to pass judgment upon it. Supposing Bunyan's allegory of his Christian pilgrim had isolated parts of it published, separate from the whole, and we knew nothing about the rest, should we not be liable to misinterpret his real meaning? Another thing, I ask you to bear in mind, this book was written when my mind was at its culminating point of spiritual or mental torture, as it were, and this may serve in your mind as an excuse, for what may seem to you, as extravagant expressions; while to me, they were only the simple truth as I experienced it. No one can judge of these feelings correctly, until they have been in my exact place and position; and since this is an impossibility, you have a noble opportunity for the exercise of that charity towards me which you would like to have extended to yourselves in exchange of situations. A person under extreme physical torture, gives utterance to strong expressions, indicating extreme anguish. Have we, on this account, any reason or right to call him insane? So a person in extreme spiritual or mental agony, has a right to express his feelings in language corresponding to his condition, and we have no right to call him insane for doing so. Upon a calm and candid review of these scenes, from my present standpoint, I do maintain that the indignant feelings which I still cherish towards Mr. Packard, and did cherish towards Dr. McFarland, for their treatment of me, were not only natural, sane feelings, but also were Christian feelings. For Christ taught us, both by his teachings and example, that we ought to be angry at sin, and even hate it, with as marked a feeling as we loved good. "I, the Lord, hate evil." And so should we. But at the same time we should not sin, by carrying this feeling so far, as to desire to revenge the wrong-doer, or punish him ourselves, for then we go too far to exercise the feeling of forgiveness towards him, even if he should repent. We are not then following Christ's directions, "Be ye angry and sin not." Now I am not conscious of ever cherishing one revengeful feeling towards my persecutors; while, at the same time, I have prayed to God, most fervently, that he would inflict a just punishment upon them for their sins against me, if they could not be brought to repent without. For my heart has ever yearned to forgive them, from the first to the last, on this gospel condition. I think our government has been called to exercise the same kind of indignation towards those conspirators who have done all they can do to overthrow it; and yet, they stand ready to forgive them, and restore them to their confidence, on the condition of practical repentance. And I say further, that it would have been wrong and sinful for our government to have witheld this expression of their resentment towards them, and let them crush it out of existence, without trying to defend itself. I say it did right in defending itself with a resistance corresponding to the attack. So I, in trying to defend myself against this conspiracy against my personal liberty, have only acted on the self-defensive principle. Neither have I ever aggressed on the rights of others in my self-defence. I have simply defended my own rights. In my opinion, it would be no more unreasonable to accuse the inmates of "Libby Prison" with insanity, because they expressed their resentment of the wrongs they were enduring in strong language, than it is to accuse me of insanity for doing the same thing while in my prison. For prison life is terrible under any circumstances. But to be confined amongst raving maniacs, for years in succession, is horrible in the extreme. For myself, I should not hesitate one moment which to choose, between a confinement in an insane asylum, as I was, or being burned at the stake. Death, under the most aggravated forms of torture, would now be instantly chosen by me, rather than life in an insane asylum. And whoever is disposed to call this "strong language," I say, let them try it for themselves as I did, and _then_ let them say whether the expression is any stronger than the case justifies. For until they have tried it, they can never imagine the horrors of the maniac's ward in Jacksonville Insane Asylum. In this connection it may be gratifying to my patrons and readers both, to tell them how I came to write _such_ a book, instead of an ordinary book in the common style of language. It was because such a kind of book was presented to my mind, and no other was. It was under these circumstances that this kind of inspiration came upon me. The day after my interview with the Trustees, the Doctor came to my room to see what was to be done. His first salutation was, "Well, Mrs. Packard, the Trustees seemed to think that you hit your mark with your gun." "Did they?" said I. "And was it that, which caused such roars and roars of laughter from the Trustees' room after I left?" "Yes. Your document amused them highly. Now, Mrs. Packard, I want you to give me a copy of that document, for what is worth hearing once is worth hearing twice." "Very well," said I, "I will. And I should like to give the Trustees a copy, and send my father one, and some others of the Calvinistic clergy. But it is so tedious for me to copy anything, how would it do to get a few handbills or tracts printed, and send them where we please?" "You may," was his reply, "and I will pay the printer." "Shall I add anything to it; that is, what I said to the Trustees, and so forth?" "Yes, tell the whole! Write what you please!" With this most unexpected license of unrestricted liberty, I commenced re-writing and preparing a tract for the press. But before twenty-four hours had elapsed since this liberty license was granted to my hitherto prison-bound intellect, the vision of a big book began to dawn upon my mind, accompanied with the most delightful feelings of satisfaction with my undertaking. And the next time the Doctor called, I told him that it seemed to me that I must write a book--a _big book_--and "that is the worst of it," said I, "I don't want a large book, but I don't see how I can cut it down, and do it justice. I want to lay two train of cars," said I, "across this continent--the Christian and the Calvinistic. Then I want to sort out all the good and evil found in our family institutions, our Church and State institutions, and our laws, and all other departments of trades and professions, &c., and then come on with my two train of cars, and gather up this scattered freight, putting the evil into the Calvinistic train, and the good into the Christian train, and then engineer them both on to their respective terminus. These thoughts are all new and original with me, having never thought of such a thing, until this sort of mental vision came before my mind. What shall I do, Doctor?" "Write it out just as you see it." He then furnished me with paper and gave directions to the attendants to let no one disturb me, and let me do just as I pleased. And I commenced writing out this mental vision; and in six week's time I penciled the substance of "The Great Drama," which, when written out for the press, covers two thousand five hundred pages! Can I not truly say my train of thought was engineered by the "Lightning Express?" This was the kind of inspiration under which my book was thought out and written. I had no books to aid me, but Webster's large Dictionary and the Bible. It came wholly through my own reason and intellect, quickened into unusual activity by some spiritual influence, as it seemed to me. The production is a remarkable one, as well as the inditing of it a very singular phenomenon. The estimation in which the book is held by that class in that Asylum who are "spirit mediums," and whose only knowledge of its contents they wholly derive from their clairvoyant powers of reading it, without the aid of their natural vision, it may amuse a class of my readers to know. It was a fact the attendants told me of, that my book and its contents, was made a very common topic of remark in almost every ward in the house; while all this time, I was closeted alone in my room writing it, and they never saw me or my book. I would often be greatly amused by the remarks they made about it, as they were reported to me by witnesses who heard them. Such as these: "I have read Mrs. Packard's book through, and it is the most amusing thing I ever read." "Calvinism is dead--dead as a herring." "Mrs. Packard drives her own team, and she drives it beautifully, too." "The Packard books are all over the world, Norway is full of them. They perfectly devour the Packard books in Norway." "Mrs. Packard finds a great deal of fault with the Laws and the Government, and she has reason to." "She defends a higher and better law than our government has, and she'll be in Congress one of these days, helping to make new laws!" If this prophetess had said that _woman's influence_ would be felt in Congress, giving character to the laws, I might have said I believed she had uttered a true prophecy. One very intelligent patient, who was a companion of mine, and had read portions of my book, came to my room one morning with some verses which she had penciled the night previous, by moonlight, on the fly-leaf of her Bible, which she requested me to read, and judge if they were not appropriate to the character of my book. She said she had been so impressed with the thought that she must get up and write something, that she could not compose herself to sleep until she had done so; when she wrote these verses, but could not tell a word she had written the next morning, except the first line. I here give her opinions of the book in her own poetic language, as she presented them to me. LINES SUGGESTED BY THE PERUSAL OF THE GREAT DRAMA. Affectionately presented to the "World's Friend"--Mrs. E. P. W. Packard--by her friend, Mrs. Sophia N. B. Olsen. Go, little book, go seek the world; With banner new, with flag unfurled; Go, teach mankind aspirings high, By _human_ immortality! Thou canst not blush; thine open page Will all our higher powers engage; Thy name on every soul shall be, Defender of humanity! The poor, the sad, the sorrowing heart, Shall joy to see thy book impart Solace, to every tear-dimmed eye, That's wept, till all its tears are dry. The palid sufferer on the bed Of sickness, shall erect the head And cry, "Life yet hath charms for me When Packard's books shall scattered be." Each prison victim of despair Shall, in thy book, see written there Another gospel to thy race, Of sweet "Requiescat in pace." The time-worn wigs, with error gray, Their dusty locks with pale dismay, Shall shake in vain in wild despair, To see their prostrate castles, where? No mourner's tear shall weep their doom, No bard shall linger o'er their tomb, No poet sing, but howl a strain Farewell, thou doom'd, live not again. Yes, oh, poor Ichabod must lay, Deep buried in Aceldema! His lost Consuelo shall rise No more, to cheer his death-sealed eyes. Then speed thy book, oh, sister, speed, The waiting world thy works must read; Bless'd be the man who cries, "Go on," "Hinder it not, it shall be gone." Go, little book, thy destiny Excelsior shall ever be; A fadeless wreath shall crown thy brow, O writer of that book! e'en now. The wise shall laugh--the foolish cry-- Both wise and foolish virgins, why? Because the first will wiser grow, The foolish ones some wisdom show. The midnight cry is coming soon, The midnight lamp will shine at noon; I fear for some, who snoring lie, Then rise, ye dead, to judgment fly. The stars shall fade away--the sun Himself grow dim with age when done Shining upon our frigid earth; But Packard's book shall yet have birth, But never death, on this our earth. JACKSONVILLE LUNATIC ASYLUM, Jan. 27, 1863. So much for the opinions of those whom this age call crazy, but who are, in my opinion, no more insane than all that numerous class of our day, who are called "spirit mediums;" and to imprison them as insane, simply because they possess these spiritual gifts or powers, is a barbarity, which coming generations will look upon with the same class of emotions, as we now look upon the barbarities attending Salem Witchcraft. It is not only barbarous and cruel to deprive them of their personal liberty, but it is also a crime against humanity, for which our government must be held responsible at God's bar of justice. I will now give some of the opinions of a few who know something of the character of my book, whom the world recognize as sane. Dr. McFarland used to sometimes say, "Who knows but you were sent here to write an allegory for the present age, as Bunyan was sent to Bedford Jail to write his allegory?" Dr. Tenny, the assistant physician, once said to me as he was pocketing a piece of my waste manuscript, "I think your book may yet become so popular, and acquire so great notoriety, that it will be considered an honor to have a bit of the paper on which it was written!" I replied, "Dr. Tenny, you must not flatter me." Said he, "I am not flattering, I am only uttering my honest opinions." Said another honorable gentleman who thought he understood the character of the book, "Mrs. Packard, I believe your book will yet be read in our Legislative Halls and in Congress, as a specimen of the highest form of law ever sent to our world, and coming millions will read your history, and bless you as one who was afflicted for humanity's sake." It must be acknowledged that this intelligent gentleman had some solid basis on which he could defend this extravagant opinion, namely: that God does sometimes employ "the weak things of the world to confound the mighty." These expressions must all be received as mere human opinions, and nothing more. The book must stand just where its own intrinsic merits place it. If it is ever published, it, like all other mere human productions, will find its own proper level, and no opinions can change its real intrinsic character. The great question with me is, how can I soonest earn the $2,500.00 necessary to print it with? Should I ever be so fortunate as to gain that amount by the sale of this pamphlet, I should feel that my great life-work was done, so that I might feel at full liberty to rest from my labors. But until then, I cheerfully labor and toil to accomplish it. NOTE OF THANKS TO THE PRESS. In this connection, I deem it right and proper that I should acknowledge the aid I have received from the public Press--those newspapers whose manliness has prompted them to espouse the cause of woman, by using their columns to help me on in my arduous enterprise. My object can only be achieved, by enlightening the public mind into the need and necessities of the case. The people do not make laws until they see the need of them. Now, when one case is presented showing the need of a law to meet it, and this is found to be a representative case, that is, a case fairly representing an important class, then, and only till then, is the public mind prepared to act efficiently in reference to it. And as the Press is the People's great engine of power in getting up an agitation on any subject of public interest, it is always a great and desirable object to secure its patronage in helping it forward. This help it has been my good fortune to secure, both in Illinois and Massachusetts. And my most grateful acknowledgments are especially due the Journal of Commerce of Chicago, also the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Times, the Post, the New Covenant, and the North Western Christian Advocate. All these Chicago Journals aided me more or less in getting up an agitation in Illinois, besides a multitude of other papers throughout that State too numerous to mention. Some of the papers in Massachusetts, to whom my acknowledgments are due, are the Boston Journal, the Transcript, the Traveller, the Daily Advertiser, the Courier, the Post, the Recorder, the Commonwealth, the Investigator, the Nation, the Universalist, the Christian Register, the Congregationalist, the Banner of Light, and the Liberator. All these Boston Journals have aided me, more or less, in getting up an excitement in Massachusetts, and bringing the subject before the Massachusett's Legislature. Many other papers throughout the State have noticed my cause with grateful interest. As the public came to apprehend the merits of my case, and look upon it as a mirror, wherein the laws in relation to married women are reflected, they will doubtless join with me in thanks to these Journals who have been used as means of bringing this light before them. TESTIMONIALS. Although my cause, being based in eternal truth, does not depend upon certificates and testimonials to sustain it, and stands therefore in no need of them; yet, as they are sometimes called for, as a confirmation of my statements, I have asked for just such testimonials as the following gentlemen felt self-moved to give me. I needed no testimonials while prosecuting my business in Illinois, for the facts of the case were so well known there, by the papers reporting my trial so generally. I needed no other passport to the confidence of the public. But when I came to Boston to commence my business in Massachusetts, being an entire stranger there, I found the need of some credentials or testimonials in confirmation of my strange and novel statements. And it was right and proper, under such circumstances, that I should have them. I therefore wrote to Judge Boardman and Hon. S. S. Jones, my personal friends, in Illinois, and told them the difficulty I found in getting my story believed, and asked them to send me anything in the form of a certificate, that they in their judgment felt disposed to send me, that might help me in surmounting this obstacle. Very promptly did these gentlemen respond to my request, and sent me the following testimonials, which were soon printed in several of the Boston papers, with such editorials accompanying them, as gave them additional weight and influence in securing to me the confidence of the public. Judge Boardman is an old and distinguished Judge in Illinois, receiving, as he justly merits, the highest esteem and confidence of his cotemporaries, as a distinguished scholar, an eminent Judge, and a practical Christian. Mr. Jones is a middle aged man, of the same stamp as the Judge, receiving proof of the esteem in which he is held by his cotemporaries, in being sent to Congress by vote of Illinois' citizens, and by having been for successive years a member of the Legislature of that State. He was in that position when he sent me his certificate. JUDGE BOARDMAN'S LETTER. _To all persons who would desire to give sympathy and encouragement to a most worthy but persecuted woman!_ The undersigned, formerly from the State of Vermont, now an old resident of the State of Illinois, would most respectfully and fraternally certify and represent: That he has been formerly and for many years, associated with the legal profession in Illinois, and is well known in the north-eastern part of said State. That in the duties of his profession and in the offices he has filled, he has frequently investigated, judicially, and otherwise, cases of insanity. That he has given considerable attention to medical jurisprudence, and studied some of the best authors on the subject of insanity; has paid great attention to the principles and philosophy of mind, and therefore would say, with all due modesty, that he verily believes himself qualified to give an opinion entitled to respectful consideration, on the question of the sanity or insanity of any person with whom he may be acquainted. That he is acquainted with Mrs. E. P. W. Packard, and verily believes her not only sane, but that she is a person of very superior endowments of mind and understanding, naturally possessing an exceedingly well balanced organization, which, no doubt, prevented her from becoming insane, under the persecution, incarceration, and treatment she has received. That Mrs. Packard has been the victim of _religious bigotry_, purely so, without a single circumstance to alleviate the darkness of the transaction! A case worthy of the palmiest days of the inquisition!! The question may be asked, how this could happen, especially in Northern Illinois? To which I answer that the common law prevails here, the same as in other States, where this law has not been modified or set aside by the statute laws, which gives the legal custody of the wife's person, into the hands of the husband, and therefore, a wife can only be released from oppression, or even from imprisonment by her husband, by the legal complaint of herself, or some one in her behalf, before the proper judicial authorities, and a hearing and decision in the case; as was finally had in Mrs. Packard's case, she having been in the first place, taken by force, by her husband, and sent to the Insane Hospital, without any opportunity to make complaint, or without any hearing or investigation. But how could the Superintendent of the Insane Hospital be a party to so great a wrong? Very easily answered, without necessarily impeaching his honesty, when we consider that her alleged insanity was on religious subjects; her husband a minister of good standing in his denomination, and the Superintendent sympathizing with him, in all probability, in religious doctrine and belief, supposed, of course, that she was insane. She was legally sent to him, by the authority of her husband, as insane; and Mrs. Packard had taught doctrines similar to the Unitarians and Universalists and many radical preachers; and which directly opposed the doctrine her husband taught, and the doctrine of the Church to which he and Mrs. Packard belonged; the argument was, that of course the woman must be crazy!! And as she persisted in her liberal sentiments, the Superintendent persisted in considering that she was insane! However, whether moral blame should attach to the Superintendent and Trustees of the Insane Hospital, or not, in this transaction, other than prejudice, and learned ignorance; it may now be seen, from recent public inquiries and suggestions, that it is quite certain, that the laws, perhaps in all the States in relation to the insane, and their confinement and treatment, have been much abused, by the artful and cunning, who have incarcerated their relatives for the purpose of getting hold of their property; or for difference of opinion as to our state and condition in the future state of existence, or religious belief. The undersigned would further state: That the published account of Mrs. Packard's trial on the question of her sanity, is no doubt perfectly reliable and correct. That the Judge before whom she was tried, is a man of learning, and ability, and high standing in the judicial circuit, in which he presides. That Mrs. Packard is a person of strict integrity and truthfulness, whose character is above reproach. That a history of her case after the trial, was published in the daily papers in Chicago, and in the newspapers generally, in the State; arousing at the time, a public feeling of indignation against the author of her persecution, and sympathy for her; that nothing has transpired since, to overthrow or set aside the verdict of popular opinion; that it is highly probable that the proceedings in this case, so far as the officers of the State Hospital for the insane are concerned, will undergo a rigid investigation by the Legislature of the State. The undersigned understands that Mrs. Packard does not ask pecuniary charity, but that sympathy and paternal assistance which may aid her to obtain and make her own living, she having been left by her husband, without any means, or property whatever. All of which is most fraternally and confidently submitted to your kind consideration. WILLIAM A. BOARDMAN. WAUKEGAN, ILL., DEC. 3, 1864. HON. S. S. JONES' LETTER. "_To a kind and sympathizing public_:-- This is to certify that I am personally acquainted with Mrs. E. P. W. Packard, late an inmate of the Insane Asylum of the State of Illinois. That Mrs. Packard was a victim of a foul and cruel conspiracy I have not a single doubt, and that she is and ever has been as sane as any other person, I verily believe. But I do not feel called upon to assign reasons for my opinion, in the premises, as her case was fully investigated before an eminent Judge of our State, and after a full and careful examination, she was pronounced sane, and restored to liberty. Still I repeat, but for the cruel conspiracy against her, she could not have been incarcerated, as a lunatic, in an asylum. Whoever reads her full and fair report of her case, will be convinced of the terrible conspiracy that was practiced towards a truly thoughtful and accomplished lady. A conspiracy worthy of a demoniac spirit of ages long since passed, and such as we should be loth to believe could be practiced in this enlightened age, did not the records of our court verify its truth. To a kind and sympathizing public I commend her. The deep and cruel anguish she has had to suffer, at the hands of those who should have been her protectors, will, I doubt not, endear her to you, and you will extend to her your kindest sympathy and protection. Trusting through her much suffering the public will become more enlightened, and that our noble and benevolent institutions--the asylums for the insane--will never become perverted into institutions of cruelty and oppression, and that Mrs. Packard may be the last subject of such a conspiracy as is revealed in her books, that will ever transpire in this our State of Illinois, or elsewhere. Very respectfully, S. S. JONES." ST. CHARLES, ILL., DEC. 2, 1864. EDITORIAL REMARKS. "Assuming, as in view of all the facts it is our duty to do, the correctness of the statements made by Mrs. Packard, two matters of vital importance demand consideration: 1. What have 'the rulers in the church' done about the persecution? They have not publicly denied the statements; virtually (on the principle that under such extraordinary circumstances silence gives consent,) they concede their correctness. Is the wrong covered up? the guilty party allowed to go unchallenged lest "the cause" suffer by exposure? If they will explain the matter in a way to exculpate the accused, these columns shall be prompt to do the injured full and impartial justice. We are anxious to know what they have to say in the premises. If Mrs. Packard _is_ insane because she rejects Calvinism, then _we_ are insane, liable to arrest, and to be placed in an insane asylum! We have a _personal_ interest in this matter. 2. Read carefully Judge Boardman's statement as to the bearing of "common law" on Mrs. Packard's case. If a bad man, hating his wife and wishing to get rid of her, is base enough to fabricate a charge of insanity, and can find two physicians "in regular standing" foolish or wicked enough to give the legal certificate, the wife is helpless! The "common law" places her wholly at the mercy of her brutal lord. Certainly the statute should interfere. Humanity, not to say Christianity, demands, that special enactments shall make impossible, such atrocities as are alleged in the case of Mrs. Packard--atrocities which, according to Judge Boardman, _can_ be enacted in the name of "common law." We trust the case now presented will have at least the effect, to incite Legislative bodies to such enactments as will protect women from the possibility of outrages, which, we are led to fear, ecclesiastical bodies had rather cover up, than expose and rebuke to the prejudice of sectarian ends--the 'sacred cause.'" As I have said, there was a successful effort made in the Massachusett's Legislature to change the laws in reference to the mode of commitment into Insane Asylums that winter, 1865, and as Hon. S. E. Sewall was my "friend and fellow laborer," as he styles himself, in that movement, I made application to him this next winter, for such a recommend as I might use to aid me in bringing this subject before the Illinois' Legislature this winter, for the purpose of getting a change in their laws also. But finding that the Illinois' Legislature do not meet this year, I have had no occasion to use it, as I intended. Having it thus on hand, I will add this to the foregoing. HON. S. E. SEWALL'S TESTIMONIAL. "I have been acquainted with Mrs. E. P. W. Packard for about a year, I believe. She is a person of great religious feeling, high moral principle, and warm philanthropy. She is a logical thinker, a persuasive speaker, and such an agitator, that she sometimes succeeds where a man would fail. I think she will be very useful in the cause to which she has devoted herself, I mean procuring new laws to protect married women. I give Mrs. Packard these lines of recommendation, because she has asked for them. I do not think them at all necessary, for she can recommend herself, far better than I can. S. E. SEWALL." BOSTON, NOV. 27, 1865. After these testimonials, and the editorial remarks accompanying them had appeared in these Boston journals, Mr. Packard sent various articles to these journals in reply, designing to counteract their legitimate influence in defence of my course. Some of these articles were published, and many were refused, by the editors. The "Universalist," and the "Daily Advertiser," published a part of his voluminous defence, which was made up almost entirely of certificates and credentials, but no denial of the truth of the general statement. The chief point in his defence which he seemed the most anxious to establish was, that my trial was not correctly reported--and not a fair trial--a mere mob triumph, instead of a triumph of justice. One of these papers, containing his impeachments of the court, was sent to Kankakee City, Illinois, where the court was held, and elicited many prompt and indignant replies. An article soon appeared in the Kankakee paper, on this subject, stating his defamations against the judge, lawyers, and jury, and then added, "Mr. Packard is both writing his wife into notoriety, and himself into infamy," by his publishing such statements, as he would not dare to publish in Illinois; and it was astonishing to them, how such a paper as the Boston "Daily Advertiser," should allow such scandals respecting the proceedings of Illinois' courts to appear in its columns. I will here give entire only one of the many articles sent to the Boston papers in reply. This article was headed, THE REPLY OF THE REPORTER OF MRS. PACKARD'S TRIAL, TO REV. THEOPHILUS PACKARD'S CHARGE OF MISREPRESENTATION. "_To the Editors of the Boston Daily Advertiser_:-- In the supplement of the Boston Daily Advertiser of May 3d, appears a collection of certificates, introduced by Rev. Theophilus Packard, which requires a notice from me. These certificates are introduced for one or two purposes. First, either to prove that the report of the trial of Mrs. Elizabeth Packard, held before the Hon. C. R. Starr, Judge of the Second Judicial Circuit of the State of Illinois, on the question of her insanity, as published in the "Great Drama," is false; or, secondly, to prove to the readers of the Advertiser that Mr. Packard is not so bad a man as those who read the trial would be likely to suppose him to be. In determining the truth of the statements of any number of persons relative to any given subject, it is always profitable to inquire who the persons that make the statements are, what is their relation to the subject-matter, and what their means of information. I entered upon the defence of Mrs. Packard without any expectation of fee or reward, except such as arises from a consciousness of having discharged my duty toward a helpless and penniless woman, who was either indeed insane, or was most foully dealt with by him who had sworn to love, cherish and protect her. I was searching for the truth. I did then no more and no less than I should do for any person who claimed that their sacred rights were daily violated, and life made a burden most intolerable to be borne, by repeated wrongs. The report was made from written notes of the testimony taken during the trial. And this is the first time I ever heard the correctness of the report called in question. It would be very unlikely that I should make an incorrect report of an important case, which I knew would be read by my friends and business acquaintances, and which (if incorrect) would work a personal injury. Policy and selfish motives would prevent me from making an incorrect report, if I was guided by nothing higher. The first certificate presented is signed by Deacon A. H. Dole, and Sibyl T. Dole, who are the sister and brother-in-law of Mr. Packard, and, as the trial shows, his _co-conspirators_; J. B. Smith, another of his deacons, who was a willing tool in the transaction; and Miss Sarah Rumsey, another member of his Church, who went to live with Mr. Packard when Mrs. Packard was first kidnapped. Let Jeff. Davis be put on trial, and then take the certificates of Mrs. Surratt, Payne, Azteroth, Arnold, Dr. Mudd and George N. Saunders, and I am led to believe they would make out Jeff. to be a "Christian President," whom the barbarous North were trying to murder. Their further certificate "that the disorderly demonstrations by the furious populace, filling the Court House while we were present at the said trial, were well calculated to prevent a fair trial," is simply bosh, but is on a par with the whole certificate. It is a reflection upon the purity of our judicial system, and upon our Circuit Court, that they would not make at home. And I can only account for its being made on the supposition that it would not be read in Illinois. "The furious populace" consisted of about two hundred ladies of our city who visited the trial until it was completed, because they felt a sympathy for one of their own sex, whose treatment had become notorious in our city. The conspirators allege that Mrs. Packard is insane. They each swore to this on the trial, but a jury of twelve men after hearing the whole case, upon their oaths said in effect they did not believe these witnesses, for by their verdict they found her SANE. The second certificate is from Samuel Packard. It is a sufficient answer to this to say that he is the son of Mr. Packard, and entirely under his father's control, and that it is apparent upon the document that the boy never wrote a word of it. Then follows a certificate from Lizzie, who takes umbrage because I called her in the report the "little daughter" of Mrs. Packard, and is made to say pertly she was then _fourteen_. She then acted like a good daughter, who loved her mother dearly, and her size and age never entered into the consideration of the audience of ladies whose hearts were touched and feelings stirred, till the fountain of their tears was broken, by the kind and natural emotions which were then exhibited by the mother and daughter. When Mrs. Packard was put in the hospital Lizzie was about ten years old, and a thinking public will determine what judgment she could then form about her mother's "religious notions" and her "insanity," "to the great sorrow of all our family." One word further upon the certificate of Thomas P. Bonfield, and I will close. He says that the trial commenced very soon after the writ of habeas corpus was served on Mr. Packard, and therefore he could not obtain his evidence, and was prevented from obtaining the attendance of Dr. McFarland, Superintendent of the Insane Hospital of Illinois. Dr. McFarland was the only witness whose attendance Mr. Packard's counsel expressed a desire for that was not present. They had his certificate that Mrs. Packard was insane, which they used as evidence, and which went to the jury. The defence had no opportunity for cross-examination, while Mr. Packard thus got the benefit of McFarland's evidence that she was insane, with no possibility of a contradiction. What more could he have had if the witness had been present? The certificate further states that "a large portion of the community were more intent on giving Presbyterianism a blow than on investigating, or leaving the law to investigate, the question of Mrs. Packard's insanity." Well, what did the "feelings" of the community have to do with the court and jury? You selected the jury. You said they were good men. If not good, you could have rejected them. The presiding judge is a member of the Congregational Church, which is nearly allied to the Presbyterian. Five of the twelve jurymen were regular attendants of the Presbyterian Church. No complaint was then made that you could not have a fair trial. If Packard believed he could not, the statute of Illinois provides for a change of venue, which petition for a change of venue you had Mr. Packard sign, but which you concluded not to present, because you thought it would _not_ be granted. If you thought it would not be granted, it was because you did not have a case that the venue could be changed, because when the proper affidavit is made for a change of venue, the Court has no power to refuse the application. The trial was conducted as all trials are conducted in Boston or in Illinois, and the verdict of the jury pronounced Mrs. Packard sane. The published report of the trial is made. It no doubt presents Mr. Packard and his confederates in a very unfavorable light, but it is just as they presented themselves. If they do not like the picture they should not have presented the original. STEPHEN R. MOORE. KANKAKEE, ILL., MAY 16, 1865. CONCLUSION. In view of the above facts and principles on which this argument of "Self-defence from the charge of Insanity" is based, I feel sure that the array of sophisms which Mr. Packard may attempt to marshall against it, will only be like arguing the sun out of the heavens at noon-day. He is the only one who has ever dared to bring personal evidence of insanity against me, so far as my knowledge extends. Others believe me to be insane, but it is on the ground of his _testimony_, not from personal proof, by my own words and actions, independent of the coloring _he_ has put upon them. For example, I find he has reported as proof of my insanity, "that I have punished the children for obeying him." Had this been the case, in the sense in which he meant it to be understood, it would look like an insane, or at least very improper, act. But it is not true that I ever punished a child for obeying their father; but on the contrary, have exacted implicit obedience to their father's wishes and commands, and have even enforced this, my own command, by punishments, to _compel_ them to respect their father's authority, by obeying his commands. But this I have also done. I have maintained the theory, by logic and practice both, that a mother had a right to enforce her own reasonable commands--that her authority to do so was delegated to her by God himself, and not by her husband--and that this right to command being delegated to her by God himself, as the God given right identified with her maternity, the husband had no right to interfere or usurp this God bestowed right from the wife. But on the contrary, it was the husband's duty, as the wife's God appointed protector, to see that this right was defended to the wife by his authority over the children, requiring of them obedience to her commands, as one whose authority they must respect. Yes, I have trained my children to respect my authority as a God delegated authority, equal in power, _in my sphere_, to their father's God delegated authority. And farther, I have taught them, that I had no right to go out of _my sphere_ and interfere with their father's authority in his sphere; neither had their father a right to trespass upon my sphere, and counter order my commands. I maintain, that the one who commands is the only rightful one to countermand. Therefore, the father has no right to countermand the mother's orders, except _through her_; neither has the mother a right to countermand the father's order, except through _him_. Here is the principle of "equal rights," which our government is bound to respect. And it is because they do not respect it, that my husband has usurped all my maternal rights, thus proving himself traitor, not only to his own manliness, but traitor to the principles of God's government. But as this is a volume of facts, rather than theories, I will add one fact in vindication of my assertion, that I uniformly taught my children to respect their father's authority. When I was incarcerated in my prison, my oldest son, Theophilus, was in the post-office in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, as clerk, and had not seen me for two years. His regard for me was excessive. He had been uniformly filial, and very kind to me, and therefore when he learned that his loving mother was a prisoner in a lunatic asylum, he felt an unconquerable desire to see me, and judge for himself, whether I was really insane, or whether I was the victim of his father's despotism. His father, aware of this feeling, and fearing he might ascertain the truth respecting me, by some means, sent him a letter, commanding him not to write to his mother now in the asylum, and by no means visit her there, adding, if he did so, he should disinherit him. Theophilus was now eighteen years of age, and, as yet, had never known what it was to disobey either his father's or mother's express commands. But now his love for his mother led him to question the justice of this seemingly arbitrary command, and he, fearful of trusting to his own judgment in this matter, sought advice from those who had once been Mr. Packard's church members and deacons in Mt. Pleasant, and from all he got the same opinion strongly defended, that he had a right to disobey _such_ a command. He therefore ventured to visit his mother in her lonely prison home in defiance of his father's edict. I was called from my ward to meet my darling first-born son in the reception room, when I had been in my prison about two months. After embracing me and kissing me with all the fondness of a most loving child, and while shedding our mutual tears of ecstasy at being allowed once more to meet on earth, he remarked, "Mother, I don't know as I have done right in coming to see you as I have, for father has forbid my coming, and you have always taught me never to disobey my father." "Disobeyed your father!" said I. "Yes, I have always taught you it was a sin to disobey him, and I do fear you have done wrong, if you have come to see me in defiance of your father's command. You know we can never claim God's blessing in doing wrong, and fear our interview will not be a blessing to either of us, if it has been secured at the price of disobedience to your father's command." Here his tears began to flow anew, while he exclaimed, "I was afraid it would prove so! I was afraid you would not approve of my coming! But, mother, I could not bear to feel that you had become insane, and I could not believe it, and would not, until I had seen you myself; and now I see it is just as I expected, you are not insane, but are the same kind mother as ever. But I am sorry if I have done wrong by coming." I wept. He wept. I could not bear to blame my darling boy. And must I? was the great question to be settled. "My son," said I, "let us ask God to settle this question for us," and down we both kneeled by the sofa, and with my arm around my darling boy, I asked God if I should blame him for coming to see me in defiance of his father's order. While asking for heavenly wisdom to guide us in the right way, the thought came to me, "go and ask Dr. McFarland." I accordingly went to the Doctor's parlor, where I found him alone, reading his paper. I said to him, "Doctor, I have a question of conscience to settle, and I have sought your help in settling it, namely, has my son done wrong to visit me, when his father has forbid his coming, and has threatened to disinherit him if he did? He has the letter with him showing this to be the case." After thinking a moment, the Doctor simply replied, "Your son had a _right_ to visit his mother!" O, the joy I felt at this announcement! It seemed as if a mountain had been lifted from me, so relieved was I of my burden. With a light heart I sought my sobbing boy, and encircling my arms about his neck, exclaimed, "Cheer up! my dear child, you had a _right_ to visit your mother! so says the Doctor." Why was this struggle with our consciences? Was it not that we had trained them to respect paternal authority? Can testimony, however abundant, change this truth into a falsehood? That principle of self-defence, which depends wholly on certificates and testimonials, instead of the principle of right, truth and justice, is not able to survive the shock which the revelation of truth brings against it. A lie, however strongly fortified by testimonials and certificates, can never be transformed into a truth. Neither can the truth, however single, and isolated, and alone, be its condition, can never be transformed into a lie, nor crushed out of existence. No. The truth will stand alone, and unsupported. Its own weight, simply, gives it firmness to resist all shocks brought against it, to produce its overthrow. Like the house built upon a rock, it needs no props, no certificates, to sustain it. Storms of the bitterest persecution may beat piteously upon it, but they cannot overthrow it, for its foundation is the rock of eternal truth. But lies, are like the house built upon the sand. While it does stand, it needs props or certificates on all sides, to sustain it. And it cannot resist the storm even of a ventilating breeze upon it, for it must and will fall, with all its accumulated props, before one searching investigation; and the more props it has so much the more devastation is caused by its overthrow. And here I wish to add, that it was not because Mr. Packard was a minister, that bigotry had power thus to triumph over his manliness, but because he was a man, liable to be led astray from the paths of rectitude as other human beings are. The ministerial office does not insure men against the commission of sins of the darkest hue, for the ministry is composed of men, who are subject to like frailties and passions as other men are; and ministers, like all other men, must stand just where their own actions will place them, not where their position ought always to find them. They ought to be men whose characters should be unimpeached. But they are not all so. Neither are all other men what they should be in their position. It is as much the duty of the minister to be true to himself--true to the instincts of his God-like nature, as it is other men. And any deviation from the path of rectitude which would not be tolerated in any other man, ought not to be tolerated in a minister. In short, ministers must stand on a common level with the rest of the human race in judgment. That is, they, like others, must stand just where their own conduct and actions place them. If their conduct entitles them to respect, we should respect them. But if their conduct makes them unworthy of our respect and confidence, it is a sin to bestow it upon them; for this very respect which we give them under such circumstances, only countenances their sins, and encourages them in iniquity, and thus puts their own souls in jeopardy, as well as reflects guilt on those who thus helped them work out their own destruction, when they ought to have helped them work out their own repentance for evil doing. AN APPEAL TO THE GOVERNMENT. As my case now stands delineated by the foregoing narrative, all the States on this continent can see just where the common law places all married women. And no one can help saying, that any law that can be used in support of such a persecution, is a disgrace to any government--Christian or heathen. It is not only a disgrace, a blot on such a government, but it is a crime, against God and humanity, to let confiding, trusting woman, be so unprotected in law, from such outrageous abuses. Mr. Packard has never impeached my _conduct_ in a single instance, that I know of; neither has he ever charged me guilty of one insane _act_--except that of teaching my children doctrines which I believed, and he did not! This is all he ever alleges against me. He himself confirms the testimony of all my friends, that I always did discharge my household duties in a very orderly, systematic, kind, and faithful manner. In short, they maintain that I, during all my married life, have been a very self-sacrificing wife and mother, as well as an active and exemplary co-worker with him in his ministerial duties. Now I have mentioned these facts, not for self-glorification, but for this reason, that it may be seen that _good conduct_, even the best and most praiseworthy, does not protect a married woman from the most flagrant wrongs, and wrongs, too, for which she has no redress in the present laws. If a man had suffered a tithe of the wrongs which I have suffered, the laws stand ready to give him redress, and thus shield him from a repetition of them. But not so with me. I must suffer not only this tithe, with no chance of redress, but ten times this amount, and no redress then. I even now stand exposed to a life-long imprisonment, so long as my husband lives, while I not only have never committed any crime, but on the contrary, have ever lived a life of self-sacrificing benevolence, ever toiling for the best interests of humanity. Think again. After this life of faithful service for others, I am thrown adrift, at fifty years of age, upon the cold world, with no place on earth I can call home, and not a penny to supply my wants with, except what my own exertion secures to me. Why is this? Because he who should have been my protector, has been my robber, and has stolen all my life-long earnings. And yet the law does not call this stealing, because the husband is legally authorized to steal from the wife without leave or license from her! Now, I say it is a poor rule that don't work both ways. Why can't the wife steal all the husband has? I am sure she can't support herself as well as he can, and the right of justice seems to be on our side, in our view. But this is not what we want; we don't wish to rob our husbands, we only want they should be stopped from robbing us. We just ask for the reasonable right to use our own property as if it were our own, that is, just as we please, just according to the dictates of our own judgment. And when we insist upon this right, we don't want our husbands to have power to imprison us for so doing, as my husband did me. It was in this manner that I insisted upon my right to my property, with this fatal issue resulting from it. While the discussions in our Bible-class were at the culminating point of interest, Mr. Packard came to my room one day and made me the following proposition: "Wife," said he, "how would you like to go to your brother's in Batavia, and make a visit?" Said I, "I should like it very well, since my influenza has in some degree prostrated my strength, so that I need a season of rest; and besides, I should like an excuse for retiring from this Bible-class excitement, since the burden of these discussions lies so heavily upon me, and if it is not running from my post of duty, I should like to throw off this mental burden also, and rest for a season at least." He replied, "You have not only a perfect right to go, but I think it is your duty to go and get recruited." "Very well," said I, "then I will go, and go, too, with the greatest pleasure. But how long do you think I had better make my visit?" "Three months." "Three months!" said I, "Can you get along without me three months? and what will the children do for their summer clothes without me to make them?" "I will see to that matter; you must stay three months, or not go at all." "Well, I am sure I can stand it to rest that length of time, if you can stand it without my services. So I will go. But I must take my baby and daughter with me, as they have not fully recovered from their influenzas, and I should not dare to trust them away from me." "Yes, you may take them." "I will then prepare myself and them to go just as soon as you see fit to send us. Another thing, husband," said I, "I shall want ten dollars of my patrimony money to take with me for spending money." (This patrimony was a present of $600.00 my father had recently sent me for my especial benefit, and I had put it into Mr. Packard's hands for safe keeping, taking his note on interest as my only security, except with this note he gave me a written agreement, that I should have not only the interest, but any part of the principal, by simply asking him for it whenever I wanted it. When he absconded he took not only all this my money patrimony with him, but also stole all my notes and private papers likewise.) "This you can't have," said he. "Why not? I shall need as much as this, to be absent three months with two sick children. I may need to call a Doctor to them, and, besides, my brother is poor, and I am rich comparatively, and I might need some extra food, such as a beef-steak, or something of the kind, and I should not like to ask him for it. And besides, I have your written promise that I may have my own money whenever I want it, and I do want ten dollars of it now; and I think it is no unreasonable amount to take with me." "I don't think it is best to let you have it. I shan't trust you with money." "Shan't trust me with money! Why not? Have I ever abused this trust? Do not I always give you an exact account of every cent I spend? And I will this time do so; and besides, if you cannot trust it with me, I will put it into brother's hands as soon as I get there, and not spend a cent but by his permission." "No, I shall not consent to that." "One thing more I will suggest. You know Batavia people owe you twelve dollars for preaching one Sabbath, and you can't get your pay. Now, supposing brother 'dun' and get it, may I not use this money if I should chance to need it in an emergency; and if I should not need any, I won't use a cent of it? Or, I will write home to you and ask permission of _you_ before spending a dollar of it." "No. You shall neither have any money, nor have the control of any, for I can't trust you with any." "Well, husband, if I can't be trusted with ten dollars of my own money under these circumstances, and with all these provisions attached to it, I should not think I was capable of being trusted with two sick children three months away from home wholly dependent on a poor brother's charities. Indeed, I had rather stay at home and not go at all, rather than go under such circumstances." "You shall not go at all;" replied he, in a most excited, angry, tone of voice. "You shall go into an Insane Asylum!" "Why, husband!" said I; "I did not suspect _such_ an alternative. I had rather go to him penniless, and clotheless even, than go into an Asylum!" "You have lost your last chance. You _shall_ go into an Asylum!" And so it proved. It was my last chance. In a few days I was kidnapped and locked up in my Asylum prison for life, so far as _he_ was concerned. Now, I ask any developed man, who holds property which is rightfully his own, and no one's else, how he would like to exchange places with me, and be treated just as I was treated. Now, I say it is only fair that the law makers should be subject to their own laws. That is, they should not make laws for others, that they would not be willing to submit to themselves in exchange of circumstances. Just put the case to yourselves, and ask how would you like to be imprisoned without any sort of trial, or any chance at self-defence, and then be robbed of all your life earnings, by a law which women made for your good (?) as your God appointed protectors! O, my government--the men of these United States--do bear with me long enough to just make our case your own for one moment, and then let me kindly ask you this question. Won't you please stop this robbery of our inalienable right to our own property, by some law, dictated by some of your noble, manly hearts? Do let us have a _right_ to our own home--a _right_ to our own earnings--a _right_ to our own patrimony. A right, I mean, as _partners_ in the family firm. We do not ask for a separate interest. We want an identification of interests, and then be allowed a legal right to this common fund as the _junior partners_ of this company interest. We most cheerfully allow you the rights of a senior partner; but we do not want you to be senior, junior, and all, leaving us no rights at all, in a common interest. Again, we true, natural women, want our own children too--we can't live without them. We had rather die than have them torn from us as your laws allow them to be. Only consider for one moment, what your laws are, in relation to our own flesh and blood. The husband has all the children of the married woman secured to himself, to do with them just as he pleases, regardless of her protests, or wishes, or entreaties to the contrary; while the children of the single women are all given to her as her right by nature! Here the maternal nature of the single woman is respected and protected, as it should be; while the nature of the married woman is ignored and set at naught, and the holiest instinct of woman is trampled in the dust of an utter despotism. In other words, the legitimate offspring of the wife are not protected to her, but given to the husband, while the illegitimate offspring of the unmarried women are protected to her. So that the only way to be sure of having our maternity respected, and our offspring legally protected to us, is to have our children in the single instead of the married state! With shame I ask the question, does not our government here offer a premium on infidelity? And yet this is a Christian government! Why can't the inalienable rights of the lawful wife be _as much_ respected as those of the open prostitute? I say, why? Is it because a woman has no individuality, after she is joined to a man? Is her conscience, and her reason, and her thoughts, all lost in him? So my case demonstrates the _law_ to be, when practically tested. And does not this legalized despotism put our souls in jeopardy, as well as our bodies, and our children? It verily does. It was to secure the interests of my immortal soul, that I have suffered all I have in testing these despotic laws. I would have succumbed long ago, and said I believed what I did not believe, had it not been that I cared more for the safety of my own soul, that I did the temporal welfare of my own dear offspring. I could not be true to God, and also true to the mandates of a will in opposition to God. And whose will was to be my guide, my husband's will, or God's will? I deliberately chose to obey God rather than man, and in that choice I made shipwreck of all my earthly good things. And one good thing I sorely disliked to lose, was my fair, untarnished reputation and influence. This has been submerged under the insane elements of this cruel persecution. But my character is not lost, thank God! nor is it tarnished by this persecution. For my character stands above the reach of slander to harm. Nothing can harm this treasure but my own actions, and these are all guided and controlled by Him, for whose cause I have suffered so much. Yes, to God's grace alone, I can say it, that from the first to the last of all my persecutions, I have had the comforting consciousness of duty performed, and an humble confidence in the approval of Heaven. Strong only in the justice of my cause, and in faith in God, I have stood _alone_, and defied the powers of darkness to cast me down to any destruction, which extended beyond this life. And this desperate treason against manliness which has sought to overwhelm me, may yet be the occasion of the speedier triumph of my spiritual freedom, and that also of my sisters in like bondage with myself. The laws of our government most significantly requires us, "to work out our own salvation with much fear and trembling," lest the iron will which would hold us in subjection, should take from us all our earthly enjoyments, if we dare to be true to the God principle within us. So bitter has been my cup of spiritual suffering, while passing through this crucible of married servitude, that it seems like a miracle almost, that I have not been driven into insanity, or at least misanthropy by it. But a happy elasticity of temperament conspired with an inward consciousness of rectitude, and disinterestedness, has enabled me to despise these fiery darts of the adversary, as few women could. And I cherish such a reverence for my nature, as God has made it, that I cannot be transformed into a "man-hater." I thank God, I was made, and still continue to be, a "man-lover." Indeed, my native respect for the manhood almost approaches to the feeling of reverence, when I consider that man is God's representative to me--that he is endowed with the very same attributes and feelings towards woman that God has--a protector of the weak, not a subjector of them. It is the exceptions, not the masses of the man race, who have perverted or depraved their God-like natures into the subjectors of the dependent. The characteristic mark of this depraved class is a "woman-hater," instead or a "woman-lover," as God, by nature made him. This depraved class of men find their counterpart in those women, who have perverted their natures from "men-lovers," into "men-haters." And man, with a man-hating wife, may need laws to protect his rights, as much as a woman, with a woman-hater for her husband. Laws should take cognizance of _improper actions_, regardless of sex or position. All we ask of our government is, to let us stand just where our actions would place us, without giving us either the right or power to harm any one, not even our own husbands. At least, give us the power to defend ourselves, legally, against our husband's abuses, since you have licensed him with almost Almighty power to abuse us. And it will be taking from these women-haters no right to take from them the right to abuse us. It may, on the contrary, do them good, to be compelled to treat us with justice, just as you claim that it will do the slave-holder good, to compel him to treat his slave with justice. It is oppression and abuse alone we ask you to protect us against, and this we are confident you will do, as soon as you are convinced there is a need or necessity for so doing. And I will repeat, it is for this purpose that I have, in this pamphlet, delineated a subjected wife's true, legal position, by thus presenting my own personal, individual, experience for your consideration. In summing up this argument, based on this dark chapter of a married woman's bitter experience of the evils growing out of the law of married servitude, I would close with a Petition to the Legislatures of all the States of this Union, that they would so revolutionize their statute laws, as to expunge them entirely from that most cruel and degrading kind of despotism, which identifies high, noble woman as its victim. Let the magnanimity of your holy, God-like natures, be reflected from your statute books, in the women protective laws which emanate from them. And may God grant that in each and all of these codes may soon be found such laws as guarantee to married woman a _right_ to her own home, and a _right_ to be the mistress of her own household, and a _right_ to the guardianship of her own minor children. In other words, let her be the legally acknowledged mistress of her own household, and a co-partner, at least, in the interests and destiny of her own offspring. Let the interests of the maternity be _as much_ respected, at least, as those of the paternity; and thus surround the hallowed place of the wife's and mother's sphere of action, with a fortress so strong and invincible, that the single will of a perverted man cannot overthrow it. For home is woman's proper sphere or orbit, where, in my opinion, God designed she should be the sovereign and supreme; and also designed that man should see that this sphere of woman's sovereignty should be unmolested and shielded from any invasions, either foreign or internal. In other words, the husband is the God appointed agent to guard and protect woman in this her God appointed orbit. Just as the moon is sovereign and supreme in her minor orbit, being guarded and protected there by the sovereign power of the sun, revolving in his mighty orbit. The appropriate sphere of woman being the home sphere, she should have a legal right here, secured to her by statute laws, so that in case the man who swore to protect his wife's rights here, perjures himself by an usurpation of her inalienable rights, she can have redress, and thus secure that protection in the _law_, which is denied her by her husband. In short, woman needs legal protection _as a married woman_. She has a right to be a married woman, therefore she has a right to be protected _as a married woman_. If she cannot have protection as a married woman, it is not safe for her to marry; for my case demonstrates the fact, that the good conduct of the wife is no guarantee of protection to her; neither is the most promising developments of manhood, proof against depravity of nature, approximating very near to the point of "total depravity," and then woe to that wife and mother, who has no protection except that of a totally depraved man! But, some may argue, that woman is already recognized in several of the States as an individual property owner, and as one who can do business on a capital of her own, independent of her husband. Yes, we do most gratefully acknowledge this as the day star of hope to us, that the tide is even now set in the right direction. But allow me to say, this does not reach the main point we are aiming to establish, which is, that woman should be a legal _partner_ in the family firm, not a mere appendage to it. This principle of separating the interests of the married pair is not wholesome nor salutary in its results. It tends towards an isolation of interests; whereas it is an identification of interests, which the marriage contract should form and cement. We want an equality of rights, so far as copartners are concerned. These property rights should be so identified as to command the mutual respect of partners, whose interests are one and the same. In short, the wife should be the junior partner, and law should recognize her as such, by protecting to her the rights of a junior partner, and her husband should be the legally constituted senior partner of the family firm. Then, and only till then, is she his companion on an equality, in legal standing, with her husband, and sharing with him the protection of that government, which she has done so much to sustain; which government is based on the great fundamental principle of God's government, namely, an equality of rights to all accountable moral agents. Our government can never echo this heavenly principle, until it defends "equal rights," independent of sex or color. APPENDIX. REV. SAMUEL WARE'S CERTIFICATE TO THE PUBLIC. "This is to certify that the certificates which have appeared in public in relation to my daughter's sanity, were given upon the conviction that Mr. Packard's representations respecting her condition were true, and were given wholly upon the authority of Mr. Packard's own statements. I do therefore certify that it is now my opinion that Mr. Packard has had no cause for treating my daughter Elizabeth as an insane person. SAMUEL WARE. _Attest_, OLIVE WARE, AUSTIN WARE. SOUTH DEERFIELD, AUG. 21, 1866." The reader should be informed that the above certificate was given after I had been a member of my father's family for six months, thus affording him ample opportunity to judge of my real condition, by his own personal observation, since Mr. Packard, and his co-conspirator, Dr. McFarland, the Superintendent of the Asylum, both insist upon it, that I am now in just the same condition in reference to my sanity, that I was when I was kidnapped and forced into my prison. Therefore, when my own dear father's eyes were fully opened to see the deception that had been employed to secure his influence in support of this cruel conspiracy, he felt conscience bound to give the above certificate in vindication of the truth. Another evidence of my Father's entire confidence in my sanity is found in the fact that about this time he re-wrote his will, and so changed it that, instead of now giving me my patrimony "in trust" as before, he has bestowed it upon me, his only daughter, in precisely the same manner, and upon equal terms every way with my two only brothers. MRS. PACKARD'S ADDRESS TO THE ILLINOIS LEGISLATURE. GENTLEMEN OF ILLINOIS GENERAL ASSEMBLY: Thankful for the privilege granted me, I will simply state that I desire to explain my bill rather than defend it, since I am satisfied it needs no defense to secure its passage by this gallant body of gentlemen. I desire to make this public statement of some of the facts of my personal experience, relative to my incarceration in Jacksonville Insane Asylum, that you, the law-makers of this State, may see from the standpoint of my own individual wrongs, the legal liabilities to which all married women and infants have been exposed for the last sixteen years, to false imprisonments in Jacksonville Insane Asylum, under the act passed in 1851, viz.: "Married women and infants who, in the judgment of the Medical Superintendent," (meaning the Superintendent of Illinois State Hospital for the Insane,) "are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the hospital, on the request of the husband of the woman or the guardian of the infant, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." This act was nominally repealed in 1865; but, practically, is still existing, in retaining those who have been previously entered without evidence of insanity, and in receiving others, regardless of the law of '65, which demands a fair trial of all before commitment. In short, the present law is not in all cases enforced, but this unjust law is still in practical force in many instances. Therefore, your petitioners, men of the first legal character and standing in Chicago, in asking for the repeal of this unjust law, not only ask for the enforcement of the new law by a penalty, but also that a jury trial may be forthwith extended to the unfortunate victims of this unjust law, who are now confined in Jacksonville Insane Asylum. In detailing the practical working of this law in my case, I must rely upon your good sense to pardon the egotistical character of the following statement. I am a native of Massachusetts, the only daughter of an orthodox clergyman of the Congregational denomination, and the wife of a Congregational clergyman, who was preaching to a Presbyterian Church in Manteno, Kankakee Co., Ill., when this legal persecution commenced. I have been educated a Calvinist, after the strictest sect, but as my reasoning faculties have been developed by a thorough, scientific education, I have been led, by the simple exercise of my own reason and common sense, to endorse theological views, in conflict with my educated belief and the creed of the church with which I am connected. In short, from my present standpoint, I cannot but believe that the doctrine of total depravity, (which is the great backbone of the Calvinistic system,) conflicts with the dictates of reason, common sense, and the Bible. And, gentlemen, the only crime I have committed is to dare to be true to these, my honest convictions, and to give utterance to these views in a Bible class in Manteno, at the special request of the teacher of that class, and with the full and free consent of my husband. But the popular endorsement of these new views by the class and the community generally, led my husband and his Calvinistic Church to fear, lest their Church creed would suffer serious detriment by this license of private judgment and free inquiry, and as these liberal views emanated from his own family, and he, (for reasons best known to himself,) declining to meet me on the open arena of argument and free discussion, chose, rather, to use this marital power which your laws license him to use, and as this unjust law permits, and got me imprisoned at Jacksonville Insane Asylum, without evidence of insanity, and without any trial, hoping, as he told me, that by this means he could destroy my moral influence, and thereby defend the cause of Christ; as he felt bound to do! It was under these circumstances I was legally kidnapped, as your laws allow, and imprisoned three years at Jacksonville, simply for claiming a right to my own thoughts. The first intimation I had of this legal exposure, was by two men entering my room, on the 18th of June, 1860, and kidnapping me. Two of his Church-members, attended by Sheriff Burgess of Kankakee, took me up in their arms and carried me to the wagon, and thence to the cars, in spite of my lady-like protests, and regardless of all my entreaties for some sort of trial before imprisonment. My husband replied, "I am doing as the laws of Illinois allow me to do--you have no protection in law but myself, and I am protecting you now; it is for your good I am doing this; I want to save your soul; you don't believe in total depravity; I want to make you right." "Husband," said I, "have not I a right to my opinion?" "Yes, you have a right to your opinions if you think right." "But does not the constitution defend the right of religious tolerance to all American citizens?" "Yes, to all citizens it does defend this right, but you are not a citizen; while a married woman, you are a legal nonentity, without even a soul in law. In short, you are dead as to any legal existence, while a married woman, and therefore have no legal protection as a married woman." Thus I learned my first lesson in that chapter of "common law," which denies to married woman a legal right to their own individuality or identity. Here I was taken from my little family of six children, while my babe was only eighteen months old, while in the faithful discharge of all my duties as wife and mother, having done all my own work for twenty-one years, besides educating our own children, and nearly fitting our oldest son for college; in perfect health and sound mind, and forced into an imprisonment of an indefinite length, without the mere form of a trial, and without any chance at self-defense. True, my husband did even more than this "unjust law" demands, for he did get the certificates of two orthodox physicians that I was insane--like Henry Ward Beecher, and Horace Greeley, and Spurgeon, and three-fourths of the religious community; and, besides, he obtained the names of forty others, mostly his own Church members, who thus co-conspired to sustain their minister in this mode of defending the cause of Christ against the contagious influence of dangerous heresies and fatal errors. The influence of the community outside of the Church was thrown into the opposite scale entirely; but their influence was overpowered by the majesty of the law, added to the dignity of the pulpit. I was conveyed by Sheriff Burgess, Deacon Dole and Mr. Packard to your State Hospital, in defiance of the indignant community who had assembled at the depot in large crowds to defend me. Dr. Simmington, the Methodist minister at Manteno, remarked to me, "Mrs. Packard, you will not be there long," and plainly intimated that, in his opinion, no man was fit for his position who would retain such an inmate as myself. Dr. McFarland, of course, was obliged to receive me on this superabundant testimony that I was an insane person, although he apologized to me afterwards for receiving me at all, and for four months he treated me himself, and caused me to be treated, with all the respect of a hotel boarder. He even trusted me with the entire charge of a carriage load of insane patients, and the care of my own team, fourteen times; sometimes I would be absent nearly a half day on some pleasant excursion to the fair-grounds or cemetery, and he never expressed the least solicitude for our safe return. Indeed, he trusted me almost in every situation he would trust the matron. But, at the expiration of this time, with no change whatever in my deportment, I forfeited all his good-will and favors, by presenting him a written reproof for his abuse of his patients, which was afterwards printed, wherein I told him I should expose him when I got out, unless he treated his patients with more justice. He then removed me from the best ward to the worst, where were confined the most dangerous class of patients, and instructed his attendants to treat me just as they did the maniacs, and be sure to keep me a close prisoner, and on no account to allow me to leave the ward, and compel me to sleep in a dormitory with from three to six crazy patients, where my life was exposed, both night as well as day, with no room of my own to flee to for safety from their insane flights and dangerous attacks. I have been dragged around this ward by the hair of my head by the maniacs; I have received blows from them that almost killed me. My seat at the table was by the side of Mrs. Triplet, the most dangerous and violent patient in the whole ward, who almost invariably threatened to kill me every time I went to the table. I have had to dodge the knives and forks and tumblers and chairs which have been hurled in promiscuous profusion about my head, to avoid some fatal blow. I have begged and besought Dr. McFarland to remove me to some place of safety, where my life would not be so exposed, only to see him turn, speechless, away from me! I have endured the scent and filth of a ward, from which my delicate, sensitive nature revolts in loathsome disgust, until I had had time to clean the whole ward with my own hands, before it could be a decent place for human beings to inhabit. From this eighth ward I was not removed until I was discharged, two years and eight months from the day I was consigned to it. I did not set my foot upon the ground in the mean time, although, for the last part of my imprisonment there, Dr. McFarland exchanged some of the noisiest and most boisterous patients for a more quiet class. I have been threatened with the screen-room, and this threat has been accompanied with the flourish of a butcher knife over my head, for simply passing a piece of johnny-cake through a crack under my door to a hungry patient, who was locked in her room to suffer starvation as her discipline for her insanity. I have heard a fond and tender mother begging and pleading, for one whole night and part of a day, for one drink of cold water, but all in vain! simply because she had annoyed her attendant, by crying to see her darling babe and dear little ones at home. I finally persuaded the matron, Mrs. Waldo, to interpose, and give her a drink of water. There was but one of all the employees at that Asylum whom the Dr. could influence to treat me, personally, like an insane person. This was Mrs. De La Hay. Besides threatening me with the screen-room, as I have stated, she threatened to jacket me for speaking at the table. One day, after she had been treating her patients with great injustice and cruelty, I addressed Mrs. McKonkey, who sat next to me at the table, and in an undertone remarked, "I am thankful there is a recording angel present, noting what is going on in these wards;" when Mrs. De La Hay, overhearing my remark, exclaimed in a very angry tone, "Mrs. Packard, stop your voice! if, you speak another word at the table I shall put a straight jacket on you!" Mrs. Lovel, one of the patients, replied, "Mrs. De La Hay, did you ever have a straight jacket on yourself?" "No, my position protects me! but I would as soon put one on Mrs. Packard as any other patient, 'recording angel' or no 'recording angel,' and Dr. McFarland will protect me in doing so, too!" The indignant feeling of the house soon became so demonstrative, in view of the treatment I was receiving, that the Dr. seemed compelled to discharge Mrs. De La Hay to defend his own character from the charge of abusing me, and Mrs. De La Hay soon after became insane, and a tenant of Jacksonville poor-house. He cut me off from all written communication with the outside world, except under the strictest censorship, and made it a dischargeable offence of his employees to permit me to have any means of communication with the outside world. He has refused Mrs. Judge Thomas and other friends, whom he knew desired to comfort me with human sympathy and some choice viands, admission into my presence, and has put them off with the inquiry, "why do you wish to single out Mrs. Packard from the other patients, to administer to her comfort?" and when asked by his guests, who often mistook me for the matron, "why he kept so intelligent a lady in an Insane Asylum?" he would reply, "you must not take any notice of what a patient says!" And the reply he would make to my indignant friends at the hospital, who ventured sometimes to inquire "why are you treating Mrs. Packard in this manner?" has invariably been, "it is all for her good!" Time will not allow me to detail my sufferings and persecutions at that hospital; I will only add, may the Lord forgive Dr. McFarland for the injustice I have suffered at his hands! And God grant that the legislature of 1867 may have the moral courage to effectually remove the liabilities to a repetition of wrongs like my own! Various attempts were made by my Manteno friends to rescue me, but all in vain. My legal non-existence rendered it difficult to extend legal aid to a nonentity, except it come through the identity of my only legal protector, and so long as it was possible to cut me off from any direct application for deliverance, he could ward off the habeas corpus investigation they wished to institute, and as long as the Doctor claimed I was insane, so long this unjust law consigned me to legal imprisonment. My relatives and other friends applied to lawyers, judges and the Governor in my behalf, but all in vain, as these officers were only authorized to administer existing laws; they could neither repeal them nor act contrary to them. On the 18th of June, 1863, I was finally removed from my asylum prison, by order of the Trustees, as the result of a personal interview which Dr. McFarland kindly consented to grant me, and put again into the custody of my husband, who consigned me to a prison in my own house, claiming, as his excuse, that I was just as insane as when I was entered just three years previously, for I had neither recanted nor yielded my right to my identity: therefore, in the judgment of your superintendent, I am hopelessly insane, and am doomed, by his certificates, to a life-long imprisonment in the Insane Asylum at Northampton, Mass., and my husband was just on the point of starting with me for a consignment in that living tomb, when he was arrested by a writ of habeas corpus, issued by judge Starr, of Kankakee City, and used by my Manteno friends in defence of my personal liberty. I was now where I could make direct application, by passing a letter clandestinely through a crack in my window. The trial lasted five days, and resulted in a complete vindication of my sanity, although his witnesses swore that it was evidence of insanity for a person to wish to leave a Presbyterian church and join a Methodist! A full account of this trial is found in this "Three Years Imprisonment for Religious Belief." It was reported by one of my lawyers, and is an impartial record of the whole case. During the trial, Mr. Packard "fled his country" in the night, to avoid the danger of a mob retribution. He took with him all our personal property, even my own wardrobe and children, and rented our home, so that I found myself, at the close of court, homeless, penniless and childless. And this, gentlemen, is legal usurpation, also, on the slavish principle of common law--the legal nonentity of the wife, the man and wife being one, and the one, the man! Gentlemen, we married women need emancipation; and will you not be the pioneer State in our Union, in woman's emancipation? and thus use my martyrdom for the identity of a married woman, to herald this most glorious of all reforms--married woman's legal emancipation, from that of a slave in law, to that of a partner and companion of her husband, in law, as she now is in society? And, lest there be a misunderstanding on this subject, permit me here to explain what kind of slavery I refer to. This slavish position which the principles of common law assigns the married woman, is a relic of barbarism, which the progress of civilization will, doubtless, ere long, annihilate. In the dark ages, married woman was a slave to her husband, both socially and legally, but, as civilization has progressed, she has outgrown her social position--that of a slave--and is now regarded in society as the companion and partner of her husband. But the law has not progressed with civilization, so that married woman is still a slave, legally, while she is his companion, socially. Man, we know, is woman's natural protector, and, in most instances, is all the protection a married woman needs. Still, as the laws are made for the exceptional cases, where man is not a law unto himself, what can be the harm in emancipating woman from this slavish position, so that she can receive governmental protection of her right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," as well as the marital protection? So, in case where the marital fails, she can have legal protection, while married as well as when single. Then when your darling daughter is called to exchange the paternal protection for the marital, she will not be obliged to alienate her right to governmental protection by this exchange of her natural protectors, but she, the tenderest and the best, can then claim of her government, while a married woman, the same protection of her rights as a woman, which your sons now claim as men. The need of this radical change in married woman's legal position, is more fully elucidated in this book, which contains a detailed account of my persecutions in Illinois, when your State hospital was used, in my case, as inquisition. My object in bringing these facts to your notice is to secure legislative action, where these facts show the need of action. In conclusion, gentlemen of this Assembly, may I be allowed to read a few extracts from Dr. McFarland's published letters on this subject, showing, from his own words, his ground of self-defense. The Doctor says: "All Mrs. Packard's wrongs, persecutions and sufferings, of every description, are utterly the creation of a diseased imagination." Now, I ask, is this so? Can facts be transmuted into fiction by the simple assertion of one man? And is it a mere creation of a diseased imagination that has torn me from my helpless babe and deprived my darling children of a fond mother's tender care? Is it the mere creation of a diseased imagination to find that good conduct, not even the best, is any guarantee of protection to a wife and mother under Illinois laws? Neither Dr. McFarland nor Mr. Packard himself, has ever denied one of the facts in the statement I have made; but as their only justification, they claim that I am insane--and the only proof of insanity they have ever brought in support of this opinion is, "her views of things," as the Doctor expresses himself, or, my private, individual opinions. Now I wish to ask the gentlemen of this Assembly, if, for my using my right of opinion, or my right of private judgment, the public sentiment of this age is going to justify Illinois in keeping me a prisoner three years, under the subterfuge of insanity, based wholly upon my "views of things?" Just consider, for one moment, the principle. Here my personal liberty, for life, hangs suspended wholly on the opinion of this one man, whom policy or interest might tempt to say I was insane when I was not; for this law expressly states that the class I represent may be imprisoned without evidence of insanity, and without trial! Just make the case your own, gentlemen: would it be easy for you to realize that it was a mere creation of your imagination to have two men take you by force from your business and family, without evidence of insanity and without trial, and your kidnappers claim as their only justification, that you are insane on some point in your religious belief, simply because Dr. McFarland says you are, and then lock you up for life, on his single testimony, without proof? Now we, married women and infants, have had our personal liberty, for sixteen years, suspended on this one man's opinion; and possibly he may be found to be a fallible man, and capable of corruption, if we may be allowed to judge of this great man from the standpoint of his own words and actions. Now, if the Doctor was required to prove his patients insane, from their own conduct, there would be a shadow of justice attached to his individual judgment; but while this law allows him to call them insane, and treat them as insane, without evidence of insanity, where is the justice of such a decision? You do not hang a person without proof from the accused's own actions that he is guilty of the charge which forfeits his life. So the personal liberty of married women should not be sacrificed without proof that they are insane, from their own conduct. When Dr. McFarland has brought forward one proof from my own conduct, by one insane act of my own, in support of his position, I will then say he has cause for calling me an insane person; but until that time arrives, I claim he is begging the question entirely, in calling me an insane person, without one evidence to sustain his charge. Gentlemen, it is not merely for my own self-defence from this unpleasant charge, that I lay this argument before you, but it is that you may see, from my standpoint, how exceedingly frail is the thread on which our reputation for sanity is suspended, and how very liable married women and infants are to be thus falsely imprisoned in Jacksonville Insane Asylum. If my testimony might be allowed to add weight to this suspicion or presumption, I would state that, to my certain knowledge, there were married women there when I left, more than three years since, who were not insane then at all, and they are still retained there, as hopelessly insane patients, on the simple strength of the above ground of evidence; and it is my womanly sympathy for this class of prisoners that has moved me to come, alone, from Massachusetts, in the depth of winter, to see if I could not possibly induce this legislature to compassionate their case: for it is under your laws, gentlemen, I have suffered, and they are still suffering, and it is to this legislature of 1867 that we apply for a legal remedy; and we confidently trust you will vindicate the honor of your State in the action you take upon this subject. We trust you will not only have the manliness and moral courage to repeal this unjust law, forthwith, but also extend, promptly, a just trial to its wronged and injured victims. Again, Dr. McFarland writes: "Mr. Packard is suffering from a cause which only gather his church and the public about him, in the bonds of a generous sympathy." I reply to this assertion by stating a few simple facts. Mr. Packard's church and people in Manteno, Illinois, withdrew from him their confidence and support, while I was incarcerated, instead of gathering about him, because public sentiment would not tolerate him, as a minister, with this stigma upon him; and it was the fear of lynch law which drove him from this State during the court, to seek shelter and employment in Massachusetts, his native State. There he succeeded in securing a place as stated supply, by ignoring the decision of your court, and by misrepresenting the west to be in such a semi-barbarous state that it was impossible to get a just decision at any legal tribunal in this uncivilized region, where, he tells them, "a large portion of community were more intent on giving Presbyterianism a blow, than in investigating the question of Mrs. Packard's insanity!" He occupied his new field in Sunderland, Mass., fifteen months, when I returned to my father's house in Sunderland, on a visit, and the result was, my personal presence, together with the facts in the case, upset him, so that neither Sunderland nor any other society in New England can be induced to employ him in defiance of enlightened public sentiment. Indeed, the public sentiment of New England has so blighted and withered his ministerial influence, that the remark of a lawyer in Worcester, Mass., made a few months since, reflects his true social position there, at present. Said he, "there is not a man in New England, neither do I think there is one man in the United States, who would dare to stand the open defender of Mr. Packard in the course he has taken, and in view of the facts as they are now known to exist." Now I would like to ask Dr. McFarland, where are to be found these "bonds of generous sympathy" to which he refers? in the region of the west, or in the east? Here, where the Doctor's assertion is found to be plainly contradicted by facts, can his simple assertions be relied upon as infallible testimony and infallible authority? Again, another extract, and I am done. Dr. McFarland writes, "I have no question but that Mrs. Packard's committal here was as justifiable as in the majority of those now here." Now if this statement of your superintendent is true, viz.: that I am a fair specimen of the majority of his patients, then the Doctor himself must admit that the majority of inmates there are capable of assuming a self-reliant position, and, instead of being supported there as State paupers, as I was during my imprisonment of three years, ought they not to be liberated, and supporting themselves and their families as I am now doing? Mr. Packard has become an object of charity since he cast me penniless upon the world, while I have, without charity, not only supported myself, but have already become voluntarily responsible for his support, and the support and education of my children, from the avails of my own hard labor, since my discharge from my prison; while at the same time, he will not allow me to live in the house with my dear children, lest my heresies contaminate them! Now, Gentlemen, is it not better that I be thus employed, selling my books for their support, rather than be held as your State's prisoner and State's pauper simply because my "views of things" do not happen to coincide with your Superintendent's views of things? It is true, and, gentlemen, your Superintendent's own statement verifies it, that I am not the only one who has been so unjustly imprisoned there, and in the name and behalf of those now there, I beg of this body that you extend to such a fair trial or a discharge. Really, the claims of humanity and the honor of your State both demand that my case stimulate the Illinois legislature of 1867 to provide legal safeguards against false commitments like my own. Permit me here to add, that although I have come from Massachusetts to Illinois at my own expense, without money and without price, for the express purpose of bringing these claims of oppressed humanity to your notice, I do not demand nor ask for any remuneration for my false imprisonment in your State institution, nor for any personal redress of those legal wrongs which have deprived me of my reputation, my home, my property, my children, my liberty; but I do ask that the legal liabilities to such like outrages may be effectually removed by this legislature, and that the justice of a trial by jury may be forthwith extended to those now in that asylum, who have been consigned to an indefinite term of imprisonment, without any trial. Gentlemen of this assembly, in view of the facts now before you, please allow me the additional privilege of adding a few suggestions. You see it has become a demonstrated fact that I, a minister's wife, of Illinois, have been three years imprisoned in your State, by your laws, simply because I could not tell a lie--that is, I could not be false to my own honest convictions; and since I simply claim the right to be an individual instead of a parasite, or an echo of others' views, I am branded by your laws as hopelessly insane! Is it not time for you to legislate on this subject, by enacting laws which shall make it a crime to treat an Illinois citizen as an insane person simply for the utterance of opinions, no matter how absurd those opinions may be to others? Opinions cannot harm the truth, nor the individual, especially if they are absurd or insane opinions. But for irregularities of conduct, such as my persecutors have been guilty of, the law ought to be made to investigate. Imprisonment for religious belief! What is it but treason against the vital principle of this American Government, viz.: religions toleration? Would that I could have claimed protection under the banner of my country's flag, while a citizen of Illinois. But no; this unjust statute law has consigned me to the reign of despotism. And so are all my married sisters in Illinois liable to this consignment, so long as this barbarous law is in force. And O! the horrors of such a consignment! Only think of putting your own delicate, sensitive daughter through the scenes I have been put through. Do you think she would have come out unharmed? God only knows. But this I do know: that it is one principle of ethics, that a person is very apt to become what they are taken to be. You may take the sanest person in the world, and tell them they are insane, and treat them as your Superintendent treats them there--it is the most trying ordeal a person can pass through and not really become insane. And most reverently does Mrs. Packard attribute it to God's grace alone, for carrying her safely through this most awful ordeal, unharmed, and--I am almost tempted to add--God himself could not have done this thing without the strictest conformity on my part, to His own laws of nature, in connection with a well-balanced organization. As it is, to God's grace alone. I say it, I am a monument for the age--a standing miracle, almost, of the power of faith to shield one from insanity, by having come out unharmed, through a series of trials, such as would crush into a level with the beasts, I may say, any one, who did not freely use this antidote. Here let me make one practical suggestion. Is that kind of treatment which causes insanity the best adapted to cure insanity? O, my brothers! my gallant brothers! will you not protect us from such liabilities? Will you not have the manliness to grant to us, married women, the legal right to stand just where our own actions will place us, regardless of our views of things, or our private opinions? that is, may we not have the privilege of being legally protected, as you are, in our rights of opinion and conscience, so long as our good conduct deserves such protection? We have an individuality of our own, which is sacred to ourselves; will you not protect our personal liberty, while in the lawful, lady-like exercise of it? for personal liberty is a boon of inestimable value to ourselves as well as you, and by guarding our liberty against false commitment there, you may have fortified the personal liberty of some of Illinois' best and sanest class of citizens, whose interests are now vitally imperiled by this unjust law. Yes, gentlemen, I, their representative, now stand legally exposed to be kidnapped again, and hid for life in some lunatic Asylum; and since no laws defend me, this may yet be done. Should public sentiment--the only law of self-defence I have--endorse the statements of this terrible conspiracy against the personal liberty and stainless character of an innocent woman, I may yet again be entombed, to die a martyr for the Christian principle of the identity of a married woman. Three long years of false imprisonment does not satisfy this lust for power to oppress the helpless. No; nothing but a life-long entombment can satisfy the selfhood of my only legal protector. O! I do want laws to protect me, and, as an American citizen, I not only ask, but I demand that my personal liberty shall depend upon the decision of a jury--not upon the verdict of public sentiment, or forged certificates, either. My gallant brothers, be true to my cause, if false to me. Be true to woman! defend her as your weak, confiding sister, and Heaven shall reward you; for God is on her side, "and he always wins who sides with God." Fear not; fear nothing so much as the sin of simply not doing your duty. Maintain your death grapple in defence of the heaven-born principles of liberty and justice to all human kind, especially to woman. Emancipate her! for above this cross hangs suspended a crown, of which even our martyred Lincoln's crown of negro emancipation is but a mere type and shadow in brilliancy. And God grant that this immortal crown of unfading honor may be the rightful heritage--the well-earned reward of Illinois' gallant sons, as embodied in their legislators. And all we have to ask for Dr. McFarland is, that you not only allow, but require this great man to stand just where his own actions will place him, regardless of his position, or the opinion of his enemies or his friends. Gentlemen, permit me also to say, that when you have once liberated the sane inmates of that hospital and effectually fortified the rights of the sane citizens of Illinois against false commitments there, you will have taken the first progressive step in the right direction, in relation to this great humanitarian reform. And here I will say, that from what I do know of the practical workings of the internal machinery of that institution, as seen from behind the curtain, from the standpoint of a patient, and from what I know of the personal and private character of Illinois Statesmen, I predict it will not be the last. And, notwithstanding the temporary disfigurement of Illinois' proud escutcheon by this foul stain of religious persecution, which, I regret to say, it now has upon it, may God grant that the present statesmen of Illinois may yet so fully vindicate its honor, as that the van of this great humanitarian reform may yet be heralded to the world in the action of Illinois representatives, as embodied in this legislature of 1867. I hold myself in readiness, gentlemen, to answer any questions, or perform any service in behalf of this cause you may desire of me; and, as an incentive to your acting efficiently in this matter, I will state that several legislatures in New England are watching eagerly the result of my application to you, this winter, and they have engaged me to report to them the result. I desire, therefore, an opportunity to vindicate your character before these legislatures, on the basis of your own actions, for, after you know of the existence of this barbarous law, and its direct application to me, one of its wronged and injured victims, as you now do, I shall no longer be able to plead your ignorance of the existence of such a law, as your vindication from the charge of barbarism, and you must know that the intelligence of the whole civilized world cannot but call a State barbarous in its legislation, so long as this black and cruel law has an existence, even in continuing to hold its victims in its despotic grasp. I know, gentlemen, that since 1865, I can plead that you have nominally repealed it, but so long as this law of '65 is without a penalty to enforce it, it is only a half law, or in other words, it is merely legislative advice--it is not a statute law, and so long as you do retain its injured victims in their false imprisonment, you have not repealed it. Now, gentlemen, much as I would like to gratify the wishes of a member of your House, in erasing the record of this law from my book, on the ground of its having been already repealed, I cannot conscientiously do it so long as that institution continues to receive inmates without any trial by jury, or retains those who have never had any such trial. No, gentlemen; this law and its application to me, cannot be obliterated, for it has already become a page of Illinois' history, which must stand to all coming time, as a living witness against the legislation of Illinois in the nineteenth century. There is one way, and only one, by which you can redeem your State from this foul blot of religious persecution which now desecrates your nationality in the estimation of the whole civilized world, and that is by such practical repentance as this bill demands. This done, I can then, and only till then, vindicate the character of Illinois statesmen, on the ground of their own honorable acts. In an appendix to this book, you will then find not only Mrs. Packard's appeal to Illinois' legislature of 1867, but also the noble manly response of its legislators, as echoed by their own honorable acts. But, should you, for any reason, choose to turn a deaf ear to this appeal in defense of your injured citizens, I shall not rest until I have made this same appeal to the people of this State, and asked from them the justice I am denied from their representatives. And should I be denied there, I shall go to work single-handed and alone, in liberating this oppressed class, by the habeas corpus act, before I shall feel that my skirts are washed from the guilt of hiding these public sins against humanity, which I know to have existence in the State of Illinois. And can you blame me for this manifestation of my heart sympathy for my imprisoned sisters? Can a sensitive woman feel a less degree of sympathy for her own sex, when she knows, as I do from my own bitter experience, the injustice they are daily and hourly now receiving in that dismal prison? And O! if you or your darling daughter were in their places, would you feel like reproaching me as a fanatic, for thus volunteering in your defence? No; you would not. But I should reproach myself, and so must a just God reproach me, should I dare to do less; for there is a vow recorded in the archives of high Heaven, that Mrs. Packard will do all in her power to do, for the deliverance of these victims of injustice, if God will but grant her deliverance. I am delivered! my vow stands recorded there! Shall this vow be a witness against me, or shall it not? Gentlemen of this Assembly, I shall try to redeem that pledge, and so far as you are concerned, my work is now done. Yours remains to be done. God grant you may dare to do right! that you may have the moral courage to dare to settle this great question, just upon its own intrinsic merits, independent of the sanity or the insanity of its defender. Very respectfully submitted to the General Assembly of Illinois, now in Session, by-- MRS. E. P. W. PACKARD. SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, February 12th, 1867. The result of this appeal was the passage of the "Personal Liberty Bill," entitled "An Act for the Protection of Personal Liberty." ACTION OF ILLINOIS LEGISLATURE ON THIS SUBJECT. AN ACT in relation to Insane persons and the Illinois State Hospital for the Insane. SECTION 1. _Be it enacted by the People of the State of Illinois, represented in the General Assembly_: That the circuit judges of this State are hereby vested with power to act under and execute the provisions of the act passed on the 12th of February, 1853, entitled "An act to amend an act entitled 'an act to establish the Illinois State Hospital for the Insane,'" in force March 1st, 1847, in so far as those provisions confer power upon judges of county courts; and no trial shall be had of the question of sanity or insanity before any judge or court, without the presence or in the absence of the person alleged to be insane. And jurors shall be freeholders and heads of families. SEC. 2. Whenever application is made to a circuit or county judge, under the provisions of this act and the act to which this is an amendment, for proceedings to inquire into and ascertain the insanity or sanity of any person alleged to be insane, the judge shall order the clerk of the court of which he is judge to issue a writ, requiring the person alleged to be insane to be brought before him, at the time and place appointed for the hearing of the matter, which writ may be directed to the sheriff or any constable of the county, or the person having the custody or charge of the person alleged to be insane, and shall be executed and returned, and the person alleged to be insane brought before the said judge before any jury is sworn to inquire into the truth of the matters alleged in the petition on which said writ was issued. SEC. 3. Persons with reference to whom proceedings may be instituted for the purpose of deciding the question of sanity or insanity, shall have the right to process for witnesses, and to have witnesses examined before the jury; they shall also have the right to employ counsel or any friend to appear in their behalf, so that a fair trial may be had in the premises; and no resident of the State shall hereafter be admitted into the hospital for the insane, except upon the order of a court or judge, or of the production of a warrant issued according to the provisions of the act to which this is an amendment. SEC. 4. The accounts of said institution shall be so kept and reported to the general assembly, as to show the kind, quantity and cost of any articles purchased for use; and upon quarterly settlements with the auditor, a list of the accounts paid shall be filed, and also the original vouchers, as now required. SEC. 5. All former laws conflicting with the provisions of this act are hereby repealed, and this act shall take effect on its passage. Approved February 16, 1865. Two years practice under this law developed its inability to remove the evils it was designed to remedy. This law, having no penalty to enforce it, was found to be violated in many instances, as it was ascertained to be a fact that Dr. McFarland was constantly receiving patients under the old law of 1851, which this law had nominally repealed. Therefore, a petition was sent to the legislature of 1867, signed by I. N. Arnold, J. Young Scammon, and thirty-six other men of the first legal standing in Chicago, asking for the practical repeal of the old law of 1851, by the enforcement of the new law of 1865. The old law of 1851 is as follows, viz.: "Married women and infants who, in the judgment of the medical superintendent, (meaning the Superintendent of the Illinois State Hospital for the Insane,) are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the hospital on the request of the husband of the woman, or the guardian of the infant, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." The legislature was led to see that by the practical enforcement of this unjust law, the personal liberty of married women and infants was still imperiled, and also that the law of 1865 did not relieve the wronged and injured victims of this unjust law, now imprisoned at Jacksonville Insane Asylum. Therefore, the legislature of 1867 passed the following "Act for the protection of Personal Liberty." AN ACT for the Protection of Personal Liberty. SECTION 1. _Be it enacted by the People of the State of Illinois, represented in the General Assembly_: That no superintendent, medical director, agent or other person, having the management, supervision or control of the Insane Hospital at Jacksonville, or of any hospital or asylum for insane and distracted persons in this State, shall receive, detain or keep in custody at such asylum or hospital any person who has not been declared insane or distracted by a verdict of a jury and the order of a court, as provided by an act of the general assembly of this State, approved February 16, 1865. SEC. 2. Any person having charge of, or the management or control of any hospital for the insane, or of any asylum for the insane in this State, who shall receive, keep or detain any person in such asylum or hospital, against the wishes of such person, without the record or proper certificate of the trial required by the said act of 1865, shall be deemed guilty of a high misdemeanor, and liable to indictment, and on conviction be fined not more than one thousand dollars, nor less than five hundred dollars, or imprisoned not exceeding one year, nor less than three months, or both, in the discretion of the court before which such conviction is had: _provided_, that one half of such fine shall be paid to the informant, and the balance shall go to the benefit of the hospital or asylum in which said person was detained. SEC. 3. Any person now confined in any insane hospital or asylum, and all persons now confined in the hospital for the insane at Jacksonville, who have not been tried and found insane or distracted by the verdict of a jury, as provided in and contemplated by said act of the general assembly of 1865, shall be permitted to have such trial. All such persons shall be informed by the trustees of said hospital or asylum, in their discretion, of the provisions of this act and of the said act of 1865, and on their request, such persons shall be entitled to such trial within a reasonable time thereafter: _provided_, that such trial may be had in the county where such person is confined or detained, unless such person, his or her friends, shall, within thirty days after any such person may demand a trial under the provisions of said act of 1865, provide for the transportation of such person to, and demand trial in the county where such insane person resided previous to said detention, in which case such trial shall take place in said last mentioned county. SEC. 4. All persons confined as aforesaid, if not found insane or distracted by a trial and the verdict of a jury as above, and in the said act of 1865 provided, within two months after the passage of this act, shall be set at liberty and discharged. SEC. 5. It shall be the duty of the State's attorneys for the several counties to prosecute any suit arising under the provisions of this act. SEC. 6. This act shall be deemed a public act, and take effect and be in force from and after its passage. Approved March 5th, 1867. The public will see that, under the humane provisions of this act, all the inmates of every insane asylum in the State of Illinois, whether public or private, who have been incarcerated without the verdict of a jury that they are insane, are now entitled to a jury trial, and unless this trial is granted them within sixty days from the 5th of March, 1867, they are discharged, and can never be incarcerated again without the verdict of a jury that they are insane. No person can be detained there after sixty days, who has not been declared insane by a jury. It is thus that the barbarities of the law of 1851 are wiped out by this act of legislative justice. Now, all married women and infants who have been imprisoned "without evidence of insanity," as this unjust law allows, and who are still living victims of this cruel law, will now be liberated from their false imprisonment, unless they have become insane by the inhumanity of their confinement. And if it is found by the testimony that they were sane when they were imprisoned, and that they have become insane by being kept there, is it humane to perpetuate the cause of their insanity, under the pretext that their cure demands it? Or, in other words, is that kind of treatment which caused their insanity the best adapted to cure their insanity? This great question, who shall be retained as fit subjects for the insane asylum, is now to depend, in all cases, upon the decision of a jury; and each case must be legally investigated, as the law of 1865 directs. ANOTHER ACT OF LEGISLATIVE JUSTICE--APPOINTMENT OF AN INVESTIGATING COMMITTEE. _Resolved, the Senate concurring_, That a joint committee of three from this House and two from the Senate be appointed to visit the hospital for the insane, after the adjournment, of the legislature, at such times as they may deem necessary, with power to send for persons and papers, and to examine witnesses on oath; that said committee be instructed thoroughly to examine and inquire into the financial and sanitary management of said institution; to ascertain whether any of the inmates are improperly detained in the hospital, or unjustly placed there, and whether the inmates are humanely and kindly treated, and to confer with the trustees of said hospital in regard to the speedy correction of any abuses found to exist, and to report to the Governor, from time to time, at their discretion. _And be it further resolved_, That said committee be instructed to examine the financial and general management of the other State institutions. Adopted by the House of Representatives, F. CORWIN, _Speaker_. Concurred in by the Senate, WM. BROSS, _Speaker_. The following gentlemen compose the committee: Hon. E. Baldwin, Farm Ridge, LaSalle county; Hon. T. B. Wakeman, Howard, McHenry county; Hon. John B. Ricks, Taylorville, Christian county, on the part of the House of Representatives. Hon. Allen C. Fuller, Belvidere, Boone county; Hon. A. J. Hunter, Paris, Edgar county, on the part of the Senate. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Punctuation has been corrected without note. The following misprints have been corrected: "dont" corrected to "don't" (page 6 [twice]) "misued" corrected to "misused" (page 16) "ful" corrected to "full" (page 31) "other'" corrected to "other's" (page 34) "o" corrected to "to" (page 48) "Massachusets" corrected to "Massachusetts" (page 52) "one s" corrected to "one's" (page 66) "pedition" corrected to "perdition" (page 70) "arduour" corrected to "arduous" (page 116) "ander" corrected to "under" (page 130) "dont" corrected to "don't" (page 131) "Kankahee" corrected to "Kankakee" (page 145) "Satte" corrected to "State" (page 155) Other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. 
38859	----	Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 38859-h.htm or 38859-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/38859/38859-h/38859-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/38859/38859-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/civilwarexperien00robb Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). CIVIL WAR EXPERIENCES 1862-1865 Chickamauga Mission Ridge Buzzard Roost Resaca Rome New Hope Church Kennesaw Mountain Peach Tree Creek Atlanta Jonesboro Averysboro Bentonville by DR. EDWARD M. ROBBINS Carthage, Illinois, November, 1919 [Illustration: DR. EDWARD MOTT ROBBINS] CIVIL WAR EXPERIENCES Enlisted in Capt. John Allen's company June 7th, 1862. Went on board the steamer "Jennie Whipple" at Dallas City, Sunday morning, June 15th, and with company went down the Mississippi to Quincy, Ill., place of rendezvous. On the way an incident occurred which I cannot pass without mention. When we passed Alexandria, Mo., the river shore was lined with people and to our ears came the shout, "Hurrah for Jeff Davis!" and to add to the insult they waved the black flag in our faces, (which interpreted meant no quarter to Yankees). Passing on down the river the next town was Canton, where the same greeting was given us, all of which made us very indignant to think so near home we should be insulted in such a manner. I have never had a very favorable opinion of those two towns since, and while I hope there is more loyalty and patriotism now than then, I feel that their forefathers put a blot on their little cities that will never be erased. * * * * * At Camp Wood on the 1st day of September, was mustered into the U. S. service, together with nine other companies, forming the 78th Ill. Vol. Inf. (In casting lots for position in line my company drew the letter "H" which placed us on the left of the colors, and Company "C" on the right.) On the 19th day of September we were put on coal cars with boards laid across for seats, no cover over our heads; on arrival at destination were put on provost duty for a few days, until Gen. Buell was equipped for his campaign against Gen. Bragg. October 5th my regiment was marched to Shepardsville, Ky., and on the 14th was divided into detachments under Gen. Gilbert to guard railroad bridges on the Louisville and Nashville railroad. December 26th the guerrilla John Morgan, captured Companies B and C at Muldrose Hill, two and one-half miles from Elizabethtown, Ky., and they were paroled. On the same raid on the morning of Dec. 30th, Morgan attacked Co. H at New Haven, Ky., and was driven away without accomplishing his purpose. About the last of January, 1863, the companies were collected at Louisville and embarked on the steamer "John H. Grosbeck" for Nashville via the Ohio and Cumberland rivers, arriving at Fort Donelson February 3, 1863, in time to relieve the 83rd Ill., which was surrounded by a superior force of Forest's and Wheeler's cavalry. The enemy retired on our approach and we passed on to Nashville, Tenn., where the regiment disembarked. The regiment was in the command of Brigadier Gen. C. C. Gilbert of the Army of Kentucky, under Major General Gordon Granger, reserve corps commander. * * * * * During our stay in Kentucky there were many social features with the citizens that made our stay among them quite pleasant, one of which is worthy of mention. As a few of us wished to avail ourselves of an opportunity to attend a dance to be given by a planter by the name of Sphink, who sent in to our lines an invitation for about a half a dozen to come out on a certain night. Of course we were crazy to go, but how were we to get outside the lines. We decided to ask the officers for a pass, but this failed. Our officers claimed this was a plan made up to get a lot of us out there and take us prisoners, as a lot of Morgan's men were in that vicinity at that time, and we decided it was all off. But as the time came near for the event and there was less news of the Rebel General Morgan's near proximity to us, a few of us Yanks' heels began to tickle for a dance and a desire to have a chance at the roast turkey that was promised for the occasion. So we made up our minds that we would take our chances on getting by the pickets. In the mean time there came a big snow storm, the heaviest, the natives said, that had ever been known in Kentucky. It covered the earth to a depth of a little more than two feet. The night for the party arrived, and not Johnnies, snow, pickets, nor anything else would have stopped that gang. During the day we located the guards on picket duty, quite a ways from the main road, and planned to go as close to them as possible without attracting their attention, then to drop on our hands and knees and crawl through the snow to a safe distance on the outside, which we did, and arrived safely at Mr. Sphink's. We had taken the precaution to take our side arms with us, for we had seen service enough to be always on the alert and trust nobody or allow them to get the drop on us. When we went into the house almost the first persons we met were men wearing the gray uniform, and the host introduced them to us as Confederate soldiers home on furlough. At first we were just a bit disconcerted until our host assured us that all was on the square, that we need not fear any trouble, as they were home boys and had heard of our coming and for us to pitch in and have as good a time as we could, and we sure did have a fine time, a royal supper, and not a word was spoken to mar the peace and comfort of anyone. When we left for camp we shook hands with the Confeds the same as any one else and bid them goodbye. It was some time before the officers found out about our going out, in fact not until we had left Kentucky, consequently we were not disciplined for having the good time, and leaving the camp without permission. February 12th the regiment marched to Franklin, Tenn., where it remained four months. We were diligent in company, battalion and brigade drill, the first good opportunity we had since enlistment. On April 11th we were threatened by a heavy force of Van Dorn and Wheeler cavalry, but no engagement except skirmishing with pickets and outposts, and on June 4th the enemy made a similar attack on our outposts with like result. On June 9th a very unhappy affair occurred--two Confederate spies entered camp disguised as federal officers, claiming to be federal paymasters on their way from Murfreesboro via Franklin to Nashville, but when they were detected they acknowledged being Confederate officers, but denied being spies. A court martial was immediately organized, and they were tried and condemned to death by hanging. They requested to be shot instead, but their request was not granted and they were hung June 10. They gave their names as Col. Orton and Lieut. Peters. Col. Orton had been an officer in the Union army before the war. The 78th constructed the gallows and furnished the guard. On June 23rd marched to Trinne and Murfreesboro, Tenn. The army had now been reorganized and the 78th was assigned to the brigade of Col. John G. Mitchell in General James B. Stedman's division reserve corps, under Major General Gordon Granger. We were glad to exchange Gen. Gilbert for Col. Mitchell, who ably commanded the brigade from that time, with the exception of a few months, to the close of the war. On June 28th moved south from Murfreesboro in the rear of the general advance against Bragg's army. The brigade entered Shelbyville, Tenn., July 1st., and camped. While at this place Col. Benison, the first colonel mustered with the regiment, resigned and Col. Carter Van Vleck, then lieutenant colonel, was promoted to colonel of the regiment, a change that pleased not only the line officers but the men as well. Sept. 6th, 1863, the regiment moved southward, crossed the Tennessee river, Sept. 12, pursued its march around Lookout Mountain, and arrived at Rossville, Ga., on Sept. 14, 1863, and for a few days previous to the battle of Chickamauga was kept on the move day and night, marching, skirmishing, trying to locate the weak and strong points of the enemy, all signs of an approaching engagement being visible. On the 17th of September the division made a reconnaissance to Ringold, Ga., and there discovered that Longstreet's corps from Lee's army was reinforcing Bragg. The command was followed closely on its return from Ringold and at midnight the enemy opened upon us with artillery, with no damage except the briars we incorporated in our feet while getting into our clothes and into line of battle. Unfortunately we had camped where there were some rail fences which we burned to cook our suppers, and the fence rows were full of blackberry briars. (My, but I can feel those briars yet.) We stood to arms until morning. During the commencement of the battle of Chickamauga, the regiment with the division before Rossville guarding the road through the gap to Chattanooga. Before noon on the 20th of September, General Granger, apprehending that Gen. Thomas needed assistance, double quicked two brigades of our division to Gen. Thomas' front, which proved a timely assistance to Gen. Thomas, as Longstreet was getting around the Federal right and rear. The two brigades (Mitchell's and Whitaker's) were put into action at once, made a charge on Longstreet and drove him from the west and south bends of Snodgrass ridge with great loss to both sides. A monument erected to the 78th on the west end of Snodgrass ridge, bears a tablet describing the terrible carnage in the fearful charge. Thirty-seven per cent of the command gave themselves as a sacrifice for Old Glory in just a few moments. The adjutant general's report gives the per cent as forty in this awful charge. The Rebels made three distinct efforts to retake the positions, but each time were repulsed with heavy loss. In one attempt to take a battery they were so near that muskets were clubbed and men beaten over the head in order to prevent the loss of the six-gun battery. We held the position until after dark, when we were ordered off the field. On the march from left to right, I ran across a Rebel who was shot through the bowels. He was just across the fence, and I did not see him, until he called and said, "Hello, Yank. Have you any water?" I said, "Yes, what's the matter with you Johnny?" His answer was, "I am wounded and waiting to die." I went to him, raked the leaves away from him (for the whole battlefield was ablaze), emptied part of the water from my canteen into his, and Dr. Githens gave him a dose of morphine to relieve his suffering, and left him to die, for he was wounded through the bowels. This occurred at the north end of Snodgrass Ridge, just north of the Snodgrass house. As we started to leave him we started east. We could hear voices just ahead of us, but the smoke from fire arms, cannon and burning leaves was so dense we could not see far. But the wounded soldier I had just befriended called and said, "Hold on, Yank, don't go that way, Johnnies are thicker than hell just beyond those bushes." I asked him if he heard troops pass before I came and he said they did but they turned south down the west side of the ridge. We had gotten behind, ministering to a Michigan soldier who was wounded in the same manner the Johnny was. I have mentioned this circumstance to show the feeling among soldiers when one is put out of action. I favored the Confederate and he in turn saved me from walking into the Confederate lines, which I would have done. I went down the ridge and came up with my command in time to go into the charge on the west end of the ridge, which we took and a monument marks the place where we were halted on top of the ridge. I spent the night with wounded comrades, ministering to them as best I could to relieve their sufferings. During the afternoon of the last day's fight, I stepped on Doctor Githens' spur and tore my shoe in such a manner as to permit small gravel to work between the sole of my shoe and foot; after the excitement of battle was over and wounded comrades cared for, I realized I had a very sore foot. I wish here to relate a very peculiar incident which occurred to Dr. Githens and my horses. When we started into the fight on the afternoon of the 20th, we dismounted and turned the horses, with all of our effects, except the medicine case and surgeon's case of instruments, to the care of a negro boy we called Jack, and instructed him to keep in the rear so as to avoid getting lost or being captured by the Rebels; when night came Jack could not be found, nor did he show up during the night; morning came and no Jack, horses, blankets or provisions. I hunted over all that part of the army but no Jack of the proper dimensions or environments could be found, so the Doctor and I gave up all hope of finding the outfit. But to add to the Doctor's discomfort, he had at noon received orders to report to division headquarters to take charge of an ambulance train of wounded men, over the mountains, to Bridgeport. We had exhausted every means we could conceive of, but no Jack, no horses or anything else could be found, and Dr. Githens started to take charge of the train without horse or anything that might minister to his personal comfort, not even so much as a blanket or cracker. As I turned to leave him, to my great astonishment Jack and the horses loomed in front of me. I turned and called Dr. Githens, and then said to Jack, "For heaven's sake, Jack, where did you come from?" "Massa Ed, fo de Lod, I done can't tell you. Wh's you alls been. I done hunt all over dis heah whole country, been in with the Johnnies." I said, "Why did they not take the horses from you?" "Don't know, Sah, dwey done pay no tenshun to me and I just kep on going until heah I is." And I said, "Just in time, too, for the Doctor wants his horse." I have often wished I knew what became of that coon, for he was a dandy. Rosecrans placed his army around Chattanooga and expected Bragg would continue the battle, but he seemed to have enough, so all he did was to place Rosecrans army in siege, thinking it easier to starve us out than to whip us. So he placed a force on Lookout Mountain, which cut us off from our base of supplies and from the 22nd of September until the 25th of November, my regiment, with others of the division, camped on Stringer's Ridge, immediately north and across the Tennessee river from Lookout Mountain, and directly west and across the river from Chattanooga. We occupied this position until the night of the 24th of November. During the interim from Sept. 22nd until the 25th of November, Bragg's siege was so effective that men suffered for food and thousands of horses and mules died for want of forage. In the early part of October the brigade went over into Sequatchie Valley, to help pursue Wheeler, who was destroying our supply train. October 9th, 1863, Mitchell's brigade was put into Brigadier General Jeff C. Davis' division, and was called 2nd brigade, 2nd division, 14th army corps, where we served until the close of the war. Our corps badge was an acorn--red one for first, white for second and blue for third division. About 2 a.m., October 27th, we in company with the rest of the brigade, crossed the Tennessee river below Lookout Mountain, on a pontoon bridge, to the assistance of the Potomac troops, who were coming to the support of the Army of the Cumberland, and the enemy were trying to prevent their advance by assaulting Gen Gray's division. The darkness was akin to blackness, and the volleys of musketry, together with the roar of cannon, rendered the night one long to be remembered. This battle in the night is known as the battle of Wauhatchie. On the afternoon of November 24, 1863, our attention was attracted to Lookout Mountain, which was ablaze with artillery and musketry. The battle of Lookout Mountain was on, and we had it in full view without participating in it, and as the blue advanced and the gray fell back, leaving their breast-works, camp, camp equipage, artillery, in fact everything that goes to equip an army, the scene being enacted filled us so full that we, too, indulged in a hearty, long and loud cheer, which was all we could do as the Tennessee river was between them and us. However, it was soon over and in a short time we received orders to break camp, which we did and left Stringer's Ridge the night of the 24th, crossed the Tennessee river north of Chattanooga and near the north end of Missionary Ridge, on a pontoon bridge, which we constructed after relieving the Rebel pickets. We went in line of battle, connecting with the 15th Corps and by the middle of the day the enemy had been dislodged from their stronghold (Missionary Ridge) and were in full retreat, with us annoying their rear guard. These two days, November 24th and 25th, were red letter days for the U. S. forces. Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge were ours, besides a large number of prisoners and many stand of arms, a large amount of artillery, and the enemy in full retreat. But our task was not done. Gen. Burnside was besieged at Knoxville, Tennessee, his supplies of all kinds were nearly exhausted, so we were ordered to his relief by forced marches, which was no small task for an army that had just raised a siege of its own and as yet had no opportunity to draw either rations or clothing. Many of us were without blankets, very scant clothing and but few had shoes and many were compelled while on that march to cut pieces of green cow skin and with strings from the same material sew them on their feet to protect them from the rough, stony and frozen roads. But we were ordered to go, and went. Early on the morning of the 26th of November, we pursued the enemy and before noon reached Bragg's depot of supplies, (Chickamauga Station) in time to see it destroyed by fire. At dark overtook the enemy and had a sharp skirmish in which Lieutenant McAndless of Co. I was killed. We carried him into a cabin and covered him with his blanket. While we were preparing for the night, the faithful Jack, spoken of before, came in with a chicken and we proceeded to cook it and have a supper out of the general order of things. But I assure you there was no levity, for our dead comrade was lying cold and stiff in our midst. Early in the morning we dug a hole as best we could, wrapped our comrade in his blanket and covered him over, found a piece of board and marked it as best we could by carving the letters of his name, with a pocket-knife. (Since the war I visited the National Cemetery at Chattanooga and was gratified to see his name on file. His remains had been found and placed in the National Cemetery.) On December 5th, at Maryville, we learned that Longstreet had raised the siege and relieved Burnside. December 7th we countermarched and returned to Chattanooga, arriving December 17th, and encamped December 20th with the brigade at Rossville, Georgia, where the regiment went into winter quarters. The Adjutant General's report on the march to Knoxville, has the following to say: "The march was a very severe one, as the men were poorly clad, having just emerged from the battle of Missionary Ridge, and many being without shoes or proper clothing. They were also without rations and were obliged to subsist on the country which already had been nearly devastated, hence many suffered from hunger as well as exposure." Sherman complimented Davis' Division on its good behavior on this march. (The 78th was in the above Division.) We remained in camp at Rossville until the commencement of the Atlanta campaign. On the 2nd day of May, 1864, we broke camp and the battle was on again and the enemy were forced into their works at Buzzard Roost and Dalton. They were flanked out of Dalton and May 13th, finds the regiment in line of battle in front of Resaca. From now on we were scarcely out of hearing of gun shot or cannon. Resaca and Rome, Georgia, were taken and the Rebel line was constantly being driven back, until the 27th of June, when Gen. Sherman determined to make a grand assault on Kennesaw Mountain. The brigade to which we belonged was massed in front of the Rebel entrenchments and at 9 a.m., on the 27th of June, the command jumped the works on a charge to capture the enemy's entrenchments. The brigade was received with a rattling fire of both musketry and artillery, which was deadly. The assault was a failure, because of the entrenchments being deep and wide and the dirt being thrown upon the Rebel side of the ditch, and a head log on top, which made it impossible to scale in face of the deadly fire; the enemy were pouring into us, but the brigade maintained a position within seventy or one hundred feet of the enemy's works, and that night entrenched itself. The loss in the charge was very great. A day or two after, by common consent, hostilities ceased, and details from each side buried the dead between the lines. On the morning of July 4th it was discovered that the enemy had abandoned their works the night before, and we immediately followed them, skirmishing with them constantly until July 17th, when we crossed the Chattahoochee river and at Peachtree creek had quite an engagement just at sundown. Comrade Samuel Naylor of Co. E of my regiment, was wounded. From this wound he suffered all the rest of his life, and still many begrudged him the insignificant pension he got. Samuel Naylor, attorney, of Carthage, is his son. There were many more casualties in my regiment, as we were on the skirmish line. After heavy skirmishing we forced the Rebels into their Atlanta intrenchments. On the morning of the 22nd of July the battle of Atlanta was fought which was a peculiar and unfortunate affair for both armies as nothing was accomplished by either army that benefited them in the least. It was brought about by a strategic movement on the part of the Rebel forces. They evacuated their works in the night, deceiving the Federal forces, causing them to think that they had evacuated Atlanta, which was not the case, as the Confederates marched east around the left flank of the Federal forces and attacked the Federal forces in the rear. When skirmishing first commenced Major General McPherson, with his staff rode back in the direction of the firing and rode into an ambush of Confederates which arose as one man and demanded him to surrender, which he refused to do, and was shot off his horse; his staff were taken prisoners, but in twenty minutes we retook the staff and put their captors under guard. Four 20-lb. Parot guns with muzzles planted in the ground, mark the spot where General McPherson fell. July 28th the command was ordered to assist Gen. Howard and we kept moving to the right round Atlanta, skirmishing, fighting and building works until August 25th. Aug. 23rd our colonel, Carter Van Vleck, died from wounds received in front of Atlanta. He was much beloved by us all. Aug. 26th, abandoned the works in front of Atlanta and struck south, skirmishing as usual. On Sept. 1st, assaulted the enemy's works at Jonesboro, Georgia, and after a desperate resistance, mounted their works, capturing men, cannon and battle flags, performing a feat that was not often equalled on either side during the war. The regiment did not lose more men than at Kennesaw but the result was far more gratifying. I must not pass without mentioning some circumstances which occurred during this battle. Soon after we crossed the fence and entered the open field, Capt. Black of Co. D of the 78th, was shot and instantly killed. Capt. Black was from Carthage, Ill. Lieutenant John B. Worrell took command of the company and was afterwards promoted to captain. He was father of Bertha Worrell, now Mrs. Bertha Seger, and was as brave a man as ever faced the enemy, and was loved by his men and all who knew him. With him it was never go, but come on, boys. He was wounded at Chickamauga. When we had charged about half way across the field, the officers saw that owing to the enemy's line of works, the charging line would not all get to the enemy's line at the same time, so a halt was ordered, guides thrown out and the charging line ordered to dress on the guides. This movement was executed under a galling fire from the Rebel line. The coolness with which this maneuver was executed, I have heard commented on, many times since the war. But I think it was the most trying ordeal I ever experienced during my three years of service. When the battle line was properly dressed, the command forward came and we went forward with a yell that sent terror to our opponents and we carried the line, taking a battery of six guns and many prisoners, among whom was a general and staff officers, taken by Thos. Brodes of Co. I. After he had relieved them of their arms he addressed the general and said, "General, I took a good many chances on your arrest with your staff." The general said, "I don't know, why do you say that?" "Because my gun was empty. I fired my last shot as I entered your works." This private, Tom Brodes, was the son of Major Wm. L. Brodes, who was killed at Chickamauga, almost a year before. Among the killed was a young man who belonged to Co. K, Perry Lashore. His death was a willing and willful sacrifice for his country. He was visiting friends in Quincy when he enlisted and he being the only son of aged parents, they at once set about to get him discharged. He enlisted in June, 1862, and the battle of Jonesboro was fought the first of September, 1864. His discharge came in the morning and was handed to him by his captain, and he said, "Captain, what would you do if you were in my place, go into this fight or not?" The captain's reply was, "You don't have to go, you have always been a good soldier, and we all know the circumstances under which your discharge was obtained, and it is for your father's and mother's sake. This will undoubtedly be a hard battle, and were I in your place I would turn in my musket and take no chances." The members of his company by this time had gathered around him and all urged him not to take the chance. But his answer was, "I have been lucky for two years, never had a wound, and I believe I will be now, and I am going with you." Which he did, but never reached the enemy's works. Atlanta was evacuated on the 2nd of September, 1864, and our regiment camped on the outskirts of the city. On this (known as the Atlanta campaign) the regiment was hardly out of the sound of guns any day during the entire period from May 2nd, 1864, to the fall of Atlanta, Sept. 1st, 1864. During the Atlanta campaign there were a good many things happened of much interest to the Federal forces, also to the Confederate forces. The time weighed heavy on our hands at times, and we as well as our enemies were alive to create something to relieve the monotony. So we conceived the idea of creating an armistice and visiting the Rebel outposts. In order that you may more fully understand what I am going to relate, I will state that the Confederate commissary issued their men tobacco in quite liberal quantities, while the Federal army did not have it to issue and there was a demand above the supply and it was expensive; while on the other hand the Federal army had an abundant ration of coffee and the Confederates had absolutely none. So when our armistice was arranged we conceived the idea of trading coffee for tobacco, and this arrangement lasted all thru the Atlanta campaign. We had an agreement by which should an advance be ordered we were to let the other side know and that condition was never violated by either side. The officers forbid the arrangement, but nevertheless it was not abandoned for the Yanks liked the Johnnies' tobacco and the Johnnies liked the Yankee coffee. So we were both naughty about disobeying orders. On one occasion an officer was visiting the Rebel picket post and the Rebel officer of the day was making a tour of the many picket posts and one of our host heard more than a usual commotion and looked up and at quite a little distance saw the officer of the day and his escort approaching and said, "For God sake there comes the officer of the day. You Yanks better git and that P. D. Q." The picket post said when the officers came up they inquired what that meant, Yanks visiting outposts. The boys said they did not answer for a time for they were fairly caught, but after the officers had sworn around for a while he stepped over by the end of a log to inspect something he thot did not belong on a picket post. After kicking a couple of bundles around, he asked what was "in that sack." The reply was: "It's Yankee coffee." "How did you come by it?" "The Yanks brought it over to trade for tobacco." "Whose tobacco is that?" "By rights it belongs to the Yanks." "Why didn't they take it with them?" "Don't know, Captain, without you-all were too close for them to think about more than one thing and that was the quickest and shortest way to their own post." "Why didn't you shoot them as they ran?" "Because we could not on our honor as gentlemen. Those are a mighty fine lot of Yanks and we are having some very pleasant times with them. Why, Captain, one of those Yanks is a cousin to Bill Harrison, and they were both born and raised in Tennessee." "The hell you say?" "Yessir." "Well, you boys seem to be ahead, as you have both tobacco and coffee." Charles Henderson was sergeant in command of the post and had acted as spokesman. He told us that when the Captain had mellowed down and become more sociable, he said to him: "Captain, you have asked me quite a few questions and you expected me to answer them truthfully, didn't you?" "Yes." "Now may I ask you one and will you be as frank with me as I have with you?" "Yes." "Would you like to have some coffee for your breakfast?" "Yes." So the Johnny fixed up a good liberal ration and handed it to him, and when the Captain started away, he said: "Charley, you see that the Yanks get their tobacco." There were hundreds of similar places along the line where similar exchanges were made, and as far as I ever knew there never was any armistice abused or violated. Casualties were of almost daily occurrence. More than two hundred and fifty comrades are buried from the 78th between Chattanooga and Atlanta. On September 29th, the regiment and division were moved by rail to Athens Alabama, and then marched to Florence in pursuit of Forest's cavalry who were in the rear and doing a great deal of damage; the division had a skirmish with him and drove him across the Tennessee river near Florence, Alabama. The division returned to Athens and to Chattanooga by rail. After we had drawn clothing and rations, we took up our line of march for Atlanta via Gaylesville, Rome and Kingston to Atlanta, as the R. R. had been torn up between Chattanooga and Atlanta, arriving at the last named place November 14th. The grand march to the sea commenced November 16th, when the command moved from Atlanta after the city was burned. We reached Milledgeville about November 23rd. About November 26th, 1864, passed through Sandersville and thence to Louisville and on to Savannah. At Louisville we camped a few days in order that the several commands might adjust their lines of march so that the generals could proceed to the best advantage, for we were on a perilous trip, no one knew where we would show up, not even ourselves. But we were bound to be heard from somewhere. While we were camping at Louisville we had to be doing something, and as we had been compelled to forage off the country some of the forage squads had picked up some race horses, and there was a difference of opinion as to who had the best one, so we took this opportunity to test them. We had to go some little distance from camp in order to find a suitable piece of road that would make a race track, but just as we were in the zenith of our expectations of seeing a horse race, Wheeler's Rebel cavalry showed up and we had to form a skirmish line in order to protect ourselves from being captured. Needless to say, our ardor for a horse race was cooled to the extent that we did not care who had the best horse. Our march was conducted in a very systematic manner. The brigade or regiment that was in the advance to-day was put in the rear tomorrow. We marched fifty minutes and rested ten. On the occasion of one of these rest periods our regiment stopped in front of one of those beautiful southern mansions. It had been raining all day and was still raining. We had only stopped for a few minutes, when an old man came to us from the mansion and asked to see the flag. It was taken from its cover and unfurled. The old man took its folds in his hands and said, "Beautiful emblem flag of our country," and tears came to his eyes, and then he walked away. About fifteen miles from Savannah we were confronted by earthworks and artillery and on December 10th the enemy retired to their intrenchments at Savannah, Georgia. On Dec. 21st, the enemy abandoned the city, but we skirmished with them quite a little before the evacuation. We spent the holidays in and around Savannah, putting in the most of our time trying to get something to eat, as our supplies were exhausted and we had to rely on the rice plantations. We went into the planters' fields, hauled, threshed and hulled the rice in order to subsist while we were getting into communication with our fleet, which had been sent there to meet us, but knew not where. I thought it was the best rice I ever tasted but since coming home can't say that I am partial to rice. After getting supplies we broke camp about Jan. 20th, 1865, and marched northward through the Carolinas. This march was a very hard march, because of the swamps which were covered with water in many places and in many instances there was ice frozen over the water, which the officers broke by riding their horses through. The soldiers were then ordered to take off shoes, stockings and pantaloons, and wade this icy water, sometimes for more than a quarter of a mile, coming out so numb with cold that their legs were almost void of feeling. Our line of march was via Boonville and Lexington, passing to the west of Columbia. February 17th, we proceeded to Winnsboro and arrived there February 21st. On our march we were to destroy railroads and other property of value to the enemy. While on the march we were annoyed with hundreds of negroes who followed us, and at Broad river we were obliged to take up the pontoon bridge and leave them behind. It is hard to imagine the hardships these poor people endured. On March 9th we arrived on the field in time to help Gen. Kilpatrick regain his camp from Rebel Gen. Hampton. March 11th we reached Fayetteville, North Carolina, skirmishing with Gen. Hampton's cavalry. The march thru South Carolina could be easily traced, for it was a track of desolation and devastation. The regiment proceeded in a northeasterly direction towards Averysboro, South Carolina, and at this point the Rebels made their first positive resistance. Since leaving Savannah, Georgia, on March 16th, we had quite lively engagements with some loss. On the morning of March 19th, near Bentonville, North Carolina, we found the Rebels in force across our line of march. The brigade formed line and the 78th was put out as skirmishers, which soon developed a heavy rebel force, which completely surrounded our brigade and we had to fight from both front and rear. The enemy was repulsed several times and soon our entire division was engaged. The enemy did not fall back until other troops came to the assistance of the division. We lost very heavily in this engagement. The last commissioned officer of my company, Lieut. Burr, was killed in this battle. On the morning of the 21st in a skirmish the Rebels seemed to want to give us a parting shot and fired two cannon shots before retiring, the last one taking the head off of Capt. Summers of Co. K. This was the last man lost by Sherman in battle, during his march to the sea and through the Carolinas. From Bentonville we marched to Goldsboro, North Carolina, and encamped until we were supplied with clothing, rations and ammunition. On April 10th, we advanced on Raleigh, North Carolina, and on to the Cape-fear river, where we went into camp. In a few days we heard of Lee's surrender and a few days later heard of Lincoln's assassination. On April 26, Johnson surrendered to Sherman and the war was over, and we poor weary soldiers a long ways from home, but flushed with victory and hearts filled with gratitude that the end had finally come, and that Old Glory still waved over an undivided country, we started north via Richmond, Va., where we camped for three days taking in the sights around this historic city, then took up our march for Washington, arriving at Washington, D. C., May 19, and participated in the Grand Review, June 4, 1865. Sherman's command went on in this review just as we had been on the march, for we had no Sunday clothes, and for that matter, wanted none. I think, however, the vast crowd that greeted and cheered us had rather see us as they did than otherwise, for I don't believe a finer body of men ever marched down Pennsylvania avenue than those of Sherman's army, for when we left Chattanooga every weakling was culled out, and when we got to Savannah, Georgia, the sick or march worn were culled out again, and at Goldsboro, North Carolina, all disabled men were sent to the coast and we were all down to fighting weight. One feature of our parade in the Grand Review that seemed to please the onlookers was our pack mules that carried officers' equippage, camp equippage, such as tent flies, headquarters clerical supplies, medical supplies, etc. These mules were led by negroes and during the march these negroes had picked up a good many fighting cocks, in order to have something to amuse themselves; while in camp they would have cock fights and many a negro and soldier for that matter, would stake their money on the result of these fights, and when on the march, these cocks were fastened on top of these pack mules, and they were on this Grand Review just as on march. On June 7th, 1865, was mustered out and sent to Chicago, where the 78th was paid off and discharged. The regiment participated in the battles of Chickamauga, Mission Ridge, Buzzard Roost, Resaca, Rome, New Hope Church, Kennesaw Mountain, Peach Tree Creek, Atlanta, Jonesboro, Averysboro and Bentonville. The regiment mustered in 962 men, recruited 140 men, mustered out 393 men, lost in killed and wounded 423 men and 24 died in Rebel prisons. The 78th was in active service from the time it was mustered in until mustered out. Owing to the late writing of these incidents of army life many things worthy of mention have been left out of their proper place. A few of which I believe will be of interest to those who care to read them. On the second day of our advance from Rossville on the Atlanta campaign, after passing through Ringold Gap in the mountains, our cavalry was skirmishing with the Rebel cavalry, but as the infantry advanced the Rebel cavalry gradually fell back to the west foothills of Buzzard Roost mountain. We saw in advance of us what we supposed was an intrenched line, but owing to the lay of the surrounding country we advanced very cautiously. We also saw what we supposed to be a masked battery which made us all the more cautious. But as we neared the supposed line to our surprise the battery was nothing more than the front wheels of a wagon with a small log mounted on them to represent a piece of artillery, covered with bushes in order to disguise it. That and the fact we were looking for trouble and a strong picket force in near proximity made the deception more easy. We did not experience much difficulty in taking that particular piece of ordinance. But as we advanced a number of the Rebel rear guard threw down their guns and came running towards us with hands up and a white cloth indicating they wanted to surrender, and they were permitted to enter our lines. There were many instances of this kind during our campaigning in east Tennessee, owing to the fact that there were a great many Union people in that section of Tennessee. Colonel Brownlow's 1st East Tennessee cavalry was made up of the loyal men of that district and joined the Union army, and they were a brave and fearless lot of men. They never allowed themselves to be taken prisoner from the fact that if they were detected as southern men they said there would be no mercy shown them, from the fact they thought they should be fighting for the South. During our advance on Chattanooga, Tenn., during the summer of 1863 there were several men from this Tennessee country joined Co. F of my regiment, one of whom was killed at Chickamauga and another wounded. The wounded man recovered and came back to us just before starting on the Atlanta campaign, and as stated before, there were many times when the two army lines were in close proximity, times when a man's head above ground was an inviting target. On one of these occasions the skirmishing fire became so annoying that one of these Tennessee recruits jumped up on the front of the works with his gun and told the rest of his comrades to load their guns and hand them to him. The boys begged him to come down as it was simply suicide for him to stay up there, but he stayed until wounded twice. The second wound proved quite severe and he was sent back to hospital, which was the last I ever knew of him. Before closing I wish briefly to note something of camp life, camp equipment, both in the early part of our term of service and at the last end. When we went to Quincy there was no camp equipage and for a time we were placed around the city at the different hotels until such time as we could secure tents and other necessary articles which would enable us to take care of ourselves. We knew absolutely nothing about camp life. When we got our tents there was issued us what was called Sibley tents, five to the company. They were round with pole in the center to hold them up, and guy ropes to hold them from blowing over. When we lay down at night heads to the outside, feet to the center. It was some time before we got used to those guy ropes, for we were constantly getting too near and falling over them. What was said on those occasions would hardly bear repeating here. Each man drew a tin plate, tin cup, knife, fork and spoon. The company drew five camp kettles, all of different sizes, to be used in cooking different kinds of food. The greatest trouble we had for a time was how much rice to put in the kettle. The first time cooking before we had it cooked done we had everything around camp filled with rice. It kept swelling beyond what we had any conception of. At first the company was formed into one big mess and a couple of men did the cooking. It was some experience. When we left Quincy we went to Louisville, Ky., where we drew arms and accoutrements, also our quota of six mule teams, which was one mule team to each company, and three for headquarters, which made thirteen to transport regimental supplies, with the addition of two ambulances to our outfit of teams to transport regimental medical supplies and care for the sick and march worn. When we got to Louisville a detail of men was made to go to the stock yards and get the teams. I don't think there was one mule in ten in those yards that had ever had a halter on, and to see those men catch those mules, harness and hitch six of those unbroken mules to one wagon and start out of those yards was a sight long to be remembered. Most of the time was spent by those men in untangling those teams, all piled up and tangled to the extent of having to unhitch and unharness in order to get straightened out. But it was astonishing how soon those teams were brought into subjection. It was not long, however, before orders came for us to turn over our Sibley tents, and instead we were issued what we called dog tents. Each man drew a piece of canvas cloth 4�6 feet, buttons on one end, so that two men could button their respective pieces together and sleep together. At this particular time there was a general move toward a decrease along the line of things that had to be cared for in the way of forage and what it took to transport supplies for teams and what was considered unnecessary appurtenances for the use of the army, for each day we were getting further from our base of supplies and it became a necessity to do away with everything that could be dispensed with. So our regimental teams were reduced from thirteen to three for a time. Then all teams except one to a regiment and the ambulances were reduced in numbers and put into a brigade ambulance train. On the march each man had to carry three days' rations, gun, accoutrements, forty rounds of ammunition, haversack, canteen, blanket, if in winter, overcoats and change of underwear. Of necessity our company messes were broken up and messes were composed of two to four men except in some instances some mean cuss no one cared to be with, then his mess was confined to one. A few facts and figures clipped from the Blandinsville Star will not be out of place here and will enable the reader to form a better idea of what the Civil war meant to our nation. =Don't Belittle the Civil War.= Blandinsville Star: We think of the present war as the most terrible experience of humanity, and are apt to think of our present sacrifices as something unheard of before. But any of our old veterans who went through the civil war know that measured by any standpoint--cost, men engaged, casualties, property loss, or general awfulness the civil war was enormously more costly and terrible to America than this war was or could have become if it had lasted for several years. In fact we have only had a mere taste, a faint suggestion of what the men and women of the '60s went through. The world war has cost us eighteen billion dollars. The civil war cost us $5,160,000,000. The amount of wealth now in the country is fifteen times what it was in 1860. Had the cost mounted up to 77 billion we might begin to feel it pinch as they did. We should have to spend sixty billion more before we should make the money sacrifice they did. The lives lost in the civil war was in round numbers 600,000. The population was then 27,400,000--about one-fourth of what it is now. Four times 600,000 is 2,400,000. If every soldier sent over seas were killed we should have a smaller proportion of gold stars by a quarter of a million than they did. Out of a population of 27,400,000 there were mustered in during the '60s 3,730,000. Multiplying again by four we get 14,920,000. If we had kept on sending two million a year to France for six more years to come we would begin to feel the drain on our male population here at home as they did in 1865. And this takes no account of the billions of dollars' worth of property destroyed and the disruption of business in nearly half our territory. In this war we have faced nothing of this kind. Nor has the fighting been anything like so savage and terrible as when both sides were Americans, the best soldiers in the world. Phil Sheridan sat on his horse beside Prince Charles when Metz was taken from the French in 1870. Looking at the serried lines of Germany's best soldiers he said to the Prince, "Give me two divisions of the Sedgwick sixth corps of the Union army and I could cut my way through your army of Prussians." In the last hundred years the world has seen no other such fighting as was done by the Blue and Gray. The three most destructive battles in the last century outside the civil war were the battle of Waterloo in 1815, where the victors lost 20 per cent of their men; Vioville, between the Germans and the French in 1870, where the casualties were 20 per cent, and the battle of Plevno in 1870 where the Prussians lost 8 per cent in their battle with the Turks. But in the battle of Antietam the casualties of the victors were 23 per cent, at Gettysburg 20 and at Chickamauga 27 per cent. Germany boasts of her "shock troops." In the civil war our boys were all "shock troops." And they were only boys. We see the few gray haired veterans with us to-day and forget that of those wonderful boys of 1860, 1,151,438 of them were mere striplings under 18 years old. But what terrible fighters they became! They were shock troops, for they knew but one way to fight. That was at close quarters after the roar of musketry, with bayonets and clubbed rifles. The present method of long range shooting and trench fighting shows no such savage intensity of fighting or terrible slaughter as these men faced, and it knows no such losses. At Gettysburg the First Minnesota lost 82 per cent of its men in fifteen minutes of the second day. At Petersburg the First Maine lost 70 per cent of its men in seven minutes. At Gettysburg the 141st Pennsylvania lost 76 per cent. And remember, these were killed or wounded and not a man "missing," as they didn't surrender. And how about the Gray? First Texas at Antietam 82 per cent, 21st Georgia at Manassas 78 per cent, 26th North Carolina at Gettysburg 72 per cent, 6th Mississippi at Shiloh 71 per cent. They printed no casualty lists then. The day after one of these battles the whole Chicago Tribune would not have been big enough to hold the names. An eminent British officer recently said, "The Americans still hold the record for hard fighting." And now the sons and grandsons of the men who shook hands at Appomattox, lineal descendants of the best infantry that ever marched on the globe, have had a chance to send the shivers of fear down the spine of the hun and America has repeated itself under the Stars and Stripes. But let us not forget the deeds of their heroic fathers who set a world record for terrific fighting that is not likely to ever be broken. * * * * * The author of this enlisted June 7, 1862, returned home July 3rd, 1865. Never asked for furlough. Was not absent from his regiment during term of service, except two days and three night, absence caused by the enemy being between him and the Union forces. The 78th Illinois was in active service from beginning to end of service, always at the front. +---------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in | | the original document have been preserved. | | | | Typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | 1964 changed to 1864 | | Chickamaugee changed to Chickamauga | | Johnnys' changed to Johnnies' | | Gaylsville changed to Gaylesville | | Averyboro changed to Averysboro | | cheerd changed to cheered | | Oldsborg changed to Goldsboro | | Resacca changed to Resaca | | invantrty changed to infantry | | mountd changed to mounted | | Appomatox changed to Appomattox | | Murphysboro changed to Murfreesboro | | | +---------------------------------------------+ 
39639	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 39639-h.htm or 39639-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39639/39639-h/39639-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39639/39639-h.zip) PICTURESQUE WORLD'S FAIR An Elaborate Collection of Colored Views Published with the Endorsement and Approval of George R. Davis, Director-General of the World's Columbian Exposition. Comprising Illustrations of the Greatest Features of The World's Columbian Exposition and Midway Plaisance Architectural, Artistic, Historical, Scenic and Ethnological. The Magnificent Water and Landscape Effects and Charming Vistas Made Realistic by Authentic Reproduction in All of the Colors of Nature and Art. Under the direction of the celebrated Landscape Artist, John R. Key. From Photographs made by authority of the Director-General, for the United States Government, and by Special Artists Employed Expressly for this work. Each View Accompanied by a Graphic and Accurate Description. Published by W. B. Conkey Company, Official Publishers of the World's Columbian Exposition Catalogue, etc. Chicago Copyright, 1894. W. B. Conkey Company. All Rights Reserved. This work being fully protected by copyright, any infringement will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. INTRODUCTION. The publishers of "Picturesque World's Fair," in presenting these exquisite views, feel justified in congratulating themselves upon the success that has attended their efforts to place within the reach of all classes of people an artistic realistic reproduction of the great Exposition. Not only do the publishers feel gratulation in their own behalf, but they believe that through the perfection of the printers' art, by means of the application of labor-saving machinery, and through the enterprise of the progressive press of the United States, a work so rare, so interesting, so accurate and so invaluable, at so insignificant an expense, will be a benefaction to all classes of people. That the handsomely colored views contained in this volume, true in every respect to the design of the decorator and the unrivaled charm of nature, have received the most enthusiastic indorsement of the Director-General, the Executive Officer of the Exposition, who from the beginning to the close was its center figure and its controlling and guiding force, affords the publishers little opportunity for comment upon the pictorial features of this work. No production of a similar character has received the sanction of the Director-General; no enterprise of a contemporaneous period has received a higher compliment. Accompanying the views will be found a brief but vivid description of the buildings; their contents and the environments, together with much condensed valuable sympathetic information. In fact, it has been the intention of the publishers to present to the public a review and pictorial presentation of the great Fair that will rejoice and refresh those who had the good fortune to be among its visitors, and impart satisfactory reproduction in line and letter, that will in a great measure compensate those whose unavoidable absence would perhaps without this work have debarred them from an intimate and intelligent appreciation of the Exposition's manifold wonders. Standing upon the little Spanish Caravel, the Santa Maria, so small a craft as to seem a vessel in miniature, and looking above, about and beyond the mooring, it was impossible to realize that the grandeur, the brilliancy and the sweeping proportions of the Columbian Exposition were inspired and produced by the commemoration of the great event this little ship, by the guiding hand of the great Navigator, was the instrumentality in achieving. As the success of the voyage of a Genoese sailor marked the era of endless and boundless advance of civilization, so the commemorative Exposition will for all time stand as an epochful event, glorious in its effect upon this generation, and momentous in its influence upon those to follow. As these beautiful and expressive illustrations set forth the greatness of the Exposition in the full blast of achievement, they must call into grateful remembrance the thousands who in humble, but no half-hearted way have done their share in the mighty task of its preparation; the tiller of the soil who sent from every clime the yellow grain; the nurserymen who from every sunny slope have given the richest product of the tree and vine; the miner in every mountain who has wrested tribute from the treasure vaults of nature to delight the wondering visitor. The worker in the forest; the worker in the mill who have sent the product of the axe and the loom; the fisherman who seined and hooked in the depths of the sea; the inventor, the mechanic, the artisan and artist, all with incomparable energy and skill gave their full measure to this colossal testimonial of the prodigality of nature and the genius of mankind. Let us be ever mindful, too, of the great influences of and for good that have found their source and inspiration in this great Exposition. The fellowship and sympathy established within these grounds among all people, of all classes, from all lands, are indeed significant of the day not far distant when peace and good-will throughout all the world shall be as common a portion of every man's heritage as the air he breathes. In how far the great truths to be drawn from this Fair may influence the future of other people, either in an individual or political sense, it would be difficult to hazard an opinion. Doubtless, too, within the life of the present generation, the uplifting influence of this Exposition will become manifest among many, and the broadening civilization growing from it be emphatically felt in every land. To our own homogeneous people, the good has already begun. They have caught the inspiration from this monument of art and industry, and as they extend it over the face of this progressive and ambitious country enlightenment will be spread broadcast and a yet higher standard of knowledge and beauty be established among our people. [Illustration: THE COURT OF HONOR BY MOONLIGHT.] THE COURT OF HONOR BY MOONLIGHT.--Of all the magnificent spectacles the Columbian Exposition afforded the view of the Court of Honor by moonlight seems, by common consent, to be accorded the first place. The effect of wonderful lights upon the glorious white buildings and on the waters, the electric flashes through the air, the sky scene made more beautiful, if possible, by the addition of the beauties below, the passage of gondolas and launches with their merry parties slipping through light and shade, the gleaming and shifting splendor of the fountains, the sensuous music filling the air, all combined to make such a scene one unsurpassable and likely to be unforgotten. The view given above is from the east end of the Grand Basin with the statue of The Republic in the immediate foreground and the Administration Building in the distance. Above a full moon with a few fleecy clouds which neither obscure her nor the myriads of stars add to the charms of the particular night. From the Manufactures Building on the right a blaze of electric glory makes wonderful lights and shades upon the Agricultural Building to the south and brings out statuary and architectural features in white relief. At the west end of the basin the fountains are in full play and their bright colors are but varied by the band of white light between. The water lies like a silken carpet. It is a dream picture--no other term will fit it--and it is true to the scene as it appeared. A wonderful thing was the Court of Honor at night, something hardly even imagined before, unless as a picture in a fairy tale or in some oriental story. But it was a reality. [Illustration: THE MINING BUILDING.] THE MINING BUILDING.--This imposing facade illustrates the massive and graceful proportions of the Mining Building. The grand central arch, one hundred feet high, and the domed pavilions at either corner are supported by heavy pilasters of granitoid blocks, suggestive of great solidity. The lofty bays, the recessed balcony with pillared support, the elaborate frieze, the architectural reliefs, the bannered flagstaffs, give the finishing touch of beauty to simple strength. The great floor space is seven hundred by three hundred and fifty feet m area including a space of five and one-half acres. The dome of Administration, in the rear, and the towers of Electricity to the left, give an exalted sky relief and indicate the relation of this to the other edifices of the Central court. At the left appears the verdure of the water-bound and wooded islands--the centerpiece of the Exposition landscape. The continuous fringe of green at the water's edge is broken by the pedestals of the statuary in the immediate foreground. The projecting cornice above the horse is all that is visible of the Golden Door to the Transportation Building. The equestrian groups are fitting accessories of the scene. Their spirited energy and the expressive, life-like attitudes of horses and riders won the praise of eminent sculptors. The frontier and mountain life they represent is intimately associated with the development of the industry to which the great edifice in front, with its abundant wealth of mineral, ore and metal is dedicated. [Illustration: THE GOLDEN DOOR.] THE GOLDEN DOOR.--The main portal of the Transportation Building, because of its strikingly attractive features both of design and coloring, became known as "The Golden Door," and certainly deserved the admiring title given it by the public. The Transportation Building, as a whole, was a complete departure in style and hue from the great mass of structures which gave the White City its name, and its greatest entrance was its most novel and beautiful part. It was, beyond question, the chief illustration at the World's Fair of what can be done in architecture by combining exquisite reliefs with oriental richness of painting, though in the decoration of entrances architects and artists had lavished all their genius and invention. The doorway is an arch, or, more properly speaking, a quintuple arch, the five blending into a whole elaborately ornamented and embellished with delicate bas-reliefs. The combined arches form a semi-circular environment for a symbolical mural painting in the background and just above the entrance proper. The impression is thus produced of a picture gorgeously framed, and this effect is further enhanced by a square, treated in a similar manner to the arches, and joining the peripheries of the exterior one. This remarkable portal was painted a pea-green and the bas-relief was overlaid with silver leaf, the result being something dazzling in the extreme. Not merely because of its richness and originality, but because of the lesson it taught by comparison with less florid though grander styles the Golden Doorway was certainly among the most notable architectural features shown. [Illustration: CHICAGO DAY AT THE EXPOSITION, OCTOBER 9, 1893.] On the night of October 9, 1871, the City of Chicago was destroyed by fire, the devastation being so great as to excite the sympathy of the whole civilized world. Where had been a flourishing city was but a great expanse of smoking ruins. So complete was the destruction that the task of rebuilding seemed an impossible one. It was the greatest fire in history. October 9, 1893, was "Chicago Day" at the World's Columbian Exposition, the day selected to do honor to the city in which the great Fair was held. The view above given, showing a part of the throng in the Court of Honor, tells a portion of the story. More than seven hundred and fifty-one thousand people assembled on the grounds! It was the greatest gathering in history. [Illustration: ON THE WOODED ISLAND.] ON THE WOODED ISLAND.--Without the Wooded Island, with its touch of the country, its wonderful flowers and shrubbery and winding walks, and cosy nooks and quaint Japanese houses of the past, the Fair would have lacked one of its most refreshing and interesting features. Charming alike to the naturalist, the couples who liked to wander by themselves, the student or the mere lover of the beautiful, was the island which added such variety to the scenery of the vast inclosure. The flora, transplanted from a thousand different and distant places, seemed to thrive here as at home, and nature seemed assisting man to make the whole as nearly a perfect thing as possible. And man certainly did his own part exceedingly well. He utilized what nature gave to the greatest advantage and added numerous improvements of his own which were in admirable taste. The view which appears above is but a bit, just the extreme southern end of the island where it is connected with the mainland by a tasteful bridge. There appears the broad way leading up to the Administration Building directly in front, with the Electricity Building showing partly on the left and a corner of the Mining Building on the right. The very spirit of the island's atmosphere is caught in the illustration, the flowers, the shrubbery, the sturdy trees and the fairy lamps which gave such brilliancy to the night scene, are all depicted just as they were. The spot was one of the most charming on the Island. [Illustration: THE ART PALACE.] THE ART PALACE.--No structure among the many which made up the White City commanded more universal admiration than did the Art Palace, wherein were displayed the triumphs of artists from all over the world. It was a fitting receptacle for its marvelous displays. The style of architecture adapted in the building was of the Grecian-Ionic order and the blending and adaptation of what was most perfect in the past was such as to secure an effect, if not in the exact sense original, at least of great harmony and grandeur. The area of the main structure is three hundred and twenty by five hundred feet. It is intersected by a nave with a transept one hundred feet wide and seventy feet high, and a central dome sixty feet wide and one hundred feet high surmounted by a winged figure of Victory. The main structure is surrounded by a gallery forty feet in width. It has two annexes one hundred and twenty by two hundred feet in dimensions, each with exterior colonnades. Because of the enormous value of the statues and paintings exhibited--the buildings' contents were estimated to be worth five million dollars--it was necessary to make the Art Palace fire-proof and it was so built, at a cost of six hundred thousand dollars. It so remains a permanent structure and is now occupied by the Field Columbian Museum, one of the great Fair's heritages to the public. The view of the building from the lagoon on the south, from the broad highway on the north and the areas of lawn in other directions are such as to afford a just idea of its excelling beauty. It stands today without peer a triumph of architecture. [Illustration: THE MANUFACTURES AND LIBERAL ARTS BUILDING.] THE MANUFACTURES AND LIBERAL ARTS BUILDING.--Ranking in popular estimation as one of the greatest wonders of the Fair, the Manufactures Building compelled the astonishment and admiration of the artists and architects of the world as well. The largest building in area ever erected under one roof it has yet been recognized as a triumph artistically not less than as a marvel of daring in construction. In describing the mammoth structure, which rises in the illustration above and beyond the Wooded Island, figures become almost poetry, so striking are they in character. The building covers an area of nearly thirty-two acres, and the interior, with the galleries, had an exhibiting space of nearly forty-four acres The height of the roof truss over the central line was two hundred and twelve feet nine inches, and its span three hundred and fifty-four feet in the clear. The building was four times as large as the old Roman Colosseum, which seated eighty thousand people, and its great central hall, a single room without a supporting pillar, could seat three hundred thousand persons. The height of the exterior walls was sixty-six feet and the grand entrances in each facade are eighty feet in height by forty in width. The structure was of the Corinthian order of architecture, was rectangular in form, and the classic severity of its style was relieved by the corner pavilions and elaborate and appropriate ornamentation. Its cost was $1,700,000 and 17,000,000 feet of lumber, 12,000,000 pounds of steel and 2,000,000 pounds of iron were used in its construction. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF MANUFACTURES BUILDING.] INTERIOR OF MANUFACTURES BUILDING.--Very like a great city by itself was the interior of the Manufactures Building, with its forty-four acres of exhibiting space--space which was not enough, great as it was for what the world demanded, with its broad avenues, its scores and scores of galleries, its wonderful exhibits and its teeming population. Never under one roof before was collected such an enormous display of what human industry and ingenuity can produce; never was made such an exhibition of what has been accomplished in productive art. The mammoth proportions of the building on the outside impressed all beholders but hardly prepared them for the effect upon them when within. It was many things in one; a magnificent showing of the beautiful and useful, a city doing business, a promenade for hundreds of thousands, a great entity which seemed almost as if separate from the remainder of the Exposition. The view given is from the height of the gallery and down Columbia avenue, the great thoroughfare, fifty feet in width, extending through the building north and south being so designated. An avenue of equal width crossed the center of the structure from east to west. In the foreground may be seen displays from Switzerland, Norway, Denmark Canada, Great Britain, France and Belgium. In the distance just in the center of the building may be seen the great clock, so that the view is really one of half the extent of Columbia avenue, and the general effect of the great central arch of the building the throngs are lacking, this admirable view being taken in the early morning. [Illustration: GRAND ARCH OF THE PERISTYLE.] GRAND ARCH OF THE PERISTYLE.--In the memory of millions of people the grand colonnade or Peristyle, which reared itself between the great eastern basin and Lake Michigan, will remain as the most beautiful inanimate object upon which their eyes ever rested. The Peristyle was in the purest Phidian style, was five hundred feet in length and fifty feet in height, connecting the Casino and Music Hall. The Corinthian columns represented the different States and Territories. Along the top of the Peristyle appeared eighty-five allegorical figures all in heroic proportions. At the center the colonnade was broken by a vast triumphal arch supporting the famous group known as the Columbus Quadriga. Here the Discoverer was represented in a chariot drawn by four horses led by women, with heralds riding beside them. Columbus leaned on a jeweled sword, his head was thrown back, and the expression on his face was that of a man who had conquered all obstacles at last. The figure was fourteen feet in height. The whole group was full of life and vigor. Well executed groups on the pedestals of the arch represented the genius of Navigation. The feature was but one of many of the glorious Peristyle, one of the artistic triumphs of the Fair. Its cost was two hundred thousand dollars. On the evening of January 8, 1894, the Casino, Music Hall and the entire Peristyle were totally destroyed by fire. Of the host who witnessed the scene hundreds were in tears at the destruction of a thing so majestic and beautiful. [Illustration: THE ELECTRIC FOUNTAINS. THE ELECTRIC FOUNTAINS.--The Electric Fountains, one on each side of the famous Macmonnies Fountain, at the west end of the Court of Honor, added greatly to the beauty of the night scene, and always when playing attracted thousands to their vicinity. When quiescent, all that could be seen of the fountains was the multitude of pipes arranged within the rocky basin. At night, however, there came a sudden activity, and from the pipes leaped high in the air great streams of water glittering with the hues of the rainbow and falling back in a cataract to the basin where the turbulent mass of color bubbled and tossed and overflowed with dazzling effect. The fountains exceeded in magnitude and beauty anything of the sort ever constructed, the basins being sixty feet in diameter and pierced for three hundred and four jets, the water from which ascended to a height of one hundred and fifty feet. The brilliant effects were produced by concealed lights, the charm of mystery being thus added to the illusion. The entire apparatus was controlled by electric signals from the dome of Machinery Hall, where the different lights were applied and the transmission from one to another controlled at will. The illumination was by thirty-eight arc lights of one hundred amperes, each requiring nearly one thousand horse-power in operation. The jets were arranged in circles and the effect was the climax of success for this beautiful modern device. [Illustration: THE GERMAN BUILDING.] THE GERMAN BUILDING.--Making a fine showing in nearly all departments of the Columbian Exposition the German Empire excelled in its official building. Facing the lake, where its character could be fully appreciated, the structure compelled the unstinted admiration of the visiting world. The ground area occupied was one hundred and fifty by one hundred and seventy-five feet and the cupola rose to the height of one hundred and fifty feet, the total cost of the building being a quarter of a million dollars; but it was not its dimensions nor cost, but the novelty and charm of its form and coloring which attracted attention. It was a poetical edifice, one telling, in a way, the story of the Fatherland, with a richness of coloring and ornament which was as historically and artistically correct as it was picturesque. In the belfry was a chime of bells, with the sweet sounds of which visitors to the Fair became familiar, and which, after the Exposition's close, were returned to the Church of Mercy, in Berlin. The main portion of the interior was in simulation of a chapel, its furnishings corresponding with the idea, while apart from this a host of historical and charming objects increased the merit of the interior. There were valuable displays of books, and the visitor could gain in this building information of the greatest interest. The structure was solidly built and may remain a permanent feature of the park. [Illustration: A VIEW IN MIDWAY PLAISANCE.] A VIEW IN MIDWAY PLAISANCE.--A city in itself was the Midway, picturesque certainly, and educational as well, however meretricious some of its droll features. It was the playground of the multitude and they learned much while they ate, drank, stared and were merry. The view above presented is from a point about the center of the west half of the Plaisance and a little west of the Ferris Wheel. On the right appear the fronts of Old Vienna and on the left the entrance to the Chinese Village and Theatre, the difference in styles of architecture affording a striking contrast. Still further on the left rises the front of the panorama of the volcano of Kilaueau, and in the remote distance may be dimly perceived the domes of the great buildings of the Exposition proper. The particular locality represented in this illustration was one exceedingly popular with visitors, and the number of people appearing in the broad thoroughfare at the time the photograph was taken is by no means up to the standard of crowded days at the Fair. The three or four attractions here grouped together always commanded their laughing great constituency. From Pekin to Vienna is a far cry, and from thence into space on the wings of an American inventor is another remarkable bit of travel, but hundreds of thousands of people made the journey within the limit of an hour or so. The view, it need not be said to the observer, is an admirable one, the familiar fronts being reproduced with a fidelity which speaks for itself. [Illustration: STATUE OF THE REPUBLIC.] STATUE OF THE REPUBLIC.--The one figure intended to be symbolical and representative of the Fair, as a whole, was the gigantic statue of The Republic, at the eastern end of the waterway in the Court of Honor. A figure, the total height of which from the water was one hundred feet, it stood grand, majestic and kindly, a fitting idealization of the nation, the world's hostess for the time. The statue proper was sixty-five feet in height above the massive pedestal and was the largest ever made in America. It was modeled after the Phidian style, with simple, flowing garments, the bust covered with an armored shield and arms upraised, one hand upholding a globe upon which was perched an eagle, indicative of America's invitation to the world; the other sustaining a staff surmounted by a liberty cap. The arms were bare, the hair was arranged after the Grecian fashion and the head was crowned with laurel. The distance from the chin to the top of the head was fifteen feet, and the arms were thirty feet long. The interior of the statue was ascended by a stairway, and the man who attended to the electric light, by which the crown was illuminated, climbed up a ladder through the neck. The magnificent figure was gilded and was a striking object in its commanding position. It became popularly known as "The Golden Statue." 
40046	----	+-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.| | | +-------------------------------------------------+ THE DISPATCH CARRIER --AND-- MEMOIRS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON BY COMRADE WM. N. TYLER, COMPANY I, NINTH ILLINOIS CAVALRY, COMPANY B, NINETY-FIFTH ILLINOIS VOLUNTEER INFANTRY. Price, 25 Cents. PORT BYRON, ILL.: PORT BYRON "GLOBE" PRINT. 1892. THE DISPATCH CARRIER --BY-- COMRADE WM. N. TYLER, CO. I, 9TH ILL. CAV.; CO. B, 95TH ILL. VOL. INF. A THRILLING DESCRIPTION OF THE ADVENTURES OF A DISPATCH CARRIER IN THE LATE WAR; THE CAPTURE, IMPRISONMENT, ESCAPE AND RE-CAPTURE OF A UNION SOLDIER--A COMPLETE NARRATIVE OF A SOLDIER'S INDIVIDUAL EXPERIENCE IN THE CIVIL WAR, FROM 1861 TO 1865, AS WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. SECOND EDITION. PORT BYRON, ILL.: PORT BYRON "GLOBE" PRINT. 1892. PREFACE. Books, as a general rule, have prefaces. I write a preface to this book, not because I think it necessary, but because it is customary. I did not keep a diary, and it may be that I have not given the right date every time, but there is nothing in this book but what is strictly true, and the most of it is my own personal experience and that of my comrades who participated in my adventures while a soldier. The reason I do not give the names of my comrades is because they are scattered to the four quarters of the globe, and I do not know where they are except a few who live neighbors to me, and I have no right to use their names without their consent. I will give a thrilling description of my experience as a dispatch carrier and finally my capture and imprisonment, escape and recapture, and will also give a complete description of being chased by blood hounds and other incidents too numerous to mention. Yours Truly, THE AUTHOR. Rapids City, Ills., 1892. CHAPTER I. At the outbreak of the Great Civil War in 1861, I was 23 years of age, a stout, healthy young man, not knowing what it was to have a sick day; had always worked on a farm and worked hard, too. In the latter part of April, news was received that Fort Sumter had been fired upon; everybody acted as if they were crazy; all wanted to enlist. I was one of the first to enlist in a three months' regiment, but that failed to go on account of not having arms, so I was forced to go back to my home, which was four miles south of Belvidere, Ill. In September, 1861, they started to get up a company of cavalry at Belvidere. I was one of the first to enlist in that, after which I was appointed sergeant. We were sent to Camp Douglas, Chicago. It did not take long to fill up our regiment, neither did it take long to get our horses and saddles ready; then we commenced to drill. What a time some of our men had; some had never driven a horse in their lives and there is where the fun comes in, especially after we had drawn our spurs. The next move after we had drawn our spurs and saddles was when Col. Brackett ordered the bugle to sound the call to fall in for drill. The whole regiment was on hand with their horses all saddled and bridled for a drill. You must remember that our horses were well fed and in the best condition; full of life and spirit. It was all some of us could do to make them keep their place in the ranks. "Now," said the Colonel, "When I tell you to mount you must put your left foot in the stirrup and grasp the reins and the mane with your left hand, and at the word 'mount,' all mount together." "Mount" was the command. Well, we did make the effort to all mount together but you should have seen them; the horses started off in every direction, pell-mell over the field; some were dragged along on the ground with their feet in the stirrups, while others were on their horses all right, but the harder the horses ran, the harder they stuck in their spurs; one poor fellow let go all hold and grabbed the head and mane; stirrups flew in every direction and he went straight for the barn. Now our stables were all three hundred feet long; away went horse and rider, straight for the center of the barn; just as the horse got within four feet of the stable, it came to a sudden halt, but the rider went on with a crash through the side of the barn; he could not have made a cleaner hole if he had been shot out of a cannon. I must say he came out pretty lucky; of course he was bruised and stiff legged for a day or two but that was all. Some of the men got hurt very severely but it did not take long for us to find out that we had to keep our toes in and our heels out. We had not drawn any arms yet and all we had to mount guard with was simply a stick whittled out in shape of a sword. Our officers would not allow any one out unless they had a pass from the Colonel. The guards were placed around the camp to keep the men from going out but many nights did the boys run the guard. If by chance one of the men was out after sundown, the guard was supposed to keep him out or arrest him and turn him over to the sergeant of the guard, but this was generally the way it was done around Camp Douglas: Now, here comes some one who has stayed out after roll call; he comes straight up to the sentinel; the sentinel speaks first: "Who comes there?" now if the man has been out on permission, of course he has the countersign; then he will answer back "A friend with the countersign," then the sentinel will say, "Advance, friend, and give the countersign," and after giving it the sentinel then passes him in, but let me tell you, we did not always go according to discipline while we were at Chicago. This is the way we had among ourselves: Now here comes one who has been out too late. "Halt! who comes there?" "A friend with a canteen." "Advance and draw the stopple." The next thing you will see the sentinel look toward heaven, and hear a gurgling sound as of something going down his throat, then finally a pair of lips would smack. "The countersign is correct, you may pass in." We had a great many ways of amusing ourselves, some played cards, some foot ball, some one thing and some another, but after all the time hung heavy on our hands for we were all anxious to get into active service. The first of February, 1862, we got marching orders for St. Louis, Mo. Our officers then gave us passes to go home, it being our last chance before leaving for the field. I never shall forget that last visit: how my old mother, wife, and two little ones followed me to the train, how my blessed old mother put her arms around my neck and while the tears were running down those old wrinkled cheeks, called on God to bless her boy. Oh, that parting! how can we forget it, comrades? to pick up the little ones and give them one long last hug, good bye, wife, little ones, mother, and we were gone: yes, gone. The next thing was the shrill scream of the engine and we commenced to move slowly out of the depot. The train was mostly loaded with soldiers, all leaving homes, going to fight for their country. There was no screaming or yelling, for they had just parted from their wives, mothers and homes, perhaps never to see them again. Now just look over the coach of young soldiers in the first flush of manhood; can they all get back to their homes? No, reader, not three out of five. On we went, every one of those young soldiers knew what they were going for; one could see by their sober, determined faces that they had weighed their chances and had given all for their country. When we arrived at Chicago, we found everything in a great state of excitement. We were to embark our horses, equipments, and board the train for St. Louis. All was hurly burly; we had to blindfold our horses in order to get them on the train; finally, all was ready and away we went for St. Louis. On the 16th of February, 1862, we started for Benton Barracks. At Alton, Ill., we boarded a steamboat for St. Louis; after arriving there we saddled our horses and took them off on the levee, mounted, and commenced our march through the city for Benton Barracks. The streets were lined with people and as the flag bearer unfurled our regimental flag, and as it floated out on the breeze, you could plainly read in large gold letters, "Ninth Illinois Cavalry." We could hear on every side, "What a splendid regiment!" I think I have every reason for being proud of my regiment; all were fine looking young men, fine horses, and as fine a Colonel as ever drew a saber. Col. Brackett was as true and brave an officer as ever wore soldier straps, as the reader will find out if he follows the pages of this true narrative. As we marched through the streets of St. Louis some hurrahed for the Ninth Illinois Cavalry, while others cursed us to our faces and some yelled, "You won't sit so straight in those saddles when you get down South; you will find lots there that are only two by six." That meant we would find our graves. We paid no attention to their taunts but kept on up through the streets. While we were on Fourth street a woman thrust her head out of a window in the second story, and exclaimed, "Hurrah for the Ninth Illinois Cavalry and the girl I left behind me!" That set the boys all in good humor, and we arrived at Benton Barracks without any further adventure worthy of note. The Barracks were somewhat in the shape of a square, only a good deal longer than it was wide. They were built to accommodate about fifty thousand troops. The parade ground covered one hundred acres, and the barracks were all around the parade grounds. I do not know just how many troops were there when we were, but should judge that there were about thirty thousand, all waiting for arms, as we had not drawn any as yet ourselves. Our stables were just in the rear of our quarters, and about all we had to do was to take care of our horses and drill once a day. Sometimes some of our boys were a little quarrelsome, and if a man wanted to fight it did not take long for him to find someone who would accommodate him. Our officers hardly ever interfered; they said it was better to let them fight it out than to be everlastingly quarreling, and it proved to be the best in the long run, for after we got into the field there was hardly ever any fighting among our own men. Well, the 22d of February came around, Washington's birthday, and there was a grand parade of all the soldiers of Benton Barracks. Every soldier had to fall into line to march through the city of St. Louis. Now, reader, step out of the barracks and take a look up and down the long parade ground; first come the buglers, now the drummer and fifers, then the regimental bands, all playing at once; look at the soldiers coming out of the barracks; the parade ground is blue with them as far as the eye can reach, all taking their positions in the ranks. Bugles are sounding, drums, fifes and bands are playing. Then Col. Brackett comes up, "Prepare to Mount!" "Mount!" is the command, and the whole regiment is in saddles. "March," the regiment is in motion. Then Gen. Smith comes along in front of our regiment. "Well," said he, "I have seen some very fine looking regiments this morning but I must say that the 'Ninth Illinois Cavalry' takes the cake for fine appearance." Now, reader, do not blame us if we did straighten up a little more in our saddles and try to look more like soldiers. Away we went; now look back and see the boys in blue coming; first cavalry and artillery, then infantry, bands playing and flags flying. Oh, what a sight! On we go through the city, which has taken on a holiday garb. Every window is full of flags; every place of business shows the stars and stripes, and taking it altogether it was a beautiful sight. The 23d of February we drew our sabers and revolvers. We received marching orders for Pilot Knob, Mo., whither we started to the lower end of the city, and camped out on the levee. I shall never forget that night; the first night we had ever camped out. The piercing cold wind from the river with no tents to help break it, chilled us through; no wonder no one slept that night. The next morning we put our horses on the train and started for Pilot Knob. After arriving we went to camp in and around the place. It was a very mountainous country, one mountain after another as far as you could see. We divided off into squads, and every squad had their cooks appointed; we then came down to government rations, hard tack and pork, and you can bet it was hard tack and no mistake; you could scarcely break it with a hammer. We pitched our tents and went into camp life in dead earnest. The citizens told us that the Johnnies had just vacated the place and everybody was on the lookout the first night for an attack from the enemy. Out on the picket could be heard shot after shot, it being the first night, it kept the camp in a state of excitement. I do not think there was a rebel within forty miles of us; the pickets simply got frightened at the hogs that were running around through the brush. The hogs felt somewhat ashamed of the excitement, and after the first night, our regiment came right up to time and every soldier did his duty like a man. CHAPTER II. Well, we were in the field at last, and when we were not drilling or on duty, we were either writing to our friends, or climbing the mountains to see what there was to be seen. Up on Pilot Knob mountain there runs two tracks for the purpose of running the iron ore from the top of the mountain to the bottom where it was melted. The full cars coming down, drew up the empty ones. The mountain is very steep, fully a mile high. Some of the boys of our company would get in the car at the top of the mountain, and get one or two of them in at the bottom, and then take off the brakes; away they came, while the others that got in at the bottom would shoot up like a sky-rocket. We were doing this one day when the ropes broke. If we had been shot out of a cannon we could hardly have gone much faster. Some went one way and some another. I looked down the mountain, where there was a large pond and as soon as I got the mud and dirt out of my eyes so I could see, the first thing my eyes rested on was two fellows fishing themselves out of the pond. They got off the easiest of any of us, for they simply got a ducking, while the rest of us were all bruised up. The car that we were in did not go over one hundred feet before it busted into ten thousand pieces. We hobbled back to camp to mend our clothes, and came to the conclusion that if any of the rest of them wanted to ride they were welcome to it, for we had all we wanted. By this time we had grown somewhat used to camp life; every soldier found out what was required of him. We soon got orders to march south. We reached Black river after going over lofty mountains and through many small towns. It being about the 15th of March when we struck the river, it was bank full and the ice was running at a very rapid rate. As we came up to the river we stopped for a few moments to arrange our blankets to keep them from getting wet and then we plunged in, with Col. Brackett taking the lead. "Come on, boys," was his command. We all arrived safely, but somewhat wet; our horses had to swim for about two hundred yards. The stream was about three hundred yards wide at this point. There was a Dutchman by the name of Sands. He saw a large cake of ice coming straight to him, and, knowing if his horse was struck it would drown, he slid off behind and grabbed the horse by the tail and came out all right. We came very near losing a number of our horses; they were completely chilled, but by perseverance we finally got them safe to land. As soon as we were all over three of our companies were ordered to mount. The wind blew cold from the north and of course our clothes were wet clear through, but we were young and did not mind this. About twenty miles from the place where we crossed was a mill where they ground grain and made flour for the surrounding inhabitants. Now at this mill the rebels were stationed; there were about eight hundred, all armed with double-barreled shotguns. Away we went and when we got within two miles of the Johnnies' camp we stopped to give our horses a rest, and then on we went like the wind. We soon came in sight of the mill; close to it was a bridge where a rebel guard was walking back and forth, with an old double-barreled shotgun on his shoulder. He was a good specimen of the southern soldier. He was nearly six feet high. On his head he wore a slouch hat, was dressed in his butternut suit and did not look as if he had been shaved for six weeks. The tobacco juice was running down each side of his cheeks, and as we rode up to him he looked up, shifted his tobacco from one check to the other and said, "Who is you'ns?" Our captain replied, "We are Yanks. Give up your gun; you are a prisoner now." "I'll be darned! If that don't beat all." He gave up his gun and was taken back to the rear and placed under guard--the first prisoner the Ninth Illinois Cavalry had captured. About half a mile from the bridge was an open place in the timber, close to the river, and here the Johnnies were camped. They were just organizing and, of course, did not understand about discipline, consequently did not have any camp guard out. We formed a line of battle and charged right into their camp; some started for the timber, some jumped into the river and undertook to swim, and some few got away, but the most of them were captured. They were just in the act of getting supper; their camp kettles hung over the fires all along the camp. Well, now, let me tell you we were hungry and that supper just came in time, and of course we helped the Johnnies eat it. We captured six hundred prisoners, all their camp equipments, about four hundred double-barrelled shotguns and two hundred old muskets and rifles. We sent word back to camp for wagons and teams to haul what we had captured to camp; for the rebels only had two teams and they were as poor specimens as I ever saw. The "Ninth" came out victorious, and I tell you we were proud; more than proud, for we had an idea that we could clean out the whole Confederacy, but we soon found out that the Johnnies could fight. We put a heavy guard around our prisoners that night and the next morning marched them back to camp. This being early in the spring of 1862, of course we had not learned much discipline. We had not been in camp long before the camp-diarrhoea broke out; there were twenty-five or thirty deaths, but no wonder, for all we had to eat was hard tack, bacon and coffee. Most of the "ninth" was made up of farmers, and they had been in the habit of having plenty of everything good to eat, and of course coming down to hard tack was pretty hard on us. Our business while camping at this place was to forage for our horses, but to forage for ourselves was strictly forbidden. If our boys came in with chickens they had to give an account of how they got them and if they could make the officers believe they had bought them and paid good hard money, it was all right, but if they found out that the boys had stolen them, they would be severely punished. I remember one man who came in with a few potatoes, and as he could not give a straight account as to how he got them, he was forced to carry a rail that weighed 50 pounds for twenty-four hours; but this was in '62. They were not quite so strict in '63, '64 and '65; but you may depend that while the officers were watching us, we were always on the lookout for them. One bright morning three companies of our regiment got orders to go on a foraging expedition, and I was one to go and I was very glad of it, for mounting guard and drilling began to grow old and anything new was hailed with delight. "Boots and saddles," was the call that rang out in silver notes from our bugles. Every man was in the saddle in an instant. Finally the Major gave the command, "March," and we were in motion. The largest part of the command went in advance of the teams. I being a sergeant in my company, was ordered to take ten men to act as rear guards, and, of course, we were in the rear of the wagons, so we had a good opportunity to do a little foraging on our own hook. We wound around hills, forded creeks and finally came to a halt, about five miles from camp. The teams were still on the side hill and the main body of the men were in the valley below. Up to our right a short distance from the road was a small log cabin with a number of smaller buildings around it. Said I: "Boys, do you think there is any chance for getting anything to eat up there? Now, if someone will stay here and let me know when the command starts, we will go and see what's up there." The understanding between the soldier and teamster was that if the soldier got anything, and the teamster hid it for him in the wagons and took it to camp, they were to divide equally. I took two men and up the side hill we went; rode up to the fences that surrounded the buildings and dismounted; one man held the horses while my comrade and I jumped over the fence and went up to the house. We rapped on the door, no answer; rapped again, no answer; pulled on the latch string and the door opened. There was no one there; everything lay in all sorts of confusion; chairs, pots and kettles all over the floor, just as if the people had been frightened away. We found nothing to eat there so we went out to the small buildings; opened one after another, but found them all empty except one, and that one had a large fat calf in it. Comrade Carlyle grabbed him by the neck, I got him by the tail and down the hill we went. We finally got him to the wagon, tied his feet together, and got him in just as the bugle sounded "boots and saddles." On we went, over hills and through valleys; for about five miles; nothing happened within this time only an occasional blat from our calf. We finally came to a large swamp through which our way led, and we forced one of the natives to pilot us through. Now, dear reader, understand that we were in Arkansas and it was not very thickly settled, so you see we had to go some distance from camp to forage. Arkansas is almost an unbroken forest; hills and swamps, with no bridges to cross on. Understand that I am speaking of war times. After we got through the swamp we came to a beautiful island and here were two large plantations on which was plenty of corn. It was getting late so we went into camp for the night close to one of the farms. Now there were lots of hogs running around, and let me tell you everybody had fresh pork for supper. Some had chicken, and some turkeys; some had potatoes, and I saw one man that had a piece of corn bread with butter to put on it; let me tell you he was getting too high-toned for a soldier. The Major put out a strong guard that night but we were not disturbed. The next morning we loaded our wagons and after doing so, we started for camp. Every little while our calf would give an unearthly blat, and the Major would run back to look under the wagon and on both sides; finally he got back to the rear guard, and said he, "Sergeant, I have heard several times something like a calf bawling." "Well, Major, I'll be darned if I haven't heard it, too." The Major gave me one look and went back again. Now for the benefit of the reader that does not understand our army wagons, I will explain them. They were all covered and we had partitioned the back part of the wagon off to make room for our calf, so when the Major came back examining the wagon, all he could see was the front part of it and of course that was all full of corn. To say that he was mystified does not describe it, but when he got back to the front he told the Captain that some blasted fool of a soldier could blat like a calf. We got back to camp all right and as we had no place to put our corn we left it in the wagon and when it got dark we moved our hams to our mess tent and butchered our calf the next morning. Everybody had a good breakfast and the Major ate some of that calf and asked no questions. CHAPTER III. We stayed some two or three weeks at this place, then got orders to go further south. We arrived at Jacksonport, on White river, and went in camp again. The inhabitants, I might say the whole surrounding country, were the strongest kind of rebels; the town contained about five hundred inhabitants. Just above the town, probably half a mile, the Black and the White rivers came together and formed a junction, so the White river was navigable from Jacksonport to the Mississippi, which was 150 miles by river. About five miles back of Jacksonport is a swamp that commences at Black river and runs across the country for fifteen miles and empties into White river below the town, so Jacksonport and quite a strip of country was on an island. The reason I give this place such a thorough description is because some very interesting incidents happened here. About fifteen miles above Jacksonport is a small town called St. Charles, and in order to reach the place by the wagon road we had to cross an old rickety bridge, which was a good half mile in length. We got most of our forage in and around St. Charles. This part of Arkansas is more level but covered by a dense growth of timber. Our regiment had been thinned out some by sickness. We had about 800 fit for duty. Every morning you would see a long string going to the hospital tent to get their quinine. A great many of our boys when they got sick would give up. They did not find mother, sister or wife; no, they did not find home care, and were exposed to storms with nothing but a thin canvas to protect them. Then the sick soldier had no delicacies such as mother would have prepared him. He would hear nothing but rough words. Of course, the boys that waited on the sick did all they could for them, but at the best it was not home. As I said before, some would get sick and home-sick, too, and that kind of a soldier was almost sure to die. When our boys went out foraging they would always bring back something for the sick comrades. We had one young man in our regiment whom we called Jim. Now this young man does not live far from me to-day. The reason I do not give his name in full is because his wife does not wish to draw public attention to their family affairs. This young man Jim was always foraging for the sick boys. He would slip around the guards and be gone two or three days at one time. The next thing you knew some one would say, "Here comes Jim." Sure enough, here he comes loaded down with chickens, hams, sweet potatoes, butter, or anything that one could get in the country. Of course they would punish him severely, but that made no difference with Jim; as soon as he got loose he would give the guard the slip and away he would go again for something good to eat, which he generally found, and gave his sick comrades the lion's share of it. Jim started out one fine morning and as he got to the bridge told the sergeant of the guard that he had a pass to cross the bridge. He had written it himself, but the guard knew no difference so he let him go and on he went till he came to St. Charles. He rode up to a large plantation house, dismounted and tied his horse. Now, Jim was as fine a specimen of a man as one would wish to see; only eighteen years of age, blue eyes, light curly hair and a smile always on his face. As he went up the walk he saw a young lady sitting out on the porch sewing. Jim walked up to the porch, took off his hat and made a very polite bow. The young lady looked up, took him in from head to foot, then went on with her sewing, paying no more attention to him. Said Jim, "Look here, sis, have you any sweet potatoes, butter, chickens, or anything good to eat? We have some sick soldiers down at camp and I came out to see if I could buy them something good to eat." Jim did not have a cent in his pocket; his plan was to get whatever he could and skip out. Now, I will give you a description of the young lady. She was also eighteen years of age, black eyes that fairly blazed when angry, and when in a good humor they were soft as a fawn's. She was a regular brunette, fine form, rather below medium height and beautiful black hair that reached within four inches of the floor when she was standing. Her name was Virginia La Ford and was called a creole. The girl looked up at him, her eyes blazing, and said, "No sir; we have nothing to sell to the Yankees." "You haven't? well, that is all right, I will help myself," said Jim. Away he went. An old colored woman told him to go down cellar, which he did, and got a roll of butter, sweet potatoes, and some honey, then he went back to where the young lady was and said: "Sis, haven't you got any preserves or any kind of fruit?" Said she, "Young man, I think you had better look behind you before you go any further." On looking around, what was his astonishment to see a whole company of rebels riding up to the front of the house. "Hide me for God's sake, for they will kill me sure." "Do you think that I am a fool that I would hide you after you have been robbing me?" "Hide me, please do, and you will never regret it the longest day you live." "Well, I will hide you." So she took him away up in the garret and left him there. He crawled around some old rubbish and then lay still as a mouse. In the meantime the Johnnies rode up, took Jim's horse, came in and asked what had become of the Yank. The girl told them that he had skipped out to the woods; and after searching everywhere for him, they took his horse and went on. The girl went up and told Jim to come down. "Now," said she, "don't think that I hid you because I thought anything of you or your cause, but I hid you because I did not want your stinking carcass in our yard; and now you go, and don't ever show your face here again." Jim made as polite a bow as he could, thanked her very kindly, and started for camp. At night he came up to my post and told me all his troubles. We took him in, gave him supper, and the next morning took him back to camp. The Colonel soon heard of Jim's mishaps, and began to question him. "I understand you have run the guard and been foraging on your own hook." "Yes, sir," said Jim, his clear, blue eyes looking straight in the Colonel's face. "Well," said the Colonel, "I'll try and keep you in camp after this," and he put a ball and chain on him and kept a strict guard over him. Jim was marched off to the guard camp with a ball and chain fastened to his ankle. These things may seem cruel to the reader, but let me tell you that if we had no discipline you may depend we would not have any army long. Our boys were punished for the most trifling affairs, and then there were times when they were not, when they actually needed it; but as a general rule our officers sympathized with the soldiers when they went out foraging and were always willing to help eat what they got. A few days after the irons were taken from Jim I was ordered to go on picket guard to the long bridge; I hadn't been there long when who should come up but Jim, on foot and alone. "Hello, Jim! What brought you out here?" "My legs," said Jim, "and I want to cross that bridge." "I have orders to shoot the first man that tries to cross that bridge without the countersign," said I. "All right," said Jim, and before we hardly knew what he was up to, he was half way over, running like a deer. My first thought was that he was deserting. Of course we fired our guns and ordered "Halt," but away he went and disappeared around the bend of the road. About four o'clock in the afternoon we could hear the faint sound of firing in the distance; it came closer and closer, and around the bend in the road we could see the dust rolling up over the trees and the firing grew more distinct. Of course we were always ready for an attack. We formed a line across the bridge, when all at once a man on horseback came in view. Here he comes right on the bridge. Look! The bridge will go down; see how it sways! On he comes. It is our Jim! He passes us like a flash. Here come the Johnnies. Ready, aim, fire! There goes one Johnnie; he is dragged along the ground by one foot. Ah, he is loose. On comes his horse straight across the bridge. "Give them another volley, boys." Zip, zip, went the rebels' bullets. Now they turn back; away they go around the bend and disappear. "Hello, Bill," said one of my comrades, "this is a fine horse of the rebs;" he was as wet as if he had just come out of a river. He had been ridden hard and long. Over on the other side of the bridge and on a little rise of ground, in the middle of the road, lay the rider where his comrades had left him. We walked over to him and found him lying on his face, with his eyes wide open. Dead? Yes; he was shot in the left breast. We moved him out to one side of the road and went back to our post. Just got back when two companies of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry came riding up. Capt. Blackburn said, "We heard you were attacked and came to reinforce you." There was no need of that. Before dark a rebel lieutenant came riding up with a white flag and wanted the privilege of taking his comrade away, which Capt. Blackburn gave him. The next morning when we got to camp, we found the officers all around Jim, trying to buy his horse. It was a large bay stallion and the finest horse in the regiment, and Jim rode that horse through the war, and he has the saddle and bridle to-day to show his friends. Well, in this attack was the first gun powder that I smelled, and the first man that I saw killed; so the very next day I wrote home that I had seen a fight. Not one of our men got hurt, so it could hardly be rated as a skirmish, but before the war was over, you may depend, I found out what a real battle meant. Well, Jim had a horse again and everyone was praising him up, and this was the way he got it. After he left us, he never stopped running till he was a good mile from the bridge, then got down to a walk, and after going seven or eight miles, he came to a large plantation house where there were nine or ten horses tied to the fence. Jim crawled up close and soon saw that they were rebels' horses, and the rebs were all inside except one who was sitting on the porch keeping guard; or as Jim said, "talking to a mighty good-looking girl." Jim slipped along the fence, at the same time watching the porch, and when the two there got quite interested in each other, Jim slipped up, cut the hitching strap, and was in the saddle and off like a shot. He got the best horse they had, and also got the horse from the same party that stole his horse. We found that out by a prisoner that was taken shortly after. In about two weeks after this I was on picket at the long bridge again, when Jim came riding upon his fine horse. "Hello, Bill! I have a pass to go over the bridge again." Well, Jim was honest this time. The doctor got a pass for him to go out for food for the sick soldiers, and there was no one in the regiment that could beat him for that. "Good-bye, Jim, don't let the rebs get that horse from you while you are sparking." "Look out for yourself." Most every one of the boys had something to say to him as he crossed the bridge. He went straight up to St. Charles, rode up to the same house where he lost his horse. The same young lady was sitting where he last saw her, and he walked up to her, made a very polite bow and said, "How do you do, sis?" And she replied, "I thought I told you never to come here again." Jim looked at her and said: "Now look here; listen to me for one moment. In the first place I love you, and want you to be my wife. I have thought of you, and dreamed of you, and the fact is you are here between two contending armies; you are liable to be burned out, then you would have no place to go to. Now, way up north in Illinois I have a nice little home, and one of the best mothers living there all alone, out of hearing of the war; all is peace there, and I want to send you to my mother to be a daughter to her; I know she will love you for her son's sake, if nothing else." What girl could resist such pleading from such a handsome young fellow as our Jim? She looked up at him and seeing he was in dead earnest said: "When would you want me to go?" "Right away; there is a lady from our town who is going back to-morrow, and you can go right home with her." "I will go in and see what mother says." She slipped in the house, while Jim stood twisting his hat in his hands as if he was going to make a rope of it. Presently the girl came to the door and told him to come in, which he did, and found the old lady sitting in a rocking chair. As Jim went in the old lady looked up and told him to be seated. She asked him a great many questions about his home and mother, to which Jim answered satisfactorily. The old lady stepped out so Jim and the girl could talk over their affairs alone. Said she: "Young man, you are a stranger to me and an enemy to our cause; I do not even know your name, but I will marry you on two conditions--one is that you will let my mother go with me, and the other is that I am not to be your wife in the true sense of the word till this war is over, and then I want it understood that if I see anything in your character that is obnoxious to me, you are to bring me home here, and forever leave me alone," to which our Jim gave cheerful consent. They were married by a minister who lived close by, and Jim sent his wife and mother-in-law up to Illinois, and just let me whisper in your ear, dear reader, they are there yet, and you may depend there is not a nicer family for miles around. CHAPTER IV. One fine morning my Captain told me to report to Col. Brackett. I walked up to regimental headquarters. The Colonel was writing when I stepped into the tent; he looked up and said, "Be seated for a moment." He soon got through with his writing, folded it up, put it in a large envelope and handed it to me, saying, "Sergeant, have you a good horse?" Now, my reader, excuse me if I was proud of my horse for there was not one in the regiment that could outrun or outjump mine. "Well," said the Colonel, "you may need just such a horse before you get back to camp. I want you to take this dispatch to Gen. Curtis, some thirty miles from here, and wait his orders." Anything of this kind just suited me, for I was fond of adventure. I went to headquarters and handed my dispatch to Gen. Curtis; as he tore open the envelope he told me to stop a moment to see what it said. After he had read the contents, he looked me over from head to foot and finally asked, "What regiment do you belong to?" "I belong to the Ninth Ill. Cavalry, Co. I." "What is your name?" "William N. Tyler." "Well, I think you are the very man I want. I have a dispatch to send to Colonel Wyman, who is acting brigadier-general at Little Rock, Ark., one hundred and fifty miles south. Now the road is infested with rebels; are you willing to undertake it?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well," said the Colonel, "report to me in the morning and I will give you instructions and dispatches." Gen. Curtis was a fatherly old man, but very strict. He was all of six feet high, gray eyes and hair. He was good to his men and did all he could to keep them in good health and well clothed, but would punish severely if any were caught foraging on their own hook. He gave me orders to report to a cavalry regiment and they would find me quarters for the night. Early the next morning I was on hand but had to wait until almost noon before the General was ready for me. He handed me three large envelopes and said, "Now, Sergeant, I want you to take these dispatches to Col. Wyman at Little Rock, and wait his orders. If you get in close quarters with the rebels and are in danger of being captured, be sure to destroy the dispatches. Whatever you do, don't let the rebs get them. My orderly will go across the river with you, and the Captain out on picket post will instruct you when to start and what road to take." While the General was giving me my orders all the officers had their eyes bent on me, so you may be sure I was glad when the General gave the final order. The orderly and myself mounted our horses and rode down to the river. There was a pontoon bridge out for about two hundred yards, and the balance of the river was crossed by a ferry boat--what they called a rope ferry. It was run by means of a rope fastened from one shore to the other. The men on the boat would draw it by the rope from one side to the other. Just two days before I got there they were crossing with some artillery and horses, and as they were in the center of the river the horses got frightened and became uncontrollable, capsizing the boat and drowning nine men and a number of horses. We got safely across and commenced to climb the mountain on the other side. Finally we reached the top and oh! what a sight met our eyes; we could see for miles around to the north, but to the south it was all hills and mountains. My road lay directly south, so it proved a pretty rough one. When we got to the top of the mountain and looked down on White river, I could not see how it was possible for our horses to haul the artillery up the mountain. It looked to me that a horse had all he could do to climb it without pulling anything. The picket post was on the summit of the mountain. The orderly that came with me took the Captain to one side and had quite a long talk in an undertone and finally came back to me, reached out his hand and bade me good-bye and told me not to let the rebs get me. Then he went back again. The Captain of the guard came up and told me to dismount. After giving my horse to a man, I went to where the guards were sitting around the fire. Some were cooking and some were telling stories. One tall fellow was telling about being kept in irons for four days. He looked up and saw me standing back a little and told me to come to the fire. "Stranger, the wind blows mighty cold up here on the mountain." I walked up and sat down, drank some coffee and ate hard tack and bacon, so had as good a dinner as if I had been in my own camp. "So they have had you in irons four days?" "Yes, you see the old General is mighty strict about our foraging, but the other day we got out of corn and it is very scarce around here, so we got orders for a few to go out at a time and scour the country for corn. "Our sergeant took ten of us and we started out; rode two days and was just on the point of coming in with our corn when we met an old darkey who told us to follow an old blind road and we would find a farm house down there where there was plenty of corn. We went and found it just as he said, but only having one wagon it did not take long for us to fill it; then we looked around for something good to eat. I got one ham and a pig, which I put in a gunny sack and threw across my horse and started for camp. Well, my pig kept kicking and I cut a hole in the sack so he could breathe; then he put his nose through the hole so he could take a view of the surrounding country; after that he was quiet. "We got into Batesville all right and just as we were passing Gen. Curtis' headquarters my captain looked up and saw us coming. 'Hello, boys! where did you get your corn?' Of course that brought us to a halt. The captain looked around and saw me with my sack. 'John, what have you got in your sack?' 'Corn, sir,' said I, and just then that infernal pig stuck his nose through the hole and squealed; now, you bet that fixed me." Just then the captain of the guard came up, told me to go with him and took me out to one side. "Now," said he, "I want to give you your directions." So he gave me very plain directions about the route, so I felt very confident that I would not have any trouble. "Now, you had better lie down and get all the rest you can. I will see that you are wakened up in proper time, and see that you are provided with rations, for you know it won't do for you to stop at houses for food." I lay down, rolled up in my blanket with my feet to the fire and was soon sound asleep, and did not wake up till the captain of the guard gave me a good shake. "It is twelve o'clock, get up and have a cup of coffee." I got up at once and rolled up my blanket and was soon ready to start. The same darkey that took care of my horse was sent along to guide me. The boys that were awake all had something to say and the captain's last words were, "Take care of yourself, my boy." We started. "Now," said the darkey, "no use your trying to ride in dis darkness, for de limbs of de trees brush you off from dat horse, sure." So I followed close to the darkey. It was just a narrow bridle path with blackberry bushes interlaced across it and branches of trees hung down so that I had some difficulty in getting my horse along. Said I: "This path has not been traveled for years." "Hush, you must keep as still as you can, for we are not a great way from dem rebel guards." That was the first I knew of getting around rebel guards, so you may be sure after that I went along as still as possible. On we went over fallen limbs, hour after hour, till it was broad daylight. My clothes were covered with burs from head to foot, so I got the darkey to scrape them off with a knife and came out on the main road. "Now, mister, I is gone wid you as far as I can go; so you must follow dis main road straight south. Good-bye, sir, hope you will get through all right." I led my horse out in the middle of the road, examined my carbine and revolver and found them all loaded and in good order. I mounted and turned south and jogged along slowly so as to keep my horse fresh, so if I had to I could make a good run. Over hills and lofty mountains I went all the forenoon and not a Johnnie did I see. I went back from the road about half a mile right in the heavy timber at noon, and made a cup of coffee and fed my horse with the only feed of corn I had with me. Went back on the road and on we went until dark. I had traveled all day and not a living thing had I seen except now and then a squirrel or rabbit. I was now looking for a place to camp. Finally I came to an old blind road that led off in the timber; after following this road for about two miles, I was just thinking about going in the brush and camping for the night, when all at once I saw a light ahead. The first thought was that there was a rebel camp. I took my horse out in the thick brush and tied him to a small tree, and crawled on all fours till I got up close to the light, and found it to be a small cabin. The clay from between the logs had fallen out and there was a bright fire burning in the fireplace, and it was the light of the fire shining through the cracks. I looked through and saw a large fleshy negro woman sitting in front of the fire smoking a corn-cob pipe and humming over some camp melody. I stepped up to the open door and said, "Good evening, aunty." I thought for a fact she would jump out of her skin. "For de Lord sake, honey, how you scare me; who is you?" "Aunty, are there any white folks close around here?" "No, honey, no one lives close; no one lives here except me and my old man and he's gone out to catch a possum." "Then there are no soldiers that come here?" "No honey, der been no soldier here since de war begun." "Well, aunty," said I, "can I stay here to-night?" "Course you can." "Have you got any corn for my horse?" "Course we have; we'uns got a cow and we always keep fodder and corn both." I went back, got my horse and put him in an old shanty back of the house and gave him a good feed of corn and fodder. When I went in after taking care of my horse old aunty was bustling around getting supper. Just then the old man stepped in. He had an old flint-lock gun in one hand and in the other he had a possum, sure enough. The negro was all of six feet in height and was just the opposite of aunty. He looked as if the wind would blow him away. His gun was as long as himself and looked as if it had been made in the year of one, it was so battered up. The stock had been broken many times and tied up with strings, and the old darkey looked about the same as his gun. No shoes on his feet, and oh! such feet it hasn't been my lot to see for many a day. His ankle was right in the middle of his foot. When he saw me I do not think I ever saw anyone more astonished than he was then. His eyes looked like two peeled onions. He commenced to open his mouth and the more he looked the wider it opened. "Well, uncle," said I, "what do you think of me?" "Well," said he, shutting his mouth, "I don't know." I thought we were in the same boat as far as that was concerned. Old aunty walked up to him, snatched the possum out of his hand, gave him a smart box on the ear and said: "Ain't you got no manners? standin' der wid yer mouf open as wide as a barn door! You don't know nuffin; you make me awful 'shamed. Now, you go and sit down dere and don't open dat big mouf of yours till supper. Does ye heah?" I think he heard, for let me tell you, when she opened her mouth you would think there was a cyclone coming. It did not take aunty long to take the skin off that possum and clean it. She soon had it in the skillet with sweet potatoes. Old aunty passed close to me and saw my saber. "Oh," said she, "what's dat?" I told her that the right name for it was saber, but most of the boys called it a cheese knife. "For de Lawd sake, is dat what you cut cheese wid?" I explained its use to her, after which she asked me if I was a Yankee soldier. I answered in the affirmative. "Now, is dat so? My old marster told me that you'ns had horns." Now, it may be that the reader will think this overdrawn, but let me say that most any of my comrades will corroborate my statement when I say that not only did the negroes think that the Yankees had horns, but there were a great many white folks who would tell us the same thing. I remember on one of our foraging trips we came up to a very nice farm house, and an old lady came out and said, "Are you'ns Yankees? why, I thought they had horns." After old aunty got her curiosity satisfied she stepped to the door and got two large ears of corn and walked up to the fireplace and threw them into the fire. "What are you doing that for?" I asked. "I is goin' to make coffee out of dat corn. Don't you like coffee?" "Yes, but I have better coffee than that." "Good Lord! has you got store coffee?" "Yes." So I went out to my saddle-bags and brought in a large drawing of coffee. The negroes were highly delighted to get some coffee, and so was I to get as good a supper as I got that night. Reader, if you ever want a good meal go south and let some old black aunty cook you some sweet potatoes and possum together. The next morning, after I had my breakfast, I went and got all the coffee I had except one drawing, and gave it to the old woman. I asked her how they came to be living away out there alone. "Well, I tell you: my old man is the rail-splitter, and my old master sent us to split rails, and dat is all we does." CHAPTER V. I thanked the old lady for her kindness and rode back to the road again, went over hills, forded creeks, passed farm-houses, but not a rebel did I see. I began to think there were no rebels in that part of the country, consequently got careless, and through my carelessness came within one of losing my life. It was almost twelve o'clock. Right ahead of me a little way in the valley that I was descending to was a large frame house that stood close to the road, and beyond this house about fifty yards was a creek that went across the road, but no bridge over it. Now, I thought this would be a good place to eat dinner, so I rode down to the creek, watered my horse and as there was a large shade tree standing in front of the house I went back, dismounted, took the saddle off, wiped off my horse and put the saddle back on. I had brought corn from where I stayed all night. I took off the bridle and put the feed bag on my horse's nose and was about to eat my own dinner when, glancing around, I saw a negro standing by the little gate. Said he: "Master, are you a Union soldier?" "Yes, sir." "I thought so; well, sir, you is in a mighty bad fix. My master is in the house and he is Captain, and he has fifteen soldiers with him, and way up on de top of dat hill is a whole regiment of confederates, and they expect some more every minute on the same road dat you came on. But see here now: you go straight through dat creek and you will find a bridle path that turns to the left. You go on that path till you come to the fence; go over the fence and down over the hill till you get down in a cornfield, den you can come by this same road again." While the negro was telling me which way to go, you may depend I was not idle; I pulled the feed-bag off of that horse's nose and had the bridle on sooner than you could say "Jack Robinson." Now this rebel captain was watching every move I made. He turned to his men and said, "Now watch me and see how slick I will capture a Yankee." Reader, I will soon tell you how I found out what the rebel captain said. Just as I had got the bridle on, the captain stepped out with a double-barrelled shot-gun, (and I think the gun must have been loaded half full, the way it sounded) and said: "Surrender! you Yankee son-of-a-gun." Do not think that I am trying to make myself out brave, but let me tell you it was fight or die. My horse stood straight between the captain and me, and to snatch my carbine from the saddle was the work of a second, and I brought it to my shoulder. Just as my horse swung out of the way, both guns went off together. The bullet from my gun struck the stock of his and glanced off into his shoulder and knocked him down. I was on my horse in a flash and through the creek we went. The negro told me afterwards that the water flew thirty feet high. I found the path all right, but had to lie down close to my horse to prevent the branches from sweeping me off. Away we went. I soon came to a fence and threw the rails down and started up the hill. I was obliged to lead my horse to the top, the hill being so steep. Just as I got to the top the Johnnies were at the bottom, and commenced firing up. When I got to the bottom of the other side of the hill, they were at the top and commenced firing down. Close to the bottom was a creek with very steep banks. My horse did not want to go through and I coaxed and whipped all to no effect. I was about to leave my horse, when "zip" came a bullet and struck him on the shoulder. He made a spring forward, almost jerking the bridle strap out of my hand. Through the stream he plunged and came within one of getting away from me. The corn was just up to my shoulders, and when I got started I do not believe I ever rode so fast in my life. The corn whipped my feet as if some one was striking me with a cane. In the meantime the Johnnies had got to the bottom of the hill and were blazing away at me with all their might. One bullet went through the rim of my hat and another through my coat sleeve. Finally, I came to a fence again. Right ahead of me was a low place in it and over we went. When my horse struck the ground I was all of a foot above him, and came down on the crupper. I made a grab for the saddle and saved myself from a fall, and I came near losing my horse again. I was out in the road once more ahead of all the rebels, and rode on for half a mile, stopped, dismounted and tightened up the girth. The blood was oozing out of the wound in my horse's hip. I looked back up the hill and saw the rebels coming again. I knew they had no horse that could catch me if the wound did not affect him. I kept a good mile ahead of them, but every time they got to the top of a hill they would blaze away at me. About five o'clock, my horse commenced to get lame and I began to think I was gone up. I looked up on the hill ahead of me, and saw soldiers walking back and forth across the road. I reached into my pocket for the dispatches to destroy them when two men rose up from behind the fence and brought their gun to bear on me and said, "Don't destroy those papers." I was caught. I saw that they both had blue coats on, but there were lots of rebels who wore blue clothes. I asked, "What regiment do you belong to." "We belong to the Thirteenth Illinois Infantry," they said. I never was so glad to see blue coats in my life. The rebels came to the top of the hill behind me and stopped. They could see that I had got to our guards. They fired one volley and retreated. In the meantime, our boys had formed a line across the road, but did not waste powder by returning the fire. I rode up to the Captain of the guard, and told him I had dispatches for Col. Wyman. He told me to dismount, and get a cup of coffee, and he would see whether the wound my horse received was serious or not. I rubbed him down and gave the poor fellow some food. The boys in blue got around me, asking all sorts of questions about my trip, and I gave them my experience from Jacksonport. They all listened very much interested. Finally, one of the men who was standing close to me said, "I'll be darned if there isn't a bullet hole through your hat rim." As the guard was five miles from the main camp, and my horse was played out, I stayed all night, and the next morning rode into camp, up to Col. Wyman's headquarters and delivered my dispatches. When I first started in the morning, my horse walked lame, but after we had gone a mile or two he did not seem to mind it. The Colonel read over the dispatch and looked at me from head to foot. "Well, did you see any of the Johnnies on your trip from Batesville down?" "Yes, sir." "Well," said he, "the dispatches you brought order me with a brigade back to Batesville. We start back in the morning and you go to our veterinary surgeon and let him see to your horse and you rest to-day, and to-morrow you may go with us back to Batesville, and when you get to where the rebel captain fired on you, let me know." As I was wandering around the tent I found my brother-in-law, Lewis Stafford, and had a good visit with him. The surgeon told me that my horse would soon be all right. The next morning, bright and early, everyone was in motion. There were about five thousand troops, cavalry, artillery and infantry. We soon got on the road where the Johnnies gave me such a close rub. All at once there was firing in front. It did not amount to much, just a small skirmish; two poor fellows were brought back wounded. The first night we camped within five miles of where the rebel captain fired on me. The next day about 10 o'clock we came up on a high hill and at the bottom was the plantation house. I recognized it at once as being the one where the rebel captain tried to show his men how slick he could capture a Yankee. I rode up to Col. Wyman and pointed it out to him. "All right," said he, "you stay with me and we will make a neighborly call on him." We rode up under the same tree where I was going to feed my horse, and dismounted; walked up on the porch and the same negro stood there. "My Lord! Is dat you? Dem soldiers dun told me dat day hang you on a tree." "Is your master in?" "Yes, sir, you broke his shoulder all to pieces." He opened the door and led us in; the captain lay on a couch, but had not had his wound dressed and it had become very painful. One of the men said: "You are wounded." "Yes," (with an oath) "there was a Yankee scout who came along the other day, and he was just one second too quick for me." "Here is the man now," said our Colonel. The rebel captain looked at me and reached out his well arm and said, "Shake, stranger, you are a good soldier." The Colonel sent and had our surgeon dress his wound properly and said, "Now you are fixed all right. You can stay here and no one will molest you, or you can go with us and have proper treatment." "Well," said the rebel captain, "let me take my nigger along and I will go where I can get proper treatment." They put him in an ambulance and took him along. The nigger told me all the particulars as we went along the road. He said his master's gun went off up in the air, that he hadn't got it pointed at me at all. We got to Batesville all right. I went up to General Curtis' headquarters and reported. He gave me a dispatch to take to Colonel Brackett, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, my own regiment, back to Jacksonport. I was glad to go back to my own regiment again. It was like getting home. I had no mishap but got there all right, went to headquarters and delivered my dispatch. "You have got back," said the Colonel. "Take a rest to-day, for to-morrow I will send you out on a foraging expedition." The men were all glad to see me, and they all wanted to go out foraging with me the next day. They wanted to know all about my trip. I received two letters from home, and my folks were all well, so I felt all right. Just as I had finished reading my letters Colonel Brackett sent word for me to come to headquarters. I went. He told me to be seated. "I have a letter from General Curtis here that you brought in the dispatches, that praises you very highly. He said you were every inch a soldier. I have changed my mind in regard to sending you out on a foraging expedition. We have lost two very fine artillery horses, and I heard that they were some forty miles north of here. You take one man and start in the morning. Come to headquarters, and in the meantime I will ascertain which way you are to go." CHAPTER VI. I ran back to my tent, and just then Jim Carlysle came along. "Jim, you are the very man I am looking for. I want you to be ready to go with me in the morning." I explained what was wanted, and he expressed a desire to go. I went up to headquarters, and the Colonel gave me a piece of paper with the man's name on that had the horses. "Now, look sharp," said the Colonel, "it may be a trap to catch you." After getting instructions about the road, we started and crossed the long bridge five miles north of camp, and kept on until noon. Finally we came to a double log cabin. We rode up to it, dismounted, stepped to the door and knocked. For the benefit of the readers who never traveled south, I want to explain. All the houses if ever so small, have a porch in front. The double log houses are built separately, about ten or twelve feet apart, the roof covering the whole building. The chimney is built on the outside of the house, generally one on each end. They are built of stone or brick, about ten feet from the ground. The balance of the way they are built of clay and sticks. A lady stepped to the door and told us to come in. I asked her if we could get some dinner. "O, yes; of course you can." The lady proved to be a Union woman. She was a widow. There were any number of Union widows all over the south. They had husbands who were in the rebel army, but every time any of our forces were around they would claim to be Union women and call for protection, and do not forget it, our officers were always on hand for protection. She gave us chairs and told us to be seated. She was a great talker, and asked us if we were married, and if we had children. Jim told her that he hadn't been married long. Then she wanted to know if his wife was pretty and any amount of similar questions. All the time she was getting dinner her tongue was running. She told us that she had a large farm, was out of debt, and if she could get some real good man she didn't know but that she might be induced to marry again. I asked her it she knew of a man up north twenty or thirty miles by the name of Smith, for that was the man who had our horses. She said she had heard of the name. We then settled for our dinners, mounted our horses and rode on. We had not gone over a mile before we came to a swamp. It was about two miles through. It had a corduroy bridge, that is, logs about two feet in diameter, and twelve feet long, laid side by side. The water was about eighteen inches deep. Some of the logs were floating. When our horses stepped on them they would sink. We went on until we got about half way across, and came to a place where three of the logs had floated out. If by accident our horses should get in the swamp, it would be almost impossible to get them out. You could take a ten-foot rail and push it the entire length in the mud. We got down from our horses and after about two hours' work, got the logs back to their places. Away off in the timber we heard the distant sound of thunder. The air was stifling. The trees on each side of the bridge interlaced overhead. It was almost dark, so we had to ride very slowly. The road was getting worse and worse, and clouds had covered the whole heavens. About three o'clock it began to get dangerous to ride, so we dismounted and led our horses. There came a flash of lightning, and we could see that we were almost over the swamp. Great drops of rain began to fall. "There is a house," said Jim. Sure enough we were over the swamp and close to a large house. We had just got in a large log barn when the storm broke in all its fury. You could hardly see twenty feet, the trees falling in every direction. For two whole hours the storm raged. In all my experience I do not think I ever saw so much water fall in so short a time. It began to get lighter and lighter; we could see small patches of blue sky, and finally it ceased raining. When the sun came out again it was pretty well down in the west. "Well, Jim, you wait here and I will go in and see if we can stay here to-night." I walked up to the house and was just turning the corner when two large hounds made a jump at me. To draw my saber was the work of a second. We always carry our pistols in our saddles, and consequently I did not have mine with me. The dogs kept just out of reach until one made a jump at me and almost got me by the legs. I brought my saber down across his back and almost cut him in two. Crack! went a pistol. I looked around and there stood Jim with a smoking revolver in his hand, and the other dog lay quivering on the ground. "By thunder! Bill," said Jim, "those dogs would have got away with you." I was almost tired out; yes, and the old man was looking out of the window all the time, and never made one effort to call them off. "Well, let us both go in." We never waited to rap, but opened the door and walked in. An elderly man, probably fifty, sat in a chair, and a young lady sat on the opposite side of the fireplace sewing. "How do you do, strangers." "Why did you not call off your dogs?" "Well, sir, those dogs were mine, and they were kept on purpose to keep such fellows as you off." "Well, old man, they failed that time, and let me tell you that just such fellows as we want to stay here all night, and would like to have the young lady get us some supper. Jim, you go see to the horses and get my carbine and revolver." The girl looked up to her father to see what he had to say. The old man looked at us and said: "Do you call yourselves gentlemen and force yourselves upon us?" "Now, that has nothing to do with the case. Do you call yourself a gentleman and stand and see your dogs tear a man to pieces? There is only one thing about this matter: I want to know, miss, if you will get us some supper." "Yes, sir," said the girl, "if pa says so." "Well," said the old man, "you might as well get them something to eat, for if you don't they might burn the house down." Just then Jim came in. It was now getting dusk. "Jim, you stay here to watch the old man and I will go out and see how things look around here. Don't let him go out of the room, and keep an eye on the girl, too." I went all around the place, and back close to the timber were two negro shanties. I stepped up to one and knocked. "Come in, sir." I walked in. There were eight or nine negroes sitting around, from a little baby to an old, white-haired man. The old man raised up and said: "How do you do, sir; will you sit down on this bench?" "No, thank you; I have no time to sit down. I would like to know if there are any confederate soldiers camped around here." "No, sir; dar am no soldiers camped around dis place, and habn't been for two weeks, and da was Union soldiers dat was here two weeks ago." "I suppose your master is a Union man, isn't he?" "No, sir; I is sorry to say that he is the hardest kind of a rebel. His two boys are in de rebel army; and, sir, as soon as he found out that you were here, he made me go let the dogs loose. Dem dogs cost my master five hundred dollars. Dey was de best bloodhounds in dis part of the country." "Well, sir, I'm very much obliged for your information," and turned to go. "Hold on, mister. For de Lord's sake, don't tell master dat I tole you anything!" I went back to the house and Jim was standing by the door, watching every move that was made. The girl had supper ready. "Keep your carbine in your lap while you eat," said I, and we sat up to the table and ate a good, hearty supper. "Now, old man, we do not wish to abuse you or your family, but are going to stay here to-night, and if we see any treachery on your part your life won't be worth a cent. Now, Jim, you go to bed and I will wake you up promptly at twelve o'clock." There being a bedroom close at hand Jim went in and was soon snoring like a bugle call. The girl could not restrain a smile at his snoring. The old man sat smoking his pipe, casting glances over to where I sat. Finally he broke out and said: "Now, look here, stranger, do you think you are going to sit there and bulldoze me all night and make me sit here?" "No, sir, you can go to bed just as soon as you please, but I want to see where you sleep." "You can't see where I or my daughter sleeps, and I want you to distinctly understand it!" "All right, old man, you will stay just where you are, then." He jumped to his feet and said, "I will not do it for any Yankee living." I cocked my gun and brought it to bear on the old man and said: "Make a move and you are a dead man. And, miss, you sit there, too." The old fellow turned as white as a sheet and dropped back into the chair as if he had been shot. "Now, sir, the best thing you both can do is to keep quiet and not a hair of your head shall be harmed." Hour after hour passed until the clock struck one. The old man and his daughters were both nodding in their chairs. I waked Jim and told him to watch so the old fellow would not be playing any games on us. I went to bed and to sleep, and did not awake till sunrise. There was an old negro woman bustling around getting breakfast. We told the man and his daughter they could go anywhere in the house, but they must not go out until we left. The old man jumped to his feet and turned on me like a wildcat and said: "You will pay dearly for last night's work." "All right; you need not think that we are going to give you a chance to inform your confederate friends. You know this is all fair in war times. Jim, go see to the horses while I watch." He soon returned and said that the horses were all right. We then sat down to the breakfast table without waiting for an invitation. Jim asked the old man if he wouldn't sit up and have some breakfast with us. The man snorted out with an oath, "I would die before I would eat with a Yank." Old aunty's eyes rolled around like saucers, and she said, "May de good Lord hab mercy on us all." The girl sat and watched every move, but had nothing to say. We finished our breakfast and started for the door, when Jim turned around and made a very polite bow and said: "We are much obliged for your kindness, and if you ever come our way, be sure and call on us." We then mounted and went on; the road was full of branches of trees and fence rails, so we had some trouble getting our horses along. As we got out into the road, we looked back over the swamp; it was a perfect sea of water. The logs had floated out and left great gaps in the road so it was impossible to go back the same way we came. We finally came out to a more thickly settled portion of the country, and found the roads a great deal better and the people seemed to be more communicative. They told us the man, Smith, lived only a short distance ahead of us, so we got to his house about noon and found the horses all right. The house stood off from the road about a half a mile. We rode up in front of the house. There were eight or ten negro buildings all around the main building. The gentleman came out to meet us in the door yard. "Is your name Smith?" "Yes, sir." "Have you got a couple of government horses here?" "Yes, sir." "Well, we have come after them and you are to come to Jacksonport and our quartermaster will pay you for your trouble." We found Mr. Smith to be a true gentleman, and a true Union man. He said he did not want any pay, that he wanted to do something for Uncle Sam. He called on an old darkey to come for the horses, and told him to feed the horses and take good care of them. "Now, you men stay here all night and by morning the water will be down in the swamps so you will be able to get back all right." He told us of another way to go back that would take us around the big swamp. We concluded to stay, for it did seem to be quite a rest to get among Union people. Now, my dear reader, let me tell you that when we did come across Union people in the south they were genuine. We were in a Union neighborhood; the last rebel we passed was the man we stayed all night with. Mr. Smith told us that if we hadn't watched the man he would have played some underhanded trick on us. The next morning we started back to Jacksonport and traveled until noon, each leading a horse. We stopped at a farm house and got our dinner, then traveled on till night. We could see that there was another storm coming up fast, but luckily a plantation house came in view and we just reached it as the rain began to fall. The owner of the house came out and told us to come in, which we did, leaving our horses in the care of a darkey. Although the man was a rebel from the top of his head to the sole of his foot, he told us that we were perfectly welcome to his house and that we were just as safe there as if we had been in our own camp. I must say that he used us well; we hadn't been there over half an hour before supper was announced. The man introduced us to his family. There were three grown up daughters and the old lady. They had only one son, and he was in the army. As they told us this, the tears started from the mother's eyes and the girls looked as if they were ready to cry, too. We ate our supper in silence, then went to the sitting room and talked until bedtime. The next morning we offered to pay him, but he would take nothing. We then resumed our journey and ended it just at twelve o'clock. We got to camp, rode up to headquarters and reported to Col. Brackett. "Well, sergeant, we were about to send a company out to look for you, as we began to think that the rebs had got you." CHAPTER VII. The 21st of June, just the day before we got back to camp with the horses, one of our scouts reported a rebel gunboat to come up the river, so Col. Brackett gave me orders to take ten men and go five miles below Jacksonport and watch for the boat. In the meantime the camp moved to the piece of land that divides the Black from the White river. We went below Jacksonport to the place stated and settled near a bend in the river where we had a good view of the river four or five miles. We had not been there long before we saw the black smoke rolling up away down the river. We waited until she rounded the bend, then fired off our carbines as we had orders and started back to camp. The inhabitants of Jacksonport had professed to be Union people, but as soon as they heard that a rebel gunboat was coming up they altered their tune and called us all the mean names they could think of. Our officers had even put guards over their wells so as to keep the soldiers away. One woman in particular had given our officers a great deal of trouble. She was a good Union woman at that, and a widow. She wanted a guard to keep the soldiers off her premises, and our officers were just fools enough to do it. Well, we were the last soldiers to go through the town, and, let me tell you, the gunboat was coming faster than we had any idea of. Just before we reached the town she sent a shell over our heads. We soon got in shelter of the town, and the citizens commenced to yell at us. Some said one thing and some another. Finally we came up in front of where the widow lived. She was out on the porch dressed in all her finery. As we were passing she called out: "Is that what you Yankees call skedaddling?" One of our men turned in his saddle and said something that made her skip in the house in a hurry. We rode on until we got to the ferry, which was nothing but an old scow of a boat. We were soon on the boat, and in the meantime the gunboat had swung around and commenced throwing shells at us. The first shell went over us; the next struck the water a hundred yards from us, and the third struck close and threw the water all over us. Our horses became unmanageable. One jumped overboard and the rest came near upsetting the boat. The one that jumped overboard swam to shore all right. We landed our horses and one man went back in a small boat and got it and cut the rope. We had two large twelve-pound brass guns, and never fired a shot at the boat. I never did understand why they did not. But I know this much about it, we were ordered to mount and get out of there. We went back about eight or ten miles and met troops coming to reinforce us. The next morning we went back to Jacksonport, but found the gunboat gone. There was a large quantity of sugar stored at this place, and the Johnnies rolled out the hogsheads and spilt the sugar in the middle of the road. Our horses waded knee deep in sugar for two hundred yards. The farmers came in droves and shoveled the sugar into their wagons like sand. That night it rained. The ditches on both sides of the road were full of molasses. The citizens had a little more manners when we came back; there were no more guards put over wells, and not so much punishing going on if one of our men was caught foraging on his own hook. In a few days after this there were two companies sent out foraging, and some time in the afternoon we heard firing in the direction the foragers had gone. "Boots and saddles" were sounded and the balance of the Ninth was on their way to reinforce. We soon came up with the teamsters who were driving for "dear life." We passed them and came up to where our men had formed a line. The rebels had also formed a line about three hundred yards in advance, and were crowding our men back, but as soon as we reinforced our men it turned the tide of the skirmish. We drove them back. I do not think it lasted over half an hour and after we got through we had forty men wounded and three killed outright. This occurred June 12th, 1862, and was the first time I had been in a skirmish. The rebels were mostly armed with double-barrelled shot-guns. Their loss was eleven killed and thirty wounded. We then went back to camp. Skirmishing now became almost an every day occurrence. Two companies were started on a foraging expedition down White river. After they got ten or twelve miles below Jacksonport two companies of rebels came up on the other side. As soon as they came in sight of one another they opened fire. The river at this point was five hundred yards across. Finally the rebels ceased firing, and one tall rebel stepped out from behind a tree and hollered over to our men and said: "I will dare any single Yank to step out and have a fair, open stand up and fight with me, and we are to keep on firing until one goes down." Out jumped our Jim. "All right, Johnnie, are you ready?" Now, both sides cased firing and looked on with interest. Jim was a splendid shot, and as cool as if shooting at a target. Both guns went off at once. The Johnnie called over, "Are you hit, Yank?" "Not by a darned sight. Are you?" "I'm all right, Yank." Jim took particular pains in loading. Both brought their guns to the ground together, reached and got a cartridge together, and pulled their ramrods together. The Johnnie pulled his out with a jerk and it flew ten feet away. By the time he had regained it and straightened up, Jim's gun was loaded. He brought it to his shoulder, took steady aim and fired. The rebel brought his hand to his breast with a slap and down he went. Just at this moment the rebels got a large reinforcement with artillery, and we were forced to fall back. A few days after, a rebel deserter came to our camp and told us that the rebel who fought Jim was in a fair way to get well, and that the bullet had struck in the center of a large package of letters that he had in his breast pocket and only made a slight flesh wound. We then returned to camp. It was getting late in the summer, and the country was infested with small bands of guerillas. A great many of them were fighting on their own hook, that is, they were nothing but robbers. They robbed the southern and Union people, and if they happened to run onto a small company of Union soldiers whom they could overpower by numbers, and take them prisoners, they would march them out into the woods and shoot them. Such fellows never came out in an open fight, but were always sneaking around in the brush, and that is what gave them the name of bushwhackers. If by accident one of our men was caught alone by the bushwhackers we never heard of him again. They would take him out in the woods and shoot him, pull off his clothes, and leave his body to be devoured by turkey-buzzards, and that is why so many rebel soldiers were dressed in blue. The women folks were even worse than the men; they poisoned the wells, and poisoned provisions and left them where our boys could easily find them, and at the same time rebel planters would call on our generals for protection. As sure as they found out that our army was coming that way, they would want a protection guard to keep the Yanks off their premises, and our officers would almost always grant their request. One nice morning I had orders to report to headquarters. As I came up in front of headquarters tent, Col. Brackett came out with a letter in his hand and said: "Sergeant, you are ordered to take two men and go ten miles up the White river to a planter's house and to guard the property while some of Gen. Curtis' men are passing. Allow no soldier on his premises." I did not like that kind of a job, but orders had to be obeyed; so I went down to camp and found Jim and a comrade by the name of Thorne, and started for the old Reb's plantation. We got there all right, rode up to the front of the house and dismounted. There were two men sitting on the porch, one a gray-headed man and the other a young man. They proved to be father and son. As I went in the gate two young ladies came out on the porch, followed by a colored woman carrying chairs for them. When we first rode up, I noticed that when the young man saw we were Union soldiers he was very uneasy. I stepped upon the first step and raised my hat and asked who was the proprietor. The old gentleman said, "I am." I handed him a letter and he opened it and examined it a long time, and finally called to one of the girls and said: "Come here, Mary, and see if you can make this out." "No, pa, I can't make it out at all." Then the old man turned to me and said, "It may be, stranger, that you can read this," at the same time handing me the letter. "Well, sir, this is what it says: 'Gen. Curtis sends his compliments to you and sends guards to protect your property while the Union army is passing.'" "Oh, you are the guards?" In a little while a young darkey appeared, and the man told him to show the gentlemen where to put the horses. I told Jim to see that they were taken care of. As they disappeared around the house the old man invited me to take a chair which old aunty had provided for me. No sooner had I taken the chair than the old gentleman began telling me how mean our men had served him; stole his chickens and pigs, and, said he, "I am a Union man, and my son here is also, and of course we want protection." Just at this moment Thorne and Jim came around with the arms. Jim handed me my revolver and carbine. The house was the double log kind, with a kind of hall between the two houses, and a porch running the whole length of both parts, facing the road, and stood back from the road about twenty yards. Away around a bend in the road to the right over a cornfield we could see the dust rolling up over the corn, as if a lot of horsemen were coming. Said I, "Mister, supposing they are confederates, what are we to do?" "Oh, you're all right. I'll see that you are not hurt." Then I knew that he was no Union man, or he would have no influence with the Rebs; for be it known that there was not a Union man in the south but what was spotted, and was as much hated as we hated the copperheads of the north. I could see that the young man was watching the cloud of dust with great interest. One of the girls jumped to her feet and went in and brought out a field-glass. The troops now began to come around the bend in the road. "They are confederates," said the girl. Our orders were to stay until our troops passed, so there was no alternative for us but to stay. There were about seven hundred confederates, and all mounted. They rode up in front of the house, and the planter and his family all walked out to the fence. The rebel Colonel dismounted, and we could see that they were talking earnestly about us, for they cast glances our way quite often. The rebel soldiers were yelling at us, wanting to know if we had any horses to trade. The rebel Colonel made a motion for me to advance. I stepped out to the gate. "To what regiment do you belong," the Colonel asked. "I belong to the Ninth Illinois Cavalry." "Where are you stationed?" he asked. "I'm stationed at Jacksonport." "How many are there of you?" "Do you take me for a fool?" said I. "Oh no, I take you for a Yankee soldier. This gentleman told me that you were sent as a protection guard, and I want to tell you that you are perfectly safe, as far as we are concerned. Do you know when your men are to pass here?" "I do not know anything about it." By this time quite a number of the soldiers had got over the fence and were talking to Jim and Thorne. It was getting late in the afternoon, and away off in the west could be heard distant thunder. The Colonel ordered them to mount, and they rode on about half a mile and went into camp. I noticed that the young man went with them. Every move that was made by the family we were guarding showed them to be rebels. The great, black clouds came rolling up from the west. The lightning was something fearful to behold, and the deep bass thunder shook the earth to its very foundation. The negroes were running in every direction. It could easily be seen that they were terribly frightened at the approaching storm. Great drops of rain began to fall. "Just then the rebel Colonel and two captains came riding up, threw themselves from the saddle and told the darkey to put their horses under shelter. As the darkey was leading the horses there came a flash of lightning, and a deafening crash of thunder followed so closely that it seemed more like the noise of a cannon. One of the horses rose up on his hind feet and struck the darkey with his front feet and sent him sprawling on the ground. At that all three started up to the rebel camp on a run and disappeared round a bend in the road. The old gentleman was standing out on the porch. He spoke to another darkey and told him to go and see if Sam was dead. Just then Sam rose to a sitting position and looked up and saw us gazing at him and hollered out, "Oh, massa, I is dunderstruck!" The rain now began to pour down and the wind was blowing fearfully. The darkey jumped to his feet and made for a place of shelter. We all went into the house. It was getting quite dark. They were obliged to light candles. In a few minutes a colored woman came to the door and announced supper. "Now," said the old gentleman, "I want you confederates and you federals to come and eat at the same table, and I want it understood that there is to be no quarreling." As we filed into the dining room we laid our arms in one corner of the room and sat down to the table. I sat next to a rebel Captain, and the rebel Colonel and the two girls sat opposite us. Every time that the Captain who sat next to me had anything to say it was a slur on the Yankees. The rebel Colonel did not approve of his actions, for he frequently shook his head at him. Finally the Captain said: "I believe I could lick twenty Yanks alone. I know I could if they were all like these we have here." I turned to the old gentleman and said: "We came here to guard you and your family and not to be insulted." "Well," said the old man, "I am very sorry this has occurred." "Well," said Jim, "it was not two weeks ago that one of your men challenged one of our men to come out and have a square stand-up fight across White river. He probably thought he could get away with twenty Yankees too, but, Mr. Reb, I went out and had a fair fight with him and got away with him, too, so if you think you can get away with twenty Yanks such as are here, you can try me in the morning. If you get away with me, you will have two more to try your hand on." The old gentleman jumped up and said, "I want this thing stopped, and want it distinctly understood that there will be no fighting here." We finished our supper in silence, and as we were rising to leave the table, I said, "My opinion is, you will all get all the fighting you want before to-morrow night;" and I proved to be a good prophet that time. CHAPTER VIII. We went back in the other room and talked over the prospects of the war without any hard feelings. The rebel captain had gone off with the girls. The Colonel said, "I will put a guard around the house to-night. We do not want you men to go away until we move on." I looked out and saw that the storm was over. The old gentleman told us we could go to bed any time, so it being ten o'clock, we took our arms and followed the old man up stairs. He took us into a room where there were two beds, put the candle on a stand, bade us good-night and left us alone. "Now," said Thorne, "I don't like the looks of things here. That rebel captain means mischief." "Well," said Jim, "that old Colonel is all right; he will keep that Captain straight, you can bet on that." Soon after we got in bed, I heard some one talking in the room below us. I slid out of bed slyly and pulled a piece of the carpet away and discovered a large knot hole in the floor. I made a sign for the boys to keep quiet while I looked through the hole. The rebel captain sat there with his arm around the girl's waist and she had her head on his shoulder. She was talking to him about us and this is what she said: "That Yankee told the truth when he said he had a square fight with one of our men." "Yes, the man he fought belonged to my company. He is in camp now and a better marksman can not be found in the regiment. Now, my dear, can't we study up some plan to get away with these Yanks?" "No, pa want let us do anything, for you know he has fifty thousand dollars in gold buried down in one corner of the cellar, and if he did not have a protecting guard, the Yanks might go through the house and find it. I know it is hard and mean to have the dirty things here, but I suppose we will have to stand it." "I will tell you how we can fix them in the morning. Treat everybody to some of that nice peach brandy of yours, and put a good dose of arsenic in the Yankees' glasses, and you may be sure that will fix them." "Do you really want me to do that?" "Of course I do." "What will pa say when General Curtis comes along and wants to know what has become of the guards he sent?" "You folks can say that they never came and he will just think they have deserted." "But you know pa is so particular about his honesty, that he would spoil the whole thing." "Your pa would not know what killed the Yanks, and we would take their horses and arms and your pa would be so frightened that he would keep still." "Well, what about your Colonel?" "Oh, the devil with him. I sometimes think he is half Yank by the way he acts and talks. Now, if you will kill these Yanks, you will be doing the confederacy a great favor. It might not be three days before we get into a fight with them and they might kill your brother or me, so you see you can do as much as any soldier if you are brave and do what I want you to." "Well, I will do it, for it may be as you say, and if my brother and you should be killed, I wouldn't want to live." "Now you talk like my own brave little girl." They had a good deal more to say that would not interest the reader. As long as we were in no immediate danger, I crawled back to bed and went to sleep. The next morning, when we woke up, I posted the boys about what I heard but there was no need of that, for away up toward the rebel camp we could hear the clash of fire arms--first one gun, then bang! came a shell right over the house. Everything was confusion in the house, women screaming, men cursing and negroes yelling. It was a perfect bedlam going on below. It did not take long to go down and out on the stoop and look away up toward the rebel camp. The smoke of the battle was rising above the trees and the rebel Colonel and the two captains were running up toward the conflict and soon disappeared around the bend in the road. The two girls came out on the porch, wringing their hands and crying. Just then there came another shell crashing through the air and struck in front of the house, plowing a furrow in the ground and throwing dirt all over the porch. The girls skipped into the house and shut the door with a bang. The fire now became a steady roll. Here they come around the bend in the road. They are forming another line of battle, when crack comes another shell, striking through the top of the chimney, the brick and mortar flying in every direction. Here comes the Johnnies again, the "Yanks" right after them. Bang at bang, pop at pop! See the Johnnies tumbling on every side! See the horses running pell mell, without riders. Here they go right by the house, our brave boys in blue right after them. 'Round the corn-field they go, the fire growing fainter and fainter in the distance. Now the worst part is to come. They commence to bring in the wounded. The first to come was the rebel Colonel, two of our men bearing him on a stretcher. His face was pinched and pale, with the blood oozing out of a wound in his breast. One of our surgeons came and gave me orders to bring in the wounded. As we got on the road where the most desperate part of the battle took place, what a sight met our gaze. All kinds of arms scattered over the ground. Hats, caps and blankets, here a horse and there a horse, struggling in the agony of death, and men scattered all over the ground. Here a Yank and there a Reb, some dead, and others wounded. The rebels suffered the more, for they were taken wholly by surprise. It was a regular cavalry fight. It was now about ten o'clock, and our infantry began to come up. It did not take long to get the wounded to where they could get care. Our forces took possession of the rebel camp, capturing all their wagons, tents and baggage. There were thirty killed and one hundred wounded. We lost eleven killed and thirty wounded. The wounded were mostly taken close to the house, on account of having them close to the water. The rebel Colonel died before night. We had our ten thousand troops camped within one mile of the house. Now the tables had turned. We were with our own men again. I know what my comrade soldiers would say. They would say, "Why did you not go and dig up that money?" No, my dear comrades. I went to General Curtis' headquarters and made a report of everything that happened. He gave me strict orders to keep a guard over everything and not allow anything to be taken from the premises; but the next morning there was not a ham or shoulder in the smoke-house or a chicken on the place, and Gen. Curtis himself told the old gentleman that he had better take care of his money, for it was known that he had it. I want to say that the two girls did nobly. They did all that they could for the Yanks as well as the Rebs. We stayed there until the Yankee army passed, and the young lady never offered to treat us to that nice peach brandy. The morning that we were to go we shook hands all around, bade them good-bye, and as we were standing on the stoop, Jim spoke: "We are about to go and you will probably never see us again, and we would like to have some of that nice peach brandy, but would prefer to have it without arsenic." The girl turned as white as a sheet and staggered into the house. The old gentleman did not know what ailed the girl, but ordered a negro to bring up a bucket full. We filled our canteens and took a good drink out of the bucket and bade them all good-bye again. We mounted our horses and started on after our men. We came up to the rear-guard five miles west of Jacksonport. I rode up to headquarters and reported to General Curtis: For the benefit of the reader who does not understand army discipline I want to say that when a soldier or detachment of men was sent out from camp, it did not matter how important or how trifling their mission was, they were expected to go to headquarters and report as soon as they returned. That was to let the officers know what success they had, and also to let them see that they were back again. At this time the rebel guerillas were concentrating their forces at Jacksonport, and the picket post was doubled. The next day after I got back to Jacksonport I was ordered to take twenty-five men and go out to the long bridge in the rear of the town and do picket duty. The guard had been fired on during the night before and one of our sentinels killed. So you may depend we kept a sharp lookout for bushwhackers. Just as we had relieved the old guard and they had disappeared around the roads, one of my guards came running in from the brush and said, "There is a lot of young pigs running around out there." We all went out but those who were on post, and through the brush we went and got thirteen of them; went back, built a rousing fire of rails, skinned and washed our pigs, and stuck them on sticks all around the fire. A sentry hollered to us that Gen. Curtis and his staff were coming up the road. We formed a line of the guards and as the old General came riding up we presented arms. "Are you the sergeant of the guards?" "Yes, sir," said I. "Well," said the General, "this is a very important post; now you must be very careful and tear up the planks in the middle of the bridge and pile them up at this end, and if the enemy come up set the bridge on fire. You can pile up all the brush and rails under this end of the bridge and have it fixed so you can fire it in three or four places at once." Then the old gentleman looked around and saw the pigs in a line around the fire and said: "Hello, what have you here, sergeant?" I was staggered for a moment, but finally blurted out: "Coons, sir." The old General drew his sword and stuck it into one of the skins that was close by. He held it up on the point of sword, with the little pig's tail hanging down, and said: "That beats all the coon skins I ever did see." He tried to keep from laughing and look stern, but couldn't; it was too much for him. As soon as the old General could control himself, he turned to me and said: "Sergeant, don't catch any more of those kind of coons." He rode off laughing while the whole staff followed suit. On the 27th of June a large force of rebels made an attack on one of our government trains near Stewart's plantation, and as we were going to the rescue of the train the rebels fired at us. I felt a burning sensation as if a bullet had passed through my head. Everything got dark. I fell from my horse. The bullet came so close that the bridge of my nose was broken and made me totally blind for awhile. My comrades carried me back in an ambulance. The whole of Gen. Curtis' army was on the march for Helena. My head felt as big as a bushel basket, and fever set in; then I was in a very critical condition. On we went through swamps, over miles of corduroy. The burning sun was enough to kill a well man; there was no water only what we could get from the dirty swamps. No wonder the men died at a fearful rate. The enemy had chopped the timber down and filled up all the wells along the road. Some of the time I was delirious, calling for water all the time. Oh, that long, dreary march through those dirty swamps! We finally got to Helena and I was taken to the hospital, and from there was sent to Jefferson barracks, St. Louis, and lay there until Sept. 20th, when I was discharged and sent home. Just as soon as I got well and strong I re-enlisted in the Ninety-fifth Illinois Infantry. The reason I did not get back to my old regiment was that my brother had just enlisted in the Ninety-fifth, and my brother and I enlisted and joined our regiment at Vicksburg. Nothing happened of any consequence until the spring of '64, then we started from Vicksburg and went on the famous Red river expedition. I will not go into the particulars of this trip, but some time in the near future I will write on that subject. However, I will give you a few points on the incidents of March 9th, 1864. The Ninety-fifth embarked on board a transfer at Vicksburg, and started for the mouth of Red river. Gen. Smith had command of our division and we proceeded up the river. The first place we took was Fort Russey. We captured that stronghold, with three thousand prisoners, arms and equipments. We then went on up the river. There was a good deal of skirmishing all the way. At Pleasant Hill occurred the hardest fought battle of the expedition. Then commenced the retreat to the Mississippi. We were under constant fire for nineteen days, and arrived at the mouth of Red river on the 21st day of May. This ended the expensive and fruitless attempt to reach the head waters of the Red river. On the 22d day of May the Ninety-fifth embarked at the mouth of the river and sailed up the Mississippi as far as Memphis, where we arrived the latter part of May. Now comes the hardest part of my experience as a soldier. I will give you my experience, also the experience of others as prisoners of war at Andersonville. Memoirs of Andersonville. CHAPTER I. It is said that we should forgive and forget; but the man who invented that saying never was in Andersonville prison. No, my readers, I purpose to tell you just as nearly as one man can tell another how the Union soldiers were treated at Andersonville. I shall begin by my capture, and then take you right along with me through the prison. About the first of June, 1864, we were ordered out from Memphis to fight the rebel General Forrest, then operating near Guntown, Miss. We met him near that place on the tenth day of June, and here occurred one of the most desperate battles I ever witnessed. A great many think to this day that we were sold out to the Johnnies; and I must say it looked very much like it, indeed. Our horses, our ambulances, and our wagons were run up to the front. The field lay in the form of a horse-shoe, with heavy timber and dense brushwood on all sides. The rebels were ambushed on three sides of our regiment; consequently they had a cross-fire on us. Our Colonel was killed in the first fire. I thought for awhile that the whole line of battle would fall. One after another of our captains fell, until all were dead or so badly wounded as to incapacitate them for duty. Finally one of our lieutenants took charge of the regiment. He had no sooner done so than he was shot through the foot. As he went hobbling off he gave the command to fall back. Well, now, you can bet that we did fall back, and in double-quick time, too. Now, right here occurred an incident that was laughable, notwithstanding the serious position we were all in. We had a large negro to do our cooking. For some reason or other he had got up toward the front. In his hand he held a camp-kettle, and when the Johnnies first fired he stood paralyzed with fear. Finally he got his right mind, and then you ought to have seen him run. He turned, and giving an unearthly yell, skipped across the battle-field. He did not let go of his kettle, and at every jump he yelled, "I'se going home!" We all gave leg-bail for security, and got across the field in a lively manner, I tell you. I made a straight line for a creek, and when I got there I saw a tree had fallen across it, and twelve of our men crossed on it. In the meantime the rebels had captured one of our guns, and turned it on our men who were crossing, and swept every man off into the creek. About this time I made a big jump and landed up to my cartridge box in the water. Again, another shot came booming along and cut a nice path through the canebrake. It did not take me long to take advantage of these paths made by the cannon, and get out of that. The first men that I met were of my own company. We formed a line and held the rebels in check until our cartridges gave out; then commenced one of the most shameful stampedes I ever witnessed. We set fire to the wagons that were near us, and retreated. By this time the sun was very nearly down, so we did not get far before dark. We traveled all night, and in the morning came to a little town called Ripley. Here we made a halt to allow the stragglers to catch up; and while waiting here the rebel cavalry got ahead of us. The little squad that I was with stood right in front of a large white house with a bay window in front. A woman stepped to the window with a revolver in her hand and fired into our crowd, killing one of our lieutenants. Some of our men still having their guns loaded turned, and without orders, fired and killed the woman. Just as we got to the town we found the rebel cavalry waiting for us. We formed and charged. The cavalry opened and let us through, we only losing three men. By this time I was getting tired. I told my brother I could stand it no longer. He told me to try to keep up, but I knew I could not go much further. About the middle of the afternoon we stopped to rest. We had been resting only a few minutes when bang! bang! went the rebel guns. My brother and I jumped to our feet, took hold of hands started down a steep hill. "Now," said I, "go on, for I cannot go any farther; I am played out. You go and try to get through to Memphis, and I will hide here and get away if I can." So he went on and I went down the hill and crawled under a large tree that had probably blown down. It was not five minutes before the Johnnies were jumping over the very tree I was under. While lying there I saw a big black negro jump up out of the brush with a navy revolver in his hand. He saw that the Johnnies were all around him, and that his only chance was to fight. So he jumped upon a large rock. The rebels told him to surrender, and at the same time began firing at him. The negro was plucky; he raised his revolver, took steady aim, and fired. He killed a Johnnie, and fetched three more before they fetched him. Having killed the poor fellow, they went up to him and ran their bayonets through him time and again. While this was going on you had better believe I was hugging the ground. I lay so flat and close that had I been a case-knife I could not have been much thinner. Well, I lay there until it was getting dark, then crawled from under the tree and went back up the hill. Right in the middle of the road I found a gun, which, upon examination, proved to be loaded. I bent my own gun around a tree, took up the loaded gun and left the road. I made up my mind that I would go about four miles south and then strike west; by doing this I was bound to strike the Mississippi somewhere south of Memphis. The country between Guntown and Memphis is all timber land. Well, I went stumbling over logs, tearing through briar-bushes, and finally struck a swamp. Yes, I struck it suddenly and unexpectedly. I struck my toe against a log and went head-foremost, casouse into the mud and water. I floundered around in there until I got completely covered with mud and filth. I finally got clear of the swamp and came to a densely wooded place upon ground a little higher. Here I curled up under a tree and went to sleep. The first thing I heard in the morning was the whip-poor-will. I saw by the light in the east that it was getting well on towards daylight. Knowing which direction was east, I knew that the opposite direction would take me to the Mississippi, and in that direction I took my course. I hadn't gone more than a mile when I struck one of our men. He belonged to the cavalry. As he came up to me I asked him which way he was going. He told me he was going to Memphis. "No," said I; "you are going directly east." After talking the matter over we started off together. We had not gone fifty yards when we heard the click of guns and "Halt! you Yanks; throw down your guns!" "Come up here!" "Give me that hat!" "Here, I want them boots!" I had a pocket knife and seven dollars and thirty cents in my pockets. My boots were new, and I had made up my mind to wear them if anybody wore them. So when I took them off, I stuck the point of my knife into the toe and ripped them up to the top of the leg. "Now you d----d Yank, I'll fix you for that." He dropped on his knee, took deliberate aim, and just as his finger pressed the trigger, the rebel captain raised the muzzle of his gun and it went off over my head. The captain said, "That man is a prisoner, and whatever you do don't shoot him." Well, the Johnnies did not want my boots then, but they took my pocket knife and money. I told them I had been in quite a number of battles, and seen a great many men captured, but that I had never known one of our men to take a single thing from them; that if their men were captured without blankets we gave them some. "Keep your damn mouth shut, or I'll plug you yet," said the Johnnie. So I kept it shut, you bet. The rebel Captain had his son with him, a boy about sixteen years old. He came up to me and said, "I'se sorry for you." Well, to tell the truth, I was a sorrowful looking object, covered with mud from head to foot, hungry, tired and in the hands of what I knew to be a cruel enemy. You will perhaps say that I was not much of a soldier when I tell you that I cried. I could not help it. The Captain's boy said, "Don't cry, and I will give you a piece of corn bread." I could not help laughing at the simplicity of the child, and it made me feel better. Well, they started us for the main road, and you can imagine my astonishment when we came at last to the road, and found that the rebels had 1,800 of our men prisoners. They then started us toward the battle ground. We marched till sundown and then went into camp. CHAPTER II. I thought about my brother, but was too tired and worn out to look him up, so lay down on the ground, without blanket or covering of any sort (for the rebels had taken everything and anything that they could make use of) and went to sleep, and I did not waken until I was aroused by the call to fall in. I had had nothing to eat since I left the battle-field, except the piece of corn bread the Captain's boy gave me, and this was the third day. I was so sore and stiff that it was hard for me to move, and in the march if I did not move fast enough, the Johnnies would prod me with their bayonets. We finally reached the battle-field, and when we got there, the rebels gave each of us a hard tack. Then they got us on a train of cars and started us for Meriden, Miss. Arriving at Meriden, we got off the cars for the evening. You can bet I was glad to stop. When we finally got fixed for what I supposed the evening, we were ordered to form in line, and then the Johnnies went through us again; and what they did not take the first time, they did not leave this time. When they got through with us I went and lay down. I will never forget how good it did feel to stretch out at full length on the ground and rest. The next morning one of our men asked the guard if he was going to get any rations. "Yes," he answered, "I will give you your rations, you d----d Yank," and deliberately shot the man dead on the spot. In a short time they took us down to the Tombigbee river. From there we went straight through to Andersonville. When we got within a short distance of that place, we smelt something rather strong. I asked one of the guards what it was. He said, "You will soon find out what it is," and you bet we did. We were, as I said before, in flat-cars. As we came up to the little station, we could look right over the stockade into the pen. The pen looked then as if it would hold no more. I looked back over the whole train, which carried 1800 men, and wondered how in the world we could all get in there. At this time there were only sixteen acres inclosed by the pen, and it contained about 35,000 men. I little thought that I would get out of Andersonville alive; and oh! how many that marched through the prison gates that day came out on the dead-cart! The stockade was in the form of a square, and made by placing logs in the ground and forming a fence eighteen feet high. Inside of the main fence was a line of posts set twelve feet from the stockade proper, and joined together with slats about as wide as the hand, thus forming a second fence four feet high which ran parallel to the stockade and all around the pen. This was the dead line. A prisoner that came anywhere near the line was shot by the guards. The guards had little sentry boxes built to the outside, and well up to the side of the stockade; were just high enough to allow the guard's head and shoulders to come above the stockade; these were reached from the outside by means of a ladder. They took us from the cars and marched us up before Captain Wirz's headquarters. We were formed into line and counted off; were divided into hundreds, and again into squads of twenty-five. A sergeant was appointed over each department. Captain Wirz came out in front of us and said: "You are a fine looking lot of men. I will fix so you will not want to fight any more." I will leave the readers to say whether he kept his word. The big gates were now swung back and we marched in. The old prisoners crowded around us and were eager to find out what was going on on the outside, and if there was any chance for an exchange. On the day of my capture I was a hard looking sight, but it was nothing to what I saw on first going into Andersonville. The ground was white with maggots, and as the men crowded up to me the smell was sickening. Some of the men had great sores on them that were full of maggots. They had lost all the spirit and energy that makes the man. They were filthy, and the lice could be seen crawling all over them. There were men with their feet, and others with their hands rotting off with the scurvy. Men were lying on all sides dying, while others were dead. Was this some horrible dream, or was it real? I asked myself. I could hardly believe my own eyes at first. Such a terrible sight but few men in the world have ever seen. I looked around for some place to sit down, but there was nothing but the ground, and even that was out of the question, we were so crowded. So thickly were we packed that I found it difficult to do anything but stand or move as the crowd moved. I felt my head grow light. Finally everything became dark, and I was gone. Yes, I had fainted. How long I lay there I do not know, but when I came to again it was night. It was some time before I could realize where I was, but the groans of my dying comrades brought me to my senses. The air had become chilly. I went a short distance and fell in with my crowd. We all lay down spoon-fashion. One could not turn unless we all turned. The man at the head of the rank would give the command "right spoon," or "left spoon," and then we would all turn together. The next morning I got up and looked upon one of the most horrible sights I ever saw. Within twenty yards of us three men had died during the night. Some of the men were engaged in carrying the dead to the gate entrance. I saw, without moving from the place where I slept, the bodies of fifty-three men that had died during the night. I brushed the maggots from my clothes, and walked down to the creek to wash. When I got there and had a good view of it, it was hard to tell whether it would make one clean or dirty. The rebel guard was camped above on the creek, and they made it a point, it seems, to throw all their filth into it, and at this time it was all the water we had to drink. I asked one of the prisoners if they ever gave the men soap. He laughed and wanted to know if he looked like a man that had ever seen soap. Just the looks of him would have convinced the most skeptical mind on that point. I went in, however, rubbed some dirty water on my face, and called it a wash. At 12 o'clock the wagon with the meal came in. When I saw them giving it out I thought we were about to get a good ration, but when they came to divide I found my share to consist of two-thirds of a pint. The meal had been ground with the cob, the same way in which farmers grind it for their hogs to-day. I drew mine in my two hands, for I had no dish to put it in. After two hours I got a tin pail from one of the prisoners; but then I had no wood to cook it with. One of the old prisoners came to my relief with a few shavings, and showed me how to use them. He dug a little hole in the ground and set fire to the shavings. After placing the shavings in the hole, he set the pail over the fire, stirred in the meal and made a mush of it. I did not get mine more than half done, but I tell you it was good. I had been without anything to eat for three days. I found that the old prisoners made but one meal a day of their rations. For my part it was hard to see how more could be made. After I had been there about two months, they began to prepare the mush outside and bring it in to us in barrels. Before going any farther I shall give a complete description of the stockade. When I went in first there were about sixteen acres enclosed. The gates were on the west side, one on each side of the creek, which ran from east to west through the middle of the pen. The land rose abruptly on each side of the creek, forming steep rills. About the center of the stockade was a regular quagmire, which covered about two acres, and this was one reason why we were so crowded. About this time the weather began to get very hot and the death-rate began to increase. The suffering among the prisoners was such as I hope never to witness again. The water was fearful, and we begged the rebels to give us tools to dig wells with. We dug wells all over the prison, but could get no water. About this time they enlarged the prison and took in eight more acres. I tell you it was great relief. In and around Andersonville was a forest of pitch pine, so in enlarging the stockade they enclosed part of this timber land which had been cleared, but then contained a great many stumps and roots, which were made use of for fire-wood. Still the well digging went on but no water was found. We were exposed to the heat of the sun during the day and at night suffered from cold, for we had no shelter or covering of any sort. Starved for want of food and water, hundreds died daily. For a long time our men had been trying to get up some plan to make their escape from prison. We had dug a number of tunnels, but old Wirz had always found us out. We finally concluded to start in one of our wells which we had dug about sixty feet without getting water. This well was about seventy-five feet from the stockade; so we went down about eighteen feet and commenced digging a tunnel in under the stockade. Night after night we worked and threw the dirt into the well until we filled it to the place started from. Then we handed the dirt up in part of a blanket, and carried it down and threw it in the mire. This all had to be done at night, for the rebel guards were on the watch, and the least thing that looked suspicious was investigated immediately. So we labored away, night after night, till we were sure we had passed the stockade and then commenced to dig up toward the surface. We finally got so near the surface that we could hear the rebels talk and walk; so we concluded to wait until some dark night, and then make the attempt. In three or four days we had our tunnel finished (I shall never forget it) it was a dark, rainy night, and we commenced dropping down into the well, one by one, until there were thirteen of us in the tunnel. I was the second. Having got to the end of the tunnel, we lay there and listened. All being still my comrade began to remove the soil. "Hark," he said, "the rebels are changing guard." We remained still for half an hour. Everything having become quiet, our leader stuck his head out of the hole. He crawled out, and I, being behind him, gave him a boost. The next man boosted me, and so on until we were all out except the last man. He was the largest man in the crowd, and in trying to get up through the hole got fast in some way. While we were trying to pull him out he hollered. I tell you there was a commotion among the Johnnies then. They commenced firing, and you could hear them running in every direction. The only thing we could do was to leave him take care of ourselves. Three of us staid together and made for the woods. Oh, how we did run! Every stump and bush we saw we thought a rebel. I said, "Boys, hold up; I can't stand this any longer." No wonder, for we were so starved that there was nothing left but skin and bones. Being in such a weak condition I was surprised that we had gone so far in so short a time. In a few minutes we struck a swamp, and started to wade along the edge. At the same time we could hear a fearful uproar back among the rebel guards. The noise got fainter and fainter, and at last ceased. It was so dark that you could scarcely see your hand in front of your face. Where the rest of the men were we didn't know. We kept along the edge of the swamp. Sometimes we were up to our knees in water, sometimes we were up to our armpits. We kept steadily on until daylight. Just about this time we heard the bloodhounds away off in our rear. We pushed on with increased vigor. The sounds came nearer and nearer. When it became broad daylight we could see, in the middle of a swamp, a small island. If we could only get to it, we thought we would be safe, for a time at least. The water was covered with slime, and full of all kinds of reptiles. The deadly water moccasin predominated. Our only chance was to get to the island; so in we went. We finally got to the island, and found it covered with a dense growth of laurel. We crawled up under the brush and lay down. We could easily see the side from which we came. In a few minutes two very large bloodhounds came out of the timber to the edge of the swamp. They stood as if undecided what to do, but finally set up a kind of howl peculiar to them when disappointed or off the scent. In a few minutes five rebels rode up. The head man turned to the others and said: "Them damned Yanks are over on that island." The other said, "If they are there I don't see how we will get them." One of the Rebs then yelled to us, "Hey, you Yanks, if you don't come over here I will send the dogs after you, and they will tear you to pieces." We lay perfectly still. Another of the Rebs said, "I know them Yanks are over there. Don't you see how the cane is parted where they waded or swam over?" "I tell you what," said another; "I will get astraddle of a log and take the dogs over there." As he was getting off his horse we heard firing in the distance and the howls of more dogs. The rebels mounted their horses and started for the place where the firing seemed to be. We then jumped up and went around on the other side of the island, where we found a small shanty that had been built by some runaway negro before the war. One of the men, who had been looking around, came running up and said that there was a dugout hidden in the brush. To get it into the water was the work of a minute. It was badly sun-cracked, and leaked, but held us all. Two of us pushed with sticks while the third baled her out with a gourd which we found in the boat. We pushed her along in this manner the rest of the day, and always managed to keep her under the over-hanging trees, where we would not likely be discovered. It was now getting dark, and the swamp was narrowing down and the banks were getting higher. It looked more like a river than a swamp. "Hark! what is that? Don't you think it is some one chopping?" "You bet it am. Pull in and we will see." We pulled in, and climbing out as carefully as I could so as not to make any noise, I stepped along from tree to tree until I got close up to the chopper. It was a negro chopping wood in front of a cabin. A large negro woman stood in the door, and said to him, "Now, Jake, if you want any supper you want to hurry up and chop dat wood." I looked around, and seeing no other house I stepped out and said, "Good evening." "Hello!" said Jake; "who is you?" "It don't make any difference who I am," said I; "but, Aunty, can I get anything to eat?" "Why, ob course you can, if dat blamed niggah ebber gets dat wood chopped." "Is there any white people around here, Aunty?" "No, honey; dere is no white folks within four miles of us. What's the matter, honey? Is you afraid of the white people?" "You bet I am. I've just got out of prison." "You has? Oh, good Lord! Is you a Yank?" "You bet I am." Jake then said, "Dat is just what dem sojers was huntin' to-day wid all dem dogs, down by de cane-brake. Dey said dey had catched four, and de dogs tore dem all to pieces." "Is you all alone, honey?" "No, ma'am; there are three of us." "Well, well! bress the Lord. Fetch 'em here." I then went back to where the boys were, and told them to pull the boat up and come on. When we got to the shanty, the old woman gave us one look, and clasping her hands in front of her, said, "Fo' de Lawd's sake; I never seed such hard looking men in my whole life!" No wonder. Each of us had on part of a shirt. Our pants were in rags. No shoes. No hat. And old Aunty was not much blacker. She gave us something to eat and then we went up into the loft, and lying down were soon asleep. We did not wake up until long after daylight. Hearing old Aunty bustling about I put my head down through the trap door to speak to her. Just then Jake came in and said: "I'se been all around and don't see nobody at all." The old woman then told us that we had better stay three or four days, and then Jake would guide us around the swamp, and by that time they would have given up their search for us. We concluded to accept the kind old Aunty's invitation, for we could not possibly find a more secluded spot if we looked a year for it. CHAPTER III. Jake was the old woman's son. Before the war they had been sent to the swamp to make cypress shingles, and had cleared an acre of ground and built the little cabin, living there ever since. They were very ignorant, but were true to the northern principles and the Union soldiers. Many was the time that our soldiers were taken in and cared for when they knew that death would be the penalty if they were found harboring Northern men. They were the friends of the Union soldier, and he knew he could put his life in their hands and be safe. Jake kept watch for us, but we did not venture out. We stayed in the loft most of the time. On the fourth day of our stay, just about noon, Jake came in very much excited. "Oh!" said he; "De sojers is coming! de sojers is coming! What is we to do?" "Shut up, you niggah," said old Aunty, "I will talk to dem sojers myself. You niggah, does you hear? You go and chop wood." Jake went to chopping wood. In a few minutes three Rebs rode up. "Hello! you nig. Seen any Yanks pass this way?" "Fo' the Lord's sake, massa! Is de Yanks got loose?" Old Aunty goes to the door and said: "Wot's de matter, massa?" "Have you seen any Yanks?" "Is dem Yanks got away? Fo' de Lord's sake; what will become of dis pore niggah? Dem Yanks will kill us all. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" "Shut up, you old black cuss, and if you see any Yanks send Jake over to his master's and let them know there. They will send word to us." "Now you just depend I will, massa." At this the Rebs rode off. Aunty had saved us. She said she never was so scared in all her born days, and Jake's eyes looked like saucers. I went down from the loft and told Aunty that we had better be going. "May the good Lord bress you, honey. I does hope dat you may get back to your own folks. I'se awful 'fraid you won't, 'caus I seed an old cullud woman to-day who say dat de kentry is jist full of sojers looking for dem Yanks wot's runned away from prison. I have baked some corn bread and bacon for you, and Jake will take you around de swamp." We started about 12 o'clock that night. Our Aunty came to the door, took each of us by the hand and said: "Good-bye, and may de good Lord bress you and keep you." We all thanked her for her kindness and started out into the night. Jake went ahead and we followed along the edge of the swamp till daylight, when we came onto the main road. "Now, massa," said Jake, "I'se gone as far as I can go with you. I hope you will git through all right, but if I was you I would lay down till night and then take de main road for de north." We shook hands all around with Jake and he was gone. We then went a mile from the road and went into a lot of brush and lay there all day. When it became dark we struck for the north. It was a beautiful starlight night, and the road stretched straight ahead of us as far as the eye could reach. We passed a number of plantation houses. While passing one in particular the dogs set up a terrible howling. A man stood in the middle of the road. He said: "Good evening. Who is yous?" "We are friends." "Youans look like Yanks." "Suppose we are. What of that?" "Well, I supposed you was. My master and a lot of soldiers are in the house now, and they have got seven dogs. They have been looking for youans all day. I hope you will get away but I'se afraid you will not, for the soldiers are all over the country looking for youans." We then asked him if he would guide us to the big swamp he told us of. He said he would go a piece with us, and he did go two or three miles, bringing us out near a large swamp. We traveled along the edge of this swamp until daybreak, finding ourselves on a large cotton field, when we made for the woods as fast as we could go. When we got to the timber I told the boys that I was played out, so we made for a big brush pile and crawling under the brush ate our breakfast. We then went to sleep and slept way into the next night. At daylight we again started north. We went through the woods and came out into a cornfield. Our bread and bacon had given out the night before and we were talking about something to eat, when Jesse said, "Hark!" We stopped and listened. Away off over the fields in the direction we had come we could hear the faint sound of the bloodhounds. We looked at each other for a moment and then started for the timber. When we got there each climbed a tree. We had been in the trees only five minutes when seven large and wonderfully ferocious bloodhounds cleared the fence and made straight for our trees. I will never forget what fearful beasts they were. The froth was coming from their mouths and their eyes shone like candles in the dark. They came right under the trees and looked up as much as to say, we have got you. They would back off a few yards and then come at the tree with a bound, snapping on the jump; then they would chew the bark of the trees. In half an hour the Rebs came riding up. One of them jumped off his horse and threw the fence down. Then they rode in. There were fifteen in all, and their captain was an old gray-headed man. They rode under our trees, pointed their guns at us and said: "Come down, you damned Yanks, or we will fill your carcasses full of cold lead." "Gentlemen," said I, "if you want to shoot, shoot; for I would rather be shot than chawed by them dogs." One of the Rebs spoke to the captain and said, "Let's make them Yanks come down and see how quick the dogs will get away with them." "No," replied the captain, "they look as though they had had trouble enough." Then they quarreled among themselves. Some wanted to let the dogs at us and others wanted to take us back to prison. Finally the captain came out ahead. They muzzled the dogs and tied them together. Then we surrendered. The captain lived only four miles from where we were captured. So they took us back to his house. We got there about 4 o'clock that afternoon. The old gentleman treated us kindly, giving us something to eat and also presented each with a quilt. We stopped here over night. We had been gone from Andersonville seven days and only got twenty-five miles away. The Rebs told us that the man who was caught in the hole had been shot where he stuck. All the others had been torn to pieces by the dogs except one and he had his arm torn off and died a few days later. We started next day for the prison. We traveled all day and camped that evening by the road. At noon the next day we got back to prison. Wirz told the guards they were d-- fools for bringing us back and told us we should be thankful to get back alive. After relieving us of our quilts the gates were opened and we were marched into Andersonville again. We had some praying men at Andersonville. They held nightly prayer meetings, and they prayed for water. They prayed like men that meant business, for we were all dying for the want of it. One day after one of these meetings there occurred one of the most fearful rains I ever saw. It washed the stockade as clean as a hound's tooth. Right between the dead line and the stockade it washed a ditch about two feet deep and a spring of cold water broke out in a stream large enough to fill a four-inch pipe. The spring is there yet, I am told, and to this day is called Providence spring. It broke out in the very best place it could for our benefit. The stockade protected it on one side from the rebels and the dead-line on the other side protected it from the prisoners. The fountain head was thus protected. We had good water from that on. As I said before the Johnnies brought in our mush in barrels. After it was distributed the prisoners would tip the barrels over and go in head first trying to get what was not scraped out. They fought like cats and dogs about who would get in first. All sense of manhood had left them. Starvation had made them little better than brutes. I had often tried to keep my mind off of anything to eat but it was impossible. I would dream at night that I was sitting up to a table loaded with good things, but would always wake up before I got them. About this time there was a band formed, probably the off-scourings of the city of New York. They called themselves the New York Bummers. They made up their minds to live, even if all the rest died of starvation. They were armed with clubs, and would take the mush away from the weaker ones. If the unfortunate ones were strong enough to resist they knocked them down at once; and even went so far as to kill several that refused to give up to them. We were unable to stand by and permit such outrages, for to a man who lost one ration there, it meant almost certain death. So the western prisoners pitched into these "New York Bummers" and had a regular free fight, the former coming out ahead. We then took six of the leaders, and, holding a drumhead court-martial, sentenced them to be hanged. We first sent a report through to Gen. Sherman, explaining the matter. He sent back word to string them up. The rebels furnished the necessary timber, we built a scaffold and hanged them. From that time on every man ate his own rations. There was one very large man, who was the the only fat man in the pen, among the six who were to be hanged. When they were swung off the big man broke his rope, and then you should have seen him jump to his feet, strike out right and left with his fists, and lay out fifteen or twenty men, and finally fight his way through the crowd to the creek, but the poor fellow got mired in the mud, and was captured and brought back. He looked up and saw the five swinging to and fro, and said, "I will soon be with you." Then they adjusted the rope around his neck and swung him off. Oh, how sad it makes me feel when I get to thinking of the poor fellows that had to die in that horrible slaughter pen. I speak that which I know and testify to that which I have seen and nothing more. I have seen men go to the privy and pick up beans after they had passed through a man, and eat them. I have seen men lying on the ground calling for mothers, sisters, and brothers. No one to soothe the aching brow or whisper words of comfort, but had to die alone in that dirt and filth. Capt. Wirz got it into his head that we had arms, and were going to make a break for liberty, and on the other hand we heard that the rebels intended to take some of us out to shoot, for the Yankees had been shooting the rebel prisoners, and the rebels were going to retaliate; so one day a rebel sergeant came in and commanded about one hundred of us to fall in to go for wood. You may depend we were not long in doing so, for if there was a happy time at Andersonville it was when we were let out to get wood. Why, dear readers, I cannot describe to you the happiness which I felt to get out of that prison pen for just one hour. We formed a line and marched out. After they had marched us about half a mile from the pen they formed us in a line, with one Reb in front of each Yank, then old Wirz gave the command to ready, aim. You may be sure my heart came up into my mouth, and for a fact I thought the rebels were going to retaliate; but instead of shooting they searched us, to see if we had any arms concealed. Finding nothing of the kind, they put us back into the prison. The next day the same sergeant came in and inquired for men by the names of Root and Tyler. Tyler being my name I knew it was me he was after, but having the retaliation in my head you may be sure I kept still; but one of our own men pointed me out. The Johnnie came up to me and said, "You are wanted outside;" and looking around he found Root, and told us both to follow him. Our comrades, supposing we were to be shot, escorted us to the gate and bade us good-bye for the last time, as they thought. The truth of the matter was we were taken out to help bury the dead. As far as I was concerned it did not make much difference to me what I did, for at that time I had the scurvy so bad I could have pulled most any tooth out with my fingers, while some of them fell out themselves. Well, we were taken before Wirz. "Now," said he, "if youans' wont run away you can stay out here and bury the dead." We took the oath, and were told to go to a small log cabin, where we found twenty of our men who had already been taken out for the same business. CHAPTER IV. It did seem nice to get into a house which contained a fire-place and a crane where the kettles hung. One of the men swung the crane out and hung a kettle of beans over the fire. You bet I looked on with interest. One of my comrades noticing me watching the cook said, "You had better be careful how you eat or you will kill yourself." That night I lay as near the fireplace as possible. The bubble of the bean pot was music in my ear. I kept quiet until I thought my comrades were asleep, then raising myself in a sitting posture, swung the crane back and took the pot of beans off. With much difficulty I succeeded in finding a spoon; I then sat as close to the kettle as possible, with one leg on each side of it, and went in for dear life. "Hold on, there," said one of my comrades, "do you want to kill yourself? I have been watching you all this time." For a truth I thought I was badly used. The next day the men concluded to leave me to take care of the cabin, being too weak to be of much service. The provisions were locked up in a big box, and the men went to work. I swept out the cabin and walked out to see what could be seen. Walking along I saw an old colored woman and her little boy, hanging out clothes. He was very dirty and ragged. He sat on the bank of the creek throwing crumbs from a good-sized piece of corn bread to the fish. I went up to him and snatched the bread from his hands. He jumped up and ran to his mother crying, "That man has got my bread." "Never mind, honey; that man must be hungry." The following day three more men were brought out to bury the dead. Our cook as usual hung up the kettle of beans to cook for breakfast. Some time in the night one of the new hands got up and helped himself to beans, and before twelve o'clock the next day he was a dead man. You may be sure I was more careful after that how I ate. The next day the men took me out to help bury the dead. Upon arriving at the place of burial I was yet so weak that I was of no service. So they set me to bringing water for the men to drink. The way the graves were dug was to dig a ditch six feet wide, about one hundred yards long, and three feet deep. They then laid them as close as possible, without box, coffin, or clothes, for the men inside stripped the dead as fast as they died. Most of the prisoners were destitute of clothes, but it looked hard to see from three to five hundred buried in one day without clothes on. The prisoners of Andersonville were dying at a terrible rate, especially those who had been longest in rebel hands. The rebels had deliberately planned the murder of the Union prisoners by the slow process of starvation and disease. It was at first slow but sure, and then it was sure and rapid. I have counted three hundred and sixty lifeless skeletons of our boys that had died in one day. You might walk around the prison any hour in the day and see men closing their eyes in death. Diarrhoea and scurvy appeared to be the most fatal diseases. None can know the horrors of scurvy except those who have had it. Sometimes the cords of the victim would be contracted and the limbs drawn up so that the patient could neither walk, stand, nor lie still. Sometimes it would be confined to the bones, and not make any appearance on the outside. At other times it would be confined to the mouth, and the gums would separate from the teeth and the teeth would drop out. I have seen hundreds of cases of this disease in Andersonville. I have seen many of our prisoners suffering with this disease, actually starving to death, because they could not eat the coarse corn meal furnished by the rebels for the Yankee prisoners. In the month of June it rained continually for twenty-one days, and it is not strange diseases multiplied and assumed every horrible form; there were thirty-five thousand prisoners during all the rainy time, without shelter, lying out in the storm, day and night. As I was going to the well for water, the third or fourth day of my stay outside, I met Wirz and two confederate officers. Wirz said, "What are you doing here?" I told him I was carrying water for the men who were digging graves. "Well," said he, "If you don't get inside of that gate, double quick, I will have a grave dug for you, and prepare you to fill it." You may be sure I went in, and was a prisoner inside again. About this time Mrs. Wirz took a great liking to one of our little drummer boys. She took him out and dressed him in a nice fitting suit of gray. The boy was only eleven years old, and very handsome. The little fellow put on his suit of gray, and Mrs. Wirz said, "How do you like your clothes?" "I do not like them at all," replied the boy. "Why, what is the matter?" "I do not like the color." Mrs. Wirz liked him all the better for the bold spirit he manifested. She then made him a suit of blue, and also a nice red cap, and thenceforth he went by the name of Red Cap. Red Cap would come in every day or two and tell us what was going on outside. He told us Mrs. Wirz quarreled with Wirz every day because he did not try to prepare some kind of a shelter for the prisoners. She wished him to let a few of us out at a time to cut timber to make our own shelter with. No, he would not do that. Finally Mrs. Wirz told him if he didn't do something for the relief of the prisoners, she would poison him; "For," said she, "I cannot sleep nights; my dreams are one continued nightmare, and I will stand it no longer." Mrs. Wirz was a true southerner, of the kind called creole; but for all that she had a great deal of humanity about her. She continued her threats and pleadings, but they were of no avail. She finally did give him a dose of poison. He had been threatened so much that when he did get it he knew what was the matter, and took something to counteract it. After that "Old Wirz" let us out oftener for wood. Dr. John C. Bates, who was a kind-hearted and humane rebel surgeon, testified as follows: "When I went there, there were twenty-five hundred sick in the hospital. I judge twenty-five thousand prisoners were crowded together in the stockade. Some had made holes and burrows in the earth. Those under the sheds in the hospital were doing comparatively well. I saw but little shelter excepting what the prisoners' ingenuity had devised. I found them suffering with scurvy, dropsy, diarrhoea, gangrene, pneumonia, and other diseases. When prisoners died they were laid in wagons head foremost to be carried off. Effluvia from the hospital was very offensive. If by accident my hands were affected, I would not go into the hospital without putting a plaster over the affected part. If persons whose systems were reduced by inanition should purchance stump a toe or scratch a hand, the next report to me was gangrene, so potent was the hospital gangrene. The prisoners were more thickly confined in the stockade than ants and bees. Dogs were kept for hunting the prisoners who escaped. Fifty per cent of those who died might have been saved. I feel safe in saying seventy-five per cent might have been saved, if the patients had been properly cared for. The effect of the treatment of prisoners was morally as well as physically injurious. Each lived but for himself, which I suppose was entirely superinduced by their starving condition. Seeing the condition of some of them, I remarked to my student, "I cannot resurrect them." I found persons lying dead among the living. Thinking they merely slept, I went to wake them up but found they were taking their everlasting sleep. This was in the hospital, and I judge it was worse in the stockade. There being no deadhouse I erected a tent for that purpose. But I soon found that a blanket or quilt had been cut off from the canvas, and as the material readily served for repairs, the deadhouse had to be abandoned. The daily ration was much less in September, October, November and December than it was from the first of January till the twenty-sixth of March, 1865. The men had never had ten ounces of food every twenty-four hours. The scurvy was next to rottenness. Some of the patients could not eat on account of the scurvy; their teeth were loose; they frequently asked me to give them something to eat which would not cause pain. While Doctor Stevenson was medical director he did not manifest any interest in the relief of their necessities; the rations were less than ten ounces in twenty-four hours; some men did actually starve to death on it. There was plenty of wood in the neighborhood, which might have been cut to answer all demands for shelter and fuel." This concluded the testimony of Dr. Bates, and considering that he lives in Georgia it need not be said that he testified reluctantly to the truth. Charles W. Reynolds, of Company B, Ninth Illinois Cavalry, writes his experience: "We reached Andersonville about 2 o'clock P. M. on the first day of April, 1864. We got off the cars in a timbered country with a dry sandy soil. About three quarters of a mile off we could see a large enclosure composed of timber set on end in the ground, with sentry boxes set along the top, and that was the Andersonville prison pen. The old Dutchman, as he was called, Captain Wirz, riding a white horse, came along and escorted us to the prison gate. Here he left us with the guards and himself went inside to learn what part of the prison to assign us to. While we were waiting outside of the prison gates a lot of Yankee prisoners came from the woods with arms full of fagots that they had been gathering for fuel. At first we thought they were a lot of negroes; but as they came nearer we saw that they were Yankee prisoners. They were as black as negroes, and such downcast, hopeless, haggard and woe-begone looking human beings I never saw before. They said they were glad to see us, but would to God it was under better circumstances. "After a while the prison gates were opened for us to pass through. As we entered a sight of horror met our eyes that almost froze our blood and made our hearts stop beating. Before us were skeleton forms that once had been stalwart men, covered with rags and filth and vermin, with hollow cheeks and glowing eyes. Some of the men in the heat and intensity of their feelings exclaimed, 'Is this hell?' Well might Wirz, the old fiend who presided over that rebel slaughtering pen, have written over its gates, 'Let him that enters here leave all hope behind.' It may be that some of the readers of this little book think there is a good deal of exaggeration, but I want to say right here that it is impossible to write or tell the horrors of Andersonville prison so that anybody can understand or realize them." It was getting along toward fall and the rebels told us there was going to be an exchange. Oh, how my heart did jump. Could it be possible that I was to get back to see my kind old mother, and my wife and little ones who had mourned for me as dead? If I could only write the feelings that overcame me I know you would feel happy for me. It, however, turned out to be false. We also heard that General Sherman was getting close to us and the rebels began to move us out of the way. The greatest portion was taken to Charleston, North Carolina. There were seven thousand of us left. In a few days they marched the rest of us out and shipped us to Savannah. We arrived there the next day, the hardest looking set of men you ever set eyes on. They marched us from the cars to a new stockade they had prepared for us. As we marched through the city the citizens gathered on each side of the street to see the Yankee prisoners pass. As we marched along some of the citizens said they felt sorry for us, others said we were treated too well. They finally got us to the gate and we were marched in. We were then in hearing of our own guns. This stockade consisted of about ten acres. But after all the citizens gave us more to eat than they did around Andersonville, for they sent in beef and other things that we never got at any other prison. We did not stay long at Savannah. They took us from there to Thomasville, one hundred miles south of Savannah. On our way from Savannah two of our men made their escape. The guards were stationed on top of the cars and the prisoners were inside. Two of our men made a desperate jump for liberty. We were going at the rate of twenty miles an hour when they made the jump. When they struck the ground they tumbled end over end. The guards blazed away at them. I could see the dirt flying all around them where the bullets struck, and we were gone, and so were they, and I found out since that they got through to our lines all right. When we arrived at Thomasville our guards marched us back in the woods about three miles. They did not have any stockade at this point, so in order to keep us from making our escape they had a ditch dug all around us. Four more of our men made a break for liberty at this place; three of them got away, the fourth was shot and died in two days afterwards. We stayed at Thomasville two weeks and then our guards marched across the country to a small town called Blacksheon. As we were marching through the country the colored people came out on the road to see the Yankees go by. We were in a deplorable condition, the larger part of the prisoners were almost destitute of clothes, and as we were forced to march along in the cold biting wind, there were a good many of the prisoners died on the road. Most of the men were without shoes. Their feet looked more like big pieces of bloody meat than like human feet. They could easily be tracked by their poor, bleeding feet. As I said before the colored people gathered on each side of the road to see the Yankees by. Seeing an old lady standing close by the road I spoke to her and said: "Aunty, what do you think of us, anyway?" "Well, mas'er, I'se very sorry for you." Well, to state the fact, the tears forced themselves to my eyes in spite of all I could do to hear one sympathizing word, even if it was from an old colored woman. When we first started from Thomasville one of the guards came up to me and said, 'Yank, I want you to carry this knap-sack. I told him I was not able to carry myself. "It don't make no difference to me whether you can carry yourself or not; but you will carry this knap-sack as far as you go, or I will blow your brains out." So I was forced to carry his knap-sack, which weighed about forty pounds. Some of the time I thought I would fall, but I managed to keep along until the first day noon, when we made a halt, and the rebel gave me a small piece of meat. "Now," said the Johnnie, "I have given you a good ration, and I hope you will carry my knap-sack without grumbling." We started on, but had not gone over five miles when I gave out. I could not go any farther; so down I went my full length on the road. "Get up, you d----d Yank, or I'll run you through with this bayonet." If he had done so it could not have made any difference with me, for I had fainted. A confederate officer made him take the knap-sack, and he put it on another prisoner. I staggered to my feet and went on and on. Oh, would this thing never end! But finally we did get through to Blackshire, more dead than alive. That was the terminus of the railroad that went through Andersonville. I was glad to get where I could rest. To lie down and stretch out at full length was more delightful than I can describe. Ah, would this thing never end, or was I doomed to die in rebel hands? I want to say right here that there were seventeen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-six deaths of Union prisoners at Andersonville. We went into camp about half a mile from the town. The next morning they marched us through town. The colored folks came from all sides to see the prisoners and their guards go by, all dressed in their holiday clothes, for this was the day before New Year's. One old colored woman had a piece of sugar-cane. She was some distance ahead, standing close to the road, watching us go by. Many of the guards made a grab for the piece of cane, but she avoided them every time. Just as I got opposite her she darted forward and handed me the cane. The rebel guard raised his gun and brought it down over the poor old woman's head, and she fell in the road like one dead. The last I saw of her, her colored friends were carrying her off. However, I heard the next morning that the woman had died during the night, of the blow she received from the rebel guard. You may be sure I was pleased to get the sugar-cane, and it was a great thing. The cane was very refreshing and nourishing, and I felt very grateful to the poor old colored woman who lost her life trying to give me something to eat. They marched us up to the cars. We were put in box-cars. Just as the guards had got us loaded a handsome lady came riding on horseback and began talking very earnestly to one of the confederate officers. Our guards told us she was pleading with the officer to make us a New Year's present. She finally got the officer's consent, and two large wagons drove up to the cars, and each prisoner got a good half pound of pork, and it was good pork, too. Oh, how thankful we did feel to that good lady for making us that nice present. It is a singular fact, that always during our despondent times there is sure to break through the black clouds a ray of bright sunshine. We lay in box cars all night, and next morning went through to Andersonville. We arrived there about ten o'clock the same day. On New Year's day, 1865, we were ordered out of the cars. It was a very unpleasant day. The wind was blowing cold from the north, and we huddled up close to keep warm. The rebels were all around us and had fires. We were not in the pen, but just outside. One of our little drummer boys stepped up to the fire to warm, when old Wirz came along and ordered him back. The boy started back, but seeing Wirz going away went back to the fire again. Wirz turned, and seeing the boy, drew his revolver and shot him dead. The little fellow fell in the fire. I could not hear what the rebel guards said to Wirz, for the wind was blowing the other way, but this I do know, he took their arms away and put them in irons. They then counted us off and opened the gates, and we marched in. We were prisoners in Andersonville once more. Well, I must say my hope of getting out was very small; for even if I had been permitted my liberty I could not have walked five miles. There were only about seven thousand of us, altogether; so you see we had plenty of room; in fact it looked almost deserted. I had been used to seeing it crowded. We had no shelter of any kind, so four of us clubbed together and dug a hole seven feet deep, and then widened it out at the bottom so as to accommodate four of us. It was all open at the top, but it kept the cold winds from us. It finally came my turn to go for wood. There were six of us picked out to go. One of the six was a very sickly man, and could hardly walk, without carrying a load. He could not be persuaded to let some stronger man take his place, so out we went, sick man and all. We went about half a mile from the pen, and every man went to work picking up his wood. Finally, we started for the stockade; but the sick man could not keep up; he had more wood than he could carry. We went as slow as our guards would let us, in order to give him a chance. Just then Wirz came riding along on his old white horse, and seeing the sick man some twenty yards behind, said, "Close up there, close up there, you d----d Yankee." The sick man tried to hurry up, but stubbed his toe and down he went, wood and all. Wirz sprang from his horse and ran up to the poor sick soldier and kicked him in the stomach with the heel of his big riding boot, and left him a dead man. "That is the way I serve you d----d Yanks when you don't do as I tell you." The rest of us went back to the prison pen, sick at heart. How was it our government left us there to die? We knew the rebels were anxious for an exchange, and we could not understand why our government would not make the exchange. I know this much about it, if our government had made the exchange the rebels would have had about forty thousand able-bodied men to put in the field, while on the other hand our government would have had that many to put in the hospital. The rebel sergeant came in every day and said, "All you men that will come out and join our army, we will give you good clothes and rations." There were a few that went out, but they went out simply to make their escape. As far as I was concerned, I would have died before I would have put on their gray uniform. We had no snow, but had cold and heavy rains. One night, just as the guard called out "Twelve o'clock and all is well," our hole in the ground caved in, and we had a terrible time struggling to get out; but we finally got out, and there we sat on the ground, that cold rain beating down on our poor naked bodies. When it did come daylight, we could hardly stand on our feet. One of my poor comrades died before noon, and another in the afternoon, from the effects of that cold storm; so there were only two of us left. In about a week from the time our place caved in we were taken out to get wood again. As our little squad marched out, about fifty yards from the stockade I saw a good sized log lying there. It was about eight feet long and two feet in diameter. I saw that the rebel guard was a kind looking old man, and asked him if he would be so kind as to help me get the log inside of the stockade. "Now," said he, "If youans won't try to run away, I will help you." I gave him the desired promise, and he laid down his gun and helped me to roll the log in. That was the second time I had received a kind act from one of the rebel guards. The other time was when the rebel Captain gave us three quilts. I got a couple of railroad spikes from one of my comrades, and split the log all up in small strips, and then we fixed our cave up with a good roof, and I must say it was really comfortable. CHAPTER V. One day, when the Rebs brought in our meal, an old prisoner managed to steal one of the meal sacks. He stole the sack to make him a shirt. He cut a hole in the bottom for his head, one in each side for his arms. It made the old gentleman quite a shirt. Wirz missed the sack, and refused to issue any more rations till the sack and man were found. He found the man and took him out, and put him in the stocks and left him there all night. In the morning when he went to let him out the man was dead. In the middle of February the guards told us they didn't think we would have to stay much longer, as the south was about played out. Could it be possible that we were about to get home again, or were they about to move us to another prison, and simply telling us this to keep us from running away? Finally we were ordered out and put on flat cars and sent through to Salem, Alabama. There we were ordered off the cars. As we stepped out on the platform a rebel citizen came up with a stove-pipe hat in his hand. He had it full of confederate money; and as we passed him he gave each one of us a bill. I got a fifty-dollar bill for mine and I traded it off to an old woman for a sweet potato pie, and thought I had made a big bargain at that. The guards marched us to a pen they had prepared for us. They opened the gates, and we marched in. Now you could see a big change in the guards and rebel officers. We were used better in every respect. That night the rebel band came up and serenaded us, and finally passed their instruments through to the Yankees, who played Yankee Doodle, Hail Columbia, the Star Spangled Banner, and a good many other pieces. Then they passed the instruments out, and the Johnnies played the Bonnie Blue Flag, and Dixie, and a good many more rebel pieces. The next morning they marched us out to the depot, and we got on to flat cars again, and were sent through to Jackson, Mississippi, where we were ordered off the cars and formed in line. The rebel officers said, "You will have to march on foot to Vicksburg," and we had to take an oath not to molest anything on our way. Then the guards were taken off, and only a few rebel officers sent to guide us through to Vicksburg. We were three days in marching through, if I remember right. Finally we came in sight of our flag, on the other side of Black river from us. What a shout went up from our men. I never shall forget it. It did seem as if I could fly. I was going home for sure; there was no doubt now. As we came up we found a good many ladies that had come down from the north to meet us. They brought us towels, soap, shears, razors, paper and envelopes, and even postage stamps, and our government had sent out new clothes, blankets and tents. Oh, this was a perfect heaven. We washed, cut our hair, and put on our new clothes. The clothing was not issued just as it should have been, but every man helped himself. I got one number seven and one number twelve shoe. By trading around a little, however, I got a pair of twelves; so I was solid. Then I looked around for my comrade, who had slept with me for the past six months, but could not find him. I saw a man standing close by me, laughing, but I did not know it was my comrade I had slept with, until he spoke to me. It is impossible for me to make you understand the immense change made in us. From dirt and filth and rags, we stepped out clean and well dressed. When I came through to our lines I weighed just one hundred pounds. My average weight is one hundred and ninety. Some of the men were worse off than I. You may be sure, my dear readers, I did feel thankful to God for my deliverance. I had a praying mother away up north, and do feel it was through her prayers, that I got through to our lines once more. We got some coffee and hard-tack, and pitched our tents about five miles in the rear of Vicksburg. Well, my dear readers, it did seem nice to go into camp in our own lines. I was almost rotten with the scurvy, and so weak that I could hardly walk, and my skin was drawn down over my bones, and it was of a dark blue color. Our men died off very rapidly for the first few days. Finally, our doctor had our rations cut down, and the men began to gain. My mind at this time was almost as badly shattered as my body, and didn't become sound till I had been home two years; and the fact of the matter is, I never have become sound in body. I have the scurvy yet; so bad at times that my family cannot sit up and eat at the same table with me; and as far as manual labor is concerned, I am not able to do any. The government allows me four dollars a month pension, which I am very thankful for. Our camp was on the west side of Black river. After we got in the rear of Vicksburg, we were put on what was called neutral ground, and the rebels had their officers over us. We were not exchanged, but our government made this bargain with the rebels: If they would send us through to our lines, our government would hold us as prisoners of war until they could come to some kind of an understanding. The fact was, the seven thousand that I came through with never were exchanged, but were discharged as prisoners of war. It has been now twenty-two years since the war, and there may be some things that are not correct, but you may depend that everything is as near true as I can remember, in my story. After we had drawn our clothes and tents and got our tents pitched, and drawn our rations, the first thing done was to write up to Belvidere, Illinois, to my wife and mother, to let them know that I was through to our lines. Oh, what rejoicing there was away up in my northern home. When they first got my letter my wife exclaimed, "Will is alive! Will is alive!" As I have said, ladies from all over the northern states brought to us books, papers, writing-paper and envelopes. So it seemed like a perfect paradise to what we had seen for a long time. Finally I got a letter from home. I cannot describe to you how happy I did feel to hear from my wife and little ones once more, and from my dear old mother. She wrote they were all well, and so anxious for me to come home. My brother who had left me on the side hill, had been captured, but made his escape. He had died shortly alter reaching our lines, and my other brother had died at Nashville hospital. So out of three brothers I was the only one likely to get home. Every time that we wanted to go outside of our camp we had to go to the rebel Colonel and get a pass. One morning I went up to headquarters to get a pass. I wanted to go down to Vicksburg, but could not find a rebel officer in camp. It was the day that Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. Our officers had let the rebel officers know it the moment they had received the news of the assassination. The rebel officers had made a general stampede during the night. They were afraid that when the prisoners of war heard of it they would want to retaliate. I do think that the rebel officers were wise in getting out of camp. When the news came that Abraham Lincoln was killed there was silence in the camp. Every man you met looked as though he had lost all the friends he ever had. It was days before the men acted like themselves again. We finally received orders to embark for St. Louis, and at the same time received news that the rebel armies were surrendering on all sides; so we were sure that the war was over. We marched down to Vicksburg to take a steamer for St. Louis. When we got on the levee we found only one boat ready to leave. Our officers then divided us up and put three thousand of us on board the "Henry Ames," and the balance had to wait for another boat. It was my luck to get on the first boat. I never will forget how happy I did feel when the big wheels began to revolve, and she made out into the broad Mississippi. I was on my way home, sweet home, where I would have a good bed, and sit up to the table and eat with my family once more. Oh, happy thought! It seemed to me as if the boat only crept along; I wanted to fly; I was sick of war and rumors of war; I did not want any more of it in mine. It was all the officers of the boat could do to keep their prisoners in subjection. They were running from one side of the boat to the other for every trifling thing they saw on the banks of the river. They were free men once more, and were going home; no wonder they were wild. We finally got to St. Louis. We were then marched up to Benton barracks. When we arrived there we heard that the other prisoners we had left at Vicksburg had embarked on board the steamer "Sultant," and when just off from Fort Pillow her boilers had exploded, and out of three thousand and five hundred prisoners only three hundred were saved. How hard it did seem for those poor men, after going through the hardships of Andersonville, and almost in sight of their homes, to have to die. I knew that my folks did not know which boat I was on, so I hastened to let them know. We staid in Camp Benton about three weeks and got paid for rations that we did not eat while prisoners of war, and three months' extra pay. My pay altogether amounted to seventy-six dollars. They then sent us across the Mississippi and we took the cars for Chicago. The citizens all through Illinois heard of our coming and out of every door and window we saw the welcome waves of handkerchiefs and flags; and they had tables set in the open air with everything good you could think of to eat upon them for the prisoners of war. We finally got to Chicago, and then there was a grand scattering of the prisoners. They went in all directions to their homes. From Chicago I went to Belvidere. My father, mother, wife and little ones live about four miles south of town. There were ten or twelve who belonged in and around Belvidere, and when we got off the train there was a large crowd of citizens there to meet us; and such a cheer as they set up I shall never forget. There was a carriage waiting to take me out home. As I came in sight of the old farm house the feelings that came over me I shall never forget. The carriage stopped; I got out and stepped to the gate; my old mother stood in the door; we gave one another a look and I was in her arms. "Oh, this is my son, who was lost and is found; who was dead and is alive again." And surely, if ever the fatted calf was killed it was killed for me. Then, oh, how good it did seem to have my wife and little ones around me once more; and sit up to the table and eat like a Christian. Now, my kind readers, I will bid you good-bye, and some time in the near future I will give you the remainder of my recollections of the war. THE END. 
41052	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. BOOKS BY KATHARINE HOLLAND BROWN PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS THE HALLOWELL PARTNERSHIP. 12mo net, $1.00 THE MESSENGER. 16mo net, .50 PHILIPPA AT HALCYON. Illustrated. 12mo $1.50 THE HALLOWELL PARTNERSHIP [Illustration: MARIAN COULD ONLY LIE BY THE FIRE AND TEASE EMPRESS AND FRET THE ENDLESS HOURS AWAY.] THE HALLOWELL PARTNERSHIP BY KATHARINE HOLLAND BROWN AUTHOR OF "PHILIPPA AT HALCYON," ETC. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1912 COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Published October, 1912 To THE HOUSE OF THE BROWN THRUSH The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of _The Youth's Companion_, in permitting this publication of "The Hallowell Partnership." ILLUSTRATIONS Marian could only lie by the fire and tease Empress and fret the endless hours away _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE On the edge of the opposite bank stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld 62 "Well, Captain Lathrop!" Commodore McCloskey's voice rang merciless and clear 138 Marian was on her knees by his chair, clasping his cold hands in her own 234 The Hallowell Partnership CHAPTER I WHEN SLOW-COACH GOT HIS FIGHTING CHANCE "Rod!" No answer. "Rod, what did that messenger boy bring? A special-delivery letter? Is it anything interesting?" Marian Hallowell pushed Empress from her knee and turned on her pillows to look at Roderick, her brother, who sat absorbed and silent at his desk. Roderick did not move. Only Empress cocked a topaz eye, and rubbed her orange-tawny head against Marian's chair. "Rod, why don't you answer me?" Marian's thin hands twitched. A sharp, fretted line deepened across her pretty, girlish forehead. It was not a pleasant line to see. And through her long, slow convalescence it had grown deeper every day. "_Roderick Hallowell!_" Roderick jumped. He turned his sober, kind face to her, then bent eagerly to the closely written letter in his hand. "Just a minute, Sis." "Oh, very well, Slow-Coach!" Marian lay back, with a resigned sniff. She pulled Empress up by her silver collar, and lay petting the big, satiny Persian, who purred like a happy windmill against her cheek. Her tired eyes wandered restlessly about the dim, high-ceiled old room. Of all the dreary lodgings on Beacon Hill, surely Roderick had picked out the most forlorn! Still, the old place was quiet and comfortable. And, as Roderick had remarked, his rooms were amazingly inexpensive. That had been an important point; especially since Marian's long, costly illness at college. That siege had been hard on Rod in many ways, she thought, with a mild twinge of self-reproach. In a way, those long weeks of suffering had come through her own fault. The college physician had warned her more than once that she was working and playing beyond her strength. Yet she felt extremely ill-used. "It wasn't nearly so bad, while I stayed in the infirmary at college." She sighed as she thought of her bright, airy room, the coming and going of the girls with their gay petting and sympathy, the roses and magazines and dainties. "But here, in this tiresome, lonely place! How can I expect to get well!" Here she lay, shut up in Rod's rooms, alone day after day, save for the vague, pottering kindnesses of Rod's vague old landlady. At night her brother would come home from his long day's work as cub draughtsman in the city engineer's office, too tired to talk. And Marian, forbidden by overstrained eyes to read, could only lie by the fire, and tease Empress, and fret the endless hours away. At last, with a deep breath, Rod laid down the letter. He pulled his chair beside her lounge. "Tired, Sis?" "Not very. What was your letter, Rod?" "I'll tell you pretty soon. Anything doing to-day?" "Isabel and Dorothy came in from Wellesley this morning, and brought me those lovely violets, and told me all about the Barn Swallows' masque dance last night. And the doctor came this afternoon." "H'm. What did he say?" Marian gloomed. "Just what he always says. 'No more study this year. Out-door life. Bread and milk and sleep.' Tiresome!" Roderick nodded. "Hard lines, Sister. And yet--" He dropped his sentence, and sat staring at the fire. "Rod! Are you never going to tell me what is in that letter?" "That letter? Oh, yes. Sure it won't tire you to talk business?" "Of course not." "Well, then--I have an offer of a new position. A splendid big one at that." "A new position? Truly?" Marian sat up, with brightening eyes. "Yes. But I'm not sure I can swing it." Rod's face clouded. "It demands a mighty competent engineer." "Well! Aren't you a competent engineer?" Marian gave his ear a mild tweak. "You're always underrating yourself, you old goose. Tell me about this. Quick." Rod's thoughtful face grew grave. "It's such a gorgeous chance that I can't half believe in it," he said, at length. "Through Professor Young, I'm offered an engineer's billet with the Breckenridge Engineering and Construction Company. The Breckenridge Company is the largest and the best-known firm of engineers in the United States. Breckenridge himself is a wonder. I'd rather work under him than under any man I ever heard of. The work is a huge drainage contract in western Illinois. One hundred dollars a month and all my expenses. It's a two-year job." "A two-year position, out West!" Marian's eyes shone. "The out-West part is dreadful, of course. But think of a hundred-dollar salary, after the sixty dollars that you have been drudging to earn ever since you left Tech! Read Professor Young's letter aloud; do." Roderick squirmed. "Oh, you don't want to hear it. It's nothing much." "Yes I do, too. Read it, I say. Or--give it to me. There!" There was a short, lively scuffle. However, Marian had captured the letter with the first deft snatch; and Roderick could hardly take it from her shaky, triumphant hands by main force. He gave way, grumbling. "Professor Young always says a lot of things he doesn't mean. He does it to brace a fellow up, that's all." "Very likely." Marian's eyes skimmed down the first page. "'--And as the company has asked me to recommend an engineer of whose work I can speak from first-hand knowledge, I have taken pleasure in referring them to you. To be sure, you have had no experience in drainage work. But from what I recall of your record at Tech, your fundamental training leaves nothing to be desired. When it comes to handling the mass of rough-and-ready labor that the contract employs, I am confident that your father's son will show the needed judgment and authority. It is a splendid undertaking, this reclamation of waste land. It is heavy, responsible work, but it is a man's work, straight through; and there is enough of chance in it to make it a man's game, as well. If you can make good at this difficult opportunity, you will prove that you can make good at any piece of drainage engineering that comes your way. This is your fighting chance at success. And I expect to see you equal to its heaviest demands. Good luck to you!' "That sounds just like Professor Young. And he means it. Every word." Marian folded the letter carefully and gave it back to her brother. "Honestly, Rod, it does sound too good to be true. And think, what a frabjous time you can have during your vacations! You can run over to the Ozarks for your week-ends, and visit the Moores on their big fruit ranch, and go mountain-climbing--" Roderick chortled. "The Ozarks would be a trifling week-end jaunt of three hundred miles, old lady. Didn't they teach you geography at Wellesley? As to mountains, that country is mostly pee-rary and swamp. That's why this contract will be a two-year job, and a stiff job at that." "What does district drainage work mean, anyway?" "In district drainage, a lot of farmers and land-owners unite to form what is called, in law, a drainage district. A sort of mutual benefit association, you might call it. Then they tax themselves, and hire engineers and contractors to dig a huge system of ditches, and to build levees and dikes, to guard their fields against high water. You see, an Illinois farmer may own a thousand acres of the richest alluvial land. But if half that land is swamp, and the other half lies so low that the creeks near by may overflow and ruin his crops any day, then his thousand mellow acres aren't much more use than ten acres of hard-scrabble here in New England. To be sure, he can cut his own ditches, and build his own levee, without consulting his neighbors. But the best way is for the whole country-side to unite and do the work on a royal scale." "How do they go about digging those ditches? Where can they find laboring men to do the work, away out in the country?" "Why, you can't dig a forty-foot district canal by hand, Sis! That would be a thousand-year job. First, the district calls in an experienced engineer to look over the ground and make plans and estimates. Next, it employs a drainage contractor; say, the Breckenridge firm. This firm puts in three or four huge steam dredge-boats, a squad of dump-carts and scrapers, an army of laborers, and a staff of engineers--including your eminent C. E. brother--to oversee the work. The dredges begin by digging a series of canals; one enormous one, called the main ditch, which runs the length of the district and empties into some large body of water; in this case, the Illinois River. Radiating from this big ditch, they cut a whole family of little ditches, called laterals. The main ditch is to carry off the bulk of water in case of freshets; while the laterals drain the individual farms." "It sounds like slow, costly work." "It is. And you've heard only half of it, so far. Then, following the dredges, come the laborers, with their teams and shovels and dump-carts. Along the banks of the ditch they build low brush-and-stone-work walls and fill them in with earth. These walls make a levee. So, even if the floods come, and your ditch runs bank-full, the levee will hold back the water and save the crops from ruin. Do you see?" "Ye-es. But it sounds rather tangled, Rod." "It isn't tangled at all. Look." Rod's pencil raced across the envelope. "Here's a rough outline of this very contract. This squirmy line is Willow Creek. It is a broad, deep stream, and it runs for thirty crooked miles through the district, with swampy shores all the way. A dozen smaller creeks feed into it. They're swampy, too. So you can see how much good rich farm-land is being kept idle. "This straight line is the main ditch, as planned. It will cut straight through the creek course, as the crow flies. Do you see, that means we'll make a new channel for the whole stream? A straight, deep channel, too, not more than ten miles long, instead of the thirty twisted, wasteful miles of the old channel. The short lines at right angles to the main ditch represent the little ditches, or laterals. They'll carry off surplus water from the farm-lands: even from those that lie back from the creek, well out of harm's way." [Illustration] "What will your work be, Rod?" "I'll probably be given a night shift to boss. That is--if I take the job at all. The laborers are divided into two shifts, eleven hours each. The dredges have big search-lights, and puff along by night, regardless." "How will you live?" "We engineers will be allotted a house-boat to ourselves, and we'll mess together. The laborers live on a big boat called the quarter-boat. The firm furnishes food and bunks, tools, stationery, everything, even to overalls and quinine." "Quinine?" "Yes. Those Illinois swamps are chock-full of chills and fever." "Cheerful prospect! What if you get sick, Rod?" "Pooh. I never had a sick day in all my life. However, the farm-houses, up on higher ground, are out of the malaria belt. If I get so Miss Nancy-fied that I can't stay in the swamp, I can sleep at a farm-house. They say there are lots of pleasant people living down through that section. It is a beautiful country, too. I--I'd like it immensely, I imagine." "Of course you will. But what makes you speak so queerly, Rod? You're certainly going to accept this splendid chance!" Rod's dark, sober face settled into unflinching lines. "We'll settle that later. What about you, Sis? If I go West, where will you go? How will you manage without me?" "Oh, I'll go up to Ipswich for the summer. Just as I always do." Rod considered. "That won't answer, Marian. Now that the Comstocks have moved away, there is nobody there to look after you. And you'd be lonely, too." "Well, then, I can go to Dublin. Cousin Evelyn will give me a corner in her cottage." "But Cousin Evelyn sails for Norway in June." "Dear me, I forgot! Then I'll visit some of the girls. Isabel was teasing me this morning to come to their place at Beverly Farms for August. Though--I don't know----" Rod's serious young eyes met hers. A slow red mounted to his thatched black hair. "I don't believe that would work, Sis. I hate to spoil your fun. But--we can't afford that sort of thing, dear." "I suppose not. To spend a month with Isabel and her mother, in that Tudor palace of theirs, full of man-servants, and maid-servants, and regiments of guests, and flocks and herds of automobiles, would cost me more, in new clothes alone, than the whole summer at Ipswich. But, Rod, where can I stay? I'd go cheerfully and camp on my relatives, only we haven't a relative in the world, except Cousin Evelyn. Besides, I--I don't see how I can ever stand it, anyway!" Her fretted voice broke, quivering. Mindful of Rod's boyish hatred of sentiment, she gulped back the sob in her throat; but her weak hand clutched his sleeve. "There are only the two of us, Rod, and we've never been separated in all our lives. Not even for a single week. I--I can't let you go away out there and leave me behind." Now, on nine occasions out of ten, Slow-Coach was Rod's fitting title. This was the tenth time. He stooped over Marian, his black eyes flashing. His big hand caught her trembling fingers tight. "That will just do, Sis. Stop your forebodings, you precious old 'fraid-cat. I'm going to pack you up and take you right straight along." "Why, Roderick Thayer Hallowell!" Marian gasped. She stared up at her brother, wide-eyed. "Why, I couldn't possibly go with you. It's absurd. I daren't even think of it." "Why not?" "Well, it's such a queer, wild place. And it is so horribly far away. And I'm not strong enough for roughing it." "Nonsense. Illinois isn't a frontier. It's only two days' travel from Boston. As for roughing it, think of the Vermont farm-houses where we've stayed on fishing trips. Remember the smothery feather-beds, and the ice-cold pickled beets and pie for breakfast? Darkest Illinois can't be worse than that." "N-no, I should hope not. But it will be so tedious and dull!" "Didn't the doctor order you to spend a dull summer? Didn't he prescribe bread and milk and sleep?" "Rod, I won't go. I can't. I'd be perfectly miserable. There, now!" Roderick gave her a long, grave look. "Then I may as well write and decline the Breckenridge offer, Sis. For I'll take you with me, or else stay here with you. That's all." "Rod, you're so contrary!" Marian's lips quivered. "You must go West. I won't have you stay here and drudge forever at office work. You must not throw away this splendid chance. It isn't possible!" "It isn't possible for me to do anything else, Sis." Roderick's stolid face settled into granite lines. Marian started at the new ring of authority in his voice. "Haven't you just said that you couldn't stand it to be left behind? Well, I--I'm in the same boat. I can't go off and leave you, Sis. I won't run the chances of your being sick, or lonely, while I'm a thousand miles away. So you'll have to decide for us both. Either you go with me, or else I stay here and drudge forever, as you call it. For I'd rather drudge forever than face that separation. That's all. Run along to bed now, that's a good girl. You'll need plenty of sleep if you are to start for Illinois with me next week. Good-night." "Well, but Rod----" "Run along, I say. Take Empress with you. I want to answer this letter, and she keeps purring like a buzz-saw, and sharpening her claws on my shoes, till I can't think straight." "But, Rod, you don't understand!" Marian caught his arm. Her eyes brimmed with angry tears. "I don't _want_ to go West. I'll hate it. I know I shall. I want to stay here, where I can be with my friends, where I can have a little fun. It's not fair to make me go with you!" "Oh, I understand, all right." Roderick's eyes darkened. "You will not like the West. You'll not be contented. I know that. But, remember, I'm taking this job for both of us, Sis. We're partners, you know. I wish you could realize that." His voice grew a little wistful. "If you'd be willing to play up----" "Oh, I'll play up, of course." Marian put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a pettish kiss. "And I'll go West with you. Though I'd rather go to Moscow or the Sahara. Come, Empress! Good-night, Rod." The door closed behind her quick, impatient step. Roderick sat down at his desk and opened his portfolio. He did not begin to write at once. Instead, he sat staring at the letter in his hand. He was a slow, plodding boy; he was not given to dreaming; but to-night, as he sat there, his sober young face lighted with eager fire. Certain phrases of that magical letter seemed to float and gleam before his eyes. --"'A splendid undertaking ... heavy, responsible work, but a man's work, and a man's game.... This is your fighting chance. If you can make good.... And I expect to see you equal to its heaviest demands.'" Rod's deep eyes kindled slowly. "I'll make good, all right," he muttered. His strong hand clinched on the folded sheet. "It's my fighting chance. And if I can't win out, with such an opportunity as this one--then I'll take my name off the _Engineering Record_ roster and buy me a pick and a shovel!" CHAPTER II TRAVELLERS THREE "Ready, Marian? The Limited starts in thirty minutes. We haven't a minute to spare." "Y-yes." Marian caught up her handbag and hurried into the cab. "Only my trunk keys--I'm not sure----" "Your trunk keys! You haven't lost them, of all things!" "No. Here they are, safe in my bag. But Empress has been so frenzied I haven't known which way to turn." Poor insulted Empress, squirming madly in a wicker basket, glared at Rod, and lifted a wild, despairing yowl. "You don't propose to leave Mount Vernon Street for the wilds of Illinois without a struggle, do you, Empress?" chuckled Rod. "Never you mind. You'll forget your blue silk cushion and your minced steak and cream, and you'll be chasing plebeian chipmunks in a week. Look at the river, Marian. You won't see it again in a long while." Marian followed his glance. It was a silver hoar-frost morning. The sky shone a cloudless blue, the cold, delicious air sparkled, diamond-clear. Straight down Mount Vernon Street the exquisite little panel of the frozen Charles gleamed like a vista of fairyland. Marian stared at it a little wistfully. "It will all be very different out West, I suppose. I wonder if any Western river can be half as lovely," she pondered. Roderick did not answer. A sudden worried question stirred in his thought. Yes, the West would be "different." Very different. "Maybe I've done the worst possible thing in dragging Marian along," he thought. "But it's too late to turn back now. I can only hope that she can stand the change, and that she'll try to be patient and contented." Marian, on her part, was in high spirits. She had been shut up for so long that to find herself free, and starting on this trip to a new country, delighted her beyond bounds. At South Station, a crowd of her Wellesley chums stormed down upon her, in what Rod described later as a mass-play, laden with roses and chocolates and gay, loving farewells. Marian tore herself from their hands, half-laughing, half-crying with happy excitement. "Oh, Rod, I know we're going to have the grandest trip, and the most beautiful good fortunes that ever were!" she cried, as he put her carefully aboard the train. "But you aren't one bit enthusiastic. You stodgy tortoise, why can't you be pleased, too?" "I'm only too glad if you like the prospect, Sis," he answered soberly. Marian's spirits soared even higher as the hours passed. Roderick grew as rapt as she when the train whirled through the winter glory of the Berkshires. Every slope rose folded in dazzling snow. Every tree, through mile on mile of forest, blazed in rainbow coats of icy mail. The wide rolling New York country was scarcely less beautiful. At Buffalo, the next morning, a special pleasure awaited them. A party of friends met them with a huge touring car, and carried them on a flying trip to the ice-bridge at Niagara Falls. To Marian, every minute spelled enchantment. She forgot her dizzy head and her aching bones, and fairly exulted in the wild splendor of the blue ice-walled cataract. Roderick, on his part, was so absorbed by the marvellous engineering system of the great power-plant that for once he had no eyes nor thought for his sister, nor for any other matter. Their wonderful day closed with an elaborate dinner-party, given in their honor. Neither Marian nor Rod had ever been guests at so grand an affair. As they dashed to their train in their host's beautiful limousine, Marian looked up from her bouquet of violets and orchids with laughing eyes. "If this is the West, Rod, I really think it will suit me very well!" Rod's mouth twisted into a rueful grin. "Glad you enjoy it, Sis. Gloat over your luxury while you may. You'll find yourself swept out of the limousine zone all too soon. By this time next week you'll be thankful for a spring wagon." By the next morning, Marian's spirits began to flag. All day they travelled in fog and rain, down through a flat, dun country. Not a gleam of snow lightened those desolate, muddy plains. There seemed no end to that sodden prairie, that gray mist-blotted sky. Marian grew more lonely and unhappy with every hour. She struggled to be good-humored for Roderick's sake. But she grew terribly tired; and it was a very white-faced girl who clung to Roderick's arm as their train rolled into the great, clanging terminal at Saint Louis. Roderick hurried her to a hotel. It seemed to her that she had scarcely dropped asleep before Rod's voice sounded at the door. "Sorry, Sis, but we'll have to start right away. It's nearly eight o'clock." "Oh, Rod, I'm so tired! Please let's take a later train." "There isn't any later train, dear. There isn't any train at all. We're going up-river on a little steamer that is towing a barge-load of coal to our camp. That's the only way to reach the place. There is no railroad anywhere near. There won't be another steamer going up for days. It's a shame to haul you out, but it can't be helped." An hour later, they picked their way down the wet, slippery stones of the levee to where the _Lucy Lee_, a tiny flat-bottomed "stern-wheeler," puffed and snorted, awaiting them. As they crossed the gang-plank, the pilot rang the big warning bell. Immediately their little craft nosed its way shivering along the ranks of moored packets, and rocked out into mid-channel. Marian peered back, but she could see nothing of the city. A thick icy fog hung everywhere, shrouding even the tall warehouses at the river's edge, and drifting in great, gray clouds over the bridges. "The river is still thick with floating ice," said the captain, at her elbow. "The _Lucy_ is the first steam-boat to dare her luck, trying to go up-stream, since the up-river ice gorge let go. But we'll make it all right. It's a pretty chancy trip, yet it's not as dangerous as you'd think." Marian twinkled. "It looks chancy enough to me," she confessed. She looked out at the broad, turbid stream. Here and there a black patch marked a drifting ice cake, covered with brush, swept down from some flooded woodland. Through the mist she caught glimpses of high, muddy banks, a group of sooty factories, a gray, murky sky. "I don't see much charm to the Mississippi, Rod. Is this all there is to it? Just yellow, tumbling water, and mud, and fog?" "It isn't a beautiful stream, that's a fact," admitted Rod. Yet his eyes sparkled. He was growing more flushed and alert with every turn of the wheels that brought him nearer to his coveted work, his man's game. "This is too raw and cold for you, Marian. Come into the cabin, and I'll fix you all snug by the fire." "The cabin is so stuffy and horrid," fretted Marian. Yet she added, "But it's the cunningest place I ever dreamed of. It's like a miniature museum." "A museum? A junk-shop, I'd call it," Rod chuckled, as he settled her into the big red-cushioned rocker, before the roaring cannon stove. The tight little room was crowded with solemn black-walnut cabinets, full of shells and arrowheads, and hung thick with quaint, high-colored old pictures. Languishing ladies in chignons and crinoline gazed upon lordly gentlemen in tall stocks and gorgeous waistcoats; "Summer Prospects," in vivid chromos fronted "Snow Scenes," made realistic with much powdered isinglass. Crowning all, rose a tall, cupid-wreathed gilt mirror, surmounted by a stern stuffed eagle, who glared down fiercely from two yellow glass eyes. His mighty wings spread above the mirror, a bit moth-eaten, but still terrifying. "Look, Empress. Don't you want to catch that nice birdie?" Poor bewildered Empress glared at the big bird, and sidled, back erect, wrathfully sissing, under a chair. Travel had no charms for Empress. "Will you look at that old yellowed pilot's map and certificate in the acorn frame? '1857!'" chuckled Rod. "And the red-and-blue worsted motto hung above it: 'Home, Sweet Home!' I'll wager Grandma Noah did that worsted-work." "Not Grandma Noah, but Grandma McCloskey," laughed the captain. "She was the nicest old lady you ever laid eyes on. She used to live on the boat and cook for us, till the rheumatism forced her to live ashore. Her husband is old Commodore McCloskey; so everybody calls him. He has been a pilot on the Mississippi ever since the day he got that certificate, yonder. He's a character, mind that. He shot that eagle in '58, and he has carried it around with him ever since, to every steamer that he has piloted. You must go up to the pilot-house after a bit and make him a visit. He's worth knowing." "I think I'd like to go up to the pilot-house right away, Rod. It is so close and hot down here." Obediently Rod gathered up her rugs and cushions. Carefully he and the captain helped her up the swaying corkscrew stairs, across the dizzy, rain-swept hurricane deck, then up the still narrower, more twisty flight that ended at the door of the high glass-walled box, perched like a bird-cage, away forward. Inside that box stood a large wooden wheel, and a small, twinkling, white-bearded old gentleman, who looked for all the world like a Santa Claus masquerading in yellow oilskins. "Ask him real pretty," cautioned the captain. "He thinks he runs this boat, and everybody aboard her. He does, too, for a fact." With much ceremony Roderick rapped at the glass door, and asked permission for his sister to enter. With grand aplomb the little old gentleman rose from his wheel and ushered her up the steps. "'Tis for fifty-four years that I and me pilot-house have been honored by the ladies' visits," quoth he, with a stately bow. "Ye'll sit here, behind the wheel, and watch me swing herself up the river? Sure, 'tis a ticklish voyage, wid the river so full of floatin' ice. I shall be glad of yer gracious presence, ma'am. It will bring me good luck in me steerin'." Marian's eyes danced. She fitted herself neatly into the cushioned bench against the wall. The pilot-house was a bird-cage, indeed, hardly eight feet square. The great wheel, swinging in its high frame, took up a third of the space; a huge cast-iron stove filled one corner. For the rest, Marian felt as if she had stepped inside one of the curio-cabinets in the cabin below; for every inch of wall space in the bird-cage was festooned with mementoes of every sort. A string of beautiful wampum, all polished elks' teeth and uncut green turquoise; shell baskets, and strings of buckeyes; a four-foot diamond-back rattlesnake's skin, beautiful and uncanny, the bunch of five rattles tied to the tail. Close beside the glittering skin hung even an odder treasure-trove: a small white kid glove, quaintly embroidered in faded pink-and-blue forget-me-nots. "Great-Aunt Emily had some embroidered gloves like that in her trousseau," thought Marian. "I do wonder----" "Ye're lookin' at me keepsakes?" The pilot sighted up-stream, then turned, beaming. "Maybe it will pass the time like for me to tell ye of them. There is not one but stands for an adventure. That wampum was given to me by Chief Ogalalla; a famous Sioux warrior, he was. 'Twas back in sixty-wan, and the string was the worth of two ponies in thim days. Three of me mates an' meself was prospectin' down in western Nebraska. There came a great blizzard, and Chief Ogalalla and three of his men rode up to our camp, and we took them in for the night." "And he gave you the wampum in payment?" "Payment? Never! A man never paid for food nor shelter on the plains. No more than for the air he breathed. 'Twas gratitude. For Chief Ogalalla had a ragin' toothache, and I cured it for him. Made him a poultice of red pepper." "Mercy! I should think that would hurt worse than any toothache!" "Maybe it did, ma'am. But at least it disthracted his attention from the tooth itself. That rattlesnake, I kilt in a swamp near Vicksburg. Me and me wife was young then, and we'd borrowed a skiff, an' rowed out to hunt pond-lilies. Mary would go in the bog, walkin' on the big tufts of rushes. Her little feet were that light she didn't sink at all. But the first thing I heard she gave a little squeal, an' there she stood, perched on a tuft, and not three feet away, curled up on a log, was that great shinin' serpent. Just rockin' himself easy, he was, makin' ready to strike. An' strike he would. Only"--the small twinkling face grew grim--"only I struck first." Marian shivered. "And the little white glove?" The old pilot beamed. "Sure, I hoped ye'd notice that, miss. That glove points to the proud day f'r me! It was the summer of '60. I was pilotin' the _Annie Kilburn_, a grand large packet, down to Saint Louis. We had a wonderful party aboard her. 'Twas just the beginnin' of war times, an' 'twould be like readin' a history book aloud to tell ye their names. Did ever ye hear of the Little Giant?" "Of Stephen A. Douglas, the famous orator? Why, yes, to be sure. Was he aboard?" "Yes. A fine, pleasant-spoke gentleman he was, too. But 'tis not the Little Giant that this story is about. 'Twas his wife. Ye've heard of her, sure? Ah, but I wish you could have seen her when she came trippin' up the steps of me pilot-house and passed the time of day with me, so sweet and friendly. Afterward they told me what a great lady she was. Though I could see that for meself, she was that gentle, and her voice so quiet and low, and her look so sweet and kind. I was showin' her about, an' feelin' terrible proud, an' fussy, an' excited. I was a young felly then, and it took no more than her word an' her smile to turn me foolish head. An' I was showin' her how to handle the wheel, and by some mischance, didn't I catch me blunderin' hand in the frame, an' give it a wrench that near broke every bone! I couldn't leave the wheel till the first mate should come to take me place. And Madame Douglas was that distressed, you'd think it was her own hand that she was grievin' over. She would tear her lace handkerchief into strips, and bind up the cut, and then what does she do but take her white glove, an' twist it round the fingers, so's to keep them from the air, till I could find time to bandage them. I said not a word. But the minute her silks an' laces went trailin' down the hurricane ladder, I jerked off that glove an' folded it in my wallet. An' there it stayed till I could have that frame made for it. And in that frame I've carried it ever since, all these long years. "Those were the grand days, sure," he added, wistfully. "Before the war, we pilots were the lords of the river. I had me a pair of varnished boots, an' tight striped trousers, an' a grand shiny stove-pipe hat, an' I wouldn't have called the king me uncle. It's sad times for the river, nowadays." He looked away up the broad, tumbling yellow stream. "Look at her, will ye! No river at all, she is, wid her roily yellow water, an' her poor miry banks, an' her bluffs, all washed away to shiftin' sand. But wasn't she the grand stream entirely, before the war!" Marian looked at the framed river-chart above the wheel. She tried to read its puzzle of tangled lines. The old man sniffed. "Don't waste yer time wid that gimcrack, miss. Steer by it? Never!" He shrugged his shoulders loftily. "It hangs there by government request, so I tolerate it to please the Department. I know this river by heart, every inch. I could steer this boat from Natchez to Saint Paul wid me eyes shut, the blackest night that ever blew!" Marian dimpled at his majestic tone. "Will you show me how to steer? I've always been curious as to how it is done." "Certain I will." Keenly interested, Marian gripped the handholds, and turned the heavy wheel back and forth as he directed. Suddenly her grasp loosened. Down the stream, straight toward the boat, drifted a rolling black mass. "Mercy, what is that? It looks like a whole forest of logs. It's rolling right toward us!" "Ye're right. 'Tis a raft that's broke adrift. But we have time to dodge, be sure. Watch now." His right hand grasped the wheel. His left seized the bell-cord. Three sharp toots signalled the engine-room for full head of steam. Instantly the _Lucy_ jarred under Marian's feet with the sudden heavy force of doubled power. Slowly the steam-boat swung out of her course, in a long westward curve. Past her, the nearest logs not fifty feet away, the great, grinding mass of tree-trunks rolled and tumbled by, sweeping on toward the Gulf. "'Tis handy that we met those gintlemen by daylight," remarked the pilot, cheerfully. "For one log alone would foul our paddle-wheels and give us a bad shaking up. And should all that Donnybrook Fair come stormin' into us by night, we'd go to the bottom before ye could say Jack Robinson." Marian's eyes narrowed. She stared at the dusk stormy yellow river, the blank inhospitable shores. She was not by any means a coward. But she could not resist asking one question. "Do we go on up-river after nightfall? Or do we stop at some landing?" "There's no landing between here and Grafton, at the mouth of the Illinois River. We'll have to tie up along shore, I'm thinkin'." The old man spoke grudgingly. "If I was runnin' her meself, 'tis little we'd stop for the night. But the captain thinks different. He's young and notional. Tie up over night we must, says he. But 'tis all nonsense. Chicken-hearted, I'd call it, that's all." Marian laughed to herself. Inwardly she was grateful for the captain's chicken-heartedness. A loud gong sounded from below. The pilot nodded. "Yon's your supper-bell, miss. I thank ye kindly for the pleasure of yer company. I shall be honored if ye choose to come again. And soon." Marian made her way down to the cabin through the stormy dusk. The little room was warm and brightly lighted; the captain's negro boy was just placing huge smoking-hot platters of perfectly cooked fish and steak upon the clean oil-cloth table. They gathered around it, an odd company. Marian and Roderick, the captain, the _Lucy's_ engineer, a pleasant, boyish fellow, painfully embarrassed and redolent of hot oil and machinery; and two young dredge-runners, on their way, like Rod, to the Breckenridge contract. Save the captain and Rod, they gobbled bashfully, and fled at the earliest possible moment. Rod and the captain were talking of the contract and of its prospects. Marian trifled with her massive hot biscuit, and listened indifferently. "I hope your coming on the work may change its luck, Mr. Hallowell," observed the captain. "For that contract has struggled with mighty serious difficulties, so far. Breckenridge himself is a superb engineer; but of course he cannot stay on the ground. He has a dozen equally important contracts to oversee. His engineers are all well enough, but somehow they don't seem to make things go. Carlisle is the chief. He is a good engineer and a good fellow, but he is so nearly dead with malaria that he can't do two hours' work in a week. Burford, his aid, is a young Southerner, a fine chap, but--well, a bit hot-headed. You know our Northern labor won't stand for much of that. Then there is Marvin, who is third in charge. But as for Marvin"--he stopped, with a queer short laugh--"as for Marvin, the least said the soonest mended. He's a cub engineer, they call him; a grizzly cub at that. He may come out all right, with time. You can see for yourself that you haven't any soft job. With a force of two hundred laborers, marooned in a swamp seven miles from nowhere, not even a railroad in the county; with half the land-owners protesting against their assessments, and refusing to pay up; with your head engineer sick, and your coal shipments held up by high water--no, you won't find your place an easy one, mind that." "I'm not doing any worrying." Rod's jaw set. His dark face glowed. Marian looked at him, a little jealously. His whole heart and thought were swinging away to this work, now opening before him. This was his man's share in labor, and he was eager to cope with its sternest demands. "Well, it's a good thing you have the pluck to face it. You will need all the pluck you've got, and then some." The captain paced restlessly up and down the narrow room. "Wonder why we don't slow down. We must be running a full twelve miles an hour. Altogether too fast, when we're towing a barge. And it is pitch dark." He stooped to the engine-room speaking-tube. "Hi, Smith! Why are you carrying so much steam? I want to put her inshore." A muffled voice rose from the engine-room. "All right, sir. But McCloskey, he just rung for full speed ahead." "He did? That's McCloskey, all over. The old rascal! He has set his heart on making Grafton Landing to-night, instead of tying up alongshore. Hear that? He's making that old wheel jump. To be sure, he knows the river channel like a book. But, even with double search-lights, no man living can see ice-cakes and brush far enough ahead to dodge them." "Let's take a look on deck," suggested Rod. Once outside the warm, cheerful cabin, the night wind swept down on them, a driving, freezing blast. The little steamer fairly raced through the water. Her deck boards quivered; the boom of the heavy engine throbbed under their feet. "Thickest night I've seen in a year," growled the captain. "I say, McCloskey! Slow down, and let's put her inshore. This is too dangerous to suit me." No reply. The boat fled pitching on. "_McCloskey!_" At last there came a faint hail. "Yes, captain! What's yer pleasure, sir?" "The old rascal! He's trying to show off. He's put his deaf ear to the tube, I'll be bound. Best go inside, Miss Hallowell, this wind is full of sleet. McCloskey! Head her inshore, I say." On rushed the _Lucy_. Her course did not change a hair's breadth. "No wonder they call him Commodore McCloskey!" Rod whispered wickedly. "Even the captain has to yield to him." "McCloskey!" The captain's voice was gruff with anger. "_Head her inshore!_ Unless you're trying to kill the boat----" Crash! The captain's sentence was never finished. CHAPTER III ENTER MR. FINNEGAN With that crash the floor shot from under their feet. Stumbling and clutching, the three, Marian, Rod, and the captain, pitched across the deck and landed in a heap against the rail. The lighted cabin seemed to rear straight up from the deck and lunge toward them. There was an uproar of shouts, a hideous pounding of machinery. Marian shut her eyes. Then, with a second deafening crash, the steamer righted herself; and, thrown like three helpless ninepins, Marian, Rod, and the captain reeled back from the rail and found themselves, bumped and dizzy, tangled in a heap of freight and canvas. Rod was the first on his feet. He snatched Marian up, with a groan. "Sister! Are you hurt? Tell me, quick." "Nonsense, no." Marian struggled up, bruised and trembling. "I whacked my head on the rail, that's all. What has happened?" "We've struck another bunch of runaway logs. They've fouled our wheel," shouted the captain. "Put this life-preserver on your sister. Swing out the yawl, boys!" For the deck crew was already scrambling up the stairs. "Here, where's Smith?" "He's below, sir, stayin' by the boiler. The logs struck us for'ard the gangway. She's got a hole stove in her that you could drive an ice-wagon through," answered a fireman. "Smith says, head her inshore. Maybe you can beach her before she goes clean under." The captain groaned. "Her first trip for the year! The smartest little boat on the river! McCloskey!" he shouted angrily up the tube. "Head her inshore, before she's swamped. You hear that, I reckon?" "Ay, ay, sir." It was a very meek voice down the tube. Very slowly the _Lucy_ swung about. Creaking and groaning, she headed through the darkness for the darker line of willows that masked the Illinois shore. For a minute, Roderick and Marian stood together under the swaying lantern, too dazed by excitement to move. On Marian's forehead a cheerful blue bump had begun to rise; while Rod's cheek-bone displayed an ugly bruise. Suddenly Marian spoke. "Rod! Where is Empress! She will be frightened to death. We must take her into the yawl with us." The young fireman turned. "That grand big cat of yours, ma'am? You'll never coax a cat into an open boat. They'll die first. But have no fear. We are not a hundred yards from shore, and in shallow water at that. 'Tis a pity the _Lucy_ is hurt, but it's fortunate for us that she can limp ashore." Marian felt a little foolish. She pulled off the cork jacket which Rod had tied over her shoulders. "We aren't shipwrecked after all, Rod. We're worse frightened than hurt." "I'm not so sure of that. Keep that life-preserver on, Sis." The _Lucy_ was blundering pluckily toward shore. But the deck jarred with the thud and rattle of thrashing machinery, and at every forward plunge the boat pitched until it seemed as if the next fling would surely capsize her. Rod peered into the darkness. "We'll make the shore, I do believe. Shall I leave you long enough to get our bags and Empress?" "Oh, I'll go too. You'll need me to pacify Empress. She will be panic-stricken." Poor Empress was panic-stricken, indeed. The little cabin was a chaos. The shock of the collision had overturned every piece of furniture. Even the wall cabinets were upset, and their shells and arrowheads were scattered far and wide. The beautiful old-time crystal chandeliers were in splinters. Worst, the big gilt mirror lay on the floor, smashed to atoms. Only one object in all that cabin held its place: the stuffed eagle. And high on the eagle's outspread wing, crouched like a panther, snarling and spitting, her every silky hair furiously on end, clung poor, terrified Empress. Rod exploded. "You made friends with the nice bird, after all, didn't you, Empress! Come on down, kitty. Let me put a life-preserver on you too." No life-preservers for Empress! Marian coaxed and called in vain. She merely dug her claws into the eagle's back and growled indignant refusal. "Let's go back on deck, Sis. She'll calm down presently." The _Lucy_ was now working inshore with increasing speed. But, as they stepped on deck, the boat careened suddenly, then stopped, with a sickening jolt. "Never mind, miss," the young fireman quickly assured her. "She has struck a sand-bar, and there she'll stick, I fear. But we are safe enough, for the water is barely six feet deep. We'll have to anchor here for the night, but don't be nervous. She can't sink very far in six feet of water." "I suppose not." Yet Marian's teeth chattered. Inwardly she sympathized with Empress. What a comfort it would be to climb the stuffed eagle and perch there, well out of reach of even six feet of black icy water! The captain was still more reassuring. "Well, we're lucky that we've brought her this near shore." He wiped his forehead with a rather unsteady hand. "Ten minutes ago my heart was in my mouth. I thought sure she'd sink in mid-stream. You're perfectly safe now, Miss Hallowell. Better go to your state-room and get some sleep." "Yes, the _Lucy_ will rest still as a church now," said the young fireman, with a heartening chuckle. "She's hard aground. Though that's no thanks to our pilot. I say, McCloskey! Where were you trying to steer us? Into a lumber-yard?" Down the hurricane deck came Mr. McCloskey, white beard waving, eyes twinkling, jaunty and serene as a May morning. "This little incident is no fault of me steerin'," said he, with delightful unconcern. "'Twas the carelessness of thim raftsmen, letting their logs get away, no less. Sure, captain dear, I'd sue them for damages." "I'll be more likely to sue you for running full speed after dark, against orders," muttered the captain. Then he laughed. "I ought to put you in irons. But the man doesn't live that can hold a grudge against you, McCloskey. Take hold now, boys. Bank your fires, then we'll patch her up as best we can for the night." Marian went to her state-room, but not to sleep. There was little sleep that night for anybody. In spite of protecting sand-bar and anchor, the boat careened wretchedly. Strange groans and shrieks rose from the engine-room; hurrying footsteps came and went through the narrow gangway. And the rush of the swift current, the bump of ice-cakes, and the sweep of floating brush past her window kept her aroused and trembling. It seemed years before the tiny window grew gray with dawn. The captain's voice reached her ears. "No, the _Lucy_ isn't damaged as badly as we thought. But it will take us two days of bulkheading before we dare go on. You'd best take your sister up to the camp in my launch. It is at your service." "That's good news!" sighed Marian. "Anything to escape from this sinking ship. I don't like playing Casabianca one bit." She swallowed the hot coffee and corn bread which the captain's boy brought to her door, and hurried on deck. Their embarking was highly exciting; for poor Empress, having been coaxed with difficulty from the eagle's roost, where she had spent the night, promptly lost her head at sight of the water and fled shrieking to the pilot-house. Rod, the pilot, the engineer, and the young fireman together hunted her from her fastness, and, after a wild chase, returned scratched but victorious, with Empress raging in a gunny-sack. "Best keep her there till you're ashore, miss," laughed the young fireman. And Marian took the precaution to tie the mouth of the sack with double knots. Up-stream puffed the launch, past Grafton Landing into the narrower but clearer current of the Illinois River. Now the black mud banks rose into bluffs and wooded hills. Here and there a marshy backwater showed a faint tinge of early green. But there was not a village in sight; not even a solitary farm-house. Hour after hour they steamed slowly up the dull river, beneath the gray mist-hooded sky. Marian looked resentfully at her brother. He had unrolled a portfolio of blue-prints, and sat over them, as absorbed and as indifferent to the cold and discomfort as if he were sitting at his own desk at home. "He's so rapt over his miserable old contract that he is not giving me one thought," Marian sulked to herself. "I just wish that I had put my foot down, and had refused, flatly, to come with him. If I had dreamed the West would be like this!" Presently the launch whistled. An answering whistle came from up-stream. Rod dropped his blue-prints with a shout. "Look, Marian. There is the contract camp, the whole plant! See, straight ahead!" Marian stared. There was not a house to be seen; but high on the right bank stood an army of tents; and below, moored close to shore, lay a whole village of boats, strung in long double file. Midway stood a gigantic steam-dredge. Its vivid red-painted machinery reared high on its black, oil-soaked platform, its strange sprawling crane spread its iron wings, like the pinions of some vast ungainly bird of prey. Around it were ranked several flat-boats, a trim steam-launch, a whole regiment of house-boats. Rod's eyes sparkled. He drew a sharp breath. "This is my job, all right. Isn't it sumptuous, Marian! Will you look at that dredge! Isn't she magnificent? So is the whole outfit, barges and all. That's worth walking from Boston to see!" "Is it?" Marian choked back the vicious little retort. "Well, I'd be willing to walk back to Boston--to get away!" "Ahoy the launch! This is Mr. Hallowell?" A tall, haggard man in oilskins and hip boots came striding across the dredge. "Glad to see you, sir. We hoped that you would arrive to-day. I am Carlisle, the engineer in charge." He leaned over the rail to give Rod's hand a friendly grip. He spoke with a dry, formal manner, yet his lean yellow face was full of kindly interest. "And this is your sister, Miss Hallowell? You have come to a rather forlorn summer resort, Miss Hallowell, but we will do our best to make it endurable for you." Roderick, red with pleasure, stood up to greet his new chief. Behind Mr. Carlisle towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built young man, in very muddy khaki and leggings, his blond wind-burnt face shining with a hospitable grin. "This is our Mr. Burford, Mr. Hallowell. At present, you and he will superintend the night shifts." Mr. Burford gave Roderick a hearty handshake, and beamed upon Marian. "Mr. Burford will be particularly glad to welcome you, Miss Hallowell, on Mrs. Burford's account. She has been living here on the work for several months, the only lady who has graced our camp until to-day. I know that she will be eager for your companionship." Mr. Burford grew fairly radiant. "Sally Lou will be wild when she learns that you are really here," he declared eagerly, in his deep southern drawl. "She has talked of your coming every minute since the news came that we might hope to have you with us. You will find us a mighty primitive set, but you and Sally Lou can have plenty of fun together, I know. I'd like to bring her and the kiddies to see you as soon as you feel equal to receiving us." "Thank you very much." Marian tried her best to be gracious and friendly. But she was so tired that young Burford's broad smiling face seemed to blur and waver through a thickening mist. "I'm sure I shall be charmed----" "Hi, there!" An angry shout broke upon her words. "Mr. Carlisle, will you look here! That foreman of yours has gone off with my skiff again. If I'm obliged to share my boat with your impudent riffraff----" "Mr. Marvin, will you kindly come here a moment?" The chief's voice did not lose its even tone; but his heavy brows narrowed. "I wish you to meet Mr. Hallowell, who is your and Mr. Burford's new associate. Miss Hallowell, may I present Mr. Marvin?" Marian bowed and looked curiously at the tall, dark-featured young man who shuffled forward. She remembered the captain's terse description--"a cub engineer, and a grizzly cub at that." Mr. Marvin certainly acted the part. He barely nodded to her and to Roderick, then clamored on with his grievance. "You know I've told the men time and again to leave my boat alone. But your foreman borrows my launch whenever he takes the notion, and leaves her half-swamped, or high and dry, as he chooses. If you won't jack him up for it, I will. I'll not tolerate----" "I'll take that matter up later, Mr. Marvin." Marvin's sullen face reddened at the tone in his chief's voice. "Mr. Hallowell, I have found lodgings for your sister three miles up the canal, at the Gates farm. Mr. Burford will take you to Gates's Landing, thence you will drive to the farm-house. Your own quarters will be on the engineers' house-boat, and we shall hope to see you here for dinner to-night. Good-by, Miss Hallowell. I hope that Mrs. Gates will do everything to make you comfortable." The launch puffed away up the narrow muddy canal. It was a straight, deep stream of brown water, barely forty feet wide. Its banks were a high-piled mass of mire and clay, for the levee-builders had not yet begun work. Beyond rose clumps of leafless trees. Then, far as eye could see, muddy fields and gray swampy meadows. Rod gazed, radiant. "Isn't it splendid, Marian! The finest equipment I ever dreamed of. Look at those barges!" "Those horrid flat-boats heaped with coal?" "Yes. Think of the yardage record we're making. Five thousand yards a day!" Marian rubbed her aching eyes. "I don't know a yardage record from a bushel basket," she sighed. "What is that queer box-shaped red boat, set on a floating platform?" "That is the engineers' house-boat, where your brother is to live. Mayn't we take you aboard to see?" urged Burford. Marian stepped on the narrow platform and peered into the cubby-hole state-rooms and the clean, scoured mess-room. She was too tired to be really interested. "And that funny, grass-green cabin, set on wooden stilts, up that little hill--that play-house?" Burford laughed. "That's my play-house. Sally Lou insists on living right here, so that she and the babies and Mammy Easter can keep a watchful eye on me. You and Sally Lou will be regular chums, I know. She is not more than a year or so older than you are, and it has been pretty rough on her to leave her home and come down here. But she says she doesn't care; that she'd rather rough it down here with me than mope around home, back in Norfolk, without me. It surely is a splendid scheme for me to have her here." He laughed again, with shy, boyish pride. "Sally Lou is a pretty plucky sort. And, if I may say it, so are you." Marian managed to smile her thanks. Inwardly she was hoping that the marvellous Sally Lou would stay away and leave her in peace. She was trembling with fatigue. Through the rest of the trip she hardly spoke. At Gates's Landing they were met by a solemn, bashful youth and a buckboard drawn by two raw, excited horses. They whirled and bumped through a rutted woods road and stopped at last before a low white farm-house. Marian realized dimly that Rod was carrying her upstairs and into a small tidy room. She was so utterly tired that she dropped on the bed and slept straight through the day. She did not waken until her landlady's tap called her to supper. Mr. and Mrs. Gates, two quiet, elderly people, greeted her kindly, and set a Homeric feast before her: shortbread and honey, broiled squirrels and pigeon stew, persimmon jam and hot mince pie. She ate dutifully, then crept back to her little room, with its mournful hair wreaths and its yellowed engravings of "Night and Morning" and "The Death-bed of Washington," and fell asleep again. The three days that followed were like a queer, tired dream. It rained night and day. The roads were mired hub deep. Roderick could not drive over to see her, but he telephoned to her daily. But his hasty messages were little satisfaction. The heavy rains had overflowed the big ditch, he told her. That meant extra work for everybody on the plant. Carlisle was wretchedly sick, so Rod and Burford were sharing their chief's watch in addition to their own duties. Worst, Marvin had quarrelled with the head runner of the big dredge, and "We're having to spend half our time in coddling them both for fear they'll walk off and leave us," as Rod put it. In short, Roderick had neither time nor thought for his sister. Marian realized that her brother was not inconsiderate. He was absorbed in his work and in its risks. Yet she keenly resented her loneliness. "It isn't Rod's fault. But if I had dreamed that the West would be like this!" But on the fourth day, while she sat at her window looking out at the endless rain, there came a surprising diversion. "A gentleman to see you, Miss Hallowell. Will you come downstairs?" "Why, Commodore McCloskey!" Marian hurried down, delighted. "How good of you to come!" Commodore McCloskey, dripping from his sou'wester to his mired boots, beamed like a drenched but cheery Santa Claus. "I've taken the liberty to bring a friend to call," he chuckled. "He's young an' green, an' 'tis few manners he owns, but he's good stock, an'--Here, ye rascal! Shame on ye, startin' a fight the minute ye enter the house!" Marian gasped. Past her, with a wild miauw, shot a yellow streak. That streak was Empress. Straight after the streak flew a fat, brown, curly object, yapping at the top of its powerful lungs. Up the window-curtain scrambled Empress. With a frantic leap she landed on the frame of Grandpa Gates's large crayon portrait. Beneath the portrait her curly pursuer yelped and whined. "Why, he's a collie puppy. Oh, what a beauty! What is his name?" "Beauty he is. And his name is Finnegan, after the poem, 'Off again, on again, gone again, Finnegan.' Do ye remember? 'Tis him to the life. He is a prisint to ye from Missis McCloskey and meself. An' our compliments an' good wishes go wid him!" "How more than kind of you!" Marian, delighted, stooped to pat her new treasure. Finnegan promptly leaped on her and spattered her fresh dress with eager, muddy paws. He then caught the table-cover in his teeth. With one frisky bounce he brought a shower of books and magazines to the floor. Mr. McCloskey clutched for his collar. The puppy gayly eluded him and made a dash for the pantry. Marian caught him just as he was diving headlong into the open flour-barrel. "I do thank you so much! He'll be such a pleasure; and such a protection," gasped Marian, snatching Mrs. Gates's knitting work from the puppy's inquiring paws. "'Tis hardly a protector I'd call him," Mr. McCloskey returned. "But he'll sure keep your mind employed some. Good-day to ye, ma'am. And good luck with Finnegan." Poor Empress! In her delight with this new plaything, Marian quite forgot her elder companion. Moreover, as Mr. McCloskey had said, Finnegan could and did keep her mind employed, and her hands as well. "That pup is energetic enough, but he don't appear to have much judgment," said Mrs. Gates, mildly. In two hours Finnegan had carried off the family supply of rubbers and hid them in the corn-crib; he had torn up one of Rod's blue-prints; he had terrorized the hen-yard; he had chased Empress from turret to foundation-stone. At length Empress had turned on him and cuffed him till he yelped and fled to the kitchen, where he upset a pan of bread sponge. "Suppose you take him for a walk, down to the big ditch. Maybe the fresh air will calm him down." Marian made a leash of clothes-line and marched Finnegan down the sodden woods toward the ditch. She was so busy laughing at his droll performances that she quite forgot the dull fields, the wet, gray prospect. Crimson-cheeked and breathless, she finally dragged him from the third alluring rabbit-hole, despite his pleading whines, and started back up the canal. As she pushed through a hedge of willows a sweet, high, laughing voice accosted her. "Good-morning, my haughty lady! Won't you stop and talk with us a while?" Startled, Marian turned toward the call. Across the ditch, high on the opposite bank, stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld. A tall, fair-haired girl of her own age, dressed in a bewitching short-waisted gown of scarlet and a frilly scarlet bonnet, stood in the leafless willows, a tiny white-clad child in her arms. Behind her a stout beaming negress in bandanna turban and gay plaid calico was lifting another baby high on her ample shoulder. Marian stared, astonished. The whole group might well have stepped straight out of some captivating old engraving of the days before the war. "Haven't you time to pass the time o' day?" the sweet, mischievous voice entreated. "You are Miss Hallowell, I know. I'm Sarah Louisiana Burford, and I am just perishin' to meet you. There is a board bridge just a rod or so up the canal. We'll meet you there. Do please come, and bring your delightful dog. March right along now!" And Marian, laughing with amusement and delight, marched obediently along. CHAPTER IV THE MARTIN-BOX NEIGHBORS Marian picked her way up the shore to the board bridge, with Finnegan prancing behind her. She felt a little abashed as she remembered her rather tart indifference to young Burford's cordial invitation of the week before. But all her embarrassment melted away as she crossed the little bridge and met Sally Lou's welcoming face, her warm clasping hands. "You don't know how hungry I have been to see you," vowed Sally Lou, her brown eyes kindling under the scarlet bonnet. "We've been counting the hours till we should dare to go to call on Miss Northerner, haven't we, kiddies? This is my son, Edward Fairfax Burford, Junior, Miss Hallowell. Three years old, three feet square, and weighs forty-one pounds. Isn't he rather gorgeous--if he does belong to me! And this is Thomas Tucker Burford. Eighteen months old, twenty-six pounds, and the disposition of an angel, as long as he gets his own way. And this is Mammy Easter, who came all the way from Norfolk with me, to take care of the babies, so that I could live here on the contract with Ned. Wasn't she brave to come out to this cold, lonesome country all for me? And this martin-box is my house, and it is anxious to meet you, too, so come right in!" [Illustration: ON THE EDGE OF THE OPPOSITE BANK STOOD THE QUAINTEST, PRETTIEST GROUP THAT HER EYES HAD EVER BEHELD.] Marian climbed the high, narrow outside steps that led to the tiny play-house on stilts, and entered the low, red doorway, feeling as if she had climbed Jack's bean-stalk into fairyland. Inside, the martin-box was even more fascinating. It boasted just three rooms. The largest room, gay with Mother Goose wall-paper and rosy chintz, was obviously the realm of Edward, Junior, and Thomas Tucker. The next room, with its cunning miniature fireplace, its shelves of books, its pictures and photographs, and its broad high-piled desk, was their parents' abode; while the third room boasted fascinating white-painted cupboards and sink, a tiny alcohol stove, and a wee table daintily set. "Aren't you shocked at folks that eat in their kitchen?" drawled Sally Lou, observing Marian with dancing eyes. "But all our baking and heavy cooking is done for us, over on the quarter-boat. I brought the stove to heat the babies' milk; and, too, I like to fuss up goodies for Ned when he is tired or worried. Poor boys! They're having such an exasperating time with the contract this week! Everything seems possessed to go awry. We'll have to see to it that they get a lot of coddling so's to keep them cheered up, won't we?" "Why, I--I suppose so. But how did you dare to bring your little children down here? They say that this is the most malarial district in the State." "I know. But they can't catch malaria until May, when the mosquitoes come. Then I shall send them to a farm, back in the higher land. Mammy will take care of them; and I'll stay down here with Ned during the day and go to the babies at night. They're pretty sturdy little tads. They are not likely to catch anything unless their mother is careless with them. And she isn't careless, really. Is she, Tom Tucker?" She snatched up her youngest son, with a hug that made his fat ribs creak. "Come, now! Let's brew some stylish afternoon tea for the lady. Get down the caravan tea that father sent us, Mammy, and the preserved ginger, and my Georgian spoons. And fix some chicken bones on the stoop for Miss Northerner's puppy. This is going to be a banquet, and a right frabjous one, too!" It was a banquet, and a frabjous one, Marian agreed. Sally Lou's tea and Mammy's nut-cakes were delicious beyond words. The bright little house, the dainty service, Sally Lou's charming gay talk, the babies, clinging wide-eyed and adorable to her knee, all warmed and heartened Marian's listless soul. She was ravished with everything. She looked in wonder and delight at the high sleeping-porch, with its double mosquito bars and its duck screening and its cosey hammock-beds. ("Ned sleeps so much better here, where it is quiet, than on that noisy boat," Sally Lou explained.) She gazed with deep respect at the tiny pantry, built of soap-boxes, lined with snowy oil-cloth. She marvelled at the exquisite old silver, the fine embroidered table-linen, the delicate china. And she caught her breath when her eyes lighted upon the beautiful painting in oils that hung above young Burford's desk. It was a magical bit of color: a dreamy Italian garden, walled in ancient carved and mellowed stone, its slopes and borders a glory of roses, flaunting in splendid bloom; and past its flowery gates, a glimpse of blue, calm sea. She could hardly turn her eyes away from the lovely vista. It was as restful as an April breeze. And across the lower corner she read the clear tracing of the signature, a world-famous name. Sally Lou followed her glance. "You surely think I'm a goose, don't you, to bring my gold teaspoons, and my wedding linen, and my finest tea-set down to a wilderness like this? Well, perhaps I am. And yet the very best treasures that we own are none too good for our home, you know. And this _is_ home. Any place is home when Ned and the babies and I are together. Besides, the very fact that this place is so queer and ugly and dismal is the best of reasons why we need all our prettiest things, and need to use them every day, don't you see? So I picked out my sacredest treasures to bring along. And that painting--yes, it was running a risk to bring so valuable a canvas down here. But doesn't it just rest your heart to look at it? That is why I wanted it with us every minute. You can look at that blue sleepy sky, and those roses climbing the garden wall, and the sea below, and forget all about the noisy, grimy boats, and the mud, and sleet, and malaria, and the cross laborers, and the broken machinery, and everything else; and just look, and look, and dream. That is why I carted it along. Especially on Ned's account, don't you see?" "Y-yes." At last Marian took her wistful eyes from the picture. "I wish that I had thought to bring some good photographs to hang in Rod's state-room. I never thought. But there is no room to pin up even a picture post-card in his cubby-hole on the boat. I must go on now. I have had a beautiful time." "There goes your brother this minute! In that little red launch, see? He is going up the ditch. Ring the dinner-bell, Mammy, that will stop him. He can take you and your dog up to Gates's Landing and save you half an hour's muddy walk." Mammy's dinner-bell pealed loud alarm. Roderick heard and swung the boat right-about. His sober, anxious face lighted as Marian and Sally Lou gayly hailed him. "I'm glad that you've met Mrs. Burford," he said, as he helped Marian aboard and hoisted Finnegan astern with some difficulty and many yelps; for Finnegan left his chicken-bones only under forcible urging. "She is just about the best ever, and I hope you two will be regular chums." "I love her this minute," declared Marian, with enthusiasm. "Where are you bound, Rod? Mayn't Finnegan and I tag along?" Rod's face grew worried. "I'm bound upon a mighty ticklish cruise, Sis. It is a ridiculous cruise, too. Do you remember what I told you last week about the law that governs the taxing of the land-owners for the making of these ditches?" "Yes. You said that when the majority of the land-owners had agreed on doing the drainage work, then the law made every owner pay his tax, in proportion to the acreage of his land which would be drained by the ditches, whether he himself wanted the drainage done or not. And you said that some of the farmers did not want the ditches dug, and that they were holding back their payments and making trouble for the contractors; while others were making still more trouble by blocking the right of way and refusing to let the dredges cut through their land. But how can they hold you back, Rod? The law says that all the district people must share in the drainage expenses, whether they like to or not, because the majority of their neighbors have agreed upon it." "The law says exactly that. Yes. But there are a lot of kinks to drainage law, and the farmers know it. Burford says that two or three of them have been making things lively for the company from the start. But just now we have only one troublesome customer to deal with. And she is a woman, that is the worst of it. She is a well-to-do, eccentric old lady, who owns a splendid farm, just beyond the Gateses. She paid her drainage assessment willingly enough. But now she says that, last fall, the boys who made the survey tramped through her watermelon-field and broke some vines and sneaked off with three melons. At least, so she indignantly states. Maybe it is so; although the boys swear it was a pumpkin-field, and that they didn't steal so much as a jack-o'-lantern. Furthermore, she has put up barb wire and trespass notices straight across the contract right of way; and she has sent us notice that she is guarding that right of way with a gun, and that the first engineer who pokes his nose across her boundary line is due to receive a full charge of buckshot. Sort of a shot-gun quarantine, see? Now we must start dredging the lateral that crosses her land next Monday, at the latest. It must be done at the present stage of high water, else we'll have to delay dredging it until fall. Carlisle planned to call on her to-day, and to mollify her if possible, but he's too sick. So I must elbow in myself, and see what my shirt-sleeve diplomacy can do. I'm glad that I can take you along. Perhaps you can help to thaw her out." "Of all the weird calls to make! What is the old lady like, Rod?" "Burford says that she is a droll character. She has managed her own farm for forty years, and has made a fine success of it. Her name is Mrs. Chrisenberry. She is not educated, but she is very capable, and very kind-hearted when you once get on the right side of her. Yonder is her landing. Don't look so scared, Sis. She won't eat you." Marian's fear dissolved in giggles as they teetered up the narrow board walk to the low brick farm-house. They could not find a door-bell; they rapped and pounded until their knuckles ached. Finnegan yapped helpfully and chewed the husk door-mat. At last, a forbidding voice sounded from the rear of the house. "You needn't bang my door down. Come round to the dryin' yard, unless you're agents. If you're agents, you needn't come at all. I'm busy." Meekly Rod and Marian followed this hospitable summons. Across the muddy drying yard stretched rows of clothes-line, fluttering white. Beside a heaped basket of wet, snowy linen stood a very short, very stout little old lady, her thick woollen skirts tucked up under a spotless white apron, her small nut-cracker face glowering from under a sun-bonnet almost as large as herself. She took three clothes-pins from her mouth and scowled at Rod. "Well!" said she. "Name your business. But I don't want no graphophones, nor patent chick-feed, nor golden-oak dinin'-room sets, nor Gems of Poesy with gilt edges. Mind that." Marian choked. Rod knew that choke. Tears of strangling laughter stood in his eyes as he humbly stuttered his errand. "W-we engineers of the Breckenridge Company wish to offer our sincere apologies for any annoyance that our surveyors may have caused you. We are anxious to make any reparation that we can. And--er--we find ourselves obliged, on account of the high water, to cut our east laterals at once. We will be very grateful to you if you will be so kind as to overlook our trespasses of last season, and will permit us to go on with our work. I speak for the company as well as for myself." The old lady stared at him, with unwinking, beady eyes. There was a painful pause. "Well, I don't know. You're a powerful slick, soft-spoken young man. I'll say that much for you." Marian gulped, and stooped hurriedly to pat Finnegan. "And I don't know as I have any lastin' gredge against your company. Them melons was frost-bit, anyway. But if you do start your machinery on that lateral, mind I don't want no more tamperin' with my garden stuff. And I don't want your men a-cavortin' around, runnin' races on my land, nor larkin' evenings, nor comin' to the house for drinks of water. One of them surveyors, last fall, he come to the door for a drink, an' I was fryin' crullers, an' he asked for one, bold as brass. Says I, 'Help yourself.' Well, he did that. There was a blue platter brim full, and if he didn't set down an' eat every single cruller, down to the last crumb! An' then he had the impudence to tell me to my face that they was tolerable good crullers, but that he'd wager the next platterful would taste better than the first, an' he'd like to try and find out for sure!" "I don't blame him. I'd like to try that experiment myself," said Rod serenely. The old lady glared. Then the ghost of a twinkle flickered under the vasty sun-bonnet. "Well, as I say, I ain't made up my mind yet. But I'll let you know to-night, maybe. Now you'd better be goin'. Looks like more rain." "Can't we help you with the clothes first?" asked Marian. The old lady shook out a huge, wet table-cloth and stood on tip-toe to pin it carefully on the line. "You might, yes. Take these pillow-cases. But don't you drop them in the mud. My clothes-line broke down last week, and didn't I spend a day of it, doin' my whole week's wash over again!" The strong breeze caught the big cloth and whipped it like a banner. Finnegan, who had been waiting politely in the background, beheld this signal with joy. With a gay yelp he bolted past Marian and seized a corner of the table-cloth in his teeth. "Scat!" cried Mrs. Chrisenberry, startled. "Where did that pup come from? Shoo!" Finnegan, unheeding, took a tighter grip, and swung his fat heavy body from the ground. There was a sickening sound of tearing linen. Marian stood transfixed. Rod, his arms full of wet pillow-slips, dashed to the rescue. But he was not in time. "Scat, I say!" Mrs. Chrisenberry flapped her apron. Amiable creature, she wanted to play with him! Enchanted, the puppy let go the table-cloth and dashed at her, under full steam. His sturdy paws struck Mrs. Chrisenberry with the force of a young battering-ram. With an astonished shriek she swayed back, clutching at the table-cloth to steady herself. But the table-cloth and clothes-pins could not hold a moment against the onslaught of the heavy puppy. By good fortune, the basketful of clothes stood directly behind Mrs. Chrisenberry. As the faithless table-cloth slid from the rope, back she pitched, with a terrified squeal, to land, safely if forcibly, in its snowy depths. Marian, quite past speech, sank on the porch steps. Rod stood gaping with horror. Mrs. Chrisenberry rose up with appalling calm. "You! You come here. You--varmint!" Finnegan did not hesitate. Trustfully he gambolled up; gayly he seized her apron hem in his white milk teeth and bit out a feather-stitched scallop. Mrs. Chrisenberry stooped. Her broad palm landed heavily on Finnegan's curly ear. Alas for discipline! Finnegan dodged back and eyed her, amazed. One grieved yelp rent the air. Then, instantly repenting, he leaped upon her and smothered her with muddy kisses. This was merely the lady's way of playing with him. How could he resent it! Then Rod came to his wits. He seized Mr. Finnegan by the collar and cuffed him into bewildered silence. He caught up the wrecked table-cloth and the miry pillow-slips, he poured out regrets and apologies and promises in an all but tearful stream. Mrs. Chrisenberry did not say one word. Her small nut-cracker face set, ominous. "You needn't waste no more soft sawder," said she, at length. "I 'low these are just the rampagin' doings I could look for every day if I once gave you folks permission to bring your dredge on my land. So I may's well make up my mind right now. Tell your boss that those trespass signs an' that barb wire are still up, and that they'll most likely stay up till doomsday. Good-mornin'." "Well! I don't give much for my shirt-sleeve diplomacy," groaned Rod, as they teetered away, down the board walk. "I'm sorry, Rod." Then Marian choked again. Weak with laughter, she clung to the gate-post. "It was j-just like a moving picture! And when she vanished into the basket--Oh, dear--oh, dear!" "You better believe it was exactly like a moving picture," muttered Rod. "It all went so fast I couldn't get there in time to do one thing. It went like a cinematograph--Zip! And off flew all our chances for all time. Finnegan, you scoundrel! Do you realize that your playful little game will cost the company a lawsuit and a small fortune besides?" Finnegan barked and took a friendly nip of Rod's ankle. Finnegan's young conscience was crystal-clear. "Let's take the launch down to Burford's and tell them our misfortunes," said Rod. "I need sympathy." The Burfords heard their mournful tale with shouts of unpitying joy. "Yes, I know, it's hard luck. Especially with Marvin in the sulks and Carlisle sick," said Ned Burford, wiping his eyes. "But the next time you start diplomatic negotiations, you had better leave that dog at home. I'm going over to the house-boat to tell Mr. Carlisle. Poor sick fellow, this story will amuse him if anything can." He jumped into the launch. A minute later Rod brought it alongside the house-boat and Burford disappeared within. "Mr. Carlisle, sir!" They heard his laughing voice at the chief's state-room door. "May I come in? Will I disturb you if I tell you a good joke on Hallowell?" There was a pause. Then came a rush of feet. Burford dashed from the cabin and confronted Rod and Marian. His face was very white. "Hallowell! Come aboard, quick!" he said, in a shaking voice. "Mr. Carlisle is terribly ill. He's lying there looking like death; he couldn't even speak to me. Hurry!" CHAPTER V GOOSE-GREASE AND DIPLOMACY Roderick leaped aboard. Marian followed, trembling with fear. Mr. Carlisle lay in his seaman's hammock beside the window. His gaunt hands were like ice. His lean face was ashen gray. But he nodded weakly and put out a shaking, courteous hand. "Too bad to alarm you thus," he gasped. "I--I was afraid of this. Malaria plays ugly tricks with a man's heart now and then. You'd better ship me to the hospital at Saint Louis. They can patch me up in a week probably. Only, the sooner you can get me there, the better." "You call the foreman and tell him to get up steam on the big launch, Hallowell." Burford, very pale, took command of the situation. "Miss Hallowell, will you go and bring Sally Lou? I want her right away. She's all kinds of good in an emergency." Marian fled, her own heart pounding in her throat. But Sally Lou, after the first scared questions, rose to the occasion, steady and serene. "Light the stove and make our soapstones and sand-bags piping-hot, Mammy. Heat some bouillon and put it into the thermos bottle. Ned, you and the foreman must take him down to Grafton Landing on the launch. The _Lucy Lee_ is due to reach Grafton late this afternoon. I'll catch the _Lucy's_ captain on the long-distance telephone at the landing above Grafton, and tell him to wait at Grafton Landing till you get there with Mr. Carlisle. Then you can put him aboard the _Lucy_. She will make Saint Louis in half the time that you could make it with the launch. Besides, the _Lucy_ will mean far easier travelling for Mr. Carlisle." "I never thought of the _Lucy_! I'd meant to wait with him at the Landing and take the midnight train. But the steam-boat will be a far easier trip. Sally Lou, you certainly are a peach!" Young Burford looked at his wife with solemn admiration. "Go and telephone, quick. We'll have Carlisle ready to start in an hour." In less than an hour the launch was made ready, with cot and pillows and curtains, as like an ambulance as a launch could well be. With clumsy anxious pains Roderick and Burford lifted their chief aboard. Marian hung behind, eager to help, yet too frightened and nervous to be of service. But Sally Lou, her yellow hair flying under her ruffly red bonnet, her baby laughing and crowing on her shoulder, popped her flushed face gayly under the awning to bid Mr. Carlisle good-by. "If it wasn't for these babies I'd go straight along and take care of you myself, Mr. Carlisle," she cried. "But the hospital will take better care of you than I could, I reckon. And the week's vacation will do you no end of good. Besides it will set these two lazybones to work." She gave her husband a gentle shake. "Ned and Mr. Hallowell will have to depend on themselves, instead of leaving all the responsibility to you. It will be the making of them. You'll see!" "Perhaps that is true." Carlisle's gray lips smiled. He was white with suffering, but he spoke with his unvarying kind formality. "I am leaving you gentlemen with a pretty heavy load. But--I am not apprehensive. I know that you boys will stand up to the contract, and that you will carry it on with success. Good-by, and good luck to you!" The launch shot away down-stream. Sally Lou looked after it. Marian saw her sparkling eyes grow very grave. "Mr. Carlisle is mighty brave, isn't he? But he will not come back to work in a week's time. No, nor in a month's time either if I know anything about it. But there's no use a-glooming, is there, Thomas Tucker! You two come up to my house and we'll have supper together and watch for Ned; for if he meets the _Lucy_ at Grafton he can bring the launch back by ten to-night." Sally Lou was a good prophet. It was barely nine when Ned's launch whistled at the landing. Ned climbed the steps, looking tired and excited. "Yes, we overhauled the _Lucy_, all right. Mr. Carlisle seemed much more comfortable when we put him aboard. He joked me about being so frightened and said he'd come back in a day or so as good as new. But--I don't know how we'll manage here. With Carlisle laid up, and Marvin gone off in the sulks, for nobody knows how long--Well, for the next few days this contract is up to us, Hallowell. That is all there is to that. And we've got to make good. We've got to put it through." "You certainly must make good. And it is up to us girls to help things along," said Sally Lou, briskly. "Isn't it, Marian? Yes, I'm going to call you Marian right away. It's such a saving of time compared to 'Miss Hallowell.' And the very first thing to-morrow morning we will drive over to Mrs. Chrisenberry's, and coax her into letting you boys start that lateral through her land." Three startled faces turned to her. Three astounded voices rose. "Coax her, indeed! On my word! When she drove Rod and me off the place this very morning!" "Think you dare ask her to take down her barb-wire barricade and lay away her shot-gun? 'Not till doomsday!'" "Sally Lou, are you daft? You've never laid eyes on Mrs. Chrisenberry. You don't know what you're tackling. We'll not put that lateral through till we've dragged the whole question through the courts. Don't waste your time in dreaming, child." "I'm not going to dream. I'm going to act. You'll go with me, won't you, Marian? We'll take the babies and the buckboard. But, if you don't mind, we'll leave Mr. Finnegan at home. Finnegan's diplomacy is all right, only that it's a trifle demonstrative. Yes, you boys are welcome to shake your heads and look owlish. But wait and see!" "She'll never try to face that ferocious old lady," said Rod, on the way home. "Of course not. She's just making believe," rejoined Marian. Little did they know Sally Lou! Marian had just finished her breakfast the next morning when the yellow buckboard, drawn by a solemn, scraggy horse, drove up to Mrs. Gates's door. On the front seat, rosy as her scarlet gown and cloak, sat Sally Lou. From the back seat beamed Mammy Easter, in her gayest bandanna, with Edward Burford, Junior, dimpled and irresistible, beside her, and Thomas Tucker bouncing and crowing in her arms. "Climb right in, Miss Northerner! Good-by, poor Finnegan! This time we're going to try the persuasive powers of two babies as compared to those of one collie. Here we go!" "Are we really going to Mrs. Chrisenberry's? Are you actually planning to ask her for the right of way?" queried Marian. Sally Lou chuckled. Her round face was guileless and bland. "Certainly not. I am going to Mrs. Chrisenberry's to buy some goose-grease." "To buy some _goose-grease_! Horrors! What is goose-grease, pray?" "Goose-grease is goose-grease. Didn't you ever have the croup when you were young, Miss Northerner? And didn't they roll you in warm blankets, and then bandage your poor little throat with goose-grease and camphor and red pepper?" "An' a baked onion for your supper," added Mammy Easter. "An' a big saucer of butterscotch, sizzlin'-hot. Dey ain't no croup what kin stand before dat!" "Mercy, I should hope not. I never heard of anything so dreadful. You aren't going to give goose-grease to your own babies, I hope?" Sally Lou surveyed her uproarious sons, and allowed herself a brief giggle. "They've never had a sign of croup so far, I'm thankful to say. But one ought to be prepared. And Mrs. Chrisenberry has the finest poultry-yard in the country-side. We'll enjoy seeing that, too. Don't look so dubersome. Wait and see!" Mrs. Chrisenberry was working in her vegetable garden as they drove up. Her queer little face was bound in a huge many-colored "nuby," her short skirts were kilted over high rubber boots. She leaned on her spade and gave the girls a nod that, as Marian told Rod later, was like a twelve-pound shot squarely across the enemy's bows. Sally Lou merely beamed upon her. "Wet weather for putting in your garden, isn't it?" she cried, gayly. "I'm Mrs. Burford, Mrs. Chrisenberry. My husband is an engineer on the Breckenridge contract." "H'm!" Mrs. Chrisenberry glared. Sally Lou chattered gayly on. "I'm staying down at the canal with these two youngsters, and I want to buy some of your fine goose-grease. They've never had croup in all their born days, but it's such a cold, wet spring that it is well to be prepared for anything." "Goose-grease!" Mrs. Chrisenberry looked at her keenly. "For those babies? Highty-tighty! Goose-grease is well enough, but hot mutton taller is better yet. I've raised two just as fine boys as them, so I know. Mutton taller an' camphire, that's sovereign." She put down her spade and picked her way to the buckboard. Edward Junior hailed her with a shriek of welcome. Thomas Tucker floundered wildly in Mammy's grasp and clutched Mrs. Chrisenberry around the neck with a strangling squeeze. Marian gasped. For Mrs. Chrisenberry, grim, stern little nut-cracker lady, had lifted Thomas to her stooped little shoulder and was gathering Edward Junior into a lean strong little arm. Both babies crowed with satisfaction. Thomas jerked off the tasselled nuby and showered rose-leaf kisses from Mrs. Chrisenberry's tight knob of gray hair to the tip of her dour little chin. Edward pounded her gleefully with fists and feet. "They'll strangle her," Marian whispered, aghast. "Pooh, she doesn't mind," Sally Lou whispered back. "You mustn't let them pull you to pieces, Mrs. Chrisenberry. They're as strong as little bear cubs." "Guess I know that." Mrs. Chrisenberry shook Edward's fat grip loose from her tatting collar. "They're the living images of my own boys, thirty years ago. I hope your children bring you as good luck as mine have brought me. They've grown up as fine men as you'd find in a day's journey. Let me take 'em to see the hen yard. They'll like to play with the little chickens, I know." Edward and Thomas Tucker were charmed with the hen yard. They fell upon a brood of tiny yellow balls with cries of ecstasy. Only the irate pecks and squawks of the outraged hen mother prevented them from hugging the fuzzy peepers to a loving death. "They're a pretty lively team," remarked Mrs. Chrisenberry. "Let's take 'em into the house, and I'll give them some cookies and milk. I don't know much about new-fangled ways of feeding children, but I do know that my cookies never hurt anybody yet." She led them through her shining kitchen into a big, bright sitting-room. Again Marian halted to stare. This was not the customary chill and dreary farm-house "parlor." Instead, she saw a wide, fire-lit living-room, filled with flowering plants, home-like with its books and pictures; and at the arched bay-window a beautiful upright piano. Mrs. Chrisenberry followed her glance. "Land, I don't ever touch it," she said, with a dry little nut-cracker chuckle. "My oldest boy he gave it to me, for he knows I'm that hungry for music, and whenever my daughter-in-law comes to visit she plays for me by the hour, and it's something grand. And now and then a neighbor will pick out a tune for me. My, don't I wish I could keep it goin' all the time! You girls don't play, I suppose?" Sally Lou's eyes met Marian's with a quick question. Marian's cheeks grew hot. "I--I play a little. But I'm sure that Mrs. Burford----" "Mrs. Burford will play some other time," interrupted Sally Lou, hastily. "Go on, that's a good girl!" Now, it bored Marian dismally to play for strangers. She refused so habitually that few of her friends knew what a delightful pianist she really was. But dimly she realized that Sally Lou's eyes were flashing with anxious command. She opened the piano. She ran through the airs from the "Tales from Hoffmann," then played a romping folk-dance, and, at last, the lovely magic of the "Spring Song." Mrs. Chrisenberry hardly breathed. She sat rigidly in her chair, her knotted little hands shut tight, her beady eyes unwinking. "My, but that goes to the place," she sighed, as the last airy harmony died away. "Now I'll bring your cookies and milk, you lambs, and then you'd better be starting home. It looks like rain." Marian and Sally Lou fell behind in the procession to the carriage. Edward Junior toddled down the board walk, clinging to his hostess's skirt. Thomas Tucker laughed and gurgled in her arms. Mrs. Chrisenberry put Thomas on Mammy's lap, then picked up Edward, who, loath to depart, squeezed her neck with warm, crumby little hands and snuggled his fat cheek to her own. Mrs. Chrisenberry looked down at him. Her grim little nut-cracker face quivered oddly. A dim pink warmed her brown, withered cheek. "It's nice while they're little, isn't it?" she said, with a queer, wistful smile. "Though I dassent complain. My boys are the best sons anybody ever had, and they treat me like a queen. Here, son, stop pulling my ears so hard; it hurts. Now, I'll send you a whole bowlful of mutton taller to-morrow; and a jar of goose-grease the very next rendering I make. Didn't you say you're living on the drainage job? Well"--the dim pink grew bright in her cheek--"well, you tell your man that he kin go right ahead and cut his ditch through my land. I'll not stand in the way no longer. Though tell him that I'll expect him to see that his men don't tramp through my garden nor steal my watermelons. Mind that." "I know I can promise that, always." Sally Lou's eyes were brown stars. "And thank you more than tongue can tell, Mrs. Chrisenberry. You don't know what this will mean to my husband, and I never can tell you how much we shall appreciate your kindness. Packed in all right, Mammy? Come, Edward, son. Good-by!" They drove away in the silence of utter, astonished joy. "Your goose-grease worked that miracle, Sally Lou!" "Nonsense! It was your music that carried the day. But oh, I was so afraid you were going to say no!" Again Marian's cheeks flushed hot, with queer, vexed shame. "Well, I did all but refuse. I do hate to play for anybody, especially for strangers." "Why?" Sally Lou looked hopelessly puzzled. "But when it gives them so much pleasure! And besides, if you want a selfish reason, think how you have helped the boys. There they come now." With a joyful call Sally Lou waved her scarf to the two figures plodding up the canal road. Then as the flimsy silk could not do justice to her feelings, she caught up little Thomas Tucker and flourished him, a somewhat ponderous banner. The boys hurried to meet them. They listened to the girls' excited tale, at first unbelieving, then with faces of amazement and relief. "Well, you two girls deserve a diamond medal," declared Burford, heartily. His flushed, perturbed face brightened. "You don't know what a load you have taken off our shoulders." He looked at Roderick. "This is a real sterling-silver lining to our cloud, isn't it, Hallowell? So big that it fairly bulges out around the edges." "A silver lining to what cloud, Ned?" demanded Sally Lou, promptly curious. "Has something gone wrong with the work? Another break in the machinery? Or trouble among the laborers, or what?" The two boys looked at each other. Marian studied their faces. Burford was flushed and excited. Rod's stolid, dark face was frowning and intent. "Own up!" commanded Sally Lou, sternly. "Don't you dare try to keep your dark and dreadful secrets from us!" The boys laughed. But a quick warning glance flashed from one to the other. Then Burford spoke. "Don't conjure up so many bogies, Sally Lou. We--we've had bad news from Mr. Carlisle. His doctor told me, over the long-distance, that he would not be able to leave the hospital for a fortnight. And he must not come back on the work for two months at the best." Sally Lou sobered. "That is bad news. Poor Mr. Carlisle! But is that all that you have to tell me, Ned?" Burford jumped. He reddened a little. "Y-yes, I reckon that's all. You girls will have to excuse us now. Hallowell and I are going back to our boat-house to fix up our March reports." "Anything we two can help about?" "You two have put in a mighty good day's work in securing that right of way. Though if you're hunting for a job you might verify the yardage report I left on your desk. Run along now, we're going to be busy." "Such is gratitude," remarked Sally Lou, with ironic philosophy, as she drove away. "'Run along, we're busy.' Just like a boy!" Roderick and Ned looked after the buckboard, a little shame-faced at Sally Lou's parting shot. "Just the same, it does no good to tell them all our ill-luck," said Burford. "And Marvin's threatening to quit is even worse luck than Carlisle's illness. For his quarrel with the foreman has started half a dozen quarrels among the workmen. Queer, isn't it? A grouch like that will spread like wild-fire through a whole camp." "Marvin is waiting on the house-boat for us this minute." Ned peered through a telescope of his hands. "Now we'll listen to a tale of woe!" Marvin did not wait till they could reach the boat. His angry voice rang out across the canal. "Well, _Mister_ Hallowell! I just got the note that you so kindly sent me. So you and Mr. Burford here think that I ought to stand by the job, hey, 'and not let my private quarrels influence me into deserting the contract?' Thank you, _Mister_ Hallowell, for your kind advice. But I rather guess I can get along without any orders from either of you two swells. No, nor criticisms, either." "We're not giving orders, and you know that, Marvin." Rod spoke sharply. "But you're never going to throw down your billet just because of a two-cent fuss with the foreman. Think what a hole you'd leave the company in! Carlisle sick, high water holding back our freight, coal shipments stalled, everything tied up----" "And you're directly responsible to the company for that berm construction," broke in Burford hotly. "You know well enough that we can't watch that work and oversee the ditch-cutting at one and the same time. You're not going to sneak out and play quitter----" "I'm going to play quitter, as you call it, whenever I choose. That happens to be right now. You two silk-stockings can like it, or lump it. Mulcahy!" he yelled to the camp commissary man, who was just starting down the canal in his launch on his way to Grafton for supplies. "Wait, I'm going with you. Here, take this." He bolted into his cabin, then dashed back, carrying a heavy suit-case. He heaved it into the launch, then sprang in beside the open-mouthed steward. "Now, I'm off!" He blazed the words at the two boys staring from the bank. "You can run this contract to suit yourselves, gentlemen. I'll send my resignation direct to the company. I don't have to take orders from you two swells another hour. Good-morning, gentlemen!" The steward grinned sheepishly at sight of his superior officer behaving himself like a spunky small boy. With a rueful nod toward Roderick he headed the launch down the canal. Burford expressed himself with some vim. "Well, he's gone. Good riddance, I call it. The surly hound!" "I don't know about that," muttered Rod. "It was my fault, maybe, writing him that letter. I was too high and mighty, I suppose." "You needn't blame yourself," returned Burford bluntly. "We've put up with his insolence and his scamped work and his everlasting wrangling long enough. Mr. Carlisle won't blame us; neither will the company." "We ought to wire company head-quarters at Chicago, and report just how things stand; then they'll send us a supervising engineer to take Mr. Carlisle's place. And a new scrub, too, instead of Marvin." "You're right, Hallowell. You wire them straight off, will you? I'm going up to the first lateral to watch the afternoon shift." Early that evening Roderick received the answering wire from head-quarters. He read it carefully. His sober young face settled into grim lines. An hour later Burford turned up, tired, but in high spirits, for his dredge had made a flying start on the lateral. Roderick handed him the despatch. The two boys stared at each other. A deep flush burned to Burford's temples. Rod's hard jaw set. The message was curt and to the point. "THE BRECKENRIDGE ENGINEERING COMPANY. OFFICE OF THE VICE-PRESIDENT. RODERICK HALLOWELL, ESQ. _c/o Contract Camp, Grafton, Illinois._ _Sir:_ Your report received. Consider yourself and Burford as jointly in command till further orders. I shall reach camp on route inspection by 26th inst. Kindly report conditions daily by wire. BRECKENRIDGE." "So we're made jointly responsible. Put in charge by Breckenridge. By Breck the Great, his very self. H'm-m." Burford looked out at the crowded boats, the muddy, half-built levee, stretching far as eye could see; the night shift of laborers, eighty strong, shuffling aboard the quarter-boat for their hot supper; the massed, powerful machinery, stretching its black funnels and cranes against the red evening sky. "So we're the two Grand Panjandrums on this job. Responsible for excavation that means prosperity or ruin for half the farmers in the district, according as we do or don't finish those laterals before the June rise; responsible for a pay-roll that runs over four hundred dollars a day; responsible for a time-lock contract that will cost our company five hundred dollars forfeit money a day for every day that we run over our time limit. Well, Hallowell?" "It strikes me," said Rod, very briefly, "that it's up to us." "Yes, it is up to us. But if we don't make good----" "Don't let that worry you." Rod's jaw set, steel. "Don't give that a thought. We'll make good." CHAPTER VI THE CONTRACT'S RECEIVING DAY "Hello, Sis!" It was Roderick's voice over the telephone. "How are you feeling this fine, muggy morning?" "Pretty well, I suppose. How are you, Rod? Where are you telephoning from?" "From Burford's shack. We're in a pinch down here, Marian. We need you to help out. Can't you ask Mr. Gates to hitch up and bring you down to camp right away? Or if you'll walk down to Gates's Landing I'll send Mulcahy with the launch, to bring you the rest of the way. And put on your very best toggery, Sis. War paint and feathers and all that. That pretty lavender silk rig will do. But don't forget the gimcracks. Put on all the jewelry you own." "Why, Roderick Hallowell! What can you mean? Dress up in my best, and come down to camp at nine in the morning, and on Sunday morning at that?" "I mean just what I say." Then Roderick chuckled irresistibly. "Poor Sis, I don't wonder you're puzzled. But Sunday is the contract's day at home, and we want you to stand in line and receive; or pour tea, whichever you prefer to do. Do you see?" "No, I don't see. All I do see is that you're talking nonsense. And I don't intend to come down to the camp. It is such a hot, horrid morning, I don't propose to stir. I want you to come up and spend the day here instead. Mrs. Gates wants you, too, she says, for dinner and for supper as well. And yesterday the rural-delivery man brought a whole armful of new magazines. We'll sit on the porch, and you can read and I'll write letters, and we'll have a lovely, quiet day together." There was a pause. When Roderick spoke again, his voice was rather quenched. "Sorry, Sis, but it isn't possible for me to come, even for dinner. I'll be hard at it here, every minute of the day." "You mean that you must work on the contract all day Sunday? When you have worked fourteen hours a day, ever since you came West?" Marian's voice was very tart. "Can't you stop long enough to go to church with me, even? There's a beautiful little church four miles away. It's just a pleasant drive. Surely you can give up two hours of the morning, if you can spare no more time!" "It isn't a question of what I'm willing to do. And I am not planning to work on Sunday. As you know, Sis, we bank our fires Saturday night and give the laborers a day off. Nearly all the men left for town last night to stay till Monday. But listen. Burford tells me that, on every clear Sunday, we can expect a visit from most of the land-owners for miles around. And not just from the land-owners themselves: their sisters, and their cousins, and their aunts; and the children, and the neighbors, and the family cat. They want to see for themselves just how the work is going on. When you stop to think, it's their own work. Their money is paying for every shovelful of dirt we move, and every inch of levee-work. And they're paying every copper of our salaries, too. They have a right to see how their own investment is being used, Sis." "So you have to treat these country people as honored guests! Cart them up and down the canal, and show them the excavations, and let them pry into your reports, and ask you silly questions! Of all the tiresome, preposterous things!" "That's pretty much what we'll do. But there is nothing preposterous about it; it's their right. And we fellows want to do the decent thing. Now, more than ever, we want to do everything properly because Carlisle is sick and away. Burford says that Carlisle was more exacting about these visits of inspection than about anything else on the plant. He said that when a man builds a house to protect his family he has the right to oversee every inch of the construction, if he likes. On the same principle, these farmers who are digging canals and putting up levees to protect their lands should have the right to watch the work, step by step. Burford says, too, that Carlisle, with his everlasting patience and courtesy, was steadily winning over the whole district; even the men who had fought the first assessments tooth and nail. It is the least we boys can do to keep up the good feeling that Carlisle has established." "Well, I think it is all very absurd. Why should I come down to the work? These people do not even know that I exist. And if you really need somebody to talk to their wives and be gracious and all that, why can't Mrs. Burford do it better than I? She is right on the ground, anyway." "Yes, she's right on the ground. And so is Thomas Tucker's newest tooth. The poor little skeezicks howled half the night, Burford says. He has stopped yelling just now, but he won't let his mother out of his sight for one minute. Mrs. Burford is pretty much worn to a frazzle. But I don't want to pester you, Marian." There was a worried note in Rod's voice now. "I wouldn't have you come for any consideration, if it were to make you ill or tired. So perhaps we'd better not think of it." Marian shrugged her shoulders. An odd, teasing question stirred in her mind. "I rather think I can stand the day if you can. Finnegan and I will be at the landing in half an hour. I, and my best beads and wampum, and my new spring hat. There, now!" Not waiting for Rod's delighted reply, she hurried away to dress. A whimsical impulse led her to put on her freshest and daintiest gown, a charming lilac silk, with a wide, tilting picture hat, heaped with white and purple lilacs. She was standing at the little pier, tugging at her long gloves, when the duty-launch, with Rod himself at the wheel, shot round the bend. Rod waved his hand; then, at sight of her amazing finery, he burst into a whoop of satisfaction. "Will you look at that! Marian Hallowell, you're the best ever. I might have known you'd play up. Though I was scared stiff, for fear you'd think that just every-day clothes would do. My, but you're stunning! You're looking stronger, too, Sis. You're not nearly so wan and spooky as you were a week ago." "I'm feeling better, too." Marian's color rose. Even her sulky humor must melt under Rod's beaming approval. "Now give me my sailing orders, Rod. How many callers will we have? What sort of people will they be? Tart and grim, like Mrs. Chrisenberry, I suppose, or else kindly and bashful and 'woodsy,' like the Gateses? Will they stop by on their way home from church, or will they come promptly after dinner and spend the afternoon?" Rod laughed. "No telling, Sister. We may have ten callers, we may have a hundred. You'll find all kinds of people among them; precisely as you'll find all kinds of people on Mount Vernon Street, Boston, Massachusetts. There'll be nice, neighborly folks who'll drive up the canal road in Bond Street motoring clothes and sixty-horse-power cars. There'll be other nice, neighborly folks who'll ride in through the woods on their plough horses, wearing slat sunbonnets and hickory shirts. And they'll be friendly, and critical, and enthusiastic, and dubersome, all in a heap. You'll need all your social experience, and all your tact, and all the diplomacy you can muster. See?" "Yes, I'm beginning to see." Marian's eyes were thoughtful. Then she sprang up to wave her lilac parasol in greeting to the martin-box and Sally Lou. "Isn't this the most mournful luck that ever was!" Sally Lou sat with Thomas Tucker, a forlorn little figure, planted firmly on her knee. "To think that my son must spend his first afternoon of the season in cutting a wicked double tooth! Maybe it'll come through by dinner-time, though. Then he'll go to sleep, and I can slip over and help you entertain our people--Why, Marian Hallowell! Oh, what a lovely, lovely gown! You wise child, how did you know that to wear it to-day was precisely the wisest thing that you could possibly do!" "I didn't know that. I just put it on. Partly for fun, and--well, partly to provoke Rod, I suppose." Marian felt rather foolish. But she had no time for further confidences. Up the muddy canal road came a roomy family carriage, drawn by a superbly matched black team. That carriage was packed solid to the dashboard. Father, two tall boys, and a rosy little daughter crammed the front seat; mother, grandmother, and aunty were fitted neatly into the back; and a fringe of small fry swung from every direction. "Morning." The father reined in and gave everybody a friendly nod and smile. "How are you, Mr. Burford? Glad to meet you, Mr. Hallowell. No, thank you, we're on our way to Sunday-school and church, so we haven't a minute to stop. But I have been wanting to know how you think lateral four will work out; the one that turns down past my farm. Will that sand cut give you much trouble?" "It will make slower dredging, Mr. Moore. But we'll put it through as fast as we can." "Um. I'm in no hurry to see it go through. The high water isn't due for a month, anyway. Now, I don't know much about sand-cutting. But I've been told that your worst trouble in a sand streak is with the slides. After your dredge-dipper has dumped the stuff ashore, it won't stay put. It keeps tobogganing back into the channel and blocking your cut. So sometimes you have to hoist it out two or three times over." "That's exactly the case, Mr. Moore. Usually our levee gangs follow along and tamp the sand down, or else spread it back from the berm where it has no chance to slide. But it is getting so near the time set for the completion of our upper lateral cut that we are obliged to keep our levee shift at work on the upper laterals and take our chances on the sand staying where we pile it." "Just what I'd supposed. Now, I shall need a lot of that sand, in a week or so, for some cement work. S'pose I send you a couple of teams and half a dozen hands to-morrow, to cart off the sand under your direction. Would that help things along?" "Help things along? I should say it would!" Rod beamed. "It would be the most timely help we could ask." "But won't it put you to a lot of trouble, sir," asked Burford, "to take the hands off their regular farm-work in that way?" "W-well, no. Anyway they can haul sand for a day or so without making much difference. And it will be a heap handier for you boys to have the stuff carted off as fast as you throw it ashore." "It surely will. That's the best news we've heard in one while!" The boys stood smiling at each other, completely radiant. Mr. Moore nodded and turned his horses. "Glad if it will be any accommodation. Well, good day to you all. My good wishes to Mr. Carlisle. Tell him I said he left a couple of mighty competent substitutes, but that his neighbors will be glad to see him coming back, just the same." The big carriage with its gay load rolled away. "So Moore will send men and teams to help us on that sand cut!" Burford, fairly chortling with satisfaction, started toward the martin-box. "If all our land-owners treated us with half the consideration that he always gives, our work would be a summer's dream. I'm going up to tell Sally Lou." He had hardly reached the martin-box before he turned with a shout. "There come our next visitors, Hallowell. The commodore and Mrs. McCloskey, in that fat little white launch. See?" Commodore McCloskey it was, indeed. Finnegan's wild yelp of delighted greeting would have told as much. Marian promptly joined the hilarious race to the pier. The commodore, crisp and blinding-white in his starchy duck, stood at his launch wheel, majestic as if he stood on the bridge of an ocean liner. But Mrs. McCloskey, a dainty, soft-eyed, little old lady, with cheeks like Scotch roses, and silky curls white as dandelion down blowing from under her decorous gray bonnet, won Marian's heart at the first glance. She was as quaint and gentle and charming as an old-time miniature. While the boys took the commodore up and down the laterals that he might see their progress since his last visit, Mrs. McCloskey trailed her soft old black silk skirts to the martin-box door and begged for a glimpse of the baby. "He's crosser than a prickly little porcupine," protested Sally Lou, handing him over reluctantly. "Oh, but he'll come to me just the minute! Won't you, lamb?" And like a lamb Thomas Tucker forgot his sorrows and snuggled happily into her tender arms, while his relieved mother bustled about and helped Marian to make a generous supply of lemonade; for half a dozen carriage loads of visitors were now coming up the road. "'Tis amazin'. Where do they all come from?" observed Mrs. McCloskey. "Yet there's nigh three hundred land-owners in this district. And the commodore, he passed the word yesterday that there's close on two hundred thousand acres of land that will be protected by this one drainage contract. Think of that, Miss Marian. Is it not grand to know that your brother is giving the power of his hands and his brains to such a big, helping work as all that?" "Why, I suppose so." Marian spoke absently. "And ye will be a help to him, too, I can see that." Mrs. McCloskey put out a hesitating little hand in a quaint old silken mitt and patted Marian's fluffy gown. "'Tis not everybody makes as bould as meself to tell you in so many words of your pretty finery. But sure 'tis everybody that will appreciate it, an' be pleased an' honored with the compliment of it." Marian looked utterly puzzled. "You think that I can be a help to Rod? Why, I don't know the least thing about his work. I really don't understand----" "Well, aren't you a magic-maker, Auntie McCloskey!" Sally Lou put down the lemon-squeezer and stared. "Look at that precious baby! Sound asleep in your lap! While I haven't been able to pacify him for one minute, though I walked and sang all night!" "'Tis the cruel tooth has come through, I'm thinkin'." Mrs. McCloskey laid the peaceful little porcupine tenderly into his crib. "Now, I'll stay and watch him while you two go and meet your guests. I'll call you the minute he chirps." The two girls hurried to greet their callers, to offer them chairs on the shady side of the quarter-boat, to serve them with iced tea and lemonade. Much to Marian's surprise, she found herself chattering away vigorously and actually enjoying it all. As Rod had said, the slow stream that came and went all day included all sorts and conditions of folk. There were the gracious old clergyman and his sweet, motherly wife, who stopped for a pleasant half-hour, then jogged on across the country to his "afternoon meeting," twelve miles out in the lowlands. There were the two brisk young plutocrats from the great Kensington stock farm up-river, who flashed up in a stunning satiny-gray French car, for a brief exchange of courtesies. There were two of the district commissioners, quiet, keen-eyed gentlemen. One of these men, Rod told his sister later, was doing valuable service to the community by his experiments in improving the yield of corn throughout the district. The other commissioner was a lawyer of national reputation. Mrs. Chrisenberry stopped by, too: a brusque little visitor, sitting very stiff and fine in her cushioned phaeton, her beady eyes darting questions through her shrewd spectacles. Marian, feeling very real gratitude, devoted herself to Mrs. Chrisenberry. That lady, however, hardly spoke till just as she was starting to go. Then she leaned forward in her carriage. She fixed Marian with a gimlet eye. "It's agreeable to see that you think we district folks _is_ folks," she said, very tartly indeed. "I'd some mistrusted the other day, but I guess now that you know what's what. Good-afternoon, all." "Well, Sally Lou! Will you tell me what she meant?" Sally Lou nodded wisely. "Your pretty dress, I suspect. Didn't you hear Mrs. McCloskey praise it, too?" "Oh!" And now Marian's face was very thoughtful indeed. Late in the afternoon came the one disagreeable episode of the day. The drainage district, upon which Roderick and Burford were employed, had become part of a huge league known as the Central Mississippi Drainage Association. This league had recently been organized. Its object was the cutting of protective ditches on a gigantic scale, and its annual expenditures for this work would run well past the million mark. Naturally there was strong competition between all the great engineering firms to win a favorable standing in the eyes of this new and powerful corporation. The Breckenridge Company, because of its superior record, was easily in the lead. None the less, as Rod had remarked a day or so before, it was up to every member of the Breckenridge Company, from Breck the Great down to the meekest cub engineer, to keep that lead. Burford jeered mildly at Rod for taking his own small importance to the company so seriously. "Just you wait and see," retorted Roderick. "Oh, I'll wait, all right," laughed Burford. To-day, however, he was destined to see; and to see almost too clearly for his own peace of mind. A sumptuous limousine car whirled up the muddy road. Its lordly door swung open; down stepped a large, autocratic gentleman, in raiment of startling splendor, followed by a quiet, courteous elderly man. "I am Mr. Ellingworth Locke, of New York. I am the acting president of the Central Mississippi Drainage Association," announced the magnificent one. "You gentlemen, I take it, are the--ah--the junior engineers left in charge by Mr. Carlisle?" Roderick and Burford admitted their identity. "This is Mr. Crosby, our consulting engineer. Now that this district has joined the association, it comes under our direct surveillance. Mr. Crosby and I desire to go over your laterals and get an idea of your work thus far." "We are honored." Burford bowed low and welcomed his guests with somewhat flamboyant courtesy. He led the way to the duty-launch. Roderick followed, bringing the cushions and the tarpaulin which the quick-witted Sally Lou hastily commanded him to carry aboard for the potentate's comfort. Of all their guests, that long day, the acting president was the sole critic. At every rod of the big ditch, at every turn of the laterals, he found some petty fault. The consulting engineer, Mr. Crosby, followed him about in embarrassed silence. He was obviously annoyed by his employer's rudeness. However, for all Mr. Locke's strictures, it was evident that he could find no serious fault with the work. Yet both boys were tingling with vexation and chagrin when the regal limousine rolled away at last. "What does ail his highness? Did ever you see such a beautiful grouch?" Rod mopped his forehead and stared belligerently after the car. "Nothing ails him but a badly swelled head." Burford's jaw set hard. "The fact of it is, that the worshipful Mr. Ellingworth Locke hasn't two pins' worth of practical knowledge of dredging. He is a New York banker, and he has no understanding of conditions west of the Hudson. His bank is to make the loans for the association's drainage, and he has bought a big tract of land in this district. That is why he was elected acting president. Do you see?" "Yes, that helps to explain things." "So he struts around and tries to pick flaws with the most trifling points of our construction, to keep us from guessing how little he really knows about the big underlying principles. Gentle innocent, he tries to think he's an expert!" Burford waved a disrespectful muddy paw after the flying car. "All that an acting president is good for, anyway, is to wear white spats and to put on side." "Well, that engineer knows his job." "Crosby? Yes, he's an engineer all right. And a gentleman, too. Just the same, I'm glad we kowtowed to Mr. Locke. His opinion is so influential that his approval may mean a tremendous advantage to the Breckenridge Company some day." "I'm hoping that Breckenridge himself will come before long and give us a looking over." "I'm hoping for that myself. Half an hour of Breck will swing everything into shape. You want to know Breckenridge if ever you get the chance, Hallowell. He's the grandest ever. Just to watch him tramp up and down a ditch, great big silent figure that he is, and hear him fire off those cool, close-mouthed questions of his at you, brings you bristling up like a fighting-cock. He's a regular inspiration, I call him." "I'm banking on the chance that I shall know him some day." Rod's eyes lighted. He remembered the words of his old professor, "To work under Breckenridge is not only an advantage to any engineer. It is an education in itself." It was nearly six o'clock when their last callers arrived. They were not an interesting carriage load: a gaunt, silent, middle-aged man; a sallow-cheeked young woman, in cheap, showy clothes, her rough hands glittering with gaudy rings; and a six-year-old girl--a pitiful little ghost of a girl--who looked like a frail little shadow against Sally Lou's lusty, rosy two-year-old son. Her warped, tiny body in its forlorn lace-trimmed pink silk dress was braced in pillows in her mother's arms. Her dim black eyes stared listlessly with the indifference of long suffering. Marian was always shaken and repelled by the sight of pain. But by this time Thomas Tucker was awake and loudly demanding his mother; so Marian must do her shrinking best, to make the new-comers feel themselves welcomed. "No, Mamie she don't drink lemonade. No, she don't want no milk, neither. We'll just set here in the cool and rest a while till pappy gets through lookin' around." The young, tired mother sat down on the little pier. She settled the wan little creature carefully into her arms again. "No, there's nothing you can get for her; nothing at all." "Doesn't she like to look at pictures? I have some new magazines," ventured Marian. "She does like pictures once in a while. Want to see what the lady's got for you, Mamie?" Mamie roused herself and looked silently at the books that Marian piled before her. Bent on pleasing the little wraith, Marian cut out several lovely ladies, and on a sudden inspiration added rosy cheeks from Rod's tray of colored pencils. Those red and blue and purple pencils caught Mamie's listless eye. She even bestirred herself to try and draw a portrait or so with her own shaky little fingers. "Beats all," sighed her mother. A little pleased color rose in her cheeks. "I haven't seen her take such an interest for months. Not even in her dollies. We buy her all the playthings we can think of. Her pappy, he don't ever go to town without he up and brings her a whole grist of candy and toys and clutter. But we never once thought of the pencils for her. Nor of paper dolls, either. My, I'm glad we stopped by. And her pappy, he'll be more pleased than words can tell. He's always so heart-set for Mamie to have a little fun." "She must take these pencils home with her. Rod has a whole boxful." Marian tied up not only the pencils, but a generous roll of Rod's heavy drawing-paper, expressly adapted to making paper dolls that would stand alone. The child clutched the bundle in her little lean hands without a word of thanks. But her white little face was eloquent. So was her father's face when he came to carry her away, and heard her mother's story of the new pleasure. "Well, this day has meant hard work all right, even though it was a day of rest from my regular work," said Roderick. He was swinging the launch up the canal to the Gates's Landing. "It's a queer way to spend Sunday, isn't it, Sis? But it seems to be the only way for me just at present. And you can be sure that we're obliged to you, old lady, for the way that you've held up your end." "I didn't mind the day, nor did I mind meeting all those people nearly as much as I'd imagined that I would," pondered Marian. "Especially the McCloskeys, the dear things! And that poor little crippled child, too. I wish I could do something more for her. Y-yes, as you say, it was pretty hard work. I'm rather tired to-night. But the day was well worth while." But just how worth while that day had been, neither Rod nor Marian could know. CHAPTER VII THE COAL AND THE COMMODORE "Ready for breakfast, Miss Hallowell?" Mrs. Gates's pleasant voice summoned her. "Just a minute." Marian loitered at the window, looking out at the transformed woods and fields. She could hardly believe her eyes. Two weeks ago only stark, leafless branches and muddy gray earth had stretched before her. But in these fourteen days, the magic of early April had wrought wonders. The trees stood clothed in shining new leaves, thick and luxuriant as a New England June. The fields were sheets of living green. "It doesn't seem real," she sighed happily. "It isn't the same country that it was when I first came." "No more are you the same girl." Mrs. Gates nodded approvingly behind the tall steaming coffee-pot. "My, you were that peaky and piney! But nowadays you're getting some real red in your cheeks, and you eat more like a human being and less like a canary-bird." Marian twinkled. "Your brother is gettin' to be the peaky one, nowadays," went on Mrs. Gates, with her placid frankness. "Seems to me I never saw a boy look as beat out as he does, ever since that big cave-in on the canal last week. I'm thankful for this good weather for him. Maybe he can make up for the time they lost digging out the cave-in if it stays clear and the creeks don't rise any higher. He's a real worker, isn't he? Seems like he'd slave the flesh off his bones before he'd let his job fall behind. But I don't like to see him look so gaunt and tired. It isn't natural in a boy like him." Marian looked puzzled. "Why, Rod is always strong and well." "He's strong, yes. But even strong folks can tire out. Flesh and blood aren't steel and wire. You'd better watch him pretty sharp, now that hot weather is coming. He needs it." Marian pushed back her plate with a frown. Her dainty breakfast had suddenly lost its savor. "Watch over Rod! I should think it was Rod's place to watch over me, instead. And when I have been so ill, too!" she said to herself. Yet a queer little thorn of anxiety pricked her. She called Mr. Finnegan and raced with him down through the wet green woods to the canal. Roderick stood on the dredge platform, talking to the head dredge-runner. He hailed Marian with a shout. "You're just in time to see me off, Sis. I'm going to Saint Louis to hurry up our coal shipment." "The coal shipment? I thought a barge-load of coal was due here yesterday." "Due, yes. But it hasn't turned up, and we're on our last car-load this minute. That's serious. We'll have to shut down if I can't hurry a supply to camp within thirty-six hours." Marian followed him aboard the engineers' house-boat and watched him pack his suit-case. "Why are you taking all those time-books, Rod? Surely you will not have time to make up your week's reports during that three-hour trip on the train?" "These aren't my weekly reports. These are tabulated operating expenses. President Sturdevant, the head of our company, has just announced that he wants us to furnish data for every working day. He's a bit of a martinet, you know. He wants everything figured up into shape for immediate reference. He says he proposes to follow the cost of this job, excavation, fill, everything, within thirty-six hours of the time when the actual work is done. He doesn't realize that that means hours of expert book-keeping, and that we haven't a book-keeper in the camp. So Burford and I have had to tackle it, in addition to our regular work. And it's no trifle." Roderick rolled up a formidable mass of notes. There was a worried tone in his steady voice. "Why doesn't the company send you a book-keeper?" "Burford and I are planning to ask for one when the president and Breckenridge come to camp on their tour of inspection." "Could I do some of the work for you, Rod?" "Thank you, Sis, but I'm afraid you'd find it a Chinese puzzle. I get tangled up in it myself half the time. We must set down every solitary item of cost, no matter how trifling; not only wages and supplies, but breakdowns, time losses, even those of a few minutes; then calculate our average, day by day; then plot a curve for each week's work, showing the cost of the contract for that week, and set it against our yardage record for that week. Then verify it, item by item, and send it in." "All tied up in beautiful red-tape bow-knots, I suppose," added Marian, with a sniff. She poked gingerly into the mass of papers. "The idea of adding book-keeping to your twelve-hour shift as superintendent! And in this stuffy, noisy little box!" She looked impatiently around the close narrow state-room. The ceiling was not two feet above her head; the hot morning sunlight beat on the flat tin roof of the house-boat and dazzled through the windows. "How can you work here?--or sleep, either?" Rod rubbed his hand uncertainly across his eyes. "I don't sleep much, for a fact. Too hot. Sometimes I drop off early, but the men always wake me at midnight when the last shift goes off duty." "But the laborers are all across on their own quarter-boat. They don't come aboard your house-boat?" "No, but the quarter-boat is only fifty feet away. The cook has their hot supper ready at twelve, and they lark over it, and laugh and shout and cut up high-jinks, like a pack of school-boys. I wouldn't mind, only I can't get to sleep again. I lie there and mull over the contract, you see. I can't help it." "Why don't you come up to the Gates farm-house and sleep there?" "I couldn't think of that. It's too far away. I must stay right here and keep my eye on the work, every minute. You have no idea what a dangerously narrow margin of time we have left; 'specially for those north laterals, you know, Sis." His voice grew sharp and anxious. Marian looked at him keenly. For the first time she saw the dull circles under his eyes, the drawn, tired lines around his steady mouth. Then she glanced up the ditch. High on its green stilts, Sally Lou's perky little martin-box caught her eye. "I have it, Rod! Tell some of your laborers to build a cabin for you, like the Burfords'! Then I'll come down and keep house for you." Roderick shrugged his shoulders. "I can't spare a solitary laborer from the contract, Marian; not for a day. We're short-handed as it is. No, I'll stay where I am. I'm doing well enough. Steam up, Mulcahy? Good-by, Sis. Back to-morrow!" Marian watched the launch till it disappeared in the green mist of the willows. Then she sat down to her brother's desk and began to sort the clutter of papers. But sorting them was not an easy matter. To her eyes they were only a bewildering tangle. Marian knew that she possessed an inborn knack at figures, and it piqued her to find that she could not master Roderick's accounts at the first glance. She worked on and on doggedly. The little state-room grew hot and close; the dull throb of the dredge machinery and the noisy voices from without disturbed her more and more. At last she sprang up and swept the whole mass into her hand-bag. Then she ran up the hill to the martin-box. Sally Lou, very fresh and cool in pink dimity, sat in her screened nest, with the babies playing on the scrubbed floor. She nodded in amused sympathy at Marian's portentous armful. "Aren't those records a dismal task! Yes, I've found a way to sift them, though it took me a long time to learn. Start by adding up the time-book accounts; verify each laborer's hours, and see whether his pay checks correspond to his actual working time. Roderick has fifty men on his shift, so that is no small task. Then add up his memoranda of time made by the big dredge; and also the daily record of the two little dredges up at the laterals. Then run over the steward's accounts and see whether they check with his bills----" Marian stared at Sally Lou, astonished. "Well, but Sally Lou! Think how much time that will mean! Why, I would have to spend all afternoon on the time-books alone." Sally Lou raised her yellow head and looked at Marian very steadily. A tiny spark glinted in her brown eyes. "Well, what if it does take all afternoon? Have you anything better to do?" There was a minute of silence. Then Marian's cheeks turned rather pink. "I suppose not. But it is horridly tedious work, Sally Lou. On such a warm day, too." "It certainly is." Sally Lou's voice was quite dry. She caught up Thomas Tucker, who was trying laboriously to feed Mr. Finnegan with a large ball of darning cotton. "You'd find it even more tedious if you were obliged to work at it evenings, as your brother does. Can't you stay to lunch, Marian? We'll love to have you; won't we, babies?" "Thank you, no. Mrs. Gates will expect me at home." Marian walked back through the woods, her head held high. The glint in Sally Lou's eyes had been a bit of a challenge. Again she felt her cheeks flush hot, with a queer puzzled vexation. "I'll show her that I can straighten Rod's papers, no matter how muddled they are!" she said to herself, tartly. And all that warm spring afternoon she toiled with might and main. * * * * * Roderick, meanwhile, was spending a hard, discouraging day. Arriving at Saint Louis, he found the secretary of the coal-mining company at his office. Eager and insistent, he poured out his urgent need of the promised barge-load of coal. The consignment was now a week overdue. The dredges had only a few hundred bushels at hand; in less than forty-eight hours the engines must shut down, unless he could get the fuel to camp. "You can't be any more disturbed by this crisis than I am, Mr. Hallowell," the secretary assured him. "Owing to a strike at the mines we have been forced to cancel all deliveries. I can't let you have a single ton." Roderick gasped. "But our dredges! We don't dare shut down. Our contract has a chilled-steel time-lock, sir, with a heavy forfeit. We must not run over our date limits. We've got to have that coal!" "You may be able to pick up a few tons from small dealers," said the secretary, turning back to his desk. "You'll be buying black diamonds in good earnest, for the retail price has gone up thirty per cent since the news came of the mines strike. Wish you good luck, Mr. Hallowell. Sorry that is all that I can do for you." Roderick lost no time. He bought a business directory and hailed a taxicab. For six hours he drove from one coal-dealer's office to another. At eight o'clock that night he reached his hotel, tired in every bone, but in royal high spirits. Driblet by driblet, and paying a price that fairly staggered him, he had managed to buy over four hundred tons. "That will keep us going till the strike is settled," he told Burford over the long-distance. "Bully for you!" returned Burford, jubilant. "But how will you bring it up to camp?" "Oh, the railroad people have promised empties on to-morrow morning's early freight to Grafton. Then we can carry it to camp on our own barges. I shall come up on that freight myself. I shall not risk losing sight of that coal. Mind that." At five the next morning Roderick went down to the freight yards. His coal wagons were already arriving. But not one of the promised "empties" could he find. "There is a mistake somewhere," said the yard-master. "Can't promise you a solitary car for three days, anyway. Traffic is all behindhand. You'd better make a try at head-quarters." "I have no time to waste at head-quarters," retorted Rod. He was white with anger and chagrin. This ill luck was a bolt from a clear sky. "I'll go down to the river front and hire a barge and a tow-boat. I'll get that coal up to camp to-morrow if I have to carry it in my suit-case." His hunt for a barge proved a stern chase, but finally he secured a large flat-boat at a reasonable rental. But after searching the river front for miles, he found only one tow-boat that could be chartered. The tow's captain, noting Roderick's anxiety, and learning that he represented the great Breckenridge Company, promptly declared that he would not think of doing the two-days' towing for less than five hundred dollars. "Five hundred dollars for two days' towing! And I have already paid three times the mine price for my coal!" Roderick groaned inwardly. Suddenly his eye caught two trim red stacks and a broad familiar bow not fifty yards away. It was the little packet, the _Lucy Lee_. She was just lowering her gang-plank, making ready to take on freight for her trip up-stream. "I'll hail the _Lucy_. Maybe the captain can tell me where to find another tow-boat. Ahoy, the _Lucy_! Is your captain aboard? Ask him to come on deck and talk to Hallowell, of the Breckenridge Company, will you?" "The captain has not come down yet, sir. But our pilot, Commodore McCloskey, is here. Will you talk with him?" "Will I talk to the commodore? I should hope so!" Rod's strained face broke into a joyful grin. He could have shouted with satisfaction when Commodore McCloskey, trim as a gimlet in starchy white duck, strolled down the gang-plank and gave him a friendly hand. "Sure, I don't wonder ye're red-hot mad," he said, with twinkling sympathy. "Five hundred dollars for two days' tow! 'Tis no better than a pirate that tow-boat captain is, sure. But come with me. I have a friend at court that can give ye a hand, maybe. Hi, boy! Is Captain Lathrop, of the _Queen_, round about?" "The _Queen_? Why, her captain is the very man who demanded the five hundred dollars!" blurted Rod. At that moment the captain's head popped from the cabin door. He stared at Roderick. He stared at Commodore McCloskey. Then he had the grace to duck wildly back, with a face sheepish beyond words to describe. "Well, Captain Lathrop!" Commodore McCloskey's voice rang merciless and clear. "Tell me the truth. Is it yourself that's turned highway robber? Five hundred dollars for twenty hours' tow! Sure, ye must be one of thim high fin-an-ciers we read about in the papers. Why not make it five hundred dollars per ton? Then ye could sell the _Queen_ and buy yourself a Cunarder for a tow-boat instead." Captain Lathrop squirmed. "How should I know he was a friend of yours, commodore? I'll take his coal all the way to camp, and gladly, for three hundred, seein' as it's a favor to you." "For three hundred, is it?" The commodore began a further flow of eloquence. But Rod caught his arm. "Three hundred will be all right. And I'm more obliged to you, commodore, than I can say. Now I'm off. If ever I can do you a good turn, mind you give me the chance!" It was late the next night when Roderick reached the camp landing with his precious black diamonds. He was desperately tired, muddy, and begrimed with smoke and coal-dust, hungry as a wolf, and hilarious with relief at his hard-earned success. Marian, Sally Lou, and Burford were all waiting for him at the little pier. Sally Lou dragged him up to the martin-box for a late supper. Afterward Marian, who was to spend the night with Sally Lou, walked back with him to his house-boat. [Illustration: "WELL, CAPTAIN LATHROP!" COMMODORE McCLOSKEY'S VOICE RANG MERCILESS AND CLEAR.] "Yes, yes, I'm all right, Sis. Don't fidget over me so." Roderick stepped into his state-room and dropped down into his desk chair. "Whew! I'm thankful to get back. I could go to sleep standing up, if it wasn't for making up the records for President Sturdevant. Run away now, that's a good girl, and let me straighten my accounts. Then I can go to bed." Even as he spoke Rod's glance swept his desk. Instead of the heaped disorder of the day before, he saw now rows of neatly docketed papers. He gave a whistle of surprise. "Who has been overhauling my desk? Burford? Why--why, did _you_ do this for me, sister? Well, on my word, you are just the very best ever." His big fingers gripped Marian's arm and gave her a grateful little shake. "You've squared up every single account, haven't you! And your figuring is always accurate. This means two hours' extra sleep for me. Maybe you think I won't enjoy 'em!" "I might have been keeping your accounts for you all these weeks," returned Marian. She was a little mortified by Roderick's astonished gratitude. "It is not hard work for me. I really enjoyed doing it." "Maybe you think I don't enjoy having you do it!" Rod chuckled contentedly. "I've dreaded those accounts all day. Now I shall sleep the sleep of the loafer who has let his sister do his work for him. Good-night, old lady!" Marian tucked herself comfortably into her corner of the martin-box, but not to sleep. Try her best, she could not banish Rod's tired face from her mind. Neither could she forget the look of his little state-room. True, she had made it daintily fresh and neat. But the tiny box was hot and stuffy at best. What could she do to make Rod's quarters more comfortable? At last she sat up with a whispered exclamation. "Good! I'll try that plan. Perhaps it won't do after all. But it cannot hurt to try. And if my scheme can make Rod the least bit more comfortable, then the trying will be well worth while!" CHAPTER VIII THE BURGOO Very early the next morning, Marian set to work upon her brilliant plan for Roderick's comfort. The coast was clear for action. Both Roderick and Ned Burford had gone up the canal to oversee the excavation at the north laterals. Sally Lou had packed Mammy and the babies into the buckboard and had driven away to the nearest farm-house for eggs and butter. So Marian had a clear field. And she made eager use of every moment. Perhaps two hundred yards from the canal bank, set well up on a little knoll where it could catch every passing breeze, stood a broad wooden platform. High posts, built to hold lanterns, were set at the four corners and half-way down each side. "The young folks of the district built that platform for their picnic dances," Burford had told Marian. "But this year our dredges have torn up this whole section and have made the creek banks so miry and disagreeable that no picnic parties will come this way till the contract is finished and the turf has had time to grow again." Marian measured the platform with a calculating eye. "It is built of matched boards, as tight and sound as if they had put it up yesterday. It will make a splendid floor for Rod's house. But when it comes to building the house itself--that's the question." The contract supplies, she knew, were kept in a store-room built astern of Roderick's house-boat. For a hot, tiresome hour she poked and pried through high-piled hogsheads and tiers of boxes, hoping that she might find a tent. But there was no such good fortune for her. She dragged out bale after bale of heavy new canvas. But every one of the scores of tents provided by the company was already pitched, to form the summer village occupied by the levee laborers. At last, quite vexed and impatient, she gave up her search. "Although, if I had any knack at all, I could sew up a tent from these yards on yards of canvas," she reflected. She carried one bolt of cloth on deck and unrolled it. "This is splendid heavy canvas. It is just the solid, water-proof sort that the fishermen at the lake last summer used for walls and roof of their 'open-faced camp,' as they called it. Now, I wonder. Why can't I lash long strips of canvas to the four posts of the platform for walls; then fasten heavy wires from one post to another and lash a slanting canvas roof to that! I can canopy it with mosquito-bar--a double layer--for there are dozens of yards of netting here. It would be a ridiculously funny little coop, I know that. But it would be far cooler and quieter than the boat. I believe Rod would like it. Anyway, we'll see!" Jacobs, the commissary man, came aboard a few minutes later with a basket of clean linen. He looked at Marian, already punching eyelet-holes in the heavy duck, with friendly concern. "Best let me give you a lift at that job, miss," he urged, when Marian had told him her plans. "I have an hour off, and I shall be pleased to help, if you will permit me. I'm an old sailor and I have my needle and palm in my kit. That kind of fancy work is just pastime to me. Indeed, I'd enjoy doing anything, if it's for Mr. Hallowell. We've never had a better boss, that's certain. You lace those strips of duck, then I'll hang them for you. We'll curtain off just a half of the platform. That will leave the other half for a fine open porch. We'll have this house built in two jiffies. Then I'll put Mr. Hallowell's canvas cot and his desk and his chair into place, all ready; so when he comes home to-night he will find himself moved and settled." It took longer than two jiffies to lash up the canvas shack, to hang mosquito bar, and to move Roderick's simple furniture. Returning from their drive, Sally Lou and Mammy Easter hurried to help; and, thanks to many willing hands, the tiny new abode was finished by afternoon; even to the brackets for Rod's lamp, which Jacobs screwed into a corner post, and the rack for his towels. At six o'clock, Roderick, fagged out and spattered with mud, came down the canal. He would have gone directly aboard his house-boat if Marian had not called him ashore. "March up here and see my out-door sitting-room," she commanded, with laughing eyes. "Oh, you and Sally Lou have made a play-house of that platform? That's all very nice. But wait till I can scrub up and swallow a mouthful of supper, Sis. My skiff tipped over with me up the canal, and I'm soaking wet, and dead tired besides." "Oh, no, Rod. Please come up right away. I can't wait, Slow-Coach. You really must see!" Roderick was well used to Marian's imperious whims. Reluctantly he climbed the slippery bank. Obediently he poked his head past the flap which Marian held back for him. There he saw his own cot spread white and fresh under its cool screen; his tidy desk; and even a "shower-bath," which clever Jacobs had contrived from a tiny force-pump and a small galvanized tank, borrowed from the company's store-room. For a long minute he stared about him without one word. Then his tired face brightened to a glow of incredulous delight. "Marian Hallowell! Did you rig up this whole contrivance, all for me? Well!" He sank down on the cot with a sigh of infinite satisfaction. "You certainly are the best sister I ever had, old lady. First you take my book-keeping off my hands. Next you build me a brand-new house, where I can sleep----whew! Won't I sleep like a log to-night, in all this quiet and coolness! On my word, I don't believe I could stand up to my work, Sis, if you didn't help me out as you do." Marian grew radiant at his pleasure. "Building it was no end of fun, Rod. I never enjoyed anything more." "Only I hope you haven't tired yourself out," said her brother, suddenly anxious. "You haven't the strength to work like this." "Nonsense! You don't realize how much stronger I am, Rod." "You surely do look a hundred per cent better than you did a month ago." Roderick looked at her with keen satisfaction. "But you must not overtire yourself." "Don't be so fussy, brother. It was just a trifle, anyway." "It won't mean a trifle to me. Quiet and sleep will give me a chance to get my head above water and breathe. Hello, neighbors!" For Sally Lou and Ned were poking their unabashed heads through the fly. "Come in and see my new mansion. Guess I'll have to give a house-warming to celebrate. What do you say?" "There's a celebration already on the way," laughed Burford. "Commodore McCloskey has just called me up on the long-distance. He says that he and Mrs. McCloskey will stop at the camp bright and early to-morrow morning to escort your sister and Sally Lou to the Barry County burgoo. I accepted the invitation for both you girls, for a 'burgoo,' whatever it means, sounds like a jolly lark; especially since the commodore is to be your host. But I'll admit that I'm puzzled. What do you suppose a burgoo may be?" The four looked at each other. "It sounds rather like a barbecue," ventured Sally Lou. "Hoots! It is far too early in the spring for a barbecue." "Burgoo? _Barbecue?_" Marian spoke the mystic words over, bewildered. "What is a barbecue, pray? Two such grim, ferocious words I never heard." "A barbecue is a country-side picnic, where the company unite to buy a huge piece of beef; sometimes a whole ox. Then they roast it in a trench floored with hot stones. The usual time for a barbecue is in August. Then they add roasting ears and new potatoes to the beef, and have a dinner fit for a king." "Or for an ogre," returned Marian. "It sounds like a feast for giants. Yet a burgoo sounds even fiercer and more barbaric. I shall ask the commodore what it means, the minute he comes. Wasn't he a dear to think of taking us?" Bright and early, even as he had promised, Mr. McCloskey's trig little launch puffed up to the camp landing. The commodore, arrayed as Solomon in snowy linen, a red tie, and a large Panama, waved greeting. Beside him sat Mrs. McCloskey, her sweet little old face beaming under her crisp frilled sunbonnet. The two girls stepped aboard, with Finnegan prancing joyfully after. For to-day the Burford babies were to stay at home with Mammy, while Finnegan was to attend the burgoo, a specially bidden guest. "And now, Mr. McCloskey! Tell us quick! What may a burgoo be?" "A burgoo?" Commodore McCloskey reflected. "Well, then, so ye don't know a burgoo by experience. Wherever was ye brought up? A burgoo is a burgoo, sure. 'Tis the only word in the English language that describes it. 'Tis sack-races, an' pole-climbin', an' merry-go-rounds, an' pink limonade, an' a brass band, an' kettles full of b'iled chicken an' gravy, an' more mortial things to eat than the tongue of man can name. Ye must see it to understand the real po'try of it. For the half of it could not be told to you." The commodore was quite right. The burgoo was all that he had claimed, and more. At least two hundred people, gay in their Sunday best, had already gathered at the county picnic grounds, a beautiful open woodland several miles up the Illinois River. Vendors of candy and popcorn, toy balloons and pink lemonade, shouted their wares. A vast merry-go-round wheezed and sputtered; the promised brass band awoke the river echoes. And, swung in a mighty rank above a row of camp-fires cleverly built in a broad shallow trench, the burgoo kettles sizzled and steamed. "Burgoo," the girls soon learned, is the local name for a delicious stew of chicken and bacon and vegetables, cooked slowly for hours, then served in wooden bowls with huge dill pickles and corn pone. Sally Lou, housekeeper born, wheedled the head cook, a courteous, grizzled old negro, into giving her the recipe. Marian, chuckling inwardly, heard his painstaking reply. "Yes'um. I kin tell you jest how to go about makin' burgoo. First you want sixteen, maybe twenty, pounds of bacon, cut tolerable fine. Then four dozen chickens won't be too many. Start your meats a-b'ilin'. Then peel your taters--I used three bushel for this batch. Then put in tomatoes. I reckon two dozen cans might do, though three would be better. Then cabbage, an' beans, an' onions, if you like. Two dozen head of cabbage is about right. An' two bushels of beans----" Just then Sally Lou dropped her pencil in despair. "I'll be no more than a head of cabbage myself, if I keep on trying to reduce this recipe to the needs of two people," she groaned in desperation. "Come along, Marian, let's climb on the merry-go-round a while and see if it won't clear my addled brain." The merry-go-round proved delightfully thrilling, especially to Mr. Finnegan, who rode round and round in a gilded sea-shell, barking himself hoarse in dizzy ecstasy. Just before noon the crowd, now astonishingly large, gathered at the little running track to watch the sports. First came the sack-races; then the pole-climbing; then the potato-race. Finnegan, by this time delirious with excitement, had to be held down by main force to discourage his wild ambition to take an active part in each event. Last on the programme came the greased-pig race. Now, the greased-pig race dates back a hundred years and more, to the days when the Kentucky pioneers met for their rare frolics of house-raising or corn-husking. It is a quaint old sport, very rough, very grimy and breathless, very ridiculously funny. A lively little pig is chosen and greased with melted tallow from head to tail. Then he is set free on the running-track. Half a minute later, the starting-gun booms the signal for his hunters to dash in pursuit. The winner must capture piggy with his bare hands and carry the squirming, slippery armful back to the judges' stand. If piggy escapes en route, the race must be run over again from the very start. The competitors are boys and young men. Only the fleet-footed can hope for a chance at success. But even as the starter stood calling the race through his big red megaphone, a tall, elderly man shouldered up to their group and hailed Mr. McCloskey. "Good-day, commodore! You're here to see the greased-pig race? My faith, do you remember the race that we two ran, down in Pike County in '63?" The commodore beamed at his old neighbor. "'Deed an' I do. And it was meself that captured that elegant pig, I remember." "You did that. But it was by accident entirely. For I had all but laid my hand on the pig when you snatched it from under my grasp. I've grudged ye that pig ever since." The little commodore's eyes snapped. He bristled from the crest of his white head to the toes of his polished boots. His voice took on an ominously silver tone. "By my word, I'm sorry to learn that that small pig has stood between us all these years, Mister Jennings. If it could give you satisfaction, I'd beg you to run that race over again with me. Or, we might race each other in the contest that is just about to take place. What do ye say?" For a minute, the astounded Mr. Jennings found nothing whatever to say. "Now, commodore!" protested gentle Mrs. McCloskey, round-eyed with reproach. "You'd not think of runnin' a half mile this hot noon in the face of all your friends an' neighbors, an' all for one small pig! And you seventy last month, an' that suit of clothes bought new from Saint Louis not the fortnight ago!" "You don't understand, Mary. I'd run the race if there was no pig at all under consideration, so it would give my friend Mister Jennings peace of mind," said the little commodore hotly. "What do ye say, sir? Will you join me, an' prove once more which one of us is the rale winner?" Very red and disconcerted, Mr. Jennings stood on one foot, then the other, in a torture of indecision. Then he threw off his coat. "I've never taken a dare like that yet, McCloskey. And I don't begin now. Come along." "Commodore!" Poor Mrs. McCloskey's shocked voice pursued him. But the commodore would not hear. Mr. Jennings was already clambering the rail to the running-track. Lightly as a boy, the commodore vaulted after him. Shoulder to shoulder the two joined the group before the judges' stand. There ran a ripple of question through the crowd, then a storm of delighted cheers and laughter. Mr. Jennings wriggled in sheepish torment. The commodore, sparkling and debonair, bowed to the throng and hung his Panama on a fence-post. Then down the running-track fled a small, shiny black object, squealing in glad escape. Instantly a shot crashed; then came a thundering shout: "Ready--go!" With whoops and yells the group of runners raced away down the track. The commodore kept well in the lead. He ran as lightly and as easily as did the boys that forged alongside him. Mr. Jennings puffed and pounded farther in the rear at every turn. They made the first lap of the race. At the second turn the commodore, only third from the lead, waved his hand to Mrs. McCloskey and the girls with a flourish of mischievous triumph. Marian and Sally Lou, tearful and choking with delight, clasped hands and swayed together in helpless rapture. Thus completely absorbed in the spectacle, they let go of Mr. Finnegan's leash. That was all that Finnegan wanted. With one glad yelp he hurled himself through the fence and bounced like a ball, straight into the midst of the fray. Far in advance fled a shiny black object. Finnegan knew his duty. The commodore was hurrying to catch that object. It was Finnegan's part to aid in that capture at all costs. Yelping madly, he tore away down the track. "Oh, it's Finnegan! Oh, the little villain! If I had only left him at home!" Poor Marian strove to call him back. But against the uproar of the crowd her voice could not make a sound. "Oh, the naughty little sinner, he will catch that pig himself and spoil the race for everybody. Look, Sally Lou! He has almost caught up with the pig this minute!" Even as she spoke, Finnegan, running at top speed, shot ahead of the fleeing pig. Then, with a frenzied bark, he whirled and charged straight at the prize. This front attack was too much for any pig's self-control. Not content with galloping murderously at his heels, his pursuers had set this ferocious brute to destroy him! With a squeal of mortal panic the little fellow turned right-about and bolted. Shrieking, he dashed back, straight into the crowd of runners. "Oh--oh! He's right under the commodore's hand! Oh, if he wasn't so slippery--Look, quick, Marian!" "Well, will you look at that now!" Mrs. McCloskey's mild voice rose in a laugh of triumph. "Sure, I never yet knew the commodore to fail if once he'd set his head to do a thing!" "If only he can keep fast hold of the pig till he reaches the judges' stand," whispered Sally Lou. All three gazed in pale suspense at the commodore, now striding gayly up the race-track, the pig squirming and squealing wildly in his arms. "I'm mistrustin' that myself," said Mrs. McCloskey, nervously, "for the little animal is not so convenient to hold, bein' he's so glassy smooth. But trust the commodore. He'll not fail, now." The commodore did not fail. Calm and majestic, as if he strode a quarter-deck, he paced down the track and halted before the judges' stand, his shrieking prize held high. As the umpire bent forward to give him the champion's blue ribbon, the crowd broke loose. No Olympic victor ever received his laurel in the face of a more enthusiastic tumult. "I give up," puffed Mr. Jennings, fanning himself with his hat. "You caught that pig fair an' square, commodore. The honors are yours." "Tut, tut, 'twas no great matter," declared the commodore modestly, as the girls heaped him with praises. "'Twas just a moment's divarsion. And it took no skill whatever, though I will own that to carry the little felly back to the judges' stand demanded some effort on me part. You will observe that a pig furnishes but few handholds, particularly when he's that slippery and excited-like. Yes, Mary, perhaps we'd best be startin' home, as it's so near sundown." "Well, but these girls must not go home empty-handed," urged Mrs. McCloskey. "Think of your poor boys, who could not take a day off for the burgoo! We must carry home a taste for them. Go to yonder booth and buy a market-basket, commodore. Then we'll pack in a few samples." Marian and Sally Lou looked on in silent amaze while Mrs. McCloskey packed the few samples, including a tall jar of the delicious burgoo, a dazzling array of cookies and preserves, and a fat black-currant pie. Meanwhile the commodore was fitting his treasured pig neatly into a small crate, much to the dismay of the pig and the keen joy of a large group of on-lookers. At last basket and crate were made ready. Tired out by their long, absurd, delightful day, the party settled themselves aboard the commodore's launch and started home. The trip downstream to camp was made in rapid time. It was just dusk when they reached their own landing. Roderick and Ned Burford had heard the commodore's whistle and were waiting to help them ashore. "What sort of a day was it, Sis?" "Yes, tell us, quick, if you had any fun. We have put in a gruelling day of it here," added Burford. "Three break-downs on the little dredge and a threatened cave-in on the first lateral! Go on and tell us something cheerful." Marian and Sally Lou stole a glance backward. The commodore was just putting his boat into mid-stream. He was safely out of earshot. With almost tearful laughter the two girls poured out the story of the day. "You brought home the best of the day to us," said Ned, as they spread the "samples" on a tiny deck table, picnic-fashion. "We fellows only laid off our levee shifts a few minutes ago. We're rushing that construction before the creeks rise any higher. So neither of us has eaten a mouthful since noon. This luncheon will taste like manna in the desert. S'pose Mammy Easter would make us a pot of coffee, Sally Lou? Then we could ask no more." "I'll go to the cabin and coax her to do it. I want a peep at the babies, anyway." Sally Lou sprang up and started toward the gangway. At the cabin door she stopped short. Her voice rang out, a frightened cry. "Ned Burford! Come quick! What is that blazing light away up the ditch? Is it--Oh, it is one of the boats--it is the big dredge! And it is on fire!" Ned Burford leaped up. His startled voice echoed Sally Lou's cry. "Hallowell! It's the big dredge, the giant Garrison! Wake up and pitch in. Hurry!" Days afterward Marian would try to recall just what happened during those wild moments; but the whole scene would flicker before her memory, a dizzy blur. She remembered Roderick's shout of alarm; the rush of the day-shift men from their tents; the clatter of the racing engine as Rod pushed them into the launch, then sent the little boat flying away up the canal. Then, directly ahead, she could see that dense black pillar of smoke rising straight up from the dredge deck, shot through with spurts of flame. Burford's half-strangled voice came back to them as he groped his way across the deck. "It's a pile of burning waste, right here by the capstan. Bring the chemical-extinguishers ... no time to wait for the hose.... Wet your coats, boys, and let's pound her out.... Whe-ew! I'm 'most strangled.... Sally Lou Burford! _You clear out!_ You and Marian, too. Go away, I tell you. This is no place for you!" Sally Lou and Marian stood doggedly in line passing the buckets of water which one of the laborers was dipping up from over the side. Roderick, stolid as a rock, stood close by that choking column of smoke and flame and dashed on the water. Burford rushed about, everywhere at once, half mad with excitement, yet giving orders with unswerving judgment. "Can't you start the pumping engine, boys? Swing out that emergency hose, quick. There you are! Now turn that stream on those oil barrels yonder--and _keep_ it there. Start the big force-pump and train a stream on the deck near the engines. The fire mustn't spread to the hoisting-gear. Mind that. Mulcahy, give me that chemical-tank. Wet my handkerchief and tie it over my mouth, Sally Lou. No, give me your scarf. That's better. I'm going to wade right in. Aha! See that?" The smoke column wavered, thinned. A shower of water, soot, and chemicals drenched everybody on deck. Nobody noticed the downpour, for the smoke column was sinking with every moment. Burford staggered back, half smothered. The extinguisher fell from his hand. But the force-pumps were working now at full blast. Stream after stream of water poured on the fire, then flooded across the deck. Two minutes more of frantic, gasping work and not a spark remained--nothing save the heap of quenched, still smoking waste. Dazed, Marian found herself once more on the house-boat deck. Ashore the laborers were flocking back to their tents, laughing and shouting. For them it had been a frolic rather than a danger. But the four on the house-boat deck looked at each other without a word. They were too shaky with relief to move or to speak. Sally Lou, the steady-willed, dependable Sally Lou, clung trembling to Marian, who in her turn leaned rather weakly against the rail. Roderick, ashen white, confronted Burford, who stood absently mopping his wet, smarting eyes with Sally Lou's singed and dripping crêpe scarf. Suddenly Burford broke the tension with a strangled whoop. "Our--our daily reports to the company!" he gurgled. "President Sturdevant wants every day's detail. Let's put it all in. 'I have the honor to report that while your engineers were stoking with burgoo and black-currant pie, Garrison Dredge Number Three was observed to be on fire. Your engineers, assisted by their partners, said engineers' wife and sister, all of whom displayed conspicuous bravery, attacked the fire. Thanks to their heroic efforts, the conflagration was extinguished. I beg further to report that damages are confined to one pile of waste, one smooched pink silk scarf, and'"--he passed his hand over his smutty forehead--"'and one pair of eyebrows.'" "I'm going straight home to bed," vowed Marian, as the laughter died away in exhausted chuckles. "This day has brought so many thrilling events that it will take me at least a week to calm myself down. Do let us hope that nothing whatever will happen for a while. I'm longing for monotony--days, months, ages of monotony, at that!" And, even as she spoke, there was a shout from the pier. Mulcahy came running toward them at top speed. "Will you look at Mulcahy, sprinting up from the ditch! I'll wager he has some more bad news for us. Come, Hallowell. Hurry!" CHAPTER IX THE MAGIC LEAD-PENCIL "Bad news, is it?" puffed Mulcahy. "Indeed, sir, I'm sorry to be the one to bring it to you. Lateral Four has caved in again." "Lateral Four! The cut where we've spent more time and work, filling in, than we've spent anywhere else on the whole ditch!" "Yes, Lateral Four. The ungrateful piece of fill she is! And when you have shored up the margins with brush, twice over!" "How far up is the cave-in, Mulcahy?" "Half a mile from the mouth. Right where Mr. Ellingworth Locke's land begins, sir." "Right on President Locke's land! Will you hear that, Hallowell? And he's the biggest grumbler in the whole district! And the most powerful grumbler, too. Of all the hard luck!" "I do hear. And I'm going to get busy." Rod pulled himself together with a grim little chuckle. "It's an all-night job, Burford. Or else we can add one more calamity to our head-quarters report. 'One bad cave-in, on lateral draining land owned by H. R. H., the acting president of the Central Mississippi Association.' Do you see us putting in that cheery news?" "No, I don't. Not just yet." Burford wiped the last soot-streak from his chin and jumped into the launch. "Here we go!" "Wait a jiffy, Burford. You'd better stay by the dredge an hour or so. Keep the men at work flooding her deck. We can't be certain-sure that the fire is completely out. There's always a risk." "That's a fact. You go up to the cave-in and set the levee crews to work. I'll follow in an hour." Rod started his engine, but Marian stopped him. "Wait, Rod. Take me up to the lateral, too." "Take you up to the cave-in, you mean? Why on earth should you go? At this time of night----" "Because I want to see just what you have to do. I'm getting very much interested in the work, truly. Please, brother." "Of all the notions!" Rod looked completely puzzled. Yet a warm little gratified smile brightened his tired face. Again he felt the heart-warming satisfaction that he had felt on the day he had come home, fagged and blue, to find that Marian had sorted all his accounts and cleared up his reports for him. It was wonderfully pleasant to find that his sister could show such real comradeship in his work. "Of course you shall go with me if you wish, dear. Hop in. Careful!" "Let me steer, Rod." "Think you can see all right?" "With this big search-light? I should hope so. Lie down on the cushions and rest for two minutes. I'll run very carefully." "Good enough." Rod stretched his weary bones on the seat. At the end of the six-mile run he sat up, with a shamed grin. "Lazy sinner I am, I dropped off the minute I struck those cushions. My, that snooze makes one thirsty for more! Put the launch inshore, Sis. Hello there, boys! Is that Dredge A crew? Why, how did you swing the dredge downstream so quickly?" "We had steam up, so we dropped down the lateral the minute we got word of the cave-in," answered the dredge foreman. "It was Mister Jim Conover who happened by and saw the landslip, sir. He came a-gallopin' over with his horse all lather, and brought us the news, not fifteen minutes after it happened. Then he called his own hired men and a crowd of neighbors, and they all set to to shore up the bank, above and below the break, with sand-bags and brush. They're workin' at it now, sir, lickety-cut." He pointed up the lateral to a dim glow of torch-light. "Shovellin' away like beavers they are, sir. There won't be another slump in that margin, you can depend on that. They've saved you and the company two days' work and five hundred dollars clear in damages alone, I'm thinkin'." "Five hundred damages? It would have been nearer a thousand if they hadn't stopped that slide on the double-quick." Roderick sat staring at the hurrying figures in the dull glow of smoky light. He could hardly grasp this amazing stroke of fortune. "But how--why--I never heard of such a royal piece of kindness!" "It's all Conover's doing. He said you folks had done mighty neighborly by him, and that he wanted to show his appreciation." "_Conover!_ Why, I never even heard the man's name till now!" "Conover?" Marian screwed up her forehead. A vague recollection flickered in her mind. "Yes, sir, Conover. He has a good-sized farm back here a piece. Likely you've forgotten. There's him and his wife and his little girl. Crippled she is, the poor child. Mamie, they call her." "Mamie Conover--Oh! The poor little soul who was so delighted with your red pencils, Rod! That visitors' Sunday, don't you remember?" "Oh, to be sure. You're better at remembering than I am, Sis. Well, I'm going up to thank him, this minute. Then we'll ship the dredge into trim and begin digging out the channel again. Think it will take us all night?" "Now that Conover's gang has stopped the slide so good and square for us, we ought to be able to cut out and tamp down, too, by daybreak, sir. Maybe sooner. Here comes Conover this minute." Coated with mud, squashing heavily into the sodden crest of the bank with every step, Conover tramped down the ditch. In that shambling figure, Marian instantly recognized little Mamie's father. Vividly she remembered his deep, weary look at her, the infinite tenderness with which he had lifted the little frail body from her arms. In the white glare of the search-light, his gaunt face was radiant with friendly concern. "We've done what little we could, Mr. Hallowell," he said, in reply to Rod's eager thanks. "Little enough at that. But now if you'll put in a few hours' dredging to get out that slide, your ditch will be all right again. Mr. Locke there, whose land borders on this lateral, is a little--well, a little fussy, you know. That's why we fellows kinder butted in and set to work without waitin' to hear from you. Land, it wasn't nothing to thank us for. Just a little troke between neighbors. You here, Miss Hallowell? My buckboard is right up-shore. Can't I drive you to Mr. Gates's? It's right on my way home--only a mile or so off my road, that is." "Run along, Sis. Please. It's late and damp, and chilly besides. Scoot, now." "But I don't want to go, Rod. I want to stay and see the dredge make the cut over again. This is the most interesting performance I ever dreamed of." "I'd much rather have you go home, old lady. You can't see much in this half-light. And you can't help me. Worse, you'll catch cold sure and certain." Yet that odd little glow warmed Rod's heart once more. It was a wonderful satisfaction to hear Marian speak with such keen interest of his beloved work. "Well, then--" reluctantly Marian scrambled ashore. Mr. Conover wiped his muddy hands on the lap-robe and helped her into the buckboard, with awkward care. They drove swiftly away, up the wide country road, between the dark, level fields. Neither spoke for some minutes. At last Marian began, rather clumsily, to tell him of their exciting day. The man made no comment. Still more clumsily, she tried to thank him for his generous and timely aid to Roderick. Suddenly Mr. Conover turned to her. In the faint starlight she saw that his dull face was working painfully. "So you want to thank me for this job, eh? Why, if I'd done ten times as much, I wouldn't have begun to do what I want to do for you and your brother. I've been aimin' to come over and tell you, long ago. But seems like I never get around to it. Don't you mind about them red pencils?" "Those red and blue pencils of Rod's, you mean? What of them?" "What of them? My, if you could see Mamie with them, you wouldn't ask!" The color burned in his thin face. His eyes were shining now. "They're the one pleasure that ain't never failed her. If I could ever tell you what they've meant! I've sent to the city and bought her three or four dozen assorteds, so's to be sure she never gets short of all the colors. No matter how bad her back hurts, she'll set there in her pillows and mark away, happy's a kitten. Seems like long's she's workin' with those pencils, she forgets everything, even the pain. And that's the best we can ever do for our baby." His voice broke on a terrible and piteous note. "The only thing we can do--help her forget." There was a long silence. "An' then you talk as if what I did to-night could count for anything--alongside of _that_!" Marian's own lips were quivering. She did not dare to reply. Yet as she put out her bedroom candle and stood looking out on the dark starlit woods, the narrow black ribbon of the canal, a whimsical wonder stirred in her thought. "I'll tell Rod to-morrow that his red pencils must have the credit of it all. It's the story of the little Dutch hero who stuffed his thumb into the crack in the dike and saved the city, right over again. Only this time it's something even tinier than a thumb that has saved the day. It's just a little red lead-pencil. And, oh, how glad I am for Roderick's sake! The dear, stodgy old slow-coach, I'm proud of every inch of his success. Though maybe Slow-Coach isn't just the fitting name for Rod nowadays. Sometimes the slow coaches are the very ones that win the race--in the long run." CHAPTER X HONORED GUESTS Marian's wish for quiet and monotonous days was promptly granted. Only too promptly and too thoroughly, she owned ruefully. The next morning dawned bleak and gray, with a chill east wind and a driving rain. Held prisoner in the house by the storm, Marian amused herself through the long dreary day as best she could. At supper-time, feeling very lonely indeed, she called Roderick up on the telephone; but their long-distance visit gave her little satisfaction. Roderick had spent a hard day, hurrying from one lateral to another, crowding the levee work to the highest possible speed; for in this wide-spread rain the creeks to the north were rising an inch an hour, and every inch meant danger to his half-built embankments. Marian sympathized eagerly and declared that she would come down to the canal the next day and help him with his reports. "Not if it rains you won't," croaked Roderick hoarsely. "Don't let me catch you outside the house. You'll catch cold just as I have done, wading through this swamp. Mind, now. Don't you dare leave the farm-house unless it clears." Marian promised. When the morning came, dark and drizzly, she found it hard to keep her word. The hours went on leaden feet. The downpour never slackened. It was impossible for her to go out-doors even as far as the driveway. In that flat, low country a two-days' rain means an inundation. Meadows and fields were like flooded marshes. Sheets of water spread through the orchards; the yard paths were so many brooks, the barn-yard was an infant lake. "It won't last very long," Mrs. Gates consoled her. "A year ago we'd have been heart-broken at the sight of such a rain. It would have meant ruin for all the crops. The surplus water would not have drained off in a fortnight. But since they began digging the ditches, we know that our crops will be safe, even if it rains for a week." "I'm glad to learn that Rod's hard work counts for something," said Marian impatiently. She flattened her downcast face against the pane. "In the meantime, I feel like a marooned pirate. If I can't get out of doors for some fresh air before long, I'll develop a pirate's disposition, too." At dusk she tried again to call Roderick on the telephone, to demand sympathy for her imprisonment. But to her astonishment she could get no reply from central. "The wires are all down, I dare say," said Mrs. Gates cheerfully. "It'll be three or four days before the line-men can get around to repair damages. The roads are hub deep. No telling when they can haul their repair wagons through. You'll see." Marian did see. The district roads had been all but impassable ever since her coming. Now, thanks to this downpour, they would be bottomless pits of mire. "Well! It's worse this morning, if anything," Mrs. Gates announced cheerfully, as Marian appeared on the third gray morning. "'Pears to me that you won't get out-doors again before the Fourth of July." "But I must have some air. I can't stay cooped up forever," cried Marian. "If you'd only lend me your rubber boots, Mrs. Gates; the ones you wear when you're gardening. Then I could put on my mackintosh and my rubber bathing-cap and splash about beautifully. Besides, I must go down to the canal. I must see how Rod is getting on. Think, it has been two days since I have heard one word from him. Yet he is barely two miles away!" Mrs. Gates yielded at last to her coaxing. Soon Marian started out, wearing the borrowed boots and Mr. Gates's oil-skin coat. She stumbled and splashed away through the dripping woods, with Finnegan romping gayly behind. Rainy weather held no melancholy for Finnegan. Shut in the house, he had made those three days memorable for the household, especially for poor irate Empress, who had taken refuge at last on the top rafter of the corn-bin. On the way to camp he flushed three rabbits, chased a fat gray squirrel into chattering fury, and dragged Marian knee-deep into a bog, in his wild eagerness to dig out an imaginary woodchuck. "I wish I had a little of your vim, Finnegan." Marian sat down, soaked and breathless, on the step of Sally Lou's martin-box. From that eminence she surveyed the canal and its swarms of laborers. Her eyes clouded. In spite of her growing interest in Roderick's work, to look upon that work always puzzled her and disheartened her. The slow black water; the ugly mud-piled banks; the massive engines throbbing night and day through a haze of steam; the gigantic dredge machines, swinging their great steel arms back and forth, up and down, lifting tons of earth from the bottom of the ditch and placing it on the waiting barge with weird, unerring skill. Most of all, the heavy tide of hurry and anxiety that seemed to rise higher every day. All these things vexed her and harassed her. When Rod talked over his work with her with all his eager enthusiasm, she could share his triumph or lament his disappointment, as the case might be. But the work itself was so huge, so complicated, that she could never quite grasp it. She could never understand her brother's passionate interest. "Although I don't despise the very sight of camp, as I did at first," she reflected. "It is rather queer that I don't, too. Perhaps one can get used to anything. And I do want to learn more about Rod's work, for he loves it so dearly, and I know he wants me to enjoy it too. Though how anybody can enjoy such a life! To spend day after day, month on month, toiling like a slave in a steaming marsh like this!" A brisk finger tapped on the window-pane above her. "Come in, Miss Northerner! Poor dear, you're all but drowned. Stand on the oil-cloth and drip till Mammy can help you to take off those boots and put on my slippers." Marian entered the dry, warm little house with a sigh of pleasure. Presently she sat at the window with Thomas Tucker bouncing on her knee. Thomas Tucker had charms that could cheer the most pensive spirit. Yet Marian stared soberly past his bobbing yellow head at the swarming camp below. "Don't look so droopy, Miss Northerner. Perk up, do!" Sally Lou gave her ear a gentle nip. "You and I will have to manufacture cheerfulness in car-load lots this week, to counterbalance our partners' gloom." "Why? Have the boys met with more ill-luck on the contract?" "More ill-luck!" Sally Lou checked off point by point on her slim fingers. "Day before yesterday--the morning after the fire--the district inspector was due here to pass judgment on the two upper laterals. As you know, the contract provides that the inspector must look over every yard of excavation and approve it before it can be considered as actually done. Lo and behold, no inspector appeared. The boys were wild with anxiety to start their levee-work before the rain should wash the soft new banks down into the canal; for the company is responsible for every cave-in, and every slide of land means double labor in digging all that soil out of the ditch again. By noon the inspector had not been heard from, but two small cave-ins had occurred, and the company was losing money at the rate of thirty dollars an hour, because of the enforced idleness of the laborers and the shutting down of the machinery. Finally Roderick took his launch and started out in search of the inspector. At Grafton he managed to get telephone connections with his office, and he was cheerfully assured that the inspector would appear on the scene 'as soon as the rain stops.'" "'As soon as the rain stops?' Why, Sally Lou! Then he hasn't come at all!" "Precisely. Back came poor Rod, very cross and doleful indeed. Then he and Ned gave up work on the laterals and set the men to hacking away at the regular excavation. The laborers are sulky accordingly. Yesterday they threatened a strike. I don't blame them. The bank-cutting is all very well in dry weather, but in this rain it is a miserable task." "Well, Rod can keep the men pacified. He's a splendid manager." "Yes; and the men like him. But the work is terribly wearing on both the boys. And the third calamity arrived last night. The dipper-handle broke." "The dipper-handle? On the big dredge? Sally Lou, how dreadful!" "Yes, it is dreadful. It means, of course, that twenty of the laborers will stop work and enjoy a vacation at the company's expense while the new handle is being made and put in. Luckily the boys have one set of duplicate chains and timbers, and the company blacksmith is wonderfully capable. But it will cost the company a lump loss of a thousand dollars. Imagine, Marian, how those poor boys will groan when they make out their week's reports for President Sturdevant. 'One fire. One delay and two cave-ins, due to non-appearance of district inspector. One strike. One smashed dipper-handle.' Think what a dismal task the writing of that report will be!" "Don't let me hear any more croaking, Sally Lou," came a wrathful voice from the door. "For we're facing the worst smash yet. What do you suppose this telegram says?" Sally Lou shook a small fist at the yellow slip in his hand. "Don't you dare tell me that it's some new misfortune!" "Two of 'em. That lordly, gloomy grouch, Mr. Ellingworth Locke, acting president of the Central Mississippi Association, is headed for this luckless camp. He's on his way up-river this identical minute. With him comes Crosby. Crosby, consulting engineer for the whole Valley Association. Coming on a tour of inspection, _if_ you please. Just think of the lovely job that they have come a thousand miles to inspect!" There was a stricken pause. "President Locke! That--that potentate! Ned, you don't mean it! And Mr. Crosby, whose word is law on every question of engineering!" "And they're coming to-day! To 'inspect' this soaking, miry, half-baked camp!" "And just this minute I've had some more news, Burford." Roderick bolted up the steps and entered the room. He tried to wrench his face into a reassuring grin; but beneath the grin he was the picture of angry dismay. "A big white launch is just coming up the canal, with two passengers aboard. If I'm not mistaken, they are our honored guests. Come along, Burford, and help me welcome them." Burford, pop-eyed with amazement, meekly obeyed. Wordless, the two girls watched the boys pelt away toward the landing. "Well!" Sally Lou and Marian looked at each other eloquently. "Well! I could find it in my heart to wish that the boys were not obliged to unfold quite so many tales of misery! Then the broken machinery and the quarrelling laborers! But we mustn't let ourselves fidget over it, Marian. It will come out all right, somehow." Roderick and Burford pounded down to the shore. The white launch was just putting into the landing. At the bow sat Mr. Ellingworth Locke, wrapped in a huge storm coat. Evidently he was scolding the launch pilot with some energy. Behind him stood Crosby, his gray, keen eyes searching every inch of the ditch construction. "His Jove-like Majesty looks even grumpier than usual," whispered Burford the irreverent. "Come along, Hallowell. It is our professional duty to welcome them with heart and soul." "Mr. Burford?" Mr. Locke stepped upon the landing and put out a plump gloved hand. "Ah, Mr. Hallowell? How goes it? We hope that you have no ill news of the contract to give us." He led the way up the shore, with ponderous dignity. "The three contracts in central Illinois, which we have just inspected, have shown deplorable results from the high water. I trust that you have no such misfortunes to report." "We haven't anything but misfortunes to report," muttered Burford. Aloud he said, "We have not been able to bring the work to the desired point, sir. We have had several accidents and delays. If you can face the discomforts of a boat trip in this rain, perhaps you will make a tour of inspection and see how matters stand." The honorable Mr. Locke hesitated. The canal looked very muddy and uninviting. The sky was black with rain clouds. "Perhaps it would be as well for us to confer with you. Then we could go back to Saint Louis immediately." "Beg pardon, Mr. Locke." Mr. Crosby spoke for the first time. His gray face had no particular expression; but his voice held an oddly pleasant note. "You go back right away, if you like. But I'll look over this excavation with my own eyes. I want to discuss it with the executive committee day after to-morrow." "Oh, of course, if you insist!" Mr. Locke turned impatiently to Burford. "Where is your boat, sir? Let us start at once." That tour of inspection! Silent, humiliated, miserable, Roderick and Burford plodded after the two Olympians, up and down the narrow laterals, back and forth through the maze of seeping, half-cut channels. Every question that they must answer told of some unlucky happening. Every report was apologetic, unsatisfactory. "This ruinous high water isn't our fault. Neither is Carlisle's illness, nor the broken dipper-handle, nor the district inspector's delay. Just the same I feel like a penny-in-the-slot machine for grinding out explanations," whispered Roderick to Burford. Burford merely scowled in reply. Thus far, Mr. Crosby had had nothing to say. He strode on ahead, his keen eyes judging, his shrewd mouth shut hard. President Locke made up for his silence. He hectored the boys with fretful questions and complaints. He criticised the laborers, the equipment, the weather. "Your company's losses, indeed! The Breckenridge Company will be fortunate, Mr. Burford, if, under the present management, this contract does not bring forfeitures as well as loss. As for the land-owners in this district, their dissatisfaction can be only too readily imagined." Just then the president caught Mr. Crosby's eye. "Do you not agree with me, Mr. Crosby? Is not this a most disheartening outlook? On my word, sir, the company has no chance to complete those laterals before the great June freshets. That calamity will mean ruin for the farmers and for the contract alike. To finish this work would be difficult with a full quota of experienced men. And with only cub engineers--" He threw out both fat hands, with a gesture of despairing scorn. Burford bit his lip and turned fiery red with mortification. Roderick's stolid face did not flinch. But his heart sank leaden to his miry boots. What an infuriating humiliation for the company! His company, the pride of his boy heart! And Breckenridge, Breck his hero, would have to hear it all! "You think it's as bad as all that?" Mr. Crosby spoke with slow, bland unconcern. Then he looked at the two boys. For one moment his lean gray face lighted with a curious, kindly sparkle. "H'm! Strikes me that their company is mighty lucky to have cub engineers employed on this job." "'Lucky?' Why, sir? Why?" "Well, because they're the only kind that any company can depend upon to have nerve enough and grit enough to swing such a forlorn hope of a contract through." He tramped on, up the landing. Burford threw back his shoulders. The blood flamed to his ears. Roderick's heart suddenly leaped up to its normal altitude and began to pound. His lagging feet swung into a jaunty stride. He met Burford's red, delighted face with a shamefaced grin. That vote of confidence had fairly set them afire. "At what time had we best start back to Saint Louis?" asked Mr. Locke. "By leaving camp at nine-thirty you will meet the north-bound limited at Grafton, sir." "Then, Crosby, we will stay here until that hour. But where shall we dine?" "It will be a pleasure to Mrs. Burford and myself if you and Mr. Crosby will dine with us at our cabin," interposed Burford eagerly. The stout potentate graciously accepted, and Burford fled to break the news to Sally Lou. "Mercy, Sally Lou, how can you manage it!" cried Marian, as Burford popped his head through the window, shouted his news, then hastily departed. "How on earth can you entertain such high mightinesses?" "Well, I should hope that I could give them one meal at least." "But you haven't enough dishes. That is, you haven't cups that match----" "Cups that match, indeed! H'm. They can be thankful to get any cups at all in this wilderness. I've promised Mammy Easter my pink beads if she'll make us some beaten biscuit, and I have sent Mulcahy to Mrs. Gates's for three chickens, and I'll open two jars of my white peach preserve. I don't care if they're the Grand Mogul and the Czar of all the Russias, they can surely condescend to eat Mammy's fried chicken." "Yes, they'll be sure to like chicken," conceded Marian. "They'd better like it. It's all they're going to get. Chicken and potatoes and biscuit, preserves and coffee, that's all. Yes, and lashin's and lavin's of cream gravy. It'll be fit for a king. Even his Highness, the acting president, won't dare complain!" If any complaints as to Sally Lou's hospitality were spoken, they were not audible to the human ear. As Roderick said afterward, it was fortunate that nobody kept the beaten biscuit score; while one grieves to relate that in spite of Sally Lou's generous preparation, poor Mammy Easter was obliged to piece out an exceedingly skimpy meal from the fragments of the supper, instead of the feast that she had anticipated. Even the pink beads proved a barely adequate consolation. The hour that followed, spent before the Burfords' tiny hearth-fire, was the best of all. For a while, the men worked over the mass of blueprints that recorded the excavation made during the month past. Here President Locke, the magnificent figure-head, gave way, promptly and meekly, before Crosby's wider experience. Roderick and Burford listened, all ears, to the elder man's shrewd illuminating comment, his quiet suggestion, his amused friendly sympathy. Both groaned inwardly when the launch whistled from below, a warning that their guests must be off to meet the north-bound train. President Locke bowed over Sally Lou's hand with majestic courtesy. "A most delightful hour you have given us, Mrs. Burford. We shall remember it always and with deep pleasure. But one thing is lacking in your hospitality. You have not given us the special pleasure of meeting your young sons." Then Sally Lou, the poised stately young hostess, colored pink to her curly fair hair. "It is high time that my sons were sound asleep," said she. "But if you really wish to see them, and can overlook their informal attire, Mammy Easter shall bring them in." In came two small podgy polar bears, wide-eyed at the marvel of company, and up-at-Nine-o'clock, dimpling, crimson-cheeked. Roderick and Burford stood gaping, to behold their august superiors now stooping from their heights to beguile small Edward and shy Thomas Tucker with clumsy blandishments. "_Where_ did you learn to handle a baby like that?" gasped Sally Lou, so astonished at Mr. Crosby's dexterous ease that she forgot all convention. "Six of my own," returned the eminent engineer, capably shifting small, slippery Thomas Tucker on his gaunt shoulder. "All grown up, I regret to say. My baby girl is a junior at Smith this year. Try him. Isn't he a stunner for a year old?" He plumped the baby into the arms of the lordly president, who was already jouncing Edward Junior on his knee and showing him his watch. "A whale," approved President Locke, with impressive emphasis. He stood up, gaining his footing with some difficulty; for both the babies were now clambering over him delightedly, while Finnegan yapped and nipped his ankles with cordial zest. "I wish we might spend another hour with these most interesting members of your household, Mr. Burford." His stern, arrogant face was beaming; he was no longer the exacting official, but the gracious, kindly gentleman. "Since we must go, we will leave behind us our good wishes, as well as our thanks for your most charming hospitality. And we will take with us"--his eye sought Mr. Crosby's; there passed between the two men a quick, satisfied glance--"we shall take with us our hearty certainty that these good wishes for your husband's work, as well as for his household, will be abundantly fulfilled." * * * * * In the flickering torchlight of the landing Roderick and Ned watched their launch start away. Then they looked at each other. "Well! Do you feel like tackling your job again, Burford?" "Feel like tackling it!" Ned chuckled, softly. "When I know they're going to give their executive committee a gilt-edged report of our company and its work! When Crosby himself said that we were the right men on the right job! Feel like tackling it? Give me a shovel and I'll tackle the Panama Canal." CHAPTER XI A LONG PULL AND A STRONG PULL "What is the latest bulletin, Sally Lou?" Ned Burford, hot, muddy, breathless, ran up the martin-box steps and put his head inside the door. Sally Lou sat at Ned's desk, her brown eyes intent, her cheeks a little pale. A broad map lay spread before her. One hand steadied small Thomas Tucker, who clung against her knee. The other hand grasped the telephone receiver. "What's the news, I say? Doesn't central answer? Wires down again, do you s'pose?" "Yes, central answered, and we reached the operator at Bates Creek an hour ago. She says that the smaller streams below Carter's Ford have not risen since daybreak, but that Bates Creek itself has risen three inches in the last four hours." "Whew! Three inches since morning! That sounds serious. What about Jackson River?" "Below Millville the Jackson has flooded its banks. Above Millville the men are patrolling the levees and stacking in sand bags and brush to reinforce the earthwork." "That means, another crest of water will reach us to-morrow, early. Well, we are ready to face it, I'm thankful to say." Ned settled back in his big chair with a sigh of relief. "That is, unless it should prove to be more than a three-foot rise. And there is practically no danger that it will go beyond that stage. Our upper laterals are excavated to final depth. Our levee is growing like magic, and Hallowell is putting in splendid time on the lower laterals with the big dredge. So we needn't worry. As soon as he finishes all the lateral excavation, he will bring the dredges down to the main ditch and start in to deepen the channel to its final depth. When that second excavation is done, the channel will allow for a six-foot rise. That channel depth, of course, will put us far out of any danger of overflow. Then when the June floods come, the creeks can rise four inches or forty inches if they like. We won't care." Sally Lou looked sharply at his grimy, cheerful face. Her own did not reflect his contentment. She put down the receiver and bent frowning over the map. Her pencil wandered over the maze of fine red lines that marked the excavation. "Hallowell and I had nothing but bad luck on this contract until two weeks ago, when Locke and Crosby came on their inspection tour," Ned went on serenely. "But since their visit, we've had two solid weeks of the best fortune any engineer could ask. It has been almost too good; it's positively uncanny. Not a break in the machinery; only one cave-in, and that a trifle; not a solitary quarrel among the laborers--the shifts have moved like clock-work. It was Crosby's doing, I suppose. His coming heartened us all up; all of us; even to the dredges themselves. Though, on my word, Sally Lou, I'm almost afraid of such unchanging good luck. It's no' canny." Sally Lou turned to him suddenly. Her fingers tapped the desk with nervous little clicks. "Listen, Ned. Have you finished the upper laterals? Are they safe, no matter how high the water may rise?" "N-no. They are excavated, but the bank is nothing but heaped mud, you know. Still, it would stand anything short of a flood." "What about the lower laterals?" "Same state of affairs there. Only that the two lowest ditches aren't cut at all. Why?" Sally Lou swung round in the desk chair and faced her husband. Her eyes were very dark and anxious now. "One more question, Ned. Could the work stand a three-foot rise?" Ned stared. "A three-foot rise? No, it could not. A three-foot rise would stop our levee-building. A rise of four feet or more would put us out of the game. We'd be washed out, smashed, ruined. But why do you ask such questions? What makes you imagine----" "I'm not imagining, Ned. I had a telephone call not five minutes ago from the district inspector. Yes, I know you think he's always shouting 'Wolf!' but this time he may be right. He says that he has just come down from Chicago on the Central, and that the whole mid-section of the State is fairly submerged by these endless rains. Worse, the storm warnings are up for further rains. And he believes that there will be a rise of three feet within two days. That is, unless the rains stop." Ned started to his feet. "A rise of three feet! What is the man talking about? Don't you believe one word, Sally Lou. That inspector is a regular hoot-owl. He'd rather gloom and forebode than breathe. But maybe I'd better go and tell Hallowell. Perhaps we can ginger up our excavation. Yet the men and the machines are working up to their limit." He shuffled into his wet oilskins once more. "Where is Roderick, Ned?" "He just came in off his watch. He's sound asleep in the hammock over at his shack. Marian is over there too. She made Mr. Gates bring her down at five this morning, and she has worked like a Turk every minute. She spent the morning with Hallowell, up the laterals. She has learned to run his launch better that he can, so he lets her manage the boat for him. Then she takes all his notes, and does all his telephoning, and passes along his orders to the commissary men, and seconds him at every turn. Did you ever in all your life see anybody change as she has done? When I remember the listless, useless, fretful specimen that she was, those first weeks, then look at her now, I can hardly believe my eyes." Sally Lou listened a little impatiently. "Yes, I know. Ned, please go and tell Roderick about the inspector's message. He surely ought to know." "All right, I'm going." Ned put down his frolicking small sons reluctantly. Sally Lou laughed at his unwilling face. Yet she looked after him anxiously as he sauntered away. Then her eyes turned to the brimming canal. Tree branches and bits of lumber, washed down from the upper land by the heavy storm, rolled and tumbled past. The sky was thick and gray, the wind blew straight from the east. "I hate to fidget and forebode. But I--I almost wish that I could make Ned forebode a little. I'm afraid he ought to worry. And Roderick ought to be a little anxious, too." Suddenly the telephone bell rang. Sally Lou sprang to answer it. "Yes, this is the contract camp. A Chicago call? Is it--Is it head-quarters? Oh, is this _Mr. Breckenridge_ who is speaking? Shall I call Mr. Burford?" Strong and clear across two hundred miles of storm the voice reached her, a hurrying command. "Do not call your husband. No time. Operator says the wind raging here may break connections at any minute. Tell him that we have positive word that a tremendous rise is on the way. A cloudburst north of Huntsville started this new crest two hours ago. Moreover, a storm belt extends across the State, covering a district thirty miles wide directly north of you. Tell our engineers to spare neither money nor effort in making ready. Tell them, whatever else they must neglect, to save----" Click! The receiver dropped from Sally Lou's shaking hand. Not another sound came over the wire. She signalled frantically. "Oh, if he had only told me! 'To save'--to save _what_? The machinery, the levee, the laterals--Oh, central, please, please!" Still no sound. At last central's voice, a thin little whisper. "Chicago connections broken ... terrible storm ... sorry can't reach----" The thin little whisper dropped to silence. "Mammy, take these babies. I'm going away." Sally Lou rolled Thomas Tucker off her lap and dashed away to Roderick's shack. Trembling, she poured out her ill news. "This means business." Roderick, heavy-eyed and stupid, struggled into hip boots and slicker. "Breckenridge isn't frightening us for nothing. We daren't lose a minute. Come along, Burford." "Come along--where?" Burford stood stunned before this bewildering menace. "What more can we do? Aren't we rushing the whole plant to the danger notch of speed as it is?" "There is one thing we must do. Decide what part of the work we can abandon. Then put our whole force, men, machinery, and all, to work at the one point where it will do the most good." "What can we abandon? It's all equally important." "That is for you and me to decide. Come along." "If Breck had only finished his sentence! 'To save--' Surely he meant for us to save the dredges?" Again the boys looked at each other. "To save the dredges, maybe. But that doesn't sound like Breckenridge. 'To save the land-owners from loss,' that's more like what he'd say." "If we could only reach him, for even half a minute----" "That is precisely what we can't do." Roderick's big shoulders lifted. His heavy face settled into lines of steel. "We'll bring all three of the machines down stream, and put up our fight on the main ditch. If we can cut through to the river, before the rise gets here, we will save the crops for most of the land-owners, anyway. That will check any danger of the water backing up into the narrow laterals and overflowing them." Burford frowned. "Do you realize that by making that move we shall risk wrecking the dredges? We will have to tow them down in this rough, high water against this heavy wind. We may smash and sink all three. And they cost the company a cool twenty thousand apiece, remember." Roderick's jaw set. "I realize just that. But it is up to us to decide. If we stop our excavation and huddle the machines back into the laterals, we will save our equipment from any risk. But the overflow will sweep the whole lower district and ruin every acre of corn. On the other hand, if we bring the dredges down here and start in full tilt to deepen the channel, we may wreck our machines--and we may not. But, whatever happens, we will be giving the land-owners a chance." Burford held back, but only for a moment. Then he put out his hand to Roderick, with a slow grin. "I'm with you, Hallowell. I'll take your lead, straight through. It's up to us, all right. We've got to shoulder the whole responsibility, the whole big, hideous risk. But we'll put it through. That's all." Together the boys hurried away. Left behind, the girls set to work upon their share of the plan with eager spirit. "You go with the boys and run the launch for them, Marian. I'll turn the babies over to Mammy and stay right here to watch the telephone and keep the time-books, although time-books could wait, in such a pinch as this. We'll all pull together. And we will pull out safely, never fear." Sally Lou was right. They all pulled together. Machines, laborers, foremen and all swung splendidly into line. As Ned said, the contract had never shown such team-work. Everybody worked overtime. Everybody faced the rain, the mud, the merciless hurry with high good-humor. The thrill of danger, the daring risk, the loyal zeal and spirit for the company, all spurred them on. Side by side with Roderick, Marian worked through the day. She had long since forgotten her frail health. She had forgotten her hatred of the dun western country, her dislike of Roderick's work, her weariness, her impatience. With heart and soul she stood by her brother. Only the one wish ruled every act: her eager desire to help Roderick, to stand by him through to the end of this tremendous strain. "We'll make it!" Roderick grinned at her, tired but content, as he came into the shack for his late supper. "Sally Lou finally reached Springfield on the telephone. The rain has stopped; so while the rise will come, sure as fate, yet it may not be as high as Breckenridge feared. At any rate, we have made splendid time with the big dredge to-day. There is barely an eighth of a mile more cutting to be done. Then we'll reach the river, and we'll be safe, no matter what freshets may happen along. Burford says I'm to take six hours' sleep; then I'll go on watch again. Twelve more hours of working time will see our land-owners secure." "Ned Burford is running up the shore this minute." Marian peered through the tent flap. "Mulcahy is coming with him. They're in a hurry. I wonder what has happened." "They'd better not bring me any bad news till I have eaten my supper," said Roderick grimly. Burford and Mulcahy galloped up the knoll. Headlong they plunged into the tent. Burford was gray-white. Mulcahy stared at Roderick without a word. "What has happened? Burford, what ails you?" Burford sat down and mopped his sweating forehead. "The worst break-down yet, Hallowell. The dipper-bail on the big dredge has snapped clear through." The three stared at each other in helpless despair. Marian broke the silence. "The dipper-bail broken _again_? Why, it's not two weeks since you put on the new handle!" "True for you, miss. Not two weeks since it broke," said Mulcahy wrathfully. "And its smash means a tie-up all along the line. Not one stroke of ditch-work can be done till it's replaced. Who ever saw a dipper break her bail twice on the same job? 'Tis lightnin' strikin' twice in the same place. But 'tis no use cryin' over spilt milk. One of you gentlemen will have to go to Saint Louis and have a new bail welded at the steam forge. It will cost twenty-four hours' time, but it is the only way. I'll keep the boys hot at work on the levee construction meanwhile." "Go to Saint Louis to-night! And neither of you two have had a night's sleep this week!" Marian looked at Burford. His sodden clothes hung on him. His round face was pinched and sunken with fatigue. She looked at her brother. He had slumped back in his chair, limp and haggard. He was so utterly tired that even the shock of ill news could not rouse him to meet its challenge. Then she looked out at the weltering muddy canal, the dark stormy sky. "Never mind, Rod. We'll manage. You and Ned make out the exact figures and dimensions for the new bail. Then Mulcahy can take me to Grafton in the launch. There I'll catch the Saint Louis train. I'll go straight to the steam forge and urge them to make your bail at once. Then I'll bring it back on the train to-morrow night." Promptly both boys burst into loud, astonished exclamations. "Go to Saint Louis alone! I guess I see myself letting you do such a preposterous thing. I'll start, at once." "Stop that, Hallowell. You can't possibly go. You're so sleepy that you haven't half sense. I'll go myself." "Oh, you will. Then what about your watch to-night? Shall I take it and my own, too?" Burford stopped, quenched. He reddened with perplexity. "We can't either of us be spared, that's the fact of it. But Miss Marian must not think of going." "Certainly not. I would never allow it." "Yes, Rod, you will allow it." Marian spoke quietly, but with determination. "The trip to Saint Louis is perfectly safe. Once in the city, I'll take a carriage to the College Club and stay there every minute, except the time that I must spend in giving orders for the bail. No, you two need not look so forbidding. I'm going. And I'm going this identical minute." Later Marian laughed to remember how swiftly she had overruled every protest. The boys were too tired and dazed to stand against her. It was hardly an hour before she found herself flying down the river, in charge of the faithful Mulcahy, on her way to catch the south-bound train. "The steam-forge people will do everything in their power to serve you," Roderick had said, as he scrawled the last memoranda for her use. "They know our firm, and they will rush the bail through and have it loaded on the eight-o'clock train. I'll see to it that Mulcahy and two men are at the Grafton dock to meet your train. But if anything should go wrong, Sis, just you hunt up Commodore McCloskey and ask him to help you; for the commodore is our guardian angel, I am convinced of that." The trip to the city was uneventful. She awoke early, after a good rest, and hurried down to the forge works, a huge smoky foundry near the river. The shop foreman met her with the utmost courtesy and promised that the bail should be made and delivered aboard the afternoon train. Feeling very capable and assured, Marian went back to the club and had spent two pleasant hours in its reading-room when she was called to the telephone. "Miss Hallowell?" It was the voice of the forge works foreman. "I--er--most unluckily we have mislaid the slip of paper which gave the dimensions of the bail. We cannot go on until we have those dimensions. Do you remember the figures?" Poor Marian racked her brain. Not one measurement could she call to mind. "I'll ask my brother over the long-distance," she told the foreman. But even as she spoke, she knew that there was no hope of reaching Roderick. All the long-distance wires were down. "And not one human being in all Saint Louis who can tell me the size of that bail!" she groaned. "Oh, why didn't I measure it with my own tape-measure--and then learn the figures by heart! Yet--I do wonder! Would Commodore McCloskey know? He has been at the camp so often, and he knows everything about our machinery. Let's see." Presently Commodore McCloskey's friendly voice rang over the wire. "Well, sure 'tis good luck that ye caught me at the dock, Miss Marian. The _Lucy_ is just startin' up-river. Two minutes more and I'd have gone aboard. So ye've lost the bail dimensions? Well, well, don't talk so panicky-like. I'll be with ye in two minutes, an' we'll go to the forge together. 'Tis no grand memory I have, but I can give them a workin' idea." "Oh, if you only will, commodore! But the _Lucy_! How can you be spared?" "Hoot, toot. The _Lucy_ can wait while I go shoppin' with you. Yes, she has a time schedule, I know well. But, in high wather, whoever expects a Mississippi packet to be on time? Or in low wather, either, for that matter. I'll come to ye at once." The commodore was as good as his word. Soon he and Marian reached the forge works. There his shrewd observation and his wise old memory suggested dimensions which proved later to be correct in every detail. Moreover, he insisted upon staying with Marian till the bail should be welded. Then, under his sharp eyes, it was loaded safely on the Grafton train. As he escorted Marian elegantly into the passenger coach, she ventured, between her exclamations of gratitude, to reprove him very gently. "You have been too good to me, commodore. But when I think of the poor deserted _Lucy_! And the captain--what will he say?" "He'll say a-plenty." The little commodore smiled serenely. "'Tis an unchivalrous set the steam-boat owners are, nowadays. If he were half as obligin' as the old captains used to be in the good days before the war, he'd be happy to wait over twenty-four hours, if need be, to serve a lady. But nowadays 'tis only time, time that counts. Sure, he's grieved to the heart if we make a triflin' loss, like six hours, say, in our schedule." "And I'm not thanking you for myself alone," Marian went on, flushing. "It is for Rod, too. You don't know how much it means to me to be able to help him, even in this one small way." Then the little commodore bent close to her. His shrewd little eyes gleamed. "Don't I know, sure? An' by that token I'm proud of this day, and twice proud of the chance that's led me to share it. For, sure, I've always said it--the time would certain come when you--_when you'd wake up_. Mind my word, Miss Marian. Don't ye forget! Don't ye let go--and go to sleep again." The train jarred into motion. His knotted little hand gripped hers. Then he was off and away. "The dear little, queer little commodore!" Marian looked after him, her eyes a bit shadowy. "Though what could he mean! 'Now you've waked up.' I do wonder!" Yet her wonder was half pretended. A hot flush burned in her cheek as she sat thinking of his words. "Well, I'm glad, too, that I've 'waked up,' although I wish that something had happened to stir me earlier." The train crept on through the flooded country. It was past eight o'clock when they reached Grafton. Marian hurried from the coach and watched anxiously while two baggagemen hoisted the heavy bail from the car. "Well, my share is done," she said to herself. "That precious bail is here, safe and sound. But where is Mulcahy? And the launch? Rod said that he would not fail to be here by train time." The train pulled out. From the dim-lit station the ticket agent called to her. "You're expecting your launch, Miss Hallowell? There has been no boat down to-day." "But my brother promised to send the launch," stammered Marian. "Surely they knew I was coming to-night!" Then, in a flash of recollection, she heard Roderick's voice: "And Mulcahy will meet you on the eight-o'clock train." "Rod meant the train that leaves Saint Louis at eight in the morning! Not this afternoon train. How could I make such a blunder! He does not look for me to reach Grafton till to-morrow." She looked at the huge, heavy bail. "If that bail could reach camp to-night, they could ship it up and start to cutting immediately. It would mean seven or eight hours more of working time. But how to take it there!" "There's a man yonder who owns a gasolene-launch," ventured the agent. "It's a crazy, battered tub, but maybe----" Marian looked out at the night: the black, sullen river; the ranks of willows swaying in the heavy wind; the thunder that told of approaching storm. "Call that man over, please. Yes, I shall risk the trip up-river. That bail shall reach camp to-night." CHAPTER XII PARTNERS AND VICTORIES "What time is it, miss?" Marian put down the gallon tin with which she had bailed steadily, and looked at her watch. "Almost midnight." "Only midnight!" The steersman gave a weary yawn and turned back to his wheel. Inwardly Marian echoed his discouraged word. It seemed to her that she had crouched for years in the stern of the crazy little motor-boat. Rain and spray had drenched her to the skin. She ached in every half-frozen bone. Yet she sat, wide awake and alert, watching her pilot keenly. He was a poor helmsman, she thought. However, an expert would have found trouble in taking an overloaded launch up-stream against that swollen current and in pitch darkness. Worse, the weight of the heavy dredge-bail weighed the launch down almost to water level. Every tiny wave splashed over the gunwale. Marian bailed on mechanically. She had had hard work to bribe the owner to risk the trip up-stream. The men at Grafton had warned her, moreover, that she was running a narrow chance of swamping the launch, and thus of losing her precious piece of machinery, to say nothing of the danger to her own life. But all Marian's old timidity had fled, forgotten. Nothing else mattered if just she might serve her brother in his supreme need. Through these four dreary hours the old commodore's quaint, frank words had echoed in her mind. And the commodore had been right, she owned, with a quiver of shame. Always, since their mud-pie days, Rod had done his part by her in full measure, generously, lovingly. Never, until these last days, had she even realized what doing her own part by Roderick might mean. "Although I have been slower than my blessed old Slow-Coach himself in realizing what my life ought to count for. Well, as the commodore said, I have waked up at last. And mind this, Marian Hallowell! _You stay awake!_ Never, never let me catch you dozing off again!" "There's the camp light yonder," the steersman spoke at last, with a sigh of satisfaction. Marian peered ahead through the cold, blinding mist. Away up-stream shone a feeble glimmer, then a second light; a third. "Good! And--there are the dredge search-lights! Only a minute more and we'll be there." Only a minute it seemed till the launch wheezed up to the landing and swung with a thud against the posts. Marian stumbled ashore. "Mulcahy!" she called to the dark figure standing on the dredge deck. "Send two men to unload the bail for us." "Marian Hallowell! Where under the shining sun did you come from?" Roderick leaped from the deck to the shore and confronted his sister. Then, in his horrified surprise at her daring risk, he pounced upon her and administered a scolding of such vigor that it fairly made her gasp. "Of all the outrageous, reckless----" "There, there, Rod! Look!" Still breathing threatenings and slaughter, Roderick turned. Then he saw the huge new bail which the men were hoisting ashore. "So that's what it all means! That's why you came up on the early train! You brought that bail yourself, all the way. You risked your life in that groggy little boat! All on purpose to help us out! Marian Hallowell, I'd like to shake you hard. And for two cents I'd kiss you right here and now. You--you _peach_!" Burford, awakened by the launch whistle, was hurrying down the bank. Reaching the landing his eye fell on the precious new bail. Utterly silent, he stared at it for a long rapt minute. Then, rubbing his sleepy eyes, he turned to Marian and Rod with a grin that fairly lighted up the dock. "Now," he said, with slow exultation, "now--we've got our chance to win." And win they did. True, the water had already risen close to the dreaded three-foot danger-mark. True, neither of the boys had had half a dozen hours of sleep in three days. As for the laborers, they were fagged and overworked to the limit of their endurance. But not one of these things counted. Not a grumbling word was spoken. This was their company's one chance. Not a man held back from seizing that chance and making good. Not a man but felt himself one with the company, a living vital element of that splendid struggling whole. Marian and Sally Lou stood on the shore watching the dredge as the great dipper crunched its way through the last submerged barrier. The canal rolled bank full. Little waves swashed over the platform on which they stood. Pools of seep-water already gathered behind the mud embankment, which was crumbling into miry avalanches with every sweep of rising water against it. Not by any chance could the levee stand another hour. But even as the dredge cut that narrow passage, the heavy overflow boiled outward into the river beyond. Minute by minute the rough surface of the canal was sinking before their watching eyes. Now it had fallen from six inches above to high-water mark; now to three inches below; now to mid-stage--and safety. As the freed stream rolled out into the river, a great cheer rose from the laborers crowded alongshore. Roderick and Burford stayed aboard the dredge until it was warped alongside the dock and safely moored. Then they crossed to land and joined the girls. Neither of the boys spoke one word. They did not seem to hear the shouts and cheers behind them. There was no glow of success on their sober faces. Perhaps their relief was so great that they were a little stunned before its wonder. Victory was theirs; but victory won in the face of so great a danger that they could not yield and feel assured of their escape. "We cannot reach head-quarters on the telephone, of course. But, by hook or crook, one of you boys must get a despatch through to Mr. Breckenridge. Think of being able to tell him that you have deepened the canal straight through to the river, so that the whole lower half of the district is safe from overflow! And that you have moved all these costly, treacherous machines down-stream without one serious accident, without so much as a broken bolt! It is too good to be true." "I'll take a launch and sprint down to Grafton and wire our report from there," said Burford. His tense face relaxed; he broke into a delighted chuckle. "Think of it: this once I can actually enjoy sending in my report to head-quarters! I'd like to write it out instead of wiring it. I'd put red-ink curlycues and scroll-work dewdabs all over the page. Think, Hallowell, you solemn wooden Indian! The crest of this flood is only two hours away. By noon the highest level will reach our canal. But it can't flood our district for us, for--for we got there first!" His rosy face one glow of contentment, he started toward the pier. But as he was about to step aboard the duty-launch, Roderick hailed him sharply. "Wait, Burford. Somebody is coming up the big ditch. A large gray launch, with a little dark-blue flag." "What!" Burford sprang back. He shaded his eyes and looked down the canal. Then, to Rod's amazement, he sat down on a pile of two-by-fours and rocked to and fro. "Whatever ails you, Burford?" "Whatever ails me, indeed!" Burford choked it out. His ears were scarlet. His eyes were fairly popping from his head with delight. "Oh, I reckon I won't bother to send that report to head-quarters, after all. I'll just let the whole thing slide." Rod gaped at him. "Have you lost your last wit, Ned?" "Not quite. I'm going to give my report to my superior officer by word of mouth. That big gray power-boat is one of our own company's launches. That small blue flag is the company ensign. And that big gray man standing 'midships is--Breckenridge! Breck the Great, his very self." "Breckenridge!" "Breckenridge. All there, too--every splendid inch of him. Talk about luck! Our levee is saved. Our dredges are all anchored, right yonder, trim as a gimlet. Our schedule is put through up to the minute. And here, precisely on the psychological moment, comes our chief on his tour of inspection. Can you beat that?" Roderick merely stared down the canal. Close behind the launch pilot, scanning the bank intently as they steamed by, towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built man, gray-headed, yet powerful and alert in every movement. He was well splashed with mud; his broad, heavily featured face was colorless with fatigue. Yet as he stood there, with his big tense body, his tired, eager face, he seemed like some magnificent natural force imprisoned in human flesh. "Isn't he sumptuous, though?" said Burford, under his breath. "Look at those shoulders! What a half-back he would make!" "Half-back? Why, he could make the All-American," Rod whispered back. His eyes were glued to that tall approaching figure. His heart was pounding in his breast. So this was Breckenridge the Great, his hero! And, marvel of marvels, he looked the hero of all Rod's farthest dreams. Breckenridge stepped from the launch and shook hands heartily with the radiant and stammering Burford. He looked at Roderick with steady dark eyes. He hardly spoke in reply to Burford's introduction. But the grip of his big, muscular hand was warmly cordial. He asked a few brief questions. Then he listened, his heavy head bent, his heavy-lidded eyes half closed, to Burford's eager account of their struggles and their triumphs. Almost without speaking he clambered into the launch again and motioned the boys to follow. For four consecutive hours the three went up and down the rough miry channels. Roderick steered the launch. Burford answered Breckenridge's occasional questions. Breckenridge stood, field-glass in hand, sweeping first one bank, then another with tireless eyes. He made almost no comment on Burford's explanations; but the slow occasional nod of his massive head was eloquent. Finally they retraced the last lateral and brought the launch up to the main landing. "No, I'll not stop to dine with you, much as I should enjoy it. I must be getting on to the next contract. They're seeing heavy weather too." Breckenridge stood up, stretching his big, cramped body. As he stood there, brushing the clay from his coat, he seemed to loom. "I have nothing much to say to you fellows," he went on in his quiet, casual voice, "only to remark that you must have worked like Trojans. You have made a far larger yardage record than we had dared to expect. You've put brains into your work, too. Can't say I'm surprised at your success, by the way. I was pretty certain from what Crosby said that you two would swing this contract, all right. Crosby and I had a talk in Chicago a week or so ago. We were in Tech together. Naturally he's quite a pal of mine, though nowadays we're opponents in a business way. But his opinion weighs heavily with me. And now that I have gone over the ground for myself, I am inclined to think that Crosby rather--well, that he underestimated your services to the company." Again his big head bent with that queer slow nod. For a moment Breck himself, the real man, alert, just, keenly understanding, flashed a glance from behind that heavy mask of splendid, impassive flesh. "Later you will probably receive a more detailed explanation of my opinion on your work. Good luck to you both, and good-by." He stepped into the launch. The powerful boat dashed away down the rough yellow canal. The boys stood and looked after him. Burford was wildly exultant. But Roderick was silent. A curious, deep satisfaction lighted his stolid, boyish face. Every word that Breckenridge had spoken was tingling in his blood. At last he had met his hero face to face, man to man. And his hero had proven all that heart could ask. "I wish I knew what he meant by saying that you'd hear further as to his opinion on your work," pondered Marian. Just two days later her wish was gratified. * * * * * It was a rainy, dreary day. Rod had spent the morning up the laterals and had come home dripping. Marian was trying to dry his soaked clothes before the smoky little oil-stove, but without much success. Just before noon she heard a welcome whistle. She ran down the bank to meet the rural delivery-man in his little spider-launch. The roads were long since impassable; the mail and all the camp supplies must come by water. "Stacks of letters, Rod. A fat official one for the Burfords and a still fatter, more official one for you. Do read it and tell me your news." "All right, Sis." Rod pushed aside his blueprints and set to opening his mail. Marian looked over her own letters. They were all of a sort: pleasant, affectionate notes from her friends at home. All, with one accord, besought her to hurry back to college for commencement. All earnestly pitied her for the tedious weeks that she was spending "in that rough, dreadful western country." Marian's eyes twinkled as she read. At the bottom of the pile lay a note from her good friend Isabel, begging her for the twentieth time to spend August with her in her beautiful home at Beverly Farms. Marian read that letter twice. Her dark brows narrowed. Before her eyes gleamed Isabel's home, the great beautiful house, set on a terraced emerald-green hill. Behind it, dark, cool, mysterious, lay the pine woods; before it flashed and gleamed the sea. She could see its wide, stately rooms, its soft-hued, luxurious furnishings. She could feel the atmosphere of quiet contentment, of assured ease, which was to Isabel and her mother the very air they breathed. Then she looked around her. Here she sat in a tiny canvas shack with a rough board floor. She looked at its mended chairs, its rag-tag rug, and stringy curtains; Rod's wet clothes, dripping before the little oil-stove; Rod's battered desk, heaped with papers and blue-prints, a mass of accumulated work. Then she looked through the tent-flap. Neither blue ocean nor deep, still forest met her eyes. Only a narrow, muddy ditch; a row of wind-torn willows; a dark, swollen river, hurrying on beneath a dark, sinister sky. An exclamation from Rod startled her. He stooped to her, his tired face burning. With unsteady fingers he put a letter into her hand. "Read that, Sis. No, I'll not read it aloud to you. Look at it with your own eyes." THE BRECKENRIDGE ENGINEERING COMPANY. OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT. RODERICK T. HALLOWELL, C. E., _c/o Contract Camp, Grafton, Illinois._ SIR: I beg to state that certain changes in the engineering force of the company have brought about a change in the position occupied by yourself with our firm. Beginning upon the first day of June, 1912, you will be transferred to the post of assistant superintendent on a large drainage contract in northern Iowa. While your position will be second to that of Mr. McPherson, our supervising engineer, yet you will be given entire charge of the assembling of the plant and its construction. Your salary will be two thousand dollars. Payment quarterly, as is our custom. Some objections to this promotion have been raised by members of our company on the score of your limited experience. Mr. Breckenridge, however, considers from his observation of your methods that you will prove fully equal to this exacting and responsible position. I am, very respectfully, THE BRECKENRIDGE ENGINEERING COMPANY. _Per_ R. W. AUSTIN, _Sec'y_. Silent, wide-eyed, Marian read this amazing document. Then, with a cry of surprise and delight, she turned to her brother. But before she could speak, a storm of eager feet dashed up the cabin steps. In burst Sally Lou and Ned, headlong. Ned, breathless with excitement, waved a long official envelope. But Sally Lou, close at his heels with Thomas Tucker crowing on her arm, poured out the wild tale. "Oh, Marian! Oh, Roderick! Oh, it's too good and grand and glorious to be true! We're going home, home, straight back to Virginia!" "Yes, we're going home, we're fired," puffed Ned, as Sally Lou paused for breath. He sank down on the bench with a sigh of ecstasy. "Don't look so dazed, Hallowell. There is more news coming. We're ordered off this contract. But we're not ordered out of the Breckenridge Engineering Company. Not quite yet. Instead, I'm directed to report on the Dismal Swamp Canal the first of the month. My position will be practically the same as the one that I'm now holding. But we can live at home. _At home_, I say! Right in Norfolk, right in the midst of all Sally Lou's own home-folks, right around the corner from my own father's house. Won't we have a glorious year of it! And won't Edward Junior and Thomas Tucker be good and spoiled, though!" "We're so happy we can't even say it to each other!" Sally Lou sat down suddenly, hiding her April face in Thomas Tucker's small pinafore. "It took Mammy Easter to express our feelings for us. 'Land, honey,' said she, 'I cert'n'y am thankful that we's goin' back to civilization. I want to climb on a real street-car again. I want to ride in an elevator. I don't care if I never sets foot in one of dem slippery little launches again, long's I live. But most of all I want to tote dese lambs out of this swamp and on to de dry land before dey grows up plumb web-footed.'" In the midst of the laugh that followed, a launch whistled from down the canal. "There's Mulcahy now. Hurry, Ned. Go down to Grafton and send your telegram to head-quarters. Good-by, folks! Come over to the martin-box to-night and we'll hold one last celebration." Sally Lou tossed her baby to her shoulder. Away she sped beside her husband. Marian looked after the gay, hurrying figures. Then, still bewildered, she turned to Roderick. "Well! What will happen next! Ned and Sally Lou ordered to Virginia; you promoted--it takes my breath away! But, Rod!" Her voice rose with a startled note. She looked up keenly at her brother's grave face. "You--you dear, cold-blooded old slow-coach! How can you look so pensive and perplexed? Of all the splendid, splendid news! How could you keep still and not tell the Burfords? How can you keep still now? If I wasn't so tired, I'd dance a jig right here on your desk!" "I ought to be dancing jigs myself," Roderick answered. "I don't half deserve this magnificent chance, I know that. But I--I don't know what to say. I'm facing a dead wall." "Rod, what do you mean? Of course you will accept this promotion. You must. There can't be any question!" Marian was on her knees by his chair now, clasping his cold hands in her own. Her voice rang sharp with angry affection. "Don't halt and fumble so, brother! Don't you remember, three months ago, how you fretted and hesitated about taking the position that you are holding to-day? See how you have succeeded in it! Yet look at you! To-day you are wavering and boggling and hanging back, just as you did then." "I'm hanging back, yes. But not for the same reason." Roderick looked down at her with dark, troubled eyes. "That time, I hesitated to accept on your account. This time, I'm hesitating on my own." "Why, Roderick Hallowell! You are not afraid of hard work, nor of taking chances, either. Rod, tell me this minute. Are you ill? What is it, dear?" "Nonsense. I'm perfectly well. But I am tired out. I don't know how to tell you what I mean. So tired that I dread the mere thought of going on a new contract, and taking charge of a new crew, and breaking myself in to a new piece of work. Yes, it does sound cowardly. But I cannot see my way clear. I don't believe I dare take it up." Marian looked at him closely. "Sleep on this, Rod. A night's rest will give you a different light on the matter." "A night's rest won't make any difference in the facts, Sis. The position is too complicated for a greenhorn like me. I believe I could assemble the plant, all right. And I think I could handle the laborers. But the endless outside detail is what I'm afraid of. That, and the responsibility, too. For instance, on a contract like this one in Iowa, the engineers must act as paymasters, each for his division. That means, reckon the men's time daily; make out their checks; handle their wages for them; and so on. Then there are my tabulated reports for the head office. Then my supplies. You have seen with your own eyes how much time and work just the buying of coal and machinery can demand. Then there would be a thousand smaller matters to look after. Taking it all in all, I don't want to make a try at this offer, then fail. So the sensible thing to do is, meekly to ask the company for a less impressive post." "All that you would need for the extra work that you describe would be a competent book-keeper, Rod." "Exactly!" Rod laughed shortly. "But a 'competent' book-keeper is the last employé that one can find for such hard, isolated work as this. What I need is not just a man to add columns for me. I need another brain, an extra pair of hands. I need the sort of first-aid that you have been giving me all these weeks, Sis. That's the sort of help that you can't buy for love nor money. That's all." [Illustration: MARIAN WAS ON HER KNEES BY HIS CHAIR, CLASPING HIS COLD HANDS IN HER OWN.] Marian studied her brother's face. When she spoke, her voice was very gentle and low. "All right, Rod. Telegraph head-quarters that you will accept." "Why?" "Because--I am going to take that position as book-keeper. There, now!" Roderick sat up with some vehemence. "Marian Hallowell, I think I see myself letting you do any more of my work. You're going back to college next week, for commencement. Then you may come West again, if you're determined to stay somewhere near me. I'm mighty glad to have you within reach, I must admit that. But you are not to live down in the woods any longer. And not another stroke of my work shall you do." "Why not? Am I such a poor stenographer?" Roderick laughed at her injured tone. Pride and affection mingled in that laugh. "You have been invaluable, Sis. You know that perfectly well. I'd never have pulled through this month without you. You have been of more real use than any three ordinary stenographers rolled together. For you have used your own brains and will and courage. You have not stood gracefully by and waited for orders. You have marched right on, and you have done a man's work straight through. But our long pull is over now. And you are well and strong again, I'm thankful to say. So back to the East you go, old lady. No more contract jobs for you." Marian's eyes narrowed ominously. Deliberately she seated herself on the arm of her brother's chair. Gently but firmly she seized him by both ears. "Now, Roderick Hallowell, listen to me. Three months ago the company offered you this position. I wanted you to accept it. But, of all things, I did _not_ want to go West with you. I teased and coaxed and whined. Much good my whining did me. For you just set that Rock-o'-Gibraltar chin of yours, and took me firmly by the collar and marched me along. "Now, Roderick Hallowell, look at me!" Chuckling and shamefaced, Roderick struggled to turn his face away; but Marian's fingers gripped mercilessly tight. "Look at me, I say. Answer. Didn't you bully me into giving up to your wishes, by threatening to refuse this position unless I'd come West with you? Didn't you drag me out here willy-nilly? Very well. You have had your way. You have brought me here, and--_you can't send me back_. There now." "Marian, this is not fair." Roderick freed one ear and looked sternly at his sister. "You must finish your education. I have no right to keep you trailing around the country with me, wasting your time and cutting you off from your friends and denying you any home comfort. You shall not sacrifice yourself----" "Sacrifice myself, indeed!" Marian took a fresh grip. "All I ask is to stay with you until next February. Then I'll go back and take up my college work at the exact point where I laid it down. I cannot graduate with my class, no matter how hard I try. My illness last winter took too much time. So I may as well join the class following, at mid-years'. In the mean time, we will have eight splendid months together. No, I have waked up, Rod. You can't hush me off to my selfish doze again." "But, Marian, I can't possibly permit----" "Yes, you can. And you will. As to home comforts--isn't it home, wherever we two are together? As to being cut off from my friends--aren't you the best chum I ever had? How do you suppose I like being cut off from you, brother?" Rod did not answer. At last he looked up. The sober gratitude in his eyes brought an answering radiance to Marian's own. "I give up, Sis. You shall stay with me for the summer, anyway. Then we'll see. Now run away, you blessed old partner!" His big hands shut on her shoulders with an eloquent grip. "I'm going to write to head-quarters and accept that position before I have time to turn coward again and change my mind." Marian gave him a vigorous hug of satisfaction, and ran away. Letter in hand, Roderick went to his desk. Carefully he set down his formal, courteous acceptance. He read the finished letter with critical care. Something was lacking. Yet he had taken all possible pains. What more could his reply need? Suddenly his face brightened. He took up his pen. Slowly and carefully he added a final paragraph: "In accepting this promotion, I wish to do so with the understanding that my sister, Miss Hallowell, who has acted as my assistant during the past month, shall continue to hold that position under the new contract. As her work is to be counted as a part of my own, I will request that my quarterly checks shall be made out, not to R. T. Hallowell, but to 'Hallowell & Hallowell,' as the salary is to be drawn by us on a basis of equal partnership." * * * * * He put down the finished sheet. His boyish face lighted with a slow, triumphant glow. He looked out across the gray wet country, the fog-banked river. To his eyes the dull scene was illumined. For his steady vision could see past that gray dreariness, far up the broad high-road of work and success that he had now set foot upon. These three months of heavy toil had proven him. He had seized his fighting chance, and he had made good. And now all the royal chances of his profession were waiting at his call. "Though I never could have put it through without Marian," he said under his breath. "My splendid, plucky little old Sis! No wonder I made good, with such a partner. And from now on she shall be my real partner, bless her heart. 'Hallowell & Hallowell,' now and forever!" 
41663	----	[Illustration: _Monument commemorating the Fort Dearborn Massacre_] THE FORT DEARBORN MASSACRE Written in 1814 by LIEUTENANT LINAI T. HELM One of the survivors With Letters and Narratives of Contemporary Interest Edited by Nelly Kinzie Gordon Rand Mcnally & Company Chicago New York Copyright, 1912, by Nelly Kinzie Gordon [Illustration: _Old Fort Dearborn_] To my Native City Chicago WHOSE MARVELOUS GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT I HAVE WATCHED WITH PRIDE AND UNFAILING INTEREST SINCE THE YEAR 1835 I dedicate this book THE CONTENTS PAGE _Introduction_ 5 Judge Woodward's Letter to Colonel Proctor 9 Lieutenant Helm's Letter to Judge Woodward 13 Lieutenant Helm's Narrative 15 The Massacre at Chicago 27 John Kinzie 85 The Capture by the Indians of Little Eleanor Lytle 109 THE ILLUSTRATIONS Monument commemorating the Fort Dearborn Massacre _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Old Fort Dearborn 15 The old Kinzie house 85 Cornplanter, a Seneca chief 109 INTRODUCTION The narrative of Lieutenant Linai T. Helm, one of the two officers who survived the Chicago Massacre, mysteriously disappeared nearly one hundred years ago. This manuscript has lately been found and is now in the possession of the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society, by whose kind permission it is here presented to the public, together with letters explaining its loss and its recovery. It is the earliest extant account given by a participator in the fearful tragedy of August 15, 1812. It was written by Lieutenant Helm in 1814, at the request of Judge Augustus B. Woodward, of Detroit, and was accompanied by a letter asking Judge Woodward's opinion as to whether the strictures made in the narrative upon the conduct of Captain Heald would result in Helm's being court-martialed for disrespect to his commanding officer. Judge Woodward evidently advised Lieutenant Helm not to take the risk, for the manuscript was found many years later among the Judge's papers. That Lieutenant Helm was a soldier rather than a scholar is evidenced by the faulty construction of his narrative. Its literary imperfections, however, in no way detract from its value as a truthful account of the events he describes. In the records of the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society, volume 12, page 659, is a letter concerning the survivors of the Chicago Massacre, written October, 1812, to Colonel Proctor by Judge Woodward, in which he says: "First, there is one officer, a lieutenant of the name of Linai T. Helm, with whom I had the happiness of a personal acquaintance. His father is a gentleman, originally of Virginia, and of the first society of the city, who has since settled in the State of New York. He is an officer of great rank, and unblemished character. The lady of this gentleman, a young and amiable victim of misfortune, was separated from her husband. She was delivered up to her father-in-law, who was present. Mr. Helm was transported into the Indian country a hundred miles from the scene of action, and has not since been heard of at this place." She was captured during the fight and delivered to her stepfather, Mr. John Kinzie. Her own account is given in the extract from "Waubun." Lieutenant Helm's feeling against Captain Heald was due to the latter's refusal to take any advice from those who thoroughly understood the Indians with whom they had to deal, and his failure to consult any of his junior officers as to what course might be pursued to save the garrison. Kirkland, in his "Story of Chicago," chapter 8, page 66, says: "Captain Heald's conduct seems like that of a brave fool." Captain Heald was by no means a fool, but he was afraid to take any responsibility. He considered a soldier's first duty obedience to orders. If in carrying out the orders he had received from General Hull he sacrificed his command, it would not be his fault, but Hull's; whereas, if he disobeyed instructions and remained in the fort awaiting reinforcements, any disastrous results would be visited upon him alone. He was willing, however, to accept John Kinzie's offer to provide a forged order, purporting to come from General Hull, authorizing the destruction of all arms, ammunition, and liquor before evacuating the fort, instead of giving them to the savages. Lieutenant Helm was promoted to a captaincy, but as his wound continued very troublesome he resigned from the army soon afterward, and retired to private life. The experiences of Mrs. Helm and of her mother, Mrs. John Kinzie, were related by them personally to Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie, the author of "Waubun." The little captive stolen by the Senecas and adopted into the tribe by their famous chief, "The Corn Planter," was Eleanor Lytle. She afterwards was rescued and became the wife of John Kinzie. To her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie, she told the story of her captivity among the Senecas, and her experiences during the Chicago Massacre. It seems proper in giving Lieutenant Helm's account of Fort Dearborn Massacre to preface it with a letter written by Judge Augustus B. Woodward of Detroit, of which two copies exist: one of the original draft, and one of the letter sent. They differ only in some unimportant details. Detroit was surrendered the day before the Chicago Massacre took place. As soon as information of the tragedy reached Detroit, Judge Woodward appealed to Colonel Proctor in behalf of the prisoners and possible survivors of the Massacre at Fort Dearborn. The information given by Judge Woodward in this letter to Colonel Proctor probably came from William Griffith, a survivor who had reached Detroit. It could not have come from Lieutenant Helm, who had been sent as a prisoner to Peoria, Illinois, and did not reach St. Louis until October 14. NELLY KINZIE GORDON. JUDGE WOODWARD'S LETTER TO COLONEL PROCTOR "Territory of Michigan," October 8th, 1812. Sir: It is already known to you that on Saturday the fifteenth day of August last, an order having been given to evacuate Fort Dearborn an attack was made by the savages of the vicinity on the troops and persons appertaining to that garrison on their march, at the distance of about three miles from the Fort, and the greater part of the number barbarously and inhumanly massacred. Three of the survivors of that unhappy and terrible disaster having since reached this country, I have employed some pains to collect the number and names of those who were not immediately slain and to ascertain whether any hopes might yet be entertained of saving the remainder. It is on this subject that I wish to interest your feelings and to solicit the benefit of your interposition; convinced that you estimate humanity among the brightest virtues of the soldier. I find, sir, that the party consisted of ninety-three persons. Of these the military, including officers, non-commissioned officers and privates, amounted to fifty-four--the citizens, not acting in a military capacity, consisted of twelve. The number of women was nine, and that of the children eighteen. The whole of the citizens were slaughtered, two women and twelve children. Of the military, twenty-six were killed at the time of the attack, and accounts have arrived of at least five of the surviving prisoners having been put to death in the course of the same night. There will remain then twenty-three of the military, seven women and six children, whose fate, with the exception of the three who have come in, and of two others who are known to be in safety at St. Joseph's, remains to be yet ascertained. Of these, amounting in all to thirty-one persons, I will furnish you with the names of all that I have been able to identify. First: there is one officer, a lieutenant, of the name of Linai T. Helm, with whom I have had the honor of a personal acquaintance. He is an officer of great merit, and of the most unblemished character. His father is a gentleman originally of Virginia, and of the first respectability, who has since settled in the State of New York. The lady of this gentleman, a young and amiable victim of misfortune, was separated from her husband during the fight. She is understood to be now at St. Joseph's. Mr. Helm was conveyed a hundred miles into the Indian country, and no accounts of his fate have yet reached this quarter. Second: of the six non-commissioned officers, four survived the action: John Crozier, a sergeant; Daniel Dougherty, a corporal; one other corporal by the name of Bowen, and William Griffin (Griffith), sergeant, now here. Third: of the privates it is said that five, and it is not known how many more, were put to death in the night after the action. Of those who are said to have thus suffered, I have been able to collect only the names of two; Richard Garner and James Latta. Mr. Burns, a citizen, severely wounded, was killed by an Indian woman, in the daytime, about an hour after the action. Micajah Dennison and John Fury were so badly wounded in the action that little hope was indulged of their recovery. There will thus remain twenty to be accounted for, of whom I can only give the following names: Dyson Dyer, William Nelson Hunt, Duncan McCarty, Augustus Mott, John Smith, John Smith, his son, a fifer, James Van Horn. Four: of the five women whose fate remains to be ascertained, I am enabled to give the names of them all. They were Mrs. Burns, wife to the citizen before mentioned as killed after the attack; Mrs. Holt, Mrs. Lee, Mrs. Needs, and Mrs. Simmons. Among these women six children saved out of the whole number, which was eighteen; part of them belonging to the surviving mothers, and part to those who were slain. As to the means of preserving these unhappy survivors from the distressing calamities which environ them, if they have preserved their lives, and which the rigors of the approaching season cannot fail to heighten, I would beg leave to suggest the following: First: to send a special messenger to that quarter, overland, and with such safeguard of Indians or others, as can be procured, charged with collecting the prisoners who may yet survive, and accounts of those who may have ultimately suffered, and supplied with the means of conveying them either to Detroit or Michillimackinac. Second: to communicate to Captain Roberts, who now commands at Michillimackinac, the circumstances of the same in full, and to request his co-operation in effecting the humane object of their ultimate preservation. I am not authorized by my Government to make the assurance, but I shall not doubt their cheerfully defraying such expense of ransom, or conveyance, as circumstances will justify; and private funds are also ready to be applied to the same purpose. I do not less doubt your willing and zealous assistance, and with a confident hope of it, permit me, sir, to assure you of the high respect with which I have the honor to be Your obedient servant, A. B. WOODWARD. To Col. Henry Proctor. LIEUTENANT HELM'S LETTER TO JUDGE WOODWARD Flemington, New Jersey, 6th June, 1814. Dear Sir:-- I hope you will excuse the length of time I have taken to communicate the history of the unfortunate massacre of Chicago. It is now nearly finished, and in two weeks you may expect it. As the history cannot possibly be written with truth without eternally disgracing Major Heald, I wish you could find out whether I shall be cashiered or censured for bringing to light the conduct of so great a man as many think him. You know I am the only officer that has escaped to tell the news. Some of the men have got off, but where they are I know not; they would be able to testify to some of the principal facts. I have waited a long time expecting a court of inquiry on his conduct but see plainly it is to be overlooked. I am resolved now to do myself justice even if I have to leave the service to publish the history. I shall be happy to hear from you immediately on the receipt of this. I have the honor to be sir, with great respect, Your obedient servant, L. T. HELM. Augustus B. Woodward, Esqr. Washington City (Addressed:) Flemington, Jan. 6th. Augustus B. Woodward, Esq. Milton, Va. (Endorsed:) Helm, Mr. Linah T. letter from Dated Flemington, New Jersey, June 6th, 1814. Received at Washington. June 14th, 1814. R. June 14th, 1814. LIEUTENANT HELM'S NARRATIVE Some time in April, about the 7th-10, a party of Winnebagoes came to Chicago and murdered 2 men. This gave sufficient ground to suppose the Indians hostile, as they have left every sign by scalping them and leaving a weapon, say a war mallet, as a token of their returning in June. Mr. Kinzie sent a letter from the Interior of the Indian Country to inform Capt. Heald that the Indians were hostile inclined and only waiting the Declaration of War to commence open hostilities. This they told Kinzie in confidence on the 10th of July. Capt. Heald got the information of War being declared, and on the 8th of August got Gen. Hull's order to evacuate the Post of Fort Dearborn by the route of Detroit, or Fort Wayne, if practicable. This letter was brought by a Potowautemie Chief Winnemeg, and he informed Capt. Heald, through Kenzie, to evacuate immediately the next day, if possible, as the Indians were hostile and that the troops should change the usual routes to go to Fort Wayne. On the 12th August, Capt. William Wells arrived from Fort Wayne with 27 Miamis, and after a council being held by him with the tribes there assembled to amount of 500 warriors 179 women and children. He after council declared them hostile and that his opinion was that they would interrupt us on our route. Capt. Wells enquired into the State of the arms, ammunition and provisions. We had 200 stand of arms, four pieces of artillery, 6,000 lbs. of powder and a sufficient quantity of shot lead, etc. 3 months provisions taken in Indian corn and all this on the 12th of August, having prior to this expended 3 months provisions at least in the interval between the 7th and 12th of August, exclusive of this we had at our command 200 head of horned cattle and 27 barrels of salt. After this survey, Wells demanded of Capt. Heald if he intended to evacuate. His answer was he would. Kenzie then, with Lt. Helm, called on Wells and requested him to call on Capt. Heald and cause the ammunition and arms to be destroyed, but Capt. Wells insisted on Kenzie and Helm to join with him. This being done, Capt. Heald hesitated and observed that it was not sound policy to tell a lie to an Indian; that he had received a positive order from Gen. Hull to deliver up to those Indians all the public property of whatsoever nature particularly to those Indians that would take in the Troops and that he could not alter it, and that it might irritate the Indians and be the means of the destruction of his men. Kenzie volunteered to take the responsibility on himself, provided Capt. Heald would consider the method he would point out a safe one, he agreed. Kenzie wrote an order as if from Genl. Hull, and gave it into Capt. Heald. It was supposed to answer and accordingly was carried into effect. The ammunition and muskets were all destroyed the night of the 13th. The 15th, we evacuated the Garrison, and about one and half mile from the Garrison we were informed by Capt. Wells that we were surrounded and the attack by the Indians began about 10 of the clock morning. The men in a few minutes were, with the exception of 10, all killed and wounded. The Ensign and Surgeons Mate were both killed. The Capt. and myself both badly wounded during the battle. I fired my piece at an Indian and felt confident I killed him or wounded him badly. I immediately called to the men to follow me in the pirara, or we would be shot down before we could load our guns. We had proceeded under a heavy fire about an hundred and five paces when I made a wheel to the left to observe the motion of the Indians and avoid being shot in the back, which I had so far miraculously escaped. Just as I wheeled I received a ball through my coat pocket, which struck the barrel of my gun and fell in the lining of my coat. In a few seconds, I received a ball in my right foot, which lamed me considerably. The Indians happened immediately to stop firing and never more renewed it. I immediately ordered the men that were able to load their guns and commenced loading for them that were not able. I now discovered Capt. Heald for the first time to my knowledge during the battle. He was coming from towards the Indians and to my great surprise they never offered to fire on him. He came up and ordered the men to form; that his intentions were to charge the body of Indians that were on the bank of the Lake where we had just retreated from. They appeared to be about 300 strong. We were 27, including all the wounded. He advanced about 5 steps and not at all to my surprise was the first that halted. Some of the men fell back instead of advancing. We then gained the only high piece of ground there was near. We now had a little time to reflect and saw death in every direction. At this time an interpreter from the Indians advanced towards us and called for the Captain, who immediately went to meet him (the interpreter was a half Indian and had lived a long time within a few yards of the fort and bound to Mr. Kinzie; he was always very friendly with us all). A chief by the name of Blackbird advanced to the interpreter and met the Captain, who after a few words conversation delivered him his sword, and in a few minutes returned to us and informed me he had offered 100 dollars for every man that was then living. He said they were then deciding on what to do. They, however, in a few minutes, called him again and talked with him some time, when he returned and informed me they had agreed if I and the men would surrender by laying down our arms they would lay down theirs, meet us half way, shake us by the hand as friends and take us back to the fort. I asked him if he knew what they intended doing with us then. He said they did not inform him. He asked me if I would surrender. The men were at this time crowding to my back and began to beg me not to surrender. I told them not to be uneasy for I had already done my best for them and was determined not to surrender unless I saw better prospects of us all being saved and then not without they were willing. The Captain asked me the second time what I would do, without an answer. I discovered the interpreter at this time running from the Indians towards us, and when he came in about 20 steps the Captain put the question the third time. The Interpreter called out, "Lieut. don't surrender for if you do they will kill you all, for there has been no general council held with them yet. You must wait, and I will go back and hold a general council with them and return and let you know what they will do." I told him to go, for I had no idea of surrender. He went and collected all the Indians and talked for some time, when he returned and told me the Indians said if I would surrender as before described they would not kill any, and said it was his opinion they would do as they said, for they had already saved Mr. Kinzie and some of the women and children. This enlivened me and the men, for we well knew Mr. Kinzie stood higher than any man in that country among the Indians, and he might be the means of saving us from utter destruction, which afterwards proved to be the case. We then surrendered, and after the Indians had fired off our guns they put the Captain and myself and some of the wounded men on horses and marched us to the bank of the lake, where the battle first commenced. When we arrived at the bank and looked down on the sand beach I was struck with horror at the sight of men, women and children lying naked with principally all their heads off, and in passing over the bodies I was confident I saw my wife with her head off about two feet from her shoulders. Tears for the first time rushed in my eyes, but I consoled myself with a firm belief that I should soon follow her. I now began to repent that I had ever surrendered, but it was too late to recall, and we had only to look up to Him who had first caused our existence. When we had arrived in half a mile of the Fort they halted us, made the men sit down, form a ring around them, began to take off their hats and strip the Captain. They attempted to strip me, but were prevented by a Chief who stuck close to me. I made signs to him that I wanted to drink, for the weather was very warm. He led me off towards the Fort and, to my great astonishment, saw my wife sitting among some squaws crying. Our feelings can be better judged than expressed. They brought some water and directed her to wash and dress my wound, which she did, and bound it up with her pocket handkerchief. They then brought up some of the men and tommyhawked one of them before us. They now took Mrs. Helm across the river (for we were nearly on its banks) to Mr. Kinzie's. We met again at my fathers in the State of New York, she having arrived seven days before me after being separated seven months and one week. She was taken in the direction of Detroit and I was taken down to Illinois River and was sold to Mr. Thomas Forsyth, half brother of Mr. Kinzie's, who, a short time after, effected my escape. This gentleman was the means of saving many lives on the warring (?) frontier. I was taken on the 15th of August and arrived safe among the Americans at St. Louis on the 14th of October. Capt. Heald, through Kenzie, sending his two negroes, got put on board an Indian boat going to St. Joseph, and from that place got to Makenac by Lake Michigan in a birch canoe. The night of the 14th, the Interpreter and a Chief (Black Partridge) waited on Capt. Heald. The Indian gave up his medal and told Heald to beware of the next day, that the Indians would destroy him and his men. This Heald never communicated to one of his officers. There was but Capt. Wells that was acquainted with it. You will observe, sir, that I did, with Kenzie, protest against destroying the arms, ammunition and provisions until that Heald told me positively that he would evacuate at all hazards. 15th of August, we evacuated the Fort. The number of soldiers was 52 privates and musicians (2), 4 officers and physicians, 14 citizens, 18 children and 9 women, the baggage being in front with the citizens, women and children and on the margin of the lake, we having advanced to gain the Prairie. I could not see the massacre, but Kinzie, with Doctor Van Vorees, being ordered by Capt. Heald to take charge of the women and children, remained on the beach, and Kinzie since told me he was an eye witness to the horrid scene. The Indians came down on the baggage waggons for plunder. They butchered every male citizen but Kinzie, two women and 12 children in the most inhuman manner possible, opened them, cutting off their heads and taken out their hearts; several of the women were wounded but not dangerously. LIST OF GARRISON Nathan Heald 1 Released. Lina T. Helm 2 " Nathan Edson 3 ---- Elias Mills 4 ---- Thos. Point Dexter 5 ---- August Mort 6 Died natural. James Latta 7 Killed. Michael Lynch 8 Killed. John Sullinfield 9 Killed. John Smith, Senr. 10 Released. John Smith, Junr. 11 ---- Nathan Hunt 12 Deserted. Richard Garner 13 Killed. Paul Greene 14 ---- James V__tworth (?) 15 ---- John Griffiths 16 { Supposed to be a { Frenchman and Joseph Bowen 17 { released. John Ferry (or Fury) 18 ---- John Crozier 19 Deserted. John Needs 20 ---- Daniel Daugherty 21 ---- Dyson Dyer 22 Killed. John Andrews 23 Killed. James Stone (or Starr or Storr) 24 Killed. Joseph Nolis (or Notts) 25 ---- James Corbin 26 ---- Fielding Corbin 27 ---- Citizens: Jos. Burns 28 Mortally wounded; since killed. (Names of women on reverse page) Women taken prisoners: Mrs. Heald Released. Mrs. Helm " Mrs. Holt } Mrs. Burns } Mrs. Leigh } Prisoners Mrs. Simmons } Mrs. Needs } Killed in action: Mrs. Corbin. Mrs. Heald's Negro woman. Children yet in captivity: Mrs. Leigh's 2, one since dead N D. Mrs. Burns' 2. Mrs. Simmons' 1. 13 children killed during the action. 11 citizens including Captain Wells. John Kinzie taken, but not considered as a prisoner of war. 54 Rank and file left the Garrison. THE MASSACRE AT CHICAGO[1] It was the evening of April 7, 1812. The children were dancing before the fire to the music of their father's violin. The tea table was spread, and they were awaiting the return of their mother, who had gone to visit a sick neighbor about a quarter of a mile up the river. Suddenly their sports were interrupted. The door was thrown open, and Mrs. Kinzie rushed in, pale with terror, and scarcely able to speak. "The Indians! the Indians!" she gasped. "The Indians? What? Where?" they all demanded in alarm. "Up at Lee's Place, killing and scalping!" With difficulty Mrs. Kinzie composed herself sufficiently to say that, while she was at Burns', a man and a boy had been seen running down with all speed on the opposite side of the river. They had called across to the Burns family to save themselves, for the Indians were at Lee's Place, from which the two had just made their escape. Having given this terrifying news, they had made all speed for the fort, which was on the same side of the river. All was now consternation and dismay in the Kinzie household. The family were hurried into two old pirogues that lay moored near the house, and paddled with all possible haste across the river to take refuge in the fort. All that the man and boy who had made their escape were able to tell was soon known; but, in order to render their story more intelligible, it is necessary to describe the situation. Lee's Place, since known as Hardscrabble, was a farm intersected by the Chicago River, about four miles from its mouth. The farmhouse stood on the west bank of the south branch of this river. On the north side of the main stream, but near its junction with Lake Michigan, stood the dwelling house and trading establishment of Mr. Kinzie. The fort was situated on the southern bank, directly opposite this mansion, the river and a few rods of sloping green turf on either side being all that intervened between them. The fort was differently constructed from the one erected on the same site in 1816. It had two blockhouses on the southern side, and on the northern a sally port, or subterranean passage from the parade ground to the river. This was designed to facilitate escape in case of an emergency or as a means of supplying the garrison with water during a siege. In the fort at this period were three officers, Captain Heald, who was in command, Lieutenant Helm, the son-in-law of Mr. Kinzie, and Ensign Ronan--the last two very young men--and the surgeon, Dr. Van Voorhees. The garrison numbered about seventy-five men, very few of whom were effective. A constant and friendly intercourse had been maintained between these troops and the Indians. It is true that the principal men of the Potowatomi nation, like those of most other tribes, went yearly to Fort Malden, in Canada, to receive the large number of presents with which the British Government, for many years, had been in the habit of purchasing their alliance; and it was well known that many of the Potowatomi, as well as Winnebago, had been engaged with the Ottawa and Shawnee at the battle of Tippecanoe, the preceding autumn; yet, as the principal chiefs of all the bands in the neighborhood appeared to be on the most amicable terms with the Americans, no interruption of their harmony was at any time anticipated. After August 15, however, many circumstances were recalled that might have opened the eyes of the whites had they not been blinded by a false security. One incident in particular may be mentioned. In the spring preceding the destruction of the fort, two Indians of the Calumet band came to the fort on a visit to the commanding officer. As they passed through the quarters, they saw Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm playing at battledoor. Turning to the interpreter, one of them, Nau-non-gee, remarked, "The white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves very much; it will not be long before they are hoeing in our cornfields!" At the time this was considered an idle threat, or, at most, an ebullition of jealous feeling at the contrast between the situation of their own women and that of the "white chiefs' wives." Some months after, how bitterly was it remembered! The farm at Lee's Place was occupied by a Mr. White and three persons employed by him. In the afternoon of the day on which our narrative commences, a party of ten or twelve Indians, dressed and painted, arrived at the house. According to the custom among savages, they entered and seated themselves without ceremony. Something in their appearance and manner excited the suspicion of one of the household, a Frenchman, who remarked, "I do not like the looks of these Indians--they are none of our folks. I know by their dress and paint that they are not Potowatomi." Another of the men, a discharged soldier, then said to a boy who was present, "If that is the case, we'd better get away from them if we can. Say nothing; but do as you see me do." There were two canoes tied near the bank, and the soldier walked leisurely towards them. Some of the Indians inquired where he was going. He pointed to the cattle standing among the haystacks on the opposite bank, making signs that they must go and fodder them, and that they would then return and get their supper. As the afternoon was far advanced, this explanation was accepted without question. The soldier got into one canoe, and the boy into the other. The stream was narrow, and they were soon across. Having gained the opposite side, they pulled some hay for the cattle, made a show of herding them, and when they had gradually made a circuit, so that their movements were concealed by the haystacks, took to the woods, close at hand, and then started for the fort. They had run about a quarter of a mile when they heard two guns discharged in succession. These guns they supposed to have been leveled at the companions they had left. They ran without stopping until they arrived opposite Burns',[2] where, as before related, they called across to warn the family of their danger, and then hastened on to the fort. It now occurred to those who had secured their own safety that the Burns family was still exposed to imminent peril. The question was, who would hazard his life to bring them to a place of security? The gallant young officer, Ensign Ronan, with a party of five or six soldiers, volunteered to go to their rescue. They ascended the river in a scow, took the mother, with her infant, scarcely a day old, upon her bed to the boat, and carefully conveyed her with the other members of the family to the fort. The same afternoon a party of soldiers, consisting of a corporal and six men, had obtained leave to go fishing up the river. They had not returned when the fugitives from Lee's Place arrived at the fort. It was now night and, fearing they might encounter the Indians, the commanding officer ordered a cannon fired, warning them of their danger. It will be remembered that the unsettled state of the country after the battle of Tippecanoe, the preceding November, had rendered every man vigilant, and the slightest alarm was an admonition to "beware of the Indians." At the time the cannon was fired the fishing party were about two miles above Lee's Place. Hearing the signal, they put out their torches and dropped down the river towards the garrison, as silently as possible. When they reached Lee's Place, it was proposed to stop and warn the inmates to be on their guard, as the signal from the fort indicated some kind of danger. All was still as death around the house. The soldiers groped their way along, and as the corporal jumped over the small inclosure he placed his hand upon the dead body of a man. He soon ascertained that the head was without a scalp, and otherwise mutilated. The faithful dog of the murdered man stood guarding the lifeless remains of his master. The tale was told. The men retreated to their canoes, and reached the fort unmolested about eleven o'clock at night. The next morning a party of citizens and soldiers volunteered to go to Lee's Place to learn further the fate of its occupants. The body of Mr. White was found pierced by two balls, with eleven stabs in the breast. The Frenchman also lay dead, his dog still beside him. The bodies were brought to the fort and buried in its immediate vicinity. Later it was learned from traders out in the Indian country that the perpetrators of the deed were a party of Winnebago who had come into the neighborhood to "take some white scalps." Their plan had been to proceed down the river from Lee's Place and kill every white man outside the walls of the fort. However, hearing the report of the cannon, and not knowing what it portended, they thought it best to retreat to their homes on Rock River. The settlers outside the fort, a few discharged soldiers and some families of half-breeds, now intrenched themselves in the Agency House. This building stood west of the fort, between the pickets and the river, and distant about twenty rods from the former. It was an old-fashioned log house, with a hall running through the center, and one large room on each side. Piazzas extended the whole length of the building, in front and rear. These were now planked up, for greater security; portholes were cut, and sentinels posted at night. As the enemy were believed to be still lurking in the neighborhood, or, emboldened by former success, were likely to return at any moment, an order was issued prohibiting any soldier or citizen from leaving the vicinity of the garrison without a guard. One night a sergeant and a private, who were out on patrol, came suddenly upon a party of Indians in the pasture adjoining the esplanade. The sergeant fired his piece, and both retreated towards the fort. Before they could reach it, an Indian threw his tomahawk, which missed the sergeant and struck a wagon standing near. The sentinel from the blockhouse immediately fired while the men got safely in. The next morning traces of blood were found for a considerable distance into the prairie, and from this and the appearance of the long grass, where it was evident a body had lain, it was certain some execution had been done. On another occasion Indians entered the esplanade to steal horses. Not finding any in the stable, as they had expected to, they relieved their disappointment by stabbing all the sheep in the stable and then letting them loose. The poor animals flocked towards the fort. This gave the alarm. The garrison was aroused, and parties were sent out; but the marauders escaped unmolested. The inmates of the fort experienced no further alarm for many weeks. On the afternoon of August 7, Winnemeg, or Catfish, a Potowatomi chief, arrived at the post, bringing dispatches from General Hull. These announced that war had been declared between the United States and Great Britain, and that General Hull, at the head of the Northwestern army, had arrived at Detroit; also, that the Island of Mackinac had fallen into the hands of the British. The orders to Captain Heald were to "evacuate the fort, if practicable, and, in that event, to distribute all the United States property contained in the fort, and in the United States factory or agency, among the Indians in the neighborhood." After having delivered his dispatches, Winnemeg requested a private interview with Mr. Kinzie, who had taken up his residence in the fort. He told Mr. Kinzie he was acquainted with the purport of the communications he had brought, and begged him to ascertain if it were the intention of Captain Heald to evacuate the post. He advised strongly against such a step, inasmuch as the garrison was well supplied with ammunition, and with provisions for six months. It would, therefore, be far better, he thought, to remain until reinforcements could be sent. If, however, Captain Heald should decide to leave the post, it should by all means be done immediately. The Potowatomi, through whose country they must pass, being ignorant of the object of Winnemeg's mission, a forced march might be made before the hostile Indians were prepared to interrupt them. Of this advice, so earnestly given, Captain Heald was immediately informed. He replied that it was his intention to evacuate the post, but that, inasmuch as he had received orders to distribute the United States property, he should not feel justified in leaving until he had collected the Indians of the neighborhood and made an equitable division among them. Winnemeg then suggested the expediency of marching out, and leaving all things standing; possibly while the Indians were engaged in the partition of the spoils the troops might effect their retreat unmolested. This advice, strongly seconded by Mr. Kinzie, did not meet the approbation of the commanding officer. The order to evacuate the post was read next morning upon parade. It is difficult to understand why, in such an emergency, Captain Heald omitted the usual form of holding a council of war with his officers. It can be accounted for only by the fact of a want of harmonious feeling between him and one of his junior officers, Ensign Ronan, a high-spirited and somewhat overbearing, but brave and generous, young man. In the course of the day, no council having been called, the officers waited on Captain Heald, seeking information regarding the course he intended to pursue. When they learned his intentions, they remonstrated with him, on the following grounds: First, it was highly improbable that the command would be permitted to pass through the country in safety to Fort Wayne. For although it had been said that some of the chiefs had opposed an attack upon the fort, planned the preceding autumn, yet it was well known that they had been actuated in that matter by motives of personal regard for one family, that of Mr. Kinzie, and not by any general friendly feeling towards the Americans; and that, in any event, it was hardly to be expected that these few individuals would be able to control the whole tribe, who were thirsting for blood. In the next place, their march must necessarily be slow, as their movements must be accommodated to the helplessness of the women and children, of whom there were a number with the detachment. Of their small force some of the soldiers were superannuated, others invalid. Therefore, since the course to be pursued was left discretional, their unanimous advice was to remain where they were, and fortify themselves as strongly as possible. Succor from the other side of the peninsula might arrive before they could be attacked by the British from Mackinac; and even should help not come, it were far better to fall into the hands of the British than to become the victims of the savages. Captain Heald argued in reply that "a special order had been issued by the War Department that no post should be surrendered without battle having been given, and his force was totally inadequate to an engagement with the Indians; that he should unquestionably be censured for remaining when there appeared a prospect of a safe march through; and that, upon the whole, he deemed it expedient to assemble the Indians, distribute the property among them, and then ask them for an escort to Fort Wayne, with the promise of a considerable reward upon their safe arrival, adding that he had full confidence in the friendly professions of the Indians, from whom, as well as from the soldiers, the capture of Mackinac had been kept a profound secret." From this time the officers held themselves aloof, and spoke but little upon the subject, though they considered Captain Heald's project little short of madness. The dissatisfaction among the soldiers increased hourly, until it reached a high pitch of insubordination. On one occasion, when conversing with Mr. Kinzie upon the parade, Captain Heald remarked, "I could not remain, even if I thought it best, for I have but a small store of provisions." "Why, captain," said a soldier who stood near, forgetting all etiquette in the excitement of the moment, "you have cattle enough to last the troops six months." "But," replied Captain Heald, "I have no salt to preserve it with." "Then jerk it," said the man, "as the Indians do their venison." The Indians now became daily more unruly. Entering the fort in defiance of the sentinels, they made their way without ceremony into the officers' quarters. One day an Indian took up a rifle and fired it in the parlor of the commanding officer, as an expression of defiance. Some believed that this was intended among the young men as a signal for an attack. The old chiefs passed backwards and forwards among the assembled groups with the appearance of the most lively agitation, while the squaws rushed to and fro in great excitement, evidently prepared for some fearful scene. Any further manifestation of ill feeling was, however, suppressed for the time and, strange as it may seem, Captain Heald continued to entertain a conviction of having created so amicable a disposition among the Indians as to insure the safety of the command on their march to Fort Wayne. Thus passed the time until August 12. The feelings of the inmates of the fort during this time may be better imagined than described. Each morning that dawned seemed to bring them nearer to that most appalling fate--butchery by a savage foe; and at night they scarcely dared yield to slumber, lest they should be aroused by the war whoop and tomahawk. Gloom and mistrust prevailed, and the want of unanimity among the officers prevented the consolation they might have found in mutual sympathy and encouragement. The Indians being assembled from the neighboring villages, a council was held with them on the afternoon of August 12. Captain Heald alone attended on the part of the military. He had requested his officers to accompany him, but they had declined. They had been secretly informed that the young chiefs intended to fall upon the officers and massacre them while in council, but they could not persuade Captain Heald of the truth of their information. They waited therefore only until, accompanied by Mr. Kinzie, he had left the garrison, when they took command of the blockhouses overlooking the esplanade on which the council was held, opened the portholes, and pointed the cannon so as to command the whole assembly. By this means, probably, the lives of the whites who were present in council were preserved. In council, the commanding officer informed the Indians that it was his intention to distribute among them, the next day, not only the goods lodged in the United States factory, but also the ammunition and provisions, with which the garrison was well supplied. He then requested the Potowatomi to furnish him an escort to Fort Wayne, promising them, in addition to the presents they were now about to receive, a liberal reward on arriving there. With many professions of friendship and good will, the savages assented to all he proposed, and promised all he required. After the council, Mr. Kinzie, who well understood not only the Indian character but the present tone of feeling among them, had a long interview with Captain Heald, in hopes of opening his eyes to the real state of affairs. He reminded him that since the trouble with the Indians along the Wabash and in the vicinity, there had appeared to be a settled plan of hostilities towards the whites, in consequence of which it had been the policy of the Americans to withhold from the Indians whatever would enable them to carry on their warfare upon the defenseless inhabitants of the frontier. Mr. Kinzie also recalled to Captain Heald how, having left home for Detroit, the preceding autumn, on receiving news at De Charme's[3] of the battle of Tippecanoe, he had immediately returned to Chicago, that he might dispatch orders to his traders to furnish no ammunition to the Indians. As a result, all the ammunition the traders had on hand was secreted, and those traders who had not already started for their wintering grounds took neither powder nor shot with them. Captain Heald was struck with the inadvisability of furnishing the enemy (for such they must now consider their old neighbors) with arms against himself, and determined to destroy all the ammunition except what should be necessary for the use of his own troops. On August 13 the goods, consisting of blankets, broadcloths, calicoes, paints, and miscellaneous supplies were distributed, as stipulated. The same evening part of the ammunition and liquor was carried into the sally port, and there thrown into a well which had been dug to supply the garrison with water in case of emergency. The remainder was transported, as secretly as possible, through the northern gate; the heads of the barrels were knocked in, and the contents poured into the river. The same fate was shared by a large quantity of alcohol belonging to Mr. Kinzie, which had been deposited in a warehouse near his residence opposite the fort. The Indians suspected what was going on, and crept, serpent-like, as near the scene of action as possible; but a vigilant watch was kept up, and no one was suffered to approach but those engaged in the affair. All the muskets not necessary for the command on the march were broken up and thrown into the well, together with bags of shot, flints, gunscrews; in short, everything relating to weapons of defense. Some relief to the general feeling of despondency was afforded by the arrival, on August 14, of Captain Wells[4] with fifteen friendly Miami. Of this brave man, who forms so conspicuous a figure in our frontier annals, it is unnecessary here to say more than that he had resided from boyhood among the Indians, and hence possessed a perfect knowledge of their character and habits. At Fort Wayne he had heard of the order to evacuate the fort at Chicago, and, knowing the hostile determination of the Potowatomi, had made a rapid march across the country to prevent the exposure of his relative, Captain Heald, and his troops to certain destruction. But he came "all too late." When he reached the post he found that the ammunition had been destroyed, and the provisions given to the Indians. There was, therefore, no alternative, and every preparation was made for the march of the troops on the following morning. On the afternoon of the same day a second council was held with the Indians. They expressed great indignation at the destruction of the ammunition and liquor. Notwithstanding the precautions that had been taken to preserve secrecy, the noise of knocking in the heads of the barrels had betrayed the operations of the preceding night; indeed, so great was the quantity of liquor thrown into the river that next morning the water was, as one expressed it, "strong grog." Murmurs and threats were everywhere heard among the savages. It was evident that the first moment of exposure would subject the troops to some manifestation of their disappointment and resentment. Among the chiefs were several who, although they shared the general hostile feeling of their tribe towards the Americans, yet retained a personal regard for the troops at this post and for the few white citizens of the place. These chiefs exerted their utmost influence to allay the revengeful feelings of the young men, and to avert their sanguinary designs, but without effect. On the evening succeeding the council Black Partridge, a conspicuous chief, entered the quarters of the commanding officer. "Father," said he, "I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. But our young men are resolved to imbrue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy." Had further evidence been wanting, this circumstance would have sufficiently justified the devoted band in their melancholy anticipations. Nevertheless, they went steadily on with the necessary preparations; and, amid the horrors of the situation there were not wanting gallant hearts who strove to encourage in their desponding companions the hopes of escape they themselves were far from indulging. Of the ammunition there had been reserved but twenty-five rounds, besides one box of cartridges, contained in the baggage wagons. This must, under any circumstances of danger, have proved an inadequate supply; but the prospect of a fatiguing march, in their present ineffective state, forbade the troops embarrassing themselves with a larger quantity. The morning of August 15 arrived. Nine o'clock was the hour named for starting and all things were in readiness. Mr. Kinzie, having volunteered to accompany the troops in their march, had intrusted his family to the care of some friendly Indians, who promised to convey them in a boat around the head of Lake Michigan to a point[5] on the St. Joseph River, there to be joined by the troops, should their march be permitted. Early in the morning Mr. Kinzie received a message from To-pee-nee-bee, a chief of the St. Joseph band, informing him that mischief was intended by the Potowatomi who had engaged to escort the detachment, and urging him to relinquish his plan of accompanying the troops by land, promising him that the boat containing his family should be permitted to pass in safety to St. Joseph. Mr. Kinzie declined this proposal, as he believed his presence might restrain the fury of the savages, so warmly were the greater number of them attached to him and his family. Seldom does one find a man who, like John Kinzie, refuses safety for himself in order to stand or fall with his countrymen, and who, as stern as any Spartan, bids farewell to his dear ones to go forward to almost certain destruction. The party in the boat consisted of Mrs. Kinzie and her four younger children, their nurse Josette, a clerk of Mr. Kinzie's, two servants, and the boatmen, besides the two Indians who were to act as their protectors. The boat started, but had scarcely reached the mouth of the river, which, it will be recalled, was here half a mile below the fort, when another messenger from To-pee-nee-bee arrived to detain it. There was no mistaking the meaning of this detention. In breathless anxiety sat the wife and mother. She was a woman of unusual energy and strength of character, yet her heart died within her as she folded her arms about her helpless infants and gazed upon the march of her husband and eldest child to what seemed certain death. As the troops left the fort, the band struck up the Dead March. On they came, in military array, but with solemn mien, Captain Wells in the lead at the head of his little band of Miami. He had blackened his face before leaving the garrison, in token of his impending fate. The troops took their route along the lake shore; but when they reached the point where the range of sand hills intervening between the prairie and the beach commenced, the escort of Potowatomi, in number about five hundred, took the level of the prairie, instead of continuing along the shore with the Americans and Miami. They had marched perhaps a mile and a half when Captain Wells, who had kept somewhat in advance with his Miami, came riding furiously back. "They are about to attack us," shouted he; "form instantly, and charge upon them." Scarcely were the words uttered, when a volley was showered from among the sand hills. The troops, brought hastily into line, charged up the bank. One man, a veteran of seventy winters, fell as they ascended. The remainder of the scene is best described in the words of an eyewitness and participator in the tragedy, Mrs. Helm,[6] the wife of Captain (then Lieutenant) Helm, and stepdaughter of Mr. Kinzie. "After we had left the bank the firing became general. The Miami fled at the outset. Their chief rode up to the Potowatomi, and said: 'You have deceived us and the Americans. You have done a bad action, and (brandishing his tomahawk) I will be the first to head a party of Americans to return and punish your treachery.' So saying, he galloped after his companions, who were now scurrying across the prairies. "The troops behaved most gallantly. They were but a handful, but they seemed resolved to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Our horses pranced and bounded, and could hardly be restrained as the balls whistled among them. I drew off a little, and gazed upon my husband and father, who were yet unharmed. I felt that my hour was come, and endeavored to forget those I loved, and prepare myself for my approaching fate. "While I was thus engaged, the surgeon, Dr. Van Voorhees, came up. He was badly wounded. His horse had been shot under him, and he had received a ball in his leg. Every muscle of his face was quivering with the agony of terror. He said to me, 'Do you think they will take our lives? I am badly wounded, but I think not mortally. Perhaps we might purchase our lives by promising them a large reward. Do you think there is any chance?' "'Dr. Van Voorhees,' said I, 'do not let us waste the moments that yet remain to us in such vain hopes. Our fate is inevitable. In a few moments we must appear before the bar of God. Let us make what preparation is yet in our power.' "'Oh, I cannot die!' exclaimed he, 'I am not fit to die--if I had but a short time to prepare--death is awful!' "I pointed to Ensign Ronan, who, though mortally wounded and nearly down, was still fighting with desperation on one knee.[7] "'Look at that man!' said I. 'At least he dies like a soldier.' "'Yes,' replied the unfortunate surgeon, with a convulsive gasp, 'but he has no terrors of the future--he is an atheist.' "At this moment a young Indian raised his tomahawk over me. Springing aside, I partially avoided the blow, which, intended for my skull, fell on my shoulder. I seized the Indian around the neck, and while exerting my utmost strength to get possession of his scalping-knife, hanging in a scabbard over his breast, I was dragged from his grasp by another and older Indian. "The latter bore me struggling and resisting towards the lake. Despite the rapidity with which I was hurried along, I recognized, as I passed, the lifeless remains of the unfortunate surgeon. Some murderous tomahawk had stretched him upon the very spot where I had last seen him. "I was immediately plunged into the water and held there with a forcible hand, notwithstanding my resistance. I soon perceived, however, that the object of my captor was not to drown me, for he held me firmly in such a position as to keep my head above water. This reassured me, and, regarding him attentively, I soon recognized, in spite of the paint with which he was disguised, the Black Partridge. "When the firing had nearly subsided, my preserver bore me from the water and conducted me up the sand banks. It was a burning August morning, and walking through the sand in my drenched condition was inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I stooped and took off my shoes to free them from the sand with which they were nearly filled, when a squaw seized and carried them off, and I was obliged to proceed without them. "When we had gained the prairie, I was met by my father, who told me that my husband was safe and but slightly wounded. I was led gently back towards the Chicago River, along the southern bank of which was the Potowatomi encampment. Once I was placed upon a horse without a saddle, but, finding the motion insupportable, I sprang off. Assisted partly by my kind conductor, Black Partridge, and partly by another Indian, Pee-so-tum, who held dangling in his hand a scalp which by the black ribbon around the queue I recognized as that of Captain Wells, I dragged my fainting steps to one of the wigwams. "The wife of Wau-bee-nee-mah, a chief from the Illinois River, was standing near. Seeing my exhausted condition, she seized a kettle, dipped up some water from a stream that flowed near,[8] threw into it some maple sugar, and, stirring it with her hand, gave it to me to drink. This act of kindness, in the midst of so many horrors, touched me deeply. But my attention was soon diverted to other things. "The fort, since the troops marched out, had become a scene of plunder. The cattle had been shot as they ran at large, and lay about, dead or dying. This work of butchery had commenced just as we were leaving the fort. I vividly recalled a remark of Ensign Ronan, as the firing went on. 'Such,' turning to me, 'is to be our fate--to be shot down like brutes!' "'Well, sir,' said the commanding officer, who overheard him, 'are you afraid?' "'No,' replied the high-spirited young man, 'I can march up to the enemy where you dare not show your face.' And his subsequent gallant behavior showed this was no idle boast. "As the noise of the firing grew gradually fainter and the stragglers from the victorious party came dropping in, I received confirmation of what my father had hurriedly communicated in our meeting on the lake shore: the whites had surrendered, after the loss of about two thirds of their number. They had stipulated, through the interpreter, Peresh Leclerc, that their lives and those of the remaining women and children be spared, and that they be delivered in safety at certain of the British posts, unless ransomed by traders in the Indian country. It appears that the wounded prisoners were not considered as included in the stipulation, and upon their being brought into camp an awful scene ensued. "An old squaw, infuriated by the loss of friends, or perhaps excited by the sanguinary scenes around her, seemed possessed by a demoniac ferocity. Seizing a stable fork she assaulted one miserable victim, already groaning and writhing in the agony of wounds aggravated by the scorching beams of the sun. With a delicacy of feeling scarcely to have been expected under such circumstances, Wau-bee-nee-mah stretched a mat across two poles, between me and this dreadful scene. I was thus in some degree shielded from its horrors, though I could not close my ears to the cries of the sufferer. The following night five more of the wounded prisoners were tomahawked." After the first attack, it appears the Americans charged upon a band of Indians concealed in a sort of ravine between the sand banks and the prairie. The Indians gathered together, and after hard fighting, in which the number of whites was reduced to twenty-eight, their band succeeded in breaking through the enemy and gaining a rise of ground not far from Oak Woods. Further contest now seeming hopeless, Lieutenant Helm sent Peresh Leclerc, the half-breed boy in the service of Mr. Kinzie, who had accompanied the troops and fought manfully on their side, to propose terms of capitulation. It was stipulated, as told in Mrs. Helm's narrative, that the lives of all the survivors should be spared, and a ransom permitted as soon as practicable. But in the meantime horrible scenes had indeed been enacted. During the engagement near the sand hills one young savage climbed into the baggage wagon which sheltered the twelve children of the white families, and tomahawked the entire group. Captain Wells, who was fighting near, beheld the deed, and exclaimed: "Is that their game, butchering the women and children? Then I will kill, too!" So saying, he turned his horse's head and started for the Indian camp, near the fort, where the braves had left their squaws and children. Several Indians followed him as he galloped along. Lying flat on the neck of his horse, and loading and firing in that position, he turned occasionally on his pursuers. But at length their balls took effect, killing his horse, and severely wounding the Captain. At this moment he was met by Winnemeg and Wau-ban-see, who endeavored to save him from the savages who had now overtaken him. As they helped him along, after having disengaged him from his horse, he received his deathblow from Pee-so-tum, who stabbed him in the back. The heroic resolution shown during the fight by the wife of one of the soldiers, a Mrs. Corbin, deserves to be recorded. She had from the first expressed the determination never to fall into the hands of the savages, believing that their prisoners were invariably subjected to tortures worse than death. When, therefore, a party came upon her to make her prisoner, she fought with desperation, refusing to surrender, although assured, by signs, of safety and kind treatment. Literally, she suffered herself to be cut to pieces, rather than become their captive. There was a Sergeant Holt, who early in the engagement received a ball in the neck. Finding himself badly wounded, he gave his sword to his wife, who was on horseback near him, telling her to defend herself. He then made for the lake, to keep out of the way of the balls. Mrs. Holt rode a very fine horse, which the Indians were desirous of possessing, and they therefore attacked her in the hope of dismounting her. They fought only with the butt ends of their guns, for their object was not to kill her. She hacked and hewed at their pieces as they were thrust against her, now on this side, now that. Finally, she broke loose and dashed out into the prairie, where the Indians pursued her, shouting and laughing, and now and then calling out, "The brave woman! do not hurt her!" At length they overtook her, and while she was engaged with two or three in front, one succeeded in seizing her by the neck from behind, and in dragging her from her horse, large and powerful woman though she was. Notwithstanding their guns had been so hacked and injured, and they themselves severely cut, her captors seemed to regard her only with admiration. They took her to a trader on the Illinois River, who showed her every kindness during her captivity, and later restored her to her friends. Meanwhile those of Mr. Kinzie's family who had remained in the boat, near the mouth of the river, were carefully guarded by Kee-po-tah and another Indian. They had seen the smoke, then the blaze, and immediately after, the report of the first tremendous discharge had sounded in their ears. Then all was confusion. They knew nothing of the events of the battle until they saw an Indian coming towards them from the battle ground, leading a horse on which sat a lady, apparently wounded. "That is Mrs. Heald," cried Mrs. Kinzie. "That Indian will kill her. Run, Chandonnai," to one of Mr. Kinzie's clerks, "take the mule that is tied there, and offer it to him to release her." Mrs. Heald's captor, by this time, was in the act of disengaging her bonnet from her head, in order to scalp her. Chandonnai ran up and offered the mule as a ransom, with the promise of ten bottles of whisky as soon as they should reach his village. The whisky was a strong temptation. "But," said the Indian, "she is badly wounded--she will die. Will you give me the whisky at all events?" Chandonnai promised that he would, and the bargain was concluded. The savage placed the lady's bonnet on his own head, and, after an ineffectual effort on the part of some squaws to rob her of her shoes and stockings, she was brought on board the boat, where she lay moaning with pain from the many bullet wounds in her arms. Having wished to possess themselves of her horse uninjured, the Indians had aimed their shots so as to disable the rider, without in any way harming her steed. Mrs. Heald had not lain long in the boat when a young Indian of savage aspect was seen approaching. A buffalo robe was hastily drawn over her, and she was admonished to suppress all sound of complaint, as she valued her life. The heroic woman remained perfectly silent while the savage drew near. He had a pistol in his hand, which he rested on the side of the boat, while, with a fearful scowl, he looked pryingly around. Black Jim, one of the servants, who stood in the bow of the boat, seized an ax that lay near and signed to him that if he shot he would cleave his skull, telling him that the boat contained only the family of Shaw-nee-aw-kee. Upon this, the Indian retired. It afterwards appeared that the object of his search was Mr. Burnett, a trader from St. Joseph with whom he had some account to settle. When the boat was at length permitted to return to the house of Mr. Kinzie, and Mrs. Heald was removed there, it became necessary to dress her wounds. Mr. Kinzie applied to an old chief who stood by, and who, like most of his tribe, possessed some skill in surgery, to extract a ball from the arm of the sufferer. "No, father," replied the Indian. "I cannot do it--it makes me sick here," placing his hand on his heart. Mr. Kinzie himself then performed the operation with his penknife. At their own house, the family of Mr. Kinzie were closely guarded by their Indian friends, whose intention it was to carry them to Detroit for security. The rest of the prisoners remained at the wigwams of their captors. On the following morning, the work of plunder being completed, the Indians set fire to the fort. A very equitable distribution of the finery appeared to have been made, and shawls, ribbons, and feathers fluttered about in all directions. The ludicrous appearance of one young fellow arrayed in a muslin gown and a lady's bonnet would, under other circumstances, have been a matter of great amusement. Black Partridge, Wau-ban-see, and Kee-po-tah, with two other Indians, established themselves in the porch of the Kinzie house as sentinels, to protect the family from any evil that the young men might be incited to commit, and all remained tranquil for a short space after the conflagration. Very soon, however, a party of Indians from the Wabash made their appearance. These were, decidedly, the most hostile and implacable of all the tribes of the Potowatomi. Being more remote, they had shared less than some of their brethren in the kindness of Mr. Kinzie and his family, and consequently their friendly regard was not so strong. Runners had been sent to the villages to apprise these Indians of the intended evacuation of the post, as well as of the plan to attack the troops. Thirsting to participate in such an event, they had hurried to the scene, and great was their mortification, on arriving at the river Aux Plaines, to meet a party of their friends with their chief, Nee-scot-nee-meg, badly wounded, and learn that the battle was over, the spoils divided, and the scalps all taken. Arriving at Chicago they blackened their faces, and proceeded toward the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. From his station on the piazza Black Partridge had watched their approach, and his fears were particularly awakened for the safety of Mrs. Helm, Mr. Kinzie's stepdaughter, who had recently come to the post, and was personally unknown to the more remote Indians. By his advice she was made to assume the ordinary dress of a Frenchwoman of the country--a short gown and petticoat with a blue cotton handkerchief wrapped around her head. In this disguise she was conducted by Black Partridge himself to the house of Ouilmette, a Frenchman with a half-breed wife, who formed a part of the establishment of Mr. Kinzie and whose dwelling was close at hand. It so happened that the Indians came first to this house in their search for prisoners. As they approached, the inmates, fearful that the fair complexion and general appearance of Mrs. Helm might betray her as an American, raised a large feather bed and placed her under the edge of it upon the bedstead, with her face to the wall. Mrs. Bisson, a half-breed sister of Ouilmette's wife, then seated herself with her sewing upon the front of the bed. It was a hot day in August, and the feverish excitement of fear and agitation, together with her position, which was nearly suffocating, became so intolerable that Mrs. Helm at length entreated to be released and given up to the Indians. "I can but die," said she; "let them put an end to my misery at once." Mrs. Bisson replied, "Your death would be the destruction of us all, for Black Partridge has resolved that if one drop of the blood of your family is spilled, he will take the lives of all concerned in it, even his nearest friends; and if once the work of murder commences, there will be no end of it, so long as there remains one white person or half-breed in the country." This expostulation nerved Mrs. Helm with fresh courage. The Indians entered, and from her hiding place she could occasionally see them gliding about and stealthily inspecting every part of the room, though without making any ostensible search, until, apparently satisfied that there was no one concealed, they left the house. All this time Mrs. Bisson had kept her seat upon the side of the bed, calmly sorting and arranging the patchwork of the quilt on which she was engaged, and preserving an appearance of the utmost tranquillity, although she knew not but that the next moment she might receive a tomahawk in her brain. Her self-command unquestionably saved the lives of all who were present. From Ouilmette's house the party of Indians proceeded to the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. They entered the parlor in which the family were assembled with their faithful protectors, and seated themselves upon the floor, in silence. Black Partridge perceived from their moody and revengeful looks what was passing in their minds, but he dared not remonstrate with them. He only observed in a low tone to Wau-ban-see, "We have endeavored to save our friends, but it is in vain--nothing will save them now." At this moment a friendly whoop was heard from a party of newcomers on the opposite bank of the river. As the canoes in which they had hastily embarked touched the bank near the house, Black Partridge sprang to meet their leader. "Who are you?" demanded he. "A man. Who are you?" "A man like yourself. But tell me who you are,"--meaning, Tell me your disposition, and which side you are for. "I am a Sau-ga-nash!" "Then make all speed to the house--your friend is in danger, and you alone can save him." Billy Caldwell,[9] for it was he, entered the parlor with a calm step, and without a trace of agitation in his manner. He deliberately took off his accouterments and placed them with his rifle behind the door, then saluted the hostile savages. "How now, my friends! A good day to you. I was told there were enemies here, but I am glad to find only friends. Why have you blackened your faces? Is it that you are mourning for the friends you have lost in battle?" purposely misunderstanding this token of evil designs. "Or is it that you are fasting? If so, ask our friend, here, and he will give you to eat. He is the Indian's friend, and never yet refused them what they had need of." Thus taken by surprise, the savages were ashamed to acknowledge their bloody purpose. They, therefore, said modestly that they had come to beg of their friends some white cotton in which to wrap their dead before interring them. This was given to them, with some other presents, and they peaceably took their departure from the premises. With Mr. Kinzie's party was a non-commissioned officer who had made his escape in a singular manner. As the troops had been about to leave the fort, it was found that the baggage horses of the surgeon had strayed off. The quartermaster sergeant, Griffith, was sent to find and bring them on, it being absolutely necessary to recover them, since their packs contained part of the surgeon's apparatus and the medicines for the march. For a long time Griffith had been on the sick report and for this reason was given charge of the baggage, instead of being placed with the troops. His efforts to recover the horses proved unsuccessful, and, alarmed at certain appearances of disorder and hostile intention among the Indians, he was hastening to rejoin his party when he was met and made prisoner by To-pee-nee-bee. Having taken his arms and accouterments from him, the chief put him into a canoe and paddled him across the river, bidding him make for the woods and secrete himself. This Griffith did; and in the afternoon of the following day, seeing from his lurking place that all appeared quiet, he ventured to steal cautiously into Ouilmette's garden, where he concealed himself for a time behind some currant bushes. At length he determined to enter the house, and accordingly climbed up through a small back window into the room where the family were, entering just as the Wabash Indians had left the house of Ouilmette for that of Mr. Kinzie. The danger of the sergeant was now imminent. The family stripped him of his uniform and arrayed him in a suit of deerskin, with belt, moccasins, and pipe, like a French _engagé_. His dark complexion and heavy black whiskers favored the disguise. The family were all ordered to address him in French, and, although utterly ignorant of this language, he continued to pass for a _Weem-tee-gosh_,[10] and as such remained with Mr. Kinzie and his family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of safety. On the third day after the battle, Mr. Kinzie and his family, with the clerks of the establishment, were put into a boat, under the care of François, a half-breed interpreter, and conveyed to St. Joseph, where they remained until the following November, under the protection of To-pee-nee-bee's band. With the exception of Mr. Kinzie they were then conducted to Detroit, under the escort of Chandonnai and their trusty Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered as prisoners of war to Colonel McKee, the British Indian Agent. Mr. Kinzie himself was held at St. Joseph and did not succeed in rejoining his family until some months later. On his arrival at Detroit he was paroled by General Proctor. Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly Indians to their village on the Au Sable and thence to Peoria, where he was liberated through the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm accompanied her parents to St. Joseph, where they resided for several months in the family of Alexander Robinson,[11] receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality. Later Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband in Detroit, where they both were arrested by order of the British commander, and sent on horseback, in the dead of winter, through Canada to Fort George on the Niagara frontier. When they arrived at that post, there had been no official appointed to receive them, and, notwithstanding their long and fatiguing journey in the coldest, most inclement weather, Mrs. Helm, a delicate woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle, outside the gate, for more than an hour, before the refreshment of fire or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered her. When Colonel Sheaffe, who was absent at the time, was informed of this brutal inhospitality, he expressed the greatest indignation. He waited on Mrs. Helm immediately, apologized in the most courteous manner, and treated both her and Lieutenant Helm with the greatest consideration and kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated and found means of reaching their friends in Steuben County, N. Y. Captain and Mrs. Heald were sent across the lake to St. Joseph the day after the battle. The Captain had received two wounds in the engagement, his wife seven. Captain Heald had been taken prisoner by an Indian from the Kankakee, who had a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw Mrs. Heald's wounded and enfeebled state, released her husband that he might accompany her to St. Joseph. To the latter place they were accordingly carried by Chandonnai and his party. In the meantime, the Indian who had so nobly released his prisoner returned to his village on the Kankakee, where he had the mortification of finding that his conduct had excited great dissatisfaction among his band. So great was the displeasure manifested that he resolved to make a journey to St. Joseph and reclaim his prisoner. News of his intention being brought to To-pee-nee-bee and Kee-po-tah, under whose care the prisoners were, they held a private council with Chandonnai, Mr. Kinzie, and the principal men of the village, the result of which was a determination to send Captain and Mrs. Heald to the Island of Mackinac and deliver them up to the British. They were accordingly put in a bark canoe, and paddled by Robinson and his wife a distance of three hundred miles along the coast of Michigan, and surrendered as prisoners of war to the commanding officer at Mackinac. As an instance of Captain Heald's procrastinating spirit it may be mentioned that, even after he had received positive word that his Indian captor was on the way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph to retake him, he would still have delayed at that place another day, to make preparation for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac. The soldiers from Fort Dearborn, with their wives and surviving children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Potowatomi upon the Illinois, Wabash, and Rock rivers, and at Milwaukee, until the following spring, when the greater number of them were carried to Detroit and ransomed. Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoner of a chief, who carried her to his village and treated her with great kindness. His wife, from jealousy of the favor shown to "the white woman" and her child, always treated them with great hostility. On one occasion she struck the infant with a tomahawk, and barely failed in her attempt to put it to death.[12] Mrs. Burns and her child were not left long in the power of the old squaw after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity were carried to a place of safety. The family of Mr. Lee had resided in a house on the lake shore, not far from the fort. Mr. Lee was the owner of Lee's Place, which he cultivated as a farm. It was his son who had run down with the discharged soldier to give the alarm of "Indians," at the fort, on the afternoon of April 7. The father, the son, and all the other members of the family except Mrs. Lee and her young infant had fallen victims to the Indians on August 15. The two survivors were claimed by Black Partridge, and carried by him to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly attached to a little twelve-year-old girl of Mrs. Lee's. This child had been placed on horseback for the march; and, as she was unaccustomed to riding, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest she should slip or be thrown off. She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement, and was severely wounded. The horse, setting off at a full gallop, partly threw her; but held fast by the bands which confined her, she hung dangling as the animal ran wildly about. In this state she was met by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged the child from the saddle. Finding her so badly wounded that she could not recover, and seeing that she was in great agony, he at once put an end to her pain with his tomahawk. This, he afterwards said, was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he did it because he could not bear to see the child suffer. Black Partridge soon became warmly attached to the mother--so much so, that he wished to marry her; and, though she very naturally objected, he continued to treat her with the greatest respect and consideration. He was in no hurry to release her, for he was still in hopes of prevailing upon her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach was effectual, Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, to a French trader then living in the house of Mr. Kinzie, and procure medical aid from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care, he set out on his journey. Arriving at the residence of M. Du Pin, he entered the room where the Frenchman was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor. "What have you there?" asked M. Du Pin. "A young raccoon, which I have brought you as a present," was the reply; and, opening the pack, he showed the little sick infant. When the trader had prescribed for the child, and Black Partridge was about to return to his home, he told his friend of the proposal he had made to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been received. M. Du Pin entertained some fear that the chief's honorable resolution to allow the lady herself to decide whether or not to accept his addresses might not hold out, and at once entered into a negotiation for her ransom. So effectually were the good feelings of Black Partridge wrought upon that he consented to bring his fair prisoner to Chicago immediately, that she might be restored to her friends. Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling in the matter than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say; we only know that in course of time Mrs. Lee became Madame Du Pin, and that the worthy couple lived together in great happiness for many years after. The fate of Nau-non-gee, a chief of the Calumet village, deserves to be recorded. During the battle of August 15, the principal object of his attack was one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had accepted many kindnesses. After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to tomahawk him, when the sergeant, summoning his remaining strength, pierced him through the body with his bayonet. The two fell together. Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and not until then was his bayonet extracted from the body of his adversary. After the battle the wounded chief was carried to his village on the Calumet, where he survived for several days. Finding his end approaching, he called together his young men, and enjoined them, in the most solemn manner, to regard the safety of their prisoners after his death, and out of respect to his memory to take the lives of none of them; for he himself fully deserved his fate at the hands of the man whose kindness he had so ill requited. FOOTNOTES: [1] This narrative related by two of the survivors, Mrs. John Kinzie and Mrs. Helm, to Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie, is taken from "Waubun." It was first published in pamphlet form in 1836; was transferred, with little variation, to Brown's "History of Illinois," and to a work called "Western Annals." Major Richardson likewise made it the basis of his two tales, "Hardscrabble," and "Wau-nan-gee." [2] Burns' house stood near the spot where the Agency Building, or "Cobweb Castle," was afterwards erected, at the foot of North State Street. [3] A trading-establishment--now Ypsilanti. [4] Captain Wells, when a boy, was stolen by the Miami Indians from the family of Hon. Nathaniel Pope in Kentucky. Although recovered by them, he preferred to return and live among his new friends. He married a Miami woman, and became a chief of the nation. He was the father of Mrs. Judge Wolcott of Maumee, Ohio. [5] The spot now called Bertrand, then known as _Parc aux Vaches_, from its having been a favorite "stamping-ground" of the buffalo which abounded in the country. [6] Mrs. Helm is represented by the female figure in the bronze group erected by George M. Pullman, at the foot of 18th Street, to commemorate the massacre which took place at that spot. [7] The exact spot of this encounter was about where 21st Street crosses Indiana Avenue. [8] Along the present State Street. [9] Billy Caldwell was a half-breed, and a chief of the nation. In his reply, "I am a Sau-ga-nash," or Englishman, he designed to convey, "I am a white man." Had he said, "I am a Potowatomi," it would have been interpreted to mean, "I belong to my nation, and am prepared to go all lengths with them." [10] Frenchman. [11] The Potowatomi chief, so well known to many of the early citizens of Chicago. [12] Twenty-two years after this, as I [Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie] was on a journey to Chicago in the steamer "Uncle Sam," a young woman, hearing my name, introduced herself to me, and, raising the hair from her forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been fatal to her. [Illustration: _The old Kinzie house_] JOHN KINZIE A SKETCH John McKenzie, or, as he was afterwards called, John Kinzie, was the son of Surgeon John McKenzie of the 60th Royal American Regiment of Foot, and of Anne Haleyburton, the widow of Chaplain William Haleyburton of the First or Royal American Regiment of Foot. Major Haleyburton died soon after their arrival in America, and two years later his widow married Surgeon John McKenzie. Their son John was born in Quebec, December 3, 1763. In the old family Bible the "Mc" is dropped in recording the birth of "John Kinsey" (so spelled), thus indicating that he was known as John Kinsey, or, as he himself spelled it, "Kinzie," from early childhood. Major McKenzie survived the birth of his son but a few months, and his widow took for her third husband Mr. William Forsyth, of New York City. Young John grew up under the care and supervision of his stepfather, Mr. Forsyth, until at the age of ten he began his adventurous career by running away. He and his two half brothers attended a school at Williamsburg, L. I., escorted there every Monday by a servant, who came to take them home every Friday. One fine afternoon when the servant came for the boys Master Johnny was missing. An immediate search was made, but not a trace of him could be found. His mother was almost frantic. The mysterious disappearance of her bright, handsome boy was a fearful blow. Days passed without tidings of the lost one, and hope fled. The only solution suggested was, that he might have been accidentally drowned and his body swept out to sea. Meantime Master John was very much alive. He had determined to go to Quebec to try, as he afterwards explained, to discover some of his father's relatives. He had managed to find a sloop which was just going up the Hudson, and with the confidence and audacity of a child, stepped gaily on board and set forth on his travels. Most fortunately for him, he attracted the notice of a passenger who was going to Quebec, and who began to question the lonely little lad. He became so interested in the boy that he took him in charge, paid his fare, and landed him safely in his native city. But here, alas, Master Johnny soon found himself stranded. Very cold, very hungry, and very miserable, he was wandering down one of the streets of Quebec when his attention was attracted by a glittering array of watches and silver in a shop window, where a man was sitting repairing a clock. Johnny stood gazing wistfully in. His yellow curls, blue eyes, and pathetic little face appealed to the kind silversmith, who beckoned him into the shop and soon learned his story. "And what are you going to do now?" asked the man. "I am going to work," replied ten-year-old valiantly. "Why, what could you do?" laughed the man. "I could do anything you told me to do, if you just showed me how to do it," said John. The result was that John got a job. The silversmith had no children, and as the months rolled on he grew more and more fond of John. He taught him as much of his trade as the lad could acquire in the three years of his stay in Quebec. Later in his life this knowledge was of great value to him, for it enabled him to secure the friendship and assistance of the Indians by fashioning for them various ornaments and "tokens" from the silver money paid them as annuities by the United States Government. The Indians called him "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" or the Silver Man, and by that name he was known among all the tribes of the Northwest. These happy and useful years drew to a close. As John was one day walking down the street, a gentleman from New York stopped him and said: "Are you not Johnny Kinzie?" John admitted that he was, and the gentleman, armed with the astonishing news and the boy's address, promptly communicated with Mr. Forsyth, who at once came to Quebec and took the runaway home. His rejoicing mother doubtless saved him from the sound thrashing he richly deserved at the hands of his stepfather. John had now had enough of running away, and was content to stay at home and buckle down to his books. The few letters of his which remain and are preserved in the Chicago Historical Society give evidence of an excellent education. The roving spirit was still alive in him, however. Mr. Forsyth had moved West and settled in Detroit, and when John was about eighteen years old he persuaded his stepfather to fit him out as an Indian trader. This venture proved a great success. Before he was one and twenty, young Kinzie had established two trading posts, one at Sandusky and one at Maumee, and was pushing towards the west, where he later started a depot at St. Joseph, Michigan. John Kinzie's success as an Indian trader was almost phenomenal. He acquired the language of the Indians with great facility; he respected their customs, and they soon found that his "word was as good as his bond." He was a keen trader, not allowing himself to be cheated, nor attempting to cheat the Indians. He quickly gained the confidence and esteem of the various tribes with which he dealt, and the personal friendship of many of their most powerful chiefs, who showed themselves ready to shield him in danger, and to rescue him from harm at the risk of their lives. When in the neighborhood of Detroit, he stayed with his half brother, William Forsyth, who had married a Miss Margaret Lytle, daughter of Colonel William Lytle of Virginia. In their home he was always a welcome guest; and here he met Mrs. Forsyth's younger sister, Eleanor. She was the widow of a British officer, Captain Daniel McKillip, who had been killed in a sortie from Ft. Defiance. Since her husband's death, she and her little daughter Margaret had made their home with the Forsyths. John Kinzie fell desperately in love with the handsome young widow, and on January 23, 1798, they were married. In all of his new and arduous career he had been greatly aided and protected by John Harris, the famous Indian scout and trader mentioned by Irving in his Life of Washington (Volume 1, Chapter XII). It was in grateful appreciation of these kindnesses that he named his son "John Harris," after this valued friend. Mr. Kinzie continued to extend his business still farther west, until in October, 1803, when his son John Harris was but three months old, he moved with his family to Chicago, where he purchased the trading establishment of a Frenchman named Le Mai. Here, cut off from the world at large, with no society but the garrison at Fort Dearborn, the Kinzies lived in contentment, and in the quiet enjoyment of all the comforts, together with many of the luxuries of life. The first white child born outside of Fort Dearborn was their little daughter Ellen Marion, on December 20, 1805. Next came Maria, born September 28, 1807. Then, last, Robert Allan, born February 8, 1810. By degrees, Mr. Kinzie established still more remote posts, all contributing to the parent post at Chicago; at Milwaukee, with the Menominee; at Rock River with the Winnebago and the Potowatomi; on the Illinois River and the Kankakee with the Prairie Potowatomi; and with the Kickapoo in what was called "Le Large," the widely extended district afterwards converted into Sangamon County. He was appointed Sub-Indian Agent and Government Interpreter, and in these capacities rendered valuable service. About the year 1810, a Frenchman named Lalime was killed by John Kinzie under the following circumstances: Lalime had become insanely jealous of Mr. Kinzie's success as a rival trader, and was unwise enough to threaten to take Kinzie's life. The latter only laughed at the reports, saying "Threatened men live long, and I am not worrying over Lalime's wild talk." Several of his stanchest Indian friends, however, continued to warn him, and he at last consented to carry some sort of weapon in case Lalime really had the folly to attack him. He accordingly took a carving knife from the house and began sharpening it on a grindstone in the woodshed. Young John stood beside him, much interested in this novel proceeding. "What are you doing, father?" he asked. "Sharpening this knife, my son," was the reply. "What for?" said John. "Go into the house," replied his father, "and don't ask questions about things that don't concern you." A few days passed. Nothing happened; but Mr. Kinzie carried the knife. Mrs. Kinzie's daughter by her first marriage was now seventeen years old, and was the wife of Lieutenant Linai Thomas Helm, one of the officers stationed at Fort Dearborn, and Mr. Kinzie frequently went over there to spend the evening. One very dark night he sauntered over to the fort, and was just entering the inclosure, when a man sprang out from behind the gate post and plunged a knife into his neck. It was Lalime. Quick as a flash, Mr. Kinzie drew his own knife and dealt Lalime a furious blow, and a fatal one. The man fell like a log into the river below. Mr. Kinzie staggered home, covered with blood from the deep wound. The late Gurdon S. Hubbard, in a letter to a grandson of John Kinzie's, gives the following account of the affair: 143 Locust St., Chicago, Ill., Feb. 6th, 1884. Arthur M. Kinzie, Esq., My Dear Sir, I have yours of 5th. You corroborate what I have said about your grandfather killing Lalime as far as you state. I am glad you do. I cannot forget what I heard from your grandmother and Mrs. Helm. They said your grandfather, coming in bloody, said "I have killed Lalime. A guard will be sent from the Fort to take me. Dress my neck quickly!" Your grandmother did so, remarking "They shall not take you to the fort--come with me to the woods." She hid him, came home, and soon a Sergeant with guard appeared. Could not find your grandfather. After the excitement was over, the officers began to reason on the subject calmly, for Lalime was highly respected, good social company, educated. They came to the conclusion that the act was in self defence. The history of Chicago, by Mr. Andreas will soon be out. He sent me the account relating to your grandfather to revise. Much in it incorrect, which I have explained. Can't you come and see me? Your friend, G. S. Hubbard. As far as it goes this account agrees with the facts as held by the family. The Kinzies, however, always stated that after the excitement subsided, as it did in a few weeks, Mr. Kinzie sent word to the commanding officer at the fort that he wished to come in, give himself up, and have a fair trial. This was granted. The fresh wounds in his neck--the thrust had barely missed the jugular vein--and the testimony given as to the threats Lalime had uttered, resulted in an immediate verdict of justifiable homicide. In the meantime some of Lalime's friends conceived the idea that it would be a suitable punishment for Mr. Kinzie to bury his victim directly in front of the Kinzie home, where he must necessarily behold the grave every time he passed out of his own gate. Great was their chagrin and disappointment, however, when Mr. Kinzie, far from being annoyed at their action, proceeded to make Lalime's grave his special care. Flowers were planted on it and it was kept in most beautiful order. Many a half hour the Kinzie children longed to spend in play, was occupied by their father's order in raking the dead leaves away from Lalime's grave and watering the flowers there. About two years subsequent to this event the Fort Dearborn Massacre occurred. John Kinzie's part in that tragedy has already been given in Helm's narrative. After the massacre Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph with his family, his Indian friends insisting that he remain and endeavor to secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions with them for that purpose he wore the costume and paint of the tribe in order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were still thirsting for blood. His anxiety for his family at length became so great that he followed them to Detroit, where he was paroled by General Proctor in January. At the surrender of Detroit, which took place the day before the massacre at Chicago, General Hull had stipulated that the inhabitants should be permitted to remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly, the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their residence among their friends in the old mansion which many will recollect as standing on the northwest corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street, Detroit. Feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practiced upon American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages; and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the Government House, the residence of Colonel McKee. Sometimes British officers looked on from their windows at these heart-rending performances. For the honor of humanity, we will hope such instances were rare. Everything available among the effects of the citizens was offered to ransom their countrymen from the hands of these inhuman beings. The prisoners brought in from the River Raisin--those unfortunate men who were permitted, after their surrender to General Proctor, to be tortured and murdered by inches by his savage allies--excited the sympathy and called for the action of the whole community. Private houses were turned into hospitals, and every one was forward to get possession of as many as possible of the survivors. To accomplish this, even articles of apparel were bartered by the ladies of Detroit, as from doors or windows they watched the miserable victims carried about for sale. In the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie one large room was devoted to the reception of the sufferers. Few of them survived. Among those spoken of as arousing the deepest interest were two young gentlemen of Kentucky, brothers, both severely wounded, and their wounds aggravated to a mortal degree by subsequent ill usage and hardships. Their solicitude for each other, and their exhibition in various ways of the most tender fraternal affection, created an impression never to be forgotten. The last bargain made by the Kinzies was effected by black Jim and one of the children, who had permission to redeem a negro servant of the gallant Colonel Allen with an old white horse, the only available article that remained among their possessions. A brother of Colonel Allen's afterwards came to Detroit, and the negro preferred returning to servitude rather than remaining a stranger in a strange land. Mr. Kinzie, as has been related, joined his family at Detroit in the month of January. A short time after his arrival suspicion arose in the mind of General Proctor that he was in correspondence with General Harrison, who was now at Fort Meigs, and who was believed to be meditating an advance upon Detroit. Lieutenant Watson, of the British army, waited upon Mr. Kinzie one day with an invitation to the quarters of General Proctor on the opposite side of the river, saying the General wished to speak with him on business. Quite unsuspecting, Mr. Kinzie complied with the request, when to his surprise he was ordered into confinement, and strictly guarded in the house of his former partner, Mr. Patterson, of Sandwich. Finding he did not return home, Mrs. Kinzie informed some Indian chiefs, Mr. Kinzie's particular friends, who immediately repaired to the headquarters of the commanding officer, demanded "their friend's" release, and brought him back to his home. After waiting until a favorable opportunity presented itself, the General sent a detachment of dragoons to arrest Mr. Kinzie. They succeeded in carrying him away, and crossing the river with him. Just at this moment a party of friendly Indians made their appearance. "Where is Shaw-nee-aw-kee?" was the first question. "There," replied his wife, pointing across the river, "in the hands of the redcoats, who are taking him away again." The Indians ran down to the river, seized some canoes they found there, and, crossing over to Sandwich, a second time compelled General Proctor to forego his intentions. A third time this officer attempted to imprison Mr. Kinzie, and this time succeeded in conveying him heavily ironed to Fort Malden, in Canada, at the mouth of the Detroit River. Here he was at first treated with great severity, but after a time the rigor of his confinement was somewhat relaxed, and he was permitted to walk on the bank of the river for air and exercise. On September 10, as he was taking his promenade under the close supervision of a guard of soldiers, the whole party were startled by the sound of guns upon Lake Erie, at no great distance below. What could it mean? It must be Commodore Barclay firing into some of the Yankees. The firing continued. The hour allotted to the prisoner for his daily walk expired, but neither he nor his guard observed the lapse of time, so anxiously were they listening to what they now felt sure must be an engagement between ships of war. At length Mr. Kinzie was reminded that he must return to confinement. He petitioned for another half hour. "Let me stay," said he, "till we can learn how the battle has gone." Very soon a sloop appeared under press of sail, rounding the point, and presently two gunboats in pursuit of her. "She is running--she bears the British colors!" cried Kinzie. "Yes, yes, they are lowering--she is striking her flag! Now," turning to the soldiers, "I will go back to prison contented--I know how the battle has gone." The sloop was the "Little Belt," the last of the squadron captured by the gallant Perry on that memorable occasion which he announced in the immortal words: "We have met the enemy, and they are ours." Matters were growing critical, and it was necessary to transfer all prisoners to a place of greater security than the frontier was now likely to be. It was resolved, therefore, to send Mr. Kinzie to the mother country. Nothing has ever appeared which would in any way explain the course of General Proctor in regard to this gentleman. He had been taken from the bosom of his family, where he was living quietly under the parole he had received, protected by the stipulations of the surrender. For months he had been kept in confinement. Now he was placed on horseback under a strong guard, who announced that they had orders to shoot him through the head if he offered to speak to a person upon the road. He was tied upon the saddle to prevent his escape, and thus set out for Quebec. A little incident occurred which will illustrate the course invariably pursued towards our citizens at this period by the British army on the Northwestern frontier. The saddle on which Mr. Kinzie rode had not been properly fastened, and, owing to the rough motion of the animal it turned, bringing the rider into a most awkward and painful position. His limbs being fastened, he could not disengage himself, and in this manner he was compelled to ride until nearly exhausted, before those in charge had the humanity to release him. Arrived at Quebec, he was put on board a small vessel to be sent to England. When a few days out at sea the vessel was chased by an American frigate and driven into Halifax. A second time she set sail, when she sprung a leak and was compelled to put back. The attempt to send Mr. Kinzie across the ocean was now abandoned, and he was returned to Quebec. Another step, equally inexplicable with his arrest, was soon after taken. Although the War of 1812 was not yet ended, Mr. Kinzie, together with a Mr. Macomb, of Detroit, who was also in confinement in Quebec, was released and given permission to return to his friends and family. It may possibly be imagined that in the treatment these gentlemen received, the British commander-in-chief sheltered himself under the plea of their being "native born British subjects," and that perhaps when it was ascertained that Mr. Kinzie was indeed a citizen of the United States it was thought safest to release him. In the meantime, General Harrison at the head of his troops had reached Detroit. He landed September 29. All the citizens went forth to meet him. Mrs. Kinzie, leading her children, was of the number. The General accompanied her to her home, and took up his abode there. On his arrival he was introduced to Kee-po-tah, who happened to be on a visit to the family at that time. The General had seen the chief the preceding year, at the Council at Vincennes, and the meeting was one of great cordiality and interest. Fort Dearborn was rebuilt in 1816, on a larger scale than before, and, on the return of the troops, the bones of the unfortunate Americans who had been massacred four years previously were collected and buried. In this same year Mr. Kinzie and his family again returned to Chicago, where he at once undertook to collect the scattered remnants of his property--a most disheartening task. He found his various trading-posts abandoned, his clerks scattered, and his valuable furs and goods lost or destroyed. In real estate, however, he was rich--for he owned nearly all the land on the north side of the Chicago River, and many acres on the south and west sides, as well as all of what was known as "Kinzie's Addition." At the present day the "Kinzie School," and the street which bears his name, are all that remain to remind this generation of the pioneer on whose land now stands the wonderful City of Chicago. Mr. Kinzie, recognizing the importance of the geographical position of Chicago, and the vast fertility of the surrounding country, had always foretold its eventual prosperity. Unfortunately, he was not permitted to witness the fulfillment of his predictions. On January 6, 1828, he was stricken with apoplexy, and in a few hours death closed his useful and energetic career. He lies buried in Graceland Cemetery, Chicago. Loyal in life, death has mingled his ashes with the soil of the city whose future greatness he was perhaps the first to foresee. John Kinzie was not only the sturdy, helpful pioneer, but also the genial, courteous gentleman. To keen business ability he united the strictest honesty, and to the most dauntless courage, a tender and generous heart. As the devoted friend of the red man, tradition has handed down the name of Shaw-nee-aw-kee throughout all the tribes of the Northwest. [Illustration: _Cornplanter, a Seneca chief_] THE CAPTURE BY THE INDIANS OF LITTLE ELEANOR LYTLE[13] It is well known that previous to the War of the Revolution the whole of western Pennsylvania was inhabited by various Indian tribes. Of these the Delawares were the friends of the whites, and after the commencement of the great struggle took part with the United States. The Iroquois, on the contrary, were the friends and allies of the mother country. Very few white settlers had ventured beyond the Susquehanna. The numerous roving bands of Shawano, Nanticoke, and other Indians, although at times professing friendship for the Americans and acting in concert with the Delawares or Lenape as allies, at other times suffered themselves to be seduced by their neighbors, the Iroquois, into showing a most sanguinary spirit of hostility. For this reason the life of the settlers on the frontier was one of constant peril and alarm. Many a dismal scene of barbarity was enacted, as the history of the times testifies, and even those who felt themselves in some measure protected by their immediate neighbors, the Delawares, never lost sight of the caution required by their exposed situation. The vicinity of the military garrison at Pittsburgh, or Fort Pitt, as it was then called, gave additional security to those who had pushed farther west among the fertile valleys of the Allegheny and Monongahela. Among these was the family of Mr. Lytle, who, some years previous to the opening of our story, had removed from Baltimore to Path Valley, near Carlisle, and subsequently had settled on the banks of Plum River, a tributary of the Allegheny. Here, with his wife and five children, he had lived in comfort and security, undisturbed by any hostile visit, and annoyed only by occasional false alarms from his more timorous neighbors, who, having had sad experience in frontier life, were prone to anticipate evil, and magnify every appearance of danger. On a bright afternoon in the autumn of 1779, two of Mr. Lytle's children, a girl of eight and her brother, two years younger, were playing in a little hollow in the rear of their father's house. Some large trees which had recently been felled were lying here and there, still untrimmed, and many logs, prepared for fuel, were scattered around. Upon one of these logs the children, wearied with their sport, seated themselves, and fell into conversation upon a subject that greatly perplexed them. While playing in the same place a few hours previous, they had imagined they saw an Indian lurking behind one of the fallen trees. The Indians of the neighborhood were in the habit of making occasional visits to the family, and the children had become familiar and even affectionate with many of them, but this Indian had seemed to be a stranger, and after the first hasty glance they had fled in alarm to the house. Their mother had chid them for bringing such a report, which she had endeavored to convince them was without foundation. "You know," said she, "you are always alarming us unnecessarily: the neighbors' children have frightened you nearly to death. Go back to your play, and learn to be more courageous." So, hardly persuaded by their mother's arguments, the children had returned to their sports. Now as they sat upon the trunk of the tree, their discourse was interrupted by what seemed to be the note of a quail not far off. "Listen," said the boy, as a second note answered the first; "do you hear that?" "Yes," replied his sister, and after a few moments' silence, "do you not hear a rustling among the branches of the tree yonder?" "Perhaps it is a squirrel--but look! what is that? Surely I saw something red among the branches. It looked like a fawn popping up its head." At this moment, the children, who had been gazing so intently in the direction of the fallen tree that all other objects were forgotten, felt themselves seized from behind and pinioned in an iron grasp. What was their horror and dismay to find themselves in the arms of savages, whose terrific countenances and gestures plainly showed them to be enemies! They made signs to the children to be silent, on pain of death, and hurried them off, half dead with terror, in a direction leading from their home. After traveling some distance in profound silence, their captors somewhat relaxed their severity, and as night approached the party halted, adopting the usual precautions to secure themselves against a surprise. Torn from their beloved home and parents, in an agony of uncertainty and terror, and anticipating all the horrors with which the rumors of the times had invested captivity among the Indians--perhaps even torture and death--the poor children could no longer restrain their grief, but gave vent to sobs and lamentations. Their distress appeared to excite the compassion of one of the party, a man of mild aspect, who approached and endeavored to soothe them. He spread them a couch of the long grass which grew near the camping place, offered them a portion of his own stock of dried meat and parched corn, and made them understand by signs that no further evil was intended. These kindly demonstrations were interrupted by the arrival of another party of Indians, bringing with them the mother of the little prisoners, with her youngest child, an infant three months old. It had so happened that early in the day the father of the family, with his serving men, had gone to a "raising" a few miles distant, and the house had thus been left without a defender. The long period of tranquillity they had enjoyed, free from all molestation or even alarm from the savages, had thrown the settlers quite off their guard, and they had recently laid aside some of the caution they had formerly deemed necessary. By lying in wait, the Indians had found a favorable moment for seizing the defenseless family and making them prisoners. Judging from their paint and other marks by which the early settlers learned to distinguish the various tribes, Mrs. Lytle conjectured that the savages into whose hands she and her children had fallen were Senecas. Nor was she mistaken. They were a party of that tribe who had descended from their village with the intention of falling upon some isolated band of their enemies, the Delawares, but failing in this, they had made themselves amends by capturing a few white settlers. It is to be attributed to the generally mild disposition of this tribe, together with the magnanimous character of the chief who accompanied the party, that the prisoners in the present instance escaped the fate of most of the Americans who were so unhappy as to fall into the hands of the Iroquois. The children could learn nothing from their mother as to the fate of their other brother and sister, a boy of six and a little girl of four years of age, though she was in hopes they had escaped with the servant girl, who had likewise disappeared. After delaying a few hours in order to revive the exhausted prisoners, the savages again started on their march, one of the older Indians offering to relieve the mother of the burden of her infant, which she had hitherto carried in her arms. Pleased with the unexpected kindness, she resigned the child to him. Thus they pursued their way, the savage who carried the infant lingering somewhat behind the rest of the party. At last, finding a spot convenient for his evil purpose, he grasped his innocent victim by the feet and, with one whirl to add strength to the blow, dashed out its brains against a tree. Leaving the body upon the spot, he then rejoined the party. The mother, unaware of what had happened, regarded him suspiciously as he reappeared without the child--then gazed wildly around the group. Her beloved little one was not there. Its absence spoke its fate; but, knowing the lives of her remaining children depended upon her firmness in that trying hour, she suppressed a shriek of agony and, drawing them yet closer to her, pursued her melancholy way without word or question. From the depths of her heart she cried unto Him who is able to save, and He comforted her with hopes of deliverance for the survivors; for she saw that if blood had been the sole object of their enemies her scalp and the scalps of her children would have been taken upon the spot where they were made prisoners. She read, too, in the eyes of one who was evidently the commander of the party an expression more merciful than she had dared to hope for. Particularly had she observed his soothing manner and manifest partiality towards her eldest child, her little Eleanor, and upon these slender foundations she built many bright hopes of either escape or ransom. After a toilsome and painful march of many days, the party reached the Seneca village, upon the headwaters of the Allegheny, near what is now Olean Point. On their arrival their conductor, a chief distinguished by the name of the Big White Man,[14] led his prisoners to the principal lodge. This was occupied by his mother, the widow of the head chief of the band, who was called the Old Queen. On entering her presence, her son presented the little girl, saying, "My mother, I bring you a child to take the place of my brother who was killed by the Lenape six moons ago. She shall dwell in my lodge, and be to me a sister. Take the white woman and her children and treat them kindly--our Father will give us many horses and guns to buy them back again." He referred to the British Indian Agent of his tribe, Colonel Johnson, an excellent and benevolent gentleman, who resided at Fort Niagara, on the British side of the Niagara River. The Old Queen carried out the injunctions of her son. She received the prisoners, and every comfort that her simple and primitive mode of life made possible was provided them. We must now return to the time and place at which our story commences. Late in the evening of that day the father returned to his dwelling. All around and within was silent and desolate. No trace of a living creature was to be found in the house or throughout the grounds. His nearest neighbors lived at a considerable distance, but to them he hastened, frantically demanding tidings of his family. As he aroused them from their slumbers, one after another joined him in the search. At length, at one of the houses, the maid servant who had effected her escape was found. Her first place of refuge, she said, had been a large brewing tub in an outer kitchen, under which she had secreted herself until the Indians, who were evidently in haste, departed and gave her the opportunity of fleeing to a place of greater safety. She could give no tidings of her mistress and the children, except that they had not been murdered in her sight or hearing. At last, having scoured the neighborhood without success, Mr. Lytle thought of an old settler who lived alone, far up the valley. Thither he and his friends immediately repaired, and from him they learned that, while at work in his field just before sunset, he had seen a party of strange Indians passing at a short distance from his cabin. As they wound along the brow of the hill he perceived that they had prisoners with them--a woman and a child. The woman he knew to be white, as she carried her infant in her arms, instead of upon her back, after the manner of the savages. Day had now begun to break. The night had been passed in fruitless search, and, after consultation with kind friends and neighbors, the agonized father accepted their offer to accompany him to Fort Pitt that they might ask advice and assistance of the commandant and Indian Agent there. Proceeding down the valley, they approached a hut which the night before they had found apparently deserted, and were startled by seeing two children standing in front of it. In them the delighted father recognized two of his missing flock, but no tidings could they give him of their mother or of the other members of his family. Their story was simple and touching. They had been playing in the garden when they were alarmed by seeing Indians enter the yard near the house. Unperceived, the brother, who was but six years of age, helped his little sister over the fence into a field overrun with wild blackberry and raspberry bushes. Among these they concealed themselves for awhile, and then, finding all quiet, attempted to force their way to the side of the field farthest from the house. Unfortunately, in her play in the garden the little girl had pulled off her shoes and stockings, and now with the briers pricking and tearing her tender feet, she could with difficulty refrain from crying out. Her brother took off his stockings and put them on her feet, and attempted to protect her with his shoes, also; but they were too large, and kept slipping off, so that she could not wear them. For a time the children persevered in making their escape from what they considered certain death, for, as was said, they had been taught, by the tales they had heard, to regard all strange Indians as ministers of torture and of horrors worse than death. Exhausted with pain and fatigue, the poor little girl at length declared that she could not go any farther. "Then, Maggie," said her brother, "I must kill you, for I cannot let you be killed by the Indians." "Oh, no, Thomas!" pleaded she, "do not, do not kill me! I do not think the Indians will find us." "Oh, yes, they will, Maggie, and I could kill you so much easier than they would!" For a long time he endeavored to persuade her, and even looked about for a stick sufficiently large for his purpose; but despair gave the child strength, and she promised her brother she would neither complain nor falter if he would help her make her way out of the field. The little boy's idea that he could save his sister from savage barbarity only by taking her life shows with what tales of horror the children of the early settlers were familiar. After a few more efforts, they made their way out of the field into an open pasture ground where, to their great delight, they saw some cows feeding. They recognized the animals as belonging to Granny Myers, an old woman who lived at some little distance from the place where they then were, but in what direction they were utterly ignorant. With a sagacity beyond his years the boy said, "Let us hide ourselves till sunset. Then the cows will go home, and we will follow them." This they did; but, to their dismay, when they reached Granny Myers's they found the house deserted. The old woman had been called down the valley by some business, and did not return that night. Tired and hungry, the children could go no farther, and after an almost fruitless endeavor to get some milk from the cows, lay down to sleep under an old bedstead that stood behind the house. During the night their father and his party caused them additional terror. The shouts and calls which had been designed to arouse the inmates of the house the children mistook for the whoop of the Indians, and, unable to distinguish friends from foes, crept close to each other, as far out of sight as possible. When found the following morning, they were debating what course for safety to take next. The commandant at Fort Pitt entered warmly into the affairs of Mr. Lytle, and readily furnished a detachment of soldiers to aid him and his friends in the pursuit of the marauders. Circumstances having thrown suspicion upon the Senecas, the party soon directed their search among the villages of that tribe. Their inquiries were prosecuted in various directions, and always with great caution, for all the tribes of the Iroquois, or, as they pompously called themselves, the Five Nations, being allies of Great Britain, were inveterate in their hostility toward the Americans. Thus some time elapsed before the father with his assistants reached the village of the Big White Man. Negotiations for the ransom of the captives were immediately begun and in the case of Mrs. Lytle and the younger child easily carried into effect. But no offers, no entreaties, no promises could procure the release of little Eleanor, the adopted child of the tribe. No, the chief said, she was his sister; he had taken her to supply the place of his brother who was killed by the enemy; she was dear to him, and he would not part with her. Finding every effort to shake this resolution unavailing, the father was compelled to take his sorrowful departure with the loved ones he had had the good fortune to recover. We will not attempt to depict the grief of parents thus compelled to give up a darling child, leaving her in the hands of savages whom until now they had had too much reason to regard as merciless. But there was no alternative; so commending her to the care of their heavenly Father, and cheered by the manifest tenderness with which she had thus far been treated, they set out on their melancholy journey homeward, trusting that some future effort for her recovery would be more effectual. Having placed his family in safety in Pittsburgh, Mr. Lytle, still assisted by the commandant and the Indian Agent, undertook an expedition to the frontier to the residence of the British Agent, Colonel Johnson. His account of the case warmly interested that benevolent officer, who promised to spare no exertion in his behalf. This promise was religiously fulfilled. As soon as the opening of spring permitted, Colonel Johnson went in person to the village of the Big White Man, and offered the chief many splendid presents of guns and horses; but he was inexorable. Time rolled on, and every year the hope of recovering the little captive became more faint. She, in the meantime, continued to wind herself more and more closely around the heart of her Indian brother. Nothing could exceed the consideration and affection with which she was treated, not only by him, but by his mother, the Old Queen. All their brooches and wampum were employed in the decoration of her person. The chief seat and the most delicate viands were invariably reserved for her, and no efforts were spared to promote her happiness and banish from her mind memories of her former home and kindred. Thus, though she had beheld the departure of her parents and her dear little brother with a feeling amounting almost to despair, and had for a long while resisted every attempt at consolation, time at length, as it ever does, brought its soothing balm, and she grew contented and happy. From her activity and forcefulness, characteristics for which she was remarkable to the end of her life, she was given the name, "The Ship under Full Sail." The only drawback to the happiness of the little prisoner, aside from her longing for her own dear home, was the enmity of the wife of the Big White Man. This woman, from the day of Eleanor's arrival at the village and her adoption as a sister into the family, had conceived for the child the greatest animosity, which she at first had the prudence to conceal from her husband. It was perhaps natural that a wife should give way to some feeling of jealousy at seeing her place in the heart of her husband usurped by the child of their enemy, the American. But these feelings were aggravated by a bad and vindictive temper, as well as by the indifference with which her husband listened to her complaints and murmurings. As the woman had no children of her own to engage her attention, her mind was the more easily engrossed and inflamed by her fancied wrongs, and the devising of means for their redress. An apparent opportunity for revenge was not long wanting. During the absence of the Big White Man upon some war party or hunting excursion, little Eleanor was taken ill with fever and ague. She was nursed with the utmost tenderness by the Old Queen; and the wife of the chief, to lull suspicion, was likewise unwearied in her attentions to the little favorite. One afternoon while the Old Queen was absent for a short time, her daughter-in-law entered the lodge with a bowl of something she had prepared, and, stooping down to the mat on which the child lay, said, in an affectionate tone, "Drink, my sister. I have brought you that which will drive this fever far from you." On raising her head to reply, the little girl saw a pair of eyes peeping through a crevice in the lodge, fixed upon her with a peculiar and significant expression. With the quick perception due partly to instinct and partly to her intercourse with the red people, she replied faintly, "Set it down, my sister. When this fit of the fever has passed, I will drink your medicine." The squaw, too cautious to importune, busied herself about the lodge for a short time; then withdrew to another near at hand. Meantime the bright eyes continued to peer through the opening until they had watched the object of their gaze fairly out of sight. Then a low voice, the voice of a young friend and playfellow, spoke: "Do not drink that which your brother's wife has brought you. She hates you, and is only waiting an opportunity to rid herself of you. I have watched her all the morning, and have seen her gathering the most deadly roots and herbs. I knew for whom they were intended, and came hither to warn you." "Take the bowl," said the little invalid, "and carry it to my mother's lodge." This was accordingly done. The contents of the bowl were found to consist principally of a decoction of the root of the May-apple, the most deadly poison known among the Indians. It is not in the power of language to describe the indignation that pervaded the little community when this discovery was made known. The squaws ran to and fro, as is their custom when excited, each vying with the other in heaping invectives upon the culprit. For the present, however, no further punishment was inflicted upon her, and, the first burst of rage over, she was treated with silent abhorrence. The little patient was removed to the lodge of the Old Queen and strictly guarded, while her enemy was left to wander in silence and solitude about the fields and woods, until the return of her husband should determine her punishment. In a few days, the excursion being over, the Big White Man and his party returned to the village. Contrary to the custom of savages, he did not, in his first passion at learning the attempt on the life of his little sister, take summary vengeance on the offender. Instead, he contented himself with banishing the squaw from his lodge, never to return, and in condemning her to hoe corn in a distant part of the large field or inclosure which served the whole community for a garden. Although thereafter she would still show her vindictiveness toward the little girl by striking at her with her hoe, or by some other spiteful action whenever, by chance, Eleanor and her companions wandered into that vicinity, yet she was either too well watched or stood too much in awe of her former husband to repeat the attempt upon his sister's life. Four years had now elapsed since the capture of little Nelly. Her heart was by nature warm and affectionate, and the unbounded tenderness of those among whom she dwelt called forth in her a corresponding feeling. She regarded the chief and his mother with love and reverence, and had so completely acquired their language and customs as almost to have forgotten her own. So identified had she become with the tribe that the remembrance of her home and family had nearly faded from her mind--all but the memory of her mother, her mother, whom she had loved with a strength of affection natural to her warm and ardent disposition, and to whom her heart still clung with a fondness that no time or change could destroy. The peace of 1783 between Great Britain and the United States was now effected, in consequence of which there was a general pacification of the Indian tribes, and fresh hopes were aroused in the bosoms of Mr. and Mrs. Lytle. They removed with their family to Fort Niagara, near which, on the American side, was the Great Council Fire of the Senecas. Colonel Johnson again readily undertook negotiations with the chief in their behalf, and, in order to lose no chance of success, he again proceeded in person to the village of the Big White Man. His visit was most opportune. He arrived among the Senecas during the Feast of the Green Corn. This observance, which corresponds so strikingly with the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles that, together with other customs, it has led many to believe the Indian nations the descendants of the lost ten tribes of Israel, made it a season of general joy and festivity. All occupations were suspended to give place to social enjoyment in the open air or in arbors formed of the green branches of the trees. Every one appeared in gala dress. That of the little adopted child consisted of a petticoat of blue broadcloth, bordered with gay-colored ribbons, and a sack or upper garment of black silk, ornamented with three rows of silver brooches, the center ones from the throat to the hem being large, while those from the shoulders down were as small as a shilling piece and as closely set as possible. Around her neck were innumerable strings of white and purple wampum--an Indian ornament manufactured from the inner surface of the mussel shell. Her hair was clubbed behind and loaded with beads of various colors, while leggings of scarlet cloth and moccasins of deerskin embroidered with porcupine quills completed her costume. Colonel Johnson was received with all the consideration due his position and the long friendship that existed between him and the tribe. Observing that the hilarity of the festival had warmed and opened all hearts, the Colonel took occasion in an interview with the chief to expatiate upon the parental affection which had led the father and mother of little Eleanor to give up friends and home and come hundreds of miles, in the single hope of looking upon their child and embracing her. The heart of the chief softened as he listened to this recital, and he was induced to promise that he would attend the Grand Council soon to be held at Fort Niagara, on the British side of the river, and bring his little sister with him. He exacted a promise from Colonel Johnson, however, that not only should no effort be made to reclaim the child, but that even no proposition to part with her should be made to him. The time at length arrived when, her heart bounding with joy, little Nelly was placed on horseback to accompany her Indian brother to the Great Council of the Senecas. She had promised him that she would never leave him without his permission, and he relied confidently on her word. How anxiously the hearts of the parents beat with alternate hope and fear as the chiefs and warriors arrived in successive bands to meet their Father, the agent, at the Council Fire! The officers of the fort had kindly given them quarters for the time being, and the ladies, whose sympathies were strongly excited, had accompanied the mother to the place of council and joined in her longing watch for the first appearance of the band from the Allegheny River. At length the Indians were discerned emerging from the forest on the opposite or American side. Boats were sent by the commanding officer to bring the chief and his party across. The father and mother, attended by all the officers and ladies, stood upon the grassy bank awaiting their approach. They had seen at a glance that the Indians had the little captive with them. As he was about to enter the boat, the chief said to some of his young men, "Stand here with the horses and wait until I return." He was told that the horses would be ferried across and taken care of. "No," said he; "let them wait." He held little Eleanor by the hand until the river was crossed, until the boat touched the bank, until the child sprang forward into the arms of the mother from whom she had so long been separated. Witnessing that outburst of affection, the chief could resist no longer. "She shall go," said he. "The mother must have her child again. I will go back alone." With one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the boat. No arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the council. Reaching the other side of the Niagara, he mounted his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the forest. After a few weeks' sojourn at Niagara, Mr. Lytle, dreading lest the resolution of the Big White Man should be shaken, and he should once more be deprived of his child, determined again to change his place of abode. Accordingly, he took the first opportunity of crossing Lake Erie with his family, and settled in the neighborhood of Detroit, where he afterwards continued to reside. Little Nelly saw her friend the chief no more. But she never forgot him. To the day of her death she remembered with tenderness and gratitude her brother the Big White Man, and her friends and playfellows among the Senecas. FOOTNOTES: [13] Afterward the wife of John Kinzie. [14] Although this is the name of her benefactor, preserved by our mother, it seems evident that this chief was in fact Corn Planter, a personage well known in the history of the times. There could hardly have been two such prominent chiefs of the same name in one village. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. 
42830	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive.) CHICAGO, SATAN'S SANCTUM. "I am to speak of stories you will not believe; of beings you cannot love; of foibles for which you have no compassion; of feelings in which you have no share."--W. MC. PRAED By L. O. CURON. C. D. PHILLIPS & CO., CHICAGO. COPYRIGHTED 1899 BY L. O. CURON PREFACE. The present Mayor of the City of Chicago was recently re-elected. A large number of independent voters, deeming one issue a dominant one, which, in fact, was no issue at all, assisted in again bestowing on him the most important office in the municipal government. The legislature had repealed a law under which evil, through the threatened action of corruptionists in the Council, might have been visited upon the city. That they were powerless to inflict it had been demonstrated prior to the repeal of that law and prior to the election. His competitors entertained, upon the question of the extension of street car privileges, the same views as his own. Both were men of as great ability as he, and each had, and still has, a reputation for personal integrity not surpassed by his. Both were men more mature in years, and possessed wider business experiences than he. Hence, either of them could have been safely entrusted with the powers of the executive. Neither of them, however, could invent, for campaign purposes, so catching, so powerful, and yet so sophistical, a political phrase as "The streets may be dirty, but they still belong to the people." To the inventor of that cry the Mayor owes no small political debt. It might be inferred from the large vote he received that, as a public servant, he had been tested and not found wanting. With respect to his persistent opposition to the extension of street car privileges, without adequate compensation to the city, and for a period not in excess of twenty years, it should be said he bravely and manfully did his duty, following, however, not leading public opinion on that question. All danger from that source had disappeared when the polls opened in April last. His competitors stood, on that morning, as honorably pledged to throttle it, if it again appeared, should either of them be elected, as he did. It cannot, however, be said that during his first administration he did his whole duty. It is a peculiarity of the American people that they always praise, with exaggeration, an official who partly does his duty, if the part performed is regarded by them as especially serviceable to the public. He had the benefit of so much exaggerated praise from a press that, for nearly two years then last past, had been condemning him, that some people were charmed into a sort of hysterical admiration for him. He had the happy faculty of concealing the shortcomings of his first administration, under cover of a supposedly overshadowing danger. Thereby he caused his previous record to appear as if free from blemish, and that he had performed every duty--and performed it well. The very adroit use of this faculty is the only reason why he received a plurality of votes so much larger than that of any other candidate nominated on the same ticket with him for a minor office. His best friends did not contend that he did his full duty. They now only hope he will do so. A public official is not entitled to praise, or thanks, for doing his whole duty. He is elected for the purpose of its performance. But full performance is so rare that the people seem to be content if a public servant will do his duty only fairly well. The vices which prevail in the city, and which grew to their enormous, threatening, and hideous proportions during the Mayor's first administration, were known to the people to exist, but were forgotten by them at the polls, were known to the police, and are still known to them, and upon no conceivable basis of belief can it be supposed their existence may not have been known to him, and that he does not know of their continued existence. It is for him to utter the command "Stop," and they will cease, in so far as they can be kept within bounds by his authority. Their absolute suppression, under existing legislation is, perhaps, impossible, but their regulation thereunder is not wholly impracticable. Ordinances demanding, for instance, the imposition of a fine of $200 per day for keeping a house of ill fame, have, he may say, never been enforced, and have fallen into a condition of "innocuous desuetude." The field of observation on matters such as these is too wide to be entered upon here. During the Mayor's first term, one of his best friends, in the columns of his widely circulated newspaper, severely criticised his administration, but supported him for re-election, and explained in its columns, in response to an inquiry made by a correspondent just prior to the election, his reasons for doing so as follows, viz.: "If Mayor Harrison shall receive the support of the independent voters because of the good points of his administration, that will show that his strength consists in doing right, not in doing wrong. It stands to reason that he would rather have the approval of honest and respectable men than of the vicious elements of the community. The R---- believes that Mayor Harrison's present administration from first to last has improved and not deteriorated. The mayor himself ought to know what are the weak points in it, and if he has acquired wisdom by experience he should choose his heads of departments for his second term with a view to curing the evils and failures of his first term. The relations of the police department with gambling resorts, all-night saloons and other forms of vice have been indecent, and probably corrupt. The R---- has frequently urged the dismissal of Superintendent K---- and the appointment of some better man. It believes that Mayor Harrison is much to blame in permitting the evil conditions to continue." The support he received for re-election came from a very large and respectable element of the community, but nobody can doubt that he owes that re-election to the solidarity of the votes of "the vicious elements of the community!" The respectable element did not vote with such allies in order that he should continue to conserve the interests of vice and criminality. The supporters of the all-night saloons, gambling halls, poker joints, and of all other nests of iniquity rallied to his assistance to a man. Without the massed vote of the saloon and its hangers on, he would not have been again chosen Mayor. The leading financial paper of this city, non-partisan in its political views, said on the eve of the election: "An emergency exists. The government of the City of Chicago is held in contempt not only in Chicago but wherever Chicago is known. We are losing good citizens, property, capital, prestige. The very streets, with their filth and dust, repel the visitor; the servants of the city, whether in administrative or legislative positions, are objects of suspicion; the scheme of a well ordered civil service is breaking down; vice receives encouragement as the price of votes. What wonder that many believe the heart is rotten? But there is virtue and power enough to change all this. The moral sentiment and enlightened self interest of the city once aroused and properly guided would overwhelm all opposition." Few, if any, evidences have been given out from the City Hall since the Mayor's re-inauguration tending to show that he proposes voluntarily to destroy this "contempt." His new comptroller is a worthy successor to the departed Waller, while the selection for his corporation counsel is all that could be desired by the most captious citizen. But the vices and crimes which principally brought, through their unchecked prevalence, that contempt, find the man, under whom for two years the police force, which in his friend's language has been "indecent and probably corrupt," again in its command. Doubtless the army of the vicious rejoices. Certain it is the community wonders. He will be observed as time passes. May the results of observation redound to his everlasting credit and success, and to the benefit of the great city of which he is the executive head! In the following pages references to the causes of that contempt will be made. The prurient will find nothing in them to their taste. These references ought to be of some assistance to the Mayor in finding out through a properly organized and well officered police force that these evil causes do exist. Having discovered them, their haunts, and their aids, if he does not already know of them, will he tolerate them any longer in this community? Will his continuous Superintendent of Police be further allowed to throw his kindly protection over them? CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. CHICAGO--Its Development--Power of Criminal Classes in Its Government--Pretenses of Reform--Official Satisfaction--Public Condemnation--Truths as to Power of Criminal Classes. CHAPTER II. THE POLICE FORCE--Its Strength--Composition--Power Dominating--Duties of Defined--Population of Chicago--Nativity of--Police Enemies of Civil Service--Demoralizing Effect--Tariff on Crime--Rates on Gambling Houses, Etc.--Penalty for Refusal to Pay--Instances of Police Rates--Method of Collection--Habits of Policemen--Some Are "Hold Up" Men--Blackmail Levied--Law Department--Arrests in 1897--Police Fix Boundaries for Crime--Chief's Testimony--Analysis of Arrests in 1897 in Second Police Precinct--In City at Large--Division of Fees and Fines With Magistrates--Police Courts, Corrupt--Cost of Police Force. CHAPTER III. ALL NIGHT SALOONS--Character of--Thieves, Thugs and Prostitutes in--Visitors--Country Buyers, Transients, Delegates, Youth and Old Age--Women in--Character of--Basement Saloons--Scenes in--Private Rooms--Scenes in All Night Saloons--Dancing--Music--Morning Hours--Robberies, Etc., Planned--Girls Entrapped--Young Men Ruined--Quarrels--Raids--Drinking--Surroundings of--Houses of Ill Fame--Assignation Houses--Slumming Parties--Fads--Salvation and Volunteer Army--Houses of Ill Fame--Inmates of--How Managed--Practices in--Superstitions--Luck Powders--Sources of Supply--Patrons of--Wholesale House Entertainer--Police Protection--Diseases--Attempts at Reform--People Indifferent. CHAPTER IV. RE-ELECTION OF MAYOR--False Issue Upon Which Re-elected--Vices in Chicago--"Blind Pigs"--Protected by Police--Where Situated--How Conducted--Classes--Drug Stores, Bakeries, Barns--Revenue to Police--Located Near Universities--Lieutenant of Police Convicted for Protecting--Cock Fighting--Bucket Shops--Women Dealers--Pool Rooms--Police Play--Pulling of, Farcical--Views of Chief of Police--Players in--Landlords--Book Making--Alliance Between, and Police and Landlords--New York and Chicago--Chicago's Police Force Worst--Hold Up Men--Methods--Victims--Police Sleep--Mayor's Felicitations, April 11, 1899--Account of Hold Ups, Same Day--Classes of Hold Up Men--Strong Armed Women--Street Car Conductors Robbed--Ice Chests and Ovens for Prisons--Hair Clippers--Protection to Criminals--"Safe Blowers' Union"--Fakes--Panel Houses--Badger Games--Nude Photographs--Obscene Literature--Confidence Men--Diploma Mills--Gambling--Women's Down Town Clubs--Sexual Perverts--Opium Joints. CHAPTER V. COMMON COUNCIL--Boodlers--Bribers--Council of 1899--Powers of--Misuse of--Price of Votes--Passage of Boodle Ordinances--Public Works Department and Bureaus--Illegal Contracts--Street Repairing, Etc.--Civil Service Commission--History of--Present Board Tools of Mayor--Examination by--Examples of--Attacks Upon Law--Special Assessments--Asphalt Ring--Fire Department--County Government--Insane Asylum--Sale of "Cadavers"-- Contracts--Sheriff's Office--Jury Bribers--Judges--Revenue Law--Tax Dodgers--Town Boards--Coroner's Office--Press Trust--Civic Societies-- Berry Committee Report--Baxter Committee--Opening Testimony--Conclusion. CHAPTER I. CHICAGO--ITS DEVELOPMENT--POWER OF CRIMINAL CLASSES IN ITS GOVERNMENT--PRETENSES OF REFORM--OFFICIAL SATISFACTION--PUBLIC CONDEMNATION--TRUTHS AS TO POWER OF CRIMINAL CLASSES. Chicago, with its world-wide fame as the most marvelous product of American enterprise among municipal creations in the nineteenth century, with its wonderful growth, from an Indian trading post in 1837 to a modern city of the second size in point of population in the year 1898, with the record of its stupendous strides in reaching its present commercial and financial position among the commanding trade centers in the world, with its strong civic pride, its numerous and admirable religious, educational and charitable institutions both public and private, its cultured development in literature, music, the arts and sciences, with its memorable disaster in the great fire of 1871, its speedy recoupment from that disaster, and its brilliant achievement in the organization and management of the magnificent "White City," the wide range of the classified exhibits of which covered the entire and progressive contributions of mankind to all that goes to make up the civilization of the age from the earliest period of the commencement of that civilization, this Chicago, grand, philanthropic and patriotic, suffers, as for years it has suffered, from the most extensive and persistent advances in political power, along the lines of their respective crimes, of the criminal classes, until, from the wealthy bribe-giver to the lowest sneak thief and sexual pervert, these classes carry elections, corrupt the corruptible in the Common Council, sway justice in the forum of the lower courts, and govern the police force until it has become a municipal aid to the perpetration of crime. From one administration to the other, the growing power of these lowest classes of society manifests a stronger hold upon civic administration. Pretenses of reform are all that, so far, have followed each bi-ennial election of a Mayor. Here and there, and now and then, gambling houses are closed, threats against police officers, who follow the well grounded practice of levying protection rates upon brothels, street walkers, gambling games of all descriptions, saloons, concert halls, and that varied combination of evils forming the working machinery of vice, are given publicity, and while the growth of these monstrous evils cannot but be known to public officials, both from observation, official reports, events as chronicled in the daily press, grand jury reports, civic and State investigations, and verdicts in the courts, a nerveless cowardice seems to seize each succeeding incumbent of the Executive's office, under whatever political party's banner he may be called to the chair, and prevents him from grappling with, and throttling, the ever increasing power of the combined votaries of all forms of vice and crime. The Mayor recently congratulated the Common Council in these words, viz: "The report of the General Superintendent of Police contains assurance for all classes of citizens that the efficiency, vigilance and zeal that have characterized this department will permit them to pursue their avocations without fear of being robbed and assaulted by long and short men. One need not be exceedingly observant to note that with the approach of winter comes an annual outbreak of crime. We all noticed evidences of such a visitation at the advent of the winter just ended, but it should not be allowed to pass without comment that criminality rarely showed itself during last fall when it was crushed out with a suddenness and success that ought to be regarded with pride and satisfaction by every Chicagoan. There has been no evidence of crime through the recent year as in former years; the criminals came in the fall, but they were severely taught that Chicago was an unhealthy clime for them, with the result that they were wise enough not to linger here long." This statement, so self-satisfying to the official who made it, so totally false in fact, so dangerous to the welfare of the people, and so flippantly interwoven into a public document by one who either knew the contrary to be the truth, or who knowingly used his official position for the suppression of truth, if not of crime, is contradicted by the disclosures made by every organization devoted to the purification of the public morals, the betterment of civil administration, and the eradication of the bestial vices so freely and openly flaunted in the faces of a busy and apparently indifferent people. Contrast the announcement of the Law Enforcement League with this official declaration. Said this League, composed of the pastors of churches and law-abiding people, "Chicago's influence ought to be on the side of purity and good order, but the fact is that vice and crime are prevalent, lawlessness is defiant, recreancy to sworn duty is all but universal. The disorderly saloon is the nesting place of the terrible debaucheries which disgrace our city. Ordinances and laws which have for their object the suppression of venality and crime are trampled ruthlessly beneath the feet of a disloyal and un-American horde. * * * The public mind is profoundly agitated over the reign of lawlessness and moral disorder. * * * The co-operation of all decent and respectable people is absolutely imperative if municipal government is to be transferred from the baser to the better element. * * * We have a right to demand that lawlessness shall cease; that gang rule shall be broken; that partisan politics shall be made subsidiary to municipal righteousness; that the all but omnipotent power of the disorderly shall be broken; that the carnival of crime which curses Chicago shall end; that the law breakers, crime makers and bribe-takers shall be adequately punished and that the fair name of this imperial city shall be redeemed from the reproach of blackmail, wanton immorality and widespread disorder." A noted divine said recently, "I believe that this city is to be the greatest city of this continent and of the world. I believe that Chicago is the devil's headquarters, and I think it is not far from the City Hall. If our own eyes could be fully opened we would see there infinite indecencies, bum politicians, ward workers, heel tappers, men who are the devil's own and delivered body and soul to do his bidding." Another said, "Saloons and all other haunts of vice are wide open, as they have never been before in the city's history." A distinguished lawyer, speaking before the Christian Convention recently held in this city, said, "Scourge off and out of your temples the political hyenas that prey on the municipal body politic, that fatten on the scarlet woman's wages of sin, that share the gambler's plunder and the blind pig's profits." Another eminent divine declared at this meeting, "He knew that men have been kept from coming to, and investing in, Chicago because our morality is so low." Still another divine declared at the same meeting, "But when in one night five homes in the block in which I live--and I moved there because it was the safest place in the city--are robbed, and, within the same week, three men are held up within two blocks, the conditions are serious." Serious, indeed, they are, despite assurances of protection by the police force emanating from the highest official authority! A few plain truths as to the utter prostitution of the civil authorities to the power of the criminal classes in Chicago, and as to the filthiness of those classes, are attempted to be given in the following pages. They may assist in arousing the people to a keen sense of their duty as citizens to demand from a new administration a rigid enforcement of the law by public officers, and that these officers shall become the servants of the people rather than remain the slaves, as well as the persecutors for private gain, of the riffraff of the community. CHAPTER II. THE POLICE FORCE--ITS STRENGTH--COMPOSITION--POWER DOMINATING--DUTIES OF DEFINED--POPULATION OF CHICAGO--NATIVITY OF--POLICE ENEMIES OF CIVIL SERVICE--DEMORALIZING EFFECT--TARIFF ON CRIME--RATES ON GAMBLING HOUSES, ETC.--PENALTY FOR REFUSAL TO PAY--INSTANCES OF POLICE RATES--METHOD OF COLLECTION--HABITS OF POLICEMEN--SOME ARE "HOLD UP" MEN--BLACKMAIL LEVIED--LAW DEPARTMENT--ARRESTS IN 1897-- POLICE FIX BOUNDARIES FOR CRIME--CHIEF'S TESTIMONY--ANALYSIS OF ARRESTS IN 1897 IN SECOND POLICE PRECINCT--IN CITY AT LARGE--DIVISION OF FEES AND FINES WITH MAGISTRATES--POLICE COURTS, CORRUPT--COST OF POLICE FORCE. The Police Force of the City of Chicago consisted on December 31st, 1897, of 3,594 men, of which number 2,298 were first-class patrolmen, the remainder being officers, sergeants, clerks, drivers and patrol-wagon men. The number of square miles of territory embraced within the city limits was, and is, 186.4. The force is composed largely of men of one nationality or of their descendants. A large majority affiliates with the same church. Prior to the passage of the civil service law in 1895, each bi-ennial administration made the force its own valuable mine in which veins of rich rewards for its friends and political workers were found. To this force the aldermanic supporters of the administration attached their henchmen and ward heelers, and these, in turn, as public officers, looked after the political welfare of their backers and of the administration these backers supported. Thus, the political complexion of the force was liable to change every two years. Notwithstanding the presence of a civil service law on the statute books under which the force is now supposed to have been re-organized and re-appointed, its political complexion remains the same. The organization is dominated by the political party which alone uses the distinctive title of "Tammany." The civil service law has been attacked, in behalf of this public force, by officials who were sworn to sustain it, until through their repeated assaults upon it, its administration is looked upon as farcical, and its administrators as its most cunning and relentless foes. The duties of the police force are clearly defined in the city charter. Generally, that instrument provides, "The police shall devote their time and attention to the discharge of the duties of their stations according to the laws and ordinances of the city and the rules and regulations of the department of police, and it shall be their duty, to the best of their ability, to preserve order, peace and quiet, and enforce the laws and ordinances throughout the city." According to the school census of 1898, the population of Chicago was then 1,851,588. This population is one of the most polyglot of any city in the world. Each modern language is spoken by some one class of its people. The population born of American born parents exceeds that of any other nativity, being in round numbers 486,000, while the Germans, born of German born parents, and Germans born in Germany, number in round figures 468,000. Of the Irish 131,000 are American born of Irish parents; born in Ireland, 104,000, making a total of 235,000. These are the largest classes, by nativity, of its people, and with the proverbial ability of the latter nationality to govern and "get there" it supplies the police force with the largest quota of men, year after year. During the years 1897 and 1898 this force, and every man seeking to become a member of it, was taught by city officials, and by none more energetically than by the chief law officer of the city administration, that the civil service law was an especial enemy of theirs, inasmuch as it abridged their privileges and immunities as citizens of the United States, and was, therefore, a menace to their rights, wholly unwarranted by the Constitution of the United States. It was accordingly attacked upon that ground by the officers sworn to enforce it, and, since the establishment of its validity by the highest courts in the land, its provisions are constantly sought, by them, to be avoided and defeated. The efforts of the commissioners to enforce it were commented on in an official message by the city's Executive, as if such efforts were in fact being made, and were part and parcel of an administrative policy; while, in practice, no possible legal device or illegal invention was allowed to fail of application by municipal officials to destroy its commands, even by its commissioners, who announced themselves as its greatest devotees. No more demoralizing example could have been set before the police force than the acts of the higher authorities. Such acts have produced the inevitable result, that, as such higher authorities saw fit to openly throttle a law they were sworn to enforce, the rank and file of the police force itself inferred that they, too, could seek to evade, and refuse to execute, all laws and ordinances which in their judgment affected the suppression of crime. Consequently, that force has become demoralized and corrupt, openly levying a tariff for revenue and official protection upon all classes of wrong-doers, below those who commit felonious crimes of the highest grade, and when the rates are not promptly paid by the protected classes, they are coerced by arrest into the payment of fines and fees for division between the justices and the officers. It is a well known fact that a schedule of prices prevails for police protection, which prices must be paid for that protection. Gambling houses pay from $50.00 per month upwards; panel and badger games, $35.00 to $50.00; music halls with saloon and private room attachments, $100.00; houses of ill fame, from $50.00 upwards, according to the number of inmates at so much per capita; cigar store and barber shop gambling games, $10.00; "blind pigs," the unlicensed vendors of liquors, $10.00 to $30.00, and with permission to gamble, $30.00 to $50.00; crap games, $10.00 to $25.00; opium and Chinese joints, $10.00 to $25.00; drug store "blind pigs," $10.00 to $30.00, and prize fights and cocking mains, a percentage of the gate receipts--usually one-fifth. Whenever a gambling house refuses to pay it is immediately pulled. These rates of police blackmail and of protective tariff have been sworn to before public investigations, and inquiry trials, as imposed and collected. The press has repeatedly commented upon these frightfully cruel persecutions, reeking with the infamy of the participation by public servants in a division of the fetid proceeds of the procuress, of the landlady, of her unfortunate slave, the harlot; of the skin gambler, the clock swindlers and tape gamesters, and of the operators of massage parlors, both male and female. In one case, tried before the Criminal Court of Cook County, a lieutenant of the police force was convicted of the crime of exacting money from the owner of a "blind pig" paid to him by the owner for protection in his unlawful occupation. Going back a few years, during the World's Fair period, as high as $2,000, it is said in public print, was paid for similar protection in a single instance. The officer in charge of a given precinct makes the collections, retains his percentage, passes the remainder on to his next superior, who withholds his rake-off, and so on until the net profit reaches the highest police official. A leading city newspaper, in a caustic editorial, declared that "in Chicago protection means the privilege to commit crime upon the payment of a sum of money to the police. It has ceased to mean that the citizen will be guarded against the acts of criminals." So thoroughly recreant to duty have some of the ranking officers of this force become, that one of the oldest captains when asked why he did not close, in his district, certain notorious saloons where depraved women robbed strangers in wine rooms, replied that "some people would steal in the churches, and you might as well close churches as close the saloons for that reason." Patrolmen in uniform are found in dives playing cards; and in others sleeping during the hours of their supposed presence on their beats. They know the women of the town, the street walkers in the territory they patrol, the keepers of every vile joint, where the most depraved practices are indulged in, the houses of ill fame, high-priced and low-priced, the "Nigger," Japanese, Chinese and mixed bagnios, the policy shops, fences and schools for thieves. All these vice mills and their operators contribute to the policemen's demand, and thus obtain permission to carry on, in daylight, and at night-time, their nefarious, lecherous and disgusting crimes and orgies. One officer gambled in a saloon with a citizen, lost his money, overpowered the citizen, recovered his lost money and then robbed his victim. In broad daylight an officer held up a citizen and robbed him of his money and valuables. When the Chief of Police had this case called to his attention before a legislative investigating committee, he answered, "I tried that man yesterday. He got on the police department ten years ago, and he always had a reputation of being a good officer, and the other morning he had been drinking some, and, like everything else, became a little indiscreet and started out to hold up a man and got hold of a few dollars in that way, and under the impression, very likely, that he would never be discovered, and, like everybody else, with his good record in the past, he was discharged and reinstated, because many people vouched for him, and all said he was an excellent officer, but he stepped by the wayside and fell, and we had him arrested and discharged." Whether the many people who so generously interceded with the Chief of Police for the retention of a thief as a member of his force were that thief's fellow pals and hold-up men, was not disclosed; but it may be said without hazard, that they were not reputable men--if they had any existence at all other than in the imagination, and as part of the bewildering policy of an incapable Chief. Methods of levying blackmail upon other than the disreputable classes, but reaching through them, upwards and beyond them, are not only countenanced, but advised by superior officials and approved by the city's highest executive. On the 5th of November, 1897, a practical stranger in the city was given the following letter, signed by the Chief of Police, viz.: "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: The police department is about to issue a history for the benefit of their relief fund. Kindly make all checks payable to W. V. M., East Chicago Avenue Station, and any favors shown the bearer will be appreciated by, Yours truly," This stranger had been denounced through the press as a fraud and a schemer, who had been arrested in other cities for obtaining money under false pretenses, which facts were known to the Chief of Police when his letter of recommendation was written. The stranger was to receive a commission of twenty-five per cent on all subscriptions obtained by him, and the treasurer of the fund, who was selected with the approval of the Chief, the Mayor, and his principal political satellite, ten per cent. Some $8,000 were collected under this scheme, one large railroad corporation subscribing $1,000 and a noted Board of Trade operator $500. Whence the remainder came rests in conjecture, with a well defined belief that noted gamblers, and keepers of houses of ill fame, were contributors to it. A legislative committee's inquiries prevented the consummation of the scheme, but, owing to the speedy departure from the city of the treasurer, the source of the remaining subscriptions could not be inquired into. As a cover to the purposes of this scheme, it was proposed to place these collections to the credit of the Policemen's Benevolent Association Fund of Chicago, which, by reason of the failure of a bank, whose officials are now under indictment for the misappropriation of public funds other than those of this association, had become badly impaired. This proposal followed the appointment of the legislative committee of investigation, by way of preparation to conceal the real purpose of the swindle. That association repudiated the plan. The Chief of Police was asked by the committee of investigation whether he thought it was the proper thing for him, as Chief of Police of Chicago, "to give to a man to go out among business men, corporations and manufacturing establishments of the city a letter telling them that everything this man did and said you would be responsible for, if you knew he had been indicted and arrested in different cities of the United States for defrauding the people out of money on this same identical scheme?" He answered, "I don't believe it." Immediately he was asked, "Have you heard A. was arrested a number of times?" and in reply said, "I read in the newspapers that he was arrested and had trouble in Detroit." Again he was asked whether A. had given him any information as to the number of times he had been arrested for getting money on false pretenses, and his answer was, "I can give you some information on that subject." These extracts from the sworn testimony of this official, speak in no commendatory manner of his sense of official responsibility. They point to a mind deadened to all sense of the duties of his position; they elevate him before his force as a conspicuous example for them to follow, in his disregard of the principles of official decency. In themselves they urge upon that force, by their silent influence, an emulation of such a blackmailing course, even though in its accomplishment the assistance of a swindler is required, and deliberately accepted. A brother of the Chief, a member of the detective force, was frequently found in poolrooms, assisting in their management, and yet the Chief seems to have been unable to acquire the knowledge that poolrooms were running wide open throughout the city. He probably knew it as an individual. In response to a question as to his information on this subject he answered, that no particular complaints were made--"the newspaper boys often came around and said there was pool selling going on at different places," and he presumed "if a desperate effort had been made to look that kind of thing up, we might have possibly been successful." More open admissions of official incompetency it would, perhaps, be difficult to make, and no more flagrant instances could be cited of official degeneracy than are these extracts from the sworn testimony of a defiant and dangerous public servant. In the attack on the Police Pension Fund, which was established under an act of the legislature for the benefit of an officer who shall have reached the age of fifty years, and who shall have served at reaching that age for twenty years on the force, then be retired with a yearly pension equal to one-half of the salary attached to the rank which he may have held for one year next preceding the expiration of his term of twenty years, or who shall have become physically disabled in the performance of his duty, there was manifested a degree of moral irresponsibility, if not of criminality, and a blind adherence to partisanship in defiance of the laws, seldom found in the history of any municipal corporation, and unmatched even by the developments of the Lexow committee of New York City, in matters of a kindred character, inquired into by that committee. For the sake of creating vacancies in the ranks of the police force, to be filled by appointments to be made by the Chief in defiance of the civil service law, and while that law was running the gauntlet of every conceivable attack, both open and covert, which could be made upon it by every department of the city's administration, and by none more virulently than by the Law Department, a plan was devised and put into execution whereby officers of all ranks, after years of police service and experience and in strong physical condition willing and anxious to remain in their positions, were retired from the force against their protest, merely to make way for the substitution of new appointees--the political friends of the Chief and his superior. Men with good records and physically able to perform their duties were thus forced upon the rolls as pensioners, to deplete a fund, sacred as a trust, not only for the benefit of the living and necessitous pensioners, but also for the widows of the men who had lost their lives in the service and the wives and children of those who had died after ten years of police duty. One effect, as to the standing of this fund, was to reduce the balance on hand January 1, 1897, from $16,837 to $4,543 December 31st, 1897. Thus over $10,000 was raided, seized and forced upon unwilling pensioners, "still able bodied and anxious to retain their positions at their full salaries." A more contemptible exercise of political power and administrative robbery could not well be imagined. The omissions of the police force in the enforcement of the laws, their acts of commission in evading, attacking and disregarding others, especially those relating to all night saloons, the source of most of the arrests for disorderly conduct, where wantonness is displayed, assignations are arranged, drunkenness aided and brawls engendered, are blamable, not so much upon the patrolmen, as upon their superior officers. The patrolmen do as they are told. They report infractions of the law, or not, according to their instructions. Their eyes are opened or closed, as the "wink is tipped" to them from above. The men are brave in moments of danger, fearless in rescuing the inmates of burning buildings, risking their lives in stopping runaway horses, tender in caring for lost children, or destitute persons, both men and women, and faithful in the performance of their duties as members of the ambulance corps. During the year 1897 one hundred and eighty were injured while on duty, and of this number forty-seven were on service in the first precinct, embracing the business district, the thoroughfares of which are the most crowded and in which the heaviest fires happen, while only seven were injured in the second precinct along the "levee"--the tough precinct. Given proper management, strict discipline and law abiding example, it could be made, and ought to be made, one of the "finest" forces in the world. Thugs and thieves, within the past two years, through the manipulation of the civil service law, have been admitted to its ranks, to its everlasting disgrace and that of the usurped appointing power. The number of arrests in 1897 for those offences from the perpetrators of which the police are charged with receiving protection money, was less than in any of the previous years since 1895, notwithstanding the increase in population, according to the school census, from 1,616,635 in 1896, to 1,851,588 in 1898, an increase in round numbers of 234,000. The following is the number of arrests for the years 1894, 1895, 1896 and 1897 for offences as named, viz.: 1894. 1895. 1896. 1897. Cock fighting ..... 156 69 ..... Decoy to gambling houses ..... ..... ..... ..... Disorderly 49,072 44,450 50,641 45,844 Inmates of assignation houses 53 53 92 14 Inmates of disorderly houses 21 105 205 181 Inmates of gambling houses 879 1,802 2,535 725 Inmates of houses of ill fame 2,516 2,894 5,547 1,531 Inmates of opium dens 943 1,112 528 253 Keeping assignation houses 17 5 15 19 Keeping disorderly houses 39 28 30 139 Keeping gaming houses 238 300 310 155 Keeping houses of ill fame 174 210 241 648 Robbery 1,072 1,099 1,083 1,200 Violation saloon ordinance 717 1,283 1,359 559 In 1897, as compared with 1896, there was a decrease of 78 in the number of arrests of inmates of assignation houses, 24 of the inmates of disorderly houses, 1,810 of the inmates of gambling houses, 4,016 of the inmates of houses of ill fame, 275 of the inmates of opium dens, 155 of the keepers of gaming houses, and 800 for violation of saloon ordinances. That these offenses had not decreased in point of perpetration is a fact, patent to observation and well known to the people. On the other hand, the arrests for keeping disorderly houses increased 109, and for keeping houses of ill fame 407. In the year 1896, when some effort was made to keep the police out of politics, the total arrests were 13,167 more than in 1897, when the police force had passed into the hands of a political machine, which sought to erase the application of the civil law to its government. In 1896 the inmates suffered arrest, but in 1897 the policy of arresting fewer inmates and more keepers, except of gaming houses, seems to have been inaugurated. "The keepers" are more able to pay than the inmates. For every dollar collected from inmates, the keepers are able to pay ten, or fifty dollars if necessary. From these figures it is clear that the practice of assessments for police protection was maintained principally against keepers in 1897, and that few inmates, comparatively, refused to pay in that year, while a large number of keepers of immoral and gambling houses were tardy in their payments, consequently, the former were not arrested, while the latter were. What the figures for the year 1898 will reveal is as yet unknown. Not only is crime thus tolerated by the police, but its chief officials assume, also, to define the boundaries of the districts in which it may be freely and safely perpetrated. The Chief of Police, testifying before a legislative investigating committee, said: "Now, any fellow who wants to bet on the races or anything of that sort cannot be allowed to do so this side of Jackson street, because we don't want this section of the town polluted with this class of things. We want the boys who have an inclination to bet on horse races to go south." Q. What have you got against the people south of Jackson street? A. I like them. Q. Is that the reason you wanted that stuff to go down there? A. Things are very lively in the lower part of the town, everything has a thrifty appearance, and everything---- Q. You mean south of Jackson street? A. North of Jackson--and things up south of Jackson are virtually dead--there is nothing going on at all, and the stores are all empty. There is nothing doing, and the property, is depreciating in value, and the object was to liven things up a little bit. That part of the city south of Jackson boulevard to Sixteenth street, and from State street on the east to the river on the west, embraces the tough part of the second precinct of the second police district. In the year 1897 of the total number of arrests of women and girls in the city, 17,624 in number, 8,957, or over 50 per cent, were, as the police term it, "run in" from this police district. How often the same women were arrested and re-arrested it is impossible to say, or whether they were "pinched" oftener than once in the same night. Of this latter number 7,364 were discharged by the magistrates, but the larger number contributed one dollar each to the justice for signing a bail bond for their appearance for trial. In addition, 300 women, known as "women lodgers," were also "run in" in this district in 1897. Of these unfortunates 1,746 were fined; 140 held to the criminal court; 193 released on peace bonds; 209 sent to the house of correction; 10 held as witnesses; 10 were insane; 7 destitute, and 23 were sick and sent to the hospital. Of this total number of arrests of women and women lodgers, 9,257 in number, in this police district in 1897, only 2,288, or about 39 per cent were convicted of offenses by police magistrates, while 61 per cent of them were discharged. Of the total number of persons arrested throughout the city in 1897, 83,680 in number, 55,020 were discharged by the police courts, 18,017 were fined, 4,138 held on criminal charges, and 2,947 bound over to keep the peace. The remainder were sent to various homes, refuges, asylums and humane societies. Over 50 per cent of those arrested were discharged. The percentage of those who furnished bail for their appearance, it is difficult to ascertain. That the practice exists is too well known to be proven, that a division of these bail bond fees is made between the magistrate and the police; the police furnishing the victims, the straw bailor his signature to, and the justice his approval of, the bond. The latter collects his fee and divides with the officers, while the straw bailor exacts his compensation in proportion to the ability of the victim to pay, then hands over a share to the arresting officers. That such persecution should exist in a civilized community is a disgrace to its civilization, that public officers should, for one moment, be permitted to engage in such hideous traffic in the liberties of their fellows, is a scandal upon the administration of justice, and that executive officers of the law, sworn to its enforcement, should be ignorant of the infamy of such arrests, or knowingly permit them to be made, is malfeasance in office, and subversion of civil rights. The portion of the fines (not by statute appropriated for other purposes) assessed upon, and collected from, this class of unfortunates by the justices, is required by the ordinances to be paid to the city at the close of each and every month, and is to be apportioned by the city authorities as the statutes and ordinances require. The salaries of the police magistrates are fixed by agreement with the city. These magistrates are chosen bi-ennially after the election of a Mayor, by that officer, from the appointed justices of the peace, and are generally of the same political faith as is the appointing authority. The system is a blot upon the impartial administration of justice. It has become a byword among the people as a malodorous cesspool. From the evidence heard before a legislative committee, that committee reported "that the present system of justice, or police courts, as run, is a disgrace to the present civilization. It shows that justice courts will open in the night time, policemen will go out and drag in men and women, 100 and 200, and even more at a time; that they are refused a trial at night, required to give a bond for which the justice charges them one dollar; that professional bondsmen are in attendance who will collect another dollar, and oftentimes much more, from the poor unfortunate to go on his or her bond until morning, thus making several hundred dollars ofttimes in a night to the police justices and other officers connected with the court, and this is done, as your committee believe, from the evidence, for the purpose of making money for the police justice, the professional bondsman, and the police officer in charge of the arrest." These magistrates are required to report at the "close of each day's business," but their night arrests are construed by them as not following within the definition of "a day's business." The fees arising from them are not, therefore, reported. Civic bodies have denounced in the bitterest terms the evils of this system, and in a recent mayoralty message to the Common Council, in itself the hotbed of boodleism, it is said, "The justice shop system with all its necessarily attendant scandals is about to be wiped out." That desirable result awaits legislative action. The general assembly, if it has any respect for human rights, for commendable municipal government, for the performance of its sworn duty, will lay aside the struggle in legislative halls for political ascendancy, and hasten the day when this festering sore shall have applied to it an instrument of eradication which it alone can wield. It is proper to add that since the foregoing lines were written the night fees are better accounted for, under an agreement between the magistrates and the city by which the magistrates' salaries are raised, as an inducement to them to be honest. The appropriations for the year 1897, for the maintenance of the police force, amounted to $3,356,910. Other sources of income amounted to $17,635.03. The salary warrants drawn against this fund amounted to $3,290,296.26; for other expenses, $167,369.63, making a total of warrants drawn of $3,457,665.89, leaving a deficit of $83,392.84. The total income of the city for the year 1897 from saloon licenses was about $3,000,000. The saloons are, therefore, the policemen's great financial friends in more ways than one, and largely defray the expenses of the department. CHAPTER III. ALL NIGHT SALOONS--CHARACTER OF--THIEVES, THUGS AND PROSTITUTES IN--VISITORS--COUNTRY BUYERS, TRANSIENTS, DELEGATES, YOUTH AND OLD AGE--WOMEN IN--CHARACTER OF--BASEMENT SALOONS--SCENES IN--PRIVATE ROOMS--SCENES IN ALL NIGHT SALOONS--DANCING--MUSIC--MORNING HOURS--ROBBERIES, ETC., PLANNED--GIRLS ENTRAPPED--YOUNG MEN RUINED--QUARRELS--RAIDS--DRINKING--SURROUNDINGS OF--HOUSES OF ILL FAME--ASSIGNATION HOUSES--SLUMMING PARTIES--FADS--SALVATION AND VOLUNTEER ARMY--INMATES OF--HOW MANAGED--PRACTICES IN-- SUPERSTITIONS--LUCK POWDERS--SOURCES OF SUPPLY--PATRONS OF-- WHOLESALE HOUSE ENTERTAINERS--POLICE PROTECTION--DISEASES-- ATTEMPTS AT REFORM--PEOPLE INDIFFERENT. The breeding ground of disorder and crime is to be found in the all night saloons. Despite the stringent ordinances prohibiting the "open door" after midnight, in the most dissolute districts throughout the city, along the streets and avenues of the north, west and south divisions, under ground and on its surface, these dens invite the depraved of both sexes to enter, remain, dissipate and carouse through the night. Murders, robberies and assaults are the necessary outcome of the unlimited drinking, the ribald language, the senseless jealousies, and the heated passions of the motley crowds which are at all times the fascinated patrons of these joints. A more rigid rule has recently been applied to the larger of the down town, or business district, basement saloons. Music is prohibited, and the closing midnight hour respected. These are but the depots for the all night saloons. When they close, the gathered crowds of dissolute women dissolve and betake themselves to the after midnight haunts, there to continue their calling--the solicitation of male visitors for drinks, meals and the ultimate purpose of their solicitation--prostitution. The male frequenters of these resorts belong to all classes of society. The "steady" visitors are thieves, thugs, pickpockets, gamblers, variety actors, "rounders," that large and constantly growing class in great cities which is ceaselessly observing the shady side of life, "seeing the elephant," and not infrequently becoming intimately acquainted with the beast, and pimps, who fatten upon the sinful earnings of abandoned women, whose fondness for their masters increases in proportion to the violence the masters visit upon their slaves. The transient custom is comprised of not only the old rounder, but also of those of younger experience, bursting, or not far advanced, into manhood; those who with a wide knowledge of the ways and wickedness of the world, more than their years warrant, are out for a "good time;" the observer of those ways; the "chiels" who are among them taking notes; clerks, cabmen and their "hauls;" the country buyer under the guidance of the entertainer of the wholesale house with whom the buyer is dealing; the delegates to conventions, out to view the town; the passer through the burg who has heard of the lights and shadows of Chicago; the swallow-tailed youth, and the middle-aged gentleman fresh from escorting to her home the virtuous female companion of the evening's entertainment, the melodrama, the opera, or the social function. The women range from the one who has just "started out" to the most despicable and depraved member of the sex. The former is the observed of all observers, the object of conspicuous attention, and a veritable prize to be won by the most dashing attack and the most liberal offer. She is under the tuition of her female guide, who instructs her "what she has to do that she may not be raw in her entertainment." The basement saloons in the down town district with their brilliant electric lighting equipment, their reflecting mirrors and hardwood finishings, combine, in most instances, the facilities of the rum shop and the restaurant. Here, from noon hour of the day until midnight, come and go the "sporty" women, who have not yet reached the lower degree of a brothel, the "roomers," "the cruisers" of the street, the so-called keepers of manicure parlors, baths and dressmaking establishments, all bent upon a "mash" in its broadest sense, or a "pick up" of any male greenhorn, or sport, who can be ensnared by their wiles. Maintaining a semblance of decorum, they pass the earlier hours of the evening in drinking with the "guests" and in flitting about from table to table, with which each place is abundantly supplied. The conversation is loud, and at times boisterous. Its subject matter is beyond repetition in polite circles. Lecherous glances, libidinous gestures, open invitations, characterize the behavior of the audience. Sometimes personal liberties are attempted, but invariably suppressed by the management. From the private rooms come sounds of hilarity, and the intermixture of words of protest, inducement and vulgarity. The withdrawals of couples are marked, and their early return and ruffled appearance suggest patronage of not distant "hotels," where no questions are asked. Generally, as the midnight hour approaches, the crowd decreases, signs of intoxication increase, and the exodus to the all night resorts is about completed as that hour is struck. When the downtown basement resorts close, the profitable work of the all night joints commences. The attendants in them are joined by squads from the more pretentious and less favored half-night competitors. These resorts, as a rule, are all equipped with private rooms, and many of them, in summer, have a so-called garden attached. Some have vaudeville performances to attract crowds, which end after the midnight hour. Many have a "Ladies' Entrance," but most visitors pass through the bar to the sitting room beyond. The so-called music of the cracked piano and strident male voices now commences, and the hat is passed around by the artists and performers, for contributions for payment for their services, the "house" paying nothing for such services, but permitting the artists to "work" the crowd. Boys of sixteen, and under, join in the gaieties as buck, wing and jig dancers, and also pass the hat. As the hours lengthen, as the liquor begins its effect, freedom of action enlarges, and restraint is removed. Those attitudes at table indicative of respectability are abandoned for others hinting at the widest license, or actually, which is not infrequently the case, illustrating that license, so far as familiarities of the person are concerned. The dance begins, with all its contortions of the body derived from the couche-couchee exhibitions of the World's Fair times, enlarged upon by the grossness of the two-step waltz of the slums. Strolling bands of negro musicians, scraping the violin and strumming the guitar and mandolin, or the home orchestra, composed of these dusky minstrels, add their alleged harmonies to the occasion, and, with nasal expression, roll of coon songs in the popular rag time, with their intimations of free love, warmth of passion and disregard of moral teachings. At times, with assumed pathos and mock dignity they warble a sentimental song with some allusion to "Mother," "Home," or "Just Tell Them That You Saw Me." The spree goes on, with fresh additions from the bagnios. Women with the most repulsive signs of prolonged dissipation, of advanced disease, with the upper parts of the body exposed, not perhaps more than is customary at a fashionable charity ball, join in with salacious abandon. These women, in the phrase of the Bard of Avon, belong to the class of the "custom shrunk," of one of whom a Roman satirist wrote: "* * * but now, That life is flagging at the goal, and like An unstrung lute, her limbs are out of tune, She is become so lavish of her presence, That being daily swallowed by men's eyes They surfeit at the sight. She's grown companion to the common streets-- Want her who will, a stater, a three obolo piece, Or a mere draught of wine, brings her to hand! Nay! place a silver stiver in your palm, And, shocking tameness! She will stoop forthwith To pick it out." As the morning hours draw nigh blear-eyed men and women in all stages of intoxication, creep to their holes to sleep away the day for a renewal of their orgies when darkness again falls. In these all night saloons robberies and burglaries are planned, and hold-ups arranged for. To them young girls are enticed when homeward bound from summer gardens and midwinter balls. Plans are laid for their ruin through drink, and the excitement of an experience new to them, which hide from their view all danger signals. Women are beaten and stabbed in them. Here young men begin their careers of dissipation, of lechery, and, perhaps, of crime, amid surroundings so contrary to the examples of home life, that before they are aware of it, they have become hopelessly enamored of what is termed a sporting life. The flippantly spoken word provokes a heated reply, a jealous woman, surcharged with drink, precipitates a squabble that swells into a free fight, a free fight brings an indiscriminate firing of revolvers, and the consequent death--the murder--of some of the rioters follows. Then, and not until then, do the police raid the place. For a few weeks it is kept under the ban, but gradually the law's grip is relaxed, signs of the old life revive, and soon the same scenes made more joyous and boisterous at the "new opening" are again enacted, to run the same course until another felony is committed, and another temporary closing of the doors enforced. That the all night saloon where such depravity is permitted to hold sway is a menace to the peace, the sobriety, and the safety of the community, is a self evident proposition. A minister in one of his sermons said, "The police wink when you call their attention to the fact that hundreds of saloons are running wide open all night. It is after midnight that the majority of the crimes are committed, and yet these places are allowed to run after hours, and have the protection of the police." The beardless boy and the habitual drunkard are, alike, supplied with drink without question. The former is flattered by being called "a dead game sport," and the latter tickled with the oft-bestowed title of "old sport." Many of these notorious dens are located in the midst of a forest of houses of ill fame. The depraved inmates of these houses, partly clad, are the most indecent visitors to the all night saloons. Perched upon the bar, or peering out from the private wine rooms, they shout their infamous language at the visitors, with invitations to indulgence in the most bestial of practices. Slumming parties, composed of respectable men and women whose morbid curiosity has been aroused by tales of the inconceivable vices forming the night-life of the demi-monde, are not infrequently found "going down the line" dropping into the houses of prostitution, viewing the bar, the private rooms, the dance hall, the crap games and the vicious surroundings of the all night pest holes. To slum has, in a measure, become a fashionable fad. Its purpose is, not to carry into these haunts the example of a better life, but to cater to a dangerous spirit of inquiry, upon the principle that excitement, even though it be found in the midst of the garbage boxes of vice, is relished now and then by the best of mankind. The only indication of a world outside, in which Christian principles prevail, is occasionally to be found, when some of the women garbed in the simple uniform of either the Salvation or Volunteer Army, engaged in rescue work, or in scattering a hopeful word, through the medium of their publications, pass among the crowd, receiving in most instances respectful attention, and, at times, but rarely, a jeer from some drunken sot or wrecked woman. The houses of ill fame, whose stained glass windows with suggestive female figures in the nude advertise the abode of the scarlet woman, are as luxuriously furnished as is the home of the wealthy and respectable citizen. These "creatures of sale," as Shakespeare puts it, are as clearly distinguished in public as members of the demi-monde, as if the Julian laws were in operation in Chicago. In early Rome, under these laws, the courtesan was compelled to dye her hair blue or yellow. Like the Grecian courtesan whose distinctive mark of her calling was blonde hair, the strumpet of today generally favors a fashion coming down from the past ages. The passer-by of these abodes of sensuality is invited by open solicitation or unmistakable gesture to enter them, especially by the more degraded of the women. A studied decorum is maintained in some of the parlors of the older establishments, presided over by a proprietress advanced in years, plentiful in wealth, and dictatorial in management. Harsh rules are prescribed for the maintenance of the condition of slavery into which the girls have fallen. Debts to the house tie them to it by bands too strong to be easily broken, in what are termed the aristocratic branches of this nefarious trade. These women are none the less free from indulgence in unnatural practices than are those of houses of reputed lower degrees of depravity. White and colored alike revel in the same scenes of carnality which, fragments of history state, prevailed in the declining days of Rome and of Greece. The inmates of the lowest of these houses, both in dress, or in the absence of it, and in deportment, follow the habits of the Dicteriades, or low down prostitutes, of Piræus in the time of Pericles. Their appearance in the reception parlors in a state of nudity, and their filthiness in practice is a renewal of the habits of the Lesbian lovers of the fifth century; or of the flute players of the Athenian banquets, accounts of whose indecent dancing and depraved ways are found in the most erotic chapters in ancient literature. From them come the terms applying to the devotees in these days of sodomitic indulgence, forming part of the slang of the neighborhood where they live a debauched and beastly existence. The superstitions of the Grecian and Roman courtesan are carried into the beliefs of those of modern days. What the philters or love charms were to the former, luck powders are to the latter. They are known along the levee as "Sally White's Brand" and "Sally White's Mixed Luck." The former is regarded as particularly lucky. It is a compound of "Sally's" own prescription, and is secretly sprinkled on the floor, at stated periods, as luck is sought after, or is burned in a room and the fumes inhaled. The latter is a mixture of perfumed oils and is used in the bath. The women are the frequent buyers of Sally's prescriptions, avoiding purchasing on a Friday. The sources from which come the supply to the ranks of courtesans, whether inmates of the aristocratic, the middle, or the lowest grades of their temples of vice, are many, various and damnable. Aside from the mere desire to gratify passion, which medical writers maintain constitutes but a small percentage of those who join the army of prostitutes, attributable to an innate sense of virtue in the modern woman, cabmen, in spite of the municipal ordinances, have been known to drive women entering the city to these brothels on the pretext they were hotels. The procuress is at work all the while. "Thou hold'st a place for which the paind'st fiend Of hell would not in reputation change. Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every Coistril that comes inquiring for his Tib; To the choleric fisting of every rogue Thy ear is liable; thy food is such As hath been belched on by infected lungs." The department stores, in which starvation wages are paid to girls and women, who are subjected to the attentions of designing men, invited to lunch, induced to drink; whose love for dress and whose vanity are worked upon; those whose want of education in the relations of the sexes brings about their speedy fall; the servant turned out from her employment ruined by her employer or his son; the seamstress; the victims of unhappy marriages and cruel homes; those compelled by poverty or necessity, and who support dependent relatives; the "chippies" of modern days; the massage parlor graduates; all contribute their distressed quotas to this ever increasing tribe of prostitutes. It gathers in recruits from the overflow of the assignation houses, which are scattered over this city in astonishing profusion. They are found in boulevard castles and in back alley huts. They do not differ in character from those of all cities. Through them come the cast-off women, who, having satisfied the temporary infatuation of their seducers, find themselves victims of false promises, and the graduates from homes wrecked by the discovery of their daylight intrigues. So relentless a warfare is waged upon these private, and in some instances most exclusive, resorts, by the lynx-eyed police, that in the year 1897, nineteen keepers of such places were arrested! Some improvement is noticeable in their suppression from the fact that in 1894 seventeen, in 1895 five, and in 1896 fifteen keepers were arrested! Interference with this style of accommodation is, therefore, possible in Chicago, at or about the time of the arrival of the millennium! Singular to say there are moralists who assign the prostitute a position of usefulness in modern civilization. One of the most distinguished of English writers, in tracing the effects of Christianity upon mankind and its beneficent influences in social life, says: "Under these circumstances there has arisen in society a figure which is certainly the most mournful, and, in some respects, the most awful upon which the eye of the moralist can dwell. That unhappy being whose very name is a shame to speak, who counterfeits, with a cold heart, the transports of affection, and submits herself as a passive instrument of lust, who is scorned and insulted as the vilest of her sex, and doomed for the most part to disease and abject wretchedness, and an early death, appears in every age as the perpetual symbol of the degradation and the sinfulness of man. Herself the supreme type of vice, she is ultimately the most efficient guardian of virtue. But for her the unchallenged purity of countless happy homes would be polluted, and not a few, who in the pride of their untempted chastity think of her with an indignant shudder, would have known the agony of remorse and of despair. On that one degraded and ignoble form are concentrated the passions that might have filled the world with shame. She remains, while creeds and civilizations rise and fade, the external priestess of humanity, blasted for the sins of the people." The entertainer of the wholesale house who conducts his country customer to see the sights of the town, whenever and wherever such sights are to be seen, "where everything goes," pays the expenses of the round of debauchery from the fund provided by his firm; while from the floating, passing, male visitors, no less than from the resident male dwellers, young and old, rich and poor, come the thousands of dollars which go to the support of the lewd woman of the town, from the street walker, up through the mistresses and the shady wives, to the best dressed and most brazen wanton in the palaces--the "swell" houses so styled. The unrevealable indecencies which attend these infamous resorts are within the knowledge of the police, under any and every municipal administration. At times their pressure upon these unfortunates is heavier than at others. The necessity of raising campaign funds, the personal wants of the blackmailers of the police force, the revenges to be gratified for some jealousy aroused, or favor refused, all contribute to increase the weight of oppression. Meanwhile, in the absence of municipal regulations, which seem abhorrent to the average American mind as a recognition of the legalization of vice, diseases are wide spread, until, in the language of a distinguished physician, the most destructive of them have reached the blood of "the best and noblest families of the land." Lecky, in his History of European Morals, speaking of the horrible effects incident to the non-regulation of houses of this character, says: "In the eyes of every physician, and, indeed, in the eyes of most continental writers who have adverted to the subject, no other feature of English life appears so infamous as the fact that an epidemic, which is one of the most dreadful now existing among mankind, which communicates itself from the guilty husband to the innocent wife, and even transmits its taint to her offspring, and which the experience of other nations conclusively proves may be vastly eliminated, should be suffered to rage unchecked, because the legislature refuses to take official cognizance of its existence, or proper sanitary measures for its repression." The protests of Christian organizations and of societies for the suppression of vice seem to be in vain. The city ordinances prohibiting, for instance, the employment of females in massage parlors patronized by men, and others, intended to keep the conduct of all manufactories of vice within limits, if not to accomplish their suppression, are not attempted to be enforced. Some mitigation of the evils of police aggression has been brought about, as has been observed, by placing police magistrates under a salary sufficiently large to induce them to partly abolish the practice of wholesale midnight arrests, with their consequent fees and bailors' exactions. These fees are now accounted for more rigidly and paid over to the city, whether they are the result of daylight or midnight arrests. These evils are not, however, wholly eradicated, nor will they be, until an aroused public sentiment shall give as much attention, public service, and personal endeavor, to the attainment of that most desirable end, as is given to the building of an armory, the establishment of lake front parks, Greater Chicago, the passage of revenue bills, and the defeat of the attempt to obtain public franchises without compensation to the granting municipality. Whatever will tend to create wealth for the individual, to increase the volume of trade, or add to the attractiveness of the city in the improvement or adornment of its public parks, the energetic and pushing citizen aids with his personal services, and abundant wealth. Its moral attractions receive, in so far as the repression of villainy and of disgusting vice is concerned, but little, if any, personal or pecuniary assistance from the people. At a recent meeting of the Law Enforcement League, a clergyman, who had freely given his time and services in behalf of the objects of that association, begged for the paltry sum of $250 with which to carry on the work. It was received by contribution from his audience after repeated appeals. Had it been a meeting for stock subscriptions to some corporation promising large returns, or for the purpose of building a monument to some former day hero, or author, the appeal would not have had to fall upon the ears of the people repeatedly. The request would have been granted upon its first presentation. "This work," said the preacher, "cannot be carried on by sympathy, or applause, or resolutions, or expressions of good will. There is nothing but hard cash that counts in the practical work of enforcing the law." CHAPTER IV. RE-ELECTION OF MAYOR--FALSE ISSUE UPON WHICH RE-ELECTED--VICES IN CHICAGO--"BLIND PIGS"--PROTECTED BY POLICE--WHERE SITUATED--HOW CONDUCTED--CLASSES--DRUG STORES, BAKERIES, BARNS--REVENUE TO POLICE--LOCATED NEAR UNIVERSITIES--LIEUTENANT OF POLICE CONVICTED FOR PROTECTING--COCK FIGHTING--BUCKET SHOPS--WOMEN DEALERS--POOL ROOMS--POLICE PLAY--PULLING OF, FARCICAL--VIEWS OF CHIEF OF POLICE-- PLAYERS--LANDLORDS--BOOK MAKING--ALLIANCE BETWEEN, AND POLICE AND LANDLORDS--NEW YORK AND CHICAGO--CHICAGO POLICE FORCE WORST--HOLD UP MEN--METHODS--VICTIMS--POLICE SLEEP--MAYOR'S FELICITATIONS, APRIL 11, 1899--ACCOUNTS OF HOLD UPS, SAME DAY--CLASSES OF HOLD-UP MEN--STRONG ARMED WOMEN--STREET CAR CONDUCTORS ROBBED--ICE CHEST AND OVENS FOR PRISONS--HAIR CLIPPERS--PROTECTION TO CRIMINALS--"SAFE BLOWERS' UNION"--FAKES--PANEL HOUSES--BADGER GAMES--NUDE PHOTOGRAPHS--OBSCENE LITERATURE--CONFIDENCE MEN--DIPLOMA MILLS--GAMBLING--WOMEN'S DOWN TOWN CLUBS--SEXUAL PERVERTS--OPIUM JOINTS. That public opinion can be aroused on any question deemed of importance to the municipal welfare finds abundant confirmation in the history of Chicago, and that that opinion can make itself felt at the polls has but recently been most remarkably demonstrated. Admittedly deficient, both by friend and foe, in public assemblages called in behalf of its retention in power; permitting the violation of the law, in all its departments; openly consenting to the unrestrainted lechery of the debauched classes, the wide open running of gambling houses, pool rooms and disorderly houses; aiding by its refusal, or neglect, to stop the levying by the police of protection rates upon poker rooms, crap games, pool rooms and dens of that class, the pitfalls and snares set for the young men of the town; assessing for political purposes the keepers of disreputable resorts of all kinds, and the employes of the city under civil service rules in defiance of a law sternly prohibiting that demoralizing practice; an administration appealed to, and received, the support of nearly a majority of the whole people, upon one fictitiously dominant issue, under which all others were adroitly sheltered and wholly hidden from view. That issue which concerned the people as an incorporated body, rather more than as individuals, was practically non-existing. The power to invade the rights of the people had been destroyed by State legislation. In the absence of new legislation, the extension of railroad franchises is now an impossibility, except under the terms of the existing charter. No legislation can be obtained in enlargement of such municipal power, until the next general assembly shall have convened in January, 1901, unless a special session should be called for that particular purpose, the probability of which is too remote to be considered. Meanwhile the new administration which will be carried on for the next two years by practically the same men as for the past two years, can find no refuge behind an issue of supposedly overwhelming importance to hide its neglect of others, which affect, if not directly, yet indirectly, the financial interests of the city. Those matters, to which the administration of the city must now give its attention, concern the purity of municipal legislation; the proper enforcement of the laws in all departments of the city government; no interference in matters of education; no attempt at the control of the civil service commission in the strict enforcement of the law creating it; the proper letting of contracts, and the preservation of pay-rolls from manipulation and fraudulent swelling. The purity of municipal legislation is assured by the election of a number of aldermen whose records as citizens warrant the prediction that they, joining with an already trusty minority, for the ensuing year at least, will conserve public rather than private interests, guided by the promptings of each individual conscience. There will be no opportunity to filch from them for party ends, or for personal advancement, due public acknowledgment of their integrity and ability. But the enforcement of the laws governing municipal administration in its several departments; the proper disbursement of its appropriation funds for street improvements, scavenger service, street and alley cleaning, public buildings and parks, etc.; the management of the school-board by its own officials, free from political suasion; of the civil service commission along the lines contemplated by the law free from party dictation, and the elevation of the police force to the plane of its non-political duties, for the prevention of the spread of vice and indecency, the repression of crime, the protection of life and property, are all matters, the non-attention to which can no longer be excused upon the theory of the necessity of first destroying an attempted private seizure of the public streets, a theory which has gone to its destruction by the repeal of an obnoxious law, under which seizure might have been accomplished. So far as the suppression of vice is concerned, the initial duty of municipal administration is the education of the police in their duties as imposed upon them by law. For years, under every administration, with infrequent, feeble attempts at reform, that force has been rapidly becoming a fleet of harveyized steel battleships, sailing under the flaunting flag of vice, fully armed, and loyally serving the kings of the gamblers, the queens of the demi-monde, and their conjoined forces of thieves, confidence men, cappers, prostitutes, philanderers, etc., etc. It is not in the least fearful of public opinion. If wealth can snap its fingers and cry aloud "The public be d--d," so can the force laugh in its sleeve, and, aping wealth, echo "To hell" with the public. It is not different in Chicago from what it is in New York. The temporary disappearance from the "Tenderloin" of many of its flagrant vices, and the supposed purification of the police force following the astounding revelations of the Lexow committee, have given way under the ceaseless and insidious assaults of criminal and vicious influences. A New York journal recently said: "The reports to the Society for the Prevention of Crime show that the city is in worse condition than ever before. No paper would dare print all that is done openly in dens of vice that are tolerated by the police. The reports seem almost incredible; they show that with few exceptions the police force is corrupt from top to bottom. Gambling houses, disorderly houses and dives of the worst description flourish openly, a regular schedule of rates has been established which the police force charge for protection. The flagrancy of crime which brought about a political revolution five years ago exists today as it did then. In some ways there is even less attempt at concealment than there was in the ante-Lexow days; in others the vice and immorality is more hidden. But it is here, and instead of there being one "Tenderloin" ulcer on the city there are now four, each fully as extended as was that old hotbed of vice." What the police force of New York was before the investigation of the Lexow committee, so the police force of Chicago then was; and what the New York force is today, so is the Chicago force. A new investigation is about to begin in New York city. Watch its revelations day after day. Change the names, and for every police infamy revealed, every unspeakable vice disclosed, every violation of law recorded, their counterparts can be found in Chicago, intensified, not modified. The crimes which these "coppers" should, but do not, give their services to repress, are numerous, if minor in character. In flagrant cases of commission arrests may follow, and often do. It is the unused means of prevention deadened by the purchased indifference of the officers, that is the most glaring of police sins. The location of "blind pigs," or those places in which liquor is sold without a license, both within prohibition districts as well as without them, must either be known to officers traveling beats whereon they flourish, or such officers are too ignorant to belong to the ranks. It is not ignorance of the officers that prevents their suppression. Superiors are paid a price for non-interference. The patrolman follows his orders, permits the illicit traffic to be carried on by those who pay that price, and reports only those who do not pay it, but who seek to conduct the prohibited business without contribution to the permissive fund. In the most respectable settlements of the city, in the very heart of prohibition districts, in which there would be spasms of protest and whirlwinds of indignation if it were even suggested that the lines separating the prohibitive from the non-prohibitive districts should be abolished, are to be found the highest grade of the breed of "blind pigs." They are the brilliantly lighted, well arranged, and aristocratic types of the modern drugstore, where, as the evening shades descend, a band of friendly Indians assembles to discuss the events of the day, conduct wars, shape the destinies of nations, and draw their inspiration from spiritus fermenti op., a drug commonly known, however, as whisky, when obtained without a prescription at the bar of the ordinary licensed saloon. These whisky jacks express amazement at the want of proper regulation of the sale of liquor, while aiding in its unlawful traffic. They are typical Archimagos; high priests of hypocrisy and deceit. They are the open mouthed reformers who shout for a rigorous application of the law for the regulation of saloons outside of their own prohibition districts, for the maintenance of prohibition within those districts, and who wink at their own infractions of the license laws, behind the prescription case--their private bar. This form of attack upon the license law exists all over the city, more so perhaps in prohibition districts than without them, but each drug store, as a rule, has its patrons from whom a yearly revenue is derived by the accommodating and equally guilty proprietor who vends his drinks without compliance with the law. The other class of "blind pigs" owes its existence to a prearranged bargain between a policeman and the members of that class, who, for the entertainment of friends, and the turning of a penny, embark in the business without fear of arrest. As the sale of liquor for use upon the premises as a beverage is lawful when licensed, every combination to evade a license is not only an evasion of the penalties of the license law, but it is a conspiracy to rob the city of a portion of a large revenue, sufficient almost to support the police force. The city is thus plundered by its own servants who take its place in fixing the amount of the license, and who appropriate it when collected to their own use. Some of these institutions are to be found in the rear of bakeries, in the costly barns of the wealthy classes with coachmen as bartenders, and at the gates of the silent cities of the dead. They are a fruitful source of revenue to the police, and, consequently, difficult of discovery, since their patrons must be well known as non-squealers, and the police are too loyal to turn informers. They exist in surrounding country towns and in classic neighborhoods, in Evanston and Hyde Park particularly. Both of these localities are the seats of institutions of learning; the Northwestern University at the one, and the University of Chicago at the other. A Lieutenant of Police was arrested for extorting money for protection from the keeper of a blind pig in Hyde Park. It developed, in the course of his trial, that he was to pay part of the insurance premium to a brewery company. To such an extent has this blackmailing scheme gone, that its proceeds are distributed not alone among patrolmen and superior police officials, but also to brewing companies united in a trust affecting the price and the quality of the poor man's beverage. The national pastime of the Filipinos is of common occurrence in Chicago, and escapes the watchful eyes of the police, although its uniformed members pass the door of the saloon with which the principal pit is connected. The entering crowds, and the crowing of "birds," never fail to announce the on-coming of the main, except to sightless eyes and deafened ears. No underground or out of hearing place is selected for these exhibitions of cock fighting. They are held in the rear of saloons, or in barns or stables connected therewith by covered ways of approach. One geographical division of the city is generally pitted against the other. Usually the indignant police, even with early information of the time and place where and when this inhuman amusement is to be held, arrive upon the scene when the fight has ended, the lights extinguished, and the sports scattered. Although the city council possesses the charter power to prevent these disgraceful combats, that power remains unacted upon, and the offense falls within the definition of disorderly conduct, the penalty prescribed by ordinance, upon conviction for that offense, being a fine of from one to one hundred dollars. Bucket shops have nearly disappeared from the public gaze. They are, nevertheless, still carried on in secret, for the purpose of enabling men and women to gratify their natural propensity for gambling. The active efforts of one man, having the courage of his convictions and with the support of a commercial organization, which is the only competitor of these gambling concerns, have kept them in comparative subjection. Yet, such is the resistance made by them, that this man, aiding also in the discovery and punishment of gambling in general, ran the risk of the destruction of his life, his home, and the loss of the lives of his family, by the explosion of a bomb thrown at night into, or against, his house, by some miscreant or miscreants, with the evident intent of "removing" him as an impediment to the transactions of their murderous employers. The police, after much effort to discover the perpetrators of the outrage, finally dismissed it from further examination, upon the theory that this man had himself "put up the job," to accomplish the destruction of his wife and children, and of his own life. Through this heroic man's efforts, together with those of a fearless and outspoken clergyman, as in New York, and not by reason of police assistance, but in spite of police resistance, the convictions in the criminal court, in the past year for gambling, are wholly due. The latest accessible reports show that in the year 1897 the number of places closed during the two preceding years was one hundred and forty-six, and that at the end of 1897 there were twenty-nine still in existence, including tape games and fraudulent brokers' haunts. These institutions possess a peculiar fascination for women. Three of them, patronized wholly by the female sex, were found under one roof. Of the leading one, a writer in a city daily newspaper, in a vivid description of its general surroundings, said: "The atmosphere of the rooms is stifling and poisonous. The odor is rank with the effluvia of bodies, which, in many cases, present the appearance that would justify the belief that they have been strangers to the bath for weeks. To go into these rooms out of the fresh outdoor world is to almost suffocate at first. * * * The effects are plainly visible in the faces of the women. They had, with few exceptions, leathery, sallow skins, drawn and tense features, hard lines about the mouth, and wrinkles between the eyes, while the eyes themselves had acquired a restless, half cunning expression, composed of cupidity and uncertainty. As for their nervous systems they are wrecks. Take the hand of any woman in those rooms, especially if she has just made an investment, and the nervous vibration is plain--her hand quivers, her whole body is tense, her bulging eyes fix themselves on the board." Alluding to the men who hang around, furnishing "pointers," and looking for an invitation to a fifteen-cent lunch, one of the speculating women said of them, "These men are the lowest creatures who come up here; most of the women are respectable, but these men are lazy, dirty, ignorant and infinitely low, and all they are after is to get money and a free meal out of women." "The ages of the women range from twenty-five to seventy years. The older women peered anxiously through their spectacles at the board and whispered quietly to a companion; wisps of ragged gray hair escaped and waved below the little black bonnet. Heavy, thick-soled shoes stuck out from the hem of the modest black gowns; they grasped worn silk reticules in their nervous fingers, and got out the small sum which, in most instances, they did not have the nerve to invest." Describing the condition in life of these women, the reporter was told that some had been wealthy, and were now poor through speculation; while "more than two-thirds are the mothers of families and are eking out a little income, in many instances supporting an idle, worthless man, who should himself be out in the world earning a living." "If they make 75 cents a day it is a big day for them," said the reporter's informant. "How little you realize the state to which many of these women are brought! Many of them are almost penniless. Frequently they come here in the morning and borrow money with which to begin the day's operations." Pool rooms, as a general rule, run wide open; occasionally they are "closed for repairs" caused by a police raid, forced by some flagrant outrage against the law. They flourish in the most public places, with no restriction upon admission to any visitor. The daily races all over the country are posted on large black boards covering the walls, with a list of the horses entered and a minute of the odds which will be given or demanded by the house, from which the room's judgment of the "favorite" can be ascertained. The money is handled openly, bet openly, and paid openly. City detectives assist in their management, and "play the races." Raids contemplated by the police are tipped off to the managers, and when the officers arrive the game has closed. The incidents attending an actual pull are in the main more laughable than impressive. The "hurry up" wagon takes its load away, and before many moments have elapsed the same faces are seen again returning to the one attractive spot in their daily lives. These rooms are munificent contributors for protection. They pay from $600 to $1,000 per month. They hold back telegraphic messages of the results of races until their confederates have placed bets. They are patronized by women of, apparently, all classes. In one raid eighteen women were captured, fifteen of whom claimed to be married. All of them, of course, gave fictitious names; three had babies in their arms; three claimed they were wives of policemen; a few were well dressed, and all were undoubtedly devotees of gambling, sporting women who fancied they had discovered the way to lead an easy and money-making life. The following extract, taken from the examination of the head of the police force of the city, will show the view entertained by that official of the nature of his duties, in this regard. Before the senatorial committee appointed January 6th, 1898, to investigate scandals in connection with the police force, its Chief was interrogated and answered as follows, viz.: Q. How many pool rooms have you pulled, how many men have been arrested and convicted for pool selling since you have been chief? A. I understand one fellow has been found guilty and fined $2,000. Q. But he was arrested by the Sheriff of Cook County, indicted by the grand jury because the police would not do it? A. I don't know whether it was because the police would not do it, or because they could not do it. Q. Well, it was because they did not do it. Do you mean to say that you, as Chief of Police, with 3,500 sworn men---- A. Don't say 3,500 men. It is 2,500 men; don't make it quite so strong. Q. Do you say to this committee, that with 2,500 sworn men in this city you are powerless to stop the public running of pool rooms in this city? A. I will say that I am powerless to stop a man from making hand books, or selling pools confidentially to his friends. Q. Do you know of any pool rooms being conducted in this city during the months of October, November and December? A. I don't know of my own knowledge; I never was in one. Q. Did any of the 2,500 men ever report anything of that kind to you? A. I never had any definite report on that subject. Q. They were giving the people a liberal government? A. Yes, things were running very easy. * * * * * Q. I will get you to state if it is not a fact that a large number of pool rooms were running openly with telegraph operators in the place, pools were being sold, money paid, and everything running at full blast? A. I never was present; I don't know anything about it. Q. Was there any complaint to you of that kind of thing being done? A. No particular complaint at all. The newspaper boys often came around and said there was pool selling going on at different places. Q. Could not the police of the city of Chicago as readily have found these people who have been fined for gambling as the Sheriff? A. Well, I don't know. I presume if a _desperate effort had been made to look that kind of thing up we might, possibly, have been successful_. Through these resorts, which offer inducements for betting on distant horse races, the confidential clerk, the outside collector for business houses, the employes of banks, young men in all grades of employment involving the handling of the funds of their employers, together with the men of moderate salaries, working men, and the large number of sports who live by their wits, are assisted in a downward career, until defalcations, destitution in homes, and a still more acute phase of living on one's wits, are reached, followed by flight, arrest, conviction, imprisonment, the breaking up of homes, and the necessity for the resort of the broken sport to the tactics of the hold-up man. Yet they are tolerated, until their shameless management becomes a public scandal. Then follows a pull, a period of purification of very slight duration, and again a slow start. Speedily again they are in as full gallop as are the horses whose names they post, and as around the race track the horses go, so around the vice track the pool rooms go. The losing patrons pass under the wire at the end of their foolish struggle to win, some to the penitentiary, some to despair, and some to suicide. The keeper and the landlord who knowingly permits his premises to be used for the selling of pools, are, under the laws of the State of Illinois enacted into an ordinance by the Municipal Code, guilty of a misdemeanor, and are liable to punishment by imprisonment in the county jail for a period not longer than one year, or by a fine not exceeding $2,000, or both. The police make no complaints to justices for arrests, nor to their Chief, according to his testimony. The keeper pays a high rent, while the landlord, perhaps some sanctimonious deacon of a church, who thanks God that he is not as other men are, accepts his monthly returns with unctuous satisfaction, shouts his amens louder, confesses his sins more meekly, or excuses his violation of the laws of the state with a more emphatic shrug of his shoulders and a more fervid rubbing of his hands. Book making, "in which the betting is with the book maker," and pool selling, in which the betting is among the purchasers of the pool, they paying a commission to the seller, are both denounced by the statute, and the court of last resort of the state. The unholy alliance between the police, the keeper of these law breaking and despicable haunts, and the conscienceless landlord, could be summarily dissolved. The police could be made the enemy of both. Their warm friendship for, and silent participation in the profits of, the partnership, can be destroyed by an executive order which needs but to be issued, with no possibility of an early revocation, to be implicitly obeyed by the sellers and "bookies." If not obeyed, then drastic measures within the power of the police to employ should be applied. As these lines are written, some evidence is visible of action by the police. A raid has been made! The inspector, under whose order it was conducted, said, "The sooner these men begin to learn that I mean what I say, the better it will be for them. I want my officers to understand, also, that they will have to be more vigilant." Threatening words, such as these, are common utterances by police officials, but heretofore as their echo died away their fierceness disappeared. No administration could lay claim to higher praise in any city in the land than that its police force is the guardian of the people's rights, the stern foe of crime, and the relentless suppressor of vice and indecency through the enforcement of the laws created for that suppression. If this is done in Chicago, a few of the devil's aids in the diffusion of wickedness will disappear from sight so completely that Asmodeus would vainly tear off the roofs of the houses in a search after proofs of his demoniacal power. While the police force is so closely leagued with pool rooms, and subjected to the power of the money their keepers are willing to pay for permission to carry on their demoralizing business, it is a matter of impossibility to destroy them. Vice works incessantly; the means for its destruction are employed spasmodically. New York City furnishes an astonishing instance of the political power exercised by a combination of the law breakers. The Lexow committee demonstrated the almost total depravity of an officer, charged with a command over its "Tenderloin." The city labored and Greater New York was born. It would seem that greater crime and greater political power in the criminal classes were born at the same birth. That officer became Chief of Police of the expanded metropolis. He had been indicted under the scathing revelations against him made by the Lexow committee, and yet despite the evidence of his depravity, and the protests of the Society for the Prevention of Crime, he was, through the power of politics and crime, foisted upon the new municipality as the ranking officer of its police organization. The result was inevitable. New York, the greater, is now declared to out-Satan New York, the lesser. A new committee is probing into its police management. At the outset of its proceedings it wrung from this officer replies so self condemning as to stagger one's faith in the possibility of such a quality as obedience to official oath in a police officer. The Chief was asked: Q. Perhaps you can tell how it is and why it is, that even while this committee is sitting in session here, the pool rooms are open all around us, and I have in my pocket money that my men won in the pool rooms? A. Perhaps some of my men have it, too. They are looking after it just the same as you are. Q. But the pool rooms are running? The Chief did not answer, but complained to his questioner that he had not been informed of the facts "officially." The examination then proceeded as follows, viz.: Q. Do you mean to say, as Chief of Police, with the men and money at your command, you can't close the pool rooms? "No," replied the Chief, "we do the best we can, as we did when you were a Commissioner." "I closed the pool rooms," shouted his questioner. "You did not," retorted the Chief; "they were alleged to be, on reports of commanding officers, then as now." "Yes," said the questioner, "but there was some fatality about that business, if you know what I mean." "Some forced fatalities," sneered the Chief. "Well, sir," said the questioner, "here are three great evils of importance--gambling houses, pool rooms and policy shops--and you cannot recall from your own recollection--you who are in charge of the enforcement of the laws--a single arrest in any one of these classes of crimes within a month. What do you do for your salary as Chief?" A. "I look after the force as a whole; I look after all reports that come in touching all matters of the kind you refer to and all kinds of crime." The questioner called the Chief's attention to a newspaper and some advertisements it carried. In spite of the questioner's declaration that the paper was a Tammany organ, and that all Tammany men were supposed to buy it and read it, the Chief declared that he never had done so. The questioner made the Chief a present of a copy of the paper, and asked him to read over the massage advertisements. The Chief thanked him and said, "I will attend to these places because I do not believe in such disguises for disorderly houses. Such places are usually in tenement houses and flats. I will attend to them and drive them out." "Will you make the same pledge about pool rooms," demanded the questioner quickly? "That I cannot promise," replied the Chief. "Why can't you promise it?" asked the questioner. "Because they conduct that sort of business in places where we can't get at them, and you know it, but I will try and stamp it out." Chicago and New York methods quite agree, with the advantage in favor of New York. In the latter city, the Chief of Police "will try" to stamp pool rooms out. In Chicago, the Chief, in his reply to similar questions, said: "While a man may come to my office and give information that a certain individual is violating the law somewhere and it is a trivial offense, I do not pay so much attention to it as I do when a report reaches my office that a man has committed a serious crime, such as murder, that a serious crime has been committed on the outside. I should naturally abandon that part of it, and take up the more serious offense, and I have been looking up serious crimes, such as burglary, robbery and the hold-up people, and I have made a desperate effort to suppress that." It was in this connection reference was made by the committee to the fact that one of Chicago's policemen had shortly before been arrested for holding up a citizen and robbing him in the daylight hours, which called forth the reply already quoted in these pages to the effect that this particular star had been tried, that he was a member of the police force for ten years, was a good officer, but got drunk and became a "little indiscreet." For this he was dismissed from the force, but reinstated because "many people" vouched for him. It seems almost incredible that that man is today a member of Chicago's police force; yet such is the shameful fact. Without the aid of the telegraph, the daily newspaper and the race cards, pool rooms and book making could not survive. They are the means of giving vitality to this form of gambling. The telegraph furnishes the press with "events" all over the country, upon which pools and books are made up. The news of the result of a particular race is flashed by wire at once from the race track to the pool rooms all over the land. There is scarcely a daily newspaper in any city that does not devote a page of its issue to sporting events. Many of them have their "forms" or "forecasts" of races, which are the guesses of their sporting men as to the probable results of each race to be run on a particular track. The race card is distributed every evening throughout the city; to cigar stores, saloons and billiard halls. It contains the "results" of the day, together with information as to the entries for the following day's races. Through these sources the sporting community keeps in touch with the world. A Chicago afternoon newspaper upon the occasion of the opening of a race track in an adjoining state presented in its issue its "Form of Today's Races." To those unacquainted with the lingo of the track its guesses are delightfully humorous. Predicting the possible result of the first race, the form says: "B. L. looks the best of the lot on paper. If the trip from the east did not take the edge off H. S. he should win easily, as he showed considerable sprinting ability in his last out. L. P. has a burst of speed which may put her inside of the money and with a good boy up is worth a show bet. The others are a poor lot and of uncertain quality, so that the finish will probably be B. L., etc." Of the second it remarks: "Of these youngsters which have started C. has been the most consistent and is undoubtedly the best, but T. is rounding too rapidly and may run ahead of the mark. F. A. is a sprinter, but if pinched does not like the gaff. M. E. and M. are green ones, and this is the first time they have faced the barrier, so there is no line on them. C. T. and F. A. should be the order of the finish." It says of the third race: "M. is a soft spot, and, if fit, she should win as she pleases. It looks as if the real race should be for the place and the show money, and will likely be between M. and A. H. and T. are also partial to the going, but as the latter has not started recently, T. should be the better if any of the others named are scratched. The result will likely be M. A., etc." Of another, a colt race, its forecast is, "H. is such a good colt that he looks like a 2-to-5 shot in this bunch, and that will be about what the books will lay against him. Of course, he has dicky legs, but the soft undergoing will undoubtedly suit his underpinning. The finish should be H. K., etc." The final race is thus placed in the form: "At the best this is a bad lot, and hardly worthy of doping, as so much depends on the jockeys and start that any one of the probable starters has a chance to get the big end of the purse." To this necessity has journalism come at last! While it urges the suppression, in thundering tones, of all manner of gambling, it is driven, by the necessity of competition, to aid the most injurious of gambling's many attractive methods. Another Chicago newspaper, the columns of which every morning contain the world's news of sporting events, said a short time ago, editorially: "Chief K----'s assurance that he will do his best to suppress gambling will be accepted in good faith. He has made a start in that direction, and the farther he goes the more plainly he will see that for the police to suppress gambling is a mere matter of lifting their hands. Gambling of the sort that the police department is expected to suppress does not flourish save by the connivance of police officers. It is quite true that to extirpate the vice of gaming is beyond the power of the police. Nobody has expected them to do that. While the board of trade and the stock exchanges remain open one form of the vice will be practiced publicly beyond the reach of the police. And so long as cards and dice boxes are to be procured, degenerate human nature will practice the vice in secret. But the police can stamp out the open and flagrant practice of gambling in forms inhibited by the law as easily as they can wink at it. It is a matter of saying "Yes" or "No." A poolroom or a policy shop may open now and then, but it will quickly shut again if the police are in earnest." The assistance derived from the telegraph and newspaper by the gambling fraternity is commented upon by a modern writer, his subject being "The Ethics of Gambling." He remarks, "But it is time to emphasize the fact that the real supports of the gambling habit in its present enormous extent are the telegraph and the newspaper. Half the race courses in the country would be abandoned almost immediately if newspapers were forbidden to report on betting, and if telegraph offices declined to transmit agreements to bet, or information which is intended to guide would-be bettors. How this is to be done it is not for me to say. My present object and duty are exhausted in pointing out the fact that the national life is being deeply injured, the State seriously weakened by the wide spread of the gambling habit, and further, that this habit in its present extent and intensity, is nourished most by the daily press and the telegraph. It must certainly be in the power of the State to deal with this, the most potent instrument by which the gambling fiend fights his way into home after home throughout the length and breadth of the country." "Hold up" men find Chicago their least dangerous and, perhaps, their most profitable field of operations. In all the various forms of this robbery upon the street in day or at night time, or in raiding saloons and stores, it is merciless in its methods. Robbery accomplished, brutality follows. The criminals who resort to it at night, not satisfied with acquiring their victim's property, usually knock him unconscious with the butt end of a revolver, with a billy or sand bag, or blind him with cayenne pepper, and in that hapless condition leave him to be found, no matter what may be the state of the weather. This form of criminality is a winter's occupation. It is occasionally, but rarely, followed in the summer months. Women are held up in the streets at midday, in the evening when returning home from labor, on the street cars, and at the doors of their own homes, and within them. No class is exempt from the attacks of these marauders. The poor suffer with the rich. They are of such frequent occurrence that it is believed not one-fourth of their number is reported to the police. The inefficiency of the force to prevent them is proverbial, and that inefficiency finds much of its origin in the utter disregard of the rules of the department requiring patrolmen to travel their respective beats. The discipline of the force in this respect is nothing; it is worn away by abrasion. The colder the night and the warmer the nearest saloon or kitchen range, there will the patrolman be found. In the former case he is merely dreaming of his duty; and in the latter, he is engaged in a terrific struggle between love and duty. Some back door of a house of ill fame is open to him for shelter, for wine, and oftentimes for food. The good-hearted landladies of these abodes know full well that one way to reach the patrolmen stationed in their neighborhood is through their stomachs, not because they are officers, but because they are men. In localities away from the bagnios, some servant girl, friendly to the "copper," protects him from the inclemency of the weather. To her he gives his time and his devotions at the city's expense. If on some, or on any winter's night, an observation flight could be taken through the air, and over the city, by the Chief, that official would believe his occupation was gone; for, except here and there as some of his subordinates were wending their way at the appointed hour to a patrol box to report, he would fancy he was a general deserted by his army. Closer inspection would, however, reveal to him that never an army had such comfortable winter quarters as has his. While the patrolman thus enjoys his siesta, or indulges in his love making, the hold up man lies in wait on the unguarded beat, to slug and rob the first belated wayfarer whom he may confront. The number of hold ups in Chicago in the year 1898, it is believed, exceeded in number those of any two large cities in the United States combined. The press, in fact, claims that their number was greater than in all of the cities of the United States. They were of almost daily occurrence. They are just as numerous, and just as ingenious and murderous in design, since the continued administration was inaugurated, as before. In the morning edition of the daily press of April 11th, 1899, the re-elected Mayor's felicitations to the council in his annual message delivered on the previous evening were published in these words: "The people of Chicago have reason to congratulate themselves on the successful manner in which the police department has coped with crime. It is acknowledged on all hands that Chicago is a singularly good place for thugs and thieves to avoid, and this notwithstanding the fact that the size of the police force is utterly inadequate." The evening papers of the same date report the following as examples of how the thieves and thugs avoid Chicago: "L. was arrested early yesterday morning for alleged participation in a daring hold up, which occurred near the corner of Van Buren and State streets about an hour before. A cab containing Mr. and Mrs. L. B., who live on Pine street, and Mrs. C. D., of North Clark street, approached the curb. As the three occupants alighted four or five men rushed at them. One drew a revolver and shouted: "Hands up." The other made a dash at Mrs. D., who displayed some valuable jewelry, and snatched a watch worth $225 and a diamond ring valued at $125. The highwaymen then disappeared around the corner." "Attacked by Three Negroes.--Stanton Avenue police are looking for three negroes who held up Albert T., of 37th street, at 33rd and Dearborn streets last night and relieved him of $4.00 and a watch. T. was standing under the shadow of a building at the corner when three negroes approached him. One of them drew a revolver and threatened T., while the other two searched him. Many people were passing at the time, but the party escaped all notice in the deep shadows." "As Thomas L. and Joseph S. left Ald. K.'s saloon early today, S. says he was robbed of $2.45--all the money he had." "Robbed in a Saloon.--August J., bound for Minneapolis from Finland, came to Chicago last evening. He met a woman, and the two went to Samuel M.'s saloon on State street, where J. claims the woman held him up at the point of a revolver and took all his money--$25. J. reported the matter to the Harrison street police, and Officers C. and S. arrested Albert B., the bartender. He was arraigned before Justice F. today on a charge of being accessory to robbery. The woman has not been arrested." Following this, two men boarded an outgoing railroad train at night, and at one of its stopping stations captured a passenger who was standing on the rear platform of a coach, dragged him away, robbed him of a small sum of money, a lady's gold watch, took a plain gold ring from his finger, then bound and gagged him and threw him into an empty freight car near by. Within three weeks after the publication of this effusive compliment to the police, a citizen sent the following communication to an evening paper, which, together with the comments of that paper upon it, is here inserted, as the best criticism of the Mayor's optimistic view of the efficiency of his police force: "April 26, 1899.--Editor the J.: Not fewer than 15 flats and residences in the district bounded by West Adams street, Kedzie avenue, Homan avenue and Washington boulevard have been plundered recently. The thieves reside at ----, a fact well known to the police, but all the efforts of the suffering tax payers are unavailing in having them arrested. "The police authorities will not act. The rascals have been at their present abode (----, first flat) since early last autumn. Their landlord is (well, I won't mention his name) well known. "Our community has become so terrorized that no one dares remain out after dark. Can't you assist us in our troubles? The police don't act. "RESIDENT OF THE DISTRICT." The comments of the paper read as follows, viz.: "The author of the above is a well-to-do West side manufacturer. He says in a note which came with this communication: 'Do not under any circumstances couple my name with it. We are all afraid of our lives, believing that the thieves are so desperate that they would murder any one disclosing their method and abode.' This is the district in which George B. Fern and Cora Henderson met their deaths under such mysterious circumstances. Here is a partial list of the happenings of recent date in this one neighborhood, the first four named cases being within one business block: GEORGE B. FERN, dry goods merchant, 1393 West Madison street; found in his store with bullet hole in his head, mask and revolver with one chamber empty at his side; police say he committed suicide; coroner's jury returned a murder verdict; the grand jury also declares it was a case of murder. CORA HENDERSON, blind woman, 1385 West Madison street; found dead in her house, hole in her skull; murder theory worked upon by police; later theory advanced that she might have met her death by a fall. F. W., tailor, West Madison street; robbers drove up to his store in broad daylight while he was eating in a restaurant next door and intimidated clerk with revolver, loaded in tailor's cloth, drove away. W. H. D., West Madison street, grocer; hole drilled in his safe; burglars scared away when D. came to open store. MRS. FRANK W., Washington boulevard, house entered; $200 stolen. MRS. MARGARET D., Washington boulevard; house entered; $200 worth of property taken. MRS. WARREN F. H., Warren avenue; house entered; $500 worth of property taken. MRS. CHARLES C., Washington boulevard; hearing a noise at her front door, went onto the porch; a burglar who had been trying to force an entrance into the second story dropped at her side, revolver in hand; he escaped, frightening off pursuers with his revolver. DR. F. F. S., West Monroe street and Homan avenue; two men attempted to hold him up in his office; frightened away by the arrival of a patient. PROF. CHARLES E. W., Chicago Piano college; chased by mounted foot pad. MRS. ELIZABETH H. T., M. D., Warren avenue; swindled out of $60 by men who had a 'sure thing' on the races. JOHN V., West Monroe street; swindled by same game. WILLIAM H. P., bookkeeper for C. S. & Co., West Monroe street; house robbed. HERMAN W., West Monroe street; house robbed of diamonds, jewelry and silverware; Mrs. W. coming home, encounters robbers as they were leaving; they politely raised their hats and walked on. H. S. B., real estate, West Adams street; candidate for president of M. club; house robbed. ARTHUR W. C., Illinois Credit Company, West Adams street; house robbed. JOHN G., grocer; attempt made to swindle him out of $100 by men with 'tip' on races. The above list was obtained by a brief canvass of the neighborhood. The house given as the abode of the "thieves" is situated right in this neighborhood, which is one of the best residence districts. It is a gray stone structure and is said to be owned by a well known West side politician. In this place lives at least one of the men who have swindled numerous West side residents of this district by means of the 'tips' on the races. These men, it is said, have operated successfully for a year, few of their victims making complaint on account of the unenviable publicity the affair would thus attain. This gang, too, has headquarters in a West Madison street block within a few doors of the Fern store. This neighborhood is included in the Warren avenue police district. None of the officers at this station, or any of the Central station detectives familiar with the case, believes that the 'jockeys' have anything to do with the 'holdups' and robberies of flats, and laugh at the idea advanced by the author of the letter to The J--." The names and addresses of these victims are printed in full in the newspaper referred to, but for obvious reasons they are not used in reproducing the article. Immediately following the publication of this startling list of crimes, a grand jury submitted to the court the following report. The reader can harmonize, as best he may, this official statement, with that of a lighthearted and self satisfied Mayor who controls, or does not control, as one's thought may elect, the Chicago police force. "In closing our work the members of the jury desire to report to your honor some slight comment on the various matters which have been brought to our attention during our session, and to submit for recommendation to the proper authorities suggestions that may check the amount of crime which has been brought to our notice. "Our city seems to be the asylum of habitual criminals of all classes, who have terrorized the people to an alarming degree. We would particularly call attention to several instances within our knowledge where persons have been found dead, investigation made by the proper authorities, verdicts rendered according to the evidence with recommendations by the coroner's jury that the guilty be brought to justice. These deeds wherein the perpetrators in several instances have not been detected are largely due to the fact that this city is made an asylum for habitual criminals, and we strongly recommend that every measure be taken to close the gates of the city to such people. "Were the statute of the state regarding the arrest of vagabonds more strictly enforced by the proper authorities the number of habitual criminals at large could be largely reduced and Chicago made a less attractive place of residence for this class. The law itself is broad and ample in its provisions. Places under the guise of saloons, duly licensed, are merely rendezvous for thieves, murderers and prostitutes, and notwithstanding the fact that such vile places are well known to the authorities they are permitted to continue without molestation. The defilement of our youths of both sexes should receive the severest penalty of the law. It is our duty to protect and guard the manhood and womanhood of the young. "The continued violation of the ordinance fixing the closing hours of saloons is a great factor in the number of crimes committed in the city, and we earnestly recommend a strict enforcement of the ordinance." Apparently, a few of these criminal gentry regard Chicago as a safe field for their labors! Boys in their teens, men and women, both black and white, the latter of the strong armed class, comprise this coterie of criminals. The strong armed women, generally negresses, have the developed muscles of the pugilist and the daring of the pirate. They entice the stranger into dark passage ways, that innocent stranger, so unfamiliar, but so willing to be made familiar with the wickedness of a great city, who seeks out its most disreputable quarters and scours its darkest byways, to report to his mates, on his return to his country home, the salacious things that he has heard of, and a few of which he witnessed. In these dark and dangerous ways the strong armed women garrote and rob their victims, or they entice the innocent, but lustful, stranger to their rooms, and there, through the panel game, or by sheer strength or drugged potations, appropriate the innocent stranger's valuables. Mortified and humiliated, the stranger usually has nothing to say to the police of the affair. Then the emboldened strong armed women go upon the street in couples, and rob in the most approved methods of the highwayman. Alone, one of these notorious characters is said to have pilfered to the extent of $60,000. She was, and is, a terror to the police force. Released from the penitentiary not long ago, she is now undergoing trial for a fresh offense. Approaching a commercial traveler from behind, she is charged with having nearly strangled him, and then robbed him of his money and jewelry. "Only one man ever got the best of E. F.," said detective Sergeant C. R. W., of Harrison street station, who had arrested E. F. frequently. "Once she held up a cowboy and took $150 from him. He came up to the station hotfoot to report the robbery. We were busy and a little slow in sending out after E., whereupon the cowboy allowed he'd start out after her on his own hook. He met her down by the Polk street depot, and the moment he spotted her he walked right up close to her and covered her with two six-shooters. "You've got $150 of my money, now shell out nigger," he said. "Go and get a warrant and have me arrested then," replied the big colored woman, who wanted time to plant the coin. "These are good enough warrants for me," returned the cowboy significantly, as he poked the revolvers a trifle closer to her face. "Now, I'm going to count twenty, and if I don't see my money coming back before I reach twenty, I'll go with both guns." "When he reached eighteen, E. weakened. She drew out a wad and held it out toward him. But the cowboy was wise and would not touch the roll till she had walked to the nearest lamplight under the escort of his two guns and counted out the $150. Then he let her go and came back to the station and treated." Conductors of street cars are often the victims of the hold up men. Here in Chicago they invented the plan of placing the saloonkeeper in the ice chest, while the looting of the place went on. In another instance a baker was imprisoned in a hot oven. Women in their homes are thrust into closets, gagged and bound, while their houses are ransacked and their property stolen. The want of an energetic police is the cause of the prevalence of such abominable offenses as hair clipping, or the severing from the heads of young girls upon the public streets their braids of hair. One of these perverts was arrested and excused himself upon the ground that it was a mania with him, and that the temptation to cut off the braids of hair from every young girl he met, was almost irresistible. If detectives, instead of lounging around their daily haunts for drinking purposes, loafing in cigar stores, and playing the pool rooms, were mingling with the crowds upon the streets, offenses of this character would be nearly impossible, although this particular weakness seems to lead its impulsive perpetrators to less crowded thoroughfares, and selects the hours of going to and returning from school, as the most favorable parts of the day for its gratification. It may be prompted by a morbid desire, but it is none the less a serious offense, which, as yet, the criminal law has not defined, and has therefore not provided a proper penalty for its punishment. No evidence, so far as it is known, has yet been adduced to show that the braids of hair are ever sold to dealers in that article, such as wig manufacturers, etc. If such evidence should be forthcoming, the ingenuity of the average criminal for the discovery of new methods of despoliation will receive additional confirmation. One peculiar method of protection to the criminal classes is in vogue. A new thief arrives in the city; his arrival is noticed by a detective and the fact reported to headquarters. The thief is invited to visit the Chief. Upon his appearance, permission is given him to remain, provided he "does not work his game" within the city. He can plunder all the neighboring towns he may select, but the price of his remaining in security in Chicago is, that he shall be good and gentlemanly to its people. The "Safe Blowers' Union" has its home in Chicago, from which it radiates, as the spokes of a wheel, to the circumference of its limit of operations. It is a trust; a protective association. It pays for the privilege. It attacks the country bank, blows it, in the silence of the night, to pieces with dynamite if necessary, and murders if interfered with. It returns with its loot to the city, makes its dividends among its membership, police included, and awaits the pressing necessity for a renewal of its suburban raids. It is under the king's mighty shield, the king of the criminals, over whom he reigns with leniency, and whose gifts he accepts with condescension. The fakes of a great city are beyond enumeration. There are fake information bureaus, fake advisory brokers, fake safe systems of speculation, fake music teachers, fake medical colleges, fake law schools, fake lawyers, fake "Old Charters for Sale," fake corporations, fake relief and aid societies, fake preachers and fake detective agencies. The latter, and the street fakers, are friendly with the police. So are the fruit vendors, and the all night lunch counters on wheels. The latter stand where the officers say they shall stand, and the location once found, the officers at once become landlords. As to private detective agencies, without reference to agencies of an established local and national reputation, they are principally constituted of thieves, pickpockets, blackmailers, and porch climbers. In the trial of a case before the Criminal Court of Cook County, a few months ago, a witness acquainted with their inside history, swore that there were men connected with these fake organizations who would commit murder for $50. They enter into conspiracies to ruin the private character of men and women in divorce cases, and for blackmailing purposes. Three of these hounds were lately convicted of conspiracy in less than one hour, by a jury in the same court. These three worthies comprised the entire agency. Their punishment was fixed at imprisonment in the penitentiary. They were employed in getting revenge on a man, who was supposed, by their employer, to have been the cause of his discharge from his commercial position. In getting this revenge they fell upon their shadow, pummelled him with great severity, and badly injured him. So grievous was the offense, that the State's Attorney demand no less a punishment than the jury awarded. They manufacture testimony in divorce proceedings, at the suggestion and upon the request of the parties willing and desirous of cutting the matrimonial tie; or, upon the instigation of one of the parties, they will endeavor to entrap and compromise the other. They revel in the destruction of the character of a good woman, as the vulture revels in the foulness of a carrion. The man of wealth must be on his guard against their attacks, for they would as lief magnify his peccadillos into felonious crimes and attempt his plunder by blackmail, as they would accept the earnings of the Mistresses Overdone, the exhausted bawds, whose pimps they are. Theirs is only another but a more vicious form of depravity than that practiced by the panel house keepers, who send their single workers upon the streets to entice men to their abodes, where they are met by the expert workers of the game. While thus entrapped, and indulging in the sensuality which aids so readily in his allurement, the adroit "creeper" enters the room through a movable panel, or by some other prearranged method of ingress, and takes the watch, the coin, or "any other old thing" of value, found about the removed and scattered clothing of the greenhorn. The police are as well acquainted with these "single workers" as they are with the street walkers. They know their haunts, and their fields of labor. The hotels, and places where crowds are gathered in the early evening, attract the "single workers" as the most promising ground for a successful capture. "Badger games" are not infrequently played in Chicago. Such as are successful are generally kept from the police records, through the preference of the blackmailed subjects to say nothing about them, in dread of their personal exposure. A man, generally one of means and standing, is marked for conquest. The first class hotel is the scene of operations of the female in the case. Fashionably dressed, handsome, with jewels for adornment, she strikes up a flirtation with the selected person. Fool like, as most men are in the case of handsome and well gowned women, he responds to the invitation, an acquaintance is formed and an assignation made. The place is of the woman's selection and known of course to her paramour, styled her husband. The room is entered, compromising situations reached, when, suddenly, the indignant husband appears, the woman screams in terror, and a storm rages. It is calmed by the payment of the price demanded for concealment, and the "sucker" escapes with a load removed from both his pocketbook and his mind. A noted instance of this kind happened to a wealthy and prominent merchant, whose indiscretions in the acceptance of inducements for sexual enjoyment held out to him by a stylish and beautiful woman, and his blindness in not observing his surroundings, enabled the fake husband to photograph him in _flagrante delicto_. Under threats to distribute the pictures it is reported he paid $10,000 for them and the negative. This is a fact easily susceptible of proof. One at least of these proofs did not accompany the package he received, which was supposed to contain all of the pictures. Photographing from the nude is not the fad of the harlot alone. Women infatuated with their shapes begin with the exposure of a beautiful foot, arm or well rounded bust, then a leg, etc., etc., until they stand before the camera almost in _puris naturalibus_. These pictures are taken for pure self admiration, the love of self study and comparison with the forms of celebrated actresses, or the paintings of the masters, famous in art for their conceptions of the perfect woman. They differ from those obscene pictures designed for sale, for which purpose the depraved couple are photographed in situations, attitudes and conditions, natural and unnatural, which appeal to the grossest instincts in man, and shock, also, the moral sense of every one not in himself a sexual pervert. The latter are eagerly sought after, are quite salable, and are carried about the persons of fast young men about town, with intent, upon opportunity, to influence the passions of women. They are the solace of the aged sport, who, having lost all recollection of the ordinary affairs of his youth, still fondly retains the memory of the amours of his younger days, and of the orgies of his middle age. Then recalling with sadness the first appearance of the lamentable indications of his decline, he contentedly yields the passing of his power--"sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." These are the men, who, if they had lived in the early days of the Roman Empire at or about the date of the Floralian games, would have been the principal patrons, or, if at the time of the prevalence of the Bacchanalian mysteries, the prominent members, of societies organized for the purpose of gratifying unnatural desires; or if they had been Romans in the declining days of that empire would have figured as the most frantic and most lustful of the worshippers of Priapus. The methods of the vendors of obscene literature are innumerable, and all are formed along the lines of extreme caution and cunning. They are keen judges of human nature, quick to detect the inquisitive stranger, or the sporting gent of the town, and adroit in introducing their filthy stock. The purchaser is more than liable to be swindled in the deal, as the fakir requires immediate concealment of the purchase, which, when examined by the vendee in the quiet of his own room often turns out to be a harmless work resembling only in the binding the supposed purchase. The confidence men, who invite the incoming visitor to view the scene of the great explosion on the lake front, and suggest trips to other places where startling events have not occurred, discover, by skillful questioning, the weaknesses of their dupe. They arouse his innate, but dormant, wish to take a chance at some game that seems to him certain of a rich return. He is easily induced to play and allowed to win a small stake, merely to excite greater interest and establish the conviction that he can "beat the game." Naturally he plunges ahead, until the moment comes, set by his trappers, when he is cheated, robbed and goes "flat broke." The dupe may, or may not, report his loss to the police. If he does, and it happens to be one of consequence, detectives may be detailed to search for the swindlers; but if the loss is small in amount, however important to the loser, the dupe is more likely to be laughed at than aided by the officers of the law. To this class belong cabmen who rob drunken men, and "divvy" with the police; commission houses, which secure consignments of goods for sale by false representations; grocery grafters, who solicit throughout the country orders for groceries, claiming to represent wholesale houses, ship an inferior grade and collect C. O. D. at the prices charged for the superior grade; Board of Trade sharks, who "welch" their clients' money by charging up fictitious losses, when the figures will not appear to lie; the false claimants for personal injuries alleged to have been caused through the negligence of wealthy corporations, such as street car lines, manufacturing companies and rolling mills, or by the city, from defective sidewalks, unguarded street excavations, etc., etc.; bakers who sell unlabeled and underweight bread; the gold brick and gold filings sharper; the electric and mining stock swindler, and the advertiser seeking a governess to accompany himself and family abroad. These men have "irresistible tendencies" to work their several games. They cannot help it, they say. Like kleptomaniacs, or "Jack the Hair Clipper," they are impelled by nature to the commission of their crimes. In their own judgment they ought not to be punished, because they are the victims of defective brains. But they are just as cunning as the hair clipper, just as conscious that they are law breakers as he was when he mailed to the Chief of Police in his own words the following note, enclosing some of the braids of hair he had clipped from the head of a young girl, viz: "A clue for J. K.'s cheap skates. Will send more when I get cheap stuff like this. Jack." Of this same class are men who conduct "diploma mills" and make doctors, especially in one day. They sell their parchments as freely as a saloonkeeper does his beer, and then claim that because a college confers distinctive degrees upon men of prominence, without a course of study and examination, they are justified in launching doctors by the score upon unsuspecting communities, "without study and examination," to discredit the medical profession, and send men, women and children to premature graves. Like McTeague, who acquired his knowledge of dentistry from the seven volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist," they obtain their knowledge of diseases from quack publications, newspapers and magazine articles. They use nothing but "the purest of the earth's productions in their treatment, and no minerals or poisonous materials of any kind are ever permitted to enter your system." Their prices range from "one dollar up." "A positive guarantee is given in every case treated, so you have nothing to risk in any way. Your money back on demand if not satisfied." They can wash kidneys so clean, that if you are a woman and have not extended your arms in years, after taking the first box of kidney pills you "can raise them, and twist your hair," and after the second, "dress yourself, perform your household duties," and "life will again take on a bright hue" for you. Bald heads respond to the "remarkable effects" of their discoveries, with joyful alacrity. Gray hair goes into hiding, and "thick and lustrous eyebrows and eye lashes" blossom forth on one application, as lilac bushes do in the spring time at the first touch of the warmth of the sun's rays. Their remedies are "no longer experiments, they are medical certainties." They "create solid flesh, muscles and strength, clear the brain, and make the blood pure and rich." For humanity's sake, distinguished Mayors, ex-Mayors, city treasurers, scholars, soldiers, ex-state senators and senators, representatives, lawyers and judges, lend their beaming countenances, when fully restored to health, for the uses of these quacks, until the daily press has become a portrait gallery of rebuilt and revitalized men, who, if disease had the clutch upon them they so felicitously describe--in the stereotyped words of the quack--ought to have been dead, buried and mourned long ago. These distinguished men in American life, are merely selling their faces for promotion purposes, much as the titled Englishman sells his title. Of all the sources of police graft, in addition to pool rooms and policy shops, gambling is the most prolific. There are in Chicago over 7,000 saloons and nearly 2,000 cigar stores. The number of gambling houses proper is unknown, but the list swells into the hundreds. The saloon and cigar stores have as a general rule a gambling annex. Gambling houses proper, as known some years ago, have no longer the permanency they then had. Roulette and faro, especially, are sleeping, and awaken only at infrequent intervals. The negro game of craps, and the national game of poker, particularly stud poker, have become the substitutes for the wheel and the lay out. In two-thirds of the saloons and cigar stores poker and stud poker are played, and in many of the saloons, especially the all night variety, the crap table is part of the necessary equipment. It is estimated that poker games are in progress in over eight thousand of the saloons, cigar stores, barber shops and bakeries, every night, while gambling houses with the roulette and faro barred, add over one thousand to the number. Craps are shot even at the doors of some of the theaters. All this is known to the police, tolerated by the police, and taxed by the police. Take the average cigar store for illustration. In the rear are rooms neatly fitted up and supplied with three or more poker tables. The rake off to the house goes on just as in the regularly equipped gambling house. The games are played by men of all classes in life below the society men and men of wealth, who get their amusement at the club. The clubs all forbid poker, but the tabooing order is "more honored in its breach than its observance." In the cigar stores and saloons, workingmen, artisans, clerks, and the loafing skin gambler, participate in the game. The latter is quickly spotted, and placed under the ban. The proprietor requires the games to be square, in so far as he can control them. The losses of the cigar store players are more severe upon them than are those of the gamblers who play for higher stakes. The wages of the workingman, clerks and artisans are their only gambling capital. They have no bank accounts to draw upon. The home suffers; wife and children are the indirect victims. Theirs is a cash game. When wages are exhausted, the unearned wage is mortgaged to the loan "sharks." These greedy and heartless wretches lure the clerk earning a fair salary to borrow from them at reasonable rates, and upon a "strictly confidential" basis. The employer is not to know of the transaction. The clerk is soon in the shark's strong jaws. He must pay what is demanded, or the employer, the rules of whose establishment forbid dealings with the "shark," will be made aware of the violation of his rules, and the clerk's embarrassment commences. Rather than risk discharge from his position, and to escape from the "shark" jaws, the frightened clerk pays in monthly installments double the amount of his loan, plus a sum for a fee to an attorney who was never retained. All this is so much blood money, flowing from the wounds made by the "shark's" sharp teeth. The minor is not prevented in the cigar store joints from gaming any more than he is prevented from drinking at the saloon bar. Nightly, over this vast city, young men are succumbing to the terrible fascination of gaming. Nightly, temptations, almost irresistible, are preying upon their minds. The honesty of their intentions is gradually undermined, and almost before they awaken to a realization of the truth, they have committed some theft and commenced a downward career. Men who filled high positions of trust and earned large salaries are today inmates of the state penitentiary, led away by the fascination and excitement of the gaming table. The evils of gambling, the intensity of the love of the average man for indulgence in its exhilaration, the wide spread use of it in the home, the club, the stag parties, and so on down to the lowest joints in the slums, have been the themes of every writer who attempts to depict the daily life of great cities. It exists in the form of prizes in progressive euchre parties, in social gatherings, in the raffles of the church fairs, the voting for the most popular man or woman, as city or county stenographer, popular firemen or policemen; in guessing contests in the solution of puzzles; or wherever the element of chance enters into the affairs of life, from which amusement is sought to be drawn. Whether it is a wheat deal on the board of trade in which millions are involved, or the cast of the dice by newsboys and boot blacks in the alleys and upon the sidewalks of the city, the controlling passion is there--the passion for gain at the whim of chance. Judgment may prompt the wheat deal, but unless judgment promises large profits the incentive to engage in the manipulation of the markets is absent. The possible toil and mental worry is overlooked in the hope of great gain without correspondingly prolonged labor. Millions fly away in great gambling speculations as easily and as swiftly as the penny of the newsboy takes its flight from one to the other of the inveterate little gamblers, to be found among these sharp witted waifs of the street. It goes on in billiard halls, where "hap hazard" is openly played; at saloon bars where the loser at dice "pays for the drinks." It is to be seen in beer halls, summer gardens, among well dressed people who carry the dice with them, of the usual size, or smaller, with fancy box-guard, and who "shake" for the drinks and dinners, not so much as a matter of gambling, as for the zest it gives to their party, or their outing. It controls political picnics in the fakers' attractions that follow them, and in the prizes offered to the winner, of boys' and girls', women and fat men's, races, or for which artistic cake walkers and ragtime dancers compete. Civil and criminal trials are even chosen as events upon which to place a wager. The frequency of elections, the daily horse racing contests throughout the world, base ball games in season, prize fights between professionals, club athletic contests, policy shops with their daily drawings, and lotteries, all arouse the cupidity of the seeker after quick gains without physical labor. "Bet you five" settles many a mathematical, historical, political or economic proposition, contrary to the truth. Races, accompanied by the usual retinue of book makers, are conducted by a wealthy club, many of whose members are leaders in civic bodies formed for the betterment of local government, and consequently for the suppression of vice. Grand juries report month after month their inability to obtain the co-operation of the police in gathering evidence against gamblers and landlords whereon to found indictments. Each grand jury when empanelled hears from the bench the monotonous song "Gentlemen, bucket shops exist, investigate them," together with such musical accompaniment, as may be added by the judge, in the way of moralizing upon their wickedness. Fashionable women have their down town clubs. There they meet, smoke cigarettes, take their drinks from the sideboard "just like men," gamble for excitement, lose their pin-money and diamonds with the abandon of a virgin, "willing to be rid of her name." The vice and fascination of gambling are so well known and understood by great merchants that they employ a corps of detectives to keep watch over their confidential employes, whose movements are the subject matter of daily reports to their employers. The bond companies, which insure the honesty of clerks and managers entrusted with the handling of money, receive from their spotters the earliest reports of the actions of employes indicative of living beyond the yearly salary paid them by the houses with which they are connected. Gambling, although condemned by all moralists as a degrading vice, is recognized by some as aiding the development of certain qualities of immeasurable service in the intensity of the struggle for business existence prevailing in the aggressive commercialism of this age. Lecky asserts: "Even the gambling table fosters among its more skillful votaries a kind of moral nerve, a capacity for bearing losses with calmness, and controlling the force of the desires, which is scarcely exhibited in equal perfection in any other sphere." Whatever may be the meaning of the phrase "controlling the force of the desires," it is certain that among the young men of today, in all classes of society, the desires for intoxicants and sensuality are past control when associated with gambling. In its most seductive forms its principal aids are the gilded saloon, and the harlot's enslaving smile. The necessity for means with which to gratify aroused passion in both respects, comes through contact with the gaming table; hence, the houses of ill repute, assignation houses and the innocent looking "Hotel" nestling in the middle of the down town business blocks, are the direct allies of the gambling hells in the development of crime--in adding to, rather than in "controlling" the force of the desires. "Sensuality," said a distinguished writer, "is the vice of young men and of old nations." Another, tracing the effects of gaming on human passions, wisely observes, "the habit of gambling is very often allied with, and is even an incentive to, the practice of other vices, whose darkness is beyond dispute. The ordinary aspect of a return from a race meeting will fully confirm this. There we find that drunkenness, licentiousness and gambling go hand in hand, a well assorted trio whose ministry to separate passions is not inconsistent but consistent with mutual incitement and co-operation in the destruction of the honor and purity and strength of men." While gambling is not now conducted "openly," a word which has reference only to the maintenance of down town establishments in which faro and roulette were formerly played, it is conducted under police protection all over this city in forms more inviting, more disastrous to the embryotic gamblers who patronize it, than if the large establishments were in full operation as of yore. The latter could not invite the younger class of gamblers to enter the play, because of their lack of capital; the smaller, widely scattered, and police guarded, cigar store and saloon games, accept smaller sums of money, parts of a dollar, for a stack of poker chips, from the anxious entrant to the game. Prior to the last election a leading evening newspaper accused the city executive with farming out the slum district to two aldermen of unsavory reputation, with leave to them to extort money from gaming houses, high and low, within its limits, for their personal benefit, in consideration of their opposing, in the council, the passage of ordinances relating to the extension of street car privileges. Its condemnation of this bargain was severe, and yet, later on, it was the most persistent of that executive's supporters for re-election. The coon gamblers, thieves, thugs and pimps were all on the staffs of these aldermen. They followed these worthies into the campaign, under the leadership of the eminently respectable newspaper referred to. Inspired by such leadership "Spreader," "Sawed Off," "The Cuckoo," "Book Agent," "Deacon," "Grab All," "Duck," "Shoestring," "Scalper," "Humpty," "Hungry Sid," "Seedy," "Talky," "Whiskers," "Noisy," "Fig," "Old Hoss," "Slick," "Ruby," "Sunday School," and "Mushmouth," captains in the corps of sports felt themselves respectable, led their followers from the barrel and lodging houses with a rush to the polls, and achieved a startling victory. Over all this horrible saturnalia of vice, the colors of the police force float in token of protection. The brave men of that force, morally degraded by the obedience they are compelled to yield to unworthy superiors want merely the opportunity to perform their full duty, not only as patrolmen but as patriotic American citizens. The time when they will be permitted to do so seems far distant, unless an aroused public opinion shall speedily pronounce against the further continuation of a policy of protection to crime and debauchery supported by the men chosen to war unceasingly with both. The dens of the sexual pervert of the male sex, found in the basements of buildings in the most crowded, but least respectable parts of certain streets, with immoral theaters, cheap museums, opium joints and vile concert saloons surrounding them, are the blackest holes of iniquity that ever existed in any country since the dawn of history. A phrase was recently coined in New York which conveys--in the absence of the possibility of describing them in decent language--the meaning of the brute practices indulged in these damnable resorts, and the terrible consequences to humanity as a result of unnatural habits--"Paresis Halls." No form of this indulgence described by writers on the history of morals, no species of sodomy the debased minds of these devils can devise, is missing from the programme of their diabolical orgies. In divine history we read of the abominations of the strange women of Israel, with their male companions, in their worship of Moloch, Belphegor and Baal, and of the death penalties pronounced by Moses against the participants in them. To suppress the brutish immorality, and prevent the spread of disease arising from it, the Jewish law giver put to death all his Midianite female captives except the virgins. Profane history tells of the infamies of the Babylonian banquets, of the incestuous and "promiscuous combats of sensuality" of the Lydians and the Persians; of the Athenian Auletrides, or female flute players, who danced and furnished music at the banquets of the nobility and wallowed in the filth of every sensual indecency, and of the polluted condition of Roman life, prior to, and as the Christian era dawned, but in all the untranslatable literature of eroticism no description of the debaucheries of the ancients, if freely interpreted into English from the dead languages in which they are preserved, could depict the nastiness these yahoos are reported as having introduced into our midst, and rendered more hateful and disgusting by the squalor of their underground abodes. The young are lured by them, ruined in health and seared in conscience. The very slang of the streets is surcharged with expressions, derived from, and directly traceable to, the names of these unmentionable acts of lechery. Not content with the private and crafty pursuit of their calling, they must flaunt it in the faces of the public and under the very eyes of the police, in a series of annual balls held by the "fruits" and the "cabmen," advertised by placards extensively all over the city. At these disreputable gatherings the pervert of the male persuasion displays his habits by aping everything feminine. In speech, walk, dress and adornment they are to all appearances women. The modern mysteries of the toilet, used to build up and round out the female figure, are applied in the make-up of the male pervert. Viewed from the galleries, it is impossible to distinguish them from the sex they are imitating. Theirs is no maid-marian costume; it is strictly in the line of the prevailing styles among fashionable women, from female hair to pinched feet. The convenient bar supplies the liquid excitement, and when the women arrivals from the bagnios swarm into the hall, led in many instances by the landlady, white or black, and the streets and saloons have contributed their quotas, the dance begins and holds on until the morning hours approach. The acts are those mainly suggestive of indecency. Nothing, except the gross language and easy familiarity in deportment, coupled with the assumed falsetto voice and effeminate manners of the pervert, would reveal to the uninformed observer what a seething mass of human corruption he is witnessing. As the "encyclopedia of the art of making up" puts it, "the exposed parts of the human anatomy" usually displayed in fashionable society are counterfeited so perfectly, the wigs are selected and arranged with such nicety, the eyebrows and lashes so dexterously treated, and the features so artistically touched with cosmetics, as to make it very difficult, at first glance, to distinguish between the impostor and the real woman. The big hands and tawdry dresses, the large though pinched feet and the burly ankle, betray the sex of the imitating pervert. No reason, except that the police are paid for non-interference with these vice pitted revels, can be given for their toleration. The city's officials are either in collusion with their projectors, they are incompetent, or are the willing tools of these stinking body scavengers. These beasts look with disdain upon the votaries of natural pleasures, and have an insane pride in their hopeless degradation. The opium joints are closely related sources of iniquity to the pervert's haunts. Under one of the worst of the all night saloons, conducted by a politician of the first ward, who belongs to the party of the Bath House and Hinky Dink, and who "touched" the Hon. Richard Croker of New York for a small loan, the largest of these execrable cellars is protected. It is but a step from the wine rooms of the saloon to the solace of the pipe. The depraved of both sexes in those moments when despair seizes them, when some recollection of childhood, or of home, arouses in them the dormant good still remaining in their hearts, when, as they look into the future, they can discern no ray of hope, but are appalled at the frightful end which must be theirs, shut out the horrors of their situation in life by seeking a paradise built upon "the baseless fabric of a vision." In this joint, since reference to it was written, a man died from the effects of smoking the pipe. The woman who accompanied him, the bartender and the keeper of the joint were placed under arrest. The police expressed amazement at the revelation of the existence of the joint, as did the proprietor of the saloon. It was, of course, closed, and a number of other like resorts were then raided. Press comments upon this death appeared as follows: "In spite of the fact that there are plenty of laws against them, opium dens and objectionable grogshops are among the hardest things in the world to exterminate. The only reasonable explanation for this is that their proprietors must have influence with officers who are employed by the people to execute the laws. 'The police close these places,' said an officer despairingly, referring to dens like that in which the man Adams died Sunday night, 'but they spring up again in a day.' "The police seem to be downcast over it. Yet the causes of the 'springing up' are as plain as the nose on one's face, and the means of removing them as evident as one's hand. "Access to the den in which Adams died was had through the delectable O. saloon, operated by S. V. P., and the den itself was rented by V. P. The levee statesman says he had no idea his basement was used for an opium den. He thought the procession of drunken and dazed men and women who tottered through his saloon and went down his basement stairs all night were going for their laundry. "V. P.'s statement is entitled to as much consideration as the guileless protestations of the gentleman who is caught with the chicken under his coat. V. P. is responsible for the opium den and as soon as the law lays a hand, in earnest, on the landlord the opium dens will cease 'springing up.' "The police knew that an opium den was running in V. P.'s basement. They had been amply warned of it. If they had raided the place a few times and sent the proprietor and inmates to the bridewell it would have stayed closed. "There is a little virtue in sticking to one's native vices. Western races come honestly by drunkenness and gambling. But why tolerate the deliberate importation and cultivation of this strange oriental bestiality? This ingrafted vice must make its own soil. Why should the police treat it so leniently? A hundred-dollar fine for every person found in an opium joint and a modicum of police activity, with the demanding of a strict account from the guilty landlord, will quickly put a damper on the opium dens. Every month that they are tolerated they get a firmer root." These resorts are patronized by others than the fallen women and the criminal classes. Like slumming, it is a fad "to hit the pipe just once" by some adventure seeking people in other walks of life. The habit of opium smoking is easily acquired, and, when acquired, the smoker becomes a slave to its use. There are between two and three hundred of these smoking rooms in Chicago. The number of persons addicted to smoking opium cannot be stated with accuracy. Estimates vary from ten to twenty thousand, the number probably lies between these two estimates. In the Chinese quarters the penetrating odor of opium smoke is plainly perceptible and is thrown off from the garments of passing Chinamen, or is detected as one enters a restaurant or laundry presided over by the oriental. The "dope" soon affects the complexion, and the features wear a dejected appearance. The movements of the victims are listless, almost lifeless. In the saloon referred to, a constant procession of men and women, old and young, come and go up and down the stairway to the region below. It is not guarded with any degree of care, because it is protected from the law's aggression, except occasionally, when by way of diversion it is pulled. Then its patrons get a quiet tip to keep away, consequently few occupants are found. The old pipes and a small quantity of the dope are graciously permitted to be borne away in triumph by the officers. New supplies are provided, and the baleful business resumes its accustomed routine. CHAPTER V. COMMON COUNCIL--BOODLERS--BRIBERS--COUNCIL OF 1899--POWERS OF--MISUSE OF--PRICE OF VOTES--PASSAGE OF BOODLE ORDINANCES--PUBLIC WORKS DEPARTMENT AND BUREAUS--ILLEGAL CONTRACTS--STREET REPAIRING, ETC.--CIVIL SERVICE COMMISSION--HISTORY OF--PRESENT BOARD TOOLS OF MAYOR--EXAMINATION BY--EXAMPLES OF--ATTACKS UPON LAW--SPECIAL ASSESSMENTS--ASPHALT RING--FIRE DEPARTMENT--COUNTY GOVERNMENT--INSANE ASYLUM--SALE OF "CADAVERS"--CONTRACTS--SHERIFF'S OFFICE--JURY BRIBERS--JUDGES--REVENUE LAW--TAX DODGERS--TOWN BOARDS--CORONER'S OFFICE--PRESS TRUST--CIVIC SOCIETIES--BERRY COMMITTEE'S REPORT--BAXTER COMMITTEE--OPENING TESTIMONY--CONCLUSION. For a generation the Common Council of Chicago has been governed by a majority of "boodlers." Aldermen have been, in that period, fairly representative of the wards by which they were elected. The various nationalities, clustered together in such a manner as to give rise to the naming of a ward according to the nativity of its inhabitants, such as Polish, Swedish, Bohemian, German, Irish, etc., have selected as their representatives in the Council, men who, as a rule, in private life were honest. Their selection was usually upon strictly party grounds. The "independent" voter, in municipal elections, is a growth of quite recent years. The class appears to be increasing with great rapidity and to be finding a means of concentrating its strength at the polls. As honest as an alderman may be when he first takes his seat, he soon finds himself surrounded by influences which appear to exert a fascinating power over him. He must elect to be for or against the gang. Prior to the allowance of a yearly salary the temptation to join the gang was heightened by the promising returns, in a pecuniary way, which the gang could almost guarantee the incoming member. An alderman "once prepossessed is half seduced" and, since it is almost axiomatic that the total seduction of a prepossessed alderman is a mere matter of time and opportunity, the fall always comes when some high spirited, progressive, and perhaps, God-professing citizen, offers from his purse a goodly compensation to the gang for the grant of some public privilege. Thus the public privilege is seized upon by the aldermanic gang as a private privilege which it disposes of to the broad-clothed briber at a price satisfactory to its members. The bribers are found in that sanctified element of the community which attends church under the pretext of fearing and worshipping God. "But yet, O Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust; An' sometimes, too, wi' worldly trust Vile self gets in! But thou rememb'rest we are dust, Defil'd in sin." On secular days, its leaders, the accomplished, in thieves' parlance, the "slick" bribers, whisper their temptations into the ears of public servants willing to become their private tools, like the devil in the garden of Eden, "who squat like a toad close to the ear of Eve." The "gang" spots its man with remarkable foresight, and year after year its power to manage public affairs to its own private advantage has become more and more felt by the public. For the first time in a generation, in this year 1899, it is believed an honest majority is in control of the council. The pleasurable fact is that the majority was elected upon a non-partisan basis, the recommendations of a civic body, as to the honesty and capacity of the candidates in the several wards, having been acted upon by the voters in preference to those of party nominating conventions. It is, however, too early to predict a new era in the history of the council. "All signs fail in dry weather," and at this moment there are no indications of an approaching shower of "boodle." The street car franchise question is drowsy and will not be awakened until the corporations controlling the lines are ready to do so. That they will not do so until some legislation is enacted in 1901, is too apparent to require an effort to prove. For one year at least there is a majority in the council which will, it is hoped, protect public rights; and it is also hoped that in 1900 this majority will not only be retained, but also greatly augmented. Projects may be hidden which in the near, or not distant, future, will come forth to plague the consciences of a number of newly admitted members and put their integrity to the severest of tests. The power of the Common Council, as confided to it by legislation, over the affairs of two millions of people, is too immense to be wielded by a single ordinance making body. Under our form of municipal government it controls the finances and the property of the city, regulates licenses to sell liquor and to carry on various classes of business, such as auctioneers, distillers, grocers, lumber yards, livery stables, money changers, brokers, junk stores, billiard, bagatelle and pigeon-hole tables, pin alleys, ball alleys, hackmen, draymen, omnibus drivers, carters, cabmen, porters, expressmen, hawkers, peddlers, pawnbrokers, theatres, shows and amusements, and many other classes of occupations. Its power over the uses to which the streets may be applied is, in one sense, limited; in another almost unlimited. While limited by the charter to the power to lay them out, open, widen and improve them, prevent encroachments and obstructions thereon, lighting and cleansing them, its power to regulate them is almost unlimited. "To regulate" the use of the streets is a broad power, and while several distinct grants of power of regulation are contained in the statute, such as preventing the throwing of ashes and garbage upon them, their use for signs, sign posts, awnings, etc., the carrying of banners, placards, advertisements, etc., therein, the flying of flags, banners or signs across them from house to house, or traffic and sales upon them, nevertheless, the uses to which they may be applied in the way of business enterprises for advertising purposes, are as numerous and as varied as the minds of the originators of the schemes are original and unique. For the right to use, therefore, in a given way in a given ward, the "gang" alderman long ago established and still maintains a schedule of rates. They are graduated from the insignificant charge for permission to "string a banner," or establish a fruit stand, up to the highly respectable "rake off" demanded for the use of them for switch tracks, or street railway purposes. It is not so many years ago that a leading morning newspaper furnished the public with some information on this subject, upon the occasion of the passage of an ordinance granting valuable privileges to a railway corporation. Four members of the council, not the "Big Four" of olden times, but the modern "Big Four" leaders of "de gang," were said to have received for their manipulation of the ordinance, and the organization of their followers for its support, the quite comfortable sum of $25,000 each. Their supporters were to receive $8,000 each for their votes, while the "go between" received $100,000 and a few city lots. The standard price per vote for valuable franchises is $5,000, yet in a pinch of private necessity, a few votes can be commanded at lower figures. The contingency of a possible veto is provided for, so that in that event one-fourth must be added for the second vote to pass the measure over the veto. Thus it has gone on not only with respect to street railway grants, but also for electric lighting, telephone conduits, gas pipes, private telephone wires and that long list of uses devised by business men for the advertisement of their personal interests. The peanut stand privilege, the fruit stand privilege, the bootblack privilege, the banner privilege, all pay cash to some "gang" alderman, as do the policy rooms, pool rooms and saloons with wine room privileges. It is an amusing, as well as an instructive sight, to witness a meeting of the council upon an occasion when some well announced "boodle" ordinance is called up for passage. The plan of campaign has all been arranged beforehand, and the floor leader selected to command the movement. Let it be an ordinance for granting the right to a street railway company to lay down its tracks, and operate its line, in a given street. The preliminaries have all been gone through with, the signatures of property owners verified, and the price to be paid for favorable votes agreed upon. When the ordinance is taken up its opponents are generally in a disorganized condition. There is among them, as a general rule, no coherence of opposition. The main object to be attained, viz., the defeat of the ordinance as it is presented, is lost sight of in the effort "to make records" by the introduction of amendments, reflecting some individual idea of the member who offers it, without having submitted it to his associate opponents for their judgment. Consequently they disagree among themselves and fall to fighting each other, thereby weakening their opposition. Meanwhile the "gang" sits smilingly by, under instructions to vote down all amendments. When one is offered, of comparative unimportance, the quick-witted lobbyists of the corporations, Jew and Gentile, convey a tip to the leader of the "gang" that the amendment "is all right," "quite agreeable," "will be accepted," etc., whereupon the gang's leader obligingly informs the chair that it is his profound belief the amendment is a very proper one, and it is graciously accepted. The opposition having some little encouragement, present other amendments, which are, of course, defeated. Sometimes debate is permitted. If the speeches could be reported verbatim and the words spelled out as pronounced, it would make Mr. Dooley reflect on the style of modern oratory, as presented by the "mimber from Archey Road." The question coming to a vote upon the passage of the ordinance, the roll call begins. From the "Bath House" on the right comes, on the first call, the familiar "Aye." That response is repeated by every member of the gang without explanation, and in a stolid way, indicating contempt for public opinion. The measure is now out of the way. Preparations are made for the next. Settlements have to be made and everybody satisfied before new matters involving "boodle" can be presented. Occasionally there is a loud "kick" by some slow-witted member who fails to secure his full share of the "swag," but he is usually placated in some manner best known to the combination, and business goes on in the old way. The division and distribution of the "boodle" are matters of great secrecy and adroit management. It is forced into the pockets of some, or finds its way into them in mysterious ways. It is discovered under a plate at a restaurant, or under a pillow at bedtime; but it seldom passes into the open hand, held rearwards, as the caricaturist pictures the "boodler." A newspaper thus spoke of the members of the council belonging to the party it represents. "The average ---- representative in the city council is a tramp, if not worse. He represents or claims to represent a political party having respectable principles and leaders of known good character and ability. He comes from twenty-five or thirty different wards, some of them widely separated, and when he reaches the City Hall, whether from the west, the south or the north division, he is nine cases out of ten a bummer and a disreputable who can be bought and sold as hogs are bought and sold at the stockyards. Do these vicious vagabonds stand for the decency and intelligence of the party in Chicago?" This is a picture drawn a few years ago, but it correctly sketches a number of the hold over members of the present council, and a few of the old timers re-elected. The new members of the council, one-half in number, are committed, by their ante-election pledges, to the policy of refusing the grant of privileges to individuals or corporations without compensation to the public. Whatever of benefit the public may derive from this policy, it is not quite clear that it will operate as a preventive of "boodling." The ingenuity of the "boodler" combines the cunning of the sneak thief, with the boldness of the highway robber in devising the ways and means to find and secure his "stuff." It is a matter of congratulation that the boodling species is dwindling away from the public view. How long it will remain in concealment depends upon how long the independent voter wishes to keep it concealed. The department of the city government to which is committed the control of its public improvements consists of a number of bureaus. The Commissioner of Public Works controls, as part of his executive department, the City Engineer, Superintendent of Streets, of Street and Alley Cleaning, of Water, of Sewerage, of Special Assessments and of Maps. When it is considered that this means the care and management of 1,111 miles of improved and 1,464 miles of unimproved streets, 112 miles of improved and 1,235 miles of unimproved alleys, making a total of 3,924 miles of streets and alleys, the letting of contracts for their repair, improvement and cleaning, and all the details of engineering, sewerage and water pipe extension bureaus, involving the expenditure of millions of dollars, the vastness of the public interests entrusted to the Commissioner may be realized. Under every administration the department is assailed for frauds, stuffed pay rolls, favoritism and boodling. The administration now in power (and which has been in power for two years) has not escaped criticism. Powerful as that criticism was, and founded in truth as it was, it apparently did not affect the minds of a majority of the voters. Contracts were let by this administration, in direct violation of the law which provides for a letting to the lowest bidder, after advertising for bids, where the amount is in excess of $500. Yet a political favorite, who was himself at one time spoken of as a probable appointee to the office of Commissioner, but who stepped aside, as it is charged, as the result of a deal, obtained thereby a contract for street repairs amounting to $230,000, which was never advertised for, but let to him privately in such a manner so that the vouchers in payment were drawn in sums less than $500 each. So grossly evasive of the law was this transaction, that it involved the stoppage of payment of the warrants by the Comptroller of the city. A re-measurement of the work was ordered by him. This developed the astonishing fact that, even if the contract had been properly let, there was nevertheless an overcharge, swindling in its nature, to the extent of $60,000. The Comptroller was, therefore, compelled to withhold his sanction to the payment of the vouchers. In some manner, however, they were paid after some slight reductions were made. This was a blow at the sterling integrity of the Comptroller, whose public services in thoroughly reorganizing his office, and placing it on a business basis, and whose devotion to public interests cost him his life, are the only conspicuous acts, free from shame, egotism, or corruption, of an administration to which he loaned the strength of his good name, and upon which he shed the splendor of his ability and personal honor. He will be long remembered as the one oasis in a desert of maladministration. Both in private and in public walks Robert A. Waller lived an honorable life. He died mourned by all who knew him. "His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world: This was a man!" The attempt to let the contract for the use of a tug for service to the cribs, or water intakes, in the lake, was another breach of the law so flagrant, as to attract public attention for a time. Its consummation was prevented by the threat of court proceedings, which, at once, led to the insertion of an advertisement for bids. But here again fraud was attempted. The specifications were so drawn as to call for boats of certain dimensions, exact compliance with which was almost impossible, except to one towing company to which originally the contract was about to be let without a bid. This company's bid was $13,000; the lowest bid was $3,500. Still the city authorities hesitated to award the contract to the lowest bidder, but public opinion, and the known ability of the bidder to fulfill his contract regardless of his boats' dimensions, compelled the letting to him, thereby saving to the city the sum of $9,000. Vouchers about which there was a doubt as to their legality, have been paid to a contractor, who was appointed a brigadier general of volunteers, but who resigned the appointment immediately, it is said, for business reasons, or because he could not be assigned to a pleasing command. These vouchers amounted to $50,000, and their payment, it is rather uncharitably said, induced the gallant contractor to become an independent voter. There is no difference between the manufacture of an independent voter in this manner, and his manufacture by putting him on the pay-roll without work. This method seems to have been adopted by the public works department of the city government, following, perhaps, an old precedent. The purchase of water meters, under specifications with which only one company could comply, and the laying of water pipes without letting contracts in a lawful manner, are notorious instances of unblushing frauds committed by this department. It is almost incredible that a dynamo should be bought in parts, so that it could be purchased from a friend, and paid for in sums less than $500; yet this was done. Thus a piece of machinery having a fixed price as a whole, was not only purchased illegally, but paid for in such a manner that its price, as a whole, was doubled when bought in pieces. So it was with other electrical apparatus; so it was with the protection to fire hydrants. Instead of advertising for bids for the work of shielding the fire hydrants from the severity of the winter's cold, they were divided up into companies like those of a regiment of soldiers, each having its contract commander, who received his pay on vouchers each calling for less than $500. The present commissioner is an old politician, who has held several official positions. It is but just to say of him, that, with the general public, he bears a good reputation. His political enemies are not by any means complimentary in their allusions to him, those particularly in the ranks of his own party. He is energetic, self confident, amiable, and a particularly able bluffer when occasion demands it. Without being profound he is efficient, and without being remarkably efficient, he is not at all valueless. The Civil Service Commission has reached its present age, nearly five years, after suffering all the diseases incident to poor nursing. It is not by any means a vigorous child as yet, but as it gains in strength it will perhaps grow in wisdom. When it recognizes the fact that the people permitted it to be born, it will also recognize the further fact that its parents require of it obedience to their wishes. They demand the enforcement of the Civil Service Law as it is written, for the public good and not for partisan advantage. They would impress upon the commission the conviction of their belief that without a properly administered civil service law, municipal government is a menace to republican institutions; that without it the experiment of municipal ownership of "public utilities" is hazardous, and that the increasing intelligence of the people and their wider knowledge of the science of government have taught them that the political maxim, "to the victors belong the spoils," is a relic of the barbaric days of politics, in which wide open primaries, stuffed ballot boxes, captured polling places, and thugs were the governing elements of elections. The civil service law was placed upon the statute book at the instance of those who had made the study of municipal government a duty, and who from that study realized that the growth of great cities, in population, material wealth and industrial development, demands commensurate changes in the manner of governing such communities. The basic principle of the law is the elimination of the spoils system, and the substitution of the merit system. The banishment of the professional politician, that individual who lives upon the spoils of office, is a result certain of accomplishment under the proper administration of this beneficent statute. Foreseeing this result, the professionals in all parties united against it and have sought, and are still seeking, to undermine its provisions and destroy its utility. The law was put into operation by a board of commissioners not one of whom had ever been an active party man. No body of men ever met for the performance of a public duty, who were less tainted with partisanship than were these gentlemen. They studied the law carefully, and acquainted themselves with its text and its spirit. Their selection was satisfactory to the public, and was a guarantee of honest endeavor to place the affairs of the city under the control of the law's terms, in all the departments to which those terms applied, and which could be brought within the classified service. They formulated adequate rules, after consultation with able men familiar with the workings of the federal civil service law. Open to criticism as some of these rules were as being more theoretical than practical, nevertheless they were built upon the basis of selection by merit alone, regardless of politics, and were adapted solely to that end. For two years it adhered to the law, enforcing against the party to which the majority of the commissioners belonged a rule which required that no person holding an office which fell within the classified service could take an examination for that position without resigning the position. The law continued to work during 1895 and 1896 as smoothly as new machinery can. In the Spring of 1897 a new city administration came into power of a different political complexion from that under which the law was placed in force. It was then found, to the amazement of the public, which, however, in the hurly-burly of life soon subsided, that these commissioners were incompetent. One placed his resignation in the hands of the Mayor and was almost immediately appointed to the office of comptroller by that officer. The efficiency of his service in his new office, and the quality of his character, have already been referred to in these pages. Suddenly the same Mayor addressed the late associates of the Comptroller as follows, viz.: "You will please take notice that I have elected to, and I do hereby remove you from the position of Civil Service Commissioner in and for the City of Chicago for the following causes. First: You are and have been in your performance of the duties of said office incompetent. Secondly: In the performance of said duties you have been guilty of neglect of duty." A new commission was appointed, which proceeded to reverse the rule above referred to, whereupon nearly all the employes of the city were discharged. No examinations having been held for these positions there was no eligible list from which to select their successors. Consequently, in such a case, appointments were made under a section of the statute to fill the vacancies for sixty days, during which time examinations were held to obtain an eligible list. These appointments were, of course, all made from the Mayor's party. He could not do otherwise in view of the public utterances he had made during his campaign, when he said if he retained any employes appointed under a prior administration of a different political belief, "it will only be for menagerie purposes." When the examinations were held and a list certified, it was found that in every instance the sixty day men passed at its head. Such a uniformity of results was in itself evidence of a disregard of the law. From the highest position for which examinations were held, down through all grades, to the lowest, such as barn men, the sixty day man was always marked up to the head of the list. During the years 1897 and 1898, no less than seven different persons were selected as civil service commissioners, until a board was found willing to act upon the Mayor's interpretation of the statute. One instance of the abuse of the law will suffice to show the methods resorted to, for the purpose of selecting a party man to fill a vacancy in office. An examination was held of applicants for the position of "foreman of street lamps repairs." The man who passed at the head was a sixty day man. At thirteen years of age he became a sheet metal worker's apprentice, and with the exception of a short period when he was engaged in keeping a saloon and made a failure of it, he continued to follow that occupation. He is a heeler for one of the most notorious of the aldermanic gang. It will be observed in contrasting the questions asked him, and those asked his superior, an applicant for the office of Superintendent of Street Lamp Repairs, that a lower degree of educational qualifications is required of the Superintendent, that of his subordinate, the foreman of the gang of repairers. These questions were propounded to the foreman, viz.: "If the hypothenuse of a right angle triangle is 35 feet and the base 21 feet, what is the altitude? At 30 cents a square yard what is the cost of lining with metal a cubical room 13 feet long? If it takes eight men five and one half days to make 100 lamps, how long will it take six men to make 350 lamps? A building is 302 feet high; the walk and court measure 90 feet; what is the length of a straight line running from the top of the building to the opposite curb? At 25 cents a square yard what is the cost of a sheet of iron sufficient for the construction of a cylinder pipe closed at both ends 28 feet long, the diameter of whose base is 28 inches? What is the capacity in gallons of a sphere 15 inches in diameter? If 24 gallons of water flow through a 2 inch pipe each minute how many gallons will flow through a 3 inch pipe under the same conditions? What is the length of the diameter of a circle whose area equals 1,386 square yards? Name the materials used in the construction of a street lamp? Name three essential qualifications requisite for a foreman?" A street lamp could not be repaired, as a matter of fact, by a person unable to answer these questions! This truth must be apparent to any unbiased mind! All the other applicants could answer the last two questions only, simply because they were honest; but the metal worker answered them all, and was marked 100, although he had not been at school since he was thirteen years of age, and does not appear to have been much of a student since that time. The Superintendent's examination ran as follows, viz.: "What are the duties of Superintendent of Lamp Repairs? What experience have you had to qualify you for this position? How many lamps should a tinner complete in a day? How many signs should an etcher complete in a day? If a special assessment were levied and confirmed, what would your duty be to secure the erecting and lighting of the lamps? On what part of the city property should those posts be set? If posts were to be erected how would you determine what class of posts would be required? What is the general duty of Superintendent of Lamp Repairs regarding repairs to lamps?" The attacks on the civil service law come from all sources. A party convention in 1898, in its platform said, "We pronounce the Civil Service Law inefficient, mischievous and hostile to the regnant principles of popular government. We demand its repeal." The next convention of the same party resolved: "We pledge the ------party to the strict enforcement of this, the Civil Service Law." The Mayor's consistency and that of his party are identical. If the two removed commissioners were incompetent and neglectful, so must the third have been, and yet that equally incompetent and neglectful commissioner was appointed to an office, the very highest in the gift of the Mayor. Acting upon the demand of his party for the repeal of this law, the Corporation Counsel began his attacks upon it by a multiplicity of opinions calculated to gradually remove it from the statute book. Ordinances were passed in accordance with these opinions, creating new heads of departments and exempting them from the civil service rules. Positions, filled by civil service appointees, were abolished. The same positions were re-created under a new name, filled by a sixty day man who was then examined, and certified to the head of the list. The police department, the city treasurer, and other branches of the local government which have attempted by judicial proceedings to emasculate the civil service law, have in every instance been foiled by the decisions of the Supreme Court. The Special Assessment Bureau of the board of public works, has for many years, in conjunction with the alderman, had the origination and passage of ordinances for paving streets, laying sewers, sidewalks, drains, water supply and service pipes, etc. Under a law recently enacted, and now in force, all ordinances originate with a board, named the Board of Local Improvements. The right of petition on behalf of the property owners, is a feature of the new law which smiles at the property owner, while it "winks the other eye." It holds out a hope, as do other provisions of the law, of reduced assessments, but, so far, the practical benefit to the owner of real estate has not been made apparent. Since the year 1861 and including the year 1897, the enormous sum of $90,402,790.44 has been levied upon real estate for the payment of public improvements. During the year ending December, 1891, the amount levied was over six millions of dollars, and during the following year ending December 31, 1892, just preceding the World's Fair, the assessments reached the sum of over fourteen millions of dollars. Reference has already been made to frauds in the letting of contracts for street improvements. They are split up and let to favorites without advertising, so that each payment will fall under $500, although the improvement may be a mile in length. The asphalt ring is just as potent as ever. It fights every effort of other dealers in asphalt to procure a contract and it generally succeeds in foisting upon the people its quality of asphalt at a higher price than that offered at a lower price, by other bidders, perhaps equally as good in quality and which has been successfully used in other cities. Failing recently to stampede the board, the ring accepted contracts at a figure submitted by its competitors. This, however, is a familiar trick of trusts, and will last for a very short period of time, unless the board manifests a disposition to consider the merits of the material of competing contractors. The ring will not abandon its struggle so easily. It is powerful, uniting in its behalf the combined efforts of politicians of all parties, who are connected with the asphalt corporations as stockholders and officers. The Board of Local Improvements not long since made the announcement that it was preparing to levy special assessments during the coming year to the amount of $10,000,000. The people may weep and protest, while the contractor smiles and urges. The one department of the city government, unsurpassed by any of its kind in the world, is the Fire Department. The officers and men are of the best material, of the highest courage, and serve under the strictest discipline. They are fire fighters, not politicians. Their chief is a man of independence of character, honest, taciturn, a strict disciplinarian--a general in command of a corps of which he is justly proud. He tolerates no political interference with his men. In this respect, particularly, he is, always was, and always will be sustained by the entire community. Any attempted management of the department which would tend to lessen its efficiency meets with the chief's stern resistance. Aside from his own moral and physical courage, his admirable sense of duty, and the fact that the public honor him and support him, he has the powerful assistance of the board of underwriters in any case of damaging intermeddling with his command. Knowing his worth and the merits of his department that intermeddling would bring, instantly, a threat of the rise in insurance rates from this board, a threat which would touch the pockets of many property owners, and consequently one which would solidify them in support of the chief. He shares with his men the dangers of their calling. The gallant men, who during the past year lost their lives in saving the property and lives of others, testified by their sacrifice to the hazardous nature of that calling. A recital of the heroic deeds of those men would not be surpassed by the stories of gallantry in the field of battle with which the pages of American history are replete. While Dennis J. Swenie's strength holds out he will command his famous batallions to his own honor, and to that of the city of which he is so faithful and loyal a citizen. Even the possibility of his being supplanted in his command, which appeared recently in the failure to reappoint him at the first opportunity afforded the Mayor, aroused the people to a united protest, which, indications prove, was timely and effective. The omission to send his name to the council with the first of the Mayor's appointees, may have been, as it was claimed "accidental," but it is nevertheless the belief that that omission was in the nature of a test of public opinion. If so, the power of public opinion retained him in command, despite political purpose to the contrary. With the exception of this department all the others of the city are merely run on political lines, as adjuncts of the political party in power, notwithstanding the civil service law. The abuses of that law may become fewer in number, not through any merit of the present board, but because it has about exhausted itself in filling all the offices with men of one political faith by means already explained. The departments of the County government under a feeble civil service law, different from that applicable to the city, are conducted in the same manner as those of the city for the benefit of machine politicians and their regiments of ward and township workers. They are as corruptly managed as those of the city government. The institutions at Dunning for the insane and the poor, are generally managed by ward politicians, whose appointments are in the nature of a reward for party services, or rather, services to some particular boss. Recent reports of grand juries note some improvement in their conduct. On the whole, however, they are regarded in the nature of spoils by the ring of party loafers, whose views of government consist, mainly, in doing the greatest good to the greatest number of the ring. The traffic in dead bodies, or "cadavers" goes on, as it did when exposure came about a year ago through detected shipments to the State of Missouri for the use of a medical college in one of the towns of that state. These pauper dead "escape," in the language of the employes, from the "killer" ward in which they are stored, a place selected to lay out a corpse suited for the dissecting table. It has been a matter of more than rumor and given currency by the press, that subjects for the dissecting table are selected before the breath has left their bodies. This statement finds more or less verification in the disclosures of the Missouri case before alluded to. Contractors for county supplies pay a percentage of their prices to a county ring, and, consequently, a poorer quality of food, fuel and medicines, is furnished to these institutions than the contracts call for, which cost the contractor an additional sum by way of boodle to obtain them. The sheriff's office has had a standing shame for many years in the cost of dieting prisoners. The county board allows the sheriff for dieting, twenty-five cents a day for each prisoner confined in the county jail. The cost of a day's dieting is estimated not to exceed ten cents, according to the greed of the sheriff. From this one source alone the sheriff's office is regarded as one of the most lucrative offices in the county. The excess above the actual cost is clear profit to the sheriff. Some of the bailiffs of the courts have been discovered within the past year as jury bribers, willing to take any side offering the most lucrative terms. The principal in this disreputable business fled, and now an unseemly quarrel is raging between the city's detective department, and the sheriff's and state attorney's office as to which was to blame for that escape. The judges of the Courts of Cook County are men of integrity. Some are able jurists, but of late years the standard for judicial qualifications has been, through party machine nominations, considerably lowered. These judges are charged by the law with some duties the nature of which is purely political. Thus, the selection of justices of the peace for the city, the poor man's court, is confided to them. No scandals, so far, have attended the exercise of this duty, but their selections have not, as a general rule, earned the confidence of the people. "J. P." means nowadays one who will give judgment for the plaintiff. The evil practices, the frauds and swindles, which have their origin in the system now prevailing for the conduct of justice courts, has given rise to strenuous efforts to reform them by state legislation. This will ultimately be accomplished. While the members from the rural districts, in each recurring state legislature, are difficult to manage, in the one session of their term in the lower house in matters affecting a large city, nevertheless, when fully informed, they have granted such remedial legislation to Chicago for which its civic bodies have made timely application. A new revenue law has just gone into operation, designed to abolish the inequalities of taxation which grew up and were fraudulently fostered under the repealed law. What its effect will be it is difficult to predict. The personal property holders, those with long lines of stocks, bonds, valuable house furnishings, large bank accounts, and concealed wealth, are very likely to feel unkindly towards the stringent provisions of this law. They have been evading their just share of taxation for years. They are today the most ignorant of the many people calling at the assessor's office to make out and verify under oath their respective schedules, simply because it is so many years since they were called upon to pay a personal property tax, that they have forgotten all about the form. The holders of large real estate interests, who, for years, have been paying assessors to exempt them from assessment, or reduce their valuations, are, also, most probably confronted with the impossibility of escape from paying their proper share of general taxes. This iniquitous system has been denounced in the press for years. A year ago a town assessor was convicted of the offense, and heavily fined by the court. The tax evaders are as vicious a class in a community as are sneak thieves. Their payment to assessors to lower their valuations is the worst species of corruption. The payrolls of the town assessors present the most conspicuous instances of corruption to be found in any department of the county, or city, government. Many men are carried on their pay rolls and paid from five to ten dollars per day who never do one moment's work in the making of the assessment. They are simply being nursed for political purposes. In one of the wealthiest towns a payroll fell under the writer's observation, which showed a clear steal of $2,200 for a period of two weeks only. These officials designated a personal friend to whom all money was paid. One-fourth of these payments were handed over to the "solicitor" who brought in the "business," one-fourth to the "friend," and the remaining one-half went to the assessor. Men in high station in national and state councils, state and national committeemen, city and county officers, lawyers, politicians and sporting men were engaged in this business of boodling, throwing upon the owners of small real estate interests more than their fair share of the burdens of taxation. In an address delivered in this city by an ex-President of the United States, he said that as Lincoln had declared this country could not exist half slave and half free, so he declared "it could not exist half taxed and half free" from taxation, that the sin of tax evasion was a new danger to the integrity of the Republic and that its evil lay in the "evasion of just taxation by the rich, and the consequent thrusting of an extra burden on the poor." The corporations engaged in the manufacture of gas, in the management of traction companies, of live stock exchanges, of packing companies, railroads, steel companies, sleeping car builders and merchants owning large landed properties, have had their agents regularly employed in procuring a reduction of their valuations for assessment, who were nothing more nor less than bribers. Whether these crimes will be as freely attempted under the new law remains to be developed, but some of the distributors of personal property schedules are again playing their old trick of taking money from the poor under promise of returning them as non-holders of taxable personal property. An arrest of one of these robbers, who had accepted one dollar from each of a number of women has been made. The men elected as assessors and as members of the board of review are men of good character and able judgment. The only indication of danger is that a political boss who has lived and thrived at the public crib and whose political methods have always been unscrupulous has been appointed chief clerk of the board of review. His salary is large enough to keep him out of temptation, if he has not forgotten the ways of the righteous. He was an expert "adjuster" in politics. In assessments the "adjuster's" occupation should now be gone. The difficulty lies in teaching an old adjuster new tricks. The old system of assessment for general taxation was denounced by an official of the county as "nothing more nor less than a gigantic legalized swindle, reeking in corruption, a harbor for 'grafters,' 'petty thieves,' and 'sharks,' and an enormous, unnecessary and galling burden on the tax payers, the expense of which has no justification in reason and should have none in law." The new system abolishes but one of the evils of the old. In place of town assessors, a board of five assessors is established whose work is subject to review by another composed of three members. Their labors are, in turn, passed upon by the State Board of Equalization, before which for years railroads and other corporations have had their adjusters, agents or brokers, and before which they will continue to appear and accomplish, as they always have accomplished, the placing of the lowest possible valuations upon railroad properties, and a reduction of capital stock valuations. The board of assessors now values all the real estate in Cook county in place of the assessors in the separate towns within the county. These towns, six of which are wholly within the city limits, are, through their officials, plunderers of the public, robbing the funds of the towns by increasing their salaries out of all proportion to the services they are required to render, and which could well be dispensed with to the greatest advantage of the people. In the year 1898 they cost the treasury $395,411.55. Absolutely nothing is apparent as the result of this looting of public funds. They occupy, in the business parts of the city, expensive offices, which are open for public use not to exceed four months in the year, and afford, for the remaining months, club accommodations for the hangers on of the political crooks who manage party affairs. Card playing and gambling are their principal occupations. In the division of the proceeds of the robbery, the justices of the peace participate. They are, by virtue of their offices, members of the town board. Their services are not worth ten dollars per annum, but they receive compensation ranging from $200 to $500 per annum. As illustrating the tendency of these town boards, from which the assessment of property for taxation has now been taken away, the following are the valuations of real estate and personal property for the past three years as equalized by the state board. The foundation for the assessments was laid by the town assessors. It will be observed that, notwithstanding the increase in population, the value of real estate and personal property has been steadily declining. The decline is a measure of the boodling propensities of the assessors. Their percentage of award "no fellah can find out." VALUATIONS FOR ASSESSMENT. 1896. 1897. 1898. Real estate $195,684,875 $184,632,905 $178,801,172 Personal property 34,959,299 33,594,167 29,601,393 Population, school census 1,616,635 1,851,588 The value of the taxable real estate in Chicago, according to these figures, decreased in two years $18,883,703, and the value of taxable personal property $5,357,906. During the same period the population increased 234,953. As wealth and population increase in Chicago, values of property decline. At ten per cent of its cash value, which is the basis adopted by assessors for years for taxation value, taxable real estate in Chicago is, in round numbers worth $1,788,000,000. It is impossible to average the per cent paid for reductions in valuations to the assessors. Of the eighteen millions in reduced valuations in 1898, as compared with 1896, it is safe to say five millions were purchased. As the rate of taxation was between nine and ten dollars on one hundred dollars the amount of taxes paid by those who should not have paid them was $500,000. The assessors were "not working for their health," but for about fifty per cent of the taxes saved to their principals, with the aid of the friend and the agent who brought the business, or say about $250,000 of "graft." The coroner's office is also one which not infrequently gives rise to scandals. There are open charges made that some of the juries, called by that official, have found exonerating, instead of incriminating, verdicts for a money consideration in the division of which the office participated. An unseemly quarrel between the coroner and the police revealed the fact that both have favorite undertakers to whom the bodies of those meeting sudden death from accident, or otherwise, are taken. In a dispute as to which should control a corpse a most painful truth became public that it was carted about from one undertaking establishment to another, and that even the law was invoked to obtain possession of it by means of a writ of replevin. The office of the recorder of deeds is one of the most important in the county affairs. Generally speaking it is well conducted, although its records are not as presentable to the eye as are the books of a first-class mercantile firm. Female labor is employed mostly in recording, i. e., spreading an instrument at large upon the records, while male labor keeps up the tract books, indices, etc. The employes of both sexes are favorites of political bosses. The abstract branch of the business of this office is a sublime failure. For years it has cost the county a large sum of money to make good the deficiency--expenses largely exceeding earnings. Its abstracts cannot compete with those of private corporations, which employ experts in that business, and pay them in proportion to their ability, merit alone being their recommendation. The abstract makers employed by the county are shiftless and incompetent. The Torrens system, or the registration of titles, will, in time, but not for many years to come, supersede the abstract system, but not until the public shall have gained more confidence in its merits than it has yet acquired in recorder's abstracts of title. It was not the purpose of these pages to pursue inquiry into the corruption existing in both the municipal and county governments. The primary intent was to refer to the vices and crimes which prevail by reason principally of police partnership in their joint proceeds. Both governments are corrupt, and appear to be so because the people consent they shall be corrupt. The lessons the public learn from day to day, through the columns of the press, are forgotten. When election day approaches a revival of the facts through the press is then charged to political trickery, and its charges of maladministration are disregarded as being invented for party purposes. The press condemns while the evils are prominent, then it condones, and becomes the subservient and truculent supporter of the men who permitted vice and debauchery to attain its stalwart growth. The people believe there is a trust press, banded together to obtain favors through school leases, bank deposits of public funds and personal appointments in return for services to be rendered their municipal benefactors. The only non-member of the trust is the organ of the street car corporations and such exposes of villainy as it may present are set down as means to an end--the effort to obtain public privileges without compensation to the city. Newspapers, therefore, in municipal affairs no longer lead public opinion. They cannot again become its leaders until they free themselves from the suspicion of conserving their own interests by the sacrifice of those of the public. The greatest of them delivered but feeble blows during the recent mayoralty campaign, while the lighter weights, who were fighting for a candidate for renewed honors, had been for two years most unmercifully pounding him for his persistent assistance rendered to the vicious classes, in their indulgence in crime and debauchery. The various civic societies formed for the improvement of municipal government, pay attention solely to matters removed from the insidious and ceaseless advances of crime, close their eyes to evidences of disease apparent on the body politic, and merely dream of higher ideals. They leave to one society the task of the suppression of vice. They give to it neither sympathy nor pecuniary assistance. It begs its way in meetings of its sympathizers, warns the community of the prevalence of crime and indecency, but the community rushes on in the business struggles of the day from year to year, trusting--as it always has trusted--in its public servants for the full performance of their sworn duties--a trust so constantly violated that municipal government has become merely the synonym of the rule of the criminal classes. A special session of the Illinois Legislature was called by the Governor in 1897. Among the subjects included in the call was one suggesting the passage of an act "to establish boards providing for non-partisan police in all cities of the State containing over 100,000 inhabitants." Pursuant to the recommendations of the executive's message, a resolution was passed by the Senate for the appointment of a committee of seven members of that body, which recited the recommendation of the Governor; that a bill had been introduced providing for the establishment of non-partisan police boards in all cities containing the necessary population; that charges and scandals had arisen in regard to the management of the police force in Chicago, and that the committee be clothed "with full power to act" and to investigate "fully the subject" and report its findings as early as possible to the Senate at the special session. The committee consisted of one people's party, one democratic senator and five republican senators. From the moment of its selection it was branded as a partisan committee, appointed not so much to obtain information which would enable an unbiased judgment to be formed upon the merits of the proposed bill as to accumulate political capital for the use of the republican party. The committee proceeded with its investigation, and on February 10th, 1898, submitted its report, which was adopted February 15th, 1898, by a vote of thirty-three republicans and one democrat, eight democrats voting in the negative. The only democrat voting in the affirmative was a member of the reporting committee. On the last day of the special session, no legislation having been enacted on the subject of the proposed bill, a resolution was introduced providing for a continuance of the committee, which recited that it had "unearthed a most deplorable state of affairs in the management and control of the police force of Chicago," and that "the most flagrant violations of the civil service law have been brazenly practiced by those in authority in control of that police force." Nothing resulted from the latter resolution continuing the committee. The report covered the investigations of the committee into the operations of the civil service law, and the manner of its enforcement, finding that it was a plaything in the hands of the party then in power, and an object of constant and premeditated attack. It also found the grossest abuses in the management of the police pension fund and in the workings of the police force as an organization. That crime was protected and lewdness tolerated by it, and that in fact it was a powerful ally of the criminal classes, and practically made an unofficial livelihood off unfortunate women of the town, thieves and their fences, gambling resorts and their keepers, and the patrons and keepers of the all night saloons. It found the Chief of Police was cognizant of the facts, and yet took no steps to correct them. That Chief from whose testimony quotations appear in these pages, was re-appointed to command the police force for the next two years. The findings of this committee made but little, if any, impression upon the public mind. There were no revelations as to the condition of criminal affairs, and the relations of the police therewith, which were new to the people, with the possible exception, perhaps, that it was not known how utterly inefficient and irresponsible the Chief of Police was. From that moment every newspaper has, if not demanded, at least suggested his removal from office. In this respect it but voices the sentiments of the entire community. It is a paradox why, in the face of this public feeling, a majority of the people supported for re-election the staunch friend of the dishonored head of the police force, unless upon the hypothesis that he would not continue to be a part of the new administration. If so, the hypothesis soon failed. The Mayor thought he would "hold him for a while." The lesson to be learned from the failure of this committee's report to attract public attention to the prevalence of criminality and obscenity in Chicago as fostered by the police force is this, that an investigation concerning the methods of government of a city administration controlled by the Democratic party, without a kindred investigation of the methods of a county administration controlled by the Republican party is too partisan to suit the sense of fair play and of justice entertained by every American citizen. It matters not that the order for the investigation had reference only to the passage of legislation for the regulation of the police force in cities of a certain population, and that, therefore, the scope of the inquiry was limited by the terms of the order. Perhaps it was as broad as it could have been made, under the governor's call, which, by the provisions of the constitution fixed the subjects upon which only legislation could be enacted in special session. Either the call should have been broader, or this particular subject matter should have been omitted from it, and left for the regular session's consideration. Then all matters pertaining to the manner of conducting both city and county affairs could have been investigated free from the delimitations of an executive call. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the report of the Berry Committee, as it was called, is a stinging indictment against the police force of Chicago, which sooner or later must be tried at the bar of public opinion. It will, in a measure, have blazed the way for a new committee of inquiry, whose sittings have just commenced, in so far as the police department is concerned. The Baxter Committee was formed under a resolution of the Senate. It consists of five republican and two democratic senators. The resolution refers "to the management and control of the police affairs" of Chicago, and "the conduct of the municipal government thereof, in reference to the expenditure of public money and the enforcement of the law in its several departments." This language would limit the scope of the committee's inquiry to city affairs only. The resolution, however, closes with words granting authority to the committee for a "full, complete and perfect investigation of any and all the said subject matters herein named, and such other subjects as they may deem wise and prudent to investigate in the interests of good government." If this committee is wise it will not confine its efforts to ascertaining how the city government is managed. It will command public approval if it will extend its inquiries into the affairs of the county government as well. This the community will demand; with less it will not be satisfied. The great mass of both parties is concerned with what will be of the most advantage to good government, not with what will be to the greatest advantage of either party. Hence, if this inquiry has in view a partisan purpose its sessions will merely reproduce tales of the street familiar to the ears of the people, and with which the legislature has been familiar for a decade. To associate these crimes and debaucheries with one administration will in one respect be unfair, because they have progressed under other administrations as well, but it can emphasize the one great and astonishing truth, that never in the history of the city has a police force been permitted to become the bed-fellow of these monstrous evils, to protect them and contribute to their overwhelming power, in such a shameless, openhanded and defiant manner as it has in the past two years, as it is still permitted to do, and as it will probably be permitted to do, for the next two years. That committee will find nothing in these pages unknown to the observing citizen. The great mass of the people read and forget. These evils are hinted at herein, and gathered together. They may impress those who are unaccustomed to taking notes of passing events. That the growth of crime in Chicago, and the prevalence of bestiality is not generally believed by the majority of its people is a self-evident proposition. It would be an insult to their intelligence and virtue to assert they knew the facts. It is not a criticism of their intelligence to say they do not know the facts. It is rather to their credit that in the pursuit of their business, the care of their homes, and the cultivation of their morals, they judge the great community in which they live by their own standard, and firmly believe that as they know themselves to be good citizens, they believe their fellow men are likewise good citizens. While they rest in this conviction vice is eternally at work, immorality undermining and crime attacking the power of government, capturing one and then the other of its strongholds, until today the criminal classes constitute the balance of power in every city election, and can handle it as they may choose, by the mere concentration of the voting strength of the keepers of eight thousand saloons and their hangers on. The appointment of a comptroller and corporation counsel acceptable to the public, both being men of sterling integrity, and known ability, is merely a partial promise of reform. The new comptroller is a worthy successor to the deceased Waller, while the new corporation counsel takes his office, with a reputation for probity and legal acumen which are guaranties that neither will be used in an attack upon the people's laws. But the police department and the public works department are still under the same direction. They give no promise of departing from the protection of criminals on the one hand, nor the illegal letting of contracts on the other. Both of these are inviting fields for the Baxter committee to explore, and when they shall have thoroughly done so, if they shall turn their attention to county affairs, they will probably find pastures just as prolific of the rankest of weeds. The Baxter committee began its hearings on the 18th day of May, 1899. Its opening witness confirmed the truth of many of the facts set forth in these pages. He paid protection money for keeping a gambling house, until the demands for a contribution to a campaign fund became too exacting, when he was "told he had better quit." "As an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," said the witness: "I quit." He testified that gambling was going on everywhere a few days before the committee began its work, named a number of the resorts, and related some of his losses in a few of the games in which, although a professional gambler, he was "skinned." Officers were found in them, and protection to the games openly boasted of. The club organization, it develops, is the gambling idea of evading the laws, the theory being that none can gamble unless they are members. The practice seems, however, to be that every man is a member who will not squeal. Houses of disrepute were visited, and the indecencies alluded to in foregoing pages witnessed by the sergeant-at-arms of the committee. His testimony in this respect was too realistic for publication. A member of a recent grand jury submitted a list of all night saloons he had visited, and found doing business, between the hours of one and five o'clock in the morning. The list contained the names of forty-six saloons, located on eleven different streets. His information was not as startling as was the fact that his joint feat of pedestrianism and absorption of drink is, perhaps, unequalled in sporting or drinking records. He drank in each of the places visited--total drinks, forty-six in four hours. Length of route covered four miles; width, about one-half mile; square miles traversed--two! Can any sprinter, carrying the same weights, surpass this achievement? The witnesses so far called before the committee are mostly from the detective force, and from among lodging house keepers. Their replies are evasive, and when not so, their memories are clouded. All they had ever known of the subjects upon which they are interrogated had fled from their recollection. "I don't remember," avoided many a pitfall. The methods of the committee do not impress an observer as having been the result of much consultation or careful preparation for their work. There is an apparent indifference on the part of some of its members to reaching results, or to remaining steadily in the pursuit of the purposes for which it was organized. Political influences are undoubtedly at work to shorten the lines of its inquiry, and the length of the days it shall devote to their development. This investigation is not wanted by local politicians of either party. It rests with the committee alone to determine whether its work shall be well done or not. To maintain the dignity of the State is their first duty, let their investigation reveal what it may and strike whom it will. A people who voluntarily submit to taxation for the construction of such a stupendous improvement as the drainage canal costing $28,000,000, who apply their surplus water fund to the building of a complete system of intercepting sewers, who compel the abolition of the murderous grade crossings, through the elevation of railway tracks, all for the improvement of the sanitary condition and safety of their homes and lives, are entitled to the best protection the state can give them against the domination of criminals and debauchees, even if the management of its police force should thereby be placed in the hands of state agencies, or under some other supervision which will compel it to dissolve its relations with vice, and prevent it from utilization for political ends. Submission to the exactions of trusts, in the shape of telephone and gas companies, does not require them to submit to a trust of criminals and police officials. The element to which it is estimated $70,000,000 is annually paid in Chicago for its drink bill, must be so regulated, as that it shall cease to furnish the balance of power in elections, to exercise a baneful influence over the police, to ruin the young, to encourage debauchery, and breed criminals. A municipal government that cannot, or will not, control these vicious agencies, will ultimately be condemned by a public-spirited people, if they can be, as they sooner or later will be, persuaded to devote a few hours, taken from their business or pleasure, to a vigorous uprooting of a system under which such iniquities can be born and develop to such menacing proportions. There must be an awakening to the fact that "They say this town is full of cozenage, As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, Soul-killing witches that deform the body, Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such like liberties of sin." APPENDIX. From the daily press a few accounts are culled, and added by way of appendix, as to the perpetration of crime and the habits of the police in connection with it. The Baxter Committee unearthed the following account of the degree of protection afforded to citizens by police officers, and the easy-going indifference with which the Chief of Police regarded the affair when it was first called to his attention. On the night of March 3d ult. a woman returning from a drug store was stopped by two detectives and charged with soliciting men upon the streets. She denied this offensive charge, told where she had been and where returning, and showed a bottle of medicine she carried as confirmatory of her statements. This happened about 8:45 o'clock. She was then within twenty feet of the entrance to the house in which she lived. Notwithstanding her denial, the officers went to the house with her. One of them then said, "I'm an officer; open this door!" Another woman with whom the arrested woman was boarding asked, "What is the matter?" One of the officers replied, "This woman was on the street soliciting," to which the boarding house keeper replied, "You are mistaken." "Well," said the officer, "if you want to stop her give me $15," and the reply was, "She has no money to give you or to any one." The boarding house keeper, thinking the men were common thieves, then whispered to the accused woman, "Go with them and I will follow you." The officers took their woman to a corner and into a saloon, where they compelled her to give up a pair of diamond earrings for ten dollars which were handed to her by the bartender. The boarding house woman followed, and prevented the detectives from obtaining the ten dollars, but finally they grabbed the bill from the accused woman's hands. The women were then released and returned to their home. Taking a sealskin sack with them they returned to the saloon, and were handed the diamond earrings, but not without leaving the sack in their stead. The women saw the detectives return, and drink at the bar, paying for their tipple with the money they had snatched from the hand of the one. While the parties were wrangling on the street a police sergeant and two officers in uniform passed. One of the women cried out, "Here are two men robbing this woman!" The sergeant replied, after observation, "I have got nothing to do with this." One of the women asked, "What are you for?" Then the sergeant, having discovered the men were detectives, said to one of them, "They are all right. Get what you can." The sergeant then left. The women now demanded that the detectives show their badges of authority. They were shown. Demand was then made that a patrol wagon should be called. This was denied, but accidentally one came along the street returning to its station. When the accused woman caught sight of it she fainted. The boarding house keeper raised such commotion that one of the detectives said, "For God's sake, shut that woman's mouth up or she will make us trouble!" They then ran away. The next day the boarding house woman called on the Chief of Police and told the whole story. He referred her to the Lieutenant at the station of the precinct in which the indignity occurred. To him the entire facts were given, and written down by the desk sergeant. The men were there identified. On the following day one of the detectives went to the women's house, accompanied by a brother-in-law, whose wife was a personal friend of the boarding house woman. The detective had a copy of the woman's statement as she had made it at the police station. He begged for mercy, crying, "he had nothing to say for himself." He piteously pleaded he had a mother in the hospital, a mother-in-law who was dying, and three small children to support. Suggestions were made, and the woman's feelings worked upon so that she was induced to leave the city. Meanwhile the boarding house keeper made a statement at another police station, in which she suppressed the facts as to the diamonds and the money. She was asked to appear before the police trial board, and refused. Thereupon the charges against the detectives were dismissed. It developed before the Baxter Committee that the Chief of Police had been told all the facts. The papers got hold of an account of the affair, and the Chief called upon the boarding house keeper. In the course of his conversation, this woman trying to protect the officers through her aroused sympathy, was asked by the Chief, "What about those diamond earrings and sealskin sack?" The woman answered, "If you don't know, I don't." He then asked, "Didn't you tell that to me?" She answered, "If you can't remember, I can't." She was then questioned by the Chief whether these officers were begging her to quash the matter, whether they were offering her money for that purpose, etc. The Chief stated the reporters were hounding him to death, when the woman asked him "why he did not show her statement?" He replied it was locked up, "if they want any information they can get it from you." One of the men is still a member of the detective force. The other resigned and went into the saloon business, and appeared before the committee entering a partial denial of the woman's story. The knowledge of the Chief of all the facts was fully shown before the committee. Notwithstanding this, he does not appear to have taken any steps to keep the matter before the trial board, or to institute any other proceedings to bring these detectives to punishment. This is not at all surprising in the face of the fact that this officer is, as is shown in court proceedings, a veritable czar in his own estimation. The following account is taken from the _Chicago Democrat_ of May 27th ult. A similar report of the case is contained in the other dailies. "Judge Brentano held, this morning, that Chief of Police K. did not have the power to have a man restrained of his liberty at his (K.'s) request. The decision was brought about on the hearing of a petition for a writ of habeas corpus filed by Attorney F. A. D. for the release of Edward H., who was arrested last Monday morning at Twenty-ninth and State streets on account of the shooting of Officer James S., which resulted from an attempt of a number of officers to enforce the disarmament-of-colored-people policy of the Chief of Police. "The man had been confined in the county jail, and the return of the sheriff, when the prisoner was brought into court, read: 'Edward H. has been detained in my custody at the request of J. K., Chief of Police for the city of Chicago.' Judge Brentano evinced great displeasure when he read the return of the illegal detainment of the prisoner. 'A man,' said the court, 'cannot be held at the simple request of K. or any other person. K.'s word is not sufficient to keep any man in custody. I won't tolerate any such actions, for if the man was guilty of shooting an officer, or committing any other crime, Mr. K. has had sufficient time and knows how to take the proper steps to punish the prisoner.' "'The court certainly would not allow this man his liberty when he is under arrest and has not been booked or complained against before a justice of the peace owing to the neglect perhaps of such a high official as Mr. K.,' remarked the assistant city prosecuting attorney. "'I certainly would, regardless of whose neglect it is,' said the court. 'The prisoner is discharged.' "No witnesses were heard, the prisoner being discharged on the ground that it was shown in the return of the sheriff that H. was simply being detained to please Chief K. "Attorney D. had witnesses in court to show that the prisoner had been beaten and injured by the police who arrested him, both before his arrival at the Twenty-second street station and after he was installed in a cell at that place. "Prisoners who were in the station at the time H. was taken there were in court to testify that the officers who had charge of the prisoner beat and struck him in such a manner that they thought H. would be killed. "The prisoner's face and condition in court were the best evidences of the treatment he had received. "Both of his eyes are closed, swollen and discolored to such a degree that they stand out in bold contrast to his own color, which is a dark copper. Two gashes, each six inches long, on the top and front of his head bear testimony to the means said to have been used by the officers in carrying out their chief's new disarmament policy. "It is also alleged that the prisoner was confined in a dungeon cell while he was in the custody of the Twenty-second street police. "After his discharge the injured man had to be helped to the elevator by two of his friends because of his injuries. The names of the officers who assaulted the prisoner were not obtainable, for the reason that the prisoner had not been booked and the officer making the arrest had not signed any complaint." Two observations will arrest the attention of the average reader. They must naturally occur to his mind. First, What sort of a Sheriff is he who will keep a man in jail, without a proper commitment? Second, What kind of a lawyer must he be who will suggest to a court the propriety of depriving a man of his liberty, without due process of law, at the mere request of such "a high official" as the Chief of Police? The return of the Sheriff in this case to the writ of _habeas corpus_ should have been treated as a contempt of court. Pool rooms are operating as of yore. The _Daily News_ of May 27 ult. contains the following, viz.: "The saloon of J. H. D. at E. and N. C. streets was converted into a pool room yesterday afternoon at the time the ticker began to record the winning horses in the races at the various tracks throughout the country. A dozen men assembled in the barroom where the ticker was located and placed bets, while a number of women sat in the back rooms and also chanced their money. "The women's wants were looked after by a young man who answered to the name of 'Dude.' After each race he carried them the slip printed from the ticker showing the winners and handed their money to those who had been lucky. During the interval between the races the schedule of the next race was discussed by all who intended to place money, and 'Dude' would come from the rear room with a handful of bills to place on some race by the women. "On the inside money was passed over the bar indiscriminately and a clerk was busy keeping track of those who placed bets. From the conversation which passed between those in the barroom one might judge that he was in a genuine poolroom, where the interference of police was not to be feared. "All the men present merely gave their initials when they risked their money, and these were carefully preserved on paper until the ticker decided whether the money was lost or won. The man who passed as 'Dude' had charge of the pools apparently, and all the money which was placed went through his hands. After taking it he would call the initials of the man placing the bet and then hand the money to the man behind the bar." The ticker was presided over by a large, smooth-faced, well-dressed man and anything which came over the machine which was not a report on a horse race was of no interest. The reports of the score at the various ball games were soon shown the waste basket, while the lists of the horses which earned places were preserved and hung on hooks after they had been carefully inspected by those present. A number of stylishly dressed women were seen to enter the place, and, according to information furnished the _Daily News_, women have been in the habit of visiting the D. saloon for some time for the purpose of placing bets on the races. Two young women came from the direction of L. S. avenue about 4 o'clock and entered the place apparently as though it was nothing new to them. "The 'ladies' entrance' is on the E. street side. The rooms for women are arranged in the east half of the double-flat building on E. street, while the saloon faces on C. street. "J. H. D., who conducts the place, came in yesterday afternoon while the betting was at its height, and, bedecked in diamonds, walked leisurely behind the bar and, picking up a Racing Form, turned to the 'boys' and asked how 'things were going.' He was told the winners in the races which had been reported during his absence and seemed pleased with what was told him. "The saloon is known as 'D.'s O. P. C.,' and has been conducted at this place for the past five or six years. The license for the place is in the name of Mrs. J. H. D. It is said that D. was formerly in the saloon business here, but sold out and went to New York, where he put on a vaudeville show and sunk several thousand dollars trying to make it pay. He finally failed, it is said, and came back to Chicago and reopened his saloon. "At the Chicago avenue police station nothing was known apparently of the gambling at the D. saloon on the races. Capt. R. said that he told a couple of his men some time ago to watch the place, but he said they had reported nothing irregular. The captain seemed surprised when he heard of how affairs were, and Inspector H. was apparently very indignant at the thought that anything of the sort was going on in his district. He at once gave the captain orders to send a couple of men to the place and if anything was found to be going on there to stop it." The result of the visit of the Inspector's officers is thus stated in the _Tribune_ of May 28th ult. Its headline is suggestive, in view of the particulars given in the _Daily News_ of the occurrences by its reporter. "REPORT NO GAMBLING." "A report that a poolroom was being conducted in the saloon of J. H. D., E. and N. C. Streets, was investigated yesterday by Detectives B. and R., who visited the place at 3 p. m., and reported no gambling existed there. It was said that during Friday afternoon bets on the races were accepted in the saloon and that men as well as women frequented the place." The newspapers contribute evidences of the absence of crime in Chicago, and of police operations as follows, viz.: From the _Daily News_ May 27th ult. "Officers from the Attrill street police station are scouring the west side in an effort to apprehend burglars who created havoc in the vicinity of Humboldt Park boulevard and Western avenue during the early morning hours of yesterday. Among the residences visited by the night prowlers were those of: (Here follows a list of eleven burglaries.) "In addition burglaries at the following places in the immediate neighborhood have been committed within the last few days: (Here follows a list of four burglaries.) "One of the burglars rode from house to house on a bicycle. Two revolvers dropped by the visitors were found in the yard of the E. residence. The territory suffering the nightly raids is embraced in the suburb of Maplewood, and citizens have armed themselves in their own defense, asserting that police uniforms have not been seen on the streets concerned for weeks." From the _Democrat_ May 27th ult.: "Burglars forced an entrance into the store of the Guarantee Clothing Company, State street, last night and stole nearly $1,000 worth of goods. "Apparently the thieves took their time, and the police say they must have used a wagon in removing the goods. Persons living in the flats above heard nothing unusual during the night, and the police are unable to comprehend how the thieves could remove the great amount of property without attracting attention. "This morning a clerk opened the front door of the store. It looked as though a small cyclone had passed through the establishment." This burglary took place between two police stations, from neither of which it was far distant. It is probable that if one officer had gone over his beat just once that night, its perpetrators would have been caught in the act. Some neighboring saloon was, perhaps, more needful of police protection! Some tremendous effort is being made, however, to suppress policy shops and clean out all night saloons! Witness the following, viz.: From papers of May 27th ult.: "Detectives D. and D. of Chief K.'s office raided a policy shop in the basement of the building at 6 Washington street last night and destroyed the fixtures of the place and confiscated the sheets, records and other paraphernalia. "The shop was in a small room under the sidewalk and was reached through a barber shop. S. H., the police say, was the agent in charge of the place, and represented the O. R. & G. company of Fort Erie, Canada. No arrests were made, but Chief K. says the place will remain closed." "Two hours after midnight Sergt. M. and Officers M., O'B., H. and F., from the Harrison street police station, raided the C. L. saloon at State street, arresting sixty inmates. The majority of these were boys. There was one man with gray hair and wrinkled face. "Shortly before the police court convened at 9 o'clock the entire crowd was marched into Inspector H.'s office and from there to the courtroom, where the cases were disposed of by Justice M. Every sort of a plea generally used in court was brought into play by the defendants. Some cases were dismissed, while other prisoners were fined $25 and $50. The police claim about half of those arrested were criminals. "The arrests were made because of the large number of complaints against the saloon." The raid on the policy shop belongs to the spasmodic line of operations of the police. Fifty of them could be made if some mysterious reason did not exist why they are not made. The saloon referred to belongs to the all night class, and is one of the most notorious of the kind. It has been protected in the past, and still would be if it were not for the fact that "a large number of complaints" have been made against it. These are not new to the police. They have been made before, but something must be done for appearance sake while the Baxter Committee continues its probing! That this place was a resort for criminals is not a recent discovery by the police. They always knew it. To cull the press for proofs of the truth of the charges made in the foregoing pages, would result, in a few days, in the reproduction of a mass of evidence on the total inefficiency of the police force. Such as are here given are examples of the many the scissors could find. The reader can multiply them, in his mind, ten fold in a week's time, and then reach a result far short of the facts. The whole story of the alliance between the police, the saloons and the justices is told in the following cartoon taken from the Daily News of June 23, 1899. [Illustration: CAUGHT COMING AND GOING.] THE DIVEKEEPER (to Harrison street police officer)--"I've got my dollar a head out of them. Now you can drive them into court and give the justice his chance." 
45440	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) NOTE-BOOK NO. 1, OF THE KICKAPOO CLUB. BLOOMINGTON, ILLINOIS, 1914. [Illustration] The articles shown herein are one bronze and steel-edged tomahawk blade, found at the site of Kickapoo Fort in Section 5, West Township, McLean Co. Ill., by Mark Piper, one granite hatchet made from a discarded discoidal hammer-stone (or discoidal hammer-stone made from a discarded hatchet, which?) and one flint drill, both found by S. W. Le Neve, at Kingfisher Hill, Menard County, Ill. The five smaller potsherds beneath these were also found by Mark Piper, at Kingfisher Hill. The two perpendicular rows of stamped and rouletted potsherds on each side of this group were found at an ancient camp-site on the south bluff of the Sangamon river, on the Center Farm, in the north part of Menard Co. Ill., by Mr. E. H. Hamilton and are now in the collection of the McLean County Historical Society. M. C. "_Help Save the Great Cahokia Mound_" _By C. H. Robinson, Normal, Illinois._ On April 20th, 1913, an enthusiastic party of Bloomington and Normal men made an archaeological expedition to the great Cahokia mound group in Southern Illinois, which is located in Madison and St. Clair counties, about two miles east of the corporate limits of East St. Louis, Illinois. The location is easily accessible by way of the new hard road or by the St. Louis and Collinsville electric system. The great Cahokia, or better know as Monk's Mound, together with many smaller mounds are located on a 204 acre farm belonging to the Hon. T. T. Ramey's heirs. This farm is situated in the most picturesque and richest part of the famous "American bottoms." Land which is so fertile that even the aborigines raised much with but little effort and which no doubt led to the location and construction here of the largest earth mound ever built by primitive man, the great pyramid of Cheops in Egypt or the Aztec temple mound of Mexico excepted. Monk's mound covers more ground than any pyramid of Egypt. Cheops is but 746 feet square, the Aztec temple of Mexico is 680 feet square, while Monk's mound is 1080 feet by 780 feet and 104 feet high making about 84,000,000 cubic feet of earth. This mound has never been touched with pick or shovel, although great quantities of archaeological material have been removed from many of the surrounding smaller mounds and cultivated fields, and many fine collections are to be found in both private and public places, taken from this most ancient residence site of a vanquished race. The variety and nature of material formed around the great Cahokia group clearly indicate that the mound builders or their successors had access to or traded with other tribes or people located at the headquarters of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers, also on the Gulf of Mexico, and possibly from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans, as evidenced by the vast quantities and nature of the material, from which such large varities of implements and ornaments were constructed. For as workmen are known by their chips so here may also be found the evidence of past ages wrought in such material as flint, jasper, pipe stone, granite, agate, galena, obsidian, hematite, copper, quartz, crystal, deep sea conch shells and much other material foreign to this section of the state. The surrounding cultivated fields are strewn with pottery fragments mingled with which may be found many human bones and implements of the stone age. Here after the heavy spring rains are over may be plowed up many characteristic specimens. Surely in ages past what a mecca this location must have been! Regarding the shape and size of the great Cahokia mound group it may be said that all types except the effigy are represented here the form of the largest mound is a parallelogram, with straight sides, the longer of which are north and south. On the southern end thirty feet above the base is a terrace or apex, containing two acres of ground. On the western side some thirty feet above the first terrace is a second of some what less extent. The top of the mound is flat, containing about one acre and a half, and is divided into two parts the northern portion of which is some four or five feet higher than the southern portion. Near the middle of the first terrace, at the base of the mound is a projecting point apparently the remains of a graded pathway ascending from the plain to the terrace. Monk's mound stands true to the exact points of the compass. There are several conical shaped mounds of about forty feet in height, together with a large number of rectangular shape flat top mounds ranging in size from 20 to 30 feet in height and some of smaller size sufficient to conveniently accommodate a good sized farm house and out buildings. One noticeable exception of this mound group lies just south of the great mound the same being of conical shape except that there are nine radiating ridges extending outward at equal distances from the flattened top. This mound is about fifty feet high with a 150 foot base, the radiating ridges extending outward about ten feet each, just what these radiating ridges symbolize no one knows, possibly the radiating lines of the sun, or the ridges may represent the sacred conch shells found buried here in great numbers. Monk's mound derived this name from the fact that from 1804 to 1809 a colony of Monks of the order of La Trappe occupied the locality as missionaries among the Cahokia Indians. These monks devoted themselves to silence and seclusion and ate a strictly vegetable diet. They soon succumbed to the malarial influences existing at that time, many died and those remaining returned whence they came, the last of them leaving in March, 1813. The name Cahokia given the group of mounds is derived from a tribe of Indians met by LaSalle in that vicinity, during his visit there in December, 1681. Growing upon Monk's mound may be seen a pear orchard, set out by the Monks, many of these trees are yet vigorous and bear fruit in season. Besides these fruit trees, there are many fine forest trees, some of which have reached a very large size; all of which tends to make this large mound one of the most picturesque sights in spring, summer and autumn. Only a short distance to the north of Monk's mound flows Cahokia Creek, its heavily wooded tract of timber giving here a rare chance to the Archaeologist and land-scape artist to help some one of the greatest movements of pre-historic man to be found in the United States today. Ohio has long since made safe her serpent mound, together with many lesser ones by proper legislative acts, other states and counties have protected pre-historic works of much less importance. Why then should the great State of Illinois not preserve our Cahokia group? During the last legislative session at Springfield, Cahokia mound park bills were introduced in both houses and are now known as House Bill No. 176 Flagg, and Senate Bill No. 276 Beall, on June 7, 1913. The matter was refered to the Illinois State Park Commission to investigate the desirability of the state acquiring the Cahokia mound and report to the forty-ninth General Assembly not later than Feb. 1, 1915. The names and addresses of the members of the Illinois State Board of Park Commissioners are as follows: Alexander Richards, Ottawa, Ill. T. A. James, Evanston, Ill. and Thomas Cahill, Loda, Ill. [Illustration: Plate No. 1 At research on Ramey Farm in field near Monk's Mound, October, 1913] [Illustration: Plate No. 2 Characteristic surface finds from location shown on plate 1.] Cuts furnished by C. H. Robinson Cahokia Surface Finds, No. 3 Plate No. 2 1. Large arrow point or small flint hoe, length 3 inch 2. Sections of human skull 3. Outer shell of sacred conch shell 4. Perfect shape hammer stone, granite 5. Pottery ear from vessel 6. Potsherd, incised design, color black 7. Pottery, ducks head 8. Pottery, engraved design 9. Potsherd, reed, marked design, color red 11. Potsherd, reed, marked design, color yellow 12. Potsherd, raised, marked design, color black 13. Potsherd, reed, marked design, color red 14. Potsherd, reed, marked design, color brown 15. Potsherd, grass, marked design, color brown 16. Potsherd, incised, marked design, color black 17. Potsherd, raised, marked design, color brown 19. Potsherd, grass, marked design, color yellow 20. Inner spiral of sacred conch shell 21. Potsherd, grass, marked design, color brown 22. Fragment of polished discoidal stone 23. Perfect barbed arrow point 1 inch long, semi-circular row around No. 23, show characteristic Cahokia arrow points 24. Copper ornament 25. Pipestone 26. Agate 27. Gavel sand stone polisher 28. Quartz crystal 30. Pieces of human arm bone 31. Incomplete flint artifacts [Illustration: Plate No. 3 West Twin Grove Indian Camp Site on farm of Chas. F. Kauffman, May, 1912] [Illustration: Plate No. 4 Artifacts made by aborigines on Camp Site shown on Plate No. 4] Cuts furnished by C. H. Robinson West Twin Grove Camp Site Plate No. 4. 1. Gamestone 2-1/4 (problematical) gray granite 2. Scraper, pink flint 3. Knife 4 inches long, yellow flint, (between 30 and 4) 4. Bird arrow point, 3/4 inches long, white flint 5. Double notched arrow, curved body, white flint 6. Notch of arrow, flat on one side 7. Scraper--mottled blue and white flint 8. Barbed arrow, to remain in wound 9. Non-barbed arrow, to be withdrawn from wound 10. Common chert arrows 11. Red flint arrow 12. Heavy chert arrow 13. Blue flint arrow 14. Rare ceremonial stone, brown flint 15. Drill, white flint 17. Blunt arrow, white flint 18. Drill, white flint 19. Half completed leaf arrow, white flint 20. Finely finished spear point, pink flint 22. Common arrow 23. Perfect shape leaf arrow, blue flint 24. Fragment of pottery, porphyry tempered 25. First piece of arrow found on camp-site 26. Drill, white flint 27. 2/3 completed leaf shape arrow, white flint 28. Perfect hafted scarper, white flint 29. Wide base arrow, white flint 30. Perfect knife, mottled flint, red, white and blue 31. Perfect double bevel arrow, white flint Through the courtesy of the Ramey Family, the writer and party were given much valuable data and information pertaining to the early history of this historic spot, therefore honorary mention is herewith given to the sturdy and honest pioneer, the late T. T. Ramey, who was one of the few successful 49er's. Returning east again, he invested his hard earned gold in the rich alluvial "American bottom" lands of Madison County and upon which now stands the great Cahokia mound, together with twenty others of lesser magnitude. He was a close student of both God and man. He soon conceived the idea that the large mound should never be disturbed and if possible become the property of the state. Thus he kept in tact this great earthwork during his lifetime and it is with the same spirit that his children do likewise. May we not hope that the State of Illinois shall in due time make this great mound group a state preserve and keep intact the great Cahokia Mound just as the Ramey family have done for many years? The party making the Cahokia trip was composed of Milo Custer, G. Blumke, Mark Piper, S. W. Le Neve, Herbert Cox and the writer. Charles M. Robinson. _Aboriginal Flint Implement Work Shop or Camp Site._ _Located on Section 33, Dry Grove Township, McLean County, Illinois_ _By Richard Thomas Robinson, Normal, Illinois_ May 8, 1912, at this place, my father found the barbed shank of a flint arrow head. Around this broken part of an arrow head were several flint chips. This led to a closer examination, which resulted in the finding of about three dozen pieces a flint core, and several arrow heads, some finished and several about half complete. Many trips have been made to this old camp site in the past two years and all the pieces, or parts of arrow heads as well as chips have been carefully preserved. On none of our trips have we come home empty handed. Even some pottery fragments have been found. These, like all the other material are apparently quite ancient. This camp is near the old Indian trail, which use to run between Bloomington and Peoria, where was then located old Fort Clark. Mr. George Washington Henry the oldest resident of the grove remembers when he was a boy of eight, the Indians camping on this trail. He has told us many interesting stories about the Indians, and wild game which roamed the prairies in those days. He has gone on walks with us to the places of interest, and told us what was there eighty years ago. Among the things that have been found at this camp site are namely: a double beveled arrow head, of which the government reports show only one in 3,000 are found, one curved arrow head, one leaf shaped, one of the same kind incomplete, and many barbed arrow heads of different sizes, of which many are incomplete. Several scrapers, some ceremonial stones, a flint drill, and saw, several small bird points, and one large spear point, incomplete. Two very fine skinning knives, one problematic stone, shaped round like a hammer stone, but flat on two sides. We have excavated at this place to a depth of about two feet but in our excavations found nothing of any great value. In all we have secured several hundred fine specimens. There are probably a great many more interesting things to be found here and we feel very grateful to Mr. Kaufman for granting us the privilege of searching for the remains of those who lived many years before us. _A Trip to Petersburg, Ill. and Kingfisher's Hill_ _By Mark Piper, Bloomington, Illinois_ One of our most interesting trips was taken on May 18th, 1913 to Petersburg and Kingfisher Hill in an auto owned by T. R. Good. The party, S. W. LeNeve, Gus. Blumke, Chas. Robinson and myself met at the Court House in Bloomington, Ill, where Mr. Good met us at 5 a. m. with his machine. At about 10 a. m. we arrived at Bonnett brothers on whose farm we were to look for relics. We then made our way to the tops of some hills where there were indications of Indian graves. There I for once was the lucky one and found part of a skeleton, while Mr. Good afterward found three more. Owing to the peculiar nature of the soil they were exceedingly well preserved, there did not appear to be any system of burial as the bones and skulls seemed to be in a heap. Some of the bones showed tooth marks as though some wild animal had gnawed them. One peculiar thing about their graves was that they were on the very top of the highest hills, except some which were on the side near the top. Nothing was found in the graves with the bones. Besides the skeleton we also found arrow heads, buffalo teeth and other relics. Our next trip to the Bonnett farm was taken June 23. The party this time consisted of Charles H. Robinson, Gus. Blumke, Mr. Robinson's son and myself. We met at the Union Depot in the wee small hours of the night and took a train at about one o'clock for Petersburg where we had previously made arrangements for a team to meet us and take us to the Bonnett farm. After breakfast Mr. Bonnett supplied us each with an old coat which would help to keep out the rain. We then took spades and started out. We crossed creeks and ponds as though they were dry and after digging on numerous hills without success we came back to dinner and more coffee. After dinner we had better success for we found some graves and also a camp site located on the banks of Cleary's Creek in which a great number of shells lay exposed, also quite a quantity of broken pottery of a special stamped and rouletted design. Pottery similar to this has been found at Naples Ill., and is described in government literature. We also found fragments of bone and flint articles but as that was in a field of growing wheat we could not excavate. [Illustration: Cut furnished by Wm. B. Brigham (Cuts one-half size.)] The six arrow heads of the upper row show a variety of shapes with a marked difference in the notches and base. The long spear-heads was found in the Bloomington cemetery by J. W. Moran. This is a beautiful pink flint. The specimen below in the center is no doubt a knife. The spear-head on either side show a notched and a stem-base. Below is a notched scraper, and a drill. The two small game points are from the Cahokia mounds, Madison County. (This kind is characteristic of that region.) _My Indian Collection_ _By W. B. Brigham, Assistant County Supt. of Schools._ One day many years ago while working in the field, my father picked up an Indian arrow-head. He gave it to me as a play-thing and it was much enjoyed tho soon lost; leaving me with a sad heart but a deep longing to find others. Twenty years later after I had roamed o'er the prairies and worked in the fields less than six arrow points were garnered and some of these were obtained from schoolmates. Yet my fascination for these relics has increased as we have learned more of the habits and haunts of the Indians, their different implements and the manner in which they were made. The Indian hunters and warriors would often lose arrows while on the prairies, but we find them in greater numbers with other stone implements in some of the old village or camp-sites. These were generally on elevated ground in or near the woods and along the streams. The close observer will find little difficulty in locating these places by the presence of granite spalls and flint flakes which are readily distinguished from the pebbles of the glacial drift. This camp debris is sometimes covered by the alluvial from the uplands and is no longer to be found on the surface but is often revealed by diggings or by a washout. Some years ago, Mr. Milo Custer located a camp-site in section sixteen Bloomington Township and made a good find. I took up his trail and frequently visited the field being always rewarded by finding something of interest, including arrow and spear heads, knives, scrapers, drills and human teeth. No large implements were found there by me. This site was located on the south slope of a hill running down to what had been a pond in early days, the water probably standing there several feet deep throughout the year. These sites disclose some very interesting facts and furnish much food for speculation. The great variety of "finds" not only recalls many phases of the primitive life of the Indians but also shows that the "ancient arrow-maker" possessed patience and skill of the highest degree. It is all the more wonderful when we consider that these results were obtained with such crude tools, and again that no artists of modern civilization can attain the technic or reproduce the work of these children of savagery. In the accompanying illustration are some typical small flint or chert implements found in McLean County. NOTE----In 1899, I farmed the twenty acre tract in Sec. 16, Bloomington Township, mentioned by Mr. Brigham and during the spring and summer of that year at the camp-site he also mentions I found about 130 arrowheads, one long granite celt, two granite discoidal hammer-stones, two broken perforated sand-stone tablets and several potsherds. This material I donated to the McLean County Historical Society. It was all destroyed in the fire of June 19, 1900. MILO CUSTER _Prehistoric Mounds of Woodford County, Illinois_ _By Stanley M. East._ Acting upon information furnished Mr. Custer by Mr. L. J. Freese, president of the Woodford County Historical Society. A number of members of our club made a trip on July 6th of last year to Spring Bay, Ill., to investigate some mounds on the farm of Mr. W. J. Eichorn. We were courteously granted permission by Mr. Eichorn to thoroughly investigate one of the smaller mounds. This was done both by surface examination and by making a six foot excavation in the center. Nothing however was found except a few glacial boulders in a natural deposite about five feet beneath the mound surface and there were no evidences of prehistoric human remains to be seen. This mound has a height of about six feet and a diameter of approximately one hundred feet. Owing to the fact that it was under cultivation no further excavation could be made without injury to the corn and indeed no further excavations appeared profitable. On this same field and at a distance of perhaps one thousand feet is a beautiful conical shaped mound about twenty-five feet in height and with a base diameter of about seventy-five feet. This mound is covered with small trees and shrubs and makes a novel and pleasing appearance rising as it does in the cultivated field (see cut.) We have since been given permission to excavate in this one and it is our intention to do so at an early date. The members making this trip were Messrs. Milo Custer, Gus Blumke, C. H. Robinson, Mark Piper, Homer Haworth, Ed Swann, Thomas Robinson and the writer. _Prehistoric Indian Relics Found In The Vicinity Of "Cahokia Mound."_ _By Gus Bluemke_ April 20, 1913, a party of archaeologists from Bloomington and Normal Ill. visited "Cahokia" or "Monk's Mound" in search of relics. The weather was ideal and all who availed themselves of the opportunity were indeed well repaid in the success of the trip and also for the enjoyment and recreation which these journeys afford. Our party was composed of the following: Mark Piper, C. H. Robinson, T. J. Robinson, S. W. LeNeve, Miss Minerva LeNeve, Herman Cox and Milo Custer. A second trip was made October 12, 1913, and on this occasion the following members visited "Cahokia": C. H. Robinson, Homer Haworth, Mark Piper, R. T. Robinson, Wm. Brigham, Stanley East, S. W. LeNeve and the writer. Several good specimens of arrow-heads were found, one particularly rare specimen was found by the writer which is shown in the cut furnished by me. This point has six notches on each edge, each of which are one-eight of an inch in depth. The length of this point from tip to base is one and one-quarter inches. There is also shown in the same cut a very small arrow point one-half inch in length, and of pink colored flint. This is a very good specimen of such a small sized arrow point. There are shown herewith several other types of arrow points of different sizes. Cut furnished by Stanley M. East and Homer Haworth [Illustration: (1) Mound on farm of W. J. Eichorn near Spring Bay, Woodford County, Illinois.] [Illustration: (2) Members of the Kickapoo Club at Spring Bay, Illinois, July 6, 1913.] It is a notable fact that practically all arrow points found in this locality are small, ranging from three-quarters of an inch to an inch and one-half in length. The cut shows several other relics, all of which were found near "Cahokia." The surface of the adjoining fields are literally covered with fragments of ancient pottery. Judging from the fancy rims and handles and the engravings on these fragments it is evident that the mound builders were very adept in the manufacture of this kind of pottery. The cut shows two specimens of broken pottery and the particular surface markings on the same. There is also an imitation of a birds head made of the same material. This was probably an ornament or handle for some vessel. This pottery was evidently colored in some manner as some of the fragments are bright red in color and others are jet black or brown. Many pieces were highly polished. There is also shown in the cut a conch core or sea shell with reversed whorls. This one is six inches long and of these there seem to be a great number found in this locality and found in such a position and under such circumstances as to leave hardly a doubt in the mind that they were held sacred by the mound builders and used in their religious ceremonies. A brass signet ring was also found which is evidently traders material and may possibly have been brought there by the "monks." This ring has a pecular emblem on the flat circular surface which looks like a right angle with a character in the center shaped like a heart. The circular surface of the seal or signet is five-sixteenths of an inch in diameter and the size of the ring is three-quarter inch. There is also shown a blue glass bead. Several beads of different material have been found here but the most rare is one shown in the cut, made of shell, circular in form, one inch in diameter and three-sixteenths of an inch in thickness, with a three-sixteenths inch hole through the center. This specimen is of the kind commonly known as wampum and was used by the Indians as money. There is also shown in the cut a bear's claw of which several were found by members of our party. The largest specimen shown in the center of the cut is a chert hoe or cultivating implement found by the writer. This specimen is seven and one half inches long and tapers from two to four and three quarters inches in width. It was discovered about eighteen inches below the surface in the field north-east of the great "Cahokia mound." The accompanying cut shows the location of this find and a good view of the surroundings. _A Visit to Hopiland._ _By Miss Edith M. Cox and Herbert Cox._ At sunset on the first of August, 1913, we were at last ready to leave Holbrook, Arizona for Hopiland--almost a hundred miles northward from this point on the Santa Fe. The Indians--never in a hurry--had taken the greater part of the day in loading the three white covered wagons. Our party included four Hopis, one Navajo, a white man employed by the government and three white women. My friend Miss Nelson a missionary among these Hopis, was returning to her work and I was going to visit her. The third woman was a new worker. Steve, a splendid Christian Hopi and his twelve year old David, had come for Miss Nelson and her friends. Across the desert we traveled until we were at an elevation of some seven thousand feet. The vastness of the desert, the scant and varying vegetation, the Painted Desert, the great buttes which deceived us by their apparent nearness, the scattered dwellings of the Navajo Indians, the exhilaration which came from sleeping in the open, the call of the distant coyote or the prairie dogs, the camp fire built of anything available--all these made wonderful impressions on one accustomed to limited horizons. No more primitive nor interesting Indians are to be found in North America today than these Hopis removed from the traveled highways of men. They were discovered by Coronado in 1540. Priests came, but were driven out by the Hopis. A few years later these Indians moved on top of three mesas. These appear as huge prows of ships projecting into the great desert. To protect themselves the Indians built their houses in terrace fashion of such material that one on the desert can with difficulty see them. The Hopi is industrious. Walled in gardens, fields of corn on the plain and flocks of sheep show his agricultural interests. Weaving is done by the men in winter. They make all the clothing. The women build and own the houses. All water is carried in jars on the backs of women up the narrow mesa trail. Beautiful red and light colored pottery is made on First Mesa while baskets are made by the women of Second Mesa. The foundation of these baskets is grass covered with yucca fibers bleached in the sun or colored with juices from plants. If the public realized the value of these baskets so that it would demand them these Indians would not be so poor. The Hopi has no written language. Some two thousand words constitute his vocabulary. The older people use the sign language very much. The Hopi marriage is little more than a washing of the heads of each party in seperate bowls, then in one bowl. One may marry another if he is absent. Divorce is easily obtained by putting a man's saddle outside the door. If he puts wood outside her door and it is taken in he may enter again. Children not old enough to belong to the Tribe are buried in crevices of the rocks. The place of burial indicated by a stick. It is not uncommon to see eight or nine sticks in one place. The older ones are buried in a sitting posture in the ground. The third or fourth morning after burial they believe the spirit partakes of meal and water; then by means of a feather pointing west it goes to its spirit home in the Grand Canyon. [Illustration] [Illustration: (Cut furnished by Gus Bluemke.)] They have many ceremonies and rites. Some two hundred spirits are worshipped. These are represented by masked men, dolls and placs. The desire for rain has an important part in many ceremonies. This is true of the famous Hopi Snake Dance. This attracted much attention last year because attended by Mr. Roosevelt. Some fifty machines, mostly Fords, made the desert trip. The Hopis believe a great smoke in the earth controls the rain. A great many rattle and bull snakes are gathered and cared for in the underground "kivas" or caves. At sunset on the ninth day of the ceremony the snake men come from the kivas. They dance with the snake in the mouth until all have been thus treated. A priest frees them in the rocks and prays that the parent snake may give the Hopis rain. Our government maintains a school for children of each mesa and one more advanced at government headquarters. Those desiring to go further are sent to Indian schools. Some of these Hopis are known as unfriendlies--hostile to the government. Until last year soldiers had to be sent to get their children whom the parents refused to send. Besides the missionaries who are doing much the government has its agent, farmer, windmill man, doctors, teachers and matrons. On my return to the railroad we were delayed because of heavy rains. What was a small stream in August was in September a river three-fourths of a mile wide when we first saw it. In the bed of this stream our wagon was stuck. The chief of the Navajo Tribe helped us take it to pieces and so get it out of the mud in the wash. Imagine if you can what it would mean to hear a train whistle after six weeks' absence from civilization. As we topped the rise on the afternoon of the fourth day the sight of that brought me to my feet. How I gazed at it! My Indian driver said "Miss----pashalayi" ("Miss----you are very happy.") Early the next morning three of us said good bye. My Indian companion with his hat in hand and my father and I said more in those parting handshakes than words could ever tell. A few minutes later we were borne westward by train and he to the north in his wagon. [Illustration: Section of a Hopi Village, Second Mesa, Shipaulovi.] (Handwritten notation: Cut Furnished by Herbert Cox) KATAHOTAN. Old Town. (To The Kickapoo Club.) Behold the trail Where many moccasinned feet have trod, And many white mens weary steps Have led to death untimely, or to long captivity. Behold the village site, Where once the Kickapoos In pole-bark houses lived, and where Their council-house Stood from the others, somewhat larger, And a little way apart. Here Pemoatam and Masheena met To choose for war or peace, and choosing war, Set forth upon that dire ill-fated way That led to Tippecanoe, and Tecumsehs fall. Here also came Frenchman and Spaniard in the early days, Then our First Settlers in the later times, To counsel with their distant Indian neighbors. Black Robes and Couriers des Bois, Long Knives and Rangers intermingled. And here came traders from the far Detroit, To barter white mens wares for Indian peltries. Behold where once the Dance Ground was Where many soft-shod feet have stepped To rhythmic beating of the painted drums, And rattling of the shaking, stone-filled gourds. And here the head men lectured and exhorted them To follow steadfast in their fathers ways, Which they had practiced ere the white men came, With hands against the whites eternally. Behold the graves Of many Kickapoos who died Long years before their children Left Illinois and journeyed westward. And here the stockade fort Built up by other hands than theirs, Of which no mark nor trace remains Save this the whites erected. From these few gleanings of the early years, From these few broken fragments that we find, Canst realize and picture once anew The scenes of former days in Katahotan? Canst conjure mental vision of the times When priest and white fur-trader may have come To preach "salvation" and to barter wares With savage tribesmen who once dwelt herein? Canst picture Lee and Stark or old Masheena? Or Pemoatam whose consistent pride Forbade him live beneath the Long Knives rule But whom afflictions blow could not withstand? Where now the corn and grass grows rank, Where now the white mens cattle come to drink At spring or stream where once the buffalo And deer and Indian pony slaked their thirst? It may be also here Kaanakuk Once taught his people of those better ways So well remembered yet, but which So few still follow faithfully. If they should choose, his people might come here To see where once their forbears lived. Where some who once found humble burial, And other hands have long years since removed. I fear that strange tradition which they hold That 'Some day we shall all go back To Aneneewa whence our people came' Shall never never be fulfilled, Nor moccasinned feet shall tread this soil again In Times unending course of centuries. Lest in some unknown shadow-land, perchance Within that place they call Apamekka, Of which their "Prophet" taught them-- Celestial Katahotan-- Celestial "Aneneewa." For now the corn and grass grows rank And now the white mens cattle come to drink At spring and stream where once the buffalo And deer and Indian pony slaked their thirst. M. C. Transcriber's Notes Minor punctuation typos were silently corrected. Run-on sentences and grammatical errors were retained as in the original. Spelling variations were retained for Bluemke(2)/Blumke(5) and Kaufman(1)/Kauffman(1). Page 1: Probable typo: "varities" for "varieties." (Orig: such large varities of implements and ornaments) Plate 4: Typo "No. 4" for "No. 3." (Orig: Artifacts ... on Camp Site shown on Plate No. 4) Page 5: Deleted duplicate "and." (Orig: perforated sand-stone tablets and and several potsherds.) Page 6: Probable typo: "deposite" for "deposit." (Orig: a few glacial boulders in a natural deposite) Page 6: Changed "an" to "and." (Orig: from tip to base is one an one-quarter inches.) Page 7: Changed "pratically" to "practically." (Orig: It is a notable fact that pratically all arrow points) Page 7: Changed "brough" to "brought." (Orig: possibly have been brough there by the "monks.") Page 7: Probable typo: "pecular" for "peculiar." (Orig: This ring has a pecular emblem) Page 8: Probable typo: "seperate" for "separate." (Orig: each party in seperate bowls,) 
43631	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive.) THE VICE BONDAGE OF A GREAT CITY OR The Wickedest City in the World --By-- ROBERT O. HARLAND. The Reign of Vice, Graft and Political Corruption. Expose of the monstrous Vice Trust. Its personnel. Graft by the Vice Trust from the Army of Sin for protection. A score of forms of vice graft. Horrifying revelations of the life of the Scarlet Woman. New lights on White Slavery. Protected Gambling and the blind police. The inside story of an enslaved police department. A warning to the parents. How to save YOUR GIRL or BOY. ALSO remedies to cure the Municipal Evil that in one city alone fills the pockets of not more than ten Vice Lords with $15,000,000, annually, made from the sins of 50,000 unfortunate men and women; an evil that is blasting our nation's decency and prosperity and is eating into the very vitals of our Republic. Save the growing generation of men and women. A book to create public and saving opinion, to destroy lethargy and inoculate the germ of activity; to enlist every aid to wipe out the curse of this nation. Copyright, 1912, by ROBERT O. HARLAND. PUBLISHED BY THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S CIVIC LEAGUE 301-305 Security Building Chicago, Ill. This book is a recital of sin, crime and graft. It is fact, not fiction. Commercialized crime, police collusion with underworld power and the barter of men's and women's souls is going on today. The investigation conducted by the Civil Service Commission, which has resulted in the discharge of several police inspectors and a number of subordinates, has tended to minimize, temporarily, the vice conditions. The vice lords have sneaked away to their lairs, and are waiting until the brooms of the municipal house-cleaners are stacked away in a corner. The "town is closed," to use the vernacular. That fact does not detract from the moral value of this expose. Why? Because the storm will blow over. The axe of the Civil Service Commission has hacked deep into the trunk of the Vice-Graft tree, but the roots from which the sap of crime flows still live and flourish. A few policemen have been thrown into the discard, the victims of the System that is still unharmed. The Temple of Crime, Vice and Graft will be rebuilded. The foundation is intact. The conditions which are exposed in this book flourished until a few months ago. Their human causes still live, but craven with fear. The Vice Trust shall thrive on men's souls and women's bodies again. It shall exist until the root of evil is killed--until corrupt and ruling politics is hounded out of the city--to death! CONTENTS. Preface Page 9 CHAPTER I. THE VICE TRUST, ITS KINGDOM AND POWER. The Story of Chicago's Subjugation to Political and Police Corruption.--The Corrupt Ballot Box.--The Mechanism of the Trust.--The Prices of Sin and Vice.--The Horror of Ruined and Purchased Lives.--The Remedy 15 CHAPTER II. THE DEBAUCHERY OF THE BALLOT. The Sacredness of the Ballot.--Its Corruption by the Vice Trust.--Methods of Corruption.--Affidavits Showing Corruption.--A Cleansed Ballot Box, A Cleansed City 47 CHAPTER III. COME AND SEE. A City Defiled. The First Step.--State Street and Its Pitfalls.--The Stages of Sin.--The Borderland of Hell.--The Cafe Evil.--The Rich Man's Girl Trap.--Crimes that Thrive by Night 63 CHAPTER IV. THE "REDLIGHT" DISTRICT. Houses of Infamy.--The Feeders of the "Redlight" District.-- The Life of a Prostitute.--The Big Palaces of Vice.--The Blood Price.--Hidden Tragedies.--The Polluted Grave 87 CHAPTER V. WHAT WILL YOU BID FOR THIS WOMAN? White Slavery.--The Trapping of the Prey.--Price of a Body and Soul.--Hell's Bondage.--The "Cadet" Master.--Death the Penalty 100 CHAPTER VI. VICE AND GRAFT. Police Collectors.--The Triumvirate.--Figures that Freeze the Blood.--Graft that Feeds on Flesh and Blood.--The Prostitute's Graft Price.--The Kimona Trust.--The Laundry Trust.--The Criminal Doctor.--The Prostitute and the Beer Graft.--The Woman and the "Cadet."--Terrible Examples.--Lure of the Life.--The Pace that Kills.--To the Woman: Death.--How about Your Daughter? 108 CHAPTER VII. SIDE GRAFTS OF THE SOCIAL EVIL. The Rent Graft.--Saloon Graft.--Dance Halls and Protective Prices.--Graft from the Vice Palaces.--The Massage Parlor.--The Drug Crime.--The Vampire Trust 143 CHAPTER VIII. GAMBLING AND ITS GRAFT. The Gambler's Fate.--The Handbook.--Other Games of Chance and Their Protection.--Police Profit.--All Gambling Crooked.--A Warning 156 CHAPTER IX. TEARING OFF THE POLICE MASK. A Story of the Hypocrisy of the Police Department.--Its Neglect of Duty.--Its Protection of Crime.--The Fate of One Police Official.--The Lost Child that is Never Found.--The Exposure of Big Crimes.--"Tipped Off" Raids.--Strange Ignorance of Police.--The Fate of the Honest Policeman.--Collusion of the Police and Thieves 174 CHAPTER X. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT? The Cause of the Great Evils.--A Warning.--The Duty of Parents.--Young Girls and Boys Should Know the Truth.-- Conclusion 190 Preface. Seventy-five years have elapsed since Chicago became an incorporated city. From a trading post with Fort Dearborn standing guard over its small population, Chicago has grown until today she ranks among the great metropoles of the world. Today her name is reckoned with in every country. Her industries are the supply houses of the nations; her manufacturing plants deal with all peoples; her financial institutions figure vitally in the world's exchanges. Chicago is the most cosmopolitan city on the globe. The children of all races have been attracted to her because of the thousands of opportunities in all walks of life. We live in a sordid age of commercialism suffering from intense neurasthenia. We have made our factories and our places of business our temples. We have enthroned the dollar-god, and fawning, have paid worship to it seeking its gold and silver in return. It has been said by an English philosopher that the optic nerve of the American people has been paralyzed by the glitter of gold. That is true of Chicago. It is true that our moral sense has been warped. Morality has lost its value except as it subserves our financial and material interests. Vice has been co-existent with human consciousness. An abuse of natural laws affecting the race through the individual, is vice in its broadest interpretation. In the annals of the world's history we find moral degradation triumphant on one page and defeated on the next. There seems to be a constant balancing of the moral and social scale. In all ages vice has been, in a sense, commercialized. The vicious have always lived off it, fattened upon it, and died of its slow insidious poison. It remained for this industrial and much-vaunted age systematically to commercialize vice. Chicago with its 2,000,000 inhabitants, its vicious element of unfortunate men and women, its haunts of degradation and shame, its wealth and its poverty, and its democratic form of government, was the experimental place of a "scientific," systematized commercialization of sin. God knows and men are beginning to realize how well the experiment has succeeded! There is no excuse or reason for trumpeting a city's shame if the conditions are simply the result of isolated vice and terrible social environments. If that were all, this book would never have been written. Tersely, we have come to our task with a solemn duty and moral obligation in our heart, mind and soul, viz:-- To show the world at large that Chicago is today the Wickedest City in the World, because a small body of men, invested with a sacred power, political and social, has created a gigantic and ever-growing Vice Trust, annually becoming richer and more dangerous off the sins and crimes of degraded men and abandoned women. It is our intention to demonstrate to the world the machinations of the corporation of crime, its political power, its enslavery of 5,000 fallen women in the segregated districts and twice as many more at large within the city, its annual earnings from a toleration of vice and crime, its prostitution of the police department, and its hideous and myriad ways of trapping new victims to take the places of those whom it had driven to despair and untimely death. The story is shocking to your moral sense; paralyzing to your brain; but it is the Truth. It should be known. Too long have we groped blindly in the dark. An hour of awakening is needed. Vice might be eradicated if the vast system, whose existence we are about to describe, could be first obliterated. Unless the root be removed, the evil will grow rapidly again, despite sincere and persistent reforms. It is our intention to show by logical narration of facts how the annual tribute paid to the Vice Trust for protection and nourishment by the hordes of living demons in the city of Chicago is at least $15,000,000. The life-blood of women, bought and sold on the auction block of the Vice Combine, the innocent girls who barter their lives of purity for a sip of the poison of the bitter wine of life, the men who drag the shackles of sin on their limbs, and the hellish fiends who serve Satan on earth, prostrate before the directorate of the Vice Trust, offer their tribute to the over lords of the city's degradation. This book is not the fantastic, lurid picturing of the shames of women and the crimes of men. It is an expose of how not more than ten men whom we call the Directorate of Ten, create, organize, mobilize and lead, and derive almost fabulous profits from, an army of thousands of unfortunates. It is the story of a power wrested from the people at the debauched ballot boxes and used as the weapon to murder men and women annually. This is not the dream of an overzealous mind seeking sincerely to right a terrible wrong. It is a cold, statistical narration of facts. It is the observations of one who for ten years has studied every phase of the demoniacal system, who has been intimately associated with the Directorate of Ten, who has stood by and watched the never-ending procession of the men and women slaves who have done the monster's bidding and fallen inevitably into the charnal houses of the dead. The average Chicago man or woman knows of the thousand and one forms of vice that flourish in Chicago, but he or she does not know that the entire vice system works in harmony like the most delicate piece of mechanism. The voters do not know that vice is more perfectly organized in Chicago today than any corporation in existence. The writer has set out to show in the glaring, white light of truth the real causes of the present social evil. The social evil today does not find its ultimate reason in unrestrained passions, human viciousness and weakness; it finds its reason in the commercialization of debased creatures and the enslavement of them in profitable labors to their masters, until death. The Vice Trust to increase constantly its profits has a thousand lures for the unwary. The masters of these infamous pitfalls are the lieutenants of this monstrous trust. The writer knows of all these chasms and has studied the horrifying details of the men and women traps. He has attempted to set them forth and nail the sign of warning above them. The wages of sin is Death! If once a woman or a man is enslaved in any one of the traps set by the Vice Trust then death lies at the end of a short path. Yearly, thousands of young and pure girls and ambitious and clean young men, come to Chicago as to the city of dreams, pleasure and glory. Yearly, thousands are trapped and soon pay the awful penalty. The city boy and the city girl are not immune. Many of them meet similar fates. If the writer can stem the rush of these young souls to the fires of living hells he will feel well rewarded for his task. He has endeavored, by placing the responsibility for the social evil on corrupt politics that has created a grafting, robbing, and murdering Vice Trust, to put the subject in a new and interesting light. To the men and women who sleep not, because their children, young and undefiled, are growing up within the reach of an insatiable monster, does the writer particularly appeal. He has attempted to show that the Vice Trust, the secret cause of municipal degradation, is the monster that must be annihilated. The Chicago police department is an inefficient and corrupted body today, that is protecting vice and not destroying it, because a majority of its members are enslaved by the Vice Trust. Every vice, every sin, every crime has its price of toleration. This is the reign of the triumvirate of vice, graft and political corruption. To all men of character and worth, to every father and every mother with the welfare of their children at heart, the writer appeals in the battle against this hideous evil. One soul saved, one man helped, one woman turned from the pathway of hell will give this volume a human value. The author in conclusion asks a thorough consideration of the facts related and hopes that all to whom this book may come, may feel its message of truth and join the ranks of the army of righteous men and women who have pledged their lives to make Chicago a city after man's highest conception, a place where our children may grow to maturity imbued with the spirit and character that make true American men and women. [Illustration: LOST OPPORTUNITIES OF HISTORY. By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily News. WHAT DANTE MISSED.] CHAPTER I. The Vice Trust, its Kingdom and its Power. The Story of Chicago's Subjugation to Political and Police Corruption--The Corrupt Ballot Box--The Mechanism of the Trust--The Prices of Sin and Vice--The Horror of Ruined and Purchased Lives--The Remedy. Seventy-five years ago a body of pioneer souls who dared death for the dream of individual liberty, wealth and happiness, founded a city, and after the manner of the times, adopted an Indian name and called it Chicago. The city grew, prospered, flourished; likewise did the inhabitants. Nature seemed to bless all who settled within her boundaries. Resources undreamed of were discovered. The lake breezes fanned the tiny flame of future greatness and the sun warmed the ambitious blood of the early inhabitants. She became the golden gate to the unexplored West. She became the cosmopolitan and central point of a world power. Chicago was talked of, considered, bargained with from East to West, and North to South. With vastness came power; with power, abuse; with abuse, vice; with vice, crime; with crime, graft. It is of CHICAGO, TODAY, we write. Truth sears, eats, destroys that which is but veneer and golden covering. Chicago has blinded herself to the hideous truth. She has hidden her head, closed her eyes and cried out: "I will not see!" Vice, like some slimy, hideous, mephitic, green-eyed monster from the deepest abyss of Hell has crept, sinuous and noiseless, on an unsuspecting people. It has battened upon red, pure life-blood. It has fattened on white flesh. It has destroyed virginal purity, public morals and political honesty. The monster has been insatiable. Satan, king of the damned dead since the Beginning, urged on the monster Vice. His political minions kneeled and offered sacrifice to the incarnate Evil of the World. To save themselves they fed him of the rich and sacred stores of the city. They took their portion. They are still taking their share. They still feed the monster. They are its slaves; they, appointed by the people to safeguard them and to make their laws. The monster Vice is fed by the police and politicians, who, under cover of night and darkness, plunder, steal, cheat and murder to satisfy its greed. We speak not in metaphor; this is the literal truth. We shall prove it. If Satan came out of the depths of his Inferno, away from the shrieks of the lost millions, he would wander from city to city until he reached Chicago. Then, in this twentieth century of culture, refinement and progress, he would stand outside the gates, smile in triumph and speak this,--the living, shameful, naked truth: This is the CITY ACCURSED! This is the CITY OF THE LIVING DAMNED! This is the CITY OF MY DESIRE! This is the CITY AFTER MY OWN HEART! VICE, CRIME, CORRUPTION RULE:--MY TRIUMVIRATE! This is THE MOST WICKED CITY IN THE WORLD! Satan would tell the truth. Chicago today is the most wicked city in the world. Babylon had its vices; so, too, Alexandria. Greece and Rome struggled and died in a national moral degeneracy they had created. Chicago has surpassed them in wickedness. Nay, Sodom and Gomorrah, destroyed by the wrath of Heaven, were pure when compared to Chicago. Paris and its lure of vice is tame by the side of Chicago. There is no parallel in history. There is no adequate comparison. Chicago leads the world in evil today. She stalks at the head of the Army of Sin:--a beautiful, sensuous mistress and paramour to a personalized god of named and unnamed Crime. The army is composed of bodies and souls that Hell has claimed but not called. Their destinies are still unfinished on earth. And why is Chicago the Hell-hole of the world? Because she has taken the failings, sins, defects, crimes, miseries and vices of humanity, hurled them into a seething caldron of infamy, melted them, amalgamated them and commercialized them. A Vice-Graft system has been created. It has been formed along the lines of modern commerce and finance. Today the institution is stronger, more powerful, more impregnable than the biggest financial or industrial combine in the United States! In fact, it has absorbed many and invaded mysteriously and secretly every other enterprise founded on decency and honesty. It is living off every legitimate trade, business and industry in Chicago. That is the limitless scope of the Vice Trust of Chicago, unincorporated, but possessing a capital running high into the millions of dollars and souls. There are three stockholders, speaking in a collective sense, in Chicago's Vice Trust, namely:-- The inhabitants of the highways and byways and gilded houses of infamy. The police department of the city. A coterie of politicians. These form the board of directors of the ruthless, merciless, parasitic, powerful corporation of Vice, Graft, Crime & Co. Scarcely an individual, scarcely an industry fails to yield its life-blood to that infamous trust! It feeds like a great octopus on the entire city. Many of us are its unconscious victims! CHICAGO--THE LIVING, BREATHING HELL. "Leave behind all hope, all ye who enter here." Dante dreamed he saw that line above the fiery gates of Hell. To those who know and understand, that line flames as if written by the fiery finger of Fate, in the heavens above Chicago. You, all of you, dwelling without its polluted precincts, cannot enter it without being trapped into the meshes of the Vice-Graft combine! Spider-like, it has woven its web over and about the city. Enter and you are entangled, consciously or unconsciously. There is no escape. We shall prove this broad, sweeping statement. From the depot to the cab, from the cab to the hotel, from the hotel to the dining room, barber shop, manicure room or other places, the monster trails you. The Vice Trust's agents are forever lurking in your shadow. To the store, place of business, halls of amusement, the silent form sneaks behind you, exacting from you a toll for the privilege of walking the streets of Chicago and breathing God's free air. When you leave for your quiet, peaceful hometown, the minions of the trust follow you almost to the sacred entrance of an undefiled home. Only the sanctity, purity and goodness, stops them there. Such is the system! THE SYSTEM AND ITS CAUSES. Vice is co-existent with reason. Vice is a form of the abuse of reason. As the city grew like a mushroom, so vice grew. All elements were attracted. Vice crept in, grew and flourished. Its resources were human souls and bodies,--men and women. It became a great, eating, nauseating, foul-smelling ulcer on the body municipal. It needed control. Control--police regulation--was given it. Flagrant, unblushing vice was hidden away in the corners of the city, to fester and die unseen. But vice never dies. It lives on the body it has destroyed. Its existence is parasitic. It grew, grew, grew. Then like a many-armed octopus it stretched out and out about it. Craven souls, dealing with it, sworn by law to slay it, felt the terror of death upon them. Also, with Satanic insight they saw the-- POSSIBILITIES! Gold! Gold! Luxury! Power! Wealth! Ever since the beginning we have cried for them, sinned for them. Here was the chance. THE COMPACT WRITTEN IN FLESH AND BLOOD. "Let the creature Vice live and thrive, but give us part of the red blood and white flesh of its victims"--was the thought. The politician saw the opportunity. He could not evolve the scheme without the aid of the police, so he confessed his conceived crime. The police consented. Then the leaders of the cohorts of vice were told of the combine and its ultimatum. They, too, consented. "Give us part of the blood and flesh money and you may live and we will protect you."--said the politicians and the police officials. Out of the cavernous depths of Chicago's Hell, where thousands yearned to be free to sow death without hindrance, came the fiendish answer:-- "WE WILL!" The compact was written in letters of blood. Thousands gave up health, happiness and life to launch the Vice Trust. Today it is in its zenith! Competition has been a factor in making and completing its triumph. We have spoken collectively of the Vice Trust organization. THE DIRECTORATE OF GRAFT, CRIME AND CORRUPTION. Individually, today, ten powerful politicians lay down the law, exact the toll, distribute it, after taking their major share, pass sentence of life and death on good and bad, direct the huge and intricate machinery, pay off the hundreds of employes,--principally members of the police department,--high and low, and plan to enlarge and strengthen the greatest, strangest and most complex organization in the world. It is the Directorate of Ten! They have divided the city between them and their vassals. They are the rulers of the mysterious underworld, living like princes and rulers in the white palaces of the overworld, surfeited with the heavy luxuries of life. POLITICS, POLICE AND VICE. Political power is the greatest of all power. It can subjugate with iron hand all other powers. The Directorate of Ten found willing agents in the police department of Chicago. It has them today, and if needs be, can find more. Human souls are easily purchased. Today the system is intricate. So intricate that the combine has received the appellation,--the Vice System. To exist, vice, in any one of its thousand forms, must pay tribute. The tribute is shared with the police for protection. Many police inspectors, captains, lieutenants, sergeants and patrolmen receive portions. Segregation, flaunted to the world as the best remedy yet found for the social evil, is but a lie on the part of the Vice Trust. Only a portion of the unit Vice is kept within the limits of four "redlight" districts. The rest stalks the streets, free, robbing its victims in the glare of the noon-day sun. The lost women-souls of the levees are but a pitiful and small part of the army of Vice. They simply dwell in the rendezvous of the thousands who live by infamy. FOR EACH CRIME A PRICE! From all vice-sources tribute is exacted monthly by the police themselves or by the low, inhuman collectors of the Vice Trust. Every vice has its price of toleration for existence! Every possible violation of the law, the powers that be will wink at at so much per wink! All this infamy,--this protection of crime and reeking corruption, exists today in Chicago. THE ATTACK UPON THE TRUST. The Civil Service Commission of Chicago attacked the bulwarks of the Trust of Crime. The police department was the point of assault. Several officials were discharged for incompetency and inefficiency. Had they destroyed that Satanic allegiance the backbone of the Combine might have been broken. Chicago stood paralyzed at the revelations. The truth was murderous in its hideous nakedness. No one had ever dreamed of the scope of its business--the vice business. The unholy alliance struggled to outlive the attack. Back on to the weak, narrow shoulders of unsystematized infamy the politicians and the police threw the blame. The network of vice, the spiderweb of crime, the intricate working of the System, the collusion of vice-parasites and political and police magnates have become known. The story has more interest than a novel born of the imagination of genius; more lure than the best detective story ever penned; more fascination than any page in ancient or modern literature; because it is palpitating, aching present day truth. Because it is a living fact. Because it is an "elbow to elbow" condition. Because it is the story of a great city, lost to goodness, and won to wickedness. It is the story of Chicago! The hideous ulcer is no longer concealed. It festers no longer in the dark. Its poison seeths in the searing light of inquiry. THE VICE-GRAFT CIRCLE:--WITHOUT BEGINNING, WITHOUT END. Political power to become absolutism without danger of extinction needs strong, imperishable foundations. To hold vice-control meant to rule a vice territory with iron hand. It was accomplished. THE BALLOT:--THE SECRET OF VICE POWER. This is the way it was done and still is being done. Take those political precincts within whose boundaries the "redlight" districts exact their toll from the thousands of unfortunate souls, who live in the iniquitous Hell-holes or haunt them in search of pleasure. Political powers were busy systematizing. Elections threatened to defeat them and kill their plans. The ballot box was the salvation. The prostitution of the ballot came into existence and lives and flourishes today, the primal blot on Chicago's once honorable escutcheon! To gain an election, to hold political and vice-power the ballot box was and is stuffed by a subtle and almost unpunishable method. A district, by way of example, is populated by a floating and transient element, brought into Chicago by the agents of the corrupt or drawn here by promises of lucrative gain. These men are used to stuff the ballot boxes and secure a victory of crime, sin and iniquity. On the South Side there are scores of hotels, whose standard and character are written in unmistaken language on their very exteriors. These also exist on the West and North sides of the city. The assignation houses and the cheap lodging houses are the media for slaying the honest ballot. Men, brought to the city to corrupt elections, register in these places under the names of prostitutes and absent inmates and under this guise, cast polluted votes. THE BALLOT-CONTROL OF VICE. One man on election day can easily cast ten votes under ten names of ten dissolute women, who live in the hotels under cognomens, giving initials for their first names. One hundred men can cast 1,000 illicit votes. That is sufficient to carry an aldermanic election. One thousand men can cast 10,000 ballots! That, in a pinch, could sweep honesty from the highest office in the city, and crown a Vice Trust vassal,--mayor! This is how the Vice Trust wields the balance of power in Chicago, a power that can crush any business, any man, can remove to the "woods" any policeman or police official who refuses to obey its decrees, and so on without limit. Destroy this and Chicago might once more rear her head in pride. It is the clutch that sets in motion all the machinery of evil. Wreck that clutch and the delicate, subtle mechanism of concerted crime would disintegrate. Chicago is blind to the terrible evil of the plethoric ballot box, but the eyes of thousands are being slowly opened. The "prostitute-repeating" system is but one of the means employed to gain and sustain political control. Hundreds of other methods are in vogue today and working their evil effects. "Stamp out Vice and Evil. Eliminate the red-lighted, tinsel Houses of Shame; give our city to God." This is the cry of the churches, led by their praiseworthy pastors. Oh, ye with eyes that see not, and ears that are deaf to the voices of hell, strike now and strike hard. But strike not at the thousands of fallen women, nor at the brothel keepers, nor at the dive owners, nor at the panderers, not yet, at least. STRIKE, FIRST, AT THE POLITICAL SYSTEM THAT CONTROLS ALL AND REIGNS OVER ALL. Destroy the foundation and the superstructure will topple over of itself. Break the power that begins and ends at the ballot box. Break the power that sucks at the veins of the myriad army of the lost, and lives on the white ways of decency. That is the evil! Kill it! In showing the Unbroken Circle of Iniquity we have shown where the control of crime is begotten. And now the parts, interlocked so finely that the connecting points are lost, are to be revealed. Once political power is assured, all else is inevitable by the nature of things. THE POLICE COLLECTORS. The political power finds its agents. They are of necessity, the police. Willing spirits are found. The guardians of the law and public safety are hired out by the political kings to collect their tolls from their sycophants and vassals. Chicago policemen, high and low,--we venture to say eighty per cent of them,--are today by virtue of the collection and tribute system the confederates of every species of criminal, of every exploiter of every known kind of vice. They aid, abet and allow these law violators to thrive. Vice and crime must pay its tribute to the police. The police must turn over the bulk of the proceeds to their political masters. No criminal can continue in his nefarious business without paying the price. It is called Police Protection. That is the blind. In reality it is Political Protection. The police are but the body guard, the secret service of the corrupt-- Directorate of Ten. Under Police Protection, for so many dollars per day, according to the nature of the crime-business being carried on, every form of vice flaunts itself in the face of Chicago's 2,000,000 inhabitants and its thousands of country visitors. It is no secret. Chicago knows. But she has failed to observe the reason, and to open her eyes is the mission of this book. THE PRICE OF CRIME:--$15,000,000 A YEAR! From the army of vice the yearly tribute to the Directorate of Ten--the controlling power--is almost unbelievable. The figures stagger one. With reserve, not exaggeration, we make this statement:-- Chicago's vice legion yields for existence and for protection the sum of-- $15,000,000 annually. Think of it! Crime pays that fortune to exist and rob the public of more money. We are not dealing with the thieving contractors who rob the citizens through fixed contracts. We treat only of the crime that the police are sworn to slay. $15,000,000 put into the coffers of men supposed to be representing the people that the donors may go on destroying the souls and bodies of women, the souls and bodies of men! That astounding offering to appease the human Juggernauts and to sow in the youths and maidens of our nation the seeds of incurable diseases! That sum in the blood-stained hands of demagogues to blast a city's decency and prosperity and to eat into the very vitals of our Republic! In small envelopes, dirty and diseased, bacteria-bearing paper money and grimy silver are handed in the dark or the light to policemen or outside collectors to be turned over to the Directorate of Ten. Let the figure $15,000,000 in tribute burn into the recesses of your brain if you would realize the gigantic and almost indescribable character of crime in Chicago. It is estimated that the $15,000,000 annual vice tribute is less than half a year's aggregate earnings. Do you realize that $15,000,000 is five per cent of $300,000,000? A VICE CAPITAL OF FLESH AND BLOOD. Think of it! Almost half a billion dollars! But the capital in this business is not so many dollars. It is human flesh, human souls, human blood! Can they be measured in dollars? There is no capital in this hideous trust that stands in banks. The real capital must be turned over and over. The exhausted bodies of men and women fill the incurable disease wards of the hospital, the crippled and broken down inhabit the shacks of the tenements, and thousands are buried in paupers' graves. This is the price of the slaves! There is nothing but the world of infamy. Nothing but the aching, diseased bodies of women. Nothing but the outraged purity of childhood. Nothing but the toiling, unrestrained passions of fiends. Nothing but the lust that is insatiable, the desire that fattens on the poisons it eats. After years of investigation, acquiring information from politicians, police officials and their subordinates, gamblers, habitues of the levees, and nearly five hundred more vassals of the vice trust, we have placed the protection figure at $15,000,000. Attorney W. W. Wheelock, counsel for the Civil Service Commission and the man who attempted to break up the Vice-Police-Political graft combine, in speaking of this subject, said: "I have as yet only scratched the veneer and the surface of this terrifying evil, but the results have made me reel in horror and amazement. At this time I estimate that the yearly graft is $15,000,000. "The true figure, when all things are considered, must run far above that. It is evident that at least eighty per cent of the police, at some time or other, are grafters. The system of tribute and graft burrows into every legitimate pursuit and finds some undreamed of channel of graft." And Ellis Geiger, an alderman, made an astounding statement in full council session, when the subject of appropriation to aid in the police graft investigation was before that body. He said:-- "From the reports of investigators and men who have knowledge of conditions in our city, vice pays tribute of $15,000,000 annually to the police for its liberty of existence." Both these men are citizens of high repute, men of intelligence and understanding. Both have placed the vice-graft at a tremendous figure, but they have not carefully studied all the sources of collection. These when considered, make $15,000,000 a very conservative estimate. What must be the murderous heart and the demon's soul of a monster that is willing to pay such a price to wallow in the trough of moral filth and physical bestiality! THE EVILS OF A WORLD IN A MELTING POT. "Name a vice, a crime, a sin, that was known from the Beginning to the present day, and I'll show it to you in Chicago today." Several years ago when the agents of the system were bolder in their depravity, a "guide" stood outside the Polk street depot, waited for the "gentlemen of the long green" and excited curiosity by the above pronouncement. He could truthfully shout it from the housetops today. To it he would add, if he were to tell the entire truth:-- "I will show you not only every crime, but I will tell you the price of its existence paid to members of Chicago's police department, and other collectors of the Vice Trust." Search and you can find:-- Salient shows, obscene amusement houses, houses of prostitution, segregated and otherwise, fashionable "flats" in choice neighborhoods, dens of reeking infamy for the congregation of humanity's lowest dregs, rendezvous for degenerate white women and negro men, clubs and resorts where degeneracy in its most revolting forms are practiced, professional beggars, rich pickpockets, pretty shoplifters, leering street-walkers, cocaine, morphine and opium dens, fake palmists and fortune tellers, and gambling in its hundreds of luring, deceptive forms. That is Chicago's generic crime list. If we omit, name the sin and it can be found. That is the army that pays the graft to the police and other creatures of the Vice Trust. Then, there are walking the streets of Chicago, known to the police, a score of bomb throwers, men under pay of the gamblers, who have the police as partners, who threw over half a hundred bombs that destroyed nearly $1,000,000 worth of property. THE UNDERWORLD CONTRIBUTORS. Two thousand gamblers pay their blood money. Five thousand women, offered as slaves on the auction block of prostitution, give their lives to make up the hellish tolls. More than five hundred keepers of houses of ill fame contribute their blood-dripping dollars. Owners of five hundred "flats" or assignation houses pay their "life-price." We have said that every form of evil exists. We shall show in this book the amounts of money paid by the minions and promoters of each vice for police and political protection. Our figures are accurate. They are founded on the statements of men who once paid blood-money to live. They are the prices demanded by the Vice Trust today. The graft scale is so astonishing as to be almost unbelievable. Cold figures are set down by the over lords; cold dollars are paid by the lawless. Failure to pay means ruin. Grace is rarely given. The new man or woman seeking to open a vice-business must pay a high entrance fee to the political powers. Their protection price is always higher than that exacted from the "old timers." The more hideous the crime-business the higher the protective compensation for it. The greater the profits accruing, the more the weight of the gold and silver poured into the coffers of the corrupt politicians and their allies. In the white palaces of hidden sin, where degeneracy boasts of its infamous acts, and where men of wealth and women of fashion congregate to turn loose their insane lusts without fear of detection or restraint, the price of existence runs into the thousands of dollars. In several vice emporiums, fitted as sumptuously as the homes of millionaires on Lake Shore Drive, the protection for traffic in white, delicate and beautiful bodies of young girls is $1,000 a month! From the elegantly furnished roulette parlor to the den of quarreling, cursing negroes in the "black belt,"--from the highest place of gaming to the lowest--the price to go on filching thousands of men and women is paid, and paid willingly. THE WHITE SLAVE TRAFFIC ANDS ITS LIFE-PRICE. The White Slave Traffic--the most infamous, foulest, lowest and destructive feature of Chicago's wickedness,--pays a terrible price to the lords of the underworld. Police protection is granted it at terrible risk to the police and politicians themselves. For this reason the price is high. We all know what the White Slave Traffic signifies. In a word it is:-- The buying, by insidious means, of thousands of pure, trusting and innocent girls, the casting of them into the horrifying flesh markets and the auctioning of them to infamous, polluted and brutal slave masters and mistresses for a blood price. It is the desecration of virginal sanctity. The bartering of women-souls for dollars. It is the tearing away of beautiful girls from their parents and the fireside, and the thrusting of them into living hells. IT IS SLOW, SURE MURDER! AND THIS REEKING, DASTARDLY INFAMY HAS ITS PRICE? GOD! WHAT A SACRILEGE! Of this evil and its relation to the Vice Trust we shall speak at length in a separate chapter. PROTECTION PRICES OF ALL VICES. And now here are some startling figures. We will tabulate them, so they will leave their proper impression. THE LIST. Tribute per month Houses of Prostitution-- Those known as "dollar" houses $20.00 "Two and three dollar" houses (for each inmate) $25.00 "Five dollar" houses (for each inmate) $35.00 "Ten dollar" houses (for each inmate) $40.00 Fashionable "flats" $25.00 to $500.00 Assignation hotels $25.00 to $500.00 High class houses where rich old men bring young girls of virtue $500.00 to $1,000.00 Dives of vice where whites and blacks mix $200.00 Saloons with women "hustlers" $100.00 Cafes with "hustlers" (of prosperous trade) $100 to $300.00 Infamous dance halls $50.00 Infamous dance halls, extra for immoral dances $50.00 All-night saloons $50.00 Obscene acting in houses of ill fame $200.00 to $500.00 Handbooks and poolrooms 50 per cent Faro games 50 per cent Stuss ("Jewish poker") 50 per cent Poker and other games 50 per cent Crap games 50 per cent Gambling houses with all games 50 per cent Chinese gambling of all sorts 50 per cent Opium dens $50.00 Cocaine and morphine selling $100.00 Manicure and massage parlors where the women employes are really prostitutes $100.00 Pickpockets and confidence men not definite Street walkers, or "hustlers" $20.00 to $50.00 Professional bondsmen 50 per cent Burglars and dynamiters not obtainable "Vampire" Trust, (members of which are women preying on patrons of fashionable hotels) 50 per cent Professional beggars not definite Fake street hawkers per day, $5.00 Kimona Trust (to be explained later) 66 per cent Laundry Trust 50 per cent "Cadets," or "pimps" not definite Chop Suey restaurants in certain districts $25.00 Such is the record of vice and crime and it is not complete. Such is the record as it appears on the debtors' pages of the Vice Trust. Hundreds of petty forms of infamy have a price. Other crime-trades pay, but the prices cannot be learned or estimated, so intricate are the workings of the vicious combine. What do the agents of the White Slave Traffic pay to barter body and blood? The trust has the secret blood price. Investigation by the state, city and particularly the federal government, has shown its existence. The monthly figure must be upwards of $10,000. SIDE ISSUES IN THE VICE GRAFT. Nothing is consumed by the slaves of crime, nothing is used or even wasted that does not hand over its pittance to the avaricious over lords. We shall give specific instances of the far-reaching, grasping power of the trust to collect. In the South side "redlight" district but one brand of whiskey can be sold today. The Directorate of Ten has so ordered. Why? Because a politician has the controlling interest in the manufacture and sale of a certain brand of whiskey. Therefore, that is the kind of whiskey sold. It is as logical as all things in the harmonious and well-oiled system. No keeper of a house of ill fame, no bloated, blear-eyed saloonkeeper of the district would offer any other brand. Wisely, if not honestly, another capitalist of the vice-corporation has bought up a cigarette concern. He makes and sells a poisonous, brain and moral-destroying cigarette. Ask for cigarettes in any den of infamy in the levees of the city, and this brand will be forced on you. Perhaps if you strongly protest, you can obtain some other brand, but your protest must be loud and insistent. Once more is evidenced the overwhelming, overreaching power of operative and unified lawlessness. Another member of the Trust has sunk his crime-tainted dollars into a taxi-cab concern. The corporation must yield a profitable harvest. Result: The man, who after satisfying his lust and passions, drunk with the wine he has paid dearly for, and exhausted from a repulsive debauch, is put into a taxi-cab and driven away from a "redlight" resort. That taxi-cab belongs, through invested capital, to a member of the Crime Directorate. Again the shadow of the monster. If a business man engages in the manufacture of gambling paraphernalia he looks for a market,--usually the saloon or dive. When he seeks contracts he is told: "Better see the boss." He sees him. He pays him, and then he installs his machines at will, even over the protest of resort keepers. Again the hidden graft channel. Hundreds of pounds of opium are smuggled into Chicago yearly. The opium dens pay their protection price, but long before that the policeman has held out his hand behind his back, accepted the graft from the "importer" and sent him on to sow a slow death to thousands through the petals of the poppy bud. THE QUACK DOCTORS OF CHICAGO. The city is overrun with quack doctors. Sensational and horrifying signs adorn their windows, they advertise their "cures" in the columns of the daily newspapers. They are the destroyers of health instead of the givers of strong physiques and clear minds. Their prey is, in the most part, out-of-town men and women and the illiterate of the city, who suffer, or fear they are the victims of unmentionable diseases. Do they fatten on the proceeds of this crime, free of trust-tribute? Far from it. They pay a stipend from the fee wrung from the unfortunates who enter their laboratories of crime. The professional bondsmen, usually "lieutenants" or friends of the men "higher up" are useful assets in times of emergency. When the outlook is dull, when the collection days are far away, they do good service, aided by members of the police department. Suppose an unfortunate cesspool has failed to meet its obligations to the vice lords. As a result the police are ordered by the "powers" to raid it. They do so. At least a score of men are caught in the net. The professional bondsman signs their bonds at a price ranging from $5 to $25 each. The bondsman retains a small percentage, as also the police. The rest goes to the vice rulers. THE KIMONA TRUST AND THE VAMPIRE TRUST. The light, cheap and thin apparel worn by the lost women of the dens of pollution contribute their small share to buy diamonds for the vice-magnates. There is a vice-asset called the "Kimona Trust." Every stitch of clothing worn by the women denizens of the underworld is made and sold by its agents. For that trade it pays a regular and definite tribute. We could go on enumerating indefinitely and never reach an end. Graft, graft,--every kind from every dreamed-of source! The Vampire Trust is one of the novelties of Chicago's crime-world. It is of recent creation. It is a subsidiary corporation of the "big combine." One hundred women, it is estimated, form its rank and file. They are women of luring, attractive appearance, insidious "good-fellows," smartly educated and vice's students of human nature. Like vultures they prey on Chicago's wealthy visitors. They infest the lobbies, restaurants and cafés of Chicago's most exclusive hotels. They search out their victims, wile them away from business cares by sensuous charms, take them "slumming," drug them and rob them. Then they divide their ill-gotten gains with their protectors. Then, too, there is the "hotel thieves combine." It is estimated that more than $1,000 worth of valuables is stolen from the hotels in a month. Bell boys are numbered among the hotel thieves. The police watch them and follow them to the "fences"--the places where the stolen property is sold for less than one half its value. Once more the trust does its work. The "fence" manager must pay tribute or go to jail. He pays, of course. That is the story of GRAFT, its origin, source and magnitude. WHEN AND WHERE WILL IT END? In the most defiled pages of the world's history, can you find a parallel? It is not brutal, primitive, disorganized, heterogenous vice and crime, such as inoculated nations that crumbled to decay; it is systematized, organized, commercialized corruption. It begins with the power created at a debauched ballot box! It ends--? God alone can tell where it ends! THE MEAGER PURCHASE-PRICE OF POLICEMEN'S SOULS. The police department in a large majority is corrupted. But the evil hides behind that body. It would be like paring a corn to destroy that body. The root is still imbedded in the flesh. POLITICS--prostituted and debauched--is the root of the evil. The honest policeman is but a plaything. If he wanders into a vice king's district he is tried out. If found wanting in rottenness his transfer is effected. A more plastic man is found to fill his place. The police department has sold its soul of honor for a mess of decaying pottage. Because:-- It is estimated that of the $15,000,000 in graft annually, the corrupt members of the department receive but ten per cent. They do the slave's work, the pander's work, etc., for a bagful of blood-dripping dollars! THE BATTLE OF GOODNESS WITH THE POWERS OF HELL. A saint might sit in the seat of power,--the Mayor's chair--and be powerless to stem the evil. He is the creation of an election. Vice is the creation of satanic wisdom and diabolical cunning. The Mayor of the city is battling against the sea of iniquity about him. He has appointed municipal physicians to cut out the moral cancer that is rapidly destroying the city. God speed this noble work. But we tremble when we think that in the end it may be futile. Justice has scarcely any way of reaching these criminals. They create their own power, build the citadel of crime and vice about them and dwell securely within. To save herself Chicago needs a new civic conscience or the stimulation of a latent one. Chicago needs leaders,--men willing to become martyrs for the sake of their city, their children and their children's children. A general awakening to the gigantic, monstrous evil is the only palpable salvation. Destroy corrupt political power and the victory is won. Then the police force will fulfill the object of its creation. Then concerted crime and vice will fall to pieces. Then the glaring plague spots of assembled infamy will be dissipated. Then we will have a city after God's own heart and man's best desires. We are telling the truth to create public and saving opinion, to destroy lethargy and inoculate the germ of activity. CHICAGO!--TAKE WARNING, YOU WHO ENTER! Chicago today is an unsafe city. Although first in the world in progressiveness, it is first in rottenness. Crime, sin and vice claim ninety per cent of those who enter it. Thousands of young women of the country come, live and die victims of its iniquity, day after day, year after year. An army of young men, fired by dreams of great futures, enter and are defiled, and slain by the poisons that are disseminated. Shall it go on interminably:--this reign of the triumvirate-Vice-Graft-Corruption? We pray not. We are hoping that it may not. Back of the ruin of world-nations, if stripped to an ultimate cause, is the one word--Vice. Its grip is on Chicago; a stronger grip than any other city of the world has ever felt. Our life-blood is thinning; the flesh of our bones is wasting. The crucial hour is here. Save Chicago from a record on history's page of "Forgotten and Ruined Cities, Victims of Sin and Crime." Let the ministerial forces fight for the betterment. Let them seize the leaderships. WHY THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. In this little volume each page is a sign post of warning, for the Chicago man and woman, and particularly, for those who visit or intend visiting this city. This book is not a mere setting forth of facts without explanation of the reason for their existence. It is a clear, truthful analysis of crime, vice and graft from every standpoint. It is the first story, as far as we are aware, of the monstrous Vice-Graft system. We have given a general outline of crime and its relation to the conscienceless, fattening Trust. In the later chapters we shall treat of the hideous and most important evils of the city, in detail. The "Debauchery of the Ballot," the "redlight" districts and their machinery and thousands of ruined women, the White Slave Traffic, the gambling games and their alliance with the police, the "Vampire Trust," petty crimes that flourish, buried plague spots of the city, and other startling features in the kingdom of crime will be separately and truthfully treated. We are telling a terrible story. It is the story of-- --CHICAGO-- THE WICKEDEST CITY IN THE WORLD! [Illustration: Mr. McCutcheon in The Tribune.] CHAPTER II. The Debauchery of the Ballot. The Sacredness of the Ballot--Its Corruption by the Vice Trust--Methods of Corruption--Affidavits Showing Corruption--A Cleansed Ballot Box--A Cleansed City. American advancement has its foundation in the principles of government by the people, for the people and of the people. Every American citizen, in theory at least, is an ideal autocrat. He is the judge of his personal conduct; the maker of his surroundings; the master in his home; the ruler of his nation by his power of representative government. Ideal democracy is God's highest gift to his best creation. Prostituted democracy is hell's highest triumph; is evil's best instrument. Individual right to create a governing power is an American citizen's first prerogative. The most sacred thing in the mechanism of self-government of the United States,--is the Ballot Box. Tamper with the ballot box and you aim a body blow at the constitution of the United States. Defile its sanctity and you destroy the purity of our democracy. Chicago is a seething mass of corruption, vice, graft and iniquity today, as has been generally shown in the first chapter. That must be admitted. Previously we have spoken of her evils in a general way. The Vice Trust rules supreme. It is almost impregnable. The secret of that herculean strength and power is-- The Debauchery of the Ballot Box! The ballot of Chicago has been debauched, sold and enslaved! Not more than ten men, powers in the political world, by insidious methods have poisoned it, killed its political value for municipal betterment, and made it the armament of their corrupt forces. With its aid they have built up the monstrous Vice combine, and with it they retain year after year the sceptre of vicious tyranny. Investigations have proven the debauchery of the ballot. Investigators have shown that the corrupted ballot box has won disastrous, political victories. Investigation has demonstrated that all the forces of moral-decaying vice have been used to destroy the honesty of the ballot, so that vice might flourish and pay its tribute to its sleek-faced, big-bellied masters. It is our intention to show in this chapter how the debauched ballot box is the secret power of the forces that make Chicago the wickedest city in the world. Granted the necessary political despotism to rule and pass sentence of life and death on good and bad, what opportunity have the powers for good to destroy the parasite? 40,000 ILLEGAL BALLOTS IN ONE YEAR. The situation today is appalling. The foundations of government are menaced. From reliable sources, and from information gained by investigating bodies backed by the reform element, 40,000 illegal names stand on the poll-list of the city! This is the heavy, moral and political-destroying artillery of the vice generals. This is the battalion that drops "yes" in the ballot box to make vice supreme. It is composed of the riffraff of humanity, of the wreckage and driftwood of the country. Every member sells his citizenship for a piece of silver, a poisonous drink, a mess of pottage. They are the army of "floaters" and "repeaters," who are massed, housed and fed in the regions of the vice lords, a week or two before elections, and proclaim their unholy allegiance to their masters by the prostitution of the ballot box and the overthrow of clean, honest, moral government. Each man has a past;--vice wrecked the moral conscience of some, brutal crime destroyed respect in others and drink slew the convictions of still other thousands. They infest, in the large majority, those political territories where crime and vice are centered. The means of defeating an honest election and securing politico-vice control are many. CHARACTER OF THE VICE CORPS; ITS WORK. Every hobo, degenerate and criminal at large, knows when Chicago's elections come due. From Maine to Washington, from Florida to Northern Michigan comes the immigration to Chicago. Six hundred lodging houses and cheap hotels in the First, Eighteenth and Twenty-first wards--the vice territories of the city--throw open their doors to the hired assassins of the ballot. The vice kings have issued the order. The army is given lodging. The barrel-houses, whiskey halls and underground hells furnish the nutrition for the human vultures. That is part of their agreement of existence. They, too, are concerned. A defeat of their rulers would mean financial ruin and the loss of a channel to protection for their crime doings. Soaked with destructive liquor, fed with de-energizing food the "floaters" and "repeaters" wallow in the mire, waiting to do their filthy service and then depart. The sub-leaders of these men are the appointed guardians of the ballot, clerks and judges of election, principally. They, too, are corrupt. Recent elections have even resulted in fixing election crimes on them and sending some to jail. The question, "Shall this city (Chicago) become anti-saloon territory?" was to have been placed on the ballot, April 5, 1910. Sixty-eight saloonkeepers and bartenders qualified as judges and clerks for this election. No "floater" or "repeater" would have been prevented from voting by these clerks and judges. PADDED ELECTION REGISTERS. In the primary election, held September 15, 1910, one third of the vote cast in the First ward was made by "repeaters" or personators, in the names of individuals who did not live at the addresses from which they were recorded as voting. This terrible condition was unearthed by investigators working for Arthur Burrage Farwell, president of the Chicago Law and Order League. This fact was ascertained by a comparison of the poll books used at the primary with the records of a house-to-house canvass of the ward. In March of that year the same reform organization caused the erasure of 702 illegal names from the registry books of the notorious First ward. In a single precinct in that ward, with a registration of 668, 269 names were those of "floaters" and "repeaters." These were stricken off. Investigation before that September primary in the First Ward showed 10,996 names on the registry list. It also showed that 5,552 of the names were of persons who did not live at the addresses given, but who cast their purchased ballots at the primary election! Similar conditions exist in the other lodging house wards, previously mentioned, and also known as the "river" wards, because they are separated by the Chicago river, the last resting place of many revolters from the system. The "debauchery of the ballot" is too mild a term for this crime. THE PROSTITUTE: A MASK FOR THE "FLOATER." Three hundred and twenty hotels, whose occupants are mainly prostitutes and their unfortunate victims, are used to render honest elections impossible. The "floater" is called into the corner of the barrel-house and given the "dope" by the boss' lieutenant. His name is "Panhandle" Harry for instance. He is told that on election day his names are successively, M. Graham, L. Wilson, B. Smith, etc. He is to use his suddenly acquired aliases at different precincts. He is to cast one, two, three or perhaps ten votes for the vice lords. He does so. Hundreds like him do so. For each name he has an address of the prostitute's name he bears, for that is the subterfuge. Her name with but an initial for the maiden name appears on the register of the hotel. It is sold to the man who sells himself and then sells his vote. The working of the system was revealed in a ludicrous manner. Carter H. Harrison was a candidate for Mayor. He sent a printed note of appreciation signed with a printed autograph to the registered voters of the First ward in which he urged attendance at the primaries. Of course, Mr. Harrison, himself, did not do this. His supporters did it with permission for the use of his name. One of these went to a notorious woman living in the Cadillac hotel, Wabash avenue and Twenty-second street. That is on the edge of the South side "redlight" district. That woman's name had been placed on the registry list as hundreds of others had been, by "repeaters"! The woman who received the letter was puzzled. She showed it to the man for whom she daily sold her body for hire. The mystery of the prostitute subterfuge was revealed. There are sixty-three women living in the Cadillac hotel. It is certain that each one casts a vote by the proxy system explained, for the existence of the hellish combine. Could anything be more fiendish? Is there any power that can dig down deep enough to uproot this crying evil? THE LODGING HOUSE PERIL. In one lodging house in the Eighteenth Ward there is room to accommodate 200 men. During the lapses between elections but 75 to 100 men occupy these unsanitary quarters. At election they are crowded. The occupants of these rooms are then registered under meaningless names and cast ballots. A majority of the men who count the ballots in these wards are also corrupt. They help the stuffing of the ballot boxes. They are the supposed defenders of the greatest privilege given to the American citizen;--that of self rule. They are in reality, the slaves of the Vice Trust. Occasionally the regular residents of the lodging houses work at employments that they secure through the licensed labor agencies. But, no matter how great the demand may be for laborers, no agency dares furnish these men with work just previous to elections. What agent will deny that to send voters out on the road to work at election time would mean ruin through the loss of his license to do business? As a specific proof of our statement of the debauchery of Chicago's ballot-box, we print below the affidavit of a young man who voted six times at the primary on September 15, 1910. The affidavit is one of a score secured by Mr. Farwell of the Chicago Law and Order League. The affidavit follows:--State of Illinois, County of Cook, SS. I, James Barnes, residing at 419 State street, being first duly sworn, of my own free will and accord upon my oath depose and say: That on Thursday, September 15, 1910, I and Frank Burns, and one Smith whose first name is to me unknown, were standing at the corner of Clark and Van Buren streets, when a man, a heavy set fellow with iron-gray mustache, Hackett, by name, a hanger-out at Kenna's saloon, north-east corner of Van Buren and Clark streets, asked us if we were doing any voting. I said no. He said that he could take the three of us over and vote us and that he would pay us 50c a piece and give us a couple of cigars each. We said we didn't want to take any chances. He said it was all fixed up--that he would give us the names we were to vote under and go down with us and tell them it was all right. He gave us the names, typewritten on a plain envelope, of which he had a pocket-full. Burns and I went with him to the polling place on Clark street, between Jackson and Van Buren streets, down in the basement. (4th Precinct, 1st Ward, within 300 feet of the Union League Club.) He went down stairs with us. There were two or three others waiting to vote. We gave the names we had--I voted under the name of T. M. Hayes, 99 Van Buren street. Hackett told the man in charge of ballots to give me a Democratic ticket. He did so. I then went into the booth and was followed by another man who said he would fix it up for me and he marked the ticket, told me to fold it and take it out and vote it. He had small gray mustache, gray hair, forty-eight or fifty years old, gray suit. I gave the ballot to the man at the ballot box who took it and put it in the box. I then went out and the man who marked the ticket went up stairs with me and said to me, "Go down to the corner and meet the other fellow," meaning the man who took me down, Hackett. I met him by the Princess Hotel doorway. He took me inside the hallway and gave me half a dollar and two cigars--ten centers. I voted again in about half an hour under the name of Henry C. Williams, 99 Van Buren street (same ward and precinct), under same conditions as before and got seventy-five cents the second time, as he had no more cigars. He took two other fellows down while we waited for him. He later told me to go with another man, a big heavy set man in a gray suit who told me that if I would hunt up two or three other fellows he would give me an extra half dollar. He offered a dollar for votes. I got one fellow for him and another lad got three or four. Six of us went over to LaSalle and Adams, where we were halted in the alley and two at a time taken to the polling place at 146 LaSalle street, in a basement bookstore where I voted under the name of William Johnson, 172 Madison street (2nd Precinct, 1st Ward). The big man gave us the names on an envelope and a sample ballot marked as we should vote. It was a Democratic ticket. At the door of the polling place we met another man who went in with us. I gave the name assigned, asked for instructions and the judge told the man who went down with us to go down and help me. He went in with me and marked the ballot. I did not even open the sample ballot. When I came back to the alley the man gave me a dollar and also gave the other man who went with me to vote a dollar. I then went back to Van Buren and Clark and met a man from the West side who said he wanted twenty or twenty-five men to go over there. There were seven or eight of us went over together and I voted at the corner of Sangamon and Madison streets, under the name of Danford Stowe, 27 North Sangamon street (Pct. 11, 18th Ward). We went in three at a time. We got the names from an old man who had them written on a slip. We had to remember them as he gave out no printed or written names. I was paid a dollar after I voted by the man who gave me the names. We then went up the street and were told to ask for "George"; we went west three or four blocks and I voted under the name of Gordon Seymour, 19 Bishop Court; the polling place was on Madison street in rear of a barber shop. We asked for "George" and were directed to a man who stood on the corner with a poll list. He gave me the name of Gordon Seymour (Pct. 5, 18th Ward). The fellow with me was given the name of James A. Sharp, 22 Bishop Court. I don't remember whether or not it was Democrat or Republican ticket but think it was Republican. George went in with us and marked the ballot. He then took both of us and gave us a dollar a piece. The saloon was full of men. A man there had another list. George wanted us to go in and vote again but we refused to go back to the same place again. He then sent us down to the "brick-layers hall" on Monroe street where we asked for Barney who gave me the name of Sheldon. The polling place was across the street from the brick-layer's hall. Barney took us to the door. Another fellow went in with us and marked the ticket. Barney took us into a saloon and bought a drink for us and paid us each a dollar. JAMES BARNES. Subscribed and sworn to before me this twentieth day of September, A. D. 1910. WM. F. MULVIHILL, Notary Public. Other affidavits show that three men voted thirteen times in the fourth precinct of the First Ward. The Union League Club, one of the largest and most influential clubs in the country, stands in the center of that district. While the members sat and discussed a renovated city, cleansed of graft, crime and vice, these crimes against every upright citizen were being committed. ILLEGAL VOTING COSTS MAYORALTY. Edward F. Dunne, former Mayor, declared that his recent defeat for nomination as mayor for another term was due, in part, to illegal votes cast at the primaries in the First Ward. In speaking of the First Ward, Judge Dunne said: "Over 2,600 affidavits for registration were filed for men in the First Ward. These men all voted at the primary, February 28, 1911. On March 14, registration day for the election, less than a month from the day the affidavits were filed, about 800 out of the 2,600 who registered by affidavit, appeared at the polling places to register for the election. This was due to the vigilance of reform organizations which centered their efforts on that ward. "The inference is plain. Nearly 1,800 votes were registered for the primary by men not eligible to vote and who dared not face the challengers for the forces of good." And that is the result of seventy-four years of effort to build a city for the welfare, happiness and advancement of its inhabitants! MR. FARWELL ON THE BALLOT CRIME. "Chicago has never faced a graver problem," declares Mr. Farwell. Vice, crime and graft are heinous offenses in the body municipal, but they are secondary to the debauchery of the ballot. "Corrupt that and you sweep all things to ruin. Honest elections mean honest officials and the end of vice conditions. You cannot solve the social problems nor remedy the social wrongs until you have cleansed the ballot box of its pollution. I believe that today 50,000 illegal names stand on Chicago's election books. That means 50,000 votes for crime, graft and ultimate ruination." THE LAW ABETS EVIL. Even the present laws governing the primary elections seem to abet the crime. According to the primary law it is not a fraud to buy votes! It is a crime punishable by imprisonment to sell a vote! The Vice Trust evidently had a hand in the creation of that travesty on justice. The tentacles of the octopus reach into Springfield, the State capital! To the agents of the Vice Trust who pay tainted dollars for votes, freedom and prosperity! To the starving, human wretches, forgetful of their birthrights, who sell their votes for the price of food or drink--shame and prison cells! IN CONCLUSION. That is the source whence comes the power to create, foster and nourish vice and crime. It is the first and the only absolutely essential link in the vice chain. THE POLICE FORCE, ASSISTING IN SUCKING THE STAGNANT BLOOD FROM THE CITY'S LEVEES, MIGHT BE SWEPT AWAY BY A WAR OF PROTEST AND REFORM, BUT THE EVIL WOULD GROW ANEW. New agents could be speedily found. The foundry where the iron manacles for the vice-slaves are forged, would still exist. The ballot box would still remain to be tampered with. Guard the ballot box night and day; wipe out the padded registry list; arrest the thousands of "floaters" and "repeaters"; compel prostitutes to register their full names to show their sex; and send to prison the corrupt judges and clerks of election; send to the workpiles the buyers of votes, and you will strike a fatal blow at the Vice Trust. That is the only remedy. A debauched ballot box means "redlight" districts. A debauched ballot box means dens of infamy. A debauched ballot box means putrefying saloons. A debauched ballot box means 5,000 registered prostitutes. A debauched ballot box means protected White Slavery. A debauched ballot box means notorious gambling. A debauched ballot box means police corruption. A debauched ballot box means-- $15,000,000 annual graft to the corrupters! Because the ballot box remains debauched, the Vice Trust exists. Because it exists, Chicago is a cesspool of the world's mingled corruptions. [Illustration: SPEAKING OF FIRE TRAPS. By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily News. THERE ARE OTHERS.] CHAPTER III. Come and See! A CITY DEFILED. The Cafe Evil--The Rich Man's Girl Trap--The Borderland of Hell--Crimes that Thrive by Night--State Street and Its Pitfalls--The Stages of Sin. It is night. Over the city of 2,000,000 souls is the light of God's stars and the pale moon. Thousands tired from the day's occupation, turn to peaceful sleep for relief. Innocent children are tucked into their little, white beds. The kiss from loving lips goes with them into the land of dreams. The future has no terror for them, because they know not. While thousands sleep, thousands sin and perish in Chicago! Crime loves the protection of darkness. Vice breathes more freely in the night. From his cavern, creeps forth the monster Vice with sun-down. He is hungry for his victims. They have been fattened for him. The hour has come for the nightly sacrifice on the altars of debauchery. Come with us! Come, we will show you the City Defiled! Down into the heart of the loop district we shall go first. Right across from where God's and man's laws are administered in the County Courthouse, a stone's throw from one of the oldest churches in Chicago, we shall stop. It is George Silver's "Rialto." It is one of the most popular cafes of its kind in Chicago. It is a place where human souls are valued for just the worth of the body's hire. An alderman is said to be part owner of this place. It is a typical example of the hundreds of drinking places for men and women that are found in Chicago. Virtue is slain there every night. Hearts are broken there and lives ruined. It is no worse than other places of the same type. It is an underground hell. Down the steps we go and enter. We are escorted to a table by a colored waiter. On a raised dais, a bent-over consumptive looking young man plays a piano. The airs are the popular hits of the day. A pale-faced youth wipes his purple lips after a hasty sip at a beer glass and advancing to the front of the dais sings a song, usually of sensuous import. He is extravagantly applauded. He is "sent up" a drink by some pleased patron. But look about you. There are more than one hundred tables. At each table sit at least one man and one woman. In every woman's face, if you are observant, is written a tragedy, either beginning that night, or in its unfolding or finished years before. Do you see that "washed-out" bleached blonde with colorless eyes, who smiles at the drinking youth who sits with her? She has lived through the tragedy. Life to her is but an aftermath of unending agony. The monster Vice has long ago sucked the life blood from her veins. She has been discarded. She lives from day to day on her passing victims. They are usually unsophisticated youths, proud to sit with her, buy her more poison and peril their young lives by contact with her. She is coughing. That is the warning signal she knows well but attempts to forget. It is the signal that death has placed his hands upon her. She has fulfilled her mission. Hell must claim its own. You are attracted by a merry burst of laughter from pretty lips. You turn. How her eyes sparkle! How her cheeks burn crimson! Her body moves sinuously to the rhythm of the music. She smiles even at you as she sips her "fizz." She is intoxicated with life. It is lights and shadows, songs and flowers. She is a favorite among men. A much-sought after girl on the border line of womanhood. She has no terrors tonight; no haunting nightmares. Her blood flows fast; her pulse thrills her; her thoughts burn with pleasing fire. She is reckless. Why not? The world is a bed of roses. Four months ago she wandered into the paths that lead to hell. Six dollars a week as a clerk. No clothes, no delicacies, no amusements. She learned the secrets of the girl who worked beside her; how she purchased the "good things" of life. Her virginal innocence was the inestimable price! Tonight she is an habitue of the brilliant cafe. The path is still one of beauty and fascination. The tragedy is in its inception. The bright eyes will become dull, the sweet voice harsh, the cheeks pale, the face haggard. The wine shall have been sipped. Nothing then but the bitter dregs! Oh, the horror of that approaching tragedy! Her end is inevitable. An early grave, a house of prostitution or an insane asylum! There is rarely ever a turning back. Vice buries its tentacles deep in the flesh. THE FIRST STEP. "Dearie, don't be afraid of that. Really, it's like a 'soft' drink. It won't make you drunk." Again you turn on hearing that remark. He is leaning over the table;--a gray-haired, fashionably dressed man. The young girl he is talking to, is not more than sixteen years of age. Her face is white. Her eyes are like those of a hunted deer. Her hands tremble. It is her first night! The fiendish brute induces her to take the drink. You see her take another. She seems suddenly to become stupid. "Come on, it is about time to go, Kid," you hear the man say. The young girl lurches into his waiting arms. That night another victim is claimed by the monster! Somewhere a little, gray-haired mother prays that her daughter may be protected from the sins of a great city. There is an unfathomable abyss waiting for that girl, a chasm in the depths of which lurk torture, sin, disease and death. In that cafe all is levity and enjoyment. It is a living in the present, a forgetfulness of the past, a shutting of the eyes to the terrors of the unborn future. In one night while the music pleases the senses, while song brings an ephemeral joy, while drink quickens the pulse, while the atmosphere lulls the conscience to sleep, innocent young girls, barely out of school, are inoculated with the poison of forbidden fruit. Every year, hundreds of young girls, undefiled and pure, drift into the wickedest city in the world, are carried away by the glare of the "Great White Way" and the sensuous lures of the dazzling cafes and the Bohemian pleasures, and become unconsciously, the recruits of the great absorbing Vice Trust. As we pass from this cafe,--the type of hundreds of others,--note the attractive pictures on the wall,--pictures of popular actresses, actors, prizefighters and men of the world of sports. The girl who a year ago knew comparatively nothing of the world outside of her harmless, narrow sphere, can point to the pictures and give you the names with dangerous accuracy. They are now a part of her Bohemian world. She boasts today of familiarity with them. Late in the night, or to speak accurately, at early dawn, the cafes empty their drunken revelers into the streets. In pairs they stagger away, some to houses of assignation, others to the disorderly hotels where they live, and still others to the "redlight" districts of the city, of which we shall soon speak. That is the cafe evil of today. It is the outward threads of the enmeshing web of the insidious and poisonous spider-Vice. Once trapped, redemption is scarcely possible. Two hundred department store girls, according to a reform association's statistics, take the first downward step each year, in these cafes. It is the outside trap, with luring bait, set by the Vice Trust for the unsuspecting victims. The girls from out of the city are drawn to it for the pleasures of life because other avenues of enjoyment are not open to them. A conscious or unconscious emissary of the vice lords lures them to these cesspools, robs them of their senses by subtle intoxicants and destroys that same night their virginal purity. In a night they have fallen from the highest estate to the bottomless pit of a living hell; they have been stripped of their robes of innocence and clothed in the shameful, sinful, scarlet garb of the thousands of women who have fallen before them. No mother, no father, who kisses a daughter goodbye as she leaves the fireside to plunge into the foaming sea of Chicago life, can be certain that the child of his or her flesh and blood will return to the fireside undefiled, pure of body and clean of heart, as long as those cancers fester and flourish in the city of Chicago. We have treated of the girl problem and the cafe. What of our boys?--you ask. It is a sociological axiom that a nation's integrity depends on its womanhood. The depraved woman means the depraved man. Each night thousands of youths, full of physical strength, mental energy and ambition, seek recreation in the cafes. It is there they meet or take the lost women. It is there they wreck bright futures, sow the seed of crime, deaden their moral consciences, and contract fatal diseases and rush unthinking down the path that leads to ruin and to death. Back of a murder, in which some young man of good parentage and of promising hopes figures as the principal, you can read the word "cafe." It began there, it progressed, until its end meant the gallows in the court yard of the county jail. STATE STREET AND ITS PITFALLS. Let us leave the accursed place. We have other places to visit before the sun flares red above the waters of Lake Michigan. We stroll down Randolph street, through Chicago's well lighted avenues and its "Rialto" to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the world,--during the day--State street. The bustling, shoving, pushing, army of men and women, has gone home. Yet, the street is by no means deserted. As we walk along we are conscious of the number of unescorted women, walking the main loop thoroughfare. We mentally comment on it. They seem to saunter aimlessly about, jauntily swinging their purses, and looking up into your face in a questioning, puzzling manner. Would you know the hideous truth? These are the outposts of the great army of Vice. These are the women, stripped of the last element of self-respect, who like vultures attack their prey in the glare of the arc lights, in the face of the uniformed guardians of the law. In the vernacular of the street, these are the privates of the army of "street-walkers." Unblushingly they flirt with their victims, catch their eyes, draw them into a side street and quibble over the purchase price of their flesh. There is an army of 2,000 of these women infesting the loop district and its adjoining neighborhoods every night in the year. To the shady hotels within the loop or just outside of it, where no embarrassing questions are asked, these brazen prostitutes take their temporary masters. No decent woman is safe on a downtown street after dark when alone. The haunting evil is about her wherever she goes. She is good, but the men who walk the streets do not know it and they may offer her insults at any moment. At times the evil becomes so open that police regulations are issued, driving them from their byways of crime. Invariably within a few days, the same painted faces and expressionless eyes are to be found on the old corners, carrying on their disease-distributing trade. These women are not free agents of evil any more than other slaves of the Vice Trust. They pay toll for every step their tired feet take during the night and the early hours of the morning. They take their victims to the cafes of which we have spoken and lure them into buying poisonous intoxicants. For every drink they bring to the house,--and they must bring many if they are to enjoy the favor of the vice lords,--they are given a commission. The "drink check" is a part of the nightly income of every woman of the underworld. But let us pass on. We have only scratched the superficial, outer covering of the crime life of Chicago. There are a thousand more revolting sights to be seen, not for the purpose of morbid curiosity but in order to prove to our readers the magnitude and the power of the Vice Trust in Chicago. We are taking a trip through the greatest kingdom in the world, the empire of unhampered, bold-faced, threatening sin. THE STAGES OF SIN. As we pass down the well lighted streets of the loop district we are halted in our progress by a man standing in front of a garish-appearing theater just south of Van Buren on State street. The cry that reaches our ears is: "Come on, I know every man here is dying to take a peep at Chicago's only and original Salome lady! She's inside in all her glory and all her--well, you know, Gents, the best ever. Come on, it's a whole pile of fun for a dime. You will thrill all over when the cutest girl in the world hugs a man in a grizzly-bear wiggle!" Strains of music float from the place and a swarm of men of all types and conditions wedge their way to the inside. That is another of the sore spots of the big city. It is just one of hundreds of indecent forms of entertainment that have enough air of respectability about them to exist on the borders of Chicago's loop district. Here they flourish and reap their harvest. In such places, many a promising young man has committed, in mind at least, his first moral murder. It is in this kind of places that vice sows its first seeds--they are the first stepping stones down the abyss ending at the dishonored grave. Every night young men pour out of these places with their minds poisoned and with the fiery hand of temptation on them, and from there they drift southward to the great whirlpool of iniquity, falling victims to the deadly perils about them and tasting the deadly but subtle poison for which they return until they die at the source. Every form of indecency may be found on the small and poorly lighted stages of these theaters. Suggestive songs are sung, obscene witticism spoken, until pent up, disastrous passions burst forth with demoniacal fury and slay their own masters. But let us go on down the roadway of crime and sin. THE RICH MAN'S GIRL TRAP. We have crossed over to Michigan avenue--to one of the main boulevards of the world. It is the promenade of men of millions and women of blood. It is the location of some of the most exclusive, most fashionable and most expensive hotels in the world. Surely, you say, these hotels do not figure in the great vice plot which exists in Chicago? They do! They figure in a way that will make every father and mother who reads this narration, tremble with fear and horror. These hotels are infested with men of wealth and time, men of dead consciences, men of diseased moral senses, who are always in search of young, innocent, pretty prey for their decaying passions. Under the pretense of respectability, and with the false counsel that they are safe and protected from harm, these parasites bring their young victims to these hotels, dazzle them with the beauty and luxury about them, rob them of their senses with new and intoxicating delights, and then steal the only priceless gift that God gave them. That is one phase of the hotel evil, as we see it from a superficial glance. There are a score of others. In one of the leading hotels of the world, there is a great crime center. Let us enter it. Down the corridors we walk until we enter the portals of a new vice palace. It is a cafe scene but not of the character witnessed at the place first visited. Everything bespeaks luxury. The music is subtly and softly sensuous. Obsequious waiters tread softly from table to table, taking their orders from rich patrons. The men sitting about bear the marks of wealth and prosperity. They are money lords, feasting at the table of life and toying away the moments with women who are ready to be purchased for pretty clothes, suppers with wines, and hard, cold dollars and cents. In the majority, the women we see, are dressed in the latest fashions, brilliant with delicately rouged faces and penciled eyebrows, set off by large and attractive picture hats. If you study the majority of the faces you will see that they are cut as if of stone. They are faces of women who have lived through tragedies, have thrust those tragedies aside and have reduced life to a mere living from day to day, prepared every hour to barter flesh and blood for cash. But, as in the less pretentious cafe, we find here also the type of girls and women who are just beginning to stray into the broad path of destruction. Money buys a false air of respectability. It has purchased that pharasaical atmosphere for the big hotels. It is in these fashionable hotel cafes and restaurants that sin is suggested and the road to ruin prepared. Of course, we must not lose sight of the fact that the vast majority of the women who enter such places, have long since drunk the first glass of poison and eaten the first piece of forbidden fruit. Into these places, nightly, thousands of men and women bent on shameful missions come and depart, inebriated by wines and liquors and forgetful of respect to each other. There are, however, hundreds who enter and depart without being contaminated by the vice that haunts the handsomely furnished apartments. Out in the lobby of the hotel, we notice a nattily-dressed man of mature years with the gray showing in his hair, holding a conversation with one of the hotel attaches. We are curious. We notice he is being given directions. We follow him to a room in one of the hotels adjoining the one we have just visited. He is taken to a certain room and is admitted by a rather flashingly dressed woman of about forty-five years, of florid complexion and sharp, raucous voice. She smiles at the man. He speaks to her in a low voice. We might overhear this conversation or one similar to it in import: "I am Mr. Edwards from Cincinnati. I am a business man and the evening is boring. Mr. ... the hotel clerk, tells me you can find me a companion?" queries the caller. The woman smiles knowingly, stops and thinks and then says in a half jesting manner: "Why, certainly, Mr. Edwards. I can make the evening agreeable. I can find you the best little partner in the world. "But"--and she smiles some more--"what do you want, something rather young and new to the game, or a 'woman of some experience?' I can certainly produce a choice assortment." Then she laughs that meaningless laugh again. Mr. Edwards hesitates a moment, laughs off a possible embarrassment and then answers in assumed flippancy: "Oh, as long as they are numerous, serve me up a young blonde chicken of about seventeen summers, one that will go the limit and not try to put mucilage on her fingers to stick to the long green. I'll pay her right for her trouble." Then he makes his first flesh payment at that moment to the mistress of a dozen women's bodies. He strolls down to the lobby and waits. A few moments later he is "paged" by a bellboy and a note is given him. If we should follow him we would find that the note named the rendezvous and that the purchased woman waited for him there to do his bidding during the night of shame. This is not fiction but shuddering fact. In a Jackson boulevard hotel, there is a "Miss Harris," who is the procuress of girls of every description, character, temperament and physical type, for men of wealth. There are a dozen of such women with headquarters in Chicago's big hotels. They are the fashionable panderers for the rich human beasts, who live or stop at the hotels or who go there to find their victims. These places in the criminal world have a name. They are named "Houses of Call." They are employment agencies for young and old prostitutes. If a man is willing to pay the price demanded, the woman, "Miss Harris," or other such women, will produce for his pleasure, a young virgin and turn her over to the merciless, insane lust of human Satan. These places are the fashionable flesh-markets, the slave blocks where women are sold to men of wealth. That is another phase of the great Vice Trust, for those women panderers, and those girl slaves pay tribute to carry on their traffic to the great kings of the underworld. Of the relation of these classes of criminals to their protectors we shall speak later. "Miss Harris"--we shall use her as a type--has a secret directory to the covert, hidden but expensive haunts of vice. After Mr. Edwards departs, we might see another caller on a similar mission. He is not a new customer. He is an old one. He makes his demand without hesitation. He wants a young girl of innocence. He wants a girl in the first flush of maturity, a girl who fears the things of sin, but who, paradoxically, craves for the cloying sweet things of life. The girl is found for the monster. His crime must be committed in the dark, in a secure and safe place, in a place where no one shall see him committing his soul-murder. Again "Miss Harris" comes to the front. She directs her customer with the trembling, wondering and frightened girl, to the "Arena," a pretentious residence in Michigan avenue near Fifteenth street. His coming is known before his arrival. "Miss Harris" has informed the "Madam" that a "live wire with a young kid" is on the way to the place. The man and his victim are received politely and ushered into a luxuriously furnished room, delicately scented with perfume and stripped of any suggestion that it is a crime-chamber where sin is intangibly present, waiting for the next victim. The desecration of soul and body begins and ends in that room. If the man wishes it, supper with delicate morsels of food and wines of choice and expensive brands are served. The atmosphere wooes to sleep the last moral rebellion and all is lost. The "Arena" is mentioned here as a type, again. Chicago is infested with such places. They may be found in our best residence districts, near fashionable churches and adjoining homes where purity is sacred. To state more specific facts on such places we will name several more similar "flats." A "Mrs. Clouds" conducts a similar place on La Salle avenue near Erie street. It is necessary to have a letter of introduction or be known before entrance can be effected. Here, nightly, men of wealth and even of prominence with wives and families, ignorant of their orgies, take young girls. The automobiles of the wealthy drive up to this place every evening and their occupants seek their pleasure within. Here many-course dinners with wine as a zest giver--usually champagne--are served to the patrons for $12 a plate. It is the vice haunt of the millionaires and their purchased women. Then there is the place of Mrs. Mohr in Erie street, west of Rush street, where the same luxuries are in evidence, where the same vices are committed and where the range of prices eats deep into anything but a plethoric bank account. These places run without intervention. They are known to few outside the patrons. They pay, as do all other forms of vice, for police toleration. Reform movements have not attacked them because they are scarcely aware of their existence. They are but a small part of the contributing elements of graft and corruption. We have digressed, but it was necessary to show the source and end of a vice evil starting in the big hotels. In these "flats" of secrecy, girls will be furnished in the same manner as they are furnished by "Miss Harris" and her ilk of panderers. But let us resume our trip in the underworld. From the hotels, we move southward again. THE BORDERLAND OF HELL. Down Michigan avenue, Wabash avenue, State street, Fifth avenue and many other prominent thoroughfares leading out of the loop district, are the "assignation hotels" of Chicago. These are the houses where men bring their victims at a cost of one dollar to five dollars a room, where street walkers "steer" their customers and where vice festers with the roar of the business world outside the windows. Within the loop district alone there are fifty hotels of this vicious character. Their average earnings, according to a prominent investigator and reformer, are $600 a night. As we move southward we pass them at every step, little dreaming of the lives that have been ruined within and the tragedies that have begun and culminated there. The part of the South side in which we have entered was at one time a fashionable neighborhood of wealthy and respectable residents. The Vice Trust drove them away by its encroachments. Today those same buildings are tenanted by lost women, living there and carrying on their nefarious trade in the district but a short distance away. From Twentieth street south on Michigan avenue, in sections, and in Wabash avenue and State street, vice reigns openly and supreme. There is no pretense at respectability. Vice has thrown off its masks and flaunts its hideousness, its diseases and its crimes in our faces. It is the Borderland of Hell,--it is the city's death-spot. Similar borderlands are found on the West and North sides. As you look farther south you can count the electric signs flaring over the haunts of vice--they spell saloon, cafe or hotel. They run into the hundreds. The interiors of these cafes are similar to the loop cafe we have described, stripped of its air of hidden sin. Here sin stalks about as the fearless master. The woman who a year ago reveled in the pleasures of a night at some fashionable restaurant with a "friend" may be found drunk and maudlin, vulgarly and cheaply clothed, dropping "dope" into her glass of whiskey to revive her tired brain and body to attract another victim and stave off the wolf of starvation a little while longer. These are the "hangouts" of the women who are going down and down. They have ceased to attempt to appear respectable; they have tired of hiding their shame and infamy; they have torn off the mask and their faces peer leeringly at you and their blue-colored lips seem to cry out in hellish abandon: "I am a damned, lost creature. I sold my birthright. I bartered the body my good mother gave me. I drank to the last lees the glass and I am accursed. Death has placed his seal upon me and I am struggling to cheat him of a few days longer. Life, life, more life!" Here women smoke cigarettes openly, embrace the men they are with, expose their limbs in licentious manner to attract prospective customers. Here a sign is made, and a half drunken waiter brings a half crazed creature sitting alone in the shadows of a pillar, a white powder, which she snuffs. That is cocaine. A majority of the women who live in and about the levee districts of the city, are the slaves of the opium, cocaine and morphine habit, and fourteen per cent, according to a conservative estimate, are yearly sent to the state insane institutions as hopeless victims of drugs. In the "near-levee" cafes we come across a vice-creature, whose type we have not yet encountered in our night tour. Watch that young man, dressed in a stylish, brown suit of clothes, who is talking to the painted unfortunate beside him. His voice rises as he shakes his finger at her. Her hand trembles as she reaches down in her stocking. He curses her and tells her to hurry. Then she gives him a number of bills. "Damn you, you cheap cur; have you quit hustling or have you another man?" he yells at her above the jarring music of a tin-pan piano and the cigarette voice singing to it. "Get out on the street and get some business!" he says to her hoarsely, striking her across the face. Pale and trembling the pitiful creature rises and hurries out into the street to search for more prey. That man is the woman's "cadet." That is the more polite word for the old word "pimp." That is her master:--the man who takes from her the infamous earnings of her body. Lower than the murderer, in the moral scale, are these debased creatures. They are men stripped of every instinct of honor, lost to every sense of shame. They are the lowest form of the human parasite. In the borderland of the levee they live, breathe, eat and drink off the earnings of thousands of depraved women. From the earnings of their slaves they pay the police to grant their women immunity from prosecution. These men are also termed "macks." The name means nothing; it is the character of its bearing that is the horrible fact. In the South side levee district, including the places that encircle the open houses of prostitution, there are 800 of these low vile creatures. We are but describing one of the levees of the city. Conditions are similar in the others. We have seen them in the notorious cafes of the South side but they exist in swarms within the levee zone proper. The hours are swiftly passing and our trip is by no means over. Let us leave the haunts we have just visited. Let us go down to one lower level of crime and vice. We have reached Twenty-second street and Wabash avenue and we stand on the edge of the Great White Ulcer. ANTE ROOMS OF HELL. Let us follow the crowd of men and women into that large building on Twenty-second street. A novel sight greets us as we enter. Our hats and coats are checked and we walk out from behind a mirror used as a screen into a large hall on the floor of which several hundred couples are dancing to the strains of an orchestra in a balcony above. Some of the faces which we saw earlier in the evening within the loop district have also "come south," as the expression is. They are here to revel until dawn. There is no letup until the bright sun drives vice blinking and blinded back into its holes. Every type of woman, from the woman who is simply "slumming" to the most depraved and degenerate creature can be seen in this notorious levee dance hall. As the music dies down, the couples with unsteady steps, caused by the whirling about the floor and the drinks which have been freely imbibed, seek rest at the dirty, wet chairs and tables which encompass the room. Drinks are served in profusion, regardless of the state of inebriety of the patrons and regardless of the one o'clock closing law, which the police declare is in effect. Women, rendered senseless by drink, are dragged from the place nightly and carted away--God knows where! Let us get away from the reeking atmosphere, from the smell of stale beer and sickly, perspiring women. Before we enter the biggest cesspool of all, let us stop at Buxbaum's Cafe at Twenty-second and State streets,--the most notorious outside-levee dive in the city of Chicago. Its habitues, with few exceptions, are the overflow, the outcasts of the levee, or the women who seek a few moments of so-called relaxation from their labors of sin. All night this place reeks with infamy; all night orgies impossible to portray are carried on; all night the saturnalia of vice wrings the blood from women's hearts and crushes life in its ever grinding mill. South of the street where we have stopped, the cafes continue. Again they take on an air of respectability and trap the young and innocent girls and with hands dripping with blood the vampires of vice push them on and on, until they reach the point where we have stopped. We are on the shores of a Lake of Infamy. The tributaries flow from the north, the south and the west, coursing through every section of the city, sweeping their victims in a surging current, without hope of rescue to the waters, whose eddies close forever over the drowned. The cafes and disorderly saloons and dance halls are the traps at the beginning of the avenues of vice. They are the feeders to the infamous hotels. The chain has no missing link. The Vice Trust has made it in perfect manner. We are standing on the shores of a lake--that lake is one of the "redlight" districts of Chicago. [Illustration: EAT, DRINK AND BE MERRY ... AND TOMORROW? By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily Journal.] CHAPTER IV. The "Redlight" District. The "Redlight" District--Houses of Infamy--The Life of a Prostitute--The Blood Price--Hidden Tragedies--The Polluted Grave. Chicago possesses four "redlight" districts: one on the South side, one on the West side, one on the North side and the Strand of South Chicago. For the sake of description we have taken the one situated on the South side,--running from Eighteenth street on the north to Twenty-second street on the south, and from Wabash avenue on the east to Armour avenue on the west. It came into existence in 1905 when Mayor Carter H. Harrison, the present city executive, cleaned out old Custom House place, Plymouth court and South Clark street, the nest of vice, bounding the south end of the commercial district. It established a new territory and flourishes as prosperously today as it did in its old haunts. Within the zone described 250 houses of ill fame house the unfortunate women, lure men of all conditions in life, grow rich on sin and on the practice of every form of bestial degeneracy. [Illustration: SUGGESTED BY A PROMINENT NEWS STORY OF THE MOMENT By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily Journal.] There are 2,000 enslaved, scarlet women in these infectious prisons! They are of every nation in the world! They are young girls in their teens; women in mature years and hags who have outlived their usefulness to the god of lust! There is an army of 500 to 800 human vultures--"cadets" who live within this district, prodding these women on in the paths of evil! There are ramshackle hell-holes that are falling to pieces where diseased, broken-down, forgotten women dispense deadly toxins to their customers for fifty cents! There are "one dollar," "two dollar," "three dollar," "five dollar" and "ten dollar" houses. Those are the prices for some mother's precious darling! Man buys and woman sells. There are holes of infamy where white and colored persons mix and sin together. There are places where the sins that wiped Sodom and Gomorrah out of existence are practiced nightly. There are places where prostitutes outrival in the forms of obscene acting anything to be found in the Monmartre and other deadly places within the confines of Paris. There are places of material filth, and uncleanliness and there are places where thousands of dollars have been spent to make sepulchres appear as places of delight and pleasure. Think of it! Two thousand women on the slave block of lust sold to the thousands of bidders nightly, in this small district! Lust, vice, crime and graft are the deities of Chicago's "redlight" districts. The "redlight" district gets its name because of the lurid, crimson signs that hang above its entrances. The name "redlight" should signify a burning, blazing warning to every man and woman who is tempted to set his foot or hers on the crime-reeking thresholds! Let us enter one of the houses and study the interior and the type of the prostitutes corralled within. The swinging doors admit us. As we appear, a dozen girls or women rush at us like a flock of vultures, ravenous, hungering. They use terms of meaningless endearment, fight among themselves for the possible prey, coax us to purchase a bottle of beer or whiskey or a mixed drink. They attempt to embrace us, to kiss us to arouse latent passions, whose outburst means half the purchase price to them and half to the owner of the place. A "professor," half-crazed by drugs and drink, thumps the latest airs on a piano, or a mechanical instrument furnishes the noise. You are asked to give a dime to the "professor" and you do. You are talking to a frail, blue-eyed, blonde girl. Across the room a brunette, a red-haired girl and a girl with raven black hair and sparkling eyes watch you, wondering as to the ultimate success of the woman who captured you. THE QUESTIONS UNANSWERED. Where do these thousands of women come from? What are their varied pasts? Who are their mothers and fathers? What strange circumstances brought them here? Who is accountable to God for this wholesale slaughter in women's souls? Those are questions that come to the mind when one enters any den of infamy in any of the four "redlight" districts of Chicago. Every one of these questions has a thousand answers. The solutions to these social problems are as numerous as the women who create the problems. These women come from every city in the United States, from the farm houses of God-fearing farmers, from the gabled cottage of little country towns, from the hovels of the poor of the great city and from the palaces of the rich of the same city. They come from across the great ocean:--from England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Italy, Austria and every nation you can name. Thirty-three per cent of the women in the "redlight" districts of Chicago are the victims of the most pernicious vice system known to history. They are the victims of the much-talked of and much-discussed White Slave Traffic. It is not our purpose in this chapter to treat of this cancerous, moral growth. It is of such vital importance in a story of crime and vice and graft that we will dissect and analyze it in a distinct chapter. We are obliged for the sake of our narrative to name it here. This portion of the vice population is the women who have been lured by a thousand satanic means to a life of shame and sin, and once steeped in the atmosphere give up all hope or attempt to regain a lost social standing, a new moral conscience or a clean body. THE FEEDERS OF THE "REDLIGHT" DISTRICTS. The other portion of this crime colony reach the centers of vice through the thousands of channels which serve such purposes in the city of Chicago. We have spoken of the cafe evil, the dance hall, the cheap theater and the vicious hotel. These are the major channels. Yearly, hundreds of girls go from one grade of badness to a lower, until there is nothing left but the house of ill fame in which to hide their shame, feed their passions and nourish their broken-down bodies. The girl clerk in the department store tires of trying to live on her six dollars a week salary; grows envious of the women who have pretty clothes and costly jewelry, and sets about to sell her young body to buy the luxuries of life. The end is inevitably the house of prostitution. Or it may be, that some depraved man, possibly her employer, lusts for her purity and with threats of discharge coerces her into sin. She never stops, it is a succession of falls to the last level of degradation. Another, three years ago may have visited a Bohemian cafe to see the sights and taste the wine. She goes back again and again. Beyond her confines are the forbidden sins, luring and coaxing. She will taste of them, promising herself that she will go back to her former life and never venture into the pathways of sin again. The step is taken and the barrier erects itself behind her--she can never come back. Gradually she drifts down to the hell haunts and with recklessness as to the future, becomes an inmate of a dive. There is no standing still in any phase of life--good or evil. There is no stationary point in vice. The beginnings are eternally different; the endings of the Scarlet Women are eternally the same. These women just described, can scarcely be called White Slaves in the proper sense of that term. They are "slaves," but they brought the slavery upon themselves. The Summer excursions on the lake in large pleasure boats where vice can revel without fear and where young boys and girls without any restraint fall into sins that lead to terrible social evils, are another primary "feeder" for the "redlight" districts. The city asleep does not realize the fact that the "moonlight" excursions on the waters of Lake Michigan start a hundred girls on the road to ruin and the prostitute's grave in one night! And this is the first chapter of the women dressed in scarlet tonight. Above these women like an ominous shadow is Man and His Lust! Man and his insatiable passions! Man who reckons not the destruction he sows about him, the homes he robs of precious ones, the broken-hearted mothers and fathers sent to an early grave because he inoculated some innocent child with his venom. To fit our descriptions, somewhere, you can find in the "redlight" districts a woman who will stand up and say: "That is my story." In one night in the South side "redlight" district in a visit to eight houses, twenty-one girls were found who stated that soulless men, who made capital of their ignorance of the world and its ways, robbed them of their virtue while they were under the influence of their first drink, or stole their virginity after they had promised to marry them. THE DAILY LIFE OF A PROSTITUTE. But to return to the scarlet woman as she is today. Here is the routine life of the prostitute in the levee district: The women in a house rise about two o'clock in the afternoon, dress and eat their breakfast. They are then sent by the "landlady" or keeper of the house to the parlors, to wait for prospective customers. When a customer comes in he is "sized up." If he appears to be a spender and buys plenty of drinks, courtesy is extended to him and an effort made to keep him as long as his money lasts. If he is "a dead one" he is forced to pay his price and depart as speedily as possible. These women entertain as many as thirty men in one night. That is the record at least, that one girl declared she was forced to maintain. At six o'clock, or near that hour, supper is served to these women; a number of them in a house eat while the others stay "on watch." Then the evening's work begins. By midnight a greater part of these lost souls are maudlin drunk. Their work continues until four o'clock in the morning when they are allowed to seek rest. Even then the evil does not sleep. There is the "dog watch." One or two girls face a day of horror. They are kept ready for the lax hours of business. Many of these women do not live in the houses. They live in the flats bordering on the "redlight" districts. THE SLAVES OF THE "CADETS." Ninety per cent of these open prostitutes have "cadets." These men exercise the power of tyrants over them, urging them on to death, beating them brutally when their tired out bodies drop from exhaustion, and stealing their bodily earnings from them. These women cannot purchase a single article without the consent of the landlady. Two thirds of them have the bondage of debt hanging above them and keeping them prisoners. The landlady buys their clothes and charges them exorbitant prices and they are obliged to pay without a murmur. These conditions exist in the cheapest and the most expensive houses in the levee districts. There is an air of luxury about the big houses but the scarlet prisoners within are all the same, all slaves, all subjects of the great Vice Trust. The women in the poorer houses have white men for "cadets." In the higher priced places, we find that the women are in the bondage of negro "cadets." And all this infamy, seething, boiling and emitting its stench in the center of the city of Chicago! Standing out among the small hovels in the South side vice district are several large and pretentious ones, whose interior furnishings are valued at hundreds of thousands of dollars. BIG PALACES OF VICE. The Everleigh Club, at Twenty-second and Dearborn streets, the richest and most gorgeously furnished house of prostitution in the United States, is a notable example. Another one is Georgie Spencer's. Honesty never cemented a single stone in the building. It was built and furnished out of the blood and flesh dollars of women. Its foundations reach down to hell and each chamber with its beautiful settings is filled with the ghosts of women who suffered untold agonies of mind and body to make it attractive to victims of the women who followed them. Thousands of dollars are harvested nightly there. Wealthy prominent men frequent this place. Immorality is hideous; but there crimes are committed against nature that make men revolt at the thoughts of them, down in those pest holes. In the slang of the levee, it is called "putting on a show." It is bad enough to be obliged through binding circumstances to sell one's virtue, but think of the horror, the humiliation, the degradation of committing acts for the sake of drunken, orgy-loving men that even the animal nature within us rebels against. That is a hasty sketch of the "redlight" life as the visitor sees it. There is still another phase, a deeper phase, a commercial phase, a graft phase, and of that we shall speak later as it is our intention to show why these conditions exist without hindrance from the police and how this mighty army of Satan strives, struggles and dies for the earthly lords of hell. There is no intention here to paint a lurid picture of Chicago's ulcer spots that might arouse passions and do evil. We are telling of the Great Curse that we may help destroy it. We have said that the wiping out of the prostitute will not cure the malady and we are soon to prove it. We have told of vice that we may show how it serves its masters. THE HIDDEN TRAGEDIES. Who can depict the crying, aching hearts of these lost women of the levees? Who can tell of the agonies undergone in their short existences? Who can know of the sleepless nights, of the hours of remorse and despair? Who can imagine the physical pain of the eating, wasting diseases? All the world's wretchedness, sorrow, hunger, thirst and suffering lies behind the lurid lights of the "redlight" haunts. Behind the paint and powder is the blue-white color of coming death. Every year, a thousand of these women outlive their usefulness to their brutal masters! This is the record for one city. Authorities say this record for the country is 60,000! WHAT BECOMES OF THEM? We shudder as we answer that question. Many of them seek the river as a last resting place and their bodies are cast ashore to lie in the county morgue a week, and then to be buried in the paupers' field. Many of them go insane and are taken to state institutions where death soon mercifully comes and wipes out their useless lives. Many of them are cast forth from the dens where they have turned their every drop of blood to gold for their masters, and are picked up dead in the alleys and streets of the city. Some are sent to other cities to die, and leave no reflections on the men and women that turned them out. God has destroyed cities for lesser evils, but Chicago lives on, fattening on the dead bodies of these victims! As the parade of lost women moves slowly to the grave the tributaries pour more souls into the lake of infamy and there is no place left unfilled! No woman going down there knows of the terrible possibilities until it is too late. That is the secret of vice; its lying lips belch forth the truth only when its shackles are welded about the limbs of its victims. Lust beckons. The eternal woman answers and approaches the poisoned spring and drinks. The eternal man is there. On and on he leads her, casts her away when he has tired, and the Vice Trust with its directorate of powerful politicians, debased men, takes her and reaps its awful profit from her. Vice first: then Graft. Graft formulated in the minds of men: Vice born in the blood of women. Death--dishonored death to the woman. Wealth--overflowing wealth to the Grafter. We have seen the city in many phases. We have not taken into consideration the army of women who maintain superficial respectability, who live at homes, some of them with husbands and children, and who yielding to temptation are carrying on liaisons. They are called "clandestine" women. They may be found in all walks of life. There are, normally estimated, 15,000 women of this type in the city of Chicago! Are you convinced that Chicago is the "wickedest city in the world"? CHAPTER V. What Will You Bid for This Woman? White Slavery--Price of a Body and Soul--Hell's Bondage--The "Cadet" Master--Death the Penalty--The Trapping of the Prey. Thirty-three per cent of the women fed to the insatiable god of lust in the "redlight" districts of Chicago are White Slaves! Nearly two thousand women, annually, are sold to the highest vice bidders! They are procured from every imaginable source and by every imaginable method. Thousands of women drift yearly into a life of prostitution, driven to it by hunger and want primarily. Why then must others be sought out, trapped, brought, bound and tied, stood on the auction blocks of vice and sold to the thump of the gavel? Because the demand is far greater than the supply! Hell is always hungry; the taste of blood on the lips of the monster Vice, drives him mad with desire for more blood; the crushing of bones and the morsels of white woman's flesh, frenzies him for other bodies! More women! more women!--that is the cry. It is a difficult problem. The question arises, is it simply a feeding of men's passions that must be satisfied or is it a desire to make men hunger and buy because the women are placed in their pathways, so that the vice lords may reap the harvest? We believe the latter is God's truth, or rather the devil's truth! Many a man would not be the brute of unrestrained passion that he is, if his paths were clear of temptations. The temptations are placed, the White Slaves are purchased to make gold and silver for the wretches who create, nourish and commercialize vice. It isn't vice that is robbing homes of innocent girls each year. It is the Commerce and Traffic of Sin. The White Slave Trust is a perfect organization existing in the city of Chicago today. Its agents procure the flesh and blood product from every source, its agents peddle the human article, from house of ill fame to house of ill fame; sell it, take the profit and divide with the members of an infamous combine. THE TRAPPING OF THE PREY. There are 150 professional procurers or "buyers" for the White Slave corporation! There are at least 300 more men who at times act as procurers and at other times as "cadets." There are thousands of other men in every walk of life who are constantly on the lookout for a possible victim for whose sale they reap a small return in bloodstained dollars. The professional procurer, hired by the members of this trust; the owners of houses of prostitution or men whose business depends on the prosperity of places of ill fame--play on the three inherent characteristics of every woman's heart-- Ambition, vanity and love! By attacking the points of weakness they trap their victims. Out in the country town they dazzle the fresh, pretty creatures by stories of the pleasures and delights of life in the big city, by making love to innocent children, by depriving them of their sacred chastity. In the city they appeal to their vanity: they tell them they are beautiful, loveable; they promise them clothes and jewelry, and again the woman falls. Every form of amusement, from the nickel theaters to the wine rooms, is used to entice the prey. Outside the professional procurer, the city is infested with men who make the business a side issue. The extra procurers are found in the department stores, in the dance halls, in the nickel theaters and penny arcades, in the waiting rooms of the railroad stations, on the lake boats, at excursions, at rest rooms, at employment agencies, theatrical agencies, factories, business offices, and a hundred other places where girls are employed at meager salaries. AND ALL THIS TO FILL THE ROTTEN COFFERS OF THE VICE TRUST! PRICE OF ONE BODY, ONE HEART, ONE SOUL. In 1860 one black woman was sold for $25! In 1860 one black woman was sold for $500! You shudder when you remember those times! In 1911, in the city of Chicago, one white woman is sold for $25. In 1911, in the same city, one white woman is sold for $500! Slavery succeeded by slavery, or worse than slavery! THE TRAFFIC OF WHITE SLAVERY! After a victim is procured, the next step on the part of the perfidious combine is to dispose of her to the highest bidder. Absolute examples of women-selling and the prices paid by resort keepers for the women purchased are in the hands of the federal government. Uncle Sam does not tolerate fiction. That is why we know this is the truth. Investigation has shown that the prices for women sold into bondage of crime run from $25 to $500. That scale is sliding and depends on the qualities, mostly physical, of the woman, and the immediate demands of the purchaser. A girl taken by a procurer who has dazzled her by his insidious lies, and who is not of a type that would attract men of wealth or particular tastes, can be bought by a keeper of a house of ill fame from the agents of the White Slave Trust for the inhuman price of $25. If the girl is ruddy with the glow of health, well-formed of limb and innocent of deep crime--the price soars. Cases have been cited by ministers and reformers within the past year, where keepers of high-priced houses in the levee districts have paid outright, $500 to the White Slave combine's agents for girls whose purity has only been defiled by the procurer himself, and whose bodies are capable of bringing their masters thousands of dollars within the year. These are the treasure-slaves of the hell-hounds! It is of standing record, according to an investigator into the flesh traffic, that one procurer in one trip into the country districts of Illinois, trapped eight girls and sold them at prices ranging from $40 to $350! One of these girls was a virgin. She was drugged by the procurer and awoke the next morning to find that she was a prisoner in a house of ill fame. She had been sold while robbed of her senses. She had been outraged while unconscious. The landlady approached her the next morning with an air of good fellowship, told of the benefits of the new life, promised her beautiful gowns and jewelry before night and attempted to make her forget the real, sweet and pure things of life which had been so mercilessly stolen from her. This is the story of but one out of thousands. $200,000 ANNUAL WHITE SLAVE PRICE. We have said there are 2,000 White Slaves sold every year. The average price is $100 a girl, according to a well known federal official, who has investigated and prosecuted several hundred cases of White Slavery. That makes the aggregate purchase price of White Slaves in Chicago annually, $200,000! This same official declared that the South side levee district contributes $60,000 a year to the White Slave Trust for new victims. The balance is paid by the resort keepers of the other districts of vice and by keepers of the "houses of call"--the places where men of wealth and bestial perversion seek for virgins on whom to wreak the fury of abandoned passions! Here is a terrible example of the procuring of an innocent girl for the perversion of a wealthy man. Detectives investigating the conduct of a man implicated in graft charges affecting the high personnel of a big railroad, discovered that at a Michigan avenue "house of call" a tender and unsullied virgin procured by White Slave agents, was given into his lust-stained hands for desecration weekly! That same man, the investigation showed, paid as high as $500 for an undefiled child! He even went so far as to go outside of the city, in search of purity and goodness to be sacrificed in the fires of his degenerate passions. THE SHACKLES OF THE WHITE SLAVE. Many a girl after a month of horror, revolts against the conditions confronting her; the terrors in her dreams of the future fill her soul with fear and she yearns for freedom once again. The dreams, which the stories told her by the procurer aroused, have never materialized; she is as poor as she was before she was trapped into the life of shame; she is broken in spirit and in health. Can she walk out a free woman? No. She is a White Slave; the slavery is not just one of selling and purchasing; it is one of permanent bondage in ninety cases out of one hundred. The man who trapped her has become her "cadet." He is her "guardian" for her master. His word is law. She is a slave forever. She is treated brutally if she makes serious attempts at escape; she is even locked in a room and in some instances women have been tied hands and feet to bedposts. She is at times drugged in order to make her forget her misery and her plans of escape. Every possible precaution is taken to prevent her release from bondage. Her procurer in dull times, may take her from one house and resell her for a new price. She is thus bartered as a dead commodity instead of a woman of flesh and blood. There is nothing in human history that is so filled with horror as this. There is no deeper stain on the annals of this nation than the crimson stain of White Slavery. It is the evil that cries daily to Heaven for vengeance. Thousands of mothers lift their trembling arms and cry out to God to kill the monster that has eaten their daughters. And this White Slave Trust, taking the money from these ill-fated women, turns part of its profits over to the magnates of the great Vice Trust,--to men who stand high in the world of politics, to men to whom we intrust the task of making our laws and administering them! The law stands without and makes no effort to stem the tide of infamous traffic in women. Political leaders listen to the voice of a people's protest, sham a "clean-up" and then send forth the word to the vice lieutenants to "lay low" for a short time. Within a few weeks, the monster creeps from his hiding place and feasts ravenously on the victims piled up and waiting for him. We have shown the price of these pitiful victims of a vice system. We are now ready to show how every form of vice in which woman stands as the central figure is protected by the police department at the command of the political lords and their friends, in order that they may derive a vast income from the human sacrifice. CHAPTER VI. Vice and Graft. Police Collectors--The Prostitute's Graft Price--The Kimona Trust--Laundry Trust--The Woman and the "Cadet"--Terrible Examples--To the Woman: Death--How About Your Daughter? From the enemies of moral progress and from those who find it to their personal interest to exploit the shame of women and the crimes of men, the cry has been raised:-- Vice, segregated and otherwise, is absolutely essential in a large city. Passions must be given an outlet; lusts must be allowed to exhaust themselves. That view, in the face of earnest study of the subject, is a pernicious fallacy. Take away from man the open temptation; cleanse his paths of the thousand lures to evil; bar his coming in contact with the lost woman as far as it is possible and you will minimize vice to a marvelous degree. It is on the fallacy and sophistry of the theory that passions of men must be satisfied, that Chicago today carries on its terrible exploitation of vice. It is on that theory that the Vice Trust has built its superstructure, created its gigantic business, bartered its thousands of women for flesh-prices and harvested millions of dollars annually. Vice exists under the conditions which we have depicted, because the Vice Trust--the all powerful coterie of police and politicians,--wish it. The would-be municipal leaders, are the powers behind the city's ignominy and shame! Every evil that cries out in the big city, every crime that is committed in the day or in the night, every vice that is practiced to the ruin of human souls and bodies, does so because the Vice Trust commands it, because the Vice Trust waits for its monstrous returns from them. Chicago's four levee districts with the hundreds of resorts and the thousands of unfortunate inmates, furnish a tremendous capital to their owners, but the owners have a lease of vice existence from the political powers behind and above them, simply because these men and women pour into their coffers a constant stream of graft money. The saloon evil, the cafe evil, the hotel, the dance hall, obscene theater evil, the "house of call," "flat" and White Slave evil, pay a tribute of existence to the agents of the big alliance who have the political power to crush them out of existence if they so desired. That is why we stand on the statement that if the CORRUPT POLITICIANS and their slaves and corrupt police officials were stripped of their power and sent to the penitentiary, Chicago could swiftly purge herself and become the City Beautiful in the most ideal meaning of the term. THE TRIUMVIRATE. The evil lies today in the alliance between Vice, Police and the Politician! The sore festers so that the matter running from it may be turned into dollars and cents by men we elect at the polls each election! It is our purpose in this chapter to show in cold, conservative figures, just the price that vice pays to its political masters to live; just the gold that is beaten from women's bodies so that the political bosses can be given their share and the slave masters of prostitutes can still make a profit. We shall show that from every possible channel graft is derived. We shall show that to the big powers goes the big share; to their friends go smaller amounts, so that the pie is so divided that a tempting morsel is cut for all the favored few. PRICE OF PROTECTING VICE. "Give me so much gold from the earnings of defiled women and we will give you so much protection, so much liberty and so many privileges," offers the directorate of the Vice Trust. That protection money is counted out: so much per woman, so much per sin, so much per vice. The Vice Trust of the grafting directorate accepts the money and vice lives and flourishes. The purchased souls of policemen, ready to do the bidding of the graft masters, are the agents through which this protective power is dispensed, in the primary matter of existence. Graft for protection is the vital graft and the primary one. Policemen collect this themselves and turn it over to their superior officers. Their superior officers in turn take out their percentage for the damnable work and pass the bulk on to "men higher up." The graft for police protection is not always paid to policemen. High officials, fearing that their hand may show in corrupt and incriminating transactions, hire private and debased citizens to carry on this pernicious work of collecting from the resort keepers and from those whose business depends on the resorts. That is the graft exacted for the simple existence of prostitution and the carrying on of the trade in women's bodies. The more the earnings of the house of ill fame, the higher the value of the women enslaved, the more liberty granted to make hellish profits, the greater the protective graft. As a corroboration of our flat statement we have scores of men of prominence in every walk of life who have first-hand knowledge of the existence of this alliance of vice and graft. Recently, an attorney whose business takes him into the "redlight" district on the South side, made the following statement in a Chicago daily paper: "There is one police official who should be punished for his activity in collecting tribute for the protection he dispenses to levee resort keepers. He is a smooth article, however, and he goes straight to headquarters in a fine show of indignation whenever anyone makes any charges against him. "My business takes me into the district and I know that there is a regular tax levied on these people. It all depends on the size of the establishment and the amount of business done. The collecting is done by plain clothes men who turn it over to a police official and he takes or sends it to a higher official and after he takes out his share the balance goes to a city official. I've had that told me so many times by so many different persons, some of them policemen, that I know it is true. "But you couldn't get a person in the district to talk; they are run out of the district as soon as they threaten trouble." The man who made the above statement is one of the most prominent attorneys in Chicago. He is simply corroborating our charge of the existence of the practice of protection. The high city official to whom the money goes and to whom he refers is one of the organizers of the great Vice and Graft Trust; a man who has made thousands of dollars by corrupting the power placed in his hands, and who today continues in the face of reform movements, to instruct his sycophantic police officials to allow vice to flourish just as long as it pours its gold into his coffers. [Illustration: THE DRUGGED CONSCIENCE. Copyrighted 1910 by The Midnight Mission. Used by permission of owners of copyright. Steeped in iniquity.--Blind to his sin.--One step from eternal ruin.] As an instance that vice is shut down when it fails to make its tribute, we quote the following story from a well known criminal lawyer. It is astonishing in its features and in its revelations. This man said:-- "I was obliged in the course of my professional duties while searching for a woman important to a case at hand to visit the Empire Hotel on Wabash avenue. A week before my visit I had read that the police had raided the hotel and arrested several girls who lived there. These girls were not prosecuted and were discharged the morning after their arrest. The matter was fresh in my mind when I made my visit. I questioned the proprietress of the hotel as to the recent raid, and she smiled at me and said: "'Oh, we have to stand for these police gags. You see we weren't paying protection money and they simply raided us as a warning. We are running full blast now and without any police interference, because we are coming across every week with our protection price.'" The protection money is gathered principally in the levee districts but it also comes from every other place in the city where vice is made a business. The protection money that is exacted from the keeper of the brothel is exacted from the keeper of the hotel, cafe, saloon and other species of places of infamy. Here is another example of the truth of the story of protective graft. An investigator for the Vice Commission corroborates our own investigation. This investigator witnessed the following scene and conversation. A man who had remained in a South side levee resort all night, complained to the police the next day that he had been robbed of fifty dollars by one of the inmates. Accompanied by two detectives from the Twenty-second street police station, the man went to the house. The landlady, when she heard his charge, became angry and while the investigator listened made this remark: "That man never possessed fifty dollars in his life. It's a frame up. Why are you police bothering me? Are you looking for more money? What do you want? I paid my protection money two days ago." We will show the price exacted from the prostitute's master in order that she may exist as a creature of vice and sell every drop of blood in her body to make more money. FIGURES THAT FREEZE THE BLOOD. In an investigation that took in the cases of 500 prostitutes it was found that their average earnings were $100 a week. We are aiming to be conservative. Let us place the average earnings at forty dollars a week, as a basis for figuring out some astounding results. There are 5,000 outright prostitutes in the city of Chicago. Five thousand women making forty dollars a week will make $200,000 a week. Five thousand women at forty dollars a week earn in one year-- $10,400,000! Is it conceivable? Is it possible? Tortured bodies of women yielding that gigantic income! These are the women who live in the levee resorts, the inmates of flats and hotels and the slaves of the cafe owners. Those women who live within houses whose owners pay protection for their inmates, give up half of the weekly earnings to the "madam." Those women who are known as "hustlers" in the slang phrase, give fifty per cent of their earnings to the police for individual protection. No matter how and where that protection money is paid, it eventually percolates through the hands of the police or agents to the members of the Vice Trust. The women of the street who frequent the hotels with their victims, pass their protection money to the hotel owners. They act in furthering protection, in the same capacity as do the keepers of the houses of ill fame for their victims. The police trail these girls to the favorite hotel and then compel the hotel men to collect from the women. POLICE PRICE FOR THE SCARLET WOMAN. Investigation again discloses a terrible condition of things. We are going to show what these unfortunate women pay to exist:--the amount of money they pay the police for protection and the money that is passed on. The prices exacted from a levee house by the police or other agents of the Vice Trust for police protection, varies according to the liberties given these slaves. From investigation of a thorough character it is safe to say that the average protection price paid per woman in Chicago is twenty dollars a month! Figuring on the basis of 5,000 women who are prostitutes in the accepted sense of the term, this means a payment of $1,200,000 in protection money a year. In support of our monthly protective price of twenty dollars, we quote the following from a woman, for twenty years the owner of a big house of prostitution in Chicago and now a married and reformed member of the best society of Cedar Rapids, Ia. This woman in speaking of the question of protection money, said: "During my experience of twenty years as the keeper of a Chicago resort, 900 girls passed through my hands. The protection prices I paid depended largely on the profits that the girls made. I had as many as forty-five girls in my establishment at once. The girls got half of their earnings and I got the other half. From my part I paid my protection money. I paid from fifteen to thirty-five dollars for each girl to the police. The average for all the girls was twenty dollars a month for each girl I kept. I will not give the names of the police or the collectors." When prominent investigators were searching for facts to use in a crusade against the sale of liquor without a license, they visited the Everleigh Club on Dearborn street. Minnie Everleigh, one of the two women who own that notorious resort, made the following statement, showing the existence of police protection: "I would be perfectly willing to pay a liquor license of $1,000 a year. I would like to see the entire business legalized. I would pay the price legally demanded. "As it is today, someone permits us to conduct our establishment. I am paying in other ways." The payment which that dive keeper made "in other ways" was the protection money and a dozen allied forms of graft to the Vice Trust through its "lieutenants." GRAFTS THAT FEED ON FLESH AND BLOOD. The protection graft is the beginning of the great graft system. It is created to be used as a foundation for a thousand and one other sources of graft from sin and vice. It has been shown that the woman either personally or through the woman or man to whom she is sold or has sold herself offers the first tribute to the Vice Trust and pays for a lease on her demoralizing and destructive life. Now that she has paid her protective graft, she is to be fleeced by the great trust with its political leaders, out of the remaining part of her earnings. The women in the resorts are the greatest victims of the "consequential graft." Take for instance, the woman inmate of a house who is in need of clothes and other necessities and watch the way the Vice Trust robs her over and over again. The average earnings of a woman was placed at forty dollars. Of that twenty dollars was turned over to the resort keeper. That leaves an average of twenty dollars weekly to a woman. That is $1,000 a year. Of this amount these women are compelled to spend $500 yearly. That leaves them but $500. Even that succumbs to a mere nominal figure when graft has finally stopped feasting on it. THE KIMONA TRUST. There is a subsidiary trust of the Vice Trust which robs the 2,000 inmates of resorts in the city. That combine is called the Kimona Trust. It is composed of certain clothing makers who sell exclusively to the inmates of the houses of prostitution. It received its name from the fact that the prostitutes buy and wear light house apparel, consisting of kimonas, wrappers, flimsy gowns and gaudy lingerie. The operation of this trust, the extent of its graft and the way that graft is divided, with its portion going to the vice lords is interesting and not well known. Take for instance, the girl who is in need of a kimona. Here is a truthful story from a girl in an Armour avenue resort as to the way she was victimized by the kimona grafters. Thousands of others could tell the same story. "I had not been in the resort very long," said the girl to the investigator, "when I needed some clothes. I told the 'madam' and she said the agent of a clothing house would call within a few days. I wanted to go out and purchase the things where I desired, but she told me she had to see that her girls got them from a certain man. "The man came and I made my selections from a number of articles of apparel which he displayed. I had worked in a department store before I entered upon this life and I knew the value of clothes. "I was compelled to pay $15 for a kimona which I could have purchased for $3 at any department store. I paid $120 for a hat with plumes on that was worth only $30. I was forced to give up $67 for a dress whose value I knew could not have been more than $25. "The man then showed me some jewelry which he had with him and the keeper told me I should get some to make myself look more attractive. "He showed me some cheap rings and bracelets and earrings. I paid $20 for a bracelet, some neck beads and a ring which were not worth any more than $4. They fell to pieces a short time later." These girls, according to their own stories are obliged to pay two dollars for a pair of stockings that are not worth more than fifty cents. That is the system of the Kimona Trust! Increased value on articles of clothing sold the inmates is about the same in every instance. Three hundred per cent excess profit is the taxation made by the agents of the kimona trust! The purchase prices on all things are so increased as to make that enormous profit. There are 2,000 women buying clothes at a yearly expenditure, or rather robbery, of $500. That means $1,000,000 spent by these poor, dying, unfortunates yearly to feed the avaricious grafters! That enormous sum is spent for materials that are worth only one fourth of that value. That means that the Kimona Trust brings an annual harvest of graft of $750,000! The figures are so startling as to strike one dumb with horror, yet they are as true as the annual statement of the earnings and capital of a reliable bank. The Kimona Trust agents are satisfied to make the normal profit on the goods as if they were sold at their legitimate price. They raise the price and create the graft in return for the favor of having a big business with no competition. The $750,000 is then split up. To the police undoubtedly a small share goes for their general work in the district, the keepers get a share for compelling the girls to buy and the big bulk goes to the directors of the Vice Trust. THE LAUNDRY TRUST. The Kimona Trust has not eaten to the last bill in the purse of the vice slave. She still has money left which the Vice Trust must batten on. The Kimona Trust has a logical successor, the Laundry Trust. This combine proceeds in the same manner as the combine that furnishes clothing to the 2,000 prostitutes in the houses. It proceeds by boosting the prices and robbing its victims. In the ordinary laundry service, the laundry man with a cleaning establishment is satisfied with sixty per cent of the income of a man who has a private route and brings his collections in clothing to the place. He is allowed forty per cent for himself and for his wagon. In the levee districts the privilege of the laundry business is hard sought after, but it is limited to a few men. These men pay for the privilege. They add 100 per cent to their prices for work done, so that the Vice Trust which grants the favor may reap its profits. Speaking conservatively, every girl is obliged to have a laundry bill of two dollars a week. Two thousand girls with an average laundry bill of $2.00 means $4,000 a week or $208,000 a year! The just laundry bill for those poor, fleeced women of sin should be but $104,000. But the Vice Trust must have its toll. That graft of $104,000 is carried to the under lords and again the capital of the deadly combine is swelled while its victims starve! THE CRIMINAL DOCTOR. Even science has prostituted itself to aid the Vice Trust collect its tithes from the lost women. In the South side "redlight" district about ten physicians who are graduated from good schools have sold themselves to the lords of vice, crime and sin. These men are employed to examine the women inmates of the houses to see if they are suffering from diseases of a venereal nature that might sow the seed of death in thousands of men. This practice is also carried on in the other "redlight" districts. It is the biggest farce in the whole system. It is a criminal perversion of science. It has to the resort keeper an advertising value. The word is sent forth that his girls are "healthy," or the man who accompanies her to her room, sees stuck in a prominent place a certificate signed by a physician declaring he has examined her and found her free from venereal afflictions. It is a terrible and criminal deception. Those physicians are supposed to give each girl a personal, clinical examination each week. That is rarely done. For this "examination" these girls are taxed fifty cents a week and given signed certificates. Often they do not see the physician for months at a time, yet they receive their certificates. The physicians making a living at this terrible exercise of their sacred profession are slaves of the trust. They sold their manhood to receive the position. To the trust they give back a large part of the money taken from these unfortunate victims. This graft, is said by those acquainted with the subject, to reach $15,000 a year! THE PROSTITUTE AND THE BEER GRAFT. It has been demonstrated that the graft yielded by prostitution direct is enormous. It has been shown how the disgraced and fallen women not only give up a share of the earning from their dying bodies, but also are compelled to assist in the collection of subsidiary graft. But the Vice Trust has not finished with the picking of the bones and the sucking out of the marrow. There is still more to be taken for the price of sin and shame and misery. The women who have the seeds of death in their bodies must be pushed and shoved swiftly to their dishonored graves. As they go they must yield more gold to the money lust of the vice lords. Gold must be their price even on the brink of the grave. The Beer Trust must fatten on the last pieces of flesh and the last drops of blood! There was the Kimona Trust; then the Laundry Trust, and now the Beer Trust. In order to further its business and increase its income, these unfortunates must poison their already decaying systems with quantities of beer that would revolt even the average drunkard. They must inoculate themselves with the virus of slow death! They must drink, drink, always drink! As a lure and a bait to force these already underpaid wretches to fill themselves with the venom of the beer vats they are given a meaningless profit for every glass of poison they force a customer to buy. They are obliged to drink with the customer in a spirit of good fellowship. Even after they are sick and drunk they pour the cheap, over-fermented liquor into their stomachs--for the sake of sociability and to appease the Vice Trust through its brewery graft. The girls thus become the Beer Trust's agents. The woman that is not a good "beer agent" in a house of ill fame, is either punished by being deprived of some privilege or her body bruised and discolored by a brute employed just for such purposes. But we have demonstrated that subsidiary graft has reduced the ill-gotten gains of the women until there is scarcely anything left for them. "SELL DRINKS OR STARVE." Do you wonder that they sit hour after hour at a table guzzling beer with their drunken customers? It is the old story of--"Do this or starve." In the "redlight" districts of Chicago certain breweries have the monopolized concession from the vice lords to sell their commodity. No one else dare enter into the precincts to peddle his goods. The Vice Trust demands a terrible stipend. Therefore the beer must be sold at an outrageous price. The over lords must get their share, the girls in the houses must be paid their horrible commission and the keepers must make their profits. The sale of this beer in the disorderly houses is a direct violation of the law governing the sale of liquors. All this beer and other intoxicants are sold without a city license. There are one thousand places in the city selling liquor without a license. Nearly all these are houses of prostitution. This figure is arrived at by a comparison of federal tax records on the sale of liquors and the records in the city license department of the city clerk. The houses of ill fame dare not ignore the laws of the United States. So, they purchase a federal liquor license at the nominal sum of twenty-five dollars a year. BEER GRAFT--$2,915,760. The yearly graft in beer in the holes of vice in the city is unbelievable. We shall quote an authoritative source. According to the report made by the recent Vice Commission to the Mayor of Chicago the annual graft from the sale of intoxicants in the restricted districts of the city, is-- $2,915,760! That means that many dollars in graft over the price paid the brewery for its product. That income must be divided among three factors: the prostitutes, the keepers of the houses and the members of the Vice Trust. In the calculations of the Vice Commission, the prostitutes receive forty per cent, which amounts to $1,166,304. From sources reliable and from interviews with keepers of disorderly houses, we have learned that the Vice Trust exacts fifty dollars a month from each disorderly house for the privilege of selling beers, whiskeys and other death-dealing drinks. From the houses of prostitution in the levee districts, from the "houses of call," the "flats" and other disorderly places, numbering 1,000, figuring on the basis of fifty dollars a month, the beer graft to the over lords is $600,000 a year. That is the price that the minions of vice pay for the privilege of violating the municipal laws, of taxing vice to its last strength, of murdering the women who must promote the vicious industry! THE INVESTED VICE CAPITAL. The over lords, cunning and commercial to a degree, have never lost an opportunity to grow dollars from cents. Realizing that the breweries made golden harvests from their privileges of monopoly, the vice kings sought to extend their power to these corporations. They did it by practically buying the breweries! Three of the politicians who are members of the Directorate of Ten--the graft spirits of Chicago's underworld--have profit-yielding interests in breweries that serve levee trade. In this way the over lords have another source of swollen income. Nothing escapes from their talons. In the levee resorts large quantities of cigarettes are sold daily. Again the vice masters seek out and gain the gold. One member of the all powerful Directorate of Ten has a controlling interest in the agency of a certain brand of cigarette. Every effort is made in the vice districts to sell this cigarette because the vice lord has commanded that it be disposed of. THE PROSTITUTE AND THE "CADET." In the ante bellum days when slavery flourished in the South, the blacks were directly ruled over by foremen who goaded them on at their tasks of making dollars for the plantation lord until they found welcome rest in death. The modern slave is the prostitute. She, too, must have a boss to urge on her tired body to make more dollars for her masters, to keep up the constant stream of graft to the Vice directorate, to boost the earnings of such industries as in turn pay a tribute to the great trust. The boss of the miserable outcast woman is the "cadet." That low species of perverted human, crunching on the few morsels of food thrown at his feet from the well-heaped table of vice, is also known as "mack." History has given him the name of "pimp." The pickpocket, the burglar, the safe cracker, even the murderer, command more respect--we say respect for lack of a better term--than do these human, creeping, craven parasites. They are the real slave-men; the lowest form of the Vice Trust's vassals. Among these men are also the men who first destroyed the sacred chastity of the women over whom they now rule. Nothing is sacred to them; nothing good; nothing inviolable. They have become an essential element to the nefarious scheme of the Vice Trust. Whip in hand they are the appointed lashers of the thousands of lost women, beating them to urge them to work harder, faster, and thus yield a return for their purchase price until the cold earth falls with hollow sound upon the cheap casket purchased to hide away their shame and sin in the ground. The subsidiary trusts of the great Vice Trust have taken their toll. But the unfortunate women, through their commissions, particularly on liquors, have still some of the terrible wage drained from their bodies. The trust must have the greater part of that. It is the duty of the "cadets" to get it. They do. They collect from the girls, take their share and turn over a large percentage to the Directorate of Ten. The trust has a strange reason for this. The trust considers the "cadet" primarily as a parasite. That parasite must pay a price for existence. To get it, he must compel the woman he controls to make more money. In urging her to make more money he is boosting the graft in every possible way. There is a psychological connection between the "cadet" and his prostituted slave-woman. Inherent in the nature of every woman is the primitive instinct of the mastership of man and obediance to it. In the good woman that obediance to that subconscious instinct finds its expression in love and in strange submission to his theories and practices of life where there exists no moral conflict. To be loved, to be cared for, to be desired, are the impulses developing out of the conception of man's mastery. In the lost woman, the instincts are the same; so, too, the impulses. When a woman has fallen she never gives up her dream of a "one man" who might love her, treasure her and protect her, until the eternal night blots out the colors of the vision. Failing to find a return love, the thousands of unfortunate women fall victims to their own loves for men. Rather than lose even the hollow, empty sham of love, rather than to miss the presence of a brute, they submit to indignities, brutality and tortures that are indescribable. It is the under current carrying the idea of Man the Master. The woman is willing to be the slave. Playing on this perverted instinct of the woman, the Vice Trust makes capital of it. The "cadets" are brought in on the general plan of graft. The "redlight" districts of the city are infested with these men, fattening on their lost women. Judging from the number of well dressed men of no apparent occupation who hang about the saloons, resorts, poolrooms, cigar stores and other places near the levees, there are more than 1,000 of these worms of the earth at large, feeding on the city's great ulcer, flaunting their crimes in the faces of our young men and young women of clean morals, and murdering their women hirelings! They have no fear of the police because they know that the police dare not molest them just as long as they "hand over" their graft to the "men higher up." BRUTALITY OF THE "CADETS." These men exercise the most brutal mastership over the prostitute. Instances have been shown where women were whipped within a few inches of death by the inhuman dogs. One night in the South side levee, a "cadet" caught one of his women on the street in front of a resort, cursed her for her small earnings and proceeded to beat her into insensibility. Bleeding from his inhuman blows, she reeled and fell to the sidewalk. Standing in the glare of the arc light, the man's face and hands were smeared with blood. Two policemen approached and stopped. The "cadet" held up his blood-stained hands and laughed. The policemen pushed him ahead, and one of them said: "Fred, you better move on. Go and wash your face and hands." A woman came from the resort, kicked the prostrate form of the unconscious girl with her foot, then grasping her by the hands, dragged her into the hell chamber from which she had emerged to breathe a little of God's own air. That is not the story of a heated imagination. It was actually witnessed. Incidents of similar character which beggar description, occur every night, when these outcasts are confronted by drunken, blood-exacting degenerates. Some of these men are the slave masters of several women. In a recent White Slave case in the federal court, one of these wretches confessed that he was the "cadet" of four prostitutes. He drove them on in their vicious labors, forced them to work day and night to bring him money from which he made his own living and paid protection to the police and tribute to the Vice Trust. This man swore that he made from fifty to sixty dollars a week from each girl. Many of these "cadets" do not live in the "redlight" districts. They scatter and come back when it is time to gather in the gold. "CADETS" AND POLICE GRAFT. The business of exacting graft from these men is a difficult police problem because of their nomadic habits. Still it is accomplished. Rendezvous of these men are frequently raided by the police and these "cadets" to save themselves give up what money they may have with them. Many of them, however, cannot keep away from the scenes of their crimes and cravenly and regularly pay their price. The "cadet" system is highly valued by the Directorate of Ten because it is the human prod to vice, the medium of increasing infamous profits from day to day. As an instance of this, here is a story from police circles which is confirmed by other corroboration. Recently, a captain of police was transferred to the Twenty-second street police station. He was an unsophisticated police official, then. He was not well acquainted with the workings of the Vice Trust and he was determined to rid the districts of some of the evils which were more flagrant than others. He determined to destroy the "cadet" system and to cast every "cadet" into jail on charges of vagrancy. He set about to do it and forty-eight hours later the district was seething with indignation, fear and anger. A conference of the big resort keepers was held and the police captain invited to attend. He went prepared to deliver a staggering ultimatum that would wipe out the evil forever. When he emerged he was a beaten, broken man, broken on the great, ever turning wheel of vice. Those keepers told him in that conference that if he drove the "cadets" out, they might as well shut down their houses. He was willing that they should. But there was the rub. He was quietly shown that the graft lords wanted more money and would not stand for a decrease of profits. They declared that women without "cadets" to urge them on, did not make half the money those did who were driven to death by these inhuman creatures in their exploitation of vice. To back up their statements they showed him the records of their houses. The great powers, he realized, were behind commercialized vice. To harm one member of that Directorate of Ten by shearing him of his profits meant ruin to himself. He gave up the battle. Later on, in another police territory, this same official hemmed in and enmeshed by the exacting system which he had allowed to make him a slave, fell a victim to the Vice Trust and was sacrificed with much pomp of public investigation on the altars of the temple of vice and graft to appease the unseen god of public wrath and indignation. Another example of how the graft system reaches out and destroys the upright, is the following:-- Another captain of police was sent to take command of the police district including the South side levee. A clean-minded chief of police ordered him to clean up the district. He ordered him to place men in the resorts where there were flagrant violations of the rules regulating the district. The police official did so. The resort keepers tried to reason with him, argue with him and plead with him, but he refused to listen. "I shall carry out my orders," he said firmly. Then they predicted his transfer from the police station. They predicted that within thirty days he would be in command at another station. They missed their calculations by but one day. He was transferred to a district where his honesty could do no harm. Beyond and above the chief of police ruled a power--the political power of the Directorate of Ten, that made the final ruling. A chief of police in a strange manner has admitted the power of the vice combine which he was sworn to annihilate. As a sergeant of police he was powerless to stem the tide of sin and vice. When he received the highest executive office in the department, the Vice Trust compelled him to move from the home in which he had lived on the South side for twenty-five years. The music from the dives floated into the precincts of his home and disturbed his rest; the unfortunate women carried on their immoral profession within a stone's throw of where his innocent daughter slept; drunken men reeled past his door going to and from the vice haunts. He was surrounded by scarlet women and vicious men. For the salvation of his family he was obliged to seek other quarters. AND TO THE WOMAN?--DEATH! Oh you that are the children of our flesh and blood, you over whom anxious mothers have watched through the long, weary hours of the night when the shadow of sickness was upon you, you whose lips are still undefiled by the kiss of unclean lips, you who still kneel at night and in the solitude of your chambers, call upon the Master to hold your hearts in the mighty hollow of His hand, bend your heads in meditation on the truth that is hideous, but must be known. You mothers and fathers, sacrificing every hour of your lives for your daughters, praying for their purity, guarding their chastity, leading them in the paths of righteousness, turn not from the truth that you must know, but listen and take warning. IN THE LIGHT OF MODERNITY IGNORANCE IS NO LONGER INNOCENCE. IGNORANCE IS CRIME: IGNORANCE IS SIN: THE SIN OF OMISSION AND NEGLECT. In no age, has a people faced a social problem as vital and crucial as the one facing the American people today. Our rapid progress in the paths of commerce has robbed us of a clear moral conscience; it has made the almighty dollar the ideal, to the detriment of the soul and heart: it has built taller houses of industry while the church steeples have grown shorter. It has crept unconsciously upon us until it has eaten into our vitals--the commercial and industrial frenzy. It has recognized in the perversion of woman a source of income and it has commercialized the vicious instincts, and the depraved desires of thousands of them. The baby girl in the cradle is being watched and waited for by the Vice Trust:--ready to capture her and throw her tortured body into the mart of sin for filthy dollars. The school girl is trailed and tempted. She falls often unconsciously and awakens when it is too late. The girl who is earning her own living is preyed upon and bartered away; and even the wife and mother is frequently caught in the ever-tightening mesh of the masters Satan has appointed on earth. Statistics show that two thirds of the women who are found in the infamous resorts of the city drift there in a thousand and one ways. The White Slaves are in the minority. Economic and social conditions, starvation wages, environment, unrestrained sexual desires, lack of religious restraint, improper association with the male sex in immature ages, desires for pleasures, luxuries and clothing, betrayal by men, are among the principal reasons why this vast percentage of the prostitutes fills the houses of iniquity. Tons of literature have been written, warning the girls of the country against the perfidious White Slaver. "LEAVE ALL HOPE BEHIND." These warnings have also been directed to the parents of our girls. The girls and women that need warning today are those who are drifting to the Lake of Infamy, drifting, some unconsciously and others with knowledge, in a vague way of what is before them. To this class we cry out until we are exhausted and our throats are bleeding with the effort: "Leave all hope behind, you who enter here." At each avenue leading into the hellish centers of the city should stand a lost woman, peering into the eyes and hearts of each girl who is creeping silently and shamefully to the vice dens. In her hollow, rasping voice, the lost woman should be made to cry out: "TURN BACK ERE IT IS TOO LATE! THIS IS THE CITY OF THE DAMNED! THIS IS THE SLAUGHTER-HOUSE OF HELL! THIS IS THE CHARNAL-HOUSE OF DEATH! THIS IS THE SPOT WHERE THE GRAVES ARE ALWAYS OPEN AND YAWNING! LIFE HAS NO HOPE HERE!" If each girl could be told the paralyzing truth of the life of the prostitute as we have told it in this book, would she plunge headlong into the consuming fire? Would she leap into the ever-present abyss? Would she take the first drink? Would she give her lips to the poison of the inhuman wretch who plots her death? Would she give her pure, white body to the abominations of the Vice Trust? No, no, no: not unless she were born of hell and deprived of reason and judgment. It has been our object to show that not one dream of the girl who enters a house of prostitution is ever realized. She has hoped for fine clothes, jewelry, food and money. She has found nothing but shame, suffering, remorse and sorrow. THE LURE OF THE "LIFE." "I will become a slave, that is true," said the girl who is dying in a resort today, as she entered the abominable life, three years ago, "but I shall make hundreds of dollars and then leave it and no one shall know." That is the lure that has caught up thousands of women and hurled them into dishonored and polluted graves. The Vice Trust is the robber combine. No woman who has once fallen into its inhuman traps can escape until she has paid the last farthing, as we have shown. The Vice Trust allows the women of its kingdom to make gold fast, that it may rob them faster. We have shown how each agent of the Vice Trust, each subsidiary combine, each industry dealing with the unfortunate women, suck out the last drop of blood. In the last analysis, after we have studied how the earnings of the prostitute are snatched away from her, you ask this startling question: "And to the woman, what?" And with God as our judge and honest, clean, observant men as our witnesses, we answer: "DEATH!" Shudder, all you who today are tempted to give up the struggle against terrible odds. Tremble with fear, all you who are near the gates of the City of Sin! Turn back all you who are picking the insidious blossoms in the pathways that lead to but one end. DEATH:--not pleasure, not joy, not companionship; not clothes, not the niceties of life, not money! The Vice Trust paid a high price in one way or another for each woman-soul. Death can claim the victim only after it is torn to pieces by the ravenous wolves. There is no compensation in the lives of prostitutes for all they have thrown away; not even a sham of compensation. The prostitutes of Chicago are not only the commercial slaves of the vice lords; they are the victims of the most ravaging and most destructive diseases that science knows. Cold figures prove this. Nearly every woman in the levee districts of Chicago suffers from dread diseases. They are the victims of every possible chronic disease and organic trouble. They are today the greatest agents in the city for the dissemination of sexual diseases that ruin homes, lead men to suicide and fill the wards of our city hospitals with dying children. They are the mistresses of the men of the crime-world, who in the last stage of degradation, drive them to careers which are checkered with the murders of their victims. And now another hideous truth to save our daughters from the blasting curse. THE PACE THAT KILLS. Death claims these women in from one to seven years! That startling statement is based on actual figures dealing with the demand and supply of women for the resorts of Chicago. Death is really merciful to those whom he takes at the beginning of their blighted lives, for they escape in the darkness and sleep of the tomb the nights of nightmare agony, of remorse, of shame, of physical suffering, of empty and broken hearts, of ghosts of the pure, sweet past, of home with the sweet-faced gentle mother, the loving father and the brothers and sisters. Think of it! These commercialized creatures of hell grind out of body, blood, heart and soul, millions of dollars for their masters! And for themselves--the GRAVE! We have been logical in our statements. We have not delivered simply a pulpit warning. We have shown, in undeniable figures, that the motto of the Vice Trust is: "Millions for ourselves, but not one cent for the women slaves!" If, as is imagined by thousands of good men and women, these unfortunates derived a profit from their immoral business, then there might exist an excuse for the thousands who enter the life each year. But there is no profit, no matter from what standpoint you might view the situation. The story of gain is but the lure. The Vice Trust tells lies that are acceptable because of the strange tendencies in the temperament of women. Dean Walter T. Sumner, one of Chicago's most prominent ministers and the chairman of the recent Vice Commission, declared that each year the men who visit the many haunts of vice in Chicago spend $60,000,000! He also declared that of this amount, over $16,000,000 goes to the vice lords! "TOO LATE TO TURN BACK"--CRIES WOMAN. Before closing we wish to give a concrete example of the tenacious power of the life of shame once it has fastened its fangs in the heart and body of its victim. We tell the story so that every girl in this country may know that once enslaved there is scarcely any redemption. In one of the most notorious resorts in the South side levee district, lost to all self-respect and shame, is a certain prostitute who drags her wornout body about, selling it to vice victims night after night. That woman is the daughter of an alderman of the city of Chicago! Four years ago she was the idol of a happy home, the pet of a loving father and the darling of a happy mother. Today she is a drunken, depraved creature. Her father has done everything in his power to rescue her. With his own political power he has obtained permission from the vice masters to take his daughter from her infamous prison. That woman has looked at her father and cried out: "It is too late! Society would spurn me and I would have to flee away. Besides my body is wrecked and could not live without the intoxicants and drugs I can feed it here." The father offered her $10,000 a year as an allowance if the girl would leave her evil ways. Again she refused because she knew in the depths of her heart that the shackles welded long ago could never be broken, and that the poison eating through her blood could never be purged out. If this girl with every possible influence brought to bear to save her was beyond salvation, what of the thousands who, even if they would, cannot move hand or foot to escape the death waiting for them but a few years away? That is the story of the prostitute. It is not a story of the woman considered as an entity, deprived of her relative existence; it is the story of the slave as a commercialized being existing solely for the enrichment of the Directorate of Ten of the Vice Trust and not because she is needed to serve the passions of men. THOUSANDS ENTER THE "LIFE" YEARLY. And yet in the face of this staggering truth, thousands of women yearly, enter upon the life of death. They go to fill the polluted beds and chambers of horrors from which the gaunt, skeleton form of Death has just crept noiseless, bearing away the victims whose terms of earthly service in the interests of hell were at an end. God of Heaven, Father of the Just, Thou who watcheth over the universe of living things, teach our daughters to know the truth down to the last, burning, revolting fact. Save them for the motherhood of a perfect race. Protect them against the demons who seek them out in the sanctity of the home. Teach them restraint. Give unto the men and women of Chicago, the strength and power to rise up and destroy the Vice Trust and its members, so that the sun may shine on a spotless city, and love, happiness, purity, and the brotherhood and sisterhood of man may reign supreme! How long, Oh God, how long? CHAPTER VII. Side Grafts of The Social Evil. Rent Graft--Saloon Graft--Dance Halls and Protective Prices--Graft from the Vice Palaces--The Massage Parlor--The Drug Crime--The Vampire Trust. Woman is the axis around which revolves the wheel of the social evil today. When directly enmeshed in the woman-traps of the Vice Trust she is the enriching factor as has been shown. Indirectly connected with the Vice Trust or serving it off and on, she is still the axis of swollen profits to the Trust. It is the purpose in this chapter to show the side grafts which are derived from the existence of the persons and places contributing to the social evil. Again the police department figures as the "go-between" hand from the victims of sin to the Directorate of Ten. It is through their protecting agency, permitting haunts of crime and vice to flourish that the already monstrous fortunes of the vice masters are further swollen. It is astounding to learn the varied sources of side graft in the city of Chicago today. As we have said before, everything must have its price of toleration or cease to exist. A few of the most notorious and flagrant forms of side graft as separate from the prostitute and her profession are to be exploited in this chapter. THE RENT GRAFT. The excess rental profit, due to the fact that at least 1,000 buildings in Chicago are the rendezvous or dwelling places of prostitutes and women of loose character, is today $1,000,000. This figure is based on the conservative estimate of the Vice Commission arrived at in its recent investigation. In its calculation the members began with the figure of 577 places immorally used. They conservatively estimated that $1,000 was the average excess profit of rent in open houses in the restricted districts, and $300 was a similar profit per year on "flats" and assignation hotels. This same profit would not exist if vice did not place a high price on the haunts where it thrives. If the profits on vice are so enormous, the Vice Trust figures that the resort keepers and hotel and "flat" renters can pay high prices. The prices for rent on "flats" are boosted from $20 to $40 above the actual rental valuation of the property. The rental price on property in the segregated parts of the city is raised five times the actual rental figure. The real estate owners, and the real estate agents raise the price. But they cannot steal this vast rental profit. The Vice Trust must have a share. A split is made. The lords of the vice combine get their share of the rental theft and back into the pockets of the Directorate of Ten goes the graft. If this money is not paid by the real estate men and property owners, then they are the losers in the long run. The police department closes the place, refusing to allow prostitutes to live in the building. Result: The property must be rented to people of poor condition who can pay but small rent. The physical value of the property is so small that a large rent could never be exacted from decent citizens. Therefore in order to make a profit himself, the lessor holds the rent high, countenances prostitution in his buildings and pays his graft to the Vice Trust. A certain real estate agent controlling a building in Cottage Grove avenue, which is infested with immoral "flats," declared that he boosted the rents in the building $30 for each flat above the actual rental valuation. This same man declared that he was obliged each month to hand over to detectives who visited him, $20 on each flat, leaving him but a boost of ten dollars per flat. A woman who keeps a "flat" in Cottage Grove avenue declared that she was compelled to pay $50 for a $25 flat. She argued with the real estate agent but he showed her that if she desired police protection she would have to meet the demand. She did so. Some time later, on account of public protest by clean-living citizens near this place, the police shut down the "flats" in the building in one day. The women inmates moved out. A week later those flats which had rented from $40 to $75 to the immoral women, were rented for $15 to $25 a flat. Another example of the rent graft is given on the West side levee. A resort keeper who was once known as a king of the West side levee, owned a two-story building, which was used as a house of prostitution from which he derived the enormous rental of $250 a month. The place was situated in Curtis street. The street was "wiped out" by the police. A week later the two flats were being rented for $20 apiece. There is one estate in Chicago today situated in a levee district which is valued at $1,000,000. If the segregated districts were wiped out this property would not be worth $20,000. As an indication of the difficulty that would be experienced in wiping out this graft, remember that three city officials are owners of property used for immoral purposes. They are members of the great Combine. They would not permit the destruction of the immoral "flat" system because it would deprive them of an enormous revenue. This rental graft is either paid to the police who take a small percentage and then turn the remainder over to the agents of the Directorate of Ten, in return for their protection, or is given to the vice powers direct by the real estate agents. This rental graft is one of the big factors in maintaining a City Defiled. To strike at these places is to strike at the vice lords not alone through their enslaved women but through their property valuations. THE DISORDERLY SALOON AND ITS GRAFT. There exist in the city of Chicago 500 disorderly saloons. Those are the places where women are allowed to frequent the backrooms and the wine-rooms for the purpose of soliciting drinks from men. These places are to be found within the loop district and also in the resident sections of the city. The owners of these places make enormous profits by the exploitation of vice, but they pay monthly large sums to the Vice Trust in order to carry on their business. Each one of these places has an average of five women "hustling" for it. That figure is a low estimate. Drinks are sold in these establishments at exorbitant and robbing prices. It is estimated that the gross profit, on an average, is 175 per cent in such places. On the basis of five women in each place, earning three dollars a day as commission, which is formed on a twenty per cent basis, the daily net profit from these five girls, is $44. For a year this calculation brings forth the enormous figure of $16,060 for the proprietor. By computation this shows that the total profit of 500 saloons for one year is $8,080,000! Think of that fortune in poison to thousands of men and women who frequent these infectious places! But the big point is the graft. But the big split must be made. Out of that swollen profit, the Directorate of Ten by some hook or crook, must get its dividends. Although the price of protection by the police, in reality protection by the Big Ten, varies according to the location, possibilities in return and the number of women who work, investigation has shown that the average protective price of the disorderly saloon is $100 a month. This runs as high as $300 for the big loop places and those whose revenues are excessively high. Computing on the conservative basis of $100 per month, this means that the Vice Trust reaps a golden harvest of $50,000 a month from the disorderly saloons and cafes of Chicago! This means $600,000 graft a year! In many of these places forms of entertainment are given, as for instance obscene theatricals and immoral dances. These places increasing their revenue by such displays, must of necessity increase their graft to the powers above. To run such "shows" they are compelled to pay the police $50 a month more, it is said. In some districts the police charge for permitting music after closing hours. This graft usually is divided among the local police, from some of the police captains down to the man on the beat. DANCE HALLS AND THE IMMORAL THEATERS AND THEIR GRAFT. The dance halls which are found in every section of Chicago and the cheap arcades and some of the theaters with their suggestive dramas and vaudevilles are the starting points from which many girls go to ruin. These places earn many a big dollar for their owners. But again the Vice Trust holds out its aching and itching palm and cries for lucrative salve and is anointed with it. These places pay a protective police price ranging from $25 to $100 according to the degree of evil displayed, and the amounts of money taken in at the doors. The privilege of selling beer at these infamous places to facilitate the work of destroying the souls of young women and young men is placed at $50 a month more to the police. VICE PALACES AND THEIR GRAFT. In previous chapters we have spoken of the richly furnished homes of vice and sin where the man of wealth and position can covertly enjoy his debased passions and ruin young and innocent girls with the assurance that his sins will not find him out. These places to carry on their trade in human souls, where thousands of dollars are spent on elegant furnishings and where large profits accrue, also have their prices to pay the police and the political powers in the Vice Trust. Protection prices, ranging from $500 to $1,000 are paid each month to insure their guests and deprive them of the fear of molestation. MANICURE AND MASSAGE PARLORS AND THEIR GRAFT. These evils are not commonly known. The loop district is infested with such shops which are nothing but thin veils for prostitutes. Many hotels in Chicago contain such forms of vicious evil. These places are known to the police and the women in them, who make a pretense of legitimate work but in reality are ever on the alert for vice victims, are compelled to pay high protective sums to continue in their illegal professions. These places in the loop district pay an average graft and protective price of $100 a month. This money, taken stealthily by the agents, is sent in the bulk to the members of the Vice Trust as in every other form of graft. DRUG SELLING AND ITS GRAFT. A large percentage of the lost women in Chicago and their male associates are the victims of the drug habit. They are enslaved either by the opium, cocaine or morphine curse. They must have these insidious stimulants to exist, once they are trapped by this form of misery among men and women. The sale of these drugs is prohibited by law except under the most precautionary methods. In the South side "redlight" district four druggists make a profit on the sale of these drugs which is larger than their income on all other articles combined. The sellers of these drugs must of necessity be known to the police who see the constant throng of hundreds of unfortunates sneaking shamefully into the places to procure the poisons that bring pleasant dreams, and even unconsciousness. These places pay on an average $150 a month protection money to officials through their subordinates. THE VAMPIRE TRUST AND ITS GRAFT. Wherever wealth congregates, and men seek to while away the leisure hours, willing to spend thousands of dollars in a night's enjoyment, there you will find the agents of vice ready to minister to the wants of those men. Out of such conditions has been born the Vampire Trust of Chicago. It is composed of more than 100 women of loose character, women steeped in sin and vice, women of apparent refinement and dashing appearance, women of beauty and luring manner. These women infest the lobbies, cafes and restaurants of the most exclusive hotels in the city. Their victims are the wealthy Chicago visitors who are compelled to forget their troubles and business worries over a glass of wine with charming, siren members of the trust. These women drug, rob, steal and blackmail their victims. Many of these women have extensive police records. Their faces are known to the old and young detectives who are appointed to protect the city's guests. Then why are they allowed to carry on their thieving trade and fatten on their ill-gotten gains? Again there is but one answer. They pay their protection for existence and are allowed by the Vice Trust to thrive unmolested. When a victim does muster up enough courage to complain to the police that he has been victimized by a Vampire, he obtains no satisfaction. In fact he is given a significant warning against prosecution. Most of the victims are married men, with almost unimpeachable reputations and social positions and families. They are told by the police officer to whom they complain that if they attempt to punish the woman who robbed them, the story would become public and the notoriety would do more harm than the loss of the money. These women concert with the members of the blackmailers' trust. These men point out prospective victims. If the men cannot be robbed, their reputations are jeopardized and then the women threaten to disgrace them by telling the story of a night of shame. It is hard to estimate the protective price paid by these women. Judging from the number of their victims and the large amounts of money stolen, the relative protective price must be enormous. The police admit the existence of this trust as was shown by a high police official in a recent attempted prosecution of one of its notorious members, who had served a sentence in the state penitentiary and who at one time was the respected wife of a Milwaukee jeweler and a prominent member of Wisconsin society. They do not admit that these women pay them a price to carry on their open robbing of victims. One man in Chicago, who had been held up by these infamous wretches and bled until he rebelled against the slavery, recently gave up the battle, committed suicide and in a letter penned to his wife before his death, told of the outrages he had been subjected to because of his misstep. And so these women are the agents of the Vice Trust, the associates of the lowest male creatures in Chicago, the parasites of rich men and the causes of suicide, murder and wrecked homes. And why? Because the Vice Trust must have its toll. Because the treasury has still space for more silver and gold. Because the hunger and thirst of the Directorate of Ten is never appeased. Because the lust of the political powers behind the monster Vice is insatiable. Not because men must submit to these things because unruly passions drive them to shame, misery, remorse and death, as has been fallaciously charged. These are the subsidiary vices from which millions of dollars are garnered yearly to feed the Directorate of Ten, to put new diamonds on shirt fronts, brighter stones in heavy gold rings, new automobiles to wait for them outside their palaces whose every stone is hewn by the torn, cut and bleeding hands of thousands of women slaves and raised to its place by exhausted weakened and dying creatures. Graft, graft, graft! That word sings, echoes and reverberates through the underworld of Chicago. It is the slogan of the Vice Trust. It is the mystic sign of the vice fraternity. And while the Vice Trust screams like a voice from the last depths of hell: Graft, more graft!-- The victims lost in the depths of the Inferno echo back:-- Death, and more victims! Who can really estimate the actual amount of graft reaped from sin which eats into the hearts of a lost and perished womanhood? Our estimates have been conservative. They have been based on an average system of computation. The actual figures if we were able to carry our searchlight of truth into the coffers of the Directorate of Ten must be far above those we have given. We have sought to tell the truth. In our hearts we know that such graft passes from the vicious to their masters each day. From the victims themselves we have learned the figures which we have given above. Is there any wonder that after a thorough consideration of the subject from every viewpoint, we have closed our eyes and from the depth of our soul cried out in sincere conviction:-- CHICAGO IS THE WICKEDEST CITY IN THE WORLD! CHAPTER VIII. Gambling and its Graft. The Gambler's Fate--The Handbook, Other Games of Chance and Their Protection--Police Profit--All Gambling Crooked--A Warning. In the very heart of every man, woman and child is an instinct to risk the tangible and present for the intangible and the possible future things. Since the beginning man has played some game of chance in his struggle for existence. He has counted his own possibilities as against those of his enemy, he has abided for what seemed the most opportune time and then he has risked and taken the leap. Often the goddess of Chance has been with him. More often that strange goddess has risen against him. The boy risks his marbles against those of his playmate. The girl casts her jacks against those of her small companion. It is the desire of risk showing itself in the immature mind. As civilization went on and reason developed, the game of chance became a sport which had for its object a lucrative gain in some manner or other. It became gambling:--the risking of something valuable on the basis that the risk may prove profitable to the risker. The pages of history are dotted with evidences of gambling in every age. Gambling has passed through a million forms. In our present day life it is looked upon by the general public as a sport. It is the purpose here not to dissertate on gambling as a moral and commercial evil alone, but to show that it is nothing today but another asset of the Vice Trust, stolen out of the not too plethoric pocket of the sucker public. It is our purpose to show that a gambling ring, backed by millions of dollars, headed by powerful men and strengthened by the support of the members of the Vice Trust, thrives in Chicago, adding one more stain to her already besmirched municipal escutcheon. It fattens on those men and women who have already been fleeced by the way of the social evil and on those who have not fallen victims to that sin, and whose besetting sin is gambling. RUIN, PRISON OR DEATH, THE GAMBLER'S END. Yearly, thousands of young men are hurled to financial ruin, sent or headed to the penitentiary because of the gambling houses in the city of Chicago that run full blast with the officers of the law walking blindly past their open doors. The gambling vice grasps its victims in a clutch as powerful as the grip of the drug habit or as unyielding as the toils of immorality. The gambling combine in Chicago is as strong as the most powerful house of finance. It is bulwarked by every possible protection. You cannot beat it, in the long run, no matter what your talents, judgment and experience may be. The average man or woman would stand a fair show of winning in the average gambling game in Chicago were that game "on the square." But it is not; the entire system is crooked. That is how its profits are enormous. The thousands of persons who play the handbooks during the day, the poker games and other forms of the gambling evil at night, have no more choice of emerging with the "long green" bulging from every pocket than has the mouse that is caught by the soft-pawed cat in a room and played with until tired and then killed. There is no escape. Everything is crooked and the gambling sucker is dubbed the "bleating sheep" the minute he enters where the chips rattle on the table or where the man with the dirty dollar smears your name on a chart with a stub pencil. Each year hundreds of men and women end their blasted lives after they have emerged from the dens of the gambling lords, robbed of their last cent and face to face with ruin, disgrace, and punishment. Each year, men are sent to our state prisons because they dipped their trembling hands into the gold in their employers' till to make up the money the gambling fraternity had taken from them. Each year, hundreds of women see their homes crumble beneath them, stand with tear-stained eyes and watch their social positions taken from them, lose the love and protection of their husbands and are turned adrift to stray into the hell houses we have described, because the gambling germ was imbedded and flourished in their blood and drove them on to unnameable ruin. There is no way of estimating the evils consequent on the vice of gambling as it exists in Chicago today. A GAMBLER'S END. As a specific instance of the destructive power of the gambling combine a Chicagoan recently committed suicide after dissipating a fortune in flirting with the goddess of Chance. In his pockets, stained with blood from the bullet wound through which his life had ebbed away, was the following note: "Several persons have the right dope on the dive, gamblers and the police. They let a victim go there until they get all and then they blackball him. Why not destroy these vicious people and close the dives and save people from committing suicide? "This is the raving of a dying and ruined man but I know what I am doing just the same." Do the police dare tamper with these men flaunting their violations of the law in their faces? Even if they desired they could not do them harm. The gambling kings are in direct alliance with members of the Directorate of Ten of the Vice Trust. They turn over to it fifty per cent of their enormous income for the privilege of making the other fifty per cent. Even in the face of a rigid and apparently sincere recent crusade against the unholy combine between police and gamblers, gambling continued to carry on its trade within a stone's throw of the City Hall and underneath the shadows of certain big police stations. The gambling kings are even more avaricious and selfish in their wealthy combine than are the members of the combine living off the social sin. A POWER SUPREME. No one dares attempt to come into the chosen circle unless by direct consent of the big lords, and after he has sworn abject allegiance to the gambling chiefs. He must show the proper spirit by yielding up a large per cent of profit. If this is not forthcoming, the police suddenly and mysteriously awaken to the fact that the unfortunate man is running a gambling establishment. He is raided, arrested and put out of business, while a chosen servant of the fraternity shovels in the golden harvest from the suckers across the street, drops a few choice coins into the hands of the police who raided the opposition place and plies his trade in perfect quiet, comfort and security. That is the power of the gambling kings. They are the high "lieutenants" of the Vice Trust. They are given big concessions and extraordinary powers because they are in position to show their fealty by the payment of thousands of dollars of tribute weekly. [Illustration: GOD WORKS MIRACLES TODAY. Copyrighted 1910 by The Midnight Mission. Used by permission of owners of copyright. A hardened heart softened by the appeal of a fellow man. A drugged conscience awakened by a word picture of men's and women's shame and degradation.] The gambling organization is so perfect today that there is no chance to beat it. To perfect the system now in vogue it was necessary to do away with all forms of competition and opposition. This was finally accomplished after the expenditure of thousands of dollars by the gambling combine in control today. CHICAGO'S BOMB WAR. It was the spirit of competition and the rivalry of factions that led to the bomb throwing epoch which has left such a deep stain on the history of Chicago. Dynamite, gun cotton, nitroglycerine and other dangerous combustibles were used to whip the enemies into line. The bomb throwing era which was the talk of the nation, was nothing more than the outward expression of the gamblers' hate. The bombs thrown were the means of eliminating the competitor and bringing the enemies into the ranks of the favored as mere slaves. In three years, fifty bombs were hurled by gamblers in the city of Chicago. A million dollars' worth of property was destroyed, men were maimed and families broken up in this terrible war. The first bombs were directed against the men in command of the gambling forces. These men then realizing the power of the dynamiters, employed them to destroy the enemies of the protected organization. As a result the gambling combine today is based on dynamite and gunpowder. The police knew who threw the bombs but dared not arrest the criminals. Every form of gambling controlled by the gambling combine can be found in Chicago. The high-priced forms are found in the loop district, the gambling handbooks are found everywhere, and the cheap forms can be met with in any part of the big city. MEMBERSHIP OF THE GAMBLING COMBINE. There are nine residents and property holders of Chicago in the directorate of the gambling fraternity and combine. These men control the vicious gambling situation today. These men control one of the largest and most influential systems in the world. They employ thousands of men to do their bidding and exact thousands of dollars daily from the pockets of an unwary public. These men as a combine, are subsidiary to the great Vice Trust. These men play directly into the hands of the Directorate of Ten which we have shown as feasting off the well laden tables of prostitution, sin and women. They derive their terrible and crushing power through the big vice masters. They divide the profits with them. They pay high protection in order to operate the thousand and one forms of gambling which they back daily, from the cheap crap games to the highest and most money yielding games of bridge or to the most lucrative, whirling roulette wheels. One of these men controlling this terrible vice is today a member of the city council making Chicago's laws for righteousness; one is a former member of the Illinois State legislature; one holds a high place in City Hall circles, and another is a prominent business man carrying on a business as a veil to his real and disgraceful profession. THE HANDBOOK EVIL AND ITS GRAFT. There exist in Chicago 1,000 handbooks. A handbook, for the benefit of the unsophisticated reader, is a record made in a local place of horse races which are being run off at a distance. As for instance, a cigar store in the loop district makes bets on races which are being run off at Jacksonville, Florida. The handbooks are run in saloons, cigar stores, hotels, and on newsstands. Here the dollars of the sucker patrons are drawn from their pockets as by magic, turned over to the agents of the gambling trust, never to return. Clerks, stenographers, office boys, all classes of salaried men and women are the victims of the handbook habit in Chicago. Day after day this unseeing public scratches its head of "solid ivory," puzzles its brain in desperation and goes out to "beat" the combination that never has known a real defeat. Barnum said "there is one sucker born every minute." Truly there is. The birth statistics of the Chicago sucker, male and female, mostly male, is greater than the birth rate of innocent children. This is a queer world. THE WOMAN GAMBLER. In quiet and refined neighborhoods, in the rear of candy stores and even dry goods stores, women who are considered spotless by their social associates drop in daily, nervously look over the "dope sheet," pick their winner, and hurl their husbands' hard-earned dollars into the yawning pockets of the gambling combine. THE GAMBLING VEINS OF THE COUNTRY. These thousand handbooks daily furnishing the names of horses running on every track in the United States, must have some means of acquiring that important information. The Vice Trust is never at loss to furnish a medium through which its graft may be increased. The members of the Vice Trust looked about for men trained to the fine arts of separating the innocent and unwary from their dollars, and found the men who today are the leaders of the gambling combine. These men incorporated themselves secretly into a powerful corporation,--the gambling industry, capital unlimited. The superintendent of the strangest gambling news agency in Chicago is Mont Tennes, for twenty years associated with the gambling world in one way or another. Through a news service, which leases telephone and telegraph wires, this man gathers into his clearing houses and exchanges in Chicago, the daily news of the race tracks of the world. This news, once gathered into "headquarters," is sold to every handbook runner in the city at prices ranging from $12 to $250 a month. This news is the same to every place in the city to which it is sent by telephone, or telegraph. The price for that news varies in proportion to the size of the place receiving the service and the amount of the daily profits scraped from the skins of the sucker patrons. This wire service is national, not local. It is the veins and arteries through which the gambling fluid flows daily to many cities in the country. On the circuit, furnishing gambling news, there are twenty-nine cities that are receiving gambling information daily and paying for it. In each of these cities, this gambling magnate has an agent selected to receive his information and to distribute to places in that city demanding it on the payment of high sums of money. The agent pays for the right of such dissemination. This man in the aggregate receives $40,000 a month from the agents in twenty-nine cities on his circuit who reap vast fortunes from the sending of the gambling news to the handbooks in their respective territories. The "boss" is not satisfied with the swollen profit. He demands a certain percentage in the various cities from the profits of the local men using his service. THE HANDBOOK PROFIT AND GRAFT. Sixty thousand "pikers" in Chicago feeding the gambling goddess through her handbook mouth daily! Is that figure something to startle you? It is true. The "piker" plays in small spurts from fifty cents to three dollars a day. Then the bets soar up the ladder until you reach the rich sucker who shovels out as much as $500 a day on an average. Bets are paid as high as $10,000 in one day on downtown handbooks. One man in State street has maintained a $25,000 a day business for ten years on an average. This has been actually proven. There are twenty places downtown where handbooks are maintained that do an average business of $5,000 a day year in and year out, with men who dream and plan to beat the unconquerable combine. Police officials who have consented to talk because they have been disowned by political masters and a former partner of the present gambling head declare that $300 is a fair and conservative estimate of the income from a horde of suckers of each of the 1,000 handbook establishments daily. This means $300,000 per day changes hands in the race of men to exercise their gambling interests. The betting combinations are so arranged, according to experts, that the one sucker is pitted against his brother and not against the house. The placement of money on horse flesh is so arranged that no matter how the horses run, a profit of at least ten per cent accrues to the bookmaker. He is never the big loser. In cold cash that means $30,000 a day to the handbook men of the city. Few of the races or the racing tips are "on the square." The sucker plays and attempts to defeat a system which is nothing more than one crooked scheme within another. Fifty per cent of that is needed by the handbook men to operate their places. It is used in the payment of salaries to hirelings, wire service, rent, telephone service, printing and miscellaneous financial obligations. The balance or $15,000 is split between two mighty factors. Seven thousand five hundred dollars are kept by the poolroom combination and an equal sum is paid, through members of the police force, or other collectors, as protection money to the great powers of the Vice Trust. THE POLICE PROFIT. The local police for their vigilance in steering reformers from the door of the gambling holes, carrying on fake raids and helping the sucker to forget the loss of his bankroll by rubbing his injured pocketbook with the salve of warning to keep away and learn a lesson, must be given their share. Then the "big fellows" who in the department are the spokesmen for the Vice combine must dig out their share. Then the remainder,--a large remainder,--must go back to the Directorate of Ten. Stop and think how swollen and bloated this figure becomes when considered from the standpoint of an annuity. Two million six hundred and twenty-four thousand dollars are paid each year to the Vice Trust and the big political lords for the right to rob the general public, prey upon its tempting instinct to dare a chance, and drive the individual to ruin, starvation and death. That same amount of money is split up yearly between the handbook combination and the agents throughout the city. OTHER FORMS OF GAMBLING AND GRAFT. The handbook which we have described in its method of operation and its graft for police protection is the common man's expression of his gambling instinct. There are five hundred other temples of the goddess of Chance, in which a variety of gambling games are played nightly. In some of these places every form of chance game can be found in full force each night. In others, a specialty of one kind of game is made. The principal forms of gambling that flourish today are roulette, poker, stuss (a Jewish form of poker), fan-tan, faro, whist, craps, black jack and hearts. In a Michigan avenue hotel at Twenty-second street a roulette wheel is spun nightly to the tune of $3,000. Hundreds of men and women crowd into the stuffy room, filled with smoke and the fumes of beer and wine, and stake their all on the whirling colors. The man that plays to break the bank at that place is playing the same game as the man who starts out to tear the cast-iron bottom out of the bank of Monte Carlo. It can't be done. Behind the whir and hum of that maddening wheel is $50,000 held by the keepers of the game. Try to break into that treasury with pick, axe or jimmy and you will be caught, trapped and bled to death. In a house recently closed because of the objectionable notoriety it had obtained, the gambling and vice powers are said to have cleaned up over $100,000 in three months. That place was located in Michigan avenue near Thirteenth street. All forms of chance were thrown into the gambling pot, melted and handed out to the "pikers" as so many gold bricks nightly. In a famous, or rather infamous, whist club in a downtown building, whose doors open in the face of the offices of several prominent lawyers, $20,000 a night is cleaned up by the keepers. There are a dozen similar places in the loop district where the money that changes hands in one night, averages $10,000. Men acquainted with the situation declared that $500 a day is a very conservative average of money changing hands in the various gambling holes in Chicago. For the 500 places this means an exchange of $250,000 a day. Oh, will a freshly awakened civic conscience save a demoralized public from itself, or will the lethargy which is upon Chicago allow the thousands of young men, men with wives and families, to hurry themselves on to ruin and to death? The gambling houses, according to old time gamblers, on all forms of gambling, make a "rakeoff" of about seven per cent on each dollar cast by a victim before their greedy eyes. This means $17,500 a day. Fifty per cent of that or $8,750, is retained by the gambling house keepers for expenses. The remaining profit goes the old, old way, one half--$4,375--is split between the gambling under lords and the gambling kings. An equal amount, goes to the Vice Trust for the protection received from the police. GAMBLING IN CONCLUSION--ITS CROOKED CHARACTER. So greedy and avaricious are the big chiefs of the gambling fraternity and the members of the Vice Trust that after all is said and done, there is little left for the game keeper. As a result even the little sporting instinct he may have is sacrificed and he becomes crooked in every dealing he has with the paying public. "Ninety-eight per cent of the gambling games in Chicago today are crooked," declared a well-known gambler. "There is no money in the profession unless the public can be hoodwinked." Science, electricity, hypnotism, sleight of hand, or other means are used to deceive the player. Unless you can note the swift touch of the gambler's foot on the electric button, which drops the little ball into the red hole when you bet on the black, you face ruin every time you face the roulette wheel. Can you see the invisible hand that is doping the racetrack sheet? If you cannot, stay away from the handbook or be prepared to look into the dark and murky waters of the river as a final hiding place of shame. Do you think the friendly game of poker is on "the square"? If you do you are mistaken. The house has two men, professional sharks, fishing for your money. They are out to get it and they will succeed. They will whip-saw you back and forth until they exhaust you and tire your alertness. Then they will crucify you on the cross of your own cupidity and zeal to make a millionaire's fortune in a night on the income of a counter clerk. The game has not been beaten. That is why the gambling combine is strong. That is why it has the support of the Vice Trust. Like the man who hopes to withstand the temptations of the crime-centers, and as the woman who ventures is poisoned unto death with the venom of sin, so the man who goes forth to tempt Fate and win a kiss from the cold lips of Chance, is enmeshed before he is aware of it and borne onward in the terrible maelstrom which hurls him into the bottomless pit of infamy and shame. The gambling curse is a terrible one. Its stigma burns on the cheek of its victims forever. Scarcely any hope can be held out to the man who is trapped by its subtle lure. To those young men and young women of the city and the country, we write this warning. We have shown that you "cannot beat the game," no matter how intelligently you try. The Vice Trust has never known defeat. It will not know defeat in this enormous source of revenue pouring into its coffers annually from the favored, police-protected, bomb-throwing, life-destroying Gambling Combine. [Illustration: IF HOLDUPS INCREASE. By Courtesy of The Chicago Daily News. STEPPING OUT TO POST A LETTER May take the form of an armed sortie.] CHAPTER IX. Tearing Off the Police Mask. A Story of the Hypocrisy of the Police Department--Its Neglect of Duty--Its Protection of Crime--The Fate of the Honest Policeman--Collusion of Police and Thieves. The minds which conspire to create a system such as the Vice Trust is shown to control, must of necessity find agents to carry on the various phases of the work. It has been demonstrated that no species of vice or sin exists in Chicago except at the will of the vice lords and in return for the payment of large sums of money. In a large majority, the police department, holding in its hands the power to enforce or ignore the laws of the city, state or country, is the thumb screw used by the Vice Trust to exact its toll of sin-existence. This body of men, each one of whom swore on his word of honor before God and man to enforce the man-made laws, as a whole, is decaying with the poison of graft and vice in its veins. From a servant of the people, the policeman has become the servant of the people's enemies. Trapped and enmeshed by the political powers above them hundreds of policemen prostitute their power for the purpose of aiding and abetting sin and vice and in defrauding the people of their proper tax-paid protection. There are 4,000 members of the department of police in Chicago today. There are a chief of police, twenty captains, numerous lieutenants and sergeants and at least 3,800 patrolmen. Through this body of men, many of whom promised their God and their own conscience to do their duty, are men sold body and soul to the vice lords who, it has been shown, control Chicago and derive fortunes from the exploitation of vice. These are the men to whom every law abiding citizen trusts his or her life year in and year out. These are the men appointed to protect property against criminal depredation, to make the streets clean of crime, and to watch over our children. And yet, investigation has shown that the executive heads of this big law enforcing system, in many instances, are crooked, corrupt and purchased. Many of the men holding high positions in the police department are there because the Vice Trust has found them of service and because they are ready ever to do the bidding of their masters. The politics of the department is largely a matter of the politics of the Vice Trust, as has been shown by recent investigations. Gambling runs full blast, houses of prostitution openly carry on their immoral practices, street walkers wink at the policemen on their beats, pickpockets laugh at the plain clothes men, robbers loot homes and places of business, crimes of every conceivable description are committed, a gambling war is allowed to terrorize Chicago, because the police department is sold body and soul, revolver and star, to the masters of the underworld. The hundred and one duties of the policeman are neglected daily because he is busy helping some vicious criminal friend of the Vice Trust. The history of the Chicago police department today is a history of a duty neglected and a sacred responsibility shirked. Even if certain members of the police force desired to do their duty, the meshes have so tightened about them, they are so compromised with the big lieutenants of vice and sin, that to save themselves and their families, they must go on violating their sacred oath of office and living a life of cowardice and hypocrisy. If the police department was not a subsidized body, the Vice Trust would have a hard time carrying out its plans. It could not whip into line the varied and complicated characters of sin with which it deals to lucrative advantage. THE FATE OF ONE POLICE OFFICIAL. Its subsidy was proven clearly in the recent conviction of a West side inspector of police for the acceptance of protection money. He was one of hundreds. He was not of a really bad stripe. Circumstances gave him scarcely any other alternative. [Illustration: Copyrighted 1910 by The Midnight Mission. Used by permission of owners of copyright. Where one escapes the toils of vice and sin, thousands perish as slaves to the inexorable Vice Trust.] There are honest policemen in Chicago. Far be it from us to cast mud of dishonor and obloquy at all members of the department. We simply state that a large majority of the members are corrupt and that is a positive and known fact, although these men have managed through the protection afforded them by their political masters to escape the penitentiary. The police duties, consequent on the assumption to such a position are numerous. In Chicago these are forgotten daily. Wherever vice and sin flourish as they do here, the same condition of police corruption is to be found. It was found in San Francisco, Louisville, Seattle and other big cities. THE LOST CHILD THAT IS NEVER FOUND. To kidnap an innocent child, to rob a fond mother of the greatest treasure God can give her, to tear away from a mother's sweet and pure embrace her own flesh and blood--that is a crime as heinous as murder. Kidnappings are reported to the police each day. What is the result? About forty-five per cent of the kidnapped children are never found. What of the remaining? God alone can tell of the tragedies which they have probably endured. Many of them have been slain by the demons who stole them, many, particularly those of maturer years, have been sold into abominable White Slavery, and others have been made slaves in other ways to make a living for their masters. It is the custom of the police to put the name of a missing child, who is usually a kidnapped child, lured away from its home, on the pages of the "missing book." The story is sent over police wires to the various stations and precincts as a kind of conformity to the letter necessity. These cases are not given individual attention by the police. They are forgotten and all that is left of the case is the faded, written report. Occasionally a tragedy that has brought sorrow and misery to some home, driven a mother mad with grief and robbed a father of his reason, comes to light through the powerful influences of the newspapers. The cases which are given display heads in the papers with pathetic pictures accompanying them, are but few in hundreds of the stories of missing and kidnapped children in which the tragedies are just as deep, just as abiding and just as horrible. These cases are usually found by some energetic and enthusiastic reporter who "happens" upon them by chance. The circumstances appeal to him and he "gets busy." Day after day he prods the police into annoying activity. He finally arouses public sympathy and interest and the police are of necessity obliged to make a pretense at hard labor. They work on the case and frequently obtain successful results that gladden the heart of some frantic mother. Did they accomplish the work? To be fair and honest--No. The thanks are due the unknown members of the press and not the police department. THE EXPOSURE OF BIG CRIMES. As the newspapers are greatly responsible for the finding of children, so they are the mind and pushing power behind the police department in the exposure of big crimes, particularly murders, and the punishment of criminals. Criminals are brought to justice every day, men are sent to the penitentiary, not through the police department working as a thinking body but through the efforts of newspapers, expressed in the tireless energies of newspaper reporters. The police department as a body has been clearly shown up as a body of inefficient, unthinking and unscrupulous men. One of the shining examples of inefficiency is to be found in a famous murder case which stirred Chicago to its depths several years ago. A Bohemian living on the Southwest side murdered a mother, a father and four children. The police when the case was first brought to their attention as one worthy of investigation, it then being considered a strange havoc wrought by sudden deaths, laughed at the sincere efforts of a newspaper man. They told him he was a dreamer and "hard up" for a story. The newspaper man after gathering all the circumstances and facts, all suspicious, went to the Coroner, over the heads of the police, and placed the case before him. The Coroner saw that all clews pointed to a horrible series of murders. He began an investigation, assured himself that he was right, and then "called" the police in and ordered the arrest of the murderer. The man was later found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. He escaped the gallows through a strange popular sentiment and was sent to the penitentiary for a life term. That is a standard example of police inefficiency. Another case that gives evidence of the lack of initiative in the police department came to light recently. It occurred on the South side. Two small children disappeared from their home on the South side. The mother was frantic with grief and sorrow and the father dogged the police day after day trying to arouse them from their lethargy to search for his two children. He received no encouragement. In desperation he went to a newspaper office and stated the case. He told how the police had failed to make any strenuous efforts to find his children. A reporter was sent out who "stirred" the police to activity. Every possible clew was followed but to no effect. A physician declared that unless news of the discovery of the children, alive or dead, was soon forthcoming the mother would succumb to her grief. A newspaper reporter suggested that the waters in the slip at Thirty-ninth street and the lake where the children were accustomed to play, be dynamited. It occurred to him and not to the police, that the two children might have fallen into the water. The lake was dynamited at that place by the police and the bodies found. The police when compelled by the pressure of public opinion are obliged to resort to the bolstering of a case. Judging from later developments innocent men have been arrested on serious charges, thrown into filthy and unsanitary cells, dragged to the Criminal court and subjected to the most shameful and humiliating treatment, in order that the police force may purge itself temporarily from the stigma of being inefficient. It is only a matter of inference, but it seems probable that hundreds of confessions of crimes are wrung from innocent victims by the brutal "third degree" methods. That these confessions are in many instances false, is proven by the fact that when presented in a court of law they are thrown out as valueless. However, they have served their purpose. The public indignation over the crime in question is given an opiate and the police can once more turn their energies to the protection of the business and properties of the vice lords. That is the police department today. THE POLICE AND PETTY LOCAL GRAFT. The police are not satisfied with the percentage which is granted them for the protection which they grant to the vice holes. The little fellow is still itching for the little graft. To obtain it he uses all the brutality that is usually a strong asset of an unintelligent nature. When police in a district discover that certain gamblers are running small games and not paying protection money, they walk right through rows of open-faced gamblers, select the man in question and throw him into jail. The arrest is supposed to serve as a warning. The man usually heeds the warning and goes forth to gather protection money for the local police. Hundreds of street walkers, new to Chicago, who have not been registered regularly by the vice lords and are not paying the regulation protection, are victimized by the policeman on his beat. They are compelled to give him a mere pittance to cover up their sins and ease his hunger for filthy money. Even in the police department itself there is a constant bickering and quarreling over the division of graft. They are like a lot of hungry vultures circling about their loathsome carcass of dead meat. One police official wars against the entrance of another police official within his territory. Recently a negro opened a crap game in Cottage Grove avenue. He paid high protection money to the police of the district which was supposed to be turned over in part to the vice lords to appease their hunger. Things ran along smoothly for some time. Then a new and brutal face that showed a star came to his place and demanded money. The negro declared he had already paid his money. "Not the big boss," said the detective meaningly. "My boss used to have this district but he was transferred. You must still come across to him." The negro refused to do so. The "big boss" police official went to the gambling fraternity and the result was that the negro was put out of business. The night his place was closed, another, run by a friend of the "big boss," opened across the street. The police never molested it. A local lieutenant told the negro that the "big boss" police official was known in the department as a "double-crosser." "TIPPED OFF" RAIDS. In violation of their oaths, the police daily hand the public that is paying their salaries over to the gamblers. Often they are compelled by public demand or through some newspaper to raid places which are running flagrantly. Frequently, as has been shown, the keepers of the places are "tipped off" before the raid is "pulled." The keepers leave a "blind" to impersonate them and "ringers" to appear as customers. These men are arrested with a great flourish and blowing of trumpets by the police. They are fined. The fines are readily paid by the real gamblers who are thankful to the police for the advance information given them. STRANGE IGNORANCE OF POLICE. The police pretend not to know of the existence of gambling places, as evidenced by the recent statement of a high police official when formally asked by his superior if he knew of any gambling in his district. He declared he did not know the location of one place and was sure there was no gambling in his district. A day later the Mayor of Chicago, angered at the fact that the gamblers were flaunting their trade in the face of the public, and while a gambling and police investigation was under way, ordered that a policeman be stationed in every gambling house in the district of that police official. Strange to say, although he had sworn he knew of no gambling, when he realized that the Mayor meant business, he mysteriously found nineteen gambling places that same night and stationed men in them. That is one of the laughable inconsistencies of the police department. One of the policemen, assigned to the work of standing guard over a gambling house when questioned about the matter, said: "Of course we all knew these places were here and running full blast. But that wasn't the question. I have been a policeman for fifteen years and I haven't been asleep all that time. I have learned that the policeman must not obey the law written in the statutes. He must follow the tacit customs of the department. A policeman must never make a move until he is told to do so. If he does, he finds he is treading on some big man's toes and then the transfer slip comes to him soon." POLICE, BURGLARS AND PICKPOCKETS. It seems incredible but investigation and constant observation has proved that many big police officials and a number of smaller ones, have fallen so low that they "hold up" the burglar and the pickpocket and make them pay for their silence and protection. There is a thieves' rendezvous on the West side that is known to the police, but the members of this gang are rarely disturbed. Every night detectives and policemen in uniform stroll past this saloon and salute the well known criminals lounging about. Every day robberies, burglaries and holdups and the depredations of pickpockets are reported to the police. Rarely is stolen property recovered in comparison to the amounts taken. But as an indication of the strength of the alliance between the police and the thieves, when some one demands justice in a strong voice that has powerful backing of a financial or political character, the police are always able to recover the property and restore it to its lawful owner. A certain labor organization gathered through investigators, information sworn to, in affidavits, of the acceptance by policemen on the West side of protection money from well known crooks who have criminal records in every large city in the country. THE FATE OF THE HONEST POLICEMAN. It has been stated that this chapter is not an attack on the hundreds of honest policemen who day and night at the risk of their own lives, battle for public welfare, clean morals and the eradication of the vicious elements of the community. There are many honest policemen. But, we must say that these men, kept in the dark by the corrupt because they cannot be corrupted are usually "blackballed," in some mysterious way by the powers that be, and the majority of them never achieve any rank in the department. Of course there have been a few exceptions to this condition. The "transfer" system, which is nothing more than police railroading, is the most active medium of getting an honest and incorruptible policeman out of the way. If a man shows an inclination to balk at the commands of his superior who is but the agent of the great Vice Trust, he is speedily transferred to a harmless post where he is forgotten and remembered only when paid his monthly salary. An incident of how the honest policemen suffer is the following: Six unsophisticated policemen, anxious to show their mettle and overzealous in the performance of their duty, discovered a hilarious and richly paying crap game running at Lake and Carpenter streets. They decided it was their duty to raid it. They did so. They thought they would be commended by their superior officers for their conduct. Instead of commendation they were told they were inefficient and material that would never make good policemen. Two days later they were transferred to South Chicago. That meant that they were obliged to travel thirty-two miles each day from their homes on the West side to their posts on the far South side. Is it necessary to say why? Simply because in doing their duty in raiding the crap game, they spoiled the profits of the Vice Trust. The game was run by a man who paid an enormous amount of monthly protection money to these men's masters. They had "tread on somebody's feet." Investigation of records of transfers in the department showed that thirty per cent of the transfers were caused for such reasons. The record sheets of men showed, in many instances, that a few days before their transfers they had antagonized the great Vice Trust by attempting to do their duty to the public which entrusted them to enforce the laws. As an instance of how the "transfer game" may be worked with telling effect even on a police official who refuses to give his powers to the protection of gambling, the following suits the purpose. A prominent political leader, anxious to gather spoils, went to a certain police lieutenant on the North side, and said to him: "Well, we're going to start something up this way." "Not unless it's on the order books and the captain stands for it," answered the police officer carefully. Result:-- The next day that lieutenant was transferred by the powers of the Vice Trust. One hour and a half after his successor took his place, the new commander was seen watching a street faro game in progress. He stood across from it and watched the gambling combine's agent skin the "pikers" and he never moved to stop it. Certain policemen in Chicago who are compelled to arrest certain well known criminal characters, cheat justice even after the arrests are made. They send the criminals to certain corrupt criminal lawyers. Then when the case comes to trial, the policemen lose their memories and do not remember the incriminating circumstances under which their prisoners were taken. These policemen receive a percentage, amounting to about fifty per cent, on the cases which they give to this class of shysters. Could Chicago have a deeper blot of shame, dishonor and disgrace on her escutcheon than the present police department? Can the condition be remedied? Is there hope that some day criminals may be locked behind barred doors that gold cannot pick? There is always hope while honest men and women live and struggle to build up a city to rear their children unsullied. The police department is only one part of a great slave system. The evil is back at the ballot box. It is the old and only solution here as elsewhere, in the conditions that make Chicago the "wickedest city in the world." That solution is the annihilation AT THE BALLOT BOX of the powers of vice, graft and sin,--the Vice Trust with its Directorate of Ten. The civic conscience will arouse itself from its lethargy and some day purge out the evils that have thrived so prosperously for so many years. CHAPTER X. What Are You Going To Do About It? The Cause of the Great Evils--A Warning--The Duty of Parents--Conclusion. Christ, prostrate at Gethsemane and hanging in his death agony upon the cross, prayed for a dying, decaying world's redemption. Chicago was included in the divine plan of things since the beginning. Chicago has not been forgotten. Though her sins are as scarlet, they shall be washed as white as snow. There is within the community a slowly awakening civic conscience. It shall arouse itself to deathless activity and wrest the Windy City from the forces that prey upon it. That is our prophecy. The religious thought, the religious mind, the religious heart are ready to do battle for the God of righteousness. Behind the telling of this story of Vice, Graft and Political Corruption has been but one predominating idea, the revelation of the truth about Chicago today. There has been but one hope:--the arousing of Chicagoans to the fight against corruption by revealing the terrible evils thriving about them and the delivering of a warning to those in and out of the great metropolis who, innocent and unsuspecting, might be trapped in the lures of sin, evil and shame. On the great white, festering ulcer of Chicago's world of crime and vice, we have turned the burning searchlight of truth. Into all the dark corners, the pitfalls, the covered abysses and the paths that lure and lead to Hell, has the light, blinding in its intensity, been thrown. In the beginning we started out to demonstrate the theory that vice and crime as they exist and flourish today are so, because infamous and degraded men have commercialized them. It has been shown that thousands of innocent girls and women are hurled into the bottomless pits of Hell annually, not because of a social viciousness that has no palliative, but because a coterie of Godless creatures value their bodies and souls at so many dollars and cents. It has been shown that back of all the wickedness and evil of Chicago is the monumental and gigantic Vice Trust. The body, composed of a directorate of ten men who for years have fattened off the sins of fallen women and the crimes of inhuman men, has been vivisected and analyzed in all its component parts. Truly, we have painted Chicago as the wickedest city in the world. We have not held it up and cried "Shame" for the sake of sensation. We have sought to teach a lesson and utter a warning of vital import. If the reading of this book turns the thousands of women who yearly stand on the brink of destruction, and saves them as an honor to the motherhood of the race, then this book will have been of infinite value. CHICAGO--WICKEDEST CITY IN THE WORLD. Its wickedness is the outgrowth of the terrible irreligious system of commercialism that has reduced the sacred things of life to a filthy gold and silver valuation. As long as men whose consciences are stifled by gold dust, whose souls are Godless, and whose hearts are dry and hard as rock, control our ballot box, so long shall Chicago live under an infamous stigma. When the ballot box is cleansed of fraud, then the forces of sin will be dissipated and the Vice Combine of today dissolved. The "redlight" districts must stand as pesthouses where death feeds on the bodies of men and women until the political foundations of the Vice Trust are dynamited and destroyed. So, too, the saloons, the dance halls, the thousands of dens of infamy and hell-holes, where the seed of sin is sowed in the hearts of innocent girls. The police department, as we have shown, is a helpless, dependent, parasitic body. The Vice Trust has enslaved it. Just as long as the Vice Trust exists, so long will the police department do its bidding, while the laws are forgotten and disobeyed and a taxpaying public is left to the mercy of thieves and murderers. But-- WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT? Rise up and in a body of Christian manhood and womanhood slay the monster of hellish iniquity. But while the evil exists be prepared to fight against it for the sake of yourselves and your children. We have told a horrifying story to save the pure souls and undefiled bodies of your sons and daughters. Books have been written by the dozens on the question of White Slavery as a warning to young girls and their parents as to how the infamous agents of this soul and body traffic work. The warning is timely. But we have struck out into a broader pathway. But one third of the lost women today are the victims of the White Slave Traffic. Two thirds of the girls who are dying slow deaths in the gilded dens of infamy drifted there because they knew not the hideous, paralyzing truth: because they dreamed not of the sorrow, shame, hunger, remorse and despair that was to be their bitter mouthful from the chalice of life. To save the girls and women who in the future may form that two-thirds battalion of human slaves has been our aim in treating of the scarlet woman and her tribute to, and reward from the Vice Trust. Few girls who today are tottering drunkenly and uncleanly to a prostitute's grave, ever dreamed of the fate in store as they sipped the first glass of wine or felt the burning lips of an agent of Satan upon their cheek. We have set about to tell every woman what is the inevitable end of the life of shame and sin. To the girl who dreams of fine clothes, glittering jewelry, wine suppers and association with men of brilliant character, down in the hell-holes of Chicago, we say: It is the greatest lie Satan ever invented to wrest your souls from God and give your bodies to the unhallowed grave. There is no hope to those who heed not the warning. A life of sin in Chicago, is a life of slavery to the Vice Trust. Over and over again on the rock of crime, the agents of that gigantic combine will break each woman's body, taking flesh, pound by pound, and blood, drop by drop, until the last merciless toll has been exacted on the brink of the grave. When the mask is torn off, there is nothing to lure in the life of the underworld. It has been shown how the thousands of women in the segregated districts are robbed of even the last dollar of their immoral earnings. To every father and mother we cry out: FOR GOD'S SAKE LET YOUR DAUGHTER KNOW THE TRUTH BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE! Tell her of the pitfalls that are ever about her; teach her the horror and ignominy of the life of sin that may be the consequence of one night in a cafe, or in an evil dance hall. Put this book into her hands so that she may go forth to battle with the powers of evil and pass through the white fire unscathed. FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED. To be prepared for life's battle is the first victory. If your daughter in the future is to make her living in the big city, prepare her for the temptations that will beset her. The truth may be an awful revelation to her, but the facts set forth in this book, showing the fate of the scarlet woman who dreamed of love, luxury and pleasure, and plunged into the lake of infamy, may save her from a similar fate. If you will save yourself, mother and father, from sitting about the fireplace, wondering in the aching sorrow of your heart, as to where your rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed daughter is, teach her the facts as we have set them forth. Teach her that it is not the White Slave Traffic she must dread alone. Teach her that it is the place of amusement that seems innocent, the drinking of pleasant drinks, the association with characterless men. Once she tastes the fruit that is forbidden, the rest is days and nights of drifting on and on until the whirlpool of vice swallows her. For the sake of a glorious motherhood, for the sake of a new generation of men and women who shall make earth a picture of the eternal Paradise, let your daughter know the horrors of sin in a large city. All that has been said of the girl applies to the parent and the boy. The boy here and the one who comes to Chicago must also know of the paths, luring and attractive, that lead direct to the gates of Hell. As you tuck your darling into his bed tonight, think of his future. To be great he must be honest. To be a leader he must be pure of heart. To be a true citizen he must be filled with the love of a true and chaste womanhood, a despiser of mercenary ideals, an advocate of good government and a supporter of inflexible and just laws. He will carry on his struggle in the maelstrom of a large city, possibly Chicago. Is it fair to hurl him into the midst of temptations without weapons to fight the demons of sin, crime, vice and corruption? Tell him the truth. Let him read the truth. Every young man should know the evils which wait ever ready to trap him. He should know of the great Vice Trust, of its system of slavery, of its power and scope of operation, of its daily bartering of flesh and blood, of its alliance with the dishonest gambling combine. Then he will be prepared to gain the ranks of those who will battle unwearyingly and ceaselessly against the monster. Better that your daughter should sleep today underneath the green sward in the country church yard, in the city cemetery, than be the slave of a dastardly vice system, wearing her flesh away, damning her soul and eating out her heart for her vice masters. Better that your boy should be taken from you in the flush of early manhood than that he should grow up to fall a hopeless victim to the curse of a great city. God gave you your child. He gave you a terrible responsibility--the salvation of that child's soul. Therefore, prepare him or her for the battle "that goeth on unending to the tomb." We have told the story of a City Defiled, of a city given over to the powers of darkness. We have shown the existence of a Vice Body and how it protects and feeds its thousands of slaves, permitting them to live to turn more drops of blood into gold for them. A PICTURE OF CHICAGO. The story is a picture of Chicago, drawn only after the most thorough investigation, but we venture to say that investigation would reveal the same conditions in all the larger cities. Sincerely we pray we have done good. Our exposure was undertaken with a sense of duty to the 2,000,000 residents of Chicago and to the thousands that swarm into her gates daily. Chicago needs civic leaders, civic martyrs,--men and women who will lead the army of Christian warriors to battle; men and women who will lay down their lives that their homes may be without peril from the terrible vice plague,--that their children may never know the face of sin and vice. Chicago is full of latent good, religious enthusiasm, moral courage. It needs to be aroused. One concerted blow struck at the head of the monster Vice would cause its death. Let Chicago's Christian population strike the fatal blow. Let us engage in an honest rebellion with patriotism to our children, our country and our God, in our hearts. Overthrow the Dynasty of Vice! Overthrow the corrupt political system that established and today sustains the Vice Trust! Voice is without power adequately to describe the inferno that burns about us and daily offers to the god of the pagans as a propitiatory sacrifice the souls of men and women. The human mind, if it could conceive the real horror of the meaning,--Vice Trust,--would be paralyzed by the revelation. Chicago needs human redeemers,--God-inspired men and women. Human persistency, concerted effort, backed by unconquerable wills and hearts that hold God as a perpetual visitant, cannot fail. We of this generation have a sacred duty. That duty is the scourging of the Vice combine and the cleansing of Chicago. That duty devolves on the reform leaders and their thousands of Christian followers. THE STORY IS CONCLUDED. The story is concluded. The trail of graft has been followed from the ballot box to the dive, from the dive to the house of prostitution, from the house of prostitution to the gambling hole and on up to the houses of those debased public men and people-appointed guardians of the law, who are today weighted down with the gold, created by the melting of vice, sin and crime in the melting pot of the underworld. Chicago waits for salvation. Who shall bring it the "tidings of great joy"? Every father and mother, every man and woman, every youth and maiden. As a mighty army let us go forth. As a mighty army, with God's armor upon us, using all the means at our command, let us meet and conquer the enemy. With hearts thrilling with the horror of thousands of souls precipitated to endless darkness, with souls full of divine charity for our brothers and sisters, let us annihilate the Vice Trust and its minions. Let the battle cry be-- The Universal Brotherhood, all for God and God for all. In the place of dives let us have gardens; in the place of dens of infamy, playgrounds for a growing generation. The revelation has been made. Now is the time of expurgation. From the Wickedest City in the World, Chicago may become through persistent and systematic attack on its Vice Trust-- THE CITY BEAUTIFUL OF ALL NATIONS. REAL ISSUE LITERATURE Lithographed in Colors. STAMPS--1 in. x 7/8 in. 25 for $0.05 Postage extra 1c 500 for .75 Postage extra 2c 1000 for 1.25 Postage extra 4c BUTTONS--36 ligne. 2 for $0.05 Postage extra 1c 100 for 1.50 Postage extra 8c 500 for 4.50 Express extra 1000 for 7.50 Express extra POST CARDS--3-1/4 in. x 5-1/2 in. 3 for $0.05 Postage extra 2c 100 for .75 Postage extra 16c 500 for 1.75 Express extra 1000 for 3.00 Express extra CALENDER CARDS--3-1/4 in. x 5-1/2 in. Pad 2-3/16 in. x 1-1/4 in. Place to print name of local organization. 1 for $0.05 Postage extra 1c 3 for .10 Postage extra 2c 25 for .65 Postage extra 4c 100 for 2.00 Postage extra 15c PLEDGE CARDS--6-7/8 in. x 3-3/8 in. Including a coupon 1-1/2 in. wide, to be retained by Church. 2 for $0.05 Postage extra 1c 25 for .40 Postage extra 4c 100 for 1.00 Postage extra 10c 500 for 2.75 Express extra 1000 for 4.00 Express extra MOTTO CARDS--8-1/2 in. x 11 in. Containing the Picture, the Poem, "The Message of the Picture," and the Motto, "Grit Wins." 1 for $0.10 Postage extra 2c 3 for .25 Postage extra 3c 25 for 1.25 Postage extra 10c 100 for 4.00 Postage extra 40c HANGERS--17 in. x 23 in. 1 (in mailing tube) $0.10 Postage extra 2c 25 for .75 Postage extra 15c 100 for 2.50 Express extra 500 for 10.75 Express extra 1000 for 18.00 Express extra POSTERS--9-1/2 ft. x 7 ft. 1 for $0.25 Postage extra 8c 25 for 6.00 Express extra POSTERS--9-1/2 ft. x 7 ft. (Lettering only). 1 for $0.15 Postage extra 8c 25 for 3.50 Express extra This poster contains these three simple statements: "Saloons Defy Law, Saloons Encourage and Foster the White Slave Traffic, No Saloons Means Prosperity." One color "Real Issue" cut for printing, 1-5/8 in. x 2-3/16 in 45c Postage extra 5c Large Quantities Special Prices. Address all communications to YOUNG PEOPLE'S CIVIC LEAGUE 301-305 Security Bldg., S.E. Cor. Madison St. & Fifth Ave. Chicago--Illinois. 
32533	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 32533-h.htm or 32533-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32533/32533-h/32533-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32533/32533-h.zip) THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY Or, The Assassination of Dr. Patrick Henry Cronin. A Complete and Authentic History of the Greatest of Modern Conspiracies. by HENRY M. HUNT, The Noted Journalist. Profusely Illustrated with Original Engravings. Apart from Its Value As a History of a Celebrated Case, the Story Itself Is of Thrilling and Fascinating Interest. [Illustration: _From a Photograph taken just before the Murder._] Copyright 1889, By H. L. & D. H. Kochersperger. PREFACE This volume is not intended as an addition to the criminal literature of the country. It has not been published solely for the pleasure of those who delight in devouring morbid tales of crime and criminals. It rather owes its existence to a general demand from all parts of the United States, from the Canadas, from Great Britain, and from many points on the continent of Europe, for a complete, concise, and accurate story of one of the greatest of modern crimes and the events connected therewith. The reports of the public press, while of the most searching and elaborate character, have nevertheless been of necessity so disjointed, fragmentary and confusing, covering a period of over seven months, each day and week replete with new discoveries and new sensations, as to make it well-nigh impossible for even the most careful reader, with unlimited time at his disposal, to grasp or comprehend anything more than the barest outline of this remarkable case. The object of this volume therefore, is to present in consecutive form and as a complete narrative all the facts which have been brought to light from the day of the disappearance of Dr. Cronin, to the close of the trial of those accused of his murder. Many circumstances have combined to make the task a difficult and laborious one, but the results are submitted in the belief that as the only effort of its kind, it will prove not only a story of thrilling interest to the general reader, but also valuable, by its accuracy and continuity, as an historical work. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I. A Crime That Shocked the Civilized World--The Mysterious Stranger--A Sudden Summons--The Instincts of Humanity Triumph over Personal Considerations--Last Moments at Home--Parting Words with a Friend--Dr. Cronin's Eventful Life--How He Worked His Way Upward on the Ladder of Honor and Fame, 15 CHAPTER II. Dr. Cronin Fails to Return Home--Anxiety of His Friends-- The Early Morning Ride to the Ice House--O'Sullivan's Surprise and Ignorance--The Mysterious Wagon and Its Occupants--A Bloody Trunk is Found--The Search Commenced-- "It is His Hair," 27 CHAPTER III. An Accidental Clue--Frank Woodruff's Arrest--How He Was Hired to Get a Wagon to Carry the Mysterious Trunk to Lake View--A Corpse is Dumped Out--He Thinks It was That of a Woman--His Sensational Confession--The Police on a Wild-Goose Chase, 46 CHAPTER IV. "It is a Conspiracy"--Dr. Cronin's Friends Claim the Murder was a Political Assassination--The Public Skeptical until Startling Developments Are Made--The Physician in Danger of His Life for Years--Previous Attempts to Remove Him--The Trouble in the Clan-na-Gael--Charges and Counter Charges--The Buffalo Convention--Why His "Removal" became a Necessity to Certain People, 57 CHAPTER V. Strange Influences at Work--Miss Anna Murphy Thinks She Saw the Doctor on a Street Car--His Long and Mysterious Ride with Conductor Dwyer--Reporter Long also Encounters Him, This Time in Toronto--The Police and Public Satisfied, but His Friends Still Anxious--Efforts to Prove Him a British Spy--A Big Reward Offered 101 CHAPTER VI. Hoping against Hope--The Stench in the Sewer--"Murder Will Out"--A Ghastly Discovery--Where the Body was Found--The Recognition by Captain Wing--Its Horrible Appearance--Evidences of a Foul Crime--The Corpse at the Morgue--Pitiable Scenes of Grief--The Official Autopsy--The Brutal Way in Which the Physician had been Done to Death 126 CHAPTER VII. The Crime Creates An International Sensation--Discovery of the Lonely Cottage Where the Irish Nationalist Met His Death--Evidences of a Terrible Struggle--The Tell-Tale Blood Stains and Broken Furniture--The Mysterious Tenants and Their Movements--The Furniture Bought and Carted to the Assassins' Den--What Milkman Mertes Saw--The Plot as Outlined by the Surroundings--Iceman O'Sullivan Under Surveillance 154 CHAPTER VIII. The White Horse and Buggy--Detective Coughlin Hires It for a "Friend"--The Trouble in the Stable--Dinan Goes to Schaack--The Captain's Peculiar Movements--Scanlan Identifies the Horse--The Detective and O'Sullivan are Jailed--The Grand Jury Indicts Them with Woodruff--The Accused Arraigned in Court 195 CHAPTER IX. The Lying in State--An Impressive Scene--The Imposing Procession--At the Cathedral--An Eloquent Voice from the Pulpit--Clerical Denunciation of the Crime--Laid to Rest in Calvary Cemetery 220 CHAPTER X. The Coroner's Inquest Opens--A Model Jury--Visiting the Scene of the Tragedy--Taking the Evidence--Captain Schaack's Compromising Admissions--Prominent Clan-na-Gael Men put on the Stand--Alexander Sullivan's Threats--Luke Dillon Tells What He Knows--The Documents Left by the Murdered Man Read by the Coroner--A Sensational Inquiry 236 CHAPTER XI. Closing Scenes of the Inquest--The Verdict--Alexander Sullivan's Arrest Ordered--Midnight Visit to His Residence-- His Cool Demeanor and Cheerful Acquiescence--Taken to the County Jail--Incidents of the Arrest 259 CHAPTER XII. At the Toronto End of the Conspiracy--Investigating Long's Circumstantial Stories, and His Interviews with Dr. Cronin-- A Chicago Fugitive Concerned--His Suspicious Movements--A Chapter of Startling Coincidences--Long on the Rack--Makes Damaging Admissions but will not Retract--The Object to Distract Attention from the Scene of the Crime--Another Confession from Woodruff 275 CHAPTER XIII. Sullivan's Arrest Creates a Sensation--His Friends Stand by Him--The Noted ex-Irish Leader in Court--Efforts to Secure His Release--Judge Tuley Gives Him His Liberty--Arrest of Maroney and McDonald in New York--Their Extradition Refused 292 CHAPTER XIV. Officer Collin's Suspicions--Martin Burke and His Record-- Fortunate Discovery of the Photograph of a Clan-na-Gael Group--The Carlsons and Others Identify Burke--His Peculiar Movements and His Flight--An Indictment against Him--The Capture in Winnipeg, when _En Route_ to England--Stubborn Fight to Prevent His Extradition to American Soil--The Law Triumphant--A Memorable Journey Home--Preliminaries of the Trial--A Separate Trial Granted Woodruff 303 CHAPTER XV. Theories Regarding the Disappearance of the Murdered Man's Clothing--The Hand of Providence Manifests Itself--Fortunate Discovery of the Last Bloody Evidences of the Crime--Dr. Cronin's Apparel is Found--It had been Secreted, with His Case of Surgical Instruments, in a Catch-basin, Adjacent to the One in Which the Body was Discovered--Shoes, Jewelry and Purse Missing--Complete Identification by His Friends--The Search Continued--A Piece of Carpet Found--The Conspirators' Plans Thwarted 333 CHAPTER XVI. Special Grand Jury Summoned--_Personnel_ of Its Members-- Judge Shepard's Vigorous Charge--The Testimony Taken-- Seventeen Days' Investigation Results in the Indictment of Seven Men--Full Text of the Indictment--Arrest of Beggs and Kunze--The Alleged Trial of Dr. Cronin in Camp 20 351 CHAPTER XVII. Public Abhorrence at the Crime--A Great Out-pouring of the People--Cosmopolitan Assemblage at Central Music Hall--A Judge's Vigorous Speech--Congressmen Denounce the Crime-- The Rival Demonstrations at Cheltenham Beach and Ogden's Grove 369 CHAPTER XVIII. In Court at Last--The State's Attorney Points Out the Accused, Man by Man--A Formidable Array of Legal Talent-- Objections to Luther Laflin Mills and his Associates-- Over-ruled by the Court--Weeks consumed in the Wearisome Task of Securing a Jury--Scenes and Incidents 384 CHAPTER XIX. Startling Interruption to the Trial--Villainous Attempt to Frustrate the Ends of Justice--Bold Efforts to Bribe the Special Veniresmen in the Interest of the Prisoners--A "Hung" Jury Wanted--Fortunate Discovery of the Plot--The "Wheels Within Wheels" of the Conspiracy--Prompt Action of the Prosecuting Authorities--Speedy Arrest and Indictment of the Guilty Parties--Crime Added to Crime 399 CHAPTER XX. A Jury Secured at Last--Names and Sketches of the Twelve Men Selected to Determine the Guilt of the Accused--The Trial Under Way--Opening Speeches for the State--Scenes in the Court Room 414 CHAPTER XXI. Evidence for the State--The Story of the Crime Retold--A Long Line of Witnesses--Sensational Disclosures and Missing Links Supplied--Mrs. Hoertel's Graphic Story--Dr. Cronin's Knives are Found and Produced in Court--A Masterly Grouping of the Testimony Against the Prisoners 430 CHAPTER XXII. The Defense Takes its Turn--Unsuccessful Efforts to Exclude the Bulk of the Evidence Given for the State--Alibis for the Prisoners and the White Horse--A General Denial of Complicity in the Tragedy--Rebuttal Evidence for the Prosecution 457 CHAPTER XXIII. Opening for the State--The Evidence Reviewed--A Masterly Argument by State's Attorney Longenecker--Tracing the Plot from its Inception to the Murder--An Appeal for Justice-- Arguments for the Defense--Donahoe, Wing, Foster and Forrest make Their Final Pleas for the Prisoners, and Ingham, Hynes and Longenecker Close for the State 470 CHAPTER XXIV. All the Testimony Before the Jury--Judge McConnell's Lucid Charge--The Jury Retires--A Period of Anxiety--Popular Excitement at its Height--Demeanor of the Prisoners-- Suspense at Last Ended--The Verdict 563 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE. PORTRAIT OF DR. PATRICK HENRY CRONIN, THE MURDERED PHYSICIAN Frontispiece. PORTRAIT OF PATRICK O'SULLIVAN, THE ICE MAN, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS 28 PORTRAIT OF DANIEL COUGHLIN, THE DETECTIVE, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS 197 PORTRAIT OF MARTIN BURKE, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS 315 PORTRAIT OF JOHN F. BEGGS, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS 360 PORTRAIT OF JOHN KUNZE, ONE OF THE DEFENDANTS 367 O'SULLIVAN AND KUNZE, FROM PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN DURING TRIAL 392 PORTRAIT OF PATRICK COONEY, "THE FOX" 452 PORTRAIT OF SUPT. OF POLICE HUBBARD 210 PORTRAIT OF OFFICER DANIEL BROWN 354 PORTRAITS OF MR. AND MRS. T. T. CONKLIN 39 PORTRAIT OF ALEXANDER SULLIVAN 263 PORTRAIT OF MERTES, THE MILKMAN 187 PORTRAITS OF FIVE DEFENDANTS ON TRIAL 429 PORTRAITS OF THE SIX PRISONERS IN COURT 332 PORTRAITS OF THE TWELVE JURYMEN 416-417 PORTRAIT OF JUDGE MCCONNELL, PRESIDING AT THE MEMORABLE TRIAL 456 PORTRAIT OF JOEL M. LONGENECKER, THE STATE'S ATTORNEY 469 PORTRAIT OF LUTHER LAFLIN MILLS (THE NOTED CRIMINAL LAWYER), FOR THE PROSECUTION 550 PORTRAIT OF GEORGE C. INGHAM, ATTORNEY FOR THE PROSECUTION 514 PORTRAIT OF W. J. HYNES, ATTORNEY FOR THE PROSECUTION 521 PORTRAIT OF W. S. FORREST, LEADING ATTORNEY FOR THE DEFENSE 536 PORTRAIT OF JUDGE WING, ATTORNEY FOR THE DEFENSE 512 PORTRAITS OF THREE OF THE CARLSON FAMILY 168 PORTRAITS OF PRINCIPAL WITNESSES BEFORE THE CORONER'S INQUEST 254 PORTRAIT OF DETECTIVE MICHAEL WHALEN 206 PORTRAIT OF DETECTIVE BARNEY FLYNN 464 PORTRAIT OF LAWRENCE R. BUCKLEY 242 PORTRAIT OF T. P. O'CONNOR 244 PORTRAIT OF P. M'GEHAN 247 THE COURT ROOM, SHOWING THE GREAT TRIAL IN PROGRESS 413 THE CARD OF SULLIVAN ICE CO., THAT LURED DR. CRONIN FROM HIS HOME ON THE NIGHT OF THE MURDER 20 THE MYSTERIOUS WAGON 31 DETECTIVES INSPECTING THE SPOT WHERE THE TRUNK WAS FOUND 42 THE BLOODY TRUNK AND ITS CONTENTS 35 PICTURE OF DR. CRONIN TAKEN AFTER HE WAS FOUND IN THE CATCH-BASIN WITH THE "AGNUS DEI" ON BREAST 135 SCENE AT THE MORGUE, SHOWING THE BODY LYING ON SLAB AND BEING IDENTIFIED BY SCANLAN AND CONKLIN 140 THE SPOT WHERE THE TRUNK WAS FOUND 33 THE SKULL OF DR. CRONIN, SHOWING THE WOUNDS 143 THE BROKEN ROCKER ON WHICH DR. CRONIN PROBABLY SAT WHEN KILLED 161 BLOOD-STAINED PIECE OF BRASS 161 THE SOLITARY LAMP 161 THE CATCH-BASIN--SOUTH VIEW 127 THE CATCH-BASIN, SHOWING FIRE-PLUG AND DITCH 129 THE DISCOVERY OF THE BODY IN THE CATCH-BASIN 131 ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S RESIDENCE 264 THE ASSASSINS' DEN, SHOWING THE CARLSON COTTAGE IN REAR 157 DIAGRAM OF THE LOCALITY OF THE MURDER 156 FOOTPRINT FOUND IN HOUSE 160 THE CORONER'S JURY 239 JURORS EXAMINING FINGER MARKS IN PAINT ON WINDOW BLIND 245 JURORS EXAMINING BLOOD STAINS IN PARLOR OF COTTAGE 238 THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY THAT TOOK DR. CRONIN AWAY FROM HIS HOME 199 LIVERYMAN DINAN'S STABLE 198 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION 223 DR. CRONIN'S APARTMENTS IN WINDSOR THEATRE BUILDING 18 DR. CRONIN'S RECEPTION ROOM IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING 184 DR. CRONIN'S OFFICE IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING 181 DR. CRONIN'S MAIN OFFICE IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING 183 STATE'S ATTORNEY LONGENECKER ADDRESSING THE COURT 296 DR. CRONIN'S BOX AND ITS CONTENTS 337 THE LOAD ON THE STRETCHER 338 SOME OF DR. CRONIN'S CLOTHES 340 TWO VIEWS OF DR. CRONIN'S HAT 341 DR. CRONIN'S POCKET INSTRUMENT CASE 342 DR. CRONIN'S SLEEVE BUTTON, COMB, R. A. BUTTON, CASE, ETC. 343 DR. CRONIN'S POCKET CASE 345 REMAINS OF THE MURDERER'S VALISE 346 THE SILVER HYPODERMIC SYRINGE CASE 347 DR. CRONIN'S SURGICAL INSTRUMENT CASE 348 THE ENGLISH PRESCRIPTION BOOK 349 THE JUDGE HEARS OF THE JURY-BRIBING PLOT 401 THE KNIVES 466 CHAPTER I. A CRIME THAT SHOCKED THE CIVILIZED WORLD--THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER--A SUDDEN SUMMONS--THE INSTINCTS OF HUMANITY TRIUMPH OVER PERSONAL CONSIDERATIONS--LAST MOMENTS AT HOME--PARTING WORDS WITH A FRIEND-- DR. CRONIN'S EVENTFUL LIFE--HOW HE WORKED HIS WAY UPWARD ON THE LADDER OF HONOR AND FAME. Little introduction to this volume is needed. It is the story--told in plain unvarnished words, so that everyone who reads may understand--of a crime that has shocked the people of the United States, and astounded the civilized world. Back of that crime was a conspiracy so wide in its ramifications, so cunningly contrived, so successfully executed, as to rival the diabolical plots and outgrowing tragedies that have been placed at the doors of the secret societies of France, Italy and Spain, by the historians of the Dark Ages. In the United States, as an event of national importance, the crime may be said to rank with the assassinations of Presidents Lincoln and Garfield. In the case of the former, as of the latter, the perpetrator of the crime was a half crazed enthusiast, who imagined that he had a mission to perform in taking the life of the Chief Magistrate of the Republic. An effort was made, it is true, to demonstrate the fact that the assassin of Abraham Lincoln was but the tool of a band of conspirators, but, despite the fact that five of his alleged accomplices suffered an ignominious death upon the scaffold upon conviction for complicity in the appalling crime, the question as to the actual existence of a conspiracy has remained to this day a mooted one. In the case of President Garfield there was not even a suggestion that the assassin acted upon other than his own insane impulse. So far as concerns the Haymarket horror in Chicago, the point as to whether the throwing of the bomb that echoed around the world was the outcome of a conspiracy, or the act of an individual who had inbibed anarchistic principles and doctrines until reason had been dethroned, and a desire for vengeance upon the supposed enemies of the proletaire had generated into an uncontrollable determination, is still unsettled in the minds of many people eminently well versed in the law; as well as in those of a goodly proportion of the masses. So far, however, as the tragic fate of Dr Cronin is concerned, no such doubt may be said to exist. That he fell a victim to a plot, remarkable in its conception and execution; conceived in shrewdness and forethought, and executed by the aid of far-reaching and elaborate machinery; and with remorseless precision, is beyond peradventure. But it serves no purpose to anticipate. The following chapters tell their own story of the manner and methods by which the murder of a law-abiding American citizen, prominent in his profession and of national reputation, was decreed and carried out. It was the first crime of its character in the history of the United States. It will probably be the last. THE DISAPPEARANCE. The locality was Chicago. The date Saturday, May 4th, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine. The time eight o'clock of the evening. Philip Patrick Henry Cronin--for this was the full name of the physician--was closeted with a patient in the most spacious of the front suite of rooms attached to a handsomely furnished flat directly over the Windsor Theatre on North Clark Street. The tenants of the flat, T. T. Conklin, a well-known saloon keeper, and his wife, were among his most intimate and confidential friends, and with them the physician, who was a confirmed bachelor, had resided so long that he was regarded, to all intents and purposes, as one of the family. They nursed him in sickness, studied his every requirement when in health, and in a great measure, shared with him his personal and political knowledge. It was a happy, congenial family in every sense of the term. Dr. Cronin was on the point of dismissing the patient, for an important meeting of the Celto-American Society, which published a paper of which he was the political editor, necessitated his hurrying away to the other side of the city, when the door-bell rang violently. Mrs. Conklin responded. A man pale and breathless, stood on the landing. [Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S APARTMENTS IN WINDSOR THEATRE BUILDING.] "Is Dr. Cronin in?" he demanded, in a hurried, nervous manner. "Yes," was the reply, "but he is busy with a patient." "Well," responded the stranger with increasing nervousness. "I want to see him. It is a matter of life or death." Some fragments of the conversation had penetrated to the office where the physician was giving a final injunction to his patient. He threw open the door and came out into the vestibule. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Doctor" said the strange visitor as he presented a card, "one of the workmen at P. O'Sullivan's ice house at Lake View, has met with an accident and been terribly injured about here" (indicating the abdomen by a wave of his hand). "Unless a doctor sees him at once," he went on in his hurried, nervous, manner, "he will die. O'Sullivan is out of town, but he has spoken so often of you and said that you should be called in case of an accident that I thought I'd better come to you." Dr. Cronin glanced at the card. It was a fac-simile of this. [Illustration] For a moment he twirled it between his finger and thumb. Then he looked at his watch. It was near the hour for the meeting, in the proceedings of which he was liable to take a prominent part. But the humane instincts of the profession quickly overcame all other considerations. "One moment" he ejaculated, "and I will be with you." "I have a buggy and fast horse down stairs" called out the stranger. Dr. Cronin darted into his office. Hastily gathering up his surgical instruments, he packed them into their case. A package of lint and absorbent cotton was pushed down into his pocket. Then he reappeared and with the remark "I am ready," made for the stairs. The unknown went down in advance and the doctor followed. At the curb, with a white horse in the shafts, was the buggy that was to take the physician on his supposed errand of mercy. As he reached the street, he came _vis-a-vis_ with Frank T. Scanlan, Jr., a prominent young Irish-American, who had previously arranged to call for and accompany him to the meeting. "Are you ready" the latter asked. "No," was Dr. Cronin's reply. "I'm called away on an accident case." The stranger was already in the buggy. "There's no time to lose," he called out, and the ejaculation caused Scanlan to turn his head in that direction. He was startled for a moment by the look of fiendish rage with which the fellow was regarding him. Before he could say a word, however, Dr. Cronin had taken his seat in the vehicle. A whip cut through the air and descended on the animal's back, and as it started off the physician called out to his friend, who still stood on the sidewalk: "I may get down town in an hour, but don't wait for me. I really don't know how long this case may occupy me." Man proposes, but God disposes. It was the physician's last farewell to his home and his friends. The white horse sped into the darkness and each revolution of the wheels of the vehicle carried one of its occupants nearer his doom. THE STORY OF HIS LIFE. It is necessary to digress a moment at this point in order that something may be said regarding the previous history of the man whose name was soon to be on millions of tongues. Born on August 7th, 1846, on Erin's soil, near the town of Mallow, in the famed county of Cork, he was brought to the United States when yet a babe in his mother's arms. For five years thereafter he was numbered among the population of New York City. Thence the family moved to Baltimore, and thence again to the province of Ontario. When ten years of age he was placed in the care of the Christian Brothers at the Academy of St. Catherines. He graduated with honors in 1863, and, a boy of seventeen, started out to battle with the world. His first wages were earned at Petroleum City, Pa., where he taught school. From here he went to Titusville and thence to Clearfield, in the same state, where in 1866 he held a good position in a store. But he was restless and ambitious. There was no charm--from his point of view--in the plodding life of a country school teacher or store keeper. He wanted to make his way in the world and he realized that in order to accomplish this it would be necessary to take the historic advice of Horace Greeley and "go west." Accordingly, late in the fall of 1867 he bade farewell to the many friends and acquaintances he had made in the oil regions and departed for Missouri. He first located in a country town, but after a short stay removed again to St. Louis. Here he secured a position in the store of Michael Dougherty, a grocer. Those who came in contact with him at that time remembered him in after years as a young man of pleasing presence, fine attainments and a remarkably good musician. He was especially a fine tenor singer, and soon after his arrival he became a member of the choir of the Catholic Church of St. John's. The numerous services and consequent rehearsals, however, conflicted materially with his work at the store, and as a result he secured another position as superintendent of omnibuses for a local transfer concern. Meanwhile he had been industriously engaged in the study of pharmacy, and so well did he combine this craving after knowledge with commendable prudence and economy, that after awhile he was enabled to become a full fledged druggist with a store of his own on Garrison street, adjacent to Easton avenue. Even then, however, he was not satisfied. He aimed still higher, and immediately begun the study of medicine at the Missouri College. From this institution he graduated in 1878, and, relinquishing the drug business, entered upon the practice of his newly chosen profession. Meanwhile he had identified himself with the local militia, and held the rank of captain at the time of the strike in 1877. Shortly after his graduation he was appointed a commissioner to the Paris exposition. The next twelve months were passed abroad, a goodly portion of that period being spent in Dublin and other parts of Ireland. Returning home, he accepted the professorship of _materia medica_ and therapeutics in the St. Louis College of Physicians and Surgeons. Even with the onerous duties of this responsible position he found time and opportunity to study for two years--'80 and '81, at the Jesuit University, and received as his reward the degrees of A. M., and Ph. D. In 1882, by the advice of friends, he left St. Louis for Chicago, and almost immediately upon his arrival in the Garden City was appointed one of the staff of physicians at the Cook County Hospital. From this he drifted into private practice, and gradually became identified with a large number of political and secret societies. Among the latter were the Royal League, the Legion of Honor, Ancient Order of Hibernians, Ancient Order of United Workmen, and Independent Order of Foresters. He was at one time or another a Deputy Grand Regent of the Royal Arcanum, Past Commander of the Knights of Pythias and Chief Ranger of the Catholic Order of Foresters. Of many of these societies, as well as of the Plasterers' Union, he was the medical examiner. His practice necessarily was a lucrative one. He took an active interest in various Irish movements calculated to elevate his race and to promote the cause of Irish independence, and, at the time of his taking off, he was president of the Celto-American Club of Chicago. Dr. Cronin never married. When rallied on one occasion on his apparent determination to live and die a bachelor, he tersely rejoined that "he had no desire to make widows." His only surviving immediate relatives were a sister, Mrs. Carroll, living at St. Catherines, Ont., and a brother John, who, just before the tragedy, had removed from Pawnee Rock, Kan., to Arkansas. He also had two nieces who were Mother Superiors in Canadian convents. In appearance he was a fine looking man, five feet ten and one-half inches tall, weighing 180 pounds and well proportioned. His hair was black and his luxuriant mustache was generally worn long and wavy at the ends. Personally he was courteous and warm-hearted. At the same time his impulses were quick and strong, and, while he would go to any extreme to serve a friend, he would follow up an enemy with relentless determination and vindictiveness. Wherever he went he enjoyed great popularity, and he could always boast of an extensive acquaintance and a host of close friends. He always retained the fine tenor voice of his youth and almost his last public appearance in Chicago was at the Washington centennial celebration at the Cavalry Armory, on which occasion he sang a specially composed "Hymn to Washington," with such telling effect as not only to elicit an encore but to rouse the vast audience to unwonted enthusiasm. CHAPTER II. DR. CRONIN FAILS TO RETURN HOME--ANXIETY OF HIS FRIENDS--THE EARLY MORNING RIDE TO THE ICE HOUSE--O'SULLIVAN'S SURPRISE AND IGNORANCE--THE MYSTERIOUS WAGON AND ITS OCCUPANTS--A BLOODY TRUNK IS FOUND--THE SEARCH COMMENCED--"IT IS HIS HAIR." Dr. Cronin did not join his friends at the meeting of the Celto-American Society that memorable Saturday night. Nor, although the Conklins waited for him until long past midnight, were the familiar footsteps heard upon the stairs. The Sabbath dawned, and the first streaks of grey penetrated through the curtains into his apartments, but he was still absent. Naturally the Conklins became alarmed. During all the years that the physician had lived with them he had been a model of punctuality in his habits. It was the first occasion that he had remained so long from home without reason. If his business affairs happened to keep him away even an hour longer than usual it was his invariable practice to in some way contrive to advise his friends, so that they might notify any patients that came in his absence. Moreover, he was not a drinking man and such a thing as staying out all night with boon companions was foreign to his practice. Yet, eight hours had sped by, the morning had broken, and he had not returned. No wonder, then, that the family was alarmed, or that Mr. Conklin, without waiting for breakfast, determined to procure a buggy and drive to P. O'Sullivan's residence, which adjoined his ice house, at the corner of Seminary Avenue and Lake View. A startling surprise awaited him at the end of his six mile ride. O'Sullivan, when aroused from bed, was, to all appearances, considerably surprised when asked if the doctor was in the house. [Illustration: P. O'SULLIVAN, THE ICE MAN.] "This is all news to me," he said, with an apparent air of frankness. "I have not been out of town and I know nothing of the man in a buggy." "Was there not an accident in your ice house?" he was asked. "No," was the reply. "I have only four men in my employ and none of them have been injured." "Then you did not call on Dr. Cronin, or send for him?" "No, the man who did call used my name without authority. You say he used one of my cards, leaving it at the office. Well, I can understand how that happened. My cards are scattered all over Lake View and the city, and anybody could have used one in the same way." "Do you know Dr. Cronin?" the ice man was asked. "Yes," was his reply, "I have met him several times, and we were quite friendly." "How did you come to engage him as physician to your family and workmen, when you live six miles from his office?" This pointed query seemed to stagger the ice man for a moment, but at last he replied: "He was recommended to me by Justice Mahoney." The latter, who had been elected a Lake View Magistrate but a few weeks before, had been regarded as one of Dr. Cronin's friends. "Then you do not know how it happened that he was summoned to your ice house?" was the final query. "I do not," emphatically replied O'Sullivan, "I cannot understand what were the motives of the man who went for him." This was all that the ice man had to say. In the light of subsequent events, however, it was of importance. Mr. Conklin's worst fears were intensified. Driving rapidly home, he learned from his wife that the physician had not taken his revolver, as was his practice when going on a long trip; that he had only a small amount of money with him, and that he wore no jewelry of value except a watch. Without delay, Conklin proceeded to notify Frank J. Scanlan, his brother John, and two or three other Irish-Americans of prominence. "This is the work of political enemies," they said without hesitation, "it has been skillfully planned and executed. It will take time and money to find him, if it is not intended to murder him." Significant words. At that very hour the blood of the murdered man was calling aloud for vengeance. A hue and cry was at once raised. The Chicago police were notified, and the most experienced detectives of the department started out on the case. Pinkerton's Detective Agency was retained, and Detective Frank Murray went out to Lake View as fast as a swift horse could take him. Captain Schaack of the Chicago Avenue Station, and officers of the Lake View police, were waited on and urged to turn loose all the officers they could spare to solve the mystery. Last, but not least, the newspaper offices were advised of the disappearance, and a score or more of sleuth reporters were soon in the suburb. By sundown of Sunday nearly sixty people were engaged in the search. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Meanwhile there had been startling developments in another direction. Somewhere in the neighborhood of two o'clock on the morning of the same day (Sunday) and about six hours after the physician had been decoyed from his residence, Officers Smith and Hayden, of the Lake View police force, were on duty at the corner of Clark and Diversey Streets, when they saw a carpenter's wagon, drawn by a bay horse, rumbling at a furious rate toward the north. The Lake View police were under instructions to hail passing vehicles and pedestrians after midnight, and accordingly, Officer Smith stepped out on the pavement to look at the two men who sat upon the driver's seat. [Illustration: THE MYSTERIOUS WAGON.] The wagon was driven at such speed, however, that the officer did not have time to look into the faces of the two mysterious men or command them to stop. There was a large trunk in the wagon. Both officers saw this receptacle. When the wagon had disappeared Officer Smith became suspicious of the two drivers, and told Officer Hayden so. The two policemen patrolled their beats until about 3.30 o'clock when they again met at Clark and Diversey Streets. They had been there but a few moments when they again heard a vehicle rumbling over the pavement. It proved to be the same old carpenter's wagon with its mysterious occupants and its old bay horse. But the trunk was no longer in the wagon. This time Hayden walked out upon the pavement to look at the men in the driver's seat. One of them wore a black derby hat. His companion wore a soft hat. Both were young and muscular. There was no name on the wagon. Officer Hayden saw all this, but he could not get a good view of the men on the seat. He did not hail them because he thought the movement of a trunk at that time of year was not extraordinary. The wagon rolled back toward Chicago and Officer Hayden dismissed the incident from his mind; but Officer Smith was greatly disturbed, and told his companion so several times during the early morning hours. FINDING THE BLOODY TRUNK. The officers returned to the station at the usual hour, but neither made any report of the mysterious wagon or its still more mysterious occupants. At half past seven o'clock, Alderman Chapman, of Lake View, was driving along Evanston Avenue, between Graceland and the Roman Catholic Cemetery. He had reached a point five hundred yards from Sultzer Street, when he saw three men standing around a trunk which stood back of a bush, with one end thrust into the ditch which runs near the thoroughfare. Alderman Chapman alighted and went to the spot. The cover of the trunk had been forced open. The interior was bespattered with blood and partially filled with absorbent cotton which was saturated with gore. Chapman drove hurriedly to the Lake View Police Station and gave the alarm. Captain Villiers and a detachment of officers leaped into the patrol wagon and made a furious run to the lonely spot. When they got there they found a large crowd of gaping men and boys who had trampled the grass in every direction. The trunk was taken to the station house. The first thing Captain Villiers did after he cleared his private room of the curiosity seekers who had swarmed into the station house, was to make a careful examination of the trunk. He found enough evidence to satisfy him that a grown person had been murdered, thrust into it, and then carted to the spot between the two cemeteries. The trunk was new and large. A man six feet tall could be cramped into it. A trunk dealer who was summoned to the station house by Captain Villiers, said at once that it had been made either in Racine or Milwaukee. It was of cheap pattern and had evidently been purchased for the purpose for which it was used. The trunk had been locked after the body had been placed in it and the cotton had been packed about the wounds in order to stanch the flow of blood and thus insure greater safety in its transmission from place to place. Before the body was removed the lock of the trunk had been broken by two sharp blows with a blunt instrument. The marks of these blows were on both sides of the lock. In their haste to remove the body the murderers had thrown the cover back with such force that one of the sheet-iron hinges was broken. Captain Villiers picked the cotton out and placed it upon his table. He had formerly been a doctor and his examination of the cotton led him to the belief that the murder must have been committed some time after midnight. Some of the absorbent material was still soft with blood and there was a pool of fresh blood in one corner of the trunk. Careful examination of the cotton revealed other things to the officer. He found a lock of dark-brown hair, which was almost as fine as a woman's but not so glossy. [Illustration: THE SPOT WHERE THE TRUNK WAS FOUND.] [Illustration: THE BLOODY TRUNK AND ITS CONTENTS.] This was the only possible tangible clue to the identity of the victim. The lock of hair was placed under a microscope. It was found to be filled with blood and particles of cotton. More closely examined; it looked as though it had been chopped off with a blunt instrument. It had not been pulled out of the scalp but the hairs were all of uneven length and looked as though they might have come off the cranium near the forehead. The inside of the cover of the trunk was bespattered with blood. Some of the life fluid had trickled down the exterior; presumably when the body was dragged out upon the ground. There were no marks on the trunk and aside from the lock of hair there was absolutely nothing left for the officers to hold for identification. SEARCHING FOR CLUES. Captain Villiers had not yet heard of the disappearance of Dr. Cronin. He was quickly satisfied, however, that a diabolical murder had been committed and at once issued orders to his subordinates to institute a thorough search for the body, which he believed to be somewhere in the neighborhood of the spot where the trunk was found. A patrol wagon filled with officers was out the entire afternoon. The men searched all the brush, prairie and vacant houses for a mile around, but could find no trace of the corpse. So many persons had trampled the grass at the spot where the trunk was found that the officers could not discover tracks of any vehicle. Evanston Avenue is so well paved that search along this much travelled highway would have been useless. The officers scoured the grass, examined the fences and went even so far as to invade the cemeteries. Not a drop of blood nor a particle of cotton could be found anywhere. Three boards of a fence were down at Argyle Street, but there was no evidence that they had been removed for the purpose of assisting men in the removal of a body. Efforts were made to find the men who first discovered the trunk but without result. One man that drove along the Evanston road an hour ahead of Alderman Chapman was positive that it was not there at that time, while on the other hand the alderman insisted that there were men at the spot for some time before he happened along in his buggy. It was six o'clock on Sunday evening when Officers Smith and Hayden entered the station to report for their night's work. The instant Smith entered the Captain's private room he declared that the bloody trunk lying before him was the one he had seen in the carpenter's wagon when he stood with his brother-officer at Clark and Diversey Streets in the early morning. Officer Hayden, when called in, was equally positive. At this moment the news of Dr. Cronin's disappearance was received, and Captain Villiers became intensely excited. The report that Dr. Cronin was missing under the most alarming circumstances and the gory evidences of a murder lying before him seemed to inspire the Captain with the belief that perhaps the mystery surrounding the well-known doctor's disappearance had been solved. He at once issued orders for a search for the mysterious wagon and its occupants. He hurriedly drove over to O'Sullivan's and put the ice man through a sharp examination. The latter, however, stuck to the story he had told earlier in the day. He knew nothing but what he had been told, he said; and his manner was so earnest, and his distress of mind--to outward appearances--so intense, that the official took him at his word. "JUST LIKE HIS HAIR." From the icehouse Captain Villiers drove to the home of the missing physician. For hours the apartments had been thronged with visitors, some waiting hour after hour, others coming and going, to hear the latest intelligence of the search. Without apprising them of his conjectures regarding the trunk the captain enquired as to the length of Dr. Cronin's hair. "He wore his hair much longer than men usually do," said Mrs. Conklin, "and lately it had been quite long." "Had he plenty of hair on the top of his head" the captain went on. "Yes" replied some one in the room "and it was quite long." [Illustration: MR. AND MRS. CONKLIN.] The Chief then took from his pocket the scrap of paper containing the lock of hair he had found in the trunk, and those present crowded around and examined it closely. Some were inclined to believe that it resembled that of the missing man, but were fearful of expressing a positive opinion. At this juncture F. T. Scanlan, Jr., came into the room. He took the lock of hair and fingered it for a moment, his face blanched, and as he laid it down upon the table he ejaculated: "That is just like his hair, yes, just like it." There was a scream and a fall. One of the ladies present had fainted away. By this time Captain Villiers was fully convinced that the lock of hair was destined to play an important part in the solution of the mystery. At the same time he was desirous that the identification should be more complete, or that the resemblance between the lock and the hair of the missing man should be established by the testimony of those best qualified to speak on the subject. Accordingly, bright and early on the following morning he visited the tonsorial establishment one door north of the Windsor theatre, where for years the physician had been in the habit of getting shaved three or four times weekly. Here, however, his theory encountered a set back. The proprietor, H. F. Wisch, was positive that the hair had come from some other head than that of Dr. Cronin. In this opinion he was supported by two of his employes. They had cut his hair time and again, and they insisted that there could be no possibility of their being mistaken when they said that the hair could not have come from Dr. Cronin's head. The lock that they were asked to identify was fully four inches long, and fine, while, so they contended, the physician's hair was exceptionally coarse. Moreover--and this appeared to be conclusive--his hair had been cut three days prior to his disappearance and it would have been impossible that a lock four inches in length could have been left on his head. So far as could be remembered his head was trimmed to an average length of two inches. As to color, there was something of a resemblance, although there was enough apparent difference in shade to be noticeable when compared with a few hairs taken from a hair brush that was kept for the doctor's exclusive use. Mr. and Mrs. Conklin, however, took issue with Barber Wisch on almost every point. The hair of their friend and tenant they asserted, was long, soft and remarkably silky, while, moreover, it was precisely of the same shade as the lock held by Captain Villiers. In the face of these conflicting statements the latter very wisely concluded that it would be useless to push this particular branch of the investigation at that time, and the clue was consigned to a drawer of the safe in the Lake View Station. WAGON TRACKS LEAD TO THE WATER'S EDGE. Meanwhile every available officer of the police force of the suburb, reinforced by Captain Schaack and a number of city detectives and officers, were searching high and low to discover the whereabouts of the physician and to solve the mystery surrounding the bloody trunk. Captain Schaack and his associates, after examining the locality of the find, tramped over the ground for a mile around. [Illustration: DETECTIVES INSPECTING THE SPOT WHERE THE TRUNK WAS FOUND.] While thus engaged a discovery was made that in the light of subsequent events was of considerable importance. It was the tracks of a wagon in the sandy road leading to the lake. Commencing at a point but a few yards from the place where the trunk was dumped, the trail went northwardly some three hundred yards, then turned to the side road and went east to the water's edge. Here in the wet sand the indications of a halt were quite plain. Thence, after following the beach about a hundred yards, the tracks turned into what was known as the Wilson road, and apparently proceeded southward to the city. It was impossible to determine from appearances whether the ruts were a day or a week old, for the high wind had blown the fine sand across the level beach in great clouds. At this juncture, however, a special officer of the village of Edgewater, and a watchman at the station, Wade by name, and who had learned that the officers were inclined to connect the wagon tracks with the trunk, told an interesting story. "Early on Sunday morning," he said, "I was standing on Hollywood avenue, just north of Bryn Mawr avenue, when I saw a team standing near the edge of the lake. It was about 1:05, and I went to the team and asked a fellow who stood near what he was doing there at that hour of the night." "We're looking for the Lake Shore drive," said he, "we want to get back to town." "The Lake Shore drive, man, is two miles from here," I said, "can't you see there is no roadway here?" "While I was talking a couple of fellows who had been walking along the beach came up." "Boys," said the first man, "this officer says we're away off the road." "At this they all got into the wagon and drove west on Bryn Mawr avenue until they reached the Evanston road. Then they started down Evanston avenue at a rapid gait and I lost sight of them. I noticed a long square box in the wagon, but it was very dark and I could not see plainly what it was. The fellow I talked to, however, I'll recognize and identify anywhere." From a study of the surroundings, taken in connection with this story, the conclusion was arrived at by the police authorities that the trunk had been first taken to the lake, its contents thrown into the surf, and that it was then brought back into the road and dumped into the ditch. This, as was developed later, was the original intention of the murderers. The point on the beach where the tracks showed that the vehicle had made a halt was about as dreary and desolate a spot as could be found in the country. Sandy, covered with heavy timber, and removed nearly half a mile from a house or a shelter of any kind, it was just the place that a man or a party of men with a murderous job on their hands would have naturally selected. To empty a trunk into the lake, or to dig a hole in the sand and drop a human body in it, would have been the work of but a few minutes, and all traces of the bloody crime might thus have been obliterated forever. THE SEARCH REVEALS NOTHING. For the next forty-eight hours the efforts of the authorities were re-doubled. All the livery stables on the north side of the city were visited for the purpose of ascertaining if a white horse and vehicle, as described by Mrs. Conklin and Frank Scanlan, had been rented out on the previous Saturday. Several white horses were owned by the liverymen in that section, but all, apparently, were satisfactorily accounted for. The one man, who, had he so chosen, could, by answering the question in the affirmative, have solved at least this portion of the mystery, preferred to hold his peace for the time being. Scores of men and boys waded through the pond in the German Catholic Cemetery, the river in the vicinity was dragged, nearly every sewer and sluice box in the city of Lake View was examined, and even the clay holes--which were as plentiful thereabouts as reefs in Lake Michigan--were hunted from end to end. As a last resort, and at the earnest solicitation of friends of Dr. Cronin, the Chicago River was dredged for a distance of six hundred feet at Fullerton avenue bridge, over which the wagon with the trunk was supposed to have crossed. This task, conducted by Captain Schaack and eight officers, occupied two days. Like the search in every other direction, however, it was utterly without result. The physician had disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up, and the mystery of the trunk and its gory contents remained a mystery still. CHAPTER III. AN ACCIDENTAL CLUE--FRANK WOODRUFF'S ARREST--HOW HE WAS HIRED TO GET A WAGON TO CARRY THE MYSTERIOUS TRUNK TO LAKE VIEW--A CORPSE IS DUMPED OUT--HE THINKS IT WAS THAT OF A WOMAN--HIS SENSATIONAL CONFESSION--THE POLICE ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE. Despite the small army of professional and amateur detectives at work on the case and the untiring labors of the missing man's friends, it was an accident rather than a clue that brought about the first important development of this sensational tragedy. On Thursday morning, May 9th, five days after the physician had disappeared as completely as though the ground had opened and swallowed him up, a stable owner named Foley, having barns on Fifteenth Street near Centre Avenue, entered the Twelfth Street Police Court while the hearing of a case was in progress, and informed Lieutenant Beck that a young man had been trying to sell him a horse and wagon and that he had agreed to purchase the rig for $10, in order that he might detain the supposed horse-thief until the police could be notified. Two officers, O'Malley and Halle, were at once sent to the barn. The man, upon being placed under arrest, at once fainted. Upon regaining consciousness, he was started for the station. His peculiar agitation was noticed by the officers, and one of them, in joking about a horse-thief having such a nervous temperament, made a slight remark in which he mentioned the name of Dr. Cronin. The prisoner evinced a strong tendency to faint again, and gasped: "I'll tell you all when I get to the station." The officers laughed. Their dull comprehensions failed to connect the remark with the trunk mystery. When the station was reached, however, and the attention of Lieutenant Beck had been called to what the man had said, he at once jumped to the conclusion that the horse was the one attached to the wagon that had hauled the mysterious trunk. He ordered the man into his private office and at once began to put him in what is known in police parlance as "the sweat box," or in other words, to put him through a rapid course of questioning. At first the man--a mild mannered young fellow, attired in clothes of cheap material, with bad complexion, square features, heavy jaws, and a pronounced squint in one eye--gave his name as Frank J. Black, although he afterwards admitted that it was Woodruff. He was, he said, 26 years of age, a Canadian by birth, and a railroad laborer by occupation. "I want to make a confession," he remarked, after the preliminaries had been completed. He was warned that it would have to be entirely voluntary, and that no immunity could be promised. To this understanding he gave his assent, and Sergeant Cosgrove, having been called in as a witness, the prisoner commenced his story: "A week ago last Wednesday," (May 1) he said, "I was in Sol Van Praag's gambling house, at 392 South State Street, playing poker. I lost $8, and, just before 11 o'clock, I got up from the table saying: I ought not to gamble, I can't afford to lose any money. Just then William H. King, an old friend of mine, who was standing by, said to me: 'I'll put you on the road to make a few dollars if you want to.' I told him I was willing," went on Woodruff, "and that I could be found at D. G. Dean's livery stable, at 406 Webster Avenue, where I was working. We had several drinks, and then went down State Street to Madison, where King left me. He did not say how I was to make the money. But last Sunday he came up to the stable in the afternoon, and called me out. We went into a saloon near by, and King said to me: 'I want you to get a horse and some light rig in which to carry a trunk, about 2 o'clock to-morrow morning, if you can. I want you to do it quietly, and be sure to come out before three or four o'clock. If you can't get out as early as that, I don't want you at all.'" Woodruff had been talking rapidly. He paused a moment for breath, and then went on. WOODRUFF'S LURID STORY. "The wagon was to be brought to a corner a few blocks from our stable, where King was to be in waiting. At three o'clock in the morning I hitched a white horse to a light wagon and drove to the corner, where I found King. He told me it was all right, and that there was $25 in it for me. King got into the wagon and told me to drive to the rear of 528 North State Street. When we got there, we met a man that I supposed was Dr. Cronin, also a sporting man named Dick Fairburn, who I knew to be a desperate character. They went into the barn and hauled out a trunk. The man I supposed was Cronin was extremely impatient and nervous, and urged the others to hurry up. They called him 'Doc.' and when he was inclined to get mad, Fairburn said, 'all right, Doc., we'll hurry.' When the trunk was put into the wagon, King and Fairburn got in and the rig started north, 'Doc.' being left behind. The horse was guided up the Lake Shore drive to the north end of Lincoln Park. Here a strange man in a high cart, driving a buckskin-colored horse, approached the wagon from behind, and the men told me to hurry out of the way. I turned off the road into a parallel driveway and went up about a quarter of a mile. Then King told me to stop. While going up the driveway, King gave me $25, and I heard him say: 'If we'd have let Tom alone, we'd have had the Doc. in here too.' When the wagon stopped, King remarked as he jumped off: "Here's where we drop Alice." "Then the trunk was opened and a stench came out. The horse became restless and I had to get out and attend to him. What I saw led me to believe that the body removed from the box was that of a woman in a mutilated condition. I saw a leg that had been cut off at the thigh. The corpse was wrapped in cotton batting. After the remains had been dumped near a clump of bushes, the batting was placed in the trunk, which was then thrown into the wagon. Then King said: "Leave us here. You drive on a piece and hide the trunk some way or another, and then go home." "I drove on for about fifteen minutes," the fellow resumed, "and then I stopped at a hole and threw the trunk into it. Then I made straight for the barn, driving as fast as I could. I reached there at five o'clock, and managed to get in without any one seeing me." "How was it possible for you to get the rig out without being detected," Woodruff was asked. "O, that's easy enough," he replied, with a laugh. "You could go there yourself, almost any night, and do the same thing. Howard (one of the employes) is usually out, seeing his girl, and as for Charlie (another employe), you might fire a sixteen-pound cannon under his ears, and he'd never wake up. I went to bed as usual that night, just about eleven o'clock, in the room near the stable. I lay quiet until I knew that the boys were asleep, and then I slipped out and went down the stairway to the floor where the horses were, carrying my shoes in my hand. I had left the wagon in the alley outside, so as to be sure of it." "What kind of a rig was it," asked the Lieutenant. "It was a red gear wagon, with a black box and a high dashboard in front. The doors leading to the barn are folding doors, which open easily, and the floor is sprinkled with sawdust. I got the horse out all right, after muffling its hoofs, and led it to the wagon in the alley, where I hitched it up. I am sure nobody saw me when I got back. Somebody used the mare later in the day (Sunday), and said when she came out, 'It doesn't seem to me she's fresh, to-day.' I heard it all, but I didn't say a word." Woodruff was sharply questioned, with the view of testing his veracity, but he stuck closely to his statements. He admitted that he had taken the horse and wagon that he was charged with stealing from Dean's stable two days before, and inquiry by telephone developed the fact that Dean had reported his loss at the nearest police station. The prisoner admitted that he had made up his mind to leave the city just before being arrested, because he was afraid of Fairburn, who had told him to say nothing about the midnight ride, and had warned him that if he "peached" he would kill him (Woodruff), if he had to wait twenty years to do it. Fairburn, he described as being short, heavy-set, with gray hair and moustache. He was a desperate man, and one not afraid to commit murder. King was about thirty-two, six feet tall, stout, dark-complexioned, and of gentlemanly appearance. No time was lost by Lieutenant Beck in communicating the developments of the day to his superiors, and Captains Schaack and O'Donnell were at the station as fast as horseflesh could bring them. The records of the two men mentioned by the horse-thief were first looked up, and both turned out to be hard cases. Fairburn was recognized from the description as a desperate thief, and who, under the alias of Neil White, had "done time" in the penitentiary. At one time he was a resident of Minneapolis. WOODRUFF GOES OVER THE ROUTE. As a result of the conference of the two police officials it was decided that, in order to test the truthfulness of the prisoner, he should be taken out and allowed to drive over the route that he claimed to have taken on that memorable Saturday night. Just as soon as darkness had set in this idea was carried into effect. Starting from Webster and Lincoln avenues, he proceeded directly to North State and Schiller streets, turned into the alley between State and Dearborn, and stopped in front of the barn in the rear of 528 North State street. This, he claimed, was the place from which the trunk was taken. From here the drive was north to North avenue, where he turned to the right, and struck the Lake Shore drive. Woodruff stopped the horse directly opposite the artesian well, and, pointing to a clump of bushes, told the officers that that was the place where the trunk had been emptied and the mutilated body taken out and left with Fairburn and King. This spot was directly below the sand-hills, and a little while before had been planted with evergreens and shrubbery. Resuming the trip, Woodruff drove straight and without prompting or hesitation to the spot where the empty trunk was found, on the Evanston road, north of Sulzer street. His course was along the Lake Shore drive to Belmont avenue, thence to Evanston avenue, and from thence north until the spot was reached. At the ditch he stopped long enough to explain how the trunk fell sideways on the ground, and in doing so burst open, the lid breaking off at one end. His description of the trunk corresponded in every detail with the one that at that time was locked away in the Lake View Station. What between the story and the trip, the police were considerably mystified. It seemed impossible that, even with the newspaper accounts of the disappearance and the details as material to work upon, a man of only average intelligence could invent such a story and strike the localities with such accuracy. At the same time outside investigation failed to substantiate what he had said. The keeper of the gambling house denied that any men answering to the description of King and Fairburn had ever frequented his place, or been seen in conversation with Woodruff, although he recognized the latter as an occasional visitor to the den. Liveryman Dean and his employes were equally positive that it would have been impossible for the horse and wagon to have been taken from the stable and returned without detection. Finally, the occupier of the barn scouted the idea that the trunk had been taken from that place as ridiculous, in view of the fact that it was always kept well locked and provided in addition with burglar alarms communicating with the house. Diligent inquiry in a dozen different directions failed to locate either of the two men named by the prisoner, or to corroborate any other portion of the story. But Woodruff, when confronted with these contradictions, held his ground well, even in the face of a vigorous cross-examination. His description of the mysterious "Doc" tallied with that of Dr. Cronin to the life. He was positive, moreover, that the corpse was that of a woman, not only because the men had referred to "Alice," or "Allie," but also because the hand that was exposed was soft and white and slender. This afforded ground for the theory that the remains might have been those of a woman who had fallen a victim to a criminal operation, but a little reasoning showed that this was untenable. It was hardly likely that King would have arranged with Woodruff to haul the trunk three days before the nefarious job was to be done, for he could not very well have known that the operation would result in the death of the victim and that, consequently, there would be a corpse to dispose of. Nor could the crime have been committed on the Wednesday, the day upon which Woodruff claimed to have been first approached, without the decomposing body attracting suspicion. The only effect, therefore, of Woodruff's first confession--for several more were to follow at later stages of the case--was to deepen the mystery and, incidentally, to start the authorities and friends of Dr. Cronin on another wild goose chase. The ponds and river were dragged a second time, sand hills and prairie trudged over for miles, until the weary and dispirited men were ready to drop the work as well as the idea that any connection existed between the blood-stained trunk and the disappearance of the physician. Twenty-four hours later, as an outcome of sinister influences that emanated from Canada, and which are dealt with at length in another chapter, the search was practically abandoned by almost every one concerned. CHAPTER IV. "IT IS A CONSPIRACY"--DR. CRONIN'S FRIENDS CLAIM THE MURDER WAS A POLITICAL ASSASSINATION--THE PUBLIC SCEPTICAL UNTIL STARTLING DEVELOPMENTS ARE MADE--THE PHYSICIAN IN DANGER OF HIS LIFE FOR YEARS--PREVIOUS ATTEMPTS TO "REMOVE" HIM--THE TROUBLE IN THE CLAN-NA-GAEL--CHARGES AND COUNTER CHARGES--THE BUFFALO CONVENTION--WHY HIS "REMOVAL" BECAME A NECESSITY TO CERTAIN PEOPLE. "He is dead I feel sure of it." So said Mrs. Conklin, when the news of the finding of the bloody trunk, the cotton batting, and the locks of matted hair, had been brought to her. "This is the work of political enemies" echoed Frank T. Scanlan. "Dr. Cronin has been the victim of a political assassination" was the immediate verdict of a number of prominent Irishmen of New York, Philadelphia and other places. And the developments soon to come showed that they knew whereof they spoke. But the general public, while it listened and eagerly discussed the mystery, was inclined to be sceptical. A political murder in the free, liberty loving United States. It could not be! Two Presidents had, it was true, been shot in cold blood by madmen; and in different parts of the country and on divers occasions men had been killed in scrimmages at the polls as a result of troubles growing out of election affairs. But these were not political murders in the general acceptation of the term, not the deliberate well planned taking of life; not the outgrowth of a conspiracy to "remove" some one whose particular political predelictions or position had rendered him obnoxious to those politically associated with him. "Such things might happen abroad it is true" said the sceptics, "but on American soil it would be an impossibility." DR. CRONIN AS A PROPHET. Dr. Cronin's friends were not among the sceptics. Very well they knew that there was more than ordinary ground for the fears they had expressed. There was abundant evidence that long before his death the physician had known that his life was threatened, and that any day might be his last. This knowledge, or belief,--it may be put in either way--was clearly outlined in a pamphlet which, under the title of "Is it a conspiracy," he caused to be printed and circulated among his friends a year before his taking off. In this document which, at the time was summed up by most of those that read it, as a mass of words and phrases without meaning to any one but the writer, Dr. Cronin clearly outlined the fact that he would meet his end by violent means. There was a key to the story which, when read between the lines after his disappearance, made its meaning clear to many of those to whom it had previously seemed but a jumble of incoherences. The closing paragraph, in particular, was an extraordinary indication of the prophetic spirit that had been generated in the physician by the dangers that he knew assailed him. "It strikes me that your funeral would be a largely attended one," was the question that he put into the mouth of the mythical reporter who was supposed to be interviewing him. "Yes," was the reply that followed "and the cause of death extensively inquired into." Prophetic words. How largely his funeral was attended; how extensively the cause of death was investigated; this volume itself is a record. The fact that his life was in danger had been the burden of Dr. Cronin's confidences to his friends for a year prior to that memorable night in May. More than once attempts had been made to lure him to isolated and unfrequented spots on the pretense that his professional services were required. On one of these occasions, so it is said,--although the doctor was always uncommunicative on this point--he barely escaped with his life from a house whither he had been summoned to attend a woman who was, in reality, feigning sickness. At another time he publicly denounced a man whom he believed had been sent from a distant city in the east to encompass his death. Still another time a local sport who had been hired by his enemies to "do him up" as the expression was used; inspired by feelings of gratitude from some indirect favor, had made a clean breast of the matter. Little wonder then that Dr. Cronin felt that he lived the life of a marked man, and that sooner or later, he would fall a victim to the machinations of those that were bent upon his removal. But why had he enemies? and why moreover was his death so greatly desired? CRONIN AND THE CLAN-NA-GAEL. The answer to these questions is given in the theory adopted by the officers of the law immediately upon the discovery of the body; which was subsequently endorsed by the coroner's jury, re-indorsed by the Grand jury; and in pursuance of which seven men were soon to be placed upon trial for actual participation or complicity in the crime. This theory was that the physician had fallen a victim of a conspiracy, covering two continents, its ramifications extending in numerous directions and involving people of high as well as low repute, and that this conspiracy had for its object his deliberate removal in order that certain secrets and information that he possessed, and which virtually affected the reputation, honor, and credit of certain Irishmen of international reputation, might not be given to the world. In order, however, that this theory may be made clear, it is necessary to go back to the beginning of the trouble. Almost from his boyhood days Dr. Cronin had taken an active interest in organizations that had for their object the liberation of Ireland from British domination. One of these organizations was the Clan-na-Gael. This was probably the most closely oath-bound of all the Irish Societies of this country or abroad. Its strength, moreover, was phenomenal. Although, owing to the secrecy which surrounded its annual conventions, no public reports of its total membership had ever appeared of record, it was generally believed and understood that it ran into many scores of thousands, and penetrated into almost, if not quite, every section of the North American continent. In age it dated back to 1869, its cardinal object being to establish in Ireland an Irish republic, to bring about fraternal feelings among Irishmen in the United States, and generally assist in the elevation of the Irish race. It affiliated with the old revolutionary organizations in Ireland, and moved on lines so nearly masonic in their secrecy, that in many parts of the country the clergy of the Catholic church either discouraged or altogether forbade the members of their flocks from becoming identified with it. Despite this fact, however, the order, almost from its inception, grew in strength, in wealth, and in influence. There was nothing in the obligation which would-be members were compelled to take, before being entrusted with the pass-words and other secret work that conflicted with their duties as citizens of the United States, except that the occasion might arise when it would be necessary for them to violate the neutrality laws. Every man, however, that joined the Clan-na-Gael, or, as it was more generally known to the outside world, the "United Brotherhood," knew that, as an Irishman or a man of Irish descent, his sworn duty was loyalty to Ireland, and that, were he called upon to take up arms in aid of any movement for the independence of Erin's Isle, it would be his duty to comply without question or demur. The membership of the organization was divided into districts, which again were subdivided into local lodges or "Camps." Each district had its general officer, to whose authority each local camp was subject, and the district officers in turn made up an Executive Board. This body possessed absolute and complete control of the organization in every particular. THE "TRIANGLE" IN POWER. It was not until 1881, when it had passed its first decade of existence, that the United Brotherhood first came prominently to the attention of people of all nationalities in the United States. In that year it held a national convention in Chicago. At this time its membership was at its height. Tens of thousands of men of Irish blood had become affiliated with it for motives of the purest patriotism, many others on account of the secret political influence which it was enabled to wield; and not a few because they thought they saw in it a source of livelihood and profit to themselves. Its treasury had swollen to large proportions, as a natural result of that section of the constitution which required every local camp to remit ten per cent. of its gross receipts to the Executive Board, and to faithfully keep the balance, save and except so much as might be required for running expenses, in its treasury for an emergency. It was from this convention that the troubles which afterward overwhelmed the order first dated. One of its actions was to so change the system of government as to confide the supreme control to an Executive Board of five men, of which number three formed a quorum. Alexander Sullivan of Chicago, Michael Boland of Louisville, and D. C. Feeley of Rochester, New York, were elected members of this Executive Board, and, working together, became both the majority and necessary quorum. This was the trio which was destined to become famous in after years as the "Triangle." Almost from the day and hour that the convention adjourned, the "Triangle" commenced to rule the order with a rod of iron. Despite the fact that when it came into power there was in the treasury funds, according to the best data that has been obtainable, aggregating a quarter million of dollars, a new rule was promulgated which required nearly the entire receipts of each Camp, instead of the former ten per cent., to be forwarded to the National Executive Committee. In justification of this remarkable step, it was quietly given out that matters connected with the objects of the organization indicated that an imperative demand was very shortly expected, which would allow of no delay, and in which much money would be required. As the funds had been raised for the sole purpose of assisting in revolutionary efforts, which, from their very nature had necessarily to be conducted with the utmost secrecy, no great objection came from any quarter to the transfer of the funds. The amount thus placed in the control of Alexander Sullivan, as chief of the Executive Committee, and of Feeley and Boland, his aids, was subsequently stated by men who knew, men of honor and integrity, men whose word in commercial transactions was considered as good as their bond, as being in the immediate neighborhood of the enormous total of one hundred thousand dollars. VICTIMS OF A "PHYSICAL FORCE" POLICY. What followed in the next few years is a matter of history. At irregular intervals the news of dynamite explosions in different parts of England, was flashed over the wires that spanned the two continents beneath the broad waters of the great Atlantic. So, too, was the news of the death, or capture and subsequent imprisonment, of those supposed to have been primarily concerned in these affairs. Oftentimes the arrests were made under circumstances which could lead to no other belief than that the victim had been deliberately betrayed. Between 1881 and 1885 twenty-nine Irish revolutionists were sent from America into English prisons, and in almost every instance the suspicion was so strong as to almost amount to a certainty that these victims were betrayed to the government, against which their attack was to be directed, before they had left the vessel which had carried them across the ocean. This is the record: ======================================================================== _Date of | | | Sentence._ | _Name._ | _Crime._ |_Sentence._ -------------+--------------------+------------------------+------------ 1881. | | | May |James McGrath |Attempt to blow up |Life. |James McKevitt | Liverpool Town Hall. |20 years. 1882. | | | Jan. 31 |John Tobin |Illegal possession of |7 years. | | nitro-glycerine. | July 31 |Thomas Walsh |Illegal possession of | 7 years. | | nitro-glycerine. | 1883. | | | May 28 |Thomas Gallagher |Illegal manufacture of |Life. |A. G. Whitehead | nitro-glycerine |Life. |H. H. Wilson | at Birmingham |Life. |John Curtin | and transfer of it to |Life. July |William Tansey | London Exposition at |14 yrs. |Pat Noughton | Weston House in Galway.|8 yrs. |Pat Rogerson | |12 yrs. |James Kelly | |2 yrs. H. L. July 30 |Timothy Featherstone|Illegal possession of |Life. |Dennis Deasy | infernal machines. |Life. |Pat Flannigan | |Life. |Henry Dalton | |Life. Dec. 21 |James McCullough |Outrages in Glasgow in |Life. |Thomas Dewanney | January, 1883. |Life. |Peter Callahan | |Life. |Henry McCann | |Life. |Terrance McDermott | |Life. |Dennis Casey | |7 yrs. |Pat McCabe | |7 yrs. |James Kelly | |7 yrs. |James Donnelly | |7 yrs. |Patrick Drum | |5 yrs. 1884. | | | July 29 |John Daly |Illegal possession of |Life. |J. F. Egan | infernal machines. |20 yrs. 1885. | | | March |Patrick Levy |Explosion at Mill street|1 yr. H. L. | | barracks. | May 18 |J. G. Cunningham |Explosion at Tower of |Life. |H. Burton | London, etc. |Life. Nov. 18 |J. Wallace, alias |Murder at Solihall. |20 yrs. | Duff | | ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This was a total of thirty-two men convicted of participation in dynamite explosions. The conviction of Wallace for murder grew out of his arrest on the charge of conspiracy. Two of the unfortunates died shortly after their conviction, one was pardoned, and of the remainder there were on October the 1st, 1889, twenty-two still confined in British convict prisons. Besides these, two other delegates from the United States, Captain Mackey Lomasney and a mysterious man, known only as Peter Malone, were supposed to have been killed in the explosion on London Bridge on the evening of December the 13th, 1884, while one more of the number, James Moorehead, better known as Thomas J. Mooney, who, with others, managed the explosion in Whitehall in 1883, was successful in escaping to New York. Some time after his return to the United State he made a full statement of the manner in which he was sent abroad for dynamite work, and furnished with money and methods of introduction to the agents of destruction on the other side of the Atlantic. CRONIN TO THE FRONT. For a time Irish fealty proved equal to the situation, and no outcry was raised because the treasure was wasted, the lives of brothers lost, and the sentiment of the whole world turned against the cause of the freedom of Ireland. Presently, however, a demand was made by the Executive Board upon the local Camps for more money, and dissatisfaction began to manifest itself. It seemed incredible that the immense sum which but a few years before had been at the disposal of the Triangle could have been absorbed, and that, as was claimed the order was thousands of dollars in debt. An investigation was demanded, and the Triangle responded with its rod of iron. It declared that opposition should be crushed out. Member after member, and then Camp after Camp was expelled. It was at this time that Dr. Cronin came to the front. He was a collossus. He insisted that the members of the organization had a right to know what was being done with their money, whether the immense amounts levied and wrung from patriotic Irishmen in America, had been well used, or whether it had found its way through other channels into the pockets of financial conspirators. The Triangle did not deign to notice him for a while, but his following increased from scores to hundreds and from hundreds to thousands, and it became evident that the bold, intrepid Irishman who had forged his way from poverty to an honorable position in the metropolis of the West was the man of all men of whom to be feared. The fiat went out that Cronin's expulsion from the order was necessary to the future safety of the organization. An opportunity was soon found. In his own Camp, Dr. Cronin had read a circular from one of the Camps that had been expelled, protesting against the action of the Executive Board. For doing this he was charged with treason. This was in 1885. He was brought to trial in Chicago before a committee consisting of Lawrence Buckley, Frank Murray, John O'Malley, Daniel Coughlin, the detective, who later was to be charged with participation in his murder, and Henry LeCaron, _alias_ Beach, afterward a British spy, and who had been introduced into the order by Alexander Sullivan. The latter acted as prosecutor. With such a trial committee it was little wonder but that the physician should have been pronounced guilty of treason, and that his expulsion from the order should have been decreed. The "treasonable" letter was as follows: THE "TREASONABLE" LETTER. The initials used throughout represent the titles in this order: "V. C.," United Brotherhood; "F. C.," Executive Body; "U. S.," United Sons; "D.," Camps; "I. R. B.," Irish Republican Brotherhood; "R. D.," Revolutionary Directorate; "S. C.," Supreme Council. HEADQUARTERS F. C. OF V. C., Sep. 15, 1885. _To the Officers and Members of the V. C. and of the U. S.:_ BROTHERS: In accordance with the call of the Committee of Safety a general convention of the V. C. was held in New York City, Aug. 3 and 4, for the purpose of taking the necessary measures to save the organization from the ruin which threatens it. A full account of its proceedings will be found in the printed report, to which we invite your attention. Having been chosen by the convention to fill a position of great difficulty and responsibility in the organization during this, the supreme crisis of its existence, we feel it to be our duty to lay before you the plain facts of the present situation, and to ask the assistance of every honest man in bringing about a remedy. We make this appeal without regard to the side you may have taken in the recent and present troubles, knowing full well that nine-tenths of the organization are in a state of utter ignorance as to the actual facts, and that honest men have been led to sustain wrong. We make it more particularly to those who are supporting and yielding blind obedience to men who have turned their backs on the I. R. B., thereby ignoring the fundamental principal which is the cause and object of our organization. If that support is withdrawn an effective remedy can be at once applied. That there is trouble you will not now deny, and that it is serious enough to menace the existence of a once powerful organization, and to threaten the ruin of the hopes that have hitherto stimulated our efforts for Ireland, every day will make more clear to your understanding. The efforts at concealment made by the men who created this trouble, the withholding of information as to the wholesale suspension of D's, and the mendacious assertions made in recent circulars, have all failed of the desired effect; and in every D in the organization, to-day, there is gloom and discouragement and members are fast falling away. No official denials, a thousand times repeated, can any longer conceal this fact. Every member from Maine to California can see it for himself. The truth is beginning to filter through the barriers set up against its entrance to the D's, by desperate men, whose characters depend on its suppression. The frantic efforts and reckless statements of the army of paid organizers, sent around to counteract the progress of truth and avert the exposure of wrong doing, are useless and unavailing. Many of these are the men under accusation of complicity in the fraud, and they now use your money to deceive you and prolong the reign of dishonesty. Their prevarications, contradictions, and shuffling evasions are doing more to establish the truth of the charges, against which they are vainly struggling, than the strongest statement made in the interest of right and justice, and a spirit is gradually growing up in the organization which will produce one of two results--reform and punishment of the evildoers, or disruption of the organization and escape of the prisoners. One or other of these results is inevitable. And whichever it is, it will be the clear and logical result of your action. Your withdrawal from the organization, in despair or disgust, will no more enable you to shake off your responsibility than if you give an active support to the criminals. Which result shall it be? The decision rests with you. If the men responsible for this wretched state of things cannot succeed in stifling all investigation into their misdeeds, they would prefer to see the organization smashed. "Dead men tell no tales." They know that an honest investigation would overwhelm them, and they are fighting for existence. Therefore they are determined there shall be none, and every D that demands one is suspended or left without communication. This conduct is capable of but one explanation. They cannot stand investigation. The question with them is, shall their personal reputations be destroyed, or the organization be ruined? and they have chosen the latter. Men with true instincts, and whose records were clean, would scorn to force themselves on any organization, to handle its funds and direct its policy, while under such accusations as have been leveled against the Triangle. Men with the real good of Ireland and of the V. C. at heart, would refuse to hold office at the expense of the unity and the efficiency of the organization. Looked at from any stand-point their conduct is indefensible and unpatriotic. No man fit for the duties of the high office, these men hold, would acquire it by such means or hold on to it when acquired. No men who honestly intended to aid the men at home to free Ireland--which is the fundamental principle of the V. C.--would begin their official careers by deceiving their colleagues in Ireland and persisting in carrying on any policy against their protest. Since the disastrous gathering, miscalled a convention, which met in Boston twelve months ago, the organization has been going from bad to worse. The deceit and trickery by which three members of the F. C. were enabled to continue themselves in power, and so to change the whole form and object of the order, as to make it a convenient instrument for the furtherance of personal ambition, at the expense of the sacred cause of Ireland, have continued to play havoc in our ranks. The strength and vitality of the national movement have been shattered. The oldest and strongest D's are being driven out one by one, and a system of repression of free speech and sham trials, copied from the worst features of British tyranny in Ireland, is brought into requisition for the purpose of crushing all independence of thought, and stifling the voice of patriotism. No honest man in the V. C., who sees and hears what is going on around him, can fail to recognize that ruin and disintegration must speedily make shipwreck of our hopes, if a strong and vigorous remedy be not soon applied. No intelligent man can fail to see that every effort of the three men who have usurped the governing authority of the V. C., every dollar intrusted to them for the advancement of the cause is being devoted to the maintenance of their power, and to the work of driving from the organization every man who charges them with wrong-doing, or who advocates an investigation of the charges made. That the aims and objects of the organization, and also its money, are being sacrificed to the necessities of the war of self-defense, waged by three desperate men, must be plain to every intelligent man, and it must be equally plain that an honest, impartial investigation of the serious charges, made against these men, would put a speedy end to all this trouble, by either convicting them of wrong-doing or their accusers of falsehood. In either case the organization would be freed from evil-doers and restored to harmony. Why, then, is such an investigation refused? The men who make the charges are ready to substantiate them and take the consequences. The accused men shirk an investigation, drive their accusers out of the organization, so that their evidence may not be available, and hold on with the grip of desperation to the positions they are accused of disgracing. Can any organization of intelligent, self-respecting men tolerate such a state of affairs? You who submit to the scandalous methods by which it is kept up are making yourselves responsible for irreparable injury to the cause you are sworn to serve. Let us recapitulate the work of the Boston "Convention," the charges made against the Triangle, the disruptive policy they have since pursued, and the remedy we propose. We charge that the three members of the last F. C., who now constitute the Triangle, are solely responsible for the evils of the present situation, and that deceit and trickery have characterized their action at every step. There is no statement of theirs, now promulgated, that is not made for the purpose of misleading the organization in regard to vital facts. These facts cover the postponement and change of form of the convention, the proceedings of that body, the relations with the I. R. B., the disbursement of the largest sum of money ever handled by any F. C., the authority and responsibility of the R. D., and the policy pursued. In short, they embrace every question of vital importance to the organization and to their characters as officers and members of the V. C. First--The Postponement of the Convention--It is claimed that these men had nothing to do with it--that it was entirely the work of the organization. Here are the facts: Those who were delegates to the Philadelphia National Convention will remember, that the subject was first mooted there _at the request of the three members of the F. C. in question_, in a caucus of members of the V. C. It was proposed by a member of D. II, and seconded by a member of D. I, and passed as a recommendation to the D's that they favor a change in the constitution, by which each district should elect delegates in proportion to membership to the National Convention. It was recommended in that form to the F. C. for promulgation to the D's. When promulgated it had undergone a remarkable change, by which each district was allowed two delegates, irrespective of membership. This would give a district, having then less than 100 members in good standing, the same representation as others having 1,500 members. The proposition of the F. C. was passed in some D's, with an amendment providing for representation according to membership, and a request that the amendment be submitted to all D's. The reply of the F. C. was that there was no time to do so, and yet about a year elapsed before the convention was held. Thus they secured a postponement of the convention under pretense of submitting a constitutional question to the D's, but so altered the question itself as to deprive large districts of representation in proportion to their membership, reducing the number of delegates to the convention, thereby making the work of manipulation easier. Thus, you see, the proposition originated with the F. C. was supported by them in caucus, and they voted and worked for its passage, and yet they tell you they had nothing to do with it, "that it was the work of the organization." This was the first part of the program by which they sought to deceive and hoodwink the organization, escape a proper accounting of their trusts, and secure a continuance in office. Let us now examine the second part of the program, or farce, played at Boston. The Convention--Notwithstanding the long delay and the evidence of elaborate preparation for the convention on the part of the F. C., the notice to the delegates was only given at the last moment. Both the first circular after the convention, and the so-called "report" of its proceedings, issued by the Triangle in the name of the delegates from each district, contained deliberate misstatements of facts. There was no Committee on Credentials, and the word of the Secretary of the F. C. was the only voucher for the genuineness of the delegates. There were three persons present who were not delegates, and one of the three presided. The composition of the committees appointed by the chairman, after dining with the men who controlled the F. C., and disbursed its funds, left every consideration of decency and bona fide investigation out of account. To investigate the work of these men, a Committee on Foreign Relations, consisting of two of them, and a man who was entirely dependent on them for information, was appointed. The Financial Committee consisted of three district members, two of whom were the agents of the F. C., in the "active policy," and notoriously their partizans. These committees, sitting jointly, and having out of the six members only two who were not previously concerned in the work of governing and spending the funds, had the coolness to report that "The Finance Committee are fully satisfied with the economy and prudence with which the expenditures have been made, and the Foreign Relations Committee find complete exactitude in the financial acknowledgments of the R. D., etc." That is, two members of the American part of the R. D., who had been receiving and spending, in the name of that body, vast sums of money, of which the three home members knew nothing, aided by two accommodating district members who had been helping them to spend the money, find "complete exactitude" in their own accounts. And then, on the plea that "lives of faithful and devoted men are in the keeping of each of us who have served on either of these committees," they appeal to be allowed to keep the knowledge to themselves, and assure the organization that they "individually and collectively agree that it is a misfortune that so many of us should have this knowledge." They describe their anxiety to "see in the flesh the officer in charge of the new policy"--a staunch confederate of theirs whom they appointed and who merely carried out their orders--so that they might, forsooth, determine whether economy characterized his work and their own. But the crowning hypocrisy of all was their desire to ascertain if the receipts "acknowledged by the Home Branch of the R. D., corresponded with those reported by the F. C., as having been paid out." That is, they wanted to see if moneys received and spent by the American Branch of the R. D., without the knowledge or consent of the Home Branch, were properly accounted for by men who knew nothing about them, and whose representative was kept away from the convention lest the truth should become known. And the men guilty of this shameless deceit and hypocrisy are running the U. S. to-day. Third--The Relations with the I. R. B.--Without the presence of an envoy from the I. R. B. the convention was dependent on the word of men, who admitted the receipt and expenditure of $266,000, and who are positively known to have received a much larger sum, for the genuineness of the account. They place $128,000 to the credit of the R. D., and $75,000 to that of the S. C. of the I. R. B., and they make it impossible for an envoy from Ireland to confirm or contradict the statement, by withholding information from him as to the time and place of the convention. They aver that they sent the information both by cable and mail, and yet there are letters at our disposal, dating from June to October, from a member of the S. C., complaining that they could not get the information they sought, and the last one affirming that the old address was still good for either cable or mail. No letter passing between the two organizations ever miscarried before that time, and others have reached the same address since. The F. C. were made aware of the non-receipt of the information, and if it was intended to reach the S. C. it would have been received. The true explanation for all this is found in the admission in the "report" of the convention of a radical difference of opinion between the F. C. and S. C., and of a determination to dictate to the latter body. There is not a shadow of doubt that three members of the F. C. who represent the V. C. or the R. D. usurped the functions of the whole body, and spent the money voted to it by the F. C., without the knowledge of the home members. By keeping away the one envoy of the I. R. B., and auditing their own accounts, and speaking in general terms of the R. D. as if they spoke for the whole body, they hoped to conceal this fact and secure a continuance of the fraud. We now begin to see why it became necessary to impose silence, by oath on the delegates, for the first time in the history of the conventions of the V. C. The report of the convention issued by the Triangle, and the tone of circulars since issued, show a deliberate purpose to prepare the minds of the members of the V. C. for a break with our brothers at home. Are such men worthy of your confidence? Fourth--The R. D.--The R. D. is a fundamental law of the V. C., protected and ratified by international treaty with the I. R. B. It cannot be altered or abolished without the consent of the I. R. B., and the consent of the D's. It was adopted by the Philadelphia convention of the V. C., by a unanimous vote in 1876, with the proviso, that it should become a law only when approved by a two-thirds majority of the D's. It was submitted to the D's, and after being discussed at special meetings in every D, was approved by much more than the necessary majority. It was then submitted to the S. C., and having been agreed to by them the R. D. was elected, and by a solemn treaty invested with the supreme authority in all revolutionary matters. The R. D. could not be abolished without the consent of both the contracting parties, nor its functions assumed by a minority of that body, or their confederate "in flesh," without the consent of the S. C. or consulting the D's, who created it, and that most accommodating body called the Boston convention, has empowered the Triangle to elect an R. D. or not, as they see fit. That is, to elect the whole body and run a boat of their own, as did the Flannigans at the Flood, with the assistance of their confederate "in the flesh." The R. D. provided the means of adjusting all differences between the two organizations, of adopting a common policy, of auditing all expenditures, and made out of previously disjointed fragments, one united Irish revolutionary body throughout the world. Every intelligent man will now perceive that the assumption of power by the V. C. members of the R. D. and their "officer in the flesh," as well as the action taken at Boston, means broken faith with the I. R. B., means secession, disruption, divided counsels, is a direct blow at the integrity of the national movement. We cannot believe that you will continue to condone this offense on the part of the present Triangle, or indorse this breach of faith with the I. R. B. Fifth--The other work of the convention--The mode of electing the Triangle is inconsistent with honest intentions and gives the organization no protection against wrong doing. The oath of secrecy, as to the whole proceedings, is absolutely without justification or valid reason. Its evident intention was to cover up the farce enacted by the committees. No reasonable member of the V. C. wants information, involving danger to men, within the enemies reach. But every man should know, who audits accounts covering hundreds of thousands of dollars, and insist on having some guarantee that an honest inquiry is made into the most important work of the F. C., viz: their relations with the men at home. The change in the oath bodes evil to the cause. What intelligent man will bind himself to promote all measures adopted by the Triangle, "whether known or unknown?" Are we to follow these men blindly in every enterprise to which fancy or ambition leads them, including schemes of American politics? This, brothers, is the true situation of the Irish National movement in America to-day. The only possible remedy is in a general convention, which will pronounce final judgment, and calmly and impartially set aside all men who stand in the way of union. We have appealed to the triumvirate for such a convention, as have many of you, in vain. They will never call it, for the simple reason that they dare not. The only possible means of securing it, and thereby ending this trouble once for all, is by your shaking off the lethargy that has overtaken you and joining hands with us. Your appeals and protests to your leaders will be met by hollow pretenses and subterfuges, such as have met all such efforts for the last year. Waiting for the "regular" convention means submitting to another farce and allowing the work of disruption to go on with accelerated speed. Come, frankly and openly to our side, and the settlement of the trouble will be in your own hands. We are empowered to call a convention at any time, when we see the necessity for it, without waiting for the period fixed, and it shall be called as soon as you say the word. Then let the culprit suffer, whether it be accused or accuser, and the unfaithful, incompetent, and factious step to the rear. The cause of truth, justice and patriotism will triumph, the confidence now broken be restored, the gloom now hovering over the organization dispelled, and with brightening hopes we will march on to the accomplishment of our object--the restoration of national independence under a republican form of government to our native land. Fraternally yours, THE F. C. OF THE V. C. X. F. G. (W. E. F.), Chairman. Y. F. C. (X. E. B.), Sec. All communications should be addressed to John C. Phillips care of P. O. Box 2049, New York City. CHARGES AGAINST THE TRIANGLE. But these vigorous measures, instead of crushing the opposition, served only to give it new life and energy. An organization, antagonistic to the Triangle, composed of men bitterly hostile to Sullivan, Boland, Feeley and others high in power, was brought into existence, and rapidly grew until it was equal in strength to the original Clan-na-Gael. It had trusty spies and avowed adherents in the older organization, and the bitter quarrel was also brought into other Irish movements. Sullivan and his aids gradually dropped out of control, first seeing to it, however, that they were to be replaced by men to whom their word would be as law. Still Cronin and those with him kept up their warfare. Numerous efforts were made to silence him, and twice in 1887 he was called as an expert witness in trumped up cases before two Chicago police justices, in the hope that his persecutors, by putting him on the rack of cross examination, might find some flaw in his life that could be made use of in lessening his influence, or some disgraceful scrape which might be held over his head, to make him heed the behests of the man into whose possession the secrets had come. This effort failed of its object, and the physician returned to the charge with two new allegations. One was that the Triangle had allowed the family of Lomasney to suffer for the necessaries of life, while funds that had been appropriated by a local committee of the Clan-na-Gael, which labored under the belief that the missing brother was in an English dungeon, had been withheld, and another, that Sullivan had gone to Paris, while Patrick Egan was an exile in the French capital, and demanded the sum of $100,000 of Land League funds to carry out the aims of the physical force men in America. According to this charge, the money was demanded to meet certain expenditures that had been planned in a convention of representative members of the Clan. Mr. Egan, so it was claimed, after a good deal of consideration, refused to turn over the money, and then Sullivan threatened to disrupt every Irish society in America unless his demand was speedily complied with. He pointed to the fact that there was a large and growing element among Irish-Americans that was dissatisfied with the management of national affairs, and was ready to revolt as soon as a leader turned up to direct them. A whole week was consumed in discussing the demand of the American emissary, and in the end Mr. Egan was convinced that it would be wiser to take counsel with some of his confreres before rendering a final decision. He told Mr. Sullivan plainly that he was opposed to granting so large a sum of money for any purpose whatever, but he was willing to abide by the decision of other men who had as close a knowledge as himself of the needs of the order at home and abroad. He offered to submit Sullivan's proposition to Sheridan, the famous No. 1 of the Phoenix Park Invincibles, and the leader of the physical force men in Ireland. Mr. Sullivan agreed to this offer, and Sheridan was called to Paris from Ireland by telegraph. Within a week after all the facts had been laid before him, he decided that the money demanded by Sullivan had better be paid than withheld to conciliate all factions of the Clan-na-Gael in America. In result it was claimed that Egan paid Sullivan $100,000 in cash, from the funds of the Irish National League, of which he was treasurer, and that the then chief of the Triangle brought the full amount with him when he returned home. Instead, however, of turning it into the treasury of the Clan-na-Gael, it was contended that only $18,000 was accounted for, and the balance of $82,000 was deposited in the Traders' Bank, to the credit of "Alexander Sullivan, agent," the full amount being subsequently withdrawn on account of certain speculations by Sullivan on the Chicago Board of Trade. That such a deposit had been made was confirmed some time later, when the bank in question failed and its records, as the outcome of legal proceedings, became public property. SULLIVAN ON TRIAL. But the troubles of the warring factions could not last for ever. There were influential men on both sides who wanted harmony, and were determined to secure it. Finally, the two sides came together at a convention held in Chicago in 1888. Peace was restored, and the Camps and individuals that had been expelled by the Triangle were declared to be again in good standing. It was decided that the accounts and acts of the Clan-na-Gael society from 1881 should be investigated, and three men were chosen from each faction as a trial committee. They were as follows: Dr. P. H. Cronin, of Chicago. Dr. P. McCahey, of Philadelphia. John D. McMahon, of Rome, N. Y. P. A. O'Boyle, of Pittston, Pa. Christopher F. Byrne, of Saxonville, Mass. James J. Rogers, of Brooklyn, N. Y. The sessions of the committee commenced at Buffalo, in 1888, but the fact that there were a large number of witnesses from points adjacent to New York City, induced the body to make a change of base to that city, and the inquiry was resumed at the Westminster Hotel during the heat of the Harrison-Cleveland presidential campaign. It was soon found that the hotel was altogether too public a place for the inquiry and a hall was hired in another locality. Alexander Sullivan, who, with Boland and Feeley, was present in person, entered a formal protest against the participation of Dr. Cronin, couched in the most vituperative language. It read as follows: SULLIVAN'S CELEBRATED PROTEST. NEW YORK, SEPT. 15, 1888. P. O. BOYLE, _Secretary_. DEAR SIR:--At the opening of this investigation in Buffalo I protested against the presence of P. H. Cronin as a member of the committee to investigate any charges against me. The committee decided that it had no power to act in the matter, but, through its chairman, said that I could file my protest in writing. Therefore I formally and in writing renew said protest. My grounds are First, he is a personal enemy; second, he has expressed opinions in this case; third, he is a perjurer and scoundrel, unfit to be placed on any jury. To the first objection I cite the men of the United Brotherhood organization in Chicago, from which he was expelled in a case where I conducted the prosecution. There is no question in Chicago of his personal hostility. Before the National League convention in 1886, his was one of the signatures to a circular assailing me, and he was a regular attendant at meetings hostile to me. This is so notorious to me from all parts of the country that it is not necessary to enlarge upon it, but if substantiation is required it can be furnished to an overwhelming degree. In the support of the second objection it is only necessary to recite the now notorious fact that Cronin was a member of the executive body of the United Brotherhood, and as such he was one of those who circulated charges against my former associates and myself. He therefore not only expressed opinions, but in his official capacity caused those opinions to be published and circulated. Your committee is chosen from two bodies, whose members differ on many points, but who all agree, or profess to agree, in denouncing unfair trials, biased juries and prejudiced jurors in Ireland, and yet I am asked, after a period of four years has elapsed since I was a member or the organization, to come for trial before a committee chosen in my absence at a place where I was given no opportunity to be heard, although I was within a few hundred feet of the place. While you ask the world to believe that you want a fair trial on one side of the Atlantic, you ask me to accept as a juror one who would be excluded in any civil court from a jury in a trial of a case in which I had an interest however trivial. I am told that it has been declared that if I do not appear before this committee I shall be denounced as one unable to defend himself against the accusations filed. So I was left with the alternative of being tried before a jury, with at least one perjured member, or being abused and villified for my non-appearance. And this is what the men who selected Cronin were led to believe was fairness. They should never again be so indecently inconsistent as to criticise the position of juries or courts chosen to try men in England and Ireland. Had he as much decency as an ordinary dog he would not sit in a case in which I was interested. As to the third objection to Cronin, I charge that the brand of perjury is so burned into the scoundrel's brow that all the waters of the earth would not remove the brand. He was a delegate at the district convention held in Chicago, March 23, 1884, that being the first one held in this district. After the constitution was so amended as to provide for the elevation of two delegates from each district, two delegates were elected at the very same session, one being chosen immediately after the other. Yet Cronin, after first officially reporting to his club that two delegates were elected, circulated a report that only one was elected, and stated that he would not be permitted to speak or to present any suggestions from his camp. Every such delegate at the convention has been sworn, and every one, including those who were with Cronin in the U. B. organization, testified that two delegates were chosen, that Cronin was present when they were chosen, that every delegate not only could speak, but was actually called upon to speak, and that every delegate, including Cronin, did speak. Cronin was expelled, a convicted liar, who added perjury to his slander. I have further investigated his record, and I find that in several matters outside of this organization he is also a perjurer. A record obtained from Ireland by William J. Fitzgerald says that Cronin was born at Buttevante, April 13, 1844. Cronin swears that he lived at St. Catherines, Canada, until after the assassination of President Lincoln, April 14, 1865. Captain McDonald, of No. 2 Company, Nineteenth Battalion of the Canadian militia, of which P. H. Cronin was a member, says that at its formation in 1862 or 1863 he had P. H. Cronin in his company, or shortly after its formation. He was known as the "Singer Cronin," and at the time of joining he took the oath of allegiance as follows: "I swear that I will bear true and faithful allegiance to her majesty, the queen, her heirs and successors." About 1863 positive orders were sent by the government that every man had to take the oath of allegiance, and that there were none under his command who did not take it. The record shows that Dr. Cronin's father, J. G. Cronin, was a British subject and continued in Canada up to the time of his death, so that P. H. Cronin until 1865 or 1866, when he left Canada, was a British subject, and if, as he claims, his father was naturalized in the United States before going to Canada, he voluntarily abandoned his American citizenship and resumed the position of a British subject. This P. H. Cronin voluntarily swore allegiance to her British majesty. Yet this creature swore in his name as a voter in St. Louis and voted in that city. He thought best not to come to Chicago and reside one year, but sneaked down to a county in Illinois, doubtless being afraid of attracting attention in Chicago, and swore that he arrived in the United States a minor, under the age of twenty-one years; that he resided in the United States three years preceding his arrival at the age of twenty-one years. He claimed to have been home in 1856, and not in 1844, and even if that were true, he was only nineteen years old when he left Canada, because he swore he was in Canada when President Lincoln was assassinated; that he came to the United States in 1865 or 1866, and yet he swore he resided in the United States three years previous to arriving at the age of nineteen, and thus secured his papers on this minor petition falsely sworn to. This side of Cronin's character, I submit, should be considered in connection with any report his malice and prejudice may dictate. I have not made any formal protest against the presence of Dr. McCahey on the trial committee, but it is well known that he has been active in publishing documents and interviews hostile to me, and it is at least strange that one who has been so engaged should be willing to serve on such a committee. Very respectfully, ALEXANDER SULLIVAN. The protest was overruled. The charges, five in number, filed by John Devoy, of New York, and Luke Dillon, of Philadelphia, set forth that no active work had been performed by the "Triangle" or its agents; that there was nothing to substantiate its claim that it had expended over $87,000 in active work; that it had basely neglected the families of men sent on errands of the Brotherhood; that bogus transfers had been issued to members of the organization as coming from Ireland, and that a district convention had illegally instituted. The trial was a heated one. Each side went to the hall every night backed by desperate followers. Letters threatening them death if a verdict of guilty was rendered were received by Cronin and McCahey. Suspecting treachery; the former took the precaution of making full notes of the testimony for his private information. When the evidence was all in a vote was taken on a motion to acquit. It stood three to three. Next a vote was taken to find Sullivan, Boland and Feeley guilty. This time it stood four to two, one of Cronin's colleagues deserting to the other side, and leaving the Chicago and Philadelphia physicians alone in their opposition to the Triangle. The question then arose as to the disposition of the evidence and a resolution was adopted that every record of the trial should be destroyed. Dr. Cronin demanded that the evidence should be published with the report, and sent to every Camp, but again the majority was against him. Thereupon he refused to surrender his private notes, and after returning to Chicago and consulting his friends, he determined that every man in the Clan-na-Gael should hear the story, and that a statement on the subject should be made at the meeting of the Irish National League of America, which had been called to assemble in Philadelphia in 1889. From this time on to his death, the matter was uppermost in his mind. A minority report, signed by the physician and Dr. McCahey, was filed with the executive, and a demand was made that it should be made public in the order. This was not done, however, simply because the majority of the Executive was attached to the "Triangle element," and, this avenue closed against him, Dr. Cronin contented himself with reading the report in his own Camp. It was this act, according to the subsequent theory of the prosecution, that, more than any thing else, cost him his life. Meanwhile he was industriously engaged upon the preparation of his papers for the prospective conventions of the Clan-na-Gael and Irish National League, his report of the New York trial proving invaluable to him in this connection; while he continued at the same time to periodically insist upon the publication of the minority report of the trial. On the very day upon which he was decoyed from home, the Executive Board was called together; and on the following day, (Sunday) an order was issued that Alexander Sullivan's protest, which branded the physician as a perjurer and a traitor, should be sent to every Camp. It was hardly to be expected that the adherents and allies of the ex-head-centre of the Triangle would contemplate the vigorous assaults of Dr. Cronin upon the reputation and official conduct of their erstwhile leader with equanimity. The temporary calm that had settled over the organization with the close of the Chicago convention and its treaty of peace, vanished like a fog before the noon-day sun; and strife and bitterness once more reigned supreme. Every camp had its faction that championed the one side or the other. Under the banner of the physician, as well as under the colors of his adversary, were ranged scores and hundreds of men who had left their imprint upon the Irish-American history of the decade. The physician had his Rends, Dillons, Devoys, Hynes, Scanlans, McCaheys; the lawyer his Egans and Fitzgeralds, O'Briens and Bolands. Effort after effort was made to induce Dr. Cronin to abandon his policy. Arguments, pleading, cajolery, threats--all were employed in vain. To one and all he had but one reply: "That he had put his hand to the plow, and that, God helping him, he would never turn back." For months before his disappearance, he believed that he was a marked man, and that, at the first opportunity, he would pay forfeit with his life for what he regarded as his unselfish devotion to the cause of his native land. Little wonder then, that those of his intimate friends who were familiar with these facts declared, as with one voice, that he had met his death at the hands of his enemies. Dr. Cronin's report of the trial, and which for weeks prior to the night of his disappearance, he had carried with him for safe keeping, were found in one of his garments in his residence after his failure to return home. The record in full is as follows: TELEGRAM. MARCH 13, 1889.--_Dr. P. H. Cronin, No. 468 N. Clark Street:_ Meet me at Westminster Hotel, New York, Tuesday evening, 15th, 8 o'clock. Peremptorily required on account report of committee to read. J. D. MCMAHON. Telegram dated Jan. 19 or 18, 1889, New York: _Dr. P. H. Cronin, Opera House, Chicago, Ill.:_ Ordered by the proper board that you send to me without delay your report on the trial. RONAINE. Dr. Cronin's reply as follows: CHICAGO, Jan. 17, 1889. _T. H. Ronaine, Esq., New York_.-- DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: I am in receipt of telegram, and in reply would say that I vote as I did at last meeting of committee in New York; with the recommendation that vote be published and read to the clubs. McCahey has correct record of my vote. Or, if not, please inform me. Fraternally, P. H. CRONIN. PHILADELPHIA, PA., Jan. 15, 1889. _To the F. C. of the U. S.--_ DEAR SIRS AND BROTHERS: The Trial Committee appointed at Chicago was unable to elicit all the facts connected with the charges placed before it, because of the refusal of several of the witnesses to answer many of the questions asked, and because of the inability of others to remember events and figures that might be supposed to be indelibly impressed on their memories. From the evidence presented I am obliged to report: 1. That the family of one who lost his life in the service of the order was scandalously and shamefully neglected, and continued to be neglected for two years after their destitute condition was known, and that Alexander Sullivan, Michael Boland, and D. C. Feeley are responsible and censurable for that neglect. 2. That Gen. C. H. McCarthy, of St. Paul, Minn., was unjustly and deliberately excluded from the Boston convention, and subsequently shamefully persecuted and driven from the order, and that Alexander Sullivan, Michael Boland, and D. C. Feeley are responsible and censurable for that series of reprehensible acts. 3. That delegate from home organization was excluded from the Boston convention, and that the same three defendants are responsible and censurable for that exclusion. 4. That the same defendants issued a deceptive report to the Boston convention, leading the order to believe that its affairs had been examined by independent committees, and that the order was $13,000 in debt; that, in fact, Alexander Sullivan and Michael Boland were on the committee of foreign affairs, and the Treasurer states that there was a balance in the treasury and not a debt. 5. That prior to the Boston convention one hundred and eleven thousand ($111,000) dollars was expended without any direct or indirect benefit to the order, and most of it in a manner that could not in any way have benefited the order, and that the same three defendants are censurable and responsible for this enormous and wasteful expenditure. 6. That this enormous sum was spent without the sanction or knowledge of the home portion of the R. D. 7. That various persons sent abroad were not supplied with sufficient funds, and that the agent of the Triangle is responsible and censurable for that criminal neglect, and not the three defendants. 8. That Michael Boland and the late Secretary of the I. N. B. issued fraudulent transfers, for the purpose of deceiving the order in Philadelphia into believing that the union with the home order had not been broken. 9. That Michael Boland and D. C. Feeley, the former by acts and the latter by assent, are guilty of attempting to pack the Pittsburg convention by, first, excluding the delegate from the Pacific Slope; second, excluding Mr. McLaughlin, delegate from Dakota; third, excluding O'Sullivan and Delaney, rightful delegates from New York; fourth, admitting the Rev. Dr. Betts and John J. Maroney, on bogus credentials from the bogus districts; fifth, admitting Boland and Malone, illegal delegates from New York; sixth, admitting proxies from Iowa, Brooklyn, and Illinois; seventh, sitting as delegates themselves in direct violation of the constitution. 10. That the $80,491, reported to the district convention as having been spent in active work was not spent for any such work, no such work having been done or contemplated during the eleven months within which this large amount was drawn from the treasury. The active work done between the Boston and other district conventions, was paid for out of the surplus held by the agent of the Triangle at the time of the Boston convention, and not out of the $87,491 drawn from the treasury months after such active work had ceased. 11. That Michael Boland and D. C. Feeley, the former by acts and the latter by silence, are responsible for the expenditure of this large amount of money, and censurable for deceiving the district convention as to the purpose for which it was spent. 12. That Michael Boland, Alexander Sullivan, and D. C. Feeley, the former by acts and the two latter by assent, illegally suspended D's in January, 1885, and that Michael Boland and D. C. Feeley, the former by acts and the latter by assent, illegally suspended U. D.'s in New York, in January, 1886. Yours, respectfully, P. MCCAHEY. I concur in the within and foregoing report, and would recommend, in strict fairness to all concerned, and in justice to the entire organization, that the evidence, from which were deducted the foregoing, be printed by F. C. and sent to each D. O. and by him read at the general meeting or district over which he presides. P. H. CRONIN. Signed Jan. 19, 1889. NOTES OF TESTIMONY. First meeting, Westminster Hotel, New York, July 30. J. D. McMahon, of Rome, N. Y., in the chair. Committee met, and after some discussion as to choice of chairman and secretary the matter was arranged by electing anew J. D. McMahon as chairman, and P. A. O'Boyle as secretary. Members present: McMahon, O'Boyle, McCahey, Rogers, Burns and Cronin. Letters and telegrams were read showing that none of the defendants were ready, owing to brief notice. Accusers on hand. On motion, committee adjourned to meet at Buffalo, N. Y., Aug. 20, 1888. Genesee House, Buffalo, N. Y., Aug. 20, 1888. Committee called to order. J. D. McMahon, President; P. A. O'Boyle, Secretary. Present: J. D. McMahon, P. A. O'Boyle, P. McCahey, J. J. Rogers, P. H. Cronin, C. F. Burns, Sullivan, Feeley, Boland, Ryan, Devoy, Trude, O'Neill, McCahey. On announcement by the Chair that the committee was ready for business, Mr. Sullivan stated that he had an objection to offer to the constitution of the committee. The chairman asked if it was to the committee as a whole, or to any particular person. Sullivan answered that it was to the personnel of the committee; that one of the committee was a malignant enemy of his (Sullivan's); that the same party was forever pursuing him with a design to injure him; that as an expelled member of the order, that party referred to ought not to sit in any committee. Continuing, Mr. Sullivan said that the party referred to was Dr. Cronin, who recently had made statements through a newspaper in regard to him that he knew to be false; that the newspaper editor (giving name of paper and editor) had sent him (Sullivan) a letter of explanation, and that for this and many other reasons he objected to being tried by the committee as constituted. Messrs. Feeley and Boland followed, both strongly objecting to Dr. Cronin. Boland said that though personally he had some objections to Dr. McCahey he would waive those objections and join with Messrs. Sullivan and Feeley in asking that Dr. Cronin retire from the committee, they being willing to accept any one in the room in preference. Dr. Cronin replied to this; said he thought it strange that Mr. Sullivan should speak of him as a malignant enemy. He (Cronin) had never characterized Sullivan personally as an enemy; anything said by him (Cronin) was directed toward the men whom he was given to understand had wrecked the organization. Sullivan was one of them, he understood, and only in connection with certain developments pertaining to the order did he say anything of Sullivan. If Mr. Sullivan believed everything told him by gossips he (the doctor) could not help it. "Indeed," the doctor continued, "why should I be the enemy of Mr. Sullivan? What has he done to me that I should, as he says, single him out for personal enmity?" As to the newspaper editor matter, the doctor said, that while not believing in introducing what savored of American politics, he could explain the newspaper affair by referring to the paper itself. Mr. Sullivan would certainly not make an affidavit to the statement that the paper had done what he said, for he (Dr. Cronin) had evidence that would readily disprove it. To this Mr. Sullivan replied that he did not want to make affidavits, but would say that the creature (referring to the doctor) should not sit as one of his judges; that he (Sullivan) could prove by a dozen men, who would not believe the doctor under oath, that he (the doctor) was an expelled member of the organization. [Then the paper mentions the names of three men.] Mr. Cronin said, interrupting Mr. Sullivan, that the gentleman evidently meant to irritate him or intimidate the committee. Mr. Sullivan said that he did not wish to intimidate the committee. Dr. Cronin then said: "Then you probably mean to intimidate me. That you cannot do, sir, and you ought to know it by this time. All the objections you urge were made at the convention, and by an almost unanimous vote, as the selection of that convention, I am the peer of any one here and doing my duty by the body that created me. I would not, if I could." Mr. Sullivan took his seat, overruled by that body. The Chairman asked all but the committee to retire, and, upon a vote being taken, the objections of the defendants to Dr. Cronin were overruled by the votes of the Chairman, Messrs. Burns, Rogers, McCahey, and Cronin, the Secretary not voting. This was announced to those making the objections, and the trial proceeded. Before the trial proceeded, Col. Boland said he had a witness whose expenses he wished to have guaranteed; that the witness resided at Leadville. On motion it was ordered that the expenses of witness be guaranteed. Col. Boland called attention to the fact that many persons present who were witnesses, etc., should not know what was going on. The Colonel said that matters of grave importance might come before the committee, and as it was common report that one witness had given information to the British Government, that John Devoy had given information to the British Government, he requested that none but the attorneys for prosecution and the defendants remain before the committee, each witness to be examined separately. Dr. Cronin objected to this, saying, that as Devoy had been singled out for animadversion by Col. Boland, it was not fair for the committee to extend support to Boland's unjust attack. On motion all but the committee retired. The committee then decided that each prosecutor should remain with the attorney and that witnesses be introduced separately; the defendants remaining also; the committee admitting all those entitled to be present, the charges were presented and specifications as follows: 1. That no active work had been performed by F. C. that had been claimed by that body and its agents. 2. The men on errands of the brotherhood had been basely neglected and their families left without support. 3. That bogus transfers to members of the organization had been issued as coming from Ireland. 4. That the district convention was falsely instituted, etc. 5. That F. C. members sat as delegates in that convention in direct violation of the constitution. The proof of charges had shown: 1. That they had claimed that $87,467 had been expended in active work. No vouchers were presented, no contracts, and no money, no account explained about. 2. Proof that such explanation was never made. 3. But little money given Mrs. McCahey; small sums given to men abroad; bogus transfers fabricated by X Y and others. 4. Convention illegally constituted at Pittsburg; proxies present, Boland and Feeley sitting there. Boland offered position as R. D. and money sent him that he might make statement that active work was engaged in. A witness testifies: Witness called to stand, after being duly obligated, testified as follows: Some time previous to the Boston convention I was called on by certain members of the order in reference to an offer of services made by me some time previously. After conference in relation to details I agreed to go to the other side. I went by steerage on ticket procured for me and received _£_20. After an absence of seven weeks I returned by steerage passage out of the amount received. Upon my arrival in America I met Donovan, who acted as agent for the body, and who paid me $50. Donovan was then in the employ of Gen. Kerwin. I complained of the small amount given me, but did not ask for more. Not enough was given me for the work expected to be done. Later in the same year I was again called on by Donovan, who asked me if in addition to myself I could furnish enough men to accomplish a certain amount of active work. He asked me would I go again I said yes. Looked up the men. It was almost impossible to find any. Got two men on steamer and one to accompany me to do work abroad. Everything being ready, I met Donovan at Green's Hotel, Philadelphia, in company with John J. Maroney. Donovan told me that Maroney would buy tickets for me by steerage. They cost $18 apiece and $100 was given me to carry on work. I told Donovan that on former occasions I had to go on vessel three days after work was done; that the sum now offered me was too little for the work looked for. I insisted on getting money enough for the purpose of safety, else I would not go. Donovan told me that sufficient funds would be furnished on the other side. He stated his reason for not giving me more before leaving was that men engaged in similar work had been arrested on landing on the other side; that my carrying a large sum might excite suspicion. That was satisfactory to me, especially as I was given the name of the agent on the other side who was to furnish funds as needed. I left the room and sent in ---- (another man), the one that was to accompany me. Maroney left the room with me. This other man told me he received the same amount that I did. Maroney then told me he was glad I refused to accept the sum offered me as total compensation for the work. He also said he did not believe it was the wish of the F. C. to do as the S. had said. He promised to see the F. C. and demand money from them, and should they not give it he would send me help on the next steamer by a trusty man. On the way over I had to pay over _£_2 for certain accommodations on steamer. After being on the other side nine days, taking care not to excite suspicion, I had but _£_10 left. I then went to Capital City, and met the man who I was told was the agent and would give me money, and I told him I wanted some help, as I was short of funds. I asked him for _£_10. He denied having any money for any such purpose; he had no more than he required for actual expenses, and hardly that. He said all he had received upon leaving was $200. Objected to by Boland, who asked to know how witness knew the man was agent. Witness--I was told by Donovan in the presence of Maroney that upon my arrival on the other side I would get funds from the man mentioned. The man then went on to say, that owing to the circumstances he might be obliged to stay for a year. He had worked at his business for some time, but was doing nothing now. I then said I would return at once to America. He said he would at once ask something for me from Ex. I replied that if he did not get funds I would go back. Before leaving I asked him where would it be necessary to do the work. He said he did not know; things were looking queer; that he was sure he had been betrayed by some one. Question by Mr. Ryan--What became of this man? Witness--He is now in prison. His reason for thinking he was betrayed was that two men had called at his lodging asking for him under his assumed name. I told him to change his lodging. But soon after I was told he had been followed up by the same individuals, whom he had suspected were detectives. This alarmed him much. At his request work was delayed six weeks. I at last told him I would do the work. There were four of us. At various times I asked him if he had received any money from Ex. He said no. He seemed so careful that my men deemed it cowardice. I called his attention to this before the men, saying we looked for courage at this time. He repeated before us that he believed he had been betrayed, for, though he had changed his lodgings several times, the party he suspected as being a detective had called upon him at each place. Exception by defendant. To which was said: I finally induced him to give orders to do the work. This was Thursday. Saturday we did it. After the work was done I met him that same evening. He remained in Capital City seven days afterward. I was so reduced for funds that I prevailed upon him to give me _£_4 of the _£_16 he had left. On landing in this country had _£_3-1/2. Had no bed nor bedding on the ship; slept on the top side of a plank. This in answer to a question by Dr Cronin: I at once complained to Donovan and Maroney, and through them to the executive, or Gen. Kerwin, of the treatment I had received and the culpable neglect of the F C. About the last of February, 1885, Donovan furnished me $10 with which to reach home. The man in charge for the order made me take an oath before leaving to bring the matter before the order. I always supposed Kerwin was a member of the executive. Before leaving America I told Maroney I would take an alias known to me; my alias was the proper name of a man. The imprisoned one bore the alias given to me. This was the agent. He was four miles from the place we worked at. Only three of us did the work. Question by Mr. Ryan--How much money in all did you receive? A.--Four persons in all. $500; of this the agent got $200. We were two months in the country. Then the witness makes a statement that the other man who went with him, whose name I did not read the last time--this man came back six months after. At an expense for material, I should think, of $7,400 in all to cover the enterprise. Q.--How many operations did you perform? A.--Three. We always bade each other good by after each meeting, thinking it might be our last meeting on earth. I have learned that in order to get back, the other man who went over with me had to sell his clothes to get passage money. He came with a sprained ankle. In July or August, 1885, he received $7 from Maroney. I took up Rossa's paper one day and in it I saw an announcement of a subscription to keep the mother of Cunningham. I went to Maroney, and after telling him it was shameful that she should be allowed to suffer so he said he would see to the matter. Spoke of Gen. Kerwin as being asked to send some help; said he would not. I said if they didn't I would. Kerwin then came to my home and said I ought to be expelled; I told him he ought to send help to the woman; he said he ought not as the man himself had abundant means; I finally induced Mr. Ryan to get F. C. to send something. One hundred dollars was sent through D. 18, who sent it through F. C., and I was informed of S. G. of 18. A few months after I met a lady of Detroit who told me that Capt. Mackey's wife was in want; he was killed in London and was assured, I am told, that his family would never want. Lomasney, and his brother, accompanied by Fleming, went over in 1884. I wrote to Cochrane, and both assured me that Mrs. Mackey was in want. At once $1,025 was raised and sent to Detroit, where matters were found to be even worse than they had been represented. In the case of Dr. Gallagher, his people were in want. Mr. Delaney had recovered the money on the doctor's person, but that was only a small sum, and most of it was being used in his defense. On consultation, met D. in New York. One hundred dollars was raised and sent to Mrs. Gallagher. I requested that the men on trial on the other side should be defended. Gen. Kerwin said that friendless men were better off in such cases. I raised _£_50 to send to Jack Delaney's sister. Witness produced five forms of transfer, purporting to be in accordance with the rules of the combined order, but which were shown to be bogus. Witness said: I wrote in the early part of June, 1886, for transfers for certain persons in Philadelphia, who had been clamoring for admission into D. I said it would do a great deal of good to be able to show that we were in opinion with the folks at home. Within four days I received six, of which those five are a part. McMahon, Burns, Henry, Gallagher, Henry, the witness testifying. Leonard stated to me-- Objected to by the defendants. Some time before the Pittsburg convention, witness was called upon by P. O. Sullivan and J. J. Delaney, who had learned that he was a delegate to the convention. They said they represented eleven D's, and that in order to seat Boland and Miller, Sullivan and Delaney had been thrown out by the suspension of D. Mr. Boland objects to this. Mr. Ryan and I protested at the convention and asked that Delaney and Sullivan be seated. We stated that a good member of the executive should sit as a delegate in the convention; for the same objection, we objected to Mr. Feeley and Mr. Gleason. Each of these men voted to seat the other. We objected to the proxies from Chicago, Messrs. Tim Crane and Florence Sullivan, the latter proxy for Father Dorney. The other said he represented Alexander Sullivan. It having been stated that district S. represented or had been represented by virtue of a cablegram sent to Gleason and Sullivan, Boland requests them to act for Australia, and that John J. Maroney and Dr. Betts were admitted as proxies. We asked the secretary if any money had been sent by this district in any communication had before the receipt of this cablegram. Secretary said he hadn't had any communication with S. at all. The communication was with Alexander Sullivan and Michael Boland. We then asked how the Australian cablegram came here, by which route. The secretary didn't seem to know. Mr. Ryan then informed the convention that all cablegrams reaching here from Australia were recorded in the London post office. For this reason he thought it highly improbable that any such message came to the gentleman mentioned. Here Mr. Sullivan denied having been appointed delegate to the convention, or that his brother Florence represented him there. The Witness--I was R. D. at that time in place of Gen. Kerwin. Before my election as delegate I never acted as R. D. There was no connection with the home body. I received $500 from Mr. Ryan, which it was said I was to use as my judgment dictated. I asked Boland if I should do any active work outside and kept a lookout for it. I spent money afterwards in trying to right the order. CROSS-EXAMINED BY ALEXANDER SULLIVAN. Q--When and to whom did you complain on your return to this country? A--To Donovan. Q--You made no complaint to the executive directly. A--No. By Mr. Boland--How did you get the money, the $500. A--In cash. This was three months before the convention. Q--Did I ask you to get the amount right as representing R. D.? A.--I told you I had them on the ship. Q.--Has any difficulty since that made you say why you were on R. D.? A.--No. Q.--Were you a delegate at the time you got the money? A.--No. Q.--Were you appointed on foreign relations or finance committee? A.--No. Q.--Pending the discussion of the report you left the convention? A.--I left, claiming it was not a convention of the order. Q.--You don't know who I appointed? A.--No; I was not in on permanent organization. Q.--You don't know of operations outside of your own? A.--No. To Mr. Rogers--I voted at the convention under a vote taken on various motions. By Mr. Ryan--Do you know of any work having been done between Jan. 20, 1885, and the district convention. A.--No. Q.--How much did it cost for Mackey's work? Objected to by Feeley. Q.--When did you get that $500. A.--The check sent by Boland and Ryan will show I got the money from Ryan, but he received it by check. Constitution of the order offered in evidence. Examination of another witness. Obligated, name, etc. My knowledge when I was elected D. M. to fill vacancy, caused by resignation of John J. Marony. In July, 1885, his resignation was demanded by the district. In October I went out as an organizer for the National League through the west. Nov. 23, I spoke at Philadelphia. Several seniors mentioned that Dillon was in straightened circumstances. I promised to see the executive. I saw Gen. Kerwin, D. M., of New York. He said when I mentioned the matter to him, that he had no power; that this was not an order to grant pensions. He would see Boland. I met Boland by arrangement. He listened to what I had to say, and at first refused to assist Dillon. Finally he said he would consider the matter. Then he authorized me to pay $200 of obligations maturing. I advanced this myself, and got it back in December, 1885, and I saw Gen. Kerwin, and told him he should send money to Mrs. Cunningham; that the lady was hurt on the subject of her being neglected by us. He said he would send it. In December, 1885, it was rumored that our convention would be held in January, 1886. I was told by Kerwin and Boland that Egan wanted to retire from the Presidency of the league. I was asked by them to accept the Secretaryship of the league. This I refused. It was said considerable trouble might be looked for in any case; about the last of December I was sent for to go to New York. I saw Boland and Kerwin together at this time, as well as in January and February. Had interviews with Kerwin and Boland on the subject of the convention and like matters. Mr. Boland asked me why I would not take the Secretaryship. He said the plan for holding a convention of the order had been abandoned, as the L. R. then did not take place. Men would get out and I would not be selected as President of the league. Some time after this I received the following letter from Kerwin: "_My Dear Sir:_ (Giving the name.) The Chicago people have asked for you for the 4th of March. If you will take my advice you will take no office in the league." I was led to believe about this time that the organization intended opposing Parnell, owing to his recognition of others. Boland and Kerwin both said this. (Interrupted by Boland.) Is that your recollection of what took place? A.--Yes. Various letters were shown. (Exhibit B.) These exhibits were not found among the physician's papers. Q.--By Mr. Rogers--What did you give the money to Dillon for? A.--The money had been given me as a general resource. I did not want to go into active work, and suggested Dillon. I gave him the money. Boland authorized this by a letter to me. [Letter read.] Dillon had convinced me that the F. C. hadn't done fair; in fact, I felt that Boland was trying to play me, and I wished to return the compliment. Q.--Did you want to accept the Presidency of the league? A.--The slate was Baldwin, Minton and Carroll for F. C., and myself as President of the league. I knew that my age was a bar to my acceptance. Then I was going to attack the ones in authority. I attended the convention. Carroll was temporary Chairman; Reynolds was elected permanent Chairman. Convention went into Committee of the Whole. It was reported that Father Dorney could not come because he had trouble with the Bishop, and that Alexander Sullivan was absent because British detectives were shadowing him. I held that no member of the executive could sit as a delegate; quoted the constitution; no exception to my doing so; the fact was as stated by me. The last district called was Q. For R. we were directed to apply to the Secretary. District S. was named. I objected to this as no mention had been made of it in our report. I asked "Where is it?" I was answered, "Australia." Its representatives here are Maroney and Betts. They said they represented Boland and Sullivan. I asked if there was any organization in Australia? I was answered there is one in contemplation. The Secretary said Betts and Maroney were there by order of the executive and by order of a cablegram sent to Sullivan and Boland. Sullivan is said to be not a member of the order and Boland represents New York. They had earlier said that Sullivan was shadowed by detectives. I then showed how the cablegram had come from England. Letters had been left with the President by Boland. Districts H. and B. declared they would leave the convention. We refused to take any part. Did not return. Motion to expel seceding members carried by a vote of 20 to 5. Q.--By Mr. Boland--The conversations were in the presence of Kerwin, were they not? A.--Yes, many of them. Q.--Did the matter come up in relation to your treatment at Chicago? Some of it took place before you were elected? A.--Yes. At district meeting of S. J. Kerwin was present as the representative of F. C. The district requested me to accept. Had no conversation with you until months after. Q.--By Mr. Feeley--Did you present any objection at district convention as to your statement as to district? A.--No. Because I knew nothing of any other district. Q.--Did you present any evidence, other than your statement, in relation to any of the acts mentioned? A.--No. Because I was not aware of any man elected. Q.--Do you recollect that a vote was taken in regard to District A.? A.--Yes; if you have any doubt I can refer you to mem. Q.--Do you recollect my opposing the representation of Australia by any person in that body? A.--No; you spoke to me, however, and said to me that I should not oppose it; that you were as anxious as I, for you had been ignored or not consulted for eighteen months. You voted to seat Australia. Q.--You charged that the executive used the funds of the organization to pay Maroney's debts, did you? A.--No. In August, 1884, Maroney was a porter in a store on Market street. Soon after he was D. M. of three counties surrounding Philadelphia. He went into the gents' furnishing goods at No. 2400 Kensington avenue. He got $400 from the executive; check on the Continental Bank, exchanged to his credit. Afterwards he went into debt $600 to McDermott (Black Jim). This amount the executive paid to McDermott. I saw the $600 paid him. I made the fact known to the convention. [Mr. O'Boyle interrupts.] Q.--What was the relation between Maroney and the executive? A.--I don't know. Mr. Rogers--What did Maroney say when you gave him the money? [There is no answer to that question.] Mr. O'Boyle--Upon whom was the check drawn? A.--All checks were signed by Kerwin for the executive. Mr. Rogers--Had this not been a prior date? A. No. Mr. Feeley--Was your charge denied by Maroney? A.--No, he said the money was furnished by the executive for work until he should earn enough to pay it back. Mr. Feeley--When was Maroney's debt paid? A.--Some time in December. Q.--Did Maroney do any work after that? A.--He acted as detective in Iowa. He went with Sullivan and Boland to St. Paul. Dr. Cronin--Did the term report show any loss to Maroney? A.--I could not say; the time was from August, 1885, to August, 1886. Examination of another witness, a member since the beginning of the old organization. Q.--Did you know Capt. Lomasney? A.--Yes. Q.--Do you know of his having left on a certain motive? A.--Yes, three or four times since his imprisonment as Mr. O'Sullivan in 1867. Q.--Do you remember the last time he went? A.--Yes; in August, 1884. Q.--What did he say to you on the subject of his work? A.--I was closer than a brother to him. Our families had constant intercourse. I offered him my hand the day he told me of his project; had little help. Wife saved a bed. Q.--What family had he? A.--A wife and four children and an aged father. Q.--Who were with him? A.--His brother Jim and Mr. So-and-so. Q.--Have they been seen since? [No answer to this.] Q.--What was Mrs. Lomasney's condition before his going? A.--A most outrageous case of neglect. Flemming's mother died in the poorhouse. Q.--Did you ask for help? A.--Yes; in 1885 I went to New Haven. We had no directors. I called upon Dr. Wallace. He was D. Saw Mulvaney and Condon. The latter went with me to Carroll. He professed utter ignorance of the whole affair. I said: "By God, you must see her;" her, Mrs. L. He decided to. Mulvaney said: "Why don't you see Boland?" Found him on Fifth avenue. He denied all responsibility. He would have nothing to do with it. Finally he claimed she had received much money. I said she did not. He was non-committal. His acknowledgment made him responsible. Q.--Did you see Carroll at New York? A.--Yes. We met him at Vesey street. He left me to go into the _Herald_ building and brought me $100. I refused this. I told him I didn't come for money. I said: "You know how to send this, as you have the others; if you respect the memory of the dead and the widow and the orphan, made so by your act, do your duty by all." Q.--Until August, 1886, what was her condition? A.--Poverty-stricken; no coal, no clothing; nothing left her but misery and her pride. Our S. G. would not give the channel of communication. He read our resolutions; whether he ever forwarded them or not I did never know. He is dead. He told the committee of D. that the organization was not responsible. Mr. Rogers--You swear you called the attention of Boland and Carroll to her condition? A.--Yes; and not until somebody came to us with $1,025 did the poor woman have any adequate support. By Dr. Cronin--Did Lomasney attend the district convention held in Chicago in 1884? A.--No; he was not elected. Q.--Was any one elected from your D.? A.--No; we noticed it much. We could not account for our D. having no representation. Q.--Would Lomasney tell you if he had been selected a delegate by any one outside of D.? A.--Yes, and we would have been aware of his absence. Q.--Would he have gone there, if not elected a delegate? A.--No; he was the soul of honor, and despised trickery; he did not care for office; never held any in his life except in danger. Mr. Boland--Did you see him at Boston? A.--Walsh told me he had no control. S. G. contended that the organization had no responsibility. In 1885 John Maroney called; said he had been especially sent. They had come for a little money; gave $10; Lomasney had nothing. N. Y. D. S. raised and sent $150. More was raised and suppressed. In 1887 the sheriff put Mrs. L. out on the street. No home was ever bought for her. Question by Mr. Dillon--Do you know that Mrs. L. is an economical woman? A.--Yes. People began to talk of her and sent an organization to me to say that she was extravagant; talked of her husband's taking off, which prejudiced many, and her rent was raised. She had been paying $30 a month; no general increase; the landlord wanted her put out. Mrs. Lomasney examined. [Upon Alexander Sullivan's request not sworn.] Husband went away in August, 1884. Q.--How much money have you received from the organization since? A.--A thousand dollars altogether. Q.--How much since? A.--In the summer of 1885 I visited Alexander Sullivan. I went to inquire after my husband, as I was led to believe he was in possession of certain funds; he did not know my condition, nor did he relieve me. He did send for a ticket to Detroit with which I returned home. Q.--When again did you call upon Mr. Sullivan? A.--In August, 1886, I made known my condition, and after advising me to sell my little store, he asked me a schedule of my liabilities: $200; he would attend to the matter. He gave me no money, nor offered me any. He seemed anxious that I should not communicate with any one in the city. He asked me if I was acquainted with any one. I told him of James Q. Mr. S. said I should not mention his (Sullivan's) name to any one, etc. Called on Q. He talked to me about Father Dorney. No help. Met Col. Richard Burke, and he, with some friends, assisted me, I know that Mr. Sullivan was the one that had a right to attend to this. Was afterward amazed that he did not. The dress I wore was a borrowed one. John Hickey was S. G. Several weeks after I went to Mr. Sullivan and asked him a loan of $100; this he sent me; nothing since. I could not give up the store, as that would confirm the belief that husband was dead or in the business. Thomas Tuttle was the first to relieve my necessities. CROSS-EXAMINED BY ALEXANDER SULLIVAN. Q.--You saw me in 1886, was it not? A.--Yes, certain. Another $500 came from Brooklyn. I had a letter sent by my husband when he was in Europe, inclosing one from Mr. Alexander Sullivan, in which he said, in my letter, he asked for money. I afterwards received a note from my husband saying he had received money from Mr. Sullivan; I don't know the amount. Here Mr. S. admitted that Lomasney was sent by the organization. The last letter from husband was in 1884; anxious to go home. His age 44. Examination of another witness. Evidence corroborates that of the first witness taken. Received _£_20 and one steerage passage six weeks after the first witness. No shoes. Sold clothes and trunk to get home. No bed. Here the notes abruptly ended. CHAPTER V. STRANGE INFLUENCES AT WORK--MISS ANNIE MURPHY THINKS SHE SAW THE DOCTOR ON A STREET CAR--HIS LONG AND MYSTERIOUS RIDE WITH CONDUCTOR DWYER-- REPORTER LONG ALSO ENCOUNTERS HIM, THIS TIME IN TORONTO--THE POLICE AND PUBLIC SATISFIED BUT HIS FRIENDS STILL ANXIOUS--EFFORTS TO PROVE HIM A BRITISH SPY--A BIG REWARD OFFERED. Less than a week had elapsed from the events narrated in the first chapter when sinister rumors commenced to gain circulation. It was whispered about that the alleged "mysterious disappearance" was in reality no mystery at all, that the physician had not been decoyed from home; that he was alive; that he had left the city of his own free will, and that the whole affair had been concocted for sensational purposes, the motive for which would be brought to light so soon as the cardinal objects had been attained. It was further hinted that the physician was inclined to be extremely erratic at times, that his love of sensationalism bordered on a mania, and that such a performance as that of May 4 was entirely in a line with his methods. A STREET CAR "CLUE." On the heels of these rumors came positive statements of alleged facts. It was first claimed that Dr. Cronin was seen on a street car two hours after he had parted with Frank Scanlan outside of the Windsor Theatre Building. Miss Annie Murphy, an employe of the City Recorder's Office, was responsible for this story which was made public a few hours after the arrest and "confession" of Woodruff. A comely and talented young lady, with a reputation as an elocutionist of no mean ability, she had frequently figured on the programme with the physician at Irish demonstrations and Catholic entertainments. Consequently she knew him well, and what she had to say commanded general attention, and a large degree of confidence. It was not known at this time, however, that her father, Thomas Murphy, was a prominent member of the Clan-na-Gael, and an officer in one of the local camps to boot. Miss Murphy's statement made on May 9th, when the popular excitement was at its height, was to the effect that she had seen Dr. Cronin on a Clark Street car shortly after nine o'clock on the night of his disappearance. "I had been paying a visit to friends on Garfield Avenue," she said, "and left at nine o'clock, taking a Garfield Avenue car. At the corner of Clark Street this was attached to a cable train. When we reached Division Street, I looked into the cable car, and I am positive that I saw Dr. Cronin sitting in it, his arms folded and his head bowed as if in deep thought. He did not look at me, nor could he have recognized me if he had, as it was dark outside, while the car in which he rode was well lighted. He had an oblong bundle of some kind resting upon his knees, over which his arms were folded. When I read in the papers on Monday morning that Dr. Cronin had disappeared, I told father that I had seen him, and we both laughed at the idea that the doctor had been murdered. When I reached the office, I told the same story." "You are sure that the man was Dr. Cronin?" "Just as sure as I am about my own identity," was the reply. CONDUCTOR DWYER ADDS A "LINK." Equally positive was the statement of William Dwyer, the conductor that had charge of car 415, and it convinced a good many people who had been inclined to the belief that Miss Murphy had been mistaken. Two weeks later, when the body of the murdered physician had been brought to light, Dwyer suddenly became an invalid, resigned his position and went to Canada "for his health." This fact gives additional significance to the circumstantial story that he told at the time. "My regular run," he said, "is on the State Street horse line, but I was called up to the limits barn Saturday night to take the place of Conductor Humphrey who got suddenly sick. I was put aboard of car No. 415, one of the big, long ones. It was just 9:18 o'clock to a second when we left the barn. There was not a passenger aboard. When we reached Frederick Street a tall, good-looking man with a heavy mustache, and I think a plug hat, got on. I took particular notice of him, because he was a striking looking man." "Where did he sit down?" "In the middle of the car. He faced east." "Did he have any parcels?" "Yes. I remember that he carried a little box or case. I think it was black. It was made of highly polished wood." "What did he do with it when he sat down?" "Put it in his lap and leaned his arm on it." "Did you notice how he was dressed?" "No, not particularly, except that he was well dressed. I saw he had a kind of a round bundle in his lap, too. It was a queer color--a kind of light red or pink." "Are you sure about that?" "Yes, because I noticed it particularly as I passed through the car. My attention was first attracted to it by a kind of white stuff that stuck out of the ends. It looked like white cotton, and when I passed through the car I brushed against it and a small particle of cotton clung to my coat." "Do you think your solitary passenger was under the influence of liquor?" "No, I don't. He walked straight and seemed to be sober. He was only abstracted and preoccupied. I noticed when we were passing the Windsor Theatre that he looked through the open windows of the car at the building with more interest than he had shown in anything else." "How was it that you noticed him then?" "Because he leaned forward as far as he could, and I guess I hadn't much else to look at just then." "Did he get up as if he intended to leave the car?" "No, he didn't; he kept his seat." "How far did he ride?" "To Madison Street. He started to get off at Washington Street, though. He had been more preoccupied than ever going through the tunnel, and when he got up at Washington Street he seemed kind of dazed. He asked me if we were at Madison Street, saying that he wanted to go to the Union Depot. I told him we were a block from Madison Street, and he returned to his seat. When we got to Madison I stopped the car and he jumped off. He started toward the river at a fast gait, as if he had an important appointment to keep." "Do you know Dr. Cronin?" "No, sir; I think not." "Then you do not know, of your own knowledge, that your solitary passenger was Dr. Cronin?" "No. But now that you speak of Dr. Cronin," he said after a long interval, "I remember that I thought he was a doctor, and I got an impression somehow from his grave aspect that he had been attending to a very serious case." "Did you notice whether anybody was with him when he stepped out at Frederick Street to board your car?" "I didn't notice, but I don't think there was." "Did you see an undersized man with a heavy mustache and a slouch hat?" "No; I didn't--but hold on a minute. I did see a man on the sidewalk, standing in the shadow of the building, who I think wore a soft hat, but as I had only a fleeting glimpse at him I couldn't attempt to describe him." These two stories, the first so clear and direct, and the other so corroborative obtained general credence except among the immediate friends of the physician. These still insisted upon their theory of foul play. Numerous contradictions in the statements made by Dwyer to different people were pointed out. An inspection of the sheet upon which he had made out his report of the trip when he turned in his receipts showed that instead of one passenger on the nine o'clock car he had carried thirty-six. The story told by Miss Murphy was directly challenged, many of the physician's friends declared that it was manufactured for ulterior motives. It was also charged that her father and Dr. Cronin were bitter enemies. This was denied at the time, and it was added that Murphy, who resided on Oak Street near by Alexander Sullivan, had never taken an active part in Irish affairs. Subsequently, during the Coroner's investigation, it was developed that at that very time he was the financial secretary of a Clan-na-Gael camp hostile in its composition to the missing man. BOGUS "INTERVIEWS" FROM CANADA. But still more astounding developments in this phase of the case were soon to come. There resided in Toronto, Canada, at this time, one Charles T. Long, a young man whose father was the publisher and part proprietor of an influential newspaper. Some time before this Long had been employed as a reporter on one or two Chicago morning papers, and in the performance of his duties he had met Dr. Cronin on numerous occasions. He had, moreover, for a short period been a member of a secret beneficial society with which the physician was identified, and hence could claim something more than a passing acquaintance with him. When therefore on the night of Friday, May 10th, the morning papers of Chicago and several other cities received dispatches--the majority over the ex-reporter's own signature--to the effect that the physician was alive and in that city, and had actually been spoken to, it was taken for granted that the major portion of the mystery had been solved. No mere _resume_ could do justice to what might well be termed the devilish ingenuity with which these dispatches were framed, and it is necessary to quote them at length. The one received by the Chicago _Herald_, and which was a fair type of all, ran in this wise: Dr. P. H. Cronin is in Canada. He was seen, recognized and spoken to here to-day by a former Chicagoan, and in return told of his troubles, bitterly denouncing a number of Garden City people, Alexander Sullivan particularly. The missing and supposed-to-be-murdered physician seemed to be slightly deranged. C. T. Long, who for three years was intimately acquainted with Dr. Cronin in Chicago, was walking down Yonge street shortly after 11 o'clock this morning, and when opposite the Arcade came face to face with the missing Irish nationalist. He was accompanied by a man of shorter stature. "Hello, Doc; what are you doing here?" was Long's greeting. To this the doctor answered "Hello," and then pausing and drawing himself up in an injured manner, continued: "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. What do you want?" "Why, Cronin, is it possible that you don't remember me?" "I do not know you, sir, and shall have you handed over to the police in case you bother me further." Having delivered himself of this the doctor turned the corner of the Arcade and quickly followed the retreating footsteps of his friend, who turned down Victoria street, and together they were soon lost in the crowd. Long informed the _Herald_ correspondent that for three years he had been intimately acquainted with Cronin while living in Chicago--in fact, employed him as his family physician and belonged to several organizations with him. He was completely dumbfounded, first at sight of him and then at his mode of treatment. Cronin was dressed in a black coat and vest, light colored pants, black silk hat, and carried a small black hand-bag in one hand and a light spring overcoat thrown over his arm. The person with him appeared to be twenty-seven or thirty years of age, and while Long cannot place him, his face seemed quite familiar. At first sight he was taken for Jack Lynch, bailiff in Judge Clifford's court, and very strongly resembled him, but as far as Long knew Lynch was unknown to Cronin. Cronin's companion was dressed in a dark suit of clothes and slouch hat. He carried nothing but a newspaper, which was afterward picked up on Victoria street and proved to be a Chicago evening newspaper of the 7th inst. Long at once made for the Union Station in the hope that he might there run across the pair, but after waiting some thirty minutes concluded to notify the police and have them keep a sharp lookout for Cronin. While on the way to the Court street Station, police headquarters, and at the corner of King and Toronto streets, Long again caught sight of the pair walking rapidly down Toronto street. Slipping into a doorway at the receiver general's office he waited until they had passed, and then noticed that Cronin had adjusted a pair of goggles, but otherwise was attired precisely the same as on Yonge street. Stepping up to the doctor the point-blank question was put: "Cronin, what are you doing in Toronto when your friends in Chicago are hunting the earth for you?" "Now, look here, Long," he replied, "for God's sake let up on me. I have already had enough notoriety and don't want to be bothered. Why can't you let me go? You know I have always been your friend, and I shall expect that you will say nothing about having seen me." "Come in and let us talk the matter over," said Long, leading the pair into a convenient saloon. Cronin appeared to be a very sick man; in fact, the first impression conveyed was that he was out of his mind. He rambled away, talking about the Royal League and Mr. Warren, the secretary, and then, apparently getting frenzied, denounced in strong terms a number of St. Louis and Chicago gentlemen, among them Alexander Sullivan, John F. Scanlan, Dr. O'Reilly, M. F. Madden, Lawyer Berry, Harry Ballard, Judge Prendergast and Lawyer Wade. He mentioned several other names, but they were unknown to Long. Cronin went on to state that he had unearthed a great crime in Chicago during the past few months, but would give no details, and stated that his life had been settled as the penalty. "You know what kind of a man Sullivan is, don't you?" he said. "Well, he will never let up on me for what I have done, but I have a host of friends--yes, sir, a host of friends--in this country, and if harm comes to me all will not be well for him, I can assure you." All during the conversation his companion never opened his lips, and when he began talking of Sullivan he took him by the arm and whispered in his ear, after which Cronin refused to speak further. "Where are you stopping in town?" was met with a point-blank refusal to say more and an entreaty not to follow him. He was allowed to leave the saloon, and at once Cronin and his companion entered a cab and were driven rapidly west on King street. Long, too, summoned a cab, but through a mistake of the driver the wrong hack was followed. This brought up at the Union Station shortly after 12 o'clock. Long glanced at the time tables and found that the first train leaving the depot would be at 12:20 and concluded to wait and see if the case would further develop. At exactly 12:18 a two-horse covered cab dashed up to the station and from it sprang Cronin, the unknown man, and a lady apparently about twenty-three years of age. They all three hurried into the train for Hamilton, not waiting to purchase tickets. Long boarded the train and asked Cronin for what point they were bound, and being refused a civil answer stated that he would stay with him and inform the police at the first station in case he refused to give up. He thereupon stated that they intended going to Niagara Falls. The lady was probably twenty to twenty-three or four years of age and wore a dark gray traveling dress and a turban hat. She carried a shawl-strap and a brown paper parcel. Cronin had nothing but his small bag and overcoat, while the stranger carried a large brown leather valise. Long has known Cronin for the past three years and intimately for the past two, belonged to a number of societies with him and had frequently visited his office on Clark street and received in return calls from the doctor at the house he used to live in, 271 Huron street, and could not possibly be mistaken in the man. The only time Cronin ever made any remark to Long while in Chicago which would lead to the idea that he anticipated violence was one night while walking together up Clark street about 11:30 o'clock, and at Huron street the doctor requested Long to accompany him as far as Division street on a car, as he did not know what might happen to him. Passing Dillon's book store Frank Scanlan was met, and he went on home with the doctor. A CHAPTER OF INFAMY. Dr. Cronin's friends were dumbfounded when they opened their morning papers and found themselves confronted by these dispatches. His opponents, on the other hand, were in high glee, and quoted the news as vindicating their own acuteness of perception. But the Toronto end of the conspiracy had scarcely got into active operation. The initial dispatch of Friday was intended simply as a feeler. Long returned to the charge on Saturday with a second circumstantial story that completely eclipsed his first effort. It was as follows: After Cronin and his party--a man and woman--left Toronto yesterday on the Grand Trunk train moving west, your correspondent telegraphed a friend at Hamilton a description of the trio and requested that he should keep a sharp look-out for them; also that he should wire regarding all their movements and follow them, no matter where they went. In case they separated he was to put men on the track of the woman and strange man and to follow Cronin. This afternoon at 4:10 o'clock a message arrived stating that Cronin had left Hamilton alone, and was on the train scheduled to arrive at Toronto about 5:30 this evening. Dr. Cronin was not on that train. Shortly after 7 o'clock a telephone message announced that the Doctor was in this city at the Rossin House, King street, West. The correspondent sought out the fugitive and greatly surprised him when he answered his knock at the door. "Well, Doctor, back again?" was the greeting, to which the Doctor answered: "Well, ----," calling the correspondent by name, "it is really too bad that you should dog me round in this shape. What is your object in doing it? I have committed no crime and cannot see why you should thrust my name before the public as you did this morning in the _Empire_ (a Toronto paper). You lied when you stated that Jim Lynch accompanied me. I don't even know the man." "Well, Cronin, you must certainly know that the people generally, and your Chicago friends particularly, are anxious to know where you are, why you left Chicago, and where you intend going." "I don't intend making statements," said the Doctor, "I guess I have some rights. Make a statement? I guess not! Now, please get out of my room, or I will kick you out." The correspondent mentioned that a number of detectives were searching for the missing man. This announcement appeared to annoy the Doctor, and he appeared willing to do anything rather than have detectives take him in charge. He seemed anxious to know all about the detectives, who they were, and what they were doing, and was especially desirous of knowing positively whether any of them were here. He was told that a rumor to that effect had gone the rounds to-day. Finally, Cronin requested that questions should be put to him, and the following conversation took place: "When did you leave Chicago?" "Just a week ago to-night." "Where did you go?" "I went to Montreal." "How did you leave Chicago?" "I refuse to answer." "Come, now, Cronin, remember the detectives." "Now, for God's sake, don't push that question! I can't answer it!" "When did you get to Montreal?" "I got there last Monday evening." "Where did you put up?" After considerable bickering the Doctor said he had taken a room at the St. Lawrence Hotel, got his meals at the house of a friend, whose name he would not give. "Why did you leave Montreal, and when did you do so?" "I received word that it was known in Chicago, or at least supposed, that I was down there, and got out so I could not be found." "Where did you then go?" "I came up to Ottawa." "When did you leave Montreal?" "I left there Thursday night." "Where did you put up in Ottawa?" "At the Russell Hotel." "Under your own name?" "No." "What name did you give?" "I don't remember." "Was it Parkhurst?" "No, that was not the name." "What address did you give?" "I think it was New York." "Don't you know?" "Yes." "Well, why did you leave Ottawa?" "Because the town was so small that I was afraid some one might know me." "When you got to Montreal where did you intend going?" "I intended taking a steamer for France, but found that no ship left that port which would take me there." "Why did you not then go on to New York?" "Because I am well known there and did not care to risk it." "After you left Ottawa where did you go?" "I took the Canadian Pacific train for Toronto and arrived here Friday morning at about 9 o'clock." "Where were you from 9 o'clock till the _Empire_ reporter met you on Yonge street?" "I had been trying to find Starkey, the lawyer, who left Chicago last winter." "Why did you wish to see him?" "Simply to get the run of the town." "Did you not suspect that he might expose you?" "O, no! I am sure he would not do that. It would not be to his interest." "I thought Starkey was not friendly to you. Did he not at one time try to hurt your reputation?" "I don't know that he did. In any case he would not do so now." "Well, now, as to why you left Chicago?" "I have been declining in health for some time and thought it would do me good to take a trip." "Why should you have left Chicago without letting your friends know?" "Well, now, that is a long story and the telling of it would implicate a great number of my friends who are in no way responsible for any of my actions. I trust you will not press me on that point." Cronin was pressed, however, and told the following story: "While I lived in St. Louis I promptly identified myself with the Irish cause, then disturbing the public. I soon found that the great Irish movement was to be centered either at Chicago or New York, and after consulting my intimate friends, among whom was Dr. O'Reilly, I made up my mind to go to Chicago. I did so, armed with letters of introduction, and soon found myself prominent in Irish as well as other circles." He then went on to say that he soon discovered that the large quantities of money being received by certain persons for the Irish cause were not handled properly, and that not more than three-fourths of it ever reached Ireland. "I know," he stated, "that at least $85,000 was gobbled up by certain persons in Chicago, and when I began to 'call the turn' on them they tried to scare me off. Failing in this, they tried to bribe me. That would not work." "Their next move," said Dr. Cronin, "was to introduce me to Le Caron under the name of Beach, in order that he might pump me and damage me in any way that he could. Beach was introduced to me by a reporter named Conwell, a man whom I had always considered my friend, but since the recent developments in the London _Times_ case I know he was against me and that Le Caron was introduced to me for no good purpose. He got little out of me, however, and that means failed. I have been warned several times to get out of the country, and assured that my life was in danger. But up to last Saturday I felt that I could hold my own. Last Saturday, however, I was put in possession of unquestionable proof that the Clan-na-Gael Society had decided that my life should be taken. A man was appointed as my executioner and preparations were in active progress to accomplish the deed. Enough to say I made up my mind at once to fly. You know the rest. The lady who accompanied me yesterday to Hamilton was quite unknown to me, as was also the gentleman, until I met them on the train between Ottawa and Toronto. Neither of them knew who I was until you met me on Yonge street Friday morning. They happened to be going to Buffalo on the train I took out of Toronto, and I left them at Hamilton." This part of the story proved to be true. "Did you plan for a man to call at your office and request you to go out to the ice-house and attend a patient?" he was asked. "That I will not answer." When asked what move he intended making next the Doctor stated that he would go to France as soon as possible. "I left some important documents behind in Chicago," he said, "and only hope that I can get to a country where I will be safe; then I will make some disclosures which will open the eyes of the public generally and make the hair stand on the heads of several Chicago and New York gentlemen. This talk about my having been seen in a cable-car Saturday night is entirely false. The Conklins have made fools of themselves over the whole matter. According to the instructions I left with them they should not have opened their mouths until I was safely out of the country; but it is the same old story--tell a woman anything and you are sure to get the worst of it." The Doctor intimated that a certain Methodist minister had caused all his trouble, but would not disclose his name. The woman who accompanied the Doctor from Toronto to Hamilton proved to be from Buffalo and had no knowledge of the company she was keeping until she read the paper. The Doctor says that the man who walked up Yonge street with him Friday afternoon was also unknown to him until Thursday night and that he was on his way to Winnipeg. This man has been located at Collingwood, a small town about 100 miles north of Toronto. He is unknown there, and may be waiting a steamer which would take him to Winnipeg. Cronin is still in town and a close watch is being kept on all his movements. CRONIN'S ENEMIES IN HIGH GLEE. In another dispatch it was stated that Dr. Cronin had, on Saturday night, accepted the hospitalities of W. J. Starkey, an ex-Chicago lawyer. On the following morning, so the same dispatch went on to say, the physician had actually been entertained by Long at his residence. To ninety-nine out of a hundred people, this was conclusive. Everything pointed to the fact that the hitherto missing man was alive and in the flesh. No chain of evidence could have been more complete. Had not Miss Murphy seen him on the car? Had he not ridden down town with Conductor Dwyer, to whom he said that he was on his way to the Union Depot, and had he not appeared in Toronto, broken bread with Starkey and Long, and admitted that he was on his way to cross the ocean? What more was wanted? At this point, too, his enemies in Chicago began to add leaven to the lump. The story told by Woodruff was recalled, and it was insidiously suggested in one quarter that the physician was the mysterious "Doc," and that having performed a criminal operation upon the equally mysterious "Alice," whose remains had been taken to the park in the trunk, he had fled the country to avoid the legal consequences of his crime. In another direction it was boldly charged that before many days the physician would turn up in London in the _role_ of a second Le Caron. Said one of his most inveterate opponents: "Dr. Cronin is not dead; at least he wasn't assassinated at the end of his buggy ride with a strange man last Saturday night. Neither is he likely to be found in this city or State, and perhaps not in the United States. And there is much reason to suspect that he went at the beck and call of the English Government--in short, that he was a British spy, and has gone to join Le Caron, his friend and companion and near neighbor both here and in St. Louis. A startling communication in cipher has been received from the other side, and the information comes from a source whose accuracy cannot be doubted. It is to the effect that agents of the English Government have been arranging to place another American informer on the stand in the Parnell inquiry. It seems that the informer has offered to testify for a stated sum, which is said to be $100,000, and that the Government is only awaiting the report of its experts, who are inspecting his documentary proof before accepting his proposition. That is the way the matter stands now. I have been asked to find out who this new informer is. I have tried my best to do so, but I can't say I have been entirely successful. Dr. Cronin's mysterious disappearance has left a deep suspicion on my mind. I never liked that fellow, anyway, for I always considered him a contemptible rascal. I don't believe, either, that he has been assassinated, because I don't know of any good reason for killing him. I wouldn't be surprised if he turned up in London shortly. It wouldn't be at all strange. He was Le Caron's friend, as nearly as I can ascertain from Chicagoans, who knew them both, and what would be more natural than for him to cross the Atlantic to pay the druggist a friendly visit?" On the heels of this came an alleged dispatch from London: "Le Caron, the man who acted as a spy for the British Government on the movements of the Irish leaders in America, and who testified for the _Times_ before the Parnell Commission, declares that he and Dr. Cronin were the closest friends. Le Caron believes that Dr. Cronin has been killed, and that the friendship of the murdered man may account for his removal." Naturally enough, these diabolical insinuations had their full effect on the public mind. The search for the body was practically abandoned by the police, and the theory that the physician had left the town of his own free will was generally accepted by the public. Even some of those who had been closely associated with him were inclined to the same view, except that they ascribed his possible trip to London to different purposes to those advanced by his enemies. "I believe Dr. Cronin is in New York on his way to London for the purpose of testifying before the Parnell Commission," said one of his friends. "Why do you think so?" he was asked. "Apart from certain things I cannot divulge," was the response, "Dr. Cronin has for several years been prepared to prove that not one-tenth of the amount of funds published in the American papers as having been collected for the Land League ever went across the water." "How would testimony to that effect benefit Parnell?" "It would show that his connection with certain extensive movements among the Irish factions in America has not been as close as was supposed. If, as a matter of fact, he has received no financial help from these factions, he cannot be held responsible for their statements of his advocacy of their advocacy." "Do any other persons entertain this theory?" "Yes, a number of Irish-Americans, who know of Dr. Cronin's possession of the information I speak of, have expressed the opinion I hold." And, as if to demonstrate the fact that the speaker was on the right track, a dispatch was received in Chicago, through the agency of _The United Press_, within the hour, that said: "New York: It is reported to-night that Dr. Cronin is in this city." STAUNCH FRIENDS TO THE FRONT. But, to their eternal honor and credit, be it said, there were many staunch friends of the missing man, who, undeterred by slander and suspicion on the one hand, and questionable reports on the other, were determined that the mystery should be probed to the bottom, and that, dead or alive, the physician should be found. Among them were John F. Scanlan, W. P. Rend, Frank Scanlan, P. McGarry, and T. T. Conklin. These and others came together and decided to send one of their number to Toronto to investigate the reports that had emanated from that city. An unlimited supply of money was pledged, and Pat McGarry was selected for the mission. Information regarding this action was telegraphed to Toronto and took the Canadian conspirators--who had not contemplated any such move--somewhat by surprise. Prompt action became necessary, and the only thing to be done was to make it appear that Dr. Cronin had disappeared from the city as suddenly as he entered it. Accordingly, dispatches to that effect were prepared and transmitted to the various papers that had received the previous reports. One of these was worded as follows: Dr. Cronin is a fugitive. He has not been seen in Toronto since 10 o'clock this morning, when Long, his former Chicago friend, left him under the surveillance of an amateur detective, paid for the purpose. Cronin then was in a state bordering on terror, and begged frequently that detectives should not be put upon his track, and offered to give any additional particulars he knew about affairs generally. Dispatches from Chicago newspapers had given the story of suspicion against Cronin in respect to the trunk mystery. When asked about this mystery he denied that he knew anything. This morning, when the news contained in Chicago dispatches was communicated to him, he stuck to that statement, though once or twice threatened with exposure and the allegation that detectives were waiting in the vestibule of the hotel and had a warrant for his arrest on the charge of malpractice. He was next asked if there was any truth in the other story about his going to London to communicate with the British Government. His manner and evasive replies tended to create this impression rather than that he made his escape from Chicago over the trunk mystery. He said he intended in a day or two to return to Montreal, where he had been to get one of the Canada-French line boats to Paris. Then he said he might go to England. Cronin promised he did not intend to leave Toronto for a few days. He was not registered at the hotel, and the scores of reporters who called were informed that he was not staying there, and had not been there. This was arranged by Cronin's occupying a room engaged by another party, so the hotel clerk had no idea that the man was in the house. The information contained in the interview was no doubt intended by Cronin to mislead, and the interviewer was well aware of the fact at the time. He got his amateur detective at the end of the corridor and told him to keep his eyes open, and when Cronin was left alone in his apartment to see that he did not leave it. Some few minutes after, Cronin made a dash from his room and went toward the stairs. He had evidently seen the man who was watching him, and his action must have been taken after a great deal of deliberation. When the detective saw him on the stairs he walked to the staircase leading to the ladies' entrance to intercept Cronin there. Cronin, however, had only gone half way down the staircase. Then he returned and took the elevator, descending to the ladies' entrance, where the detective, not finding him, thought he had been fooled, and again returned to the head of the stairs. Cronin had disappeared. At 11 o'clock a second detective was at the hotel to renew the watch over Cronin. There is no trace whatever of Cronin since 11 o'clock. The people at the Rossin House knew nothing about Cronin getting out. The theory is that Cronin, fearing arrest on the charge of murder, has gone to Montreal again. The only trains leaving the city to-day were the morning and evening express and the noon train for Hamilton. Cronin was seen after the morning express had left. The evening express was watched, and few people went on the noon train, no one of them answering to Cronin's description. The livery stables did not hire out any rig that could have carried the man a great distance out of the city. His disappearance is a perfect mystery. Dispatches from St. Catherines to-night say that Cronin is believed to be stopping there with friends. It would be outside the range of possibility that he could have reached there except by driving from Hamilton. Several dispatches have been received by Mr. Axworthy, of Cleveland, and at the Rossin House, making inquiries after Cronin. In this, as in the previous reports, the one thing which it was endeavored to bring into bold relief was the fact that the physician was about to cross the Atlantic, and, while McGarry was _en route_ from Chicago, Chief of Police Hubbard telegraphed to Chief Constable Grossett, of Toronto, asking for definite information regarding Cronin's alleged presence in that city. Instead of conducting an independent investigation, the Canadian official went to Long, and on the strength of the latter's statements, a reply in the affirmative was wired back to Chicago. Even this, however, was not accepted as final, and Detectives Reed and Reyburn were wired to follow up the supposed clue. Starkey was interviewed as to the truth of Long's story. He replied that he had seen Cronin, that the latter had been at his (Starkey's) house, but that he had no knowledge of his subsequent whereabouts. W. Axworthy, an ex-Chicagoan, when telegraphed by W. P. Rend to learn whether the physician had actually been there, went to Long, heard his story, and answered, "Yes." A "prominent railroad official" was next quoted as having recognized the physician, and on the morning subsequent to his alleged disappearance from Toronto, the Chief of Police of St. Catherines, Ontario, positively recognized him in Sherwood, New York! But with the arrival of McGarry the falsity of one and all of these stories became apparent, and the infamous prostitution of the liberty and license of a journalist, of which Long had been guilty, was fully demonstrated. It took the young Irishman but a few hours of investigation to convince himself of the fact that the missing physician had not been seen in Toronto since the day of his disappearance. The same conclusion was arrived at by Detective Dennis Simmons, of Chicago, who had been despatched to the scene by Chief Hubbard, and had, unknown to McGarry, conducted an independent investigation. Simmons wired his superior briefly and to the point: "No truth in it, Cronin has not been here," while the same wires carried this message from McGarry to Frank J. Scanlan: "Proprietor and clerk on duty do not recognize Cronin's picture as stopping at Rossin House last week. Name not registered at all. No signature resembles Cronin's. Sure interview did not take place with their knowledge." And, to make the repudiation the more complete, Chief Constable Grossett, who, earlier in the week, had endorsed the statements of Long in hap-hazard fashion, retracted his statements in a letter to the Chicago authorities, in which he said: "I have caused particular and exhaustive inquiry to be made into the statements that have appeared in the _Empire_ newspaper of this city, and have caused the party who gave the information which was telegraphed you to be questioned closely on the subject. It would now appear that the identification of Dr. Cronin by the party who stated he saw him in Toronto last Saturday was by no means complete; in fact, I think there are the best of reasons for supposing it to have been a case of mistaken identity. It is quite true that the party here thought he met Cronin in the street, stopped him, and afterward saw the man leave the city by train with a woman. So far as I can learn this is the foundation for the sensational reports that have been transmitted from here and published in your papers. I regret that in sending you my telegram on Monday last more care was not taken to verify the correctness of my informant's statements." A BIG REWARD OFFERED. Public interest in the mystery was renewed by these developments. The theory of foul play was again revived, and this time it found numerous supporters, where incredulity had previously existed. Again the friends of the physician were equal to the situation. Another conference was held and it was decided to persevere in the search until the mystery had been solved. Funds to any extent were pledged on the spot. "We will find our friend, if alive; we will avenge him, if dead" was the key note. That night the following address was flashed over the electric wires to every quarter of the continent. TO THE PUBLIC: On the night of May 4, 1889, Dr. P. H. Cronin, a prominent and respectable physician of this city, was decoyed from his home to attend an alleged case of injury to an employe of an ice dealer in the town of Lake View. Since that time no trace of him has been found, and it is believed that he was made the victim of foul play, and that he is murdered. On behalf of his friends and fellow-citizens, who think that his disappearance is due to a conspiracy, I hereby offer a reward of $5,000 for any information that may lead to the arrest and conviction of any of the principals in, accessories to, or instigators of this crime. A studied attempt seems to have been made, by false dispatches, and other agencies in the public press, to create the impression that he is still alive, and that his disappearance is voluntary. I am also authorized to offer a further reward of $2,000 for any satisfactory evidence that will prove that he is not dead, and that would lead to the discovery of his whereabouts. The public is asked to discredit any and all charges, reports, or insinuations reflecting in any manner upon his professional or personal character. He was a man of temperate habits and lived a pure and unblemished life. The above rewards are offered by his friends and fellow-citizens with the full conviction that a terrible crime has been committed, and with the view that law and order may be vindicated. JAMES F. BOLAND, Chairman of Com. from Societies and Friends. CHAPTER VI. HOPING AGAINST HOPE--THE STENCH IN THE SEWER--"MURDER WILL OUT"--A GHASTLY DISCOVERY--WHERE THE BODY WAS FOUND--THE RECOGNITION BY CAPTAIN WING--ITS HORRIBLE APPEARANCE--EVIDENCES OF A FOUL CRIME--THE CORPSE AT THE MORGUE--PITIABLE SCENES OF GRIEF--THE OFFICIAL AUTOPSY--THE BRUTAL WAY IN WHICH THE PHYSICIAN HAD BEEN DONE TO DEATH. It is always the unexpected that happens. Even the closest friends of the missing man, earnest as they apparently were in the declaration of their belief that he had been the victim of foul play, still hoped against hope that their fears would not be realized. As a drowning man clings to a straw, so they clung to the hope that they would again see him alive and in the flesh. But it was not to be. Dr. Cronin did _not_ leave Chicago on the night of his disappearance. He was _not_ seen on a street car apparently en route to the depot. He was _not_ recognized on Canadian soil; nor did he unbosom himself to reporter Long. He was _not_ en route to London to betray the cause to which he had devoted so large a portion of his active life; or to re-enforce the spy Le Caron in his work of infamy. Dr. Cronin was murdered. While these reports and rumors were confounding his friends and making his enemies exultant; his body, hacked and marred and battered, was rapidly decomposing in one of the sewer catch-basins in the town of Lake View. [Illustration: THE CATCH-BASIN--SOUTH VIEW.] WHERE THE BODY WAS FOUND. Ten days after the physician's disappearance the board of public works of Lake View received a complaint that the sewer at the corner of Evanston Avenue and North Fifty-Ninth Street was apparently choked up, and that the foul air in the neighborhood was beginning to be a nuisance. No immediate action was taken. Another complaint came in, and another, and very soon they were counted by the score. Finally, realizing that the complaints demanded attention, Otto Failmerzger, chief clerk of the department, hung on the hook an order to the foreman of the gang charged with the care of gutters and sewers, to remove the supposed obstruction in the sewer without delay. On the following morning--Tuesday, May 22nd--the foreman in question, Nicholas Rosch, accompanied by two of his assistants, John Finegan and William Michaels, went to the locality indicated. They found that the ditch on the east side of Evanston Avenue was partially filled with water, which was constantly creeping from a damaged fire plug. The fall of water here was to the north. About twenty feet north of the fire plug was a catch-basin into which the water from the ditch was supposed to flow, just as it flows into them in sections of the city that are paved. At this point, however, the sand had rolled down from the roadway into the open ditch, damming up the water so that it could not escape into the basin. One glance at the ditch convinced Foreman Rosch that this was the source of the trouble, and procuring their shovels, the three men went to work with a will to throw out the moist sand. It was a slow and laborious job, and it was well on towards four o'clock when they reached the immediate vicinity of the catch-basin. The latter, as will be seen in the illustration, was circular in form, built of brick, and with a heavy wooden top on a level with the street. About two feet below the top was an opening in the side of the brick wall to the southwest. In this a barred iron grating was set, through which the water from the ditch was supposed to flow. With the exception of this side, which was open to the bottom of the grating, the circular brick basin was surrounded by dirt almost to the street level. The locality was precisely one mile north of the spot where the bloody trunk had been found, the same roadway leading directly to the catch-basin and almost directly to the neighborhood of O'Sullivan's ice-house whither Dr. Cronin had been summoned by the mysterious messenger. [Illustration: THE CATCH-BASIN, SHOWING FIRE-PLUG AND DITCH.] "MURDER WILL OUT." The laborers wondered, as they shoveled the sand out of the ditch, what it was that caused the terrible stench that pervaded the atmosphere. It was indescribably strong and noisome, and more than once they were almost compelled to cease their work. Yet, although they searched around and examined the ground for a square block, they could find nothing to which it could be attributed. At last the ditch was cleaned out, and the foreman concluded to take a look into the catch-basin before quitting for the night. Accordingly, getting down on his hands and knees, he peered through the iron grating. In the darkness he could discern something white apparently floating in the water. "There's a dog in here" he called out "and that's what has been making this stench." "That's strange" replied Finegan, coming up "how the deuce could a dog get in there?" Finegan pressed his face close to the bars for a moment. "Great heavens," he ejaculated, "it's a corpse!" [Illustration: DISCOVERY OF DR. CRONIN'S BODY IN THE CATCH BASIN.] [Illustration] To tear off a portion of the heavy plank top of the basin was to the three strong men but the work of a moment. The foul air and stench that escaped caused their heads to swim and their faces to turn pale; but, quivering with excitement, they bent over the edge and peered down into its depths. What they saw filled them with horror. The basin contained the nude body of a man. A large quantity of cotton batting had been thrown over the corpse partly concealing it. A towel was tightly tied around the neck. The head was bent forward upon the breast and was entirely submerged. The feet and legs were deep into the four feet of water. The body was floating, the back and hips alone being above the surface. The three men looked at each other. Strange to say, not one of them thought of connecting the ghastly discovery with the missing doctor. It was evident that it would be no easy matter to bring the body to the top of the basin, and Rosch, hurrying to the grocery store of C. H. Noyes, a little distance away, sent a telephone message to the police headquarters of Lake View. In a little while the patrol wagon, with Captain Wing and Officers Phillips and Malia, was on the scene. At first sight it seemed as though it would be impossible to bring the corpse to the top of the basin without being compelled to mutilate it, but finally one of the party suggested that a horse blanket might be passed under the stomach and the remains thus drawn up. This suggestion proved practicable, and the blanket, having been pushed under the body with the aid of the handle of a hoe, the men took the two ends and commenced to lift it to the surface. Owing to the stiff and bent condition of the body, however, it was found necessary at this point to remove the entire top of the basin. A knot was then tied in the blanket, during which operation the arms, released from their pressure, flew apart, and with a little more exertion the ghastly load was entirely removed from its prison of brick and laid upon the ground. As this was being done the face, bloated and discolored, turned up toward the men. "My God," exclaimed Captain Wing, "it is Dr. Cronin." THE BODY AT THE MORGUE. The little group stood dumbfounded as the ejaculation burst from the officer's lips, and, for the first time, they realized the terrible significance of their discovery. Quickly arousing themselves to action, however, they gently laid the body upon the stretcher and lifted it into the wagon. Little time was lost in making the return trip to the police station. Here the body was conveyed to the basement, which served the purpose of a morgue, and placed upon a low table. A cursory examination developed the fact that the cotton batting, as well as the towel around the neck, were heavily saturated with blood. Upon removing the towel, which had been tied in a knot, there was disclosed to view an "AGNUS DEI," or scapular, a heart-shaped religious emblem very generally worn by adherents of the Roman Catholic faith as a safeguard against injury. Attached to a ribbon around the neck, it rested just below the collar bone. It was the only thing that the physician had worn in life that had been left to him in death, and, brutal and bloodthirsty as had been the assassins in the perpetration of their dastardly crime, they had evidently--even after stripping the corpse of their victim of every shred of clothing, in the hope that all means of identification would thus be destroyed--stood appalled at the idea of molesting the holy emblem of the church with their bloody hands. Even in that terrible moment, and in the presence of the naked and reeking corpse of the man they had lured to destruction, the "Agnus Dei," resting mute upon his breast, had possessed an influence that compelled them to pause. Thus far they had gone, but they could go no farther. It had spoken to their affrighted souls in trumpet tones: "Touch me not." [Illustration: THE CORPSE WITH "AGNUS DEI" ON BREAST.] Considering the fact that the body had in all probability, been in the place where it was found for nearly three weeks, it was not by any means in the condition that would have been expected under the circumstances. It had swollen, however, to about one-third of the natural size. As it appeared under the gas light it was that of a stout, well-nourished man of about forty-five years of age. The skin was white, although the body and chest was considerably bloated. The feet, which had been the most exposed, were hardly cracked. The hair had peeled from the skin both of face and body. One side of the mustache, with the skin attached, was turned over onto the lip. Only a few straggling hairs were left on the other side, but, just under the lower lip, a small but well-defined goatee of dark bristling hairs was apparent. The forehead was bald, while the thick dark hair lay in matted clots on the back of the head. The chin--the towel not having been replaced--was sunk well into the neck. The mouth was tightly closed, and for a time resisted all efforts to force it open. About the ears and hands the skin hung in shreds, and the eyelids had swollen to such an extent that they had forced each other partly open. But it was the head that attracted the greatest attention, and brought exclamations of horror from the few spectators. It was a mass of wounds. In the forehead at the roots of the hair there were three horrible cuts, each over an inch in length, and attended with a slight discoloration that indicated decay. These had evidently been made with a sharp instrument. Over the right eye there was a wound that looked as though it might have been made with the cutting edge of a blunt axe. Others on the back of the head were evidently the work of a blunter instrument, but the worst one of all, on the top of the head, suggested the use of the back of a heavy axe. There was no need to look elsewhere for horrible explanations of the cause of death. The head told its own story. The unfortunate physician had been hacked to death with a brutality beyond conception. FRIENDS IDENTIFY THE REMAINS. With amazing rapidity the news had spread throughout the suburb, and by this time the station was besieged by an excited crowd, while hundreds of voices clamored loudly but vainly for admission. Down in the city, too, where the information had been telephoned as soon as the remains had reached the morgue, the excitement was equally intense. It was just at the hour when the mercantile establishments, business houses, and manufactories, were emptying their army of toilers at the conclusion of the work of the day, and the bulletins that were displayed at the newspaper offices and a score of other places in the most frequented thoroughfares, were surrounded by thousands of people, who read and commented upon the startling information that was thus conveyed. Many gave vent to shouts of horror, others loudly breathed imprecations upon the murderers. Extra editions of the evening papers, giving the facts so far as known up to the hour of publication, were successively issued, and added to the popular excitement. Before midnight the fact that the body of the missing physician had been discovered under such revolting circumstances was known under almost every roof in the great western metropolis, and was being discussed by Irishmen in scores of towns throughout the country, to which it had been flashed over the electric wires. Among the earlier arrivals at the morgue were several citizens of Lake View, who had known the physician when in the flesh, and with one or two exceptions, their identification of the remains was instantaneous and complete. They were soon joined by John F. Scanlan, Mortimer Scanlan, Pat McGarry, James Boland, and John E. Scanlan, all intimate friends of Dr. Cronin and members of the committee which had the case in charge. They made a careful examination of the remains and pointed out the resemblances. The Doctor had large hands, as had the corpse; he was a hairy man, and there was lots of loose body hair on the corpse. The water had rotted this off, but it lay in masses and tufts on the body. The height of the man and his build agreed with that of the physician. Next to this they relied upon the "Agnus Dei." Cronin had worn one of these reliquaries, and had never taken it off even while bathing. Then some one remembered that the Doctor had an extravasion of blood under the finger nail of the right thumb; and this, too, was found upon the corpse. A mark upon the side was also declared to be identical with one upon the body. Cronin had a superfluity of hair about the wrists, and this point of resemblance was found on the corpse. There was also a peculiarity of the second finger of the right hand, which might be described as a base-ball finger, with which Dr. Cronin had been afflicted. This malformation was apparent on the same hand of the dead man. But the most convincing and conclusive identification of all was that of Dr. T. W. Lewis, a dental surgeon, who had done considerable work for the Doctor. Upon his arrival at the morgue, John F. Scanlan pried open the mouth of the corpse with a pencil, and Dr. Lewis immediately recognized his handiwork in the gold filling of some of the upper teeth. It was a remarkable fact, moreover, that in a lower jaw plate that he had made for the physician he had placed several teeth peculiar to themselves, and known to the profession as "crown sunk." He had done this something in the line of an experiment. This identical plate was taken from the mouth of the dead man, while, to make the proof still more positive, the cast of Dr. Cronin's mouth, taken for the purpose of making the plate, was found to fit the mouth of the corpse to a fraction. [Illustration: SCANLAN AND CONKLIN IDENTIFYING THE BODY.] After Dr. Lewis came Cronin's tailor, Joseph J. O'Keefe, and who, upon making tests, found that the measurements of those portions of the body that had not perceptibly increased in size were identical with the figures in the order book kept by his cutter. John Buck, the barber who had counted Dr. Cronin among his customers for over a year, recognized the shape of the head and the texture of the hair; and immediately after, Dr. John R. Brandt, President of the staff of the Cook County Hospital, and who had been comparing the dead man's hair with the lock of hair found in the trunk three weeks before, declared that they had come from the same head. In this he was corroborated by Dr. Ruthford. T. T. Conklin arrived at the station at 8 o'clock. He was taken down-stairs and looked long and earnestly at the bloated corpse. "It is the body of Dr. Cronin," said Conklin, his eyes filling with tears. "I have known him for twenty years and cannot be mistaken. I have been in swimming with him and know him better than any man living. There is no chance for a mistake. I don't like to say 'I told you so,' but this substantiates what I have said from the start. Dr. Cronin was murdered, and if the police had done their duty, instead of believing the lies invented by Dr. Cronin's enemies, the murderers would have been captured before this time." And so for hours the friends of the murdered man came in singly, and in twos and threes, and added their testimony to what had already been given. Many of them were profoundly affected, and there were many pitiable scenes of grief as one man after another turned away from the bloated corpse that was all that remained of the man with whom they had been so closely associated for years. Captain Wing, when interrogated, said that the place where the body was found was a particularly lonely one, the nearest house being over a block away. A hundred yards to the east was the depot of the Chicago & Evanston railroad. The spot was a little over three-quarters of a mile beyond the point where the trunk was found on the morning after the physician's disappearance, and four miles north of Fullerton avenue. It was surrounded with swampy land, the few trees growing to the north serving to shut off the view from the residences that were located in the neighborhood. All this time the excitement outside was at fever heat. For hours the streets in the neighborhood were crowded with vehicles, and thousands of people blocked the approaches to the morgue until the police were compelled to use their clubs again and again. The station was filled with Chicago officers, who consulted with those of the suburb upon the best method to be adopted with the view of running down the assassins. The tumult continued until midnight, and then the morgue was cleared in order that a more careful examination of the head might be made by Dr. Gray. It was first placed in an upright position and photographed, and when he had finished his examination, Dr. Gray said: "There are five wounds. No. 1 is on the front parietal suture, just here," and he took a skull which he had brought with him and used it in the demonstration. "That could easily have been fatal in itself. No. 2 is on the vertex, to the right of the sagittal suture," and he touched a point on the skull before him squarely on the top, but a little forward of the crown. "The skull is not strong there, and a heavy blow would be fatal. The third wound is one-half inch posterior to No. 2--just here," and he again illustrated by laying his finger almost on the crown of his object lesson. "The fourth is on the left temple, and is only one inch long. The rest are about an inch and a half in length. The fifth is a crushing wound, immediately below the external angle of the left eye. This one fractured the cheek bone, and must have been delivered with great force." [Illustration: THE SKULL SHOWING LOCATION OF WOUNDS THAT CAUSED DEATH.] "The absence of wounds on the hands," said Walter V. Hayt, a city health inspector, "would indicate that the first blow, whichever one of these five it was, was delivered unawares; otherwise there would have been a struggle which would have left its mark on the hands or arms, either in striking or warding off blows. He must have been surprised and stunned at the first blow." Dr. Brandt, who also assisted in the examination of the wounds, said the blows must have been made by some sharp instrument, perhaps an ice-pick. He said if the instrument had not been sharp the skull would have been fractured, whereas it was only indented, or marked by the blows. To many of the dead man's friends it seemed remarkable that the body had not sooner been discovered, more especially as the Lake View police had started out to search the catch basin on the day after the trunk was found, and continued at the work for nearly a week. This was satisfactorily explained, however, by Alderman Maxwell, of the city council, who was one of the searching committee. It appeared that there were four catch basins at the intersection of Evanston avenue and Fifty-Ninth street, the body being discovered in the one on the south-east corner. The committee, aided by fifteen police officers and six volunteers, had commenced their operations at Evanston avenue and Sulzer street, where the trunk was found, and went east and west from that corner. From here they had gone through the basins north and south along Evanston avenue, but no clues being discovered, they arrived at the conclusion that the trunk had been left for a blind, and that, in all probability, the body had been hidden some distance away. They had consequently gone to Graceland and looked through the basins up and down the avenue and on the cross streets for a distance of several miles. This occupied an entire week, until, tired and disgusted, they had stopped, by sheer bad luck, two blocks north of Fifty-Ninth street. Hence it was that the catch-basin in which the body had been hidden was missed. THE STORY OF THE AUTOPSY. All that night the body rested on the little table in the morgue, with an automatic sprinkler pouring water upon the face and breast. Decomposition advanced with such terrible swiftness, however, that by morning it was apparent that unless the process of embalming was resorted to without delay it would soon be unrecognizable. One of the earliest arrivals was John T. Cronin, of Bradford, Kansas, the only brother of the dead man. He wept bitterly, and sobbed and moaned when taken into the morgue, and at once recognized the corpse, not only from its facial characteristics, but also from a malformation of a portion of the body that the physician had kept secret from even his most intimate friends. He was with difficulty persuaded to leave the bier, and, prostrated with grief, was half carried from the room. The county authorities now took charge of the case. From the police department the following proclamation, over the signature of Chief Hubbard, went to every station in the city and was read to the men at the morning muster: "TO CAPTAINS:--In view of the fact that the mutilated body of Dr. Cronin has been found in a catch-basin in the town of Lake View, and that much public comment will be aroused, you will instruct your officers to note the nature of any such comment that they may overhear, and follow up all clues which may be thus obtained. The order is sent out merely because some person having some criminal knowledge of how Dr. Cronin met his death may be indiscreet enough to make some statement when excited that would lead to the solving of the mystery. In such a case we want our officers to be on the alert and ready to take advantage of any such admission." Following this action, the county coroner, H. L. Hertz, decided to proceed with the official autopsy without delay. A jury was first empanelled, and, a view of the body having been taken, and an adjournment for several days decided upon, the physicians commenced the post-mortem examination. It was conducted with great care and deliberation and occupied over five hours. Drs. James F. Todd and Egbert, respectively county physician and assistant county physician, were materially aided by Drs. Bell, Porter, Miles, Kuhn and D. G. Moore, while Deputy Coroner Barrett, Captain Wing and Lieutenant Spengler watched the proceedings as the representatives of the authorities. The skull was cut open and the brains removed. When the scalp had been taken off it was discovered that the bones composing the skull had scarcely been marked by the blows of the instruments. There were no signs of congestion about the brain, but the lungs and pulmonary cavity were filled with blood, a condition which was explained by the fact that the head had been placed head downward in the catch-basin. A cut one-half inch deep was found upon the head and numerous bruises on the lower limbs. There were no signs of suffocation or any bruises about the neck such as would result from the choking of a man with a towel or rope. The passage through the wind-pipe was unobstructed. The surgeons were considerably puzzled by the fact that there was no fracture of any of the skull bones or of the small bones about the face, even the inner table of the skull being unfractured. In technical language the injuries to the head included a deep wound over the left temple four inches long, through the scalp and into the skull, a cut one and a half inches long over the left parietal bone, this one also marking the skull, a cut one and a half inches long over the frontal bone at the junction of the left parietal; a cut three inches long through the scalp marking the occipital bone, and two cuts each an inch long, together with a bruise, back of the forehead on the right parietal bone. There was also a severe contusion apparently made by a bludgeon on the forehead, as well as a lineal incision on the neck that had been made by some sharp instrument. It was the opinion of the medical men conducting the autopsy that more than one instrument must have been used to produce the apparent wounds, and that their direction indicated that they must have been inflicted from behind and were struck downward from above. After the autopsy had been completed the friends of the deceased were permitted to take charge of the remains, and they were removed to an undertaker's establishment within a short distance of his former residence. The process of embalming was successfully carried out, the features being reasonably life-like, and their natural character well preserved; and the body, having been clothed in a suit of broadcloth, was placed in the elegant casket that had been prepared for it. This was of metal, overlaid with French walnut, and heavily mounted in gold, ornamented with silver flowers. Upon each end of the surface filling the two spaces beside the plate, were two large wreaths of gold wheat, intertwined with roses and set off with silver pansies. At close intervals around the top of the casket were heavy gold knobs, and along each side of it a continuous heavy rail of silver was mounted in lieu of handles. The ends of this were decked with heavy gold and silver tassels, the whole effect being very rich. On the massive and elaborately chased silver plate, in the center, were the simple words in English text: PHILIP PATRICK HENRY CRONIN, BORN: August 7th, 1846. DIED: May 4th, 1889. A SISTER'S GRIEF. The first stage of the journey to the tomb was now commenced. Under escort of a number of friends the casket was taken to the Armory of the First Cavalry, on Michigan avenue. Here it was placed upon a catafalque, which had been erected in the center of the vast hall. It had no more than been placed in position, however, when a gray-bearded man, dressed in a gray overcoat and low-crowned hat, stepped to the front and demanded the opening of the casket. "Why?" asked the attendant. "I am his brother-in-law, and his sister here desires to see him." He pointed, as he said this, to a lady of above middle age, gray haired, and wearing a black bonnet and sober, gray shawl, who stood at his side. She was weeping freely, and pressed a handkerchief to her face. The casket was partially opened when a number of the committee of arrangements appeared and ordered the attendants to screw it up again. "Why should the casket be opened?" he asked. "This lady is a sister of the deceased and desires to view the remains," replied the stranger. "Well, I don't know you and don't know whether you are his brother-in-law or not. Where is Mr. Conklin?" At this protest the attendants again commenced to screw up the casket. "I am John Carroll," said the stranger, with dignity. "I came here to-day with my wife from St. Catherines, Ont. I don't know Mr. Conklin or anything about him. If I wanted to insist, I could take charge of the remains and conduct the funeral myself, but all I ask is to let his sister see the body." The committeeman relented at this, and by a gesture indicated that the attendants might open the coffin. When they had exposed the face, covered as it was by the glass, the sister stepped forward, and gazing long and intently at the features beneath, burst into a passion of tears. Bending her gray head to the glass of the casket, she lifted her veil and pressed her lips convulsively against the glass again and again as she said: "Good-by, good-by, asthore!" She turned away in a burst of passionate weeping. Her husband could not control his feelings as he silently gazed at the remains of the brother they had loved, and he, too, burst into tears. Mrs. Carroll was an elder sister of the deceased, residing at St. Catherines, Ont., and neither she nor her husband had seen him for fourteen years, but her heart warmed to him as it had in childhood when they played together in the years gone by. Between this occurrence and midnight, a period of nearly eight hours, many thousands of people were admitted to the building. Four Knights of St. Patrick, in plumed bonnets, long gloves and drawn swords, guarded the casket, one being stationed at each corner of the catafalque. The latter was imposing enough for the obsequies of a monarch. At the four corners there were standards supporting cross pieces above at a height of fifteen feet, and which, together with the supports, were draped in black over-wound with white. Above, depending horizontally from the beams of the great roof, were draped three immense flags, their centres reaching down to the roof of black below. At the head of the casket was a massive floral cross, nearly six feet in height, and composed of marguerites, carnations, cape jasmines, roses, and lilies-of-the-valley, all in white. At the foot, upon a black-robed pedestal, stood a four-foot candelabra of brass, bearing seven lighted wax candles. Upon the top of the coffin was a large bunch of white roses attached to a pair of palms by satin ribbons, while the side and base of the bier were covered with smilax and palms overstrewn with a profusion of loose roses. To complete the effect the four corners of the catafalque were banked with pink hydrangeas, and over all looked down, from a frame of crape, a lifelike portrait of the murdered man. Only the casket and catafalque were to be seen, the coffin lid being closed until the formal lying in state on the following morning, but all who came were admitted, and hour after hour a steady stream of people filed before the sentries, and when, at midnight, the big doors were closed, it was estimated that fully twelve thousand people had, by their presence, by bowed heads and by tear-dimmed eyes, paid a simple token of respect to the memory of the murdered man. CHAPTER VII. THE CRIME CREATES AN INTERNATIONAL SENSATION--DISCOVERY OF THE LONELY COTTAGE WHERE THE IRISH NATIONALIST MET HIS DEATH--EVIDENCES OF A TERRIBLE STRUGGLE--THE TELLTALE BLOOD STAINS AND BROKEN FURNITURE--THE MYSTERIOUS TENANTS AND THEIR MOVEMENTS--THE FURNITURE BOUGHT AND CARTED TO THE ASSASSINS' DEN--WHAT MILKMAN MERTES SAW--THE PLOT AS OUTLINED BY THE SURROUNDINGS--ICEMAN O'SULLIVAN UNDER SURVEILLANCE. The discovery of the body of the missing physician under such appalling circumstances, and with the surrounding evidences that a crime of the foulest character had been committed, created a most profound sensation, not only among all classes and nationalities in cosmopolitan Chicago, but also in Irish-American circles throughout the United States, and among the countrymen of the murdered man across the Atlantic. Telegrams and letters, breathing indignation and horror, and urging that no stone be left unturned to the end that the assassins might be run to earth and brought to justice, poured in on the dead man's friends from the four quarters of the continent, as well as from abroad. The scoffers--those who all along had scouted the theory of foul play, and had voiced the stories so artfully concocted by the plotters that the physician had left Chicago of his own free will, and with objects and motives that would, sooner or later, be revealed--were, in a figurative sense, deprived of the power of speech. In the presence of the hacked and decomposing body of the man they had maligned they had not a word to say. THE LONELY SCENE OF THE MURDER. Startling developments were destined from this time on to follow each other in rapid succession. Less than twenty-four hours after all that was mortal of Dr. Cronin had been taken from the Lake View man-hole, the place where his life's blood had been shed was discovered, and the officers of the law were in possession of important clues which promised to lead to the capture of the murderers. It was a lonely place that the assassins of the Irish Nationalist had chosen to perform their bloody work. Patrick O'Sullivan, the ice man, resided in a comfortable house on the corner of Bosworth and Roscoe Streets, in Lake View, less than two miles from the man-hole that had been converted by the murderers into a temporary tomb. Ample grounds surrounded the residence, while barns, sheds and out-houses filled up most of the ground in the rear. The corner lot back of these structures was vacant, but immediately next, facing Ashland Avenue almost in a straight line with O'Sullivan's house, and less than 150 feet away, stood a vacant cottage. It was a one-story and basement, with an unfinished attic, weather-beaten and worn. The street entrance led up a flight of wood stairs, while access to the rear could only be obtained by another flight. The cottage stood fenced in in a narrow lot, crowded into which, not fifty feet away, in the rear, was a still smaller house. [Illustration: SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY.] This was occupied by an aged Swedish couple, Jonas Carlson and his wife and their son John, a strapping, well-built fellow of some twenty-five years. His parents owned the property, and about their only means of livelihood was the rent derived from the larger cottage, when they were fortunate enough to secure a tenant. Good luck, however, had failed to attend them. Early in the year, the man, who, with his family, had occupied it for some time, was convicted of embezzlement and sent to the penitentiary, and his wife and children, lacking the wherewithal to pay the rent, were forced to vacate. At the best, it was not a particularly desirable locality, for, barring O'Sullivan's house, the two buildings stood alone in an area as large as a city square, while the prairie, dotted here and there with one-story cottages, stretched far away in every direction. [Illustration: THE ASSASSIN'S DEN, WITH THE CARLSON COTTAGE IN THE REAR.] This was the lonely spot, and this the vacant house that the assassins chose for their den, and within these walls Dr. Cronin came to his death. On the day following the finding of the body State's Attorney Longenecker, Captain Schuettler of the City Police, and Captain Wing of the Lake View Police, met in consultation. It was decided to send for O'Sullivan, the ice-man. While no direct suspicions were at that time entertained that he was concerned in the tragedy, there was an indefinable feeling that he knew something or other that might prove of importance in relation to the affair. O'Sullivan promptly responded to the summons. Pressed by the State's Attorney to tell them anything he might know, O'Sullivan said that he believed there had been something mysterious going on in the Carlson cottage. Two suspicious looking men, he went on to say, had appeared in the neighborhood about March and rented the place, paying a month's rent. Since that time they had occupied it very little, if at all. To the landlord they had pretended that they were going to work for him (O'Sullivan), but this was not true, for he knew nothing about them, and certainly had never hired them. The matter looked suspicious, he thought, and ought to be investigated, especially as it was possible that these were the men who had used his name to Dr. Cronin. Beyond this he knew absolutely nothing. "BLOOD, BLOOD, EVERYWHERE!" To the ordinary listener O'Sullivan's story would have seemed of little or no importance. Not so, however, with Schuettler and Wing. These experienced officials, who knew of old that important results often follow in the wake of the most unpromising trail, saw in it a possible clue. Together they drove with all haste to the Carlson cottage. It was broad daylight, and even before they had alighted from their buggy, they saw enough to convince them that they were on the right track at last. There were big blood stains on the boards, that crossed the ditch in front of the gate. There were larger ones on the sidewalk in front of the house; and they led, in two dark-red parallel streams right up the wooden steps to the front door. It was the work of a couple of seconds to force the lock. The usually cool, imperturbable officials were too excited to go after keys, while, moreover, it was desirable that what was to be done should be done quietly. The lock gave way to the pressure with a crash, and the two men entered. Spots of blood again confronted them on the floor of the hall. An attempt had been made to cover some of them up with a coat of yellow paint. The individual who performed this task had divested himself of his boots and hose, for the print of a naked foot stood out clear and distinct in a splotch of the red paint. [Illustration: A FOOTPRINT IN THE HALL.] A couple of steps and the captains were in the parlor, and then for the first time they realized the full and terrible import of their discovery. There were abundant evidences that a frightful struggle for life had taken place within the four walls, and that it was here that the unfortunate physician had met his doom. It was a small room, only 16 by 20 feet, with three windows, two facing west on Ashland Avenue and a third looking out south on a vacant lot. Near the southwest corner was a bloody stain nearly a foot in diameter and about four feet away from the wall. Almost in the center of the room was another blood-stain almost as large. It looked as though a body had been rolled from one place to the other, the changes of position leaving a small pool wherever the head had rested. Over these stains the same reddish brown paint that appeared in the hallway had been applied, but in such a bungling way as to leave no doubt that it had been done with great haste. The stains of blood were not heavy, and it was apparent that the life-fluid had soaked through a carpet before reaching the wood. In the northeast corner was a bedstead, in the northwest a dressing-case, in the southeast a wash-stand with a pitcher and bowl. In the center of the room was a rocking-chair. The right arm was broken off and lay on the floor, and the officials came quickly to the conclusion that the physician was sitting in this chair when he was first attacked. [Illustration] On the floor in other parts of the room were a lamp and the oil can from which it had been filled. But these articles attracted little attention for the moment. The attention of the officials was riveted on the blood stains that met their eyes in whatever direction they looked. As Captain Wing remarked later in the day, it was "blood, blood, everywhere." The center of the floor was dotted with drops about the size of a pea. There were half a dozen stains on the front of the dressing case, and some of it had congealed thickly on the brass facing of the lock. This Captain Wing plied off, in order that an analysis might be made. There were more spots on the key plate of the washstand, and this also was forced off. On the south wall was a score or more of stains, large and small, to several of which long black hairs were adhering, just as if the blood that spurted out when the head was struck with some blunt instrument had carried the hair with it. The wall was white, and the mute evidences of the awful crime stood out with terrible distinctness. On the bedstead was a mattress and a pair of uncovered pillows, but this part of the room had escaped the struggles of the victim to save his life. The painter had left his mark on the inside blind or shutter of the window looking out on the vacant lot, for eleven finger prints were plainly visible. Apparently the blind had been closed in a hurry while the paint was still wet. [Illustration] Passing through the communicating door into the dining-room, another spot of blood appeared in the middle of the floor. Strange to say, no effort had been made to cover this over. There was nothing else about the room to attract attention. The basement was next visited. Here the pot of red paint and the paint brush had been thrown down under the stairs. A broom with a broken handle stood against the wall, and a hurried inspection showed that it also was stained with blood and particles of wool. This had evidently been used to sweep the carpets while yet wet with gore. The paint pot bore the name of a well-known Chicago firm. Returning up stairs, the officials commenced a more minute inspection. On the floor beside the bed they found a key, which was subsequently tried in the lock of the bloody trunk found on the previous day, and proved to be the one wanted. A bill for curtains was also brought to light. The dressing case and wash stand were turned around, and the officials were considerably elated at finding them branded with the letters "A. H. R. & Co.," the trade mark of Alexander H. Revell & Co., an extensive local furniture house of national reputation. This of itself was a valuable--and as it subsequently turned out--a vital clue. The kerosene lamp was found to be almost full. If it was filled the night of the murder, it did not burn more than an hour. There were, however, no signs of a single article of the murdered man's clothing, of the implements in the surgeon's case that he had taken with him, or of the cotton batting. It was surmised that the murderers might have buried their tell-tale evidences of their bloody work in the cellar, and later in the day a half-dozen detectives from the Chicago Avenue station dug the place over to a depth of several feet. Nothing, however, was brought to light. FORMING A THEORY. In the light of the surroundings a theory of the circumstances under which the crime was committed was easily formed. Than the place itself a better one for such a purpose could not have been found. The street was absolutely dark after midnight, and even during the early evening the only outside light was that given by two kerosene lamps, one at each of the street intersections. Hence it was in comparative darkness all the evening. The house, moreover, was so near that of Sullivan's that it was probably an easy matter to decoy Dr. Cronin to it without arousing his suspicions. He had been struck the moment he entered the parlor, and fell in the corner of the room where the largest of the blood-stains appeared. The blow, however, had not deprived him of consciousness, and, gaining his feet he had engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with his assailants. This was apparent from the manner in which the blood was spattered over the articles of furniture that were several feet distant from each other. It had evidently been in this struggle that the arm of the rocking-chair was broken. Another terrific blow had been dealt his head while he retreated backward, as was evidenced by the hair and blood upon the wall. The last foul blow having been struck, the unfortunate man, perhaps still breathing, was stripped naked and the body packed into the trunk, which was already in the house. Having thus disposed of the corpse the trunk was borne out of the building to the wagon, which stood on the roadside. As it was being carried down the steps the blood that gathered at one end seeped through the corners and left the two gory trails on the boards of the sidewalk and the plank crossing the ditch. Then there was the hurried drive to the catch-basin, the dumping of the body, still warm, into its recesses, and the disposal of the trunk. The murder having thus been accomplished and the body disposed of, the conspirators, with strange assurance of their safety, had returned to the cottage and endeavored to efface the evidence of their crime by taking up the carpet and then plastering the blood-stains with the paint--a mixture of yellow and brown ochre. Either they were in a hurry or there had been some interruption, for the job was not half done and the murderers, leaving behind all the evidences of their atrocious deed, vacated the cottage for good and all. THE BLOOD EXAMINED BY EXPERTS. One of the first things to be determined was whether the blood on the floor of the cottage and that found in the trunk was identical. Dr. Brandt and Dr. Hectone were sent for, and for the balance of the day they were busily engaged in making examinations and microscopic comparisons. By night they were in a position to declare that two things had been definitely established. First, that the blood found in the Carlson cottage was that of a human being, and second, that, so far as an expert examination by the most approved methods had gone, it went to prove that the blood taken from the trunk and that taken from the house came from one and the same body. This feature of the tragedy created the greatest interest in medical circles, from the fact that it was the first case on record in which such a comparison had been attempted. "I examined the blood found in the trunk," said Dr. Brandt on the evening of the day in question, "soon after it was found and determined that it was human. The first thing to do was to determine whether the spots in the house were also human blood." "How can you tell whether certain blood is that of a human being, or of some animal?" he was asked. "Only by the size of the corpuscles. They are large and compressed on either side. It can be done only by means of a powerful microscope, and even with this aid none but an expert can tell. By submitting the blood to this test it was found to be human blood. This settled, the next thing of importance was to find out if the two specimens of blood bore any resemblance." "Can you tell to a certainty whether two drops of blood come from the same body?" "You cannot; but if they bear certain marks of resemblance the inference is pretty strong. You must bear in mind that the blood in both cases was taken from wood. That found in the trunk was diluted with water. After diluting the blood taken from the floor of the house sufficiently to make it of the same consistency, or as near as may be, with that from the trunk, we submitted them both to the microscopic test----" "And found?" "That the points of resemblance were marked. The pigment crystals were exactly alike." "From which you inferred----" "That the blood found in the trunk and that taken from the floor of the house came from the same person." "Do you think, Doctor, that it is the blood of Dr. Cronin?" "There is not the least doubt of it in my mind. It is almost certain that the doctor's body was in that trunk. If this is so, there can be little doubt that he met his death in the house on Ashland avenue." THE CARLSONS TELL THEIR STORY. After sending for Dr. Brandt and his colleague, the two police captains lost no time in putting the Carlsons on the rack. It was evident from the start that the family had known all about the condition of the interior of the cottage for days, if not weeks. They had hesitated about notifying the police, however, for fear that difficulty would be experienced in renting the cottage if the facts became known; while, at the same time, they were afraid to destroy and efface the evidences of the crime that they realized had been committed. Mrs. Carlson did not need any pressing to tell what she knew. From her story it was developed that on March 20th a tall, slender, pale-faced young man called at her house to learn the rent of the cottage. He was told he could have it for $12 monthly. The amount suited him, and he paid a month's rent in advance, without being requested to do so, and received the key. He went on to say that his name was Frank Williams, that he had two brothers and a sister, who would live with him, and that the sister would keep house. They were coming from Baltimore, and would join him in a day or two. He took the keys and went away, but the sister never came. [Illustration: THREE OF THE CARLSON FAMILY.] For a month there were no outward signs that the mysterious Frank Williams intended to occupy the building he had rented. Mrs. Carlson became very uneasy. Nearly seven weeks prior to the disappearance of the physician, or to be precise, on Wednesday, March 20th, just about the noon hour, a man of medium size, with dark hair and eyes, a full mustache, a derby hat, pulled well down over his forehead, and a heavy overcoat buttoned up around him, had knocked at the door of the little cottage occupied by the Carlsons. Mrs. Carlson herself was absent at the time, but her husband, Jonas, Charles, their son, and the latter's wife, Annie, were at home at the time. The latter was a domestic servant in the employ of a prominent family on Michigan avenue; but--by another peculiar coincidence--this happened to be her "day off," the first she had taken for several weeks. Jonas Carlson answered the door, and the stranger inquired if he (Carlson) was the owner of the cottage on the front lot. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he expressed a desire to rent it. Carlson secured the keys, and the two men went down to the cottage, entering by the rear door. The would-be tenant gave a cursory glance over the interior, and, remarking that there were six rooms, just the number that he required, asked what the rent would be. Carlson named the sum of twelve dollars monthly, to be paid in advance, but the stranger demurred and expressed the opinion that eleven dollars was quite enough. Finding, however, that Carlson was unwilling to lower his figure a single dime, the man at last remarked: "All right, I'll take it and give you the money now." The landlord and his new tenant then returned to the former's cottage, when the latter paid over the first month's rent. Charles Carlson wrote the receipt, and while this was being done the man remarked that he worked in the city, that he was one of three brothers, that his sister was coming from Baltimore to keep house for them, and that it might be several days and perhaps a week before they could move in. He also added that he had ordered some furniture, and that it would arrive in a few days. When asked his name he replied "Frank Williams," and the receipt was made out accordingly. Meanwhile, the three Carlsons had ample opportunity to "size up" the individual who was soon to be their neighbor, and his features were impressed on their memories. Annie Carlson and her husband especially noticed a peculiar way he had of glancing around, as well as a kind of sinister expression of his mouth. Having secured the receipt and the keys the man went away. On the third day following, about seven o'clock in the evening, a few articles of furniture were delivered at the cottage. Young Carlson strolled over to the place, and saw "Frank Williams," assisted by a man he described as dark, short and slender, together with the expressman, carrying in the goods. He passed the time of day with the expressman and found that the latter was a Swede. Weeks passed without any sign of activity on the part of the new tenant and nothing was seen of him until April 20, when he again called upon the Carlson's to pay the second month's rent. At this time young Carlson remembered that there was a trunk and a lounge in the cottage belonging to a former occupant, and "Williams" consented to help him move the articles out. While doing this an opportunity was afforded him of looking around the house, and he was particularly struck with the meagre character of the furniture. There was nothing on the bedstead but a spring mattress and comforter, the carpet was cheap and the chairs, washstand and other articles were of the most common kind. The elder Mrs. Carlson received the rent this time, and with a woman's natural inquisitiveness, she asked the man what was the matter that his people did not move in. He replied that his sister had been taken "awfully sick," and was in the Sister's Hospital. Mrs. Carlson replied that she liked to see people move in when the house was rented, as it did not look well to have it rented. To this "Williams" responded that it might be a week and perhaps a little more before his people were finally settled. Before leaving the three had a pitcher of beer together. After this the Carlsons were on the _qui vive_ for their new neighbors, but the week passed, and two more, and still the cottage was unoccupied. On Monday, May 13--Dr. Cronin had then been missing for eleven days--the Carlsons had another visitor. He was a short stout man, full chested, with light hair and complexion. To Mrs. Carlson he said that Frank Williams had sent him to pay the rent, that his sister was still so sick that they could not take possession. But by this time the old lady had made up her mind that if the people couldn't begin housekeeping she couldn't take the rent, and she said so. The visitor tried to argue her out of her determination, but in vain. She knew that the little frame building was eyed with suspicion by the keen-witted Germans that lived in the neighborhood, and that it had become current gossip that there were queer tenants in the apparently vacant house. The few pieces of furniture was all that any one had seen carried into the place, and yet it was, to all appearances, the home of somebody. No woman had been seen around, although once in a while a light could be seen burning at night through the closed blinds, and a piece of bed quilt had been stretched over one of the street windows. All these things had tended to make Mrs. Carlson suspicious, and although she said nothing about them, she gave her visitor to understand that she did not propose to have the place apparently unoccupied any longer, and that moreover she wanted to put it in the market. Upon this the man suggested that she could do this and still let them have the use of the rooms; but Mrs. Carlson could not be shaken from her position, because, as she sagely remarked, people who thought of buying it would want to get into it to see what it was like. Moreover, she added it would be another week before the rent was due. The man admitted this but said that "Frank Williams wanted to be sure of the place as he did not want to lose it." All his arguments, however, were of no avail, the old lady would not take the money under the circumstances, and the man departed. Matters went on in this way until May 18th, when a letter, addressed in a scrawling hand, and bearing the postmark of Hammond, Indiana, was delivered at the Carlson cottage. Its contents, written on a half sheet of note paper, were as follows: _Mr. Carlson_--DEAR SIR: My sister is low at present and my business calls me out of town. If you will please put the furniture in your cellar for a few days I will pay you for your trouble. I am sorry that I lost the key to the cottage door, but I will pay you for all trouble. My sister told me to paint the floor for her so that it would not be so hard to keep clean. I am now sorry I gave the front room one coat. F. W. That afternoon, Charles Carlson went over to the cottage for the purpose of disposing of the furniture as requested in the letter. The front window next to the cellar was found to be open, and through this he secured an entrance. One glance at the inside filled him with alarm, and he went back to the house after his father and mother. The condition in which they found the place has already been described in the earlier portion of this chapter. Their first impulse was to notify the police, but after talking over the matter, they decided to allow the cottage to remain as it was, moving neither stick nor stone until "Williams" came for his furniture or an opportunity was afforded for renting the cottage to another tenant. This determination was adhered to until the finding of Dr. Cronin's body. O'SULLIVAN AND "FRANK WILLIAMS." This was the story as told by Mrs. Carlson and supplemented by her husband, son and daughter-in-law. When, however, their memories were refreshed by the numerous questions which were propounded by the officers, and which served to bring back scenes and incidents that they had almost forgotten, many facts of essential importance were added to the initial narrative. Old man Carlson remembered that after the man had rented the cottage and received the keys, he walked across the prairie toward O'Sullivan's house. The iceman was standing near his buggy, and Carlson plainly heard "Williams" remark: "Well, the cottage is rented." Just before the second month's rent was due Carlson had gone to O'Sullivan and asked him if he knew the man. "Yes," the iceman had responded, "I know one of the men. He is all right." Again, upon receipt of the letter from Hammond, Carlson had taken it to O'Sullivan and asked him what he thought about it. His reply was that the cottage seemed to be an unlucky one, and that it would have to be rented again. O'Sullivan had also intimated that he would be responsible for a month's rent if "Williams" failed to appear; thus holding out an inducement to the Carlsons not to disturb the place for the time being. The old man also remembered that on the night of May 4th he saw Williams standing on the front steps of the house for several minutes, after which he went indoors. This was about five o'clock. Two hours or so later he heard two men talking loudly in the front room of the cottage. He could not distinguish what was said, and the blinds were drawn so closely that nothing could be seen. He gave the matter no thought, and at eight o'clock--about the time that the physician must have reached the scene--himself and his family were abed. On the following morning, while prowling about his lot, he saw strange stains on the front door steps, which he thought were made by the breaking of a jar of preserves. In the soft mud in the sidewalk fronting the house were the footprints of men who had worn heavy shoes, and near the curb were fresh wagon tracks that seemed to lead to the southward. Charles Carlson also remembered that a few nights after May 4th he had noticed a man skulking about the cottage. It was extremely dark, but he could see that he was light-complexioned and wore a black slouch hat and an overcoat. Carlson asked him what he wanted, and he replied that he was out of work and wanted to find the nearest police station. The information was given him and he went away. Young Carlson also said that about the first of May he noticed that one of the slats of the front blinds had been cut out, so that any one approaching the house could be seen from the front room--the one in which the death-struggle had taken place. THE FURNITURE TRACED. To say that the authorities and the friends of the murdered man were elated by these developments is to put it mildly. It was next in order to ascertain where the furniture had been purchased, and by whom. The first question was practically answered by the trade-mark of A. H. Revell & Co. on the back of the dressing-case and wash-stand. The second seemed a more difficult one, as the firm in question sold tens of thousands of such articles of furniture every few months. Here, again, good fortune favored the investigation. It happened that in the establishment in question a careful and systematic record of all sales was kept, comprising a description of the goods sold, their price, the name and address of the purchaser, together with any attendant circumstances that might serve to make the record the more complete. On an examination of this record the fact was elicited that the furniture of the description found in the Carlson cottage had been purchased at the store on February 17th. The salesman was W. T. Hatfield, an old employe of the firm, and the purchaser a man who gave his name as J. B. Simonds. This individual Mr. Hatfield described as about twenty-five years of age, one hundred and fifty pounds in weight, complexion a cross between dark and fair, a rather heavy, reddish-brown moustache, high forehead, and thin drab hair. He wore a dark cut-away-coat, dark trousers, a brown, heavy over-coat, and a derby hat. Upon entering the store he said that he wanted to fix up a room or two very cheaply, with goods as cheap as they had in the house, as they were only for temporary use. He was taken up-stairs, and, after selecting what he wanted, asked to be shown a large trunk. This necessitated a trip down-stairs, and, after looking at several sizes, he chose one known to the trade as a "Becker 40 No. 2." When all his purchases had been completed the bill footed up in this order: 32 yards of ingrain carpet at 35 cents $12.80 1 trunk 3.50 1 outdoor mat 1.00 1 small hand sachel 1.00 1 chamber suit 14.50 1 "solid comfort" spring 1.50 1 mattress, excelsior top 2.75 1 pair of pillows 2.00 1 bowl, pitcher, etc 1.35 1 lamp 50 1 comforter 1.00 1 cane chair 65 1 cane rocker 1.95 1 trunk strap 1.00 ------ Total $45.50 It was noticed as curious by Mr. Hatfield that the man could not tell how large his room was, but guessed that thirty-two yards would be plenty. "Where shall I have the goods delivered?" asked the salesman when the bill had been made out. "I don't know," replied Simonds. "You keep them here and I'll take a memorandum of them." This he did. "I will come back," he went on, "to-morrow or next day, and give you my address." True to his word, the man put in an appearance at ten o'clock the following morning, greeting Salesman Hatfield with the remark: "Well, I will take those goods." The bill was presented, and Simonds, stepping to the cashier's desk, pulled out a big roll of bills of large denominations, tens and twenties predominating. "Now I will give you the address," he added, as he pocketed the change. "You can send those things to J. B. Simonds, 117 South Clark street, rooms 12 and 15, and send a man to put the carpet down." IN THE CLARK STREET FLAT. About noon of the same day the carpet-layer accompanied the furniture to the address that had been given. This building was directly opposite the ten-story Chicago Opera-House structure, in which the offices of both Dr. Cronin and Alexander Sullivan were located. There were two rooms bearing 12 as their number in the building. One room, the door of which was covered with Turkish characters, was on the second floor. This was not the room occupied by Simonds, and another flight of stairs brought the furniture men to a sort of lodging-house arrangement of rooms. No. 12 was a front room, and 15 adjoined it in the back. In the front room the carpet-layer found a short, rather stout man of dark complexion, and wearing a closely cropped black moustache, who told him to go ahead with his work. He had no noticeable accent in his speech, and seemed to be an American. He superintended the laying of the carpet, and talked a good deal in a friendly way. The carpet proved to be too long by several yards for the room, and the carpet man wanted to cut it off. [Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S OFFICE IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING.] "Oh, no," the other protested as he handed the workman a cigar. "Turn it under. I'd much rather have it that way. You see, this is only temporary anyway. I may move at any time." The man did as requested, and the packing trunk and a portion of the furniture was taken into the room. The remainder was unloaded into No. 15. Simonds, had called at the furniture house on the following day and exchanged the trunk-strap for a larger one. After making this statement Hatfield accompanied the officers to the Carlson cottage. Here, as had been expected, he immediately declared that the furniture and carpets were _fac similes_ of the articles he had sold to Simonds. The bloody trunk that had been found on the Lake View prairie corresponded also in every detail with the one that figured in his bill of goods. WHEN THE FLAT WAS RENTED. The rooms that had been occupied by Simonds and his confederates looked almost direct into the offices of Alexander Sullivan across the street. Those of Dr. Cronin's, being in the rear of the opposite building, were not within sight, although the goings and comings of the physician on the street could be seen from the window of No. 12. Salesman Hatfield's disclosures had forged another link in the chain, and the authorities turned their attention to the renting of the rooms. The agents of the building were Knight & Marshall, a leading real estate firm and of which Edward C. Throckmorton was cashier and renting agent. It was found that Simonds had called at 117 Clark street on February 19th, the same day that the furniture was picked out, and inquired what rooms could be had. The janitor showed him all the rooms on the upper floor. He asked several questions and then went over to the office of the agents. Here he first saw Throckmorton, to whom he expressed a wish to lease the flat he had looked at. He gave no references, but said that he was a stranger in the city and wanted the place for a brother who was coming from the East for treatment for his eyes. The cashier suggested that he take two rooms on the lower floor, but Simonds was not willing. The upper floor was preferable, he said, because it had no other tenants. Throckmorton turned the matter over to Mr. Marshall, who named the figure of $42 monthly as the rent of the flat. Simonds made no quibble about the price, signed the lease to April 30th, and paid the first month's rent. Nothing more was thought of the matter until March 20th, when Collector Herman Goldman went to the flat to obtain the next month's rent. Nobody responded to his knocking, but on peeping through a hole in the front door he saw the furniture and carpet within. When he went back twenty-four hours later every vestige of the furniture had been removed and not a trace of the mysterious J. B. Simonds was to be found. [Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S MAIN OFFICE IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING.] [Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S RECEPTION ROOM IN CHICAGO OPERA HOUSE BUILDING.] MILKMAN MERTES' STORY. While these facts were being brought to light in one direction, information of the greatest value had been secured in another, and which confirmed, almost beyond question, the general belief that Dr. Cronin had been murdered in the Carlson cottage. It came from William Mertes, a milk dealer of reputation and good standing in the community, and who lived on Woodside avenue in Lake View. On the night of May 4th, somewhere between 8:30 and 9 o'clock, Mertes left his house to visit the grocery at the corner of Ashland avenue and Otto street, which was only a short block south of the cottage. He walked east on Addison avenue to Ashland, and then turned south on the east sidewalk. As he neared the Carlson cottage at Roscoe street a buggy containing two men rolled up to the edge of the ditch. One of the men, whom Mertes described as a tall and apparently athletic man, sprang from the buggy and ran up the front stairs of the cottage, the door of which was thrown open before he even knocked for admission. Scarcely had the door closed again when the sound of loud and angry voices within the cottage startled the milk dealer. He looked searchingly at the man in the buggy, wondering what had brought him to that lonely neighborhood at such an hour of the night, but the stranger's face was shrouded by the brim of a soft hat, and Mertes was unable to tell whether he was stout or slender, or fair or dark. The fellow whipped his horse into a gallop, drove to Addison avenue and then turned in the direction of the lake. Mertes thought at the time that a fight was in progress, but as he heard only words he paid but little attention. [Illustration: MILKMAN MERTES.] "Were there any lights in the house?" he was asked. "Yes, there was a light, a small one, in the front room of the first floor. I could see it through the blinds." "Could you distinguish the loud words you heard?" "No, I could not. I tried to, but as they were spoken in the house they did not reach me." "Did you hear any sounds that would indicate that a scuffle was in progress?" "No; I listened for them because I thought there was a fight." "Did you hear any loud words before the man from the buggy entered?" "No, I didn't; but I was a long way from the house then." "Did you see the man's face?" "He ran up the stairs in too much of a hurry for me to get a glimpse of him. He appeared to be in a terrible hurry." "Did he speak to the man in the buggy before the latter drove away?" "I think not." "Do you remember whether he knocked for admission?" "I don't believe he did. He had scarcely reached the landing when I heard the bolt of the door fly back and then it opened, and he went in." "And you heard the loud words directly afterward?" "Yes; just as soon as the door closed." "How was the man dressed?" "My impression is that he had on a long overcoat, which was of a brown color, but I wouldn't be sure of it." "Did he have a box or parcel in his hand?" "I am not sure. He went up-stairs so fast that I couldn't see much of him." "Was he tall?" "Yes; and I think quite straight and well built." "What sort of a horse was attached to the buggy?" "I think it was a light sorrel with a white face. I am sure about the white face." "Was it a top buggy?" "Yes." "Did you notice the man in it?" "Not very much, because he went away so fast." "Did you see how he was dressed?" "I could only see that he had on a slouch hat. I thought it was a little funny that they should be going up to the front door, because I had always noticed that the people who lived around there went in the back way." Mertes had said nothing of this experience until he fell in with a party of friends who were discussing the discovery in the cottage. Then he added the startling incident of his night trip to the corner grocers, when he was probably the only man besides the murderers who heard the physician's death struggles. The authorities arrived at the conclusion that the loud voices that had startled him were made by the murderers as they fell on their victim, and that the doctor had been attacked the instant that he entered the door, being given no chance to defend himself. Taken in connection with the blows on the body, there was good ground for the theory that he was first struck over the left eye with a billy or sand-bag, and then hacked about the head with a hatchet or ice-pick. The towel that was found about the head might have been used at the start, to stifle any out-cry, and then to strangle the victim when it became apparent that horrible butchery would have to be resorted to to complete the job as it was begun. At the same time it was acknowledged that this theory was hardly compatible with the broken furniture, the blood be-spattered walls, and the other apparent evidence in the room that the physician had made a terrible struggle for life. THE EXPRESSMAN IS FOUND. There now remained but a single link to establish the connection between the furniture left in the cottage and that sold by Hatfield. The expressman who hauled the goods from the Clark street flat was still to be found. But there were several hundred men in the city engaged in that line of business, and although the police and detectives worked like beavers, it looked for a while as though their labor would be thrown away. Success came at last, however, although it was nearly two week's before the much wanted man was run to earth. He proved to be a Swede named Hukon Mortensen, a simple, unsuspicious young fellow, not possessed of more than the average intelligence of men of his occupation. From him it was learned that one day in the latter part of March, while at his stand, at the corner of Chicago avenue and Market street, he was approached by a man who asked him his terms for hauling a load of furniture from 117 Clark street to the corner of Lincoln and Belmont avenues. He offered to do the job for $2, but the man was not willing to pay more than $1.50, and this he accepted. This man, whose description tallied exactly with that given by the Carlsons of "Frank Williams," was assisted by another man in carrying the furniture down-stairs. When the wagon had been loaded Mortensen was told to go out to Lincoln and Belmont avenues and wait, his customer saying that he would take a cable car. The expressman was first on the ground; but the man did not put in an appearance for over an hour, when, with a companion, he drove up in a buggy, explaining the delay by saying that the cable had broken down. After the pair had carried the furniture into the cottage, young Carlson, meanwhile looking on, they took the expressman to a tobacco store two blocks away, where, after securing change for a five dollar bill, he was paid the amount agreed upon. After this he drove back to the city. It was after eight o'clock, and consequently pitch dark when his wagon was unloaded. Three or four times during the next few days the same man passed the stand, and then he was not seen again in the neighborhood. The plot, according to the surroundings, could now be outlined. Preparations for the "removal" of the unfortunate physician had been commenced as early as February, when the flat was hired and the furniture purchased. Apparently it was the original intention to lure him into the third story of the Clark street building, where isolated, and, as "Simonds" remarked, "with no tenants on the same floor," he could be summoned from his office on the other side of the street and speedily done to death. For some reason or other, however, possibly because a single outcry might have alarmed the people on the floor below, this idea was abandoned, and the lonely cottage was hired. For over six weeks the assassins must have plotted and planned the carrying-out of their murderous intentions. Then came the summons of the night of May 4th, the crime, the efforts to dispose of the body in the lake, its concealment in the catch-basin, the throwing away of the bloody trunk, the endeavor to efface the blood-stains in the cottage with paint, and finally the strenuous effort to continue its occupancy, in order that its condition might not be seen by other eyes. So far the authorities were satisfied with the results accomplished. ICEMAN O'SULLIVAN SUSPECTED. The opinion was now almost general that Iceman O'Sullivan knew more concerning the tragedy than he was willing to admit. No one was yet bold enough to accuse him of actual complicity in the crime, while at the same time it was apparent that his statements to the police, as well as to the friends of Dr. Cronin, were widely at variance with the discoveries that had been made. The peculiar nature of the contract he was said to have made with the physician, to attend any man in his employ who might meet with an accident, his denial of any acquaintance with the men who had rented the cottage, in the face of the fact that he had been seen in conversation with "Frank Williams," and had guaranteed the payment of the rent by the latter, and numerous other circumstances, some more or less trivial, were sufficient to raise the question as to whether, even had he taken no actual part in the terrible crime, he, in legal phraseology was not "possessed of a guilty knowledge." Hence it was the police decided to place the iceman under surveillance. Thereafter his house, as well as his every movement, when out of doors, was watched both night and day, and any attempt to leave the city would have resulted in his immediate arrest. CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY--DETECTIVE COUGHLIN HIRES IT FOR A "FRIEND"-- THE TROUBLE IN THE STABLE--DINAN GOES TO SCHAACK--THE CAPTAIN'S PECULIAR MOVEMENTS--SCANLAN IDENTIFIES THE HORSE--THE DETECTIVE AND O'SULLIVAN ARE JAILED--THE GRAND JURY INDICTS THEM WITH WOODRUFF--FULL ON THE TRACK OF THE CONSPIRATORS. "Who owned the rig in which Dr. Cronin was driven to the assassin's den?" "Who hired the white horse and buggy--if it was hired--that Frank Scanlan saw standing outside of the Windsor Theatre building on that memorable May night?" These were the questions to which the friends of the murdered physician now directed themselves. The body had been found; the cottage in which the crime had been committed--with all its mute but gory testimony--had been located. But even now the wheels of the mill of justice had scarce begun to revolve. Dr. Cronin had left his home alive; he had reached the cottage alive. Whose rig was it that took him to it? The question that was uppermost in the minds of thousands of people was soon to be answered--answered, too, in a manner that furnished a still more startling episode to the already startling tragedy. For the man that hired the horse and vehicle that carried the Irish Nationalist to his doom was a trusted officer in the employ of the city of Chicago; a man who, from the day of the disappearance, had, enjoying the full confidence of his superiors, been apparently working with might and main to bring about a solution of the mystery. It was Daniel Coughlin, detective. COUGHLIN HIRES THE RIG. Coughlin was attached to the East Chicago Avenue Police Station, which at that time was under the direction of Captain Michael J. Schaack, who had gained an international reputation for his brilliant work in connection with the celebrated Anarchist cases. The station house was located within a few doors of the southwest corner of Clark Street and Chicago Avenue. Little more than half a block north, on the former street, was a livery stable kept by Patrick Dinan. Naturally enough, as a result of his close proximity to the station, Dinan knew about all the officers and they knew him. Moreover, if any of them wanted a rig at any time to take their family or friends for a drive, they almost invariably went to No. 260 North Clark street to get it. So far as Dinan was concerned, therefore, there was nothing remarkable in the fact when, early on the morning of the day that the physician disappeared, Coughlin called at the stable. [Illustration: DANIEL COUGHLIN, DETECTIVE.] "I want you to keep a rig in readiness for a friend of mine to-night," he said, "and I don't want you to say a word about it. When he calls for it give it to him, and I'll be responsible for it." "All right," was Dinan's response. "I will have one on hand." The liveryman said afterward that he did not pay much attention to the remark that he was to "keep still about it," from the fact that Coughlin was often in the habit of hiring cabs and rigs to do detective work. In fact, he did not pay any attention to it at all, as there was nothing out of the common in his manner or conversation. [Illustration: LIVERYMAN DINAN'S STABLE WHERE THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY WERE HIRED.] [Illustration: THE WHITE HORSE AND BUGGY.] The detective's "friend" was on hand at the livery stable a few minutes after seven that evening. Seen under the dim gas-light; he was a man about thirty-five years old, of dark complexion, with a black mustache and a four weeks' growth of beard. He was rather undersized, and weighed in the neighborhood of 125 pounds. A small, soft felt hat, with the front pulled down well over his eyes, covered his head, and a seedy, faded gray or yellow overcoat was buttoned up close around him. A few moments before, Dinan's blacksmith had ordered a high-strung bay horse to be hitched up, and while this was being done, the two men strolled up the street to an adjacent cigar store. While they were absent, the stranger entered, and going to the back of the stable, told the hostler that he had come for the rig that "Dan Coughlin had ordered for him." Dinan returned at this juncture, and in reply to a question, ordered his employe to hitch up the white horse. When the stranger saw the color of the animal, he objected violently. He did not want it, and expressed a preference for a carriage horse that stood in its stall. He was told that if the animal were put in single harness it would kill him. Next he wanted the horse that was being put into harness for the blacksmith. The latter was willing enough, in his good nature, to give way, but Dinan was stubborn. He knew, he said, how much the black horse had done that day, but he did not know how much was before the white one after it had gone out. Failing to get the white horse the man proceeded to find fault with the buggy. He wanted a better one, but was told that he would have to take it or nothing. At this he scowled. Then he wanted to know why the side-curtains had not been attached. By this time Dinan, who was in an independent mood, not attaching much importance to the fellow or caring for his trade, was on his mettle, and in a pointed manner he replied that he could not give any curtains, that he did not know where they were, and that it would take too long to look for them. It was dark anyway, he added, and nobody could see him, but if he wished to shield himself from view he could put up the top. Growling something that could not be understood, the stranger adopted the suggestion, and, getting into the vehicle, drove out into the street. He turned north on Clark Street, heading direct for the Windsor Theatre building. It was then about 8:15. The horse had not been out before that day, and as Dinan was anxious to see how it would act he went out into the street, two of his employes going with him. They watched it until it had crossed Chestnut Street, about a block and a half distant, when it was lost in the darkness. The horse, however, seemed to behave admirably. Dinan was absent when the same man brought back the rig between 9:15 and 9:30 the same evening. Napier Moreland, the hostler, was in the rear barn at the time, and the man, driving in the rig to the carriage-walk, hurried out of the door without stopping to find any one to care for it. Moreland barely caught sight of him as he turned the corner of the door. The horse was found to be extremely warm, as if it had been driven fast and a good distance. Its description at the time, as it will live in the history of the case, was as follows: "A white horse, standing about fifteen and a half hands high, rather long limbed, long body, little, slim and long, rangy neck. Not a mark by which he could be identified. Clean as a whistle, neither spavin-boned nor collar-boned nor ring-boned. Buggy three quarter-seat, Columbus, Ohio, manufacture; side bar rather low, not much higher than some phaetons; old, trimmed with blue cloth, and provided with a cotton whip." DINAN GOES TO SCHAACK. The livery-man thought nothing further of the circumstance until early the following Monday morning, when the excitement over the disappearance of the physician had commenced to manifest itself. The description of the white horse and buggy which Frank Scanlan--and, as it subsequently proved, Mrs. Conklin--had seen driven up, and which carried the doctor away, arrested his attention, and recalling the event of Saturday night, he determined to go to Captain Schaack and acquaint him with the facts. At the same time he had little idea that it was his own white horse that had been mixed up in the affair. Only a coincidence, he reasoned, especially in view of to the fact that it was Detective Coughlin that had hired it; while yet at the same time, it might prove be the best policy to tell what he knew. In the meantime, several police officers in uniform had called at the stable to learn if a white horse had been hired on the Saturday night, and the hostler, acting under instructions that they were never to tell who took out horses ordered by the Captain or his detectives, answered each inquiry in the negative. It was between nine and ten o'clock when Dinan went up to the station to see Captain Schaack. On the steps he met Coughlin. "Hello!" said the detective. "Who are you looking for?" "Captain Schaack," replied the liveryman. "What for?" demanded Coughlin. "What are you so excited about?" "Well," was the reply, "there have been so many inquiries made about the white horse that was out on Saturday night--the one that I let your friend have--that I want to tell him all about it." Coughlin's face paled perceptibly. The muscles twitched, and he nervously chewed his mustache. For a few moments he stood deep in thought, and then, turning to Dinan, he said: "Look here, there is no use making a fuss about this thing. You keep quiet about it. Me and Cronin have not been good friends, and it might get me into difficulty or trouble. Everybody knows he and I were enemies." Although the livery-man appeared to acquiesce in the detective's suggestion, and went away for the time being, he was more than ever determined in his mind to see the captain. He did not propose to "keep quiet about it." Accordingly, an hour later he went again to the station. He was told that the official was home at dinner, and he made a bee-line for the house. Schaack was there, and into his attentive ear Dinan poured his tale of the white horse, the buggy and the peculiar customer. SCHAACK'S PECULIAR MOVEMENTS. What possessed the doughty "burgomaster" (as Capt. Schaack was familiarly called by the residents of the North Division) to follow the course that he did at this juncture, passes all comprehension. On the witness-stand before the coroner's jury, some days later, he could only justify himself by the lame statement that, at the time, he did not believe that Cronin had been killed. He might also have admitted, and with truth, that he had placed absolute and implicit confidence in his subordinates, only--as had been the fate of many as good a man before him--to be deceived and betrayed. At any rate his treatment of the information, placed at his disposal by Dinan, was of such a character as to demonstrate so great a neglect of duty, both toward the chief of police and his subordinates and the public, that, when its full extent became known, he was, notwithstanding his previous record, first suspended from duty and subsequently dismissed from the force. What Capt. Schaack should have done--what any other official of his own, or subordinate rank in the city would have done--was to have gone without unnecessary delay to the chief of police and acquainted him with the disclosures that the liveryman had made. Instead of this, however, upon returning to the station, he sent for Coughlin himself, the last man of all men, who should have been informed of what had transpired. When the detective responded, he was asked if Dinan's story was true, and replied that it was. Pressed for further particulars, he said that he had hired the rig for a man named Thomas Smith. Of this individual he knew very little, except that he had come to the station and introduced himself as a friend of Coughlin's brother, who lived in Hancock, Michigan. He had met this man Smith several times; and on the Saturday morning the visitor had asked him to procure him a horse and buggy for that evening, as he (Smith), not being known to the livery-men thereabouts, might experience some difficulty in securing one. This the detective protested, was the entire extent of his connection with the affair. He did not know what use the man had made of the rig, where he had gone, or what time he returned. In fact he had not set eyes on him since the day in question. Extraordinary as it may seem, Capt. Schaack accepted this story without question, and contented himself with ordering the detective to go out and find the man, and bring him in for examination. Coughlin promised to do so. Two days went by, and he failed to report. Schaack then sent for him again, and asked him if he had found his friend. Coughlin answered in the negative, and said that he did not know where to lay his hands on him, unless he happened to run across him in a saloon. This was not satisfactory. [Illustration: DETECTIVE MICHAEL WHALEN.] "You go and find that man," said Schaack, "or it may be bad for you." Detective Michael Whalen was also assigned to assist his brother officer in the search, and day after day, they tramped the streets in sunshine and rain; and scoured the saloons for the mythical "Smith." While this hunt was going on, Capt. Schaack had gone one evening to the livery stable, procured the white horse and buggy, and, having driven to the residence of the Conklins, asked the lady of the house whether she identified the animal and vehicle as the same that had taken the physician away. Later on there was a wide difference in the reports of this proceeding. The captain insisted that Mrs. Conklin declared that she utterly failed to recognize the rig, and that she said positively that it was not the same horse, as the one driven by the mysterious stranger--was better looking, and a faster traveler. On the other hand Mrs. Conklin was empathic in the declaration that she had said nothing of the kind, but had told the official that there was a close resemblance between the two rigs. Schaack also went to Dinan and obtained a description of the supposed Smith, and again this description, as taken from Schaack's notes, was as different from what the livery-man had told everybody else as light is from darkness, and tallied in no particular with that narrated by Mrs. Conklin and Frank Scanlan. That night, when Coughlin and Whalen presented themselves with the usual report that Smith had not been found, the captain acquainted them with the result of his enquiries, expressed himself as satisfied that there was no connection between the two rigs, and ordered them to drop the Cronin case and report for general duty. "Its lucky for you," he said to Coughlin, "that it wasn't the same rig that your friend took out that carried off the doctor. It might have been a serious affair." Coughlin smiled grimly, but said nothing. A couple of nights later, while the detective and Whalen were walking down Clark street, Coughlin met a man who appeared to know him. He did not offer to introduce him to his fellow officer, and the latter strolled on, while the two men engaged in conversation. When Coughlin rejoined Whalen he said that the man he had talked with was the mysterious "Smith," and that he was on the point of leaving for New Mexico. Whalen turned round to look at him, but he had disappeared. That night Coughlin told the same story to Capt. Schaack, and the latter dismissed the matter, with the remark, "all right," never even so much as thinking to ask his subordinate whether he had asked the man where he went with the rig that night, or why he had not brought him to the station. To Dinan the detective repeated the same story, mentioning Prescott as the point in New Mexico to which the man was going. He also said that he had collected three dollars from him to pay for the use of the rig, but that he had spent it, and would settle on the first of the month. COUGHLIN UNDER ARREST. But, although he held his peace until Coughlin had left, the livery-man was anything but satisfied in his own mind, and the more he thought of it the stronger he was convinced that the matter had not been properly investigated. Finally he went to Horace Elliott, chief of detectives, with his story. Elliott took him to Chief of Police Hubbard. The head of the force listened attentively, and shrewd and experienced as he was, recognized the importance of the disclosure. Dinan's description of Coughlin's friend was compared with that of the supposed messenger from O'Sullivan's ice house, and found to correspond in almost every particular. With the chief to think was to act. Instructions were sent to the Chicago avenue station that Coughlin was to remain indoors, and all that day he was so closely watched that if he had attempted to escape he could not have left the station without being placed under arrest. In the afternoon there was a conference at police headquarters, in which Mayor Cregier, Chief Hubbard, Corporation Council Hutchinson, Lawyer W. J. Hynes, Col. W. P. Rend, and others interested in the prosecution participated. Coughlin was sent for, and for two hours he was subjected to a rigid and merciless examination. His replies were evasive and unsatisfactory. Several times when hard pressed he refused to answer at all, and he frequently contradicted himself and became so confused that it was evident that he was endeavouring to conceal the truth. When he left the room the conference was resumed, and a general opinion was expressed that the detective had a guilty knowledge of the murderous plot by which Dr. Cronin had lost his life, and that he should be treated as an ordinary criminal. He was taken from the place in the same patrol wagon that had carried so many of his own prisoners, and that night he slept in "Criminals Row" of the armory station. Before the conference had ended, orders were also issued suspending Detective Michael Whalen, who was a first cousin to iceman O'Sullivan, for neglect of duty. [Illustration: CHIEF OF POLICE HUBBARD.] THE SMITH STORY DISPROVED. Coughlin's friend, Smith, put in an appearance at police headquarters of his own volition, the following day, only, however, to give a flat refutation of the story told by the detective. "Willard F." instead of "Thomas" Smith was his name. He had come to Chicago from Michigan four years before; had traveled thence pretty well all over the west and south, and eventually had returned to the city. When a boy in Houghton, half a mile from Hancock, he had lived next door to Coughlin, and after coming to Chicago the second time, he had called upon him at the station. On the last occasion he had said something about having been in New Mexico. He volunteered the statement that he was the man that Coughlin had met on Clark street when the latter was in company with Whalen, but strongly denied that he had ever asked his friend to hire a rig; that he had never used one in Chicago, or that he was identified in any way with Irish secret societies. In fact, although born in Michigan, his parents were native born Germans. THE CASE AGAINST O'SULLIVAN. No doubt could any longer exist but that the suspicions that had been entertained that Detective Coughlin was, to a greater or lesser degree, connected with the crime, was well founded. It was equally certain that, by the same process of reasoning, O'Sullivan was largely in the toils. Many a man and woman in foreign countries had been sent to the gallows on evidence far less circumstantial than that with which the iceman was confronted at this stage of the case. It was beyond all question, that about the middle of April, more than a month prior to the disappearance of Dr. Cronin, he had asked John A. Mahoney, a Lake View Justice of the Peace, to introduce him to the physician, giving as a reason that he wanted to make a contract with some good surgeon to take care of the men who were employed on his ice wagons, during the hot season. The Justice, either not knowing or not remembering that O'Sullivan employed but three or four men, readily consented, and the two men went to the Physician's office in the Chicago Opera House block. Here after considerable conversation, a contract was agreed upon, by which O'Sullivan undertook to pay Dr. Cronin $8.00 per month, the latter agreeing to attend the iceman's employees when injured, as well as any children that might be hurt by his wagons. In this agreement however, there was one remarkable and significant stipulation. It was to the effect that the Physician should respond to any call that might be made, by any person presenting one of O'Sullivan's cards, and, in order that there should be no mistake on this point, the ice dealer after the interview in question handed one of his cards to the Physician. The latter placed it in the frame of the mirror of his private office, and there, a silent witness, yet ready to testify in trumpet tones, it was found on the day succeeding the night that he was decoyed to his death. It was commented upon at the time as remarkable that Dr. Cronin should not have made some inquiries when the matter of the contract was broached. So far as was known by his friends no arrangement of this kind had ever before been suggested to him in the course of his many years of practice. At this very time, moreover, he was in constant dread, or at least anticipation, of being murdered. Yet, although the financial consideration mentioned was purely nominal, he went into the matter as a speculator goes into a blind pool. Apparently it never suggested itself to him, to inquire why O'Sullivan should desire to make such a contract. He had no ice houses, his business consisting in retailing ice which he purchased at wholesale rates from various shippers. He employed but a very few men and there was no evidence that any of his wagons had created havoc among the little ones on the North Side of the city. His business was almost exclusively with private families who purchased their ice in small quantities, rarely over 100 pounds at a time. His men ran little or no risk of getting hurt, and even if they did, the iceman would in no way have been responsible. Assuming, however, that he was more than ordinary solicitous about his employees, and willing to assume the responsibility for their care in sickness, why should he have selected the Irish physician? Why should he have picked out a man whose office was nearly six miles from his barns, when fully two score of experienced surgeons were to be found all over the town of Lake View, to say nothing of those who resided at short distances along the route from the suburb to the residence of the Conklins? There were other pertinent questions. Why did O'Sullivan need an introduction to Dr. Cronin? He had met him before, in fact had participated in a meeting of a Camp of the Clan-na-Gael when the physician had assisted in the initiation of several new members. He had no favor to ask, and even offered to make the first month's payment on the contract in advance and to always pay in advance. Why then should he have induced Justice Mahoney to ride five miles in order that the justice might introduce a man already known to Dr. Cronin, who had no favor to ask and who simply desired to make a contract decidedly unfavorable to himself? Again, why was the use of a card necessary? Was there any danger that outside parties would take advantage of a contract that they knew nothing about, and have their broken limbs or internal injuries attended to free of charge on O'Sullivan's account? What protection could a card guarantee? Would not the word of a caller have answered just as well? Right here additional facts were woven into the web. Two days prior to the date on which the contract was made, O'Sullivan had called at the office of the Lake View Record, a weekly newspaper published in the town, and obtained some three thousand business cards which he had ordered to be printed about the middle of April. They differed slightly from the old card which he had used, but had the same general appearance. The same cut of an ice wagon was in the center, printed in red ink. The heading however, was "Sullivan Ice Company," instead of "P. O'Sullivan & Co.," the heading of the old card. This was May 2nd. Why did O'Sullivan need these cards. He must have had full a thousand of the old stock on hand. What did O'Sullivan do with these cards? Who did he give them to? On Saturday, May the 4th, at 7:30 in the evening, a man had driven to the residence of Dr. Cronin and presented one of O'Sullivan's business cards, of the kind printed less than a week before. This man said that one of O'Sullivan's men was dangerously hurt. The physician was hurried out of the house, was driven rapidly north and was never again seen alive by his friends. This was but three days after the remarkable contract had been made, and five days after the cards left by the stranger had been placed in O'Sullivan's hands by the bookkeeper at the office of the Lake View newspaper. Who was this strange man? How did he get one of O'Sullivan's new cards? How did he know of the contract? If he had learned of it through one of the three men who were present at the time, how did he happen to get one of the new cards? Would he not, if he had been interested in the removal of Dr. Cronin, have hunted for and found one of the old cards on the same day or following forenoon? Little wonder was it that this remarkable combination of circumstances directed suspicion against O'Sullivan, especially when it was further remembered that he was seen in conversation with the mysterious tenants of the Carlson cottage. Analyzed once more the case against him was considered quite as strong, even if not stronger than that against the detective. Accordingly it was decided to place both men under arrest. Early on the morning of May 27th O'Sullivan was notified that his presence was desired at the Lake View Police Station. When he responded he found himself a prisoner. During the day an information was sworn out by John Joseph Cronin, the brother of the physician, charging Coughlin and O'Sullivan, together with a number of persons whose names were unknown, with the murder of Dr. Cronin. Upon this information warrants were issued, and shortly before midnight Coughlin was arraigned before Justice Kersten at the Chicago Avenue Station, to the bar of which the detective, during his four years of service, had brought many scores of prisoners. Yet, even in this critical hour, he did not seem to feel his position, but smiled and chatted pleasantly and in a light hearted manner, with his former companions on the force. No evidence was submitted, the prosecution requesting a postponement, and by agreement the case was adjourned for a week, an application for the admittance of Coughlin to bail being peremptorially refused. A patrol wagon conveyed the detective to the County jail and here he was assigned to Cell 25, in what was known as "Murderers' Row." While these proceedings were being taken, O'Sullivan, at the Lake View Station, was being closely interrogated by Captains Wing and Schaak, Lieutenant Schieuttler and Squire Boldenbeck, who at that time was mayor of the little town. The latter, who had considerable influence over the iceman, urged him to tell all that he knew, but the prisoner was stubborn, and it was only by dint of persistent questioning that he was led to confess that he had known Coughlin for years, that, although he had persuaded Justice Mahoney to introduce him to Dr. Cronin, he had met the physician before, that he (O'Sullivan) was a member of the Clan-na-gael in good standing; and that he had talked with the Frank Williams who had rented the assassin's den. More than this he would not say, and, much to his own surprise, he found himself within an hour the occupant of a cell adjoining that of Detective Coughlin in the County Jail. INDICTED BY THE GRAND JURY. At this time the Grand Jury for the May term of court was in regular session, and on the following morning--that of May 28th--the murder of Dr. Cronin was brought to its attention. Very few witnesses were examined, although the inquiry lasted nearly ten hours. The Carlsons told their story, and Mertes the milkman, Justice Mahoney and several others, added testimony which bore heavily against the imprisoned men. Nothing was adduced against Woodruff but his own confession, which was considered sufficient for existing purposes. The outcome of the investigation was an indictment against O'Sullivan, Coughlin and Woodruff, on three counts, (1st) of a conspiracy to commit murder with a sharp instrument; (2nd) of a conspiracy to commit murder with a blunt instrument; (3rd) of a conspiracy to commit murder with some instrument to the jury unknown. On May 31st the three accused men were formally arraigned before Judge Williamson, and, after being furnished with copies of the indictments returned against them were remanded to jail to await the outcome of the coroner's inquiry. CHAPTER IX. THE LYING IN STATE--AN IMPRESSIVE SCENE--THE IMPOSING PROCESSION--AT THE CATHEDRAL--AN ELOQUENT VOICE FROM THE PULPIT--CLERICAL DENUNCIATION OF THE CRIME--LAID TO REST IN CALVARY CEMETERY. Four days after the discovery of the body, all that was mortal of the murdered physician was laid to rest in Calvary Cemetery. To the old residents that witnessed the procession there came back memories of the imposing obsequies of Stephen A. Douglas. It was a greater demonstration of the kind than the city had seen since the remains of the "Little Grant" were consigned to the tomb. Many a hero whose name is honored for victories won in hard-fought battles had gone to the city of the dead with less show of honor and respect. It was not that Dr. Cronin had more noble attributes than many other men that the people in tens of thousands turned out to witness the funeral march. It was the involuntary sympathy that went out to one whose death was so tragic, and--at that time--shrouded in so deep a mystery. There was, of course, the crowd that is always to be found at every public demonstration, be it what it may. But there were thousands upon thousands that had been drawn to the scene by a desire to testify, in their humble way, their sorrow and indignation that such a crime had befouled the fair name of the city, and there was not one face in the vast concourse that lined the streets through which the procession passed that did not wear a look of solemnity. LYING IN STATE. All through the night of May 25th the casket containing the body of the victim reposed on the catafalque in the First Cavalry Armory. At each corner of the catafalque a sentry, in the uniform of the Hibernian Rifles, stood immovable as a statue. It was a lonely vigil, and it was not broken until six o'clock of the Sabbath morning. Even at that early hour, while the church bells were ringing out their summons to those accustomed to attend the first or daylight mass, a large crowd had gathered outside of the Armory. Half an hour later a squad of the Central Police detail, under command of Lieutenant Wilson, arrived at the building. The officers were drawn up in two lines on either side of the entrance, the doors were thrown open, and the people in waiting commenced to enter. And so for hours a living stream poured into the building, and past the catafalque, with its draping of American flags, its burning candles and golden crucifix, and its tributes of ferns and roses, hyacinths and daisies which reposed at the head and feet of the casket. They came in so rapidly that the attempt to keep a count was soon abandoned. There were old men and young; girls and white-haired matrons. Children hardly able to toddle led the aged men, walking with faltering, uncertain steps. Parents took their little ones, and the little ones their grandparents. Laborers walked beside bankers, mechanics ascended the platform elbow to elbow with citizens of national eminence, and together they looked down on the face of the victim of a murder that was without parallel in the history of the country. There were many rough and tough looking men in the throng, but their heads were bowed and their footsteps light as they passed by the coffin. There was no need to caution any one to be quiet. The air of solemnity and quiet hushed the least respectful, and those possessed of the least feeling. It was a memorable scene. A GREAT PROCESSION. Ten o'clock came and the doors were closed on the multitude that still craved admittance. The honorary pall bearers, their heads bared, marched out of the officer's room and took their stations beside the catafalque, in the following order: J. P. South, High Council of Illinois Catholic Order of Foresters; Leopold Rohrer, Cathedral Court of Illinois Catholic Order of Foresters; Dr. D. G. Moore, High Court of Independent Order of Foresters; E. E. Connery, Court Friendship, Independent Order of Foresters; C. S. Commour, Alcyone Council, Royal Arcanum; John F. Begg, Hancock Lodge, Ancient Order of United Workmen; C. D. Shoemaker, �tna Lodge, Ancient Order of United Workmen; J. C. Brayden, Royal League; John O'Callaghan and P. M. Carmody, Ancient Order of Hibernians. Next came the active pall bearers, Captain O'Meagher Condon, New York; Luke Dillon, Philadelphia; O. McGarry, Thomas P. Tinte, Detroit; Frank T. Scanlan, Dan Sullivan, Charles Barry, and M. J. Kelly. A moment later the doors were thrown open, the police cleared a passage way through the multitude, and the casket was borne out and placed in the hearse. The latter was drawn by four black horses. Ten thousand men were already in line, Grand Marshal P. J. Cahill gave the signal, and the procession, eight thousand strong, moved north on Michigan Avenue in the following order: Grand Marshall, P. J. Cahill--Chief of Staff, Col. M. C. Hickey. Platoon of Police, Twenty-five Men, Sergt. Gibbons Commanding. Reed's Drum Corps. Hibernian Rifles, 100 Men, Capt. Ford Commanding. Hearse, with Guard of Honor of Hibernian Rifles, Consisting of Lieuts. Sullivan, O'Neil, Monohan, Sullivan, Kennedy, Monohan. Uniform Order Royal Arcanum, 110 Men. Royal Arcanum, 315 Men. Ancient Order Hibernians, 1,000 Men, State Delegate P. M. Cormody Commanding; County Delegate M. Dowling, Aide. Mourners in Carriages. Mr. and Mrs. Carroll (Dr. Cronin's Sister), of St. Catherine's, Ont., Mr. Cronin of Arkansas, Mr. and Mrs. T. T. Conklin, Mr. and Mrs. J. F. Scanlan. Clan-na-Gael Guards, 175 Men, Capt. Buckley Commanding. Lake Side Cornet Band. I. O. Foresters, Uniformed Rank, Fifty Men, High Marshal Frank Boden Commanding. I. O. Foresters, 1,200 Men, Wm. Kilpatrick Commanding. Drum Corps. Royal League, 250 Men. Catholic Benevolent Legion, 200 Men. The Illinois Catholic Order Foresters, 2,700 Men, representing the following Courts: St. Bernard, St. John, McMullen, St. Nicholas, Sheridan, Conway, St. Leo, St. Charles, St. Agnes, All Saints, Pius, St. Francis, St. Patrick, St. Stephen, St. Lawrence, Immaculate Conception, St. Joseph, St. Henry, St. Alphonsus, Blessed Virgin, Holy Name, St. Cornelius, St. Vincent, St. Benedict, Sacred Heart, Ascension, St. Michael, St. Aloysius, American, Dearborn, Excelsior, Columbia, Sedgwick, Superior, Independence, Industry, Jefferson, Amity, Cavour, Paterson, Fidelity, Unity. Cornet Band. Ancient Order United Workmen, representing the following Lodges, J. F. Walter, Commanding: Light Guard, Peter Cooper, Troy, Lakeside, �tna. Carriages. Civilians. [Illustration: THE PROCESSION TO THE CATHEDRAL.] All along the line of march--Michigan Avenue to Rush Street, to Chicago Avenue, to State Street, to the cathedral--the streets were packed with people. It was a solid line of humanity, on pavements, in windows, on lamp posts, even the tops of the houses were a sea of heads. To the solemn music of the bands the men marched with slow and measured step. The muffled drums, the draped flags, the drooping banners, the tens of thousands of solemn faces, made the sight an impressive one. Every man in the multitude bared his head as the hearse passed by. A SOLEMN CATHEDRAL SCENE. It was nearly noon when the cortege arrived at the cathedral. Save that reserved for the mourners every foot of space in the sacred edifice was already occupied, and the thousands that had followed the hearse were unable to gain admission. High above the mass of humanity tolled the deep-toned funeral bell as the casket, preceded by a guard of honor of officers of the Hibernian Rifles, was borne into the church. Gently it was deposited between six lighted candles upon a catafalque in the center aisle. Then, with the rendering of Schmidt's Mass in D minor by the choir, the service was commenced. An atmosphere of grief was prevalent. The sobbing of women mingled with the impressive notes of the funeral mass. Strong men, to whom tears had been a half forgotten memory, wept as the thurible was waved over the casket and the wreaths of incense smoke ascended toward the dome. Men, brought face to face with a great crime, stood in the presence of their God, while the priests around the altar, clothed in mourning vestments, offered supplication for the soul of the deceased, and prayed for pardon for his murderers. As celebrant of the requiem mass Father Agnew, in cape and stole, chanted the versicles and gave the absolutions. At times his voice trembled perceptibly and his eyes were filled with tears. Rev. Father Mooney assisted in the celebration as deacon and Father Perry as sub-deacon. When the venerable Chancellor Muldoon ascended the pulpit, the "Librera Me Domine" was sung by the choir. The reverend Chancellor took as his text Ecclesiastics, chapter 9, verse 120: "Man knoweth not his own end; as the fishes are taken with hook, and as the fishes are caught with the snare, so men will be taken in the evil time, and it shall come upon them suddenly." A VOICE FROM THE PULPIT. In eloquent language the speaker impressed upon his hearers the uncertainty of life as illustrated in the case of the murdered man. He spoke as follows: "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen." These words I have just recited to you from the inspired writer, my beloved friends, tell us by example and analogy that death comes upon us suddenly--that it shall come, as we are told elsewhere, "as a thief in the night." As the birds in the air have their being in the air, and drink it in and live their life mainly in the air, and as the fishes have their life in the sea, they shall find their death in that element in which they have their life. And so, too, we who are here living upon the earth, having our life, as it were, in the social world round about us--finding our being there--we, too, frequently find our death there, unawares and suddenly. In fact, we carry death in and around and about us, even, I may say, in our very being, for from the moment of our birth until the moment of our death, death is ever with us, death is ever working in our members. It is death that is forever bearing us down; it is death that is ever causing the ailments of humanity, which are a premonition of what is to come; and, as the sacred writers have told us, no matter when death comes, it will always come suddenly to us. We can never be enough prepared for it. We can never take it unawares, but it will too frequently take us unawares. The lesson, then, taught us to-day by this text is that we should be prepared to meet this death whenever and wherever it shall come, and passing from the text of to-day to him whose memory we serve, it teaches us the lesson that death often comes as sudden as a thief in the night. It comes to snatch us away from all social relations, to take us away from home, to take us away from friends, family and all that is dear to us; to take us from earth to heaven, to take us from time to eternity. Death points this out to us, and his death should teach us a strong and emphatic lesson. If he (pointing to the bier) were here to-day to talk to you, he would not ask for a eulogy on his life, but he would ask you to take a lesson home to yourselves from his life to make you purer, richer and better. He would say: "By my life so guide your own. If there is anything else in my death to teach you to value life, to teach you to value Christ, and Almighty God, and the Holy Church, and the sacraments--oh, take it home to your own hearts, and make it part of yourselves. If I have suffered, let my suffering be a lesson to you; let it come home to your hearts and make you better and holier." His life and his death, dear friends, teach us to make ourselves better, teach us to make ourselves holier, and to prepare ourselves for our last moment. What a change is here from a couple of weeks ago! To-day friends near and dear to him bore all that is mortal of him up this aisle to receive the last rites of the Church; and only two weeks ago that same person walked this floor and came up these aisles in all the vigor of his manhood. He came here with all the charity of his faith and nature to worship at the same altar before which and on which to-day his obsequies are said. O! this is a strong lesson to us. Who would think when he led that body of men here to the sacrament of the altar to make himself purer and better--who would think that in the short term of two weeks that health and vigor and manhood would be snatched ruthlessly from him? But such was the fact, and this death, so sudden and awful, may be ours--if not in the same manner, in other manners equally sudden, if not as atrocious. Therefore the lesson is brought home to us to be always prepared lest God should strike us, for His angel is always coming from Him to touch the young and the old, the deformed and the beautiful, and His touch is enough to call them from this earth to the land above. And now, my dear friends, have we reason to be sorry to-day? Have we reason to mourn that our friend has gone from us? No, my friends; there is no reason for mourning the death of a person who has lived a religious life. As the epistle tells us, the religious man, and one pleasing to God the Father, is he who visits the orphans and widows in their tribulation, and he is one, too, who preserves himself undefiled from the world. I shall not pronounce his eulogy, but examine his life in the light of this text, and see whether or not he was religious; and if his life was a religious life, and if it was, we must inevitably come to the conclusion that he was pleasing to Almighty God, and now enjoys the repose promised by Almighty God to those who serve Him while on earth. Religion pure and undefiled is to visit the widow and orphan. Did he do that? What was his avocation and mission in life? It was the grandest and noblest after the avocation of priest. It was to deal out charity--a charity of word and charity of example, to minister to the unfortunate, to heal the ailments of human life. This was his mission and this his vocation. Did he fulfil his vocation; I ask you here in the presence of his mortal remains, did he carry out his vocation? Most assuredly, my friends, he did so And why did he do so? The very manner in which he met his death will tell you in more emphatic terms than I can possibly utter. A call comes that a fellow being is in suffering. Other things are crowded upon him--other business demands were calling for him. But he hearkened to the call of humanity. He was told that a fellow-man was sick, and instantly, without hesitation, with his heart full of charity, and in his hands the very instruments to bring relief and mercy to a fellow being, he goes forth with mercy, charity and good will to his fellow-man and--meets what? An atrocious death! In the fulfilment of his mission, in the very carrying out of his avocation, he met his own death. Must we not say, then, that meeting his death, thus fulfilling his mission and performing his duty, whatever there may have been against him, if there was sin upon his soul of any kind whatever, he shall be remembered before the throne of Almighty God? Yes, he did visit the widows and orphans; and as the anecdotes and sayings about him pass away, coming to us as straggling rivulets to swell the stream of his worth, and to show that him who we mourn had a noble Christian heart, and that is what we cannot say of many to-day. He had a good heart, a Christian heart, a Catholic heart, and that heart was full of love and charity toward his fellow-man. Was he ever a man opposite or opposed to the good of his fellow-man? Was he not ever anxious to improve the lot and well-being of his fellow-men? Look at the associations to which he belonged. Every one of those associations has its being and life in those things which are for the betterment of man. I have often heard him urge those who are poor and of little means to join those associations, in order to make themselves thrifty and better, and to build up for themselves a home here, and provide for their children a means to live decently afterward. Was not this patriotic? Was not this the best thing a human being can do on earth, to strive with all his power to better his fellow-man, to make his home more agreeable, and leave an inheritance to posterity? Most assuredly it was; and most assuredly we must conclude that his life was righteous, good and holy. And did he preserve himself unspotted from the world? He lived a public life, a life with the people and among the people. He was in every sense of the word a public man, known of thousands, as the thousands here to-day testify; and if there was anything wrong or sinful in his life, long ere this it would have been brought forward in triumph. But now no single finger of scorn or imputation can be pointed toward him. After his life has been laid before you we know that he had a good, Christian, Catholic heart, and that his heart went out to his fellow-men, and that in all his dealings with his fellow-men he was never in any sense greatly sinful--that he was not small or mean toward or in his dealings with his fellow-men. What better eulogy can we pronounce upon him than this? None. We have forgotten half our duty to-day if in our presence here whilst the priest has offered up for him the holy sacrament of the mass, we have not let our own hearts go out in charity, holiness and love toward him that is gone. Now he is powerless; his days are past, and the church has done what she possibly can for him through her prayers and sacrifices. It remains for you to do something for him. We believe that there is a hereafter, and that there is a probation for the small defects and defilements of sin that may be upon the soul after death. It remains for us, his friends--for there is a communion of saints--to offer up our alms, to offer our prayers and the holy sacrifice of the mass that his soul may quickly and surely find rest and peace with God eternal. That is your duty, my friends, to-day. As Catholics and Christians this is imposed upon you, and if you forget it or neglect it you are not truly his friends. Any more words of praise will be useless for him. But your prayers, the prayers of the poor and defenseless that he helped, will go as a sacred cry to the throne of God and will not be resisted, for God will hear it and take him to the bosom of his fathers. Let us then not forget to promise that we will as friends and Christians do something for him, and in the purity of our faith let us imitate the purity of his faith, the faith that he drank in with his mother's milk and that lasted him through life. There never was a time in the associations or organizations to which he belonged, or anywhere else, that he denied that faith, that he ever was ashamed to acknowledge that he was a Catholic and held to the tenets and belief of the church. He could say: "After my title of Catholic my title of patriot is prominent, and I am not ashamed to confess it to the world. I am willing to sacrifice anything in order to defend my term of Catholicity, and I am willing to do all in my power to help along the poor men of our country." Therefore, my friends, pray for him who is gone. Let your prayers be that his soul may find rest. Remember him in your daily prayers. Remember him in the places you used to meet him. Remember him when on your knees before the throne of God. He was snatched from the earth without the sacraments of the church; he had not even the soothing words of the priest to bring him more quietly to his end, to help him on the perilous journey toward another life; but, as I said, he met his death in the performance of his duty, and that supplied in part the place of the sacrament. Pray for him. Breathe his name with love; and as his body moulders in the earth, he may say to you: "Have pity upon me, you, my friends. Have pity on me, for I am now helpless and defenseless. I have no power in my own hands, but your hands are full of alms, deeds and of blessings and prayers, and let them ascend before the throne of Almighty God that I may have rest and peace. Treat all with kindness as my life has been one of kindness--treat them with charity, as my life has been one of charity. If any one say aught against me let it pass forgiven. The words of man are nothing, and pass away as the wind from the mouth. Receive them, then, and mind them not, and those who have injured me most, in the name of mercy have pity on them." Receive, then, O God, his soul. Be merciful to him for his faith and his hope and his love. Every head was bowed while the Chancellor gave the benediction. The strains of the organ as it rendered the dead march in Saul filled the edifice, the congregation rose to its feet, the casket was borne out, and the service was at an end. AT REST IN CALVARY. While the services were in progress the throng in the street had been swollen by thousands of new comers, until it extended in an unbroken mass along State street, from Chicago Avenue to Huron street. The people waited patiently for the conclusion of the church ceremony. Considerable difficulty was experienced in reforming the procession in consequence of the crush, and many old men and women, barely able to walk without assistance, were pressed against the hearse and carriages, and with difficulty rescued from under the wheels. One hour was occupied in reaching the depot of the Milwaukee and St. Paul road--the streets, as before, being packed with spectators. Three special trains, aggregating thirty-six cars, were in waiting. On the first of these the casket was placed, the others following at intervals of a few minutes. At the stations along the route, as well as on house-tops, street crossings and vacant lots, crowds of people had congregated to see the funeral train go by. Five thousand people had gathered at the cemetery. The Hibernian Rifles formed in double column, and presented arms as the casket, and its small following of mourners passed within the gates. This was the most solemn part of the days' proceedings. In the city the uniforms and regalia of the various organizations, the dirges of the numerous bands, and the great concourse of people had somewhat dissipated the sad thoughts and sentiments of those who had been near and dear to the dead man; but now these accessories no longer exercised their effect. Slowly the small procession, consisting only of the pallbearers with the casket, and the few chief mourners, moved toward the vault. There was not a sound save sobs, not even the mournful strains of a funeral march were heard to relieve the intensity of the silence. At the door the rifles had formed an arch with their swords, and the air was laden with the perfume of floral tributes from far and near. One of these, a magnificent lyre of roses, bore the inscription in immortelles: THE PHILADELPHIA CLAN-NA-GAEL MOURN THEIR PATRIOT BROTHER. and on the base in blue violets the single word MARTYR. There were no speeches, no requiem songs, no final benediction. Amid profound darkness the casket and mourners disappeared within the darkness of the receiving vault, and for a moment all was still. Then the mourners re-appeared, the gates swung to on their hinges, the key was turned in the lock, and all that was mortal of the patriot Irishman was at rest in the house of the dead. A sudden gust of wind shook the trees, large drops of rain began to fall, and the weeping of the dead man's sister was drowned by the wail of nature. CHAPTER X. THE CORONER'S INQUEST OPENS--A MODEL JURY--VISITING THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY--TAKING THE EVIDENCE--CAPTAIN SCHAACK'S COMPROMISING ADMISSIONS--PROMINENT CLAN-NA-GAEL MEN PUT ON THE STAND--ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S THREATS--LUKE DILLON TELLS WHAT HE KNOWS--THE DOCUMENTS LEFT BY THE MURDERED MAN READ BY THE CORONER--A SENSATIONAL INQUIRY. The Coroner's investigation followed close on the action of the grand jury. It was probably one of the most sensational inquests on record in this country. It occupied eight days, and the spacious court room in the county building, which was placed at the disposal of Coroner Henry L. Hertz, was crowded to suffocation at every session. Six men, all well-known citizens, and of a high grade of intelligence, were sworn in on May 28 to determine as to the cause of the physician's death. Their names were: R. S. Critchell, Victor U. Sutter, Justus Killian, John H. Van Husen, H. H. Haughan and Rudolph Seifert. On the first day, May 28, the jurors visited the Carlson cottage, the catch-basin, and the spot where the trunk was discovered. They also examined the furniture left in the cottage, the trunk, cotton batting, and other links in the chain of circumstantial evidence. Several adjournments were then taken at the instance of State's Attorney Longenecker, who held to the wise opinion that in a case of so much national importance it was best to "make haste slowly," and it was not until June 3d that the taking of evidence commenced in earnest. Mrs. Conklin, Frank T. Scanlan, Patrick Dinan (the liveryman), Jonas Carlson, Justice Mahoney, John T. Cronin (brother of the dead man), and the employes of A. H. Revell & Co., were among the first witnesses examined. They gave their evidence clearly and without reserve and produced a favorable impression upon the jury. A profound sensation was created when the blood-stained trunk was brought into the room. Police Captain Schaack was upon the stand, and his testimony developed so strongly the fact, that, through willful disobedience of instructions and gross mismanagement, the murderers had been enabled to escape, that before the close of the day an order was issued by Chief of Police Hubbard suspending him from the service for an indefinite period for "apparent wilful neglect of duty." From his own evidence, it was clear that he had failed to obey the Chief's instructions to ascertain the livery stable from which the white horse had been hired, that he had failed to call upon several witnesses whose names had been given him, and that he had allowed Detective Coughlin to pull the wool over his eyes in the most extraordinary fashion. The examination of the officer who had made himself famous by his work in the Anarchist case, was thorough, searching and merciless. He reluctantly admitted, that for ten days following Dr. Cronin's disappearance he did little or nothing on the case, because he did not believe that the doctor was dead. He had also allowed wilful disobedience to his orders by Detective Coughlin to pass unrebuked. After the jury had gotten through with the Captain, John Sampson, an individual not unknown to the police, swore that Coughlin had tried to hire him over a year before to waylay the physician as he was returning from a meeting at McCoy's Hotel, and "do him up." This evidence was corroborated, and it was further shown that Sampson, actuated by a sense of gratitude--Dr. Cronin having at one time refused to accept compensation for medical attendance upon one of his (Sampson's) relatives--had informed the physician of his peril. [Illustration] [Illustration: JURORS EXAMINING BLOOD-STAINS IN THE PARLOR OF COTTAGE.] But the most sensational features of the inquiry were yet to come. ALEXANDER SULLIVAN AND DR. CRONIN. Witness, after witness, many of them men of high standing in the community, as well as of unimpeachable veracity, went upon the witness stand and swore, that upon scores of occasions, the physician had expressed the opinion that Alexander Sullivan was his mortal enemy, and that he stood in eternal dread of the ex-Irish leader. Patrick McGarry for instance, an honest homespun Irishman, who, by industry, had accumulated considerable property, and who was one of the warmest friends of the murdered man, testified that on numerous occasions the physician had said to him, that Alexander Sullivan would be the instigator of his death. Less than three weeks before his disappearance, referring to the fact, that he had asked for an investigation of Sullivan's accounts, he had said, "I am taking my life in my hands. That may prove to have been a fatal night for me, but I am determined to show up Alexander Sullivan's thievery and treachery to the Irish people, even if my life is taken for it." The buzz which invariably denotes the presence of suppressed excitement went through the court-room when the witness made this statement, and, catching the prevalent feeling, McGarry exclaimed with fervor: "Thank God I don't belong to any organization of which that man is a member. For I consider Alexander Sullivan to be the man who has brought shame and disgrace on the Irish name in America." To Joseph O'Byrne, the Senior guardian of Camp 234, of the Clan-na-Gael, Dr. Cronin had said that he knew that he was to be sacrificed. To Michael McNulty, another member of camp 234, he had insisted upon more than one occasion, that he knew that Alexander Sullivan and Lawrence R. Buckley, (the latter being a prominent member of the Clan-na-Gael) "were going to kill him." That the latter had made many violent speeches against the physician, was sworn to by Thomas J. Conway, an insurance agent. A previous witness, by the way, had testified that it was generally understood among the members of the organization, that Lawrence Buckley had given to the spy Le Caron, the credentials upon which the latter had attended a secret convention of the Clan-na-Gael. [Illustration: LAWRENCE R. BUCKLEY.] Testimony was given by a large number of witnesses, to the effect that both Alexander Sullivan and numerous members of the organization, had denounced the physician in the most vigorous terms, questioning his loyalty to the Irish cause, and expressing sentiments, which generally analyzed, seemed to indicate that they would be glad to see him out of the way. SELECTED FOR A FOREIGN MISSION. One of the most sensational episodes of the enquiry, was the examination of Capt. Thomas F. O'Connor. He had been intimately acquainted with Dr. Cronin for several years, and firmly believing that the physician's life was in danger, had advised him to go armed at all times. O'Connor had been present at a meeting of camp 20, when charges had been made against Dr. Cronin, and a committee consisting of Buckley, Coughlin, Frank Murray, John F. O'Malley, and another man had been appointed to investigate them. These charges were to the effect that he had read, before another camp, a circular which was antagonistic to the spirit of the order. After the physician's disappearance, he had seen Coughlin, who had expressed the opinion, that he had gone to London to follow in the foot-steps of Le Caron, as a witness before the Parnell commission. "Have you ever been requested as a member of this order," asked Coroner Hertz, "to do some secret work." "Yes, I have," said the witness, after considerable hesitation. "Can you tell me who asked you to do this work." "I can not." "Did you consult any one about doing this work." "I did sir." "Whom." "I consulted Dr. Cronin." "What did he say." "He said, after talking the matter over, that there was enough good, honest men behind prison bars now, and that I had better keep out of it." He did not believe in the policy of dynamite. "Did you take the doctor's advice." "I guess I did," answered Capt. O'Connor in a tone full of suggestiveness. "How was the request brought to you." "A man walked into my office about ten o'clock one morning, presented his card, and introduced himself. He said that there were some men going across the water, and that the chances were that I would be called on. This was on a Monday, and we talked the matter over pretty fully. The Wednesday following I was to meet him again. That morning I walked down town with Dr. Cronin. The man was standing on the steps of the Sherman House. I stopped and spoke to him. He asked me who that man was. I told him Dr. Cronin. He seemed to know the name, at least he recognized it the moment I mentioned it. He said he would see me that afternoon, but after seeing me with Dr. Cronin, he failed to keep his appointment." [Illustration: CAPT. THOMAS F. O'CONNOR.] Although pressed to give this mysterious individuals name, Capt. O'Connor insisted emphatically that he could not remember it. He said he knew Alexander Sullivan, but when asked the question, "do you know whether or not it was he who wanted you to go," he simply replied, "I do not." He went on to say that the request to go on such a mission, would naturally come from the Executive Committee of the order. None except this committee, could know the names of the persons who were sent across the waters. Alexander Sullivan, he had heard, was a member of this executive committee. The other two were Feeley and Michael Boland. The latter at this time was the Police Recorder of Kansas City. [Illustration: JURORS EXAMINING FINGER MARKS IN PAINT ON WINDOW BLINDS.] Peter M'Gehan, of Philadelphia, was another witness. He was at one time supposed to be the man who had driven Dr. Cronin from his residence to his death. In a general way he answered the description given by Mrs. Conklin, and his appearance in Chicago, at the time when the first steps in the conspiracy were supposed to have been taken, his destination being known only to J. J. Bradley, of the Clan-na-Gael executive, coupled with his loud talk against Dr. Cronin, and his association with the friends of Alexander Sullivan--all these circumstances caused him to be placed under arrest, although he was subsequently released. Not being found at his place of residence when wanted by the coroner, he was again arrested at his new boarding place, and put upon the stand. In direct contradiction to the testimony of one of the previous witnesses, Joseph O'Byrne, M'Gehan denied that he had ever said that Dr. Cronin, with McCahey, of Philadelphia, ought to be put out of the way, or removed, or killed, or words implying any such meaning. He knew, however, that Dr. Cronin believed that he entertained such views. Standing at the corner of Clark and Randolph street one evening with Thomas J. Conway, he saw the physician and Mortimer Scanlon coming along, and the physician, calling him by name, said, "I understand that you have used violent language against me." M'Gehan replied that it was a lie. To this the physician responded "I have been informed that you were sent here to assassinate me." This the Philadelphia man denied, saying that the doctor was a "blamed fool," and that the people who were circulating these stories were only trying to make them enemies. M'Gehan was closely questioned as to his movements since his arrival in Chicago, and admitted that he had visited several of the Camps, including the one of which Dr. Cronin was senior guardian, and that he had borrowed money from several of the avowed enemies of the physician, although he had not been acquainted with them before reaching Chicago. Nothing was developed however to connect him, even indirectly, with the tragedy. [Illustration: P. M'GEHAN.] This branch of the case was closed with some very interesting testimony from J. G. Hagerty, a railroad clerk. His story was, that sometime in 1885, a circular had been issued by the Clan-na-Gael, stating that several hundred British detectives had been sent from Scotland Yard for the purpose of finding out the secrets of the Irish revolutionists in this country, and hence all the members were on the _qui vive_ for information as to the possible traitors in their midst. One night while he (the witness) was walking on the street with Alexander Sullivan, the latter had expressed the opinion that the doctor was a scoundrel and a menace to the Irish cause, and that it would be a benefit if the cause were rid of him. "Did Alexander Sullivan say anything to you that night about having any idea that Dr. Cronin's life ought to be taken" asked the Coroner. "That was my impression" answered the witness, "that was the view I took of the conversation and I must say that I coincided with him at the time. I believe that men who are trying to get the secrets of people, who are trying to elevate themselves should be exterminated, and I gained that opinion from the reports I had heard, especially from Timothy Crean, who is now dead, and who with other men had been instrumental in scattering this information, which, as I now believe, was scattered for the removal of Dr. Cronin." "Did Alexander Sullivan use the words that Dr. Cronin ought to be removed," the witness was asked. "I would not swear that the words were used exactly as you state them, but that was my impression at the time." "Did you get the impression that that was what he meant." "Certainly I did." "Could he at that time or any time later have spoken to others in the same way." "Most undoubtedly--to hundreds." "Tim Crean had told me things that Alexander Sullivan had said," went on the witness, "and among them that this man was a traitor. The word traitor to an Irishman's visor calls up a terrible vengeful feeling. It does in me, the Irishmen know what informers are and do not feel leniently toward them. The impression that I got from Mr. Sullivan's talk was that this man should be removed from our ranks in some way or another; that he was a menace to the cause and to the success of the objects which we were trying to accomplish. I must say that at that time and since, Mr. Sullivan was not alone in the opinion as to the removal of men of that description--that is, the removal of them from our ranks, not by death, but that we should get them out of our organization. There was nothing more laudable, considering the actions of Le Caron, who as is now proven to have been Mr. Sullivan's friend, according to the evidence now before you. Le Caron was introduced to me on the evening of that conversation by Mr. Sullivan as a man worthy of our confidence and of the highest character, and coming from such a source, it being understood that Sullivan occupied a high office in the order, and considering the confidence with which he was looked up to by the Irish people at that time, myself, being nothing but a plebian, I could not but believe what he said." "Did you believe that Dr. Cronin was a traitor." "Yes; Mr. Sullivan gave me that information; that was his idea. He did not give me any proof, but considering his position, I could not do otherwise than take his ipse dixit for it. I will say, however, that up to the recent revelations I certainly had no idea at all that Mr. Sullivan could have been the man he is now represented to be. I must say in justice to myself I had no idea that he could have come as near being an accessory to this diabolical 'removal,' as he is now represented to be by the circumstantial evidence before you." "Is there anything in your obligation and the constitution of the order that would make you believe that you ought to remove a man if your executive ordered you to do so." "No sir." "That you ought to take life?" "No sir, I would not do it if the order came to me." "Do you think that a man of less principle or brains might do so?" "I certainly believe now, to my sorrow, that such might be the result." After this witness had left the stand it was proven by the evidence of the Sergeants of the Chicago Avenue Police Station that, for some time prior to May the 4th, Coughlin and O'Sullivan, the iceman, were in daily communication over the telephone, and that the latter had several times sent messages to the Detective to come over to his house, his office, or his barn. ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S SPECULATIONS. Considerable time was devoted to the investigation of Alexander Sullivan's speculations through various Chicago Brokers on the Board of Trade. It was first shown that in May, 1882, upon the return of Alexander Sullivan from Paris, where he had been for some two months, the sum of $100,000 had been deposited to his credit in the Continental National Bank of New York. This deposit was in turn transferred to the Traders' Bank of Chicago, where it was credited to "Alexander Sullivan, agent." The books of this Bank, which had failed in 1888, when produced by Bryon L. Smith, the receiver, showed that checks had been drawn by Sullivan against this deposit, payable to John T. Lester & Co., the Board of Trade men, in the following order:--June 1st, 1882, $30,000; June the 6th, $30,000; August 26th, $25,000; Sept. 6th, $5,000; October 6th, $10,000. The entire one hundred thousand dollars, therefore, had within the short space of less than five months passed into the hands of the Brokers. From the books of the firm it was found that between June the 1st and August the 30th, of that year, Sullivan had traded almost daily in railroad and telegraph stocks in blocks ranging from 100 to 5,000 shares each day. It was also shown that between June 1882 and June 1883, he had given his checks to the firm to a total of $133,000, and received from the firm checks and stocks aggregating about $128,000, indicating a loss of but $5,000 on these extensive transactions. These checks, however, failed to find their way back again to the Traders' Bank. There was no record of any further transactions of this character on the part of Mr. Sullivan until 1886, when he was concerned in some speculations in grain through the house of Morris Rosenfeld & Co. He was a winner up to July, 1887, when the great Cincinnati wheat corner broke, his profits were swept away and he sustained a loss, which he settled by giving his note for an amount somewhere between one and two thousand dollars. This indicated that between the first and the last transactions he had gotten rid of the $95,000 turned over to him by J. T. Lester & Co. What had become of this large sum of money was a mystery. Perhaps it had been lost in speculation, perhaps it had been returned to Patrick Egan, from whom, as was generally supposed, it had originally been obtained. LUKE DILLON'S PLAIN WORDS. [Illustration: Luke Dillon. John F. Beggs. John Moss. Pat McGarry. Police Capt. Officer Brown. Chief of Police Mrs. T. T. Conklin. O'Donnell. Hubbard. PRINCIPAL WITNESSES BEFORE THE CORONER'S JURY.] It was not until June the 7th, in the closing days of the inquest, that Luke Dillon, one of the nine members of the Executive Committee of the Clan-na-Gael in America, and who had taken a leading and determined part in the movement to unravel the mystery which enshrouded the murder of Dr. Cronin, was called as a witness. Those who were in the court room when he ascended the stand, saw a man above the medium statue, broad shouldered, of well-knit figure, square cut face and well moulded features. His dark blonde hair receded slightly from his forehead; while a full blonde mustache of lighter hue shaded his firm compressed lips. His chin was square, indicating tremendous energy and great determination of character. His voice was full, resonant and well modulated, and he spoke fluently and yet in a measured way that indicated caution. In answer to the questions of the Coroner he said that he was a member of the Clan-na-Gael, but that there was nothing in the obligation which he had taken that conflicted with the laws of the United States. He went on to say that Dr. Cronin, shortly before his murder, had said to him that the personal ambition of Alexander Sullivan, to rule both in Ireland and American politics would be the cause of his (Cronin's) death, for he felt that the man had no more blood than a fish and would not hesitate to take his life. The witness related the circumstances connected with the meetings of the trial committee at Buffalo and New York, and the examination proceeded in this wise: "Can you give the jury any other reason why Alexander Sullivan should be an enemy of Dr. Cronin?" "I can give none except personal revenge." "Revenge for what?" "Because this man found him guilty of crime, of theft." "By this man you mean Dr. Cronin?" "Yes sir; and also because of treacherous conduct to members of the organization." "Do you believe, Mr. Dillon, that Dr. Cronin's opinion of Sullivan was correct?" "I do now. I used to think he exaggerated Sullivan's importance. I looked upon him then as only an ordinary villain. But Cronin looked upon him as a very dangerous man and a very able man." "At the time of the existence of this so-called Triangle, Sullivan, Boland and Feeley, do you know of their betraying any members of the order?" After a long pause the witness replied: "No; I believe men have been betrayed." "Could these men whom you believe to have been betrayed, have been betrayed without the knowledge of the Executive?" "No, they could not otherwise be betrayed." "And men were betrayed?" "I believe so." "They were not known to anybody outside of the Triangle?" "They were not supposed to be known." "If known, where would those outside receive their information from?" "The executive; the Triangle and Executive were the same thing." "At that time who were the Executive?" "Alexander Sullivan, Dennis C. Feeley and Michael Boland." "Have you ever heard from any of the members that Dr. Cronin, in conversation, has charged that Alexander Sullivan had anything to do with betraying the members?" "No; I don't think the doctor has ever charged that against Sullivan. He has told me that he believed men had been betrayed through the intimacy of Alexander Sullivan with Le Caron." "Was Le Caron a member of a camp in Illinois?" "Yes, sir; in Braidwood, Ill." "Who is Le Caron?" "Well," the witness said, smiling, "I wish they had tackled him instead of Dr. Cronin. I didn't know him personally." "What position did he hold?" "He held the position of chief officer--what would be the same as president in an ordinary society." "Was he once considered a good member of the order?" "Yes, sir." "Is he considered such now?" "Not at all; certainly not." "Have you any other information, Mr. Dillon, which would be proper for you to give this jury, sitting to inquire into the death of Dr. Cronin, which would assist them in arriving at the cause of his death?" "Well, I believe his death is the result of the abuse heaped upon him by the friends of Alexander Sullivan. He has been denominated a spy and a traitor, perjurer, and in fact all the invectives have been piled upon him that could be heaped upon the head of any man by the friends of Sullivan, all because of Cronin's enmity to Sullivan." "Why did Cronin have any enmity toward Sullivan?" "Because he believed, as I do, that he was a professional patriot, sucking the life-blood out of the Irish organizations, and we tried to purify the organization by removing from its head such men as Alexander Sullivan." "Do you know the reason why Alexander Sullivan left the order?" "I can tell you the general opinion in the order on that question. We believed that he left the order because he thought that his crimes would find him out, and that Cronin, John Devoy, I and others who were endeavoring to purify the organization would finally bring them to judgment before the rank and file. I believe that when he resigned he did not cease to rule. I have seen his handwriting on circulars issued to the United Brotherhood a year after his resignation was supposed to have taken place." Continuing, Mr. Dillon said that immediately after hearing of the disappearance of Dr. Cronin, he came to the conclusion that he had been murdered and urged the Executive to appropriate $3,000 to hunt up the murderers. The reply was made, however, that there was no proof that he was dead. In reply to a question the witness said: "I will give you facts that may show animus. Dr. Cronin saw that the friends of Alexander Sullivan in Chicago were in the habit of saying that the verdict, on the trial at which Dr. Cronin was one of the jurors, was in favor of Alexander Sullivan. The verdict was supposed to be kept secret, but it somehow leaked out through the organization, unofficially, what the verdict really was, and the two doctors were pointed out as the only two men who found Sullivan guilty of any crime, and that Alexander Sullivan was not guilty. Dr. Cronin, in order to prove that he was in possession of information which, if they heard, or he was permitted to read, would prove the guilt of Alexander Sullivan, stated that he had in his possession at least three hundred pages of testimony which would be produced at the coming convention, to prove that these men were all the charges had specified they were. The executive ordered him to send that 300 pages of testimony to the chairman of that body, but he refused to hand them over." "When was the convention to be?" "The date of the convention was not decided on; it was to be at some future time. Dr. Cronin said it would be necessary for him to hold these documents, so that in the coming convention he would have something to justify the verdict he had given of guilty." "What was the verdict?" "There were four verdicts. There were no majority or minority reports. The vote of the jury was 3 to 3, a tie, as to the guilt or innocence of Sullivan and the others. They heard all the evidence, that is this evidence that Dr. Cronin was going to publish at the coming convention." CRONIN'S PRIVATE PAPERS IN EVIDENCE. The taking of evidence came to an end on June 12, with the reading of some of the notes and papers left behind by the murdered man. These, although not entirely pertinent to the inquiry, were of absorbing interest, and were listened to with breathless attention by the large audience. They related largely to the notes of Mrs. Mackey Lomasney's testimony before the New York commission--heretofore referred to--and revealed a condition of affairs in the management of Irish secret societies so callous, cruel, selfish, treacherous, and revolting that a shudder passed through the auditors as page after page was read with precision and emphasis by the coroner. It was a woman's story of her husband's separation from her, and of the trials and tribulations through which she had passed, which was calculated to melt the stoniest heart, and served as a fitting finale to this historical inquiry. CHAPTER XI. CLOSING SCENES OF THE INQUEST--THE VERDICT--ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S ARREST ORDERED--MIDNIGHT VISIT TO HIS RESIDENCE--HIS COOL DEMEANOR AND CHEERFUL ACQUIESENCE--TAKEN TO THE COUNTY JAIL--RELEASED ON HABEAS CORPUS. The closing scenes of the coroner's inquest were of a nature calculated to impress themselves upon the memories of the participants. The morning session had been replete with sensational testimony. At the noon recess word went around that the jury had heard enough upon which to frame a verdict, and that the prolonged investigation was nearing its close. This, of itself, was sufficient to bring to the building a throng, that not only crowded the court room and the outside corridors, but extended away down the three broad flights of stairs and out into the street. Nearly two hours were spent in the reading of papers relating to the Clan-na-Gael and its English operations. When the last sheet had been read there was a pause. Chief Hubbard came in through a private entrance and a long consultation ensued between that official, the State's Attorney, and the coroner. Then the latter turned to the jury. "Gentlemen" said he "are there any more witnesses that you would wish me to call?" "No sir," was Foreman Critchell's emphatic reply. "That is all the testimony that we have at present," resumed the coroner, "I can furnish you with a good deal of corroborative testimony if you wish me to." "I think the jury has heard enough corroborative testimony. If there are no witnesses on any new points we would like to retire." It was five o'clock when Foreman Critchell led the little procession down stairs to the coroner's office. A Deputy Sheriff and Deputy Coroner went along as a body guard. The silence that had prevailed in the court room was broken by a loud hum; while everybody commenced at once to speculate on the probable verdict and the people it would implicate. Six o'clock came, seven, eight, nine, and still no word from the jury room. But the crowd kept its seats or its standing room with examplary patience. Shortly after nine supper was sent in to the jurors, and the rumor went out that they were unable to reach a conclusion. This, however, as was to be developed an hour later, was wide of the mark. THE VERDICT. One hour later, just as the hands of the clock were pointing to ten, Coroner Hertz was summoned to the jury-room. He was absent but a few minutes, and when he returned Foreman Critchell and his associates filed in after him. A death-like stillness prevailed as Critchell commenced to read the verdict. When he reached that point which recommended that ALEXANDER SULLIVAN, the lawyer, P. O'SULLIVAN, the Lake View iceman, DANIEL COUGHLIN, the detective, and FRANK WOODRUFF, _alias_ Black, be held to the grand jury as principals in or accessories to the foul crime, there was considerable stir, coupled with exclamations of satisfaction, and no little confusion was caused by a number of those present scampering from the room to spread the news around the city. The verdict, as taken from the official document, was word for word as follows: We, the undersigned, a jury appointed to make inquiry according to law as to how the body viewed by us came to his death, state from the evidence: First--That the body is that of Patrick H. Cronin, known as Dr. Cronin. Second--That his death was not from natural causes but from violent results. Third--That the said P. H. Cronin was decoyed from his home on North Clark street the evening of May 4, 1889, by some person or persons, to the Carlson cottage, situated at No. 1872 North Ashland avenue, in Lake View, Cook County, Ill. Fourth--That at said cottage the said Cronin was murdered by being beaten on his head with some blunt instrument in the hands of some person or persons to us unknown, the night of the said May 4, or between May 4 and May 5, 1889. Fifth--That the body, after the said murder was committed, was placed in a trunk and carried to Edgewater on a wagon by several persons, and by them placed in a catch-basin at the corner of Evanston avenue and Fifty-ninth street, Lake View, where it was discovered May 22, 1889. Sixth--That the evidence shows conclusively to our minds that a plot or conspiracy was formed by a number of persons for the purpose of murdering said Cronin and concealing his body. Said plot or conspiracy was deliberately contrived and cruelly executed. Seventh--We have had careful inquiry into the relations sustained by said Cronin to other persons while alive to ascertain if he had any enemy or enemies sufficient to cause his murder. Eighth--It is our judgment that no other person or persons except some of those who are or have been members of a certain secret society, known as the United Brotherhood or "Clan-na-Gael," had any cause to be the instigators or executors of such plot and conspiracy to murder the said Cronin. Ninth--Many of the witnesses testifying in the case have done so with much evident unwillingness, and, as we believe, with much mental reservation. We find from the evidence that a number of persons were connected with this plot and conspiring to murder the said Cronin, and that DANIEL COUGHLIN, PATRICK O'SULLIVAN, ALEXANDER SULLIVAN, FRANK WOODRUFF, alias BLACK, were either the principals, accessories, or have guilty knowledge of said plot and conspiracy to murder said Cronin and conceal his body, and should be held to answer to the grand jury. We also believe that other persons were engaged in the plot, or have guilty knowledge of it, and should be apprehended and held to the grand jury. We would further state that this plot or conspiracy in its conception and execution is one of the most vile and brutal that has ever come to our knowledge, and we would recommend that the proper authorities offer a large reward for the discovery and conviction of all those engaged in it in any way. We further state that in our judgment all secret societies whose objects are such as the evidence shows those of the Clan-na-Gael or United Brotherhood to be, are not in harmony with and are injurious to American institutions. We hope that future vigor and vigilance by the police force will more than compensate for past neglect by a portion of the force in this case. R. S. CRITCHELL, H. A. HAUGAN, JOHN A. VAN HOUSEN, JUSTUS KILLIAN, RUDOLF SEIFERT, VICTOR U. SUTTER. [Illustration: ALEXANDER SULLIVAN.] ARREST OF ALEXANDER SULLIVAN. Just as soon as the verdict had been read, Foreman Critchell called the State's Attorney and Coroner inside the latter's private room for a consultation. A moment later they were joined by Police Captain Schuettler and Detectives Palmer, Amstein, Miller, Broderick, Schifter, McDonald, Williams and Hedrick. It was decided that the arrest of Alexander Sullivan should be effected without delay, notwithstanding the late hour, and the Coroner, having made out his mittimus, entrusted it to Detective Palmer. The latter selected as his assistants Detectives Williams and Broderick, and the trio entered a carriage. Well on toward midnight the elegant residence of the ex-President of the Land League, at 378 Oak street, on the North side of the city, was reached. [Illustration: ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S RESIDENCE.] Palmer was the first to alight. He rapidly ascended the steps and rang the bell. Henry Brown, Mr. Sullivan's clerk, opened the door. "Is Mr. Sullivan at home?" inquired Officer Palmer. "He is," said Brown. "I want to see him," said Officer Palmer, as he entered. Brown closed the door. Fearing some scheme to give Sullivan a chance to escape, Palmer at once gave instructions to Williams to go to the rear of the house, and the officer ran back to the alley. But the noted Irish Nationalist had no thought of escaping. At that very moment he was sound asleep in bed. It was characteristic of the strong will-power of the man. The drift of the testimony for a week had indicated to him, as to everybody else that heard or read it, that the Coroner's jury would name him either as a principal or as accessory to the crime. The paper that he had in his hand as he drove home that evening, chronicled the fact that the jury had retired, and was deliberating upon its verdict. And yet, well aware, as he must have been, that this verdict would be of terrible personal import--he had retired at nine o'clock and was as sound asleep as a worn out child. "Mr. Sullivan, Mr. Sullivan," shouted Brown. "What is it?" came a voice from the bed room, "I'm here." "Some one wants to see you," returned Brown. By this time Palmer had reached the top of the stairs and was outside the bed room. Sullivan opened the door and recognized his visitor. Not a muscle of his face moved. "All right," he said, nonchalantly, "I'm coming." To dress himself, as neat as wax--just as he always looked--was but the work of a few minutes. Then the door was opened again, and his form was seen in the dimly lighted hallway. Preceded by Palmer, who had been joined by Broderick, he went down-stairs into the dimly lighted hallway. "Good evening, Palmer," he said, pleasantly. The detective returned the greeting. "I have a mittimus for your arrest, Mr. Sullivan." "Very well," was the response. He led the way into the parlor, and Palmer commenced to read the document. Sullivan stood up near the mantelpiece, leaning his elbow slightly upon the marble slab, and listened attentively. Not for an instant did he betray the slightest emotion. A contemptuous sneer settled on his lips. His head was slightly thrown back as if in defiance of the officers. His hand toyed for an instant with fringed plush that covered the rocking chair close by on his left. He never once took his eyes off Palmer as he read the mittimus. This was in the following form: STATE OF ILLINOIS, COOK COUNTY, SS.--_The People of the State of Illinois, to the Sheriff and Jailer of said County, Greeting:_ Whereas, at an inquisition taken for the people of the State of Illinois at the Coroner's office, in said County of Cook, on the 23d day of May, A. D. 1889, before me, Henry L. Hertz, Coroner, in and for said County, upon view of the body of Patrick Henry Cronin then and there lying dead, upon the oath of six good and lawful men of said county, who being duly sworn as a Coroner's jury, to inquire on the part of the people of the State of Illinois into all the circumstances attending the death of the said Patrick Henry Cronin, and by whom the same was produced, and in what manner and when and where the said Patrick Henry Cronin came to his death; and, whereas, the said jury, by their verdict then and there delivered to the said Henry L. Hertz, Coroner, did return and find that the said Patrick Henry Cronin came to his death by being beaten on his head with some blunt instrument or instruments in the hands of some person or persons to the jury unknown; and that one Daniel Coughlin, one Patrick O'Sullivan, one Alexander Sullivan, and one Woodruff, alias Black, were connected with the death of the said Patrick Henry Cronin either as principals or as accessories before the fact, and should be held to answer to the grand jury. Now, therefore, you are hereby required to receive into your custody the said Daniel Coughlin, Patrick O'Sullivan, Alexander Sullivan and Woodruff, alias Black, and them safely keep until discharged by due course of law. Witness my hand this 11th day of June, A. D. 1889. HENRY L. HERTZ, Coroner Cook County. Palmer had hardly reached the last word, when Sullivan remarked, without a perceptible tremor in his voice: "Will you not remain here with me over night, Palmer?" "I have no authority to do that," answered the officer, after a moment's hesitation, "I was instructed to take you down to the jail. I am sorry, but I shall have to do it." "Very well," replied Sullivan, "I should like to have some clean linen with me or have it sent over." "Certainly, that will be granted," replied Officer Palmer. "Wait till I get my hat and coat," said Mr. Sullivan. He walked out of the parlor into the hall-way, took down a light overcoat from the coat-rack, and put it on. Palmer assisted him. "You are taking this very coolly, Mr. Sullivan," said the officer. "Yes," was the answer, "why shouldn't I? My conscience does not trouble me." "This proceeding was not altogether unexpected?" "Well, yes, it was rather, at this hour of the night." Brown stepped to the door and Broderick followed. Sullivan came behind. "I am ready," he said. Brown opened the door. Broderick stepped out, closely followed by Sullivan and Palmer. The three men went down the steps to the sidewalk, where they were met by Williams. All four entered the carriage which was in waiting. A dozen people were on the sidewalk, and Sullivan's next door neighbors had gathered on the veranda to see the Irish leader driven away. The driver gathered his reins, wheeled the horses around, and started them toward Dearborn avenue at a rapid trot. The vehicle had barely reached the corner when a little newsboy, with a big bundle of evening papers under his left arm, and waving an open one with his right, ran up to the carriage window. "Here is your extra," he screamed, with all the strength of his infantile lungs. "All about Alexander Sullivan charged with Cronin's murder." Not a muscle of Sullivan's face moved, not a fibre of his frame, so far as the officers observed, so much as twitched. He sat in his seat as motionless as a statue, apparently the most unconcerned of the four occupants of the vehicle. Within five minutes the jail was reached. Williams was the first to alight, and, going up the steps, two at a time, he rapped heavily upon the iron door. In a moment it was opened. He ran down again to the carriage, and the other three men, Sullivan included, stepped out. The prisoner ascended the stone steps to the jail with deliberation, nodded to a bailiff who bade him good evening, and passed in. Not a word was spoken as the little party crossed the hall way and yard. The turnkey had evidently been prepared for the new arrival, for, no sooner had Palmer reached the head of the little stairway leading to the jail proper, than the iron gates swung open for their reception. In a dignified manner Sullivan bowed to the bailiff inside, but did not speak. The full light of a half dozen gas jets shone full on his face. Not the slightest change was observable in his appearance. He was just as cool, just as collected, just as courteous, as he had appeared to his clients in his office but a few hours before. He stepped up to the wicket as Palmer read the mittimus to the deputy jailer, and, when the latter bade him a cordial good evening, he merely nodded his head. The officials did not ask him a single question, and when one of the bystanders approached him and asked: "Have you anything to say to-night?" he replied, in a polite but firm tone that admitted of no doubt as to its meaning: "No, not to-night. What I have to say will be said in court. I have no more to say to-night than I had a week ago." With these words he shook hands with the detectives and others present whom he knew personally. The door to the inner cage and corridor opened, and, as soon as he had stepped in, was pulled to and locked. The ex-Irish leader, whose name was a household word wherever, throughout the wide world, two or three of the Irish race were gathered together, was a prisoner of the State, a prisoner charged with complicity in one of the most dastardly and cold blooded murders that had ever disgraced a civilized community. Yet, even now, his phenomenal firmness and self possession remained with him. For a few moments he paced the corridor while the turnkeys arranged the bedding which had been specially provided for him in Cell number 25 of "Murderers' Row." "This way if you please," said one of the jailers, when this had been done. With a respectful half inclination of the body, Sullivan stepped into the narrow cell, and the big key grated in the lock. When, ten minutes later, the same jailer peered in through the grating, the prisoner, stretched upon his cot, was as sound asleep as a new born babe. Many of the friends of the murdered physician remained in their headquarters until the arrest had been fully accomplished, and there was considerable jubilation when the information that Sullivan had been placed behind the bars was received. Telegrams conveying the developments of the day were sent to scores of prominent Irishmen in the leading cities of the country. "This is a splendid days work," said Luke Dillon. "This crime will now be fully exposed. The plot will be unraveled and guilty brought to punishment." "Everything is progressing in the right direction," said P. W. Dunne, one of the closest friends of the dead man, "I am the last man to gloat over a fallen foe, but Alexander Sullivan's arrest comes none too soon." ALEXANDER SULLIVAN'S EVENTFUL LIFE. Alexander Sullivan had been a conspicuous figure in Chicago's political life for some time, and a few years before had been a prominent figure in two of the most exciting murder trials ever witnessed in that city. Many persons believed, from the active part which Alexander Sullivan has taken in Irish affairs, that he was by birth an Irishman. He was a native of Amherstburg, Ont., where his father was stationed in the British military service. He went to Detroit in his youth and was engaged for a time in the boot and shoe store of A. J. Bour. Subsequently he set up in the same trade for himself, his store being in the Bresler Block, on Michigan avenue. He was not a success in the business, and his career in it was ended by the destruction of the establishment by fire, the work of an incendiary. It was charged by his enemies that he set the fire himself, but an investigation failed to fasten the guilt upon him. Before this time he had made himself conspicuous in the trades unions as an advocate of the labor movement, then quite strong. In the political campaign of 1868 he took the stump for the Republican candidate. He was a polished and forcible speaker, and did excellent service throughout the State. His political course greatly offended his Irish brethren, nearly all of whom were Democrats, and they denounced him with great vigor. Soon after the installation of President Grant he was appointed Collector of Internal Revenue at Santa Fe, N. M., but was not confirmed. Subsequently, however, he was made Secretary of the Territory. He established a Republican paper at Santa Fe, and published it for some time. He became embroiled in several quarrels in the Territory, and was once shot at by Gen. Heath. He was next heard of in this city, where he was connected in a reportorial capacity with the _Inter-Ocean_ and the _Times_. In 1873 he was made Secretary of the Board of Public Works, and held it for some time. About 1874 he was married to Miss Margaret Buchanan, who for some time occupied a prominent position as a teacher in the public schools, at one time being Principal of the Houghton School. The evening of Aug. 7, 1876, Mr. Sullivan shot and killed Francis Hanford, Principal of the North Division High School in this city. The record is that at a meeting of the City Council on the evening mentioned, when the report of the Committee on Schools was submitted, it was accompanied by two letters written by Mr. Hanford, one of which made this statement: "The instigator and engineer-in-chief of all the deviltry connected with the legislation of the Board of Education is Mrs. Sullivan, wife of the Secretary of the Board of Public Works." The letters further accused Mr. Sullivan's wife of bringing editorial and Catholic influences to bear upon the Board of Education, and of conspiring with Mayor Colvin and others to have J. L. Pickard, Superintendent of Public Schools, superseded by Duane Doty. Duane Doty and Mrs. Sullivan, it was further averred, were a "mutual admiration society." Sullivan was present in the Council when these reflections on his wife were read. He went home, and, after narrating the case to Mrs. Sullivan, took her and a younger brother in a carriage to Mr. Hanford's house, and, meeting Hanford on the sidewalk in front of his house, demanded a retraction of what he had written. Hanford refused to give it. Sullivan struck him, and a general squabble ensued, during which, it was alleged, Hanford pushed Mrs. Sullivan, and thereupon Sullivan shot him. Hanford died in thirty minutes. Sullivan was indicted for murder and tried twice. The first trial began Oct, 17 and ended Oct. 26. The jury disagreed. It stood eleven for acquittal and one for conviction. The second trial began Feb. 27 and ended March 10. Sullivan was acquitted. At the time there was some talk of indicting the jury, a strong belief prevailing that their verdict had been bought. The jury, however, were never molested. Since his acquittal Mr. Sullivan had been practicing law in Chicago and gathering unto himself that influence with Irish secret societies, notably the Clan-na-Gael, which resulted in his election and re-election as President of the new Land League, which consolidated the Irish-American societies of all kinds. His power and influence was phenomenal, and he ruled every organization with which he was connected, with an iron hand. As a result he made many warm friends, and just as many inveterate enemies, some of whom hated him with extraordinary intensity. Men like Parnell and Michael Davitt, however, extended him their full confidence, and were the first to come to his defense when the news of his arrest was published on the other side of the Atlantic. THE OTHER ACCUSED MEN. Dan Coughlin, the detective, at this time was about 34 years of age. He was a native of Michigan, and worked in the iron mines of the northern part of that State when a boy. He arrived in Chicago at the age of 26 and immediately fell in with Tim Crean, Florence Sullivan, and Tom Murphy. They introduced him to Alex. Sullivan and he secured a position on the police force through the latter. Sullivan's influence was such that he had an easy time. He became a pet of Capt. Schaack and stood closer to that officer than was good for the discipline of the force. P. O'Sullivan was born in Galena about 1853. His parents were from Galway, Ireland. They moved to Southern Michigan soon after he was born, and subsequently to Wisconsin, where they worked a farm which O'Sullivan owned at the time of the tragedy. He moved to Chicago about 1877, obtained employment as a street-car conductor, and quit that position after about eight years to go into the ice business. He went into politics in Lake View, and was a candidate for Alderman on the Democratic ticket, and was beaten. Frank Woodruff, or Black, was the son of a farmer of San Jose, Cal. He was born in Wisconsin. He had been in various penitentiaries, but for petty offenses. He moved to Chicago about five weeks before the 5th of May. He was an American. CHAPTER XII. AT THE TORONTO END OF THE CONSPIRACY--INVESTIGATING LONG'S CIRCUMSTANTIAL STORIES, AND HIS INTERVIEWS WITH DR. CRONIN--A CHICAGO FUGITIVE CONCERNED--HIS SUSPICIOUS MOVEMENTS--A CHAPTER OF STARTLING COINCIDENTS--LONG ON THE RACK--MAKES DAMAGING ADMISSIONS AND BREAKS DOWN--THE OBJECT TO DISTRACT ATTENTION FROM THE SCENE OF THE CRIME-- ANOTHER CONFESSION FROM WOODRUFF. With the recovery of the body of the murdered physician, and the developments that followed in such rapid succession, attention was attracted anew to the reports that had emanated from Toronto during the week following the disappearance. The circumstantial stories and interviews that had been scattered broadcast from that city over the signature of Charles Long, the ex-Chicago reporter, not only had a tendency to give the case an international aspect, but also to confirm the suspicions of the dead man's friends, that he had fallen a victim to a conspiracy wide in its ramifications, and planned, moreover, by a master mind. The dispatches were false, for the finding of Cronin's body in the Lake View catch-basin admitted of no possible argument to the contrary. It was equally certain that it could not have been a case of mistaken identity--not merely because Long's acquaintance with Dr. Cronin had been of a nature to render a mistake of that kind improbable, but because the detailed character of their conversation, as reported by Long, had been such that Cronin's part in it could not have been taken by any but Cronin himself, or some one of a few men familiar with the inner workings of the Clan-na-Gael or United Brotherhood. For example, a week after the disappearance, and before the finding of the body, Long had concocted in Toronto the story of the troubles in the Clan-na-Gael, with Cronin's charge that nearly $100,000 of its funds had been misappropriated, while papers elsewhere were still confusing the organization with the Irish Land League and its Detroit treasurer. "No one not a member of the Clan-na-Gael could have gotten up these interviews," Irishmen had said; and they were right. To the general public also, unacquainted with these facts, it seemed incredible that a presumably reputable journalist, with an utter absence of malicious motive, would, of his own free will, and simply for the advantage of the small pecuniary recompense that his labors might bring, so deceive and mislead the numerous and prominent newspapers to which his dispatches were addressed. It was a prostitution of the liberty and license of a correspondent such, perhaps, as had never been parallelled in the newspaper history of the country, while, moreover, it was of a character calculated to wreck, for all time, the journalistic reputation of the man most directly concerned. What, then, were Long's motives in giving currency to these dispatches? Whose was the guiding hand that induced him to take so great a risk? The Chicago _Tribune_--one of the papers that had been victimized--took it upon itself to answer these questions. A member of its staff was dispatched to Toronto, with instructions to sift the matter to the bottom. He was fully equal to the task, and within a few hours of his arrival in the city, his investigations had brought to light a startling array of facts. STARKEY'S SUSPICIOUS MOVEMENTS. Among the American residents of Toronto at this time was one William J. Starkey. Up to a year before he had been a member of the bar in Chicago. He had been compelled, however, to flee to the hospitable shores of the Dominion and join the army of exiled forgers, embezzlers and others--who preferred the free air of the Dominion to the confined quarters of an American prison--by reason of the discovery of an attempt he had made to bribe a juror in a case in which a street railroad company with which he was identified was the defendant. Starkey knew Cronin well. He had learned his history by acting as chief attorney in the bogus case that had been brought against the physician before a Chicago justice for the express purpose of cross-examining Cronin regarding his past life. From that time on he had been bound, body and soul, as a result of certain transactions, to a prominent Irish-American of Chicago, who was one of the promoters of the case in question. It was developed that for months before the murder, and also afterward, he had been in communication with acknowledged enemies of Dr. Cronin. It was likewise discovered that he had left Toronto on Sunday, May 5th, the day after Cronin's disappearance, without leaving word with anyone, unless in secret, as to his destination. He took train No. 5, at 12:20 P. M., on the Great Western division of the Grand Trunk, which made connection at Hamilton with New York and Detroit, as well as the lake steamers. He reappeared Friday, May 10th, and this was the day that Long's first dispatch, to the effect that Cronin was in Toronto, was sent out. After remaining over until the following Saturday, when the second and detailed interview was sent out, he disappeared again. The day following the finding of the murdered man's body, cipher telegrams passed between Starkey, at 135 Fourth avenue, New York, and D. K. Mason, his business agent, in Toronto, and who, by the way, was an exile in Canada from the warehouse receipt law of Louisville, Kentucky. While in New York, as will appear hereafter, Starkey was seen in company with several well-known opponents of the physician. A CHAPTER OF COINCIDENCES. What was the connection between Starkey and Long in the fictitious telegrams sent out from Toronto announcing that Cronin was in that city. This was the first question to be solved. Inquiry through the ordinary sources of information failed to throw any light on the matter. Starkey was not known to the Toronto detectives or its police officers. None of the local members of the press, save one, had come in contact with him. A few hotel clerks knew him by sight, but even these walking directories, who are generally supposed to have a knowledge of everything under the sun at their fingers' ends, could not tell his place of abode. A few knew him under the alias of Hardy, and that was the extent of their information. Several correspondents, who, upon request from papers in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, and other cities, had inquired into his relations with Long, reported that the two were not on friendly terms. This information, however, came to them from Long himself, who referred all inquirers to the Toronto _Empire_ of February 21, in which issue, he claimed, he had "written up" and "roasted" the Chicago fugitive. Right here was a coincidence of a startling nature. It was on that date that the furniture found in the blood-stained cottage had been purchased. "You must either see that Starkey and I are at outs," said Long to Sergeant Reburn, of the Toronto detective force, "or else that we planned this thing as early as the 21st of February, and prepared this article to throw people off the scent as to our true relations. I leave it to your common sense to determine which is the proper version to take of it." The article was examined, and the result was surprising. Long had "roasted" Starkey, not by his own name, but under the alias of "A. B. Darlingford." This individual, it was stated, was residing in a fashionable section of Bloor street, and was on intimate terms with a number of the most aristocratic families of the city. No better disguise could have been conceived for the real Starkey, or, as he was generally known, "W. J. Hardy," and who was boarding at the time in an humble house on the northwest corner of Wellington and Johns streets. He had never passed under the name of "Darlingford," nor had he ever lived on Bloor street, while his favorite haunts, instead of being in the aristocratic circles, had been the bar of the Walker House, which was presided over by two young Irishmen, and Kieche's European Hotel, of which another Irishman was the proprietor. To establish the fact that the relations of Long and Starkey were not only pleasant, but extremely intimate, was to the investigator a task involving but little trouble. It was found that Long had been a frequent visitor at the residence of Starkey, alias Hardy. Several weeks before, R. A. Wade, at one time a Chicago lawyer, had called at the house, and found the two men in conversation. "Billy" Acres, the principal waiter at the Rossin House, declared that Long and Starkey frequently sat together at the table. It was also shown that Starkey and Long had been frequent visitors to a room of another fugitive from Chicago justice, who was temporarily stopping at the before mentioned hotel. On the face of these facts, Long was finally forced to admit that he and Starkey were very well acquainted with each other, although he still insisted that their relations were anything but friendly. To ascertain the motives and the individuals that had inspired the Toronto reporter to deceive the press of the country with his infamous dispatches regarding the alleged presence of Dr. Cronin in that city, was the point with which the commissioner from Chicago now directed himself. Long lived with his father--president of the Toronto Printing Company, a stockholder in the Empire newspaper, and an ex-member of the Parliament of Ontario--in a handsome residence located in spacious grounds. Here he was called upon. His visitor urged him to remedy the serious mistake he had made by giving to the public the information he possessed regarding the persons who had instigated the writing of the articles, and their reasons for so doing. "I will never do it," cried Long. "I saw Cronin. The interviews proved that. Every member of the Clan-na-gael in Chicago knows that I could have known nothing about Cronin's threatened disclosures of treason among its members, or of the theft of $85,000 from its funds. I must have talked with Cronin to have known that." The visitor suggested that he might rather have talked with William J. Starkey, and Long, pale and trembling, sank back into his chair. He recovered his composure in a moment and went on to say that Starkey and he were enemies. Then the visitor confronted him with remorseless facts. He told him that he had frequently been seen in company with Starkey, both at the latter's residence and at the Rossin House; that he had met Starkey at McConkey's restaurant on King Street on the day he claimed to have seen Cronin, that being the day on which he sent off his first dispatch; that he and Starkey were together for a long time on the following day, when the lengthy interview with Cronin was sent out; that he had told the Toronto detectives that Cronin was at Starkey's house, and that he had given the latter's name as a witness and as one who had known Cronin in Chicago, to the fact that the dispatches were truthful. "_Starkey told me that Cronin was at his house_," exclaimed Long, who by this time was in a condition, bordering on the hysterical. "Why didn't you bring Cronin out to your house?" the visitor asked. "Why should I?" replied Long. He had evidently forgotten that two weeks before he had assured Detective Reburn that Cronin had visited his residence. Two days afterward, when confronted with Reburn, he repeated his original statement. "Cronin _was_ at my house," he said. "Why didn't you say so in your dispatches? Why did you tell another story the other morning?" asked the visitor. "I did not telegraph everything that passed between Cronin and myself, nor did I tell you everything the other day." "Who saw Cronin at your house?" "My wife." "Did the servants?" "Well, they wouldn't remember him." "Did you present him to your father and mother?" "They were away." It was apparent by this time, even apart from the fact that the body had been discovered and the circumstances demonstrated that it was in the catch-basin at the time Long's dispatches were filed, that his carefully prepared story would not hold water. Still the visitor persisted, and literally compelled the reporter to drive him to the different points at which he claimed to have seen Cronin, and over the route he followed him the first day. Long took him to the Yong Street Arcade, thence to the Union Depot, thence up to King and Ontario streets; thence to Adalaide and Toronto streets, where Cronin was alleged to have taken a hack, and Long had taken another and followed him. Pressed to give the name of the hackman, his number or his description, Long said that he was in such a hurry that he paid no attention to any of these details. He was reminded that Alexander Craig, clerk at the Rossin House, had declared that no such guests as he, Long, had described were ever at the hotel, that no one had turned up to say that Long and Cronin had been seen in conversation, that the hackman had faded into air, and that Starkey remained the only bulwark of the story. "Make a clean breast of it," he was urged. "Tell the public the truth regarding the circumstances under which your stories were originated." "I will never retreat," was Long's reply. "I would drag no one else through the mire of calumny I am now going through." "How do you happen to know so much about Cronin's St. Louis record?" he was asked. "I was in St. Louis a little over a year ago and made inquiries about him." "What prompted you to do that?" Long declined to answer, but said that he had a copy of the pamphlet entitled, "Is It A Conspiracy?" This was important, because it was known that a number of copies had been sent to Starkey, whose name figured in the pamphlet as one of Cronin's enemies. Numerous Toronto Irishmen who were consulted expressed the opinion (some of them to Long's face) that they believed his dispatches had been manufactured out of whole cloth. A final effort was made to induce Long to clear up the mystery surrounding the murder, by disclosing how he was prompted to send the dispatches, and a suggestion was made that, upon the existing facts, he stood in danger of being indicted by the Chicago authorities. This, however, failed of its purpose, and, failing to induce the reporter to unbosom himself in the cause of justice, the matter was dropped. Further investigations into the movements of William J. Starkey were next made. It was found that the fugitive and a prominent Irish-American from Chicago, had met in Windsor about eight months before, when the Irish-American had paid over to Starkey $8,000 in cash, which had been obtained for him from a Chicago corporation which was under obligations to him. About the middle of February Starkey received a visit from a man from Chicago who was possessed of brains of a high order, and after his return to Chicago a regular correspondence ensued between this individual and Starkey, which ceased only with the latter's departure from Toronto to New York. This occurred on the Sunday morning, following the Saturday night on which Dr. Cronin left his home forever. Up to two weeks before this time Starkey's financial condition had been very bad. Then he suddenly became "flush," and was enabled to invest several thousand dollars through D. K. Mason, member of the great fugitive colony, who, as has before been mentioned, had for five years found it desirable to make his home in Toronto as the result of some little irregularities in warehouse receipts which had transpired in Louisville, his old home. Where Starkey had gone on Sunday, May 4th, was a mystery. From the statement of the train dispatcher at the Union Depot, as well as of a business man who had talked with him just prior to the departure of the train, it was certain that he had left on the noon passenger train of the Grand Trunk. He had not purchased a ticket however, and consequently must have paid his fare to the conductor on the train. His wife insisted that he had been absent from Toronto, continuously from this time, but although the intuitive wifely forecast of danger which induced her to make such a statement was entitled to due respect, it was established by a dozen reputable witnesses, among them, some of his oldest friends, that he had been seen in the city on the Friday and Saturday, one week later, when Long had manufactured his telegrams and interviews. Four days after this he was met in New York by Richard Powers, of Chicago, ex-president of the Seamen's Union, and a warm friend of Dr. Cronin, who taxed him with being concerned in the manufacture of the bogus dispatches. Starkey not only denied this with some show of feeling, but also declared that he was not acquainted with Long. Strange to say, John F. Beggs, the Chicago lawyer who presided at that time over Camp 20 of the Clan-na-gael, was also in New York at that time. On Thursday, May 23d, the day following the discovery of Cronin's corpse, numerous telegrams, in cipher, passed between Starkey and Mason, the former's address being given as 135 Fourth avenue, New York. The following day Starkey was seen in conversation with certain members of the executive committee of the Clan-na-gael, and in about a week he reappeared in Toronto, vigorously disclaiming all connection with the movements of his friend Long. All the circumstances pointed to the fact that the sole object of the Toronto end of the conspiracy had been to distract attention from the scene of the crime, in order that the search for the body, then decomposing in the catch basin, might be discontinued, and, had it not been for the opportune discovery, this portion of the plot would have been entirely successful. No effort, however, was made by those interested in bringing the murderers to justice, to pursue the inquiries in this direction, owing to the fact, that, however important the information obtained, it would not have been admissible before an American court. The result was that the mystery surrounding the "hidden hand" that directed the movements of Long and Starkey had not been dispelled up to the conclusion of the trial. WOODRUFF'S SECOND CONFESSION. Another confession was poured by Woodruff into the willing ears of Captain Schaak about this time. In it, the man of many aliases told an entirely different story to that which resulted in his commitment to jail. According to his latest narrative, he was hired to take the wagon to the Carlson cottage, saw Dr. Cronin cross the threshold and pass through the doorway, and waited until the trunk had been brought out and placed in his vehicle. Then he was told to drive along the route so frequently described. It was the intention of the men, Woodruff went on to say, to sink the trunk in the lake, but they became scared at meeting several policemen, and seeing the manhole of the sewer, and which in the darkness looked much larger than it really was, they directed him to stop. Having lifted off the cover of the man-hole, the men were disgusted to find that the trunk was much too large to go into the opening. Accordingly they decided to take the body from the trunk, put it in the catch-basin and take the trunk back to the cottage. The discovery being made that the key was missing, one of the men broke open the trunk, and assisted by the other two, forced the body through the manhole and into the catch-basin. The cover replaced, the trunk was again thrown into the wagon and the horse's head turned toward the cottage. After going a short distance, however, the noise of a wagon was heard coming from the south. One of the men, who was sitting on the trunk, threw it out of the wagon into the ditch, and commanded Woodruff to lash his horse and drive as fast as he could to the west. At Fullerton avenue, the men got out of the wagon, while Woodruff drove to the barn. Concerning his previous confession, he admitted that the statement that there was a woman's body in the trunk was untrue, and added that the names of King and Fairburn were those of old friends, and had come to him on the spur of the moment. Inasmuch, however, as the prisoner, having access to the daily papers, could easily have concocted this story from the published reports and surmises, little stock was taken in his second "confession." CHAPTER XIII. SULLIVAN'S ARREST CREATES A SENSATION--HIS FRIENDS STAND BY HIM--THE NOTED IRISH LEADER IN COURT--EFFORTS TO SECURE HIS RELEASE--JUDGE TULEY GIVES HIM HIS LIBERTY--ARREST OF MARONEY AND MCDONALD IN NEW YORK--THEIR EXTRADITION REFUSED. Although, from the nature of the testimony before the coroner's jury, and the numerous developments in other directions, the arrest of the ex-president of the Irish National League of America was not entirely unexpected, it nevertheless produced a profound sensation, not only in the United States, but also across the Atlantic. By many of his friends and acquaintances in Ireland, the news was at first received with incredulity, and afterward, when confirmation had been flashed over the wires, with expressions of astonishment and denunciation of the course of the authorities. Men like Charles Stewart Parnell and Michael Davitt were not slow or conservative of words in giving utterance to the opinion that a serious mistake had been made; that Sullivan was an honest man, a patriot, a true worker in the cause of Irish liberty, and altogether a man whom it would be impossible to convict of identity with a conspiracy to assassinate one of his enemies. Meanwhile the Chicago friends of the accused lawyer were not inactive. Bright and early on the morning following his arrest they were in conference, for the purpose of determining upon the best course to pursue in order that his freedom could be secured. As a result of their deliberations, Counsellor A. S. Trude, one of the leading members of the Chicago bar, appeared before Chancellor Tuley upon the opening of the court, and secured a writ of _habeas corpus_, calling upon Sheriff Matson to produce his prisoner in court at three o'clock in the afternoon. The news spread rapidly. Popular feeling had been re-kindled by the events of the week, and, long before the hour designated, the court room was besieged by a crowd of people anxious to see the distinguished suspect. Sullivan was brought into the court room promptly on time, under escort of the sheriff and a couple of broad-shouldered deputies. Owing to some difficulty in securing a vehicle, and the stoppage of the street cars through an accident, the sheriff and his prisoner had been compelled to walk from the jail to the court room, a distance of nearly one mile, and strange as it may seem, although the route took them through a leading thoroughfare crowded with people coming and going, not one seemed to recognize the official or his companion. No one would have imagined for a moment that the latter had been the occupant of a cell over night. His linen was immaculate, and his attire--a neat fitting Prince Albert suit of black diagonal, with a black cravat tied in a simple knot over the snowy shirt bosom and the turn-down collar--was absolutely faultless. The occasion was one to try the soul of a strong man, but as he looked over the court room and glanced into the faces of many of his bitterest enemies, his expression was stoical, and he shook hands in a cheerful manner with several friends who were in court to show their allegiance to him. As counsel, he had Attorneys Trude, Windes and McArdle--the two latter his law partners--ex-Senator Duncan and Hiram Gilbert. The people were represented by State's Attorney Longenecker and his assistant, Frank Baker, the former occupying his favorite attitude of leaning over the bar of the court while the arguments were in progress. It was developed at the outset that the unconditional release of the prisoner was not desired, but that it was simply sought to secure him his liberty upon substantial bail. The proceedings opened with the reading of the petition to which Mr. Sullivan had affixed his signature. In this he declared that the evidence before the coroner's jury, and upon which his arrest was based, had been wholly insufficient to warrant that action; that there was no competent evidence, direct or circumstantial, tending to prove that he was guilty of the murder of Patrick H. Cronin, or an accessory thereto, or had guilty knowledge thereof, or knowledge or thought of conspiracy to accomplish the same; that the verdict was based upon a large amount of incompetent and wholly irrelevant testimony calculated to create prejudice, and that the verdict rendered, so far as it reflected upon the conduct of himself (Sullivan) was the result of passionate prejudice, created by the admission of such evidence. The document concluded with a declaration that the petitioner was not guilty of the crime with which he had been charged by the verdict, and that he had had no connection whatever with the murder of Dr. Cronin. ARGUING ON THE PETITION. The arguments were begun by States Attorney Longenecker, who demurred to the application on several technical grounds, dwelling especially on the point that the question as to the guilt or innocence of the accused was a question to be decided in another court. The statement of the accused regarding the insufficiency of the evidence was, he urged, a conclusion which he was incompetent to arrive at. [Illustration] Mr. Gilbert replied for Sullivan, saying that it would be a practical denial of justice to deprive his client of the right to be admitted to bail. Mr. Trude followed with a lengthy address, in the course of which he said that the bill of rights which guaranteed the inalienable rights of citizens, provided that unless there was positive proof or a strong presumption of guilt, the accused should not be held in imprisonment. Mr. Sullivan he said, had made no effort to run away. He had been at home at night and in his office by day, and hence he did not stand on the same footing as a felon who had been brought back from some State to which he had fled. Further argument followed, and it was finally agreed that the court should read over the evidence taken before a coroner's jury, before announcing his decision. Sullivan was thereupon remanded to jail. Here he was held for forty-eight hours, or until three o'clock of the following Friday afternoon. When brought down to the court room for the second time, he looked careworn and anxious, and there was no smile on his face as he greeted his attorneys. SULLIVAN RELEASED ON BAIL. Judge Tuley plunged into his decision without loss of time. He reviewed the evidence which went to show that Cronin had been in fear of his life, particularly from Sullivan, but held that there was no rule of law which would admit this evidence before a jury. Sullivan, he said, had not been shown to have been connected in any way with the obtaining of the horse and buggy, with the renting of the Carlson cottage, or with any of the other preliminaries of the crime. It was shown, on the other hand, that Sullivan had resigned from the Clan-na-Gael four years before-hand; and, if Cronin had been murdered in the pursuance of the order of any camp, it was not very clear how Sullivan, not being a member of the organization, could have influenced that action. The judge went on to say that the protest made by Sullivan against Dr. Cronin as one of the committee of six, showed the most bitter and malignant hatred of the dead man, but the very fact that this document was not made public until two or three weeks after the killing of Cronin, seemed to argue that Sullivan was not connected with the crime. It was almost impossible to believe that he would have promulgated that protest two weeks after the murder, had he been connected with the conspiracy. The evidence pointed to Sullivan as a person who might have a revenge to gratify, but it failed to show any direct act toward the gratification of that revenge. There was no doubt but what the coroner's jury believed that Alexander Sullivan was connected with the conspiracy, but it was largely influenced by hearsay evidence. Striking out all but legal evidence, no impartial man could think that it would be possible for any jury to convict the petitioner on what remained, and as a man could not be deprived of his liberty on the ground that more evidence would be produced to show him guilty, it was apparent to him (the Judge) upon mature deliberation, that Sullivan was entitled to bail. Upon the announcement of this decision there was considerable discussion regarding the amount of bail, and in the end a bond of $20,000 was agreed on by both sides. As bondsmen, there were then presented Fernando Jones, a real estate dealer and one of the oldest residents of Chicago; Daniel Corkery, a coal merchant; James W. Touhy, an extensive dry goods merchant, and Michael W. Kerwin. The state's attorney asked that they should be sworn and their property scheduled. Mr. Jones affirmed that he was worth $20,000, and as his wealth was in realty, estimated at about $2,000,000, the affirmation was considered quite as good as an oath. Mr. Kerwin scheduled $400,000; James W. Touhy, $175,000, and Daniel Corkery, $100,000. A bond was quickly signed and Alexander Sullivan was once more a free man. His friends crowded around him and congratulated him on having regained his freedom. There were several minutes of hand-shaking, his countenance the while expressing the satisfaction at the turn affairs had taken, and then, with his friends and counsel, he left the court room. The bonds remained in force until November the 8th of the same year, when, no indictment having been returned against him, Mr. Sullivan appeared with his attorney before Judge Baker and demanded that his bondsmen should be released and himself declared discharged from all further connection with the case. The State was at first inclined to resist the application, but on the following day, finding that the law was entirely on Sullivan's side, the objection was withdrawn; the bonds were declared canceled and Alexander Sullivan, by reason of the failure of the grand jury to find sufficient evidence upon which he could be brought to trial, was legally declared innocent of all complicity in the atrocious crime. TWO ARRESTS IN NEW YORK. On the same day that the coroner's jury returned its verdict, John J. Maroney and Charles McDonald were arrested in New York on suspicion of complicity in the murder. These arrests were made in accordance with instructions issued by the State's Attorney and Chief of Police, of Chicago, in the belief that Maroney was the man Simonds, who had hired the Clark street flat, and that McDonald answered to the description of the man who drove the Dinan rig. Both men had been prominent in the Clan-na-gael, Maroney especially, having been one of the secret workers for the "triangle." It was claimed by Luke Dillon that he had discovered that Maroney was in Chicago under an assumed name from February 20th to March 20th, that he reappeared on the morning of the day that the physician was murdered under an assumed name, and that he left Chicago for good on the following day. A complaint and information against the two men was sworn out by John J. Cronin, the dead man's brother, and upon this requisitions on Governor Hill of New York were issued by Governor Fifer of Illinois, and entrusted to Detective Farrell. In the meantime the prisoners had been arraigned at the tombs police court in New York, before Justice Hogan, and remanded until the question of extradition could be argued. This, however, did not meet the approval of their friends, of whom over a hundred were in court, and the same afternoon a writ of habeas corpus was applied for and granted by Judge Andrews of the Supreme Court. The prisoners declared that they had been in New York for weeks before and weeks after the murder of Dr. Cronin, and in this they were corroborated by a large number of people. Detective Farrell reached Albany on the following day, but Governor Hill, upon looking over the requisition, promptly denied the application, on the ground that it was not accompanied by an indictment, and that no proof whatever was presented showing that the accused were guilty of the crime charged against them. Upon receipt of this information, Hatfield, the furniture salesman, Martinson, the expressman, and Throgmorton, the real estate agent, started for New York with a view of identifying the prisoners. Upon their arrival, however, they utterly failed to find in either "suspect" the slightest resemblance to the mysterious Simonds, and on the heels of this Judge Andrews in the Supreme Court, handed down a decision upon the matter of the writ of habeas corpus, ordering that the men be discharged from custody, on the ground that there was not sufficient evidence produced before Justice Hogan, in the police court, to justify their committal to prison. CHAPTER XIV. OFFICER COLLIN'S SUSPICIONS--MARTIN BURKE AND HIS RECORD--FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF THE PHOTOGRAPH OF A CLAN-NA-GAEL GROUP--THE CARLSONS AND OTHERS IDENTIFY BURKE--HIS PECULIAR MOVEMENTS AND HIS FLIGHT--AN INDICTMENT AGAINST HIM--THE CAPTURE IN WINNIPEG, WHILE EN ROUTE TO ENGLAND--STUBBORN FIGHT TO PREVENT HIS EXTRADITION TO AMERICAN SOIL--THE LAW TRIUMPHANT--A MEMORABLE JOURNEY HOME. There is more truth than poetry in the old saying that it is "always the unexpected that happens." The fleeing criminal is oftentimes in the greatest danger when he imagines himself safe from pursuit. Examine the records of the courts and the detective agencies in scores of the largest cities of this and continental countries, and they will be found replete with sensational narrations of the capture of murderers, forgers, embezzlers--and others charged with offences covered in existing extradition treaties--in distant lands and isolated regions, and among people of strange tongues, where they had fondly hoped that detection or discovery was an impossibility, and that they were safe, for all time to come, from the strong arm of the law that they had violated. So too, a criminal will outwit the keenest of detectives, and nonpluss the most experienced of officers, only through his own lack of caution, to run his neck into the noose in an entirely different direction to that in which he is being sought. And so it was that to a sharp, keen, wide-awake official of the police department of Winnipeg, Manitoba, was due, in no small measure, the capture, at this juncture, of one of the alleged conspirators whose presence was most earnestly desired by the police authorities of Chicago. It came about in this way--Officer John Collins, an Irish-American, and an energetic member of the force, had been detailed for special work upon this celebrated case. He was familiar with the proceedings of the Clan-na-Gael. He also knew a man named Martin Burke, who occasionally assumed that of Delaney as an alias. This individual had been looked upon as a tool of the local Clan-na-Gael leaders, voicing their opinions in bar-rooms and at street corners. He had been particularly violent in his denunciation of Dr. Cronin, and at the saloons on the north side of the city that he was in the habit of frequenting, more especially those in the neighborhood of Chicago Avenue and Market Street, he had been heard to frequently say that Cronin "ought to be killed as a British spy." Little was known as to Burke's antecedents. Even his uncle, Phil Corkell, who kept a small grocery store on the north side, professed to know little or nothing about him. All that the police could learn at the time in tracing his record was that he had reached the United States from Ireland some time in 1886. A year later he turned up in Chicago. He had not been long in the city when he joined the Clan-na-Gaels. The notorious Camp 20 was the one he chose to gain admission to the order. Dan Coughlin, John F. Beggs, Mike Whelan and other leading lights of the order at this time dominated the affairs of this particular camp. For some reason or other--certainly not because he was particularly sharp or bright, for his uncle described him as a soft sort of a fellow, without any "gumption"--Burke attracted the favorable attention of Beggs, and the latter, aided materially by Alexander Sullivan, procured him employment in the city sewer department. He was assigned to work at the Chicago Avenue pipe yard, which at that time was a hot bed of Irish Nationalists. Accordingly to all accounts he earned no small proportion of his salary by boasting to his fellow workmen of his influential backers. It was his burden of conversation that Alex. Sullivan, Beggs, Coughlin, and other Clan-na-Gael leaders were his staunch friends. He also boasted that he came from the same part of Ireland, on the borders of Mayo and Sligo, in which Michael Davitt and other eminent Nationalists were reared, and he never tired of narrating his experiences with "moonlighting" expeditions in the west of Ireland. After Le Caron had testified before the Parnell Commission, in London, he varied his conversation, and was eternally denouncing and breathing imprecations upon the "British Spy." Early in 1889 he lost his job in the pipe department. From that time on he had no steady employment. At the same time he had plenty of money and spent it freely in the Market Street saloons. This of itself was sufficient to arouse suspicions, for when he was at work he was always in debt. Occasionally he varied his saloon loafing by taking trips to Lake View. To his associates he explained that he had a young female acquaintance in that neighborhood, although it was observed and sometimes remarked that these trips were altogether too prolonged for ordinary courtship. Afterwards it was recalled that they were taken about the time the mysterious strangers were occupying the Carlson cottage. BURKE'S PICTURE IDENTIFIED. It was nothing but natural that, as soon as Dr. Cronin's disappearance had been announced, the bartenders, saloon-keepers, and other intimates of Burke, calling to mind his deep-rooted hatred of the missing man and his apparently endless supply of funds, began to whisper that he must have had something to do with the affair. "He was surely in it," they said one to another. These rumors came to the ears of Officer Collins, and the latter lost no time in communicating with Captain Schuettler, who was actively engaged in the case. Schuettler immediately set about getting a photograph of the suspect. Diligent enquiry developed the fact that no single one was in existence. It was learned, however, that a picture of a group of Clan-na-Gaels was to be found, and that Burke was among them. A few years before, soon after the death of Timothy Crean, a relative of Alexander Sullivan, and at one time a district member of the Clan-na-Gael, a burial lot was purchased in the Mount Olivet Catholic Cemetery, near Washington Heights. It was intended as the "God's acre" of the Irish Nationalists. Imposing ceremonies marked its dedication, Father M. Dorney, the "stock yards priest," delivering the address upon the occasion. Subsequently a tall obelisk, with the name of Timothy Crean carved in the base with an appropriate inscription, was erected on the lot. It was on the occasion of the unveiling of this obelisk that the Nationalist group was photographed. In the back-ground of the picture, his features showing up clear and distinct among some forty people, was Martin Burke. It was an easy matter for Collins to locate the photographer that had taken the group, and then, finding that the negative had been preserved, to procure a copy of the picture. This much accomplished, however, the next question was, could Burke be identified? If he could not, all the rumors, and the suspicions, and the labor would go for naught. Collins took the picture to the Carlsons. Without acquainting them of his theories or suspicions, or indicating the object that he had in view; he asked them whether they recognized any one of the group. Charley Carlson, the son, was the first one approached. His finger went down on the face of Burke as that of the man who had rented the cottage. His father and mother put on their spectacles, looked the photograph over, and without the slightest hesitation declared--"That is the man." To make assurance doubly sure, Collins went to Hakan Martinson, the expressman. A single glance over the faces in the picture was sufficient. "That is the man" he said, indicating Burke, "that hired me to haul the furniture from that flat on South Clark Street." Further questioning led him to say that he had frequently seen Burke, about the time of the murder, in and around the saloons and the neighborhood of Chicago Avenue and Market street. This was enough for Collins. He was satisfied that he had struck the right lead. All that was necessary now was to get his hands on the man. THE FLIGHT AND CAPTURE. But the bird had flown. Burke's former haunts knew him no more. Collins had started out exultant in the prospect that the suspect would be behind the bars in a few hours. He went to one place after another, over Burke's old stamping ground, but everyone of whom he enquired shook their heads. He had disappeared as mysteriously as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up. The officer kept on, however, and finally learned enough to satisfy him that his man had skipped to parts unknown. His Clan-na-Gael uniform was found at the Philbin House, where he had resided, and that was all. He had been last seen in the city on the night of the day that Dr. Cronin's body had been buried. In fact he was in the crowd on the north side that viewed the funeral procession. For several days previously he had been particularly well supplied with funds. Where they came from was a mystery, although somebody knew somebody else who had been told by a third party that an individual mysteriously alluded to as "an Irish lawyer" had been seen to give him some bills from a big roll in the course of a hurried consultation. At any rate, he had the money. Then he began to talk vaguely about making a trip to Ireland. Next he skipped. Officer Collins made his report, and Captain Schuettler, with other officials of the department, took up the threads of his discoveries. It was learned that immediately prior to leaving town, Burke had gone several times to Lake View to see his mythical girl. He had packed his grip at his uncle's house. A conductor who knew him had seen him on a street car on the night of the funeral. This clue was followed up, and with considerable difficulty Burke was finally traced from the car to the Northwestern depot. Here the investigation struck another snag. None of the scores of employes of the depot, or the train men remembered having seen any man who answered the description given. The conductors and brakemen of the through trains were shown the picture and asked to exercise their memory; but without result. Not one of them could place the suspect. Then the authorities did the only thing that could be done. They notified every town along the road, and a full and complete description of the much wanted individual was scattered broadcast over the entire country and the provinces of Canada. Days and weeks came and went however, no tidings of the fugitive were obtained, and the prospects of locating him and securing his arrest became correspondingly dubious. Late one Sunday night however; a messenger boy rushed breathless into the central Police department with a dispatch enclosed in an envelope, across the face of which the word "Rush" was stamped in large characters. Chief Hubbard had not left the office. He tore open the envelope, and great was his gratification when he read the following message: WINNIPEG, MAN., JUNE 16, 1889. Martin Burke, alias Delaney, arrested here on suspicion of complicity in the Cronin case. He was boarding the Atlantic express, and had a ticket for Liverpool, England. MCRAE. To this the following response was immediately sent: CHICAGO, ILL., JUNE 16, 1889. Hold Martin Burke, alias Delaney, by all means. Will send officer immediately. G. W. HUBBARD, _General Superintendent_. HOW BURKE WAS CAPTURED. It was an inspiration, and a fortunate one, that induced Chief McRae, of the Police Department of Winnipeg, to turn his steps toward the railroad depot on the afternoon of Sunday, June 16th. Just why he did so he was never able to satisfactorily explain even to himself. He had with him, however, that eagle eye and that acuteness of perception which had not only made his name famous in the criminal annals of Manitoba, but also made it a menace and a terror to transgressors of the law. When, some days before, he had received a request from the police authorities of Chicago to be on the watch for a man named Delaney, he had issued general instructions to members of his force that any individual answering the description should be arrested on sight, while at the same time the principle details were impressed upon his own memory. One of the first persons he encountered upon reaching the depot was a man whose appearance instantly arrested his attention. He was an athletic looking fellow of excellent proportions, about twenty-six years of age and fairly well dressed. His face was red and freckled, his eyes gray and his hair brown. There was a deep scar on the front part of his head on the left side, another over his left eye tending downward, and a third, very deep, on the back of his head, below the rim of his hat. Nearly six feet in height, he looked like a man well able to take care of himself, and the termination which was wrought in every line of his countenance showed that he was possessed with sufficient nerve to assist in carrying out the details of any dark deed. Observing that he was being watched, the man looked furtively around, pulled his slouch cap well down over his eyes and endeavored to hide his features in the shadow of the building. In a few moments he walked to the rear, across the vacant lot, strolled back again and boarded a Canadian Pacific express, which was about to leave for Montreal. The Chief followed and took a seat behind the suspect, but the latter immediately stuck his head out of the window so that McRae could not see his face. Not to be trifled with, however, the latter went out of the car and walked along the platform. When he reached the window he found it closed, and looking through, saw the man on the other side of the car with his head again out of a window. These actions served to confirm his suspicions, and McRae boarded the train. At this moment it began to pull out, and realizing that it was a time for prompt action, he stepped up to the suspect, placed his hand on his shoulder, and told him that he was wanted. The man turned pale and red by turns, but made no reply, and grabbing up his valise, he meekly followed his captor out of the car and on to the platform. Here the Chief asked him several questions, and failing to get satisfactory replies decided to take him to the station. Donald E. McKinnon, one of the most experienced members of the city force, was acting as desk sergeant at the time. "What is your name?" he asked, as the Chief brought in his prisoner. "W. J. Cooper," was the reply. McKinnon proceeded to search him. In his pockets he found several small articles, the sum of $58.20 in cash, a railroad ticket to Montreal, and a steamship ticket from the latter city to a European one. On the back of this the name of W. J. Cooper was written. "I must caution you now," said Chief McRae, "that anything you admit may be used against you now as evidence, if you should be brought to trial. Now, is that your name written on this ticket?" "Yes--No," answered the prisoner, after considerable hesitation. "Well, what is your name?" continued the Chief. Again more hesitation--"Martin Burke," the prisoner replied, finally. "What other names have you got?" "Well, I sometimes go by the name of Delaney." The Chief was now satisfied that the man so badly wanted in Chicago was in his clutches, and he hastened to apprise Superintendent Hubbard by telegraph of the fact. This done, he resumed his examination of the prisoner. [Illustration: MARTIN BURKE] When asked where he came from, he replied "Chicago," but that he had not traveled direct, having first gone to Hancock, Michigan, where he had visited a man named John F. Ryan. This man, he said, had a homestead, although he corrected this latter and said that he kept a store. He went on to say that he had written to Ryan since his arrival in Winnipeg, and that he was on his way to the old country. While making these statements he was extremely nervous and excited, and this caused Chief McRae to remark: "What have you done that you are so nervous?" Burke made no reply. He was asked why he had adopted the name of W. J. Cooper, and replied that he did so because he was being watched by two or three men. In Chicago, he said, he had resided at the corner of Erie and Sedgewick streets, and he gave the names of several people in that neighborhood whom he knew, including a saloon keeper. Burke was placed in a cell, and the officers proceeded to examine his valise. In it they found several articles of clothing, including a light colored felt hat, considerably crushed, and with about a three-inch brim. On the sweat band there were ink marks, which had evidently been applied to obliterate some name or ownership mark. There was also a slip of paper, which proved to be a receipt for the sum of five dollars, paid by W. J. Cooper to Alexander Calder, on account of a ticket to Liverpool. Inquiries were next made concerning Burke's movements from the time he arrived in the city. It was found that he first put in an appearance on the Thursday prior to his arrest, and put up at the Russell House, a second-class hotel, without registering. On Saturday he appeared at Caldwell's office and inquired the price of a ticket to Queenstown or Liverpool, by way of Montreal. He was told and giving his name as Cooper, he handed out $5 as a deposit, adding that he would call and pay for the ticket on the following day. He was told that the office was not usually open on Sunday, but that if it was necessary the agent would come down and issue the ticket. From here he went to the telegraph office, where he wired to somebody in Chicago for the sum of $200. This came later in the day, and was paid to him. Late that night he wrote and mailed several letters, and on the following morning--Sunday--called for his ticket and paid for it. BURKE IN COURT. A night's imprisonment did not tend toward making the suspect any more communicative. When spoken to on the following morning, he admitted that he had known Dr. Cronin by sight, but said that he had never been personally acquainted with him, and also denied that he had ever been a member of the Clan-na-gael. He manifested considerable bravado, saying that he would claim British protection and refuse to go back with any Chicago officers who might be sent for him. Within a few hours after his arrest, one of the leading counselors of the city, A. B. Campbell, had been retained in his behalf through some mysterious source, and by his advice the suspect became as close mouthed as a clam. On the Wednesday following his arrest, he was arraigned before Police Magistrate Peebles, but upon the production of the dispatches from the Chicago authorities, a remand was granted for two days, without any evidence being offered. This made him very uneasy, and he urged his attorney to procure a writ of habeas corpus. The request would probably have been complied with, had not Chief McRae declared that he would block any such movement by swearing out an information charging Burke with murder. The suspect was anything but satisfied with prison fare, and, at his request he was furnished with meals from a hotel at his own expense and also provided with a comfortable bed. A dispatch late in the day brought the information that the grand jury in Chicago had returned an indictment against him, and, as a natural result, he spent a sleepless night. Officer Collins arrived from Chicago on Thursday, and a single glance at the prisoner was sufficient to tell him that the right man was under arrest. This much settled, Collins, accompanied by Chief McRae, drove to the residence of Judge Bain, one of the judges of the Court of Queen's Bench for the Province of Manitoba and a jurist of extraordinary ability and sagacity, where the following information was sworn out: Canada, Province of Manitoba, County of Selkirk: The information and complaint of John M. Collins, of the City of Chicago, in the State of Illinois, and the United States of America, police officer, taken upon oath before me, the undersigned, one of Her Majesty's Judges of the Court of Queen's Bench for the Province of Manitoba aforesaid, Judge under the Extradition Act at the City of Winnipeg, in said County of Selkirk, this 20th day of June, in the year of our Lord 1889, who says he has just cause to suspect and believe, and does suspect and believe, that Martin Burke, alias W. J. Cooper, late of the said City of Chicago, in the said State of Illinois, did commit the crime of murder within the jurisdiction of the said State of Illinois, one of said United States of America, to wit: That the said Martin Burke, alias W. J. Cooper, on or about the 4th day of May, in the year of our Lord 1889, at the said City of Chicago, did feloniously, willfully, and of malice aforethought, kill and murder one Patrick H. Cronin. Taken and sworn before me, John F. Bain, Judge of the Court of Queen's Bench, Manitoba. JOHN M. COLLINS. Upon this information a warrant was immediately issued and served on Burke in his cell by Sergeant McCharles. He was then taken from the police station to the County Jail, where he was incarcerated as a common prisoner, and H. M. Howell, Queen's Counsel was retained to conduct the case for the State of Illinois. THE IDENTIFICATION COMPLETE. The fast express on the following day had among its passengers from Chicago the Expressman Martinsen, and Officer J. M. Broderick. They were taken at once to the jail. Fifty-two men were drawn up in line in the yard of the structure and Burke placed among them. Martinsen passed along the line slowly, beginning at the right. He scarcely stopped in front of Burke as he passed, but he looked back after he had gone a few feet. Then he went back, from left to right, and this time scanned Burke more closely. "I am pretty well satisfied," he said, but he passed once more along the line, and stopped again in front of the suspect. Then he walked over to the side of Govenor Lawlor, the Superintendent of the jail. "I have got him," he said, to the Crown Attorney and Burke's lawyer. "What number from your left?" asked the former, "from your left as you face the line." Mortinson stepped out and counted. "Number 21," he said. Number 21 from that end was Burke. The prisoners were taken back to their cells. The identification was complete. Burke had been picked out of fifty men. What more was needed? More court proceedings were in order. In Canada the mills of the Gods grind slow, but they grind exceedingly fine. The memorable words which once fell from the lips of General U. S. Grant, "Let no guilty man escape," might be fittingly applied to the judicial system which prevails in the Dominion. Burke was again arraigned, this time before Judge Bain and another adjournment granted to await the arrival of the necessary papers. It was evident that Burke meant to fight extradition to the bitter end; it was equally evident that Judge Bain, although the youngest Judge upon the bench, was the best before whom the case could have been brought. He intended that justice should be done, and he did not propose that legal technicalities should save the prisoner from extradition, if it were proved that he was in any way concerned in the murder of the physician. THE PRESIDENT ACTS. All this time the authorities in Chicago had not been idle. Assistant States Attorney George Baker was first dispatched to Springfield, the State Capital, where the necessary papers were obtained. From here he hastened to Washington, where a requisition and other documents were properly "vised" by the State Department, and late on the night of June 24th, immediately upon his arrival from Cape May, where he had been taking a brief vacation, the President of the United States, Benjamin Harrison, placed his signature upon the warrant which authorized the Secretary of State, James G. Blaine, to affix the great seal of the United States to the official documents. Without this Presidential warrant, the custodian of the seal in the State Department could not permit even Secretary Blaine to affix it. On the following morning this formality was carried out and the responsibility of the Federal Government in the case came to an end. Burke was again brought before Judge Bain on Thursday, June 27th, and despite the fact that it was known that the extradition documents were on their way, a determined effort was made by Counselor Campbell, with whom another prominent lawyer, W. E. Perdue, had been associated, to secure the discharge of the prisoner. The Court decided to proceed with the case, and Officers Collins and McKinnon were called to testify. When they had told what they knew, a remand was granted for a week. Here it was resumed on July 3d, when Expressman Mortinsen repeated his identification of the prisoner, and Joseph Dillabaugh, a Chicago newspaper man, testified that he had seen the body taken from the Lake View catch basin, and was satisfied that it was that of Dr. Cronin. Additional evidence was given on the following day, Elliott Flower and Andrew Yount, representatives of Chicago newspapers, testifying to the location of the Carlson cottage, the blood stains found in it and other material facts. So the case went on from day to day. The evidence of young Carlson was considered necessary, and he was sent on in hot haste from Chicago. It was not until Wednesday, July 10th, that sufficient facts were before the Court upon which to base a decision. This decision, however, was to the point. It held that all the evidence given was admissible and sufficient for the purposes of extradition. It was sufficient to raise a presumption of guilt, and this was all that was necessary. Judge Bain went over the evidence which had been introduced before him, bringing out each little point, showing wherein it was weak and wherein it was strong, and concluded an able and exhaustive review of the case by remanding the prisoner to jail for extradition. FIGHTING TO THE LAST. Still Burke did not despair. Under the laws of the Dominion it was open to his counsel to apply for a writ of habeas corpus, in order that the decision of the Court might be reviewed. Nearly three weeks' delay was allowed for this purpose. People wondered that, considering the fact that Burke's available assets at the time of his arrest footed up little more than $50, he was able to retain two prominent attorneys, whose fees must, even up to this stage of the case, have aggregated more than ten times that amount. They wondered still more, when the announcement was made that the case of the suspect had been taken to a court of last resort, and which comprised Chief Justice Taylor, Judge Kellam and Judge Dubuc. This proceeding was in the form of a petition for a writ of habeas corpus, based largely on technical grounds. Elaborate arguments were heard for several days, and in the meantime ex-Senator William Kennedy, of Wisconsin, arrived from the States as special legal adviser to the suspect. This was additional proof that somebody or other, with plenty of money at command, was behind Martin Burke in the effort to prevent his being taken back to Chicago. Again, however, the law was triumphant; the application for a writ of habeas corpus was denied, and the extradition of the prisoner was ordered for the second time. CANADIAN JUSTICE TRIUMPHS. Burke's last chance for a long stay in Canada had now disappeared. Unusual promptness characterized the action of the authorities at Ottawa. Immediately upon the receipt of a telegraphic dispatch from Chief Justice Taylor, to the effect that the appeal had been denied, the warrant of extradition was issued by Sir John Thompson, minister of justice, and mailed to Winnipeg. It arrived at its destination at noon of Saturday, August 3rd, and, having been vised by the Lieutenant-Governor and the Provincial Secretary, was served upon Govenor Lawlor. Chief of Police Hubbard had in the meantime arrived from Chicago to superintend the arrangements for the return of the prisoner, and availed himself of the opportunity to highly eulogize Chief McRae for the able manner in which he had worked his part of the case. Day had barely dawned on Monday morning when the Chicago officers were astir. They drove at once to the jail, and the necessary formalities having been complied with, the prisoner was delivered into the custody of Officer Collins, in whose name the warrant had been made out. He was quickly hustled into a covered carriage, Chief Hubbard, Lieutenant Ross and Officer Broderick occupying the opposite seat. A little after six the depot was reached, and the prisoner, who had been handcuffed prior to leaving the jail, was placed in the smoking compartment of the palace sleeping car "Great Falls." Here he was closely guarded by the two police officers, who were well armed, while the Chief and Lieutenant returned to the hotel for breakfast. In a very little while a big crowd had gathered at the depot, but the blinds of the compartment had been carefully pulled down, and the people were compelled to derive what satisfaction they could by gazing at the closed windows. Burke had brought a basket of food and fruit with him from the jail, and through enquiries it was learned that it had been delivered to him the night before, that he had been advised to eat no food which might be offered to him by the officers, as it might be drugged, and that he had also been instructed to have nothing whatever to say to his guards while on the road. These instructions, it was afterward developed, were inspired by a telegram from Chicago, and which had been sent by an unknown man from the Grand Pacific Hotel over the initials "J. G." Shortly before ten o'clock the train pulled out, and Burke had started on what, to him, was destined to be a memorable journey. Chief McRae, representing the Winnipeg, police, Chief Clark of the provincial police, Chief Hossack of the Canadian Pacific detective force, H. McMicken of the St. Paul, Minneapolis & Manitoba road, and James McHale, a United States Government officer, accompanied the party as far as Morris, McHale and Hossack, going as far as Neche on the American side of the line. BURKE'S JOURNEY TO CHICAGO. Great crowds had gathered at every station where a stop was made, and it was soon found necessary to lock both doors of the car and keep a guard at each. Chief Hubbard and a porter took charge of the front door and allowed the other passengers to go in and out as they desired, while Lieutenant Ross took charge of the rear door, which was kept locked all the time. A large and demonstrative crowd was encountered at Grafton, the people climbing over each other to secure standing room on the platforms of the car, and shouting loudly that they would kill the prisoner if they could get their hands on him. Lieutenant Ross, however, induced them to go back to the platform, saying that there would be serious trouble if they continued to make threats. At all other stations along the line until Fargo, Dakota, was reached, the same scenes were repeated, except that the feeling did not run so high, and curiosity seemed to be the main motive. Quite a number of strangers succeeded in getting through the front door of the car at Minto, Dakota, but after reaching the section next to the smoking-room, they were confronted by Chief Hubbard, who forced them to leave the car. At Grand Forks the crowd took entire possession of the train, and none of the passengers in the sleeper were able to leave it during the stop. Better order prevailed at Fargo, where the depot police turned out in force and kept the crowd at a respectful distance. The same system was adopted at Moorhead, just across the river, where a stop was made for supper. All this time Burke kept his nerve. He sat near a window with Collins beside him and Broderick opposite. He steadily refused to talk, although Hubbard and Ross took turns at him. To every attempt to draw him into conversation, he had but one reply, and that was that his lawyer had told him not to talk. At times he ate sparingly from the basket with which he had been supplied, but invariably refused the offer of the officers to furnish him with refreshments. When night came he was allowed to lie down on one of the couches of the smoker, but sleep was out of the question, and when a party started to sing in the rear portion of the car immediately adjoining the smoker, Burke, from the inside, joined in the song. There was no crowd at Minneapolis, the guards at the gates keeping every one out. At St. Paul it was the same way. Here Burke was transferred to a special car which had been engaged for the party. He appeared at the door of the sleeper strongly manacled. There were manacles on his wrists and his feet were chained together so that he could step only a few inches at a time, while the chain was so short that he could not descend the steps of the car. Lieutenant Ross noticed this and, taking him in his strong arms carried him to the ground. He managed to walk slowly to the special car and was lifted aboard, and the blinds and curtains were drawn down on either side. The Winnipeg party was joined at this point by Assistant State's Attorney Baker and Carlson and Mortensen, the witnesses. On the front and rear platforms of the car two St. Paul detectives were stationed, and several more occupied the rear end of the first coach ahead. On from this point to Chicago the scenes of the day before were repeated. Every station had its crowd, and everybody was wild to see the prisoner. At Kilborne City, where a company of the State militia on its way to camp was encountered, one of the soldiers climbed up to a window, pushed up the blind, and forced his body half way into the car. He was seen by one of the officers in the inside, however, and a rap on the head induced him to get out a great deal quicker than he had got in. Remarkable anxiety to see the suspect was manifested by women at almost every stopping place, and at times they outnumbered the men, asking innumerable questions, and craning their necks in endeavoring to get but a glimpse of the interior of the car. Between St. Paul and Chicago not a member of the Chicago party went out into the open air. Burke sat on the right-hand side next the window, with either Broderick or Collins constantly by him. The rest of the party were distributed over the car in such a way that there was some one at almost every point. Chicago was reached between nine and ten o'clock on Monday night. The train was stopped at a lonely point in the suburbs, about three miles from the center of the city, much to the chagrin and disgust of an immense crowd that had gathered at the depot. The leg irons were removed from the prisoner, although the handcuffs were left in place. To them an iron chain several feet long was fastened, the other end being held by Officer Collins. The party dropped off the train in the darkness and hastened across the tracks to a carriage in waiting. Half an hour later Martin Burke, handcuffed to two stalwart officers, was ushered to the Chicago Avenue Station, and without being booked or searched was escorted to a cell. Early on the following morning Senator Kennedy of Wisconsin was on hand at the jail with a demand to see his client. Instructions had been given, however, that no outsider should be allowed to get within talking reach of the prisoner, and the lawyer was so informed. After making several other fruitless efforts to accomplish his purpose, he secured from Judge Baker a writ of habeas corpus, commanding Burke's appearance in court. It was made returnable at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, but at that hour a return was made that the prisoner was in the custody of Officer Collins, as agent of the United States. A new writ was therefore directed against the officer, but before this could be served Burke was transferred to the county jail, where his attorney was allowed to see him. On the following day he was arraigned in court, and, having plead "not guilty," in a low but firm voice, on the charge of having been concerned with others in the murder of Dr. Cronin, he was returned to jail. PREPARING FOR THE TRIAL. All this time State's Attorney Longenecker and his assistants were actively engaged in preparing for the great trial. Motions to quash the indictments were filed for all the prisoners, while there was a separate application in behalf of O'Sullivan for a change of venue. These matters came up before Judge Horton, on August 5th, and the entire case was transferred to that branch of the Criminal Court presided over by Judge McConnell, while August 26th was fixed as the date for the opening for the trial. On that date the six prisoners were arraigned and applications were made in behalf of Burke, Woodruff, O'Sullivan and Coughlin for separate trials. Elaborate arguments were made on these motions, the prosecution making a vigorous resistance. Judge McConnell took the question under advisement for a couple of days, and then denied the motions as to all the defendants, with the exception of Woodruff, who, on account of the peculiar circumstances that had entered into his side of the case, and his numerous confessions, was held to be entitled to a separate trial. [Illustration: THE SIX PRISONERS IN COURT.] CHAPTER XV. THEORIES REGARDING THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE MURDERED MAN'S CLOTHING--THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE MANIFESTS ITSELF--FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF THE LAST BLOODY EVIDENCES OF THE CRIME--DR. CRONIN'S APPAREL IS FOUND--IT HAD BEEN SECRETED, WITH HIS CASE OF SURGICAL INSTRUMENTS, IN A CATCH-BASIN, ADJACENT TO THE ONE IN WHICH THE BODY WAS DISCOVERED--SHOES, JEWELRY AND PURSE MISSING--COMPLETE IDENTIFICATION BY HIS FRIENDS--THE SEARCH CONTINUED--A PIECE OF CARPET FOUND--THE CONSPIRATORS' PLANS THWARTED. "God moves in a mysterious way; His wonders to perform." No stronger exemplification of the truth of the old familiar hymn, which commences with the above lines, and which for generations hasn sung, Sabbath after Sabbath, in churches of nearly every denomination throughout the Christian world, had ever before been grafted in the record of a criminal case. With the arrest and extradition of Martin Burke and his incarceration with the other suspects in the county jail, attention was attracted anew to the question regarding the disposition made of the clothing of the murdered physician, and of the case of surgical instruments which he had taken with him when decoyed from his home. What was supposed, or claimed to be, a thorough search of the sewers and inlets in the neighborhood of the man-hole in which the body was discovered, had been made immediately after the latter event, without, however, bringing anything to the surface which was calculated to shed additional light on the great crime. It was, therefore, nothing but natural that, having in mind the international character of the conspiracy as evidenced by the dispatches from Toronto, regarding the alleged presence of Dr. Cronin in that city, the friends of the murdered man, as well as the prosecuting officials of the county, should arrive at the conclusion that, in a geographical sense, the conspiracy was intended to cover a still wider field. It was upon the failure to find a single trace of the murdered man's apparel, taken in connection with the fact that on the eve of his sudden departure from Chicago, Martin Burke had employed the tinsmith Klahre to seal up a mysterious tin box, and his unwillingness at the time that the contents should be revealed, that laid the ground for the suspicion, which worked itself into a general belief that the tell-tale articles had been shipped across the Atlantic, and that when, in the opinion of the conspirators, the proper time had arrived, they would turn up on the banks of the Seine in Paris, or of the Thames in London, mute evidence of the fact that, as had been claimed, the missing man had actually left Chicago, appeared in Toronto, thence gone to Montreal or some other port, and embarked for England or the Continent, and, further, that, for some cause or other--it mattered not that the world be left in doubt so long as the aims of the conspirators were accomplished--he had consigned himself to a watery grave and left his clothes behind as convincing proof of the fact. But for the discovery of the body, such a programme could, without question, have been carried out in its entirety, and the case would have gone down into history as one of the many mysteries for which no tangible explanation was to be found. After the recovery of the body, however, any proceeding of this kind would have been worse than useless. But the question still remained as to the disposal of the clothing which had been stripped from the bleeding and battered body in the Carlson cottage, and it was not until after a lapse of over six months and while the trial of the accused men was in progress, that the question was satisfactorily answered. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Strangely enough, as in the case of the body, the mystery was solved by employees of the sewer department. On the afternoon of November 8th complaint was made at the Lake View offices that some obstruction existed in the sewer underneath the man-hole at the corner of Evanston and Buena avenues. This point was a mile and a quarter southeast of the catch-basin where the body had been found in May, and about a quarter of a mile from the ditch in which the trunk with its rolls of blood-stained cotton had been thrown. Three men, Michael Gilbert, foreman of the cleaning gang, Michael Reese, and W. W. McMillan, the foreman of the flushing gang, were sent to the place with orders to move the obstruction without delay. The three men raised the cover of the catch-basin and Reese was lowered into it. He had barely reached the bottom when he shouted out that he had found a wooden box that contained something that sounded like iron or tin. He was quickly hauled up, bringing the box with him. It was an oblong affair, about a foot in length, seven or eight inches deep and nearly as broad. In spots it evidenced that it had once been highly varnished and polished. The brass handle in the centre of the cover indicated that it had been carried as a satchel is carried. Gilbert forced open the case while his associates looked on with eager eyes. A single glance at the contents, covered though they were with the filth that had leaked in through the opening, was sufficient, and the three men exclaimed almost with one breath, "THAT IS DR. CRONIN'S BOX." The contents were an assortment of extension splints with which the Doctor had provided himself in anticipation of having to treat a fractured leg when he had reached Iceman O'Sullivan's house in Lake View. [Illustration: THE BOX AND ITS CONTENTS.] Reese was again lowered into the catch-basin and after a few moments exclaimed that he had made a further find. This time he passed up the broken frame of a satchel, its coverings entirely consumed by the foul waters of the sewer, a second satchel and a bundle of clothes covered with black, slimy refuse. After a hurried consultation the men decided to notify the police, and a call was sent to the Lake View station. Within a few moments the patrol wagon--the same one which had driven Dr. Cronin's naked body to the morgue--was on the scene. Very quickly the instrument box, the leather satchel, the bundle of clothes and the rotted satchel were loaded on a stretcher and carried to the Sheffield avenue station. [Illustration: THE LOAD ON THE STRETCHER.] Information of the discovery was telephoned to the Central Police Department, and Chief Hubbard responded with an order that the things should be brought down at once. One hour later the filthy packages were spread out on a rubber tarpaulin in the Chief's private office, and the leather satchel, having been washed under the running hydrant, was opened. The first article that was taken out was a book that had swollen to more than twice its natural size. The Chief opened it. On the fly leaf, partially covered with dirt, was the name "Dr. P. H. Cronin," written in the bold hand of the man who had once owned the book. In one of the pockets was a package of business cards in a good state of preservation. They read as follows: DR. P. H. CRONIN, Physician and Surgeon, Chicago. Office, 501 Opera House Block, Residence, 468 and 470 North Clark street. Office Hours: Office Hours: 11 to 1 p.m.; 2 to 5 p.m. 9 to 11 a.m.; 6 to 7:30 p.m. Nothing more than this was needed to prove that the articles were really those that had once belonged to the physician, and the Chief gave orders that the dirty mass should be taken to the Chicago avenue station and thoroughly cleaned. By this time, however, the developments of the day had reached State's Attorney Longenecker, who was conducting the trial in the Court House, about half a-mile away, and by his instructions the order was countermanded, and the things were taken to his private office. Mrs. Conklin was sent for, and upon her arrival the bundle of clothes was unrolled. Lieut. Schuettler separated the different pieces, handling the revolting articles as coolly as an ordinary man would a towel, while Mrs. Conklin looked on endeavoring to be more cool and collected than any one else in the little group. The first thing held up was a light spring overcoat of a fashionable pattern. It had been slit up the back by a keen edged knife, and the sleeves were torn clean up to the collar. IDENTIFYING THE CLOTHING. Mrs. Conklin's eyes filled with tears, and for a moment it was thought that she would swoon. Quickly recovering herself, however, she said quietly: "It is Dr. Cronin's coat." [Illustration: SOME OF DR. CRONIN'S CLOTHES.] The next garment taken from the foul smelling pile was an ordinary coat of black diagonal cloth, answering perfectly to the description of the one which Mrs. Conklin had said Dr. Cronin wore when he was driven away. This, too, was almost cut to pieces. Mrs. Conklin bowed her head to indicate that she recognized it. Next the vest was produced, then the trousers, then the drawers, then two white shirts and a collar, and finally the physician's under vest and his big military slouch hat. Every article, except the latter, had been cut up very neatly, as though a very sharp knife or pair of scissors had been used. The few men present grated their teeth and set their jaws firm at these evidences of the bloody butchery, while Attorney W. J. Hynes, bringing his fist down on the table, exclaimed in passionate tones: "The fiends must have cut the clothes from the body after they had finished their murderous work." [Illustration: TWO VIEWS OF DR. CRONIN'S HAT.] Nearly all of the garments were stained with blood. There was blood on both sleeves of the cut-away coat, blood on the vest and blood on the trousers. One of the white shirts was literally soaked with it, while the other was slightly stained. There was blood on the undershirt and on the drawers, which were made of fine wool, and even upon the rim of the hat. Six months' immersion in the slime of a sewer, where they had been exposed to the influences of repeated storms, had not been enough to eradicate the evidence of the terrible deed which had been committed in the little cottage. A MURDERER'S SHIRT. But there were no cuts or rips in the second white shirt, and the conclusion was quickly formed that it had belonged to one of the murderers, who, fearing detection, must have discarded it before leaving the cottage and starting on the long and lonely trip with the body in the trunk through the streets of Lake View. It was closely examined for a mark that would lead to the identification of its owner, but not so much as an initial could be found. On one of the cuffs of the undershirt was a large blue enameled button, of which, so said Mrs. Conklin, Dr. Cronin had been very fond. The second button and cuff were missing. The physician's neck-tie was next held up, but the pin, one which he had worn for very many years, was gone. A button bearing the insignia of the "Royal Arcanium," of which Dr. Cronin had been a very active member for several years, was found in the lapel of the cut-away coat. The pockets were searched for the gold watch and chain which the physician had carried, and the well filled purse that he had taken out on the fatal night. Neither were found. [Illustration: DR. CRONIN'S POCKET INSTRUMENT CASE.] "The watch and chain are gone, also the doctor's purse," said George Ingham. "Now will these fellows claim that they murdered Dr. Cronin through patriotic motives. Some people will be uncharitable enough to believe that they intended to commit robbery." [Illustration] The clothes were temporarily laid aside at this point and the contents of the leather satchel were over-hauled. Mrs. Conklin at once identified it by several marks, as one the physician had carried for several years. From its recesses the doctor's prescription book was first produced, then his call book, and then a street guide that Mrs. Conklin had purchased over two years before. After this came still another book with a list of drugs and medicines, and explanations of their uses. All the pages were badly soiled. A tiny knife was fished out from the bottom of the satchel. It was a pretty toy, one which Dr. Cronin had received as a present from a little girl. Tears started to Mrs. Conklin's eyes. "Let me have that," she said, and she reached for the knife. It was silently passed over. A tiny thermometer, such as surgeons carry to test the temperature of patients was now brought out, and then in rapid succession a roll of plasters, a small pocket instrument case, a handkerchief, a double stethescope, a lot of minor surgical instruments, including a keen bladed scalpel and a box of hypodermic syringes. This latter attracted considerable attention, on account of its beauty. It had been a present from W. M. Bagnall, one of the most intimate friends of the physician, and on it he had placed this inscription: PRESENTED BY WILLIAM M. BAGNALL TO DR. P. HARRY CRONIN. [Illustration: BAGNALL'S PRESENT TO THE DOCTOR.] All of this, however, except the last line, had been erased. There were two letters and a postal card in the satchel, each bearing the down-town address of the physician, together with a comb and a piece of paper, so saturated with blood that it was difficult to tell whether or not it had contained writing. The wooden box contained several silver extension splints, which are used in case of fractured limbs. The other valise, the cover of which had been eaten away, was apparently about eighteen inches long, quite large enough to have contained a bundle of clothes. When found by Reese, the overcoat and trousers were clinging to the ribs of it, which was taken as evidence that it had contained the whole bundle when it was dumped into the sewer. Salesman Hatfield, when sent for, said unhesitatingly that he had no doubt but that the valise was the one he had sold to the man Simonds, and which had been taken from the Clark street flat to the Carlson cottage. The hat was also recognized by the tradesman of whom the physician had been a regular customer. [Illustration: REMAINS OF THE MURDERERS' VALISE] The excitement which prevailed in the city when the news of the find became known almost equaled that of the day on which the body was found, while the friends of the physician were exultant and congratulated each other upon the unexpected aid that the prosecution had received. Rumors of what the day had brought forth had found their way into the court room a little while prior to the adjournment of the afternoon session, and created a profound impression; the lawyers for the defense were astounded, while the agitation of all of the prisoners, excepting Beggs, was apparent to every observer. Only the ex-Senior Guardian of Camp 20 maintained a cool demeanor. A PIECE OF CARPET FOUND. On the following day, acting under instructions of the Chief of Police, a dozen picked men from the Central detail commenced a thorough search of the Lake View sewers. They were assisted by several experienced sewer men. Long pike poles were secured and the hunt began, but the task was by no means an easy one, many of the sewers being too small for the smallest man to crawl through. [Illustration: THE SILVER HYPODERMIC SYRINGE CASE.] Starting at Evanston avenue the gang worked slowly to the lake, but for several hours nothing was found to reward their efforts. It was not until late in the day that a find was made by Officer Lorch. Equipped with a rubber suit and one of the pike poles, he had been lowered into the man-hole at the corner of Evanston and Graceland avenues, one block south of the man-hole in which the clothes and surgical instruments had been thrown, and two blocks south of the street where the trunk was found. Worming himself into the twenty inch sewer he went through the filthy main for a distance of twelve or fifteen feet, pushing the pike pole ahead of him. His persistence was finally rewarded by the bringing to light of a muddy, slimy piece of carpet about twenty inches square, and which looked as if it had been hastily torn from a longer strip. When brought to the surface and rinsed under a hydrant it was found to be a cheap quality of an ordinary ingrain of a modest dark pattern, resembling just such a carpet as that which the man Simonds had purchased at Revells. [Illustration] Its many months of contact with the water and slime of the sewer, however, had destroyed all traces of the color and pattern, and hence it was impossible to positively identify it as a portion of the carpet laid down in the Carlson cottage, but in view of the locality in which it was found, and its proximity to the place where the clothes and trunk were secreted, there was but little doubt but that it was a portion of the blood-stained carpet which the murderers had taken up from the floor of the cottage. The search was continued in the hope that the boots, hose, watch and chain, and purse, which were still missing, might be found in the depths of the sewer, but despite the most energetic efforts it was not rewarded by success. THE CONSPIRATOR'S PLANS THWARTED. It was a very easy task to find an explanation of the presence of the bloody remains of the tragedy in the particular catch-basin in which they were found. As originally planned, the conspiracy probably contemplated the sinking of the body and the other evidences of the crime in the deep waters of the lake. After being accosted by Officer Way of Edgewater, however, the murderers must have become alarmed at meeting so many policemen, and had turned around as if to go back to Chicago. Meanwhile the blood soaked carpet which had been ripped from the floor of the cottage had been torn into strips by the men in the wagon. [Illustration: THE ENGLISH PRESCRIPTION BOOK.] The expedient of disposing of the body by throwing it into the 59th street catch basin, which was only half a mile from Edgewater, was a desperate one; but it was necessary in order to avoid detection. This done, the murderers started south for the distance of a mile, and having found it impossible to jam the trunk into a man-hole, had thrown it over the fence. The clothes, carpet, satchels, and other evidence of guilt had been distributed along Evanston avenue for the distance of another half mile, but yet so concealed as to have made it next to impossible for the police, with the facilities at their disposal, to find anything but the trunk. This at least was the explanation of some of the officers, although it was directly antagonized by other officials identified with the force. For instance, Capt. Schuettler, on the day of the finding of the carpet, declared that the sewers in this particular locality had never been searched. "I went out but once to search those sewers," he said, "just after the trunk was found. The then detective, Dan Coughlin, and I rode in one buggy, Captain Schaack and Michael Whalen in the next, Detectives Lorch and Gardiner in the third. Schaack said that he believed the blood in the trunk had come from a 'stiff' taken from some cemetery, and we worked on that theory. As a consequence the sewers were never examined in that particular neighborhood." CHAPTER XVI. SPECIAL GRAND JURY SUMMONED--PERSONNEL OF ITS MEMBERS--JUDGE SHEPARD'S VIGOROUS CHARGE--THE TESTIMONY TAKEN--SEVENTEEN DAYS' INVESTIGATION RESULTS IN THE INDICTMENT OF SEVEN MEN--FULL TEXT OF THE INDICTMENT. Sheriff Matson, tall and commanding, appeared in that branch of the Criminal Court presided over by Judge Shepard, at ten o'clock on the morning of June 12, at the head of such a procession of prominent business men as is seldom seen in the precincts of a court room, save on occasions that stir the entire community. For the third time during his term of office as sheriff--once in the Anarchist case, then in the celebrated "boodler" trial, and again on this occasion, the Sheriff had been ordered to summon a special venire of grand jurors. That he had taken pains to get good material, and at the same time avoid selecting any of those that had served on either of the two former occasions, was apparent when he presented the twenty-three men to the Court. Their names were called out as follows: D. B. Dewey, H. P. Kellogg, D. A. Peirce, W. K. Forsythe, John H. Clough, J. McGregor Adams, Jacob Gross, Francis B. Peabody, W. H. Beebe, A. G. Lundberg, John F. Wollensack, Isaac Jackson, H. S. Peck, W. J. Quan, John O'Neill, Louis Hasbrook, Henry Greenebaum, C. Gilbert Wheeler, J. C. W. Rhode, A. P. Johnson, George W. Waite, Henry A. Knott, W. D. Kerfoot. JUDGE SHEPARD'S PLAIN WORDS. The Judge looked approvingly over the double row of intelligent faces before him, and appointed John H. Clough as foreman. The customary oath usually administered in cases of special grand juries, where some of those summoned may be disposed to avoid service, was omitted, and the regular grand jury oath was clinched with the statement, "so help you God." After this the excuses of half a dozen of those who considered themselves entitled to exemption came too late. Commencing his charge by reading the section of the statute defining the duties of grand jurors, and fixing the punishment for disclosing grand jury proceedings, Judge Shepard went on to say: "The prime matter which will come before you will be the murder of the late Dr. Cronin. This appalling murder demands a most rigorous investigation. Dr. Cronin, an American citizen, has been struck down and killed under circumstances so horribly indicative of conspiracy, premeditated design and malice, as to warrant the most searching inquiry. Fortunately the power of a grand jury is fully equal to the emergency. "Men who can tell of facts and circumstances that will lead you to the discovery of the guilty parties can be made to tell. It is just as much perjury to falsely deny knowledge of a fact as to affirm its existence. Nothing short of a refusal to testify before you on the ground that his testimony will tend to criminate himself will excuse any witness, and he cannot falsely employ that personal privilege as a protection for another without subjecting himself to the pains and penalties of perjury. "It is not the policy of the law that it is better that one or any number of guilty men should escape rather than that an innocent person should suffer; the law has no policy in such matters except that every guilty man shall be punished. With all the information already in the possession of the law officers of the county at hand, it will be a blot on the commonwealth, a severe blow to the administration of justice, and a frightful menace to the safety of the individual citizen, if every man engaged in this shocking crime, or having guilty knowledge of it, shall not be discovered. "The whole power of the county is at your disposal. Employ your resources, use the power invested in you without fear or favor, and the result cannot be uncertain. You will now retire to the jury room and make your own arrangements for the transaction of the business for which you have been called together." At the conclusion of this address the grand jury retired, in charge of Bailiff Hamilton. An organization was quickly effected, and soon the twenty-three men were at work, with the assistance of State's Attorney Longenecker and his assistant, Jampolis. Acting Captain Schuettler was also called in, and from these officials the body received an outline of the case, very much from the same material which came before the coroner's jury, with the exception that the State's Attorney had prepared a connected narrative that, step by step, was to be corroborated by witnesses. At each of the stairways leading to the floor where the grand jury quarters were located bailiffs were stationed, and none but grand jurors and witnesses were permitted to pass. THE GRAND JURY'S INQUIRY. Beginning with the testimony of Mrs. Conklin, the liveryman Dinan, the furniture salesmen, and the agents of the Clark street flat, the Grand Jury traced the movements of the murderers, step by step. Daniel Brown, the police officer attached to the Stanton avenue station, and who had preferred the charges of treason against Dr. Cronin in a camp of the Clan-na-gael, was subjected to an exhaustive examination. He was kept on the stand for nearly two hours, and was not permitted to refuse to answer questions, or to avoid answering by saying that he did not recollect, or that he had forgotten. He was closely questioned concerning his connection with the order and his reasons for preferring the charge against the physician. [Illustration: OFFICER BROWN.] Another witness was Thomas G. Windes, the law partner of Alexander Sullivan, and at that time a Master in Chancery of the Circuit Court. He told the jury that he knew absolutely nothing about the check for $99,000, drawn in favor of Windes & Co., and which had been deposited in the Traders' Bank to the credit of Alexander Sullivan. In fact he had never even seen the check. When questioned by the State's Attorney, he said without hesitation, that he had seen Detective Coughlin at the office of Alexander Sullivan at least six or seven times at different periods preceding the murder, and that they seemed to be quite intimate. Corroborative testimony was given by Henry Brown, a clerk in Sullivan's office. On the fifth day of the investigation an indictment was found against Martin Burke, in order that the record upon which his extradition from Winnipeg was sought should be complete. The speculations of Alexander Sullivan on the Board of Trade, his relations with the Clan-na-gael, and the alleged misappropriation of funds, were investigated at length. Incidentally, Frank B. Johnson, confidential clerk of John T. Lester & Co., told of a speculation which he had engineered for Sullivan in 1882. In that year Sullivan, upon a "tip" from Johnson, purchased 200 shares of Chicago, Burlington & Quincy railroad stock, putting up several thousand dollars as margin. The transaction lasted for some time, and in the end Sullivan's gains amounted to $50,000, out of which he made Johnson a present of $5,000. This, while interesting, was not material to the purpose of the investigation. Rev. Father Dorney was another witness, but, although closely questioned, he told nothing of importance. The indictment against Burke was returned into Judge Shepherd's court, on June 19th. There were two counts, one charging him with the murder of Dr. Cronin by means and weapons to the jury unknown, and abetted and aided by persons unknown, while the other charged him, under the name of Burke, otherwise known as Martin Delaney, otherwise known as Frank Williams, with conspiring with certain other unknown persons to murder the physician. The names of fifty witnesses were on the back of the indictment. Mortimer F. Scanlan told a lengthy story regarding the enmity toward Dr. Cronin that existed in Chicago, and which was fomented by a faction of the camp to which Coughlin belonged. He also said that the physician carried important papers regarding the alleged embezzlement of Clan-na-gael funds, either in his inside pocket or in his instrument case, about the time of his death. PAT COONEY UNDER SUSPICION. Just about this time the police began an active search for a man named Pat Cooney, better known to his associates by the sobriquet of "the Fox," and who answered in every particular to the description given of the man Simonds, who had purchased the furniture from the Revells and had rented the flat on Clark street. He was a bricklayer by trade, and had come from the west of Ireland, somewhere in the same region from which Burke hailed. Some time prior to the murder he had been a boon friend and companion of Coughlin and Burke, and had been frequently heard to denounce Dr. Cronin as a British spy. He commenced to drink steadily during the week following the physician's disappearance, and although not working, had an abundance of money. The police authorities were satisfied that Cooney was the man they wanted, but a thorough search of the city resulted in the discovery that he had left for parts unknown. Detectives were sent to several points where men answering to his description had been shadowed by the authorities, but their labors were without result. A man supposed to be "The Fox" was arrested at Frankfort, Indiana, on June 23d, but proved to be an entirely different individual. The search was continued for months, and finally it was concluded that Cooney had left the country. THE TRIAL IN CAMP 20. Startling information was brought to the attention of the Grand Jury, at its session on June 24th, which established to the satisfaction of the prosecuting officials, that there was an "inner circle" in the notorious Camp Number 20 of the Clan-na-gael, and that a trial of Dr. Cronin was ordered by this inner circle within two months of his death. For a year or more the physician had been denounced in this camp as a British spy, by Coughlin, O'Sullivan, Cooney, Burke and others of that ilk. Members of other camps, who were friendly to the "triangle," helped to spread the story in some quarters by innuendo, and in others by direct assertion, testifying before the Parnell commission, in London, in the spring of 1889. Le Caron had said that there were in the United States three other spies like unto himself, but at the instance of the Court their names were suppressed. Hardly, however, had this evidence been cabled across the water, than it began to be hinted about in Chicago that Dr. Cronin was one of the three referred to. It was also falsely asserted that Le Caron had testified that Dr. Cronin was his friend, and a man eminent in his profession. This, for the purposes of the "inner circle," was proof positive that Cronin was a British spy. Le Caron's testimony was given during the first week in February. About the third week of that month it was alleged that Alexander Sullivan had received advices from abroad, to be re-directed to Patrick Egan, at Lincoln, Nebraska, setting at rest all doubt as to the fact that there was at least one spy in the United States. The rumor that these advices existed had its effect. Charges, so it was claimed, were preferred against Dr. Cronin for giving secrets to the enemy, for seeking to obtain information prejudicial to the cause in order to sell it to England, and for general betrayal of the secrets of the order. In accordance with the rules of the organization, these charges should have been lodged with a member of the executive. A member friendly to the inner circle was induced to order a trial. This trial was directed to be held in Camp 20, because the person preferring the charges belonged to that camp. Under the rules of the order this process was irregular, as the charges should have been heard in Cronin's own camp. His enemies, however cared nothing for law. What they wanted was vengeance. John F. Beggs, a well-known lawyer, and president of the Irish-American Club, was Senior Guardian of Camp 20. He selected a trial committee. It held several meetings, the last about the middle of February. At this meeting the death of the physician must have been decreed. [Illustration: JOHN F. BEGGS.] This was the story in outline as it reached the State's Attorney. Lawyer Beggs, who had already been several times summoned before the Grand Jury, was again recalled. His answers were evasive and unsatisfactory, although he denied that any committee had been appointed, that any secret trial had taken place, or that, so far as his knowledge went, Dr. Cronin had been condemned to death as the result of any action of that particular camp. Many admissions, were wrung from him when he was confronted with the facts, but his entire demeanor was so uncertain, and he made so many contradictory and inconsistent statements, that the members of the Grand Jury were convinced that he possessed a guilty knowledge of the murder, or of the circumstances which resulted in the perpetration of the crime. The result was that, at the conclusion of his examination, he was placed under arrest and incarcerated with the other suspects in the county jail. SEVEN SUSPECTS INDICTED. Enough testimony had now been heard to enable the Grand Jury to act intelligently, and the inquiry was closed. One entire day was devoted to the sifting of the evidence as it related to each individual who had been mentioned in connection with the crime, and at five o'clock of the afternoon of Saturday, June 29th, seventeen days from the inauguration of the inquiry, the jurors again filed into Judge Shepherd's court. "Have you any report to make Mr. Foreman?" asked the Judge. "We have, your honor," promptly answered Mr. John H. Clough, and stepping forward he handed a bulky document to Clerk Lee, who, in turn, handed it to Judge Shepherd. The Court glanced over the contents and then inquired: "Have you any further business to transact, gentlemen?" "I think we have finished what we had to do," answered Mr. Clough. "Then," said the Court, "you may be excused from further service." And thus was dismissed one of the most important Grand Juries ever empaneled in Cook County or in the State of Illinois. For three weeks it had been constantly engaged in probing into the mystery, and in that period it had examined over 200 witnesses, a number unprecedented in a criminal case. That its labors had been attended with good results, and that it had performed its duty with fidelity and faithfulness, was demonstrated by the document that had been entrusted to the Court. It was an indictment charging the following persons with the murder of Dr. P. H. Cronin: JOHN F. BEGGS, Lawyer and Senior Guardian of Camp No. 20. DANIEL COUGHLIN, Ex-detective. PATRICK O'SULLIVAN, Iceman. MARTIN BURKE, Laborer. F. J. WOODRUFF, alias Black, the horse thief. JOHN KUNZE, Laborer. PATRICK COONEY, alias "The Fox." The full text of the indictment was as follows: The grand jurors aforesaid, chosen, selected, and sworn, in and for the County of Cook in the State of Illinois, in the name and by the authority of the people of the State of Illinois, upon their oaths aforesaid, do present that one Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, one John F. Beggs, one Daniel Coughlin, one Patrick O'Sullivan, one Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, one Patrick Cooney, one John Kunze, and divers other persons, a more particular description of which is to the said jurors unknown, late of the County of Cook, March 1, in the year of our Lord 1889, in said County of Cook in the State of Illinois aforesaid, did unlawfully, feloniously, fraudulently, and deceitfully conspire and agree together with the fraudulent and malicious intent then and there, feloniously, wrongfully, and wickedly, and with malice aforethought, to kill and murder one Patrick Henry Cronin, in the peace of the people of the State of Illinois then and there being, and the jurors aforesaid, upon their oaths aforesaid do further present that the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, said John Kunze, and the said divers persons whose names are to the said jurors unknown, in execution of the said last mentioned premises and in pursuance of the said conspiracy, combination, and agreement between and amongst them as aforesaid, afterwards--to wit: May 4, in the year of our Lord 1889, in said County of Cook, in the State of Illinois aforesaid, in and upon the said Patrick Henry Cronin, in the peace of the people of the said State of Illinois, then and there being unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did make an assault, and that they, the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, said John Kunze, and said divers other persons, with certain means, weapons, and instruments, a more particular description of which is to the said jurors unknown, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did strike, penetrate, and wound the body, limbs, head, and face of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, with the means, weapons, and instruments aforesaid, and upon divers parts of the head, face, limbs, and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, did inflict divers mortal wounds, bruises, lacerations, and contusions, of which said mortal wounds, bruises, lacerations, and contusions he, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there instantly died. CHARGED WITH MURDER. And so the jurors aforesaid, upon their oaths aforesaid, do say that the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, said John Kunze, and said divers other persons, him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there in manner and form aforesaid, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did kill and murder, contrary to the statute and against the peace and dignity of the same people of the State of Illinois. The grand jurors aforesaid chosen, selected, and sworn in in the name of and by the authority of the State of Illinois, and through the County of Cook in the State of Illinois, upon their oaths aforesaid, do further present that one Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, one John F. Beggs, one Daniel Coughlin, one Patrick O'Sullivan, one Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, one Patrick Cooney, and one John Kunze, late of the County of Cook, May 4, in the year of our Lord 1889, in said County of Cook, in the State of Illinois aforesaid, in and upon one Patrick Henry Cronin, in the peace of the people of the State of Illinois then and there being, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously and of their malice aforethought, did make an assault, and that they, the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, said John Kunze, with certain means, instruments, and weapons, a more particular description of which is to the said jurors unknown, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did then and there strike, penetrate, and wound the body, limbs, head, and face of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there giving to him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, with the means, weapons and instruments, aforesaid in and upon divers parts of the head, face, limbs and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, divers mortal wounds, bruises, lacerations, and contusions, of which said mortal wounds, bruises, lacerations, and contusions he, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there instantly died. And so the jurors aforesaid upon their oaths aforesaid do say that the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there, in manner and form aforesaid, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did kill and murder, contrary to the statute and against the peace and dignity of the same people of the State of Illinois. The grand jurors aforesaid, chosen, selected, and sworn in and for the County of Cook, in the State of Illinois, in the name and by the authority of the State of Illinois, upon their oaths aforesaid, do further present that one Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams; one John F. Beggs, one Daniel Coughlin, one Patrick O'Sullivan, one Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, one Patrick Cooney, and one John Kunze, late of the County of Cook, May 4, in the year of our Lord 1889, in said County of Cook, in the State of Illinois aforesaid, in and upon one Patrick Henry Cronin, in the peace of the people of the State of Illinois, then and there being, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously and of their malice aforethought, did make an assault; and the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, and said John Kunze, with certain blunt instruments, a more particular description of which is to the said jurors unknown, which they, the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, in both of the hands of each of them, the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney and said John Kunze, then and there, had and held the said Patrick Henry Cronin, in and upon the head, face, and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did push, shove, strike, thrust, and penetrate, giving to the said Patrick Henry Cronin then and there, with the said blunt instruments aforesaid, in and upon the head, face, and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, divers mortal wounds, contusions, and lacerations, each of the length of two inches and of the depth of one inch, of which said mortal wounds, contusions, and lacerations the said Patrick Henry Cronin then and there instantly died. And so the jurors aforesaid upon their oaths aforesaid do say that the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there in manner and form aforesaid, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did kill and murder, contrary to the statute and against the peace and dignity of the said people of the State of Illinois. The grand jurors aforesaid, chosen, selected, and sworn in and for the County of Cook, in the State of Illinois, in the name and by the authority of the people of the State of Illinois, upon their oaths aforesaid do further present that one Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, one John F. Beggs, one Daniel Coughlin, one Patrick O'Sullivan, one Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, one Patrick Cooney, and one John Kunze, late of the County of Cook, May 4, in the year of our Lord 1889, in the said County of Cook, in the State of Illinois aforesaid, in and upon one Patrick Henry Cronin in the peace of the people of the State of Illinois, then and there being, unlawfully, willfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did make an assault, and the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, with certain sharp instruments, a more particular description of which is to the said jurors unknown, which they, the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, in both of the hands of each of them the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, then and there had and held the said Patrick Henry Cronin, in and upon the face, head, and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there willfully, unlawfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought did push, shove, strike, thrust, and penetrate, giving to the said Patrick Henry Cronin then and there with the said sharp instruments as aforesaid in and upon the head, face, and body of him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, divers mortal wounds, contusions, and lacerations, each of the length of two inches and of the depth of one inch, of which said mortal wounds, contusions and lacerations the said Patrick Henry Cronin then and there instantly died. And so the jurors aforesaid, upon their oaths aforesaid, do say that the said Martin Burke, otherwise called Martin Delaney, otherwise called Frank Williams, said John F. Beggs, said Daniel Coughlin, said Patrick O'Sullivan, said Frank J. Woodruff, otherwise called Frank J. Black, said Patrick Cooney, and said John Kunze, him, the said Patrick Henry Cronin, then and there in manner aforesaid, unlawfully, feloniously, and of their malice aforethought, did kill and murder. KUNZE'S SUPPOSED PART IN THE CRIME. Considerable surprise was occasioned by the appearance of the name of John Kunze in the indictment. Nobody had supposed that a German was connected with the conspiracy, while it was regarded as remarkable that the police should have been able to keep the fact that there was another suspect so complete a secret. Now, however, the facts came out. Kunze had come from Germany a few years before, representing that he was the heir to a large estate in Luxemburg, and had worked at various places and at anything he could get to do. For some reason or other he was taken under the protecting wing of Dan Coughlin, of whom he came to be regarded as a protege. The two men were together almost daily, and could scarcely have been on more intimate terms. Before the Grand Jury, Mertes, the milkman, had identified Kunze's picture as that of one of the two men whom he had seen drive up in a buggy to the Carlson cottage between eight and nine o'clock on the night of the murder. [Illustration: JOHN KUNZE.] "He was the man who staid in the buggy and held the horse while the other man ran up the steps and entered the door," were the milkman's own words. In addition to this, a young man named James had positively identified the German as one of the tenants of the flat on Clark street, saying that he had seen him, coming and going, and at the windows, for nearly a month. More than this, he had seen him washing his feet before the window. The Grand Jury had considered this evidence as conclusive. Kunze was arrested in Chicago on July 1st, and slept that night, with his fellow suspects, five in number, in a cell in "Murderers' row." CHAPTER XVII. PUBLIC ABHORRENCE AT THE CRIME--A GREAT OUT-POURING OF THE PEOPLE-- COSMOPOLITAN ASSEMBLAGE AT CENTRAL MUSIC HALL--A JUDGE'S VIGOROUS SPEECH--CONGRESSMEN DENOUNCE THE CRIME--THE RIVAL DEMONSTRATIONS AT CHELTENHAM BEACH AND OGDEN'S GROVE. Greater honors could scarcely have been accorded the departed statesman, patriot or warrior than were paid by the citizens of Chicago to the memory of the man who had been removed from their midst by means and methods so foul and dastardly. Three thousand men and women--young people just budding into manhood and womanhood, old folks with whitened locks and faltering step--crowded the spacious Central Music Hall and its approaches on the night of June 28, to express their detestation of the crime that had stained the fair fame of the Garden City, to denounce the criminals and to demand of those responsible for the execution of the law that no effort be spared to bring the guilty to justice. It was one of the most cosmopolitan assemblages that had ever been gathered under a roof in Chicago. There were native Americans, British Americans and Irish Americans, Swedes and Italians, Frenchmen and Germans. Members of the colored race were scattered here and there through the vast audience, and even the Chinese colony had its representatives in a couple of distinguished looking Celestials, who, with characteristic modesty, occupied seats away back in the rear. THE PROMINENT CITIZENS PRESENT. Equally striking and significant was the array of citizens that occupied the stage. Back of W. H. Dyrenfurth, President of the Personal Rights League, under the auspices of which the gathering had been called, and who officiated as temporary chairman, sat men of such national and local celebrity as Judge Prendergast, W. P. Rend, Robert Lindblom, of the Board of Trade, Congressmen George G. Adams and Frank Lawler, Alderman John Dalton and Representative Charles G. Dixon, the prominent labor leader. In one of the boxes sat Herman Raster, the noted editor of the _Staats Zeitung_, in another United States Commissioner Phil. A. Hoyne. To the right and left could be seen scores of men of high social and official position, side by side with divines of the Catholic, Protestant, Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian and other denominations. Few of these could claim any personal acquaintance with the murdered man, many more had known him scarce by name or even looked upon him in the flesh, but one and all were animated by the same motives--those of respect to his memory and a deep-rooted determination that the foul crime should and must be avenged. The decorations of the stage were modest and tasteful. Upon the rear wall, under the organ loft, were draped two large American flags; numerous baskets of flowers and plants tending to form an artistic background; a large banner, bearing the emblematic figure of the Goddess of Liberty, was suspended from the organ, and supported on one side by a banner, with a figure of Columbia, holding the stars and stripes in one hand, the other resting upon the national shield, with the American eagle hovering at her feet. To the front of all, and upon which the greatest interest centered, was a life-sized portrait of the victim of his enemies, draped in mourning, and surmounted by miniature American and Irish flags. Col. W. P. Rend, in the absence of Mayor Cregier, was the presiding officer of the occasion, and presented letters, regretting their inability to attend, from Right Rev. Bishop Cheney, and United States Senators Charles H. Farwell and Shelby M. Cullom, who had promised to be in attendance. Otto's beautiful chorus, "Gehet" (The Prayer), having been rendered by a volunteer combined Swiss and German chorus, a number of vigorous and remarkable speeches were made. Congressman Frank Lawler spoke in this strain: "A BLOT ON CHICAGO'S NAME." "I am thankful for the privilege of giving my views upon what I consider to be one of the most revolting and cowardly crimes ever committed in this or any other community. Any person having the heart of an American cannot but feel that the murder of Dr. Cronin is a blot upon the good name of this great city, which can only be wiped out by the arrest and swift punishment of the instigators and their hirelings. "The vast concourse that turned out to pay their respect to the memory of Dr. Cronin when that sad and solemn demonstration conveyed his remains to their last resting-place, gave an unanswerable testimony to him who lived a Christian and patriotic life, and it should convey to his enemies in no uncertain language the fact that the people of Chicago knew Dr. Cronin to be an Irish-American gentleman, faithful to his native as he was true to his adopted country. This should be accepted by his traducers, and they had better understand that the people of Chicago are slow to anger, but when once aroused, they are just enough to vindicate him who gave up his life while answering the call of distress--a martyr to truth, honesty and charity. Dr. Cronin's traducers had better beware, for Justice is jealous, and may lift the sword when she finds that those who are not with her are against her. "Thank God, we are unanimous in this opinion. I am proud of the action of the Irish-American societies condemning the murder of Dr. Cronin. Let us continue to act so that justice shall be dealt out to every guilty person, no matter what his position may be. Let us not condemn communities or peoples because bad men have shielded their crimes behind their good name and well-earned reputation in war and in peace. Let us not forget the people that did their share at Bull Run, Antietam, Gettysburg, Winchester and in the Shenandoah Valley, because a few assassins who belong to no race, curse our civilization with their crimes. Let us not condemn the race that gives us a Corcoran, a Meagher, a Smith, a Mulligan, a Shields and a Sheridan, because that race is now bowed down with the burden of a Coughlin, a Burke or a Sullivan, but let us pledge our united fortunes, and, if it needs be, our lives, to the vindication of law and order, no matter who may be guilty." JUDGE PRENDERGAST'S VIGOROUS SPEECH. Still more vigorous was the speech of Judge Richard Prendergast, one of the leading Irish-Americans of the city; and who, although comparatively a young man, was recognized as a brilliant ornament to the judicial bench. His clear cut sentences awakened a responsive chord in the hearts of his hearers, and at times during his speech the applause was deafening. Among other things he said: "Those who take part on the side of justice and against this conspiracy, should be prepared to meet opposition and find spies on all sides. I have no doubt that right in this meeting there are tools and spies upon words and deeds. I believe there are members of this great conspiracy in this hall to-night. Don't imagine that your public meeting, guarded by tickets, will exclude spies and assassins in thought, if not in deed. Even the organized power of the State will have all it can do to keep them and their influences from the jury box. This is strong language, but it is called for by the occasion. At this time, no man who is asked to express himself on the great topic of this foul murder can afford to be silent. Sometimes persons are silent on the ground of expediency, but on this occasion no man who is worthy of the name can be anything else but an open, avowed enemy of this great conspiracy. It is time to discuss secret societies, whether they are good or bad, when the murderers of Dr. Cronin are at hand. "Was Dr. Cronin a spy?" demanded the eloquent speaker, and from the vast audience there came the reply, with a roar. "No." "Was he known to be such before Le Caron testified?" again demanded the judge, and again the thousands answered "No," while a cheer went up that shook the building. "This man carried his life in his hands, and did it for years," resumed the speaker. "The talk of his being a spy is sheer nonsense; it matters not who makes the statement, whether directly or by insinuation, he lies in his throat. A spy could not have arrayed himself for years in hostility to all the sources of disaster that has fallen upon the Irish cause. But that is simply the Irish phase of the question, and as Americans every citizen must rise high enough to declare that in view of American law, spy or no spy, no man had a right to decree or to do his murder. A peculiar feature of this conspiracy is that it had for its purpose not only the destruction of Dr. Cronin's life, but the destruction of his character--that it was for a twofold purpose, malice and cowardice; hatred of him because of what he was, and cowardice so as to cover up the evidences of crime. "Here," went on the speaker, after he had alluded at length to the stories that had emanated from Toronto, Montreal, and other places, as demonstrating the underspread motive of the conspiracy. "Here, where Dr. Cronin spent so many years of his life, we can safely affirm, as this meeting does affirm, that, tested by his career and by every fact and circumstance brought to light, Dr. Cronin was an unselfish, a public-spirited, an honorable and an honest man, and those who hated him and lured him to his death did so because of that character of his, which could neither be bent nor broken, severed nor turned aside by threats against his life, by attacks against his life, by plots against his life that he had discovered, or by the easier methods of bribery that must have been within the power of those who organized those plots. In the presence of a society whose object is the maintenance of the right of the individual to think, to speak and to act as his conscience directs, regardless of any adverse powers. Impressed by the spirit of such a meeting, I can not refrain from giving expression to the sentiments I feel. I do so for another purpose, and it is this: "That the miscreants who planned and effected this foul murder will know, or rather they will understand, how the public knows how I regard them. They have known it for years. This is a time when no man who ever had anything to do with the Irish movements especially, can afford to be silent and do justice to himself. I do so with the distinct consciousness that the man who attacks this conspiracy invites its hatred. I believe I have had its hatred for some time. If speaking as I have done does not invite its hatred, I invite it now. No man who shakes hands with a criminal, or his allies or sympathizers, can be relied upon as a faithful conservator of justice. Let no man having political ambition be deluded with the thought that subserviency will aid him. Treason to American institutions and to the cause of justice, at this time, will damn forever the man that the public believes guilty, and he does not have to be tried by a jury or any other bar than enlightened public opinion." But no more graphic a tribute to the characteristics and memory of the murdered man could have come from tongue or pen than came from Colonel Rend, and his auditors hung breathless upon his words: "He was a man endowed with many of the choicest gifts and graces of nature. In person he was a perfect model of physical manhood. In intellect he possessed talents of a high order. His natural abilities enabled him to overcome the stern circumstances of an early life of poverty and discouragement. By his own unaided efforts, and from the savings of intelligent and careful economy, he gained a collegiate education. He then studied for the medical profession. Afterward he filled the chair of a professor in the college where he received his diploma. He became an accomplished linguist in several modern languages, and could speak German and French as fluently as his native tongue. To these attainments he added the charming accomplishment of a fine musical education. But above all, he trained and educated to an admirable degree the higher moral sentiments of his spiritual being. His soul shone out with all the brightness of the noonday sun. He loved right and justice. He hated wrong and injustice. He despised cunning, deception and falsehood in every form. He unmasked and denounced hypocrisy, especially where he saw hypocrisy used as a cloak to cover schemes of spurious patriotism. He was fearless in facing and defying danger where honor or principle was involved. He was an honest man, and a true man in every fiber of his nature. He cherished with fond remembrance, and loved with all the ardor of his warm Irish nature, the land of his fathers and of his birth. He pleaded and labored in the sacred cause of the promotion of Ireland's rights and liberties. Indeed, were it not for his fond devotion to Ireland, he would still be alive and in our midst. He became a martyr to Ireland's sacred cause. For his adopted country he had a love and affection even more ardent and intense. He respected and obeyed our laws. He honored our flag. He revered our institutions. Except to his God, he gave his highest allegiance to this, our common country. In fine, he was a model citizen in the highest sense. This man has been murdered under circumstances most revolting. Why? What offense did he commit? What wrong had he done to any person or any cause? I answer, none. He simply dared to do right. For this he became a marked man. For this his terrible doom was sealed. For this he was lured by tigers in human shape to a cruel and inhuman death." The sentiments of the commercial classes were voiced by Robert Lindblom, one of the most prominent members of the Board of Trade, who delivered a masterly address. In his peroration he said: "We have come here to emphasize our rights as men, and as American citizens, and to protest against these rights being domineered by foreign influences and conspiracies. We have also come here for one other purpose, and that is to protest against any influences of church, nationality or societies being interposed between the great criminals guilty of the assassination of Dr. Cronin and even-handed justice, and to demand in the name of the civilization that this gory spot upon its robes shall be covered by the mantle of stern justice. "We are not there to sit in judgment on the Irish people, but rather to ask them to sit in judgment on their petty leaders, and in impeaching these I do not reflect upon that great Irish leader, Parnell, than whom there are few purer characters in modern history. Is the fame of Ireland so great that it can afford to condone murder? Are the Irish servant girls to have no protection against those who play upon their sensibilities as a matter of business. "When the history of this epoch is being written this bloody assassination will appall the historian. Shall he write that Ireland's sons and daughters were so jealous of their honor that they hurled the traitor to it from his false position, or shall he write that Irish prejudices were so strong that even gory blood did not look bloody red?" Several other addresses were made. C. G. Dixon, a prominent labor leader, spoke for the working classes, Dr. G. Frank Lydston for the medical profession, Louis Nettelhorst, a member of the Board of Education, for the youth of the city, and Frank Adams, Member of Congress, touched upon the crime in its national aspect. The singing society rendered Frech's exquisite song, "Suess und Ruhig ist der Schlummer," and an original poem, entitled, "Cronin, the Martyr," was read by H. E. Bartholomew. After this the resolutions prepared by the Personal Rights League were presented. They read in this wise: We, as citizens of the United States, residents of the cosmopolitan city of Chicago, in mass meeting assembled to do honor to the memory of a fellow-citizen, Dr. P. H. Cronin, who, because he advocated that which seemed right to him, we believe to have been the victim of a conspiracy concocted for basest purposes, and appalled by the monstrous cruelty of his murder, we declare: 1. That from the facts so far made public, it seems the assassination of Dr. P. H. Cronin was instigated by most foul and criminal malice. 2. Every citizen has a right to life, liberty and property guaranteed by the laws of the land, and it is utterly foreign to the spirit of our people, as well as to the laws, that any man be deprived of either except by due process of law. 3. That we hold no nationality or organization responsible for the crime nor for the causes which led to it. 4. That we honor and respect love for native land, but condemn perversion of that noble sentiment to personal ends. 5. That we hope no lawful means will be neglected to bring to justice the instigators and perpetrators of this atrocious crime; and that we resent as a public outrage any attempt to clog the wheels of justice or to use undue influence to shield the guilty. Public officers must feel that their highest duty is to the people. 6. We call upon the public prosecutors to see to it that no innocent man is condemned, and that no guilty man escapes. Therefore, be it _Resolved_, That we encourage all lawful efforts to bring to justice, which shall not discriminate, and to adequate punishment, the instigators and perpetrators of this murder. _Resolved_, That it is the sense of this meeting that the Citizens' Association be invited to co-operate with and assist in every lawful manner the authorities in bringing to justice the murderers of Dr. P. H. Cronin. When the vote on the resolutions was called, every man, woman and child in the audience rose to their feet, and with the singing of the "Star Spangled Banner," in which all joined, one of the most remarkable gatherings in the history of Chicago came to an end. THE GATHERING AT CHELTENHAM BEACH. Not less significant, as indicating the condition of public sentiment and the interest maintained in the crime three months after the physician had been "removed," were the demonstrations of August 16th. For years it had been the practice of the various Irish organizations of the city to unite in a patriotic demonstration in one of the large groves adjacent to the city, the proceeds, which invariably aggregated many thousands of dollars, being contributed to the treasury of the Irish National League, and thus eventually finding their way across the Atlantic for the support of the movement with which Parnell and his colleagues were identified. The murder of Dr. Cronin, however, had rended asunder the Irish element in Chicago, and, as a result, there were two factions, one composed of friends of the murdered man, and the other of adherents of the "triangle." In this condition of affairs a "union" demonstration was, perforce, out of the question, and while the former faction determined to celebrate at Cheltenham Beach, and apply the proceeds to the fund for the detention and prosecution of the assassins, their opponents preferred to gather at Ogden's Grove, the meeting-place in former years, and to make the same disposition of the receipts as of old. According to the best estimates, from 13,000 to 15,000 people participated in the "Cronin" demonstration, and between five and seven thousand that of the other element. At Cheltenham Beach speeches denouncing the murder and demanding retribution were made by Congressman M. A. Foran, of Cleveland, Ohio, and Frank Lawler, of Chicago; John Devoy, the well-known Irish leader of New York, and Rev. Father Toomey. Said Congressman Foran: "Dr. Cronin went forth that fatal night as a brave man to answer a call for help. Instead of being called on a mission of mercy, he was called forth to be foully and brutally murdered. I will not use even the word assassination. He was called up to some cottage on the outskirts of this city. He went in there filled with the hope that he would be able to carry succor and relief to some suffering mortal. He is scarcely inside the door before he is stricken down--murdered, and the next we hear of him his bruised and mutilated body is discovered in a foul and stinking sewer in this city. It is almost beyond human comprehension to believe that men could be so depraved, so low, so lost to all sense of justice and humanity, so much like devils as to do this foul and heinous thing. But yet it was done; and then, not satisfied with having murdered the man himself, not satisfied with having destroyed his body, the malignity of these murderers is so great that they must murder his reputation and his honor. If devils were brought up from hell they could conceive of no fouler, no more damnable deed than that!" The speech of Father Toomey aroused the thousands of people to a pitch of almost uncontrollable excitement, especially when he said: "The hanging of the actual murderers will not reach the root of the crime. That will only be reached when the man with fertile brain and inventive genius who engineered the crime while his pockets were filled with the money plundered from the Irish people shall be brought to justice. [Cheers and cries of "Sullivan! Sullivan!"] "It is to this arch traitor that you want to look, and it is to him and his henchmen that you must look. You must look to men who can spend money like water, men who have no vocation or calling which will bring them in the sums which they spend. It is men who can spend $25,000, $50,000, or $75,000 a year, and who murder men to cover it up. [Tremendous cheers and cries of "Sullivan! Sullivan!" and "That's the talk!"] These are the men that you want to see dance upon nothing [wild cheers and cries of "That's the talk! Hang him! Hang him!"] rather than the men who have been deceived and duped into committing crime for which doubtless to-day they are sorry. "Dr. Cronin's memory is secure with us; and if there are traitors in the Irish ranks in America you will find them amongst the men who have plundered your treasuries; you will find them amongst the men who have done murder to cover embezzlement. [Cheers and cries of "Sullivan, Sullivan!" and the "Triangle!"] "When you find men who start rumors that Dr. Cronin's friends are traitors to Ireland, if you put your hand on them you will find men who were not far removed from him who caused the deed to be done. [Cries of "Good, good!"] You will find one of the many specious and quiet agents who did quick and serviceable work from various offices in Chicago to the telegraph which carried the word to Canada that Dr. Cronin was seen there, when he was actually in the sewer in Chicago, and you find a man close to the crime. And if he had not been found the day that he was found you would have heard of him next by some means on a steamer on the ocean; and by and by you would have heard of him in Paris [great sensation and nodding of numerous heads] and then you would have found the body in the River Thames. [Cries of "Hear, hear," and "You're right there."] "It is well to be severe and just, but it is well to be careful that in being severe and just the laws of the land in which we live are not set aside by us, and that we do not set ourselves up individually as judges and arbitrators of the lives of men. We live in a nation that will tolerate no such work, be the nationality what it may. [Cheers.] Because Dr. Cronin saw fit to ask for an accounting for moneys disposed of illegally, unjustly and wrongfully; moneys given from the sweat and blood, from the heart's core of the Irish-Americans for their country's cause, there was but one course. They had not the money to give back, and because he would not cease at the bidding of the traitors murder was resorted to to cover up robbery. [Cheers.] For Dr. Cronin's honor and his loyalty to Ireland I myself would vouch with my life. [Tremendous cheers.] Let it be your care to allow no one to utter the slander that Dr. Cronin was not loyal to Ireland. Let it be your care to resent the lie that Dr. Cronin still lives in the body. He does live in spirit. He still lives in the hearts of the men of his country." [Cheers.] DENOUNCED AT OGDEN'S GROVE. John F. Finerty presided over the meeting at Ogden's Grove, and Rev. G. W. Pepper, of Louisville; Judge J. W. Fitzgerald, of Cincinnati; Senator Grady, of New York; and O'Neill Ryan, of St. Louis, were among the speakers. The mention of Alexander Sullivan's name by Senator Grady was the signal for a scene of considerable enthusiasm. The speeches were devoted to the condition of the Irish race and the progress of the work of Parnell and his lieutenants for the liberation of their country from English rule. The only reference to the tragedy that was at that moment being denounced at the other end of the city occurred in an address, which was read and adopted, and was in these words: "We would deem it, under other circumstances, quite unnecessary to emphasize before the American people the unwavering devotion of Irish-American citizens to the government of the United States, but a tragedy was recently enacted in our midst, the victim of which was one of our own race, that has been made the occasion of venting upon us as a people, and upon our societies as a body, the spleen and venom of persons who, claiming to be superloyal to the republic, have not the claim to honest loyalty which we, as a race, hold upon this continent. The Heights of Abraham, red with the blood of Montgomery; the waves of Champlain, brilliant with the victory of McDonough; the plains of Chalmette, still radiant with the martial fire of Jackson; the convent of Cherubusco, still ringing with the war shout of Shields; the sunken road of Antietam, that beheld the green flag of Meagher's Irish brigade rise and fall by the side of the stars and stripes, as color-bearer after color-bearer went down under the withering breath of the rebel front of flame; the valley of Cedar Creek, in which the heroic figure of Phil Sheridan lives as immortally as that of Napoleon at Marengo; the square of the Haymarket, in this our own city, where the Irish officers of the law stood like a wall of iron between the people and anarchy--all these examples and many more could we summon to the bar of public opinion if it were, indeed, necessary to convince the American people that every man born in Ireland is in spirit, if not in fact, an American. "It has been asserted by those instrumental in covering us with defamation that we wish to screen the murderers of Dr. Cronin. We meet here to-day, among other reasons, for the purpose of vehemently denouncing his atrocious murder in our capacity as American citizens; but we hold that, as Irish-Americans, we have no more right to be held responsible for that foul atrocity than has any other element of our body politic for crimes committed by persons to whom they are kindred. We devoutly hope that the officers authorized by law will succeed in bringing to justice the assassins of Dr. Cronin. "We repudiate, both as American citizens and as Irish-Americans, the claim made by the enemies of our race, that the Irish element has any desire, or any purpose, to make the soil of America the theatre of acts of vengeance because of feuds, factions or disagreements growing out of political differences or personal heart-burnings." CHAPTER XVIII. IN COURT AT LAST--THE STATE'S ATTORNEY POINTS OUT THE ACCUSED, MAN BY MAN--A FORMIDABLE ARRAY OF LEGAL TALENT--OBJECTIONS TO LUTHER LAFLIN MILLS AND HIS ASSOCIATES OVER-RULED BY THE COURT--WEEKS CONSUMED IN THE WEARISOME TASK OF SECURING A JURY--SCENES AND INCIDENTS. "THE STATE IS READY." "May it please the Court and gentlemen of the jury: We are here to try the charge of murder lodged against Burke, who sits back behind that man there, with his hand up to his left ear; Patrick O'Sullivan, who sits in the bend of the table there; Daniel Coughlin, who sits behind Mr. Ames, his attorney, and Beggs; one Patrick Cooney, who is indicted jointly with them, and Frank J. Woodruff, who is not on trial in this case. John Kunze sits there behind the table, and John F. Beggs sits there with Coughlin. These men are all charged in this indictment with the murder of Dr. Patrick H. Cronin. It is alleged that they murdered him the night of the 4th of May, 1889, in this town." Thus State's Attorney Joel M. Longenecker addressed Judge McConnell on the morning of Friday, August 30th. Less than four months had elapsed from the day that the physician was lured to his death; but the mystery surrounding the tragedy, at one time believed impenetrable, had been solved to the satisfaction of the officers of the law, and five of the accused were confronted with the bar of justice to answer for their participation in the crime. The court room was crowded to suffocation, although admission was restricted to members of the bar, jurors, representatives of the press, and others having orders from the Sheriff or State's Attorney. Outside the court room a great crowd of people of both sexes and all conditions of life clamored loudly but vainly to be admitted, and the officers on duty were compelled to draw their clubs in order that comparative quiet might prevail. The five prisoners, all neatly dressed and clean shaven, and looking fairly at ease, occupied positions as indicated in the remarks of the State's Attorney. They were well represented by counsel. Counselors Forrest and Judge Wing looked after the interests of Coughlin; Messrs. Donahue and David were there in behalf of O'Sullivan, the iceman, and Kunze; and Senator Kennedy of Wisconsin, with Messrs. Foote and Foster, were on hand for Martin Burke. At the same table with the State's Attorney sat Hon. Luther Laflin Mills, George C. Ingham and William J. Hynes. The three eminent counsel in question had been retained to assist in the prosecution, but the announcement of the fact was the signal for a vigorous protest from Attorney Forrest, who claimed that they had been employed by private parties. The protest, however, was promptly overruled, and the first ten men of the special venire took their seats in the jury box. Their names were William E. Cribben, A. P. Richardson, A. P. Hall, L. Brackenhoff, W. L. Bigley, A. W. Roth, F. E. Wheeler, R. F. Ridden, William Newman, Emery L. Lillibridge, George M. Fish and J. W. Bridger. They had hardly been sworn, however, when Lawyer Donahoe, on behalf of Kunze, again objected to the participation of Mills, Ingham and Hynes. He claimed that they had been engaged by private parties to appear in the case, that they had received money, or the promise of money from such parties, who were solely actuated by a desire to secure the conviction of the defendants, and that Attorney Hynes in particular was actuated, however, by a personal ill-will toward one of the defendants. The counsel offered to prove these allegations by calling the three lawyers in question to the stand; but the objection was again overruled, and, without further opposition, the State's Attorney proceeded with the examination of the talesmen. This proved to be a task of the most wearisome character, continuing throughout the month of September and on to the commencement of the fourth week of October. Five out of every six men that were called had formed opinions based upon what they had read in the public press, or upon what they had been told; that made it impossible for them to try the case fairly and on its merits. Many were opposed on principle to secret societies; others were particularly antagonistic to the Clan-na-Gael. It was evident from the start that the counsel for the defense intended to avail themselves of every possible technicality, and the questions propounded to the talesmen on the first day were so broad in nature that Judge McConnell was compelled to interfere. At the next session of the court a list of questions was submitted, which, so it was argued by Mr. Forrest, should be asked of every man in the interest of the defendants. The questions were as follows: Have you now, or have you ever had, an opinion that during the year 1889 a secret committee was appointed by Camp 20 of the so called Clan-na-Gael Society, or some officer of said camp, to try the deceased, Dr. Cronin, for any supposed offenses? Have you formed any opinion as to whether or not the alleged murder of Dr. Cronin was in pursuance of the action or finding of a secret committee, appointed by said Camp 20, or its officers, or any of them, to try said Cronin for any supposed offense? Have you formed any opinion as to whether or not Dr. Cronin was killed in the Carlson cottage? Have you an opinion as to whether or not a trunk was used in removing the supposed remains of Dr. Cronin from the Carlson cottage to a catch-basin. Have you formed an opinion as to whether the tenant or tenants of the Carlson cottage had anything to do with said murder? Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Dr. Cronin was taken to the Carlson cottage by the horse and buggy engaged by Daniel Coughlin from Dinan, the liveryman? Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Daniel Coughlin knew when he engaged the horse and buggy from Dinan that the horse and buggy was to be used to take Dr. Cronin to the Carlson cottage to be murdered? Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Patrick O'Sullivan made a contract with Dr. Cronin for professional services. If you have formed such an opinion, I wish to ask you also, have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Patrick O'Sullivan made such a contract for the purpose of using said contract as a scheme to entice Cronin away to be murdered? Have you an opinion as to whether or not Martin Burke, one of the defendants, was the tenant of said cottage? Have you an opinion that the Clan-na-Gael Society is in any way to blame for the death of Dr. Cronin? If you have such an opinion, state further whether or not you entertain an opinion that any particular camp of the Clan-na-Gael had to do with the murder of Dr. Cronin, and further state if you have an opinion that the defendants, or any of them, are members of said camp? We desire to further inquire, in instances where jurors state they hold opinions upon the above topics, as to the sources of said opinions, and further as to whether these opinions have been expressed or otherwise. One entire day was occupied by the defense in arguments and quotations from legal authorities tending to demonstrate their right to submit these questions, but after considering the matter over night, the court decided to narrow them down to the following points: 1. Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not the alleged murder of Dr. Cronin was in pursuance of the action or finding of a secret committee appointed by Camp 20 of the so-called Clan-na-Gael society, or its officers, or any of them, to try Dr. Cronin for any supposed offense? 2. Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Dr. Cronin was taken to the Carlson cottage by the horse and buggy engaged by Daniel Coughlin from Dinan, the liveryman? 3. Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Martin Burke, one of the defendants, was a tenant of the Carlson cottage? 4. Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not Dr. Cronin was killed in pursuance of a conspiracy? 5. Have you formed an opinion as to whether or not any of these defendants was concerned in said conspiracy, or was a member of said conspiracy? This matter disposed of to the satisfaction of all concerned, the effort to secure twelve acceptable men was resumed. Day after day went by, however, and little progress was made. Both the city and the country were drawn on for material. Some of the venires were composed of the finest looking men that had ever tramped into the dingy court room. There were heavy manufacturers, business men of standing and influence, and wealthy farmers from the suburbs. One man after another expressed his belief that the prisoners were guilty, and the five men became gloomy and morose when confronted with the substantial proof of the terrible prejudice which existed against them. For a long while it looked as though there were not twelve American business men of independent means in Chicago who had not already formed a positive opinion, and one which could not be removed by any evidence, as to the guilt of the prisoners. The number of talesmen that passed through the mill each day ranged from twenty to thirty. A large proportion were excused from cause, while the others were peremptorily challenged by the State or the defense. Freeman Gross, a capitalist; was the first man who enjoyed any prospect of being a juror, and his selection was the net result of seven day's labor and an expenditure by the State of over $2,000. After however, he had been passed by both sides, matters were brought to the attention of the State's Attorney which warranted him in using a peremptory challenge upon the solitary occupant of the jury box and the second week opened with seven venires exhausted and the first selection still to be made. A bold move was made by Attorney Forrest on a side issue at this stage of the case. Failing to obtain an order of the Court which would enable him to secure possession of the blood-stained specimens from the Carlson Cottage, and which were held by the prosecuting authorities; in order that a microscopic examination might be made by experts in behalf of the defense, the lawyer, with three other men, invaded the Carlson cottage, disarmed old man Carlson and Lindgren, his son-in-law, who were in the place and who presented revolvers at their heads; and, with a jack-knife, cut several pieces out of the floor where the blood spots were thickest, and also out of the base-board just beneath the spot on the wall paper where the blood had splashed when the physician was leveled by a blow upon his head. No cognizance of these proceedings, however, were taken by the court, but on the following day an order was issued permitting certain experts to examine the specimens held by the State in the presence of other witnesses. By the end of the second week fifty-one of the one hundred peremptory challenges credited to the prisoners had been exhausted, and still the first of the jurors was not within sight. Up to this time 327 veniremen had been examined. Of these nearly 90 per cent. had already made up their minds; 8 per cent. were violently antagonistic to the Clan-na-Gael; 2 per cent. were opposed to secret societies of all kinds, and one per cent. were conscientiously opposed to capital punishment. On the latter question the point was raised as to whether a man who had conscientious scruples against the death penalty, where the evidence was purely circumstantial, was qualified to sit as a juror in a murder case in Illinois. It was at first ruled by Judge McConnell that such a venireman was qualified, but, after elaborate arguments by the prosecution and the citing of innumerable authorities, the Court decided to withdraw from its position. When the nineteenth venire was issued on September 19th, four men, Messrs. Pearson, Culver, Hall and Dix had been practically accepted by both sides. But this slow progress was not agreeable to little Kunze, and, becoming excited, he arose and asked permission to address the court. His counsel tried to get him to sit down, but the young German insisted upon being heard. "Shudge," he cried, waving his hand toward the bench, "I must speak mit you meinself." [Illustration: O'SULLIVAN AND KUNZE, FROM PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN DURING THE TRIAL.] "Your attorney will speak in your behalf," said the court. "Nein! Nein!" exclaimed Kunze. "Mein attorney no speeg for me; I like mit mein own interest to talk mit you. Last Saturday Shudge Longenecker told I looze notings by being in chail, und I vas guilty not, und I looze notings by dat. But mein healt I looze by der chail, und dat is somedings; but it will maag me vell und I proof meinselef guildy not at all. Ein doctor no man can heal und he don'd know the woondt; und I vant der chudge to tell me vat I am chail in for to-day anyhow?" Kunze, much excited, sat down amid the laughter of his colleagues. "I have your matter under consideration," said the court in kindly tones, and the prisoner subsided. New tactics were attempted by the defense in the fourth week. It was broadly hinted by Mr. Forrest that the right sort of men were being neglected by the bailiffs and a demand was made that all future venires, instead of being special, should be drawn in the regular way. In support of this demand he said, among other things: "We are very much dissatisfied with the class of jurors obtained thus far; they do not come from the body of the county. We are getting a class jury from the smallest class in the county. We have had five Englishmen to one Irishman. According to the school census of 1884 there were 114,000 Irish persons and only 20,000 English in this city. If the jurors were taken from the box these nationalities would come in due proportion. Yesterday there were seven English and Scotch veniremen. Now we look upon the English as a class as a most reputable portion of the community, but it so happens that if there should be a strong prejudice against the defendants, we might expect to find it right there. I believe the non-church going community in this county exceeds the church-going people; and I am satisfied also that the members of the Catholic church exceed in number all the persons in the so-called evangelical churches. Yet of those we have had here, twenty to one were Baptists, Presbyterians and Methodists. We do not say that we should have a Catholic jury, but we claim we should have a jury drawn from the body of the county by lot. Another thing: The mechanics, the laboring men, exceed the mercantile class. The salesman class depends more on the daily papers for intellectual food than any other class in the community. My experience of mechanics is that they do less newspaper reading, but devote themselves to works on history, philosophy and political economy. They are better posted to-day than any other class. All the evils resulting from the present system would disappear were the jurors drawn by lot from the box, which is the fairest method of obtaining jurors." Mr. Mills replied at some length. He said: "I will not deign to answer the insinuations and animadversions made by the distinguished counsel, directed or intended against the integrity and fidelity to the law of the gentlemen of the prosecution or the sheriff of Cook County. Your honor, in the interruption made, expressed an answer to such insinuations and animadversions. Counsel has talked much of classes, lines of men, divisions of the community. He has talked of the employer class and the laboring class; he has even brought into this discussion the element of religion as suggesting classes of men. I submit that there are no classes recognized by the law of this State. What statute recognizes a distinction between the laborer and the man who hires him? What statute draws a line between the salesman and the head of a business? At no time has the State made a special demand for any class of men. We stand to day with the regular panel exhausted and in need of a jury, and we appeal to the statute to help us out." "We will continue as we have been going on," said Judge McConnell after the arguments had been concluded; "the court has been diligent and cautious and intends to see that nothing but a fair and impartial jury is impaneled in this case." HOT WORDS FROM LAWYERS. The monotony of the proceedings was interrupted on Saturday, September 28th, by the first sensational scene of the trial. It originated during the examination by Mr. Donahoe of John W. Johnson, a special venireman, who had testified that he had no prejudices against the Irishmen or the Clan-na-Gael. "Have you any opinion," queried Mr. Donahoe, "outside of what you read in the newspapers, that Dr. Cronin was murdered?" "He was certainly murdered--the papers said so." "Have you any opinion as to who is responsible for his death?" "I don't know anything about it." "Did you read of the arrest of O'Sullivan and Coughlin?" "Yes, sir." "You believe they were arrested, don't you?" "Yes, they certainly were arrested." "This is bully-ragging," Judge Longenecker remarked to the court. "I can not suffer this examination to be continued," said Judge McConnell. "We are surprised at his answers," exclaimed Lawyer Forrest, "because of certain things we have been informed about." "Put your questions in that way," said Mr. Hynes, "and disclose your informant." "Oh, no," said Forrest, mockingly, "that will enable the scheme to be carried out." The lawyers for the prosecution sprang to their feet to protest against the insinuation. With flashing eyes, Mr. Hynes exclaimed: "I would like to call the attention of the court to the language of Mr. Forrest." "Stop, gentlemen," said the court in an appealing voice. "The language I used," cried Forrest, in a tone of defiance, "can be repeated." "Nothing but the dignity of the court and the courtesy we owe to it prevent me from denouncing that remark as in the character of mendacity," ejaculated Mr. Hynes. "I do not do it because the courtesy of the occasion prevents it. The counsel owes it to the administration of justice to disclose the reason for his remarks." "Sit down and have patience," shouted Forrest in mocking tones. "You will get it in time." "In the absence of that explanation," continued Mr. Hynes, "I denounce counsel's statement as a deliberate invention and a wilful slander upon the administration of justice in this case. [Sensation.] "Well, it is so denounced," said Mr. Forrest. "I did not hear the latter part of counsel's remark," observed the court, referring to the words which roused the ire of Mr. Hynes. "He said it was a scheme of ours," said Judge Longenecker. "Oh, I made the remark," cried Forrest flippantly. "Then, it was improper," responded the court, with a slight frown on his face. "There is no scheme on the part of the prosecution," Mr. Hynes explained, "except to watch the schemes of the defense." "I am surprised to see the gentleman so agitated," put in Forrest. "I am agitated, sir," said Mr. Hynes to the court, "because I am sensitive in my honor, and the gentleman is not." [Sensation.] Counsel on both sides were standing and gesticulating as if they wished to prolong this interesting colloquy. "Take your seats, gentlemen," said the court, slowly. The lawyers meekly sat down. "The language employed by Mr. Forrest," continued Judge McConnell, "was highly improper. I don't care to visit the offence with any greater severity than condemnation." Mr. Johnson was peremptorily challenged in behalf of Kunze, and the scene was over. An entire month had now been consumed in the effort to fill the jury box, but only four men had been passed. Still, but twenty peremptory challenges remained to the defense on October 1st, and it was consequently certain that this stage of the case was nearing its end. All of the challenges yet to be used were to the credit of Beggs; those of the other prisoners having been exhausted. The second quartette of jurors, Messrs Walker, Allison, Corke and North, were secured on October 8th. During the next few days a number of special veniremen, whose answers to the questions propounded indicated that they were unbiased, were tendered by the State to the defense, but one and all proved unacceptable to Mr. Forrest and his associates. There was a startling interruption to the trial at this point, which is dealt with in the next chapter, and which necessitated a suspension of the proceedings in court for several days. Finally, late on the evening of October 22d, the last man of the third quartette of jurors was selected, and Messrs. Marlor, Bontecou, Bryan and Clarke took their seats with their colleagues in the box. All known records in the history of criminal jurisprudence, so far as time was concerned, had been beaten in the selection of this jury. The search for talesmen had lasted forty-five days. The number of veniremen that had been summoned was 1091, of which 927 had been excused by counsel for cause. In addition to the special veniremen there were twenty-four on the regular panel disposed of. One hundred and seventy-five peremptory challenges had been used, of which ninety-seven were credited to the defense, and at the time the last juror was accepted, there remained to the defendant Beggs but three peremptories and to the State twenty-two. The jury in the Anarchist case, notwithstanding that the seven defendants had 140 peremptory challenges between them, was procured in twenty-seven days, while the jury that tried the celebrated county "boodle" case, when the defendants had 240 peremptories, was made up in just eighteen days. The twelve jurymen chosen had cost the State in fees alone to the veniremen summoned nearly $5,000. Six of them, Messrs. Culver, Hall, Dix, Walker, Corke and Bontecou had been tendered by the defense to the State while the prosecuting lawyers were the first to be satisfied with Pearson, Allison, North, Marlor, Bryan and Clarke. CHAPTER XIX. STARTLING INTERRUPTION TO THE TRIAL--VILLAINOUS ATTEMPT TO FRUSTRATE THE ENDS OF JUSTICE--BOLD EFFORTS TO BRIBE THE SPECIAL VENIRESMEN IN THE INTEREST OF THE PRISONERS--A "HUNG" JURY WANTED--FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF THE PLOT--THE "WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS" OF THE CONSPIRACY--PROMPT ACTION OF THE PROSECUTING AUTHORITIES--SPEEDY ARREST AND INDICTMENT OF THE GUILTY PARTIES--CRIME ADDED TO CRIME. The thirty-seventh day of the trial--or rather of the effort to secure a jury--was productive of startling developments that temporarily suspended the further progress of the case. At the morning session there had been a wrangle between the State's Attorney and Counsellor Forrest concerning an application by the former for an order upon the prosecution to furnish the addresses of a number of female witnesses whose names were upon the back of the indictment. Judge Longenecker, who did not happen to be in a compliant mood, resisted the application, declaring that no law was in existence by which he was compelled to make public property of the location of those upon whom the State relied for evidence which was to make out its case. It was broadly hinted that the information was required for purposes that could scarcely be classed as legitimate, and there were suggestions that if the order was issued some of the witnesses in question might stand in need of protection. Despite these arguments, however, the presiding Judge took the other view of the matter and the defense gained its point. For the balance of the session the weary grind of examining the special veniresmen went on, but without result, and when the time for the usual recess arrived not an additional man of the many examined had been accepted by either side. SENSATIONAL TURN IN THE CASE. Promptly at the regular hour for resuming the proceedings, Judge McConnell put in an appearance. For the first time since the opening day of the trial, however, the counsel for the State were absent. Considerable time passed, and still they failed to put in an appearance. At this juncture a messenger arrived in hot haste, with an intimation that the Judge's presence was urgently requested in another part of the building. He returned in a few moments, accompanied by the State's Attorney. There was a solemn look on both faces, and a whisper immediately went around the court that a sensation was upon the tapis. The Judge had hardly taken his seat when Mr. Longenecker, addressing him, said: "In view of some matters of which I have advised your Honor, I shall have to ask the Court to adjourn for the present in order to enable us to complete an investigation we are making." [Illustration: THE JUDGE HEARS OF THE JURY BRIBING PLOT.] "I am disposed to think," was the ready response of the Court "from what I know of the matter, that the request is a reasonable one. The court stands adjourned until one o'clock to-morrow afternoon." A buzz of surprise went through the crowded room. Longenecker hurried away, while counsel for the defense looked at each other with surprise. The prisoners excitedly asked each other and the spectators: "What's in the wind? What does this mean." No one could answer. For the next twelve hours there were scenes about the Criminal Court building which for mystery and suppressed excitement had never before been approached in the criminal history of Chicago. A JURY-BRIBING PLOT. Hardly had the Court adjourned when the State's Attorney commenced the investigation which, as he had declared a few moments before, demanded his presence. The outer door of his office was locked from the inside, while a stalwart officer stood on guard. In a room across the hall a half dozen officers were stationed to prevent the approach of strangers. Assembled in the office were Judge Longenecker, Luther Laflin Mills, Messrs. Hynes, Ingham and Kickham Scanlan, Assistant State's Attorneys Neeley, Elliott, Baker and Glennon, Chief of Police Hubbard and Captain Schuettler. At one time and another a score of detectives hurried from one room to another, receiving instructions, going away in pairs and returning with some man or another who would disappear behind the doors to emerge no more. It was four o'clock in the morning before the investigation was suspended. Three hours later it was resumed. At ten o'clock a special grand jury was called by Judge Horton. It assembled at twelve. Ex-Mayor John A. Roche was appointed chairman. The body retired to its room and for nearly twelve hours was engaged in an inquiry on the star-chamber order. More than a score of witnesses were examined, and, just as the clocks of the city were chiming the hour of midnight, the members of the Grand Jury entered the Court and returned indictments against six individuals for conspiring to thwart the ends of justice by endeavoring to bribe jurors in the Cronin case. These individuals were Thomas Kavanaugh, steam-fitter; Alexander L. Hanks, court bailiff; Mark L. Soloman, court bailiff; Fred W. Smith, hardware agent; Jeremiah O'Donnell, gauger; Joseph Konen, fruit dealer. The mystery that enveloped the proceedings of the previous day was now dispelled. The tentacles of the devil fish had reached into the court of justice. The desperation of the mysterious power behind the five men who were on trial for their lives for the murder of the Irish physician had reached a climax. From the moment that the prisoners had first faced Judge McConnell, their attorneys had waged a stubborn and a bitter war against the veniremen passed by the State. Eight jurors had, however, been selected. The peremptory challenges of O'Sullivan, Burke, Coughlin and Kunze had been exhausted, and Beggs alone of all the prisoners possessed the right of exercising the power of peremptory dismissal. All this time the mighty and unseen power behind the prisoners and behind the lawyers was hard at work. It had never been still from the time that the doom of the physician had been sealed. Its machinery had ground him to death and been then torn down, built up again, and set in motion to conceal the gory corpse. The shafting encircled the entire boundary within which a juror could be drawn, and the leviathan proportions of the murderous machine could not be measured until a cog had dropped out here and there and been carried to the office of the State's Attorney. The machine had assisted in the escape of Cooney. It had tried its best to get Martin Burke far beyond the reach of the clutches of the law. It had inspired the police officers of the State to ignore their duty. It was probably, at that very time, instructing possible witnesses in the art of perjury. It had gone farther and had actually attempted to suborn by bribes the men who had been summoned as jurors in the trial in progress. The facts, as narrated first to the State's Attorney and later to the Grand Jury, admitted of no controversy. George Tschappatt, a German, who for ten years had been employed as foreman of an extensive lard manufactory, had been one of the veniremen approached. His wife was a friend of Mark L. Soloman, a bailiff of the Criminal Court. He was summoned as a venireman on Monday, and was present at the court room Tuesday, but was not examined. On Wednesday morning Soloman encountered him in the ante-room awaiting his turn to be called. Approaching him with extended hand, he said: "Hello, Tschappatt, what are you doing here?" And then slapping him on the shoulder continued: "Have you been summoned as a venireman?" Mr. Tschappatt replied that he had, and was anxious to be excused, as he could not spare the time to sit on the case. "Come outside and have a drink," resumed Soloman. Taking Tschappatt by the arm they adjourned to a neighboring saloon. While they stood at the bar sipping a glass of beer, Soloman said: "Tschappatt, you must have a pretty hard time of it to get along and support a family. How would you like to enter a scheme where you could make a thousand dollars?" Tschappatt innocently replied that he was in on it. "How is the money to be made?" he asked. Leading Tschappatt over to one corner of the saloon, the bailiff revealed the scheme. "I'll tell you what I want you to do," he said. "Get on the jury, if you possibly can, and there's a thousand dollars in it for you if you stick out for an acquittal." Tschappatt immediately tore himself away from the bailiff's grasp, and replied emphatically that he would have nothing to do with it. "You ought to know me well enough, Soloman," he said, "to know that no amount of money could bribe me to defeat the ends of justice. If the prisoners on trial are guilty of what they are charged with, I say hang them, and everybody else who is connected with the conspiracy. No, sir; you can't bribe me, and you ought to know that." With this the venireman attempted to get away from the bailiff, but Soloman held on to him with a vise-like grasp. "Don't be a fool, Tschappatt," said Soloman, "you're a poor man, and ought to know that a thousand dollars is not to be picked up every day. Now, listen to me, and I'll show you how you can make it and nobody will ever be the wiser. If you properly answer the questions put to you by the lawyers you will in all probability be passed and sworn in as a juror. Now, I'll see that you get the money--leave that to me. Of course the money won't be given to you, but your wife will get it, so it will be all the same. On a certain day that you will appoint she will appear in court wearing a certain dress that you will designate. By that you will know that she has received the money, and if she doesn't wear that dress you will know the reverse. But don't let that trouble you. She'll get the money. "Soloman," said Tschappatt, "what kind of a man do you take me for? You first ask me to sell myself and then you want to drag my wife into it. I have a good mind to knock you down. You deserve it." "Well, there's no use getting hot about it," said Soloman. "I thought I was doing you a good turn, and only that we have known each other for years I would not have put a thousand dollars in your way. But you can do just as you please about it--accept it or reject it. If I were you, however, I would consider the proposition. It will be many a long day before you get a chance again to make a cool thousand." Tschappatt replied that he would not entertain the matter for a moment, "and if I had known this was the reason," he said, "that you called me out I would not have come." They then returned to the criminal court building, Soloman still talking about the proposition. Tschappatt rejoined the other veniremen who were waiting in the ante-room, but did not utter a word of what had passed between him and the bailiff. At noon time, when the court took a recess until 2 o'clock, Tschappatt went back to the place where he was employed and worked hard to catch up for the time he had lost. He returned to the criminal court a few minutes before 2 o'clock. Soloman was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. "Where have you been for the past two hours?" was the greeting from the bailiff. "I have been looking all over for you. Did you consider that proposition I made you?" Tschappatt told him that he had not, and tried to brush him to one side so he could go up-stairs into the ante-room. Soloman stopped him, and then offered him $5,000 if he would get on the jury and stand out for acquittal. This is the language he used: "We have got to have you on that jury, and you can't get out of it. Think of it--$5,000 for a few days' work. Are you a fool that you won't accept it?" "I gave you my answer this morning, Soloman, and I make you the same reply now. I will not accept. All the money in Chicago could not induce me to do as you want me. Now, let me pass on up-stairs?" "Don't say anything about this," was the bailiff's injunction, and he followed Tschappatt up into the court-room. The five bailiffs, one of whom was Soloman, went over to the jail and brought the prisoners into court. Soloman sat in a chair behind Kunze. About the middle of the afternoon Tschappatt was brought in from the ante-room and took his seat in the jury-box. In answer to the questions from the attorneys he said he had formed opinions regarding the case, and did not think he could give the prisoners a fair trial. He had visited the Carlson cottage, he said, and talked with some one there about the case. The court excused him for cause. During the examination of Tschappatt Soloman kept his eyes on him continually and was greatly agitated, evidently fearing that he would tell the court about being approached. When he left the box, however, he took his secret with him. As good fortune would have it, on leaving the court room Tschappatt encountered his employer, Benjamin V. Page, to whom he told this story. By the latter it was communicated to Mr. Mills, and the prosecuting officials, with the consent of the court, immediately commenced the investigation already alluded to. Soloman was sent for and at first emphatically denied the accusation that had been made against him. Confronted with the honest German, however, he was forced to admit his guilt, and make a full statement of his connection with the conspiracy. From his pocket he produced a slip of paper on which was a list of names and addresses of jurors whom it was thought could be influenced by money, and a comparison showed that it contained the names of several men who were on the special venire, and at that time waiting to be examined. This list, Soloman said, was given to him by Hanks, one of his fellow-bailiffs. Upon being interrogated this individual was also compelled to admit his connection with the affair. WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS. With these statements as a foundation, still more important developments were brought to the surface without much difficulty. It was found that Fred. W. Smith, a manufacturer's agent, had offered several citizens the sum of $2,000 each to get on the Cronin jury. Hanks had made an offer to Joseph Konen, a fruit dealer, of $1,000 if he could succeed in passing the lawyers and would render a verdict for the defense. Another man had been offered $1,000 with the same object by Jeremiah O'Donnell, who a few weeks before had received an appointment in the internal revenue as gauger for the Calumet District, and the latter in turn had been approached by Thomas Kavanaugh, a member of a plumbing firm. Hanks appeared to have been one of the big cogs in the machine, so much so that he had advanced $1,000 to Soloman for his services as a briber. Behind Hanks was Kavanaugh, who was an active member of the Clan-na-Gael. Both were spokes in the big wheel of the machine which had been buzzing so silently and as they imagined, so successfully. Within a few hours after the indictments had been returned, the men named therein had been arrested and incarcerated in jail. The investigation was continued upon the following day and further facts were brought to light which warranted the presentation of the matter to the regular Grand Jury for the October term. This body, after spending two hours in the examination of witnesses, returned additional indictments against Smith, Hanks and Soloman, together with an indictment against John Graham, confidential clerk to A. S. Trude, a prominent member of the bar. The indictment of Graham was based on evidence tending to show that he had originally employed the parties that had endeavored to corrupt the special veniremen. According to the story told by Bailiff Hanks to the Grand Jury, Graham had offered to pay $2,000 each for two or more men, saying that money was no object. He had also employed the bailiff to keep up the drooping spirits of certain of the prisoners by delivering to them verbal messages of cheer from their friends on the outside, Graham paying handsomely for this service. He was arrested, but immediately released on bail, and bondsmen were found for all of the men concerned in the attempted bribery. Judge Longenecker, and the attorneys assisting him, however, were convinced that they had yet to reach the fountain-head of the directing conspiracy, and their next move was the arrest of Henry N. Stoltenberg, the confidential clerk and stenographer in the office of Alexander Sullivan. At the same time the residence of the latter was once more placed under surveillance. After being detained over night, the clerk was taken before the Grand Jury. His answers to the questions propounded were regarded as of considerable importance, more especially his admission that he had received letters from a prominent Irishman in Toronto, and which had been addressed to him under cover to a second party. He was then released. Alexander Sullivan's law partner, Thomas G. Windes, and E. J. McArdle, a young Irish lawyer were also examined, but both declared that they knew nothing whatever regarding the matter under investigation. It was evident by this time that sufficient had been accomplished to frustrate the purposes of the conspiracy, and, as the resumption of the search for jurors was imperatively ordered by the court, the effort to discover the wheels within wheels of the jury-bribing plot was abandoned for the time being. Enough had been discovered to prove that the men behind the prisoners were prepared to go to any lengths to prevent a conviction. As Luther Laflin Mills remarked, in that earnest and impressive manner which characterized all his utterances: "The plot was the most damnable and hellish that has ever been concocted to defeat the ends of justice. It can not be exaggerated. It extends all over the country, and its ramifications are so numerous and far-reaching that it seems almost incredible that we have made such progress in marking them out. It is without parallel in the history of legal jurisprudence in this miserable effort to defile the laws of Illinois. When all the facts are known, as they are sure to be sooner or later, the whole civilized world will be shocked, as it was when the news of the conspiracy that ended in Dr. Cronin's death was sent out. The public is entitled to know all the facts, because it ought to know the obstacles that the officers of the prosecution have had to encounter from the 4th of May up to the present time. We have sought earnestly and honestly to prevent a miscarriage of justice in this case, and thanks to the brave young man who was proof against bribery and his courageous employer who reported the facts to us, we have broken up a conspiracy that would have set at naught the labor of months." [Illustration: SCENE IN THE COURT ROOM DURING THE MEMORABLE TRIAL.] CHAPTER XX. A JURY SECURED AT LAST--NAMES AND SKETCHES OF THE TWELVE MEN SELECTED TO DETERMINE THE GUILT OF THE ACCUSED--THE TRIAL UNDER WAY--OPENING SPEECHES FOR THE STATE--SCENES IN THE COURT ROOM. Hundreds, if not thousands of people besieged the entrances to the Criminal Court building at an early hour on the morning of Friday, October 25th. It was the opening day of the great trial. Men and women were wedged together in a compact mass. They were packed solid on the iron steps leading down from the entrance onto the sidewalk, and out in the road to the other side of the street. Special instructions had been given to the bailiffs to maintain order, as well as to eject all suspicious persons. They made a bold fight for awhile, but when the doors had been opened they were overwhelmed by numbers. Within a few minutes every seat in the court room was occupied, and hundreds were fighting for places to stand. The crowd below pressed upward and it began to look as though the building would be taken by storm. Reinforced in numbers, however, the bailiffs made another rally against the crowd, and finally succeeded in closing the doors. Only those presenting special orders were admitted for the rest of the day. THE SCENE IN COURT. The clock in the court room was striking ten when the prisoners filed in through the door communicating with the iron corridor that led to the jail. Ex-Senior Warden Beggs led the procession. Behind him came Coughlin, O'Sullivan, Burke and Kunze, in the order named. A big bailiff walked shoulder to shoulder with each prisoner. For a moment the five men who were about to be placed on trial for their lives appeared paralyzed as they contemplated the immense throng that had gathered to gaze at them, and to listen to the opening address in behalf of the State. Beggs was as white as a sheet, Burke's face crimsoned, while the faces of the other prisoners turned pale and red by turn. Close after them came the attorneys for the defense, then those for the prosecution, then Judge McConnell, and lastly the jurors. [Illustration: THE JURY.] [Illustration: THE JURY.] Each of the twelve good men and true rose in his place and answered as his name was called. This was the roster: John Culver, age 43; born in Illinois; father, American; mother, Scotch; married; real estate business; Methodist Episcopal. James A. Pierson, 54; born in New York State; parents, American; married; farmer; no religion. Charles C. Dix, 33; born in Chicago; American parents; bachelor; insurance business; Episcopalian. John L. Hall, 29; born in Illinois; American parents; married; architectural draughtsman; Methodist Episcopal. Henry D. Walker, 58; born in Massachusetts; American parents; married; upholsterer; Protestant. Frank Allison, 39; born in New York State; American parents; machinist; no religion. George Luther Corke, 30; born in Illinois; parents, English; married; druggist; Methodist. William Stanley North, 33; born in Cleveland, Ohio; American parents; married; manufacturer; Presbyterian. Edward S. Bryan, 40; born in New Jersey; American parents; married; law book salesman; Congregationalist. Elijah Bontecou, 35; born in Troy, N. Y.; American parents; married; salesman; Protestant. Charles F. Marlor, 30; born in New York; parents, American; married; clerk; Episcopalian. Benjamin F. Clark, 53; American by birth and parentage; married; real estate dealer; Methodist. LONGENECKER'S MASTERLY EFFORT. Breathless silence prevailed. Judge McConnell inclined his head. The gavel fell. State's Attorney Longenecker, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers, was on his feet in an instant. Without any preliminaries, he plunged direct into his opening address. The effects of the months of hard work he had devoted to the case were plainly apparent. His face was pale and his voice weak, but he braced himself for his task, and without any attempt at oratory, but in a plain, succinct manner which indicated that he had thoroughly mastered his subject, he gave to the jury in the short space of two hours a complete and admirable statement of the evidence that had been collected and would be submitted to the body. Commencing with a review of the conception and progress of the Clan-na-Gael, he traced the movements of the organization and the extent of the active interest in its affairs that had been manifested by the murdered man. The motive for the crime, he declared, was the bold warfare which Dr. Cronin had waged against his enemies and especially against the deadly and malicious plottings of the triangle. The speaker became thoroughly aroused as he dealt with this branch of his subject, and with his right hand sweeping the air, he lashed the triangle in the most vigorous English. Mr. Forrest objected that the famous and omnipotent triumvirate had nothing to do with the case, but the objection was overruled. The State's Attorney went on to declare that the plotting against Dr. Cronin began about the first of the year. It was in Camp 20 that the conspiracy had been hatched, and of this Camp Beggs, Coughlin, Cooney, Burke and O'Sullivan were members. Here it was that the fate of the victim was sealed, and the commission of the crime intrusted to reliable hands. In vivid language the speaker proceeded to show the lizard-like deliberation with which the plotters had gone about their work; how they had purchased the furniture and trunk, rented the cottage, lured the physician from his residence; beaten out his life; robbed the corpse of every article of identification; save the "agnus dei" which was fastened around the neck; thrust it into the trunk; borne it to Edgewater; and there dumped it into the catch basin. The prisoners scowled and the jury listened with looks of intense interest as the State's Attorney, although almost exhausted by his effort, continued with his vivid recital. The evidence which would be presented against each one of the prisoners was briefly mapped out, and the speaker grew more earnest than ever as he went on to tell how the hidden hand that directed the murder had sought to malign the dead. The word had been passed to the rank and file that Dr. Cronin was a spy and that he would soon appear across the water as another Le Caron. It was possible that the actual murderers were led to their work by this belief. It was certain at least that a dastardly attempt had been made by the hidden hand to spread the spy theory after the doctor had disappeared. Men had been told to do such acts as would leave the public to believe that the physician was still alive, and so successful had they been that only by a mere accident was it that their plans were crushed forever. And so the speaker went on with his straightforward narrative of the conspiracy and its sequel and finally closed a powerful address with a brief peroration in which he admonished the jurors to do their duty without fear or favor. Among other things, the State's Attorney said, in the course of his address: THE LAW IN THE CASE. "Gentlemen of the jury, you have been selected with great care to try this case. You have been questioned perhaps more than you thought proper, yet we thought it our duty to be very inquisitive with reference to your past histories, so that we might, in trying this very important case, feel that we had twelve men who would render a fair and impartial verdict. You all stand before this court and before this community with characters that are written, and if, after hearing the evidence in this case, you render a truthful verdict, whether that verdict be to unlock the prison doors and set at liberty these men, or whether it be to inflict the highest punishment for the crime with which they are charged, you can go out into the world with a passport of duty done which will be an honor to you through all the future of your lives. Each of you has said under your oaths that you would try this case upon the law and the evidence--that you would render a verdict based exclusively upon the law and the evidence; that you would not be controlled by public opinion; that you would not be governed by anything other than the evidence in the case; no matter how much regard you may have for public opinion, no matter how much we may feel that oftentimes public opinion is right, yet you as jurors are sworn to try this case on the evidence and the law, and to render a verdict based upon it exclusively. You answered that you would try this case fairly and impartially. Fair and impartial verdicts mean verdicts not only fair to one side, but to both sides of a case on trial. Too often jurors and courts and even prosecutors, in their anxiety to be fair toward men on trial, step over the line of duty, and criminals go unpunished and the law becomes a farce. While I want you to give these men a fair and impartial trial; while we desire that you give them the benefit of everything the law in its wise provisions enables you to give, in your anxiety to be fair don't step over the line of duty and do an injustice to the people of this great State. You have said that before you would convict any man on trial in this case you would want the people to prove that he is guilty beyond a doubt--a reasonable doubt; that you would require the State to make out the case from the witness stand; and that you would respect the provisions of the law that says every man is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty; that you would not convict any man unless you were satisfied of his guilt from the evidence. But, let me say, the presumption of innocence is not evidence in the case, and when you hear of that presumption all the way through this case understand that it is not evidence. "While the law presumes every man innocent until proven guilty, yet it is not such a presumption as to rebut evidence. Presumption simply stands up before you and says: Before you can convict this man he must be proven guilty. And as the evidence is given to you step by step the presumption stands as a guard between innocence and the evidence that is being given, until at last, when your mind is satisfied, when your judgment has come to the conclusion that the men are guilty, the presumption is wiped out, and you are no longer to presume the man innocent. "When you stated that you would not convict these men except they were proved guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, it simply meant this--that, after hearing the evidence, if you are satisfied of the truth of the charge; if you are satisfied, as jurymen sworn to do your duty, that the men on trial are guilty, then you have no right to go digging around for doubts; you have no right to hunt around for an excuse to refrain from doing that which the law makes it your duty to do. A reasonable doubt means a doubt that is reasonable. I mention these facts because the learned counsel for the defense, which was proper and right, were anxious to impress on your minds that before you could convict anybody you must believe them guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. You have taken an oath in this case and are sworn to try it upon the law and the evidence. The oath taken is that you will well and truly try this case and the verdict render according to the law and the evidence. That means that there is an issue to be tried. The men at the bar are charged with the crime of murder on the one hand; that on the 4th of May, in this county and State, they did maliciously, wickedly and feloniously kill and murder Dr. Cronin. That is the charge made in the indictment. On the other hand, these prisoners at the bar say they are not guilty. That issue is what you are sworn to try. It is as to whether these men on trial killed and murdered Dr. Cronin. What is murder? may be asked. Murder is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought, either expressed or implied. Before you can convict these men it becomes the duty of the people to prove every material allegation in the indictment. What are the material allegations in the indictment? First, that Dr. Cronin was killed; next, that he was killed in this county and State; next, that these defendants killed him without provocation or excuse. These are the material issues to be proven in this ease. "If you believe from the evidence that he was murdered and that these men killed him, as charged in the indictment, then the question is settled. Then you have the law as to murder to govern you, and you are the judges of the law and the evidence; and if you find that these defendants killed him, and that he was murdered, then the statute fixes the punishment, or leaves it to you to fix the punishment. That is the law in the case, except what you may get from his honor on the bench. I apprehend that the learned counsel for the defense will not contest the fact, if it is proven that Dr. Cronin was killed, as we have charged--that he was stricken to death, as we can prove--I don't apprehend that they will contend then it was any other homicide than that of murder. So you will have that question to settle. If we prove that Dr. Cronin was killed as we allege he was killed, there will be no question as to whether it was murder or manslaughter; it will be admitted by the learned counsel for the defense that it was murder or nothing. THE EVIDENCE MAINLY CIRCUMSTANTIAL. "Now, gentlemen, this is the issue that you are to try. His honor from the bench has pronounced every one of you a qualified juror in the case; and as now we approach the evidence, I desire to call your attention to something that was talked of a great deal while we were selecting this jury. You have by this time learned that most of the evidence of the case will be that of a circumstantial character. There are two kinds of evidence, as you have learned--circumstantial and direct evidence--and yet, after all, nearly all evidence is circumstantial. You may not have read it, but any lawyer at the bar will remember reading of the incidents or illustrations by Wharton and other writers, in which they say that nearly all evidence is circumstantial. Even if you are looking at a man holding a pistol, and see him fire it at another, and see the man drop--that is all circumstantial. You see the man holding the pistol; you hear the report; you see the other man drop, and you are satisfied that he is shot, and yet you don't see what killed him. The bullet is found in his brain; you saw the man pointing the pistol, and these are the circumstances of that case, although you saw the acts that brought about the circumstances which led you to believe he was killed by the bullet. That is one way of illustrating circumstantial evidence." Here the State's attorney gave another illustration on the same line, and proceeded: "That is circumstantial evidence. Circumstances are truths. Nearly every case that comes into court rests almost exclusively upon circumstantial evidence. Of course, there is direct evidence making up the circumstances, but after all, the crime itself, the act itself, is proved by the circumstances in the case. "So that, while we must rely upon the circumstances in this case, yet we propose to show to you evidence enough to convince your minds thoroughly upon the question of the guilt of these accused. We shall prove this by circumstances just as much as if there had been an eye-witness of the scene. You stated, gentlemen, as I said before, that you would not convict unless your minds were satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt, from the evidence, of the guilt of these defendants. You stated further that if you were satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt--every man of you satisfied--that the crime was of such a character as to deserve the highest penalty you would then have no conscientious scruples against capital punishment--that you were not opposed to capital punishment. It does not matter whether your minds are satisfied by circumstantial evidence or direct evidence as to the guilt of the men on trial--you stand pledged on your oaths to execute the law as you believed it ought to be executed in the case. "On the night of May 4th, soon after seven o'clock, was the last time that Dr. Cronin was ever seen alive, except by the men who assassinated and beat out his life. Until the 22d day of May his body was not seen by his friends or any one except those who thrust it into the catch-basin in Lake View. "We claim in this case that the murder of Dr. Cronin--as we shall prove it was a murder--was brought about by a conspiracy. These men are charged with having murdered Dr. Cronin. The evidence that we shall introduce will show a conspiracy to murder Dr. Cronin, and we shall show that the conspiracy was formed and carried into execution, and having been carried into execution, terminated in the killing of Cronin, and that these men are liable for the murder." From this point Judge Longenecker went through in detail the entire record of the case as it affected the defendants collectively and as individuals and then continued: "I believe I have gone over the main points of the evidence. Of course, there will be evidence here and there showing conclusively that this conspiracy was well planned, and showing conclusively to your minds before you are ready to render your verdict that these defendants are guilty. I said that this was a conspiracy. Any one who looks at the evidence can see very readily that the acts committed of themselves are conclusive that the murder was the result of a conspiracy. When Dr. Cronin's body was found the head was cut in a dozen places--from behind and on the temple--showing that they had killed him by giving him lick after lick until his life was beaten out. All that will be described by the doctors; the condition of the body shows that the blows were dealt from behind. "Now, a conspiracy is made up of certain acts by individuals, either together or separate, and every act that was done by either of these parties necessary to carry out the object of the conspiracy binds the others who were in the conspiracy. For instance, if a conspiracy existed, then the act of Coughlin in hiring the horse was the act of Burke, the act of Sullivan, or the act of Beggs, or any other person who engaged in that conspiracy. The renting of the cottage by Burke under the name of Williams was the same as if they had all gone there and rented it. The going over to P. O'Sullivan's to tell him they had rented the cottage was the going over of all those interested in the conspiracy, and so in making the contract with Dr. Cronin. If O'Sullivan made a contract and those other parties were in the conspiracy, and that was a part of the conspiracy, then they all entered into that contract as a part of the work to be done. Every act that was done by either of those parties before the commission of the crime is the act of all, if you believe there was a conspiracy to kill Dr. Cronin. ALL ARE GUILTY. "Another thing I wish to call attention to, and that is that the accessory is the same as the principal. It does not matter whether either of these parties struck the deadly blow; it does not matter whether they were a thousand miles away from the cottage--if it was a conspiracy and they were accessories to the crime, then they are principals to the crime just as much as if they helped to strike the deadly blow. For instance, three men may enter into a conspiracy, knowing that you have $1,000 in your house. You may live between Thirtieth and Thirty-first streets, on State. The three men go to rob your house. One stands at Thirtieth street and the other at Thirty-first street, and the other goes in and robs you of your money. All of these three men have committed burglary. The men who stood on the street corners are just as guilty as the man who went inside for the purpose of stealing your money. "When you take this evidence into consideration, when you take the fact that this man Coughlin hired the horse, and another fact that after Dinan had gone to the station and Coughlin said: "Don't say anything about me engaging the horse and buggy; you may get me into trouble, because Cronin and I were not friends": when you consider that he claimed that the man for whom the horse and buggy were hired was named Smith; that he was sent out to hunt Smith and saw Smith and let him go; when you consider the hiring of the flat at 117 Clark street, the buying of the furniture and the trunk and the strap, the renting of the cottage, the contract between the doctor and this man O'Sullivan; the statement that a sister was to be there to occupy the cottage; the driving of the doctor from his home under the supposition that he was going to minister to the wants of an injured man; the appointment of a secret committee at the instance of Dan Coughlin; the fact that the senior guardian said that the committee reported to him and not to the camp; the statements that Dr. Cronin was a spy--the grouping together of all these things makes the conspirators as guilty as if the murder was the act of one man. AN APPEAL FOR JUSTICE. "And, gentlemen, if, after hearing this evidence, you are satisfied that Dr. Cronin was murdered; if you are satisfied from the evidence that this thing has been deliberated upon from the 8th day of February, or from the 19th of April, when they rented the flat on Clark street, and all those deliberations to take away the life of this man Cronin; the appointment of a secret committee; the attempt to make it appear that the society was trying this man as a disguise to those who might not approve of such work; all these things, if they are proved to you; if it appears in evidence that this great deliberation was had, that this great conspiracy was concocted as we claim, that this man's life was taken away, as we shall prove--if all this satisfies your minds, then your duty will be plain, then you can give the correct answer to the question as to whether you have conscientious scruples against the death penalty. Gentlemen, we will present this evidence as rapidly as possible, but I trust you will be patient with us in this case. It is a matter that concerns the people as well as the defendants. We will present it as rapidly as we can, consistent with doing our duty; and when you have heard this evidence, if you are not satisfied that Dr. Cronin was murdered; if you are not satisfied that these men, whether present at the killing of the doctor, or whether only present in the conspiracy; if you are not satisfied that they are guilty of the charge, then, of course, turn them loose. But if this evidence shows this deep laid conspiracy; shows its premeditation; shows the coolness with which they planned it; if it convinces your minds beyond a reasonable doubt that they are guilty, then your duty is claimed to inflict upon them the highest penalty of the law." [Illustration: John Kunze. John F. Beggs. Daniel Coughlin. Patrick O'Sullivan. Martin Burke. THE FIVE DEFENDANTS IN COURT.] CHAPTER XXI. EVIDENCE FOR THE STATE--THE STORY OF THE CRIME RE-TOLD--A LONG LINE OF WITNESSES--SENSATIONAL DISCLOSURES AND MISSING LINKS SUPPLIED--A MASTERLY GROUPING OF THE TESTIMONY AGAINST THE PRISONERS. Just as soon as the State's Attorney had resumed his seat, and the announcement had been made that the defense would postpone its reply until the end of the trial, the task of examining the witnesses was commenced. Report had it that the defense would contend that the body dragged from the catch basin had not been satisfactorily identified as that of Dr. Cronin's, and so the prosecution at once set out to prove the corpus _delicti_. A large array of witnesses, including ex-Captain Francisco Villiers, James Boland, Mrs. Conklin, James P. Holland, a reporter; H. F. Wisch, the barber; Stephen Conley, who had identified the body by the front teeth; Maurice Morris, by the Agnus Dei; and Joseph O'Byrne, by the broken finger of the right hand, were examined on this point and gave conclusive testimony. The story of the discovery of the body was next retold, and the medical men who had examined the corpse testified regarding its condition and the marks of violence which appeared upon the head and other portions of the body. There was a dramatic scene on the second day at the conclusion of the examination of Dr. D. G. Moore, who had assisted in the autopsy. It was developed in the course of the cross-examination that he had, but a few hours before, read the newspaper reports of Dr. Egbert's testimony of the previous day upon the same points. Thereupon Mr. Forrest demanded that the entire testimony be stricken from the record. A DRAMATIC SCENE. Judge McConnell, to the amazement of nearly everybody in the room, sustained the motion. A dramatic scene followed, and suppressed exclamations of surprise burst from the audience. Mr. Forrest, with a triumphant smile, walked hurriedly past his associates and sipped a glass of water. For an instant the public prosecutors were dumbfounded. Mr. Hynes was the first to contest the ruling. His face was crimson with excitement as he drew his massive form above the table at which he was sitting and in a loud voice declared that if such an unprecedented ruling were followed, the trial might just as well stop then and there. Raising his arm so that his clinched fist was on a level with the bar of the court, Mr. Hynes challenged Judge McConnell to show authorities to sustain such a ruling. Beside the big lawyer was Luther Laflin Mills, pale with emotion. Almost before Mr. Hynes had finished his thundering attack, the clear, resonant voice of Mr. Mills arose above the noise of the street and the mumbling of the auditors. He, too, declared that it was time to stop the case if the testimony of the rest of the State's witnesses was to be excluded for the reason that they had read the testimony of witnesses who had preceded them on the stand. State's Attorney Longenecker nervously watched the fight being waged by his associates. Hurrying down the center aisle were Mr. Ingham and Mr. Scanlan, who were on their way to the State's Attorney's office for authorities. Judge McConnell sat in his chair with his head in his hand. Before him were Mr. Hynes and Mr. Mills, the first red and valiant in attack, the other almost startling in his pallor. The prisoners leaned forward and watched the struggle with intense interest. The prosecutors had scarcely resumed their seats to watch the effect of their first volley, when Mr. Forrest arose and intimated that Dr. Moore had been called at the eleventh hour to patch up the holes in the testimony of Assistant County Physician Egbert. This was a taunt that brought Mr. Hynes and Mr. Mills to their feet again and called forth a censure from the court. Judge McConnell, speaking in a low voice, then said that if such a ruling was enforced in its spirit there would be no reason for continuing the case, but he did not contemplate such a course. Mr. Hynes, seeing that the court was retreating, now leaped to his feet, and with a burst of rhetoric that came very near provoking applause in the benches declared that with such a ruling as that delivered from the bench, the testimony of honorable men who would appear for the State, and who could not be influenced by newspaper reports would be excluded, while the testimony of perjurers who would swear that they had not read the newspaper accounts of the trial would go on record. As the big lawyer sat down, Mr. Ingham and Mr. Scanlan returned with law books piled high upon their arms. But the battle was now over, and the prosecution had won. With much deliberation and a gratuitous encomium on the press for its enterprise and influence, Judge McConnell reversed his previous decision, and ruled that the testimony of witnesses who had read the newspaper reports of the testimony of other witnesses was competent, and that it must be admitted. Liveryman Dinan, who was put on the stand after this episode, repeated his former statements regarding the hiring of the white horse and buggy by Coughlin, and added, as something new, that, after he had unbosomed himself to Captain Schaack, the detective, meeting him on the street, had remarked to him: "I'd hate to trust you with anything; you're a clear case of weakener." INSIDE OF CAMP TWENTY. The inside history of the now famous Camp 20 was next taken up, and numerous witnesses were called to testify regarding its inner workings. Among them were Junior Warden Michael J. Kelley, Recording Secretary John F. O'Connor, Andrew Foy, Patrick J. Ford and Stephen Colleran. By these witnesses it was sought to show that over two months before the murder of the physician a secret committee had been appointed by Senior Guardian Beggs, on the motion of Coughlin, to investigate the charge that Dr. Cronin had read, in another camp, a circular antagonistic to the triangle, and that this committee had been ordered to report to the Senior Guardian alone. This was the story as it had been related to Grand Jury, but on the stand most of the witnesses resorted to all manner of strategy to hamper the prosecution, and even the most inconsequential details of the doings of the camp had to be wrung from them. Colleran admitted, on being closely pressed, that he had seen Coughlin and Burke together in the central part of the city about the time that the plot to murder Dr. Cronin was reaching its maturity, and he also gave conclusive evidence regarding the intimacy of Cooney "The Fox," with Coughlin and Burke. No inclination to suppress the facts, however, was manifested by Thomas F. O'Connor, when he took the stand. This intrepid Irishman, who had been a member of the Clan-na-Gael for twenty-four years, was a captain in the organization, as well as a Fenian captain, and who had, moreover, distinguished himself as a staunch supporter of Dr. Cronin in the latter's merciless war upon the triangle, told his story without reserve. He said that at the meeting of Camp 20, on February 8th, Andrew Foy, in a speech, had declared that if there were yet four British spies in the Clan-na-Gael organization, as Le Caron had sworn before the Parnell Commission in London, the order ought to be destroyed at once. To this the witness, arising and facing Senior Guardian Beggs, replied that the camps should look to the triangle for traitors, as he was possessed of positive information that Le Caron was the agent of that body. A scene of wild confusion ensued, a score of members leaping to their feet and demanding the source of Captain O'Connor's information. This he refused to give unless it was insisted upon by Beggs. While the uproar was at its height, a motion was made by Coughlin that a secret committee be appointed to investigate the source of O'Connor's information, which was generally understood to be Dr. Cronin's camp. There was no doubt but that this committee was appointed, for another witness, Dennis O'Connor, who had been in the Clan-na-Gael order for twenty-one years, testified that at a meeting on May 3d, he had heard somebody ask the Senior Guardian if "that secret committee had reported," although he could not recollect the reply. This deficiency of memory was supplied by the next witness, Financial Secretary Patrick Henry Nolan, who had heard Beggs reply that the committee would report to him alone. Nolan had also met Burke and Cooney at a saloon on the day following the murder and noticed that both were well supplied with funds. There was a straining of necks in the Court room when the name of Patrick McGarry was called, and the athletic opponent of the triangle stalked past the jurors and up the steps leading to the witness stand. He was asked what he had said in Camp 20 when he made his bitter attack on the triangle and turning his honest face toward the jurors below, he replied: "I referred to the unity that ought so exist among members of the organization and the members of the Irish race altogether, and the other gentleman had referred to it also. It was about the time that Le Caron had testified before the forgery commission in England and had referred to spies getting into the organization, and the other gentleman had referred to Irishmen coming to this country and the coming American citizens ought to educate their children, educate them first in the principles of American constitution, also educate them to have a love for their forefathers' home, as there was nothing in the Irish race--nothing in Irish history--that Irishmen ought to be ashamed of in America. I said it was all very well to talk of unity and I wanted to see unity among the Irish people, but there could not be unity while members of this organization would meet in back alleys and in dark corners and villify and abuse the man who had the courage to stand out and take traitorism and robbery by the throat and strangle it. I said I was raising children and educating children, and as long as God allowed me to be over them I would educate them first as Americans and also educate them that if ever there should come an opportunity to strike a blow for Ireland's freedom they should do so. I said they could not be too particular about getting members in the organization, and that I had been investigating Le Caron's record, and I said there were men in this organization that were worse than Le Caron. I said that the man who gave Le Caron his credentials to go into the convention was a greater scoundrel than ever Le Caron could pretend to be. I said I had found out that Le Caron's camp did not exist in two years, did not have a meeting in two years, that the junior guardian given in the directory had not been in the town of Braidwood for over two years. I stated they must have known that such a camp did not exist only on paper. That was about the substance of my remarks." A roar of applause, which the bailiffs vainly endeavored to suppress, came from the audience, as McGarry concluded. "Did John F. Beggs make a speech in reply to yours" asked the State's Attorney. "Yes" was the reply. "Beggs said that the visiting members should not be coming in there violating the hospitality of that camp, and that it would have to be stopped. He said that it was not right; that it was cowardly. I wanted to interrupt him, but the presiding officer, the chairman at the time, would not let me. I wanted to interrupt him when he used the word cowardly. He said they came in there attacking Alexander Sullivan, and it was cowardly to attack any one behind his back. Why did they not say so to his face if they had anything to say? He said Alexander Sullivan had strong friends in the camp, and he slapped his breast, and said, "I am one of them." That was about all that passed. I wanted to get the floor to reply to him, and I did get the floor afterward. I said the gentleman had said it was cowardly. I wanted him to understand that I was no coward; that I would tell Alexander Sullivan, either there or anywhere else, what my opinion of him was, and every man who knew me knew what that was. I said, 'Why did you mention Alexander Sullivan's name? I have not mentioned it. I have not heard it mentioned here till the senior guardian of this camp mentioned it here.' I stated and I repeated that the man who gave Le Caron his credentials was a greater scoundrel than ever Le Caron pretended to be. That was all I said, and I should not have mentioned his name only it was brought out. I should say, that when Beggs said that Alexander Sullivan had stout friends in this camp and that he was one of them, he also said that he (Beggs) was for union and unity among the Irish people if it took war to make it." The witness went on to tell how, when he heard that Dr. Cronin was missing, he had gone to O'Sullivan's house, and, in the presence of several witnesses, told him that his association with the mystery looked suspicious. One of the men suggested that perhaps the Ancient Order of Deputies had made away with the missing man, but McGarry replied that the crime was much nearer home, and that it would be found that his own race had killed him. When the reference was made to the Deputies, McGarry, suddenly turning his head, had seen O'Sullivan make a grimace as a sort of admonition to the other man to say nothing more. In concluding his testimony the witness told how Dr. Cronin, some time before his death, had been called to attend the supposed victim of a serious accident. He went up a flight of stairs, but upon entering the room, did not like the appearance of the man in the bed and with the remark, "My God, did you bring me here to murder me," went down the stairs several steps at a time. THE BLOODY TRUNK PRODUCED. Additional evidence was submitted to prove that neither Coughlin nor Beggs had entertained any kindly feeling toward the physician in his lifetime, but that on the contrary, they hated him with all the intensity of their strong natures. It was shown, for instance, that in saloons on the North Side of the city, not only Beggs and Coughlin, but also O'Sullivan, had repeatedly denounced Dr. Cronin in the most vituperative language, and that Coughlin in particular had remarked little more than a month before the murder that, "a prominent North Side Catholic would be done up if he could not keep his mouth shut." The attempt was made on cross-examination to show that the man to whom this language had reference, was John F. Finerty, the noted Irish orator and editor, but on this question the witnesses disagreed. As a matter of fact Mr. Finerty lived on the south side of the city. From this point the purchase of the furniture and trunk for the Clark Street flat, and which was afterward removed to the Carlson cottage, was taken up. Hatfield, the salesman, repeated the testimony which he had given before the coroner's jury. The trunk itself, with the stains of Dr. Cronin's blood plainly visible on the outside was offered in evidence. So was the batting saturated with the life blood of the physician, and which was found in its interior when it was first discovered in the Lake View ditch. Cross-examination of the salesman failed to shake his opinion that the goods found in the cottage were those he had sold to the much-wanted "Simonds." Branching off, the prosecution took up the threats that had been made against the physician at different times prior to his murder, and "Major" Sampson, an individual not unknown in the criminal history of Chicago, told how he had been approached by Coughlin, who had asked him to meet Dr. Cronin some night and give him an "infernal good licking." Coughlin had also suggested that he might take another man with him in order that the job might be the more complete. Instead of complying with the request however, Sampson had gone to Dr. Cronin and acquainted him with the fact that he was in peril. The renting of the cottage was gone into detail. Mrs. Carlson told her story, and when she had finished, Mr. Mills turning his face toward the line of prisoners, asked the witness if she could recognize in the great audience before her, the face of Frank Williams. The silence was oppressive as the woman's eyes rested upon the prisoners. THRILLING SCENES IN COURT. "Do you see the man?" asked Mr. Mills, in an emphatic tone. "Yes sir," replied the witness. "Where is he?" Mrs. Carlson leveled the index finger of her gloved hand at Burke. The latter chewed viciously at his tobacco and his eyes rolled wildly. The other prisoners did not dare to look at their companion. The witness went on to tell why it was certain that she had made no mistake in her identification. She knew Burke by his restless eyes, by his mouth, by the general contour of his face. Burke turned pale as the terrible ordeal proceeded. Dramatic in the extreme was the identification of Burke by old man Carlson. When asked to pick out Frank Williams from the hundred of faces that were turned toward him, he glanced about earnestly, but did not utter a word. The request was repeated, and again the old man scanned the audience without discovering the face. Burke, his countenance rigid with determination, sat with his frightened eyes riveted upon the witness. Carlson was asked to leave his chair and walk among the people below him. Taking his soft hat in his hand, he walked slowly past the jurors and the lawyers. His eyes were fastened upon the prisoners. He began with Beggs. Then his gaze passed from Coughlin to O'Sullivan and thence to Burke. The two men were but a few feet apart. With a grunt of satisfaction Carlson shook his old hat at the pale-faced prisoner. "Is he the Frank Williams you saw?" asked Mr. Mills. "Yes, sir," was the emphatic reply, and the painful silence which had prevailed in the court-room was broken by a prolonged buzz. It was Coughlin's turn to turn pale when John C. Garrity was placed upon the stand. This witness told how on one occasion Coughlin had asked him if Sampson could be got to do a piece of work. When asked what it was, he replied that he wanted to have a certain fellow "slugged." Garrity asked what he wanted done to him, and Coughlin replied that he wanted a man to get a club and break his nose and knock his teeth out or disfigure him for life. Mortensen, the expressman, forged another link in the evidence by positively identifying Burke as the man who had hired him to cart the furniture to the cottage. When the witness pointed directly at Burke, the latter showed more anger than at any time during the trial. His face was flushed, his jaws set, and he glared savagely at the Swede. Edward Spelman, of Peoria, Illinois, the district officer of the Clan-na-gael, was another witness, but his memory was exceedingly treacherous. In fact, he could not remember any of the circumstances to which he had testified before the Grand Jury, and it turned out that, in the interval, he had visited the office of, and conferred with, Alexander Sullivan. The only fact of importance to which he testified was that he had seen Coughlin and Kunze together in Peoria, and that they appeared to be very intimate. The witness admitted that the following correspondence had passed between himself and Beggs: "CHICAGO, Feb. 16, 1889. "MY DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: I am directed to call your attention to the following subjects: First, it is charged that the S. G. of the Columbus Club (Dr. Cronin's camp) at a recent meeting read to the assembled members the proceedings of the Trial Committee. Second, I am directed to enter the protest of Camp No. 20 against the D.'s in Chicago electing or initiating men until their names are presented to D. No. 20 and the other D.'s for their consideration. The old rule by communication has become a dead letter since the formation of the Central Council, and I am informed that said council has not held a legal meeting since its formation. Good discipline calls for an investigation of the foregoing, which I feel you will attend to. Fraternally yours, "Don't forget our reunion February, 22." "J. F. BEGGS, S. G., D. 20." "PEORIA, ILL., Feb. 17, 1889. "FRIEND BEGGS: Yours of yesterday to hand and contents carefully noted. Will you kindly refer me to that section of our law where I am empowered to inflict a penalty on an S. G. for disclosing the proceedings of a Trial Committee? Under the constitution I called the S. G. and J. G. together [meaning Senior Guardian and Junior Guardian] for the purpose of forming a council. If they fail to perform their duty I would like to know how I can remedy the evil you complain of. While I admit that no person should be admitted in Chicago unless his proposition should come before the council or the D.'s in your city, on accepting the position of the D. O. [District Officer], I felt that I should be able in my own way to effect a reconciliation of our people in Chicago. But I must confess to you that I am greatly disappointed. My position is this: That if any person who is a member should violate the law, he should be tried as provided by our constitution. What is the fact? Members who know a wrong go around the street and go from one D. to another and talk about such an offense. Then they report, and the D. O. is a figure head. I will take no notice of any complaint unless made to me, and if I have authority under our laws, you may depend I will be on hand. I thank you for your kindness, and discipline is our only safeguard. If you see where I can act, I am at your command. My term of office will expire at this month, and God knows I am glad. I am disgusted with the conduct of men who think they should lead the Irish people. But I think it is dangerous for decent men to associate with such scamps. Thank God, proxies no longer prevail. "Fraternally yours, D. O. 16." "CHICAGO, Feb. 18, 1889. "DEAR SIR AND BROTHER: Yours of the 17th received. I have not the constitution before me, and therefore can not point out the section that would cover the matter complained of; nor am I prepared to say that the act mentioned was a violation of any written law; but that it was very unwise, and such conduct as is prejudicial to the good of the order, no man in his right senses will deny. It is just such acts that keep us continually in hot water. Why, in God's name, if men are sincere, will they insist upon opening old sores? The majority of our men believe the parties charged to be innocent of any criminal wrong, and to have the charges made continually that they are guilty, creates a bitterness and ill feeling, and the man or men who continue to bring the charges are not the friends of Irish unity. What earthly good is done in continuing the old fight. What is the reason for it? I confess I can give no answer. If we are true men, as we profess, we will rather conciliate than keep up a war which can only lead to further disunion. The rank and file are sincere. They want peace, and the time is not far distant when they will have it, even if it has to come to war. I am anxious for a better understanding among our people, and will do anything in my power to obtain unity. The matter I wrote of, I would let pass if I could, but I was ordered to notice it. Personally I think it better not to notice such things, but I am only one. The men who are the power will in time realize the motives of those who are continually breeding disorder in their ranks, and a day of punishment will come. I am very much discouraged at the present outlook, but hope no trouble will result. Fraternally yours, J. F. BEGGS." Of testimony against O'Sullivan, there was an abundance. Justice Mahoney told of being present when the contract for professional services was made between the iceman and the physician, and Mrs. Addie J. Farrar testified that the iceman had said to her, after the disappearance, that Dr. Cronin was a British spy, and that if he had given away any of the secrets of the secret organization he ought to have been killed. Editor R. T. Stanton, of the Lake View _Record_, showed that the particular card of O'Sullivan's that had been used to entice Dr. Cronin from his home had been printed for and delivered to the iceman two days before the murder. The first evidence connecting Kunze with the murderers, or their different places of rendezvous, was given by Willie James, a sixteen-year old stenographer, who swore that he had seen Kunze wash his feet at the window of the Clark street flat in the month of March, while Mertes, the milkman, positively identified the little German as the man who had driven a big broad-shouldered man to the Carlson cottage on the night of the murder, and likewise identified Coughlin as the man he had seen run up the steps of the slaughter-house and disappear behind the front door. Kunze rocked to and fro with fury during this testimony, and glared wickedly at the witness. Coughlin's gaze never left his accuser, but his face flushed and his deep set eyes blazed. SURPRISES FOR THE DEFENSE. From a medical point of view, the testimony of Microscopists Tolman and Belfield, and Chemist Haines, of the Rush Medical College was exceedingly interesting. Stains from the floor of the Carlson cottage, the hair found clinging to the trunk purchased by Simonds, the hair cut from the head of the murdered man, the single thread of hair discovered on cake of soap in the kitchen of the cottage, and fresh and dried blood from the trunk itself, were the articles on which the experts had experimented. The chemist had been requested to determine whether the reddish stains were those of blood, while the task of determining the probable origin of the blood and the relation of one hair to the other was assigned to the microscopists. The evidence of all three experts was conclusive. Chemist Haines had subjected the stained chips from the floor of the cottage to four experiments, three of a chemical nature and the fourth with a microscope, and the result furnished indubitable proof that the stains were those of blood, while Microscopist Tolman, by other tests, was equally well satisfied that the blood had come from a human body. Additional tests had been made on a strand of hair found on the cake of soap, and which was lighter in color in some portions than in others, while Dr. Cronin's hair was brown. The fact that the single strand appeared light in color to the naked eye seemed to indicate that it could not have come from Dr. Cronin's head, but it was demonstrated by the experts that hairs placed on soap or other alkaline substances became bleached in a manner similar to the color of the single strand. This evidence was of vital importance as it linked the hair found in the trunk with the hair cut from Dr. Cronin's head, and went far toward proving that one of the murderers had washed his hands with the soap after the diabolical work in the parlor had been done. A surprise was in store for the defense at this juncture of the trial, in the form of several witnesses whose identity and testimony had not before been made public. One of these, William Niemann, who kept a saloon a block and a half south of the Carlson cottage, swore that on the night of May 4th, between ten and eleven o'clock, O'Sullivan, the iceman, with two companions, one of whom strongly resembled Coughlin and the other Kunze, visited his place and drank several glasses of wine. O'Sullivan paid the bill, and the three men engaged in an earnest conversation that lasted some time, although they spoke so low that the drift of what they were saying could not be learned by the saloon-keeper. This evidence demolished the claim that O'Sullivan was in bed all night on the night of the murder, and although Niemann was rigidly cross-examined he held to his story without the slightest variation. HEARD HIS DEATH CRY. But it remained for a poor washerwoman, who was searching for her drunken husband, to furnish the final link in the chain and discover the crowning evidence against some of the men who were on trial. She testified on November 12th, and her story was one of the most dramatic and sensational of the trial. Paulina Hoertel was her name, and she was a little German woman, poorly but neatly dressed, with a thin, pinched face, but with considerably more intelligence than is usually found among people in her station of life. She wept bitterly at times while telling her story. For several years, owing to the drunken habits of her husband, her life had been full of trouble. At one time he visited a saloon near the Carlson cottage with nearly five hundred dollars in his pockets, fell into a drunken stupor, and remained in the place four days and nights. When his wife, after considerable searching, finally discovered his whereabouts, the saloon-keeper first attempted to shoot her, and then secured her arrest on a charge of disorderly conduct. From a long recital of her domestic misery, Mrs. Hoertel went on to tell, how on the night of the murder she had started out to find her husband, who, as usual, was away from home. After going some distance her heart failed her, and she started to return. As she entered North Ashland avenue from Cornelia street, she saw a white horse attached to a top-buggy, coming toward her at a lively pace from the direction of the city. There were two men in the vehicle, and the horse was brought to a full stop immediately in front of the Carlson cottage. A tall man, with a black satchel or box in his left hand, jumped from the vehicle, and, after reaching out his arm toward the buggy as if to take something, crossed over the sidewalk toward the steps. Mrs. Hoertel was at this time on the same side of the street and walking in the direction of the cottage. As soon as the man had gotten out of the vehicle, his companion lashed the white horse into a gallop, and started back toward the town. The tall man walked briskly up the long flight of stairs, and, upon reaching the threshold of the cottage, the door was opened by somebody within. A bright light was burning in the front room of the building, and when the door was opened its reflection was seen on the steps. Mrs. Hoertel reached the front of the cottage just as the door closed. An instant later she heard some one cry in a loud voice, "Oh, God!" Then there was a noise that sounded like a blow, followed by a heavy fall, and again the now frightened woman heard the exclamation, "Jesus!" The woman stood still for an instant. The light was still shining through the slats of the tightly-drawn blinds, but all was as still as the grave, and, thinking that the sounds which she had heard were only those of an ordinary quarrel, she resumed the journey toward her home. A block distant, between the Carlson cottage and the little building in the rear where the Carlsons lived, she saw in the starlight the outlines of a man who was evidently on watch. Upon reaching her home she could not open the doors, her husband having changed the locks in her absence, and she was compelled to sit all night on her door-step. It was not until three days later that she was able to obtain access to her home. Told through an interpreter, for the woman's efforts to make her broken English understood failed almost from the start, this story created a painful impression in the court-room. Every one within hearing recognized its vital interest. The white horse that had carried the physician away from his house had been traced to the door of the Carlson cottage, and the exclamation, "Oh, God!" must have been wrung from the Doctor the instant he entered the door and saw that a trap had been set for him. But it was too late to retreat, and, with a last cry of "Jesus," he had fallen beneath the blow of one of his assassins, with the name of his Saviour upon his lips. "I heard the far-away cry of Jesus," was the way in which the interpreter made a literal translation of the statement, and every eye was turned on the prisoners. Burke's mouth opened, his face turned scarlet and his eyes rolled wildly around the court-room. Coughlin's jaws were set tightly, and he glared savagely at the witness. Beggs, O'Sullivan and Kunze, however, sat like stoics, and did not move a muscle or change a shade in color. Judge Wing, who was chosen to cross-examine the witness, occupied over an hour in an effort to confuse her as to dates and assail her as to character, but the replies were prompt and unanswerable, and when she left the stand not a word of her story had been shaken. THE STATE RESTS ITS CASE. [Illustration: COONEY, "THE FOX."] By this time the State had almost exhausted its list of witnesses. John E. McKennon, of the police department of Winnipeg, told about the arrest of Burke at that place, and Henry Plainskef testified that on the morning after Dr. Cronin's murder, Burke and another man whom he recognized from a photograph as Cooney, entered a store on Clark street and purchased a cheap white shirt and two collars. Burke, he said, kept his coat buttoned closely about his throat, and acted in a suspicious manner. Gus Klahre testified that on May 6th Burke had brought to him to be soldered a galvanized iron box fourteen by twenty-six inches, and weighing about forty pounds. He was very particular that the contents of the box should not be seen, and while the work was being done, talked freely about Dr. Cronin's disappearance, saying that he was a British spy and deserved to be killed. The clothing, instrument case and other articles found in the Lake View sewer were exhibited to the jury and identified by several witnesses. As a finale to its case, the State endeavored to introduce the inside history of the Clan-na-gael, with a view of showing Coughlin's bitter hatred for Dr. Cronin, and ex-Police Officer Daniel Brown was called to testify on this point. Strenuous objections, however, were offered by the defense, and argument on the question extended over an entire afternoon. The State's Attorney insisted upon his right to show that four years before, Alexander Sullivan, who was on the Executive Committee at that time, and was charged with the fraudulent appropriation of funds, prosecuted Cronin, that Coughlin was on the trial committee, that Dr. Cronin was tried for reading a circular that reflected on Sullivan's character, and that notwithstanding this, four years later, Beggs stood up in his camp and defended Sullivan. To this Mr. Forrest responded that the defense had no vindication to offer for the triangle, nor any attack to make on it. They did ask, however, that Coughlin and his fellow-prisoners be tried for their own sins, and not for those of Alexander Sullivan. So far as counsel for the defendants were concerned they were willing to say "to perdition with Alexander Sullivan." They were not responsible for his acts, they did not appear there to apologize for him, but they did protest most solemnly as American citizens against the names of their clients being connected with that of Sullivan, and against the prejudice that existed against the latter being visited on the defenseless heads of the poor men who were on trial for their lives. At the conclusion of the arguments, the evidence was ruled out by the court. The case for the State was practically closed on November 13th, and an adjournment was taken until the 16th, when one more witness was called for the prosecution. This was James Clancey, a staff correspondent for the New York Herald. His testimony was to the effect that he had called upon iceman O'Sullivan twice upon the day when Dr. Cronin's body was discovered and urged him to go and identify it. The iceman, however, had refused to do so, being greatly agitated and making several contradictory statements which to the witness, seemed additional evidence of guilt. On cross-examination it was developed that Mr. Clancey had been a worker in the cause of Irish liberty in years gone by, that he had been sentenced to penal servitude for life, for attempting to shoot two policemen who were about to arrest him for alleged participation in revolutionary schemes, and that he had been pardoned at the expiration of ten years through the intervention of several members of Parliament. When Mr. Clancey left the stand at noon on Saturday of November 16th, the formal announcement was made: "We rest the case for the State." [Illustration: JUDGE S. P. M'CONNELL.] CHAPTER XXII. THE DEFENSE TAKES ITS TURN--UNSUCCESSFUL EFFORTS TO EXCLUDE THE BULK OF THE EVIDENCE GIVEN FOR THE STATE--ALIBIS FOR THE PRISONERS AND THE WHITE HORSE--A GENERAL DENIAL OF COMPLICITY IN THE TRAGEDY--REBUTTAL EVIDENCE FOR THE PROSECUTION. Only the usual recess for lunch intervened between the closing of the case for the State and the opening of that for the defense. Mr. Forrest led off with some forty motions to exclude the testimony of as many witnesses who had been called by the prosecution, but each motion was overruled, and the usual exception taken. The first witness for the defense, Frederick J. Squibb, a stenographer, was examined with a view of showing that the evidence of several of the preceding witnesses differed materially from that which they had given at the coroner's inquest. Ex-Police Captain Michael J. Schaack, testified that Mrs. Conklin had absolutely failed to identify the white horse and buggy, and his testimony was corroborated in some parts by Lieutenant of Police P. G. Koch. The story of Neimann, the saloon-keeper, that O'Sullivan, Coughlin and Kunze were in his place drinking sherry wine late on the night of the murder was impeached by Jeremiah and James Hyland, cousins, both of whom swore that they visited O'Sullivan at his house on the night of Sunday, May 5th, took supper with him, remained several hours and then went over in a body to Neimann's saloon. The two men were placed alongside of Coughlin and Kunze for purposes of comparison, but few, if any, points of resemblance were to be seen between them. An alibi for Coughlin was the next thing in order, and ex-Detective Michael Whalen laid the foundation for it by swearing that he saw his brother detective at the Chicago avenue station from half-past seven until midnight on the night of the murder. John Stift, a police officer, corroborated Whalen, but on cross-examination he destroyed the entire value of his testimony by stating that on the morning of May 5th he was put to work by Captain Schaack on the disappearance of the physician, while, as a matter of record the disappearance was not reported to the police until nearly twelve hours later in the day. Peter Koch was called in behalf of Kunze, with a view of showing that the association of the little German with Coughlin was due to the fact that both were working on a distillery explosion case. On the following day William Mulcahey, one of O'Sullivan's employes, testified that the iceman had told him of the contract with Dr. Cronin, and also declared that he was out delivering ice with O'Sullivan until after six o'clock on the night of the murder, that they all had supper together and that he and O'Sullivan slept together that night, both retiring late. Mulcahey positively swore that the iceman did not leave the house during the night. His testimony was corroborated by Thomas Whalen, O'Sullivan's cousin, who had lived with him for six years, and by James Knight, James Menahan and Patrick Brennan, all of whom were employed by O'Sullivan at the time of the murder. Robert Boyington, a carpenter, who boarded at the O'Sullivan residence, told the same story. Miss Kate McCormick, sister of Mrs. Thomas Whalen, as well as the latter, were examined on the same line, and both insisted, despite the sharpest kind of cross-examination, that the iceman did not leave the house on the fatal night. The alibi for Martin Burke was started by Mat. Danahy, who testified that the defendant was at his house from six to nine o'clock on the night of May 4th, and that he shook dice with him for a long time. He added that Burke and Cooney came to his saloon on the following morning (Sunday), and remained until late in the evening, during which time they engaged in several games of "cut-throat" euchre. Other witnesses testified regarding seeing Burke in the saloon. Ex-Congressman John F. Finerty, M. J. Keane, John Dwyer and Matthew Brady all gave evidence to the effect that there was no inner circle in the Clan-na-Gael. Justice David J. Lyon testified that on the 22d of February in company with Beggs he called on Benjamin Harrison, at that time the President elect of the United States, at the latter's residence in Indianapolis, in reference to the procurement of an appointment for a friend to the office of sub-treasurer at Chicago. Witnesses were also called with a view of showing that the committee appointed by Beggs was a perfectly innocent one, and had no relation whatever to Dr. Cronin. An alibi for Dinan's white horse was furnished by Louis Budenbender, who had been brought all the way from Hoboken, N. J., to testify. His story was, that he was standing nearly opposite the Conklin residence on the night of May 4th, that he saw the buggy drive up and Dr. Cronin driven away; and that, having since seen Dinan's white horse, he was certain that it was not the same animal. The horse in the buggy according to Budenbender was a dark speckled gray with white legs and very different in appearance to Dinan's nag. Prof. Marshall D. Ewell, Dr. Harold H. Moyer and Prof. Lester Curtis were called to rebut the expert testimony for the State. Mrs. Hoertel was also recalled in behalf of the defense, with a view of showing that she had made a mistake in the dates upon which she had seen the men enter the Carlson cottage, and August S. Saltzman, a German, was positive that it was after the 8th of May when the two locks were changed on the doors of the Hoertel residence. Additional expert testimony was given by Dr. Edmond Andrews, who said that the wounds on the body of Dr. Cronin when it was found, were not necessarily fatal. Police Officer Stift, on being recalled, admitted that he had made a mistake in his previous testimony, and that it was on Monday instead of on Sunday that the orders concerning the search for the missing physician had been issued. The case for the defense was practically closed on November 25th. Four additional witnesses were introduced, to support the previous testimony to the effect that O'Sullivan was at home on the night of the murder, and Mertes, the milkman was recalled with a view of showing that the version of what he saw on the night of May 4th in front of the Carlson cottage, as given on the stand, was materially different from the story he had told officers Rohan and Crowe two days after the body was found. In behalf of Kunze, J. W. Fralick, a master painter, swore that the defendant worked for him under the name of John Krogel, from April 20th to June 20th, and that on May 4th he was doing work for him in a house on 16th Street until after half past five o'clock in the evening. No evidence was submitted however, tending to show Kunze's whereabouts after that hour. Several witnesses were called to impeach the statement of old man Carlson, that when Burke rented the cottage on March 20th he went directly over to O'Sullivan's house and reported his success to the iceman. According to their statements, O'Sullivan was engaged that day in unloading several car-loads of ice at the freight depot of the Chicago & Northwestern Railway some miles away. THE STATE ON REBUTTAL. The rebuttal evidence for the prosecution was now in order. Dr. Patrick Curran was called for the purpose of showing that James Lyman, a veteran member of Camp 20, had publicly stated that Dr. Cronin's death had been ordered by the executive, but the defense protested so emphatically against the admission of this testimony that Judge McConnell, after mature deliberation, decided that it was not admissible. Bailey Dawson, the veteran Chicago politician, whom Beggs claimed to have met in the rotunda of the Grand Pacific Hotel on the night of May 4th, was put on the stand and swore he was a patient in the Emergency Hospital on that date, and that he did not reach the Grand Pacific Hotel until May 11th, when he was introduced to Beggs by a mutual friend. This testimony was corroborated by Col. A. C. Babcock. The story told by the Hylands was torn to pieces by A. B. Anderson, a liveryman, from whose evidence appeared that on the night they claimed to have visited Niemann's saloon in company with O'Sullivan, the place was crowded with patrons. Niemann also stated that so far as he could remember, he had never seen the Hylands in his place. Numerous witnesses swore that Salzman, who had been introduced by the defense to impeach Mrs. Hoertel, had a bad reputation for truth and veracity, was utterly unworthy of belief, and had no regard whatever for the sanctity of the oath. Numerous other witnesses were introduced to disprove various statements that were made in behalf of the prisoners. CRONIN'S KNIVES FOUND. One more sensation was to be added to the many startling developments of the trial, in its last stages. There was no session of court on November 27th, in order that the attorneys for the State might be afforded an opportunity to arrange the order of their arguments, and, as the following day, Thursday, was the day of National Thanksgiving, the case went over until Friday morning, November 29th. On the afternoon of Thursday, Barney Flynn, a detective in the employ of the city, and connected with the Chicago Avenue Station, went to Chief Hubbard with a remarkable story. Flynn was the man who arrested Coughlin, after the latter had concluded his interview with Chief of Police Hubbard. He took him to the armory police station and searched him in the presence of Captain Bartram. Among the other things he found in Coughlin's pockets were two pocket-knives and a revolver. These Flynn carried with him to the central station and placed in his box for safe keeping, and, when, a few months later, he was transferred to the Chicago Avenue Station, he placed them in a vault which he rented in the Fidelity Bank. There they had remained undisturbed ever since. When Chief Hubbard heard this story, he ordered the knives to be produced without delay. The attorneys for the State were advised of the facts, and T. T. Conklin, who was sent for, unhesitatingly declared that both knives had been the property of Dr. Cronin. Flynn was placed upon the stand after the noon recess on the following day and told his story. [Illustration: FLYNN.] Mr. Conklin followed the detective, and the knives were handed to him by Judge Longenecker. He glanced at the larger one, which was medium sized and with a pearl handle, and unhesitatingly declared that he himself had given it to Dr. Cronin about a year before. "I ought to know it," said the witness, emphatically, "for I carried it myself for nearly two years." The smaller knife, a little bone handled affair, of rather a peculiar shape, was also identified by Mr. Conklin, as one he had found on the street about nine months before. He had carried it home and placed it on the mantle, where Dr. Cronin had found it and appropriated it to his own uses. Both of these knives the physician had been in the habit of carrying in the right-hand pocket of his vest. The cross-examination by Mr. Forrest was extremely light, the witness being simply asked whether the knives were not of a very ordinary pattern. The witness admitted that he would not swear they were the identical knives that Dr. Cronin had carried, because there were many like them in the market, but he was positive that they resembled them as closely as they could do even to the number of the blades. On re-examination by the State's Attorney, Conklin said that no such knives were found at his house after Dr. Cronin had disappeared. Prior to this, at the morning session of court, Barnard F. Carberry, a bright looking young fellow, gave evidence concerning a visit he had made to Matt Danahy's saloon on the evening of May 4th, which appeared to put an end to the last vestige of Martin Burke's alibi. Lawyer Forrest was then given another inning, and introduced a long string of witnesses to counteract the evidence which the State had submitted on rebuttal. [Illustration: THE KNIVES.] Owing to the fact that the discovery of the knives had taken the defense somewhat by surprise, it was permitted to sandwich its rebuttal testimony in between the speeches. On December 2d August Loewenstein, a brother of Jacob Loewenstein, Coughlin's former partner in the detective business, testified that he had sold a pair of pants to Coughlin on the 27th of April, one week before the disappearance of Dr. Cronin. The garment had to be altered, and while Coughlin was waiting for them, he took out of the pockets of the old ones some keys and two knives which he laid upon a chair. Witness particularly recollected these knives because he had asked Coughlin to give him one of them, and he was positive that the two knives which had been identified by Mr. Conklin were the same he had seen in Coughlin's possession. Jacob Loewenstein also swore, with emphasis, that he had seen Coughlin's knives on scores of occasions when he was traveling beats with him, and was more than positive that those which had been placed in evidence were the identical ones his partner had owned for a long period. One of them in particular he could tell by the way it was ground, from the color of the handle and the general appearance. The point, he said, showed it had been ground on the sandstone at the station, and, as a matter of fact, he had seen Coughlin grind it that way when he was standing by and talking to him. This evidence was not materially shaken on cross-examination. State's Attorney Longenecker opened his address on Friday, November 29th, and spoke for four hours. He resumed on Saturday, November 30th, and finally finished at three o'clock on the same day. Judge Wing then commenced his appeal for Daniel Coughlin, speaking two hours on Saturday, six hours on Monday, December 2d, and about one hour on Tuesday, December 3d. George Ingham followed on behalf of the State, speaking continuously through the day until five o'clock, when he closed. Daniel Donahoe, on behalf of O'Sullivan and Kunze, spoke from ten A. M. to five P. M. on Wednesday, December 4th. Mr. W. J. Hynes, who was Dr. Cronin's intimate friend during his lifetime, occupied the whole of Thursday, December 5th, and a portion of Friday, December 6th, with a royal tribute to the memory of the murdered patriot, and a grouping of the facts of the conspiracy. Mr. Foster, on behalf of Beggs, and Mr. Forrest, for the other defendants, followed in their turn. Luther Laflin Mills had been selected to make the closing address, but a sudden attack of illness, which confined him to his room, necessitated a change in the programme, and State's Attorney Longenecker, on Dec. 13, brought the speech-making portion of the trial to a close. [Illustration: J. M. LONGENECKER, STATE'S ATTORNEY.] CHAPTER XXIII. OPENING FOR THE STATE.--THE EVIDENCE REVIEWED--A MASTERLY ARGUMENT BY STATE'S ATTORNEY LONGENECKER--TRACING THE PLOT FROM ITS INCEPTION TO THE MURDER--AN APPEAL FOR JUSTICE--ARGUMENTS FOR THE DEFENSE--DONAHOE, WING, FOSTER AND FORREST MAKE THEIR FINAL PLEAS FOR THE PRISONERS, AND INGHAM, HYNES AND LONGENECKER CLOSE FOR THE STATE. State's Attorney Longenecker was on his feet the moment the witness had left the stand. It was apparent that the State was determined to push the remainder of the proceedings with all possible speed. The prisoners looked anxious; the vast audience expectant. "You may proceed," said Judge McConnell, and clearing his throat, the State's Attorney commenced a memorable address. He spoke as follows: "If the Court please, Gentlemen of the Jury, I want to talk to you about this case, about the evidence which you have been hearing from the witnesses. I shall not attempt to talk to any one except you twelve men, because you are now interested in the case and it is your duty to come to a correct conclusion. The responsibility rests upon you after we have done our work. I have no doubt that you twelve men are competent to render such a verdict in this case as will meet the demands of the law. I have no doubt that you are prepared on this evidence to render such a verdict as the evidence warrants you in rendering. Now, I say to you this, that I shall confine myself to the evidence in the case. My associates will attend to the arguments and make the speeches. I want now to express my feeling of gratitude to you for your patience during the hearing of the evidence. It is due to you, gentlemen; it is a sacrifice that you, I hope, will never be called upon to make again. To be taken from your homes and be shut up for weeks and months is no little sacrifice. You have had reason, perhaps, to complain of us; you have had reason to complain because of the slowness of the case; and yet, after all, we felt it our duty to do what we have done. We felt that we could not in any way shorten the proceedings and yet do justice to the case. I hope that none of you will harbor any feeling against any one in this case on account of delays. "Again, gentlemen, you are twelve men here listening from day to day to the evidence; this case has strung out from day to day and from week to week, until it has become a great case. It has become a noted case to you--a case that you will never forget. It has grown as the days have passed by. Very often jurors, courts and lawyers, when a case grows and there is evidence piling up, forget that it requires some evidence to reach a conclusion, more of it than if it was a small case. Do not be led into this error of determining what you shall do. The evidence of conspiracy is the same for a small offense as it is for a great offense. The evidence of conspiracy to obtain dollars and cents from you or me or any one else must be just as strong, although it only takes two hours to try the case, as if you are trying men for murder. What I am trying to have you understand is this: that because it has been so long and has grown so large, you must not think that it requires more evidence on that account. If the evidence convinces you of the guilt of these men, then it matters not whether there are five men or ten men on trial or only one man. The evidence necessary to convince you beyond a doubt of the guilt of the men on trial should be just as strong as if there were twenty men on trial. The law is always just. It is made to protect the innocent as well as punish the guilty. "After you have heard the arguments from counsel on both sides, having heard the evidence and instructions of the Court, you will go into your room and make up your verdict and bear in mind that the law itself is just; if the law compels you to inflict a penalty here that you do not like to inflict, remember that you are not to blame and the law is not to blame; it is the men who have violated the law. What I say to you in this case is from a feeling that we wish to get at the truth; what I say will be said with a view of getting at a truthful verdict and nothing else. I have no feeling against these men on trial personally. Why should I stand up here and ask you to convict Martin Burke, Daniel Coughlin, Patrick O'Sullivan, John F. Beggs and John Kunze unless I believe the evidence justified me in asking you to do it? If I should at this moment ask you twelve men to convict them upon anything else but the evidence, I would not be fit to fill the position that I now occupy. We do not desire that these men shall be 'guessed' guilty. We do not desire that they shall be convicted upon doubtful evidence. We do not desire that they shall be convicted upon anything except the law and the evidence in the case; but if you do believe that that law and that evidence satisfies your mind of their guilt, then we do demand at your hands that your verdict shall be in accordance with the law and the evidence, and nothing short of a truthful verdict under the law and the evidence will meet the demands of this case, whether the verdict be to acquit the defendants or whether it be to convict the defendants; with that verdict the people represented by myself and my associates must be content." REVIEWING THE EVIDENCE. "Now, gentlemen, as I said, we want to talk about the evidence in the case. I will do it as hastily as possible, bearing in mind at the same time that it is necessary that it be presented to you in such a way as you will see the chain that has been forged from day to day in this case, and so that you may be enabled from this evidence to come to a correct conclusion. I shall not attempt to go over all the evidence, that is all the details, because I apprehend that you men have watched this evidence as closely as I have; but what I intend to say to you regarding the evidence will be such as I think should be mentioned to enable you to come to a correct conclusion, and I will leave pieces of evidence here and there to be remembered by yourselves. "Again, gentlemen, if I should misstate this evidence, I hope that the attorneys for the defense will call my attention to it; and I hope it will not be charged that I am trying to take any unfair advantage of these men who are upon trial for their lives. As I said to you in my opening of this case, we contend that the murder of Patrick Henry Cronin was brought about by a conspiracy. We claim that it was acted upon and executed. And that these men on trial are parties to the conspiracy, together with others who are not on trial. That is our position. We further claim that it was a cold-blooded conspiracy; a conspiracy that is without parallel, coldly and deliberately planned; a conspiracy that, as we understand it from the evidence, would chill the blood in the warmest heart; a conspiracy that is most terrible in its effects. If such a conspiracy as this has existed, as we know it has existed, and if the murder has been the result of such a conspiracy as this, then it follows that it must have been planned for weeks and weeks before its execution; and if that be true, then, gentlemen, you must notice the line of evidence in the case in order to come to a correct conclusion. A conspiracy always originates somewhere; one man can not conspire, two men may conspire; oftener three men conspire, and it is easier to commit a crime where two men are engaged in working it out in different ways, engaged in bringing about in different ways the same results, than where the same object is aimed to be accomplished by one man. Now, it is not necessary, as the Court will instruct you, that we prove that the parties got together and talked the matter over and arranged it; that is not necessary; the law does not require that; we don't need to prove that they ever came together. If that was so it would be very seldom that a prosecutor could obtain a conviction in a conspiracy case. Remember this is a charge of murder, brought about by a conspiracy, and we claim that this evidence shows conclusively that a conspiracy was concocted by these defendants on trial. Let us see where we go to start in. Where do we learn of this conspiracy first?" CAMP 20'S MYSTERIOUS MEETINGS. "You remember that there is a Camp 20 in this city. It is proven here that the Clan-na-Gael organization has a camp called Camp 20, also named Columbia Club; that they met in North Side Turner Hall, and that before the date of which I now intend to speak there had been a division in this organization, and that the two factions had united, after which the numbers had been changed, so that this Camp 96 had become Camp 20. I will also ask you to remember that before this reunion of these two organizations, or these two factions of the organization, a trial committee was appointed to try the ex-executive body of this organization; that this ex-executive was to be tried by a committee to be selected at a convention that met in this city last year in the month of June. You will remember that Dr. P. H. Cronin was one of the members appointed on that trial committee, and that after that trial committee had acted, the two factions were united and the camps were renumbered. I speak of that, and I want you to bear it in mind, that Dr. Cronin was on that committee, and that it was shown that there were three men called trianglers who were being tried by the committee of which Dr. Cronin was a member. Now we will stop there, and go to this Camp 20, on the 8th day of February. You go into that camp. We call the secretary here, John F. O'Connor, and he testifies that on that occasion, the night of the 8th of February, one Andrew Foy made a speech. O'Connor can not remember what Foy said, but he tells you that there were resolutions passed, and that he does recollect that Thomas F. O'Connor made a speech there. He tells you that Thomas F. O'Connor had charged that a certain report of the trial committee, this trial committee to which I have already called your attention, and of which Dr. Cronin was a member, was read in another camp. Secretary O'Connor tells you that Thomas F. O'Connor said he had heard the report of that trial committee read. That is about all that this man could remember, except that some one jumped up and demanded to know how it was that some camps had got the reports of this trial committee before others. He did not pretend to know what Foy had said in his speech, but he did recollect that some resolution was passed in regard to the matter. "We next called Andrew J. Foy. Andrew J. Foy testifies here that he did make a speech; that he did say that he understood there were parties getting into the camp who were other Le Carons; that there were other Le Carons in this country; that there were spies in this country and in the organization. He admits that in his testimony, and he further said that they ought to be more careful in admitting members into the organization and not to admit parties of this kind into the organization. Then it was that Thomas F. O'Connor made his speech and said they had better look after the ex-executive if they wanted to find out the traitors who had been squandering the funds of the order and sending honest, patriotic men to English prisons. And thereupon you are told four or five men jumped to their feet and a motion or suggestion was made to have a secret committee appointed. What for? [State's Attorney Longenecker paused when he asked this question and for a moment gazed silently and earnestly into the jurors' faces.] What for?" he repeated. "Not to get a report of the trial committee, not to find out what it was that was contained in this report, but to see why this report was made in this other camp and who it was had made it. We called Michael J. Kelly, another member of that organization, a junior guardian in Camp 20, and what does he say? You must remember that these three witnesses were not what might be called willing witnesses. These three witnesses that were first called here upon the stand were unwilling witnesses for the people; but we called them. We called Michael Kelly to the stand, and he remembers that a speech was made by Foy, and he remembered that Thomas F. O'Connor made a speech, and that Le Caron's name perhaps was mentioned, but he does not remember much about it. He does tell you, however, that Thomas F. O'Connor stated that he had heard Dr. Cronin read that report in his, Dr. Cronin's, camp. That is about all we got out of him. We then called to the stand Anthony J. Ford, who was very fair in the witness stand, and he goes on and tells you that Andrew Foy made a speech, but he does not remember very much about Foy's speech. He also remembers that Thomas F. O'Connor made a speech in reply to that, and he tells you here in reference to that matter. We called Stephen Colleran here, a friend of Burke's, and he remembered and tells you that he heard some remarks made by Andrew Foy, and he also heard the speech made by Thomas O'Connor, and he recollects that three or four talked of the appointment of a committee to investigate the matter alluded to in O'Connor's speech, but whether it was a secret committee or not he does not remember." PURPOSE OF THE SECRET COMMITTEE. "You will bear that in mind in regard to Colleran, because I shall not go into details with his evidence on this particular point, as he touches another line of evidence in the case. Then Denis O'Connor was called here, who says that he has belonged to the order for fifteen or sixteen years, and he testifies that it was charged in Camp 20, at that meeting to which I have referred, that Dr. Cronin had read a report of the trial committee; he says Foy had made a speech, that Captain O'Connor had replied to him in another speech, and that he understood that a committee was appointed. What for?" again exclaimed the State's Attorney, with considerable emphasis. "To go up to visit Dr. Cronin's camp, he says, for the purpose of ascertaining why he read this report in his, Dr. Cronin's, camp. That we find in the record, gentlemen, there is no dispute on that point. You will remember that these men swear to that fact, men who were not willing witnesses for the prosecution; they swear that they understood it was to investigate Dr. Cronin and his camp as to why he in that camp had read a report of that committee before which the charges had been tried before the ex-executive body. That is from the mouth of Denis O'Connor. But he tells you that he did not understand it to be a secret committee, but we called other witnesses on this same point." Mr. Foster at this point broke in with an interruption. He called the State's Attorney's attention to the fact that the record will show that Denis O'Connor had not said that the committee had been appointed to investigate why the report had been read, but to find out if a minority report had been read there, and, if so, what it was. State's Attorney Longenecker asserted that he was correct in his statement of the evidence. Mr. Foster, no doubt, on cross-examination had made a speech to Denis O'Connor, and asked him if that was not so, and Denis said yes; but he had stated directly the testimony of the witness on direct examination. "After Denis O'Connor testified," continued State's Attorney Longenecker, "we called to the stand Henry Owen O'Connor. He testifies that he was there, and heard a discussion between Captain O'Connor and Foy, and he tells you that there was something said about a committee, and that he offered an amendment thereto. We have the resolution read here before you by the secretary. Henry Owen O'Connor says, however, that he left soon after, and he did not know that a committee had been appointed until afterward. I shall speak of the evidence of this witness in relation to another matter, and to other meetings, later on. I shall now read to you the evidence of the next witness whom we called in the case, Thomas F. O'Connor." The State's Attorney then read the evidence of Thomas F. O'Connor, as already published, relating to a speech made by Andrew Foy in Camp 20 on the night of February 6, and his reply thereto, in which he had made the now famous assertion that he had heard the report of the Buffalo trial committee, and that he knew that the ex-executive had squandered the funds of the organization and sent its members to prison, and finally Coughlin's motion to appoint a secret committee to investigate the reading of the report in Cronin's camp. THE MEETING OF FEB. 8. The State's Attorney, resuming, said: "The next man we called to the stand was John Collins. He, too, tells you that he remembers Foy's speech and O'Connor's speech, and that a secret committee was ordered appointed. On that point, gentlemen, we have ten witnesses, all of whom have testified in regard to the call for the appointment of a secret committee on the night of Feb. 8. That was the night when this conspiracy began. Remember that Foy had made his speech claiming that there were spies in the order, and charging that there were other Le Carons in the country. Following that O'Connor had made his speech on the other side, the two factions had met. Thomas O'Connor had stated that the ex-executive body had squandered the funds, that they had put patriotic men behind prison bars, and that the camp had better give their attention to the executive body than to any statements regarding spies or Le Carons in the country. Denis O'Connor, Kelly, Ford and others all agree in telling you that it was in Dr. Cronin's camp, or in reference to Dr. Cronin's camp, that these remarks had been made." The State's Attorney then called the attention of the jurors to the resolution passed on that occasion, and which had been read by the secretary from the witness-stand. He also called attention to the amendment proposed by Henry F. O'Connor to that resolution. The motion called for an imperative demand for action by the district officer, and the amendment was that the district officer's attention be called to it and asking for instructions. The State's Attorney, continuing, said, he would wish to direct the attention of the jury to the evidence bearing upon the utterances of Patrick O'Sullivan, a member of the Lake View camp. They had it on the testimony of A. J. Ford that Patrick O'Sullivan had charged that in Lake View they were taking in deputies. He had charged that they had taken in men who belonged to what was called the Union Order of Deputies, and in statements made that night in Camp 20 to the same effect. Mr. Ford and others had given Patrick O'Sullivan as authority on that subject. It was in evidence here that Dr. Cronin had organized a camp in Lake View, to which this man, O'Sullivan, also belonged, and in the organization of which he had taken part; there was no evidence here that any other camp was organized in Lake View except the Washington Literary Society, and this was the camp, Cronin's camp, into which Patrick O'Sullivan had charged that members of the United Order of Deputies were being admitted. It was upon this statement of O'Sullivan's that Ford's speech was founded, and that he made this statement that he feared the organization would be broken up. Mr. Longenecker then alluded to and read the resolution passed on this subject. "Now," continued the State's Attorney, "Captain O'Connor has taken the stand here--and the defense did not dare to cross-examine Captain O'Connor upon that proposition--and swore that the motion to appoint a secret committee was made by Daniel Coughlin. The defense did not dare to put a witness upon the stand to swear that that motion was made by any other person than Daniel Coughlin, and that statement stands here uncontradicted. He swears that Daniel Coughlin arose and moved that a secret committee be appointed. Now, in all organizations where a committee is moved, the mover is made chairman of the committee. If any of you ever belonged to an organization, and if you ever do belong to an organization, you will know that when a motion is made for the appointment of a committee, if the man in the chair understands parliamentary rules, he makes the mover for a committee chairman of the committee. Bear that in mind. In this case Captain O'Connor says that Dan Coughlin moved that this secret committee be appointed and that Thomas Murphy, who did not dare take the stand, seconded that motion. Thomas Murphy, you will remember, gentlemen, is the treasurer of the organization. Daniel Coughlin moved, and it was seconded, that a committee of two or three be appointed by the senior guardian to investigate this statement of Captain F. O'Connor. Why was this investigating committee appointed? Denis O'Connor and others tell you that it was known at the time that Dr. Cronin was the man who had read the report of that trial committee. They all knew that Cronin had acted as a member of that committee, they knew he had a separate report, the minority report; that he had condemned this executive body; that he had charged the funds of the organization had been squandered; then, for what purpose, I ask again, was the appointment of this committee proposed?" The State's Attorney again impressed upon the jury the fact that Daniel Coughlin had for years been a personal enemy of Dr. Cronin, the man whom it was proposed to investigate, and that this same Coughlin, who so hated Cronin, was the man who had called for the appointment of a secret committee to find out just what it was admitted they all knew at the time. It had been claimed by counsel for the defense, and it no doubt would be claimed that this committee was not appointed to try Dr. Cronin. THE MURDER OF DR. CRONIN. "Of course they were not appointed to try him, gentlemen," exclaimed Mr. Longenecker, vehemently, "and they never did try him, for they never gave him a chance for his life. We don't contend they even went through the formality of a trial, but that this committee was appointed; that it acted; and that the result of its action was the removal of Dr. Cronin, we have no doubt. Now gentlemen," continued the State's Attorney, "the learned counsel who has more exceptions, and 'I object,' and 'wait a minute' in the record than he has evidence of the innocence of his clients, said that I was very tenacious about dates. I am. He called your attention to the fact that I had stated in my opening speech that dates would cut a figure in this case. They will. This was on the 8th day of February that this committee was ordered, and this, mark you, on the motion of a man who was an enemy of Dr. Cronin. The records, as shown by Patrick Henry O'Connor, show that Martin Burke was there, Patrick Cooney was there, John F. Beggs was there, and all these defendants on trial except P. O'Sullivan and Kunze. The record shows that. And now, before I forget it, remember, because I don't want to neglect defendant Kunze in this case, remember that if a conspiracy has been organized to do a certain thing--if there is a conspiracy to do a certain crime--whoever shall have joined that conspiracy has become a party to it, and they are bound by the acts committed prior to their joining the conspiracy and are involved in it as much going in the last hour as if they went in the first hour." HISTORY OF THE CONSPIRACY. "Now on this occasion, on the 8th day of February, we have Martin Burke, Daniel Coughlin, John F. Beggs, all present at this meeting, and on this night also Martin Burke was appointed a committee of one, as shown by the secretary's books, to pass upon the qualifications of Danahy's bartender (who swears to an alibi for Burke) for admission into the order. They were getting in their friends then. This was on the 8th of February. On the 16th of February John F. Beggs, senior guardian of this camp, wrote a letter to Spelman, the district officer, and on the 17th of February Spelman, the district officer, answers that letter, in which he says he knows of no authority under the constitution that authorizes him to inflict a penalty on a member who has committed the offense referred to by Beggs. Recollect, gentlemen, they talk about penalties; that he knows nothing in the constitution by which he is authorized to inflict a penalty. From these letters it will be seen that Mr. Senior Guardian Beggs had directed Spelman's attention to Dr. Cronin's camp, showing that he knew that it was in Cronin's camp that this minority report had been read, and to 'investigate' which the secret committee had been proposed by Coughlin. On the 18th of February John F. Beggs writes (and I will read you the letter) that he does not know of any 'written' law of the organization which authorizes the infliction of a penalty. On the 19th day of February Mr. Simonds appears and rents a flat and furniture is bought, and on the 20th the carpet is nailed down in the room on Clark street. 'Dates will cut a figure in this case.' This was all done in the month of February. On the night of the 22d of February this man (Coughlin), who moved to appoint that secret committee, already beginning his work as chairman of the committee, tells Henry Owen O'Connor that they have another Le Caron, and he says he has got it from good authority that it was Dr. Cronin who was the spy among them, and Mr. O'Connor would not hear any more and left him." At this point Mr. Longenecker's attention was called by associate counsel for the defense to the fact that the words of Coughlin alluded to occurred on March 1 and not on February 22, and he made the necessary correction. THE BEGGS-SPELMAN LETTERS. "Now," continued Mr. Longenecker, "let us see whether there is anything else shown by these letters that passed between Beggs and Spelman. In the first place let us ask ourselves what was there to write about to Spelman if the object of the whole 'investigation' arising out of Thomas O'Connor's speech was to find out 'why' Cronin had read that minority report. There was no need to make any fuss about that. But suppose they wanted to create the belief that there was in the organization a man who was a spy or traitor, and that they wanted an excuse for killing him--that would be a very different matter." The State's Attorney then proceeded to read to the jury the first letter written by Beggs to Spelman, dated Feb. 16. In this letter Beggs says: "It is charged that the senior guardian of Columbus Camp, at a recent meeting, to the assembled brothers read the proceedings of the trial of the executive at Buffalo." Mr. Longenecker compared this passage of Beggs' letter with the motion of Henry Owen O'Connor, carried by Camp 20, directing the senior guardian to notify the district officer "of the report going around regarding reports of the trial committee being read in one of the camps of this city." "That motion was carried by the camp," said Mr. Longenecker, "but it seems that Mr. Beggs had found out what camp that report had been read in and all about it before he wrote as directed to Mr. Spelman." Having alluded passingly to the passage in Beggs' letter protesting against the initiation of members into camps before their names were presented to Camp 20 and the central officers for ratification, which he said was in line with O'Sullivan's charge that U. O. D. men were being admitted to Cronin's camp, Mr. Longenecker took up Spelman's reply to this letter of Beggs. In this letter, which was dated Feb. 17, Spelman asked Beggs to refer him to that section of the law by which he was empowered to inflict a penalty on a senior guardian for disclosing the proceedings of a trial committee. In this letter also Mr. Beggs refers to "certain men who want to lead in Irish affairs" as "scamps," and says he "is disgusted with their conduct." The reply of Beggs to this letter, dated February 18, was then read. In this Beggs says he knows of no "written law" under which a penalty could be inflicted for the offense alluded to in his first letter. "No man in his right senses," he declared, "would deny that such conduct was prejudicial to the good of the order." Mr. Beggs in this letter also deplores the "opening of the old sore," and says that as the majority of the members believed "the parties charged to be innocent," created ill feeling and blasted the hopes of the friends of Irish unity. Beggs also said he would not notice the matter alluded to, as he thought it better not to notice such matters, only he was ordered to do so by the vote of the camp. "But I am only one man," said Beggs, "but the men who are in power will in time realize the motives of those who are continually breeding disorder in the ranks. I am very much discouraged at the present outlook, but hope no trouble will result in the meantime." Mr. Longenecker asked significantly what Beggs was talking about in this latter portion of his letter. A comparison of his utterances with the evidence of Thomas F. and Henry Owen O'Connor showed that Beggs was referring to Cronin, and to the report which he had read in his own camp, charging the ex-executives with being thieves and robbers and with putting Irishmen behind English prison bars. What did Spelman mean when he said he had hoped for a reunion and for better results? To whom did Beggs refer when he spoke of "these men who are continually breeding disorder in the ranks?" It was evident that they were talking about Cronin. "On the 22d of February," continued the State's Attorney, "when Patrick McGarry made the same charge that this ex-executive was composed of thieves and robbers, at the reunion meeting John F. Beggs stood up and said he would not submit to any such charges being made in his camp, and he slapped his breast and thanked God that he was a friend of Alexander Sullivan's. "On the 19th of February, Throckmorton said the man named Simonds came there and inquired and rented the flat at 117 Clark street. Now we have a meeting on February 22d. You recollect what Patrick McGarry stated at that meeting, and, for the purpose of showing you just what he did say, I would like to read from the record, but, after glancing through the papers on the table, I fear I have neglected to bring it from my office." Judge Longenecker had now spoken for over four hours, and a recess was ordered until ten o'clock on the following morning (November 30), and at that hour the State's Attorney resumed his speech, as follows: "If the Court please, and Gentlemen, Mr. Foster was right in regard to my statement about Spelman. It had reference to the circular letter which he said was not addressed originally to Beggs, and that evidence had nothing to do with this case. "On yesterday evening I wanted to call your attention to what was said and done on the meeting of the 22d of February--this reunion. You remember that Mr. Beggs spoke of it in his letter to Spelman; not to forget their reunion. At that meeting speeches were made by different parties, and among them Patrick McGarry made a speech, and John F. Beggs, the senior guardian of Camp 20, answered that speech. You may not remember just what was said on that occasion. I will now read just what Patrick McGarry said about it." Judge Longenecker proceeded to read from a typewritten manuscript the testimony of Patrick McGarry as to what occurred at the meeting of Camp 20 on Feb. 22. "'Four gentlemen had spoken,' Mr. McGarry testified, and referred to the unity that ought to exist in the organization. It was about the time that Le Caron had testified before the Parnell commission in England and the other gentlemen had referred to spies getting into the organization. On the 8th day of February, on the occasion of moving the appointment of the committee, Foy talked about spies in the organization. Mr. McGarry spoke of how Irishmen coming to this country and becoming American citizens ought to educate their children. That was good talk. How they should educate them first in the principles of American institutions; that was good. How they should educate them also to have love for their mothers and fathers and forefathers' homes; that there was nothing in the Irish race and nothing in Irish history that Irishmen should be ashamed of in America; that is true." The State's Attorney proceeded to recite the testimony of McGarry, as before published, in regard to the speech that he had made at this celebrated reunion meeting at Camp 20. "'I said I agreed in my remarks with what all three gentlemen had said. I said it was all very well to talk of unity, and I wanted to see unity among Irish people; that there could not be unity while the members of this organization would meet on dark streets and back alleys to villify and abuse a man who had the courage to stand up and attack the treachery and robbery of the triangle. I said that I was educating children, and as long as God allowed me to be over them, I would educate them first in American principles, and I also wanted to educate them that, if they got an opportunity to strike a blow for Ireland's freedom, they would do so. I told them that I had been investigating Le Caron's record, and I said there were men in this organization that were worse than Le Caron. I said that the man who gave Le Caron his credentials to go into the convention was a greater scoundrel than ever Le Caron could pretend to be. I said that I had found out that Le Caron's camp did not exist for two years, and they did not have a meeting, and the junior guardian, as given in the directory down in Braidwood, had been for a year at Spring Valley, and I said that they must have known that such a camp could not exist only on paper.'" Judge Longenecker went on to review the testimony of McGarry in reference to this famous meeting, and next called the attention of the jury to the conduct of John F. Beggs, the senior guardian of Camp 20, on that occasion. VIOLATIONS OF CAMP RULES. "'Now remember,' he said, 'that Alexander Sullivan's name had not been mentioned; the triangle had not been mentioned, and John F. Beggs said that visiting members were coming in there and violating the hospitality of the camp, and that would have to be stopped--that it was cowardly,' and, says McGarry: 'I wanted to interrupt him, but the presiding officer and chairman at that time would not let me interrupt him.' When he used the word coward, he said that they came in there talking about Alexander Sullivan, and it was cowardly, and he said that they talked about a man behind his back; 'why don't they say it to his face?' He said that Alexander Sullivan had strong friends in that camp, and he slapped his breast and said that he 'was one of them.' That was Beggs' speech on the 22d of February--this same senior guardian, who was called upon to appoint a secret committee to investigate why Dr. Cronin had read a minority report in his camp charging Alexander Sullivan and the rest of the triangle with squandering the funds. On this occasion it was admitted that Alexander Sullivan was not a member of the organization, but he was and had been a member of the executive body--a member of the triangle--and Beggs having mentioned his name in his speech, McGarry had charged this corruption, and then it was that this man Beggs said he would not submit to it, and that it was cowardly for them to talk about it. He said that Alexander Sullivan had strong friends in that camp, and he slapped his breast and said: 'I am one of them,' 'I wanted to get the floor to reply to him,' said McGarry; 'I said the gentleman had said it was cowardly, and I wanted him to understand that I was no coward; that I would tell Alexander Sullivan either there or on any other ground what my opinion of him was, and that every man who knew me knew what Pat was. I said, Why did you mention Alexander Sullivan's name? I have not mentioned it; I have not heard it mentioned here until the senior guardian of this camp mentioned it. I have said, and I repeat, that the man who gave Le Caron his credentials is a greater scoundrel than Le Caron could ever pretend to be. I said I did not mention his name until it was brought out, and then John F. Beggs said that Alexander Sullivan had strong friends in the camp, and he was one of them, and that he was for union and unity among Irish people if it took war to bring it about.' "Now this occurred on the 22d of February. The senior guardian was then defending the triangle. Dr. Cronin had been charging the triangle with misappropriation of the funds--and what else? He had been charging them with worse than murder. He had been charging that they not only robbed the treasury, but that they had sent innocent men to English prisons; that they had sent men behind the bars in order to protect their own thievery. He had charged upon this triangle, as Thomas O'Connor stated in his speech, in his minority report which he had read to his camp, the scoundrelism of these men; and here we find this senior guardian"--and the State's Attorney turned round and pointed to Beggs--"on the 22d of February defending them and saying that they had friends and he was glad to say that he was one of them. Now, gentlemen, remember that this was on the 22d day of February, two days after the carpet had been nailed down in the flat at 117 Clark street; five days after the notorious letter that the senior guardian had written Spelman to find out something that he knew all about--writing to this district member to investigate a matter that he knew all about." THE CONNECTION WITH THE MURDER. "What else? We find that on the following meeting on the 1st of March--it is in evidence here by Henry Owen O'Connor--that as he was leaving the hall, Daniel Coughlin, the chairman of the committee, followed him into the ante room, and said to Henry Owen O'Connor, 'there are other Le Carons here among us.' He knew how Henry Owen O'Connor's heart went out to Ireland. He knew how patriotism burned in his heart; he knew that Henry Owen O'Connor was loyal to his people. He thought by prejudicing him in that direction he would surround their action with another friend. What does he do? He says 'it is rumored around that there is another Le Caron, and we have got it pretty straight that it is Dr. Cronin.' This was on the 1st day of March, on Friday night. "Singular, is it not? Here on the 8th day of February, the date on which the motion was made for that committee--on the 16th of February the senior guardian writing about it and on the 17th writing about it; on the 19th renting the flat; on the 20th nailing the carpet down, and on the 22d defending the triangle, and on the 1st of March this man, who is on trial now for his life, says that Dr. Cronin is a spy. Why was this done? Why should he tell that he was a spy? Following along on the same line it was uttered on February 8 that there were spies in the camp; on the 22d they talked about spies, and now it was whispered into the ears of Henry Owen O'Connor that this man, Cronin, was a spy. They knew how the Irish people despised a man who was pointed out as a spy, therefore, he began his work of prejudicing the minds of those Irishmen who were in earnest in reference to the freedom of Ireland, and tells O'Connor that Cronin was a spy, but Henry Owen O'Connor turned on his heel and would not have it and said: 'I don't believe it,' and walked away. Now, what do we find? We find this: That a conspiracy began in Camp 20 on the 8th of February. Following that, as I stated, were the remarks made by this man Coughlin, and remarks by Beggs. Now, we go on to another meeting in this camp. Was that committee appointed? I stated on yesterday that we did not contend that it was a trial committee. We never have contended that it was wanted for the purpose of trying Dr. Cronin or any one else; no such statement has been made, but that there was a request for a secret committee, is undisputed. "Now was it appointed? We find that either on the 3d of May or on the 10th--that does not matter--one of the witnesses, I think Henry Owen O'Connor, states that it was on the 3d of May, soon after he came home from the East, there was a meeting. On cross-examination by Mr. Foster, his attention was called to the matter that he was investigating as a committee-man in regard to auditing the books, and by that he thinks probably it might have been the 10th--the following meeting. That does not matter; but Nolan, the other secretary, the one who keeps the names and numbers of the different members and their accounts--the financial secretary--states that it was on the night of the 3d. Here are two undisputed witnesses uncontradicted by any man in Camp 20; not a man that dare lift up his hand to God and say that these men have sworn falsely. Here they come into court and make a statement that is undisputed. Was the committee appointed? "On the night of the 3d or the 10th--I do not care which night it was--some one in the crowd asked the senior guardian if the secret or private committee had reported. The senior guardian, with his hand uplifted, said: 'That committee reports to me alone.' That was John F. Beggs! 'Has that committee reported?' 'That committee reports to the senior guardian alone.' THE PLOT TO MURDER CRONIN. "Had he reference to the trial committee? Why, no. They contended they had been urging for that committee's report; would he have made such a remark as that if it had reference to the trial committee that tried the triangle? No, gentlemen, it had reference to this secret committee that had been appointed by John F. Beggs; and to show you that he had appointed it, on the 29th day of April, over on the South Side of this city, as is testified to by his friend Spelman, the district officer--on the 29th day of April what did he say? He said, 'That matter has all been amicably settled.' How settled? At the hour he spoke the cottage had been rented; at the hour he spoke the arrangements had been made; at the hour he spoke the sentence had been fixed; at the hour he spoke it had been 'amicably' settled--that was on the 29th day of April. Is there anything in the camp that shows it was amicably settled? Has there been a man to come here to say they visited Dr. Cronin's camp to investigate why he read this report! Has there been a man that dare come to the front and say that any investigation had been made--that anything had been done? No. Then, why was it that this man, Beggs, said that it had been amicably settled? Because the committee had agreed that certain things had to be done, and that they would be done, and therefore there was no occasion for any further investigation. That is why he told Spelman on the 29th of April that this matter had been amicably settled. It had been. "Following that, when he says, 'That committee reports to me alone,' it is no wonder he made that remark, knowing in his heart what had been done; knowing the results that were to follow, no wonder he said 'That committee reports to the senior guardian alone.' "Now, if he made that remark--that it was to report to him alone--where is the man that will assert that there was no committee appointed? We do not contend that there was a committee appointed as provided by the constitution in a legitimate way in their order. There is no such contention here; but that they assumed to appoint a committee; that they did appoint a committee, and that that committee was a committee of three. We contend that that was done for the purpose of covering up the deeds of these men that followed the appointment of the committee. You remember. There is nothing said about the appointing the committee to try Dr. Cronin--nothing is said about the appointing the committee to do anything except to find out how it was that this was done. If it had been intended to do anything in an honorable way--in a way that they must, to be honorable to themselves and the society, and appointed that committee as Denis O'Connor said, to go up and find out about the matter and report back--then it might be considered as of nothing. But they didn't do it. Tell me that it was 'amicably settled!' What had they done in the camp? What report had been made? What steps had been taken to investigate the matter? No one knows except the senior guardian and his committee just what was said or done." THE LAW OF CONSPIRACY. "Now, gentlemen, I shall not bother you by reading much law at this time. As I stated, I want to go over the evidence, but at this point I want to call your attention, before entering upon the other evidence, to the Spies case. I will only read from the syllabus, and leave the case for others who may wish to refer to it, either on the side of the people or on the side of the defense. I want to call your attention to the law of conspiracy as laid down in that case." [Here Judge Longenecker read a long extract bearing on the point that where two or more persons combine to do an illegal act, they are all guilty, whether they are all present at the consummation of the crime or not.] He then proceeded: "That is all I desire to read you upon the law of conspiracy. We have talked about Camp 20 and actions of this order, and we now come up to another part of the case. You will remember that Throckmorton, of the real estate agency of Marshall & Knight, on Clark Street, told you that a man by the name of Simonds appeared there on the 18th of March and inquired in reference to a flat. He wanted to rent two rooms on the upper floor of 117 Clark street. The agent told him they had two rooms on the floor below, and he said he didn't want them--that he preferred to have those on the upper floor, fronting on Clark street. You will remember that he stated that they could not rent two rooms in that flat and he would have to rent the entire flat, and the man said he would see Mr. Marshall concerning it. Next day, the 19th, the man appeared again at the office, and Throckmorton saw Mr. Marshall, who would not rent two rooms and said he would have to take the entire flat. The fellow said all right, and paid them $40 for the top flat, which, as you will remember, was in the neighborhood of Dr. Cronin's office, just opposite the Chicago Opera House building. You will further remember that Throckmorton testified that the man pulled the money out of his pocket in a careless way and paid $40. I don't know whether he understood why he wanted the front rooms at that time, but he paid a month's rent and signed a lease. Mr. Marshall corroborates that statement." THE PURCHASE OF THE FURNITURE. "On the same day this man, J. B. Simonds, appeared at Revell's store. Now, it does not matter whether we have shown that he was a member of Camp 20 or any thing about it. It does not matter whether we know who he is, but it is part of the means used in this case, and for that reason it was admitted in evidence. He said to Hatfield, the salesman, that he wanted some of the cheapest furniture he could get. He was taken to the department where the cheapest furniture is kept. He was quick and firm in his selections. When he was shown a cheap bedstead he said, 'That is all right; I will take that.' When he was showed cheap chairs, he said, 'I will take them.' When Hatfield showed him other pieces of furniture, he said promptly, 'I will take them.' Then he said he wanted a cheap trunk, the largest in the store. They went to the trunk department and they picked out a packing trunk of the largest size. He said he wanted a common valise and a strap for the trunk. These articles were all produced and he went away. That must have been before the signing of the lease for the flat, because he comes back the next day and tells them to deliver the goods. He picked out the commonest furniture, stating that it was only for temporary use. The next day he went back and paid for the furniture and it was moved to 176 Clark street. "Now, gentlemen, have you any doubt about that furniture going to that number? None of you can have a doubt on that question. When he went back to Revell's he said he wanted a larger sized strap; that the strap he got was too small, too light, and Mr. Hatfield said he would get him a larger strap, which he did and charged him 50 cents for it. Mr. Allen, who moved the furniture, said he took a bed; a bureau, a washstand, a mattress, a bowl, and pitcher, the trunk (the valise and strap were inside the trunk) and all the articles that this man Simonds had purchased, to 117 South Clark street. The shipping clerk Neahr, who packed the goods testified that the goods taken over there were the same as those bought by Simonds. This was followed by the evidence of McHale, the carpet layer, who said he laid the carpet in the front room of 117 Clark street; that Simonds appeared there and was very easy about the matter, not caring just how the carpet was laid, and he had the carpet laid in the front room. It is not for us to say what the objecting was in renting the flat at 117 Clark street; it is true that that number was selected; it is true that this furniture was purchased; it is true that the trunk was purchased and went with this furniture. Now we find that the only living person identified as occupying the room, in which this furniture was placed and the carpet laid, is the man Kunze. He was seen there with another man taller than himself. They were seen there frequently during the time the flat was occupied by this man Simonds, and Kunze was the man who was identified as being in that flat at the time. That is testified to by James, testified here in a manner that must convince you that he was telling the truth, because, in his evidence, he was not over-anxious about anything else. When the learned counsel for the defense asked him if he had ever been mistaken about men he had seen on the street, James said he might have been, that such a thing could happen, but he was not mistaken as to Kunze being the man who was in the flat. That evidence was before you, and that is the first time Kunze appears in this case, with the exception, perhaps, of his trip with Coughlin down to Peoria, which was in relation to another matter, and was only shown for the purpose of letting the jury know the intimacy that existed between Coughlin, the chairman of the committee and this man who was seen in the flat. He is just the kind of character, just the kind of man that Daniel Coughlin would have selected to occupy that room. "This flat is occupied. We have shown that the furniture was moved in there, that the trunk was moved in, that the valise and all the articles purchased at Revell's were moved into that flat, and stayed there until the night of the 20th. You will remember that Collector Goldman, who collects the rents for this real estate firm, went to collect the rent for the flats on the morning of the 20th of March. He didn't find any one in, but he peeped through the letter hole and saw the carpet and furniture still there and went away. But when he returned the next morning, the 21st of March, the flat was vacant. And if you remember the other evidence, you will find that they moved in the evening. Now, why was that flat rented? Why was this furniture purchased? Is there any explanation on earth except that it was purchased and moved in for the very purpose for which it was used thereafter? Why they selected that flat at 117 South Clark street is not for us to answer. Why they should have moved the furniture in there first is problematic, except it was for the purpose of losing the identity and stopping the tracing of the property from where it was first purchased. That might have been the object. It is not necessary we should account for the reason of their having moved this furniture into that flat, but it is one piece of evidence in this case that follows along the line of the conspiracy. THE MEETINGS IN CAMP 20. "You will remember that on the 8th there was a meeting. On the 15th they had another meeting in Camp 20, and after that meeting I have no doubt--and I have a right to talk in this way; it is only my opinion; it is an inference drawn from the evidence--after that meeting, I have no doubt that Dan Coughlin, the chairman of that committee, sat down and talked to John F. Beggs and considered that they had better notify the district member; that they had better fix up something to cover up matters in case anything came out afterward in reference to the affair. So that on the 16th, the day after their meeting up here--because they meet every Friday night--Dan Coughlin and John F. Beggs and other committeemen talked the matter over, and they decided they had better write to the district officer, Mr. Spelman, and tell him they wanted to find out something about Dr. Cronin's camp, for when Beggs writes his letter, he gives the number of the Columbia Club, and says the report was read in that camp. Well, they think they had better write to this district officer, and ask him to tell them something about what they shall do, and inquire of him about a matter they knew all about. You remember how the answer of Mr. Spelman came back, that he knew nothing in the constitution that gave him power to inflict a penalty. They had already, then, passed upon this man. This committee had already set their heads together and concluded it was necessary to inflict a penalty, and that is the reason why this Peoria man wrote that he knew nothing in the constitution that required him, or that gave him power to inflict a penalty on the senior guardian for having read the report of the trial committee in his camp. This was not written in all seriousness; it was written as a covering for what had happened in Camp 20. RENTING THE CARLSON COTTAGE. "This was on the 16th. On the 17th comes back this letter from Spelman. On the 18th Beggs writes this other letter, in which he says the time is coming when the men who are creating disturbances in the Irish organization will find there is a day of punishment. He had it on his mind he had been conferring with this committee. On the 18th Mr. Simonds was talking of renting the flat, and when Beggs wrote this letter in reply to Spelman, stating that the time is coming when those men who are creating this disturbance would learn there is a day of punishment, then it was they began active operations. On the 19th the furniture was purchased and placed in the flat, so there is no other theory on earth than that it was the work of this committee, whoever they may be. Well, it does not stop there. On the 20th of March we find that a man by the name of Frank Williams appears on the scene. He introduces himself on the afternoon of the 20th, and I was somewhat surprised that my brother Donahoe spent a whole half-day trying to show that P. O'Sullivan was an hour's ride from home at noon that day. This all occurred on the afternoon of the 20th, and the object of that proof was to show that this man, Martin Burke, alias Williams, alias Cooper and Delaney, didn't walk over the plot and talk to P. O'Sullivan after he rented the cottage. It was to show that P. O'Sullivan was not at home about that time on the 20th, and I was somewhat surprised that the learned counsel wasted time on it. Charles Carlson said it was in the afternoon when this man Williams came to rent the cottage. He knew positively that it was after one o'clock, but the exact time he could not state. That is not disputed by any one. So it is no use quibbling over that alibi; there is nothing of an alibi about it. It is all as plain as it can be that the renting took place on the afternoon of the 20th. But, anyway, this man, Frank Williams, who is loaded down with names, comes and rents the cottage. The testimony of Jonas Carlson shows that he had a sign 'For Rent' on his cottage; and you must remember that it is just 102 feet from the steps of O'Sullivan's house to the entrance of Mr. Carlson's back gate, and it is only 166 feet to the corner of the front cottage, in which this murder was committed. "There was the sign 'For Rent' on that Carlson cottage; there was Patrick O'Sullivan, a member of Camp 20, a man who had been saying that Dr. Cronin was taking deputies into the camp, to say that the cottage was to rent. He knew that the old folks went to bed at an early hour; he knew the habits of these poor old people. Patrick O'Sullivan knew there were but two houses on the entire block on that side of the street; he knew there were not half a dozen houses within a radius of three or four blocks. Now, Martin Burke, who belonged to the same camp, and was present at the time the committee was ordered to be appointed--Martin Burke, under the name of Frank Williams, appears on the scene and wants to rent the cottage. He told Jonas Carlson that his sister intended to keep house for him and his brother. Now, remember that every time anything was said about the flat or the cottage the party was to come from the East. Simonds said his brother was coming from the East to have his eyes treated, and he wanted to be near the center of the city for that purpose. This man, Frank Williams, who turned out to be none other than Martin Burke, a brother in Camp 20, appears and says his sister is coming from the East. Martin was not so lavish with his money as Simonds was, because when the old man wanted $12 a month he wanted him to take $11. Martin wanted to save all he could out of the pile; but this man Simonds, who had the bulk of the money, pulls it out in rolls when he was going to pay for anything. Simonds carried his money just as the trianglers would carry it, who had been robbing the Irish cause for years, but Martin Burke, who had been working in the ditches, thought if he could save a dollar out of the $12 he would do it. But Mr. Carlson refused to lower the rent and he paid the $12. Then he said his sister was coming from the East to keep house for them. You can have no doubt that the cottage was rented by a man named Frank Williams. Mr. Carlson and his wife, and Charles Carlson and his wife, who were present, said that he rented the cottage. Charles wrote out the receipt and signed it for his father and gave it to Frank Williams. Here are three persons who swore that Frank Williams rented the cottage. And here is a significant incident for you to remember. They started out with assumed names. Martin Burke appears as Frank Williams. If he were renting the cottage for a lawful purpose, if he wished it for no other purpose than to occupy it in a legitimate way, to have his sister come and keep house for him, there would be no occasion for his renting it under the name of Frank Williams. That is conceded. So, then, he must have rented this cottage for some other purpose. It was not because he wanted to keep from paying the rent, because he paid it in advance. That was not the cause; he did not want to lose his identity in order to keep from paying the rent. It was for an unlawful purpose that he went there to rent the cottage. The learned counsel on the other side can not dispute that proposition. The old gentleman said Williams went out after receiving the receipt and talked to O'Sullivan. Now, O'Sullivan did not live a half a mile or three-quarters of a mile away. You must not think that O'Sullivan lived at one end of the town and Carlson at the other end. His place is just across the lot from the Carlsons. The old gentleman testified that Burke went out of the front gate and walked to where O'Sullivan was standing at his barn and said, 'The cottage is rented.' The old gentleman said he didn't understand what else was said. You remember how hard it was for him to express himself in the English language, and yet counsel undertook to impeach that old man by proving what he said at the coroner's inquest. There is no dispute that he said then he could not hear what Burke said there. There is no use denying that. He said practically the same thing here. He said he heard Martin Burke say to O'Sullivan that the cottage was rented, but he could not hear what else was said. Now, that is about the same thing. You must have noticed how hard it was to understand Carlson when he testified in the English language. Mrs. Carlson said she didn't know where Burke went, but that the young man talked to her husband, who asked him some questions as to where he was working. The old gentleman is the only one who saw him go outside and heard him say this to Patrick O'Sullivan. "It was quite natural, was it not? Here was Martin Burke, a brother in the camp, Martin Burke who had met O'Sullivan before, going cross-lot to speak to O'Sullivan. How did Martin Burke know this cottage was for rent? How did he know there was a vacant cottage out there near Patrick O'Sullivan? Who was it brought it to his ears, unless it was Daniel Coughlin or Patrick O'Sullivan? And you will remember that one of the witnesses testified that all through the month of March telephoning was going on between O'Sullivan and Coughlin. Coughlin knew all about Lake View because----" Messrs. Forrest and Donahue here interrupted with vigorous objections, claiming that this evidence was ruled out. The Court decided in their favor, and remarked that the telephoning was in April. Judge Longenecker corrected himself accordingly, and continued: "But Dan Coughlin was up in Lake View in March; Dan Coughlin knew the whole ground there. Patrick O'Sullivan lived within a stone's throw of the cottage. The card was on for rent. A motion was made in the camp of which Coughlin, O'Sullivan and Burke were members; a flat had been rented, furniture purchased and placed in it. How did this man Williams know that this cottage was for rent? How did he know where to go to rent that cottage unless some one of those parties had talked to him, either Dan Coughlin or Patrick O'Sullivan? Those three witnesses swear that Frank Williams rented it, and do you think that Williams was anybody else except this man Burke? When the old gentleman was called to identify him he walked down in front of him and said: 'That is the man.' Mrs. Carlson said: 'That is the man.' Charles Carlson says, 'That is the man.' Mrs. Joanna Carlson said: 'That is the man.' There are four witnesses that swore that Martin Burke rented the cottage. I don't suppose the defendant's attorneys will dispute that proposition. "I want to know why Martin Burke rented that cottage. What explanation is there to give for its being rented? If Martin Burke rented it intending that his sister should keep house for himself and his brother, why didn't they keep house? If Martin Burke was working at the stock yards and even went to Joliet to work; if he worked for the city in the sewers, why did he go out to Lake View to get a house? Well, if we can not find a reason for this by following the evidence, we will give you a pretty good reason for his not occupying it. My judgment is that he ought to be compelled to live there for all the days of his life. He ought to be required to wallow in the blood that there was drawn from the veins of Dr. Cronin! "Why didn't he occupy this cottage? We find by this man Mortensen, a Swede who was driving an express wagon and stood on the corner of Chicago avenue and Market street, in the neighborhood of Dan Coughlin's station--this man Mortensen says he was standing there about 5 o'clock in the evening when a man, whom he identifies as Martin Burke, came up and wanted him to move some furniture. Burke had again to 'jew' the man in reference to dollars and cents. He said: 'You can do it for $1.50.' Mortensen wanted $2, but finally he agreed to do it for $1.50. He told the expressman to report at 117 Clark street and he would be on hand. Mortensen drove up to the number given him and found Burke standing at the door. There are the two men we first see at 117 South Clark street--Kunze, the little German, and Burke, the Irishman. Kunze had been sleeping there." KUNZE MAKES AN OBJECTION. "I never did," shouted Kunze, rising to his feet and shaking his fist at the State's Attorney. "Burke was moving the furniture with another man," continued Judge Longenecker. "That is a lie," broke in Kunze again. The little German seemed very much excited, and it required all the power of Mr. Donahoe to soothe him. "There is no attempt to prove," proceeded the State's Attorney, "that Kunze helped to move the furniture; nobody would believe that he would lift anything; but this man Burke was there to move his sister's furniture, and another man with a moustache was there to help him. They would not let the expressman go up-stairs to help them. What did they carry down from that flat? Did any one else move from there that day? No, because if they had it would have been in evidence here. No desks were moved out. No lawyers were shifting because they could not pay their rent; no doctors were moving out because they could not collect their bills; but Martin Burke was moving his furniture to put into the cottage in which his sister was to keep house for himself and brother. They carried down a bedstead, a mattress, a washstand, a trunk. Mortensen didn't see the valise and the strap, because you will remember that Allen said the valise and strap were inside the trunk. Mortensen didn't see the lamp, but he saw all the other articles which this man, Simonds, bought--this man who thought so much of Burke and his sister as to buy household furniture for them. The furniture was put on the wagon, and they told Mortensen to drive to a point in Lake View, and they would go by the cable. Mortensen went and waited for them at the place designated. They were late in arriving, and said the cable had broken down as usual. They drove up in a buggy, and told him to follow them. They drove to the Carlson cottage, and the furniture was carried in there--a trunk, a bureau, a washstand, washbowl and pitcher--all the articles that were bought at Revell's. The other man is not here on trial; it does not matter who he may be. It is not for you to stop to inquire about those we have not got. To take care of the one we have is all that we are after now. "You can have no doubt that Martin Burke moved this furniture. Mortensen saw him two or three times afterward; saw him on Chicago avenue, always walking on the south side of the street leading to the station, where Coughlin drew his pay for organizing a conspiracy against citizens of Chicago. It runs on now to the 24th of March, and what do we find? March 20 the cottage was rented; March 20 this man Burke moved the furniture in, which was identified by Mr. Hatfield. Something had to be done to get Dr. Cronin out there. 'We have got the cottage,' said the chairman of the committee. 'Yes, I have rented it,' says Burke. 'Yes, it is near me,' says O'Sullivan. I am reasoning now from evidence. I have a right to talk that way. Well, on the 24th of March Dan Coughlin was in Mahoney's saloon on Chicago avenue, and was seen by Quinn and Riley talking to P. O'Sullivan near the screen. They were engaged in a whispered conversation and afterward came up into the crowd. Recollect that before that Patrick O'Sullivan had been charging that Dr. Cronin had been taking deputies into the organization. Recollect that he had charged in open camp that Cronin had been taking in deputies, and a discussion arose there between Patrick O'Sullivan and Dan Coughlin about deputies. Then it was that this man Coughlin said 'if a North Side Catholic doesn't keep his mouth shut he will soon be put out of the way,' or something to that effect. That was testified to by Quinn and Riley, and is undisputed. This man Coughlin, whose mind was full of murder, being chairman of this committee about Cronin, and about the object of which he was talking to O'Sullivan, they having been discussing the question of how to get Cronin to the cottage, it was in his mind, and he broke out without thinking what he was saying, without thinking that the words would come back at him in future months. He says: 'A North Side Catholic, if he doesn't keep his mouth shut, will be done away with.' Who was he referring to? Dr. Cronin had charged that the triangle had almost ruined their organization. Dr. Cronin had charged that the man who was the friend of Coughlin was a thief and a robber. Dr. Cronin had charged that this man had thrust innocent men into prison in order to cover up his stealing. Why was Dan Coughlin thinking then of this subject? Because he and this man were discussing how they could induce Dr. Cronin to go to the Carlson cottage; because they were then planning as to how they could get him there after Martin Burke had rented the place; this I believe to be the true state of his mind at that time. I believe they talked it over in that way just as much as if I had heard it from their very lips." ENTICING CRONIN TO HIS DEATH. "This is not all, gentlemen. Something had to be done to get Dr. Cronin out to Lake View. Dan Coughlin, the schemer and originator, had put O'Sullivan into a notion of doing something that he had never thought of before. Nothing had then occurred to show that O'Sullivan would have trouble with his icemen--nothing to lead him to believe that there might be accidents and damage suits, and that he would be in need of a physician. But the idea struck him. Dan Coughlin had talked with him on the 24th. On the 29th there was a literary society organized in Lake View, and Dr. Cronin was brought up to organize it. They wanted to get him familiar with the country. They wanted to get him used to driving in that locality. What did he do? This man, O'Sullivan, who was as cold as the ice on his wagons, goes to the meeting with a friend and helps to organize this Clan-na-Gael camp in Lake View. They took in Justice Mahoney, who was a candidate for office. Whenever a man gets running for office he joins nearly everything, and Mahoney thought it was necessary for him to join this literary society. Dr. Cronin made a speech, and it was such a good one that Mahoney said the thing ought to be open to all the world. My idea is that if Irishmen should be free, it should be done open and above board. If there is any reason for establishing a republican form of government in Ireland, let your speech be open and not in secret. "When Mahoney went in there he belonged to the United Workmen. That is a good order. I used to belong to it myself, but I got dropped for non-payment of dues. Mahoney used to know Dr. Cronin as the examining physician of his lodge. He used to send men to him to be examined, and that made Dr. Cronin and himself good friends. Now, when Mahoney made a speech, Dr. Cronin lauded him to the skies, stating what a good thing it was to have that man in the society--that it was quite an advantage to the order to have him. Patrick O'Sullivan, with his cold, icy heart, took it all in. The idea struck him at once, 'Here are Mahoney and Dr. Cronin, great friends,' and afterward he said to Mahoney: 'Do you know Cronin well?' Mahoney said 'Yes.' 'Is he a good doctor?' asked O'Sullivan. 'Yes.' 'Will you go down and introduce me to him?' continued the iceman: 'I want to make a contract with him to treat my men.' And Mahoney said he'd do so. "Why did that wretch want to employ Dr. Cronin? Why was it he wanted all at once to have Dr. Cronin attend to his men, when by his own admission he had never had occasion within the last five years for a doctor to treat one of his men. By his own admission he never had an accident during all his ice seasons, except when a piece of ice once fell on a little girl, but he never had a charge or a damage suit against him in regard to it. This was on the 29th of March. Do you think I am stretching it too far when I conclude that he and Coughlin had talked the matter over and considered what inducements they could make to get the Doctor out there? Could you, as sensible men, come to any other conclusion than that this man, on the pay roll of the city, was then telling O'Sullivan, 'You must get some scheme by which Cronin will be brought to the cottage or you will never kill him there?' Why didn't O'Sullivan step up to the Doctor that night and make his contract? Simply because he wanted to get the Doctor off his guard. He knew that Dr. Cronin would at once begin to figure the matter out. He would say, Dan Coughlin and P. O'Sullivan are great friends, but if Mahoney is there he would be all right and he would never suspect a thing." JUSTICE MAHONEY'S PART IN THE PLOT. "Mahoney said they didn't go down the next day. Then the election came on, and Dan Coughlin, having been in the habit of running the election, I suppose, so far as the Clan-na-Gael part is concerned, was busy. Patrick O'Sullivan, being something of a politician himself in his neighborhood, had also to attend the election. The rent was paid for a month any way, so they ran along until the 19th of April. If you figure that out, you will find it was soon after another meeting of the Clan-na-Gael Camp--soon after the committee had a chance to get together. You will find that on the 18th O'Sullivan left word with Mahoney that he would like him to go down with him to see Dr. Cronin. Mahoney, acting in good faith, met him, and they went down to Dr. Cronin's office. Now, we have the object. We have one of the members of Camp 20 renting the cottage; we have another member of Camp 20 going to make a contract with the Doctor. He goes to the office and tells the Doctor he would like to employ him to attend to his men during the ice season. You remember what the contract was. They talked about it and figured on the price, which was finally agreed as $50 for the ice season, or seven months. The Doctor asked O'Sullivan if he had had any accidents and O'Sullivan said no, but he didn't know what might occur--that the horses might run off and hurt somebody. Mahoney testified to this. Here is a significant fact. It was on the 19th of April that this contract was made. Now remember that on that day Patrick O'Sullivan handed the Doctor some cards, saying, 'I may be out of town and my card will be presented to you.' This is significant when we get to another branch of this evidence. Now, he reports again to the chairman of the committee that 'the contract is made; Cronin is thrown off his guard; Mahoney went with me.' Now, to show you that he was watching what he was doing, Frank Murray tells us that on the morning of the 5th of May O'Sullivan told him that he happened to be down town and met Mahoney, and that he wanted Mahoney to go with him to make this contract. It was an accidental meeting, he said. The committee had had a chance to meet and consult again in the meantime. The furniture was bought; it was moved into the cottage; the contract with the Doctor was made; they had it all arranged, and when Spelman comes to the city on the 29th of April the senior guardian says, 'It is all amicably settled.'" ALL ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. "But something else must be done. On the 20th of April, the day after the contract was made, Frank Williams appears again on the scene. Mrs. Johanna Carlson testified that he came there and paid the rent, and then she and her son requested permission to enter the cottage and get a lounge and an old trunk left there by the former occupant of the premises. Charles Carlson went into the cottage with Martin Burke. He saw the carpet on the floor and the bed with its pillows. He didn't notice everything particularly, of course, but Williams showed him around and helped him out with the lounge and trunk. He paid the rent again and Mrs. Carlson wanted to know why they didn't move in. He said his sister was sick in the hospital and that as soon as she got well they would move in. That paid the rent up to the 20th of May. Soon after that--the same day or the day after--Mrs. Carlson, who was worrying, as an old lady would, about the property, which was their only dependence, talked to her husband about the matter. The old gentleman went over to see O'Sullivan. Now why should he go over to see O'Sullivan? The defense put a witness on the stand to prove that the old man went over to see O'Sullivan. Why should old man Carlson, who scarcely knew O'Sullivan, walk over to him to inquire about his tenant? Because he had seen Martin Burke walk over there and heard him say the cottage was rented. Jonas Carlson went there and said: 'How about those tenants? Why don't they move in? Do you know them?' O'Sullivan said, 'I know one of them. Is your rent due?' 'No,' said the old man. 'Well,' replied O'Sullivan, 'you will get your rent--that is all right.' Does not that of itself convince you, gentlemen, that what the old gentleman swore to as to Martin Burke going to O'Sullivan was his reason for going to speak to O'Sullivan on this occasion? Is not that convincing of itself that the old man told the truth when he said he saw Martin Burke walk out there and tell O'Sullivan the cottage was rented? But I don't care whether you believe the statement that the old man heard the words or not. The fact is nevertheless true that Martin Burke did go over to this man O'Sullivan, because if he had not, the old man would never have thought about going to O'Sullivan to ask about moving in. "After making this contract, O'Sullivan goes home and sits down to the dinner table, and the first thing he says is: 'If there is any sickness in the family I have a doctor hired,' and he tells Mrs. Whalen and all the icemen that 'I have a doctor hired. Any time you want a doctor send for him.' His contract with the Doctor was not that he should treat sick people, or treat Mrs. Whalen, Tom Whalen and their children, and everybody in the neighborhood. The contract was not for that purpose. It was for treating injuries to his icemen. Yet he goes home and wants them to understand it right away in the house. But that is not all. He had given the Doctor a card. Something must be done. This man, Coughlin, who was on the detective force for years, and who was signing the pay-roll every month--this man gave him to understand that something else must be done. Then O'Sullivan goes to work and has a new card printed in April. He gets them just before the 4th of May. It is a different card from the one he gave Dr. Cronin. He had no idea that the new card would ever land on the mantelpiece of the house where Dr. Cronin resided; he had no idea that card would ever again face him. He did not expect this, because they try to prove that he got a bunch of new cards for distribution. His idea was this: That if they claimed that the card was presented for the Doctor to go to his house he could say the town was full of those cards. Don't you see? He was getting a new card printed which was to be used in drawing the Doctor out there. But it was never intended to be left in the possession of Dr. Cronin. If it was they supposed the Doctor would stick it in his pocket. O'Sullivan had no idea that any living soul would see that card thereafter. It was for a purpose, anyway. "Now we have all this arranged; we have the whole thing 'amicably settled;' that was the way in which it was to be done. We have the cottage rented, the contract with the Doctor; now it is all 'amicably settled'--just how we are going to complete the work; we don't need district officers or outside help; it is all arranged; the work will be completed." BEGGS' ENMITY TOWARD CRONIN. "Now we will tell you about other things in this case before we come to the 4th of May. You will remember that in September John F. Beggs was walking down the street with Mr. O'Keefe, and Mr. Flynn, and they were discussing Dr. Cronin. Beggs said Dr. Cronin was not fit to belong to the Irish cause. When you brand an Irishman as not being fit to belong to the Irish cause it means that he is a man to be held in contempt by the Irish people. Beggs gave as a reason that he had taken Dan Coughlin in without ever initiating him, and O'Keefe, said he was going to investigate it. I have no doubt that somebody filled up Beggs in reference to Dr. Cronin. I have no doubt somebody stood behind him telling him what a terrible man he was; that he was always creating disturbances in the order; that somebody talked him up in this matter until he got to be senior guardian. "Up to the 4th of May Dr. Cronin still lived, but all the arrangements were 'amicably settled.' 'The matter I was writing to you has been amicably settled,' wrote Beggs. I want to call your attention to another thing: You remember that about a year ago last September, about the time that Beggs was talking about Cronin not being a good Irishman, about that time Dan Coughlin was trying to get some one to 'slug' Dr. Cronin. Now you must believe that statement. Here were three witnesses. They did not all swear to the same point, but all directed to the same thing that Sampson swore to. You remember that Garrity testified that this man Coughlin told him he would like to see Sampson, as he had some work he wanted Sampson to do--that he wanted him to 'slug' Dr. Cronin. Now, if Garrity is the kind of man that Dan Coughlin's learned attorney would have you believe, and I don't say he is not, Garrity then is the kind of man that Coughlin would talk to about this, is he not? If this man Sampson is in the habit of loafing in Garrity's saloon, Garrity would be the man that Coughlin would go to in order to get a word to Sampson; and in order to get Sampson from running from him, Coughlin told Garrity he wanted to see him. Garrity said he told Sampson. Sampson took this man Lynn with him. The conversation, of course, is not in evidence; it was not competent, but Lynn stands across the street. Sampson didn't know but what maybe this man Coughlin wanted to run him in; he didn't know but what it was a job put up on him. You don't suppose that Coughlin would have sent for a class leader in a Methodist church to do this job, nor would he send for a banker or a lawyer or a doctor to it. But he picked up Sampson. He thought Sampson was void of all respect, and he said: 'Sampson, I want you to slug a man.' It was just before election, and he said: 'You can catch him some night when he is coming to his house, because he is out attending political meetings. I want you to mark him.' He is pretty good at leaving his mark," exclaimed the State's Attorney, "and he wanted Sampson to mark Dr. Cronin. What does that show? It shows an ill feeling, it shows a hatred in this man's heart. That something was moving in Dan Coughlin's heart that caused him to make this proposition to Sampson. The attorneys for the defense will insist that this is absurd, that it is ridiculous and not reasonable. Gentlemen, there it is, there is the evidence undisputed." MAJOR SAMPSON'S PART IN THE SCHEME. "Now, I don't care what you may think of Sampson. Sampson told you that he played with the shells. He told you he had been in the bridewell, but never in the penitentiary; he told you he had followed gatherings and made money in a crooked way--he as much as said all that. But who was it that was familiar with all this? and where did the learned counsel who cross-examined him for the defense learn the man's record, except from Dan Coughlin? How did they know the history of this man Sampson unless they got it from Coughlin? How did they know what he had done in Michigan? They didn't happen to ask him if he was ever in Hancock, Mich. But they knew all of his doings in Michigan and southern Illinois, when he was following James G. Blaine. If Sampson was a crook, a thief and a robber--if he were the man they would have you believe--Dan Coughlin, in the pay of the city, and not doing his duty in this respect, was not fit to be on the police force. He must have known of this. The attorney could not have dreamed or guessed it, because Sampson says it is so. With all their cross-examination they didn't even impeach him on these questions. Then how about Garrity. Garrity says he was arrested for selling liquor without a license, but the case was dismissed, and Dan Coughlin had charge of it." "The evidence is that Captain Schaack had charge of the case," interrupted Forrest. "Coughlin swore out the warrant." "But the lawyer insisted," responded Judge Longenecker, "that Dan Coughlin was the man who got Garrity's license revoked. If this man was violating the law, and Dan Coughlin swore out the warrant, it was his duty to prosecute; but they bring Loewenstein on the stand and he tells you that Garrity's saloon was a place for thieves and robbers. If that is so, then what is the duty of those police officers; what was their duty as men put on the force to look after the interests of this city? It was their duty to forever shut up the doors of this saloon--forever blot it out of existence, this robbers' roost, and not to come here and try to break down the evidence we gathered from the very men who were the associates of Dan Coughlin. "Now there is more in that, gentlemen, than you can think of. When you couple it with Dan Coughlin's expression to Dinan, 'Don't say anything because I have had trouble with Dr. Cronin--because they know I am his enemy,' it is very significant. Why did they know it? He had told Garrity he wanted to see Sampson; he told Sampson he wanted him to slug Dr. Cronin, and he had whispered into the ears of O'Connor that Cronin was a spy. He had charged in a North Side saloon that a prominent North Side Catholic would soon be destroyed. On every corner he had raised his hand against Dr. Cronin. In the lodge he moved to appoint this secret committee to investigate Dr. Cronin, and when you couple it all together it is a good piece of evidence in this case, as tending to show the direction in which Daniel Coughlin was moving at the time he uttered the words." TRUE TO THE IRISH CAUSE. "Now, gentlemen, I want to say, before I pass on to the 4th of May, and I think it is due from me, as a public prosecutor, to say this: You have seen from day to day that we have called on the stand unwilling witnesses from Camp 20, and I want to say this, that the best patriots in the Irish cause to-day are the men we got on the stand to tell you the truth in reference to this case--Thomas O'Connor, and Henry Owen O'Connor, Patrick Dolan and Patrick McGarry. They are the best patriots that have appeared on the face of the globe. Here are men that stood up in this court-room and dared to tell the truth of what had happened in Camp 20, and I feel that it is due upon this occasion to say that the Irish cause never had better patriots than these men who came afterward and testified to the truth and to tell you where this hellish conspiracy originated. They have the nerve to come and tell us where it began, in order that the law might be vindicated; in order that the death of Patrick Henry Cronin might be avenged. I say this because it is due to them. Their evidence is undisputed. It has not been contradicted; they came out with clean hands. "As to Sampson, I do not care what the attorney may say in regard to him. As to Garrity, I think both of them deserve credit for coming forward and telling the truth in this case. It is not often that you can get men, who are hounded to death by officers, who would lead the community to believe that they are the worst creatures on earth--it is not often that you can get them on the stand. They stood there for an hour with the counsel, prompted by the man who knows all about them, to question and put question after question as to their character." The State's Attorney, at this point, asked the Court for an adjournment, and intimated that he would not take more than an hour further to conclude his address. Some suggestion as to an adjournment until half-past one was modestly made, but on the State's Attorney's assurance the Court adjourned proceedings until two o'clock. THE FATAL 4TH OF MAY. On the assembling of court at 2 o'clock, State's Attorney Longenecker resumed his address to the jury: "If the Court please, and Gentlemen, as I stated in my opening of yesterday, I do not desire to do anything but talk about the evidence. On the 4th of May Dan Coughlin, one of the defendants here, appeared at Patrick Dinan's livery stable. It was customary for the Chicago Avenue Station to hire horses whenever they desired them at Mr. Dinan's stable, which is just north of the Chicago Avenue Station on Clark street, so that it was not an unusual thing for Dan Coughlin to go there or for any officer to call for a horse and buggy, and it was not customary for Mr. Dinan to inquire what they desired with the horse and buggy. You remember Patrick Dinan's testimony in regard to this. Coughlin said he had a friend who wanted a horse and buggy and would call for it about 7 o'clock that evening, showing that Dan Coughlin was an actor in reference to this horse and buggy that was obtained from Dinan. He told Patrick Dinan that his friend would call at 7 o'clock, and at 7 o'clock a man came. Napier Moreland, who was a buggy washer and worked in the stable, testifies that at just about 7 o'clock a man appeared there and called for the horse and buggy that Detective Coughlin had engaged. Dinan was out in the barn. Just then Dinan came back and the stranger got under the gaslight that was in the buggy part of the stable and asked for the horse that Dan Coughlin had engaged for him. Dinan ordered the horse called the gray horse and sometimes the white, to be hitched to the buggy. There was a blacksmith named Jones, there getting a horse, and the stranger did not want the white horse, but wanted the other rig. Mr. Dinan told him he could not have that; he did not know where it was going and he knew what this horse was going to do, and Moreland got the old gray horse. You remember that Dinan said that it had not been out of the stable for quite a while and had not been driven. This was a little after 7 o'clock. He wanted side curtains and Dinan told him it was a warm evening and he did not need side curtains and it would take too long to put on side curtains. The man, grumbling, got into the buggy and they put on the hitching strap to it, and Dinan tells you that this man had a low-crowned, narrow-rimmed slouch hat. That he did not see his eyes, because he pulled his hat over his forehead, but his face looked as if it had not been shaven, and he had a black or a brown mustache. He gives his height as 5 feet and 7 inches, and said that he had a dirty, faded looking overcoat. Moreland testifies to the same thing; that the man had on a low-crowned, narrow-rimmed slouch hat, and that his face looked dirty, and he describes him about the same that Dinan does. "How did the horse start when he turned out? It went directly north. Dinan swore that he was anxious to see the horse drive off, and he watched the man drive north on Clark street. Then he was going north. Mrs. Conklin tells you that a man came there a little after seven o'clock and came to the door and rang the bell, and that Sarah McNearney and Agnes McNearney were there at the office. You remember the description of the house; there were two flats, and Dr. Cronin occupied one front room and Mr. and Mrs. Conklin used the other front room for living purposes. She states that when this man came to the door she admitted him into the room. He says he is in a hurry and wants the Doctor, and the Doctor says, 'very well; I will be there in a minute.' You remember now that the McNearney girl, who was sitting outside, says that he had on a slouch hat with a narrow brim and his face had not been shaven for some time. He had a very keen eye--his eye was so piercing that she could not look at him, and he had a restless manner. He said there was an accident to one of P. O'Sullivan's men; that he had been run over by an ice wagon, and the Doctor said: 'Why didn't you get a doctor near?' 'Doctor,' he said, 'here is O'Sullivan's card,' and Dr. Cronin took it and laid it on the mantel in his own room, and then wrote out a prescription for Sarah McNearney. Mrs. Conklin described the man, the same as the McNearney girls, saying that he had a low-crowned, narrow-brimmed hat, and that his face was dirty as if it had not been shaven." THE MAN WHO DROVE THE WHITE HORSE. "They all agree upon this low-crowned hat with the narrow brim and the condition of the man's face. The Doctor gathered up the cotton and splints and a little satchel in which he had his instruments. The man said: 'I have a horse and buggy here for you.' That attracted her attention to the window, and she looked out and stood by the south bay window, and looked down at the horse that was standing in front of the saloon, and she saw that the horse had an uneasy appearance, and, in describing the facts, she said that his knees were in motion. You remember she describes how he was standing there. Now, Dinan gave just the same description as to his appearance--that he looked as if he wanted to go but he was not much of a goer. Frank Scanlon was standing there, and he wanted to see the Doctor about an arrangement regarding a paper that the Doctor was publishing at that time, and gives the same description. Now, here are five or six witnesses that describe this man, three or four at the Doctor's office, and two at the livery stable. "Now suppose the horse was not identified at all; suppose it was a bay horse or a brown horse or any other kind of a horse than a white horse or a gray horse, and suppose these two men had come that gave the same description of the man that appeared at Dinan's livery stable, and other witnesses identified him as the man that started away with the Doctor to treat one of O'Sullivan's men--keep that circumstance in mind--that Patrick O'Sullivan and Dan Coughlin were seen together on the night of the 24th of March, when Patrick O'Sullivan was to make this contract, that they both belonged to the same order, and that the contract was made and O'Sullivan says: 'My card will be presented to you if I am out of town.' Take that circumstance and what have you got? You have men who identified the horse that Dan Coughlin hired; you have that man driving north on Clark street in the direction of the Carlson cottage; you have that man presenting Patrick O'Sullivan's card and demanding the attention of the Doctor under the contract that Patrick O'Sullivan had with the Doctor, and you have them driving in the direction of the Carlson cottage. But that is not all the evidence we have on that point. Suppose that this is an ordinary horse that can not be identified, yet Mrs. Conklin tells you that that horse is a horse, that she remembers it not simply because it was a white horse and because it came from Dinan's livery stable, but she describes it from its uneasy motion; she remembers its legs and its knees. She says it has big knees, and Captain Schaack says it has big knees. And Mrs. Conklin, looking out of the window on that fatal night saw those knees. Why does she say that? The last time she saw Dr. Cronin alive he was sitting behind that horse that had knees that were wabbly. No wonder she remembers that horse, because she saw it in the same uneasy appearance that it had the night that Dr. Cronin was driven away. She identifies the horse from the knees and from the uneasy appearance, quite as much as if it was white or gray." The State's Attorney then reviewed Captain Schaack's testimony as to how he had driven the horse around in front of Mrs. Conklin's house and as to the question of identification, and repeated his arguments that it was not the position in which the horse stood, but its peculiar, uneasy motion that enabled her to identify it. He considered that the identification of the horse by Mrs. Conklin was a fact that could not be disputed. The undertaker who arranged for Cronin's funeral and Mr. Scanlon had also observed the same horse, and he considered the identification complete. THE IDENTIFICATION OF THE HORSE. "They bring a man from New Jersey who stood here across the street, and the only reason why he says it is the same horse is because the horse that drove Cronin away was a gray horse, and this horse of Dinan's is a white horse. Did this man who traveled all the way from New Jersey tell you what kind of knees the horse had? Did he tell you there was anything wrong with the horse that drove Dr. Cronin away? No; but he says, looking from under an electric light on the opposite side of the street, he could see that that was a gray horse with dark legs, and therefore it was not the horse that drove Dr. Cronin away. On the question of identifying the horse, here are two witnesses where they could have a good view of the horse, swear positively that that was the horse. It is true that they brought the other man who looked across the street with nothing to attract his attention to the horse as much as the man, but Mrs. Conklin could not help looking to the parties getting into the buggy. "But lay that aside; lay aside the evidence of the identification of the horse; when you gather up this chain from the 8th day of February--with the renting of the flat; with the writing of the letters; with the renting of the cottage; with the removal of the furniture; with the fact that Coughlin hired the horse and that his man was there at 7 o'clock on his own time--within five minutes of the time--that he appears there with P. O'Sullivan's card in his hand--what more evidence do you want to satisfy you that the horse that drove Dr. Cronin to his death was any other than the one that Daniel Coughlin hired of Dinan? "On the 4th of May we find that about eight o'clock, or a little after, at the Carlson cottage, a gray horse is seen coming up Ashland avenue--the gray horse that was hired by Daniel Coughlin, and that started from Dinan's livery stable northward at twenty minutes after seven o'clock. Immediately after eight o'clock the gray horse was seen coming from the north on Ashland avenue, driven by a man whom the party could not describe. Remember that Dr. Cronin started with a satchel and with his box of splints, and with a roll of cotton; that he carried them on his lap, and that he wore a slouch hat with a low crown, and a brown overcoat; and that this horse and buggy that the man had seen coming north he observed that the horse was gray. He saw the buggy turned round and a tall man get out and reach in and take something out, as if it were a dark satchel, and go up the steps into the cottage, and the man in a brown coat with a high-crowned hat went into the cottage. The buggy then drove south. It was a white horse that drew it away. Here we have the white horse from Dinan's stable, seeming to start for the Carlson cottage, and here we have the white horse taking Dr. Cronin away in the buggy, and a man getting out of the buggy and going up the steps into the cottage. It looks as if Providence, working in a mysterious way, designed that there should be some one to see the last steps taken by this poor man as he rushed up the steps full of life and full of hope, going in there to relieve suffering humanity. This witness heard cries from within--heard strokes and cries as if there was a fight--and passed on. Do you have any doubt now but that Dr. Cronin was driven to the Carlson cottage? Can you as twelve men making up your minds upon the evidence have any doubt but that it was Dr. Cronin who was driven into that cottage? If not there, tell me where he was driven to." THE MURDER IN THE COTTAGE. "Well, we have him entering into the cottage. At 8 o'clock a wagon was seen coming from the south and a little man was driving and a tall man was with him, and they drove up to this cottage. This was after the work was done. This was after the deadly blows were dealt. They came driving up, and the big man got out. That was Daniel Coughlin and Kunze--the man who drove him there was Kunze--who slapped him on the back on the 12th of April and said, 'That is my friend.' He is the man who drove him there. He drove off with a horse with a brown face. Again at 10 o'clock Daniel Coughlin and Kunze are seen in a saloon on Lincoln avenue--Nieman's saloon--walking in there to drown the last bit of feeling they had in wine. The little German said he would take beer, and O'Sullivan said, 'Take wine,' O'Sullivan's idea was to take wine upon that occasion, and O'Sullivan and Coughlin went into the room whispering to each other and began making up their minds as to what they should do with the body and counseling together, while the little German was at the other end of the room. This was at eleven o'clock, within two blocks of the Carlson cottage. Remember that at four o'clock on that day, within three or four doors of Ashland avenue, on Lincoln avenue, this man Kettner, the man who knew Coughlin and who passed the time of day to him, says Daniel Coughlin was with another man on that street. No doubt he was showing this man the route and telling him how to drive. No doubt this chairman of the committee was then instructing him how to operate when he was seen at four o'clock in the afternoon in company with this stranger. At eight or nine o'clock he was seen with Kunze driving to the cottage, and he was afterward seen in Nieman's saloon with Kunze. Shortly after that these two men were seen by Mr. Wardell, who had been down to a neighboring saloon, on his way home a little before eleven o'clock, and he says one was a tall man and another was a small man. He says they walked into the cottage together. Nieman says that after they were in his saloon he washed his glasses and locked up at eleven o'clock, and Wardell says he saw these men walking along together--one about the size of Coughlin and one of O'Sullivan. DISPOSING OF THE BODY. "At 11 o'clock the committee of three with the chairman sitting on the trunk came driving along eastward on Fullerton avenue, and at half past 11, a block north of Fullerton avenue, the three men were seen with what seemed to be a carpenter's chest, by Officer Smith, going north. They were seen by Way, the private watchman, in the morning of that fatal night; they were seen to get off the wagon; they were seen to look about the lake, and when this was discovered they said, 'Where is the Lake Shore Drive?' showing that they had either missed their way or missed their connection in some way or else they were getting ready to dispose of their tool chest or trunk. Follow that back. On their return the wagon was there, but no trunk and no tool chest, and Officer Smith said to the other officer, 'Why, that is the same wagon I saw going north about 12 o'clock, and here they come back on Evanston avenue.' Here comes back the committee of three. They came to return their sealed verdicts. Their work had been accomplished; they thought that everything was sealed from the outside world. Have you any doubt as to what was in that trunk? Have you any doubt as to who guided that wagon and directed its course? If you have any doubts, tell me who did it. Here is the evidence piling up pile upon pile. Well, the night went on. Mr. and Mrs. Conklin slept; the sun rose in the east on the 5th of May. Dr. Cronin did not appear. Frank Scanlon, the last friend that saw the Doctor when he rode away, mentioned that the Doctor said when he was asked when he would come back, 'God knows when I will get back.' God did not tell him when he would come back, but God above stands ready to-day to direct this prosecution aright, and to say that the men who destroyed the life of that man shall be punished for this terrible crime." DR. CRONIN IS FIRST MISSED. "On that Sabbath day no Doctor returns. Dr. Cronin, who had gone to administer to suffering humanity; Dr. Cronin, who had been full of hope and ready at all times to stand by and help humanity, was not returning to his home. Mr. Conklin, who picked up the card from the mantel board, read upon it, 'P. O'Sullivan's ice house.' He started for O'Sullivan's residence and asked, 'Did you send for Dr. Cronin?' 'Why, no.' What would you have thought at that time? What would you have thought if you had been a brother in the camp with Dr. Cronin? Would you have stood there as a stone? 'No,' thought Mr. Conklin, 'this is something wrong,' and he started out to see what had occurred. Sitting there within 160 feet of where the deadly blows were struck, sitting there where the wounds were made, sitting there where the man called for God and Jesus, he never lifted a finger or undertook to unravel the mystery; and yet do you believe him innocent under this evidence? Mr. Conklin, who thought something was wrong, went to Captain Schaack and showed him this circular that Dr. Cronin had published in reference to the conspiracy, and begged him to help him hunt for the Doctor, and the Captain, like a great many others who did not understand Irish troubles at the time, thought there was nothing in it at that time. He told him he would look after it, but Mr. Conklin, not satisfied with that, goes to Mr. Murray, of the Pinkerton agency, and gets Frank Murray to go out and talk with this man privately about the contract--why he had made the contract. Well, he did not know but that there would be some accidents--his men might get drunk and run over somebody--and his contract was made for that purpose, and he referred to McGinnis' establishment. Finally Frank Murray induced him to get into a buggy and go with him. Frank Murray says that when he talked about the contract, this man, who had deliberately planned for the life of Dr. Cronin, told him that he happened to meet Justice Mahoney down town when he made the contract. "It went on; people were looking in every direction; some thought that Dr. Cronin, was alive, and others that he was dead. The community was divided upon the question. Now, I say that Daniel Coughlin--this man signing the pay rolls of the city and drawing his salary for protecting the innocent--this man who ought to have raised his club in defense of the injured--Daniel Coughlin was hunting for the body that was found in the trunk, on the morning of the 5th of May. At about 7 o'clock, you recollect, this Thiele and two others, who were out on that Sabbath morning, found the trunk, a common trunk with a common lock, unlocked with a common key, and thrown off there, I suppose, by common hands; full of common blood; full of blood--the bottom besmeared with blood, the cotton sticking to the sides and bottom as if a hog had been stuck; as if it had been running over with blood. This trunk was brought to the station, and this man Coughlin--this cold-blooded wretch--starts out----" "We except," said Mr. Donahoe, rising to his feet. COUGHLIN SEARCHES FOR THE BODY. "I submit from the evidence," said Judge Longenecker, "if this evidence does not make it out, I have no right to say so, but if this evidence nails him to that cross, in this case, he is a cold-blooded and heartless wretch. Assuming from the evidence that his hands are red with the blood of Dr. Cronin, we charge that it was a cold-blooded affair. He goes out and almost stands on the catch basin where the body lay--hunting for the body that was in the trunk. On the morning of the 6th, when the newspapers--for which my friend Donahoe has such contempt--published the fact that a white horse had driven Dr. Cronin away, the chief of police, when this was brought to his attention, gave notice to the entire force to see who had hired a white horse on the 4th of May. A policeman appears at Dinan's stable and asked if he had a white horse out, and he said 'yes,' and he goes to Chicago Avenue Station and sees Captain Schaack, and when he goes there he also sees Daniel Coughlin. Coughlin wants to know what is the trouble, and asks him to say nothing about it, 'because,' he says, 'it is understood I am an enemy of Dr. Cronin, and Cronin is missing.' That was what occurred on the 6th day of May. This was the first utterance of Coughlin in reference to the white horse or to there being any charge that he was responsible for it. He knew then that Mrs. Conklin and Frank Scanlon had identified the horse, and he knew, without having to bring a witness from New Jersey, that the horse that drove Dr. Cronin away was the horse that his friend got from this stable. "You remember now that Coughlin was sent to find the man. Dinan did not stop there; he sent word to Schaack and Schaack sent to the chief, and Schaack had his orders from the chief to send Coughlin to find out who hired the white horse at that time. This was on May 6. Then, if you remember, the evidence shows that they were out hunting for the object that had evidently been in that trunk, and did not find it until the 22d day of May." THE FINDING OF THE BODY. "On the 22d day of May some men who were looking after the health of the community, cleaning catch basins in Lake View, lifted the lid of one of the basins and saw the body of a man. That body was taken out and brought to the morgue in Lake View, and identified as that of Dr. Cronin. Up to this time the word had gone out. Coughlin supposed it was all right. P. O'Sullivan was on his ice wagon again and handling ice. It was the right kind of business for him to be in. Up to this time Burke was visiting his friend in Joliet, and at work in a ditch, telling him that he had been working at the stock yards. Up to the finding of this body they all thought 'there is no danger now; our verdict is sealed and it is returned to him alone [pointing in the direction of Beggs]. No one has a right to know except the senior guardian; we are in no danger. Dan Coughlin signed his pay rolls all the same; Patrick O'Sullivan handled his ice; Burke worked in the ditch, and this body was found. It was found just half a mile from where that committee of three were seen at Edgewater--a mile south of Evanston avenue, where they had the tool chest or trunk seen by Officer Way. One-half mile south in a catch-basin was found the body of Dr. Cronin. The wagon was seen to be empty just three-quarters of a mile from where the body was found and the bloody trunk was found in the bushes. In the catch-basin there was cotton. In the trunk there was cotton--when Dr. Cronin left home he had in his arms cotton--and further on just a quarter of a mile we find that Dr. Cronin's clothes were in a sewer. "Recollect that when they were last seen with this trunk it was at Edgewater, at 1 o'clock. The clothes were found just north of Buena avenue in the sewer with a satchel, and it turns out now that the satchel in all its measurements and appearance and quality and size is identical with that which Simonds bought, and that Burke moved into the Carlson Cottage. Now, will you tell me, going over the ground, and seeing that satchel and the trunk on the road and the clothes in the sewer--with the evidence of the cries in the cottage--the card of O'Sullivan taking him there, will you tell me that you have any doubt as to where this crime was committed or that Dr. Cronin was killed in that cottage? "You can not hesitate upon that question. Then who did it? Go right back to the beginning; follow it up with all that we have told you in reference to these men and can you come to any other conclusion than that these men are guilty?" THE DISCOVERY OF THE COTTAGE. "But the cottage was not discovered on the day the body was discovered. On the night of the 22d of May Captain Schuettler tells you that he put a guard there, and next morning he, with Captain Wing, visited this Carlson cottage, which is almost under the doorsteps of this defendant, O'Sullivan, within ten seconds' walk. They examined and they found what was said to be blood and the floor painted over. On the Sunday morning, the 5th--the morning after Wardell saw these two men enter the cottage, he saw spots of blood on the wall. They found the carpet gone, the trunk gone, the trunk strap not there, but the furniture was there. The pillows were without cases, the bureau was standing out from the wall and there was the chair with its arm broken and evidence of the crime having been committed there. "In the cottage was found the key, and the learned counsel says he will show you something about that key. We shall show all there is about that key. We never pretended that it was anything but a common key. It is a common key to unlock a common lock. You remember that evidence, the lock was hanging onto the hasp, showing that they had not a key to unlock it. It does not matter whether it was a common lock or a common key or not. The key that unfastened that lock had blood upon it and it was found in the Carlson cottage, with paint upon it, or what seemed to be paint, of the same color as the paint that was upon the floor. Do you want anything else in reference to that key and lock? That was found in that cottage and that key unlocked the lock; and that lock was on that trunk that Simonds purchased at Revell's, and which was found on Evanston road within three-quarters of a mile of the place where the body was found, and within a quarter of a mile of the place where the clothes were found that were worn by Dr. Cronin on the night he left home. "What other evidence do you want to show that that trunk came out of that cottage? In that trunk was found hair. I will not exhibit it; other counsel in the case may; but there was hair there and there was a man came here, who has got bald on the hair question, and says he can not tell human hair from dog's hair. Why a man should waste the better part of his life looking at hair and then can not tell one kind of hair from another is more than I can understand. Why he should go over the country lecturing about hair and giving instructions about hair, and then, coming here to give testimony, to say that he doesn't know anything about hair, is more than I can comprehend." This sally of the State's Attorney seemed to amuse some of the audience, and the Judge again threatened to clear the court-room if any more levity was indulged in. Judge Longenecker proceeded to ridicule the testimony of the expert on the question of hair and blood corpuscles. "You, gentlemen, are the judges of the evidence as to whether that was human hair and human blood, and you are to take and determine whether that body that was in the trunk, whether the blood and the hair that were in that trunk were human hair and human blood. These men called to the stand as experts give their opinions as experts. The evidence shows that it was blood; we prove that by chemistry; we called to the stand Professor Haynes, and he says that it was human blood. Now, Gentlemen, do you believe there was a dog killed in that cottage? Do you believe there was an ox killed in that cottage? Do you believe there was a guinea pig killed in that cottage? Do you believe it was a guinea pig's blood that was on that cake of soap or in the trunk or in the cottage? If you do, very well, but the evidence all tends to show that it was human blood, and not only that it was human blood, but that it was the blood of Dr. Cronin that was found in the cottage and in the trunk. The evidence tends to show and must convince you that it was the hair and the blood of Dr. Cronin that was in the cottage and in the trunk. "Why do I say this? Because the evidence in this case must convince you that there was a conspiracy to take his life; that he was driven to this cottage; that he was seen alive entering this cottage; that he was last seen there; and within a half mile the trunk with that hair and that blood. That it was the hair and the blood of Dr. Cronin, I think can not be disputed. "But, gentlemen, why was this floor painted, if there was an ox killed there, or if a dog were killed in there, or if a guinea pig were killed there? If these blood corpuscles which they talk about in this case were the corpuscles of an ox, or any other animal, why did this man who rented the cottage desire to paint the floor to conceal the blood of a dog--to cover it up? I shall not take up your time to argue that proposition--that it was anything else than the blood of Dr. Cronin." THE EXISTENCE OF AN INNER CIRCLE. "Well, we find Martin Burke when the body is discovered. He takes a leave of absence. Now, remember what Martin Burke did in this matter, and what Kunze did in this matter, and what Coughlin did and what Beggs did. First, we find Beggs, a week after the murder, telling O'Burne and Maurice Morris that 'Cronin was all right. He will turn up all right; we are in the inner circle.' Now, the learned gentlemen brought men here to show that there are no inner circles. Men who belong to inner circles do not advertise that fact to the world. We speak of inner circles; there are inner circles in politics, in churches and in different classes of business. When there are men to do and perform certain things they are called an inner circle, I have no doubt now. Beggs had only reference to the fact that he was on the inside and understood what he was talking about; that he knew that Dr. Cronin's death would never be discovered, and he felt secure in saying 'He is all right; we are in the inner circle.' That is about the amount of it. I believe he met him on the street in front of the Chicago Opera House, and you remember that this was just after the disappearance of Cronin and before the discovery of the body. Kunze was seen in the saloon by Cameron about the 10th or 12th of April with Dan Coughlin. Now, if it was that he was with Dan Coughlin for the purpose they claim, and that he wanted to get something from Kunze, then it certainly was not the 1st of April. They proved that Coughlin was after certain papers, and that Kunze slapped him on the shoulder and said he was his friend and would do anything for him. He was seen by Washburne on the 15th or 20th of April, riding in a buggy. Kunze knew Coughlin and Coughlin knew Kunze. It was necessary to paint the floor on the 12th of May, before the cottage was discovered. On Saturday night, not when Kunze was at work--not when it was necessary for Kunze to be at work for his employer--the two men went into the real estate office; the thunders were roaring and the lightning was flashing; an officer sees these men; he says to them, 'You are late out.' A light was seen in the cottage, and when the officer came back the light was out. I have no doubt now but that Kunze was the man who put the artist's touch upon the blood of Dr. Cronin, and the officer discovering these men there, with the lightning flashing and the thunders roaring. I have no doubt that Kunze bungled the job on the 12th of May, and after they had discovered that they could not rent that cottage any longer--after the old woman had said she would not take pay for the cottage any longer. Kunze goes to the South Side and gives the name of Kizer; boards under that name, and works under another name. Now, take the evidence: seen in the flat washing his feet; seen on the 4th; seen on the 10th and 12th with Dan Coughlin drinking in a saloon, and seen with O'Sullivan in the middle of April riding, and seen by Mertes going to the cottage on the 4th of May, and saying to a man under the assumed named of Petrowsky that he had an occupied house in Lake View; and he might go there and have lots of fun, and following that, that his friend excused himself and did not go. That is Kunze. P. O'Sullivan talks to Mr. Carlson, and says to him: 'Is the cottage rented?' Then he talks about deputies and taking them into the brotherhood, and his card is presented while he is out of town. Then Coughlin, with his threats, with his desire to have Cronin slugged; Coughlin's motion for the secret committee; Coughlin whispering that Cronin is a spy; Coughlin's charge to Dinan, 'Don't say anything about it, for Cronin and I are enemies;' Coughlin telling the chief of police, when asked about the man for whom he hired the horse and buggy, that it was Smith--all this is sufficient. The chief asked: 'Where did you know Smith?' and Coughlin answered 'John Ryan, of Hancock, sent him to me.' When in Winnipeg Burke was asked to whom he wrote, and he said: 'John Ryan, of Hancock, Mich.--my friend.' Coughlin said to the chief: 'John Ryan, of Hancock, Mich., sent him to me.'" THE GREAT CONSPIRACY. "See the connection; see the arrangements! Take Coughlin's statement that the white horse and buggy was hired for a man named Smith. He was so anxious, so careful to tell Dinan not to say anything about it, because it might get him into trouble; yet he pretended to tell Captain Schaack, as proved by Whalen, that he saw Smith and didn't bring him in when he had instructions to find him. He told Dinan that he had worn out the leather of his shoes hunting for Smith, and yet when he sees this man, who is drawing all the trouble upon him, he didn't even bring him to the station. Away with the Smith story! "Martin Burke, as soon as the body is discovered, is found in Winnipeg. We find him there under an assumed name, on his way to Europe. He is brought back under the laws of extradition on this charge of murder. For days and weeks before he could be removed he put the courts to the trouble of investigating as to whether he should return or not. Martin Burke flies away from Camp 20. Martin Burke leaves his friend Coughlin, his friend O'Sullivan. He goes away from his camp off to Winnipeg. He said he had been in Hancock, Mich., working for Ryan. If Burke rented the Carlson cottage for a lawful purpose, why should he go to Winnipeg and thence to the old country? Why should he flee the State of Illinois? It is because Martin Burke moved the furniture into the Carlson cottage for an unlawful purpose; it is because Martin Burke was in the cottage and dealt the blows that put out the life of Dr. Cronin; it is because his hands were red with the blood of a human being. "Colleran testified that Martin Burke and Coughlin were together outside of the lodge. Colleran tells you that he met him on the Sunday night after the discovery of the body, and that he said he had been working in the stock-yards, when in fact he had been in Joliet." "That was before the discovery of the body," interrupted Mr. Forrest. "You are right," said the State's Attorney; "it was just before the discovery of the body. Well, Burke disappears. There may be something that I have omitted in this matter. As I said, the clothing was found in the sewer--Dr. Cronin's coat, his vest, his pants. Dr. Cronin's box of splints; Dr. Cronin's satchel and instruments, his cards--all were found in this sewer on the line that that wagon was driven on that fatal night. That is beyond question. "Now, gentlemen, I have gone over the evidence as rapidly as I could, and yet at the same time kept it in connection as I understand it. There may be a great many things, and there are, that I have omitted; but my intention has been to keep your minds directed to the chain of circumstances. And if you want to get at this case, if you want to boil it down, if you want to write the history of the case, you are to write: "'I contracted for medical services'--Patrick O'Sullivan. 'I contracted for the cottage.'--Martin Burke. 'I contracted for the horse and buggy for my friend.'--Daniel Coughlin. Then draw your line and write 'Committee of Three.' Write again: 'I contracted for your life.'--Patrick O'Sullivan. 'I contracted for the horse and buggy to drive you to death?'--Dan Coughlin. 'I rented the cottage in which to strike out your life.'--Martin Burke. Write again: 'The committee reports to this senior guardian alone.'" JUDGE LONGENECKER CLOSES. "Gentlemen, I have finished. I hope you will pardon me for having detained you so long. I know how anxious you are, while you may be ever so willing to sit here for weeks and months if necessary, yet you can not help but be anxious to be with your families. Yet, as a duty you owe to the public, as a duty you owe the defendants, as a duty to society, you must be patient until you hear what the others have to say in this important case. For three long months my associates have held up my hands; they have been with me night and day. They have encouraged me. It was necessary to have assistance in this case; able counsel as they are, it requires it. No one knows unless he has had the experience what it is to be left with a case of this character on his hands. No one knows unless he has had the experience, what is it to get at the bottom of a conspiracy of this character. Therefore, I have felt the necessity of these men who have sat by me for the last three months, and I want you, no matter what may be said, to feel that the people of the State of Illinois have as much right to demand the best talent the city affords, as due to men that come up out of the sewers. While these men are able, men of ability, men of standing, men of reputation, understand that this was a terrible crime; understand that this was a terrible conspiracy; understand that the very men, the officers of the law, who ought to have held up my hands, were divided against me; understand that in this case men drawing their salaries from the police department of our city stood in league with the men who struck out the life of Dr. Cronin. And while I compliment, not as a compliment, but as well deserved on their part, these associates of mine for their ability, don't understand that I under-estimate Judge Wing and Mr. Forrest and Mr. Donahoe and Mr. Foster. On the other side sit as good talent as was ever brought into a court-room. I say it without flattery, that if these men hang for the murder, they could have asked for no better men to have defended them than the gentlemen on my left. Coming out of the sewer, coming out of the chilly ice wagon, coming from the pay-rolls of the city, coming from the bar room, coming from the paint brush--these men have held his Honor and yourselves for over three long months; and if your verdict shall be that they hang on the scaffold they can not claim that they have had no time to call upon the holy Trinity. "Gentlemen, when you come to consider your verdict, when you come to make up your minds, when, as I believe you will do, you undertake to render a truthful verdict on the law and the evidence, I want you to remember the facts in the case. I want you to look at this mountain of evidence that we have been building up and up before you until it has risen high, until it stands out with its mountain peaks illuminated by the sunshine of truth, until all who are not blind may see that these men are the murderers of Dr. Cronin. These mountain peaks stand prominently forth. This contract of O'Sullivan's, this hiring of the buggy, this renting of the cottage, this running to Canada; all these point to the fact that these men are the guilty ones. It stands up like a mountain built of truth, as solid as the granite hills against which the Coughlin, the Burke, the O'Sullivan, the Beggs, the Kunze alibis can not prevail. "I leave the matter now in your hands. I have had this case on my hands for months and months. I feel now that the responsibility rests with you. I put it in your hands, believing confidently and expecting that you will do what your best judgment dictates. When you come to consider your verdict, think of the 4th day of May; think of that man gathering his little valise and instruments; think of him bringing to his bosom the cotton to relieve suffering; think of the splints in the box; think of his rushing out to the buggy; think of his crowded seat; think of him moving north to relieve suffering humanity. See him enter as a gentleman into the cottage; hear his cries of God and Jesus when, without giving him time to utter the other Trinity name, he was felled to the floor. Think of his wounds in his head; think of the grave in which he was placed; think of all these in making up your penalty, and may it be such a verdict as when His Honor pronounces judgment on it, that he, having an eye to God, may say: 'May the Lord have mercy on your souls.'" Judge Longenecker received the congratulations of his colleagues for the able manner in which he had presented his case, and the Court inquired if Judge Wing wished to proceed at once. Judge Wing said he was ready to proceed if the Court desired he should go on. * * * * * AN APPEAL FOR COUGHLIN. Judge Wing's address to the jury on behalf of Daniel Coughlin was an able effort, lasting over two days. He took the ground that there was absolutely no evidence whatever against his client, and quoted numerous cases in the criminal records of New York, Chicago and other cities to demonstrate the fact that circumstantial evidence was totally unreliable, and that it would be monstrous if a man's guilt or innocence were to be based upon a previous conviction. He urged that prejudice should not effect the verdict, and that the jury should not be biased against his client simply because he was a member of the Clan-na-Gael. The whole case, he said, was circumstantial, was interwoven with doubts, contradictions and possibilities, so as to be practically of no strength whatever when taken in a mass. Counsel reviewed the testimony of other witnesses for the State as it affected Coughlin, casting doubt on the evidence of Mertes, the milkman, scoring Major Sampson, and insisting there was no absolute proof that it was Dinan's white horse that drove the Physician to his death. Speaking of Sampson, he asked the members of the jury if they were going to act upon the word of a thief. Could they look the prisoner's wife in the face and say to her, "I sent your husband to prison upon the words of Major Sampson?" Could they go to his children and say to them, "I have made you, by my verdict the children of a felon. I have put eternal griefs upon you upon the words of a man who goes about the country with public speakers, seeking sporting privileges, and working 'Grangers' with the 'shell game?'" As to the knife episode, he said, that never since crime was committed by man had anyone heard of a guilty man keeping souvenirs of his crime, or preserving such evidences of his guilt. Never in the history of the world had such a thing occurred. The speaker went into the Camp 20 phase of the evidence, insisting there was an absolute lack of proof that any conspiracy had existed. He touched upon the telephone messages that passed between Coughlin and O'Sullivan, saying it was impossible that murderers or men plotting murder would trust a message to a fellow-conspirator through a telephone. [Illustration: R. M. WING, ONE OF COUNSEL FOR DEFENSE.] He elaborated on the necessity of absolute proof of the cause of death, arguing that no one but a physician could definitely determine the cause of death, and unless it was shown beyond a doubt that the death of Dr. Cronin was caused as shown in the indictment, it was the duty of the jury to find the prisoners innocent. One of the most vital points in the case, the cause of the death of Dr. Cronin, remained unproved, and until this was settled, and settled beyond a doubt, the charge could not hold good and the defendants could not be convicted. Judge Wing dissected the evidence of the medical experts at length, ridiculing them mercilessly, casting doubt upon the theory of the State, that the blood found in the Carlson cottage was that of a human being. He concluded his address in these words: "Gentlemen, I have tried to discuss this case fairly and conscientiously. We are about to part, and I beg you, in conclusion, not to go off upon any prejudice, or upon any passion or upon any suspicion. I beg of you to give these men a fair show. I believe you will do that. I beg of you to remember that a certain conclusion can only be reached after you have traveled on sure and certain ground. Do what you think is right under the law, gentlemen, and I do not doubt you will." * * * * * COUNSELOR INGHAM'S SPEECH. Mr. Geo. W. Ingham, in behalf of the State, followed Mr. Donahoe with a forcible review of the evidence, and which was listened to with intense interest by every one within reach of his voice. He prefaced his remarks by saying that the sanctity of human life in America was in the keeping of the juries of America. The law provided that a man guilty of murder should be punished, but it provided no method for its own enforcement, save that which was invested in twelve men. To that number of men it was entrusted. The jury came from the body of the county, and so it was that peace and good order of every community was in the keeping of its own citizens. In every criminal case the jury held in one hand the rights of the prisoners, and, to a certain extent, it held in the other hand the good name and the peace of the community in which it lived. This was a responsibility already great, but which increased in direct proportion to the enormity of the offense under consideration. Yet no responsibility could be greater than that of the twelve men before him. Only a few months before, Patrick Henry Cronin, a citizen of the State of Illinois, a resident of the great metropolis, living in fancied security and within the very shadow of the court-house in which they were now sitting, was lured from his home upon a mission of murder. Fired by professional zeal, moved by the instincts of humanity which his choice of a profession indicated, he rushed to the assistance of a suffering man. Suspecting nothing, he went out, armed, as it were, with the very instruments of his skill and profession, and then rushed into the slaughter-house prepared for his reception and death. Then, as if the white face of death itself was not sufficient to satiate human hatred, his body was subjected to the indignity and ignominy of burial in a filthy sewer. This man, to whom sacred burial in consecrated ground was a right to which he always looked forward, was thrown into a sewer. The crime was singular in its brutality, but its brutality was not its startling feature. Why was Dr. Cronin slain? Because he was condemned to die. Condemned for what? For no offense within the laws of the State of Illinois. Condemned and executed by whom? By a tribunal that was unlawfully constituted, a tribunal that was at the same time, accuser, witness, judge and executioner. It was a tribunal which within itself in the light of day, which existed upon a territory of the State to whom its members hold allegiance, a tribunal which was treasonable to the laws of the State, the juries were called upon to execute and to the laws of the State whose protection it had a right to claim. Who could have dreamed that such a thing was possible in the State of Illinois? Who could say that six months from that day he could not be repeated in the State of Illinois. Only the twelve men who were trying the case. That was their responsibility, for their oath in the case was to well and truly try and true deliverance make between the people of the State of Illinois and the defendants, to well and truly try them upon the law and upon the evidence. [Illustration: GEORGE C. INGHAM, ONE OF COUNSEL FOR PROSECUTION.] From this introduction, Mr. Ingham branched off into an elaborate dissertation of the law regarding murder and the power of circumstantial evidence. Numerous authorities on circumstantial evidence were cited from. Counsel dwelt upon Coughlin's hatred of Cronin, upon the purchase of the furniture and upon the peculiar actions of the defense. Stress was laid upon the fact, that no evidence had been produced with a view of showing that it was not Martin Burke that rented the Carlson cottage, and that he engaged the expressman to move the furniture from the Clark street flat to Lake View. The general outline of the plot as disclosed by the evidence was considered, and the conclusion drawn, that the right men were on trial. Continuing, Mr. Ingham said: "Now, I want to call your attention to one fact, that not one attempt has been made at defense. The counsel for the defense have done the best they could. I know the counsel for the defense well. I know Forrest, and have known him for years, and have tried cases with and against him. I know he would go far and near and would remove heaven and earth, were it possible, to save his clients. I know that he believes thoroughly and heartily in the maxim of old Lord Brougham, that a lawyer should know but one man in the world, and that man his client. I have known Daniel Donahoe for years, and I know his ability. I have not known Judge Wing for so long a time, but from what I have seen of him and know of him I know him to be a skillful lawyer. His address to you, gentlemen of the jury, proves his ability, and I say to you unhesitatingly, that these men, after doing everything in their power to aid their clients, have utterly and signally failed. I ask you to remember that not one particle of evidence has been introduced by the defense either to dispose or disprove the evidence I have stated to you. Not one particle of evidence has been admitted to be proved and to be denied here, except the single statement that Burke was at the cottage on the night of the murder. There is evidence, however, which more than outweighs all the alibis they can bring here. "The saloon-keeper came upon the stand here and plainly and clearly told you that on the night of the 4th of May, about half-past 10 o'clock, three men entered his saloon. He tells you he is positive one of them was Patrick O'Sullivan. He knows him, buys ice of him, and has no earthly reason to give evidence to injure him unless it was true. He says also that the other was a taller man, and in his opinion he believes that man was Coughlin; further, there was a little man who spoke with a German accent, and that man he says he is sure was Kunze. Now, you will remember he had only bought that saloon a few days before, and he can hardly be mistaken in the night, because he tells you he knows it was on the Saturday night, because on the night following, the Sunday night, he had an opening, and, like other Germans, he never had less than fifteen to twenty-five men at his bar. What object could he have in testifying against Patrick O'Sullivan, Coughlin and Kunze, and saying they were the men who drank wine and took cigars at his bar? Is he corroborated? Let us see. The saloon-keeper is admittedly as honest a man as there is in Chicago. No attempt has been made to impeach his evidence, and I ask you to consider whether or not he is corroborated. Let me draw your attention to the evidence given by the German gardener named Wardell. They left the saloon about 11 o'clock or a quarter after, the saloon-keeper says, and you will remember that Wardell says he left a saloon near by about twenty minutes after, and just at that time he happened to raise his eyes and saw in front of him two men, whom he describes, and believes to be O'Sullivan and Coughlin, and he saw them walk down to and enter the Carlson cottage. Where was the third man? Do you remember that about a half hour after that time, about half a mile south of the Carlson cottage, a wagon was seen with a trunk in it? The two men who went into the Carlson cottage went in there to help carry out the trunk containing Cronin's body and the clothes, while the third man went down and got the wagon that was to take the body and the clothes away. "Now, how is that met? We are told that the saloon-keeper is mistaken, that this man never saw O'Sullivan and Coughlin and Kunze, but that on the Sunday night Patrick O'Sullivan went there to that very saloon with the two Hylands, and that they had two glasses of wine and a cigar each. Gentlemen, you will remember that the saloon-keeper, who is a German, distinctly said that the smaller man asked for beer and spoke with a German accent. The younger Hyland never spoke with a German accent in his life. Which do you propose to believe--Neiman, the saloon-keeper, who has no earthly interest whatever in giving false testimony against O'Sullivan or the friends of Patrick O'Sullivan? These two strangers who go to see him for the first time are compelled to stay and take dinner, and are then taken out to the saloon and each given two glasses of wine and a cigar at the expense of O'Sullivan. Remember, gentlemen, he had never seen these two Hylands before that Sunday afternoon. The truth is, that when they say those three men were in that saloon, the two Hylands and O'Sullivan, they admit unconsciously the fact that three men were there, as the saloon-keeper testified; they admit that O'Sullivan was there and the thing is narrowed down to a simple question of veracity between the saloon-keeper on the one hand and the Hylands on the other. There is much more reason, vastly more reason, I submit, why the evidence of the saloon-keeper, who knew O'Sullivan perfectly, should be believed in preference to that of the two Hylands, who are ready to swear anything to help their friend out of a scrape. Now, what else is disputed? "An attempt is also made to dispute that portion of the evidence tending to show that O'Sullivan was at the Carlson cottage. How is it done? Again they resort to an alibi. As I said to you in the opening of this case, and I will now repeat, that if O'Sullivan was at home and in bed at the time the murder was committed, and you are satisfied from the evidence that he was engaged in that conspiracy, he is just as guilty as if he struck the fatal blow himself. Against the testimony of Neiman, who saw him there with Coughlin and Kunze in that saloon, and of Wardell, who saw him and Coughlin enter the Carlson cottage after they left the saloon, they produce the evidence of Mulcahey, a man who became connected with O'Sullivan under the most suspicious circumstances. That man testified that he came to Chicago a perfect stranger; that he went to O'Sullivan--went to his house on the 31st of April--was instantly taken in and kept and boarded there, slept in the same bed with O'Sullivan, rolled around the street in the ice wagon and slept with him on the night of the murder. He swears also that he was with O'Sullivan when old Carlson claimed to have heard the conversation between O'Sullivan and Burke; he swears also that he heard Coughlin and O'Sullivan arrange that O'Sullivan was to keep his eye upon Kunze and report if he saw him in Lake View. In short, gentlemen, he was a very convenient sort of witness. What was he doing there all the month? He was not working for O'Sullivan, yet he slept in the same bed with him--a perfect stranger, and, strange as it may appear, he only went into the employ of O'Sullivan a few days before the murder. I undertake to say, gentlemen, that his testimony is false, that O'Sullivan was not in bed, that on the contrary he and Burke and Coughlin were engaged in the murder at the Carlson cottage. Who is there that corroborates his testimony? The two women, a cousin of O'Sullivan's by marriage and his sister. Tom Whelan was too sound a sleeper to know whether O'Sullivan was in bed or was up or out, and they ask you to believe that sort of an alibi against the evidence you have on the part of the prosecution." KUNZE'S PART IN THE MURDER. "What is the evidence against Kunze? He was the friend, the tool of Coughlin. It is in evidence that he had been engaged with Dan Coughlin in working up the distillery case. How much of a detective he is I do not know, but I don't suppose he is a very great one. If I were to guess at it I should say he was a detective's stool pigeon. "He had been engaged with Coughlin for months. Mertes swears that he saw him drive their horse with a white face up to the cottage the night of the murder, and you will remember that he picked him out from a number of men. Mertes is a countryman of Kunze's, and he would not be likely to testify against his own countryman unless truth compelled him to do so. He tells you that Kunze drove a horse and buggy up to that Carlson cottage at 8:30 o'clock on the night of the murder, and, more than that, it is in evidence that Kunze was perfectly at home in the rooms at 117 Clark street, and was seen by a very intelligent witness sitting in front of the window washing his feet. Now, what was he doing at 117 South Clark street, if he was not engaged in that conspiracy? The men who engaged that flat at 117 Clark street, those conspirators, were not going to trust their lives to men they did not know; and the truth is that he was the tool of Coughlin. More than that, it is in evidence that he said he expected to be arrested on the Cronin business. Why? Why? I repeat." "Because I was told so," suddenly cried Kunze, springing to his feet. "This man is defended by able lawyers," retorted Mr. Ingham, "and on their heads is the responsibility of his defense." "God knows I am innocent of the murder of Dr. Cronin," cried Kunze, again springing to his feet, and there was a scene of excitement for a few minutes. Finally his counsel forced him to his seat, and induced him to remain quiet. "Why did he say he expected to be arrested on the Cronin business? I repeat," continued Mr. Ingham. "It was because he felt he was connected with that business. Coughlin knew him, Coughlin had worked with him, and Coughlin knew that in this case their lives were safe in his hands. It is in evidence that shortly after the murder he was with Patrick O'Sullivan drinking, and you will remember a conversation which was detailed by a saloon-keeper, and which occurred shortly before the murder, wherein Patrick O'Sullivan made a bargain to sell to Kunze the bay horse with a white face. Why was that horse sold to Kunze, this little painter who was working around the country, this man who was in the employ of the detective and trusted by Coughlin? Will you, gentlemen of the jury, tell me why O'Sullivan, who lived at the rear of the Carlson cottage, and whose stable almost abutted on the cottage, was selling this poor painter a horse?" WHOM THE EVIDENCE POINTS TO. "I have gone over the salient features of the evidence, and I say unhesitatingly that there is evidence which points directly to Coughlin; it points directly to Patrick O'Sullivan, and it points directly to Burke, unerringly to those three as having a direct connection with the murder of Dr. Cronin. Are those isolated men, scattered over the city, having no bond of harmony? On the contrary, the evidence is that four of those men on trial were bound together by a bond. Judge Wing said the murder in this case was different from an ordinary case. He said truly. The motive was not robbery; it was not personal hate, but it was hatred, political hatred in its nature, growing out of a political conspiracy. That conspiracy originated in Camp 20, and it is in evidence that Beggs, Coughlin, O'Sullivan and Burke are members of that camp. There you have the start of it. In the course of circumstances, Sullivan made the contract which was to lure the doctor to destruction; Coughlin told the chief of police and told Thomas O'Connor that his enmity toward Cronin grew out of secret society matter and was of long standing. Simonds buys the furniture, Burke hires the house--the Carlson Cottage--and the full arrangements are made for the butchery of their victim. It is also in evidence that Coughlin wanted Sampson to slug the Doctor, and up to that time he had not got to the pitch when he wanted him killed, but you will see how it grew. The evidence shows he denounced him as a spy, and on the Monday morning after the murder, when he admitted his enmity to the Doctor, the Doctor's body was lying in the catch-basin. "How about Patrick O'Sullivan? We find after the murder he goes to see Mrs. O'Farrer, and she says to him it is an awful murder. He replied 'Yes.' She then asked why did they kill him. Now, mark his reply. He says: 'They say he was a spy and gave away the secrets of the order to which he belonged, and if he did he should be killed.' Here you have the conspirators of Camp 20 at work. "Where did the trouble begin? Recollect that O'Sullivan says to Mrs. O'Farrer when he was at her house that, 'They say Cronin gave away the secrets of the order to which he belonged.' It is in evidence in this case that the only secrets that Cronin ever gave away were about embezzlement of the money and the sending of their brethren to English prisons. You know also that it is in evidence in this case that the very first hostility toward Cronin was made apparent in Camp 20 of the Clan-na-Gael organization. There was constant turmoil and trouble in the Clan-na-Gael organization because of the embezzlements and the wrong doing of the triangle. It is in evidence also that Dr. Cronin charged at the trial of that triangle that they had embezzled over $100,000 of the funds of the organization besides sending patriotic Irishmen into British prisons. Whether that be true or false we have not been permitted to show. So far as this case is concerned it is immaterial whether true or false. You are an American jury; this is an American court; these defendants are here under indictment, and you are called upon to administer American law; and whether Dr. Cronin may have been a spy or an honest man and a patriot cuts no figure whatever in this case. One thing, however, I can say. When that sewer gave up its dead, it opened up the sunlight of heaven on these charges. 'Cronin was killed,' says O'Sullivan: 'he was killed because he gave away the secrets of his order,' and I repeat the only secrets he could have given away were the embezzlement of the funds and the imprisonment of their brothers. His mouth was closed and his charges were forever stopped by his death. That swollen and distorted body, those mute lips, prove the truth of his charges more clearly than any court or jury could possibly do, and if these charges were not true there would have been no motive for them to put him out of the way. Thomas O'Connor tells you he was present at a meeting of Camp 20 when a man, Foy, arose, and said they had better look out for spies, and there were other Le Carons among them. He says that he made a speech to that effect, I may not give you the exact details, and O'Connor said in reply that they had better look out for the men who were embezzling the funds of the organization and sending their brothers to English prisons. A storm arose. The records of that meeting show three things: They show, first, a resolution to the effect that hereafter no member should be initiated whose name had not been submitted to all the camps. They show, secondly, that a demand was proposed to be made on the executive for information in regard to the Buffalo trial, that is the trial of the triangle; and thirdly, that that was amended or changed so as to read that information should be asked from the district member. "That record also shows the appointment, or passage of a resolution for the appointment of a secret committee of three by the senior guardian to investigate rumors afloat regarding the trial committee. What were they? O'Connor has told you that the charges were what he made, and he and others say that the camp where these charges were made was known as Dr. Cronin's camp. Denis O'Connor and others say they knew to whom Thomas O'Connor referred. To investigate the matter of these rumors then meant to investigate the men who put these rumors afloat. That man was killed, foully slain, and his body thrown into the sewer. Now Beggs wrote to the district member. Beggs asked the district member to investigate certain charges. The first resolution of the meeting required him to do that. The district member said he knew of no portion of the constitution which was violated by an act of that kind, and he knew of no section of the constitution which would enable him to inflict a penalty. That letter of Beggs' when you study it, means this: 'I do not want to do this, I would rather have nothing to do with it, but I have been compelled to notice it, and these old quarrels must stop.' And you will notice it is full of forebodings of dangers to come. "Again, subsequently, you will remember that Beggs replied at a subsequent meeting that the committee--the secret committee which he had appointed--must report to him alone. Then the practical part of the business began with the appointment of that committee. It was Beggs' duty to appoint that committee. Beggs did appoint that committee. Beggs was an enemy of Cronin, as were the others. Beggs denounced him as did the others. Beggs said after his death, 'O, he will turn up; he is all right.' The others said the same thing. They covered his body with the filth of the sewer and his memory with the epithet of traitor. I said in an American court, before an American jury, it made no difference whether the charges which Coughlin made were true or false, it made no difference whether he was a traitor or a patriot, but the truth of history demands that the name of Cronin shall be vindicated, and it is vindicated more strongly than it could be by mortal lips when you remember that that vindication comes from the slime of the sewer on his body and the production of his clothes, also from another sewer. They murdered him because they feared his charges; they called him a spy in order to nerve their dupes to kill him, and they slew him. Gentlemen of the jury, I have now said all in this case that I intend to say. It is needless for me to say more, as I shall be followed by others of great ability. I simply ask you to do this. Your duty is unpleasant, and the duties you have already undergone have been onerous and burdensome. "It is unpleasant for a man to sit on the trial of a fellow-man on a charge involving his life and liberty, but it is your business to do that in this case. As long as human nature is constituted in such a way as it is, law will be necessary to make some men walk straight. Crimes, murders, thefts and arsons can only be prevented by the enforcement of the law. The law, as I said, can only be enforced by the jury. On the call of Providence you are here now, and your duty is before you. Recollect, gentlemen, that while your duty is serious and burdensome, it is also of vast importance. Remember, gentlemen, that your duty is just as important and as necessary, and the necessity for courage and determination to carry out that duty is as great as it would be upon the battlefield or in any other walk of life. Deal with these men justly, execute the law, satisfy your own consciences, and the rest of us will be satisfied." * * * * * COUNSELOR DONAHOE TALKS. Mr. Ingham was followed by Mr. Donahoe, who spoke in behalf of O'Sullivan and Kunze. He prefaced his argument with the remark that there was no duty in the life of a lawyer that afforded him more pleasure than to defend the innocent; and that, therefore, he began to plead for the lives of his two clients with a heart as light as that of a newly-made bride, caressed with her husband's love. It was the apparent desire of the public prosecutor to disgrace every witness, who appeared to testify to any fact or circumstance, tending to show the innocence of the accused, but this course would never deter him from exercising the best ability that God had given him, in procuring for his clients every legal right known to the law and the country. He urged the jury to banish all prejudice, and to adopt reasonable judgment in considering the legal evidence of the case and the laws of the country, and urged that if they did so, his two clients would soon be breathing the free air of heaven. The counsel drew attention to the fact, that he had been especially assigned to the defense of Kunze by the Court, the prisoner having sworn that he did not have a dollar, and also said that until the opening of the present case he had had no connection with O'Sullivan or any of his friends. There was nothing to prove, the counsel went on to argue, that Kunze was in any way connected with the crime. The young man who claimed to have seen him wash his feet at the window of the Clark street flat, as well as the saloon-keeper, whose place he was alleged to have visited on the night of May the 4th, might easily have been mistaken. It was, in brief, a case of mistaken identity. Mr. Donahoe argued at length, with a view of showing that the testimony regarding the identification was at all times questionable, and should be received with a great degree of caution, and quoted numerous authorities to illustrate the fact that his theory was correct. Proof of criminal intent, he said, was absolutely necessary, and that that was proof absolutely lacking. Mr. Donahoe concluded his speech in these words: "Gentlemen, I am about to say the last words for my clients. Their welfare is in your hands. I am satisfied that if you banish from your mind everything but the law and the evidence, in this case, you will unlock the prison door and let them go about their business, earning their bread by the sweat of their brows. Something was said in this case, some discussion in your presence about Alexander Sullivan. There is no proof that my clients know Alexander Sullivan. If there should exist in your minds, or if there has been injected into your minds, prejudice against that man, for God's sake don't use that against my clients, two young men whom the evidence in this case proves to be innocent. Yet the law does not say that they require to show their innocence; the law requires that the prosecution shall show their guilt. I have at heart the welfare of Kunze, although he never gave me a dollar, as much as I have the welfare of my client, O'Sullivan, who has retained me in this case. Banish all prejudice and suspicion from your minds; apply your reason and judgment and consciences to the law and the evidence in this case, and I am sure, then, that these young men will be acquitted, as they ought to be. Remember that in your hands rests the lives of these men. Remember that one day you will be called upon to give an account for every act and deed done in this life. Let nothing that you shall do in this case against my clients be such as shall be charged against you when you appear before that tribunal of the Most High, and when you are asked 'How have you dealt with your fellow-men?' don't have to say that when dealing with your fellows you had bloody hearts. Merciful! The more merciful a man is, the more godlike he is! But, gentlemen of the jury, do not misunderstand me. Do not think that I am asking for mercy for my clients. Oh, no; not at all; not at all. I ask that you carefully weigh this evidence, consider the law, be governed by the legal evidence and the law, and that is all that I ask you to do. I believe that if you banish everything from your minds but the law and the evidence in this case, that the God that gave you a head to think and a heart to feel for your fellow-men, the God that gave you an existence, will never permit you to strangle my clients. Oh, no, unless you are ready to guess them into eternity, you can't convict them on this proof. I tried this case fairly. I have treated every witness fairly, I have been respectful to the Court, and I have been respectful to you. These two young men's welfare, their lives, are confided to your hands. For God's sake, for their sake, for your sake, make no mistake. Gentlemen, I thank you." * * * * * HYNES' GREAT EFFORT. The announcement that Mr. W. J. Hynes would commence his argument at the opening of court, upon the day following the conclusion of Mr. Donahoe's address, had the effect of attracting an immense throng to the Temple of Justice. Hundreds were admitted, while thousands were unable to gain entrance to the court-room. Judge McConnell took his seat on the bench at ten o'clock, and Mr. Hynes immediately commenced his address. He said that in what he had to say he would endeavor to be fair. He knew the importance of the great proceeding of the character under consideration. He knew that, no matter how guilty men might be, under the civilization of a century, punishment was to be visited only under due process of law. For three months or more the public time had been occupied in hearing the accusations, trying the accused, considering the evidence, listening to the arguments, through that protection of the law for which lives have been sacrificed and rivers of blood have been spilled, to secure to those charged with crime the protection of the law. That protection of the law had been thrown around the men on trial to see that they should have a fair hearing, and that the jury should render a fair verdict. All evidence that was not competent had been excluded, and, wherever a question of doubt had arisen, His Honor, the judge, exercising his natural instincts of mercy, had solved that doubt for the benefit of the accused. Hearsay evidence had been excluded; the defendants had been confronted by the witnesses who testified against them, and all these forms of law, of civilization and justice had been extended in the trial of men accused of charging a man behind his back, of killing him behind his back, of killing him first and accusing him afterward. Even such men as these, however, were entitled to all the protection of courts of law, and to all the safeguards which the law threw around them, because no human life could be taken, no human liberty or freedom could be abridged by a day or an hour, until the court of justice, the accusation against the accused had been judicially ascertained and determined by twelve fair-minded men beyond a reasonable doubt. [Illustration: W. J. HYNES. ONE OF COUNSEL FOR PROSECUTION.] With this introduction, the learned counsel proceeded to review the case from the day of the disappearance of Dr. Cronin. He declared that the dispatches received at Chicago, from Canada, shortly after the disappearance of the physician, and to the effect that he was alive and in the flesh in the dominion, demonstrated beyond a doubt that the defense was organized before the crime was committed. It demonstrated, moreover, the existence of a wide-spread conspiracy, the conspiracy of intelligence and brains, as well as of experience in handling the telegraph and the press. John F. Beggs had said that Cronin was not dead and would turn up all right, and if the scheme of disposing of Dr. Cronin's body on the night of May 4th had not been frought with some misadventure, some miscarriage of judgment, the public, not understanding the motive which underlied the occasion, would probably have believed that what Beggs said was correct. If all the marks of the crime had been obliterated, if the body had not been found, if it had been disposed of, the murderers, and those behind the murderers would have continued to charge that Dr. Patrick H. Cronin was a British spy, and that his disappearance was to be accounted for upon the hypothesis that he had gone to England to testify against Parnell. This would have been the claim. It was to confirm the impression made upon the minds of some of the "dupes" of the triangle, that the disappearance, as well as all traces of the crime were to be wiped out, so that the story would be accepted that Cronin was a spy, and a traitor to the cause to which he had always allied himself and which he had sworn to defend, and that he had violated his oath and crossed the broad Atlantic in order to testify against his own country and in behalf of England. The speaker proceeded to dissect the evidence at length. He paid particular attention to the testimony of the medical witnesses for the State, urging that it was entitled to full credence, and that the prosecution received all the aid of science that was possible. Continuing, Mr. Hynes said: THE DEFENSE OF THE PRISONERS. "Now what sort of a defense--because I propose to deal with that first--what kind of a defense is made by these five prisoners? A defense that is not a defense is worse than no defense at all. A defense that utterly fails, as this defense in my judgment has utterly failed, leaves the case of the prisoners stronger against them than it was when the State rested. You expect some defense when an accusation of this kind is brought against men. You are looking for explanations. You are hoping, like merciful men, that every circumstance and every word will find an explanation consistent with innocence, and when the defense fails to meet the accusation and to furnish an explanation, then it is disastrous to the defendants. The only defense that is set up here is the common defense that is set up for the commonest criminal--the favorite defense of an alibi. I am not here to abuse all the witnesses that appeared to prove alibis for these defendants. I remember that on the evening of the 4th of May Mrs. Whalen and Miss McCormick say they went out of the house and were out until after 10 o'clock. I do know that Miss McCormick said they went out about the time the boys were getting ready to go away to the saloon. These boys that went to the saloon fix the hour of supper all the way from 7 to half-past 8 o'clock, fluctuating between 7 and half-past 8 o'clock; that is the value of an alibi. In fixing the time, the human mind does not go back, unless there is something special about it--unless there is something at the time of the act to associate the time with the act. That makes them a part of each other and relating to each other at the time of the act; not by mere recollection afterward. "All these witnesses testify that Patrick O'Sullivan got home on the evening of the 4th of May between half-past 5 and 6 o'clock. We had the statement of Mr. O'Sullivan himself, made to Captain Schaack--and he ought to know better than they--that he got home at half-past 7 o'clock, a difference of an hour and a half or nearly two hours in Patrick O'Sullivan's own statement when he talked with Captain Schaack. He said he arrived home at half-past 7, and that he was not out of his house that evening after he got home. They all say he got home about half-past 5 or 6 o'clock--every witness here. Who knows best, and what is the value of recollection as to the hour when the thing occurred? They all, with the exception of Mulcahey, swear that he was not out of his house after that time--after supper; that he sat down for a time in the house and then went to bed with Mulcahey. He, himself, feeling that he had been seen out of the house that night, at least back in the alley near the Carlson cottage, sent for Captain Schaack while he was still a prisoner in the jail, and said he wanted to make a correction of his former statement. He was out of the house that night, he said, but only out to the alley in the rear of his barn." "That is not the testimony," said Mr. Donahoe. "That is the testimony," insisted Mr. Hynes, "and I will refer to it." "No," rejoined Mr. Donahoe, "he said he went to the rear of the barn. I have got the testimony here." O'SULLIVAN'S CONTRADICTORY STATEMENTS. "I have got the testimony, too," said Mr. Hynes, "and I will read it. He said he went to the rear of the shed in the alley. Let me call your attention also to the fact that Mulcahey, his room-mate, does admit that he was out of the house that night about 8 o'clock or half-past 8--out in the yard. Mulcahey fixes the supper at about half-past 7 o'clock; so that he has him out in the yard about 8 or half-past 8 that night, and not another soul in the house knew he was out of the house. All of them swore that he did not leave the house. Do I say that they perjured themselves? No; not all of them." "Do I understand you to say," interrupted Mr. Donahoe, "that Mulcahey swore he was out of the house?" "Mulcahey swears," replied Mr. Hynes, "that he was out at 8 or half-past 8 in the yard." "He did not swear to it in this court," said Mr. Donahoe. "He swore to it in this court," retorted Mr. Hynes, "and I will read you his testimony. It is perfectly proper, gentlemen," continued Mr. Hynes, addressing the jury, "for Mr. Donahoe to challenge my statements. I invite him to do it--first, to correct myself if I am in error, and, secondly, to show that I am right if I make a statement of that kind. Here is Captain Schaack's statement. Captain Schaack says: 'There is one thing I forgot; in conversation with O'Sullivan I asked him where he was on the 4th of May. He said he was on the ice wagon all day. I asked him what time he came home in the evening, and he said 7 or 7:30. He had his supper and went to bed about 8 or 8:30, and about 9:30 some men came home, and he got up and let them in and went to bed again. I asked him if he was positive that he was not away from his house, and he said he was positive he was not; that he was in the house all the evening. After he was in the jail he sent for me and I came down to see him in the jail. He told me he had forgot to tell me he was out of the house that night in the rear of the shed.'" Here Mr. Donahoe objected, saying that nothing was said about O'Sullivan's being in the alley. Mr. Hynes said that if he was beyond the shed he was of necessity in the alley. A short dispute followed, in which some testimony was read, which was finally won by Mr. Hynes, who then continued: "There is no more point about his being on one side of the shed than on the other; the point lies in the value of the alibi. They put young Knight on the stand and there is nothing that better illustrates the value of an alibi than his testimony. They put on Menahan and they both swore that the two Hylands came there on Sunday afternoon about 5 o'clock. Knight swears that O'Sullivan was in the house from a point of time between 4 and 5 o'clock on the afternoon of Sunday, May 5, and that when the Hylands came in he shook hands with them, and he was not out of the house from that time until he went out at 10 o'clock that night, when it is conceded that O'Sullivan was down at Mrs. Conklin's at that time, and did not get home until half-past 7 or 8. And yet they could put Knight on the stand--honestly swearing, because there was no proof that he was swearing falsely--honestly swearing and insisting, under Judge Longenecker's cross-examination, that O'Sullivan was not out of the house from 4 or 5 o'clock until 10 o'clock that Sunday night. But everybody knows he was out. He was with Detective Murray down at Mrs. Conklin's. Everybody concedes that he did not get home until half-past 7 or 8 o'clock. WORTHLESSNESS OF THE ALIBI. "Now, there is the value of an alibi. Knight says that the two Hylands got there between 4 and 5 o'clock on Sunday afternoon, and were in the house and did not leave until about 10 o'clock. The tall Hyland said nothing about their leaving O'Sullivan's house in the afternoon. Recess came, and I wondered where the memories were put together, and the fact was recalled that it had already appeared in the evidence that O'Sullivan was down at the Conklin's house at those hours. When the Smaller Hyland went on the stand in the afternoon he said they went there between 4 and 5 o'clock. He said O'Sullivan was not at home and they went off to a ball game and did not return until about 7:30 in the evening. Others of O'Sullivan's household testified to the same state of facts. Knight swears that the Hylands never left the house that Sunday afternoon--that they were there all those hours and he was in the parlor talking to them. Menahan swears that the Hylands came there about 5 o'clock, and that he did not believe he was out of the house except a few minutes when he was only around the yard. Every time he went back to the house the Hylands were there, and he said he knew they did not leave the house except to step out of the door for a moment. But were they at O'Sullivan's that afternoon? There is the value of their alibi. Would not the alibi for the Hylands be just as good as their alibi for Saturday night? Would not their alibi for that Sunday afternoon when O'Sullivan was down at Mr. Conklin's with Detective Murray, be just as good as the alibi for Saturday night? An alibi defense! But there is nothing tells better upon the alibi than O'Sullivan's own testimony. Those people swear he was home, covering the time when old man Carlson testified that voices were heard in the Carlson cottage at 7 o'clock. Mr. Carlson said he saw Martin Burke come out of the door at 5 o'clock on Saturday afternoon and spoke to him, and Burke said: 'I guess it is not too early to fix up,' and old Jonas said: 'I guess not.' Burke went in, and he came out again at 7 o'clock, and old man Carlson heard the voices of some men inside the cottage. And it was old Jonas who testified that Patrick O'Sullivan admitted to Captain Schaack that he got home about 7 or half-past 7 o'clock that evening. He did not get home before that, and he (O'Sullivan) took his supper and went to bed. "Now the others swear that he was home from half-past 5 or before 6 o'clock up to supper time, and was not out of the house once, except, as stated by Mulcahey, when he went into the yard at half-past 7 or 8 o'clock. O'Sullivan says himself he was out. I don't care whether you put it as far as the shed, or the rear of the shed, as Captain Schaack put it in his direct examination. The fact that he was out and away from the house shows the value of the alibi! I don't claim that O'Sullivan was in the house when Dr. Cronin entered. If he was he was not immediately in view, because the word sent to the doctor was that O'Sullivan was out of town, and his card was presented, on which the Doctor would go and attend to the business; it would not answer the purpose that O'Sullivan should appear in the room the moment the Doctor entered. At least he was not in the immediate view of the Doctor when he entered the room, because his presence would have excited the Doctor's suspicion. The Doctor certainly did not see him in that room, if he was there, until after the door was closed behind him and after the first blow was struck that Mrs. Hoertel heard. THE VALUE OF HUMAN MEMORY. "Now, gentlemen, such is the value of human memory. These witnesses said they were there up to O'Sullivan's time of departure, and he was at home at supper. You see their anxiety to be able to account for O'Sullivan's whereabouts, and to be able to fix the time that would answer his purpose. When Tom Whalen was put on the stand I think I cross-examined him myself as to the hour in which he was in the habit of getting home. 'Oh,' he said, 'at various hours,' but it was finally narrowed down to the fact that he got home about 6:30. He had to go about a mile and a half to his home, and he said that he generally got there about 7. Then as soon as he saw that I was endeavoring to pin him down to an earlier hour, taking the hour he quitted work as a gauger, he said he would sometimes loaf around the barn and talk ten or fifteen minutes with the men. He said also that they generally waited supper for him after he got home. That shows that supper was late. It appeared that the ladies went out after supper. They say they went out on their own suggestion. Probably they did. They were absent. I am glad they were absent, but if they had not been they probably would have said they had seen O'Sullivan that evening. O'Sullivan would say to them, 'Don't you remember that I was here?' and they would not deny it, but would believe it, and in their anxiety to help and save him they would believe it surely and swear to it. That is all I wish to say about those ladies. It was necessary to get supper late. Mrs. Hoertel had seen a man standing between the two houses inside the fence about 8 o'clock--probably five or ten minutes past 8 o'clock. She saw a man standing between the Carlson cottage and the little cottage in which the Carlsons lived. He was standing on the sidewalk inside the fence--in other words, close to the back door of the Carlson cottage; when she got on Roscoe street she saw the man there. The question arises, was not that Patrick O'Sullivan? and so supper is belated, and we have an attempt to show that he was not out of the house. Mulcahey says that he was out of the yard between 8 and 8:30 o'clock. I don't know anything about Mulcahey's conduct or whereabouts that evening except what he told us. He was O'Sullivan's bed-fellow, and his bed-fellow from the first night that he arrived from those regions in Pennsylvania that have become celebrated for crimes of this nature." "I object and except to those remarks," cried Mr. Donahoe, angrily. "You know the Molly Maguires in Pennsylvania," continued Mr. Hynes, "down in that notorious valley." "I don't think," remarked Judge McConnell, in a mildly expostulating tone, "that we ought to refer to that, or draw any inference from it." "I think," responded Mr. Hynes, "I have a right to speak about the locality from where a party comes, but I bow to your honor's suggestion in the matter. At any rate, gentlemen of the jury, I can argue from dates. He arrived here on the 3d of April, but on your honor's suggestion I withdraw anything of that kind and wish the jury not to consider it. It is not a thing I should refer to, according to his honor's suggestion, and I don't want you to consider it, but consider this, that Mulcahey was the first to arrive on the scene here. Knight came afterward; Brennan came afterward; I don't know when Boyington began to appear there, but three men came to O'Sullivan's after Mulcahey arrived. He was not working for O'Sullivan but he was taken right into O'Sullivan's own room. Mulcahey says he was out about 8 or half past 8 o'clock. He does not say he was out himself; I don't know whether he was or not, but he says O'Sullivan was out in the yard about that time. It was dark at eight o'clock on the 4th of May; that is, I mean it was night, and as dark as it can be with the stars shining and a quarter moon. The moon went down about 11 o'clock that night. It was off in the southwest, nearly south at that hour. It was shining in on the south side of the Carlson cottage. There was a man there. They didn't know whether they had been seen or recognized or not. They didn't know whether more than one man was seen or not. At any rate, there is a confession that at that time Patrick O'Sullivan was out of the house." The speaker went on to consider the testimony of Nieman, the saloon-keeper, and said that it was proven beyond a doubt that Coughlin, O'Sullivan and Kunze were in the saloon late on the night of May 4th. There was no earthly doubt about it. If there were, he would ask that the defendants be acquitted. All the facts and all the evidence tended to show that the saloon-keeper was accurate in his dates and correct in his statements, and there could be no mistake about it. The counsel went over Kunze's connection with Coughlin, Coughlin's alibi so far as it related to the night of the murder, the peculiar circumstances surrounding the curious Smith, the identity of Burke with the man that rented the Carlson cottage, and the connection of Kunze as a tool of Coughlin with the conspiracy, and urged that every circumstance pointed conclusively to the guilt of these defendants. The identification of Coughlin by Mertes, the milkman, was beyond peradventure, while the telephone messages that had passed between Coughlin and O'Sullivan showed the extent in which they had been in commadeation. Numerous exceptions to the statement of the speaker were made by Counselor Donahoe and other attorneys for the prisoners, but the speaker proceeded without paying apparent attention to these interruptions. The alibi provided for Burke was shown to be unreliable, and the charges against the triangle, the row in Camp 20 and the appointment of a secret committee to try the physician were dissected at length. The evidence of witnesses regarding the memorable meetings of that body, taken in connection with Beggs' mysterious actions and his correspondence with Spellman, of Peoria, showed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the conspiracy to accomplish the ends of the opponents of Dr. Cronin had existed. Mr. Hynes proceeded to contend that "the trunk was bought and the valise was bought, the scheme was designed of stripping the clothes from the body for the purpose of hiding the corpse and of raising the cry to satisfy those to whom Dr. Cronin had been denounced as a spy that he had taken his leave and gone away to the other side of the water to give up his information and deliver himself and all that he knew into the hands of the British government. If his name was once successfully connected with the word 'spy,' if plausible proof were adduced that he was a spy for the British government, these lies, accusations against the triangle, would be as idle as the wind. His fate would have been regarded as no more than just by Irishmen devoted to a cause which they believed to have been betrayed. It was the interest of the reputation of the men who were attacked on a charge upon which he had collected evidence; it was the interest of the suppression of the conclusion he had arrived at; it was the interest of the men who were exposed by the honest investigation and courageous report; it was the interest of these men that Dr. Cronin should not be understood to be murdered in this country, because to be murdered here was to confess the truth of his charges. If those charges were untrue, if they were without foundation, if there was anything wanting in the evidence of them, gentlemen of the jury, there would be no occasion for killing him. No man was ever killed that way for a mere personal hatred. He must have the evidence of these men's robberies and wrong-doings to prove his assertions, and it was in the interest of their reputation, in order that they might continue to plunder and rob, and impose themselves upon a sacred cause, that his reputation was to be attacked and his memory branded as that of a spy killed upon British soil. The evidence in this case, gentlemen of the jury, that immediately after the disappearance of Dr. Cronin we had the assurance from John F. Beggs that he was all right and would turn up. Then we had Mike Whalen, who testifies that the dispatches showed he was seen here and there and elsewhere--that he had run away, that he had gone away--where? Gone off to report to the British government in London. That was the suggestion. It was not sufficient. It was not sufficient that he should be killed, that his life should be stricken out by a foul and cowardly murder without trial and without warning, behind his back, that his sins should be visited upon him, but his reputation must be stamped to death, his standing among Irishmen must be assailed as a man utterly and entirely fallen and disgraced and his character generally arraigned and pilloried as that of a spy and a renegade in the interests of those men in whose interests he was killed." HOT SHOT FOR THE PRISONERS. Mr. Hynes resumed his address at the opening of court on the following day. He denounced the prisoners as members of a band of blood-thirsty conspirators, and dealing with the case against Beggs, urged that the whole of the testimony showed conclusively that he was identified with the crime. The alibi for the white horse was considered at length; the speaker taking the ground that the identification of Dinan's animal by Mrs. Conklin and John T. Scanlan, Jr., was conclusive. Continuing Mr. Hynes said: "I call your attention to the fact that not from the opening to the close of Mr. Donahoe's speech was one word said in condemnation of the murder of Dr. Cronin--not one adjective used to describe it, not one sentiment of dissent or dissatisfaction, disapprobation or condemnation of that crime, that stands out as the blackest and reddest of modern times. 'I do not know whether Dr. Cronin was a spy or not,' says the representative of P. O'Sullivan, addressing this jury, 'and I don't care.'" "That is right," interrupted Mr. Donahoe, "I don't care anything about it." "No, sir," said Mr. Hynes, in an impassioned tone, turning around and facing the attorney for O'Sullivan, "but as an officer of the court, as a law-abiding citizen, as a member of this human family, as a Christian gentleman, I hope, and as a man with the common instincts of mankind--in mercy's name, in decency's name, in humanity's name, find somewhere within the possibilities of your character an impulse to denounce a murder so infamous as this, if you dare to do it with your client's retainer in your hands." "Not one word of condemnation, gentlemen," continued Mr. Hynes to the jury; "not one word of defense in the memory of that brave, courageous, honest man, whose only fault--a fatal fault--was his honest courage, when these cowardly fiends assembled in their numbers in that room, with a dim light, and after the door was closed behind his back, his heart throbbing with sympathy for anticipated suffering, with anxiety for the relief of human pain; scarcely had the door closed upon his back, when these cowardly murderers fell upon him from behind, and, like the miscreants they were, beat out his life. "Oh, gentlemen, what savagery and brutality is palmed off for patriotism! Many and many a hot and rash act has brought calamity and suffering and shame to the face of the Irish people, but in all their history in the past, and in all the history that they can make in the future, this will stand out as the one conspicuous monument of shame, casting its dark shadow upon the reputation and character of an honorable and generous race--a race who, as a rule, sympathize with the suffering, sympathize with the weak, and are rarely, if ever, cowardly. But that honorable and courageous sentiment, when it is perverted, and when it is violated, the higher the height of generosity from which it fails, the more calamitous the break and the greater the destruction that it causes." Speaking of the discovery of the body and its condition, the orator said: "The 'Agnus Dei,' the emblem of his faith and his religion, was around his neck. I suppose that these men thought that they were prompted by a religious sentiment, when they saved from touch and left upon his remains the 'Agnus Dei,' the symbol of his faith. I suppose these men think that there is a religious sentiment in that. A sentiment that can beat out the life and violate the ten commandments, and the divine decree issued from the mountain, 'Thou shalt not kill,' and still leaves a religious emblem around the neck, is but superstition; it is not faith; it is not religion; it is not morality. And, gentlemen, do not think that it represents the conscience of the Catholic. It does indicate one thing; that the men who killed Dr. Cronin, stripped him of his clothes, and put him in the catch-basin, had some respect for that emblem. That is all that it indicates, and it simply helps to identify the men who committed the murder. They would not desecrate it upon his neck by tearing it from his dead body; they would give him that advantage after they had killed him, as they thought. But they could bury that emblem, that they thought sacred in a sewer." Mr. Hynes concluded his speech in this form: "Oh, there is no conspiracy behind! There is no citadel of crime, your Honor," suddenly turning around and addressing the Court, "of which these men are simply the outworks! There is no dark nest of criminals behind these to be uncovered, and uncovered only in the face of dire results of the awful crime that they have committed! "And committed for what? What was the motive? Judge Wing appealed to you, and Mr. Donahoe talked to you as if a prejudice of race or religion had any place in this trial. Did it ever occur to any man connected with the prosecution or the defense that any question of that kind could enter into the breasts of this jury? Do you think that Judge Wing or Mr. Donahoe has any apprehensions of that kind--that these men should be punished because they are Irishmen, or because he says they are Catholics? They may be Catholic in name. I do not know whether they are Irishmen. Burke, it appears, was born in Ireland, and Donahoe made a point when an inquiry was made of Colleran, as to what county he was born in, and it appears he was born in the County of Mayo. Why was that inquiry made? Because Colleran was from Mayo, and it was simply to show that they were neighbors and came from places within a few miles of each other. Simply to show to the jury that we had to go to his friend to get whatever information we could, and to show the earnestness of that friendship. In that Mr. Donahoe discovers an attempt to appeal to the prejudices of this jury against the County Mayo man. "Gentlemen, Judge Wing solemnly submitted to you a proposition that he did not know how you might feel as to the right or duty of an Irishman, separated from the land of his birth, taking an interest in the affairs of that land after he has become a citizen of the United States. I am not here to criticise an Irishman's right to do that; so far as I have anything to say on that subject it would be for me to defend it, because our country, first, last, and all the time, is for the right of humanity the world over, and where humanity is suffering, and where liberty is trampled in the dust, there I think is to be found the cause of the true devotee of freedom. It is a natural thing that an Irishman, born in Ireland, or even the son of a man born in Ireland, should take an interest in that land and in its struggle for national recognition and for self-government. There are very few American citizens who do not sympathize with that effort. I justify every legitimate and honorable endeavor of every Irishman to better the condition of his native land, but let it be done as Washington did it; let it be done as Emmet attempted to do it--in honorable, open, manly and legitimate endeavor to establish self-government, and not by making war upon defenseless men and women and attacking the lives of non-combatants. "For the past nine or ten years, when these acts have been charged on the triangle, and when these lawless, fruitless and destructive acts of the Irish cause have been charged against the triangle---- "I except to these remarks," said Mr. Donahoe. "There is no evidence to that." "I suppose that the speech of Tom O'Connor," said Mr. Hynes, "that these men had been sent to English prisons, is not considered in evidence by the gentleman." "There had been conversation of that kind," remarked the Court, and the objection of Mr. Donahoe being overruled, Mr. Donahoe took an exception. "I apprehend," continued Mr. Hynes, "there has not been a rational, thinking and intelligent Irishman who has not recognized the fact that every one of these acts was embarrassing if not destructive to the cause of Ireland; that every one of them simply met as an echo a new penal act or an act of coercion on the part of the English government, and crippled the hands and silenced the voices, even, of the true champions of Ireland making their fight under Mr. Parnell. Anything of that kind, I am willing to join with Mr. Foster in saying was a perversion of the purposes of the organization to which these gentlemen belonged; a perversion of its intent; a departure from its policy and its methods; and, as I said last night, invented by them, not for the cause of Ireland or to serve its ends, but simply as a means to excuse and cover up the disappearance of money that had been stolen. "Some allusion has been made by Mr. Donahoe to myself. I do not propose to refer to it, except in one respect. What possible personal motive could I have, except the motive that every citizen should be actuated by, and that should control the conduct of every lawyer engaged in the prosecution of a great case like this? Should I fail in my duty when invited into this case by the State's Attorney to assist him in its prosecution? Was the fact that I first saw the light of day in the same land that Martin Burke did, going to embarrass my conduct or to hinder me in the performance of my duty in any respect? A scandal to my profession, and a shame and reproach to my people, would I indeed be, if for one moment I forgot my simple function of an American lawyer, in an American court, before an American jury, pleading for the vindication of American law. If these men, unfortunately situated as they are to-day, have been personal enemies, I do not know them. I certainly have no personal feeling; I contemplate them only with pain and with regret and with shame. I never saw one of them before the commission of this crime, except John F. Beggs, and I assure you that although I had seen John F. Beggs, and had spoken with him and had a very slight acquaintance with him, I did not know that the man indicted under that name was the prisoner at the bar, until the first day that I came into court here. Whatever relation I had with him was not of an unkind character; so that I come to the trial of this case free from the impulse of personal motive--having no anxiety except an anxiety for the punishment of crime, the vindication of the law, the maintenance of its majesty, the sanctity of human life, and the punishment of the foulest crime that has blotted the calendar of this State, or of any other State of this American Union. "Now, you have listened to me with patience; I thank you for your attention through the desultory speech that it was necessary for me to make after the exhaustive and able manner in which the people's case had been presented to you by the two distinguished gentlemen who preceded me, Judge Longenecker and Mr. Ingham. In leaving you, gentlemen of the jury, and this case and my associates in it, I trust I leave it without any trace of personal feeling toward anybody--counsel or anybody else in this case. If, in the sharp fight of a lawsuit--of a trial like this--under the spur of combat at times, I have said or done anything that has wounded the feelings or hurt the sensibilities of any man, no matter who, I am sorry for it. I want you to take this case. It is a great case and a serious case. There never was a greater nor more serious duty devolved upon any twelve men on God's earth. It is as sacred and as important as the duty of the soldiers who went out to fight for the flag and maintain the unity of the States and the sovereignty of the Constitution. I commit it to you with all its awful solemnity; with all its awful responsibilities, feeling confident that in the breast of every one of these twelve men beats the heart of an honorable, honest, a patriotic and a law-abiding man; that your verdict will be the verdict of your conscience--a verdict that your consciences and judgments will approve and that the Court will ratify, that God will sanctify, that will vindicate the law and commit the guilty to a just punishment." * * * * * FOSTER'S PLEA FOR BEGGS. At the conclusion of Mr. Hynes' argument, Mr. Foster, who appeared specially in behalf of John F. Beggs, claimed the attention of the Court. Among other things he said: "Dr. Cronin was murdered. A more dastardly and heinous murder, a more atrocious and cold-blooded murder, in my judgment was never perpetrated. Are the gentlemen for the State satisfied with that? In this connection allow me to urge you to pause and consider. You remember what it is to which I refer. Whatever you may see of error on the part of counsel, in the name of heaven don't charge it on the head of his client. Don't charge the forgetfulness; don't charge the investigation; don't charge the bad judgment of the lawyer upon the head of the client he is attempting to represent. The man who does not say that the murderer or murderers of Dr. Cronin ought to be punished is a man whose friendship I don't prize, and whose citizenship, in my judgment, we can get along better without than with. Those are my sentiments; that is my belief; but in the name of God, gentlemen, must an innocent man suffer because of a crime which we concede as being perpetrated in our midst? Are the minds of men to be inflamed, are men to lose their reason by visiting vengeance on a man who is charged of the diabolical crime of the murder which is being investigated here? "These are the questions to which I direct your attention to some extent. Because a man has espoused a cause, because a man is identified with a clan which may not meet your approval or may not meet mine, that is no reason, no excuse under heaven, why his life should be destroyed. And I thank my friend, Judge Longenecker, for the statement which he made at the very threshold of this case as to what the issue involved really was. In his opening he used this language in reference to the Clan-na-Gael Society: 'Remember that we are not called upon to try the Clan-na-Gael organization; we are not here to prosecute that organization or to defend it. If that organization has no right to exist, then it is the duty of the government under which it exists to take hold of it. It is not the duty of those trying the criminal case to settle that question. As I said, no matter what our feelings may be in regard to this, no matter what our ideas may be about an organization formed to make war with a country at peace with ours, we are not called to try that question, and you are not sworn to try that issue.' Gentlemen, every word of that is true." Mr. Foster then went on to comment upon the questions relating to prejudice on the part of the jurors put during their examination. He said that those questions were proper and wise, because it was needful to ascertain if they entertained any religious or radical prejudice. Then he said: "John F. Beggs must be convicted of the murder of Patrick H. Cronin, or he must be discharged. There is no question here as to whether he is a Protestant or as to whether he is a Catholic. There is no question here as to whether he is a Clan-na-Gael or whether he is not. He is a murderer and must be punished for murder or he must be discharged by your verdict. The issue is simple--easy to understand. No intricate pleadings are needed in this case; no intricate issues are involved. The plain and simple question is, did John F. Beggs kill Dr. Cronin? Not necessarily with his own hand, but was he a part and parcel of a conspiracy to destroy the life of Patrick H. Cronin? Freed of all rubbish, that question is left to your consideration and no other. There are some things, gentlemen, of which I complain in this case, and I believe I have a right to complain of them. The law in its wisdom has provided means for the punishment of crime. One of the most important offices in the State of Illinois, one of the most remunerative offices is the office of State's Attorney of Cook county. Why is that office sought for? Because it is honorable, because it is remunerative, and the lawyers are few who would not gladly assume the responsibilities of the office of public prosecutor. The law not only provides for a public prosecutor, but it provides for five assistants. Mr. Foster then referred to the importance of having a competent and trustworthy man for this office, and then remarked that it was singular that the State's Attorney with his five assistants could not attend to the business of the county." At this juncture he made it evident that he was opposed to the appointment of Mr. Hynes to assist the prosecution, for he said: "No sooner was there an arrest made on account of the murder of Dr. Cronin than war was declared in the opposing camps of the Clan-na-Gael in Chicago. It was war to the knife, and the knife to the hilt, which has been kept up incessantly from that time to this. What was the first thing to do? Employ a good lawyer. Not satisfied with the provisions of the statute to which I have referred--not satisfied with the ability of my learned friend, Judge Longenecker, and all his assistants, they looked for another man. They cast about for a man of extraordinary ability to come to the rescue and hang the lot of opposing Clan-na-Gaels, and as they cast about for the man, he, who of all others is a power before a jury, the man who first attracts their attention is the man who last addressed you--a man whose home is in the courts--a man who only lives to address juries, and by addressing juries and courts--a man who can win cases before juries regardless of the facts by the power of his ingenuity and his eloquence. That is the man they want; that is the man they will have, who, in addition to the power I have referred to, is a partisan in the conflict, an Irishman and a Clan-na-Gael of the opposing faction. What other man among the two thousand lawyers at the Chicago bar except William J. Hynes, is the man to whom their attention is called?" Having commented on the able arguments of Mr. Ingham and Mr. Hynes, Mr. Foster said: "All I desire that you should do, gentlemen, is this: After the arguments are finished, when the silvery-tongued orator is done and you retire to deliberate upon and consider your verdict, sit down and wait until your blood is cool, sit down and wait until calm judgment and cool discretion take the place of frenzied emotion, before you act, and by your action commit a deed which shall haunt you to your grave. "Only a century ago Ireland blossomed as a rose. From the center to the circumference of that beautiful isle the smoke-stacks opened their black mouths toward the sky. Throughout the length and breadth of the land the fires glittered and gleamed upon the forges of industry, and everywhere the buzz of the spindle and the clatter of the loom were heard. Among the illustrious names which history gives us we find among them some of the grandest statesmen, some of the most eloquent orators and most learned scholars that ever lived upon this earth, either in times modern or ancient, were the sons of the Emerald Isle. But how have the mighty fallen! Armed forces have invaded the territory; the jury and the courts have been superseded by the drumhead court-martial; coats of tar and feathers have been resorted to; men, women and little children have been publicly whipped; the parliament has been stolen away; the smoke-stacks are cold and crumbled, and fires are out on the forges and in the furnaces, and the spindle and the loom are still." Counsel read selections from the address of John F. Beggs to President Harrison at Indianapolis at the time he visited that city with the Irish national committee, and also President Harrison's reply to the address of the organization, and then said: "Do you question for a moment the loyalty of the Irish people in America, and would you condemn them for their loyalty to their mother country? It is not charged in this case that the Clan-na-Gaels are dynamiters. If it had been my brother Hynes is the only one connected with this case who could give you reliable and full information on that subject, because he is a dynamiter. It may possibly have been that some men would think that by throwing a little dynamite into England it would set Englishmen thinking favorably of the project of that old statesman, Gladstone, to give to the Green Isle liberty to govern herself. Or perhaps it might have been regarded as a matter of retaliation for the suffering and indignity which the sons and daughters of the Green Isle had encountered for years. I do not know anything about it and therefore shall not refer to it. "Now, gentlemen, I have got an unpleasant duty to perform. I realize the fact that when we step upon the narrow walks of the city of the dead we are treading upon sacred ground. He who speaks of a soul departed in any other than words of commendation had better weigh well the purport of his language. Human charity is ever willing to bury with the bodies of men all the evil which they do, and remember only their virtues. That is commendable. That is right. Yet, gentlemen, I say I have a painful duty to perform because of certain expressions made by my client during the life of the man whose soul is now in eternity, and in order that I may protect his life I feel that I am justified even in censuring the conduct of the man during life, who has passed into eternity. The man who supposes or has supposed that Dr. Cronin, while here on earth, was an angel in disguise, is very much mistaken. Now, is that hard to say of a man who is dead? I hope you do not misconstrue the purpose for which I have stated it, or the object I have in view, but because my client has given his opinion while Dr. Cronin was alive. I have a right to give it so long as my client is alive in order that he may live, and that my language may be understood and justified in every regard. Whether or not this is an illegal organization, whether or not the dynamite policy existed as stated by Judge Longenecker in his opening argument, whether or not the purposes of the organization are to send dynamite to England and there to destroy human life and the lives of men and women and of children, as my friend says, I know not, but if that was the object of the organization the most active member and the promoter of the society and the purposes of the organization was Dr. Patrick H. Cronin. "To that statement I emphatically object," said Judge Longenecker. "We wanted to prove the reverse of that, and that Dr. Cronin was expelled because he bitterly opposed the dynamite doctrine, and we were not allowed to do it. It is not right to make such an assertion against a dead man, and, for one, I will not sit here and listen to it. So far from Dr. Cronin ever taking a dynamite policy, so far from his being an active member in furthering such a purpose, we wished to prove that he wrote a circular bitterly opposing the dynamite policy, for which he was expelled from his camp. It is not right, it is not manly to charge upon a dead man something that is entirely without foundation and opposed to the truth." "I claim that I have the right to argue that he was an active member in that project," retorted Mr. Foster, "because the gentleman shows that he organized camp after camp in this city and organized them on one basis." "And that basis was diametrically opposed to any dynamite policy and also opposed to the triangle, which dictated that policy," said Judge Longenecker. "If Cronin were here and could defend himself it would be a different matter." "I do not know of any testimony from which you can argue that there was any dynamite policy, Mr. Foster," said the court. "I certainly do not know of any such testimony, and therefore I do not think I can permit you to proceed on that ground." "It is in testimony that the dynamite policy of the organization was approved, because they were all reunited," said Mr. Foster. "I know what Hynes has said and I claim the right to reply to him unless the gentleman for the prosecution particularly desires to interrupt me. He does not disturb me at all but simply interrupts me." "I shall interrupt you just as long as you unjustly attack a dead man who can not defend himself," said Judge Longenecker. "There is evidence in this case, gentlemen, to the effect that Cronin, in lifetime, did organize certain societies, and what that evidence is I will read by and by. If I go beyond that evidence at all, and state what I can not prove, I shall suffer by it, because if I depart from the facts as you know them to be, any remarks I may make will have no effect whatever upon you. I do say this, that if it were not a dynamite policy, and the question was not whether it was wrong to send dynamite to England, that it was wrong to steal a hundred thousand dollars to keep in this country which ought to have been spent in England, and sent there for the destruction of the lives of men, women and children. Dr. Cronin protested against that. Now, in the case of John F. Beggs, from the commencement of this trial down to the present time, there has been no objection taken before you. Where has been the concealment of a fact? Where has there been any objection against testimony? Where has there been an exception to the ruling of the court? Now, I am not complaining because the learned lawyer objected and excepted, but I say on behalf of my client that his life and connection in this case in its ramifications has been an open book before you. They called him before the coroner, and for hours he testified and was examined by the coroner as prompted by my learned friend. He was called before the grand jury and examined by the State's Attorney and his assistants by the hour as to every fact within his knowledge, as to every circumstance as to his whereabouts, and everything their ingenuity could suggest. That was the reason why I called my friend, Judge Longenecker, to the witness stand. I wanted to show you, gentlemen, and I wanted you to know that this man had been examined twice with reference to all the circumstances surrounding him in this historic Camp 20. That examination had been taken by a stenographer in shorthand in both places, and not a single statement that John F. Beggs made on either of these occasions has been disputed, and the gentlemen know it. "I was impressed with the idea of my client's innocence the first time I ever talked with him, and I am more than ever satisfied of it at the present time. Where did they get those letters which he wrote to Spelman and received from Spelman? Did he not send for the chief of police, and tell them where he would find them in his office, and yet the prosecution in this case makes those very letters the foundation on which this jury is asked to take him out and strangle him and destroy his life. The first thing that my client is supposed to have said or done in connection with this case, as alleged by a witness, that he said Dr. Cronin ought not to be put on the trial committee to try Alexander Sullivan. It is in evidence that Dr. Cronin made all the charges of embezzlement of the funds, and the sending of the brothers to the English prison, on which the triangle was to be tried, and would you, gentlemen, like to be tried by a man you knew to be your enemy, whether it might be for your life, your liberty or your property? You must remember, gentlemen, that these facts complained of by Dr. Cronin took place two years before Beggs was a member of the Clan-na-Gael, and he spoke as he felt, and if the foundation on which he based his remarks was true then his deduction was true, and you, gentlemen, know that having made the charges of embezzlement and of worse than murder against Alexander Sullivan and the triangle, he was perfectly justified in saying that the Doctor was not a proper man to sit on the investigating committee. It is charged by one witness that Beggs is alleged to have said that Dr. Cronin was not a fit man to belong to any Irish society. Why? Because Coughlin had told him, and offered to make an affidavit to the effect, that Dr. Cronin had admitted him to the secrets of the organization without initiating him. It is claimed that Dr. Cronin was expelled from Columbia Camp. Suppose he were, was he justified because he knew all passwords and the grip and the ritual of the organization in starting hostile organizations without any authority? It is in proof here that one of his first acts after his expulsion was to start a hostile camp with the same number and a name calculated to mislead, for while he was expelled from Columbia Club, No. 98, he organized Columbus Club, No. 96. "How often do you hear the expression that a man is not fit to belong to a church, or is not fit to belong to a political body? Some of you gentlemen of the jury are Masons, others Odd Fellows, and what would you think of a Mason, if in the judgment of the lodge he was deemed a fit subject for expulsion, and who, after being expelled and put out of the organization, went right across the street and started a lodge of his own? He would have the password, he would have the ritual. He would have all the necessary forms and ceremonies and grips to enable him to start such a lodge, and what would you say of such a man, especially if he named the new lodge the same name as you gave yours? Counsel then referred to the trial by the Presbyterian church of Professor Swing, and his subsequent expulsion therefrom; to the trial of Professor Thomas by the Methodist Church, and his expulsion therefrom for heresy; charges which a few years before would have insured the burning of those two men, then passed on to consider the disagreement in the Episcopal Church which resulted in the formation of the Reformed Episcopal Church, and inquired if the jury ever dreamed of men being put on their trial in any of those churches for saying that Dr. Swing was not fit to be in the Presbyterian Church, or that Dr. Thomas was not fit to be in the Methodist Church. "And yet," continued Mr. Foster, "the expressions they used were the same as John F. Beggs is testified here to have used, and on account of which they ask you to destroy his life. Beggs' statement of his opinion giving the reasons upon which he made it, was harmless, yet the gentlemen stand here and argue by the hour, and ask you to find that Beggs was an enemy of Cronin because of these expressions. Now, gentlemen, the evidence of John F. Finerty is that Cronin was at that convention that appointed that trial committee to investigate the old executive, commonly designated by the name of the triangle. This is a point upon which we had some dispute to-day, and I refer to it simply to show that I was correct in my statement on that point. But the gentlemen have already conceded that they were wrong and I was right. Now I say that these were harmless expressions, and they are the only expressions which have been shown in evidence, or of which any evidence existed. I say existed, because if they ever existed anywhere they would have been proven in evidence. That was all that Beggs ever said against Cronin from the day of the beginning of the world down to the present time. That was all. All that he ever said was the statement that he ought not to have been on the trial committee which met at Buffalo, and from the statements made to him, naming the man who made them, that he (Cronin) had no business belonging to any Irish societies. They say that he claimed friendship for Alexander Sullivan--I shall refer to that hereafter--but did he ever denounce Cronin? Never! Never! All the members of the organization have been arrested, and brought to the State's attorney's office and discharged, or brought here and sworn as witnesses, and not one of them can say he ever heard a word--that he ever saw John F. Beggs rise in his place and utter one word of denunciation against the murdered Dr. Cronin. "Gentlemen of the Jury, Beggs was right when he made that statement. If you are going to hang him for that I may as well stop here and now. Take him inside the narrow limits of the jail and hang him, and let this farce end at once, and with it end the institution which we term our glorious courts of justice." Mr. Foster went on to say, that there was not one syllable in the case from beginning to end to show that Beggs was not one of the most consistent friends that Dr. Cronin ever had. No hatred had been proven, no ill will shown. It was simply sought to convict Beggs, because the testimony showed that Burke had gone to his office twice in January and once in February. It was not now, however, that he had ever gone there afterward, or that Beggs had ever associated with him anywhere else. As for the proceedings of Camp 20, it was simply unfortunate for Beggs that he had allowed himself to be elected senior guardian of the camp. But for that he would be walking upon the street and breathing the free air. Had he had a headache on the 8th day of February, if he had a toothache, if he had gone to the theatre with his wife, if any thing in God's world had happened to him, except the chance that took him down to preside for the first time after installation in the office of senior guardian of camp 20, he would have been a free man that day. There was no question about that, with no animosity toward Dr. Cronin, and no ill will, and a clamor and a claim for unity and peace was the offense that he had committed, and nothing more. Mr. Foster concluded his speech on the morning of Saturday, December 7th. He again reviewed the affairs of Camp 20, urging that there was no proof of the existence of a secret committee, and no evidence against Beggs. Stress was laid upon the fact that the ex-senior guardian had set up no alibi, but that he had endeavored to aid the State by every means in his power. In conclusion Mr. Foster said: "Now, there is another matter, gentlemen, to which I desire to call your attention. I can imagine that an Irishman, with all the hardships of his father in his mind, and all the hardships to which he has been subjected, might feel as if he could take a dagger and plunge it into the heart of a British spy, and then kneel down before his God and ask a blessing of the Divinity upon him. But John F. Beggs never believed that Dr. Cronin was a British spy. John F. Beggs is not deserving of mercy if he stood at the head of that cruel conspiracy to effect Dr. Cronin's murder. No words of commendation, no thought of pity, not one syllable, would I say in his behalf were he guilty of this atrocious and cold-blooded murder, because John F. Beggs is the dupe of no man. He is the tool of no man. He stands forth responsible for his acts, without a mitigating circumstance if he is guilty. Therefore, I say to you, gentlemen, in all candor and sincerity, you must either destroy the life of John F. Beggs or else you must turn him free. "Are you opposed to the execution of the death penalty? You and each one of you have sworn that you were not. Are you waiting for a murder more atrocious? In the name of heaven when do you expect to hear of one? I am talking sense now. I am appealing to your reason and your judgment. If John F. Beggs is guilty John F. Beggs must die. Shame to the verdict, shame to the verdict, I say, which, under the circumstances surrounding this case, would say, 'We will not torture our minds and we have not the moral turpitude to hang a man upon this evidence, but, by guessing and imagining and speculating that he might be guilty, we will give him a term in the penitentiary upon general principles and upon speculation.' Shame to such a verdict as that. Humanity can stand no such outrage perpetrated upon her citizens. I said yesterday that the conduct of John F. Beggs had been an open book before you. Why, when the organization of the coroner's jury was effected, one of the members of Camp 20, Captain Thomas O'Connor, rushed to Beggs, as the highest officer in the camp, and said: 'How about the secrets of the organization? I have been subpoenaed as a witness.' What was his reply? Was it concealment? Captain O'Connor, the most prejudiced witness in this case against my client, the man who has more feeling than any other witness against my client, is compelled by truth to say that John F. Beggs said: 'Tell everything you know.' "Where was the concealment then? When the men who are interested in the prosecution of the murder of Cronin, when the men who have devoted the energies of their lives to the prosecution of these defendants, in the finding out, the spying out and determining of the guilty parties, go to the senior guardian, and say: 'What shall we do when summoned before the officers of the law in regard to the secrets of the society?' they are met with the prompt response: 'Tell everything you know.' No concealment. No covering. No destruction of record. 'Tell everything you know.' "How was it with Luke Dillon, who came from Philadelphia, interested in the prosecution of this case, going home, whining like a sick child, squealing like a stuck pig, because investigation was going too far, and giving to the public the secrets of the organization. But Beggs says: 'Tell everything you know.' "Gentlemen, my client has already suffered too much in this case. He is ruined. A young man who has blossomed out in a noble profession is forever ruined. It requires but a charge of this kind, it matters not what your verdict may be, and the stain is fastened upon his skirts and there it must stay forever. He has already suffered too much, I have no peroration to make. I demand your cool, deliberate judgment, and that is all I ask. I make no appeal to your sympathy. On behalf of myself, and on behalf of Beggs, and of my associates, I extend to you thanks for the kind and patient manner in which you have listened to the testimony and listened to my efforts at an argument. "I hope the time is short when he will be able to thank each one of you, to take each one of you by the hand and in person thank you for his deliverance, and then may you be returned to the loved ones at home, and may he be returned to the bosom of his loved wife, for love makes the world so small that all the beauty is in one face, all the music in one voice and all the rapture is in one kiss. Gentlemen, I thank you." * * * * * FORREST'S ABLE PLEA ON BEHALF OF HIS CLIENTS. "If your Honor please, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, you sit in judgment on the lives of your fellow-citizens. You act, you look, like men who are thoroughly imbued with a sense of your responsibility. You have listened attentively to all the details of the testimony. You have listened with admiration to the discussion of the testimony by the distinguished gentlemen who have preceded me. You can not have failed to note the radical difference between the method of treating the evidence by counsel for the defendant and by counsel for the people. One is wrong, altogether wrong; the other is right, altogether right. The question is an important one. You will hear my discussion on it and the discussion of Brother Mills, and then you will hear the Judge pronounce upon the method of treating the evidence. You will pay no attention to what I say about the law unless it commends itself to your reason, and unless what I shall say is afterward given in principle or substance by the Court. It must be that the method of treating the circumstantial evidence has been pointed out clearly. The books are filled with decisions, and our judges can not be radically different in treating it. In England and America they treat it alike, and therefore, I say the prosecution is altogether wrong, or we are altogether wrong. The gentlemen for the prosecution tell you that the law of circumstantial evidence is represented by the fable of the farmer and the bunch of fagots, which fable was intended by �sop, and by all reproducers of �sop, to illustrate, not circumstantial evidence, but the fact that in unity there is strength, or, to use the expression sometimes used in politics or war,'United we stand, divided we fall.' We claim that that is altogether wrong, and, if I am right, they are altogether wrong in their method, and, if wrong in their method, my inference, is they dare not apply the legal method. Judge Wing, Mr. Donahoe and myself have applied the analytical method, which is adopted by every scientific man and every searcher after truth. I propose, gentlemen, to consume this afternoon in discussing the question as to which is right in their method of considering the evidence. Mr. Ingham commented upon the rule as laid down by the Supreme Court of Illinois, and then quoted the instruction given by Judge Wing in a case in which he appeared for the prosecution. You are convinced, as jurors, if you are convinced as men, that it is right, when properly understood, but you must not take one piece of this instruction and consider it, when the Supreme Court in passing upon a set of instructions never takes one by itself, but considers one in the light of all the others. So you must consider these instructions in the light of each other." The counsel proceeded to read at extreme length from "Wells on Circumstantial Evidence," with the view of showing the unreliability of such testimony. Burrill's work on the same subject was also considered. He next read a decision of the Supreme Court, which, in effect, declares that a verdict of guilty can only be arrived at when there is no reasonable hypothesis consistent with the innocence of the person charged, even though at the same time the only solution of the crime is the theory of the guilt of the defendant. The life and liberty of the citizen can not be sacrificed on the ground that only by regarding him as guilty can the crime be explained. Mr. Forrest then quoted a case showing that where a physical possibility existed of the crime being committed by some other means than that claimed in the theory of the guilt of the defendant, the supposition of his innocence was not to be excluded on the ground of its moral impossibility. [Illustration: W. S. FORREST, LEADING COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENSE.] An adjournment was taken at this point until 10 o'clock Monday morning, December 9, when Mr. Forrest resumed his address to the jury. He began with an apology for his discussion of the question of law on Saturday, stating that he thought it was his duty to do so. Then he went on to argue that witnesses may lie, but facts can not. He took a peculiar line on this point, referring to the tariff discussion, and showing that the Republicans claimed that the tariff is a benefit to the country, and that the Democrats claimed the opposite. "So you see," continued counsel, "much depends upon the disposition you have when you start to look at facts." He then read from "Taylor on the Law of Evidence," citing a case in which Macbeth was quoted to show that the smearing of the daggers was an intentional effort to create circumstantial evidence against the innocent. The decision also referred to Joseph's coat of many hues which was stained by the blood of a kid. All this was done to show the unreliability of circumstantial evidence. Then Mr. Forrest turned his attention to the case on trial, referring to the fact that Klahre had soldered the box that was supposed to contain Dr. Cronin's clothes, which, he remarked, according to the theory of the prosecution, was to have been shipped to England and received by some accomplice in the crime and afterward published to the world as containing Dr. Cronin's clothes. "You do not claim that I said that?" asked Judge Longenecker. "No," replied Mr. Forrest, "but that was your theory and that was the theory of the whole world. It was not only the State's Attorney's theory, gentlemen; it was not only the theory of the press of Chicago; it was the theory of the whole world. The whole world has learned the proof. These clothes were never in that box. You have since seen that the clothes that these gentlemen assure had been sent by Martin Burke to England in that box were never shipped over the sea. The box was never intended for an alleged accomplice. It was never intended to contain the corpse of Dr. Cronin. In spite of all their reasoning and of all the inferences that they drew, by chance a workman in a sewer in the town of Lake View turned up Dr. Cronin's clothes, which, instead of being in England in a tin box, were in a valise buried in a sewer in the town of Lake View. "In all seriousness I will ask you two questions: suppose the cleaning of that sewer had not occurred until after this trial. Don't you know that in every speech of these distinguished orators they would have urged that Martin Burke was guilty because he sent Dr. Cronin's clothes over the sea? If that argument had been made to me, and these clothes had not been discovered would not I have given it weight? Can not you learn from that fact some lessons? You can learn that these gentlemen for the State are no safer guides than we are. You can learn that circumstantial evidence can lie and mislead, and although the defendant may not be able to disprove what they prove, as they say, it does not follow that the defendants are guilty." DIFFICULT PART OF THE DEFENSE. "You see the difficulty that the defense is in when we have to prove a negative. How could we prove that the clothes were not over the sea if accident had not turned them up in the sewer in Lake View? You see the danger of assuming to be true what we can not disprove. You see the unreliability of circumstantial evidence. You see the difficulty we have in proving a negative. Suppose that one of you were on trial, and suppose that the State's Attorney could introduce a witness to swear he saw you burning a deed or will, and suppose in the middle of the trial the deed should be produced in all its entirety, how rejoiced you would be. So rejoiced were we, and so rejoiced was the soul of Martin Burke, so gladdened was my soul, when the clothes were found in the North Town; call it fate, call it blind chance, call it an overruling Providence, call it what you will, it did for Martin Burke what his counsel and all the witnesses in the world could never have done. Suppose that the truth had not been disclosed. Suppose that the clothes had not been found; suppose that the argument had been made by these gentlemen--and what an argument they would have made in the form of a narrative!--describing how the clothes crossed the stormy sea, describing the ship containing this guilty secret. They could have speculated about what was to be done over there, and how it was to be done. Suppose they had done that; suppose that you had believed it; suppose you had drawn the conclusion that they urged you to draw in their opening, and that they would have urged you to draw in their closing. Suppose you had imposed the death penalty on Martin Burke; suppose the death penalty had been executed, and then the proof should have been discovered that the clothes were in the North Town sewer, what justification could you have made to the people of the State of Illinois? What justification could you have made in your prayers to your God? What justification could you have made in the forum of your own consciences to yourselves? "Facts do lie. Now, by an agreement between this court and counsel for the defendant, I am not to speak of the Camp 20 conspiracy; but if that agreement had not been made, may it please your honor, I would not have spoken of the Camp 20 conspiracy, because it is wholly unnecessary. That has been done ably and exhaustively by the distinguished gentleman who represents Mr. Beggs. One thing I want to call your attention to and pass it. These gentleman have said, 'What difference does it make whether that remark of Beggs' that the committee reported to him alone was made May 3 or May 10.' Why, it makes all the difference in the world to all the defendants except Beggs, if you believe it was the appointment of a secret committee to kill Dr. Cronin. It makes all the difference in the world to them, and the gentleman that asked the question well knew it. It was made after May 3, and, therefore, if made, it is evidence against nobody but Beggs. If it was made before May 3, it would be evidence against everybody on trial, if you believe that conspiracy was entered into between them. That is the reason why these witnesses were prevailed on to swear that it was made May 3 instead of May 10. Every one of them, I believe, swore that it was May 3, but on cross-examination it turns out that it was May 10. O'Connor says that it occurred on a certain night when he was appointed on an auditing committee, and the record shows that that motion was made on May 10 and that was the only time he was there. So you see that somebody had a motive to change that from May 10 to May 3; and the motive was to make it evidence against all instead of evidence against only one." Mr. Forrest went on to say that it was a remarkable thing in this case that the State had just one witness to every matter of importance. There was just one witness who heard Burke say that Cronin was a British spy and ought to be killed. They had just one other witness who heard Coughlin say it was rumored that Cronin was a spy; then they had just one other witness who heard O'Sullivan say, on the 22d of May, that Cronin was a spy, and is it not remarkable that there should be just one person who heard those gentlemen make such remarks? If they were in the habit of making those remarks, is it not highly probable that they made them more than once, and that they made them to more than one person, yet why was only one produced? It looks as if they were going out into the highways and by ways of the world, searching for witnesses, and had found only one. ATTACKING THE PROSECUTING WITNESSES. "Now I shall have something to say with respect to the credibility of the witnesses," he continued, "and shall ask you to draw inferences you may not be inclined to draw. Probably you will ask me why a person should commit perjury in a case where a citizen is on trial for his life. It is difficult to answer, because we do not know anything of the character of the witnesses or their associations, and can not find out what their connection is with other parties. There is also this to be remembered, that men have whimsical ambition. There are witnesses who desire to be distinguished, and who know it is always a great matter to know all about some great crime which has been committed. The man is a hero for the time being. He is a great man, called upon by reporters, written up and petted by the police and other persons. I can not tell what the effect of that would be. They may not intentionally commit perjury, but at the same time they may be lead entirely astray from the facts. Counsel regaled the jury with some of his experience in trying other murder cases by way of explaining what he meant, and said it is unpopular to testify on behalf of the defendant in a case like this. The enemies of my client have their claquers placed about the court, whose duty it is to applaud when anything comes out favorable to the prosecution. "I want to know, if your Honor please, if there is any evidence of any claquers having been placed in this court in this case?" curtly inquired Mr. Ingham. "I certainly do not know of any such evidence," replied Judge McConnell, "and the remark is a highly improper one." "Claquers were over there in that corner and very frequently applauded, and that is where the Clan-na-Gaels were congregated," angrily retorted Mr. Forrest. "There are no claquers in this court, and the counsel well knows it," said Mr. Ingham, sharply. "I can not have you go into that subject or say any more on that line, Mr. Forrest," said Judge McConnell. "Very well," said Mr. Forrest, and he then turned around to the jury and informed them that his client on a previous occasion was awarded a new trial by the Supreme Court. Now, I want to call your attention to certain evidence. There is a peculiar combination of men and circumstances against my clients, Daniel Coughlin and Martin Burke. The same remark applies to the other men, but chiefly to those two. For example, it is worth $100 a week to Patrick Dinan to have it established that his horse took the Doctor away. He told you that. He told you that his horse is in the museum, and if that fact is not established then he will lose $100 a week. Now, what effect do you suppose that will have upon his zeal in giving evidence? Again, old man Carlson was in very needy circumstances; his boy had not been living with his wife for four years. He had been traveling around the country while his wife was living out as a servant, and it was obviously to their advantage and pecuniary interest that the statement should be established that the murder was committed in that cottage. How that might tend to affect his testimony and lead him to imagine what never took place, you will decide. It is an unfortunate circumstance, and may have made him remember things which never occurred, especially as he is an old man, and the wall between memory and imagination is nearly broken down, owing to old age. Of course this is peculiarly unfortunate to my client. "Another circumstance. It is proved that the Clan-na-Gael in the city of Chicago and throughout the United States is divided into two wings. It is proved that a division exists right through the country. One wing of this Clan-na-Gael exists in the prisoner's bar, the other wing sits in the witness seat. How does the wing that sits in the witness seat conduct itself? It involves the entire prosecution, and how does it feel toward my client? What do they say? They say your wing are robbers, betrayed their comrades to the British and sent them to British prisons by telling the British government who they were. One of the witnesses, Captain Thomas O'Connor, told you that he worked every day through May, June, July and August as a detective in this case for not one dollar, and you find there are other persons who gave their money and collected money to aid the prosecution. We have a split in the Clan-na-Gael throughout this entire country, and it is a matter of public notoriety and history that 15,000 Clan-na-Gaels were in the prosecution. Don't you know it is the same old cover of Irish slander? It is the Irish leaders slandering each other, and they will slander each other for all eternity. Now what is the effect of this? On the one side they say your wing is sending out comrades to British prisons, betraying them to the British government, and they are prosecuting them, while they say the patriots whom they laud to the sky are dynamiters who sent dynamite to England to wreck property and lives. Don't you see that stand out plainly and distinctly? And not alone has it permeated the prosecution, but if you believe what Lyman said about it, one of the dynamiters sits right here at the prosecution table. Do you suppose there is much difference between the leaders of the two wings? I do not, generally speaking. One wing charges the other with betraying their comrades and sending them to British prisons. What is the effect of it? Every man who has left Ireland for Ireland's good, because the English police were after him, and every man who came here from Millbank, came here crying, 'Revenge, revenge, revenge.' And yet they say they come here and want an American jury to pass upon an American case, while the motive behind it all is ancient Irish malice, so far as that thing is concerned. What effect has this had upon the witnesses? There is not a witness who has been discovered in this case since the coroner's jury that is not a suspicious witness. Did you notice the peculiarity of the witnesses? I never saw such a body of witnesses and you never did. They have eyes like the eagle; like the owls they can see better and farther by night than by day. Their hearing is as sensitive as that of the deer that roams through our northern forests. Their perceptive faculties are marvelous. Their recollection is beyond conception. They can remember the slightest circumstance. Every one of them, and it is an extraordinary thing and quite unnatural, remembers the slightest circumstance, and each of them does something more remarkable than the defendants about whom they testify. You will remember that it is not some public event which occurred and by which they recollect, but it is evidence of an occurrence which they themselves give, and such evidence and such memories as they have. When in the future writers on memory want to give instances of prodigious feats of memory they will search the record of the Cronin trial and cite the witnesses for the prosecution. "There was that man Pulaski, who testified that he sold Burke a shirt. What an idea! That Burke had only one shirt, and that the witness did what no other man ever did in his life to a man who bought a shirt, asked him to take off his coat to measure him. Burke had an abiding place, and why should he go to that store on Sunday, the 5th of May, and buy a shirt? If anything of the kind ever occurred it was two of those dock loafers who work around the bridge, and who look as if they had only one shirt, and when they make a change of it they buy a new shirt. Now he says this man came in and bought a shirt, and that he told him to step back and try on a nice clean shirt, and if it did not fit to put it right back in the lot. You know as well as I do that when you go and buy a ready-made shirt there is only one question asked you--What is the size of your collar? But that is not all. He remembers another man who was standing across the street, and that this man went into the middle of the street and hailed the other man, and then they had a whispered conversation. Now he tells you that he remembers that the big man wore a 16-1/2 collar and the little man, who subsequently came across the street, wore a 15-1/2 collar. He remembers it exactly, and did not testify before the coroner's inquest. And then they had a photograph which he identifies, but they never introduced it in evidence, and I don't know why, but it looked to me as if a 15-1/2 collar would go only half way round that man's neck. "Now comes Klahre, and he says what never occurred. That on the morning of Sunday, May 5th, he read in one of the papers that Dr. Cronin was a spy, and had been made away with. As we all know, Mrs. Conklin testified that not one word was said about it until 12 o'clock Sunday, but they had to get it in quick, because Burke was out of town on the 8th and 9th. He says that on Monday morning Martin Burke came into his place with a box, a tin box, with a rope around it. The expressman brought in the box, which weighed about fifty pounds, and put it down, and we may rightly call this the box trick. Klahre said he was going to cut the rope, when Burke called out: 'Hold on; don't you cut that rope.' It would not do for him to peep into that box, because he might have seen Dr. Cronin's clothes, and then if he had, and it had turned out subsequently that the clothes were found in the sewer, it might have been shown that he told a fib. But he asked Martin Burke one question, 'What do you think of Cronin's disappearance?' He tells you that Burke said, 'He is a British spy, and ought to be killed.' So the great mystery has been solved. He further says that neither he nor Burke said another word in an hour and a half. The first man that came there told Klahre just what he wanted to know, and you will remember that they asked every man they wanted to impeach, 'Didn't you say Cronin was British spy and ought to have been killed?' Now, some one made that to order." DRIVER SWANSON'S STORY. "Now take Swanson. By the way, do you remember that when Captain Schuettler, the police officer who spoke to nearly every witness since the coroner's inquest, was on the stand, it turned out that every time he struck a witness from Clark street to Lake View the man was either a German or a Swede? You would not expect a German detective to find an American, nor would you expect a German detective to find an Irishman. Why I can not tell you, but that is a fact. Now, Swanson gave his testimony. Two of my witnesses go to a livery stable and get a carriage. The carriage was got to go to Fleming's opening on West Van Buren street, and Fleming was a cousin of William Coughlin. The carriage comes to William Coughlin's saloon, but Coughlin, the very person interested in going to the opening, is the very person, according to his testimony, who did not go. The Swede remembers every street he drove through, every place he stopped, and every cobblestone he drove over, and yet they tell you that although it's a large establishment their men did not wear a uniform or livery until after the 10th of May. The man says he had a tall hat, a cut-away coat, his pantaloons did not come up under his vest, and yet he was seen driving through the streets at 12 o'clock at night." "O'Sullivan watered his garden on that day, too," dryly remarked the State's Attorney. "Yes, and if it had been your witness he would have told you what flower it was he watered, what its color was and just how long it had been growing, in every detail," said Mr. Forrest. The counsel then went on to give some of his college experience where a professor told him the great argument of the truth of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John was that each one of them differed in the circumstantial details of each transaction but all agreed in the essentials of every transaction. "That is the argument which can not be answered, whereas if they had agreed in all the details, the argument would be conspiracy, collusion and fraud." RIDICULING THE PROSECUTING WITNESSES. Counsel then criticised the testimony given by Carberry, whom he designated as the impecunious and modest man, and who fixes the night of May 4th by his giving a large order to his grocery, and then considered what he was pleased to call the remarkable story given by Dinan and his wife and Moreland regarding the horse and the buggy which it was alleged the Doctor was driven away in. He remarked that the horse left the stable at 7:30, not at 7:20, as had been testified to, and then proceeded to review Mrs. Conklin's identification of the horse and buggy. He ridiculed the testimony of the witnesses who were able to say that there was a dim light in one room of Mrs. Conklin's house and a bright light in the other, and argued that because they all agreed on that point, therefore there was something suspicious about that testimony. "She says she observed more about that horse, with a mosquito screen behind her and an electric light in front of her, than the owner of the horse, who has had it for seven years. Why, if you sent a veterinary surgeon to look at that horse, he could not, after looking over the horse, give you a more exact description of its peculiarities than Mrs. Conklin learned through that screen. "Now comes the knife transaction. Mr. Flynn appears. Mr. Flynn is a remarkable policeman. See if he did not do a more remarkable thing than Dan Coughlin did. He is ordered to arrest Coughlin, and he takes from his pocket a revolver and two knives--two knives not worth 10 cents, both of them. He takes the two knives to his desk at the Central Station and locks them up, and then it occurs to him that they will not be safe there and he puts them in the Fidelity deposit vault, when right beneath him on the floor below is the custodian of property taken from prisoners with a vault having a combination lock. Did you ever hear of a policeman taking a revolver and two old knives worth 10 cents to the Fidelity Bank because he was responsible for the property? He never says a word about it until last Monday, and he shows them to Conklin. And, mirabile dictu!--he says he carried those knives for two years; one of them he found on the street: he put one on the mantel, and the Doctor carried one of them in his vest and one in his pants. He just knew exactly where the Doctor carried these knives. If you have two knives you do not trouble yourselves about where you carry them; but Conklin knew that the Doctor had one knife in his vest and the other in his pants. Don't you see what remarkable feats they perform? "Now, Neiman is a saloon-keeper, and a party happens to go to his place. His attention is called to it three months afterward, and he can remember that three people came in to get a glass of wine, and he can tell you that one of the men wore a Prince Albert coat. It never occurred to anybody that Dan Coughlin and Kunze were in that saloon until a week before Neiman testified, and then Dan Coughlin was pointed out to him by a detective. Don't you notice the urgency there was how to get him to express an opinion? Now, if witnesses were urged here, what do you suppose was urged upon them outside? Next comes the man Mertes. Owls can see by night, and he says he saw these men enter the cottage and then tells you all about it. Mrs. Hoertel has a remarkable memory. She is in the habit of going out to find her husband who is drunk, and knew certain saloons that he frequented. It was no unusual thing for her to find her husband, but on this night she knows just what streets she went along and just where she turned the corners. She is searching for her husband, and she goes to a saloon, does not see him there, but she looks at the clock and sees that it was exactly eight o'clock, and she will never forget the circumstance that it was exactly eight o'clock. She has got to remember that it was eight o'clock or she will run afoul of Mertes, and they both remember the same thing. She says she saw him enter the cottage; she hears the blows and hears the cries of 'God!' and 'Jesus!' and hears the dying moan. And yet she never says a word to any body. She is locked out and sits on the steps all night, and she goes to her husband's partner, with whom she is apparently on good terms, and does not tell her story." EXPERTS ON THE CAUSE OF DEATH. "Now, we go to their experts on the cause of death. How can they tell the cause of death? I have heard of men giving extraordinary opinions, but their experts can tell you what killed the man, and still they can not find any evidence of it. If the public prosecutor had put in his indictment 'cause of death unknown,' it would not have been necessary for them to say he died from some kind of violence, but the jury is prejudiced against these men because they said the death is due to that particular thing." Mr. Forrest went on to review the testimony of the experts as to the hair and blood, and ridiculed the testimony of Professor Tolman in regard to his microscopical examinations of what he called lanugo. He said, "don't you see the Clan-na-Gaels at work? Let the two wings of the Clan-na-Gaels alone and they will make a laughing stock of American juries. You and I have got to stand between them. Everything that they introduced respecting the hair was introduced for the purpose of misleading you. The testimony of Tolman was introduced to show by the diameters of hairs that were alike that they were Dr. Cronin's hair, so that you should not be mislead. 'A little learning is a dangerous thing.' A great scientist can take an Irish setter and get two locks of hair from him and examine them; the hairs are of the same diameter; can he swear that they came from the same dog or no? The hairs of dogs are alike, and human hair is as much alike as the hair of horses or of sheep is alike. Only think of taking a bit of wool from one sheep and comparing it with the wool of another sheep to see if they came from the same sheep! We are like the animals in structure: our bones are alike, our hearts are alike, our viscera are alike; there is no material difference, and it is just as impossible to tell whether two locks came from the same human head as it is to tell whether wisps of hair came from the same horse's tail." CAUSE OF DR. CRONIN'S DEATH. At the opening of the afternoon session, Mr. Forrest began the discussion of the cause of death. "It is said by the learned gentlemen who represent the people, that our defense on that question is technical, but I deny it, and I will satisfy you that I am right and that it is a substantial defense. They will tell you it shows the weakness of our case. Gentlemen, I am engaged in defending the lives of these men, and I will avail myself of any technicalities and of any and every question in order to perform my duty. I will show you that it is not technical, and for this reason. They can try us again, they can indict us for causing death by hanging, by suffocation, by apoplexy, and also by causes unknown, and you are asked to convict under this indictment to repair the blunder of the State's Attorney. This is a very simple proposition of law. If I charge you with stealing my money I must prove you stole my money, and it will not do to show that you stole my potatoes; but if you are again indicted for stealing my potatoes you can only plead you didn't steal my money. Suppose the body was burned after a man was poisoned, would you be able to prove that he was poisoned? No, but you would have to charge in your indictment that he died from causes unknown. It will not do to simply prove that this man, Dr. Cronin, died from violence; that is not the question. The indictment charges death from wounds on the head, face and body. There is no evidence of any wound on the body, so that is excluded, and you are reduced to the supposition of wounds on the head and face. It is not a technical defense, as I say, because an acquittal on this indictment does not prevent their being tried a half a dozen times under different issues. I will now refer to the testimony of Dr. Egbert. In his examination, which I will read to you, he describes the wounds on the head, but distinctly and emphatically says that he can not say whether the arteries were cut. The counsel for the State very adroitly put their questions as to whether the arteries were involved, and he said they were. He meant that the arteries were in that region. However, Dr. Egbert testifies that the man did not die from hemorrhage. Dr. Perkins next comes on the stand, and tells you that the man died of concussion or contusion of the brain. There was no evidence of it, because the brain was too decomposed, but he knows and is perfectly satisfied that that was the cause of death. Dr. Egbert could not, by any possibility, assign the cause of death, owing to the decomposition which had taken place, nor could he tell whether those wounds were made before or after death. Dr. Perkins says the same thing, and Dr. Moyer says the same. If they do not know, how do you know? Some of you told me your minds were made up, but by the living God you must try us according to the law. The burden of proof is on them and they must prove the cause of death, and how do you know it? Will you guess at it? Do you propose to guess my clients guilty and then hang them?" TESTIMONY OF THE EXPERTS. Mr. Forrest read from the testimony of medical men at some length to show that they could not assign the cause of death, and asserted that the State had compelled its witnesses to stretch their consciences and to testify to what were not the facts, because of the State's Attorney's blunder in not putting into the indictment "cause of death unknown." "Are you reading that testimony of Dr. Perkins correctly?" inquired Mr. Hynes. "You are putting as an answer and reading to the jury as an answer of the Doctor's what in reality was a question of your own." "Well, possibly I did," responded Mr. Forrest, who went on reading testimony. His misquotation of the testimony in that case, however, induced the State's Counsel to keep a very sharp eye on the evidence he quoted. Mr. Forrest criticised at some length the testimony given by Dr. Perkins, and argued that if it would not be possible to tell whether the victim died from concussion or contusion of the brain without a microscopical examination, it was a remarkable thing that no such examination had been made. It was evident from the testimony that some one was straining his conscience as far as he dared, and it was also in proof that it would have been impossible to have told even by a microscopical examination of the brain whether death resulted from concussion or contusion. However, if it could, they did not do it. Yet the attorneys for the State will ask you to say that this matter is satisfactorily proved; that you know what the cause of death was, no matter whether you do or not, and, notwithstanding all the doctors say, it was impossible to say what was the cause of death. The State says to you, 'We want these men convicted,' but I say to you, 'Do your duty.' The State says to you, 'Violate your oaths and convict them now,' and that doctrine is preached by the public prosecutor in a community where, above all things, the people should be taught respect for the administration of the law. Counsel then passed to an examination of the testimony given by Dr. Moore. He argued that even Dr. Moore could not assign any cause of death, and then made a frantic appeal to the jury, inquiring, 'Are you prejudiced against these men?' If the jury wants an excuse, those doctors say, we will throw you one. They seem to say we know what you think; we know what you want to do and what you are ready to do, and all that is needed is for us to throw out a suspicion. DR. MOORE'S TESTIMONY RECALLED. "Dr. Moore said Dr. Cronin did not die from blood letting, because he died before he could have bled to death," remarked Mr. Hynes. "It is just as well that you should quote that to the jury." "That doesn't matter," roared Mr. Forrest. "Moore says that he might have died and possibly would have died from concussion or contusion of the brain, but he does not dare say that he did die from it. He throws no more light on the cause of death than did the others. His evidence was the most extraordinary, and the conclusion he arrived at as to why there was contusion of the brain was also most extraordinary, and although it must be a very tiresome proceeding to you, gentlemen, I am compelled to comment upon it and go into it at some length." Counsel then read copious extracts from the testimony of Dr. Moore, remarking that that doctor reminded him of a celebrated man named Bogardus, who had written a book upon the theory that all disease could be cured by blood-letting and hot water. "He practiced his theory, but by and by his patients began to die, and wherever he went the undertaker followed. His friends complained to him and said: 'You had better give up your theory.' 'Can't give it up,' said the doctor. 'Don't care how many die; I have written a book and have a theory, and must sustain it.' So with the indictment of the State's Attorney. 'I have written an indictment; it is my theory and has got to be sustained, right or wrong, in spite of the law and evidence, and you give me a jury which is excited and I will get some one to swear to something, and that will be enough. My theory must be sustained.' Are you gentleman ready to violate your oaths by sustaining it?" NO PROOF OF THE CAUSE OF DEATH. "We have in evidence that the brain was disintegrated. 'I do not find,' said the doctor, 'any indication of brain disease, because the brain was too far disintegrated.' He did find concussion and contusion of the brain, yet there was no evidence of that. If the brain was so far disintegrated that they could not tell one thing, how could they tell the other? Of course he could not tell whether he died of brain disease, yet he could, although there was no evidence, swear that the man died of concussion of the brain. I asked him whether he could discover brain diseases by the naked eye, and he said no, that it would require microscopical examination, and yet he did not make the examination required. Dr. Andrews says you can not possibly tell the cause of death from that post-mortem examination, and that is the position that all the other doctors occupy in the case. I say to you, therefore, that the indictment should have read for causing his death in an unknown way, and then men would not have had to strain their consciences and could have answered the question intelligently. Are we not to have conscience in this matter at all? The law should be executed in this country as it is in England. There is no place in the world where there is so much respect for law as there is there, and there is no place in the world where they so uniformly execute the strict letter of the law, no matter what the consequence may be. The witnesses therefore have disposed of both the internal and external evidences, and the doctors have told you they can not possibly tell you what the cause of death was. Now, if the doctors say they can not, can you? But, says the State's Attorney, you have got to sustain my theory. Now, I ask you gentlemen, as twelve law-abiding men, twelve men who look me straight in the face--you twelve men told me you would try my client according to the law and the evidence--if the Court tells you the cause of death must be proved beyond reasonable doubt, I ask you how on your consciences you can find these prisoners guilty, and even without the testimony of Drs. Andrews and Moyer? The God's truth is that no man can tell the cause of death. No man can tell how he was killed, whether the wounds caused death or whether he died from contusion or concussion of the brain. There is nothing in the evidence about blood letting, and there is nothing about concussion or contusion of the brain, and I ask you to keep to your contracts with the law and with your God, and to follow it, no matter where it leads you. You and I would risk our lives for the defense of Illinois if she were in peril. We are not cowards; we fear neither the hooting of crowds nor bullets while we are doing our duty. You care nothing for the mob, nor do I, and Illinois now says to you, do your duty on your conscience. I demand it of you and you can not give me less. Now, everything that was put in the notes was put in the hypothetical question which we submitted to our medical men, and Drs. Moyer, Andrews and Curtis tell you distinctly that it is impossible, from the description of the wounds and the notes taken at the post-mortem, to tell what the man died of. They corroborate the other witnesses that the cause of death was uncertain. How much evidence do you want? There is not only a reasonable doubt, but we have proved beyond possibility of doubt that you can not tell the cause of death. Now, gentlemen, your duties are important, and you will be required to carry them out. "You will remember that early in the case the State's Attorney said dates are important, and they are of vital importance. Dr. Moore closed the evidence as to the cause of death on October 26th, and he and the other physicians all swear that you can not tell whether the wounds were ante or post mortem. Now what do they do? Instead of going to Dr. Fenger or other prominent medical men and asking their opinion, what do they do? They know that if they ask the opinion of eminent medical men they might be told that the boys had made a mistake, and, therefore, they say we represent the people of the State of Illinois; we represent the right wing of the Clan-na-Gael and we will show you a trick. You remember that on October 31st they discovered this witness, Mrs. Hoertel, who testified that the wounds were committed before death. They could not get any one to swear that the doctors were right, but they had got their theory that it took place in the Carlson cottage; they have got their men from Millbank prison, they have the Clan-na-Gael back of them and they say 'We will show you something.' Now, you see why we proved that we did not get that name of Mrs. Hoertel before the 31st of October. Mr. Clan-na-Gael, you may be cunning, but you are tracked into your den at last. I told you to look out for the Clan-na-Gael. Don't you see how important it was? I can not tell you whether those wounds were inflicted before or after death; the doctors can not tell you. The State well knows that it can not get any such evidence from any doctors, and therefore they say we will show you that he was murdered. On October 26th they sent out their German spies, or I will apologize for that and say detectives. Schuettler goes out, and Hoefig goes out, and a lot of others, and they look into the highways, byways and hedges of the city, and finally they find a woman who can swear that she saw the Doctor enter the cottage, heard the blows inflicted, heard him cry, 'Oh, God,' 'Oh, Jesus,' and then heard the dying moans. I believe you can talk about this murder being awful, you can say that we did not denounce the Doctor's murder, but that has been done sufficiently all over the world, and the whole world has fixed the responsibility for it on the head of my client, but I will tell you right here in your court-house, in the name of the law and justice, they would commit a legal murder to sustain a theory and a blunder. The whole thing was made necessary by the original blunder. Dates are of importance. "Now, gentlemen, that is all I have got to say about the cause of death. Did I not tell you that those witnesses were remarkable witnesses? They turned up just at a good time, and the State's Attorney calls it providence. It seems to me that some men can appeal to God by day and rely upon the devil by night as easily and as unceremoniously as Mansfield can act the double part in 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.'" "Let us talk common sense. You and I are citizens of Illinois. We are responsible for the good name and honor of Illinois or her shame. We know our families are here, and we are ready to stand up for her and give our lives for her if necessary. We intend to uphold the law, but you can not uphold the law by any such testimony as has been introduced in this case. You laugh at my catch-basin, some of you; I did not know what they wished these catch-basins might be, and you don't know. They never examined into that, and yet it is highly probable that from the condition that body was in, from its position, with the head being down and the feet up, and from the evidence of the men who told you that when they attempted to pull the body up it slipped back, it is physically possible that those very wounds on the scalp might have been made while pulling the body out. If there had been a tin oyster can or anything like that at the bottom of the catch-basin when the body slipped back, it would have made just such wounds, and in that case, or even if they were made by the bricks and hard mortar, the skull would not have been scratched, and the skull was not scratched." Mr. Forrest then undertook to trace the course of the wagon from the cottage to where the trunk was found, and said the men must have gone over ten miles instead of going about two and a half miles, in order that the wagon must be brought to the Carlson cottage. Unless that could have been established in some way, one link in the chain of evidence would be gone. The State said they wanted to get on paved streets, yet as a matter of fact they went on unpaved streets. After spending some considerable time in going over the route alleged to have been taken by the wagon with the trunk, Mr. Forrest had the trunk brought in and proceeded to point out to the jury the defects in regard to the State's evidence in regard to that trunk. He alleged that all the blood stains could be made with a half a pint of blood judiciously distributed; that the marks on the lock showed that it had been pried off from the outside, and urged upon the jury that it would have been impossible for the three men to have kicked open the trunk from the rear in order to dump the body into the catch-basin without bending the hasp in front. The key, he insisted, was found by a trunk-maker, and that the whole thing was a fabrication by men who had been employed to get up a plausible story. THINKS THE EVIDENCE WAS MANUFACTURED. "And bear in mind, gentleman, that the men who had control of the lock, the Lake View men, were in the house--were in the Carlson cottage before Lorch. Schuettler enters the house, examines it and leaves it; Wing enters there, 'examines' it and leaves it, and then they send Lorch there, and they tell him to look about the cottage. Gentlemen, mark you, they tell him to look, and there right in the middle of the cottage, under some kind of furniture, they find a key. Now he tries to correct himself; he sees it is a most important matter; he tries to correct himself as to dates. Now then, gentlemen, there was a pot of paint in the house, and the paint is daubed on two or three inches thick. There is the paint; a whole pot of it right in the house. The pot of paint in the house of course accounts for the daubing on the floor; that is why it was put there. "Then we have the trunk question; the key must be lost in order to account for the breaking open of the trunk. But, gentlemen, that trunk might easily have been broken open by simply throwing it down on the sidewalk, without any force at all, and it would have broken open of itself without being kicked open at all. But, gentlemen, for finding the key which fits the lock on the trunk, that, gentlemen, may account for the fact that the top of the trunk was broken off. Mr. Foster alluded to the confused way in which Officer Lorch fixes his dates as to the finding of the key, and to the fact that while Lorch could tell what he was doing on half a dozen days on both sides of May 25th, he could not tell what he was doing on May 25th. Now, as regards the paint upon this key. Just take a look at it, examine both sides of it, and you will see from the even edges of the paint that it was held by one end and the other dipped in. This side is rubbed off a little, you see, but it is evident it was dipped in. Dipped in, gentlemen. Well, did the police do it? I don't know, you don't know. But there is one circumstance that can not fail to strike you forcibly, namely, that the lid was evidently broken off from behind while the hasp and lock remain intact. This is evidence which in itself contradicts the theory of the State that the top of the trunk was torn off in order to get the body out of it. Gentlemen, this is an attempt to counterfeit the truth, but it is hard to counterfeit truth. God Almighty has so made it that it is hard to counterfeit it. You can not sink the truth. You can not cover it up. It is like a buoy in the water. It may be sunk under the surf ace for a short time, but when you come to stir the water by cross-examination, it will surely come to the surface again. It is hard to counterfeit the truth." PERHAPS THE POLICE KILLED CRONIN. "If Dr. Cronin was killed in there, in that cottage, and his body placed in the trunk, and if his murderers afterward painted that floor, they must have found that key there. They must have known that the key was lost; they must have been desirous of finding it, and if they had painted that floor, and the key was lying there, they must have found it. They would have looked pretty carefully for it and yet, lo and behold! there, right in the middle of the floor, it is found by Officer Lorch. But remember Schuettler had been there, Wing had been there, the whole Carlson family had been there, from the 21st to the 24th of May, three whole days before Lorch found it. Do you think that the Carlson family went around there and never touched any thing? I don't know; I hardly think you do. Now, right in the middle of the floor, under a washstand or some other piece of furniture, the key was found, and of all the men in the world to find it who should it be but an officer who had been a trunkmaker who found it. Lorch, whose business is trunkmaking, was the man who found it. He had worked in a trunk factory, and when he found the key, as he says, he worked for some time in order to get it to fit. Of course a carpenter might have found it, a molder might have found it, a stone mason might have found it; but of all the suspicious circumstances in the world, the most suspicious in connection with the finding of this key was the fact that it was found by a trunkmaker." DID NOT TRACE THE WAGON. Mr. Forrest alluded to the fact that nobody from the State had attempted to trace the wagon from the cottage, and insinuated that the reason that they had left this phase of the case alone was because the route of the wagon described by the witnesses for the State did not correspond with any rational idea of what the route would be of persons driving from the cottage to the place where the body was finally disposed of. Mr. Forrest alluded to the testimony of the expressman Mortensen, and referred sneeringly to his remarkable memory by which he was enabled to remember every article of furniture he hauled to the Carlson cottage from the Clark street flat, although there was nothing in the particular incident to distinguish it from others of its kind. Mortensen had been in the custody of the police, ever since the coroner's inquest, until he took the witness stand. He did not identify the trunk as the one he hauled, but said it was one just like it. He pretended to identify the other articles of furniture. It was plain he was drilled on this point, and, great God! if they drilled the witnesses on minor points, how did they know but they drilled them on more important things! He drew attention to the fact that neither of the Carlsons had said a word about seeing a trunk in the Carlson cottage at the coroner's inquest, but this was before the Clan-na-Gael had taken charge of this case, for when the trial came on, old Carlson was ready to swear that he had gone out expressly one night in April or March to see the trunk, and he peeped in through the window for that purpose, and then he sees the trunk and nothing else. This testimony came just before the mimic from Millbank prison came upon the stand and gave an exhibition of his powers of mimicry in a case in which a man was on trial for his life. "Well, did the judge in the English court say you were a dangerous man?" Mr. Clancy was asked, and he says, "Oh, yes, but it was only because I was a Fenian. That's all; and they tried to arrest me for being a Fenian, and I drew out my revolver and I deliberately tried to murder them (two policemen)." "That's nothing, gentlemen of the jury; this makes him a hero; this is one of the patriots who have been betrayed and sent behind British prison bars; this man who tried to murder two English policemen in the execution of their duty is one of the patriots of Irish patriots. So says your public prosecutor. Well, but the judge said he was a dangerous man, and he served out his fourteen years in Millbank prison. And now he comes here, having become a great mimic, a wonderful actor, and coolly and deliberately tries to mimic the life of poor Pat O'Sullivan away." At this point, on the suggestion of Mr. Forrest, a recess was taken. Before the jury retired, Juror Culver expressed a desire to take the map of Lake View introduced in evidence along with him. Mr. Forrest said he could have it, but Bailiff Santa interfered and said it could not be done without the sanction of the Court. Mr. Forrest turned to the judge and said as neither the State nor the defense had any objection to the jury having the map he thought it might be allowed. Judge McConnell said the jury could have the map but not at this particular time. Mr. Forrest resumed his argument on the following day, Tuesday, speaking for five hours. He dwelt at length on the dry subject of blood corpuscles, and insisted that Drs. Belfield, Tolman and Haines had been mistaken in their testimony. The failure of the State to put in evidence the letter sent to the Carlsons from Hammond, Ind., informing them that the cottage was no longer needed by the murderous tenants, was due, so counsel argued, to the fact that it was afraid the defense would prove it was not in Martin Burke's handwriting. He argued at length, with the apparent purpose of convincing the jury, that it was a huge conspiracy planned to strangle his clients; that the witnesses for the State were hired perjurers, and that the lawyers were the tools of a body of men who were seeking to control an organization for political purposes, and concluded his third day's talk by telling with dramatic effect a story about the fate of a pleasure-seeker who innocently, in exploring the base of a huge cliff in Scotland, ran upon the cave of a band of smugglers. The man peered into the cave. The smugglers detected him, and believing he was a spy captured him and sentenced him to death. They tumbled him over the brow of the cliff, and his body was dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks below. A rope was used in the execution, and on this fact the lawyer laid especial stress, but just as he was rounding up his brightest and most luminous period, Judge Longenecker brought him to a dead halt by asking, in a matter-of-fact tone, what the authorities did to the man who cut the rope. The appeal for the prisoners was closed on the following day (Wednesday, Dec. 11th,) when Mr. Forrest again spoke for five hours. He went over, in detail, the evidence relating to Dinan's horse, ridiculing the testimony of Mrs. Conklin and dwelling on the conversation between Coughlin and Dinan, to show that the former had given the correct version of it, and that therefore there was a presumption in favor of his innocence. There was no evidence that Coughlin had any motive for desiring Cronin's death, and the main testimony against him was that of thieves and keepers of disreputable resorts; nor was there any proof that Burke was connected with the crime. Concluding the most lengthy speech of the trial, Mr. Forrest said: FORREST'S PERORATION. "Now, Gentlemen of the Jury," continued Mr. Forrest, "I want you to find Daniel Coughlin and Martin Burke not guilty. Why? Because there is not established in this case a conspiracy in which it is alleged these men participated. In other words, to save my strength and not to exhaust your patience, there is nothing proved in this case beyond reasonable doubt that will connect them or either of them with the killing of Dr. Cronin. It is not necessary for me to repeat that. Now, then, I ask you to acquit them and when I ask you to acquit them, I ask you simply to do your duty--nothing more. Nothing has been left undone against them that could have been done. The State has had several able lawyers, and they have insulted every witness called for the defense. Every man called for the defense has been called a murderer or a sympathizer with murder. Everything has been done to insult and break down witnesses for the defense. Everything that intimidation in the court-room and out of it could do has been done in behalf of the State; everything that insinuation could do, has been done on the part of the State. The Court has given them the widest range of cross-examination, so there can't be any fault found in that respect. All the evidence which they offered was admitted by the court. We have the State's Attorney's forces, and the entire police force of Chicago. They have talked about the police force betraying them. I saw no evidence of it. Everything that one wing of the Clan-na-Gael could do has been done. In addition to the State's Attorney, they have had other distinguished orators--two of the greatest criminal lawyers of modern times, Luther Laflin Mills and George Ingham, whose business, like mine, is the pleading of criminal law; Mr. Hynes, a great lawyer, a great cross-examiner, one of the most brilliant orators of the Chicago bar, a man whom one of the largest corporations in Chicago relies upon to wring verdicts from juries in most desperate cases. He, too, has done all that he could on behalf of the State. Everything that could be done has been done to prove this charge, so that, gentlemen of the jury, you can say to your neighbors, you can say to your social worlds, you can say to your own consciences that no fault is to be found with the State; everything has been done that could be done, but there was a reasonable doubt as to the guilt of those men, and I found them not guilty for that reason. Remember, the State's Attorney has solemnly told you that the world has confidence in you, that he has confidence in you, that the Judge has confidence in you, and that whatever verdict you render will satisfy him, will satisfy the community, will satisfy the world, because the community has implicit and unlimited confidence in your honor and intelligence. This, gentlemen, I say on behalf of Martin Burke and Daniel Coughlin, in confiding their cases to your hands. No peroration have I, but simply one word will I give. The word I give is 'duty'--duty to Illinois, duty to your God, duty to yourselves. 'To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the day the night thou canst not then be false to any man.'" * * * * * LONGENECKER'S CLOSING. "If the Court please and Gentlemen of the Jury, I regret to announce that Mr. Mills is sick and not able to close this case. While I know you, gentlemen of the jury, are disappointed, while I am profoundly disappointed, yet no one is more disappointed than Mr. Mills himself. No one regrets it any more than the gentleman who was to address you himself. I left him yesterday evening at 7 o'clock, and it was determined there and then by his physician that it would not be safe for him to attempt to close this case. "When I was struggling along here in the city of Chicago years ago, trying to earn an honest living in my profession, Mr. Mills called me into his office and said: 'Longenecker, I would like to have you as one of my assistants in the State's Attorney's office.' I said: 'Very well, I will be very glad to come into your office.' And when this case arose, and I felt the great responsibility that rested upon me as State's Attorney, I thought I would be doing the people a good service in requesting Mr. Mills to close the argument in this case. And at my earnest solicitation he agreed to do so. But it has been willed otherwise, and he is not here to address you. "Now, I promise you, gentlemen, that I shall not talk to you long. I make that promise to you now. I know how tired you are, having been locked up so long away from your families, and it would be unreasonable, even if I could, to attempt to make a long speech in reference to this case. And if I do not cover all the points made in the case, if I do not go into details, I think you will all give me indulgence, for I do not want to impose upon your good nature and upon you as jurors any longer. "We are not in this case for the first time after the opening with the theory of the defense. In most all murder cases, in most all important trials, when the State, or the people represented by the State's Attorney, gives an outline of the prosecution's side, the defendants' attorney arises and gives to the jury their defense. If not at the opening, then after the evidence is closed for the prosecution; then they arise and tell us how they are going to meet this evidence. That was not done. So that it remained until the last. When counsel for the defendants arose to address you in a three days' argument, for the first time, you, as jurymen, and we, as representatives of the people, were notified of the theory of the defense; that is, that there was a great conspiracy on the part of the people; that there was a conspiracy to hang innocent men; a conspiracy to murder under the guise of the law, and the gentleman was so earnest in that statement that he carried it all through his argument to the jury. He argued that proposition with the same force that he did anything else that he talked about in the case. Now gentlemen, if that is your notion of this case, if you believe there is a conspiracy to murder Martin Burke, and those other men on trial, then you ought to acquit, and you ought to recommend to His Honor that the counsel representing the people of this great State should be indicted and tried for murder. If I, as a representative of the people, am guilty of coaching evidence against Martin Burke and those other men on trial, I ought not to have a trial, but ought to be taken by the citizens of your State and hanged without court or jury. Do you believe, gentlemen, that there is a conspiracy here to convict innocent men? Do you believe that these men sitting by my side have crowded me out of my office and concocted a conspiracy against innocent men, and called in a jury of twelve men to assist them? You do not believe that they are guilty of it. If they were guilty of if, do you suppose that they could do it without my knowing it? If they did it without my knowing it or finding it out, then I am unworthy of the position, and should be prosecuted for criminal negligence and convicted. Why, the gentleman tells you that it is done by the other branch of the Clan-na-Gaels, and they are backing the prosecution; that as soon as it gets out of the hands of the Coroner they bring up witness after witness to swear falsehoods before you, and he states it in that way. [Illustration: LUTHER LAFLIN MILLS, ONE OF COUNSEL FOR PROSECUTION.] "Every Clan-na-Gael witness that we have called to the stand belonged to the triangle, part of the Clan-na-Gael organization, Camp 96, from which Dr. Cronin left (I put it in that way). The learned counsel for an hour talked about his organizing an opposition camp, calling it 96, the same as old 96; Columbus Club instead of Columbia Club. The whole of that camp stood by the triangle; the very men who came here to testify from the camp were in sympathy with the triangle and believed that they were right until within the last year or so. We go right into their own camp, among their own friends, and we get the truth from men who believed that Dr. Cronin was not right in making the charges against the triangle, and yet it was fully believed that it was the other faction. It is true that P. McGarry did belong to an opposing camp, but Thomas O'Connor, John F. O'Connor, Henry Owen O'Connor, John Collins--the whole of them, were members of Camp 20, that we produced here as witnesses. Are they in a conspiracy with the other associates, the members of the same camp as John F. Beggs, Daniel Coughlin and Martin Burke? Why, they come as brothers from the same camp so that won't do to charge it in that way. Now, gentlemen, the only reason of that is to show you how far men will go in trying to mislead a jury. "Do you believe that I could have it in my heart to put a witness on the stand that I did not believe, to swear the life away of these men. If you do, recommend to His Honor that I be prosecuted for the crime. Gentlemen, I would rather have my arms torn from my body than to be guilty of such a crime as that.' Mr. Forrest--"We believe that." Judge Longenecker--"Yes, you must believe it. And yet one of your lawyers wants you to believe that I was so ignorant, that I was so unworthy of my position, that I was so incompetent as to sit here like a mummy and let these men conspire to have a jury hang innocent men. "Gentlemen, you don't believe that. You don't believe that that great big-hearted Irishman sitting there (Mr. Hynes), whose heart has always gone out for poor humanity, would be guilty of it. Mr. Foster says that he has known Mr. Ingham, and he knows him to be a truthful man, a man that is worthy of belief, and for that reason he says Ingham said nothing against Beggs, because he was such a straight, truthful man. In that regard that gentleman, that legal light of the bar, charged me with dishonesty, charged that big-hearted Irishman with dishonesty. "Gentlemen, I may be a little disconnected in my argument before you and if I am, you will pardon me. But I wish to notice Foster's argument for his client. If there is nothing against John F. Beggs, I can not see why he said so much. It was understood, I may say, that Mr. Ingham was not to talk about Camp 20 at all. That is the truth of the matter. He was not to discuss that proposition. I had gone over it, as you recollect, I thought I had tired you out by talking of Camp 20. Mr. Hynes was to take up that, and he did, and went over the same ground as I had, and I still have to repeat myself because of this assumed sincerity on the part of Mr. Foster. "Why this learned counsel should talk a day and a half if there is nothing against his client, I do not know. Do you wonder at it? Why is it that a man, whose services are so valuable, who never had anything but an important case, should talk a day and a half in a case where there is no evidence against his client, and out of the day and a half never talk about his client's case, except for about fifteen minutes, is more than I can understand. Was it because he was trimmed for a speech? Was it because he had to read the Irish history that he had copied into his manuscript? Was it because Foster had to advertise at the expense of his client? or was it because he thought there was something against his client? You know how he spread like the waters of the Platte river; you can look at it and you can say what a mighty river. It is all spread out. It is true it is all spread out, but there is no depth to it. "We do not take issue with him on the smoke-stacks of Ireland. We do take issue with him in reference to Mr. Hynes, and we have given you our statement in regard to that. We do take issue with him in regard to everything except in regard to the ability on our side. I admit that we have ability here on this side helping me. Why should not the people of the State of Illinois have ability as well as the defendants? He said I had five assistants, and yet these three lawyers had to be called in to help me in this case. Has that anything to do with the case at issue? Since you began this trial three Grand Juries have been impaneled and discharged. Two other courts have been constantly in session. Over 300 cases have been disposed of--I am making a guess of that, averaging it for the actual three months. Three hundred cases have been disposed of; and three Grand Juries have been impaneled and discharged since this case began. Habeas corpuses have been heard; men have been sent to the penitentiary and others to the bridewell and some to the jail. And yet he would have you understand that I had five assistants doing nothing. Now, that is not fair, is it? That is not doing his client any good; that is not in the case. Suppose it was so, what has that got to do with the guilt or innocence of Beggs? No matter whether I had five, six, or a dozen assistants, the question is, What are the facts? Lawyers or no lawyers, that is what you have to deal with. "Mr. Foster argued for an hour about how the Presbyterians had got away with Swing, and how the Methodists had disposed of Dr. Thomas, and how the Episcopals had disposed of Dr. Cheney. Didn't he talk a long time about that? What for? Why did he devote his time to talking about that? But suppose that the hot-headed Presbyterians had said, we do not believe that this man ought to be permitted to live? Suppose that they had ordered a committee of investigation, a secret committee to investigate Dr. Swing? Suppose that they had entered into that arrangement, not intending to murder him, but suppose they did, and suppose you can find no other people on earth that had a feeling against Dr. Swing but these men who said he was unworthy to live, and that men said he ought to be killed, and these men had themselves invited him out? Why, the Presbyterians would hang for killing him, for carrying out that conspiracy. Sometimes these conspiracies are brought about by things that ought not to affect the mind of any man. Now, our theory has been in this case that there was a conspiracy, whether it originated at the time of the appointment of the committee, or after its appointment, our theory is that there was a conspiracy to murder Dr. Cronin because they believed he was a spy, and that the men who followed that up had another object in having him murdered, namely, to prevent him from going before the honest Irishmen and showing them how they had been robbed of their funds. That has been our theory. The proof justifies us in making this statement. Did you ever think since this trial--have you heard of anybody having any feeling against Dr. Cronin? You have heard of his belonging to this organization and that. You have heard of his singing in public; you have heard of his being here and there, a man liked. Has there been any evidence of any other person on earth that would be likely to kill Dr. Cronin? None at all. Where do you go, where do you get the starting point in this great conspiracy? Where do you find it? You find it in Camp 20, in Turner Hall? Now, we do not charge that the entire camp was in it. We do not charge that the membership knew of the conspiracy, but we do charge that it started there among these parties. "Foster treats the Beggs-Spellman correspondence as if Beggs was publishing to the world that he was going to commit murder. Not so. Our theory is, and it is the correct one, that these letters were written for the purpose of covering up that which they expected this committee to do. That is our theory. That is why they were written. That is why Mr. Beggs said to me when he was brought face to face with the record that a committee had been appointed, but does he explain? You can see that it is a blind. You can see why he flushed these letters in the face of the people; because it was the work of the conspirators to begin in this line. Nothing had yet been prepared for the disposition of Cronin. Nothing had been arranged, but they must make a sort of an investigation in this way. Talk about reading between the lines? The Lord knows there is enough in the lines without reading between the lines. "Recollect that the letter in which he says: 'I hope no trouble will result,' is one of the links. Let us get it just right, 'I hope no trouble will result.' On the 18th the flat is rented. And on the 20th they finish laying the carpet. Now jump on to the 22d, the next meeting of Camp 20, where these minutes are approved, and what do you find? On the 22d of February in the line of his letters, in the line that he hopes that no trouble will result, what does he do? Pat McGarry read his speech, in which he said that the man who gave Le Caron his credentials to go into the convention was a greater scoundrel than ever Le Caron could pretend to be." Mr. Donahoe--"You will concede that every Irishman knew who it was that gave Le Caron his credentials?" Mr. Longenecker--"I do not know whether they did or not. I presume they did. Beggs said that they had members who were coming in and violating the hospitality of that camp. That would have to be stopped. It was not right. He said that they came in there talking about Alexander Sullivan, and it was cowardly to talk of a man behind his back. Why did they not say so to his face? He said Alexander Sullivan had strong friends in that camp, and he slapped his breast and says, 'I am one of them.' "Now, gentlemen, that alone does not amount to so much. Beggs' letters alone would not amount to so much. The speech alone--story I mean--the fact of what happened in Camp 20 alone; but when you take into consideration the manner in which he speaks of the letter to Spelman--the speeches he makes and the letter on the 22d, when you bring them all in together, then it does become strong. Now, gentlemen, I am not going to bother you about reading. I am anxious that you should not be misled in reference to Beggs. Because, if Foster is correct--and I know he is--then, if Beggs is guilty, he is awful guilty. A man who is educated, a man who has practiced law, a man who ought to be ready to see that the law is executed, a man who is educated in a profession of this character, is held accountable for his acts in a higher degree than is the man who does not know the law. And for less acts he is more responsible. If this man set the machinery in motion--and his counsel says he is not a dupe--if he set this terrible conspiracy in motion, then he becomes the worst of the men on trial. And he is just the character who would do just the little which would have more effect than if he stood by in the shoes of Martin Burke or Dan Coughlin. He stands at the head of the conspiracy. He stood there helping to forge the first link in this great conspiracy; and I am anxious, gentlemen, that you do not be misled in reference to John F. Beggs. John F. Beggs made his record on this chain of evidence the same as Martin Burke made his record. "Well, but Mr. Foster says that Beggs is acquainted with Harrison. He introduced this fact that this second constable introduced him to Bailey Dawson and Mr. Babcock, and that he only introduced him for the purpose of what? Of showing his associations. Is that the reason why he introduced this speech that Beggs had made to President Harrison? Does that show the associations of every man who has shaken the President's hand? Does it give him character? Does it throw open the record? Is it an open book of his character to go and shake the hand of President Harrison? If that is so, President Harrison had better stand and shake the hands of men who are all over this country, and give them characters. If that is opening up the book of a man, if that gives him a reputation and a standing when he is charged for cruel murder, why then Mr. Harrison ought to shake hands with a good many fellows in Chicago. That is not it. He didn't know what might come. Providence had been causing the sewer to give up the silent witness. Providence had been giving up the German woman that heard the last words of the dying man. He don't know what Providence might do before the case ended, so an alibi must be proven for Beggs, and when he finds out that he does not establish an alibi, then he wants you to understand that he was practicing a fraud on you, and simply introduced it for the purpose of showing his associations. "Of course, take a circumstance alone, and it may be weak. But when it stands in relation to another circumstance in the line of the object, then it becomes strengthened. And Mr. Forrest will not find me disputing his propositions of law. Right here let me say that the Court will give you the law; but do not forget that you are to try this case on the facts under the law. He may give you fifty instructions that the law is so and so, and that if the facts are so and so, apply them under that law and that is so and so. He will tell you that if from all the circumstances in the case, you have no reasonable doubt as to the guilt, then you must convict; but, that if you have a reasonable doubt, then you must acquit. It is you after all who become the judges of the case. Do not forget the evidence in the case. The Court does not intend to instruct the evidence out of your mind in giving you a long chain of instructions which it is his duty under the law to give. He does not intend that you shall forget the evidence that is applicable under that law. For instance, he might give you an instruction, and it is possible he will, that before you can find the men guilty, you must believe beyond a reasonable doubt that Dr. Cronin, if killed, was killed in the manner and form as charged in the indictment, and that the cause of death was as charged in the indictment. "Well, now, that means you are to decide whether he was killed as charged in the indictment, not as testified by any particular doctor on the stand. Why, this counsel undertakes to tell me what my duty is as State's Attorney. This man, who says there was a great conspiracy here; that Ingham and Hynes and Scanlan and the Clan-na-Gael got up a conspiracy here to murder innocent men, and I, W. S. Forrest, have discovered it. This man argues this point, that it was not the cause of death, with the same force and strength that he does any other point in the case, and yet he knows in his soul there is nothing in it. Why, he tells you that I made a blunder in that indictment. Why, gentlemen, if that indictment had charged that this man was killed and that the cause was unknown, with all these wounds on his head, with all this blood in the trunk and in the cottage, wouldn't you have a right to take that into consideration, the blood in the cottage and on the sidewalk and in the trunk, and the condition of him when he was found? If I had drawn such an indictment, he would have a reason to say that. I don't know what effect their argument has had upon you, whether you think you know more about drawing an indictment than I do, or Judge Baker, who has drawn them for years and years, and hence I am going to read to you just what the doctors say on that proposition. "But recollect that that can be proven the same as any other circumstance. But before going into that, gentlemen, I like to talk when I come to a fact and not leave it for some other time. Mr. Culver, you buy a wad, you buy a pistol, and you buy a bullet. Now Culver may intend to have that pistol to shoot somebody. It was known that you were going to shoot him. Then you are just as guilty for buying the wad, and you the bullet, and you the powder, as he is for doing the shooting, fully so. Now, Martin Burke held the pistol, wad, bullet and all. He hired the cottage, he moved the furniture, he was present when it was ordered. But if he only did all that, just as I say, it must be a criminal intention. Suppose you said you didn't buy that powder at all, had nothing to do with it. Well, we find out that when you bought the powder that you said you were going to give it to Culver, and Culver was going to shoot Longenecker for talking so long about this case. That would nail you. The same way as the other. Now, of course, just to say that these innocent acts alone of themselves are not criminal, but what may seem to be innocent may be guilty circumstances. That is the point I want to make on that. Same with Martensen. Here is evidence from Martensen, who moved the furniture. Why Martensen tells us, 'I was hired to haul this furniture; that is my business.' He went and hauled it, and said he was the man who hauled it there. Nothing out of the way for him to haul that furniture. That circumstance of itself is innocent, while under certain circumstances it might be guilty." The State's Attorney then took up the cause-of-death phase of the case. He had not, he said, intended to say much about it, as the Judge, according to law, would tell the jurors that they must determine the cause. But the statement made by Attorney Forrest to the effect that if the jurors returned a verdict of acquittal on the present indictment, the State could try the prisoners again on an indictment stating that the cause of death was unknown, compelled him to refer to it. The statement made by Attorney Forrest was, the speaker cried, absolutely untrue. No law would permit the suspects to be tried again. Moreover, the indictment was strictly in accord with the testimony given by the medical witnesses who had on the stand sworn that death was caused by violence from blows inflicted on the head. The theory that because the Doctor might have, under certain circumstances, died from a stroke of apoplexy, was no reason why he had died of apoplexy. "If he died of apoplexy," cried the State's Attorney, "why were his shirt and pantaloons cut to get them off him? Why was he stripped, his body put in one sewer and his clothes in another? The physicians, some of them, admitted that such wounds as found on the Doctor's head might not cause death. Well, a bullet in the bowels of a man might not kill him, but if a man with a bullet wound there was found dead, it would be judged by any man of sense that the man died from the effects of the bullet wound." The assault upon the testimony of the State by Attorney Forrest came in for extended argument. "It showed how weak is the testimony of the defense," he exclaimed, "it shows how weak it is when this three-day lawyer spends nearly the whole of that time on our evidence and but fifteen minutes on his own. Forrest did quote a little Scripture, so did the devil. Forrest talked about Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, about whom his Sunday-school teacher taught him. He said that they disagreed; and because they disagreed, he tried to argue, that Mrs. Conklin and the young ladies who corroborated her, must have lied because they agreed. The only thing that Matthew, Mark, Luke and John have to do with this case is that they all point to Calvary, and, gentlemen, the evidence in this case points to Calvary [Cronin was buried at Calvary]. It was easy for him to deny the truth of our testimony, and especially that of Mrs. Hoertel, but he didn't attack Mrs. Hoertel's character. Why? Because they knew it was spotless." "Now, the gentleman says there are other witnesses, and among them Dinan, has an interest in the museum, and all that. Why, Dinan made the statement he made here before the coroner's inquest. The same statement he made here, he made in the presence of Dan Coughlin, and yet this learned lawyer, who spent three days talking about witnesses and not fifteen minutes over his own defense, tells you Dinan swears in this case because he has an interest in keeping the gray horse in the museum. Then, gentlemen, you remember his attitude toward Mrs. Conklin, whose evidence was straight forward, who gave her testimony before the coroner, and who made her statement the very day after Dr. Cronin disappeared. What has he said but that he would have you believe she was sitting there committing willful and deliberate perjury; this woman who felt that Dr. Cronin was gone; who felt he was dead, who charged O'Sullivan with being in the conspiracy before she could induce the officers of the law to believe anything was wrong. He would have you believe, as he said, that she lied while upon the stand, and yet you noticed how she gave her evidence. The same tactics were pursued with Conklin and all the other witnesses. It was asserted that all of it came out after the coroner's inquest. Why look at it. He talked about the horse and well knows that she described and that she mentioned about his knees when before the coroner. Her identification of that horse was like your identification would be of a man who might come into your house to-night and you might see him under a gas jet. If you saw him in the street in daylight the next day you might not know him, but if you ever saw him under a gas jet under the same circumstances you would immediately say, 'There he is.' His stooping position, his eyes, and a dozen other things would strike your memory and make you certain of your identification. "So with Mrs. Conklin. When she saw the horse in the same position it was on the evening Dr. Cronin was driven to his death, she immediately said, 'that is the horse.' Why, because she saw the unquiet appearance of the horse and the movement of its legs, and she at once said 'that is the horse.' But it was not necessary for her to be so positive in the identification of the horse. She said it was a white horse and a top buggy without side curtains from the very start, and the moment she saw Dinan's horse and buggy she identified it. Then he tells you that Mertes was fixed by us to see Coughlin driven up to that cottage, and he tells you that without Mertes we could not have proved that Coughlin was ever there. He also tells you that without Mrs. Hoertel and Mertes we could not prove that Cronin was murdered. Well, to a certain extent the great lawyer is right, for without any evidence we could not prove the crime. Now, take Coughlin's conduct in regard to that white horse. Or, before we reach that I would call your attention to the fact that it was known that Dr. Cronin had been driven away from the Conklin residence in a buggy drawn by a white horse, for on the Monday morning, long before it was known that Dr. Cronin was murdered, before any one had charged that there was anything wrong with him except Mrs. Conklin, word was sent out from the police force to see who had a white horse and buggy out on Saturday night, and yet this lawyer would have you, as an honest jury, believe that we were trying to have Mertes swear that he saw Coughlin drive there with a bald-faced brown horse for the purpose of swearing his life away. It is absurd to talk such stuff as that. Yet he would have you believe it. Mertes never mentioned the matter until after the body was found; until after the cottage was discovered and it was advertised as to what horse had driven Cronin away. "But here is a significant fact to which I wish to direct your attention. Why should Dan Coughlin, on the Monday morning, before any one had charged that Dr. Cronin was murdered, when Captain Schaack said he would turn up all right, when he was not uneasy, when he told Mrs. Conklin to wait until night, when the world and every one almost had accepted the statement that the trunk had contained the body of a woman, on account of the statement made by a certain man, why should Dan Coughlin be so anxious about the horse his friend had driven? No one had told him that any one drove a white horse, and why should he say to Dinan, 'Don't mention it, because Cronin and I were not friends?' Gentlemen, at that time Coughlin knew that Dr. Cronin was murdered, and he knew that the white horse and buggy had carried him to his death. Think of the matter, and remember that it was on the Monday morning before any one had charged that anything had happened to Dr. Cronin that he was so anxious to have the matter concealed. Why was he induced to believe that that horse had taken Dr. Cronin to his death? No one had charged that he had anything to do with it; no one believed the poor woman, and why should Coughlin be so ready to believe it when Captain Schaack did not believe it, when the chief of police did not believe it, when the public prosecutor did not believe it, and when the community were led to believe that Dr. Cronin was alive? I ask you again, why should Dan Coughlin, on the 6th of the month, the second day after the murder, and before anything had been discovered, tell Dinan to keep still. "This man, Forrest, tells you that because we have only one witness to a fact, therefore, it is put up and is a lie. He goes on to tell you about Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, and that is about all he knows about the Bible. He says Matthew, Mark, Luke and John are not agreed, and he quotes that to show that Mrs. Conklin and the two Miss McNearneys when they gave a description of the man who called for Dr. Cronin lied, because, as he says, they agreed in their description. The trouble with him is they didn't tell the story all alike, but the material part of it they did tell alike. All that leads up to the identification of the man who drove Cronin, the central figure, they do agree upon, and that is true. The same way with Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. While they give it in different language, do not they all point to Calvary, and so it is with this evidence of the Misses McNearney and Mrs. Conklin, and the evidence also of Dinan; it is the evidence of witnesses who tell the truth and it all points you to Calvary. I do not intend to dwell upon all that Forrest has talked to you about. He has talked about the evidence of that wagon, and seems to think a good deal more of sound than he does of sight. He regards sound as being far better than sight, hence I think he will appreciate my speech on this account. "He says that wagon was driven from away across the railroad crossing onto Fullerton avenue. No one saw it cross the railroad track, and Officer Steib says, the first he saw of it it was east of Ashland avenue. He also says that before he saw it he heard it rumbling over the railroad track, but he does not know whether it was this wagon he heard rumbling or some other. But there is not enough in it for us to stop long to consider whether it crossed the railroad track or not. The fact is the same. They did not see it until it was east of Ashland avenue, and then they saw it coming back on Ashland avenue. There is no reason why they could not drive around the block if they wanted to, but we do not know what course they took, yet we do know they could have taken that course very easily, and if they had taken a direct course they would have been tracked from the cottage to the place of their destination. "Forest then says to you: 'It is strange, isn't it, that they drove right down toward the city, where they could be seen by the police force?' It does not seem that the police force hurt them any. They were seen by half a dozen officers and not stopped, and the man who drove the wagon did not seem afraid of police officers, but on the contrary seemed to know just what police officer to strike. They got along to Fullerton avenue, and they knew that it was just the very thing to do to drive along a street where they would not be suspected. Suppose they had driven along Ashland avenue straight to where they went to dispose of the body, they would have been unquestionably tracked. But we are not here to argue why they did or did not do certain things. Those men who murdered Dr. Cronin and thrust his body into the sewer, can probably tell you far better than I can. There is reason for acquitting the men if you believe them guilty, simply because we can not tell exactly the way they drove around or in what direction. The fact is they were seen on Fullerton avenue, going east, about half-past 11 o'clock. At 12 o'clock they were seen going north on Clark street, and at 1 o'clock they were at Evanston avenue and Edgewater, and one man sat on the wagon, facing backward. "Another point. Some one during the trial, and I think I took that position myself, during the time Forrest was arguing the question of the trunk, said they kicked it open. Now, it does not matter whether they kicked it open or not. Men who could open a sewer could pry that lock open as well as any one else. He wants you to understand that the officer pried it off, but you will remember that those two honest Germans testified that they found the lid separate from the trunk, and that they gathered it up and put it with the trunk. Now, it does not matter whether the lock was broken open or whether the trunk was kicked open. The fact is it was locked; that the trunk was in the wagon and the key was gone. Is it for us to say whether they pried open that trunk or kicked it open from the rear? Our theory is that they kicked it open, and that when they found it would not open wide enough they pulled the lock off. We don't know how it was done. His clients can tell you better perhaps than we can if they had anything to do with it, which we insist they had under the evidence." "I take an exception to that remark of Judge Longenecker's," said Mr. Forrest. "Oh, yes," replied the State's Attorney, "take your exception. Forrest also said that the key was found by a trunk-maker, because he found on the stand a man, Officer Lorch, who had worked once as a trunk-maker. Do you believe what Officer Lorch said as to where he found that key, or do you believe that he went and fitted a key to the trunk, then put some paint on it, put it where it was under the washstand, and then came into this court and swore to a lie? If you want to believe Forrest's statement against that of the officer, believe it. But we say that after they had got the trunk into the wagon they found that the trunk was locked and the key gone, but it does not matter. We could theorize as to how that key was missing on the floor, but it is not necessary. It is in evidence that that key was found in the cottage, and it is in evidence that the trunk was locked and had not a key upon it when they went to take out the body. Yet this learned lawyer would have you believe this is a conspiracy on the part of the people, and he says it began after the coroner's inquest. That is his statement. A conspiracy to convict innocent men! Now, look at it. I suppose he would have you believe, and he might just as well go on to charge, that the body of Dr. Cronin was put there by the conspirators on the part of the State, and that the trunk was put where it was by the same conspirators on May 5th, also that the clothes were put in the sewer in a sachel just like the one these men bought at Revell's, and not only that, but that Martin Burke knew he was going to be brought into that conspiracy when he went to Winnipeg. He would also have you believe that Martin Burke knew after the coroner's inquest and before his name was mentioned that there would be a great conspiracy, and that they would try to implicate him, and therefore he would go to Winnipeg. I merely mention those matters, gentlemen, because you will have observed that Mr. Forrest argued them with the same force that he argued every circumstance connected with this case, and you can appreciate the sincerity of his argument. Is it to intimidate the people's representatives, so that they would not dare go further in this hellish conspiracy? Is it for that purpose, or what does he mean by it? If it means that he thinks he can intimidate the representatives of the people in this case, he has struck the wrong blow, because it is our duty to present these matters as we get them, and we shall use our weak endeavors to do our duty. "Mr. Forrest spoke as earnestly about that and was as much in earnest as he was when he spoke to you of the identification of Burke. He read to you an authority of a case which occurred about three hundred and fifty years ago, where the identification was contested. According to his reasoning, a man might go into your house, shoot your wife before your eyes, and then if you can identify him the moment you see him you are not to be believed. He argues that before you can be believed you must put him in a line of a hundred men, let them walk through a room one by one, and then pick him out. That he argues in the face of undisputed evidence that you saw him kill your wife, yet he would have you believe that you could not rely upon any such evidence as that for identification. The man who could be mistaken in Martin Burke's face, surely must be blind. It is a case of undisputed identification. The case Forrest refers to, is where it has been contested; where three or four witnesses swear that is the man and others swear that it is not the man; where witnesses swear that it is the horse and others swear that it is not the horse; where some witnesses swear that it is so and other witnesses swear that it is not so, but who ever heard of any man, any lawyer, any man, indeed, in his senses undertaking to talk with sincerity and urge upon twelve honest men that where five witnesses come forward and swear to the face of Martin Burke, that he is the man, and are not to be believed. Who ever heard of a second-class lawyer, or even a police court shyster, claiming that that identification was not perfect? Five undisputed witnesses, old man Carlson, Mother Carlson, Charles Carlson, Mrs. Charles Carlson, and Mortensen, five witnesses swear that that is the man who rented the cottage, yet that same learned lawyer is undertaking to mislead you into the belief that that identification is not to be relied upon. It is absurd. "Well, if he will argue that Martin Burke is not the man who was there on the 4th of May, if he will argue under this evidence that Martin Burke did not rent that cottage, if he will argue that he did not move that furniture there, if he will argue that Martin Burke was not seen on the premises there, and tell me that he is in earnest, and you believe his argument, tell me when and where you would convict a man of crime, if the lawyer takes the position he did in this case. But he says the old man Carlson could not tell it was the 4th of May. How do you know? When that old man got on the stand, Forrest was yelling at the top of his voice, 'How do you know, how do you know?' while the old man yelled at the top of his voice, 'Because I know.' Yet he would have you believe he said 'How do you know?' in such a meek and mild tone that he could not hurt anyone's feelings. He is not sincere when he says that the State's Attorney and Mr. Hynes and Mr. Ingham are engaged in a conspiracy, and when he abuses the witnesses on the stand and charges them with perjury and lying, he knows in his heart that it is not true. He has made insinuations against that big-hearted Irishman sitting there, Mr. Hynes, of bullying witnesses, which he knows is untrue. There is not a man who practices before the bar of Chicago who is more lenient with the witness than is Mr. Hynes, and there is not a man at the bar who will get more out of him than will Mr. Hynes. You, gentlemen, heard his cross-examination of the defendants' experts, and his examination of the witnesses who came to the stand, and I will leave it to you to decide, and not to Forrest, if he abused the witnesses on the stand. For three days this learned counsel for the defense stood before you twelve gentlemen and had no stock in trade; not a word to say in their defense beyond abusing and scandalizing the men who are trying this case, and who are seeing that the people of this great State are not misrepresented. He stood here and maliciously abused Mr. Hynes, whose only effort and desire has been that the guilty men, if they are guilty, shall be punished, and it is my duty as an officer of the State, to explain this matter to you and to hurl back the insinuations at the man who made them. "He told you further that I had made a blunder, but he did not tell you how many blunders he had made. He told you I had made a blunder with the same force that he tells you that Mertes lied when he testified that he saw Coughlin at the Carlson cottage, and when he tells you that, his clients have not been proved guilty, notwithstanding all our witnesses' lies. Suppose what he says about Mertes and his knowing it was May 4th is proved, what difference does it make whether it was on the night of May 4th or not. But he does put this man Kunze and Dan Coughlin together at the Carlson cottage. He puts Coughlin in the cottage and Kunze driving him there, and he and his associates gave you good evidence of their sincerity when they went to the cottage or house where this poor man lives, who can talk but very little of the English language, and told him that the Court had sent them to find out what he knew. Yet when he comes here and gives his evidence on the witness stand they tell him he lied, but they carefully abstained from saying what they did when they went to see him. You will remember how they examined him and put words into his mouth that he did not understand, and then tried to impeach him, but I think you, gentlemen, will admit that it is proved beyond question that Coughlin went to the cottage; that he had a key to it in his pocket; that he was perfectly at home there, and that Kunze drove him there. "Then he says old man Carlson did not see Burke there on the night of the 4th. He could not tell you why the old man did not see him, although the old man said distinctly that he did; but this we do know, that the next morning he and his wife were out in front of the cottage and they saw something on the steps which they say looked like preserves, and he said to his wife that he supposed they had been moving in the night before. You will remember that Burke had said to old Carlson that it was about time to move in. Yes; move in. It was a bad day for Burke when he moved in, and it was a bad day for Dr. Cronin when he moved in." "The witness said it was about time to fix up," said Mr. Forrest. "Yes. I think he did. It was a pretty bad time to fix up," retorted the State's Attorney. "Fix up is a better word, and a nice fix they made of it. Old man Carlson tells you that the next morning he thought they had moved in. Forrest says you must not believe old Carlson, because he is an old man, and that the story about the wagon tracks he did not tell before the coroner. That is very true, but he says here that there was a wagon track, and it certainly was not necessary for the old man to commit perjury in order to prove that there was a wagon track. A great many thing's have happened which were not testified to before the coroner's inquest, but Forrest says that none of them are true. He first complains and abuses us when getting a jury because there was so much known of the case and so much published, and yet, because we did not publish the whole thing to the world and before the coroner, he abuses us before the petit jury. You can not please him, and the only way to please him is to give him evidence sufficient to acquit his clients. "Mr. Forrest brought the trunk in here and exhibited it to you and I have a right to say a few words about that. I also desire to say a few words about the clothes and the necktie, which was cut through at the neck. They cut his pantaloons off, they cut his clothes off and did not take the time to take them off." "I want to enter an objection to the jury's inspecting the clothes," hastily remarked Mr. Forrest, jumping to his feet. "I don't care about the clothes," replied the State's Attorney. "You exhibited the trunk, and I am going to speak of that, although they are all in evidence. At the same time I desire to call your especial attention to the necktie, which was not unfastened in the front but cut from behind. They had the man on his face, and when they stripped his body of the clothing they cut his necktie. Now, I want to show you this bloody trunk. They never turned up the bottom of this trunk to show you what is there. There is some of the blood which ran through the trunk. Do you see this blood in the trunk? You do not believe that the man in that trunk died from apoplexy do you? You do not believe that he died from poison, do you? You do not believe he died a natural death. Where was the trunk found? It was found within three-quarters of a mile south of where the body was found in a catch-basin, and right by its side, within three or four blocks, were found the clothes of Cronin in the sewer. Remember that the wagon was seen half a mile north of where the body was found with this trunk in it, which was then thought to be a carpenter's chest, and it was seen coming this way empty three blocks east of where the body was found. "I want to call your attention to this matter because it is important. You will remember that Mr. Ingham mentioned the fact in his statement that when seen they were north of Bryn Mawyr avenue, looking for the Lake Shore drive in the sand, whereas, if they had honestly been looking for the Lake Shore drive, they would have found it south. Now then, put these three things together. You know where the body was found and the clothes were found, and between those two points this trunk was found with blood fresh in it that could be stirred by those honest Germans the next morning, with cotton batting saturated with blood, and if you put those things together, you will have reason to believe that it was the same trunk that came from the Carlson cottage. Why? Because the trunk in the Carlson cottage was just such a trunk, and it had been moved, and in the valise was found Cronin's clothes, and that valise was moved from 117 Clark street and was found in the sewer. I am going to make up a chain of evidence in this case, although I am not going all over those outside circumstances, because every circumstance which is proved in the case is not necessary for a conviction; mark that. If you get instructions from the court that there is a necessary circumstance lacking, and if you have a reasonable doubt on that material circumstance, and if there can be no conviction without that circumstance in the case, then you can not convict. But every circumstance in the case that is proved is not a material or necessary circumstance. If such circumstances as are necessary to lead your minds to believe the guilt of the accused beyond a reasonable doubt are clearly proved, that is all that is necessary for you to be satisfied upon. You need all these little outside circumstances, because they corroborate and make stronger each link in the chain of evidence. You want to remember that every point which leads in the direction of a correct conclusion to your minds should be very clear to you. As to whether they affect the material circumstances is another matter. "I want you to remember that Burke went to Winnipeg. Forrest says that he never attempted to deceive the officers there or to go under an assumed name, but Officer McKinnon tells you that he first said his name was Cooper, and when the chief of police told him any statement he made would be used in evidence against him, then, for the first time, he said his name was Burke. Again, when Patrick O'Sullivan was requested to come to the police station and he saw a lot of men standing back of the Carlson cottage, he wanted to know what those men were doing in that cottage, clearly showing that he knew what had transpired in the cottage. Another thing I want you to remember is what Beggs said after the murder, when he said to Maurice Morris and another person in the presence of Ward, who did not take the stand, 'Cronin is all right; we know what we are talking about and you do not; you are not in the inner circle.' Whoever said it was the organization or a part of the Clan-na-Gael which formed that inner circle? We did not, but that inner circle was made up of members of the order, men who knew what was going on. Foster says Beggs' remark was advertising the murder, but it was not. It means that he and other members who were interested in the murder of Dr. Cronin were an inner circle; that he knew where Cronin could be found, and that he believed his remains would keep there undiscovered until they could not be identified. You have another link, then, in the chain of evidence, and you have to take every circumstance in the case that leads you up to the chain, and strengthens each link in the chain that was forged by Beggs. Then he answers: 'Why didn't you call Tom Murphy?' We had him before the grand jury, and we examined his books, but the idea of calling Tom Murphy himself when his partner sits here and has sat here from the beginning of the trial as a lawyer for the defendant! As to the money in the camp, Tom Murphy did not have enough money in the funds of the organization to square his own account, let alone spending money for killing Cronin. We did not claim that he did. We do not claim that the camp paid the expenses, but we have the right to take Tom Murphy before the grand jury and investigate the camp in order to discover who were the conspirators. "Now, gentlemen, I do not propose to dwell upon their defense at all. They have no defense. When we started in this case we groped in the valley and you groped in the valley. When you looked for the evidence you found it. If you are looking for an excuse to acquit those defendants, you may acquit them either on the ground that we have not stated the cause of death, or you can acquit them on the ground that you do not believe the evidence. But you are not going to do that; you are too honorable men to do so. The people of the State of Illinois have rights as well as these defendants. I would not ask you to convict the men unless you feel that the evidence justified you in doing so, but their defense, what is it? It is shorter than the defendants can cover themselves by lying upon it, and, as a covering, it is narrower than they can wrap themselves in. There is no defense. Since we were groping in the valley we have piled up a mountain of evidence, until you have the mountain peaks, which stand out so clearly, that all of you can not fail to see them, and there stands the evidence, irresistible, unimpeachable and indisputable. Gentlemen, let us see what we have got. "Let us start in on this chain. Go into Camp 20 and see what there is there. You find that there was a committee appointed; you find that charges were made about spies; you find there was a circle of brothers banded together. Take in the 22d of February; take in the speech of Beggs; take in the letters of Spelman. There you have got a link. You start out from Camp 20 with that link. You go over to 117 South Clark Street; you go to Revell; you take the buying of the trunk and the buying of the valise and the buying of the furniture; the putting of it into 117 Clark street, and Kunze is in there as a man to throw the public off as to the cause of the occupancy. There you have a second link. The trunk, the valise, the strap and the furniture form a second link. Put that on and follow it up. These two links are undisputed and undenied. There is no dispute as to that second link; you find Martin Burke taking the furniture and putting the trunk and valise into that cottage. There is a third link undisputed; no question about it, unless you want to disbelieve the five witnesses as to the identification of Martin Burke. You go on and you find Patrick O'Sullivan contracting with Cronin, that is the fourth link. There are four links established by evidence and undisputed leading up to the murder of Dr. Cronin. You come to Dan Coughlin; he has the horse and buggy; that is the fifth link. These five links are as solid as the rocks--as solid as iron; five undisputed links in the chain. You find, further, on Evanston road, the trunk, the body and the clothes. That is another link. There are six links that lead from Camp 20 to the grave of Dr. Cronin. We have the first link made by the Clan-na-Gael brotherhood in Camp 20; to that add Beggs' letters and his statements about the inner circle; to that add that that committee was to report to him alone; to that add everything that Beggs did and said; it is all hanging on that link. We find Burke renting the cottage and saying that his sister is going to keep house with him; we find him disappear; we find him in Winnipeg. That is another link. Then there is the P. O'Sullivan link; you find his printed card was presented to Dr. Cronin, and the man who presents it says, 'O'Sullivan wants you to go to his ice house.' That is an undisputed circumstance. All these circumstances are leading you up to the murder of Dr. Cronin. Take Dan Coughlin's statement to Dinan; take his statement that Smith, from Hancock, Michigan, is the man who drove the rig, the very man that Burke went to see at Hancock, Michigan, and who says John Ryan is his friend. "Look at it! There never was such a chain of circumstances. The chain itself is strong, and yet all those circumstances, those little links, are as strong--so strong that they can not be broken. And yet this lawyer will stand up here for three days and say there is not evidence enough to convict! Now, another thing that goes to add to P. O'Sullivan's link and to show that he was not honest in that contract is the testimony of this man A. J. Ford. He testifies that he made a speech in Camp 20, in which he said that there were men fraternizing with the deputies up in the Washington Literary Society in Lake View, and he gave this man O'Sullivan as his authority. There is another circumstance. Why then did O'Sullivan, if he believed that Cronin was organizing a lodge there--if he believed that that literary society was taking in men opposed to the Irish cause--why did he think Cronin was a friend of his, and why did he go and make a contract with Dr. Cronin? Now, gentlemen, I have laid down these links; you take it in Camp 20, follow it to 117 Clark street, to the cottage, to Dan Coughlin's horse and buggy, to the trunk, the body and the clothes. You come back to Camp 20 and it falls at the feet of John F. Beggs. His lawyer says that John F. Beggs is the dupe of no man. No, gentlemen; but John F. Beggs is just as guilty, if he was in this conspiracy, as Martin Burke, every bit. The learned counsel told you a story here, and it was very apt. He told you that men who had been defrauding the government and doing crooked work took a man who was on their track and put him over the brink of a precipice and swung him back and forth, and he says one of them climbed up and cut the rope, and an innocent man, innocently charged, dropped on the rocks below and was cut to pieces. The men who stood by and laughed while this was being done were just as guilty as the man who cut the rope. John F. Beggs, if he was in this conspiracy, is just as guilty as the men who dealt the blows, every bit. Now, in such a case as that, where an innocent man was swung out over the rocks--where these men who were criminals themselves, swung a man over a cliff down to death--what would you do if you were on a jury to try such men? "Gentlemen, I am through; I promised you I would hurry up. I do not believe that if I were to talk from now till next June I would change your opinion one way or another. If you are settled to turn these men loose, you will do it; if you believe this evidence is not sufficient to convict them, why of course you will acquit them. But I want to call your attention to your responsibility. Gentlemen, this is a serious matter; it has got down to business. I have been sitting here for weeks, and indisputed evidence that must lead your minds to the conclusion that Dr. Cronin was murdered, evidence that must lead to the conclusion that it was done by a conspiracy; evidence that must convince your minds that it was a cold-blooded murder, that it was planned in secret, that it was done with the coolness of those men who swung the man over the cliff--you must have come to the conclusion that if there ever was a murder case in which the extreme penalty of the law was demanded at your hands by a verdict of that kind, this is one. Remember that you are not here to acquit guilty men; you are not here to convict innocent men. Remember that we are here insisting that this evidence is so overwhelming that you, as honest men, under your oaths, can not resist this volume of proof, and that it ought to convince you beyond a reasonable doubt that all five of these men are guilty of this crime." CHAPTER XXIV. ALL THE TESTIMONY BEFORE THE JURY--JUDGE M'CONNELL'S LUCID CHARGE--THE JURY RETIRES--A PERIOD OF ANXIETY--POPULAR EXCITEMENT AT ITS HEIGHT--DEMEANOR OF THE PRISONERS--SUSPENSE AT LAST ENDED--THE VERDICT. Breathless silence prevailed as the State's Attorney concluded his argument. Attention was now directed to Judge McConnell. Every eye in the court-room, including that of the prisoners, was directed toward the bench. Spreading before him a bulky roll of foolscap, his Honor, after requesting the close attention of the jurors, commenced to read the final instructions. These were couched as follows: "The jury are judges of the law as well as of the facts in this case, and if they can say upon their oaths that they know the law better than the Court itself, they have the right to do so; but, before assuming so solemn a responsibility, they should be sure that they are not acting from caprice or prejudice, that they are not controlled by their will or wishes, but from a deep and confident conviction that the Court is wrong and they are right. Before saying this upon their oaths, it is their duty to reflect whether, from their study and experience, they are better qualified to judge of the law than the Court. If under all circumstances they are prepared to say that the Court is wrong in its exposition of the law, the statute has given them that right. "In the language of the statute, murder is the unlawful killing of a human being, in the peace of the people, with malice aforethought, either expressed or implied. The unlawful killing may be perpetrated by poisoning, striking, starving, drowning, stabbing, shooting, or by any other of the various forms or means by which human nature may be overcome and death thereby occasioned. Express malice is that deliberate intention unlawfully to take away the life of a fellow-creature, which is manifested by external circumstances capable of proof. Malice shall be implied when no considerable provocation appears, or when all the circumstances of the killing show an abandoned and malignant heart. "Whoever is guilty of murder, shall suffer the punishment of death or imprisonment in the penitentiary for his natural life, or for a term of not less than fourteen years. If the accused, or any of them, are found guilty by the jury, the jury shall fix the punishment by their verdict. "An accessory is he who stands by and aids, abets, or assists, or who, not being present, aiding, abetting, or assisting, hath advised, encouraged, aided, or abetted the perpetration of the crime. He who thus aids, abets, assists, advises, or encourages, shall be considered as principal and punished accordingly. Every such accessory, when a crime is committed within or without this State by his aid or procurement in this State, may be indicted and convicted at the same time as the principal, or before or after his conviction, and whether the principal is convicted or amenable to justice or not, and punished as principal. "The manner or cause of death, which is alleged in the indictment, is an essential element of the charge against the defendants, and the law requires the prosecution to establish that averment to your satisfaction, beyond reasonable doubt, as it is laid in the indictment, before a conviction of the defendants, or either of them, can lawfully be had. But whether or not the manner or cause of death was as laid in the indictment may be established by circumstantial evidence, just as any other fact essential to conviction may be. "The indictment against the defendants is no evidence of their guilt, but is merely a formal charge for the purpose of putting them upon trial. You ought to commence the investigation of this case with a presumption that the defendants, and each of them are innocent of the crime of which they are accused, and you should act upon this presumption throughout your consideration of the evidence. Unless this presumption of innocence shall have been overcome by proof of guilt so strong, credible, and conclusive as to convince your minds, beyond every reasonable doubt, that the defendants are guilty, and unless the evidence is of such a nature as to exclude every reasonable doubt of guilt, then you ought to acquit the defendants. "But this rule of law, which clothes every person accused of crime with the presumption of innocence, and imposes on the State the burden of establishing his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, is not intended to aid any one who is in fact guilty of the crime to escape, but is a humane provision of law, intended, so far as human agencies can, to guard against the danger of any innocent person being unjustly punished. "Circumstantial evidence in criminal cases is the proof of such facts and circumstances connected with or surrounding the commission of the crime charged as tends to show the guilt or innocence of the party charged, and if these facts and circumstances are sufficient to satisfy the jury of the guilt of the defendants beyond a reasonable doubt, then such evidence is sufficient to authorize the jury in finding the defendants guilty. "The law exacts a conviction, wherever there is sufficient legal evidence to show the defendants' guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and circumstantial evidence is legal evidence. "The following rules should guide you in your use and application of the circumstances introduced in evidence: It is the duty of the jury to enter upon the consideration of each circumstance proven, having in their minds the presumption that the defendants, and each of them, are innocent, and in considering such fact or circumstance, they should apply to it the presumption of innocence, and if such fact or circumstance, when considered in connection with all the evidence in the case, can be explained consistently with the innocence of the accused, it is their duty so to explain it. No circumstance introduced in evidence on this trial can be used by you as a basis for any inference of guilt against the defendants, or either of them, unless such circumstance is first proven to your entire satisfaction, and every circumstance in the case which is not proven to your entire satisfaction should be wholly dismissed from consideration, and must not be permitted to influence you to any extent against the defendants, or either of them. Any circumstance which is essential to a conclusion of guilt against the defendants, or either of them, should be established beyond all reasonable doubt and to a moral certainty before it can be used by the jury against the defendants. "In order to justify the inference of legal guilt from circumstantial evidence, the existence of the inculpatory facts must be absolutely incompatible with the innocence of the accused, and incapable of explanation upon any other reasonable hypothesis than that of their guilt. If you can reconcile the facts in this case upon any reasonable theory consistent with the innocence of the defendant, John Kunze, it is your duty so to do, and to find said defendant, John Kunze, not guilty. If you can reconcile the facts in this case upon any reasonable theory consistent with the innocence of the defendant, Patrick O'Sullivan, it is your duty so to do, and to find said defendant, Patrick O'Sullivan, not guilty. If you can reconcile the facts in this case upon any reasonable theory consistent with the innocence of the defendant, Martin Burke, it is your duty so to do, and to find said defendant, Martin Burke, not guilty. If you can reconcile the facts in this case upon any reasonable theory consistent with the innocence of the defendant, Daniel Coughlin, it is your duty so to do, and to find said defendant, Daniel Coughlin, not guilty. "It is not sufficient for the jury to find that a resolution was adopted for the appointment of a secret committee in Camp 20 on February 8, 1889, but it must further appear to your satisfaction, beyond all reasonable doubt that such committee was in fact appointed by the defendant Beggs, and that such appointment was in pursuance or in furtherance of a conspiracy to commit the crime set out in the indictment, and you must further be satisfied, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the defendant Beggs had knowledge of the purpose for which said committee was asked, or, if appointed, assented to its purpose subsequently, or you will not be justified in finding a participation in such conspiracy on the part of the defendant Beggs by reason of the facts just recited. That the defendant Beggs was a member of the United Brotherhood and was the presiding officer of Camp 20 are not circumstances standing alone tending to establish his guilt of the crime charged in the indictment in this case. And as there is no evidence in this case that any overt act was committed by the defendant Beggs in the commission of the alleged murder charged in the indictment in this case, therefore, unless it is established that a conspiracy was entered into to commit the murder charged in said indictment, to which conspiracy the said Beggs was a party, he should be acquitted. "When the testimony of witnesses appears to be fair, is not unreasonable or unnatural, and is consistent with itself, and where the witnesses have not, in any manner, been impeached, then you have no right under the law, to disregard the testimony of such witnesses from mere whim, caprice, or without just cause. It is the duty of the jury to consider the whole of the evidence, and to render a verdict in accordance with the weight of all the evidence in the case, and not act upon a consideration of the evidence for the prosecution or the defense alone. All the evidence must be considered. "While it is your duty to carefully scrutinize and dispassionately weigh the evidence of all the witnesses in the case, still it is your sworn duty to give proper credit to the evidence of each and all of the witnesses, and, if possible, to reconcile all of the evidence in the case with the presumption that each witness has intended to speak the truth, unless by their manner of testifying on the witness-stand, or by inconsistent statements sworn to, or by the testimony inconsistent with other credible evidence in the cause you are impelled to believe that the testimony of some one or more of the witnesses is untruthful or unreliable, or unless you are led to believe, from an exhibition of interest, bias or prejudice, that such witness or witnesses have been inclined to exaggerate, color or suppress the truth, or unless they have been impeached in some of the ways known to the law. "One of the modes of impeaching a witness is by showing that he or she has made statements out of court at variance with his or her statements on the witness-stand; and if the jury believe from the evidence that a witness has made statements at another time and place at variance with his or her evidence in this case, regarding any material matter testified to by him or her, then it is the province of the jury to determine to what extent this fact tends to impeach either his or her memory or his or her credibility, or detract from the weight which ought to be given to his or her testimony. If the jury believe from the evidence that any witness has willfully sworn falsely as to any matter or thing material to the issues in this case, then the jury are at liberty to disregard his or her entire testimony, except in so far as it has been corroborated by other credible evidence, or by the facts and circumstances proven on the trial. Testimony of verbal admissions, statements and conversations, ought to be taken by you with caution, because that sort of testimony is subject to much imperfection and mistake. And when the verbal admission of a person charged with crime is offered in evidence, the whole of the admission must be taken together, as well that part which makes for the accused as that which makes against him; and if part of the statement which is in favor of the defendant is not disproved, and is not apparently improbable or untrue, when consistent with all the other evidence in the case, then such part of the statement is entitled to as much consideration from the jury as any other part of the statement. "Before you can be warranted in using against any one of the defendants any evidence respecting the conduct or conversation of any other defendant, you must believe to a moral certainty, from reliable and credible evidence, not only that the particular defendant whose conduct and conversation the prosecution seek to use against the defendant was a member of an unlawful conspiracy, as charged in the indictment, but that the defendant himself was also an associate and member of such conspiracy. If, after an examination of all the evidence, which examination should be made by you in a spirit free from passion and prejudice, there should exist in your mind any reasonable doubt as to whether or not any defendant was a member of an unlawful conspiracy as charged in the indictment, then and in such case it would be illegal and wrong for you to use against such defendant any evidence respecting the conduct or conversation of any other defendant, even if you should believe that such other defendant was a member of such alleged conspiracy. "In no view which can be taken of this case will you be warranted in using against one defendant any evidence of the act, conduct or conversation of any other defendant occurring subsequent to the day of the alleged homicide of Dr. Cronin. "Although you may believe that the defendant Beggs, at a meeting of Camp 20 on May 10th, remarked in substance that that committee was to report to him, and even if you should further believe that such remark possessed some criminal import, yet, in no view that can be taken of this case, will you be justified in using such remark as evidence against any other defendant. "Although you may fully and confidently believe that one J. B. Simonds, the person who drove Dr. Cronin away from his home on the night of May 4th, and other unknown persons were members of a conspiracy to murder Dr. Cronin as charged in the indictment, and, indeed, that they did murder him, yet you can not and ought not use any evidence respecting the conduct and conversations of such persons, or any of them, against any defendant unless you are first convinced beyond every reasonable doubt, from the evidence, that such defendant was also a member of such conspiracy to murder Dr. Cronin. "Although you may believe that a conspiracy existed to murder Dr. Cronin, and although you may further believe that he was murdered in pursuance of such conspiracy, yet the fact that a defendant did some act which contributed in some measure in producing the Doctor's death will not justify you in concluding that the defendant doing such act was a member of such conspiracy, unless you further believe, from the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt, that said defendant, at the time of doing such act, actually knew and intended that the act done by him should be one of a series of acts to be done by others in producing the Doctor's death. "A conspiracy may be established by circumstantial evidence, the same as any other fact, and such evidence is legal and competent for that purpose; so whether an act which was committed was done by a member of a conspiracy, may be established by circumstantial evidence, whether the identity of the individual who committed the act be established or not; and also whether the act done was in pursuance and furtherance of a common design, may be ascertained from the same class of evidence; and if the jury believe, from the evidence in this case, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the defendants or any of them, conspired and agreed together, or with others, to kill and murder Patrick Henry Cronin, and that in pursuance and furtherance of that common design and by a member or members of such conspiracy the said Patrick Henry Cronin was killed and murdered in manner and form as charged in the indictment in this case, then such of these defendants, if any, whom the jury believe from the evidence beyond a reasonable doubt were parties to such conspiracy, are guilty of the murder of the said Cronin, whether the identity of the individual doing the killing be established or not, or whether such defendants were present at the time of the killing or not. "Under the charge of conspiracy against any of the defendants to commit murder, it must be proven, beyond every reasonable doubt, that such defendant combined with one or more persons in the common purpose and with the common design to murder the deceased before you will be justified in believing that the conspiracy existed as charged against him. Although you may believe that the defendant Burke rented the Carlson cottage and removed the furniture and other articles mentioned in evidence from 117 South Clark street to the said cottage, and although you may further believe that Dr. Cronin was murdered in the Carlson cottage, you are advised that these acts of the defendant Burke in themselves are insufficient to justify you in concluding that he was a party to the alleged conspiracy, unless it further appears, beyond all reasonable doubt, that such acts of the defendant Burke were deliberately and willfully intended by him to assist in the perpetration of the crime of murder. "Although you may believe than Dinan's horse and buggy was used on May 4th to take the Doctor to his death, you are advised that the act of the defendant, Coughlin, in engaging such horse and buggy is insufficient to justify you in concluding that he was a party to the alleged conspiracy, unless it further appears beyond all reasonable doubt that such act of the defendant, Coughlin, was deliberately and willfully intended by him to assist in the perpetration of the crime of murder. "Although you may believe that the contract between O'Sullivan and Dr. Cronin was used on May 4th to decoy the Doctor to his death, you are advised that the act of the defendant, O'Sullivan, in making such contract of itself is insufficient to justify you in concluding that he was a party to the alleged conspiracy, unless it further appears, beyond all reasonable doubt, that such act of the defendant, O'Sullivan, was deliberately and willfully intended by him to assist in the perpetration of the crime of murder, or that he knowingly and corruptly consented to the use of said contract in accomplishing the alleged murder of the deceased. "In considering the circumstance of the contract made between Patrick O'Sullivan and Dr. Cronin, you are not permitted by the law to take into account or draw any inference from the fact that the witnesses McGarry, Capt. Schaack, Mrs. T. T. Conklin, and others testified that they expressed the opinion to Patrick O'Sullivan in conversing with him that the said contract was unbusiness-like, unusual, strange, and suspicious; such opinions furnish you no warrant for concluding that the object and purpose of Patrick O'Sullivan in making the contract was illegal or criminal. "While it is necessary, in order to establish a conspiracy, to prove a combination of two or more persons by concerted action to accomplish the criminal or unlawful purpose alleged in the indictment, yet it is not necessary to prove that the parties ever came together and entered into any formal agreement or arrangement between themselves to effect such a purpose; the combination, or common design or object may be regarded as proved, if the jury believe from the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the parties were knowingly willfully, and actually pursuing in concert the unlawful object stated in the indictment, whether acting separately or together, by common or different means; providing they were leading intentionally to the same unlawful result. "The evidence in proof of a conspiracy will generally, in the nature of the case, be circumstantial. Though a common design is the nature of the charge, it is not necessary to prove that the defendants came together, and actually agreed in terms to have that design and to pursue it by common means. If it be proved to the satisfaction of the jury beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendants knowingly and intentionally pursued by their acts the same object, one pursuing one part, and another another part of the same, so as to complete it with a view to the attainment of the same object, the jury will be justified in the conclusion that they are engaged in a conspiracy to effect that object. "If the jury believe from the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt, acting in the light of the entire charge of the Court, that the defendants now on trial, or some of them, conspired together, or together and with others who were to the Grand Jury unknown, to kill and murder Patrick Henry Cronin, and that one or more of the conspirators, in pursuance and furtherance of the conspiracy, did kill and murder the said Cronin in manner and form as charged in the indictment, then any or all of the defendants (if any) who so conspired are in law guilty of such murder, although they may not have actually killed the said Cronin, or been present at the time or place of the killing. "The burden of proving everything essential to the establishment of the charge against the defendants, and each of them, lies on the prosecution, and even if it were conceded that somebody murdered Dr. Cronin, yet the defendants are not required nor expected to prove who committed the murder. "The prosecution is required to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendants, and not somebody else, committed the crime charged in the indictment. It is insufficient to justify you in convicting the defendants, that the evidence disclosed that Patrick H. Cronin was murdered, and that the defendants, or somebody else, murdered him, or that the probabilities are that the defendants and not somebody else murdered him. "You ought not, and can not legally convict the defendants, or either of them, upon the mere doctrine of chance and probability. Although you may believe that it is highly probable and very likely that the defendants are guilty, and even that it is far more likely and probable that they are guilty than that they are innocent, yet, no amount of suspicion will warrant you in finding a verdict of 'guilty' against the defendants, or any of them. "To warrant a conviction upon a charge of murder, the evidence must be of such kind and quantity as to convince the jury of the truth of the charge beyond every reasonable doubt, and to a moral certainty. If, therefore, when you, without passion, prejudice, or bias, have fairly and honestly considered the entire evidence on both sides of the case, do not feel morally certain, to the exclusion of every reasonable doubt, of the guilt of the defendants, then it is your duty to acquit them. "It is the duty of the jury to examine the evidence on both sides of the case without any feeling of resentment or revenge, and if, after such examination, you entertain any reasonable doubt as to whether the deceased was murdered by the defendants as charged in the indictment, or by somebody else, you should acquit the defendants; in other words, if the evidence, after an impartial consideration, leaves your mind in a state of reasonable doubt as to whether any particular defendant is guilty, as charged in the indictment, then such defendant should be acquitted. "If the evidence in this case fails to show any motive on the part of the defendant to commit the crime charged against him, then this is a circumstance in favor of his innocence, which the jury ought to consider in connection with all the other evidence in the case in arriving at a verdict. "An individual juror ought not to compromise any well-founded doubt of guilt that he may entertain respecting the defendants or any of them with his fellow-jurors. The jury can agree only to convict or acquit, and you can only properly convict when the guilt of the defendants is so fully and clearly proven to the mind of each individual juror, as to exclude every reasonable doubt of guilt. "A reasonable doubt is that state of the case which, after the entire comparison and consideration of all the evidence in the case leaves the jurors in that condition that they can not say they have an abiding conviction, to a moral certainty, of the truth of the charge. It is not sufficient to establish a probability, though a strong one, that the fact is more likely to be true than the contrary, but the evidence must establish the truth of the fact to a reasonable and moral certainty; a certainty that convinces and directs the understanding and satisfies the reason and judgment of the juror who is bound to act upon it conscientiously. "In considering the case, however, the jury are not to go beyond the evidence to hunt up doubts, nor must they entertain such doubts as are merely chimerical or conjectured. A doubt to justify an acquittal must be reasonable, and it must arise from candid and impartial investigation of all the evidence in the case, and unless it is such that were the same kind of doubt interposed in the graver transactions of life, it would cause a reasonable and prudent man to hesitate and pause, it is insufficient to authorize a verdict of not guilty. If, after considering all the evidence, you can say you have an abiding conviction of the truth of the charge, you are satisfied beyond a reasonable doubt. "The doubt which the juror is allowed to retain in his own mind, and under the influence of which he should frame a verdict of not guilty, must always be a reasonable one. A doubt produced by undue sensibility in the mind of any juror in view of the consequence of his verdict is not a reasonable doubt, and a juror is not allowed to create sources or materials of doubt by resorting to trivial and fanciful suppositions, and remote conjectures as to possible states of facts, differing from that established by the evidence. You are not at liberty to disbelieve as jurors, if, from the evidence, you believe as men; your oath imposes on you no obligation to doubt where no doubt would exist if no oath had been administered. "In this case the jury may, as in their judgment the evidence warrants, find any or all of the defendants guilty, or any or all of them not guilty; and if in their judgment the evidence warrants, they may, in case they find the defendants, or any of them guilty, fix the same penalty for all the defendants found guilty, or different penalties for the different defendants found guilty. "And in case they find the defendants, or any of them, guilty of murder, they should fix the penalty either at death or at imprisonment for life in the penitentiary, or at imprisonment in the penitentiary for a term of any number of years not less than fourteen." * * * * * THE JURY RETIRES. The instructions of Judge McConnell were listened to with intense interest by the jurors, the prisoners, and the spectators. After he had concluded he made a verbal statement to the effect that if the jurors had taken any notes during the progress of the case, it would be necessary for them to disregard them in the jury-room. The oath was then administered to the bailiffs who were to take charge of the jury. Each one of them was compelled to solemnly swear by the ever-living God that they would take the jury to some private, convenient place provided by the sheriff, and keep them together, without eat or drink, water excepted, unless ordered by the court; and not to speak to them themselves nor to permit any person or persons to speak to them until they had agreed upon a verdict. This formality concluded, a discussion arose as to the exhibits which had been offered in evidence going into the jury-room. As to the locks of hair cut from the head of the body found in the catch-basin there was no objection on the part of the counsel for the defendants. Special objection was raised however, to the O'Sullivan card, the articles of clothing found in the sewer, the bloody trunk, the satchel and hat, and the documentary evidence which had been submitted in the course of the case. All the objections on the part of counsel for the defendants to the introduction of these articles to the jury-room were, however, overruled, and at half-past four on the afternoon of Friday, December 13th, the jury retired. It was the prevalent opinion of those who had been in attendance on the trial from its inauguration, that the deliberations of the body would be of short duration. This idea, however, proved to be erroneous. For over six hours the counsel on both sides, the friends of the prosecution, and the adherents of the defense sat around the court-room in momentary expectation that a verdict would be reached. About an hour after the jury had retired, a request was sent into the court-room for the maps, charts and other exhibits which had been introduced in evidence, and it was complied with. At six o'clock one of the bailiffs was dispatched to procure supper for the body. Court was reconvened at nine o'clock, but, no word being received from the jury, a recess was declared until nine o'clock on the following morning. When the day broke, however, the jury was far from an agreement, and although the court remained in continuous session until night, no word was received from the twelve good men and true who held the fate of the five prisoners in the balance. Meanwhile, public excitement had reached a remarkable pitch. Large crowds had assembled outside of the court building anxiously awaiting a deliverance from the jury, and in the public resorts throughout the city the probable outcome of the trial and the fate of the defendants was the one absorbing topic of discussion. No message from the jury was delivered to the court at any time during Saturday, and after remaining in session until nearly midnight, a recess was ordered the following morning. In the meantime a score of ugly rumors gained currency. It was claimed that the jury stood eleven to one in favor of convicting all of the defendants, and that the one man in question had been "fixed" by the defense. Another rumor had it that the recalcitrant juror had been subjected to personal violence by some of his colleagues who were indignant at the course which he had seen fit to pursue. Saturday night passed, and the dawn of the Sabbath was broken, but still the twelve men had failed to reach a conclusion upon the evidence presented to them. The rule of court regarding their comfort had been held in abeyance so far as to allow of their being provided with blankets and other necessaries for passing the night, together with bounteous meals from an adjoining restaurant, whenever they felt inclined to refresh the inner man. All through the Sabbath, throngs of people, about equally divided between the friends of the murdered physician and the adherents of the faction to which the prisoners belonged, were congregated about the streets adjacent to the Criminal Court. No word came from the jury-room, however, and Judge McConnell, who put in an appearance at six o'clock in the evening, promptly ordered a recess until ten o'clock Monday morning, as soon as it was definitely ascertained that the jury was not prepared to make any communication. The delay afforded an opportunity of compiling some interesting statistics in connection with the famous trial. Its practical commencement was on August 30th, when the examination of veniremen for the selection of a jury was inaugurated. The first panel of four jurors was accepted on September 18th, after nearly one hundred men had been examined and had confessed that they were prejudiced against the accused, or had formed an opinion based upon the published reports of the case which could not be removed by evidence. The second panel of four was secured on October 8th, and the third and final panel on October 22d. The presentation of the case for the State occupied from October 24th to November 16th, the type-written transcript of the testimony against the defendants covering nearly 4,000 pages. The defense opened on November 16th and closed on November 30th, having in the meantime examined nearly seventy witnesses. The speeches occupied fourteen and one-half days of which State's Attorney Longenecker consumed one and a half days in his opening address, Judge Wing one and one-half, Mr. Ingham one, Mr. Donahoe one and one-half, Mr. Hynes one and one-half, Mr. Foster one and one-half, Mr. Forrest three, and Mr. Longenecker, in his closing analysis of the case, one and one-half. Taken from its inception to the close, the trial was the most lengthy in the history of American jurisprudence, being only equalled by that of the celebrated Tichborne case in England, which occupied in the aggregate nearly five months. The trial of Daniel Coughlin and his associates commenced on August 26th and ended with the rendering of the verdict on December 16th. In the effort to secure a jury 1,115 special veniremen were examined, of which number 928 were excused for cause, 97 were peremptorily challenged for the defense, 78 by the State and twelve finally chosen. The expenses of the case were enormous. The fees of the special veniremen and the jury aggregated $8,000. The salaries of the bailiffs, special officers, and court officials reached $20,000, not including the cost of maintaining the courts. The fees of the witnesses summoned in behalf of the State reached a total of over $5,000, while the expenditures on account, of legal assistance to the State's Attorney were fully $20,000. The accounts of the stenographers and type-writers, ran into another $10,000, and on the sum total, taken in connection with the fact that the entire business of the courts was delayed during the progress of the trial, a final estimate of $100,000 as the total cost of the trial to the tax-payers, is not an exorbitant one. The outlay on the part of the defense, as far as could be ascertained, did not probably exceed $20,000. A VERDICT AT LAST. It was not until half past two of the afternoon of Monday, Dec. 16th, that the members of the jury, after being locked up over seventy hours, were prepared to render a verdict. Court was opened at ten o'clock in the morning, but there being no sign of any communication from the jury-room, a recess was taken until two o'clock. Shortly before that hour it was learned that a verdict had at last been reached. Extraordinary precautions were at once taken in and about the court room. The general public was excluded, and only counsel engaged in the case, representatives of the press, and about two score of police officers in plain clothes were admitted. Judge McConnell took his seat on the bench at 2:25, and a moment later the five prisoners were ushered in over the iron bridge leading from the jail. John F. Beggs, a deathly pallor on his face, and his blue eyes glaring as though protruding from the bleached bones of a skeleton, headed the line. Next to him came Daniel Coughlin, with a nervous, cynical smile upon his face. Then followed O'Sullivan, his jaws set firm, and the fingers of his right hand tugging nervously at his mustache. Close behind him came Martin Burke, with the same look of stolid indifference that he had worn throughout the trial. Kunze, who brought up the line, was apparently the least concerned of the five, smiling and bowing as he passed in to the reporters and court officials. Just as soon as the prisoners had taken their seats and the fifteen deputy sheriffs, three to each man, had filled the space behind their chairs, the jury was brought in. Breathless silence prevailed. Everyone present seemed impressed with the solemnity of the moment. Even Judge McConnell, who had maintained a calm and reserved air throughout the trial, nervously mopped his brow, from which the perspiration threatened to pour in torrents. In response to a question of the clerk Foreman Clarke responded that the jury had agreed upon a verdict, at the same time handing up a sealed paper to the bench. The painful and oppressive stillness which prevailed was only broken when the voice of the clerk, who had in the meantime unfolded the paper, rang out clear and distinct in tones that penetrated through the iron doors to the corridors beyond. This is what he read: We, the jury, find the defendant, John F. Beggs, not guilty. We, the jury, find the defendant, John Kunze, guilty of manslaughter as charged in the indictment and fix his punishment at imprisonment in the penitentiary for a term of three years. We, the jury, find the defendants Daniel Coughlin, Patrick O'Sullivan and Martin Burke, guilty of murder in the manner and form as charged in the indictment and fix the penalty at imprisonment in the penitentiary for the term of their natural lives. One prolonged buzz, as though a thousand bated breaths had been loosened, filled the court-room as the clerk resumed his seat. Then there was a wail, a despairing cry. Little Kunze, the comedian of the prisoners, had broken down at last. The hot, scalding tears chased each other down his cheeks as, with clasped hands and a look of unutterable agony upon his face, he ejaculated again and again, "My God! My God! God knows I am innocent! I never was in Lake View that night! Oh! God knows I am innocent, gentlemen!" Very different were the feelings of John F. Beggs, who occupied the extreme right of the line. No sooner had the last words of the verdict been read than in a single bound he was before the jurors. Shaking each by the hand he thanked them cordially, and then, addressing them as a body, said: "Gentlemen, I thank you. I trust that the future may confirm your judgment upon me, and that you will never regret that you found me not guilty of this terrible charge." O'Sullivan was the only one of the other three prisoners who gave vent to his feelings in tears. They trickled down his cheeks for a moment, but he brushed them away and soon recovered his self-possession. Coughlin looked defiantly around the court-room but did not betray any emotion, while Martin Burke looked more cool and unconcerned than any man in the room. The formal motion for a new trial was entered and recorded, the iron doors revolved on their hinges, the four prisoners passed to the jail beyond, the great trial was at an end, and with three men condemned to a living death and the fourth incarcerated for a period commensurate with his crime, the murder of the Irish patriot was avenged. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). The following misprints have been corrected: "portait" corrected to "portrait" (page xii) "Identifed" corrected to "Identified" (page xiii) "forthought" corrected to "forethought" (page 17) "confidental" corrected to "confidential" (page 17) "physican's" corrected to "physician's" (page 22) "Captains" corrected to "Captain" (page 31) "the the" corrected to "the" (page 35) "miscroscope" corrected to "microscope" (page 36) "pecular" corrected to "peculiar" (page 47) "PHYSICAN" corrected to "PHYSICIAN" (page 57) "Presdents" corrected to "Presidents" (page 58) "exept" corrected to "except" (page 62) "orginization" corrected to "organization" (page 70) "Main" corrected to "Maine" (page 70) "h m" corrected to "him" (page 74) "generel" corrected to "general" (page 74) "represenative" corrected to "representative" (page 78) "purjurer" corrected to "perjurer" (page 81) "Nationel" corrected to "National" (page 81) "enlaree" corrected to "enlarge" (page 81) "reprehensibl" corrected to "reprehensible" (page 87) "informotion" corrected to "information" (page 90) "sufficint" corrected to "sufficient" (page 91) "discusson" corrected to "discussion" (page 95) "busines" corrected to "business" (page 100) "Lomansey" corrected to "Lomasney" (page 100) "physican's" corrected to "physician's" (page 107) "the the" corrected to "the" (page 133) "Catharines" corrected to "Catherines" (page 151) "imprisioned" corrected to "imprisoned" (page 219) "PHILADELHHIA" corrected to "PHILADELPHIA" (page 234) "contradition" corrected to "contradiction" (page 246) "Coronor" corrected to "Coroner" (page 248) "Sulllivan" corrected to "Sullivan" (page 252) "villian" corrected to "villain" (page 255) "mitimus" corrected to "mittimus" (page 270) "phenominal" corrected to "phenomenal" (page 271) "stoping" corrected to "stopping" (page 281) "Clan-na-6ael" corrected to"Clan-na-gael" (page 282) "witnessess" corrected to "witnesses" (page 287) "admissable" corrected to "admissible" (page 289) "Schack" corrected to "Schaak" (page 289) "arirve" corrected to "arrive" (page 296) "beheld" corrected to "be held" (page 296) "homeat" corrected to "home at" (page 296) "Februray" corrected to "February" (page 300) "WINNEPEG" corrected to "WINNIPEG" (page 303) "Winnepeg" corrected to "Winnipeg" (page 304) "occasionaly" corrected to "occasionally" (page 304) "Winnepeg" corrected to "Winnipeg" (page 312) "condiserable" corrected to "considerable" (page 317) "admissibl eand" corrected to "admissible and" (page 323) missing "the" added (page 327) extraneous "while" removed (page 329) "transfered" corrected to "transferred" (page 331) "employe's" corrected to "employees" (page 336) "of of" corrected to "of" (page 336) "BAGNELL" corrected to "BAGNALL" (page 345) missing "he" added (page 360) "fradulently" corrected to "fraudulently" (page 363) "no" corrected to "not" (page 376) "nationalty" corrected to "nationality" (page 377) "Lafllin" corrected to "Laflin" (page 385) "preceedings" corrected to "proceedings" (page 391) "elasses" corrected to "classes" (page 394) "distinetion" corrected to "distinction" (page 394) "ean" corrected to "can" (page 395) missing "to" added (page 407) "the" corrected to "that" (page 408) "apointment" corrected to "appointment" (page 408) "giving" corrected to "given" (page 423) "and and" corrected to "and" (page 423) "O'Sulivan" corrected to "O'Sullivan" (page 427) "stanch" corrected to "staunch" (page 435) "It" corrected to "If" (page 444) "no" corrected to "on" (page 453) "Simons" corrected to "Simonds" (page 485) "iniflct" corrected to "inflict" (page 487) "mantlepiece" corrected to "mantelpiece" (page 495) "Gentleman" corrected to "Gentlemen" (page 498) "if if" corrected to "if" (page 509) missing "I" added (page 511) "responsibly" corrected to "responsibility" (page 513) "lelt" corrected to "left" (page 515) "patroit" corrected to "patriot" (page 518) "acount" corrected to "account" (page 520) "palf" corrected to "half" (page 523) "abili" corrected to "alibi" (page 524) "dont" corrected to "don't" (page 525) "Cughlin" corrected to "Coughlin" (page 526) "anyth ng" corrected to "anything" (page 526) "predjudice" corrected to "prejudice" (page 527) "predjudices" corrected to "prejudices" (page 527) "a" corrected to "as" (page 533) "Gods" corrected to "God's" (page 534) "Inspite" corrected to "In spite" (page 537) "beeause" corrected to "because" (page 542) "steets" corrected to "streets" (page 546) "they" corrected to "that" (page 548) "whn" corrected to why" (page 552) "poople" corrected to "people" (page 552) "aftet" corrected to "after" (page 557) "certainity" corrected to "certainty" (page 564) "predjudice" corrected to "prejudice" (page 565) 
46001	----	A Parody _on_ Iolanthe BY _D. DALZIEL_ EDITOR of the Chicago NEWS. LETTER. The whole Illustrated _by_ H. W. McVickar. [Illustration] _Published_ by D. DALZIEL The Halch Lithographic Co. New York. MDCCCLXXXIII [Illustration] A PARODY on IOLANTHE (_Respectfully dedicated to the Conductors of the Chicago & Alton Railroad._) (BY D. DALZIEL, EDITOR OF THE CHICAGO NEWS-LETTER.) SCENE.--_A fairy glade on the Chicago & Alton Railway, at Holy Cross, Illinois. The country bears evidence of the utmost prosperity. It is early in June, yet the fields for miles in every direction are waving with already ripened grain that is going to take first prize at the next National Exhibition. The ensuing scene occurs in the brief interval allowed for purposes of safety between the trains on this road. Chorus of fairies, discovered dancing over the wheat stocks._ (_Enter_ ROCKY MOUNTAIN FAIRIES, _led by_ LEILA, CEILA, _and_ FLETO.) CHORUS. Tripping always, tripping ever, By each glen, each rock, each river, We must twirl and we must twine Round about the Alton line. SOLO. LEILA-- If you ask us how we ride, See our cars and step inside: Cars of most convenient size, Cars enchanting tourists' eyes, Pullman Palace sleeping cars, Free from dust, from noise, from jars; Cars with soft reclining chairs, Where we nestle free from cares; Cars no cynic can place fault on, Chicago, Kansas City, Alton. Spite of distance, time, or weather, See three cities link'd together. CEILA--That is extremely true and very pretty. Moreover, it is a very noble employment, this acting in behalf of the foremost railway of the world. Still, we are not altogether happy. Since our queen banished Iolanthe, our life has not been a transcendent one. LEILA--Ah, Iolanthe was a whole team, and, like the Alton Road, she was the only one in the crowd who carried a proper train. But according to the laws of Fairydom, she committed an unpardonable sin. The fairy who marries a mortal must die. CEILA--But Iolanthe is not dead. (_Enter_ FAIRY QUEEN.) QUEEN--No, because your queen, who loved her as much as a member of the State legislature loves a railway pass, commuted her sentence to travel for life on other lines, and sooner than do it she confined herself in a pond. LEILA--And she is now working out her sentence in Iowa. QUEEN--Yes. I gave her the choice of States. I am sure I never intended that she should go and live under a culvert beneath the bank of an Iowa railway. LEILA--It must be damp there, and her chest was always delicate. QUEEN--Yes. An Iowa railway is hardly the place to send a delicate chest. Even an iron-bound trunk has no show on any other line than the Chicago & Alton. I do not understand why she went there. ALL--How terrible; but, O Queen, forgive her. QUEEN--I've half a mind to. LEILA--Make it half and half, and wholly do it. QUEEN--Well, it shall be as you wish. Arise, Iolanthe. (IOLANTHE _arises_.) IOLANTHE--Must I again reflect my grievous fault on---- [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] QUEEN--Oh, no; we bring you back to bliss and Alton. And now tell me: with all the world to choose from, why on earth did you go to live at the bottom of that Iowa culvert? IOLANTHE--To be near my son Strephon. QUEEN--Your son! I didn't know you had a son. I hardly think you'd oughter, Iolanthe. IOLANTHE--He was born shortly after I left my husband at your royal command. LEILA--What is he? IOLANTHE--He is an Arcadian brakesman. He is one of those extremely pure young persons who have passed a competitive examination of intelligence before they can become _anything_ on the Alton Road. Ah, here he is. (_Enter_ STREPHON.) STREPHON-- Good morrow, good mother; I'm to be married to-morrow. IOLANTHE--Then the Counselor has at last given his consent to your marriage with his beautiful ward Phyllis. STREPHON--Alas! no. He is obdurate. He wants nothing less than a General Passenger Agent. QUEEN--But how to get round this difficulty with the Counselor. Should you like to be a General Passenger Agent? STREPHON--That would hardly do. You see I am half human, half fairy. My body is of the Alton Fairy kind, but my legs are of another line, and would be likely to take me on the wrong track. QUEEN--Well, your fairyhood doesn't seem to have interfered with your digestion. STREPHON--It is the curse of my existence. What's the use of being half a fairy? My body can go through the air-brake pipe, but if my legs ever get between the couplers, I'm a goner. There is one advantage: by making myself invisible down to the waist, I have collected damages from one railway company several times, because they couldn't find the rest of me after an accident. My legs, I suppose, will die some day, and then what will be the use of my bust? I can't satisfy Phyllis with half a husband. QUEEN--Don't let your legs distract you. They shall be our peculiar care. The Alton does nothing by halves. So farewell, attractive stranger. [_Exit all._ (_Enter the entire corps of officers of all the railways west of Chicago, except the C. & A. They are accompanied by a band, in which the instruments are exclusively and appropriately made of brass. The blowers in this band are the employés of the railway officers._) OFFICERS-- Loudly let the trumpet bray. Tan-tan-ta-ra, tan-tan-ta-ra! Proudly bang the sounding brasses, tzing, boom! As upon its lordly way this unique procession passes. Tan-tan-ta-ra, tan-tan-ta-ra! etc., Tzing, boom, tzing, boom! etc. Bow, bow, ye lower trav'ling masses. Bow, bow, ye folks who ask for passes; Blow the trumpets, bang the brasses. Tan-tan-ta-ra! Tzing, boom! etc., etc. (_At conclusion, enter_ COUNSELOR.) COUNSELOR-- The law is the true embodiment Of everything that's excellent; It has no kind of fault or flaw, And I, for cash, expound the law; A constitutional lawyer I, For a great railway society; A very agreeable post for me, While my railway planks down its fee; A solid occupation for A money-making counselor. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] CHORUS OF OFFICERS. COUNSELOR-- And though the compliment implied Inflates me with legitimate pride, It nevertheless can't be denied, I feel its inconvenient side; For she has lots of Alton stock, As good as gold, and firm as a rock. But there'd be the deuce to pay, O Lord, If I patch'd up a match with my wealthy ward, Which rather gets up my dander, for I'm such a susceptible counselor. So if a director would marry my ward, He must come to me for my accord; In the Alton office I'll sit all day, To hear what agreeable men may say. But Phyllis declares she's not for he, She's not for thou, and she's not for thee, She wont have you, and she wont have ye, Because her mind is made up for A Chicago & Alton director. (_Enter_ LORD BEESEEKEW.) LORD B.--And now let us proceed to the business of the day. Few of us have done any business for many days. COUNSELOR--True. Let us proceed more rapidly than your trains. Phyllis, my ward, has so powerfully affected you that you have let all your railways go to eternal smash, and you have asked me to give her to whichever one of you I may select. It would be idle for me to deny that I, too, have been wonderfully attracted to this young woman. My affection for her is rapidly undermining my constitution, just as it has undermined the constitutions of all your railways. But we shall hear what she has to say herself, for here she comes. (_Enter_ PHYLLIS.) RECITATIVE. My well lov'd lord and guardian dear, You summoned me, and I am here. CHORUS OF GENERAL PASSENGER AGENTS. Oh, rapture! how beautiful, How gentle, how dutiful! (_Gen. Pass. Agents make a dumb appeal to_ PHYLLIS.) SONG. PHYLLIS-- I'm very much pain'd to refuse; My guardian you can't lay the fault on. The only young man I would choose Must be from the Chicago & Alton. That road so eclipses the rest, Its men are so handsome and hearty, That I know where to turn for the best, When I want a particular party. (_Enter_ STREPHON, _the brakeman_; PHYLLIS _rushes to him._) It must not, cannot be, Your suits my heart has riven; Yon jolly brakeman see, To him my heart is given. ALL THE G. P. A.'S--Jerusalem! COUNSELOR-- And who has dared to brave our high displeasure, And thus defy our definite command? STREPHON-- 'Tis I, young Strephon; mine, this rosy treasure; Against all lines I claim my darling's hand. (_Exit all the G. P. A.'s in disgust, and with as much dignity as if they belonged to the Alton Road._ STREPHON _and_ COUNSELOR _remain._) COUNSELOR--Now, sir, how dare you fall in love with my ward? STREPHON--Love knows no guardianship. We follow our inclinations. As I whirl along the Alton Road, all nature speaks of her love, and says "Take her." I read it on the face of the Sphinx Rock. William's Cañon thunders it forth, the Snowy Range melts in sympathy with our love, the Twin Lakes are one in wishing us joy, the Bowlder Falls leap with joy at our prospective union, and from Alton to Santa Fé every bird and bush and tree choruses our bliss; and can you say nay? [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] COUNSELOR-- Duty before pleasure. I always keep my duty before my eyes. When I went to the Alton, a very young man, Said I to myself, said I, I'll work on a new and original plan, Said I to myself, said I. I'll never assume that a road is O. K., That it's perfect, in fact, like the C. and the A., Till I've tried it my own and particular way, Said I to myself, said I. I'll never throw dust in a passenger's eyes, Said I to myself, said I, Recommending a road with buncombe and lies, Said I to myself, said I, Or pretend that some other roads of which we read Can equal the Alton for comfort and speed, Or supply all the luxuries travelers need, Said I to myself, said I. Ere I boast of the road, I will travel it through, Said I to myself, said I, And see that its officers do what they can do, Said I to myself, said I. So I went on the road from the first to the last, I travel'd with pleasure so safe and so fast, That I said, such a road can ne'er be surpass'd, Said I to myself, said I. On all other roads by which men may go, Said I to myself, said I, They're none of them safe, and they're all of them slow, Said I to myself, said I. The Chicago and Alton must still be A 1, For business, for pleasure, for health, or for fun, Or it never could have such a character won, Said I to myself, said I. (_This being rather a difficult song to sing, the_ COUNSELOR, _in reply to the deafening encore which he receives, will hand to each person in the audience a copy of the Langtry Map, a book of the Patience Parody, a copy of the Chicago News-Letter, and a folder of the Alton Road. Exit_ COUNSELOR, _with a skip._) STREPHON--It's too bad to be taken from Phyllis just when she was my own. (_Enter_ IOLANTHE.) IOLANTHE--What, my son in tears upon his wedding-day! STREPHON--The Counselor, who is Phyllis's guardian, separates us forever. IOLANTHE--Oh, if he only knew----No matter. The Queen of our road and its fairies shall protect you. See, here they come. (_Enter_ FAIRIES.) (STREPHON _embraces_ IOLANTHE, _sobbing. Enter_ PHYLLIS. _She sees_ STREPHON _embrace his mother, and starts violently._) SONG. STREPHON--The little girl I love has caught me talking to another. ALL--Oh, fie! Strephon is a rogue. STREPHON--But then, upon my honor, that other is my mother. CHORUS. Taradiddle, taradiddle, fol lol de lay. STREPHON-- She wont believe my statement, and declares we must be parted, Although I'm just as true as an Alton train when started; And if she gets another hub, a brakeman, broken-hearted, I shall be, taradiddle dee, taradiddle dee. QUEEN-- You cruel and heartless counselor to part them from each other; You've done him an injustice, for this lady _is_ his mother. COUNSELOR-- That yarn requires obesity its thinness well to cover; I didn't see her face, but he acted like her lover. And how could she, at seventeen, be an Alton brakeman's mother? [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] CHORUS. To say she is his mother is a fib as big as many. Oh fie! Strephon is a rogue; He'll next declare the Alton's not the best of any. Taradiddle, taradiddle dee. COUNSELOR-- I wouldn't say of either what would be thought injurious; But to find a mother younger than her son is very curious, Just as 't would be upon our road to drop an aught that's spurious. Fol de ridle, fol de ridle, fol lol lay. (_Tremulo music._) QUEEN--When next your convention does assemble, you may tremble. Our wrath when railroad heads offend us is tremendous. They must who underrate our calling "cut rates appalling." Take down our sentence as we speak it, and he shall wreak it. Henceforth, Strephon, cast away your brakeman suit and brakeman pay; another racket you shall play. Of the beauteous Alton Line, favorite Western road of mine, you a G. P. A. shall be. Gentlemen, what do you think of he? ALL--It should be him-- QUEEN-- I haven't time To think of my grammar; it's very good rhyme. And now take down my word and pleasure. Henceforth, your equal he shall be. Into your councils he shall come, in your debates he shall rule. Henceforth, it is the Alton Road you must imitate. ALL--Have mercy! QUEEN--From this time forth, you will have to run your trains on the same standard of excellence which marks the Alton. (_Hands every one of them a time-table of the C. & A._) ALL--Spare us! QUEEN--You will be forced to employ none but civil officials. ALL--Have mercy! QUEEN--The comfort of your passengers must be your primary consideration. (_Very solemnly._) _You will also be forced to run your trains according to your advertised time-table._ ALL--(_Shriek_)--Oh, spare us! spare us! QUEEN--And now depart. When next your council meets, Strephon will be one of you. (_Slow music. G. P. A.'s bow to_ STREPHON. _Business, etc. Curtain._) ACT II. SCENE--_Interior of the Chicago & Alton Railway at Chicago. Luxurious surroundings on all sides. Ticket office opens down to the inlaid mosaic floor. Handsome divans for passengers engaged in the purchase of tickets. At the gate, waiting for passengers as they go through in swarms, is_ WILLIS, _a handsome man, like all the other servants of this road, and also, like them, he is clothed in an expensive and becoming uniform._ WILLIS--(_Sings._) I often think it's comical, How nature always does incline To place the best of all its boys That's born into this world of mine In the road that only such employs-- The great Chicago & Alton Line. (_Enter_ FAIRIES _and_ G. P. A.'s.) LEILA--(_Who has been attracted by the officers_)--Charming persons, are they not? CEILA--They do very well, considering whom they work for. In Alton uniforms they would look very well. LORD BEESEEKEW--Well, we have done our best to imitate Alton, but it seems to be a failure. Why not stop this disgusting protégé of yours? CEILA--(_Crying_)--We can't stop him. The road has made too much headway. It is harder to kill than a Presidential boom in Indiana. (_Aside._) How beautiful they all are! (_Enter_ QUEEN, _who has overheard last remark._) [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] QUEEN--O you shameful flirts, always running after those railway men. Don't you know it's death to marry a mortal? CEILA--If it were, you'd have to execute all of us; but who wouldn't fall in love with a railroad man? LEILA--Especially a Chicago & Alton man, and we are not all as tough as you are. QUEEN--Am I tough? Look at that daisy! (_Pointing to_ WILLIS.) Who are you, sir? WILLIS--Ticket-taker Willis of the Chicago & Alton Railroad. QUEEN--You're a fine fellow, sir. WILLIS--Yes, mum, I belong to the Alton. QUEEN--(_Starts_)--The Alton! Ah! I, too, am not insensible to the charms of manly beauty. Look at that man! He is a fair specimen of the Alton employés--a perfect picture. WILLIS--Yes, mum, I am generally admired, although I do not compare favorably with my fellow-employés. The standard of beauty is very high on this road. (_Modestly retires._) QUEEN--The road has taste--(_To the_ FAIRIES.) Now here is a man belonging to the first road in the Union, whose physical beauty eclipses Apollo's. If I yielded to a natural impulse, I should at once be mashed by that man. But I mortify this inclination; I wrestle with it,--I subdue it, ha! ha! This is how I suppress my inclinations. SONG. O foolish fay, Think you, because his jacket gay My bosom thaws, I'd disobey Our fairy laws? Because I fly The road above, you think that I This man could love. (_Aside._) Type of Chicago & Alton, This heart of mine Is truly thine. 'Tis it I lay the fault on. (_Exit_ FAIRIES, _sorrowfully following_ FAIRY QUEEN.) (_Enter_ PHYLLIS.) PHYLLIS--I can't think why I am not in better spirits. I am engaged to one General Freight Agent and one General Passenger Agent, and could have the whole railway association if I only said the word. As for Strephon, I hate him. No girl would care for a young man who was considerably older than his mother--though nowadays there are a good many such floating about. (_Enter_ LORD BEESEEKEW.) LORD B.--Phyllis, my own! PHYLLIS--How dare you! But perhaps you are the Freight Agent--or the General Passenger Agent. LORD B.--I am--the latter. PHYLLIS--How did you secure the distinction? LORD B.--To be frank, because everybody was rushing for positions on the Alton, and they left the post uncovered. I have held the place a long time. PHYLLIS--Because nobody else would have it? LORD B.--Not so much that as because now the Alton has run our business down so, there is no money to pay salaries with, and I am willing to wait for mine. The stockholders appreciate my kindness. (_Enter_ LORD SEE EYEAR.) LORD S.--Dearest Phyllis! (_Embraces her._) PHYLLIS--The Freight Agent! Well, have you settled? Have you settled which of you it is to be? LORD S.--It isn't quite settled. We tossed for it, but we did it in a saloon where the dice always threw sixes. We got hold of the proprietor's private set. Suppose we leave the choice to you? PHYLLIS--How can it possibly concern me? You are both railway officials. You both get everything but your salaries, and I don't see where I am to choose. If one of you will throw up your share in your so-called railway, and admit the Alton to be, what it is, the first line in the world, I might perhaps take time to consider. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] LORD B.--We are too jealous to admit that, although we know it. The only resort now is for one of us to give way to the other. Perhaps, on the whole, she would be happier with me. LORD S.--The chances are in your favor. The one difficulty which remains is, that if you rob me of the girl I love I must kill you. I shall give you a pass over my railroad. LORD B.--(_Shrieks with fright_)--Not that! Not that! (_Bursts into tears._) LORD S.--I think you are right,--the sacrifice is too great. The sacred ties of friendship will not permit the wanton cruelties suggested, between men who love each other as we do. (_They embrace._) (_Enter_ COUNSELOR, _very sorrowful._) COUNSELOR--(_Recitative._) Love unrequited robs me of my rest, Although the Alton Line is still victorious; But in a song to tell my woes is best, If you, kind friends, will join me in the chorius. SONG. When on some snide road, with a terrible load, and an engine not up to an Alton one, You lie ill at ease, in a berth filled with fleas, all ready to make an assault on one, With your mind in a pother on this, that, and t' other, Because, in your doubt and perplexity, You travel'd this way, while happy as play Goes the Chicago & Alton just next t' ye. Then the counterpane tickles--you feel like mixed pickles, Your pillow as hard as a bullet, And your sheet is so small it wont cover at all, No matter 'tis which way you pull it; Then you rave, and you swear, and tear out your hair, With none but yourself to lay fault on, And swear by the Heaven, if once you're forgiven, To abjure all lines but the Alton. LORD B.--I am much distresst to find you so sad. COUNSELOR--I am; I acknowledge it. It is my double capacity which does it. I am her guardian and her suitor. In my latter capacity I am overawed by my duty in my other capacity. It unnerves me. LORD S.--It is hard. Just think of having two capacities. Let us be truly thankful that we have no capacity at all. But take courage; nothing that I ever heard of daunted a Chicago & Alton Railroad official. COUNSELOR--That is true, and I will be resigned. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ PHYLLIS. PHYLLIS--Strephon! STREPHON--Phyllis! But I forgot. I suppose I should, madam----let me see,--what name have you decided upon? PHYLLIS--I haven't quite made up my mind. You see, _I_ haven't any mother to advise me. STREPHON--No! I have. PHYLLIS--Yes, a very _young_ mother. STREPHON--Not very--a couple of centuries or so. PHYLLIS--She wears well. STREPHON--Of course she does. She was born and reared on the C. & A. line. Besides, she's a fairy. PHYLLIS--I beg your pardon--a what? STREPHON--A fairy. I've no longer a reason to conceal the truth. PHYLLIS--That would account for a good many things. Fairies nowadays are rather indiscreet. I suppose you are a fairy, too. STREPHON--I'm half a fairy and half a mortal. PHYLLIS--Not very substantial. But why didn't you tell me? STREPHON--I thought I might get myself disliked. There's no use loving half a man. PHYLLIS--Better that than to love a whole man, as they go nowadays. Forgive me. [Illustration] [Illustration] STREPHON--Think of the difficulties. My grandmother looks quite as young as my mother. So do all my aunts. PHYLLIS--Then, if I catch you kissing the chambermaid, I shall know she's only a relative in disguise. STREPHON--In that case, I will forgive you. PHYLLIS--Then we will be married at once. I will attend to the fairies afterward. But how about your mother? IOLANTHE--(_Entering._)--The old lady is here, and blesses you, my children,--or words to that effect. STREPHON--But how about her guardian? IOLANTHE--There is but one thing to do. I have been married to him for some years now. He is Strephon's father. STREPHON--At last! I am a wise child. IOLANTHE--And being his wife, I will assume my domestic duties. Have you a club handy? COUNSELOR--(_Enters jubilant_)--It's settled! Victory! victory! I put the case plainly to myself, although I must confess that when I addressed so important a personage as the legal adviser of the Chicago & Alton Railroad, I did so with many feelings of doubt in my mind. However, I took courage and pleaded my cause well. I said to myself, with the respect with which I always address myself, you are the legal adviser of the greatest railroad in the country, and, as such, you should not hesitate to exercise your _droits de seigneur_ and take the girl from all competitors. I was bound to admit the force of my own argument, and so won my case. I shall marry the girl without delay. There is nothing to stand in the way. IOLANTHE--(_Comes down._)--Excepting a mere trifle. COUNSELOR--And that is--but who are you? (_Starts._) Ah! Thou livest, Iolanthe? IOLANTHE--Never say die is the motto of the Alton Line. (_She falls into his arms._) QUEEN--(_Iolanthe kneels to her._)-- Once more thy vows are broken, The Fates thy doom has spoken. (_Enter_ EVERYBODY.) LEILA--Hold! If Iolanthe must die, so must we all, for we are equally guilty. QUEEN--Equally guilty! (_All kneel._) LORD S.--Pardon them. They could not help it. The ancient traditions surrounding railway officials were too much for them, and they married us. QUEEN--The traditions of our tribe must be imperative. They who marry mortals must die. There is no going back on the statutes. COUNSELOR--Hold! I haven't been helping the public to obey the law all these years for nothing. Let me give your statute a whirl. (_Looks it over._) Easy enough. Make it read that every fairy who marries outside the Alton Road shall die. QUEEN--Good idea. (_Does it._) And now where's Willis? WILLIS--Tickets, please. QUEEN--Yes, for the matrimonial line. How would you like to be a fairy ticket-taker? WILLIS--On the Chicago & Alton? QUEEN--That is the statute. WILLIS--It is one of the oldest traditions of this road that none of its employés can possibly be ill-bred, particularly to a lady. I am yours. QUEEN--And now the only way to save our tribe from annihilation is for all you gentlemen to obey the law. Remember that any fairy who marries other than a Chicago & Alton man must die. (_All shudder._) STREPHON--And I, being in the Alton Road, will immediately employ you all and absorb all your lines. It was bound to come to that sooner or later. COUNSELOR--The old wife is better than no wife, so here we all go to fairyland. (_The Alton uniform instantly covers them all, and their haggard, care-worn expressions are replaced by the happy, seraphic looks of men who habitually work for the C. & A. R. R._) [Illustration] [Illustration: Finis] [Illustration: _Jas. S. Kirk & Comp'y Soap Masters & Perfumiers North Side--Chicago_ =Jas. S. Kirk & Compy's Toilet Soaps= Highly Perfumed with natural odors--In boxes artistically designed--Packets elaborately enveloped. =Jas. S. Kirk & Compy's Concentrated Essences for the handkerchief= Flower odors--Rare degree of strength--And lasting. =Jas. S. Kirk & Compy's Zenithia Cologne= A delightful bouquet pronounced by connoisseurs to be the perfection of colognes.] "The Home Journal of The West." THE SATURDAY EVENING HERALD, CHICAGO, 89 CLARK STREET, GRAND OPERA HOUSE BLOCK. The HERALD is now in its ninth year, and has achieved a reputation as a Literary, Critical and Social authority. It publishes more critical matter, society reports and pure literature than any other weekly in the West. The special departments of this most successful family and society journal are as follows: 1. =Literature, Book Reviews, Essays, Poems, Stories, Sketches.= 2. =Social Reports and Gossip, Fashion Articles=, and Discussions of Home Topics. 3. =Musical and Dramatic News, Criticism and Correspondence.= 4. =Correspondence from the principal Eastern and European cities.= 5. =Watering Place Reports and Notes of Travel.= 6. =Amateur Rowing, Yachting and Athletic= Reports in their season. 7. =Editorial Discussions of Noteworthy Events and Important Topics, Observations and Scientific Papers.= Those who may not have seen the HERALD recently are invited to obtain a specimen copy and find how much more newsy and entertaining it is than ever before. [hand] All the leading Merchants and Railroads in Chicago indorse the SATURDAY EVENING HERALD, by constantly making use of its advertising columns. It is read by more people who have the means and the inclination to travel than any other weekly paper published in the West. [hand] It has received more complimentary notices from the press of Chicago than any other weekly paper ever issued in the city, and, throughout the city and vicinity, is regarded as _=a Social and Critical Authority=_. Subscription, only $2.00 per annum. LYMAN B. GLOVER. Address THE SATURDAY EVENING HERALD CO., JOHN M. DANDY. CHICAGO. E. R. PAIGE. [Illustration: CAMPING, BOATING, TENTS] FOR ANY AND ALL USES. DEALERS IN FISH NETS, SEINES AND TWINES AND ALL FISHING MATERIALS. GEO. B. CARPENTER & CO. (Successors to GILBERT HUBBARD & CO.) 202 TO 208 SOUTH WATER STREET, CHICAGO. CHAS. D. COLSON, IMPORTER, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN FIRE BRICKS Furnace Tiles, Cupola Linings, LOCOMOTIVE FIRE BOX TILES, Smoke Jacks and Chimney Pipes for Railroad Round Houses, _CULVERT PIPE, Etc._, _CONNELLSVILLE COKE_, _ALBANY MOULDING SAND_, _PLUMBAGO CRUCIBLES_, _FOUNDRY FACINGS & SUPPLIES_ Enameled Bricks in All Shapes and Colors, Hydraulic Cement. PROMPT SHIPMENT. PRICES AND QUALITY GUARANTEED. SEND FOR CIRCULAR AND CATALOGUES. 184 and 186 Washington St., CHICAGO, ILL. D. L. WELLS, Pres't. E. MARINER, Vice Pres't. H. L. NORTON, Sec'y and Treas. F. E. WALKER, Engineer. C.F. SCOVILLE, Manager. BRIDGE AND CAR WORKS OF THE WELLS & FRENCH CO. OFFICE: Hawley Building, cor. Madison & Dearborn Sts., CHICAGO, ILL. FREDRICK SCHNEIDER, MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN Stained, Enameled, Embossed, Cut, Ground, Colored and Beveled GLASS For Door Panels, Transoms, Prescription Cases, Druggists' Signs, Railroad Cars, Steamboats, Offices, PUBLIC BUILDINGS, CHURCHES, ETC. ESTIMATES FURNISHED FOR CHURCH WORK OF ALL DESCRIPTIONS 80 and 82 MARKET STREET, Between Washington and Madison, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS. CLIFTON HOUSE CHICAGO. RATES, $2.50 AND $3.00 PER DAY. WOODCOCK & LORING, PROPRIETORS. THE J. M. W. JONES Stationery and Printing Co. _COR. DEARBORN & MONROE STS., CHICAGO_, MANUFACTURERS OF The Stromberg Improved Coupon Ticket, AND CONSECUTIVELY NUMBERED RAILROAD TICKETS Blank Books and Railroad Blanks of Every Description Made to Order. LITHOGRAPHED DRAFTS, CHECKS, BONDS, ETC. DEALERS IN LIGHT RAILROAD SUPPLIES. Coupon and Local Ticket Cases. Dating Stamps, Rubber Stamps, Conductors' Punches, Car Seal Punches, =L=, =B C=, =2 C= and =1/2= Punches. BRASS BAGGAGE CHECKS, EYELETTING MACHINES, SEAL PRESSES, WAY-BILL COPYING PRESSES, HAT BADGES, FOLDER BOXES, TARIFF PORTFOLIOS, AND PASSENGER AND TICKET SUPPLIES IN GENERAL. The J. M. W. Jones Stationery AND Printing Co. 167, 169 AND 171 DEARBORN STREET, CHICAGO. W. H. SALISBURY. G. F. CLINE. SALISBURY & CLINE, DEALERS IN Rubber and Leather Belting, Hose AND ALL KINDS OF RUBBER GOODS MANUFACTURERS' AGENTS FOR GOODYEAR I. R. GLOVE CO. BOSTON BELTING CO. BOSTON WOVEN HOSE CO. JAS. DAVIS & CO. 109 MADISON STREET, CHICAGO. CARPETS, FURNITURE, CURTAIN GOODS, FINE AND MEDIUM GRADES AT POPULAR PRICES, And Satisfaction Guaranteed to every Purchaser. _A Large Choice Stock to Select from._ CHICAGO CARPET CO. Wabash Ave. and Monroe St. W. S. & J. B. WILKINSON, Manufacturers of Fine Morocco, Satin and Plush Cases AND TRAYS FOR THE JEWELRY TRADE, 6 CALHOUN PLACE, _REAR OF 116 DEARBORN STREET_, CHICAGO, ILL. WM. E. STRONG, President. GEO. C. HEMPSTEAD, Treasurer. THE PESHTIGO COMPANY, MANUFACTURERS OF Lumber, Lath and Shingles. OFFICE AND YARD: North Water St., North Pier, East of Rush Street Bridge, CHICAGO. NATIONAL TUBE WORKS CO. MANUFACTURERS OF Lap-welded Pipe, Charcoal Iron Boiler Tubes, Semi-Steel Locomotive Tubes, Kalamein Boiler Tubes, MACK'S INJECTORS for LOCOMOTIVES LIFTING AND NON-LIFTING, Special Light Wrought Iron Pipe Fitted with Converse Lock Joint for Water, Gas and Compressed Air, CASING, DRIVE PIPE, ETC., ETC. All Sizes, up to 16 inch, inclusive. NATIONAL TUBE WORKS CO. Cor. of CLINTON and FULTON STS., CHICAGO. THE BEST! THE Great Eastern Mutual Life Association OF CHICAGO, ILL. Office: Rooms 25 and 26 Nixon Building, 175 La Salle Street. OFFICERS: {J. H. BAKER, President. {CHAS. A. BRUNER, Secretary. {C. R. DOLLARHIDE, Gen'l Agent. {G. H. UNVERZAGT, Gen'l Man. and Treas. PLAN OF THE ASSOCIATION. The General Plan of the Association is of the same order of the many existing Co-operative Benevolent Societies in which an insurer pays an "Admission Premium" to the agent of the Association. Subsequently, in case of death, an assessment is made upon said insurer as well as upon the others, and when it is collected it is paid over to the beneficiary of the deceased, the money actually not being in the hands of the Association, as a rule, 30 days. HOW TO SECURE MEMBERSHIP, AND COSTS. Any person, male or female, between the ages of 15 and 70, can secure $6,000 Insurance, or less, in this Association. COST.--Each $1,000 insurance costs the insurer $10.00 as a membership fee. Thereafter, $2.00 semi-annually expense fee and assessment for claims as per table. -------------++---------------------------------------------------+ TABLE OF || COMPARATIVE ASSESSMENT TABLE. | ASSESSMENT ||Comparative Assessment Table for a party | RATE. || aged 68 years. | -------+-----++---------+-----------------------------------------+ AGES | PAY || | Would pay upon a loss of | 15-40 | 10 ||A member | (See columns below.) | 40-60 | 15 ||having a +------+------+------+------+------+------+ 60-65 | 20 ||Policy of|$1,000|$2,000|$3,000|$4,000|$5,000|$6,000| 65-70 | 25 ||---------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ -------+-----+| $1,000 |$ .25 | $ .50|$ .75 |$1.00 |$1.25 |$1.50 | || $2,000 | .50 | 1.00| 1.50 | 2.00 | 2.50 | 3.00 | Cents/$1,000|| $3,000 | .75 | 1.50| 2.25 | 3.00 | 3.75 | 4.50 | death loss || $4,000 | 1.00 | 2.00| 3.00 | 4.00 | 5.00 | 6.00 | for every || $5,000 | 1.25 | 2.50| 3.75 | 5.00 | 6.25 | 7.50 | $1,000 || $6,000 | 1.50 | 3.00| 4.50 | 6.00 | 7.50 | 9.00 | indemnity |+---------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ a person has||Other associations would, in every instance, charge| ||the highest rates, as given in the lower line | -------------++---------------------------------------------------+ REMARKS. | The rate being 25 cts. at this age, of course for a lower rate | a corresponding difference will occur. | ------------------------------------------------------------------+ _THE ORIGINAL AND ONLY LOW ASSESSMENT ASSOCIATION IN THE UNITED STATES, WITH ITS PLAN COPYRIGHTED. ITS PATRONS PAY AS THEY GO, AND GET WHAT THEY PAY FOR._ ITS PRINCIPLES ARE: A Mutual Performance of Honest Obligations, and Equality to All. _RELIABLE PATRONAGE AND SOLICITORS WANTED. ADDRESS THE SECRETARY._ W. C. WHITTEMORE, Steel Rails, Iron Rails (OLD AND NEW), CAR AXLES, DRAW BARS, LINKS AND PINS, RAILROAD SPIKES, SPLICE BARS, TRACK BOLTS, PRATT WASHERS, CAR WHEELS, NUTS AND WASHERS, BAR, TANK AND SHEET IRON. Office, 68 Washington St., Chicago. [Illustration] First Premium AWARDED TO Empire Car Roofing Co., FOR BEST APPLICATION OF Metal Car Roofs. Office: 264 S. Water St., CHICAGO. _R. B. CROUCH_, Gen'l Manager. [Illustration] J. W. MIDDLETON, BLANK BOOKS, Printing, Stationery 55 State Street, Chicago. REFERS TO {All Railroads leading out of Chicago. {Banks throughout the West. THE CONGDON BRAKE SHOE CO. [Illustration] Room 19, Commercial Bank Building, COR. DEARBORN AND MONROE STS. GEO. M. SARGENT, Sec'y. WORKS, Cor. 59th and Wallace Sts. WM. D. ROWLEY, Manager. _Record of Test on Chair Car 102, Chicago & Alton R. R. Co._ "The wear of your four Congdon Shoes on a mileage of 7,824 miles was 15 pounds. Four common shoes show wear of 51 pounds." The above shows a saving of over 70 per cent. in favor of Congdon Shoes, or, number of miles run to each pound of Congdon Shoe worn off, 521.6, and number of miles run to each pound of common worn off, 153.4. SPRAGUE, SMITH & CO., POLISHED PLATE GLASS, FRENCH AND AMERICAN WINDOW GLASS, French and German Mirror Plates; Colored, Cut and Enameled Glass OF ALL KINDS. Manufacturers of Pier and Mantel Mirrors, 205 RANDOLPH ST., CHICAGO. RATES: $2.00 and $2.50 PER DAY. THE Commercial Hotel, N. W. CORNER LAKE AND DEARBORN STS., Chicago. C. W. DABB & CO., CHAS. W. DABB, Proprietors. Manager. (Formerly of the Palmer House.) F. M. ATKINSON, President. C. H. FERRY, Treasurer. CHICAGO TYRE and SPRING WORKS, SOLE MANUFACTURERS IN THE WEST OF Cast Steel Car Springs AND LOCOMOTIVE AND CAR WHEEL TYRES. We manufacture Springs for Passenger, Freight, Baggage and Express Cars of every description, and Locomotive and Tender Springs to specification. We use only the BEST OBTAINABLE CAST STEEL, of uniform quality, thoroughly =TEST= every Spring before shipment, and fully =GUARANTEE= the same for the purpose intended. Capacity, twenty-five tons daily. We roll tyres, both crucible and Siemen's Martin, from blooms especially made for us in England. They are rolled true to specification, and we give the most satisfactory assurances as to wear and mileage. Present capacity, twenty Locomotive Tyres daily. We fill all orders promptly. _WORKS, MELROSE, ILL. CHICAGO OFFICE, 94 WASHINGTON ST._ CHICAGO AND NEW YORK The two cities above named are the great commercial centres of the United States, the former containing in the vicinity of 650,000 inhabitants, and the latter about 1,500,000. The number of people actually in Chicago at any one time would doubtless range far above these figures, as its floating or transient population is enormous, running up into figures that can hardly be credited. The traffic passing between these two cities daily is very large, when one considers that they are within a fraction of 1,000 miles apart. Boston also has a large traffic with Chicago, and, to give an idea of the accommodations necessary to provide for the passenger business alone between the three cities, we may state that the Michigan Central Railroad, which is the principal thoroughfare between the cities named, runs five express trains daily--three on Sundays--made up of fine new day coaches, smoking cars, drawing-room cars, palatial sleeping cars. The Michigan Central Railroad has always held a foremost place among the lines between Chicago and the Atlantic seaboard, and the latest addition to their accommodations, in the shape of four new Dining Cars, will greatly strengthen its position. These new cars are incomparable for beauty of design and selectness of adornments, all the elegancies of art having been exhausted to produce the most desirable effect. That the end has been gained goes without saying, and they stand to-day as far in advance of other Dining Cars as the first Dining Cars were in advance of the lunch counters at wayside stations. The _cuisine_ is quite on a par with the finish of the cars, and all that may minister to the nourishment of the body or tickle the palate of the most discriminating epicures will be found therein. Other great features of the Michigan Central Railroad are that its through trains for New York and Boston run out of Chicago along the Michigan Lake front, within a stone's throw of the city's costliest mansions, through South Park and the magic city of Pullman, affording an extensive survey of this marvel of a marvelous age, and later passing over the new Cantilever Bridge in full view of Niagara Falls. It is for this latter reason known to all travelers as "The Niagara Falls Route." GEO. KELLER, 21 ILLINOIS ST., CHICAGO, ILL. MANUFACTURER OF RAILROAD Bulletin Boards AND FRAMES OF EVERY DESCRIPTION FOR ADVERTISING PURPOSES. SAMPLES WILL BE FURNISHED ON APPLICATION. E. W. BLATCHFORD & CO. CHICAGO, ILL. MANUFACTURERS AND DEALERS IN Lead Pipe. Solder. Sheet Lead. Antimony. Bar Lead. Spelter. Block Tin Pipe. Block Tin. LINSEED OIL. A TRIP TO NIAGARA FALLS. "Come, Adele; come. Nellie; hurry up. Deacon Fitney will be here directly and the train starts directly." The voice was that of Mr. Trevellyan, a thoroughly well-known and highly respected stock broker of the City of Chicago. Mr. Trevellyan was a hardworking man, and his various affairs did not give him much opportunity of absenting himself from his business. But to-day had been laid out as a holiday for the babies, and Papa Trevellyan had made up his mind to take part in it. After a good deal of family discussion [these things generally involve more or less of that sort of thing] it was finally decided to make a trip to Niagara Falls and back. So a party was made up which was to consist of Mr. and Mrs. Trevellyan, the two children and a good-hearted Deacon Fitney, who was well acquainted with the way to "do" the Falls properly. The day was, as I have just said, a bright one, even for the month of June, and both Adele and Nellie, in anticipation of a pleasant time, were not long in putting on their things and repairing to the parlor. It was well they hurried. There was papa, valise in hand, ready to start; mamma, too; and nothing seemed to be wanting but the presence of Deacon Fitney, who had gone off to secure the railway tickets, and who promised to return at once with a carriage and accompany the whole party to the train. The Deacon was not long in coming back. He was a good man in his way, was the Deacon. He had only one fault--he was unreasonably fond of Buttons! He adorned his apparel with more buttons than even the law requires, and he wore a nice gold-headed button on his neatly-tied satin scarf. Nobody could ever find out what prompted this peculiarity, but then nobody seemed to care very much. However, as I said before, the Deacon came back very quickly and helped get things in the carriage. "By the way, Deacon," said Mr. Trevellyan, "what time do we start and which way do we go? You know I have left everything of that kind to you." "Four-fifteen," said the Deacon, in a cheerful sort of way, "and by the Michigan Central Railroad. It is the only way to go. But never mind about the advantages to be gained by going over this remarkable route. I will tell you all about it when we get on the train." And so they bundled into the carriage, and within a few minutes the entire party was seated in one of the magnificent palace cars which are attached to the Michigan Central Limited Express. "All aboard!" shouted the conductor. "We're off," smiled the Deacon. The big clock in the depot struck the quarter after four, and the magnificent train, composed of five sleepers, three coaches, a palace dining car and a couple of baggage cars, slowly pulled out of the station. Adele and Nellie glued their noses to the window, and their delight as they whizzed through the beautiful suburbs of South Chicago seemed unbounded. With Lake Michigan, tranquil and glittering with the rays of a summer sun, on one side, and a succession of lovely suburban residences on the other, the sight was a most lovely one. A few minutes later the train was flying through green fields and beautiful woods. "Here, children," suddenly cried the Deacon from the other side of the car, "come quick and see the magic city of Pullman." In a minute Adele was on one of the Deacon's knees and Nellie on the other, and the train passed rapidly by the most wonderful evidence of modern enterprise. "Three years ago," said the Deacon, in answer to an enquiring look of admiration in the children's eyes, "the ground on which stands this most beautiful city, which is without doubt the model city of the world, was nothing but a swamp. See what it is now. Some day, when we get back home, I will bring you here and let you learn more closely what the creator of the beautiful place which bears the name of Pullman has done for his country." A minute later the train flew past Kensington, and then fairly started on its iron way for its first stopping place, Michigan City, better known as the City of Sand. Then came Niles, with it wonderful bridge and its fairy valley. Then Kalamazoo, the biggest village in the world and the flower bed of creation. Then Marshall, Battle Creek and, Jackson, the latter place the centre of railway industry of the beautiful State of Michigan. Then Ann Arbor, where is situated the University of the State of Michigan, and then, last but not least, Detroit. By this time, of course, the babies had been tucked in bed. The Deacon had taken them into the dining car and feasted them with all the inexhaustible luxuries for which these cars on the Michigan Central R. R. are so famous. Then, the colored porter having made up their beds, they were soon fast asleep and dreaming of the treat in store for the morrow. The Deacon, however, was determined at least that his grown-up friends should lose none of the beauties of the trip, and so he insisted that Mr. and Mrs. Trevellyan should remain up until they had crossed the famous Detroit River. The night was a beautiful one, and they were amply rewarded by witnessing one of the most thoroughly picturesque pieces of scenery in the world. The entire train was placed on one of the immense ferry steamers, and the landing shortly afterwards made at Windsor, a picturesque and quaint little town on the Canadian side of the river. At this point commences the Canada Southern Division of the Michigan Central Railroad, famous alike for the magnificence of its equipment and smoothness of track. Here our friends, so to speak, turned in, and it was only a few minutes before every one on board was fast asleep. The next thing was the morning sun and Niagara Falls. The run had been made from Chicago in the remarkable time of fifteen hours. "Oh, how good of you, Deacon Fitney," said little Adele a short while later, as, standing on the platform at Falls View Station, she gazed with rapture at the Falls in all their splendor. "How good of you to bring us to such a nice place, and by such a delightful road." And little Adele had reason to so express herself, for, standing where she was, at Falls View Station, she was able to command the most awe-inspiring and lovely view of the Falls to be obtained anywhere. "I am glad you like it," said the Deacon, with a smile; "but you must not credit me with too much goodness, for I could hardly have brought you by any other way. The Michigan Central road is the only direct road running to the Falls, and you could hardly expect that I could take you there by any line which is not entirely the best." Mr. and Mrs. Trevellyan heartily joined Adele in her expressions of thanks to the Deacon, and more than endorsed every word he had said in praise of the wonderful Michigan Central Limited Express. The conductor then called "all aboard," and the train again started on its way, and very shortly crossed the Niagara River over the magnificent steel Cantilever bridge which the Michigan Central people have just erected at this point. "This is the great Cantilever bridge you have heard so much about," said the Deacon to little May. "It is the greatest scientific engineering effort of the age, and it is well worth visiting Niagara, if only to see it. With Niagara Falls and the Cantilever bridge the Michigan Central people are able to show their passengers the greatest work of nature and of man to be found in the country." From the bridge the train glided along to Niagara Falls station, on the American side. Here our little party alighted, and, after driving about the village, they soon found themselves in the comfortable parlors of the Clifton House, enjoying one of Mr. George Colburn's justly famous repasts. Then they spent the day at the Falls--a day of merry sunshine and happiness. The Falls never looked grander, and nature never smiled with more sweetness. The time passed only too quickly, and when the children stepped on the cars once more to return to Chicago, it was with a twinge of regret which was only offset by the knowledge that they had another delightful trip in store for them on the Michigan Central road. Now Adele has the following time table hung up among her pictures on the wall in her bed room. She says it serves to remind her of one of the happiest days of her life. Above it, in a baby's handwriting, she has scrawled: "THE ONLY WAY TO GO EAST FROM CHICAGO IS BY THE MICHIGAN CENTRAL R. R." TRAIN No. 10.--FAST NEW YORK EXPRESS,--Leaves Chicago _every day_ at 4:30 P. M., and consists of one First-Class Smoking Car, one First-Class Day Coach, one DINING CAR and THREE PALACE SLEEPING CARS, running on the following time: Leaves Chicago............4:15 PM Sun. Mon. Tues. Wed. Thur. Fri. Sat. " Jackson............9:57 PM " " " " " " " Arrives Detroit...........12:05 AM Mon. Tues. Wed. Thur. Fri. Sat. Sun. " St. Thomas..............3:25 " " " " " " " " " Toronto, via CVRy.......9:40 " " " " " " " [A] " Niagara Falls...........6:55 " " " " " " " " " Buffalo.................7:50 " " " " " " " " " Rochester, via NYC.....11:10 " " " " " " " " " Syracuse, via NYC.......1:30 PM " " " " " " " " Utica, via NYC..........3:12 " " " " " " " " " Albany, via NYC.........5:50 " " " " " " " " " Troy, via NYC...........6:55 " " " " " " " " " New York, via NYC......10:00 " " " " " " " " " Hornellsville,via Erie 12:00 " " " " " " " " " Elmira, via Erie........1:40 " " " " " " " " " Binghamton, via Erie....3:19 " " " " " " " " " New York, via Erie.....10:25 " " " " " " " " " Philadelphia, via LV...10:30 " " " " " " " [A] " Boston, via B&A.........6:25 AM Tues. Wed. Thur. Fri. Sat. Sun.[B] [A] Does not arrive on Sunday. [B] Does not arrive on Monday. ====================================================================== This train, leaving Chicago one hour later than heretofore, makes a much surer connection with Western lines. The Smoking Car, Day Coach and one Sleeping Car run through to Buffalo via M. C.; one Sleeping Car runs through to Toronto via M. C. and Credit Valley Railways; one Sleeping Car runs through to New York via M. C. and N. Y. C. The Dining Car serves dinner out of Chicago at 5 o'clock; train arrives in Buffalo in good season for breakfast. This train has attached at Detroit a Through Sleeping Car from St. Louis to New York, via W., St. L. & P., M. C. and N. Y. C., that makes quicker through time than any other line; and also a Sleeping Car from Detroit to Syracuse that is placed in Detroit depot about 9 P. M. Passengers can enter their berths any time after that hour. Connects with Grand Trunk trains in Detroit. Connection with Pullman Car for New York and Philadelphia, via Erie, leaving Buffalo at 9:15 A. M., and also with Buffalo, New York and Philadelphia, leaving at 8:20 A. M. Connects at Albany with through sleeper for Boston, via B. & A., leaving at 8:40 P. M. No second-class passengers are carried on this train. NOTE.--NO EXTRA CHARGE IS MADE ON MICHIGAN CENTRAL FAST EXPRESS. Adele's advice is very excellent. She says the Michigan Central is the best road in the United States, and she knows what she is talking about. [Illustration] Ansonia Clock Co. MANUFACTURERS [Illustration] Office Regulators, Nickel Novelties, RAILROAD MANTEL TIME KEEPERS, CLOCKS, STREET AND BRONZE TOWN CLOCKS Ornaments OFFICES: 64 WASHINGTON STREET, CHICAGO The United States Rolling Stock Company Offers for Lease to Railroads, Freight Lines, Mining Companies and others Locomotive Engines, Refrigerator Cars, Box, Stock, Gondola, Dump and Flat Cars, And is prepared to build for Lease and on Contract for cash, or under the CAR TRUST SYSTEM, such Rolling Stock as may be required. WORKS: HEGEWISCH, ILL. Capacity, Twenty Cars per Day. URBAN, OHIO. Capacity, Ten Cars per Day. General Offices, 35 Broadway, New York. Chicago Offices, Calumet Building, 189 La Salle Street. A. HEGEWISCH, President, C. BENN, Treasurer, THOS. F. B. PARKER, Secretary, W. H. CHADDOCK, General Agent, J. H. HOCART, Ass't Treasurer, J. C. FORTINER, Sup't of Acc'ts, NEW YORK. CHICAGO. JOHN L. STAGG, Sup't of Shops. MARSHALL FIELD & Co. WHOLESALE, RETAIL, Madison and Market Sts. State and Washington Sts. CHICAGO. _Dry Goods, Cloaks, Costumes, Shawls,_ _Furs, Woolens, Notions,_ _Men's, Women's and Children's_ _Furnishing Goods, Carpetings,_ _Curtain Materials,_ _Tapestries, Furniture Coverings,_ _And goods for_ _"Home Art Decorations."_ _Largest and Most Complete Lines._ _We are Sole Agents for United States for the_ _Celebrated "ALEXANDRE" Kid Gloves_ THE BEST KID GLOVE MADE. _And we make a Specialty of producing private designs in_ _Carpets, Rugs & Upholstering Goods,_ _To correspond with architectural features of rooms, and of_ _Furnishing Churches, Theatres,_ _Hotels and Homes._ CHICAGO VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED TO CALL. THE MERIDEN SILVER PLATE CO. NO. 64 WASHINGTON STREET, CHICAGO, ILL. MANUFACTURERS OF THE FINEST QUALITY QUADRUPLE PLATED WARE SPECIAL AND RICH DESIGNS IN Hotel and Dining Car SERVICE. ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUES AND PRICE LISTS Mailed on application. [Illustration: =No. 771. PEPPER.= Hammered and Applied. $3.00.] [Illustration: =No. 789. Pepper.= Made in Silver, Old Silver and Gold Finish. Silver,-----$2.00 Old Silver,----2.50 Gilt,----2.50] Factories: MERIDEN, CONN. New York Office: 30 EAST 14th STREET. [Illustration: =No. 1676. CAKE BASKET.= $21.00. Decorations in Natural Colors. Example of High Art Work in Electroplate. ] [Illustration: Race Brothers Oyster House 114 Madison Street Chicago.] ESTABLISHED 1870. The largest, most complete, and only Strictly First-Class Gentlemen's and Ladies' Oyster House west of New York City. _STEAKS and CHOPS added to Bill of Fare after January first._ _A. BELFORD (of Belford, Clarke & Co.), President._ _C. SLEMIN, Jr. (of Belford, Clarke & Co.), Sec. and Treas._ _M. A. DONOHUE (of Donohue & Henneberry)._ R. NEVERS, Jr., Superintendent. The Central Lithographing and Engraving Co. 315 to 321 Wabash Avenue, CHICAGO. Lithographing, WOOD ENGRAVING, Printing, Binding and Electrotyping. ENTIRE NEW OFFICE. EVERY BRANCH OF THE BUSINESS UNDER ONE ROOF. Anything, from a Visiting Card to the Finest Chromo Work. Railroad and Show Printing A SPECIALTY. SEND FOR ESTIMATES. Fine Art Work A Specialty. [Illustration] The Lakeside press. R. R. Donnelley & Sons, (LATE DONNELLEY GASBETTE & LOYD.) [Illustration] Printers. 140-146 Monroe St. CHICAGO TELEPHONE No. 610. TAKE ELEVATOR. [Illustration] They would invite the special attention of Railroad Corporations, Manufacturers, Merchants, and Publishers to their Fine Illustrated Work, pronounced unequalled by the press of Europe and America. THE BEST EQUIPPED RAILROAD IN THE WORLD. Without exaggerating, and keeping close within the narrow limits of fact, it may be asserted without fear of truthful contradiction, that the CHICAGO & NORTH-WESTERN RAILWAY Is not only the best and most perfectly equipped railroad in the world, but it is also the most important as to the territory it traverses, the numerous business centres and pleasure resorts that it reaches, and the facilities it offers for pleasant, speedy, safe and comfortable transit for all classes of passengers. It caters alike to the needs, tastes and abilities of the millionaire merchant prince; to the farmer, with his plain and simple wants; and to the economical and necessitous; and gives to each the full value of all he pays for. Its luxuriantly finished and furnished palace sleeping cars and its more than luxurious drawing-room coaches are marvels of beauty and comfort. Its coaches are new and of the most perfect models that have been adopted by any company, and they are always kept sweet, clean and pure. Its dining cars are superb, and the meals and service provided in them are equal to that given by any first-class hotel in the country. WHERE IS IT? Starting from Chicago and having various main lines running west, northwest and north, it covers about all that is desirable in Northern Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, the Upper Michigan Peninsula, Minnesota and Central and Southeastern Dakota and Northeastern Nebraska. It is eminently _the_ railroad of the Northwest, and from its commanding location it controls the traffic of all of the territory it traverses. WHAT IS IT? Over 5,000 miles of the best built and best maintained railroad there is in the country. It is equal in every respect to any road in the world, and is believed to be better than any of its competitors. Its lines are built of heavy steel rail; its bridges are of steel, iron and stone, and all its appointments are as good as money can buy. COLORADO & CALIFORNIA. This Company's line between Chicago and Council Bluffs (Omaha) _is shorter_ than any other between these points, and was the pioneer in forming connection with the Trans-Continental Union and Central Pacific Railroads. Nearly all experienced overland travelers seek this line, because it is known to be the best, shortest, most comfortable, and in every way the most desirable. To seek other more circuitous and inferior routes is accepted as an evidence of inexperience or want of information. If you are destined to or from Colorado, Nebraska, Utah, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington Territory, China, Japan, the Sandwich Islands, New Zealand or Australia, you should, in making the trip between Chicago and Council Bluffs (Omaha), in either direction, see that your tickets read over this great road. ST. PAUL, MINNEAPOLIS & WINNIPEG. This road, "St. Paul Line," is the short and desirable route between Chicago and Madison, St. Paul and Minneapolis; Helena, Montana; Portland, Oregon, and points on the Northwest Pacific coast, and the best to travel over if you are destined to or from Chicago and any point north or northwest of St. Paul. Winona and Mankato, Minn.; Frankfort, Huron, Pierre, Aberdeen, Columbia and Watertown, Dakota; Milwaukee, Fond du Lac, Oshkosh, Watertown and Sheboygan, Wis.; Freeport, Elgin, Dixon and Fulton, Ill.; Clinton, Cedar Rapids, Des Moines, Webster City, Algona, Tama and Council Bluffs, Iowa, are a few of its hundreds of prominent local stations. It reaches most of the pleasant summer resorts of Wisconsin and Minnesota, and is the road to take for the health and scenic resorts of the Rocky Mountains, the National Yellowstone Park, and nearly all of the notable Western and Northwest resorts that are accessible by rail. It connects in Union Depots with the Union Pacific Railway at Council Bluffs, and at St. Paul with the Northern Pacific St. Paul, Minneapolis & Manitoba, and with all roads diverging from that point. You can procure tickets over this route from nearly every coupon ticket agent in the country. When buying your tickets read them carefully and be sure that at least one coupon reads over the CHICAGO & NORTH-WESTERN RY. Ask your nearest coupon ticket agent for one of its large maps; they are FREE, and will show you all of this Company's lines as they are. Its London (England) offices are 124 High Holborn, 449 Strand, 3 Adelaide street and 139 Cheapside. Its Manchester (England) office, 1 and 3 Princess street. Its Paris office, 35 Boulevard des Capucines. Its New York office, 409 Broadway. Its Boston office, 5 State street. Its Chicago offices, 60 and 62 Clark street, Palmer House, in Grand Pacific Hotel and at its Passenger Station on the corner Wells and Kinzie streets. Its St. Paul office, corner Third and Jackson streets. Its Minneapolis office, 13 Nicollet House. Its Council Bluffs offices are at the Transfer Depot, C. & N.-W. Ry. Depot on Broadway and at the corner of Broadway and Pearl streets. Its Omaha offices, 1324 Farnham, corner Fourteenth street, and at U. P. Depot. Its Denver office, 8 Windsor Hotel Block. Its San Francisco office, No. 2 New Montgomery street, in Palace Hotel. Waltham Watches WITH TWENTY-FOUR HOUR DIVISION DIALS [Illustration] RECOGNIZING THE NECESSITY OF HAVING WATCHES THAT CONFORM TO THE New System of Indicating Time ADOPTED BY SOME OF THE RAILROADS, OF COUNTING THE HOURS FROM ONE TO TWENTY-FOUR CONSECUTIVELY, THE AMERICAN WATCH COMPANY Of Waltham, Mass., Are now prepared to furnish Watches as indicated by the above Cut. THESE DIALS CAN ALSO BE SUBSTITUTED FOR THOSE NOW IN USE AT A VERY SMALL EXPENSE. FOR SALE BY ALL JEWELERS. [Illustration] THE PALMER, CHICAGO. WILLIS HOWE, Managing Partner. AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN PLAN. ENTIRELY FIRE-PROOF. 750 ROOMS. _GRIFFIN & WELLS FOUNDRY CO._ RAILROAD CAR, ENGINE AND STREET CAR WHEELS. ANNUAL CAPACITY, 50,000 WHEELS. [Illustration] Rates secured and Shipments made to all parts of the West and South. Contracts made for Yearly or other Supply. Mileage or Time Guarantee given. All Orders and Correspondence will receive prompt attention. References furnished. OFFICE AND WORKS: PAULINA ST., SOUTH OF BLUE ISLAND AVE. CHICAGO. THOS. F. GRIFFIN & SONS, MANUFACTURERS OF CAR WHEELS AND CASTINGS OFFICE AND WORKS: COR. OF FOREST AVE. AND N.Y.C. & H.R.R.R. BUFFALO, N. Y. GRIFFIN CAR WHEEL CO. RAILROAD CAR WHEELS AND CASTINGS. Annual Capacity, 100,000 Wheels. 10,000 Tons Castings. [Illustration] Rates secured and Shipments made to all parts of the United States. Special attention given to Car and Engine Wheels for Railroad Use. Mileage Guaranteed. Contracts made for Yearly or other Supply. Correspondence solicited. OFFICE AND WORKS: COR. FOUNDRY ST. AND MICHIGAN CENTRAL R. R. DETROIT, MICH. THE Griffin Wheel MANUFACTURED BY GRIFFIN CAR WHEEL CO. DETROIT, MICH. GRIFFIN & WELLS FOUNDRY CO. CHICAGO, ILL. _THOS. F. GRIFFIN & SON_, BUFFALO, N. Y. COMBINED DAILY CAPACITY, 800 Wheels per Day and 60 Tons Castings EXTRA HEAVY WHEELS FOR ENGINE AND PASSENGER SERVICE. All Mileage Guaranteed. THE Lake Shore & Michigan Southern RAILWAY AND ITS CONNECTIONS FORMS THE GREAT THOROUGHFARE BETWEEN THE EAST and WEST And Experienced Travelers will tell you it is the BEST Route "by a large majority." THIS LINE IS A DOUBLE TRACK RAILWAY _AND THE ONLY ROUTE RUNNING SOLID TRAINS_ Between CHICAGO and BUFFALO, through Union Depots, for all connections. Its equipment is first-class in every respect--such as perfect Road-Bed, Iron and Stone Bridges, Westinghouse Automatic Safety Brakes, Miller Platform Coupler and Buffer, Magnificent Parlor Coaches for Day Travel, Elegant Day Coaches, and the Palace Sleeping Coaches. Well, words are inadequate to express their Durability and Splendor. They are simply Superb. These Coaches are run daily, through, between CHICAGO, NEW YORK and BOSTON, without change. ONE GREAT FEATURE IN THIS LINE IS, THAT IT IS THE ONLY ROUTE BETWEEN CHICAGO and the EAST THAT IS TOTALLY DEVOID OF TRANSFERS BY FERRY BOATS. And the traveling public should certainly appreciate this great advantage over all other lines, as transfers by ferries are very tedious and annoying to the traveler who is anxious to reach the objective point without delay. Further comments are unnecessary. All Agents sell Tickets via this popular line, and when passengers ask for them over the "LAKE SHORE," they smile and say, "You are on the right track," and they know. =C. B. FOSTER=, Western Passenger Agent, Chicago, Ill. =W. P. JOHNSON=, Gen. Passenger Agent, Chicago, Ill. =P. P. WRIGHT=, Gen. Superintendent, Cleveland, Ohio. WEST SHORE ROUTE New York, West Shore & Buffalo R'y THE NEW SHORT LINE To All Points between the EAST AND WEST _THE BEST CONSTRUCTED LINE ON THE AMERICAN CONTINENT._ NEW PULLMAN BUFFET SLEEPING AND PARLOR CARS DOUBLE TRACK, STEEL RAILS, and BEAUTIFUL SCENERY THROUGH THE Mohawk Valley and Picturesque Hudson, MAKING THE SHORTEST LINE BETWEEN CHICAGO, NEW YORK AND BOSTON VIA BUFFALO and NIAGARA FALLS. Passengers going to PHILADELPHIA, BALTIMORE and WASHINGTON will SAVE TRANSFERS by taking this Popular Route. Tickets via New York, West Shore & Buffalo Railway are for sale at all Principal Ticket Offices throughout the country, and in Chicago at the following places, where Sleeping-car Berths can be secured: 103 South Clark Street, 47 Monroe Street, Palmer House, Grand Pacific Hotel, Grand Union Passenger Station, Polk Street, and at General Office, 75 South Clark Street. HENRY MONETT, Gen'l Passenger Agent, NEW YORK. C. E. LAMBERT, Gen'l West'n Passenger Agent, 75 Clark St., CHICAGO. ERIE RY. [Illustration: View of Niagara Falls from Suspension Bridge.] [Illustration: Starucca Valley, on the Erie.] THE Scenic Route OF AMERICA A continual Panorama of Magnificent Scenery from the Lakes to the Seaboard. The Elegant Pullman Service via the ERIE RAILWAY And its Connections is unsurpassed by any Route to or from the EAST. _IF ON A BUSINESS TRIP, TAKE THE ERIE_, _IF ON A PLEASURE TRIP, TAKE THE ERIE_, _UNDER ALL CIRCUMSTANCES, TAKE THE ERIE_, And you will travel over a Railway unequalled in facilities for Comfort and Safety. JNO. N. ABBOTT, Gen'l Pass. Agent, NEW YORK. W. H. HURLBURT, Gen'l Western Pass. Agent, CHICAGO. _JONES & LAUGHLINS, Limited_, MANUFACTURERS IRON, STEEL, NAILS Cold Rolled Iron and Steel, SPIKES, BOLTS, CHAINS, Railway Supplies HEAVY HARDWARE, Lake and Canal Streets, CHICAGO. LEHIGH VALLEY COAL COMPANY, Miners and Shippers of WYOMING AND LEHIGH COALS _R. M. CHERRIE, General Western Agent_, 90 and 92 DEARBORN STREET, CHICAGO. _NEW YORK, BOSTON, CHICAGO,_ _3 Cliff Street. 127 Oliver Street. 210 Lake Street._ Hussey, Howe & Co., Limited, CAST STEEL, PITTSBURGH, PA. _C. C. HUSSEY, Penn Avenue JAMES W. BROWN,_ _Chairman. and 17th Street. Sec'y and Treas'r._ LORD & THOMAS, We prepare Advertisements, and contract to insert them in any number of newspapers desired. Our facilities in our line are unequaled. The large amount of business we control enables us to secure from the Best Mediums the Lowest Rates obtainable, for the benefit of our patrons. [Illustration: ADVERTISE JUDICIOUSLY TRADE MARK.] NEWSPAPER ADVERTISING, CHICAGO, ILL. Steam Heating and Ventilating. Low Pressure Steam Warming And Ventilating APPARATUS. Simplified and adapted to warming _DWELLINGS_, _CHURCHES_, _BANKS_ and _PUBLIC BUILDINGS._ Send for descriptive pamphlet. [Illustration] BAKER'S PATENT Hot Water CAR WARMER. Adopted by nearly all Railroads as the STANDARD HEATER. Prices Greatly Reduced. BAKER, SMITH & CO., 81 and 83 Jackson Street, Chicago. THE SCENIC LINE OF THE WORLD. Denver & Rio Grande R'y THE MID-CONTINENTAL ROUTE TO Salt Lake and the Golden Gate. _THIS LINE PENETRATES THE MOST PICTURESQUE PARTS OF COLORADO, NEW MEXICO AND UTAH, AND IS THE FAVORITE ROUTE FOR BUSINESS OR PLEASURE._ =IN COLORADO= the traveler beholds scenery excelling in variety, beauty and grandeur that of Switzerland. He traverses canons fifteen miles in length, with perpendicular walls more than half a mile in height. He crosses the Rocky Range at an elevation of over 11,000 feet, and from this lofty pass gazes upward 3,000 feet to the summits of the snow-crowded peaks. _En route_ to the Pacific Coast he passes through innumerable places of interest, among which are the Royal Gorge, Grand Canon of the Arkansas, Poncho Pass, Marshall Pass, the valleys of the Uncompahgre, Gunnison and Grand, Black Canon, Castle Gate, Wasatch Summit and Salt Lake City. =IN NEW MEXICO= he finds ruins more ancient than those of the Parthenon or Colosseum--the crumbling habitations of the pre-historic Cliff-Dwellers; he beholds the quaint architecture of the Spanish-Mexicans or the pueblos of the descendants of the Montezumas. =IN UTAH= he can bathe in the Great Salt Lake, and inspect the wonders of the City of the Saints. THESE MARVELS OF NATURE AND ART CAN BE REACHED IN Pullman Palace Buffet Cars VIA THE DENVER & RIO GRANDE R'Y, THE ONLY LINE Passing through Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Salida, Gunnison, Grand Junction and Salt Lake City. When I go to the coast I'll lay out my plan, Said I to myself, said I, To have all the pleasure and ease that I can, Said I to myself, said I. There's one way to do it, as all will agree, And that is to go via D. & R. G.-- Up over the mountains and down to the sea, Said I to myself, said I. D.C. DODGE, General Manager, F.C. NIMS, Gen. Pass. and Ticket Agent, DENVER, COLORADO H. S. PICKANDS,} PICKANDS, MATHER & CO. }-Chicago Cleveland. W. L. BROWN, } PICKANDS, BROWN & CO., Manufacturers, Importers and Dealers in PIG IRON AND IRON ORE 95 DEARBORN STREET, CHICAGO. THE CHICAGO RAWHIDE MFG. CO. MANUFACTURERS OF RAWHIDE BELTING, LACE LEATHER ROPE, LARIATS Fly Nets, Picker Leather, Whips, Washers, Hame Straps, Hame Strings, and Halters, and other Rawhide Goods of all kinds, by Krueger's Patent. 75 and 77 EAST OHIO STREET, CHICAGO [Illustration] It is only by using the best of Belting, _i.e._, such as will wear longest, slip least, transmit the greatest amount of power and work with the greatest steadiness, that machinery can be utilized to its full capacity, and can be relied on as to durability. The belt that will transmit the most power with least strain on the machinery is the _cheapest and the best_. Such are the goods manufactured and sold on guarantee by this Company, and used by the Chicago & Alton Railway and other railroads. [Illustration: NATIONAL EXPOSITION OF RAILWAY APPLIANCES CHICAGO 1883 AWARDED TO THE Chicago Rawhide M'F'G CO. For Rawhide Belting, Lace Leather and Rope.] A. B. SPURLING, President. W. H. PREBLE, Secretary and Treasurer. A. C. KRUEGER, Superintendent. [Illustration: KNISELY AND MILLER] 68 to 74 W. MONROE STREET, CHICAGO, Slate, Tin and Iron ROOFERS MANUFACTURERS OF CORRUGATED IRON FOR ROOFING, GALVANIZED IRON CORNICES, ETC. The Hayes Patent SKYLIGHTS (UNDER LICENSE), _KNISELY'S PATENT IRON LATH_ LIGHTNING RODS. Special attention given to first-class work, and to shipping work knocked down, to be put together and up by local mechanics. Send for Illustrated Catalogue and Prices. INCORPORATED 1864. Steel Plate and Lithography. Railway Annuals a Specialty. WESTERN BANK NOTE COMPANY, CHICAGO. _Bonds, Certificates_, _Drafts, Checks_, _Merchants' Stationery_, C. C. CHENEY, President. _Bankers' Supplies._ C. A. CHAPMAN, Treasurer. _The Only Hotel Fronting on the beautiful Lake and Park. Five Minutes from all Railroad Depots, Places of Business and Amusement._ THE BEST LOCATED HOTEL In the World. [Illustration] POPULAR PRICES: $3 and $3.50 per Day. LELAND HOTEL AMERICAN PLAN. WARREN F. LELAND, Proprietor. COR. MICHIGAN AVE. BOULEVARD AND JACKSON ST. THE LARGEST AND MOST COMPLETE JOB AND BOOK PRINTING HOUSE IN AMERICA. RAND, MCNALLY & CO. _148-154 MONROE ST., CHICAGO, ILL._ FINE COLOR PRINTING ENGRAVERS, ELECTROTYPERS PRINTERS LITHOGRAPHERS, BOOK BINDERS MAP ENGRAVERS AND PUBLISHERS _Rand, McNally's Indexed Atlas of the World._ _Rand, McNally & Co.'s Business Atlas and Shippers' Guide of the United States._ _Rand, McNally & Co.'s Celebrated Indexed Pocket Maps of all the States and Territories in the United States._ _Rand, McNally's Encyclopædia of Agriculture._ _Rand, McNally & Co.'s Bankers' Directory._ A Great American Railway. _The Chicago and Atlantic Railway runs solid Pullman trains, the finest ever built, daily between Chicago and New York, etc., by way of the Erie Railway, and through its valuable connections reaches every important point in the entire country. The construction and equipment of the road are of the most perfect description, all that modern skill can compass having been called into requisition to ensure safety, comfort, speed and reliable connections, without having to change cars. This popular line, being almost literally straight, forms the shortest, quickest and most direct route to Lake Chautauqua, the highest navigated water on the globe. In equipment the Chicago and Atlantic Railway is excelled by none and equaled by few roads in the world. Their superb sleeping, drawing-room and thoroughfare coaches are simply models of elegance and comfort and are lighted with the brilliant Pintsch gaslight. Clean bedding, thick hair mattresses, thorough ventilation and absolute safety, with polite conductors and porters accompanying each car to provide for the wants of passengers, are valuable facts not to be overlooked. Each train has its smoking cars, which among other novelties contain a buffet, where the traveler may lunch at his leisure. Indeed, the company have provided every luxury, convenience and solid comfort for the traveling public, hence their road is liberally patronized._ J. C. WILLIAMS, S. W. SNOW, Gen'l Superintendent, Gen'l Passenger Agent, CHICAGO. NO CHANGE OF CARS OF ANY CLASS {CHICAGO AND KANSAS CITY. AND {CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS. Two Trains a Day Each Way between {ST. LOUIS AND KANSAS CITY. [Illustration] Chicago & Alton R. R. THE PIONEER PALACE RECLINING CHAIR CAR ROUTE _The Pioneer Palace Dining Car Route_ The Pioneer Pullman Palace Sleeping Car Route TWO TRAINS DAILY, SUNDAYS INCLUDED, Between CHICAGO and KANSAS CITY, and between ST. LOUIS and KANSAS CITY NIGHT EXPRESS DAILY, SUNDAYS INCLUDED. [hand] DAY EXPRESS DAILY, Sundays excepted, between CHICAGO and ST. LOUIS. 3 GREAT CITIES OF THE WEST [Illustration] LINKED TOGETHER BY THE CHICAGO & ALTON R. R. NO CHANGE OF CARS OF ANY CLASS BETWEEN CHICAGO CHICAGO ST. LOUIS AND AND AND KANSAS CITY. ST. LOUIS. KANSAS CITY. Union Depots in Chicago, East St. Louis, St. Louis and Kansas City. NO OTHER LINE RUNS PALACE DINING CARS Between CHICAGO and KANSAS CITY, CHICAGO and ST. LOUIS, and ST. LOUIS and KANSAS CITY. Meals, equal to those served in any first-class hotel, only 75 cents. The only line running a sufficient number of Elegant and Comfortable PALACE RECLINING CHAIR CARS Free of Extra Charge, in all its Through Trains, Day and Night, Without Change, to accommodate all its patrons. PULLMAN PALACE SLEEPING CARS The Finest, Best and Safest in use anywhere. The BEST and QUICKEST ROUTE from CHICAGO, TO AND FROM MEMPHIS, MOBILE, NEW ORLEANS AND ALL POINTS SOUTH VIA ST. LOUIS. The SHORT LINE to and from MISSOURI, ARKANSAS, TEXAS, KANSAS, COLORADO, NEW MEXICO, MEXICO, ARIZONA, NEBRASKA, CALIFORNIA, OREGON, WASHINGTON TERRITORY, Etc. THE GREAT EXCURSION ROUTE BETWEEN THE NORTH AND SOUTH AND TO AND FROM KANSAS LANDS, AND COLORADO, NEW MEXICO AND CALIFORNIA HEALTH AND PLEASURE RESORTS AND THE MINING DISTRICTS OF THE GREAT WEST. For Tickets and Information apply at any Coupon Ticket Office in the United States and Canada, or to JAMES CHARLTON, General Passenger and Ticket Agent, 210 Dearborn street, near corner Adams street, Chicago. J. C. McMULLIN, Vice-President, Chicago. C. H. CHAPPEL, General Manager, Chicago. THE GREAT THROUGH CAR LINE _BETWEEN THE MISSOURI RIVER AND THE PACIFIC_. Pullman Palace Sleeping Cars FROM KANSAS CITY TO SAN FRANCISCO WITHOUT CHANGE OVER THE SANTA FE ROUTE The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe R. R. offers the public a choice of THREE ROUTES TO THE PACIFIC COAST =No. I.= is the ALBUQUERQUE SHORT LINE, which carries Pullman Palace Sleeping Cars from Kansas City to San Francisco without change. The tourist by this line may visit en route the famous Hot Springs at Las Vegas, the ancient City of Santa Fe, the older Pueblo of the Zunis, the uninhabited abodes of the Cliff-Dwellers, the petrified forests, that most wonderful of all nature's works, THE GRAND CANON OF THE RIO COLORADO and the rare beauties of the far famed YOSEMITE VALLEY. =No. II.= is the old and popular Southern Route, over the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe and Southern Pacific Railroads, by way of Deming and Los Angeles, a favorite route to Southern California. =No. III.= is the Northern Route, over the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, Denver & Rio Grande and Central Pacific Railroads. On this route through passengers are given side trips to Denver and Leadville free of charge for transportation, so that these two mountain cities are placed, with Salt Lake City, on the trans-continental line of travel. TWO LINES TO MEXICO The CHIHUAHUA ROUTE is the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe to El Paso and the Mexican Central to the interior of Mexico. This line will be opened early in the spring through to the City of Mexico. The GUAYMAS ROUTE extends from Kansas City to Guaymas, on the Gulf of California, in the Republic of Mexico. W. F. WHITE, _General Passenger and Ticket Agent, TOPEKA, KANSAS_. ESTABLISHED 1844. By "Chicago Evening Journal." Destroyed by Fire Oct. 9, 1871. RE-ESTABLISHED 1872 By JNO. B. JEFFERY. Destroyed by Fire Dec. 1, 1883. Re-Established and Incorporated 1885. JNO. B. JEFFERY, Prest. and Treas. THE JNO. B. JEFFERY PRINTING COMPANY OF CHICAGO, _LARGEST AND MOST COMPLETE_ Job Printing, Publishing, Lithographing, Engraving AND _SHOW PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT IN THE WEST_. PUBLISHERS OF THE ONLY Theatrical Guide and Directory, AND PROMOTERS OF SHOW AND AMUSEMENT INTERESTS OF AMERICA. JNO. B. JEFFERY, President and Treasurer. FORT WAYNE AND Pennsylvania Line 51 MILES THE SHORTEST To New York City. ONLY DIRECT LINE TO PHILADELPHIA BEST LINE TO BALTIMORE AND WASHINGTON. RUNS THE _Only Chicago and New York_ LIMITED EXPRESS PULLMAN CARS ON ALL TRAINS. Transcriber's Notes: Words surrounded by _ are italicized. Words surrounded by = are bold. Variable spellings have been kept. 
44116	----	A HISTORY OF THE NINTH REGIMENT ILLINOIS VOLUNTEER INFANTRY. BY THE CHAPLAIN, MARION MORRISON. MONMOUTH, ILLS.: JOHN S. CLARK, PRINTER. 1864. PREFACE. In this sketch of the military career of the 9th Ill. Vol. Inft., my object has been, to present the facts connected with its organization, and its connection with the various battle-scenes through which it has passed. I have entered upon the compilation of these facts with some degree of hesitation. I have thrown it into the present shape, only on the earnest solicitation of a number of the officers and men of the Regiment. Originally nothing more was contemplated than a newspaper sketch. It was thought that even the prominent facts in the Regiment's history, could not be given in such an article, without making it so long that publishers would not wish to insert it in their papers, or the readers of such papers be willing to read it. It has been the writer's aim, not only to give the facts connected with the various battles in which the Regiment has been engaged, but to narrate many incidents on marches and scouts, both of a general and individual character. Often these incidents will throw more light upon the real workings of soldier life, than accounts of great battles. I am indebted for most of the facts connected with the marches and battles of the Regiment, to the kindness of Adjutant Klock. Most of the incidents I have gathered from the officers and men in the Regiment. Much dependence had to be put in these, since the writer has only been with the Regiment from the first of September, 1863. It was felt to be due the Regiment, that a sketch of this kind be prepared. It has never had a correspondent to herald its deeds of daring in the news of the day, as many other regiments have. Hence, although it has performed a great amount of hard and very valuable service, still it has but seldom been noticed in the papers. Let justice be done. Nothing more. If I can but succeed in putting together the substantial facts in the History of this Regiment, so that they can be preserved by the boys, in a convenient form for reference, and afford material to aid the future historian in making up the history of this war, I will have accomplished the object I have in view. CHAPTER I. _Cause of the Rebellion--Measures taken by the leaders to deceive the masses--James Buchanan--Lincoln's journey to Washington, and entering upon his duties--Call for 75,000 Volunteers--Organization of 9th Ill.--Roster of officers--Six Regiments organized in Illinois--Nature of "Three months' service"--Kentucky neutrality--Scouting--Incidents--When mustered out--Reorganization._ Every lover of his country will remember, with peculiar emotions, the events of the Winter and Spring of 1861. On the election of Abraham Lincoln to the position of President of the United States, in the autumn of 1860, the Southern portion of our once peaceful and happy country were indignant at the result. They had so long been accustomed to have everything their own way, so far as President-making was concerned, that they could not endure the thought of being superceded in their favorite work. For years they had elected Presidents who were either Southern men, or Northern men whose views agreed with their own on the great question at issue with them--Slavery. Now that a Northern man was elected to the Presidency, who, it was known, would use his constitutional powers to check the spread of that ruinous system, they were determined not to suffer it. Loud talkings of secession from the Union, spread rapidly throughout the South. The leaders in this wicked rebellion did not allow the mass of the people to know the exact position which the newly elected President had taken, and the policy he would pursue with reference to the slavery question. If they had, we would never have heard of the rebellion now raging in our land. Their watchword was, that whenever he would enter upon the duties of his office, he would at once take measures to have the slaves set free throughout the entire South; that slaves would everywhere be stirred up to insurrection. Thus the leaders aroused the minds of the masses, and prepared them for the terrible ruin into which they were about to plunge them. During the Fall after the election of the present President, it was my privilege to meet with a citizen of Mississippi, who was visiting Illinois on matters of business. He had spent two or three weeks in Springfield and vicinity, attending to that business. Speaking of the state of feeling existing in his State, and contrasting that with the feelings manifested in Illinois, he said, "I would give half I am worth, if the people of the South could only see and know what I have seen and learned since I have been in Illinois." He had had an interview with the President elect; had made the acquaintance of many of his prominent friends; and had become fully satisfied that he, together with the mass of the people South, was entirely mistaken as to the position which the incoming administration would occupy on the question of slavery. "Why, sir, if my fellow citizens could only see things as I now see them, there would be no difficulty. If they could only be convinced that the incoming Administration would not interfere with the system of slavery as it exists in the slave States, but were only opposed to its further extension, there would be no further difficulty. But," says he, "I cannot hope to see that state of feeling now produced. If I should go home and tell them what I have seen and what I have heard, my life would be in danger. I would be denounced as an abolitionist. My friends dissuaded me from making the journey to this State. 'If you go to Illinois you will be mobbed.' I feared the result myself, but my business was urgent. I am agreeably surprised to find that here a man can express his opinions on this vexed question, with perfect safety." This Southern man expressed himself thus, on the eve of this rebellion, with tears in his eyes. But time passed. The leaders in this rebellion were making Herculean efforts to be prepared for the crisis. James Buchanan occupied the Presidential chair. He was just the instrument they needed in that position. His heart was with them. Most of the Cabinet he had gathered around him, were notorious traitors, and ready to resort to any means to carry out their wicked ends. Hence they robbed the government of its treasures, its arms, and its fortifications. During the Winter, one State after another passed acts of secession, and he looked quietly on, but made no demonstration towards stopping it. Armed forces were gathering in the various seceding States. Fort Sumter was still in possession of the government. Fortifications were erected in Charleston harbor to reduce it. Its few inmates were in a starving condition. No supplies were sent them. The term of office of James Buchanan expires. The President elect enters upon his journey from Springfield, Illinois, to Washington, D. C. He leaves his home, feeling fully aware of the great work before him. He is satisfied that without Divine aid he will be unable to meet the crisis. Hence, on taking his departure, while standing upon the steps of the cars, he asks the friends he was leaving behind, to seek that aid on his behalf. A plot is laid for his assassination, in the City of Baltimore. But that Providence, whose aid he desired, revealed the plot, and he is enabled to reach Washington, on an extra train and at an hour unexpected. At the proper time he is duly initiated into his office. He looks around and sees the sad condition of the affairs of State. He firmly grasps the helm, however. Although the ship of state is in a leaky condition; although many a plank was torn off; although many were still in it ready to strike other leaks; although but little money with which to repair it; still he takes firm hold. He gathers around him, as counselors and co-workers, those in whom he could place confidence. Every exertion which could possibly be made, is made, to set things "to rights" again. It is not long until Fort Sumter is fired upon by the enemies of their country. The roar of the cannon, whose balls shattered the walls of that Fort, echoed throughout the land and aroused an indignant people to arms. In the meantime the President calls for 75,000 volunteers to enter the service for three months. He has been blamed for calling for so few, and for so short a time. That call, however, doubtless saved the capital of our nation, which was then sorely beleagured. In compliance with this call, the State of Illinois furnished six regiments for the "three months' service." That call was made on the 15th day of April, 1861. The county of St. Clair promptly sent six companies; the county of Madison three companies, and the county of Montgomery one company. They rendezvoused at Springfield, Illinois, on the 23d day of April, 1861, and were organized and mustered into the service on the 25th of the same month. It was the third regiment organized in Illinois, and was numbered as the 9th Regt. Ill. Vol. Inft. The roster of officers of companies, as reported, is as follows: Company A.--Aug. Mersy, Captain. " " --Jacob Kercher, 1st Lieutenant. " " --Birt Affleck, 2d Lieutenant. Company B.--Rodolphus Beckier, Captain. " " -- ---- Ledergarber, 1st Lieutenant. " " --H. Clay Hay, 2d Lieutenant. Company C.--I. F. Tiedeman, Captain. " " -- ---- Conner, 1st Lieutenant. " " --Hamilton Lieber, 2d Lieutenant. Company D.--Alexander G. Hawes, Captain. " " -- ---- Cox, 1st Lieutenant. " " -- ---- Roman, 2d Lieutenant. Company E.-- ---- Catine, Captain. " " -- ---- Scheitlier, 1st Lieutenant. " " -- ---- Scheminger, 2d Lieutenant. Company F.--Van Cleve, Captain. " " --Loren Webb, 1st Lieutenant. " " --Geo. Adams, 2d Lieutenant. Company G.-- ---- Tucker, Captain. " " -- ---- Davis, 1st Lieutenant. " " -- ---- Ash, 2d Lieutenant. Company H.--Jesse J. Phillips, Captain. " " --John W. Kitchell, 1st Lieutenant. " " --Wm. F. Armstrong, 2d Lieutenant. Company I.--Jos. G. Robinson, Captain. " " --Thos. J. Newsham, 1st Lieutenant. " " -- ---- Gerly, 2d Lieutenant. Company K.--John H. Kuhn, Captain. " " -- ---- Shutterer, 1st Lieutenant. " " --Emil Adam, 2d Lieutenant. An election for field officers was held on the organization of the Regiment, which resulted in the choice of-- ELEAZER A. PAINE, Colonel. AUGUST MERSY, Lt. Colonel. JESSE J. PHILLIPS, Major. The following were appointed staff officers: Dr. Bell, of Springfield, Surgeon. Dr. S. M. Hamilton, of Monmouth, Assistant Surgeon. John W. Kitchell, Adjutant. ---- Davis, Quarter Master. J. J. Ferree, Chaplain. No sooner was the Regiment fully organized, than it was called to duty. The Rebels were evidently making their arrangements to take possession of, and occupy Cairo, Ill. They saw at once, if they could do this, they would be able to cut off all communication between the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. They would thus occupy a position from which they would be able, not only to command these rivers, but to make inroads into the State of Illinois. They contemplated making their battle-grounds on Northern soil. It did not at all enter into their original plans, to wage this war upon the sacred soil of the South. Their soldiers were promised the privilege of sacking Northern cities, and overrunning Northern States. But promptly the government took possession of Cairo, and thus saved Illinois from the invasion of the enemy. While the Border Free States of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Iowa have suffered from Rebel raids, more or less, Illinois has thus far escaped. To carry out this design of occupying Cairo, ere the enemy got possession of it, orders were issued on the 30th of April, 1861, to the 9th Regt. Ill. Inft., to report at Cairo, Ill. It arrived at that point May 1st, 1861, at 9 A. M. It was the third Regiment on the ground at Cairo. The first six regiments from Illinois, that were organized under that call of the President, were: 7th Regiment, Colonel Cooke Commanding. 8th " " Oglesby " 9th " " Paine " 10th " " Prentiss " 11th " " Wallace " 12th " " McArthur " These regiments were distributed as follows: The 7th Regiment was ordered to Alton, Ill.; the 8th, 9th and 10th to Cairo, Ill.; the 11th to Villa Ridge, Ill.; the 12th to Casey's Station, on the O. & M. R. R. At an election which was held for a Brig. General to take the command of the above regiments, B. M. Prentiss was elected. His "Head Quarters" were at Cairo, Ill. After the Regiment arrived at Cairo, Ill., Lieut. Conner, of Co. C, resigned. Sergt. W. C. Kneffner, of Co. D, was elected as 1st Lieut. of Co. C, and commissioned by the Governor. Jacob Kircher was commissioned as Captain of Co. A, and J. W. Kitchell as Captain of Co. H. After the election of J. W. Kitchell as Captain of Co. H, 1st Lieut. Thos. J. Newsham was appointed Adjutant of the Regiment. The Regiment remained on duty at Cairo during the term of service for which they were called out. Many of the soldiers, supposing that they would be furnished with clothing by the government, took very little clothing with them, and that of the most ordinary kind, thinking that when they should draw clothing they could not take care of what they took with them. The result was, that many of them had no change of clothing for the three months they were in the service. They had no regular uniform. Some of the companies were clothed with such a uniform as they had selected and supplied for themselves. When the Regiment arrived in Cairo, no provision was made for them in the way of tents. War was a new thing then, and the Quartermaster and Commissary stores were not always ready to be drawn upon at a moment's warning. The supply of rations was, at times, very irregular. The men had not been accustomed to making themselves comfortable in camp; consequently they sometimes found it pretty hard living. After they had been there a few days, it was determined to go into camp on the edge of the Mississippi river, between the town and the river. The camping ground was covered with very large trees of drift-wood. These must be cleared off. No details for fatigue duty were made; but Col. Paine, taking hold along with the rest, said "Come, boys, we must red these logs off, and clear up this ground." And at it they went, and after a time they had the logs all cleared away, the stumps burnt out, and a pretty respectable camping ground prepared. Much hard service was endured during these three months. Although no fighting was necessary, yet some of the soldiers who were with the Regiment then, and are with it still, speak of those three months as the hardest part of their military life. The duty consisted principally in working on the fortifications, and guard duty. This was very onerous. To make it harder on the boys, they were poorly provided with food and clothing. Little or no provision was made for blankets. Many of them, if they got their shirts washed, had to take them off and go without while it was being done. If they did this, they were immediately attacked by a powerful and numerous enemy, in the shape of mosquitoes. While the rebels like to attack and surprise our boys, when clothed with new uniforms, this numerous army prefer to make the attack when our soldiers are entirely stripped of their coats and their shirts. During the time the Regiment was in camp at Cairo, Kentucky was pursuing that policy which proved so ruinous to her. She was attempting to enforce a strict _neutrality_ with reference to the war. Parties were organized. No efforts were made to prevent disloyal men from organizing companies, and committing hostilities. The State was soon filled with rebels against the government. Several scouting parties were sent from Cairo into Kentucky for the purpose of scattering those parties and watching their movements. In most of these, the 9th Ill. Inft., was represented by detachments. In July, an expedition which was under command of Col. J. J. Morgan of the 10th Ill., and which consisted of twelve companies, and one section of artillery, was sent to Indian Creek, Mo., to break up an organization of Rebels encamped at that place. The expedition was made up of detachments from each of the regiments in camp at Cairo at that time. The 9th Ill. was represented by Companies C and H. The Rebels prowled about in Missouri and Kentucky, and there were frequent rumors of attacks to be made upon Cairo. But the three months rolled past without any attack. There are some incidents that occurred during this period, worthy of notice here. One of them occurred with our present highly esteemed Surgeon, Dr. Guilick. He was then a private in the Regiment. One day he was stationed to guard a powder magazine. It was an important post. The Dr. had served in the army in Germany. He knew a picket should never leave his post until relieved from duty. The rule for picket, is two hours on duty and four off, during the twenty-four. The first two hours passed away, no relief came. Two hours more passed. He supposed that surely at that change he would be relieved. Still no relief came. Another two hours passed. Still no relief. Relief-hour after relief-hour passed. But no relief for the Dr. He began to feel the need of his dinner, but no relief came, and he stuck to his powder. That article was an important item in warfare, and he was determined to guard it. Night was drawing near; still no relief. Its quiet hours passed by, and still no relief came. The morning dawned, and there it beheld the Dr. tramping faithfully his beat, wondering, I suppose, if there was _no relief_. The twenty-four hours rolled round, and the Dr. was there still, having had nothing to eat and nothing to drink. Another thing which caused the time to pass heavily with him, like almost all Germans, in fact almost all soldiers, he was very fond of his pipe. But there was the powder he was guarding, and it was not safe to have fire near it. At the end of the twenty-four hours he was relieved. Our worthy Dr. has been with the Regiment ever since. He is still faithful to his post. He still carries out his tenacity in sticking to his post until relieved. There is only one thing, so far as I know, that will cause the Dr. to abandon his proper post. When the Regiment is engaged in battle, unless there is immediate need for him in the rear to care for the wounded, he will leave his post, as a non-combatant, and seeking some position in the advance, he is seen deliberately firing away at the enemy with his revolver. If there is a man wounded he hastens to the rear to attend to him. That done, and he is off again to his firing-post. Another incident. I think it occurred during the three months' service. At any rate it was during some scout. The camp was in an old cornfield, on a hill-side. The only place the boys could well lay was in the hollows between the corn rows. Col. Phillips (then Major) made his bed between two corn rows. He laid one gum blanket underneath him, and another over him. As it was beginning to rain, he covered his face with his gum blanket, gathering it carefully under his head. During the night it rained heavily; but the Major slept on. When he awoke in the morning and attempted to uncover his head, the first attempt to remove the blanket failed. By a more determined effort he succeeded. But oh, horrible! The water had run down the furrow, sweeping the mud before it. It had been piled up against his head, the blanket keeping him dry. But instantly on raising the blanket, rush came mud and water over his face and head! If he had only had sense enough to commence uncovering at the other end, he might have crept out snug and dry, although the water had been pouring down on both sides of him. The Col. has since manifested much skill in fighting a retreat with his regiment. But it seems he had not yet learned the art of retreating, for he seemed determined in spite of all opposition, to go it, head foremost. But he conquered, and had the consolation of knowing that his severest wounds were in the face; and although naturally very careful of his good-looking face, I doubt not he would rather be wounded there than in the back. Save a brave man always from being wounded in the back. Still another incident. Rats had become very abundant in town and around the camps. In fact, rats, fleas and mosquitoes were the principal enemies with which our boys had then to contend. The side walks in town were made of plank. Under these was a beautiful place for the rats to run and play. Sergeant Williford (now Captain) was Sergeant of the guard in the town one night. That he might have something to do, by which he could while away the dull hours of the night, he armed himself with an old cavalry sabre and took his position at a point where there was a break in the side-walk, there to watch the movements of the enemy. They had to pass through this opening, and as one after another made his appearance, each met a death blow from the Sergeant's sabre. He has now no knowledge of the multitude of the slain, as he ceased to count the dead. I know not but that the grand strategy by which he here deceived the enemy and the multitudes slain on that night, were the beginning of his rise which has resulted in his present commanding position. The Regiment was mustered out of the service on the 25th day of July, 1861. Because of the aspect of affairs in Missouri, but a small number of troops could be sent to Cairo, Ill., to take the place of the six regiments from Illinois, whose term of service was about to expire. Consequently an application was made by Gen. Prentiss to the Commander-in-chief, for permission to re-organize those six regiments in the field. This permission was granted; the re-organization of the several regiments was perfected, and the regiments recruited. The application made to the authorities for this permission was telegraphed, and granted in a dispatch from General Scott. CHAPTER II. FROM THE RE-ORGANIZATION TO TIME OF LEAVING PADUCAH. _Re-organization--Roster of officers--Drill at Cairo--Change to Paducah--Promotions and assignments to duty--Attack on Saratoga--Reconnoisance towards Columbus by 1st Brigade--Commissions--Reconnoisance towards Fort Henry--Regiment paid--Incidents._ As will be seen from the preceding chapter, the 9th Ill. Inft. was mustered out of the service on the 25th of July, 1861, and an order dispatched from Gen. Scott granting permission to re-organize it. It was consequently organized for the three years' service, at Cairo, Ill., and mustered into the service for three years, unless sooner discharged, on the 28th day of July, 1861. The Regiment reported for duty on the same day to Brig. General B. M. Prentiss, commanding the forces at Cairo, Ill. The field, staff, and line officers were "mustered in" as follows: Colonel--E. A. Paine, July 26th, 1861. Lieut. Col.--Aug. Mersy, " " " Major.--Jesse J. Phillips, " " " Surgeon.--S. M. Hamilton, " " " Assistant Surgeon.--Emil Guelick, " " " Adjutant.--Thos. J. Newsham, " " " Regt. Quartermaster.--Wm. G. Pinckard, Aug. 26th, 1861. Chaplain.--James J. Ferree, July 26th, " Co. A.--Captain, John H. Kuhn, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Emil Adam, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, E. J. Weyrich, " " " Co. B.--Captain, Wm. C. Kneffner, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Hamilton Lieber, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Fred. Vogler, " " " Co. C.--Captain, D. F. Tiedeman, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Oscar Rollmann, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Chas. Schevir, " " " Co. D.--Captain, Rodolph Beckier, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Edward Krebbs, Aug. 10th, " " --2d Lieutenant, Wm. Bohlen, " " " Co. E.--Captain, Alex. G. Hawes, July 26th, 1861. " --1st Lieutenant, Wm. D. Craig, Aug. 6th, " " --2d Lieutenant, R. B. Patterson, July 26th, " Co. F.--Captain, Loren Webb, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Wm. Britt, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Geo. W. Williford, " " " Co. G.--Captain, Edgar M. Lowe, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, John S. Sutten, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Isaac Clements, " " " Co. H.--Captain, Wm. F. Armstrong, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Cy. H. Gillmore, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Alfred Cowgill, " " " Co. I.--Captain, Jas. G. Robinson, " " " " --1st Lieutenant, Wm. Purviance, July 31st, " " --2d Lieutenant. S. T. Hughes, " " " Co. K.--Captain. Geo. B. Poor, July 26th, " " --1st Lieutenant, John L. A. Reeves, " " " " --2d Lieutenant, Jas. C. McClery, " " " After the re-organization of the Regiment, it remained at Cairo, Ill., until September 5th, 1861. During this time they were principally engaged in doing guard duty and drilling. The great matter was to have men well drilled. War was a new occupation to most of them. They were men who had been spending their lives quietly at home on their farms, behind their counters, in their offices, and among their tools in the work-shop. The peaceful walks of life were those they were accustomed to tread. When their country was threatened by those who would destroy it, at the call of that country, they left those peaceful walks and rushed to its defence. It was new work, and they must be trained for it. Much patient drill must be passed through. The officers themselves, many of them, must learn what a military life is, and how to do its work. The men must, day after day, endure the patient drill. They must learn the picket's duty, and how to perform it. They must learn that while on picket each picket is, for the time being, commander-in-chief of his post. When he cries "Halt," his order is law. No Captain; no Colonel; no General, dare disobey it, unless he has his pass or can give the "countersign." A Corporal in Co. E, once narrated to me his first experience in picket duty. He was handling his gun rather awkwardly. The officer of the guard came along and reproved him for his awkwardness. "Let me have your gun, sir, until I show you how to hold it." Anxious to learn every part of a soldier's duty, in all the simplicity of his heart, he handed his gun over to the officer. "Now, sir, what are you going to do for your gun? Suppose I was the enemy, what kind of a fix would you be in?" He at once saw the embarrassment of his position. "Did you ever stand picket before?" "No, sir." "On that account you are excusable; but on no other. Never give up your gun again; no officer, no General has any right to it." It was a wholesome lesson. He profited by it. From that time forward, no man ever got his gun when on picket. On the 5th day of September, 1861, the Regiment left Cairo, Ill., embarked on a steamer and moved up the Ohio River to Paducah, Ky. Here it occupied the advance position on the Columbus road. Col. E. A. Paine was promoted to be Brigadier General, September 3d, and Lieut. Col. August Mersy being absent, Major Jesse J. Phillips assumed command of the Regiment. On the 8th day of September, 1861, Brig. Gen. C. F. Smith relieved Brig. Gen. Paine of the command at Paducah, and Lieut. Col. Mersy returned and relieved Major Phillips of the command of the Regiment. Adjutant Newsham was detached as Acting Assistant Adjutant General, and Quartermaster Pinckard as Acting Assistant Quartermaster. About the 20th of September, Brig. Gen. Paine was assigned to the command of the 1st Brigade. This Brigade consisted of the following regiments: 9th Ill. Inft., 12th Ill. Inft., 40th Ill. Inft., 41st Ill. Inft., Buel's Battery, and Thielmann's Independent Cavalry Battalion. Lieut. Adam, of Co. A, 9th Regt., was detached as Act. Assist. Adj. Gen. of the 1st Brigade. On the 3d day of October, 1861, Adjutant Nusham was promoted to be Captain and Assistant Adjutant General, and assigned to duty on Gen. Smith's staff. By this time the boys were getting anxious for a fight. To use a common expression, they were "spoiling for a fight." They felt that now they were ready to fight with and conquer the whole South. On October 15th, 1861, a portion of the Regiment had an opportunity to try their pluck. Major Phillips, with Companies B, H, and I, filled to their maximum by details from other companies, with Lieut. Patterson as aid to commanding officer, moved up the Cumberland River above Eddyville, where they disembarked. It was ascertained that a detachment of 300 rebel cavalry were in camp at Saratoga. Major Phillips moved upon them, surprised and completely routed them; killing from 10 to 15, wounding from 25 to 30, and capturing 20. Major Phillips' detachment had Capt. Kneffner slightly wounded, and Corporal Greblig of Co. B, and private Gatewood of Co. K, severely wounded. It returned to camp on the 16th of October, bringing in the prisoners and a large amount of captured property. First Lieutenant John L. A. Reeves, of Co. K, resigned, and his resignation was accepted October 2d, 1861. On the 6th day of November, 1861, the 1st Brigade, Brig. General Paine commanding, moved on the Columbus road to Mayfield Creek, and bivouacked for the night. The next day they moved forward to Milburn, Ky., 31 miles from Paducah, and 11 miles from Columbus, bivouacked there for the night, and commenced the return march by daylight on the 8th. Reached camp at Paducah by 2 P. M., of the 9th. This was about the first heavy marching the boys had undergone. It was very fatiguing. There was a disposition to straggle. To prevent it, in the 9th, a rear guard was appointed, which compelled all to keep their places. This, some of the boys who were very tired, no doubt thought to be cruel. But the result was, the 9th Regiment came into camp in Paducah in splendid order, while the 40th and 41st Ill. Regiments seemed to have lost their organization altogether on the return march, and came straggling into camp in small squads, during the entire days of the 9th and 10th. Gen. Smith issued an order highly commending the 9th for their orderly conduct, and condemning those Regiments which returned in such disorder. This pleased our boys so much, that they almost forgot their heavy marching, and there was no more complaining about rigid discipline. On the 9th of September, 1861, Capt. John H. Kuhn was appointed Provost Marshal of Paducah, and his Co. (A) was detached to act as Provost Guard. December 2nd, 1861, commissions arrived as follows: For Lieut. Col. Aug. Mersy to be Colonel; Major Jesse J. Phillips to be Lieutenant Colonel; Capt. John H. Kuhn to be Major; 1st Lieut. Emil Adam to be Captain, and 2d Lieut. E. J. Weyrich to be 1st Lieutenant of Co. A. On the 5th of December, Sergeant Scheel, of Co. F, received a commission as 2d Lieutenant of Co. A, but was assigned to duty in Co. D, 2d Lieut. Bohlen of that Co. having been transferred to Co. A. Capt. Geo. B. Poor, of Co. K, resigned, and his resignation was accepted on the 10th of December. First Lieutenant E. J. Weyrich, of Co. A, resigned on the 25th of December. Capt. Armstrong, of Co. H, was appointed Provost Marshal, to relieve Major Kuhn, and his Co. (H) relieved Co. A, as Provost Guard, on the 6th of December, 1861. On the 15th of January, 1862, the entire force at Paducah, except the 40th Ill., moved towards Viola, 13 miles, and bivouacked for the night at Hickory Creek. Brig. Gen. C. F. Smith commanded the Division in person. Col. McArthur, of the 12th Ill. Inft., was in command of the 1st Brigade, and Brig. Gen. Lew. Wallace, of the 2d Brigade. The Division was about 5,000 strong. On the 15th, moved to Mayfield Creek, 28 miles from Paducah. On the 17th, the command marched 23 miles to Clark's River, and bivouacked for the night on its banks. On the 18th and 19th, owing to rain and mud, the command moved a very short distance. It reached Calloway Landing, on the Tennessee River, 20 miles below Fort Henry, on the 22d of January. Finding no enemy in that vicinity, and none nearer than Fort Henry, the command returned to camp at Paducah, Ky., arriving there January 25th, 1862. It had marched altogether, during the reconnoisance, 125 miles. The most that was accomplished, was accustoming the men to hard marches. Second Lieutenant Wm. Bohlen, resigned, and his resignation was accepted on the 31st day of January, 1862. On the same day a commission arrived for private Henry H. Klock, of Co. F, to be 1st Lieutenant and Adjutant, to rank from October 3d, 1861, the date of Adjutant Newsham's promotion. Major I. N. Cook paid the Regiment up to January 1st, 1862. It had been previously paid by Major C. P. E. Johnston, to September 1st, 1861. During the time the Regiment was in camp at Paducah, some incidents of interest occurred. All were longing for an adventure of some kind. The routine of camp life was becoming wearisome. One day Major Phillips, of the 9th Ill. Inft., and Major McDonald, of the 8th Mo. Inft., rode outside the pickets. After they had rode out two or three miles, Major McDonald remembered that he had an old acquaintance living ten or twelve miles out that road. It was proposed and agreed upon, that they would ride out and see him. Before reaching there, they passed where the enemy had their picket fires the night before. Things looked suspicious. A rebel soldier was seen riding up to a neighboring house. They proposed to go and take him. But their friend with whom they stopped, insisted on their not doing it, saying that if any fuss occurred there, they would burn his house at once, as they were threatening him anyhow, because of his Union sentiments. Dinner was ready in a short time, and they must stay for dinner. Major Phillips, always disposed to watch rebs. closely, proposed to stand picket while the rest were eating. He then hurriedly drank a cup of coffee, and they mounted their horses and started for camp. In a short time they saw two cavalry men riding before them. Taking them to be rebels, they gave them chase. Major Phillips, mounted on a splendid horse, soon came close on them. Suddenly they checked up, wheeled around, and drew their sabres. Before our Major could check his horse, he was close upon them. With pistol drawn, he inquired what command they belonged to. The reply was, "Thielman's Cavalry." The Major mistook it for Tilman's (Rebel) Cavalry. He inquired the second time. The same reply came, and he labored under the same mistake. By this time Major McDonald came fairly up, and they demanded the surrender of the two men, and they surrendered. At this point, they saw a short distance from them, about 25 men coming towards them. They felt that they were in a close place. Says Major McDonald to Phillips, "What shall we do with these two men? shoot them?" "No; we will take them with us, and if they don't keep up, then we will shoot them," was the reply. Says Major Phillips, "I would give a horse to be in Paducah." "Paducah!" says one of the prisoners; "we belong there, too. We are Willson's Dragoons." The mistake arose from the fact that the Rebels had a band of cavalry, known as Tilman's Cavalry, while the Federals had a battalion of cavalry, known as Thielman's Cavalry. The prisoners being Germans, the one was mistaken for the other. This matter explained, their prisoners were released, and they returned to camp. Having reached camp, Major Phillips reported to Gen. Smith, when the following interview took place. I give the substance: "General." "Well, Major." "General, having permission to go outside of the pickets to-day, I gained some valuable information, which I thought the good of the service required that I should report to you." "How many men had you, Major?" "General," (afraid to confess there were but two,) "Major McDonald was in command of the expedition." "How many men had Major McDonald?" "I was with him." "But, sir, how many men did you have?" Finding the truth must come, he replied, "The Major commanded me, and I commanded him." "Well, sir, you both deserve to be punished, and if you had shot those two men, I should have had you both cashiered. But as it is, I will let it pass. What is the valuable information you have gained?" "I learn, at a certain point, a Rebel company is to be organized on to-morrow." "Well, sir, as you are fond of adventure, you will take a detachment of forty men, and proceed to that point and disperse or capture them." But as the next day was very rainy, the expedition was abandoned. Another incident. Major Phillips and Captain Kuhn rode outside the pickets late in the evening. After getting outside the pickets, they saw some fresh wagon-tracks. Captain Kuhn, who was then acting Provost Marshal, said that there were two wagons, loaded, that went out, of which he was suspicious, but that with his instructions he could not examine them. They concluded to follow them. They had gone but a short distance until the road forked, and there were fresh tracks on each road. The Major took one road, and the Captain took the other. The Major soon came in sight of them, and pushing on, came up with them. On inquiring what they were loaded with, he was told that they were some groceries for a store in the country. Things looking suspicious, he procured an ax and broke open some of the boxes, and found that it was a regular lot of military stores. By this time Captain Kuhn came up, and after a little consultation, they concluded to let them go on, and told them that all was right, they could go on. They returned immediately to town. They had gone out about five miles. On their return, the Major again presented himself to General Smith. "General." "Well, Major." "General, Captain Kuhn and myself rode outside of the pickets, this evening. After getting out a short distance, we saw wagon-tracks, which were suspicious. We followed them a few miles and came up with them, and I am satisfied they are loaded with goods to supply a rebel camp. We did not bring them in, from the fact that the Captain's instructions, as Provost Marshal, would not justify him in doing it." "Another of your fool-hardy dashes, Major." "Yes, General; but I thought the good of the service demanded it." "Well, sir, how many men will you have to bring those wagons in to-night?" "Five men, General." "Adjutant, make a detail for five men, to report here immediately for duty." The men came, and the Major started on his expedition. He overtook the wagons, which had been driving on all night, and brought them back to Paducah, and turned them over to the Quartermaster. Still another incident. Citizens were frequently coming into town. There was not much difficulty in getting in, but they could not go out again without a pass. One young fellow from Kentucky, having, as he supposed, some of the _noble blood_ in him, said he would not apply for a pass. He said the "niggers" had to have passes, and he was not going to put himself on an equality with "niggers." So he refused to apply for a pass. After staying in town a few days, he made an attempt or two to run the pickets, and as a consequence, was put in the guardhouse. After staying in town a month or two, the young nobleman was compelled to put himself on an equality with the "niggers," and apply for a pass. Still another. When out on a scout, at a time when every house would be guarded as the troops were passing, and not a chicken or goose must be touched, the Quartermaster went into a house to purchase some chickens for his mess. The woman refused to sell any. "Well," says he, "we must have something to eat. If you won't sell your chickens, we will steal your geese." "If I sell you some chickens, sir, will you _swear_ that you won't steal my geese?" He promised he would. Two or three chickens were caught for him, and then the old lady got upon a chair and reached down an old Bible for him to swear on, that he would not steal her geese. I guess he swore for her, but not very reverendly. One more incident. Perhaps on the same scout as the above, it was suspected that Company K had stolen a goose. Col. Mersy got wind of it. He addresses Lieut. Col. Phillips as follows: "Col. Phillips, I tink Co. K steal one coose. You take de charge de right wing, while I goes to see." The Col. rode off to Co. K, but could find no goose. He returned to the command, thinking, I suppose, that Co. K was "all right on the goose." That day is now passed in the army. As our army now marches along, the boys weary and suffering for water, there is not a guard stationed at every well to prevent their quenching their thirst. When they are hungry, if chickens and geese are convenient, they are not interfered with if they try to catch them. Often have I seen our boys coming in from a scout, many of them having a chicken or a goose swinging at each side of their saddle. CHAPTER III. FROM PADUCAH TO PITTSBURG LANDING. _Preparations for opening the Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers--Fort Henry taken--Fort Donelson taken--Part taken by 9th Ills., number killed and wounded--List of killed and wounded--Trip to Nashville and back--Incidents._ At the opening of the year 1862, it was becoming evident that to crush the "hideous monster" rebellion, would require a great effort on the part of the government. While our armies were being raised and disciplined, the rebels were planting themselves firmly at many points in the South-west, as well as the East. Columbus, Island No. 10, Memphis, Vicksburg, Port Hudson, and other points on the Mississippi River, were being strongly fortified. Fort Henry and Fort Donelson were fortified, and commanded the entrance of the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers. General Fremont had urged the early occupation of these points, before the enemy should fortify them. But for some reason, (I suppose a good one on the part of the government,) the enemy were allowed to make these points strong-holds. Magnificent preparations were making, however, to take possession of these rivers, by the government, as great national thoroughfares. Gunboats, floating batteries &c., were being built with that view. These were brought to bear, early in 1862, on the work of opening the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers, and dislodging the enemy of their strong-holds on these rivers. A heavy land force must of course co-operate with the fleet. In this work, the 9th Ill. Inft. was destined to act a conspicuous part. The material for the greater portion of its history is found in the part it has taken in subduing the rebellion in Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama. At Cairo and at Paducah its work of discipline had been carried on until it was well prepared for meeting the enemy on the field. It left Paducah, a large and well-drilled Regiment. On the evening of February 4th, 1862, Companies A, B, C, D and E, under command of Col. Mersy, struck tents at Paducah, and embarked on board the steamer "Wilson," with camp and garrison equipage. This wing of the Regiment moved up the Tennessee River the same night, and reported to Brig. Gen. John A. McClernand at Brown's Landing. The remainder of the Regiment, (except Co. H, Provost Guard,) under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, came up on the steamer "B," on the evening of the 5th February. The two wings of the Regiment formed a junction on the left bank of the Tennessee River, five miles below Fort Henry, on the night of the 5th. They moved up the river towards Fort Heiman, on the 6th, reaching and occupying the Fort the same night. Brig. Gen. Smith's Division had left Paducah, and passed up the river to this point. They did not reach here in time to participate in the engagement. Fort Henry was reduced by the gunboats alone, none of the infantry taking part in the engagement. When Fort Henry surrendered, the enemy quartered at Fort Heiman evacuated the place, leaving behind them all their camp and garrison equipage. Brig. Gen. Smith's Division was ordered to move across the river and garrison Fort Henry, on the 7th. But the heavy rains had swollen the Tennessee River to such an extent that it was impossible to reach the boats, in order to cross. Hence, a Division already on that side of the river was assigned to that duty. It was the high stage of water, and the consequent difficulty of landing, that prevented the land forces from co-operating with the gunboats in the attack against Fort Henry. Had they been permitted to co-operate as designed, they would have been able to cut off the retreat of the enemy, and capture the whole force. This would have prevented the reinforcement at Fort Donelson, and made the engagement there less sanguinary. But perhaps the victory would not have been any more complete than it was. The enemy that had evacuated Forts Henry and Heiman fell back and strengthened Fort Donelson. The next thing in the programme, was to reduce Fort Donelson. The gunboats consequently were to descend the Tennessee River and ascend the Cumberland, while the land forces would march across the country, only twelve miles, and attack in the rear. In accordance with this plan, Gen. Smith's Division, still camped on the opposite side of the river, on the 12th of February, 1862, crossed the river with two days' rations, and no transportation, and moved towards Fort Donelson and bivouacked for the night about four miles from that place. At 11 o'clock at night, moved forward again, two and a half miles further, and bivouacked. At 11, A. M., of the 13th, moved forward to support McAllister's Battery, remaining here until 2, P. M. At this hour, McArthur's entire Brigade, (the one to which the 9th Ill. belonged,) were ordered to the left of McClernand's Division, to prevent a flank movement of the enemy on his left. The Brigade remained here until night, when it moved one-half mile further to the right. Company A, Capt. Adam commanding, was detached at this place, to support a battery, and Lieut. R. B. Patterson, of Co. E, was ordered with Co. A. On the evening of the 13th, from having been warm and pleasant when they left camp, the weather changed and became extremely cold. Rain, sleet and snow fell alternately during the night. No fires were allowed. Hence, they suffered much from cold. At midnight, a heavy volley of musketry was fired in front of Col. McArthur's Brigade. We were immediately ordered into line, and moved three-quarters of a mile further to the right, occupying a position in Gen. McClernand's Division and reporting to him. The Brigade was moved again on the 14th, to the extreme right of our line, reaching that point after dark. The 41st Ill. occupied the extreme right, and the 9th Ill. next. At daylight of the 15th, the enemy made a furious attack on this part of Gen. McClernand's line. The 9th and 41st Ill. Regiments moved forward one hundred yards, to a high ridge, from which they held the rebel columns in check. The 9th moved forward to the ridge in echelon, the 41st in line of battle. At the second onslaught of the enemy, the 41st broke and fell back, and the 12th Ill. promptly occupied their place. The 9th Regiment held its position for two and a half hours, when all its supports on the right and left giving way, and its ammunition being exhausted, it fell back, slowly and in good order. The enemy did not press our front, but moved rapidly on our right flank. So rapid was their movement in this direction, that twice we were compelled to halt and make demonstrations to prevent their charging us. About 11 o'clock, A. M., the Regiment passed through the second line of battle, received a new supply of ammunition, and moved to the left and rejoined Gen. Smith's Division, to which they properly belonged. On the morning of the 16th, the 9th Regiment was ordered forward to complete the work so gallantly begun by the 2d Iowa Inft. on the previous day. That Regiment had charged the rebel breastworks, and in part taken possession of them. To make another charge, and completely drive them out, was the work assigned to the 9th for this day. But before the final order to charge was given, the enemy surrendered _unconditionally_. The 9th Ill. Inft. and the 2d Iowa Inft. were granted the honor of first marching into the outer works of the enemy. On entering the works, the 9th Ill. took charge of the following rebel regiments: The 14th Mississippi, 32d, 14th and 18th Tennessee, and 2d Kentucky, in all about 2,000 men. The 9th Ill. went into the fight, on the 15th, with about 600 men reported for duty. Its loss during the action was, 35 killed on the field, 160 wounded, and 6 taken prisoners. Most of those taken prisoners were wounded and unable to fall back with the Regiment. Companies A and H were not engaged in the fight. Company H had been left as Provost Guard at Paducah, and Company A, as mentioned above, had been detached on the night of the 13th to support a battery, and had not rejoined the Regiment at the time it was engaged. Among the wounded, were the following officers: Capt. Robinson of Co. I, and Capt. Beckier of Co. D, both slightly; 1st Lieuts. Lieber of Co. B, Britt of Co. F, and Sutton of Co. G. These were all severely wounded. Lieut. Lieber lost his left arm, and Lieut. Sutton was disabled for life. The following is a list of the killed and wounded in the various companies: COMPANY A.--Supporting a battery, lost none. COMPANY B.--_Killed_, Corp. Lugenbuehler. Corp. Dettweiler, Benkers, Jacob Eierkuss, Henry Gonnermann, Henry Hurick, Christian Koch, Albert Newmann, Leech. In all 9 killed. _Wounded._--First Lieut. Hamilton Lieber, Privates Adolph Aldo, Peter Bauer, John Berger, Charles Daehner, Albert Donner, Michael Fath, Joseph Gantner, Paul Geist, Sergt. Louis Grieser, Privates Jul. Hoffmann, John Krieger, Charles Lobe, Frederick Menne, Louis Messerschmitt, Hermann Moser, Josep Oberfell, Simon Pohn, Corp. John Schab, William Schlott, Sergt. John Schmidt, Henry Schneider, Anton Schwarzkopf, Frederick Lensel, Henry Weber, Daniel Werner, Christian Wickermann, Joseph Cropp. In all 28 wounded. COMPANY C.--_Killed_, Lorence Bersig and Heinrich Hillmann.--2. _Wounded_, Henry Arndt, George Fichter, John Graus, Christopher Klein, John Pietz, Adam Reesh, John Riedel, Adam Lammons, Henry Schmidt, William Vogt, Peter Weis, William Miller, and Corp. Charles King. In all 13 wounded. COMPANY D.--Company D had 20 men wounded, including the Captain. The most of them were slight wounds, which did not disable the men. Three only were dangerously wounded. COMPANY E.--_Killed_, Privates Cassius C. Atchinson and Jas. Dyer.--2. _Wounded_, Corps. John A. Gilmore and Frank M. Tillotson, Privates John Beatty, John A. J. Bragg, Russell W. Cool, Wm. Evans, Michael Farley, John Fletcher, Dennis C. Frothingham, Jas. B. Gilmore, Simon Hagar, Joseph B. Jones, Wm. T. Kelley, John Kemberlin, F. M. Moore, Francis J. Murphy, Geo. Snyder, John Till, Wm. G. Triplett, David M. Durham, Geo. M. Gilmore. In all 21 wounded. COMPANY F.--_Killed_, Privates David N. Ashton and Constant Roland.--2 killed. _Wounded_, 1st Lieut. Wm. Britt, Sergts. Thos. C. Kidd and Andrew J. Webster, Corp. Andrew J. White, Privates Geo. M. Campbell, E. Carrey, John W. Dye, Wm. M. Ellis, James Getty, James Hicks, Nathan Lynch, Geo. McIrish, Eli J. Singleton, Richa Lumpkins, Thos. J. Wallace, Frank Wagner, John Rank, Joseph L. Garrett, Harlow Bassett. In all 19 wounded. This is not a complete list. There were 23 wounded. The records of the company have been destroyed. COMPANY G.--_Killed_, Benjamin Jacob, Emsley Walker, James Willhelm. In all 3 killed. _Wounded_, 1st Lieut. John S. Sutton, N. G. Brown, Wm. B. Dubois, Thos. J. Pleasant, Jas. Canton, Jas. E. Mason, Jacob Willhelm, John J. White, John A. Stotlan, William J. Higlai, C. C. Akin, Jos. H. Watley, John Collin, Jas. M. Brown, and Wm. R. Gore. In all 15 wounded. COMPANY H.--Absent at Paducah as Provost Guard. COMPANY I.--_Killed_, James N. Johnson, Augustus Cluge, G. W. Kinder, Charles Loymer, David Lain, Alonzo Livingston, Hugh McMahen, John McKinney, Charles McDermot, Geo. M. More, Joseph P. Stevenson, David Williams. In all 12 killed. _Wounded_, Capt. Joseph G. Robinson, 2d Lieut. S. T. Hughs, Sergts. Geo. Woodbury and W. Jarvis, Corps. R. R. Swain, John G. Irwin and F. A. Courmon, Privates Wm. Baird, John Baird, D. G. Breyfogle, Jas. G. Ballard, Zachariah Burgess, Aaron C. Bordon, Jos. Crews, G. W. Clark, Charles Dayton, Emanuel Davis, John Ellett, Henry Fitzsimmons, Theodore Fisher, H. Fuller, John Graham, James Hawratty, William Helms, David Johnson, David Kyle, Geo. Lent, Geo. Lawson, Sam'l Morehead, James Mitchel, Chas. S. Patton, Samuel Read, John R. Vanhooser, William Willson. In all 34 wounded. COMPANY K.--_Killed_, Corp. Walter Walsh, Privates Reuben M. Anderson, And. J. Burton, Charles Casebeer, John Emery, Johna. Hazlewood, David Newcomb, Jas. Patterson. In all 8 killed. _Wounded_, Sergts. A. J. Snider and John Barbour, Corps. Chas. N. Brown, Geo. Lincoln and Samuel W. Sloan, Privates Jas. Broadie, Jos. N. Condon, Simon P. Casey, Wm. A. Daily, Frank F. Cogles, John Gibson, Albert W. Kimball, Aaron Lipe, John Mallory, Albert Mitchell, John Seivers, Wm. Thompson and H. C. Ulen. In all 18 wounded. The desperate struggle in which our Regiment was engaged, and the persistence with which the boys fought, may be seen from the list of killed and wounded as presented above. Only about 600 went into the fight. Of these, 195 were killed and wounded; just about every third man. The boys had, it will be remembered, when they left Fort Heiman on the morning of the 12th of February, only two days' rations. They received nothing more until the evening of the 15th, after they had been engaged in the severe battle of that forenoon. Thus their two days' rations had to last them four days. Many of the officers, who had entrusted their haversacks to their servants, became separated from those servants, and were almost without anything to eat for the last forty-eight hours. There was no chance for foraging there. Often now, our Regiment will go out on a scout with three days' rations, and live very well on it for six or eight days. Such was the battle of Fort Donelson, and the part the 9th took in it. The Regiment remained at Fort Donelson until the 22d of February, when the Brigade proceeded up the Cumberland River to Fort Sevier near Clarksville, where they disembarked and went into camp on the 25th. Major Kuhn, formerly Provost Marshal of Paducah, and Co. H of the 9th Regiment, his Provost Guard, reported to the Regiment for duty on the 23d. The Regiment remained in camp here until the 27th, when it embarked on board the steamer "Woodford," and proceeded up the river to Nashville, Tenn., arriving there on the morning of the 28th. Here it remained until March 1st, when it returned to camp at Fort Sevier. When our forces advanced up the Cumberland River to Clarksville and Nashville, they found no enemy to oppose them. After the rebels surrendered Fort Donelson, they seemed to be seized with terror. The rebel Governor and Legislature fled from Nashville in terror, taking with them whatever they could of State property. The writer, being then in Illinois, well remembers the public rejoicing there was over the result of this victory. There seemed to be a feeling prevailing in the North that the "backbone" of the Rebellion was broken, and that we would soon have peace. But two years have passed away, (I write this sketch on the 16th of February, the anniversary of Fort Donelson's surrender,) and, although we have several times since that been cheered with the promise that the "backbone" of the Rebellion was broken, still it lives. It is said a snake's tail does not die until sunset, even though its back may be broken and its head mashed. Perhaps, as the rebs. had, at first, a snake for their emblem, this may be the reason it is so long dying. Maybe it is only the tail of it that now remains alive. When, however, sunset will come, and its tail cease to live, is difficult to determine. May it be soon. Some incidents occurred during this period, worthy of note. During the time the Regiment was engaged in battle at Fort Donelson, James Getty, of Co. F, aged about 60 years, was observed by Lieut. Williford of his Co., to decline laying down to load. He stood, loaded his gun, and fired as deliberately as if he had been shooting at a target for a wager. The Lieut. told him he had better lay down to load, or he would get shot. His reply was, "I reckon I know my business," and again raised his gun and deliberately lowered it upon his selected rebel. Soon the Lieut. saw him tumble over, and supposing he was killed, went to him. But he jumped up, and said he guessed he was not much hurt. He was shot in the shoulder, but he gathered up his musket and went to firing again. It was not long until another ball struck his pocket-book. He had some silver in it. The ball struck a silver half dollar, and mashed it up, driving it against his thigh, bruising it very much. Two or three buckshot were lodged in him. Still he stood firing away at the enemy. I might also say in this connection, that this same man, at the battle of Shiloh, when the Regiment ran out of ammunition and had to fall back for a new supply, fell in with some other Regiment; procured a supply of ammunition from some one, and went to fighting again. When that Regiment in turn fell back, he happened in with some other one, and there fought. In this way he spent the whole of that terrible Sabbath day. When he ceased fighting with any company, he was careful to go to the commander of it, and get a certificate, stating that he had been fighting with it. When he returned to his company in the evening, he had certificates from several Captains and one Colonel. He preserved these certificates, so that he might show, when he returned to his Regiment, that he had not been _straggling_, but _fighting_. He went into the fight on the next day, and was shot in the head. From this wound he recovered, but was afterwards discharged on account of it. Another incident. Surgeon Gulick (then Assistant Surgeon) was taken prisoner by the "Texan Rangers," while attending to his duties in the hospital. He insisted, that being Surgeon, he should not be retained as a prisoner; that there were a large number of wounded men under his charge, and no one to care for them but himself. The rebels persisted, however, in taking him. They told him that they had some wounded men, and he must come and attend to them. One of them was leading his horse along, taking him back to where their wounded were. He was in the rear of a rebel Regiment. The man who led his horse was shot. The Doctor does not say _by whom_ he was shot. He put spurs to his horse to make his escape. He had to ride through a rebel Regiment. A perfect shower of musket balls followed him. To increase his danger, our own soldiers supposing him to belong to a party of rebels making a charge, fired upon him from the front. He was riding Surgeon Hamilton's horse. Strapped to his saddle was a buffalo robe. He had often joked with Dr. Hamilton about having that tied on there as a protection when he would be making his escape from the enemy. Five balls passed into this robe, and were lodged among its folds. The Doctor made his escape; but thinks he would never attempt to make another such. Still another incident, with which the Doctor was connected. After the battle at Fort Donelson, he was placed on board a steamer with 275 wounded men, and shoved out into the river, without any medicine, without anything for the men to eat, with no instruments but carpenter tools, and in that condition remained for three days. If he attempted to take off a limb, he had to use a common cook's knife for a dissecting knife, and a carpenter's saw to sever the bone. He had no bandages with which to wrap up the wounds, except he take the only shirt they had. This truly was a trying position in which to place a good surgeon. Still another. The present color-bearer received a shot in the arm. The ball was lodged there. The Doctor cut the ball out, but he would not wait to have a bandage put on it, but snatched his musket and rushed to the fight again. One more incident. At the battle of Fort Donelson a soldier of Co. K found in the knapsack of a Southern soldier, who had been killed in battle, the picture of a beautiful young lady. He carefully preserved it. At the battle of Shiloh, this soldier was killed. On examining his knapsack, to make the proper inventory of his goods, the Orderly of his company found this picture. He remembered the circumstance of its being found. He carefully preserved it. It was a great favorite with the boys in the company, and received the name of "The Daughter of Co. K." When the Regiment was on the march from Corinth to Athens, in November, 1863, it passed through the town of Pulaski, Tenn. As Lieut. Oats, of Co. K, was riding along the streets of Pulaski, he saw a young lady standing at the door of one of the residences of the town, whom he at once recognized as the original of the picture in possession of Co. K. Speaking of the matter to others in the company, they all agreed that this was the original. The Lieutenant learned afterwards, to a certainty, that it was the same. The picture still remained in his possession, until near the last of January, 1864. At the time Gen. Roddy's forces made a dash upon our camp, when the Regiment was nearly all out, the officers, as well as men, lost everything that was in their tents. Among other things, the picture of "The Daughter of Co. K," was taken. Its loss is much regretted by the boys. CHAPTER IV. FROM BATTLE OF SHILOH TO BATTLE AT CORINTH. _Trip up the Tennessee River--Remain on boat--Battle of Shiloh--Losses in this battle--Losses in 9th Regt. Ill. Inft.--List of killed and wounded--Advance upon Corinth--Pursuit--Officers commissioned--Garrison Rienzi._ Having ascended the Cumberland River, and ascertained that the enemy had evacuated all the prominent points on it, Gen. Grant now marshals his forces for a trip up the Tennessee River, hoping from it to reach Corinth, where the enemy were strongly fortifying themselves and collecting in great number. The 9th Ill. Inft. was destined to take part in this expedition. Hence, it struck tents at Fort Sevier on the 6th March, 1862, and embarked, with camp and garrison equipage, on board the steamers "Lady Pike" and "Commercial." It moved down the Cumberland River on the morning of the 7th, and passed Fort Donelson on the 8th, reaching Paducah the same evening. It moved up the Tennessee on 10th March, and joined Gen. Grant's flotilla six miles above Fort Henry. The trip up the Tennessee River, with this great army, is described by the boys, as grand beyond all description. There were, I believe, ninety-five steamboats loaded with soldiers. The weather was beautiful and pleasant. Bands of music were playing. Everything that was calculated to charm was there. Doubtless very many of this great multitude did not realize that in a short time so many of them must fall in the deadly conflict. The terrors to come were forgotten in the joys and grandeur of the hour. This fleet, containing a grand army, reached Savannah, Tenn., on the 12th of March, 1862. Here the boats remained tied up until the 18th of March, when we moved up to Pittsburg Landing, disembarked and went into camp, one-quarter of a mile from the river, on the 19th. On the 23d, our camp was moved one-half mile further back from the river. At this point the 81st Ohio, and the 13th and 14th Missouri Infantry, were attached to the Brigade. The two latter were afterwards exchanged for the 22d Ohio and 66th Illinois Infantry. On the 1st of April Col. Mersy was ordered to the command of the Brigade, in the place of Col. McArthur, who had been placed under arrest. On the morning of the 6th, at daylight, the enemy made a furious attack on Gen. Prentiss' Division. The enemy moved forward in echelon by Divisions, point foremost, the evident intention being to break, by a furious attack, the centre of our line. But in this they did not succeed. Gen. Prentiss was compelled, however, to fall back a short distance to his supports. Here he gallantly maintained his position for a long time. But my object in this sketch, is not to give an account of this terrible battle, but of the part the 9th Illinois took in it. Our Division was held in reserve, and consequently did not reach the field of action until after noon. Col. McArthur had been released from arrest, and resumed command of his Brigade. Brig. Gen. W. H. L. Wallace relieved Major General Smith of the command of our Division, the latter being too unwell to do duty on the field. We were moved to the left of Prentiss' Division. On the way the Regiment met with hundreds of stragglers hastening in confusion to the sheltering cover of the river bank for protection. About fifty of these were pressed into our Regiment. Nearly all of them were killed or wounded during the day. The Regiment held its place in the line for two hours, against a vastly superior force of the enemy. The 41st Ill. Inft. was on our right, and the 12th Ill. Inft. on our left. The latter Regiment fell back three hundred yards, after being exposed to the fire of the enemy for over an hour. Thus our left flank was exposed to a flank movement of the enemy. Of this they soon took advantage, and poured a murderous fire down the ravine which we occupied. After holding this position until a new line was formed, three hundred yards in the rear, the Regiment fell back hastily behind it. It was not long, however, until this line was broken by the terrible assault of the overwhelming forces of the enemy. A new line, of immense strength, was finally formed one-half mile from the landing. All the available artillery was gathered to this point; the victorious advance of the enemy was checked, and their masses for the first time during the day recoiled before the murderous discharges of grape and canister from one hundred iron throats. Gen. Prentiss' Division not falling back soon enough to this new line, were completely surrounded, and compelled to surrender to the enemy. The Division numbered about 3,000 men. After the repulse of the enemy at this point, no further attack was made, and night soon closed the conflict of the day. During the night the gunboats kept up a constant firing of 64-pound shells among the enemy, and finally compelled them to fall back six hundred yards. This gave our forces a fine chance to operate in the morning. During the night also, some 20,000 fresh troops from Buell's army were ferried across the river. Maj. Gen. Wallace's Division, from Crumpt's Landing, came up on the left flank of the enemy. So that on the morning of the 7th we had 20,000 fresh troops on the front of the enemy, our gunboats on their right, and Gen. Wallace's Division of 6,000 fresh troops on their left flank. The contest was not long. The enemy soon gave way. Then began a retreat which finally, at 3, P. M., became a perfect rout, as they fled in wild dismay toward their works at Corinth. The miserable condition of the roads prevented pursuit for more than half of the distance. Hence, we succeeded in capturing only 1,000 prisoners. The entire Union loss in this engagement was, 1,700 killed, 9,000 wounded, and 3,800 taken prisoners. The rebel loss was about 2,300 killed, 12,000 wounded, and 1,000 taken prisoners. Total Union loss, 14,500. Total rebel loss, 15,800. Here, in this one battle, were 4,000 American citizens left dead upon the battle-field, and 21,000 more wounded. By whom was this terrible destruction of life? Had some savage foe invaded our once happy and peaceful land? Ah, no! It was the hand of brother against brother; fellow-citizen against fellow-citizen! It arose on the one hand, from a determination to rivet tighter and tighter the chains of human bondage, even at the cost of the overthrow of that government under which our country has been so highly prospered; and on the other hand, from a determination that so good a government should not be overthrown to support any such unhallowed cause. Oh, the sadness of human strife, and especially when it arises from a _family quarrel_! The loss of the 9th Ill. Inft. in this battle, was 61 killed on the field and 287 wounded. Among the killed, was Lieut. F. Vogler, of Co. B. Among the wounded, were Col. Mersy, Lieut. Col. Phillips, Adjutant Klock, Assistant Surgeon Gulick, Captains Adam, Kneffner, Beckier, Hawes, Webb, Armstrong and Robinson, and Lieutenants Rollmann, Scheel, Williford, Clements, Purviance, McCleery, (mortally,) Lowe and Krebs. Lieut. Krebs was severely wounded and taken prisoner. The following is a list of the killed and wounded in the various companies, during this battle: COMPANY A.--_Killed_, Sergt. Peter Schoppert, Corp. Joseph Brown, Privates George Andrea, Henry Glink, Ambrose Lamber and William Herrman. In all, 6 killed. _Wounded_, Capt. Emil Adam, Lieut. Oscar Rolmann, Sergt. Andrew Bastian, Corps. Anton Hund, Anton Schwertner and Henry Burmeister, Privates Friedrich Bremenkamp, Henry Brenner, John Baner, Erasmus Fries, Nickolaus Frank, Anton Gaulocher, (afterward died,) Ferdinand Hoas, Wm. Holl, Michael Hortweck, James Loehr, Charles Miller, Henry Mueller, August Meyer, Jacob Nickolaus, George Schaefer, Jacob Wehrli, Martin Weis, Jacob Duttenhoefer, Adam Schalter, Benidiekt Stranbinger, William Stahl, George Winter, Christian Rose, Nickolaus Vonburg, Friedrich Koch, Theodore Bachlg, Henry Tahncke, Chas. Ribke, Michael Braun and Andreas Sehuehman. In all, 36 wounded. COMPANY B.--_Killed_, Lieut. F. E. Vogler, Sergt. John Schmidt, Privates Edward Dettmar, Albert Kineoke, Conrad Maul, John Mesh, Frank Scheffer and Henry Weber. In all, 8 killed. _Wounded_, Sergt. John Mallmann, Privates Lorenz Ackermann, Joseph Ammon, Mathias Arnold, Jacob Bauer, Morand Barrmann, George Betz, Gustar Blank, Joss. Cropp, Albert Donner, Frederick Entz, Amald Gerig, Charles Grin, Conrad Hellmuth, Gerhard Janssen, Valentin Kadel, August Lopold, Louis Linne, Paul Martin, Ignaz Menne, Sabastian Pfister, John Raffel, Peter Reppel, George Salz, Henry Schmidt, Jacob Spiess, Philipp Spiess, Corp. Hermann Suemnicht, Jacob Sulzer, Daniel Werner, Christ. Wickermann, Ferdinand Wisshack, Corp. Augustus Wurmb. In all, 33 wounded. COMPANY C.--_Killed_, Wm. Klingenberg, John Lamprecht, George Lehr, Michael Lehr, Friedrich Lippert, Geo. Luther, Henry Riditer, Sergt. Chas. Hahle, Christian Schenk, Wm. Slorch and August Wichard. In all, 11 killed. _Wounded_, First Lieut. Oscar Rollmann, A. Arramus, Anton Becker, Henry Behm, Andrew Benci, Philipp Erbe, Chas. Friedrich, Wm. Gaebe, Jacob Haberkorn, John A. Helferich, Frank Helferich, Jacob Herpin, Christian Keith, Christian Macdel, Frank Moser, Andrew Nadber, Jacob Randall, Antoo Saebert, Charles Schenk, Fred. Scheve, Henry Schemph, Peter Schneider, Nicklaus Schouelber, John Spaule, John Salzmann, Freiderich Slaab, Henry Vishsel. In all, 27 wounded. COMPANY D.--_Killed_, Jacob Becker, Charles Geesel, Henry Geesel, Adam Loebig, Christian Kahn, Adam Kertz, Jacob Kieps, Philip Laner, Albert Scheleberg, Schelz Tert, Wm. Vogelpohl and Henry Vohs. In all, 12 killed. _Wounded_, Capt. Beckier, Lieuts. Krebs and Scheal, John Baehr, Herman Bange, Isiter Bayett, Joseph Beck, Rudolph Bekier, Wm. Beeverson, Jos. Ersenhauer, Anlon Garllhoeffner, Fred. Havermann, Conrath Heidmann, Chas. Huber, Edward Krebs, William Lieser, Chas. Miller, George Metzker, C. Moeninger, C. Roth Roffy, Fried. Scheel, Os. Stocker, Bernhard Vogel, and Tweibert Henry. In all, 34 wounded. COMPANY E.--_Killed_, Sergt. Silas Bunker, Privates John Anson, Frank M. Moore, Wm. D. Nevius, James McKenzie, John C. Cadie. In all, 6 killed. _Wounded_, Corps. Jas. G. Carnahan, Joseph R. Cox, and Philip Anderson, Privates Jas. M. Blake, Matthew Bromley, Geo. H. Campbell, Chas. Dryden, Michael Furlong, Daniel Hubbard, John W. Hay, Jos. B. Jones, Jas. Mahone, Geo. Meyer, Francis J. Murphy, Jesse Mack, John N. Shoemaker, Thos. Stalkal, Neal Vestal, Sergt. Lewis C. Bornman, Musician Samuel Williams, Wagoner Wm. Minor, Wm. Mock. In all, 22 wounded. COMPANY F.--_Killed_, Sergt. And. J. Webster, Corps. Joshua Gear and Frank Pothast, Privates Demean McCulloch, John Chantick, Toliver Foster, Thos. Cox, Joseph Koontz, Geo. McLeish, Charles Hills, John W. Snofpr, Private of the 71st Ohio, name not known. In all, 13 killed. _Wounded_, Capt. Webb, Lieut. Geo. Williford, Sergts. Jos. C. Gales and R. N. Heinberger, Corp. And. J. White, Privates John B. Choenewith, Jas. Rodgers, James Duncan, N. B. Winters, John McCarter, John Stutfouth, John H. Lauchly, James Getty, Jos. L. Miller, James Hobbs, Wm. T. Miller, John H. Collins, M. N. Fisher, Harlow Bassett, Jas. M. Hickman, And. Grudin, Henry Grundin, R. Pimpkins, Geo. W. Warren, John M. Ticknor, Marcus Burns. In all, 26 wounded. COMPANY G.--_Killed_, David Jones, Alpheus Bascum, Jas. Walker, Thos. J. Ouly and Wm. H. Bascom. In all, 5 killed. _Wounded_, Lieut. Clemens, N. G. Poraine, John B. Russell, E. B. Rhoads, Wm. Hampton, John J. White, (afterwards died,) John W. Brown, Wm. L. Brown, N. G. Brown, Henry Brown, John J. Zippy, John J. Stripling, Wm. R. Bradley, Wm. Addison, Lewis R. Applegate Robert Marshall, Daniel Ryan, Thos. Stotlar, A. B. Suttin, W. S. White, John McCord, Lewis Wise, Jun., Allen Edwards, S. P. Hartsell, Charles W. Miller, Bennet Strotlar. In all, 26 wounded. COMPANY H.--_Killed_, Sergt. Francis D. Hubbel, Will. R. Haller, Daniel C White, Thos. Wright. In all, 4 killed. _Wounded_, Captain W. F. Armstrong, Sergts. Daniel Pentzer and Jacob Miller, Privates Nickolaus Keller, Alonzo F. McEwen, Paul Roberts, Jas. W. Osborn, Sidney B. Phillips, John Arny, Wm. Boldeman, Dennis Bahon, Chas. Biernbrier, Wm. S. Cheeney, Wm. A. Cottingham, Ira G. Dart, John Droesch, Thos. Fry, Will. H. Ilsley, Wm. Keep, John B. Livingood, John F. Moore, Patrick Mogneham, Layfayette Mason, Jas. S. McGuillion, Edward Nail, George Ralph, Francis M. Stickel, Almon D. Simmons, Jos. E. Taulber, Moses H. Turner, Patrick Whalen, Erasmus Gaw, Jas. A. Clotpelter, George H. Dry, John Salzmann, and Daniel C. Carriker. In all, 36 wounded. COMPANY I.--_Killed_, Nathan Abbot, John Bass, Reegon Edward, John N. Larance and Frederick Swartz. In all, 5 killed. _Wounded_, Captain Jos. G. Robinson, 1st Lieutenant Wm. H. Purviance, Sergt. W. W. Jarvis, Corp. G. W. Stice, Privates John Baird, Norman Barber, Isaiah Bery, G. W. Clark, Thomas C Gillham, Wm. Helms, Thomas Hauskins, John Jaka, S. B. Jarvis, Chas. C. Lewis, Albert Mills, Geo. McKinley, Chas. A. Redman, John Wilson and Henry Wormyer. In all, 19 wounded. COMPANY K.--_Killed_, George Sloan, Wm. Foster, Jas. L. Kriddler, Thos. Walton. In all, 4 killed. _Wounded_, John Richmond, Samuel W. Sloan, Geo. W. Burton, Sen., Geo. W. Burton, Jun., John Burke, Chas. W. Boles, Henderson Cogdall, John L. Creed, John Clifford, Wm. A. Carding, Frank F. Cogles, John Horn, Thos. J. Hagler, Laro May, Sam'l L. Miller, Robert E. Ramsey, Jonathan Stone, and Chas. L. Tomlinson. In all, 18 wounded. The terrible conflict which was endured by the 9th Ill. Inft., in this battle, will be seen from the number of killed and wounded. There was present for duty when the Regiment went into the engagement, 570 men. Of these 348 were killed and wounded, and ten were captured. One commissioned officer was killed, and 19 wounded. Only four commissioned officers were left unhurt. I heard one of the soldiers who was present at the time, say, that when they ceased fighting on Sabbath evening, there were 70 men in line for duty, out of the whole Regiment. It is said that Col. Mersy, when the Regiment was first drawn up in line after the battle was over, shed tears, saying, "Vel, vel; dis is all dat is left of my little Nint!" It must have been a sad sight to see a Regiment, which numbered over 1,000 men when at Paducah a few month's previous, cut down to this small number. But such is war. Such was the battle of Shiloh, and such the part taken in it by the 9th Ill. Inft. The writer well remembers the feeling which prevailed in the North with reference to it. There was rejoicing over it as a victory. Still it was regarded as a dearly bought victory. There was a very decided feeling that somebody was at fault. That the rebels had completely surprised our army. That our pickets were out but a very short distance. Hence, the surprise. Gen. Grant, as chief in command, was faulted. It was charged that he was drunk at the time. That he had disobeyed orders, and landed his men on the wrong side of the river, etc. I heard a citizen of Chicago, not a month ago, say that if Gen. Grant had made his appearance in Chicago immediately after the battle of Shiloh, he would have been mobbed, such was the feeling of indignation. It is not my province here to write a defense of Gen. Grant. Nor is it needed. His own brilliant career since that, has set him right in the minds of the people. A man who has captured more prisoners and more guns than the world-renowned warrior, Napoleon Bonaparte, certainly does not need, at this day, a written defense of his military career. Suffice it to say, the officers and men who fought under him, even at Shiloh, become restless if a word is said against him. Immediately after this battle, Gen. Halleck, who had charge of the South-Western Department of the army, with his "Head Quarters" at St. Louis, left that place for the field of strife and took command of the army in person. Expectation was high in the North. It was thought that now surely the rebels will be "pushed to the wall." Never since the war broke out, has there been such intense anxiety in the North-west, as that which filled the public mind during the time which intervened between the battle of Shiloh and the evacuation of Corinth. Many hearts were sad over friends who fell at Shiloh. Every days' news was anxiously awaited, expecting it to bring an account of another terrible conflict. The suspense was long and painful. When the news finally came that Corinth was ours, but that the enemy had evacuated it, there was a feeling of sadness ran through the public mind. They were not prepared for that. They were prepared to hear of many slain in the effort to take Corinth, but not to hear that the enemy had fled and was out of reach. The 9th Ill. Inft. remained in camp on the battle-ground of Shiloh, exposed to all the sickening influences of the nearness of so many dead animals, as well as offensive odor arising from the shallow and imperfect burial, which necessarily had to be given to so great a multitude of dead. In conversation with a citizen from Illinois, who visited the battle-ground a week or ten days after the battle, I learned from him that the offensive smell of the dead was almost insufferable. That, together with the diet upon which the soldiers had to live, produced disease to an alarming extent. Here the Regiment remained in camp until the 29th of April, over three weeks. On that day it removed, with camp and garrison equipage, towards Corinth ten miles, and bivouacked. It moved forward again on the 30th, five miles further, and went into camp. Here the Regiment had muster and inspection by Col. Mersy commanding. Here Brig. Gen. R. J. Oglesby took command of our Brigade, in place of Col. McArthur who was severely wounded in the late battle, Brig. Gen. T. A. Davies took command of our Division, in place of Gen. W. H. L. Wallace who was mortally wounded. On the first of May, moved camp five miles further towards Corinth, and remained there until the 4th of May. On that day removed to Monterey, Miss., and went into camp a little West of that town, and remained there until the 8th of May, when another forward movement was made, to within seven miles of Corinth, finding no enemy. The country here is very poor and broken, and water very scarce and unfit for use. A great many of the men were sick with the Diarrhea and Typhoid Fever. The Regiment remained here until the 14th of May, when it moved two miles further in the direction of Corinth. The Division moved forward again on the 16th, about one mile, and formed a line, with Brig. Gen. Hurlbut's Division on our right. On the 17th, moved forward again one mile, and one-half mile on the 19th. This brought our line within two and a-half miles of Corinth, and within range of 32-pounder rifled guns. None were fired, however, and the plain inference was, that the enemy had none. On the 21st of May, our line advanced 400 yards, and again on the 29th 400 yards more. The pressure now became so heavy, that the enemy evacuated Corinth, and moved Southward toward Okolona. Thus it will be seen, our army was just one month moving from Pittsburg Landing to Corinth, a distance of about thirty miles. Just one mile per day. And this after having remained 22 days in camp, before leaving the battle-ground. This, too, in pursuit of a fleeing enemy. It will be difficult ever to convince the country that this great delay was necessary. And yet many military men, who were present, regard it as a master-piece of Generalship. The country through which this vast army must pass, was entirely uncultivated. No army could have subsisted in it, even for a few days. Had our army advanced rapidly, they were exposed to a flank movement which would have thrown the enemy between them and the river, and cut off, as a natural consequence, our supplies. That done, and our whole army would have been at the mercy of the enemy. There was certainly great caution. But it was thought it was all needed. When an advance was made, after halting, in an incredibly short time, breast-works were thrown up to prepare for an attack. It is amusing, even now, to hear the boys laughing at their expertness with the spade. They all turned out to be pretty good Irishmen, so far as the use of the spade is concerned. Immediately upon the evacuation of Corinth, Gen. Davies' Division, to which the 9th Ill. Inft. belonged, was ordered, with Gen. Pope's army, in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. The rapidity with which that pursuit was prosecuted, will be seen from the following record of our daily marches. Is it to be wondered at that they were not overtaken? On the first day we moved out five miles, and bivouacked for the night near Farmington. Moved forward again on the 31st, three miles, and went into camp on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad. Here we remained in camp until the 5th of June. The following events occurred while in camp here: On the 1st of June the Regiment was paid for the months of January, February, March and April, 1862. On the 2d of June commissions arrived as follows: First Lieut. James C. McClery, to be Captain Co. K; 2d Lieut. G. G. Low, to be 1st Lieut. Co. K; and Sergt. James Oats, to be 2d Lieut. Co. K. Sergeant Mallmann, to be 2d Lieut. Co. B; and Sergt. Gottlab, to be 2d Lieut. Co. A. On the 5th of June we again moved forward, eight miles, and went into camp. On the 6th, moved forward and went into camp near Boonville, Miss. Here we remained until the 12th of June. General Davies, commander of the Division, being absent on sick-leave, General Oglesby was in command of the Division; Col. Mersy of the Brigade, and Major Kuhn of the Regiment. On the 12th of June, the Regiment moved on its return towards Corinth, fifteen miles, and went into camp. On the 13th, moved again and occupied its old camping ground two and a-half miles south of Corinth. On the 17th of June, Col. Wright, of the 22d Ohio, being senior Colonel, relieved Col. Mersy of the command of the Brigade, and Col. Mersy went home on sick-leave. The Regiment remained in camp here until August 16th, 1862. During this time the following changes occurred: Captain Webb resigned, and his resignation was accepted July 15th, 1862. Lieutenant Purviance, of Co. I, was discharged August 16th, for inability from wounds received in action at Shiloh. On the 16th of August, in compliance with orders from Gen. Davies, Division commander, the Regiment moved, with camp and garrison equipage, to Rienzi, and reported for duty to Brig. Gen. Granger, commanding at that place, by whom it was assigned to Col. Schaeffer, commanding 2d Brigade. Regimental Quartermaster, W. G. Pinckard, was promoted to be Captain and Assistant Quartermaster, to rank from April 30th, 1862. There are some incidents during the period covered by this chapter worthy of note. During the battle of Shiloh, Lieut. Col. Phillips was wounded. It occurred late on Sabbath evening. He says the only time he had ever been scared since he has been in the army, was when they were carrying him off the battle-field wounded. The thought occurred to him, that now there was almost six feet exposed to the fire of the enemy instead of one foot, forgetting for the time, that while his body occupied an additional space horizontally, it did not occupy so much perpendicularly, as when he was on his horse. CHAPTER V. FROM THE ATTACK ON CORINTH, OCT. 3D, 1862, UNTIL REGIMENT WAS MOUNTED. _Rebels prepare to attack Corinth--Order of battle--Result of the attack on the 3d of October--New line of battle at "White House"--Line at "Battery Robinett"--Slaughter on the 4th of October--Extracts from a Rebel prisoner's journal--List of killed and wounded--Outpost duty._ The Rebel leaders were not satisfied that our forces should occupy Corinth, uninterruptedly. Hence, in the Fall of 1862 active preparations were made by them to attack that place. A heavy force, under Generals Price and VanDorn, was fitted up for this purpose. The time was drawing near when our boys must endure another of those terrible struggles, two of which they had already passed through. As I have said, the Regiment had been doing outpost duty at Rienzi, from the 16th of August until the last of September. On the 20th of September, Col. Schaeffer's Brigade, with which our Regiment had been temporarily united, moved Northward, leaving the 9th Ill. and the 59th Indiana, to hold the place. On the 1st of October the 9th Ill. moved toward Corinth, and bivouacked for the night seven miles South of our old camp near Corinth. Moved again, on the 2d of October, and came to the old familiar camp, at noon. Here we occupied our old position again, reporting to General Oglesby, who commanded the Brigade. On the morning of October 3d, 1862, the Regiment was marched out in its proper position for the terrible conflict, The following order will show the position it occupied during the fight. It was moved out two miles North-west of Corinth, to the old rifle-pits of the rebels. Our Brigade was on the left of the 2d Division. The 6th Division was on our left. On the right of the 6th Division, was the 3d Brigade of the 2d Division, (Col. Baldwin commanding,) which had been temporarily attached to that Division. Gen. McArthur commanded the 6th Division; Gen. Davies the 2d Division, and Gen. Hamilton the Ohio Division. This latter Division was held in reserve. Immediately on our right was the 1st Brigade of the 2d Division. Such was the position our Brigade occupied at the opening of this terrible conflict. The enemy made their first attack upon Gen. McArthur's Division, which was placed immediately upon our left. After a short resistance, Col. Baldwin's Brigade, placed on the right of that Division, gave way and fell back in confusion. This uncovered and exposed to the enemy our left flank. Soon the enemy came through the large gap thus made, and attacked us simultaneously in the front and rear. The 81st Ohio, placed upon the left of our Brigade, gave way and moved in confusion and disorder to the right and rear, followed very soon by the 12th Ill., and then the 9th moved in the same manner. In attempting to check the too hasty advance of the Rebels, the 9th Ill. lost Capt. Britt, killed, and the two Captains Lowe, and Lieutenants Hughes and Uleu, together with 53 enlisted men, captured. Gen. Hackleman's Brigade covered our retreat, and we fell back and formed a new line at the "White House." The Brigades occupied the same order in this line as in the former one. Here the advance of the enemy was checked, until darkness put a stop to the conflict for this day. During the night our line was drawn back to Battery "Robinett." Just before daylight, on the morning of the 4th of October, the enemy cheered by their success of yesterday; opened from a four-gun battery, on the town, compelling our wounded to leave for safer quarters. A General Hospital was established one mile out on the M. & C. R. R. where all the wounded were removed. Before they could all be removed, one or two of them had been killed by the rebel shells in the Tishomingo House. At daylight, the action became general all along our lines. The Rebel columns made desperate charges, and were as often repulsed. General Oglesby, commanding our Brigade, was wounded the day previous, and Col. Mersy assumed command of the Brigade. Major Kuhn, of our Regiment, was also disabled, and Captain Hawes assumed command of the Regiment during the fight on the 4th of October. The slaughter of the enemy, in the efforts to capture "Battery Robinett," was terrific. A true picture of the ground, taken ere the dead were removed, shows the ground to be literally covered with the dead, often lying one upon another. The struggle lasted until about 10 A. M., when the Rebel line was broken, and their whole army retreated in confusion and disorder. Thus ended another of those terrible conflicts which have marked the history of this war. The conflict was fierce and determined on both sides. Our forces were under the command of Gen. Rosecrans. Those of the enemy were under Generals Price and VanDorn. It was regarded a matter of vital importance, at that time, for our forces to hold that place. The importance which the Rebels attached to the work of re-taking it, and the desperate struggle they made in order to do it, will be seen from some extracts which I will here make from the journal of a Rebel prisoner, Lieut. Labruzan, of the 42d Regt. Ala. A copy of his notes, taken as the battle progressed, and after he was captured, was obtained by some of the boys in our Regiment, and I have thus secured access to it. The following extract will show the position the enemy occupied on the day before the battle commenced: "_Thursday, Oct. 2d._--The bridge finished about 10 o'clock, when we took up the line of march. We marched right in front, which brought our Regt. near the head of the column. Generals VanDorn and Villipigue were ahead about two or three miles. The army here is fully 25,000 men under command of Gen. VanDorn, who outranks Gen. Price. Brig. Gen. Moore commanded our Brigade of five Regiments. Our Division is commanded by Brig. Gen. Manny." I omit here a portion of his notes as to the march during the day, and the manner in which he spent the night of the 2d October. It would be interesting to give the whole of this extract from his journal, but it would occupy too much space. It would enable us to view that great battle from a rebel stand-point. Of the first day of the fight, he writes thus: "_Friday, Oct. 3d._--Reveille by the bugle at 4 A. M. Were marching by 4 ½. Crossed into Mississippi at 7 A. M. Marched just on the border for some miles. At 6 ½ heard some artillery firing. Three miles ahead, skirmishing, which was kept up until after we crossed the M. & C. R. R., which was at 9 ½ A. M. Saw a Regiment skirmishing in a field just below us. The artillery kept up a constant fire about three times a minute. Our Brigade, under Gen. Moore, marching into the woods, formed, a line of battle, our right resting on the Railroad. We had not waited more than fifteen minutes, when heavy skirmishing was heard about a half mile in front, with steady and increasing cannonading. Two men from each company were detailed to attend to the wounded, &c. We left blankets and knapsacks here. About 10 o'clock our Brigade marched forward through a corn-field, and formed into a line within a half mile of the enemy. Heavy firing just in front. Saw a Major who was wounded." He proceeds, thus to speak of the fight of the 3d; but I will not follow him further, on that day. Let us hear him describe the scene of the 4th: "_Saturday, Oct. 4th._--An awful day. At 4 o'clock, before day, our Brigade was ordered to the left about one-fourth of a mile, and halted, throwing out lines of skirmishers, which kept up a constant fire. A Battery in front of the right of our Regiment opened briskly, and the enemy replied the same. The cannonading was heavy for an hour and a half. Our Regiment lay down close, and stood it nobly. The shell flew thick and fast, cutting off large limbs and filling the air with fragments. Many burst within 20 feet, and the pieces popped within 2 or 3 feet. It was extremely unpleasant, and I prayed for forgiveness of my sins, and made up my mind to go through. Col. Sawier called for volunteers to assist the 2d Texas skirmishers. I volunteered, and took my company. Captain Perkins and Lieutenant Wumson being taken sick directly after the severe bombardment, I had the Co. all the time. I went skirmishing at 7 ½, and returned at 9 ½ o'clock. We got behind trees and logs, and the way the bullets did fly, was unpleasant to see. I think 20 must have passed within a few feet of me, humming prettily. Shells tore off large limbs and splinters. Struck my tree several times. We could only move from tree to tree, and bending low to the ground, while moving. Oh, how anxiously I watched for the bursting of the shells when the heavy roar of the cannon proclaimed their coming. At 9 ½ o'clock I had my skirmishers relieved, by Captain Rouse's Company. Sent my men to their places, and went behind a log with Major Furges. At 10 o'clock, suddenly the fight fairly opened, with heavy volleys of musketry and the double thundering cannon. This was on the right. In a few minutes the left went into action in splendid style. At 10 ¼ o'clock, Col. Rogers came up by us, only saving "Alabama forces." Our Regiment, with the Brigade rose, unmindful of the shell or shot, and moved forward, marching about 250 yards and rising the crest of a hill. The whole of Corinth, with its enormous fortifications, burst upon our view. The U. S. flag was floating over the forts and in town. We were now met by a perfect storm of grape, cannister, cannon balls and Minnie balls. Oh, God! I have never seen the like! The men fell like grass, even here. Giving one tremendous cheer, we dashed to the bottom of the hill on which the fortifications are situated. Here we found every foot of ground covered with large trees and brush, cut down to impede our progress. Looking to the right and left, I saw several Brigades charging at the same time. What a sight was there. I saw men running at full speed, stop suddenly and fall upon their faces, with their brains scattered all around. Others, with legs and arms cut off, shrieking with agony. They fell behind, beside, and within a few feet of me. I gave myself to God, and got ahead of my company. The ground was literally strewed with mangled corpses. One ball passed through my pants, and they cut twigs right by me. It seemed, by holding out my hand I could have caught a dozen. They buzzed and hissed by me in all directions, but I still pushed forward. I seemed to be moving right in the mouth of cannon, for the air was filled with hurling grape and cannister. Ahead was one continuous blaze. I rushed to the ditch of the fort, right between some large cannon. I grappled into it, and half way up the sloping wall. The enemy were only three or four feet from me on the other side, but could not shoot us for fear of having their heads blown off. Our men were in the same predicament. Only 5 or 6 were on the wall, and 30 or 40 in and around the ditch. Catesby on the wall by my side. A man within two feet of me, put his head cautiously up, to shoot into the fort. But he suddenly dropped his musket, and his brains were dashed in a stream over my fine coat, which I had in my arms, and on my shirt sleeves. Several were killed here, on top one another, and rolled down the embankment in ghastly heaps. This was done by a Regiment of Yankees coming about 40 yards on our left, after finding us entirely cut off, and firing into us. Several of our men cried "put down the flag," and it was lowered, or shot into the ditch. Oh, we were butchered like dogs, as we were not supported. Some one placed a white handkerchief on Sergeant Buck's musket, and he took it to a port hole. But the Yankees snatched it off and took him prisoner. The men fell 10 at a time. The ditch being full, and finding we had no chance, the survivors tried to save themselves as best they could. I was so far up, I could not get off quickly. I do not recollect of seeing Catesby after this, but think he got off before. I trust in God he has. I and Capt. Foster started together, and the air was literally filled with hissing balls. I got about 20 steps, as quick as I could, about a dozen being killed in that distance. I fell down and scrambled behind a large stump. Just then, I saw poor Foster throw up his hands, and saying "Oh, my God!" jumped about two feet from the ground, falling on his face. The top of his head seemed to cave in, and the blood spouted straight up several feet. I could see men fall as they attempted to run, some with their heads to pieces, and others with the blood streaming from their backs. It was horrible. One poor fellow being almost on me, told me his name, and asked me to take his pocket-book if I escaped and give it to his mother, and tell her that he died a brave man. I asked him if he was a Christian, and told him to pray, which he did, with the cannon thundering a deadly accompaniment. Poor fellow. I forgot his request in the excitement. His legs were literally cut to pieces. As our men returned, the enemy poured in their fire, and I was hardly 30 feet from the mouth of the cannon. Minnie balls filled the stump I was behind, and the shells bursted within three feet of me. One was so near it stunned me, and burned my face with powder. The grape-shot hewed large pieces off my stump, gradually wearing it away. I endured the horrors of death here for half an hour, and endeavored to resign myself and prayed. Our troops formed in line in the woods, and advanced a second time to the charge with cheers. They began firing when about half way, and I had to endure it all. I was feigning death. I was right between our own and the enemies fire. In the first charge our men did not fire a gun, but charged across the ditch, and to the very mouth of the cannon, with the bayonet. So also the second charge, but they fired. Thank God, I am unhurt, and I think it was a merciful Providence. Our troops charged by, when I seized a rifle and endeavored to fire it several times, but could not, for the cap was bad. Our boys were shot down like hogs, and could not stand it, and fell back each man for himself. Then the same scene was enacted as before. This time the Yankees charged after them, and as I had no chance at all, and all around me were surrendering, I was compelled to do so, as a rascal threatened to shoot me. I had to give up my sword to him. He demanded my watch also. Took it; but I appealed to an officer, and got it back. I had no means of defending myself for the first time in many years. I cried to see our brave men slaughtered so, and thought where Catesby might be. I have never felt so in all my life. It is now said that our Brigade was never ordered to charge such a place, and that it was a mistake. If so, it was a sad one. Being brought behind the works we found three Regiments drawn up in line, and all of them were fighting our 42d Alabama alone. I helped to carry a wounded man to the Depot, with Lieutenants Marshall, Contra and Preston, they being the only unhurt officers who were prisoners from our Regiment. We and the privates were soon marched to a large house, having a partition for the officers. The men, about 400, in next room. I heard firing again, but I fear we can do nothing. We are treated very politely--more so than I had expected." Perhaps the reader is now ready to ask what this long extract from a secesh officer's journal, has to do with the history of the 9th Ill. Inft. Well, it is not very intimately connected with it. But it has been preserved by the boys in the Regiment, and all agree that it gives a very correct account of that terrible battle. It has, however, this connection with our history: It shows the desperate nature of that struggle, in which our boys took so active a part. It shows that they had a foe to contend with, full of courage and who fought with desperation. It was truly a terrible battle. One officer who was on the ground, told me that he at one time thought the rebels would succeed in driving us out. The loss sustained by the 9th Regt. Ill. Inft. in this terrible conflict, was 20 killed and 82 wounded. Captain Britt was among the killed. The following officers were among the wounded: Major Kuhn, Adjt. Klock, Captains Kneffner and Robinson, and Lieutenants Rollmann, Williford, Clements and Cowgill. There were 57 captured, including Captains E. M. and G. G. Low, and Lieutenants S. T. Hughs and B. L. Ulen. The following is a list of the killed and wounded, in the various companies: COMPANY A.--_Killed_, Charles Gibrich--1. _Wounded_, William Kortkamp--1. COMPANY B.--_Killed_, Joseph Cropp and Jacob Sulzer.--2. _Wounded_, Captain Kneffner, Anton Weenstroth, Sergeant John Eichenberger, Corporal Louis Fisher, Paul Geist, Ed. Hoffmann, George Jenne, Nicholaus Meyer, Jos. Noelsner, George Salz, Daniel Werner, Sergeant Augustus Wurmb. In all, 12 wounded. COMPANY C.--_Killed_, Corporal John Fangemann, and Frederich Hugenberg.--2. _Wounded_, 1st Lieutenant Oscar Rollman, 2d Lieut. Charles Sheve, Privates John Miller, Peter Schneider, John Frietz, Christian Jackob, Christian Maedel, Henry Behm, and Jacob Herpein. In all, 9 wounded. COMPANY D.--_Killed_, Jacob Berthold, Hy. Borchording, John Smith, Christ Truting, Louis Truttman. In all, 5 killed. A number were slightly wounded--names not given. COMPANY E.--_Wounded_, Corporal Francis J. Murphy, Privates William T. Grimley, Jack L. Stevens, James F. Williams, James Malone, John Lill, John Beatty, William P. Kelley, Neal Vestal. In all, 9 wounded. COMPANY F.--_Killed_, Captain William Britt, Privates John O. Foeshee, and Fred. Weggourd. In all, 3 killed. _Wounded_, Sergt. W. C. Hawly, Corp. James Fiske, Private William Miller. In all, 3 wounded. COMPANY G.--_Killed_, Alferd Bartley and John McCord. In all, 2 killed. _Wounded_, Lieutenant I. Clements, Henry Brown, James A. Peragin, William J. Heglar, Robert Marshall, N. G. Brown. In all, 6 wounded. COMPANY H.--_Killed_, Sam'l Giesinger, John B. Livingood, Sebastian Swendeman. In all, 3 killed. _Wounded_, 1st Lieutenant C. H. Gilmore, 2d Lieutenant A. Cowgill, James Brady, William S. Boone, Dennis Bahon, Charles Biernbrier, William A. Cottingham, Robert Finley, Israel Haller, Charles H. Newcomb, George W. Quails, Wm. Reckord, Francis M. Stickle, O. W. Boutwell, Venice C. Haller, Ambrose J. Shelton, Jos. W. Warren. In all, 17 wounded. COMPANY I.--_Wounded_, Thomas Pat, William Baird, John Jaka, James Lang, Jos. E. Stringer. In all, 5 wounded. COMPANY K.--_Killed_, James Ulen.--1. _Wounded_, George Myers, Levi Gibbs, Henry Stanger, John Burke, Charles W. Boles, Jos N. Coneden, Peter Hall, Sam'l C. Ulen, Frank M. Winsted. In all, 9 wounded. The enemy driven from Corinth, our Regiment was again thrown out on the front, a position it had been occupying for some time before the battle. On the 8th of October, it moved South to Danville, Miss., and on the next day the left wing, Companies K, I, H, G, and F, moved on to Rienzi. Col. Mersy took command of all the troops at Rienzi, and Lieut. Col. Phillips, who had now rejoined the Regiment, after his severe wound at Shiloh, of the forces at Danville. The Regiment, with other troops of the 2d Brigade, performed outpost duty at the above named places until the 28th of November, 1862, when they returned and went into camp at Corinth, Miss. On the 12th of December, the Regiment moved Southward again, going within five miles of Tupelo, Miss., and returned to camp at Corinth on the 19th of the same month; Col. Mersy being in command of the 2d Brigade, and Lieut. Col. Phillips in command of the Regiment. On the 2d day of January, 1863, we moved three and a half miles East of Monterey, and bivouacked for the night, and returned to camp the next day; Gen. Forrest and his command having escaped across the river. The Regiment remained in camp until March, not having much duty, except guard duty. During the period embraced in this chapter, some interesting incidents occurred. As I mentioned above, the two Captains Low, and Lieutenant Hughs, together with a considerable number of privates, were taken prisoners. I have given extensive extracts from the journal of a Rebel prisoner, showing the horrors of the battle-field. It may not be amiss to refer to some things connected with the prison-life of some of our boys, who were captured in this battle at Corinth. The scene, as described by Captain G. G. Low, to the writer, beggars description. The horrors of their retreat was terrible. The Captain thinks if Napoleon's retreat from Moscow was much more terrible, he does not know how it was endured at all. But I shall here allow the Captain to speak for himself, by giving extracts from a written statement, which he kindly furnished me, of his prison-life: "On the morning of the 3d of October, 1862, our Regiment received orders to move early in the morning. We had moved up the day before from Rienzi, to within 2 ½ miles of Corinth. As we approached Corinth, we could occasionally hear the boom of distant cannon. Conjecture was rife as to what it meant, so little did we expect an action. We passed through Corinth, and to the outer works on the West of it. Sometime before we obtained our position behind the rifle-pits, three had been heavy fighting on our left. We took our position here, feeling confident we could hold it against a vastly superior force. The enemy were gradually approaching from the front, and our line was being engaged, when I noticed a panic in my company. I was on the extreme left of our Regiment. Many of my men broke out of the ditch and started back. I ordered every man back to his place. They told me the 12th Ill. and 81st Ohio were running. I told them it mattered not; we would stay there until we were ordered away. I saw a change of front was necessary, and expected to hear the order to change front to rear, on first company. But it did not come. Soon after, I heard the order to move by the right flank; but it was too late. Already the enemy were in our rear. I saw it would be death for my men to attempt to leave their position, and I surrendered with seventeen of my command. "We were moved back about three-fourths of a mile. I found that Captain C. M. Lowe and Lieutenant L. T. Hughes of our Regiment, were captured. We were placed under guard at or near a house. Here a woman abused us very much. She insisted that Captain Lowe was the mean Yankee that was there the night before and stole her chickens. The Captain assured her that he had never been there before, and that she must be mistaken. She was certain he was the man, and had it not been for the guard, she would have pitched into him rough-shod. I think she was as hard a specimen of the fair-sex as I have ever seen in the Sunny South; and I have seen many that outraged decency and forever disgraced the name of woman. "After the excitement of the battle was over, or rather of the scenes through which we passed that day, we had time to reflect. Here we were, prisoners of war, held by a motley set of human beings that, as far as outward appearances were concerned, would be a disgrace to barbarians. I wondered, "Is this the boasted chivalry of the South, sent out to fight the hated poor men of the North, the '_mud-sills_' and '_greasy mechanics_?'" When I saw my poor boys, dressed in their blue uniform, contrasted with these rag-a-muffins, I felt proud of them. "The "Rebs" had great stories to tell us. Bragg had captured Louisville and all Buell's army. Lee had captured Little Mac. and 40,000 prisoners. Governor Gamble, of Missouri, had turned over 40,000 troops, well armed and equipped, to the Southern Confederacy; and they had come with 70,000 men to capture Corinth, and drive Grant out of West Tennessee, and the war would be over in a few days. All were jubilant. "At night, we moved in the woods about a mile, and were consoled with a lot of wounded of both armies. About 9 o'clock at night, the news came back that they had captured Corinth, and we would be moved up there in the morning. About this time, Col. Prevene, of a South Carolina Regiment, came to see us, (he was a Mason,) and took Capt. Lowe and myself outside the lines and had a long talk with us. He assured us that Corinth was not taken, and that it would not be; and further, that Gen. VanDorn was (to use his own language) a d--d fool for attacking the place. To-night we had nothing to eat, except a cup of coffee that a Rebel Lieutenant made for us. I furnished the coffee. We passed a restless night. "The morning of the 4th dawned, and was ushered in with the boom of heavy cannon. This assured us that the place was not taken, but that they had approached very near it, as we could hear the guns of the forts. The cannonading and musketry was incessant from daylight until about 1 P. M. At that time, orders came to move us back to the rear. We took up our line of march to Dixie. Although we were prisoners in the hands of the enemy, yet we were jubilant. We knew they had been repulsed; that the stars and stripes had again been triumphant; and though we had a prison-life, and even starvation staring us in the face, yet there was not a man despondent. We were then suffering for something to eat, but we knew the "rebs." were suffering even more than we were; for they had nothing to eat when they attacked Corinth, and their only hope for something, was the capture of the place. In this they had failed. The retreat soon became a rout. Neither tongue nor pen can describe the sufferings during that memorable retreat. Wagons, with six mules attached, were filled with the wounded and dying, and the cowardly drivers whipping their mules at every jump. The groans of the dying and the curses of the wounded were enough to make the knees of terror tremble. One would think, that if human suffering would expiate the crime of treason, all this army should be forgiven; for they suffered from hunger, thirst, fatigue, and all the ills that follow a defeated, routed, broken and disheartened army. I could not help feeling sorry for the panic stricken wretches. "At night, we camped about twelve miles from Corinth, on a little branch. I had coffee enough to make us a cup apiece. This, and a few crumbs of crackers, was all we had for twelve of us--eight Federal officers and four Rebel officers." (It will be remembered they had had nothing to eat the day before, and very little on the preceding day.) "We camped near a house, and there was a rooster, the only chicken left on the premises. We offered five dollars for it. The woman would not let us have it. "On the morning of the 5th of October, we again moved, escorted by a company of the Rebel Jackson's cavalry, under command of Capt. Douglass. Let me mention here, that Capt. D. did all in his power to make his prisoners comfortable. While we were being marched back on the afternoon of the 4th, an aid of Gen. VanDorn's rode up and told him to move the prisoners faster. He said, 'If I move them faster they will fall down from exhaustion.' The aid replied, 'Let them fall, and be d--d. Shoot them if you cannot get them along.' But the Captain took his own gait, and treated all kindly. As we marched along this forenoon we saw a great number of their wounded on all sides of the road. About 1 o'clock we came in sight of Hatchie Bridge. We halted for a few moments, and soon we heard fighting in front of us. We were taken back about one mile, and halted in a hollow. We had been there but a few moments, when rifle shells came whistling in such close proximity that we had to retire further back. Soon we saw the Rebel mass come running back in, if possible, greater confusion than the day before. They thought the whole Rebel army would be captured. They took up the Hatchie about ten miles and crossed us, and we halted about 12 o'clock that night, near Ruckersville, Miss. Here they killed a beef weighing about 300 pounds, for the 300 prisoners and their guards, in all over 400. We had had nothing to eat that day but raw corn. We ate the beef without salt. "On the morning of the 6th, we started towards Ripley, without anything else to eat. Arriving at that place late in the afternoon, they gave us a very little to eat, perhaps rations enough for fifty men. On the following morning we moved in the direction of Holly Springs, Miss. The day was very hot and the roads dusty. Add to this, the suffering from hunger, and it would be hard to describe the amount of suffering the men endured. We camped at night near a Mr. Robinson's. (To-day we had to march about nine miles out of the way, on account of some one destroying a bridge in the rear of the retreating army.) The officers got a very good supper at Mr. R.'s, by paying one dollar each, in Greenbacks. He would not take anything else. The men got but little to eat. "On the morning of the 7th, the officers hired a team to take them to Holly Springs, for which they paid $20. We arrived there at 11 o'clock at night. Here we were taken to Col. Roddy's Head Quarters, He said he was surprised that we, being North-western men, were fighting Southern men. Captain Lowe told him that we were not in a condition to resent an insult, and did not wish to be insulted. This ended the conversation. "The next evening we started by Railroad, under guard, for Jackson, Miss., arriving there about 10 A. M., on the 9th of October. Here we were taken before General Thillman, and paroled for that city and Vicksburg. We had good rooms at the best hotel in Jackson. On the morning of the 10th we took cars for Vicksburg. On this trip We had no guard, except one Rebel Captain. We arrived at Vicksburg about 1 o'clock, and were quartered at the 'Washington Hotel.' We were limited to certain streets. Otherwise we had our liberty. Our fare at the hotel was corn bread, corn coffee, fresh beef and molasses. The ladies were allowed wheat-bread, and when the darkies could do so without being detected by their master, they would supply _us_ with that luxury. On the whole, we were treated pretty well by the 'Rebs.' We found them generally dispirited; but said they thought they never could be conquered, &c. "On the 18th of October, we were paroled, and started up the river to meet our flag of truce boat. The sight of the old flag and hard bread created great joy among our men. Hard treatment, under a flag of treason, had endeared the old flag to them. A scanty supply of corn bread, and beef without salt, made 'hard tack' look and taste like the best food cooked. On the morning of the 19th of October, 1862, we took our course up the river for 'God's country.'" A little incident narrated by Private Neal Vestal, of Co. E, who was taken prisoner at the same time with Captain Lowe, is worth noting. When the Rebs. were attacked by General Hurlbut, at the Hatchie on the 5th of October, and a panic was arising, a Rebel Captain passing by Neal, he inquired, good naturedly, "Well, Captain, what are you going to do with us now?" His reply was, "If I had my way, I would shoot you." At which Neal replied, "I bet _six bits_ that man was not in the fight." At this response went up all along the line, "That is true!" CHAPTER VI. FROM THE MOUNTING OF THE REGIMENT TO LEAVING POCAHONTAS. _Regiment mounted--Scout to Tuscumbia, with its five engagements--Scout to Florence, with two engagements--Move camp to Pocahontas--Scout to New Albany, destroying the town--Mud Creek scout and battle--Scout to Jackson, and battle--Scout to Ripley--Scout to Trenton, Tenn.--Scout to Grenada--Raid to Grenada--Commissions and promotions--Battles of Salem, Graham's Mills and Wyatt's--List of killed and wounded--Incidents._ Our Government, by the beginning of 1863, began to see the necessity of having a larger mounted force. It was proposed that many of the Infantry Regiments should be mounted for scouting purposes. Lieut. Col. Phillips made application to have the 9th Ill. Inft. mounted. He was told that it could be mounted on mules, but not on horses. He replied that he would prefer the mules, as they would endure more hard usage and require less care. Hence, on the 15th of March, 1863, Lieut. Col. Phillips, commanding Regiment, received orders to mount his command, on mules, for scouting purposes. The Regiment was all mounted by the 20th of March. Col. Mersy was in command of the 2d Brigade, and Lieut. Col. Phillips of the Regiment. This arrangement still continues, to the present date. Sergeant George Rhuland, of Company A, was commissioned as 1st Lieutenant of said company. He ranks from March 20th, 1863, the date of the receipt of his commission. The Regiment was paid on the 26th of August, by Major Phelps, for the months of May and June. On the 14th of April, the Regiment received orders to be ready to move by daylight the next morning. The order was afterwards changed to moving in half an hour. We were soon on the way towards Glendale, where the rebels had made a dash on a small body of the 64th Ill. Vols. We reached Glendale a little too late, as Col. Cornyn had driven the enemy and started in pursuit. The Regiment hastened forward and found him at Yellow Stone Creek. We were delayed one and a-half hours in crossing this very muddy stream. Hence, we bivouacked for the night two miles beyond. Moved forward rapidly, on the 15th, and bivouacked within four miles of Big Bear Creek, on the opposite bank of which, we were informed, there was a large body of the enemy. We awaited here, on the 16th, the arrival of the Infantry force from Corinth. All having arrived, we moved rapidly, early on the morning of the 17th. After "shelling the woods" for a short time with our rifled pieces, the following mounted forces, viz: 10th Missouri Cavalry, battalion of the 15th Illinois Cavalry, and the 9th Illinois Mounted Infantry, dashed rapidly across the creek. Captain Richardson was throwing shell over our heads at an imaginary force across the creek. As he did not stop soon enough, a number of his shell flew among our men, but fortunately no one was hurt. As soon as all the mounted force was over, and one section of Tamrath's Battery, we moved forward on the Tuscumbia road. At Dickson's we ran upon the enemy's videttes, driving them back to "Buzzard Roost" or "Cherokee Bluffs," where they made a stand, and the place being naturally strong, our shell could not dislodge them. Consequently, the 9th Ill. Mounted Infantry was dismounted, and deployed as skirmishers. They advanced rapidly to within one hundred yards of the bluff, and then the right wing swung around on the left flank of the enemy, compelling them to leave the bluff very rapidly, and in great disorder. About 25 of the Rebels were killed, wounded and captured. Our loss was five slightly wounded, none disabled. The weather being intensely hot, the horses in the section of battery with us, became too much exhausted to move further. Their ammunition was also about exhausted. The two guns were consequently left at this place to await the arrival of the main force. Lieutenant Krebs, with Co. D, was left to support the guns, in case of an attack. There were also seven men of Co. I left here to guard the prisoners. Immediately after crossing the creek, one company of the 10th Mo., and one of the 9th Ill., were ordered to move two miles out on our left flank, and break up a camp of the enemy said to be in that direction. Lieutenant Patterson, with Co. E of our Regiment, was ordered on that expedition. This detachment drove the rebels from their camp, toward their main body on the Tuscumbia road. This body of the enemy, 250 strong, came upon the two guns of Tamrath's Battery that we had left at Cherokee Bluffs, and before the guns could get to us, they, and all of Co. D, except three men, and the seven men of Co. I, were captured. We moved rapidly back, and succeeded in recapturing one of the guns in "Lundy's Lane." Col. Cameron, of the 1st Alabama Regiment, (loyal,) was killed here in the charge. The Rebels fled to the timber on our left, beyond the reach of our muskets, and too far off for the effective firing of the "Mountain howitzers." Col. Cornyn now ordered us to fall back and rejoin the main body, as we numbered only 1200, all told, while the enemy were not less than 2500 strong. Scarcely, however, had we left "Lundy's Lane," before the enemy filed out of the timber and formed a line across the open field, threatening our rear. The advance of the Infantry force being now only one mile back, we turned about and confronted our foe. The 9th Ill. Inft. dismounted, and moved around to the left flank of the enemy's line, while the cavalry charged their front. They broke and fled beyond a high ridge, and we advanced rapidly and took possession of the ridge. In the meantime, Col. Bane's Brigade, and Welker's Battery came rapidly on the field, unobserved and unknown to the Rebels. This Brigade was immediately posted as follows: The 50th Ill. behind a high grading of the Railroad and to the left of the open field, on which the Rebels had formed their line previous to being driven back by our Cavalry; the 7th Ill. Inft. were moved in the timber, around to the right of the field, and a little further advanced than the 50th; the 57th Ill. were held in reserve. The Cavalry received orders to fall back rapidly, and in apparent confusion, as soon as the enemy should appear on the ridge. This disposition being made of the forces, the 9th Ill. Inft. fell back 100 yards, to a fence overgrown with bushes, and lay concealed behind it. The Rebels advanced with loud shouts, and planted a 12-pound Howitzer on the ridge. Our Cavalry hastily retreated, and the enemy believing victory certain, dashed gallantly ahead, when the 50th and 7th Ill. Regiments opened on them a deadly fire. About the same time, a body of the enemy appeared on the left of the Railroad on the ridge. They were opened upon by the 9th Ill. The contest was not long. In less than ten minutes, the whole body of the Rebels were in rapid retreat towards Cane Creek. The loss of the enemy was, according to their own statement, 17 killed, 50 wounded, and 23 taken prisoners. The 9th Ill. lost 5 wounded and 59 captured (Co. D.) The entire Union loss was 3 killed, 10 wounded, and 75 captured. Night now coming on, we bivouacked near the battle-field. On the 18th, after a reconnoisance in front, and finding the enemy in strong position near Cane Creek, our whole force fell back to Bear Creek, and went into camp. On the 19th, Companies E and F were sent, as escort to a train, to Eastport Landing. The rest of the Regiment, with the whole mounted force, moved circuitously to "Buzzard Roost," and found the enemy, under Roddy, occupying the same position as on the 17th at Cherokee Bluff. Our Regiment was again deployed as skirmishers, in the same manner as before. After fifteen minutes skirmishing, we drove the enemy from his position, killing, wounding and capturing 13 of them, and losing none. We then returned to camp at Bear Creek, taking with us a drove of cattle and sheep. On the 20th of April, the 7th Kansas Cavalry joined us, and on the nest day the Ohio Brigade, Col. Fuller commanding. Our entire column moved forward on the morning of the 23d, and crossed Cane Creek without opposition; the Rebels having fallen back to Little Bear Creek. Here General Dodge offered battle, but they declined, and we bivouacked for the night. We moved forward again on the 24th, the enemy continually falling back, not even making a feeble resistance at Little Bear Creek, although the position was a very strong one. On nearing the town of Tuscumbia, the enemy, under Forrest, left on the Decatur road. Col. Cornyn was ordered forward after them, with the 10th Mo. Cavalry, the 7th Kansas Cavalry, and the 1st Alabama Cavalry. Lieut. Col. Phillips, with two companies of Cavalry, two companies of 9th Ill. Inft., viz: A and B, and two guns of Tamrath's Battery, was ordered to move up to Florence, and capture the town. He proceeded to that place with his command. Arriving on the bank of the river, opposite the town, and observing a small force of cavalry in Florence, he called to them to send him over a boat, as he desired to send over a flag of truce. They replied, telling him to go to that place, where I suppose but few, if any, desire to go. The Col. did not feel disposed, at least to obey their orders, and thinking he had that with which he could enforce obedience to his, he placed his two rifled guns in position, and made a second demand for a boat. To this he received the same reply, as before. Immediately he opened upon them with his two guns, throwing shell into the town. The cavalry on the other side broke and ran. As they passed up the street, a shell was thrown among them, killing one horse. In a very short time, white flags were hung out all over the town. In the meantime, a small raft had been constructed, on which a flag of truce was sent over, and the Mayor of the town made a formal surrender. The object of demanding the surrender was, not that we might hold the place, but that we might ascertain whether the enemy had any considerable force there. The desired information being gained, the Col. evacuated it, and returned to the main force again. The remainder of our Regiment, and the battalion of the 15th Ill. Cavalry, were ordered to move forward, within supporting distance of Col. Cornyn. We moved forward until near night, and not being able to reach him, we returned to Tuscumbia, and bivouacked. At 10 o'clock that night, we received orders to move out rapidly and join Col. Cornyn, as he feared the enemy would come upon him, too strong, at daylight, his forces being very much exhausted. We reached him, beyond Leighton, by 2:30 A. M., on the 25th, and at daylight the whole force returned to Tuscumbia. Our Regiment turned over 200 mules to Col. Streight, on the 26th, to complete the mounting of his force, thus dismounting Companies C, D, E, G, H and K, of our Regiment. On the morning of the 27th April, we again moved forward, toward Decatur, to attract the attention of Forrest, until Col. Streight had moved entirely around his left flank towards Atlanta. We found the enemy posted at Town Creek, four miles beyond Leighton. Some picket skirmishing took place before night. We bivouacked near the Creek. Early on the morning of the 28th, the Rebels having discovered the position of the dismounted companies of our Regiment, opened upon us with schrapnel, compelling us to fall back hurriedly out of their range. The artillery kept up a constant firing all day, and after noon a part of the 81st Ohio and the mounted companies of the 9th Ill., crossed over, at the Railroad bridge, and drove the enemy from their position. Col. Streight having now completely passed the enemy, our entire column moved on the return march, on the morning of the 29th April. Bivouacked for the night near Little Bear Creek. Reached Big Bear on the 30th, and were compelled to remain in camp there until the evening of the 1st of May, when a bridge having been constructed, we crossed over and proceeded up the Railroad to our old place of camping, four miles from Big Bear Creek. From there we proceeded on the main traveled road to Burnsville, reaching that place sometime after night, and bivouacked. On the morning of the 2d May, Lieut. Col. Phillips, with the four mounted companies, viz: A, B, I and F, was ordered to report to Col. Cornyn, commanding cavalry force, for an expedition to Tupelo. The rest of the Regiment moved forward, at 10 A. M., and reached Corinth by 2 P. M. During this trip the Regiment was out from camp 18 days, and had five engagements with the enemy--two on the 17th of April, one on the 19th, one on the 27th, and one on the 4th of May. The great object of this expedition, was to divert the attention of the enemy until Col. Streight, who was fitting up an expedition for a grand raid into Georgia, should have time to complete the mounting of his men, and get well started on his way. Lieut. Col. Phillips, with the four mounted companies of our Regiment, having been ordered on an expedition to Tupelo, separated from the remaining companies at Burnsville, on the 2d of May, and proceeded to Tupelo. Had a skirmish with the enemy there, and rejoined the Regiment at camp, May 7th. Quartermaster Korn died of disease May 6th, 1863. Dr. Guelick and Captain Hawes were detailed on the 7th of May, the former to Fort Henry, and the latter to Memphis. Dr. Wm. A. Allen, 2d Assistant Surgeon, appointed by the Governor of Illinois, reported for duty on the 12th, and was mustered into the service, to rank from that date. On the 13th of May, the Regiment moved into the barracks formerly occupied by the 39th Ohio, one mile south-east from Corinth. On the 15th of May, Brig. Gen. Thomas, Adjutant General U. S. Army, addressed the soldiers at Corinth, announcing and advocating the policy of the Government in regard to freeing and arming the negroes. His remarks met with a hearty approval by nine-tenths of the soldiers at the military post of Corinth. May 26th, our Regiment being again all mounted, we were ordered to report to Col. Cornyn, commander of Cavalry Brigade, at 10 A. M. Moved immediately thereafter, on the Corinth and Hamburg road, toward Hamburg Landing. We reached that place and began to cross the Tennessee River about dark, the 9th Ill. crossing over first. Our Regiment all got over by 2 A. M., of the. 27th, and the remainder of the force by noon of the same day. At 1 P. M., the entire column moved forward on the road towards Florence, taking the most easterly route. Halted, for rest and feed, two hours at 1 o'clock, A. M., of the 28th, and then moved forward again eight miles North-east from Florence. A detachment of the 7th Kansas Cavalry destroyed two large woolen factories, four miles from the city. We drove in the videttes of the enemy, and when we were within one hundred yards of the town, they opened on us with a battery of two guns, throwing schrapnel with great accuracy, compelling us to move from the road, by the left flank, into the timber, to avoid the deadly missiles. Col. Cornyn moved his howitzers rapidly forward, and soon silenced the Rebel guns. The 9th Ill. was now dismounted and thrown forward as skirmishers. The 1st Battalion, (Cos. A, B and C,) Lieutenant Ruhland commanding, moving forward in column, as reserve. The opposition of the enemy did not amount to much, and we soon had possession of the town. Our loss was two wounded, and two captured. The enemy lost from ten to twelve killed and wounded, and sixty to eighty captured. After searching the town, and destroying all the stores of value to the enemy, we began out return march, taking the most westerly route, so as to destroy three large cotton mills and two more large woolen mills, all of which we succeeded in doing without loss to us. At 12 o'clock, midnight, we bivouacked until morning. The enemy disputed our entire advance from Florence to the place of bivouack, and then ceased to molest us. We reached the crossing opposite Hamburg, at 2 A. M., of the 30th May, when we bivouacked until morning. During the day the enemy appeared in force in our rear, before we had even our baggage across, and as Col. Cornyn had moved down to Savannah to relieve the 10th Ill., Lieut. Col. Phillips assumed command, and moved out one-half mile from the river and offered battle, when the Rebels hastily fell back. We succeeded in all getting over by 2 A. M. of the 31st, without further molestation. In the skirmish the opposite side of the river, none of our men were hurt. The enemy lost several in wounded and captured, none are known to have been killed. At 7 A. M., the 31st, the entire column moved toward Corinth, and we reached camp there at 1 P. M. During this expedition, the Regiment was out six days, and engaged in two skirmishes with the enemy. The object of the expedition seemed to be the destruction of public property and stores which would be of advantage to the enemy. After leaving Hamburg Landing at 1 P. M., of the 27th May, the boys were in their saddles, or pack-saddles, as they then were, for about thirty-six hours almost constantly, except the few hours they were in Florence searching the houses for arms, and destroying stores that might be serviceable to the enemy. At 12 o'clock, on the night of the 28th, they halted, until early in the morning, when they were off on the march again. The result of this raid was 64 prisoners captured, over 200 negroes brought in, a large number of mules and horses captured, about $3,000,000 worth of Factory property destroyed. On the 3d of June, 1863, the Regiment received orders to be ready to move on the next morning, at 8 o'clock, with camp and garrison equipage. Moved on the 4th, in accordance with the above order, in a North-west direction. Passed through Cherwalla, and bivouacked for the night about ten miles west of it. The Tuscumbia and Hatchie Rivers had to be bridged, in order to cross the artillery and infantry. The entire Brigade were moving with us. These streams were bridged, the forces crossed, and we arrived at Pocahontas by 4 P. M., on the 5th of June, and bivouacked in the town for the night. On the 7th, the Regiment moved into camp one-fourth mile north of the town. On the 8th of June, Lieut. Col. Phillips, with Companies A, B, E, F, G and I, moved south on a scout, and returned on the 9th, at 1 P. M., bringing in a drove of cattle and sheep. The remaining companies of the Regiment went as an escort to a train of wagons, as far as the bridge on Tuscumbia Creek. On the 11th of June, Capt. Kneffner, with Companies A, C, E, H and I, moved North-west on a scout, and returned in the evening, having marched 40 miles, bringing in three prisoners. The Regiment, accompanied by one section of Tamrath's Battery, moved south on the Ripley road, on the 12th of June, at 1 P. M., and bivouacked for the night within ten miles of Ripley. Moved forward early on the morning of the 13th, and took possession of Ripley without opposition. The town was searched, but nothing of a contraband nature was found, except a number of negroes, who were confiscated for the use of the Government. Moved on in the direction of New Albany. At Orizabo, the flankers on our left encountered a few Rebel soldiers, and after driving them off, burned the place, as it contained Rebel stores and was a place of rendezvous for them. While stopping to feed, about four miles south of Ripley, a family moving to Ripley came along. Their wagons and carriage were searched, and a Rebel mail was found in the old lady's carpet-sack. Their horses and mules were all confiscated, except one old team of mules which they were allowed to keep. The Regiment then proceeded to New Albany, reaching that place about 4 P. M. Finding the town nearly deserted by citizens, and used as a general Headquarters for guerrillas, and a supplying point for them, it was entirely destroyed, after any stores of value that could be carried away were taken. We then moved back toward Ripley, on a different route from the one by which we had entered, going three miles and bivouacking for the night. At 1 o'clock, A. M., June 14th, Lieutenant Krebs and escort came into our bivouack from Pocahontas, with orders from Col. Mersy, for us to return as rapidly as possible to camp at Pocahontas, as the enemy were planning to capture us. We moved at 2 A. M. Reached Ripley at breakfast time, and camp at Pocahontas at 8 P. M. At daylight this morning, the enemy, 1500 strong, reached our last night's bivouack. But fortunately we were safe out of their reach. It was fortunate for us, for our force numbered but 300 men with two pieces of artillery. The Regiment was out three days on this expedition. It captured, and brought in, about 25 Rebel soldiers, 50 contrabands, and 100 head of horses and mules. It marched over one hundred miles. On the 17th of June, the Regiment again, moved southward, at 8 P. M., with six days rations. The night was rainy and intensely dark. One section of Tamrath's Battery was with us, under Lieut. Bruner. Marched all night in the dark and rain. It was such bad traveling, that we only moved twelve miles by sunrise of the 18th. Halted and fed at old "Secession Hopkins'," where the Regiment had already fed four times. Reached Ripley at 1 P. M., and found no enemy, but were told that 1,500 Rebels were moving around, to get between us and Pocahontas. We moved back two miles, and halted to feed. Here we were joined by 125 men of the 5th Ohio Cavalry, Major Smith commanding, and 180 of the 18th Missouri Mounted Infantry, commanded by Lieut. Col. Sheldon. Our whole force now numbered a little over 600: 5th Ohio Cavalry 125, 18th Missouri Mounted Infantry 180, Section of Battery 50, 9th Ill. Mounted Inft. 275. Total, 630. Lieut. Col. Phillips, senior officer present, assumed command of the whole force. We moved back five miles and bivouacked for the night. Finding no enemy, we moved forward again by daylight of the 19th. Passed through Ripley at 8 A. M., and New Albany at 2 P. M. Captured Lieut. Col. McCarly of the 23d Mississippi, below Ripley. Drove in the videttes of the enemy at New Albany, and moved forward on the Pontotoc road. When within six miles of the latter place, Lieut. Col. Phillips having gone as far as his orders permitted him, moved five miles West, and then moved North towards Rockford. Marched until after midnight of the 19th, having to cross a terrible swamp, called the Octohatchie. We bivouacked for the night on a ridge between Octohatchie and Mud Creek. Moved forward again at 7 A. M., of the 20th, 5th Ohio occupying the rear, and 18th Missouri the advance. While we were preparing a crossing of Mud Creek, the enemy, 3,000 strong, under Gen. Ruggles, made a furious attack upon the rear guard, but were most gallantly met and checked by the 5th Ohio Cavalry. Six companies of the 9th Ill. Inft. were dismounted, and deployed as skirmishers. They, and the 5th Ohio Cavalry, held the enemy in check for two and a-half hours, until the artillery had crossed the several most wretched fords of Mud Creek. One of the caissons getting stuck in the mud, we were compelled to leave one-half of it there, and as it completely blocked up the crossing, we had to destroy the five baggage wagons that were behind it, to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy; everything we could possibly save, being brought over the ford. We fell back rapidly, and got possession of Rocky Ford, before the Rebels got around, and succeeded in crossing before they could molest us. Our loss in this engagement, was 5 killed and 18 wounded. The loss of the enemy could not be definitely ascertained, but was not less than 200 in killed, wounded and missing. The place where this battle was fought, was a dense cane-brake. Men could not see each other more than a few feet. Our men could hear every command given by the Rebel officers, but could not see the enemy. After getting safely out of that terrible bottom, and crossing the Tallahatchie at Rocky Ford, we moved through Salem, on the 21st, and reached camp at Pocahontas, at noon of the 22d June. The Regiment was out six days, during this trip. Had to endure some very hard marching. Marched almost constantly, day and night. On the 23d of June, 2d Assistant Surgeon Dr. Allen, was ordered to report at LaGrange, Tenn., by Surgeon Gay, Medical Director left wing 16th Army Corps, and left for that place on the 24th. On the 6th of July, Companies A, C, E, F, G, H and I, under the command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved North-west on a scout, and returned on the 7th at noon, not having found any force of the enemy. On the 8th of July, the entire Regiment moved Northward, with three days rations, 35 miles, and returned on the 9th without finding any force of the enemy. Brought in a number of citizens as prisoners, with all the horses and mules, of any value, that could be found. Rabid secessionists followed after, pleading for their animals. Col. Phillips would tell them that he was a kind-hearted man, had a number of prisoners, and did not wish to have them walk. Hence, he must have their horses and mules. He expressed sorrow for the necessity. It is a question whether that sorrow was very _deep down_, however, as he has no mercy on Rebels, and takes all the horses and mules from them, that he can place his hands upon, without much trouble of conscience. On the 12th of July, the Regiment again moved in a North-west direction, with five days rations. Joined Col. Hatch's force from LaGrange, North of Bolivar, and the combined force moved to Jackson, and on the 13th engaged a Rebel force there, under Forrest, Newsom, and Biffle. Our Regiment was dismounted as skirmishers. After brisk firing for one-quarter of an hour, we dislodged them. The cavalry then moved over the river and took the flank of the skirmish line. The right wing of our Regiment were recalled from their position on the South side of the creek, and placed in reserve of the left wing. We then moved rapidly forward, until within a few hundred yards of their fortifications, when we made a charge upon their works and drove them out, by a charge from our skirmish line. We moved forward, thinking that they had left. But when in the suburbs of the North side of the town, the Rebel cavalry came charging down on us from the North-east and East parts of the town. We quickly formed in line facing them, and went into them with a fierceness that they could not long stand. In about fifteen minutes they were driven entirely from the field, and we advanced to their position. We captured a goodly number of horses and muskets they were compelled to leave. One Rebel Captain was found dead on the field. A prisoner who was captured, said he was a notorious guerrilla chieftain, and hated by their own men. Said there would not be much sorrow for his death. The fighting in all lasted about two and a-half hours. We captured about 70 prisoners, 30 of whom were paroled, the remainder were brought into camp. Our loss was one killed and six wounded. The enemy's loss in killed and wounded, was about two hundred. The Regiment returned to camp about 1 P. M., of the 15th, having been out four days. On the 18th, six companies, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, started on a scout about dark, after a party of guerrillas who had made a dash upon some of the Home Guards at Middleton, killing and taking prisoners several of them. They pursued them all night, in the direction of Bolivar, but could not find them. Returned to camp about noon the next day. On the 20th of July, the Regiment moved South, accompanied by two guns of Tamrath's Battery. At Hopkins we were joined by the 11th Ill. Cavalry, commanded by Major Kerr. Moved on to within three miles of Ripley, and bivouacked at the forks of the Nubbin Ridge and Ruckersville road. Two companies of Cavalry and two companies of Mounted Infantry were sent towards Ripley to reconnoiter. Discovering no enemy, they soon returned. On the 21st, the command moved back seven miles to Ruckersville, and there awaited orders from Corinth. We moved forward again on the 22d, at 3 A. M. Halted at Ripley two hours. Captured two prisoners, and then moved back to camp at Pocahontas. The Regiment moved North-west, at daylight on the 20th of July, with eight days rations. It joined Col. Hatch's command, North of Bolivar, at 8:30 P. M., of the same day. After the Regiment was formed, before marching, a brief prayer was offered by the writer, who was then present with the Regiment. Bivouacked for the night, ten miles North of Bolivar. On the 27th, Lieut. Col. Phillips was ordered to the command of a Brigade, consisting of the 9th Ill. Inft. and 3d Michigan Cavalry, and Captain G. G. Lowe took command of the Regiment. We joined Col. Prowitt's command at Lexington, Tenn., on the 28th. Passed through Clarksville, a Union town, to-day. Had captured a goodly number of mules and negroes, and about 100 prisoners up to this date. Among the latter were two Colonels. Passed through Huntingdon on the 29th. A strong Union town. While stopped here, two daughters of Col. Hawkins of the 2d West Tennessee Cavalry, (loyal,) paraded the streets, carrying the stars and stripes. This was cheering to our boys. We lay over most of the 29th at Macedonia. Moved to Trenton on the 31st. Passed through a very rough country, and in a poor state of cultivation. From Trenton we proceeded South, towards Jackson, passing through Jackson on the 1st of August, and reaching camp at Pocahontas on the 3d of August, about 8 P. M. The Regiment was out, during this scout, nine days. Did not have any engagements with the enemy. On the 6th of August, Companies A, C, D, E, G, H, I and K, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved North-west of Bolivar, and returned on the 7th, without finding any forces of the enemy. On the 12th of August, at 10 P. M., the Regiment moved South, with six days rations. Marched all night, and halted at sunrise and fed. At 6 A. M., of the 13th, we were on the march again. Took the road through Salem, passing that place about 4 P. M., and bivouacking for the night six miles beyond it. Moved forward again at daylight on the 14th, crossing the Tallahatchie at Rocky Ford, and bivouacking for the night. Moved West on the Oxford road, early on the 15th, reaching that place at noon. Here we joined a Brigade from LaGrange. Lieut. Col. Phillips assumed command of the Brigade, and moved on six miles beyond Oxford, on the Coffeeville road, and bivouacked for the night. At daybreak, on the 16th, moved forward again. We were joined to-day, by a Brigade of Cavalry from Germantown and Collierville, under the command of Lieut. Col. M. R. M. Wallace, who being junior officer to Lieut. Col. Phillips, reported his command to him for orders. Lieut. Col. Phillips now assumed command of the whole force, consisting of two Brigades. Lieut. Col. Wallace had command of the 1st Brigade, and Major Coon of the 2d. The whole force crossed the Tochamy River on a ferry boat, and reached Water Valley at 12 M. Here our advance captured a train of seven six-mule wagons, and a number of prisoners who were guarding the train. The 1st Brigade was so long delayed in crossing the river, that Major Coon, who had command of the 2d Brigade, did not leave Water Valley until 5 P. M. He then moved forward to within two miles of Coffeeville, and bivouacked for the remainder of the night. It was 2 A. M., of the 17th, when we reached that point. A heavy storm of rain came on shortly after leaving Water Valley, and the night became intensely dark. The darkness made it very difficult to march at all. Often the mules, with their riders, would tumble into the ditches. The 1st Brigade, commanded by Lieut. Col. Wallace, moved only one mile from Water Valley, when the darkness became so intense, that movements were almost impossible. The Brigade was consequently ordered into bivouack for the night. On the morning of the 17th, Lieut. Col. Wallace joined the 2d Brigade at Coffeeville. The entire force now moved forward rapidly towards Grenada, the 11th Ill. Cavalry having the advance. When ten miles from Coffeeville, six or eight locomotives and 40 or 50 cars were captured, and a guard placed over them. When the advance were within four miles of Grenada, the Rebels fired the two large Railroad bridges over the Tallobusha, and before we could reach them, they were completely destroyed. The 11th Ill. Cavalry was ordered forward, as rapidly as possible, to prevent the unnecessary destruction of property; and the entire 2d Brigade moved forward at a brisk trot. When within one mile of town, the 11th Cavalry were checked by about 300 of the enemy. The 9th Ill. Inft. were dismounted and sent forward as skirmishers. Soon after, the 2d Iowa and 3d Michigan Cavalry went into the action. Orders were sent back to Lieut. Col. Wallace to hasten up his Brigade, and move forward with all possible dispatch. As soon as the Battery was placed in position, Col. Wallace was ordered to enter town, with his Brigade, by the lower ford. The enemy not replying to our Battery, Major Coon was ordered to charge across the ford, with the 2d Iowa Cavalry, and at the same time to ferry over a portion of the 9th Ill. Inft. as a support, in case the enemy pressed him too hard. This force crossed and took possession of the town, without further opposition. The captures which we made, were as follows: 60 locomotives; 450 cars, of all kinds; considerable stores, and $8,000 in Confederate scrip. As the enemy had burned the bridges across the Tallobusha, making it impossible to run off the rolling stock, the cars, locomotives, machine shops, depots, Commissary and Quartermaster buildings were fired, and destroyed. At 7 P. M., reports having come in that the enemy were returning to attack us in force, our entire Division, except the Picket and Provost Guard, were ordered to recross the Tallobusha, and bivouack, ready to fall in at a moment's notice. One hour later, Col. Winslow, commanding a Brigade of Cavalry, from "Blackwater," entered the town from the South. He being the ranking officer, now assumed command of the whole force. His Brigade took possession of the place, and the whole force bivouacked for the night. The entire loss of our Division in the fight, was one man killed and two wounded. The 9th Ill. Inft. had one man wounded. The 1st Brigade was so far in the rear, at the beginning of the action, that it was not engaged, except Perkin's Battery of Mountain Howitzers. The entire forces in Lieut. Col. Phillips' command, during this expedition, consisted of the following Regiments, viz: 9th Ill. Inft. (mounted) Captain Kneffner commanding, 300; 2d Iowa Cavalry, Captain ---- commanding, 200; 11th Ill. Cavalry, Major Funk commanding, 150; 3d Michigan Cavalry, Major Hudson commanding, 200; Total, 2d Brigade, Major Coon commanding, 850. 9th Ill. Cavalry, ---- ---- commanding, 250; 3d Ill. Cavalry, Major Connor commanding, 200; 4th Ill. Cavalry, ---- ---- commanding, 300; Total, 1st Brigade, Lieut. Col. Wallace commanding, 750. Total in Division, Lieut. Col. Phillips commanding, 1,600. The force of the enemy at Grenada, was between 1,500 and 2,500, and was under command of Col. Slemmer, Gen. Chalmers being, at the time, absent. Major Leath, Gen. Chalmers' Quartermaster, was captured in Grenada, and with him the Confederate scrip mentioned above. During the action, Col. Winslow, with his Brigade, was in bivouack, within five miles of Grenada, and had he moved on the South rapidly at that time, we would have captured most of the enemy, and his entire Quartermaster train of over 100 wagons. Lieut. Col. Phillips insisted on pursuing and capturing, at least, their wagon train. But Col. Winslow was in command and not willing. Lieut. Col. Phillips then requested permission to pursue with his command, but was refused. Having command, Col. Winslow ordered the destruction of property to cease. Hence, two locomotives, and about a dozen cars, were left on the North side of the Tallobusha, for the Rebels to run down produce from Water Valley and the country North of them. The entire command remained in bivouack on the 18th, and moved on the return march, at 5 A. M., on the 19th, taking the Oakland road. Bivouacked for the night, just across the Tochamy River. We moved forward again at 5 A. M., of the 20th. Ferried over the Tallahatchie, and bivouacked for the night seven miles North of it. Moved again at 5 A. M., on the 21st. Col. Winslow and his command left us to-day, for Memphis. Fed near Looxahoma. Bivouacked for the night, near Bucksnort. Moved at the same hour on the 22d. Lieut. Col. Wallace with his command, turned to the left to-day, for his camp at Collierville. We passed through Holly Springs about 4 P. M., to-day, and bivouacked seven miles North-east of town. This is a nice town, on an elevated situation, with some very fine buildings in it. Guards were placed at each of the houses. Many ladies made their appearance, as our boys passed along the street. Some of them looked on smilingly, while others manifested scornful contempt, in their very looks. But what did our boys care for their scorn? They only smiled the more. The sight which the citizens beheld, as our forces passed, was no doubt to them a sore one. A long train of negroes, men, women and children were accompanying us. At last $1,000,000 worth of property, as slaves had formerly been rated, was leaving them. They had long been accustomed to regard these persons as the great source of their wealth. This war had been instigated for the purpose of riveting the chains of bondage more tightly upon these slaves. Many of them, perhaps, had been called upon to mourn the death of some dear friend, who had been slain in waging this war. They had thought thus to make more secure this species of their wealth. But now they were compelled to see it taking to itself _legs_ and fleeing away. Our boys arrived in camp at Pocahontas on the 24th of August, after having been out thirteen days. They left camp with six days rations. Where did the other seven days rations come from? I suppose none of the boys can tell! Perhaps, if the smoke-houses and hen-roosts of the citizens along the way could speak, they might tell. Or, may be, even the citizens themselves, if any one should take the trouble to travel along and enquire of them, could tell something about it. The expedition was certainly a grand success. Some raids, about which much has been said and written, were of far less importance. It was a bold dash, of more than one hundred miles, into the midst of the enemy's country. Our forces met on their own chosen ground, at least an equal, and it is thought, a greatly superior force of the enemy; drove them from their position, after a smart skirmish; captured a large amount of their stores, with about fifty prisoners. About $8,000,000 worth of public property was destroyed. Destroyed because two long bridges on the Railroad had been burned by the enemy. About 500 head of horses and mules were captured. And at least 2,000 negroes were brought in with our forces; thus weakening the hands of our enemies, and obtaining that, by which to strengthen our own hands. These, as slaves were formerly valued, were worth at least $2,000,000. The entire Union loss was only one man killed and two wounded. Had there been a special correspondent with our forces, it would have been heralded in the newspapers with a flourish that might have resulted in a _star_ on our worthy Lieut. Col. Phillips, who commanded the expedition. The material, at least, was there. Charles Chevi, 2d Lieutenant of Company C, resigned, and his resignation was accepted, to take effect August 7th, 1863. August 26th, the Regiment was paid by Major W. H. Johnston, for the months of March, April, May and June. August 29th, Captains Kneffner and Robinson, and Lieuts. Rollmann and Cowgill, were ordered to report to Col. Alexander, at St. Louis, for duty in the Invalid Corps. At the regular periodical muster and inspection, on the 31st of August, Captain G. G. Lowe acted as Inspecting and Mustering Officer. September 3d, 1863, 1st Lieutenant George W. Williford, was commissioned and mustered as Captain of Company F. September 4th, 1863, Rev. Marion Morrison reported for duty, with commission as Chaplain of the Regiment. He was mustered in as such, to date from the 4th. On the 3d of August, 1863, 105 deserters, mostly from the 128th Ill. Inft., were assigned to duty in the 9th Ill. Vol. Inft., and were transferred to the various companies, so as to equalize the strength of those companies. On the 6th of August, Lieutenant McClure, commanding detachment of the 128th Ill. Vol., reported his men, in compliance with orders from Headquarters 16th Army Corps, to the Regiment for duty. The detachment numbered 103 men, and were assigned, pro rata, to the several companies. Lieutenant Lenma, Adjutant of the 128th, was assigned to Company F, and Lieutenant Cooper to Company B, until further orders. In the order for consolidation, Lieutenant Lenma's name was dropped, (he having resigned,) and Lieutenant Cooper was transferred from Company B to Company F. On the 16th of August, 1863, 1st Lieutenant Krebs received a commission as Captain of Company D, and Orderly Sergeant H. Weber as 1st Lieutenant Company D, and both were mustered in from that date. When the writer reported to the Regiment for duty, on the 4th of September, as above noticed, the Regiment was in command of Captain G. G. Lowe, Lieut. Col. Phillips having been summoned to Memphis, as a witness before a court martial in the case of Lieut. Col. Bowen of the 10th Mo. Cavalry. Lieut. Col. Phillips was detained there for two or three weeks, and Captain Lowe continued in command of the Regiment, with credit to himself. After joining the Regiment, arrangements were made for regular preaching services on each Sabbath, and prayer-meetings on Sabbath and Wednesday evenings. I would here say, that we have been able notwithstanding the great amount of scouting duty the Regiment has had to perform, to hold our regular services on almost every Sabbath, up to the present time, except the few weeks I was absent from the Regiment, on orders, in Illinois. The Regiment had been without a Chaplain for about 20 months. For several Sabbaths we held our services under the shades of the trees in front of the Colonel's quarters. Soon, however, some of the soldiers volunteered their services, and erected a comfortable chapel, 40 by 24 feet, in which to hold our meetings. We had occupied this but a few Sabbaths, when we moved from our old camp at Pocahontas. During the first three weeks of September, from one to four companies were out scouting, almost daily. Gen. Chalmers was concentrating a force South of the Memphis and Charleston Railroad, to make a dash upon that road, and cut off communication between Memphis and Corinth. On the 27th of September, the Regiment, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, who had rejoined it, moved South toward New Albany. On arriving within six miles of that place, he found the enemy too strong for a further safe advance with the force he had, and returned to camp at Pocahontas on the 29th. On the 2d of October, the Regiment moved North on a scout. Found and engaged a small force of the enemy, on Forked Deer River. In this engagement, Private Peterson, of Co. K, was killed. Finding no more force of the enemy, the Regiment returned to camp at Pocahontas on the 4th of October. During the latter part of September and the first week in October, there was much talk that we would be removed, and take up the march somewhere. Gen. Sherman's forces from Vicksburg, were constantly passing towards Corinth, for two or three weeks. It was reported that they would take the place of the 16th Army Corps in occupying Memphis and Corinth and the Railroad between them; and that our Corps would move into an active campaign. Thus we were kept, as soldiers often are, in suspense from day to day. Not knowing what a day might bring forth. In the meantime Sherman's forces passed on towards Chattanooga, and we were still in our old quarters. As the weather was now becoming too cold for the airy tents, which most of the Regiment occupied, the boys went to the timber, split boards, hauled poles, &c., and put themselves up comfortable quarters. Brick chimneys, left where houses had been burnt through the country, were torn down and brought into camp, and neat little chimneys built to their shanties. Thus the boys were preparing for comfortably spending the winter in their camp. On the 4th of October, commissions arrived, as follows: 2d Lieut. John Mallmann, to be Captain of Company B; 2d Sergt. L. Grieser, to be 1st Lieut. Company B; 1st Lieut. I. Clements, to be Captain Company G; 2d Lieut. N. G. Perrine, to be 1st Lieut. Company G; 1st Lieut. S. T. Hughs, to be Captain of Company I; 2d Lieut. Wm. Paden, to be 1st Lieut. Company I; Com. Sergt. C. A. Spatee, to be Regimental Quartermaster. Of the above, the following were ordered on duty, in their new rank, viz: Grieser, Clements, Perrine and Spatee. On the 6th of October, the Regiment, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved South towards Ripley, on the Jonesborough road, and bivouacked for the night at Ruckersville. Moved forward again at daylight on the 7th, and reached Ripley at 8:30 A. M., and at 9:30 moved North-west towards Salem. When within five miles of that place, an advance was sent out, which ascertained that the enemy were in Salem about 3,000 strong. It was determined by Lieut. Col. Phillips, to attack them on the morning of the 8th, although his force did not exceed 400 men. Hence, early in the morning, one company was sent rapidly forward, and drove in their pickets and developed their forces. This done and they fell back. Soon after, the Regiment moved forward in force. Arriving at the town, it was found that Col. McCrillis was there with his Regiment of cavalry, and that the Rebels had fallen back out of town. It was soon ascertained, however, that their falling back was not a retreat, but a pretense, and that they were preparing to attack us. Hence, the 9th Ill. Inft. was dismounted and deployed as skirmishers, and the two guns of Tamrath's Battery accompanying the Regiment, were placed in position, and opened upon the enemy. In a very short time the enemy made a vigorous effort to drive us, but failed. After engaging this vastly superior force for three hours, and our ammunition failing, we fell back on to the Railroad at LaGrange, and were reinforced. Five of our men were killed and twenty wounded in this engagement. After reaching LaGrange, a dispatch was sent into camp, for all the men in camp fit for duty, to join the Regiment at that place. Reinforcements were now secured and preparations made for driving the enemy back, or cutting off his retreat. On the 11th of October, the Regiment, together with Col. Hatch's mounted force, moved South-west. Had an engagement with the enemy at Graham's Mills, and another at Wyatt's, defeating them in both engagements and driving them Southward, after severe skirmishing. Our entire mounted force was commanded by Col. Hatch, the Brigade by Lieut. Col. Phillips, and the Regiment by Captain A. G. Hawes. In these two last engagements, the 9th Ill. lost one man killed and five wounded. The following is a list of the killed and wounded in the various engagements, since the Regiment was mounted on the 20th of March, 1863. COMPANY A.--At Jackson, Tenn., _Killed_, Konrad Schaeffer; _Wounded_, Sergt. Michael Hartweek, Privates Charles Harris and George Heiler.--1 killed and 3 wounded. COMPANY B.--Cherokee Bluffs, Miss., _Wounded_, Gustar Blank; Mud Creek, Miss., John Snider; Salem, Miss., James Luston; Wyatt's, Miss., _Killed_, William Toliver; _Wounded_, 1st Lieut. Louis Grieser, Private Wm. Crum. In all, 1 killed and 5 wounded. COMPANY C.--Mud Creek, Miss., _Killed_, Sergt. Charles Ehrlich, Private George Valler, _Wounded_, Sergt. Wm. Heser, and Private Eilb Menson; Jackson, Tenn., Sergt. Engen A. Hauke; Salem, Miss., Corp. Wm. Striegal, and Private G. M. Smith; Athens, Ala., Samuel Spring. In all, 2 killed and 6 wounded. COMPANY D.--Salem, Miss., _Killed_, G. W. Hatfield, _Wounded_, Chrst. Lambe. One killed and one wounded. COMPANY E.--Mud Creek, Miss., _Wounded_, Charles B. Fleming, Wm. M. Gery and Ephraim J. Tyler; Salem, Miss., Jas. Stewart and Wm. Mock. In all, 5 wounded. COMPANY F.--Salem, Miss., _Killed_, Thos. Ellison. COMPANY G.--Mud Creek, Miss., Henry Brown and Jonathan Hampton; Salem, Miss., Wm. Cheneworth and Jas. M. Newton. In all, 4 wounded. COMPANY H.--Salem, Miss., Francis M. Strickle, Ahiron D. Simons, Benj. R. Felts; Florence, Ala., Wm. H. Neal. In all, 4 wounded. COMPANY I.--Mud Creek, Miss., _Wounded_, Lieut. S. T. Hughs, Chas. S. Patton; Grenada, Miss., S. P. Irwin; Jackson, Tenn., Oliver Hays; Salem, Miss., _Killed_, E. K. Richards, _Wounded_, Richard Jordon; Wyatt's, Miss., John Graham; Athens, Ala., M. D. Holcomb. In all, 1 killed and 7 wounded. COMPANY K.--Montezuma, Tenn., _Killed_, John M. Peterson; Salem, Miss., John Q. Martin, _Wounded_, Lieut. Ulen and Peter Hall. In all, 2 killed and 2 wounded. A number of incidents of interest, occurred during the period covered by this chapter. When on a scout to Tupelo, the boys were feeding near the house of a citizen. A woman came to Col. Phillips to make complaints that one of her horses had been taken, and a negro man or two had left her and was following our forces away. The Col. very politely told her, (for he is always polite to the ladies, unless they cease to act the lady,) that he was sorry for her, but that it was his business to keep the Rebels out of that country, so that they might not molest peaceable citizens like her. In order to do this, he must have horses to mount his men. Hence, from military necessity he must take her horse. That more effectually to accomplish the work of clearing the Rebels out of the country, the Government had resolved to arm the negroes and make soldiers of them. Hence, he must take her negroes also. Finding she could accomplish nothing by her entreaties with the Col., she was returning to the house, when she saw that they were taking her corn to feed their animals. Some of the boys were also chasing her chickens, and they were rapidly decreasing in numbers. She now set up a terrible lamentation, and commenced praying that God would send the Yankees out of the country. In the warmth of her petitions, she used the following forcible language: "O, Lord, if you can't come yourself, just now, do send General Price with his great army, to drive these miserable Yankees out of the country." Until this petition was uttered, some of the boys felt a sympathy for her. But the utterance of it, seemed to drive away both their sympathy and their gravity. The Col. finally sent an orderly, telling her to go into the house and finish her prayers. Another. When on a scout near Ripley, Miss., the Regiment were in camp, and, as usual, helping themselves to the contents of a corn-crib, that thereby they might strengthen their mules for the heavy duties laid upon them. A woman appeared, with the usual cry, that she was a "poor lone widow, with six orphan children," and requested the Col. to leave her corn enough to make her bread until she could raise more. The Col. assured her that they would leave her some corn. In a short time, one of the girls came out, with the cry, "O, Col., the soldiers are taking every bit of our corn, and we will all starve." The Col. gave orders to the Adjutant to have a guard placed at that woman's corn, and instruct it to see that _some_ of that corn was left. The Adjutant detailed a guard. In the meantime, it had been ascertained that the family had a lot of wheat; and although it might be hard for a Southern family to live without corn bread, still it was supposed that if they had wheat-bread, they would not _starve_. Hence, as corn to feed upon was scarce, the Adjutant, in instructing the guard to see that _some_ of that corn was left, gave him a knowing wink, which he well understood. _Some_ of the corn was left. But it was simply a little shelled corn in the bottom of the crib. One of the girls having made a reconnoisance to the corn-crib, to see how things were getting along there, and made the discovery that it was all gone, came back running and crying, "Oh, mother, mother; they have taken every bit of our corn, and now we will have nothing to eat but wheat-bread. What will we do." Still another. It was almost a daily, and often an hourly occurrence for citizens to visit the Col. at his Head Quarters, to endeavor to get back a horse or mule that had been captured. One day two ladies had visited him for that purpose. While they were engaged in reasoning the matter with him, dinner was announced. He invited them to go out and eat dinner with him. The invitation was accepted. The cook, or Doctor, or some one, expecting that they would be there for dinner, set a bottle of liquor on the table. After dinner was over, the Colonel politely invited them to take a drink. After some little hesitation, they each took their glass of liquor. The Colonel, always supplied with cigars, took his cigar-case from his pocket, and reached it to them. They each took a cigar, lit it at the cook's fire, and sat down and deliberately smoked it. In the North, to smoke in the presence of ladies is considered the greatest impoliteness. Not so in the South, however. One more. When on the return from the raid to Grenada, Miss., the Regiment passed through Holly Springs. There was some apprehension that there might be a disposition on the part of some of the soldiers to fire the town, owing to treatment received from the citizens on a former occasion. Hence, a guard was placed at each house, until the forces should pass through. Surgeon Gulick desiring some water for sick men, started to go into a yard to get it, but the guard would not allow him to pass in. He handed his canteen to a colored man in the yard, requesting him to fill it with water. While he was doing it, a woman came from the house, much excited. Coming towards the Doctor, she inquired, "Is there a Mason here?" _Doctor._--"Why, madame, what do you wish?" _Mad. M._--"I am the widow of a Mason. I wish to know if there is a Mason here. I wish protection." _Doctor._--"Madame, you had better go into the house. You do not need protection. There is a guard around your house." During this conversation, a chicken, from some cause ran through the fence into the street. A soldier started after it, to catch it. The Doctor's companion seized a long club, and quickly got over the fence and after the soldier. Unobserved, she came upon him, when about to catch the chicken, and struck him a heavy blow over the head. This he did not resist, as it was from a woman. But after the second blow, he supposed that "forbearance ceased to be a virtue," even if a woman was involved. The Doctor says he was scared when he saw her seize the club and climb the fence. He supposed she was coming at him. Still another. At the same time and place with the last, a lady whose horse had been taken, came out to Col. Phillips, very pleasant, and announced herself as a daughter of Gen. Bradshaw; took the Colonel's horse by the bridle, and told him that she would be servant for him, and he had to submit to having her lead his horse up to her gate. She invited him to go in and have something to drink. He could not well refuse her invitation, even if he had desired to. Once in the house, she told him that she had both wine and whisky. Said she did not know how it was with our officers, but theirs all preferred the whisky. The Colonel told her that he would not be an exception, and so helped himself to a portion of the whisky. Another one yet. During the raid on Florence, when the town was being searched, and contraband goods taken, tobacco and wine were both regarded as contrabands of war. Considerable quantities of both were found in the town. Dr. Allen tells of one soldier whom he saw with three boxes of tobacco on his mule before him. Having more than he could well carry, and meeting a citizen on the street, proposed to give him a box. Another, whom he met, had three or four boxes of bottles of wine on before him. Being rather overburdened, he made a present of one box to the Doctor, which he accepted, I suppose, as _hospital stores_. Another on Dr. Gulick. I hope the good natured Doctor will pardon me for using his name so frequently in this connection. When on the return march from the raid to Grenada, Miss., as has been stated, there was a drove of about 2,000 negroes followed the returning column. They were of all ages, and both sexes. Old grey headed grandfathers and grandmothers were there. Men and women in the vigor of life were there. Prattling little boys and little girls were there. Suckling babes were there also. This great crowd of colored people were there, some of them pretty well clad, others almost naked. It is described as a sight sufficient to touch the heart of any one. Mothers were there, traveling on foot a journey of 75 to 100 miles, carrying their infant children. Two or three of these mothers, overcome with traveling to keep up with a mounted force, carrying their children, actually laid them down by the road side, and pressed on to liberty. "Can a mother forget her sucking child?" Some of these poor creatures seemed willing to leave their children behind, rather than be left themselves, hoping, perhaps, that some "good Samaritan" would care for them. The Doctor, kind-hearted man, finding one of these little ones, alighted and picked it up, and as some of the boys passed him, was dandling the child. He placed it in his ambulance, and when they halted, he found its mother. All praise to the Doctor for this humane act. Another fact, closely connected with this rebellion, for the suppression of which our Regiment has so nobly contended. While in camp at Pocahontas, the writer took the pains to ascertain some facts with reference to the education of the citizens. When we had been in camp about three months, I called at the Provost Marshal's office, and ascertained that 1,520 citizens had taken the oath of allegiance, that they might make purchases of coffee, salt, &c. from our Commissary. Of the above number, just 300 could write their own names. The other 1,220 had to have their names written and make their mark. At another point where the Regiment was in camp, on the Tennessee River, out of 313 who took the oath in one day, only 13 could write their own names. The remaining 300 had to make their mark. Now, looking at these facts, and if they are anything like an approximation even, to the state of society in the South, need we any longer wonder at this rebellion? A few well informed and designing leaders can go into a community, such as the above facts indicate, and influence its inhabitants to almost any course of action they may desire. CHAPTER VII. FROM THE TIME OF LEAVING POCAHONTAS TO THE PRESENT. _Orders to move camp--March to Eastport--Regiment detached for scouting duty--From Eastport to Pulaski--Pulaski to Athens--Scouting along the Tennessee--Going into quarters--Roddy's Raid--Scout below Florence._ As stated in the preceding chapter, there had been much said about our Regiment leaving camp and being thrown out into an active campaign; that that excitement had passed away, and the boys had prepared themselves with comfortable quarters in which to spend the winter. When thus comfortably fixed for living during the winter, orders came for the Regiment to be ready to move on the morning of October 30th. Thus the comfortable little dwellings prepared by the boys; the chapel prepared for our religious services; the new hospital just finished, and such like comforts were all left behind. But such is the common lot of soldiers. They have a very uncertain life before them. They know not to-day, where they shall be on to-morrow. The order was to conduct a Battery to Corinth. Whence, from there, we knew not. The morning of October 30th came, and with it heavy clouds, threatening rain. Baggage must be packed up. Tents must be struck. Wagons must be loaded. By about 8 ½ A. M., all was ready, and we were on the march. About the time we started, it commenced raining, and rained heavily all day. This made it difficult for the Battery wagons to proceed rapidly. Came to Cypress Creek and bottom. The stream was very difficult to cross. There was a swampy bottom, of three miles, which we had to cross. The Battery did not get through it that night, but camped in the bottom. The right wing of the Regiment moved out to the ridge beyond, and there awaited the arrival of Battery and left wing. It being found they could not get through that night, all went into bivouack until morning. At an early hour on the morning of the 31st, the Regiment and Battery were on the move. We reached Corinth about 1 P. M., of the 31st. Here we were relieved as escort to the Battery. Went into camp in the barracks lately occupied by the 50th Ill. Regiment. Here we remained until the morning of the 3d of November. On the 2d of November, we were mustered for pay. Received orders on the 2d, to move the next morning, as escort to a train, to Iuka. Orders were issued regulating the order of march. There was a train of about 200 wagons and ambulances. The advance was ordered to move at 4 A. M., and the rear at 6 A. M. The whole was under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips. Such was the promptness with which he had each part of the column to occupy its position, that when the rear moved, and he went to the telegraph office to dispatch to Gen. Dodge that all were moving, it lacked ten minutes of six o'clock. Moved on steadily until noon. Halted one hour to water and rest. At 5 P. M., we reached Iuka, a distance of 25 miles. It was regarded a very speedy trip for so long a train. We bivouacked for the night, near Iuka. On the morning of the 4th of November, we moved at 10 A. M., as escort to a train of 150 wagons, to the crossing of the Tennessee River at Eastport. We arrived at Eastport at 2 P. M. Gen. Dodge's orders to Lieut. Col. Phillips, commanding the 9th Ill. Inft., was, that immediately upon his arrival at Eastport, he should leave the train, together with his own Regimental teams on this side, and ferry the Regiment across the river, so as to be ready to move as early as practicable on the following day. The Regiment was all across by about sundown, and bivouacked one-half mile from the river. Our Regiment, Lieut. Col. Phillips commanding, was ordered on detached duty, and thus separated from the 2d Brigade, to which it properly belonged. I might here state that the whole of the 2d Division of the 16th Army Corps, under command of Gen. Sweeney, Gen. Dodge being the department commander, had taken up the march from Corinth on the 2d and 3d of November, and was engaged in being ferried across the Tennessee River at Eastport. Gen. Dodge's order, detaching the 9th Ill. Inft., assigned it to _scouting_ and _foraging_ for animals. The Division teams needed recruiting. Horses and mules must be procured in the country through which we were about to march, for this purpose. Gen. Sherman had lately marched his army through the same country, and it was very naturally supposed that animals would be scarce. Hence, a part of the order to our Regiment was to gather up all the horses, mules, cattle and sheep that could be found in the country. It was further ascertained that portions of Rebel cavalry had crossed North of the Tennessee River, to annoy our forces on their march. Hence, an additional duty assigned to the 9th Ill. was to make reconnoisances and watch the movements of the enemy. On the night of the 4th, Lieut. Col. Phillips issued orders to be ready to move at 6 A. M., the next morning. He also issued orders detailing one non-commissioned officer and six men from each company for foraging purposes, and instructing the foragers to bring in all horses, mules, cattle and sheep that could be found on our route. All soldiers were forbidden to leave the ranks, except such as were detailed for that purpose. On the morning of the 5th of October, the Regiment was on the march by daybreak. Took the Florence road, for about three miles. Turned North, and traveled about ten miles through a poor, rough, broken country. Halted to make inquiry as to the country. Found a good Union man, with a clever family. Had the old man to go with us, as a guide. The Regiment here separated and traveled two different roads. About noon the flankers of the right wing were fired on, near a house. A number of shots were fired. Several horses and some cattle were taken. Halted to feed, two hours. During that time the left wing came in. All having fed, we took up the march again. Proceeded in the direction of Florence. Bivouacked for the night, after dark, about 14 miles from Florence. It had rained almost constantly during the day. Was still raining some when we halted. There was a fair prospect for a disagreeable night for laying out. But it did not rain much during the night. We brought in two men as prisoners, and about forty head of horses and mules, with some cattle. November 6th, the Regiment moved at sunrise, bearing South. At 2 P. M., we came into a rich country. Plantations large; abundance of negroes; stock was plenty, which was gathered up. At many of the plantations we would collect 20 or 25 mules. Halted two or three hours and gathered up stock and fed. We then moved five or six miles West, and bivouacked for the night near a house owned by a large planter. The woman applied for protection. No one was allowed to enter the house. Negroes came in from different plantations. Through them we gathered much information as to the whereabouts of stock. Did not leave camp until about 11 A. M., of the 7th November. Sent out companies in different directions, to forage for stock. Succeeded in gathering a large amount of it. We were here South of the road leading from Eastport to Florence. We had crossed that road on the afternoon of the 6th. During both the days we were out, we could frequently hear of forces of the Rebel cavalry on the North side of the river. They were often very near us, but always kept out of our way. November 7th, at 11 A. M., we took up our march to strike the Florence road, hoping to meet the Brigade. We met them, and reported 300 head of horses and mules, 250 head of cattle, and 200 head of sheep, which we brought in and turned over. We met the column about 2 P. M., and bivouacked near a large brick house, residence of Captain Boggs. The Regiment was now ordered to draw five days rations, and scout on the left flank of the advancing column. The main column, consisting of the 2d Division, 16th Army Corps, proceeded in the direction of Pulaski, Tenn., leaving Florence about eight miles to the right. On the march Col. Mersy, commanding 2d Brigade, had orders to burn a large Cotton Factory, which was being run by orders from the Southern Confederacy. The factory, together with the raw cotton, was worth about $100,000. The whole establishment was consigned to the flames on the morning of the 10th of November. When the 9th Ill. Inft. left the advancing column, on the morning of the 8th, it proceeded in the direction of Waynesboro, and bivouacked twelve miles North-east of Waynesboro, and twenty miles from Gravelly Springs. Moved forward again early on the morning of the 9th, and marched thirty-five miles, bivouacking near Lawrenceburg. We moved again on the morning of the 10th, traversing the country to see that no Rebel forces were there to molest the column. We passed through Mt. Pleasant. Bivouacked for the night five miles from Columbia, near the residence of Bishop (now Rebel General) Polk's residence. On the morning of the 11th, moved into Columbia, and proceeded in the direction of Pulaski, Tenn. Bivouacked two and a half miles from Pulaski. On the morning of the 12th, moved into Pulaski, and joined the column. During this scout of four days, part of our business still being to collect stock, we brought in 500 head of horses and mules. Passed through some very fine and well improved country. There was no opposition met from the enemy, worth noting. From the time of leaving camp at Pocahontas, up to our arrival at Pulaski, we supposed (at least the uninitiated) that our whole force was moving on in the direction of Chattanooga, and that was our destination. We expected soon to reach that place and take part in the great battle pending there. But on arriving at Pulaski, Gen. Dodge established his Head Quarters there, and his command were stationed along the Railroad running from Nashville to Decatur, to repair the road for use. The 2d Brigade, with the exception of the 9th Ill. Inft., went into camp at Pulaski. The 9th was still ordered on detached duty, and sent to establish a post at Athens, Alabama. On the afternoon of the 12th of November, we moved South of Pulaski, along the line of the Railroad, and bivouacked nine miles from Pulaski, near where the Ohio Brigade were in bivouack. Here the men were ordered to draw five days rations, in their haversacks. They were also notified that our train and baggage would be left behind, and to make a change of clothing if they desired it. On the morning of the 13th of November, we moved at daylight, Southward, leaving our wagons, baggage, and hospital to proceed with the Ohio Brigade to Prospect, where that Brigade was to be stationed. At Prospect, we forded the Elk River. When the advance reached the river, and were looking for a ford, some Rebel soldiers were seen on the opposite side, and fired upon. They interposed no obstacle to our crossing, however. After crossing the river, one battalion, under command of Captain Lowe, proceeded by a circuitous and Westerly route. The remainder of the Regiment proceeded by the direct route to Athens, Ala., arriving there before sunset. A few miles North of the town, one man of Company G, was taken prisoner when out foraging, by a few Rebel soldiers who were in the neighborhood. A small force of Rebel cavalry had occupied Athens on that day, but they speedily left on our arrival. The advance of our column came very rapidly into town, pursuing the party who had captured our man. They were pursued some distance through the town. On our arrival, Lieut. Col. Phillips, who was in command of the Regiment during the entire march, took possession of the town. Captain I. Clements was appointed as Provost Marshal, with his Company (G) as Provost Guard. Captain Lowe, with his battalion, reached Athens sometime after dark. The Regiment went into bivouack in different parts of the town. Col. Phillips made his Head Quarters in the Court House. On the morning of the 14th of November, the entire Regiment, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved South towards Decatur. Proceeded to the bank of the river opposite Decatur, and reconnoitered the position. Found the Rebels were occupying the town, and had a Battery of two guns. We moved back two miles, halted and fed. Parties were sent in different directions to reconnoiter. The entire Regiment returned to Athens the same evening, and bivouacked as on the previous night. On the morning of the 15th of November, the Regiment moved out one mile North-east of town, and went into camp. Here we remained until the morning of the 18th, simply sending out single companies each day to reconnoiter. One object of our expedition was to examine the condition of the Railroad and telegraph line. On leaving Pulaski, Lieut. Oats, with twelve men, was detailed for that purpose. He proceeded along the line of the Railroad from Pulaski to Decatur, examining carefully its condition. The writer was requested by Lieut. Col. Phillips to accompany him, and report the condition of the telegraph. We were often separated two or three miles from the main column. On the evening of the 17th, a portion of the teams came down from Pulaski, with five days rations, and returned to Prospect the next morning. On the morning of the 18th November, the entire Regiment moved West, in the direction of Florence. Crossed Elk River, fifteen miles West of Athens, and halted to feed. During the afternoon of this day, when near Rodgersville, the advance were fired upon by a squad of Rebels, who broke and ran. No one hurt. Two companies moved rapidly down to the Tennessee River, at Lamb's Ferry, hoping to capture the boat. But it was on the other side of the river. Moved West on the Florence road, and bivouacked for the night nine miles West of Rodgersville. November 19th, we moved at daylight, Westward on the Florence road. At Shoal Creek bridge the advance encountered and chased some Rebels, who seemed to be guarding the bridge. Proceeded rapidly with two companies, to Bambridge Ferry, six miles above Florence, and captured the ferry-boat. The Rebels opened fire from the opposite side of the river. Our two companies were deployed as skirmishers, and returned the fire. A brisk fire was kept up for one hour, until the boat was destroyed, when we started on our return march. Re-crossed Shoal Creek. Halted and fed. Mounted and continued our return march. Bivouacked for the night West of Elk River. We moved again early on the morning of the 20th of November, and returned to Athens about 12 M. Proceeded through town, on the Decatur road, about six miles, halted and fed. From this point four companies returned to Athens, and occupied our old camp. The remainder of the Regiment proceeded to Moorsville. Found a force occupying that place, and returned to camp at Athens on the 21st. On the afternoon of this day, we moved our camp South-west of town. The country having been completely explored, and considering there was no immediate danger from the enemy, the Col. sent for our teams and baggage. They arrived on the evening of the 21st, and the boys were glad to have a change of clothing. I would here say, that upon our first coming to Athens, it was not deemed prudent to remove any baggage here, except such as could be carried on our animals. Our Regiment was sent down here all alone, in the midst of an enemy's country. No one knew the exact strength of the enemy. It was fifteen miles to Prospect, where our nearest forces were. The Elk River intervened, and was often past fording. At that time there was no way of crossing it, except on a very small boat which would only carry one wagon. It was a hazardous position we occupied, at best. There was a heavy force of Rebels South of the Tennessee River. There were a number of ferries for crossing at different points. But having reconnoitered the country, and destroyed several of the enemy's ferries, it was thought our train might be brought down with safety. From the time we left camp at Pocahontas, until our train was brought down, we had been out 23 days, and on the march nearly all the time. During this time, we had with us no tents or covering of any kind, except such as we carried on our animals. We would march all day, often making 40 and 45 miles, and then lay down on the ground at night, with no covering but our blankets. During this time, we marched over 400 miles. When our train arrived, and our camping ground was determined we had no tents, which could be quickly spread for a shelter. Most of the boys were under the necessity, for several nights, of doing as they had done, sleeping in the open air. Soon lumber was procured, from the fence around the Fair Grounds and the buildings it contained, and unoccupied stables and fences, with which to build shanties. But we had no nails, and this country could furnish none. But where there were buildings and fences, there were nails, and the old nails were preserved, and thus the boys built their houses. After a time, they were quite comfortable in them. The work of building "New Athens" was, however much retarded by the fact that several companies of the Regiment were almost constantly out on scouting duty. But ere long their houses were finished, with comfortable fire-places attached. As I have stated above, Lieut. Col. Phillips, with the 9th Ill. Inft., was detached, and sent to Athens to establish a post. It was a strange kind of _post_ for two or three weeks. Much was said about "Col. Phillips' circulating post." After we were settled down in our camp, however, Col. Phillips formally assumed command of the post, with his Head Quarters in town, leaving Major Kuhn in command of the Regiment. Still the _post_, or its head, was rather circulatory; for whenever the Regiment was out on a scout of any considerable importance, the Col. was sure to go along. It devolved upon our Regiment not only to hold its post at Athens, but to guard the crossings of the Tennessee River for a distance of not less than fifty miles in length. Consequently, there was a great amount of scouting duty to perform. Almost daily, the various crossings of the Tennessee River, between Decatur and Florence, were visited by portions of our Regiment, and the ferry-boats either destroyed or captured. On the 28th of November, three companies, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved West at 11 P. M., on the Florence road, and crossed Elk River, in search of some Rebel cavalry said to have crossed the Tennessee River that evening. He came upon and captured a squad of fifteen of them. Not finding any more force, he was returning to camp the next morning with his prisoners, when he was met by a dispatch from Gen. Dodge, stating that a large body of Rebels had crossed about Florence, and ordering him to reconnoiter and watch their movements, and develop their strength. A squad of men were sent in with the prisoners, with orders for one company more to join him. He had gone out with only one days' rations. The company that joined him could not carry rations to him, for we were short in camp. Our teams had gone to Pulaski for rations. The Division teams from Columbia had not arrived with rations, as expected. Our teams were detained there several days. But the boys of the 9th are not likely to starve, when there is anything in the country around them to eat. The first night they camped near the town of Rodgersville. The Col. sent orders to the different houses in town, requiring each to supply a certain number of rations of corn bread. Some demurred, saying they had nothing of which to make bread. A second order was sent that if it was not provided in such a length of time, he would burn their houses. This brought corn bread in abundance, but not of a very fine quality. The next night they camped near a good supply of sweet potatoes, to which they helped themselves. The following day they came across a store of Rebel commissaries, and were thus further provided. They were out four days. Came upon a body of Rebels, of whom they captured about thirty. When pursuing them, Col. Phillips was chasing his man, and made a sabre stroke at him, cutting him over the head. About that time, the Col.'s horse fell, and threw him on his face on the frozen ground. He captured his man, however. On the 25th of January, 1864, Companies B, C, D, F, H, I and K, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved out on a reconnoisance West. This left but three companies in camp. Company A was doing picket duty. Company G was acting as Provost Guard, and stationed in town. This left Company E in camp alone. News of the weakness of our force was immediately carried over the river, and Gen. Roddy notified of it. Consequently, early on the morning of the 26th of January, about 4 A. M., our camp was attacked by Gen. Roddy, with 700 men and two pieces of artillery. The pickets on the West of our camp were fired upon. Company E moved out promptly to support the pickets, when they met the overwhelming force of the enemy. After a brief engagement, and finding the strength of the enemy, this company fell back into town, to co-operate with Company G. This gave the Rebels possession of our camp. They plundered it of all the baggage and valuables. Our men were pursued into the town, the Rebels occupying the Southern part of the town, and our boys the Northern part. The Rebels also placed their artillery in position, and began to shell the town. After a smart skirmish of about forty minutes, the enemy retreated, and returned towards the river. This they did, although they numbered ten to our one. The loss of the 9th, in this engagement, was two men wounded, viz: Spring, of Company C, (since dead,) and Holcomb, of Company I. One man, not a soldier, but an employe of our Surgeon, was shot in the hospital yard, although entirely unarmed. The enemy admit a loss of six killed and eighteen wounded. Three of our boys pursued them, and fired upon them when a short distance from the river, killing one and wounding two. They returned to camp safely, except that they lost their horses. The officers lost all their baggage and effects, except such as they had with them. So with the men. On the 28th, seven companies, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved West on the Florence road. Bivouacked for the night, eight miles East of Florence. Early on the 29th, moved into Florence, chasing some Rebel soldiers from the town. Passed on twelve miles West of Florence, to Pride's Ferry. Here we had a sight of some Rebels, but they made good their escape. We destroyed a factory and mill in this region. Captured a train of about twenty wagons with their teams. Near this Ferry lives a man named Woods, who is living with a negro woman as his wife. To this Woman he had a large number of children, whom he was holding as slaves. He was holding about forty of his own children as slaves. The Regiment foraged heavily upon him. About 3 P. M., we started on the return march, and bivouacked four miles from Florence. In this region, large numbers of negroes came in, and followed the Regiment on its return march to Athens. On the morning of the 30th, moved towards Athens, and bivouacked for the night, West of Elk River. On the 31st, reached camp at Athens. The Regiment was out, during this expedition, four days. It brought in about 500 negroes, men, women and children; 150 head of horses and mules, and 100 head of cattle, besides a train of 20 wagons. On the 15th of February, the Regiment, under command of Lieut. Col. Phillips, moved to the Tennessee River, at Lucas & Brown's Ferry. The Regiment remained in bivouac during that entire week. Their work was patroling the river for ten or fifteen miles above and below Decatur, capturing flat-boats and ferry-boats, constructing canoes, &c. The weather was very cold. They had no shelter. Had to work much about the water, and withal, it was a very hard week's duty. The Rebels were occupying the other side of the river, and there was almost constant firing at each other across the river. Lieut. Oats, of Co. K, was in a flat-boat with fifteen men, when he was fired upon by about twenty Rebels, at close range. One man of Co. I was severely wounded. The fire was returned, and it is thought, from the noise, several of the enemy were killed and wounded. The Lieutenant captured four Rebel prisoners. The Regiment returned to camp on the 20th, leaving two companies to patrol the river and guard our boats. During the week of boat capturing, one flat-boat captured above Decatur "ran the blockade" past the town, with three of our boys in it. They lay down flat, and let it float. Many incidents of interest occurred during this week, but I have not room to note them here. On the 22d of February, the 39th Regiment Ohio Infantry arrived at Athens, and went into camp. Col. Noyes, of the 39th Ohio, assumed command of the post, relieving Lieut. Col. Phillips, who again assumed command of the Regiment. From the 20th of February, up to the 7th of March, two companies of the 9th Ill. was kept constantly at the Tennessee River, patroling it for several miles below Decatur. These companies were relieved every two days, by others. In the meantime several other regiments passed through Athens, on their way towards Decatur. These were the 63d Ohio, 27th Ohio, 43d Ohio, and 111th Illinois, with the 4th Michigan Battery. The Railroad was completed about the last week of February, and the cars commenced running through from Nashville. Soon boats to construct a pontoon bridge at Decatur, commenced passing on the cars. Gen. Dodge, who commands the department, was below. Active preparations were being made for occupying Decatur. To do this, the Tennessee River must be crossed, in the face of an opposing foe. The enemy was occupying Decatur, and the South bank of the river at the various ferries below. The Regiment was paid, by Major Gregory, on the 2d of March, 1864, for the months of November and December. It had been paid on the 16th of December, 1863, by Major Hinkley, for the months of September and October, 1863. On the morning of the 7th of March, the 9th Ill., together with a detachment of 60 men of the 18th Mo., and two sections of a U. S. Battery, stationed at Athens, received marching orders, and moved at 10 A. M., on the Lucas Ferry road. Arriving within two miles of the river at 2 P. M., they halted and fed, remaining until near dark, when they moved on to the river under cover of darkness. It was known that an attempt would be made to cross the Tennessee River that night or early the next morning, both at Lucas Ferry and Decatur. The flat-boats, canoes, &c., which the 9th Ill. had for the past two or three weeks been collecting at Lucas Ferry, would now be brought into use. At Decatur, the boats intended for the construction of the pontoon bridge, would be used for crossing. Gen. Dodge was at Decatur superintending the crossing in person. Lieut. Col. Phillips, of the 9th Ill., was in charge of the expedition at Lucas Ferry, which is three miles below Decatur. The Regiment went into bivouac, after dark, about one hundred yards from the river. The flat-boats and canoes had been moved up the river one mile, so as to have the advantage of the current. Several pontoon boats had been floated down a stream running from the Railroad to a point within a mile or two of the Ferry. These had to be taken across on wagons to the river and up to the point from which the boats were to start. This occupied a portion of the men during the greater part of the night. Details were made, of three men from each company, who could man a canoe, and four men from each company for boatmen. During the night there was a heavy rain, after which it cleared up, and the stars shone brightly. Before day, however, a very heavy fog settled over the water and surrounding country. This was favorable to our crossing, as a man could not be seen, on the water, only at a very short distance. About 2 A. M., the artillery was placed in position on the river bank. The forces were ordered into line. The details for canoe men and boatmen received their orders. The advance were to pass over in canoes. They were placed under the command of Lieut. Rollmann, and were instructed to proceed directly across, as rapidly as possible. When they struck the opposite shore, they were to abandon their canoes, and hold the positions until the boats would get over. The flat-boats and pontoons were placed under the command of Lieut Oats. All were marched up the river to the boats, and at 4:30 A. M., the boats and canoes were loaded and started over. When the advance was within about 30 yards of the shore, the enemy fired a few shots, and retired rapidly in the direction of Courtland. The entire command crossed over in one and a half hours, and reported at Decatur. During the day and night following, the animals and teams were crossed over. Capt. Lowe, who had the crossing of the animals in charge, was attacked by a party of Rebels, and one man was taken prisoner. The Regiment moved East, on the Courtland road, at 9:30 A. M., March 9th, and reached Courtland at 4 P. M., without meeting any body of the enemy. We bivouacked for the night on the Moulton road, three miles South of Courtland. On the morning of the 10th of March, we moved into Moulton. The enemy had left the place three hours before our arrival. They moved from Moulton at daylight, on the Russelville road. We captured, at Moulton, several prisoners, one flag, a quantity of ammunition, and hospital and commissary stores. From Moulton, we moved towards Decatur, reaching that place at sundown. There the Regiment was ordered into camp, to be quartered in houses in town. On the morning of the 11th of March, Adjutant Klock was ordered to Athens with a squad of men, to have the camp and garrison equipage moved to Decatur, which is being done at present writing, March 12th, 1864. How long we will remain in Decatur, or where we shall go next, or how we shall be employed during the remaining four months of our service, are all matters in the future, and, in any department of life, uncertain, but especially in military life. There are some incidents of interest, which occurred during the period of this chapter. The first day after crossing the Tennessee River, while making for a place to camp for the night, where we learned there was forage for our animals, it began to get dark before we reached the point. The Col. drew up before a house near the road, to make some inquiry. A man came to the gate. Inquiry was made as to the distance to the point we wished to reach. These inquiries were followed by others as to whether there were any soldiers in the neighborhood. The reply was that there were. _Col._--"Were they Yanks?" _Citizen._--"Yes." _Col._--"How many was there of them?" _Citizen._--"Oh, there was a great many of them. At least 1,000." _Col._--"Was that all? I can easily whip twice that number. But I guess, my friend, you must go along and show us the road to their camping ground." The poor man, thinking that we were Rebel soldiers, called to one of the boys to bring him out his horse until he would go with those men. But when the boy went to the stable to get the horse, it was not there. Our foraging parties had visited the stable, and relieved him of his horse. He went into the house to get his coat. There, I think, he began to realize that he was _sold_. Some of our boys had been in to get "corn bread," and the old lady, I suppose, had noticed the blue uniform, and reported us as "Yanks." When he came out he did not seem near so willing to go along. But he went with us, and when we got into camp, he waked up to the fact that he was a "prisoner of war." He had been in the Rebel army, and was detailed as a blacksmith, to shoe the horses through the country, that they might be ready for government use. He was taken with us, as a prisoner. I saw him a week later, when on our march, still a prisoner. Another. On the next evening, an old negro man was with us when we bivouacked. He was a preacher, and quite an oracle among the darkies in that region of country. As we were gathered around our camp-fire, the old man was called up to be questioned by the Colonel. After giving all the information he could, he told us of his visions and spiritual communications. Says he, "I sees all dis trouble seben years ago. I sees _you alls_ a comin down from the Norf. I sees dese two great armies, with dah uniforms on, and all dis fitin and killin one anoder." On being asked how he saw all this, he replied, "I sees it spiritually." He was asked if he saw which was going to whip, he said, "Lor, massa, yes; I sees de Norf a whippin." Still another. During the march from Corinth to Pulaski, Colonel Mersy of the 9th, commanding Brigade, being in camp, sleeping near his camp-fire, which was made of Chestnut rails, noted for their _popping_ propensities when burning, the fire flew out and set his clothes or blankets on fire. The Head Quarters guard seeing it, went and awoke him, telling him that he was on fire. His reply was, "Adjutant! Adjutant!" But the Adjutant was sound asleep, and did not answer his call. The Col. being scarcely awake, was soon asleep again. The guard awoke him a second time, and told him he was on fire. "I tink dat no my business; you wake de Adjutant." The Col., so full of military life, and wishing everything to go through its proper military channel, felt, in his half sleeping condition, that his Adjutant General must be honored with the permission of getting up and putting out the fire. Another one, in which our good Colonel is concerned. During the march, just before going into camp, Rebel uniforms and other accoutrements of war, were found at a house near the road. The soldiers made a pretty general _red up_ of the establishment. After we were in camp, the woman of the house came to Col. Mersy, with her complaint. She represented, among other things, that she had been a widow for fifteen years. Soon Surgeon Gulick, of the 9th, who was with the Col., heard him call, "Doctor! Doctor!" The Doctor having arrived and awaiting orders, the Col. addressed him: "Now, my dear Surgeon, you does tell me if dis widow has been not married dese fifteen year." Another one, which illustrates something of the habits of Southern women. They nearly all use tobacco, in some shape. Some of them in the various forms, of smoking, chewing, and _dipping_. When the Regiment was on its march from Pulaski to Athens, the writer was with a squad of men, who were traveling along the Railroad examining its condition. Being separated from the column, the boys becoming hungry, and desiring something to eat, rode up to a house where there were three or four women standing at the door. One of them inquired if they could get something to eat. The corn bread was produced. He then asked for some butter, which was also produced. One of the girls, thinking, I suppose, that one favor deserved another, very smilingly addressed one of the soldiers, saying, "Could you give me a chew of tobacco?" "Oh, yes," says he, taking a large plug of tobacco from his pocket and handing it to her. She took a chew, and then reached it back, thanking him. "Oh," says he, "you may just keep that, I can get more." She thanked him very kindly. I suppose she thought she was pretty well paid for her corn bread and butter. Another. Capt. Krebs, of Company D, with a squad of 25 men, was detailed to go with the telegraph repairer along the line between Huntsville and Decatur. At a station between those two points, a small town, there were two telegraph posts down, the line on each side being perfect for two or three miles. The Captain and operator rode up to some citizens who were on the street, and politely asked them if they could not have those two posts set by the next day, stating that it would save them the trouble of bringing their team and men several miles, and would be a very great accommodation. One old man replied, "We can't do it, sir. You have taken all our negroes from us, and we have nobody to work for us." The Captain insisted that it was but a small job, and it would save him a great amount of trouble, if they would do it. The old man persisted that they could not do it. The Captain then addressed them as follows: "Gentlemen, I will be here to-morrow evening, with fifty men to do that work. You will have supper provided for that number of men." Then turning to his command, he gave the order, "Two right, march!" and moved off. When he had gone a mile or two, a runner came up and handed him a note, saying that the citizens would have those posts set by to-morrow morning. The "supper for fifty men" had been a more powerful argument than the Captain's pleadings. I suppose it led them to conclude, that if they had no darkies to do it, they would condescend to do it themselves. One more. Major Falconet, of the Rebel army, and who was stationed at Decatur for some time, it is said, had come to the conclusion to take to himself a wife. He had gone to Florence to get married. While on the floor, having the marriage ceremony performed, Lieut. Col. Phillips, with the 9th Ill., made a dash into Florence. Some one came into the room and cried out, "The Yanks are coming!" The brave Major left his fair companion, broke from the house, and over the garden fence, tearing down about twenty feet of it, dashed to his boat and was off. I suppose he did not fancy being captured just then. How his partly constituted bride felt, at his rapid exit, and whether he has ever returned for the completion of the ceremony, "deponent saith not." Still another, showing something of the horrors of Slavery. During the recent scout to Courtland and Moulton, when in camp near the former place, the orders of Lieut. Col. Phillips were to be ready to move by daylight. The guard were instructed to wake them two hours before day. The orderlies were waked at the proper time. When Adjutant Klock had gotten up, he was informed by an orderly that there was a lady wishing to see the Colonel. The Colonel was called. In a half-sleeping condition, he told the Adjutant to see what she wished. The Adjutant went around to see her. He saw there a very decently, but plainly dressed lady. He asked her what she wished. He was perfectly amazed at her reply. She said her master was going to sell her, and she wished to know if she could not go with them. The Adjutant replied, that he would speak to the Colonel about it, and that he thought they could make arrangements for her to go with us. The Colonel having dropped asleep in the meantime, the matter was referred to Major Kuhn. He told her at once that she could go along. She accordingly came into Decatur with our Regiment. To Northern men, unaccustomed to the evils of the system of Slavery, such scenes are revolting. Here was a woman, so nearly white, that she was mistaken for a white woman. She was, in all probability, her master's daughter or sister. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF THE FIELD AND STAFF OFFICERS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. I propose to add to this history of the Regiment, a Biographical Sketch of the present Field and Staff Officers. COL. AUGUST MERSY. Was born in Germany. He entered the military service, in 1838, as Cadet, in Karlsruhe, Grand Duchy of Baden. He graduated in 1840, as Lieutenant. He was promoted to the position of 1st Lieutenant, in 1842. In 1844, he was assigned the position of Adjutant and staff officer. In 1847, he was appointed Regimental Adjutant. A European Regiment consists of from 2,400 to 3,000 men. In this position he acted until 1849. At the outbreak of the Revolution, he consequently acted against that Revolution. In 1849, however, he joined the Revolutionary party, and was promoted to the position of Colonel. After joining the Revolutionary party, he acted for some time as Provisional Secretary of War. He soon, however, joined the army, and assumed command of the Second Brigade. Whether he had the rank of General, or only acted as such in commanding a Brigade, the writer is unable to say. He went with his Brigade, through all the battles and skirmishes of the year 1849. He was under the necessity of crossing the Rhine for Switzerland, and concluded to emigrate to America. He arrived in the United States, in November, 1849. Went West, and settled in Bellville, St. Clair County, Illinois. He was for some time Clerk, and afterwards Cashier, of the "Bank of Bellville." He also acted as Notary Public. On the uprising of the rebellion, his war spirit was aroused. I think he had for some time previous had command of a volunteer military company. He enlisted, with his company, in the "Three months'" service. He enlisted as Captain of Company A, 9th Regiment Illinois Infantry, on the 19th of April, 1861. He was elected Lieutenant Colonel, April 26th, 1861. This position he held during the "Three months'" service. He was mustered out of the service, at the end of the three months, on the 25th of July, 1861, and again immediately mustered in, for three years, as Lieutenant Colonel of the 9th Illinois Infantry. He was promoted to the position of Colonel, and received his commission as such, December 2d, 1861. As Colonel and commander of the Regiment, he passed through the terrible battles of Fort Donelson and Shiloh, and the "siege of Corinth." He was wounded twice at the battle of Shiloh; but notwithstanding his wounds, he persisted in keeping the command of his Regiment. During the battle of Shiloh, Col. McArthur, commanding our Brigade, was severely wounded, in the latter part of the action, and Col. Mersy assumed command of the Brigade. During the battle of Corinth, he assumed command of the Brigade, General Oglesby having been wounded. Since that time, he has had command of the 2d Brigade, 2d Division, 16th Army Corps. During the Summer and Fall of 1863, he was stationed with his Brigade Head Quarters at Pocahontas, Tennessee. Since November 12th, 1863, his Brigade Head Quarters have been at Pulaski, Tennessee. LIEUT. COL. JESSE J. PHILLIPS. Was born in Montgomery County, Illinois, May 22d, 1837. He was appointed Route Agent on the Terre Haute, Alton and St. Louis Railroad, June 26th, 1856. Resigned in May, 1857. He read law with the Hon. James M. Davis, of Hillsboro, Illinois. He was admitted to the bar in the Spring of 1860, and opened an office in Hillsboro, the county-seat of Montgomery County, Illinois. He was prosecuting his practice when the first call was made for volunteers to serve for three months. In politics, he was a Breckenridge Democrat. Had stumped it, for Breckenridge, in 1860. He had had a strong desire to engage in a military life. When the call was made, he at once went to work to raise a Company. Raised his Company, and was elected Captain, April 17th, 1861. The Company was accepted and ordered to Springfield, Illinois, on the 23d of April, 1861. On the organization of the 9th Regiment Volunteer Infantry, for the three months' service, he was elected as Major of the Regiment. He acted in the capacity of Major in the Regiment during the three months' service. At the expiration of that service, he was mustered out, and immediately mustered in again for three years, unless sooner discharged, retaining still the rank of Major. He received a commission as Lieutenant Colonel in the 9th Regiment Illinois Infantry in December, 1861, which position he still occupies. He had charge of a detachment of the Regiment, which made a successful expedition from Paducah to Saratoga, Ky. This was the first fight in which our boys were engaged. He was with the Regiment as Lieutenant Colonel, through the battles of Fort Donelson and Shiloh. At Shiloh, he received a very severe wound from a schrapnel. He was wounded in the hand and leg. The wound in his hand was a very painful one. He was unfitted for the service by it, for several months. At the battle of Corinth, on the 3d and 4th of October, he had not yet been able to join his Regiment. He joined it soon afterward, although still suffering much from the pain caused by his wound. During the Fall of 1862 and Winter of 1863, he was much of the time in command of the Regiment, Col. Mersy being called to the command of the Brigade. In March, 1863, he made application to have the Regiment mounted for scouting purposes. The Regiment was mounted on the 20th of March, 1863. During the year that the Regiment has been mounted, he has led it through 23 battles and skirmishes. He has frequently been placed in command of a Brigade of mounted forces, and in one or two instances, of a Division. He had command of two Brigades of Cavalry and Mounted Infantry, with which he made a raid in August, 1863, to Grenada, Mississippi. It was one of the most successful raids of the war. From $8,000,000 to 10,000,000 worth of public property was destroyed; 2,000 negroes, and a large number of horses and mules were brought in. But little was said about it at the time. Many a less brilliant raid has brought forth a star. He was in command of the post at Athens, Alabama, for two or three months during the past Winter. He has lately been assigned to the command of all the mounted forces at Decatur, Alabama. There is a great amount of _dash_ and daring about the Colonel, and yet he always manages to get his boys out of any place, into which he leads them. MAJOR JOHN H. KUHN. Was born in St. Gallen, Switzerland, May 20th, 1833. Emigrated to the United States, and landed in New York, in June, 1849. He was, by occupation, a laborer. Hired with a farmer near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, during the first summer. He removed to East Tennessee, where he spent three years, part of the time in a glass factory in Knoxville, and part of the time boating on the Tennessee River. He moved to Alton, Illinois, in 1854. Was engaged for a time in the lumber business, and afterwards in a banking house. He had served for about six years in the State Militia, and entered the service of the United States, on the call for volunteers for three months. He enlisted with his company of "Alton Jagers," as their Captain, April 19th, 1861, and was attached to the 9th Illinois Infantry. He re-enlisted at the expiration of three months, for three years. Served, for some time, as Provost Marshal of Paducah, Kentucky. He received his commission as Major of the 9th Illinois Infantry, December 2d, 1861. He was detailed during some months in the Summer and Fall of 1863, in charge of convalescent camp in Memphis, Tennessee. Rejoined the Regiment at Athens, Alabama, November 21st, 1863. At present writing, he has command of his Regiment, Lieut. Col. Phillips being assigned to the command of the mounted forces at Decatur, Alabama. SURGEON EMIL GULICK, M. D. Was born in the city of Schleswig, Dutchdom Schleswig, on the 29th of November, 1828. After finishing his school education, he commenced the study of Chemistry in particular, but with it the other branches of the medical science. While quietly pursuing his studies, the sound of the drum rang through the land, calling all able-bodied citizens into the field to fight for the independence of the Dutchdoms from the Kingdom of Denmark. This call was in March, 1848. The Doctor was then in his 20th year. Obeying his country's call, he enlisted to do battle for liberty. He enlisted as a private. He was afterwards engaged as an Assistant in the Medical Department. He was connected with the army in these capacities until 1851. He emigrated to America in 1853. He re-commenced his Medical studies, and graduated in the St. Louis Medical College, in 1859. He commenced the practice of medicine during the same year, in Alton, Madison County, Illinois. When the Rebellion broke out, and there was a call for men to defend the government of his adoption, he offered himself for that purpose. He enlisted, in the three months' service, as a private, in Company K, 9th Regiment Volunteer Infantry, on the 26th day of April, 1861. He re-enlisted, at the expiration of three months, for three years, July 26th, 1861, and was promoted to the position of Assistant Surgeon of the 9th Illinois Volunteer Infantry. On the 28th of April, 1862, he was again promoted to the position of Surgeon. He has served in that position ever since. He has been almost constantly with his Regiment. He was on detached duty in the Hospital at Paducah, Kentucky, during the months of September and October, 1863. ASSISTANT SURGEON W. D. CRAIG, M. D. Was born in Montgomery County, Indiana, March 27th, 1828. He was raised on a farm. Was educated at Crawfordsville, Indiana. He moved to Illinois in 1849, and graduated at Rush Medical College, Chicago, Illinois, in the Spring of 1852. From that time, up to the Summer of 1861, he was engaged in the practice of Medicine. Was living in Aledo, the county-seat of Mercer County, Illinois, and engaged in the duties of his profession, at the time of his enlisting in the service of his country. He recruited a large portion of a Company in Mercer County. Was mustered into the service of the United States, as 1st Lieutenant Company E, 9th Regiment Volunteer Infantry, August 6th, 1861. Served in that capacity until May 12th, 1862. During the time he served as a line officer, he passed through the terrible struggles of Fort Donelson and Shiloh. He was slightly wounded at Shiloh, in the left shoulder, by a spent ball. He was assigned to the Medical Department of the Regiment, in the capacity of Assistant Surgeon, on the 12th of May, 1862. Continued with the Regiment in this capacity, until the last of December, 1863, when he was assigned to duty in Pulaski, Tennessee. During the past Winter, he has had charge of the U. S. General Hospital of the left wing, 16th Army Corpse, at Pulaski, Tennessee. He has under his charge there, about an average of two hundred patients, including a Small-Pox ward of from ten to fifteen patients. SECOND ASSISTANT SURGEON W. A. ALLEN, M. D. Was born in Jacksonville, Illinois, March 5th, 1830. Read Medicine with Dr. Haskall, Hillboro, Montgomery County, Illinois, 1850, 1851 and 1852. He graduated at St. Louis Medical College, in 1856, and commenced the practice of Medicine in Greenville, Bond County, Illinois, during the same year. Was engaged in pursuing his practice at that place, until January, 1863. He received a commission as 2d Assistant Surgeon in the 9th Illinois Volunteer Infantry, and entered upon his duties as such, January 16th, 1863. He was detailed, for some time, to take charge of the Medical Department of the Contrabands at LaGrange, and afterwards at Corinth. Has been constantly with his Regiment since the 1st of September, 1863, having been relieved from his duties in Corinth at that time. HENRY H. KLOCK, LIEUTENANT AND ADJUTANT. Was born in Manheim, Herkimer County, New York, November 27th, 1835. Received a common school education. Removed to Illinois in 1854. Was engaged in teaching public school in Madison County, Illinois, when he enlisted. Enlisted in the 9th Illinois Infantry, Company F, and was mustered in as a private, July 28th, 1861. Was detailed as Clerk in the Adjutant's office, from September 1861. Was commissioned as 1st Lieutenant and Adjutant January 31st, 1862, to rank from October 3d, 1861. Has been with the Regiment through most of its battles. Was wounded at Shiloh and Corinth. Is still acting as Adjutant for the Regiment, and is devoted to the duties of his office. CHARLES A. SPATEE, REGIMENTAL QUARTERMASTER. Was born in the Dukedom of Saxony, Altenburg, in the year 1836. He was trained for the profession of Architect. He emigrated to the United States in 1855. After his arrival in this country, he was engaged principally in working upon Railroads and Saw Mills, previous to his entering the service of his adopted country. He enlisted in the "Three months' service," as a private in the 10th Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry. He re-enlisted, for three years, as a private in the 9th Regiment Volunteer Infantry, Company K. He was afterwards promoted to the position of a Sergeant. In December, 1861, he was appointed Commissary Sergeant. He was commissioned as 1st Lieutenant and Regimental Quartermaster, October 4th, 1863. He continues to occupy this position at the present time. Lieutenant Spatee was not in the military service in the old country. MARION MORRISON, CHAPLAIN. Was born in Adams County, Ohio, June 2d, 1821. He was trained as a farmer, receiving a common school education. In the Spring of 1841, he commenced the study of Latin, preparatory to the ministry. In October, 1842, he entered the Freshman class in Miami University, Oxford, Ohio, and graduated August, 1846. He studied Theology, at the A. R. Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Oxford, Ohio, and was licensed to preach, by the A. R. Presbyterian Presbytery of Chillicothe, Ohio, in the Spring of 1849. He was ordained and installed Pastor of the A. R. Presbyterian Congregation of West Fork, Adams County, Ohio, in the Spring of 1850. Was elected Professor of Mathematics and Natural Science in "Monmouth College," June, 1856. Resigned the charge of his Congregation, and removed to Monmouth, Illinois, in the Summer of 1856, and entered upon his duties as Professor, September of the same year. He had the financial charge of "The Western United Presbyterian," published in Monmouth for several years. In June, 1861, he assumed the entire responsibility of that paper, financial and editorial, and soon after united it with "The Christian Instructor," published in Philadelphia. He continues an Associate Editor to the above paper. In the Summer of 1861, he resigned his position as Professor in Monmouth College, and was engaged as Financial Agent of the College, until July 30th, 1863, when he was commissioned as "Captain of Cavalry, and Chaplain of the 9th Illinois Volunteer Infantry." Was mustered into the service, and entered upon the duties of Chaplain, September 4th, 1863. Has been with his Regiment ever since, except during January, 1864, when he was sent to Illinois on orders. Rejoined his Regiment February 1st, 1864. Transcriber's note: The following corrections have been made: p. 3 he object I have -> he changed to the p. 8 Kitchell, 1st Lieutenant, -> second comma replaced with period p. 8 South- -> hyphen replaced with period p. 16 to be Colone -> Colone changed to Colonel p. 20 If you wont sell -> wont changed to won't p. 31 unhallowed cause -> period added after cause p. 31 Lieut F. Vogler -> period added after Lieut p. 32 Roffy -> comma added p. 34 he was drank -> drank changed to drunk p. 43 Kortkamp--1 -> period added after 1 p. 44 In all, 3 killled -> killled changed to killed p. 45 did not come -> period added after come p. 50 battallion of the 15th -> battallion changed to battalion p. 52 broke and run -> run changed to ran p. 53 of the 9th Ill, -> period added after Ill p. 54 sout-east from Corinth -> sout-east changed to south-east p. 55 entire column move -> move changed to moved p. 56 at 1 P M. -> period added after P p. 57 and succeded in -> succeded changed to succeeded p. 60 Lient. Col. Phillips -> Lient. changed to Lieut. p. 63 women and children, -> removed comma p. 63 were compelled to see it, -> removed comma p. 63 camp at Pocahontas, -> removed comma p. 64 from Company B. to Company F -> removed period after B p. 66 Regiment move forward -> move changed to moved p. 67 Salem, Miss, -> period added after Miss p. 67 Montazuma, Tenn., -> Montazuma changed to Montezuma p. 71 exitement had passed away -> exitement changed to excitement p. 76 onr arrival -> onr changed to our p. 77 Col. Sent for our -> Sent changed to sent p. 81 Tennesse River must be crossed -> Tennesse changed to Tennessee p. 82 Severa pontoon -> Severa changed to Several p. 89 in Karlsrhue -> Karlsrhue changed to Karlsruhe Uncommon spelling like schrapnel or bivouack has been retained. Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling has been retained unless one form predominated. 
59559	----	SHOCK TROOP BY RICHARD BOLTON _The invaders were going to make galactic history. Fate made it a comedy of errors._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Zurg thwirmed, and admitted to himself that he was uneasy. Arching his thorax, he unrolled his antennae slowly in a lazy gesture he hoped would conceal the unseemly nervousness he felt now that the ship had swung into an orbit around the strange planet. When a commander briefs his officers, he must radiate confidence and calm. "Companions, an historic moment has arrived," he began pompously, his antennae moving in the deliberate, stylized movements of the Court language. "Below us lies the verdant expanse of the third planet, green gem of the heavens." At this, several of his subordinates turned a rather puzzled yellow around their head orifices, obviously unable to understand a gesture of what he was saying. Only the second-in-command seemed unconcerned; he knew from long experience that his commander would revert to common vernacular when he had finished the usual ceremonial preamble. Zurg did so, noting the relieved hues of his officers as he continued: "As you all know, our scouts have reconnoitered this world on several occasions. But now the time has arrived to make an actual landing. In fact, companions, we are the vanguard of an invasion." Pausing to let this register, he was pleased to see that none of the officers seemed to be suppressing thwirms. If anything, they were calmer than he was. "Not a great deal is known about the inhabitants of the planet, but the dominant form of life, strangely enough, is mammalian, and possesses some intelligence. Her Majesty desires conquest without undue destruction. As the Queen wills, her servants shall act." All dipped their antennae at this formula, and watched in attentive hues as the commander went on to explain that due to the high percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere, special coverings would have to be worn. They would filter the air before it reached the ventral tracheae, and leaving the head exposed, would shield all the rest of the body. A bit clumsy, the commander admitted, but absolutely essential. "Now as to our behavior toward the natives--previous experience with mammalian life-types shows that they are susceptible to panic and fear when confronted with something totally strange, so we will use tactics which basically are very simple. First, we will land near a native settlement. When we march into the area, our alien appearance will stun the natives. Our detachment of all-range telepathic sensitives will notify us when the state of shock has set in, then our attack support will open up with full-scale mental assault, and keep the creatures paralyzed while we seize the area before a defense can be organized. Then the Grand Fleet will proceed here at top speed." "Remember that in this, as in all operations where the powers of the collective mind are used, we must first trigger the enemy's reaction by physical means, therefore nothing can be done until we _know_ that they are in the needed state of shock. Now are there any questions?" How strange actually, mused the commander as he returned to his cubicle, that a race like his own, so gifted at pure mental contact with other life-forms, should still use signals and colorations to communicate among themselves. The chafed spot on his left antenna was paining again after the exercise of the briefing. The report had said that these mammalians were believed to converse through some kind of atmospheric vibrations.... Odd too, that mental warfare, refined and developed though it was, could still only be used against minds agitated by a specific physical stimulus. And that physical stimulus had to be provided by the invaders appearing on the scene, and if necessary performing the Dra, a series of dances and contortions so repulsive to most life-forms that all thinking would fade into panic. Having once thwirmed himself at a performance of the Dra, he hoped it wouldn't be necessary ... his musings were interrupted as the ship's lights flickered to orange, signalling hands to stations for planetfall. Leaving the con of the ship to his second-in-command, he shut himself in his cubicle and made preparations to be miserably sick, as he always was during deceleration. Stroking the chafed spot on his antenna with the smooth edge of his left forearm's prehensile claw, Zurg raised his medicine kit in his secondary tentacles and snapped off the heavy lead seal with his jagged incisor mandibles. I wonder, he speculated, why alien races always find us so frightening.... * * * * * The brilliant orange sun was high in the sky, but only a few filtered beams penetrated to the sheltered copse where the slate-colored ship lay partially concealed by artfully placed vines and underbrush. Drawn up in three ranks beside the ship, only their heads protruding from the loose-fitting coveralls, stood the detail picked to make the entry into the native settlement. Zurg led them out through the underbrush barrier they had thrown up the night before, and they emerged onto a little-traveled dirt road leading off across the fields toward a cluster of buildings that marked the edge of town. No creatures appeared as the invading column lumbered along. As they neared the edge of the settlement, Zurg, his antennae drooping slightly from the unusual heat, turned to remind the others: "Remember, the mental assault won't begin until we are well into the area and shock reaction is effected, so _stay in formation_ until I order otherwise." There were still no natives in sight on the small side street by which they entered town; but as they turned a corner and swung on to the broad central thoroughfare, the commander saw that the street was clogged with natives, a great milling mass of them moving up the street in the same direction as his column, about a hundred yards ahead. For a moment they didn't appear to notice the newcomers, but soon a growing number had turned and were gesturing excitedly to each other, pointing at the approaching troop. Watching them anxiously, Zurg saw no evidence of panic. The column kept moving, and the crowd began parting to let them pass through. Some darted forward as though to get a closer look at the strangers. The commander fought off a thwirm as he realized the crowd was now all around them, pressing in more closely on every side. The atmosphere itself seemed to vibrate strangely, and looking around, he saw that the creatures were opening small head orifices and striking the ends of their forward limbs together. Were they communicating--or was it something else? It was surely not panic. Feeling increasingly dizzy from the heat and vibrations, he glanced anxiously over his followers, and saw at once that they were more upset than he. Colors were flushing their faces in meaningless successions. One or two seemed to be staggering. The shock threshold of these beings has been horribly underestimated, thought Zurg desperately. Only one thing left to do--turning again, he signalled the detail to begin the Dra. Perhaps that would overcome this incomprehensible counterattack.... * * * * * "I tell you Charlie, you've got to discipline that gang! They didn't show up on time, they didn't complete the route, they put on a public ritual that wasn't scheduled, apparently stealing the entire show--stupid crowd yelled themselves hoarse. Then they all reeled off into a side street. They must have been drunk to a man--I understand about half of them had to be carried! _And_ when I confronted Andy Sharpe, he swore up and down that they weren't out of their hotel that morning. All sleeping off that spree they had the night before. He actually had the nerve to say, 'I don't know who those boys were that you claim were a block behind the end of the parade, but they weren't our boys.'" Charlie Dils, new Commander of the Illinois chapter of the American Legion, leaned back in his chair car seat and blew a cloud of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. "Maybe they were men from Mars," he grinned. Then, remembering his dignity, he sobered abruptly. "Anyway, one bunch looks about the same as another, once they get their masks on--good Lord, it was a hot day for masks--but it certainly made the parade more impressive. People are still talking about it. We're even getting credit for having a flying saucer. Some farmer out at the edge of town claims he saw one take off after the parade last night. Says it was going west like a bat out of hell. "If we can get that kind of publicity, Frank, I wouldn't worry about Andy and the boys. I'll write him a letter. It was a great convention--let's let it go at that." 
44656	----	THE HOUSEBOAT BOOK The Log of a Cruise from Chicago to New Orleans BY WILLIAM F. WAUGH [Illustration: Decoration] THE CLINIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO 1904 COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY WILLIAM F. WAUGH. PRESS OF THE CLINIC PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO. [Illustration: THE HELEN W. OF CHICAGO.] CONTENTS. PAGE I. Prelude 5 II. Gathering Information 9 III. Preparations 13 IV. The First Shipwreck 23 V. The Canal 27 VI. The Illinois River 40 VII. Building the Boat 46 VIII. The Lower Illinois 55 IX. Towing 68 X. St. Louis 77 XI. The Mississippi 81 XII. Cairo and the Ohio 90 XIII. Duck Shooting 103 XIV. Snagged in Tennessee Chute 109 XV. Mooring 116 XVI. A Levee Camp 118 XVII. Vicksburg 128 XVIII. River Pirates 133 XIX. The Atchafalaya 136 XX. Melville. Deer Hunting 141 XXI. Baton Rouge. The Panther 150 XXII. The Bobcat 163 XXIII. Ascending the Atchafalaya 167 XXIV. Ducking at Catahoula Lake 173 XXV. Some Louisiana Folks 185 XXVI. From Winter to Summer in a Day 192 XXVII. Voyage Ended 196 XXVIII. Dangers and Delights 199 XXIX. Results 205 CHAPTER I. PRELUDE. Once upon a time there was a doctor who, after many years spent in that pursuit concluded to reform. But strong is the influence of evil associates, and those who had abetted him in his old ways still endeavored to lead him therein. One day his good angel whispered in his ear the magic words, "House boat;" and straightway there arose in his mental vision the picture of a broad river, the boat lazily floating, children fishing, wife's cheery call to view bits of scenery too lovely for solitary enjoyment, and a long year of blissful seclusion where no tale of woe could penetrate, no printer's devil cry for copy. Incidentally the tired eyes could rest, and the long stretches of uninterrupted time be transmuted into creative work; with no banging telephone or boring visitor to scatter the faculties into hopeless desuetude. Sandwich with hours busy with those recuperative implements, the rod and gun, the adventures and explorations incident to the trip, and here was a scheme to make the heart of a city-tired man leap. So he went to the friend whose kindly appreciation had put a monetary value upon the emanations from his brain, and suggested that now was the time for the besom of reform to get in its work, and by discharging him to clear the way for new and improved editorial talent. But the friend received the suggestion with contumely, threatening to do the editor bodily harm if he so much as mentioned or even contemplated any attempt to escape. The scheme was perforce postponed for a year, and in the meantime attempts were made to gather useful information upon the subject. The plan seemed simple enough--to leave Chicago by the Drainage Canal, float down to the Illinois River, then down it to the Mississippi, by it to New Orleans, then to strike off through the bayous or canals into the watery wastes southwest, and spend there the time until the approach of the Carnival called us back to the southern metropolis. By starting about September 1st we could accompany the ducks on their southern journey, and have plenty of time to dawdle along, stopping wherever it seemed good to us. So we went to work to gather information. The great bookstores were ransacked for books descriptive of houseboat trips down the Mississippi. There were none. Then we asked for charts of the Illinois and Mississippi. There were none of the former in existence; of the latter the Government was said to have published charts of the river from St. Louis to the Gulf; and these were ordered, though they were somewhat old, and the river changes constantly. Then a search was made for books on American houseboats and trips made upon them; books giving some rational information as to what such things are, how they are procured, furnished, managed, what is to be had and what avoided; but without avail. Even logs of canoe trips on the great river, and accounts of recent steamer trips, are singularly scarce. People insisted on forcing upon our notice Bangs' "Houseboat on the Styx," despite our reiterated asseverations that we did not care to travel over that route just now. Black's "Strange Adventures of a Houseboat" is principally remarkable for the practical information it does not give. Scarcely a juvenile was to be found treating of the subjects; nor have the novelists paid any attention to the rivers for a third of a century. Books of travel on the great system of inland American waters are similarly rare. It has finally come home to us that this is a virgin field; that the great American people reside in the valley of the greatest river in the world, and pay no attention to it; write nothing of it, know nothing, and we fear care nothing. And while many persons utilize houseboats, and many more would do so if they knew what they are, and how much pleasure is to be derived therefrom, no one has seen fit to print a book that would make some amends to an intending purchaser for his lack of experience. Possibly the experiences detailed in the following pages may in some degree fulfill this need, and aid some one to avoid the mistakes we made. CHAPTER II. GATHERING INFORMATION. From magazine articles we gathered that a new boat would cost about $1,000. We were assured, however, that we could buy an old one that would answer all needs for about $100. We were told that if the boat measures 15 tons or more our rapidly-becoming-paternal government requires the services of a licensed pilot. All steamers are required to have licensed engineers, though the requirements for an owner's license are not very rigid. Gasoline boats as yet do not come under any laws, though there is talk of legislation upon them, and there may be, by the time this book reaches its readers. Houseboats usually have no direct power, but are gently propelled by long sweeps. If the boat is small this is all right; but as large a boat as ours would require about four strong men to hold her steady in dangerous places. It takes a much smaller investment if power is excluded; and if the boat goes only down stream, with force enough to manage her in currents and blows it is cheaper to hire towage when requisite. But if possible have power, and enough. Many boats we saw in the Mississippi are fitted with stern wheels and gasoline engines, and these have great advantages. In cold weather the engineer is protected, and can run in and get warm, while if in a towing boat he may suffer. The expense is less, as there is the hull of the towboat to buy when separate. The motion communicated to the cabin by an attached engine is soon forgotten. You should not calculate in selling either cabin, engine or towboat when ready to leave for the north, as prices in the south are uncertain; and if you have not invested in power you lose that much less if you desert your outfit. Between steam and gasoline as power there is much to be said. With steam you require a license, it is dirty, more dangerous, takes time to get up steam, and care to keep it up. But you can always pick up wood along shore, though an engine of any size burns up a whole lot, and it takes so much time to collect, cut and saw the wood, and to dry it, that if you are paying a crew their time makes it costly. Low down the river, in times of low water, coal is to be gathered from the sand bars; but this cannot be counted upon as a regular supply. But you can always get fuel for a wood-burning engine, and if you contemplate trips beyond civilization it may be impossible to obtain gasoline. Gasoline boats are cleaner, safer, always ready to start by turning a few buttons, and cheaper, if you have to buy your fuel. If you are going beyond the reach of ordinary supplies you may run out, and then your power is useless; but in such cases you must use foresight and lay in a supply enough for emergencies. Both varieties of engines are liable to get out of order, and require that there shall be someone in charge who understands their mechanism and can find and remedy the difficulty. Our own preference in Mississippi navigation is unquestionably for the gasoline. If we go to the West Indies or the Amazon we will employ steam. Were we contemplating a prolonged life on a boat, or a trading trip, we would have the power attached to the cabin boat; and the saved cost of the hull of a towboat would buy a small gasoline cutter--perhaps $150--which could be used as a tender. But when you get power, get enough. It saves more in tow bills than the cost of the engine; and if it is advisable to bring the outfit back to the north full power saves a great loss. _Quod est demonstrandum_ in the course of this narrative. CHAPTER III. PREPARATIONS. Our search for a second-hand houseboat was not very productive. At Chicago the choice lay between three, and of these we naturally chose the worst. It was the old Jackson Park boat, that after long service had finally become so completely watersoaked that she sank at her moorings; but this we learned later. In fact, as in many instances, our foresight was far inferior to our hindsight--and that is why we are giving our experiences exactly as they occurred, so that readers may avoid our mistakes. This houseboat was purchased for $200, the vendor warranting her as sound and safe, in every way fit and suitable for the trip contemplated. He even said she had been through the canal as far as the Illinois river, so there was no danger but that she could pass the locks. The cabin measured 24 x 14.3 x 7 feet; and there was a six-foot open deck in front, three feet behind, and two feet on either side, making her width 18 feet 3 inches. One end of the cabin was partitioned off, making two staterooms and a kitchen, each 7 feet in depth. The rest formed one large room. It was well lighted, with 14 windows; and had doors in each side and two at the front opening into the kitchen and one stateroom. The roof was formed of two thicknesses of wood and over this a canvas cover, thickly painted. The staterooms were fitted with wire mattress frames, arranged to be folded against the sides when not in use for beds. In the large room we placed an iron double bed and two single ones, shielded from view by a curtain. There was a stove capable of burning any sort of fuel; two bookcases, dining table, work table, dresser, chairs, sewing machine, sewing table, etc. We had a canvas awning made with stanchions to go on the top, but this we never used, finding it pleasanter to sit on the front deck. Among the equipment were the following: A canoe with oars and paddle, 50-lb. anchor, 75 feet ¾-inch rope, 75 feet 1-inch rope, 100 feet ½-inch rope, boat pump, dinner horn, 6 life preservers, 2 boathooks, 2 hammocks, 4 cots, Puritan water still, small tripoli filter, a tube of chemical powder fire extinguisher, large and small axes, hatchet, brace and bits, saws, sawbuck, tool-box well furnished, soldering set, repair kit, paper napkins, mattresses, bedding, towels, and a liberal supply of old clothes, over and under. We had an Edison Home phonograph and about 50 records; and this was a useful addition. But many articles we took were only in the way, and we shall not mention them. We had a full supply of fishing material, frog spears, minnow seine, minnow trap, railroad lantern, tubular searchlight with bull's-eye reflector, electric flashlight with extra batteries, twine, trotline, revolver and cartridges, 50-gauge Spencer for big game, and as a second gun, with 150 cartridges; 32-H. P. S. Marlin rifle, with 400 cartridges; Winchester 12-gauge pump, with 2,000 shells; Browning automatic shotgun; folding decoys, 4 shell bags, McMillan shell extractor, U. S. Gov't rifle cleaner, Marlin gun grease, grass suit, shooting clothes heavy and light, hip boots, leggings, sweaters, chamois vest, mosquito hats, two cameras with supplies, including developers, compass (pocket), copper wire, whetstone, can opener and corkscrew, coffee pot to screw to wall, matches in waterproof box, a Lehman footwarmer and two Japanese muff stoves, with fuel. For the kitchen we got a gasoline stove with an oven. There was a good kerosene lamp, giving sufficient light to allow all hands to read about the table; also three lamps with brackets for the small rooms. In preparing our lists of supplies we derived great assistance from Buzzacott's "Complete Camper's Manual." It was a mistake to buy so many shot-gun shells. All along the river we found it easy to get 12-gauge shells, better than those we had. The boy rejoiced in a 20-gauge single barrel. We had so much trouble in getting ammunition for it that we purchased a reloading outfit and materials at Antoine's. This little gun was very useful, especially when we wanted little birds. A full supply of medicines went along, mainly in alkaloidal granules, which economize space and give extra efficiency and many other advantages. A pocket surgical case, a few of the instruments most likely to be needed, surgical dressings, quinidine (which is the best preventive of malaria among the cinchona derivatives), insect powder, sulphur for fumigation, potassium permanganate for the water, petrolatum, absorbent cotton, a magnifying glass to facilitate removal of splinters, extra glasses for those wearing them; and a little whisky, which was, I believe, never opened on the entire trip. The boy was presented with a shell belt; and a week before starting we found he was sleeping with the belt on, filled with loaded shells. Say, tired and listless brethren, don't you envy him? Wouldn't you like to enjoy the anticipation of such a pleasure that much? Among the things that were useful we may add a game and shell carrier, a Marble axe with sheath, and a Val de Weese hunter's knife. After serving their time these made acceptable presents to some kindly folk who had done much to make our stay at Melville pleasant. We fitted out our table and kitchen from the cast offs of our home, taking things we would not miss were we to leave them with the boat when through with her. It matters little that you will find the most complete lists wanting in important particulars, for ample opportunity is given to add necessaries at the first town. But the Missis insisted on taking a full supply of provisions, and we were very glad she did. Buzzacott gives a list of necessaries for a party of five men camping five days. It seems liberal, when added to the produce of rod and gun. 20 lbs. self-raising flour. 6 lbs. fresh biscuit. 6 lbs. corn meal. 6 lbs. navy beans. 3 lbs. rice. 5 lbs. salt pork. 5 lbs. bacon. 10 lbs. ham. 15 lbs. potatoes. 6 lbs. onions. 3 lbs. can butter. 3 lbs. dried fruits. ½ gallon vinegar pickles. ½ gallon preserves. 1 qt. syrup. 1 box pepper. 1 box mustard. 6 lbs. coffee. 6 lbs. sugar. ½ lb. tea. ½ lb. baking powder. 4 cans milk and cream. 1 sack salt. 6 boxes matches (tin case). 1 lb. soap. 1 lb. corn starch. 1 lb. candles. 1 jar cheese. 1 box ginger. 1 box allspice. 1 lb. currants. 1 lb. raisins. 6 boxes sardines. 1 screwtop flask. Fresh bread, meat, sausage, eggs for first days. The wife laid in her stock of provisions, costing about sixty dollars and including the articles we use generally. Among the books we found that seemed likely to provide some useful information are: Trapper Jim--Sandys. Last of the Flatboats--Eggleston. Houseboat series--Castlemon. Bonaventure--Cable. Down the Mississippi--Ellis. Down the Great River--Glazier. Four Months in a Sneak Box--Bishop. The Wild-Fowlers--Bradford. The Mississippi--Greene. The Gulf and Inland Waters--Mahan. The Blockade and the Cruisers--Soley. The History of Our Navy--Spears. In the Louisiana Lowlands--Mather. Hitting and Missing with the Shotgun--Hammond. Among the Waterfowl--Job. Up the North Branch--Farrar. Botanist and Florist--Wood. The Mushroom Book--Marshall. Wild Sports in the South--Whitehead. Cooper's Novels. Catalog from Montgomery Ward's mail order house. And a good supply of other novels, besides the children's schoolbooks. By writing to the U. S. port office at St. Louis we secured a list of the lights on the Western rivers, a bit antique, but quite useful. From Rand & McNally we also obtained a chart of the Mississippi River from St. Louis to the Gulf, which was invaluable. The Desplaines had a lot of separate charts obtained from the St. Louis port officers, which were larger and easier to decipher. The question of motive power was one on which we received so much and such contradictory advice that we were bewildered. It seemed preferable to have the power in a tender, so that if we were moored anywhere and wished to send for mail, supplies or aid, the tender could be so dispatched without having to tow the heavy cabin boat. So we purchased a small gasoline boat with a two-horse-power engine. At the last moment, however, Jim persuaded us to exchange it for a larger one, a 20-footer, with three-horse-power Fay & Bowen engine. In getting a small boat see that it is a "water cooler," as an air-cooler will run a few minutes and stop, as the piston swells. Also see that she is fitted with reversing gear. Not all boats are. This was a fine sea boat, the engine very fast, and she was well worth the $365 paid for her. The crew of the "Helen W. of Chicago," consisted of the Doctor, the Missis, the Boy (aged 11), Miss Miggles (aged 10), Millie the house-keeper, Jim and J. J. We should have had two dogs, little and big; and next time they go in as an essential part of the crew. We carried far too many things, especially clothes. The most comfortable proved to be flannel shirt or sweater, blue cloth cap, tennis shoes, knickerbockers, long wool stockings, and a cheap canvas hunting suit that would bear dirt and wet. Knicks attract too much attention outside the city. One good suit will do for visiting in the cities. CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST SHIPWRECK. Our first experience in shipwrecks came early. We were all ready to start; the home had been rented, furniture disposed of, the outfit ordered, and the boat lay ready for occupancy, fresh and clean in new paint--when we discovered that we had to go through the old canal--the Illinois and Michigan--to La Salle, instead of the drainage ditch, on which we were aware that Chicago had spent many millions more than drainage demanded, with the ulterior object of making a deep waterway between the great city and the Gulf! Here was an anxious thought--would the old canal admit our boat? We visited headquarters, but naturally no one there knew anything about so essential a matter. We went down to the first lock at Bridgeport, and the lockmaster telephoned to Lockport, but the Chief Engineer was out and no one else knew the width of the locks. But finally we met an old seafarer who carried in his pocket a list of all the locks of all the canals in the U. S., including Canada; and from him we got the decisive information that the narrowest lock admitted boats with a maximum width of 17 feet. Ours measured 18 feet 3 inches! After prolonged consultation it was determined that the only way out was to cut off enough of the side to admit her. So the purveyor, who had guaranteed the boat as fit in every way for the trip, began to cut, first building an inner wall or side with two-by-fours. Getting this up to a convenient height he concluded to try for leaks, and slid the scow back into the water with the side half up. It was just an inch too low; and when he rose next morning the scow reposed peacefully on the bottom of the river, the water having, in the night, come in at the low side. The following week was consumed in endeavors to raise the boat and get the water out. Meanwhile we were camping out in an empty house, eating off the kitchen table, sleeping anywhere, and putting in spare time hurrying the very deliberate boatmen. Just then we received from the Sanitary District folks the belated information that the locks are 18 feet wide, and 110 feet long, and that the height of the boat from the water line must not exceed 17 feet to enable it to pass under bridges. For nearly a week various means of raising the craft were tried, without success. Finally the wind shifted during the night, and in the morning we found the upper margin of the hull out of water. The pumps were put in operation and by noon the boat was free from water. It was found to be reasonably watertight, despite the straining by jacks, levers, windlasses, and other means employed to raise first one corner and then another, the breaking of ropes and planks by which the corners had been violently dropped, etc. But the absence of flotation, as evidenced by the difficulty of raising an unloaded boat, wholly constructed of wood, should have opened our eyes to her character. The side was rapidly completed, the furniture and stores brought aboard, and the boats started down the canal, while the Doctor and Missis went to Joliet to meet the outfit and avoid the odors of the drainage. The men ran all night and reached Lock No. 5, at Joliet, about 5 p. m., Wednesday, Sept. 30, 1903. This was altogether unnecessary, and we might as well have come down on the boat. Meanwhile we found a shelter in a little bakery near the Joliet bridge, where the kindly folk took care of the little invalid while we watched for the arrival of the boats. [Illustration: THE OLD CANAL.] CHAPTER V. THE CANAL. That night was our first on board. We found the boat piled high with the "necessaries" deemed imperative by the Missis. Days were spent in the arrangement of these, and in heaving overboard articles whose value was more than counterbalanced by the space they occupied. Hooks were inserted, trunks unpacked, curtains hung, and it is safe to say that our first week was thus occupied. The single beds were taken down and the children put to sleep on cots consisting of strips of canvas with eye-holes at the corners. These were fastened to stout hooks, screwed into the walls. Difficulty supervened in finding a place to fasten the outer ends, and we had to run ropes across the cabin, to our great annoyance when rising during the night. Otherwise these are the best of cots, as they can be taken down and rolled away during the day. The delight of those days, drifting lazily down the old canal, the lovely vistas with long rows of elms along the deserted towpath, the quiet farms. Sometimes it was showery, at others shiny, but we scarcely noticed the difference. It is surely a lazy man's paradise. There is no current in the canal, and the launch could only drag the heavy scow along at about a mile and a half an hour; while but little wind sufficed to seriously retard all progress. Even with our reduced width it was all we could do to squeeze through the locks, which are smaller toward the bottom. At No. 5 we only got through after repeated trials, when the lock-keeper opened the upper gates and let in a flood of water, after the lower had been opened, and the boat worked down as close as possible to the lower gate. And here let us say a word as to the uniform courtesy we received from these canal officials; something we were scarcely prepared to expect after our experience with the minor official of the city. Without an exception we found the canal officials at their posts, ready to do their duty in a courteous, obliging manner. Friday, Oct. 2, we reached Lock 8 just at dusk, passing down as a string of three canal boats passed up for Chicago, laden with corn. We are surprised at the number of boats engaged in this traffic; as we had thought the canal obsolete, judging from the caricatures in the daily papers. Coal was passing down and corn and wood up. During this day 12 laden boats went by us. Saturday, Oct. 3.--Head winds blew the boat about, to the distraction of the crew. We tried towing, with a line along the towpath, and the boat banged against the bank constantly. But the weather was lovely and clear, everyone happy and the interior economy getting in order. It was well the wise little Missis insisted on bringing a full supply of provisions, for we have not passed a town or a store since leaving Joliet, and we would have fared poorly but for her forethought. We stopped at a farm, where we secured some milk for which we, with difficulty, persuaded the farmer to accept a nickel--for a gallon. He said milk was not so precious as in the city. But at Lock 8 the keeper's wife was alive to her opportunities and charged us city prices. We were well pleased with our crew. Jim is a guide from Swan Lake, aged 24; fisher, hunter, trapper and boatman all his life. J. J. is a baseball player and athlete about the same age. Both volunteered for the trip, for the pleasure of it. They asked to go for nothing, but we do not care to make such an arrangement, which never works well and leads to disagreements and desertions when the novelty has worn off; so we paid them wages. During the months they were with us we never asked them to do a thing they did not willingly do, nor was there ever a complaint of them in the score of behavior, lack of respect for the ladies, language before the children, or any of those things that might have led to unpleasantness had they not been gentlemen by instinct and training. They are built of muscle and steel springs, never shirk work, have good, healthy appetites and are always ready to meet any of the various requirements of the trip. Everything comes handy to them. They put the boat in shape, run the engine, do carpentry and any other trade that is needed. It was hard to guide the unwieldy boat so they designed a rudder, went to town for material, hunted up a blacksmith and showed him what they wanted, and put the rudder together and hung it in good shape. It has a tiller up on the roof, whence the steersman can see ahead. We secured some food at Morris, with difficulty. By noon the rudder was hung and we were off for Seneca, the boy happy in charge of the tiller. We wish we were a word painter, to describe the beauty of the scenery along the canal. The water has lost all reminiscence of Chicago's drainage. At 3 p. m. we stopped at a farm and obtained milk, eggs and chickens, with half a bushel of apples for good measure. The boat excites much interest among the farmers. At Morris we had our first call upon the drugs, the boys finding a friend whose horse had a suppurating wound. Dressed it with antiseptics and left a supply. We each took two grains of quinine, to ward off possible malaria. Millie suffered serious discomfort, her whole body breaking out, with itching and flushing, lasting some hours. And this was about the only time we took quinine during the trip, except when wet, to prevent a cold. We never saw anything like malaria. After tea we had a delightful run by moonlight, stopping several miles from Seneca. It is a good rule to stop before coming to a town, as the loafers do not get sight of the boat until it comes in next morning. On Monday we ran into Seneca, and stopped for supplies. We always needed something, ample as we thought our outfit. It is always ice, milk, eggs, butter, or fruit. Here it is gasoline, on which we depend for our motive power. It is useless to look for the picturesque in the Illinois farmer. He speaks the language of the schools, with the accent of culture, and wears his hair and whiskers in modern style. Probably he hears more lectures, sees more operatic and histrionic stars, reads more books and gets more out of his newspapers than does the city man. In fact, there is no country now; the whole State is merely a series of suburbs. During the afternoon we reached Marseilles, where we tied up for the night. We obtained a gallon of milk here, and a can of gasoline. A neighboring well supplied artesian water, which tasted too much of sulphur for palates accustomed to Chicago water. In fact, we now hear that there is no such water as that of the great lake metropolis. Tuesday, Oct. 6, we left Marseilles with a favoring breeze. Our craft sails best with the wind about two points abaft the beam. When it shifts to two points forward we are driven against the shore. We had hard work to reach the viaduct over the Fox river. At 2 p. m. we reached Ottawa, and there replenished our gasoline barrel. _Hinc illae lachrymae._ At Seneca and Marseilles we had been able to obtain only five gallons each, and that of the grade used for stoves. We also learned that we might have saved three dollars in lock fees, as below La Salle the water is so high that the dams are out of sight and steamers pass over them. The registry and lock fees from Chicago to St. Louis are $6.88. We had now passed ten locks with safety, but the captain of the Lulu tells us the next is the worst of all. It is evident that our boat is not fit for this expedition, and we must take the first opportunity to exchange her for one with a larger and stronger scow, to cope with the dangers of the great river. The scow should stand well up from the water so that the waves will not come over the deck. Every morning and night there is over a barrel of water to be pumped out, but that might be remedied by calking. Near Marseilles we passed a number of houseboats, and hear that many are being prepared for the trip to St. Louis next summer. Berths along the river front there are now being secured. Among our useful supplies is a portable rubber folding bath tub. It works well now, but I am doubtful as to its wearing qualities. The water-still is all right when we have a wood or coal fire going, but when run by a gasoline stove it distils nearly as much water as it burns gasoline. * * * * * Wednesday.--We came in sight of the lock below Ottawa about 5 p. m. last night, and tied up. All night the wind blew hard and rattled the stores on the roof. Rain comes is around the stovepipe, in spite of cement. This morning it is still raining but the wind has fallen. A rain-coat comes in handy. We must add oilskins to our outfit. A little fire goes well these damp mornings, taking off the chill and drying out the cabin. Fuel is the cheapest thing yet. We pick up a few sticks every day, enough for the morning fire, and could load the boat with wood, if worth while. And there is no better exercise for the chest than sawing wood. We keep a small pile behind the stove to have it dry. The gasoline launch is a jewel--exactly what we need; and works in a way to win the respect of all. The boys got wire rope for steering, as the hemp stretched; but the wire soon wore through. Thirty cents a pound for creamery butter at Ottawa. We must rely on the farms. Whence come the flies? The ceiling is black with them. We talk of fumigating with sulphur. The cabin is screened, but whenever the door is opened they come streaming in. The little wire fly-killer is a prime necessity. It is a wire broom six inches long and as wide, with a handle; and gets the fly every time. Burning insect powder gets rid of mosquitoes, but has no effect on flies. A string of canal boats passed up this morning, the first we have seen since leaving Seneca. The traffic seems to be much lighter in the lower part of the canal. The canal official at Ottawa seems to be something of a joker. A dog boarded our craft there and this man informed us it had no owner, so we allowed the animal to accompany us. But further down the line the dog's owner telephoned dire threats after us, and we sent him back from La Salle. After lunch we tackled Lock No. 11, and a terror it was. The walls were so dilapidated that care had to be exercised to keep the edges of the scow and roof from catching. Then the roof caught on the left front and the bottom on the right rear, and it was only at the fourth trial, when we had worked the boat as far forward as possible, that we managed to scrape through. The wind was still very brisk and dead ahead, so we tied up just below the lock. A steam launch, the Lorain, passed through bound down. She filled the lock with smoke, and we realized how much gasoline excels steam in cleanliness. A foraging expedition secured a quart of milk and four dozen eggs, with the promise of spring chickens when their supper afforded a chance to catch them. * * * * * Thursday, Oct. 8, 1903.--All night we were held by the fierce wind against which we were powerless. The squeeze in the lock increased the leakage and this morning it took quite a lot of pumping to free the hull of water. After breakfast we set out, and found Lock 12 much better than its predecessor. All afternoon the wind continued dead ahead, and the towing rope and poles were required to make even slight headway. Then we passed under a low bridge, and the stovepipe fell down. If we do not reach a town we will be cold tonight. Two small launches passed us, going to La Salle, where there is some sort of function on. The children's lessons go on daily; with the girl because she is a girl and therefore tractable, with the boy because he can not get out till they are learned. * * * * * Friday, Oct. 9.--We lay in the canal all day yesterday, the folks fishing for catfish. Our foraging was unsuccessful, the nearest house containing a delegation of Chicago boys--17 of them--sent out by a West Side church, who took all the milk of the place. The boy fell in the canal and was promptly rescued by J. J., who is an expert swimmer. His mother was excited, but not frightened. After tea, as the wind had fallen, we used the launch for two hours to get through the most of the "wide water," so as to have the protection of the high banks next day. The lights of a large town--electric--are visible below. Very little water that evening, not a fourth what we pumped in the morning. On Friday morning the water is smooth and we hope to make La Salle today. And then the gasoline engine stopped! It had done good service so far, but there was a defect in it: a cup for holding lubricating oil that had a hole in it. Curious for a new engine, and some of the crew were unkind enough to suggest that the seller had taken off the new cup and put on a broken one from his old boat. All day we worked with it, till at lunch time it consented to go; and then our old enemy, the west wind, came up, but less violent than before, so that we made several miles before the engine again quit. We were well through the wide water, and tied up in a lovely spot, where someone had been picnicking during the morning. The boys towed the launch to Utica with the canoe, while we secured some milk at a Swede's near by, and a jar of honey from another house. * * * * * Saturday, Oct. 10, 1903.--At 7 p. m. the boys returned with a little steam launch they had hired for six dollars to tow us the eight miles to La Salle. Lock No. 13 was true to its hoodoo, and gave us some trouble. About midnight we tied up just above Lock 14, which looks dubious this morning. We missed some fine scenery during the night, but are tired of the canal and glad to be near its end. A Street Fair is going on here, and the streets are full of booths. Jim says J. J. will throw a few balls at the "nigger babies," and then write home how he "missed the children!" These things indicate that he is enjoying his meals. Not much water today in the hold. Temp. 39 at 7 a. m. CHAPTER VI. THE ILLINOIS RIVER. Monday, Oct. 12, 1903.--We passed Locks 14 and 15 without difficulty and moored in the basin with a number of other houseboats. We find them very polite and obliging, ready to give any information and assistance in their power. All hands took in the Street Fair, and aided in replenishing our constantly wasting stores. The boy drove a thriving trade in minnows which he captured with the seine. In the afternoon Dr. Abbott came down, to our great pleasure. A man from the shop came and tinkered with the gasoline engine a few hours' worth, to no purpose. Several others volunteered advice which did not pan out. Sunday we lay quiet, until near noon, when the engineer of the government boat _Fox_ most kindly pointed out the trouble, which was, as to be expected, a very simple one--the sparker was so arranged that the single explosion caught the piston at the wrong angle and there was no second explosion following. Then all hands went for a ride down into the Illinois river. Dr. Abbott got off at 8:15 and the boys took a run up to Tiskilwa--for what reason we do not hear, but have our suspicions. We still recollect the days when we would travel at night over a five-mile road, lined with farms, each fully and over-provided with the meanest of dogs--so we ask no questions. This morning the temperature is 48, foggy; all up for an early start. One undesirable acquisition we made here was a numerous colony of mice, which must have boarded us from a boat that lay alongside. The animals did much damage, ruining a new dress and disturbing us at night with their scampering. Nor did we finally get rid of them until the boat sank--which is not a method to be recommended. Fumigation with sulphur, if liberally done, is about the best remedy for any living pests. * * * * * Tuesday, Oct. 13, finds us still tied up below La Salle. The fortune-teller kindly towed us to the mouth of the canal, where we spent the day trying to persuade the engine to work. After an expert from the shops here had put in the day over it, he announced that the fault lay with the gasoline bought at Ottawa. In truth our troubles date from that gasoline, and we hope he may be right. The engine he pronounces in perfect order. Nothing here to do, and the little Missis has a cold and is getting impatient to be going. So far we have met none but friendly and honest folks along the canal, all anxious to be neighborly and do what they can to aid us. All hands are discouraged with the delay and trouble with the engine--all, that is, except one old man, who has been buffeted about the world enough to realize that some share of bad luck must enter every human life, and who rather welcomes what comes because it might have been so much worse. Come to think of it, we usually expect from Fate a whole lot more than we deserve. What are we that we should look for an uninterrupted career of prosperity? Is it natural? Is it the usual lot of man? What are we that we should expect our own lot to be such an exceptional career of good fortune? Think of our deserts, and what some men suffer, and humbly thank the good Lord that we are let off so easily. If that is not good philosophy we can answer for its helping us a whole lot to bear what ills come our way. We got off early and began our first day's floating. It was quite pleasant, much more so than lying idle. The _Fox_ came along and rocked us a bit, but not unpleasantly. We tied up below the bridge at Spring Valley, and the boys went up to town, where they succeeded in getting five gallons of gasoline, grade 88. After lunch we pumped out the old stuff and put in the new and the little engine started off as if there had never been a disagreement. At 4 p. m. we are still going beautifully, passed Marquette, and all happy. But if the man who sold us low-grade gasoline at Ottawa, for high, were in reach he might hear something he would not like. At night we tied up a mile above Hennepin, where we obtained some milk and a few eggs at a farm house. * * * * * Wednesday, Oct. 14, 1903.--Yesterday we passed the opening of the Hennepin canal, that monument of official corruption, which after the expenditure of fifty millions is not yet ready for use--the locks not even built. Compare with the work done on the Drainage Canal, and we conclude Chicago is not so very bad. At Hennepin this morning we secured three gallons of gasoline at 74, the best available; also fresh beef, for which we are all hungry. Left at 9 a. m. for Henry. During the preceding night the _Fred Swain_ passed down and bumped us against the rocky shore harder than at any time previously. Next morning there was less water in the hull than ever before, so it seems to have tightened her seams. We ran into the creek above Henry and moored at the landing of the Swan River Club, where Jim's father resides. Here we lay for several weeks, for reasons that will appear. Millie kindly varied the monotony and added to the general gaiety by tumbling into the creek; but as the water was only about three feet deep no serious danger resulted. The boys usually disappeared at bedtime and talked mysteriously of Tiskilwa next morning, and appeared sleepy. We examined several boats that were for sale, but did not find any that suited us. We wished to feel perfectly safe, no matter what we might encounter on the great river. Some one has been trying to scare the boys with tales of the whirlpools to be encountered there; and of the waves that will wash over the deck. These we afterward found to be unfounded. No whirlpool we saw would endanger anything larger than a canoe, and our two-strake gunwales were high enough for any waves on the river. We found few ducks; not enough to repay one for the trouble of going out after them. Until we left Henry we caught a few fish, but not enough to satisfy our needs. CHAPTER VII. BUILDING THE BOAT. November 1, 1903.--We had settled that the scow was not strong enough for the river voyage, and she kindly confirmed this view by quietly sinking as she was moored in the creek. There was no accident--the timbers separated from decay. We were awaked by the sound of water running as if poured from a very large pitcher; jumped up, ran to the stern of the boat, and saw that the rudder, which was usually six inches above water, was then below it. We awoke the family and hastily removed the articles in the outer end of the boat to the end resting on shore, and summoned the boys. It was just getting towards dawn. By the time this was done the lower end of the cabin floor was covered with water. Had this happened while we were in the river the consequences would have been serious. * * * * * Jim's father, Frank Wood, went to Peoria and selected materials for the new scow. The sides are technically termed gunwales--"gunnels"--and should be of solid three-inch plank. But we found it might take six months to get three-inch plank forty feet long, so we had to splice. He got eight plank, 22 to 24 feet long. Two of these were spliced in the center for the lower strake, and one long one placed in the center above, with half a length at each end. This prevented both splices coming together. The plank were sawed in a Z shape. Holes were then bored through both plank at intervals of four feet, and half-inch iron braces driven through and screwed firmly together. The ends were then sawn for the sloping projections. Through the middle, from end to end, was set a six-by-six timber, and on each side midway between this and the gunwales ran a three-by-six. Then the two-inch plank were nailed firmly to the gunwales and intermediate braces, each with twenty-three 60- and 40-penny nails. We find a strong prejudice against wire nails, these fishers and boatbuilders preferring the old-fashioned square nails when they can get them. They say the wire is more apt to rust; but this may be simply the conservatism that always meets an innovation. The cheapness of the wire is an item. The plank were placed as closely together as possible. Here a difficulty arose, as they were warped, so that when one end was laid close, the other was an inch from its fellow. But this did not bother our men. They put a triangular block up to the refractory end, nailed it firmly to the beam underneath, and drove wedges between till the crooked plank was forced as nearly straight as possible--or as prudent, for too great a strain would be followed by warping. When all the planks were nailed on, two coats of tar and rosin were applied, and next day the boat was turned over. It was brought down till one side was in two feet of water, then the upper side was hoisted by blocks and tackles applied on upright timbers, till nearly upright, when the men pushed it over with big poles. She had first been braced carefully with an eight-by-eight across the middle, and by a number of other timbers. The eight-by-eight was broken and the middle of the boat forced up six inches by the shock, requiring the services of a jack to press it down to its place. What fine workers these men are, and how silently they work, keeping at the big spikes hour after hour, driving every one with thought and care, and yet wasting no time. What use they make of a few simple mechanical aids--the lever, the wheel and screw, the jack, buck, etc.; and they constantly use the square before sawing. Americans, every one of them; and not a drop of beer or whisky seen about the work, from first to last. The seams in the gunwales were caulked with hemp and payed with white lead, before the boat was turned. Then they went over the inside and wherever a trickle of water appeared they stuffed in cotton. The scow is 40 feet long and 16 feet wide. Over the gunwales were laid four-by-fours, 18 feet long, and spiked down. Then supports were placed under these and toenailed to the three inner braces, and to the four-by-fours. A two-foot projection was made at each end, making the floor 44 feet long. The flooring is of Georgia pine, tongued and grooved. The lumber cost, including freight from Peoria to Henry, about $100; the work about fifty more. There were over 100 pounds of nails used, 50 pounds of white lead in filling cracks, and several hundred pounds of tar on the bottom. The gunwales are of Oregon fir, straight and knotless. It would not add to the strength to have them of oak, as they are amply able to withstand any strain that can possibly be put on them in navigating even the greatest of rivers. Oak would, however, add largely to the weight, and if we were pounding upon a snag this would add to the danger. As it was, we many times had this experience, and felt the comfort of knowing that a sound, well-braced, nailed and in every way secure hull was under us. The planking was of white pine, the four-by-fours on which the deck rested of Georgia pine. The cabin was of light wood, Oregon fir. When completed the hull formed a strong box, secure against any damage that could befall her. We cannot now conjure up any accident that could have injured her so as to endanger her crew. Were we to build another boat she should be like this one, but if larger we would have water-tight compartments stretching across her, so that even if a plank were to be torn off the bottom she would still be safe. And we would go down to Henry to have "Abe" De Haas and "Frank" Wood and "Jack" Hurt build her. Some leakage continued for some weeks, till the seams had swelled completely shut, and she did not leak a drop during the whole of the cruise. * * * * * During this time we continued to live in the cabin, the deck sloping so that it was difficult to walk without support. When the cabin was being moved we availed ourselves of Mrs. Wood's courtesy and slept in her house one night. After the cabin had been moved off we took the old scow apart, and a terrible scene of rottenness was revealed. The men who saw it, fishermen and boatbuilders, said it was a case for the grand jury, that any man should send a family of women and little children afloat on such a boat. There was no sign of an accident. The water had receded, leaving the shore end of the scow resting on the mud. This let down the stern a little. The new side was constructed of two-by-fours laid on their sides, one above the other, and to the ends were nailed the plank forming the bow and stern. Of these the wood was so rotten that the long sixty-penny spikes pulled out, leaving a triangular opening, the broad end up. As the stern of the boat sank the water ran in through a wider orifice and filled up the hull more and more rapidly. The danger lay in the absolute lack of flotation. New wood would have kept her afloat even when the hull was full of water, but her timbers were so completely watersoaked that the stout ropes broke in the attempt to raise her, even though with no load. Through the favor of Providence this occurred while we were moored in a shallow creek. Had it happened while in the deep river nothing could have saved us from drowning. As it was, we lost a good deal of canned goods and jelly, soap, flour, and other stores. But the most serious harm was that we were delayed by the necessity of building a new boat, so that we were caught in the November storms, and the exposure brought back the invalid's asthma; so that the main object of the trip was practically lost. We are thus particular to specify the nature of the trouble, as the vendor of the boat has claimed that the accident was due to the inexperience of our crew. That this was a mistake must be evident to even an inexperienced sailor, who reads this account. The old house on the sunken scow was cut loose and moved over onto the new one, and securely nailed down. An addition 8 feet square was added at the back for a storeroom, and the roof extended to the ends of the scow at both ends. This gives us a porch 11 by 18 feet in front, and one 10 by 8 behind. These are roofed with beaded siding and covered with the canvas we got for an awning, which we have decided we do not need. This is to be heavily painted as soon as we have time. The entire cost of the new boat, the additional room and roofs, labor and materials, was about $250; the old boat cost $200, but the cabin that we moved onto the new hull could not have been built and painted for that, so that there was no money loss on the purchase. The launch, with its engine, cost $365, so that the entire outfit stood us at $830, including $15 for a fine gunning skiff Jim got at Henry. The furniture is not included, as we took little but cast-offs; nor the outfit of fishing and sporting goods. We must stop here to say a word as to the good people at Henry. Frank Wood and his family opened their house to us and furnished us milk and other supplies, for which we could not induce them to accept pay. Members of the Swan Lake Club placed at our disposal the conveniences of their club house. During the time our boat was building our goods lay out under a tree with no protection, not even a dog, and not a thing was touched. These fishermen surely are of a race to be perpetuated. Mr. Grazier also allowed us to use his ferryboat while endeavoring to raise the sunken boat and to store goods, and Mrs. Hurt offered to accommodate part of our family on her houseboat while our cabin was being moved to the new scow. CHAPTER VIII. THE LOWER ILLINOIS. Saturday, Oct. 31, we bade adieu to the kind friends at Swan Lake, who had done so much to make us comfortable, and pulled down to Henry, passing the locks. Here we tied up till Sunday afternoon, the engine still giving trouble, and then set off. We passed Lacon pontoon bridge and town about 5 p. m., and three miles below tied up for the night. Next morning, the engine proving still refractory, we floated down to the Chillicothe bridge, which was sighted about 11 a. m. This day was rainy and the new unpainted roof let in the water freely. We waited at Chillicothe for the _Fred Swain_ to pass, and then swung down to the bank below town, where we tied up. A farm house stood near the bank, and as we tied up a woman came out and in a loud voice called to some one to lock the chicken-house, and rattled a chain, suggestively; from which we infer that houseboat people have not the best reputation. We played the phonograph that evening, and the household gathered on shore to listen; so that we trust they slept somewhat securely. In the morning we bought some of the chickens we had had no chance to steal, and found the folks quite willing to deal with us. We had to wait for the _Swain_, as it was quite foggy and without the launch we could not have gotten out of her way. We drifted slowly down past Sand Point and The Circle lights, and tied up to a fallen tree, opposite the little village of Spring Bay. The boys were out of tobacco and had to row in for it. About 9 p. m. I heard shouts and then shots, and went out, to find a thick fog. They had lost their direction and it was only after some time and considerable shouting that they came near enough to see the lantern. We heard that the previous night the man who lights the channel lamps was out all night in the fog. [Illustration: HOUSEBOAT TOWN, PEORIA.] Again we had to wait for the _Swain_ to pass, and then floated down past Blue Creek Point. Here we saw a houseboat tied up, which a fisherman told us belonged to a wealthy old bachelor who lived there from choice. The current was slow as the river was wide, so about 2 p. m. we took a line from the good canal boat _City of Henry_, which for three dollars agreed to tow us to Peoria. This was faster traveling, but not a bit nice. However, it was necessary to get the engine in order, so we put up with it. We tied up above the upper bridge, with a nasty row of jagged piles between us and the shore. About 5 a. m. a northeast gale sprang up and washed us against the piles, to our great danger. Our boys arranged a two-by-four, nailing it against the side, so that the end stuck into the sand and fended us off the piles, and our gangway plank served the same purpose at the other end. This is a most important matter, as the snags might loosen a plank from the bottom. * * * * * Friday, Nov. 6, 1903.--At last we seem to have found a real expert on gasoline engines. Instead of guessing that "mebbe" this or "mebbe" that was the matter, he went at it and soon found the difficulty. In a short time the boat was circling 'round the lake at a most enticing rate. We laid in a new store of groceries and at 9 a. m. today set out. By lunch time we had passed Pekin, and are now heading for the locks at Copperas Creek, the engine going beautifully and the weather bright and cool. About Peoria we saw great numbers of houseboats, many in the water, but the aged members had climbed out upon the banks and perched among a wonderful array of shanties. One house seemed to be roosting among the branches of several large trees. Many were seen along the river below, some quite pretty, but none we fancied as well as our own. * * * * * Friday, Nov. 8, 1903.--We were held back by head winds and stopped before we reached the lock. Saturday we had good weather and little wind, and reached Copperas Creek just after lunch. There were three feet of water on the dam, and even the _Bald Eagle_, the largest steamer here, runs over it; but as we had paid for the lock we went through it. The lock-keeper took it out of us, though, by charging 15 cents for two quarts of milk, the highest price paid yet. We got off this morning at 8:15, and although a heavy head wind prevails are making good time. Many loons are passing south, in large flights, and some ducks. The marshes on either side seem to be well supplied, but are club grounds, we are told. It is much warmer than yesterday, the south wind blowing strongly. We moored with the anchor out at the outer corner, up the river, and the line and gangway plank on shore, allowing about ten feet from boat to shore; and when the _Eva Alma_ and the _Ebaugh_ passed us there was no bumping against the shore. Evidently that is the way to moor, though in the great river we must give more space and more cable to the anchor. At 10 a. m. we passed Liverpool, a hamlet of 150 inhabitants, half of whom must reside in houseboats. Some of these were quite large and well built. * * * * * We reached Havana about 4 p. m. Sunday, and as the south wind had become too fierce for our power we tied up below the bridge, at a fisherman's shanty. Monday morning it looked like rain, and the wind blew harder than ever, so we lay by and the boys finished putting on the tar paper roofing. When the wind is strong enough to blow the boat up stream against the current, the launch will be unable to make head against it. A couple live in an old freight car by us, and their home is worth seeing. The sand bluff is dug out for a chicken cave and pig-pen, and beautiful chrysanthemums are growing in boxes and pans, placed so as to retain the earth that would otherwise wash away. Fruit trees are also planted, and the woman tells me that the whole place is filled with flowering plants, now covered with sand for the winter. We notice two dracaenas. * * * * * Tuesday, Nov. 10, 1903.--The storm lasted all day yesterday, pinioning us relentlessly to the beach. By 5 p. m. it let up, but we concluded to remain at our moorings till morning. This morning we got off at 7 a. m., and passed the Devil's Elbow lights before lunch. We did not tie up then, but threw out our anchor, which is less trouble and in every way better, as there is less danger of the snags that beset the shore. The air is rather cool for sitting outside but we spend much time there. The river is narrowing. Each little creek has a houseboat, or several, generally drawn up out of the water and out of reach of the ice. We saw a woman at one of the shabbiest shanty boats washing clothes. She stooped down and swung the garment to and fro in the water a few moments and then hung it up to dry. The shores are thickly dotted with little flags and squares of muslin, put up by the surveyors who are marking out the channel for the proposed deep waterway. These were few in the upper river. Every shallow is appropriated by some fisherman's nets, and at intervals a cleared space with sheds or fish boxes shows how important are the fisheries of this river. There is a great deal of dispute along shore over the fishing rights. The submerging of thousands of acres of good land has greatly extended the limits of what is legally navigable water. The fishermen claim the right to set their nets wherever a skiff or a sawlog can float; but the owners think that since they bought the land from the Government and paid for it, and have paid taxes for forty years, they have something more of rights than any outsider. If not, what did they buy? The right to set nets, they claim, would give the right to plant crops if the water receded. Eventually the courts will have to decide it; but if these lands are thrown open to the public, the Drainage Board will have a heavy bill of damages. For it seems clear that it is the canal which has raised the level of the water. Meanwhile the fishing is not profitable. The fish have so wide a range that netting does not result in much of a catch. But if this rise proves only temporary, there will be good fishing when the water subsides. The boy does not get enough exercise, and his constant movement is almost choreic; so we sent him out to cut firewood, which is good for his soul. The girl amuses herself all day long with some little dolls, but is ever ready to aid when there is a task within her strength. She is possessed with a laughing demon, and has been in a constant state of cachinnation the whole trip. At table some sternness is requisite to keep the fun within due bounds. All hands mess together--we are a democratic crowd. Saturday John W. Gates' palatial yacht, the _Roxana_, passed down while we were at lunch. We saw a cook on deck; and two persons, wrapped up well, reclined behind the smokestack. * * * * * Nov. 11, 1903.--After a run of 22 miles--our best yet--we tied up at the Sangamon Chute, just below the mouth of that river. The day had been very pleasant. During the night our old friend the South Wind returned, but we were well moored and rode easily. The launch bumped a little, so the doctor rose and moved it, setting the fenders, also. Rain, thunder and lightning came, but secure in our floating home we were content. Today the wind has pinioned us to the shore, though the sun is shining and the wind not specially cold. The boys cut wood for the stove and then went after ducks, returning at noon with a pair of mallards. The new roof is tight, the stove draws well, and we ought to be happy, as all are well. But we should be far to the south, out of reach of this weather. We can see the whitecaps in the river at the bend below, but an island protects us from the full sweep of wind and wave. Regular trade-wind weather, sun shining, wind blowing steadily, great bulks of white cloud floating overhead, and just too cold to permit enjoyable exposure when not exercising. * * * * * Friday, Nov. 13, 1903.--This thing grows monotonous. Yesterday we set out and got to Browning, a mile, when the wind blew us ashore against a ferry boat that was moored there, and just then the engine refused to work. We remained there all day. The wind was pitiless, driving us against the boat till we feared the cable would break. We got the anchor into the skiff and carried it out to windward as far as the cable reached, and then drew in till there were five feet between the ferryboat and ours. In half an hour the anchor, firmly embedded in tenacious clay, had dragged us back to the boat and we had again to draw in cable by bracing against the ferry. At 2 p. m. the wind had subsided, and after working with the engine till 4 we got off, and drew down a mile beyond the turn, where we would be sheltered. We moored with the anchor out up stream, and a cable fast ashore at the other end, lying with broadside up stream to the current, and a fender out to the shore. This fender is made of two two-by-fours set on edge and cross pieces let in near each end. The boat end is tied to the side and the shore end rams down into the mud. While at dinner the _Bald Eagle_ came up, but we hardly noticed her wash. Moored thus, far enough out to avoid snags, we are safe and comfortable. But if too close in shore there may be a submerged snag that when the boat is lifted on a wave and let down upon it punches a hole in the bottom or loosens a plank. The night was quiet. We had our first duck supper, the boys getting a brace and a hunter at the fish house giving us two more. They had hundreds of them, four men having had good shooting on the Sangamon. This morning it is cool and cloudy, the wind aft and light, and the boys are coaxing the engine. If we can get a tow we will take it, as there is some danger we may be frozen in if we delay much longer. * * * * * Saturday, Nov. 14, 1903.--Despite the hoodoo of yesterday, Friday the 13th, we got safely to Beardstown before lunch, in a drizzle of rain that turned to a light snow. Temperature all day about 35. After lunch we started down and passed La Grange about 4:30 p. m. Probably this was a town in the days when the river was the great highway, but stranded when the railways replaced the waterways. There is a very large frame building at the landing, evidently once a tavern, and what looks like an old street, with no houses on it now. The tavern is propped up to keep it from falling down. No postoffice. We tied up about a mile above the La Grange lock, so that we may be ready to go through at 8 a. m. We hear that the locks are only opened to small fry like gasolines at 8 a. m. and 4 p. m., and it behooves us to be there at one of those hours. Just why a distinction should be made between steamers and gasolines is for officialdom to tell. * * * * * Twice yesterday the launch propeller fouled the towrope, once requiring the knife to relieve it. This accident is apt to occur and needs constant attention to prevent. We arranged two poles to hold up the ropes, and this did well. It is good to have a few poles, boards and various bits of timber aboard for emergencies. Heavy frost last night, but the sun is coming up clear and bright, and not a breath of wind. We look for a great run today if we manage the lock without delay. The quail are whistling all around us, but we are in a hurry. The _Bald Eagle_ passed down last evening, running quite near us and sending in big waves, but thanks to our mooring, we were comfortable and had no bumping. The water does no harm; it is the shore and the snags we fear. We were told that we would find the lockmen at La Grange grouty and indisposed to open the locks except at the hours named above; but this proved a mistake. They showed us the unvarying courtesy we have received from all canal officials since starting. They opened the gate without waiting for us. They said that in the summer, picnic parties gave them so much unnecessary trouble that they had to establish the rule quoted, but at present there was no need for it. The day is decidedly cool and a heavy fog drifting in from the south. At Meredosia at 11 a. m., where Dr. Neville kindly assisted us to get a check cashed. Found a youngster there who "knew gasoline engines," and by his help the difficulty was found and remedied. Laid in supplies and set out for Naples. Weather cool, but fog lifted, though the sun refused to be tempted out. CHAPTER IX. TOWING. Monday, Nov. 16, 1903.--The engine bucked yesterday, for a change, so we 'phoned to Meredosia and secured the services of the _Celine_, a gasoline launch of five-horse-power. She started at once, but arriving in sight of Naples she also stopped and lay two hours before she condescended to resume. About 3 p. m. we got under way, the _Celine_ pushing, with a V of two-by-fours for her nose and a strong rope reaching from her stern to each after corner of the scow. Then our own engine awoke, and ran all day, as if she never knew what a tantrum was. We made Florence, a town of 100 people, and tied up for the night. An old "doctor" had a boat with a ten-horse-power gasoline tied up next us. He travels up and down the river selling medicines. As these small towns could scarcely support a doctor, there is possibly an opening for a real physician, who would thus supply a number of them. Telephonic communication is so free along the river that he could cover a large territory--at least better than no doctor at all. [Illustration: LAUNCH TOWING.] During the night it blew hard, and rain, thunder and lightning made us feel sorry for the poor folk who were exposed to such dangers on shore. This morning we got off about 7:15, with a dull, lowering sky, fog, but a wind dead astern and a strong current, so that we are in hopes of a record run. So far our best has been 22 miles in one day. The right bank shows a series of pretty high bluffs, the stratified rock showing through. Ferries grow numerous. A good deal of timber is at the riverside awaiting shipment--a good deal, that is, for Illinois--and remarkably large logs at that. It seems to go to Meredosia. The boy and his father had made a gangway plank, and a limber affair it was; so the boys are taking it to pieces and setting the two-by-fours up on edge, which gives more strength. There is a right and a wrong way of doing most things, and we invariably choose the wrong till shown better. Bought some pecans at Meredosia--$3.00 a bushel. It ought to pay to raise them at that price, which is rather low than high. The river is said to be lined with the trees, and one woman says she and her two daughters made $150 gathering them this season. Hickory nuts cost 80 cents to $1.20, the latter for big coarse nuts we would not gather in the East. * * * * * Tuesday, Nov. 17, 1903.--Kampsville, Ill. Yesterday Mr. Hauser brought us this far with the gasoline launch _Celine_, and then quit--too cold. Cost $12 for the tow. By the time we got here the northeast wind was blowing so fierce and cold that we tied up. The town seems very lively for so small a place, having a number of stores. They charged us 25 cents a gallon for stove gasoline, but only 8 cents a pound for very fair roasting beef. We were moored on a lee shore, with our port bow to land, lines from both ends to stakes on shore, and the gangway plank roped to the port corner side and staked down firmly; the anchor out from the starboard stern, so as to present that side to the wind and current. She swung easily without bumping, but the plank complained all night. We scarcely felt the waves from the _Bald Eagle_ when she came in, but the wind raised not only whitecaps but breakers and we rocked some. It grew so cold that there was a draft through the unlined sides of the boat that kept our heads cold. Fire was kept up all night and yet we were cold. We now see as never before how much harm was done by the old boat, that compelled us to remain so long in this northern latitude and get the November storms. But for this we would have been well below Memphis, and escaped these gales. We got new batteries here, but this morning all the gasolines are frozen up, and we lay at our moorings, unable to move. They wanted $20 to tow us 29 miles to Grafton, but have come down to $15 this morning. We will accept if they can get up power, though it is steep--$5.00 being about the usual price for a day's excursion in summer. All hands are stuffing caulking around the windows and trying to keep in some of the heat. Sun shining, but the northeast wind still blows whitecaps, with little if any sign of letting up. The launch that proposes to tow us is busy thawing out her frozen pump. We have put the canoe and skiff on the front "porch," so as to have less difficulty steering. The little Puritan still sits on the stove in the cabin, and easily furnishes two gallons of water a day when sitting on top of the stove lid. Four times we have turned on the water and forgotten it till it ran over. We might arrange it to let a drop fall into the still just as fast as it evaporates, if the rate were uniform, but on a wood stove this is impossible. Last night it burned dry and some solder melted out of the nozzle, but not enough to make it leak. It did not hurt the still, but such things must be guarded against. The weather is warmer, sun shining brightly, but we must wait for our tow. The boys are getting tired of the monotony, especially Jim, who likes action. We have the first and only cold of the trip, contracted the cold night when our heads were chilled. This afternoon Jim and the boy went one way for pecans and squirrels, and the three women another for pecans alone. This is the pecan country, the river being lined with the trees for many miles. In the cabin-boat alongside, the old proprietor is still trying to get his engine to work, while both his men are drunk. And he never did get them and the engine in shape, but lost the job. He did not know how to run his own engine, which is unpardonable in anyone who lives in such a boat or makes long trips in it. * * * * * Thursday, Nov. 19, 1903.--Another tedious day of waiting. Cold and bright; but the cold kept us in. After dark Capt. Fluent arrived with his yacht, the _Rosalie_, 21-horse-power gasoline; and at 9 a. m. we got under way. Passed the last of the locks at 9:15, and made about five miles an hour down the river. Passed Hardin, the last of the Illinois river towns. Many ducks in the river, more than we had previously seen. Clear and cold; temperature at 8 a. m. 19; at 2 p. m., 60. About 3:25 p. m. we swung into the Mississippi. The water was smooth and did not seem terrible to us--in fact we had passed through so many "wides" in the Illinois that we were not much impressed. But we are not saying anything derogatory to the river god, for we do not want him to give us a sample of his powers. We are unpretentious passers by, no Aeneases or other distinguished bummers, but just a set of little river tramps not worth his godship's notice. Grafton is a straggling town built well back from the river, and looking as if ready to take to the bluffs at the first warning. The Missouri shore is edged with willows and lies low. We notice that our pilot steers by the lights, making for one till close, and then turning towards the next, keeping just to the right or left, as the Government list directs: Probably our craft, drawing so little water, might go almost anywhere, but the channel is probably clear of snags and other obstructions and it is better to take no chances. It was after 6 when we moored in Alton. Day's run, 45 miles in nine hours. We picked up enough ducks on the way down for to-night's dinner--two mallards and two teal. * * * * * Friday, Nov. 20, 1903.--Cold this morning, enough to make us wish we were much farther south. Capt. Fluent has quite a plant here--a ferry boat, many small boats for hire, etc. In the night a steamer jolted us a little, but nothing to matter. Even in the channel the launch ran over a sunken log yesterday. We note a gasoline launch alongside that has one of the towing cleats and a board pulled off, and hear it was in pulling her off a sand bar; so there is evidently wisdom in keeping in the channel, even if we only draw eight inches. A friend called last evening. Waiting at the depot he saw our lights and recognized the two side windows with the door between. It was good to see a familiar face. We are now free from the danger of ice blockade. The current at the mouth of the Illinois is so slow that ice forming above may be banked up there, and from this cause Fluent was held six weeks once--the blocking occurring in November. But the great river is not liable to this trouble. Still we will push south fast. This morning we had a visit from a bright young reporter from an Alton paper, who wrote up some notes of our trip. The first brother quill we had met, so we gave him a welcome. At 9 a. m. we set out for St. Louis, Mrs. Fluent and children accompanying her husband. The most curious houseboat we have yet seen lay on shore near our mooring place. It was a small raft sustained on barrels, with a cabin about six feet by twelve. A stovepipe through the roof showed that it was inhabited. Reminded us of the flimsy structures on which the South American Indians entrust themselves to the ocean. The _Reynard_ and her tender are following us, to get the benefit of Fluent's pilotage. A head wind and some sea caused disagreeable pounding against the front overhang, which alarmed the inexperienced and made us glad it was no wider. But what will it do when the waves are really high? [Illustration: "BLUFF."] [Illustration: THE DESPLAINES.] CHAPTER X. ST. LOUIS. St. Louis, Nov. 26, 1903.--We moored at the private landing belonging to Mr. Gardner, whose handsome yacht, the _Annie Russell_, came in on the following day. This was a great comfort, affording a sense of security, which the reputation of the levee made important. A reporter from the _Globe-Democrat_ paid us a visit, and a notice of the boat and crew brought swarms of visitors. We were deluged with invitations so numerous that we were compelled to decline all, that no offense might be given. But Dr. Lanphear and his wife were not to be put off, so they drove down to take us for a drive through the Fair grounds, with their huge, inchoate buildings; and then brought to the boat materials for a dinner which they served and cooked there. It is needless to add that we had a jolly time. Many applications were made for berths on the boat, which also we had to decline. One distinguished professor of national repute offered to clean guns and boots if he were taken along. Despite the bad reputation of the levee we saw absolutely nothing to annoy us. We heard of the cruelty of the negroes to animals but scarcely saw a negro here. It is said that they catch rats on the steamers and let them out in a circle of negro drivers, who with their blacksnake whips tear the animal to pieces at the first blow. We visited the market and had _bon marche_ there, and at Luyties' large grocery. Meat is cheap here, steak being from 10 to 12 cents a pound. Foreman turned up with the _Bella_, and tried to get an interview; but we refused to see him, the memory of the perils to which he had exposed a family of helpless women and children, as well as the delay that exposed us to the November gales, rendering any further acquaintance undesirable. Frank Taylor, the engineer of the _Desplaines_, was recommended to us by his employer, Mr. Wilcox, of Joliet, as the best gasoline expert in America; and he has been at work on our engine since we reached St. Louis. It is a new make to him, and he finds it obscure. We have had so much trouble with it, and the season is so far advanced, that we arranged with the _Desplaines_, whose owner very kindly agreed to tow us to Memphis. This is done to get the invalid below the frost line as quickly as possible. The _Desplaines_ is selling powder fire extinguishers along the river; and we are to stop wherever they think there is a chance for some business. At St. Louis we threw away our stove, which was a relic of Foreman, and no good; and bought for $8.00 a small wood-burning range. It works well and we can do about all our cooking on it, except frying. As we can pick up all the wood we wish along the river, this is more economic than the gasoline stove, which has burned 70 gallons of fuel since leaving Chicago. We stopped for Thanksgiving dinner above Crystal City, and the _Desplaines_ crowd dined with us--Woodruff, Allen, Clements, Taylor and Jake. A nice crowd, and we enjoyed their company. Also the turkey, goose, mince pie, macaroni, potatoes, onions, celery, cranberries, pickles, nuts, raisins, nut-candy, oranges and coffee. The current of the river is swifter than at any place before met, and carries us along fast. The _Desplaines_ is a steamer and works well. We made about 50 miles today and tied up on the Illinois side, just above a big two-story Government boat, which was apparently engaged in protecting the banks from washing. Great piles of stone were being dumped along the shore and timber frames laid down. It was quite cold. The shore was lined with driftwood and young uprooted willows, and we laid in a supply of small firewood--enough to last a week. * * * * * Friday morning, Nov. 27.--Temperature 20; clear and cold, with a south wind blowing, which makes the waves bump the boat some, the wind opposing the swift current. Got off about 7:45, heading for Chester, where the _Desplaines_ expects to stop for letters. CHAPTER XI. THE MISSISSIPPI. Nov. 28, 1903.--Yesterday morning we left our moorings 45 miles below St. Louis, and came down the river against the wind. This made waves that pounded our prow unpleasantly. We passed the Kaskaskia chute, through which the whole river now passes, since the Government has blocked up the old river bed. A few houses mark the site of old Kaskaskia. Nearing the end of the chute, the _Desplaines_ ran on a sand bar, as the channel is very narrow and runs close to the shore, which it is cutting away rapidly. It took two hours to free her. We tied up early at Chester, as they desired to work the town. During the night we were severely rocked by passing steamers, and bumped by the launch and skiff. This morning the river was smooth as glass. The _Desplaines_ was not through with their work, so we did not set out till 10:30. By that time a gale had sprung up from the north and we had trouble. We were moored by a single line to the shore, and as this was cast off and the _Desplaines_ began to move, her towline fouled the propeller. We drifted swiftly down toward a row of piles, but were brought up by the anchor hastily dropped. The steamer drifted down against us, narrowly missing smashing our launch, and getting right across our anchor rope. Blessed be the anchor to windward. But the staple to which the cable was fast began to show signs of pulling out, so we got a chain and small lines and made them fast to the timbers of the scow, so that if the cable broke they might still hold. Finally the rope was removed from the propeller, and after several attempts they got hold of us and steamed up to the anchor, so that five strong men could raise it. Then we went down stream at a rate to terrify one who knew the danger, if we should strike a sandbank. On we go, past the crumbling banks of sand stratified with earth, with government channel lights at close intervals. The channel changes from side to side constantly. We run by the lights, and are somehow absorbing a wholesome respect for this great, mighty, uncontrollable Mississippi. Today he is covered with whitecaps and the current runs like a millrace. It is cold and the fire eats up wood pretty fast. * * * * * Monday, Nov. 30, 1903.--Cape Girardeau, Mo.--We passed Grand Tower, and greatly regretted the absence of sunlight, which prevented us getting snap-shots of the scenery. Two miles below the town we tied up on the Missouri side, with a good sandy beach alongside, our anchor carried ashore and rooted into the gravel. A bad way, for if there were a gale from the west the anchor would have soon dragged out. But the high bluffs protected us against wind from that quarter, and our fenders kept us out from the shore. Four steamers passed in the night, one of them the fine _Peters Lee_. Who is it said that the commerce of the Mississippi was a thing of the past? Just let him lie here on a houseboat and he will change his views. No nets are to be seen here, though probably the small affluents of the river would prove to be provided therewith, were we to examine them. In the morning we found a loaded hickory tree just opposite us, and the boys gathered a few nuts. We also picked up a few white oak slabs, which make a fire quite different from the light rotten drift. The boys set out ahead in the launch with designs on the geese. The wind set in about 10 a. m., but the river is so crooked that we could scarcely tell from what quarter it blew. It was cold, though, and the waves rough. As Glazier says, it seems to set in from the same quarter, about that time daily, and were we to float without a tow we would start early and tie up before the wind began. But that would depend on finding a good place to tie, and altogether a man who would try to float a heavy boat without power should take out heavy insurance first, and leave the family at home. Where the river is cutting into a bank and the current strong, the wind whirling the cabin around, now with the current and again across or against it, there is every reason to look for being driven ashore and wrecked. Even were one to start about September 1st, and float only when the river is smooth, he would run great risks. At one place the Government had evidently tried to block up one of the channels by rows of piling and brush, but the water ran through and was piled up several feet high against the obstructions. The wind drove us directly down against it and the fifteen-horse-power tug could just keep us off. Without the power our boat would have been driven against the piling with force enough to burst her sides and the piles as well, and a crevasse and shipwreck would have resulted. In the afternoon a large steamer passed up, leaving a train of waves so large that they washed up on the front deck and under the cabin, wetting our floor in a moment. J. J. is now nailing quarter-rounds along the edges, to prevent such an accident again. We are told to have guards placed in front of our doors to prevent them being driven in when waves hit us on the side; and I think stout bars inside will be advisable. A stout wave would drive these flimsy doors off their hinges. Here we moored inside the bar, which protects us from waves coming from the river. A number of cabin boats are drawn up on shore, the occupants seeming mainly of the river tramp class. This is a nice looking town, of possibly 10,000 people. Unpaved streets. Many brick blocks. Saw one doctor, who seemed to have sunk into a mere drudge--no animation, no enthusiasm, it was impossible to get any expression of interest out of him. They bring milk here from an Illinois town 100 miles up the river. We paid 25 cents for a gallon. A very courteous druggist near the landing seemed to make amends for the impassive doctor. Our pharmacal friend was a man of enterprise and had an ice-cream factory as well as a large and well-appointed shop. * * * * * December 1, 1903.--Yesterday the _Desplaines_ wasted the morning trying to do business in Cape Girardeau. Good town, but no enterprise, they report. Excellent opportunity for a good grocery and provision store, judging by the prices and quality of food products offered us. We ran but 13 miles, tieing up in front of the warehouse at Commerce, Mo. A small place, but they found a market for their extinguishers, with men who had the old kind that required refilling twice a year. Curious two-story stores, a gallery running around the whole room. Shortly before reaching this place we passed two little cabin boats, tied up; seemingly occupied by two big men each. They called to us that they had been three weeks getting this far from St. Louis--about 145 miles. This morning we passed them a mile below Commerce, each with a row-boat towing and a man at the stem working two sweeps. Looked like work, but that is the real thing when it comes to cabin boating. They were in the current, but working cautiously near shore. It was snowing smartly as we set out about 7:30, but warmer than for some days. The little one has had asthma badly for some days, but it began to give way, and she had a fairly comfortable night. During the morning we got in a place where the channel seemed so intricate that the tug ran in to inquire of some men on shore; and in turning in, the house ran against a projecting tree so swiftly that had we not rushed out and held her off, the snag would have crushed in the thin side of the house. To even matters, we picked out of the drift a fine hardwood board, evidently but a short time in the water. Never lose a chance to get a bit of good timber for firewood--you never have too much. Plenty of geese flying and on the bars, but the wary fellows keep out of range. Cleaned the Spencer and reloaded the magazine. Miggles simply outdoes herself, nursing her sick mother, ironing and otherwise helping Millie, and picking nuts for us. She has improved wonderfully this trip, which is developing her in all ways. She eats better than ever before, and is simply sweet. Cheeks rival the boy's in rosiness. The boy likes to get in with the men, and we see no evidence of talk unfit for an 11-year-old boy, but he returns very impatient of control, and ready to pout out his lips if any authority is manifested. The spirit of a man, and a man's impatience of control--but what would a boy be worth who did not feel thus? No milksops for us. We pass many men and steamers, barges, etc., doing Government work on this river. Just above they are weaving mattresses of wood, which are laid along where the river cuts into the land, and covered with brush, earth and stones. Many miles of bank are thus treated, and some control exerted on the course of the river. But what a task! Do the men engaged in it get to take a personal interest in it, as does the trainer of a race horse? We now look for reminders of the civil war, and yesterday we saw on the Missouri shore the white tents of a camp. Not the destructive army of war, but the constructive forces of the modern genius of civilization. The St. Louis and Mississippi Valley Railroad is building its tracks along the shore, and every cliff is scarred by the cuts. And the great, giant river sweeps lazily by, as if he disdained to notice the liberties being taken with his lordship. But away back in the hills of Pennsylvania, the prairies of the Midwest, the lakes of Minnesota and the headwaters of the Missouri, in the Northwest Rockies, the forces are silently gathering; and in due time the old river god will swoop down with an avalanche of roaring, whirling waters, and the St. L. & M. V. R. R. will have, not a bill for repairs, but a new construction account. CHAPTER XII. CAIRO AND THE OHIO. Cairo, Ill., Dec. 3, 1903.--We ran in here Thursday afternoon, and the little steamer had some trouble in pulling us against the current of the Ohio. The water is yellower than the Mississippi. We tied up below town, as we hear that they charge $5.00 wharfage for mooring, or even making a landing in the city. The place where we moored was full of snags, but J. J. got into the water with his rubber waders and pulled the worst ones out from under the boat, till all was secure. Moored with the gangway plank out front and the other fender at the rear, both tied to the boat and staked at the shore end. Lines were also made fast to trees at each end. Thus we rode the waves easily--and well it was, for never yet have we seen so many steamers coming and going, not even at St. Louis. Several ferry boats ply between the Missouri and Kentucky shores and the city, transfer steamers carry freight cars across, and many vessels ply on the rivers with passengers and freight. Surely the men who advised Charles Dickens to locate lots here were not far out, as things were then; for the railroads had not as yet superseded the waterways. Not that they have yet, for that matter. Since coming here we have been inquiring for the man who proclaimed the rivers obsolete as lines for transportation. Cairo is the biggest and busiest town of 12,000 inhabitants we have yet seen. Many darkies are here, and the worst looking set of levee loafers yet. We had some oysters at "Uncle Joe's," on the main business street, the only restaurant we saw; and when we surveyed the drunken gang there, we were glad we came in our old clothes. Where we moored, the shore is covered with driftwood, and we piled high our front deck, selecting good solid oak, hard maple and hemlock, with some beautiful red cedar. Soft, rotten wood is not worth picking up, as there is no heat derived from it. Oak and hickory are the best. Old rails are good. Take no water-soaked wood if you can get any other--it will dry out in a week or two perhaps, but you may need it sooner, and when dry it may be worthless. Several men had erected a shack along shore which we should have taken shots at, but the sun was not out enough. _Desplaines_ is doing a fair business. * * * * * Hickman, Ky., Dec. 5, 1903.--We tied up here after a run of 38 miles from Cairo. The boys stopped at Columbus, Ky., but did no business--town full of extinguishers. Hickman is built of brick and stone, as to the business section, and lit by electricity. Made a bad moor, on a rocky shore, with anchor out and front starboard bow firmly embedded in mud; and this worried us so we slept poorly. Wind sprang up about 9 p. m., but not fierce. During the night several steamers passed and rocked us, but not much--the bow was too firmly washed into the mud by the strong current. This morning it took all hands half an hour to get us off, about 10 a. m. We were told at Hickman that 100 dwellings had been erected during the year, and not one was unoccupied. About 3,000 people, four drug stores, and an alert lot of business men in fine stores. Paid 30 cents a dozen for eggs, 10 cents for steak. We see many floaters, some every day. Ice formed along shore last night, but the sun is coming out bright and warm. Wind from the south, not heavy but enough to kick up a disagreeable bumping against our prow. This is always so when the wind is against the current. * * * * * Donaldson's Point, Mo.--We stopped here yesterday afternoon about 2 p. m., that the boys might have a day's shooting. J. J., Allen and Taylor went out on the sand bar all night, and got nothing except an exalted idea of the perspicuity of the wild goose. _En passant_ they were almost frozen, despite a huge fire of drift they kindled. We tied up on the channel side, just below Phillips' Bar light, a good sandy shore with deep water and no snags--an ideal mooring place. We moored with the port side in, the _Desplaines_ outside, lines fore and aft and the fore gangway plank out. But the launch was uneasy and would bump the stern, and there must have been a review of the ghosts of departed steamers during the night, for many times we were awakened by the swell of passing vessels rocking us. This morning is clear and cold, temperature 20, with a keenness and penetrating quality not felt with a temperature twenty degrees lower in the north. We saw some green foliage in the woods, and Clement said it was "fishing pole"--cane! Our first sight of the canebrake. The Doctor, J. J., the boy and Clement went up through the cornfields to the woods, but found no game. A few doves got up, but too far away for a shot. Jim got a mallard, Woodruff a fox squirrel--and one whose name we will not disclose shot a young pig. An old darkey came down to the _Desplaines_ with milk, chickens and eggs, for which he got a fabulous price; also a drink, and a few tunes on the phonograph, and he hinted that if they should shoot a pig he would not know it, or words to that effect. Hundreds of hogs ran the woods, and showed the tendency to reversion by their long, pointed heads and agile movements. Apparently they eat the pecans, for their tracks were thick under the trees. Rather expensive food, with the nuts worth 30 cents a pound. About 3:20 we got under way for down the river. This morning a floater passed quite close to the boat. Two men and a dog manned the craft. Said they were bound for Red River. The children gathered a bag of fine walnuts of unusual size. As we never lose a chance of adding to the wood-pile, we gathered in a couple of oak rails and a fine stick of cedar, which we sawed and split for exercise. There are no cows on the negro farms, no chickens. In fact, their traditional fondness for the fowl is strictly limited to a penchant for someone else's chickens. When we ask for milk they always take it to mean buttermilk, until enlightened. Here we saw a remarkable boat, a dugout canoe not over four inches in depth, and warped at that, but the women told us they went about in it during the floods. We bought some pecans, paying 7 cents a quart. * * * * * Tuesday, Dec. 8, 1903.--Sunday evening we ran till we reached New Madrid, Mo., about 8 p. m. We made a good landing, tying up with the tug alongside, lines out at each end, both fenders out and the launch astern. The boys did a good business here, and enjoyed the visit. Got meat and some drugs, but could get no milk or eggs, and only two pounds of butter in the town. After noon we got off and ran down to Point Pleasant, a decaying town isolated by a big sand bar in front of her, covered with snags. The _Desplaines_ picked up a fine lot of wood here, enough to run them a week, which they piled on our front deck. This morning we came on to Tiptonville landing, where we saw a cotton field and gin. This is the northern limit of cotton cultivation, and it was poor stuff. Everyone who accosts us asks for whisky, which seems to be scarce. The temperance movement evidently has made great progress in these places. The bluffs grow higher as we go south, and no attempt seems made to restrain the river from cutting in at its own sweet will. Crumbling banks of loose sand and earth, fringed with slim willows and larger trees, at every rod some of them hanging over into the stream. The snag boat _Wright_ seems busy removing these when menacing navigation, but we see many awaiting her. This afternoon we passed a floater who had gone by us at New Madrid. Propelled by two stout paddles and four stout arms, they have made as good time as we with our tug. When we see how these men entrust themselves to the mercies of the great river in such a frail craft, it seems as if we had little to fear in our big boat. They have a little scow about six feet by ten, all but the front covered by a cabin, leaving just enough room in front for the sweeps, and they tow a skiff. If the wind is contrary or too stiff they must lie up, but at other times the current carries them along with slight exertion at the sweeps. The river is falling fast. Each night we tie up with all the boat floating easily, and every morning find ourselves aground. It seems to fall about six inches a night. * * * * * Thursday, Dec. 10, 1903.--For two nights and a day we lay at Caruthersville, Mo., where the _Desplaines_ had _bon marche_, selling 16 extinguishers and getting the promise of a dozen more. A large town, full of business and saloons, gambling houses, booths for rifle shooting and "nigger babies," etc. Tradespeople seemed surly and ungracious, except one woman who kept a restaurant and sold us oysters and bread. She was from Illinois. Still, it must be a place of unusual intelligence, as a doctor is Mayor. Last night we had a disagreeable blow from the northwest. We went out and overhauled our mooring carefully before retiring. The back line was insecure, as there was nothing to which it could be attached, and the boys had merely piled a lot of rocks on the end; but we could see nothing better; so merely strengthened the lines fastening the fenders to the boat. It was a circular storm, apparently, as the wind died out and in a few hours returned. When we set out at 7:30 this morning it was fairly calm, but at 8:20 it is again blowing hard from the same quarter. The sun is out brightly and it is not cold. Whitecaps in plenty but little motion, as we travel across the wind. There are now no large towns before us and we hope to run rapidly to Memphis. The river is big, wide, deep and powerful. Huge trunks of trees lie along the bars. What a giant it must be in flood. Not a day or night passes without several steamers going up and down. The quantity of lumber handled is great, and growing greater as we get south. Our chart shows the levees as beginning above Caruthersville, but we saw nothing there except a little stone dumped alongshore. Waves pounding hard. Gold Dust Landing, Tenn., Dec. 10, 1903. In spite of a head wind we made a run of 52 miles today, and moored below a Government barge. The fine steamer _Robert E. Lee_ was at the landing and pulled out just as we ran in. The day was clear and sunny, not very cold, about 39, but whenever we ran into a reach with the west or southwest wind ahead the boat pounded most unpleasantly. No floaters afloat today, but numbers along shore in sheltered nooks. The levees here are simply banked fascines, stone land earth, to keep the river from cutting into the shores. Even at low water there is an enormous amount of erosion going on. It takes unremitting vigilance to keep the river in bounds and the snags pulled out. * * * * * Fogleman's Chute, Dec. 12, 1903.--We made a famous run yesterday of over 60 miles, and tied up here about 5 p. m. on the eastern shore, the channel being on the west. A small cabin boat stands near us, in which are a man and three boys who have come down from Indiana, intending to seek work at Memphis. Their first experience cabin boating. We asked one of the boys if he liked it, and he looked up with a sudden flash of wildness and keen appreciation. A fierce south wind came up in the night, and there are situations more enviable than trying to sleep in a houseboat with three boats using her for a punching bag. And the little woman had asthma, badly, to make it worse. This morning it was blowing hard and raining. The rain beat in on the front deck and ran into the hold and under the quarter-rounds into the cabin. The roof leaked into the storeroom also. Millie was seasick and some one else would have been, but he took the children out for a rove. Found a walnut tree and gathered a large bag of fine nuts. The others brought in some squirrels and pocketsful of pecans, but we found neither. Stretched the skins on wood and applied alum to the raw surface, intending to make the little woman some buskins to keep her feet warm. Quantities of mistletoe grow on the trees about us. The sun came out about 2 p. m., when too late to make the run to Memphis, 22 miles, before dark. Yesterday was so warm that we could sit out in the open air without wraps. We are tied up to Brandywine Island, near the lower end. After lunch we sallied out again and met the owner of the soil, who ordered us off in a surly manner. In the whole trip this is the first bit of downright incivility we have met. After he found we were not after his squirrels he became somewhat less ungracious. The sky soon became overcast again, and the rain returned. About sunset it set in to blow a gale from the northwest, and the billows rolled in on us. We got the launch and skiff out of danger, carefully overlooked our lines and fenders, but still the tug bumped against the side. How the wind blows, and the waves dash against the side of the tug driving her against our side with a steady succession of blows. It worried us to know that the safety of the boats depended on a single one-inch rope, and the tug lashed against the outside strained on it. The rope was tense as a fiddle-string. If it broke the stern of our boat would swing out and throw us on an ugly snag that projected slightly about six feet below us; and the tug would be thrown into the branches of a huge fallen cypress. So we took the long rope and carried it ashore to the north end, from which the wind came, and lashed it securely to a huge stump, then tied the other end through the overhang of our boat at that end. If the line parts the new line will hold us against the soft, sandy bank, and give time for further effort to keep us off the snag. As it turned out the line held, but it does no harm to take precautions, and one sleeps better. During the night the wind died out, and the morning of Sunday, Dec. 13, 1903, is clear and cold, a heavy frost visible. The river is full of floaters, one above us, two directly across, one below, another above, and one floating past near the other shore. The _Desplaines_ is getting up steam and we hope to see Memphis by noon. [Illustration: MEMPHIS LEVEE. "TOUGH CROWD."] [Illustration: THE CANOE.] CHAPTER XIII. DUCK SHOOTING. Memphis, Tenn., Dec. 20, 1903.--We ran in here last Sunday morning, Dec. 13, intending to stock up and get out on Wednesday. But Handwerker had arranged a shoot for us at Beaver Dam Club, and there we spent Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning, bagging 26 ducks--12 mallards, 8 green-winged teal, 4 pintails, one widgeon and one spoonbill. Met Mr. Selden, the president of the club, and Mr. O'Sullivan, and of course enjoyed every minute of the time. The club is built on social principles, with a large sleeping room with four beds; better conducive to fun than seclusion--and the first is what we seek at such resorts. After lunch we set out, with negro boatmen, finding a thin coat of ice over the lake. This is an old river bed, of half-moon shape, with a little water and bottomless mud. Thousands of ducks were perched on the ice and swimming in the few small open spaces. We laboriously broke our way through the ice to our chosen stands, and constructed blinds. Each boat had three live decoys; and after this first experience with these we must say that we retired fully convinced of our innate regularity as physicians--for we cannot quack a bit! Every time a flight of ducks appeared, our tethered ducks quacked lustily, the drake keeping silent; and it was effective. That evening the shooting was the most exasperating in our experience. Twice we brought down doubles, but not a bird of either did we bag. We had eight birds down, wounded, which in falling broke holes in the ice--and we left them till we were going in, as they could neither fly nor swim off; but the sun came out warmer, melted the ice, and not a bird of the lot did we bag. If there is anything that takes the edge off a duck hunter's pleasure--at least of this one's--it is wounding a bird and not being able to put it out of misery. A good dinner made some amends, and the story telling continued far into the night--in fact was still going when the writer fell asleep. Next morning we had better luck, and got every bird knocked down, as well as one of those winged the preceding day. In all we bagged 26 ducks during the two days--and that for a party of 12 on the two boats is not an excessive supply. Not an ounce of the meat was wasted, and we could have enjoyed another meal of them. One singular accident robbed us of a fine greenhead. A flock of five passed directly over our heads, so high that the guide said it was useless to try for them; but strong in our confidence in the Winchester we took the leader, and he tumbled. Yes, tumbled so hard, from such a height that he broke through the ice and plunged so deeply into the mud that we were unable to find him, after most diligent trials. We had been impressed with the force of a duck's fall, when shooting one coming directly head on, and can realize that a blow from one may be dangerous. In Utah we heard of a man who was knocked out of his boat and his head driven into the mud so far that he would have been smothered had not the guide been able to draw him out. On reaching the boat Wednesday evening we found that J. J. had improved the opportunity of our absence by getting drunk, and had frightened the folk by developing that most objectionable form of it, a fighting drunk. After a few days he wound up in the lock-up, and there we leave him--thoroughly disgusted that he should have done such a thing when entrusted with the care of the sick wife and little ones. The wife and Doctor took dinner with some friends, meeting a number of Memphis folk; and it is with unusual regret we bid adieu to this fine city. Stores are dearer than in St. Louis. * * * * * We were all ready to start by Saturday morning, but it was raining and foggy, the wind from the south too strong for our launch. Then the bank to which we were tied began to cave in, and soon our towlines were adrift. The _Desplaines_ got up steam and took us north, where we remained all day; but as it was changing toward the north by evening we pulled down below town and tied in a little cove under but at a distance from the bluff. All night it blew hard from the west, and drove us into the mud bank, where we are solidly planted now. Three lines out and the anchor, with the mud, held us pretty steady, but the tug heaved against us all night. Jim had cemented the front baseboard with white lead and this kept out the water, but it came in under the sides, and we will have to treat them similarly. The roof seemed tight. The windows leak, too, and will have to be sealed somehow--with putty, or the seams covered with strips of muslin glued on with varnish. Our Cairo wood is gone, and we are using drift, which is wet. We must saw and split about a cord, and let it dry out. There is great plenty along the shores. The Missis has had asthma as bad as ever before--small wonder. The _Desplaines_ seems to be overmanned, for the owner, Mr. Woodruff, asked us to take Taylor off his hands. This we are very glad to do, as we are short, since losing J. J., and Taylor has gotten our launch in good shape at last. In fact we might have used her from St. Louis if we had had him. Taylor is an Englishman, a teetotaler, and is studying with a correspondence school to fit himself for the highest positions attainable by an engineer. One has to be careful what he says to the Memphis people. We mentioned to Prof. Handwerker our need of a dog, and added that we preferred one that did not like negroes, as we wanted him to give warning when any stray ones came near. Next day down came a crate containing a little dog, a brindle terrier, with the word that he could not abide negroes. He at once proceeded to endear himself to every one on board, and fully verified his recommendations. His name is Bluff; and surely never was dog better named. The brave little creature would, we verily believe, bluff an elephant. CHAPTER XIV. SNAGGED IN TENNESSEE CHUTE. President's Island, Dec. 21, 1903.--Yesterday was one of high hopes and unexpected disaster. All morning Taylor wrestled with the engine; Fluent ran down to tell of a telegram awaiting us; we went up in the _Desplaines_ and found it was concerning some mss. not delivered by the express; found the office open, the mss. had been returned to Chicago Saturday on wire from there, and no explanation as to why it had not been delivered during the week, on every day of which we had been to the express office after it. Holiday rush. At 1 p. m. we got off, the launch behind and steered by ropes running around the cabin to its front. All went well till Jim came in to dinner and we took the ropes--gave one turn to see which way the steering ran, found we were wrong and at once turned the other way, but that one turn gave the unwieldy craft a cant in to the shore, along which ran the swift current, and we drifted among a lot of snags, the launch caught, the boat caught, tore the blades off the propeller, broke the coupling; let go the anchor, and came to. In the melee we noticed the front end of a gasoline launch rise from some snags--a wreck, buoyed up by the air in the tank. The boys rowed back but could not locate it. Then we tried to lift our anchor, to find it fouled with something too heavy to be raised, and had to buoy it and cast loose with the 75 feet of cable attached to it. We drifted quietly down to the southern end of this island, where we tied up to the sand bar. Out fenders, one long line to a half-buried log far up the shore, the boat held well off to guard against the falling water leaving us aground. Well we did, for this morning the launch was so firm in the sand that we had trouble to get loose. The night was clear and quiet, and this morning the same--a light wind blowing us along down the river. Laid in a lot of driftwood in long sticks. Missy had a good night but is a little asthmatic this morning. Swept out into the current and floating now in true cabinboat style. We will keep clear of the Tennessee Chute next time. The _Desplaines_ came along as we were lying at the lower end of the island, and came in to our signal. As we were totally disabled and would have to send to Auburn, N. Y., for new flukes for our propeller, they agreed to help us out, and took us in tow. They ran back to see if they could find the anchor or the sunken boat, but failed to locate either. * * * * * Hardin's Point, Ark., Dec. 23, 1903.--Yesterday we ran in here after a fifty-mile run. Tied up quite near the light, which was not well, as the _Kate Adams_ coming near rocked us as badly as any steamer we have yet met. We passed her and her consort, the _James Lee_, both aground within half a mile of each other, near Mhoon's. Both got off, as the _Lee_ came down today. The river is lower than usual, as the Mhoon gauge showed minus three. We laid in a good supply of wood, and then Jim and Frank found a lot of cannel coal over on the sand bar, and all day they have been loading up the _Desplaines_ and our boat with it. Some barge has been wrecked there and the small pieces washed away, so that what is left is in large pieces, the smallest taking a strong man to lift. It is curiously water-burnt. The edges are well rounded, so it must have been long under water. A little darkey brought around six silver bass, weighing possibly half a pound each, for which he accepted forty cents. They have a barrel ready for shipment. He called them game fish. A fine buck shot out of the woods on the other side, followed at a distance by ten hounds, and the deer nearly ran into Woodruff's boat, then swam to this side, where our boys vainly tried to get a shot. An old darkey said he could have been easily drowned by the man in the skiff; but we are glad that species of murder did not offer attractions to Woodruff. The bars are resonant with the honking of the geese. The natives have no cows, chickens, nothing to sell, not even pecans--which here become "puckawns." This evening Jake brought in a fine wild goose, the first we have seen on board as yet. It has blown from the south all day, but is quiet this evening. * * * * * Helena, Ark., Dec. 25, 1903.--We left Hardin Point about 9 a. m., with the wind dead ahead, and strong enough to make the beating unpleasant. The front deck is loaded with over a ton of coal, and this seems to make the boat steadier, less inclined to pitch and toss like a cork on the waves. Christmas day is clear and bright, the sun out, thermometer at 10:30 standing at 55 outside in the shade, and with a little wood fire running up to 90 in the cabin. The Missis is better, her asthma becoming more spasmodic and better controlled by smoke. It rained all last night, and though the caulking did good, there was still some water came in around the surbases. We got some putty to help out the lead. At every stop we pick up something of value to us; usually some good hard firewood. Here we found a section of the side of a boat washed ashore, solid oak, with several bolts a yard long through it. Frank lugged it in and has broken it up into stovewood, and secured the bolts for stakes. About 2 p. m. we reached Helena, a town of about 25,000. Moored at a distance up the stream, and landed on a muddy shore. The muddy south. We are all coated with the most adhesive of muds, the fineness of the grain rendering it difficult to remove from the clothes. The town is full of negroes, celebrating the holiday; and nearly all carry suspicious looking jugs. The costumes and shouting would make the fortune of a museum in the north. Found it impossible to secure a turkey fit to eat, but got the Missis some fine oysters and a chicken, and bear-steaks for our dinner--at 25 cents a pound. Game is not allowed to be sold in the state. Pity they do not extend the prohibition to whisky. We made candy, and in the evening had the crew all in, and grabbed for presents in a big basket under a newspaper. We had a happy time, although we were all out on the big river far from home. The _Desplaines_ let their wild goose spoil, and threw it overboard this morning. At 10 a. m. we set out for down the river. We searched the Memphis papers for some intimation as to J. J.'s fate, but found none. Found the tale of an Indiana man who was coming down on a houseboat with his wife, intending to make his home in Greenville, Miss. He was told at Cairo that there was a law in Tennessee against carrying concealed weapons, so here he started out with his pistol in his hands. He was arrested and sentenced to jail for a year less a day, and $50 fine, the law forbidding the carrying of weapons. Such a punishment, administered to a stranger unaware of the law seems a travesty of justice. It is said here that it is safer to kill a man than to carry a weapon; and it seems so. CHAPTER XV. MOORING. We have been studying the subject of mooring, and present the following as an ideal moor: The fenders are stout poles six inches thick at the butt, three at the small end, which rests on shore. This end is deeply embedded in the dirt, so that it will not float away or ride up on the bank. The big end is firmly fastened to the side timbers, the four-by-fours running across the boat under the floor, by a short chain, which will not chafe out like a rope. The latter is better, as being elastic, however. Either must be strong to spare. The cable is an inch Manilla rope. Thus moored we are ready for all chances. The best thing to moor to is a stump or log firmly embedded, and as far as possible from shore, if crumbly, for the current may cut in fast. At Memphis our stake, forty feet from shore, was washed out in an hour. Never tie close to a bank that may fall in on the boat, or to a tree that may fall and crush you; or to a bank that may hold you ashore if the water falls in the night; or, worst of all, over a snag, for the waves of a passing steamer may lift the boat up and drop it so hard on the snag as to knock a hole in the bottom. When possible moor where you will have a bar to protect you from the force of waves rolling in from a broad stretch of water. A narrow creek or cove would be ideal, but as yet we have hardly seen such a thing where we wanted to stop. When moored with the long side to the shore, less surface is exposed to the current and the wind, and less strain put upon the cables. [Illustration: AN IDEAL MOOR.] CHAPTER XVI. A LEVEE CAMP. Allison's Landing, Ark., Dec. 26, 1903.--We landed here after dark last night, having been delayed at Friars' Point by the tug getting aground. The cabinboat floated down the river some distance, and then the back current and wind carried her on a sand bar. The tug was three hours getting free, by warping off with the anchor. We found this a levee camp. Hardly had we landed when a big negress came aboard to see what we had for sale. They wanted drygoods badly, and were much disappointed. Two pleasant gentlemen boarded us, the heads of the camp; and spent the evening on the tug, with singing and music. They are here surrounded by negroes, and a little white association seemed as agreeable to them as it was to us. In the night all hands but Dr. and Taylor went cat-hunting. At 11 p. m. a furious wind storm sprang up from the northeast, exactly the direction from which to blow us on shore; which was providential, as we only had one long line out and that poorly secured to a stake in the soft, oozy bank. Frank saw that everything was right, and wisely went to bed; but we could not rest easy, and sat up till 4 a. m. The canoe on the roof blew over against the stovepipe and we had to get out four times and push it back with a pole. It grew quite cold and the fire was grateful. About midnight the hunters came back with the usual luck to tell of. This morning Jake, the boy and Doctor went out to a bayou after ducks, but saw none. This country is said to swarm with game but it keeps hidden from us. What a thing is a bad reputation! In the woods we noted the buds springing from the roots of the cypress, the size of an egg, and growing upward in hollow cones, called cypress knees. It is a remarkable and noble tree, the buttressed stumps giving promise of superb height, which seems rarely realized. Half a mile back from the landing we came upon the levee, a great bank of earth but partly covered with grass. Deep and narrow bayous run parallel with it, in which could be seen the movements of quite large fish. Robins, redbirds, jays, woodpeckers, blackbirds, and a variety of still smaller birds abounded; but we did not get any game. The two gentlemen in charge of the levee camp, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Ward, went with us into the woods, but the game was wary. All hands so thoroughly enjoyed the visit at this hospitable camp that for the rest of the trip we talked of it. We were indebted to these gentlemen for a roast of fresh pork. Their task is a difficult one, to keep in order so many negroes, all of the rough and illiterate sort. Quarrels over "craps" and shooting among the negroes are not infrequent, and in one a white man, passing by, was killed. Mr. Rogers has the repute of getting his men to work, and we heard a scrap of a song among them, expressive of their sentiments or impressions: "Blisters on yo' feet an' co'ns on yo' han', Wat yo' git for wo'kin' fo' de black-haired man." A firm hand is absolutely necessary to rule these men, with whom weakness is perilous. Only a few weeks after our visit to one of these camps a negro got in a dispute over a trivial sum in his account, got hold of the pistol the white man in charge had incautiously left in the negro's reach, and shot him dead. If there is anything in the art of physiognomy, many of these levee men are desperadoes. * * * * * Dec. 28, 1903.--We left our friendly entertainers at Allison's and ran down to a bar, where Woodruff took in several tons of very good coal, costing nothing but the trouble of shipping. Mr. Rogers accompanied us to Modoc. Tied up at Mayflower landing, a good moor. A German there told us a trading boat at the landing above took away $6,000 in three days last year. The trader has a large scow, with a cabin, and a steamer to handle it. Every place we stop the people come to inquire what we have to sell. We got off at 7 a. m. today, passed the mouths of the White and Arkansas, and have run at least 60 miles. We have landed after dark, and we are not sure as to where we are. The weather has been most pleasant, temperature about 60 all day, little wind. The river is full of drift, but there is little traffic. Just now a little steamer passed up. At Riverton were several small ones, but otherwise the solitude is unbroken. The shores are wild, the banks continually crumbling into the river. A prodigious number of snags must be furnished yearly. Very few wild fowl appear. Floaters appear occasionally, but probably there will be fewer now, as many are directed to the White river. This is probably near Monterey Landing. As the landing was narrow and beset with snags we moored with the prow to the bank, two lines to the shore and the anchor out astern. We have much to say about mooring; but it is a matter of supreme importance to the comfort and even the safety of the crew. It is not specially pleasant to turn out of bed in one's nightclothes, with the temperature below freezing, to find the boat adrift in a furious storm and pounding her bottom out on snags. We bought a new anchor from a trading boat at Allison's. It is 50 pounds, galvanized, with folding flukes and a ring at the end for a guy rope, so that if fouled as the other was, we can pull the flukes together and free it. Paid four dollars for it--same as for the other, but this is a much better anchor, though not as strong as the solid one. Jim has gone around the cabin and puttied up the cracks, and we hope the next rain will keep out. If not, we will get deck pitch and pay the seams. * * * * * Arkansas City, Ark., Dec. 30, 1903.--Landed here shortly after noon, and spent the balance of the day. About 1,000 people, mostly black; some good stores; got a few New Orleans oysters, which are sold by number, 25 cents for two dozen; bought a new anchor rope, 75 feet, 3.4 inch, for $3.04, or 14½ cents a pound. Eggs, 35 cents a dozen. No trade for extinguishers, though Woodruff had a nibble for his steamer. Weather clear, and temperature rising to about 60 in midday, cold at night. This morning at 8, temperature 34. No wind. River smooth. What a lot of gasoline engines are in use. There are at least six boats rigged with them here. One Memphis party is building a new hull ashore and moving an old cabin on it. The lady who owns the hotel and drug store has mocking birds for sale, $25.00 for a singer--lady birds not worth selling. Got off near 9 a. m., for Greenville. * * * * * January 1st, 1904.--We left Arkansas City on the 30th, at 9 a. m., and reached Greenville, Miss., that evening just before dark. It is a rambling town, behind the levee, about 10,000 people, but evidently has considerable business. Twenty-five mills of various kinds are there. Supplies higher than since leaving Chicago--15 cents for meat of any sort, 35 cents for eggs or butter, 25 cents for a dozen fine large shell oysters from New Orleans, the first we have met, and which the sick woman appreciated $25.00 worth. The _Desplaines_ did some business, but many of the mills are owned in the cities and the managers cannot buy here. An old negro lives in a little gully washed by the rain in the bank, close to where we tied up. He has a little fire, and lies there all night with a board on edge to rest his back against. In the morning we took him a cup of coffee which he took eagerly, but without thanks. An old negress brought him something--presumably food. Last night it rained some, but this morning he was still there. During the day we saw him wandering about the streets, reminding one of a lost dog. We left at noon, but as it was still raining it was equally uncomfortable going or lying still. They tried the tug alongside, but the rudder would not swing the big cabinboat and they had to return to towing. About 2 p. m. the fog shut in so dense that we had to make a landing, presumably in Walker's Bend, on the Arkansas side. Frank brought off some of the finest persimmons we have yet seen. The cabin is so warm that some flies have appeared, probably left-overs, though the Missis says they have them all the winter down here. Picked up a nice lot of drifting boards for stove. Exploration establishes the fact that we are just below Vaucluse Landing, and that the land is rich in pecan trees, well laden with nuts, which these lazy darkies let go to waste. Frank found a store in the neighborhood. Chicot lake, back of us, is said to be rich in ducks, and if the fog lasts tomorrow we must have some. The putty has kept out the rain today very well. We suffer for ventilation, though, and awake in the morning with headaches. It is bright moonlight, but still foggy. It rained during the night and we secured a fine supply of rainwater in the launch cover. * * * * * Shiloh Landing, Miss., Jan. 3, 1904.--We lay last night at Wilson's Point, La., and all night we listened to the creaking of our fenders against the side, and felt the heave of the tug as she surged against our side under the influence of a driving northwest wind. Said wind carried us along yesterday for a run of over 44 miles, sometimes with and at others against us, as the river curved. It was a cold wind and made the cabin fire comfortable. Two sailboats passed us going down, one a two-master from Chicago and the other the _Delhi_, from Michigan City. They made good with the wind. There was a large trading boat with stern wheel above our landing, but we did not visit her. About 1 p. m. we ran in here, and the tug people stopped because Mr. Rogers' brother was in charge. We found a levee camp with 36 tents, and examined the commissary with interest. Got some canned oysters for the Missis. No milk or eggs, fresh meat or chickens. The men all carry big 44s, and sometimes use them, we hear. It grows colder--at 5 p. m. temperature outside 30--and the cold is harder to bear than a much lower one up north. Every few miles there is a landing, and a pile of cotton bales and bags of seed waiting for the _Delta_ or _American_, fine steamers that ply between Vicksburg and Greenville. The great, greedy river, forever eating its banks, which crumble into the current constantly, even now when the water is so low. Every sand bar has its wrecks, and opposite Lake Providence we saw men and teams busy over the coal in sunken barges. * * * * * Monday, Jan. 4, we left Shiloh at 7:20, clear and cold, temperature 28, moon shining, but the sun not yet visible from behind the bluff. Yesterday we passed the steamer _City of Wheeling_, fast on a bar, and we hear she has been there for two months--grounded on her first trip. But the water is rising and she expects to be soon released. CHAPTER XVII. VICKSBURG. Thursday, Jan. 7. 1904.--We arrived at Vicksburg in the afternoon of Monday, Jan. 4, and were much impressed by the beauty of the city as seen from the river. Spread along the heights it looks like a large city, though it only claims a population of about 22,000. Contrary to expectation we found it busy, with evidences of life and enterprise. The Government has built a levee which blocks up the mouth of the Yazoo, and by a canal diverted the water of that river into the channel that runs along the front of the city; the old bed of the river Mississippi previous to 1876, when it cut a new bed for itself and threatened to leave the historic fortress an inland town. Just before reaching the city we met a row of whirlpools reaching across the channel, whose violence would make a man in a skiff feel queer. These are the only notable ones we have seen, except just before reaching Arkansas City. The _Desplaines_ could not tow us against the swift current in the Yazoo, so left the houseboat about 300 yards up that stream and steamed up to the city. After visiting the postoffice we started to walk back along the levee, reaching the place we had left the boat just before dark. She was not there, and we walked along the bank up stream till it grew too dark to see, then got lost among the railway buildings till directed by a friendly youth to the street where the cars ran. Reached the tug at last, and the owner took us back with a lantern along the levee, finding the boat in the great river, the boys having dropped down out of the Yazoo. As we received the flukes for our launch, which Taylor put on, we concluded to part company from the tug, and settled up with them. Meanwhile the quarreling among her crew came to a climax and Jake was set on shore by them. He was pilot, cook, hunter and general all-round utility man, coming for the trip without wages, and it seems to us suicidal for them to dismiss him, when negro roustabouts are refusing $4.00 a day from the steamers, and engineers impossible to secure at any price. We were full handed, but liked Jake, so we took him aboard as a supernumerary till he could do better. The 6th was dull and rainy but we got off, and ran about 16 miles in the afternoon, tying up somewhere in Diamond Bend, probably below Moore's Landing. At V. had a letter from J. J., saying he had been sentenced to a year in the workhouse and $50.00 fine for carrying weapons. During the night it rained heavily, and we caught a fine lot of rainwater in the launch cover. One learns to appreciate this on the river. During the afternoon we saw a negro shoot from the bank directly down on a few geese, of which he wounded one. It swam across the river and we got out the skiff and followed. On shore it crouched down as if dead, and waited till Jim got within ten feet, when it got up and flew across the river. We followed, and he shot it with a rifle when about 150 yards off. By that time we were miles below the darky, and as he has no boat we fear he will not be on hand to put in a claim for the goose. We bought one at V. for 90 cents; also eight jack-snipe for a dollar. Roast beef was 12½ cents for round, 25 for rib, and 17½ for corned beef. Milk 10 cents a quart from wagon, buttermilk 20 cents a gallon, butter, 30 for creamery and 25 for country. * * * * * Waterproof Cutoff, Friday, Jan. 8, 1904.--We ran about 23 miles on the 7th, the engine simply refusing to go; and we drifted most of the time. Once we got fast on a nasty snag and it took all our force to get off. We tied up to a sand bar near Hard Times Landing, in the bend of that name. Bluff and the children had a refreshing run on the sand. Got off today at 8 a. m., and by 1O the engine started off in good shape and has been running well all day. The weather is clear and warm, thermometer standing at 72 this afternoon. Little wind, but that from the south. Some clouds betoken a possible rain. Our first wild goose for dinner on the 6th, and all liked it well. * * * * * Saturday, Jan. 9, 1904.--We ran about forty miles yesterday, tying up above L'Argent in a quicksandy nook. At 4 this morning these lazy boys got up and started to float, making several miles before daybreak. It is foggy at 8 and the sun invisible, but warm and with little wind. The launch is running fitfully. Passed Hole-in-the-Wall and now opposite Quitman Bluff. * * * * * Jan. 10, 1904.--Yesterday we reached Natchez at 1 p. m., and by 4 had got our mail and supplies and were off down the river. The engine balked under the influence of a lower temperature, and we had only made about five miles when we had to tie up on account of the darkness. It rained hard. CHAPTER XVIII. RIVER PIRATES. We had had our suppers, the children and Missis had gone to bed, and we were about following them, when through the rain we heard someone get upon the front deck. It was raining hard. We called out, asking who was there. A man replied in a wheedling voice, saying that he was alone, lost in the rain, and wished to remain till it was light enough to see his way. We asked who he was, and he responded that he was a prominent citizen of the neighborhood and asked us to open up the cabin a little bit. The doors are on the sides, and he was evidently puzzled as to how to get into the cabin. We were undressed and told him we could not let him in; but he insisted. We called to the boys to see what was wanted, thinking it might be some one in trouble; so Jake went out. The man began to talk pretty saucily, but then Jim and Frank got out, and at once his tone changed. He suddenly got very drunk, though perfectly sober a moment before. Another man turned up also, in a skiff alongside. He gave a rambling incoherent account of why he was there; but the other man called angrily for him to come on, and soon they left, rowing into the darkness. The man who came aboard was about 5 feet 6; 45, red-faced, deep-set eyes; his hat drawn well over his face; rather heavily set. The other was a sulky-faced man about 25, with light hair. That they were river pirates there is not a doubt; and had we been short-handed there would have been trouble. Next morning we set out, slowly floating with a little headwind, through a fog. Temperature at 8 a. m., 50. Natchez-under-the-hill has disappeared under the assaults of the river, and with it the wild characters that made it famous, or rather notorious. The city is now said to be as orderly and safe as any in the south. We now get fine gulf oysters at 50 cents to $1 a hundred. They come in buckets. Shell oysters are still rare. We got a small bunch of bananas at Natchez, for 60 cents. We passed Morville, floating about three miles an hour. We have never been able to secure any data as to the speed of the current in the rivers. * * * * * Jan. 11, 1904.--We ran 42 miles yesterday, to near Union Point, tying up to a sand bar. The boys crossed to a railway camp and were told game was very abundant, so that it was hardly safe for a single man to go out with the hounds at night--bear, panther and cat. We had a head wind all day, from the west, sometimes strong enough to raise a few whitecaps, and the engine did her stunt of bucking--which shows what she is good for when in good humor. Temperature went up to 72 and hung around 70 all day. This morning at 8 it is 42. The children and dog had a much needed run on the sand. The boy needs much exercise and laboriously chops at the heaviest wood he can find. CHAPTER XIX. THE ATCHAFALAYA. By lunch time we reached the mouth of the Red River, and found a rapid current running into it from the Mississippi. We landed on the bar and sent to town for mail, but found the postoffice had been moved to Torrasdale, several miles away--and after walking up there found no letters. At 3 p. m. we started up the Red, rapid, crooked, much in need of the services of a snag boat; weather so warm the invalid came out on deck for an hour or more. Turned into the Atchafalaya about 5 p. m., a deep stream, said to be never less than 50 feet deep. The same shelving banks as the great river, formed by the continual caving. We found a bed of pebbles at the mouth of the Red and really they were like old friends. Stone is a rarity here. We tied up a little way beyond Elmwood Landing. Henceforth we have neither charts nor lights, but we have a born pilot in Jake, and he will pull us through. A bad day for the asthma, in spite of the warmth. [Illustration: RED RIVER.] * * * * * Jan. 12, 1904.--If solitude exists along the Atchafalaya it is not here. The left bank is leveed and roofs appear about every 100 yards. The right bank is lined with little trees growing down to and into the water. At Denson's Landing, or Simmesport, the right bank begins a levee; there is the inevitable gas launch, a tug, and numerous other craft, with a fish market. The wind blows dead ahead, and raises waves nearly as big as in the big river. Pretty bum houseboats, apparently occupied by blacks. Some noble trees with festoons of Spanish moss. No nibbles on the trotline last night, but a huge fish heaved his side out of the water just now. Alligator gar. Pleasant traveling now. All day long we have voyaged along the Atchafalaya with a wind from--where? It requires a compass to determine directions here. In fact the uncertainty of things usually regarded as sure is singular. Now up north we know just where the sun is going to rise; but here the only certainty about it is its uncertainty. Now it comes up in the east--that is, over the east bank of the river; but next day it may appear in the west, north or south. The wind was against us all morning, but since lunch--which we had at Woodside--it has been back of us or sideways, and has driven us along. Fine levees line the banks. Just now we are passing a camp at work. It is a noble river, wide and deep, with a current about as swift as the great river. Even now, when the Barbre gauge shows 6¾ feet above low water only, there is no obstruction to navigation by as large steamers as plow the Mississippi. Now and then a little spire or black stack peeping above the levee shows the presence of a village. Temperature hovers about 62. Only a solitary brace of ducks seen in this river as yet. All afternoon we have been pursuing Melville. At 3 p. m. it was four miles away; an hour later it was five miles off, and at 5 we had gotten within three miles of the elusive town. We concluded to stop, in hopes it might get over its fear and settle down; so tied up. We ascended the levee, and a boy told us the town was within half a mile. The river is lonely, not a steamer since leaving the mouth of Red, where the _Little Rufus_ came down and out, politely slowing up as she neared the cabin boat, to avoid rocking us. An occasional skiff is all we see, though the landing is common, but no cotton or seed, nothing but lumber. We were correct as to our estimate of the visitors we had the other night--river pirates. Their method is to come on rainy nights when the dogs are under cover. By some plausible story they gain admittance to the cabin and then--? Have the windows guarded by stout wire screens, the doors fitted with bars, and a chain. Any visitor to a cabin boat after night is a thief, and on occasion a murderer. If he desires admittance after being told you are not a trader or whisky boat, open the chain and when he tries to enter shoot him at once. It is the sheerest folly to let one of those fellows have the first chance. No jury in the world would fail to congratulate you for ridding the river of such a character. There are no circumstances that can be imagined in which an honest man would act in the way these men did. If they wanted shelter from the rain the shore was handy. If they mistook the boat for friends, the mistake was apparent and they knew very well they had no business to continue their visit. * * * * * Wednesday, Jan. 13, 1904.--Made a good start. We got under way about 8:30, and Melville bridge soon came in view. The day is clear and warm, water smooth as glass, with no perceptible current, and the engine starts off as if nothing ever ruffled her temper. CHAPTER XX. MELVILLE--FIRST DEER HUNT. Melville, La., Jan. 19, 1904.--We found this a quiet little town of 600 people, including negroes; with sufficient stores for our simple needs, and a daily mail east and west. We found some pleasant young gentlemen here, with plenty of leisure and hounds, and some of us go out for deer every day. So far no one has brought in any venison, but Jim and Frank have had shots. The thermometer stands at about 60 to 70 all day; fires are superfluous except at night for the weak one, the grass and clover show up green in spots, and really we seem to have skipped winter. In the swamps the palmettoes raise their broad fans, the live oaks rear their brawny trunks, and bits of green life show up on all sides. Really, we do not see what excuse the grass has for being brown, if it be not simple force of habit, or recollection of a northern ancestry. The negro women wear extraordinary sunbonnets, huge flaring crowns with gay trimming. The foreigners are Italians or Greeks; and are in the fruit and grocery trade. An old superannuated Confed. brings us a small pail of milk daily, for which he gets 10 cents a quart. The river is leveed 15 miles down, and the system is being extended southward. There is a difference of opinion as to the levees, some claiming they are injurious as preventing the elevation of the land by deposit of mud; while one large sugar raiser said it would be impossible to raise crops without them. The truth seems to be that the immediate needs require the levees; but if one could let the land lie idle, or take what crops could be raised after the floods subside, it would be better for the owner of the next century to let in the water. We have had our first deer hunt. Six of us, with four hounds, set out in the launch. Arriving at the right place we disembarked and walked through the woods about a mile, the dogs having meanwhile started out independently. Here they located us, in a small clear space, and the rest went on to their respective stands. We looked about us and were not favorably impressed with our location. It was too open. Deer coming from any quarter would see us long before we could see them. So we selected a spot where we could sit down on a log, in the shade of a huge cypress, with the best cover attainable, and yet see all over the clearing. Then we waited. By and by we heard a noise as of breaking twigs to one side. We crouched down and held our breath, getting the rifle up so as to allow it to bear in the right direction. Waited. A little more noise, but slight. Waited. No more. Sat till our backs got stiff and feet cold. Then carefully and quietly paced up and down the path. Sat down again. Concluded to eat lunch, an expedient that rarely fails to start the ducks flying. No good for deer. Shifted position, walked up the path to a bunch of hollies, laden with berries. A bird was at them, and as by this time our faith in deer was growing cool we concluded to take a shot at a robin. Did so. Missed him--but to our horror and relief he turned out to be a mocking bird! Walked up the path and found a sluggish bayou with running water across it. Weren't thirsty, but doubted the wisdom of drinking that water, and that made us thirsty. Circled around the center of our clearing. Noted the way the cypresses throw up stumps from the roots. Saw a big turtle in the bayou. Red birds came about, but no robins--they are game birds here. Searched the trees for squirrels--none there. Thought of everything we could recollect--even began to enumerate our sins--and got into an animated discussion with a stranger on the negro question, awaking with a start. Shot at a hawk that roosted on a tree just out of gunshot. Scared him, anyhow. Finally, when desperate with the task of finding expedients to keep us awake, we heard a horn blown--or wound?--and not knowing but that some one might be lost, whistled shrilly in reply. Occasionally a shot was heard here and there; once in a moon the dogs gave tongue in the remote distance. Finally one of the boys appeared, then the old uncle, and the rest came stringing in. One had seen a deer but did not get a shot at it. So we took up the line of march for the river, where the launch returned us to the cabin boat. And so ended our first deer hunt. We have now been at it a week, and several of the boys have had shots at the animals, but no horns decorate our boat, nor does venison fill our craving stomachs. There are deer here, their evidences are as plain as those of sheep in a pasture. But the only benefit they have been to us is in the stimulation of the fancy. The weird and wonderful tales spun by those who have had shots at the elusive creatures, to account for the continued longevity and activity of their targets, are worth coming here to hear. Surely never did deer go through such antics; never did the most expert tumbler in any circus accomplish such feats of acrobatic skill. The man who catches flying bullets in his teeth should come down here and receive instruction from these deer. We took the Missis and daughter over to Baton Rouge, and installed them in a huge, old-fashioned room, on Church St., a block from the postoffice and the leading stores; with a lady of means, who sets an excellent table, lavishly spread, and with the best of cookery, at a price that seems nominal to us. The lofty ceilings seem doubly so after the low deck of the cabin; the big canopied bed of walnut and quilted silk recalls the east; while violets, camellias, hyacinths and narcissus blooming in the open air, as well as sweet olive, and the budding magnolias, make one realize that the frozen north is not a necessity. * * * * * January 23, 1904.--We find Melville a very good place to stay--supplies plentiful, the people pleasant, and the place safe. The boys go out for deer every day, but as yet no success has rewarded them. One day they chased a doe into the river, where two boys caught her with their hands and slaughtered her. Bah! The weather has been ideal--warm enough to make a fire oppressive save nights and mornings--but we are now having a cold snap, whose severity would make you northern folk, who sit in comfort over your registers, shiver. We have actually had a white frost two nights in succession. Fact! On the shore close by roost at least 100 buzzards. They are protected and seem aware of it; roosting on the roof of the fish boat below us. They tell us the sharks come up here so that bathing is unsafe, and tell queer stories of the voracity and daring of the alligator gars. The alligator is by no means extinct in Louisiana, being still found of gigantic size in the bayous. Little is said here on the negro question, which seems to be settled so well that no discussion is needed. Day after day we sit at the typewriter and the work grows fast. Tomorrow we go to Barrow's convict camp for a shoot, and quite a lot have gathered, and are waiting till the engine chooses to start. Every day we have to push the boat from shore or we might be hard aground in the morning, as we are today. The water fell last night till it uncovered six feet of mud by the shore. The river is said to be over 100 feet deep opposite. The bridge is built on iron tubular piers that seem to be driven down till they strike a stratum capable of supporting the weight. These are said to be 100 feet deep. * * * * * January 24, 1904, we all went down to Capt. Barrow's camp for a deer hunt, which possessed no features differing from those of the five preceding. At 4 p. m. we quit, and started on our return. But the dogs had not come in, so when we got up to the old convict camp we stopped, and Budd and Jake went back for them. And there we waited till after 10 p. m. It grew quite cool so that the boys built a fire. Just on the bluff above us was an old deserted house, about ready to fall into the river when the banks shall have crumbled away a little more. We found in it an ancient mahogany four-post bedstead and a spinning-wheel, an old horn powderhorn, and other relics of antiquity. There were our own party of four, Budd and Wally, Thomassen and his son "Sugar," Mr. Sellers (from one of the Melville stores), and two negro hunters, Brown and Pinkham--and right worthy men and good hunters they are. The fire was fed by beams from the old house, and as its cheerful warmth was felt, the scene would have been a worthy one for an artist's pencil. The odd stories and ceaseless banter of the negroes and the boy were enhanced by the curious dialect. Constantly one blew his horn, and was answered by the party who were out, or by others; and some one else was blowing for other lost dogs, so that the woods were musical. An old hound had come in early, tired out, and when the horns blew he would try to get off, but was tied; so he would give vent to his discontent in the most doleful of long-drawn-out howls, like a prolonged note from an owl. At last boys and hounds came in, and we were home to our boat by midnight. Somehow the yoke once worn till thoroughly fitted to the neck, becomes a part of the bearer; and the best contented of the negroes were those who held with their old masters. Even the shackles of civilization become attractive in time--and we have resumed the reading of a daily paper since we can get it regularly. And we like the _Picayune_, finding in its editorials a quiet dignity that we appreciate, even though we may not agree with the political sentiments. And there is an air of responsibility about it; a consciousness that what it says counts, and must therefore be preceded by due deliberation, that is novel. The local color is also attractive. For instance the river news, and--the jackstaffs! Now, don't say you do not know what jackstaffs are. We will not spoil it by telling. And Lagniappe! CHAPTER XXI. BATON ROUGE--THE PANTHER. Baton Rouge, La., Feb. 1, 1904.--While you in the North are wrestling with zero temperatures, we are experiencing what these folk term terrible winter weather. Men go about with heavy overcoats buttoned up to the chin, and I saw one the other day with a tall coonskin cap, with folds down over his neck, and earflaps. An open-grate fire is comfortable in the mornings and tempers the chill of night for the little one. Even the Chicago man finds a light overcoat advisable in the mornings, though with light-weight underwear and thin outer clothes. Nevertheless, the violets bloom everywhere, jonquils, polyanthus narcissus, camellias and sweet olive are in bloom, and the big rose bushes are covered with leaves and buds that already show the color of the flower. The grass is green in New Orleans parks, and the magnolias are budding. Masses of chickweed cover the margins of drains and several plants of unknown lineage--to the writer--are in bloom. And this is the weather to which we constantly hear the epithet "terrible" applied here. But residents of the North who were raised in Dixie do not freeze. Exposure to cold brings with it the ability to withstand it, and not only that but all other morbific influences as well. It increases the vitality, the power of resisting all noxious powers that threaten the health and life of man. But this applies to the sound and well, not to those who already possess a material lesion of one or more organs. For them this soft, balmy air, this temperature that permits a maximum of exposure to the open air, are health-giving, life-prolonging, comfort-securing. People speak of the sudden changes here--warm today and tomorrow cold--as objectionable; but so they do everywhere, and we have found no more changeability than elsewhere. And as to the rains: When it does rain it pours, but most of it has been at night so far, and during the day it dries off nicely. It it said that this is the rainy month, and we may have to modify this view later. So far the rains have not been a feature worthy of citation, as against the climate. Much attention has been given the drinking water of late years in the riverine cities, and generally they have water on which they pride themselves. Artesian wells are mostly utilized. The river water is muddy and unsightly, but probably safe and certainly palatable. We depend on our Puritan still, and a tripoli filter, and utilize the rain water we catch in the canvas cover of the launch. No trouble has as yet affected us from this source; and we are satisfied it pays well to take precautions. From St. Louis down the river fairly bristles with opportunities for men who understand business and have a little capital. But timber lands are pretty well taken up. An Ohio party paid $100 an acre for 100 acres here in this Atchafalaya country the other day. The people? Well, we have simply adopted the whole--white--population, and find them delightful. There has not been a discordant note in our intercourse with this warm-hearted, hospitable folk, who unite the courtesy of the French with a sincerity that makes itself felt every moment. Dogs! Everyone seems to own hounds here. We had a few runs with them; they came aboard and inspected us, and after due deliberation approved of us, took up their home with us and declined to stay away; so that at night one can scarcely set foot outside the cabin without stepping on a sleeping hound. Even the women folk are disarmed when these dogs look up with their big, beautiful eyes and nuzzle their cold noses into the hand for a caress. One great fellow reared up against us, placed his paws on our shoulders and silently studied our face awhile, then dropped to the ground and henceforth devoted himself to us, never being far from our side. We felt complimented! Go out with the gun, and see how these slumberous animals awake to joyous life and activity. Then the long, musical bay, the ringing of the hunters' horns, the quick dash of the deer past your stand, with the dogs after, in full cry--say, brother, these low lands when leveed, cleared and cultivated, will yield two bales of cotton to the acre, and with cotton at 15 cents and over, is not that splendid? So shut your ears against the cry of the wild, and only consider what Progress means, and how the individual and civic wealth is increasing as these wild lands are brought under the plow and made productive of dollars. For is not all of life simply a question of dollars, and success measurable only in the bank account? So put away from you the things that make life worth living, and devote yourself with a whole heart to the task of making your son a millionaire, that he may make his son a multimillionaire, and so on. It will do you so much good in the Great Beyond to know this. That the money for which we give up all that renders life enjoyable will either render our descendants dissipated and useless, or enable them to oppress their fellowmen, need not be considered. Money is all there is in life. The wife, daughter and Doctor are domiciled at Baton Rouge, while the boys took the boats down to Alabama Bayou for a week with the big game. Here is the small boy's report, verbatim: Dear Mama and Papa: You talk about us not sending you any venison. If I had any money I would send you enough to make you sick. I went hunting with the boys this morning. Jim, Hudson and I went together. Bud drove with the dogs. Jake and Frank went together. Frank took his shotgun and he got lost from Jake, went to shooting robins. Jake got on an island and did not know where he got on at. He had to wade a stream two feet deep. After we had been looking for a stand we heard a shot behind us, and then a rifle shot to the right of us, and three blows of Bud's horn, which means dead deer. Jake was the first one to him, being only 300 yards. We walked two and one-half miles before we got to him. When we got there he had a big doe laying over a log. Bud drew him and they took turns carrying him home. Every tooth in my head aches from chewing venison. How are all of you? I waded about 30 ditches today over my shoe tops and one over my knees. Bud said if I followed the dogs with him he would give me first shot, and if I missed he would get him. Millie made me a belt to fit the rifle cartridges. I christened my axe in deer blood. Bud said Queen was 10 feet behind it, King 20 feet and Diamond ran up and threw the deer after it was shot. Then it got up and Diamond got it in the throat and brought it down. I will have to close as it is time to go to bed. With love to all, William. Not bad for an 11-year-old. Everyone has been complaining of the terrible weather here--frost three nights last week, and a light overcoat not oppressive, though it is hardly necessary except for the tendency one has to put his hands in his pockets otherwise. We asked one of the natives what they would do in Chicago with zero weather, and he replied with an air of conviction: "Freeze to death." We have a nibble for the boat. The river at Memphis is so full of floating ice that the ferry boats cannot run; and that looks as if we might not be able to get our boats towed to St. Louis before late spring--and we want to be free. We note blooming in the open many violets, polyanthus narcissus, camellias, sweet olive, magnolias just budding out, and white hyacinths. The grass is putting up green shoots. Large beds of chickweed are plentiful. The vinca was nipped by frost last night. Next door is a fine palmetto and the great roses covering the gallery are full of green leaves and the remains of the last crop of blossoms, with new buds coming out. What a terrible winter! There is a street fair here. These people go about the country and exhibit wherever they find a town that will pay them, their price here being, it is said, $2,000 for a week. The Red Men pay them, and probably the merchants subscribe to it, the business brought to town compensating them. There are a number of attractions, like a little splinter broken off the poorest part of Atlantic City. But it gives something to see and do and talk about, to a town where there is too little of either for the demand. There are a huge and a dwarf horse, glass blowers, a human dwarf, contortionist, jubilee singers, kinetoscope, trained dogs and monkeys, dissolving statue, and of course the nigger babies and knives to throw at and miss. We have run against these aggregations all the way down, and they are evidently becoming a feature of the smaller towns. Curious place for a State Capital. In our room stands a fine walnut wardrobe with a door broken open; and there is not a mechanic in the city who can mend it. Glass is broken, and it remains so; any quantity of miscellaneous mending and repairing needed, but it stands. The sunny south is a bit slipshod; the ladies are delightful, but they do not work their finger ends off cleaning out the last possibilities of dust and dirt--they leave it to the darkies, who do what they cannot avoid doing and stop right there. * * * * * That our boys are not devoid of descriptive ability--and imagination?--this chapter, written by Frank, will demonstrate. "At Melville, on the Atchafalaya, we became acquainted with some young men who had a fine pack of deer hounds. They also call these "nigger dogs," because they are employed for trailing convicts who escape from the camps along the river. "Early in the morning our hunting party gathered on the levee--the Doctor, Budd Tell, his brother Wylie, and two uncles, and four of us. The old men were settlers and hunters of bobcat, deer, panther, bear and other game. They said they had killed 160 deer in one winter, and though we doubted this, we afterward found it was true. "We penetrated the woods till a desirable spot was reached, and here Budd posted us on our stands. These are places clear of underbrush for a space, so that the hunter may see to shoot anything that invades his location. One man remains with the dogs, termed the driver. He was left about two miles behind. When all had been placed the signal was given, to start the dogs. Soon we could hear the music of their baying, as it did not take long for them to strike a deer trail, and a fresh one at that. The chase led in the Doctor's direction and presently we heard him shoot--and he had downed his first deer. He got two that day. I shot one, and Budd got a little fat doe. The others were fine bucks, weighing 175, 150 and 123 lbs. At least we thought so, after taking turns packing them, on a pole; and that was the only scale we had; so we think it was legal, under the circumstances. "As we were returning to the boat with our four deer, two men to each, one man could be taking it easy all the time. Somehow the bunch got separated in the cypress swamp, and suddenly we heard the scream of a panther. Then there were a number of shots, and after that silence, for a couple of minutes. Then came a rifle shot. Jake and I being together, we hurried in the direction of the shots. Soon we heard a noise that we could not make out the cause of. We were still packing the deer. Then we came in sight of the Doctor, stooping over Budd's brother. Close by lay a dead panther. Budd's breast and arms were badly torn by the claws of the animal, and his brother had a scalp wound and was insensible. However, we all turned in to help, and he was soon on his feet, somewhat damaged and rather faint, but still in the ring. "The panther had sprang on them from a tree, knocking Wylie down, then turning on Budd who attacked the animal as soon as he realized what was the trouble. The panther started for him like a cyclone and had his shirt and some skin jerked off in less time than it takes for me to tell it. Budd says he sure thought his time had come, and being somewhat of a church member he put up a little call for help. Just then the Doctor ran up, and by a lucky shot disabled the beast, which was soon dispatched. He got the hide. The panther weighed over 100 lbs. and measured 5 feet 10 inches from nose to tip of tail. "As Budd and Wylie were too weak to carry the deer, the big cat was allotted to them, and two of us took each a deer till we got out of the timber, about dark. We reached the boat at 6 p. m., very tired. But we had had our fun, and some of us had had an experience not usual even to houseboat travelers. And we got the panther--though it came very near getting two of the best fellows to be found in the south." Unfortunately the prize so highly valued was lost. The skin was stretched out and placed on the roof to dry; that night the wind blew, and next morning the skin had disappeared. The one now ornamenting the Doctor's den was purchased to replace the original. Will some one explain how it happens that an indifferent shot, when brought in face of such a proposition will make an unerring snap shot, when a slight deviation would endanger the life of the companion? Many years ago, while traversing the woods of Pennsylvania, we heard our companion cry for help, after two shots close together. We ran at full speed, and saw him standing still, gazing at a huge snake at his feet. Even as we ran we brought our double-barrel to our shoulder and without taking aim blew the serpent's head off. There was no time to aim, and had we done so it is doubtful if we could have made as good a shot. CHAPTER XXII. THE BOBCAT. Melville, La., Feb. 3, 1904.--Budd was watching some deer down the river, when he saw a bobcat come out of the brush near by. He shot the cat, when a buck ran out within twenty feet of him. He made a quick shot at the buck, got him, and then ran after the cat. She had crawled under some brush and thinking her dead he crawled after her. Just as he caught hold of her leg to pull her out she turned on him and flew at his chest, in which she embedded her claws. There was a lively tussle for a few minutes, when he got away, and the cat crawled under a log. But when he again attempted to pull her out she flew at him, apparently little the worse for her wounds; and it was not till he succeeded in cutting her throat that she died. He was pretty well clawed up, sufficiently to deprive him of any further desire to tackle a bobcat, only a few of whose lives had been expended. Here is a native's sample story: "Father had been troubled by a bear that ate his corn, so he sat up one night to get him. He noted where the bear came in from the canebrake, and placed himself so that the wind blew from that place to his stand. It was bright moonlight. Along in the night came Bruin, sniffing and grunting. He paused at the fence till satisfied the way was clear, then knocked a rail off the top and clambered over. He made his way among the corn, and rearing up began to pull off the ears and eat them. Then dad fired a handful of buckshot into him, breaking his shoulder. The bear made for the place he had crossed the fence, scrambled over, and crashed through the brake. Dad marked him down as stopping at a huge dead tree that could easily be seen above the canes. "By this time the shot had aroused the folks, and dogs, darkies and men came running out. The dogs sought the trail, but the only one that found it was a little mongrel tyke, who started off after the bear and was soon followed by the rest. The men tried to keep up, but dad ran right for the big tree. A crooked branch across his path sprang into a coil and rattled a warning at him. He stopped and gave it the other barrel, and ran on. Coming up to the tree there was the bear, standing up, and with his one arm raking the dogs whenever they ventured within reach. Already the bravest showed evidences of his skill. One of the men shot him--in fact they all shot, and the bear rolled over. Dad went up to him, and some one remarked that he must be a tame bear, as his ear was nicked. Dad felt the ear, and remarked how warm it was--and just then the old bear whirled around, reared up, and seized dad in a real bear hug. Fortunately it was a one-armed hug, and by a quick movement he was able to wriggle away, and then one man who had not shot put his gun to the bear's ear and shot half his head away. On the way home they picked up the snake, which was seven feet long, and had 11 rattles and a button." * * * * * At Shiloh Landing, Miss., our boys were told of a negro who ate glass. He came in while they were there, and cracked up a lamp chimney and ate it, literally and without deception. He said he could walk over broken glass without harm. He also was impervious to snakes. And while they talked a huge cotton-mouth copperhead wriggled out on the floor. There was a unanimous and speedy resort to boxes, barrels and tables, till the serpent was killed. It seems the negro has a fancy for collecting snakes and had brought this one in in a box, from which he made his escape. * * * * * This morning we went out for robins, and got a mess; of which we contributed one--could not shoot a little bit. After lunch we waited for the mail and then bid good-bye to the kindly folk who had made Melville so pleasant to us, and started on our journey up the Atchafalaya. The river is wider, swifter and bigger than when we came down; and we will be glad to get into the great river again. We have quite a collection of skins--deer, cat and coon--gifts of our friends. We ran a few miles and then the engine pump quit, and we tied up. Fair and clear, warm at midday enough to make a vest a burden. [Illustration: SPANISH MOSS (ATCHAFALAYA).] CHAPTER XXIII. ASCENDING THE ATCHAFALAYA. Atchafalaya River, Feb. 4, 1904.--There is a very perceptible difference between descending a river and ascending it. Our gallant little launch finds the cabinboat a difficult proposition against the current, as aggravated by the rising floods. We made but a few miles yesterday and tied up for the night. An unexpected steamer came along about 12:30 and gave us a good tumbling. She returned later, having doubtless taken in her freight at Melville meanwhile. This morning an east wind drives us against the shore, so that we have to steer out, and that makes it a head wind; so the shore creeps slowly past. It is cloudy and feels like rain, though warm. The river is very muddy, and full of drift over which the boat rumbles constantly. Many doves are seen on the trees along shore but, as usual, we are in a hurry and cannot stop for sport. During the Civil War, we are told, the Atchafalaya could be bridged by three carts, so that soldiers could cross. Now it is nowhere less than sixty feet deep, and two-fifths of the water of the Mississippi go through it to the Gulf. Every year it is enlarging, and the day may come when the Mississippi will discharge through it altogether, and Baton Rouge and New Orleans be inland cities. This route to the Gulf is 150 miles shorter. * * * * * Atchafalaya River, Feb. 6, 1904.--We made but a short run yesterday, the wind stopping us two miles below Oderberg, just within 150 yards of a turn around which we had to go to get the wind in our favor. But we could not do it. Boy and Dr. shot some robins and Jake got a mud hen; and from a passing wagon we secured a roast of beef. An old colored woman sold us some buttermilk, for two bits. This morning it was rainy and foggy, but under great difficulties we pushed ahead and made Simmesport by lunch. Here we engaged a gasoline boat to take us around into the Mississippi, for seven dollars--about 14 miles--and felt we got off well at that. The current in the Red is said to be too fierce for our little boat. We did as well as possible, by hugging the low shore, and when the one we were on became high and eroded we crossed to the other. In that way we avoided the swift current and often got a back one, or eddy. The steamer _Electra_ dogged us all morning, passing and stopping at numerous landings till we passed her. When we land we find houses quite close along either shore. The rural population must be large along the leveed part of the river. At Simmesport we obtained butter, milk and lard, besides crackers and canned oysters. No meat. One bunch of brant appeared in the fog this morning, but refused to listen to our arguments favoring closer acquaintance. * * * * * Red River, Feb. 7, 1904.--That is, we suppose you call it the Red, but it is now in truth an outlet of the Mississippi. We got to Simmesport, had lunch, and arranged with a boy there to tow us through to the Mississippi with a 5-horsepower gasoline. Hitched it behind, our launch alongside, and started. The wind was as often contrary as favorable, and we labored up the Atchafalaya till we got to Red River. The water is decidedly red, but is backed up into the Red by the lordship of the Great River, which sweeps up the Old River channel with resistless force. None of the Red water gets past Barbre Landing, either into the Atchafalaya or the Mississippi. We turned into the Red or Old River about 2:30, and by 6 had made about three miles, stopping in sight of Turnbull Island Light No. 2. First the lever of our reversing gear broke, and here a log swept under the launch and broke the coupling bolt. This had happened the preceding day, and we had no extra left, so had to stop as the other boat alone could make no headway against the swift current. As it was, with both boats we had to coast along as close as possible to the shore, where the current was slowest, to make any progress at all. In the middle we were swept back. The boys left us to return to Simmesport, where they were to make new coupling bolts and return here this morning. We had a sleepless night. All day it was foggy and rainy; in the night occasional showers pattered on the roof; and floating wood rumbled under the boat. The water is full of this stuff and it is impossible to prevent it going under the scow, where it sticks and retards progress or emerges to foul our propeller. This morning it is still sticky, showery and slightly foggy; temperature at 9 a. m., 72. When the steamer rocked us the other night Jake and Doctor turned out in their nightgowns to fend off, and then stood leaning over the rail talking for a time. Catch cold, turning out of a warm bed in January? Naw! Whatchergivinus? This terrible winter weather! About 11:30 the boys returned with the tug and new bolts for our coupler. We had hard work getting through the bridge, where the current was fierce; but by 2 p. m. we were in the Mississippi and headed down stream. * * * * * Bayou Sara, Feb. 8, 1904.--We tied up last night in Morgan's Bend, after dark. Started to float all night, but the fog came up, lightning showed in the east, and we thought it wise to take no chances. We had the launch hitched behind and when a steamer passed up quite near, it made her leap and try to get her nose under the overhang, which might have swamped her. This morning we got off at 5 a. m., floating till after breakfast, when we set the old churn at work. Now the sun is up brightly, a breeze freshening up from the east, which is dead ahead just now, and the town in sight. We talk of loading the boat with palmettoes for the St. Louis fair market, and getting a tow north, if we cannot get a fair price for the outfit. By 9 we reached Bayou Sara, where we increased our crew by three of Louisiana's fair ladies, and at 11 resumed our journey. The wind had subsided and we journeyed south over a river smooth as glass. Much driftwood annoyed us, threatening our propeller blades. The poetry of travel today, too warm for the folk to stand in the sun. Historic Port Hudson was soon before us. It is now back from the river, Port Hickey being its successor. Temperature 80 at 2 p. m. This terrible winter! We are counting the miles between us and our dear ones at Baton Rouge. We reached Baton Rouge about 6 p. m., having made over 50 miles, and the longest run of the trip. CHAPTER XXIV. DUCKING AT CATAHOULA LAKE. Prof. Handwerker came down to Memphis, and we went for a duck shoot. We went by rail to Alexandria and chartered a wagon with two sketchy ponies and an aged veteran as driver, who took us about 20 miles to Catahoula Lake. The toll man at the bridge valued our outfit at 40 cents, and collected the entire price each way. The road lay through a lumber country, where the yellow pine was being rapidly cut out. Arriving within a mile of the lake, we concluded to stop with Mr. S., rather than rest our old limbs in the doubtful protection of the tent we had brought. S. lived on a tract he had homesteaded, in a "plank-up" house of three rooms. At the end of the living room was a large chimney of mud and sticks, with andirons, in which a large fire burned constantly. There were holes in the chimney of a size convenient for the cat to crawl through, which the men had not had time to mend. Cracks an inch wide between the plank let in a sufficiency of air, when the one window--unencumbered with sash and glass--a simple wooden shutter, swung shut. The family consisted of the man, his wife, two sons aged 16 and 12; horses, cows, oxen, chickens and numerous pigs. The latter were dying off, and we saw numerous carcasses in the woods, the consequence of a lot of diseased animals being brought in by a neighbor. S. had had a sawmill, and with the aid of his sons and wife--the latter the engineer--had turned out about 7,000 feet of lumber a day. For this he had received his stock; but the wife did not feel that they were doing well enough and persuaded him to sell the mill and raise cotton. They cleared a few acres which they farmed till the yield fell off, when they let it lie fallow and farmed another bit. They had intended to saw up a lot of wood for a new house, but somehow it had been neglected, or when a lot had been got out some one made a dicker for it. The stock of food for the animals had run short, and chop sold at the stores for $1.00 a bag for cash, $1.60 on credit; so the animals ran in the woods and ate Spanish moss. This, we were assured, was a good, nutritious food, when the animals got used to it. All were very thin. One horse looked like a walking skeleton, and in fact died during our stay--but then it was so reduced by the time it died that the loss was trifling. The horses had long since stripped the berries from the china berry trees. We were told that eight crops of alfalfa had been cut from a field in this region last summer; so that it is simply a question of cultivating a few more acres to supply proper food to the stock. The five cows gave about a quart of milk a day. They were milked once a day--if they came up to the house in time; if not, it went over till next day. Mr. S. was a fine, good-natured man, who did not drink, or permit liquor or cards in his house. He had some trouble with his shoulder, which seriously interfered with his work, though he hauled logs to the sawmill, the small boy driving. He was very proud of his wife; vaunting her as the best worker in the parish, excepting their nearest neighbor; and those two women, he averred, could equal any men in farming cotton, chopping or sawing wood, and cultivating the garden. It was edifying--touching--to see Mrs. S. bridle with pleasure under this well-deserved approval. The two boys attended to the fires, on alternate days; and they sure did show great mathematical talent, for they could calculate to a certainty the exact quantity of wood that sufficed for the day and next morning, so as to leave over not a scrap for the lessening of the other boy's labors. In the evening a huge backlog was placed in the big chimney, with two smaller pieces underneath, and some cypress under that to keep up a blaze. Then all hands gathered around, S., the Professor and the aged driver, with their pipes, the two boys chewing, and Mrs. S., with a little stick projecting from her mouth, which puzzled us, till the idea of its significance flashed across our mind--snuff! And then they set in persistently and systematically to put the fire out, by well-directed expectoration. And we are bound to say that in accuracy of aim Mrs. S. was not behind the menfolk. Bedtime came. A big feather-bed was dragged out and placed on the floor in front of the fire, some comforters thrown over it, with pillows, and we were politely offered our choice of the bed on the floor or that on the wooden bedstead. It was left to us, and we took one apprehensive look at the ancient stead--quite undeserved was the suspicion--and chose the floor, remarking that we could not turn a lady out of her bed. This was met with remonstrances on the part of these warm-hearted people, but it was left that way. The old man and the two boys took the other bed, and the seven of us lay down to sleep in the one room. First the lady retired to the kitchen while we disrobed; then we offered to do the same to give her a chance, but this was unnecessary, as she didn't disrobe. The old man got in bed and lit his pipe; she took a fresh portion of snuff, and we presume the boys a new quid. During the night we occasionally heard S. scratching matches to light up. The bed of wild duck feathers favorably modified the hardness of the floor, and we slept well. Before daybreak we heard S. lighting up, and then, with difficulty, he induced the boy on duty to arouse and attend to the fire. Then Mrs. S. arose and when we showed signs of consciousness we had a cup of coffee--black, good quality, well sweetened, but without milk. Breakfast of smoked pork, more coffee, and hot bread--corn or wheat. We may add that this was also our dinner and our supper, varied by cracklin' bread, hot biscuits, and an occasional pie of berries or peaches. Once sweet potatoes and once dried peas. If a visitor dropped in, coffee was served around. And we had ducks. In the morning we hooked up the team and went down to the lake. The formation is similar to that at Bear River, Utah; broad flats covered with a few inches of water, the soil a stiff clay that will generally hold a man up, but not always. But the people here have no boats, build no blinds, and their only idea of duck shooting is to crawl on their bellies through the mud till they can get a pot shot at a flock of ducks in the water. They use heavy loads and No. 2 shot. As we did not shoot ducks that way, our success was not very great. Still we got as many as we could eat--and that's enough. The older boy suggested that we cross the lake to a group of cypresses, where the shooting was good. We waded in about a hundred yards, when the wading began to get pretty heavy, our feet sinking in over the ankles. The Professor concluded to turn back, and took up his stand by a lone cypress near the margin of the water. We felt that it was the part of wisdom to do so also; but the boy began to chuckle and a smile of derision appeared on his face. Now we don't like to be "backed down" by a "kid," and he assured us the boggy place did not extend far and then the bottom became firmer; so we kept on across the lake. It was said to be a mile, but it proved to be at least ten. We had not gone far when we began to realize several things: That the boy lied; that we weighed nearly 200 lbs.; that the borrowed waders we had on were much too large; that though in our life of 54 years we had ascertained that we were a great many different kinds of a darned fool, this was one more kind. The waders were tied to our waist, but soon pulled off so that we walked on the legs; sank in over ankles at each step, but had to immediately withdraw the foot to keep from going still deeper. We got tired--very tired--but dared not stop. Out of breath, the throat burned as if we had taken a dose of red pepper, but we could not stop for breath. Fell down and struggled up with boots full of water; and after an eternity of effort struggled out on the other side, to stand in the cold, teeth chattering, trying to get shelter against the cold wind in the hollow of the cypress, and still keep a lookout for ducks. The fingers were too cold to pull the trigger, almost, but a sprig came in and we nailed him. And no more came our way. Just before we had frozen stiff the boy came back and we set out to walk around the lake. It was only half as far as straight across. Some strays passed over, and in response to our call a mallard duck settled down upon the ground. The boy looked inquiringly at us, but we told him we did not take such shots, and he crawled up and executed the bird. A jack snipe rose, and fell promptly. Wading across a bayou we caught a glimpse of green shining on the shore, and it proved to be a teal, directly in front. He rose when we were within 40 feet, and fell with his head shot off; which evidently elevated us in the estimation of the boy. Meanwhile the Professor had accumulated a respectable collection of birds; and we had game enough for the table. Arriving at the house, a discussion arose as to the way to cook them. We stoutly maintained that a bird that had a distinctive flavor like a teal should be lightly broiled. But the lady intimated that she had something else in contemplation that would open our eyes and enlarge our views. It did both. Will it be believed that those delicate little teal, the snipe, sundry squirrels and quail subsequently brought in, were ground up with smoked pork and onions into an undistinguishable mass of sausage, and fried? Shades of Vatel! One look at the proud face of the designer of the dish, and the Professor loudly vaunted the idea, and took another helping. No one could have had the heart to dissent--and our virtue was rewarded, for nothing could induce our good hostess to cook the birds any other way. The Professor's praise settled that. Though his name indicates an origin Teutonic rather than Milesian, and his huge frame would have easily sustained the armor of Goetz von Berlichingen, he must have kissed the Blarney stone, and no living woman could resist the charm of his approval. We lived on the food described for a week, and drank enough coffee to paralyze the Postum Cereal man--the Professor negotiated 14 cups a day--and had not a trace of our acid dyspepsia. Is there any remedy for this complaint, except hard work? One evening a neighbor came over with his wife, the one who had so high a reputation as a worker. She was a thin little woman, with hollow cheeks and great brown eyes, sad, as their only child had been recently killed by accident, while out hunting. The inevitable snuff stick protruded from her lips. The husband was a bright, merry fellow, who at once struck up a trade with our old driver. They traded wagons, then fell to about their horses, and as the spirit of trade aroused the sporting blood the younger man asked if the other had a "trading hat," or jackknife, and finally proposed they should go out on the gallery and trade clothes to the skin. "Would trade everything he owned but the old woman," he announced. The driver was a character in his way. He owned to 75 years, rivaled the Professor's 6 feet 4 inches when erect, but was wholly longitudinal in dimensions. On the road he informed us at intervals of five minutes that the road was "pretty heavy today." He stood in awe of the Professor's deep bass, and seeing this that irreverent youth played it on the old man in a way to be reprobated. Mrs. S. gave us a pie one day for lunch, and smilingly announced that it was the exclusive property of the Professor. Accordingly the latter authoritatively forbade all others meddling with his pie. About noon S. and the Doctor came across the lake to the wagon, and began foraging for lunch. S. got out the pie and each of us took a liberal slice, in spite of the old driver's protest that it was the Professor's pie, and he must be held guiltless. Pretty soon the Professor came over, and on seeing the hole in the pie bellowed in an awful voice: "Who took my pie?" The old man threw up his arm as if to protect his head, and anxiously cackled that he had no hand in it, that it was the Doctor and S., and that he had told them they should not do it. Just then the Doctor sauntered in, and the Professor tackled him about who ate the pie. Dr. at once assured him it was the old driver; that he had seen the stains of the berries on his lips; which mendacious statement was received by the old man with voluble indignation. S. came up, and on being appealed to at once "caught on," and put the blame on the driver. He was simply speechless with this most unjust charge. All the rest of the day the Professor scolded over the pie, and we thought of new arguments showing that no one but the driver could have purloined it. But about bedtime, after there had been stillness for a time, a still small voice came from the old man saying with a tone of dawning comprehension: "I believe you fellows have been having fun with me about that pie." This was too much, and the walls fairly cracked with the howls of delight. We did not treat the old man very badly, though, as on leaving he assured us if we ever came again into that country he would be only too willing to join us in a similar trip. CHAPTER XXV. SOME LOUISIANA FOLKS. No negroes have ever been allowed to settle in the Catahoula country. The dead line is seven miles from Alexandria. No objection is made if anyone desires to bring a negro servant temporarily into the country, but he must go out with his employer. Once a lumberman brought negroes in, and determined to work them. They were warned, and left. Next year be brought in a new lot, and announced that he would protect them. They were duly warned, but refused to leave. One morning they were found--seven of them--hanging to the rafters of their house. Years elapsed before the experiment was again tried. The coroner's jury brought in a verdict of suicide--and this was in dead earnest--no joke or hilarity intended. To disregard due warning was equivalent to any other method of self-destruction. When in after years an attempt was made to work negroes here, warnings were duly posted on their doors. The negroes left. But the employer was a determined man, and swore he would be eternally dingbusted--or words to that effect--if he didn't work all the niggers he pleased; and he enlisted a new lot of the most desperate characters he could find. Warning was given and neglected; when one evening, as the darkies sat at supper, a rifle bullet knocked the nail keg from under one of them, and next morning not a negro was to be found in the vicinity. Observe the dispassionate, thoroughly conservative and gentlemanly way the people handled the affair. There was no thirsting for gore, no disposition to immolate these misguided folks to their employer's obstinacy; just a gentle hint that Catahoula did not allow negroes. An intimation to the employer followed, that a repetition would be followed by a rifle aimed at him, not the keg this time, and he was wise enough to see the point. We have heard these people spoken of as being dangerous characters. They might be such, if misunderstood and their prejudices rudely affronted. But we found them a simple, warm-hearted, scrupulously honest set, with whom we thoroughly enjoyed a week's companionship, and expect to go back for another one. Their interests are limited, their viewpoint may not permit an extensive outlook, but their doors are always open to the stranger, the coffee-pot on the stove, and the best they have is offered him with a courtesy that never fails. They take little interest in politics, newspapers we did not once see there, and schooling is limited. Mrs. S. did not go to church in summer, because that would involve the putting on of shoes--though she did say that if she chose to go she would not hesitate to march into church in her bare feet, let those dislike it who might! But do not imagine that these worthy people are deficient in common sense. Mr. S. was perfectly aware that the timber he does not cut now is worth three times what is was when he took up this land, and will be worth more every year. This pine must reproduce itself with marvelous rapidity. We saw the furrows of the old cotton cultivation running away back through the woods, in which the trees were about ready for the saw. There is plenty of land still open for homesteading, but one must hunt it up for himself, as the government gives absolutely no information to inquirers, except that township maps cost a dollar apiece. If you want to know what townships of what parishes have land available, just get on your horse and explore, till you find out. The land companies make amends for this. There are about ten million acres of land in Louisiana, and of this over six millions are offered for sale in one little pamphlet before me. Much of this is sea marsh, which ought to produce sea island cotton. We could find no one who knew of its ever having been tried, but presume there is some reason for not raising it, as this is a very profitable crop, selling for double the market price of ordinary cotton. Why is there so much land for sale? For we did not meet a solitary man, northern or southern by birth, who seemed to contemplate leaving the state. The truth is there are not enough inhabitants to utilize the land. Millions of acres are lying idle for want of workers. Every inducement is extended to men to settle here and utilize the resources now going to waste. The South needs "Yankees." An ex-Confederate, discussing Baton Rouge, said: "A dozen live Yankees would regenerate this town, and make fortunes at it." They would pave the streets, cover in the sewers, build up the vacant spots in the heart of the city, supply mechanical work at less inhuman prices than are now charged, and make this rich and intelligent community as attractive in appearance as the citizens are socially. One such man has made a new city of Alexandria. He has made the people pave their streets, put in modern sewerage, water, electricity, etc., build most creditable structures to house the public officials, and in a word, has "hustled the South," till it had to put him temporarily out of office until it got its "second wind." In consequence Alexandria has no rival in the state except Shreveport. And the people like it; they brag of Walsh and his work, take immense pride in the progress of their beautiful city, and have developed into keen, wide-awake Americans of the type that has built up our country. It seems essential for the incentive, the leaven, to come from outside; but this is the lesson of history. Xanthippus did nothing for Corinth, but aroused Syracuse. Marion Sims vegetated in comparative obscurity till he left the South, to become the leading surgeon of New York and Paris. What would Ricord have been had he remained in America? The interchange of blood, the entering of a stranger among any community, acts as a disturbing element, that arouses action. And without action there is no progress. The most promising indication is that this seems fully comprehended in the South, and the immigrant is welcomed. It is well to be cautious about accepting as literally true the statements made to strangers. People will exaggerate; and the temptation to fill up a more or less gullible "tenderfoot" is often irresistible. Thus, we are told that connections between white men and negro women are quite common; in fact, almost a matter of course. And these connections are defended, as exalting the white woman to such a pinnacle that the seduction of one would be followed by lynching the seducer; while there is no wrong done the negro woman, because she has no moral sense in such matters, to be injured. Instead of feeling that she is "lost," she brags of her "conquest." But several facts lead us to doubt the literal truth of these statements. We note that the same tales are told in illustration that we heard when here five years ago. No new material seems to have appeared in that time. Then again, the mulatto is exceedingly rare; the negroes met on the streets and in the fields being pure black. These and similar facts lead us to receive the above accounts with a very large grain of salt. CHAPTER XXVI. FROM WINTER TO SUMMER IN A DAY. March 11. 1904.--We left Chicago at 6 p. m. The ground was covered with snow, the winds cutting through our clothes, and winter still held his own relentlessly. By the time we reached Cairo the change was evident; and next evening at the same hour we were well down in Mississippi, and our clothes oppressively warm. Trees were in full leaf, and numerous cold frames showed that trucking was in full operation. Rain set in and followed us to Memphis, but then the sky cleared. We found full summer at New Orleans, the grass in the parks green, the foliage that of midsummer. At Baton Rouge the violets were about over, but the roses were enough to discourage one from ever again trying to raise them in Chicago. Why do people suffer from the winter north when they need not do so? Many shiver and pine for the warm days, during this month of blustering cold, when everyone has had enough winter and longs for spring, while all they have to do is to jump on a train and in 24 hours they are in this delightful clime. When need compels, we must take our medicine without a grumble; but to many all that keeps them north in March is inertia and thoughtlessness. There are many little businesses carried on in these river boats. We saw many trading boats which supplied ordinary necessaries and carried small freights, or gathered up skins and other little products not worth the while of steamers to stop for. Photographers ply up and down the streams; a fortune teller makes good profits; a quack sells liniments and other drugs, and does a bit of unlicensed practice; and very likely some boats sell whisky. We did not hear of an evangelist, yet there seems to be a need for some work of this sort. One man sold roofing paint along the river for good profits. The South would do well to study the practical applications of the maxim: "Put yourself in his place." The Italians keep goats as the Irish do pigs. Both forage for a living, and supply an important place in the social economies. The goat is to the Italian a matter of course. But a doctor was annoyed by the animals, and told his Italian neighbor he must keep his goats shut up. He did not do so, and so the doctor shot the goats. Next morning, as the doctor passed the Italian's stand, the latter drew a pistol, remarking: "You shoot my goat; I shoot you," and shot the doctor dead. This nearly precipitated a race riot. If there was no law against allowing goats to run at large, the Italian was strictly within his rights. It was up to the doctor to fence his premises. If there was such a law, the doctor should have called on the proper officers to enforce it. In either case he was in the wrong; and the habit of taking the law in one's own hands was responsible for the tragedy. The discontent of the negro with plantation life and work is not, we are everywhere told, a matter of wages. Then why is there no intelligent attempt made to study the question with a view to devising means of attaching him to the place? He is a child in many respects, and amusement goes far in rendering him contented and happy. Were he these, he would not be restless to leave the plantations. A barbecue next week, a dance Saturday night, a little fun in expectation, would go far to keep him quiet, and need not cost more than a trifle of what it would be worth. The problem seems easy enough, but we have heard of no attempt to solve it on such lines. CHAPTER XXVII. VOYAGE ENDED. And here our voyage ended. The doctor moved ashore to join his wife and children. Millie went to St. Louis, and Jim to Oklahoma; while Frank and Jake remained on the boat until it was finally disposed of. Frank had worked on the engine until he had mastered her, and found the difficulties. She had never been properly installed, so we got blue prints from her builders and reset the engine in accordance with them. We got new batteries, a block tin pipe in place of the iron one which took the gasoline from the tank to the engine, and rust from which had figured largely in the troubles we experienced. The pump had been literally cut to pieces by the mud in the river water and a new one was obtained. When thus refitted, she ran without a balk; and we really believe a child could have managed her. She turned out to be what had been claimed for her, remarkably fast. In fact, we left her with the determination that our next engine should be a Fay and Bowen, also. She was sold to a resident of Baton Rouge, for $300; the alterations having cost the Doctor about $50, in addition to the boys' wages. One thing we learned--never order work down here without a distinct agreement as to the work and the price. Frank ordered a little fixing at a local shop, for which he said $6 was a liberal price; but the man brought in a bill of over $16. The small boats, guns and shells were sent back to Chicago, most of the furniture sold for trivial sums, and the cabin boat left in the charge of Mr. S. S. Lewis, of the Lewis Lumber Co. for sale. All attempts to obtain a tow up the river failed. The big coal companies' agents referred us to the home office, but said the price would not be less than $300. We heard that the captains of tow boats going up would take us up for a trifle, but we did not find one of these chances, after waiting two months. Some men talked of buying the cabin and launch and taking it around to the Bayou Manchac for a hunting and fishing lodge, but nothing came of it. We might have sold by bringing the outfit around to the Gulf ports, but had no leisure for this. A plan was suggested to load the cabin with palmettoes and take them to St. Louis to serve as decorative plants at the Fair; but the Superintendent of Audubon Park said the plants would not live, that when the root of a palm was cut it died back to the stalk, and it was doubtful if a new growth of roots would take place. But men who try to extirpate the palms say they are unkillable; and the two we took up and replanted in the boat were still living after two months, and had out two new leaves each. Possibly we might have made a good thing, as the boat could have carried 1,000 good-sized palms. At New Orleans we hear these cabin boats are so plentiful they cannot be given away. The _Desplaines_ was sold there for a good price. [Illustration: BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS.] CHAPTER XXVIII. DANGERS AND DELIGHTS. A few words as to certain dangers that might be expected on such a trip. We were never annoyed by loafers, tramps, or unpleasant visitors of any sort, with the one exception of the probable river pirates whose visit is described. At the towns people let us alone, and those who were interested enough to call on us were entirely unobjectionable. Of course our numbers may have had some influence. We never had any malaria or other febrile affection, and most of our drug supply was superfluous. Half a dozen articles would comprise the list for any ordinary party. During the entire trip we never saw a snake, alligator, centipede, scorpion or any other venomous reptile. Flies and mosquitoes left us at the first frost, and our mosquito hats and veils were never used. The other insect pests of the south--fleas, gnats, redbugs, ticks and jiggers--began to show up in April, after we had left the boat and were living on shore. We were out in the wrong season for fish, turtles and frogs, and in fact found difficulty in procuring any fish at all, excepting carp, for our table. But a little more activity on our part would probably have remedied this--we did not try to fish much. So with the shooting--we did not try very hard, and never shot more than we could eat without waste. It was our impression that the South fairly bristles with opportunities for business. There is plenty of cheap land, room for hundreds of thousands of farmers and lumbermen, dairies, general stores, supply houses of every sort. Fruit, berries, garden truck of all sorts, nuts, milk, butter, chickens and ducks, eggs, and many other articles might be raised and a market found for them along the river. There is a very short supply of nearly all these products, right where they could be raised. The old prejudice against a white man's working alongside a negro seems to be dying out. We saw men of both colors working together too often for it to be in any degree exceptional. Negro mechanics in New Orleans get from four to seven dollars a day, and are very independent as to their work. Many large planters rent small lots to negroes, others to Italians, and sell on easy terms to either whenever they wish to buy. So far has the disdain of manual work subsided that we were informed that in one of the most prominent (white) universities many of the pupils support themselves in part by waiting on the table, washing dishes, and in other ways. Assuredly it is not now looked upon as degrading to any white man in the south, that he should work with his hands, if need be. If there is any prejudice now against northern men who come to settle in the south, it kept itself out of our sight. Instead, we find immigration agents established by the state, to set before the men of the north the advantages they can secure by coming south. Of the numerous northern men we met and talked with, who had come south, but one spoke of encountering prejudice--and we strongly suspect he had given good cause. Many northern men, like the writer, have married southern girls, and thus the lines of separation between the sections are becoming confused and indistinct. One Indiana man, who had come south, expressed what may be taken for the usual view, as we received it: "Any northern man who has $3,000 is a fool if he does not bring it down here and make his fortune in ten years out of it." And this is the man for whom there are such abundant openings here--the one who has a small capital and good business sense. * * * * * The River--that great, wonderful river. We descended its current at the time the water was at the lowest; but the impression of its giant power grew on us daily; the resistless sweep of the current, the huge boils rising from the depths, the whirlpools; but above all the cutting away of the banks. We soon discovered that levees are not meant as restraints of this erosion--the river flows how and where it will--but to protect against the flood waters. From Alton to the gulf there is scarcely a stone to be seen, and the current flounders about through the soft alluvium, like a whale in blankets. When the cutting approaches the levees new ones are constructed further back; and the intervening country is handed over to its fluvial master. The commerce of the river systems is a thing of the past, but a shadow of what it was about wartime. The railways carry the freights now. But how is it more people do not travel by water? Years ago we went by steamer from Cincinnati to Louisville, and thoroughly enjoyed the trip--the quiet, absence of rattle and smoke, the lovely panorama floating by, the music, the well-served meals, and the leisurely, cultured folk who were really taking time to travel pleasantly, instead of the hustle of limited expresses. Surely, the only reason more people do not enjoy this mode of travel is that they do not know of it. But when one floats on the bosom of the great river there grows up a certain fascination for it. We saw one cabin boat in which an elderly man was said to have lived for years, alone. A man of wealth, who could have utilized Pullmans had he chosen. One can readily comprehend this; for long will it be ere the beating of the waves against the side of the boat ceases from our dreams. A little cabin boat that one could manage, dogs for the only companions, guns and rods, and the long, quiet sojourn where the coal and other trusts matter not a whit--and where could hermit find such a delightful retreat! Then for the elderly man who has outlived his family and the period of active participation in the world's warfare. What a home for a group of such men, who could be company for each other. CHAPTER XXIX. RESULTS. The Doctor enjoyed every moment of the trip. While we have recorded all the accidents and drawbacks, the reader must not imagine that they were really serious or detracted much from the pleasure. If we fished and hunted but little it was because we found so much of interest and delight that the time was filled without these pastimes. We did not use our wheels much for the same reason--we had so much going on that we rarely felt the desirability of more means of occupying our time. The work went on well, and in this respect the plan worked out as expected. There were abundance of time and few interruptions; time for study, for putting the thoughts on paper; and the little breaks when called on deck, never disarranged the mental machinery. The exercise was most beneficial. Chopping or sawing wood, and helping with the boat work, brought the digestion into good condition, and we came home much stronger than we left. The same may be said of the children. The boy enjoyed it all; the girl did well, but naturally got tired and longed for her little friends. Both improved in physique and broadened their ideas, and laid in a store of knowledge. They learned much and were not roughened in manners. The invalid did pretty well and would have done much better had our original plan been followed; but the delay caused by building the new boat allowed us to be caught in the November storms on the Illinois, and then it was a constant hurry to get south. Toward the last she tired of the boat and longed for the flesh-pots of Egypt--other women to talk clothes to, dry goods stores, the luxuries of civilization. Few women have enough of the gipsy in their blood to stand seven months' travel without ennui. The experience of the _Desplaines_ showed the wisdom of beginning with a clear understanding with the crew and paying them fair wages. They took the crew on an indefinite arrangement, paying no wages. When they fell in with us their crew became discontented, constant quarreling resulted, and the crew broke up. Naturally, when they found our men receiving wages for easier work than theirs, dissatisfaction resulted. Don't go on such an expedition with the crew on a "no wages" basis. Pay fairly, or else make up the party on the basis of equal participation in the expenses; but don't mix matters. Don't buy an old boat. There is a satisfaction in knowing that the timbers beneath you are sound and put together in the strongest possible manner, and amply able to withstand the fiercest trials they can possibly receive. Especially if women and children are to form part of your crew, you want to feel easy on the score of your boat. Have the boat built at a place like Henry, where well-selected lumber and honest work will go in the building. Have it brought to Chicago and start in the boat here. Do not have a boat more than sixteen feet wide, outside measure, that is to pass through the canal. Have the roof thoroughly watertight and the crevices about the base of the cabin protected by quarter-rounds and calking so that there will be no water leaking in there when waves wash over the deck. Have a good large open deck in front, for there you will live in pleasant weather. Get a good wood-burning stove for cooking--gasoline and oil are too expensive, when you get wood for nothing. Select your party with care; not everyone who goes into such a trip with enthusiasm will wear well, when living half a year in a boat with you. Leave out people who expect the luxuries of a well-appointed hotel. Limit the clothing for men and women to two suits each; one for the boat and one for town. You may not disturb the latter for months. If you can possibly avoid it, take no one in the party who drinks liquor even in moderation--certainly not in the crew. Every modification of this opens the door to trouble. If a guest takes his morning eye-opener the crew will want to do so; and some one of them may be of the sort that can not taste it without getting crazy drunk. It seemed to us that anyone of a mercantile turn could do a good business along the river; pay expenses and make money. Everywhere along the great river people boarded our boat, asking what we were selling. The men asked for whisky, the women for dry goods or dressmaking. At one landing a trader sold eighteen skiffs. On the Atchafalaya we passed a cabinboat bearing in large letters the title: "The White Elephant Saloon." We heard that this boat had given the authorities much trouble, but can not vouch for the truth of the report. She was selling liquor, evidently, and we gave her a wide berth. Melville was a temperance town, but there was a shanty across the river known as "the Goose," where liquor was sold, and a skiff ferry to it was well patronized. The owner was building a large cabinboat at a cost of $1,000, but for what purpose we could only presume; and our presumption was that it would be a profitable investment. To make a similar trip leave Chicago between the 15th and 30th of September, provide for towage through the canal to La Salle, and float down the rivers, stopping when the weather is unpleasant. You should take a tow from Kampsville to the Mississippi, as there is little current from the Illinois into it. Thereafter even so small an engine as our 3-horse-power will suffice, as you will not be hurried and can await favorable winds. The larger the boat the more men will be required. Ours was right for four men; and that is a good number for a party. There will be no danger of annoyance, while a smaller party might meet some ugly customers. With every additional member the chances for disagreement increase--and life is too short for quarreling. On reaching the mouth of Red River, ascend that stream till you can reach Catahoula Lake, if you are after ducks and geese; though the old river-bed lakes along the Mississippi will furnish plenty. But if deer and other large game attract you, descend the Atchafalaya to Alabama bayou; then pass through Grand Lake to the gulf and coast around to the string of resorts along the coast from Bay St. Louis to Pensacola and the Florida coast, if so long a trip is desired. If you ascend the rivers you will need tows, unless your power is large. The results of the trip to the writer may be summed up as: Better work, better done, and more of it, than would have been possible in the same time at the city home; a renewal of vitality, digestion improved, years rolled back so that again has come that sense of capacity to work without limit, that has not been present for years; and a crowd of pleasant recollections that will endure for life. Would we like to go again? Just give us the chance! 
45558	----	Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_. A caret (^) is used to indicate that the following character is printed as a superscript. The Table of Contents was not present in the original text and has been produced for the reader's convenience. The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain. [Illustration: COL. P. SIDNEY POST. LIEUT. COL. C. H. FREDRICK. LIEUT. COL. CLAYTON HALL. MAJ. J. M. STOOKEY. D^R. H. J. MAYNARD. ADJT. FRANK CLARK. CAPT. MINNETT. CAPT. J. C. HENDERSON. Lith. by W^m. BRADEN & C^o. Indianapolis.] THE HISTORY OF THE FIFTY-NINTH REGIMENT ILLINOIS VOLUNTEERS, OR A THREE YEARS' CAMPAIGN THROUGH MISSOURI, ARKANSAS, MISSISSIPPI, TENNESSEE AND KENTUCKY, WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY, TOWNS, SKIRMISHES AND BATTLES--INCIDENTS, CASUALTIES AND ANECDOTES MET WITH ON THE WAY; AND EMBELLISHED WITH TWENTY-FOUR LITHOGRAPHED PORTRAITS OF THE OFFICERS OF THE REGIMENT. BY DR. D. LATHROP. HALL & HUTCHINSON, PRINTERS AND BINDERS, INDIANAPOLIS, IND. 1865. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-five, BY DR. DAVID LATHROP, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the District of Indiana. HALL & HUTCHINSON, STEREOTYPERS, PRINTERS AND BINDERS. INTRODUCTION. Early in the month of May, 1861, C. H. Frederick and David McGibbon, two prominent citizens of St. Louis, Mo., called on General Lyon, and proffered to raise a regiment of infantry, to serve for three years, or during the war. C. H. Frederick, having previously served his country in a military capacity, and being familiar with military tactics, was deemed by General Lyon, a very suitable person to engage in the undertaking, and immediately authorized to recruit and organize a regiment, and to have command of the same. Colonel Frederick, at the breaking out of the rebellion, was engaged in a lucrative business in St. Louis, but at the call of his country he sacrificed his profitable interests, and gave his energies to the preservation of the Union. After an immense amount of difficulty, Colonel Frederick and his co-worker, Major McGibbon, working night and day, succeeded in enlisting enough loyal friends in and around St. Louis, to enable them to accomplish their purpose. By the middle of June three companies, and a nucleus of the fourth, was collected and rendezvoused at the St. Louis arsenal. Captains Hale, Renfrew, Veatch, and Elliott commanding. About this time Captain S. W. Kelly was induced to become a recruiting officer, to assist in filling up the regiment. By the 24th of June he had recruited seventy men in his own neighborhood, and on that day an election was held, and S. W. Kelly was unanimously elected Captain, John Kelly First Lieutenant, and H. J. Maynard Second Lieutenant. On the 6th day of August, 1861, Captain Kelly numbered on the muster roll of his company, (F,) at the St. Louis Arsenal, seventy-one men; and through his influence three other companies had joined in the organization of the regiment. Captain Stookey, of Belleville, Ill., had recruited a large company of men for the service, and was now induced to join this regiment, thus making nine companies in rendezvous at the Arsenal on the 6th day of August. As soon as the first three companies were formed, and before they were uniformed, they were sent down to Cape Girardeau, Mo., that place being threatened by the enemy, to assist in building fortifications. As soon as the next three companies were mustered in, and before they were uniformed, they were ordered to Pilot Knob, Mo. Here they underwent great hardship, not having uniforms or blankets, and scarcely anything to make them comfortable. The other three companies on their arrival at St. Louis, were sent with Colonel Frederick up the South-west branch of the Pacific railroad, to protect the bridges, etc., in order to keep that road open for the retreat of General Lyon's army after their defeat at Wilson's Creek, Mo. This work being accomplished, Colonel Frederick returned to St. Louis, and after overcoming many difficulties succeeded in getting the nine companies back to the arsenal. The next thing to be done, was to have them uniformed and drilled. This, also, was perseveringly and successfully attended to by the Colonel and Major McGibbon. The men and the officers with one or two exceptions, were sadly deficient in a knowledge of military tactics or drills, and Colonel Frederick consequently took upon himself the task of drilling the regiment daily. In a short space of time he succeeded in making them quite well acquainted with company and battalion drills. About the 1st of September 1861, Colonel Frederick and Major McGibbon, in order to promote the welfare of the regiment and secure good to the Union cause, tendered the command to Captain J. C. Kelton, then A.A.G. for General Fremont. Captain Kelton, after a time, accepted the command with the proviso that Frederick should have the Lieut. Colonelcy, and McGibbon the Majority. This arrangement was speedily confirmed by an election of the officers of the regiment, and the organization became complete,--one company only being required to make a full regiment. Upon Colonel Kelton assuming command, he procured the Tenth Company, viz. Company K, Captain Snyder, of Chicago, Ills., commanding, and this completed the Ninth Missouri, Volunteer Regiment. Company K, was organized in the city of Chicago in the month of September, 1861. A majority of the men were recruited by Lieutenant Abram J. Davids. It was originally intended as a company of sappers and miners, to be attached to Bissell's Engineer Regiment of the West. At least that was the inducement held out to the men. On the 5th of September the company was not quite full, and its services being needed immediately, forty-five men were taken from the Forty-Second Illinois, (then organizing at Chicago), and enrolled with the company on its muster into service on the 6th day of September, making an aggregate of ninety-seven men. Their camp equipage was drawn on the night of the 6th, and on the morning of the 7th marched under the command of Captain Henry N. Snyder, to the Chicago, Alton and St. Louis depot, and took the cars for St. Louis. They arrived at Illinoistown the evening of the same day, and in the morning crossed the Mississippi, and marched through St. Louis to Benton barracks; they here learned that they were to be attached to the Ninth Regiment Missouri Volunteer Infantry. It caused considerable dissatisfaction in the company, not that they had any objection to the regiment, but they wished to enter the arm of service for which they were recruited. Notwithstanding, there was no disobedience of orders. On the 2d of September they were armed with Harper's Ferry rifles, and well equipped throughout; no company in the service ever started out better supplied with ordnance and camp equipage. On the afternoon of the 22d of September they left Benton barracks, marched to the depot, and took the cars en route for Jefferson City, where they arrived the next evening. They joined the Ninth Missouri on the following morning, and embarked with them on the steamer War Eagle, September 30th, bound for Boonville. On the 22d of September, 1861, the regiment was ordered to Jefferson City, Mo., and on the 26th again ordered to Boonville, Mo. After remaining in camp a short time, Colonel Kelton was placed in command of a brigade, under General Pope. The brigade consisted of the Ninth Missouri, Lieut. Colonel Frederick, commanding; Thirty-Seventh Illinois, Colonel Julius White, commanding, and the Fifth Iowa, Colonel Worthington, commanding. While at the St. Louis Arsenal, two companies under the command of Lieut. Colonel C. H. Frederick, were sent by Colonel F. P. Blair, up the Mississippi river to Howell's Island, where he captured five valuable steamboats from the hands of the rebels, who were about to use them to cross their forces to the south side, to join the rebel General Price. The total value of property thus secured from the hands of the rebels, amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He also skirmished over the island in search of a rebel camp, and by this movement it was effectually broken up. Those two companies were composed of picked men from the different companies of the regiment. Contents CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. CHAPTER XX. CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV. CHAPTER XXVI. CHAPTER XXVII. CHAPTER XXVIII. CHAPTER XXIX. CHAPTER XXX. HISTORY OF THE FIFTY-NINTH REGIMENT, ILLINOIS VOLUNTEER INFANTRY. CHAPTER I. The Fifty Ninth Illinois Regiment entered the service of the United States, on the 6th day of September, 1861, under the cognomen of Ninth Missouri, at St. Louis, in that State. At that time the State of Illinois had filled her quota of volunteers, and would not receive the services of the patriotic young men who had collected themselves together for the purpose of preserving the glorious Union, then in danger of being severed. The call of the President for seventy-five thousand volunteers, as well as that for forty-two thousand, had been so speedily filled by men whose business engagements, and perhaps entire want of business, permitted to enter the service without much sacrifice on their part, excluded, for the time being, these noble men from entering the service in the name of their own State. Although disappointed, they were still determined to devote their services to their country in some useful field of labor. Missouri was the most convenient and available State for this purpose, and was willing to accept of their aid, and hence the companies were organized into the Ninth Regiment of Missouri Volunteers, on the 6th of September, 1861. General Fremont was in command of the department of Missouri, and as soon as the regiment was fully equipped, he ordered that it should report to General Pope, at Jefferson City, Mo. In the best of spirits the men left the old barracks and marched to the river for embarkation. The old and rickety steamer War Eagle lay in waiting, with steam up, to receive them. A very pleasant and lively time was passed in going up, and on their arrival at Jefferson City, a pretty camping ground received them, to await further orders. Here the regiment lay in camp until the 30th of September, when they were again embarked for farther up the river. At Jefferson City the regiment was joined by a pioneer company of ninety-seven men, and by a squad of twenty men recruited by Captain Kelly, of Company F, who fell into ranks as the regiment was re-embarking on the same old War Eagle, for "up the river." The embarkation of a regiment, was, at that early day of the war, an exciting scene. Never before had such scenes been witnessed by the citizens of our inland river towns, nor had the men of the regiment ever before exhibited themselves to the gaze of the populace in such a display as they now did. The regiment was first marched in column down to the wharf, and ordered to stack arms. Then, as the way was open, one company at a time was marched to the boat and took quarters as directed. The quarters of each soldier consisted of just room enough to stand, or sit upon his knapsack on the floor, selected somewhere within the region of his own company. The regiment as it marched to the landing, to the time of the fife and drum, attracted the notice of the whole city. Its appearance was really captivating. The uniform being all new and unsoiled, and consisting of a closely fitting jacket of fine gray cloth, and pants of the same material, looked exceedingly neat and pleasing to the eye, and their knapsacks, cartridge boxes and guns, all new, and glistering in the sunshine, caused a sensation indescribable. No regiment has ever entered the service with more éclat than the Ninth Missouri. The men, wagons, horses and mules, all being huddled indiscriminately on board, the bell rang, and the old boat steamed up the turbid Missouri. During the night the boat rounded to at Boonville, Mo., and the regiment went into camp here for fourteen days, for the purpose of collecting supplies and fitting up for a campaign into the interior. Boonville is a pretty town, of perhaps one thousand inhabitants, and is situated on the right bank of the Missouri River. It seems to be quite a flourishing place, and has something of an inland trade. The country in the vicinity is good and under good cultivation, and the improvements on the adjoining farms are excellent. The land is considerably broken, but very productive. It is a most splendid fruit country. No country in the world can produce larger and finer apples and peaches, than that around Boonville, as the soldiers of the Ninth can testify. It is also a fine grape region and can boast of many fine vineyards. Wine is made here to some extent, as the Ninth can also testify, for they had the pleasure of tasting some of it, as well as having plenty of fruit while in camp here. A majority of the citizens are professedly friends to the cause of the Union, and are disposed to treat the soldier kindly and with hospitality, so long, at least, as the Union army is in the neighborhood. There are some who turn the cold shoulder and show a disposition to insult and annoyance, but they are more numerous in the country than in town, and this is more to our liking than otherwise; for it is but little we need from the citizens in town, but from the country we need mules, horses and forage, and confiscation is now the order of the day. As soon as the regiment had comfortably arranged camp, a detail was made to go into the country prospecting for contraband stock. There were twelve or fifteen wagons to each regiment to be furnished with mules or horses, at the rate of six to a team. The boys were not many days in finding stock enough to supply the demand, and in doing so they found some amusement for themselves, and received many deep and bitter curses from the owners of the stock. Some four miles down the river, lived a wealthy old rebel sympathizer, who possessed several mules and some fine horses, which the boys took a fancy to, and concluded they must have. The old gentleman stubbornly refused to give them up, and made threats to shoot any one who attempted to interfere with his property. The prospecting party were too few in number to catch the mules and bring them off, so they started one of their number to camp after reinforcements, while the others remained to guard the stock, and amuse the old secesh with some of their Union arguments. The old man, at first, seemed very uneasy, but after a time quieted himself so as to apparently enjoy the society of the boys very much. Thus time passed until night approached, and supper was announced. The boys partook of the bounties of the table, and again engaged the old gentleman in conversation, and thus the hours went by till bed time. An invitation to retire was proffered them, which they politely refused, preferring rather to bunk it on the floor, where they were, than to indulge the luxury of sheets and feathers. If the old gentleman entertained any suspicions of roguery on the part of the boys, he gave no indications of the fact, but quietly wished them a good night's rest, and withdrew to his own apartment for the night. About three in the morning, the reinforcements arrived from camp, and quietly proceeded to let out and drive the mules off to town, while the boys on guard bridled and saddled four good horses and joined the detachment. Early in the morning, the old farmer presented himself to Colonel Kelton with his complaints. Patiently the Colonel listened to him, and then gave him vouchers for his confiscated property, to be paid if he should prove himself a faithful, good citizen of the United States. Thus, in the course of ten days, was the wagons all supplied with good teams. Other preparations for a campaign being nearly completed, the regiment was in daily anticipation of a move. The sick were sent to town to be left at hospital. Dr. H. J. Maynard, First Assistant Surgeon of the regiment, was assigned to the duty of fitting up quarters for their reception, and with energy of purpose and goodness of heart he performed the duty. Fifty of the regiment were unfitted to start on the campaign on account of sickness. There were many cases of measles. This disease had attacked some of the boys at Jefferson City; three of whom were left in hospital there. Many of the cases left in charge of Dr. Maynard, were critical, but by his kind care and good treatment, speedily recovered. The regiment was now in good condition for a march, and the boys all anxious to try the realities of a campaign. The weather was delightful and the roads good. Price and his army was somewhere in the country, and every one desired to be after him. Drilling had been faithfully practiced since coming to Boonville, and the men began to feel like old soldiers in military tactics, and were confident if they could overtake Price he would be defeated, and the war in Missouri would be speedily terminated. Orders finally came to march, and on the morning of the 12th of October, all was hurry and confusion in preparation for the start. Tents were to be struck and the wagons loaded. Knapsacks were to be packed and comfortably fitted to the back; haversacks to be filled with plenty of rations; wild mules to be caught from the corral and hitched to the wagons; and last, though not least, pretty apple girls and wash women to be settled with before leaving. All was accomplished in due time, and about noon the brigade moved out. Three regiments composed the brigade: the Ninth Missouri, the Fifth Iowa and the Thirty-seventh Illinois--three as good regiments as ever shouldered a musket. Colonel Kelton was in command of the brigade. While in camp here, two boys who had joined the regiment at St. Louis, deserted, and were never heard of. Their names are now forgotten, as they should be, and they themselves are now perhaps, if living, no more than wandering vagabonds. CHAPTER II. On Sunday, the 12th day of October, 1861, the brigade bid adieu to the attractions and comforts of civilized society, for the long period of three years or during the war. Little did they think, as they marched through the streets of Boonville, that it would require three years of sacrifice for the government of the United States to put down so insignificant a rebellion as that which was now raging through its borders. They doubted not of the ability of our armies now in Missouri, to drive Price from the State, and restore peace in a few months. Their confidence in Fremont, in their own commanders and in themselves was unbounded. Their belief that the rebels would not withstand an equal contest, was well founded and did not diminish their ardor or their hopes of a speedy termination of the rebellion. They looked forward to a campaign of a few months duration, and then to a return to their homes, with peace attending them on the way. But how sadly were they to be disappointed! They supposed the policy upon which the war was to be conducted was fully established, and that all there was to do was to whip out the rebels, who were at this time in arms against them. They did not anticipate that time, as it passed, would develop new schemes and new policies until the whole became entirely revolutionized, and magnified into the most terrible rebellion the world ever witnessed. They did not think that while they were going to battle with the enemy in their front, the Government at Washington was changing its policy, so that instead of one they would have ten rebels to fight, and instead of a six months campaign they would have a five years war. They had read the closing words of the President's inaugural address, to-wit: "Physically speaking, we can not separate. We can not remove our respective sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. A husband and wife may be divorced and go out of the presence and beyond the reach of each other; but the different parts of our country can not do this. They can not but remain face to face; and intercourse, either amicable or hostile, must continue between them. Is it possible, then, to make that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory after separation than before? Can aliens make treaties easier than friends can make laws? Can treaties be more faithfully enforced between aliens, than laws can among friends? Suppose you go to war; you can not fight always, and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical questions, as to terms of intercourse, are again upon you. "To the extent of my ability I shall take care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the States. Doing this I deem to be only a simple duty on my part. I shall perfectly perform it, so far as is practicable, unless my rightful masters, the American people, shall withhold the requisition, or, in some authoritative manner, direct the contrary. I trust this will not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared purpose of the Union, that it will constitutionally defend and maintain itself. In doing this there need be no bloodshed or violence, and there shall be none, unless it is forced upon the national authority. The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy and possess the property and places belonging to the government, and collect the duties and imports. But _beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there will be no invasion--no using of force against or among the people anywhere_. "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. You have no oath registered in Heaven to destroy the government: while I shall have the most solemn one to preserve, protect and defend it." And they had all confidence in the promises of the President, that the "laws of the Union should be faithfully executed in _all_ the States," and that the power confided to him would be used to "hold, occupy and possess the property and places belonging to the government, and collect the duties and imposts; but beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there will be no invasion--no using of force against or among the people anywhere." And they knew that Congress had voted, for the use of the President, one hundred thousand more men, and one hundred million more dollars than he had requested, to make the contest a short and decisive one," and they knew that that number of men was about "one-tenth, of those, of proper age, within the regions where apparently all are willing to engage," and that the "sum is less than a twenty-third part of the value owned by the men who seem ready to devote the whole." Knowing these things, the members of the Ninth Missouri marched out from Boonville with light hearts and heavy knapsacks, without a murmur. They knew that while they were under Fremont, they were entirely able to destroy every vestige of rebellion in Missouri. Over three hundred thousand soldiers, in other fields, were waiting orders from the Federal government, or were in active service; and that sixty odd vessels, with one thousand one hundred and seventy-four guns, were in commission, and twenty-three steam gun boats were on the stocks rapidly approaching completion, if not already completed. That sixty regiments of Federal troops were encamped near Washington, and that every armory in the land was at work night and day. Knowing all these things, why should they not anticipate a speedy termination to their soldier life, and enjoy in anticipation home society once more? Alas, little did they suppose that they themselves were to be the instruments in the hands of the President to work out the "salvation of the Almighty." It is said that Governor Yates, of Illinois, telegraphed to the President at a certain time, to "call out one million of men, instead of three hundred thousand, that he might make quick work of the rebellion." The President replied: "Hold on Dick; let's wait and see the salvation of the Almighty." Had the President deemed it policy to have adopted Dick's advice, the rebellion might have been quelled, but perhaps the cause would not have been removed; and our good, honest President has not only been aiming to quell the rebellion, but to remove the cause at the same time. Hence the instrumentality of the army in establishing the policy of the administration. As the army progressed in strength and military discipline, so did the views of the administration and people change in regard to what might be accomplished in the destruction of the _casus belli_. And hence the "military necessities." The brigade marched a few miles from town and bivouacked for the night. On the 13th and 14th it marched about twenty-eight miles, and went into camp near Syracuse. The country is here not so broken as at Boonville, and is under good cultivation, with neat and comfortable farm houses and barns dotting the whole landscape. The regiment lay in camp here on the 15th, and on the morning of the 16th, struck tents and took up the line of march for the rebel army. Price is reported to be about seventy-five miles to the south-west, erecting fortifications. Since leaving Boonville, some of those who were indisposed on starting, had become so sick as to be unable to proceed, and were consequently taken to Syracuse, and left there to be disposed of by the Medical Director in charge. From Syracuse they were sent to St. Louis, to the hospital. When leaving camp, the writer being detained until after the regiment had moved, came across a young man who had laid himself down by the road-side to die, as he said. He was taking the measles and was quite sick. The Surgeon of the regiment, Dr. Hazlett, had overlooked, or been deceived in the appearance of this young man at the morning examination, and had ordered him to march with the regiment. This he was unable to do, and would have been left by the road-side if he had not been accidentally discovered. With some difficulty he was conveyed to Syracuse and left in hospital. The commander of his company was subsequently notified of his death in the St. Louis hospital. CHAPTER III. From the 16th to the 23d of October, the regiment continued its line of march daily. It moved in a south-western direction, crossing the Pacific railroad at Otterville. Otterville is a small town on the railroad, near the right bank of the Lamoine river. It numbers from three to five hundred inhabitants, most of whom are very indifferent to the Union cause. No manifestations of rejoicing were shown on the approach of the noble men who were coming to protect them from the ravages of the rebel army; no stars and stripes were spread to the breeze as they came in sight, but every one manifested a coolness which indicated very distinctly in which direction their sympathies lay. The country still continues to be very good. The farming lands are here under good cultivation and well improved. The soil is productive, and gives liberally into the hands of the cultivator. Every one seems to be prospering but somewhat discouraged at this time, as Price's army made rather heavy draws on their granaries and larders as he passed through here, and the Union army is now claiming a share of what they have left. There is yet an abundance to supply all demands, and no one need to suffer. The brigade passes through Otterville without halting, and none but a few stragglers have any thing to say to the citizens, either to aggravate or soothe them. The direction taken is towards Warsaw, on the Osage river, where, it is rumored, Price is entrenching. The routine of a campaign is now fully commenced. Reveille is sounded at five o'clock in the morning--all hands must then turn out to roll call--breakfast is cooked, and at seven the bugle sounds to fall in for the march. Two hours steady march follows, and then a rest of ten minutes, and _thus_ until twelve or fifteen miles is passed over, when, if wood and water is convenient, camp is selected, tents are pitched, supper is provided, retreat is sounded, and all becomes quiet for the night. Thus it was with the Ninth, until their arrival at Warsaw. There is nothing to enliven the monotony of the march but the lively jokes and sallies of wit of the boys, and the change of scenery through which they pass. The distance from Otterville to Warsaw, by the roads the regiment moved, is perhaps seventy miles, and the face of the country is considerably variegated. For the most part it is a level, unbroken region until you approach the bluffs of the Osage. The land is however rolling and enough diversified with hills and elevated peaks, to make it interesting to the traveler. On the 23d of October, the regiment went into camp two miles north of Warsaw, to await the construction of a military bridge across the Osage river. The Osage at this point is about three hundred yards wide, with abrupt high banks and a deep swift current, so that it is impossible to cross an army in any other way than by means of a strong substantial bridge. On the arrival of the division, as many "sappers and miners" and laborers as could be profitably employed, were set to work, and in forty-eight hours the bridge was ready for crossing. It was a very rude structure, but answered every purpose. At Warsaw other troops came in from other directions, and swelled the forces which were to cross at this point to quite a large army. Some arrived in the morning before the Ninth, and about ten thousand passed the regiment after it had gone into camp. The weather continues delightful, and regiments coming in and passing, with their bright guns and accoutrements, present a splendid and most cheering spectacle. There was great disappointment manifested by the troops on their arrival here and finding that Price was still on the wing. Here is where madame rumor had strongly entrenched the rebel army, and the boys had confidently expected to have a battle with him at this point. Their chagrin was great when they learned that he had still two or three weeks the start of them towards Arkansas. They were consoled somewhat by a probability that he might stop at Springfield and give them battle. They now felt that after being reinforced by so vast an army as seemed to have joined them here, they could whip the whole southern confederacy, before breakfast, some bright morning, if it could be found. Although disappointed, they were not discouraged, but were very eager for the pursuit to recommence. While laying here those who could get passes, and some who could not, went over to town, and spent the day in making observations. Warsaw was the first town the boys had any leisure or opportunity to visit since leaving Boonville, and it was quite a treat for them to chat with the citizens, and partake of their hospitalities. A few of them came back to camp pretty blue,--something besides water having been found in Warsaw,--and a few did not return until the next morning, having found some other attractions to detain them. Although there was quite a number of men reporting to the surgeon at the morning sick call, there were but few serious cases of disease in the regiment at this time. The seeds of the measles had produced its fruits and disappeared, and now the regiment was comparatively healthy. While laying here, news was received of the death of Johnson Kyle, of Company D, at Jefferson City. He was one of the three left there sick with the Measles, when the regiment started for Boonville. His name heads the list of deaths to be recorded by the regiment, after leaving St. Louis. John Burk, of Co. F, very soon followed him, and occupies the second place in that honored list. CHAPTER IV. On the morning of the 25th of October, the troops commenced crossing the river, and about 11 o'clock, A.M., the Ninth Missouri landed on the opposite shore, and halted an hour for dinner, and for stragglers to come up from Warsaw. Although orders against straggling was very strict, and the punishment threatened, severe, many of the soldiers fell out of ranks, and slipped off to town. Warsaw is situated on the left bank of the Osage river, and is the largest town passed through since leaving Boonville. There being no towns of any size within many miles of it, it has quite an extended country trade, and boasts of several large stores and business houses of different kinds. The rebels while here, two weeks since, supplied themselves with goods to a large amount, from two or three Union Stores which were in the town. The merchants and citizens here are still undecided as to which cause they should give their influence. They are all, however, willing to be let alone. No demonstrations of satisfaction or the contrary, was manifested while the army remained here. At 1 o'clock, the bugle sounded, and the line of march was again taken up and continued until the 30th, when the army went into camp for a day or two, at Humansville. The direction from Warsaw to Humansville, is southward, and the fear of the men now was, that the rebels were making for Arkansas. Rumor again had it that they were fortifying somewhere between here and Springfield, Missouri; but the boys did not credit it. Nothing reliable could be obtained of their whereabouts, and Arkansas appeared to be the most inviting place for a fleeing army. At any rate, it was evident that they had so far, fled as fast as they had been pursued. The country from the Osage to this point is poor, broken and rocky. It seems as though nature intended this as the stone quarry for the universe. Here is stone enough to supply the United States with building material for centuries. The roads are all stone, the hills are solid rock, and the fields are stone. There is very little tillable lands south of the Osage, until within the vicinity of Humansville. There are a few farms, and occasionally a small town, but they are for the most part deserted. The inhabitants, perhaps, have gone south with Price. Quincy, the largest town on the road, is entirely deserted; the citizens all being rebels. The only incident of note, during the march from the Osage, to Humansville, was the return to the army of Major White and his Prairie Scouts. On the 30th of September, Price evacuated Lexington, and commenced a retreat to the south. He left a rebel guard there in charge of some Union prisoners. On the 15th of October, Major White, commanding a squadron of cavalry, called Prairie Scouts, with two and twenty men, made a forced march of nearly sixty miles, surprised Lexington, dispersed the rebels, captured sixty or seventy prisoners, took two steam ferry boats, and some other less valuable articles, secured the Union prisoners left there, and with a rebel captured flag, returned by another route to Warsaw, traveling with neither provisions nor transportation, and joining Fremont's forces south of the Osage. As characteristic of the energy of the men whom Gen. Fremont gathered about him, it is worth narrating, that Major White's horses being unshod, he procured some old iron, called for blacksmiths from the ranks, took possession of two unoccupied blacksmith's shop, and in five days made the shoes and shod all his horses. At another time, the cartridges being spoiled by rain, they procured powder and lead, and turning a carpenter's shop into a cartridge factory, made three thousand cartridges. Such men could march, if necessary, without waiting for army wagons and regular equipments. As the Major and his Prairie Scouts proceeded to Head Quarters, they were greeted with cheer after cheer by the soldiers. The rebel flag, being the first they had seen, was a great curiosity to the boys. In contrast with their own loved stars and stripes, it was an insignificant affair. Its stars and bars elicited the scorn and contempt of every one who saw it. The curses bestowed upon it were not loud, but they were deep and came from the heart. CHAPTER V. On the 30th of October, the Brigade went into camp, near Humansville. Humansville, is a small town in Hickory County, Mo., and is the only place where any demonstrations were made, in honor of the stars and stripes, between Boonville and Springfield. Here the soldiers of the Union were welcomed by the waiving of flags and the smiles of the women, and the kindly greetings of the citizens generally. A portion of Price's army had passed through this place, some three weeks before, and had carried off all the goods belonging to the merchants, and had mistreated the inhabitants of the town and vicinity to such a degree, that they were heartily tired of their presence, and were rejoiced at the approach of the Federal troops. The weather continues pleasant, and an opportunity is here offered the boys to wash up their clothing. This was rather an amusing task, as they had not as yet become accustomed to such work. Fires were started along the branches, and by the use of their camp kettles, they managed to hang out quite a respectable lot of clean _army linen_. Those having money and not being partial to the washing business, had their washing done by the women of the town, at the rate of ten cents per piece. When going into camp it was thought that, perhaps, several days would be spent here, to allow the men some rest and to ascertain the distance to, and position of the enemy; but about noon of the 31st, orders came to be ready to march at a moment's notice. The sick of the regiment, had been increasing for the last ten days, to such an extent, that now there was no means of conveying them any farther. Thus far, they had been transported in wagons, but it was now necessary to select such as could not, in a measure, provide for themselves, and leave them behind. The Surgeon, therefore, fitted up the Meeting-house in town, in the best possible manner, and removed the sick to it. A cook, some nurses, and several days rations, were left with them. Poor fellows! they all nearly starved to death before they could get away, and three did die from the effects of disease and want of proper nourishment. After the army left, the patriotism of the ladies and gentlemen of the town, oozed out at their fingers ends, and our sick boys could get nothing from them. One man, John Clemens, of Co. H, who was very sick when taken there, died on the 4th of November. Bromwell Kitchen, of Co. F, soon followed, and Nathaniel B. Westbrook, of Co. A, died on the 20th. The others eventually found their way to the regiment. At 4 o'clock orders were received to strike tents and move out. An hour was now spent in busy preparation for the march. No one had thought that there would be a move before morning, and all were taken by surprise at the order to march just as night was setting in. Conjectures flew thick and fast through camp, as to what caused the haste in moving. Some supposed that Price was not far away, and that they were going to surprise him by a night attack. Some supposed one thing and some another, but all was wrapped in uncertainty. At 6 o'clock, the bugle sounded to fall in, and the first night march of the regiment, now commenced. Camp was one and a half miles west of Humansville, and to get to the main road to Springfield, the regiment had to retrace its march back through the town. When therefore it commenced filing off in the direction it had come, the impression prevailed that they were on the retreat. Retreat! retreat, passed along the line, we are on the retreat--what does this mean, was the general inquiry. As soon, however, as they had passed through town, and struck the Springfield road, they found that they were not retreating, but were continuing their old line of march. This pleased them, and with alacrity they moved forward. The moon had not yet made its appearance, and the evening was quite dark. Several of the boys in going over the rough roads, fell and crippled themselves so as to be unable to proceed. The large stones which composed the road, would sometimes form steps of six inches in height, and in stepping, they would fall forward with serious results. The moon now makes her appearance, bright and fair, and the road becomes distinct so that marching becomes easy, and much more rapid progress is made. The march continued till near morning, when the troops bivouacked for a few hours rest. The bugle again sounds, and the march is continued. At 12 o'clock, a halt is again called, and an order is brought round to lighten baggage. All extra, useless and heavy baggage is ordered to be left, under guard, until brought forward by the wagon train. This is indicative of a forced march, or a going into battle. The latter is not probable, as no enemy is reported near. At 2 o'clock, the regiment moved out in light equipments. Shortly after starting, a rumor got afloat that Price was really making a stand at Springfield. This news was received with a shout, and a more rapid movement of the troops. From this time until its arrival at Springfield, the regiment had no other than absolutely needful rest. The nearer the approach to Springfield, the more confirmed became the report of the rebel army being in that vicinity. The regiment having made ten or twelve miles this afternoon, went into camp on the banks of a small creek, which happened to run in the right place for their convenience. Here an incident occurred which came very near terminating the life of one of the boys. He had gone to the creek to wash, and while there, walked out on a small log which projected from the bank over the water. His weight was too great for the support of the log; it gave way and he fell with his back across a log below him, and his head and shoulders into the water. He was badly hurt, and had there been no assistance near by, he would have drowned. He was unable to march for several days, so as to keep up with the regiment. The march from here to Springfield was uninterrupted, and on the night of the 3d of November, the regiment went into camp within easy distance of Springfield. On the morning of the 5th, the Ninth Missouri found itself encamped on the out skirts of a large army. Fremont had arrived with the greater portion of his army several days before, and driven Price from Springfield, and was now awaiting for the balance of his forces to come up. The Ninth had marched, in the last two days and nights, over fifty miles, to be in time for the anticipated advance, and they were now rejoiced that they had arrived in due season. A more happy set of men than those of the Ninth Missouri, could not have been found in the army. It had been on the march twenty days, with but little prospect of overtaking the enemy. Now the enemy were before them, and their march was perhaps terminated for the present. CHAPTER VI. On the approach of General Fremont, Price had fallen back to a chosen position, some ten miles south of Springfield, leaving a garrison of three or four hundred men to hold the place, until he could get thoroughly entrenched in his new position, and to give General McCulloch time to join him from below, with his Texas and Arkansas forces. General Fremont, in order to disperse this rebel garrison and get possession of the town, directed Major Zagonyi, commandant of General Fremont's body guard, to ride forward with a force of about three hundred, to make a reconnaissance, and, if practicable, capture or disperse the rebels, and take possession of the village. Major Zagonyi was a Hungarian officer, drawn to the western service by the fame of Fremont. He had himself recruited the body guard which he commanded. It consisted of three companies of carefully picked men, armed with light sabers and revolvers. The first company also carried carbines. One hundred and sixty of this guard, with one hundred and forty of Major White's Prairie Scouts, already spoken of, constituted his force. As he advanced, he learned that the rebel guard had been reinforced, and that over two thousand men were ready to receive him. They had also been warned of his approach, and surprise was impossible. Prudence would have dictated that he return for reinforcements. But Fremont's body guard had been a subject of much ridicule and abuse. He determined to make good its reputation for valor, at least. Perhaps by attacking the enemy in the rear, he might still secure the benefit of a surprise. This advantage he would gain, if possible. A detour of twelve miles around Springfield brought them to the rebel's position, but upon their south flank. They were strongly posted just west of the village, on the top of a hill, which sloped toward the west. Immediately in their rear was a thick wood, impenetrable by cavalry. Before they came within sight of the enemy, Zagonyi halted his men. Drawing them up in line, he addressed them in the following brief and nervous words: "Fellow-soldiers, this is your first battle. For our three hundred, the enemy are two thousand. If any of you are sick or tired by the long march, or if any think the number is too great, now is the time to turn back." He paused; no one was sick or tired. "We must not retreat," he continued. "Our honor, and the honor of our General, and of our country, tell us to go on. I will lead you. We have been called holiday soldiers for the pavements of St. Louis. To-day we will show that we are soldiers for the battle. Your watchword shall be 'Fremont and the Union!' Draw saber! By the right flank--quick trot--march!" With that shout--"Fremont and the Union!"--upon their lips, their horses pressed into a quick gallop, they turn the corner which brings them in sight of the foe. There is no surprise. In line of battle, protected in the rear by a wood which no cavalry can enter, the rebels stand, forewarned, ready to receive the charge. There is no time to delay--none to draw back. In a moment they have reached the foot of the hill. The rebel fire sweeps over their heads. The Prairie Scouts, by a misunderstanding of orders, become separated from their companions, and fail to join them again. Up the steep hill the hundred and sixty men press upon the two thousand of their foe. Seven guard horses fell upon a space not more than twenty feet square. But nothing can check their wild enthusiasm. They break through the rebel line. They drive the infantry back into the woods. They scatter the hostile cavalry on this side, and on that. They pursue the flying rebels down the hill again, and through the streets of the village. It seems incredible, yet it is sober history--not romance; in less than three minutes, that body-guard of a hundred and sixty men had utterly routed and scattered an enemy twenty-two hundred strong. Planting the Union flag upon the court house, they retire as night set in, that they may not be surprised in the darkness by new rebel forces. Their loss was sixteen killed and twenty eight wounded, out of the whole three hundred. This has been pronounced an unnecessary sacrifice. The charge, it is said, was ill judged. But the bravery surely merits the highest commendation, and the success sanctifies the judgment of Zagonyi, which directed the assault. Moreover, we needed the example of this chivalrous dash and daring, to wake up some of our too cautious generals, and to inspire that enthusiasm and that confidence of success, which are essential to great accomplishments. For let it not be forgotten, that this was an expedition, which, in its ultimate results, was designed to sweep the Mississippi to the Gulf. The ladies of Springfield, thus redeemed from rebel marauders, requested permission to present to their heroic deliver a Union flag. Will it be believed? When this body-guard returned to St. Louis, by peremptory orders from Washington, it was disbanded; the officers retired from service, and the men were denied rations and forage. It was deemed inexpedient that a corps should exist, so enthusiastically devoted to their chivalrous leader. In the order which came for their disbanding, they were condemned for "words spoken at Springfield." Condemned for that war-cry, which inspired to as glorious a charge as was ever made on battle field, "Fremont and the Union." Zagonyi, in his official report of the battle, says: "Their war-cry, 'Fremont and the Union,' broke forth like thunder. Half of my command charged upon the infantry, and the remainder upon the cavalry, breaking their line at every point. The infantry retired into the thick wood, where it was impossible to follow them. The cavalry fled in all directions through the town. I rallied and charged through the streets, in all directions, about twenty times, returning at last to the court house, where I raised the flag of one of my companies, liberated the prisoners, and united my men, who now amounted to seventy, the rest being scattered or lost. "From the beginning to the end, the body-guard behaved with the utmost coolness. I have seen battles and cavalry charges before; but I never imagined that a body of men could endure and accomplish so much in the face of such fearful disadvantage. At the cry of 'Fremont and the Union,' which was raised at every charge, they dashed forward repeatedly in perfect order, and with resistless energy. Many of my officers, non-commissioned officers and privates, had three, or even four horses killed under them. Many performed acts of heroism; not one but did his whole duty." On the 29th of October, General Fremont established his head-quarters at Springfield. From Boonville to Springfield he had invariably marched with the advance of his army. On the 30th, General Ashboth brought up his division, and General Lane, on the same day, appeared with his brigade of Kansas border men, and two hundred mounted Indians and negroes. And on the 2d and 3d of November, General Pope brought up the rear with his command, of which the Ninth Missouri formed a part. Since leaving Humansville, the health of the regiment continued good. Nearly all the men had been able to march up with the regiment. Those who gave out on the way were given passes by the Surgeon to fall back on the train and ride on the wagons. At this time there was but one ambulance allowed to each regiment, and this was used principally by the Surgeon for his own convenience, to the exclusion of the sick and disabled. Ambulances had been provided, to move in the rear of the regiments on a march, and to attend them in time of battle for the purpose of transporting those who became disabled on the march, and for hauling the wounded from the battle field; but the Surgeons did not seem to understand it in that light. They took it for granted that ambulances were an especial comfort provided for themselves, and appropriated them accordingly. Many an anxious look is cast at the lazy Doctor, riding in the ambulance, by the sick, sore-footed soldier. Many a sick, weary and worn-out soldier is allowed to fall by the wayside, or to climb on the top of a loaded lumbering old army wagon, and ride with the hot sun pouring his ardent rays upon him, until night, or until the march is ended; while the healthy, robust Surgeon takes his ease in the closely covered and nicely cushioned ambulance. The Surgeon is allowed two horses for his especial use, and now his lackey, detailed from the ranks, is riding one and leading the other behind the ambulance. The Surgeon has ridden on horse back during the cool of the morning, but now the heat is too oppressive and he retires to the shade of the vehicles, leaving his fat, sleek and magnificently caparisoned charger to be cared for by the unmanly soldier, who prefers being a lackey to wearing the honor and manhood of the man in the ranks. The staff officers, and those of the line also, are allowed by government eleven dollars per month to pay servants for attending them, but as a general rule, they manage to get a soldier from the ranks to do their work, at the expense of the government, and put the eleven dollars into their own pockets. There are some men who scorn to stoop to such trickery; but it is a notable fact, that there are many, wearing the insignia of high official stations, who take advantage of their oath for the pitiful sum of eleven dollars per month. And it is also a fact, that there are men who have voluntarily taken upon themselves an oath to serve their country as good soldiers, who willingly allow themselves to be placed upon a footing with the veriest colored slaves in the land. The language is not too harsh. A soldier has been seen washing the feet and trimming the toe-nails of his captain, and this not only once, but habitually. The appellation given to him, and those of his calling, was "Toe-Pick." CHAPTER VII. On the morning of the 5th the regiment moved quarters to within a mile of town, and pitched their tents in regular camp order. The whole country for miles around Springfield was now filled with tents, and soldiers were as thick as ants on an ant hill. The whole army of Fremont was now here, and was said to number seventy-two thousand--or, there was said to be seventy-two thousand rations issued. A more noble looking set of men were never gathered into an army. Filled with enthusiasm and confidence in their leader, this army could not have been defeated by any rebel force brought against it. The men were very anxious for a forward move toward the enemy, and rumor had it that in a day or two the enemy would be met. But, alas! for human calculations. No movement was at this time to be made against the foe; but, instead, an inglorious retreat. Shame, and deathless infamy, attend the instigators of the retrograde movement of this splendid army. On the 2d day of November General Fremont received notice of his recall to St. Louis to answer charges preferred against him, and of his being superseded in his command by General Hunter. Why was this retrograde movement to be made? Why was General Fremont removed from the command at this most auspicious moment? "Not until the secret _political_ history of the rebellion, which unmasks hearts and exhibits motives, shall be written, can these questions be fully answered." As soon as the intelligence that General Fremont was superseded by General Hunter spread through the camp, the wildest excitement everywhere prevailed. "Officers and men organized themselves into indignation meetings. Large numbers of officers declared their determination to resign. Whole companies threw down their arms." General Fremont consecrated all his personal influence, entreating the men to remain, like true patriots, at their posts. He sent immediately to General Hunter the intelligence of his appointment, and, without delay, issued the following beautiful and effective appeal to the army: "HEAD-QUARTERS WESTERN DEP'T., "SPRINGFIELD, MO., Nov. 2d, 1861. "SOLDIERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI ARMY:--Agreeably to orders this day received I take leave of you. Although our army has been of sudden growth, we have grown up together, and I have become familiar with the brave and generous spirits which you bring to the defense of your country, and which makes me anticipate for you a brilliant career. Continue as you have begun, and give to my successor the same cordial and enthusiastic support with which you have encouraged me. Emulate the splendid example which you have already before you, and let me remain, as I am, proud of the noble army which I had thus far labored to bring together. Soldiers, I regret to leave you. Most sincerely I thank you for the regard and confidence you have invariably shown to me. I deeply regret that I shall not have the honor to lead you to the victory which you are just about to win; but I shall claim to share with you in the joy of every triumph, and trust always to be fraternally remembered by my companions in arms. "J. C. FREMONT, "Major-General U.S.A." In the evening, one hundred and ten officers, including every brigadier-general in the army, visited General Fremont in a body. They presented him a written address, full of sympathy and respect, and earnestly urged him to lead them against the enemy. General Fremont replied to the address, that, if General Hunter did not arrive before morning, he would comply with their request. At eight o'clock in the evening he accordingly issued the order of battle. The enemy occupied the same ground as that which they had occupied in the battle of Wilson's Creek. General Lyon's plan of attack was to be substantially followed. The rebels were to be surrounded. Generals Sigel and Lane were to assail them in the rear, General Ashboth from the east, Generals McKinstry and Pope in front. The attack was to be simultaneous. Every camp was astir with the inspiriting news. Every soldier was full of enthusiasm. But at midnight General Hunter arrived. General Fremont informed him of the condition of affairs, advised him of his plans, and surrendered the command into his hands. The order for battle was forthwith countermanded, and orders were issued to the army to prepare to turn their backs upon the foe, and retrace their march to St. Louis. The next morning General Fremont and his staff left the camp. As he passed along the soldiers crowded the streets and the roadsides to witness his departure, and, as they returned to their quarters, each one asked himself the question: "Why has Fremont been removed?" No ground for his removal had ever been made known. It was suggested that he was too extravagant in the financial management of his department. But there was no more justice in charging him with extravagance than there would have been any other General in command of a department. "Wherever there is carrion the vultures flock." Wherever there is an opportunity for public plunder corrupt men greedily gather. They abounded in Washington, in New York, in St. Louis; but no definite charges could be made that General Fremont ever participated in any scheme to defraud the Government. The mystery lay in the fact that General Fremont was far in advance of the nation's representatives, either in the field or cabinet. "He realized that the rebels were in earnest. He realized that all attempts at pacification by timidity and concessions to traitors were unavailing, and would but add fuel to the flame. He realized that the only way to stop rebellion was to chastise rebels with the rod of justice." And, realizing these things, he issued the following proclamation, which gave great offense to the more timid officials: "HEAD-QUARTERS WESTERN DEP'T. "ST. LOUIS, MO., August 31st, 1861. "Circumstances, in my judgment, of sufficient urgency, render it necessary that the Commanding General of this Department should assume the administrative powers of the State. Its disorganized condition, the helplessness of the civil authority, the total insecurity of life, and the devastation of property by bands of murderers and marauders, who infest nearly every county in the State, and avail themselves of the public misfortunes and the vicinity of a hostile force, to gratify private and neighborhood vengeance, and who find an enemy wherever they find plunder,--finally demand the severest measures to repress the daily increasing crimes and outrages, which are driving off the inhabitants and ruining the State. In this condition, the public safety and the success of our armies require unity of purpose, without let or hindrance, to the prompt administration of affairs. "In order, therefore, to suppress disorder, to maintain, as far as now practicable, the public peace, and to give security and protection to the persons and property of loyal citizens, I do hereby extend, and declare established, martial law throughout the State of Missouri. The lines of the army of occupation in this State are, for the present, declared to extend from Leavenworth, by way of the posts of Jefferson City, Rolla and Ironton, to Cape Girardeau, on the Mississippi River. All persons who shall be taken with arms in their hands within these lines shall be tried by court martial, and, if found guilty, will be shot. The property, real and personal, of all persons in the State of Missouri who shall take up arms against the United States, and who shall be directly proven to have taken active part with their enemies in the field, is declared to be confiscated to the public use; and their slaves, if any they have, are hereby declared free men. "All persons who shall be proven to have destroyed, after the publication of this order, railroad tracks, bridges or telegraphs, shall suffer the extreme penalty of the law. All persons engaged in treasonable correspondence, in giving or procuring aid to the enemies of the United States, in fomenting tumult, in disturbing the public tranquility, by creating and circulating false reports or incendiary documents, are in their own interest warned that they are exposing themselves to sudden and sure punishment. "All persons who have been led away from their allegiance are required to return to their homes forthwith; any such absence without sufficient cause will be held to be presumptive evidence against them. "The object of this declaration is to place in the hands of the military authorities the power to give instantaneous effect to existing laws, and to supply such deficiencies as the conditions of war demand. But it is not intended to suspend the ordinary tribunals of the country, where the law will be administered by the civil officers in the usual manner, and with their customary authority, while the same can be peaceably exercised. "The Commanding General will labor vigilantly for the public welfare, and in his efforts for their safety, hopes to obtain not only the acquiescence but the active support of the loyal people of the country. "J. C. FREMONT, "Major-General Commanding." "An out-cry from all pro-slavery _partisans_, in all parts of the country, went up against the man who had first dared to proclaim liberty to the slaves of rebels." A demand was made for his removal. Fair means were not alone used for this end. The most strenuous efforts were secretly made to undermine him in the confidence of the Administration, and by bitter public attacks through the press to rob him of the confidence of the people. And success attended those efforts. The President, whose duty it was to hold a controlling influence in the councils of the nation, coincided with this intriguing faction against his better judgment, and submitted to this great injustice--injustice both to Fremont and the country. The proclamation of General Fremont was accordingly modified, and Fremont himself deprived of his command. On the reception of the President's letter, requesting him to modify his proclamation, Fremont replied: "If," said he, "your better judgment decides that I was wrong in the article respecting the liberation of slaves, I have to ask that you will openly direct me to make the correction. The implied censure will be received as a soldier always should receive the reprimand of his chief. If I were to retract of my own accord it would imply that I myself thought it wrong, and that I had acted without the reflection which the gravity of the point demanded. But I did not. I acted with full deliberation, and with the certain conviction that it was a measure right and necessary, and I think so still." General Fremont submitted to the modification, which was to confine the confiscation and liberation of only such slaves as had been actually employed by the rebels in military service. If they worked the guns they were to be free. If they only raised the cotton which enabled the rebels to buy the guns they were not to be free, but to be returned to their masters if they should escape to our lines in search of freedom. But this did not satisfy those who were even more anxious to treat the rebels with conciliation and have Fremont removed and his influence destroyed, than to strike the rebellion with heavy blows. Let Fremont be removed at all hazards. He was removed, and his army was recalled from Springfield, and in less than six months another army under General Curtis, pursuing the same plan which General Fremont had formed, and governed by the very policy recommended in his proclamation, marched over the same ground, under much more adverse circumstances, and met the enemy only after a tedious pursuit of one hundred and twenty miles farther off than the fall before. On the morning of the 4th of November Abraham C. Coats, of Company C, was brought into the regimental hospital in an entirely unconscious condition. He was taken in the night with what was supposed to be a congestive chill. Every means known to the Surgeon was resorted to to restore him to consciousness and preserve his life, but all were unavailing. He never spoke after being brought in, and died about noon of the next day. A _post mortem_ examination revealed nothing to indicate the cause of his death. Several of the boys were taken sick while in camp here, and when the regiment marched they were loaded into an army wagon to be transported to wherever the regiment might be destined. One of these died in the wagon the second night after leaving Springfield and was buried by the roadside. The others, after eight days' torture, arrived, more dead than alive, at Syracuse, where they remained in hospital all winter. CHAPTER VIII. On the morning of the 9th of November, with sad hearts and elongated countenances, the Ninth Missouri Volunteers took up the line of march, which they had so lately spun out in such glorious anticipations, to wind it back to the very place from whence they had started one month before. The weather still continued fine, but the roads had become so awful dusty, that suffocation threatened to be the fate of every one who traveled them. There had been no rain since leaving Boonville. Water was becoming scarce, excepting in the larger streams; although Missouri is usually abundantly supplied with that refreshing element. Abundant crystal streams of purest water; springs bubbling from many a creviced rock and wells of unfailing depths, are met with every where in southern Missouri. The regiment followed its old line of march, until after crossing the Osage, when it took the most direct road to Otterville. From Otterville it continued down the railroad to Syracuse, where it arrived on the 17th of November, having marched from Springfield in eight days, without rest. In its devious course from Boonville to Springfield, and from Springfield to Syracuse, the regiment had marched over three hundred miles. On arriving at Syracuse, it bivouacked on a common in town, in anticipation of taking the cars in a day or two for St. Louis. Rumor had it, that the troops were all going to St. Louis, either to go into winter quarters or to be sent South. No one thought of wintering at Syracuse. There was no enemy within one hundred and fifty miles of this place, and a necessity for stopping here did not exist. Yet, in this vicinity were they destined to lay in idleness for three long months. As the regiment passed Warsaw, on its return, some of the boys, who had learned the working of the wires on their previous visit, again slipped from the ranks and succeeded in getting their canteens filled with the ardent. Two of these, on coming into camp just in the dusk of the evening, caused quite a sensation. They had been "hale fellows well met," until whisky had got advantage of their better judgment, when they agreed to disagree, and the one using the breech of his gun, as the strongest argument he could think of, knocked the other over the head with so severe a blow as to cause insensibility. A crowd was soon collected, and the belligerent one was placed under guard, while the defunct was hurried to the hospital, to be placed in hands of the Surgeon. On examination, the Surgeon discovered something of a cut on the scalp, which was bleeding pretty freely; and having a little too much of the ardent in his own hat to see single, he pronounced the man mortally wounded, with a fractured skull. After having the bruise dressed, the Surgeon retired to his own quarters, leaving the impression that the man would not live through the night; in fact he gave it as his opinion, that he was in _articuls mortis_ at this moment. The commander of the regiment placed the one who gave the death-blow, under double guard, binding his hands and feet so as there should be no possibility of escape. By and by all retired to their quarters, and none, except the guard and the watchers by the side of the dying man, were awake in camp. The man lay very quiet until about eleven o'clock, when he was observed to draw a very heavy and prolonged inspiration. Soon another followed, and his eyes opened. For a moment they wandered restlessly over the tent, and then he sprung to his feet. "Well! where the hell am I? What does this mean? Say, what is the meaning of this? Is this the hospital? How is it that I am here? I'm not sick. There is nothing the matter with me; where is my quarters, say, I am not going to stay here, that's certain!" and off he started like a quarter horse for his company. The mystery was, that he was very much intoxicated when he was hit, and the blow only set him into a most profound drunken slumber. Early the next morning the Colonel released the prisoner, and the Surgeon passed the joke in good spirits, although his reputation in prognosis was somewhat impaired by the incident. CHAPTER IX. On the arrival of the regiment at Syracuse it was discovered that about fifty of the men were on the sick list. Some were quite sick from the effects of the continued jolting they had suffered in the wagons, while others were only worn down by hard marching. The Surgeon immediately took possession of the Planter House, a deserted hotel in town, and established his hospital in it. Straw was procured, and the men were as comfortably placed upon it over the floor as circumstances would admit. On the morning of the 18th the regiment was moved out two miles from town, and went into regular camp. As the men were marching through the town the rain descended in torrents, wetting them thoroughly. This was the first rain seen since leaving Boonville, and was received in high glee. Visions of St. Louis now began to grow dim in the eyes of some of the men, although many still believed that they were only waiting transportation. The Surgeon delayed, from day to day, making any provisions for the comfort of the sick, expecting orders to ship them for St. Louis. But orders never came, and it became a fixed fact that the regiment was to winter here. Newspapers were brought to Syracuse daily, and something of what was going on in the world could be learned from them. During the last month a newspaper had not been seen in the regiment. Some of the officers would occasionally get a paper, but the soldiers never. From these it was ascertained that the war was still progressing, and that the rebellion was assuming a magnitude of unexpected dimensions. Many of the soldiers were led to believe, by their withdrawal from Springfield, that their services would not much longer be required in the field, and that they would soon be allowed to go home, but on reading the papers they lay aside all such pleasing ideas. The weather was now becoming quite cool, and tents were more carefully pitched than usual--ditches were dug, and embankments thrown up, to keep the cold winds from blowing in under them. Good warm blankets were issued, and a new suit of clothing provided, so that, so far as possible, suffering might be prevented. Plenty of wood was provided, and on cold days large fires were burning in front of every tent. At night pans of living coals were taken into the tents as substitutes for stoves. Thus they managed to keep quite comfortable. Army rations were in abundance, and the citizens were liberal in their supply of cakes, pies and apples, at a moderate compensation, and sometimes without any pay whatever. Occasionally one would come into camp more greedy of gain than his neighbor, or, perhaps, tinctured a little with secession proclivities; in such cases "confiscation" was the word, and his load would soon disappear, without his being any the richer. The sick men, who were left at Boonville under the care of Doctor Maynard, now joined the regiment. Without an exception, the kind care and judicious treatment of this excellent Surgeon had restored all to good health, and they joined the regiment in good spirits, and were welcomed most cordially by their comrades. About the 10th of December the regiment broke camp here and moved out to the bottoms of the Lamoine river. The object of the move was the erection of fortifications for the defense of the railroad bridge across the Lamoine. Their camp was selected on some swamp-bottom lands on the left bank of the river. The boys were immediately set to work cutting the trees and cleaning off the grounds, while details were sent off to work on the fortifications on the opposite bank of the river. On the morning of the 14th marching orders were issued for the next day, and on the 15th, through a heavy snow storm, they marched to Sedalia, twenty-five miles distant. The roads were bad, and the marching very heavy, yet most of the men came into camp with the regiment. They were marched out for the purpose of cutting off recruits and a large supply train going to Price's army. When they arrived at Sedalia the work was being accomplished by another portion of the Division. A part of Davis' Division had taken another route, and had succeeded in overtaking and capturing some seventy wagons and one thousand one hundred prisoners, among whom was the son of the old General. The Ninth Missouri consequently had nothing to do but march back to its camp on the Lamoine. This it was two days in accomplishing. Thus marching fifty miles in three days. Thus making in all, since leaving Boonville, fully four hundred miles. Here the regiment remained until the 25th of January, 1862. When the regiment removed from Syracuse to the Lamoine, the Surgeon, Doctor Hazlett, went with them, leaving sixty sick men at Syracuse in charge of the Hospital Steward, without having made any preparations yet for their comfort. The building was very well calculated for an hospital, but needed renovating very badly, and should have had bunks built for the patients to lay on; but nothing of the kind had been attended to; and now, to attend to the wants of sixty sick men, only one nurse, one cook and the Steward, were to be had. Many of the men were desperately sick, and should have had better care taken of them; but, fortunately, only two cases proved fatal after the Surgeon left--Henry Rue, of Company F, on the 1st day of January, 1862, and John Rule, of Company D, on the 28th of the same month. Two also died while the Surgeon was in attendance--Boston Cherrington, of Company A, and McClenning, of Company E. At the Lamoine, Phillip Shindola, of Company B, James Edwards, Company C, George W. Lewis and William St. George, Company B, and William S. Gore, Company F, were taken sick, and died in January, 1862. The living at the Hospital consisted of beef, pilot-bread, sugar and coffee or tea. There was an hospital fund of money, accumulated by the commutation of rations belonging to sick men; but, as with the ambulances, the Surgeons are sometimes dishonest enough to appropriate this fund to their own use. The cooking facilities about the hospital consisted in a camp-kettle, (holding about five gallons,) for coffee or tea, and one of the same size for boiling beef, and a log fire out of doors. With these facilities the cook prepared the rations for sixty sick soldiers for over two months, rain, snow or shine, as the case might be. The manner of feeding the patients was thus: The kettle of coffee and soup is brought into the center of the room where the sick are, and tin-cups are filled and handed round, and a "shingle" (pilot cracker) is handed at the same time, with a piece of boiled beef on it. If the patient has had money he has perhaps provided himself with a biscuit or piece of light bread, purchased of some citizen. The men set around over the floor on their straw pallets, and eat, some swearing at the coffee, and some cursing the soup, and all making some remark or other about the fare. One, for instance, would like some potatoes or chicken soup; one some bread and milk, one some corn bread, and another would fancy mush and milk. Sometimes these things could be procured by paying their own money for them, and thus there would be a feast. Poor fellows! They deserve better things than these, but it is impossible for the Steward and attendants to provide anything more suitable. May God forgive those who should look after these things for neglecting their duty, or for being dishonest. The soldier in camp lives very similar to this: Messes are formed from the occupants of one tent, perhaps numbering four or five, or more; the rations are drawn, and all cooked in the same vessels. A small camp-kettle supplies them with coffee, and a larger one with boiled beef, bean-soup, etc. Then, with tin-cups, tin-plates, knives and forks, they pitch in, each one helping himself until he is satisfied. While eating he either stands or sits on the ground, as he may elect. Thus they live day after day and month after month and no variety unless they buy and pay for it them selves. Many of them _do_ spend all their wages in buying something to eat. It is amusing to look through the streets of Syracuse, and see the soldiers buying the _luxuries_ that the farmers' wives bring to town to sell. Here are several wagons, surrounded by soldiers, buying and trying to buy, sausage meat, fresh pork, chickens, butter, eggs, pies, cakes, corn-bread, milk, apples, etc. The argus eyes of the ladies are kept busy, or else they make small profits. While many are honestly paying for what they get, others are playing confiscation, and dishonestly getting what they do not pay for. Pies and cakes are in great demand; and such pies! The pie-crust is made by wetting some flour with water until it becomes pasty, some sour apples are then wrapped up in it, and it is then dried in a moderately heated oven. When it is sufficiently done it can't be broken, but must be twisted asunder and swallowed in mass; yet the soldiers pay a quarter for such pies, and consider them a luxury. The first case of bushwhacking known to the regiment occurred at Syracuse. A boy belonging to the Eighth Indiana Regiment was on his way to join his regiment, and stopping at the hospital to ascertain where he would find it, was induced to stay a day or two before going farther. The day following he walked out into the brush, about one hundred yards from the hospital, and was shot down by some unseen hand. The report of the gun was heard at the hospital, and in a few moments the body was found, laying on the snow, in a dying condition. There was an inch or two of snow on the ground, and it was thought the murderer might be found by his foot-prints in the snow. Several of the boys from the hospital started immediately in pursuit. The afternoon was spent in following foot marks through the woods, but nothing definite was ever learned of who committed the murder. One of the scouts reported on his return that "the scoundrel would never shoot another soldier," intimating that he had overtaken and shot the bushwhacker; but credit was not given to his story. Toward the latter part of January, 1862, a post hospital was established at Otterville, near the Lamoine, and Dr. Hazlett, Surgeon of the Ninth Missouri, was appointed Post Surgeon. Dr. Maynard, in consequence, was relieved at Boonville, and, greatly to the satisfaction of the boys, took charge of the regiment. The Regimental Hospital Steward being yet at Syracuse, Dr. Maynard requested the Colonel of the regiment to order him to report to him for duty, as his presence was more needed at the regiment than at the hospital. The patients at Syracuse were about being removed to Otterville. From this request of Doctor Maynard resulted a decision which may be of importance to many hospital stewards in the army. Many young men receive the appointment of hospital steward without knowing or inquiring to whom they are responsible for their good conduct, or whose orders they are in duty bound to obey. Hence they are imposed upon by the surgeons, and are made nothing less than menials for those vampires of the Government. On the request of Doctor Maynard, Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick, commanding the regiment, issued the order desired. On the same day Doctor Hazlett, Surgeon of the regiment, issued a similar order for the Steward to report to him at Otterville for duty. The decision in the case was, that "the Steward was subject only to the orders of the commanding officer of the regiment." This decision has since been confirmed. A hospital steward is not a surgeon's orderly. Rumor now prevailed that the regiment would leave the Lamoine in a short time, and outside movements tended very much toward confirming the rumor. The sick were all ordered to Otterville; the hospital stores were inspected and reported, and any deficiency in the supply was ordered to be filled. There was, however, no want of hospital supplies at this time, thanks to the ladies of Wisconsin. A delegation from those charitable ladies had, but a few days before, visited the army, with a large quantity of comforts, quilts, drawers, shirts, handkerchiefs, and magazines and newspapers, which they distributed to hospitals at the towns, and to the regiments, with liberal hands. God will abundantly bless the ladies of Wisconsin. When they have forgotten that their hands had prepared these inestimable presents for the soldier, his prayers will be ascending in their behalf. The death-bed of the soldier is made comfortable by the thoughtful liberality of these kind friends, and their hearts go out in thankful praises and gratitude to the fair donors. CHAPTER X. Orders were received by the regiment, on the morning of the 23d, to be ready to march at 8 o'clock, on the morning of the 25th, with three days rations in the haversack of each soldier. The morning of the 25th of January, 1862, made its appearance, clear and cold, and found the regiment in marching trim. Some of the boys would have preferred waiting a day or two, as they were expecting a large supply of good things, from home. Some companies had already received their boxes of pies, cakes, turkeys, butter and etceteras; but one or two other companies had failed to receive theirs, and were looking for them by every train. Letters had informed them of their being on the way, and the boys were starving to have them arrive; but there was no help for it, they must march and leave their 'goodies' for some one else to devour. It was too bad to so disappoint the kind good friends at home, and still worse to be so disappointed themselves. There was no use of lamentations. At 8 o'clock the bugle sounded to fall in, and the troops moved out. The direction taken, was down the railroad, towards Syracuse; but before night, Syracuse was left in the rear, and Tipton, a small town six miles farther east, was approached. Here the regiment went into camp for the night. Early the next morning, the regiment crossed the railroad, and moved in a southerly direction, leaving all hopes of going to St. Louis, at Tipton. While on this day's march, an amusing incident occurred, showing conclusively in which direction the feelings of the soldier inclines. One Moore, a citizen of Syracuse, with his overseer, came riding along by the regiments, in search of one of his slaves. The negro had disappeared from Syracuse, the day before, and old Moore had rightly suspected that he had joined the army. The Ninth Missouri, happened to be the regiment he was with. On discovering the boy, old Moore rode up to him, and ordered that he mount behind the overseer and ride back to town. The soldiers soon crowded around between the negro and his master, and ordered the latter to leave. The old gentleman did not incline to do so, without taking his negro with him. But the threats and threatening attitude of some of the boys, gave him to understand that he was not safe in remaining, and concluding that discretion was the better part of valor, he began an inglorious retreat, which at first was slow and reluctant; but as missiles of different kinds began to increase in thickness, his own speed increased accordingly, until him and his man Friday, disappeared under a sharp run of their horses. Nothing more was ever heard of old Moore, but his negro continued a good servant in the regiment, for more than a year. The march was now continued through a very wild and broken region of country, with very bad roads and stormy weather, until the 2d day of February, when the Osage river was again to be crossed. The regiment went into camp, on the left bank of the Osage, on the afternoon of the 2d, during a heavy snow storm. The weather had been stormy, ever since leaving Syracuse, and here it culminated in a cold driving snow storm. No one who has not experienced the trial, can imagine how disagreeable it is to go into camp under such circumstances as now surrounded the army. Rainy weather can be endured, and even enjoyed, as was proven on this march; but cold snowy weather is very trying to the nerves. One evening the regiment went into camp, on a low piece of meadow land, near the Gravoi creek, after marching in the rain all day. They were wet, muddy and hungry. Orders had been issued to burn no rails on this march, under severe penalties. But here there was no other wood convenient, and the question with the boys was, how are we to make coffee? Twilight was consumed in trying to find something to start a fire with, but without success. As soon as darkness became visible, the rails began to move from the fence enclosing the meadow, and in half an hour thereafter, most genial and glowing fires were burning in all directions. Owing to bad roads, the camp equipage did not come up till towards morning, consequently there was no tents to pitch, and the entire night was spent by many of the boys, in dancing and whooping around the fires, in seemingly the most perfect enjoyment, although it rained in torrents. The next morning disclosed the fact that the meadow was all out-doors. The question now arose, "how is the river to be crossed?" "Look yonder," says a boy pointing down the river. "Yonder's a steamboat." A steamboat on the Osage river! This was a surprise, no one had thought of crossing the river on a steamboat, but it seems that small boats had occasionally made their trips up to this point, and now one was here expressly to assist in crossing the army. She was just getting up steam, and pretty soon the troops commenced crossing. While the troops were crossing on the boat, the trains and artillery were crossing on a military bridge, constructed for the purpose. By noon of the 4th, the whole command was in camp, on the right bank of the river. The troops lay here on the 5th to rest. The town, at the mouth of Sinn creek, is mostly deserted, the citizens being mostly rebels. The wealthiest and most respected one among them, is a Union man, and has given his money and influence freely, in support of the Government. A few weeks ago, he had a very large store here, and was doing an extensive business, but a squad of rebel Jayhawkers, visited him, and nearly robbed his store of all its goods. A remnant only was left. These were purchased by 'our' boys, now, at their own price, which was not at a great profit to the owner. The owner is now absent, and our boys do their own clerking. Hats, caps, tobacco, and cigars, seem to be most ready sale. Here the boys also procured some excellent cherry-bounce, on which they had a real jollification. On the 6th, the line of march was taken up, and continued towards Lebanon, where the regiment arrived on the evening of the 7th. These were two days heavy marching, making fourteen miles on the 6th, and sixteen miles on the 7th, on very hilly and muddy roads. It is called seventy-five miles from here to Syracuse; but in coming, the regiment had marched some days twelve miles, and were at night, only five miles from the place of starting. Thus making at least, eighty-five miles in ten days marching, through the most inclement weather, and over the worst possible roads. The regiment went into camp, a few miles west of Lebanon, and lay by on the 8th and 9th, to await the arrival of more troops. While laying here, John Baker, of Company F, died, and was buried in the grave yard at Lebanon. The 9th, is the Sabbath day--a day appointed and established among christians for public worship, and as a day of rest from labor; but among the 5,000 men that are here, very few are aware that it is Sunday, or a day of rest. The fife and drums are playing and beating as lively, as on any week day, and the men are as busy drilling as they were through the week days, in regular camp. It is the first sunny day for two weeks, and hence the lively appearance of camp. A brass band is discoursing sweet music, over towards Lebanon, which can be heard very distinctly by the Ninth, and some of the boys are enjoying its melody, instead of participating in the hilarity of those around them. A sham battle is to be fought this afternoon, in anticipation of a real one, which is expected to be had with the enemy, in a few days. Price is reported to be fortifying himself, seventeen miles this side of Springfield, which is about thirty miles from here. The battle has been decided, and now preparations are being made for an early march in the morning. While laying here, a gentleman and lady, of African descent, who had been with the regiment since leaving St. Louis, concluded that they would retire from the army, to the shades of private life. The man had gained the confidence of the boys, and on leaving, they placed in his hands a considerable sum of money, to be given to their friends at home. One man gave him a good horse, to take for him, to St. Louis. He departed, and so the money and horse departed with him, and neither was ever heard of afterwards. The temptation was too great for a negro's cupidity. CHAPTER XI. On the morning of the 10th, the army was again on the move, the Ninth Missouri bringing up the rear of Jeff. C. Davis' division. The roads were very bad, but the weather was favorable, and the country more level than from Syracuse here. The sick and much extra baggage was left at Lebanon, to be brought up at a more convenient season. It was now anticipated that the enemy would be attempting to impede the advance of our army, but no indications of their presence was discovered until the evening of the 12th. About one o'clock, of the 12th, General Sigel's column, which was advancing on another road, some half mile to our left, came upon their out-posts pickets, and a sharp skirmish ensued. As soon, however, as a piece of artillery could be brought to bear upon them, they fled in confusion, leaving the road undisputed. This was the first firing of artillery the Ninth Missouri had ever heard, and it caused a general excitement. The army halted about four o'clock, in a good position, and several companies from the different regiments were sent out through the woods as skirmishers. Companies F and A of the Ninth, was ordered to scout the woods for a mile or two in front. They were very proud of the distinction, and elicited the envy of the other companies. With erect and martial step, those two companies--the one, (Company F,) commanded by Captain Kelly; the other, (Company A,) by Captain Hale--filed off into the woods in search of the hidden foe. The boys in camp listened anxiously for the report of fire arms, and soon, in the distance, several volleys of musketry announced that the enemy had been found. On the return of our skirmishers in the morning, they reported, that before they had advanced over half a mile, they heard firing in their front, and that Major Black, commanding the skirmishers, ordered an advance on double quick. The underbrush was thick and intensely dark, but by strenuous efforts the men succeeded in reaching an open space and getting into line of battle, just as the rebels began to disappear in an inglorious retreat. Some five hundred rebels had made a vigorous attack upon our cavalry pickets, (First Missouri,) but had been handsomely repulsed, with a loss of five killed and thirteen wounded, before the infantry could come up. Before going out, many of the boys took the precaution to leave their money and valuables in the hands of their friends, so that if they should be killed or captured, their effects would be safe. Early on the morning of the 13th, the army was again in motion. Springfield was now only seventeen miles distant, and no fortifications were yet discovered. Price is now known to be at Springfield, and he must either fight or run within the next forty-eight hours. The army proceeded to within five miles of Springfield without any indications of the enemy; but now coming to an open country the troops were halted, and a long line of battle was formed across a very large piece of meadow land. The line was formed in front of some heavy timber skirting the meadow, and the supposition was that the enemy was posted in the timber, ready for battle. The troops marched into line on double quick, and in splendid style. The Ninth Missouri, led by its noble commander, Lieut. Colonel C. H. Frederick, now had an opportunity of displaying its proficiency in rapidity of action, and fell into line with the precision of veterans. Very soon the whole line was formed, and the men standing on their arms awaiting further orders. General Curtis and staff now rode along the line, with the announcement that Springfield was in our possession. Price had evacuated without a fight. The news was received with a shout and the tossing of hats in the air, mingled with curses and maledictions. Although it was pleasing news, yet the disappointment in not getting satisfaction out of the infernal scoundrels, was great among the troops. The line of battle was now broken and the troops again formed into marching order. And now commenced the most wonderful retreat and pursuit of two opposing armies, that the world had ever witnessed. Price commenced the evacuation of Springfield on the 12th, and in four hours after the rear of his army had left the town, our advance was passing through in pursuit. It was said by the rebel sympathizers in town, that Price would make a stand at Wilson's Creek, ten miles below town; that he had twenty thousand fighting men, and would drive Curtis as he had General Lyon the summer before. It was more than probable that the rebel army numbered at least that many, if not more. Price had returned from Lexington to Springfield, on the 23d of December, 1861, with his whole army, and had been using all his energies to recruit and fill up his army until now. "He began to raise fifty thousand men for the Southern Confederacy, the object of which was to secure him the commission of Major General in the Southern Confederacy. He soon accomplished his object. The men are sworn into the service for twelve months. Several regiments of the State Guard were soon broken up; they went into it very readily, because they were made to believe that as soon as Price was promoted, he would have power to order troops from any of the Southern States, and that they would soon make a clean thing of it in Missouri, and also invade Kansas and leave it as the Lord made it, without a house to shelter Jayhawkers. These men felt confident that they would soon be let loose to accomplish this glorious work, and were highly delighted with the idea, but the poor fellows were badly fooled. General Curtis and his brave boys were now rather interfering with their glorious anticipations. The army made no delay in passing through town, but marched about three miles beyond, before going into camp. Camp was pitched on a large farm belonging to an old rebel, and his effects had now fallen into unsparing hands. The old gentleman had left a large, fine house, large barn and good log stable on his premises. The log stable was designed and worked up into quite a strong fort for the protection of the house and barn. Heavy timbers and earth were so thrown together as to be a perfect defence against musket balls, and port holes were opened for the use of the besieged. But they dare not use it at this time, and our boys soon made it untenable in the future. Soon after dark the house and barn afforded plenty of light to see to go to bed by, all over camp. Every thing about the premises was destroyed. The next morning ashes and embers alone marked the spot where the house and barn stood; and posts and bottom rails indicated where fences had been. On the 14th the march was continued to Wilson's Creek, for dinner, and several miles beyond for camp. Wilson's Creek is the scene of General Lyon's defeat and death, and the writer can do no better than transcribe, from Abbott's History of the Civil War in America, an account of the whole affair: Wilson's Creek is a tributary of White River. From the village of Springfield, there is one road leading to Fayetteville, Arkansas, running in a south-westerly direction. Another road pursuing a course nearly due west, conducts to Mount Vernon. Along the banks of Wilson's Creek there is a cross road, which connects the Fayetteville and the Mount Vernon roads. The valley of this creek is about twenty rods in width, bounded by gentle sloping hills, which are covered with scrub oaks a few feet high, except where the land is in cultivation. Upon this cross road about three miles in length, equally accessible from Springfield by either of the roads we have mentioned, the rebel camp was situated. Concealed by the shades of evening, on the 9th of August, General Lyon, with floating banners, but silent bands, emerged from the streets of Springfield, to attack by surprise, if possible, the foe, outnumbering him nearly three to one. His force was divided; one part under his own command, moved along the Mount Vernon road, to attack the enemy in front, while the other part, under the intrepid Colonel Sigel, with six pieces of artillery, two companies of cavalry, and several regiments of infantry, took the Fayetteville road, with instructions to attack the rebels in the rear. Precautions were taken, to render the surprise as complete as possible, and it was hoped that the rebels, distracted by the presence of an enemy, thus unexpectedly assailing them on both sides, and taken by surprise, might be effectually put to flight. It is proper to add, that the term of service of the Fifth Regiment of Missouri Volunteers, had expired; that Colonel Sigel, had gone to them, company by company, and by his personal influence, had induced them to re-enlist for eight days; that this re-enlistment expired on the 9th, the day before the battle; that many of the officers had gone home, and that a considerable part of Sigel's force, was composed of raw recruits. The morning of the 10th of August, was just beginning to dawn, when Colonel Sigel cautiously arrived within a mile of the rebel camp. So quietly did he advance, that some forty of the rebels going from their camp to get water and provisions, were taken prisoners without being able to give their commanders any warning of their danger. Silently the Union troops ascended the hills, which bordered the creek, and there beheld spread out before them, the tents of the foe. The rebels were at their breakfast. Colonel Sigel bringing his artillery into position, with a well directed shot into the midst of their encampment, gave the rebels the first intimation of his presence. They were thrown into utter disorder, by the suddenness of the surprise, and retreated in confusion down the valley. The infantry pursued, and quickly formed in the camp, so lately occupied by the rebels. The rebels, however, recovering from the first panic, were almost as quickly formed into line of battle, and Colonel Sigel found his little force opposed by one, three thousand strong. The artillerymen moved down into the valley, to co-operate with the infantry, and after a short fight, the enemy retired in some confusion. Meanwhile, the sound of heavy firing from the other end of the valley, was distinctly heard, and it was evident that Lyon was there, engaging the enemy in force. In order to aid Lyon, Colonel Sigel pressed forward his columns up the valley, selecting a position to cut off any attempted retreat of the enemy. He had already succeeded in taking over one hundred prisoners, when by a natural, but unfortunate mistake, his well-laid plans were overturned, and he was compelled to retreat. The firing in the north-west had ceased. He presumed that Lyon had been successful, and that his troops were in pursuit of the enemy. This was confirmed by the appearance to the east of him, of large bodies of rebels, apparently retreating to the south. Of course there could be no communications between him and Lyon, as the rebel force was directly between them. At this juncture, word was brought to Colonel Sigel, that Lyon's forces were advancing triumphantly up the road. His troops were told not to fire upon them, and with exultant hearts, they waved their flags, to those whom they supposed to be their victorious comrades. Suddenly from the advancing troops, there burst upon Sigel's little band, a point-blank destructive fire, which covered the ground with the dying and the dead. At the same moment, from the adjoining hills, where they had supposed that Lyon's victorious troops were pursuing the enemy, there came plunging down upon them shot and shell, from a rebel battery. The Unionists were thrown into utter confusion, for they still believed that the volleys which swept their ranks, came from their friends. The gloom of the morning, and the absence of all uniform, prevented the prompt detection of the error. The cry ran from mouth to mouth, "our friends are firing upon us." The soldiers could not be dissuaded from this belief, until many had fallen. Nearly all the artillery horses were shot down at their guns, and death was sweeping the ranks. Most of these young patriots, had recently came from their peaceful homes, and had never before heard the spiteful whistle of a hostile bullet. It is not strange that a panic should have ensued. Under these circumstances, it might have been expected in the best drilled army. Five cannon were abandoned in the disorderly retreat. The foe, exultant and with hideous yells, came rushing on. Colonel Sigel himself, in his efforts to arrest the rout, narrowly escaped capture. With anguish, he afterwards summed up, that, out of his heroic little band, he had lost, in dead, wounded and missing, eight hundred and ninety-two. Some popular complaints have been uttered against Colonel Sigel, for not having afterwards, with the remnant of his forces, formed a junction with General Lyon. But this was not possible. There were but two roads, by which he could gain access to Lyon's position, at the other end of the valley. One was the long circuitous route of twenty miles, by the way of Springfield. The other, was the valley road, then in full possession of the exultant rebel army. There was, therefore, nothing for Colonel Sigel to do, but to withdraw his shattered and bleeding ranks as safely as possible, from the field. General Lyon, meanwhile, having left Springfield at about the same time, with Colonel Sigel, arrived at one o'clock in the morning, in view of the enemy's campfires. Here his column lay, on its arms, till daylight, when it moved forward. The enemy had pickets thrown out at this point, and their surprise, was therefore, less complete than it had been in the rear. By the time Lyon reached the northern end of the camp, he found the enemy prepared to receive him. He succeeded, however, after a brief struggle, in gaining a commanding eminence at the north of the valley, in which the camp was situated. Captain Plummer, with four companies of infantry, protected his left flank. The battle was now commenced, by a fire of shot and shell from Captain Totten's battery, and soon became general. In vain did the rebel host endeavor to drive Lyon from his well chosen position. On the right, on the left, and in front, they assailed him, in charge succeeding charge, but in vain. His quick eye detected every movement, and successfully met and defeated it. The overwhelming number of the rebels, enabled them to replace, after each repulse, their defeated forces with fresh regiments, while Lyon's little band found no time for rest, no respite from the battle. The rebel host, surged wave after wave upon his heroic lines, as billows of the sea dash upon the coast. And as the rocks upon the coast beat back the flood, so did these heroic soldiers of freedom, with courage which would have ennobled veterans, and with patriotism which has won a nation's homage and love, hurl back the tireless surges of rebellion, which threatened to engulf them. It will be enough for any of these patriots to say. "I was at the battle of Wilson's Creek," to secure the warmest grasp of every patriot's hand. Wherever the missiles of death flew thickest, and the peril of the battle was most imminent, there was General Lyon surely to be found. His young troops needed this encouragement on the part of their adored leader, and it inspired them with bravery, which nothing else could have conferred. His horse had been shot under him; three times he had been wounded, and, though faint from the loss of blood, he refused to retire even to have his wounds dressed; in vain did his officers beseech him to avoid so much exposure. It was one of those eventful hours, which Gen. Lyon fully comprehended, in which there was no hope but in despair. Again and again had the enemy been repulsed, only to return again and again with fresh troops, to the charge. Colonels Mitchell, Deitzler and Andrews, were all severely wounded. All the men were exhausted with the long and unintermitted battle, and it seemed as though one puff of war's fierce tempest would now sweep away the thin and tremulous line. Just then the rebels again formed in a fresh and solid column for the charge. With firm and rapid tread, and raising unearthly yells, they swept up the slope. General Lyon called for the troops standing nearest him to form for an opposing charge. Undaunted, and ready for the battle as ever, they inquired: "Who will be our leader?" "Come on, brave men," shouted Gen. Lyon, "I will lead you." In a moment he was at their head. At the next moment they were on the full run; at the next a deadly storm of bullets swept their ranks, staggering, but not checking them in their impetuous advance; on, on they rushed for God and liberty, and in another moment the foe were dispersed like dust by the gale. The victory was entire. This division of the rebels could rally no more. The army was saved; _but Lyon was dead_! Two bullets had pierced his bosom. As he fell, one of his officers sprang to his side, and inquired anxiously: "Are you hurt?" "Not much," was his faint reply. They were his last words. He fell asleep, to wake no more. O! hateful pro-slavery rebellion! Such are the victims immolated upon thy polluted shrine. Indignation is blended with the tears we shed over such sacrifices, which we have been compelled to offer to the demon of slavery. A nation mourned the loss of Lyon, the true Christian knight, without fear and without reproach. His remains now repose in the peaceful graveyard of his native village. While passing this battle ground the soldiers picked up many human skulls and bones, which were scatted upon the earth, in the places, perhaps, where the soldiers to whom they belonged had fallen. On Friday evening, (the 16th,) after twenty-four hours' retreat from Springfield, the rebel army was encamped on Crane Creek, twenty-nine miles distant. The Federal army was five miles in the rear, preparing to make an early start in pursuit next day. Price had placed his train in his advance. About one hundred wagons contained supplies, which were brought into Springfield from Forsyth only a few hours before the retreat was ordered. He will have some advantage among the hills, and the rebel sympathizers here claim that he will be reinforced by twelve or fifteen regiments from Bentonville, under General Van Dorn. On Friday afternoon four officers and thirteen privates were captured by our forces and sent to Springfield. They were captured near the rebel outposts by a squad of the First Missouri Cavalry. They were looking up mules, and got into our advance, supposing they were rebel pickets. The same evening Lieutenant Bushnell advanced on the rebel pickets with his mountain howitzer, and threw four shells, scattering them like sheep. About six o'clock the army halted near Dug Springs, and prepared to bivouac for the night; but, before the preparations were completed, orders came to push forward. A messenger had announced that our cavalry was close upon the enemy, and desired that the infantry be sent forward in support. Hunger, fatigue, and all, were forgotten. Onward was the word, until twelve o'clock at night. The division of General Davis was in the advance, with the cavalry of Colonel Ellis and Major McConnell. The enemy had halted on Crane Creek, and, had not the night been so terribly dark, it is more than likely General Curtis would have attacked him immediately, but he was fearful of being drawn into an ambuscade. The troops lay on their arms awaiting the break of day. At an early hour February 15th, the column moved forward, but during the night Price had again fled, leaving a large portion of his camp equipage, and a number of wagons. During that day the chase was very exciting, there being constant skirmishing between our advance and his rear guard. The road was strewn with broken wagons, dead and dying mules and horses, and every conceivable kind of goods. At four o'clock in the afternoon the booming of cannon notified us that Price had made a stand. The Dubuque battery was pushed forward, and for an hour we had a fine artillery fight. By the time our infantry got up the enemy had precipitately fled. On the 16th instant we pushed on, finding many evidences of the hasty flight in that day's march. During the afternoon our cavalry again overtook the rebels at Cross Timbers, and here was made a gallant charge by Colonel Harry Pease and forty men. Coming on the enemy's picket, they drove it in, dashing at once in the very midst of his camp. One of our men, a lieutenant of cavalry, was wounded, and five or six horses killed. The enemy's loss was much greater. The charge was really one of the most brilliant things that occurred on the route. On the 17th instant we had several skirmishes, and at last discovered the enemy in position on the south side of Sugar Creek. Taking it altogether the flight of Price, and our pursuit, will form one of the most interesting passages in the history of the war. The valley through which Sugar Creek pursues its meandering course is nearly half a mile in width at Trott's Store. From the brows of the opposite ridges the distance is somewhat more, as the road winds. Skirmishing between the pickets of the two armies occurred during the morning, when Price moved out of sight beyond the brow of the south-western hills. His army, as was since ascertained, then formed in two lines on both sides of the road, and two Louisiana regiments, under command of Colonel Louis Herbert, which had arrived from Cross Hollows to reinforce Price, marched with their batteries, determined to give us a warm reception. Two of the enemy's cannon were planted on the brow of the hill, overlooking Sugar Creek, and their pieces were also ranged along the road, about two hundred yards apart, for half a mile or more. These pieces had prolongs attached, indicating that a running fight was intended in case of pursuit. In the meantime our cavalry formed on the opposite side of the valley, and marched across the creek to a point near Trott's Store, and halted. The enemy then opened fire from their batteries. One shot fell short, and a shell exploded over the heads of our men stationed on the opposite hill, doing no damage. Captain Hardin, of the Ninth Iowa Battery, answered the enemy's fire from the opposite bluff, throwing three shells from a howitzer with such good effect that the enemy were forced to fall back with their battery. General Curtis then ordered the cavalry to move up the hill and charge on the retreating foe. The order was gallantly obeyed by Colonel Ellis, in command of the First Missouri Cavalry, followed by Major Wright, leading his battalion, and Major McConnell, with the Third Battalion of the Third Illinois Cavalry. The whole force of our cavalry making the attack numbered some eight hundred. Gaining the brow of the hill, it was ascertained that they had fallen back over a mile to an open field, where their battery was again stationed, and the enemy in force, formed in line. Our cavalry, regardless of danger, plunged forward to the charge on the enemy's position, mostly screened by the intervening woods. Nothing could have withstood the impetuosity of such a charge, had not our advance, led by Colonel Ellis, when debouching from the woods into the open field, been met by a murderous fire poured in upon their ranks from behind the trees. Our loss was seven in killed and wounded at this point. Inevitable destruction, without a chance to resist so galling a fire, caused our brave men to recoil, when Colonel Ellis, with great coolness and presence of mind, ordered his men to right and left and scour the woods. The order was obeyed with telling effect on the enemy, many of whom were cut down behind their places of concealment, and the rest fled. Meantime Major McConnell, with his battalion, left the road, and, deploying to the left, advanced on the enemy's line, while Majors Wright and Boliver performed the same maneuver on the right. Two regiments of infantry arrived to support the cavalry, and formed in line. Colonel Phelps' regiment deployed on the left of the road, and Lieutenant-Colonel Herron, with the Ninth Iowa, deployed on the right. Captain Hayden, of the Dubuque battery, answered the enemy's batteries, which had opened upon our advancing columns, with a brisk fire. The cannonading was kept up for a few minutes, when the enemy precipitately fled, taking away most of his killed. Other regiments were coming into the field to take part in the ball. Among the latter was the Fourth Iowa. The men, anxious for the fray, had pulled off their coats and threw them aside. There is little doubt that if the rebels had been followed up closely the rout would have been complete, and no time would have been given them to burn their barracks at Cross Hollows. The Colonel Herbert who commanded the rebel brigade was the gentleman of California notoriety, who slew the waiter at Willard's Hotel, a few years since. The other Confederate Colonels under him in the fight were McRae and McNair. Among the badly wounded is J. A. Edwards, of Co. H, Eighth Indiana. He belonged to the infantry, but, getting possession of a horse, was the foremost in the fight, running the gauntlet of the leaden hail, which poured in upon him from the timber, without quailing. He got ahead of the cavalry, and was cut off by the enemy. The Hospital Steward of the Third Illinois cavalry (Baker) had his horse shot down. He fell with the horse, dismounted, and leaped upon another horse in the melee, and rushed forward on the enemy with renewed vigor. Like Edwards, he had no business in the fight, but nothing could keep him from pushing to the front and have a "hand" in. A man belonging to the Dubuque battery had his horse's head taken off by a cannon ball. He was leaning forward at the moment, and the ball passed just above him, doing no injury. The inhabitants along this route, from Cassville to this point, were told by Price's army that the Northern troops were marching down, and were burning all the houses, ravishing the women, and killing the children. These ignorant people, it seems, believed the silly tale, and the result is that a general stampede took place. Men procured teams, gathered up what little valuables could be carried along, and, taking their families aboard, deserted their homes. Only three men were found in Cassville when our army arrived. At Keitsville nearly all the inhabitants fled. From that point to Cross Hollows about two-thirds of the inhabitants on the road have deserted their dwellings. In several houses the tables were spread for breakfast, and in the hurry of flight were thus left. The wash-tub was seen filled with water on the back of the chair, indicating that the hegira occurred, as it actually did, on a "wash-day." The doors were ajar, the clock on the mantelpiece had ceased ticking, feather beds were piled in the center of the floor, all sorts of furniture were scattered about, and not a sound was heard but the mewing of a cat. An air of lonesome, heart-sick desolation prevailed. One large dwelling was recently burned down, and the ruins were still smoking. Surely the leaders in this cursed civil war will have much to answer for. Although strict orders forbid our boys from disturbing any private property, they, nevertheless, helped themselves to such things as they fancied. Clothing, quilts, dishes, cooking utensils, hams, lard, molasses, vinegar, meal, beans, and whatever else their hands inclined toward, was appropriated. Rations at this time were very small, owing to having outmarched the provision train, and the boys were very glad to have such opportunities of filling up. Coffee had been played out several days before, and many had been restricted to hominy and parched corn. But now the fleeing rebels had left enough to more than satisfy their hunger, and they were not disposed to treat their liberality with contempt. Some Indiana troops threatened mutiny, on the 16th, in consequence of not having their proper provisions. They positively refused to march any farther until they were supplied with rations. Appropriations supplied them. CHAPTER XII. After laying in camp two days on Sugar Creek, resting from the wearisome march it had undergone since leaving Springfield, the regiment again moved out in the pursuit. After making somewhat of a circuitous route by Osage Springs, it arrived in the neighborhood of Cross Hollows, and went into camp, on the 22d day of February--lacking three days of being one month since leaving Syracuse, Mo. During that time it had marched over two hundred and fifty miles. Cross Hollows, from which Price's army has just disappeared beyond pursuit, is on the Fayetteville road, eighteen miles from that place, and sixteen miles from the Arkansas line, in Benton county. The road passes due south at this point, along the bed of a deep valley with precipitous sides, covered with brush, and the eminences covered with forests of black-jacks and swamp-oaks. Two other ravines cut across this valley at right angels, the other obliquely in a south-east and north-west direction. The junction of these ravines is called "Cross Hollows." A cantonment of three thousand Arkansas infantry has been located here during the winter. An excellent spring gushes forth under one of the banks, giving origin to a creek. It was thought that the six bold promontories, which send their salient points into the valley, would constitute natural ramparts for placing cannon to enfilade the gorges and render the place impregnable, but it seems that the gorges were untenable in the face of the ardent troops of General Curtis. This is the last place at which it has been said by rebel sympathisers, that Price was going to give the Federal army battle. It is now said that he has fled to the mountains of Indian Territory, where it would be useless to undertake a pursuit. [Illustration: LIEUT. C. C. DOOLITTLE. LIEUT. JOHN KELLY. LIEUT. ANDERSON. LIEUT. MOSSMAN. LIEUT. R. D. IRVINE. LIEUT. SANDERSON. SERGT. T. J. MELVIN. SERGT. CH^s. SMITH. Lith. by W^m. BRADEN & C^o. Indianapolis.] Ben McCulloch arrived from Fort Smith the day before the fight at Sugar Creek, but did not participate in any part of the action, except the retreat. He insisted on making a stand at Cross Hollows, but Price objected. His habit of running has become a second nature to him. The stampede of the deluded people was exceeded only by the hurry of the rebel army to get away. Camp Benjamin, located in a beautiful place, three miles west of Cross Hollows, in the principal valley, had one hundred and eight commodious huts erected, with chimneys in the center. The rebels burned all but five, and in the hurry of their flight, left thirty game cocks: some of these brandished silver spurs. Their best fighting material was thus evidently left behind. A book containing the general orders, and a quantity of brass knuckles were also left behind by the chivalry. It is a wonder to our troops why the two grist mills at this point were not fired. As soon as the Federal army went into camp, many refugees returned to our lines, among whom were two intelligent women from their homes south of Fayetteville. They represented that their husbands were Union men, who fled to avoid being pressed into the rebel service. A threat was made that the wives of such who favored the Union cause would be hung, and many of these poor women were trying to make their way into the Federal lines to escape this threatened doom. The day before these women left home, there were two Union men hung at Hewit's Mills. These women were piloted through to our lines by an intelligent contraband--the trusty slave of their father. This negro says that the retreat of Price was preceded by dispatches sent ahead, calling every citizen to arms. A perfect reign of terror prevails; committees were appointed to hang every man refusing to join the rebel army. People were removing their provisions to the woods and burying them, and fleeing in large numbers to the mountains. By a recent act, no negro must be found beyond his master's premises, under pain of thirty-nine lashes, administered on the bare back. A few weeks since, five negroes caught fishing together in a stream, twelve miles from Fayetteville, were hung, and their bird-pecked carcass can be seen swinging in the air to this day, as a warning to others. The negros are told that the Northern Abolitionists are trying to get them in their power for the purpose of transporting them to Cuba. This negro says that the war has made the Southern men "mighty temperate;" none but the vilest corn whisky can be procured. The "quality" are suffering headaches from being deprived of their accustomed beverage, coffee. Sassafras tea, used as a substitute, sweetened with sorghum, was not generally relished. Coffee in Fayetteville held at sixty cents a pound, and none could be had even at that price. Sheeting and shirting was worth one dollar a yard. The negro made a statement to General Curtis, and gave the latter a plan showing the roads through the Boston Mountains. Full confidence is placed in his statement. The two women and negro were sent forward to Springfield. On the evening of the 24th, the head of a train on the way, five miles this side of Keitsville, and four wagons belonging to a Sutler of the Twenty-Second Indiana, were burned. The balance of the train, containing five days provisions, was several miles behind, and returned to Cassville. On the same evening, Captain Montgomery's command, of Wright's battalion, stationed at Keitsville, was attacked by eight hundred and fifty Texan Rangers, under Colonel Young. Montgomery and his men escaped to Cassville, with the loss of two killed, one wounded and one taken prisoner. Seventy-five horses were left in possession of the rebels. The enemy, it appears, came on our pickets in the dark. In reply to "who comes there?" the answer was, "a friend." The rebels then rushed forward, the pickets fired, but were overpowered. The enemy rushed into Keitsville and fired upon the house occupied by the cavalry. Captain Montgomery did not order a fire in the darkness and confusion, as his men and the enemy became undistinguishable. The rebels had two killed and one wounded. They said they were Texan Rangers, encamped on Sugar Creek, and had burned one of our trains and intended to destroy another. On the 21st, one of the First Missouri Cavalry ventured into Bentonville, the county seat of Benton county, five miles from Cross Hollows, alone; got into difficulty with some citizens, and was literally stoned to death. The next day, the company to which he belonged retaliated by burning several houses and razing the town generally. While laying here, the news came to camp, that the Ninth Regiment of Missouri Volunteers was no longer a Missouri regiment, but was now numbered among the honored regiments of its own State, and was hereafter to be known as the Fifty-Ninth Illinois Regiment. The news was received with acclamations of hearty satisfaction. Colonel Julius White, who now commanded the brigade, read the dispatch announcing the fact, and the Major of the regiment, P. Sidney Post, made some few, well chosen and congratulatory remarks, which were received with three hearty cheers. Three cheers for Colonel White; three for Colonel C. H. Frederick, and three times three for the State of Illinois. While at the Lamoine, some time in January, Captain S. W. Kelly, Captain Winters and Captain Elliott got up a petition to the Secretary of War, to have the regiment transferred from the Missouri to the Illinois service. Nine-tenths of the men in the regiment were from that State, and the feeling was almost universal in favor of the transfer. In order to add weight and influence to the petition, they procured the signatures of General Palmer and Colonel White, now commanding brigade, and, with one exception, all the line officers of the regiment. Colonel Frederick being a citizen of Missouri, and having used great exertions and made much personal sacrifice to recruit and organize the regiment for his own State, did not feel inclined to encourage the petition. Yet he most generously withheld any effort to prevent its free circulation and passage to the Secretary of War; and after the transfer, he withheld not his kindly feeling towards the regiment, nor spared any labor to promote its efficiency or welfare. Through the personal influence of General Palmer, the Adjutant General of Illinois, and Governor Yates became interested in the matter, and through their exertions the petition was acted upon. CHAPTER XIII. On the 24th, the regiment moved to a more pleasant situation, and anticipated going into regular camp for some time, as it was rumored that the campaign was now fully lengthened out, and that the tents and extra baggage that had been left at Lebanon was coming up. The army also needed rest. The grounds were accordingly measured off in military style, and tents pitched in systematic order. The weather is delightful, and if the men had plenty of rations, they would enjoy it hugely; but hunger is annoying. There was a scarcity of provisions, and for several days coffee had disappeared from camp. It was two hundred miles to our base of supplies, and mule teams are proverbially slow, especially in muddy roads and with lazy drivers. The country is scouted over by the boys, but they find little to compensate them for their trouble. The citizens have nothing left for themselves. Colonel Kelton was recalled to St. Louis, soon after returning from Springfield, in the fall, and placed on the staff of General Halleck. Major McGibbon had also returned to St. Louis, and in consequence, their positions were vacant in the regiment. Camp Halleck, where the regiment now lay, was the first since leaving the Lamoine, that afforded any leisure for consultations as to who should fill these important positions. The result of several night meetings of the officers of the regiment, was the election of P. Sidney Post to the position of Colonel, and Captain J. C. Winters to that of Major. P. Sidney Post left a promising law practice in Galesburg, Ill., and came to St. Louis with Captain Clayton Hale's company, (Company A,) and at the organization of the regiment received the appointment of Adjutant. This position he had filled with entire satisfaction to the regiment and credit to himself. And from this position had, deservedly, been promoted to the position of Major, and from Major _now_ to the Colonelcy. Lieut. Colonel C. H. Frederick had commanded the regiment ever since leaving Boonville, to the entire satisfaction of the men in the ranks; but being a strict disciplinarian, both as regarded men and officers, he had procured the ill will of some of the latter, and hence the election of the regimental Major to the position which rightfully belonged to him. Such injustice frequently occurs in the army. Captain J. C. Winters commanded a company, (G,) which he had recruited near White Hall, Ill., and was richly deserving the position of Major. He had served in the Mexican war, and was one of the first military men in the regiment. The regiment now lay basking in the sun shine for several days. Their time was spent in discussing rumors concerning the enemy, and in taking a retrospect of their previous hardships and long marches. The rumors to be discussed were that Price was now at Boston Mountains filling up and preparing his army for a return to give us battle, and drive the invaders from Arkansas and Missouri. The retrospect included the time spent in marches since leaving St. Louis up to the present at Camp Halleck. It was now only five months since leaving the arsenal at St. Louis, and the regiment had marched over seven hundred miles. Camp Halleck is six miles south of Bentonville, the county town of Benton county. Benton county is the north-west county of Arkansas. To get here, the regiment left Boonville, Mo., and marched to Syracuse; from thence to Otterville; thence to Sedalia, Warsaw, Bolivar, and Springfield. Then from Springfield through Warsaw back to Syracuse. Then from Syracuse to Sedalia and back to Otterville. From Otterville to Typton, thence by Lynn Creek Ferry across the Osage to Lebanon and on to Springfield. From Springfield through Cassville, Keitsville and Bentonville to Camp Halleck, Arkansas. Another matter of discussion is, "where to, next?" This is not known, but one thing is known, and that is, that a march of two or three hundred miles is before us. We are two hundred miles west of Cairo, three hundred or more from St. Louis, and these are the two points nearest home. If we go on south, it is eighty miles to the nearest steam boat landing, on the Arkansas River, and there is no probability of our riding on a steam boat, so that to do the very best we can, we have two hundred miles to march. And still another topic of conversation, is the probabilities of a speedy termination of the war. Those who have been home on furloughs, and are now returning, bring reports that the people at home and around St. Louis, are firmly in the belief that peace will soon be proclaimed. The soldier's heart expands with joy at these glad tidings. If all the armies of the Union have been as successful as _this_, the joy and hope is not delusive. May the hope of a speedy termination of the war be not as delusive as the anticipation that the Fifty-Ninth would have a long rest in Camp Halleck. On the morning of the 1st of March, General Davis' division broke up camp near Osage Springs, and fell back about ten miles, to a stronger position on Sugar Creek. The Fifty-Ninth Illinois Regiment going into camp on the summit of one of the small mountains of this region. This is not really a mountainous country, yet the hills are so gigantic that _mountain_ would not be an improper appellation. The hill on which the Fifty-Ninth is encamped is three hundred feet above the bed of Sugar Creek, in the valley below, and seems to be composed of millions of little rocks thrown together in one huge pile. Its surface is literally nothing else but fractional pieces of stone--and these the soldier must have for his bed. Yet he sleeps soundly. The second day of March came in cold, and during the day some snow fell, as did also on the 3d and 4th. This made it very disagreeable in camp. Short rations, thin clothing, and some with bare feet, caused a good deal of suffering and no little discontent among the troops. An incident, new and intensely interesting, occurred to the Fifty-Ninth on the afternoon of the 5th of March. Sometime in January, a slight difficulty had occurred between Captain ---- and one of his men, in relation to who should furnish the Captain's fire with wood. The Captain was inclined to have his fire supplied with wood at the expense of the dignity of this young private, and the young man was determined he should not, and hence came the charge of "disobedience of orders." Before, however, the thing was entirely settled some further difficulties occurred, and the young man was threatened with corporeal punishment; this he resisted with his knife, cutting the clothes of the Lieutenant of the company, and threatening to take his life. This added to the previous charge, one of still greater gravity. The young man was court-martialed, and sentenced to have his head shaved, his uniform taken from him, and to be drummed out of the service. On the afternoon of the 5th, this farce was played off, to the delight of some, and the disgust of many. The whole division was called out and formed in two lines across an open field in the valley, to witness the great show. At an appointed time, the young man made his appearance at one end of the amphitheater, with shaved head, uncovered, accompanied by two guards with fixed bayonets, and a fife and drum following in his rear. To the tune of the rogues march, he was thus paraded from one end of the line to the other, and back to the place of beginning. The farce was now over, and the young man supposed to be forever ruined. But not so. It only made him a hero and martyr in the eyes of the soldiers. Their sympathies were all excited in his favor. They saw in the act nothing but tyranny, on the part of the officers who pronounced the sentence, and folly in its execution. On returning to camp, a subscription was raised in his behalf, and quite a sum was donated to defray his expenses to parts unknown. He went to Cassville, and immediately enlisted in the Montgomery Guards, and about the time his hair had grown to a respectable length, he married one of the fairest maidens of the country. Rumors now began to thicken, that the enemy was really returning upon us. And in fact they were, for on the morning of the 6th, they made an attack upon General Sigel, at Bentonville, and drove him to the main lines at Sugar Creek. General Curtis, in anticipation of an attack, had erected some fortifications in and around the main crossing of Sugar Creek--which he prided himself very much with, but which, in fact, were small affairs. After General Sigel had safely placed his command in position, he reported to General Curtis in person. The General received him at the door, and before asking him in, inquired his opinion in regard to the fortifications he had erected. General Sigel merely glanced his eyes over the works, and without any remarks, inquired if General Curtis had anything to eat at his quarters, as he was almost starved to death, and alighting from his horse, walked into the tent without a word of the fortifications. He seemed to think that his supper was of more importance than General Curtis' fortifications. CHAPTER XIV. The morning of the 7th of March broke clear and pleasant over the hills and valley of Sugar Creek and Cross Timbers. The soldiers were everywhere, early on the alert, and camp presented a good deal the appearance of a bee-hive on a sunny morning. Better spirits than had been for several days seemed to prevail among the boys, and all was cheerful. There seemed to be no thought that before another morning should break on Cross Timbers, many who now felt so buoyant and full of hope would be numbered among the "brave boys slain." Little did they realize that this bright morning was the harbinger of such a bloody sun-set as closed this day, over the battle-ground of Pea Ridge. About seven o'clock orders were received at regimental head-quarters to strike tents immediately, and move out toward the right. The right, or, rather, rear of the army, lay at this time across the road leading to Cassville. The regiment, as soon as the tents and camp equipage could be loaded in the wagons, moved in a circuitous route, through the brush, until it struck the Cassville road, one mile north of Sugar Creek. Here it filed to the right, and halted, about fifty yards east of the road, apparently to wait further orders. It seemed as though the plan of the battle was yet undecided. An hour elapsed while in this position, and then the order came to "fall in." The regiment now retraced its steps to the road, and again stacked arms. In a short time thereafter, several horsemen were seen coming down the road from the right, at break-neck speed. Some had lost their hats, some their coats, some their guns, and nearly all of them had lost their wits. "The rebels--the rebels are coming in the rear!" was their war cry, as they charged along the road toward some place of safety. They received, and deserved, the jeers of the soldiers, as they passed. The rebels had made a slight attack on the rear as a feint, and these cowardly cavalry had fled to save their paltry carcasses from the rebel balls. Shame on such dastards! It was now eleven o'clock, and the enemy was attacking our left wing in earnest. Davis' division now moved forward on the double-quick, through Leetown, and half a mile beyond, where it formed in line as rapidly and judiciously as the brushy condition of the position would admit. On the road leading west from Leetown, and three-quarters of a mile distant, is an open field of, perhaps, twenty acres, with a cross fence through its center, and skirted with densely thick underbrush all around it. On the east side of this field the Fifty-Ninth and Thirty-Seventh Illinois were placed in line. When first gaining this position, no enemy were in sight, but very soon a column of men were seen filing through the timber, to the left of the field, and coming into line in our front. At first it was supposed to be a column of our own men, as the thickness of the underbrush prevented from distinguishing the motley uniforms of the rebels from our own. The mistake was soon discovered by some of the men, but the order to fire was withheld from our boys until a volley from the rebel column was poured into them. Then the fact that it was the enemy became too evident, and the fire was returned with double interest. The firing now became incessant. Volley after volley, in quick succession, was sent by our brave boys into the falling ranks of the enemy. For a long time it seemed as though no impression was being made upon the column of the enemy, although those who were not engaged could see men falling from their ranks by scores. They kept their ranks always full, by marching fresh regiments up to take the place of decimated ones. Thus one single, unrelieved line, stood and fought five different regiments, from one o'clock until darkness closed the scene. The first fire from the enemy killed and wounded several of the men of both regiments, but it created no panic, no confusion, in either. The Fifty-Ninth only replied with a more hearty good will. At one time their ammunition gave out, and they fell back to a safer position, until it could be replenished. They then advanced to their old position, and let into the rebels with increased energy. During the whole afternoon not a man flinched, not an officer wavered. One or two subordinate officers failed to share the honors of the battle, by being dilatory about going in, and a very few of the men; but those that were there did their whole duty, and more than prudence demanded of them. Companies K and F suffered more in killed and wounded than any other two companies, from their being in a more exposed position, on the left of the regiment. At the first fire several of their men fell. Captain Snyder, commanding Company K, and Captain Kelly, commanding Company F, by their coolness and good judgment, soon maneuvered their companies into such positions as was most destructive against the enemy, and most protective to themselves. During the whole action these two officers displayed a bravery and clearness of judgment worthy of all imitation. Captains Hale, Paine, Winters, Elliott, Veatch and Taylor, alike deserve honorable mention for their bravery and daring during the engagement. Each vied with the other in proper conduct and exemplary bravery. Colonel Frederick and Major Post were ever present where duty called, fearless of consequences. Although constantly exposed, Colonel Frederick escaped unharmed; not so with Major Post. About the middle of the afternoon, a minnie ball struck him on the arm, passing through the fleshy parts without injury to the bone, and yet making a severe wound. He retired to have his arm dressed, and then, only by the peremptory order of the Surgeon, was he prevented from going back into the fight. The Assistant Surgeon of the regiment, Doctor H. J. Maynard, now acting Surgeon, in the absence of Doctor Hazlett, established his head-quarters at Leetown, where the wounded were ordered to be brought for surgical attention. Very soon after the first volley the wounded began to arrive, and continued to come, as fast, and sometimes faster, than they could be attended to, the remainder of the day. Thirty-eight from the Fifty-Ninth alone were brought in. Doctor Maynard, assisted by his Hospital Steward, (the writer of these pages,) by his surgical skill and kindness of treatment, made these men as comfortable as the nature of their wounds would admit. The names of those brought from the field wounded are as follows: From Company K: James Yocum, Corporal Willard W. Sheppard, Corporal William Burns, John B. Bass, V. S. Hawk, Julius Hiederick, Emuel Herbert, James Higgins, Sergeant Peter Elliott, Patrick Powers, John J. Rue, and James Donathy, wounded. Michael D. Sullivan, of this company, was killed on the field. Thirteen wounded, and one killed. The wounded of Company F were: John W. Williams, Silas P. Kamer, Sergeant Samuel J. Spohn, Hiram Snearly, John Chittenden, William Welker, David Groves, and Davis L. Kelly. James H. Furgueson, of Company F, was killed on the field. Eight wounded, and one killed. Company B had two wounded, viz: Richard Ernest, and G. B. Finch, and one killed on the field--G. W. Evans. The wounded of Company H were: William H. Smith, John L. Ransom, William N. McGowan, John W. Hurst. Peter P. Goodman was killed on the field. Four wounded, and one killed. Company D lost three killed on the field, to wit: Eugene Cramball, Henry Spohn, and Isaac Palmer. Company I lost three killed--Alfred B. Blake, Henry Cramer, and William H. Cline. Company C, one wounded--James Murphy. There were a few whose names the writer has mislaid and forgotten. Toward evening the fire began to slacken, and by five o'clock had entirely ceased, both armies being willing to withdraw from the contest. The Fifty-Ninth fell back to the east of Leetown, a short distance, and lay on their arms till morning. On the morning of the 8th, just as the sun began to redden the eastern horizon, the booming of cannon was heard from the direction of Cassville. It was very soon ascertained that General Sigel had engaged with the enemy, on our right. The Fifty-Ninth was soon in motion toward the scene of action. Arriving on the ground, they were placed in position, again in front of the enemy, and similar to yesterday, with an open field between them. They remained in this position but a short time, when they were ordered to charge across the field, and rout the enemy from the woods beyond. This was accomplished without the loss of a man. The enemy were driven from the woods, and the Fifty-Ninth had played its part of this great tragedy. Their position, before making the charge, was behind a fence, in range of a rebel battery, and the shot from this battery was very annoying, although no one was hit by it. They lay on their stomachs, so that the shot, for the most part, passed over them. Occasionally one would fall short, and throw the dirt into their faces, through the cracks in the fence. One, in particular, struck so near to the head of one of the boys as to fill his eyes completely. "D--n the thing," said he, and, twisting himself around, until his other end was directed toward the enemy, he remarked that "now they might shoot, and be d--d." While making the charge, a musket-ball passed through the clothing of Captain Kelly, and dropped into his boot-leg. In the early part of the day, while Colonel Frederick was riding in front of the regiment, a twelve-pound cannon-ball passed so close to his head as to knock him from his horse, insensible. It was several hours before he could be restored to consciousness, and many days before he entirely recovered from the concussion. During the fight of the 7th, very many narrow escapes of the men occurred. One boy, while loading his gun, had the ram-rod knocked from his hand, by a musket ball from the enemy. Another one had his gun-barrel hit, and bent so bad as to be useless. One man had three bullets to pass through his hat, and many escaped with holes through different parts of their clothing. The great wonder is, that all were not killed--their escape can only be accounted for, on the principles that "God and right was on our side." An anecdote was told of the regimental hospital nurse, who is a "live Dutchman in a fight," and when not employed, was always in the front. Soon after the engagement commenced, he, with his gun, was standing near Davidson's battery, looking at the scene, when one of the battery-men discovered a rebel, in the distance, making preparations to shoot at him. The battery-man warned him of his danger, and pointed to the rebel; instantly the nurse raised his gun, and both guns cracked at the same time. The rebel fell, and Ebling was unharmed. During the night of the 7th, Dr. Maynard, had a sufficient number of tents pitched, to shelter comfortably all the wounded, and the morning of the 8th presented a sad, but lively appearance at Leetown. Cooks and nurses, were active in providing for and administering to the wants of the unfortunate heroes of the day before. Nothing that would tend to alleviate their sufferings, was neglected. Long will the wounded of Pea Ridge, remember Dr. H. J. Maynard. Sunday, the 9th, was a day of rest to the Fifty-Ninth. The enemy had disappeared, and all was quiet over the hills of Cross Timbers. The soldiers had nothing to do, but wander over the battle-field, and talk of the incidents of the two day's fight. And this was enough for one day. The dead and wounded were, many of them, still on the field. The rebel dead were all unburied, and many of their wounded were uncared for. Detachments from the rebel army were busy, under a flag of truce, in collecting and carrying their wounded to hospital, and in burying their dead. Many are hid away in the bushes, who will never have a burial. Years hence, their bones will be discovered bleaching in the sun. Such is the case on every battle field. Friend and foe alike, are left undiscovered. Some, perhaps, mortally wounded, crawl away to the shelter of a friendly thicket, that they may escape capture by the enemy, and here remain, until death claims them for his own. Months hence, they are discovered, and then the cry goes out, that the enemy is barbarous, because the dead were left unburied. The scene over this field of carnage, beggars all description. Sights calculated to chill the blood, and strike the mind with horror, meet you on every side. Here is a human body, with the mangled remnants of a head, which a cannon ball has torn to fragments. There lies another with both legs shot away. Here is one, the top of whose skull is gone, leaving the brain all exposed to the weather, and see! he is still alive. After twenty-four hours in this condition, he yet lives. Great is the tenacity of human life! Look yonder! there is one whose light of life has gone out, as a lighted lamp in a gentle wind. There is no disturbance of features, no marks of violence about him. He is sitting at the roots of a large tree, with his back supported by the trunk; his gun is resting in the bend of his arm; how natural! while sitting thus, a minnie ball had pierced his heart, and thus he died. The number on his cap denotes the regiment to which he belongs, which is now in another part of the field; thus accounting for his not having yet received burial. Ah! here comes two men with the same numbers on their caps that he has on his, and they are in search of him. How fortunate they are. They are his friends and were his mess-mates. How sad to find him thus, what news to send his friends at home! His mother! 'Twill break her heart; so loved was he, so loved by all who knew him. He had a premonition of his doom the morning of the battle, and told his friends so, told them he would be killed that day, and gave them all his letters and his pictures of the dear ones at home. Among them was a picture of his hearts beloved, his betrothed, an angel in beauty. These two friends weep, and we pass on. What is that fellow doing? That fellow in the dress of a Union soldier, what is he doing? He is rifling the pockets of the dead. Let's see what he has found in that man's pocket. A small pocket book, and a letter or two, pen knife and comb. The pocket book has two or three dollars of confederate script, for the dead man was a rebel, and a locket of hair, very fine silky hair, evidently clipped from the locks of some very young person, perhaps an infant daughter. How mean this Union soldier is, to rob the parent dead of this cherished memento of his lovely little daughter! Why not bury it with him? The man those men are lifting so carefully into the ambulance yonder, was wounded yesterday morning, and has been lying on the cold ground without any covering, ever since. His wound was not a mortal one, but now his limbs are all stiffened by the exposure, and his life is the sacrifice. Had he remained a short time longer in his exposed condition, he would have added one more to the number of these they are collecting for burial, over in that pleasant grove. The grave is being dug, and only seven have yet been found to fill it. It is large enough to hold at least a dozen. The Union soldier, when buried by his comrades, is generally buried in a civilized manner; but rebels are traitors together, while living, and are not separated in the grave, when dead. Such are a few of the many interesting sights that meet the eye, in passing over the battle ground of Pea Ridge, on this Sabbath morning. Sergeant Silas Carner, and private John Williams, of Company F, died in the hospital from the effects of their wounds on the 8th, and were buried with the honors of war. Wm. N. McGowan, of Company H, Samuel J. Spohn of Company F, and John W. Hurst of Company H, died, the two former on the 12th, and the latter on the 13th. Wm. N. McGowan was one of the musicians for the regiment. It was his duty to beat the drum, not to handle the musket; but when he saw his comrades marching to the battle, his brave heart spurned the idea of his remaining idle. He shouldered a musket, fell into ranks with his old company, and manfully assisted in repelling the foe. He remained on the field doing his duty, until towards the close of the day's battle, when a minnie ball struck him, and he was brought off mortally wounded. He lingered, under great suffering, but with a proud consciousness of the noble sacrifice he was making for his country, until the morning of the 12th, when he expired with the resignation of a hero. All honor to the brave! In this brave boy's pocket, was twenty dollars in money, which was placed in the hands of Captain ----, to be forwarded to his widowed mother, at Charleston, Illinois. Several months afterwards, the writer was informed, by letter received from this poor widow woman, that the money had never been given to her. Captain ---- resigned his commission soon after the battle of Pea Ridge, and it is to be hoped he found a resting place in some parts _unknown_ to anybody. Many a dollar, belonging to the dead soldier, has been thus appropriated. After a very stormy night, Monday morning came in clear and pleasant, and hundreds of idle soldiers were scattered over the battle field, to the west of Leetown, in search of whatsoever might be found there. General Davis' Division was lying to the east, and General Sigel's to the north of town. About eight o'clock, boom went a cannon, from the direction of Sigel's camp, and a shell went hurling over Leetown, in the direction of the battle field. Soon another followed, and at the same time a column of cavalry was seen approaching from the west, which was supposed to be rebel. "The rebels are coming, the rebels are coming," was shouted from mouth to mouth, over the field, and each one broke for his regiment. The attention of all in town, was attracted by the reports of the guns, and the street was soon lined by the curious, eager to know what was up. "The rebels are coming," came up the street, followed closely by scores of fleeing soldiers, some on horseback, but many more on foot, each vying with the other, as to who should get out of the way the quickest. "The rebels are coming, stop them!" cries a horseman, with hat off and hair flying in the wind. "What's up?" asks one of the boys of this valorous horseman. "The rebels are coming, and I am trying to stop these fellows--halt there!" and away he goes, more frightened than the rest. Pretty soon, General Sigel comes riding very deliberately up the road, by himself, and some one asks him the cause of the stampede. "Oh, nothing," said he, with a peculiar twinkle of the eye, "I was only making a few of my leetle arrangements." Discipline had become too loose to suit his military fancy, and he had arranged this scare for the purpose of putting the army on the _qui vive_. In five minutes after the first report, the whole army was under arms, ready for any emergency. The first shell fired, struck not far from a forage train that was bringing in corn, and the way they came into camp was a caution to all mule drivers. No one was hurt, only in feelings. CHAPTER XV. On the afternoon of the 10th, the regiment moved with the division, a few miles south of Leetown, and here the writer lost sight of it for several days, as he was detained at the hospital to assist in caring for the wounded. Nothing, however, of interest occurred during his absence, except the visit of the Paymaster, and a few changes of camp. By remaining at hospital, the writer escaped much hard fare, as the army was, for several days, entirely destitute of provisions, and subsisted solely on parched corn and _nothing else_. By very great exertions, Dr. Maynard succeeded in keeping a supply at the hospital, until the orders came to move all the wounded to Cassville, twenty miles farther north. On the 14th, the wounded were started for Cassville; some were too badly hurt to be handled so roughly, and were not sent. Among these were James Murphy and John L. Ransom, and John B. Bass, who had a leg amputated. James Murphy died on the 18th. The others were subsequently brought up. The writer was ordered to report at Cassville with the wounded, and here is an extract from a letter written to his daughter soon after his arrival: "Wednesday morning, the 19th. I am up pretty early this morning as usual. The sun is just beginning to tinge the horizon with his red beams, and the promise of a pretty day is written on the sky above him. The night has been a stormy one. It was raining when I spread my blankets, but now the sky is clear, the atmosphere pure and bracing, and indicates a few days of fine spring weather. Spring is opening earlier here than in Illinois, as we are farther south. If you will examine, you will find that Cassville is more than two hundred miles south of where you live, and of course the climate is more mild and the seasons earlier. We have had quite a number of warm, spring-like days, and the grass looks quite green. The buds on the trees will soon open out, and it will not be long till nature will all be clothed in its summer garb. "Cassville is situated in a pretty location. It is in a small valley, surrounded by hills of different magnitude. On the east are several ridges of considerable height, dotted on their sides with cedar trees in green, which are nature to the rocky hill sides of this region. At the foot of one of these ridges, a four story mill contrasts her white coating of paint with the green of the cedar, and produces a pleasing, romantic picture. A small stream meanders along at the base of those hills, with here and there a spring gushing from among the rocks, or boiling up from even the bed of the stream. On the west there are also hills of considerable height. The valley is a mile wide, and two or three miles long, or perhaps more. The soil is rich and productive. From my room I can look out over a field of wheat, which completely clothes the ground in living green. It is quite refreshing to sit here, and look upon a green spot of earth, after having contemplated only the sear and barren trunks of trees and brush for four long months of winter. From another window I can see a pretty little cottage, white as the driven snow, nestled in among the surroundings of a cultivated home. A large fine orchard, and all the out-buildings of comfort, and all deserted. Wounded soldiers are spread over the floors of the house, and soldiers' horses are tied to and destroying the fruit trees, and soldiers' fires have burned the rails and boards which inclose the premises. Dreadful are the ravages of war! Cassville is situated in the center of this valley, and was a thriving, pretty town before the war. There are about forty good dwelling houses, six store rooms, and a very decent little court house, besides blacksmith shops, &c. "When we came here, there were only four families remaining in town, and they were women and children, the men being in the army. Now, there are over four hundred wounded and sick soldiers quartered here; every house is full and some are in tents outside. The houses are being torn up, so as to be made more convenient for bedding the wounded. The fencing before the door yard is being torn down and burned, and anything which adds to the comfort and convenience of those here, is being appropriated without let or hindrance. "There is another pretty town, five miles from here, in precisely the same condition, filled with sick and wounded. These two towns are samples of all the towns in Missouri, where the armies have been. The citizens have fled and the soldiers have destroyed their property. Many fine houses have been burned on our march, and others entirely riddled, windows broken, doors torn from their hinges, &c. Both armies are engaged in destroying; what the enemy leaves, our men destroy. The enemy destroys Union property, and the Union troops destroy secesh property--and there being only the two kinds of property, it is ALL destroyed. "An express rider has just came in from the army, bringing news that Price is moving towards them again. We, here, can't tell what reliance can be given the report. If it is true, and he should continue to advance, there will be some more hard fighting. I do most sincerely hope that our regiment may not get into another engagement here. If it should, we, in the hospital, will not get away from here for two or three months to come, unless Price should be victorious and drive us out on double quick; for the wounded will be brought here, and of course will prolong our time as much longer as the difference between the time of the first fight and that which shall come off now. But it is not on account of that alone, that I am unfriendly to another battle. I have seen enough of the suffering attending the wounded of the last battle. Poor fellows! They bear it patiently, and make light of the most serious wounds. I do not suppose it would be very interesting to you to read a description of the wounds we have to dress every morning, or I would describe some of them. We have eighty different wounds to dress in our building, and you can imagine how great the variety. Some are about the head, some about the body, arms, legs, feet and hands; some are only slightly wounded, but the majority are badly hurt. One poor fellow died yesterday, from the effect of a ball through the lungs; and others will die from their wounds. Our men are well provided for here. They have all the attention from Surgeons and nurses that they require, and all the food and other comforts necessary for them. Dr. Clark, of the Thirty-Seventh Illinois Volunteers, is our Surgeon. Dr. Maynard was left with the regiment. I am in charge of the wounded from our regiment, and Thomas Kelly is with us as Warden. We two are the only ones of our acquaintances here, excepting Hiram Snearly, who is quite badly wounded, the ball passing through the arm, close to the shoulder, and into the side under the arm, and coming out below the shoulder blade behind. His wound seems to be doing well, yet it is difficult to tell what the result may be. I shall now retire from the desk, and finish this short epistle at some other sitting. "I am sleepy to-day, at three o'clock, because of not sleeping well last night. The floor, some how or other, was unusually hard last night, and caused me to be restless. I prophesied fair weather yesterday--this is the 20th--but was deceived by appearances. We are very often deceived by appearances. In an hour after I had made the prophesy, the sky was completely clouded over, and has remained so ever since; and now it is spitting snow. "Reports are still coming in of the advance of the enemy, and the retreat of our army. It is said that Price has been strongly reinforced, and now numbers more men than he did at first. We have also been reinforced to the number of one thousand men, but are still far inferior, as to number, to the enemy. It is probable, that our army will make a stand at or near Keitsville, eight miles from here, where, if the enemy comes upon them, they will have a hard fight. "The Fifty-Ninth and the Thirty-Seventh Illinois regiments, occupied the court house as an hospital. Dr. Clark, of the Thirty-Seventh Illinois, having the supervision of the whole. "On the 23d of March, it became evident that Johnson Kelly, of Company D, Fifty-Ninth Regiment Illinois Volunteers, would either have to undergo the operation of having his leg amputated, or lose his life--or perhaps both. Dr. Clark proceeded to the operation. Chloroform was administered in the usual manner, and the leg taken off without the knowledge of the patient. The amputation was very handsomely performed, but it proved to be useless. In four hours the patient was dead. Johnson Kelly was buried with the honors of war, on the 24th of March, 1862. Hiram Snearly lingered until the 22d of April, 1862, with the hope firmly fixed in his mind that he would get well. He was told by the Surgeon and by his friends, that he could not survive, but he believed them not. His spirits were buoyant to the very last hour of his existence. He died and was also buried with the honors of a soldier. "A day or two after coming to Cassville, Dr. Clark requested a detail from the Provost Marshall, to clean up around the court house. Captain Montgomery happened to have a squad of rebel prisoners at Cassville, at this time, and they were set to work picking up the rubbish in the court house yard--Captain Montgomery overseeing them himself. From the wrongs his family had received at their hands, his heart had become entirely callous to any pity. With the greatest apparent satisfaction, he rode round among these fellows very much like one of their own negro drivers, with whip in hand and bitter curses on his tongue; and if one ceased from his labor, whack went the whip and glib the tongue. "Among these prisoners was an intelligent Catholic priest, from Louisiana. This morning he was unwell, and entirely unaccustomed to picking up chips, his progress at work was rather slow. The Captain seemed to take special delight in tormenting him. 'Well,' says he, 'old fellow I pity you, indeed; but it can't be helped. You must take care in the future to be caught in better company. If you had kept out of the company of these imps of hell, you would not now be degrading yourself by manual labor--work away then my old priesty.'" CHAPTER XVI. On the 6th of April the Fifty-Ninth, with the balance of the Division, arrived at Cassville, en route for Forsyth, which is sixty miles east of here. After halting long enough to rest, and visit their wounded friends in hospital, they moved out some two miles to the east of the town, and encamped on Big Mill Creek. The march was continued on the seventh, through the most dreary and least inhabited portion of Missouri that the army had yet seen. For seven or eight miles east of Cassville the soil is arid, and covered with small white flint-stone, with here and there a miserably poor specimen of a black-jack, struggling for a scanty existence. From this upper plateau of the Ozark Mountains, the road drops down through a narrow defile, with hills two hundred feet high on either side, the base of the hills meeting so close at the foot as barely to admit the passage of a wagon, until it emerges into the Rock House Creek Valley. From this point the valley begins to widen to the south, where, as far as the eye can reach, the horizon is bounded by a low range of purple-colored hills. This beautiful valley has been the frequent scene of lawless incursions from the rebel outlaws, and the inhabitants, before the arrival of the Union army in the vicinity, were kept in a continued state of trepidation and alarm. The people are mostly Union in their sentiments, there being but three secesh in this whole region of country. Bands of outlaws frequently came down from Cassville, and would rob the Union men of everything in the house--blankets, bread and bacon. If they caught the owner, he would be taken under guard to Cassville, where he would be tried before a self-constituted vigilance committee. The head of this committee was the notorious "Joe Peevy," former Sheriff of Barry county. This Peevy was a terror to the whole country. He is resolute, brave, and a man of great and indomitable energy. He seems to have been governed in his actions by a spirit of rude justice, which he administered alike to friend and foe. His capture and imprisonment at Cassville, by our men, gave great satisfaction to the people everywhere. General Curtis, while passing through Keitsville, had planted a Union flag on one of the houses in town, and this man Peevy, a few days afterwards, took it down, and carried it off. In a few days, therefore, some of our boys came across him, in the timber, and brought him to Cassville, under guard. Joe Peevy came down through this valley, last summer, with a squad of his lawless jay-hawkers, and got a handsome drubbing by the hardy mountaineers, under Charles Galloway and "Old Jimmy Moore," at Clark's Mill, on Flat Creek. Only one Union man, by the name of Boyce, was killed, while twelve of the rebels were left on the field hors du combat. A man named Jeff. Hudson was waylaid, last week, by a party of secesh, and fired upon. He was hit in the toe, but returned the fire on his pursuers, while falling back, and made his escape. Another young man, named James Reeves, was shot at, while returning home, the other evening, near Jenkins' Creek. The farms through this valley, in the neighborhood of the main roads, are laid waste. Fences are burned up, and buildings are deserted, and torn to pieces. No preparations are being made for putting in spring crops by the few farmers yet remaining here. "To mute, and to material things, New life revolving summer brings; The gentle call dead nature hears, And in her glory re-appears. But O! this country's winter state, What second spring shall renovate." The evening of the 8th found the regiment encamped at a place called "Cape Fair," in Stone county, Missouri. It reached this "God-forsaken" place after having marched over a broken range of mountains, of some twenty-five miles, since morning. The direct distance would not exceed twelve miles, to the old camp, but, owing to the circuitous windings of the road, it was increased two-fold. No one can have an adequate idea of the picturesque scenery, and wild alpine views, which everywhere greets the eye of the traveler in this section of the State. The road passes along the winding crests of a successive range of mountains, frequently curving around, and doubling, so that, in many places, the head of the column seemed to be marching to the rear, and to be within speaking distance of the troops two or three miles behind. Occasionally the eye would overlook profound gorges, of seemingly impenetrable depth, anon broad valleys would appear on either side, and the blue tops of mist-covered mountains be seen away to the north, as far as Springfield, or shutting in the horizon, on the south, far beyond the Arkansas line, some sixteen miles distant. This noble scenery extorted frequent expressions of surprise and admiration from the most indifferent spectator of the sublime in natural scenery. We frequently saw those singular looking hills, often met in Missouri, covered with a white, flinty rock, as if sown broad-cast, giving the landscape an appearance as if whitened by a snow-storm, or a shower of ashes. We passed through a portion of the extensive "pinery," from which lumber of a fine quality is procured, and transported for building material to various parts of the State. The day was cloudy, and the melancholy murmur of the breeze through the "pine tree's wavy top," added to the sombre character of our march. Not a house was to be seen, nor did we meet with but one solitary passenger, who, of course, was taken in hand by each successive officer, and subjected to an ex-parte examination. The desolate condition of the region passed was hit off by a cavalry-man, who volunteered the opinion "that a blue-jay, in flying over, would have to carry a haversack, lashed to his wings, or starve." The assertion would certainly be true of a "blue-jayhawker." Cape Fair, where we are encamped, has a few windowless huts, situated in the bend of Flat Creek. The latter stream, which bubbles up out of the ground at Cassville, is here anything but flat. The stream, like the "arrowy Rhone," pours an angry, black volume past here, as it comes down from the mountains, and, at this period of the year, is swollen so as to be impassable, except to horses or boats. Flat Creek empties into James River, a mile below this point. The latter stream is so much swollen, by the recent freshets, that fording is impracticable, and the army, it is thought, will have to rest here several days, unless the stream, some three miles below, at Mr. Carr's, is fordable. Had Price been a few miles on the other side, it would not have taken the army long to have found a way of crossing over. In coming from Springfield the streams were not an impediment. The cavalry were invariably in the advance, with some mountain howitzers, and, whenever they could come within shelling distance of the enemy, they threw some shells at them. The report of the guns would come back over the hills to the column of infantry, and then the order would surely be sent along the line to double-quick. The column would move off, for a mile or two, on double-quick, and if a stream, large or small, was to be crossed, no halt would be made, but "forward" was the word, and the stream was crossed. This stream would have been crossed, in the same way, had the enemy been in the front. Fortunately there was no great emergency, as it was rather uncertain where the enemy would spring up. Rumors were unreliable, and positive information could not be had as to Price's whereabouts. A force was known to be at Forsyth, but how large, or of what importance, no one seemed to know; yet it was important that the army should be on the move, as this was an out-of-the-way place, and rations might soon become scarce. How was the river to be crossed? Some suggested one plan, and some another. But the ingenuity of some one suggested a bridge of wagons for the troops to march over on. Wagons were, therefore, placed in line, from one shore to the other, and boards laid over the tops of the wagon beds. This made an excellent bridge for footmen, and, by four o'clock of the 9th, the army was all over, and in camp on the opposite shore. The march was continued the next morning, and the evening of the 10th witnessed the camping of the army on the east bank of Big Bear River, forty-eight miles from Cassville. The streams in this country are most beautiful. They are not large, nor deep, but of very rapid current. Their waters, excepting after heavy rains, when they become thickened by the washings from the mountains, are as clear as the purest crystal. They are fed by springs from the mountain gorges, and these are so numerous as to increase the small rivulet to a good-sized stream, within the distance of a few miles. The march, at one time, was down a narrow ravine, at the head of which was issuing, from under an overhanging rock, a small spring. In following down the ravine, this stream was crossed several times, and each crossing developed a largely increased stream, when, at the last crossing, not five miles from the first little spring, the water was up to the axle-trees of the wagons, and at least twenty feet in width, and large fish were seen swimming beneath its pellucid surface. On the morning of the 11th, the regiment pitched tents at the foot of one of the rugged Ozark mounts, that overlook the small valley of Big Bear River. The camp is named "Good News," because here was received the news of the capture of Island Number Ten, by General Pope. It is ten miles from Forsyth, in Taney county, Missouri. An incident of exceeding interest occurred here on the afternoon of Sunday, the 13th. It was no less than the delivery of a sermon by the Chaplain of the regiment. Dr. Hazlett had returned to the regiment while it lay at Cassville, and was now in charge--Doctor Maynard being still detained with the wounded at Leetown. On the evening of the arrival in camp here, the wagons were not all up, in consequence of bad roads, and Doctor Hazlett was without blankets. Lieutenant Brasher, Quartermaster of the regiment, was a particular friend of the Doctor's, and proffered to lend him blankets for the night. The Doctor sent his orderly, and had a nice bed made. Being very tired, he soon fell asleep, and slept soundly for two or three hours. Something now seemed to disturb his slumbers; he became restless; a crawling sensation pervaded his skin, and the inclination to scratch was irresistible. From this time forward there was no more rest for the Doctor. Some two hours earlier than was his custom he arose from his couch, unrefreshed, and in bad humor. After sick-call he retired to ascertain the cause of his peculiar sensations. The fact soon became patent that he was literally covered with "body-guard," (army lice.) "Hell and furies, Chris., look at these blankets, and see what's on them!" was his immediate orders to Chris. An examination showed them full of body-lice. "Carry them out, and burn the d--d things!" and out the Doctor rushed, in search of the Quartermaster. "Brasher, did you know that those blankets you loaned me last night were filled with lice?" "Why, no; were they?" says Brasher, very innocently. "Well, now, maybe they were, for my negro has been using them for the last month." The Doctor's anger was great, but he manfully swallowed it, and received the joke, and a bottle of whisky, with the best grace possible. There was no man in the regiment who prided himself so much in having neat clothing, and a cleanly person, as Doctor Hazlett, and this, perhaps, was the only time he had ever been tormented by these "plebeian tormentors." CHAPTER XVII. On the morning of the 16th of April, the regiment broke camp on Bear River, re-crossed it, and filed off up its western bank, until it came to Bull Run, then up Bull Run fifteen miles, to Bull's Mills, when it again went into camp. In coming up the run, it was necessary for the boys to wade it nineteen times. One man in particular, was compelled to take it, deep or shallow, because of some previous misconduct. He was tied to the tail-gate of a wagon, and thus trudged all day "_nolens volens_." Tying men behind wagons, on the march, is a favorite way of punishing the soldier for trivial offenses. The encampment is now in a small valley, entirely shut in by mountains, excepting the narrow gorge through which Bull Run finds its way to Bear River. From where the writer sits, the view is beautiful. Many of the trees on the opposite mountain side, are clothed in their summer garb, and many are only putting on their vestments of green, with sear and yellow leaves exposed beneath. Here is one green as can be, just beyond, is another red with flowers of the red bud, and then another, as white as the driven snow, with dogwood blossoms. Now is a spot of green earth, and just above it hangs a heavy mass of moss-grown rock, threatening the destruction of this magnificent scenery, by its speedy fall. Flowers of many kinds, are blooming everywhere around. Sweet Williams, Johny-jump-up's and blue bells are abundant, and lend enchantment to the view. At the foot of this mountain slope, are the white tents of the regiments. The blue smoke of their camp fires, is apparently climbing the mountain, giving a peculiar shade to the picture. Soldiers are everywhere mingled in the scene, some are busy cooking, some sitting or lying down, some walking, and _there_ is an officer on horseback. To the right is the mill and the dwelling house of the miller. Close by the mill, are some soldiers, fishing, and they complete the scene, as presented on the 18th day of April, 1862. Some excitement was created in camp, on the morning of the 19th, by the appearance of three very indignant ladies from the country, seeking Colonel Frederick's head-quarters, for the purpose of entering complaint against two boys of the Fifty-Ninth, for creating a disturbance at their house the night before, and sleeping with two of these ladies "_nolens volens_." The other, the mother of the two younger ladies, was on the hunt of a cavalry man, who was guilty of some offense against her. These boys were arrested and court-martialed. Two were convicted and one acquitted. The two convicted ones, were summarily drummed out of service with shaved heads. The Division broke up camp again on the 20th, and moved out in the rain and over the muddiest roads imaginable. They marched this day twenty miles, without anything to eat from the time of starting, until going into camp, and many of the boys had no supper the night before. At West Plains, some fifty of the Fifty-Ninth, were detached to report under Captain Elliott, to the gun-boat fleet, then laying at Cairo, for duty. They left the regiment about, the 25th of April, from which time, they spent the remainder of their term of service on the water. From West Plains, the regiment proceeded to Sulphur Rock, arriving there on the 8th of May. On the 10th of May, the Fifty-Ninth Illinois, Twenty-Second Indiana, and the Twenty-Fifth and Thirty-Fifth Illinois regiments, being detached from General Curtis's command, started "en route" for Cape Girardeau, Missouri. After marching nine days out of ten, these regiments arrived at the Cape on the evening of the 20th of May; having marched two hundred and fifty miles in ten days, resting one. On the morning of the 20th, the Fifty-Ninth started in the rear of the column. They were some thirty-five miles from the Cape, and all very anxious to arrive at their destination. The Twenty-Second Indiana was next ahead of the Fifty-Ninth, and equally as eager to make the Cape that day. It was a hard march, and about sundown all the regiments had bivouacked, except the Twenty-Second and Fifty-Ninth. These pulled ahead and passed the others some mile or two, when the Twenty-Second caved in. The Fifty-Ninth pushed on and came out nearest the Cape, and went into camp, exultant over their grey-hound perseverance. These regiments, on their arrival at Cape Girardeau, presented a "war worn" and rugged appearance. Some were entirely destitute of shoes, some had no coats, some were without hats, and many possessed only the remnants of pantaloons. Teams were immediately sent off to town for clothing and rations, and by the next evening, the men scarcely knew themselves in their new uniform. The 23d was a bright fair day, and Colonel Frederick priding himself exceedingly on the fine appearance of his regiment, determined to exhibit them to the admiring gaze of the citizens of the Cape. At nine o'clock, they left camp and marched to town, arriving in town the band struck up a lively march, and the steady tramp of the boys, to the time of the music, attracted the attention of the multitude. After marching through several streets, the regiment stacked arms and proceeded by companies, to the Paymaster's office, to receive their pay. After getting paid, the regiment fell into line and marched to the landing, where a steamboat was in waiting, to take them on board. This was the first indications of a ride, since leaving the old War Eagle, at Boonville. Since then, the regiment had marched twelve hundred miles, and now to be transported was quite a treat. At five o'clock, on the 23d, the boat left the camp for Hamburg landing. When opposite Paducah, Governor Yates, of Illinois, from the guards of another boat, addressed a few congratulatory and cheering remarks to the Fifty-Ninth, "upon what had transpired while they were out in the wilderness." Arriving at Hamburg landing on the 25th, the regiment went into camp some two miles from the river, out towards Corinth. Hamburg is the landing for all of General Halleck's army supplies, at this time, and the scene about the landing, is a lively one. Boats are coming up and unloading their cargoes daily. Mules, horses, wagons, rations, &c., are everywhere lumbering up the bluffs. From the boats the supplies are loaded into wagons, and forwarded to the army now before Corinth. Here are still seen many of the effects of the late battle. Here are the bluffs from which it is said many of our brave boys threw themselves into the river, to escape from the pursuing enemy." "Brave boys were they." Here the regiment was furnished with a new outfit of camp equipage, wagons and horses. Corinth was now supposed to be their destination, and in confirmation, the march towards that place was commenced on the morning of the 27th. The country from Hamburg landing to Corinth, is an unbroken wild, level and swampy. After a march of sixteen miles, over a recently constructed military road, the regiment went into camp about three miles to the north of Corinth. After the battle of Pea Ridge, P. Sidney Post obtained leave of absence, until his wound should so far heal, as to permit of active service. _Here_ he rejoined the regiment as Colonel of the same, having received a commission during his absence. Lieut. Colonel C. H. Frederick, after having commanded the regiment for nine months, with honor to himself and credit to the regiment, now resigned his command to Colonel Post, and very soon, thereafter, received and accepted an appointment on General Jeff. C. Davis' staff. On the morning of the 28th, the regiment moved into position before the works of the enemy, leaving the tents standing, and the camp equipage all in camp. Some skirmishing was occurring occasionally, between our pickets and those of the enemy, but no fighting of any consequence. The evacuation of Corinth, by the rebels, commenced on the 28th, so at least it was reported around camp, and so it was believed by several of the Division commanders; but General Halleck either discredited it or did not wish to encourage such an idea. General Pope was satisfied of the fact, and solicited the privilege of moving his command into a position that would prevent their escape; but was refused the request, with the reply that they could not escape. Large trees in elevated positions, had been selected and trimmed, and "look outs" stationed on the tops of these, so that the movements of the rebels could be seen in Corinth. These "look outs" confirmed the reports of the evacuation. No efforts were, however, made to prevent it. General Halleck's army all lay quietly behind their breastworks, to the north of town, leaving the way for the enemy to escape, entirely open; whereas, a small force could have been sent to prevent it and with General Halleck's army, the whole rebel army could have been captured. This was seen and believed by nearly all the privates in the army; yet on the morning of the 30th, Corinth was in our possession without a fight, _and nothing else_. The vast army, that General Halleck had been for months collecting, from all parts of the country at an enormous expense, and the great amount of labor and suffering of this vast army had all been in vain--entirely useless. Corinth and the whole territory left in our possession, was entirely worthless. And all this because Beauregard would not remain in Corinth until Halleck could dig his way under his fortifications and blow him up. As soon as the rebels, with all their material, were out of danger from our troops, a forward movement was ordered. Great and universal disappointment was manifested by the whole army when the fact was known that the rebels were all gone. Many and bitter were the curses against General Halleck. Every man felt that it was by his incapacity, want of energy, or a good feeling towards the rebel army, that they escaped so easily. All confidence was lost in the capacity of General Halleck as a commander, and it has never been restored by any of his subsequent official acts. There has been two great errors committed by some body during this war. The one was the removal of Fremont from the command at Springfield, Mo., and the other is the placing Halleck in command of the army before Corinth. The fortifications about Corinth were found to be trivial, in comparison to what was expected. One line of breast works of weak construction, and nothing but a few slight embrasures comprised the whole thing. Such fortifications one year afterwards, would have been looked upon as no impediment to the advance of our army. On the 30th, the Fifty-Ninth Illinois again broke camp, and moved out ten miles below Corinth, where they awaited the reconstruction of a bridge, which the rebels had burned. Cannonading is occasionally heard in the distance, which indicates that our advance is skirmishing with the rear of the flying enemy. Camp is pitched near Boonville, Miss., and on the morning of the 2d of June, the regiment moves out on a scout, leaving every thing but their blankets and haversacks in camp. Those unable to march are left in charge of an officer, to guard the camp, and the sick are left in the care of the Hospital Steward. The regiment pursued the enemy about twenty miles without overtaking them, and then returned to camp. It now lay in camp ten days without molestation. The enemy had fled beyond pursuit for the time being, but was still in hearing distance of our scouts, and the anticipation of another move was daily increasing. Instead of pursuing the enemy, the regiment returned to within two miles of Corinth, on the 12th, and went into regular camp on Clear Creek. There having been no rain for two weeks, the roads were now very dusty, and the marching very disagreeable; consequently it was a pleasant thing to go into camp on the shady banks of a clear stream of running water. This weather is delightful; only when the sun is at the meridian, then it is a little too hot for comfort. The early morning in camp is delightful, especially. The sun is just peeping up through the tree-tops. The birds are singing their early matins, before the smoke of camp becomes too thick for their vocal organs. The mules are adding their musical braying for their feed of dry oats, and the drivers are aiding the mules with their morning notes of universal cursing. To arise these mornings and witness all this, is charming. The boys are now having easy, good times. They have plenty of leisure to lay in the shade, and write letters to their friends at home. Policing of camp grounds in the morning, is all that is required of them, and this is usually done by extra-duty men. These are lazy fellows who will not get up in the morning in time to answer to their names at roll call. As a punishment, they are used as scavengers for the benefit of the industrious ones. There is considerable sickness amongst the men at this time, owing, perhaps, to the hot, dry weather, and bad water of this region. There are some nice springs along Clear Creek, but as a general thing, the only drinking water the men have had since leaving the Tennessee River, has been obtained from the marshes which here abound. All this region of country around Corinth, is a low, swampy, worthless marsh. Why, in the name of common sense, the rebel army was ever molested in the peaceable possession of Corinth is more than can now be comprehended. Why not have left them here; that they might starve, or sicken and die after their own liking. There are some very noisy fellows in camp, and it seems as though they are always making the most noise when respect for others should keep them most quiet. There are two good brass bands in the immediate neighborhood of our regiment, which frequently dispense most delightful music--but many times these rude fellows are like the dog in the manger, they will neither listen themselves, or let any one else enjoy the music. They are just the kind of men for an army, though--for a "man who has no music in his soul, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils." The boys have many ways of amusing themselves while laying in camp, and some of these they put into practice here. The most profitable and interesting of all others, is the attendance on the prayer meetings, the Chaplain is now conducting in the regiment. The Rev. Shoemate has been with the regiment since its organization, and has preached some three times since leaving Boonville, and is now having the first prayer meetings. These sermons and meetings have only cost the government the moderate sum of two hundred and fifty dollars each. An active, energetic and christian Chaplain is of invaluable service to the army, but an unconverted Chaplain is a nuisance. If there is any place on God's fair earth, where wickedness "stalketh abroad in daylight," it is in the army. It is lamentable to hear and see the profanity and wickedness which every where and all the time meets the ear and eye. Ninety-nine men out of every hundred are profane swearers. Gambling is not quite so universal, yet there are hundreds of young men who devote all their leisure time to this nefarious practice. Walk through camp at almost any hour, and you will see squads of young men engaged in risking their money and their souls on the chance throw of the die. This game is called "chuck-a-luck." A faithful, working christian Chaplain, would, in a great measure, control these practices among the young men of the army. While at Cross Timbers, in Arkansas, Captain Kelly, of Company F, resigned his commission, on account of ill health, and returned to his home in Illinois. Captain Kelly was invariably inclined to be kind and generous towards his men, even to the sacrifice of his own comfort, and his departure was regretted by all. As a testimony of the regard and esteem which the officers of the regiment had for Captain Kelly, the following "expression" was handed to him by the Major, whose name heads the list of signers: "We, the officers of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois Volunteer Regiment, take this method of expressing our esteem of Captain S. W. Kelly, as an officer and as a gentleman. In camps and on the march, as his health and strength permitted, his duties were always promptly and faithfully attended to. On the battle field he was firm and unflinching. In retiring to private life, he bears with him our best wishes." Signed J. C. Winters, and by twenty other officers of the regiment. On the resignation of Captain Kelly, the command of Company F devolved on Lieutenant John Kelly. The Lieutenant had faithfully filled the position from that time until now, and was justly entitled to a commission as Captain of the company. This, however, he failed to receive. Lieutenant Curry, of Company C, of the same regiment, obtained the commission, and took command of the company after its arrival at Jacinto, Miss. By the resignation of Captain Taylor, of Company H, Lieutenant A. Anthony, was left in command of _that_ company. More fortunate than Lieutenant Kelly, he subsequently obtained a Captain's commission and commanded the company as such, until ill health compelled him also to resign. On the 20th of June, the regiment received orders to move out towards Jacinto, Miss., without tents or baggage, and to leave the sick, cripples and convalescents behind. It marched some twenty miles and bivouacked within two or three miles of Jacinto. Here they remained until the 28th. On the 26th, orders were received at camp to remove the sick to General Field hospital at Corinth, and bring forward the tents and other camp equipage to the regiment. This was accomplished in good order; the trains reporting to the regiment about eleven o'clock, on the 28th. While laying in camp, sickness had increased considerably, and now there was quite a number to be left at hospital. When the train arrived at the regiment, it was under marching orders and making preparations to move. Rations were being distributed to the men, and the Surgeons were drawing a supply of medicines and other hospital stores for their respective regiments. All the indications were that a long and rapid march was in contemplation, or else an engagement with the enemy. Old soldiers are not often deceived in their prognosis. CHAPTER XVIII. At three o'clock of the 28th, the regiment again started on the march. Rumor had it that the destination was Holly Springs, which is thirty-five miles south of Memphis. The roads were now in good condition. The dust was nicely settled by a previous rain, and the weather was not so excessively hot as it had been a few days before. The men were well rested, and in good health and spirits. The teams were in good condition, and all seemed propitious for a successful campaign. Passing through Jacinto, towards Rienzi, the regiment made eight miles, and went into camp. The next morning, starting early, it made fifteen miles, and went into camp one-half mile east of the town of Ripley. This is quite a pretty town, of, perhaps one thousand inhabitants. It is the county town of Tippah County, Mississippi, and is prettily situated in the best portion of the country the regiment had visited. This was Sunday, and the citizens were all at church when our army made its appearance. The minister was reading a hymn when our advance was first descried, and some one at the church door sang out, the "Yankees are coming!" It may be supposed that this created some alarm--perhaps as much as the cry of fire would have done. The congregation rushed for the door, and, as fast as they could get out of the house, skedaddled--some for their homes, but most of them for the timber, on double-quick. It can easily be believed that there was some tall running about this time. They were taken entirely by surprise. The rebel soldiers that had been there, a few days before, were all gone to some other point, and their withdrawal had caused the citizens to suppose that the town of Ripley was in perfect security; but now, of course, they expected, if caught, to be roasted, and eaten by the cannibal Yankees. Our army, however, marched through the town in perfect good order, molesting no one, nor touching a thing belonging to any one. A few negroes, three or four old men, and some children, were all that could be seen in the streets, as our soldiers passed. "Yah, yah, yah; Massa said you 'uns would neber come dis here way--yah, yah." Thus said an old darkey, as we passed him. "He was mistaken dat time, for here you is, sure 'nough--yah, yah." "Where is your master now?" asked one of our boys. "He's done gone. Wen you 'uns was seen comin', he broke for de brush--yah, yah." Monday being muster day, the army lay in camp until Tuesday morning, to allow time for making up the muster-rolls. The women, and some of the male citizens, had returned to their homes, as soon as they ascertained that the Yankees were not particularly fond of roasted rebels, and many of the officers became domesticated at their houses. At one of these houses an officer was talking with the lady, in the parlor, when a private stepped to the door, to make some inquiry. There was in the parlor at the time, quite a pretty, smart-looking girl, ten or twelve years old, who was attentively listening to the conversation. When the soldier came to the door, the mother pointed towards him, and said to the girl: "Look there, Eliza. There's a Yankee. You was just asking what kind of an animal they were." The girl looked at the soldier with astonishment, for a second, then, turning to her mother, said: "Why, mother, that's not a Yankee; that's a man." This poor girl had expected to see a wild animal of some kind. She had no idea that the Yankees were men. This is in kind with the ignorance of a young woman, whose husband was in the rebel army. She was, herself, a most rabid secesh. Some of our boys were telling her of the victories they had gained over the rebels, particularly the one at Pea Ridge, in Arkansas. "O, yes," said she, "you whipped us there; but you never could have done it if it hadn't been for the gun-boats." Gun-boats at Pea Ridge, more than ninety miles from water! What an idea! Ignorance is not always bliss. Tuesday morning, the army again moved out, passing back through Ripley, and on towards Holly Springs. Here Colonel P. Sidney Post came very near being captured. Many of the young "bloods" of the army were in the habit of leaving their commands, and taking up their quarters at citizens' houses whenever an opportunity of the kind offered, on the march, or while in camp. Colonel Post had here formed the acquaintance of some secesh ladies, and enjoyed himself hugely in their society. When the regiment left town, he remained behind a short time to have a parting word with the sweet charmers, and would, perhaps, have remained some time longer had not an acquaintance rode to the door, and urged him to go on with the command. The plot laid to capture him was just completed as he rode away. These fair ladies had made arrangements with some half-dozen rebels to come to the house, and lay in wait, until notified of the opportune moment for their purpose. One of these ladies left the presence of the Colonel for that object, just as the Colonel was urged to go to his command. Five minutes later, and he would have been a prisoner. Soon after leaving town, two of our boys, who were some distance in the rear of the regiment, on account of ill health, were unexpectedly ordered to halt. On looking around, they discovered some half-dozen guerrillas by the roadside, with guns pointing toward them, in threatening attitude. "Halt! you damned Yankee sons-of-bitches, or we'll blow your brains out," was the order of the rebs. The boys were in a ravine, with hills in front and rear; and, just at this time, there were none of our men in sight. There was no alternative but to surrender. This they did, with as good grace as possible. They were taken some distance from the road, and whatever of value they had was taken from them. A consultation was then held among the captors, to determine whether these two "Yanks" should be shot on the "spot," or taken to General Price, who was then at Tupelo. One or two were for shooting them at once, and thus save trouble; but the majority opposed it, and they were marched off in a southerly direction. They marched until nearly night, when they came to an encampment of rebels, near some small town, the name of which they did not learn. Here they were placed in an old deserted house, together with a number of other prisoners. The names of these two men were Joseph H. Sullivan and Jesse L. McHatton. They were soon joined by Moses T. Anderson, captured about the same time, and in the same manner. These three belonged to the Fifty-Ninth Regiment. The other prisoners were from different regiments. There was one prisoner there who had been captured at the siege of Corinth. He was Chaplain to some regiment, and was now under sentence of death, for being a spy. He was a Southern man, with Union sentiments, and hence the supposition that he was a spy for the Union army. He had just had his court-martial, and the sentence was to be put in execution on the morrow. During the evening he told his story to the boys of the Fifty-Ninth, and at once enlisted their sympathies in his behalf. A plan was soon devised, and suggested by Joseph Sullivan, by which he, perhaps, might make his escape. The night happened to be most favorable, and the plan succeeded admirably. There were no lights about the building, consequently all was in darkness as soon as the daylight disappeared. Before that time, however, Joseph Sullivan had noticed a comparatively loose board in the floor, and that the house was considerably raised from the ground, by being set on blocks at the corners. The plan then was, that the Chaplain should hold prayer-meeting, about nine or ten o'clock, and, while the praying and singing was attracting the attention of the guards, the board in the floor should be taken up, and the Chaplain pass through under the floor, and there remain until he should hear a slight thumping on the floor above him, when he should crawl out at the north-west corner, and make his escape. The Chaplain gave out the hymn from memory, offered up a most excellent and fervent prayer, asking forgiveness on his to-morrow's executioners, and pardon for the whole rebel Confederacy, and praying that they might soon see the error of their ways, and return to their allegiance, etc. He then gave out another hymn, and, while it was being sung, slipped through the opening to the ground beneath the floor. The board was carefully replaced, and all soon became quiet. In about an hour Joseph Sullivan and McHatton, leaving Anderson to give the signal on the floor, used some strategy to attract the attention of the guard, so that the Chaplain had an opportunity to pass out undiscovered. It is not known that he was ever re-captured. The supposition is that he made good his escape, and is now with his friends. The next morning the prisoners were started on for Tupelo. Arriving at Price's head-quarters, they were ordered to Mobile; from Mobile they were sent to Macon, Georgia, where they were kept until the 8th of October, when they were shipped to Richmond, Virginia, for exchange. While at Macon, Joseph Sullivan was granted the privilege of the city, that he might work at his trade. He was a shoemaker by trade, and made shoes for the benefit of the sick in hospital. The money he received for his work he expended for quinine, and other necessaries, for the sick prisoners. In this way he accomplished a great amount of good, and will ever be remembered by those thus benefitted with gratitude. These three men were reasonably well treated while prisoners, and returned, September 8, 1864, to their old regiment, in good health. The march of the regiment was continued, in the direction of Holly Springs, until late in the evening. Reveille at three, and march at five o'clock, is the order for the following morning. True to orders, at five o'clock the regiment is on the move. The march is continued all day, and until one o'clock at night. The men are very tired, and take no time to prepare coffee, but stretch themselves on the ground, and go to sleep. At four o'clock orders came to fall in. Most of the men are yet asleep, but the order must be obeyed, and slowly they fall into ranks. No supper, no breakfast, and yet must march. 'Tis hard, but "Forward, march!" The column moves out, and takes the back track. The enemy is threatening the rear, and will cut us off from our supplies. Hungry and weary, the men drag the march along all day, and go into bivouac ready to pull out again at a moment's notice. We are now not far from Rienzi, having made over sixty miles since the morning of the 1st. The men are on less than half rations, and the teams without forage. Many of the horses were without feed for forty-eight hours, and many of the men, for twenty-four hours, did not have a mouthful of nourishment. This is the heaviest marching the regiment has ever done. On the 4th the army went into camp at Jacinto, the Fifty-Ninth camping about two miles from town. Although the three days' marching had been very trying on the nerve and muscle of the men, the regiment came into camp at Jacinto in good condition. The health of the regiment was never better. There were very few who had failed to keep their places in the ranks. One man had been severely wounded by the upsetting of a wagon. He was riding on the wagon, asleep, when the driver, in going down a hill, upset his wagon, throwing the sleeper from the comfortable quarters he was enjoying to the earth. An axe being his companion on the wagon, struck his foot as he fell, making a severe wound. CHAPTER XIX. Jacinto is a pretty little town, twenty-five miles south of Corinth, in Nishamingo County, and is situated in a cultivated part of the country. As a general thing, this is an uncultivated region. From Corinth through Ripley to within a few miles of Holly Springs, wherever the regiment has marched, the country is comparatively a wilderness. In the immediate vicinity of Rienzi, Jacinto and Ripley, there are some small plantations under ordinary good cultivation. The land is poor and rather unproductive, yielding but small compensation for the labor required to till it. The appearances of the few women and children which are seen along the march, indicates the prevalence of agues and fevers during the spring and fall seasons of the year, and the many swamps and marshes seen in all directions, confirm the supposition that it is a very unhealthy country. The country around Jacinto and the other little towns is more elevated and broken, and affords some assurance of health. Jacinto is in a comparatively healthy location, and should the army remain here during the heat of summer, it may enjoy good health. The water is obtained from springs, and is much more healthy than the brackish water of the swamps, which the soldier was compelled to drink while on the march. It is now probable that active operations will be suspended till the hot season is over, and the troops are busy making preparations to enjoy a recuperative season in camp. They are determined to have camp as attracting as possible, and as comfortable as green shades and good bunks can make it. The camp grounds of the Fifty-Ninth has been judiciously selected on one of the small pine ridges which skirt the streams of this region, and is convenient to both fence rails and water. Fence rails make most excellent fires for cooking and the cool spring water is a luxury much to be prized during the hot days of this season of the year. The small pine shrubbery affords excellent material for the construction of shades and arbors to protect against the scorching rays of the sun. Some of the companies are taking great pains in the construction of arbors adjoining their tents. Company K has excelled all the others in artistic skill and ingenuity in the construction of these shades. All over camp these bowers are so constructed as to effectually shield from the scorching rays of Old Sol, and groups of hardy looking soldiers are now to be seen engaged in every conceivable pastime, unconscious of the oppressive heat outside. Some are discussing the conservative policy of General Halleck in pitying the rebels--guarding their property from molestation by our soldiers while on the march and while laying in camp, and in feeding the families of those in arms against us from our scant rations. A squad of men has just left camp to go a mile out, for the purpose of guarding a rebel family against intrusion by any of the soldiers. This, the majority of the disputants are opposed to, while some are in favor of the policy. Some of these boys have been compelled very much against their will, to stop while on the march, and stand guard at the gate of some fine mansion, whose owner was in the rebel army, while the families occupying the log houses along the road were left to the mercy of every straggler in the army. This is looked upon by those opposed to the policy as great injustice. Some are engaged in writing letters to their friends at home, and some in playing cards, some are reading, and here is a squad attracted by the exciting game of chuck-a-luck. Some are rubbing up their muskets and others are stretched upon their beds of pine, taking a nap. This will continue to be the daily camp scene until orders come to move out again. Soon after coming into camp, Dr. H. J. Maynard reported from Cassville, Mo., and again took charge of the sick. Dr. Hazlett assumed the duties of Brigade Surgeon, and located himself at Jacinto. As is always the case, while laying in camp, sickness now increases, so that a large hospital tent is required to shelter the patients. This field hospital is still continued at Corinth, and orders are to send all serious cases up there for treatment. The indications also point towards an early move, and it is not policy to have many sick men with the regiment. There had been an order for several days, to be ready to move at a moment's notice, but no move was made until the 4th of August. On the 4th, the regiment started out on a scout, as was supposed, leaving the camp standing, as is usual on such occasions. The 4th of August was, perhaps, the hottest day of the season, and the men suffered excessively from the heat. Quite a number fell from the ranks with "sun-stroke," and some expired from its effects. None of the Fifty-Ninth died, but two or three never fully recovered from its impression. On the 6th, the Acting Quartermaster, Lieutenant H. W. Hall, received orders to break up camp, and move his train to Iuka, Miss., some twenty miles farther east. The sick were all sent to general field hospital, and about noon the train moved out. Passing through Jacinto, it continued to move until nine o'clock, when it overtook the regiment, in bivouac, some six miles from Iuka. The regiment had thus far returned from its expedition, and bivouacked for the train to come up, so as to be safely escorted to Iuka. There were many guerrillas through the country, and it was unsafe to send the train without a strong guard. Early in the morning the march was continued to Iuka, where the regiment again went into regular camp. The regimental Sutler did not come through with the train, but waited until the next day. When coming through, on the 8th, with three wagons loaded with goods, and six splendid mules to each wagon, the guerrillas came upon him about five miles from Iuka, and captured two wagons and mules with their drivers, and also one man belonging to the ranks in the regiment. The Sutler, who was on horseback, made his escape, as did also one of the wagons. After taking as many of the goods as they could carry away with them, they set fire to the wagons and burned them. The mules and prisoners were taken to Tupelo. Besides the mules and wagons, the Sutler lost about two thousand dollars worth of goods. The prisoners were taken to General Price. Two of them being citizens, one the driver and the other the Sutler's clerk, were released on parole of honor. The soldier, William Workman, of Company F, was released by taking an oath of pseudo alliance to the Confederate government. As soon as it was known that these guerrillas had committed this outrage, a squad of cavalry was started in pursuit, but too late to overtake them. A short distance from where the wagons were burned, the rebels had taken breakfast that morning, and perhaps concealed themselves there the night before. The family at first denied any knowledge of the affair, but in looking around some of the Sutler's goods were discovered. This settled the matter to the satisfaction of our boys, and they immediately ordered the family to pack up such things as they wished to save from the flames, for their house should never harbor any more guerrillas. Soon the house was emptied of its contents, the Sutler's goods were retaken, and the house shared the fate of the wagons--nothing was left but the ashes. The regiment on leaving Jacinto, marched in a southern direction about twenty-five miles, to a place called Sand Springs. A large cotton factory and dry goods establishment was in operation there, and a camp of three or four hundred rebels in the vicinity. It was for the purpose of breaking up this establishment that the expedition was undertaken. Several regiments were detailed from the different brigades for that purpose, and General Robert Mitchell was in command. The first night out, the command bivouacked on an old rebel's plantation, some fifteen miles south of Jacinto. In the evening, General Mitchell, with his staff, rode forward in advance of the column to this old planter's house, and was most cordially received and welcomed by the old gentlemen, with true southern hospitality. The General soon discovered which way the wind blew with the old man, and encouraged him in his delusion. He informed the planter that he was General Price, of the Confederate army, and that he wished to camp some of his boys near by, and take up his own quarters at his house for the night. The old gentleman was highly delighted, and generously proffered his house and premises for the accommodation of General Price. By this time it had become the dusk of the evening, and our boys were coming into camp in good order. General Mitchell detained the old planter in conversation so closely that he had no opportunity to discover the difference between our boys and his friends, the rebels. After the General had pumped this old rebel to his entire satisfaction, he retired--but before doing so, had a guard placed around the house, with orders to let no one out or in. Before going to bed the old planter attempted to pass the guard, but was not allowed to do so. He thought rather strange of the proceedings, but submitted with a good grace, and retired to dream of the honor to his house in the entertainment of the great General Price, of the Confederate States army. He was up in the morning early, and again attempted to pass the guard, with no better success, however. It was now becoming light, and the uniform of the soldiers at the door attracted his attention. His suspicions were aroused. "Are you a Confederate soldier?" said he to the guard. "No, sir ee," replied the soldier. "What are you, then?" said the planter, "and how came you here?" "I am a Union soldier, and am here by the order of General Mitchell." "Who is General Mitchell, and where is he?" asked the planter, eagerly. "General Mitchell commands these regiments out here in your fields, and is now in your house." "And where are the soldiers of General Price?" inquired the old gentleman. "To hell, for all I know," replied the soldier, who, not understanding the matter, turned away and walked his beat. The old man re-entered his room, wondering how it all happened. Pretty soon General Mitchell made his appearance, and greeted the planter with a pleasant "good morning." "How is it, General, that I see so many Union soldiers out here?" "Those are my boys out there," says the General, "and I am General Mitchell of the Union army, and not General Price, as you was glad to believe last night. It is now time I was on the move, and you will prepare to go with me. I want you to guide me to the Sand Springs, and if you deceive me in one particular your life shall immediately pay the forfeit." The old planter was sold, and there was no help for it. Sullenly, but faithfully he obeyed orders, and when the expedition returned he was allowed to remain with his family. The rebels fled at our approach; the factory was destroyed; the store gutted, &c. CHAPTER XX. Iuka is a pretty little town twenty-five miles east of Jacinto, Mississippi, and is on the Memphis, and Charleston railroad. It is twenty miles south-east of Corinth, and is pleasantly located. The country is rather better than any we have seen in Mississippi, and the improvements are good. The town has some very fine buildings, for private residences, and one fine large hotel. It has several mineral springs in the neighborhood, which have obtained quite a notoriety for their curative properties. Iron, sulphur and salts, characterize the water of these springs. The chalybeate spring is highly impregnated with the medical properties of iron, and is no doubt admirably adapted to some cases of disease. The sulphur spring is also strongly tinctured with sulphur. On account of these springs, Iuka has been a favorite resort for invalid planters and their families, and perhaps, some day may become a noted "watering place." The regiment went into camp half a mile south of town, on a pleasant piece of ground, formerly used as a play ground for the scholars of an academy located there. The academy building was yet standing, but had been used as barracks for soldiers, and was very much abused. Doctor Maynard took possession of it now, for the use of the sick. The regiment had now marched in its advances and retreats, over two hundred miles since coming to the State of Mississippi, and the men were willing to rest for a short time at Iuka. Rumor now has it, that one Brigade is to remain here during the balance of the summer. The men are thereby encouraged to erect some more pleasant bowers, to protect themselves from the excessive heat. A day or two after coming here, two of our boys, while scouting through the country, stopped at a widow womans, and in genuine guerrilla fashion, proceeded to rob her of all the money she had, some forty or fifty dollars. The woman followed them to camp, and reported the affair to the Captain of the company. The boys were arrested, but what punishment they received, deponent saith not. Two other cases of a similar character, only on a much larger scale, and perhaps with more justice, occurred while laying here. A rich old planter, living about two miles from town, had the reputation of being a rebel, although he remained at home, and apparently minded his own business. General Mitchell, however, supposed him to be a fit subject for arrest, and to have the law of confiscation applied to his property. He, therefore, sent a squad of men, and brought the old man to town, together with horses, mules, wagons, cotton, and negroes, to the amount of twenty thousand dollars. All the property was taken for the benefit of the Government, and the old gentleman was held for the safety of the commonwealth. The other case was that of an old planter in Alabama, about twenty miles south of Iuka. He, too, was rich, with negroes, cotton, mules, etc., and was tainted with disunion sentiments. General Mitchell deemed it necessary to clip the wings of his riches, also, lest they should fly over to the rebel cause. Accordingly, a detachment of two or three regiments, the Fifty-Ninth included, were started out one evening, about sun-down, to make him a visit. After marching all night, they came to the plantation at sun-rise, or just before, but not early enough to catch the old planter. The negroes, cotton, mules, horses and wagons, were taken in possession. Other plantations were visited, and many bales of cotton were found hid away in the brush, the hiding places being pointed out by the negroes. The expedition returned, with ninety bales of cotton, besides other property, to the amount of several thousands of dollars. These three cases were somewhat similar, but with this difference: the one was in accordance with guerrilla warfare, the other according to the law of civilized warfare. The health of the regiment continued good while here, although some cases occurred from the excessive use of green corn, and other imprudent indulgences. One patient, (Nathan Logue, of Company B,) was taken sick on the morning of the 18th, was sent to town to general hospital on the morning of the 19th, and died that afternoon, at three o'clock. The First Lieutenant of Company F, (John Kelly,) was here compelled to leave his company, and attend solely to his own afflictions. For several months his eyes had been affected with severe inflammation, which now became almost insupportable. The Surgeon, (Doctor Maynard,) had frequently advised him to resign his commission, and leave the army, until he could get his eyes restored to a healthy condition. This he persistently refused to do. His love of country was above all considerations of self. Said he: "My country needs my services. I was, also, instrumental in getting the boys of Company F to enlist, and they were generous enough to give me the second position in the company, and now I will not desert them. I will share their toils and hardships as long as it is possible for me to do so." Now his eyes had become so much inflamed that he could not see. The pain was excessive, his whole system became deranged, fever set in, typhoid symptoms soon made their appearance, and he became prostrated. He was taken to a private house in town, was well nursed and medically attended; but nature could endure no longer, and, in August he was buried at Iuka, Mississippi. He was beloved by all belonging to his company, and highly respected by every officer and private in the regiment. His love of country was only excelled by his love of virtue. CHAPTER XXI. Orders came to the regiment on the morning of the 18th of August, to march at twelve o'clock. This order had been anticipated for a day or two, and did not create any surprise. Although the men had been expecting to remain some time longer at Iuka, they willingly proceeded to pull down arbors and strike tents. The Fifty-Ninth had been in service long enough to learn that orders were not rumors or suppositions, and that to obey with alacrity was characteristic of a contented soldier; and that, however much they might desire to stay at Iuka, the better policy was to leave without complaint. "Rumors, rumors; vague, contradictory! Surely, like the heath on which the witches in 'Macbeth' stirred their gruel, and summoned the spirits of many colors." As W. L. F. writes of Memphis, so Iuka is at this time--the gathering place of "black rumors and white, red rumors and grey." Every hour there is a new batch of them. One rumor says that General Buell is now in the Sequatchie Valley, east of Stevenson and north of the Tennessee River, nearly north of Chattanooga, with General Kirby Smith in his front, with Polk and Bragg in his rear, and with Forrest's cavalry on the north, which is large, and another formidable force on the south, leaving him a bare possibility of escaping with his command. Then comes another one on the same day, and tells that General Bragg was near Bolivar, with an army of twenty thousand men, and about to surround General Ross, who is in command at that place. And still another--that "Price is at Grand Junction," and is about to eat up the army of General Rosecranz, at Corinth. To the relief of some one of these points, the command of General Davis is now to be sent. Some suppose it will be back to Corinth, and some to relieve Buell. The latter proved to be the correct supposition, and hence the direction taken was towards Tennessee. At twelve o'clock, the command moved out. At one o'clock it commenced raining, and continued raining till the next morning. The command marched eight miles that afternoon, going into camp sometime after dark--and dark it was, too. Wet and hungry, the men had to lay that night without fire or tents. It was too dark to find wood, and the wagons did not come up in time to pitch tents. About day-light the rain ceased, and the sun came up bright and cheering, and disclosed to view the small town of Eastport, and the Tennessee River. Two steamboats were in waiting at the wharf to ferry the troops over. Eastport is on the left bank of the Tennessee River, in the north-east corner of the State of Mississippi. It is, altogether, a one-horse town, although some business in the way of shipping produce has been carried on here. The town is situated on one of those high, abrupt banks, which are everywhere met with along the Tennessee River. The view from the bluff just above town affords a most magnificent scenery. In the east the sun is lending a brilliancy to the dispersing rain-clouds of the night before. In the south the blue waters of the Tennessee, are seen emerging from a narrow avenue, among the heavy foliage of the forest trees, in the distance; and in the north the same waters are seen disappearing as they came, to find their level in the bosom of its rival--the Ohio. Beneath you lay the two steamboats, sending up their wreath of white, and their black columns of smoke. A line of soldiers are forming on the wharf to await the order for crossing. In the back-ground are the camps, with their thousand soldiers, in all conceivable attitudes, giving a lively finish to the picture. Soon after sun-rise the troops commenced crossing. At three o'clock the Fifty-Ninth crossed over, and went into camp about one mile from the river. The 20th was consumed in getting the trains over, and in fitting up rations, etc., for a continued march. While here the boys amused themselves bathing in the river, and washing up their dirty clothing. Here, too, Colonel Post again came very near being captured. He, with Doctor Maynard, who was ever ready for a scout, or a dash at the Johnny secesh, rode out beyond the lines in the evening, and called at a plantation, where two or three ladies detained them until after dark. Soon after starting for camp they were ordered to "halt" by some unseen foe; but, not being inclined to an ambush, they put spurs to their horses, and made their escape, although several shots were fired after them. On the morning of the 21st we again broke camp, and did not pitch tents until we reached Florence, Alabama. Florence is a beautiful town, of, perhaps, one thousand inhabitants. It is situated near the right bank of the Tennessee River, not far from the Tennessee State line. It seems to be a place of some business, but, to judge from appearances, it is principally occupied by wealthy citizens, who are destitute of employment. There is no other town so well calculated for the enjoyment of repose as Florence. The houses, for the most part, are set back some distance from the street, and the front yard is filled with most delightful shade trees. Many of these trees are quite large, indicating great age, but have been cut off at the top so as not to be of too great a height for ornament as well as shade. In riding along the street, in hot weather, the inclination to stop, and take a siesta under these cool shades, is almost irresistible. A glimpse of the white cottage, within, is only now and then obtained through the thick foliage of the trees in front. No wonder the citizens of Florence are opposed to the emancipation policy. To lay in the shade here, and have slaves to wait on you--what more could be desired? The regiment encamped near the river, not far from a railroad bridge that had been burned by General Sherman, a few months before. The tents, and all camp equipage, were now ordered to be left behind, and the men march with light knapsacks. From Florence the march was continued to Lawrenceburg, Tennessee; thence to Columbia, from Columbia to Franklin, and through Franklin to Murfreesboro', Tennessee. Here we lay in camp one day, and then moved out for Nashville. Starting late in the evening, we reached Nashville next afternoon at four o'clock, making over thirty miles in less than twenty four hours. The country, from Florence to Murfreesboro', is under good cultivation, and is the most productive of any the army has passed through since leaving Boonville, Missouri. The splendid plantations of General Polk and brothers are on this road, and are unsurpassed by any that we have ever seen. The buildings are of the most approved style of modern architecture, and the grounds are most beautifully arranged, after the English model. All that money, art and slave labor can accomplish is here displayed. The land is rich, and under a high state of cultivation. Columbia, Franklin and Murfreesboro' are interesting towns, of twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants each. At Columbia is an obelisk, erected to the memory of the heroes who volunteered to leave their homes, and the town of Columbia, for the purpose of serving in the Mexican war. The inscriptions on this monument give the names, rank, age and time of death of these honorable heroes. It is quite an ornament to the public square of the town, and speaks volumes in praise of the good and patriotic citizens. The honor was due the Mexican heroes. The command passed through Franklin on Sunday. The citizens were consequently at leisure to meet on the streets and witness the soldiers as they marched through town. The soldier prides himself, at all times, on his soldierly appearance when in the ranks, but, when passing through these secesh towns, he more than takes delight in showing himself to good advantage. "Here's your Yankee soldier, you insignificant traitor, you--look at him, and tremble"--is the expression he wears on his countenance, and exhibits in his military step and bearing. The citizens of Franklin were much more numerous than had been seen in any of the towns hitherto passed through. There were, perhaps, more union people, and a less number who had fled at our approach. Five miles west of Franklin a large cotton factory is in operation, and, as the army passed, the factory girls, to the number of two or three hundred, came out to see it pass. The girls were neatly dressed in their holiday clothing, and presented a very interesting spectacle to the soldiers. Many months had passed since so many young ladies had been looked upon by these war-worn soldiers. Home and civilized society was brought to the memory, and many a sad thought forced itself through the mind, of the loved ones at home, who, to-day, were congregated at their places of Sunday gathering, in the country, to hear glad tidings from the preacher. Jests and repartees flew thick and fast between the girls and the soldier-boys, as the regiments moved by. Many of these girls were very pretty and intelligent, although they, more than likely, belonged to the families of the "poor white trash" of the South. When going into camp near Murfreesboro', two boys of the Fifty-Ninth left the regiment to visit a house half a mile from the road for the purpose of getting something for their supper. While there they were surprised by three or four guerrillas and taken prisoners. News of the affair soon came to camp and a squad was sent out after them, but without success. Arriving at Nashville on the 4th the regiment went into camp two miles south of the city, and lay there until the morning of the 6th, when it again moved out. Passing through the city it crossed the Tennessee river and encamped near Edgefield. Here General Davis lays in wait until the balance of Buell's army could come up and cross the river. General Jeff. C. Davis was detached from the army of General Rosecranz, at Iuka, with eight thousand men, and reported to General Buell at Murfreesboro'. The Fifty-Ninth Illinois was in his command and was among the first regiments that crossed the river at Nashville. The positions of General Buell's army at Battle Creek, Huntsville, and McMinnville, on account of the movements of General Bragg's rebel army, became untenable, and had to be evacuated. General Bragg massed his army at Chattanooga and Knoxville, Tennessee. One corps, under General Kirby Smith, had succeeded in a flank movement, and had already reached the borders of Kentucky. Two other corps under General Hardee and Leonidas Polk were about to succeed in joining Smith, thus forming an army of forty thousand men--sufficiently strong to threaten either Cincinnati or Louisville, and cut General Buell off from all his communications. These movements caused General Buell to move his army with all dispatch towards Louisville to secure his own safety and that of Louisville and Cincinnati. The crossing was effected on the 8th, and about sunset the Fifty-Ninth again pushed out. The evening was mild and pleasant, although somewhat lowering. Clouds were accumulating and thickening in the west, and appearances rather indicated rain. No rain had fallen since leaving Eastport, and the roads were getting very dry and dusty, and water very scarce. A rain would therefore be very acceptable at this time--but such a rain as fell that night was more than agreeable! The troops had hardly got under way, when it became dark, and continually growing darker. It finally became "darkness visible," and the rain commenced. The heavens opened and poured their floods of water in torrents; the lightning's vivid flash is blinding, and the thunder's roar exceeds the combined report of all earth's artillery. No mortal man could march in such a storm, and for half an hour the _mighty_ hosts of General Buell bent themselves submissively to the will of Him "who rides upon the whirlwind and controls the storm." When the storm moderated, the march was continued and kept up until two o'clock in the morning. After marching all night, the regiment lay here quietly in camp for over thirty-six hours, and then made another night march, and lay in camp a day. Why this night marching, and laying by through the day, is unaccountable to outsiders. The march now continues from day to day until the 27th of September, when the army encamps at Louisville. The route traversed by General Jeff. C. Davis' division, was from Nashville via Franklin, Dripping Springs, Cave City, to Bowling Green; from Bowling Green through Mumfordsville, Elizabethtown and West Point to Louisville. The distance from Nashville to Louisville, by the roads marched over, is over two hundred miles, and the time occupied in marching was fourteen days. The army having laid by four days and counter-marched one. At Dripping Springs the division encamped one night, and marched out early the next morning, and until twelve o'clock. A halt was called, the column faced about and marched directly back to the last night's camp. Buell was either a knave or a coward, or perhaps both. The probabilities are that if Buell had marched his army as a _General_ should and would have done from Nashville on, he would have saved the surrender of the four thousand brave men at Mumfordsville. But what time he could not loiter away, he took up in counter-marching his weary and half-fed troops. A division of only two brigades of Bragg's army under General Buckner, attacked our forces at Mumfordsville. This force consisted of the Sixteenth, Seventeenth, Sixty-Seventh and Eighty-Third Indiana regiments, under Colonel Wilder. After being repulsed three times, with a loss of two or three hundred, they retire to await reinforcements. In a day or two they renew the attack with a largely increased force. After a desperate resistance, Colonel Wilder is compelled to surrender. The prisoners are paroled, and in a day or two they pass through our columns to the rear, without arms. Why was it that General Buell did not reinforce that bravely defended garrison? If, instead of counter-marching twenty miles and wasting two or three days in idleness, he had steadily advanced with his army, Mumfordsville would have been saved. Had he have been seen and known along the lines at the time those brave men were passing to the rear, his hide would never have held bran. When our army passed through the ground held by the rebels, during the attack, the dead were yet unburied. A rebel officer and private soldier, the one in splendid uniform, the other in rags, were side by side, awaiting the sexton's aid. From Mumfordsville to Louisville the march was continued unintermittingly, and on less than half rations and some days without water. Some of the men were without food for forty-eight hours. Without shoes, ragged and dirty, they arrive at Louisville, contrasting beautifully with the neatly uniformed recruits about the city, with their paper collars and blacked boots. General Jeff. C. Davis' division had now marched about three hundred and seventy-five miles since the 18th of August, and over six hundred miles since leaving Corinth, Miss. The sick and disabled were left in hospital at Bowling Green as the regiment came through, so that on its arrival at Louisville there was but one disabled man in the Fifty-Ninth, and he unfortunately became disabled by falling from the top of a loaded wagon and breaking his arm. While at Louisville, the boys, as a general thing, had the privilege of the city and enjoyed themselves very much. Some of them took "french leave," and visited their friends over the river. One man, William Rumsey, Company H, lost his life while here, in an unfortunate difficulty with a fellow soldier. Rumsey was a good soldier, and not at all inclined to be quarrelsome, but through some evil influence he enraged one of General Mitchell's body guard to such a degree that he drew his pistol and shot him. Here, also, the regiment met with a great loss by the transfer of Dr. H. J. Maynard to another department. Through the influence of some friends in Arkansas, he was commissioned First Surgeon of the First Arkansas Cavalry Regiment. This entitled him to a transfer, and he bid adieu to the Fifty-Ninth Illinois at Louisville. His withdrawal from the regiment was seriously regretted by all who had ever had any intercourse with him. As a man, he was affable and gentlemanly in his intercourse with the men, and as a Surgeon, he was courteous, kind and scientific. His liberality and goodness of heart endeared him to all in the regiment. He will ever carry with him the respect and gratitude of all those to whom he ministered while with the command. The most _striking_ incident which occurred while the regiment lay at Louisville, was the shooting of General Nelson by Jeff. C. Davis. It is to be hoped that the act was morally and legally justifiable. General Jeff. C. Davis was at home on leave of absence, which he obtained a short time before his division left the State of Mississippi, on a plea of ill health. When the alarm was raised in Louisville that the enemy were marching on that city, General Jeff. C. Davis, who could not reach his command under General Buell, then at Bowling Green, went to General Nelson and tendered his services. General Nelson gave him the command of the city militia, so soon as they were organized. General Davis opened an office and went to work in assisting in the organization. On Wednesday, General Davis called upon General Nelson in his room at the Gait House, in Louisville, when the following took place: General Davis said, "I have the brigade, General, you assigned me, ready for service, and have called to inquire if I can obtain arms for them." General Nelson--"How many men have you?" General Davis--"About twenty-five hundred men, General." General Nelson--roughly and angrily--"About twenty-five hundred! _About twenty-five hundred!_ By G--d! you a regular officer, and come here to me and report _about_ the number of men in your command. G--d d--n you, don't you know sir, you should furnish me the exact number?" Davis--"General, I didn't expect to get the guns now, and only wanted to learn if I could get them, and where, and having learned the exact number needed, would then draw them." Nelson--pacing the floor in a rage--"About two thousand five hundred. By G--d, I suspend you from your command, and order you to report to General Wright, and I've a mind to put you under arrest. Leave my room, sir." Davis--"I will not leave, General, until you give me an order." Nelson--"The h--l you won't. By G--d I'll put you under arrest, and send you out of the city under a provost guard. Leave my room, sir." General Davis left the room, and in order to avoid an arrest, crossed over the river to Jeffersonville, where he remained until the next day, when he was joined by General Burbridge, who had also been relieved by Nelson for a trivial cause. General Davis came to Cincinnati with General Burbridge, and reported to General Wright, who ordered General Davis to return to Louisville, and report to General Buell, and General Burbridge to remain in Cincinnati. General Davis returned on Friday evening, and reported to General Buell. Nothing further occurred until yesterday morning, when General Davis seeing General Nelson in the main hall of the Galt House, fronting the office, went up to Governor Morton and requested him to step up with him to General Nelson, and witness the conversation that might pass between Nelson and him. The Governor consented, and the two walked up to General Nelson, when the following took place: General Davis--"Sir, you seemed to take advantage of your authority the other day." General Nelson--sneeringly and placing his hand to his ear--"Speak louder, I don't hear very well." Davis--in a louder tone--"You seemed to take advantage of your authority the other day." Nelson--indignantly--"I don't know that I did, sir." Davis--"You threatened to arrest and send me out of the State under a provost guard." Nelson--striking Davis with the back of his hand twice in the face--"There, d--n you, take that." Davis--retreating--"This is not the last of it; you will hear from me again." General Nelson then turned to Governor Morton and said: "By G--d, did you come here also to insult me?" Governor Morton--"No, sir; but I was requested to be present and listen to the conversation between you and General Davis." General Nelson--violently to the bystanders--"Did you hear the d--d rascal insult me?" and then walked into the ladies' parlor. In three minutes General Davis returned with a pistol he had borrowed of Captain Gibson, of Louisville, and walking toward the door that Nelson had passed through, he saw Nelson walking out of the parlor into the hall separating the main hall from the parlor. The two were face to face, and about ten yards apart, when General Davis drew his pistol and fired, the ball entering Nelson's heart, or in the immediate vicinity. General Nelson threw up both hands and caught a gentleman near by around the neck, and exclaimed, "I'm shot." He then walked up the flight of stairs towards General Buell's room, but sank at the foot of the stairs, and was unable to proceed further. He was then conveyed to his room, and when laid on his bed, requested that Rev. Mr. Talbott, an Episcopal clergyman stopping at the house, might be sent to him at once. The reverend gentleman arrived in about five minutes. Mr. Talbott found General Nelson extremely anxious as to his future welfare, and deeply penitent about the many sins he had committed. He knew he must die immediately, and requested the ordinance of baptism might be administered, which was done. The General then whispered: "It's all over," and died in fifteen minutes after he was conveyed to his room. His death was easy, the passing away of his spirit as though the General had fallen into a quiet sleep. His remains lay in state two days, and his funeral was witnessed by many of the Fifty-Ninth and other regiments. General Davis immediately gave himself up to the military authorities to await a trial by court-martial. This is the first case of the kind that has ever occurred in the American army, and its effect both North and South, will be startling. Nelson, although rough, tyrannical and insulting to General Davis, yet in a military point of view, General Davis was unjustifiable in shooting. Davis, however, has the sympathies of the people, both in Louisville and in the army, and would undoubtedly be pardoned by the President had a court-martial found him guilty. A brief review of General Davis' military career may not be uninteresting. He was born in Indiana, and is now about thirty-four years of age. He was married about six month since, and his wife is living fourteen miles back of Jeffersonville. He went to Mexico as a private, when only sixteen years of age; and on June 17, 1848, entered the regular army as Second Lieutenant of Artillery. He was with Major Anderson at Fort Sumter, and fired the first gun on the rebels at that celebrated engagement. His services, as officer of the guard, are well known to the public. After the surrender of the fort, he sailed in the Baltic for New York, and was ordered to Indianapolis as Mustering Officer, Quartermaster and Commissary. Remaining in this duty three months, he was appointed Colonel of the Twenty-Second Indiana Regiment, and was ordered to Jefferson City, Mo., to command that post with twelve thousand men under him. It was here he held important correspondence with General Fremont, upon the necessity of reinforcing Colonel Mulligan, at Lexington. He was ordered to report himself on the Potomac, with other regular officers. Arriving at St. Louis, General Halleck ordered him to report by letter and remain with him. Davis was then sent to Tipton, and there moved in junction with the force of General Curtis to Lebanon, Springfield and Pea Ridge. At the latter place, in the great battle, General Davis commanded the third or center division. After the battle, the officers of his division petitioned the President to appoint him Major General. At Blackwater, Mo., General Davis captured one thousand three hundred prisoners, with two hundred and forty cavalry and three pieces of artillery. Among the number was Colonel Magoffin and three other Colonels, four Majors and a number of inferior officers. The President forwarded a commission for a Brigadier General, and he was ordered to Corinth, at which place he arrived with his command two days before the evacuation. He continued with General Halleck until at Jacinto, Miss., he obtained twenty days leave to return home. He was unable to return and join his command, and thus he was thrown into Louisville. General Nelson went from Kentucky into the navy as a Lieutenant, and with his movements and actions in the army in Kentucky, since the war broke out, every one is familiar. He was made a Brigadier General on the 16th of September, 1862, and afterwards promoted to the rank of Major General. He was formerly a resident of Maysville, and never was married. He has a large circle of relatives in the State, and a few residing in the East. He was also a relative of Mrs. Lincoln. CHAPTER XXII. After resting four days at Louisville, the regiment, on the morning of the 1st of October, received orders to pack up and be ready to move out at ten o'clock. The army was partially re-organized at Louisville, and the Fifty-Ninth Illinois, Twenty-Second Indiana, Seventy-Fifth Illinois and Seventy-Fourth Illinois regiments composed the Third Brigade of the Ninth Division of the army of the Ohio, with Colonel P. S. Post, of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois, commanding; and Brigadier General Jeff. C. Davis commanding the division. The command of the Fifty-Ninth now again devolved on the Lieutenant Colonel, C. H. Frederick. At ten o'clock the brigade moved out, and, passing through the city, took the Bardstown road. It was now known that General Bragg, with thirty-five thousand men, was at Bardstown, Kentucky, and the supposition was that General Buell would meet him at that place, where a general engagement would be had. Bardstown is thirty-five miles from Louisville and a forced march of twenty-four hours would bring the two armies together. The old troops were all anxious to overtake the rebel army and give it battle. They had marched from one point to another until they had lost all patience, and would rather fight the enemy, two to one, than follow him any further. The new troops were also willing to encounter the foe if necessary--but would as soon have remained at Louisville, with their paper collars and black boots, and their nice light bread and butter. The first day or two after leaving the city these green soldiers looked upon the war-worn veterans as dirty, lousy fellows, unfit for associates to such nice clean gentlemen as they were. Two or three days march, however, began to reverse the feeling and by the time their appetite for hard tack and sow-belly had become of full growth they looked upon the old regiments with some degree of reverence and a considerable amount of awe. While they were dragging their sore and weary feet along, the old soldier marched with ease and martial bearing, and while these poor fellows were mincing and making wry faces at fat bacon and pilot bread, and dreaming of butter and baker's bread, the veterans were delighting over their good fare, and resting well o' nights. And the lice preferring new fields of enterprise, left their old haunts and established new quarters on these fresh troops. Although two days easy marching would have taken the army to Bardstown, its advance did not arrive there until the fourth, and then only to find the town evacuated by the enemy. The Fifty-Ninth passed through Bardstown and encamped one mile east. Here the sick was selected from those able to march and sent back to hospital. Here, also, P. Sidney Post, commanding brigade, and Lieutenant Colonel Frederick, commanding regiment, remained behind, by order of the Surgeon, on account of ill health. The command of the regiment, in the absence of Frederick, devolved, of course, upon the Major, J. C. Winters. It was now rumored that the enemy would give battle either at Danville or some selected position this side. The three succeeding days were therefore taken up in reconnoitering and slow marching. On the morning of the 8th cannonading was heard some distance to the left, and the command, of which the Fifty-Ninth formed a part, was advanced some two or three miles in the direction of Perryville. The cannonading continued with only short intervals during the day. The Ninth Division changed positions slightly during the day, but did not get within striking distance of the enemy until just before the dusk of the evening and only one brigade of this division _then_ became engaged. The enemy had met the left wing of our army early in the morning, and the battle had raged along the line towards the center until the whole left wing had become engaged, and now, about four o'clock, the right of the left wing was being rapidly forced back by an overwhelming concentration of the rebel forces. To save his division from utter destruction, General McCook sent an urgent request that the Third Brigade of General Davis' division be immediately forwarded to the rescue. The Third Brigade is composed of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois, Twenty-Second Indiana, Seventy-Fourth and Seventy-Fifth Illinois. The Seventy-Fourth and Seventy-Fifth were new regiments, just from home. The distance to the point of danger was something less than a mile. It was now nearly sunset. Cheerfully the brigade marched out to meet the foe. The men had been held within hearing distance of the fearful carnage all day, with feelings akin to those of the chained lion when most eager for his prey. Many were the inquiries, "Why are all these thousands of soldiers kept here idle all the day so near the battle-field?" "Why not move them to the assistance of our brave boys on the left?" The General in command alone stands responsible to his country and his God for a satisfactory answer to these inquiries. Very many of those who witnessed the movement of the army at Perryville believe in their hearts that General Buell desired the destruction of his own army instead of that of Braxton Bragg's. The good generalship of his subordinates, and the bravery of the troops engaged, most gloriously defeated his designs. It is impossible to give a description of the part the Third Brigade played in this dreadful tragedy. The brigade was commanded by Colonel Goodin, of the Twenty-Second Indiana. The Colonel bravely conducted the regiments to the position assigned them, but before he could form them in battle array, the enemy opened fire with grape and cannister from their batteries, and poured volley after volley of musketry into his ranks. Nothing daunted, the brave men returned the fire with fatal effect for half an hour, each one loading and firing as rapidly as possible without order or system. The enemy at this point had massed their forces for the purpose of turning the right flank of the left wing, which, if accomplished, would have placed it entirely at their mercy, and numbered at least ten to one of our brigade. It was useless to attempt to resist this mighty host, and the order was therefore given for each one to provide for his own safety. Major Winters, of the Fifty-Ninth, repeated the order the third time before the men ceased firing, and then they most reluctantly left the field. Fortunately the ground on which the brigade was halted by the proximity of the enemy was most favorable. Owing to the dusk of the evening and the favorable formation of the ground many of the rebel bullets overshot the mark. Those on horseback were in the most danger. The escape, however, of any of the brigade seems almost a miracle. The slaughter of the rebels in that half hour was dreadful. The idea of cutting off and capturing the left wing of the "Yankee army," as one of the wounded prisoners remarked the next morning, was driven from "Braxton's cranium." That night they evacuated the field, leaving their dead to show the execution of the Third Brigade in thinning their ranks during that short contest. The ground was literally covered with the dead and wounded of both sides. The loss to the Third was heavy, but to the rebels enormous. Every shot from the patriot guns must have taken effect. The Fifty-Ninth, on going into the trap, numbered two hundred and ninety-one men, and on coming out brought off one hundred and eighty-three--leaving one hundred and eight on the field; twenty-three of whom were killed, sixty-two wounded, and twenty-three taken prisoners. Some of the other regiments lost more heavily. The wounded all lay on the field until next morning. The rebels holding the ground until daylight. As soon as it was ascertained that the enemy had retreated, the ambulances were sent out to gather up the wounded and convey them to hospital. The pen can convey no adequate conception of the scene presented on that small field that morning. In the approach to the ground, the ambulances pass through a lane leading from some thick-timbered land to the mansion of the plantation on which the trap was set. Leaving the timber, a small open field on each side of the lane is passed, and then a thinly-wooded pasture-field to the left, and open fields on the right, extending to and surrounding the house. The appearance of the field now shows that the rebels were advancing en mass, through these open fields, from the mansion towards the thinly-wooded field to the left, when the Third Brigade was marched in, directly in front of them, to the wooded pasture-field. The distance from the house to this field was less than half a mile. Through the lower side of this field a small ravine passed, and from it the ground gradually ascended towards the mansion. The Third was marched down this ravine, and in easy range of the rebel muskets. The ravine was not deep enough to protect entirely from the rebel bullets, but the rising ground in front caused the enemy to overshoot, to a great extent. In this little woods-pasture lay the dead and wounded of the Third, with now and then a rebel in the midst, showing that our boys had fired as they fell back, and killed some of their pursuers. The grounds between this and the house, to the right and left, was strewn with dead rebels. More than five to one of those in the field, belonging to the Third, was here stretched out, in full possession of their deserved Southern rights. The sixty-two wounded of the Fifty-Ninth were soon collected, and carefully transported to hospital, among whom was Adjutant Samuel West. Samuel West entered the service as a private, in Captain Hale's company (A.) He was appointed Sergeant-Major soon after the organization of the regiment, and, during the campaigns through Missouri and Arkansas, most satisfactorily performed the duties of that position. On the march he was daily seen with his knapsack on his back, keeping step with the men in the ranks, and in camp he was constantly engaged in doing his own legitimate business, as well as the principal part of that belonging to the commanding officer of the regiment. When Adjutant P. Sidney Post received his commission as Colonel of the regiment, West was promoted to the place of Adjutant. This position he has filled, with honor to himself and much benefit to the regiment, until now. At the battle of Pea Ridge, as Sergeant-Major, he gave that indication of bravery, and coolness in battle, which so clearly manifested itself at Perryville, while striving to preserve order and encourage the men to battle valiantly for their country. Very soon after coming in sight of the enemy, a ball hit him in the leg, above the knee, and soon another, and another, and yet another, and still another, which brought him from his horse, and he was carried from the field. Five times was the leaden messenger sent into his person, but, fortunately, at no vital point. Although so many times severely wounded, he eventually recovered, with the loss of only one eye. The loss was great, to be sure, but thankful, no doubt, was the Adjutant to escape with even so great a loss. Another of the severely wounded was Captain Charles F. Adams, commanding Company I. Captain Adams was promoted from First Lieutenant, soon after the resignation of the former Captain of the Company, (Captain James A. Beach,) and, by his gentlemanly manners and kind treatment of his men, had become very much endeared to them. He was mortally wounded, and died in hospital, on the 15th day of October, 1862. Company A lost one man killed--Francis W. Goff. Company B lost its First Lieutenant--A. R. Johnson--than whom no one was more highly esteemed. He had always been a faithful soldier, and a good officer. His manners and habits were those of a gentleman and a christian. The killed of Company C were Corporal F. C. Cherry, Henry Imel, William H. Blane, Thomas Loyd, James M. Jones, William H. Japaw. Of Company D, Thomas Abbott, Elias Walden. Company F: William H. Layman, Leander Reese, George W. Malatt. Company G: Sergeant William R. March, Harry M. Strickland, James Cade and Joseph Geering, who died on the 11th from the effects of his wounds. Company K, Christian Assmus. Doctor Hazlett, the Surgeon of the Regiment, was, also, numbered amongst the slain. He was shot through the neck while dressing the wound of a soldier. His remains were found the next morning, and through the instrumentality of Captain Snyder, of Company K, were respectably buried beneath the sheltering branches of an evergreen tree that stood close beside the spot where he was found. His boots had been stolen from his feet. A gold watch, and several hundred dollars in money, had been taken from his pockets. His hat, and a splendid case of instruments, were also gone. The Doctor rode a very fine horse, most splendidly caparisoned, and he, too, was gone. In Doctor Hazlett the regiment had lost a very fine gentleman, and a scholar. He was not so universally respected by the men of the regiment as he, perhaps, deserved. His position was one requiring peculiar abilities, which, in many respects, the Doctor was deficient in. Surgical skill will secure a full reputation at the operating table, but something more is required to secure the entire approbation of a regiment of indiscriminating soldiers. His head was covered with hair silvered o'er, not with age, but naturally, and some gave him the epithet of "Tow-head." His prescriptions consisted largely in quinine, and hence the name of "Quinine" was frequently applied. He, one time after a hard day's march, proposed to treat the regiment to a good "snort" of whisky. This was received with a hurrah by the men, but, on taking the "snort," it was so bitter with quinine that the wry faces along the line were universal. Captain Clayton Hale, who was now acting Major, had his horse shot from under him while in advance of the regiment, transmitting orders to the men. He soon, however, procured another, and with it made his escape. Colonel Goodin, commanding the brigade, was captured, and, with the other prisoners, taken to General Bragg's head-quarters, where they were paroled, and sent back into the Union lines. The 9th was principally occupied in burying the dead and providing for the wounded. The regiment, however, moved about one mile farther to the right, and lay in that position until noon of the 10th, when it again moved some four miles in the opposite direction, going into camp near the point where the battle first commenced, on the morning of the 8th. Here were many indications of the severity of the contest. Dead rebels were everywhere met with, through the woods, as yet unburied. Two of them lay within twenty steps of the regiment for twenty-four hours after its arrival there, and would have rotted above ground had not some friends of theirs scattered dirt over them. Not that the Fifty-Ninth was unfeeling or inhuman, but it was not their business to kill, and then bury traitors. Close by was a small open field, in which were three hundred muskets, apparently thrown down by some regiment that had been camped there. CHAPTER XXIII. On the morning of the 12th, the regiment again moved out in pursuit of the enemy. Passing through Danville on the 13th, and through Lancaster on the 14th, it arrived in the neighborhood of Crab Orchard, on the evening of the 15th, and went into camp on the bank of Dix River, Ky., two miles from Crab Orchard, on the morning of the 16th, or rather the army went into bivouac, for the tents and camp equipage were yet in Louisville. An order, however, was immediately sent back to have them brought up. The distance marched since leaving Louisville, is one hundred and thirty miles. And here and thus ends Don Carlos Buell's campaign in Kentucky. A campaign which should have resulted in the capture or annihilation of the rebel hordes, but which will hereafter be regarded as one of the most miserable failures in the military history of the country. True, the State of Kentucky is now rid of the insolent, thieving foe, but this was not the task assigned the commander of the army of the Ohio. He was expected to utterly destroy them, and he had the men and the opportunities to do so; but instead, he permitted the enemy to fall upon, in force, and almost destroy a wing of his army, when fifty thousand men were in easy supporting distance; and then, as if to complete his work of imbecility or treachery, allowed them to escape, when their retreat might still have been cut off. It is said that the army in Flanders swore terribly, and there is no doubt of that fact. Most armies do. But if any one had been fond of profanity, and wished to hear vigorous denunciations, in unmistakable Saxon, they should have heard the army of the Ohio, on the merits of the arch traitor, Don Carlos Buell. The third great error of the war was now most clearly demonstrated--that of continuing Don Carlos in command, after his arrival at Louisville, Ky. Here is an extract from a soldier's letter, written to his boy at home, after losing his summer's harvest by the excessive high waters of that season, showing in what the thoughts of the soldier frequently consist while idle in camp: "DANVILLE, KY., October 22, 1862. "DEAR SON:--For the first time since the 28th of September, I am sitting in a tent, writing. We came here yesterday, and are indebted to the report that some rebel cavalry are following us up pretty closely, for the purpose of picking up stragglers or capturing some of our train, for our leisure day. Our army is moving back to Lebanon, which is on the Louisville and Nashville railroad, and our brigade is the rear guard. "We left Crab Orchard, Monday morning, and got this far, when we were halted, and two regiments, the Twenty-Second Indiana and Seventy-Fourth Illinois, were sent back to attend to the rebels. We will, perhaps, only remain here until these regiments return, and then move on. "This is a beautiful day, and causes me to think of home. I would delight, above all things, to be with you this pleasant afternoon. I should like to look around with you, and see what you have left after your year's hard work. I know it is not much, but perhaps what you have is worth looking at. You have two or three nice 'shoats' in the pen, which you are feeding for your winter's meat. They are doing finely--will make fine, tender, juicy ham, such as we in the army are not accustomed to. Their spare-ribs will be most delicious, and the sausage meat you can get from them will repay you for the trouble of making it. Chickens you have, I see, in abundance--ah! yes, they are very nice. One fried now and then is not bad in a small family like yours, or even made into a pot-pie, is not hard to take--decidedly better than a dose of rhubarb. I see one there, now, that would do either for a fry or a stew--that one with the plump breast and yellow legs. Yes, chickens are a great help to a family, but an army has no use for chickens. The individual soldier sometimes finds use for them, as the people living along the line of march have learned to their sorrow. "I see that you have a milch cow or two. Well, I reckon you make that which some people call butter, from the milk of the cow. Butter, if I remember rightly, is a yellow greasy substance which people sometimes spread on bread or hot biscuit, which, as they fancy, adds materially to their relish. I suppose it is quite necessary to those who have learned to use it, judging from the longing of the new recruits after it on leaving Louisville; but we in the army have no use for such stuff, and consequently a cow would be of no service to us, while alive, at any rate. If she had been starved a few weeks, and then skinned, we, perhaps, could make use of her bones for making soup, as we understand _that_. Ah, ha, you have one horse left too. Well, that's better than some folks I know of down here in Dixie. The less stock you have the less feed it takes, and the more time you have to spare for something else. And then there is another consolation about it--your taxes will not be so great next year. And then also you will not be called up o' nights to see if your horses haven't got loose in the stable and gone to kicking each other in the dark. I think it is a blessed thing to have nothing. Now, when we left Bowling Green, Kentucky, on our march from Nashville to Louisville, our wagons were all left behind, and all the knapsacks and trunks left with them. Our young officers had lots of fine clothes, etc., in their trunks, and our soldiers had pants, coats, etc., in their knapsacks, which were all left and consequently lost, and now they are lamenting their heavy losses. _I_ had nothing of the sort. The clothes on my back--two shirts and two or three pair of socks--was all I had, and of course I brought them with me and lost nothing; consequently didn't care a snap about the wagons, and now one little handkerchief will hold all my worldly goods, and I am as happy as--a fish on dry land. So I say, blessed be nothing." On the morning of the 26th the brigade moved out for Lebanon; passing through Lebanon, it took the direct road for Bowling Green, where it arrived on the morning of the 4th of November. In the meantime General Rosecranz, succeeding Buell in command, had arrived at Bowling Green, and was personally inspecting and forwarding the different divisions on towards Nashville as fast as they arrived. General Jeff. C. Davis, having been released from arrest, for shooting General Nelson, also arrived here and assumed command of his division. Here, too, the Fifty-Ninth received an unlooked for acquisition, in the shape of an Assistant Surgeon from Knoxville, Illinois. Charles Bunce reported himself for duty as a commissioned Surgeon of the Fifty-Ninth Regiment Illinois Volunteers, somewhat to the astonishment of the men, as no intimation of his appointment had ever reached them. It would naturally be supposed that the men of a regiment would be more deeply interested in the selection of a proper person to look after the health than any others, and in most regiments they have the selection of their own Surgeon, but in the Fifty-Ninth it seems to have been taken for granted that the men were mere automatons, only fit to be looked after as a lot of mules should be in corral. It is a universally admitted fact that many more men die in the army from other causes, than those produced by the shot and shell of the enemy. Some would fain believe that disease alone is chargeable with this fatality, but it is not so. A large majority of the fatal cases in the army are, _without a doubt_, produced by the malpractice of ignorant young men, who, through the influence of some personal friend, receive a commission as Surgeon. Very culpable is that man who recommends to the position of Surgeon a man entirely unfitted for the place, merely because he is a personal friend or relative. There are many young men who are now tampering with the lives of the noble soldier, whose qualifications are only such as they have acquired in attendance behind the counter of some one-horse drug store, or such as is obtained by taking care of some eminent doctor's horses. There is no other position in the army having so great a weight of responsibility attached as that of Surgeon, and there is no other position filled with so little regard to qualification as this one. It is to be hoped that more care may be bestowed by those in authority in ascertaining the qualifications of those sent to preserve the health and lives of the soldiers. Leaving Bowling Green the regiment passes over the same road it had traversed about a month before, and arrives at Edgefield on the evening of the 7th of November, 1862. The only incident of note on the march was the burning, by the "Louisville Legion," of two large residences, from the windows of which they had been shot at while passing towards Nashville on their former visit, and the capturing of eleven prisoners, by our advanced skirmishers, on the morning of the 6th. The distance from Crab Orchard to Nashville, via the route marched, is one hundred and fifty-six miles. CHAPTER XXIV. The morning of the 8th of November broke clear and frosty over the tired and sleepy soldiers of the army of the Cumberland. The town clock of Nashville failed to wake them at the proper time for reveille, and the fife and drum kept silence until the sun had sent his piercing rays into many a sleepers face. Anon the drums begin to sound the signal for the morning roll call, and now the scene is changed. Men are seen in all directions creeping out from under blankets, wet with melting frost--some in full uniform, having slept all night in full dress; some half undressed, and some old veterans falling in for roll call with coat and pants both off. The custom in camp is to put on extra duty all who fail to answer at roll call. Early in the forenoon, Colonel Frederick, who has regained his health and is now with the regiment, received orders to establish his regiment in camp. Colonel Frederick delighted in having order and neatness through his camping grounds, and consequently always superintended the pitching of tents and policing the camps himself. The ground on which the tents were to be pitched, was a rolling piece of land, belonging to an old secesh, and delightfully situated for a camp. It was about half a mile from Edgefield, which is on the right bank of the Cumberland River, immediately opposite the city of Nashville, was well shaded by several large forest trees, and covered nicely by a good coating of blue grass. The river affords a good supply of water, and several springs are close at hand. The tents are pitched something after military regulations, but not exact. The Colonel selecting the position of the tents to suit his fancy. The soldiers' tents are pitched in line by companies. First is Company A, at the right of the regiment; next in order is company B; next, C, and so on down to company K, on the left. The company tents are set in line, one behind the other, with a space of thirty feet between the companies. In front of these are the tents of the commanders of companies; each Captain thirty feet in front of his company. Thirty feet in front of these again, are the tents of the field and staff officers. When regularly pitched, and with clean white tents, the appearance is quite pretty. Each regiment has its own separate grounds, in connection with its own brigade. A brigade consists of four regiments and a battery, and covers several acres. Now, then, what is the daily occupation of the inhabitants of these tents? Persons not in the secret might suppose that there was nothing to do but eat and sleep, and amusement generally. But not so. In the morning at four or five o'clock, reveille is sounded by the drums and fife. This notifies the sleeper that he must get up and answer to his name at roll call. The Orderly Sergeant calls the roll, in the presence of some one of the commissioned officers of the company. Fires are now kindled, and each one prepares his own breakfast. After breakfast the "sick call" is sounded. The Orderly Sergeant then reports all the sick men in his company to the Doctor. Sometimes there are twenty or thirty brought to him for examination and medicine. Those who are really sick, the Doctor excuses from doing any duty that day, so that he may lay around at his leisure and get well; or, perhaps, he is retained at the hospital, where he can be nursed and have medicine given him. At eight o'clock comes guard mounting--that is, placing guards around the camp, so that soldiers can't leave camp without a pass or written permit from the Colonel. These guards are stationed all around camp at certain intervals, and must continually walk back and forth from one station to the other, so that they can see any one who tries to pass out. One man walks two hours, then another relieves him. This set of guards remain on duty for twenty-four hours. New guards are mounted every morning. After guard mounting, extra-duty men are usually set to work sweeping the grounds. By the time this is done, dinner is to be prepared. In the afternoon, the men are taken out on battalion drill, usually from two o'clock until four. Then supper. After this comes dress parade. At sun-down the drums beat retreat. At eight, tattoo; and at nine, all becomes quiet--the day's work is done. This is the daily employment of the soldier in camp. But there is some other work that has to be attended to, such as going out on picket, for instance, one company or a part of a company, is sent out a mile or two from camp, to stay for twenty-four hours, so that an enemy may not make a surprise on the camp. There is, also, other work to be done, such as drawing rations, getting wood, washing clothes, &c. The soldier's life is not an idle one. While the regiment lay at Florence, Ala., several contrabands came to camp and engaged themselves as servants to the officers; amongst them were two females. One of these soon donned the habiliments of a soldier. In this garb she marched with the regiment until now. On the evening of the 7th, when coming into camp, she incidentally passed through the yard of the planter, close to the chicken roost. The guard stationed there supposed that she was after some of the feathered tribe, and ordered her to halt. Not supposing the order addressed to her, she paid no attention to it, and was passing on, when the guard fired, shooting her in the "seat of honor." The guard did not suspect he was shooting a woman; but supposed her to be some thieving buck negro. She was taken to camp, and now Dr. Bunce had the opportunity of performing his first surgical operation. The wound was merely a flesh wound, and the most difficult part of the operation was the examination, in the presence of several unfeeling witnesses. The Doctor soon applied the dressing--very neatly, considering the circumstances--and then left nature to perform the healing. On the 30th the Division crossed the river, and pitched tents again, south of Nashville. An extract from the author's diary, of the 5th December, says: "We are still in camp, four miles south of town, and nothing, as yet, indicating a move. Our pleasant weather has gone, 'glimmering among the dream of things that were,' and now we are wrapping our blankets and over-coats around us to keep out the chilling north winds, and to protect us from the driving snow. To-day the snow has been filling the air with its downy flakes, and covering the earth and trees with a beautiful garment of white. This is the second time since last winter that the earth has been clothed in a symbol of purity. There are, however, but slight indications of its continuing in that gait long, for even now rents are perceivable, through which its nakedness is manifest. The warmth of the ground is too great for the snow's frail fabric, and not long can it resist the heating influence. Perhaps by to-morrow's eve it will have returned to its native element, and disappeared. Snow in the Northern States, when the ground is hard frozen, is a great benefit to the farmer in protecting his small grain; but in the South, where it falls one day and disappears the next, is of little profit, yet it is not without its use, as there is no providential occurrence without some good result." The diary continues: "6th--Another morning has dawned, bright and cold. After the snow-storm, yesterday, the clouds passed away, and the night set in with a clear sky and brilliant moon, and stars innumerable. This morning the snow is crackling under feet, and glistening in the sun-beams splendidly. It is the coldest morning of the season, but old Sol will soon warm the atmosphere to a pleasant temperature. The woodman's axe is ringing merrily in all directions. The soldiers are busy cutting down the trees for wood, that they may have warm fires to stay by these cold mornings. In a very short time this noble grove will be all destroyed. 'Woodman, spare that tree,' is not the motto here. The delight of the soldier seems to be, to lay the monarch of the forest low, in this secesh country. "One old lady, on whose premises we camped one day, exclaimed: "'Good Lord! are they going to cut _all_ our trees?'" "Her husband was in the rebel army, and her trees were not spared. Before the army left, stumps alone remained to tell the fate of that splendid grove--a grove, of which the old lady had been proud for many years, and with which she was very loth to part. Her children, and her grand children, had delighted her old heart many times with their childish gambols, under those noble shade-trees; but, alas, and alack! they are gone now; and the grass that is now so green and bright will be all withered and browned by the scorching rays of the sun. The next generation will have to play in the sunshine, or seek some other grove in which to sport. It will not be so bad for the little woolly-headed darkies, as their complexion is but little affected by the tanning influence of the sun; but the fair skin of the white children will suffer. "7th December, 1862--This is a cold, bright Sabbath. Winter is here in earnest. We in camp are well prepared for cold weather. The boys have plenty of good, warm clothing, and blankets, over-coats and tents, and, if they suffer, it will be because they will not get wood for their fires. "December 8th--The snow has all disappeared, but the weather is still cold. The paymaster has been paying off a part of the regiment to-day. Company F fails to get pay because of having no pay rolls. Captain Currie, who has lately been transferred to the gun-boat service, left the regiment a few days ago, and carried the rolls along with him, very much to the inconvenience of the company. Lieutenant Maddox is now in command of the company. "December 9th--It yet continues most charming winter weather. In fact it more resembles early spring than winter. "Something is now going on four or five miles from here. What it is we do not know; but the reports from secesh cannon indicate a skirmish with the enemy, some foraging party being resisted in their depredations. The regiment is going out on a scout of a few hours, and will ascertain, perhaps, what that cannonading means. I think it is quite time that Rosecranz was doing something. One month has passed since we arrived at Nashville, and no advance has yet been made. Why remain idle so long? The men are all anxious to move forward, and do something towards terminating the war. Better die fighting the enemy than linger out a miserable existence in camp. "8 o'clock--The regiment has just returned to camp, without learning anything of the cannonading. They bring no spoils of victory, except one or two contraband hogs, and a few chickens. "December 10th--Reveille sounded in the old camp this morning at two o'clock, and at five we moved out on the march. Our course was taken due east from camp, as could be known by the redness of the horizon, indicating the point at which the 'God of day' would first make his appearance. The morning was cool and bracing, and the boys put out with a will, being also encouraged by a prospect of a fight with the enemy, as it was rumored that that was the object of the march. The march continued about five miles, and terminated by our going into camp here. We are, perhaps, a little nearer the enemy than we were this morning, but have only changed our position in relation to Nashville. We are now more directly between Nashville and Murfreesboro'--four miles from the former, and twenty-six from the latter--about two miles west of the pike leading to Murfreesboro. This State, as well as Kentucky, is abundantly supplied with macadamized roads. Stone is easily procured, and has been unsparingly used for road purposes. "It is now about four o'clock on the morning of the 11th of December. 'Early to bed and early to rise' is an example set by all who have ever made any great progress in the world, and this morning I have followed it. Early rising is pretty generally practiced in the army, especially by the privates; the officers, having attained to all they desire, sleep till surfeited. "This is a lovely morning, just such an one as would suit me at home. Oh, how much I would enjoy home this morning! The christian, who has resigned his claim to all earthly things, and transferred his treasures to the 'better land,' alone can tell the feelings of a soldier when he _indulges_ in the thoughts of home. Home, to the soldier, is as the treasure-house above to the christian, for where the treasures are there will the heart be also. 'Home, sweet home, there is no place like home.' 'Oh, dark is how my heart grows weary, far from my good old home.' Shall I never more behold it? Never again look upon the bright and cheerful faces of those I left behind me there? Yes, I fancy that I shall, but the time seems long--seems very long. "Well, I have just returned from a walk I have been taking, out beyond the camp, and there the birds bid me be of good cheer. They sang, 'When the spring time comes,' you may with us go back to your northern home, and we'll spend the summer together there. I blessed the little songsters, and came back to camp more resigned and cheerful. _Now_ the day is numbered amongst those that were before the flood, and a 'wee bit' candle is all the light I have to see by. "About half a mile from camp is a large cane brake, or cane thicket. The cane stands so thick on the ground that a hare could not pass between them, only in places where they had been cut or broken down. They are from fifteen to twenty feet in length; they are now in thick foliage; the leaves are as green as in the summer time; it is quite cheering to look at them. The little birds come from miles away to sleep among the thick leaves; it is so much warmer for them than on the branches of the big leafless trees of the forest. Here the cold wind or the sharp frost can not penetrate; but the innocent little creatures had better run the risk of being frozen than seek shelter here at this time, for every night hundreds of them are sacrificed to the rapacity of the ruthless soldier. The boys take candles and torches, and by dazzling their eyes with the bright light, pick them from their perches without difficulty, or knock them off with sticks do they try to escape. The birds are principally the red-breasted robin, but there are other smaller ones of different kinds. Pot-pie is a common dish in camp now. "December 12th--The mail comes regularly to camp now, bringing letters from the dear ones at home. Good, kind, cheering letters some of them are too. I just had the pleasure of reading one from a good old mother in Illinois to her noble boy in the army. Such loving, cheering words--such good advice. The boy's heart was softened, ennobled, elevated. There is no danger of his becoming wicked so long as that kind mother continues her controlling influence over him. Would that there were more such mothers in Illinois! If there were there would be much less wickedness manifested in the army of the Cumberland. No one can estimate the restraining influence of an affectionate letter from a beloved mother, or a kind friend, to the young soldier. I fancy that I can go through our regiment and point out every young man who has a good family at home, or a pious loving mother who devotes a portion of her time in writing to her soldier boy in the army. Richly will she be rewarded for labor thus spent. The soldier is constantly exposed to peculiar temptations, and needs all the restraining influences that can be thrown around him, and there can be none more restraining than the admonitions of an absent, loving mother. "December 22d--The weather continues most delightful. We are under marching orders. The tents are all struck and loaded in the wagons. The sick have all been sent back to Nashville to remain in hospital until their health becomes restored, or they are transported to that bourne from whence no traveler returns. "Mason Campbell, of Company B, was under treatment at the regimental hospital three days before being sent to Nashville. The most energetic treatment was pursued in his case--about five grains of calomel being given him every three hours for three days, making, in all, one hundred and twenty grains, and no motion from the bowels during the time; with all this he was sent to Nashville and died. "December 25--Here we are in camp again. After loading our traps in the wagons we lay around promiscuously until yesterday noon, when we marched about five miles towards Nolensville, right about faced, and marched back again to the very spot we started from. "Strategy, my boy!" "Occasional reports from artillery have been heard out in front to-day, and I shouldn't wonder if they were the harbingers of a battle shortly to take place. "One of the boys deserted from the regiment last night, and it is supposed he has gone over to the rebels. He was tied up yesterday for leaving camp without first getting a pass. He slipped the guards and visited Nashville, where he remained all night. When he came back he was arrested by the Captain of his company and tied by both hands to the lower limbs of a tree, where he was kept some two hours or more. This morning he is missing. There are various ways of punishing men in the army. Some are tied up, either with their arms encircling the trunk of a large tree, or with their hands high above their heads. Some are made to pack rails on their shoulder with a guard following them, for two or three hours at a time. "One young man was paraded through camp one day with both hands tied fast to a single-tree, hitched behind a mule; a man was riding the mule; two guards with fixed bayonets marching beside the captive, and the fife and drum beating the rogues march behind. "Sometimes the punishment consists in having a board strapped to the back, with large letters in chalk, stating the offense, and being marched around through camp. "In some cases it seems to be necessary not only to bind the hands but to tie the tongue also. This is done by forcing some substance into the mouth so as to keep the jaws separated. The practice of this sort of punishment by one of the officers gave him the name of 'Buck and Gag.'" CHAPTER XXV. On the morning of the 27th, every thing being in readiness, the division moved out, taking the direction of Nolensville, which is nine miles from camp. The day was not so pleasant as was desirable, but the men were willing to march, and did not mind the rain and mud to be encountered. Lieut. Colonel Frederick started out with the regiment in the morning, but having poor health, soon fell back to an ambulance and returned to Nashville. Major Winters was at home, on leave of absence, and Captain Hale, the ranking Captain in the regiment, was also absent. The command, therefore, fell to the lot of Captain Paine, of Company B. Captain Paine was a strict disciplinarian, and commanded one of the best drilled companies in the regiment. His strict discipline and peculiar way of punishing his men, had procured for him the name of "Buck and Gag." Captain James M. Stookey, being the next ranking Captain assumed the position of Major. By this arrangement, Company B was left to the command of First Lieutenant J. R. Johnson, and Company E, to the command of Lieutenant Goodin. Soon after leaving camp, the Fifty-Ninth was sent in advance as skirmishers. They soon came across the rebel pickets and began skirmishing. As the Fifty-Ninth advanced, the rebels in front of them fell back to the town of Nolensville, where it seems they intended to more severely contest the ground. Here they had a battery planted, and threw several shells at our men before they could get one in position to reply. As soon, however, as a shot or two was fired from a twelve pounder, placed in range, the rebels withdrew on double quick, and the Fifty-Ninth took possession of the town. As the regiment was advancing across an open common, between the woods and town, a volley was fired at one of the companies from the windows of a large frame house, in front of them, without doing any injury. Colonel Pease, of General Davis' staff, saw the shooting, and being close to one of our guns, ordered the cannoneer to plant a shell into the house. This gun had been instrumental in silencing the rebel battery, and was within good range of the house. The first shell exploded within one of the upper rooms, doing wonderful execution among the furniture and tearing the plastering and casing into a thousand fragments. This brought the rebs to light, and a volley from the company sent them howling to the woods. The second shell passed through the hen house, scattering chickens and feathers in all directions, and continuing on its course, burst in the rear of the fleeing rebels. The town was now in possession of the Fifty-Ninth, but to the right heavy skirmishing continued, and the regiment passed on in that direction. Heavy skirmishing continued until the enemy were driven to the opposite side of "Big Gap," about four miles south of Nolensville. Darkness now prevented any further pursuit, and the army went into bivouac. The loss in the division was light, the Fifty-Ninth not having a man hurt. Several of the enemy were killed and a few taken prisoners. Colonel Pease, while setting on his horse, directing the cannoneer, was hit on the leg by a minnie ball, which passed through his pants, just creasing the flesh. "That's pretty close," remarked the Colonel, and continued his directions without any farther notice of the flying missiles. The regiment here lost another man by desertion, or rather gained the room and rations of a worthless, thieving Frenchman. He was a member of Company G, and had frequently offended by disobeying orders in regard to straggling, particularly in times of danger. There are a few men in all regiments who, whenever there is a prospect of a fight "play off" either by feigning sickness, or by slipping from the ranks on some trivial pretense, and dropping to the rear, there to remain until the danger is all over. This fellow of a Frenchman, had practiced this habitually, and now the Captain determined to punish him. This he did by tying him up. In a short time thereafter, the fellow managed to loosen the cords that bound him and make his escape. Pursuit was immediately made and an exciting chase resulted in the defeat of the pursuers. It is supposed the fellow fled to the rebel lines, and it is to be hoped that all sneaks who will fall back to the rear, to places of safety, when their friends and companions in arms are in danger, will follow his example, and cast their lot with traitors. The morning of the 27th was so murky, that an enemy could not be seen at any distance, and consequently the troops did not move until the fog had disappeared in rain drops. About nine o'clock, the skirmishers were advanced and continued moving forward until evening, without meeting with any serious resistance. The Fifty-Ninth followed in regular marching order for six or eight miles, and went into bivouac. The 28th being Sunday, the army lay in camp all day. General Rosecranz was religiously opposed to moving his army on the Sabbath, unless unavoidable. All honor and praise to him for setting such a noble example. Success will ever attend the General who pays due respect to the command, "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." This morning the Acting Adjutant, Hale Phillips--Adjutant West being on Colonel Post's brigade staff--and the Commissary Sergeant, Thomas J. Melvin, obtained permission to return to Nashville on business. On their way they overtook the train a few miles from Nashville. With the train was Captain Clayton Hale and Lieutenant Fred. Brasher, Quartermaster; the former returning to the regiment from a leave of absence, and the latter in charge of the train. Very soon after the Adjutant and Commissary arrived at the train, and before they had dismounted from their horses they were surrounded by a large squad of rebel cavalry and all taken prisoners. Resistance was useless, as there was no guard with the train, and consequently they surrendered without an effort to escape. They were treated very kindly by their captors--paroled and allowed to proceed to Nashville. From Nashville they visited their homes, and had a good time of it generally, until they were exchanged. On Monday morning, December 29th, the army was again put in motion. General Davis, taking the advance of General McCook's corps, with his division, turned from the Nolensville pike, in an easterly direction, towards Murfreesboro'. The writer was fortunate enough to witness the passing of this corps, as it proceeded to the lane at which it left the pike. First came General Jeff. C. Davis and staff, immediately followed by a body guard of one company of cavalry. Next followed Colonel P. Sidney Post, commanding brigade, with his staff, and then the four regiments of his brigade, closely followed by a six gun battery. Then followed the other brigades in the same order. While the column was passing, General McCook and staff came dashing by in magnificent style. They came, they were seen, and they were gone. General McCook is a good commander, but like most of his rank, he prides himself on _being_ General McCook. While looking at this well appointed corps, the heart swelled with emotions of pride, to think that there were so many noble-hearted men willing and eager to meet in deadly contest the enemy who were attempting to destroy their country. The 29th and 30th were spent in reconnoitering and skirmishing with the enemy, General Davis' Division terminating its movements by getting into position Tuesday evening, on the left of McCook's command, near Wilkerson's Creek. The Fifty-Ninth Illinois Regiment occupied the left of Colonel P. Sidney Post's brigade, and the extreme left of the right wing of the army. The enemy had fallen back to their chosen position, about two miles from Murfreesboro', and the Fifty-Ninth Illinois lay on the ground all Tuesday night, within five hundred yards of their line of battle. The night was quite cold, and the ground saturated with water. Without blankets or fires, the men shivered through the night. Company G, commanded by Captain Starkey, was stationed to the right of the regiment, and somewhat in advance, as picket-guard. This continued the position of the regiment until the rebels made the attack, Wednesday morning. General Rosecranz marched from Nashville, with forty-five thousand men, and one hundred and two pieces of artillery, and skirmished all the way to the battle field, the enemy resisting bitterly. The whole of Tuesday was spent in reconnoitering. The enemy was found strongly posted, with artillery, in a bend of Stone River, his flanks resting on the west side of Murfreesboro'. The center also had the advantage of high ground with a dense growth of cedar masking them completely. Their position gave them the advantage of a cross fire, and General McCook's Corps closed in their left on Wilkerson's Creek. Negley, of Thomas' Corps, worked, with great difficulty, to the front of the rebel center. Rousseau's Division was in reserve. Crittenden's Corps was posted on the comparatively clear ground on the left, Palmer's and Van Cleve's Divisions in front, in the woods, and held in reserve. A battle was expected all day Tuesday, but the enemy merely skirmished and threw a few shells, one of which killed Orderly McDonald, of the Fourth United States Cavalry, not ten feet from General Rosecranz. That afternoon the Anderson Pennsylvania Cavalry, on McCook's flank, was drawn into an ambuscade, and its two Majors (Rosengarten and Ward) were killed. Crittenden's Corps lost four killed and two wounded that day, including Adjutant Elliott, of the Fifty-Seventh Indiana, severely wounded. McCook's loss was about fifty. The same day the rebel cavalry made a dash on our rear, at Lavergne, burned a few wagons, and captured thirty-five prisoners. That night dispositions were made to attack the enemy in the morning. After dark the enemy were reported massing upon McCook, obviously to strike our right wing. This corresponded with the wishes of General Rosecranz, who instructed General McCook to hold him in check stubbornly, while the left wing should be thrown into Murfreesboro', behind the enemy. At daybreak, of the last day of December, everything appeared working well. Battle had opened on our right, and our left wing was on hand at seven o'clock. Ominous sounds indicated that the fire was approaching on the right. Aides were dispatched for information, and found the forests full of flying negroes, with some straggling soldiers, who reported whole regiments falling back rapidly. Meantime one of McCook's aides announced to General Rosecranz that General Johnson had permitted the three batteries of his division to be captured by a sudden attack of the enemy, and that that fact had somewhat demoralized the troops. This was obvious. The brave General Sill, one of our best officers, was killed, General Kirk severely wounded, and General Willich killed or missing, besides other valuable officers. General Rosecranz sent word, pressing General McCook to hold the front, and he would help him. It would all work right. He now galloped to the front of Crittenden's left, with his Staff, to order the line of battle, when the enemy opened a full battery and emptied two saddles of the escort. Van Cleve's Division was sent to the right, Colonel Beatty's Brigade in front. The fire continued to approach on the right with alarming rapidity, extending to the center, and it was clear that the right was doubling upon the left. The enemy had compelled us to make a complete change of front on that wing, and were pressing the center. General Rosecranz, with splendid daring, dashed into the fire, and sent his Staff along the lines, started Beatty's Brigade forward, some six batteries opened, and sustained a magnificent fire. Directly a tremendous shout was raised along the whole line. The enemy began to fall back rapidly. The General himself urged the troops forward. The rebels, thoroughly punished, were driven back fully a mile. The same splendid bravery was displayed in the center, and the whole line advanced. Meantime the enemy made formidable demonstrations on our left, while they prepared for another onslaught on our right. Meantime orders had been issued to move our left upon the enemy. Before they had time to execute it, they burst upon our center with awful fury, and it began to break. Rousseau's Divisions were carried into the breach magnificently by their glorious leader, and the enemy again retreated hastily into the dense cedar thickets. Again they essayed our right, and again were driven back. This time the number of our stragglers was formidable, and the prospect was discouraging, but there was no panic. The General, confident of success, continued to visit every part of the field, and, with the aid of Thomas, McCook, Crittenden, Rousseau, Negley and Wood, the tide of battle was again turned. Early in the day we were seriously embarrassed by the enterprise of rebel cavalry, who made some serious dashes upon some of McCook's ammunition and subsistence trains, capturing a number of wagons, and artillery ammunition was alarmingly scarce. At one time it was announced that not a single wagon-load of it could be found. Some of our batteries were quiet, on that account. This misfortune was caused by the capture of McCook's trains. About two o'clock the battle had shifted again, from right to left, the rebels discovering the impossibility of succeeding in their main design, and suddenly massed his forces on the left, crossing the river, or moving under high bluffs, from his right, and for about two hours the fight raged with unremitting fury. The advantage was with the enemy for a considerable length of time, when they were checked by our murderous fire, of both musketry and artillery. The scene at this point was magnificent and terrible. The whole battle was in full view, the enemy deploying right and left, bringing up their batteries in fine style, our own vomiting smoke and missiles upon them with awful fury, and our gallant fellows moving to the front with unflinching courage, or lying flat upon their faces to escape the rebel fire, until the moment for action. There was not a place on the field that did not give men a satisfactory idea of the manner of hot fire, solid shot, shell and minnie balls, which rattled around like hail. Rosecranz himself was incessantly exposed--it is wonderful that he escaped. His Chief of Staff (noble Lieutenant-Colonel Garesche) had his head taken off by a round shot, and the blood spattered the General and some of the Staff. Lieutenant Lyman Kirk, just behind him, was lifted clear out of his saddle by a bullet, which shattered his left arm. Three Orderlies, and the gallant Sergeant Richmond, of the Fourth United States Cavalry, were killed within a few feet of him, and five or six horses in the staff and escort were struck. Between four and five o'clock the enemy, apparently exhausted by his rapid and incessant assault, took up a position not assailable without abundant artillery, and the fire on both sides slackened, and finally ceased at dark, the battle having raged eleven hours. The loss of life on our side is considerable. The field is comparatively limited. The whole casualty list that day, excluding captures, did not exceed, perhaps, one thousand and five hundred, of whom not more than one-fourth were killed. This is attributed to the care taken to make our men lie down. The enemy's loss must have been more severe. But among our losses we mourn such noble souls as General Sill, General August Willich, Colonel Garesche, Colonel Minor Millikin, First Ohio Cavalry; Colonel Hawkins, Thirteenth Ohio; Colonel McKee, Third Kentucky; Colonel Gorman, Fifteenth Kentucky; Colonel Kell, Second Ohio; Lieutenant-Colonel Shepherd, Eighteenth Regulars; Major Carpenter, Nineteenth Regulars; Captain Edgarton, First Ohio Battery, and his two Lieutenants, and many more. When the battle closed, the enemy occupied ground which was ours in the morning, and the advantage theirs. Their object in attacking was to cut us off from Nashville; they almost succeeded. They had played their old game. If McCook's corps had held more firmly against Hardee's corps and Cheatham's, when he fought, Rosecranz's plan of battle would have succeeded. At dark they had a heavy force on our right, leading to the belief that they intended to pursue. Their cavalry, meantime, was excessively troublesome, cutting deeply into our train behind us, and we had not cavalry enough to protect ourselves. The Fourth Regulars made one splendid dash at them, capturing sixty-seven and releasing five hundred prisoners they had taken from us. The enemy took a large number. "General Rosecranz determined to begin the attack this morning and opened furiously with our left at dawn. The enemy, however, would not retire from our right, and the battle worked that way. At eleven o'clock matters were not flattering on either side. At twelve o'clock our artillery, new supplies of ammunition having arrived, was massed, and a terrible fire opened. The enemy began to give way, General Thomas pressing on their center, and Crittenden advancing on their left. The battle was more severe at that hour than it had been, and the result was yet doubtful. Both sides were uneasy, but determined. General Rosecranz feels its importance fully. If he is defeated it will be badly, because he will fight as long as he has a brigade. If he is victorious, the enemy will be destroyed. At this hour we are apprehensive. Some of our troops behaved badly, but most of them were heroes. The enemy seem to number as many as we, and perhaps more. General Joe Johnson and General Braxton Bragg are in command." Thus writes a correspondent of the Cincinnati Commercial. When the enemy surprised General Johnson, the Fifty-Ninth Illinois was under arms and ready for the conflict. Had the attack been made on General Davis instead of Johnson the ground would have been held and the inglorious stampede of the right wing prevented. The attack was made at the only point in the Union lines where the rebels would not have met with a warm reception. Some of the boys were captured while at the Springs after water; some at their fires while cooking, and some of the artillery-men were surprised while watering their horses. The attack was manfully resisted in front of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois until Johnson's Division had doubled back in confusion on Davis, and the enemy was forcing Davis' right so as to threaten the rear of Post's Brigade, when Colonel Post ordered a retreat. Reluctantly and in good order the regiment moved back, occasionally throwing a volley into the ranks of the pursuing enemy, which held them in check until General Rousseau's command came to the rescue. On its retreat it passed the point where our brigade battery had been in position. One gun of the battery had been left behind still in position, for the want of horses to pull it off the field, some of these having been killed. The men, by permission, left the ranks and soon run it out of danger of falling into the hands of the enemy. As soon as reinforcements arrived the Fifty-Ninth ceased its retreat and advanced again upon the enemy. They were driven back and the regiment went into bivouac north of the Murfreesboro' and Nashville Pike. Of all the regiments belonging to Johnson or Davis' divisions the Fifty-Ninth came off the field with the most men and in the best order. James A. Howser, Company F, Sergeant John J. Hatham and Andrew J. Watts, Company D, James H. Sheets, Company C, Patrick Reynolds, Company H, Jas. R. Dennis, Company B, Sergeant Alfred B. Barber and Corporal Reuben Cummins, Company G, and Thos. I. Hopper, Company A, were left on the field killed. Jefferson Slusser and James Slusser were left on the field wounded, and fell into the hands of the rebels. They were taken to Murfreesboro', and kept there until retaken by our forces on the evacuation of the town. On the 1st day of January, 1863, the regiment advanced to Stone River to within two miles of Murfreesboro', and General Davis being ordered to charge across and dislodge some of the enemy who were on the opposite side, the Fifty-Ninth waded the stream on double-quick, charged up the bank and took possession of the ground, the rebels retreating before their glittering bayonets without resistance. Here they lay under fire, and returning shot for shot until after dark, when they silently withdrew, crossing back to their old position. The battle continuing through the 2d and 3d days of January; the regiment was constantly kept under arms, frequently changing position so as to always be in front of the enemy. During the stampede on Wednesday the rebel cavalry broke through our lines and made a dash on the train. The hospital wagon of the Fifty-Ninth Regiment was halted by one of the Texan Rangers, and the driver was ordered to drive his team off in an opposite direction. "Certainly, certainly," said the driver, but in the meantime made his calculations, and sprang from the wagon on the other side. Some fleeing soldier had thrown away his loaded musket; this fortunately was seen by Foster--the driver's name was Albert Foster--who picked it up. Passing rapidly to the rear and around his wagon he shot the rebel from his horse, mounted it and joined our cavalry, which was now charging back on the greasy scoundrels, and assisted in driving them to the woods. After chasing them until pursuit was useless he returned to his team with his spoils of victory. The horse was a valuable one, and was well equipped with a good saddle and bridle, a pair of pistols in the holsters, and saddle-bags containing some clothing and corn bread. A few more such heroic drivers would save many a government wagon from the torch of the guerrilla. The rebels retreated from Murfreesboro' on the night of the 3d, and on the 4th General Rosecranz established his headquarters there. The army moved on through town and went into camp two or three miles below. The trains were soon ordered up with tents and all necessary camp equipage, and in a few days the troops were comfortably resting from the excessive toil and exposure of the last two weeks' campaign. Eight days constant exposure without rest or sleep had tried the muscle and nerve of the brave men of the army to the extent, almost, of endurance. Nobly had they endured the hardships, and now they are entitled to all the comforts that is possible to be provided. They had driven the rebels from their comfortable winter quarters at Murfreesboro', and had made the prospect for a termination of the war much more flattering than when lying idly in camp at Nashville, and they were satisfied. Their hardships were soon forgotten, and in a very few days they would have been willing to have made another advance. CHAPTER XXVI. The Fifty-Ninth pitched tents to the right of the pike leading from Murfreesboro' to Shelbyville, three miles south of town. Stone River ran a short distance from camp on the right, and in front lay the large plantation of ex-senator Bell, recent candidate for Vice President of the United States, but now a traitor. The splendid mansion of this arch traitor is now occupied by General Johnson, of the Union Army. The owner of this plantation fled with the rebel army on its retreat from the battle of Stone River, and General Johnson took possession and encamped his division on the premises the day following. The house is most delightfully situated on an elevated spot overlooking the whole plantation, and near the banks of Stone River. From the portico in front of the mansion, may be seen the pure, blue waters of the river, as it winds its tortuous course along its rock-bound channel, for two miles above and below. The negro cabins, and the slaves at work any where on the plantation, can be seen from the piazza, or could have been a few days ago; but now the white tents of the soldier has taken the place of the slave at his work. The Fifty-Ninth was not allowed to enjoy a lengthy repose in camp, but was soon sent with a part of the division to reinforce the command at Franklin, Tenn., thirty miles west of Murfreesboro'. Leaving all but such things as they could carry in their knapsacks, they reached Franklin the second day after leaving camp. Here they lay in bivouac about ten days. They then returned to camp, bringing with them three or four prisoners and a few extra horses. The three prisoners and three horses were captured by two of our boys. Wm. Ebling and Samuel Wambroth; the one the hospital nurse, and the other a cook; being both mounted on extra horses, were a short distance from the road, when they saw three rebel horsemen riding across an open field towards a house in the distance. These two boys put spurs to their horses and made pursuit. On coming within hailing distance they shouted to the rebs to halt, which they did, surrendering themselves prisoners of war. The boys, proud of their capture, marched them off to General Davis, and they were handed over to the provost guard. This same William Ebling, while scouting over the battle ground of Stone River the day after the battle terminated, came across a citizen dressed in butternut clothing, and supposing him to be a rebel, arrested him. Ebling had just before passed a sutler establishment and bought a bottle of whisky. Although he was death on rebels, he freely shared his whisky with his prisoner, and when he presented his captive to General Davis, they were both pretty tight. The man was a good Union man, and was hunting over the field for a missing relative. General Davis amused himself at their expense a short time, and sent them, the one to his quarters and the other to his home. A few days after going into camp here, Lieut. Colonel C. H. Frederick returned to the regiment for the purpose of settling up his affairs and to bid the command "good bye." While at Nashville, he resigned his commission and was now a private citizen. His departure was witnessed with regret by the whole command. He had ever been a good, faithful officer, and a kind, good friend to the men of the regiment. Major J. C. Winters, having returned from his leave of absence, now assumed command of the regiment, and Captain Paine, that of Major. Captain Stookey again taking command of his company. After the capture of Adjutant Phillips, Lieutenant Minnett, of Company D, was appointed Adjutant. While the regiment lay at Murfreesboro', the following young men were deservedly promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant: Reuben Maddox, Company F, I. M. Vanosdel, Company K, Charles Doolittle, Company I, A. Sanderson, Company B, S. Eleric, Company A, and Hiram Wendt, Company G. To that of Second Lieutenant: ---- Curtis, Company C, H. C. Baughman, Company F, D. L. Korhammer, Company I, Fred. N. Boyer, Company H, ---- Irwin, Company D, and ---- Anderson, Company B. To that of Captain: Hamilton W. Hall, Company F, Adjutant Minnett, Company D, Henry Wiley, Company H, S. L. Burris, Company G, I. Henderson, Company C, D. Bagley, Company A, Samuel West, Company I. These young men, with one or two exceptions, were enlisted as privates in the ranks. They have all been faithful soldiers, doing their duty manfully, both in time of battle and in camp. At Pea Ridge, at Perryville and Stone River they were among the bravest of the brave. After laying in camp a few days, the regiment again moved out towards Franklin, but not so far as before. The enemy was now threatening another point in our lines, between Murfreesboro' and Franklin, and to strengthen this point General Davis moved out with his Division. No serious attack was made, and the regiment returned to camp. The lines were now shortened, and the camp all moved up nearer town. As soon as the camps were arranged, the regiments were set to work building fortifications. Until the 24th of June, work at the fortifications and picket duty was all that was required of the Fifty-Ninth. In building forts, and digging entrenchments, one-third or one-half the regiment was employed at a time. In doing picket duty, the whole regiment moved out to the lines, and remained there from five to ten days at a time. One day, while on picket, Walter C. Wyker, of Company K, was standing guard at his post, near the pike bridge across Stone River, some rebel cavalry came in sight, a mile or two down the pike, and, to get a better view of them, Wyker stepped upon a large rock near by, and, in bringing his gun up after him, struck the lock against the rock, and fired it off, the load lodging in his bowels, killing him in a few seconds. He was brought to camp, and buried with the honors of war. He was a faithful soldier, and an agreeable mess-mate, and was universally respected by the members of his company. Here, for the first time since leaving Boonville, Missouri, the regiment had the privilege of attending church regularly every Sabbath, and frequently during the week. The writer's diary of the 17th of May, has the following: "I have just returned from hearing an excellent sermon, spoken by the Reverend Colonel Granville Moody. Colonel Moody was my favorite preacher, of the Methodist Church in Oxford, Ohio, more than twenty-five years ago. I have never seen him, from that day till this. It may well be believed that his appearance brought to mind many pleasant thoughts of old times. I was again sitting in the old familiar seat, in the old brick church, of my boyhood days. Although the preacher's head has now become silvered o'er with age, his voice and looks are but little changed. His sermon was to me a 'feast of reason and a flow of soul.' His text was: 'Choose ye this day whom ye will serve. If the Lord is God, serve him.' His remarks were listened to with the most wrapped attention, and, I think, made quite an impression on the soldiers. I would that there were more such preachers in the army. Colonel Moody commands an Ohio regiment, and is a fighting Colonel. His regiment was in the thickest of the fight at Stone River, and did good execution. While he was speaking, I could not help but think of the vast amount of good he has been the instrument, in the hands of God, in doing in the world. For thirty years his words of entreaty have been spoken to thousands of anxious hearers, every Sabbath, to turn from the evil of their ways, and seek the paths of righteousness and peace. Can he be otherwise than happy?--happy in the consciousness of having done his duty towards God and man. His sermon was preached in one of the block houses inside a fort. It was a novel sight to see the preparations for dealing death and destruction to our fellow beings, surrounding the minister of peace on earth and good will to men. "When I came back to camp I found that an order had been issued to turn over to the Quartermaster all extra baggage belonging to the men--such as blankets, clothing, etc.,--leaving them only one blanket each, one suit of clothes, an extra pair of drawers, an extra pair of socks, and an extra shirt. This looks towards an early move of some kind--an advance, perhaps, towards the enemy." Lieutenant J. H. Knight is now Acting Quartermaster of the regiment, Lieutenant Brasher not having, as yet, returned from his parole. David Thompson, of Company K, returned to the regiment, from Nashville, on the 16th of April. He was reported to the Surgeon the next morning at sick call. On the following day he was sent to the general field hospital, with well-developed symptoms of smallpox, and on the 21st he expired. James Slusser, of Company F, was brought to the hospital, with dysentery, about the middle of June. He soon became convalescent, with a very good prospect of soon returning to his company in good health; but, when the regiment marched, on the 24th, he was yet unfit for duty, and was, consequently, left at the general field hospital. A relapse soon followed, and he, also, died. In the latter part of April, one Doctor Kelly reported himself to Major Winters, with a commission as First Surgeon of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois Regiment. He was an entire stranger to all concerned, but his commission gave him authority to remain and take charge of the sick men of the regiment. He soon proved himself qualified for the position, and the boys were well pleased with the imposition. CHAPTER XXVII. On the 15th of June the regiment went out on picket to remain ten days. Their picket post was on the Shelbyville Pike, about two miles south of Stone River. On the 23d of June orders were received at camp to strike tents, and move out with the train on the 24th. Consequently, on the morning of the 24th, the train moved down the pike to where the regiment had been standing picket. The regiment was already gone, and the train followed after, taking the direction of Liberty Gap. The day was very disagreeable; a drizzling rain had set in early in the morning and continued all day, wetting everything and everybody completely. In this plight the men lay on their arms all night. They were now in the neighborhood of the Gap, and it was reported that the enemy had a strong force there. The morning of the 25th was dark and cloudy, but the troops were early astir, and soon on the advance towards the Gap. About noon the enemy were observed in force immediately in front. A disposition was speedily made of our forces, and the Fifty-Ninth was sent out as flankers, or rather as advanced skirmishers, on the right flank of the Division. Fortunately for the Fifty-Ninth, this move kept them from entering the engagement, only as skirmishers, as the fighting was all done in another part of the field. The regiment, however, skirmished pretty lively with the enemy all the afternoon. Some of the rebels were hit by our balls, as the boys could see them fall, or crawl from their hiding places badly wounded. The trees behind which the boys concealed themselves were frequently hit by the balls from the rebel guns, but none of the regiment was injured. On other parts of the Pass there was heavy fighting until evening, when the enemy fell back and gave our men possession. [Illustration: CAPT. HENRY WILEY. CAPT. J. JOHNSON. LIEUT. H. C. BAUGHMAN. LIEUT. D. L. KORHAMMER. LIEUT. FRED. N. BOYER. LIEUT. J. VANOSDELL. LIEUT. HIRAM WENT. LIEUT. JOS ELERIC. Lith. by W^m. BRADEN & C^o. Indianapolis.] The command held the ground until about three in the morning, when it was silently withdrawn and marched on towards Tullahoma. It was said that the enemy withdrew about the same time, neither army having any desire to renew the contest. The march now continued daily until the 3d day of July, when the Division again went into camp at Winchester, Tennessee. The march from Murfreesboro' to Winchester was very fatiguing. It rained almost incessantly, keeping the men continually wet, and making the roads very muddy and the streams high. The rebels, on their retreat, destroyed the bridge across Elk River, and in consequence our army was compelled to wade it. At the point where the Fifty-Ninth crossed, the water was waist deep to the men and the current very swift. Two or three of the boys would lock arms, and by assisting each other would succeed in forcing their way over. Several who braved the flood single-handed were swept away and carried a considerable distance down stream before they could effect a landing. The enemy continued to retreat from Liberty Gap, through Tullahoma, Manchester, Winchester, and Stevenson, Alabama, towards Chattanooga; so that our infantry did not overtake them before going into camp at Winchester. The brigade of Colonel Post went into camp one mile east of the town, and in advance of any troops belonging to the corps. The Fifty-Ninth, as usual, being the picket regiment. This was pleasing to the boys, as it gave them the privilege of the country, and an easy access to blackberries, peaches, potatoes, etc. The camp is pleasantly situated, and if the weather becomes fair the boys can enjoy themselves. Soon after arriving here, Lieutenant Brasher, Quartermaster, and Captain Clayton Hale, (now Major Hale,) returned to the regiment. After the resignation of Lieutenant Colonel Frederick, Major Winters was promoted to the position of Lieutenant Colonel, and Clayton Hale to that of Major. Frank Clark, of Company A, now received the appointment of Adjutant. The routine of camp life now commenced in earnest; policing, guard and picket duty, foraging and amusements of various kinds occupies the time of the regiment. The history of one day is the repetition of the preceding one, and so on. Winchester is ninety-five miles south of Nashville, and is an old dilapidated place of perhaps eight hundred inhabitants, mostly secesh. The country around is very well improved and quite productive, but thinly populated at this time, as the citizens have, many of them, gone with the rebel army. There are several families remaining in town, but the men folks have disappeared, leaving only the women and children. Of the former there are quite a number, and many of them are young and good looking. These are an attraction for the young bloods of the army, and those of the Fifty-Ninth are very attentive. The tediousness of camp life is very much relieved by a few hours spent in the society of interesting young ladies now and then. After a few days of idleness in camp, the boys get very mischievous, and if there is any whisky to be had the monotony is broken by some serious termination to the pranks being played. One evening, after imbibing pretty freely, the boys were about getting into a general engagement, when Sergeant ----, of Company E, supposing it to be his duty to keep the peace, interfered. This proceeding was resented, and in the melee the Sergeant was severely cut with a knife, in the hands of one Davis, of another company. Davis immediately fled, and was never heard of afterwards. The Sergeant was taken to the hospital, to have his wound attended to. The wound was inflicted by a sharp instrument, and penetrated through the muscles of the back, into the lower lobe of the right lung. The cut on the surface was about four inches in length, and on the surface of the lung half an inch in length, deep enough to afford a full breathing surface. At every motion of the lungs the air rushed in and out of this opening as through the mouth of a bellows. When brought to the tent, the man was in a dying condition. His life was rapidly going out at the opening in the lung. The old Hospital Steward was in favor of immediately closing the wound by sewing the lips together, but the two young Assistant Surgeons, Doctors Bunce and Gaston, (Gaston had a few days before been commissioned from the ranks of the One Hundred-and-Second Illinois Regiment, to the position of Second Assistant Surgeon of the Fifty-Ninth,) overruled the idea, under the impression that by closing the wound the blood would have no egress, and by its accumulation inwardly, cause injury to the patient. The man was dying, as every one could see. His pulse was failing rapidly, and a few hours would undoubtedly finish his career. Doctor Kelly, who was in town, was sent for--came, and for appearance sake, as he said, put a couple of stitches in the wound. By this time the pulse had entirely disappeared from the wrist, and the Doctors left the tent, not doubting but that the man would soon be dead. As soon as the Surgeons left, the Steward carefully closed the wound with a compress, and caused the man to lay on that side so as to keep the compress to its place. As soon as this was done the breathing passed through the natural channel--the mouth--and in an hour the pulse could be distinctly felt at the wrist, and in the morning the Doctors were surprised to find the Sergeant, not only still living, but bright and cheerful. In ten days the man was well. Ignorance is bliss, but not always safe for the patient. Doctor Kelly here resigned his commission as Surgeon, and Doctor Bunce immediately applied for and received a commission in his stead. Indications now point strongly towards another move. A general inspection of the troops and trains almost always precedes a forward movement of the army, and this is now going on in this department. The next move will be across the Cumberland Mountains, and the trains must all be in good condition, or they will never stand the trip. It is only about three miles to the foot of these mountains in a direct course from here, but it is said that we must pass through Cowen before we can climb them, which is ten or twelve miles away. Cowen is a station on the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, and is near the entrance of the tunnel which here runs through the mountain. On the 17th of August, the army evacuated Winchester, and camped at the foot of the mountain, to be in readiness for crossing on the following morning. The 18th was spent in getting the artillery and trains to the top of the mountain--the regiments having to assist in dragging the heavy cannon and heavy loaded wagons over the most difficult places. The 19th completed the crossing, and the troops bivouacked at the eastern foot of the mountain until morning. The march was continued on the 20th, until a convenient camp was reached near Stevenson, Alabama. Stevenson is a small town at the junction of the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad with the Memphis and Charleston Railroad. It is twenty-five miles from Chattanooga, and three miles from the Tennessee River. It is one hundred and twenty miles by rail from Nashville. The camp of the Fifty-Ninth is one mile from town, near the right bank of the famous Battle Creek, and within about the same distance of a high conical-shaped mountain, at the foot of which nestles the little town of Stevenson. On the 28th the First and Second Brigades of Davis' Division moved out, and the probability was that the Third would soon follow. This the men were willing for, as they usually enjoy the march, in pleasant weather, better than much laying in camp. After a few days in camp the routine of camp life becomes tiresome, and the men wish for a change. Sickness usually increases in proportion to the length of time spent in lying idle in camp, showing that it is more agreeable to be moving occasionally. In camp there are many more indulgences in the way of gormandizing, to be sure, than on the march; but the mind, also, has its influence in preserving the health of the soldier. On the march the mind is withdrawn from brooding over the sacrifices made, and a longing for the return of those home comforts and associations which have been so long left behind. The anticipations of coming events, the changes of scenery, both of a natural and artificial character, such as hills and dales, valleys and mountains, rivers and creeks, springs and rivulets, large plantations, with their fine mansions and negro cabins, beautiful groves and lawns, or the isolated log hut of the native forester--all tending to relieve the mind of "brooding melancholy," preserve the health, and restore the convalescent, by their ever-changing attractions to the soldier, as he passes them on the march. The sick were now sent to the general field hospital, at Stevenson, and, on the morning of the 30th, the regiment struck tents, and moved out. Passing through Stevenson, it proceeded, by a short and direct road, to the Tennessee River. Here it bivouacked till a pontoon bridge was in readiness for crossing upon. About four o'clock in the evening the brigade crossed over, and went into camp one mile distant from the river. The 30th of August was a beautiful day, and, while awaiting the opportunity to cross, the boys amused themselves bathing in the river. The river here was three-quarters of a mile wide, and many of the men swam from one shore to the other, apparently without much difficulty. It was very amusing to stand on the bank and witness the feats of agility performed by these aquatic actors. After witnessing this lively scene, the writer and Lieutenant Sanderson, of Company A, seated themselves in the shade, near the pontoons, to witness the activity of the scene in that vicinity. Just below the bridge was the only place where the mules could be taken to water, and here the hundreds of mules and horses belonging to the trains were now being brought. Each driver brought six mules, fastened together, so that, by riding one, the others could be led without difficulty. On coming to the water there was such a crowd of them that a great deal of trouble was sometimes required to get them out without becoming considerably entangled. Swearing is a universal practice amongst M.D.'s, and now it was remarkable. It seemed as though each one tried to do more of it than any one else could. The writer had noticed that not one had left the water without leaving many curses resting on the "souls" of his poor mules. He finally remarked to the Lieutenant that he believed all mule-drivers, without an exception, would swear. "It seems so," said the Lieutenant, "but yonder is a fellow who has been trying to disentangle his mules for some time, and he has not yet used an oath." Patiently the fellow worked for sometime longer, but to no purpose. The mules were very stubborn, and resisted all entreaty to come to shore in order. Patience now ceases to be a virtue, and he let out--and, of all the swearing that had been heard that day, his was most satanic--'twas awful. The Lieutenant gave it up, and acknowledged that all M.D.'s would swear. Colonel Post's brigade was now constituted rear guard to the corps train, and was, of course, the last to cross the river, and will be the last to cross the Sand Mountain, which now looms up before us. The crossing will be most difficult. The road is said to be very rugged, and in many places so steep that it will be impossible for the teams to pull the wagons up. The passage of the Alps, in miniature, is before us, and Colonel Post, in size and stature, as he directs the men in their labors, brings to mind the "Little Corporal," as he is represented in the "passage of those alpine heights." Early in the morning the ascent of the train commences. The four regiments of the brigade have gone on, and been distributed along the ascent by detachments, so as to be in readiness to assist any of the teams that should be unable to make the "riffle." The road, in its tortuous course, was frequently obstructed by huge flat rock, broken square, so that the wagon-wheels would have to be lifted twelve or fifteen inches perpendicularly to get over them. At such places, as many men as could get near the wagon would lay hold and hoist it, and then the mules could again proceed. About two o'clock the trains succeeded in reaching the top of the mountain, and the brigade then moved on for two or three miles, and took up quarters for the night. The descent was almost as difficult as the ascent, and the brigade was again stationed at the difficult places, as before. Where the declivity was steep large ropes were fastened to the rear of the wagons, and grasped by as many soldiers as was necessary to keep the wagon from rushing upon and crushing the mules in front. The crossing of Sand Mountain was accomplished, and the brigade again went into quarters. From the 2d day of September until the 6th, the trains were moved by easy stages towards the foot of Lookout Mountain, at a point called Valley Head. Here they went into corral to await the movements of the army in the front. The brigade, of course, also went into quarters. Valley Head is about forty miles from Chattanooga, and about the same distance from Rome, Ga. It is enclosed by Sand Mountain on the west, and Lookout Mountain on the east. It extends between these mountains from this point up to the Tennessee River. It is a very narrow valley, and is poorly improved. An occasional plantation only being met with. Here, at Valley Head, are two or three good plantations, but very much impaired by the depredations of the soldier, both rebel and Union. Here the fences had been burned from many of the fields, and some buildings destroyed by the rebels before the Union soldiers came to the neighborhood. The plantation on which the brigade was now camped, was in a measure destroyed by the rebel soldiers. Major Winston, the owner of the plantation, had been opposed to the war, and had suffered these depredations in consequence. On the 10th, the trains were again in motion. They moved to the foot of the mountain, and again went into corral. The Fifty-Ninth Regiment moved to the top of the mountain, and bivouacked about two miles in advance of the wagons. Here it lay until the 13th, when it was again moved down to the foot of the mountain. The road up the Lookout Mountain is here very good, and offers no great obstructions to the passage of the trains. It winds around all the steep acclivities, and misses all the large rock that project from the sides of this mountain. Huge masses of rock are everywhere hanging from the top and sides of this mountain; in some places affording "look out" points, from which may be seen the valley beneath, and the mountains around as far as vision can extend. It is from these points that the mountain derives its name of "Lookout." A few rods from the road is one of these projections, allowing a full view of Valley Head with all its surroundings. On the 18th, the brigade again ascended the mountain, and made a forced march of about twenty-five miles towards Chattanooga, going into camp sometime after night, not far below Dug Gap, and near the eastern summit of the mountain. The 19th was spent in camp, with orders to be ready to move at a moment's warning. A battle was now momentarily expected to take place in the valley below, and the boys were very restless. Not far from camp was a famous "look out," and hundreds of the soldiers visited it through the day for the purpose of viewing the "landscape o'er." From this point, the whole of Lookout, or Chattanooga Valley could be seen. For miles the valley is spread out to the view in all its variegated loveliness. Plantations, with their white mansions visible, here and there are seen, nestled as it were, in dark, deep forests; wreaths of smoke ascending from the depths of other clumps of dark, dense foliage, indicates the habitations of other dwellers in the valley, yet no house is seen. Nearer by, the open fields, with their herds of cattle and their flocks in pasture, as yet undisturbed by the ruthless soldier, and close by the planter's house and negro cabins. These may be seen with the naked eye. With a field glass or telescope, another feature is added to the scene. Soldiers, both cavalry and infantry could be seen marching in the distance, far over towards the Chickamauga. From this deep valley, now comes up the booming of distant cannon, adding deep interest to the scene. The armies are as yet only feeling for each others weakness--to-morrow they will try each others strength. All day the point was crowded with eager eyes, looking over that vast field of vision. And in the morning, as early as the light permitted, some returned to see what change the night might have produced, and they were well satisfied with their early visit. Before the sun began to shed his rays above the horizon, the scene presented in the valley below reminded one of an ocean of water. The smoke and fog had settled through the night on all the lower lands of the valley, and resembled in appearance the blue of the deep waters of the ocean. The ridges in the valley elevated the tops of the trees growing upon them, above this canopy of smoke, and gave them the appearance of islands in the ocean. As soon as the god of day began to pencil the horizon with his rays, the oceanic illusion vanished. At first a faint tinge of red appeared, and from this the redness gradually increased and grew broader and deeper until his whole broad face was visible. Redder and more fiery than any living coal was his appearance. It was not the white heat of noon-day, but the most brilliant red imaginable. The sight was most magnificent--most sublime. The setting sun, as witnessed from the "point" on the opposite side of the mountain was most beautiful--but this was most sublime. At seven o'clock the order came to march. At eight the brigade was in motion, and in an hour it was wending its way across the valley towards the battlefield of Chickamauga. About twelve o'clock it had reached the "Crawfish Springs," and formed in position to resist an expected attack from the enemy. Before getting to the Springs rebels had been seen hovering on the flank of our command, and one or two shots had been fired at our advanced skirmishers. On arriving at the Springs it was ascertained that the enemy had intercepted our march with too heavy a force for our brigade to advance against, and that he was also throwing a large force upon our right and rear. This was more than had been anticipated, and it became evident that there was now only one course to pursue, and that was to get away from the Springs in the best way possible. The only way to do this was to take the road towards Chattanooga immediately--this was done. The train moved on in advance, and the regiments followed. The command bivouacked about five miles from Chattanooga, and lay on their arms that night. The next day it moved two miles farther towards town, and on the morning of the 22d continued the retreat until it reached the lines at Chattanooga. When within about one mile of the lines the enemy began to throw shells into the ranks. The battery nearest the command from the lines in town, being apprised of the approach of the rebels, now came out and replied so vigorously to the rebel battery that it soon withdrew and the brigade marched in unhurt. In coming from the mountain to the Springs several stragglers were taken prisoners by the rebels. The Fifty-Ninth lost three or four men in this way. Had the brigade been one hour later in coming up to Chattanooga it would have been cut off and captured. The army had all fallen back the day before, and Post's command was the only one outside of the strong position in front of town. The position was now so well chosen, and our lines so compact, that the enemy dare not attack it. The campaign for the summer was now over, and the army intrenched itself at Chattanooga. Works were immediately constructed sufficient in strength and magnitude, to resist any attempt on the part of the enemy to take the town, and the army quietly awaited further developments. The campaign had been a severe and tedious one. The men were worn out and needed rest. Their clothing was becoming thin and the weather disagreeable, so that they began to suffer for the want of comfortable covering to protect them from the storm and against the cold and chilly nights. It was fully time they were also better supplied with food as well as clothing. Rations were becoming very short. One half rations of bread and one quarter rations of bacon was all the most of the men could get, and some of them, for a time, did not get even so much as that. For about ten days after the occupation of Chattanooga the men of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois Regiment received five crackers each for three days' rations, with about the same proportion of bacon. This was a near approach to starvation. The enemy now invested Chattanooga closely; artillery firing was practiced daily, and many a laugh was had at the expense of the rebel shells. Thousands of shells were thrown at Chattanooga during the siege, without doing any damage of any kind, except, perhaps, in one case. It was said that a negro man, while bringing water from the spring, was shot through by a solid six-pound ball. This, however, is doubted. One of the boys of Company K, of the Fifty-Ninth, was frying his ration of bacon one morning when a twelve pounder struck his pan and knocked it into the "middle of next week," and the boy lost his bacon. The Fifty-Ninth lay behind breast-works on the left bank of Chattanooga Creek, and the rebel pickets were stationed on the opposite bank, not over two hundred yards distant. The water from the creek supplied both parties, and meetings would frequently take place between the boys and the rebels, when they would have a friendly chat and a tobacco or newspaper trade. An understanding was had between the parties that there should be no shooting at each other. These friendly relations continued until the regiment was removed to another part of the field. The month of October was a very wet, rainy month, and caused some sickness in the regiment. Several of the men were compelled to give up doing duty and go to hospital, amongst whom was Sergeant William Curtis, of Company K, David M. Minard, of Company A, Sergeant Marcus D. Leigh, of Company F, and John B. Forester, of Company F. These were all young men of exemplary reputations for good moral conduct and soldierly behavior in all their intercourse with the regiment. They had undergone all the hardships, and endured all the exposure and fatigue of all the marches and campaigns, and been in all the battles the regiment had experienced since being in the service. The friends and relations of these young men have now to mourn them as numbered among the honored dead. Sergeant Curtis died at Chattanooga on the 26th of October, 1863, William M. Minard on the 2d of December, 1863, Sergeant Leigh died at Nashville on the 26th of December, 1863, soon after being removed from Chattanooga, and John B. Forester on the 7th day of January, 1864, at Louisville, Kentucky. About the middle of October the regiment crossed the Tennessee River, and went up into the Sequatchie Valley, with a train, after forage. It was gone three days, and had a good time of it. In the Valley the boys found plenty of hogs, chickens, honey, and other luxuries, which were unsparingly appropriated. An order to go foraging was always hailed with delight, as it promised better living than was usually to be had in camp. The question is frequently discussed in camp, "Why are we not better provided for--why are we compelled to live on hard bread and old bacon?" We are fighting our own battles, at our own expense, and we are able and willing to pay for good living. Why do we not get it? Is the question an unreasonable one? Can any one satisfactorily explain the reason why our soldiers are restricted to a certain kind of food? and such food, too, as no man thinks of living on at home. The expense of providing good palatable diet--such as bread, with salt and shortening in it, instead of that which is so hard and tasteless--with potatoes, beans, fruit, etc., etc.,--would be more than saved by preserving the health of the men, and thereby keeping them on duty, instead of having them become scorbutic and worthless to the Government, and not only worthless, but a useless expense. After the scurvy is established in the system of the soldier, a more generous diet is resorted to for the removal of the disease. Why not provide the diet as a preventive to the disease? CHAPTER XXVIII. On the 25th of October, the brigade left Chattanooga for Shell Mound. Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, the Fifty-Ninth broke camp and marched down to the river. The other regiments of the brigade were crossing over on the pontoon bridge below town, and the Fifty-Ninth fell into column at the proper time and crossed over. The bridge at this point is about three hundred yards long, and requires fifty-two pontoons to float it. A few nights before the regiment crossed, the rebels sent a large raft, made of heavy timber, down the river, which striking the bridge, stove it into pieces. It did not take long to repair it, and very little damage was done by this sharp trick. After crossing, the command took the road leading down through the river bottom lands for five miles, when it reached the foot of the Sequatchie Mountain. Here it rested a short time, and the men refreshed themselves with a hard tack and a slice of bacon. Before them now looms up a mountain, around the side of which winds a road four miles long, which they must climb. The bugle sounds, and the march up the mountain commences. Had there been nothing to attract attention on the way, the march would have been a toilsome one, but as it was, the men did not think of getting weary. The road in many places was marked by objects of much interest on the side of the road next the mountain. Masses of rock of all shapes and of every dimension meet the view. Some of these appeared just ready to fall, and crush the column as it passed. Here was one forming a perpendicular wall, of a hundred feet in height, and three hundred in length; and then another of as large dimensions, in appearance like to an old ancient castle set in the side of the mountain. Here is another, with an opening to a cave within, of unknown extent. There issues a stream of limpid water large enough to turn the wheels of fortune; and not far from this, a beautiful jet of pure, cold water bursts, as it were, from out the solid rock, and trickles along, way down the mountain, in pearly drops. At the foot of the mountain, the Tennessee River urges its way through its narrow rock-bound channel, in billowy grandeur. It is only now and then that its waters can be seen from the line of march, but when they are, it is only to cause a frequent turning of the eye in that direction to get another glimpse. In this passage up the mountain, there is one place, of half a mile in length, which is called the "Narrows." From the high bluffs, on the opposite side of the river, a minnie ball may be thrown against the rocks above the road, on the Sequatchie Mountain. Several mules and one or two men had been killed while passing these narrows by rebel sharp shooters, from the bluffs across the river. Two or three shots were fired at the column now passing, but no one was hit. About one o'clock the regiment arrived at the summit of the mountain, and there halted for dinner. After dinner and an hour's rest, the march was continued. The road now taken is called the Old Ridge Road. It leads along the summit of this ridge for twenty miles. Sometimes the ridge is just broad enough for the passage of a single wagon, and at these places you can look down, down, down, until your head swims. There are some very good "look out" points on this ridge. The regiment went into camp on the evening of the 26th, near one of these points, and had the pleasure of witnessing the departure of Old Sol, as he disappeared below the horizon. It was a pretty sight. During the twilight they had an opportunity of looking up and down the Sequatchie Valley, as it lay in the depths below. It had the appearance of being a very rich and finely cultivated country. Farms and farm houses were quite numerous and seemed snug and inviting. The descent from this mountain summit commenced early on the morning of the 27th, and after ascending and descending innumerable acclivities and declivities, the regiment went into camp on the bank of the Tennessee River. Here it was expected that the command would be ferried across the river, at what was called Brown's Ferry, but after about two hours in quarters, the order came to march. It was still about seven miles to Shell Mound, and this was the distance now to be marched. The sun was setting, as the regiment moved out, and about nine o'clock it crossed the river at Shell Mound, and went into camp again. Shell Mound is seven miles above Bridgeport, and twenty-one below Chattanooga. To get from Chattanooga here, the command had marched sixty-miles. Shell Mound derives its name from the innumerable quantity of shells that is piled up there. The entire mound is composed of muscle shell, as though they had been hauled there and tilted from the cart. Their number is most astonishing. It might be supposed that all the muscles from the first creation to the present time had made this their charnel house. If some shrewd Yankee should ever take it into his head to load a few flat-boats with these shells, and have them pulverized and barreled up, he could make a fortune by selling the powder as a fertilizer for Northern farms. This bed of shells is ten feet deep at the river brink, and covers several acres, in some places to a greater depth. At this place is another great curiosity--the "Negro Jack Cave," as it is called by the natives. The entrance to this cave is large--perhaps twenty feet wide, and fifteen feet to the arch above. The arch is most beautifully turned, smooth and regular. The smoke from the fires which have been kindled under this arch has given it a cloudy appearance, which is very pretty. This is a saltpetre cave, and the rebels have had very extensive works through it. Around the entrance, on the outside, are furnaces and kettles; on the inside are hundreds of filterers, or hoppers, for filtering the clay, which holds the saltpetre. On penetrating fifty or sixty feet within, the light disappears, and it is necessary to use torches or candles to see the way over the slimy hillocks of mud and broken stone, which fill the passages. The cave is said to be fifteen miles in length. There is a large stream of water running through it, which has been ascended by canoes for ten miles, from the entrance. This stream flows out from an opening a short distance to the right of the mouth of the cave, in size sufficient to turn a large grist mill. It is crossed on a plank bridge, about five hundred feet from the mouth of the cave. The water can not be seen, but a stone dropped from the bridge can be heard as it plunges into the water far below. The walls, in some places, are very rough, and in others quite smooth. Some distance, after crossing the river, you come to a small chamber, which is very pretty. It is, perhaps, twenty feet square. The ceiling is ornamented with stalactites, resembling icicles, and the walls are perpendicular and smooth. The corners and the edges of the ceiling are as though they had been ornamented by some master workman. There are many different passages leading from the main entrance, and great attention is required, or you lose your way. When Buell's army was here some of his boys got lost in this cave, and were three days in finding the way out, and would not then if a band of music had not went in, and blowed their instruments, which were heard by the wanderers, and thus discovered to them the direction they ought to take. While seeking their way out, these boys came across the body of a Lieutenant, who had lost his way, and thus perished. This cave received the name of "Negro Jack" because of its having been the hiding place of an old negro by that name, in an early day. There had been a small town at Shell Mound, and the railroad depot was yet standing when our boys got there, but the next morning it was torn down to make shelters and fires for the men. It was a nice brick depot, and its destruction ought not to have been allowed. It was the last of Shell Mound City. The saltpetre works are all destroyed, and there is nothing here now of interest but the pontoon bridge across the river. The regiments lay at Shell Mound two days, and then moved up to Whitesides, seven miles nearer Chattanooga. Here the brigade went into winter quarters. Whiteside Station is fourteen miles below Chattanooga, and is at the foot of Raccoon Mountain, in Marion County, Tennessee. Camp is situated on the side of the mountain, just above the railroad, and is within protecting distance of the "Falling Waters" railroad bridge, now in course of reconstruction. This bridge was destroyed by the rebels on the approach of Buell's army. It was a fine structure, and cost ninety-five thousand dollars. It was five hundred feet in length, and ninety-five feet in height. The mountain summit is at least a thousand feet above camp. Near the top is a large ledge of rock, and just below this ledge is an opening to a coal mine. These mountains are full of coal, and there are several mines within a short distance of camp. The chute from the one above the depot, deposits the coal near where it is loaded upon the cars for shipment. These chutes are square tunnels, made of boards. By putting the coal in at the top, it is conducted, with the rapidity of a cannon ball, to the bottom. The boys are now amusing themselves by throwing large stones into this chute, and watching them come out at the bottom. Below camp runs a small mountain stream called the "Falling Waters." On the opposite side of this stream rises another mountain, to the height of two thousand feet. The Ninth Indiana Regiment is stationed on the summit of this mountain. While at Chattanooga, the army was reorganized, and, instead of four regiments, there were now eight in a brigade. Colonel Post was now acting as President of a Board of Claims, and Colonel Gross, of the Thirty-Sixth Indiana, was in command of the brigade. The brigade consisted of the Fifty-Ninth Illinois, Seventy-Fifth Illinois, Eightieth Illinois, Ninth Indiana, Thirty-Sixth Indiana, Ninety-Sixth Ohio, and Eighty-Fourth Illinois Regiments. The eighth regiment had not yet joined the brigade. Colonel P. Sidney Post, on relinquishing the command of the First Brigade of General Davis' old division, which was consolidated in the new organization, issued the following order: "HEADQU'RS 1ST BRIG., 1ST DIV., 20TH ARMY CORPS, "Chattanooga, Oct. 16, '63. "_General Order No. 51._--In the organization of the army, this brigade will lose its identity, and be transferred to another division and corps. Organized on the banks of the Ohio more than a year ago, it has traversed Kentucky and Tennessee, scaled the mountains of Northern Alabama and Georgia, and now terminates its existence on the south bank of the Tennessee. The year during which it has remained intact will ever be remembered as that in which the gallant armies of the West rolled back the advancing hosts of the rebellion, and extinguished the Confederacy in the valley of the Mississippi. In accomplishing this glorious achievement, you--soldiers of the First Brigade--have performed no mean part. On the laborious march you have been patient and energetic, and in the skirmish and battle second to none in stubborn valor and success. In one year you lost upon the battle-field eight hundred and fifty heroic comrades. Baptised in blood at Perryville, this brigade led the army in pursuit of the retreating foe, and again attacks him at Lancaster, whence he fled from Kentucky. In the mid-winter campaign it opened the battle at Stone River, by attacking and driving the enemy from Nolensville, on the memorable 31st of December, together with the rest of the Twentieth Army Corps valiantly met the attack of the concentrated opposing army. At Liberty Gap, and in the late battle of Chickamauga, it performed well the part assigned it, and finishes its honorable career weaker in number but strong in the confidence and discipline of invincible veterans. For the able and hearty co-operations its commander has received from the officers, and for the cheerful support yielded by its gallant men, he returns his sincere thanks. No petty jealousies, no intrigue or demoralizing influences, have ever disgraced and paralyzed our efforts for the country's cause; and the commander unites in the just pride which all feel in the history of, and in their connection with, the First Brigade, First Division, Twentieth Army Corps. "P. SIDNEY POST, "Colonel Commanding Brigade." CHAPTER XXIX. On the morning of the 23d of November, the brigade broke up camp at Whitesides and took up the line of march towards Chattanooga. About six o'clock that evening it went into quarters at the foot of Lookout Mountain. The anticipation was that the command would cross the river the next morning and join General Sherman, who was about engaging the enemy above Chattanooga. This anticipation was not realized. Early on the morning of the 24th the men were under arms and facing the Lookout. Soon the column commenced moving, and now the object of the move became apparent--which was no less than the storming of Lookout Mountain. Is it possible that these men are to march up that rugged mountain side in the face of a relentless foe above, who are prepared to hurl destruction down upon them from the height. Nothing daunted by the formidable task assigned them, the troops moved boldly forward. The enemy resisted stubbornly, but could not withstand the onward move of our brave men. The fight was terrific for about five hours. The Third brigade acted nobly, and the Fifty-Ninth Illinois added new laurels to her war-worn banner. Not a man wavered, but each vied with the other in urging on the advance. Those who witnessed the maneuvering of the men--and every move could be seen from Chattanooga and the adjacent hills--expressed the greatest admiration at the masterly manner in which the regiments made their charges. The Fifty-Ninth retained an unbroken line during the whole of this arduous contest. General Hooker, who witnessed the whole affair, remarked that he never saw a more perfect line of battle maintained by any regiment, during successive charges, than was here maintained by the Fifty-Ninth Illinois. The regiment lost but one killed and three wounded. The rebels invariably over-shot us. James Medford, of Company G, was killed while in the act of shooting at the enemy. The morning of the 25th revealed to all in the valley below the glorious flag of the Union floating over the point of Lookout. Early on the morning of the 25th our brigade again advanced and skirmished with the enemy all the way across Chattanooga Valley to Missionary Ridge. Here the enemy attempted to make another stand. With a shout our men charged upon them with fixed bayonets and again put them to flight. In this charge the Fifty-Ninth was in the advance, and was the first regiment to reach the summit of the Ridge. Although the charge was a most dangerous one, only one man of the regiment was wounded. The regiment lay on the Ridge that night, and at sunrise continued the pursuit. On the morning of the 28th, the command reached Ringgold, eighteen miles from Chattanooga. At this place the rebels made another stand, and the battle raged most furiously all the forenoon, but terminated in the complete rout of the enemy. The Fifty-Ninth was on the field and in line of battle, but did not become engaged. After the battle, the Third Brigade was ordered to move five miles down the railroad towards Tunnel Hill, and ascertain how far the rebs had gone. About four miles from town a line of battle was discovered in our front, and the brigade was halted. Here it remained 'till after dark, when many fires were kindled as if it was intended to remain all night, but the men silently withdrew behind the lights and returned to town. On the afternoon of the 30th, the brigade started on its return to Whitesides. The division returned through the Chickamauga battle field, and spent all the 1st day of December in burying the dead that had been left unburied by the rebs. After over two months' exposure, there was nothing left of the bodies but bones to bury. Hundreds of these were found and covered. They had buried their own dead, but the Union soldier was left to moulder where he fell. On the 6th day of December the regiment again went into winter quarters, in their old camp at Whitesides. There was now a fair prospect of remaining in camp for some time, and the boys went to work in earnest to prepare themselves comfortable shanties. In a few days they were all comfortably housed, and ready for all kinds of mischief. Corporal William A. Gilbert was left in hospital at Whitesides when the regiment marched, and soon after its return he departed this life. He was buried with the honors of war, on a pleasant spot above camp, on the side of Raccoon Mountain. The regiment, on this expedition, was commanded by Major Clayton Hale, Lieutenant Colonel Winters having resigned and gone home, a short time before the regiment moved. Captain James H. Stookey was Acting Major. These two officers, soon afterwards, received a promotion--the one, Major Hale, received a commission as Lieutenant-Colonel; the other, Captain Stookey, a commission as Major of the Fifty-Ninth Regiment Illinois Volunteers. Captain Stookey's promotion was highly pleasing to the men of the regiment. By his unassuming manners, and kindly disposition, he had obtained the good will and esteem, not only of the men belonging to his own company, but of the whole regiment. He had proven himself a brave, good officer, and one of the best tacticians in the regiment. His promotion was richly merited. Major Hale had never taken any pains to conciliate the feelings of the men towards himself, but had ever been reticent in his manners towards the private soldier, and, consequently, had lost that feeling of regard which friendly communings, and social manners, always engenders. CHAPTER XXX. While the regiment lay at Ringgold, an order was received at head-quarters authorizing the enlistment of veteran volunteers, to serve for three years, or during the war, with the proviso that those who had been in service for two years would be accepted, and none others; and that each should receive a bounty of four hundred and two dollars, and a thirty days furlough; and, also, that their old term of service should expire, and their new term commence, on the day of enlistment. Some fifteen or twenty re-enlisted immediately, and, after returning to Whitesides, some two hundred and fifty others entered their names for the veteran service. This, according to an act of the War Department, constituted the Fifty-Ninth a veteran regiment. It, therefore, now lost its identity as the Fifty-Ninth Regiment Illinois Volunteers, and assumed the name of Fifty-Ninth Veteran Volunteer Infantry Regiment of Illinois. The men were mustered on the 5th day of January, 1864, as veterans, and, on the 13th of February, arrived at Springfield, Illinois, to receive their promised furloughs. On their arrival, Adjutant-General Fuller addressed to them the following beautiful expression of welcome and regard: "I congratulate you on your soldierly appearance, and the favorable auspices under which you have returned to fill up your decimated ranks. The liberal bounties offered by the Government, and the almost universal liberal policy adopted by the several counties of the State to aid and encourage enlistments, together with the high character which your regiment has deservedly acquired, will, doubtless, attract to your ranks hundreds of our patriotic and loyal young men who have awaited the return of our veteran regiments to identify their destinies and unite their fortunes with them. "On the 21st of September, 1861, you took the field as undisciplined recruits. You now return a regiment of veteran _volunteers_, and as such are entitled to wear the badge of honor--the mark of distinction--the evidence of recognition of your country for past meritorious service. "So great was the rush to arms in this State, in the early stages of the rebellion, you were unable to obtain admission as the Ninth Missouri. At that time our sister State of Missouri was undergoing the throes of a revolution within her own borders, and nothing but the strong arm of military power prevented her from throwing off her allegiance to the General Government, and openly espousing the cause of her enemies. Your services, and that of other Illinois regiments, did much to rescue her from the abyss of ruin into which she was plunging. "Though you went to the field, and have returned from it unheralded, your history is not unknown, nor have your services been unnoticed. Without disparagement to others, all of whom have done so well, I can truly say that in no Illinois regiment has the State authorities and the people of the State taken a stronger interest, or felt a greater pride, than in the Fifty-Ninth. Why should they not? The rapidity of your long marches, your patient endurance, and your daring dash in battles, have rarely, if ever, been excelled. The Polish Lancers were not more fleet, nor the French Hussars more daring, nor the English veterans more unyielding, than you. And, while you have been making the circuit of Western battle-fields, as this, the general officers under whom you have served, testify of you. "We hear of you on the 22d of September, 1861, embarking on transports at St. Louis for Jefferson City. At Jefferson City on that day, we hear of you at Otterville, on the 1st of October; at Syracuse on the 14th; at Warsaw, on the 24th; crossing the Osage on the 25th; by forced marches, at Springfield on the 3d of November; at Syracuse again on the 17th of November; at Lamoine Bridge preparing winter quarters, December 7th; at Lamoine Bridge again on the 15th; breaking camp again and marching in mud, and rain, and snow, with scanty camp and garrison equipage and half rations, for Lebanon; leaving Lebanon on the 10th of February for Springfield, as a part of General Curtis' army, to fight the rebels under Price, at that place. You arrive on the 13th, and find the enemy fled; pursuing and fighting the rear guard, you bring him to battle and fight and whip him at Dry Springs; crossing the Arkansas line on the 19th; at Cross Hollows on the 22d; and at Pea Ridge, on the 7th and 8th of March, shoulder to shoulder, with the Twenty-Fifth, Thirty-Seventh, Davidson's Battery, and other Illinois troops, you fight and win one of the most stubborn and well-contested battles of the war. "Without rest after this terrible struggle, and the enemy leaving their dead Generals behind, and fleeing across the Ozark Mountains, you leave Pea Ridge on the 10th, and we hear of you at Cross Timbers, April 6th; at Bull Creek, April 20th; at Sulphur Rock, May 10th; and at Cape Girardeau, almost in sight of your homes, May 20th; en route to reinforce General Halleck's army at Pittsburg Landing, stopping at Paducah a short time, on the 24th; you hear from Governor Yates, who there addressed you cheering words upon what had transpired while you were in the "wilderness;" you proceed to Hamburg Landing, and participate in the engagement of the 30th of that month. On the 3d of June we again hear from you at Boonville, Miss., in pursuit of the enemy; at Ripley, Miss., on the 30th; at Jacinto, Miss., on the 4th of July; at Iuka, Ala., on the 15th of August; at Florence, on the 24th; at Murfreesboro', September 2d; at Nashville, September 4th; at Bowling Green, on the 17th; at Louisville, on the 26th; and entering the fight at Perryville, on the 7th of October, with three hundred and sixty-one men, and coming out of it with less than two-thirds that number. "The distance actually marched, from the time you left Boonville, Mo., until you bivouacked at Franklin, Tenn., was two thousand five hundred and forty-seven miles. With such a record of marches and counter marches, of skirmishes and battles, you have indeed merited the compliment paid you by one of your Generals, as the 'grey hound, or fleet-footed fighting regiment of Illinois.' "I have no time to dwell upon the honorable and brilliant part you bore in the subsequent battles of Stone River, Chickamauga and Chattanooga. Nine hundred and fifty-seven men have entered your regiment, at and since its organization. Two hundred and sixty-seven have re-enlisted as veterans. These figures tell the tale, and are more eloquent of your praise than any words which I could utter. You will be furloughed for thirty days, and at the expiration of that time, rendezvous here for re-organization. The good people of Coles, Cumberland, Edgar, Greene, Knox, Madison, McDonough, St. Clair and Warren, who have an especial interest in your fame and welfare, will welcome you with loving words and open arms. Return then, to families and friends, and receive a soldier's welcome and your country's gratitude. "But in your thankfulness to a kind Providence which has permitted you to return to receive your children's love, your brother's friendship, and your parent's blessings, forget not to console the bereaved. Bleeding hearts await you to learn the last tidings of those who have wasted away by disease, or been stricken down by your sides. Comfort bereaved ones by the assurance that your fallen comrades maintained the fair fame of a Union soldier while living, and died while manfully battling for their country and their country's cause. "General White, in whom I recognize a true gentleman, a gallant officer and an old friend, and under whom you served on many long marches, and at the memorable battle of Pea Ridge, I feel assured can not resist the temptation to address his old comrades, now impatient to hear him." General White then said: "Fellow soldiers of the Fifty-Ninth. The language usually employed at the meeting of friends, does not express the emotion experienced by me on this occasion. In you I recognize not only patriots, who have devoted themselves to the rescue of our country from the hands of traitors, but men with whom it was my fortune to share the toils, privations and dangers of the soldiers' life in camp, on the march and on the battle-field. The bond of affection thus created is well known to officers and soldiers; and may it never be broken." After a few further remarks, the General retired and the men, on the reception of their furloughs, dispersed to their beloved homes, until duty again called them to the field. On the departure of the "veterans" for Springfield, those who did not re-enlist, to the number of eighty, were assigned to duty with the Seventy-Fifth Illinois Regiment. Here they remained until the Fifty-Ninth returned to the field, when they rejoined it and continued in their old companies until their term of service terminated, which was on the 6th day of September, 1864, three years and one month after being mustered in at St. Louis. Their three years' service really expired on the 6th day of August, but by some chicanery or other they were compelled to serve one month beyond that time, and even then did not get their discharge papers until about the 15th of September, being kept in idleness and suspense for ten days after being relieved from duty. The last month of their service, which was the month of their conscription, was the most arduous and most dangerous of any during their three years' servitude. It was the last month of General Sherman's campaign against Atlanta. On the last day of their term of service, the 6th of September, they made one of the most desperate charges on the rebel line of works that had ever been made by any other regiment during the campaign. Several of the veterans were killed and many wounded; and one of the non-vets, Jacob Rader, of Company F, whose term of service, according to an original act of the War Department, had expired on the 24th of June, over two months previous, that being the day of his enlistment, was severely if not mortally wounded. Another one, James Rowsey, of the same company, was mortally wounded in the head, and died in a few days afterwards. His term expired on the 6th of August, one month previous, but his life was sacrificed to the unjust conscription now being practiced upon those who could not consistently re-enlist as veterans. Whether this injustice was due to any act of the War Department, or to the neglect or inhuman feelings of the commanders in the army is left for others than the writer to decide. One Donathy, of Company K, also a non-veteran, was killed on the 4th day of July, while making a charge on the enemy's lines. The remainder of the non-veterans finally left the army on the 12th day of September, and, after much difficulty and great risk, arrived at Louisville, Kentucky, where they were paid, and received an honorable discharge, and were now permitted to return to their homes. Long may they live to enjoy the peace and comfort they so richly deserve! May their lives be prolonged on the earth until the last enemy of the free institutions of this glorious Union be called hence, to render up the final accounts to Him who judgeth the quick and the dead. "Cheers, cheers, for our heroes! Not those who wear stars; Not those who wear eagles, And leaflets, and bars; We know they are gallant, And honor them too, For bravely maintaining The Red, White, and Blue!" "But cheers for our soldiers, Rough, wrinkled and brown; The men who make heroes, And ask no renown; Unselfish, untiring, Intrepid and true, The bulwark surrounding The Red, White, and Blue!" "Our patriot soldiers! When treason arose, And Freedom's own children Assailed her as foes; When anarchy threatened And order withdrew, They rallied to rescue The Red, White, and Blue!" "Upholding our banner, On many a field, The doom of the traitor They valiantly sealed; And worn with the conflict, Found vigor anew, Where victory greeted The Red, White, and Blue." "Yet, loved ones have fallen-- And still when they sleep, A sorrowing nation Shall silently weep; And Spring's fairest flowers, In gratitude, strew, O'er those who have cherished The Red, White, and Blue!" "But glory, immortal, Is waiting them now, And chaplets unfading Shall bind every brow, When called by the trumpet, At Time's great review, They stand, who defended The Red, White, and Blue." THE END. 
50420	----	HISTORY OF THE BEEF CATTLE INDUSTRY IN ILLINOIS BY FRANK WEBSTER FARLEY THESIS FOR THE DEGREE OF BACHELOR OF SCIENCE IN AGRICULTURE IN THE COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 1915 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS May 22, 1915 THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THE THESIS PREPARED UNDER MY SUPERVISION BY _Frank Webster Farley_ ENTITLED _History of the Beef Cattle Industry in Illinois_ ______________________________________________________________ IS APPROVED BY ME AS FULFILLING THIS PART OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF _Bachelor of Science in Agriculture_ ____________________________________________________ _~Henry P Rusk~_ Instructor in Charge APPROVED: _May 27, 1915_ ~Herbert W. Mumford~ HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF Animal Husbandry INDEX I. Introduction Topography of the Land People Cattle and cattle feeding II. Cattle Feeding Industry The first silo in Illinois The Chicago market III. Cattle Barons and Pioneer Drovers John T. Alexander Jacob Strawn Benjamin Franklin Harris Tom Candy Ponting IV. The Range Industry Texas cattle V. The Pure Bred Industry T. L. Miller Thomas Clark VI. Cattle Plagues VII. The Feed Industry of the United States. HISTORY OF THE BEEF CATTLE INDUSTRY IN THE STATE OF ILLINOIS I. INTRODUCTION _Topography of the Land_ "As a whole, the surface of the State of Illinois is nearly level. The prairie regions which cover a large part of the state are only slightly rolling, except in those places where streams have worn valleys. These are shallow in the eastern and the northern parts of the state, deepening gradually as the great rivers are approached. Nearly all the waters of Illinois find their way to the Mississippi river. Along this river, as also along the larger streams of the state, the lands are cut into abrupt bluffs or sharp spurs which, nearing the sources of the streams, gradually become softened into rounded hillocks, sinking at last into the low banks. Through such waterways as these form, flow streams usually gentle in current, often sluggish, and sometimes becoming even stagnant. Over a large part of the state, ponds and "sloughs", or marshes, formerly abounded. In these the water was renewed only by the rains that fell occasionally. Under hot suns these ponds, having neither inlet nor outlet, quickly became foul, particularly where stock resorted to them to drink and cool themselves, as they did almost universally throughout the state a few years ago, and do even now in some parts. "For years such ponds furnished the principal, almost the only, water supply for stock in large areas of this state. The constant use of such impure water greatly injured the quality of the milk and butter of cows, and doubtless had a baneful effect upon the health of the animals that drank the foul water and those who used the milk and butter. "With the drainage of the land and the introduction of a pure supply of water, came the disappearance of certain diseases of cattle and of human beings, particularly the so-called milk sickness and kindred maladies, and a marked improvement in the flavor and keeping qualities of milk and butter. Although the change thus far has been great, there are yet districts in which there has been little improvement in the conditions of the land, of the water supply, or of the people. Stock are still compelled to depend, for their water supply, upon streams and pools that almost invariably become stagnant in the warm and dry days of the latter part of summer each year."[1] Inquiries addressed to hundreds of intelligent and careful observers, nearly all of whom were practical stockmen, elicited information showing the following: Number of District Chief Source of Water Counties Supply 8 Northwest or Postal Streams and wells; District springs furnish a considerable part of it; few ponds used; three instances of tile drains. Central Northern Wells chief source; Counties springs, streams, and tiles used to a considerable extent. Northeast Counties Streams, wells, and springs used about equally. Eastern Counties Wells chiefly; streams next; ponds and tile drains follow in the order named; nine instances of springs. Central Counties Forty-nine districts report wells; forty report streams; thirty-five tile drains; twenty-five ponds; twenty-four springs. Western Counties Wells and tile drains equal; springs next; ponds in a few instances. 4 Southern Counties Ponds and streams equal; six report wells; five report springs; four tile drains. 21 Central S. Counties Ponds chiefly; streams next; wells next; springs and tiles in the order named. Southeast and Southwest Counties A like condition: ponds, streams, and springs. "From all parts of the state, correspondents wrote that the ponds and streams become stagnant in the warm months of summer, a few making exception of those years in which rainfall has been heavy during the summer months. Stagnant water is found more generally in the southern than in the northern part of Illinois; chiefly, perhaps, because the cultivation and drainage of the land has not become almost universal as it has in the northern districts." In several counties artesian wells afford a most copious supply of water of good quality. In Iroquois and other eastern counties, such wells have been bored to a depth of from 150 to 200 feet and obtained an unfailing flow of water impregnated with minerals. Stock show a strong liking for such water after becoming accustomed to its use, and it is the belief of those who have had opportunity for observing the effects of its continued use, that this mineral water serves to keep the animals free from disorders which formerly prevailed in that region. This seems to be especially apparent in regard to malarial disorders. _People_ About 1820, the State of Illinois was being rapidly settled by people from the eastern states. Prior to this time, very few white settlements had been made in the state. These early pioneers, drawn from the population of the eastern states, were composed of almost all nationalities. They pushed their way across the mountains of Pennsylvania and Virginia in crude wagons, drawn by oxen, bringing with them their household goods and a few milk cows. They came into Illinois, built new homes, and laid out new fields on the broad, unsettled prairies.[2] [Illustration] [Illustration] Beginning with the year of 1800, when there were only a few people in the state, the population has increased very rapidly, as is shown by the following statistics, taken from the United States Census Report (special supplement for the State of Illinois): Year Population 1790 1800 5,641 1810 24,520 1820 147,178 1830 343,031 1840 685,866 1850 851,470 1860 1,711,951 1870 2,539,891 1880 3,077,871 1890 3,826,352 1900 4,821,550 1910 5,638,591 _Cattle and Cattle Feeding_[3] When Illinois was first settled, almost the whole of the middle and the northern parts of the state were covered with a rank growth of native grasses, which furnished an ample supply and variety of forage of fair quality. "In the southern districts were heavy forests, but in the central and northern sections were but few groves or other timber growths to afford shelter to stock." The prairie grasses that grew in the central and northern districts were usually devastated by fire during the fall. However, the general fencing and cultivation of the land put a stop to the burning of these dead grasses of the prairies, and soon groves of oaks sprang up and covered many uncultivated spots. The leaves which stayed on these trees throughout the winter until spring, furnished valuable shelter to stock from the raw winter winds. At the beginning of the settlement of Illinois, very little attention was given to the cattle interest. The pioneer settlers, however, had brought a few milk cows with them from the eastern states, but these cows were kept for milk only, no thought being given to beef production. After a few years, a few pure bred cattle were brought in, at which time some attention was given to beef, as well as to milk production, not for the beef produced, however, but principally to give a ready market for their grain crops. The practice of raising beef cattle to market grain continued from then until near the end of the nineteenth century, when cattle feeding was no longer profitable as a grain market, and the question was: "How much beef can be produced from a bushel of corn?"[4] "Despite the seemingly adverse character of the climate, Illinois has been, for some time, little, if any, behind other leading states of the Union in stock growing. In 1850, this state stood sixth in milk cows, and seventh in work oxen and other cattle. In 1860, it was tenth in work oxen, fifth in milk cows, and second in other cattle. In 1870, it was twenty-sixth in work oxen, fourth in milk cows, and second in the supply of other cattle. In 1880, it stood thirty-sixth in work oxen, second in milk cows, and third in other cattle. Iowa then had 240,280 and Texas had 1,812,860 more cattle than Illinois. "The average value of milk cows in Illinois in 1884 was $35, and of oxen and other cattle, it was $28.04, while the average value of milk cows in Iowa was only $31.75, and of other cattle $26.00. The blood of the Shorthorns was used more largely than that of any other breed in the improvement of the cattle of the state. The first, and for some years, the only representatives of pure races of cattle in this state were Shorthorns, and to this date they exceed all other breeds in number." The growth of the cattle interest in the State of Illinois, from 1850 to 1884, inclusive, is shown by the following statistics, taken from the United States Census Reports. The first figures of close accuracy on the number of cattle in the state were those gotten in 1850. ----+--------------+-------------+----------------+----------------- | Milch Cows | Work Oxen | Other Cattle | Total Year|-------+------+------+------+---------+------+---------+------- | No. |Inc. %| No. |Inc. %| No. |Inc. %| No. | Inc. % ----+-------+------+------+------+---------+------+---------+------- 1850|294,671| |76,156| | 541,209| | 912,036| | | | | | | | | 1860|522,634| 77.3 |90,380| 18.6 | 970,799| 79.4|1,583,813| 73.6 | | | | | | | | 1870|640,321| 22.5 |19,766|-78.1 |1,055,499| 8.7|1,715,586| 8.3 | | | | | | | | 1880|865,913| 35.2 | 3,346|-83.0 |1,515,063| 43.5|2,384,322| 38.9 | | | | | | | | 1883|716,102|-17.3 | | |1,253,765| -17.2|1,969,867| -17.4 | | | | | | | | 1884|919,404| 17.7 | | |1,471,191| 17.3|2,390,595| 21.3 ----+-------+------+------+------+---------+------+---------+------- FOOTNOTES: [1] Report of the Bureau of Animal Industry, 1885, p. 362. [2] United States Census Report and interviews with old settlers. [3] Report of Bureau of Animal Industry, 1885, p. 365. [4] Bureau of Animal Industry, 1885, p. 365-66 II. CATTLE FEEDING INDUSTRY[5] "When the farms of Illinois were first put into cultivation, the attention of the farmers was almost entirely devoted to grain raising. Wheat was cash and was the only product of the farm that could be sold for ready money. The virgin soils of the state gave to the pioneer large crop yields, but constant cropping soon began to tell on the soil and each year the crop yield became lighter. This depletion of the fertility of the soil by continuous cropping, together with a need for a near market for the grain crops, soon gave stimulus to an idea that cattle feeding would help restore the fertility of the soil and, at the same time, market the grain at home." From this time on, the production of beef in this state has been one of the most important phases of agriculture. In the southern part of the state, however, which was settled largely by French, and where the predominating cattle continued to be the mongrel bred stock, little attention was given to cattle feeding. These people turned their cattle out on the luxuriant grass and relied upon the meat and milk produced in that way. "In the evolution or development of beef production that followed in Illinois and other corn-belt states, there has been two distinct stages, and it is now entering upon the third stage. The first stage was that in which cattle were fed to market corn, and also to increase the fertility of the soil, which was being depleted by the continuous cropping. The second stage was that in which the ranges had been broken up and the object was not to raise cattle to market corn but to raise corn to make beef." The third stage, or that upon which the industry is now entering, is that of baby beef making. [Illustration] Seventy or eighty years ago, and for several years afterward, cattle were bred and fed, not primarily for beef production, but to market corn. The farmers of those days were accustomed to say: "I'll make my corn walk to market," or "I'll condense my freight," or "I'll grow packages in which I can condense my corn and put in the hay and pastures as well." Statisticians figured that about six tons of corn could be put into one ton of pork, about ten tons into one ton of beef, and from twenty to twenty-five tons into one ton of butter. There were very few railroads in the state at that time and farmers were forced to haul their corn and wheat thirty and forty miles to reach a station. And while freight rates were extortionately high on corn and wheat in proportion to their cash value, railroads were racing with each other to get the livestock trade. They gave passes, rebates, and quick service, and many other things to get the patronage of the cattle feeders and shippers. The country roads in Illinois were bad, the bridges were few and poor, and the farmers, therefore, soon came to realize that their corn must walk to market if it gave them any profit. "The growing of the so-called packages in which to condense freight, and thereby sell corn to a better advantage, was an easy matter in those days. In the newer sections, away from the main lines of railroads, there was much open prairie land, which was covered with luxuriant grass. Cattle could be herded on this free grass on the prairies at a dollar a head from May to October, and then stalk fields could be had for ten cents an acre. Usually these stalk fields contained from twenty cents to thirty cents worth of corn per acre. The only expensive months for feeding were March and April, when either clover, timothy, or prairie hay had to be fed. The cost in the summer was only about twenty cents a month per head, in the winter about thirty-three cents. The total cost of growing a package was about $6.00." The cattle herders in those days made contracts with the large operators to graze so many cattle at so much per head during the grazing season. The usual price for the entire season was from $1.00 to $1.50 per head. These cattle ranged from three to seven years old by the time they were ready for market and sold for about $25.00 per head. An instance of the cattle herding industry, as it may be termed, is related by Mr. C. W. Yapp, now of Urbana, Illinois, who was one of the early herders in that country near Mahomet: About 1855, at 13 years of age, Mr. Yapp began herding cattle for the then large cattle feeders of that part of the country. In the early spring of 1860, he started from Mahomet with a bunch of 12 cattle, to meet a large drove that was coming up from the southern part of the state. These cattle were native stock which had been collected over the state. The entire bunch numbering around 900, were driven to Drummer's Grove, near Gibson City. There they were branded and herded on the open prairie during the spring and summer. In the fall, they were returned to the lots of the large feeders, where they were fed out during the winter. The feed during the winter consisted mostly of shocked corn. Some of the large cattle feeders bought their packages to be filled with corn, while others grew them. In either case, the primary aim was not to make beef, but to market the corn crop at a much better price than would be obtained if the winter was spent in hauling the corn to market at the nearest town. Naturally, these feeders fed corn with a lavish hand. They fed from twenty to thirty pounds to a steer per day, and if the steer became gorged and mussed over it, it was thrown out to the hogs. They kept corn before their cattle all the time. They argued that if you want solid beef, beef that will weigh like lead, give the cattle nothing but corn and water. They wanted big packages, nothing less than two-year-old steers past would do, and three and four-year-olds were preferable. They wanted steers that would be at least four years old when ready for market and that would weigh from 1500 to 1600 pounds. These steers were desirable because they would hold more corn than the smaller ones. Very little attention was given to the finish of the steers sent to market. They were all driven out together regardless of the degree of finish. It was not until some time in the eighties and nineties that much attention was given to the degree of finish in fat steers when sent to market. After the open prairies became settled up and there was no more free grass at home, the feeders of Illinois and the adjoining states could buy their packages on the ranges on the plains west of the Mississippi river, or at the range cattle markets. Corn was still cheap and so were packages in the shape of stockers and feeders. The reason for this was that the great corn fields of Kansas and Nebraska were being opened up and the great national pastures from Canada to the Texas Panhandle had not yet become spotted and rendered useless by the homesteader. Speculation in semi-arid land had not set in, and the term "dry farming" had not been invented. The great drouths caused the price of corn to fluctuate but the aggregate corn yield kept on increasing with increased acreage and usually the year following a drouth was one of superabundance of corn. Such was the year of 1895 following the drouth of 1894. The proportion of cattle per thousand population steadily increased. Meanwhile our cattle markets became centralized and were always full to overflowing. Everybody wondered where the cattle came from. In the year of 1895, this system reached its climax. The question confronting the farmer at this time was: "Why did he continue growing corn and feeding cattle?" He grew corn because he could do it cheaply and more certainly than anything else. The farmer had begun to realize that the limit of good land watered by the rains of heaven would soon be reached. He would, therefore, hold on to his land and gain back all that he had lost in fertility by growing corn in the increased price of land that was sure to come in the near future. He had been feeding cattle to sell his corn with the idea also that cattle feeding and cattle grazing were good for the land. The limit of good land was not reached, however, nearly so soon as he had expected and when it was reached, land advanced in price more rapidly than even the most optimistic had anticipated. The year of 1895 marks the end of the first stage of beef production in Illinois as well as in the other corn belt states. [Illustration: _The Summer That the Rain Came Not_] In the nineties (1896), cattle feeding in Illinois and the other corn belt states entered upon the second stage of its evolution or development. The purpose of feeding cattle during this stage was not to market corn but to make beef. The great corn crop of 1895 and 1896, following the drouth of 1894, gave very cheap corn. Cattle were cheap also. During the two years 1896-1897, business was on a standstill the whole country over, but the next year, 1898, business started in full blast; cattle began to advance in price, and the demand for feeders increased. As a consequence, the whole country was scoured for them, but it was found that the choicest ones had been sold off in 1894, and the early part of 1895. Cattle feeders, anxious to secure cattle to fill their feed lots, turned to other sources for their supply. They went into Mexico, Oregon, Colorado, and Tennessee, and bought their feeder cattle. When cattle went up in price, corn went up also, then labor began to gradually go up. At that point began the advance in the value of land. The government had no more choice corn land. The two acres necessary to keep a cow during the summer and two more acres, the hay from which would keep her during the winter, doubled in price within the next fifteen years, but it did not increase in actual value as determined by the amount of grass or grain it would produce. It was at that time the people were confronted first with dear land, stockers, feeders, corn, hay, and beef. This all led the cattle feeders and the corn growers to begin studying out a method or system by which they could profitably grow corn to make beef instead of growing beef to market corn. The prices of fat cattle were very tempting, something unheard of ever before, but when it came to buying feeders, the margin was very little greater than it had been in previous years, and besides, corn was higher than it had ever been. The problem then was, how to get the most beef out of a bushel of corn. Experiment stations had been doing work along that line for several years. They pointed out that the younger and smaller the animal is, the less will be the grain required to sustain the life-giving forces, or to run the machine, and a greater proportion will go to the building up of body tissue, hence the greater the profit in feeding young animals. Feeders began to drop out the two and three year old steers and replace them with baby beeves. Many feeders tried it but somehow or other they could not make it work according to the experimental evidence. They found no profit in feeding any kind of cattle. Many feed lots became empty and blue grass and clover pastures were plowed up and put into corn fields. If corn was worth more outside of the steer than it was in the steer, the farmer argued, why feed cattle? The landlord could get more rent from corn land than from grass land devoted to cattle grazing; therefore, he saw no profit in building expensive barns, sheds, and fences for cattle feeding. In the summer of 1907, business was flourishing and packers were in need of money. To meet their needs, they flooded the western banks with commercial paper. They bought so few cattle that the price fell off at least 30 per cent in three months' time. The loss accrued by such a rapid decline in the price of fat cattle was so great that it paid for the commercial paper that had been issued by the packers. Such conditions as these hastened the process of depleting the feed yards and decreasing the number of cattle on the market. "The cattle have left central Illinois and the grain elevator now distinguishes the landscape. The vast blue grass pastures of the ante-bellum period have disappeared, and corn tillage is the principal occupation of the agrarian population. Down in Morgan and Sangamon counties, even recollections of the cattle trade, as it existed in the days of John T. Alexander and Jacob Strawn, are being rapidly affected. A few cattle come in from the west to be fattened on corn, but summer grazing is the exception and the interest of the occupant of the land centers, not in the cattle market quotations, but in the price of corn.[6] "All the evidence seems to point toward the conclusions that another change in the corn belt system of beef production is imminent. "One of two things will happen or Illinois will quit the cattle business. Either some new breeding and rearing center must be developed, or Illinois feeders must return to breeding their own feeder steers. "I believe that Illinois will not quit the cattle business. There is too much at stake besides the mere success or failure of the cattle business alone. First of all, this country needs the beef. The greatest people of the earth have been meat eaters, and I believe that the American people will continue to eat meat and will pay the price necessary to make its production profitable. "Another consideration of vital importance, but too broad a subject for discussion in this connection, is the value of livestock as an aid to the maintenance of soil fertility. Then, too, for the sake of our economic stability, the livestock interest of the country must be preserved and encouraged. Professor Herbert W. Mumford is my authority for the statement that 80 % of the corn grown in the United States is fed to livestock. Picture, if you can, the effect upon corn belt land value and our economic situation generally if the country suddenly lost this market for 80 % of its corn crop. "Regarding the possibility of another breeding center being developed, it may be said that there are other sections that can produce feeders much more cheaply than Illinois. There are large areas of cheap lands in some of the Gulf states with which Illinois could not compete in the production of feeder steers. But these sections are not interested in the production of cattle, and it is doubtful if the south ever produces a surplus of feeder steers. Hence, it seems that the probable solution of the whole question will be brought about by producing our own feeders. "If Illinois does return to the cattle breeding business, it will not be on the old extensive scale that prevailed throughout the state a generation ago. Grass grown on these high priced lands is too expensive to be disposed of with so lavish a hand as it was thirty or forty years ago. "A return to cattle breeding in Illinois will be coincident with a more general adoption of supplement for pasture. The use of smaller proportions of permanent pasture, more extensive use of rotated or leguminous pastures, the passing of the aged steers in our feed lots, and the inauguration of what may be called intensive systems of baby beef production."[7] NUMBER OF BEEF CATTLE IN ILLINOIS BY YEARS FROM 1856 TO 1914. Year Number of Beef Cattle in Illinois 1856 1 169 855 1857 1 351 209 1858 1 422 249 1859 1 336 565 1860 1 425 978 1861 1 428 362 1862 1 603 946 1863 1 684 892 1864 1 370 783 1865 1 568 280 1866 1 435 769 1867 1 486 381 1868 1 520 963 1869 1 584 445 1870 1 578 015 1871 1 611 349 1872 1 684 029 1873 2 015 819 1874 2 042 327 1875 1 985 155 1876 1 857 301 1877 1 750 931 1878 1 775 401 1879 1 862 265 1880 1 998 788 1881 2 045 366 1882 2 012 902 1883 1 959 867 1884 1 997 927 1885 2 166 059 1886 2 337 074 1887 2 480 401 1888 2 465 288 1889 2 398 191 1890 2 095 595 1891 1 853 318 1892 1 615 405 1893 1 812 924 1894 1 798 417 1895 1 782 158 1896 1 626 171 1897 1 753 371 1898 1 802 061 1899 1 886 933 1900 2 009 598 1901 2 372 710 1902 2 409 772 1903 2 325 980 1904 2 535 954 1905 2 301 519 1906 2 203 108 1907 2 065 816 1908 1 892 118 1909 1 691 686 1910 1 512 055 1911 1 473 741 1912 1 258 293 1913 1 170 628 "In reviewing the cattle breeding and the cattle feeding situation in Illinois in 1894, Mr. J. G. Imboden stated that the outlook was not very encouraging. The question was, "Are the men who are feeding the grain and fodder crop of the farm any worse off than those grain farmers who are selling their grain on the market, or even the butcher, the grocer, the boot and shoe dealer, or the drygoods merchant?" They undoubtedly were not at that time. Competition was very close, profits small, and unless a business man was satisfied with a small profit, his competitor did the business. Such were the conditions that faced the cattle breeders and feeders at that time. "From 5 % to 10 % of the feeding value of the crops on Illinois farms were left in the field; straw-stacks stood in the field where the thresher left them; stover stood on the field after the corn was husked, while on these same farms were stock that were shrinking from exposure and lack of feed." The outlook for the feeder was very discouraging, but much more so for the breeder. There were no hopes for success for the breeder until the feeder had two or three years of success in order to make a market for the cattle that were bred. Strong efforts were being made to devise some methods of feeding the farm products more economically and in such a way as would mean more grain and better profits for the feeder. "The cattle feeders of Illinois presumed that the time was nearing when feeder cattle of the best grade for grazing and feeding purposes would be hard to secure. While at that time there were plenty of cattle west of the Mississippi river, in Illinois there was a scarcity of breeding cattle to supply the demand. It was harder to buy a bunch of fifty uniformly good steers, throughout central Illinois especially, than it had been for fifteen years past. This was probably due to the fact that feeders had quit raising their feeding cattle and the breeders had changed from one breed to another in hopes of finding a breed that would give them greater returns. Again, many breeders had become very careless of the merits of the cattle on their farm."[8] _The First Silo in Illinois_ "In 1881, Oatman Brothers, of Dundee, Illinois, built the first silo in the state. At the eighth annual meeting of the Illinois State Dairyman's Association, held at Dundee, Illinois, December 14-16, 1881, Mr. E. J. Oatman read an article on "Silos and Ensilage."" Mr. Oatman stated that some agricultural paper in Chicago had been agitating the building of silos in Illinois and had tried to induce him to build one. The stories that the paper told about the value of ensilage as a feed sounded too good to be true. The idea of cutting up green fodder, packing it away in a hole, and expecting to see it come out in first class condition, in the dead of winter, seemed to be impossible. A great many objections arose to such "cow kraut" as some called it. It would heat, ferment, and rot; therefore it was a very difficult matter to make people see its value as a feed. Mr. Oatman, however, visited the farm of Messrs. Whitman and Burrell at Little Falls, New York, on February 1, 1880, for the purpose of seeing their silo and the condition of their ensilage. He made a thorough investigation and thereupon became convinced that ensilage was a success. He returned home to his farm at Dundee and made preparations to build a silo. His first silo was 49 feet by 43 feet by 20 feet deep, dug out into the ground. It was divided into three parts, all of which were made of concrete. After the silo was finished, Mr. Oatman proceeded to fill it, which required thirteen days with a force of ten men, at a rate of about twenty-three tons per day. After it was filled, stone was placed on top, at the rate of about 150 pounds per square inch. Mr. Oatman met with many discouragements with his new silo; the community at large thought it was a very foolish idea. Some said that if it did keep, the cattle would not eat it, and others still more radical, even hoped that he would lose it all, and said that any man who would try such a thing was crazy. When the time came to open the silo, Mr. Oatman found that the silage was all fresh and nice with the exception of a few inches on top. His cattle took to it readily, and he found that it greatly increased the milk production of his dairy herd.[9] The use of ensilage as a feed for beef and milk production has become so general in Illinois since the first silo was built in 1881 that ensilage is now one of the staple feeds. While there are a few people who still think that the use of ensilage in the production of beef is a fad, practically every one agrees that it is economical in the production of milk. Ensilage is a roughage and not a concentrate, and its profitableness in a fattening ration depends not so much upon its nutritive value as upon its succulence and palatability, the steers' ability to consume large quantities of it, and the fact that it makes possible the utilization of all of the corn plant, a large proportion of which would be wasted. Every year sees a more general adoption of ensilage as a roughage, and with the inauguration of the present intensive system of baby beef production, and where the baby beeves are raised on the farm on which they are to be fed, ensilage is the most economical feed that can be used in maintaining the breeding herd. _The Chicago Market_ "The situation of Chicago in the great agricultural center of the United States brought it into prominence at an early day as the center of the live stock trade. This position it has never lost. However great may be the development of other sections of the country, Chicago can not fail to continue to be the leader in this class of business. Its location as a railroad center and its position as a distributing point is made secure by the steadiness of its growth and the magnitude of its present operations. There is greater competition in this market than in any other. The Chicago market is the purchasing point, not only for the local packers, large and small, the exporters, and the speculators, but also for a great number of smaller packing houses scattered over the country, and for the feeders and breeders of the most fertile and largest agricultural sections of the United States."[10] Prior to the year of 1833, Chicago had no provisions to export, and as late as 1836, an actual scarcity of food there created a panic among the inhabitants. The first shipment of cattle products from Chicago was made in 1841, by Newbury and Dale on the schooner, Napoleon, bound for Detroit, Michigan. This shipment consisted of 287 barrels of salted beef and 14 barrels of tallow. _Statistics of Chicago 1837._ Population: Whites 3989 Colored 160 Males 2579 Females 1570 ------ Total 4149 Buildings: Dwellings 398 Drygoods stores 29 Grocery stores 26 Hardware stores 5 Drug stores 3 Churches 5 There were two weekly papers published in Chicago at this time: The American, a whig paper, and the Democrat. The first market in the way of stock yards in Chicago was located on the north branch of the Chicago river. These yards were used chiefly for swine. In 1836, the first cattle yards were opened on a tract of land near twenty-ninth street and Cottage Grove avenue. A few pens had been erected here to accommodate the cattle trade. The first scales for weighing livestock ever used in that country were used in these yards.[11] In 1855, there were two regular stock yards in Chicago; one, called the Merrick Yard, is now known as the Sherman Yards, and the other was called the Bullshead Yard. A great many eastern people came to Chicago at this time to buy fat cattle to take back east. Most of the cattle they bought were driven over into Indiana to Michigan City, to be shipped on east. John L. Hancock was the only packer in Chicago at this time. Ice was not used, and packing was done during the cool seasons of the year. One element of the success of Chicago as a market was the fact that stock might be pastured without charge on the prairies near the city, while the owners awaited favorable market conditions in the eastern states. The cattle were herded on the open prairies just outside of the city, and the buyers of Chicago rode out each day and bought the cattle in such numbers as they needed. In 1865, the growth of the livestock traffic had increased so rapidly that the several railroad companies that centered in Chicago, together with the managers of the stock yards already existing, combined for the erection of the Union Stock Yards. These were opened for business on Christmas day, 1865.[12] "The meat industry of Chicago, from the purchase of the livestock to the shipment of the meat, in either the fresh or the cured condition, is carried on at the Union Stock Yards, which are located near the outskirts of the city. The yards cover exactly a square mile of ground. One-half of this area is covered with cattle pens, and the other half by huge establishments of the packing houses. The pens are surrounded by strong stockades, about shoulder high, and they are laid out in blocks with streets and alleys, in much the same fashion as an ordinary American town. The whole of this area, a half mile in width, and a mile in length, is paved with red brick; and here we see the first notable evidence of the effort to maintain the stock yards in a sanitary condition. "The brick paving makes it possible to thoroughly clean both pens and streets, and this is done at regular and frequent intervals."[13] "Whatever may have been the conditions in the past, it is a fact that today the greatest care is exercised in the shipment and handling of the stock from the time they leave the farms until they reach the packing houses. The price that the animals will bring in the pens depends upon the conditions they present under the eye of the buyer, who represents the packing houses, and it is to the interest of the farmers, the cattlemen, and the commission men, to whom the cattle are consigned at the yards, that they shall receive the best food and the most careful attention up to the very hour at which the sale is made. They are shipped in special stock cars, in which they are carried as expeditiously as possible to the stock yards, where they are unloaded and driven to the pens. Here they are at once fed and watered, each pen containing a feeding trough and a water trough, into which a stream of fresh water is kept running. "The cattlemen consign their stock to the various commission houses, and for receiving and selling the stock, there is a charge of, respectively, twenty-five cents and fifty cents a head. The purchase of the cattle is made by buyers, of whom each of the packing houses maintain a regular staff." "About 1845, a bold editor left Buffalo, New York, then the greatest lake part of the country, and bravely ventured as far into the rowdy west as Chicago. Possibly the people here received him with generous hospitality; perhaps they treated him with something even more warming to the inner man; or it may be that as they filled him with solid chuck and, perhaps, with less solid refreshments, they took occasion to remark, with that modest and restrained hopefulness for which Chicago people have justly received credit, that Chicago was destined to become a town of some importance. Be that as it may, when that editor luckily found himself once more safe within his sanctum, he gave vent to his joy and overflowing gratitude by writing wild, enthusiastic predictions concerning the future of the town, which was then aspiring to rise above the rushes and wild rice of the Chicago river. "Reckless of the opinion of the readers of his paper, perhaps trusting to their ignorance of the conditions of the out of the way place, this bold editor predicted that the day would come when Chicago would have an elevator capacious enough to hold 25,000 bushels of grain, and that in a single winter season, 10,000 cattle, and as many hogs, would be slaughtered and packed there. "Beef packing was the leading industry of Chicago at that time, but no trustworthy statistics relating to the cattle traffic previous to 1851 have been preserved, and from 1851 until 1856 no account of the receipts of cattle were kept. This was probably due to the fact that a large number of those cattle that were brought to Chicago were held on the open prairies until sold to butchers to supply the requirements for local consumption. No accurate count of cattle disposed of in that way could well be obtained." Statistics of the receipts of cattle at the Chicago Union Stock Yards from 1851 to 1913, inclusive, and the shipments from 1852 to 1884, inclusive: Year Receipts Shipments 1851 22 566[14] 1852 25 708[14] 77 1853 29 908[14] 2 657 1854 36 888[14] 11 221 1855 39 865[14] 8 253 1856 39 950 22 205 1857 48 524 25 502 1858 140 534 42 638 1859 111 694 37 584 1860 177 101 97 474 1861 204 579 124 146 1862 209 655 112 745 1863 300 622 187 048 1864 303 726 162 446 1865 333 362 301 637 1866 393 007 263 693 1867 329 188 203 580 1868 324 524 215 987 1869 403 102 294 717 1870 532 964 391 709 1871 543 050 401 927 1872 648 075 510 025 1873 761 428 574 181 1874 843 966 822 929 1875 920 843 696 534 1876 1 096 745 797 724 1877 1 033 151 703 402 1878 1 083 068 699 108 1879 1 215 732 726 903 1880 1 382 477 886 614 1881 1 498 550 938 712 1882 1 582 530 921 009 1883 1 878 944 966 758 1884 1 817 697 678 341 1885 1 905 518 1886 1 963 900 1887 2 382 008 1888 2 611 543 1889 3 023 281 1890 3 484 280 1891 3 250 359 1892 3 571 796 1893 3 133 406 1894 2 974 363 1895 2 588 558 1896 2 600 476 1897 2 554 924 1898 2 480 897 1899 2 514 446 1900 2 729 046 1901 3 031 396 1902 2 941 559 1903 3 432 486 1904 3 259 185 1905 3 410 469 1906 3 329 250 1907 3 305 314 1908 3 039 206 1909 2 929 805 1910 3 052 958 1911 2 931 831 1912 2 652 342 1913 2 513 074 1914 _St. Louis Stock Yards_ In April, 1869, a charter was granted by the state of Illinois to the East St. Louis Stock Yards Company. This company was authorized to issue stock to an amount not to exceed $200,000. The original charter of the company, which later operated the National Stock Yards, fixed the capital stock thereof at $1,000,000, which was, subsequently, raised, by a vote of the stock holders, to an amount of $250,000, to meet the requirements of the rapidly growing business. When the National Stock Yards were completed, they were more convenient than were any others of their kind in the country. FOOTNOTES: [5] Wallaces' Farmer, 1913, and thesis by Garver, "History of Dairy Industry in Illinois." [6] The Breeder's Gazette, July, 1913. [7] Lecture by Professor H. P. Rusk on "Beef Production." [8] The Breeder's Gazette, Feb. 1894. [9] Thesis "History of the Dairy Industry in Illinois" by Garner, 1911. [10] "Facts and Figures," by Wood Brothers, Live Stock Commission Merchants, Chicago, 1906, and Report of Bureau of An. Ind. 1884. [11] Prairie Farmer, 1887, p. 160. [12] Life of Tom C. Ponting. [13] Scientific American--The Meat Industry of America, 1909. [14] Estimated. III. CATTLE BARONS AND PIONEER DROVERS OF ILLINOIS Previous to the end of the first quarter of the nineteenth century, no droves of cattle were seen in the country west of Ohio. The first drove ever driven from Illinois was taken from Springfield, through Chicago, to Green Bay, Wisconsin, in 1825, by Colonel William S. Hamilton. Beginning with this date, the practice of collecting cattle into droves and driving them to market soon grew from a minor occupation into an industry within itself; beef cattle that were grown and fattened in Illinois were gathered together into large droves by men who made it a business, and were driven to the then great cattle markets on the sea board. Foremost among these early pioneer cattlemen were: Jacob Strawn, John T. Alexander, B. F. Harris, and Tom C. Ponting. In the scope of their operations, Jacob Strawn and John T. Alexander exceeded many of the conspicuous operators in the rise and fall of the range industry in this state. These men owned hundreds of acres of the prairie land of the state, on which they collected enormous droves of cattle. These cattle were grazed here throughout the spring and summer, then were fed during the winter. It was no uncommon occurrence for one of these operators to buy all the corn for sale during one season in three or four counties. The next spring these fat bullocks were trailed across the level country to the eastern mountain ranges, over which they climbed to reach Lancaster, Philadelphia, and New York. Cincinnati and Buffalo received a few of these cattle, but most of them were driven on through to the markets on the sea board, where better prices were obtained. These cities bore about the same relation to the livestock traffic of those days as Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, and St. Joseph bear to the cattle trade of today; they were the collecting points for the business and the slaughterers who bought them either salted the carcasses down in barrels and casks or sold them to local consumers. Other dealers, however, bought some of these cattle and drove them on to smaller towns nearer the coast. "In the census of 1850, it was recorded that Illinois alone sent 2,000 head of cattle each week to the New York market." While the cattle barons represented a large part of the beef cattle trade of Illinois, there were hundreds of smaller dealers who fed only a few cattle each year which added materially to the magnitude of the beef cattle industry of the state. A few of these smaller operators were found in almost every section of the state, especially in the central and northern part. Cattle trailing continued until lines of railroad connecting Illinois with the cities on the Atlantic coast were built. This made cattle trailing unnecessary and greatly stimulated the production of beef in the state by furnishing means for placing beef before the consumers of the east quickly and, at a much less cost than that of the old method. The long drives greatly decreased the weight of the animals, and, at the same time, the meat of carcasses was inferior to that of the cattle that were shipped by railroad, and slaughtered without having taken such a long drive.[15] _John T. Alexander_[16] [Illustration: JOHN T. ALEXANDER.] "Among the cattle operators of Illinois, John T. Alexander was probably the greatest by reason of the magnitude of his transactions, but he was antedated by Jacob Strawn, who located in Morgan County in 1827. Alexander has been regarded as America's greatest cattleman in a commercial sense. In the strict sense of the term, he was a pastoralist and a trader, not an agriculturalist. His parents were native of Ireland, who migrated to Virginia in 1818, and in 1824 joined the exodus to the Mississippi Valley, settling in Jefferson County, Ohio. John T. Alexander was the oldest of a family of eleven children. His education was on the farm. He was endowed with that faculty called cattle sense. At the age of fifteen, he was entrusted, by his father, with the entire charge of a drove of cattle sent to Philadelphia. He sold them to advantage, collected the money, and took it safely home. At the age of seventeen, he was purchasing cattle in Illinois to replenish his father's Ohio pastures. It is related that his search took him down into Sangamon county, where he was so struck with its natural advantages, from a cattle standpoint, that he determined to migrate." In 1840, the Alexanders settled in Morgan county, then a cattle range bounded only by the horizon. Mr. Alexander accumulated a herd of steers, pastured them on the public domain, and for half a decade prospered in a moderate way. As the country became settled, it soon became evident that he must own land or get out of the cattle business as far as that locality was concerned. In 1848, he purchased 3,000 acres of land at prices ranging from 87 cents to $3.00 per acre. This land was adjoining the half section that he had originally homesteaded. In 1855, he acquired another 1,000 acres at $30.00 per acre. This indicated how rapidly the price of land was advancing. In 1857, he bought 700 acres more at $50.00 per acre, and in 1859, he acquired 1500 acres of the Strawn estate at $30.00 per acre. In 1864, he secured 853 acres at $60.00 to $70.00 per acre, making him the owner of 7,233 acres of the choicest land in Illinois. In 1866, he purchased the stock farm of Michael Sullivan in Champaign county, Illinois, containing 26,000 acres at $11.00 to $12.00 per acre. It was during this period of purchase that John T. Alexander acquired the title of "cattle king." His transactions were on an enormous scale. His buyers searched every nook and cranny of the cattle producing region of the Mississippi valley, and Alexander, on the Wabash railroad in Morgan county, Illinois, was the largest cattle shipping station in the world. Entire trains of cattle, destined for eastern markets, were daily loaded there and almost the entire population was on the Alexander pay roll. Thousands of other cattle, for which he paid but never saw, were loaded at innumerable points for eastern markets. From a pastoralist, he had emerged into a speculator on probably the most gigantic scale the live stock industry has ever witnessed. He ruled the markets of the East and was the Napoleon of the cattle trade. His name was more familiar to the West than that of Vanderbilt or A. T. Stewart. His annual cattle shipment for many years exceeded 50,000 head, and in 1868, reached 75,000. For a lengthy period, his sales on eastern markets exceeded $4,000,000 annually, and it is related that prior to his Champaign county purchase, an inventory of his assets showed 7,233 acres of land, averaging $75.00 per acre in value, $100,000 in bank, 7,000 cattle on his Morgan county pastures, and not a dollar of debt. Such speculative operations, however, had the result of entailing financial embarrassment. In 1871, Alexander had to contract his business and part with his Champaign county property. This embarrassment was due to many causes, not the least serious of which was cattle mortality by splenetic fever, by which he lost $100,000. He also sustained heavy losses by shrinkage in cattle values, and the Champaign county investment proved disastrous. He also became involved in railroad complications. The railroads were keen competitors for the livestock traffic and in 1871, Alexander severed his relations with the Pennsylvania railroad, making a contract with the New York Central, by which that company gave him a low rate conditional to a specified tonnage. By way of resentment, the Pennsylvania railroad put merely nominal rates into effect, thereby glutting eastern markets and crippling Alexander's trade, which had become so colossal as to be unwieldy. To carry on such gigantic operations, he was compelled to trust to innumerable assistants, many of whom proved to be either incompetent or unfaithful. Confronted with liabilities aggregating $1,200,000, he was forced to make an assignment, but his estate was sufficient not only to pay off every creditor, but leave him a large sum for a fresh start in life. It was while energetically engaged in retrieving his fortune that he died, in 1876. Those survivors of John T. Alexander, who remember his activity as Illinois' greatest operator, describe him as being tall and commanding in appearance. Even at the time of his death, he was hale and youthful. He was of sanguine temperament, naturally impulsive, but quiet and non-assuming in manner, sparing in speech, and undoubtedly one of the great American captains of industry in his time, an outstanding figure in a trade that boasts many conspicuous men. The old Alexander mansion in Morgan county, the greatest house in the countryside half a decade ago, remains in a somewhat dilapidated condition, and the decaying out-buildings convey a mournful hint of vanished greatness. Here, during Alexander's time, Abraham Lincoln, Stephen A. Douglas, Richard Yates, and others, whose illustrious names adorn Illinois history, were the guests of America's greatest cattleman. _Jacob Strawn_ Jacob Strawn came from Ohio and settled in Morgan county in 1827, and a few years later was probably the most extensive cattle dealer in the world, but his operations were, to a large extent, local and his most distant shipping point, Saint Louis. His pastures in Morgan county embraced about 15,000 acres and his business reached its maximum about 1860. Survivors of that period recall Strawn's free handed methods. He purchased cattle by the thousands, fixing the price on mere verbal description as to quality and weight. Frequently, at delivery time, nobody was on hand to receive the cattle, but they were driven into the Strawn pastures and left with confidence that payment would be prompt. Both Strawn and his successor, Alexander, were always ready to buy cattle, in fact they were the market of that period. Strawn was at the height of his career when John T. Alexander came on the scene. Strawn produced beef as a feeder and grazier; Alexander contracted cattle to be delivered in the future.[17] Mr. T. C. Sterrett relates that in the summer of 1856 he came to Illinois and was informed that the largest cattle dealer in the state was Jacob Strawn, living near Jacksonville, in Morgan county. He visited Strawn's place and found a remarkably large brick house and was astonished at the amount of brick paving about the house. Mr. Strawn lived on a good farm at Orleans Station, east of Jacksonville. He owned a lot of good horses and Shorthorn cattle. Piloted by the foreman, Mr. Sterrett went out into a 1,200 acre pasture which was fenced with rails and stocked with a fine lot of cattle. He was very much struck with a hundred head of the finest general work horses that could be found anywhere. This band of horses and cattle, the good fences, and the general appearance of everything about the place, indicated the power and ability of the owner. Mr. Strawn was by far the greatest American cattleman of his time.[18] _Benjamin Franklin Harris_[19] December 15, 1811--May 7, 1905 [Illustration: B. F. HARRIS at 55] "Benjamin Franklin Harris was born December 15, 1811, on a farm in the Shenandoah Valley, near Winchester and Harper's Ferry, in Frederick county, Virginia. He was the second of ten children of William Hickman Harris and Elizabeth Payne (own cousin of Dolly Payne Madison from England). His grandfather, Benjamin Harris, with two brothers, came from England and settled on the eastern shore of Maryland in 1726. The family were of Scotch-English extraction and Quakers; in this country becoming fighting Quakers, then Methodists. He grew to manhood on his father's Virginia farm, attending the country schools until sixteen years of age. At that time, President Jackson's attitude toward the United States bank so seriously affected values that wheat declined from $1.50 to 50 cents and Virginia farm land to less than one-third of its former price. These declines so affected the father's obligations that Benjamin Franklin Harris and his brothers, each with a six horse team--in those days without railroads--went into the "wagoning" or freighting business, and for three years "wagoned" freight over that section and out through Pennsylvania and as far west as Zanesville, Ohio, in order to recoupe the father's losses." On March 20, 1833, the Virginia farm had been sold at 40 % of its original cost, and in a one-horse gig and a two-horse carryall, the Harris family set out for Ohio, arriving at Springfield on April 8, and nearby, purchased and settled upon their new farm. It was during this year that Benjamin Franklin Harris commenced business for himself, buying and driving cattle overland to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and there disposing of them to cattle feeders. In 1834, he started for Illinois via Danville, then through the present site of Sidney, and Urbana--where there was but one cabin--and on to what is now Monticello in Piatt county. During the ensuing years, he began to accumulate farming lands in Piatt and Champaign counties and to buy cattle throughout all this section as far south and west as Mt. Vernon, Vandalia, and Springfield. During several seasons, he bought for the purpose of feeding cattle, all the corn for sale in Macon, Sangamon, and Champaign counties. Each year, for nine years, he drove these cattle overland via Muncie, Indiana; Springfield, and Columbus, Ohio, into Pennsylvania, and some into New York and Boston, where they were sold. When B. F. Harris came into this state, no streams were bridged, and there were only eleven families on the Sangamon river from its source to the limits of Piatt county. Fifteen years later not a half dozen men had ventured their cabins a mile from the timber limits--the deer and the Indians were still at home here. In 1840, he visited Chicago, a town of 2000 people, on stilts in a swamp. Nineteen days were required for the trip and the corn and wheat he teamed there sold for 20 and 30 cents respectively. Fifteen years after he came, not 25 % of the land in these counties had passed from government ownership and the first railroad came twenty years later. The operations of B. F. Harris in connection with the early beef cattle industry of Illinois were conducted more largely along the feeding lines than were those of John T. Alexander or Jacob Strawn. He bought, fed, and sold, from 500 to 2000 head of cattle annually for nearly three-quarters of a century. The Pittsburgh Live Stock Journal, May 8, 1905, in speaking of his death, referred to him as "The grand old man of the live stock trade--the oldest and most successful cattle feeder in the world." Everything to which he put his hand flourished. His judgment was so trustworthy that he made but few business mistakes. He did business on a cash basis and was never in debt. Operating on this basis, he was a rich man long before his race was run, and he enjoyed a period of ease and entire freedom from anxiety much longer than falls to the lot of most men who are counted fortunate in the world. On May 23, 1856, his famous herd of one hundred cattle--the finest and heaviest cattle ever raised and fattened in one lot by one man--were weighed on his farm by Dr. Johns of Decatur, the president of the State Board of Agriculture. The average weight of each of the hundred head was 2,378 pounds. Visitors to the number of 500 came from Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, and this state to see these cattle, whose weight can never again be equalled. The following year, February 22, 1857, twelve of these cattle which he had retained and fed were shipped to Chicago. This remarkable bunch averaged 2,786 pounds. Clayborn and Alley, the most famous butchers in Chicago at that time, paraded them about Chicago's downtown streets. Following is a copy of a pamphlet gotten out by Mr. Harris immediately after the sale of these cattle. (see next page) The New York Tribune of October, 1853, refers to his prize winning drove of cattle averaging 1,965 pounds, displayed at the New York World's Fair then in session. Every few years, he took cattle prizes or topped the market. Less than a year before his death, his 1,616 pound cattle topped the Chicago market for that season. Mr. Harris died May 7, 1905, in his ninety-fourth year, still in strong mental and physical vigor, although at the age of fifty-three, he had retired from extremely active business life. He came in the day of ox teams and lived to ride over his farm with his son, grandsons, and great grandsons in an automobile. He voted for nineteen presidents, beginning with Henry Clay, and saw five generations of his family settled in Champaign county. He established the First National Bank in Champaign in 1865--the oldest bank in the county, and was its president at the time of his death. In the issue of The Breeder's Gazette, May 24, 1905, is the following statement: "In literature, art, professional life, or politics, a man with a record of achievements equal to that of the late Benjamin Franklin Harris would deservedly have numerous biographers. Many a man has been made the subject of bulky biography who might not measure up to him on any score. This is not because the most inviting and interesting personalities are found outside the farmer's calling, but largely because until recent years agriculture as a vocation has not been adequately appreciated by the public. It has not been sufficiently dignified to become the source of life histories. Other professions have furnished the candidates for the Plutarchs, and contributed the heroes and heroines famous in fiction. Farming has been drawn on principally for Philistines. Its great men, its geniuses, its Harrises, have been overlooked by almost all writers worthy of putting their useful lives into books." (Cont. on page 47.) Record of the Best Hundred Head of Cattle Ever Fattened in One Lot in the United States. STOCKMEN, ATTENTION Who Can Beat This Record? Weight of 100 head of Cattle, fatted by B. F. Harris, of Champaign County, Illinois: No. Cattle Weight 2 4718 2 4782 2 4340 2 4580 2 4582 2 4730 2 4764 2 4738 2 4880 2 4756 2 5150 2 4624 2 4582 2 5364 2 4828 2 5378 2 4864 2 4640 2 4694 2 4610 2 4776 2 4488 2 4572 2 4988 2 4634 2 4458 2 4920 2 4828 2 4702 2 4852 2 4464 2 4900 2 4634 2 4764 1 2690 2 4650 2 4806 2 4505 1 2548 2 4830 2 4762 2 4706 2 4854 2 4746 2 4700 2 4546 1 2516 2 4648 2 4724 2 4720 2 4732 1 2646 Average price sale, 7 cents These cattle were weighed by Dr. Johns, President of State Agricultural Society. Twelve of the large cattle out of 100 head, weighed May 23d, 1856, which was during the time of fattening: Black 2424 Red 2340 Pied 2640 M. Red 2264 Ch. Roan 2522 B. Red 2574 S. Roan 2330 C. Red 2340 S. White 2360 P. Red 2486 Long White 2496 M. Red 2540 Same cattle weighed July 18, 1856: Black 2526 Red 2480 Pied 2730 M. Red 2424 Ch. Roan 2654 B. Red 2646 S. Roan 2470 C. Red 2490 S. White 2430 P. Red 2630 L. White 2600 M. Red 2564 Same cattle weighed February 12th, 1857: Black 2720 Red 2780 Pied 2990 M. Red 2640 Ch. Roan 2810 B. Red 2910 S. Roan 2680 C. Red 2770 S. White 2605 P. Red 2840 L. White 2810 M. Red 2880 Average, 2786¼ lbs. Average age, 4 years Weighed by B. F. Harris; sold for 8 cents per lb. Largest steer in Illinois, weight 3524, 7 years old, raised by John Rising, fed by H. H. Harris. Average weight of the 100 head, 2377 lbs. * * * * * The foregoing is a correct statement of a famous cattle sale which occurred in the City of Chicago, month of March, 1856. The herd comprised 100 head of the finest and heaviest cattle ever raised and fattened in one lot by one man in the State of Illinois, or in the United States of America, or elsewhere, so far as the records go to show. These cattle were raised from 1 and 2-year-old steers on my farm in Champaign County, Illinois, and fattened for the market in the years of 1855 and '56, their average age, at that time, being 4 years. They were weighed on my farm by Dr. Johns, of Decatur, Illinois, President State Agricultural Society. Said weights were witnessed by a large number of representative men from Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky and Illinois, to the number of five hundred, among whom were many professional cattle raisers and dealers, all of whom bore willing testimony to the average weight of the cattle, which was 2,377 lbs. per head. Out of this lot of 100 cattle, 12 head of the finest steers were selected and fed until the following February. They then showed an average weight of 2,786¼ lbs., and were sold to Messrs. Cliborn and Alby, of Chicago, at 8 cents per lb. The weight master kept a record of each draft as the cattle were weighed--one and two in a draft. A copy of said weights is herewith attached for the inspection of the general public; also copy of average gain at different periods. On the 22d of February, 1857, the 12 steers sold to Cliborn and Alby, appropriately decorated with tri-colored ribbon, preceded by a band of music, were led through the principal streets of Chicago, followed by 100 butchers, mounted and uniformed. After this unique procession, the cattle were slaughtered by said Cliborn, and Alby, for the city markets, some of the beef selling as high as 50 cents per lb. Small packages of it were sent to customers in various parts of the United States, and even Europe, and sold, in some cases, as high as $1.00 per lb. These orders were given by these parties simply that they might say they had eaten of this famous premium beef. B. F. Harris. _Tom Candy Ponting._ August 26, 1824- "Tom Candy Ponting was born at Heyden farm, Parish of Kilsmeredo, near Bath, Somersetshire, England, August 26, 1824. He was the son of John Ponting and Ruth Sherron Ponting. The Pontings came into England with William the Conqueror, so were descendants of Normandy. The Ponting family were breeders of cattle and Tom Ponting has followed cattle breeding all of his life, both in England and in this country." Tom Candy Ponting came to the United States in 1847, landing in New York City, and finally making his way to Etna, Ohio. Here he was employed by a Mr. Matthews, to sell mutton from a wagon in the market house in Columbus, where they attended twice a week. Mutton sold for 15 cents to 25 cents per quarter in those days, while beef sold for 2½ cents to 3 cents per pound. After a short time, Mr. Ponting quit his job selling mutton, went to Columbus, bought a horse and saddle, and went into the country to buy cattle. The first cattle that he ever bought in the United States were eight head which he purchased from a Mr. Bishop eight miles northeast of Columbus, Ohio. In the spring of 1848, Mr. Ponting, in company with a Mr. Vickery, another Englishman, visited Racine, Janesville, Watertown, Madison, and Milwaukee, Wisconsin, looking for a location to start a butcher shop. Although there was plenty of need for butcher shops at these places, they did not locate because cattle were so scarce in the country. From Milwaukee, Mr. Ponting came to Chicago to study the situations there. He found no regular markets and only two places where they sold stock. While in Chicago, he met a Mr. Bradley, who had driven some cattle from McLean county, near Leroy. Mr. Bradley had sold all of his cattle except forty cows with calves. He sold these to Mr. Ponting, who drove them to Wisconsin and sold them to immigrants, a few at a time. He sold them for $15 to $25 per head and still made money. He returned to Chicago and again met Mr. Bradley, who had brought a boat load of sides of bacon up from Peoria. He had purchased this bacon from the farmers, hauled it to Peoria, and shipped it up the Illinois river to Chicago, where he sold it to grocery stores. This was the only means to dispose of the bacon put up by the farmers, as there was no hog packing done in Chicago at that time. Mr. Bradley wanted Mr. Ponting to go with him to McLean county, but as Illinois was known in those days as a very sickly state, Mr. Ponting was afraid to venture. While in Chicago at this time, he met a Mr. Lewis and Mr. Heyworth who had come up from Vermilion county with a drove of cattle. Mr. Heyworth was taken sick here and Mr. Ponting was employed to assist Mr. Lewis in taking the cattle on to Milwaukee. In the spring of 1849, Mr. Ponting went to Georgetown, Illinois, and there purchased about 300 head of cattle. He also bought a camping outfit, a yoke of oxen, employed a cook, and drove through with the cattle to Wisconsin. The cattle that got fat on the way were sold to the butchers, while those that were fit for milk cows were sold to the immigrants. During this same spring, when Mr. Ponting was in Vermilion county, he visited Mr. Lewis at Crabapple Grove, which is on the line of Vermilion and Edgar counties. This man and one of his neighbors had bought a drove of geese, drove them to Iowa, and traded them for steers. They drove the steers back to Vermilion county, fattened them, and the next spring built flat boats and shipped them to New Orleans. In the fall of this same year, he made several trips over the line into Illinois, in Stevenson county, buying fat sheep to drive to Milwaukee. There were no regular banks in Milwaukee, therefore all the money that was paid for stock was Mexican dollars and five franc pieces. Very little American silver money was seen at that time. The hotel rates in Milwaukee were very cheap; only $2.00 per week, with bitters before breakfast, free. Whiskey sold for 15 cents a gallon and was used liberally by stock drivers. In March, 1850, Mr. Ponting rode on horseback from Milwaukee to Leroy, in McLean county, where he met with some men who were buying cattle to take back to California. He went from here to Christian county, where he bought a drove of cattle which cost him from $6 to $11 per head. In the spring, he drove them to Milwaukee. There had been very heavy rains that spring and rivers were very high, which made cattle driving very difficult. In the spring of 1851, he purchased about 350 head of cattle, buying from Rochester, near Springfield, to the Wabash river. After gathering the cattle together, he pinned them up near the present site of Moweaqua. He bought these cattle very cheap and drove the entire herd to Milwaukee, where they were herded on the prairies near town until sold. He took a few in each week and sold them to the butchers. After finishing the season's work, he returned to Indiana to spend the winter. In the summer of 1852, the cattle business in Wisconsin was dull. Money matters were very much changed; gold began to come in from California, and get into circulation. Mr. Ponting and his partner decided to go to Texas and buy their feeder cattle. They rode through to Hopkins county, Texas. Here they visited a Mr. Hart, one of the large cattle men in that country. They bought several hundred cattle and drove them back to Illinois, reaching Moweaqua in July of the next year. He put these Texas cattle on pasture until winter, when they were fed out on shocked corn. Mr. Ponting's partner went to Indiana and bought several hundred hogs to follow these cattle. They bought shocked corn, paying about 50 cents a bushel for it. They would go into a piece of corn after it was dry enough and select two of the smallest shocks they could find. The owner would select two of the largest ones. These were shocked out and weighed, the average being taken as an average size shock. He bought about 40 acres from Mr. Dennison Sanders this way. The shocked corn was fed to the cattle in the same place each day, so that when it rained, the accumulation of stalks would keep the steers out of the mud. He drove this bunch of cattle to New York the next summer, where they were sold July 4, 1854. In the spring of 1855, Mr. Ponting purchased a large drove of cattle, which together with some he had bought a few months before, were driven through to Chicago. Illinois was pretty well settled by this time, and it was unnecessary to take a camping outfit along. He stopped this drove of cattle near Pullman, put them out on the grass and took only a few into Chicago at a time. There had been a great change made in the Chicago market since Mr. Ponting was there two years before. There were two regular stock yards; the Merrick Yards, now known as the Sherman Yards, and the Bullshed Yards. In the fall of this year, he bought another bunch of cattle and drove them to Chicago in October. This time he stopped the cattle near the present site of Kankakee, and rode on into Chicago to learn the prospects for a market. They were then taken on to Chicago and left just outside the city to graze until they could be sold to the cattle dealers. This was the last bunch of cattle Mr. Ponting ever drove over land to Chicago, and it is probable that they were the last bunch ever driven from central Illinois. From this time on, the cattle were sent to market by railroad. The next year, 1856, he shipped 110 head of cattle from Moweaqua, the first cattle ever shipped from that place. In the early part of 1857, the cattle business was very flourishing and the packers said there would be a big demand for them that fall. Mr. Ponting contracted for 1000 head of cattle and about 1500 hogs before the season was over, but before he got them on the market, a panic came on, money became almost worthless, and he suffered a heavy loss. In 1866, Mr. Ponting went to Abilene, Kansas, to buy some feeders. He purchased about 700, sold them the next spring, making a good profit. He repeated the Kansas purchase the next year with like success. In 1868, he took the cattle he had bought in Kansas to Albany. They numbered around 800. In 1870, he went back down into Texas and bought cattle as he had done in 1852. He found a herd of about 2500, out of which he bought all of the two and three year olds. These numbered about 850, for which he paid $16 per head. There had been a new railroad, just finished, from St. Louis through Missouri, close to the Indian Territory line to a place called Pierce City. The railroad officers had some agents trying to get a contract to carry these cattle, together with some other cattle belonging to Hall brothers, over the new road. They billed the cars, numbering 80 in all, with a contract to refund $50 per car. They did this to get the contract which made a big showing before some New York magnates, who were there at the time trying to buy stock in the new railroad. In 1876, Mr. Ponting visited a Shorthorn sale at Springfield and bought several head of cattle with which he started a Shorthorn herd. In the spring of 1880, he attended another Shorthorn sale at Chicago, where he bought a few more Shorthorns to add to his herd. Until his first purchase of Shorthorns, Mr. Ponting's operations had been entirely along the line of buying and feeding and although he did a small pure bred business from this time on, he continued his feeding operations as he had done in previous years, although probably not on as large a scale. Mr. Ponting had not been in the Shorthorn business very long until he became interested in Herefords. In the fall of 1880, he visited the fair at St. Louis, where he purchased four Herefords. In the spring of the next year, Mr. W. H. Sotham of Guelph, Canada, bought four more Herefords for him. In the fall of 1882, he sold out all of his Shorthorns, thereby severing his relations with this breed. In 1886, Mr. Ponting made a contract with the Wyoming Hereford Association to sell them 270 head of Hereford cattle, to be delivered in the spring of 1887. The firm paid for a part of them and Mr. Ponting took a note for a few more. About 60 were left on his hands and had to be sold for beef. As a result, he lost about $800 on the deal, which killed all of his profits. Mr. Ponting continued in the Hereford business until 1903, when he decided to retire from actual business. In the summer, a gentleman came from Iowa and bought his entire Hereford cattle trade. He had at this time about 3700 acres of land, 1500 acres of which were in Christian county. He decided to divide his property among his children, keeping a sufficient amount to support Mrs. Ponting and himself. He bought a home in Moweaqua, where he and Mrs. Ponting have lived happily ever since. When Mr. Ponting came to Chicago in 1848, there was only one cattle market west of the Allegheny mountains, and that was at St. Louis. At that time, there were a good many cattle sold for the New Orleans market during the spring and winter, but the principal markets were New York, Boston, Baltimore, and Philadelphia It took ninety days to make the trip to New York with cattle and the drovers had to wait until the roads settled in the spring before they started. At Fort Worth, Texas, there was nothing but a large fort and force of United States soldiers to subdue the Indians around there. The present six big western markets have all been started since that time. "While the magnitude of Mr. Ponting's operations was not as great as that of John T. Alexander, and although he probably never accumulated as much wealth as Benjamin F. Harris, he was successful and his operations extended over a greater period of time than any one of the early pioneer cattlemen of the state of Illinois. He operated throughout two of the stages of cattle feeding and has lived to see the beginning of the third."[20] FOOTNOTES: [15] Bureau of Animal Industry Report of 1885-86. [16] The Breeder's Gazette, July 16, 1913. His son, John T. Alexander, of Alexander, Ward & Co., commission men of Chicago, has been prominent in the cattle interests during the last 40 years. [17] The Breeder's Gazette, July 16, 1913. [18] The Breeder's Gazette. Aug. 6, 1913. [19] This information was given by his grandson, Mr. B. F. Harris. [20] Story of Tom Ponting's Life. IV. THE RANGE INDUSTRY "In the ante-bellum period, central Illinois was a vast blue grass pasture. The people were breeding many cattle, but not enough to supply the steady increasing demand for stockers and feeders. Cattle feeders made good the deficiency in the local production by heavy drafts on Missouri, Kansas, Texas, and other sections of the trans-Mississippi region. The subsequent reign of King Corn was then barely in the incubating stage. Grass was the beef maker's principal reliance. "Not until well along in the sixties did the cultivation of corn begin on an extensive scale and corn-fed steers become conspicuous on the markets. After the grazing period, corn speedily took possession of the whole of central Illinois, until now less than 15 per cent remains in pastures, whereas in the days of the "barons" an exactly reverse condition existed. At that time, fully 85 per cent of such counties as Sangamon, Morgan, and Logan, were in grass. "The cattle that were secured from Missouri, Iowa, and Kansas, were purchased during the fall months. By the early part of winter, central Illinois pastures would be fully stocked with three and four year old bullocks, which were allowed to graze all through the winter and the following spring and summer. About three acres of the rich blue grass was allowed to a steer and on this they fattened rapidly. "There are men now living in Missouri and Illinois who drove cattle from that vast breeding ground west of the Mississippi river, into central Illinois, for the cattle kings, Jacob Strawn and John T. Alexander. These herds, numbering about 300 to 400 head, grazed leisurely across the open country at about 15 miles or so a day. During the war, the trade was more or less interrupted, but the practice was continued until settlement and railroads rendered trailing both unnecessary and impossible. "The annexation of Texas to the United States, and the discovery of gold in California in 1849, resulted in an influx of population and capital that soon exerted a stimulating effect upon the production of cattle throughout the southwest, as well as beyond the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the west. "At a comparatively early date, there was a ready market for Illinois bred cattle to go to the states west of the Mississippi river to be used for breeding stock. The development of the range cattle industry created a strong demand for pure bred bulls, and cattle breeders of Illinois were called upon, perhaps to a greater extent than those of any other state in the Union, to supply this demand. The range cattle business also created a market for young cows and heifers to be used for breeding purposes. This demand steadily increased from year to year, until a very large part of the yearly product of pure bred cattle in Illinois was absorbed for that purpose."[21] "In 1880, the range cattle trade was yet in a transition stage, especially as to the destination of marketable cattle and the special use to which they were put. Before this time, the bulk of the range cattle trade was divided between the coming establishments of the west, slaughter for home consumption, for exportation as dressed carcasses to the eastern markets, and shipping on the hoof to eastern states as feeders. Large feeding stables had been established in Nebraska for the purpose of feeding out these large numbers of rangers, but they could not utilize all of them. The overflow of these grass fat rangers found their way to eastern feed lots to be finished on the grain of the corn belt. The numbers increased from year to year, and extended farther and father east as the numbers increased. "The fact that one of the large feeding plants of Nebraska could turn off as many as 2000 ripe range steers in one month, gives some indication of the immense capacity of the range cattle trade. "As the Indians were confined more closely from year to year, there were more grazing lands opened up to be devoted to the raising of these range cattle. Most people at this time, seeing the rapid increase of the range industry, thought there would never be a beef famine as the economists of the time predicted. They said such economists always look on the dark side of things."[22] "Not many had any adequate conception of the vastness of the cattle interest in the great pasture region lying on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains during the seventies and eighties. It was worth quite a journey to see a single thousand head of these cattle engaged in feeding together. To witness a drove of 4000 moving leisurely along at a convenient distance from each other, to allow the animals to graze as they traveled a mile or so an hour, would seem to an unaccustomed eye as if the herd must consist of tens of thousands. The appearance of such a drove as this might be recalled by a single transaction made by Dennis Sheedy of Colorado, who sold 27000 head of cattle to the Ogalla Cattle Company. This company was composed of A. H. Swan, of Cheyenne, Wyoming, William Paxton, of Omaha, Nebraska, and J. H. Bosler of Carlisle, Pennsylvania. The cattle were put on a range on the north side of the north Platte Run in Nebraska and Wyoming. The lumping price was $30 per head, amounting to $810,000 for the entire lot."[23] _Texas Cattle_ "It will be no departure from the strictest truth to say that the oldest known race of cattle on this continent is the Texas or Spanish cattle. They have been very generally popular with the stockmen of the plains, because they turned the free grass of the plains into available cash for their owners. "The Texas cattle are truly the only animals except the bison that deserve the name of "Native" American cattle. All the other scrubs in the country are foreigners by blood, or are descendants of intruders from other lands. These long legged, big headed, thin fleshed brutes were in this country centuries ago. It is by no means certain that their ancestors did not roam the plains of the Brazos and the Rio Grande a thousand years or more before America was visited by the Spaniards. There is evidence that the real ancestors of the cattle of Texas were seen in Old Mexico and described about five hundred years after the Christian era, but this evidence has been considered unworthy of full confidence, because to admit its truth would be to confess that the honor of first discovering America belongs to the barbarians from the Orient. "In the carefully edited official records, known as the "Chinese Year Book", which was written some fourteen hundred years ago, a circumstantial account of a visit to Mexico by a party of Buddhist Priests is given. These priests saw in the country two breeds of cattle. One of these breeds was described as having very large horns which would hold ten measures. These were probably the earliest ancestors of the present race of Texas cattle, while the other breed with shorter horns was, it is likely, the ancestors of the bison that later roamed over the ranges of the western plains. Those ancient travelers were too well accustomed to seeing cattle and horses in their own country to be in even the slightest degree likely to mistake any other animal for kine. The generally accepted belief, however, is that the Texas cattle are descendants of cattle brought to America by the Spanish invaders, although no definite proof seems to have been brought forward to show that those roistering, plundering explorers ever imported any cattle to this continent, and turned them loose in such numbers as would have produced the vast horde that covered the Southwestern plains before the Civil War. "To western people, especially in those parts where Spanish or Texas fever has caused the destruction of stock, Texas cattle are so well known that a description of their peculiarities will appear unnecessary. There are many who do not know that the chief purpose of the Texas bullock, pure and simple, seems to be the lugging about of a prodigious pair of horns. To this end, a big head and coarse shoulders have been given him. Behind these are a flat ribbed, thin chested, light body, held up at the hinder end by a pair of cat hams on thin, deer-like legs. The whole outfit, unburdened by flesh or fat, is muscular, nervous, and active. Such of them as lived through alternate roasting, starving, and freezing during the early years of their lives, found their way to the northern markets to be fattened and slaughtered. These rangers fattened very readily in the northern feed lots and those that were not too old and tough made very good beef. Thousands of them were driven from Texas in the early forties and fifties to Illinois feed lots, where they were fattened and then re-driven to the markets on the seaboard. In later years, they were slaughtered in Illinois and shipped in refrigerator cars, in the form of dressed carcasses, to the Atlantic States. Choice parts, as steaks, roasts, and tenderloins, were sent to health resorts, watering places, and to hotels and restaurants. A vast quantity of their flesh found its way into tin cans, to feed hungry humanity, in the hut of the laborer, at the picnic of the aristocrat, in the camp of the miner, and in the forecastle of the sailor in every corner of the world. It will be seen that the mission of the Texas steer was to raise the standard of living, to add to the comfort, and preserve the health and strength of people the world over."[24] FOOTNOTES: [21] The Breeder's Gazette, July 16, 1913. [22] Farm Field and Stockmen. [23] The Prairie Farmer, July 18, 1885, p. 453. [24] The Prairie Farmer, 1885, p. 452. V. THE PURE BRED INDUSTRY The beginning of the pure bred cattle industry in the state of Illinois was antedated by the introduction of the mongrel bred cattle by a very narrow margin of time. While there were probably a few mongrel bred cattle in the state before 1830, those that were brought in after that date were the real foundation cattle. These cattle were brought from the eastern states, by the early pioneers, for milk cows, and it is their descendants which are referred to when the native cattle of the state are spoken of. The changes which have been made from the mongrel bred cattle that were brought into the state by the early settlers to the present day improved breeds have been marked. "For almost a century, attention has been given to the breeding of pure bred cattle in Illinois. As early as 1833, a man by the name of James Williams, brought some Shorthorn cattle of the Patten Stock, from Kentucky to Sangamon county. In 1834, J. D. Smith and J. N. Brown brought a number of Shorthorns from Kentucky to the central part of the state. In the spring of 1838, Colonel John Williams, a son of James Williams, brought a Shorthorn bull and a Shorthorn cow from Lexington, New York, into Sangamon county. These three importations of pure bred stock into Illinois were the earliest of which there are any records. Other importations of Shorthorns into the state were made at later dates, however, and they soon became the leading breed of cattle in the state for both beef and dairy purposes."[25] The rapid dissemination of Shorthorns throughout the state was probably due chiefly to the method by which the breed was advertised. The leading breeders held public auction sales annually on their farms, or at some convenient place, and people all over the state were invited to come to these sales and bring such pure bred animals as they had for sale. In view of apprehensions on the part of some of the breeders, that this method might tend to spread disease among the cattle, it became a rule to require that every contributor to a sale furnish a certificate from a veterinarian, showing his cattle to be in good health, and that they had not been exposed to any contagious disease. Shorthorns held full sway in the state until about 1865 or 1870, when the tide began to turn. Other breeds began to be introduced into various parts of the state. Some of these breeds gained popularity so rapidly that within a very few years the competition became very keen between them and the Shorthorns. At the shows, all breeds were shown in the same class. This created considerable excitement among the enthusiastic advocates of the various breeds and often resulted in fist and skull fights. "At the Chicago show in 1879, there was close competition among the breeds when it come to tying the ribbon for sweepstakes award. Mr. F. L. Miller, a Hereford man, wanted to put the breeds to a slaughter test. The other breeders refused to kill their pure bred cattle, but some grades were slaughtered instead; one Shorthorn, one Hereford, and one Devon." Herefords Shorthorns Devons Gross Weight 1963 1795 1614 Net Weight 1317 1179 1055 Offal 452 389 394 Dressing per cent 67.1 65.7 65.3 Fore Quarters 354 308 277 371 303 275 Hind Quarters 287 283 247 305 285 256 Tallow 178 155 145 Hide 106 90 99 Head 55 47 49 Neither of these steers had marbled flesh. One family who ate some of one of the steers was said to have been made sick, due to the excessive fatness. The feeders of this time gave very little or no attention to the marbling of meat. All they noted was whether an animal was getting fat or not. They didn't notice whether they were putting the fat on evenly.[26] From the very earliest improvement of cattle in Illinois, Shorthorn blood has been used more extensively than that of any other breed. They were the first pure bred cattle brought into the state and were the only pure bred cattle in the state for several years. They were more generally known by farmers throughout the state and at a very early date were found in almost every county. Hereford cattle have ranked next to Shorthorns, both in number and popularity. "About 1870, Herefords began to play an important part in beef production in this state, and it was only a few years after this time that they were taken into Sangamon county, where Shorthorns had first gotten their strong hold."[27] "The competition between the Herefords and the Shorthorns grew stronger each year. In February of 1885, the Shorthorn Breeders' Association, in session, decided to ask each member to contribute fifteen cents for each Shorthorn owned by him, to be used for the good of the Shorthorn interest. The rivalry between the different breeds of cattle was so sharply defined and closely pressed that they thought it indispensable to the protection and prosperity of the Shorthorn interest and thought the State Association of Shorthorn Breeders should be kept in an active and strong existence."[28] The following is a summary of reports gathered by the Bureau of Animal Industry in 1885, by sending out questionnaires to different parts of the state, showing the breed of cattle that has been used moot extensively in cattle improvement. _State as a Whole_ No. Reports Breed Used 240 Shorthorns 80 Herefords 28 Angus 17 Devons _State by Sections_ Northwest 27 Shorthorns Counties 9 Herefords 5 Angus Northern 34 Shorthorns Counties 13 Herefords 5 Angus 4 Devons 2 Galloways Western 32 Shorthorns Counties 8 Herefords 5 Angus 4 Devons 3 Galloways Central 55 Shorthorns Counties 20 Herefords 3 Angus 1 Red Polled Western 20 Shorthorns Counties 14 Herefords 7 Angus Southwest 9 Shorthorns Counties 1 Herefords 1 Angus Southern 44 Shorthorns Counties 6 Herefords 3 Devons 1 Dutch Belted Southeast 10 Shorthorns Counties 2 Herefords 2 Devons _T. L. Miller_ "Early in the "seventies," Mr. T. L. Miller, than a business man in Chicago, who owned a farm at Beecher, Will county, Illinois, became interested in Hereford cattle." Mr. Miller was born at Middletown, Connecticut, on April 7, 1817. In 1842, he went to Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, where he was in business until 1856, when he removed to Chicago, Illinois. Here he was in the fire insurance business until about 1870. He had bought the first 320 acres of his farm at Beecher and 207 acres three miles to the north. He commenced to improve the farm with buildings in 1862. His nearest railroad station then was Monee, on the Illinois Central. In 1870, the Chicago, Danville, and Vincennes Railroad, was built, and Mr. Miller bought about 340 acres of additional land to the west of that already acquired and laid out the village of Beecher. He closed out his business in Chicago and went to live on this "Highland Stock Farm" in March, 1870. A few years later, he laid the foundation for his herd of Hereford cattle. Mr. William Powell, an Englishman, who later on bred and handled Herefords extensively on his own account both in Illinois and Texas, was jointly interested with Mr. Miller in some of his earlier ventures in Herefords. An item in the "National Live Stock Journal" for February, 1872, reads as follows: "We learn that Messrs. Byers and Campbell, of Nevada, Ohio, have sold to Messrs. T. L. Miller and Wm. Powell of Highland Stock Farm, Beecher, Will county, Illinois, an individual half interest in three Hereford cows and two bulls, and thirty-six pure bred Cotswold sheep. Mr. Miller's farm soon afterward became the center of the greatest American activity in the Hereford trade."[29] _Thomas Clark_ "Thomas Clark was born in Herefordshire, England, near the Monmouth border, in 1842. His father was a cattle grower of local repute, who used pure bred Hereford bulls, but did not profess to be a handler of pedigreed strains. Thomas Clark came to the United States in the spring of 1866, and after working for a time on a farm near Pittsfield, Ohio, was employed by a Cleveland butcher having a large city trade. Thrifty and possessed of an inborn faith in the "white faces" of his native land, by dint of hard work and economy in the course of a few years, Clark found himself in a position to get into business in a small way on his own account. As foreman and cutter in Cleveland, he acquired a practical familiarity with what lies under a bullock's hide, that was of distinct advantage in his subsequent career as a breeder and feeder of good cattle. He had an interest in his brother-in-laws little butcher shop in Elyra, but his own fondness for the fields led him to give most of his time to the 80 acres he had under lease near town. He moved on this farm and began breeding Hereford cattle. He bought his first bull, Sir Arthur (705), as a calf, from F. W. Stone of Canada. "In 1877, when Mr. Clark's lease on the Ohio farm expired, seeing that the west was becoming a good market for Herefords, he decided to remove to Beecher, Illinois. He had shown every year at the Ohio fairs, and always won. He made one show at Erie, Pennsylvania, while breeding in Ohio, and another at Jackson, Michigan, in 1876, winning first prize on herd, in competition with seven Shorthorn and Devon herds. This was the first time Herefords had won that prize in Michigan, and the event caused a lot of controversy. Clark had, meantime, sold three calves to T. L. Miller and delivered them personally. He was impressed with the idea that Illinois would be a better location for his cattle business than Ohio. He bought 80 acres of land, about one and one-fourth miles from the village of Beecher. He afterward added forty acres to the home farm, and subsequently, bought twenty-six acres in addition. Mr. Clark always kept his own lands largely in grass, and leased fields for farming purposes. He brought his Ohio herd, numbering at that time about twenty-eight head, to Beecher. "In 1877, Mr. Clark showed a herd at the northern Ohio Fair at Cleveland, winning all prizes shown for."[30] (1857) "There is no question but what the native cattle of the state may be improved by successive generations of judicious breeding, but if in and in-breeding is followed, as at present, the effects will be negative. "The true comparison between native steers and improved steers is seen when they are put on the market. Shorthorn and Hereford steers at weaning time are worth about $15, while the native steers at weaning time are worth about $5. The Shorthorn and the Hereford steers could be made to go to the New York market weighing around 1800 to 2000 pounds gross, and sell for 12 cents to 15 cents per pound, while the native steers were sent to market at six or seven years of age, weighing from 900 to 1000 pounds, and sold for 10 to 12 cents per pound. * * * * * "The Illinois Cattle Importing Company received a shipment of 38 Shorthorn cattle from Europe."[31] "Messrs. Calef and Jacoby at Springfield, Illinois, sold at auction, March 23, fifteen head of cows and heifers, all Shorthorns. Two of the number were imported. They reached an average of $583. They also sold eight Shorthorn bulls which averaged $171.98 each."[32] "Messrs. H. E Gardner of Bradfordton, Illinois, and J. S. Highmore of Rochester, Illinois, sold 30 Shorthorn cows and heifers at the Sangamon County Fair Grounds. The total number brought $3,140. Average of the cows was $104.66. They also sold 14 bulls for $10.20. The highest price paid in the sale was $280 for a cow. The total sale for cows and bulls amounted to $4,160, an average of $95.54. L. C. Carlin of Edinburg, Illinois, bought a bull for $100. Philimon Stuart of Cotton Hill, Illinois, bought one for $100 also. "In the afternoon of the same day, D. W. Smith of Bates, Illinois, sold five cows and heifers for $770, an average of $154; also three bulls sold for $710, an average of $236.66. The total of the cows was $1,480. The highest cow sold to Lafayette Funk of Shirley, Illinois, for $2.30. The highest bull sold to George M. Caldwell, Williamsville, Illinois, for $300."[33] "Rossland Park Stock Farm at Ashkum, Illinois: The farm is 73 miles south of Chicago, on the Illinois Central Railroad, in Iroquois county. It is composed of 120 acres of deep, dark prairie soil. "This farm was first owned by Mrs. Ross of Chicago, who gave very little attention to it and allowed it to become badly run down. It was then purchased by G. W. Henry of Chicago, who at once set about to improve it. He put a new fence around the entire farm and prepared it to be kept as a grazing farm for cattle. "Mr. Henry was a Shorthorn enthusiast and bred Shorthorns until 1884, when he became interested in Herefords. High grade and pure bred Herefords had his attention then for two or three years, after which he decided to deal in none but pure-breds. He sold his entire lot of grades. R. W. Hollenbeak of Casey, Iowa, purchased 73 of the two year olds at $75 a head; 25 high grade one year old at $50 a head; one yearling grade bull at $75; and 49 young grade calves at $40 a head. "There were left on the farm about 150 pure bred Herefords which soon were increased enormously by using some valuable bulls as herd headers."[34] "The "Summit Farm", owned by Mr. Wentworth, comprises about 4000 acres, which is mostly prairie. He has on his farm 80 Shorthorns. He has some yearling heifers by the son of "Booth's Lancaster", which are very promising. He also owns the "Fifteenth Duke of Ardie" who still holds his place as one of the grandest Bates bulls in existence. "Mr. Wentworth feeds mangles in connection with hay."[35] "The Polled Aberdeen Angus herd, belonging to Messrs. Anderson and Findley, of Lake Forest, Illinois, is one of the oldest herds in the United States, and is probably the largest of any in the United States or Scotland."[36] "Our first importation was made in the summer of 1878, and consisted of the bull Nicolis 1102, and the five females: Jeannie Gordon 2914, Lazy 3rd 1100, Violet of Brucehill 1951, Diana 4th 3226, and Waterside Fancy 1854, and thus was established the first breeding herd of Aberdeen Angus cattle in the United States so far as we know. The cattle in this importation did so well with us that we were induced to make further importations, and the cattlemen of this country readily recognized the superiority of the breed, and with proverbial American go-aheadness, took hold of them at once. Such was the demand for animals of this breed in the early eighties that we found ready sale for them at prices almost beyond the reach of cattlemen of moderate means. We, together with other importers, drew upon the parent stock in Scotland to such an extent about this time that the straining point was soon reached and prices rapidly advanced in that country also. "The land at Lake Forest, Illinois, upon which for so many years we maintained our herd, was constantly appreciating in value, until it is now (1901) worth about four hundred per cent more than when we first established our herd there. We were, therefore, compelled to move our herd into cheaper lands, and this we began to do about 1894, and in 1897, practically all of our herd had been transferred to our Allendale Farm, in Allen county, Kansas. We purchased most of the land composing Allendale Farm in 1878, and have improved and added to it since until now, we have over 2000 acres, making as fine a place for the breeding of fine stock and the fattening of cattle as can be found in the country."[37] "The Illinois Cattle Breeders' Association was organized in 1895. The first annual meeting was held at Springfield, on January 13, 1896. Mr. J. Frank Prather presided at this meeting. Mr. J. H. Pickrell was the first secretary. A committee was appointed to draft by-laws. "The first paper on the program was "Home and Foreign Demand for Beef Cattle" by A. C. Howell, the editor of the Drover's Journal. The paper was read by the secretary, Mr. Pickrell. The main theme of the paper was on Baby Beef, in which he said that it was no longer a fad, but a profitable business." FOOTNOTES: [25] The Prairie Farmer, May 9, 1885, p. 292. [26] The Country Gentleman, Dec. 4, 1879. [27] Sanders' Hereford History, p. 348. [28] The Prairie Farmer, Feb. 1, 1885, p. 84. [29] Sanders' History of Hereford Cattle, p. 348. [30] Sander's History of Herefords, pp. 352, 357. [31] The Country Gentleman, July 30, 1857. [32] " " " 1858. [33] The Prairie Farmer, June 7, 1885, p. 372 [34] Rossland Park Stock Farm at Ashkum, Illinois. Prairie Farmer Nov. 14, 1885, p. 741. [35] Cultivator and Country Gentleman, 1875. [36] The Prairie Farmer, 1885. [37] Sale Catalog of Anderson and Findley, 1901. VI. CATTLE PLAGUES[38] "In 1882, Dr. Salmon of the Bureau of Animal Industry, became convinced, from the experimental evidence at his command, that certain disease germs produced a chemical substance during their growth and multiplication which, if injected into the tissues of an animal, would induce immunity from a disease that these germs cause. In other words, he thought that the liquid in which the bacteria were grown in the laboratory might be used after the bacteria had been killed or removed, to protect animals from the disease caused by these specific bacteria. "The first experiment made at that time with fowl cholera failed to confirm the theory. Later experiments with hog cholera bacillus gave unmistakable proof of its correctness. The results were first published in 1886 and additional evidence was published the following year. "Many cattlemen have been prejudiced against the tuberculin test and have objected to it, due to inaccurate or greatly exaggerated statements as to the damage it caused to the cattle on which it was used. Those who have had most experience with tuberculin have consequently failed to observe any injurious effects following its injection into healthy cattle. With cattle that are affected with tuberculosis, it produces a fever which lasts only a short time, and in the great majority of cases, the effects disappear within forty-eight hours after the administration of the tuberculin. The cases of abortion following the tuberculin test have not been numerous, even when cows were tested within a very short time before the normal time of calving. The few cases that have occurred may be explained by the fact that abortion in cattle is a very common occurrence and that it would have happened even though the test had not been applied and that it was a coincidence. "From the investigations and observations made, the following conclusions may be safely drawn: "1. The tuberculin test is an accurate method of determining the presence of tuberculosis in an animal. "2. By the use of tuberculin such animals as are affected with the disease may be detected and removed from the herd. "3. It has no injurious effects. "4. Comparatively small numbers of cattle which have aborted, suffered ill health, or fell off in flesh after the tuberculin test was made, were either diseased before the test was made or were affected by some other cause other than that of the tuberculin." "On the 15th day of July, 1884, Dr. Trumbower was requested to visit a cow at Sterling, Illinois, belonging to Mr. C. A. Keefer. He found one of Mr. Keefer's pure bred Jersey cows, aged about six years, with symptoms of pleuro-pneumonia." Mr. Keefer had bought this cow, Lass O' Lowrie, from Mr. W. C. Clark, of Geneva, Illinois, on June 6, of the same year. When Mr. Keefer visited Mr. Clark's farm on April 6, he saw Lass O' Lowrie with two other cows, Tama Warren, and Nutriena Tunlaw. All three of the cows had the appearance of unthriftiness, the hair was looking rough and dry, but this was attributed to a severe winter without proper care and, in the case of Lass O' Lowrie, to recent calving. Mr. Keefer bought her with the assurance that she was perfectly healthy. She was shipped June 8 and was on the road four hours. When she was driven from the car to Mr. Keefer's farm, she was noticed to cough occasionally. She had calved in March and was again pregnant. From the time Mr. Keefer bought her, she became poorer, weaker, and milk secretion became entirely suspended. She stood in the field away from the other cattle and ceased ruminating. Coughing increased in frequency and strings of mucus dropped from the nostrils. The case was thought to be one of tuberculosis and isolation was recommended, slaughter and burial to follow as soon as possible upon the necessity of the measure. On the morning of June 8, she was bled to death. On examination, the anterior lobe of the right lung was found filled with tubercles covering a space of four inches in diameter. They presented different stages of development; some containing a thick yellow inspissated pus, while others were undergoing a caseous degeneration or calcification, and still others appeared as small indurated brown or reddish circumscribed spots in the interlobular tissue. Beginning at the bifurcation of the trachea and extending downward and backward, was found a cavity about ten inches in length, which contained a pint of fluid of a grayish-black color and of very offensive odor, holding in suspension disintegrated lung tissue; also in this cavity was found a mass of inforcated lung tissue weighing two pounds. The part nearest the right lung was breaking down and liquifying. Another mass of dead lung, weighing four ounces, of a yellow, granular, or caseous appearance, indicating that it was much older than the larger mass, was found lying in and partially buried in a separate sack which communicated with the larger cavity. In the abdominal lymphatic glands these were masses of compact tuberculous matter encysted in strong fibrous capsules, one of which measured three inches in diameter. The cow had evidently been affected with tuberculosis, but the encysted mass of dead lung was a lesion which is not produced in this disease, but which is a frequent result of contagious pleuro-pneumonia. It seemed possible that this animal had both of the diseases at the same time, although the fact that pleuro-pneumonia was not known to exist in that part of the country made it appear very doubtful. Upon investigating the conditions of affairs at Mr. Clarke's farm, it was learned that his animals had suffered from a disease that had caused the death of several during the spring and summer. A cow which had been sold to C. P. Coggeshall and taken to the farm of Mr. John Boyd, of Elmhurst, was very sick, and a second cow bought by Mr. Boyd was also sick. Mr. Boyd's farm was visited on August 12. The cow called Cream Ecca, belonging to Mr. Coggeshall had died on July 20. The cow, Edith St. Hilaire, had improved very much during the two weeks previous to the visit and was then believed by her owner to be nearly well. An examination of the lungs of Cream Ecca showed them to be hepatized as in pleuro-pneumonia. These facts appeared sufficient to justify the diagnosis of contagious pleuro-pneumonia, but in the absence of any history beyond the Clarke herd, and considering the fact that the only cow of which a careful post-mortem examination had been made was certainly affected with tuberculosis, it seemed best to reserve a decision until more complete evidence had been obtained. On August 14, Mr. George B. Loring made a third visit to Elmherst Farm, and in the presence of Mr. J. H. Sanders, a member of the Treasury Cattle Commission, and Mr. Wadham, and Mr. Boyd, the two sick cows were slaughtered. An examination of the lungs of Edith St. Hilaire showed that she had every symptom of pleuro-pneumonia. The other cow, Dassie 4th, was likewise examined with the same indications of the disease. On August 15, Mr. Loring, the agricultural commissioner, went to Geneva, Illinois, and examined the conditions of the animals that were still on Mr. Clarke's farm. Mr. Clarke informed Mr. Loring that the first animal to show signs of the disease on his farm was the bull, Finis Lawrence, which became sick during the latter part of May and was killed in June. The cows, Ella Lawrence, Duchess of Broome County, Myrrhine, and Damask, all showed signs of sickness about the middle of June. Ella Lawrence was killed at the same time as the bull; Duchess of Broome County died; Myrrhine and Damask recovered and were on the farm at the time the examination was made. Tama Warren had also been killed, but Mr. Clarke insisted that this was because she was worthless as a breeder. Six animals in all had been killed or had died on Mr. Clarke's place since May. According to accounts received from other sources, it is probably that Tama Warren and Nutrina of Tunlaw were sick as early as April 6. Mr. Clarke had brought on his place since June 1, one animal from New Jersey, three which he had purchased at the Epler sale at Virginia, Illinois, one from C. A. Keefer, of Sterling, Illinois, and several from Wisconsin. It was impossible to judge, from any information that Mr. Clarke could give, in what manner the disease had been brought to his place. As Ella Lawrence had come from Peoria, and as there were rumors of the disease at that place, it was decided to make investigations there. On August 16, Mr. Loring visited Messrs. D. H. and S. S. Tripp, and Mr. O. J. Bailey at Peoria. These gentlemen admitted that they had lost animals from some disease, the nature of which they did not understand, and they freely placed at Mr. Loring's disposal all the information which they could obtain, bearing upon the matter. It was here that Mr. Loring gained a first insight into the history of the introduction of the disease into Illinois. The first cases of this disease occurred in the Tripp herd, and the only animals that had been brought upon their place for several months before this sickness were three cows purchased at the Virginia sale, which occurred February 21. These cows, Helena, Rex, Albert's Pansy, and Fancy LeBrocq, were taken to Mr. Tripp's stable in Peoria, and afterward Helen Rex was taken to his farm, which is situated about two miles from the city. It was said that Helen Rex was coughing at the time of the sale at Virginia, and that she did not appear to be in good health, but Mr. Tripp either did not notice this or was not impressed with the idea that she was affected at all seriously. The first cow that showed unmistakable evidence of the disease was Pomare, a cow kept for family use in the town stable. The earliest symptoms were noticed with her on April 1, and she died April 17. No other cases of the disease occurred until July 12, when the cow, Annos Orphan, presented the symptoms of inflammation of the lungs and died July 27. The next case occurred July 25, when a cow called Queenette showed that she was affected. She died August 4. No disease had been in Messrs. Tripp's herd nor in any other cattle in the vicinity previous to the purchase of the three animals at Mr. Epler's sale at Virginia. The first sickness in Mr. Bailey's herd occurred May 10. The first cow affected, Lady Florentia, had been in his stable in Peoria up to this time, when she was taken to his farm seven miles in the country. This cow had not been in actual contact with any of Mr. Tripp's cattle, and the only way in which the disease could be accounted for in her was that it had been carried by some person going from one stable to the other. This cow recovered from the disease but several others of the same herd died within a few days after taking the disease. On August 18, a cow was killed and examined in the presence of Dr. J. H. Rauch, Secretary of the State Board of Health, and Dr. N. H. Pooren, State Veterinarian, both of whom had been invited to be present in order that they might see the disease and be convinced of its nature. Mr. Epler's place at Virginia, Cass county, Illinois, was visited August 22. No animals were found showing symptoms of the disease, and Mr. Epler stated that he had lost none from his original herd since the sale, but a cow which he had bought at Beardstown, Illinois, and brought to his place in April or May, which died in June of an acute lung disease that evidently was pleuro-pneumonia. A cow sold to Porter Yates, of Springfield, Illinois, at Mr. Epler's sale, was attacked by the disease and died in April. Another cow sold to E. S. Hodson, of Springfield, soon after her arrival was treated for a similar disease. Another cow sold to Frank Gaston, of Normal, Illinois, became sick April 6, but recovered. As very many of the cattle sold at the Epler sale soon afterward became affected with pleuro-pneumonia, and as the mingling of the animals at the sale was the only means by which many of these herds could be connected, it became very certain that the disease in Illinois had been brought to the state with some animals that had been sent to Mr. Epler. The animals which he had collected for this sale had come from a number of different herds located at widely separated points. Upon investigation, it was found that only one of these herds had been affected with pleuro-pneumonia. That herd belonged to Mr. C. R. C. Dye, of Troy, Ohio. Mr. Epler had purchased five cows from Mr. Dye on December 28, 1883. These cows arrived at Mr. Epler's farm at Virginia, Illinois January 4, 1884. Two of the five cows purchased from Mr. Dye had been previously bought from the herd of James Lyman, of Downer's Grove, Illinois, in May, 1883. Mr. Dye had bought cattle from several farms in the east, but it was decided that the disease had been brought to his herd by some grade Jerseys which he bought in the vicinity of Baltimore, Maryland. One of these cows had, apparently, recovered from the disease, but was still able to communicate the disease which was afterwards determined. The steps taken to eradicate the dreadful disease were as follows: (1) Investigation to determine the existence of pleuro-pneumonia in any suspected locality in the country. (2) The immediate quarantine and isolation of any herd in which the disease was found. If any considerable amount of the disease was found in any section of the country so as to be dangerous of spreading to other districts, the immediate quarantine of that district was enforced, as well as the prohibition of the movement of any animals from one herd or premises to any other within the district, or of any cattle to be upon any highway or any enclosed land within such district; provided, however, that animals might be moved, upon a written permit, signed by an inspector of the Bureau of Animal Industry. As soon as the quarantine order had been made, the immediate inspection, tagging, and numbering of every bovine animal in the district, and the keeping of a record of the same, and a record of all animals moved by permits was attended to so that the Bureau of Animal Industry might have complete control of the movements of all cattle within the quarantined districts. (3) The condemnation and slaughter of all animals found to be diseased or exposed to the disease within the quarantined districts, and the thorough disinfection of all premises where such animals had been, or on which contagious was suspected to exist. At the same time, inspection and post-mortem examinations were made of every animal slaughtered during the quarantine, whether purchased and slaughtered by order of the Bureau of Animal Industry or killed by butchers, or others for their own use. FOOTNOTES: [38] Report of Bureau of Animal Industry, 1886. VII. THE FEED INDUSTRY OF THE UNITED STATES "Sixty years ago (1853) there was no knowledge of scientific feeding in the United States. Sixty years ago there was no feed industry in the United States. Thirty years ago (1883) the teaching of scientific feeding in the United States began. Thirty years ago the feed industry in the United States began. When I say that sixty years ago there was no feed industry in the United States, I mean that there was no feed industry such as we of the present day apply to the term. At that time, the population of the United States was only one-fourth what it is today. The problem of feeding domestic animals, as well as human beings, was simplicity itself, in fact it was not a problem. We had more land than we knew what to do with. The owner of livestock raised more grain and more hay and had more pasturage than he had animals to consume or than he had a market for. Domestic animals were fed on the natural grains and hays, grown upon the same farms as themselves. The city or town owner of horses or livestock bought his feed stuffs mostly direct from the farmer who grew them. By-product materials of the greatest feeding value, while produced in far smaller quantities than at the present day, were not sufficiently appreciated nor sufficiently needed to cause the farmer to make the effort to haul them from the mill or factory to his farm, much less to buy them. Scientific feeding with a knowledge of the balanced ration had not as yet been taught in our state universities. The value of grinding the natural grains was only slightly understood and was practiced only in a very limited way by a few of the more progressive and thoughtful feeders. Flour mills experienced the greatest difficulty in finding a market for their bran and middlings. While these by-products were probably the first to be recognized as of great feeding value, yet hundreds of thousands of tons were sold for a few dollars a ton, or burned, or run into streams, for there was no market. Cottonseed meal as a feeding stuff was at that time unknown. Holes were dug into the ground at the cotton gins and the seed was buried as a means of getting rid of it. Distillers' and brewers' grains, starch factory by-products, molasses, oatmeal by-products, oat clippings, and many others were frequently piled up on vacant lots to decay or run into the streams, or given to such farmers as could be induced to haul them away, and the earliest practical use of them was by the manufacturers who fed cattle with them in their wet or underground state at the factories. No attempt was made to dry them or put them into form to be utilized commercially. Instead of being sources of great revenue to the manufacturer, they were, in many instances, the cause of great expense. Because of the waste and expense and the low prices realized, the cost of the main products--the food for human beings--was very greatly increased."[39] "Here is a fact worth careful noting, that in these days of close competition, every cent realized for a by-product is credited to the cost of producing the main product--the human food--and that in addition to itself being converted into additional food for man, that is, into meat, dairy products, poultry, eggs, etc., its sale operates directly in a very large way as a saving to the consumer upon the main product from which it is derived. In other words, there is only one profit figured, and that is upon the main product--the food for man--the by-product being figured solely as such, sold for what it will bring, and the returns credited to the cost in figuring cost prices for the main product. "The problem of feeding the world--much less the problem of feeding the people of the United States--had not as yet commenced to trouble the scientist, the statesman, or the business man of the day. No one expected that in the short space of sixty years, all of our available lands would be occupied and that our population would have increased from 31,000,000 to 91,000,000 people, and that the problem of the cost of living, the cost of food, would, during the lives of people then living, be the thought and problem uppermost in the minds of our people. That this is the thought uppermost in the minds of our population today is evidenced by the daily conversations of our friends, by what we read in the newspapers, and by the action of Congress and our National Government in providing a commission for investigation of its cause." The following data was taken from the Statistical Report of the Illinois State Board of Agriculture, December 1, 1913,--(Assessor's Reports) _Illinois Pasture Lands_ Year Acreage 1877 4,367,603 1878 3,983,450 1879 4,193,884 1880 4,257,054 1881 2,206,621 1882 4,697,966 1883 4,752,828 1884 5,085,817 1885 5,417,147 1886 5,537,873 1887 5,630,571 1888 5,796,935 1889 5,679,874 1890 5,083,438 1891 4,681,972 1892 4,338,899 1893 4,954,871 1894 5,052,952 1895 4,631,270 1896 4,389,666 1897 4,745,917 1898 4,669,270 1899 4,880,101 1900 4,857,961 1901 4,774,062 1902 4,569,905 1903 4,447,287 1904 4,377,486 1905 4,359,426 1906 4,243,030 1907 4,308,402 1908 4,022,598 1909 3,807,796 1910 3,970,302 1911 3,819,412 1912 3,593,523 1913 3,521,966 (United States Census, and Year Books of Agricultural Department) Year Acres of Av. Val. of F. and Av. Val. Acres of Imp. Land Build's. per acre Per Farm Far. Land 1850 5,039,545 $ 7.99 $ 1,663 12,037,412 1860 13,096,374 15.96 3,480 20,911,989 1870 19,329,952 28.45 4,358 25,882,861 1880 26,115,154 31.87 4,598 31,673,645 1890 25,669,060 41.41 6,140 30,498,277 1900 27,669,219 53.84 7,588 32,794,728 1910 28,048,323 108.32 15,505 32,522,937 Year Percent Percent Percent Percent Farm Land in Ill. Increase Increase of Land of Farm in Farms in Farm Area in Land Total Cultivated Land Farms Improved 1850 33.6 41.9 1860 88.1 73.7 58.3 62.6 1870 41.5 23.8 72.2 74.7 1880 26.1 22.4 88.3 82.5 35,867,520 32,522,937 1890 -5.9 -3.7 85.0 84.2 1900 9.8 7.5 91.4 84.5 1910 -4.6 -0.8 90.7 86.2 (United States Census Report) Year Population No. Farms Average Size of Farms 1790 1800 5,641 1810 24,520 1820 147,178 1830 343,031 1840 685,866 1850 851,470 76,208 158. acres 1860 1,711,951 143,310 145.9 " 1870 2,539,891 202,803 127.6 " 1880 3,077,871 255,741 123.8 " 1890 3,826,352 240,681 126.7 " 1900 4,821,550 264,151 124.2 " 1910 5,638,591 251,872 129.1 " Year No. B. C. No. B. C. No. B. C. Per Per Farm Per Capita Acre Farm Land (Population) 1850 7.1 .63 .0045 1860 9.9 .83 .0067 1870 7.7 .62 .0060 1880 7.8 .65 .0063 1890 7.1 .46 .0056 1900 7.07 .38 .0057 1910 4.9 .22 .0038 _The Corn Crop of Illinois for Fifty-four Years._ Year Acreage Yield Price 1860 3,839,159 30 42½ 1861 3,839,159 30 24 1862 3,458,903 40 23 1863 3,773,349 22 62 1864 4,192,610 33 75 1865 5,032,996 35 29½ 1866 4,931,783 32 43 1867 4,583,655 24 68 1868 3,928,742 34 48 1869 5,237,068 23 57 1870 5,720,965 35 35 1871 5,310,469 38 32 1872 5,468,040 40 24 1873 6,839,714 21 32 1874 7,421,055 18 56 1875 8,163,265 34 34 1876 8,920,000 25 31 1877 8,935,411 30 28 1878 8,672,088 29 22 1879 7,918,881 39 32 1880 7,754,545 33 33 1881 7,157,334 24 53 1882 7,371,950 24 42 1883 7,304,596 25 36 1884 6,898,819 33 29 1885 7,212,657 32 28 1886 7,153,289 25 30 1887 6,719,126 19 41 1888 7,047,813 39 28 1889 6,988,267 35 23 1890 6,114,226 27 45 1891 5,754,147 38 38 1892 5,188,432 26 35 1893 6,416,488 26 30 1894 6,705,476 31 39 1895 6,922,921 39 21 1896 6,881,400 42 17 1897 7,051,527 34 21 1898 6,943,992 31 26 1899 6,941,548 37 26 1900 8,050,550 38 31 1901 8,077,621 23 58 1902 8,199,031 39 35 1903 7,955,980 35 34 1904 7,875,471 36 39 1905 7,698,411 40 38 1906 7,621,562 37 36 1907 7,294,873 35 44 1908 6,780,507 31 57 1909 7,288,563 36 52 1910 6,889,721 41 37 1911 6,623,579 38 55 1912 6,878,797 39 40 1913 6,635,847 27 63 [Illustration: Showing the corn acreage, pasture acreage, number of beef cattle, and the population of the state of Illinois from 1850 to 1914 inclusive.] FOOTNOTES: [39] An address by George A. Chapman, President of the American Feed Manufacturers' Association, delivered at Washington, D. C., November 17, 1913. BIBLIOGRAPHY Topography of the Land. Report of Bu. of An. Ind. 1885. p. 362. People. The U.S. Census Report. Interviews with old settlers. Cattle and Cattle Feeding. Report of Bu. of An. Ind. 1885. p. 365. Cattle Feeding Industry. Wallace's Farmer. 1913. Thesis by Garver: "History of Dairy Industry in Illinois." The Breeder's Gazette. July. 1913; Feb. 1894. Lecture by Professor Rusk. Chicago Market. "Facts and Figures" by Wood Brothers, Live Stock Commission Merchants, Chicago. 1906. Report of Bu. of An. Ind. 1884. The Prairie Farmer. 1887. p. 160. Life of Tom C. Ponting. Scientific American. The Meat Industry of America. 1909. Bu. of An. Ind. Report. 1885-86. Cattle Barons and Pioneer Drovers. Bu. of An. Ind. Report. 1885. The Breeder's Gazette. July 16, Aug. 6, 1913. Story of Tom Ponting's Life. The Range Industry. The Breeder's Gazette. July 16, 1913. Farm, Field and Stockman. 1880. Texas Cattle. The Prairie Farmer. July 18, 1885. p. 452. The Pure Bred Industry. The Prairie Farmer. May 9, 1885. p. 292 Feb. 1, 1885. p. 84; Nov. 14, 1885. p. 741. 1895. The Country Gentleman. Dec. 4, 1879. Sanders' History of Herefords. p. 348. Bu. of An. Ind. Report. 1885. The Country Gentleman. July 30, 1857, 1858. The Cultivator and The Country Gentleman. 1857. Sale Catalog of Anderson and Findley--Angus Herd. 1901. Sanders' History of Herefords, p. 348; 352-357. Cattle Plagues. Bu. of An. Ind. Report. 1884. p. 16, 1886. The Feed Industry of the United States. An address by Geo. A. Chapman, President of the American Feed Manufacturers' Association. Delivered at Washington, D. C., Nov. 17, 1913. Statistics. U. S. Census Reports. U. S. Yearbooks of the Department of Agriculture. ACKNOWLEDGMENT I desire to acknowledge the personal assistance and supervision of Professor H. P. Rusk under whose direction the work was planned and carried on. TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES Added opening quotation marks to all paragraphs where a quotation spans several paragraphs. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. Enclosed underlined font in _underscores_. Enclosed signatures in ~tildes~. 
50034	----	of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) _The_ TRAGEDIES OF THE WHITE SLAVES [Illustration] TRUE STORIES EXPOSING METHODS USED IN TRAPPING INNOCENT GIRLS Tragedies of the White Slave True stories of the White Slavery taken from actual life. Each one dealing with a different method by which white slavers have lured innocent victims to destruction. TEN TRAGEDIES OF TEN GIRLS The Tragedy of the Want Ad The Tragedy of the The Theatrical Agency The Tragedy of the Maternity House The Tragedy of the Girl with the Hair The Tragedy of Mona Marshall The Tragedy of the Little Immigrant The Tragedy of the Army Lieutenant The Tragedy of the Young Wife The Tragedy of the Little Cash Girl The Tragedy of the Ella Gingles BY H. M. LYTLE, Special Investigator for the Metropolitan Press THE CHARLES C. THOMPSON CO. (Not Inc.) COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY THE CHARLES C. THOMPSON CO. Contents. Foreword 3 CHAPTER I. The Tragedy of the Maternity Home 9 CHAPTER II. The Tragedy of the Want Ad 23 CHAPTER III. The Tragedy of the Assignation House 39 CHAPTER IV. The Tragedy of the Immigrant Girl 48 CHAPTER V. The Tragedy of the Stage 59 CHAPTER VI. The Tragedy of the Five Thousand 77 CHAPTER VII. The Tragedy of the Little Lace Maker (Ella Gingles' Own Story) 92 CHAPTER VIII. The First Night 103 CHAPTER IX. Arrested 117 CHAPTER X. The Second Orgy 126 CHAPTER XI. Ella Gingles On Trial (by Hal McLeod Lytle) 140 CHAPTER XII. The Return Home 191 Foreword. The lives of 5,000 young girls are laid upon the altar of lust every year in the city of Chicago alone. The insatiable rapacity of man, the lust of the hunt, the demands of brutish passion ordain it that these 5,000 young innocents be led forth to the slaughter, annually. This statement is not a matter of guess. It is the estimate of officers of the Chicago Law and Order League, the Illinois Vigilance Society, the police authorities and Assistant State's Attorney Clifford G. Roe. There are 68,000 women leading a nameless existence in the city of Chicago alone. This is the police estimate, based upon a census made by the captains of the different police districts. It includes the women who live--and die--in the temples of shame on Twenty-second street, on the Strand in South Chicago, on the West Side, and on Wells street and vicinity on the North Side. It includes the "street walkers," the girls who infest such dance halls in Twenty-second street, the women in private flats, and the mistresses of wealthy men. The average duration of a woman leading a life of shame is from two to twelve years, according to Dr. L. Blake Baldwin, city physician. Dr. Baldwin places his average at four years, basing this upon the life of the woman in the brothel where the majority of fallen women are to be found. Drink, which goes hand in hand with vice, cigarette smoking, various kinds of "dope," the all night method of living and the daily vicissitudes of existence are the contributing causes, according to Mr. Baldwin. But the chief cause of early demise is the ravages of diseases inseparable from immoral life. The result is that the market houses are yawning, constantly holding forth an insatiable maw into which new blood must be poured, new lives must be thrown, more young innocents must be devoured. And this is the reason for the existence of this book. If one mother or father may be warned in time, if one single life may be saved from the traps men make and the lures they bait for the enslavement of the flower and innocence of the nation the author will have been well repaid indeed. * * * * * A great many persons are yet skeptical of the existence of an organized traffic in young girls. If they could have been in the courts of Chicago their minds would have been disabused of the idea that organized slavery does not exist in Chicago.--Assistant State's Attorney Clifford G. Roe. Within one week I had seven letters from fathers, from Madison, Wisconsin, on the north, to Peoria, Illinois, on the south, asking me in God's name to do something to help find their daughters because they had come to Chicago and disappeared. The mothers, the fathers, even the daughters must be educated regarding the lures that men set or white slavery can not be abolished.--Judge John R. Newcomer, of the Municipal Courts. This book should go into the homes of every family in this wide nation, rich and poor, sophisticated and unsophisticated, city homes or country homes. It is only when parents _realize_ the pitfalls that they will be able to avoid them.--The Rev. R. Keene Ryan, Pastor of the Garfield Boulevard Presbyterian Church. Weakness and lack of understanding appeal to me as the opportunity for the work of these human vultures. That young women passing the ages of from 15 to 20 years need more counsel and guidance than many good mothers suspect.--Judge Richard S. Tuthill, of the Juvenile Court. The victims of the traffic are first ensnared, then enslaved, then diseased. Not until honest men take the stand that will result in the abolition of the segregated districts can this practice of white slavery be stopped.--The Rev. Ernest A. Bell, Superintendent of the Midnight Mission and Secretary of the Illinois Vigilance Association. The recent examination of more than 200 "white slaves" by the office of the United States district attorney has brought to light the fact that literally thousands of innocent girls from the country districts are every year entrapped into a life of hopeless slavery and degradation because their parents do not understand conditions as they exist and how to protect their daughters from the white slave traders who have reduced the art of ruining young girls to a national and international system.--Hon. Edwin W. Simms, United States District Attorney at Chicago. If parents will shut their eyes to this canker that is feeding on the flower of our nation they may continue to expect their daughters to be "kidnapped," lost or mysteriously missing.--Arthur Burrage Farwell, of the Law and Order League. THE TRAGEDIES OF THE WHITE SLAVES. CHAPTER I. THE TRAGEDY OF THE MATERNITY HOME. A young reporter for a great Chicago newspaper was sent by his city editor into the heart of the "red light" district to investigate a murder at one of the city's brothels. The trail of the story led the reporter into one of the most notorious dens of the city, the "E---- club." This home of vice is located in a three-story stone mansion. Around it radiates the elite of the district. It is owned by two sisters, immensely wealthy, who have made their fortune through the barter of girls' souls. A negro butler attired in livery admitted him into the reception room of this gilded den. Velvet carpets that sank beneath the feet covered the floors. Massive paintings by old masters were on the walls. The gilded ceilings radiated the glare of vari-colored lights which studded it. From the silver dance-room came the sound of soft music, interspersed with the discordant laughter of drunken men and girls. In a few seconds a woman entered the reception room. She was prettily clad in a flowing silk gown. Her mass of black hair was wreathed about her head. As she met the gaze of the reporter she started, and fled, as though terrified, from the room. The recognition had been mutual. In the face of the fallen woman the reporter had seen the features of an innocent girl who had been a playmate of but a few years before. Her family was wealthy. Her father was one of the most prominent surgeons in Illinois. In the city in which they lived he had served several terms as mayor. She had been the belle of the town. Her many accomplishments and innocence had won her many suitors. But she spurned them all for the love of her father and mother. She was the only child in the family. Her every wish and want had been fulfilled. But a year before the reporter had heard that she had died. The papers in the town contained articles at the time lamenting her death. According to the stories, she had been drowned in Lake Michigan while sailing in a yacht. A body of a girl supposedly that of her's had been shipped home. There had been a funeral. Since that time the father and mother had been disconsolate. The memory of the daughter was never from their minds. They spent the greater part of the days at the side of the grave in the cemetery. After dusk had fallen they sat in the pretty boudoir that had been the room of their child. Not a thing had been touched in the room. The beautiful dresses and garments that had once been worn by their daughter still were neatly hung in their places. The little mementoes still lay about the room. And in the dim light that radiated from a fireplace the father and mother could picture the face of their daughter, whom they believed to have been so ruthlessly torn from them by death. Quickly recovering from the shock, the seeming apparition had given him, the reporter dashed after the girl. She ran into a room and attempted to lock the reporter out. He forced his way in. As he did so, she fell at his feet screaming and pleading. Her mind seemed to have suddenly become unbalanced. "Don't tell papa and mamma I'm alive," she shrieked; "they believe me to be dead and it is better so. I'll kill myself if you tell them." The reporter could scarcely believe that girl could be the same innocent, high-minded child he had known but a few months before. After much persuasion, she was finally calmed. She would not lift her head or look into her childhood friend's eyes. "Come and get out of this fearful hole at once," the reporter demanded, grasping her by the arm. The crying of the girl ceased. Her muscles grew tense and rigid. "I will stay here," she said quietly; "stay here until I die. No pleadings will change me. My mind has been made up for some time. I'm an animal now. The innocent girl that you once knew is now no part of me. I'm all that is bad now. When I leave this life, it will be in death." "But your father and mother would receive you back--they needn't know anything of this," pleaded the reporter. "I'm dead to them and in death I am still pure and innocent in their eyes. They are happy in their belief," slowly said the girl, her eyes filling with tears. She paused for some time, a faraway look in her eyes. It was as though she were gazing into the past of but a short time before. Her features assumed those of the innocent girl she had been, then as she thought they gradually seemed to grow more hardened and steel-like. Finally, after some moments she broke the silence. "I will tell you why I am here," she said. "I will tell you why I will not go back. "You can remember, not a long time ago, when I was all that was good. I hardly knew the meaning of a profane word. I was worshiped and petted. "I have done some good in my life. It was this good and the hope to do even more that finally led to my ruin. In the convent where I went to school, we had been taught to be charitable. I was happy in helping the poor and sick. "The fact that my father was a physician gave me an inspiration. When I had reached my twentieth birthday, I decided to learn to be a nurse, so that I might do more for the poor. In the home town I could not do this. So I went to a neighboring city and entered a state hospital. There I worked as a common apprentice nurse for ten months. I did not receive any pay for my services. I had plenty of money anyway. "I grew to love one of the physicians. He apparently loved me as much. My life seemed to be tied up in his. He asked me to marry him. I was overjoyed at the thought. We were constantly together and I was radiantly happy. "One night, he made suggestions to me. He said we would soon be married and that in view of that, it would not be wrong. I trusted explicitly in him and believed what he said. Then I fell. "It is useless for me to try to tell you of the lies, the protestations of love, the excuses and suggestions he made that caused me to fall. No one could understand that but me. No one could excuse it but me. "A short time later I found that I was to become a mother. I was happy then. I should bear him a child. I told him of this. He suddenly grew cold in his actions. Then he avoided me. Disheartened I pleaded for him to marry me. He laughed in my face and told me he had never intended to do such a thing. I fainted under this torrent of abuse. "The thought that I had been cast aside nearly cost me my reason. I knew I could not go home in such a condition. I had heard that in Chicago maternity hospitals were easy to enter, so one night I packed some of my clothing and slipping away from the hospital, boarded a train. "I was frightened nearly out of my senses at the enormity of my act. Across the aisle from me in the railroad coach, sat an elderly woman. Her face seemed kindly. After a few minutes' ride, she smiled at me. Then when I vainly attempted to smile back, she came over and sat down beside me. "She talked very motherly to me. Soon I had told her my whole story. She was very sympathetic. She said she pitied me in my trouble and would help me. I clung to her as though she were a mother. After we had talked some time, she told me that she had a maiden aunt in Chicago at whose home I could live and that she would see that I received proper medical attention. I accepted her offer gratefully. "When we reached Chicago she assisted me with my baggage and into a waiting cab. For some time we drove about the city. "At last we arrived at a big stone mansion. It was lighted almost from top to bottom. "'Auntie must be entertaining tonight,' laughed the woman. 'We'll go right in and to our rooms. No one will see us.' "A negro, attired in livery, came out and carried our baggage in. We went at once to rooms on the upper floor. I did not know where I was. I believed what the elderly woman had told me, that I was at the home of the aunt. It was not until two weeks later that I found out I was in this den of vice, where I now am. "For those two weeks I was treated as well as could be wished. Two elderly women came often to see me and talked pleasantly. A doctor came and attended me through my illness. "I can't make you understand the shock that came to me when they told me that I would have no baby. The man and the two women had attended to that. My baby was dead. There seemed nothing else to live for. "One morning when I had nearly recovered, I got out of bed and went to the door. To my dismay I found that it was locked from the outside. The windows were also locked. When the women came a short time later I asked them about it. They merely laughed and gave me no answer. "It was only a few nights later when I was awakened by the sound of a man's voice. In the darkness I could see him standing beside my bed. I screamed and screamed but no one came. I jumped out of bed and ran to the door. It was securely locked. The man laughed at my efforts to evade him. "Finally he pressed a button on the wall. Two women, dressed in short costumes that barely reached to the knees, came into the room. The man threw me on a bed and the two women held me. "After that I was given something to eat. Instantly I seemed bereft of my senses. It was not until a week later that I became normal again. It was during that week that my ruin was forever accomplished. Of what occurred I have but a vague recollection. "I realized then that I could never return home again. I grew morose and sullen as I thought. Often I tried to force myself to take my own life, but the thoughts of my evil deeds kept me from doing so. "The days that passed were like the fancies of a disordered mind. Gradually the atmosphere, the viciousness of it seeped through me and took the place of the innocence, the wifely feeling, the mother love of which I had been robbed. The process of degradation, of evolution into accepting life in this prison came about swiftly. I found myself accepting this home, this place where I might exist. "You know the verse: "'Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with its face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.' "That describes my case. The owners of the place gradually extended my liberties. I remember the first day that came when they said I might go out alone. They would trust me to come back. "I had formulated a plan that morning. In the Chicago papers I had seen a story telling of the finding of a girl of about my age in the waters of Lake Michigan, near Lincoln Park. She did not have a coat or hat on and a portion of her other clothing was missing. "I went to a spot along the shore, near where the body had been found. I took off my coat and hat and soaked it in the water. I left a small pocketbook with my name and a small amount of money inside the coat pocket. Then I hurried back to this place. "The clothing was found and turned over to the police. The name and address were also noted. My parents were notified. They came at once to Chicago. The body of the girl had been in the water for some time. They could not identify it but easily identified the clothing. "The body was taken home. I read of the terrible grief of my parents with tearful eyes. I read of my own burial. Often I knelt and prayed for my sorrowing parents. "Then I knew it was all over. To the world I was dead. To myself my pure and innocent life was a thing of the past. I had forever cut off family ties. But to them I would forever be known as the pure child that they knew and loved. "I have not associated with the women here any more than I had to. I have never drank nor smoked cigarettes, despite their attempts to force me to do so. "I have tried to imagine myself leading a different life. I have gone to church and fancied myself clothed with the purity and innocence of the other days. Perhaps I turned my head to look about me. Perhaps I heard a smothered exclamation not meant for my ears. Mocking me, driving me back to a realization of my degradation, would be a face--the face of a man who had come to the 'E---- Club' in search of a vent for his beastly desires. He could do what I could not and yet be respected. When I sought out a place of worship, even he was ready to point a mocking finger, to leer at me with an insulting smile. "In the theatres, in the parks, in the shopping districts and on the streets of the city I have tried, for just a little while, to imagine myself the girl of the olden days. Always, everywhere, omnipresent has been the reminder that drove me back to the 'E----' with a sigh of relief and a sense of refuge. Can you understand? "I have steeled myself to live this life because there is no other left to me. "I have hoped and prayed that I would not live long, that I would grow ugly in features and a person whom men would shun, but in vain. But I know that sooner or later my hope will be realized." "But I can help to save you. I can put you in a position where you can earn a respectable living and where you will be happy," pleaded the reporter. For a time the girl was in deep thought. When she raised her head again her eyes were wet with tears. "I couldn't do it. I can never be anything else now," she said. "Were I to take a position, it would be but a question of time until some man who had seen me in this place would recognize me. I would be discharged and driven into even a deeper life of shame. "It is impossible to even contemplate such a thing. "When a woman falls, she falls never to rise again. The thoughts of her evil life are forever a menace to her. They pursue her constantly. She never can resume her former sphere in life." "Isn't there anything that I can do to cause you to come with me and do right?" asked the reporter. "There is nothing that anyone can do. What I am now I will always be," she replied. "Won't you at least meet me away from this awful place and try to spend at least part of your evenings in the respectable way to which you were accustomed?" was asked. "I will meet you where no one would recognize either you or I," was the reply. "I would not disgrace you by having anyone know me. "You will not meet the little girl you knew, though. Henceforth you must meet a fallen woman, a woman who sells her flesh, pound by pound, to human vultures. You had best change your mind. For myself, I would be delighted to be with you, but the old memories are painful. I will see you but you must never come here for me." When the reporter left the sin-cursed place, there were tears in his eyes. To him it was as though he were deserting his own sister to the ravages of a pack of wolves. Half a block away from the place he paused in deep thought. Should he go at once to her parents and tell them of the finding of their daughter, that she was alive? He knew they would gladly receive her back, that any and all of her wrongs would be overlooked. He thought of their great love for her, of their deep grief in her death. But as he thought, he could see a fireside in a city but a few hundred miles distant. Side by side sat a couple. The man was a personage slightly bent, as though bowed down with some grief in the middle of life. The woman's hair was tinged with gray. Her motherly face was lit by a radiant smile, as though she were dreaming of something heavenly. He could see them clasp hands and sit for hours dreaming of the happiness of but a few months before. Then the father would rise, and, walking across the room, caress some tiny trinket, such as gladdens the heart of a girl. He would pick up a picture, that of a beautiful, laughing girl, radiant in the innocence of the unknowing girl. Long he would gaze at it. Then imprinting a kiss on the face of the picture, he would lay it carefully back in its place. They were happy in the thought that their child was in a better world--of that fact they had no doubt. The reporter's mind was quickly made up. "It is better so," he half muttered. "It is better so." Slowly he retraced his steps past the den where he had found her. An automobile had just come to a stop at the curb. Several well dressed men, in the last stages of intoxication, staggered from the car. Swearing and cursing, they mounted the steps of the house. The door was opened to admit them. From the house came the wild scream of a drunken woman mingled with the coarser yells of drunken men. Then the door closed. CHAPTER II. THE TRAGEDY OF THE "WANT AD." In April, 1909, a peculiarly worded advertisement appeared in the personal columns of the Chicago Daily News and the Chicago Tribune. It was worded as follows: TRAVELING COMPANION: Widow preparing for extended tour of Europe wants to engage young lady as traveling companion and secretary. Must be young, beautiful, fascinating and accomplished. All expenses and suitable salary. Z 14, Tribune. The advertisement was what is known in newspaper parlance as a "blind" or keyed ad. It did not give any street address, letters of application being sent to the newspaper and there held for the advertiser. A young Chicago girl read the advertisement and answered it. In her letter of application she said that she had been called beautiful by her friends, that she spoke several languages, that she was convent bred and that she had previously traveled extensively. She also stated her age, which was 22. The girl inclosed her address in the letter and said that, if considered favorably, she would be pleased to call upon the "widow." The young Chicago girl was all that she declared herself to be. Her beauty was a matter beyond dispute. Her charm of manner and her accomplishments were on a plane with her innocence and purity. The day following the mailing of the letter a caller was announced at the young lady's home. The caller was an elderly woman. She was dressed in black. Her adornment was rich. It bespoke an apparent command of wealth. The woman's language and general demeanor was that of marked social standing. She gave her name as "Schwartz." To the young girl she made known the fact that she was the authoress of the advertisement which the young lady had answered in the papers. She said that her home was in southern California. She said that her husband had been a very wealthy resident of California and that most of her life had been spent in her own home. She said her husband had died a few months before, leaving her alone with no relatives and practically no friends in the world. "I have always been a home body," she said. "My life was wrapped up in my home and my husband. When he died there seemed nothing else on earth to live for. God did not see fit to bless us with children. The death of my husband left me prostrated. The first illness of my life came then. Doctors told me that unless I sought a change in travel that I might drag out many long years alone as an invalid. "I have all the money I know what to do with. When the physicians told me to leave the scene of my sorrows, and to leave at once, I packed hurriedly and departed from Los Angeles. I have had no time to think until I reached Chicago. "Now that I am here I have realized that I must have a companion for reasons that you can very easily understand. I do not want an old person about me. It was the thought of the mental diversion that caused me to advertise for a young and vivacious girl. At the same time I must have some one who knows how to travel, how to attend to the endless details that travel involves. That is why your letter came to me as a godsend." The widow wiped her eyes softly with a bordered handkerchief. To the innocent young girl she seemed the picture of grief. A little while was passed in conversation of a general nature. As the widow rose to go she said, "I like you. You seem to me the ideal of such a companion as I would have. The only question to be settled is whether or not you will like me. "If you will come with me as my little daughter I can assure you that you will want for nothing. I will dress you as I would my own daughter. We shall visit the world. I have already prepared to engage passage for Europe and desire to sail Saturday, four days from today. "In order that you may satisfy yourself as to whether or not you will like me I want you to call at my hotel tonight and take dinner with me. I am living at the Arena hotel, 1340 Michigan avenue. A quiet, retired little place." "I will be delighted," said the girl. "I don't think that there is any question as to whether or not I will like you. You have charmed me already. I am alone in Chicago. The only relative I have here is my brother. He will be pleased I know to hear that there is such a pleasant occupation in store for me." The widow paused in her going, as women do. The conversation prattled on. The girl spoke of her brother and, before she knew it, she was saying: "I never take any steps without consulting him. He knows so much. I would love to bring him with me to meet you tonight, if you wouldn't--" Her sentence was arrested by the cloud that passed over the widow's face. It was a look, sharp, keen, bitter, hard as a look can be. Even the girl, unwise as she was in the study of human nature and the ways of the world, felt an intuitive thrill that bordered on suspicion. She didn't finish her sentence exactly as she had meant to. Instead, she said: "In fact my brother would hardly let me go, you know, without first meeting you himself and talking with you. You can understand." Quickly as it took to say it, the woman in black recovered her self-composure. Before the girl had finished she was all asmile. "You dear child," she said, holding out her hand, "I'm so glad to hear you say that. Indeed, I couldn't think of taking you away from him without having him feel certain in his heart that it would be for your good. I'd love to have him call with you tonight. You'll both dine with me, of course. Do you remember my address?" "Why, no, I--" Again a peculiar look came over the widow's face. This time it was not hard, not sharp, not of dismay nor apprehension, but a sly, fox-like, satisfied smile that the girl afterwards remembered and understood. "I'll just write it down for you," said the widow. "I'll give you the street number, too, so that you won't forget. Pardon me, I haven't a card." The girl produced a slip of paper and a lead pencil. On the card the widow wrote: "HOTEL IROQUOIS, 3035 Michigan avenue." And then Mrs. Schwartz departed. When the girl's brother arrived at home an hour or so later he found a sister bounding with joy, bubbling with excess of spirits. The brother was a man of the world. He knew, as a cosmopolitan must know, of the guile and trickery and fraud and deceit that a great city contains. Yet, when the girl told him the story of the California widow and her desire to hire a traveling companion at an enormous salary, he doubted it not. His spirits were equally as high as his little sister's when he dressed for the trip to the Iroquois hotel. It was a smiling young couple that tripped into the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later and asked the clerk to notify Mrs. Schwartz that her guests were awaiting her pleasure. "Schwartz?" said the clerk, as he glanced over the room book a second time. "No such person of that name here. Sure you got the name right?" The girl produced the slip of paper in the widow's own handwriting: "Margaret Schwartz, Iroquois hotel, 3035 Michigan avenue." "Maybe we've transcribed the name wrong from the register," said the clerk. "Where is she from?" "Los Angeles, California," said the girl. "Nobody been here from Los Angeles since December, when we put in this new register," said the clerk after running over the pages. The tears that came to the young girl's eyes were tears of mortification, of bitter dismay. Her only thought was that she had been made the victim of some peculiar person's idea of a practical joke. It was not until the two were back in their own apartments that the girl remembered vaguely the conversation of the widow and the woman's peculiar starts. "Charlie," she said to her brother, "that woman told me a different hotel at first. It was the Aree--, Areen--, the Arena hotel, that she told me first. She asked me to go there first. She CHANGED THE NAME WHEN I TOLD HER I WOULD BRING YOU WITH ME!" "Hell!" said the brother. And there was a look on his face such as Cain must have worn when he committed the first murder. "Why?" you ask, in astonishment. The answer is to be found on the police blotters of the Harrison street station. The Arena hotel, at Thirteenth and Michigan, is the most notorious, the most terrible assignation house in the city of Chicago. When honest men are in bed the red lights of the Arena glare onto the boulevard like the bloodshot eyes of a devouring dragon. The gilded sons of fortune tear up before its yawning doors in their high powered motor cars. The keys to the doors were thrown away long ago. Without it is dismal and somber. Within it is pallid with the erotic gleam of many incandescents. Its music is the popping of champagne corks, the laughter of wine debauched women, the raucous roars of the huntsmen--huntsmen whose sole sport is the slaughter of the innocent, whose only game is the chastity of the maiden. A ten dollar bill is necessary for the purchase of the meanest private dining room in the Arena for a night of revelry. There is not a private dining room in the place without a bedroom in comfortable proximity. The hoi polloi, the common herd, is not admitted at the Arena. To enter there you must be known, and you must be known as a spender. The price of food is treble that of any other place. The cost of liquors is double that of many. The Arena is the sporting ground of the rich. And sport in the Arena comes high. The brother of the young girl in question determined to probe the widow and her mystery to the bottom. He determined, in the first place, to give her the benefit of doubt despite his own convictions. He went to a telephone and called the Arena hotel. He asked for "Mrs. Schwartz." A woman answered the call. "This is Mr. ----," he said. "I believe you called upon my sister today." "What is that?" the woman's voice answered. "Who are you? You must be mistaken. Who do you think you are talking to?" "Mrs. Schwartz, isn't it?" There was a moment of hesitation. The man imagined it a moment of confusion. And then the voice answered: "Oh, no, this is Miss Gartz. You are talking to the wrong person." A mocking laugh and a click of the receiver announced to the man that he had been rung off. He called up the Arena again. He asked for Mrs. Schwartz. He was told that there was no such person there. He asked the clerk for Miss Gartz again. The man was sorry, but Miss Gartz had just left. Repeated telephone calls for both Mrs. Schwartz and Miss Gartz were answered in succeeding days with the information that there were no such persons there. Miss Gartz was not on the hotel register. Neither was Mrs. Schwartz. The brother of the young Chicago girl went to the offices of the Chicago Tribune and the Daily News and asked for the name of the woman who inserted the "Traveling Companion" advertisement. He was told that the papers were sorry, but that would be impossible. The clerks who had charge of the want ads were under bonds to divulge no information regarding blind advertisements. They could not tell who inserted them, anyway, as no names were taken. The letters when received by the newspapers were held until the advertisers called for them. The newspapers could not maintain the integrity of their advertising columns if they asked impertinent questions of every advertiser. The newspaper men were sorry. No one regretted the creeping into their columns of such matter so much as they. Both papers employed detectives to scrutinize the want columns and to hunt down and expurgate such advertising if the least possible suspicion was attached to it, but many want ads were so cleverly and innocently worded that they would creep in despite every possible precaution that might be taken. The young man employed detectives himself. He went to a large agency and told the manager the circumstances. Hardened as he was through constant association with crime and its varied phases, the manager of the agency winced when the story was finished. "You've saved your sister from a living hell," said the crime expert. "You've saved her from the most terrible spider that ever wove a net for the accomplishment of ruin. 'Mrs. Schwartz' the widow, is a procuress--the most clever and fiendish procuress known to us. She works under a hundred aliases. So keen is she, so clever in her plots to bring about the ruin of young girls, that we can not cope with her. She is a rich woman. Every dollar that she has made represents a soul blackened, an innocent metamorphosed into a drug sotted, degraded creature of the red lights. "Your sister is not the only girl that advertisement was meant for. It probably has already written the ruin of a score of beautiful young innocents. It was a lure. A lure only. There was no trip to Europe. There was no trip planned to any place except a house in Twenty-second street or the private chambers of some wealthy libertine. "Mrs. Schwartz must have received many hundred answers to that advertisement from young girls all over the city--even out of the city. The glamour of a trip to Europe, a salary to tour the world, would turn any young girl's head. The wording of the advertisement would arouse no fears or suspicions in the mind of even a worldly wise person. "When Mrs. Schwartz called upon your sister and proposed that she take dinner with her at her hotel she wanted the girl to go alone. When the girl accepted, Mrs. Schwartz named the Arena because she could accomplish her purpose there. It was the after-thought of the girl's that saved her and covered Mrs. Schwartz with confusion. She wrote down the name of the Hotel Iroquois for the express purpose of destroying the recollection of the Arena in the girl's mind. The Hotel Iroquois is a quiet family hotel of good reputation. "Mrs. Schwartz, as she calls herself, knew that the game was up when your sister mentioned you. Daring and bold as she is, she knows better than to try her wits with a man. "Had the girl accepted the invitation without mentioning your name the stage would have been set for her reception at the Arena. I doubt if the proprietors of the place would have known anything about this. The Arena is an assignation house, not a brothel. Had the girl gone to the Arena alone she would have been sent to the apartments which Mrs. Schwartz would have taken for her reception. She would have been plied with flattery, smothered with blandishments. Her little head would have been turned with compliments. At the psychological instant dinner would have been served. Dinner would include wine. Did the girl refuse to touch wine despite the subtle invitations and arts of the widow, her food and her water would have been 'doctored.' "Mrs. Schwartz is an adept in the gentle art of administering drugs. In less than an hour the innocent child would have been in the throes of delirium, wild, drunk, robbed of her morality through the insidiousness of the widow's dope. "Then the man would have been introduced. The scene would have changed from the little private dining room to the adjoining bedroom." The young man shuddered, and shut his eyes as if to close out the picture. The big detective went on, mercilessly: "The widow Schwartz and her male accomplice would have rejoiced in their triumph as the drugged innocent was robbed of her chastity. "Give the widow Schwartz two hours and the end would have been written. Then to call a cab, carry the unconscious child out of the Arena, bundle her off to the market place and sell her for one hundred--two hundred--five hundred--" "Stop!" said the young man. After an interval he said, "I put my possessions, such as they are, at your disposal. I want you to trap this woman. I want you to catch her. Surely you can--" "Catch her? Maybe. We'll try." The detective pressed a button. "Send in Miss B----," he said. A young woman returned with the messenger. She did not look like a detective. A young girl she was, of good figure, of pleasant countenance. Her eyes were large and striking. The detective held out a copy of the "Traveling Companion" want ad for her perusal. "Miss B----," he said, "the woman who inserted that advertisement is a procuress. The ad is a lure. Will you be willing to take this case? If so, I want you to write an answer on delicate stationery. Give your address as your home. Say that you are 'convent bred,' beautiful, alone in the world through a tragedy that wiped out both your relatives and your fortune, that you are young, talented, a mistress of repartee, anything that will tantalize that woman and convince her. Then, if the trout takes the fly, you will have to go to this woman's apartments alone, let her drug you and trust to us to be on hand for the climax. I do not ask you to take this case unless it is of your own volition." The girl hesitated. When she answered it was to say that she would not only take it, but, were it necessary, she would take it without pay. "I will inclose my photograph with the letter," she said. "My photographs make me appear far more beautiful than I really am." Both letter and photograph were mailed. To make sure as to whether or not it was too late the detectives called up the newspapers and were told that the advertisement was "paid in advance to run until Saturday." The letter, a cunningly and alluringly worded missive, was mailed to the newspaper office. The photograph, which betokened a ravishing little beauty, was inclosed. Shadow men were posted at the newspaper offices to follow the woman when she called for her mail. Wednesday passed. Thursday, Friday and Sunday came with no response. At the newspaper offices the publishers said there were more than 200 letters awaiting the pleasure of the woman who wanted a "traveling companion." Yet the advertiser neglected to call for her mail. When convinced that there would be no answer the woman operator went to the Arena to call for Mrs. Schwartz. She was told that there was no such person there. The wary old spider, bold enough when maneuvering the enslavement of innocent girls, had fled to cover at the first alarm. "We'll have to give it up," said the detective to the young man. "She's skipped to different quarters. She's scheming out some new bait. Schwartz her real name? She probably has a thousand names. A different alias for every girl she marks as a victim." Do you want to investigate this story for yourself? Do you want corroborative evidence? The writer of this book has affidavits from the principals as to its truth. The want columns of any great metropolitan daily will supply material for your investigations. Look for the "chorus girls wanted" ads. Look for the "roommates" ads. Peruse the personal advertisements. Look through the column headed "Wanted, Female Help, Miscellaneous." Once in a while you'll read an innocent little paragraph that is sending young virgins to the slaughter pens and the slave marts. Mrs. Schwartz is not the only woman in the business. CHAPTER III. THE TRAGEDY OF THE ASSIGNATION HOUSE. Her name can be read a quarter of a mile away from the big electric signs in front of a Broadway theater today. A year ago it was emblazoned from the signboards of a Chicago amusement place. A few years before that it was hardly known outside the little Springfield cottage of the maiden lady with whom she made her home. Truth to tell, she doesn't know her real name, and the title she goes by as a theatrical star is the only one she has. For she is an orphan girl and she was taken to rear by the two elderly maiden ladies in Springfield, Illinois, when she was a cooing, gob-gobbing baby in an orphan asylum. But that, as Kipling says, has nothing to do with this narrative. If you are fortunate enough to enjoy the hospitality of her dressing-room, between the acts, you will notice the loving tones she uses in addressing her maid. An oldish woman is the maid, whose face betokens fading beauty, whose supple limbs echo of some stage experience of bygone days. And if you are of that rare type that begets ready confidence the maid will tell you the story as it is set down here: "Yes, I was a show girl myself," says the maid, "and I wasn't any ham-fatter, either, although I'm broken down now and worth nothing save as a mother to 'Madge.' I lost my ambition long ago. I haven't any now save to see my mistress the greatest leading lady in the land, which she will be if the gracious Master of our destinies spares her long enough. "It's strange how the fates threw us together. You may have wondered why she treats me like a sister actress and an equal, and why I never say, 'Yes, ma'am,' and, 'No, ma'am,' to her. But God's good to me and He put it in my way to bring her to what she is today instead of being one of those poor beings what's referred to as 'white slaves' in the papers, bless your soul. "She ain't been on the stage long. But she's made good use of every hour since she's been in the business. She ain't at all like these lobster-loving, champagne-sipping ones you read about. Not a bit of it. See them pictures?" The maid pointed to a group of photographs hanging 'round the room. Remarkable they were, in that every picture bore the shining face of a Madonna, a mother and a babe. "That's the kind of a girl Madge is. Loves babies, dreams about 'em, has but one ideal, and that to have a little home of her own and a group of prattlers. She'll have 'em, too, and she'll quit this business if she ever finds a man in this world good enough for her, which there ain't. "Lord bless me, how it was I found her. She didn't know anything outside of Springfield and the legislature and 'Uncle Dave,' who was a member of the senate, or something, and who boarded with the maiden ladies when the legislature sat. Uncle Dave was called uncle chiefly because he wasn't. He was a big, fat man with a hollow talk like yelling in a rain barrel and a laugh that shook his balloon style figure like a dish of jelly. Seemed to be a pretty fine specimen of an old gentleman. Used to play with Madge and tease her and chuck her under the chin and give her the kind of advice you read about in the Old Woman's Journal. "So when the day came that the stock investments the old ladies had made went bust and the two dears cried and Madge made 'em 'fess up that there wasn't enough to feed three mouths now, not to speak of two, Madge just up and told 'em that she was coming to Chicago to earn her own living. She wasn't going to be any burden. And she done it. She started instanter. Uncle Dave said he'd look out for her--he lives in Chicago. And, sure enough, he was there to meet her at the train when it reached the depot. "Madge, the little dear, didn't know enough to ask a policeman. She wouldn't have known what to do if it wasn't for Uncle Dave. He just bundled her into a cab and gave an order and then he told her that he was taking her to a nice place at his hotel which he had fixed up for her. And he took her to a place on Wabash avenue and he ordered something that was brought up by a nigger. And he told her to drink it--she who didn't know whisky or dope from lemon pop. "And then the old bugger sits right down and says they must write a letter to Madge's aunts and tell them how nice she is fixed and how they mustn't worry about her being 'lost in the great city,' or words to that effect. And Uncle Dave puts in something about getting her a nice position which will keep her very busy and they mustn't worry if she doesn't write every day. "He goes out to mail the letter, and Madge lies down, because her head gets dizzy. And when she wakes up it's dark and she feels so funny. Then the little dear remembers that she's got to be brave and mustn't get lonely or homesick, even if the beautiful big room she's got doesn't seem so snug and cozy as her little dormer bedroom under the roof in the cottage at home. "So she lets down her beautiful golden hair and starts to sing. And me, what's been an old sport and no good to nobody, myself included most of all, is in that same hotel. I'm not making any excuses for my presence. But when I hears that golden voice floating through the corridors of that den of iniquity I just ups and chokes plumb up, and not thinkin' of the proprieties or anything else, I just beats it to that door and looks for the owner of the voice. "And when I sees that beautiful baby girl, her red hair hanging to the floor, her big eyes lookin' at me so innocent-like, I ups and puts it to her straight. "'F'r God's sake,' says I, 'child, what are you doing here?' "'Minding my own business,' she should have said. But she ain't got that kind of a heart in her. Instead she ups and tells me in the most innocent way about Uncle Dave and Springfield and the two maiden aunts what weren't aunts at all, but just foster mothers to one child. And she tells me how Uncle Dave has brought her to this lovely place to live and is going to get her a job. "'Job, hell,' I busts out, and she blushes and looks scared. Don't you know this is the ---- hotel, the most terrible assignation house in this big, rotten old burg, where other girls like you, Margaret Burkle, for instance, were taken by designing old villains, kidnapped, enslaved and robbed of their virtue and their innocence?' "At that she looks bewildered, as if she don't understand, and I didn't have the nerve to draw a map for her, knowin' as I did that I might have a mess of lively young hysteria on my hands. But I just puts my hand on her head and tells her to 'Never mind,' and then I slips out and shuts the door. "I calls a bellboy who has got some money in tips for drinks and other things from my room and I asks him to slip down to the office and see who's registered for room 346. I knew I couldn't find out, as the foxy proprietors of this rotten old dump don't keep a regular book register, but a card index, so that they can tear up a card easy and destroy it in case any angry husband or irate wife tries to drag them into the divorce courts with evidence. "The boy beats it downstairs and comes back in double quick time, owin' possibly to some extent to the big four bit piece I slipped into his hand. I waits for him to say something, and when he said it I wouldn't have had to ask him, for I knew it in advance. "'It's John Brown and wife,' he tells me, winkin' solemn and wise-like. "'That'll do for you,' I tells him. Then I don't waste no time, but jump into my clothes and beat it for that little girl with the auburn hair. "'You come with me--pack up an' git,' I tells her. "'Why, what, but Uncle Dave--' "'T'ell with Uncle Dave,' says I, not feeling sanctimonious; 'hustle up now.' "The little dear looks kind of bewildered, but I'm feelin' so proud and bully in my heart to see that she's trustin' me and doin' as I say. I bundles her out of the dump fast as I can do it and just as we reaches the door up rushes a big, fat, apoplectic old Santy Claus and blusters: "'Here, you, where you going with that girl?' "'Say, you cradle robbing old pork barrel, back stage for you in a hurry or I'll sic the dangle wagon onto you. Skidoo now and no back talk, or I'll read about you in the morning papers with great eclat,' I says. "He does a little Swiss yodle or something back in his throat and then he notices a big boy in a blue suit swingin' a piece of mahogany comin' our way and he don't stop to tip his hat. "The little dear don't understand it all, but she's bright, if unsophisticated, and I could have just hugged her right there on the street for trusting me in comparison to him, as smug and sleek as Father O'Hara, though that's as far as the comparison goes. "I takes the little darling over to the North Side with me to the home of a fine little actor and his wife, who are more for real home than they are for the gay life. And they don't ask no questions, but just take her right in to their hearthside. "Little Madge was too proud for them, though, even if she had been an orphan and allowed herself to be given a home when she was too small to work and didn't know how to beg, much less spurn any charity. "She goes out every day to look for work. She don't find anybody that wants to hire a girl in a made-over alpaca and clodhopper shoes, though her form and figure is something you don't see in them automobiles that whizz up and down on the boulevards. "She tries to get into a show company, being of that temperament and having a real voice, and she has some narrow escapes from bumping up against fake booking agencies that would have sold her into the same kind of a gilded palace of sin Uncle Dave had cooked up for her. "One day, when she's walking on State street, so shoddy that her little bare feet are touching the pavement through the holes in her soles, she sees a big sign and the wigs in the windows of Burnham's hair store. "She goes in there. A clerk steps up to her, kind of smart-like, and she almost bowls him over. She just reached up, pulls out a couple of pins, takes off her hat and down drops a regular Niagara of Titian tinted tresses. "'How much for this?' she asks him. "He just gasps and goes back to tell it all to Mr. Burnham, and that individual comes out and dickers with her right then and there for the purchase of her crown of glory. "She got sixteen dollars an ounce--a big, fat bank roll. She reinvests some of it for enough false hair to make her look all right and then she goes over to one of the big stores and buys the kind of clothes that nobody knows how to wear like her. "It's the most stunning little beauty in the world that comes home that night. With her clothes and her beauty she don't have no trouble at all to make an engagement. Those two maiden aunts are living in a little bungalow that she's built for them out in a suburb of Chicago today; and me--I'm on the job right here just as you see me. "Uncle Dave? He turned up--not so many days ago. And he has the pneumogastric to try to chuckle her under the chin just like he used to in Springfield. And she don't say a word. "She just turns white as a bit of powdered chalk. I catches her as she keels over. I holds her with one hand. With the other I sticks a hatpin into Uncle Dave where it will do the most good." CHAPTER IV. THE TRAGEDY OF THE IMMIGRANT GIRL. In the musty old records of United States District Attorney Edwin W. Sims, in the federal building, is written the story of the tragedy of a little Italian peasant girl. The story is similar in many details to the stories told to Mr. Sims and his assistant, Harry Parkin, by more than 200 black-haired, sloe-eyed beauties from sunny Italy. They had all been imported, brought through the underground railroad of the white slaver, over the Canadian border, down the St. Claire river, through the great lakes and into Chicago. Whether these hunters of the innocent ply their awful calling at home or abroad, their methods are much the same--with the exception that the foreign girl is more hopelessly at their mercy. The story of the tragedy of this little Italian peasant girl, who helped her father till the soil in the vineyards and fields near Naples, is but one of many of similar character, but it is expressive. She was a beautiful little creature. Her form was that of a Venus--her great mass of black hair hung in a dense cloud from her shapely head. One might picture her, before she was enticed into the terrible life of shame, as a little queen among the women of her race. Yet when she was brought into the district attorney's office, having been one of a number of aliens captured in a raid by federal authorities on immoral dives in South Chicago, she was a mass of scars. Her eyes had lost their deep expressive quality. Her nerves seemed to be wrecked. When she was brought into what the sensational newspapers would call the "sweat box" it was clear that she was in a state of abject terror. She stoutly maintained that she had been in this country for more than three years and that she was in a life of shame from choice and not through the criminal act of any person. She attempted to tell how she had come to this country alone, but was unable to tell the name of the steamship on which she had crossed the ocean or how she had reached Chicago. In broken English she said that she had been in a house of ill repute in New York before coming to Chicago and that she had received the scars on her face through an old injury that had happened years before. Assistant District Attorney Parkin, however, was not convinced. He asked her several questions in quick succession. To all of them she quickly answered "three years." This is the length of time immigrants must be in this country before they may be picked up and deported as aliens. It was this answer that convinced him that the girl had been cowed into submission and "schooled" by her procurers under threats. It was through this answer that the white slavers rested their hope that the girl's story would be believed and that they would be safe from criminal prosecution. Soon, however, the assistant district attorney convinced her that he and his associates were her friends and protectors and that their purpose was to punish those who had profited by her ruin and to send her back to her Italian home with all her expenses paid; that she was under the protection of the United States and was as safe as if the King of Italy should take her under his royal care and pledge his word that her enemies should not have revenge upon her. Then she broke down and related her awful narrative. That every word of it is true no one could doubt who saw her as she told it. A "fine lady," who wore beautiful clothes, came to where she lived with her parents. She made friends with every one. Money seemed of no object to her. She lavished it upon the young girls of the district and flattered them. She told the young immigrant girl that she was uncommonly pretty and professed a great interest in her. Such flattering attentions from an American lady, who wore clothes as fine as those of the Italian nobility, could have but one effect on the mind of the simple little peasant girl and her still simpler parents. Their heads were completely turned and they regarded the American lady almost with adoration. Very shrewdly the woman did not attempt to bring the little girl back with her, but held out the hope that some day a letter might come with money for her passage to America. Once there she would become the companion of her American friend and they would have great times together. Of course, in due time, the money came--and the $100 was a most substantial pledge to the parents of the wealth and generosity of the "American lady." Unhesitatingly she was prepared for the voyage which was to take her to the land of happiness and good fortune. According to the arrangements made by letter the girl was met at New York by two "friends" of her benefactress, who attended to her entrance papers and took her in charge. These "friends" were two of the most brutal of all the white slave drivers who are in the traffic. At this time she was about sixteen years old, innocent and rarely attractive for a girl of her class, having the large, handsome eyes, the black hair and the rich olive skin of a typical Italian. Where these two men took her she did not know--but by the most violent and brutal means they quickly accomplished her ruin. For a week she was subjected to unspeakable treatment and made to feel that her degradation was complete and final. And here let it be said that the breaking of the spirit, the crushing of all hope for any future save that of shame, is always a part of the initiation of a white slave. Then the girl was shipped to Chicago, where she was disposed of to the keeper of an Italian dive of the vilest type. On her entrance here she was furnished with gaudy dresses and wearing apparel for which the Keeper of the place charged her $600. As is the case with all new white slaves, she was not allowed to have any clothing which she could wear upon the street. Her one object in life was to escape from the den in which she was held a prisoner. To "pay out" seemed the surest way, and at length, from her wages of shame, she was able to cancel the $600 account. Then she asked for her street clothing and her release--only to be told that she had incurred other expenses to the amount of $400. Her Italian blood took fire at this and she made a dash for liberty. But she was not quite quick enough and the hand of the oppressor was upon her. In the wild scene that followed she was slashed with a razor, one gash straight through her right eye, one across her cheek and another slitting her ear. Then she was given medical attention and the wounds gradually healed, but her face is horribly mutilated, her right eye is always open and to look upon her is to shudder. When the raids began she was secreted and arrangements made to ship her to a dive in the mining regions of the west. Fortunately, however, a few hours before she was to start upon her journey the United States marshals raided the place and captured herself as well as her keepers. To add to the horror of her situation she became a mother. The awful thought in her mind, however, is to escape from assassination at the hands of the murderous gang which oppressed her. This is only one of a score of similar cases discovered by the authorities. It is only necessary to say that the legal evidence thus far collected establishes with complete moral certainty these awful facts: That the white slave traffic is a system--a syndicate which has its ramifications from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific ocean, with "clearing houses" or "distributing centers" in nearly all of the larger cities; that in this ghastly traffic the buying price of a young girl is $15 and that the selling price is generally about $200--if the girl is especially attractive the white slave dealer may be able to sell her for $400 or $600; that this syndicate did not make less than $200,000 last year in this almost unthinkable commerce; that it is a definite organization sending its hunters regularly to scour France, Germany, Hungary, Italy and Canada for victims; that the man at the head of this unthinkable enterprise is known among his hunters as "The Big Chief." Also the evidence shows that the hirelings of this traffic are stationed at certain ports of entry in Canada where large numbers of immigrants are landed to do what is known in their parlance as "cutting out work." In other words, these watchers for human prey scan the immigrants as they come down the gangplank of a vessel which has just arrived and "spot" the girls who are unaccompanied by fathers, mothers, brothers or relatives to protect them. The girl who has been spotted as a desirable and unprotected victim is promptly approached by a man who speaks her language and is immediately offered employment at good wages, with all expenses to the destination to be paid by the man. Most frequently laundry work is the bait held out, sometimes housework or employment in a candy shop or factory. The object of the negotiations is to "cut out" the girl from any of her associates and to get her to go with him. Then the only thing is to accomplish their ruin by the shortest route. If they cannot be cajoled or enticed by promises of an easy time, plenty of money, fine clothes and the usual stock of allurements--or a fake marriage--then harsher methods are resorted to. In some instances the hunters really marry the victims. As to the sterner measures, it is, of course, impossible to speak explicitly beyond the statement that intoxication and drugging are often used as a means to reduce the victims to a state of helplessness and sheer physical violence is a common thing. When the United States authorities some time ago raided the French resorts on the south side in search of foreign born victims of the slave trade, some of the most palpable of slavery tactics were discovered. "Not one woman in one of these prominent resorts was found who could speak English," said Assistant United States Attorney Parkin. "But in their own tongue everything said by them showed long drilling as to answers that should be made to inquiries. Ask any one of these women a sudden question in English and her reply to anything asked would be 'five years,' the term of residence in the United States that would prevent deportation. "The typical story of the women was of having come to New York about four years ago as companions or servants in the family of well to do French immigrants. After several years the family had returned, leaving the girl, who about three or four months before had come to Chicago from a New York resort. "But the slavery feature was bulwarked by every fact that we could elicit from these drilled women. Not one of them knew by what steamer she had come to the country; she could not even name the line by which she sailed. She didn't know what the steamer fares were. She could not name a single street in New York, which would have been a certainty had she even stopped there for a week at liberty. "We seized trunks in their possession on which were the stamps of the customs officials, showing that most of the women had come in the second cabin. In some of these trunks we found sealed letters, written by girls to parents in France, begging them to write, and as completing the slavery chain, we found other letters in possession of the keepers, written long before by these girls to parents, which the keepers had received for mailing but which they had refused to post for the helpless prisoners. "The girls were 18 to 22 years old and had come through Ellis Island under assumed names. The letters in the trunks revealed the true names of the writers. None of them could tell a date of sailing or date of landing. One of these girls had $1,500 charged against her for clothing furnished by the house. Another girl said the house owed her $890, which she had been unable to collect. Once a month they were sent to the 'summer cottage' of this resort, at Blue Island, where under guard of their slavers, they had the freedom of an elaborate house and the privileges of a launch and boats on the river. "Slavery is the only logical deduction accounting for these women's presence in these houses. None of them could tell anything about the appearance of a steamer ticket. Everything points to their having been imported to this country by slave traffickers and of their having been forwarded to Chicago directly from the port of entry under charge of some one who assumed all charge of them to every smallest detail of transportation. In the Chicago houses raided we found that some man was held responsible for one or more of these women. He lived off them and was looked to to enforce discipline among them in return for the privilege." Only the French and the Hungarian resorts so far have been raided by the United States district attorney. It is former Assistant State's Attorney Roe's discovery that on the west side where ten years ago scarcely a single Jewess was to be found in a resort, today 80 per cent of the inmates are Russian and Polish Jews. The field here is promising to the United States authorities, who can work only from the statute which allows of deporting these women under certain residence restrictions. One fact accounting for this increase in Jewish habitues of west side resorts is explained by a Russian exile in Chicago. In St. Petersburg, Moscow and other capitals of Russia only the Jewess in slavery may enter. It is the only condition under which the Jewish girl may enter these cities. At the first necessity for importation, how easy is the traffic? CHAPTER V. THE TRAGEDY OF THE STAGE. One thousand innocent girls, the majority of them still in their teens, are lured to a life of shame each year in the city of Chicago alone through the stage. This is the statement of the police. It is the statement of the keepers of the dives themselves. A visit to almost any of the dives of the Twenty-second street district will convince even the most skeptical reader of the truth of this statement. Enter and inquire for a show girl. True, she will not be the sprightly, supple and pretty creature one sees nightly on the stages of the better theaters of the city. Yet she is a show girl--or, rather, I might say, has been one. She is a show girl who has fallen. The sparkle of wine, the glare of lights and the happy-go-lucky company of the after-theater parties have proven her downfall. Under their baneful influences she has been led on, until now you see her dull-eyed, disheveled haired, with all ambition gone, her natural appetites ruined--a Magdelen. When a girl becomes a member of a chorus or ballet of a comic opera company--that is to say, when she enters the profession--she is usually a good girl, of fair education, with supple figure, and usually beautiful in features. As a rule she has never kept company with men, moneyed men, blase men of the world. In every chorus one will find a number of "old stagers," or girls who have been in the profession for several years. They have been through "the mill." The gay life has attracted them. They know lots of "dandy good fellows" who are more than willing to "show them a good time." The family names of the young men are almost copyrighted by the newspapers. Every one has heard of them. It is easy for the "old stager" to win the young and inexperienced girl unless the younger show girl has a great amount of will power. Once won over, the work is easy. It starts with a dash through the city in a ten thousand dollar automobile. Drinks are taken en route. Of course, the young girl can't refuse. She is with such nice fellows: The "old stager" urges her on. The "stager" may have lost her attractions, but the old gay life must be kept up. To keep her place in the whirl she must turn procuress for the rich men who must be amused. If she did not bring the young girl her company would not be asked. The first trip usually proves the first step into the dark pit. Even though the young show girl may not have fallen the gay company has had its effect. The next time a party is suggested there is no refusal. There is no refusal of the drinks brought to the girl. The suggestive remarks and show of animal passion of the male companion are received with less resentment. Then the final step towards the brothel is taken. It may be in the richly furnished apartments of the young man after a night's carousal. It may be in some of the loop hotels that live off of fallen women. It may be in the brothel itself. The senses may have been dulled by some sleeping potion. It is not an unusual occurrence for a girl to be drugged while sipping some innocent looking drink or partaking of the luxurious viands set forth at these seemingly gay parties. The "wealthy young man"--the companion of the young girl--may be a white slaver in disguise, merely spending the money of his employers, the keepers of the brothels, that he may be able to supply them with new human flesh. The records of the police courts of the city tell of scores of such cases. They do not tell the story, however, of the thousands who have been lured in a like manner and who kept silence because of their shame. They do not tell of the young girls to whom the promise of marriage was made and who, under this persuasion, fell. In some instances the promise is even fulfilled, but the girl wife awakes to find herself even farther advanced toward the ultimate goal--the brothel. Once on the downward path, there is but little chance of reformation. The thought of her shame drives her from her purer companions. She seeks company that is on a lower moral plane. The dull, innocent existence and the purer pleasures no longer attract her. Home and parents are forgotten in the mad whirl. Religion and home teachings are a thing of the past. The whole nature has changed. She gradually assumes the habits and customs of her immoral companions. She drops into the slangy language of the underworld. The oaths and drunkenness that once were repellant to her are heard with an unmoved conscience. Her physical charms are attacked by this fly-by-night existence. All of the innocent attributes that once were applauded and extolled are dead. The managers no longer want her. She is not sprightly enough. Her voice has lost its charm and her face is dull. They must have girls who excite interest and enliven their audiences. It is only a short time until she is unable to find a place to work. It is a mad, wild dash while it lasts--good cheer and Bohemian fellowship, but it always has the ultimate end--the furnished flat or the recognized den of vice. It may last a year, it may last several, but the goal is the same. The girl who "saw the good time and met such nice fellows" is eventually a victim to the caprice of flesh buyers. In the end she doles out her own body for a price. This is the price she pays for her "good time." But few of the girls who start on this downward path ever reform. Many have tried, but the way is too hard. They meet persons who have known them when they were leading this evil existence. They are slighted and scoffed at. Their ambition to again become pure and good is thwarted. As a rule they sink back into the whirl. This time they give up in utter abandon. Nothing is then too bad or repulsive. The end is not far off. The girl in the road company is subjected to the greater temptations. She must travel at all hours of the night and day. The road shows usually play but one night in a town. The hotel accommodations are usually poor. In some places she must "double up" with somebody. Sometimes it is a male companion. In the burlesque shows this is not regarded as out of the way. The chorus girls of these vulgar attractions are usually "castoffs" or "has beens" from the comic operas or more wholesome attractions. Their charms have diminished, therefore they must accept these more lowly positions. The dressing rooms of men in many of the smaller theaters are in close connection of those of the women. Recently in the city of Chicago a crusade was started against these places. Some alterations were made, but the condition in many instances is unimproved. The young girls are taught and drilled that sex is to be forgotten on the stage. Here feminine traits are to be left at home. If a girl is asked to kiss or throw her arms about a man, no matter what character he may be, it is her duty to do so. If she is asked to bare her body to the public gaze, with nothing but skin tights to cover her nudity, it is her duty to do so. That is what she is being paid for. The animal nature of the audience must be satisfied. Every year the vulgarity becomes more and more apparent. New and more suggestive novelties must be introduced to satisfy this "taste." The songs must have a "meaning"--the dances, some of which bring the blush of shame to the brow of even the most hardened theater-goers--must also arouse the passion. The good girl first rebels at such. Day in and day out, as she rehearses, she sees other girls doing the thing that is required without kick or objection. She gradually falls into it herself. It does not look so bad after she has bowed to the manager's wishes several times. It isn't long before the things that once caused her to blush and falter seem to be a natural consequence. The things against which she once fought are repulsive no longer. She gradually falls into line with the others. Her innocence is a thing of the past. She is no longer a girl--she is a woman "who knows." It was about a year ago that I saw a young girl, a beautiful little creature scarcely nineteen years old, at a Chicago theater. She was a beauty, even in comparison with the other comely girls in the squad of beginners. While they were resting after an act I talked with her. She frankly told me she was stage struck, but that her desire to become a great actress was inborn and not gained by association. Before she came to the city from her home in a little town out in Iowa she had seen but one show. Her ideas of the stage had been gained from books and from day dreams. Her conversation was the essence of innocence. Her family had been particular about her rearing. They had been in moderate circumstances and had given her everything in their power. She had come to Chicago to attain her ideal--to become a great actress. She was of the frank and innocent type. Everybody she regarded as her friend. She was enthusiastic about her art. That her ambition would be realized she did not doubt for an instant. It was ten months later when I met her again. Her face wore a tell-tale look. The daintiness of bearing and innocent features were missing. Her shyness was gone. She was bold, and immeasureably aged. A heavy coat of powder and rouge besmeared her face, but only served to make the dark circles beneath her eyes stand forth with more prominence. The simple, childish gown I had admired was replaced by a showy, flashy creation. In one glance I read the answer, the secret of her changed existence. When her eyes met mine, for a second in their dull depths I could see an expression of the old innocence. Probably it was the thought she entertained for that short space in the connecting of me with her old and pure existence. When she spoke I could not be mistaken. Try as she did to appear the girl of old, it was useless. The pace had told and left its trace only too strongly written on every line of her face. After the usual greeting I asked her to take dinner with me. She assented. In the cafe I asked her what had happened. How she had fallen. For a minute she sat gazing at me and her eyes filled with tears. "Do I look that way? Can every one I meet read what I am?" she asked tearfully. I tried to evade her questioning, but she pressed for an answer. Then I told her that I was afraid her secret was only too plainly written. "Why don't you give it up and go home?" I asked her. She thought a minute and then answered that she couldn't. "I'm not as bad as lots of the others," she said desperately. "I don't hope and long any more to become a great actress. "I found there were so many more girls who were more accomplished than me. I couldn't get anything but a chorus part. I became discouraged and went out for good times. I had them, I guess." When I asked her to go home and try to begin over again her anger was aroused. The company she had kept had left its mark on her. "Say, now, don't hand me any of that religious talk," was her angry answer. "It's nothing to you why I don't go home. I've had good times and I am going to have more of them." I talked to her for a few minutes, but soon found argument to be useless. We ate our dinner quietly and without further words. When I parted with her it seemed as though it were for the last time. I knew the end that was near at hand--the specter that was waiting for her. It was three weeks later when I saw her again. There was a different setting for the scene than at our two other meetings. The scene was laid in a cell room at the Harrison street police station. On an iron cot lay a young girl. She was in a maudlin condition from drugs. Her clothes were dirty and torn. Her face was discolored and bloated. It was the same girl--the little innocent show girl of a year before. She had been arrested in a raid by the police on the notorious Clark street opium dive of On Ling Lung. Lying in a dirty cot in the rear of the basement den, she had been found by the raiders. She was unconscious. On a little stand by her side had been a little alcohol lamp. On the bunk beside her lay an opium pipe. I asked the sergeant the details of her arrest. "The station stool pigeons who had been watching the place saw her go down into it about a week ago," said the sergeant. "A well dressed Chinaman was with her. She looked as though she was drunk. "We wanted to get all of those opium smokers down there all at once, so we waited a week. I don't think she has eaten much since she went there. Just laid there and smoked. "After they get a taste of the dreamy stuff they can't leave it alone. It's poison and it just goes all through them. "You don't want to monkey with her," the sergeant admonished when I suggested that I would see that care would be given her. "She's gone now. She got the taste, and there's no use trying to break it. You couldn't. She'll get a couple of months down in the Bridewell and it'll straighten her up for a while, but she'll be back in a little while. "No, sir, there's no use talking, when they once get a whiff of that dope they might as well jump in the lake. They're no good." She was still lying in a stupor on the iron cot when I left the dingy cell room. In a couple of hours she would awaken, but only to go into a delirium. As I left I could see a vision of the innocent girl of the year before, standing among the sceneries of the down-town theater, telling of her ambitions. How far had her whole being retrograded from that day! But she was only one of many--a victim of the stage. Probably the greatest agency through which girls are lured is the fake "theatrical agency." In Chicago there exists many of these clearing houses for the vice trust. Sumptuous offices are maintained in great office buildings down town. Large office forces are necessary to carry on the enormous business they conduct. These concerns operate usually under a name similar to those of the legitimate and responsible theatrical agencies. Their advertisements usually appear in papers in small towns and cities. The police keep a close watch on them, but without result. Few of the girls obtained by the slavers through these agencies are ruined in the city. The "theatrical agency" slaver works in this manner: He advertises in papers all over the country for girls "who wish to take up theatrical work." Even in the city papers he inserts ads disguised, but with the same meaning. Large salaries are offered to beginners. Chances of advancement within a few months to parts in plays are held out. Offers are made to sign contracts for several years' duration. Every girl must answer the advertisement in person. This is imperative. Scores of girls do answer the ads. They usually range from 16 to 21 years in age. The majority of them come from families in only moderate circumstances. They are received with every courtesy. If the girl is good looking, of good figure and a fair entertainer she is "accepted" by the fashionably dressed manager. If she is not up to these requirements she is told to come back. When the girl signs the "contract" her fate is sealed. Great inducements are offered her. She is told that she must join a road company traveling in the west, and which will perform in a city probably 100 or 150 miles away on a near date. The girl, happy at her good fortune, is enthusiastic. She bids her family a fond good-bye, the last, probably. The kiss she places fondly on her mother's brow is that of a person going to her grave. The laughing farewells she has with her young friends are the last. The homecoming within a few months' time is never to be realized. The signing of her name to the contract is the signing of her death warrant--yes, even worse than that. In that stroke of the pen she signs away her body to the slavers. Happily, probably accompanied by a relative, she goes to the "theatrical agency" office to obtain her railroad ticket. There she is introduced to a stylishly dressed man. He is to accompany her and several other girls down to the city where they are to join the troupe, she is told. The stylishly dressed man is, in reality, her guard. It is his duty to see that none of the girls escape their fate. He is to hand them over to the divekeepers for a sum ranging from $50 to $1,000 each, at the end of their journey. Until the girls are handed over to the denkeepers they are treated with the utmost respect. They go to their fate like innocent sheep to the slaughter pen. Probably they are taken to the city where they were told they were going. Probably there is a "sudden change of plans" after the girls are at the depot. They are then taken to another city from the destination told their relatives and friends. On the arrival at the end of their journey they are met by a woman. She is stylishly dressed and wears many beautiful diamonds. She is probably introduced as the "leading lady." She has taken a special interest in the new girls. She offers to show them about the city. It is probably at dinner or while they sleep innocently that night, dreaming of their good fortune, that they are robbed of their senses. A handkerchief, wet with chloroform or ether, spread over their faces does the work. Or it may be a small powder dropped in their coffee. Then comes the awful awakening. The scene changes to a den of vice. The young girls awake in a darkened room. Each one is alone. All of her clothes have been taken from her. She is nude. Her head seems to be bursting. It is the after-effect of the drug. As she begins to regain her faculties more fully she makes out the figure of a man in her room. As he sees her beginning to revive he comes towards her. She attempts to cover up her nude body. She struggles to free herself as he grabs hold of her. He laughs at her pitiable efforts to repulse him. What matter it if she does resist him! She has been ruined while she lay unconscious under the influence of the drug! The young girl, terrified and ill, is easily made a friend of by the woman who comes to her and offers her sympathy. She drinks of the "medicine" that is offered her. In a few minutes she is in a maudlin condition. It is more "dope." Under the influence of this drug she is a mark at the hands of the denkeepers. She is given whisky and liquor. As the effects of the drug die out she craves for more. Liquor is given in its stead. For several weeks she may be kept in this state. She is maudlin and resents no liberties taken with her. Then comes the awakening. When the divekeeper thinks she is sufficiently "broke in" she is refused liquor. She gradually becomes sober. It is an awful awakening. The darkness of it all--the thought of her ruin drives her mad. She is watched carefully for days so that she can not harm herself. To forget the terrible things she is forced to do, she goes back to drink. Under its influence she is past knowing of her forced sins. Her every hope is ruined. If she attempted to leave the place she would be beaten and imprisoned. The young girl is ashamed, anyway, to go home and confess the story of her "theatrical" career. She stays behind and becomes one of them. In the little home, probably only a hundred miles away, a father and mother wait expectantly for her homecoming. The wait is long, for she never returns. She has been swallowed up by the giant octopus, white slavery. An example of this method of white slavery was recently exposed in the Chicago newspapers. Two young girls, one 15 years old, the other 16, applied for positions at one of these "theatrical agencies." They were given positions in a "show" that was playing at Springfield, Illinois. A big salary was guaranteed both of them. They were happy at their good luck. Both ran away from home to accept the positions. A man accompanied them to Springfield. In a restaurant in the capital city of Illinois they were drugged. Poison was placed in their food. When they woke up they were in one of the lowest dives of the city, the "Big O" saloon and brothel. In this place are kept fifty girls. The majority of them were obtained by a similar method. There is only one entrance to the floor on which the girls were confined. That door was to a stairway that connected the upper floor with the saloon. A man stood on guard to see that none of the girls escaped. Three times the girls attempted to escape. In the last effort one of them was successful. The other two times the girls were beaten and starved when caught. The girl who escaped made her way to a police station. She was garbed only in a short wrapper that reached barely to her knees. The remainder of her person was bare. Her clothes had been taken from her when she was taken to the place. The police at once raided the place and rescued the other girl. The Chicago police were notified and returned both of them to their parents. Both girls had been horribly treated. Every liberty that can be imagined had been taken with them. They had been forced to do acts beyond comprehension. This is but one actual instance of the methods employed to lure girls to an awful fate, but it tells the story of hundreds. This is but one method whereby the great slave mart of Chicago is kept in operation, sacrificing its thousands of girl to the demon lust. The stage, with all its attractions, can be but the stepping stone to a life of shame, unless the girl is surrounded with every home protection. It leads its victims a merry whirl, a gay, giddy time, while it lasts, but the end is always in sight. The brothel flirts with the stage. It regards it as a needful source of supplies. And the stage, fickle and flighty, lays its innocents on the altar. Its sacrifice yearly in the great metropolis of the west is 1,000 victims a year. CHAPTER VI. THE TRAGEDY OF THE FIVE THOUSAND. It was the cold gray dawn of a late November morning. The scene is laid in the marshy slough far to the north of the buildings of the Dunning poor farm at the north edge of the city of Chicago. In the chill and drizzling rain an aged, bent-shouldered man was digging. The soft, wet mud he tossed in a pile alongside of the hole in which he stood. Finally he slowly clambered out of the pit and surveyed his work. The hole was nearly six feet long and three feet wide. It was about the latter in depth. Suddenly the old man looked up. To the south of him he heard the rumble of a wagon. A few minutes later the rusty gate at the end of the meadow swung creakingly on its hinges. With a rattle and bounce the wagon again started towards him. The wagon was a high boarded affair. On its side could be read the inscription, "City of Chicago," and then the number "321." The vehicle drew up close to the hole. The driver reined in his galloping horses with a jerk at its side. "Hello, Bill. Been waiting long?" yelled the driver to the old man as he jumped from his seat. "Just finished," answered the digger. The driver by this time was busy with the end-gate of his wagon. Letting it down, he pulled at a long box in the vehicle. The box was a hastily constructed affair. It was of plain, unfinished boards. Sticking to the boards were pieces of colored lithographs, as though they had once been part of a dismantled billboard. The top consisted of two heavy planks roughly nailed on. The driver struggled with the box a moment. Then he came around to where the aged man stood. "You've got to help me, Bill. She's a darn heavy one," exclaimed the driver. The two men clambered up on the wagon and grabbed hold of one end of the box. Together they lifted it in the air. The box slid to the ground, on end, with a thud. The men took hold of the box and skidded it along the muddy ground to the pit. It was slid off to the top of the hole. There it stuck. "Gee, Bill, you didn't get that hole long enough," exclaimed the driver. "You guys up at the dead house didn't tell me she was a six footer," muttered the old man. "How'd you expect me to guess on these stiffs?" "Never mind, Bill, I'll fix it," said the driver. Then, suiting his words, he leaped high into the air and came down with a bound on one end of the box. The soft ground gave away after a few attempts and the big box sank with a sucking sound in the bottom of the hole. "Take care of her good, Bill," yelled back the driver, as he clambered back on the seat of his wagon. "She's a swell one. She came from the E---- club. She certainly was a peach. "Doc told me, when I was loading her on a while ago, that it was a dirty shame to waste such a good stiff. He said that if she hadn't been so far gone they'd have handed her over to the medical schools." Then, with a rumble, the wagon started off on its return journey. The old man gazed down for a moment on the box. On its top, inscribed with black paint, was the number "24331." At the side of the pile of dirt lay a little six inch board, which the driver had thrown from the wagon. It, too, bore the number "24331." The old man dug his spade into the wet dirt. Then he pitched a huge clod into the pit. It struck with a resounding bang on the lid of the box. In a few minutes the hole was filled. The old man stuck the numbered stick into the ground at the head of the mound. Stretching away in long rows on either side, hundreds of other similar numbered sticks jutted from unkempt mounds. The old digger shouldered his spade and started slowly to leave the scene. Then he stopped and slowly surveyed his work. "A swell one, huh," he half muttered to himself. "Well, so was lots of the rest of them that's out here now--once." Then, with a sigh, he started on his long trudge across the muddy meadow towards the buildings of the poorhouse. * * * * * It was the night of the same day. The myriad of incandescents in the "red light" district lighted that section of the city as though it were day. Drunken crowds of fashionably dressed men caroused about the streets, hurling vile names at persons they met. Down at the edge of the district a fight was waging. A large crowd had collected. A blue-coated policeman dashed towards the combatants, club in hand. There was a wild scramble in all directions. In the shadows of a big building a man was crouching. His cap was pulled low about his eyes to shield him from recognition. He was a "roller," or holdup man. He was watching a particularly drunken man who staggered along the street. If the man went into the darkness his fate would be sealed. The "roller" would be upon him like a panther. A crunching blow on the head with the short lead bar that the robber gripped in his hand. Then a hurried searching of the man's pockets. The extracting of his money and watch. Then back into the darkness again to wait for a new victim. Suddenly the man drew back further into his hiding place. An automobile had stopped directly opposite him, in front of the E---- club. A well dressed man leaped from the machine and gave orders to his chauffeur to wait until he returned. The man hurried up the steps to the massive door. The bell pealed back in an inner parlor. A liveried servant opened the door. As the man entered a negress, an assistant keeper, came towards him. "Hello, Mr. W----, where have you been for the last couple of weeks?" inquired the woman. "Been out of town," answered the man. Then he glanced around the place. "Where's Mabel?" he asked, with a laugh. "She's not here any more," muttered the negress. "What's the matter--sick, is she?" asked the visitor. "Nope; worse. She croaked a couple of days ago," answered the woman. "Too bad," answered the man. "She was a pretty girl. Well, that's the end of her, I guess. Got any new ones?" "Yes, we got one in today to take her place," answered the woman. And then she added, with a laugh: "She thinks she's in a swell place and is going to have a big time. She's a beauty, though; eighteen years old and raised in a little town down state." "All right, run her out and let me see her," broke in the man. In the big den of vice there was no mourning. The mentioning of the dead girl's name was forbidden. The thought of death might act as a damper on the night's orgy. A day later she would not be missed. Another girl would take her place. Perchance some one might drop in some day and ask for her, but only in a matter-of-course way. Only one girl in 80,000 dead. What did she count in that vast host? One day, but a few weeks ago, I entered one of these dens on Armour avenue, in Chicago. I wandered up on to the second floor without the knowledge of the keepers. An open door attracted my attention. Peering in I saw a young girl lying on a bed. Her head and face were swathed in bandages. She seemed to be in great pain. On a table near at hand were several bottles of medicine. She was without a nurse and alone in the room. I asked her what was the matter, but she only shook her head and refused to answer. I persisted. After much persuasion she lifted an edge of the bandage and exposed her face. It was a mass of burns. Before I could inquire further a negress keeper entered the room. "You can't stay in here," she said angrily. "What's the matter with the girl?" I asked. "Oh, she got foolish the other day and took a dose of carbolic acid," was the answer. "She ain't burned bad--at least not as bad as I've seen lots of them. Don't give her any of that soft home talk and she'll get over it all right in a couple of days." With this the woman held the door open and motioned for me to leave. In the early morning, three days later, I happened to pass the same place. A wagon, painted black and without a name to designate its owner, was standing in the road at a side entrance. I stood watching for a few minutes. Presently the door opened. Four men came out carrying between them an undertaker's stretcher. On it lay a body covered with a white sheet. I approached and asked one who was dead. "Just one of the girls here," was the answer. Then he added: "Say, but she's an awful sight; she took carbolic." He pulled back the sheet. It was the girl whom the negress had said "got foolish." "Where are you taking her?" I asked. "Oh, she goes over to the county morgue. She ain't got any money and the house didn't want to pay for her burial. No one knows where her folks live and I don't expect they'd want her anyhow if they found out what she was doing up here. The students will get her, I suppose." "Hurry her up, Joe," broke in another one of the men at this juncture; "let us get away from here. The boss inside'll be sore if we stick around. He ain't anxious to advertise the fact that he'd had a dead one in his house." The men jumped on the wagon. The horses started on a trot with their burden towards the county morgue. * * * * * In one den is a girl who has saved $5,000 from the money she derived from the sale of her body. She is in a class by herself in this respect, for but a few of them save a cent. This girl was, a few years ago, a stenographer. She was ruined by her employer and finally, when he had tired of her, discharged from her position. She had saved nothing. Penniless and without friends, she heeded the advice of an evil companion and entered a house of prostitution. Every cent she could eke and scrape she has saved since she entered this den. Her hope was that she might be able to save enough so that she could go to the far west and live down her past life. But the grasp of the devil held her to her bargain. When the time came she found that she could not break off her unnatural habits. She could not be innocent and good again. So she stayed behind. "How long do you think you will be able to keep up this life?" I asked her. "Oh, four or five years, I guess," she answered between puffs of a cigarette she was smoking. "What are you going to do then?" "I'm not thinking about that time," she said. "When I get worn out and they tell me they don't want me here any more, I'll go somewhere--I'm not worrying where. "I'd quit now, but what's the use? If I left here every one would be kicking me down in the gutter. Now suppose I wanted to be good, would mothers you know want their nice, innocent daughters associating with me? No, you know they wouldn't. It would be only a couple of weeks and then I'd be back again." "Have any of the girls in this place saved money except you?" was asked. "There isn't a girl in the place who has ten dollars to her name except me," was the answer. "How long have the majority of them been leading this life?" "Most of them about two or three years. You see, this is a 'dollar house.' We don't get many of the young ones in here," was the reply. "How are you paid in this place?" was asked. "The girls get half of what they get from men. Then they get a tin check for two and a half cents for every bottle of beer they drink with the fellows that come in. They have to accept every drink offered them. "They are charged five dollars a week for their board here by the keeper of the place. They have to buy all their clothes through him, too. They are charged big prices, so they don't have a chance to save." "What does the average girl make in this place?" was asked. "Oh, $12 to $18 a week, I guess. They have to pay their board and for their clothes out of that," replied the girl. In the "red light" district of Chicago is an organized "trust." At its head are five big politicians. They practically control the district. The trust owns a dry goods store, a grocery store, a delicatessen, a drug store, a restaurant and a hotel. It has its own manicure parlors, its own dentist parlor and its own doctors. Every necessity of the denizens of the vice ridden district is catered to by this company. The girls of the district must patronize them. This is an iron-bound order that cannot be broken. Suppose that a girl in one of the dens wishes to purchase a dress. She goes to the dry goods store. There she makes her choice. Before she leaves the house in which she is an inmate, the person in charge there gives her a slip of paper. It certifies that she is an inmate of that house. She hands this to the shop keeper. After she has made her purchase she is handed back another slip. On it is marked the price of the dress. It is always double or triple the amount for which she could have purchased the same article at any other store. When she returns to the house she turns this slip in. At the end of the week, when the house gives her the money she has earned, that exorbitant charge is deducted from the amount. This conveys but a small idea of the bondage system that holds the girls of the district in its grasp. The exorbitant prices charged the girls for commodities keeps them constantly indebted to the keeper of the den where they are inmates. They never get ahead. If a girl attempted to leave the house without satisfying this debt her clothes would be taken from her. If she ran away she would probably be arrested, charged with theft or some other crime. Perjured testimony would be introduced against her. Her word would count for little. In court she would be regarded as a fallen woman. What she might say would be scorned. A jail sentence would be the result. This is one of the many reasons why few girls leave these dens after they have once become inmates. The white slaver, who hands young innocent girls over to this ghastly, reeking life, is not a type. He may be a prize fighter, an army officer, son of a preacher or a banker. A year ago Chicago was startled when in a round-up of these local drivers of white slaves, the young man Leonard, son of a banker, skilled bank clerk and idol of his mother, was fined $200 and costs for his crime. It was a former officer in the Hungarian army who but a short time ago in Chicago showed this hold that white slavery has upon the slaver. In this case the man Sterk received a sentence of one year in prison. Sterk was a man of family. He placed Tereza Jenney in a resort in Budapest and was living upon her shame. The girl escaped after a year and came to Chicago. Sterk, deserting his family, followed by the next boat. His income was gone. To get the woman back was his necessity. But Sterk made a faux pas. He appealed to the government to deport his victim and made arrangements to return with her on the same boat. When under faulty indictment Sterk escaped the United States court, he was caught on a state charge and convicted. In many cases, however, the court has had no chance to intervene. The girls go on and on in their lives of shame. Disease overtakes them in the end. Weakened physically by their excesses, they are unable to cope with it. Liquor and cigarettes leave tell-tale ravages. Hopelessly battling against grim disease, the victim goes deeper and deeper into the last depths of repulsiveness. Her only hope of forgetting her affliction is in drunkenness. She loses all her womanly instincts and is a fiend. Finally liquor fails to keep her in that state of stupor in which she must remain. Cocaine and morphine are resorted to. One day she regains consciousness. The darkness of her horrible existence enshrouds her. Remorse and recollections of her past engulf her. She realizes the futileness of her life. Then comes the end. Maybe it is by the aid of a bottle of chloroform; maybe a gas jet is turned on; maybe there is the lifeless body of an "unknown" woman taken from the waters of Lake Michigan the next morning. There are no tears wasted. A shrug of the shoulders on the part of the owner of the resort--probably he swears a bit when her name is mentioned. He hates to have such things happen to girls in his place, because "people might think that he is hard with people." The murderer goes to the gallows with the priest and minister at his side. He is given his chance of repentance. He is given religious consolation. To the fallen woman--once pure and innocent--dragged to her shame through her innocence--is held out no comfort. She is not given the opportunity to repent. She is a thing, repellant and abhorred. The very mention of her name brings a derisive laugh. No masses are said for the repose of her soul. Religious consolation is not to be thought of. Her obituary is the notice, hidden among the advertisements of the local newspapers. Notice: The body of Mabel Gormly, who died on November 15, 1909, is being held at the county morgue. If the same is not claimed by relatives within five days it will be disposed of according to law. Disposed of according to law means that it will be turned over to the medical schools for dissection, or if the body is not fit for such, will be carted to the pauper's graveyard at the poor farm. With a few changes in minor detail this tells the story of the five thousand. It tells of the end of the 5,000 innocents who yearly are lured to a life of shame in the city of Chicago alone. It tells the story of the vacant chair at the hearthside of many a home throughout the country. It is the annual tragedy, repeated not once, but 5,000 times yearly, in Chicago. The end is the dissecting table--the potter's field--the lake. CHAPTER VII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE LITTLE LACE MAKER. (ELLA GINGLES' OWN STORY.) As a prelude to the story which Ella Gingles tells for herself from the beginning of her trip from Ireland to America and her horrible experiences, the following letter which was received by Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell from her pastor, is printed. Larne Manse, Larne, Co. Antrim, Ireland. 29th June, 1909. Dear Sir:-- Last evening two American ladies, Miss Hopkins, of Chicago, and Mrs. Murphy, of Minneapolis, called upon me with reference to the poor young girl, Ella Gingles, whom, like a chivalrous-hearted Irishman, you have done and are doing so much to protect and defend. I know her well, her father is a member of the Congregation of which I am minister, as were his ancestors before him. He is a large farmer, well off, as Irish farmers go here in the North of Ireland, and his wife, Ella's mother, is an exceedingly nice, gentle-hearted woman. They have had a large family--thirteen, if my memory serves me--and as their minister I christened them all and have seen them grow up from infancy. Ella was frequently under my roof, as she was on friendly terms with two young ladies--my adopted daughters--who reside with me. I always found her a bright, cheerful, well-principled girl, clever in many ways with her needle, etc., and especially in the art of crocheting and manufacturing lace. In the latter branches I know that she won prizes at our local annual industrial exhibitions in the town of Larne. But the family being large and their not being particularly prosperous here in Ireland, she and other young members of the family, like many other young people of energy and enterprise, have sought a land of better promise across the Atlantic with sad results to her unfortunately. As I have said, she is the child of respectable and well-off parents. She, herself so far as I know, has always been respectable and well conducted in every way, with a large infusion of enterprise and determination in her character; so that you may proceed in your generous and energetic endeavors in her behalf with the most entire confidence in her integrity in every respect. Accept for yourself and convey to those truly Christian people who are associated with you in the defense of an innocent, but much-injured young girl, the assurance of the most sincere gratitude and admiration, not only of the writer, but of the sorely-stricken parents and friends of poor Ella, and believe me, Sincerely yours, J. Kennedy, Minister of the Old Presbyterian Congregation of Larne & Kilwaughter. (Postmarked): "Larne, Ireland, June 30, 1909." BY ELLA GINGLES. It is a long and hard way when one must set forth to expose one's own butchery, shame and misfortune, but I feel that in telling this story the very fact that I have been a victim will carry with it weight. It is a far cry from the green hills of Larne, from the wet meadows, glistening with the rains, from the song of the nightingale in the gathering dusk, the sweetness, the beauty of that green island which I call my home and which will henceforth be my only home, to the mire and filth of a criminal court in the city of Chicago, to the unspeakable horrors through which I have been dragged, and to the desperation to which I was driven. Yes, this is a very far cry, from sweetness and light to mire and filth, but I feel that in justice to myself I must tell this thing as it is. I do not feel now as if this mire and filth had touched my person. I feel today that although I have been the victim of human fiends, although I have been more monstrously abused than any other girl of my age or character in the world, I myself am as clean and pure as on the day when I left that little Irish homestead 18 miles from Belfast and came to America. One who is murdered is not a murderer, nor is one who is outraged a person of bad character. And a clean mind soon forgets even the most terrible episodes, the most awful happenings. Yes, I will forget everything that has happened and become again the girl who left Ireland such a short time ago to become a victim of fiends. There are things that one must try to forget, although I know in my heart that my sleep till my dying day will be haunted by the pictures of the demons who have worked their will upon me and who if they had their just deserts should burn in deepest hades forever. But I will forget, I must forget. If I do not forget I shall go mad. They say that I have been cool, calm and collected on the witness stand during my trial. I have been cool, calm and collected because I was telling the truth, but the reaction from those awful hours in court have been so terrible that I shudder even yet to think of them. It was only the thought of the green hills, of the heather, of the blossoms in Spring and the yellow corn at harvest time, of the cuddling mother love, of the kindly faces which will not turn away because I have been tortured--just the green hills, the green hills, and the rains and the sunshine and the light and the purity--I can say no more, but they will help me to forget, they will help me to become again the girl who won the lace prizes in Larne and the girl who had not been the victim of fiends. I will forget there. I could never forget here. America has become to me a nightmare, a horror; the name stands to me for all that is vile, horrible, unmentionable. I am telling my story, not because I have any animus against anybody, not because I wish to get even with anybody, not because I wish to clear my own name, because I believe that has been cleared before the world by the solemn edict of a jury--not because I wish to create or to have brought forth the terrible things which were done to me. I am telling this story in the hope of saving other girls, who like myself may be in danger from the beastly "slavers" and a life of shame. If I can but save a few girls from this horrible fate, if I can only help, in some modest way, to protect womanhood from the horrors of white slavery, I shall feel happy for laying bare my soul and giving to the world the true story of the attempt to make a white slave out of me. I feel that I must write it, that American girls, and girls of foreign birth who come to America, will not be misled and trapped as I was into the veritable jaws of hell. If I can keep a single girl out of this hell on earth by telling the plain story of what happened to me, I shall feel that I have done my duty by myself. I am told by men who know about these awful things that my case is only one of many. What happened to me may be an isolated instance and I am told that it is representative of the workings of the panders for the "upper ring," or the dealing in girls' bodies by rich men, rather than the selling of girls to cheap resorts through a quicker route. I feel that there is no pit too deep for people who will send an innocent girl into a life of shame, who will throw temptation in a girl's way, and will, when temptation fails, resort to force to drive her into hades itself. I was born in Larne, Ireland. My parents are respectable middle class people and property owners. Our family is a large one, there being thirteen children. We are protestants, as are most of the people of that particular district of Ireland, our church being the Presbyterian. We have always been members of that church, as the letter from our pastor shows. Larne, the city where I was reared, is a little town about 18 miles from Belfast. One of the principal industries of the town is the making of hand-made Irish laces. I was brought up to the lace-making trade. I won several prizes against the best lace-makers in the Belfast region. I have invented one particular lace pattern of my own, an improved "grape-vine pattern." With this I won the lace-making prize in Larne on the occasion. In Ireland there are continual tales of America, how easy it is to make money over there. I had never been farther away from Larne than Belfast in all my life. Many Irish girls had come to America, worked for a time and returned home with money, placing herself in a position to help out her parents in their old age. These stories attracted me. I met girls who had been to America. They had made lots of money and had fine clothes. The name America soon came to mean to me a golden land in the West, as it has meant to many another simple Irish girl. The spell came upon me so strongly that I could think of nothing else. I could see nothing but a golden land, and a fortune that I could make there with my laces, for I had heard that fabulous prices were paid for Irish laces in America. I begged my people to let me go to America. After much pleading they gave their consent. I was about to purchase my ticket in Belfast when word reached me that Belle Raymond, a girl I knew in Belfast and who had already purchased her ticket but had been taken ill, would be unable to make the trip. I thought I might get this ticket a little cheaper. I did save quite a little by purchasing her ticket, but I was obliged, on account of the registration of her name, to come under her name. My enemies have made much of the fact that I had gone under Belle Raymond's name. I am sorry now that I did it after all that has come out in connection with my terrible experiences. But I hope I will not be too severely blamed for doing what so many other people, even business people of integrity, have been known to do. To travel on another person's pass is undoubtedly wrong, but it is not a heinous crime. Belle Raymond's ticket was for Canada and not for America direct, but to my mind all the countries over here were just alike, and as long as one landed on the west side of the Atlantic Ocean, I was satisfied. It was all a land of gold to me. So I went to Montreal on the ticket of Belle Raymond. On ship-board I made several acquaintances among the other Irish girls on board, and they told me that the best way to get a start on this side of the water was to get a position as maid to some great lady and then interest her in lace-making. Then, they said, I could soon build up a good trade for my laces among the people who had plenty of money to pay for them. They said that any attempt to sell laces outright would end in failure, as not one person in 100 knew real Irish lace when they saw it, and they would think that I was a fraud unless some great lady vouched for me. I did not land directly in Montreal. The last stage of the journey I performed by train from Quebec, where I left the steamer. I spent half a day in Quebec viewing the sights of the city in company with several other girls. I then took the train for Montreal where I went directly to the Young Women's Guild home, where I knew I would be safe. The Guild secured me a position with the Thornton family in Belleville, Ontario. I was overjoyed when I found that I was going into a great rich family, for they told me that Mrs. Thornton's father was worth many, many millions of dollars, and that he controlled the roller mill business in Canada. This meant that if I secured Mrs. Thornton as a patroness for my laces I could get all the rich ladies to buy. Disappointment awaited me and my dreams were shattered. I worked nine months as a housemaid. Mrs. Thornton was not approachable by servants, although she was uniformly kind and considerate. At the Thornton home the disillusions as to the golden land began to disappear rapidly and my life settled down to the humdrum of a housemaid's life. My dreams were shattered. I was tempted to do wrong on numerous occasions. Disheartened, I finally left the services of the family. I was given a letter certifying to my good character when I quit. But there was no chance to get started with my lace-making. I thought perhaps it was because Belleville was too small a place and that therefore I would do better if I could get a place in a big city where I might get a position as lace-maker in some of the big stores I had heard about. I went to Toronto where I worked for about three weeks. At the end of this time I had almost given up hope of doing anything with my lace-making. I was heartsick and almost ready to go home. I had saved up a little money, however, enough to take me to Chicago or some big city in the United States, and still have $40 or $50 left with which to support myself until I could get work of some kind. I was on the point of going back home to Ireland at first, but the thought that I would get there just about penniless, and without having done well on this side, and the thought of what the neighbors would say and how the other girls would laugh at me, finally decided me to come to Chicago and make one last trial at what the Americans call "making good" before I gave up all hope. This fatal decision was my ruin. Had I been able to see ahead just a little, to have looked into that awful hell-pit of a Wellington hotel--but there. God ruled otherwise and perhaps chose me out as an example and warning. CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRST NIGHT. I was practically penniless when I arrived in Chicago. I knew no one. The magnitude of the city was fearful to me. For hours I wandered about knowing not where to go. Exhausted and frightened, I at last sought shelter in a railway station. The matron there was kind and talked encouragingly to me. She soon knew my story. She took me to the Young Women's Christian Association and obtained a room for me. In a few days the officers of the association obtained a position for me as a maid at the Wellington hotel. For five weeks I was happy. In the Wellington hotel was the lace store of Agnes Barrett. Fine Irish laces were on exhibition. The wealthy women of the city patronized the place and almost fabulous prices were paid for the tiny bits of laces on exhibition. Agnes Barrett seemed to take an interest in me. When she learned that I could make the laces and had won numerous prizes she was delighted. She asked me to come and work for her. I was overjoyed at the opportunity. She told me that all I would have to do would be to sit in the store and make laces. She said that it would give the establishment an atmosphere in the sight of the grand dames. That when they came to the store to make purchases and saw me sitting at work making the laces before their eyes, it would greatly increase the value of them. I then went to live with Mrs. Linderman, a kind, motherly woman, who lived at 474 La Salle avenue. For a long time I was happy. Then Miss Barrett told me that business was slack and that she could not employ me steadily. After that, however, I was in the store quite often. Miss Barrett seemed to take a great liking for me. She was so kind and considerate. She petted and fondled me. Mrs. Cecilia Kenyon and Miss Donohue were also in the store. All of the women lived in the Wellington hotel. Miss Donohue was secretary of the hotel company. They all seemed to be very prominent. At least fine dressed men often came into the store to visit them. They went out to dinners with them and to the theatres. To me Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon, who was her intimate friend, were angels. Often Miss Barrett took trips away from the city. She said at those times that she was going to French Lick Springs, Ind., where she had another lace store. When she returned she would show me rolls of bills which she said were the profits from the store. She told me that if I were only "wise" like she, I could have fine clothes and not have to work much. She said that lots of nice men with plenty of money were looking for nice girls like me, to make wives of them. Her feeling towards me seemed to change almost in a day. I became afraid of her. After these outbreaks I only went to the store when I was compelled to do so. When I did go she would be extravagant in her praises of me. But all this only leads up to the first night. That awful night, January 4, 1909, will haunt me to my grave. It was as if the deepest pit of the very deepest hell had suddenly been transferred to earth and found lodgment in Chicago. This night is hard for me to describe. That I must bare the awful sights to which I was witness would be inexcusable if I were not trying to save other girls from the awful fate which awaits them if they come to the big cities of America trustful and innocent. It is left for you who read this whether my attempt to save others from my dreadful fate is justifiable. After the orgies which had taken place while I was lying helpless and frightened so that I could scarcely move, I was told that I must be Miss Barrett's slave for six months. The price for my slavery was to be $25 cash down, and $5.00 a day for the term of slavery. I fought and screamed again at this and said if they did not let me have my clothes and get out of there I would get a detective and see what could be done. They both then told me that I could not get a detective at that hour of the night. I was turned out of that hotel near midnight in the rain without a cent of money in my pockets, bleeding from the outrages from which I had suffered and forced to run all the way to my home in the rain. I cannot describe the horrible scenes which took place. I cannot even bear to think of them. I only know that I fought and screamed and screamed until they took me to a bath room and threatened to cut me to pieces. They did cut me. I kicked and fought and fought and kicked and screamed until they administered what they called "knock-out" drops to me and until they cut me on the arms, face and limbs. It was only when I became unconscious from the drug that I ceased fighting them. I fought them even when they had me tied to the bath tub. The man torturer I did not recognize. He was not the man in the velvet mask who tortured me on the first night. He was smaller. Mr. O'Shaughnessey, my lawyer at my trial, demanded that the state in prosecuting me produce a man named Rohr and asked one of the witnesses if they knew a man named Anhaltz or Anhalt. I do not know if either of these was the man who held me on either occasion. I do know, however, that the cutting was done by Miss Barrett herself, and she threatened me savagely several times, declaring that she would cut my heart out. The records of my sworn testimony, both in affidavits and at the trial show this. It was while I was being tortured that the name of a man named Taggart was first heard by me. Miss Barrett said, "If Tom Taggart could only see her now." This I swore to on the witness stand in my trial for stealing lace which I made myself and I am ready to swear to it again. Then there was something said about the "Springs," and Miss Barrett said, "You know I promised to get them girls like this one." I was frightened to death by this time and did not know what to expect. The story of the horrors of those awful nights of torture I will never forget. I can not repeat the happenings of those nights. To tell that part of the story, I present to the reader two affidavits which I made as I lay, suffering from my awful treatment, on a cot at the Frances Willard Memorial hospital. They are the substance of my testimony in court: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } County of Cook. } ss. Ella Gingles, being first duly sworn, deposes and says: That, about seven o'clock on the evening of January 4th, 1909, she returned from a trip down-town to her room at 474 La Salle Avenue, Chicago, and there found Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and Mrs. Kenyon waiting. That they said they had been waiting about four hours for her but that she found afterwards they had been waiting about an hour; that they told this affiant they had come out there in a cab, but dismissed the cab before affiant arrived home, which was near seven o'clock in the evening; that they came up to affiant's room and that Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, asked affiant to give her a collar that affiant had been enlarging for her and affiant told her she had not yet finished it, to which she replied that the woman to whom it belonged was about to leave town and could not wait for it. Affiant then went to the bureau and took out the collar and gave it to her, when she said that she wanted the rest of the lace, and affiant told her she had not given affiant any more lace to do; she then said that if affiant did not give her the lace she would take it and search the room, whereupon affiant says that they, the two women aforesaid, did search affiant's room and took all the lace affiant had except what was in her little work-box, which they did not touch. That they took a yard of crepe lace that was an original design and with which affiant won a prize in Belfast, a plate mat that was an original design, and with which affiant won a prize in Larne, Ireland, and a necklace with an amethyst drop of a few stones that affiant's mother bought for her in London and gave her the Christmas before affiant left home, at which time she bought another with blue stones and gave it to affiant's other sister; that they also took all the money that affiant had, consisting of a Canadian dollar, four American paper dollars and a dollar in change, took affiant's watch, her bank book showing a deposit of forty dollars in Canada, and a sofa top and cushion and many other things. Affiant further says that said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then asked her to let her look at affiant's trunk, in which affiant then told her she had nothing of hers, but which she insisted upon seeing; affiant then went to Mrs. Linderman, the landlady, and got a candle and took the aforesaid two women down in the basement and opened the trunk. Mrs. Kenyon held the candle, and Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, went through affiant's trunk and took a pair of long, white stockings, a pair of white gloves, some chiffon, and then Mrs. Kenyon dropped grease from the candle all over anything of any value and the two women aforesaid then tramped the rest of the clothes into the floor, ruining them. Affiant further says that up to that time, Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, did not claim that any of the stuff was stolen, but that after she brought what was downstairs upstairs and put all of it into a pillow-slip, she said to affiant, "Sure this is all mine." Affiant says that among the things which they took were five medallions, seven of which affiant still possess, having been made twelve in number for a Roman Catholic altar cloth. Affiant further says that after remaining in the room for two hours or more, joking and laughing and fooling away time, that some time after nine o'clock this affiant was ordered to take up the bag that they had filled with affiant's own goods and carry them down to the Wellington Hotel, and this affiant went, carrying them down on the promise that when they got to the Wellington Hotel the stuff would be given back or the ownership settled. This affiant says she went down that she might settle her dispute with said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and bring back her own stuff to her own home; that the three, Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, Mrs. Kenyon and this affiant, reached the Wellington Hotel and went into the room of said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, some time in the neighborhood of half-past nine o'clock, or maybe somewhat later, having gone down in the street car; and that when they went in Mrs. Kenyon locked the door to the said Barrett room. The two women then whispered together in a low tone and Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, asked this affiant to take off her clothes, and she refused. Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then said to affiant, "You might have something that belongs to me," to which affiant replied that she did not, whereupon said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, said, "I will take them off for you," and she and Mrs. Kenyon then took off affiant's clothes, stripping her with the exception of her shoes. Affiant says that in taking off the waist a safety pin in affiant's back hurt her and she screamed, whereupon said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, seized this affiant by the throat and told her she would choke her to death if affiant made any outcry. After stripping affiant, Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, said to Mrs. Kenyon, "If only ----"--and another man whose name affiant does not remember--"were here now to see this," and Mrs. Kenyon said, "Who are they," to which she replied, "They are the men that I told you about." The affiant says Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, said to her, "I know a nice gentleman that wants to get you to live with him," to which affiant replied that she did not want to get married, upon which the two women laughed and said, "Nobody is asking you to get married; you would only have to live with someone a little while and you would get plenty of money for it." Affiant further says that said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then told Mrs. Kenyon to hold this affiant, and Mrs. Kenyon grabbed her from behind, putting her arms through affiant's arms from behind. The affiant also says that Agnes Barrett then said, "She will do." Miss Barrett went to the telephone and called up Miss Donohue's room. Miss Donohue was not in her room. (The affidavit follows for four pages of revolting details.) Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon, she says, were unclothed, a short time later when a man came to the room. When he knocked, affiant says, the two women put on night gowns and left her entirely uncovered. She says Miss Barrett asked him what kept him when he was allowed to enter the room and he replied he could not get there any sooner. She says his face was covered with a black mask. Affiant says he attacked her and was assisted in this by Mrs. Kenyon. The affiant says that after some time the telephone rang and Mrs. Kenyon answered it and it was for the man and he called up and said, "Is that you, Charley?" The affiant says she does not know what was said back but that the man then said, "Yes, she is here," and he told this man over the phone, "Yes, it is all right, Charlie, she is here," and added that he would be back soon. He then said over the telephone, "Yes, I will just come right away," and that after that he put on his clothes and left, but that Agnes Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon remained in the room. The affiant further says that before the man went out Agnes Barrett asked him when he would give her the money and he said, "Well, sure, we are to come tomorrow night," and added that he would bring the money then and then left. The affiant says that she then asked Agnes Barrett for her clothes. These, she says, were given her after a time. The affiant then says Miss Barrett told her to come down the next night at five o'clock and offered her a silk dress if she would do as she bid, and that she then took the silk dress out of the wardrobe and showed it to her, but affiant refused it. That she then said that if affiant would come down tomorrow she would get it fixed for this affiant and that she would have things ready for this affiant to go down to the Springs. She further told this affiant that she, this affiant, was to go to French Lick Springs and was to stay there about a week. She further stated that while this affiant was at the hotel she was not to dress in the morning, but put on a kimono and to dress in the evening, that she was to remain in her room in the afternoon. This affiant says that Mrs. Kenyon then asked Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, what about the "last one," to which she replied, "Well, they have tired of her; they had her long enough." She then told this affiant that she was to do whatever she would want her to for six months and that this affiant was to come down there the next day to sign a paper. She told this affiant that she was to be down there about three months, and that she then was going to send this affiant some place else, but she did not say where, but said that this affiant could sell lace for her after that. Affiant further says that she did not take any money that night, but that the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, promised to give her back all the things she took from this affiant if affiant would come down there the next day at five o'clock. Affiant says that when said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, gave affiant her clothes, affiant said that if she did not give her the rest of her things she would go to a detective. Mrs. Kenyon said that affiant could not get a detective at that time of night. She says that night Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, made her sign two papers; the contents of neither was read to this affiant, nor was she allowed to see them, and the condition of signing the papers was to get her clothes. The affiant says that Agnes Barrett then held up the two papers and said, "Anybody would believe me with these papers and Mrs. Kenyon." Affiant says she then asked Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette for a nickel to ride home, as she had kept all of affiant's money, and she refused it and said the walk would do affiant good. That when affiant went out she came with her to the elevator and said, "Be sure and come tomorrow at five o'clock." Affiant says that she then went out without any money and ran home most of the way. Affiant says that on the next day she did not return to the hotel, but went and told Captain O'Brien; that the enormity of the situation was such that she could not tell it, and told the first part of it; that she did not reach Captain O'Brien's office until nearly five o'clock in the evening because she was ill from the outrages and indignities and sights of the night before; that she was unable to go out until late in the day; that the story itself was so horrible that she did not tell it to any man, but told parts of it to different women who are interested in her. I, Ella Gingles, now make this affidavit, not to save myself or to help myself, knowing well that my ruination is well-nigh complete if horrible sights and acts and degradations that I cannot describe can work my disgrace; and I make this affidavit not in revenge, but because I have been attacked twice in the Wellington Hotel and because I know that no girl can be safe who like myself has no protectors. CHAPTER IX. ARRESTED! After the horrible outrages of January 4 I did not know what to do. I was without money, and I would have been without food if Mrs. Lindermann had not kindly given me something to eat. I could not bear to think of telling any one, even a police officer or my kind landlady, of the horrors of that night. Finally on the afternoon of Thursday, January 8, I did make up my mind that I would not say anything about the horrors of the case, but would go to the chief of detectives, Captain P. D. O'Brien, and tell him of the stealing of my things from my rooms and ask him to get my things back for me. I went to the captain and told him my story. He seemed impressed by it, took me to his home that night for supper, lodged me, and the next day, which was Friday, ordered the women at the Wellington hotel to bring back the things which they had stolen from me. On the afternoon of Friday Mrs. Kenyon, who has since died under the mysterious circumstances, came over alone. Miss Barrett did not come. The captain ordered her to bring the things over with her and to have Miss Barrett come over by noon of the next day. The next day I went back to the captain's office and they both came over. They brought with them only a part of the things they had taken from my room and they also put in some things which had never been in my room. I told Captain O'Brien so when I looked over the lot. We went over everything piece by piece, and only four small pieces of lace was there any difference of opinion, Miss Barrett admitting that the rest of the things belonged to me. I was allowed to take them away. Captain O'Brien then asked Miss Barrett whether she was going to prosecute me for theft, and asked her if she was to get the warrant out before all the offices closed so that I could get bail that night and would not have to spend the Sunday in jail. Miss Barrett declared that they had no intention of pushing the prosecution, and we all supposed the case was then over, except myself. I intended to get my other things back in time, if I had to sue for them. We all then left Captain O'Brien's office. I was astounded that night to be arrested at about eleven o'clock on a warrant sworn out by Miss Barrett, charging me with having stolen the four pieces of lace valued at fifty dollars. I was taken to the Harrison street police station. Here I was compelled to spend the night in a filthy cell. I understood later that it was the next morning that Captain O'Brien called up Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell and asked him to come down to the station and get out my bond and take up my case. Mr. O'Donnell did come, and he did get me out on bail furnished by Samuel Feldmann. Mr. Feldmann came to go on my bail at Mr. O'Donnell's solicitation and that of Captain O'Brien, as I understand it, although of this particular point I am not sure. At any rate, I was released on bail pending a hearing on the charge, which subsequently took place in the municipal court before Judge Hume. Mr. O'Donnell kindly took me to his home, and his wife there cried over and mothered me and was as good to me as my own mother could have been. Up to this time I had given no hint of the horrors of January 4. I could not bear to think of them, much less speak of them. Mr. O'Donnell did not know. No one except those present and myself knew of these things. Then the people of Chicago began to come to my aid because I was poor and friendless. The Irish Fellowship Club employed Attorney John Patrick O'Shaughnessey to take up my case and investigate it. I was taken to the office of Mr. O'Shaughnessey and was told that he, as well as Mr. O'Donnell, would be my friend. Mr. O'Shaughnessey was rather cross to me at first and seemed to doubt whether or not I could make any lace. He seemed to fear that I was a common thief, and not a real lace-maker. He said to me, "Can you make lace?" I told him, "Yes, I can make lace of any ordinary pattern known as Irish lace." He said to me, "You sit right down there in that chair and make some lace, if you can make lace." I replied that I had no thread. Mr. O'Shaughnessey then sent out and got some thread of the kinds which I told him to get, and I sat down and worked with the thread for several hours making lace. At the end of the time I was able to show Mr. O'Shaughnessey a piece of the grape-vine pattern, which is well known in Ireland, and which is the pattern which I used when I won my prizes in my native home of Larne for lace-making. It was the same kind of lace which I had made on one or two occasions for Miss Barrett at the Wellington hotel. The pattern agreed with some of the pieces of lace which I was accused of having stolen from the Wellington hotel. This exhibition of my powers to make lace convinced Mr. O'Shaughnessey that I was not a fraud, and that I could do what I had claimed that I could do. From that time forward he became my active friend and fought hard for me clear to the end of the terrible trial to which I was subjected. Subsequently I was compelled to make lace in the presence of a number of ladies who were interested in my case, just to show them that I was not a fraud. Every one seemed to be suspicious of me until I had proved that I could make lace and that I was not lying. I did not and never have had a single friend who has not compelled me to give some definite proof or other either as to lace-making ability or my character since this whole horrible matter came out. After my experience in proving to Mr. O'Shaughnessey that I was not a fraud I was taken to Mr. O'Donnell's home and there cared for by his wife. Mrs. O'Donnell, who seemed to be about the only person to believe in me from the first, even when her husband seemed to doubt me, took good care of me and treated me as if I were her own daughter. After Mr. O'Donnell had satisfied himself that I was all right, and that there was no fraud in any of my stories, he, too, was very kind and allowed me to come down to his office to visit with Miss Mary Joyce, his stenographer, who used to chat with me while I made lace with which to pay at least a part of my obligations to the O'Donnells. It was here, in this office, away up in the air at the Ashland block, that I made lace day after day. I could only make one or two collars and a tie or so a week, but that little brought in something, as I had some exclusive Irish patterns of my own which attracted trade. These patterns of mine could not be duplicated, at least in America, and the lace which I made has always attracted attention. One of my customers for the lace which I made at this time was Miss Sarah M. Hopkins of the Catholic Women's League of Chicago. She bought several ties from me and became interested in me at this period of my troubles, before the brutal second attack at the Wellington hotel. When Miss Hopkins and other ladies became patrons of mine I thought I saw a way to make a good living without having to work as a housemaid any more, and that I could use the trade which I had learned in Ireland to good advantage. It was the first chance I had really had to show what I could do since I had left the old country, and I felt very thankful for it. The days dragged by very slowly for me, for they kept putting off the case of trying me for lace-stealing, stealing the lace I had made myself, from time to time, and some days I cried and cried because the case was not over and I was not free, because I did not believe that anybody would convict me of stealing my own property, especially after the manner in which it was taken. I remember one day I was crying my eyes out on the couch in Mr. O'Donnell's law office when Miss Mary Joyce, the best girl friend I have ever known, came in and tried to quiet me. I cried more and more until a gentleman came in, I think he was a reporter, and then I managed to quit crying until he left. Miss Joyce told him to get out of the place until I was quiet, and he went. After he had gone I began to cry again, and Miss Joyce said not to cry, that some time soon I would be back in Ireland again with the home folks. That only made me cry more, because I did not see how I could face the people at home after the terrible things that had happened to me and after I had been arrested. Long and long those awful days dragged out from January 9 until February 6. I do not believe that there was a single day that I did not cry until my eyes were all red, and I know that on many a night during that time I cried myself to sleep. I could not bear to think of the shame that had befallen me, although I knew that it was no fault of my own that it had happened to me. It was all a nightmare. My nerves were breaking gradually under the terrible strain. Then came my hearing before Judge Hume of the municipal court. I was arraigned on the larceny charge and after Miss Barrett and I had testified my attorneys demanded that I be held to the grand jury, and refused to cross-examine the witnesses for the prosecution, so convinced were they of my innocence. When this was done Miss Barrett was heard to say, "Oh, my, this is awful." This remark was overheard by Mr. O'Shaughnessey and convinced him more than ever that something was being hidden and that I was not the thief the Wellington hotel people sought to make me out. During this trial an attempt on the part of Mrs. Kenyon to coach Miss Barrett while she was on the stand brought forth some strong objections from Mr. O'Shaughnessey, and Mrs. Kenyon was compelled to stop attempting to coach Miss Barrett from the floor of the courtroom. When they tried to make out their case against me at this hearing they brought a number of pieces of lace which had never been in Captain O'Brien's office or in my room, and I said so, and Attorney O'Donnell promptly had them impounded for the purpose of disproving the charge against me later on. He would not let them have them back, nor would he let them have back a pair of stockings of Miss Donahue's which they said I had stolen. This was the first injection of Miss Donahue's name into the case, but it was brought in later after the second attack on me in the Wellington hotel. At this preliminary hearing I was held on the demand of my own people to the grand jury and was subsequently indicted on their demand that I might be enabled to effectually clear my name. This was the opening of the larceny case, where the alleged theft of $25 worth of lace has caused the expenditure of more than $38,000 all told in prosecution and defense of me, a little Irish working girl. CHAPTER X. THE SECOND ORGY. The second affidavit of Ella Gingles covering the incidents of the second night following her arrest is a story of a grewsome tragedy. It was made as she lay on a cot in the Frances Willard Memorial hospital in Chicago. The affidavit, signed by herself and sworn to, is as follows: STATE OF ILLINOIS, } County of Cook. } ss. Ella Gingles, being first duly sworn, deposes and says: That on the ninth day of February, 1909, she was arrested, charged with the larceny of jewelry and lace in the city of Chicago, and that the complaining witness was one Agness Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and that on the following day she was taken out on bail and became represented by Patrick H. O'Donnell of Chicago, and a day or two thereafter also by John P. O'Shaughnessey. The affiant further says that she had a hearing thereon. Your affiant says that on Tuesday, February 16, 1909, this affiant came in the afternoon to the office of Patrick H. O'Donnell, 911 Ashland block, and there sat in the office making lace for one hour and then had a talk with Attorney O'Donnell in his private office, and then left his office a few minutes before five o'clock p. m., but stopped at the elevator in said building to talk to Mr. O'Donnell and Miss Sarah Hopkins. That as she left the said building she had in her pocketbook, among other small change, a five dollar bill, and that this affiant went from the office to the store on State street known as Carson, Pirie, Scott & Co., and went in there and bought a spool of thread for crocheting purposes, and paid forty cents therefor and gave the five dollar bill to be changed in making said payment; and this affiant says she is ready to exhibit her purchase slip showing the purchase and the amount of money offered in payment therefor; and this affiant says that the hour of said purchase was almost five o'clock on the evening of the sixteenth, and that as this affiant approached the door of said store a cab was standing at the curb and Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, stepped out of said cab and started toward the store and left a man sitting in the cab waiting, but that this affiant did not see where Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, went, or did not see her make subsequent purchases. This affiant further says that after making said purchase she returned home to her room at 474 La Salle avenue, Chicago, and there placed the one key to the door of her room in a secret place where her sister might find it, and which place was known to herself and her sister, and the secret place was on the stairs under the stair carpet. After concealing said key, and before the sister so returned, and after entering her room and turning out the gas stove, she retraced her steps and started back to room 545, Wellington hotel, to collect from a Miss Arnold three dollars that said Miss Arnold owed this affiant; and that on two separate occasions theretofore this affiant undertook to collect said money; once while in company with Miss Mary E. Joyce and later while in company with Mrs. Bagshaw and Miss Sarah Hopkins, but that she was persuaded not to try to make such collections by both parties. This affiant says she is familiar with the Wellington hotel and had worked in said hotel for about a week, and while she worked there said Miss Arnold did occupy said room, and that Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, lived on the second floor in said hotel, in room number 228; and that this affiant, when she went to said hotel, did not know that Miss Arnold had moved out of room 545, when in fact she had, and, as your affiant is now informed, had left the hotel on the 12th of the preceding month. This affiant did not know that Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, had left the second floor and had moved up into the identical room 545, but your affiant is informed that such is the fact. And this affiant did go to room 545, believing that she was approaching the room of Miss Arnold and not knowing that she was approaching the room of Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and knocked on the door, the exact time of which this affiant does not know, but believes that it was in the neighborhood of half past six o'clock in the evening. This affiant says that a man stepped out of said room and asked this affiant what she wanted, and this affiant said she wanted to see Miss Arnold. The man said, "Is it about anything in particular?" and this affiant said, "It is about lace," and the man said that she was expecting this affiant, and to wait a minute. He talked to somebody in the room and then came out and said Miss Arnold was in the bathroom, and this affiant said she would wait until she came back. The man said she was only brushing her clothes, and this affiant went around to the bathroom and he followed her around, and this affiant knocked at the door, which was a little ajar, and he pushed open the door and pushed this affiant in the bathroom and put a wet handkerchief in her mouth, on which handkerchief, this affiant says, there was some burning stuff that was sweet, and it was "cold, but burning," after which affiant says she did not know any more. Affiant says that this was not the bathroom she was subsequently found in, but was the bathroom around by Miss Barrett's room, that affiant then thought was Miss Arnold's room. Affiant further says she does not remember subsequent events until this affiant woke up lying on a bed entirely undressed with the exception of her stockings, and was being guarded by a man. This affiant asked, "What is the matter with my head; what is the matter here, and what is wrong?" The man answered this affiant and said, "You are in Miss Barrett's room; you told something that Miss Barrett did not want you to tell and she is going to kill you, and if you scream we will kill you." At that time this affiant saw nobody except the man himself. He said he was going after Miss Barrett, who was in the hall, and he went to the hall and locked the door after him, and then this affiant looked for her clothes and could not find any, but found a pocketbook belonging to her on the bureau, and there was a lead pencil in it, and this affiant wrote on an envelope: "I am at the Wellington hotel; come quick." But did not sign her name in full, merely signing her first name, "Ella," and then put it in an envelope, and after affixing two stamps wrote on the outside, "Bellboy please mail this," and then got up on a chair and threw it over the transom towards the next door, room number 547. Affiant says that the reason she did not call on the telephone was because she did not remember Mr. O'Donnell's telephone number and she did not see any telephone, and that she could not have called on the telephone anyway if this man was still outside, and she did not want to alarm him or notify him, because he said she was not to move or get up, and said that he would kill her if she got up from the bed. Affiant says that at this time she had nothing on except her stockings, and that when she got down from the chair she put Miss Barrett's spread around her, and that man above referred to then came back in and asked her what she had been doing and she replied that she had not been doing anything. Affiant says that the man then attacked her. When she screamed the man hit her on the head with his fist at the root of the hair over the right eye, and the resultant wound was the wound found on her by the doctors later. Affiant further says that the man referred to then offered her ten dollars after striking her, and tried to tear the spread off of her, but that this affiant screamed for help, and that the man then got a towel or some cloth and bound her mouth with a gag, and that this affiant could not prevent said binding. Miss Barrett came in, and he then sat down and wrote several letters or papers and watched this affiant for several hours. Late in the night he presented some paper to this affiant to sign and told her he would kill her if she did not, but this affiant does not know what the paper was and has never heard of it since. This affiant further says that on the second occasion that the man attacked her this affiant pulled the gag off her mouth and screamed for help again, but the man bound her mouth, and she so sat with her mouth bound until about two o'clock in the morning. Affiant says that there was a knock at the door and the man put out the light and went to the door, and that Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and another woman came in, and that the man asked the said Barrett what kept her. Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then asked the man if this affiant was there yet, to which he replied yes, and that then the aforesaid Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, said that she could not help staying, saying something about a game of cards. The man then asked the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, if she brought the wine with her, to which she replied that she had, but that she did not have a corkscrew, and asked the man if he went out to straighten up the bathroom, to which he replied that he did, and said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then said that she went into the bathroom as she was leaving the hotel and found a hatpin in it, and that was all. Affiant says that the man then gave the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, a pocket knife with a corkscrew in it, and that they pulled the cork out of the bottle and drank some of the contents. Affiant says she did not know what was in the bottle or whether the wine was red or white. Affiant says that the said man, Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, and the woman that came with her as aforesaid had lighted a candle before they opened the bottle, and that after they had partaken of the contents thereof as aforesaid the man went out of the room, but that previous to that he offered the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, fifty dollars, and that the said Agnes Barrett said that was not enough. Affiant says that that was all the man said at the time, and that he then gave to said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, fifty dollars, who did not then say any more, but took the money. That the man then went out of the room and took the bottle with him, and also the candle lighting the room. Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then turned on the light and came over to this affiant, who was sitting on the bed, and removed the gag from affiant's mouth and said to this affiant: "Didn't I tell you I would kill you if you would tell your lawyer the things she told me." "I did not tell the attorney," I replied. Agnes Barrett then asked affiant if affiant had told him the man's name down at the Springs, to which affiant replied that she had. She then said: "Did you tell that interrupting beast?" When I asked her who she meant, she said: "That other lawyer of yours." I said, "I did not tell him anything." I asked her who brought me there, saying that she did not remember coming there. The man then came in and said that he was going to fix my head and give me something for it. They asked me to go to Miss Donahue's room and I refused. Affiant further says that Agnes Barrett then took two night-dresses out of a paper and put one on her and then took her in to the man she claimed was a doctor to the bathroom. The other woman came out of the room after them and locked the door and brought the key with her, and that they then all went into the bathroom. This affiant says that Miss Donahue was talking over the back transom to the man inside the bathroom. Affiant says that a candle was then lighted in the bathroom and that Miss Donahue reached a little bottle through the transom and told said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, to mix it. Affiant said she did not know what it was and refused to take it, whereupon the man poured it out in a glass and put it to this affiant's mouth and made her drink it. Affiant says that she did not know who the man in the bathroom was at that time, because he had a black mask tied over his face, and that she did not know whether this man was a doctor or not, but that Agnes Barrett called him doctor. She further says that after drinking the medicine or drug, as above stated, she became sick, and that Agnes Barrett then asked the man if he had any knockout drops. The man replied that he had not. Agnes Barrett then said she had some, and went out of the room and shortly afterward came back with what appeared to be candy. They then made affiant drink more of the aforesaid wine and then told affiant to eat some of the supposed candy in order to get the taste out of affiant's mouth, and that she did so. Affiant says the supposed candy was sweet and was hard on the outside and soft on the inside, and was of a greenish color. She says that after this she could not keep her eyes open and could not remember anything more, but that they were still in the bathroom, and when affiant awakened she was on the bathroom floor. (Here the affidavit recites the revolting details, unprintable in nature, which occurred in the bathroom on the fifth floor of the Wellington hotel.) The affiant says that when she awakened she was not yet tied, and that the man had his coat off and his face uncovered. Agnes Barrett was standing in the room. The affiant says that Madame Barette cut her on the arms and wrists several times. She says she struggled and that the other woman then asked the said Agnes Barrett why she did not tie the affiant's hands, to which she replied that she did not have anything there to tie them with, but that she then got the key to her room from the other woman and went out, and returned with cords, etc., and that the other woman then held the affiant's hands while Agnes Barrett tied them behind the affiant's head, and tied them to the legs of the bathtub, and that the man then tied the affiant's leg, which the aforesaid Agnes Barrett held until he tied. She says that Agnes Barrett then said that she had not got enough cords with her, but she had a piece of black cloth or stocking, or something black, with which she tied affiant's leg, and also tied her ankle with some sort of a cord. She says that her left leg was left untied and that her mouth was also tied. The affiant then says that the man and Agnes Barrett then both attacked her. She says that the strange woman held her shoulders to the floor and Agnes Barrett held the leg that was loose while the man took the knife and cut her several times. She says she did not bleed freely and Agnes Barrett then ordered the man to cut her on the other side. The man then assaulted her. He said he cut her to arouse his passions. She says they were in the room for some time after that and that the man then told Agnes Barrett to go for his overcoat, and she said for him to come back at five o'clock. Affiant further says that the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, then asked the man to come to her room and stay the remainder of the night, but he said no, that he had somebody to see before he left the city. Agnes Barrett then told the man to be there and awaken them when he came at five o'clock, and not to sleep late, because she said he was to have a cab with him to take this affiant to Louisville with him. The affiant then declared that she would not go to Louisville with the man. Affiant then says Agnes Barrett put the neck of the bottle in her mouth and made her drink the rest of the contents, and also gave her some more of the supposed candy, and then tied up affiant's mouth again. Agnes Barrett told the man to leave the light on so that the people would think there was somebody in the bathroom, and they then left affiant lying drugged on the floor of the room. Affiant further says that the man then climbed up over the transom; that she saw him get up; that she saw that he had one leg over, and that she then could keep awake no longer; that she was sleepy and did not know what happened after that. Affiant further says that at the time the liquid was poured from the little bottle into the big one, as above narrated, that the man told said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, to scrape the label off the bottle and she took the knife that the corkscrew was attached to and scraped at the label of the wine bottle. Affiant further says that after the man had attacked this affiant the first time, as hereinbefore narrated, that the said Agnes Barrett, alias Madame Barette, said to him, "Fifty dollars is not enough for this girl," and he then said, "That is all I paid for the last one," and added, "Look at the bother you gave me with the last one," and she said, "Yes, but you won't have any bother with this one." This affiant further says there are many incidents and things that happened from the time she was first seized in the bathroom until the man climbed up out over the transom that she has not narrated in this affidavit, but that she has told most of the occurrences; and also says that the clothes she wore that night were later returned to her by the police. ELLA J. GINGLES. Subscribed and sworn to before me this 15th day of March, 1909. MARY E. JOYCE, _Notary Public_. [SEAL.] CHAPTER XI. ELLA GINGLES ON TRIAL. BY HAL M'LEOD LYTLE. Was Ella Gingles, the little blonde Irish lace-maker, on trial for stealing $50 worth of lace from Agnes Barrett? Or was the city of Chicago on trial for permitting an unsophisticated girl to be made the victim of a criminal corporation with its headquarters in another state, as Miss Gingles has sworn? No more remarkable case was ever tried in the criminal court of Cook county, wherein some of the most amazing cases of which the world has record have been heard and decided. Ella Gingles was charged with larceny. Ella Gingles asserted that the charge against her was inspired by an intent on the part of her accusers to brand her a thief so that her story of the criminal machinations of a gang operating in the interest of a combination against law and order, with headquarters at an Indiana resort, might escape the penalty of acts committed by its agents. The jury which heard Ella Gingles' story was not misled by any rhetorical bombast or alleged expert testimony covering the coined phrase, "mythomania." Miss Gingles was supposed to have the hysterical tendency developed to the extent that she imagined things happened and then believed they had happened. There are such people, but they are not of the physical or mental make-up of Ella Gingles. Dr. Krohn has had, no doubt, a vast experience of hysteria, basing the theory on his Kankakee connection, but he reckoned without the jury if he believed that the clear-eyed, self-poised young woman who told that horrible story to the court involving Agnes Barrett and Cecelia Kenyon with the "man in the velvet mask," was a victim of hysteria. The testimony of Ella Gingles was of a sort that might be heard in a French court and understood. If it were heard in an English court, and believed, the plaintiffs would be certain of twenty years at hard labor without appeal. In the criminal court of Chicago the prosecution was placed in a strange position. Ella Gingles, charged with a crime against the state, no matter by whom, it was the duty of the state's attorney's office to prosecute her with all the resources of that office. Across the river they are used to meeting steel with steel. They fight with the weapons that the enemy uses. They perhaps become too inured to the idea that everybody is guilty until proved innocent. Therefore the cross-examination of Ella Gingles by Mr. Short, legitimate enough if the young woman were the double-dyed criminal he appears to believe her, fell short of its intended effect with the jury that leaned forward, every man listening with hand over ear for the lightest word of the softest-spoken witness the criminal court had seen in many a day. Mr. Short was too clever an advocate to believe that the racking cross-examination covering hideous detail of the behavior of Miss Barrett and the dead Mrs. Kenyon, which brought tears to the eyes of the shrinking witness, could add anything to the state's contention in this case. Ella Gingles was ingenuous to a fault. She answered questions put to her in cross-examination without an instant's hesitation, and with the utmost candor. An apparent discrepancy seized on by the lawyers opposing her and questions thundered at her in denunciatory tone fell flat. The question sounded subtle. "Ah!" whispered the doubter in the spectator's row. "Here is where she betrays herself." Then, without an instant's pause, the girl told just what happened. She had been told that she must talk out--just as though she were talking to her mother--and so she told everything. It was a difficult situation for a prosecuting lawyer. But if Ella Gingles was ingenuous, Ella Gingles was no fool. She knew that she was on the defensive. Still, it was not to be wondered at that the Ella Gingles case proved a puzzle to the Chicago police and the state's attorney's office. The young woman appeared to have a thorough knowledge of the pitfalls that beset young womanhood in certain directions, and to be grossly ignorant of those that girls of less maturity in Chicago might be expected to avoid. When, in the course of her examination, it developed that Ella Gingles was thinking in the way of a foreigner in a strange place while the state's advocate was cross-examining her as though she had been born and bred in Chicago, or at least in America, the assurance of the defendant charged with a crime was remarkable. If at any time it should develop that Ella Gingles has lied throughout, that she was never attacked in the Wellington hotel--that Miss Barrett is not guilty of the charges made against her and that the weird story of conspiracy was born in a clever brain, rehearsed and then put on like any melodramatic bit for the delectation of a surfeited public it will go hard with the girl. Miss Gingles was gowned in the most simple style. Her fresh, unpainted face and her wide-staring, innocent eyes were of the sort seldom involved in a case of this kind. When asked an involved question in cross-examination she half hesitated, looked quickly at judge and jury, flashed a glance of inquiry at her lawyer and blushed. Blushing is an accomplishment. It impresses a jury tremendously. Miss Gingles not only blushed, but she wiggled. With a glove twisted in her hand, she had hesitated so long over the answer to a question involving a disagreeable answer that the most dramatic of all situations had been produced. The court would wait, the audience would hang breathless, the attorneys, standing up, would lean forward, while the witness tried to find words in which to formulate a reply. Then in three words the story would be told. The jury would lean back and gasp. The judge would swing around in his pivot chair and assume an air of unconcern. The attorneys would busy themselves with papers and the audience would groan. Still Miss Gingles would sit there in the witness chair unperturbed. Could an innocent young woman sustain the horror of such a climax? The jury that rendered the verdict of "not guilty" was a representative one. They ranged from men high in the financial world to those of low estate. In the days that they sat listening to the terrible tale as unfolded by the little Irish lace-maker and the physicians they appeared to be held as though spellbound. It was a dramatic trial, filled throughout with thrills and shudders. Sensation followed sensation. At no time during the long trial, which cost the state of Illinois nearly $100,000, did the interest lapse. It was for the jurors to decide the truth of this complication of alleged happenings and as to the guilt of the little foreigner, charged by her alleged persecutor with theft. The important points on which Madame Barrett based her charges against Ella Gingles were: That Ella Gingles signed a confession December 6, 1908, admitting she was a department store thief. That she stole valuable lace from her and used the lace in the new dress. That the lace-maker's injuries were self-inflicted. Combatting this, the little defendant and her stanch friends swore: That she was a victim of a conspiracy on the part of her accusers. That her enemies attempted to make her a white slave. That she was urged by Madame Barrett to accept money offered her by her tempter. That she was seized, bound and horribly mistreated in the Wellington hotel, as the result of her refusal to accede to Madame Barrett's demands. That the Barrett woman forced open, or caused to be forced open, her trunk and took therefrom laces and valuable keepsakes and personal properties belonging to her. It was charge met by charge. During the long hearing Madame Barrett sat alone. She seemed to have been shunned. At no time did she lose her self-control. The most violent charges seemed to affect her but little. The girl would make some terrible charge from the witness stand. The prosecuting witness would sit immovable. Her face did not blanch. It did not color to a crimson red. Her eyes did not wander. Forever they were gazing directly in front of her, yet without looking at any one and anything. It was the gaze and composure of a woman of the world--a woman who has passed through horrors before and who has become immune. After the jury had been selected Miss Gingles was released on bond. Previous to this time she had been confined in the county jail at her own request, as she charged her enemies were still following her and she feared they would do her injury. At the opening of the first session of court First Assistant State's Attorney Benedict J. Short made a short address. "Miss Gingles, and not Miss Barrett, is on trial here. You must try this case on the evidence alone," said Mr. Short. Attorney O'Donnell declared he would show that Miss Gingles was the victim of a plot instigated by an alleged agent representing an influential Indiana Democratic politician. Here are a few samples of questions asked veniremen by Attorney O'Donnell of the defense: "Are you married?" "Have you any sisters?" "Have you read about this case?" "Miss Gingles is Irish--does that make any difference?" "Would it make any difference if Miss Gingles belongs to a different religion than you do?" Assistant State's Attorneys Short and Furthman questioned prospective jurors along these lines: "Do you know anything about the Irish lace store?" "Did you ever stop at the Wellington hotel?" "Can the state accept you as a juror with confidence that you will do your full duty and not be swayed by outside influences?" When Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell, her counsel, entered the courtroom he held a short conference with Assistant State's Attorney Short. While they were talking Miss Gingles entered the courtroom, accompanied by a deputy sheriff. "We desire to have Miss Gingles admitted to bail," said Mr. O'Donnell. "I am very willing, I always have been willing that Miss Gingles should be free on bail," replied Mr. Short. There was another short conference, after which Mr. Short said: "We will accept you as Miss Gingles' surety." Thereupon Miss Gingles tripped lightly up to the clerk's desk and wrote her name on the bond. Mr. O'Donnell also affixed his signature to the $2,000 bond and the pretty defendant was freed from the attentions of the officer. Ella Gingles presented a picture of fresh, girlish beauty as she took her place in front of the jury box. She wore a white linen suit, with a long coat. The collar and cuffs were trimmed with blue ribbon. A tan straw hat, tam o'shanter style, was patched by brown ribbons and roses. Her brown hair, in curly puffs and waves, fell below her ears and tumbled bewitchingly over her eyes. The scene in the courtroom at the criminal court when Ella Gingles took the witness stand to relate her terrible story was one never to be forgotten. As the little lace-maker's name was called and she rose to walk past the jury to the witness stand fifty women seated in the back part of the courtroom rose and began to clap their hands. Some threw their handkerchiefs into the air. The girl seemed much affected by the demonstration. Judge Brentano seemed taken aback for a moment by this unusual outburst. In vain the bailiff pounded with his gavel for order. Finally the court was compelled to rise and sternly rebuke the courtroom in no uncertain terms. Miss Gingles began her story in a low tone. It was the voice of a schoolgirl telling of something she had undergone, but could not comprehend. The persons in the courtroom hung on every word. You could have heard a pin fall. As Miss Gingles took the stand Attorney O'Donnell said: "State your name." "Ella Gingles," the witness replied, in a voice that rang out through the courtroom. She said she would be nineteen years old next November. She was born in Ireland. Her father's name is Thomas, and she has seven sisters and several brothers. She said she came to America in November, 1907. "Did you make Irish lace?" "Yes." She identified a design shown her as one she made when eight years old. "Who made the hat you are now wearing?" "I did." The hat was a peach-basket affair. A design of lace was shown her and she said she was the maker, as well as the designer. She testified she won prizes in Ireland for fancy lace-making. She said she originated several designs. Miss Gingles said she remained in Montreal two days, later going to Belleville, Ontario, where she worked as a cook. From there she went to Toronto. She visited a sister in Michigan, coming direct from there to Chicago about November 15, 1908. "What did you do here?" "I went to work as a chambermaid at the Wellington hotel. I stayed there a week." "What did you next do?" "I went there to meet some fine lady to sell laces to, and quit the work and sold them." "Where did you next work?" "At a Michigan avenue restaurant, but quit after four days." "When and how did you meet Agnes Barrett?" "I went to her store and showed her my lace." At the mention of her name Miss Barrett looked straight into the eyes of the girl she accused, and Miss Gingles returned the glances without coloring. "Miss Barrett gave me some roses to work on," resumed the witness. "She gave me $1 and then I made some berries and more roses." Miss Gingles said she continued to work for Miss Barrett, receiving $1 per day. Altogether she worked four days for Miss Barrett before Christmas. "Did Miss Barrett say in your presence and a maid that she missed things?" "She said she missed some powder and paint and some Limerick laces." Miss Gingles seemed confident, and began to smile as she testified. On January 4, she said, she returned home at seven o'clock, and found Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon in her room. "Is Mrs. Kenyon living or dead?" "Dead." Attorney O'Donnell dropped this line of questioning and inquired further as to what occurred on that evening. She said Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon took practically everything of value from her trunk, including prize lace designs, underwear, photographs, bracelets, strips of chiffon and a ring. "Was the ring valuable?" "It cost 15 cents in Ireland, but Miss Barrett said: 'It must be valuable or it wouldn't be in a costly box.' "Besides, they trampled my clothes in the dirt and greased what they left with candles." "What else did they take?" "A fancy pillow case I made on a ship." The most startling part of the girl's story was of the alleged attack upon her in the Wellington hotel, although her testimony was the story of her life practically from the time she came to America from Ireland. Miss Gingles, in her testimony, declared that it was she, and not Miss Barrett, that had been robbed, and she told a story of how her room at 474 La Salle avenue had been broken into and ransacked in her absence and many valuable pieces of lace taken. She declared that the robbery was made complete by Miss Barrett the same night in the Wellington hotel by taking all the money out of her purse and forcing her to walk back to her boarding house from downtown in the cold of a winter's night. She said that on this night she was forced to sign a confession, admitting the theft of lace for which the girl now is being tried. Her story of the attack upon her in the Wellington was the most remarkable ever heard in the criminal court building, and during it there were many outbursts from the spectators. Miss Barrett, her accuser in the theft charge, was as agitated as the witness, and several times seemed on the verge of breaking down. Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell made good his declaration that the story of Miss Gingles concerning her treatment in the Wellington hotel would be told under oath from the witness chair. Step by step the lawyer led the girl. "She offered me money; advised me to take the money the man offered me whom she had brought to the room when I was helpless. She choked me, threatened me, and finally accused me of stealing and made me sign a confession before she would permit me to leave the room." These were some of the accusations sobbed out by the lace-maker. Time and again there were seeming admissions forced from the girl's lips which Mr. Short hoped would lay the foundation for impeachment of the most sensational sort. There was a short delay, owing to a number of emergency matters set before Judge Brentano. Then Mr. O'Donnell resumed the questioning of Miss Gingles as follows: "In Captain O'Brien's office when this necklace was produced, what did you say?" "I said it was my necklace," answered the witness. "Did Captain O'Brien say anything about you proving that it was your necklace?" "Yes. I told him that Daisy Young of Belleville, Ontario, could prove that the necklace was mine," answered Miss Gingles. "Did you write to Daisy Young?" "Yes." "Did she answer your letter?" "Yes." "Did you show the letter to Captain O'Brien?" "Yes." "Have you the letter Daisy Young wrote?" "Yes; here it is." "Now, I'll read it," said Mr. O'Donnell. "No, you won't; I object," said Assistant Prosecutor Short. "Sustained," said Judge Brentano. "But I want to show that Captain O'Brien's suppressed evidence is contradicted by this letter," returned Mr. O'Donnell. "There is no rule of evidence whereby such a letter could be admissible," replied the court. "Did you meet Mary Brennan at the door of Miss Barrett's room as she testified?" "Yes." "Now, tell the jury if there was any property in your room that didn't belong to you?" "Yes, a towel from the Wellington hotel." "Did you tell Captain O'Brien?" "Yes." "When you went to Miss Barrett's room what happened?" asked Attorney O'Donnell. "Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon went with me, and Mrs. Kenyon whispered something into my ear. Then Mrs. Kenyon told me I had to take off my clothes. I told her I would do nothing of the sort. Then Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon took off my clothes and made me go to bed. Then Miss Barrett told me that she wanted me to go to French Lick Springs, Indiana." "Did she tell you what she wanted you to go there for?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. Here Miss Gingles began to cry. "Don't do that, Ella," said Mr. O'Donnell. The girl made revolting charges against both Agnes Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon. "What happened then?" was asked. "Why, Miss Barrett offered me a silk dress if I would do as she told me." "Did she show you the dress?" "Yes." "Tell what happened," urged the attorney. "Mrs. Kenyon said to Miss Barrett: 'Where is the other girl? We promised them to bring two girls here.'" "Did any men enter the room?" "Yes, one man came in." "What else happened?" "Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon held me." "Did the man offer you any money?" "Yes, but I wouldn't take it." "Did Miss Barrett tell you to take it?" "Yes." "Was the light burning?" "Yes, but when the man came in Miss Barrett turned it off." "Did you know at the time that Miss Barrett had gone to your room and taken the lace and other articles that you are now charged with stealing?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. "No, sir." "Did Miss Barrett say anything to you that night about losing lace?" "Yes, and she said I had stolen it. I told her it was a lie." "What did Miss Barrett say?" "She had a paper and said I would have to sign it and admit that I had stolen the lace. I refused to do it." "What did she say?" "She said if I didn't sign it she would call that man back again. Then I signed it." "Did you call Miss Barrett any names that night?" "Yes, I told her that she was a beast and that Mrs. Kenyon was another." "Tell the jury what you did." "I tried to scream, but Miss Barrett put a towel over my mouth and she said if I screamed again she would choke me." The girl declared that Mrs. Kenyon and Miss Barrett had prevented her resisting the man. She declared she had cried and when she went home she asked two women to call a policeman. "They told me to go to Captain O'Brien's office the next day and I did," said Miss Gingles. "Did you have any money?" was asked. "No, Miss Barrett took all my money out of my purse." "How did you get home to 474 La Salle avenue?" "I ran home." "That's all," said Attorney O'Donnell. "Did you run all the way home?" was the first question by Prosecutor Short on cross-examination. "Yes, ran or walked." "Which way did you go?" "I ran out in Jackson boulevard and ran west on the north side of the street," answered Miss Gingles. "Did you see any people while you were running? "I didn't notice many." "How did you go down stairs?" "I took the elevator." "Didn't you know there was a policeman in the Wellington hotel?" "No, I didn't see any policeman." "There were lots of people in the hotel office, wasn't there?" "I didn't stop to notice." "You didn't have any money to pay your car fare?" "No; Miss Barrett had taken all my money." "You saw people in the streets, but you didn't stop and tell any of them to call a policeman?" "No." "What time did you leave the Wellington hotel?" "At twenty-five minutes to twelve o'clock." "How long did it take you to get home?" "About twenty minutes." "What was the first thing you did when you got home?" "I saw Mrs. Linderman, the landlady." "Where was she?" "In the basement." "What was the first thing you said to Mrs. Linderman?" "I told her that an awful thing had happened. Then I told her all." "What did you do then?" "I asked her how I could get a policeman, and she said it was too late and to wait till the next day. Then I went upstairs to see another woman and told her the same thing, and she said I had better wait and go to see Captain O'Brien the next day." "Then what happened?" "Mrs. Linderman went with me to my room, and there I found that my trunk had been broken into and most of my things taken. I showed Mrs. Linderman what had been done." "That was when Miss Barrett had gone to your room and taken the lace and other things which she claimed you had stolen?" "Yes." "You went to see Captain O'Brien the next day, did you?" "Yes." "Did you tell him that you had been attacked?" "No." "You didn't mention anything, not to a man anyway, about what you have related as occurring in Miss Barrett's room?" "No." "Just told them you had been robbed of $100 worth of lace?" "Yes." "Did you tell anybody--any of the policemen who went around with you, about it?" "No, I couldn't tell that awful story to anybody." "This confession you signed to Miss Barrett wasn't the first confession you ever signed, was it?" "Yes." "Are you sure?" "I'm positive." Here Prosecutor Short produced the first sensational attack upon Ella Gingles. "Didn't you sign a confession that you had taken goods from a department store?" "No." "How old do you say you are?" "I am eighteen." "Look at this signature signed December 6, 1908--is that your signature?" Here Mr. Short produced a paper purporting to be a confession that Ella Gingles had made, when accused of theft in a department store. "That is my signature," said Miss Gingles. Her voice quivered. There was a gasp among the women who had flocked to the courtroom to lend their moral aid to the accused girl. "Let's see," said Mr. Short, mercilessly. "At the very outset this paper says--your admission--that you were then twenty years old." "No, sir," interrupted Miss Gingles. "Here, look at it; there it is, twenty years old." "I told them I was eighteen." "You have said you were born in Ireland?" "Yes." "But this document says--your admission--that you were born in London." The witness made no answer. Mr. Short attempted to offer the document in evidence, but was temporarily prevented by a ruling of the court. "You say you were a good girl--a perfectly good girl--up to the time you met Agnes Barrett?" "Yes; oh, yes, sir," sobbed Miss Gingles. "You lived in Belleville, Ontario, before coming to Chicago?" "Yes." "As Ella Gingles?" "Yes." "What! Didn't you call yourself Ella Raymond?" "No." "Did you know a Dr. Gibson there?" "No, sir." "Didn't he attend you when you were ill?" "He did not; he did not." Mr. Short intimated that this part of the girl's testimony would be impeached by testimony of the physician. "It was under the auspices of that woman's guild at Belleville, Ontario, that you went to work for Mrs. Thornton?" "Yes." "No white slave about that?" "No." "Was that Mrs. D. S. Thornton?" "Yes, sir." "You never had any trouble with them?" "No." "When were you taken ill?" "About two months later." "What was the doctor's name?" "I don't remember." "How long were you at the hospital?" "I don't remember." "Didn't the nurse and Mrs. Thornton object to having you go back to work?" "No." On this point the witness was quite positive. Then Mr. Short described the Thornton house and asked the witness if she didn't know that up in the attic much linen was stored. Miss Gingles said that she didn't know about it. She described the marking on the linen, and then was asked: "If Mr. Thornton said you took linen from his house, he is wrong?" "Yes, sir." "Would you know his handwriting?" "Yes." Then Mr. Short showed her the letter from Mr. Thornton that Captain O'Brien had. "That is his handwriting, but the letter is not true," said the witness. Then Mr. Short returned to the baby clothes that were found in Miss Gingles' trunk. "How long have you had these baby clothes?" "About four months." "How much larger were you going to make these clothes?" "Just a little larger." "Why didn't you start at these?" "I was waiting for a job." "You had lots of time?" "Yes, but I had to work at lace-making to support myself." "When you were at the Thornton house didn't the family go away?" "Yes, to Quebec." "And didn't you have a photograph taken in one of Mrs. Thornton's lace dresses?" "No, sir." Then Mr. Short showed her a picture of herself taken by R. McCormick of Belleville. "That is an enlargement of a photograph that I had taken in Ireland," said Miss Gingles. "You didn't have this taken in Belleville?" "No." "When you went back to the Thornton home from the hospital did the doctor go back with you, or did you ask him to speak to them?" "No." "Where did you come from to Chicago after leaving the Thorntons?" "I went to work for Mrs. Lindquist in July and went to Toronto with her, and then went to Bangor, Michigan, and then to Chicago." "Where did you go when you went to Chicago?" "To Mrs. Linderman's house." "Didn't you have a room at 300 Indiana street?" "Yes; I roomed with Mrs. Rice." "No trouble there, did you?" "No." "Where did she work?" "In the Wellington hotel." "What did she do?" "She was the linen girl." "How far is 300 Indiana street from 474 La Salle avenue?" "Half a dozen blocks." "You went into Miss Barrett's lace store for the first time in November?" "Yes." "Was that before you went to work in the Wellington?" "Yes." "Did you see Miss Barrett?" "Yes." "Do you know Mrs. Kenyon's sister?" "Yes." "Did you have any conversation with anybody there about your mother in Ireland?" "No." "Did you tell Miss Barrett that your mother had given you £200 to come to the country for a good time and that you had lost it on the way to the boat?" "No, sir." "Did you tell Miss Barrett that you lived at the Wellington hotel?" "Yes." Then, prompted by Miss Barrett, Mr. Short put the witness through a long questioning regarding the different kinds of lace. It was a duel of lace-making knowledge between Miss Gingles and Agnes Barrett, but Mr. Short failed to secure any important admissions. A queer incident occurred after the adjournment. Ella Gingles, who was formerly kept a prisoner in the county jail, and who was released on bail, ran from the witness stand into the arms of several women who are befriending her. Agnes Barrett, white and desperate at the charges made against her, ran back from the advancing throng of women. The accuser of Ella Gingles ran past the jury out of the room by the prisoners' door--the door used by Ella Gingles to enter and leave the room under the escort of a negro deputy sheriff. Miss Barrett hurried down the stairs and into the office of Mr. Short. Among the women who were with the lace-maker were Mrs. T. G. Kent, president of the Daughters of the Confederacy; Mrs. Van Dusen Cooke of the Socialist Women of the United States; Mrs. M. C. Brem of the Social Economics Club; Mrs. Lyman Cooley of the Evanston W. C. T. U.; Mrs. Mollie Benecke, Irish Choral Society; Dr. M. V. Maxson; Mrs. Margaret Inglehart; Mrs. Frances Hagen, and Mrs. Frances Howe, Children's Day Association. Testimony which was deemed favorable to Miss Gingles was given by Captain P. D. O'Brien of the detective bureau, who was called by the state. Captain O'Brien admitted that he had formerly been friendly to Miss Gingles, and Attorney O'Donnell got it before the jury that he had even suggested the employment of her present counsel. The detective chief gave testimony which was thought to favor the defendant. The witness declared that the first charge of theft was made by Ella Gingles against Agnes Barrett of the Wellington hotel, and told of an investigation by the police of a raid on Miss Gingles' home, 474 La Salle avenue, in which Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon took away some lace and a watch and bank book belonging to the defendant. His examination, conducted by Mr. Short, follows: "Do you remember seeing Miss Barrett and Ella Gingles on January 5, 1909?" "Yes. Ella Gingles came to my office and said she worked at the Wellington hotel and that Mrs. Kenyon and Miss Barrett had gone to her room at 474 La Salle avenue and took her watch, bank book and laces, claiming she had stolen the lace. She said they had compelled her to sign a statement that she had stolen the lace. "I asked Ella Gingles if she stole the lace and she said, 'No.' "I told her I thought it was funny that she should have signed the statement. "I sent for Miss Barrett and Mrs. Kenyon. The latter came. We had the lace, watch and bank book taken to my office. "What was the lace kept in?" "A blue pillow case." "Finally Miss Barrett came to my office and I had her and Miss Gingles attempt to sort out the laces which they claimed were theirs. Then we put the lace on a table and Miss Barrett and Miss Gingles both claimed most of the lace. I told them they had better take the case to court. I told Miss Gingles not to give Miss Barrett the lace if it didn't belong to her." "Miss Gingles did admit that some of the lace belonged to Miss Barrett, did she?" asked Mr. Short. "Yes, but she claimed that Miss Barrett or some of her friends took it to her room. She denied having stolen it." "What did Miss Barrett say about the watch and bank book?" "She said she had lost other property and that she thought she could keep it until her loss had been made good. I told her she couldn't do that in my office." "Was there any trouble over a necklace?" "Yes. Miss Barrett claimed a necklace which she said she had bought in New York. Miss Gingles denied the assertion and said she had brought the necklace from Ireland." The necklace was introduced in evidence. Attorney O'Donnell began the cross-examination in an unusual manner, which called for an equally unusual objection from Prosecutor Short. "Good morning, captain," Mr. O'Donnell began, in his most dulcet, honeyed tones. "Good morning," returned the witness. "I object," shouted Mr. Short. "What for?" asked Judge Brentano, in astonishment. "Oh, I don't care about Mr. O'Donnell's good morning, but to its obvious purpose," said Mr. Short. After some preliminary questions Mr. O'Donnell asked Captain O'Brien if he remembered a statement made to him in the presence of Chief Clerk William Luthardt of the police department, to the effect that when the piles of lace were divided "Ella Gingles had the pile and Agnes Barrett had the scraps." Captain O'Brien said he didn't remember it that way. "But the piles were about equally divided," said Captain O'Brien. The witness' memory failed him on several points which had impressed Mr. O'Donnell, and finally, when the lawyer became nettled, he snapped this question across the table: "You were the first person to suggest that I defend Miss Gingles--you wanted me to defend her, didn't you?" Objection by Mr. Short was promptly sustained. E. C. Capon, manager of the Wellington hotel, then was called and asked to identify a pass-key which the state claims was found in the Gingles girl's room. "That's a maid's pass-key," said Capon. "Poof! I never had a pass-key--I never saw that one until I was arrested," said Miss Gingles. May Brennan, who came direct to Chicago from County Sligo, Ireland, less than a year ago, was the next witness. "What is your occupation?" asked Mr. Short. "I'm a lace teacher." "Did you try to get Miss Gingles a position in a department store?" "Yes." "Did any one ask you to befriend Miss Gingles?" "Yes--Miss Barrett." Then Prosecutor Short sprang his big surprise. "Here is a piece of lace taken from Miss Gingles' room. Did you ever see that before?" asked Mr. Short. "Yes--I made it. That's my own make." "What did you do with the original piece of lace?" "I sent it to Miss Barrett at French Lick, Indiana, last summer." "Do you know how Ella Gingles came to have this lace?" "No." "You didn't give it to her?" "No. I gave it to Miss Barrett." Witness then told of having seen Ella Gingles go to Miss Barrett's room in the Wellington hotel early last January. "Miss Barrett sent me up to her room and I saw Miss Gingles waiting for somebody. Then a bellboy gave Ella Gingles Miss Barrett's pass-key and we both went into the room." Witness did not know how Miss Gingles came to demand the pass-key of Miss Barrett's room, but was sure she went into the room when Miss Barrett was absent. Miss Margaret Donahue was then called. She is secretary of the Wellington Hotel Company. "Was any of your property found in Miss Gingles' room?" asked Mr. Short. "Yes." "Is this the property you refer to?" and Mr. Short waved before the jury a pair of long, black, silk stockings. "Yes--those are mine." Mr. O'Donnell looked at Miss Gingles--the latter turned pink and the jury gingerly examined the expansive hosiery that was passed over the railing. The strongest part of Mrs. Linderman's testimony came when she told of having gone to the Wellington hotel February 17, the morning after the bathroom episode. She found Miss Gingles delirious, in bed under the care of a physician. Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell and several policemen were there, the witness declared. "Tell the condition of Ella Gingles," commanded Attorney O'Donnell. "She was crazy, crazy, crazy," declared Mrs. Linderman. "What did she do?" "She lay on the bed and screamed at the top of her voice." "What did she scream?" "She kept repeating, 'Oh, Miss Barrett! Don't let that devil-man in here again! Don't let him kill me, Miss Barrett! Save me, Miss Barrett.'" Mrs. Linderman also told of how Ella Gingles, on the night of January 4, following the first alleged attack in the room of Miss Barrett at the Wellington hotel, had come home in a disheveled, hysterical condition. "She told me that a terrible thing had happened to her and accused Miss Barrett. But she was afraid to tell me because she said that Miss Barrett had threatened to kill her if she told," said Mrs. Linderman. Just before Mrs. Linderman, the mother, took the stand Tecla, her thirteen-year-old daughter, preceded her. She swore positively that the necklace which Miss Agnes Barrett accuses Ella Gingles of stealing was a substitute. She wore a school girl's dress of white muslin, with an over-yoke of lace. Her hair was combed back from her forehead and tied at the back with a white silk ribbon. The little girl was somewhat confused and held up her wrong hand when taking the oath. Her testimony follows: "Do you know Ella Gingles?" "Yes, sir." "Did she ever live at your house?" "Yes, sir." "Have you ever seen her wearing jewelry?" "Yes, sir; I saw her wearing a necklace of purple beads." "How long after she came to your house did you see her wearing them?" "I can't remember exactly." "Where was it you saw her wearing the beads?" "She was in the kitchen." "You are sure you saw her wearing the beads?" "Yes, sir. I remember it plainly." "Was your mother in the kitchen at the time?" "Yes, sir." "Did she see Ella wearing the necklace?" "Yes." Cross-examined by Mr. Short, the youthful witness was trapped as to the number of beads in the necklace held by the attorney. "How many beads were there on Ella's necklace?" asked Mr. Stout. "There were seven." The prosecuting attorney produced the necklace alleged to have been stolen by Miss Gingles from Miss Barrett. "Is this the necklace Ella wore?" "No, sir." "What?" "I say, no, sir. It is a different necklace." "In what way?" "This has five beads and Ella's had seven." Mrs. Linderman, mother of Tecla Linderman, then took the stand. Her testimony was sensational. She related the story of the night when Miss Barrett and Miss Donahue visited the Linderman home in La Salle avenue and ransacked the room of the little lace-maker. Then she went into the details of the condition of Miss Gingles after the happenings at the Wellington hotel. She declared that the girl was a raving maniac when she went to the hotel on the afternoon Miss Gingles was found bound hand and foot, with large gashes cut in her body, in the bathroom of the hostelry. "You were at home on the night Miss Barrett and the other woman called to see Miss Gingles at the La Salle avenue home?" suggested Attorney O'Donnell. "Yes, sir," answered the witness. "How long were the women with Ella Gingles--to the best of your knowledge?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. "At least two hours." "Did Ella Gingles go away with the women?" "Yes." "What time did she return?" "About twelve o'clock." "What was her condition?" "She was crying terribly. Her eyes were red and her hair was all tumbled down. She said she had been treated horribly. She said she couldn't tell me what was the matter, because they would kill her if she told any one." "What else happened?" "We went to her room together and I saw that her clothes had been dumped into a heap and were covered with candle grease. I helped her to clean them." "Ella Gingles didn't tell you what they did to her?" "No." "Wasn't your curiosity excited?" asked Judge Brentano. "Yes, but what could I do? It was midnight." Mr. Short then asked the witness how she came to go to the Wellington hotel February 17, following the alleged attack in the bathroom. "Mr. O'Donnell came to my house with a man in an automobile, and told me Ella Gingles was being murdered in the Wellington hotel," replied Mrs. Linderman. Then came some testimony calculated to embarrass Attorney O'Donnell. "You went direct to Ella Gingles' room, didn't you?" "Yes, sir." "She was in bed?" "Yes, sir." "And Mr. O'Donnell was sitting near the bed?" "Yes, sir." "And Mr. O'Donnell had his arms around Miss Gingles?" "Yes, sir." "And Ella Gingles had her arms around Mr. O'Donnell?" "Yes, sir." "Who went with you to the room?" "Miss Joyce." "Oh, you didn't go direct to the Wellington hotel from your home to the Wellington when you heard that Ella Gingles was being murdered?" "No. I went first to Mr. O'Donnell's office." "You say Ella Gingles was a raving maniac?" "Yes. She acted as if she were under the influence of some dope." "Dope? Where did you hear that word?" "I read it in the medical books," was the surprising answer. "Did Ella Gingles talk to Mr. O'Donnell?" "Yes." "What did she call him?" "Mr. O'Donnell." "Did she call him by his first name?" "No, sir." "How long were you in this room?" "An hour, at least." "Nobody suggested that she be sent to a hospital?" "Did a physician come?" "Yes." "What did he do?" "Ordered us all to leave the room." "Did all go out?" "I think so." "Do you remember handling the cords with which Ella Gingles was tied?" "Yes." "How did you know she had been tied and that those were the cords?" "A policeman told me." "Were there any books in Miss Gingles' trunk?" "Yes; I saw several books." "Don't you know that Ella Gingles claims she never read but one book in her life, and that one of Dickens' novels?" "No; I don't know anything about that." "Did you know that Miss Gingles was starving between January 4 and February 16?" "Yes; I heard she was hungry." "Did you give her anything to eat?" "Yes; several times I gave her coffee and toast. I knew she had no money." "You would have given her money if you knew she were starving in your home?" "I had no money, but I didn't take her room money." A sharp clash took place between Attorney O'Donnell and Judge Brentano when the lawyer objected to one of Prosecutor Short's rapid-fire questions. "I'll rule it out if you are invoking the strict rules of evidence, but it is pretty late to invoke them now," said Judge Brentano. "I'll invoke the rule and take exception to the court's remark," answered the attorney. "Save your exception," retorted Judge Brentano. A few minutes later Mr. O'Donnell began questioning Mrs. Linderman regarding the letter which was received by Miss Joyce and telling of her alleged tortures which resulted in her being found bound and gagged in a Wellington hotel bathroom. "I object! This isn't proper. I'm invoking the strict rules now," said Mr. Short. "Sustained," said Judge Brentano. "Give me the letter, then," snapped Mr. O'Donnell. "Say please," replied Mr. Short, holding the letter teasingly. "Please. Being attorney for the Chinese, I'll 'kow-tow' to you," said Mr. O'Donnell, solemnly making the Chinese salutation to royalty. A few minutes later Mr. Short objected again. "That's only a self-serving declaration," he declared. "Who does it serve?" sarcastically inquired Mr. O'Donnell. "It serves you," was the prosecutor's quick retort. "Oh, indict me, why don't you?" rejoined Mr. O'Donnell. "I will if I get anything on you." "Yes, and you probably will whether you get anything on me or not," said Mr. O'Donnell, angrily. "Yes--oh, no, I won't," and Mr. Short corrected himself quickly. Belle Carson, 32 Goethe street, was then called and swore that Ella Gingles had gone to her room on the night of January 4 and that the girl had asked her about getting a policeman. "I told her the names of two judges I knew." Miss Carson told how Ella Gingles had brought some lace to her room and told her how Irish lace was made. Miss Carson at that time had a room at 474 La Salle avenue. "I went to Miss Gingles' room and saw the laces which she was making." "Were they large or small?" "Small." Tom Taggart, the Indiana politician, and former Democratic national committeeman, appeared as a voluntary witness to clear his name of charges made in the defense of Ella Gingles. Mr. Taggart was treated with the utmost deference. Other witnesses may have been "ragged" by counsel for both sides, but Taggart was immune from even being asked to repeat his testimony or to give any explanations. Mr. Taggart told a straightforward story and it consisted mainly in denying that he knew Ella Gingles or that he had ever known Agnes Barrett except in a business way through her lace business at French Lick Springs, Indiana. The rest of his testimony was given over to proving that he is an utterly unsophisticated Indianian, and when asked about the alleged "white slave" traffic he innocently asked: "What is a 'white slave'?" Mr. Short gave the definition, without even cracking a smile. When Mr. Taggart had been enlightened he declared that there were no "white slaves" in his hotel in French Lick. "We don't let any bad characters stay in the hotel if we know them. My hotel is perfectly respectable; it is patronized by the best people in the United States, from Maine to California," he declared. Mr. O'Donnell was equally careful not to ruffle the temper or feelings of the witness. He asked a few perfunctory questions and said, "That is all, Mr. Taggart." Mr. Taggart, however, wanted to talk some more. Turning to the court, he said: "Your Honor, I came here as a voluntary witness." "Of course you did," put in Mr. Short. "And I wanted to vindicate my name. There was so much said in the papers when Miss Gingles made her statement--I just wanted to come and put things right," was the gist of the explanation volubly made by Mr. Taggart. It developed that Mr. Taggart has kept two detectives employed since the opening of the trial to report to him the developments, especially as they related to the use of his name in the testimony. Dr. H. A. Watson, 4358 Lake avenue, and house physician at the Wellington hotel, followed Mr. Taggart on the witness stand. "On February 17, were you called to attend Ella Gingles?" "I object!" shouted Attorney O'Shaughnessey. "On what grounds?" asked Judge Brentano. "It isn't relevant to the issue," replied Mr. O'Shaughnessey. "If this case had been tried on merely relevant issues it would have been finished in twenty minutes," retorted the court. "Did you go to the bathroom on the fifth floor of the hotel?" "Yes." "What did you see?" "The transom of the bathroom had been taken out and the door opened from the inside. On the floor lay a girl. One knee was tied and one foot fastened to the foot of the bathtub. Both hands were tied." "Were they slip knots?" "No. Hard knots. The feet were tied with cords and the knee with a stocking." "What was her condition?" "She was not unconscious. The pupils of the eyes were widely dilated. I asked her who her friends were and she asked me to send for Captain O'Brien." "What did she say?" "She was crying, as hysterical people do. She kept saying, 'They threw pepper in my eyes.'" "'I can't drink any more wine.' She also said she was a friend of Mr. O'Donnell." "What did you do?" "I examined to see if she had been attacked, and found there were no such indications. I cut her loose and found she wasn't in a bad way. Her pulse was good and she did not need medicine." "How about her wounds?" "They were scratches, and not cuts." "When we took her to a room she kept crying and said, 'They cut me! They threw pepper in my eyes and put me in a cab.'" "We object to this form of questioning," said Mr. Short. "The objection is sustained. The court will state why. You are asking questions, Mr. O'Donnell, on matters that nobody can testify to unless you take the stand yourself." "Your honor," shouted the Irish lawyer, "I don't have to take the stand, sir. My good wife will take it." "Very good; then proceed," answered Judge Brentano. "Now, as a matter of fact, did you not see this girl lying there on that bed in a semi-conscious condition, so far from rational that I was compelled to shake her to make her recognize me?" "I saw you shake her. She did not appear to me irrational apart from the hysteria." "What position was Miss Gingles in when you found her in the bathroom?" resumed Mr. Short, again taking the witness. "She was lying on her right side and her body stretched from one end of the bathtub. Her feet were tied to the iron pipe under the stationary bowl. Her hands were tied to the iron foot at the end of the tub." "Did you know Miss Gingles before?" "No. I never saw her before." "Was there anything much the matter with her aside from being hysterical? Did you see the scratches on her arms and body?" "Yes. Those scratches were very superficial. They did not more than penetrate the first skin." "Did you see a liquid in the bathroom?" "Yes. I thought it was wine. Also there was a little bottle of laudanum." "Now, if this girl had taken laudanum, what would have been the condition of the pupils of her eyes?" "They would have been very much contracted." By Mr. O'Donnell: "And tell us, had she a cut on the inside of the thigh, running crosswise?" "Yes, she had such a cut." "There were many cuts, altogether?" "I don't recall precisely how many." Mr. O'Donnell dramatically seized Ella Gingles by the hand, almost dragged her to the witness chair, and then demanded explosively: "Did you see this cut, and this one, and that one and that one? Did you really see any cuts?" "Yes. I saw several cuts, but I cannot say that these are the scars from them." "Now, how many cuts did you find?" "As I remember it, there were several on the arms and one on the leg." "Which leg?" "I do not recall." "Did you see other bruises and injuries on the girl's body?" "Oh, I remember generally that she was cut and scratched slightly, but I did not regard any of the injuries as serious." "Do you know that Ella Gingles had ten wounds altogether?" "All I recall I have told you." "How long were you in the bathroom with Ella Gingles before you untied her?" "Not more than a few minutes." "Now, about this pink baby ribbon Mr. Short is trying to make out Ella was tied with. Didn't you see me take it out of her nightgown?" "I don't remember." "Well, I took it out of her neck-band because she was tearing at herself, didn't I?" "Oh, I can't tell that." "Did you see me take the gag off her?" "It was hanging under her chin when I first saw her, but I don't know who took it off." "You remember a big crowd of newspaper men being in the room, don't you?" "Many people were there. I did not know many of them." "How does it come that you say you took Miss Gingles out of the bathroom at eleven p. m. when Captain O'Brien was called and told of her condition at ten?" "Well, I understood that you had been there and gone before I reached there." "Was one of her arms tied with a stocking?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. "Yes." "Had she her own stockings on?" "No." "What?" "Well, I don't recall exactly. I don't think she had them both on." "As a matter of fact, were there not three stockings? Did not Ella have her own stockings on?" "Well, I won't be positive about it." "Was she brought to the bed in the same condition you took her from the bathroom?" "I believe she was." "When you left you are sure she had on a black skirt?" "Yes." "And you are not sure whether she had on stockings or not?" "No." "Between the time you cut Ella Gingles loose and we got there were any clothes taken off or put on Ella Gingles?" "Not that I can remember." Dr. Watson proved to have a bad memory. He couldn't remember who took charge of the cords that bound Ella Gingles or what was done and said after the girl was found in the bathroom. Professor Henry J. Cox of the United States Weather Bureau was then called by the state. "What kind of a night was January 4, 1909?" asked Mr. Short. "It was cloudy, and at eleven a. m. the temperature was fifty and at midnight it was forty-five." "Did it rain that night?" "No, sir." "But there was a mist, wasn't there?" asked Mr. O'Donnell. "No such record." "What kind of clouds were there?" "Low, hanging clouds." "When did the sky clear?" "At four a. m." "Let me look at that book," said Mr. O'Donnell. "I'm not a--what do you call it--meterologist?" suggested Mr. Cox. "Read the meter, Pat," said Mr. Short. "Here. What's this? Why, the record shows there was rain that night!" shouted Mr. O'Donnell. Mr. Cox looked and saw the letter "T" opposite the temperature reading for nine p. m. "That means 'trace.' Yes, there was a trace of rain at that hour," admitted Mr. Cox. When the case closed and the arguments were through the courtroom was filled with wild, expectant people. It was a scene never equaled in Cook county. Even the scenes of confusion in the trial of Dora McDonald for the slaying of Webster Guerin were eclipsed. The jury did not deliberate long. A few hours sufficed to reach a verdict. There was some contention on the part of one juror, but he was soon convinced that the verdict should be not guilty. The scene when the verdict was handed to Judge Brentano was appalling. The little Irish girl standing in front of the bar of justice, with eyes looking straight ahead into those of the judge; the auditors standing breathless awaiting the words that were to fall from his lips. When the court read from the slip of paper, "We, the jury, find Ella Gingles not guilty," bedlam broke loose. Men and women, many of them richly dressed, rioted madly. Several of the clubwomen and members of the Irish Fellowship Society ran to the girl's side and hugged and kissed her. For several minutes the court made no attempt to still the outbreak. He, too, grim and stern, and used to tragedies in the court, seemed to feel the joyfulness of the occasion. "I'm so happy," the little lace-maker told her friends. "I was certain I would be freed. It was a horrible plot against me, but with all my friends working for me I knew I could not come to any harm." After leaving the courtroom the girl was taken in a cab to the home of a wealthy clubwoman on the south side. That evening hundreds of supporters called to greet her and tell her of their joy at her acquittal. Several of them joined together and presented her with a small diamond brooch. The next day the little lace-maker began making arrangements to return to her old home and to her parents, at Larne, Ireland. There with her family she expected to try to live down the horrors of her experiences in Chicago. CHAPTER XII. THE RETURN HOME. A clipping from the pages of one of Chicago's great newspapers we leave to tell the last chapter of the life of Ella Gingles. In its few words it tells chapters of the faith and confidence placed in the Irish lace-maker by her friends in Chicago. It was the last good-bye to the little foreigner before she sailed back across the ocean to her waiting parents and friends in the town of Larne, Ireland. The clipping, published under the date of August 3, 1909, is as follows: FRIENDS BID FAREWELL TO MISS ELLA GINGLES _Impressive Reception for Acquitted Lace-maker Is Given by Illinois Orangemen, Who Present Bible and Purse._ "We believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; in Jesus Christ, His Son, our only Mediator; in the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, and in the Bible, His revealed will." Quoting these words from the declaration in the constitution of the Orangemen, adopted more than two hundred years ago, Robert F. Brown, Illinois state grand treasurer of the order, presented a leather-bound copy of the Bible to Ella Gingles. The Bible was the gift of the Ladies' Loyal Orange Order of Chicago, and the presentation was the climax of an impressive farewell reception given by the Illinois organization of the Orangemen order at Hopkins' Hall, Sixty-third street and Stewart avenue, to the young Irish lace-maker, who is to leave Chicago next Sunday evening to return to the home of her parents in Ireland. On the fly-leaf of the book presented to the young girl, who had passed through one of the most grilling experiences ever witnessed in this country, was inscribed the following: "Presented to Miss Ella Gingles by the 'Chosen Few,' Ladies' Loyal Orange Order, Chicago, August 2,1909. May the Lord watch between me and thee, while we are absent one from the other.--Mrs. Jane M. Herbison, Mrs. Rebecca McKeag, Mrs. Sarah Doonan." More than five hundred persons, friends of Miss Gingles, had crowded into the hall, filling every available space. She sat throughout the ceremonies, during which there were a number of addresses, with Mrs. Mary Brem of the Catholic Woman's League, and at whose home at 5488 Ellis avenue she has been living since her acquittal. William Russell, state grand master of the order, presided. Addresses were made by Samuel J. McCarroll, past grand master; H. H. Van Meter of the Chicago Law and Order League, and Rev. E. Keene Ryan of the Garfield Boulevard Presbyterian Church. Mr. McCarroll declared it was a blot upon the citizenship of Chicago that conditions were such that a young girl found it necessary to return to her home in Europe in order to be entirely safe. Miss Gingles also was presented with $100, which was a part of a fund raised by clubwomen in Chicago and by Rev. Mr. Ryan at a service at his church on July 11. Out of the remainder of the fund the expenses of the trip of Miss Gingles and Miss Grace Van Duzen Cooke, who is to accompany her, are to be paid. 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Retail price 25c Sent Postpaid on Receipt of Price The Charles C. Thompson Company PUBLISHERS 545-549 Wabash Ave., Chicago Transcriber's Notes: Italics are represented with _underscores_. Questionable/archaic spellings have been retained from the original. Page 35, added missing open quote before "Then the man would have been introduced." Page 58, pluralized "inmates" in "80 per cent of the inmates." Page 68, added missing quote before "A well dressed Chinaman." Page 69, added missing close quote after "They're no good." Page 81, corrected "livered servant" to "liveried servant." Page 82, normalized "orgie" to "orgy" ("night's orgy"). Page 84, removed duplicate "who" from "asked one who was dead." Page 90, added missing close quote after "he is hard with people." Page 92, corrected "Larne Co., Antrim" to "Larne, Co. Antrim." Page 103, corrected typo "Agness" in "Agnes Barrett seemed to take an interest." Page 113, removed extra quote before "----" in "If only ----." Retained inconsistent "Charley"/"Charlie" spelling from original. Page 120, corrected typo "O'Shaugsnessey" in "convinced Mr. O'Shaughnessey." Changed "grapevine" to "grape-vine" for consistency with earlier appearance. Page 127, corrected typo "alits" in "alias Madame Barette." Corrected typo "O'Shaughnessy" in "also by John P. O'Shaughnessey." Page 129, removed duplicate period after "in the neighborhood of half past six o'clock in the evening." Corrected typo "bathoom" in "Arnold was in the bathroom." Page 133, corrected typo "leavng" in "she was leaving the hotel." Page 135, corrected typo "repled" in "The man replied that he had not." Page 159, corrected typo "O'Bren" in "went to see Captain O'Brien the next day." Page 161, added missing close quote after "I told them I was eighteen." Page 163, removed unnecessary quote after "found in Miss Gingles' trunk." Page 165, added missing answer "Yes" after "Was that before you went to work in the Wellington?" Page 168, split "What was the lace kept in?" from "A blue pillow case." and added missing close quote. Page 171, hyphenated "pass-key" in "demand the pass-key" for consistency. Page 174, added space to "La Salle" and hyphen to "lace-maker" in "La Salle avenue and ransacked the room of the little lace-maker" for consistency with other appearances of those words. Page 176, added space to "La Salle" in "Miss Gingles at the La Salle" for consistency. Page 179, removed unnnecessary quote after "rejoined Mr. O'Donnell." Page 184, corrected period to question mark after "aside from being hysterical?" Page 191, corrected typo "Recepton" in "Impressive Reception for Acquitted Lace-maker." 
42322	----	Early Western Travels 1748-1846 Volume XXVI Early Western Travels 1748-1846 A Series of Annotated Reprints of some of the best and rarest contemporary volumes of travel, descriptive of the Aborigines and Social and Economic Conditions in the Middle and Far West, during the Period of Early American Settlement Edited with Notes, Introductions, Index, etc., by Reuben Gold Thwaites, LL.D. Editor of "The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents," "Original Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition," "Hennepin's New Discovery," etc. Volume XXVI Part I of Flagg's The Far West, 1836-1837 [Illustration] Cleveland, Ohio The Arthur H. Clark Company 1906 COPYRIGHT 1906, BY THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED The Lakeside Press R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY CHICAGO CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXVI PREFACE TO VOLUMES XXVI AND XXVII. _The Editor_ 9 THE FAR WEST: OR, A TOUR BEYOND THE MOUNTAINS. Embracing Outlines of Western Life and Scenery; Sketches of the Prairies, Rivers, Ancient Mounds, Early Settlements of the French, etc. etc. (The first thirty-two chapters, being all of Vol. I of original, and pp. 1-126 of Vol. II.) _Edmund Flagg._ Copyright Notice 26 Author's Dedication 27 Author's Preface 29 Author's Table of Contents 33 Text (chapters i-xxxii; the remainder appearing in our volume xxvii) 43 ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME XXVI Map of Oregon; drawn by H. J. Kelley, 1830 24 Facsimile of title-page to Vol. I of Flagg's _The Far West_ 25 PREFACE TO VOLUMES XXVI-XXVII These two volumes are devoted to reprints of Edmund Flagg's _The Far West_ (New York, 1838), and Father Pierre Jean de Smet's _Letters and Sketches, with a Narrative of a Year's Residence among the Indian Tribes of the Rocky Mountains_ (Philadelphia, 1843). Flagg's two-volume work occupies all of our volume xxvi and the first part of volume xxvii, the remaining portion of the latter being given to De Smet's book. Edmund Flagg was prominent among early American prose writers, and also ranked high among our minor poets. A descendant of the Thomas Flagg who came to Boston from England, in 1637, Edmund was born November 24, 1815, at Wescasset, Maine. Being graduated with distinction from Bowdoin College in 1835, in the same year he went with his mother and sister Lucy to Louisville, Kentucky. Here, in a private school, he taught the classics to a group of boys, and contributed articles to the Louisville _Journal_, a paper with which he was intermittently connected, either as editorial writer or correspondent, until 1861. The summer and autumn of 1836 found Flagg travelling in Missouri and Illinois, and writing for the _Journal_ the letters which were later revised and enlarged to form _The Far West_, herein reprinted. Tarrying at St. Louis in the autumn of 1836, our author began the study of law, and the following year was admitted to the bar; but in 1838 he returned to newspaper life, taking charge for a time of the St. Louis _Commercial Bulletin_. During the winter of 1838-39 he assisted George D. Prentice, founder of the Louisville _Journal_, in the work of editing the Louisville _Literary News Letter_. Finding, however, that newspaper work overtaxed his health, Flagg next accepted an invitation to enter the law office of Sergeant S. Prentiss at Vicksburg, Mississippi, where in addition to his legal duties he found time to edit the Vicksburg _Whig_. Having been wounded in a duel with James Hagan of the _Sentinel_ in that city, Flagg returned to the less excitable North and undertook editorial duties upon the _Gazette_ at Marietta, Ohio (1842-43), and later (1844-45) upon the St. Louis _Evening Gazette_. He also served as official reporter of the Missouri state constitutional convention the following year, and published a volume of its debates; subsequently (until 1849) acting as a court reporter in St. Louis. The three succeeding years were spent abroad; first as secretary to Edward A. Hannegan, United States minister to Berlin, and later as consul at Venice. In February, 1852, he returned to America, and during the presidential campaign of that year edited a Democratic journal at St. Louis, known as the _Daily Times_. Later, as a reward for political service, he was made superintendent of statistics in the department of state, at Washington--a bureau having special charge of commercial relations. Here he was especially concerned with the compilation of reports on immigration and the cotton and tobacco trade, and published a _Report on Commercial Relations of the United States with all Foreign Nations_ (4 vols., Washington, 1858). Through these reports, particularly the last named, Flagg's name became familiar to merchants in both the United States and Europe. From 1857 to 1860 he was Washington correspondent for several Western newspapers, and from 1861 to 1870 served as librarian of copyrights in the department of the interior. Having in 1862 married Kate Adeline, daughter of Sidney S. Gallaher, of Virginia, he moved to Highland View in that state (1870), and died there November 1, 1890. In addition to his labors in the public service and as a newspaper man, Flagg found time for higher literary work, and won considerable distinction in that field. His first book, _The Far West_, although somewhat stilted in style, possesses considerable literary merit. Encouraged by the success of his initial endeavor, he wrote the following year (1839) the _Duchess of Ferrara_ and _Beatrice of Padua_, two novels, each of which passed through at least two editions. The _Howard Queen_ (1848) and _Blanche of Artois_ (1850) were prize productions. _De Molai_ (1888), says the New York _Sun_ of the period, is "a powerful, dramatic tale which seems to catch the very spirit of the age of Philip of France. It is rare to find a story in which fact and invention are so evenly and adroitly balanced." Our author also wrote several dramas, which were staged in Louisville, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and New York; he also composed numerous poems for newspapers and magazines. His masterpiece, however, was a history dedicated to his lifelong friend and colleague, George D. Prentice, entitled _The City of the Sea_ (2 vols., New York, 1853). This work was declared by the _Knickerbocker_ to be "a carefully compiled, poetically-written digest of the history of the glorious old Venice--a passionate, thrilling, yet accurate and sympathetic account of the last struggle for independence." At the time of his death Flagg had in preparation a volume of reminiscences, developed from a diary kept during forty years, but this has never been published.[1] [1] For a list of Flagg's prose and poetical writings, contributions to periodicals, and editorial works, see "Annual Report of the Librarian of Bowdoin College for the year ending June 1, 1891," in Bowdoin College _Library Bulletin_ (Brunswick, Maine, 1895). "In hope of renovating the energies of a shattered constitution," we are told, Flagg started in the early part of June, 1836, on a journey to what was then known as the Far West. Taking a steamboat at Louisville, he went to St. Louis by way of the Ohio and the Mississippi, and after a brief delay ascended the latter to the mouth of the Illinois, and thence on to Peoria. Prevented by low water from proceeding farther, he returned by the same route to St. Louis, whence after three weeks' stay, spent either in the sick chamber or in making short trips about the city and its environs, the traveller crossed the Mississippi and struck out on horseback across the Illinois prairies, visiting Edwardsville, Alton, Carlinsville, Hillsborough, Carlisle, Lebanon, Belleville, and the American Bottoms. In July, after recrossing the Mississippi, he visited in like manner St. Charles, Missouri, by way of Bellefontaine and Florissant; crossed the Mississippi near Portage des Sioux, and passed through the Illinois towns of Grafton, Carrollton, Manchester, Jacksonville, Springfield, across Grand Prairie to Shelbyville, Mount Vernon, Pinkneyville, and Chester, and returned to St. Louis by way of the old French settlements of Kaskaskia, Prairie du Rocher, and Cahokia. During this journey Flagg wrote for the Louisville _Journal_, as already stated, a series of letters describing the country through which he travelled. Hastily thrown together from the pages of his note book, this correspondence appeared anonymously under the title, "Sketches of a Traveller." They were, however, soon attributed to Flagg, and two years later were collected by the author and published in two small volumes by Harper and Brothers (New York, 1838), as _The Far West_. These volumes are in many respects the best description of the Middle West that had appeared up to the time they were written. Roughly following the journals of Michaux, Harris, and Cuming by forty, thirty, and twenty years respectively, Flagg skillfully shows the remarkable growth and development of the Western country. His descriptions of the Ohio, Mississippi, and Illinois rivers are still among the best in print, particularly from the artistic standpoint. His account of the steamboat traffic is valuable for the history of navigation on the Western rivers, and shows vividly the obstacles which still confronted merchants of that time. Chapters xi, xii, and xiii, dealing with St. Louis and its immediate vicinity, are the most detailed in our series, while the descriptions of St. Charles and the Illinois towns through which Flagg passed, are excellent. The modern reader cannot but wish that Flagg had devoted less space to his youthful philosophizing, but the atmosphere is at least wholesome. Unlike Harris, whose criticism of Western society was keen and acrid, Flagg was a man of broad sympathies, possessing an insight into human nature remarkable for so youthful a writer--for he was but twenty years of age at the time of his travels, and twenty-two when the book was published. Although mildly reproving the old French settlers for their lack of enterprise, he fully appreciates their domestic virtues, and gives a faithful picture of these pleasure-loving, contented, unprogressive people. His description of the once thriving villages of Kaskaskia, Prairie du Rocher, and Cahokia, are valuable historically, as showing the decay settling upon the French civilization after a few years of American occupation. Our author's interview with the Mormon convert, his conversations with early French and American settlers, his accounts of political meetings, his anecdotes illustrating Western curiosity, and particularly his carefully-recounted local traditions, throw much light on the beliefs, manners, and customs of the Western people of his time. _The Far West_ is thus not only a graphic and often forceful description of the interesting region through which the author travelled, but a sympathetic synopsis of its local annals, affording much varied information not otherwise obtainable. The present reprint, with annotations that seek to correct its errors, will, we think, prove welcome in our series. In the _Letters and Sketches_ of Father de Smet, we reprint another Western classic, related to the volumes of Flagg by their common terminus of travel at St. Louis. No more interesting or picturesque episode has occurred in the history of Christian missions in the New World, than the famous visit made in the autumn of 1831 to General William Clark at St. Louis by the Flathead chiefs seeking religious instruction for their people. Vigorously exploited in the denominational papers of the East, this delegation aroused a sentiment that led to the founding of Protestant missions in Oregon and western Idaho, and incidentally to the solution of the Oregon question. But in point of fact, the Flathead deputation was sent to secure a Catholic missionary; and not merely one but four such embassies embarked for St. Louis before the great desideratum, a "black robe" priest, could be secured for ministration to this far-distant tribe. Employed in the Columbian fur-trade were a number of Christian Iroquois from Canada, who had been carefully trained at St. Regis and Caughnawaga in all the observances of the Roman Catholic church. Upon the Pacific waterways and in the fastnesses of the Rockies, these Iroquois taught their fellow Indians the ordinances of the church and the commands of the white man's Great Spirit. John Wyeth (see our volume xxi) testifies to the honesty and humanity of the Flathead tribe: "they do not lie, steal, nor rob any one, unless when driven too near to starvation." He also testifies that they "appear to keep the Sabbath;" and that their word is "as good as the Bible." These were the neophytes who craved instruction, and to whom was assigned that remarkable Jesuit missionary, Father Jean Pierre de Smet. Born in Belgium in 1801, young De Smet was educated in a religious school at Malines. When twenty years of age he responded to an appeal to cross the Atlantic and carry the gospel to the red men of the Western continent. Arrived in Philadelphia (1821), the young Belgian was astonished to see a well-built town, travelled roads, cultivated farms, and other appurtenances of civilization; he had expected only a wilderness and savages. Two years were spent in the Jesuit novitiate in Maryland, before the zealous youth saw any traces of frontier life. Then the youthful novice was removed to Florissant, Missouri, not far from St. Louis, where the making of a log-cabin and the breaking of fresh soil furnished a mild foretaste of his future career. Still more years elapsed before the cherished project of missionary labor could be realized. In 1829 St. Louis University was founded, and herein the young priest, who had been ordained in 1827, was employed upon the instructional force. Later years (1833-37) were spent in Europe, while recruiting his health and securing supplies for the infant university. It was not until 1838 that the first missionary enterprise was undertaken by Father de Smet, when a chapel for the Potawatomi was built on the site of the modern Council Bluffs. There, in 1839, the fourth Flathead deputation rested after the long journey from their Rocky Mountain home; and at the earnest solicitation of the young missioner, he was in the spring of 1840, detailed by his superior to ascertain and report upon the prospects of a mission to the mountain Indians. Of the two tribesmen who had come down to St. Louis, Pierre the Left-handed (Gaucher) was sent back to his people with news of the success of the embassy, while his colleague Ignace was detained to serve as guide to the adventurous Jesuit who in April, 1840, set forth for the Flathead country with the annual fur-trade caravan. The route traversed was the well-known Oregon Trail as far as the Green River rendezvous; there the father was rejoiced to meet a deputation of ten Flatheads, sent to escort him to their habitat, and at Prairie de la Messe was celebrated for them the first mass in the Western mountains. The trail led them on through Jackson's and Pierre's Holes; and in the latter valley the waiting tribesmen to the number of sixteen hundred had collected, and received the "black robe" as a messenger from Heaven. Chants and prayers were heard on every side; "in a fortnight," reports the delighted missionary, "all knew their prayers." After two months spent among his "dear Flatheads," wandering with them across the divide, and encamping for some time at the Three Forks of the Missouri--where nearly forty years before Lewis and Clark first encountered the Western Indians--De Smet took leave of his neophytes. Protected by a strong guard through the hostile Blackfeet country, he arrived at last at the fur-trade post of Fort Union at the junction of the Missouri and the Yellowstone. Descending thence to St. Louis he arrived there on the last day of December, 1840. The remainder of the winter was occupied in preparations for a new journey, and in securing men and supplies for the equipment of the far-away mission begun under such favorable auspices. Once more the father departed from Westport--this time in May, 1841. The little company consisted, besides himself, of two other priests and three lay brothers, all of the latter being skilled mechanics. Among the members of the caravan were a number of California pioneers, one of whom has thus related his impressions of the young missionary: "He was genial, of fine presence, and one of the saintliest men I have ever known, and I cannot wonder that the Indians were made to believe him divinely protected. He was a man of great kindness and great affability under all circumstances; nothing seemed to disturb his temper."[2] [2] John Bidwell, "First Emigrant Train to California," in _Century Magazine_, new series, xix, pp. 113, 114. Father de Smet's letters describe in detail the scenery and incidents of the route from the eastern border of Kansas to Fort Hall, in Idaho, where the British factor received the travellers with abounding hospitality. Here some of the Flatheads were in waiting to convey the missionaries to the tribe, the chiefs of which met them in Beaver Head Valley, Montana, and testified their welcome with dignified simplicity. Passing over to the waters of the Columbia, they founded the mission of St. Mary upon the first Sunday in October, in the beautiful Bitter Root valley at the site of the later Fort Owen. Thence Father de Smet made a rapid journey in search of provisions to Fort Colville, on the upper Columbia, but was again at his mission stockade before the close of the year. In April a longer journey was projected, as far as Fort Vancouver, on the lower Columbia, where Dr. McLoughlin, the British factor, received the good priest with that cordial greeting for which he was already famous. During this journey the father narrowly escaped drowning in the turbulent rapids of the Columbia, where five of his boatmen perished. Returned to St. Mary's, the prospects for a harvest of souls both among the Flatheads and the neighboring tribes appeared so promising that the missionary determined to seek re-enforcement and further aid in Europe. Thereupon he left his companions in charge of the "new Paraguay" of his hopes, and once more undertook the long and adventurous journey to the settlements, this time by way of the Yellowstone and Missouri rivers, arriving at St. Louis the last of October, 1842. At this point the journeys detailed in the volume here reprinted come to an end. The later career of Father de Smet and his subsequent journeyings will be detailed in the preface to volumes xxviii and xxix, in the latter of which will appear his _Oregon Missions_. Father de Smet's writings on missionary subjects ended only with his death, and were increasingly voluminous and detailed. The _Letters and Sketches_ were his first published work, with the exception of a portion of a compilation that appeared in 1841, on the Jesuit missions of Missouri. We find therefore, in the present reprint, the vitality and enthusiasm of the young traveller relating new scenes, and the abounding joy of the successful missionary uplifting a barbaric race. The book was written with the avowed purpose of creating interest in his newly-organized work, and securing contributions therefor. The freshness of description, the wholesome simplicity of the narrative, the frank presentation of wilderness life, charm the reader, and make this book a classic of early Western exploration. Cast in the form of letters, wherein there is more or less repetition of statement, it is nevertheless evident that these have been subjected to a certain editorial revision, and that literary quality has been considered. Aside from the interest evoked by the personality of the writer, and the events of his narrative, the work throws much light upon wilderness travel, the topography and scenery of the Rocky Mountain region, and above all upon the habits and customs, modes of thought, social standards, and religious conceptions of the important tribes of the interior. After the present series of reprints had been planned for, and announced in a detailed prospectus, there was issued from the press of Francis P. Harper of New York the important volumes edited by Major H. M. Chittenden and Alfred Talbot Richardson, entitled _Life, Letters, and Travels of Father Pierre Jean de Smet, S. J., 1801-73_. This publication contains much new material, derived from manuscript sources, which has been interwoven in chronological order with the missionary's several books; and to it all have been added an adequate biography and bibliography of De Smet. This scholarly work has been of great service to us in preparing for accurate reprint the original editions of the only two of Father de Smet's publications that fall within the chronological field of our series. In the preparation for the press of Flagg's _The Far West_, the Editor has had the assistance of Clarence Cory Crawford, A. M.; in editing Father de Smet's _Letters and Sketches_, his assistant has been Louise Phelps Kellogg, Ph.D. R. G. T. MADISON, WIS., April, 1906. PART I OF FLAGG'S THE FAR WEST, 1836-1837 Reprint of Volume I, and chapters xxiii-xxxii of Volume II, of original edition: New York, 1838 [Illustration: MAP OF OREGON.] THE FAR WEST: OR, A TOUR BEYOND THE MOUNTAINS. EMBRACING OUTLINES OF WESTERN LIFE AND SCENERY; SKETCHES OF THE PRAIRIES, RIVERS, ANCIENT MOUNDS, EARLY SETTLEMENTS OF THE FRENCH, ETC., ETC. "If thou be a severe, sour-complexioned man, then I here disallow thee to be a competent judge."--IZAAK WALTON. "I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and cry, ''Tis all barren.'"--STERNE. "Chacun a son stile; le mien, comme vous voyez, n'est pas laconique."--ME. DE SEVIGNE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW-YORK: PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET. 1838. [Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.] TO ONE-- AT WHOSE SOLICITATION THESE VOLUMES WERE COMMENCED, AND WITH WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT THEY HAVE BEEN COMPLETED-- TO MY SISTER LUCY ARE THEY AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. TO THE READER "He that writes Or makes a feast, more certainly invites His judges than his friends; there's not a guest But will find something wanting or ill dress'd." In laying before the majesty of the public a couple of volumes like the present, it has become customary for the author to disclaim in his preface all original design of _perpetrating a book_, as if there were even more than the admitted _quantum_ of sinfulness in the act. Whether or not such disavowals now-a-day receive all the credence they merit, is not for the writer to say; and whether, were the prefatory asseveration, as in the present case, diametrically opposed to what it often is, the reception would be different, is even more difficult to predict. The articles imbodied in the following volumes were, a portion of them, in their original, hasty production, _designed_ for the press; yet the author unites in the disavowal of his predecessors of all intention at that time of perpetrating _a book_. In the early summer of '36, when about starting upon a ramble over the prairies of the "Far West," in hope of renovating the energies of a shattered constitution, a request was made of the writer, by the distinguished editor of the Louisville Journal, to contribute {vi} to the columns of that periodical whatever, in the course of his pilgrimage, might be deemed of sufficient interest.[1] A series of articles soon after made their appearance in that paper under the title, "_Sketches of a Traveller_." They were, as their name purports, mere sketches from a traveller's _portfeuille_, hastily thrown upon paper whenever time, place, or opportunity rendered convenient; in the steamboat saloon, the inn bar-room, the log-cabin of the wilderness, or upon the venerable mound of the Western prairie. With such favour were these hasty productions received, and so extensively were they circulated, that the writer, on returning from his pilgrimage to "the shrine of health," was induced, by the solicitations of partial friends, to enter at his leisure upon the preparation for the press of a mass of MSS. of a similar character, written at the time, which had never been published; a thorough revision and enlargement of that which had appeared, united with _this_, it was thought, would furnish a passable volume or two upon the "Far West." Two years of residence in the West have since passed away; and the arrangement for the press of the fugitive sheets of a wanderer's sketch-book would not yet, perhaps, have been deemed of sufficient importance to warrant the necessary labour, had he not been daily reminded that his productions, whatever their merit, were already public property so far as could be the case, and at the mercy of every one who thought proper to assume paternity. "Forbearance ceased to be longer a virtue," and the result is now before the {vii} reader. But, while alluding to that aid which his labours may have rendered to others, the author would not fail fully to acknowledge his own indebtedness to those distinguished writers upon the West who have preceded him. To Peck, Hall, Flint, Wetmore, and to others, his acknowledgments are due and are respectfully tendered.[2] In extenuation of the circumstance that some portions of these volumes have already appeared, though in a crude state, before the public, the author has but to suggest that many works, with which the present will not presume to compare, have made their debut on the unimposing pages of a periodical. Not to dwell upon the writings of Addison and Johnson, and other classics of British literature, several of Bulwer's most polished productions, the elaborate Essays of Elia, Wirt's British Spy, Hazlitt's Philosophical Reviews, Coleridge's Friend, most of the novels of Captain Marryatt and Theodore Hook, and many of the most elegant works of the day, have been prepared for the pages of a magazine. And now, with no slight misgiving, does the author commit his firstborn bantling to the tender mercies of an impartial public. Criticism he does not deprecate, still less does he brave it; and farther than either is he from soliciting undue favour. Yet to the _reader_, as he grasps him by the hand in parting, would he commit his book, with the quaint injunction of a distinguished but eccentric old English writer upon an occasion somewhat similar: "I exhort all people, gentle and simple, men, {viii} women, and children, to buy, to read, to extol these labours of mine. Let them not fear to defend every article; for I will bear them harmless. I have arguments good store, and can easily confute, either logically, theologically, or metaphysically, all those who oppose me." E. F. New-York, Oct., 1838. CONTENTS I The Western Steamboat-landing--Western Punctuality--An Accident--Human Suffering--Desolation of Bereavement-- A Contrast--Sublimity--An Ohio Freshet--View of Louisville-- Early History--The Ohio Falls--Corn Island--The Last Conflict 43 II The Early Morn--"Sleep no more!"--The Ohio--"_La Belle Rivière!_"--Ohio Islands--A Cluster at Sunset--"Ohio Hills"-- The Emigrant's Clearing--Moonlight on the Ohio--A Sunset-scene-- The Peaceful Ohio--The Gigantic Forest-trees--The Bottom-lands-- Obstructions to Navigation--Classification--Removal--Dimensions of Snags--Peculiar difficulties on the Ohio--Leaning Trees-- Stone Dams--A Full Survey--The Result 52 III An Arrest--Drift-wood--Ohio Scenery--Primitive River-craft-- Early Scenes on the Western Waters--The Boatmen--Life and Character--_Annus Mirabilis_--The Steam-engine in the West-- The Freshet--The Comet--The Earthquakes--The first Steamboat-- The _Pinelore_--The Steam-engine--Prophecy of Darwin--Results-- Sublimity--Villages--A new Geology--Rivers--Islands--Forests-- The Wabash and its Banks--New Harmony--Site--Settlement-- Edifices--Gardens--Owen and the "Social System"--Theory and Practice--Mental Independence--Dissension--Abandonment-- Shawneetown--Early History--Settlement--Advancement--Site-- United States' Salines--Ancient Pottery 59 IV Geology of the Mississippi Valley--Ohio Cliffs--The Iron Coffin--"Battery Rock"--"Rock-Inn-Cave"--Origin of Name--{x} A Visit--Outlines and Dimensions--The Indian _Manito_--Island opposite--The Freebooters--"The Outlaw"--The Counterfeiters-- Their Fate--Ford and his Gang--Retributive Justice--"Tower Rock"--The Tradition--The Cave of Hieroglyphics--Islands-- Golconda--The Cumberland--Aaron Burr's Island--Paducah--Name-- Ruins of Fort Massac--The Legend--Wilkinsonville--The "Grand Chain"--Caledonia--A Storm--Sunset--"The Meeting of the Waters"--Characteristics of the Rivers--"Willow Point"--The place of Meeting--Disappointment--A Utopian City--America 70 V Darkness Visible--The "Father of Waters"--The Power of Steam-- The Current--"English Island"--The Sabbath--A Blessed Appointment--Its Quietude--The New-England Emigrant--His Privations--Sorrows--Loneliness--"The Light of Home"--Cape Girardeau--Site--Settlement--Effects of the Earthquakes-- A severer Shock--Staples of Trade--The Spiral Water-wheels-- Their Utility--"Tyowapity Bottom"--Potter's Clay-- A Manufactory--_Rivière au Vase_--Salines--Coal-beds-- "Fountain Bluff"--The "Grand Tower"--Parapet of Limestone-- Ancient Cataract--The Cliffs--Divinity of the Boatmen-- The "Devil's Oven"--The "Tea-table"--Volcanic and Diluvial Action--The Torrent overcome--A Race--Breathless Interest-- The Engineer--The Fireman--Last of the "Horse and Alligator" species--"Charon"--A Triumph--A Defeat 82 VI Navigation of the Mississippi--The First Appropriation-- Improvements of Capt. Shreve--Mississippi and Ohio Scenery contrasted--Alluvial Deposites--Ste. Genevieve--Origin--Site-- The _Haunted_ Ruin--The old "Common Field"--Inundation of '85--Minerals--Quarries--Sand-caves--Fountains--Salines-- Indians--Ancient Remains--View of Ste. Genevieve--Landing-- Outrage of a Steamer--Indignation--The Remedy--A Snag and a Scene--An Interview with "Charon"--Fort Chartres 93 {xi} VII The Hills! the Hills!--Trosachs of Loch Katrine--Alluvial Action--Bluffs of Selma and Herculaneum--Shot-towers--Natural Curiosities--The "Cornice Cliffs"--The Merrimac--Its Riches--Ancient Lilliputian Graves--Mammoth Remains--Jefferson Barracks--Carondelet--Cahokia--U. S. Arsenal--St. Louis in the Distance--Fine View--Uproar of the Landing--The Eternal River--Character--Features--Sublimity--Statistics--The Lower Mississippi--"Bends"--"Cut-offs"--Land-slips--The Pioneer Cabin 102 VIII "Once more upon the Waters!"--"Uncle Sam's Tooth-pullers"--Mode of eradicating a Snag--River Suburbs of North St. Louis--Spanish Fortifications--The Waterworks--The Ancient Mounds--Country Seats--The Confluence--Charlevoix's Description--A Variance-- A View--The Upper Mississippi--Alton in distant View--The Penitentiary and Churches--"Pomp and Circumstance"--The City of Alton--Advantages--Objections--Improvements--Prospects-- Liberality--Railroads--Alton Bluffs--"Departing Day"--The Piasa Cliffs--Moonlight Scene 113 IX The _Coleur de Rose_--The Piasa--The Indian Legend--Caverns-- Human Remains--The Illinois--Characteristic Features--The Canal--The Banks and Bottoms--Poisonous Exhalations--Scenes on the Illinois--The "Military Bounty Tract"--_Cape au Gris_--Old French Village--River Villages--Pekin--"An Unco Sight"--Genius of the Bacchanal--A "Monkey Show"--Nomenclature of Towns--The Indian Names 122 X An Emigrant Farmer--An Enthusiast--Peoria--The Old Village and the New--Early History--Exile of the French--Fort Clarke--Indian Hostilities--The Modern Village--Site--Advantages--Prospects-- Lake _Pinatahwee_--Fish--The Bluffs and Prairie--A Military Spectacle--The "Helen Mar"--Horrors of Steam!--A Bivouac--The Dragoon Corps--Military {xii} Courtesy--"Starved Rock"--The Legend--Remains--Shells--Intrenchments--Music--The Moonlight Serenade--A Reminiscence 132 XI Delay--"A Horse!"--Early French Immigration in the West--The Villages of the Wilderness--St. Louis--Venerable Aspect--Site of the City--A French Village City--South St. Louis--The Old Chateaux--The Founding of the City--The Footprints in the Rock-- The First House--Name of City--Decease of the Founders--Early Annals--Administration of St. Ange--The Common Field--Cession and Recession--"_L'Annee du Grand Coup_"--"_L'Annee des Grandes Eaux_"--Keel-boat Commerce--The Robbers Culbert and Magilbray-- "_L'Annee des Bateaux_"--The First Steamboat at St. Louis-- Wonder of the Indians--Opposition to Improvement--Plan of St. Louis--A View--Spanish Fortifications--The Ancient Mounds-- Position--Number--Magnitude--Outlines--Arrangement--Character-- Neglect--Moral Interest--Origin--The Argument of Analogy 142 XII View from the "Big Mound" at St. Louis--The Sand-bar--The Remedy--The "Floating Dry-dock"--The Western Suburbs--Country Seats--Game--Lakes--Public Edifices--Catholic Religion-- "Cathedral of St. Luke"--Site--Dimensions--Peal of Bells-- Porch--The Interior--Columns--Window Transparencies--The Effect--The Sanctuary--Galleries--Altar-piece--Altar and Tabernacle--Chapels--Paintings--Lower Chapel--St. Louis University--Medical School--The Chapel--Paintings--Library-- Ponderous Volumes--Philosophical Apparatus--The Pupils 160 XIII An Excursion of Pleasure--A fine Afternoon--Our Party--The Bridal Pair--South St. Louis--Advantages for Manufactures-- Quarries--Farmhouses--The "Eagle Powder-works"--Explosion-- The Bride--A Steeple-chase--A Descent--The Arsenal--Grounds-- Structures--Esplanade--Ordnance--Warlike Aspect--Carondelet-- Sleepy-Hollow--River-reach {xiii}--Time Departed--Inhabitants-- Structures--Gardens--Orchards--_Cabarets_--The Catholic Church--Altar-piece--Paintings--Missal--Crucifix--Evergreens-- Deaf and Dumb Asylum--Distrust of Villagers--Jefferson Barracks--Site--Extent--Buildings--View from the Terrace--The Burial Grounds--The Cholera--Design of the Barracks--_Corps de Reserve_--A remarkable Cavern--Our Guide--Situation of Cave--Entrance--Exploration--Grotesque Shapes--A Foot--Boat-- Coffin in Stone--The Bats--_Rivière des Pères_--An Ancient Cemetery--Antiquities--The Jesuit Settlers--Sulphur Spring-- A Cavern--A Ruin 170 XIV City and Country at Midsummer--Cosmorama of St. Louis--The American Bottom--Cahokia Creek--A Pecan Grove--The Ancient Mounds--First Group--Number--Resemblance--Magnitude--Outline--Railroad to the Bluffs--Pittsburg--The Prairie--Landscape--The "Cantine Mounds"--"Monk Hill"--First Impressions--Origin--The Argument--Workmanship of Man--Reflections suggested--Our Memory--The Craving of the Heart--The Pyramid-builders--The Mound-builders--A hopeless Aspiration--"Keep the Soul embalmed" 180 XV The Antiquity of Monk Mound--Primitive Magnitude--Fortifications of the Revolution--The Ancient Population--Two Cities--Design of the Mounds--The "Cantine Mounds"--Number--Size--Position-- Outline--Features of Monk Mound--View from the Summit--Prairie-- Lakes--Groves--Bluffs--Cantine Creek--St. Louis in distance-- Neighbouring Earth-heaps--The Well--Interior of the Mound-- The Monastery of La Trappe--Abbé Armand Rance--The Vows--A Quotation--Reign of Terror--Immigration of the Trappists-- Their Buildings--Their Discipline--Diet--Health--Skill--Asylum Seminary--Worldly Charity--Palliation--A strange Spectacle 187 {xiv} XVI Edwardsville--Site and Buildings--Land Mania--A "Down-east" Incident--Human Nature--The first Land Speculator--Castor-oil Manufacture--Outlines of Edwardsville--Collinsville--Route to Alton--Sultriness--The Alton Bluffs--A Panorama--Earth-heaps-- Indian Graves--Upper Alton--Shurtliff College--_Baptized_ Intelligence--Knowledge not Conservative--Greece--Rome-- France--England--The Remedy 197 XVII The Traveller's Whereabout--The Prairie in a Mist--Sense of Loneliness--The Backwoods Farmhouse--Structure--Outline-- Western Roads--A New-England Emigrant--The "Barrens"--Origin of Name--Soil--The "Sink-holes"--The Springs--Similar in Missouri and Florida--"Fount of Rejuvenescence"--Ponce de Leon--"Sappho's Fount"--The Prairies--First View--The Grass-- Flowers--Island-groves--A Contrast--Prairie-farms--A Buck and Doe--A Kentucky Pioneer--Events of Fifty Years--The "Order Tramontane"--Expedition of Gov. Spotswood--The Change-- A Thunderstorm on the Prairies--"A Sharer in the Tempest"-- Discretionary Valour 207 XVIII Morning after the Storm--The Landscape--The sprinkled Groves-- Nature in unison with the Heart--The Impress of Design-- Contemplation of grand Objects elevates--Nature and the Savage-- Nature and Nature's God--Earth praises God--Indifference and Ingratitude of Man--"All is very Good"--Influence of Scenery upon Character--The Swiss Mountaineer--Bold Scenery most Impressive--Freedom among the Alps--Caucasus--Himmalaya-- _Something_ to Love--Carlinville--"Grand Menagerie"--A Scene-- The Soil--The Inn--Macoupin Creek--Origin of Name--A Vegetable-- An Indian Luxury--Carlinville--Its Advantages and Prospects--A "Fourth-of-July" Oration--The thronging Multitudes--The huge Cart--A Thunder-storm--A Log-cabin--Women and Children--Outlines of the Cabin--The Roof and Floor--The Furniture and Dinner-pot-- A Choice of Evils--The _Pathless_ Prairie 219 {xv} XIX Ponce de Leon--The Fount of Youth--The "Land of Flowers"-- Ferdinand de Soto--"_El Padre de los Aguas_"--The Canadian Voyageurs--"_La Belle Rivière_"--Sieur La Salle--"A Terrestrial Paradise"--Daniel Boone--"Old Kentucke"--"The Pilgrim from the North"--Sabbath Morning--The Landscape--The Grass and Prairie-flower--Nature at Rest--Sabbath on the Prairie--Alluvial Aspect of the Prairies--The Soil--Lakes--Fish--The Annual Fires--Origin--A Mode of Hunting--Captain Smith--Mungo Park-- Hillsborough--Major-domo of the Hostelrie--His Garb and Proportions--The Presbyterian Church--_Picturesqueness_--The "_Luteran_ Church"--Practical Utility--The Dark Minister-- A Mistake--The Patriotic Dutchman--A Veritable Publican-- Prospects of Hillsborough--A Theological Seminary--Route to Vandalia--The Political Sabbath 230 XX The Race of Vagabonds--"Yankee Enterprise"--The Virginia Emigrant--The Western Creeks and Bridges--An Adventure in Botany--Unnatural Rebellion--Christian Retaliation--Vandalia-- "First Impressions"--The Patriotic Bacchanal--The High-priest-- A Distinction Unmerited--The Cause--Vandalia--Situation-- Public Edifices--Square--Church--Bank--Land-office--"Illinois Magazine"--Tardy Growth--Removal of Government--Adventures of the First Legislators--The Northern Frontier--Magic of Sixteen Years--Route to Carlisle--A Buck and Doe--An old Hunter-- "Hurricane Bottom"--Night on the Prairies--The Emigrant's Bivouac--The Prairie-grass--Carlisle--Site--Advantages-- Growth--"Mound Farm" 238 XXI The Love of Nature--Its Delights--The Wanderer's Reflections-- The Magic Hour--A Sunset on the Prairies--"The Sunny Italy"-- The Prairie Sunset--Route to Lebanon--Silver Creek--Origin of Name--The "Looking-glass Prairie"--The Methodist Village-- Farms--Country Seats--Maize-fields--Herds--M'Kendreean College-- "The Seminary!"--Route to Belleville--The Force of Circumstance-- A Contrast--Public {xvi} Buildings--A lingering Look--Route to St. Louis--The French Village--The Coal Bluffs--Discovery of Coal--St. Clair County--Home of Clouds--Realm of Thunder--San Louis 248 XXII Single Blessedness--Text and Comment--_En Route_--North St. Louis--A Delightful Drive--A Delightful Farm-cottage--The Catholic University--A Stately Villa--Belle Fontaine--A Town plat--A View of the Confluence--The _Human Tooth_--The Hamlet of Florissant--Former Name--Site--Buildings--Church--Seminary-- _Tonish_--_Owen's Station_--Scenery upon the Route-- _La Charbonnière_--The Missouri Bottom--The Forest-Colonnade-- The Missouri--Its Sublimity--Indian Names--Its Turbid Character--Cause--An Inexplicable Phenomenon--Theories-- Navigation Dangerous--Floods of the Missouri--Alluvions-- Sources of the Missouri and Columbia--Their Destinies--Human Life--The Ocean of Eternity--Gates of the Rocky Mountains-- Sublimity--A Cataract--The Main Stream--Claims stated 257 {iii} XXIII View of St. Charles and the Missouri--The Bluffs--"A stern round Tower"--Its Origin--The Windmill--A sunset Stroll--Rural Sights and Sounds--The River and Forest--The Duellist's Grave--The Hour and Scene--_Requiescat_--Reflections--Duelling--A sad Event-- Young B----.--His Request--His Monument--"Blood Island"--Its Scenes and Annals--A visit to "_Les Mamelles_"--The Forest-path-- Its Obscurity--Outlines of the Bluffs--Derivation of Name-- Position--Resemblance--The Missouri Bluffs--View from The Mamelle--The Missouri Bottom--The Mamelle Prairie--The distant Cliffs and Confluences--Extent of Plain--Alluvial Origin-- Lakes--Bed of the Rivers--An ancient Deposite 268 XXIV St. Charles--Its Origin--Peculiarities--Early Name--Spanish Rule--Heterogeneous Population--Germans--The Wizard Spell-- American Enterprise--Site of the Village--Prospects--The Baltimore Settlement--Catholic Religion and Institutions-- "St. Charles College"--The Race of Hunters--A Specimen--The Buffalo--Indian Atrocities--The "Rangers"--Daniel Boone-- "Too Crowded!"--The "Regulators"--Boone's Lick--His Decease-- His Memory--The Missouri Indians--The Stoccade Fort--Adventure of a Naturalist--Route from St. Charles--A Prairie without a Path--Enormous Vegetation--The Cliffs--The Column of Smoke-- Perplexity--A delightful Scene--A rare Flower--The Prairie Flora in Spring--In Summer--In Autumn--The Traveller loiters 276 {iv} XXV Novel Feature of the Mamelle Prairie--A Footpath--An old French Village--Bewilderment--Mystery--A Guide--_Portage des Sioux_-- Secluded Site--Advantages--"Common Field"--Garden-plats--A brick Edifice--A _courteous_ Welcome--An _amiable_ Personage--History of the Village--Origin--Earthquakes--Name--An Indian Legend-- Teatable Talk--_Patois_ of the French Villages--An Incident!-- A Scene!--A civil Hint--A Night of Beauty--The Flush of Dawn-- The weltering Prairie--The Forest--The river Scene--The Ferry-horn--Delay--Locale of Grafton--Advantages and Prospects 288 XXVI Cave in the Grafton Cliffs--Outlines--Human Remains--_Desecration_ of the Coopers--View from the Cave's Mouth--The Bluffs--Inclined Planes--The Railroad--A Stone-heap--A beautiful Custom--Veneration for the Dead--The Widow of Florida--The Canadian Mother--The Orientals--An extensive View--The River--The Prairie--The Emigrant Farm--The Illinois--A _tortuous_ Route--Macoupin Settlement-- Carrolton--Outlines of a Western Village--Religious Diversity--An agricultural Village--Whitehall--The Emigrant Family _en route_-- A Western Village--Its rapid Growth--Fit Parallels--Manchester-- The Scarcity of Timber not an insurmountable Obstacle-- Substitutes--Morgan County--Prospects--Soil of the Prairies-- Adaptation to _coarse_ Grains--Rapid Population--New-England Immigrants--The Changes of a few Years--Environs of Jacksonville--Buildings of "Illinois College"--The Public Square 295 XXVII Remark of Horace Walpole--A Word from the Author--Jacksonville-- Its rapid Advancement--Its Site--Suburbs--Public Square-- Radiating Streets--The Congregational Church--The Pulpit--A pleasant Incident--The "New-England of the West"--Immigrant Colonies--"Illinois College"--The Site--Buildings--"Manual Labour System"--The Founders--Their Success--Their Fame-- Jacksonville--Attractions for the Northern Emigrant--New England Character--A faithful {v} Transcript--"The Pilgrim Fathers"-- The "Stump"--Mr. W. and his Speech--Curious Surmisings--Internal Improvements--Route to Springfield--A "Baptist Circuit-rider"-- An Evening Prairie-rider 305 XXVIII The Nature of Man--Facilities for its Study--A Pilgrimage of Observation--Dissection of Character, Physical and Moral--The young Student--The brighter Features of Humanity--An unwitting Episode--Our World a _Ruin_--Sunrise on the Prairies-- Springfield--Its Location--Advantages--Structures--Society-- Prospects--The Sangamon River--Its Navigation--Bottom-lands-- Aged Forests--Cathedral Pomp--A splendid Phenomenon--Civic Honours--"_Sic itur ad astra!_"--A Morning Ride--"Demands of Appetite"--"Old Jim"--A tipsy Host--A revolting Exhibition-- Jacob's Cattle and the Prairie-wolves--An Illinois Table-- The Staples--A Tea Story--Poultry and Bacon--_Chicken Fixens_ and _Common Doins_--An Object of Commiseration 315 XXIX The Burial-ground--A _holy_ Spot--Our culpable Indifference-- Cemeteries in our Land--A sad Reflection--The last Petition-- Reverence for the Departed--Civilized and Savage Nations--The last Resting-place--Worthy of Thought--A touching Expression of the Heart--FRANKLIN--The Object of Admiration and _Love_-- The Burial-ground of Decatur--The dying Emigrant--The Spirit's Sympathy--A soothing Reflection to Friends--The "Grand Prairie"-- The "Lost Rocks"--Decatur--Site and Prospects--A sunset Scene-- The Prairie by Moonlight--The Log-cabin--The Exotic of the Prairie--The Heart--The Thank-offering--The Pre-emption Right-- The Mormonites--Their Customs--Millennial Anticipations--The Angelic Visitant--The _dénouément_--The Miracle!--The System of "New Light"--Its Rise and Fall--Aberrations of the Mind-- A melancholy Reflection--Absurdity of Mormonism 325 XXX A wild Night--An Illusion--Sleeplessness--Loneliness--A Storm-wind on the Prairies--A magnificent Scene--Beauty of {vi} the lesser Prairies--Nature's _chef d'oeuvre_--Loveliness lost in Grandeur--Waves of the Prairie--Ravines--Light and Shade--"Alone, alone, all, all alone!"--Origin of the Prairie-- Argument for _Natural_ Origin--Similar Plains--Derivation of "_Prairie_"--Absence of Trees accounted for--The _Diluvial_ Origin--Prairie Phenomena explained--The Autumnal Fires--An Exception--The Prairie _sui generis_--No Identity with other Plains--A Bed of the Ocean--A new Hypothesis--Extent of Prairie-surface--Characteristic Carelessness--Hunger and Thirst--A tedious Jaunt--Horrible Suggestions!--Land ho!-- A Log-cabin--Hog and Honey 338 XXXI Cis-atlantic Character--Avarice--Curiosity--A grand Propellant-- A Concomitant and Element of Mental Vigour--An Anglo-American Characteristic--Inspection and Supervision--"Uncle Bill"--The Quintessence of Inquisitiveness--A Fault "on Virtue's Side"-- The People of Illinois--A Hunting Ramble--A Shot--_Tempis fugit_--Shelbyville--Dame Justice _in Terrorem_--A Sulphur Spring--The Inn Register--Chill Atmosphere of the Forest-- Contrast on the Prairie--The "Green-head" Prairie-fly--Effect upon a Horse--Numerous in '35--The "Horse-guard"--The _Modus Bellandi_--_Cold Spring_--A _presuming_ Host--Musty Politics-- The Robin Redbreast--Ornithology of the West--The Turtle-dove-- Pathos of her Note--Paley's Remark--Eloquence of the Forest-bird--A Mormonite, _Zion_ward--A forensic Confabulation-- Mormonism Developed--The seduced Pedagogue--_Mount Zion_ Stock-- The Grand Tabernacle--Smith and Rigdom--The Bank--The Temple-- The School--Appearance of Smith--Of Rigdom--Their Disciples-- The National Road--Its Progress--Structure--_Terminus_--Its enormous Character--A Contrast--"Shooting a Beeve"--The Regulations--Salem--A New-England Seaport--The Location--The Village Singing-school--_The Major_ 348 XXXII Rest after Exertion--A Purpose--"Mine Ease in mine Inn"-- The "Thread of Discourse"--A Thunder-gust--Its Approach and Departure--A Bolt--A rifted Elm--An impressive {vii} Scene-- Gray's _Bard_--Mount Vernon--Courthouse--Site--Medicinal Water--A misty Morning--A _blind_ Route--"Muddy Prairie"-- Wild Turkeys--Something Diabolical!--The _direct_ Route-- A vexatious Incident--The unerring Guide--A _Tug_ for a _Fixen_--An evening Ride--Pinkneyville--Outlines and Requisites--The blood-red Jail--The _Traveller's Inn_-- "'Tis true, and Pity 'tis"--A "Soul in Purgatory"--An _unutterable_ Ill--_Incomparable_--An unpitied and unenviable Situation--A laughable Bewilderment--Host and Hostess--The Mischief of a Smile--A Retaliation 362 THE FAR WEST [PART I] I "I do remember me, that, in my youth, When I was wandering--" MANFRED. It was a bright morning in the early days of "leafy June." Many a month had seen me a wanderer from distant New-England; and now I found myself "once more upon the waters," embarked for a pilgrimage over the broad prairie-plains of the sunset West. A drizzly, miserable rain had for some days been hovering, with proverbial pertinacity, over the devoted "City of the Falls," and still, at intervals, came lazily pattering down from the sunlighted clouds, reminding one of a hoiden girl smiling through a shower of April tear-drops, while the quay continued to exhibit all that wild uproar and tumult, "confusion worse confounded," which characterizes the steamboat commerce of the Western Valley. The landing at the time was thronged with steamers, and yet the incessant "boom, boom, boom," of the high-pressure engines, the shrill hiss of scalding steam, and the fitful port-song of the negro firemen rising ever and anon upon the breeze, gave notice of a constant {14} augmentation to the number. Some, too, were getting under way, and their lower _guards_ were thronged by emigrants with their household and agricultural utensils. Drays were rattling hither and thither over the rough pavement; Irish porters were cracking their whips and roaring forth alternate staves of blasphemy and song; clerks hurrying to and fro, with fluttering note-books, in all the fancied dignity of "brief authority;" hackney-coaches dashing down to the water's edge, apparently with no motive to the nervous man but noise; while at intervals, as if to fill up the pauses of the Babel, some incontinent steamer would hurl forth from the valves of her overcharged boilers one of those deafening, terrible blasts, echoing and re-echoing along the river-banks, and streets, and among the lofty buildings, till the very welkin rang again. To one who has never visited the public wharves of the great cities of the West, it is no trivial task to convey an adequate idea of the spectacle they present. The commerce of the Eastern seaports and that of the Western Valley are utterly dissimilar; not more in the staples of intercourse than in the mode in which it is conducted; and, were one desirous of exhibiting to a friend from the Atlantic shore a picture of the prominent features which characterize commercial proceedings upon the Western waters, or, indeed, of Western character in its general outline, at a _coup d'oeil_, he could do no better than to place him in the wild uproar of the steamboat quay. Amid the "crowd, the hum, {15} the shock" of such a scene stands out Western peculiarity in all its stern proportion. Steamers on the great waters of the West are well known to indulge no violently conscientious scruples upon the subject of punctuality, and a solitary exception at our behest, or in our humble behalf, was, to be sure, not an event to be counted on. "There's dignity in being waited for;" hour after hour, therefore, still found us and left us amid the untold scenes and sounds of the public landing. It is true, and to the unending honour of all concerned be it recorded, very true it is our doughty steamer ever and anon would puff and blow like a porpoise or a narwhal; and then would she swelter from every pore and quiver in every limb with the ponderous labouring of her huge enginery, and the steam would shrilly whistle and shriek like a spirit in its confinement, till at length she united her whirlwind voice to the general roar around; and all this indicated, indubitably, an intention to be off and away; but a knowing one was he who could determine the _when_. Among the causes of our wearisome detention was one of a nature too melancholy, too painfully interesting lightly to be alluded to. Endeavouring to while away the tedium of delay, I was pacing leisurely back and forth upon the _guard_, surveying the lovely scenery of the opposite shore, and the neat little houses of the village sprinkled upon the plain beyond, when a wild, piercing shriek struck upon my ear. I was hurrying immediately forward to the spot whence it seemed to proceed, {16} when I was intercepted by some of our boat's crew bearing a mangled body. It was that of our second engineer, a fine, laughing young fellow, who had been terribly injured by becoming entangled with the flywheel of the machinery while in motion. He was laid upon the passage floor. I stood at his head; and never, I think, shall I forget those convulsed and agonized features. His countenance was ghastly and livid; beaded globules of cold sweat started out incessantly upon his pale brow; and, in the paroxysms of pain, his dark eye would flash, his nostril dilate, and his lips quiver so as to expose the teeth gnashing in a fearful manner; while a muttered execration, dying away from exhaustion, caused us all to shudder. And then that wild despairing roll of the eyeball in its socket as the miserable man would glance hurriedly around upon the countenances of the bystanders, imploring them, in utter helplessness, to lend him relief. Ah! it is a fearful thing to look upon these strivings of humanity in the iron grasp of a power it may in vain resist! From the quantity of blood thrown off, the oppressive fulness of the chest, and the difficult respiration, some serious pulmonary injury had evidently been sustained; while a splintered clavicle and limbs shockingly shattered racked the poor sufferer with anguish inexpressible. It was evident he believed himself seriously injured, for at times he would fling out his arms, beseeching those around him to "hold him back," as if even then he perceived the icy grasp of the death angel creeping over his frame. {17} Perhaps I have devoted more words to the detail of this melancholy incident than would otherwise have been the case, on account of the interest which some circumstances in the sufferer's history, subsequently received from the captain of our steamer, inspired. "Frank, poor fellow," said the captain, "was a native of Ohio, the son of a lone woman, a widow. He was all her hope, and to his exertions she was indebted for a humble support." Here, then, were circumstances to touch the sympathies of any heart possessed of but a tithe of the nobleness of our nature; and I could not but reflect, as they were recounted, how like the breath of desolation the first intelligence of her son's fearful end must sweep over the spirit of this lonely widow; for, like the wretched Constance, she can "never, never behold him more."[3] "Her life, her joy, her food, her all the world! Her widow-comfort, and her sorrow's cure!" While indulging in these sad reflections a gay burst of music arrested my attention; and, looking up, I perceived the packet-boat "Lady Marshall" dropping from her mooring at the quay, her decks swarming with passengers, and under high press of steam, holding her bold course against the current, while the merry dashing of the wheels, mingling with the wild clang of martial music, imparted an air almost of romance to the scene. How strangely did this contrast with that misery from which my eye had just turned! There are few objects more truly grand--I had {18} almost said sublime--than a powerful steamer struggling triumphantly with the rapids of the Western waters. The scene has in it a something of that power which we feel upon us in viewing a ship under full sail; and, in some respects, there is more of the sublime in the humbler triumph of man over the elements than in that more vast. Sublimity is a result, not merely of massive, extended, unmeasured greatness, but oftener, and far more impressively, does the sentiment arise from a _combination_ of vast and powerful objects. The mighty stream rolling its volumed floods through half a continent, and hurrying onward to mingle its full tide with the "Father of Waters," is truly sublime; its resistless power is sublime; the memory of its by-gone scenes, and the venerable moss-grown forests on its banks, are sublime; and, lastly, the noble fabric of man's workmanship struggling and groaning in convulsed, triumphant effort to overcome the resistance offered, completes a picture which demands not the heaving ocean-waste and the "oak leviathan" to embellish. It was not until the afternoon was far advanced that we found ourselves fairly embarked. A rapid freshet had within a few hours swollen the tranquil Ohio far beyond its ordinary volume and velocity, and its turbid waters were rolling onward between the green banks, bearing on their bosom all the varied spoils of their mountain-home, and of the rich region through which they had been flowing. The finest site from which to view the city we found to be the channel of the Falls upon the Indiana side of the stream, called the _Indian_ {19} chute, to distinguish it from two others, called the _Middle_ chute and the _Kentucky_ chute. The prospect from this point is noble, though the uniformity of the structures, the fewness of the spires, the unimposing character of the public edifices, and the depression of the site upon which the city stands, give to it a monotonous, perhaps a lifeless aspect to the stranger. It was in the year 1778 that a settlement was first commenced upon the spot on which the fair city of Louisville now stands.[4] In the early spring of that year, General George Rodgers Clarke, under authority of the State of Virginia, descended the Ohio with several hundred men, with the design of reducing the military posts of Kaskaskia, Cahokia, and Fort Vincent, then held by British troops. Disembarking upon Corn Island at the Falls of the Ohio, opposite the present city, land sufficient for the support of six families, which were left, was cleared and planted with _corn_. From this circumstance the island received a name which it yet retains. General Clarke proceeded upon his expedition, and, in the autumn returning successful, the emigrants were removed to the main land, and a settlement was commenced where Louisville now stands. During the few succeeding years, other families from Virginia settled upon the spot, and in the spring of 1780 seven stations were formed upon Beargrass Creek,[5] which here empties into the Mississippi, and Louisville commenced its march to its present importance. The view of the city from the Falls, as I have remarked, is not at all imposing; the view of the {20} Falls from the city, on the contrary, is one of beauty and romance. They are occasioned by a parapet of limestone extending quite across the stream, which is here about one mile in width; and when the water is low the whole chain sparkles with bubbling foam-bells. When the stream is full the descent is hardly perceptible but for the increased rapidity of the current, which varies from ten to fourteen miles an hour.[6] Owing to the height of the freshet, this was the case at the time when we descended them, and there was a wild air of romance about the dark rushing waters: and the green woodlands upon either shore, overshadowed as they were by the shifting light and shade of the flitting clouds, cast over the scene a bewitching fascination. "_Corn Island_," with its legendary associations, rearing its dense clump of foliage as from the depths of the stream, was not the least beautiful object of the panorama; while the receding city, with its smoky roofs, its bustling quay, and the glitter and animation of an extended line of steamers, was alone necessary to fill up a scene for a limner.[7] And our steamer swept onward {21} over the rapids, and threaded their maze of beautiful islands, and passed along the little villages at their foot and the splendid steamers along their shore, till twilight had faded, and the dusky mantle of departed day was flung over forest and stream. _Ohio River._ II "How beautiful is this visible world! How glorious in its action and itself!" MANFRED. "The woods--oh! solemn are the boundless woods Of the great Western World when day declines, And louder sounds the roll of distant floods." HEMANS. Long before the dawn on the morning succeeding our departure we were roused from our rest by the hissing of steam and the rattling of machinery as our boat moved slowly out from beneath the high banks and lofty sycamores of the river-side, where she had in safety been moored for the night, to resume her course. Withdrawing the curtain from the little rectangular window of my stateroom, the dark shadow of the forest was slumbering in calm magnificence upon the waters; and glancing upward my eye, the stars were beaming out in silvery brightness; while all along the eastern horizon, where "The gray coursers of the morn Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs And drive it through the sky," {22} rested a broad, low zone of clear heaven, proclaiming the coming of a glorious dawn. The hated clang of the bell-boy was soon after heard resounding far and wide in querulous and deafening clamour throughout the cabins, vexing the dull ear of every drowsy man in the terrible language of Macbeth's evil conscience, "sleep no more!" In a very desperation of self-defence I arose. The mists of night had not yet wholly dispersed, and the rack and fog floated quietly upon the placid bosom of the stream, or ascended in ragged masses from the dense foliage upon its banks. All this melted gently away like "the baseless fabric of a vision," and "the beauteous eye of day" burst forth in splendour, lighting up a scene of unrivalled loveliness. Much, very much has been written of "the beautiful Ohio;" the pens of an hundred tourists have sketched its quiet waters and its venerable groves; but there is in its noble scenery an ever salient freshness, which no description, however varied, can exhaust; new beauties leap forth to the eye of the man of sensibility, and even an humble pen may not fail to array them in the drapery of their own loveliness. There are in this beautiful stream features peculiar to itself, which distinguish it from every other that we have seen or of which we have read; features which render it truly and emphatically _sui generis_. It is not "the blue-rushing of the arrowy Rhone," with castled crags and frowning battlements; it is not the dark-rolling Danube, shadowy with the legend of departed time, upon whose banks armies have met and battled; it is not {23} the lordly Hudson, roaming in beauty through the ever-varying romance of the Catskill Highlands; nor is it the gentle wave of the soft-flowing Connecticut, seeming almost to sleep as it glides through the calm, "happy valley" of New-England: but it is that noble stream, bounding forth, like a young warrior of the wilderness, in all the joyance of early vigour, from the wild twin-torrents of the hills; rolling onward through a section of country the glory of a new world, and over the wooded heights of whose banks has rushed full many a crimson tide of Indian massacre. Ohio,[8] "_The River of Blood_," was its fearfully significant name from the aboriginal native; _La Belle Rivière_ was its euphonious distinction from the simple Canadian voyageur, whose light pirogue first glided on its blue bosom. "The Beautiful River!"--it is no misnomer--from its earliest commencement to the broad _embouchure_ into the turbid floods of the Mississippi, it unites every combination of scenic loveliness which even the poet's sublimated fancy could demand.[9] Now it sweeps along beneath its lofty bluffs in the conscious grandeur of resistless might; and then its clear, transparent waters glide in undulating ripples over the shelly bottoms and among the pebbly heaps of the white-drifted sand-bars, or in the calm magnificence of their eternal wandering, "To the gentle woods all night Sing they a sleepy tune." From either shore streams of singular beauty and euphonious names come pouring in their tribute {24} through the deep foliage of the fertile bottoms; while the swelling, volumed outlines of the banks, piled up with ponderous verdure rolling and heaving in the river-breeze like life, recur in such grandeur and softness, and such ever-varying combinations of beauty, as to destroy every approach to monotonous effect. From the source of the Ohio to its outlet its waters imbosom more than an hundred islands, some of such matchless loveliness that it is worthy of remark that such slight allusion has been made to them in the numerous pencillings of Ohio scenery. In the fresh, early summertime, when the deep green of vegetation is in its luxuriance, they surely constitute the most striking feature of the river. Most of them are densely wooded to the water's edge; and the wild vines and underbrush suspended lightly over the waters are mirrored in their bosom or swept by the current into attitudes most graceful and picturesque. In some of those stretched-out, endless reaches which are constantly recurring, they seem bursting up like beautiful _bouquets_ of sprinkled evergreens from the placid stream; rounded and swelling, as if by the teachings of art, on the blue bosom of the waters. A cluster of these "isles of light" I well remember, which opened upon us the eve of the second day of our passage. Two of the group were exceedingly small, mere points of a deeper shade in the reflecting azure; while the third, lying between the former, stretched itself far away in a narrow, well-defined strip of foliage, like a curving gash in the surface, parallel to the {25} shore; and over the lengthened vista of the waters gliding between, the giant branches bowed themselves, and wove their mingled verdure into an immense Gothic arch, seemingly of interminable extent, but closed at last by a single speck of crimson skylight beyond. Throughout its whole course the Ohio is fringed with wooded bluffs; now towering in sublime majesty hundreds of feet from the bed of the rolling stream, and anon sweeping inland for miles, and rearing up those eminences so singularly beautiful, appropriately termed "Ohio hills," while their broad alluvial plains in the interval betray, by their enormous vegetation, a fertility exhaustless and unrivalled. Here and there along the green bluffs is caught a glimpse of the emigrant's low log cabin peeping out to the eye from the dark foliage, sometimes when miles in the distance; while the rich maize-fields of the bottoms, the girdled forest-trees and the lowing kine betray the advance of civilized existence. But if the scenes of the Ohio are beautiful beneath the broad glare of the morning sunlight, what shall sketch their lineaments when the coarser etchings of the picture are mellowed down by the balmy effulgence of the midnight moon of summer! When her floods of light are streaming far and wide along the magnificent forest-tops! When all is still--still! and sky, and earth, and wood, and stream are hushed as a spirit's breathing! When thought is almost audible, and memory is busy with the past! When the distant bluffs, bathed in molten silver, gleam like beacon-lights, and the far-off vistas of the {26} meandering waters are flashing with the sheen of their ripples! When you glide through the endless maze, and the bright islets shift, and vary, and pass away in succession like pictures of the kaleidoscope before your eye! When imagination is awake and flinging forth her airy fictions, bodies things unseen, and clothes reality in loveliness not of earth! When a scene like this is developed, what shall adequately depict it? Not the pen. Such, such is the beautiful Ohio in the soft days of early summer; and though hackneyed may be the theme of its loveliness, yet, as the dying glories of a Western sunset flung over the landscape the mellow tenderness of its parting smile, "fading, still fading, as the day was declining," till night's dusky mantle had wrapped the "woods on shore" and the quiet stream from the eye, I could not, even at the hazard of triteness, resist an inclination to fling upon the sheet a few hurried lineaments of Nature's beautiful creations. There is not a stream upon the continent which, for the same distance, rolls onward so calmly, and smoothly, and peacefully as the Ohio. Danger rarely visits its tranquil bosom, except from the storms of heaven or the reckless folly of man, and hardly a river in the world can vie with it in safety, utility, or beauty. Though subject to rapid and great elevations and depressions, its current is generally uniform, never furious. The forest-trees which skirt its banks are the largest in North America, while the variety is endless; several sycamores were pointed out to us upon the shores from thirty to fifty feet in circumference. Its alluvial {27} bottoms are broad, deep, and exhaustlessly fertile; its bluffs are often from three to four hundred feet in height; its breadth varies from one mile to three, and its navigation, since the improvements commenced, under the authority of Congress, by the enterprising Shreve, has become safe and easy.[10] The classification of obstructions is the following: _snags_, trees anchored by their roots; fragments of trees of various forms and magnitude; _wreck-heaps_, consisting of several of these stumps, and logs, and branches of trees lodged in one place; _rocks_, which have rolled from the cliffs, and varying from ten to one hundred cubic feet in size; and _sunken boats_, principally flat-boats laden with coal. The last remains one of the most serious obstacles to the navigation of the Ohio. Many steamers have been damaged by striking the wrecks of the _Baltimore_, the _Roanoke_, the _William Hulburt_,[11] and other craft, which were themselves snagged; while keel and flat-boats without number have been lost from the same cause.[12] Several thousands of the obstacles mentioned have been removed since improvements were commenced, and accidents from this cause are now less frequent. Some of the snags torn up from the bed of the stream, where they have probably for ages been buried, are said to have exceeded a diameter of six feet at the root, and were upward of an hundred feet in length. The removal of these obstructions on the Ohio presents a difficulty and expense not encountered upon the Mississippi. In the latter stream, the root of the snag, when eradicated, is deposited in some deep {28} pool or bayou along the banks, and immediately imbeds itself in alluvial deposite; but on the Ohio, owing to the nature of its banks in most of its course, there is no opportunity for such a disposal, and the boatmen are forced to blast the logs with gunpowder to prevent them from again forming obstructions. The cutting down and clearing away of all leaning and falling trees from the banks constitutes an essential feature in the scheme of improvement; since the facts are well ascertained that trees seldom plant themselves far from the spot where they fall; and that, when once under the power of the current, they seldom anchor themselves and form snags. The policy of removing the leaning and fallen trees is, therefore, palpable, since, when this is once thoroughly accomplished, no material for subsequent formation can exist. The construction of stone dams, by which to concentrate into a single channel all the waters of the river, where they are divided by islands, or from other causes are spread over a broad extent, is another operation now in execution. The dams at "Brown's Island,"[13] the shoalest point on the Ohio, have been so eminently successful as fully to establish the efficiency of the plan. Several other works of a similar character are proposed; a full survey of the stream, hydrographical and topographical, is recommended; and, when all improvements are completed, it is believed that the navigation of the "beautiful Ohio" will answer every purpose of commerce and the traveller, from its source to its mouth, at the lowest stages of the water. _Ohio River._ III "The sure traveller, Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on." HERBERT. "A RACE-- Now like autumnal leaves before the blast Wide scattered." SPRAGUE. Thump, thump, crash! One hour longer, and I was at length completely roused from a troublous slumber by our boat coming to a dead stop. Casting a glance from the window, the bright flashing of moonlight showed the whole surface of the stream covered with drift-wood, and, on inquiry, I learned that the branches of an enormous oak, some sixty feet in length, had become entangled with one of the paddle-wheels of our steamer, and forbade all advance. We were soon once more in motion; the morning mists were dispersing, the sun rose up behind the forests, and his bright beams danced lightly over the gliding waters. We passed many pleasant little villages along the banks, and it was delightful to remove from the noise, and heat, and confusion below to the lofty _hurricane deck_, and lounge away hour after hour in gazing upon the varied and beautiful scenes which presented themselves in constant succession to the eye. Now we were gliding quietly on through the long island {30} chutes, where the daylight was dim, and the enormous forest-trees bowed themselves over us, and echoed from their still recesses the roar of our steam-pipe; then we were sweeping rapidly over the broad reaches of the stream, miles in extent; again we were winding through the mazy labyrinth of islets which fleckered the placid surface of the stream, and from time to time we passed the lonely cabin of the emigrant beneath the venerable and aged sycamores. Here and there, as we glided on, we met some relic of those ancient and primitive species of river-craft which once assumed ascendency over the waters of the West, but which are now superseded by steam, and are of too infrequent occurrence not to be objects of peculiar interest. In the early era of the navigation of the Ohio, the species of craft in use were numberless, and many of them of a most whimsical and amusing description. The first was the barge, sometimes of an hundred tons' burden, which required twenty men to force it up against the current a distance of six or seven miles a day; next the keel-boat, of smaller size and lighter structure, yet in use for the purposes of inland commerce; then the Kentucky flat, or broad-horn of the emigrant; the enormous ark, in magnitude and proportion approximating to that of the patriarch; the fairy pirogue of the French voyageur; the birch caïque of the Indian, and log skiffs, gondolas, and dug-outs of the pioneer without name or number.[14] But since the introduction of steam upon the Western waters, most of these unique and primitive contrivances {31} have disappeared; and with them, too, has gone that singular race of men who were their navigators. Most of the younger of the settlers, at this early period of the country, devoted themselves to this profession. Nor is there any wonder that the mode of life pursued by these boatmen should have presented irresistible seductions to the young people along the banks. Fancy one of these huge boats dropping lazily along with the current past their cabins on a balmy morning in June. Picture to your imagination the gorgeous foliage; the soft, delicious temperature of the atmosphere; the deep azure of the sky; the fertile alluvion, with its stupendous forests and rivers; the romantic bluffs sleeping mistily in blue distance; the clear waters rolling calmly adown, with the woodlands outlined in shadow on the surface; the boat floating leisurely onward, its heterogeneous crew of all ages dancing to the violin upon the deck, flinging out their merry salutations among the settlers, who come down to the water's edge to see the pageant pass, until, at length, it disappears behind a point of wood, and the boatman's bugle strikes up its note, dying in distance over the waters; fancy a scene like this, and the wild bugle-notes echoing and re-echoing along the bluffs and forest shades of the beautiful Ohio, and decide whether it must not have possessed a charm of fascination resistless to the youthful mind in these lonely solitudes. No wonder that the severe toils of agricultural life, in view of such scenes, should have become tasteless and irksome.[15] The lives of these {32} boatmen were lawless and dissolute to a proverb. They frequently stopped at the villages along their course, and passed the night in scenes of wild revelry and merriment. Their occupation, more than any other, subjected them to toil, and exposure, and privation; and, more than any other, it indulged them, for days in succession, with leisure, and ease, and indolent gratification. Descending the stream, they floated quietly along without an effort, but in ascending against the powerful current their life was an uninterrupted series of toil. The boat, we are told, was propelled by poles, against which the shoulder was placed and the whole strength applied; their bodies were naked to the waist, for enjoying the river-breeze and for moving with facility; and, after the labour of the day, they swallowed their whiskey and supper, and throwing themselves upon the deck of the boat, with no other canopy than the heavens, slumbered soundly on till the morning. Their slang was peculiar to the race, their humour and power of retort was remarkable, and in their frequent battles with the squatters or with their fellows, their nerve and courage were unflinching. It was in the year 1811 that the steam-engine commenced its giant labours in the Valley of the West, and the first vessel propelled by its agency glided along the soft-flowing wave of the beautiful river.[16] Many events, we are told, united to render this year a most remarkable era in the annals of Western history.[17] The spring-freshet of the rivers buried the whole valley from Pittsburgh to New-Orleans {33} in a flood; and when the waters subsided unparalleled sickness and mortality ensued. A mysterious spirit of restlessness possessed the denizens of the Northern forests, and in myriads they migrated towards the South and West. The magnificent comet of the year, seeming, indeed, to verify the terrors of superstition, and to "shake from its horrid hair pestilence and war," all that summer was beheld blazing along the midnight sky, and shedding its lurid twilight over forest and stream; and when the leaves of autumn began to rustle to the ground, the whole vast Valley of the Mississippi rocked and vibrated in earthquake-convulsion! forests bowed their heads; islands disappeared from their sites, and new one's rose; immense lakes and hills were formed; the graveyard gave up its sheeted and ghastly tenants; huge relics of the mastodon and megalonyx, which for ages had slumbered in the bosom of earth, were heaved up to the sunlight; the blue lightning streamed and the thunder muttered along the leaden sky, and, amid all the elemental war, the mighty current of the "Father of Waters" for hours rolled back its heaped-up floods towards its source! All this was the prologue to that mighty drama of _Change_ which, from that period to the present, has been sweeping over the Western Valley; it was the fearful welcome-home to that all-powerful agent which has revolutionized the character of half a continent; for at that epoch of wonders, and amid them all, the first steamboat was seen descending the great rivers, and the awe-struck Indian {34} on the banks beheld the _Pinelore_ flying through the troubled waters.[18] The rise and progress of the steam-engine is without a parallel in the history of modern improvement. Fifty years ago, and the prophetic declaration of Darwin was pardoned only as the enthusiasm of poetry; it is now little more than the detail of reality: "Soon shall thy arm, unconquer'd steam, afar Drag the slow barge or drive the rapid car; Or on wide-waving wings expanded bear The flying chariot through the fields of air; Fair crews triumphant, leaning from above, Shall wave their fluttering kerchiefs as they move, Or warrior bands alarm the gaping crowd, And armies shrink beneath the shadowy cloud."[19] The steam-engine, second only to the press in power, has in a few years anticipated results throughout the New World which centuries, in the ordinary course of cause and event, would have failed to produce. The dullest forester, even the cold, phlegmatic native of the wilderness, gazes upon its display of beautiful mechanism, its majestic march upon its element, and its sublimity of power, with astonishment and admiration. Return we to the incidents of our passage. During the morning of our third day upon the Ohio we {35} passed, among others, the villages of _Rome_, _Troy_, and Rockport.[20] The latter is the most considerable place of the three, notwithstanding _imposing_ titles. It is situated upon a green romantic spot, the summit of a precipitous pile of rocks some hundred feet in height, from which sweeps off a level region of country in the rear. Here terminates that series of beautiful bluffs commencing at the confluence of the mountain-streams, and of which so much has been said. A new geological formation commences of a bolder character than any before; and the face of the country gradually assumes those features which are found near the mouth of the river. Passing Green River with its emerald waters,[21] its "Diamond Island,"[22] the largest in the Ohio, and said to be _haunted_, and very many thriving villages, among which was Hendersonville,[23] for some time the residence of Audubon,[24] the ornithologist, we found ourselves near midday at the mouth of the smiling Wabash, its high bluffs crowned with groves of the walnut and pecan, the _carya olivoeformis_ of Nuttal, and its deep-died surface reflecting the yet deeper tints of its verdure-clad banks, as the far-winding stream gradually opened upon the eye, and then retreated in the distance. The confluence of the streams is at a beautiful angle; and, on observing the scene, the traveller will remark that the forests upon one bank are superior in magnitude to those on the other, though of the same species. The appearance is somewhat singular, and the fact is to be accounted for only from the reason that the soil {36} differs in alluvial character. It has been thought that no stream in the world, for its length and magnitude, drains a more fertile and beautiful country than the Wabash and its tributaries.[25] Emigrants are rapidly settling its banks, and a route has been projected for uniting by canal its waters with those of Lake Erie; surveys by authority of the State of Indiana have been made, and incipient measures taken preparatory to carrying the work into execution.[26] About one hundred miles from the mouth of the Wabash is situated the village of New-Harmony, far famed for the singular events of which it has been the scene.[27] It is said to be situated on a broad and beautiful plateau overlooking the stream, surrounded by a fertile and heavily-timbered country, and blessed with an atmosphere of health. It was first settled in 1814 by a religious sect of Germans called Harmonites, resembling the Moravians in their tenets, and under the control of George Rapp, in whose name the land was purchased and held. They were about eight hundred in number, and soon erected a number of substantial edifices, among which was a huge House of Assemblage an hundred feet square. They laid out their grounds with beautiful regularity, and established a botanic garden and an extensive greenhouse. For ten years the Harmonites continued to live and labour in love, in the land of their adoption, when the celebrated Robert Dale Owen,[28] of Scotland, came among them, and, at the sum of one hundred and ninety thousand dollars, purchased the establishment entire. His design was of rearing up a community {37} upon a plan styled by him the "Social System." The peculiar doctrines he inculcated were a perfect equality, moral, social, political, and religious. He held that the promise of never-ending love upon marriage was an absurdity; that children should become no impediment to separation, as they were to be considered members of the community from their second year; that the society should have no professed religion, each individual being indulged in his own faith, and that all temporal possessions should be held in common. On one night of every week the whole community met and danced; and on another they united in a concert of music, while the Sabbath was devoted to philosophical lectures. Many distinguished individuals are said to have written to the society inquiring respecting its principles and prospects, and expressing the wish at a future day to unite with it their destinies. Mr. Owen was sanguine of success. On the 4th of July, 1826, he promulgated his celebrated declaration of mental independence;[29] a document which, for absurdity, has never, perhaps, been paralleled. But all was in vain. Dissension insinuated itself among the members; one after another dropped off from the community, until at length Mr. Owen retired in disgust, and, at a vast sacrifice, disposed of the establishment to a wealthy Scotch gentleman by the name of M'Clure, a former coadjutor.[30] Thus was abandoned the far-famed _social system_, which for a time was an object of interest and topic of remark all over the United States and even in Europe. The Duke of Saxe Weimar passed here a {38} week in the spring of 1826, and has given a detailed and amusing description of his visit. About ten miles below the mouth of the Wabash is situated the village of Shawneetown, once a favourite dwelling-spot of the turbulent Shawnee Indian, the tribe of Tecumseh.[31] Quite a village once stood here; but, for some cause unknown, it was forsaken previous to its settlement by the French, and two small mounds are the only vestige of its existence which are now to be seen. A trading-post was established by the early Canadian voyageurs; but, on account of the sickliness of the site, was abandoned, and the spot was soon once more a wilderness. In the early part of 1812 a land-office was here located, and two years subsequent a town was laid off by authority of Congress, and the lots sold as other public lands. Since then it has been gradually becoming the commercial emporium of southern Illinois. The buildings, among which are a very conspicuous bank, courthouse, and a land-office for the southern district of Illinois, are scattered along upon a gently elevated bottom, swelling up from the river to the bluffs in the rear, but sometimes submerged. From this latter cause it has formerly been subject to disease; it is now considered healthy; is the chief commercial port in this section of the state, and is the principal point of debarkation for emigrants for the distant West. Twelve miles in its rear are situated the Gallatin Salines, from which the United States obtains some hundred thousands of bushels of salt annually.[32] It is manufactured by {39} the evaporation of salt water. This is said to abound over the whole extent of this region, yielding from one eighth to one twelfth of its weight in pure muriate of soda. In many places it bursts forth in perennial springs; but most frequently is obtained by penetrating with the augur a depth of from three to six hundred feet through the solid limestone substratum, when a copper tube is introduced, and the strongly-impregnated fluid gushes violently to the surface. In the vicinity of these salines huge fragments of earthenware, apparently of vessels used in obtaining salt, and bearing the impress of wickerwork, have been thrown up from a considerable depth below the surface. Appearances of the same character exist near Portsmouth, in the State of Ohio, and other places. Their origin is a mystery! the race which formed them is departed![33] _Ohio River._ IV "Who can paint Like Nature? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creations, hues like hers? Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, And lose them in each other, as appears In every bud that blooms?" THOMSON. "Precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered, and the same forever." COLERIDGE. It was near noon of the third day of our passage that we found ourselves in the vicinity of that singular series of massive rock formations, stretching along for miles upon the eastern bank of the stream. The whole vast plain, extending from the Northern Lakes to the mouth of the Ohio, and from the Alleghany slope to the boundless prairies of the far West, is said by geologists to be supported by a bed of horizontal limestone rock, whose deep strata have never been completely pierced, though penetrated many hundred feet by the augur. This limestone is hard, stratified, imbedding innumerable shells of the terebratulæ, encrinites, orthocerites, trilobites, productus, and other species. Throughout most of its whole extent it supports a stratum of bituminous coal, various metals, and saline impregnations: its constant decomposition has fertilized the soil, and its absorbent and cavernous nature has prevented swamps from accumulating upon the surface. Such, in general outline, is this vast limerock substratum {41} of the Western Valley. It generally commences but a few feet below the vegetable deposite; at other places its range is deeper, while at intervals it rises from the surface, and frowns in castellated grandeur over objects beneath. These huge masses of limestone sometimes exhibit the most picturesque and remarkable forms along the banks of the western rivers, and are penetrated in many places by vast caverns. The region we were now approaching was a locality of these singular formations, and for miles before reaching it, as has been remarked, a change in scenery upon the eastern bank is observed. Instead of the rounded wooded summits of the "Ohio hills" sweeping beautifully away in the distance, huge, ponderous rocks, heaped up in ragged masses, "Pelion upon Ossa," are beheld rearing themselves abruptly from the stream, and expanding their Briarean arms in every direction. Some of these cliffs present a uniform, jointed surface, as if of masonry, resembling ancient edifices, and reminding the traveller of the giant ruins of man's creations in another hemisphere, while others appear just on the point of toppling into the river. Among this range of crags is said to hang an _iron coffin_, suspended, like Mohammed's, between heaven and earth. It contains the remains of a man of singular eccentricity, who, previous to his decease, gave orders that they should be deposited thus; and the gloomy object at the close of the year, when the trees are stripped of their foliage, may be perceived, it is said, high up among the rocks from the deck of the passing {42} steamer. This story probably owes its origin to an event of actual occurrence somewhat similar, at a cliff called by the river-pilots "Hanging Rock."[34] It is situated in the vicinity of "Blennerhasset's Island."[35] The first of these singular cliffs, called "Battery Rock," stretches along the river-bank for half a mile, presenting a uniform and perpendicular façade upward of eighty feet in height. The appearance is striking, standing, as it does, distinct from anything of a kindred character for miles above and for some distance below. Passing several fine farms, which sweep down to the water's edge, a second range of cliffs are discovered, similar to those described in altitude and aspect; but near the base, through the dark cypresses skirting the water, is perceived the ragged entrance to a large cavernous fissure, penetrating the bluff, and designated by the name of "Rock-Inn-Cave."[36] It is said to have received this significant appellation from emigrants, who were accustomed to tarry with their families for weeks at the place when detained by stress of weather, stage of the river, or any other circumstance unfavourable to their progress. It was near noon of a beautiful day when the necessary orders for landing were issued to the pilot, and our boat rounded up to the low sand-beach just below this celebrated cavern. As we strolled along the shore beneath "the precipitous, black, jagged rocks" overhanging the winding and broken pathway towards the entrance, we could not but consider its situation wild and rugged enough to please the rifest fancy. The entrance, {43} at first view, is exceedingly imposing; its broad massive forehead beetling over the visiter for some yards before he finds himself within. The mouth of the cavern looks out upon the stream rushing along at the base of the cliff, and is delightfully shaded by a cluster of cypresses, rearing aloft their huge shafts, almost concealed in the luxuriant ivy-leaves clinging to their bark. The entrance is formed into a semi-elliptical arch, springing boldly to the height of forty feet from a heavy bench of rock on either side, and eighty feet in width at the base, throwing over the whole a massive roof of uniform concavity, verging to a point near the centre of the cave. Here may be seen another opening of some size, through which trickles a limpid stream, and forming an entrance to a second chamber, said to be more extensive than that below. The extreme length of this cavern is given by Schoolcraft[37] as one hundred and sixty feet, the floor, the roof, and the walls gradually tapering to a point. The rock is a secondary limestone, abounding with testacea and petrifactions, a fine specimen of which I struck from the ledge while the rest of our party were recording their names among the thousand dates and inscriptions with which the walls are defaced. Like all other curiosities of Nature, this cavern was, by the Indian tribes, deemed the residence of a _Manito_[38] or spirit, evil or propitious, concerning {44} whom many a wild legend yet lives among their simple-hearted posterity. They never pass this dwelling-place of the divinity without discharging their guns (an ordinary mark of respect), or making some other offering propitiatory of his favour. These tributary acknowledgments, however, are never of much value. The view of the stream from the left bench at the cave's mouth is most beautiful. Immediately in front extends a large and densely-wooded island, known by the name of the Cave, while the soft-gliding waters flow between, furnishing a scene of natural beauty worthy an Inman's pencil; and, if I mistake not, an engraving of the spot has been published, a ferocious-looking personage, pistol in hand, crouched at the entrance, eagerly watching an ascending boat. This design originated, doubtless, in the tradition yet extant, that in the latter part of the last century this cavern was the rendezvous of a notorious band of freebooters which then infested the region, headed by the celebrated Mason,[39] plundering the boats ascending from New-Orleans and murdering their crews. From these circumstances this cave has become the scene of a poem of much merit, called the "Outlaw," and has suggested a spirited tale from a popular writer. Many other spots in the vicinity were notorious, in the early part of the present century, for the murder and robbery of travellers, whose fate long remained enveloped in mystery. On the summit of a lofty bluff, not far from the "Battery Rock," was pointed out to us a solitary house, with a single chimney rising from its roof. Its {45} white walls may be viewed for miles before reaching the place on descending the river. It was here that the family of Sturdevant carried on their extensive operations as counterfeiters for many years unsuspected; and on this spot, in 1821, they expiated their crimes with their lives. A few miles below is a place called "Ford's Ferry,"[40] where murder, robbery, forgery, and almost every crime in the calendar were for years committed, while not a suspicion of the truth was awakened. Ford not only escaped unsuspected, but was esteemed a most exemplary man. Associated with him were his son and two other individuals, named Simpson and Shouse. They are all now gone to their account. The old man was mysteriously shot by some person who was never discovered, but was supposed to have been Simpson, between whom and himself a misunderstanding had arisen. If it were so, the murderer was met by fitting retribution, for _he_ fell in a similar manner. Shouse and the son of Ford atoned upon the gallows their crimes in 1833. Before reaching this spot the traveller passes a remarkable mass of limestone called "Tower Rock." It is perpendicular, isolated, and somewhat cylindrical in outline. It is many feet in altitude, and upon its summit tradition avers to exist the ruins of an antique tumulus; an altar, mayhap, of the ancient forest-sons, where "Garlands, ears of maize, and skins of wolf And shaggy bear, the offerings of the tribe Were made to the Great Spirit." In the vicinity of the cliff called "Tower Rock," and not far from Hurricane Island, is said to exist a {46} remarkable cavern of considerable extent. The cave is entered by an orifice nine feet in width and twelve feet high; a bench of rock is then ascended a few feet, and an aperture of the size of an ordinary door admits the visiter into a spacious hall. In the mouth of the cavern, on the façade of the cliff, at the altitude of twenty-five feet, are engraved figures resembling a variety of animals, as the bear, the buffalo, and even the lion and lioness. All this I saw nothing of, and am, of course, no voucher for its existence; but a writer in the Port Folio, so long since as 1816, states the fact, and, moreover, adds that the engraving upon the rock was executed in "a masterly style."[41] From this spot the river stretches away in a long delightful reach, studded with beautiful islands, among which "Hurricane Island," a very large one, is chief.[42] Passing the compact little village of Golconda with its neat courthouse, and the mouth of the Cumberland River with its green island, once the rendezvous of Aaron Burr and his chivalrous band, we next reached the town of Paducah, at the outlet of the Tennessee.[43] This is a place of importance,[44] though deemed unhealthy: it is said to have derived its name from a captive Indian woman, who was here sacrificed by a band of the Pawnees after having been assured of safety. About eight miles below Paducah are situated the ruins of Fort Massac, once a French military post of importance.[45] There is a singular legend respecting this fort still popular among the inhabitants of the neighbouring region, the outlines of which {47} are the following: The fortress was erected by the French while securing possession of the Western Valley, and, soon after, hostilities arising between them and the natives, the latter contrived a stratagem, in every respect worthy the craft and subtlety of the race, to obtain command of this stronghold. Early one morning a body of Indians, enveloped each in a bearskin, appeared upon the opposite bank of the Ohio. Supposing them the animal so faithfully represented, the whole French garrison in a mass sallied incontinently forth, anticipating rare sport, while the remnant left behind as a guard gathered themselves upon the glacis as spectators of the scene. Meanwhile, a large body of Indians, concealed in rear of the fort, slipped silently from their ambush, and few were there of the French who escaped to tell the tale of the scene that ensued. They were _massacred_ almost to a man, and hence the name of _Massac_ to the post. During the war of the revolution a garrison was stationed upon the spot for some years, but the structures are now in ruins. A few miles below is a small place consisting of a few farmhouses, called Wilkinsonville,[46] on the site where Fort Wilkinson once stood; just opposite, along the shore, commences the "Grand Chain" of rocks so famous to the Ohio pilot, extending four miles. The little village of Caledonia is here laid off among the bluffs. It has a good landing, and is the proposed site of a marine hospital. It was sunset when we arrived at the confluence of the rivers. In course of the afternoon we had been visited by a violent thunder-gust, accompanied {48} by hail. But sunset came, and the glorious "bow of the covenant" was hung out upon the dark bosom of the clouds, spanning woodland and waters with its beautiful hues. And yet, though the hour was a delightful one, the scene did not present that aspect of vastness and sublimity which was anticipated from the celebrity of the streams. For some miles before uniting its waters with the Mississippi, the Ohio presents a dull and uninteresting appearance. It is no longer the clear, sparkling stream, with bluffs and woodland painted on its surface; the volume of its channel is greatly increased by its union with two of its principal tributaries, and its waters are turbid; its banks are low, inundated, and clothed with dark groves of deciduous forest-trees, and the only sounds which issue from their depths to greet the traveller's ear are the hoarse croakings of frogs, or the dull monotony of countless choirs of moschetoes. Thus rolls on the river through the dullest, dreariest, most uninviting region imaginable, until it sweeps away in a direction nearly southeast, and meets the venerable Father of the West advancing to its embrace. The volume of water in each seems nearly the same; the Ohio exceeds a little in breadth, their currents oppose to each other an equal resistance, and the resultant of the forces is a vast lake more than two miles in breadth, where the united waters slumber quietly and magnificently onward for leagues in a common bed. On the right come rolling in the turbid floods of the Mississippi; and on looking upon it for the first time with preconceived ideas of the magnitude of the mightiest {49} river on the globe, the spectator is always disappointed. He considers only its breadth when compared with the Ohio, without adverting to its vast depth. The Ohio sweeps in majestically from the north, and its clear waters flow on for miles without an intimate union with its turbid conqueror. The characteristics of the two streams are distinctly marked at their junction and long after. The banks of both are low and swampy, totally unfit for culture or habitation. "Willow Point," which projects itself into the confluence, presents an elevation of twenty feet; yet, in unusual inundations, it is completely buried six feet below the surface, and the agitated waters, rolling together their masses, form an enormous lake. How strange it seemed, while gazing upon the view I have attempted to delineate, now fading away beneath the summer twilight--how very strange was the reflection that these two noble streams, deriving their sources in the pellucid lakes and the clear icy fountains of their highland-homes, meandering majestically through scenes of nature and of art unsurpassed in beauty, and draining, and irrigating, and fertilizing the loveliest valley on the globe--how strange, that the confluence of the waters of such streams, in their onward rolling to the deep, should take place at almost the only stage in their course devoid entirely of interest to the eye or the fancy; in the heart of a dreary and extended swamp, waving with the gloomy boughs of the cypress, and enlivened by not a sound but the croaking of bullfrogs, and the deep, surly misery note of {50} moschetoes! Willow Point is the property of a company of individuals, who announce it their intention to elevate the delta above the power of inundations, and here to locate a city.[47] There are as yet, however, but a few storehouses on the spot; and when we consider the incalculable expense the only plan for rendering it habitable involves, we can only deem the idea of a city here as the chimera of a Utopian fancy. For more than twelve miles above the confluence, the whole alluvion is annually inundated, and forbids all improvement; but were this site an elevated one, a city might here be founded which should command the immense commerce of these great rivers, and become the grand central emporium of the Western Valley. Upon the first elevated land above the confluence stands the little town called America. This is the proposed _terminus_ to the grand central railroad of the Internal Improvement scheme of Illinois, projected to pass directly through the state,[48] uniting its northern extremity with the southern. The town is said to have been much retarded in its advancement by the circumstance of a sand-bar obstructing the landing. It has been contemplated to cut a basin, extending from the Ohio to a stream called "Humphrey's Creek," which passes through the place, and thus secure a harbour. Could this plan be carried into execution, America would soon become a town of importance. _Ohio River._ V "The groves were God's first temples." BRYANT. "Oh! it's hame, and it's hame, it's hame wad I be, Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie." CUNNINGHAM. "Those Sabbath bells, those Sabbath bells, I hear them wake the hour of prime." LAMB. "She walks the waters like a thing of life." BYRON. It was late before we had passed the confluence of the Ohio with the dark-rolling tide of the "endless river," and the mellow gorgeousness of summer sunset had gently yielded to the duskiness of twilight, and that to the inky pall of night. The moon had not risen, and the darkness became gradually so dense that doubts were entertained as to the prudence of attempting to stem the mighty current of the Mississippi on such a night. These, however, were overruled; and, sweeping around the low peninsula of Cairo, our steamer met the torrent and quivered in every limb. A convulsed, motionless struggle ensued, in which the heavy labouring of the engine, the shrill whistle of the safety-valve, the quick, querulous crackling of the furnaces, the tumultuous rushing of the wheels, and the stern roar of the scape-pipe, gave evidence of the fearful power summoned up to overcome the flood. At length we began very slowly to ascend the stream. {52} Our speed was about five miles an hour, and the force of the current nearly the same, which so impedes advancement that it requires as long to ascend from the confluence to St. Louis as to descend to the same point from the Falls, though the distance is less than half. All night our steamer urged herself slowly onward against the current, and the morning found us threading a narrow channel amid a cluster of islands, from whose dense foliage the night-mists were rising and settling in dim confusion. Near the middle of the stream, above this collection, lays a very large island, comprising eight or ten thousand acres. It is called English Island;[49] is heavily timbered; huge vines of the wild grape are leaping like living things from branch to branch, and the wild pea flourishes all over the surface of the soil in most luxuriant profusion. The stream here expands itself to the breadth of four miles, and abounds with islands. As the morning advanced the sun burst gloriously forth from the mists; and as I gazed with tranquillized delight upon the beautiful scenery it unrolled, I remembered that it was the morning of the Sabbath--the peaceful Sabbath. It is a sweet thing to pass the hours of holy time amid the eloquent teachings of inanimate nature. It is pleasant to yield up for a season the sober workings of reason to the warm gushings of the heart, and to suffer the homage of the soul to go up before the Author of its being unfettered by the chill formalities, the bustling parade, the soulless dissembling of the unbending courtesies of ordinary life. Amid the {53} crowded assemblage, there is but little of that humbleness of spirit and that simple-hearted fervour of worship which it is in man to feel when communing within the shadowy solitudes of Nature with his God. There are moments, too, when the soul of man is called back from the heartlessness of life, and pours forth its emotions, gush upon gush, in all the hallowed luxuriance of its nature; when, from the fevered turmoil of daily existence, it retires to well up its sympathies alone beneath the covert of a lulled and peaceful bosom; and surely such a season is the calm, waveless hour of Sabbath sacredness. And it is a blessed appointment that, in a world whose quietude too often is disturbed by the untamed heavings of unholy feeling, there should yet be moments when the agitated events of the past are forgotten, when the apprehensions of the future are unthought of, and the generous emotions of the heart are no more repressed. Such moments are the crystal fount of the _oasis_, girt, indeed, by the sands and barrenness of the desert; yet laughing forth in tinkling melody amid its sprinkled evergreens, in all the sparkling freshness of mimic life, to bathe the languid lip of the weary one. Such moments are the mellow radiance of the departing sun when the trials of the day are over; and tenderly and softly do their influences descend upon the heart. Like the pure splendour of the star of even, how calmly does the sacred Sabbath-time beam out from the dark, unquiet firmament of life! 'Tis the blessed rainbow of promise and of consolation amid the rough storms of our pilgrimage, {54} and its holy influences elicit all the untold richness of the heart. It is a season soft as the memorial of buried affection, mild as the melody of departed years, pure as the prayer of feebleness from the lip of childhood, beautiful as yon floating islet sleeping in sunset radiance on the blue evening wave. "Gone, gone for ever!" Another Sabbath is over, and from its gathering shades it is good to cast back a glance of reflection. A company of emigrants, in course of the morning, were landed from our boat at a desolate-looking spot upon the Missouri shore; men, women, and little ones, with slaves, household stuff, pots, kettles, dogs, implements of husbandry, and all the paraphernalia of the backwood's farm heaped up promiscuously in a heterogeneous mass among the undergrowth beneath the lofty trees. A similar party from the State of Vermont were, during our passage, landed near the mouth of the Wabash, one of whom was a pretty, delicate female, with an infant boy in her arms. They had been _deck-passengers_, and we had seen none of them before; yet their situation could not but excite interest in their welfare. Poor woman! thought I, as our boat left them gazing anxiously after us from the inhospitable bank, little do you dream of the trials and the privations to which your destiny conducts, and the hours of bitter retrospection which are to come over your spirit like a blight, as, from these cheerless solitudes, you cast back many a lingering thought to your dear, distant home in New-England; whose very mountain-crags and fierce storms {55} of winter, harsh and unwelcome though they might seem to the stranger, were yet pleasant to you: "My native land! my native land! Though bare and bleak thou be, And scant and cold thy summer smile, Thou'rt all the world to me." A few years, and all this will have passed away. A new home and new ties will have sprung up in the wilderness to soothe the remembrance of the old. This broad valley will swarm with population; the warm breath of man will be felt upon the cheek, and his tread will be heard at the side; the glare of civilization and the confused hum of business will have violated these solitudes and broken in upon their gloom, and here empire shall have planted her throne; and then, perchance, that playful boy upon the bosom may rise to wield the destinies of his fellows. But many a year of toil and privation must first have passed away; and who shall record their annals? A thousand circumstances, all unlooked for, will seize upon the feelings of the emigrant; the harshness of strangers, the cold regard of recent acquaintance, the absence of relatives and of friends long cherished, the distance which separates him from his native home, and the dreary time which must elapse between all communications of the pen. And then the sweet chime of the Sabbath-bell of New-England, pealing out in "angels' music"[50] on the clear mountain-air, to usher in the hours of holy time, and to summon the soul of man to communion with its Maker; will this be heard amid the forest solitude? and all that quiet {56} intermingling of heart with heart which divests grief of half its bitterness by taking from it all its loneliness? And the hour of sickness, and of death, and of gushing tears, as they come to all, may not be absent here; and where are the soothing consolations of religious solemnity, and the sympathies of kindred souls, and the unobtrusive condolence of those who alone may enter the inner temple of the breast, where the stranger intermeddleth not? Yes, it must be--notwithstanding the golden anticipations indulged by every humble emigrant to this El Dorado of promise--it must be that there will arise in his bosom, when he finds himself for the first time amid these vast forest solitudes, attended only by his wife and children, a feeling of unutterable loneliness and desertion. Until this moment he has been sustained by the buoyancy of anticipated success, the excitement of change, the enlivening influences of new and beautiful scenes; and the effect of strange faces and strange customs has been to divert the attention, while the farewell pressure of affection yet has warmly lingered. All this is over now, and his spirit, left to its own resources, sinks within him. The sacred spot of his nativity is far, far away towards the morning sun; and there is the village church and the village graveyard, hallowed by many a holy remembrance; there, too, are the playmates and the scenes of his boyhood-days; the trysting-place of youthful love and of youthful friendship, spots around which are twined full many a tendril of his heart; and he has turned from them all _for ever_. Henceforth he is a wanderer, and a distant soil must {57} claim his ashes. He who, with such reflections, yearns not for the home of his fathers, is an alien, and no true son of New-England. It was yet early in the morning of our first day upon the Mississippi that we found ourselves beneath the stately bluff upon which stands the old village of Cape Girardeau.[51] Its site is a bold bank of the stream, gently sloping to the water's edge, upon a substratum of limerock. A settlement was commenced on this spot in the latter part of the last century. Its founders were of French and German extraction, though its structures do not betray their origin. The great earthquakes of 1811, which vibrated through the whole length of the Western Valley, agitated the site of this village severely; many brick houses were shattered, chimneys thrown down, and other damage effected, traces of the repairs of which are yet to be viewed. The place received a shock far more severe, however, in the removal of the seat of justice to another town in the county: but the landing is an excellent one; iron ore and other minerals are its staples of trade, and it is again beginning to assume a commercial character. The most remarkable objects which struck our attention in passing this place were several of those peculiarly novel mills put in motion by a spiral water-wheel, acted on by the current of the river. These screw-wheels float upon the surface parallel to the shore, rising or falling with the water, and are connected with the gearing in the millhouse upon the bank by a long shaft. The action of the current upon {58} the spiral thread of the wheel within its external casing keeps it in constant motion, which is communicated by the shaft to the machinery of the mills. The contrivance betrays much ingenuity, and for purposes where a _motive_ of inconsiderable power is required, may be useful; but for driving heavy millstones or a saw, the utility is more than problematical. In the vicinity of Cape Girardeau commences what is termed the "Tyowapity Bottom," a celebrated section of country extending along the Missouri side of the stream some thirty miles, and abounding with a peculiar species of potter's clay, unctuous in its nature, exceedingly pure and white, and plastic under the wheel.[52] This stratum of clay is said to vary from one foot to ten in depth, resting upon sandstone, and covered by limestone abounding in petrifactions. A manufactory is in operation at Cape Girardeau, in which this substance is the material employed. Near the northern extremity of this bottom the waters of the Muddy River enter the Mississippi from Illinois.[53] This stream was discovered by the early French voyageurs, and from them received the name of _Rivière au Vase_, or _Vaseux_. It is distinguished for the salines upon its banks, for its exhaustless beds of bituminous coal, for the fertility of the soil, and for a singularly-formed eminence among the bluffs of the Mississippi, a few miles from its mouth. Its name is "_Fountain Bluff_," derived from the circumstance that from its base gush out a number of limpid springs.[54] It is said to measure eight miles {59} in circumference, and to have an altitude of several hundred feet. Its western declivity looks down upon the river, and its northern side is a precipitous crag, while that upon the south slopes away to a fertile plain, sprinkled with farms. A few miles above the Big Muddy stands out from the Missouri shore a huge perpendicular column of limestone, of cylindrical formation, about one hundred feet in circumference at the base, and in height one hundred and fifty feet, called the "Grand Tower."[55] Upon its summit rests a thin stratum of vegetable mould, supporting a shaggy crown of rifted cedars, rocking in every blast that sweeps the stream, whose turbid current boils, and chafes, and rages at the obstruction below. This is the first of that celebrated range of heights upon the Mississippi usually pointed out to the tourist, springing in isolated masses from the river's brink upon either side, and presenting to the eye a succession of objects singularly grotesque. There are said to exist, at this point upon the Mississippi, indications of a huge parapet of limestone having once extended across the stream, which must have formed a tremendous cataract, and effectually inundated all the alluvion above. At low stages of the water ragged shelves, which render the navigation dangerous, are still to be seen. Among the other cliffs along this precipitous range which have received names from the boatmen are the "Devil's Oven," "Teatable," "Backbone," &c., which, with the "Devil's Anvil," "Devil's Island," &c., indicate pretty plainly the divinity most religiously propitiated {60} in these dangerous passes.[56] The "Oven" consists of an enormous promontory of rock, about one hundred feet from the surface of the river, with a hemispherical orifice scooped out of its face, probably by the action, in ages past, of the whirling waters now hurrying on below. It is situated upon the left bank of the stream, about one mile above the "Tower," and is visible from the river. In front rests a huge fragment of the same rock, and in the interval stands a dwelling and a garden spot. The "Teatable" is situated at some distance below, and the other spots named are yet lower upon the stream. This whole region bears palpable evidence of having been subjected, ages since, to powerful volcanic and diluvial action; and neither the Neptunian or Vulcanian theory can advance a superior claim. For a long time after entering the dangerous defile in the vicinity of the _Grand Tower_, through which the current rushes like a racehorse, our steamer writhed and groaned against the torrent, hardly advancing a foot. At length, as if by a single tremendous effort, which caused her to quiver and vibrate to her centre, an onward impetus was gained, the boat shot forward, the rapids were overcome, and then, by chance, commenced one of those perilous feats of rivalry, formerly, more than at present, frequent upon the Western waters, A RACE. Directly before us, a steamer of a large class, deeply laden, was roaring and struggling against the torrent under her highest pressure. During our passage we had several times passed and repassed each other, as either boat was delayed {61} at the various woodyards along the route; but now, as the evening came on, and we found ourselves gaining upon our antagonist, the excitement of emulation flushed every cheek. The passengers and crew hung clustering, in breathless interest, upon the galleries and the boiler deck, wherever a post for advantageous view presented; while the hissing valves, the quick, heavy stroke of the piston, the sharp clatter of the _eccentric_, and the cool determination of the pale engineer, as he glided like a spectre among the fearful elements of destruction, gave evidence that the challenge was accepted. But there was one humble individual, above all others, whose whole soul seemed concentrated in the contest, as from time to time, in the intervals of toil, his begrimed and working features were caught, glaring through the lurid light of the furnaces he was feeding. This was no less a personage than the doughty fireman of our steamer; a long, lanky individual, with a cute cast of the eye, a knowing tweak of the nose, and an interminable longitude of phiz. His checkered shirt was drenched with perspiration; a huge pair of breeches, begirdling his loins by means of a leathern belt, covered his nether extremities, and two sinewy arms of "whipcord and bone" held in suspension a spadelike brace of hands. During our passage, more than once did I avail myself of an opportunity of studying the grotesque, good-humoured visage of this _unique_ individual; and it required no effort of fancy to imagine I viewed before me some lingering remnant of that "horse and alligator race," now, like {62} the poor Indian, fast fading from the West before the march of steamboats and civilization, _videlicet_, "the Mississippi boatman." And, on the occasion of which I speak, methought I could catch no slight resemblance in my interesting fireman, as he flourished his ponderous limbs, to that faithful portraiture of his majesty of the Styx in Tooke's Pantheon! though, as touching this latter, I must confess me of much dubiety in boyhood days, with the worthy "gravedigger" Young, having entertained shrewd suspicions whether the "tyrant ever sat." But in my zeal for the honest Charon I am forgetting the exciting subject of the race. During my digression, the ambitious steamers have been puffing, and sweating, and glowing in laudable effort, to say nothing of stifled sobs said to have issued from their labouring bosoms, until at length a grim smile of satisfaction lighting up the rugged features of the worthy Charon, gave evidence that not in vain he had wielded his mace or heaved his wood. A dense mist soon after came on, and the exhausted steamers were hauled up at midnight beneath the venerable trees upon the banks of the stream. On the first breakings of dawn all was again in motion. But, alas! alas! in spite of all the strivings of our valorous steamer, it soon became but too evident that her mighty rival must prevail, as with distended jaws, like to some huge fish, she came rushing up in our wake, as if our annihilation were sure. But our apprehensions proved groundless; like a civil, well-behaved rival, she speeded on, hurling forth a triple bob-major of {63} curses at us as she passed, doubtless by way of salvo, and disappeared behind a point. When to this circumstance is added that a long-winded racer of a mail-boat soon after swept past us in her onward course, and left us far in the rear, I shall be believed when it is stated that the steamer on which we were embarked was distinguished for anything but speed; a circumstance by none regretted _less_ than by myself. _Mississippi River._ VI "I linger yet with Nature." MANFRED. "Onward still I press, Follow thy windings still, yet sigh for more." GOETHE. "God's my life, did you ever hear the like! What a strange man is this!" BEN JONSON. But a very few years have passed away since the navigation of the Mississippi was that of one of the most dangerous streams on the globe; but, thanks to the enterprising genius of the scientific Shreve, this may no longer with truth be said. In 1824 the first appropriation[57] was voted by Congress for improving the navigation of the Western rivers; and since that period thousands of snags, sawyers, {64} planters, sand-bars, sunken rocks, and fallen trees have been removed, until all that now remains is to prevent new obstacles from accumulating where the old have been eradicated. For much of its course in its lower sections, the Mississippi is now quite safe; and as the progress of settlements advances upon its banks, the navigation of this noble stream will doubtless become unobstructed in its whole magnificent journey from the falls of the "Laughing Water" to the Mexican Gulf. The indefatigable industry, the tireless perseverance, the indomitable enterprise, and the enlarged and scientific policy of Captain Shreve, the projector and accomplisher of the grand national operations upon the Western rivers, can never be estimated beyond their merit. The execution of that gigantic undertaking, the removal of the Red River Raft, has identified his history with that of the empire West;[58] his fame will endure so long as those magnificent streams, with which his name is associated, shall continue to roll on their volumed waters to the deep. These remarks have been suggested by scenes of constant recurrence to the traveller on the Mississippi. The banks, the forests, the islands all differ as much as the stream itself from those of the soft-gliding Ohio. Instead of those dense emerald masses of billowy foliage swelling gracefully up from the banks of "the beautiful river," those of the Mississippi throw back a rough, ragged outline; their sands piled with logs and uprooted trees, while heaps of wreck and drift-wood betray the wild ravages of the stream. In the midst of {65} the mass a single enormous sycamore often rears its ghastly limbs, while at its foot springs gracefully up a light fringe of the pensile willow. Sometimes, too, a huge sawyer, clinging upon the verge of the channel, heaves up its black mass above the surface, then falls, and again rises with the rush of the current. Against one of these sawyers is sometimes lodged a mass of drift-wood, pressing it firmly upon the bottom, till, by a constant accumulation, a foundation is gradually laid and a new island is formed: this again, by throwing the water from its course, causes a new channel, which, infringing with violence upon the opposite bank, undermines it with its colonnade of enormous trees, and thus new material in endless succession is afforded for obstructions to the navigation. The deposites of alluvion along the banks betray a similar origin of gradual accumulation by the annual floods. In some sections of the American Bottom,[59] commencing at its southern extremity with the Kaskaskia River, the mould, upward of thirty feet in depth, is made up of numerous strata of earth, which may be readily distinguished and counted by the colours. About twenty miles above the mouth of the Kaskaskia is situated Ste. Genevieve, grand deposite of the lead of the celebrated ancient mines _La Motte_, and _A'Burton_, and others, some thirty miles in the interior, and the market which supplies all the mining district of the vicinity.[60] It was first commenced about the year 1774 by the original settlers of Upper Louisiana; and the Canadian {66} French, with their descendants, constitute a large portion of its present inhabitants. The population does not now exceed eight hundred, though it is once said to have numbered two thousand inhabitants. Some of the villagers are advanced in years, and among them is M. Valle, one of the chief proprietors of _Mine la Motte_, who, though now some ninety years of age, is almost as active as when fifty.[61] Ste. Genevieve is situated about one mile from the Mississippi, upon a broad alluvial plain lying between the branches of a small stream called _Gabourie_. Beyond the first bottom rises a second steppe, and behind this yet a third, attaining an elevation of more than a hundred feet from the water's edge. Upon this elevated site was erected, some twenty years since, a handsome structure of stone, commanding a noble prospect of the river, the broad American Bottom on the opposite side, and the bluffs beyond the Kaskaskia. It was intended for a literary institution; but, owing to unfavourable reports with regard to the health of its situation, the design was abandoned, and the edifice was never completed. It is now in a state of "ruinous perfection," and enjoys the reputation, moreover, of being _haunted_. In very sooth, its aspect, viewed from the river at twilight, with its broken windows outlined against the western sky, is wild enough to warrant such an idea or any other. A courthouse and Catholic chapel constitute the public buildings. To the south of the village, and lying upon the river, is situated the common field, originally comprising {67} two thousand _arpens_; but it is now much less in extent, and is yearly diminishing from the action of the current upon the alluvial banks. These common fields were granted by the Spanish government, as well as by the French, to every village settled under their domination. A single enclosure at the expense of the villagers was erected and kept in repair, and the lot of every individual was separated from his neighbour's by a double furrow. Near this field the village was formerly located; but in the inundation of 1785, called by the old _habitans_ "_L'annee des grandes eaux_," so much of the bank was washed away that the settlers were forced to select a more elevated site. The Mississippi was at this time swelled to thirty feet above the highest water-mark before known; and the town of Kaskaskia and the whole American Bottom were inundated. Almost every description of minerals are to be found in the county, of which Ste. Genevieve is the seat of justice. But of all other species, iron ore is the most abundant. The celebrated _Iron Mountain_ and the _Pilot Knob_ are but forty miles distant.[62] Abundance of coal is found in the opposite bluffs in Illinois. About twelve miles from the village has been opened a quarry of beautiful white marble, in some respects thought not inferior to that of Carrara. There are also said to be immense caves of pure white sand, of dazzling lustre, quantities of which are transported to Pittsburg for the manufacture of flint glass. There are a number of beautiful fountains in the neighbourhood, one of which is said to be of surpassing loveliness. It is several {68} yards square, and rushes up from a depth of fifteen or twenty feet, enclosed upon three sides by masses of living rock, over which, in pensile gracefulness, repose the long glossy branches of the forest trees. The early French settlers manufactured salt a few miles from the village, at a saline formerly occupied by the aborigines, the remains of whose earthen kettles are yet found on the spot. About thirty years since a village of the Peoria Indians was situated where the French common field now stands;[63] and from the ancient mounds found in the vicinity, and the vast quantities of animal and human remains, and utensils of pottery exhumed from the soil, the spot seems to have been a favourite location of a race whose destiny, and origin, and history are alike veiled in oblivion. The view of Ste. Genevieve from the water is picturesque and beautiful, and its landing is said to be superior to any between the mouth of the Ohio and the city of St. Louis. The village has that decayed and venerable aspect characteristic of all these early French settlements. As we were passing Ste. Genevieve an accident occurred which had nearly proved fatal to our boat, if not to the lives of all on board of her. A race which took place between another steamer and our own has been noticed. In some unaccountable manner, this boat, which then passed us, fell again in the rear, and now, for the last hour, had been coming up in our wake under high steam. On overtaking us, she attempted, contrary to all rules and regulations {69} for the navigation of the river provided, to pass between our boat and the bank beneath which we were moving; an outrage which, had it been persisted in a moment longer than was fortunately the case, would have sent us to the bottom. For a single instant, as she came rushing on, contact seemed inevitable; and, as her force was far superior to our own, and the recklessness of many who have the guidance of Western steamers was well known to us all, the passengers stood clustering around upon the decks, some pale with apprehension, and others with firearms in their hands, flushed with excitement, and prepared to render back prompt retribution on the first aggression. The pilot of the hostile boat, from his exposed situation and the virulent feelings against him, would have met with certain death; and he, consequently, contrary to the express injunctions of the master, reversed the motion of the wheels just at the instant to avoid the fatal encounter. The sole cause for this outrage, we subsequently learned, was a private pique existing between the pilots of the respective steamers. One cannot restrain an expression of indignant feeling at such an exhibition of foolhardy recklessness. It is strange, after all the fearful accidents of this description upon the Western waters, and that terrible prodigality of human life which for years past has been constantly exhibited, there should yet be found individuals so utterly regardless of the safety of their fellow-men, and so destitute of every emotion of generous feeling, as to force their way heedlessly onward into {70} danger, careless of any issue save the paltry gratification of private vengeance. It is a question daily becoming of more startling import, How may these fatal occurrences be successfully opposed? Where lies the fault? Is it in public sentiment? Is it in legal enactment? Is it in individual villany? However this may be, our passage seemed fraught with adventure, of which this is but an incident. After the event mentioned, having composed the agitation consequent, we had retired to our berths, and were just buried in profound sleep, when crash--our boat's bow struck heavily against a snag, which, glancing along the bottom, threw her at once upon her beams, and all the passengers on the elevated side from their berths. No serious injury was sustained, though alarm and confusion enough were excited by such an unceremonious turn-out. The dismay and tribulation of some of our worthy company were entirely too ludicrous for the risibles of the others, and a hearty roar of cachinnation was heard even above the ejaculations of distress; a very improper thing, no doubt, and not at all to be recommended on such occasions, as one would hardly wish to make a grave "unknell'd and uncoffin'd" in the Mississippi, with a broad grin upon his phiz. In alluding to the race which took place during our passage, honourable mention was made of a certain worthy individual whose vocation was to feed the furnaces; and one bright morning, when all the others of our company had bestowed themselves in their berths because of the intolerable {71} heat, I took occasion to visit the sooty Charon in the purgatorial realms over which he wielded the sceptre. "Grievous work this building fires under a sun like that," was the salutation, as my friend the fireman had just completed the toilsome operation once more of stuffing the furnace, while floods of perspiration were coursing down a chest hairy as Esau's in the Scripture, and as brawny. Hereupon honest Charon lifted up his face, and drawing a dingy shirt sleeve with emphasis athwart his eyes, bleared with smut, responded, "Ay, ay, sir; it's a sin to Moses, such a trade;" and seizing incontinently upon a fragment of tin, fashioned by dint of thumping into a polygonal dipper of unearthly dimensions, he scooped up a quantity of the turbid fluid through which we were moving, and deep, deep was the potation which, like a succession of rapids, went gurgling down his throat. Marvellously refreshed, the worthy genius dilated, much to my edification, upon the glories of a fireman's life. "Upon this hint I spake" touching the topic of our recent race; and then were the strings of the old worthy's tongue let loose; and vehemently amplified he upon "our smart chance of a gallop" and "the slight sprinkling of steam he had managed to push up." "Ah, stranger, I'll allow, and couldn't I have teetotally obfusticated her, and right mightily used her up, hadn't it been I was sort of bashful as to keeping path with such a cursed old mud-turtle! But it's all done gone;" and the droughty Charon seized another swig from the unearthly dipper; and closing hermetically his lantern jaws, and resuming his _infernal_ {72} labours, to which those of Alcmena's son or of Tartarean Sysiphus were trifles, I had the discretion to betake myself to the upper world. During the night, after passing Ste. Genevieve, our steamer landed at a woodyard in the vicinity of that celebrated old fortress, Fort Chartres, erected by the French while in possession of Illinois; once the most powerful fortification in North America, but now a pile of ruins.[64] It is situated about three miles from _Prairie de Rocher_, a little antiquated French hamlet, the scene of one of Hall's Western Legends.[65] We could see nothing of the old fort from our situation on the boat; but its vast ruins, though now a shattered heap, and shrouded with forest-trees of more than half a century's growth, are said still to proclaim in their finished and ponderous masonry its ancient grandeur and strength. In front stretches a large island in the stream, which has received from the old ruin a name. It is not a little surprising that there exists no description of this venerable pile worthy its origin and eventful history. _Mississippi River._ VII "The hills! our mountain-wall, the hills!" _Alpine Omen._ "But thou, exulting and abounding river! Making thy waves a blessing as they flow Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever, Could man but leave thy bright creation so--" _Childe Harold._ There are few objects upon the Mississippi in which the geologist and natural philosopher may claim a deeper interest than that singular series of limestone cliffs already alluded to, which, above its junction with the Ohio, present themselves to the traveller all along the Missouri shore. The principal ridge commences a few miles above Ste. Genevieve; and at sunrise one morning we found ourselves beneath a huge battlement of crags, rising precipitously from the river to the height of several hundred feet. Seldom have I gazed upon a scene more eminently imposing than that of these hoary old cliffs, when the midsummer-sun, rushing upward from the eastern horizon, bathed their splintered pinnacles and spires and the rifted tree-tops in a flood of golden effulgence. The scene was not unworthy Walter Scott's graphic description of the view from the Trosachs of Loch Katrine, in the "Lady of the Lake:" "The _eastern_ waves of _rising_ day Roll'd o'er the _stream_ their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. * * * * * Their rocky summits, split and rent, Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, Or seem'd fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever decked Or mosque of eastern architect." {74} All of these precipices, not less than those on the Ohio, betray palpable indication of having once been swept by the stream; and the fantastic excavations and cavernous fissures which their bold escarpments expose would indicate a current far more furious and headstrong than that, resistless though it be, which now rolls at their base. The idea receives confirmation from the circumstance that opposite extends the broad American Bottom, whose alluvial character is undisputed. This tract once constituted our western border, whence the name. The bluffs of Selma and Herculaneum are distinguished for their beauty and grandeur, not less than for the practical utility to which they have been made subservient. Both places are great depositories of lead from the mines of the interior, and all along their cliffs, for miles, upon every eligible point, are erected tall towers for the manufacture of shot. Their appearance in distant view is singularly picturesque, perched lightly upon the pinnacles of towering cliffs, beetling over the flood, which rushes along two hundred feet below. Some of these shot manufactories have been in operation {75} for nearly thirty years.[66] Herculaneum has long been celebrated for those in her vicinity. The situation of the town is the mouth of Joachim Creek; and the singular gap at this point has been aptly compared to an enormous door, thrown open in the cliffs for the passage of its waters. A few miles west of this village is said to exist a great natural curiosity, in shape of a huge rock of limestone, some hundred feet in length, and about fifty feet high. This rock is completely honeycombed with perforations, and has the appearance of having been pierced by the mytilus or some other marine insect. A few miles above Herculaneum comes in the Platine Creek;[67] and here commence the "Cornice Rocks," a magnificent escarpment of castellated cliffs some two or three hundred feet in perpendicular altitude from the bed of the stream, and extending along the western bank a distance of eight or ten miles. Through the façade of these bluffs pours in the tribute of the Merrimac, a bright, sparkling, beautiful stream.[68] This river is so clear and limpid that it was long supposed to glide over sands of silver; but the idea has been abandoned, and given place to the certainty of an abundant store of lead, and iron, and salt upon its banks, while its source is shaded by extensive forests of the white pine, a material in this section of country almost, if not quite, as valuable.[69] Ancient works of various forms are also found upon the banks of the Merrimac. There is an immense cemetery near the village of Fenton, containing {76} thousands of graves of a pigmy size, the largest not exceeding four feet in length. This cemetery is now enclosed and cultivated, so that the graves are no longer visible; but, previous to this, it is said that headstones were to be seen bearing unintelligible hieroglyphical inscriptions.[70] Human remains, ancient pottery, arrow-heads, and stone axes are daily thrown up by the ploughshare, while the numerous mounds in the vicinity are literally composed of the same materials. Mammoth bones, such as those discovered on the Ohio and in the state of New-York, are said also to have been found at a salt-lick near this stream. It was a bright morning, on the fifth day of an exceedingly long passage, that we found ourselves approaching St. Louis. At about noon we were gliding beneath the broad ensign floating from the flagstaff of Jefferson Barracks.[71] The sun was gloriously bright; the soft summer wind was rippling the waters, and the clear cerulean of the heavens was imaged in their depths. The site of the quadrangle of the barracks enclosing the parade is the broad summit of a noble bluff, swelling up from the water, while the outbuildings are scattered picturesquely along the interval beneath; the view from the steamer cannot but strike the traveller as one of much scenic beauty. Passing the venerable village of Carondelet, with its whitewashed cottages crumbling with years, and old Cahokia buried in the forests on the opposite bank, the gray walls of the Arsenal next stood out before us in the rear of its beautiful esplanade.[72] A fine quay is erected upon the river in front, and the extensive grounds {77} are enclosed by a wall of stone. Sweeping onward, the lofty spire and dusky walls of St. Louis Cathedral, on rounding a river bend, opened upon the eye, the gilded crucifix gleaming in the sunlight from its lofty summit; and then the glittering cupolas and church domes, and the fresh aspect of private residences, mingling with the bright foliage of forest-trees interspersed, all swelling gently from the water's edge, recalled vividly the beautiful "Mistress of the North," as my eye has often lingered upon her from her magnificent bay. A few more spires, and the illusion would be perfect. For beauty of outline in distant view, St. Louis is deservedly famed. The extended range of limestone warehouses circling the shore give to the city a grandeur of aspect, as approached from the water, not often beheld; while the dense-rolling forest-tops stretching away in the rear, the sharp outline of the towers and roofs against the western sky, and the funereal grove of steamboat-pipes lining the quay, altogether make up a combination of features novel and picturesque. As we approached the landing all the uproar and confusion of a steamboat port was before us, and our own arrival added to the bustle. And now, perchance, having escaped the manifold perils of sawyer and snag, planter, wreck-heap, and sand-bar, it may not be unbecoming in me, like an hundred other tourists, to gather up a votive offering, and--if classic allusion be permissible on the waters of the wilderness West--hang it up before the shrine of the "Father of Floods." {78} It is surely no misnomer that this giant stream has been styled the "eternal river," the "terrible Mississippi;"[73] for we may find none other imbodying so many elements of the fearful and the sublime. In the wild rice-lakes of the far frozen north, amid a solitude broken only by the shrill clang of the myriad water-fowls, is its home. Gushing out from its fountains clear as the air-bell, it sparkles over the white pebbly sand-beds, and, breaking over the beautiful falls of the "Laughing Water,"[74] it takes up its majestic march to the distant deep. Rolling onward through the shades of magnificent forests, and hoary, castellated cliffs, and beautiful meadows, its volume is swollen as it advances, until it receives to its bosom a tributary, a rival, a conqueror, which has roamed three thousand miles for the meeting, and its original features are lost for ever. Its beauty is merged in sublimity! Pouring along in its deep bed the heaped-up waters of streams which drain the broadest valley on the globe; sweeping onward in a boiling mass, furious, turbid, always dangerous; tearing away, from time to time, its deep banks, with their giant colonnades of living verdure, and then, with the stern despotism of a conqueror, flinging them aside again; governed by no principle but its own lawless will, the dark majesty of its features summons up an emotion of the sublime which defies contrast or parallel. And then, when we think of its far, lonely course, journeying onward in proud, dread, solitary grandeur, {79} through forests dusk with the lapse of centuries, pouring out the ice and snows of arctic lands through every temperature of clime, till at last it heaves free its mighty bosom beneath the Line, we are forced to yield up ourselves in uncontrolled admiration of its gloomy magnificence. And its dark, mysterious history, too; those fearful scenes of which it has alone been the witness; the venerable tombs of a race departed which shadow its waters; the savage tribes that yet roam its forests; the germes of civilization expanding upon its borders; and the deep solitudes, untrodden by man, through which it rolls, all conspire to throng the fancy. Ages on ages and cycles upon cycles have rolled away; wave after wave has swept the broad fields of the Old World; an hundred generations have arisen from the cradle and flourished in their freshness, and, like autumn leaflets, have withered in the tomb; and the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies, the Cæsars and the Caliphs, have thundered over the nations and passed away; and here, amid these terrible solitudes, in the stern majesty of loneliness, and power, and pride, have rolled onward these deep waters to their destiny! "Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy? God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer!" There is, perhaps, no stream which presents a greater variety of feature than the Mississippi, or phenomena of deeper interest, whether we regard the soil, productions, and climate of its valley, its individual character and that of its tributaries, or {80} the outline of its scenery and course. The confluents of this vast stream are numerous, and each one brings a tribute of the soil through which it has roamed. The Missouri pours out its waters heavily charged with the marl of the Rocky Mountains, the saffron sands of the Yellow Stone, and the chalk of the White River; the Ohio holds in its floods the vegetable mould of the Alleghanies, and the Arkansas and Red Rivers bring in the deep-died alluvion of their banks. Each tributary mingles the spoils of its native hills with the general flood. And yet, after the contributions of so many streams, the remarkable fact is observed that its breadth and volume seem rather diminished than increased.[75] Above the embouchure of the Missouri, fifteen hundred miles from the Mexican gulf, it is broader than at New-Orleans, with scarce one tenth of its waters; and at the foot of St. Anthony's Falls its breadth is but one third less. This forms a striking characteristic of the Western rivers, and owes, perhaps, its origin partially to the turbid character of their waters: as they approach their outlet they augment in volume, and depth, and impetuosity of current, but contract their expanse. None, however, exhibit these features so strikingly as the grand central stream; and while, for its body of water, it is the narrowest stream known, it is charged with heavier solutions and has broader alluvions than any other. The depth of the stream is constantly varying. At New-Orleans it exceeds one hundred feet. Its width is from half of one mile to two miles; the breadth of its valley {81} from six miles to sixty; the rapidity of its current from two miles to four; its mean descent six inches in a mile, and its annual floods vary from twelve feet to sixty, commencing in March and ending in May. Thus much for Statistics. Below its confluence with its turbid tributary, the Mississippi, as has been observed, is no longer the clear, pure, limpid stream, gushing forth from the wreathy snows of the Northwest; but it whirls along against its ragged banks a resistless volume of heavy, sweeping floods, and its aspect of placid magnificence is beheld no more. The turbid torrent heaves onward, wavering from side to side like a living creature, as if to overleap its bounds; rolling along in a deep-cut race-path, through a vast expanse of lowland meadow, from whose exhaustless mould are reared aloft those enormous shafts shrouded in the fresh emerald of their tasselled parasites, for which its alluvial bottoms are so famous. And yet the valley of the "endless river" cannot be deemed heavily timbered when contrasted with the forested hills of the Ohio. The sycamore, the elm, the linden, the cotton-wood, the cypress, and other trees of deciduous foliage, may attain a greater diameter, but the huge trunks are more sparse and more isolated in recurrence. But one of the most striking phenomena of the Mississippi, in common with all the Western rivers, and one which distinguishes them from those which disembogue their waters into the Atlantic, is the uniformity of its meanderings. The river, in its onward course, makes a semicircular sweep almost {82} with the precision of a compass, and then is precipitated diagonally athwart its channel to a curve of equal regularity upon the opposite shore. The deepest channel and most rapid current is said to exist in the bend; and thus the stream generally infringes upon the _bend-side_, and throws up a sandbar on the shore opposite. So constantly do these sinuosities recur, that there are said to be but three _reaches_ of any extent between the confluence of the Ohio and the Gulf, and so uniform that the boatmen and Indians have been accustomed to estimate their progress by the number of bends rather than by the number of miles. One of the sweeps of the Missouri is said to include a distance of forty miles in its curve, and a circuit of half that distance is not uncommon. Sometimes a "_cut-off_," in the parlance of the watermen, is produced at these bends, where the stream, in its headlong course, has burst through the narrow neck of the peninsula, around which it once circled. At a point called the "Grand Cut-off," steamers now pass through an isthmus of less than one mile, where formerly was required a circuit of twenty. The current, in its more furious stages, often tears up islands from the bed of the river, removes sandbars and points, and sweeps off whole acres of alluvion with their superincumbent forests. In the season of flood the settlers, in their log-cabins along the banks, are often startled from their sleep by the deep, sullen crash of a "land-slip," as such removals are called. The scenery of the Mississippi, below its confluence {83} with the Missouri, is, as has been remarked, too sublime for beauty; and yet there is not a little of the picturesque in the views which meet the eye along the banks. Towns and settlements of greater or less extent appear at frequent intervals; and then the lowly log-hut of the pioneer is not to be passed without notice, standing beneath the tall, branchless columns of the girdled forest-trees, with its luxuriant maize-fields sweeping away in the rear. One of these humble habitations of the wilderness we reached, I remember, one evening near twilight; and while our boat was delayed at the woodyard, I strolled up from the shore to the gateway, and entered easily into confabulation with a pretty, slatternly-looking female, with a brood of mushroom, flaxen-haired urchins at her apron-string, and an infant at the breast very quietly receiving his supper. On inquiry I learned that eighteen years had seen the good woman a denizen of the wilderness; that all the responsibilities appertained unto herself, and that her "man" was proprietor of some thousand acres of _bottom_ in the vicinity. Subsequently I was informed that the worthy woodcutter could be valued at not less than one hundred thousand! yet, _en verite_, reader mine, I do asseverate that my latent sympathies were not slightly roused at the first introduction, because of the seeming poverty of the dirty cabin and its dirtier mistress! _St. Louis._ VIII "Once more upon the waters, yet once more!" _Childe Harold._ "I believe this is the finest confluence in the world." CHARLEVOIX. "'Tis twilight now; The sovereign sun behind his western hills In glory hath declined." BLACKWOOD'S _Magazine_. A bright, sunny summer morning as ever smiled from the blue heavens, and again I found myself upon the waters. Fast fading in the distance lay the venerable little city of the French, with its ancient edifices and its narrow streets, while in anticipation was a journeying of some hundred miles up the Illinois. Sweeping along past the city and the extended line of steamers at the landing, my attention was arrested by that series of substantial stone mills situated upon the shore immediately above, and a group of swarthy little Tritons disporting themselves in the turbid waters almost beneath our paddle-wheels. Among other singular objects were divers of those nondescript inventions of Captain Shreve, yclept by the boatmen "Uncle Sam's Tooth-pullers;" and, judging from their ferocious physiognomy, and the miracles they have effected in the navigation of the great waters of the West, well do they correspond to the _soubriquet_. {85} The craft consists of two perfect hulls, constructed with a view to great strength; united by heavy beams, and, in those parts most exposed, protected by an armature of iron. The apparatus for eradicating the snags is comprised in a simple wheel and axle, auxiliary to a pair of powerful steam-engines, with the requisite machinery for locomotion, and a massive beam uniting the bows of the hulls, sheathed with iron. The _modus operandi_ in tearing up a snag, or sawyer, or any like obstruction from the bed of the stream, appears to be this: Commencing at some distance below, in order to gain an impetus as powerful as possible, the boat is forced, under a full pressure of steam, against the snag, the head of which, rearing itself above the water, meets the strong transverse beam of which I have spoken, and is immediately elevated a number of feet above the surface. A portion of the log is then severed, and the roots are torn out by the windlass, or application of the main strength of the engines; or, if practicable, the first operation is repeated until the obstacle is completely eradicated. The efficiency of this instrument has been tested by the removal of some thousand obstructions, at an average expense of about twelve or fifteen dollars each. Along the river-banks in the northern suburbs of the city lie the scattered ruins of an ancient fortification of the Spanish government, when it held domination over the territory; and one circular structure of stone, called "Roy's Tower," now occupied as a dwelling, yet remains entire. There is also an {86} old castle of stone in tolerable preservation, surrounded by a wall of the same material.[76] Some of these venerable relics of former time--alas! for the irreverence of the age--have been converted into limekilns, and into lime itself, for aught that is known to the contrary! The waterworks, General Ashley's beautiful residence, and that series of ancient mounds for which St. Louis is famous, were next passed in succession, while upon the right stretched out the long low outline of "Blood Island" in the middle of the stream.[77] For several miles above the city, as we proceeded up the river, pleasant villas, with their white walls and cultivated grounds, were caught from time to time by the eye, glancing through the green foliage far in the interior. It was a glorious day. Silvery cloudlets were floating along the upper sky like spiritual creations, and a fresh breeze was rippling the waters: along the banks stood out the huge spectral Titans of the forest, heaving aloft their naked limbs like monuments of "time departed," while beneath reposed the humble hut and clearing of the settler. It was nearly midday, after leaving St. Louis, that we reached the embouchure of the Missouri. Twenty miles before attaining that point, the confluent streams flow along in two distinct currents upon either shore, the one white, clayey, and troubled, the other a deep blue. The river sweeps along, indeed, in two distinct streams past the city of St. Louis, upon either side of Blood Island, nor does it unite its heterogeneous floods for many miles below. At intervals, as the huge mass rolls itself {87} along, vast whirls and swells of turbid water burst out upon the surface, producing an aspect not unlike the sea in a gusty day, mottled by the shadows of scudding clouds. Charlevoix,[78] the chronicler of the early French explorations in North America, with reference to this giant confluence, more than a century since thus writes: "I believe this is the finest confluence in the world. The two rivers are much of the same breadth, each about half a league, but the Missouri is by far the most rapid, and seems to enter the Mississippi like a conqueror, through which it carries its white waves to the opposite shore without mixing them. Afterward it gives its colour to the Mississippi, which it never loses again, but carries quite down to the sea." This account, with all due consideration for the venerable historian, accords not precisely with the scene of the confluence at the present day, at least not as it has appeared to myself. The Missouri, indeed, rolls in its heavy volume with the impetuosity and bearing of a "conqueror" upon the tranquil surface of its rival; but entering, as it does, at right angles, its waters are met in their headlong course, and almost rolled back upon themselves for an instant by the mighty momentum of the flood they strike. This is manifested by, and accounts for, that well-defined line of light mud-colour extending from bank to bank across its mouth, bounded by the dark blue of the Upper Mississippi, and flowing sluggishly along in a lengthened and dingy stain, like a fringe upon the western shore. The breadth of the embouchure is about one mile, and its {88} channel lies nearly in the centre, bounded by vast sand-bars--sediment of the waters--upon either side. The alluvial deposites, with which it is heavily charged, accumulate also in several islands near the confluence, while the rivers united spread themselves out into an immense lake. As the steamer glides along among these islands opposite the Missouri, the scene with its associations is grand beyond description. Far up the extended vista of the stream, upon a lofty bluff, stands out a structure which marks the site of the ancient military post of "Belle Fontaine;"[79] while on the opposite bank, stretching inland from the point heavily wooded, lies the broad and beautiful prairie of the "Mamelles."[80] Directly fronting the confluence stand a range of heights upon the Illinois shore, from the summit of which is spread out, like a painting, one of the most extraordinary views in the world. The Mississippi, above its junction with its turbid tributary, is, as has been remarked, a clear, sparkling, beautiful stream; now flashing in silvery brilliance over its white sand-bars, then retreating far into the deep indentations of its shady banks, and again spreading out its waters into a tranquil, lakelike basin miles in extent, studded with islets. The far-famed village of Alton, situated upon the Illinois shore a few miles above the confluence, soon rose before us in the distance. When its multiform declivities shall have been smoothed away by the hand of enterprise and covered with handsome edifices, it will doubtless present a fine appearance {89} from the water; as it now remains, its aspect is rugged enough. The Penitentiary, a huge structure of stone, is rather too prominent a feature in the scene. Indeed, it is the first object which strikes the attention, and reminds one of a gray old baronial castle of feudal days more than of anything else. The churches, of which there are several, and the extensive warehouses along the shore, have an imposing aspect, and offer more agreeable associations. As we drew nigh to Alton, the fireman of our steamer deemed proper, in testimonial of the dignity of our arrival, to let off a certain rusty old swivel which chanced to be on board; and to have witnessed the marvellous fashion in which this important manoeuvre was executed by our worthies, would have pardoned a smile on the visage of Heraclitus himself. One lanky-limbed genius held a huge dipper of gunpowder; another, seizing upon the extremity of a hawser, and severing a generous fragment, made use thereof for wadding; a third rammed home the charge with that fearful weapon wherewith he poked the furnaces; while a fourth, honest wight--all preparation being complete--advanced with a shovel of glowing coals, which, poured upon the touchhole, the old piece was briefly delivered of its charge, and the woods, and shores, and welkin rang again to the roar. If we made not our entrance into Alton with "pomp and circumstance," it was surely the fault of any one but our worthy fireman. The site of Alton, at the confluence of three large and navigable streams; its extensive back country {90} of great fertility; the vast bodies of heavy timber on every side; its noble quarries of stone; its inexhaustible beds of bituminous coal only one mile distant, and its commodious landing, all seem to indicate the design of Nature that here should arise a populous and wealthy town. The place has been laid off by its proprietors in liberal style; five squares have been reserved for public purposes, with a promenade and landing, and the corporate bounds extend two miles along the river, and half a mile into the interior. Yet Alton, with all its local and artificial advantages, is obnoxious to objections. Its situation, in one section abrupt and precipitous, while in another depressed and confined, and the extensive alluvion lying between the two great rivers opposite, it is believed, will always render it more or less unhealthy; and its unenviable proximity to St. Louis will never cease to retard its commercial advancement. The _city_ of Alton, as it is now styled by its charter, was founded in the year 1818 by a gentleman who gave the place his name;[81] but, until within the six years past, it could boast but few houses and little business. Its population now amounts to several thousands, and its edifices for business, private residence, or public convenience are large and elegant structures. Its stone churches present an imposing aspect to the visiter. The streets are from forty to eighty feet in width, and extensive operations are in progress to render the place as uniform as its site will admit. A contract has been recently entered upon to construct a culvert over the Little Piasa Creek, {91} which passes through the centre of the town, upon which are to be extended streets. The expense is estimated at sixty thousand dollars. The creek issues from a celebrated fountain among the bluffs called "Cave Spring." Alton is not a little celebrated for its liberal contribution to the moral improvements of the day. To mention but a solitary instance, a gentleman of the place recently made a donation of ten thousand dollars for the endowment of a female seminary at Monticello,[82] a village five miles to the north; and measures are in progress to carry the design into immediate execution. Two railroads are shortly to be constructed from Alton; one to Springfield, seventy miles distant, and the other to Mount Carmel on the Wabash. The stock of each has been mostly subscribed, and they cannot fail, when completed, to add much to the importance of the places. Alton is also a _proposed_ terminus of two of the state railroads, and of the Cumberland Road.[83] At Alton terminates the "American Bottom," and here commences that singular series of green, grassy mounds, rounding off the steep summits of the cliffs as they rise from the water, which every traveller cannot but have noticed and admired. It was a calm, beautiful evening when we left the village; and, gliding beneath the magnificent bluffs, held our way up the stream, breaking in upon its tranquil surface, and rolling its waters upon either side in tumultuous waves to the shore. The rich purple of departing day was dying the western heavens; the light gauzy haze of twilight was unfolding itself like a veil over the forest-tops; "Maro's shepherd {92} star" was stealing timidly forth upon the brow of night; the flashing fireflies along the underbrush were beginning their splendid illuminations, and the mild melody of a flute and a few fine voices floating over the shadowy waters, lent the last touching to a scene of beauty. A little French village, with its broad galleries, and steep roofs, and venerable church, in a few miles appeared among the underbrush on the left.[84] Upon the opposite shore the bluffs began to assume a singular aspect, as if the solid mass of limestone high up had been subjected to the excavation of rushing waters. The cliffs elevated themselves from the river's edge like a regular succession of enormous pillars, rendered more striking by their ashy hue. This giant colonnade--in some places exceeding an altitude of an hundred feet, and exhibiting in its façade the openings of several caves--extended along the stream until we reached Grafton,[85] at the mouth of the Illinois; the calm, beautiful, ever-placid Illinois; beautiful now as on the day the enthusiast voyageur first deemed it the pathway to a "paradise upon earth." The moon was up, and her beams were resting mellowly upon the landscape. Far away, even to the blue horizon, the mirror-surface of the stream unfolded its vistas to the eye; upon its bosom slumbered the bright islets, like spirits of the waters, from whose clear depths stood out the reflection of their forests, while to the left opened upon the view a glimpse of the "Mamelle Prairie," rolling its bright waves of verdure beneath the moonlight like a field of fairy land. For an hour we gazed upon this magnificent scene, and the bright {93} waves dashed in sparkles from our bow, retreating in lengthened wake behind us, until our steamer turned from the Mississippi, and we were gliding along beneath the deep shadows of the forested Illinois. _Illinois River._ IX "A tale of the times of old! The deeds of days of other years!" OSSIAN. "Thou beautiful river! Thy bosom is calm And o'er thee soft breezes are shedding their balm; And Nature beholds her fair features portray'd, In the glass of thy bosom serenely display'd." BENGAL ANNUAL. "Tam saw an unco sight." BURNS. It is an idea which has more than once occurred to me, while throwing together these hasty delineations of the beautiful scenes through which, for the past few weeks, I have been moving, that, by some, a disposition might be suspected to tinge every outline indiscriminately with the "_coleur de rose_." But as well might one talk of an exaggerated emotion of the sublime on the table-rock of Niagara, or amid the "snowy scalps" of Alpine scenery, or of a mawkish sensibility to loveliness amid the purple glories of the "_Campagna di Roma_," as of either, or of both combined, in the noble "valley beyond the mountains." Nor is the interest experienced {94} by the traveller for many of the spots he passes confined to their scenic beauty. The associations of by-gone times are rife in the mind, and the traditionary legend of the events these scenes have witnessed yet lingers among the simple forest-sons. I have mentioned that remarkable range of cliffs commencing at Alton, and extending, with but little interruption, along the left shore of the Mississippi to the mouth of the Illinois. Through a deep, narrow ravine in these bluffs flows a small stream called the Piasa. The name is of aboriginal derivation, and, in the idiom of the Illini, denotes "_The bird that devours men_." Near the mouth of this little stream rises a bold, precipitous bluff, and upon its smooth face, at an elevation seemingly unattainable by human art, is graven the figure of an enormous bird with extended pinions. This bird was by the Indians called the "_Piasa_;" hence the name of the stream. The tradition of the Piasa is said to be still extant, among the tribes of the Upper Mississippi, and is thus related:[86] "Many thousand moons before the arrival of the pale faces, when the great megalonyx and mastodon, whose bones are now thrown up, were still living in the land of the green prairies, there existed a bird of such dimensions that he could easily carry off in his talons a full-grown deer. Having obtained a taste of human flesh, from that time he would prey upon nothing else. He was as artful as he was powerful; would dart suddenly and unexpectedly upon an Indian, bear him off to one of the caves in the bluff, and devour him. Hundreds of warriors attempted for years to destroy him, but without success. {95} Whole villages were depopulated, and consternation spread throughout all the tribes of the Illini. At length _Owatoga_, a chief whose fame as a warrior extended even beyond the great lakes, separating himself from the rest of his tribe, fasted in solitude for the space of a whole moon, and prayed to the Great Spirit, the Master of Life, that he would protect his children from the _Piasa_. On the last night of his fast the Great Spirit appeared to him in a dream, and directed him to select twenty of his warriors, each armed with a bow and pointed arrows, and conceal them in a designated spot. Near the place of their concealment another warrior was to stand in open view as a victim for the _Piasa_, which they must shoot the instant he pounced upon his prey. When the chief awoke in the morning he thanked the Great Spirit, returned to his tribe, and told them his dream. The warriors were quickly selected and placed in ambush. _Owatoga_ offered himself as the victim, willing to die for his tribe; and, placing himself in open view of the bluff, he soon saw the _Piasa_ perched on the cliff, eying his prey. _Owatoga_ drew up his manly form to its utmost height; and, placing his feet firmly upon the earth, began to chant the death-song of a warrior: a moment after, the _Piasa_ rose in the air, and, swift as a thunderbolt, darted down upon the chief. Scarcely had he reached his victim when every bow was sprung and every arrow was sped to the feather into his body. The _Piasa_ uttered a wild, fearful scream, that resounded far over the opposite side of the river, and expired. _Owatoga_ was safe. {96} Not an arrow, not even the talons of the bird had touched him; for the Master of Life, in admiration of his noble deed, had held over him an invisible shield. In memory of this event, this image of the Piasa was engraved in the face of the bluff." Such is the Indian tradition. True or false, the figure of the bird, with expanded wings, graven upon the surface of solid rock, is still to be seen at a height perfectly inaccessible; and to this day no Indian glides beneath the spot in his canoe without discharging at this figure his gun. Connected with this tradition, as the spot to which the Piasa conveyed his human victims, is one of those caves to which I have alluded. Another, near the mouth of the Illinois, situated about fifty feet from the water, and exceedingly difficult of access, is said to be crowded with human remains to the depth of many feet in the earth of the floor. The roof of the cavern is vaulted. It is about twenty-five feet in height, thirty in length, and in form is very irregular. There are several other cavernous fissures among these cliffs not unworthy description. The morning's dawn found our steamer gliding quietly along upon the bright waters of the Illinois. The surface of the stream was tranquil; not a ripple disturbed its slumbers; it was currentless; the mighty mass of the Mississippi was swollen, and, acting as a dam across the mouth of its tributary, caused a _back-water_ of an hundred miles. The waters of the Illinois were consequently stagnant, tepid, and by no means agreeable to the taste. There was present, also, a peculiarly bitter twang, {97} thought to be imparted by the roots of the trees and plants along its banks, which, when motionless, its waters steep; under these circumstances, water is always provided from the Mississippi before entering the mouth of the Illinois. But, whatever its qualities, this stream, to the eye, is one of the most beautiful that meanders the earth. As we glided onward upon its calm bosom, a graceful little fawn, standing upon the margin in the morning sunlight, was bending her large, lustrous eyes upon the delicate reflection of her form, mirrored in the stream; and, like the fabled Narcissus, so enamoured did she appear with the charm of her own loveliness, that our noisy approach seemed scarce to startle her; or perchance she was the pet of some neighbouring log-cabin. The Illinois is by many considered the "_belle rivière_" of the Western waters, and, in a commercial and agricultural view, is destined, doubtless, to occupy an important rank. Tonti, the old French chronicler, speaks thus of it:[87] "The banks of that river are as charming to the eye as useful to life; the meadows, fruit-trees, and forests affording everything that is necessary for men and beasts." It traverses the entire length of one of the most fertile regions in the Union, and irrigates, by its tributary streams, half the breadth. Its channel is sufficiently deep for steamers of the larger class; its current is uniform, and the obstacles to its navigation are few, and may be easily removed. The chief of these is a narrow bar just below the town of Beardstown,[88] stretching like a wing-dam quite across to the western bank; and any boat which may pass this bar {98} can at all times reach the port of the Rapids. Its length is about three hundred miles, and its narrowest part, opposite Peru, is about eighty yards in width. By means of a canal, uniting its waters with those of Lake Michigan, the internal navigation of the whole country from New-York to New-Orleans is designed to be completed.[89] The banks of the Illinois are depressed and monotonous, liable at all seasons to inundation, and stretch away for miles to the bluffs in broad prairies, glimpses of whose lively emerald and silvery lakes, caught at intervals through the dark fringe of cypress skirting the stream, are very refreshing. The bottom lands upon either side, from one mile to five, are seldom elevated much above the ordinary surface of the stream, and are at every higher stage of water submerged to the depth of many feet, presenting the appearance of a stream rolling its tide through an ancient and gloomy forest, luxuriant in foliage and vast in extent. It is not surprising that all these regions should be subject to the visitations of disease, when we look upon the miserable cabin of the woodcutter, reared upon the very verge of the water, surrounded on every side by swamps, and enveloped in their damp dews and the poisonous exhalations rising from the seething decomposition of the monstrous vegetation around. The traveller wonders not at the sallow complexion, the withered features, and the fleshless, ague-racked limbs, which, as he passes, peep forth upon him from the luxuriant foliage of this region of sepulchres; his only astonishment is, that in such an atmosphere the human constitution {99} can maintain vitality at all. And yet, never did the poet's dream image scenery more enchanting than is sometimes unfolded upon this beautiful stream. I loved, on a bright sunny morning, to linger hours away upon the lofty deck, as our steamer thridded the green islets of the winding waters, and gaze upon the reflection of the blue sky flecked with cloudlets in the bluer wave beneath, and watch the startling splash of the glittering fish, as, in exhilarated joyousness, he flung himself from its tranquil bosom, and then fell back again into its cool depths. Along the shore strode the bluebacked wader; the wild buck bounded to his thicket; the graceful buzzard--vulture of the West--soared majestically over the tree-tops, while the fitful chant of the fireman at his toil echoed and re-echoed through the recesses of the forests. Upon the left, in ascending the Illinois, lie the lands called the "_Military Bounty Tract_," reserved by Congress for distribution among the soldiers of the late war with Great Britain.[90] It is comprehended within the peninsula of the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, about an hundred and seventy miles in length and sixty broad, embracing twelve of the northwest counties of the state. This tract of country is said to be exceedingly fertile, abounding in beautiful prairies and lakes; but the delta or alluvial regions cannot but prove unhealthy. Its disposition for the purpose of military bounties has retarded its settlement behind that of any other quarter of the state; a very inconsiderable portion has been appropriated by the soldiers; most of the titles have {100} long since departed, and the land has been disposed of past redemption for taxes. Much is also held by non-residents, who estimate it at an exorbitant value; but large tracts can be obtained for a trifling consideration, the purchaser risking the title, and many flourishing settlements are now springing up, especially along the Mississippi. Near the southern extremity of the Military Tract, at a point where the river sweeps out a deep bend from its western bank, about fifty years since was situated the little French village of _Cape au Gris_, or Grindstone Point, so named from the neighbouring rocks. The French seem to have vied with the natives in rendering the "signification" conformable to the "thing signified," in bestowing names upon their explorations in the West. The village of _Cape au Gris_ was situated upon the bank of the river, and, so late as 1811, consisted of twenty or thirty families, who cultivated a "common field" of five hundred acres on the adjacent prairie, stretching across the peninsula towards the Mississippi. At the commencement of the late war they were driven away by the savages, and a small garrison from the cantonment of Belle Fontaine, at the confluence, was subsequently stationed near the spot by General Wilkinson. A few years after the close of the war American emigration commenced. This is supposed to have been the site, also, of one of the forts erected by La Salle on his second visit to the West.[91] As we ascended the Illinois, flourishing villages were constantly meeting the eye upon either bank of the stream. Among these were the euphonious {101} names of Monroe, Montezuma, Naples, and Havana! At Beardstown the rolling prairie is looked upon for the first time; it afterward frequently recurs. As our steamer drew nigh to the renowned little city of Pekin, we beheld the bluffs lined with people of all sexes and sizes, watching our approach as we rounded up to the landing.[92] Some of our passengers, surprised at such a gathering together in such a decent, well-behaved little settlement as Pekin, sagely surmised the loss of a day from the calendar, and began to believe it the first instead of the last of the week, until reflection and observation induced the belief that other rites than those of religion had called the multitude together. Landing, streets, tavern, and groceries--which latter, be it spoken of the renowned Pekin, were like anything but "angel's visits" in recurrence--all were swarmed by a motley assemblage, seemingly intent upon _doing nothing_, and that, too, in the noisiest way. Here a congregation of keen-visaged worthies were gathered around a loquacious land-speculator, beneath the shadow of a sign-post, listening to an eloquent holding-forth upon the merits, relative and distinctive, of prairie land and bluff; there a cute-looking personage, with a twinkle of the eye and sanctimoniousness of phiz, was vending his wares by the token of a flaunting strip of red baize; while lusty viragoes, with infants at the breast, were battering their passage through the throng, crowing over a "bargain" on which the "cute" pedler had cleared not _more_ than cent. per cent. And then there were sober men and men not sober; individuals half seas over and whole seas {102} over, all in as merry trim as well might be; while, as a sort of presiding genius over the bacchanal, a worthy wag, tipsy as a satyr, in a long calico gown, was prancing through the multitude, with infinite importance, on the skeleton of an unhappy horse, which, between _nicking_ and _docking_, a spavined limb and a spectral eye, looked the veritable genius of misery. The cause of all this commotion appeared to be neither more nor less than a redoubted "monkey show," which had wound its way over the mountains into the regions of the distant West, and reared its dingy canvass upon the smooth sward of the prairie. It was a spectacle by no means to be slighted, and "divers came from afar" to behold its wonders. For nothing, perhaps, have foreign tourists in our country ridiculed us more justly than for that pomposity of nomenclature which we have delighted to apply to the thousand and one towns and villages sprinkled over our maps and our land; instance whereof this same renowned representative of the Celestial Empire concerning which I have been writing. Its brevity is its sole commendation; for as to the taste or appropriateness of such a name for such a place, to say naught of the euphony, there's none. And then, besides Pekin, there are Romes, and Troys, and Palmyras, and Belgrades, Londons and Liverpools, Babels and Babylons _without account_, all rampant in the glories of log huts, with sturdy porkers forth issuing from their sties, by way, doubtless, of the sturdy knight-errants of yore caracoling from the sally-ports of their illustrious {103} namesakes. But why, in the name of all propriety, this everlasting plagiarizing of the Greek, Gothic, Gallic patronymics of the Old World, so utterly incongruous as applied to the backwoods settlements of the New! If in very poverty of invention, or in the meagerness of our "land's language," we, as a people, feel ourselves unequal to the task--one, indeed, of no ordinary magnitude--of christening all the newborn villages of our land with melodious and appropriate appellations, may it not be advisable either to nominate certain worthy dictionary-makers for the undertaking, or else to retain the ancient Indian names? Why discard the smooth-flowing, expressive appellations bestowed by the injured aborigines upon the gliding streams and flowery plains of this land of their fathers, only to supersede them by affixes most foreign and absurd? "Is this proceeding just and honourable" towards that unfortunate race? Have we visited them with so _many_ returns of kindness that this would overflow the cup of recompense? Why tear away the last and only relic of the past yet lingering in our midst? Have we too many memorials of the olden time? Why disrobe the venerable antique of that classic drapery which alone can befit the severe nobility of its mien, only to deck it out in the starched and tawdry preciseness of a degenerate taste? _Illinois River._ X "It is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand!" _Childe Harold._ "Good-evening, sir; a good-evening to ye, sir; pleased with our village, sir!" This was the frank and free salutation a genteel, farmer-looking personage, with a broad face, a broad-brimmed hat, and a broad-skirted coat, addressed to me as I stood before the inn door at Peoria, looking out upon her beautiful lake. On learning, in reply to his inquiry, "Whence do ye come, stranger?" that my birth spot was north of the Potomac, he hailed me with hearty greeting and warm grasp as a brother. "I am a Yankee, sir; yes, sir, I am a genuine export of the old 'Bay State.' Many years have gone since I left her soil; but I remember well the 'Mistress of the North,' with her green islands and blue waters. In my young days, sir, I wandered all over the six states, and I have not forgotten the valley of the Connecticut. I have seen the 'Emporium' with her Neapolitan bay, and I have looked on the 'city of the monuments and fountains;' but in all my journeyings, stranger, I have not found a spot so pleasant as this little quiet Peoria of the Western wilderness!" Whether to smile in admiration {105} or to smile at the oddity of this singular compound of truth and exaggeration, propounded, withal, in such grandiloquent style and language, I was at a loss; and so, just as every prudent man would have acted under the circumstances, _neither_ was done; and the quiet remark, "You are an enthusiast, sir," was all that betrayed to the worthy man the emotions of the sublime and ridiculous of which he had been the unwitting cause. But, truly, the little town with this soft Indian name is a beautiful place, as no one who has ever visited it has failed to remark. The incidents of its early history are fraught with the wild and romantic. The old village of Peoria was one of the earliest settlements of the French in the Mississippi Valley; and, many years before the memory of the present generation, it had been abandoned by its founders, a new village having been erected upon the present site, deemed less unhealthy than the former. The first house is said to have been built in new Peoria, or _La ville de Maillet_, as was its _nom de nique_, about the year 1778; and the situation was directly at the outlet of the lake, one mile and a half below the old settlement.[93] Its inhabitants consisted chiefly of that wild, semi-savage race of Indian traders, hunters, trappers, voyageurs, _couriers du bois_, and half-breeds, which long formed the sole link of union between the northern lakes and the southwest. After residing nearly half a century on this pleasant spot, in that happy harmony with their ferocious neighbours for which the early French were so remarkable, they were at length, in the {106} autumn of 1812, exiled from their ancient home by the militia of Illinois, on charge of conniving at Indian atrocities upon our people, a party having been fired on at night while anchored before the village in their boats. The villagers fled for refuge to their friends upon the Mississippi. In the autumn of the succeeding year, General Howard,[94] with 1400 men, ascended the Illinois; a fortress was constructed at Peoria in twelve days from timber cut on the opposite side of the lake. It was named Fort Clarke, and was occupied by a detachment of United States' troops. In course of a few weeks the whole frontier was swept of hostile Indians. On the termination of hostilities with Great Britain the fort was abandoned, and soon after was burned by the Indians, though the ruins are yet to be seen. The present settlement was commenced by emigrants but a few years since, and has advanced with a rapidity scarcely paralleled even in the West. Geographically, it is the centre of the state, and may at some future day become its seat of government. It is the shire town of a county of the same name; has a handsome courthouse of freestone; the neighbouring regions are fertile, and beds of bituminous coal are found in the vicinity. These circumstances render this spot, than which few can boast a more eventful history, one of the most eligible _locales_ in the state for the emigrant. Its situation is indescribably beautiful, extending along the lake of the same name, the Indian name of which was _Pinatahwee_, for several miles from its outlet. This water-sheet, which is little more than an expansion of the stream of from one to three miles, stretches away for about twenty, and is divided near its middle by a contraction called the _Narrows_. Its waters are exceedingly limpid, gliding gently over a pebbly bottom, and abounding in fish of fifty different species, from which an attempt for obtaining oil on a large scale was commenced a few years since, but was abandoned without success. Some of the varieties of these fish are said to be rare and curious. Several specimens of a species called the "Alligator Garr" have been taken. The largest was about seven feet in length, a yard in circumference, and encased in armour of hornlike scales of quadrilateral form, impenetrable to a rifle-ball. The weight was several hundred pounds; the form and the teeth--of which there were several rows--similar to those of the shark, and, upon the whole, the creature seemed not a whit less formidable. Another singular variety found is the "spoonfish," about four feet in length, with a black skin, and an extension of the superior mandible for two feet, of a thin, flat, shovel-like form, used probably for digging its food. The more ordinary species, pike, perch, salmon, trout, buffalo, mullet, and catfish, abound in the lake, while the surface is covered with geese, ducks, gulls, a species of water turkey, and, not unfrequently, swans and pelicans. Its bottom contains curious petrifactions and carnelions of a rare quality. From the pebbly shore of the lake, gushing out with fountains of sparkling water along its whole extent, rises a rolling bank, upon which now stands most of the village. A short distance and you ascend a second eminence, and beyond this you reach {108} the bluffs, some of them an hundred feet in height, gracefully rounded, and corresponding with the meandering of the stream below. From the summit of these bluffs the prospect is uncommonly fine. At their base is spread out a beautiful prairie, its tall grass-tops and bright-died flowerets nodding to the soft summer wind. Along its eastern border is extended a range of neat edifices, while lower down sleep the calm, clear waters of the lake, unruffled by a ripple, and reflecting from its placid bosom the stupendous vegetation of the wooded alluvion beyond. It was near the close of a day of withering sultriness that we reached Peoria. Passing the Kickapoo, or Red Bud Creek,[95] a sweep in the stream opened before the eye a panorama of that magnificent water-sheet of which I have spoken, so calm and motionless that its mirror surface seemed suspended in the golden mistiness of the summer atmosphere which floated over it. As we were approaching the village a few sweet notes of a bugle struck the ear; and in a few moments a lengthened troop of cavalry, with baggage-cars and military paraphernalia, was beheld winding over a distant roll of the prairie, their arms glittering gayly in the horizontal beams of the sinking sun as the ranks appeared, were lost, reappeared, and then, by an inequality in the route, were concealed from the view. The steamer "Helen Mar" was lying at the landing as we rounded up, most terribly shattered by the collapsing of the flue of one of her boilers a few days before in the vicinity. She had been swept by the death-blast from one extremity {109} to the other, and everything was remaining just as when the accident occurred, even to the pallets upon which had been stretched the mangled bodies, and the remedies applied for their relief. The disasters of steam have become, till of late, of such ordinary occurrence upon the waters of the West, that they have been thought of comparatively but little; yet in no aspect does the angel of death perform his bidding more fearfully. Misery's own pencil can delineate no scene of horror more revolting; humanity knows no visitation more terrible! The atmosphere of hell envelops the victim and sweeps him from the earth! Happening casually to fall in with several gentlemen at the inn who chanced to have some acquaintance with the detachment of dragoons I have mentioned, I accepted with pleasure an invitation to accompany them on a visit to the encampment a few miles from the town. The moon was up, and was flinging her silvery veil over the landscape when we reached the bivouac. It was a picturesque spot, a low prairie-bottom on the margin of the lake, beneath a range of wooded bluffs in the rear; and the little white tents sprinkled about upon the green shrubbery beneath the trees; the stacks of arms and military accoutrements piled up beneath or suspended from their branches; the dragoons around their tents, engaged in the culinary operations of the camp, or listlessly lolling upon the grass as the laugh and jest went free; the horses grazing among the thickets, while over the whole was resting the misty splendour of the moonlight, {110} made up a _tout ensemble_ not unworthy the crayon of a Weir.[96] The detachment was a small one, consisting of only one hundred men, under command of Captain S----, on an excursion from Camp des Moines, at the lower rapids of the Mississippi, to Fort Howard, on Green Bay, partially occasioned by a rumour of Indian hostilities threatened in that vicinity.[97] They were a portion of several companies of the first regiment of dragoons, levied by Congress a few years since for the protection of the Western frontier, in place of the "Rangers," so styled, in whom that trust had previously reposed. They were all Americans, resolute-looking fellows enough, and originally rendezvoused at Jefferson Barracks. The design of such a corps is doubtless an excellent one; but military men tell us that some unpardonable omissions were made in the provisions of the bill reported by Congress in which the corps had its origin; for, according to the present regulations, all approximation to discipline is precluded. Captain S---- received us leisurely reclining upon a buffalo-robe in his tent; and, in a brief interview, we found him possessed of all that gentlemanly _naïveté_ which foreign travellers would have us believe is, in our country, confined to the profession of arms. The night-dews of the lowlands had for some hours been falling when we reached the village drenched with their damps. Much to our regret, the stage of water in the Illinois would not permit our boat to ascend the stream, as had been the intention, to Hennepin, some twenty miles above, and Ottawa, at the foot of the rapids.[98] Nearly equidistant between these {111} flourishing towns, upon the eastern bank of the Illinois, is situated that remarkable crag, termed by the early French "_Le Rocher_," by the Indian traditions "_Starved Rock_," and by the present dwellers in its vicinity, as well as by Schoolcraft and the maps, "_Rockfort_." It is a tall cliff, composed of alternate strata of lime and sandstone, about two hundred and fifty feet in height by report, and one hundred and thirty-four by actual measurement. Its base is swept by the current, and it is perfectly precipitous upon three sides. The fourth side, by which alone it is accessible, is connected with the neighbouring range of bluffs by a natural causeway, which can be ascended only by a difficult and tortuous path. The summit of the crag is clothed with soil to the depth of several feet, sufficient to sustain a growth of stunted cedars. It is about one hundred feet in diameter, and comprises nearly an acre of level land. The name of "Starved Rock" was obtained by this inaccessible battlement from a legend of Indian tradition, an outline of which may be found in Flint's work upon the Western Valley, and an interesting story wrought from its incidents in Hall's "Border Tales." A band of the Illini having assassinated Pontiac, the Ottoway chieftain, in 1767, the tribe of the Pottawattamies made war upon them. The Illini, being defeated, fled for refuge to this rock, which a little labour soon rendered inaccessible to all the assaults of their enemy. At this crisis, after repeated repulse, the besiegers determined to reduce the hold by _starvation_, as the only method remaining. The tradition of this siege affords, perhaps, {112} as striking an illustration of Indian character as is furnished by our annals of the unfortunate race. Food in some considerable quantity had been provided by the besieged; but when, parched by thirst, they attempted during the night to procure water from the cool stream rushing below them by means of ropes of bark, the enemy detected the design, and their vessels were cut off by a guard in canoes. The last resource was defeated; every stratagem discovered; hope was extinguished; the unutterable tortures of thirst were upon them; a terrific death in anticipation; yet they yielded not; the speedier torments of the stake and a triumph to their foes was the alternative. And so they perished--all, with a solitary exception--a woman, who was adopted by the hostile tribe, and was living not half a century since. For years the summit of this old cliff was whitened by the bones of the victims; and quantities of remains, as well as arrow-heads and domestic utensils, are at the present day exhumed. Shells are also found, but their _whence_ and _wherefore_ are not easily determined. At the only accessible point there is said to be an appearance of an intrenchment and rampart. A glorious view of the Illinois, which, forming a curve, laves more than half of the column's base, is obtained from the summit. An ancient post of the French is believed to have once stood here.[99] Brightly were the moonbeams streaming over the blue lake Pinatahwee as our steamer glided from its waters. Near midnight, as we swept past Pekin, we were roused from our slumbers by the plaintive {113} notes of the "German Hymn," which mellowly came stealing from distance over the waters; and we almost pardoned the "Menagerie" its multifold transgressions because of that touching air. There is a chord in almost every bosom, however rough and unharmonious its ordinary emotions, which fails not to vibrate beneath the gentle influences of "sweet sounds." From this, as from the strings of the wind-harp, a zephyr may elicit a melody of feeling which the storm could never have awakened. There are seasons, too, when the nerves and fibres of the system, reposing in quietness, are most exquisitely attempered to the mysterious influences and the delicate breathings of harmony; and such a season is that calm, holy hour, when deep sleep hath descended upon man, and his unquiet pulsings have for an interval ceased their fevered beat. To be awakened then by music's cadence has upon us an effect unearthly! It calls forth from their depths the richest emotions of the heart. The moonlight serenade! Ah, its wild witchery has told upon the romance of many a young bosom! If you have a mistress, and you would woo her _not vainly_, woo her thus! I remember me, when once a resident of the courtly city of L----, to have been awakened one morning long before the dawn by a strain of distant music, which, swelling and rising upon the still night-air, came floating like a spirit through the open windows and long galleries of the building. I arose; all was calm, and silent, and deserted through the dim, lengthened streets of the city. Not a light gleamed from a casement; not a {114} footfall echoed from the pavement; not a breath broke the stillness save the crowing of the far-off cock proclaiming the morn, and the low rumble of the marketman's wagon; and then, swelling upon the night-wind, fitfully came up that beautiful gush of melody, wave upon wave, surge after surge, billow upon billow, winding itself into the innermost cells of the soul! "Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet South, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour." _Illinois River._ XI "You will excuse me if I do not strictly confine myself to narration, but now and then interpose such _reflections_ as may offer while I am writing."--NEWTON. "Each was a giant heap of mouldering clay; There slept the warriors, women, friends, and foes; There, side by side, the rival chieftains lay, And mighty tribes swept from the face of day." FLINT. More than three weeks ago I found myself, one bright morning at sunrise, before the city of St. Louis on descending the Illinois; and in that venerable little city have I ever since been a dweller. A series of those vexatious delays, ever occurring to balk the designs of the tourist, have detained me longer than could have been anticipated. Not the {115} most inconsiderable of these preventives to locomotion in this bustling, swapping, chaffering little city, strange as it may seem, has been the difficulty of procuring, at a conscionable outlay of dollars and cents, a suitable steed for a protracted jaunt. But, thanks to the civility or _selfism_ of a friend, this difficulty is at an end, and I have at length succeeded in securing the reversion of a tough, spirited little bay, which, by considerate usage and bountiful foddering, may serve to bear me, with the requisite quantum of speed and safety, over the prairies. A few days, therefore, when the last touch of _acclimation_ shall have taken its leave, and "I'm over the border and awa'." The city of San' Louis, now hoary with a century's years, was one of those early settlements planted by the Canadian French up and down the great valley, from the Northern Lakes to the Gulf, while the English colonists of Plymouth and Jamestown were wringing out a wretched subsistence along the sterile shores of the Atlantic, wearied out by constant warfare with the thirty Indian tribes within their borders. Attracted by the beauty of the country, the fertility of its soil, the boundless variety of its products, the exhaustless mineral treasures beneath its surface, and the facility of the trade in the furs of the Northwest, a flood of Canadian emigration opened southward after the discoveries of La Salle, and the little villages of Cahokia, Kaskaskia, Prairie du Po, Prairie du Rocher, St. Phillipe, St. Ferdinand, Peoria, Fort Chartres, Vuide Poche, Petites Cotes, now St. Charles, Pain Court, now St. Louis, and others, successively sprang up in {116} the howling waste. Over nearly all this territory have the Gaul, the Spaniard, the Briton, and the Anglo-American held rule, and a dash of the national idiosyncrasy of each may be detected. Especially true is this of St. Louis. There is an antiquated, venerable air about its narrow streets and the ungainly edifices of one portion of it; the steep-roofed stone cottage of the Frenchman, and the tall stuccoed-dwelling of the Don, not often beheld. A mellowing touch of time, which few American cities can boast, has passed over it, rendering it a spot of peculiar interest to one with the slightest spirit of the antiquary, in a country where all else is new. The modern section of the city, with its regular streets and lofty edifices, which, within the past fifteen years, has arisen under the active hand of the northern emigrant, presents a striking contrast to the old. The site of St. Louis is elevated and salubrious, lying for some miles along the Mississippi upon two broad plateaux or steppes swelling up gently from the water's edge. Along the first of these, based upon an exhaustless bed of limestone, which furnishes material for building, are situated the lower and central portions of the city, while that above sweeps away in an extensive prairie of stunted black-jack oaks to the west. The latter section is already laid out into streets and building-lots; elegant structures are rapidly going up, and, at no distant day, this is destined to become the most courtly and beautiful portion of the city. It is at a pleasant remove from the dust and bustle of the landing, {117} while its elevation affords a fine view of the harbour and opposite shore. Yet, with all its improvements of the past few years, St. Louis remains emphatically "a little _French_ city." There is about it a cheerful village air, a certain _rus in rube_, to which the grenadier preciseness of most of our cities is the antipodes. There are but few of those endless, rectilinear avenues, cutting each other into broad squares of lofty granite blocks, so characteristic of the older cities of the North and East, or of those cities of tramontane origin so rapidly rising within the boundaries of the valley. There yet remains much in St. Louis to remind one of its village days; and a stern _eschewal_ of mathematical, angular exactitude is everywhere beheld. Until within a few years there was no such thing as a row of houses; all were disjoined and at a considerable distance from each other; and every edifice, however central, could boast its humble _stoop_, its front-door plat, bedecked with shrubbery and flowers, and protected from the inroads of intruding man or beast by its own tall stoccade. All this is now confined to the southern or French section of the city; a right Rip Van Winkle-looking region, where each little steep-roofed cottage yet presents its broad piazza, and the cosey settee before the door beneath the tree shade, with the fleshy old burghers soberly luxuriating on an evening pipe, their dark-eyed, brunette daughters at their side. There is a delightful air of "old-fashioned comfortableness" in all this, that reminds us of nothing we have seen in our own country, but much of the antiquated villages of which we have {118} been told in the land beyond the waters. Among those remnants of a former generation which are yet to be seen in St. Louis are the venerable mansions of Auguste and Pierre Chouteau, who were among the founders of the city.[100] These extensive mansions stand upon the principal street, and originally occupied, with their grounds, each of them an entire square, enclosed by lofty walls of heavy masonry, with loopholes and watch-towers for defence. The march of improvement has encroached upon the premises of these ancient edifices somewhat; yet they are still inhabited by the posterity of their builders, and remain, with their massive walls of stone, monuments of an earlier era. The site upon which stands St. Louis was selected in 1763 by M. Laclede, a partner of a mercantile association at New-Orleans, to whom D'Abbadie, Director-general of the province of Louisiana, had granted the exclusive privilege of the commerce in furs and peltries with the Indian tribes of the Upper Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. By the treaty of that year France had ceded all her possessions east of the Mississippi to Great Britain, and there was on the western shore only the small village of Ste. Genevieve. This was subsequently deemed too distant from the mouth of the Mississippi to be a suitable depôt and post for the fur-trade; and Laclede, having surveyed all the neighbouring region, fixed upon the spot where St. Louis now stands as a more eligible site. Whether this site was selected by the flight of birds, by consultation of the entrails of beasts, or the voice of an oracle; whether by accident {119} or design, tradition averreth not. Yet sure is it, that under the concurrence of all these omens, a more favourable selection could not have been made than this has proved. It _is related_, however, that when the founder of the city first planted foot upon the shore, the imprint of a human foot, naked and of gigantic dimensions, was found enstamped upon the solid limestone rock, and continued in regular succession as if of a man advancing from the water's edge to the plateau above.[101] By a more superstitious age this circumstance would have been deemed an omen, and, as such, commemorated in the chronicles of the city. On the 15th of February, 1764, Colonel Auguste Chouteau, with a number of persons from Ste. Genevieve, Cahokia, and Fort Chartres, arrived at the spot, and commenced a settlement by felling a splendid grove of forest-trees which then reared itself upon the bank, and erecting a building where the market-house now stands. The town was then laid off, and named in honour of Louis XV., the reigning monarch of France, though the settlers were desirous of giving it the name of its founder: to this Laclede would not consent. He died at the post of Arkansas in 1778; Colonel Chouteau followed him in the month of February of 1829, just sixty-four years from the founding of the city. He had been a constant resident, had seen the spot merge from the wilderness, and had become one of its most opulent citizens. For many years St. Louis was called "_Pain_ {120} _Court_," from the scarcity of provisions, which circumstance at one period almost induced the settlers to abandon their design. In 1765 Fort Chartres was delivered to Great Britain, and the commandant, St. Ange, with his troops, only twenty-two in number, proceeded to St. Louis; and assuming the government, the place was ever after considered the capital of the province.[102] Under the administration of St. Ange, which is said to have been mild and patriarchal, the _common field_ was laid open, and each settler became a cultivator of the soil. This field comprised several thousand acres, lying upon the second steppe mentioned, and has recently been divided into lots and sold to the highest bidder. Three years after the arrival of St. Ange, Spanish troops under command of Don Rious took possession of the province agreeable to treaty;[103] but, owing to the dissatisfaction of the inhabitants, no official authority was exercised until 1770. Thirty years afterward the province was retroceded to France, and from that nation to the United States. In the spring of 1778 an attack was made upon the village by a large body of the northern Indians, at the instigation of the English. They were repulsed with a loss of about twenty of the settlers, and the year was commemorated as "_L'annee du grand coup_."[104] In the spring of 1785, the Mississippi rose thirty feet above the highest water-mark previously known, and the American Bottom was inundated. This year was remembered as "_L'annee des grandes eaux_." At that period commerce with New-Orleans, for {121} the purpose of obtaining merchandise for the fur trade, was carried on exclusively by keel-boats and barges, which in the spring started upon their voyage of more than a thousand miles, and in the fall of the year slowly returned against the current. This mode of transportation was expensive, tedious, and unsafe; and it was rendered yet more hazardous from the murders and robberies of a large band of free-booters, under two chiefs, Culburt and Magilbray, who stationed themselves at a place called Cotton Wood Creek, on the Mississippi, and captured the ascending boats. This band was dispersed by a little fleet of ten barges, which, armed with swivels, ascended the river in company. This year was remembered as "_L'annee des bateaux_."[105] All the inconvenience of this method of transportation continued to be experienced until the introduction of steam upon the Western waters; and the first boat of this kind which made its appearance at the port of St. Louis was the "General Pike," in 1814. This boat was commanded by Captain Jacob Reed, and, at the time of its arrival, a large body of a neighbouring Indian tribe chanced to have an encampment in the suburbs of the city. Their astonishment, and even _terror_, at first sight of the evolutions of the steamer, are said to have been indescribable. They viewed it as nothing less than a living thing; a monster of tremendous power, commissioned by the "Great Spirit" for their extermination, and their humiliation was proportional to their terror. Great opposition was raised against steamers by the boatmen, some thousands of whom, by their introduction, would {122} be thrown out of employment; but this feeling gradually passed away, and now vessels propelled by steam perform in a few days a voyage which formerly required as many months. A trip to the city, as New-Orleans, _par excellence_, was styled, then demanded weeks of prior preparation, and a man put his house and household in order before setting out: now it is an ordinary jaunt of pleasure. The same dislike manifested by the old French _habitans_ to the introduction of the steamer or _smoke-boat_, "bateau à vapeur," as they termed it, has betrayed itself at every advance of modern improvement. Erected, as St. Louis was, with no design of a city, its houses were originally huddled together with a view to nothing but convenience; and its streets were laid out too narrow and too irregular for the bustle and throng of mercantile operations. In endeavouring to correct this early error, by removing a few of the old houses and projecting balconies, great opposition has been encountered. Some degree of uniformity in the three principal streets parallel to the river has, however, by this method been attained. Water-street is well built up with a series of lofty limestone warehouses; but an irretrievable error has been committed in arranging them at so short a distance from the water. On some accounts this proximity to the river may be convenient; but for the sake of a broad arena for commerce; for the sake of a fresh and salubrious circulation of air from the water; for the sake of scenic beauty, or a noble promenade for pleasure, there should have been no encroachment upon the precincts {123} of the "eternal river." In view of the miserable _plan_ of St. Louis, if it may claim anything of the kind, and the irregular manner and singular taste with which it has been built, the regret has more than once been expressed, that, like Detroit,[106] a conflagration had not swept it in its earlier days, and given place to an arrangement at once more consistent with elegance and convenience. From the river bank to the elevated ground sweeping off in the rear of the city to the west is a distance of several hundred yards, and the height above the level of the water cannot be far from an hundred feet. The ascent is easy, however, and a noble view is obtained, from the cupola of the courthouse on its summit, of the Mississippi and the city below, of the broad American Bottom, with its bluffs in the distance, and a beautiful extent of natural scenery in the rear. Along the brow of this eminence once stood a line of military works, erected for the defence of the old town in 1780 by Don Francois de Cruzat, lieutenant governor "_de la partie occidentale des Illinois_," as the ancient chronicles style the region west of the Mississippi.[107] These fortifications consisted of several circular towers of stone, forty feet in diameter and half as many in altitude, planted at intervals in a line of stoccade, besides a small fort, embracing four demilunes and a parapet of mason-work. For many years these old works were in a dismantled and deserted state, excepting the fort, in one building of which was held {124} the court, and another superseded the necessity of a prison. Almost every vestige is now swept away. The great earthquakes of 1811 essentially assisted in toppling the old ruins to the ground. The whole city was powerfully shaken, and has since been subject to occasional shocks.[108] It is in the northern suburbs of the city that are to be seen those singular ancient mounds for which St. Louis is so celebrated; and which, with others in the vicinity, form, as it were, a connecting link between those of the north, commencing in the lake counties of Western New-York, and those of the south, extending deep within the boundaries of Mexico, forming an unbroken line from one extremity of the great valley to the other. Their position at St. Louis is, as usual, a commanding one, upon the second bank, of which I have spoken, and looking proudly down upon the Mississippi, along which the line is parallel. They stand isolated, or distinct from each other, in groups; and the outline is generally that of a rectangular pyramid, truncated nearly one half. The first collection originally consisted of ten tumuli, arranged as three sides of a square area of about four acres, and the open flank to the west was guarded by five other small circular earth-heaps, isolated, and forming the segment of a circle around {125} the opening. This group is now almost completely destroyed by the grading of streets and the erection of edifices, and the eastern border may alone be traced. North of the first collection of tumuli is a second, four or five in number, and forming two sides of a square. Among these is one of a very beautiful form, consisting of three stages, and called the "Falling Garden." Its elevation above the level of the second plateau is about four feet, and the area is ample for a dwelling and yard; from the second it descends to the first plateau along the river by three regular gradations, the first with a descent of two feet, the second of ten, and the lower one of five, each stage presenting a beautiful site for a house. For this purpose, however, they can never be appropriated, as one of the principal streets of the city is destined to pass directly through the spot, the grading for which is already commenced. The third group of mounds is situated a few hundred yards above the second, and consists of about a dozen eminences. A series extends along the west side of the street, through grounds attached to a classic edifice of brick, which occupies the principal one; while opposite rise several of a larger size, upon one of which is situated the residence of General Ashley, and upon another the reservoir which supplies the city with water, raised from the Mississippi by a steam force-pump upon its banks. Both are beautiful spots, imbowered in forest-trees; and the former, from its size and structure, is supposed to have been a citadel or place of defence. {126} In excavating the earth of this mound, large quantities of human remains, pottery, half-burned wood, &c., &c., were thrown up; furnishing conclusive evidence, were any requisite farther than regularity of outline and relative position, of the artificial origin of these earth-heaps. About six hundred yards above this group, and linked with it by several inconsiderable mounds, is situated one completely isolated, and larger than any yet described. It is upward of thirty feet in height, about one hundred and fifty feet long, and upon the summit five feet wide. The form is oblong, resembling an immense grave; and a broad terrace or apron, after a descent of a few feet, spreads out itself on the side looking down upon the river. From the extensive view of the surrounding region and of the Mississippi commanded by the site of this mound, as well as its altitude, it is supposed to have been intended as a vidette or watch-tower by its builders. Upon its summit, not many years ago, was buried an Indian chief. He was a member of a deputation from a distant tribe to the agency in St. Louis; but, dying while there, his remains, agreeable to the custom of his tribe, were deposited on the most commanding spot that could be found. This custom accounts for the circumstance urged against the antiquity and artificial origin of these works, that the relics exhumed are found near the surface, and were deposited by the present race. But the distinction between the remains found near the surface and those in the depths of the soil is too palpable and too {127} notorious to require argument. From the _Big Mound_, as it is called, a _cordon_ of tumuli stretch away to the northwest for several miles along the bluffs parallel with the river, a noble view of which they command. They are most of them ten or twelve feet high; many clothed with forest-trees, and all of them supposed to be tombs. In removing two of them upon the grounds of Col. O'Fallon,[109] immense quantities of bones were exhumed. Similar mounds are to be found in almost every county in the state, and those in the vicinity of St. Louis are remarkable only for their magnitude and the regularity of their relative positions. It is evident, from these monuments of a former generation, that the natural advantages of the site upon which St. Louis now stands were not unappreciated long before it was pressed by the first European footstep. It is a circumstance which has often elicited remark from those who, as tourists, have visited St. Louis, that so little interest should be manifested by its citizens for those mysterious and venerable monuments of another race by which on every side it is environed. When we consider the complete absence of everything in the character of a public square or promenade in the city, one would suppose that individual taste and municipal authority would not have failed to avail themselves of the moral interest attached to these mounds and the beauty of their site, to have formed in their vicinity one of the most attractive spots in the West. These ancient tumuli could, at no considerable expense, have been {128} enclosed and ornamented with shrubbery, and walks, and flowers, and thus preserved for coming generations. As it is, they are passing rapidly away; man and beast, as well as the elements, are busy with them, and in a few years they will quite have disappeared. The practical utility of which they are available appears the only circumstance which has attracted attention to them. One has already become a public reservoir, and measures are in progress for applying the larger mound to a similar use, the first being insufficient for the growth of the city. It need not be said that such indifference of feeling to the only relics of a by-gone race which our land can boast, is not well in the citizens of St. Louis, and should exist no longer; nor need allusion be made to that eagerness of interest which the distant traveller, the man of literary taste and poetic fancy, or the devotee of abstruse science, never fails to betray for these mysterious monuments of the past, when, in his tour of the Far West, he visits St. Louis; many a one, too, who has looked upon the century-mossed ruins of Europe, and to whose eye the castled crags of the Rhine are not unfamiliar. And surely, to the imaginative mind, there is an interest which attaches to these venerable beacons of departed time, enveloped as they are in mystery inscrutable; and from their origin, pointing, as they do, down the dim shadowy vista of ages of which the ken of man telleth not, there is an interest which hallows them even as the hoary piles of old Egypt are hallowed, and which feudal Europe, with all her {129} time-sustained battlements, can never boast. It is the mystery, the impenetrable mystery veiling these aged sepulchres, which gives them an interest for the traveller's eye. They are landmarks in the lapse of ages, beneath whose shadows generations have mouldered, and around whose summits a gone _eternity_ plays! The ruined tower, the moss-grown abbey, the damp-stained dungeon, the sunken arch, the fairy and delicate fragments of the shattered peristyle of a classic land, or the beautiful frescoes of Herculaneum and Pompeii--around _them_ time has indeed flung the silvery mantle of eld while he has swept them with decay; but _their_ years may be _enumerated_, and the circumstances, the authors, and the purposes of their origin, together with the incidents of their ruin, are chronicled on History's page for coming generations. But who shall tell the era of the origin of these venerable earth-heaps, the race of their builders, the purpose of their erection, the thousand circumstances attending their rise, history, desertion? Why now so lone and desolate? Where are the multitudes that once swarmed the prairie at their base, and vainly busied themselves in rearing piles which should exist the wonder of the men of other lands, and the sole monument of their own memory long after they themselves were dust? Has war, or famine, or pestilence brooded over these beautiful plains? or has the fiat of Omnipotence gone forth that as a race their inhabitants should exist no longer, and the death-angel been commissioned to sweep them from off the face of {130} the earth as if with destruction's besom? We ask: the inquiry is vain; we are answered not! Their mighty creations and the tombs of myriads heave up themselves in solemn grandeur before us; but from the depths of the dusky earth-heap comes forth no voice to tell us its origin, or object, or story! "Ye mouldering relics of a race departed, Your names have perished; not a trace remains, Save where the grassgrown mound its summit rears From the green bosom of your native plains." Ages since--long ere the first son of the Old World had pressed the fresh soil of the New; long before the bright region beyond the blue wave had been the object of the philosopher's revery by day and the enthusiast's vision by night--in the deep stillness and solitude of an unpeopled land, these vast mausoleums rose as now they rise, in lonely grandeur from the plain, and looked down, even as now they look, upon the giant flood rolling its dark waters at their base, hurrying past them to the deep. So has it been with the massive tombs of Egypt, amid the sands and barrenness of the desert. For ages untold have the gloomy pyramids been reflected by the inundations of the Nile; an hundred generations, they tell us, have arisen from the cradle and reposed beneath their shadows, and, like autumn leaves, have dropped into the grave; but from the deep midnight of by-gone centuries comes forth no daring spirit to claim these kingly sepulchres as his own! And shall the dusky piles on the plains of distant Egypt affect so deeply our reverence for the {131} departed, and these mighty monuments, reposing in dark sublimity upon our own magnificent prairies veiled in mystery more inscrutable than they, call forth no solitary throb? Is there no hallowing interest associated with these aged relics, these tombs, and temples, and towers of another race, to elicit emotion? Are they _indeed_ to us no more than the dull clods we tread upon? Why, then, does the wanderer from the far land gaze upon them with wonder and veneration? Why linger fondly around them, and meditate upon the power which reared them and is departed? Why does the poet, the man of genius and fancy, or the philosopher of mind and nature, seat himself at their base, and, with strange and undefined emotions, pause and ponder amid the loneliness which slumbers around? And surely, if the far traveller, as he wanders through this Western Valley, may linger around these aged piles and meditate upon a power departed, a race obliterated, an influence swept from the earth for ever, and dwell with melancholy emotions upon the destiny of man, is it not meet that those into whose keeping they seem by Providence consigned should regard them with interest and emotion? that they should gather up and preserve every incident relevant to their origin, design, or history which may be attained, and avail themselves of every measure which may give to them perpetuity, and hand them down, undisturbed in form or character, to other generations? The most plausible, and, indeed, the only plausible argument urged by those who deny the artificial {132} origin of the ancient mounds, is _their immense size_. There are, say they, "many mounds in the West that exactly correspond in _shape_ with these supposed antiquities, and yet, from their _size_, most evidently were not made by man;" and they add that "it would be well to calculate upon the ordinary labour of excavating canals, how many hands, with spades, wheelbarrows, and other necessary implements, it would take to throw up mounds like the largest of these within any given time."[110] We are told that in the territory of Wisconsin and in northern Illinois exist mounds to which these are molehills. Of those, Mount Joliet, Mount Charles, Sinsinewa, and the Blue Mounds vary from one to four hundred feet in height; while west of the Arkansas exists a range of earth-heaps ten or twelve miles in extent, and two hundred feet high: there also, it might be added, are the Mamelle Mountains, estimated at one thousand feet.[111] The adjacent country is prairie; farms exist on the summits of the mounds, which from their declivity are almost inaccessible, and _springs gush out from their sides_. With but one exception I profess to know nothing of these mounds from personal observation; and, consequently, can hazard no opinion of their character. The fact of the "gushing springs," it is true, {133} savours not much of artificialness; and in this respect, at least, do these mounds differ from those claimed as of artificial origin. The earth-heaps of which I have been speaking can boast no "springs of water gushing from their sides;" if they could, the fact would be far from corroborating the theory maintained. The analogy between these mounds is admitted to be strong, though there exist diversities; and were there _none_, even Bishop Butler says that we are not to infer a thing true upon slight presumption, since "there may be probabilities on both sides of a question." From what has been advanced relative to the character of the mounds spoken of, it is believed that the probabilities strongly preponderate in favour of their artificial origin, even admitting their _perfect_ analogy to those "from whose sides gush the springs." But more anon. _St. Louis._ XII "Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise." GRAY. "Some men have been Who loved the church so well, and gave so largely to't, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday." There are few more delightful views in the vicinity of St. Louis of a fine evening than that commanded by the summit of the "Big Mound," of which I have spoken, in the northern suburbs of the city. Far away from the north comes the Mississippi, sweeping on in a broad, smooth sheet, skirted by woodlands; and the rushing of its waters along the ragged rocks of the shores below is fancied faintly to reach the ear. Nearly in the middle of the stream are stretched out the long, low, sandy shores of "Blood Island," a spot notorious in the annals of duelling. Upon the Illinois shore beyond it is contemplated erecting a pier, for the purpose of throwing the full volume of the current upon the western shore, and thus preserving a channel of deep water along the landing of the city. Within a few years past an extensive sand-bar has accumulated opposite the southern section of the city, which threatens, unless removed, greatly to obstruct, if not to destroy, the harbour. To remedy this, an appropriation {135} has been made by Congress, surveys have been taken, measures devised and their execution commenced.[112] Upon the river-bank opposite the island stands the "Floating Dry Dock," an ingenious contrivance, the invention of a gentleman of St. Louis, and owned by a company of patentees.[113] It consists of an indefinite number of floats, which may be increased or diminished at pleasure, each of them fourteen feet in breadth, and about four times that length, connected laterally together. After being sunk and suspended at the necessary depth in the water, the boat to be repaired is placed upon them, and they rise till her hull is completely exposed. As the spectator, standing upon the Mound, turns his eye to the south, a green grove lies before him and the smaller earth-heaps, over which are beheld the towers and roofs of the city rising in the distance; far beyond is spread out a smooth, rolling carpet of tree-tops, in the midst of which the gray limestone of the arsenal is dimly perceived. The extent between the northern suburbs of St. Louis and its southern extremity along the river curve is about six miles, and the city can be profitably extended about the same distance into the interior. The prospect in this direction is boundless for miles around, till the tree-tops blend with the western horizon. The face of the country is neither uniform nor broken, but undulates almost imperceptibly away, clothed in a dense forest of black-jack oak, interspersed with thickets of the wild-plum, the crab-apple, and the hazel. Thirty years ago, and this broad plain was a treeless, shrubless waste, {136} without a solitary farmhouse to break the monotony. But the annual fires were stopped; a young forest sprang into existence; and delightful villas and country seats are now gleaming from the dark foliage in all directions. To some of them are attached extensive grounds, adorned with groves, orchards, fish-ponds, and all the elegances of opulence and cultivated taste; while in the distance are beheld the glittering spires of the city rising above the trees. At one of these, a retired, beautiful spot, residence of Dr. F----, I have passed many a pleasant hour. The sportsman may here be indulged to his heart's desire. The woods abound with game of every species: the rabbit, quail, prairie-hen, wild-turkey, and the deer; while the lakes, which flash from every dell and dingle, are swarmed with fish. Most of these sheets of water are formed by immense springs issuing from _sink-holes_; and are supposed, like those in Florida, which suggested the wild idea of the _fountain of rejuvenescence_, to owe their origin to the subsidence of the bed of porous limestone upon which the Western Valley is based. Many of these springs intersect the region with rills and rivulets, and assist in forming a beautiful sheet of water in the southern suburbs of the city, which eventually pours out its waters into the Mississippi. Many years ago a dam and massive mill of stone was erected here by one of the founders of the city; it is yet standing, surrounded by aged sycamores, and is more valuable and venerable than ever. The neighbouring region is abrupt and broken, varied by a delightful vicissitude of hill and dale. The borders {137} of the lake are fringed with groves, while the steep bluffs, which rise along the water and are reflected in its placid bosom, recall the picture of Ben Venue and Loch Katrine:[114] "The mountain shadows on her breast Were neither broken nor at rest; In bright uncertainty they lie, Like future joys to Fancy's eye." This beautiful lake and its vicinity is, indeed, unsurpassed for scenic loveliness by any spot in the suburbs of St. Louis. At the calm, holy hour of Sabbath sunset, its quiet borders invite to meditation and retirement. The spot should be consecrated as the trysting-place of love and friendship. Some fine structures are rising upon the margin of the waters, and in a few years it will be rivalled in beauty by no other section of the city. St. Louis, like most Western cities, can boast but few public edifices of any note. Among those which are to be seen, however, are the large and commodious places of worship of the different religious denominations; an elegant courthouse, occupying with its enclosed grounds one of the finest squares in the city; two market-houses, one of which, standing upon the river-bank, contains on its second floor the City Hall; a large and splendid theatre, in most particulars inferior to no other edifice of the kind in the United States; and an extensive hotel, which is now going up, to be called the "St. Louis House," contracted for one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. The Cathedral of St. Luke, the University, Hospital, Orphan Asylum, and the {138} "Convent of the Sacred Heart," are Catholic Institutions, and well worthy of remark.[115] For many years after its settlement, the Roman Catholic faith prevailed exclusively in St. Louis. The founders of the city and its earliest inhabitants were of this religious persuasion; and their descendants, many of whom are now among its most opulent and influential citizens, together with foreign immigrants of a recent date, form a numerous and respectable body. The names of Chouteau, Pratte, Sarpy, Cabanné, Menard, Soulard, &c., &c., are those of early settlers of the city which yet are often heard.[116] The "Cathedral of St. Luke" is a noble structure of stone.[117] It was consecrated with great pomp in the autumn of '34, having occupied three years in its erection. The site is unfavourable, but it possessed an interest for many of the old citizens which no other spot could claim. Here had stood their ancient sanctuary, with which was associated the holy feelings of their earliest days; here had been the baptismal font and the marriage altar; while beneath reposed the sacred remains of many a being, loved and honoured, but passed away. The former church was a rude structure of logs. The dimensions of the present building are a length of about one hundred and forty feet, to a breadth of eighty and an altitude of forty, with a tower of upward of an hundred feet, surmounted by a lofty cross. The steeple contains a peal of six bells, the three larger of which were cast in Normandy, and chime very pleasantly; upon the four sides of the tower are the dial-plates of a clock, which strikes the hours upon {139} the bells. The porch of the edifice consists of four large columns of polished freestone, of the Doric order, with corresponding entablature, cornice, pediment, and frieze, the whole surface of the latter being occupied with the inscription "_In honorem S. Ludovici. Deo Uni et Trino, Dicatum, A. D. MDCCCXXXIV_," the letters elevated in _basso-relievo_. Over the entrances, which are three in number, are inscribed, in French and in English, passages from Scripture, upon tablets of Italian marble. The porch is protected from the street by battlements, surmounted by an iron railing, and adorned by lofty candelabra of stone. The body of the building is divided by two colonnades, of five pillars each, into three aisles. The columns, composed of brick, stuccoed to imitate marble, are of the Doric order, supporting a cornice and entablature, decorated with arabesques and medallions; and upon them reposes the arch of the elliptic-formed and panelled ceiling. Between the columns are suspended eight splendid chandeliers, which, when lighted at night, produce a magnificent effect. The walls are enriched by frescoes and arabesques, and the windows are embellished with transparencies, presenting the principal transactions of the Saviour's mission. This is said to be one of the first attempts at a substitute for the painted glass of the Middle Ages, and was executed, together with the other pictorial decorations of the edifice, by an artist named _Leon_, sent over for the purpose from France. The effect is grand. Even the garish sunbeams are mellowed down as they struggle dimly through the richly-coloured {140} hangings, and the light throughout the sacred pile seems tinged with rainbow hues. In the chancel of the church, at the bottom of the centre aisle, elevated by a flight of steps, and enclosed by a balustrade of the Corinthian order, is situated the sanctuary. Upon either side stand pilasters to represent marble, decorated with festoons of wheat-ears and vines, symbolical of the eucharist, and surmounted with caps of the Doric order. On the right, between the pilasters, is a gallery for the choir, with the organ in the rear, and on the left side is a veiled gallery for the "Sisters of Charity" connected with the convent and the other institutions of the church. The altar-piece at the bottom of the sanctuary represents the Saviour upon the cross, with his mother and two of his disciples at his feet; on either side rise two fluted Corinthian columns, with a broken pediment and gilded caps, supporting a gorgeous entablature. Above the whole is an elliptical window, hung with the transparency of a dove, emblematic of the Holy Ghost, shedding abroad rays of light. The high altar and the tabernacle stand below, and the decorations on festal occasions, as well as the vestments of the officiating priests, are splendid and imposing. Over the bishop's seat, in a side arch of the sanctuary, hangs a beautiful painting of St. Louis, titular of the cathedral, presented by the amiable Louis XVI. of France previous to his exile.[118] At the bottom of each of the side aisles of the church stand two chapels, at the same elevation with the sanctuary. Between two fluted columns of the Ionic order is suspended, in each chapel, an {141} altar-piece, with a valuable painting above. The piece on the left represents St. Vincent of Gaul engaged in charity on a winter's day, and the picture above is the marriage of the blessed Virgin. The altar-piece of the right represents St. Patrick of Ireland in his pontifical robes, and above is a painting of our Saviour and the centurion, said to be by Paul Veronese. At the opposite extremity of the building, near the side entrances, are two valuable pieces; one said to be by Rubens, of the Virgin and Child, the other the martyrdom of St. Bartholemew.[119] Above rise extensive galleries in three rows; to the right is the baptismal font, and a landscape of the Saviour's immersion in Jordan. Beneath the sanctuary of the church is the lower chapel, divided into three aisles by as many arches, supported by pilasters, which, as well as the walls, are painted to imitate marble. There is here an altar and a marble tabernacle, where mass is performed during the week, and the chapel is decorated by fourteen paintings, representing different stages of the Saviour's passion.[120] In the western suburbs of the city, upon an eminence, stand the buildings of the St. Louis University, handsome structures of brick.[121] The institution is conducted by Jesuits, and most of the higher branches of learning are taught. The present site has been offered for sale, and the seminary is to be removed some miles into the interior. Connected {142} with the college is a medical school of recent date. The chapel of the institution is a large, airy room, hung with antique and valuable paintings. Two of these, suspended on each side of the altar, said to be by Rubens, are master-pieces of the art. One of them represents Ignatius Loyola, founder of the order of Jesuits; the other is the full-length picture of the celebrated Francis Xavier, apostle to the Indies, who died at Goa while engaged in his benevolent labours. In an oratory above hangs a large painting by the same master; a powerful, though unfinished production. All the galleries of the buildings are decorated with paintings, some of which have but little to commend them to notice but their antiquity. The library embraces about twelve hundred volumes, mostly in the French language. The _Universal Geography_ of Braviara, a valuable work of eleven folios, brilliantly illuminated, and the _Actæ Sanctorum_, an enormous work of _forty-two_ folio volumes, chiefly attract the visiter's attention.[122] The philosophical apparatus attached to the institution is very insufficient. Most of the pupils of the institution are French, and they are gathered from all quarters of the South and West; a great number of them are from Louisiana, sons of the planters. _St. Louis._ XIII "Away! away! and on we dash! Torrents less rapid and less rash." _Mazeppa._ "Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze." ROGERS. It was a pleasant afternoon when, in company with a number of friends, I left the city for an excursion into its southern suburbs, and a visit to the military works, a few miles distant. The atmosphere had that mild, mellowy mistiness which subdues the fierce glare of the sunbeams, and flings over every object a softened shade. A gentle breeze from the south was astir balmily and blandly among the leaves; in fine, it was one of those grateful, genial seasons, when the senses sympathize with the quietude of external creation, and there is no reason, earthly or unearthly, why the inward man should not sympathize with the man without; a season when you are at peace with yourself, and at peace with every object, animate, inanimate, or vegetable, about you. Our party consisted of eight precious souls, and "all agog to dash through thick and thin," if essential to a jovial jaunt. And now fain would I enumerate those worthy individuals, together with their several peculiarities and dispositions, good and bad, did not a certain delicacy forbid. {144} Suffice it to say, the excursion was devised in honour, and for the especial benefit, of a young and recently-married couple from "the city of monuments and fountains," who were enjoying their honey-moon in a trip to the Far West. Passing through the narrow streets and among the ancient edifices of the _old_ city, we came to that section called South St. Louis. This is destined to become the district of manufactures; large quantities of bituminous coal, little inferior to that of the Alleghanies, is here found; and railroads to the celebrated Iron Mountain, sixty miles distant, and to the coal-banks of the Illinois bluffs, as well as to the northern section of the city, are projected. The landing is good, the shore being composed of limestone and marble, of two different species, both of which admit a high degree of polish. There is also quarried in this vicinity a kind of freestone, which, when fresh from the bed, is soft, but, on exposure to the atmosphere, becomes dense and hard. We passed a number of commodious farmhouses as we ambled along; and now and then, at intervals through the trees, was caught a glimpse of the flashing sheen of the river gliding along upon our left. At a short distance from the road were to be seen the ruins of the "Eagle Powder-works," destroyed by fire in the spring of '36. They had been in operation only three years previous to their explosion, and their daily manufacture was three hundred pounds of superior powder. The report and concussion of the explosion was perceived miles around the country, and the loss sustained by the proprietors was estimated {145} at forty thousand dollars. The site of these works was a broad plain, over which, as our horses were briskly galloping, a circumstance occurred which could boast quite as much of reality as romance. To my own especial gallantry--gallant man--had been intrusted the precious person of the fair bride, and lightly and gracefully pressed her fairy form upon the back of a bright-eyed, lithe little animal, with a spirit buoyant as her own. The steed upon which I was myself mounted was a powerful creature, with a mouth as unyielding as the steel bit he was constantly champing. The lady prided herself, not without reason, upon her boldness and grace in horsemanship and her skill in the _manège_; and, as we rode somewhat in advance of our cavalcade, the proposal thoughtlessly dropped from her that we should elope and leave our companions in the lurch. Hardly had the syllables left her lip, than the reins were flung loose upon the horses' manes; they bounded on, and away, away, away the next moment were we skirring over the plain, like the steed of the Muses on a steeple-chase. A single shout of warning to my fair companion was returned by an ejaculation of terror, for her horse had become his own master. The race of John Gilpin or of Alderman Purdy were, either or both of them, mere circumstances to ours. For more than a mile our excited steeds swept onward in their furious course to the admiration of beholders; and how long the race might have been protracted is impossible to say, had not certain sons of Erin--worthy souls {146}--in the innocence of their hearts and the ignorance of their heads, and by way of perpetrating a notable exploit, thought proper to throw themselves from the roadside directly before us. The suddenness of the movement brought both our animals nearly upon their haunches, and the next minute saw the fair bride quietly seated in the dust beneath their feet. The shock had flung her from her seat, but she arose uninjured. To leap from my saddle and place the lady again in hers was the work of a moment; and when the cortége made its appearance, our runaway steeds were ambling along in a fashion the most discreet and exemplary imaginable. The situation of the Arsenal, upon a swelling bank of the river, is delightful. It is surrounded by a strong wall of stone, embracing extensive grounds, through which a green, shady avenue leads from the highway. The structures are composed chiefly of unhewn limestone, enclosing a rectangular area, and comprise about a dozen large buildings, while a number of lesser ones are perceived here and there among the groves. The principal structure is one of four stories, looking down upon the Mississippi, with a beautiful esplanade, forming a kind of natural glacis to the whole armory, sweeping away to the water. Upon the right and left, in the same line with the rectangle, are situated the dwellings of the officers; noble edifices of hewn stone, with cultivated garden-plats and fruit-trees. The view of the stream is here delightful, and the breeze came up from its surface fresh and free. A pair of pet deer were frolicking along the shore. Most of the remaining structures are offices and {147} workshops devoted to the manufacture of arms. Of these there were but few in the Arsenal, large quantities having been despatched to the South for the Florida war. It is designed, I am informed, to mount ordnance at these works--to no great extent, probably; there were several pieces of artillery already prepared. The slits and loop-holes in the deep walls, the pyramids of balls and bombshells, and the heavy carronades piled in tiers, give the place rather a warlike aspect for a peaceable inland fortress. A ride of a few miles brought us to the brow of a considerable elevation, from which we looked down upon the venerable little hamlet of Carondelet, or _Vuide Poche_, as it is familiarly termed; a _nom de nique_ truly indicative of the poverty of pocket and the richness of fancy of its primitive habitans. The village lies in a sleepy-looking hollow, scooped out between the bluffs and the water; and from the summit of the hill the eye glances beyond it over the lengthened vista of the river-reach, at this place miles in extent. Along the shore a deeply-laden steamer was toiling against the current on her passage to the city. Descending the elevation, we were soon thridding the narrow, tortuous, lane-like avenues of the old village. Every object, the very soil even, seemed mossgrown and hoary with time departed. More than seventy years have passed away since its settlement commenced; and now, as then, its inhabitants consist of hunters, and trappers, and river-boatmen, absent most of the year on their various excursions. The rude, crumbling tenements {148} of stone or timber, of peculiar structure, with their whitewashed walls stained by age; the stoccade enclosures of the gardens; the venerable aspect of the ancient fruit-trees, mossed with years, and the unique and singular garb, manner, and appearance of the swarthy villagers, all betoken an earlier era and a peculiar people. The little dark-eyed, dark-haired boys were busy with their games in the streets; and, as we paced leisurely along, we could perceive in the little _cabarets_ the older portion of the _habitans_, cosily congregated around the table near the open door or upon the balcony, apparently discussing the gossip of the day and the qualities of sundry potations before them. Ascending the hill in the rear of the village, we entered the rude chapel of stone reared upon its brow: the inhabitants are all Catholics, and to this faith is the edifice consecrated. The altar-piece, with its decorations, was characterized by simplicity and taste. Three ancient paintings, representing scenes in the mission of the Saviour, were suspended from the walls; the brass-plated missal reposed upon the tabernacle; the crucifix rose in the centre of the sanctuary, and candles were planted on either side. Evergreens were neatly festooned around the sanctuary, and every object betrayed a degree of taste. Attached to the church is a small burial-ground, crowded with tenants. The Sisters of Charity have an asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, in a prosperous condition. Our tarry was but a brief one, as the distrust with which our movements were regarded by the villagers was evident; nor is this {149} suspicion at all to be wondered at when we consider the numberless impostures of which, by immigrants, they have been made the victims. A few miles through groves of oaks brought us in view of that beautiful spot, Jefferson Barracks. The buildings, constructed of stone, are romantically situated on a bold bluff, the base of which is swept by the Mississippi, and were intended to garrison an entire regiment of cavalry for frontier service. Three sides of the quadrangle of the parade are bounded by the lines of galleried barracks, with fine buildings at the extremities for the residence of the officers; while the fourth opens upon a noble terrace overlooking the river. The commissary's house, the magazines, and extensive stables, lie without the parallelogram, beneath the lofty trees. From the terrace is commanded a fine view of the river, with its alluvial islands, the extensive woodlands upon the opposite side, and the pale cliffs of the bluffs stretching away beyond the bottom. In the rear of the garrison rises a grove of forest-trees, consisting of heavy oaks, with broad-spreading branches, and a green, smooth sward beneath. The surface is beautifully undulating, and the spot presents a specimen of park scenery as perfect as the country can boast. A neat burial-ground is located in this wood, and the number of its white wooden slabs gave melancholy evidence of the ravages of the cholera among that corps of fine fellows which, four years before, garrisoned the Barracks. Many a one has here laid away his bones to rest far from the home of his nativity. There is another cemetery {150} on the southern outskirts of the Barracks, where are the tombs of several officers of the army. The site of Jefferson Barracks was selected by General Atkinson as the station of a _corps de reserve_, for defence of the Southern, Western, and Northern frontiers. For the purpose of its design, experience has tested its efficiency. The line of frontier, including the advanced post of Council Bluffs on the Missouri,[123] describes the arch of a circle, the chord of which passes nearly through this point; and a reserve post here is consequently available for the entire line of frontier. From its central position and its proximity to the mouths of the great rivers leading into the interior, detachments, by means of steam transports, may be thrown with great rapidity and nearly equal facility into the garrison upon the Upper Mississippi, the Missouri, the Arkansas, Red, or Sabine Rivers. This was tested in the Black Hawk war, and, indeed, in every inroad of the Indian tribes, these troops have first been summoned to the field. When disengaged, the spot furnishes a salubrious position for the reserve of the Western army. By the latest scheme of frontier defence, a garrison of fifteen hundred troops is deemed necessary for this cantonment. A few miles below the Barracks, along the river-bank, is situated quite a remarkable cave.[124] I visited and explored it one fine afternoon, with a number of friends. With some difficulty, after repeated inquiry, we succeeded in discovering the object of our search, and from a neighbouring farmhouse {151} furnished ourselves with lights and a guide. The latter was a German, who, according to his own account, had been something of a hero in his way and day; he was with Napoleon at Moscow, and was subsequently taken prisoner by Blucher's Prussian Lancers at Waterloo, having been wounded in the knee by a musket-ball. To our edification he detailed a number of his "moving accidents by flood and field." A few steps from the farmhouse brought us to the mouth of the cavern, situated in the face of a ragged limestone precipice nearly a hundred feet high, and the summit crowned with trees and shrubbery; it forms the abrupt termination to a ravine, which, united to another coming in on the right, continues on to the river, a distance of several hundred yards, through a wood. The entrance to the cave is exceedingly rough and rugged, piled with huge fragments of the cliff which have fallen from above, and it can be approached only with difficulty. It is formed indeed, by the rocky bed of a stream flowing out from the cave's mouth, inducing the belief that to this circumstance the ravine owes its origin. The entrance is formed by a broad arch about twenty feet in altitude, with twice that breadth between the abutments. As we entered, the damp air of the cavern swept out around us chill and penetrating. An abrupt angle of the wall shut out the daylight, and we advanced by the light of our candles. The floor, and roof, and sides of the cavern became exceedingly irregular as we proceeded, and, after penetrating to the depth of several hundred yards, {152} the floor and ceiling approached each other so nearly that we were forced to pursue our way upon our hands and knees. In some chambers the roof and walls assumed grotesque and singular shapes, caused by the water trickling through the porous limestone. In one apartment was to be seen the exact outline of a human foot of enormous size; in another, that of an inverted boat; while the vault in a third assumed the shape of an immense coffin. The sole proprietors of the cavern seemed the bats, and of these the number was incredible. In some places the reptiles suspended themselves like swarms of bees from the roof and walls; and so compactly one upon the other did they adhere, that scores could have been crushed at a blow. After a ramble of more than an hour within these shadowy realms, during which several false passages upon either side, soon abruptly terminating, were explored, we at length once more emerged to the light and warmth of the sunbeams, thoroughly drenched by the dampness of the atmosphere and the water dripping from the roof. Ancient Indian tumuli and graves are often found in this neighbourhood. On the _Rivière des Pères_,[125] which is crossed by the road leading to the city, and about seven miles distant, there are a number of graves which, from all appearance, seem not to have been disturbed for centuries. The cemetery is situated on a high bluff looking down upon the stream, and is said to have contained skeletons of a gigantic size. Each grave consisted of a shallow basin, formed by flat stones {153} planted upon their edges; most of them, however, are mossed by age, or have sunk beneath the surface, and their tenants have crumbled to their original dust. Some years since, a Roman coin of a rare species was found upon the banks of the _Rivière des Pères_ by an Indian. This may, perhaps, be classed among the other antiquities of European origin which are frequently found. A number of Roman coins, bearing an early date of the Christian era, are said to have been discovered in a cave near Nashville, in the State of Tennessee, which at the time excited no little interest among antiquaries: they were doubtless deposited by some of the settlers of the country from Europe. Settlements on the _Rivière des Pères_ are said to have been commenced at an early period by the Jesuits, and one of them was drowned near its mouth: from this circumstance it derived its name. In the bed of this stream, about six miles from the city, is a sulphur spring, which is powerfully sudorific; and, when taken in any quantity, throws out an eruption over the whole body. A remarkable cavern is said to be situated on this river, by some considered superior to that below the Barracks. A short distance from _Vuide Poche_ are to be seen the remains of a pile of ruins, said to be those of a fort erected by La Salle when, on his second visit, he took possession of the country in the name of the King of France, and in honour of him called it Louisiana.[126] _St. Louis_. XIV "Here I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat, Its horrid sounds and its polluted air; And, where the season's milder fervours beat, And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear The song of bird and sound of running stream, Have come a while to wander and to dream." BRYANT. "I lingered, by some soft enchantment bound, And gazed, enraptured, on the lovely scene; From the dark summit of an Indian mound I saw the plain outspread in living green; Its fringe of cliffs was in the distance seen, And the dark line of forests sweeping round." FLINT. There are few things more delightfully refreshing, amid the fierce fervour of midsummer, than to forsake the stifled, polluted atmosphere of the city for the cool breezes of its forest suburbs. A freshened elasticity seems gliding through the languid system, bracing up the prostrated fibres of the frame; the nerves thrill with renewed tensity, and the vital flood courses in fuller gush, and leaps onward with more bounding buoyancy in its fevered channels. Every one has experienced this; and it was under circumstances like these that I found myself one bright day, after a delay at St. Louis which began at length to be intolerably tedious, forsaking the sultry, sun-scorched streets of {155} the city, and crossing the turbid flood for a tour upon the prairies of Illinois. How delightful to a frame just freed from the feverish confinement of a sick-chamber, brief though it had been, was the fresh breeze which came careering over the water, rippling along the polished surface, and gayly riding the miniature waves of its own creation! The finest point from which to view the little "City of the French" is from beneath the enormous sycamores upon the opposite bank of the Mississippi. It is from this spot alone that anything approaching to a cosmorama can be commanded. The city, retreating as it does from the river's brink--its buildings of every diversity of form, material, and structure, promiscuously heaped the one upon the other, and the whole intermingled with the fresh green of forest-trees, may boast of much scenic beauty. The range of white limestone warehouses, circling like a crescent the shore, form the most prominent feature of the foreground, while the forest of shrub-oaks sweeps away in the rear. For some time I gazed upon this imposing view, and then, slowly turning my horse's head, was upon the dusty thoroughfare to Edwardsville. For the first time I found myself upon the celebrated "American Bottom," a tract of country which, for fertility and depth of soil, is perhaps unsurpassed in the world. A fine road of baked loam extended along my route. Crossing Cahokia Creek, which cuts its deep bed diagonally through the bottom from the bluffs some six miles distant, and threading a grove of the beautiful _pecan_, with its long trailing boughs and {156} delicate leaves, my path was soon winding gracefully away among those venerable monuments of a race now passed from the earth. The eye is struck at first by the number of these eminences, as well as by their symmetry of form and regularity of outline; and the most familiar resemblance suggested is that of gigantic hay-ricks sprinkled over the uniform surface of the prairie on every side. As you advance, however, into the plain, leaving the range of mounds upon the left, something of arrangement is detected in their relative position; and a design too palpable is betrayed to mistake them for the handiwork of Nature. Upward of one hundred of these mounds, it is stated, may be enumerated within seven miles of St. Louis, their altitude varying from ten to sixty feet, with a circumference at the base of about as many yards. One of these, nearly in the centre of the first collection, is remarked as considerably larger than those around, and from its summit is commanded an extensive view of the scene. The group embraces, perhaps, fifty tumuli, sweeping off from opposite the city to the northeast, in form of a crescent, parallel to the river, and at a distance from it of about one mile: they extend about the same distance, and a belt of forest alone obstructs their view from the city. When this is removed, and the prairie is under cultivation, the scene laid open must be beautiful. The outline of the mounds is ordinarily that of a gracefully-rounded cone of varying declivity, though often the form is oblong, approaching the rectangle or ellipse. In some instances {157} they are perfectly square, with a level area upon the summit sufficient for a dwelling and the necessary purlieus. Most of them are clothed with dense thickets and the coarse grass of the bottom; while here and there stands out an aged oak, rooted in the mould, tossing its green head proudly to the breeze, its rough bark shaggy with moss, and the pensile parasite flaunting from its branches. Some few of the tumuli, however, are quite naked, and present a rounded, beautiful surface from the surrounding plain. At this point, about half a mile from the river-bank, commencing with the first group of mounds, extends the railroad across the bottom to the bluffs. The expense of this work was considerable. It crosses a lake, into the bed of which piles were forced a depth of ninety feet before a foundation for the tracks sufficiently firm could be obtained. Coal is transported to St. Louis upon this railway direct from the mines; and the beneficial effects to be anticipated from it in other respects are very great. A town called _Pittsburg_ has been laid out at the foot of the coal bluffs.[127] Leaving the first collection of tumuli, the road wound away smooth and uniform through the level prairie, with here and there upon the left a slight elevation from its low surface, seeming a continuation of the group behind, or a link of union to those yet before. It was a sweet afternoon; the atmosphere was still and calm, and summer's golden haze was sleeping magnificently on the far-off bluffs. At intervals the soft breath of the "sweet South" {158} came dancing over the tall, glossy herbage, and the many-hued prairie-flowers flashed gayly in the sunlight. There was the _heliotrope_, in all its gaudy but magnificent forms; there the deep cerulean of the fringed _gentiana_, delicate as an iris; there the mellow gorgeousness of the _solidago_, in some spots along the pathway, spreading out itself, as it were, into a perfect "field of the cloth of gold;" and the balmy fragrance of the aromatic wild thyme or the burgamot, scattered in rich profusion over the plain, floated over all. Small coveys of the prairie-fowl, _tetrao pratensis_, a fine species of grouse, the ungainly form of the partridge, or that of the timid little hare, would appear for a moment in the dusty road, and, on my nearer approach, away they hurriedly scudded beneath the friendly covert of the bright-leaved sumach or the thickets of the rosebush. Extensive groves of the wild plum and the crab-apple, bending beneath the profusion of clustering fruitage, succeeded each other for miles along the path as I rode onward; now extending in continuous thickets, and then swelling up like green islets from the surface of the plain, their cool recesses affording a refreshing shade for the numerous herds. The rude farmhouse, too, with its ruder outbuildings, half buried in the dark luxuriance of its maize-fields, from time to time was seen along the route. After a delightful drive of half an hour the second group of eminences, known as the "Cantine Mounds," appeared upon the prairie at a distance of three or four miles, the celebrated "Monk Hill," largest monument of the kind yet discovered in North America, heaving up its giant, forest-clothed {159} form in the midst.[128] What are the reflections to which this stupendous earth-heap gives birth? What the associations which throng the excited fancy? What a field for conjecture! What a boundless range for the workings of imagination! What eye can view this venerable monument of the past, this mighty landmark in the lapse of ages, this gray chronicler of hoary centuries, and turn away uninterested? As it is first beheld, surrounded by the lesser heaps, it is mistaken by the traveller for an elevation of natural origin: as he draws nigh, and at length stands at the base, its stupendous magnitude, its lofty summit, towering above his head and throwing its broad shadow far across the meadow; its slopes ploughed with yawning ravines by the torrents of centuries descending to the plain; its surface and declivities perforated by the habitations of burrowing animals, and carpeted with tangled thickets; the vast size of the aged oaks rearing themselves from its soil; and, finally, the farmhouse, with its various structures, its garden, and orchard, and _well_ rising upon the broad area of the summit, and the carriage pathway winding up from the base, all confirm his impression that no hand but that of the Mightiest could have reared the enormous mass. At that moment, should he be assured that this vast earth-heap was of origin demonstrably artificial, he would smile; but credulity the most sanguine would fail to credit the assertion. But when, with jealous eye, slowly and cautiously, and with measured footsteps, he has circled its base; when he has surveyed its slopes and declivities from every position, and has {160} remarked the peculiar uniformity of its structure and the mathematical exactitude of its outline; when he has ascended to its summit, and looked round upon the piles of a similar character by which it is surrounded; when he has taken into consideration its situation upon a river-bottom of nature decidedly diluvial, and, of consequence, utterly incompatible with the _natural_ origin of such elevations; when he has examined the soil of which it is composed, and has discovered it to be uniformly, throughout the entire mass, of the same mellow and friable species as that of the prairie at its base; and when he has listened with scrutiny to the facts which an examination of its depths has thrown to light of its nature and its contents, he is compelled, however reluctantly, yet without a doubt, to declare that the gigantic pile is incontestibly the WORKMANSHIP OF MAN'S HAND. But, with such an admission, what is the crowd of reflections which throng and startle the mind? What a series of unanswerable inquiries succeed! When was this stupendous earth-heap reared up from the plain? By what race of beings was the vast undertaking accomplished? What was its purpose? What changes in its form and magnitude have taken place? What vicissitudes and revolutions have, in the lapse of centuries, rolled like successive waves over the plains at its base? As we reflect, we anxiously look around us for some tradition, some time-stained chronicle, some age-worn record, even the faintest and most unsatisfactory legend, upon which to repose our credulity, and relieve the inquiring solicitude of the mind. But {161} our research is hopeless. The present race of aborigines can tell nothing of these tumuli. To them, as to us, they are veiled in mystery. Ages since, long ere the white-face came, while this fair land was yet the home of his fathers, the simple Indian stood before this venerable earth-heap, and gazed, and wondered, and turned away. But there is another reflection which, as we gaze upon these venerable tombs, addresses itself directly to our feelings, and bows them in humbleness. It is, that soon _our_ memory and that of our _own_ generation will, like that of other times and other men, have passed away; that when these frail tenements shall have been laid aside to moulder, the remembrance will soon follow them to the land of forgetfulness. Ah, if there be an object in all the wide universe of human desires for which the heart of man yearns with an intensity of craving more agonizing and deathless than for any other, it is that the memory should live after the poor body is dust. It was this eternal principle of our nature which reared the lonely tombs of Egypt amid the sands and barrenness of the desert. For ages untold have the massive and gloomy pyramids looked down upon the floods of the Nile, and generation after generation has passed away; yet their very existence still remains a mystery, and their origin points down our inquiry far beyond the grasp of human ken, into the boiling mists, the "wide involving shades" of centuries past. And yet how fondly did they who, with the toil, and blood, and sweat, and misery of ages, upreared these stupendous piles, anticipate {162} an immortality for their name which, like the effulgence of a golden eternity, should for ever linger around their summits! So was it with the ancient tomb-builders of this New World; so has it been with man in every stage of his existence, from the hour that the giant Babel first reared its dusky walls from the plains of Shinar down to the era of the present generation. And yet how hopeless, desperately, eternally hopeless are such aspirations of the children of men! As nations or as individuals, our memory we can never embalm! A few, indeed, may retain the forlorn relic within the sanctuary of hearts which loved us while with them, and that with a tenderness stronger than death; but, with the great mass of mankind, our absence can be noticed only for a day; and then the ranks close up, and a gravestone tells the passing stranger that we lived and died: a few years--the finger of time has been busy with the inscription, and we are _as if we had never been_. If, then, it must be even so, "Oh, let keep the soul embalm'd, and pure In living virtue; that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, Th' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom." _St. Clair Co., Illinois._ XV "Are they here, The dead of other days? And did the dust Of these fair solitudes once stir with life And burn with passion? All is gone; All, save the piles of earth that hold their bones, The platforms where they worship'd unknown gods, The barriers which they builded from the soil To keep the foe at bay." _The Prairies._ The antiquity of "Monk Mound" is a circumstance which fails not to arrest the attention of every visiter. That centuries have elapsed since this vast pile of earth was heaped up from the plain, no one can doubt: every circumstance, even the most minute and inconsiderable, confirms an idea which the venerable oaks upon its soil conclusively demonstrate. With this premise admitted, consider for a moment the destructive effects of the elements even for a limited period upon the works of our race. Little more than half a century has elapsed since the war of our revolution; but where are the fortifications, and parapets, and military defences then thrown up? The earthy ramparts of Bunker Hill were nearly obliterated long ago by the levelling finger of time, and scarce a vestige now remains to assist in tracing out the line of defence. The same is true with these works all over the country; and even those of the last war--those at Baltimore, for example {164}--are vanishing as fast as the elements can melt them away. Reflect, then, that this vast earth-heap of which I am writing is composed of a soil far more yielding in its nature than they; that its superfices are by no means compact; and then conceive, if you _can_, its stupendous character before it had bided the rains, and snows, and storm-winds of centuries, and before the sweeping floods of the "Father of Waters" had ever circled its base. Our thoughts are carried back by the reflection to the era of classic fiction, and we almost fancy another war of the Titans against the heavens-- "Conati imponere Pelio Ossam-- --atque Ossæ frondosum involvere Olympum," if a quotation from the sweet bard of Mantua, upon a topic like the present, may be pardoned. How large an army of labourers, without the use of iron utensils, as we have every reason to suppose was the case, would be required for scraping up from the prairie's surface this huge pile; and how many years would suffice for its completion? No one can doubt that the broad surface of the American Bottom, in its whole length and breadth, together with all the neighbouring region on either bank of the Mississippi, once swarmed with living men and animals, even as does now the depths of its soil with their remains. The collection of mounds which I have been attempting to describe would seem to indicate two extensive cities within the extent of five miles; and other groups of the same character may be seen upon a lower section of the bottom, to say nothing of those within the more immediate vicinity of St. {165} Louis. The design of these mounds, as has been before stated, was various, undoubtedly; many were sepulchres, some fortifications, some watch-towers or videttes, and some of the larger class, among which we would place Monk Hill, were probably devoted to the ceremonies of religion. The number of the earth-heaps known as the Cantine Mounds is about fifty, small and great. They lie very irregularly along the southern and eastern bank of Cahokia Creek, occupying an area of some miles in circuit. They are of every form and every size, from the mere molehill, perceptible only by a deeper shade in the herbage, to the gigantic Monk Mound, of which I have already said so much. This vast heap stands about one hundred yards from the creek, and the slope which faces it is very precipitous, and clothed with aged timber. The area of the base is about six hundred yards in circumference, and the perpendicular altitude has been estimated at from ninety to upward of a hundred feet. The form is that of a rectangle, lying north and south; and upon the latter extremity, which commands a view down the bottom, is spread out a broad terrace, or rather a steppe to the main body, about twenty feet lower than the summit, extending the whole length of the side, and is one hundred and fifty feet in breadth. At the left extremity of this terrace winds up the sloping pathway from the prairie to the summit of the mound. Formerly this road sloped up an inclined plane, projecting from the middle of the terrace, ten feet in breadth and twenty in extent, and seemed graded for that purpose at {166} the erection of the mound. This declivity yet remains, but now forms part of a corn-field. The view from the southern extremity of the mound, which is free from trees and underbrush, is extremely beautiful. Away to the south sweeps off the broad river-bottom, at this place about seven miles in width, its waving surface variegated by all the magnificent hues of the summer Flora of the prairies. At intervals, from the deep herbage is flung back the flashing sheen of a silvery lake to the oblique sunlight; while dense groves of the crab-apple and other indigenous wild fruits are sprinkled about like islets in the verdant sea. To the left, at a distance of three or four miles, stretches away the long line of bluffs, now presenting a surface naked and rounded by groups of mounds, and now wooded to their summits, while a glimpse at times may be caught of the humble farmhouses at their base. On the right meanders the Cantine Creek, which gives the name to the group of mounds, betraying at intervals its bright surface through the belt of forest by which it is margined. In this direction, far away in the blue distance, rising through the mist and forest, may be caught a glimpse of the spires and cupolas of the city, glancing gayly in the rich summer sun. The base of the mound is circled upon every side by lesser elevations of every form and at various distances. Of these, some lie in the heart of the extensive maize-fields, which constitute the farm of the proprietor of the principal mound, presenting a beautiful exhibition of light and shade, shrouded as they are in the dark, twinkling leaves. The most {167} remarkable are two standing directly opposite the southern extremity of the principal one, at a distance of some hundred yards, in close proximity to each other, and which never fail to arrest the eye. There are also several large square mounds covered with forest along the margin of the creek to the right, and groups are caught rising from the declivities of the distant bluffs. Upon the western side of Monk Mound, at a distance of several yards from the summit, is a well some eighty or ninety feet in depth; the water of which would be agreeable enough were not the presence of sulphur, in some of its modifications, so palpable. This well penetrates the heart of the mound, yet, from its depth, cannot reach lower than the level of the surrounding plain. I learned, upon inquiry, that when this well was excavated, several fragments of pottery, of decayed ears of corn, and other articles, were thrown up from a depth of sixty-five feet; proof incontestible of the artificial structure of the mound. The associations, when drinking the water of this well, united with its peculiar flavour, are not of the most exquisite character, when we reflect that the precious fluid has probably filtrated, part of it, at least, through the contents of a sepulchre. The present proprietor is about making a transfer, I was informed, of the whole tract to a gentleman of St. Louis, who intends establishing here a house of entertainment. If this design is carried into effect, the drive to this place will be the most delightful in the vicinity of the city. Monk Mound has derived its name and much of {168} its notoriety from the circumstance that, in the early part of the present century, for a number of years, it was the residence of a society of ecclesiastics, of the order _La Trappe_, the most ascetic of all the monastic denominations. The monastery of La Trappe was originally situated in the old province of Perche, in the territory of Orleannois, in France, which now, with a section of Normandy, constitutes the department of Orne. Its site is said to have been the loneliest and most desolate spot that could be selected in the kingdom. The order was founded in 1140 by Rotrou, count of Perche; but having fallen into decay, and its discipline having become much relaxed, it was reformed in 1664, five centuries subsequent, by the Abbé Armand Rance. This celebrated ecclesiastic, history informs us, was in early life a man of fashion and accomplishments; of splendid abilities, distinguished as a classical scholar and translator of Anacreon's Odes. At length, the sudden death of his mistress Montbazon, to whom he was extremely attached, so affected him that he forsook at once his libertine life, banished himself from society, and introduced into the monastery of La Trappe an austerity of discipline hitherto unknown.[129] The vows were chastity, poverty, obedience, and perpetual silence. The couch was a slab of stone, the diet water and bread once in twenty-four hours, and each member removed a spadeful of earth every day from the spot of his intended grave. The following passage relative to this monastery I find quoted from an old French author; and as the {169} language and sentiments are forcible, I need hardly apologize for introducing it entire. "_C'est la que se retirent, ceux qui out commis quelque crime secret, dont les remords les poursuivent; ceux qui sont tourmentes de vapeurs mélancoliques et religieuse; ceux qui ont oublie que Dieu est le plus miséricordieux des pères, et qui ne voient en lui, que le plus cruel des tyrans; ceux qui reduisent à vieu, les souffrances, la mort et la passion de Jesu Crist, et qui ne voient la religion que du cote effrayent et terrible: c'est la que sont pratique des austerite qui abregent la vie, et sont injure à la divinité._" During the era of the Reign of Terror in France, the monks of La Trappe, as well as all the other orders of priesthood, were dispersed over Europe. They increased greatly, however, notwithstanding persecution, and societies established themselves in England and Germany. From the latter country emigrated the society which planted themselves upon the American Bottom. They first settled in the State of Kentucky; subsequently they established themselves at the little French hamlet of Florisant, and in 1809 they crossed the Mississippi, and, strangely enough, selected for their residence the spot I have been describing.[130] Here they made a purchase of about four hundred acres, and petitioned Congress for a pre-emption right to some thousands adjoining. The buildings which they occupied were never of a very durable character, but consisted of about half a dozen large structures of logs, on the summit of the mound about fifty yards to the right {170} of the largest. This is twenty feet in height, and upward of a hundred and fifty feet square; a well dug by the Trappists is yet to be seen, though the whole mound is now buried in thickets. Their outbuildings, stables, granaries, &c., which were numerous, lay scattered about on the plain below. Subsequently they erected an extensive structure upon the terrace of the principal mound, and cultivated its soil for a kitchen-garden, while the area of the summit was sown with wheat. Their territory under cultivation consisted of about one hundred acres, divided into three fields, and embracing several of the mounds. The society of the Trappists consisted of about eighty monks, chiefly Germans and French, with a few of our own countrymen, under governance of one of their number called Father Urbain.[131] Had they remained, they anticipated an accession to their number of about two hundred monks from Europe. Their discipline was equally severe with that of the order in ancient times. Their diet was confined to vegetables, and of these they partook sparingly but once in twenty-four hours: the stern vow of perpetual silence was upon them; no female was permitted to violate their retreat, and they dug their own graves. Their location, however, they found by no means favourable to health, notwithstanding the severe simplicity of their habits. During the summer months fevers prevailed among them to an alarming extent; few escaped, and many died. Among the latter was Louis Antoine Langlois, a native of Quebec, more familiarly known as François {171} Marie Bernard, the name he assumed upon entering the monastery. He often officiated in the former Catholic church of St. Louis, and is still remembered by the older French inhabitants with warm emotions, as he was greatly beloved. The Trappists are said to have been extremely industrious, and some of them skilful workmen at various arts, particularly that of watchmaking; insomuch that they far excelled the same craft in the city, and were patronised by all the unruly timepieces in the region. They had also a laboratory of some extent, and a library; but the latter, we are informed, was of no marvellous repute, embracing chiefly the day-dreams of the Middle Ages, and the wondrous doings of the legion of saints, together with a few obsolete works on medicine. Connected with the monastery was a seminary for the instruction of boys; or, rather, it was a sort of asylum for the orphan, the desolate, the friendless, the halt, the blind, the deaf, and the dumb, and also for the aged and destitute of the male sex. They subjected their pupils to the same severe discipline which they imposed upon themselves. They were permitted to use their tongues but two hours a day, and then very _judiciously_: instead of exercising that "unruly member," they were taught by the good fathers to gesticulate with their fingers at each other in marvellous fashion, and thus to communicate their ideas. As to juvenile sports and the frolics of boyhood, it was a sin to dream of such things. They all received an apprenticeship to some useful trade, however, and were no doubt trained {172} up most innocently and ignorantly in the way they should go. The pupils were chiefly sons of the settlers in the vicinity; but whether they were fashioned by the worthy fathers into good American citizens or the contrary, tradition telleth not. Tradition doth present, however, sundry allegations prejudicial to the honest monks, which we are bold to say is all slander, and unworthy of credence. Some old gossips of the day hesitated not to affirm that the monks were marvellously filthy in their habits; others, that they were prodigiously keen in their bargains; a third class, that the younger members were not so obdurate towards the gentler part of creation as they _might have been_; while the whole community round about, _una voce_, chimed in, and solemnly declared that men who neither might, could, would, or should speak, were a little worse than dumb brutes, and ought to be treated accordingly. However this may have been, it is pretty certain, as is usually the case with our dear fellow-creatures where they are permitted to know nothing at all about a particular matter, the good people, in the overflowings of worldly charity, imagined all manner of evil against the poor Trappist, and seemed to think they had a perfect right to violate his property and insult his person whenever they, in their wisdom and kind feeling, thought proper to do so. But this was soon at an end. In 1813 the monks disposed of their personal property, and leaving fever and ague to their persecutors, and the old mounds to their primitive solitude, forsook the country and sailed for France. {173} Though it is not easy to palliate the unceremonious welcome with which the unfortunate Trappist was favoured at the hand of our people, yet we can readily appreciate the feelings which prompted their ungenerous conduct. How strange, how exceedingly strange must it have seemed to behold these men, in the garb and guise of a distant land, uttering, when their lips broke the silence in which they were locked, the unknown syllables of a foreign tongue; professing an austere, an ancient, and remarkable faith; denying themselves, with the sternest severity, the simplest of Nature's bounties; how strange must it have seemed to behold these men establishing themselves in the depths of this Western wilderness, and, by a fortuitous concurrence of events, planting their altars and hearths upon the very tombs of a race whose fate is veiled in mystery, and practising their austerities at the forsaken temple of a forgotten worship! How strange to behold the devotees of a faith, the most artificial in its ceremonies among men, bowing themselves upon the high places reared up by the hands of those who worshipped the Great Spirit after the simplest form of Nature's adoration! For centuries this singular order of men had figured upon the iron page of history; their legends had shadowed with mystery the bright leaf of poetry and romance, and with them were associated many a wild vision of fancy. And here they were, mysterious as ever, with cowl, and crucifix, and shaven head, and the hairy "crown of thorns" encircling; ecclesiastics the most severe of all the orders of monarchism. How strange must it all {174} have seemed! and it is hardly to be wondered at, unpopular as such institutions undoubtedly were and ever have been in this blessed land of ours, that a feeling of intolerance, and suspicion, and prejudice should have existed. It is not a maxim of _recent_ date in the minds of men, that "whatever is peculiar is false." _Madison County, Ill._ XVI "Let none our author rudely blame, Who from the story has thus long digress'd." DAVENANT. "Nay, tell me not of lordly halls! My minstrels are the trees; The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls, Earth sounds my symphonies." BLACKWOOD'S _Mag._ "Sorrow is knowledge; they who know the most Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth; The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life." MANFRED. There are few lovelier villages in the Valley of the West than the little town of Edwardsville, in whose quiet inn many of the preceding observations have been sketched.[132] It was early one bright morning that I entered Edwardsville, after passing a sleepless night at a neighbouring farmhouse. The situation of the village is a narrow ridge of {175} land swelling abruptly from the midst of deep and tangled woods. Along this elevation extends the principal street of the place, more than a mile in length, and upon either side runs a range of neat edifices, most of them shaded by forest-trees in their front yards. The public buildings are a courthouse and jail of brick, neither of them worthy of farther mention, and two plain, towerless churches, imbosomed in a grove somewhat in the suburbs of the village. There is something singularly picturesque in the situation of these churches, and the structures themselves are not devoid of beauty and symmetrical proportion. At this place, also, is located the land-office for the district. On the morning of my arrival at the village, early as was the hour, the place was thronged with disappointed applicants for land; a lean and hungry-looking race, by-the-by, as it has ever been my lot to look upon. Unfortunately, the office had the evening before, from some cause, been closed, and the unhappy speculators were forced to trudge away many a weary mile, through dust and sun, with their heavy specie dollars, to their homes again. I remember once to have been in the city of Bangor, "away down East in the State of Maine," when the public lands on the Penobscot River were first placed in the market. The land mania had for some months been running high, but could hardly be said yet to have reached a crisis. From all quarters of the Union speculators had been hurrying to the place; and day and night, for the week past, the steamers had been disgorging upon the city their ravenous freights. The important {176} day arrived. At an early hour every hotel, and street, and avenue was swarming with strangers; and, mingling with the current of living bodies, which now set steadily onward to the place of sale, I was carried resistlessly on by its force till it ceased. A confused murmur of voices ran through the assembled thousands; and amid the tumult, the ominous words "_land--lumber--title-deed_," and the like, could alone be distinguished. At length, near noon, the clear tones of the auctioneer were heard rising above the hum of the multitude: all was instantly hushed and still; and gaining an elevated site, before me was spread out a scene worthy a Hogarth's genius and pencil. Such a mass of working, agitated features, glaring with the fierce passion of avarice and the basest propensities of humanity, one seldom is fated to witness. During that public land-sale, indeed, I beheld so much of the selfishness, the petty meanness, the detestable heartlessness of man's nature, that I turned away disgusted, sick at heart for the race of which I was a member. We are reproached as a nation by Europeans for the contemptible vice of avarice; is the censure unjust? Parson Taylor tells us that Satan was the first speculator in land, for on a certain occasion he took Jesus up into an exceedingly high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory thereof, and said to him, "All these things will I give to thee if thou wilt fall down and worship me," when, in fact, the devil did not own one inch of land to give! "Think of the devil's brazen phiz, When not an inch of land was his!" {177} Yet it is to be apprehended that not a few in our midst would not hesitate to barter soul and body, and fall down in worship, were a sufficient number of _acres_ spread out before them as the recompense. Among other objects worthy the traveller's notice in passing through Edwardsville is a press for the manufacture of that well-known, agreeable liquid, _castor oil_: it is situated within the precincts of what is termed, for distinction, the "Upper Village." The apparatus, by means of which the oil is expressed from the bean and clarified, is extremely simple, consisting merely of the ordinary jack-screw. One bushel of the castor beans--_palma Christi_--yields nearly two gallons of the liquid. The only previous preparation to pressing is to dry the beans in an oven. This establishment[133] has been in operation upward of ten years, and has rendered its proprietor, Mr. Adams, a wealthy man.[134] He has a delightful villa, with grounds laid out with taste; and though many years have passed away since he left his native New-England, yet the generosity of his heart and the benevolence of his character tell truly that he has not yet ceased the remembrance of early principles and habits. The village of Edwardsville and its vicinity are said to be remarkably healthy; and the location in the heart of a fertile, well-watered, heavily-timbered section of country, tilled by a race of enterprising yeomanry, gives promise of rapid advancement. The town plat was first laid off in 1815; but the place advanced but little in importance until five years afterward, when a new {178} town was united to the old. About twelve miles southeast from Edwardsville is situated the delightful little hamlet of Collinsville, named from its founder, to which I paid a hasty visit during my ramble on the prairies.[135] It was settled many years ago, but till very recently had not assumed the dignity of a town. Its site is the broad, uniform surface of an elevated ridge, ascending gently from the American Bottom, beautifully shaded by forest-trees, and extending into the interior for several miles. It is almost entirely settled by northern emigrants, whose peculiarities are nowhere more strikingly exhibited. Much attention is bestowed upon religion and education; not a grocery exists in the place, nor, by the charter of the town, can one be established for several years. This little village presents a delightful summer-retreat to the citizens of St. Louis, only ten miles distant. The sun had not yet risen when I left Edwardsville, after a pleasant visit, and, descending into the Bottom, pursued my route over the plain to Alton. The face of the country, for a portion of the way, is broken, and covered with forests of noble trees, until the traveller finds himself on the deep sand-plains, stretching away for some miles, and giving support to a stunted, scragged growth of shrub-oaks. The region bears palpable evidence of having been, at no distant period, submerged; and the idea is confirmed by the existence, at the present time, of a lake of considerable extent on the southern border, which, from the character of the surface, a slight addition of water would spread for miles. I shall not {179} soon forget, I think, the day I entered Alton for the second time during my ramble in the West. It was near the noon after an exceedingly sultry morning; and the earth beneath my horse's hoofs was reduced by protracted drought to an impalpable powder to the depth of several inches. The blazing sunbeams, veiled by not a solitary cloud, reflected from the glassy surface of the Mississippi as from the face of an immense steely mirror and again thrown back by the range of beetling bluffs above, seemed converged into an intense burning focus along the scorched-up streets and glowing roofs of the village. I have endured heat, but none more intolerable in the course of my life than that of which I speak. In the evening, when the sultriness of the day was over, passing through the principal street of the town, I ascended that singular range of bluffs which, commencing at this point, extend along the river, and to which, on a former occasion, I have briefly alluded. The ascent is arduous, but the glorious view from the summit richly repays the visiter for his toil. The withering atmosphere of the depressed, sunburnt village at my feet was delightfully exchanged for the invigorating breezes of the hills, as the fresh evening wind came wandering up from the waters. It was the sunset hour. The golden, slanting beams of departing day were reflected from the undulating bosom of the river, as its bright waters stretched away among the western forests, as if from a sea of molten, gliding silver. On the left, directly at your feet, reposes the village of Alton, overhung by hills, with the gloomy, castellated {180} walls of the Penitentiary lifting up their dusky outline upon its skirts, presenting to the eye a perfect panorama as you look down upon the tortuous streets, the extensive warehouses of stone, and the range of steamers, alive with bustle, along the landing. Beyond the village extends a deep forest; while a little to the south sweep off the waters of the river, bespangled with green islands, until, gracefully expanding itself, a noble bend withdraws it from the view. It is at this point that the Missouri disgorges its turbid, heavy mass of waters into the clear floods of the Upper Mississippi, hitherto uncheckered by a stain. At the base of the bluffs, upon which you stand, at an elevation of a hundred and fifty feet, rushes with violence along the crags the current of the stream; while beyond, upon the opposite plain, is beheld the log hut of the emigrant couched beneath the enormous sycamores, and sending up its undulating thread of blue, curling smoke through the lofty branches. A lumber steam-mill is also here to be seen. Beyond these objects the eye wanders over an interminable carpet of forest-tops, stretching away till they form a wavy line of dense foliage circling the western horizon. By the aid of a glass, a range of hills, blue in the distance, is perceived outlined against the sky: they are the bluffs skirting the beautiful valley of the Missouri. The heights from which this view is commanded are composed principally of earth heaped upon a massive ledge of limerock, which elevates itself from the very bed of the waters. As the spectator gazes and reflects, he cannot but be amazed that the {181} rains, and snows, and torrents of centuries have not, with all their washings, yet swept these earth-heaps away, though the deep ravines between the mounds, which probably originated their present peculiar form, give proof conclusive that such diluvial action to some extent has long been going on. As is usually found to be the case, the present race of Indians have availed themselves of these elevated summits for the burial-spots of their chiefs. I myself scraped up a few decaying fragments of bones, which lay just beneath the surface. At sunrise of the morning succeeding my visit to the bluffs I was in the saddle, and clambering up those intolerably steep hills on the road leading to the village of Upper Alton, a few miles distant. The place is well situated upon an elevated prairie; and, to my own taste, is preferable far for private residence to any spot within the precincts of its rival namesake. The society is polished, and a fine-toned morality is said to characterize the inhabitants. The town was originally incorporated many years ago, and was then a place of more note than it has ever since been; but, owing to intestine broils and conflicting claims to its site, it gradually and steadily dwindled away, until, a dozen years since, it numbered only _seven_ families. A suit in chancery has happily settled these difficulties, and the village is now thriving well. A seminary of some note, under jurisdiction of the Baptist persuasion, has within a few years been established here, and now comprises a very respectable body of students.[136] It originated in a seminary {182} formerly established at Rock Spring in this state. About five years since a company of gentlemen, seven in number, purchased here a tract of several hundred acres, and erected upon it an academical edifice of brick; subsequently a stone building was erected, and a preparatory school instituted. In the year 1835, funds to a considerable amount were obtained at the East; and a donation of $10,000 from Dr. Benjamin Shurtliff, of Boston, induced the trustees to give to the institution his name. Half of this sum is appropriated to a college building, and the other half is to endow a professorship of belles lettres. The present buildings are situated upon a broad plain, beneath a walnut grove, on the eastern skirt of the village; and the library, apparatus, and professorships are worthy to form the foundation of a _college_, as is the ultimate design, albeit a Western college and a Northern college are terms quite different in signification. I visited this seminary, however, and was much pleased with its faculty, buildings, and design. All is as it should be. What reflecting mind does not hail with joy these temples of science elevating themselves upon every green hill and broad plain of the West, side by side with the sanctuaries of our holy religion! It is intelligence, _baptized intelligence_, which alone can save this beautiful valley, if indeed it is to be saved from the inroads of arbitrary rule and false religion; which is to hand down to another generation our civil and religious immunities unimpaired. In most of the efforts for the advancement of education in {183} the West, it is gratifying to perceive that this principle has not been overlooked. Nearly all those seminaries of learning which have been established profess for their design the culture of the _moral_ powers as well as those of the _intellect_. That _intelligence_ is an essential requisite, a prime constituent of civil and religious freedom, all will admit; that it is the _only_ requisite, the _sole_ constituent, may be questioned. "Knowledge," in the celebrated language of Francis Bacon, "is power;" ay! POWER; an engine of tremendous, incalculable energy, but blind in its operations. Applied to the cause of wisdom and virtue, the richest of blessings; to that of infidelity and vice, the greatest of curses. A lever to move the world, its influence cannot be over-estimated; as the bulwark of liberty and human happiness, its effect has been fearfully miscalculated. Were man inclined as fully to good as to evil, then might knowledge become the sovereign panacea of every civil and moral ill; as man by nature unhappily _is_, "the fruit of the tree" is oftener the stimulant to evil than to good. Unfold the sacred record of the past. Why did not intelligence save Greece? Greece! the land of intellect and of thought; the birthspot of eloquence, philosophy, and song! whose very populace were critics and bards! Greece, in her early day of pastoral ignorance, was free; but from the loftiest pinnacle of intellectual glory she fell; and science, genius, intelligence, all could not save her. The buoyant bark bounded beautifully over the blue-breasted billows; but the helm, the helm of {184} _moral_ culture was not there, and her broad-spread pinions hurried her away only to a speedier and more terrible destruction. Ancient Rome: in the day of her rough simplicity, _she_ was free; but from her proudest point of _intellectual_ development--the era of Augustus--we date her decline. France: who will aver that it was popular _ignorance_ that rolled over revolutionary France the ocean-wave of blood? When have the French, _as a people_, exhibited a prouder era of mind than that of their sixteenth Louis? The encyclopedists, the most powerful men of the age, concentrated all their vast energies to the diffusion of science among the people. Then, as now, the press groaned in constant parturition; and essays, magazines, tracts, treatises, libraries, were thrown abroad as if by the arm of Omnipotent power. Then, as now, the supremacy of human reason and of human society flitted in "unreal mockery" before the intoxicated fancy; and wildly was anticipated a career of upward and onward advancement during the days of all coming time. France was a nation of philosophers, and the great deep of mind began to heave; the convulsed labouring went on, and, from time to time, it burst out upon the surface. Then came the tornado, and France, refined, intelligent, scientific, etherealized France, was swept, as by Ruin's besom, of every green thing. Her own children planted the dagger in her bosom, and France was a nation of scientific, philosophic parricides! But "France was poisoned {185} by infidelity." Yes! so she was: but why was not the subtle element neutralized in the cup of _knowledge_ in which it was administered? Is not "knowledge omnipotent to preserve; the salt to purify the nations?" England: view the experiment there. It is a matter of parliamentary record, that within the last twenty years, during the philanthropic efforts of Lord Henry Brougham and his whig coadjutors, crime in England has more than tripled. If knowledge, pure, defecated knowledge, be a conservative principle, why do we witness these appalling results? What, then, shall be done? Shall the book of knowledge be taken from the hands of the people, and again be locked up in the libraries of the few? Shall the dusky pall of ignorance and superstition again be flung around the world, and a long starless midnight of a thousand years once more come down to brood over mankind? By no means. _Let_ the sweet streams of knowledge go forth, copious, free, to enrich and irrigate the garden of mind; but mingle with them the pure waters of that "fount which flows fast by the oracles of God," or the effect now will be, as it ever has been, only to intoxicate and madden the human race. There is nothing in cold, dephlegmated intellect to warm up and foster the energies of the moral system of man. Intellect, mere intellect, can never tame the passions or purify the heart. _Upper Alton, Ill._ XVII "The fourth day roll'd along, and with the night Came storm and darkness in their mingling might. Loud sung the wind above; and doubly loud Shook o'er his turret-cell the thunder-cloud." _The Corsair._ "These The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no name-- The prairies." BRYANT. Whoever will take upon himself the trouble to run his eye over the "Tourist's Pocket Map of Illinois," will perceive, stretching along the western border of the state, parallel with the river, a broad carriage highway, in a direction nearly north, to a little village called Carlinville; if then he glances to the east, he may trace a narrow pathway striking off at right angles to that section of the state. Well, it is here, upon this pathway, just on the margin of a beautiful prairie, sweeping away towards the town of Hillsborough,[137] that I find myself at the close of the day, after a long and fatiguing ride. The afternoon has been one of those dreary, drizzly, disagreeable seasons which relax the nerves and ride like an incubus upon the spirits; and my route has conducted me over a broad-spread, desolate plain; for, lovely as may appear the prairie when its bright flowerets and its tall grass-tops {187} are nodding in the sunlight, it is a melancholy place when the sky is beclouded and the rain is falling. There is a certain indescribable sensation of loneliness, which steals over the mind of the solitary traveller when he finds himself alone in the heart of these boundless plains, which he cannot away with; and the approach to a forest is hailed with pleasure, as serving to quiet, with the vague idea of _society_, this sense of dreariness and desertion. Especially is this the case when rack and mist are hovering along the border, veiling from the view those picturesque woodland-points and promontories, and those green island-groves which, when the sky is clear, swell out upon every side into the bosom of the plain. Then all is fresh and joyous to the eye as a vision: change the scene, and the grand, gloomy, misty magnificence of old ocean presents itself on every side. The relief to the picture afforded by the discovery of man's habitation can hardly be described. It was near nightfall, when, wearied by the fatigue of riding and drenched with mist, I reached the log-cabin of an old pioneer from Virginia, beneath whose lowly roof-tree I am seated at this present writing; and though hardly the most sumptuous edifice of which it has been my lot to be an inmate, yet with no unenviable anticipations am I looking forward to hearty refreshment and to sound slumber upon the couch by my side. There are few objects to be met with in the backwoods of the West more unique and picturesque than the dwelling of the emigrant. After selecting an elevated spot as {188} a site for building, a cabin or a log-house--which is somewhat of an improvement upon the first--is erected in the following manner. A sufficient number of straight trees, of a size convenient for removing, are felled, slightly hewn upon the opposite sides, and the extremities notched or mortised with the axe. They are then piled upon each other so that the extremities lock together; and a single or double edifice is constructed, agreeable to the taste or ability of the builder. Ordinarily the cabin consists of two quadrangular apartments, separated by a broad area between, connected by a common floor, and covered by a common roof, presenting a parallelogram triple the length of its width. The better of these apartments is usually appropriated to the entertainment of the casual guest, and is furnished with several beds and some articles of rude furniture to correspond. The open area constitutes the ordinary sitting and eating apartment of the family in fine weather; and, from its coolness, affords a delightful retreat. The intervals between the logs are stuffed with fragments of wood or stone, and plastered with mud or mortar, and the chimney is constructed much in the same manner. The roof is covered with thin clapboards of oak or ash, and, in lieu of nails, transverse pieces of timber retain them in their places. Thousands of cabins are thus constructed, without a particle of iron or even a common plank. The rough clapboards give to the roof almost the shaggy aspect of thatch at a little distance, but they render it impermeable to even the heaviest and {189} most protracted rain-storms. A rude gallery often extends along one or both sides of the building, adding much to its coolness in summer and to its warmth in winter by the protection afforded from sun and snow. The floor is constructed of short, thick planks, technically termed "puncheons," which are confined by wooden pins; and, though hardly smooth enough for a ballroom, yet well answer every purpose for a dwelling, and effectually resist moisture and cold. The apertures are usually cut with a view to free ventilation, and the chimneys stand at the extremities, outside the walls of the cabin. A few pounds of nails, a few boxes of glass, a few hundred feet of lumber, and a few days' assistance of a house-carpenter, would, of course, contribute not a little to the comfort of the _shieling_; but neither of these are indispensable. In rear of the premises rise the outbuildings; stables, corn-crib, meat-house, &c., all of them quite as perfect in structure as the dwelling itself, and quite as comfortable for residence. If to all this we add a well, walled up with a section of a hollow cotton-wood, a cellar or cave in the earth for a pantry, a zigzag rail fence enclosing the whole clearing, a dozen acres of Indian corn bristling up beyond, a small garden and orchard, and a host of swine, cattle, poultry, and naked children about the door, and the _tout ensemble_ of a backwoods farmhouse is complete. Minor circumstances vary, of course, with the peculiarities of the country and the origin of the settlers; but the principal features of the picture everywhere prevail. The present mode of cultivation {190} sweeps off vast quantities of timber; but it must soon be superseded. Houses of brick and stone will take the place of log-cabins; hedge-rows will supply that of rail enclosures, while coal for fuel will be a substitute for wood. At Upper Alton my visit was not a protracted one. In a few hours, having gathered up my _fixens_ and mounted my _creetur_, I was threading a narrow pathway through the forest. The trees, most of them lofty elms, in many places for miles locked together their giant branches over the road, forming a delightful screen from the sunbeams; but it was found by no means the easiest imaginable task, after once entering upon the direct route, to continue upon it. This is a peculiarity of Western roads. The commencement may be uniform enough, but the traveller soon finds his path diverging all at once in several different directions, like the radii of a circle, with no assignable cause therefor, and not the slightest reason presenting itself why he should select one of them in preference to half a dozen others, equally good or bad. And the sequel often shows him that there in reality existed no more cause of preference than was apparent; for, after a few tortuosities through the forest, for variety's sake, the paths all terminate in the same route. The obstacle of a tree, a stump, a decaying log, or a sand-bank often splits the path as if it were a flowing stream; and then the traveller takes upon him to exercise the reserved right of radiating to any point of the compass he {191} may think proper, provided always that he succeeds in clearing the obstruction. Passing many log-cabins, such as I have described, with their extensive maize-fields, the rude dwelling of a sturdy old emigrant from the far East sheltered me during the heat of noon; and having luxuriated upon an excellent dinner, prepared and served up in right New-England fashion, I again betook myself to my solitary route. But I little anticipated to have met, in the distant prairies of Illinois, the habitation of one who had passed his life in my own native state, almost in my own native village. Yet I know not why the occurrence should be a cause of surprise. Such emigrations are of constant occurrence. The farmer had been a resident eight years in the West; his farm was under that high cultivation characteristic of the Northern emigrant, and peace and plenty seemed smiling around. Yet was the emigrant satisfied? So far from it, he acknowledged himself a disappointed man, and sighed for his native northern home, with its bleak winds and barren hillsides. The region through which, for most of the day, I journeyed was that, of very extensive application in the West, styled "Barrens," by no means implying unproductiveness of soil, but a species of surface of heterogeneous character, uniting prairie with _timber_ or forest, and usually a description of land as fertile, healthy, and well-watered as may be found. The misnomer is said to have derived its origin from the early settlers of that section of Kentucky south of Green River, which, presenting {192} only a scanty, dwarfish growth of timber, was deemed of necessity _barren_, in the true acceptation of the term.[138] This soil there and elsewhere is now considered better adapted to every variety of produce and the vicissitudes of climate than even the deep mould of the prairies and river-bottoms. The rapidity with which a young forest springs forward, when the annual fires have once been stopped in this species of land, is said to be astonishing; and the first appearance of timber upon the prairies gives it the character, to some extent, of barrens. Beneath the trees is spread out a mossy turf, free from thickets, but variegated by the gaudy petals of the heliotrope, and the bright crimson buds of the dwarf-sumach in the hollows. Indeed, some of the most lovely scenery of the West is beheld in the landscapes of these barrens or "oak openings," as they are more appropriately styled. For miles the traveller wanders on, through a magnificence of park scenery on every side, with all the diversity of the slope, and swell, and meadow of human taste and skill. Interminable avenues stretch away farther than the eye can reach, while at intervals through the foliage flashes out the unruffled surface of a pellucid lake. There are many of these circular lakes or "sinkholes," as they are termed in Western dialect, which, as they possess no inlet, seem supplied by subterraneous springs or from the clouds. The outline is that of an inverted cone, as if formed by the action of whirling waters; and, as sinkholes exist in great numbers in the vicinity of the rivers, and possess an outlet {193} at the bottom through a substratum of porous limestone, the idea is abundantly confirmed. In the State of Missouri these peculiar springs are also observed. Some of them in Greene county burst forth from the earth and the fissures of the rocks with sufficient force to whirl a _run_ of heavy buhrstones, and the power of the fountains seems unaffected by the vicissitudes of rain or drought. These same sinkholes, circular ponds, and gushing springs are said to constitute one of the most remarkable and interesting features of the peninsula of Florida. There, as here, the substratum is porous limestone; and it is the subsidence of the layers which gives birth to the springs. The volume of water thrown up by these boiling fountains is said to be astonishingly great; many large ones, also, are known to exist in the beds of lakes and rivers. From the circumstance of the existence of these numerous springs originated, doubtless, the tradition which Spanish chroniclers aver to have existed among the Indians of Porto Rico and Cuba, that somewhere among the Lucayo Islands or in the interior of Florida there existed a fountain whose waters had the property of imparting _rejuvenescence_ and perpetuating perennial youth. Only twenty years after the discoveries of Columbus, and more than three centuries since, did the romantic Juan Ponce de Leon, an associate of the Genoese and subsequent governor of Porto Rico, explore the peninsula of Florida in search of this traditionary fountain; of the success of the enterprise we have no account. Among the other poetic founts of the "Land of {194} Flowers," we are _told_ of one situated but a few miles from Fort Gaines, called "Sappho's Fount,"[139] from the idea which prevails that its waters impart the power of producing sweet sounds to the voices of those who partake of them. It was near evening, when, emerging from the shades of the _barrens_, which, like everything else, however beautiful, had, by continuous succession, begun to become somewhat monotonous, my path issued rather unexpectedly upon the margin of a wide, undulating prairie. I was struck, as is every traveller at first view of these vast plains, with the grandeur, and novelty, and loveliness of the scene before me. For some moments I remained stationary, looking out upon the boundless landscape before me. The tall grass-tops waving in the billowy beauty in the breeze; the narrow pathway winding off like a serpent over the rolling surface, disappearing and reappearing till lost in the luxuriant herbage; the shadowy, cloud-like aspect of the far-off trees, looming up, here and there, in isolated masses along the horizon, like the pyramidal canvass of ships at sea; the deep-green groves besprinkled among the vegetation, like islets in the waters; the crimson-died prairie-flower flashing in the sun--these features of inanimate nature seemed strangely beautiful to one born and bred amid the bold mountain scenery of the North, and who now gazed upon them "for the first." "The prairies! I behold them for the first, And my heart swells, while the dilated sight Takes in the encircling vastness." {195} As I rode leisurely along upon the prairie's edge, I passed many noble farms, with their log-cabins couched in a corner beneath the forest; and, verily, would a farmer of Yankee-land "stare and gasp" to behold the prairie cornfield of the Western emigrant; and yet more would he be amazed to witness the rank, rustling luxuriance of the vegetable itself. Descending a swell of the prairie near one of these farms, a buck with his doe leaped out from a thicket beside my path, and away, away bounded the "happy pair" over the grass-tops, free as the wind. They are often shot upon the prairies, I was informed by an old hunter, at whose cabin, in the middle of the plain, I drew up at twilight, and with whom I passed the night. He was a pioneer from _the dark and bloody ground_, and many a time had followed the wild buck through those aged forests, where Boone, and Whitley, and Kenton once roved.[140] Only fifty years ago, and for the first time were the beautiful fields of Kentucky turned up by the ploughshare of the Virginia emigrant; yet their very descendants of the first generation we behold plunging deeper into the wilderness West. How would the worthy old Governor Spotswood stand astounded, could he now rear his venerable bones from their long resting-place, and look forth upon this lovely land, far away beyond the Blue Ridge of the Alleghany hills, the very passage of which he had deemed not unworthy "the horseshoe of gold" and "the order tramontane." "_Sic juvat transcendere montes._" Twenty years before Daniel Boone, "backwoodsman of Kentucky," was {196} born, Alexander Spotswood, governor of Virginia, undertook, with great preparation, a passage of the Alleghany ridge. For this expedition were provided a large number of horseshoes, an article not common in some sections of the "Old Dominion;" and from this circumstance, upon their return, though without a glimpse of the Western Valley, was instituted the "_Tramontane Order_, or _Knights of the Golden Horseshoe_," with the motto above. The badge of distinction for having made a passage of the Blue Ridge was a golden horseshoe worn upon the breast. Could the young man of that day have protracted the limits of life but a few years beyond his threescore and ten, what astonishment would not have filled him to behold _now_, as "the broad, the bright, the glorious West," the region _then_ regarded as the unknown and howling _wilderness beyond the mountains_! Yet even thus it is.[141] A long ride over a dusty road, beneath a sultry sun, made me not unwilling to retire to an early rest. But in a few hours my slumbers were broken in upon by the glare of lightning and the crash of thunder. For nearly five weeks had the prairies been refreshed by not a solitary shower; and the withered crops and the parched soil, baked to the consistency of stone or ground up to powder, betrayed alarming evidence of the consequence. Day had succeeded day. The scorching sun had gone up in the firmament, blazed from his meridian throne, and in lurid sultriness descended to his rest. The subtle fluid had been gathering and concentrating in the skies; and, early on the night of {197} which I speak, an inky cloud had been perceived rolling slowly up from the western horizon, until the whole heavens were enveloped in blackness. Then the tempest burst forth. Peal upon peal the hoarse thunder came booming over the prairies; and the red lightning would glare, and stream, and almost hiss along the midnight sky, like Ossian's storm-spirit riding on the blast. At length there was a hush of elements, and all was still--"still as the spirit's silence;" then came one prolonged, deafening, terrible crash and rattle, as if the concave of the firmament had been rent asunder, and the splintered fragments, hurled abroad, were flying through the boundlessness of space; the next moment, and the torrents came weltering through the darkness. I have witnessed thunder-storms on the deep, and many a one among the cliffs of my native hills; but a midnight thunder-gust upon the broad prairie-plains of the West is more terrible than they. A more sublimely magnificent spectacle have I never beheld than that, when one of these broad-sheeted masses of purple light would blaze along the black bosom of the cloud, quiver for an instant over the prairie miles in extent, flinging around the scene a garment of flame, and then go out in darkness. "Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman!" "Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee!" {198} And a sharer in the tempest surely was "a certain weary pilgrim, in an upper chamber" of a certain log-cabin of the prairie. Unhappily for his repose or quiet, had he desired either, the worthy host, in laudable zeal for a window when erecting his hut, had thought proper to neglect or to forget one of the indispensables for such a convenience in shape of sundry panes of glass. Wherefore, as is easy to perceive, said aperture commanding the right flank of the pilgrim's dormitory, the warring elements without found abundant entrance for a by-skirmish within. Sad to relate, the pilgrim was routed, "horse, foot, and dragoons;" whereupon, agreeable to Falstaff's _discretionary_ views of valour, seizing upon personal effects, he beat a retreat to more hospitable realms. _Greene County, Ill._ XVIII "What earthly feeling unabash'd can dwell In Nature's mighty presence? mid the swell Of everlasting hills, the roar of floods, And frown of rocks and pomp of waving woods? These their own grandeur on the soul impress, And bid each passion feel its nothingness." HEMANS. "La grace est toujours unie à la magnificence, dans les scenes de la nature."--CHATEAUBRIAND'S "_Atala_." It was morning. The storm had passed away, and the early sunlight was streaming gloriously over the fresh landscape. The atmosphere, discharged of its electric burden, was playing cool and free among the grass-tops; the lark was carolling in the clouds above its grassy nest; the deer was rising from his sprinkled lair, and the morning mists were rolling heavily in masses along the skirts of the prairie woodlands, as I mounted my horse at the door of the cabin beneath whose roof I had passed the night. Before me at no great distance, upon the edge of the plain, rose an open park of lofty oaks, with a mossy turf beneath; and the whole scene, lighted up by the sunbeams breaking through the ragged mists, presented a most gorgeous spectacle. The entire wilderness of green; every bough, spray, leaf; every blade of grass, wild weed, and floweret, was hung with trembling {200} drops of liquid light, which, reflecting and refracting the sun-rays, threw back all the hues of the iris. It was indeed a morning of beauty after the tempest; and Nature seemed to have arrayed herself in her bridal robes, glittering in all their own matchless jewellery to greet its coming. Constituted as we all naturally are, there exist, bound up within the secresies of the bosom, certain emotions and sentiments, designed by our Creator to leap forth in joyousness in view of the magnificence of his works; certain springs of exquisite delicacy deep hidden in the chambers of the breast, but which, touched or breathed upon never so lightly, strike the keys of feeling and fill the heart with harmony. And I envy not the feelings of that man who, amid all "the glories of this visible world," can stand a passionless beholder; who feels not his pulses thrill with quickened vibration, and his heart to heave in fuller gush as he views the beneficence of his Maker in the magnificence of his works; who from all can turn calmly away, and in the chill, withering accents of Atheism, pronounce it the offspring of blind fatality, the resultant of meaningless chance! When we look abroad upon the panorama of creation, so palpable is the impress of an omnipotent hand, and so deeply upon all its features is planted the demonstration of design, that it would almost seem, in the absence of reason and revelation, we need but contemplate the scenery of nature to be satisfied of the existence of an all-wise, all-powerful Being, whose workmanship it is. The {201} firmament, with its marshalled and glittering hosts; the earth, spread out in boundlessness at our feet, now draperied in the verdant freshness of springtime, anon in the magnificent glories of summer sultriness, again teeming with the mellow beauty of autumnal harvesting, and then slumbering in the chill, cheerless desolation of winter, all proclaim a Deity eternal in existence, boundless in might. The mountain that rears its bald forehead to the clouds; the booming cataract; the unfathomed, mysterious sounding ocean; the magnificent sweep of the Western prairie; the eternal flow of the Western river, proclaim, in tones extensive as the universe--tones not to be misunderstood, that their CREATOR lives. It is a circumstance in the character of the human mind, which not the most careless or casual observer of its operations can fail to have remarked, that the contemplation of all grand and immeasurable objects has a tendency to enlarge and elevate the understanding, lend a loftier tone to the feelings, and, agreeable to the moral constitution of man, carry up his thoughts and his emotions directly to their Author, "from Nature up to Nature's God." The savage son of the wilderness, as he roams through his grand and gloomy forests, which for centuries have veiled the soil at their base from the sunlight, perceives a solemn awe stealing over him as he listens to the surges of the winds rolling among the heavy branches; and in Nature's simplicity, untaught but by her untutored promptings, he believes that "the Great Spirit is whispering in {202} the tree tops." He stands by the side of Niagara. With subdued emotions he gazes upon the majestic world of floods as they hurry on. They reach the barrier! they leap its precipice! they are lost in thunder and in foam! And, as the raging waters disappear in the black abyss; as the bow of the covenant, "like hope upon a deathbed," flings its irised arch in horrible beauty athwart the hell of elements, the bewildered child of nature feels his soul swell within his bosom; the thought rises solemnly upon him, "the Great Spirit is here;" and with timid solicitude he peers through the forest shades around him for some palpable demonstration of His presence. And such is the effect of all the grand scenes of nature upon the mind of the savage: they lead it up to the "Great Spirit." Upon this principle is the fact alone to be accounted for, that no race of beings has yet been discovered destitute of _all_ idea of a Supreme Intelligence to whom is due homage and obedience. It is _His_ voice they hear in the deep hour of midnight, when the red lightning quivers along the bosom of the cloud, and the thunder-peal rattles through the firmament. It is _He_ they recognise in the bright orb of day, as he blazes from the eastern horizon; or, "like a monarch on a funeral pile," sinks to his rest. _He_ is beheld in the pale queen of night, as in silvery radiance she walks the firmament, and in the beautiful star of evening as it sinks behind his native hills. In the soft breathing of the "summer wind" and in the terrible sublimity of the autumn tempest; in the gentle dew of heaven and {203} the summer torrent; in the sparkling rivulet and the wide, wild river; in the delicate prairie-flower and the gnarled monarch of the hills; in the glittering minnow and the massive narwhal; in the fairy humbird and the sweeping eagle; in each and in all of the creations of universal nature, the mind of the savage sees, feels, _realizes_ the presence of a Deity. "Earth with her thousand voices praises God!" is the beautiful sentiment of Coleridge's hymn in the Vale of Chamouni; and its truth will be doubted by no man of refined sensibility or cultivated taste. In viewing the grand scenery of nature, the mind of the savage and the poet alike perceive the features of Deity; on the bright page of creation, in characters enstamped by his own mighty hand, they read his perfections and his attributes; the vast volume is spread out to every eye; he who will may read and be wise. And yet, delightful and instructive as the study of Nature's creations cannot fail to be, it is a strange thing that, by many, so little regard is betrayed for them. How often do we gaze upon the orb of day, as he goes down the western heavens in glory to his rest; how often do we look away to the far-off star, as it pursues in beauty its lonely pathway, distinct amid the myriads that surround it; how often do we glance abroad upon the splendours of earth, and then, from all this demonstration of Omnipotent goodness turn away with not _one_ pulsation of gratitude to the Creator of suns and stars; with not one aspiration of feeling, one acknowledgment of regard to {204} the Lord of the universe? Yet surely, whatever repinings may at times imbitter the unsanctified bosom in view of the moral, the intellectual, or social arrangements of existence, there should arise but one emotion, and that--_praise_ in view of _inanimate_ nature. Here is naught but power and goodness; now, as at the dawn of Creation's morning, "all is very good." But these are scenes upon which the eye has turned from earliest infancy; and to this cause alone may we attribute the fact, that though their grandeur may never weary or their glories pall upon the sense, yet our gaze upon them is often that of coldness and indifferent regard. Still their influence upon us, though inappreciable, is sure. If we look abroad upon the race of man, we cannot but admit the conviction that natural scenery, hardly less than climate, government, or religion, lays its impress upon human character. It is where Nature exhibits herself in her loftiest moods that her influence on man is most observable. 'Tis there we find the human mind most chainlessly free, and the attachments of patriotic feeling most tenacious and exalted. To what influence more than to that of the gigantic features of nature around him, amid which he first opened his eyes to the light, and with which from boyhood days he has been conversant, are we to attribute that indomitable hate to oppression, that enthusiastic passion for liberty, and that wild idolatry of country which characterizes the Swiss mountaineer? _He_ would be free as the geyer-eagle of his native cliffs, whose eyrie hangs in the clouds, whose eye brightens in {205} the sunlight, whose wild shriek rises on the tempest, and whose fierce brood is nurtured amid crags untrodden by the footstep of man. To _his_ ear the sweep of the terrible _lauwine_, the dash of the mountain cataract, the sullen roar of the mountain forest, is a music for which, in a foreign land, he pines away and dies. And all these scenes have but one language--and that is chainless _independence_! It is a fact well established, and one to be accounted for upon no principle other than that which we advance, that the dwellers in mountainous regions, and those whose homes are amid the grandeur of nature, are found to be more attached to the spot of their nativity than are other races of men, and that they are ever more forward to defend their ice-clad precipices from the attack of the invader. For centuries have the Swiss inhabited the mountains of the Alps. They inhabit them still, and have never been entirely subdued. But "The free Switzer yet bestrides _alone_ His chainless mountains." Of what _other_ nation of Europe, if we except the Highlands of Scotland, may anything like the same assertion with truth be made? We are told that the mountains of Caucasus and Himmalaya, in Asia, still retain the race of people which from time immemorial have possessed them. The same accents echo along their "tuneful cliffs" as centuries since were listened to by the patriarchs; while at their base, chance, and change, and conquest, like successive floods, have swept the delta-plains of {206} the Ganges and Euphrates. These are but isolated instances from a multitude of similar character, which might be advanced in support of the position we have assumed. Nor is it strange that peculiarities like these should be witnessed. There must ever be _something_ to love, if the emotion is to be permanently called forth; it matters little whether it be in the features of inanimate nature or in those of man; and, alike in both cases, do the boldest and most prominent create the deepest impression. Just so it is with our admiration of character; there must exist bold and distinctive traits, good or bad, to arouse for it unusual regard. A monotony of character or of feeling is as wearisome as a monotony of sound or scenery. But to return from a digression which has become unconscionably long. After a brisk gallop of a few hours through the delightful scenery of the Barrens, I found myself approaching the little town of Carlinville. As I drew nigh to the village, I found it absolutely reeling under the excitement of the "Grand Menagerie." From all points of the compass, men, women, and children, emerging from the forest, came pouring into the place, some upon horses, some in farm-wagons, and troops of others on foot, slipping and sliding along in a fashion most distressing to behold. The soil in this vicinity is a black loam of surpassing fertility; and, when saturated with moisture, it adheres to the sole with most pertinacious tenacity, more like to an amalgam of soot and soap-grease than to any other substance that has ever come under my cognizance. The inn {207} was thronged by neighbouring farmers, some canvassing the relative and individual merits of the _Zebedee_ and the _Portimous_; others sagely dwelling upon the mooted point of peril to be apprehended from the great _sarpent_--_Boy Contractor_; while little unwashen wights did run about and dangerously prophecy on the recent disappearance of the big elephant. Carlinville is a considerable village, situated on the margin of a pleasant prairie, on the north side of Macoupin Creek, and is the seat of justice for the county. The name _Macoupin_ is said to be of aboriginal derivation, and by the early French chroniclers was spelled and pronounced _Ma-qua-pin_, until its present uncomely combination of letters became legalized on the statute-book. The term, we are told by Charlevoix, the French _voyageur_, is the Indian name of an esculent with a broad corolla, found in many of the ponds and creeks of Illinois, especially along the course of the romantic stream bearing its name. The larger roots, eaten raw, were poisonous, and the natives were accustomed to dig ovens in the earth, into which, being walled up with flat stones and heated, was deposited the vegetable. After remaining for forty-eight hours in this situation, the deleterious qualities were found extracted, and the root being dried, was esteemed a luxury by the Indians. The region bordering upon Carlinville is amazingly fertile, and proportionally divided into prairie and timber--a circumstance by no means unworthy of notice. There has been a design of establishing {208} here a Theological Seminary, but the question of its site has been a point easier to discuss than to decide.[142] My tarry at the village was a brief one, though I became acquainted with a number of its worthy citizens; and in the log-office of a young limb of _legality_, obtained, as a special distinction, a glance at a forthcoming "Fourth-of-July" oration, fruitful in those sonorous periods and stereotyped patriotics indispensable on such occasions, and, at all hazard, made and provided for them. As I was leaving the village I was met by multitudes, pouring in from all sections of the surrounding region, literally thronging the ways; mothers on horseback, with young children in their arms; fathers with daughters and wives _en croupe_, and at intervals an individual, in quiet possession of an entire animal, came sliding along in the mud, in fashion marvellously entertaining to witness. A huge cart there likewise was, which excited no small degree of admiration as it rolled on, swarmed with women and children. An aged patriarch, with hoary locks resting upon his shoulders, enacted the part of charioteer to this primitive establishment; and now, in zealous impatience to reach the scene of action, from which the braying horns came resounding loud and clear through the forest, he was wretchedly belabouring, by means of an endless whip, six unhappy oxen to augment their speed. I had travelled not many miles when a black cloud spread itself rapidly over the sky, and in a few moments the thunder began to bellow, the lightnings to flash, and the rain to fall in torrents. {209} Luckily enough for me, I found myself in the neighbourhood of man's habitation. Leaping hastily from my steed, and lending him an impetus with my riding whip which carried him safely beneath a hospitable shed which stood thereby, I betook myself, without ceremony or delay, to the mansion house itself, glad enough to find its roof above me as the first big raindrops came splashing to the ground. The little edifice was tenanted by three females and divers flaxen-pated, sun-bleached urchins of all ages and sizes, and, at the moment of my entrance, all in high dudgeon, because, forsooth, they were not to be permitted to drench themselves in the anticipated shower. Like Noah's dove, they were accordingly pulled within the ark, and thereupon thought proper to set up their several and collective _Ebenezers_. "Well!" was my exclamation, in true Yankee fashion, as I bowed my head low in entering the humble postern; "we're going to get pretty considerable of a sprinkling, I guess." "I reckon," was the sententious response of the most motherly-seeming of the three women, at the same time vociferating to the three larger of the children, "Oh, there, you Bill, Sall, Polly, honeys, get the gentleman a cheer! Walk in, sir; set down and take a seat!" This evolution of "setting down and taking a seat" was at length successfully effected, after sundry manoeuvrings by way of planting the three pedestals of the uncouth tripod upon the same plane, and avoiding the fearful yawnings in the _puncheon_ floor. When all was at length quiet, I {210} improved the opportunity of gazing about me to explore the curious habitation into which I found myself inserted. The structure, about twenty feet square, had originally been constructed of rough logs, the interstices stuffed with fragments of wood and stone, and daubed with clay; the chimney was built up of sticks laid crosswise, and plastered with the same material to resist the fire. Such had been the backwoodsman's cabin in its primitive prime; but time and the elements had been busy with the little edifice, and sadly had it suffered. Window or casement was there none, neither was there need thereof; for the hingeless door stood ever open, the clay was disappearing from the intervals between the logs, and the huge fireplace of stone exhibited yawning apertures, abundantly sufficient for all the purposes of light and ventilation to the single apartment of the building. The _puncheon_ floor I have alluded to, and it corresponded well with the roof of the cabin, which had never, in its best estate, been designed to resist the peltings of such a pitiless torrent as was now assailing it. The water soon began trickling in little rivulets upon my shoulders, and my only alternative was my umbrella for shelter. The furniture of the apartment consisted of two plank-erections designed for bedsteads, which, with a tall clothes-press, divers rude boxes, and a side-saddle, occupied a better moiety of the area; while a rough table, a shelf against the wall, upon which stood a water-pail, a gourd, and a few broken trenchers, completed the household paraphernalia {211} of this most unique of habitations. A half-consumed flitch of bacon suspended in the chimney, and a huge iron pot upon the fire, from which issued a savoury indication of the seething mess within, completes the "still-life" of the picture. Upon one of the beds reclined one of the females to avoid the rain; a second was alternating her attentions between her infant and her needle; while the third, a buxom young baggage, who, by-the-by, was on a visit to her sister, was busying herself in the culinary occupations of the household, much the chief portion of which consisted in watching the huge dinner-pot aforesaid, with its savoury contents. After remaining nearly two hours in the cabin, in hopes that the storm would abate, I concluded that, since my umbrella was no sinecure _within_ doors, it might as well be put in requisition _without_, and mounted my steed, though the rain was yet falling. I had proceeded but a few miles upon the muddy pathway when my compass informed me that I had varied from my route, a circumstance by no means uncommon on the Western prairies. During the whole afternoon, therefore, I continued upon my way across a broad pathless prairie, some twelve or eighteen miles in extent, and dreary enough withal, until nightfall, when I rejoiced to find myself the inmate of the comfortable farmhouse upon its edge from which my last was dated. _Hillsborough, Ill._ XIX "Skies softly beautiful, and blue As Italy's, with stars as bright; Flowers rich as morning's sunrise hue, And gorgeous as the gemm'd midnight. Land of the West! green Forest Land, Thus hath Creation's bounteous hand Upon thine ample bosom flung Charms such as were her gift when the green world was young!" GALLAGHER. "Go thou to the house of prayer, I to the woodlands will repair." KIRK WHITE. "There is religion in a flower; Its still small voice is as the voice of conscience." BELL. More than three centuries ago, when the romantic Ponce de Leon, with his chivalrous followers, first planted foot upon the southern extremity of the great Western Valley, the discovery of the far-famed "Fountain of Youth" was the wild vision which lured him on. Though disappointed in the object of his enterprise, the adventurous Spaniard was enraptured with the loveliness of a land which even the golden realms of "Old Castile" had never realized; and _Florida_,[143] "the Land of Flowers," was the poetic name it inspired. Twenty years, and the bold soldier Ferdinand de Soto, of Cuba, {213} the associate of Pizarro, with a thousand steel-clad warriors at his back, penetrated the valley to the far-distant post of Arkansas, and "_El padre de las aguas_" was the expressive name of the mighty stream he discovered, beneath the eternal flow of whose surges he laid his bones to their rest.[144] "_La Belle Rivière!_" was the delighted exclamation which burst from the lips of the Canadian voyageur, as, with wonder hourly increasing, he glided in his light pirogue between the swelling bluffs, and wound among the thousand isles of the beautiful Ohio. The heroic Norman, Sieur La Salle, when for the first time he beheld the pleasant hunting-grounds of the peaceful Illini, pronounced them a "Terrestrial Paradise." Daniel Boone, the bold pioneer of the West, fifty years ago, when standing on the last blue line of the Alleghanies, and at the close of a day of weary journeying, he looked down upon the beautiful fields of "Old Kentucke," now gilded by the evening sun, turned his back for ever upon the green banks of the Yadkin and the soil of his nativity, hailing the glories of a new-found home.[145] "Fair wert thou, in the dreams Of elder time, thou land of glorious flowers, And summer winds, and low-toned silvery streams, Dim with the shadows of thy laurel bowers." And thus has it ever been; and even yet the "pilgrim from the North" rejoices with untold joy over the golden beauties of the Valley beyond the Mountains. {214} It was a fine Sabbath morning when I mounted my steed at the gate of the log farmhouse where I had passed the night, to pursue my journey over the prairie, upon the verge of which it stood. The village of Hillsborough was but a few miles distant, and there I had resolved to observe the sacredness of the day. The showers of the preceding evening had refreshed the atmosphere, which danced over the plain in exhilarating gales, and rustled among the boughs of the green woodlands I was leaving. Before me was spread out a waving, undulating landscape, with herds of cattle sprinkled here and there in isolated masses over the surface; the rabbit and wild-fowl were sporting along the pathway, and the bright woodpecker, with his splendid plumage and querulous note, was flitting to and fro among the thickets. Far away along the eastern horizon stretched the dark line of forest. The gorgeous prairie-flower flung out its crimson petals upon the breeze, "blushing like a banner bathed in slaughter," and methought it snapped more gayly in the morning sunbeams than it was wont; the long grass rustled musically its wavy masses back and forth, and, amid the Sabbath stillness around, methought there were there notes of sweetness not before observed. The whole scene lay calm and quiet, as if Nature, if not man, recognised the Divine injunction _to rest_; and the idea suggested itself, that a solitary Sabbath on the wild prairie, in silent converse with the Almighty, might not be all unprofitable. {215} "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die."[146] From the centre of the prairie the landscape rolled gracefully away towards the eastern timber, studded along its edge with farms. The retrospect from beneath the tall oaks of the prairie over which I had passed was exceedingly fine; the idea strikes the spectator at once, and with much force, that the whole plain was once a sheet of water. Indeed, were we to form our opinion from the _appearance_ of many of the prairies of Illinois, the idea would be irresistible, that this peculiar species of surface originated in a submersion of the whole state. There are many circumstances which lead us to the conclusion that these vast meadows once formed the bed of a body of water similar to the Northern lakes; and when the lowest point at the _Grand Tower_ on the Mississippi was torn away by some convulsion of nature, a uniform surface of fine rich mud was left. The ravines were ploughed in the soft soil by subsequent floods, and hence, while the elevated lands are fertile, those more depressed are far less so. The soil of the prairies is of a character decidedly alluvial, being composed of compact strata of loam piled upon each other, like that at the bottom of bodies of water long stagnant. The first stratum is a black, pliable mould, from two feet to five in depth; the second a red clay, amalgamated with sand, from {216} five to ten feet in thickness; the third a blue clay, mixed with pebbles, of beautiful appearance, unctuous to the feeling, and, when exposed to the atmosphere, of a fetid smell. Lakes are often found in the prairies abounding in fish, which, when the waters subside, are removed by cartloads. The origin of these vast prairie-plains is, after all, no easy matter to decide; but, whatever the cause, they have doubtless been perpetuated by the autumnal fires which, year after year, from an era which the earliest chronicles of history or tradition have failed to record, have swept their surface; for, as soon as the grass is destroyed by the plough, the winged seeds of the cotton-wood and sycamore take root, and a young growth of timber sprouts forth. The same is true along the margin of creeks and streams, or upon steril or wet prairies, where the vegetation does not become sufficiently heavy or combustible for conflagration to a great extent. These fires originated either in the friction of the sear and tinder-like underbrush, agitated by the high winds, or they were kindled by the Indians for the purpose of dislodging game. The mode of hunting by circular fires is said to have prevailed at the time when Captain Smith first visited the shores of Chesapeake Bay, where extensive prairies then existed. These plains, by cultivation, have long since disappeared. Mungo Park describes the annual fires upon the plains of Western Africa for a similar purpose and with the same result.[147] Tracts of considerable extent in {217} the older settlements of the country, which many years since were meadow, are clothed with forest. "Coot morning, shur! A pleashant tay, shur! Coome in, shur!" was the hospitable greeting of mine host, or rather of the major domo of the little brick hostelrie of Hillsborough as I drove up to the bar-room entrance. He was a comical-looking, bottle-shaped little personage, with a jolly red nose, all the brighter, doubtless, for certain goodly potations of his own goodly admixtures; with a brief brace of legs, inserted into a pair of inexpressibles _à la Turque_, a world too big, and a white capote a world too little, to complete the Sunday toilet. He could boast, moreover, that amazing lubricity of speech, and that oiliness of tongue wherewith sinful publicans have ever been prone to beguile unwary wayfarers, _taking in travellers_, forsooth! Before I was fully aware of the change in my circumstances, I found myself quietly dispossessed of horse and equipments, and placing my foot across the threshold. The fleshy little Dutchman, though now secure in his capture, proceeded to redouble his assiduities. "Anything to trink, shur? Plack your poots, shur? shave your face, shur?" and a host of farther interrogatories, which I at length contrived to cut short with, "Show me a chamber, sir!" The Presbyterian Church, at which I attended worship, is a neat little edifice of brick, in modern style, but not completed. The walls remained unconscious of plaster; the orchestra, a naked scaffolding; the pulpit, a box of rough boards; and, {218} more _picturesque_ than all, in lieu of pews, slips, or any such thing, a few coarse slabs of all forms and fashions, supported on remnants of timber and plank, occupied the open area for seats. And marvellously comfortless are such seats, to my certain experience. In the evening I attended the "Luteran Church," as my major domo styled it, at the special instance of one of its worthy members. This house of worship is designed for a large one--the largest in the state, I was informed--but, like its neighbour, was as yet but commenced. The external walls were quite complete; but the rafters, beams, studs, and braces within presented a mere skeleton, while a few loose boards, which sprang and creaked beneath the foot, were spread over the sleepers as an apology for a floor. There's practical utility for an economist! Because a church is unfinished is no good and sufficient reason why it should remain unoccupied! As we entered the building, my _cicerone_ very unexpectedly favoured me with an introduction to the minister. He was a dark, solemn-looking man, with a huge Bible and psalm-book choicely tucked under his left arm. After sundry glances at my dress and demeanour, and other sundry whisperings in the ear of my companion, the good man drew nigh, and delivered himself of the interrogatory, "Are you a clergyman, sir?" At this sage inquiry, so sagely administered, my rebellious lips struggled with a smile, which, I misdoubt me much, was not unobserved by the dark-looking minister; {219} for, upon my reply in the negative, he turned very unceremoniously away, and betook him to his pulpit. By-the-by, this had by no means been the first time I had been called to answer the same inquiry during my ramble in the West. On returning to our lodgings after service, we found quite a respectable congregation gathered around the signpost, to whom my pink of major domos was holding forth in no measured terms upon the propriety of "letting off the pig guns" at the dawning of the ever-memorable morrow,[148] "in honour of the tay when our old farders fought like coot fellows; they tid so, py jingoes; and I'll pe out at tree o'glock, py jingoes, I will so," raphsodied the little Dutchman, warming up under the fervour of his own eloquence. This subject was still the theme of his rejoicing when he marshalled me to my dormitory and wished me "pleashant treams." The first faint streak of crimson along the eastern heavens beheld me mounting at the door of the inn; and by my side was the patriotic domo, bowing, and ducking, and telling over all manner of kind wishes till I had evanished from view. A more precious relic of the true oldfashioned, swaggering, pot-bellied publican is rarely to be met, than that which I encountered in the person of the odd little genius whose peculiarities I have recounted: even the worthy old "Caleb of Ravenswood," that miracle of major domos, would not {220} have disowned my _Dutchy_ for a brother craftsman. The village of Hillsborough is a pleasant, healthy, thriving place; and being intersected by some of the most important state routes, will always remain a thoroughfare. An attempt has been made by one of its citizens to obtain for this place the location of the Theological Seminary now in contemplation in the vicinity rather than at Carlinville, and the offer he has made is a truly munificent one. The site proposed is a beautiful mound, rising on the prairie's edge south of the village, commanding a view for miles in every direction, and is far more eligible than any spot I ever observed in Carlinville. After crossing a prairie about a dozen miles in width, and taking breakfast with a farmer upon its edge, I continued my journey over the undulating plains until near the middle of the afternoon, when I reached my present stage. The whole region, as I journeyed through it, lay still and quiet: every farmhouse and log-cabin was deserted by its tenants, who had congregated to the nearest villages to celebrate the day; and, verily, not a little did my heart smite me at my own heedless desecration of the political Sabbath of our land. _Vandalia, Ill._ XX "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes--" _Childe Harold._ "The sun in all his broad career Ne'er looked upon a fairer land, Or brighter skies or sweeter scenes." Ever since the days of that king of vagabonds, the mighty Nimrod of sacred story, and, for aught to the contrary, as long before, there has existed a certain roving, tameless race of wights, whose chief delight has consisted in wandering up and down upon the face of the earth, with no definite object of pursuit, and with no motive of peregrination save a kind of restless, unsatisfied craving after change; in its results much like the migratory instinct of passage-birds, but, unlike that periodical instinct, incessant in exercise. Now, whether it so be that a tincture of this same vagrant, Bohemian spirit is coursing my veins under the name of "Yankee enterprise," or whether, in my wanderings through these wild, unsettled regions, I have imbibed a portion thereof, is not for me to decide. Nevertheless, sure it is, not unfrequently are its promptings detected as I journey through this beautiful land. It is evening now, and, after the fatigues of a pleasant day's ride, I am seated beneath the piazza {222} of a neat farmhouse in the edge of a forest, through which, for the last hour, my path has conducted, and looking out upon a broad landscape of prairie. My landlord, a high-minded, haughty Virginia emigrant, bitterly complains because, forsooth, in the absence of slave-labour, he is forced to cultivate his own farm; and though, by the aid of a Dutchman, he has made a pretty place of it, yet he vows by all he loves to lay his bones within the boundaries of the "Ancient Dominion." My ride since noon has been delightful; over broad plains, intersected by deep creeks, with their densely-wooded bottoms. These streams constitute one of the most romantic features of the country. I have crossed very many during my tour, and all exhibit the same characteristics: a broad, deep-cut channel, with precipitous banks loaded with enormous trees, their trunks interwoven and matted with tangled underbrush and gigantic vegetation. As the traveller stands upon the arch of the bridge of logs thrown over these creeks, sometimes with an altitude at the centre of forty feet, he looks down upon a stream flowing in a deep, serpentine bed, and winding away into the dusky shades of the overhanging woods, until a graceful bend withdraws the dark surface of the waters from his view. In the dry months of summer, these creeks and ravines are either completely free of water, or contain but a mere rivulet; and the traveller is amazed at the depth and breadth of a channel so scantily supplied. But at the season of the spring or autumnal rains the scene is changed: a deep, turbid torrent rolls {223} wildly onward through the dark woods, bearing on its surface the trunks of trees and the ruins of bridges swept from its banks; and the stream which, a few weeks before, would scarcely have wet the traveller's sole, is now an obstacle in his route difficult and dangerous to overcome. Within a few miles of my present quarters an adventure transpired of some slight interest to _myself_, at least, as it afforded me a weary trudge beneath a broiling sun. As I was leisurely pursuing my way through the forest, I had chanced to spy upon the banks of the roadside a cluster of wild flowers of hues unusually brilliant; and, with a spirit worthy of Dr. Bat,[149] I at once resolved they should enrich my "_hortus siccus_." Alighting, therefore, and leaving my steed by the roadside, I at length succeeded, after most laudable scramblings for the advancement of science, in gathering up a bouquet of surpassing magnificence. Alas! alas! would it had been less so; for my youthful steed, all unused to such sights and actions, and possessing, moreover, a most sovereign and shameful indifference to the glories of botany, had long, with suspicious and sidelong glances, been eying the vagaries of his truant master; and now, no sooner did he draw nigh to resume his seat and journey, than the ungracious and ungrateful quadruped flung aloft his head, and away he careered through the green branches, mane streaming and saddle-bags flapping. In vain was the brute addressed in language the most mild and conciliatory that ever insinuated itself into horse's lug; in vain was he ordered, {224} in tones of stern mandate, to cease his shameless and unnatural rebellion, and to surrender himself incontinently and without delay to his liege: entreaty and command, remonstrance and menace, were alike unsuccessful; and away he flew, "with flowing tail and flying mane," in utter contempt of all former or future vassalage. At one moment he stood the attitude of humbleness and submission, coolly cropping the herbage of the high banks; and then, the instant the proximity of his much-abused master became perilous to his freedom, aloft flew mane and tail, and away, away, the animal was off, until an interval consistent with his new-gained license lay behind him. After an hour of vexatious toiling through dust and sun, a happily-executed manoeuvre once more placed the most undutiful of creatures in my power. And then, be ye sure, that in true Gilpin fashion, "whip and spur did make amends" for all arrears of unavenged misbehaviour. "Twas for your pleasure that I _walked_, Now you shall RUN for mine," was the very Christian spirit of retaliation which animated the few succeeding miles. "But something too much of this." Some pages back I was entering the capital of Illinois. The town is approached from the north, through a scattered forest, separating it from the prairies; and its unusually large and isolated buildings, few in number as they are, stationed here and there upon the eminences of the broken surface, give the place a singularly novel aspect viewed from the adjacent {225} heights. There is but little of scenic attraction about the place, and, to the traveller's eye, still less of the picturesque. Such huge structures as are here beheld, in a town so inconsiderable in extent, present an unnatural and forced aspect to one who has just emerged from the wild waste of the neighbouring prairies, sprinkled with their humble tenements of logs. The scene is not in keeping; it is not picturesque. Such, at all events, were my "first impressions" on entering the village, and _first_ impressions are not necessarily false. As I drew nigh to the huge white tavern, a host of people were swarming the doors; and, from certain uncouth noises which from time to time went up from the midst thereof, not an inconsiderable portion of the worthy multitude seemed to have succeeded in rendering themselves gloriously tipsy in honour of the glorious day. There was one keen, bilious-looking genius in linsey-woolsey, with a face, in its intoxicated state, like a red-hot tomahawk, whom I regarded with special admiration as high-priest of the bacchanal; and so fierce and high were his objurgations, that the idea with some force suggested itself, whether, in the course of years, he had not screamed his lean and hungry visage to its present hatchet-like proportions. May he forgive if I err. But not yet were my adventures over. Having effected a retreat from the abominations of the bar-room, I had retired to a chamber in the most quiet corner of the mansion, and had seated myself to endite an epistle, when a rap at the door announced the presence of mine host, leading along an old {226} yeoman whom I had noticed among the revellers; and, having given him a ceremonious introduction, withdrew. To what circumstance I was indebted for this unexpected honour, I was puzzling myself to divine, when the old gentleman, after a preface of clearings of the throat and scratchings of the head, gave me briefly to understand, much to my admiration, that I was believed to be neither more nor less than an "Agent for a Western Land Speculating Company of the North," etc., etc.: and then, in a confidential tone, before a syllable of negation or affirmation could be offered, that he "owned a certain tract of land, so many acres prairie, so many timber, so many cultivated, so many wild," etc., etc.: the sequel was anticipated by undeceiving the old farmer forthwith, though with no little difficulty. The cause of this mistake I subsequently discovered to be a very slight circumstance. On the tavern register in the bar-room I had entered as my residence my native home at the North, more for the novelty of the idea than for anything else; or because, being a sort of cosmopolitan, I might presume myself at liberty to appropriate any spot I thought proper as that of my departure or destination. As a matter of course, and with laudable desire to augment their sum of useful knowledge, no sooner had the traveller turned from the register than the sagacious host and his compeer brandy-bibbers turned towards it; and being unable to conceive any reasonable excuse for a man to be wandering so far from his home except for lucre's sake, the conclusion at once and irresistibly followed that {227} the stranger was a land-speculator, or something thereunto akin; and it required not many moments for such a wildfire idea to run through such an inflammable mass of curiosity. With the situation and appearance of Vandalia I was not, as I have expressed myself, much prepossessed; indeed, I was somewhat disappointed.[150] Though not prepared for anything very striking, yet in the capital of a state we always anticipate something, if not superior or equal, at least not inferior to neighbouring towns of less note. Its site is an elevated, undulating tract upon the west bank of the Kaskaskia, and was once heavily timbered, as are now its suburbs. The streets are of liberal breadth--some of them not less than eighty feet from kerb to kerb--enclosing an elevated public square nearly in the centre of the village, which a little expenditure of time and money might render a delightful promenade. The public edifices are very inconsiderable, consisting of an ordinary structure of brick for legislative purposes; a similar building originally erected as a banking establishment, but now occupied by the offices of the state authorities; a Presbyterian Church, with cupola and bell, besides a number of lesser buildings for purposes of worship and education. A handsome structure of stone for a bank is, however, in progress, which, when completed, with other public buildings in contemplation, will add much to the aspect of the place. Here also is a land-office for the district, and the Cumberland Road is permanently located and partially constructed to the {228} place. An historical and antiquarian society has here existed for about ten years, and its published proceedings evince much research and information. "The Illinois Magazine" was the name of an ably-conducted periodical commenced at this town some years since, and prosperously carried on by Judge Hall, but subsequently removed to Cincinnati.[151] Some of the articles published in this magazine, descriptive of the state, were of high merit. It is passing strange that a town like Vandalia, with all the natural and artificial advantages it possesses; located nearly twenty years ago, by state authority, expressly as the seat of government; situated upon the banks of a fine stream, which small expense would render navigable for steamers, and in the heart of a healthy and fertile region, should have increased and flourished no more than seems to have been the case. Vandalia will continue the seat of government until the year 1840; when, agreeable to the late act of Legislature, it is to be removed to Springfield, where an appropriation of $50,000 has been made for a state-house now in progress. The growth of Vandalia, though tardy, can perhaps be deemed so only in comparison with the more rapid advancement of neighbouring towns; for a few years after it was laid off it was unsurpassed in improvement by any other. We are told that the first legislators who assembled in session at this place sought their way through the neighbouring prairies as the mariner steers over the trackless ocean, by his knowledge of the cardinal points. {229} Judges and lawyers came pouring in from opposite directions, as wandering tribes assemble to council; and many were the tales of adventure and mishap related at their meeting. Some had been lost in the prairies; some had slept in the woods; some had been almost chilled to death, plunging through creeks and rivers. A rich growth of majestic oaks then covered the site of the future metropolis; tangled thickets almost impervious to human foot surrounded it, and all was wilderness on every side. Wonderful accounts of the country to the north; of rich lands, and pure streams, and prairies more beautiful than any yet discovered, soon began to come in by the hunters.[152] But over that country the Indian yet roved, and the adventurous pioneer neither owned the soil he cultivated, nor had the power to retain its possession from the savage. Only eight years after this, and a change, as if by magic, had come over the little village of Vandalia; and not only so, but over the whole state, which was now discovered to be a region more extensive and far more fertile than the "sacred island of Britain." The region previously the frontier formed the heart of the fairest portion of the state, and a dozen new counties were formed within its extent. Mail-routes and post-roads, diverging in all directions from the capital, had been established, and canals and railways had been projected. Eight years more, and the "Northern frontier" is the seat of power and population; and {230} here is removed the seat of government, because the older settlements have not kept pace in advancement. It was a fine mellow morning when I left Vandalia to pursue my journey over the prairies to Carlisle. For some miles my route lay through a dense clump of old woods, relieved at intervals by extended glades of sparser growth. This road is but little travelled, and so obscure that for most of the way I could avail myself of no other guide than the "_blaze_" upon the trees; and this mark in many places, from its ancient, weather-beaten aspect, seemed placed there by the axe of the earliest pioneer. Rank grass has obliterated the pathway, and overhanging boughs brush the cheek. It was in one of those extended glades I have mentioned that a nobly-antlered buck and his beautiful doe sprang out upon the path, and stood gazing upon me from the wayside until I had approached so near that a rifle, even in hands all unskilled in "gentle woodcraft," had not been harmless. I was even beginning to meditate upon the probable effect of a pistol-shot at twenty paces, when the graceful animals, throwing proudly up their arching necks, bounded off into the thicket. Not many miles from the spot I shared the rough fare of an old hunter, who related many interesting facts in the character and habits of this animal, and detailed some curious anecdotes in the history of his own wild life. He was just about leaving his lodge on a short hunting excursion, and the absence of a rifle alone prevented me from accepting a civil request to bear him company. {231} Most of the route from Vandalia to Carlisle is very tolerable, with the exception of one detestable spot, fitly named "Hurricane Bottom;" a more dreary, desolate, purgatorial region than which, I am very free to say, exists not in Illinois.[153] It is a densely-wooded swamp, composed of soft blue clay, exceedingly tenacious to the touch and fetid in odour, extending nearly two miles. A regular highway over this mud-hole can scarcely be said to exist, though repeated attempts to construct one have been made at great expense: and now the traveller, upon entering this "slough of despond," gives his horse the reins to slump, and slide, and plunge, and struggle through among the mud-daubed trees to the best of his skill and ability. Night overtook me in the very heart of a broad prairie; and, like the sea, a desolate place is the prairie of a dark night. It demanded no little exercise of the eye and judgment to continue upon a route where the path was constantly diverging and varying in all directions. A bright glare of light at a distance at length arrested my attention. On approaching, I found it to proceed from an encampment of tired emigrants, whose ponderous teams were wheeled up around the blazing fire; while the hungry oxen, released from the yoke, were browsing upon the tops of the tall prairie-grass on every side. This grass, though coarse in appearance, in the early stages of its growth resembles young wheat, and furnishes a rich and succulent food for cattle. It is even asserted that, when running at large in fields where the young wheat covers the {232} ground, cattle choose the prairie-grass in the margin of the field in preference to the wheat itself. A few scattered, twinkling lights, and the fresh-smelling air from the Kaskaskia, soon after informed me that I was not far from the village of Carlisle.[154] This is a pleasant, romantic little town, upon the west bank of the river, and upon the great stage-route through the state from St. Louis to Vincennes. This circumstance, and the intersection of several other state thoroughfares, give it the animated, business-like aspect of a market town, not often witnessed in a village so remote from the advantages of general commerce. Its site is elevated and salubrious, on the border of a fertile prairie: yet, notwithstanding all these advantages, Carlisle cannot be said to have increased very rapidly when we consider that twenty years have elapsed since it was first laid off for a town. It is the seat of justice for Clinton county, and can boast a wooden courthouse in "ruinous perfection." In its vicinity are some beautiful country-seats. One of these, named "Mound Farm," the delightful residence of Judge B----, imbowered in trees and shrubbery, and about a mile from the village, I visited during my stay. It commands from its elevated site a noble view of the neighbouring prairie, the village and river at its foot, and the adjacent farms. Under the superintendence of cultivated taste, this spot may become one of the loveliest retreats in Illinois. _Clinton County, Ill._ XXI "To him who, in the love of Nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language." THANATOPSIS. "The sunny Italy may boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovely round the Grecian coast May thy blue pillars rise: I only know how fair they stand About my own beloved land." _The Skies._--BRYANT. To the man of cultivated imagination and delicate taste, the study of nature never fails to afford a gratification, refined as it is exquisite. In the pencilled petals of the flower as it bows to the evening breeze; in the glittering scales of the fish leaping from the wave; in the splendid plumage of the forest-bird, and in the music-tinklings of the wreathed and enamelled sea-shell rocked by the billow, he recognises an eloquence of beauty which he alone can appreciate. For him, too, the myriad forms of animate creation unite with inanimate nature in one mighty hymn of glory to their Maker, from the hum of the sparkling ephemeroid as he blithely dances away his little life in the beams of a summer sun, and the rustling music of the prairie-weed swept by the winds, to the roar of the shaggy woods upon the mountain-side, and the fierce, wild shriek of the ocean-eagle. To investigate {234} the more minute and delicate of Nature's workings is indeed a delightful task; and along this fairy and flowery pathway the cultivated fancy revels with unmingled gratification; but, as the mind approaches the vaster exhibitions of might and majesty, the booming of the troubled ocean, the terrible sublimity of the midnight storm, the cloudy magnificence of the mountain height, the venerable grandeur of the aged forest, it expands itself in unison till lost in the immensity of created things. Reflections like these are constantly suggesting themselves to the traveller's thoughts amid the grand scenery of the West; but at no season do they rise more vividly upon the mind than when the lengthened shadows of evening are stealing over the landscape, and the summer sun is sinking to his rest. This is the "magic hour" when "Bright clouds are gathering one by one, Sweeping in pomp round the dying sun; With crimson banner and golden pall, Like a host to their chieftain's funeral." There is not a more magnificent spectacle in nature than summer sunset on the Western prairie. I have beheld the orb of day, after careering his course like a giant through the firmament, go down into the fresh tumbling billows of ocean; and sunset on the prairies, which recalls that scene, is alone equalled by it. Near nightfall one evening I found myself in the middle of one of these vast extended plains, where the eye roves unconfined over the scene, for miles unrelieved by a stump, or a tree, or a thicket, and meets only the deep blue of the horizon on {235} every side, blending with the billowy foliage of the distant woodland. Descending a graceful slope, even this object is lost, and a boundless landscape of blue above and green below is unfolded to the traveller's vision; again, approaching the summit of the succeeding slope, the forest rises in clear outline in the margin of the vast panorama. For some hours the heavens had been so enveloped in huge masses of brassy clouds, that now, when the shadows deepened over sky and earth, one was at a loss to determine whether the sun had yet gone down, except for a broad zone of sapphire girding the whole western firmament. Upon the superior edge of this deep belt now glistened the luminary, gradually revealing itself to the eye, and blazing forth at length "like angels' locks unshorn," flinging a halo of golden effulgence far athwart the dim evening prairie. A metamorphosis so abrupt, so rapid, so unlooked for, seemed almost to realize the fables of enchantment. One moment, and the whole vast landscape lay veiled in shadowy dimness; the next, and every grass blade, and spray, and floweret, and nodding wild-weed seemed suffused in a flood of liquid effulgence; while far along, the uniform ridges of the heaving plain gleamed in the rich light like waves of a moonlit sea, sweeping away, roll upon roll, till lost in distance to the eye. Slowly the splendid disk went down behind the sea of waving verdure, until at length a single point of intense, bewildering brightness flamed out above the mass of green. An instant, this too was gone--as "An angel's wing through an opening cloud, Is seen and then withdrawn:"-- {236} and then those deep, lurid funeral fires of departing day streamed, flaring upward even to the zenith, flinging over the vast concave a robe of unearthly, terrible magnificence! Then, as the fount of all this splendour sank deeper and deeper beneath the horizon, the blood-red flames died gently away into the mellow glories of summer evening skylight, bathing the brow of heaven in a tender roseate, which hours after cheered the lonely traveller across the waste. The pilgrim wanderer in other climes comes back to tell us of sunnier skies and softer winds! The blue heavens of Italy have tasked the inspiration of an hundred bards, and the warm brush of her own Lorraine has swept the canvass with their gorgeous transcript! But what pencil has wandered over the grander scenes of the North American prairie? What bard has struck his lyre to the wild melody of loveliness of the prairie sunset? Yet who shall tell us that there exists not a glory in the scene, amid the untrod wastes of the wilderness West, which even the skies of "sunny Italy" might not blush anew to acknowledge? No wandering Harold has roamed on a pilgrimage of poetry over the sublime and romantic scenery of our land, to hymn its praise in breathing thoughts and glowing words; yet here as there, "Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away: The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone--and all is gray!" I cannot tell of the beauties of climes I have never seen; but I have gazed upon all the varied loveliness of my own fair, native land, from the rising {237} sun to its setting, and in vain have tasked my fancy to image a fairer. A pleasant day's ride directly west from Carlisle, over extensive and beautiful prairies, intersected by shady woods, with their romantic creeks, and the traveller finds himself in the quiet village of Lebanon. Its site is a commanding, mound-like elevation in the skirts of a forest, swelling gently up from the prairie on the west bank of Little Silver Creek.[155] This stream, with the larger branch, received its name from the circumstance that the early French settlers of the country, in the zeal of their faith and research for the precious metals, a long while mistook the brilliant specula of _horneblende_ which flow in its clear waters for silver, and were unwilling to be undeceived in their extravagant anticipations until the absence of the material in their purses aroused them from their error. In the neighbourhood of Rock Spring a shaft for a mine was sunk.[156] It was early one beautiful morning that I found myself approaching the village of Lebanon, though many miles distant in the adjacent plain; appropriately named for its loveliness the "Looking-glass Prairie." The rosy sunbeams were playing lightly over the pleasant country-seats and neat farmhouses, with their white palings, sprinkled along the declivity before me, imbowered in their young orchards and waving maize-fields; while flocks and herds, {238} gathered in isolated masses over the intervening meadow, were cropping the rich herbage. To the right and left, and in the rear, the prairie stretches away beyond the view. The body of the village is situated about one mile from these suburbs, and its character and history may be summed up in the single sentence, _a pleasant little Methodist country village_. The peculiarities of the sect are here strikingly manifested to the traveller in all the ordinary concerns and occupations of life, even in the every-day garb and conversation of its sober-browed citizens. It presents the spectacle, rare as it is cheering, of an entire community characterized by its reverence for religion. Located in its immediate vicinity is a flourishing seminary, called McKendreean College.[157] It is under the supervision of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and has at present two instructers, with about fifty pupils in the preparatory department. It has a commodious frame building, presenting from its elevated site an imposing view to the traveller. As is usually the case with these little out-of-the-world villages, when any object comes up in the midst around which the feelings and interests of all may cluster, upon this institution is centred the heart and soul of every man, to say not a word of all the women and children, in Lebanon; and everything not connected, either remotely or immediately, with its welfare, is deemed of very little, if of any importance. "_The Seminary! The Seminary!_" I defy a traveller to tarry two hours in the village without hearing rung all the changes upon that topic for his edification. The surrounding region is fertile, populous, {239} and highly cultivated; and for an inland, farming village, it is quite as bustling, I suppose, as should be expected; though, during my visit, its streets--which, by-the-by, are of very liberal breadth--maintained a most Sabbath-like aspect. The route from Lebanon to Belleville is, in fine weather, very excellent. Deep woods on either side of the hard, smooth, winding pathway, throw their boughs over the head, sometimes lengthening away into an arched vista miles in extent. It was a sultry afternoon when I was leisurely travelling along this road; and the shadowy coolness of the atmosphere, the perfume of wild flowers and aromatic herbs beneath the underbrush, and the profusion of summer fruit along the roadside, was indescribably delightful. Near sunset, a graceful bend of the road around a clump of trees placed before me the pretty little village of Belleville; its neat enclosures and white cottages peeping through the shrubbery, now gilded by the mellow rays of sunset in every leaf and spray.[158] Whether it was owing to this agreeable coincidence, or to the agreeable visit I here enjoyed, that I conceived such an attachment for the place, I cannot say; but sure it is, I fell in love with the little town at _first_ sight; and, what is more marvellous, was not, according to all precedent, cured at second, when on the following morning I sallied forth to reconnoitre its beauties "at mine own good leisure." Now it is to be presumed that, agreeable to the taste of six travellers in a dozen, I have passed through many a village in Illinois quite as attractive as this same Belleville: but to convince me of the fact would be no {240} easy task. "Man is the sport of circumstance," says the fatalist; and however this may be in the moral world, if any one feels disposed to doubt upon the matter in the item before us, let him disembark from a canal-boat at Pittsburgh on a rainy, misty, miserable morning; and then, unable to secure for his houseless head a shelter from the pitiless peltings, let him hurry away through the filthy streets, deluged with inky water, to a crowded Ohio steamer; and if "_circumstances_" do not force him to dislike Pittsburgh ever after, then his human nature is vastly more forbearing than my own. Change the picture. Let him enter the quiet little Illinois village at the gentle hour of sunset; let him meet warm hospitality, and look upon fair forms and bright faces, and if he fail to be pleased with that place, why, "he's not the man I took him for." The public buildings of Belleville are a handsome courthouse of brick, a wretched old jail of the same material, a public hall belonging to a library company, and a small framed Methodist house of worship. It is situated in the centre of "Turkey-hill Settlement," one of the oldest and most flourishing in the state, and has a fine timber tract and several beautiful country-seats in its vicinity. Leaving Belleville with some reluctance, and not a few "longing, lingering looks behind," my route continued westward over a broken region of alternating forest and prairie, sparsely sprinkled with trees, and yet more sparsely with inhabitants. At length, having descended a precipitous hill, the rounded summit of which, as well as the adjoining heights, commanded an immense expanse of level {241} landscape, stretching off from the base, I stood once more upon the fertile soil of the "_American Bottom_." The sharp, heavy-roofed French cottages, with low verandahs running around; the ungainly outhouses and enclosures; the curiously-fashioned vehicles and instruments of husbandry in the barnyards and before the doors; the foreign garb and dialect of the people; and, above all, the amazing fertility of the soil, over whose exhaustless depths the maize has rustled half a century, constitute the most striking characteristics of this interesting tract, in the section over which I was passing. This settlement, extending from the foot of the bluffs for several miles over the Bottom, was formed about forty years ago by a colony from Cahokia, and known by the name of "_Little French Village_;" it now comprises about twenty houses and a grogshop. In these bluffs lies an exhaustless bed of bituminous coal: vast quantities have been transported to St. Louis, and for this purpose principally is the railway to the river designed. This vein of coal is said to have been discovered by the rivulet of a spring issuing from the base of the bluffs. The stratum is about six feet in thickness, increasing in size as it penetrates the hill horizontally. Though somewhat rotten and slaty, it is in some particulars not inferior to the coal of the Alleghanies; and the vein is thought to extend from the mouth of the Kaskaskia to that of the Illinois. About three miles below the present shaft, a continuation of the bed was discovered by fire communicated from the root of a tree; the bank of coal burnt for upward of a {242} twelvemonth, and the conflagration was then smothered only by the falling in of the superincumbent soil. St. Clair county, which embraces a large portion of the American Bottom, is the oldest settlement in the state. In 1795 the county was formed by the Legislature of the Northwestern Territory, and then included all settlements in Illinois east of the Mississippi. I had just cleverly cleared the outskirts of the little antediluvian village beneath the bluffs, when a dark, watery-looking cloud came tumbling up out of the west; the thunder roared across the Bottom and was reverberated from the cliffs, and in a few moments down came the big rain-drops dancing in torrents from the clouds, and pattering up like mist along the plain. Verily, groaned forth the wo-begone traveller, this is the home of clouds and the realm of thunder! Never did hapless mortals sustain completer drenchings than did the traveller and his steed, notwithstanding upon the first onset they had plunged themselves into the sheltering depths of the wood. A half hour's gallop over the slippery bottom, and the stern roar of a steamer's 'scape-pipe informed me that I was not far from the "great waters." A few yards through the belt of forest, and the city of San Louis, with towers and roofs, stood before me. _St. Louis._ XXII "I have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for; a mere spectator of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they play their parts."--_Anat. of Melancholy._ "Oh ye dread scenes, where Nature dwells alone, Serenely glorious on her craggy throne; Ye citadels of rock, gigantic forms, Veiled by the mists, and girdled by the storms; Ravines, and glens, and deep-resounding caves, That hold communion with the torrent waves." HEMANS. Ah, the single blessedness of the unmarried state! Such is the sentiment of an ancient worthy, quietly expressed in the lines which I have selected for a motto. After dozing away half his days and all his energies within the dusky walls of a university, tumbling over musty tomes and shrivelled parchments until his very brain had become cobwebbed as the alcoves he haunted, and the blood in his veins was all "adust and thin;" then, forsooth, the shameless old fellow issues forth with his vainglorious sentiment upon his lips! And yet, now that we consider, there is marvellous "method" in the old man's "madness!" In very truth and soberness, there is a blessedness which the bachelor can boast, _single_ though it be, in which the "man of family," though _doubly_ blessed, cannot share! To the former, life may be made one long holyday, and its path a varied and flowery one! while to the poor {244} victim of matrimonial toils, _wife and children_ are the Alpha and Omega of a weary existence! Of all travelling companionship, forfend us from that of a married man! Independence! He knows not of it! Such is the text and such the commentary: now for the practical application. It was a balmy July morning, and the flutelike melody of the turtle-dove was ringing through the woodlands. Leaving the pleasant villa of Dr. F. in the environs of North St. Louis, I found myself once more fairly _en route_, winding along that delightful road which sweeps the western bottom of the Mississippi. Circumstances not within my control, Benedict though I am, had recalled me, after a ramble of but a few weeks over the prairies, again to the city, and compelled me to relinquish my original design of a tour of the extreme Northwest. Ah, the despotism of circumstance! My delay, however, proved a brief, though pleasant one; and with a something of mingled _regret_ and anticipation it was that I turned from the bright eyes and dark locks of St. Louis--"forgive my folly"--and once again beheld its imposing structures fade in distance. By far the most delightful drive in the vicinity of St. Louis is that of four or five miles in its northern suburbs, along the river bottom. The road, emerging from the streets of the city through one of its finest sections, and leaving the "Big Mound" upon the right, sweeps off for several miles upon a succession of broad plateaux, rolling up from the water's edge. To the left lies an extensive range of heights, surmounted by ancient mounds and crowned with {245} groves of the shrub-oak, which afford a delightful shade to the road running below. Along this elevated ridge beautiful country-seats, with graceful piazzas and green Venitian blinds, are caught from time to time glancing through the shrubbery; while to the right, smooth meadows spread themselves away to the heavy belt of forest which margins the Mississippi. Among these pleasant villas the little white farm-cottage, formerly the residence of Mr. C., beneath the hills, surrounded by its handsome grounds, and gardens, and glittering fishponds, partially shrouded by the broad leaved catalpa, the willow, the acacia, and other ornamental trees, presents, perhaps, the rarest instance of natural beauty adorned by refined taste. A visit to this delightful spot during my stay at St. Louis informed me of the fact that, within as well as abroad, the hand of education and refinement had not been idle. Paintings, busts, medallions, Indian curiosities, &c., &c., tastefully arranged around the walls and shelves of an elegant library, presented a feast to the visiter as rare in the Far West as it is agreeable to a cultivated mind. Near this cottage is the intended site of the building of the St. Louis Catholic University, a lofty and commanding spot.[159] A considerable tract was here purchased, at a cost of thirty thousand dollars; but the design of removal from the city has for the present been relinquished. Immediately adjoining is situated the stately villa of Colonel O'Fallon, with its highly-cultivated gardens and its beautiful park sweeping off in the rear. In a very few years this must become one of the most delightful spots {246} in the West. For its elegant grounds, its green and hot houses, and its exotic and indigenous plants, it is, perhaps, already unequalled west of Cincinnati. No expense, attention, or taste will be wanting to render it all of which the spot is capable. Leaving the Bottom, the road winds gracefully off from the Mississippi, over the hard soil of the bluffs, through a region broken up by sink-holes, and covered with a meager growth of oaks, with small farms at intervals along the route, until at length the traveller finds himself at that beautiful spot on the Missouri, Belle Fontaine, fifteen miles from St. Louis. On account of the salubrity and beauty of the site, an army cantonment was located here by General Wilkinson in the early part of the present century, and fortifications consisting of palisade-work existed, and a line of log-barracks sufficient to quarter half a regiment. Nothing now remains but a pile of ruins. "The barracks have crumpled into dust, and the ploughshare has passed over the promenade of the sentinel." Jefferson Barracks, in the southern environs of the city, have superseded the old fortress, and the spot has been sold to a company, which has here laid off a town; and as most of the lots have been disposed of, and a turnpike-road from St. Louis has been chartered, a succeeding tourist may, at no distant period, pencil it in his notebook "a flourishing village." _Cold Water Creek_ is the name of a clear stream which empties itself into the Missouri just above, upon which are several mill-privileges; and from the base of the bluff itself gushes a fountain, on account {247} of which the place received its name from the French. The site for the new town is a commanding and beautiful one, being a bold, green promontory, rising from the margin of the stream about four miles above its confluence with the Mississippi. The view developed to the eye of the spectator from this spot on a fine day is one of mingled sublimity and beauty. For some miles these old giants of the West are beheld roaming along through their deep, fertile valleys, so different in character and aspect that one can hardly reconcile with that diversity the fact that their destiny is soon to become _one_ and unchangeably the same. And then comes the mighty "meeting of the waters," to which no pen can hope to render justice. There is a singular circumstance related of the discovery of a large _human tooth_ many years since at Belle Fontaine, in excavating a well, when at the depth of forty feet. This was the more extraordinary as the spot was not alluvion, and could have undergone no change from natural causes for centuries. Various strata of clay were passed through before the _tooth_ was thrown up; and this circumstance, together with the situation of the place, would almost preclude the possibility of a vein of subterraneous water having conveyed it to the spot. This is mysterious enough, certainly; but the fact is authentic. Returning at an angle of forty-five degrees with the road by which he approaches, a ride of a dozen miles up the Missouri places the traveller upon a bold roll of the prairie, from which, in the beautiful {248} valley below, rising above the forest, appear the steep roofs and tall chimneys of the little hamlet of Florissant.[160] Its original name was St. Ferdinand, titular saint of its church; and though one of the most advanced in years, it is by no means the most antique-looking of those ancient villages planted by the early French. Its site is highly romantic, upon the banks of a creek of the same name, and in the heart of one of the most fertile and luxuriant valleys ever subjected to cultivation.[161] The village now embraces about thirty or forty irregular edifices, somewhat modernized in style and structure, surrounded by extensive corn-fields, wandering flocks of Indian ponies, and herds of cattle browsing in the plain. Here also is a Catholic Church, a neat building of brick, with belfry and bell; connected with which is a convent of nuns, and by these is conducted a Seminary for young ladies of some note. This institution--if the Hibernian hostess of the little inn at which I dined is to be credited in her statements--is the most flourishing establishment in all the region far and near! and "_heducates_ the young _leddies_ in everything but religion!" For the redoubtable _Tonish_, who whilom figured so bravely on the prairies and in print, I made diligent inquiry. His cottage--the best in the village--and a dirty little brood of his posterity, were pointed out to me, but the old worthy himself was, as usual, in the regions of the Rocky Mountains: when last seen, he could still tell the stoutest lie with the steadiest muscles of any man in the village, while he and his {249} hopeful son could cover each other's trail so nicely that a lynx-eye would fail to detect them. In the vicinity of Florissant is a settlement called Owen's Station, formerly the site of a stoccade fort for defence against the Indians, and of a Spanish _station_ on account of a fine fountain in the vicinity.[162] The direct route from St. Louis to Florissant is an excellent one, over a high rolling prairie, and commands a noble sweep of scenery. From several elevated points, the white cliffs beyond the American Bottom, more than twenty miles distant, may be seen, while farmhouses and villas are beheld in all directions gleaming through the groves. Scenery of the same general character presents itself upon the direct route to St. Charles, with the exception of steeper hills and broader plains. Upon this route my path entered nearly at right angles soon after leaving the French village. Upon the right shore of the Missouri, not far above Florissant, is situated _La Charbonnière_, a name given to a celebrated coal-bank in a bluff about two hundred feet in altitude, and about twice as long.[163] The stratum of coal is about a dozen feet in thickness, and lies directly upon the margin of the river: the quantity in the bank is said to be immense, and it contains an unusual proportion of bitumen. Iron ore has also been discovered at this spot. The road over the Missouri Bottom was detestable, as never fails to be the case after a continued rain-storm, and my horse's leg sank to the middle in the black, unctuous loam almost at every step. Upon either side, like colonnades, rose up those {250} enormous shafts of living verdure which strike the solitary traveller upon these unfrequented bottoms with such awe and veneration; while the huge whirls of the writhing wild-vine hung dangling, like gigantic serpents, from the lofty columns around whose capitals they clung. On descending the bluffs to the bottom, the traveller crosses a bed of limestone, in which is said to exist a fissure perfectly fathomless. In a few moments, the boiling, turbid floods of the Missouri are beheld rolling majestically along at the feet, and to the stranger's eye, at first sight, always suggesting the idea of _unusual_ agitation; but so have they rolled onward century after century, age after age. The wild and impetuous character of this river, together with the vast quantities of soil with which its waters are charged, impart to it a natural sublimity far more striking, at first view, than that of the Mississippi. This circumstance was not unobserved by the Indian tribes, who appropriately named it the "_Smoky Water_:" by others it was styled the "_Mad River_," on account of the impetuosity of its current; and in all dialects it is called the "_Mother of Floods_," indicative of the immense volume of its waters. Various causes have been assigned for the turbid character of the Missouri: and though, doubtless, heavily charged by the volumes of sand thrown into its channel by the Yellow Stone--its longest tributary, equal to the Ohio--and by the chalky clay of the White River, yet we are told that it is characterized by the same phenomenon from its very source. At the gates of the Rocky Mountains, where, having torn {251} for itself a channel through the everlasting hills, it comes rushing out through the vast prairie-plains at their base, it is the same dark, wild torrent as at its turbid embouchure. And, strange to tell, after roaming thousands of miles, and receiving into its bosom streams equal to itself, and hundreds of lesser, though powerful tributaries, it still retains, unaltered, in depth or breadth, that volume which at last it rolls into its mighty rival! Torrent after torrent, river after river, pour in their floods, yet the giant stream rolls majestically onward unchanged! At the village of St. Charles its depth and breadth is the same as at the Mandan villages, nearly two thousand miles nearer its source.[164] The same inexplicable phenomenon characterizes the Mississippi, and, indeed, all the great rivers of the West; for _inexplicable_ the circumstance yet remains, however plausible the theories alleged in explanation. With regard to the Missouri, it is urged that the porous, sandy soil of its broad alluvions absorbs, on the principle of capillary attraction, much of its volume, conveying it by subterraneous channels to the Mississippi; and of this latter stream it is asserted that large quantities of its waters are taken up by the innumerable bayous, lakes, and lagoons intersecting the lower region of its course; and thus, unperceived, they find their way to the gulf. The navigation of the Missouri is thought to be the most hazardous and difficult of any of the Western rivers, owing to its mad, impetuous current, to the innumerable obstructions in its bed, and the incessant variation of its channel.[165] Insurance and pilotage {252} upon this river are higher than on others; the season of navigation is briefer, and steamers never pursue their course after dusk. Its vast length and numerous tributaries render it liable, also, to frequent floods, of which three are expected every year. The chief of these takes place in the month of June, when the heaped-up snows of the Rocky Mountains are melted, and, having flowed thousands of miles through the prairies, reach the Mississippi. The ice and snows of the Alleghanies, and the wild-rice lakes of the far Upper Mississippi, months before have reached their destination, and thus a general inundation, unavoidable had the floods been simultaneous, is prevented by Providence. The alluvions of the Missouri are said to be higher than, and not so broad as, those of the Mississippi; yet their extent is constantly varying by the violence of the current, even more than those of the latter stream. Many years ago the flourishing town of Franklin was completely torn away from its foundations, and its inhabitants were forced to flee to the adjacent heights; and the bottom opposite St. Charles and at numerous other places has, within the few years past, suffered astonishing changes.[166] Opposite the town now flow the waters of the river where once stood farms and orchards. The source of the Missouri and that of the Columbia, we are told, are in such immediate proximity, that a walk of but a few miles will enable the traveller to drink from the fountains of each. Yet how unlike their destiny! One passes off through a region of boundless prairie equal in extent to a {253} sixth of our globe; and, after a thousand wanderings, disembogues its troubled waters into the Mexican Gulf; the other, winding away towards the setting sun, rolls on through forests untrodden by human footstep till it sleeps in the Pacific Seas. Their destinies reach their fulfilment at opposite extremes of a continent! How like, how very like are the destinies of these far, lonely rivers to the destinies of human life! Those who, in the beautiful starlight of our boyhood, were our schoolmates and play-fellows, where are they when our sun of ripened maturity has reached its meridian? and what, and where are they and we, when evening's lengthening shadows are gathering over the landscape of life? Our paths diverged but little at first, but mountains, continents, half a world of waters may divide our destinies, and opposite extremes of "the great globe itself" witness their consummation. Yet, like the floods of the far-winding rivers, the streams of our existences will meet again, and mingle in the ocean--that ocean without a shore--_ETERNITY_! The gates of the Rocky Mountains, through which the waters of the Missouri rush forth into the prairies of the great Valley, are described as one of the sublimest spectacles in nature. Conceive the floods of a powerful mountain-torrent compressed in mid career into a width of less than one hundred and fifty yards, rushing with the speed of "the wild horse's wilder sire" through a chasm whose vast walls of Nature's own masonry rear themselves on either side from the raging waters to the precipitous {254} height of twelve hundred perpendicular feet; and then consider if imagination can compass a scene of darker, more terrible sublimity! And then sweep onward with the current, and within one hundred miles you behold a cataract, next to Niagara, from all description grandest in the world. Such are some of the mighty features of the stream upon which I was now standing. As to the much disputed question which of the great streams of the West is entitled to the name of the _Main River_, I shall content myself with a brief statement of the arguments alleged in support of the pretensions of either claimant. The volume of the Missouri at the confluence far exceeds that of its rival; the length of its course and the number and magnitude of its tributaries are also greater, and it imparts a character to the united streams. On the other hand, the Mississippi, geographically and geologically considered, is the grand Central River of the continent, maintaining an undeviating course from north to south; the valley which it drains is far more extensive and fertile than that of the Missouri; and from the circumstance of having first been explored, it has given a name to the great river of the Western Valley which it will probably ever retain, whatever the right. "_Sed non nostrum tantas componere lites._" _St. Charles, Mo._ XXIII "Say, ancient edifice, thyself with years Grown gray, how long upon the hill has stood Thy weather-braving tower?" HURDIS. "An _honourable_ murder, if you will; For naught he did in hate, but all in honour." "The whole broad earth is beautiful To minds attuned aright." ROBT. DALE OWEN. The view of St. Charles from the opposite bank of the Missouri is a fine one. The turbid stream rolls along the village nearly parallel with the interval upon which it is situated. A long line of neat edifices, chiefly of brick, with a few ruinous old structures of logs and plastering, relics of French or Spanish taste and domination, extend along the shore; beyond these, a range of bluffs rear themselves proudly above the village, crowned with their academic hall and a neat stone church, its spire surmounted by the cross. Between these structures, upon a spot somewhat more elevated, appears the basement section of "a stern round tower of former days," now a ruin; and, though a very peaceable {10} pile of limestone and mortar, well-fitted in distant view to conjure up a host of imaginings: like Shenstone's Ruined Abbey, forsooth, "Pride of ancient days; Now but of use to grace a rural scene, Or bound our vistas." The history of the tower, if tower it may be styled, is briefly this.[167] During the era of Spanish rule in this region, before its cession to France half a century since, this structure was erected as a watch-tower or magazine. Subsequently it was dismantled, and partially fell to ruins, when the novel project was started to plant a _windmill_ upon the foundation. This was done; but either the wind was too high or too low, too frequent or too rare, or neither; or there was no corn to grind, or the projector despaired of success, or some other of the fifty untoward circumstances which suggest themselves came to pass; the windmill ere long fell to pieces, and left the old ruin to the tender mercies of time and tempest, a monument of chance and change. The evening of my arrival at St. Charles I strolled off at about sunset, and, ascending the bluffs, approached the old ruin. The walls of rough limestone are massively deep, and the altitude cannot now be less than twenty feet. The view from the spot is noble, and peculiarly impressive at the sunset hour. Directly at your feet lies the village, from the midst of which come up the rural sounds of evening; the gladsome laugh of children at their sports; the whistle of the home-plodding labourer; the quiet hum of gossips around the open doors; {11} while upon the river's brink a huge steam-mill sends forth its ceaseless "boom, boom" upon the still air. Beneath the village ripples the Missouri, with a fine sweep both above and below the town not unlike the letter S; while beyond the stream extends its heavily-timbered bottom: one cluster of trees directly opposite are Titanic in dimensions. Upon the summit of the bluff, in the shadow of the ruin by your side, lies a sunken grave. It is the grave of a _duellist_. Over it trail the long, melancholy branches of a weeping willow. A neat paling once protected the spot from the wanderer's footstep, but it is gone now; only a rotten relic remains. All is still. The sun has long since gone down. One after another the evening sounds have died away in the village at the feet, and one after another the lights have twinkled forth from the casements. A fresh breeze is coming up from the water; the rushing wing of the night-hawk strikes fitfully upon the ear; and yonder sails the beautiful "boat of light," the pale sweet crescent. On that crescent is gazing many a distant friend! What a spot--what an hour to meditate upon the varying destinies of life! I seated myself upon the foot of the grave, which still retained some little elevation from the surrounding soil, and the night-wind sighed through the trailing boughs as if a requiem to him who slumbered beneath. _Requiescat in pace_, in no meaningless ceremony, might be pronounced over him, for his end was a troubled one. Unfortunate man! you have gone to your account; and that tabernacle in which once burned a beautiful flame has long since been mingling with the dust: {12} but I had rather be even as thou art, cold in an unhonoured grave, than to live on and wear away a miserable remnant of existence, that "guilty thing" with crimsoned hand and brow besprinkled with blood. To drag out a weary length of days and nights; to feel life a bitterness, and all its verdure scathed; to walk about among the ranks of men a being "Mark'd, And sign'd, and quoted for a deed of shame;" to feel a stain upon the palm which not all the waters of ocean could wash away; a smell of blood which not all the perfumes of Arabia could sweeten; ah! give me death rather than this! That the custom of duelling, under the present arrangements of society and code of honour, in some sections of our country, is necessary, is more than problematical; that its practice will continue to exist is certain; but, when death ensues, "'tis the surviver dies." The stranger has never, perhaps, stood upon the bluffs of St. Charles without casting a glance of anxious interest upon that lone, deserted grave; and there are associated with its existence circumstances of melancholy import. Twenty years ago, he who lies there was a young, accomplished barrister of superior abilities, distinguished rank, and rapidly rising to eminence in the city of St. Louis. Unhappily, for words uttered in the warmth of political controversy, offence was taken; satisfaction demanded; a meeting upon that dark and bloody ground opposite the city ensued; and poor B---- fell, in the sunshine of his spring, lamented by all {13} who had known him. Agreeable to his request in issue of his death, his remains were conveyed to this spot and interred. Years have since rolled away, and the melancholy event is now among forgotten things; but the old ruin, beneath whose shadow he slumbers, will long remain his monument; and the distant traveller, when he visits St. Charles, will pause and ponder over his lonely grave.[168] "But let no one reproach his memory. His life has paid the forfeit of his folly, Let that suffice." Ah! the valuable blood which has steeped the sands of that steril island in the Mississippi opposite St. Louis! Nearly thirty years ago a fatal encounter took place between Dr. F. and Dr. G., in which the latter fell: that between young B. and a Mr. C. I have alluded to, and several other similar combats transpired on the spot at about the same time. The bloody affair between Lieutenants Biddle and Pettis, and that between Lucas and Benton, are of more recent date, and, with several others, are familiar in the memory of all. The spot has been fitly named "Murder" or "Blood Island."[169] Lying in the middle of the stream, it is without the jurisdiction of either of the adjoining states; and deep is the curse which has descended upon its shores! {14} The morning star was beaming beautifully forth from the blue eastern heavens when I mounted my horse for a visit to that celebrated spot, "_Les Mamelles_." A pleasant ride of three miles through the forest-path beneath the bluffs brought me at sunrise to the spot. Every tree was wreathed with the wild rose like a rainbow; and the breeze was laden with perfume. It is a little singular, the difficulty with which visiters usually meet in finding this place. The Duke of Saxe Weimar, among other dignitaries, when on his tour of the West several years since, tells us that he lost his way in the neighbouring prairie by pursuing the river road instead of that beneath the bluffs. The natural eminences which have obtained the appropriate appellation of Mamelles, from their striking resemblance to the female breast, are a pair of lofty, conical mounds, from eighty to one hundred feet altitude, swelling up perfectly naked and smooth upon the margin of that celebrated prairie which owes to them a name. So beautifully are they paired and so richly rounded, that it would hardly require a Frenchman's eye or that of an Indian to detect the resemblance designated, remarkable though both races have shown themselves for bestowing upon objects in natural scenery significant names. Though somewhat resembling those artificial earth-heaps which form such an interesting feature of the West, these mounds are, doubtless, but a broken continuation of the Missouri bluffs, which at this point terminate from the south, while those of the Mississippi, commencing at the same point, stretch away at right angles to the west. {15} The mounds are of an oblong, elliptical outline, parallel to each other, in immediate proximity, and united at the extremities adjoining the range of highlands by a curved elevation somewhat less in height. They are composed entirely of earth, and in their formation are exceedingly uniform and graceful. Numerous springs of water gush out from their base. But an adequate conception of these interesting objects can hardly be conveyed by the pen; at all events, without somewhat more of the quality of patience than chances to be the gift of my own wayward instrument. In brief, then, imagine a huge _spur_, in fashion somewhat like to that of a militia major, with the enormous rowel stretching off to the south, and the heel-bow rounding away to the northeast and northwest, terminated at each extremity by a vast excrescence; imagine all this spread out in the margin of an extended prairie, and a tolerably correct, though inadequate idea of the outline of the Mamelles is obtained. The semicircular area in the bow of the spur between the mounds is a deep dingle, choked up with stunted trees and tangled underbrush of hazels, sumach, and wild-berry, while the range of highlands crowned with forest goes back in the rear. This line of heights extends up the Missouri for some distance, at times rising directly from the water's edge to the height of two hundred feet, rough and ragged, but generally leaving a heavily-timbered bottom several miles in breadth in the interval, and in the rear rolling off into high, undulating prairie. The bluffs of the Mississippi extend to the westward in a similar {16} manner, but the prairie interval is broader and more liable to inundation. The distance from the Mamelles to the confluence of the rivers is, by their meanderings, about twenty or thirty miles, and is very nearly divided into prairie and timber. The extremity of the point is liable to inundation, and its growth of forest is enormous. The view from the summit of the Mamelles, as the morning sun was flinging over the landscape his ruddy dyes, was one of eminent, surpassing loveliness. It is celebrated, indeed, as the most beautiful prairie-scene in the Western Valley, and one of the most romantic views in the country. To the right extends the Missouri Bottom, studded with farms of the French villagers, and the river-bank margined with trees which conceal the stream from the eye. Its course is delineated, however, by the blue line of bluffs upon the opposite side, gracefully curving towards the distant Mississippi until the trace fades away at the confluence. In front is spread out the lovely Mamelle Prairie, with its waving ocean of rich flowers of every form, and scent, and hue, while green groves are beheld swelling out into its bosom, and hundreds of cattle are cropping the herbage. In one direction the view is that of a boundless plain of verdure; and at intervals in the deep emerald is caught the gleam from the glassy surface of a lake, of which there are many scattered over the peninsula. All along the northern horizon, curving away in a magnificent sweep of forty miles to the west, rise the hoary cliffs of the Mississippi, in the opposite state, like towers and castles; while {17} the windings of the stream itself are betrayed by the heavy forest-belt skirting the prairie's edge. It is not many years since this bank of the river was perfectly naked, with not a fringe of wood. Tracing along the bold façade of cliffs on the opposite shore, enveloped in their misty mantle of azure, the eye detects the embouchure of the Illinois and of several smaller streams by the deep-cut openings. To the left extends the prairie for seventy miles, with an average breadth of five from the river, along which, for most of the distance, it stretches. Here and there in the smooth surface stands out a solitary sycamore of enormous size, heaving aloft its gigantic limbs like a monarch of the scene. Upward of fifty thousand acres are here laid open to the eye at a single glance, with a soil of exhaustless fertility and of the easiest culture. The whole plain spread out at the foot of the Mamelles bears abundant evidence of having once been submerged. The depth of the alluvion is upward of forty feet; and from that depth we are told that logs, leaves, coal, and a stratum of sand and pebbles bearing marks of the attrition of running waters, have been thrown up. Through the middle of the prairie pass several deep canals, apparently ancient channels of the rivers, and which now form the bed of a long irregular lake called _Marais Croche_; there is another lake of considerable extent called _Marais Temps Clair_.[170] This beautiful prairie once, then, formed a portion of that immense lake which at a remote period held possession of the American Bottom; and at the base of the graceful {18} Mamelles these giant rivers merrily mingled their waters, and then rolled onward to the gulf. That ages have since elapsed, the amazing depth of the alluvial and vegetable mould, and the ancient monuments reposing upon some portions of the surface, leave no room for doubt.[171] By heavy and continued deposites of alluvion, the vast peninsula gradually rose up from the waters; the Missouri was forced back to the bluff La Charbonnière, and the rival stream to the Piasa cliffs of Illinois. _St. Charles, Mo._ XXIV "Westward the star of empire holds its way." BERKELEY. "Travellers entering here behold around A large and spacious plain, on every side Strew'd with beauty, whose fair grassy ground, Mantled with green, and goodly beautified With all the ornaments of Flora's pride." "The flowers, the fair young flowers." "Ye are the stars of earth." Ten years ago, and the pleasant little village of St. Charles was regarded as quite the frontier-post of civilized life; now it is a flourishing town, and an early stage in the traveller's route to the Far West. Its origin, with that of most of the early settlements in this section of the valley, is French, and {19} some few of the peculiar characteristics of its founders are yet retained, though hardly to the extent as in some other villages which date back to the same era. The ancient style of some of the buildings, the singular costume, the quick step, the dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair, and the merry, fluent flow of a nondescript idiom, are, however, at once perceived by the stranger, and indicate a peculiar people. St. Charles was settled in 1769, and for upward of forty years retained its original name, _Les Petites Cotes_. For some time it was under the Spanish government with the rest of the territory, and from this circumstance and a variety of others its population is made up of a heterogeneous mass of people, from almost every nation under the sun. Quite a flood of German emigration has, within six or seven years past, poured into the county. That wizard spell, however, under which all these early French settlements seem to have been lying for more than a century, St. Charles has not, until within a few years past, possessed the energy to throw off, though now the inroads of American enterprise upon the ancient order of things is too palpable to be unobserved or mistaken. The site of the town is high and healthy, upon a bed of limestone extending along the stream, and upon a narrow _plateau_ one or two miles in extent beneath the overhanging bluffs. Upon this interval are laid off five streets parallel with the river, only the first of which is lined with buildings. Below the village the alluvion stretches along the margin of the stream for three miles, until, reaching the termination of the {20} highlands at the Mamelles, it spreads itself out to the north and west into the celebrated prairie I have described. St. Charles has long been a great thoroughfare to the vast region west of the Missouri, and must always continue so to be: a railroad from St. Louis in this direction must pass through the place, as well as the national road now in progress. These circumstances, together with its eligible site for commerce; the exhaustless fertility of the neighbouring region, and the quantities of coal and iron it is believed to contain, must render St. Charles, before many years have passed away, a place of considerable mercantile and manufacturing importance. It has an extensive steam flouring-mill in constant operation; and to such an extent is the cultivation of wheat carried on in the surrounding country, for which the soil is pre-eminently suited, that in this respect alone the place must become important. About six miles south of St. Charles, upon the Booneslick road, is situated a considerable settlement, composed chiefly of gentlemen from the city of Baltimore.[172] The country is exceedingly beautiful, healthy, and fertile; the farms are under high cultivation, and the tone of society is distinguished for its refinement and intelligence. The citizens of St. Charles are many of them Catholics; and a male and female seminary under their patronage are in successful operation, to say nothing of a nunnery, beneath the shade of which such institutions invariably repose. "St. Charles College," a Protestant institute of two or three years' standing, is well supported, having four professors {21} and about a hundred students.[173] Its principal building is a large and elegant structure of brick, and the seminary will doubtless, ere long, become an ornament to the place. At no distant day it may assume the character and standing of its elder brothers east of the Alleghanies; and the muse that ever delights to revel in college-hall may strike her lyre even upon the banks of the far-winding, wilderness Missouri. Among the heterogeneous population of St. Charles are still numbered a few of those wild, daring spirits, whose lives and exploits are so intimately identified with the early history of the country, and most of whose days are now passed beyond the border, upon the broad buffalo-plains at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Most of them are trappers, hunters, _couriers du bois_, traders to the distant post of Santa Fé, or _engagés_ of the American Fur Company. Into the company of one of these remarkable men it was my fortune to fall during my visit at St. Charles; and not a little to my interest and edification did he recount many of his "hairbreadth 'scapes," his "most disastrous chances," "His moving accidents by flood and field." All of this, not to mention sundry sage items on the most approved method of capturing _deer_, _bar_, _buffalo_, and _painters_, I must be permitted to waive. I am no tale-teller, "but your mere traveller, believe me," as Ben Jonson has it. The proper home of the buffalo seems now to be the vast {22} plains south and west of the Missouri border, called the Platte country, compared with which the prairies east of the Mississippi are mere meadows in miniature. The latter region was, doubtless, once a favourite resort of the animal, and the banks of the "beautiful river" were long his grazing-grounds; but the onward march of civilization has driven him, with the Indian, nearer the setting sun. Upon the plains they now inhabit they rove in herds of thousands; they regularly migrate with change of season, and, in crossing rivers, many are squeezed to death. Dead bodies are sometimes found floating upon the Missouri far down its course. With the village and county of St. Charles are connected most of the events attending the early settlement of the region west of the Mississippi; and during the late war with Great Britain, the atrocities of the savage tribes were chiefly perpetrated here. Early in that conflict the Sacs and Foxes, Miamis, Pottawattamies, Iowas, and Kickapoo Indians commenced a most savage warfare upon the advanced settlements, and the deeds of daring which distinguished the gallant "rangers" during the two years in which, unaided by government, they sustained, single-handed, the conflict against a crafty foe, are almost unequalled in the history of warfare.[174] St. Charles county and the adjoining county of Booneslick were the principal scene of a conflict in which boldness and barbarity, courage and cruelty, contended long for the mastery. The latter county to which I have alluded {23} received its name from the celebrated Daniel Boone.[175] After being deprived, by the chicanery of law, of that spot for which he had endured so much and contended so boldly in the beautiful land of his adoption, we find him, at the close of the last century, journeying onward towards the West, there to pass the evening of his days and lay away his bones. Being asked "_why_ he had left that dear Kentucke, which he had discovered and won from the wild Indian, for the wilderness of Missouri," his memorable reply betrays the leading feature of his character, the _primum mobile_ of the man: "Too crowded! too crowded! I want elbow-room!" At the period of Boone's arrival in 1798, the only form of government which existed in this distant region was that of the "Regulators," a sort of military or hunters' republic, the chief of which was styled _commandant_. To this office the old veteran was at once elected, and continued to exercise its rather arbitrary prerogatives until, like his former home, the country had become subject to other laws and other councils. He continued here to reside, however, until the death of his much-loved wife, partner of all his toils and adventures, in 1813, when he removed to the residence of his son, some miles in the interior. Here he discovered a large and productive salt-lick, long and profitably worked, and which still continues to bear his name and give celebrity to the surrounding country. To this lick was the old hunter accustomed to repair in his aged days, when his sinews were unequal to the chase, and lie in wait for the deer {24} which frequented the spring. In this occupation and in that of trapping beavers he lived comfortably on until 1818, when he calmly yielded up his adventurous spirit to its God.[176] What an eventful life was that! How varied and wonderful its incidents! How numerous and pregnant its vicissitudes! How strange the varieties of natural character it developed! The name of Boone will never cease to be remembered so long as this Western Valley remains the pride of a continent, and the beautiful streams of his discovery roll on their teeming tribute to the ocean! Of the Indian tribe which formerly inhabited this pleasant region, and gave a name to the river and state, scarcely a vestige is now to be seen. The only associations connected with the savages are of barbarity and perfidy. Upon the settlers of St. Charles county it was that Black Hawk directed his first efforts;[177] and, until within a few years, a stoccade fort for refuge in emergency has existed in every considerable settlement. Among a variety of traditionary matter related to me relative to the customs of the tribe which formerly resided near St. Charles, the following anecdote from one of the oldest settlers may not prove uninteresting. "Many years ago, while the Indian yet retained a crumbling foothold upon this pleasant land of his fathers, a certain Cis-atlantic naturalist--so the story goes--overflowing with laudable zeal for the advancement of science, had succeeded in penetrating the wilds of Missouri in pursuit of his favourite study. Early one sunny morning a man in strange {25} attire was perceived by the simple natives running about their prairie with uplifted face and outspread palms, eagerly in pursuit of certain bright flies and insects, which, when secured, were deposited with manifest satisfaction into a capacious tin box at his girdle. Surprised at a spectacle so novel and extraordinary, a fleet runner was despatched over the prairie to catch the curious animal and conduct him into the village. A council of sober old chiefs was called to _sit upon_ the matter, who, after listening attentively to all the phenomena of the case, with a sufficiency of grunting, sagaciously and decidedly pronounced the pale-face a _fool_. It was in vain the unhappy man urged upon the assembled wisdom of the nation the distinction between a _natural_ and a naturalist. The council grunted to all he had to offer, but to them the distinction was without a difference; they could comprehend not a syllable he uttered. 'Actions speak louder than words'--so reasoned the old chiefs; and as the custom was to _kill_ all their own fools, preparation was forthwith commenced to administer this summary cure for folly upon the unhappy naturalist. At this critical juncture a prudent old Indian suggested the propriety, as the fool belonged to the 'pale faces,' of consulting their 'Great Father' at St. Louis on the subject, and requesting his presence at the execution. The sentence was suspended, therefore, for a few hours, while a deputation was despatched to General Clarke,[178] detailing all the circumstances of the case, and announcing the intention of killing the fool as soon as possible. {26} The old general listened attentively to the matter, and then quietly advised them, as the _fool_ was a _pale face_, not to kill him, but to conduct him safely to St. Louis, that he might dispose of him himself. This proposition was readily acceded to, as the only wish of the Indians was to rid the world of a _fool_. And thus was the worthy naturalist relieved from an unpleasant predicament, not, however, without the loss of his box of bugs; a loss he is said to have bewailed as bitterly as, in anticipation, he had bewailed the loss of his head." For the particulars of this anecdote I am no voucher; I give the tale as told me; but as it doubtless has its origin in fact, it may have suggested to the author of "The Prairie" that amusing character, "Obed Battius, M.D.," especially as the scene of that interesting tale lies in a neighbouring region.[179] It was a sultry afternoon when I left St. Charles. The road for some miles along the bottom runs parallel with the river, until, ascending a slight elevation, the traveller is on the prairie. Upon this road I had not proceeded many miles before I came fully to the conclusion, that the route I was then pursuing would never conduct me and my horse to the town of Grafton, Illinois, the point of my destination. In this idea I was soon confirmed by a half-breed whom I chanced to meet. Receiving a few general instructions, therefore, touching my route, all of which I had quite forgotten ten minutes after, I pushed forth into the pathless prairie, and was soon in its centre, almost buried, with my horse beneath me, in the monstrous vegetation. {27} Between the parallel rolls of the prairie, the size of the weeds and undergrowth was stupendous; and the vegetation heaved in masses heavily back and forth in the wind, as if for years it had flourished on in rank, undisturbed luxuriance. Directly before me, along the northern horizon, rose the white cliffs of the Mississippi, which, as they went up to the sheer height, in some places, of several hundred feet, presented a most mountain-like aspect as viewed over the level surface of the plain. Towards a dim column of smoke which curled lazily upward among these cliffs did I now direct my course. The broad disk of the sun was rapidly wheeling down the western heavens; my tired horse could advance through the heavy grass no faster than a walk; the pale bluffs, apparently but a few miles distant, seemed receding like an _ignis fatuus_ as I approached them; and there lay the swampy forest to ford, and the "terrible Mississippi" beyond to ferry, before I could hope for food or a resting-place. In simple verity, I began to meditate upon the yielding character of prairie-grass for a couch. And yet, of such surpassing loveliness was the scene spread out around me, that I seemed hardly to realize a situation disagreeable enough, but from which my thoughts were constantly wandering. The grasses and flowering wild-plants of the Mamelle Prairie are far-famed for their exquisite brilliancy of hue and gracefulness of form. Among the flowers my eye detected a species unlike to any I had yet met with, and which seemed indigenous only here. Its fairy-formed corolla {28} was of a bright enamelled crimson, which, in the depths of the dark herbage, glowed like a living coal. How eloquently did this little flower bespeak the being and attributes of its Maker. Ah! "There is religion in a flower; Mountains and oceans, planets, suns, and systems, Bear not the impress of Almighty power In characters more legible than those Which he has written on the tiniest flower Whose light bell bends beneath the dewdrop's weight." One who has never looked upon the Western prairie in the pride of its blushing bloom can hardly conceive the surpassing loveliness of its summer flora; and, if the idea is not easy to conceive, still less is it so to convey. The autumn flowers in their richness I have not yet beheld; and in the early days of June, when I first stood upon the prairies, the beauteous sisterhood of spring were all in their graves; and the sweet springtime of the year it is when the gentle race of flowers dance over the teeming earth in gayest guise and profusion. In the first soft days of April, when the tender green of vegetation begins to overspread the soil scathed by the fires of autumn, the _viola_, primrose of the prairie, in all its rare and delicate forms; the _anemone_ or wind-flower; the blue dewy harebell; the pale oxlip; the flowering _arbute_, and all the pretty family of the pinks and lilies lie sprinkled, as by the enchantment of a summer shower, or by the tripping footsteps of Titania with her fairies, over the landscape. The blue and the white then tint the perspective, from the most {29} limpid cerulean of an _iris_ to the deep purple of the pink; from the pearly lustre of the cowslip to the golden richness of the buttercup. In early springtime, too, the island groves of the prairies are also in flower; and the brilliant crimson of the _cercis canadensis_, or Judas-tree; the delightful fragrance of the _lonicera_ or honeysuckle, and the light yellow of the _jasimum_, render the forests as pleasant to the smell as to the eye. But spring-time passes away, and with her pass away the fair young flowers her soft breath had warmed into being. Summer comes over the prairies like a giant; the fiery dog-star rages, and forth leap a host of bright ones to greet his coming. The _heliotrope_ and _helianthus_, in all their rich variety; the wild rose, flinging itself around the shrub-oak like a wreath of rainbows; the _orchis_, the balmy thyme, the burgamot, and the asters of every tint and proportion, then prevail, throwing forth their gaudy, sunburnt petals upon the wind, until the whole meadow seems arrayed in the royal livery of a sunset sky. Scarcely does the summer begin to decline, and autumn's golden sunlight to stream in misty magnificence athwart the landscape, than a thousand gorgeous plants of its own mellow hue are nodding in stately beauty over the plain. Yellow is the garniture of the autumnal Flora of the prairies; and the haughty golden-rod, and all the splendid forms of the _gentiana_, commingling with the white and crimson _eupatorium_, and the red spire of the _liatris_, everywhere bespangle the scene; while the trumpet-formed corolla of the _bignonia radicans_ glitters {30} in the sunbeams, amid the luxuriant wreathing of ivy, from the tall capitals of the isolated trees. All the _solidago_ species are in their glory, and every variety of the _lobelia_; and the blood-red sumach in the hollows and brakes, and the _sagittaria_, or arrow-head, with its three-leaved calyx and its three white petals darting forth from the recesses of the dark herbage, and all the splendid forms of the aquatic plants, with their broad blossoms and their cool scroll-like leaves, lend a finished richness of hue to the landscape, which fails not well to harmonize with the rainbow glow of the distant forest. "----Such beauty, varying in the light Of gorgeous nature, cannot be portrayed By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill; But is the property of those alone Who have beheld it, noted it with care, And, in their minds, recorded it with love." What wonder, then, that, amid a scene like this, where the summer reigned, and young autumn was beginning to anticipate its mellow glories, the traveller should in a measure have forgotten his vocation, and loitered lazily along his way! _Portage des Sioux, Mo._ XXV "There's music in the forest leaves When summer winds are there, And in the laugh of forest girls That braid their sunny hair." HALLECK. "The forests are around him in their pride, The green savannas, and the mighty waves; And isles of flowers, bright floating o'er the tide That images the fairy world it laves." HEMANS. There is one feature of the Mamelle Prairie, besides its eminent beauty and its profusion of flowering plants, which distinguishes it from every other with which I have met. I allude to the almost perfect uniformity of its surface. There is little of that undulating, wavelike slope and swell which characterizes the peculiar species of surface called prairie. With the exception of a few lakes, abounding with aquatic plants and birds, and those broad furrows traversing the plain, apparently ancient beds of the rivers, the surface appears smooth as a lawn. This circumstance goes far to corroborate the idea of alluvial origin. And thus it was that, lost in a mazy labyrinth of grass and flowers, I wandered on over the smooth soil of the prairie, quite regardless of the whereabout my steps were conducting me. The sun was just going down when my horse entered a slight footpath leading into a point of woodland upon {32} the right. This I pursued for some time, heedlessly presuming that it would conduct me to the banks of the river; when, lo! to my surprise, on emerging from the forest, I found myself in the midst of a French village, with its heavy roofs and broad piazzas. Never was the lazy hero of Diedrich Knickerbocker--luckless Rip--more sadly bewildered, after a twenty years' doze among the Hudson Highlands, than was your loiterer at this unlooked-for apparition. To find one's self suddenly translated from the wild, flowery prairie into the heart of an aged, moss-grown village, of such foreign aspect, withal, was by no means easy to reconcile with one's notions of reality. Of the name, or even the existence of the village, I had been quite as ignorant as if it had never possessed either; and in vain was it that I essayed, in my perplexity, to make myself familiar with these interesting items of intelligence by inquiry of the primitive-looking beings whom I chanced to encounter, as I rode slowly on into the village through the tall stoccades of the narrow streets. Every one stared as I addressed him; but, shaking his head and quickening his pace, pointed me on in the direction I was proceeding, and left me to pursue it in ignorance and single blessedness. This mystery--for thus to my excited fancy did it seem--became at length intolerable. Drawing up my horse before the open door of a cottage, around which, beneath the galleries, were gathered a number of young people of both sexes, I very peremptorily made the demand _where I was_. All stared, and some few took it upon them, graceless youths, to {33} laugh; until, at length, a dark young fellow, with black eyes and black whiskers, stepped forward, and, in reply to my inquiry repeated, informed me that the village was called "_Portage des Sioux_;" that the place of my destination was upon the opposite bank of the Mississippi, several miles above--too distant to think of regaining my route at that late hour; and very politely the dark young man offered to procure for me accommodation for the night, though the village could boast no inn. Keeping close on the heels of my _conducteur_, I again began to thrid the narrow lanes of the hamlet, from the doors and windows of every cottage of which peeped forth an eager group of dark-eyed women and children, in uncontrolled curiosity at the apparition of a stranger in their streets at such an advanced hour of the day. The little village seemed completely cut off from all the world beside, and as totally unconscious of the proceedings of the community around as if it were a portion of another hemisphere. The place lies buried in forest except upon the south, where it looks out upon the Mamelle Prairie, and to the north is an opening in the belt of woods along the river-bank, through which, beyond the stream, rise the white cliffs in points and pinnacles like the towers and turrets of a castellated town, to the perpendicular altitude of several hundred feet. The scene was one of romantic beauty, as the moonbeams silvered the forest-tops and cliffs, flinging their broad shadows athwart the bosom of the waters, gliding in oily rippling at their base. The site of Portage des Sioux is about seven miles above {34} the town of Alton, and five below the embouchure of the Illinois. Its landing is good; it contains three or four hundred inhabitants, chiefly French; can boast a few trading establishments, and, as is invariably the case in the villages of this singular people, however inconsiderable, has an ancient Catholic church rearing its gray spire above the low-roofed cottages. Attached to it, also, is a "common field" of twelve hundred _arpens_--something less than as many acres--stretching out into the prairie. The soil is, of course, incomparably fertile. The garden-plats around each door were dark with vegetation, overtopping the pickets of the enclosures; and away to the south into the prairie swept the broad maize-fields nodding and rustling in all the gorgeous garniture of summer. My _conducteur_ stopped, at length, at the gate of a small brick tenement, the only one in the village, whose modern air contrasted strangely enough with the venerable aspect of everything else; and having made known my necessities through the medium of sundry Babel gibberings and gesticulations, he left me with the promise to call early in the morning and see me on my way. "What's your _name_, any how?" was the courteous salutation of mine host, as I placed my foot across his threshold, after attending to the necessities of the faithful animal which had been my companion through the fatigues of the day. He was a dark-browed, swarthy-looking man, with exceedingly black hair, and an eye which one might have suspected of Indian origin but for the genuine cunning {35}--the "lurking devil"--of its expression. Replying to the unceremonious interrogatory with a smile, which by no means modified the haughty moroseness of my landlord's visage, another equally civil query was proposed, to which I received the hurried reply, "Jean Paul de --." From this _amiable_ personage I learned, by dint of questioning, that the village of Portage des Sioux had been standing about half a century: that it was originally settled by a colony from Cahokia: that its importance now was as considerable as it ever had been: that it was terribly shaken in the great earthquakes of 1811, many of the old cottages having been thrown down and his own house rent from "turret to foundation-stone"--the chasm in the brick wall yet remaining--and, finally, that the village owed its name to the stratagem of a band of Sioux Indians, in an expedition against the Missouris. The legend is as follows: "The Sioux being at war with a tribe of the Missouris, a party descended the Upper Mississippi on an expedition for pillage. The Missouris, apprized of their approach, laid in ambush in the woods at the mouth of the river, intending to take their enemies by surprise as their canoes doubled the point to ascend. The Sioux, in the depths of Indian subtlety, apprehending such a manoeuvre, instead of descending to the confluence, landed at the portage, took their canoes upon their backs, and crossed the prairie to the Indian village on the Missouri, several miles above. By this stratagem the design of their expedition was accomplished, and they had returned to their canoes in safety with their plunder long {36} before the Missouris, who were anxiously awaiting them at their ambuscade, were aware of their first approach." Supper was soon served up, prepared in the neatest French fashion. While at table a circumstance transpired which afforded me some little diversion. Several of the villagers dropped in during the progress of the meal, who, having seated themselves at the board, a spirited colloquy ensued in the _patois_ of these old hamlets--a species of _gumbo-French_, which a genuine native of _La Belle France_ would probably manage to unravel quite as well as a Northern Yankee. From a few expressions, however, the meaning of which were obvious, together with sundry furtive glances to the eye, and divers confused withdrawals of the gaze, it was not very difficult to detect some pretty free remarks upon the stranger-guest. All this was suffered to pass with undisturbed _nonchalance_, until the meal was concluded; when the hitherto mute traveller, turning to the negro attendant, demanded in familiar French a glass of water. _Presto!_ the effect was electric. Such visages of ludicrous distress! such stealthy glancing of dark eyes! such glowing of sallow cheeks! The swarthy landlord at length hurriedly ejaculated, "_Parlez vous Français?_" while the dark-haired hostess could only falter "_Pardonnez moi!_" A hearty laugh on my own part served rather to increase than diminish the _empressement_, as it confirmed the suspicion that their guest had realized to the full extent their hospitable remarks. Rising from the table to put an end to rather an awkward {37} scene, I took my _portfeuille_ and seated myself in the gallery to sketch the events of the day. But the dark landlord looked with no favouring eye upon the proceeding; and, as he was by no means the man to stand for ceremony, he presently let drop a civil hint of the propriety of _retiring_; the propriety of complying with which civil hint was at once perceived, early as was the hour; and soon the whole house and village was buried in slumber. And then "the stranger within their gates" rose quietly from his couch, and in a few moments was luxuriating in the fresh night-wind, laden with perfumes from the flowerets of the prairie it swept. And beautifully was the wan moonlight playing over forest, and prairie, and rustling maize-field, and over the gray church spire, and the old village in its slumbering. And the giant cliffs rose white and ghastly beyond the dark waters of the endless river, as it rolled on in calm magnificence, "for ever flowing and the same for ever." And associations of the scene with other times and other men thronged "thick and fast" upon the fancy. The first vermeil flush of morning was firing the eastern forest-tops, when a single horseman was to be seen issuing from the narrow lanes of the ancient village of Portage des Sioux, whose inhabitants had not yet shaken off the drowsiness of slumber, and winding slowly along beneath the huge trees skirting the prairie's margin. After an hour of irregular wandering through the heavy meadow-grass, drenched and dripping in the dews, and glistening in the morning sunlight, he plunges into the {38} old woods on his right, and in a few moments stands beneath the vine-clad sycamores, with the brilliant, trumpet-formed flower of the _bignonia_ suspended from the branches upon the margin of a stream. It is the "Father of Waters," and beyond its bounding bosom lies the little hamlet of Grafton, slumbering in quiet beauty beneath the cliffs. The scene is a lovely one: the mighty river rolling calmly and majestically on--the moss-tasselled forest upon its bank--the isles of brightness around which it ripples--the craggy precipice, rearing its bald, broad forehead beyond--the smoking cottages at the base, and the balmy breath of morning, with fragrance curling the blue waters, are outlines of a portraiture which imagination alone can fill up. Blast after blast from the throat of a huge horn suspended from the limb of an aged cotton-wood, went pealing over the waters; but all the echoes in the surrounding forest had been awakened, and an hour was gone by, before a float, propelled by the sturdy sinews of a single brace of arms, had obeyed the summons. And so the traveller sat himself quietly down upon the bank beneath the tree-shade, and luxuriated on the feast of natural scenery spread out before him. The site of the town of Grafton is an elevated strip of bottom-land, stretching along beneath the bluffs, and in this respect somewhat resembling Alton, fifteen or twenty miles below. The _locale_ of the village is, however, far more delightful than that of its neighbour, whatever the relative advantages for commerce they may boast, though those of the {39} former are neither few nor small. Situated at the _mouth_ of the Illinois as to navigation; possessing an excellent landing for steamers, an extensive and fertile interior, rapidly populating, and inexhaustible quarries for the builder, the town, though recently laid off, is going on in the march of improvement; and, with an hundred other villages of the West, bids fair to become a nucleus of wealth and commerce. _Grafton, Ill._ XXVI "When breath and sense have left this clay, In yon damp vault, oh lay me not; But kindly bear my bones away To some lone, green, and sunny spot." "Away to the prairie! away! Where the sun-gilt flowers are waving, When awaked from their couch at the breaking of day, O'er the emerald lawn the gay zephyrs play, And their pinions in dewdrops are laving." On the morning of my arrival at Grafton, while my brisk little hostess was making ready for my necessities, I stepped out to survey the place, and availed myself of an hour of leisure to visit a somewhat remarkable cavern among the cliffs, a little below the village, the entrance of which had caught my attention while awaiting the movements of the ferryman on the opposite bank of the Mississippi. It is approached by a rough footpath along the {40} river-margin, piled up with huge masses of limestone, which have been toppled from the beetling crags above: these, at this point, as before stated, are some hundred feet in perpendicular height. The orifice of the cave is elliptical in outline, and somewhat regular, being an excavation by the whirling of waters apparently in the surface of the smooth escarpment; it is about twenty feet in altitude, and as many in width. Passing the threshold of the entrance, an immediate expansion takes place into a spacious apartment some forty or fifty feet in depth, and about the same in extreme height: nearly in the centre a huge perpendicular column of solid rock rears itself from the floor to the roof. From this point the cavern lengthens itself away into a series of apartments to the distance of several hundred feet, with two lesser entrances in the same line with that in the middle, and at regular intervals. The walls of the cave, like everything of a geological character in this region, are composed of a secondary limestone, abounding in testaceous fossils. The spot exhibits conclusive evidence of having once been subject to diluvial action; and the cavern itself, as I have observed, seems little else than an excavation from the heart of an enormous mass of marine petrifaction. Large quantities of human bones of all sizes have been found in this cavern, leaving little doubt that, by the former dwellers in this fair land, the spot was employed as a catacomb. I myself picked up the _sincipital_ section of a scull, which would have ecstasied a virtuoso beyond measure; and {41} several of the _lumbar vertebræ_, which, if they prove nothing else, abundantly demonstrate the aboriginal natives of North America to have been no pigmy race. The spot is now desecrated by the presence of a party of sturdy coopers, who could not, however, have chosen a more delightful apartment for their handicraft; rather more taste than piety, however, has been betrayed in the selection. The view of the water and the opposite forest from the elevated mouth of the cavern is very fine, and three or four broad-leafed sycamores fling over the whole a delightful shade. The waters of the river flow onward in a deep current at the base, and the fish throw themselves into the warm sunlight from the surface. What a charming retreat from the fiery fervour of a midsummer noon! The heavy bluffs which overhang the village, and over which winds the great road to the north, though not a little wearisome to surmount, command from the summit a vast and beautiful landscape. A series of inclined planes are talked of by the worthy people of Grafton to overcome these bluffs, and render their village less difficult of inland ingress and regress; and though the idea is not a little amusing, of rail-cars running off at an angle of forty-five degrees, yet when we consider that this place, if it ever becomes of _any_ importance, must become a grand thoroughfare and dépôt on the route from St. Louis and the agricultural regions of the Missouri to the northern counties of Illinois, the design seems less chimerical _than it might be_. A charter, indeed, for a railroad {42} from Grafton, through Carrolton to Springfield, has been obtained, a company organized, and a portion of the stock subscribed;[180] while another corporation is to erect a splendid hotel. The traveller over the bluffs, long before he stands upon their summit, heartily covets any species of locomotion other than the back of a quadruped. But the scenery, as he ascends, caught at glimpses through the forest, is increasingly beautiful. Upon one of the loftiest eminences to the right stand the ruins of a huge stone-heap; the tumulus, perchance, of some red-browed chieftain of other days. It was a beautiful custom of these simple-hearted sons of the wilderness to lay away the relics of their loved and honoured ones even upon the loftiest, greenest spots of the whole earth; where the freed spirit might often rise to look abroad over the glories of that pleasant forest-home where once it roved in the chase or bounded forth upon the path of war. And it is a circumstance not a little worthy of notice, that veneration for the dead is a feeling universally betrayed by uncivilized nations. The Indian widow of Florida annually despoils herself of her luxuriant tresses to wreathe the headstone beneath which reposes the bones of her husband. The Canadian mother, when her infant is torn from her bosom by the chill hand of death, and, with a heart almost breaking, she has been forced to lay him away beneath the sod, is said, in the touching intensity of her affection, to bathe the tombstone of her little one with that genial flood which Nature poured through her veins for his nourishment {43} while living. The Oriental nations, it is well known, whether civilized or savage, have ever, from deepest antiquity, manifested an eloquent solicitude for the sepulchres of their dead. The expiring Israelite, we are always told, "was gathered to his fathers;" and the tombs of the Jewish monarchs, some of which exist even to the present day, were gorgeously magnificent. The nations of modern Turkey and India wreathe the tombs of their departed friends with the gayest and most beautiful flowers of the season; while the very atmosphere around is refreshed by fountains. From the site of the stone-heap of which I have spoken, and which may or may _not_ have been erected to the memory of some Indian chieftain, a glorious cosmorama of the whole adjacent region, miles in circumference, is unfolded to the eye. At your feet, far below, flow on the checkered waters of the Mississippi, gliding in ripples among their emerald islands; while at intervals, as the broad stream comes winding on from the west, is caught the flashing sheen of its surface through the dense old woods that fringe its margin. Beyond these, to the south, lies spread the broad and beautiful Mamelle Prairie, even to its faint blue blending with the distant horizon laid open to the eye, rolling and heaving its heavy herbage in the breeze to the sunlight like the long wave of ocean. And the bright green island-groves, the cape-like forest-strips swelling out upon its bosom, the flashing surface of lakes and water-sheets, almost buried in the luxuriance of vegetation, with thousands of {44} aquatic birds wheeling their broad flight over them, all contribute to fill up the lineaments of a scene of beauty which fails not to enrapture the spectator. Now and then along the smooth meadow, a darker luxuriance of verdure, with the curling cabin-smoke upon its border, and vast herds of domestic cattle in its neighbourhood, betray the presence of man, blending _his_ works with the wild and beautiful creations of Nature. On the right, at a distance of two miles, come in the placid waters of the Illinois, from the magnificent bluffs in the back-ground stealing softly and quietly into the great river through the wooded islands at its mouth. The day was a sultry one; the atmosphere was like the breath of a furnace; but over the heights of the bluffs swept the morning air, fresh and cool from the distant prairie. For some miles, as is invariably the case upon the banks of the Western rivers, the road winds along among bluffs and sink-holes; and so constantly does its course vary and diverge, that a pocket compass is anything but a needless appendage. Indeed, all his calculations to the contrary notwithstanding, the traveller throughout the whole of this region describes with his route a complete Virginia fence. The road is not a little celebrated for its tortuosity. At length the traveller emerges upon a prairie. On its edge beneath the forest stands a considerable settlement, bordering on Macoupin Creek, from which it takes a name. In the latter part of 1816 this settlement was commenced, and was then the most northern location of whites in the Territory of Illinois.[181] {45} It was evening, at the close of a sultry day, that the village of Carrolton appeared before me among the trees.[182] I was struck with the quiet air of simple elegance which seemed to pervade the place, though its general outlines are those of every other Western village I have visited. One broad, regular street extends through the town, upon either side of which stand the stores and better class of private residences; while in the back-ground, scattered promiscuously along the transverse avenues, are log-cabins surrounded by cornfields, much like those in the villages of the French. Three sides of the town are bounded by forest, while the fourth opens upon the prairie called "String Prairie." In the centre of the village, upon the principal street, is reserved a square, in the middle of which stands the courthouse, with other public structures adjacent, and the stores and hotels along its sides. One thing in Carrolton which struck me as a little singular, was the unusual diversity of religious denominations. Of these there are not less than five or six; three of which have churches, and a fourth is setting itself in order to build; and all this in a village of hardly one thousand inhabitants. The courthouse is a handsome edifice of brick, two stories, with a neat spire. The neighbouring region is fertile and healthy; well proportioned with prairie and timber, well watered by the Macoupin and Apple Creeks,[183] and well populated by a sturdy, thriving race of yeomanry. This is, indeed, strictly an agricultural village; and, so far as my own observation {46} extended, little attention is paid or taste manifested for anything else. About a dozen miles north of Carrolton is situated the village of Whitehall, a flourishing settlement in the prairie's edge, from the centre of which, some miles distant, it may be seen.[184] Three years ago the spot was an uncultivated waste; the town has now two houses of worship, a school, an incorporation for a seminary, two taverns, six hundred inhabitants, and a steam mill to feed them withal. A few miles from this place, on the outskirts of another small settlement, I was met by a company of emigrants from Western New-York. The women and children were piled upon the top of the household stuff with about as much ceremony as if they constituted a portion thereof, in a huge lumbering baggage-wagon, around which dangled suspended pots and kettles, dutch-ovens and tin-kitchens, cheese-roasters and bread-toasters, all in admired confusion, jangling harsh discord. The cart-wheels themselves, as they gyrated upon the parched axles, like the gates of Milton's hell on their hinges, "grated harsh thunder." In the van of the cavalcade strode soberly on the patriarch of the family, with his elder sons, axe upon shoulder, rifle in hand, a veritable Israel Bush. For six weeks had the wanderers been travelling, and a weary, bedusted-looking race were they, that emigrant family. The rapidity with which a Western village goes forward, and begins to assume importance among the nations, after having once been born and {47} christened, is amazing. The mushrooms of a summer's night, the wondrous gourd of Jonah, the astonishing bean of the giant-killer, or the enchantments of the Arabian Nights, are but fit parallels to the growth of the prairie-village of the Far West. Of all this I was forcibly reminded in passing through quite a town upon my route named Manchester, where I dined, and which, if my worthy landlord was not incorrect, two years before could hardly boast a log-cabin.[185] It is now a thriving place, on the northern border of Mark's Prairie, from which it may be seen four or five miles before entering its streets; it is surrounded by a body of excellent timber, always the _magnum desideratum_ in Illinois. This scarcity of timber will not, however, be deemed such an insurmountable obstacle to a dense and early population of this state as may have been apprehended, when we consider the unexampled rapidity with which a young growth pushes itself forward into the prairies when once protected from the devastating effects of the autumnal fires; the exhaustless masses of bituminous coal which may be thrown up from the ravines, and creeks, and bluffs of nearly every county in the state; the facility of ditching, by the assistance of blue grass to bind the friable soil, and the luxuriance of hedge-rows for enclosures, as practised almost solely in England, France, and the Netherlands; and, finally, the convenience of manufacturing brick for all the purposes of building. There is not, probably, any quarter of the state destined to become more populous and powerful {48} than that section of Morgan county through which I was now passing. On every side, wherever the traveller turns his eye, beautiful farms unfold their broad, wavy prairie-fields of maize and wheat, indicative of affluence and prosperity. The _worst_ soil of the prairies is best adapted to wheat; it is _generally_ too fertile; the growth too rapid and luxuriant; the stalk so tall and the ear so heavy, that it is lodged before matured for the sickle. Illinois, consequently, can never become a celebrated wheat region, though for corn and coarser grains it is now unequalled. The rapidity with which this state has been peopled is wonderful, especially its northern counties. In the year 1821, that section of country embraced within the present limits of Morgan county numbered but twenty families; in 1830 its population was nearly fourteen thousand, and cannot now be estimated at less than seventeen thousand! Many of the settlers are natives of the New-England States; and with them have brought those habits of industrious sobriety for which the North has ever been distinguished. In all the enterprise of the age, professing for its object the amelioration of human condition and the advancement of civilization, religion, and the arts, Morgan county stands in advance of all others in the state. What a wonderful revolution have a few fleeting years of active enterprise induced throughout a region once luxuriating in all the savageness of nature; while the wild prairie-rose "blushed unseen," and the wilder forest-son pursued the deer! Fair villages, {49} like spring violets along the meadow, have leaped forth into being, to bless and to gladden the land, and to render even this beautiful portion of God's beautiful world--though for ages a profitless waste--at length the abode of intelligence, virtue, and peace. It was near the close of the day that the extent and frequency of the farms on either side, the more finished structure of the houses, the regularity of enclosures, the multitude of vehicles of every description by which I was encountered, and the dusty, hoof-beaten thoroughfare over which I was travelling, all reminded me that I was drawing nigh to Jacksonville, the principal town in Illinois. Passing "Diamond Grove," a beautiful forest-island of nearly a thousand acres, elevated above the surrounding prairie to which it gives a name,[186] and environed by flourishing farms, the traveller catches a view of the distant village stretching away along the northern horizon. He soon enters an extended avenue, perfectly uniform for several miles, leading on to the town. Beautiful meadows and harvest-fields on either side sweep off beyond the reach of the eye, their neat white cottages and palings peeping through the enamelled foliage. To the left, upon a swelling upland at the distance of some miles, are beheld the brick edifices of "Illinois College," relieved by a dark grove of oaks resting against the western sky.[187] These large buildings, together with the numerous other public structures, imposingly situated and strongly relieved, give to the place a dignified, city-like aspect in distant {50} view. After a ride of more than a mile within the immediate suburbs of the town, the traveller ascends a slight elevation, and the next moment finds himself in the public square, surrounded on every side by stores and dwellings, carts and carriages, market-people, horses, and hotels. _Jacksonville, Ill._ XXVII "What a large volume of adventures may be grasped in this little span of life by him who interests his heart in everything, and who, having his eyes to see what time and chance are perpetually holding out to him as he journeyeth on his way, misses nothing he can _fairly_ lay his hands on."--STERNE'S _Sentimental Journal_. "Take this in good part, whosoever thou be, And wish me no worse than I wish unto thee." TURNER. It was a remark of that celebrated British statesman, Horace Walpole, that the vicissitudes of no man's life were too slight to prove interesting, if detailed in the simple order of their occurrence. The idea originated with the poet Gray, if an idea which has suggested itself to the mind of every man may be appropriated by an individual. Assuming the sentiment as true, the author of these SKETCHES has alone presumed to lay his observations and adventures as a traveller before the _majesty of the public_; and upon this principle _solely_ must they rely for any interest they may {51} claim. A mere glance at those which have preceded must convince the reader that their object has been by no means exact geographical and statistical information. Errors and omissions have, doubtless, often occurred in the hasty view which has been taken: partially through negligence, sometimes through lack of knowledge, misinformation, or attempt at brevity, but never through aforethought or malice prepense. Upon the whole, the writer admits himself completely laid open to criticism; and, should any public-spirited worthy deem it his duty to rise up in judgment and avenge the wrongs of literature and the community, he has undoubted right so to do: nathless, he is most veritably forewarned that he will hardly gather up his "labour for his pains!" But _allons_. It is only ten or twelve years since the town site of Jacksonville, now, perhaps, the most flourishing inland village in Illinois, was first _laid off_; and it is but within the past five years that its present unprecedented advancement can be dated.[188] Its site is a broad elevated roll in the midst of a beautiful prairie; and, from whatever point it is approached, few places present a more delightful prospect. The spot seems marked and noted by Nature for the abode of man. The neighbouring prairie is undulating, and the soil uncommonly rich, even in this land of fertility. It is mostly under high cultivation, and upon its northern and western edge is environed by pleasant groves, watered by many a "sweet and curious brook." The public square in the centre of the town is of noble dimensions, {52} occupied by a handsome courthouse and a market, both of brick, and its sides filled up with dwelling-houses, stores, law-offices, a church, bank, and hotel. From this point radiate streets and avenues in all directions: one through each side of every angle near its vertex, and one through the middle of every side; so that the town-plat is completely cut up into rectangles. If I mistake not in my description, it will be perceived that the public square of Jacksonville may be entered at no less than twelve distinct avenues. In addition to the spacious courthouse, the public buildings consist of three or four churches. One of these, belonging to the Congregational order, betrays much correct taste; and its pulpit is the most simply elegant I remember ever to have seen. It consists merely of a broad platform in the chancel of the building, richly carpeted; a dark mahogany bar without drapery, highly polished; and a neat sofa of the same material in a plain back-ground. The outline and proportion are perfect; and, like the doctrines of the sect which worships here, there is an air of severe, dignified elegance about the whole structure, pleasing as it is rare. The number of Congregational churches in the West is exceedingly small; and as it is always pleasant for the stranger in a strange land to meet the peculiarities of that worship to which from childhood-days he has been attached, so it is peculiarly grateful to the New-England emigrant to recognise in this distant spot the simple faith and ceremony of the Pilgrims. Jacksonville is largely made up of emigrants from {53} the North; and they have brought with them many of their customs and peculiarities. The State of Illinois may, indeed, be truly considered the New-England of the West. In many respects it is more congenial than any other to the character and prejudices of the Northern emigrant. It is not a slave state; internal improvement is the grand feature of its civil polity; and measures for the universal diffusion of intellectual, moral, and religious culture are in active progression. In Henry county, in the northern section of the state, two town-plats have within the past year been laid off for colonies of emigrants from Connecticut, which intend removing in the ensuing fall, accompanied each by their minister, physician, lawyer, and with all the various artisans of mechanical labour necessary for such communities. The settlements are to be called Wethersfield and Andover.[189] Active measures for securing the blessings of education, religion, temperance, etc., have already been taken.[190] The edifices of "Illinois College," to which I have before alluded, are situated upon a beautiful eminence one mile west of the village, formerly known as "Wilson's Grove." The site is truly delightful. In the rear lies a dense green clump of oaks, and in front is spread out the village, with a boundless extent of prairie beyond, covered for miles with cultivation. Away to the south, the wildflower flashes as gayly in the sunlight, and {54} waves as gracefully when swept by the breeze, as centuries ago, when no eye of man looked upon its loveliness. During my stay at Jacksonville I visited several times this pleasant spot, and always with renewed delight at the glorious scenery it presented. Connected with the college buildings are extensive grounds; and students, at their option, may devote a portion of each day to manual labour in the workshop or on the farm. Some individuals have, it is said, in this manner defrayed all the expenses of their education. This system of instruction cannot be too highly recommended. Apart from the benefits derived in acquiring a knowledge of the use of mechanical instruments, and the development of mechanical genius, there are others of a higher nature which every one who has been educated at a public institution will appreciate. Who has not gazed with anguish on the sunken cheek and the emaciated frame of the young aspirant for literary distinction? Who has not beheld the funeral fires of intellect while the lamp of life was fading, flaming yet more beautifully forth, only to be dimmed for ever! The lyre is soon to be crushed; but, ere its hour is come, it flings forth notes of melody sweet beyond expression! Who does not know that protracted, unremitting intellectual labour is _always_ fatal, unaccompanied by corresponding physical exertion; and who cannot perceive that _any_ inducement, be it what it may, which can draw forth the student from his retirement, is invaluable. Such an inducement is the lively interest which the cultivated mind {55} always manifests in the operations of mechanical art. Illinois College has been founded but five or six years, yet it is now one of the most flourishing institutions west of the mountains. The library consists of nearly two thousand volumes, and its chymical apparatus is sufficient. The faculty are five in number, and its first class was graduated two years since. No one can doubt the vast influence this seminary is destined to exert, not only upon this beautiful region of country and this state, but over the whole great Western Valley. It owes its origin to the noble enterprise of seven young men, graduates of Yale College, whose names another age will enrol among our Harvards and our Bowdoins, our Holworthys, Elliots, and Gores, great and venerable as those names are. And, surely, we cannot but believe that "some divinity has shaped their ends," when we consider the character of the spot upon which a wise Providence has been pleased to succeed their design. From the Northern lakes to the gulf, where may a more eligible site be designated for an institution whose influence shall be wide, and powerful, and salutary, than that same beautiful grove, in that pleasant village of Jacksonville. To the left of the college buildings is situated the lordly residence of Governor Duncan, surrounded by its extensive grounds.[191] There are other fine edifices scattered here and there upon the eminence, among which the beautiful little cottage of Mr. C., brother to the great orator of the {56} West, holds a conspicuous station.[192] Society in Jacksonville is said to be superior to any in the state. It is of a cast decidedly moral, and possesses much literary taste. This is betrayed in the number of its schools and churches; its lyceum, circulating library, and periodicals. In fine, there are few spots in the West, and none in Illinois, which to the _Northern_ emigrant present stronger attractions than the town of Jacksonville and its vicinity. Located in the heart of a tract of country the most fertile and beautiful in the state; swept by the sweet breath of health throughout the year; tilled by a race of enterprising, intelligent, hardy yeomen; possessing a moral, refined, and enlightened society, the tired wanderer may here find his necessities relieved and his peculiarities respected: he may here find congeniality of feeling and sympathy of heart. And when his memory wanders, as it sometimes must, with melancholy musings, mayhap, over the loved scenes of his own distant New-England, it will be sweet to realize that, though he sees not, indeed, around him the beautiful romance of his native hills, yet many a kindly heart is throbbing near, whose emotions, like his own, were nurtured in their rugged bosom. "_Cælum non animum mutatur._" And is it indeed true, as they often tell us, that New-England character, like her own ungenial clime, is cold, penurious, and heartless; while to her brethren, from whom she is separated only by an imaginary boundary, may be ascribed all that is lofty, and honourable, and chivalrous in man! This is an old {57} calumny, the offspring of prejudice and ignorance, and it were time it were at rest. But it is not for me to contrast the leading features of Northern character with those of the South, or to repel the aspersions which have been heaped upon either. Yet, reader, believe them not; many are false as ever stained the poisoned lip of slander. It was Saturday evening when I reached the village of Jacksonville, and on the following Sabbath I listened to the sage instruction of that eccentric preacher, but venerable old man, Dr. P. of Philadelphia, since deceased, but then casually present. "_The Young Men of the West_" was a subject which had been presented him for discourse, and worthily was it elaborated. The good people of this little town, in more features than one, present a faithful transcript of New-England; but in none do they betray their Pilgrim origin more decidedly than in their devotedness to the public worship of the sanctuary. Here the young and the old, the great and small, the rich and poor, are all as steadily church-goers as were ever the pious husbandmen of Connecticut--men of the broad breast and giant stride--in the most "high and palmy day" of blue-laws and tything men. You smile, reader, yet "Noble deeds those iron men have done!" It was these same church-going, psalm-singing husbandmen who planted Liberty's fair tree within our borders, the leaves of which are now for the "healing of the nations," and whose broad branches are overshadowing the earth; and they watered it--ay, watered it with their blood! The Pilgrim Fathers!--{58} the elder yeomanry of New-England!--the Patriots of the American Revolution!--great names! they shall live enshrined in the heart of Liberty long after those of many a railer are as if they had never been. And happy, happy would it be for the fair heritage bequeathed by them, were not the present generation degenerate sons of noble sires. At Jacksonville I tarried only a few days; but during that short period I met with a few things of tramontane origin, strange enough to my Yankee notions. It was the season approaching the annual election of representatives for the state and national councils, and on one of the days to which I have alluded the political candidates of various creeds _addressed the people_; that is--for the benefit of the uninitiated be it stated--each one made manifest what great things he had done for the people in times past, and promised to do greater things, should the dear people, in the overflowing of their kindness, be pleased to let their choice fall upon him. This is a custom of universal prevalence in the Southern and Western states, and much is urged in its support; yet, sure it is, in no way could a Northern candidate more utterly defeat his election than by attempting to pursue the same. The charge of _self-electioneering_ is, indeed, a powerful engine often employed by political partisans. The candidates, upon the occasion of which I am speaking, were six or seven in number: and though I was not permitted to listen to the _eloquence_ of all, some of these harangues are said to have been powerful productions, especially that of Mr. S. The day {59} was exceedingly sultry, and Mr. W., candidate for the state Senate, was on the _stump_, in shape of a huge meat-block at one corner of the market-house, when I entered.[193] He was a broadfaced, farmer-like personage, with features imbrowned by exposure, and hands hardened by honourable toil; with a huge rent, moreover, athwart his left shoulder-blade--a badge of democracy, I presume, and either neglected or produced there for the occasion; much upon the same principle, doubtless, that Quintilian counselled his disciples to disorder the hair and tumble the toga before they began to speak. Now mind ye, reader, I do not accuse the worthy man of having followed the Roman's instructions, or even of acquaintance therewith, or any such thing; but, verily, he did, in all charity, seem to have hung on his worst rigging, and that, too, for no other reason than to demonstrate the democracy aforesaid, and his affection for the _sans-culottes_. His speech, though garnished with some little rhodomontade, was, upon the whole, a sensible production. I could hardly restrain a smile, however, at one of the worthy man's figures, in which he likened himself to "the _morning sun_, mounting a stump to scatter the mists which had been gathering around his fair fame." Close upon the heels of this _ruse_ followed a beautiful simile--"a people free as the wild breezes of their own broad prairies!" The candidates alternated according to their political creeds, and denounced each other in no very measured terms. The approaching election was found, indeed, to be the prevailing topic of thought and conversation all over the land; insomuch {60} that the writer, himself an unassuming wayfarer, was more than once, strangely enough, mistaken for a _candidate_ as he rode through the country, and was everywhere _catechumened_ as to the articles of his political faith. It would be an amusing thing to a solitary traveller in a country like this, could he always detect the curious surmisings to which his presence gives rise in the minds of those among whom he chances to be thrown; especially so when, from any circumstance, his appearance does not betray his definite rank or calling in life, and anything of mystery hangs around his movements. Internal Improvement seems now to be the order of the day in Northern Illinois. This was the hobby of most of the stump-speakers; and the projected railway from Jacksonville to the river was under sober consideration. I became acquainted, while here, with Mr. C., a young gentleman engaged in laying off the route. It was late in the afternoon when I at length broke away from the hustings, and mounted my horse to pursue my journey to Springfield. The road strikes off from the public square, in a direct line through the prairie, at right angles with that by which I entered, and, _like_ that, ornamented by fine farms. I had rode but a few miles from the village, and was leisurely pursuing my way across the dusty plain, when a quick tramping behind attracted my attention, and in a few moments a little, portly, red-faced man at my side, in linsey-woolsey and a broad-brimmed hat, saluted me frankly with the title of "friend," and forthwith announced himself a "Baptist {61} circuit-rider!" I became much interested in the worthy man before his path diverged from my own; and I flatter myself he reciprocated my regard, for he asked all manner of questions, and related all manner of anecdotes, questioned or not. Among other edifying matter, he gave a full-length biography of a "_billards fever_" from which he was just recovering; even from the premonitory symptoms thereof to the relapse and final convalescence. At nightfall I found myself alone in the heart of an extensive prairie; but the beautiful crescent had now begun to beam forth from the blue heavens; and the wild, fresh breeze of evening, playing among the silvered grass-tops, rendered the hour a delightful one to the traveller. "Spring Island Grove," a thick wood upon an eminence to the right, looked like a region of fairy-land as its dark foliage trembled in the moonlight. The silence and solitude of the prairie was almost startling; and a Herculean figure upon a white horse, as it drew nigh, passed me "on the other side" with a glance of suspicion at my closely-buttoned surtout and muffled mouth, as if to say, "this is too lone a spot to form acquaintance." A few hours--I had crossed the prairie, and was snugly deposited in a pretty little farmhouse in the edge of the grove, with a crusty, surly fellow enough for its master. _Springfield, Ill._ XXVIII "Hee is a rite gude creetur, and travels _all_ the ground over most faithfully." "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together."--SHAKESPEARE. It is a trite remark, that few studies are more pleasing to the inquisitive mind than that of the _nature of man_. But, however this may be, sure it is, few situations in life present greater facilities for watching its developments than that of the ordinary _wayfaring_ traveller. Though I fully agree with Edmund Burke, that "the age of chivalry has passed away," with all its rough virtues and its follies, yet am I convinced that, even in this degenerate era of sophisters, economists, and speculators, when a solitary individual, unconnected with any great movements of the day, throws himself upon his horse, and sallies fearlessly forth upon the arena of the world, whether in _quest_ of adventure or not, he will be quite sure to meet, at least, with some slight "inklings" thereof. A thousand exhibitions of human character will fling themselves athwart his pathway, inconsiderable indeed in themselves, yet which, as days of the year and seconds of the day, go to make up the lineaments of man; and which, from the observation of the pride, and pomp, and circumstance of wealth and equipage, would of necessity be veiled. Under the eye of the solitary {63} wanderer, going forth upon a pilgrimage of observation among the ranks of men--who is met but for once, and whose opinion, favourable or otherwise, can be supposed to exert but trifling influence--there is not that necessity for enveloping those petty weaknesses of our nature in the mantle of selfishness which would, under more imposing circumstances, exist. To the mind of delicate sensibility, unschooled in the ways of man, such exhibitions of human heartlessness might, perchance, be anything but _interesting_; but to one who, elevated by independence of character above the ordinary contingencies of situation and circumstance, can smile at the frailties of his race, even when exhibited at his own expense, they can but afford a fund of interest and instruction. The youthful student, when with fresh, unblunted feeling he for the first time enters the dissecting-room of medical science, turns with sickened, revolting sensibilities from the mutilated form stretched out upon the board before him, while the learned professor, with untrembling nerve, lays bare its secrecies with the crimsoned knife of science. Just so is it with the exhibitions of human nature; yet who will say that dissection of the moral character of man is not as indispensable to an intimate acquaintance with its phenomena, as that of his physical organization for a similar purpose. But, then, there are the brighter features of humanity, which sometimes hang across the wanderer's pathway like the beautiful tints of a summer evening bow; and which, as they are oftenest met reposing beneath the cool, sequestered shades of {64} retirement, where the roar and tumult of a busy world are as the heavy swing of the distant wave, so there, oftener than elsewhere, they serve to cheer the pilgrim traveller's heart. Ah! it is very sweet, from the dull Rembrandt shades of which human character presents but too much, to turn away and dwell upon these green, beautiful spots in the wastes of humanity; these _oases_ in a desert of barrenness; to hope that man, though indeed a depraved, unholy being, is not that _thing_ of utter detestation which a troubled bosom had sometimes forced us to believe. At such moments, worth years of coldness and distrust, how inexpressibly grateful is it to feel the young tendrils of the heart springing forth to meet the proffered affection; curling around our race, and binding it closer and closer to ourselves. But your pardon, reader: my wayward pen has betrayed me into an episode upon poor human nature most unwittingly, I do assure thee. I was only endeavouring to present a few ideas circumstances had casually suggested, which I was sure would commend themselves to every thinking mind, and which some incidents of my wayfaring may serve to illustrate, when lo! forth comes an essay on human nature. It reminds one of Sir Hudibras, who _told the clock by algebra_, or of Dr. Young's satirised gentlewoman, who _drank tea by stratagem_. "How little do men realize the loveliness of this visible world!" is an exclamation which has oftentimes involuntarily left my lips while gazing upon the surpassing splendour of a prairie-sunrise. This is at all times a glorious hour, but to a lonely traveller {65} on these beautiful plains of the departed Illini, it comes on with a charm which words are powerless to express. We call our world a RUIN. Ah! it _is_ one in all its moral and physical relations; but, like the elder cities of the Nile, how vast, how magnificent in its desolation! The astronomer, as he wanders with scientific eye along the sparkling galaxy of a summer's night, tells us that among those clustering orbs, far, far away in the clear realms of upper sky, he catches at times a glimpse of _another_ world! a region of untold, unutterable brightness! the high empyrean, veiled in mystery! And so is it with our own humbler sphere; the glittering fragment of a world _we_ have never known ofttimes glances before us, and then is gone for ever. Before the dawn I had left the farmhouse where I had passed the night, and was thridding the dark old forest on my route to Springfield. The dusky twilight of morning had been slowly stealing over the landscape; and, just as I emerged once more upon my winding prairie-path, the flaming sunlight was streaming wide and far over the opposite heavens. Along the whole line of eastern horizon reposed the purple dies of morning, shooting rapidly upward into broad pyramidal shafts to the zenith, till at last the dazzling orb came rushing above the plain, bathing the scene in an effulgence of light. The day which succeeded was a fine one, and I journeyed leisurely onward, admiring the mellow glories of woodland and prairie, until near noon, when a flashing cupola above the trees reminded me I was approaching {66} Springfield.[194] Owing to its unfavourable situation and the fewness of its public structures, this town, though one of the most important in the state, presents not that imposing aspect to the stranger's eye which some more inconsiderable villages can boast. Its location is the border of an extensive prairie, adorned with excellent farms, and stretching away on every side to the blue line of distant forest. This town, like Jacksonville, was laid out ten or twelve years since, but for a long while contained only a few scattered log cabins: all its present wealth or importance dates from the last six years. Though inferior in many respects to its neighbour and rival, yet such is its location by nature that it can hardly fail of becoming a place of extensive business and crowded population; while its geographically central situation seems to designate it as the capital of the state. An elegant state-house is now erecting, and the seat of government is to be located here in 1840. The public square, a green, pleasant lawn, enclosed by a railing, contains the courthouse and a market, both fine structures of brick: the sides are lined with handsome edifices. Most of the buildings are small, however, and the humble log cabin not unfrequently meets the eye. Among the public structures are a jail, and several houses of worship. Society is said to be excellent, and the place can boast much literary taste. The plan of Internal Improvement projected for the state, when carried out, cannot fail to render Springfield an important place. It was a cool, beautiful evening when I left Springfield and held my way over the prairie, rolling its {67} waving verdure on either side of my path. Long after the village had sunk in the horizon, the bright cupola continued to flame in the oblique rays of the setting sun. I passed many extensive farms on my route, and in a few hours had entered the forest and forded Sangamon _River_--so styled out of pure courtesy, I presume, for at the spot I crossed it seemed little more than a respectable creek, with waters clear as crystal, flowing over clean white sand.[195] At periods of higher stages, however, this stream has been navigated nearly to the confluence of its forks, a distance of some hundred miles; and in the spring of 1832 a boat of some size arrived within five miles of Springfield. An inconsiderable expense in removing logs and overhanging trees, it is said, would render this river navigable for keelboats half the year. The advantages of such a communication, through one of the richest agricultural regions on the globe, can hardly be estimated. The Sangamon bottom has a soil of amazing fertility, and rears from its deep, black mould a forest of enormous sycamores; huge, overgrown, unshapely masses, their venerable limbs streaming with moss. When the traveller enters the depths of these dark old woods, a cold chill runs over his frame, and he feels as if he were entering the sepulchre. A cheerless twilight reigns for ever through them: the atmosphere he inhales has an earthly smell, and is filled with floating greenish exhalations; the moist, black mould beneath his horse's hoofs, piled with vegetable decay for many feet, and upon whose festering bosom the cheering light of day has not smiled for {68} centuries, is rank and yielding: the enormous shafts leaning in all attitudes, their naked old roots enveloped in a green moss of velvet luxuriance, tower a hundred feet above his head, and shut out the heavens from his view: the huge wild-vine leaps forth at their foot and clasps them in its deadly embrace; or the tender ivy and pensile woodbine cluster around the aged giants, and strive to veil with their mantling tapestry the ravages of time. There is much cathedral pomp, much of Gothic magnificence about all this; and one can hardly fling off from his mind the awe and solemnity which gathers over it amid the chill, silent, and mysterious solitude of the scene. Emerging from the river-bottom, my pathway lay along a tract of elevated land, among beautiful forest-glades of stately oaks, through whose long dim aisles the yellow beams of summer sunset were now richly streaming. Once more upon the broad prairie, and the fragment of an iris was glittering in the eastern heavens: turning back, my eye caught a view of that singular but splendid phenomenon, seldom witnessed--a heavy, distant rain-shower between the spectator and the departing sun. Nightfall found me at the residence of Mr. D., an intelligent, gentlemanly farmer, with whom I passed an agreeable evening. I was not long in discovering that my host was a candidate for civic honours; and that he, with his friend Mr. L., whose speech I had subsequently the pleasure of perusing, had just returned from Mechanicsburg,[196] a small village in the vicinity, where they had been exerting themselves upon the stump to win the _aura popularis_ for the coming election. "_Sic itur ad astra!_" {69} Before sunrise I had crossed the threshold of my hospitable entertainer; and having wound my solitary way, partially by twilight, over a prairie fifteen miles in extent, "Began to feel, as well I might, The keen demands of appetite." Reining up my tired steed at the door of a log cabin in the middle of the plain, the nature and extent of my necessities were soon made known to an aged matron, who had come forth on my approach. "Some victuals you shall get, _stran-ger_; but you'll just take your _creetur_ to the crib and _gin_ him his feed; _bekase_, d'ye see, the old man is kind o' _drinkin_ to-day; yester' was 'lection, ye know." From the depths of my sympathetic emotions was I moved for the poor old body, who with most dolorous aspect had delivered herself of this message; and I had proceeded forthwith, agreeable to instructions, to satisfy the cravings of my patient animal, when who should appear but my tipsified host, _in propria persona_, at the door. The little old gentleman came tottering towards the spot where I stood, and, warmly squeezing my hand, whispered to me, with a most irresistible serio-comic air, "_that he was drunk_;" and "that he was four hours last night getting home from _'lection_," as he called it. "Now, stran-ger, you won't think hard on me," he continued, in his maudlin manner: "I'm a poor, drunken old fellow! but old Jim wan't al'ays so; old Jim wan't al'ays so!" he exclaimed, with bitterness, burying his face in his toilworn hands, as, having now regained the house, he seated himself with difficulty upon the {70} doorstep. "Once, my son, old Jim could knock down, drag out, whip, lift, or throw any man in all Sangamon, if he _was_ a _leetle_ fellow: but _now_--there's the receipt of his disgrace--there," he exclaimed, with vehemence, thrusting forth before my eyes two brawny, gladiator arms, in which the volumed muscles were heaving and contracting with excitement; ironed by labour, but shockingly mutilated. Expressing astonishment at the spectacle, he assured me that these wounds had been torn in the flesh by the teeth of infuriated antagonists in drunken quarrels, though the relation seemed almost too horrible to be true. Endeavouring to divert his mind from this disgusting topic, on which it seemed disposed to linger with ferocious delight, I made some inquiries relative to his farm--which was, indeed, a beautiful one, under high culture--and respecting the habits of the prairie-wolf, a large animal of the species having crossed my path in the prairie in the gray light of dawn. Upon the latter inquiry the old man sat silent a moment with his chin leaning on his hands. Looking up at length with an arch expression, he said, "Stran-ger, I _haint_ no _larnin_; I _can't_ read; but don't the Book say somewhere about old Jacob and the ring-streaked cattle?" "Yes." "Well, and how old Jake's ring-streaked and round-spotted _creeturs_, after a _leetle_, got the better of all the stock, and overrun the _univarsal_ herd; don't the Book say so?" "Something so." "Well, now for the wolves: they're all colours but ring-streaked and round-spotted; and if the sucker-farmers don't look to it, the prairie-wolves will get {71} the better of all the geese, turkeys, and _hins_ in the barnyard, speckled or no!" My breakfast was now on the table; a substantial fare of corn-bread, butter, honey, fresh eggs, _fowl_, and _coffee_, which latter are as invariably visitants at an Illinois table as is bacon at a Kentucky one, and that is saying no little. The exhilarating herb tea is rarely seen. An anecdote will illustrate this matter. A young man, journeying in Illinois, stopped one evening at a log cabin with a violent headache, and requested that never-failing antidote, _a cup of tea_. There was none in the house; and, having despatched a boy to a distant grocery to procure a pound, he threw himself upon the bed. In a few hours a beverage was handed him, the first swallow of which nearly excoriated his mouth and throat. In the agony of the moment he dashed down the bowl, and rushed half blinded to the fireplace. Over the blaze was suspended a huge iron kettle, half filled with an inky fluid, seething, and boiling, and bubbling, like the witches' caldron of unutterable things in Macbeth. The good old lady, in her anxiety to give her sick guest a _strong_ dish of tea, having never seen the like herself or drank thereof, and supposing it something of the nature of soup, very innocently and ignorantly poured the whole pound into her largest kettle, and set it a boiling. Poultry is the other standing dish of Illinois; and the poor birds seem to realize that their destiny is at hand whenever a traveller draws nigh, for they invariably hide their heads beneath the nearest covert. Indeed, so invariably are poultry and bacon visitants at an Illinois table, that {72} the story _may_ be true, that the first inquiry made of the guest by the village landlord is the following: "Well, stran-ger, what'll ye take: wheat-bread and _chicken fixens_, or corn-bread and _common doins_?" by the latter expressive and elegant soubriquet being signified bacon. Breakfast being over, my foot was once more in the stirrup. The old man accompanied me to the gateway, and shaking my hand in a boisterous agony of good-nature, pressed me to visit him again when he was _not drunk_. I had proceeded but a few steps on my way when I heard his voice calling after me, and turned my head: "Stran-ger! I say, stran-ger! what do you reckon of sending this young Jack Stewart to Congress?" "Oh, he'll answer." "Well, and that's what I'm a going to vote; and there's a heap o' people always thinks like old Jim does; and that's what made 'em get me groggy last night." I could not but commiserate this old man as I pursued my journey, reflecting on what had passed. He was evidently no common toper; for some of his remarks evinced a keenness of observation, and a depth and shrewdness of thought, which even the withering blight of drunkenness had not completely deadened; and which, with other habits and other circumstances, might have placed him far above the beck and nod of every demagogue. _Decatur, Ill._ XXIX "Ay, but to die, and go we know not where!" _Measure for Measure._ "Plains immense, interminable meads, And vast savannas, where the wand'ring eye, Unfix'd, is in a verdant ocean lost." THOMSON. "Ye shall have miracles; ay, sound ones too, Seen, heard, attested, everything but true." MOORE. "Call in the barber! If the tale be long, He'll cut it short, I trust." MIDDLETON. There are few sentiments of that great man Benjamin Franklin for which he is more to be revered than for those respecting the burial-place of the departed.[197] The grave-yard is, and should ever be deemed, a _holy_ spot; consecrated, not by the cold formalities of unmeaning ceremony, but by the solemn sacredness of the heart. Who that has committed to earth's cold bosom the relics of one dearer, perchance, than existence, can ever after pass the burial-ground with a careless heart. There is nothing which more painfully jars upon my own feelings--if I may except that wanton desecration of God's sanctuary in some sections of our land {74} for a public commitia--than to see the grave-yard slighted and abused. It is like wounding the memory of a buried friend. And yet it is an assertion which cannot be refuted, that, notwithstanding the reverence which, as a people, we have failed not to manifest for the memory of our dead, the same delicate regard and obsequy is not with us observed in the sacred rites as among the inhabitants of the Eastern hemisphere. If, indeed, we may be permitted to gather up an opinion from circumstances of daily notoriety, it would seem that the plat of ground appropriated as a cemetery in many of the villages of our land was devoted to this most holy of purposes solely because useless for every other; as if, after seizing upon every spot for the benefit of the living, this last poor _remnant_ was reluctantly yielded as a resting-place for the departed. And thus has it happened that most of the burial-grounds of our land have either been located in a region so lone and solitary, "You scarce would start to meet a spirit there," or they have been thrust out into the very midst of business, strife, and contention; amid the glare of sunshine, noise, and dust; "the gaudy, babbling, and remorseless day," with hardly a wall of stones to protect them from the inroads of unruly brutes or brutish men. It is as if the rites of sepulture were refused, and the poor boon of a resting-place in the bosom of our common mother denied to her offspring; as if, in our avarice of soul, we grudged even the last narrow house destined for all; and {75} fain would resume the last, the only gift our departed ones may retain. Who would not dread "_to die_" and have his lifeless clay deposited thus! Who would not, ere the last fleeting particle of existence had "ebbed to its finish," and the feeble breathing had forsaken its tenement for ever, pour forth the anguish of his spirit in the melancholy prayer, "When breath and sense have left this clay, In yon damp vault, oh lay me not! But kindly bear my bones away To some lone, green, and sunny spot." Reverence for the departed is ever a beautiful feature of humanity, and has struck us with admiration for nations of our race who could boast but few redeeming traits beside. It is, moreover, a circumstance not a little remarkable in the history of funeral obsequy, that veneration for the departed has prevailed in a ratio almost inverse to the degree of civilization. Without attempting to account for this circumstance, or to instance the multitude of examples which recur to every mind in its illustration, I would only refer to that deep religion of the soul which Nature has implanted in the heart of her simple child of the Western forests, teaching him to preserve and to honour the bones of his fathers! And those mysterious mausoleums of a former race! do they convey no meaning as they rise in lonely grandeur from our beautiful prairies, and look down upon the noble streams which for ages have dashed their dark floods along their base! {76} But a few years have passed away since this empire valley of the West was first pressed by the footstep of civilized man; and, if we except those aged sepulchres of the past, the cities of the dead hardly yet range side by side with the cities of the living. But this cannot _always_ be; even in this distant, beautiful land, death _must_ come; and here it doubtless has come, as many an anguished bosom can witness. Is it not, then, meet, while the busy tide of worldly enterprise is rolling heavily forth over this fair land, and the costly structures of art and opulence are rising on every side, as by the enchantment of Arabian fiction--is it _not_ meet that, amid the pauses of excitement, a solitary thought would linger around that spot, which must surely, reader, become the last resting-place of us all! I have often, in my wanderings through this pleasant land, experienced a thrill of delight which I can hardly describe, to behold, on entering a little Western hamlet, a neat white paling rising up beneath the groves in some green, sequestered spot, whose object none could mistake. Upon some of these, simple as they were, seemed to have been bestowed more than ordinary care; for they betrayed an elaborateness of workmanship and a delicacy of design sought for in vain among the ruder habitations of the living. This is, _surely_, as it should be; and I pity the man whose feelings cannot appreciate such a touching, beautiful expression of the heart. I have alluded to Franklin, and how pleasant it is to detect the kindly, household emotions of our nature throbbing beneath the {77} starred, dignified breast of philosophy and science. FRANKLIN, the statesman, the sage; he who turned the red lightnings from their wild pathway through the skies, and rocked the iron cradle of the mightiest democracy on the globe! we gaze upon him with awe and astonishment; involuntarily we yield the lofty motto presented by the illustrious Frenchman,[198] "_Eripuit fulmen coelo, mox sceptra tyrannis_." But when we behold that towering intellect descending from its throne, and intermingling its emotions even with those of the lowliest mind, admiration and reverence are lost in _love_. The preceding remarks, which have lengthened out themselves far beyond my design, were suggested by the loveliness of the site of the graveyard of the little village of Decatur. I was struck with its beauty on entering the place. It was near sunset; in the distance slept the quiet hamlet; upon my right, beneath the grove, peeped out the white paling through the glossy foliage; and as the broad, deep shadows of summer evening streamed lengthening through the trees wide over the landscape, that little spot seemed to my mind the sweetest one in the scene. And should not the burial-ground be ever thus! for who shall tell the emotions which may swell the bosom of many a dying emigrant who here shall find his long, last rest? In that chill hour, how will the thought of home, kindred, friendships, childhood-scenes, come rushing over the memory! and to lay his bones in the {78} quiet graveyard of his own native village, perchance may draw forth many a sorrowing sigh. But this now may never be; yet it will be consoling to the pilgrim-heart to realize that, though the resurrection morn shall find his relics far from the graves of his fathers, he shall yet sleep the long slumber, and at last come forth with those who were kind and near to him in a stranger-land; who laid away his cold clay in no "Potter's Field," but gathered it to their own household sepulchre. The human mind, whatever its philosophy, can never utterly divest itself of the idea that the spirit retains a consciousness of the lifeless body, sympathizing with its honour or neglect, and affected by all that variety of circumstance which may attend its existence: and who shall say how far this belief--superstition though it be--may smooth or trouble the dying pillow! How soothing, too, the reflection to the sorrow of distant friends, that their departed one peacefully and decently was gathered to his rest; that his dust is sleeping quietly in some sweet, lonely spot beneath the dark groves of the far-land; that his turf is often dewed by the teardrop of sympathy, and around his lowly headstone waves the wild-grass ever green and free! The son, the brother, the loved wanderer from his father's home, "Is in his grave! After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well." The route leading to Decatur from the west lies chiefly through a broad branch of the "Grand Prairie," an immense plain, sweeping diagonally, with {79} little interruption, through the whole State of Illinois, from the Mississippi to the Wabash. For the first time, in any considerable number, I here met with those singular granite masses, termed familiarly by the settlers "_lost rocks_"; in geology, _boulders_. They are usually of a mammillated, globular figure, the surface perfectly smooth, sometimes six hundred tons in weight, and always lying completely isolated, frequently some hundred miles from a quarry. They rest upon the surface or are slightly imbedded in the soil; and, so far as my own observation extends, are of distinct granitic formation, of various density and composition. Several specimens I obtained are as heavy as metal, and doubtless contain iron. Many of them, however, like those round masses dug from the ancient works in Ohio, are pyritous in character. There is a mystery about these "lost rocks" not easily solved, for no granite quarry has ever yet been discovered in Illinois. Their appearance, in the midst of a vast prairie, is dreary and lonely enough. The site of the town of Decatur is somewhat depressed, and in the heart of a grove of noble oaks.[199] Long before the traveller reaches it, the whole village is placed before his eye from the rounded summit of the hill, over which winds the road. The neighbouring region is well settled; the prairie high and rolling, and timber abundant. It is not a large place, however; and perhaps there are few circumstances which will render it otherwise for some years. It contains, nevertheless, a few handsome buildings; several trading establishments; a good tavern; is said to be healthy; and, upon the whole, is a far {80} prettier, neater little village than many others of loftier pretensions through which I have passed in Illinois. The village will be intersected by two of the principal railroads of the state, now projected, which circumstance cannot fail to place it in the first rank as an inland trading town. My visit at Decatur was a short one; and, after tea, just as the moon was beginning to silver the tops of the eastern oaks, I left the village and rode leisurely through the forest, in order to enter upon the prairie at dawn the following day. A short distance from Decatur I again forded the Sangamon; the same insignificant stream as ever; and, by dint of scrambling, succeeded in attaining the lofty summit of its opposite bank, from which the surrounding scenery of rolling forest-tops was magnificent and sublime. From this elevation the pathway plunged into a thick grove, dark as Erebus, save where lighted up by a few pale moonbeams struggling through a break in the tree-tops, or the deep-red gleamings of the evening sky streaming at intervals along the undergrowth. The hour was a calm and impressive one: its very loneliness made it sweeter; and that beautiful hymn of the Tyrolean peasantry at sunset, as versified by Mrs. Hemans, was forcibly recalled by the scene: "Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done. Sweet is the hour of rest! Pleasant the wood's low sigh, And the gleaming of the west, And the turf whereon we lie." {81} After a ride of a few miles my path suddenly emerged from the forest upon the edge of a boundless prairie, from whose dark-rolling herbage, here and there along the distant swells, was thrown back the glorious moonlight, as if from the restless, heaving bosom of the deep. An extensive prairie, beneath a full burst of summer moonlight, is, indeed, a magnificent spectacle. One can hardly persuade himself that he is not upon the ocean-shore. And now a wild, fresh breeze, which all the day had been out playing among the perfumed flowers and riding the green-crested waves, came rolling in from the prairie, producing an undulation of its surface and a murmuring in the heavy forest-boughs perfect in the illusion. All along the low, distant horizon hung a thin mist of silvery gauze, which, as it rose and fell upon the dark herbage, gave an idea of mysterious boundlessness to the scene. Here and there stood out a lonely, weather-beaten tree upon the plain, its trunk shrouded in obscurity, but its leafy top sighing in the night-breeze, and gleaming like a beacon-light in the beams of the cloudless moon. There was a dash of fascinating romance about the scene, which held me involuntarily upon the spot until reminded by the chill dews of night that I had, as yet, no shelter. On casting around my eye, I perceived a low log cabin, half buried in vegetation, standing alone in the skirt of the wood. Although a miserable tenement, necessity compelled me to accept its hospitality, and I entered. It consisted of a single apartment, in which two beds, two stools, a cross-legged deal table, {82} and a rough clothes-press, were the only household furniture. A few indispensable iron utensils sat near the fire; the water-pail and gourd stood upon the shelf, and a half-consumed flitch of bacon hung suspended in the chimney; but the superlatives of andirons, shovel and tongs, etc., etc., were all unknown in this primitive abode. A pair of "lost rocks"--_lost_, indeed--supplied the first, and the gnarled branch of an oak was substituted for the latter. The huge old chimney and fireplace were, as usual, fashioned of sticks and bedaubed with clay; yet everything looked neat, yea, _comfortable_, in very despite of poverty itself. A young female with her child, an infant boy, in her arms, was superintending the preparation of the evening meal. Her language and demeanour were superior to the miserable circumstances by which she was surrounded; and though she moved about her narrow demesne with a quiet, satisfied air, I was not long in learning that _affection_ alone had transplanted this exotic of the prairie from a more congenial soil. What woman does not love to tell over those passages of her history in which the _heart_ has ruled lord of the ascendant? and how very different in this respect is our sex from hers! Man, proud man, "the creature of interest and ambition," often blushes to be reminded that he has a heart, while woman's cheek mantles with the very intensity of its pulsation! The husband in a few minutes came in from attending to my horse; the rough table was spread; a humble fare was produced; all were seated; and then, beneath that miserable roof, {83} around that meager board, before a morsel of the food, poor as it was, passed the lip of an individual, the iron hand of toil was reverently raised, and a grateful heart called down a blessing from the Mightiest! Ah! thought I, as I beheld the peaceful, satisfied air of that poor man, as he partook of his humble evening meal with gratefulness, little does the son of luxury know the calm contentment which fills his breast! And the great God, as he looks down upon his children and reads their hearts, does he not listen to many a warmer, purer thank-offering from beneath the lowly roof-tree of the wilderness, than from all the palaces of opulence and pride? So it has ever been--so it has _ever_ been--and so can it never cease to be while the heart of man remains attempered as it is. The humble repast was soon over; and, without difficulty, I entered into conversation with the father of the family. He informed me that he had been but a few years a resident of Illinois; that he had been unfortunate; and that, recently, his circumstances had become more than usually circumscribed, from his endeavours to save from speculators a pre-emption right of the small farm he was cultivating. This farm was his _all_; and, in his solicitude to retain its possession, he had disposed of every article of the household which would in any way produce money, even of a part of his own and his wife's wardrobe. I found him a man of considerable intelligence, and he imparted to me some facts respecting that singular sect styling themselves Mormonites of which I was previously hardly aware. Immense {84} crowds of these people had passed his door on the great road from Terre Haute, all with families and household effects stowed away in little one-horse wagons of peculiar construction, and on their journey to Mount Zion, the New Jerusalem, situated near Independence, Jackson county, Missouri! Their observance of the Sabbath was almost pharisaically severe, never permitting themselves to travel upon that day; the men devoting it to hunting, and the females to washing clothes, and other operations of the camp! It was their custom, likewise, to hold a preachment in every village or settlement, whether men would hear or forbear: the latter must have been the case with something of a majority, I think, since no one with whom I have ever met could, for the life of him, give a subsequent expose of _Mormonism_, "though often requested." "I never heard or could engage A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears, To name, define by speech, or write on page, The _doctrines_ meant precisely by that word, Which surely is exceedingly absurd." They assert that an angelic messenger has appeared to Joe Smith, announcing the millennial dawn at hand; that a glorious city of the faithful--the New Jerusalem, with streets of gold and gates of pearl--is about to be reared upon Mount Zion, Mo., where the Saviour will descend and establish a kingdom to which there shall be no end; ergo, argue these everlasting livers, it befits all good citizens to get to Independence, Jackson county, aforesaid, as fast as one-horse wagons will convey them![200] Large quantities of arms and ammunition have, moreover, been {85} forwarded, so that the item of "the sword being beaten into a ploughshare, and spear into pruning-hook," seems not of probable fulfilment according to these worthies. The truth of the case is, they anticipated a brush with the long-haired "pukes"[201] before securing a "demise, release, and for ever quitclaim" to Zion Hill, said _pukes_ having already at sundry times manifested a refractory spirit, and, from the following anecdote of my good man of the hut, in "rather a ridic'lous manner." I am no voucher for the story: I give it as related; "and," as Ben Jonson says, "what he has possessed me withal, I'll discharge it amply." "One Sabbath evening, when the services of the congregation of the Mormonites were over, the Rev. Joe Smith, priest and prophet, announced to his expectant tribe that, on the succeeding Sabbath, the baptismal sacrament would take place, when an angel would appear on the opposite bank of the stream. Next Sabbath came, and 'great was the company of the people' to witness the miraculous visitation. The baptism commenced, and was now wellnigh concluded: 'Do our eyes deceive us! can such things _be_! The prophecy! the angel!' were exclamations which ran through the multitude, as a fair form, veiled in a loose white garment, with flowing locks and long bright pinions, stood suddenly before the assembled multitude upon the opposite shore, and then disappeared! All was amazement, consternation, awe! But where is Joe Smith? In a few moments Joe Smith was with them, and their faith was confirmed. {86} "Again was a baptism appointed--again was the angel announced--a larger congregation assembled--and yet again did the angel appear. At that moment two powerful men sprang from a thicket, rushed upon the angelic visitant, and, amid mingling exclamations of horror and _execrations_ of piety from the spectators, tore away his long white wings, his hair and robe, and plunged him into the stream! By some unaccountable metamorphosis, the angel emerged from the river honest Joe Smith, priest of Mormon, finder of the golden plates, etc., etc., and the magi of the enchantment were revealed in the persons of two brawny _pukes_." Since then, the story concludes, not an angel has been seen all about Mount Zion! The miracle of walking upon water was afterward essayed, but failed by the removal, by some impious wags, of the _benches_ prepared for the occasion. It is truly astonishing to what lengths superstition has run in some sections of this same Illinois. Not long since, a knowing farmer in the county of Macon conceived himself ordained of heaven a promulgator to the world of a system of "New Light," so styled, upon "a plan entirely new." No sooner did the idea strike his fancy, than, leaving the plough in the middle of the furrow, away sallies he to the nearest village, and admonishes every one, everywhere, forthwith to be baptized by his heaven-appointed hands, and become a regenerate man on the spot. Many believed--was there ever faith too preposterous to obtain proselytes? the doctrine, in popular phrase, "took mightily;" and, it must be confessed, the whole world, men, women, and children, were {87} in a fair way for regeneration. Unfortunately for that desirable consummation, at this crisis certain simple-hearted people thereabouts, by some freak of fancy or other, took it into their heads that the priest himself manifested hardly that _quantum_ of the regenerated spirit that beseemed so considerable a functionary. Among other peccadilloes, he had unhappily fallen into a habit every Sabbath morning, when he rode in from his farmhouse--a neat little edifice which the good people had erected for his benefit in the outskirts of the village--of trotting solemnly up before the grocery-door upon his horse, receiving a glass of some dark-coloured liquid, character unknown, drinking it off with considerable gusto, dropping a _picayune_ into the tumbler, then proceeding to the pulpit, and, on the inspiration of the mysterious potation, holding vehemently forth. Sundry other misdeeds of the reverend man near about the same time came to light, so that at length the old women pronounced that terrible fiat, "the preacher was no _better_ than he should be;" which means, as everybody knows, that he was a good deal _worse_. And so the men, old and young, chimed in, and the priest was politely advised to decamp before the doctrine should get unsavoury. Thus ended the glorious discovery of New-lightism! It is a humiliating thing to review the aberrations of the human mind: and, believe me, reader, my intention in reviewing these instances of religious fanaticism has been not to excite a smile of transient merriment, nor for a moment to call in question the {88} reality of true devotion. My intention has been to show to what extremes of preposterous folly man may be hurried when he once resigns himself to the vagaries of fancy upon a subject which demands the severest deductions of reason. It is, indeed, a _melancholy_ consideration, that, in a country like our own, which we fondly look upon as the hope of the world, and amid the full-orbed effulgence of the nineteenth century, there should exist a body of men, more than twelve thousand in number, as is estimated, professing belief in a faith so unutterably absurd as that styled Mormonism; a faith which would have disgraced the darkest hour of the darkest era of our race.[202] But it is not for me to read the human _heart_. _Shelbyville, Ill._ XXX "The day is lowering; stilly black Sleeps the grim waste, while heaven's rack, Dispersed and wild, 'tween earth and sky Hangs like a shatter'd canopy!" _Fire-worshippers._ "Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun By fits effulgent gilds the illumined fields, And black by fits the shadows sweep along." THOMSON. "The bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about There's scarce a bush." _Lear, Act 2._ "These are the Gardens of the Desert." BRYANT. Merrily, merrily did the wild night-wind howl, and whistle, and rave around the little low cabin beneath whose humble roof-tree the traveller had lain himself to rest. Now it would roar and rumble down the huge wooden chimney, and anon sigh along the tall grass-tops and through the crannies like the wail of some lost one of the waste. The moonbeams, at intervals darkened by the drifting clouds and again pouring gloriously forth, streamed in long threads of silver through the shattered walls; while the shaggy forest in the back-ground, tossing its heavy branches against the troubled sky, {90} roared forth a deep chorus to the storm. It was a wild night, and so complete was the illusion that, in the fitful lullings of the tempest, one almost imagined himself on the ocean-beach, listening to the confused weltering of the surge. There was much of high sublimity in all this; and hours passed away before the traveller, weary as he was, could quiet his mind to slumber. There are seasons when every chord, and nerve, and sinew of the system seems wound up to its severest tension; and a morbid, unnatural excitement broods over the mind, forbidding all approach to quietude. Every one has _experienced_ this under peculiar circumstances; few can _describe_ it. The night wore tediously away, and at the dawn the traveller was again in the saddle, pushing forth like a "pilgrim-bark" upon the swelling ocean-waste, sweeping even to the broad curve of undulating horizon beyond. There is always something singularly unpleasant in the idea of going out upon one of these vast prairies _alone_; and such the sense of utter loneliness, that the solitary traveller never fails to cast back a lingering gaze upon the last low tenement he is leaving. The winds were still up, and the rack and clouds were scudding in wild confusion along the darkened sky; "Here, flying loosely as the mane Of a young war-horse in the blast; There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder's dwelling!" From time to time a heavy blast would come careering {91} with resistless fury along the heaving plain, almost tearing the rider from his horse. The celebrated "Grand Prairie," upon which I was now entering, stretched itself away to the south thirty miles, a vast, unbroken meadow; and one may conceive, not describe, the terrible fury of a storm-wind sweeping over a surface like this.[203] As the morning advanced, the violence of the tempest lulled into fitful gusts; and, as the centre of the vast amphitheatre was attained, a scene of grandeur and magnificence opened to my eye such as it never before had looked upon. Elevated upon a full roll of the prairie, the glance ranged over a scene of seemingly limitless extent; for upon every side, for the first time in my ramble, the deep blue line of the horizon and the darker hue of the waving verdure blended into one. The touching, delicate loveliness of the lesser prairies, so resplendent in brilliancy of hue and beauty of outline, I have often dwelt upon with delight. The graceful undulation of slope and swell; the exquisite richness and freshness of the verdure flashing in native magnificence; the gorgeous dies of the matchless and many-coloured flowers dallying with the winds; the beautiful woodland points and promontories shooting forth into the mimic sea; the far-retreating, shadowy _coves_, going back in long vistas into the green wood; the curved outline of the dim, distant horizon, caught at intervals through the openings of the forest; and the whole gloriously lighted up by the early radiance of morning, as with rosy footsteps she came dancing {92} over the dew-gemmed landscape; all these constituted a scene in which beauty unrivalled was the sole ingredient. And then those bright enamelled clumps of living emerald, sleeping upon the wavy surface like the golden Hesperides of classic fiction, or, like another cluster of Fortunate Isles in the dark-blue waters, breathing a fragrance as from oriental bowers; the wild-deer bounding in startled beauty from his bed, and the merry note of the skylark, whistling, with speckled vest and dew-wet wing, upon the resin-weed, lent the last touchings to Nature's _chef d'oeuvre_. "Oh, beautiful, still beautiful, Though long and lone the way." But the scene amid which I was now standing could boast an aspect little like this. Here, indeed, were the rare and delicate flowers; and life, in all its fresh and beautiful forms, was leaping forth in wild and sportive luxuriance at my feet. But all was vast, measureless, Titanic; and the loveliness of the picture was lost in its grandeur. Here was no magnificence of _beauty_, no _gorgeousness_ of vegetation, no _splendour_ of the wilderness; "Green isles and circling shores _ne'er_ blended here In wild reality!" All was bold and impressive, reposing in the stern, majestic solitude of Nature. On every side the earth heaved and rolled like the swell of troubled waters; now sweeping away in the long heavy wave of ocean, and now rocking and curling like the abrupt, broken bay-billow tumbling around the {93} crag. Between the lengthened parallel ridges stretch the ravines by which the prairie is drained; and, owing to the depth and tenacity of the soil, they are sometimes almost impassable. Ascending from these, the elevation swells so gradually as to be almost imperceptible to the traveller, until he finds himself upon the summit, and the immense landscape is spread out around him. "The clouds Sweep over with their shadows, and beneath, The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges." The diversity of light and shade upon the swells and depressions at the hour of sunrise, or when at midday clouds are drifting along the sky, is endless. A few points here and there are thrown into prominent relief; while others, deeply retreating, constitute an imaginary back-ground perfect in its kind. And then the sunlight, constantly changing its position, is received upon such a variety of angles, and these, too, so rapidly vary as the breeze rolls over the surface, that it gives the scene a wild and shifting aspect to the eye at times, barely reconcilable with the idea of reality. As the sun reached the meridian the winds went down, and then the stillness of death hung over the prairie. The utter desolateness of such a scene is indescribable. Not a solitary tree to intercept the vision or to break the monotony; not a sound to cheer the ear or relieve the desolation; not a living {94} thing in all that vast wild plain to tell the traveller that he was not "Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide sea!" It is at such a season that the question presents itself with more than ordinary vehemence to the mind, _To what circumstance do these vast prairies owe their origin_? Amid what terrible convulsion of the elements did these great ocean-plains heave themselves into being? What mighty voice has rolled this heaped-up surface into tumult, and then, amid the storm and the tempest, bid the curling billows stand, and fixed them there? "The hand that built the firmament hath heaved And smooth'd these verdant swells." The origin of the prairie has given rise to much speculation. Some contend that we are to regard these vast plains in the same light as mountains, valleys, forests, and other grand features of Nature's workmanship. And, it is very true, plains of a character not dissimilar are to be met with all over our earth; at every degree of elevation of every extent, and of every stage of fertility, from the exhaustless fecundity of the delta of the Nile to the barren sterility of the sands of the desert. Northern Asia has her boundless _pastures_ and _steppes_, where the wild Tartar feeds his flock; Africa may boast her Bedouin _sands_, her _tablelands_, and her _karroos_; South America her grassy _llanos_ and _pampas_; Europe her purple _heather_; India her _jungles_; the southern sections of our own land their beautiful _savannas_; and wherefore not the {95} vast regions of the "Far West" their broad-rolling _prairies_? The word is of French derivation, signifying _meadow_; and is applied to every description of surface destitute of timber and clothed with grass. It was, then, upon their own fair prairies of Judea and Mesopotamia that the ancient patriarchs pitched their tents. The tough sward of the prairie, when firmly formed, it is well known, refuses to receive the forest; but, once broken into by the ploughshare or by any other cause, and protected from the autumnal flames, and all is soon rolling with green; and the sumach, the hazel, and the wild-cherry are succeeded by the oak. Such is the argument for the _natural_ origin of the prairie, and its cogency none will deny. But, assuming for a moment a _diluvial_ origin to these vast plains, as a thousand circumstances concur to indicate, and the phenomena are far more satisfactorily and philosophically resolved. In a soil so exhaustlessly fertile, the grasses and herbs would first secure possession of the surface. Even now, whenever the earth is thrown up, from whatever depth, it is immediately mossed with verdure by the countless embryos buried in its teeming bosom; a proof incontestable of secondary origin. After the grasses succeeded flowering shrubs; then the larger weeds; eventually, thickets were formed; the surface was baked and hardened by the direct rays of the sun, and the bosom of the soil, bound up as if by bands of brass and iron, utterly refused to receive or nourish the seeds of the forest now strewn over it. This is the unavoidable conclusion wherever natural {96} causes have held their sway. Upon the borders of rivers, creeks, and overflowing streams, or wherever the soil has become broken, this series of causes was interrupted, and the result we see in the numerous island-groves, and in the forests which invariably fringe the water-courses, great and small. The autumnal fires, too, aboriginal tradition informs us, have annually swept these vast plains from an era which the memory of man faileth to record, scathing and consuming every bush, shrub, or thicket which in the lapse of ages might have aspired to the dignity of a tree; a nucleus around which other trees might have clustered. Here and there, indeed, amid the heaving waste, a desolate, wind-shaken, flame-blackened oak rears its naked branches in the distance; but it is a stricken thing, and only confirms the position assumed. From a concurrence of fortuitous circumstances easily conceived, the solitary seed was received into a genial soil; the tender shrub and the sapling were protected from destruction, and at length it had struggled into the upper air, and defied alike the flames and blasts of the prairie. The argument of _analogy_ for the _natural origin_ of the prairie may also be fairly questioned, since careful examination of the subject must convince any unprejudiced mind that the similarity of feature between these plains and others with which we are acquainted is not sufficiently striking to warrant comparison. The _pampas_, the _steppes_, and the _sand-plains_, though not unlike in the more prominent characteristics, are yet widely different {97} in configuration, extent, and soil. The prairie combines characteristics of each, exhibiting features of all in _common_, of no one in _particular_. Who would institute comparison between the dark-rolling luxuriance of the North American prairie, and the gloomy moor of Northern Europe, with its heavy, funereal mantle of heather and _ling_. Could the rifest fancy conjure up the _weird sisters_, all "so withered and so wild in their attire," upon these beautiful plains of the departed Illini! Nor do we meet in the thyme-breathing downs of "merry England," the broad rich levels of France, the grape-clad highlands of Spain, or in the golden mellowness of the Italian _Campagna_, with a similitude of feature sufficiently striking to identify our own glorious prairies with them. Europe can boast, indeed, no peculiarity of surface assuming like configuration or exhibiting like phenomena. When, then, we reflect, that of all those plains which spread out themselves upon our globe, the North American prairie possesses characteristics peculiar to itself, and to be met with nowhere beside; when we consider the demonstrations of a soil of origin incontestably diluvial; when we wander over the heaving, billowy surface, and behold it strewed with the rocky offspring of another region, and, at intervals, encased in the saline crust of the ocean-sediment; when we dive into its fathomless bosom, and bring forth the crumbling relics of man and animal from sepulchres into which, for untold cycles, they have been entombed; and when we linger along those rolling streams by which they {98} are intersected, and behold upon their banks the mighty indications of whirling, subsiding floods, and behold buried in the heart of the everlasting rock productions only of the sea, the conviction is forced upon us, almost resistlessly, that here the broad ocean once heaved and roared. To what circumstance, indeed, but a revolution of nature like this, are we to refer that uniform deposition of earthy strata upon the alluvial bottom-land of every stream? to what those deep-cut race-paths which the great streams have, in the lapse of centuries, worn for themselves through the everlasting rock, hundreds of feet? to what those vast salt-plains of Arkansas? those rocky heaps of the same mineral on the Missouri, or those huge isolated masses of limestone, rearing themselves amid the lonely grandeur, a wonder to the savage? Or to what else shall we refer those collections of enormous seashells, heaped upon the soil, or thrown up to its surface from a depth of fifty feet? Many phenomena in the Valley of the Mississippi concur to confirm the idea that its vast delta-plains, when first forsaken by the waters of the ocean, were possessed by extensive canebrakes, covering, indeed, its entire surface. If, then, we suppose the Indians, who passed from Asia to America in the early centuries of the Christian era, to have commenced the fires in autumn when the reed was like tinder, and the conflagration would sweep over boundless regions, we at once have an hypothesis which accounts for the origin of the prairies. It is at least as plausible as some others. The occasions of the autumnal fires may have been {99} various. The cane-forests must have presented an insurmountable obstacle in travelling, hunting, agriculture, or even residence; while the friction caused by the tempestuous winds of autumn may have kindled numerous fires among the dry reeds. The surface peculiar to the prairie is first perceived in the State of Ohio. As we proceed north and west it increases in extent, until, a few hundred miles beyond the Mississippi, it rolls on towards the setting sun, in all the majesty and magnificence of boundlessness, to the base of the Rocky Mountains. Such are the beautiful prairies of the fair Far West; and if, gentle reader, my pen, all rapid though it be, has lingered tediously to thee along their fairy borders, it may yet prove no small consolation to thy weariness to reflect that its errings upon the subject are wellnigh ended. It was yet early in the day, as I have intimated, when I reached the centre of that broad branch of the Grand Prairie over which I was passing; and, mile after mile, the narrow pathway, almost obliterated here and there by the waving vegetation, continued to wind itself along. With that unreflecting carelessness which characterizes the inexperienced wayfarer, I had left behind me the last human habitation I was for hours to look upon, without the slightest refreshment; and now the demands of unappeased nature, sharpened by exercise, by the keen atmosphere of the prairies, and, probably, by the force of fancy, which never fails to aggravate privations which we know to be remediless, had become absolutely painful. The faithful animal beneath {100} me, also, from the total absence of water along our path, was nearly exhausted; and there, before and around, and on every side, not an object met the view but the broad-rolling, limitless prairie, and the dim, misty horizon in the distance. Above, the heavens were calm and blue, and the bright sun was careering on in his giant course as gloriously as if the storm-cloud had never swept his path. League after league the prairie lay behind me, and still swell upon swell, wave after wave, heaved up itself in endless succession before the wearied eye. There _is_ a point, reader, in physical, not less than in moral affairs, where forbearance ceases to be a virtue; and, veritably, suggestions bordering on the horrible were beginning to flit athwart the fancy, when, happily, a long, low, wavering cloud-like line was caught stretching itself upon the extremest verge of the misty horizon. My jaded animal was urged onward; and slowly, _very_ slowly, the dim outline undulated upward, and the green forest rose gradually before the gladdened vision! A few miles, the path plunged into the green, fresh woods; crossed a deep creek, which betrayed its meandering by the grove along its banks, and the hungry traveller threw himself from his horse before a log cabin imbowered in the trees. The spot was one of those luxuriant copses in the heart of the prairie, comprising several hundred acres, so common in the northern sections of Illinois. "_Victuals and drink!_" were, of course, the first demand from a female who showed herself at the door; and, "_I judge_" was the laconic but cheering {101} reply. She stared with uncontrolled curiosity at her stranger-guest. At the moment he must have looked a perfect incarnation of ferocity; a very genius of famine and starvation; but, all in good time, he was luxuriating over a huge fragment of swine's flesh, a bowl of honey, and a loaf of bread; and soon were his _miseries_ over. What! honey and hog's flesh not a luxury! Say ye so, reader! Verily, then, were ye never half starved in the heart of a Western prairie! _Salem, Ill._ XXXI "No leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me." "The long sunny lapse of a summer's daylight." "What fool is this!" _As You Like It._ Among that novel variety of feature which the perspicacity of European tourists in America has enabled them to detect of Cis-atlantic character, two traits seem ever to stand forth in striking relief, and are dwelt upon with very evident satisfaction: I allude to Avarice and Curiosity. Upon the former of these characteristics it is not my purpose to comment; though one can hardly have been a traveller, in any acceptation of the term, or in almost any section of our land, without having arrived at a pretty decided opinion upon the subject. Curiosity, {102} however, it will not, I am persuaded, be denied, _does_ constitute a feature, and no inconsiderable one, in our national character; nor would it, perhaps, prove a difficult task to lay the finger upon those precise circumstances in our origin and history as a people which have tended to superinduce a trait of this kind--a trait so disgusting in its ultra development; and yet, in its ultimate nature, so indispensably the mainspring of everything efficient in mind. "_Low vice_," as the author of Childe Harold has been pleased to stigmatize it; yet upon this single propellant may, in retrospect, be predicated the cause of more that contributes to man's happiness than perhaps upon any other. _Frailty of a little mind_, as it _may_ be, and is often deemed; yet not the less true is it that the omnipotent workings of this passion have ever been, and must, until the nature of the human mind is radically changed, continue to remain, at once the necessary concomitant and the essential element of a vigorous understanding. If it be, then, indeed true, as writers and critics beyond the waters would fain have us believe, that American national character is thus compounded, so far from blushing at the discovery, we would hail it as a leading cause of our unparalleled advancement as a people in the time past, and as an unerring omen of progression in future. My pen has been insensibly betrayed into these remarks in view of a series of incidents which, during my few months rambling, have from time to time transpired; and which, while they illustrate forcibly to my mind the position I have assumed, {103} have also demonstrated conclusively the minor consideration, that the passion, in all its _phenomena_, is by no means, as some would have us believe, restricted to any one portion of our land; that it _is_, in verity, a characteristic of the entire Anglo-American race! Thus much for _sage forensic_ upon "that low vice, curiosity." My last number left me luxuriating, with all the gusto of an amateur prairie-wolf fresh from his starving lair, upon the _fat_ and _honey_ of Illinois. During these blessed moments of trencher devotion, several inmates of the little cabin whose hospitality I was enjoying, who had been labouring in the field, successively made their appearance; and to each individual in turn was the traveller handed over, like a bale of suspected contraband merchandise, for supervision. The interrogatories of each were quite the same, embracing name and nativity, occupation, location, and destination, administered with all the formal exactitude of a county-court lawyer. With the inquiries of none, however, was I more amused than with those of a little corpulent old fellow ycleped "Uncle Bill," with a proboscis of exceeding rubicundity, and eyes red as a weasel's, to say nothing of a voice melodious in note as an asthmatic clarionet. The curiosity of the Northern Yankee is, in all conscience, unconscionable enough when aroused; but, for the genuine quintessence of inquisitiveness, commend your enemy, if you have one, to an army of starving gallinippers, or to a backwoods' family of the Far West, who see a traveller twice a year, and don't take the newspaper! Now {104} mark me, reader! I mention this not as a _fault_ of the worthy "Suckers:"[204] it is rather a misfortune; or, if otherwise, it surely "leans to virtue's side." A _peculiarity_, nevertheless, it certainly is; and a striking one to the stranger. Inquiries are constantly made with most unblushing effrontery, which, under ordinary circumstances, would be deemed but a single remove from insult, but at which, under those to which I refer, a man of sense would not for a moment take exception. It is _true_, as some one somewhere has said, that a degree of inquisitiveness which in the more crowded walks of life would be called impertinent, is perfectly allowable in the wilderness; and nothing is more conceivable than desire for its gratification. As to the people of Illinois, gathered as they are from every "kindred, and nation, and tribe, and language under heaven," there are traits of character among them which one could wish universally possessed. Kind, hospitable, open-hearted, and confiding have I ever found them, whether in the lonely log cabin of the prairie or in the overflowing settlement; and some noble spirits _I_ have met whose presence would honour any community or people. After my humble but delicious meal was concluded, mine host, a tall, well-proportioned, sinewy young fellow, taking down his rifle from the _beckets_ in which it was reposing over the rude mantel, very civilly requested me to accompany him on a hunting ramble of a few hours in the vicinity for deer. Having but a short evening ride before me, I readily consented; and, leaving the cabin, we strolled {105} leisurely through the shady woods, along the banks of the creek I have mentioned, for several miles; but, though indications of deer were abundant, without success. We were again returning to the hut, which was now in sight on the prairie's edge, when, in the middle of a remark upon the propriety of "_disposing of a part of his extensive farm_," the rifle of my companion was suddenly brought to his eye; a sharp crack, and a beautiful doe, which the moment before was bounding over the nodding wild-weeds like the summer wind, lay gasping at our feet. So agreeable did I find my youthful hunter, that I was wellnigh complying with his request to "tarry with him yet a few days," and try my own hand and eye, all unskilled though they be, in _gentle venerie_; or, at the least, to taste a steak from the fine fat doe. _Sed fugit, interea fugit, irreparabile tempus_; and when the shades of evening were beginning to gather over the landscape, I had passed over a prairie some eight miles in breadth; and, chilled and uncomfortable from the drenching of a heavy shower, was entering the village of Shelbyville through the trees.[205] This is a pleasant little town enough, situated on the west bank of the Kaskaskia River, in a high and heavily-timbered tract. It is the seat of justice for the county from which it takes its name, which circumstance is fearfully portended by a ragged, bleak-looking structure called a courthouse. Its shattered windows, and flapping doors, and weather-stained bricks, when associated with the object to which it is appropriated, perched up as it is in the {106} centre of the village, reminds one of a cornfield scarecrow, performing its duty by looking as hideous as possible. _In terrorem_, in sooth. Dame Justice seems indeed to have met with most shameful treatment all over the West, through her legitimate representative the courthouse. The most interesting object in the vicinity of Shelbyville is a huge sulphur-spring, which I did not tarry long enough to visit. "Will you be pleased, sir, to register your name?" was the modest request of mine host, as, having _settled the bill_, with foot in stirrup, I was about mounting my steed at the door of the little hostlerie of Shelbyville the morning after my arrival. Tortured by the pangs of a curiosity which it was quite evident must now or never be gratified, he had pursued his guest _beyond the threshold_ with this _dernier resort_ to elicit _a_ name and residence. "Register my name, sir!" was the reply. "And pray, let me ask, where do you intend that desirable operation to be performed?" The discomfited publican, with an expression of ludicrous dismay, hastily retreating to the bar-room, soon reappeared gallanting a mysterious-looking little blue-book, with "Register" in ominous characters portrayed upon the back thereof. _A_ name was accordingly soon despatched with a pencil, beneath about a dozen others, which the honest man had probably managed to _save_ in as many years; and, applying the spur, the last glance of the traveller caught the eager features of his host poring over this new accession to his treasure. {107} The early air of morning was intensely chilling as I left the village and pursued my solitary way through the old woods; but, as the sun went up the heavens, and the path emerged upon the open prairie, the transition was astonishing. The effect of emerging from the dusky shades of a thick wood upon a prairie on a summer day is delightful and peculiar. I have often remarked it. It impresses one like passing from the damp, gloomy closeness of a cavern into the genial sunshine of a flower-garden. For the first time during my tour in Illinois was my horse now severely troubled by that terrible insect, so notorious all over the West, the large green-bottle prairie-fly, called the "green-head." My attention was first attracted to it by observing several gouts of fresh blood upon the rein; and, glancing at my horse's neck, my surprise was great at beholding an orifice quite as large as that produced by the _fleam_ from which the dark fluid was freely streaming. The instant one of these fearful insects plants itself upon a horse's body, the rider is made aware of the circumstance by a peculiar restlessness of the animal in every limb, which soon becomes a perfect agony, while the sweat flows forth at every pore. The last year[206] was a remarkable one for countless swarms of these flies; many animals were _killed_ by them; and at one season it was even dangerous to venture across the broader prairies except before sunrise or after nightfall. In the early settlement of the county, these insects were so troublesome as in {108} a great measure to retard the cultivation of the prairies; but, within a few years, a yellow insect larger than the "green-head" has made its appearance wherever the latter was found, and, from its sweeping destruction of the annoying fly, has been called the "horse-guard." These form burrows by penetrating the earth to some depth, and there depositing the slaughtered "green-heads." It is stated that animals become so well aware of the relief afforded by these insects and of their presence, that the traveller recognises their arrival at once by the quiet tranquillity which succeeds the former agitation. Ploughing upon the prairies was formerly much delayed by these insects, and heavy netting was requisite for the protection of the oxen. At an inconsiderable settlement called _Cold Spring_, after a ride of a dozen miles, I drew up my horse for refreshment.[207] My host, a venerable old gentleman, with brows silvered over by the frosts of sixty winters, from some circumstance unaccountable, presumed his guest a political circuit-rider, and arranged his remarks accordingly. The old man's politics were, however, not a little musty. Henry Clay was spoken of rather as a young aspirant for distinction, just stepping upon the arena of public life, than as the aged statesman about resigning "the seals of office," and, hoary with honour, withdrawing from the world. Nathless, much pleased was I with my host. He was a native of Connecticut, and twenty years had seen him a resident in "the Valley." Resuming my route, the path conducted through {109} a high wood, and for the first time since my departure from New-England was my ear charmed by the sweet, melancholy note of the robin, beautiful songster of my own native North. A wanderer can hardly describe his emotions on an occurrence like this. The ornithology of the West, so far as a limited acquaintance will warrant assertion, embraces many of the most magnificent of the feathered creation. Here is found the jay, in gold and azure, most splendid bird of the forest; here the woodpecker, with flaming crest and snowy capote; the redbird; the cardinal grosbeak, with his mellow whistle, gorgeous in crimson dies; the bluebird, delicate as an iris; the mockbird, unrivalled chorister of our land; the thrush; the wishton-wish; the plaintive whippoorwill; and last, yet not the least, the turtle-dove, with her flutelike moaning. How often, on my solitary path, when all was still through the grove, and heaven's own breathings for a season seemed hushed, have I reined up my horse, and, with feelings not to be described, listened to the redundant pathos of that beautiful woodnote swelling on the air! Paley has somewhere[208] told us, that by nothing has he been so touchingly reminded of the benevolence of Deity as by the quiet happiness of the infant on its mother's breast. To myself there is naught in all Nature's beautiful circle which speaks a richer eloquence of praise to the goodness of our God than the gushing joyousness of the forest-bird! All day I continued my journey over hill and {110} dale, creek and ravine, woodland and prairie, until, near sunset, I reined up my weary animal to rest a while beneath the shade of a broad-boughed oak by the wayside, of whose refreshing hospitality an emigrant, with wagon and family, had already availed himself. The leader of the caravan, rather a young man, was reclining upon the bank, and, according to his own account, none the better for an extra dram. From a few remarks which were elicited from him, I soon discovered--what I had suspected, but which he at first had seemed doggedly intent upon concealing--that he belonged to that singular sect to which I have before alluded, styling themselves Mormonites, and that he was even then on his way to Mount Zion, Jackson county, Mo.! By contriving to throw into my observations a few of those tenets of the sect which, during my wanderings, I had gathered up, the worthy Mormonite was soon persuaded--pardon my insincerity, reader--that he had stumbled upon a veritable brother; and, without reserve or mental reservation, laid open to my cognizance, as we journeyed along, "the reasons of the faith that was in him," and the ultimate, proximate, and intermediate designs of the _party_. And such a chaotic fanfaronade of nonsense, absurdity, nay, madness, was an idle curiosity never before punished with. The most which could be gathered of any possible "_account_" from this confused, disconnected mass of rubbish, was the following: That Joe Smith, or Joe Smith's father, or the devil, or some other great personage, had somewhere dug up the golden {111} plates upon which were graven the "Book of Mormon:" that this all-mysterious and much-to-be-admired book embraced the chronicles of the lost kings of Israel: that it derived its cognomen from one Mormon, its principal hero, son of Lot's daughter, king of the Moabites: that Christ was crucified on the spot where Adam was interred: that the descendants of Cain were all now under the curse, and no one could possibly designate who they were: that the Saviour was about to descend in Jackson county, Missouri; the millennium was dawning, and that all who were not baptized by Joe Smith or his compeers, and forthwith repaired to Mount Zion, Missouri, aforesaid, would assuredly be cut off, and that without remedy. These may, perhaps, serve as a specimen of a host of wild absurdities which fell from the lips of my Mormonite; but, the instant argument upon any point was pressed, away was he a thousand miles into the fields of mysticism; or he laid an immediate embargo on farther proceedings by a barefaced _petitio principii_ on the faith of the golden plates; or by asserting that the stranger knew more upon the matter than he! At length the stranger, coming to the conclusion that he could at least boast as _much_ of Mormonism, he spurred up, and left the man still jogging onward, to Mount Zion. And yet, reader, with all his nonsense, my Mormonite was by no means an ignorant fanatic. He was a native of Virginia, and for fifteen years had been a pedagogue west of the Blue Ridge, from which edifying profession he had at length been {112} enticed by the eloquence of sundry preachers who had held forth in his schoolhouse. Thereupon taking to himself a brace of wives and two or three braces of children by way of stock in trade for the community at Mount Zion, and having likewise taken to himself a one-horse wagon, into which were bestowed the moveables, not forgetting a certain big-bellied stone bottle which hung ominously dangling in the rear; I say, having done this, and having, moreover, pressed into service a certain raw-boned, unhappy-looking horse, and a certain fat, happy-looking cow, which was driven along beside the wagon, away started he all agog for the promised land. The grand tabernacle of these fanatics is said to be at a place they call _Kirtland_, upon the shores of Lake Erie, some twenty miles from Cleveland, and numbers no less than four thousand persons. Their leader is Joe Smith, and associated with him is a certain shrewd genius named Sydney Rigdom, a quondam preacher of the doctrine of Campbell.[209] Under the control of these worthies as president and cashier, a banking-house was established, which issued about $150,000, and then deceased. The private residences are small, but the temple is said to be an elegant structure of stone, three stories in height, and nearly square in form. Each of its principal apartments is calculated to contain twelve hundred persons, and has six pulpits arranged gradatim, three at each extremity of the "Aaronic priesthood," and in the same manner with the "priesthood of Melchisedek." The {113} slips are so constructed as to permit the audience to face either pulpit at pleasure. In the highest seat of the "Aaronic priesthood" sits the venerable sire of the prophet, and below sit his hopeful Joe and Joe's prime minister, Sydney Rigdom. The attic of the temple is occupied for schoolrooms, five in number, where a large number of students are taught the various branches of the English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. The estimated cost of this building is $60,000.[210] Smith is represented as a quiet, placid-seeming knave, with passionless features, perfectly composed in the midst of his heterogeneous multitude of dupes. Rigdom, on the contrary, has a face full of fire, a fine tenour voice, and a mild and persuasive eloquence of speech. Many of their followers are said to be excellent men. The circumstances of the origin, rise, and progress of this singular sect have been given to the public by the pen of an eccentric but polished writer, and there is nothing material to add. The close of the day found me once more upon the banks of the Kaskaskia; and early on the succeeding morning, fording the stream, I pursued my route along the great national road towards Terre Haute. This road is projected eighty feet in breadth, with a central carriage-path of thirty feet, elevated above all standing water, and in no instance to exceed three degrees from a perfect level. The work has been commenced along the whole {114} line, and is under various stages of advancement; for most of the way it is perfectly _direct_. The bridges are to be of limestone, and of massive structure, the base of the abutments being equal in depth to one third their altitude. The work was for a while suspended, for the purpose of investigating former operations, and subsequently through failure of an appropriation from Congress; but a grant has since been voted sufficient to complete the undertaking so far as it is now projected.[211] West of Vandalia the route is not yet located, though repeated surveys with reference to this object have been made. St. Louis, Alton, Beardstown, and divers other places upon the Mississippi and its branches present claims to become the favoured point of its destination. Upon this road I journeyed some miles; and, even in its present unfinished condition, it gives evidence of its enormous character. Compare this grand national work with the crumbling relics of the mound-builders scattered over the land, and remark the contrast: yet how, think you, reader, would an hundred thousand men regard an undertaking like this? My route at length, to my regret, struck off at right angles from the road, and for many a mile wound away among woods and creeks. As I rode along through the country I was somewhat surprised at meeting people from various quarters, who seemed to be gathering to some rendezvous, all armed with rifles, and with the paraphernalia of hunting suspended from their shoulders. At length, near noon, I passed a log-cabin, around which {115} were assembled about a hundred men: and, upon inquiry, learned that they had come together for the purpose of "shooting a beeve,"[212] as the marksmen have it. The regulations I found to be chiefly these: A bull's-eye, with a centre nail, stands at a distance variously of from forty to seventy yards; and those five who, at the close of the contest, have most frequently _driven the nail_, are entitled to a fat ox divided into five portions. Many of the marksmen in the vicinity, I was informed, could drive the nail twice out of every three trials. Reluctantly I was forced to decline a civil invitation to join the party, and to leave before the sport commenced; but, jogging leisurely along through a beautiful region of prairie and woodland interspersed, I reached near nightfall the village of Salem.[213] This place, with its dark, weather-beaten edifices, forcibly recalled to my mind one of those gloomy little seaports sprinkled along the iron-bound coast of New-England, over some of which the ocean-storm has roared and the ocean-eagle shrieked for more than two centuries. The town is situated on the eastern border of the Grand Prairie, upon the stage-route from St. Louis to Vincennes; and, as approached from one quarter, is completely concealed by a bold promontory of timber springing into the plain. It is a quiet, innocent, gossiping little place as ever was, no doubt; never did any harm in all its life, and probably never will do any. This sage conclusion is predicated upon certain items gathered at the village singing-school; at which, ever-notable place, the traveller, agreeable to invitation {116} attended, and carolled away most vehemently with about a dozen others of either sex, under the cognizance of a certain worthy personage styled _the Major_, whose vocation seemed to be to wander over these parts for the purpose of "_building up_" the good people in psalmody. To say that I was not more surprised than delighted with the fruits of the honest songster's efforts in Salem, and that I was, moreover, marvellously edified by the brisk airs of the "Missouri Harmony," from whose cheerful pages operations were performed, surely need not be done; therefore, prithee reader, question me not. _Mt. Vernon, Ill._ XXXII "After we are exhausted by a long course of application to business, how delightful are the first moments of indolence and repose! _O che bella coza di far niente!_"--STEWART. "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn!" _Falstaff._ That distinguished metaphysician Dugald Stewart, in his treatise upon the "Active and Moral Powers," has, in the language of my motto, somewhere[214] observed, that leisure after continued exertion is a source of happiness perfect in its kind; and {117} surely, at the moment I am now writing, my own feelings abundantly testify to the force of the remark. For more than one month past have I been urging myself onward from village to village and from hamlet to hamlet, through woodland, and over prairie, river, and rivulet, with almost the celerity of an _avant courier_, and hardly with closer regard to passing scenes and events. My purpose, reader, for I may as well tell you, has been to accomplish, within a portion of time to some degree limited, a "tour over the prairies" previously laid out. This, within the prescribed period, I am now quite certain of fulfilling; and here am I, at length "taking mine ease in mine inn" at the ancient and venerable French village Kaskaskia. It is evening now. The long summer sunset is dying away in beauty from the heavens; and alone in my chamber am I gathering up the fragments of events scattered along the pathway of the week that is gone. Last evening at this hour I was entering the town of Pinkneyville, and my last number left me soberly regaling myself upon the harmonious _vocalities_ of the sombre little village of Salem. Here, then, may I well enough resume "the thread of my discourse." During my wanderings in Illinois I have more than once referred to the frequency and violence of the thunder-gusts by which it is visited. I had travelled not many miles the morning after leaving Salem when I was assailed by one of the most terrific storms I remember to have yet encountered. All the morning the atmosphere had been most oppressive, {118} the sultriness completely prostrating, and the livid exhalations quivered along the parched-up soil of the prairies, as if over the mouth of an enormous furnace. A gauzy mist of silvery whiteness at length diffused itself over the landscape; an inky cloud came heaving up in the northern horizon, and soon the thunder-peal began to bellow and reverberate along the darkened prairie, and the great raindrops came tumbling to the ground. Fortunately, a shelter was at hand; but hardly had the traveller availed himself of its liberal hospitality, when the heavens were again lighted up by the sunbeams; the sable cloud rolled off to the east, and all was beautiful and calm, as if the angel of desolation in his hurried flight had but for a moment stooped the shade of his dusky wing, and had then swept onward to accomplish elsewhere his terrible bidding. With a reflection like this I was about remounting to pursue my way, when a prolonged, deafening, terrible crash--as if the wild idea of heathen mythology was indeed about to be realized, and the thunder-car of Olympian Jove was dashing through the concave above--caused me to falter with foot in stirrup, and almost involuntarily to turn my eye in the direction from which the bolt seemed to have burst. A few hundred yards from the spot on which I stood a huge elm had been blasted by the lightning; and its enormous shaft towering aloft, torn, mangled, shattered from the very summit to its base, was streaming its long ghastly fragments on the blast. The scene was one startlingly impressive; one of those few scenes in a man's life the remembrance {119} of which years cannot wholly efface; which he never _forgets_. As I gazed upon this giant forest-son, which the lapse of centuries had perhaps hardly sufficed to rear to perfection, now, even though a ruin, noble, that celebrated passage of the poet Gray, when describing his _bard_, recurred with some force to my mind: in this description Gray is supposed to have had the painting of Raphael at Florence, representing Deity in the vision of Ezekiel, before him: "Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air," &c. A ride of a few hours, after the storm had died away, brought me to the pleasant little town of Mt. Vernon.[215] This place is the seat of justice for Jefferson county, and has a courthouse of brick, decent enough to the eye, to be sure, but said to have been so miserably constructed that it is a perilous feat for his honour here to poise the scales. The town itself is an inconsiderable place, but pleasantly situated, in the edge of a prairie, if I forget not, and in every other respect is exactly what every traveller has seen a dozen times elsewhere in Illinois. Like Shelbyville, it is chiefly noted for a remarkable spring in its vicinity, said to be highly medicinal. How this latter item may stand I know not, but I am quite sure that all of the _pure element_ it was my own disagreeable necessity to partake of during my brief tarry savoured mightily of medicine or of something akin. Epsom salts and alum seemed the chief substances in solution; and with these minerals all the water in the region appeared heavily charged. {120} It was a misty, miserable morning when I left Mt. Vernon; and as my route lay chiefly through a dense timbered tract, the dank, heavy atmosphere exhaling from the soil, from the luxuriant vegetation, and from the dense foliage of the over-hanging boughs, was anything but agreeable. To endure the pitiless drenching of a summer-shower with equanimity demands but a brief exercise of stoicism: but it is not in the nature of man amiably to withstand the equally pitiless _drenching_ of a drizzling, penetrating, everlasting fog, be it of sea origin or of land. At length a thunder-gust--the usual remedy for these desperate cases in Illinois--dissipated the vapour, and the glorious sunlight streamed far and wide athwart a broad prairie, in the edge of which I stood. The route was, in the language of my director, indeed a _blind_ one; but, having received special instructions thereupon, I hesitated not to press onward over the swelling, pathless plain towards the _east_. After a few miles, having crossed an arm of the prairie, directions were again sought and received, by which the route became due _south_, pathless as before, and through a tract of woodland rearing itself from a bog perfectly Serbonian. "Muddy Prairie" indeed. On every side rose the enormous shafts of the cypress, the water-oak, and the maple, flinging from their giant branches that gray, pensile, parasitical moss, which, weaving its long funereal fibres into a dusky mantle, almost entangles in the meshes the thin threads of sunlight struggling down from above. It was here for the first time that I met in any considerable numbers {121} with that long-necked, long-legged, long-toed, long-tailed gentry called wild-turkeys: and, verily, here was a host ample to atone for all former deficiency, parading in ungainly magnificence through the forest upon every side, or peeping curiously down, with outstretched necks and querulous piping, from their lofty perches on the traveller below. It is by a skilful imitation of this same piping, to say nothing of the melodious gobble that always succeeds it, that the sportsman decoys these sentimental bipeds within his reach. The same method is sometimes employed in hunting the deer--an imitated bleating of the fawn when in distress--thus taking away the gentle mother's life through the medium of her most generous impulses; a most diabolical _modus operandi_, reader, permit me to say. Emerging at length, by a circuitous path, once more upon the prairie, instructions were again sought for the _direct_ route to Pinkneyville, and a course nearly _north_ was now pointed out. Think of that; _east_, _south_, _north_, in regular succession too, over a tract of country perfectly uniform, in order to run a _right_ line between two given points! This was past all endurance. To a moral certainty with me, the place of my destination lay away just southwest from the spot on which I was then standing. Producing, therefore, my pocket-map and pocket-compass, by means of a little calculation I had soon laid down the prescribed course, determined to pursue none other, the remonstrances, and protestations, and objurgations of men, women, and children to the contrary notwithstanding. Pushing {122} boldly forth into the prairie, I had not travelled many miles when I struck a path leading off in the direction I had chosen, and which _proved_ the direct route to Pinkneyville! Thus had I been forced to cross, recross, and cross again, a prairie miles in breadth, and to flounder through a swamp other miles in extent, to say nothing of the _depth_, and all because of the utter ignorance of the worthy souls who took upon them _to direct_. I have given this instance in detail for the special edification and benefit of all future wayfarers in Illinois. The only unerring guide on the prairies is the map and the compass. Half famished, and somewhat more than half vexed at the adventures of the morning, I found myself, near noon, at the cabin-door of an honest old Virginian, and was ere long placed in a fair way to relieve my craving appetite. With the little compass which hung at the safety-riband of my watch, and which had done me such rare service during my wanderings, the worthy old gentleman seemed heart-stricken at first sight, and warmly protested that he and the "_stranger_" must have "_a small bit of a tug_" for that _fixen_, a proposition which said stranger by no means as warmly relished. Laying, therefore, before the old farmer a slight outline of my morning's ramble, he readily perceived that with me the "_pretty leetle fixen_" was anything but a superlative. My evening ride was a delightful one along the edge of an extended prairie; but, though repeatedly assured by the worthy settlers upon the route that I could "_catch no diffick_ulty on my way no how," my compass was {123} my only safe guide. At length, crossing "Mud River" upon a lofty bridge of logs, the town of Pinkneyville was before me just at sunset.[216] Pinkneyville has but little to commend it to the passing traveller, whether we regard beauty of location, regularity of structure, elegance, size, or proportion of edifices, or the cultivation of the farms in its vicinage. It would, perhaps, be a pleasant town enough were its site more elevated, its buildings larger, and disposed with a little more of mathematical exactness, or its streets less lanelike and less filthy. As it is, it will require some years to give it a standing among its fellows. It is laid out on the roll of a small prairie of moderate fertility, but has quite an extensive settlement of enterprising farmers, a circumstance which will conduce far more to the ultimate prosperity of the place. The most prominent structure is a blood-red jail of brick, standing near the centre of the village; rather a savage-looking concern, and, doubtless, so designed by its sagacious architect for the purpose of frightening evil doers. Having taken these _observations_ from the tavern door during twilight, the traveller retired to his chamber, nothing loath, after a ride of nearly fifty miles, to bestow his tired frame to rest. But, alas! that verity compels him to declare it-- "'Tis true, and pity 'tis 'tis true," the "_Traveller's Inn_" was anything, nay, _every_thing but the comfort-giving spot the hospitable cognomen swinging from its signpost seemed to imply. Ah! the fond visions of quietude and repose, {124} of plentiful feeding and hearty sleeping, which those magic words, "_Traveller's Inn_," had conjured up in the weary traveller's fancy when they first delightfully swung before his eye. "But human pleasure, what art thou, in sooth! The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below!!" Well--exhausted, worn down, tired out, the traveller yet found it as utterly impossible quietly to rest, as does, doubtless, "a half-assoilzed soul in purgatory;" and, hours before the day had begun to break, he arose and ordered out his horse. Kind reader, hast ever, in the varyings of thy pilgrimage through this troublous world of ours, when faint, and languid, and weary with exertion, by any untoward circumstance, been forced to resist the gentle promptings of "quiet nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," and to count away the tedious hours of the livelong night till thy very existence became a burden to thee; till thy brain whirled and thy nerves twanged like the tense harp-string? And didst thou not, then--didst thou not, from the very depths of thy soul, assever this ill, of all ills mortality is heir to, that one most utterly and unutterably intolerable patiently to endure? 'Tis no very pitiful thing, sure, to consume the midnight taper, "sickly" though it be: we commiserate the sacrifice, but we fail not to appreciate the reward. Around the couch of suffering humanity, who could not outwatch the stars? the recompense is not of _this_ world. "When youth and pleasure meet, To chase the glowing hours with flying feet," _who_ asks for "sleep till morn!" But when in weariness {125} of the flesh and in languidness of spirit, the overspent wayfarer has laid down his wearied frame to rest for the toils of the morrow, it is indeed a _bitter_ thing rudely to have that rest broken up! "The sleep of the _wayfaring_ man is sweet," and to have that slumber obtruded upon by causes too contemptible for a thought, is not in nature with equanimity to bear! Besides, the luckless sufferer meets with no _commiseration_: it is a matter all too ludicrous for pity; and as for fortitude, and firmness, and the like, what warrior ever achieved a laurel in such a war? what glory is to be gained over a host of starving--but I forbear. You are pretty well aware, kind reader, or ought to be, that the situation of your traveller just then was anything but an enviable one. Not so, however, deemed the worthy landlord on this interesting occasion. His blank bewilderment of visage may be better imagined than described, as, aroused from sleep, his eye met the vision of his stranger guest; while the comic amalgamation of distress and pique in the marvellously elongated features of the fair hostess was so truly laughable, that a smile flitted along the traveller's rebellious muscles, serving completely to disturb the serenity of her breast! The good lady was evidently not a little nettled at the _apparent_ mirthfulness of her guest under his manifold miseries--I do assure thee, reader, the mirthfulness was only _apparent_--and did not neglect occasion thereupon to let slip a sly remark impugning his "gentle breeding," because, forsooth, dame Nature, in throwing together her "cunning workmanship," had gifted it with a {126} nervous system not quite of steel. Meanwhile, the honest publican, agreeable to orders, having brought forth the horse, with folded hands all meekly listened to the eloquence of his spouse; but the good man was meditating the while a retaliation in shape of a most unconscionable bill of cost, which was soon presented and was as soon discharged. Then, leaving the interesting pair to their own cogitations, with the very _top_ of the morning the traveller flung himself upon his horse and was soon out of sight. _Kaskaskia, Ill._ FOOTNOTES: [1] George D. Prentice (1802-70), founder of the Louisville _Journal_, was graduated from Brown University in 1823. Two years later he became editor of the Connecticut _Mirror_ and in 1828-30 had charge of the _New England Weekly Review_. In the spring of 1830, at the earnest solicitation of several influential Connecticut Whigs, he went West to gather data for a life of Henry Clay. Once in Kentucky he threw all the force of his political genius in support of Clay's policy. On November 24, 1830, he issued the first number of the Louisville _Journal_, which through his able management was soon recognized as the chief Whig organ in the West. Wholly devoted to Clay's cause, its own reputation rose and declined with that of its champion. The _Journal_ maintained an existence till 1868, when Henry Watterson consolidated it with the Courier, under the title of _Courier-Journal_. Prentice is reputed to have been the originator of the short, pointed paragraph in journalism. His _Life of Henry Clay_ (Hartford, 1831) is well known. In 1859 he published a collection of poems under the name _Prenticeana_ (New York). It was reprinted in 1870 with a biography of the author by G. W. Griffin (Philadelphia).--ED. [2] John M. Peck, a Baptist minister, went as a missionary to St. Louis in 1817. After nine years of preaching in Missouri and Illinois, he founded (1826) the Rocky Spring Seminary for training teachers and ministers. It is said that he travelled more than six thousand miles collecting money for endowing this school. In 1828 Peck began publishing the _Western Pioneer_, the first official organ of the Baptist church in the West, and served as the corresponding secretary and financial agent of the American Baptist Publication Society from 1843 to 1845. He died at Rocky Springs, Illinois, in 1858. Peck made important contributions to the publications of the early historical societies in the Northwest. His chief independent works are: _A Guide for Emigrants_ (Boston, 1831), republished as _A New Guide for Emigrants_ (Boston, 1836); _Gazetteer of Illinois_ (Jacksonville, 1834 and 1837); _Father Clark or the Pioneer Preacher_ (New York, 1855); and "Life of Daniel Boone," in Jared Sparks, _American Biography_. Judge James Hall was born in Philadelphia (1793), and died near Cincinnati in 1868. He was a member of the Washington Guards during the War of 1812-15, was promoted to the 2nd United States artillery, and accompanied Decatur on his expedition to Algiers (1815). Resigning in 1818, he practiced law at Shawneetown, Illinois (1820-27), and filled the office of public prosecutor and judge of the circuit court. He moved to Vandalia (1827) and began editing the _Illinois Intelligencer_ and the _Illinois Monthly Magazine_. From 1836 to 1853 he was president of the commercial bank at Cincinnati, and acted as state treasurer. He published: _Letters from the West_ (London, 1828); _Legends of the West_ (1832); _Memoirs of the Public Services of General William Henry Harrison_ (Philadelphia, 1836); _Sketches of History, Life and Manners of the West_ (Philadelphia, 1835); _Statistics of the West at the Close of 1836_ (Cincinnati, 1836); _Notes on the Western States_ (Philadelphia, 1838); _History and Biography of the Indians of North America_ (3 volumes, 1838-44); _The West, its Soil, Surface, etc._ (Cincinnati, 1848); _The West, its Commerce and Navigation_ (Cincinnati, 1848); besides a few historical novels. For a contemporary estimate of the value of Hall's writings see _American Monthly Magazine_ (New York, 1835), v, pp. 9-15. For Timothy Flint, see Pattie's _Narrative_, in our volume xviii, p. 25, note 1. Major Alphonso Wetmore (1793-1849) was of much less importance as a writer on Western history than those above mentioned. He entered the 23rd infantry in 1812, and subsequently was transferred to the 6th. He served as paymaster for his regiment from 1815 to 1821, and was promoted to a captaincy (1819). In 1816 he moved with his family to Franklinton, Missouri, and later practiced law in St. Louis. His chief contribution to Western travel is a _Gazetteer of Missouri_ (St. Louis, 1837).--ED. [3] The reference is to Shakespeare's _King John_, III, iv.--ED. [4] For a brief sketch of the history of Louisville, see Croghan's _Journals_, in our volume i, p.136, note 106.--ED. [5] The seven stations formed on Beargrass Creek in the fall of 1779 and spring of 1780 were: Falls of the Ohio, Linnis, Sullivan's Old, Hoagland's, Floyd's, Spring, and Middle stations. Beargrass Creek, a small stream less than ten miles in length, flows in a northwestern trend and uniting with two smaller creeks, South and Muddy forks, enters the Ohio (not the Mississippi) immediately above the Falls of the Ohio (Louisville).--ED. [6] It is only at high stages of the river that boats even of a smaller class can pass over the Falls. At other times they go through the "Louisville and Portland Canal." In 1804 the Legislature of Kentucky incorporated a company to cut a canal around the falls. Nothing effectual, however, beyond surveys, was done until 1825, when on the 12th of January of that year the Louisville and Portland Canal Company was incorporated by an act of the legislature, with a capital of $600,000, in shares of $100 each, with perpetual succession. 3665 of the shares of the company are in the hands of individuals, about seventy in number, residing in the following states: New-Hampshire, Massachusetts, New-York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Ohio, Kentucky, and Missouri, and 2335 shares belong to the government of the United States. In December, 1825, contracts were entered into to complete the work of this canal within two years, for about $375,000, and under these contracts the work was commenced in March, 1826. Many unforeseen difficulties retarded the work until the close of the year 1828. At this time the contractors failed; new contracts were made at advanced prices, and the canal was finally opened for navigation December 5th, 1830. When completed it cost about $750,000. Owing to the advanced season at which it was opened, the deposites of alluvial earth at the lower extremity of the canal, or debouchure, could not be removed; and also from the action of the floods during the succeeding severe winter on the stones that had been temporarily deposited on the sides of the canal, causing them to be precipitated into the canal, it was not used to the extent that it otherwise would have been. During the year 1831, 406 steamboats, 46 keelboats, and 357 flatboats, measuring 76,323 tons, passed through the locks, which are about one fourth the number that would have passed if all the obstructions had been removed. The Louisville and Portland Canal is about two miles in length; is intended for steamboats of the largest class, and to overcome a fall of 24 feet, occasioned by an irregular ledge of limerock, through which the entire bed of the canal is excavated, a part of it, to the depth of 12 feet, is overlaid with earth. There is one guard and three lift locks combined, all of which have their foundation on the rock. One bridge of stone 240 feet long, with an elevation of 68 feet to top of the parapet wall, and three arches, the centre one of which is semi-elliptical, with a transverse diameter of 66, and a semi-conjugate diameter of 22 feet. The two side arches are segments of 40 feet span. The guard lock is 190 feet long in the clear, with semicircular heads of 26 feet in diameter, 50 feet wide, and 42 feet high, and contains 21,775 perches of mason-work. The solid contents of this lock are equal to 15 common locks, such as are built on the Ohio and New-York canals. The lift locks are of the same width with the guard lock, 20 feet high, and 183 feet long in the clear, and contain 12,300 perches of mason-work. The entire length of the walls, from the head of the guard lock to the end of the outlet lock, is 921 feet. In addition to the amount of mason-work above, there are three culverts to drain off the water from the adjacent lands, the mason-work of which, when added to the locks and bridge, give the whole amount of mason-work 41,989 perches, equal to about 30 common canal locks. The cross section of the canal is 200 feet at top of banks, 50 feet at bottom, and 42 feet high, having a capacity equal to that of 25 common canals; and if we keep in view the unequal quantity of mason-work compared to the length of the canal, the great difficulties of excavating earth and rock from so great a depth and width, together with the contingencies attending its construction from the fluctuations of the Ohio River, it may not be considered as extravagant in drawing the comparison between the work in this and in that of 70 or 75 miles of common canalling. In the upper sections of the canal, the alluvial earth to the average depth of twenty feet being removed, trunks of trees were found more or less decayed, and so imbedded as to indicate a powerful current towards the present shore, some of which were cedar, which is not now found in this region. Several _fireplaces_ of a rude construction, with partially burnt wood, were discovered near the rock, as well as the bones of a variety of small animals and several human skeletons; rude implements formed of bone and stone were frequently seen, as also several well-wrought specimens of hematite of iron, in the shape of plummets or sinkers, displaying a knowledge in the arts far in advance of the present race of Indians. The first stratum of rock was a light, friable slate, in close contact with the limestone, and difficult to disengage from it; this slate did not, however, extend over the whole surface of the rock, and was of various thicknesses, from three inches to four feet. The stratum next to the slate was a close, compact limestone, in which petrified seashells and an infinite variety of coralline formations were imbedded, and frequent cavities of crystalline incrustations were seen, many of which still contained petroleum of a highly fetid smell, which gives the name to this description of limestone. This description of rock is on an average of five feet, covering a substratum of a species of cias limestone of a bluish colour, imbedding nodules of hornstone and organic remains. The fracture of this stone has in all instances been found to be irregularly conchoidal, and on exposure to the atmosphere and subjection to fire, it crumbles to pieces. When burnt and ground, and mixed with a due proportion of silicious sand, it has been found to make a most superior kind of hydraulic cement or water-lime. The discovery of this valuable limestone has enabled the canal company to construct their masonry more solidly than any other known in the United States. A manufactory of this hydraulic cement or water-lime is now established on the bank of the canal, on a scale capable of supplying the United States with this much-valued material for all works in contact with water or exposed to moisture; the nature of this cement being to harden in the water; the grout used on the locks of the canal is already _harder_ than the _stone_ used in their construction. After passing through the stratum which was commonly called the water-lime, about ten feet in thickness, the workmen came to a more compact mass of primitive gray limestone, which, however, was not penetrated to any great depth. In many parts of the excavation masses of a bluish white flint and hornstone were found enclosed in or incrusting the fetid limestone. And from the large quantities of arrow-heads and other rude formations of this flint stone, it is evident that it was made much use of by the Indians in forming their weapons for war and hunting; in one place a magazine of arrow-heads was discovered, containing many hundreds of these rude implements, carefully packed together and buried below the surface of the ground. The existence of iron ore in considerable quantities was exhibited in the progress of the excavation of the canal, by numerous highly-charged chalybeate springs that gushed out, and continued to flow during the time that the rock was exposed, chiefly in the upper strata of limestone.--_Louisville Directory for 1835._--FLAGG. [7] A circumstance, too, which adds not a little of interest to the spot, is the old Indian tradition that here was fought the last battle between their race and the former dwellers in Kentucky--the _white mound-builders_--in which the latter were exterminated to a man. True or false, vast quantities of human remains have, at low stages of the Ohio, been found upon the shores of Sandy Island, one mile below, and an extensive graveyard once existed in the vicinity of Shipping-port.--FLAGG. [8] _Kentucke_ is said to have a similar meaning.--FLAGG. [9] Ohio is thought by some philologists to be a corruption of the Iroquois word, "Ohionhiio," meaning "beautiful river," which the French rendered as La Belle Rivière; see also Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 92, note 49.--ED. [10] At the age of twenty-five, Henry M. Shreve (1785-1854) was captain of a freight boat operating on the Ohio. In 1814 he ran the gauntlet of the British batteries at New Orleans, and carried supplies to Fort St. Phillip. The following year, in charge of the "Enterprise" he made the first successful steamboat trip from New Orleans to Louisville. Later he constructed the "Washington," making many improvements on the Fulton model. Fulton and Livingstone brought suit against him but lost in the action. May 24, 1824, at the instigation of J. C. Calhoun, then secretary of war, Congress appropriated seventy-five thousand dollars (not $105,000, as Flagg says) for the purpose of removing obstructions from the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. As early as 1821, Shreve had invented a device for removing snags and sawyers from river beds. But it was not until after two years' fruitless trials with a scheme devised by John Bruce of Kentucky, that Barbour, at Calhoun's suggestion, appointed Shreve superintendent of improvements on Western rivers (December 10, 1826). This position he held until September 11, 1841, when he was dismissed for political reasons. In the face of discouraging opposition Shreve constructed (1829) with government aid the snagboat "Heleopolis" with which he later wrought a marvellous improvement in navigation on the Ohio and Mississippi. From 1833 to 1838 he was engaged in removing the Red River "raft" for a distance of a hundred and sixty miles, thus opening that important river for navigation. For a good biography of Shreve, see the _Democratic Review_, xxii (New York, 1848), pp. 159-171, 241-251. A fair estimate of the importance of his work can be gained from the following statistics; from 1822-27 the loss from snags alone, of property on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, including steam and flat-boats and their cargoes, amounted to $1,362,500; the like loss from 1827-32 was reduced to $381,000, although the volume of business had greatly increased.--ED. [11] The "Baltimore" (73 tons) was built at Pittsburg in 1828; the "Roanoke" (100 tons), at Wheeling in 1835. It is reported that from 1831 to 1833, of the sixty-six steamboats which went out of service, twenty-four were snagged, fifteen burned, and five destroyed by collision with other boats. See James Hall, _Notes on the Western States_ (Philadelphia, 1838), p. 239.--ED. [12] The keel-boat Hindoo, with merchandise to the amount of $50,000, is a late instance.--FLAGG. [13] Brown's Island, two miles and a half long by half a mile at its greatest width, is located six or seven miles above Steubenville, Ohio, following the course of the river.--ED. [14] The keel-boat was usually from sixty to seventy feet long, and fifteen to eighteen broad at beam, with a keel extending from bow to stern, and had a draft of twenty to thirty inches. When descending the stream, the force of the current, with occasional aid from the pole, was the usual mode of locomotion. In ascending the stream, however, sails, poles, and almost every known device were used; not infrequently the vessel was towed by from twenty to forty men, with a rope several hundred feet in length attached to the mast. These boats were built in Pittsburg at a cost of two to three thousand dollars each. The barge was constructed for narrow, shallow water. As a rule it was larger than the keel-boat; but of less draft, and afforded greater accommodations for passengers. Broad-horn was a term generally applied to the Mississippi and Ohio flat-boat, which made its advent on the Western waters later than the barge or the keel-boat. It was a large, unwieldy structure, with a perfectly flat bottom, perpendicular sides, and usually covered its entire length. It was used only for descending the stream. "The earliest improvement upon the canoe was the pirogue, an invention of the whites. Like the canoe, this is hewed out of the solid log; the difference is, that the pirogue has greater width and capacity, and is composed of several pieces of timbers--as if the canoe was sawed lengthwise into two equal sections, and a broad flat piece of timber inserted in the middle, so as to give greater breadth of beam to the vessel." Hall, _Notes on the Western States_, p. 218.--ED. [15] Flint.--FLAGG. [16] For an account of the first steamboat on the Ohio, see Flint's _Letters_, in our volume ix, p. 154, note 76.--ED. [17] Latrobe.--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ Charles J. Latrobe (1801-75) visited the United States in 1832-33. His _Rambles in North America in 1832-3_ (New York, 1835) and _Rambles in Mexico_ (New York and London, 1836) have much value in the history of Western travel. [18] The first steamer upon the waters of the Red River was of a peculiar construction: her steam scape-pipe, instead of ascending perpendicularly from the hurricane deck, projected from the bow, and terminated in the form of a serpent's head. As this monster ascended the wilds of the stream, with her furnaces blazing, pouring forth steam with a roar, the wondering Choctaws upon the banks gave her the poetic and appropriate name of _Pinelore_, "the Fire-Canoe."--FLAGG. [19] This quotation is from _Botanic Gardens_, book i, chapter i, by Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802).--ED. [20] For Rome, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 160, note 77.--ED. [21] Green River, rising in central Kentucky, flows west through the coal fields to its junction with the Big Barren; thence it turns north, and empties into the Ohio nine miles above Evansville, Indiana. Beginning with 1808 the state legislature expended large sums of money for improving navigation on Green River. As a consequence small steamboats may ascend it to a distance of more than a hundred and fifty miles. The length of the stream is estimated at three hundred and fifty miles.--ED. [22] Diamond Island, densely wooded, is located thirty-six miles below the mouth of Green River, and seven miles above Mount Vernon. Its name is perhaps derived from its shape, being five miles long and one and a half wide.--ED. [23] For note on Hendersonville, see Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 267, note 175.--ED. [24] John J. Audubon, born in Louisiana (1780), was a son of a wealthy French naval officer; his mother was a Spanish Creole. Educated in France, he returned to America (1798) and settled near Philadelphia, devoting his time to the study of birds. In 1808 he went west and until 1824 made fruitless attempts to establish himself in business in Kentucky and Louisiana. He issued in London (1827-38) his noted publication on the _Birds of America_, which was completed in eighty-seven parts. During 1832-39 he published five volumes entitled _Ornithological Biographies_. Audubon died in 1851. See M. R. Audubon, _Audubon and his Journals_ (New York, 1897).--ED. [25] For the historical importance of the Wabash River, see Croghan's _Journals_, in our volume i, p. 137, note 107.--ED. [26] The Wabash and Erie Canal, which connects the waters of Lake Erie with the Ohio River by way of the Maumee and Wabash rivers, has played an active rôle in the development of Indiana, her most important cities being located upon its route. The Ohio section was constructed during the years 1837-43, and the Indiana section as far as Lafayette in 1832-40; the canal being later continued to Terre Haute and the Ohio River near Evansville. Although the federal government granted Indiana 1,505,114 acres for constructing the canal, the state was by this work plunged heavily in debt. After the War of Secession the canal lost much of its relative importance for commerce. June 14, 1880, Congress authorized the secretary of war to order a survey and estimate of cost and practicability of making a ship canal out of the old Wabash and Erie Canal. The survey and estimate were made, but the matter was allowed to drop. See _Senate Docs._, 46 Cong., 3 sess., iii, 55.--ED. [27] For an account of New Harmony and its founder, George Rapp, see Hulme's _Journal_, in our volume x, p. 50, note 22, and p. 54, note 25.--ED. [28] Flagg is evidently referring to Robert Owen, the active promoter of the scheme. A brief history of his activities is given in Hulme's _Journal_, in our volume x, p. 50, note 22. For Robert Dale Owen see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxiv, p. 133, note 128.--ED. [29] "Declaration of Mental Independence" delivered by Robert Owen (not Robert Dale Owen) on July 4, 1826, was printed in the New Harmony _Gazette_ for July 12, 1826. An extended quotation is given in George B. Lockwood, _The New Harmony Communities_ (Marion, Indiana, 1902), p. 163.--ED. [30] For an account of William Maclure, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 163, note 81. In reference to the Duke of Saxe Weimar, see Wyeth's _Oregon_, in our volume xxi, p. 71, note 47.--ED. [31] On Shawneetown and the Shawnee Indians see our volume i, p. 23, note 13, and p. 138, note 108.--ED. [32] For a brief statement on the salines, see James's _Long's Expedition_, in our volume xiv, p. 58, note 11.--ED. [33] An excellent account of the Mound Builders is given by Lucien Carr in Smithsonian Institution _Report_, 1891 (Washington, 1893), pp. 503-599; see also Cyrus Thomas, "Report on Mound Explorations" in United States Bureau of Ethnology _Report_ (1890-91).--ED. [34] Hanging Rock is the name given to a high sandstone escarpment on the right bank of the river, three miles below Ironton, Ohio.--ED. [35] Blennerhasset's Island is two miles below Parkersburg, West Virginia. For its history, see Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 129, note 89.--ED. [36] A brief description of Rock Inn Cave (or Cave-in-Rock) may be found in Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 273, note 180.--ED. [37] For Schoolcraft, see Gregg's _Commerce of the Prairies_, in our volume xx, p. 286, note 178.--ED. [38] It is a remarkable circumstance, that this term is employed to signify the _same_ thing by all the tribes from the Arkansas to the sources of the Mississippi; and, according to Mackenzie, throughout the Arctic Regions.--FLAGG. [39] See Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 268.--ED. [40] Ford's Ferry is today a small hamlet in Crittenden County, Kentucky, twenty-five miles below Shawneetown. Flagg is referring probably to the Wilson family. Consult Lewis Collins, _History of Kentucky_ (Covington, 1874), i. p. 147.--ED. [41] Since the remarks relative to "the remarkable cavern in the vicinity of _Tower Rock_, and not far from Hurricane Island," were in type, the subjoined notice of a similar cave, probably the same referred to, has casually fallen under my observation. The reader will recognise in this description the outlines of _Rock-Inn-Cave_, previously noticed. It is not a little singular that none of our party, which was a numerous one, observed the "hieroglyphics" here alluded to. The passage is from Priest's "American Antiquities." "_A Cavern of the West, in which are found many interesting Hieroglyphics, supposed to have been made by the Ancient Inhabitants._ "On the Ohio, twenty miles below the mouth of the Wabash, is a cavern in which are found many hieroglyphics and representations of such delineations as would induce the belief that their authors were indeed comparatively refined and civilized. It is a cave in a rock, or ledge of the mountain, which presents itself to view a little above the water of the river when in flood, and is situated close to the bank. In the early settlement of Ohio this cave became possessed by a party of Kentuckians called 'Wilson's Gang.' Wilson, in the first place, brought his family to this cave, and fitted it up as a spacious dwelling; erected a _signpost_ on the water side, on which were these words: 'Wilson's Liquor Vault and House of Entertainment.' The novelty of such a tavern induced almost all the boats descending the river to call for refreshments and amusement. Attracted by these circumstances, several idle characters took up their abode at the cave, after which it continually resounded with the shouts of the licentious, the clamour of the riotous, and the blasphemy of gamblers. Out of such customers Wilson found no difficulty in forming a band of robbers, with whom he formed the plan of murdering the crews of every boat that stopped at his tavern, and of sending the boats, manned by some of his party, to New-Orleans, and there sell their loading for cash, which was to be conveyed to the cave by land through the States of Tennessee and Kentucky; the party returning with it being instructed to murder and rob on all good occasions on the road. "After a lapse of time the merchants of the upper country began to be alarmed on finding their property make no returns, and their people never coming back. Several families and respectable men who had gone down the river were never heard of, and the losses became so frequent that it raised, at length, a cry of individual distress and general dismay. This naturally led to an inquiry, and large rewards were offered for the discovery of the perpetrators of such unparalleled crimes. It soon came out that Wilson, with an organized party of forty-five men, was the cause of such waste of blood and treasure; that he had a station at Hurricane Island to arrest every boat that passed by the mouth of the cavern, and that he had agents at Natchez and New-Orleans, of presumed respectability, who converted his assignments into cash, though they knew the goods to be stolen or obtained by the commission of murder. "The publicity of Wilson's transactions soon broke up his party; some dispersed, others were taken prisoners, and he himself was killed by one of his associates, who was tempted by the reward offered for the head of the captain of the gang. "This cavern measures about twelve rods in length and five in width; its entrance presents a width of eighty feet at its base and twenty-five feet high. The interior walls are smooth rock. The floor is very remarkable, being level through the whole length of its centre, the sides rising in stony grades, in the manner of seats in the pit of a theatre. On a diligent scrutiny of the walls, it is plainly discerned that the ancient inhabitants at a very remote period had made use of the cave as a house of deliberation and council. The walls bear many hieroglyphics well executed, and some of them represent animals which have no resemblance to any now known to natural history. "This cavern is a great natural curiosity, as it is connected with another still more gloomy, which is situated exactly above, united by an aperture of about fourteen feet, which, to ascend, is like passing up a chimney, while the mountain is yet far above. Not long after the dispersion and arrest of the robbers who had infested it, in the upper vault were found the skeletons of about sixty persons, who had been murdered by the gang of Wilson, as was supposed. "But the tokens of antiquity are still more curious and important than a description of the mere cave, which are found engraved on the sides within, an account of which we proceed to give: "The sun in different stages of rise and declension; the moon under various phases; a snake biting its tail, and representing an orb or circle; a viper; a vulture; buzzards tearing out the heart of a prostrate man; a panther held by the ears by a child; a crocodile; several trees and shrubs; a fox; a curious kind of hydra serpent; two doves; several bears; two scorpions; an eagle; an owl; some quails; _eight_ representations of animals which are now unknown. Three out of the eight are like the elephant in all respects except the tusk and the tail. Two more resemble the tiger; one a wild boar; another a sloth; and the last appears a creature of fancy, being a quadruman instead of a quadruped; the claws being alike before and behind, and in the act of conveying something to the mouth, which lay in the centre of the monster. Besides these were several fine representations of men and women, _not naked_, but clothed; not as the Indians, but much in the costume of Greece and Rome."--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ This same account is given by Collins (_op. cit._, in note 40), and is probably true. [42] Hurricane Island, four miles below Cave-in-Rock, is more than five miles in length. The "Wilson gang" for some time used this island for a seat of operation.--ED. [43] Golconda is the seat of Pope County, Illinois. See Woods's _English Prairie_, in our volume x, p. 327, note 77. On or just before Christmas, 1806, Aaron Burr came down the Cumberland River from Nashville and joined Blennerhasset, Davis Floyd, and others who were waiting for him at the mouth of the river, and together they started on Burr's ill-fated expedition (December 28, 1806). Their united forces numbered only nine batteaux and sixty men. See W. F. McCaleb, _Aaron Burr's Conspiracy_ (New York, 1903), p. 254 ff. For a short account of Paducah, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 203, note 110.--ED. [44] It has since been nearly destroyed by fire.--FLAGG. [45] On Fort Massac, see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 73, note 139.--ED. [46] Wilkinsonville, named for General James Wilkinson, was a small hamlet located on the site of the Fort Wilkinson of 1812, twenty-two miles above Cairo. Two or three farm houses are today the sole relics of this place; see Thwaites, _On the Storied Ohio_, p. 291. Caledonia is still a small village in Pulaski County, Illinois. Its post-office is Olmstead.--ED. [47] For account of the attempt at settlements at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 204, note 111.--ED. [48] For America see Ogden's _Letters_, our volume xix, p. 44, note 30, and Woods's _English Prairie_, our volume x, p. 327, note 77. The scheme known as the "Internal Improvement Policy" was authorized over the governor's veto by the Illinois general assembly on February 27, 1837, in response to the popular clamor for its adoption. The object was to open the country for immigration and hasten its natural development by constructing railroads and canals as yet not needed commercially. Ten million two hundred thousand dollars were appropriated by the act, including two hundred thousand dollars to be given directly to the counties not favored. Surveys were made, and speculation was rife. Then followed a collapse, and six million five hundred thousand dollars were added to the state debt. The scheme was later referred to as the General Insanity Bill.--ED. [49] The English Island of 1836 is probably the Power's Island of today. It is three miles long, and forms a part of Scott County, Missouri, more than twenty miles above Cairo.--ED. [50] Herbert.--FLAGG. [51] For a sketch of Cape Girardeau, see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 80, note 154.--ED. [52] A superior quality of kaolin, or china clay, is mined in large quantities in Cape Girardeau County. Marble ninety-nine per cent pure, is procured in abundance.--ED. [53] "Muddy River," usually called "Big Muddy," is the English translation of the French _Rivière au Vase_, or _Vaseux_. Formed by the union of two branches rising in Jefferson County, Illinois, it flows in a southwesterly direction and empties into the Mississippi about twenty-five miles above Cape Girardeau. It is one hundred and forty miles long.--ED. [54] Fountain Bluff is six miles above the mouth of the Big Muddy. Flagg's descriptions are in the main accurate.--ED. [55] Grand Tower, seventy-five feet high, and frequently mentioned by early writers, is a mile above the island of the same name, at the mouth of the Big Muddy, and stands out some distance from the Missouri side. Grand Tower Island was an object of much dread to boatmen during the days of early navigation on the Mississippi. A powerful current sweeping around Devil's Oven, frequently seized frail or unwieldy craft to dash it against this rock. Usually the boatmen landed, and by means of long ropes towed their vessels along the Illinois side, past this perilous rock.--ED. [56] The Mississippi between the mouth of the Kaskaskia River and Cape Girardeau offered many obstructions to early navigation. As at Grand Tower, the boatmen frequently found it necessary to land and tow their boats past the dangerous points, and here the Indians would lie in ambush to fall upon the unfortunate whites. The peril of these places doubtless lent color to their nomenclature. Flagg's descriptions are fairly accurate except in the matter of dimensions, wherein he tends to exaggeration.--ED. [57] $105,000.--FLAGG. [58] For Red River raft, see James's Long's _Expedition_, in our volume xvii, p. 70, note 64.--ED. [59] In reference to the American Bottom, see Ogden's _Letters_, in our volume xix, p. 62, note 48.--ED. [60] For an account of Ste. Genevieve, see Cuming's _Tour_, in our volume iv, p. 266, note 174. According to Austin, cited below, La Motte (or La Mothe) Cadillac, governor of Louisiana, went on an expedition (1715) to the Illinois in search of silver, and found lead ore in a mine which had been shown him fifteen miles west of the Mississippi. It is believed by some authorities that this was the famous "Mine la Mothe," at the head of the St. Francis River. Schoolcraft, however, says that Philip Francis Renault, having received mining grants from the French government, left France in 1719, ascended the Mississippi, established himself the following year near Kaskaskia, and sent out small companies in search of precious metals; and that La Mothe, who had charge of one of these companies, soon discovered the mine that still bears his name. It was operated only at intervals, until after the American occupation, when its resources were developed. Under the Spanish domination (1762-1800), little was done to develop the mine. In 1763, however, Francis Burton discovered the "Mine à Burton," on a branch of Mineral Fork. Like the "Mine la Mothe," it was known to the Indians before the discovery by the whites, and both are still operated. Burton was said to have been alive in 1818, at the age of a hundred and six; see Colonel Thomas Benton's account of him in St. Louis _Enquirer_, October 16, 1818. For an account of primitive mining operations, see Thwaites, _Wisconsin Historical Collections_, xiii, pp. 271-292; Moses Austin, "Lead Mines of Ste. Geneviève and St. Louis Counties," _American State Papers_ (_Public Lands_), iii, pp. 609-613; and H. R. Schoolcraft, _Lead Mines of Missouri_ (New York, 1819).--ED. [61] From 1738 to 1744, the mines were considered as public property: but in the year last mentioned François Vallé received from the French government a grant of two thousand arpents of land (1,666 acres) including "Mine la Mothe," and eighteen years later twenty-eight thousand arpents (23,333 acres) additional. At Vallé's death the land passed to his sons, François and John, and Joseph Pratt, a transfer confirmed by Congress in 1827. The next year it was sold to C. C. Vallé, L. E. Linn, and Everett Pratt. In 1830 it was sold in part and the remainder leased. In 1868 the estate passed from the hands of the Vallés.--ED. [62] Pilot Knob is a conical-shaped hill, a mile in diameter, in Iron County, Missouri, seventy-five miles southwest of St. Louis, and is rich in iron ore. In the War of Secession it was the scene of a battle between General Sterling Price and General Hugh B. Ewing (September 26, 27, 1864). Iron Mountain is an isolated knob of the St. François Mountains in St. François County, eighty miles south of St. Louis. One of the richest and purest iron mines in the United States is found there.--ED. [63] The Peoria were one of the five principal tribes of the Illinois Confederation. They resided around the lake in the central portion of Illinois, which bears their name. In 1832 they were removed to Kansas, and in 1854 to Indian Territory, where, united with other tribes, they still reside.--ED. [64] For a short account of Fort Chartres, see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 71, note 136.--ED. [65] For Prairie du Rocher see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 70, note 133. The legend referred to is, "Michel de Couce" by James Hall, in his _Legends of the West_. Contrary to Flagg's statement that there exists no description of Fort Chartres worthy of its history, Philip Pittman, who visited the place in 1766, gives a good detailed description of the fort in his _Present State of the European Settlements on the Missisippi_ (London, 1770), pp. 45, 46.--ED. [66] For location and date of settlement of Herculaneum, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 212, note 122. On a perpendicular bluff, more than a hundred feet in height, in the vicinity of Herculaneum, J. Macklot erected (1809) what was probably the first shot-tower this side of the Atlantic. The next year one Austin built another tower at the same point. According to H. R. Schoolcraft in his _View of the Lead Mines of Missouri_ (New York, 1819), pp. 138, 139, there were in 1817 three shot-towers near Herculaneum, producing in the eighteen months ending June 1 of that year, 668,350 pounds of shot. From the top of small wooden towers erected on the edge of the bluff, the melted lead was poured through holes in copper pans or sieves.--ED. [67] For the location of the Platine (usually spelled Plattin), see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 212, note 123. Lead mining has been carried on in this district, intermittently, since 1824.--ED. [68] See Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 212, note 123.--ED. [69] The following extract from the Journal of Charlevoix, one of the earliest historians of the West, with reference to the Mines upon the Merrimac, may prove not uninteresting. The work is a rare one. "On the 17th (Oct., 1721), after sailing five leagues farther, I left, on my right, the river Marameg, where they are at present employed in searching for a silver mine. Perhaps your grace may not be displeased if I inform you what success may be expected from this undertaking. Here follows what I have been able to collect about this affair, from a person who is well acquainted with it, and who has resided for several years on the spot. "In the year 1719, the Sieur de Lochon, being sent by the West India Company, in quality of founder, and having dug in a place which had been marked out to him, drew up a pretty large quantity of ore, a pound whereof, which took up four days in smelting, produced, as they say, two drachms of silver; but some have suspected him of putting in this quantity himself. A few months afterward he returned thither, and, without thinking any more of the silver, he extracted from two or three thousand weight of ore fourteen pounds of very bad lead, which stood him in fourteen hundred francs. Disgusted with a labour which was so unprofitable, he returned to France. "The company, persuaded of the truth of the indications which had been given them, and that the incapacity of the founder had been the sole cause of their bad success, sent, in his room, a Spaniard called Antonio, who had been taken at the siege of Pensacola; had afterward been a galley-slave, and boasted much of his having wrought in a mine at Mexico. They gave him very considerable appointments, but he succeeded no better than had done the Sieur de Lochon. He was not discouraged himself, and others inclined to believe that he had failed from his not being versed in the construction of furnaces. He gave over the search after lead, and undertook to make silver; he dug down to the rock, which was found to be eight or ten feet in thickness; several pieces of it were blown up and put into a crucible, from whence it was given out that he extracted three or four drachms of silver; but many are still doubtful of the truth of this fact. "About this time arrived a company of the King's miners, under the direction of one _La Renaudiere_, who, resolving to begin with the lead mines, was able to do nothing; because neither he himself nor any of his company were in the least acquainted with the construction of furnaces. Nothing can be more surprising than the facility with which the company at that time exposed themselves to great expenses, and the little precaution they took to be satisfied of the capacity of those they employed. La Renaudiere and his miners not being able to procure any lead, a private company undertook the mines of the Marameg, and Sieur Renault, one of the directors, superintended them with care. In the month of June last he found a bed of lead ore two feet in thickness, running to a great length over a chain of mountains, where he has now set his people to work. He flatters himself that there is silver below the lead. Everybody is not of his opinion, but will discover the truth."--FLAGG. [70] Flagg's account agrees with a much longer treatment by Lewis C. Beck, in his _Gazetteer of the States of Illinois and Missouri_ (Albany, 1823), with the exception that the latter says there were no inscriptions to be found on the gravestones. Beck himself makes extended quotations from the _Missouri Gazette_, November 6, 1818, and subsequent numbers. Though no doubt exaggerated, these accounts were probably based on facts, for a large number of prehistoric remains have been found in St. Louis County and preserved in the Peabody Museum at New Haven, Connecticut, and elsewhere.--ED. [71] For an account of Jefferson Barracks, see Townsend's _Narrative_, in our volume xxi, p. 122, note 2.--ED. [72] For the history of Carondelet, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 215, note 124. For reference to Cahokia, see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 70, note 135. On May 20, 1826, Congress made an appropriation of fifteen thousand dollars to the secretary of war, for the purpose of purchasing the site for the erection of an arsenal in the vicinity of St. Louis. Lands now far within the southeastern limits of the city were purchased, and the buildings erected which were used for arsenals until January 16, 1871, when they were occupied as a depot for the general mounted recruiting service.--ED. [73] A name of Algonquin origin--_Missi_ signifying great, and _sepe_ a river.--FLAGG. [74] Indian name for the "Falls of St. Anthony."--FLAGG. [75] That the Mississippi, the Missouri, and, indeed, most of the great rivers of the West, are annually enlarging, as progress is made in clearing and cultivating the regions drained by them, scarcely admits a doubt. Within the past thirty years, the width of the Mississippi has sensibly increased; its overflows are more frequent, while, by the diminution of obstructions, it would seem not to have become proportionally shallow. In 1750, the French settlements began upon the river above New-Orleans, and for twenty years the banks were cultivated without a _levee_. Inundation was then a rare occurrence: ever since, from year to year, the river has continued to rise, and require higher and stronger embankments. A century hence, if this phenomenon continues, what a magnificent spectacle will not this river present! How terrific its freshets! The immense forest of timber which lies concealed beneath its depths, as evinced by the great earthquakes of 1811, demonstrates that, for centuries, the Mississippi has occupied its present bed.--FLAGG. [76] In 1764 Auguste Chouteau made tentative plans for the fortification of St. Louis. In obedience to an order by Don Francisco Cruzat, the lieutenant-governor, he made a survey in 1781 for the purpose of perfecting these earlier plans. In the same year the stockade was begun immediately south of the present site of the courthouse. In 1797 the round stone tower which Flagg mentions was constructed and preparations made for building four additional towers; the latter were never completed. From 1804 to 1806 these fortifications were used by the United States troops, and then abandoned for military purposes. The commandant's house served as a courthouse from 1806 to 1816; and the tower as a jail until 1819. For a detailed description of the plans, see J. F. Scharf, _St. Louis City and County_ (Philadelphia, 1883), p. 136 ff.--ED. [77] For a brief sketch of William H. Ashley see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 250, note 198. He purchased (1826 or 1827) eight acres on the present site of Broadway, between Biddle and Bates streets, St. Louis, where he built a handsome residence. Bloody Island, now the Third Ward of East St. Louis, was formed about 1800 by the current cutting its way through the neck in a bend of the river. For a long time it was not determined to what state it belonged, and being considered neutral ground many duels were fought there, notably those between Thomas H. Benton and Charles Lucas (1817), United States District Attorney Thomas Rector and Joshua Barton (1823), and Thomas Biddle and Spencer Pettis (1830). The name was derived from these bloody associations.--ED. [78] For a sketch of Charlevoix, see Nuttall's _Journal_, in our volume xiii, p. 116, note 81.--ED. [79] D'Ulloa, the first Spanish governor of Louisiana, sent a detachment of soldiers to St. Louis in 1767. Later, these troops were transferred to the south bank of the Missouri, a few miles above its mouth, where "Old Fort St. Charles the Prince" was erected. General Wilkinson built Fort Bellefontaine on this site in 1805. From 1809 to 1815 this was the headquarters of the military department of Louisiana (including Forts Madison, Massac, Osage, and Vincennes). It was the starting point of the Pike, Long, and Atkinson expeditions. On July 10, 1826, it was abandoned for Jefferson Barracks, but a small arsenal of deposits was maintained here until 1834. The land was eventually sold by the government (1836). See Walter B. Douglas's note in Thwaites, _Original Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition_ (New York, 1905), v, pp. 392, 393.--ED. [80] North of Missouri River, twenty miles above its confluence with the Mississippi, where the bluffs of the two streams unite, two smooth, treeless, grass-covered mounds stand out from the main bluffs. These mounds, a hundred and fifty feet in height, were called by the early French "mamelles" from their fancied resemblance to the human breast.--ED. [81] Alton, twenty-five miles above St. Louis, is the principal city of Madison County, Illinois. In 1807 the French erected here a small trading post. Rufus Easton laid out the town (1818), and named it for his son. The state penitentiary was first built at Alton (1827), but the last prisoner was transferred (1860) to the new penitentiary at Joliet, begun in 1857. Alton was the scene of the famous anti-Abolitionist riot of November 7, 1837, when Elijah P. Lovejoy was killed.--ED. [82] Captain Benjamin Godfrey donated fifteen acres of land and thirty-five thousand dollars for the erection of a female seminary at Godfrey, Madison County, Illinois. The school was opened April 11, 1838, under the title of the Monticello Female Seminary, with Rev. Theron Baldwin for its first principal.--ED. [83] The plans mentioned here were probably being agitated when Flagg visited Alton in 1836. The act incorporating the first railroad in Illinois was approved January 17, 1835; it provided for the construction of a road from Chicago to a point opposite Vincennes. By the internal improvement act of February 27, 1837, a road was authorized to be constructed from Alton to Terre Haute, by way of Shelbyville, and another from Alton to Mount Carmel, by way of Salem, Marion County; but the act was repealed before the roads were completed. The Cumberland road was constructed only to Vandalia, Fayette County, though the internal improvement act contemplated its extension to St. Louis.--ED. [84] The French village is no doubt Portage des Sioux. In 1799 Francis Leseuer, a resident of St. Charles, visited the place, which was then an Indian settlement. Pleased with the location he returned to St. Charles, and secured a grant of the land from Don Carlos Dehault Delassus, lieutenant-governor of Upper Louisiana, organized a colony from among the French inhabitants of St. Charles and St. Louis, and occupied the place the same autumn.--ED. [85] Grafton, Jersey County, Illinois, was settled in 1832 by James Mason, and named by him in honor of his native place. It was laid out (1836) by Paris and Sarah Mason.--ED. [86] The Illinois Indians (from "Illini," meaning "men") were of Algonquian stock, and formerly occupied the state to which they gave the name. They were loyal to the French during their early wars, later aided the English, and were with great difficulty subdued by the United States government. Separate tribes of the Illinois Indians were the Cahokia, Kaskaskia, Michigami, Moingewena, Peoria, and Tamaroa. On a high bluff just above Alton there was formerly to be seen a huge painted image known among the Indians as the Piasa Bird. To the natives it was an object of much veneration, and in time many superstitions became connected therewith. First described in the _Journal_ of Father Jacques Marquette (1673) its origin was long a subject of speculation among early writers. Traces of this strange painting could be seen until 1840 or 1845, when they were entirely obliterated through quarrying. See P. A. Armstrong, _The Piasa or the Devil among the Indians_ (Morris, Illinois, 1887). The version of the tradition given by Flagg was probably from the pen of John Russell, who in 1837 began editing at Grafton, Illinois, the _Backwoodsman_, a local newspaper. Russell had in 1819 or 1820 published in the _Missourian_ an article entitled "Venomous Worm," which won for him considerable reputation. Russell admitted that the version was largely imaginative; nevertheless it had a wide circulation.--ED. [87] For a sketch of Tonty, see Nuttall's _Journal_, in our volume xiii, p. 117, note 85.--ED. [88] Beardstone, Cass County, Illinois, was laid out by Thomas Beard and Enoch Marsh (1827). During the Black Hawk War (1832), it was the principal supply base for the Illinois volunteers.--ED. [89] For an account of the Illinois Canal, see Flint's _Letters_, in our volume ix, p. 186, note 93.--ED. [90] By act of Congress approved May 6, 1812, three tracts of land, not exceeding on the whole six million acres, were authorized to be surveyed and used as a bounty for the soldiers engaged in the war begun with Great Britain in that year. The tract surveyed in Illinois Territory comprehended the land lying between the Mississippi and Illinois rivers, extending seven miles north of Quincy, on the former stream, and to the present village of De Pue, in southeastern Bureau County, on the latter; it embraced the present counties of Calhoun, Pike, Adams, Brown, Schuyler, Hancock, McDonough, Fulton, Peoria, Stark, Knox, Warren, Henderson, and Mercer, and parts of Henry, Bureau, Putnam, and Marshall.--ED. [91] Cap au Gris was a point of land on the Mississippi, in Calhoun County, Illinois, just above the mouth of the Illinois. J. M. Peck, in his _Gazetteer of Illinois_ (1837), from which Flagg derives his account of this place, says that a settlement had been formed there about forty years earlier. The town of this name is now in Lincoln County, Missouri. There is no foundation for the belief that La Salle had erected a fort here.--ED. [92] Montgomery, on the right bank of Illinois River, in Pike County, was laid out by an Alton Company, for a new landing. Naples is a small village in Scott County. Havana, founded in 1827, is the seat of justice for Mason County. Pekin is in Tazewell County.--ED. [93] Peoria, now the second largest city in Illinois, is situated a hundred and sixty miles southwest of Chicago, on the west bank and near the outlet of Lake Peoria, an expansion of the Illinois River. Its site was visited in 1680 by La Salle. Early in the eighteenth century a French settlement was made a mile and a half farther up, and named Peoria for the local Indian tribe. French missionaries were in this neighborhood as early as 1673-74. In 1788 or 1789 the first house was built on the present site of Peoria and by the close of the century the inhabitants of the old town, because of its more healthful location, moved to the new village of Peoria, which at first was called La Ville de Maillet, in honor of a French Canadian who commanded a company of volunteers in the War of the Revolution. Later the name was changed to its present form. At the opening of the War of 1812-15, the French inhabitants were charged with having aroused the Indians against the Americans in Illinois. Governor Ninian Edwards ordered Thomas E. Craig, captain of a company of Illinois militia, to proceed up the Illinois River and build a fort at Peoria. Under the pretense that his men had been fired upon by the inhabitants, when the former were peaceably passing in their boats, Craig burned half the town of Peoria in November, 1812, and transferred the majority of the population to below Alton. In the following year, Fort Clark--named in honor of General George Rogers Clark--was erected by General Benjamin Howard on this site; but after the close of the war the fort was burned by the Indians. After the affair of 1812, Peoria was not occupied, save occasionally, until 1819, when it was rebuilt by the Americans. The American Fur Company established a post there in 1824. See C. Ballance, _History of Peoria_ (Peoria, 1870).--ED. [94] Benjamin Howard (1760-1814) was elected to the state legislature of Kentucky (1800), to Congress (1807-10); appointed governor of Upper Louisiana Territory (1810), and in March, 1813, brigadier-general of the United States army in command of the 8th military department. He died at St. Louis, September, 1814.--ED. [95] Kickapoo Creek rises in Peoria County, flows southeasterly and enters Illinois River two miles below Peoria.--ED. [96] Robert Walter Weir (1803-89), after studying and painting in New York, Florence (1824-25), and Rome (1825-27), opened a studio in New York, and became an associate and later academician of the National Academy of Design. He was professor of drawing in the United States Military Academy at West Point from 1832 to 1874. Weir is best known for his historical paintings, prominent among which are "The Bourbons' Last March," "Landing of Hendric Hudson," "Indian Captives," and "Embarkation of the Pilgrims." He built and beautified the Church of Holy Innocents at Highland Falls, West Point. His two sons, John Ferguson and Julian Alden, became noted artists.--ED. [97] By order of the war department (May 19, 1834), Lieutenant-Colonel S. W. Kearny was sent with companies B, H, and I of the 1st United States dragoons to establish a fort near the mouth of Des Moines River. The present site of Montrose, Lee County, Iowa, at the head of the lower rapids of the Mississippi, was chosen. The barracks being completed by November, 1834, they were occupied until the spring of 1837, when the troops were transferred to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. As early as 1721 a French fort (La Baye) had been erected at Green Bay, on the left bank of Fox River, a half league from its mouth. After suffering many vicissitudes during the Fox wars it was later strengthened, and when occupied by English troops in 1761, was re-named Fort Edward Augustus. After the close of the War of 1812-15, the United States government determined to exercise a real authority over the forts on the upper Great Lakes, where, in spite of the provision of Jay's Treaty (1794), its power had been merely nominal. In 1815 John Bowyer, the first United States Indian agent for the Green Bay district, established a government trading post at Green Bay, and made an ineffectual attempt to control the fur trade of the region. The following year, Fort Howard, named in honor of General Benjamin Howard, was built on the site of the old French fort. With the exception of 1820-22, when the troops were transferred to Camp Smith, on the east shore, Fort Howard was continuously occupied until 1841, when its garrison was ordered to Florida and Mexico. Later, from 1849 to 1851, it was occupied by Colonel Francis Lee and Lieutenant-Colonel B. L. E. Bonneville, and then permanently abandoned as a garrison, although a volunteer company was stationed there for a short time during the War of Secession. Almost every trace of the old fort has been obliterated. Consult _Wisconsin Historical Collections_, xvi, xvii; also William L. Evans, "Military History of Green Bay," in Wisconsin Historical Society _Proceedings_, 1899, pp. 128-146.--ED. [98] Hennepin, on the east bank of the Illinois River, was laid out in 1831 and made the seat of justice for Putnam County. Ottawa, the county seat of La Salle, was laid off by the canal commissioners (1830) at the junction of the Fox and Illinois rivers.--ED. [99] Flagg's description of this noted bluff is accurate. After careful investigations, Francis Parkman, the historian, was convinced that _Le Rocher_ or Starved Rock is the site of Fort St. Louis, erected by La Salle in December, 1682. On his departure in the autumn of 1683, La Salle left the post in command of his lieutenant, Henri de Tonty, who was soon succeeded by De Baugis. In 1690 Tonty and La Forest were granted the proprietorship of the stronghold, but in 1702 it was abandoned by royal order. By 1718 it was again occupied by the French, although when Father Charlevoix passed three years later, it was once more deserted. The tradition which gave rise to the name Starved Rock was well known; see _Tales of the Border_ (Philadelphia, 1834); Osman Eaton, _Starved Rock, a Historical Sketch_ (Ottawa, Illinois, 1895); and Francis Parkman, _La Salle and the Discovery of the Great West_ (Boston, 1869). Pontiac was assassinated in 1769 instead of 1767. For accounts of the Ottawa and Potawotami, see Croghan's _Journals_, in our volume i, p. 76, note 37, and p. 115, note 84, respectively.--ED. [100] For a biographical sketch of Pierre and Auguste Chouteau, the elders, see James's _Long's Expedition_, in our volume xvi, p. 275, note 127.--ED. [101] The imprint of a human foot is yet to be seen in the limestone of the shore not far from the landing at St. Louis. With reference to the _human footprints in the rock at St. Louis_, I have given the local tradition. Schoolcraft's detailed description, which I subjoin, varies from this somewhat. The print of a human foot is said to have been discovered also in the limestone at Herculaneum. Morse, in his _Universal Geography_, tells us of the tracks of an army of men and horses on a certain mountain in the State of Tennessee, fitly named the Enchanted Mountain. "Before leaving Harmony, our attention was particularly directed to a tabular mass of limestone, containing two apparent prints or impressions of the naked human foot. This stone was carefully preserved in an open area, upon the premises of Mr. Rappe, by whom it had previously been conveyed from the banks of the Mississippi, at St. Louis. The impressions are, to all appearance, those of a man standing in an erect posture, with the left foot a little advanced and the heels drawn in. The distance between the heels, by accurate measurement, is six and a quarter inches, and between the extremities of the toes thirteen and a half. But, by a close inspection, it will be perceived that these are not the impressions of feet accustomed to the European shoe; the toes being much spread, and the foot flattened in the manner that is observed in persons unaccustomed to the close shoe. The probability, therefore, of their having been imparted by some individual of a race of men who were strangers to the art of tanning skins, and at a period much anterior to that to which any traditions of the present race of Indians reaches, derives additional weight from this peculiar shape of the feet. "In other respects, the impressions are strikingly natural, exhibiting the muscular marks of the foot with great precision and faithfulness to nature. This circumstance weakens very much the supposition that they may, _possibly_, be specimens of antique sculpture, executed by any former race of men inhabiting this continent. Neither history nor tradition has preserved the slightest traces of such a people. For it must be recollected that, as yet, we have no evidence that the people who erected our stupendous Western tumuli possessed any knowledge of masonry, far less of sculpture, or that they had even invented a chisel, a knife, or an axe, other than those of porphyry, hornstone, or obsidian. "The average length of the human foot in the male subject may, perhaps, be assumed at ten inches. The length of each foot, in our subject, is ten and a quarter inches: the breadth, taken across the toes, at right angles to the former line, four inches; but the greatest spread of the toes is four and a half inches, which diminishes to two and a half at the heel. Directly before the prints, and approaching within a few inches of the left foot, is a well-impressed and deep mark, having some resemblance to a scroll, whose greatest length is two feet seven inches, and greatest breadth twelve and a half inches. "The rock containing these interesting impressions is a compact limestone of a grayish-blue colour. It was originally quarried on the left bank of the Mississippi at St. Louis, and is a part of the extensive range of calcareous rocks upon which that town is built. It contains very perfect remains of the encrinite, echinite, and some other fossil species. The rock is firm and well consolidated, as much so as any part of the stratum. A specimen of this rock, now before us, has a decidedly sparry texture, and embraces a mass of black blende. This rock is extensively used as a building material at St. Louis. On parting with its carbonic acid and water, it becomes beautifully white, yielding an excellent quick-lime. Foundations of private dwellings at St. Louis, and the military works erected by the French and Spaniards from this material sixty years ago, are still as solid and unbroken as when first laid. We cite these facts as evincing the compactness and durability of the stone--points which must essentially affect any conclusions, to be drawn from the prints we have mentioned, and upon which, therefore, we are solicitous to express our decided opinion."--FLAGG. [102] For the history of Fort Chartres, see A. Michaux's _Travels_, in our volume iii, p. 71, note 136. For a biographical sketch of St. Ange, see Croghan's _Journals_, in our volume i, p. 138, note 109.--ED. [103] At the close of 1767 Captain Francisco Rios arrived at St. Louis in pursuance of an order of D'Ulloa, governor of Louisiana. The following year he built Fort Prince Charles, and although at first coldly received, won the respect of the inhabitants by his tact and good judgment. After the expulsion of D'Ulloa in the revolution of 1768, Rios returned with his soldiers to New Orleans.--ED. [104] Spain retroceded Louisiana to France by the treaty of San Ildefonso (October 1, 1800). The latter transferred the territory to the United States by the treaty signed at Paris, April 30, 1803. The attack on St. Louis mentioned by Flagg, occurred May 26, 1780. The expedition, composed of Chippewa, Winnebago, Sioux, and other Indian tribes, with a Canadian contingent numbering about seven hundred and fifty, started from Mackinac. See R. G. Thwaites, _France in America_ (New York and London, 1905), p. 290; and "Papers from Canadian Archives," _Wisconsin Historical Collections_, xi, pp. 152-157.--ED. [105] Dangerous passes on the Mississippi were rendered doubly perilous to early navigators by the presence of bands of robbers. An incident occurred early in 1787, which led to a virtual extermination of these marauders. While ascending the river, Beausoliel, a wealthy merchant of New Orleans, was attacked near Cotton Wood Creek by the Culbert and Magilhay freebooters. After being captured, the merchants made good their escape through the strategy of a negro, killed many of their captors, and returned to New Orleans to report the state of affairs. The following year (1788) the governor issued a proclamation forbidding boats to proceed singly to St. Louis. Accordingly a fleet of ten boats ascended and destroyed the lair at Cotton Wood Creek, the remaining robbers having fled at their approach. This bloodless victory marks the close of the freebooting period. The year was afterwards known in local annals as _L'Annee des dix Bateaux_. See L. U. Reaves, _Saint Louis_ (St. Louis, 1875), pp. 21, 22; and Scharf, _St. Louis_, ii, p. 1092.--ED. [106] In 1805.--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ Every house save one was destroyed by fire on June 11, 1805. The memory of the disaster is preserved in the motto of the present seal of the city: _Resurget Cineribus_ (she arises from the ashes). [107] Lieutenant-Colonel Francisco Cruzat, who succeeded (May, 1775) Captain Don Pedro Piernas, the first lieutenant-governor of Upper Louisiana, followed the liberal policy of his predecessor and was highly esteemed by his people. He was followed in 1778 by Captain Fernando de Leyba, who was sadly lacking in tact and political ability; he was displaced for incompetency after the Indian attack of May 26, 1780. Cruzat was reappointed in September and served until November, 1787. One of the first acts of his second administration was to direct Auguste Chouteau to make plans for the fortification of St. Louis; see note 76, _ante_.--ED. [108] One, which occurred during the summer of the present year, was extensively felt. In the vicinity of this fortification, to the south, was an extensive burial-ground; and many of its slumbering tenants, in the grading of streets and excavating of cellars, have been thrown up to the light after a century's sleep.--FLAGG. [109] Colonel John O'Fallon (1791-1865), a nephew of George Rogers Clark, born near Louisville, served his military apprenticeship under General William Henry Harrison during the War of 1812-15. Resigning his position in the army (1818), he removed to St. Louis where he turned his attention to trade and accumulated a large fortune. He endowed the O'Fallon Polytechnic Institution, which was later made the scientific department of St. Louis University, contributed liberally to Washington University, and built a dispensary and medical college. It is estimated that he gave a million dollars for benevolent purposes.--ED. [110] This quotation is from the pen of an exceedingly accurate writer upon the West, and a worthy man; so far its sentiment is deserving of regard. I have canvassed the topic personally with this gentleman, and upon other subjects have frequently availed myself of a superior information, which more than twenty years of residence in the Far West has enabled him to obtain. I refer to the Rev. J. M. Peck, author of "Guide for Emigrants," &c.--FLAGG. [111] For recent scientific conclusions respecting the mounds and their builders, see citations in note 33, _ante_, p. 69. Mount Joliet, on the west bank of the Des Plaines River, in the southwestern portion of Cook County, Illinois; Mount St. Charles, in Jo Daviess County, Illinois; Sinsinawa, in Grant County, Wisconsin, and Blue Mounds, in Dane County, Wisconsin, are unquestionably of natural formation. For descriptions of the artificial mounds of Wisconsin, see I. A. Lapham, "Antiquities of Wisconsin," Smithsonian Institution _Contributions_, volume vii; Alfred Brunson, "Antiquities of Crawford County," and Stephen D. Peet, "Emblematic Mounds in Wisconsin," in _Wisconsin Historical Collections_, iii and ix, respectively.--ED. [112] About 1817, when the first steamboat arrived at St. Louis a sand-bar began forming at the lower end of the city; by 1837, this had extended as far north as Market street, forming an island more than two hundred acres in extent. Another sand-bar was formed at the upper end of the city, west of Blood Island. In 1833 the city authorities undertook the work of removal, and John Goodfellow was employed to plow up the bars with ox teams, in order that high waters might carry away the sand. After three thousand dollars had been expended without avail, the board of aldermen petitioned Congress (1835) for relief. Through the efforts of Congressman William H. Ashley, the federal government appropriated (July 4, 1836) fifteen thousand dollars--later (March 3, 1837) increased to fifty thousand dollars--for the purpose of erecting a pier to deflect the current of the river. The work was supervised by Lieutenant Robert E. Lee and his assistant, Henry Kayser. Begun in 1837, it was continued for two years, the result being that the current was turned back to the Missouri side and the sand washed out; but dikes were necessary to preserve the work that had been accomplished.--ED. [113] The dry floating dock was patented by J. Thomas, of St. Louis, March 26, 1834.--ED. [114] Three miles from the Mississippi, near the end of Laclede Avenue, St. Louis, is a powerful spring marking the source of Mill Creek (French, _La Petite Rivière_). Joseph Miguel Taillon went to St. Louis (1765), constructed a dam across this creek, and erected a mill near the intersection of Ninth and Poplar streets. Pierre Laclede Liguest bought the property in 1767, but at his death (1778), Auguste Chouteau purchased it at public auction and retained the estate until his own death in 1829. The latter built a large stone mill to take the place of Taillon's wooden structure, and later replaced it by a still larger stone mill. The mill to which Flagg probably refers was not demolished until 1863. Chouteau enlarged the pond formed by Taillon's dam and beautified it. This artificial lake, a half mile in length and three hundred yards in width, was long known as Chouteau's Pond, and a noted pleasure-resort. In 1853 it was sold to the Missouri Pacific Railroad, drained, and made the site of the union railway station and several manufacturing establishments.--ED. [115] N. M. Ludlow, assisted by Colonel Meriwether Lewis Clark and Colonel Charles Keemle, in 1835 secured subscriptions to the amount of thirty thousand dollars, later increased to sixty-five thousand, for the purpose of erecting a theatre on the southeast corner of Third and Olin streets. The first play was presented on July 3, 1837. Designed by George I. Barnett, the building was of Ionic architecture externally and internally Corinthian. It was used until July 10, 1851, when it was closed, the property having been purchased by the federal government as the site for a custom house; see Scharf, _St. Louis_, i, p. 970. The Planter's Hotel was probably the one Flagg referred to, instead of the St. Louis House. It was located between Chestnut and Vine streets, fronting Fourth street. The company was organized in 1836, the ground broken for construction in March, 1837, and the hotel opened for guests in 1841. Joseph Rosati (1789-1843) went to St. Louis in 1817 and was appointed bishop of the Roman Catholic diocese of St. Louis, created two years earlier. Active in benevolent work, he founded two colleges for men and three academies for young women, aided in establishing the order of Ladies of the Sacred Heart, and was the chief promoter in the organization of the Sisters' Hospital and the first orphan asylum. He was called to Rome in 1840, and at the Feast of St. Andrew, 1841, appointed Peter R. Kenrick as his coadjutor. Bishop Rosati died at Rome, in 1843.--ED. [116] John B. Sarpy and his two younger brothers, Gregoire B. and Silvestre D. came to America from France about the middle of the eighteenth century. After engaging in the mercantile business in New Orleans, John B. went to St. Louis (1766) and was one of its earliest merchants. After twenty years' residence there, he returned to New Orleans. His nephew of the same name, at the age of nineteen (1817) was a partner with Auguste Chouteau and was later a member of the firm of P. Chouteau Jr. and Company, one of the largest fur companies then in America. Pierre Menard (1766-1844) was in Vincennes as early as 1788. He later made his home at Kaskaskia, and held many positions of public trust in Illinois Territory. He was made major of the first regiment of the Randolph County militia (1795), was appointed judge of common pleas in the same county (1801), and United States sub-agent of Indian affairs (1813). He was also a member of several important commissions, notably of that appointed to make treaties with the Indians of the Northwest. His brothers, Hippolyte and Jean François, settled at Kaskaskia. The former was his brother's partner; the latter a well-known navigator on the Mississippi River. Michel Menard, nephew of Pierre, had much influence among the Indians and was chosen chief of the Shawnee. He founded the city of Galveston, Texas. Pierre Menard left ten children. Henry Gustavus Soulard, the second son of Antoine Pierre Soulard, was born in St. Louis (1801). Frederic Louis Billon, in his _Annals of St. Louis_ (1889), mentions him as the last survivor of all those who were born in St. Louis prior to the transfer of Louisiana to the United States (1803). For short sketches of the Chouteaus, see James's _Long's Expedition_, in our volume xvi, p. 275, note 127, and Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 235, note 168; for Pratte and Cabanné, see our volume xxii, p. 282, note 239, and p. 271, note 226, respectively.--ED. [117] Within six years after the founding of St. Louis, the first Catholic church was built. This log structure falling into ruins, was replaced in 1818 by a brick building. The corner-stone of the St. Louis cathedral (incorrectly written in Flagg as cathedral of St. Luke) was laid August 1, 1831, and consecrated October 26, 1834.--ED. [118] The painting of St. Louis was presented by Louis XVIII to Bishop Louis Guillaume Valentin Du Bourg, while the latter was in Europe (1815-17).--ED. [119] For the early appreciation of fine arts in St. Louis, see the chapter entitled "Art and Artists," written by H. H. Morgan and W. M. Bryant in Scharf, _St. Louis_, ii, pp. 1617-1627. Scharf, in speaking of the paintings in the St. Louis cathedral says, "of course the paintings of the old masters are copies, not originals."--ED. [120] In this outline of the Cathedral the author is indebted largely to a minute description by the Rev. Mr. Lutz, the officiating priest, published in the Missouri Gazetteer.--FLAGG. [121] In 1823, at the solicitation of the federal government, a band of Jesuit missionaries left Maryland and built a log school-house at Florissant, Missouri (1824) for educating the Indians. See sketch of Father de Smet in preface to this volume. The building was abandoned in 1828 and the white students transferred to the Jesuit college recently constructed at St. Louis. On December 28, 1832, the state legislature passed "an act to incorporate the St. Louis University." The faculty was organized on April 4, 1833.--ED. [122] We are informed by Rev. J. C. Burke, S.J., librarian of the St. Louis University, that the work referred to by Flagg is, _Atlas Major, sive, Cosmographia Blaviana, qua Solum, Salum, Coelum accuratissime describuntur_ (Amsterdami, Labore et Sumpibus Joannis Blaeu MDCLXXII), in 11 folio volumes. The _Acta Sanctorum_ (Lives of the Saints) were begun at the opening of the seventeenth century by P. Heribert Rosweyde, professor in the Jesuit college of Douai. The work was continued by P. Jean Bolland by instruction from his order, and later by a Jesuit commission known as Bollandists. Work was suspended at the time of the French invasion of Holland (1796) but resumed in 1836 under the auspices of Leopold I of Belgium. Volume lxvi was issued in 1902.--ED. [123] For accounts of General Henry Atkinson and of Council Bluffs, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 229, note 152, and p. 275, note 231, respectively.--ED. [124] The cave described here is Cliff or Indian Cave, more than two miles below Jefferson Barracks on the Missouri side.--ED. [125] River des Pères is a small stream rising in the central portion of St. Louis County, flowing southeast, and entering the Mississippi at the southern extremity of South St. Louis, formerly Carondelet.--ED. [126] This is an historical error. La Salle did not build a fort at this place, nor did he here take possession of Louisiana.--ED. [127] Pittsburg, laid out in 1836, is a hamlet in Cahokia Precinct, St. Clair County. A railroad six miles in length was constructed (1837) between Pittsburg and a point opposite St. Louis.--ED. [128] This group of Indian mounds, probably the most remarkable in America, is on the American Bottom, along the course of Canteen Creek, which rises in the southern portion of Madison County, Illinois, flows west, and enters Cahokia Creek. Monk, or Cahokia, Mound, about eight miles from St. Louis, is the most important of the group. William McAdams, who made a careful survey of this mound, wrote a good description of it in his _Records of Ancient Races in the Mississippi Valley_ (St. Louis, 1887); also E. G. Squier and E. H. Davis, "Ancient Monuments of the Mississippi Valley, comprising the Result of extensive original Surveys and Explorations," in Smithsonian _Contributions_, i.--ED. [129] The monastery of La Trappe was founded in 1122 (sometimes incorrectly given as 1140). Originally affiliated with the order of Fontrevault, it was made a branch of the Cistercian order (1148). Contrary to Flagg's account, La Trappe did not have a separate existence until the time of Rançe, who was made abbot in 1664. The account of Rançe's conversion given here by Flagg, is recognized by historians as merely popular tradition. See Gaillardin, _Les Trappistes_ (Paris, 1844), and Pfaunenschmidt, _Geschichte der Trappisten_ (Paderborn, 1873).--ED. [130] The Trappists went to Gethsemane, Nelson County, Kentucky, in 1805. Three or four years later they moved to Missouri, but almost immediately recrossed the Mississippi and built the temporary monastery of Notre Dame de Bon Secours on Cahokia Mound, given to them by Major Nicholas Jarrot. For a description of this establishment by an eye witness, see H. M. Brackenridge, _Views of Louisiana_ (Pittsburg, 1814), appendix 5. New Melleray, a Trappist monastery twelve miles southwest of Dubuque, Iowa, was commenced in 1849 and completed in 1875. For its history, together with a short account of the Trappists' activity, see William Rufus Perkins, _History of the Trappist Abbey of New Melleray_ (Iowa City, 1892).--ED. [131] Father Urbain Guillet is recorded as having officiated several times in the Catholic church at St. Louis.--ED. [132] Thomas Kirkpatrick, of South Carolina, made the first settlement on the site of Edwardsville (1805). During the Indian troubles preceding the War of 1812-15, he built a block-house, known as Thomas Kirkpatrick's Fort. When Madison County was organized (1812), Kirkpatrick's farm was chosen as its seat. He made the survey for the town plat in 1816, and named the place in honor of Ninian Edwards. See W. R. Brink and Company, _History of Madison County, Illinois_ (Edwardsville, 1882).--ED. [133] In May, 1838, it was entirely consumed by fire.--FLAGG. [134] John Adams later retired from business, and was elected sheriff on the Whig ticket. Flagg's account seems to be considerably overdrawn.--ED. [135] Collinsville was platted May 12, 1837. Augustus, Anson, and Michael Collins, three brothers from Litchfield, Connecticut, had settled here a few years earlier and built an ox-mill for grinding and sawing, a distillery, tanning yards, and cooper and blacksmith shops. The town was first named Unionville, and John A. Cook made the first settlement about 1816.--ED. [136] Upper Alton, two and a half miles from Alton, was laid out in 1817 by Joseph Meacham, of Vermont, who came to Illinois in 1811; see _History of Madison County_, p. 396. The origin of Shurtleff College was the "Theological and High School" commonly known as the Rock Spring Seminary, established (1827) by John M. Peck, D. D. The latter was closed in 1831, and opened again the following year at Alton, under the name of Alton Seminary. In March, 1832, the state legislature incorporated the institution as "Alton College of Illinois." For religious reasons the charter was not accepted until 1835, when the terms of incorporation had been made more favorable. In January, 1836, the charter was amended, changing its title to Shurtleff College, in honor of Benjamin Shurtleff, M. D., who had donated ten thousand dollars to the institution. Although from the first emphasizing religious instruction, a theological department was not organized until 1863. The school is still under Baptist influence.--ED. [137] Hillsboro, the seat of Montgomery County, twenty-eight miles from Vandalia, was platted in 1823.--ED. [138] In his description of the barrens, Flagg follows quite closely J. M. Peck, _Gazetteer of Illinois_ (Jacksonville, 1837), pp. 11, 12. The term barrens, according to the _Century Dictionary_, is "a tract or region of more or less unproductive land partly or entirely treeless. The term is best known in the United States as the name of a district in Kentucky, 'The Barrens,' underlaid by the subcarboniferous limestone, but possessing a fertile soil, which was nearly or quite treeless when that state began to be settled by the whites, but which at present where not cultivated, is partly covered with trees." See a good description in our volume iii, pp. 217-224.--ED. [139] According to the War Department's _List of Military Forts, etc., established in the United States from its Earliest settlement to the present time_ (Washington, 1902), a Fort Gaines was at one time located at Gainesville, Alachua County, Florida. The town is now the seat of East Florida Seminary, a military school. Among the numerous lakes in the vicinity, Alachua, the largest, occupies what was formerly Payne's Prairie. Through this prairie a stream issuing from Newman's Lake flowed to a point near the middle of the district, where it suddenly fell into an unfathomed abyss named by the Indians Alachua (the bottomless pit). The whites gave this name to the county, and called the abyss "Big Sink." This place became a favorite pleasure resort until 1875, when the sink refused longer to receive the water, and Payne's Prairie, formerly a rich grazing land, was turned into a lake. Numerous tales connected with Big Sink were circulated, and it seems probable that Flagg is referring to this locality.--ED. [140] For a sketch of Daniel Boone, see Bradbury's _Travels_, in our volume v, p. 43, note 16; and for a more complete account consult Thwaites, _Daniel Boone_ (New York, 1902). Simon Kenton (1755-1836) having, as he supposed, killed a neighbor in a fight, fled from his home in Virginia to the headwaters of the Ohio River. He served as a scout in Dunmore's War (1774) and in 1775 with Boone, explored the interior of Kentucky. Captured by the Indians (1778), he was condemned to death and taken to the native village at Lower Sandusky, whence he made his escape. Later he served with distinction in campaigns under George Rogers Clark, and was second only to Daniel Boone as a frontier hero. In 1784, Kenton founded a settlement near Limestone (Maysville), Kentucky. He took part in Wayne's Campaign (1793-94), and was present at the Battle of the Thames (1813). In 1820 he moved to Logan County, Ohio, and sixteen years later died there in poverty, although before going to Ohio in 1802 he was reputed as one of the wealthiest men in Kentucky. See R. W. McFarland, "Simon Kenton," in Ohio State Archæological and Historical Society _Publications_ (1904), xiii, pp. 1-39; also Edward S. Ellis, _Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone ... with sketches of Simon Kenton, Lewis Wetzel, and other Leaders in the Settlement of the West_ (Philadelphia, 1884). Colonel William Whitley (1749-1813), born in Virginia, set out for Kentucky about 1775, and built in 1786 or 1787 one of the first brick houses in the state, near Crab Orchard, in Lincoln County. A noted Indian fighter, he participated in the siege of Logan's fort (1777), and Clark's campaigns of 1782, and 1786. He also led several parties to recover white captives--his best known feat of this character being the rescue of Mrs. Samuel McClure (1784). In 1794 he was the active leader of the successful Nickajack expedition, directed against the Indians south of Tennessee River. He fell at the Battle of the Thames (1813), whereat it was maintained by some of his admirers, he killed the Indian chief Tecumseh. See Collins, _Kentucky_, ii, pp. 403-410; but this doubtful honor was also claimed by others.--ED. [141] Alexander Spotswood (1676-1740) was appointed governor of Virginia (1710). Taking a lively interest in the welfare of the colonists, he attained among them high popularity. Quite early, he conceived the idea of extending the Virginia settlement beyond the mountains, to intercept the French communications between Canada and the Gulf of Mexico; but he failed to secure the aid either of his province or of the mother country. In the summer of 1716 he organized and led an expedition for exploring the Appalachian Mountains, named two peaks George and Spotswood, and took possession of the Valley of Virginia in the name of George I. On his return, he established the order of "Tramontane," for carrying on further explorations, whose members were called "Knights of the Golden Horseshoe," for the reason which Flagg gives. For a contemporary account of this expedition, see "Journal of John Fontaine" in Anna Maury, _Memoirs of a Huguenot Family_ (New York, 1853). Spotswood was displaced as governor in 1722, but was later (1730) appointed deputy postmaster of the colonies.--ED. [142] Macoupin Creek flows southwesterly through the county of the same name, westerly through Greene County, and empties into Illinois River at the southwestern extremity of the latter county. It is now believed that Macoupin is derived from the Indian word for white potatoes, which were said to have been found growing in abundance along the course of this stream. Carlinville, named for Thomas Carlin, governor of the state in 1834-42, was settled about 1833. Gideon Blackburn, a Presbyterian minister, laid a plan in 1835 for founding a college to educate young men for the ministry. He entered land from the government at the price of one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre, and disposed of it to the friends of his cause at two dollars, reserving twenty-five cents for his expenses and turning over the remaining fifty cents to the proposed college. By May, 1837, he had entered over 16,656 acres. The people of Carlinville purchased eighty acres from him for the site of the school. The enterprise lay dormant until 1857, when the state chartered the school under the title of Blackburn University, which was opened in 1859.--ED. [143] Others say the peninsula was discovered on Easter-day; _Pasqua florida_, feast of flowers; whence the name.--FLAGG. [144] "In the year 1538, _Ferdinand de Soto_, with a commission from the Emperor _Charles V._, sailed with a considerable fleet for America. He was a Portuguese gentleman, and had been with _Pizarro_ in the conquest (as it is called) of Peru. His commission constituted him governor of Cuba and general of Florida. Although he sailed from St. Lucar in 1538, he did not land in Florida[A] until May 1539. With about 1000 men, 213 of whom were provided with horses, he undertook the conquest of Florida and countries adjacent. After cutting their way in various directions through numerous tribes of Indians, traversing nearly 1000 miles of country, losing a great part of their army, their general died upon the banks of the Mississippi, and the survivors were obliged to build vessels in which to descend the river; which, when they had done, they sailed for Mexico. This expedition was five years in coming to nothing, and bringing ruin upon its performers. A populous Indian town at this time stood at or near the mouth of the Mobile, of which _Soto's_ army had possessed themselves. Their intercourse with the Indians was at first friendly, but at length a chief was insulted, which brought on hostilities. A battle was fought, in which, it is said, 2000 Indians were killed and 83 Spaniards."--_Drake's Book of the Indians_, b. iv., c. 3.--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ Consult Edward G. Bourne (Ed.), _Career of Hernando de Soto_ (New York, 1904). [A] "So called because it was first discovered by the Spaniards on Palm Sunday, or, as the most interpret, Easter-day, which they called _Pasqua-Florida_, and not, as Thenet writeth, for the flourishing verdure thereof."--_Purchas_, p. 769. [145] "After a long and fatiguing journey through a mountainous wilderness, in a westward direction, I at last, from the top of an eminence, saw with pleasure the beautiful land of Kentucky. * * * It was in June; and at the close of day the gentle gales retired, and left the place to the disposal of a profound calm. Not a breeze shook the most tremulous leaf. I had gained the summit of a commanding ridge, and, looking round with astonishing delight, beheld the ample plains, the beauteous tracts below. * * * Nature was here a series of wonders and a fund of delight. Here she displayed her ingenuity and industry in a variety of flowers and fruits, beautifully coloured, elegantly shaped, and charmingly flavoured; and I was diverted with innumerable animals presenting themselves continually before my view. * * * The buffaloes were more frequent than I have seen cattle in the settlements, browsing on the leaves of the cane, or cropping the herbage on these extensive plains, fearless because ignorant of man."--[Narrative of Colonel Daniel Boone, from his first arrival in Kentucky in 1769, to the year 1782.]--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ Boone's Narrative was actually written by John Filson, from interviews with the pioneer. The stilted style is of course far from being Boone's product. [146] George Herbert.--FLAGG. [147] Mungo Park, born in Scotland (1771), was engaged by the African Society (1795) to explore the course of the Niger, which he reached July 20, the following year. While on a subsequent tour he was drowned in that river (1805). See his _Travels in the interior district of Africa_ (London, 1816).--ED. [148] July 4.--FLAGG. [149] The Prairie.--FLAGG. [150] For an account of Vandalia, see Woods's _English Prairie_, in our volume x, p. 326, note 75.--ED. [151] The first number of the _Illinois Monthly Magazine_ was issued in October, 1830. Late in 1832 Hall removed to Cincinnati, when he soon began issuing the _Western Monthly Magazine_, or continuation of the former publication, whose subject matter was largely historical, dealing with the early settlement of the West. For an account of Judge James Hall see _ante_, p. 31, note 2.--ED. [152] Hall.--FLAGG. [153] Hurricane Creek rises near the line of Montgomery and Shelby counties, flows southerly through the western portion of Fayette County, and enters Kaskaskia River twelve miles below Vandalia. The banks of this creek were formerly heavily timbered, and the low bottoms were occasionally inundated. Flagg considerably exaggerated the actual condition of this region.--ED. [154] Carlyle, the seat of Clinton County, forty-eight miles east of St. Louis, was laid out in 1818. The Vincennes and St. Louis stage route passed through Lebanon, Carlyle, and Salem. At the last place, the road divided, one branch running south to Fairfield, the other passing through Maysville and both again uniting at Lawrenceville. Augustus Mitchell, in his _Illinois in 1837_ (Philadelphia, 1837), p. 66, says: "From Louisville, by the way of Vincennes to St. Louis, by stage, every alternate day, 273 miles through in three days and a half. Fare, seventeen dollars."--ED. [155] Lebanon was laid out by Governor William Kinney and Thomas Ray in July, 1825. Little Silver Creek rises in the northeastern portion of St. Clair County and flowing southwesterly joins Silver Creek two miles below Lebanon. The latter stream is about fifty miles in length, rises in the northern part of Madison County, runs south into St. Clair County, and enters Kaskaskia River.--ED. [156] _Tradition_ telleth of vast treasures here exhumed; and, on strength of this, ten years ago a company of fortune-seekers dug away for several months with an enthusiasm worthy of better success than awaited them.--FLAGG. _Comment by Ed._ Rock Spring was a mere settlement in St. Clair County, eighteen miles from St. Louis, on the Vincennes stage road, and about three miles southwest of Lebanon. Its name was derived from a series of springs issuing from a rocky ledge in the vicinity. John M. Peck selected this site (1820) for his permanent residence, and established the Rock Spring Theological Seminary and High School (1827), which four years later was transferred to Alton and made the foundation of Shurtleff College. In 1834 Rock Spring consisted of fourteen families. [157] Peter Cartwright is said to have suggested the idea of founding a Methodist college at Lebanon. After the citizens of the town had contributed $1,385, buildings were erected and instruction commenced in 1828. The college was named in honor of Bishop William McKendree, who made a liberal donation to the school (1830).--ED. [158] In March, 1814, a commission appointed by the state legislature the preceding year, selected the site of Belleville for the seat of St. Clair County. George Blair, whose farm was chosen as the site, platted and named the county seat. The town was incorporated in 1819. See _History of St. Clair County, Illinois_ (1881), pp. 183, 185.--ED. [159] For a brief history of the inception of St. Louis University, see _ante_, p. 169, note 121. At a meeting of the trustees on May 3, 1836, a commission was appointed to select a new site for the university. A farm of three hundred acres recently purchased, on the Bellefontaine road, three and a half miles from St. Louis, was chosen; plans were formulated, contracts made, and the foundations dug. On the death of the contractors, the enterprise was abandoned; but the land, sold a few years later, proved a valuable investment. See Scharf, _St. Louis_, i, pp. 860, 861.--ED. [160] For a note on Florissant, see Townsend's _Narrative_, in our volume xxi, p. 125, note 4.--ED. [161] This valley appears to have been the bed of an ancient lake.--FLAGG. [162] Bridgeton, still a village, about fifteen miles northwest of the St. Louis courthouse, was incorporated February 27, 1843. It was settled by French and Spanish families, about the time that St. Louis was established. A fort was built as a protection against the Indians, and William Owens was placed in command. In consequence the place was until the time of its incorporation generally known to the Americans as Owen's Station.--ED. [163] Until after the middle of the nineteenth century, St. Louis County ranked among the coal-producing districts of Missouri. Today no coal is mined there save for the fire-clay industry or other immediate local use. Dr. B. F. Shumard in his "Description of a Geological Section on the Mississippi River from St. Louis to Commerce," in Geological Survey of Missouri, _First and Second Annual Reports_ (Jefferson City, 1855), p. 176, describes _La Charbonnière_ mine; which appears to have been operated at that time. He reports the coal vein as being only about eighteen inches in thickness. On page 184 of the above report, an interesting map is given, showing the location of coal mines in St. Louis County.--ED. [164] For an account of St. Charles, see Bradbury's _Travels_, in our volume v, p. 39, note 9. For the Mandan villages, see Maximilian's _Travels_, in our volume xxii, p. 344, and note 316, and volume xxiii, p. 234, note 192.--ED. [165] The following extract from a letter dated September, 1819, addressed by Mr. Austin to Mr. Schoolcraft, respecting the navigation of the Missouri, well portrays the impetuous character of that river. It shows, too, the great improvements in the steam-engine during the past twenty years. "I regret to state that the expedition up the Missouri to the Yellow Stone has in part failed. The steamboats destined for the Upper Missouri, after labouring against the current for a number of weeks, were obliged to give up the enterprise. Every exertion has been made to overcome the difficulty of navigating the Missouri with the power of steam; but all will not do. The current of that river, from the immense quantity of sand moving down with the water, is too powerful for any boat yet constructed. The loss either to the government or to the contractor will be very great. Small steamboats of fifty tons burden, with proper engines, would, I think, have done much better. Boats like those employed, of twenty to thirty feet beam, and six to eight feet draught of water, must have _uncommon_ power to be propelled up a river, every pint of whose water is equal in weight to a quart of Ohio water, and moves with a velocity hardly credible. The barges fixed to move with wheels, worked by men, have answered every expectation; but they will only do when troops are on board, and the men can be changed every hour."--FLAGG. [166] For a sketch of Franklin, Missouri, see Gregg's _Commerce of the Prairies_ in our volume xix, p. 188, note 33.--ED. [167] The first settlement was made at St. Charles in 1769. La Chasseur Blanchette located the site, and established here a military post. The first mill in St. Charles County is said to have been built by Jonathan Bryan on a small branch emptying into Femme Osage Creek (1801). Francis Duquette (1774-1816), a French Canadian who came to St. Charles just before the close of the century, erected a mill on the site of the old round fort.--ED. [168] One year after the above was written, the author, on a visit to St. Charles, walked out to this spot. The willow was blasted; the relics of the paling were gone; the grave was levelled with the soil, but the old ruin was there still.--FLAGG. [169] For a description of Bloody Island, see _ante_, p. 115, note 77. The duel mentioned by Flagg is probably the one that occurred between Joshua Barton, United States district attorney, and Thomas Rector, on June 30, 1823. Barton had published in the _Missouri Republican_ a letter charging William Rector, surveyor general of Missouri, Illinois, and Arkansas, with corruption in office. The latter being absent, his brother Thomas issued the challenge. Barton's body was buried at St. Charles near the old round tower ruins. In the summer of 1817, Charles Lucas challenged Thomas H. Benton's vote at the polls. On the latter calling him an insolent puppy, Lucas challenged him to a duel. The affair took place August 12, 1817, and both parties were wounded. On September 27 of the same year, a second duel was fought, in which Lucas was mortally wounded. Joshua Barton was the latter's second. In the _Missouri Republican_ (St. Louis, March 15, 1882) there was printed an address by Thomas T. Gantt, delivered in Memorial Hall at St. Louis, on the celebration of the centennial birthday of Thomas H. Benton, in which the details of this deed were carefully reviewed. During the political canvass of 1830, a heated discussion was carried on in the newspaper press between Thomas Biddle and Spencer Pettis. Pettis challenged Biddle to a duel. Both fell mortally wounded, August 29, 1830.--ED. [170] Marais Croche (Crooked swamp) is located a few miles northeast of St. Charles, and Marais Temps-Clair (Clear-weather swamp), just southwest of Portage des Sioux. The former is often mentioned for its beauty.--ED. [171] "I cultivated a small farm on that beautiful prairie below St. Charles called 'The Mamelle,' or 'Point prairie.' In my enclosure, and directly back of my house, were two conical mounds of considerable elevation. A hundred paces in front of them was a high bench, making the shore of the 'Marais Croche,' an extensive marsh, and evidently the former bed of the Missouri. In digging a ditch on the margin of this bench, at the depth of four feet, we discovered great quantities of broken pottery, belonging to vessels of all sizes and characters. Some must have been of a size to contain four gallons. This must have been a very populous place. The soil is admirable, the prospect boundless; but, from the scanty number of inhabitants in view, rather lonely. It will one day contain an immense population again."--_Flint's Recollections_, p. 166.--FLAGG. [172] At the time Flagg wrote, St. Charles, like many other Western towns, entertained the hope that the Cumberland Road would eventually be extended thereto, thus placing them upon the great artery of Western travel. See Woods's _English Prairie_, in our volume x, p. 327, note 76. Also consult T. B. Searight, _The Old Pike_ (Uniontown, 1894), and A. B. Hulbert "Cumberland Road," in _Historic Highways of America_ (Cleveland, 1904). Boone's Lick Road, commencing at St. Charles, runs westward across Dardenne Creek to Cottleville, thence to Dalhoff post-office and Pauldingville, on the western boundary of the county. Its total length is twenty-six miles.--ED. [173] St. Charles College, founded by Mrs. Catherine Collier and her son George, was opened in 1836 under the presidency of Reverend John H. Fielding. The Methodist Episcopal church has directed the institution. Madame Duchesne, a companion of Mother Madeline Barral, founder of the Society of the Sacred Heart, started a mission at St. Charles in 1819; but the colony was soon removed to St. Louis. In 1828, however, she succeeded in establishing permanently at St. Charles the Academy of the Sacred Heart, with Madame Lucile as superior.--ED. [174] For sketches of the Potawotami, Miami, and Kickapoo, see Croghan's _Journals_, in our volume i, pp. 115, 122, 139, notes 84, 87, 111; for the Sauk and Fox, see J. Long's _Voyages_, in our volume ii, p. 185, note 85; for the Iowa, Brackenridge's _Journal_, in our volume vi, p. 51, note 13.--ED. [175] Flagg makes an error in speaking of Boone's Lick County, since there was none known by that name. He evidently had in mind Warren County, organized in 1833 from the western part of St. Charles County. Boone County created in November, 1820, with its present limits, named in honor of Daniel Boone, is in the fifth tier of counties west from Missouri River.--ED. [176] For an account of Daniel Boone and Boone's Lick, see Bradbury's _Travels_, in our volume v, pp. 43, 52, notes 16, 24, respectively. Daniel Boone arrived at the Femme Osage district in western St. Charles County, in 1798. He died September 26, 1820 (not 1818).--ED. [177] There seems to be little or no foundation for this statement. Consult J. B. Patterson, _Life of Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak or Black Hawk_ (Boston, 1834), and R. G. Thwaites, "The Story of the Black Hawk War," in _Wisconsin Historical Collections_, xii, pp. 217-265.--ED. [178] For biographical sketch of General William Clark, see Bradbury's _Travels_, in our volume v, p. 254, note 143.--ED. [179] Obed Battius, M.D., is a character in James Fenimore Cooper's novel, _The Prairie_ (1826).--ED. [180] An Illinois legislative act approved January 16, 1836, granted to Paris Mason, Alfred Caverly, John Wyatt, and William Craig a charter to construct a railroad from Grafton, in Greene County, to Springfield, by way of Carrollton, Point Pleasant, and Millville, under the title of Mississippi and Springfield Railroad Company. The road was, however, not built.--ED. [181] For a description of Macoupin Creek, see _ante_, p. 226, note 142. Flagg draws his information concerning Macoupin Settlement from Peck, _Gazetteer of Illinois_. According to the latter the settlement was started by Daniel Allen, and John and Paul Harriford, in December, 1816. As regards Peck's statement that Macoupin Settlement was at the time of its inception the most northern white community in the Territory of Illinois, there is much doubt. Fort Dearborn (Chicago), built in 1804, and evacuated on August 15,1812, was rebuilt by Captain Hezekiah Bradley, who arrived with two companies on July 4, 1816, and a settlement sprang up here at once.--ED. [182] The first settler in Carrollton was Thomas Carlin, who arrived in the spring of 1819. In 1821 the place was chosen as the seat of Greene County, and surveyed the same year, although the records were not filed until July 30, 1825. See _History of Greene and Jersey Counties, Illinois_ (Springfield, 1885).--ED. [183] Apple Creek, a tributary of Illinois River, flows in a western trend through Greene County.--ED. [184] Whitehall, in Greene County, forty-five miles north of Alton, was laid out by David Barrow in 1832. Pottery was first made there in 1835, and has since become an important industry, contributing largely to the rapid progress of which Flagg speaks.--ED. [185] Manchester is in Scott County, midway between Carrollton and Jacksonville, being about fifteen miles from each. It was settled as early as 1828.--ED. [186] Diamond Grove Prairie, five miles in extent, is a fertile district in Morgan County, just south of Jacksonville. Diamond Grove was formerly a beautifully timbered tract situated in the middle of this prairie, two miles south of Jacksonville. It was some 700 or 800 acres in extent.--ED. [187] Illinois College was founded in 1829 through the effort of a group of Jacksonville citizens directed by the Reverend John M. Ellis and the Yale Band--the latter composed of seven men from that college who had pledged themselves to the cause of Christian education in the home missions of the West. The latter secured from the friends of the enterprise in the East a fund of $10,000. Late in 1829 the organization was completed and in December, 1830, Reverend Edward Beecher, elder brother of Henry Ward Beecher, was persuaded to leave his large church in Boston and accept the presidency of this institution. In 1903 the Jacksonville Female Academy, started in 1830, was merged with the Illinois College, which had from the first been dominated by the Presbyterian Church.--ED. [188] Jacksonville, the seat of Morgan County, was laid out in 1825 on land given to the county for that purpose by Thomas Armitt and James Dial. The town was largely settled by people from New England, who gave a characteristic tone to its society. Jacksonville is today the seat of several important state institutions.--ED. [189] In June, 1835, Ithamar Pillsbury, with two associates, sent out under the auspices of the New York Association, entered a large tract of land and selected a site for a town to be styled Andover, which was eventually platted in 1841, in the western portion of Henry County, fifty miles north and northwest of Peoria. The first settlers were principally from Connecticut, but soon several Swedish families migrated thither, and in time the settlement was composed primarily of that nationality. On returning East in the autumn of 1835, after planting the Andover colony, Pillsbury had an interview with Dr. Caleb J. Tenny, of Wethersfield, Connecticut. At the latter's instigation a meeting of Congregationalists was held, and a group of influential New Englanders organized themselves into the Connecticut Association. Shares were sold at $250 each, which entitled the holder to one hundred and sixty acres of prairie land, twenty acres of timber land, and a town lot in a proposed colony to be founded in Illinois. On May 7, 1836, the first entry was made by the committee of purchase. After the latter's return a new committee was sent out and the town of Wethersfield, in the southeastern corner of Henry County, was laid out in the spring of 1837. For an account of the founding of Andover and Wethersfield, and the names of persons serving on the various prospecting committees, see _History of Henry County, Illinois_ (Chicago, 1877), pp. 137-141, 524-526.--ED. [190] Since the above was written, the emigrants have removed.--FLAGG. [191] Joseph Duncan, born in Kentucky, was presented with a sword by Congress for his gallant defense of Fort Stephenson in the War of 1812-15. In 1818 he moved to Kaskaskia, was appointed major-general of the Illinois militia (1823), and elected state senator (1824). In 1827 he was sent to Congress by the Jacksonian Democrats. He resigned in 1834 to accept the governorship of Illinois, which he occupied until 1838. He is said to have erected the first frame building in Jacksonville. He moved to this place in 1829, dying there January 15, 1844.--ED. [192] Porter Clay (1779-1850), a brother of Henry Clay, was for many years a Baptist minister at Jacksonville.--ED. [193] Flagg is probably referring to William Weatherford, who served in the state senate (1834-38) from Morgan County.--ED. [194] The first settlement on the present site of Springfield was made by John Kelly (1819). In 1822 the lots were laid off, but not recorded until the following year, when the town was named. Soon after its incorporation in 1832, Abraham Lincoln, Stephen A. Douglas, and Edward Baker began agitating the question of moving the state capital to Springfield from Vandalia. After a severe struggle, complicated with the internal improvement policy, their efforts succeeded in 1837. The legislative act of that year went into effect July 4, 1839, and the general assembly commenced its first session at Springfield in the following December.--ED. [195] Sangamon River is formed by the union, six miles east of Springfield, of its north and south forks. The former, rising in Champaign County, flows through Macon and a part of Sangamon counties; the latter intersects Christian County. The main stream runs in an easterly direction, forms the boundary of Cass County, and joins the Illinois River nine miles above Beardstown. The river is nearly two hundred and forty miles in length, including the north fork, and was named in honor of a local Indian chief.--ED. [196] Mechanicsburg, fifteen miles east of Springfield, was laid out and platted in November, 1832, by William S. Pickrell.--ED. [197] "I will never, if possible, pass a night in any place where the graveyard is neglected." Franklin has no monument!--FLAGG. [198] Turgot.--FLAGG. [199] Decatur, surveyed in 1829, is the seat of Macon County, thirty-nine miles from Springfield. It was named for Commodore Stephen Decatur.--ED. [200] For a later description of the Mormon settlement in Missouri, and an account of their stay at Nauvoo, Illinois, see Gregg's _Commerce of the Prairies_, in our volume xx, pp. 94-99 and accompanying notes. For a psychological treatment of Joseph Smith and bibliography of Mormonism, see Isaac W. Riley, _Founder of Mormonism_ (New York, 1902).--ED. [201] Missourians.--FLAGG. [202] For a year after the above was written, the cause of Mormonism seemed to have received a salutary check. It has since revived, and thousands during the past summer have been flocking to their Mount Zion on the outskirts of Missouri. The late Mormon difficulties in Missouri have been made too notorious by the public prints of the day to require notice.--FLAGG. [203] Grand Prairie, as described by Peck in his _Gazetteer of Illinois_, was a general term applied to the prairie country between the rivers which flow into the Mississippi and those which empty into the Wabash. "It is made up of continuous tracts, with long arms of prairie extending between the creeks and smaller streams. The southern points of the Grand prairie are formed in the northeastern parts of Jackson county and extend in a northeastern course between the streams of various widths, from one to ten or twelve miles, through Perry, Washington, Jefferson, Marion, the eastern part of Fayette, Effingham, through the western portion of Coles, into Champaign and Iroquois counties, where it becomes connected with the prairies that project eastward from the Illinois River and its tributaries. Much of the longest part of the Grand prairie is gently undulatory, but of the southern portion considerable tracts are flat and of rather inferior soil."--ED. [204] Illinoisians.--FLAGG. [205] Shelbyville, selected as the seat of Shelby County (1827), was named in honor of Isaac Shelby, early governor of Kentucky. It is located about thirty-two miles southeast of Decatur, and was incorporated in May, 1839.--ED. [206] 1835.--FLAGG. [207] Eight families from St. Clair County settled (1818) in the vicinity of certain noted perennial springs in the southwestern corner of what was later organized into Shelby County. For some time the colony was known as Wakefield's Settlement, for Charles Wakefield, who had made the first land entry in the county in 1821. John O. Prentis erected the first store there in 1828, and shortly afterwards secured a post-office under the name of Cold Springs.--ED. [208] Philosophy, vol. i.--FLAGG. [209] Sidney Rigdon (1793-1876), after having been a Baptist pastor at Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and later associated with the Disciples in Ohio, established a branch of the Mormon church with one hundred members at Kirtland, Ohio. Joseph Smith, who had founded the last-named church at Fayette, New York (April 6, 1830), went to Kirtland in February of the following year. Aided by Rigdon, Smith attempted to establish a mixed communistic and hierarchical organized community. Mormon tanneries, stores, and other enterprises were built, and the corner-stone of a $40,000 temple laid July 23, 1833. Through improvident financial management, the leaders soon plunged the community deeply in debt. The Kirtland Society Bank, reorganized as the Kirtland Anti-Bankers Company, after issuing notes to the amount of $200,000, failed, and Smith and Rigdon further embarrassed by an accumulation of troubles fled to Jackson County, Missouri, where Oliver Cowdery by the former's order had established the Far West settlement. Joseph Smith was assassinated by a mob (June 27, 1844) at Carthage, Illinois, and Brigham Young succeeded him. Sidney Rigdon, long one of Smith's chief advisers, and one of the three presidents of the Mormon church at Nauvoo, combated the doctrine of plurality of wives. He refused to recognize the authority of Young as Smith's successor, and returned to Pennsylvania, but held to the Mormon faith until his death in 1876. In 1848 the charter granted to the city of Nauvoo by the Illinois state legislature, was repealed. The Mormons thereupon selected Utah as the field of their future activity, save that a few members were left in Missouri for proselyting purposes. Alexander Campbell (1788-1866), educated at the University of Glasgow, came to the United States (1809) and joined the Presbyterian church. Refusing to recognize any teachings save those of the Bible, as he understood them, he and his father, Thomas Campbell, were dismissed (1812) and with a few followers formed a temporary union with the Baptist church. Disfellowshiped in 1827, they organized the Disciples of Christ, popularly known as the Campbellites. The son published the _Christian Baptist_, a monthly magazine, its name being changed (1830) to the _Millennial Harbinger_. He held several public offices in the state of Virginia, and in 1840 founded Bethany (Virginia) College.--ED. [210] Kirtland is now deserted, and the church is occupied for a school.--FLAGG. [211] See Woods's _English Prairie_, in our volume x, p. 327, note 76.--ED. [212] Or "_beef_."--FLAGG. [213] Salem, the seat of Marion County, was settled about 1823, when the county was organized.--ED. [214] Philosophy, b. i., chap. 1.--FLAGG. [215] Mount Vernon, a village seventy-seven miles southeast of St. Louis, was chosen as the seat of justice for Jefferson County, when the latter was organized in 1818.--ED. [216] Mud Creek rises in the northwestern part of Perry County, flows through the southwestern part of Washington and the southeastern part of St. Clair counties, and enters the Kaskaskia two miles below Fayetteville. In January, 1827, the state legislature in organizing Perry County appointed a commission to select a seat of justice to be known as Pinckneyville (Pinkneyville), its town site being located and platted in January, 1828.--ED. 
7988	----	A THOUSAND AND ONE AFTERNOONS IN CHICAGO by Ben Hecht Preface It was a day in the spring of 1921. Dismal shadows, really Hechtian shadows, filled the editorial "coop" in _The Chicago Daily News_ building. Outside the rain was slanting down in the way that Hecht's own rain always slants. In walked Hecht. He had been divorced from our staff for some weeks, and had married an overdressed, blatant creature called Publicity. Well, and how did he like Publicity? The answer was written in his sullen eyes; it was written on his furrowed brow, and in the savage way he stabbed the costly furniture with his cane. The alliance with Publicity was an unhappy one. Good pay? Oh yes, preposterous pay. Luncheons with prominent persons? Limitless luncheons. Easy work, short hours, plenteous taxis, hustling associates, glittering results. But--but he couldn't stand it, that was all. He just unaccountably, illogically, and damnably couldn't stand it. If he had to attend another luncheon and eat sweet-breads and peach melba and listen to some orator pronounce a speech he, Hecht, had written, and hear some Magnate outline a campaign which he, Hecht, had invented ... and that wasn't all, either.... Gentlemen, he just couldn't stand it. Well, the old job was open. Ben shuddered. It wasn't the old job that he was thinking about. He had a new idea. Something different. Maybe impossible. And here followed specifications for "One Thousand and One Afternoons." The title, I believe, came later, along with details like the salary. Hang the salary! I doubt if Ben even heard the figure that was named. He merely said "Uh-huh!" and proceeded to embellish his dream--his dream of a department more brilliant, more artistic, truer (I think he said truer), broader and better than anything in the American press; a literary thriller, a knock-out ... and so on. So much for the mercenary spirit in which "One Thousand and One Afternoons" was conceived. A week or so later Ben came in again, bringing actual manuscript for eight or ten stories. He was haggard but very happy. It was clear that he had sat up nights with those stories. He thumbed them over as though he hated to let them go. They were the first fruits of his Big Idea--the idea that just under the edge of the news as commonly understood, the news often flatly and unimaginatively told, lay life; that in this urban life there dwelt the stuff of literature, not hidden in remote places, either, but walking the downtown streets, peering from the windows of sky scrapers, sunning itself in parks and boulevards. He was going to be its interpreter. His was to be the lens throwing city life into new colors, his the microscope revealing its contortions in life and death. It was no newspaper dream at all, in fact. It was an artist's dream. And it had begun to come true. Here were the stories.... Hoped I'd like 'em. "One Thousand and One Afternoons" were launched in June, 1921. They were presented to the public as journalism extraordinary; journalism that invaded the realm of literature, where in large part, journalism really dwells. They went out backed by confidence in the genius of Ben Hecht. This, if you please, took place three months before the publication of "Erik Dorn," when not a few critics "discovered" Hecht. It is not too much to say that the first full release of Hecht's literary powers was in "One Thousand and One Afternoons." The sketches themselves reveal his creative delight in them; they ring with the happiness of a spirit at last free to tell what it feels; they teem with thought and impressions long treasured; they are a recital of songs echoing the voices of Ben's own city and performed with a virtuosity granted to him alone. They announced to a Chicago audience which only half understood them the arrival of a prodigy whose precise significance is still unmeasured. "Erik Dorn" was published. "Gargoyles" took form. Hecht wrote a play in eight days. He experimented with a long manuscript to be begun and finished within eighteen hours. "One Thousand and One Afternoons" continued to pour out of him. His letter-box became too small for his mail. He was bombarded with eulogies, complaints, arguments, "tips," and solicitations. His clipping bureau rained upon him violent reviews of "Dorn." His publishers submerged him with appeals for manuscript. Syndicates wired him, with "name your own terms." New York editors tried to steal him. He continued to write "One Thousand and One Afternoons." He became weary, nervous and bilious; he spent four days in bed, and gave up tobacco. Nothing stopped "One Thousand and One Afternoons." One a day, one a day! Did the flesh fail, and topics give out, and the typewriter became an enemy? No matter. The venturesome undertaking of writing good newspaper sketches, one per diem, had to be carried out. We wondered how he did it. We saw him in moods when he almost surrendered, when the strain of juggling with novels, plays and with contracts, revises, adblurbs, sketches, nearly finished "One Thousand and One Afternoon." But a year went by, and through all that year there had not been an issue of _The Chicago Daily News_ without a Ben Hecht sketch. And still the manuscripts dropped down regularly on the editor's desk. Comedies, dialogues, homilies, one-act tragedies, storiettes, sepia panels, word-etchings, satires, tone-poems, fugues, bourrees,--something different every day. Rarely anything hopelessly out of key. Stories seemingly born out of nothing, and written--to judge by the typing--in ten minutes, but in reality, as a rule, based upon actual incident, developed by a period of soaking in the peculiar chemicals of Ben's nature, and written with much sophistication in the choice of words. There were dramatic studies often intensely subjective, lit with the moods of Ben himself, not of the things dramatized. There were self-revelations characteristically frank and provokingly debonaire. There was comment upon everything under the sun; assaults upon all the idols of antiquity, of mediaevalism, of neo-boobism. There were raw chunks of philosophy, delivered with gusto and sometimes with inaccuracy. There were subtle jabs at well-established Babbitry. And besides, of the thousand and one Hechts visible in the sketches, there were several that appear rarely, if at all, in his novels: The whimsical Hecht, sailing jocosely on the surface of life; the witty Hecht, flinging out novel word-combinations, slang and snappy endings; Hecht the child-lover and animal-lover, with a special tenderness for dogs; Hecht the sympathetic, betraying his pity for the aged, the forgotten, the forlorn. In the novels he is one of his selves, in the sketches he is many of them. Perhaps this is why he officially spoke slightingly of them at times, why he walked in some days, flung down a manuscript, and said: "Here's a rotten story." Yet it must be that he found pleasure in playing the whole scale, in hopping from the G-string to the E-, in surprising his public each day with a new whim or a recently discovered broken image. I suspect, anyhow, that he delighted in making his editor stare and fumble in the Dictionary of Taboos. Ben will deny most of this. He denies everything. It doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter much, Ben, that your typing was sometimes so blind or that your spelling was occasionally atrocious, or that it took three proof-readers and a Library of Universal Knowledge to check up your historical allusions. * * * * * The preface is proving horribly inadequate. It is not at all what Ben wants. It does not seem possible to support his theory that "One Thousand and One Afternoons," springing from a literary passion so authentic and continuing so long with a fervor and variety unmatched in newspaper writing, are hack-work, done for a meal ticket. They must have had the momentum of a strictly artistic inspiration and gained further momentum from the need of expression, from pride in the subtle use of words, from an ardent interest in the city and its human types. Yes, they are newspaper work; they are the writings of a reporter emancipated from the assignment book and the copy-desk; a reporter gone to the heaven of reporters, where they write what they jolly well please and get it printed too! But the sketches are also literature of which I think Ben cannot be altogether ashamed; else why does he print them in a book, and how could Mr. Rosse be moved to make the striking designs with which the book is embellished? Quite enough has been said. The author, the newspaper editor, the proof-readers and revisers have done their utmost with "One Thousand and One Afternoons." The prefacer confesses failure. It is the turn of the reader. He may welcome the sketches in book form; he may turn scornfully from them and leave them to moulder in the stock-room of Messrs. Covici-McGee. To paraphrase an old comic opera lyric: "You never can tell about a reader; Perhaps that's why we think them all so nice. You never find two alike at any one time And you never find one alike twice. You're never very certain that they read you, And you're often very certain that they don't. Though an author fancy still that he has the strongest will It's the reader has the strongest won't." Yet I think that the book will succeed. It may succeed so far that Mr. Hecht will hear some brazen idiots remarking: "I like it better than 'Dorn' or 'Gargoyles'." Yes, just that ruinous thing may happen. But if it does Ben cannot blame his editor. HENRY JUSTIN SMITH. Chicago, July 1, 1922 CONTENTS A Self-Made Man An Iowa Humoresque An Old Audience Speaks Clocks and Owl Cars Confessions Coral, Amber and Jade Coeur De Lion and The Soup and Fish Dapper Pete and The Sucker Play Dead Warrior Don Quixote and His Last Windmill "Fa'n Ta Mig!" Fanny Fantastic Lollypops Fog Patterns Grass Figures Ill-Humoresque Jazz Band Impressions Letters Meditation in E Minor Michigan Avenue Mishkin's Minyon Mottka Mr. Winkelberg Mrs. Rodjezke's Last Job Mrs. Sardotopolis' Evening Off Night Diary Nirvana Notes For A Tragedy On A Day Like This Ornaments Pandora's Box Pitzela's Son Queen Bess Feast Ripples Satraps At Play Schopenhauer's Son Sergt. Kuzick's Waterloo Sociable Gamblers Ten-Cent Wedding Rings The Auctioneer's Wife The Dagger Venus The Exile The Great Traveler The Indestructible Masterpiece The Lake The Little Fop The Man From Yesterday The Man Hunt The Man With A Question The Mother The Pig The Snob The Soul of Sing Lee The Sybarite The Tattooer The Thing In The Dark The Watch Fixer The Way Home Thumbnail Lotharios Thumbs Up and Down To Bert Williams Vagabondia Waterfront Fancies Where The "Blues" Sound World Conquerors FANNY Why did Fanny do this? The judge would like to know. The judge would like to help her. The judge says: "Now, Fanny, tell me all about it." All about it, all about it! Fanny's stoical face stares at the floor. If Fanny had words. But Fanny has no words. Something heavy in her heart, something vague and heavy in her thought--these are all that Fanny has. Let the policewoman's records show. Three years ago Fanny came to Chicago from a place called Plano. Red-cheeked and black-haired, vivid-eyed and like an ear of ripe corn dropped in the middle of State and Madison streets, Fanny came to the city. Ah, the lonely city, with its crowds and its lonely lights. The lonely buildings busy with a thousand lonelinesses. People laughing and hurrying along, people eager-eyed for something; summer parks and streets white with snow, the city moon like a distant window, pretty gewgaws in the stores--these are a part of Fanny's story. The judge wants to know. Fanny's eyes look up. A dog takes a kick like this, with eyes like this, large, dumb and brimming with pathos. The dog's master is a mysterious and inexplicable dispenser of joys and sorrows. His caresses and his beatings are alike mysterious; their reasons seldom to be discerned, never fully understood. Sometimes in this court where the sinners are haled, where "poised and prim and particular, society stately sits," his honor has a moment of confusion. Eyes lift themselves to him, eyes dumb and brimming with pathos. Eyes stare out of sordid faces, evil faces, wasted faces and say something not admissible as evidence. Eyes say: "I don't know, I don't know. What is it all about?" These are not to be confused with the eyes that plead shrewdly for mercy, with eyes that feign dramatic naïvetés and offer themselves like primping little penitents to his honor. His honor knows them fairly well. And understands them. They are eyes still bargaining with life. But Fanny's eyes. Yes, the judge would like to know. A vagueness comes into his precise mind. He half-hears the familiar accusation that the policeman drones, a terribly matter-of-fact drone. Another raid on a suspected flat. Routine, routine. Evil has its eternal root in the cities. A tireless Satan, bored with the monotony of his rôle; a tireless Justice, bored with the routine of tears and pleadings, lies and guilt. There is no story in all this. Once his honor, walking home from a banquet, looked up and noticed the stars. Meaningless, immutable stars. There was nothing to be seen by looking at them. They were mysteries to be dismissed. Like the mystery of Fanny's eyes. Meaningless, immutable eyes. They do not bargain. Yet the world stares out of them. The face looks dumbly up at a judge. No defense. The policeman's drone has ended and Fanny says nothing. This is difficult. Because his honor knows suddenly there is a defense. A monstrous defense. Since there are always two sides to everything. Yes, what is the other side? His honor would like to know. Tell it, Fanny. About the crowds, streets, buildings, lights, about the whirligig of loneliness, about the humpty-dumpty clutter of longings. And then explain about the summer parks and the white snow and the moon window in the sky. Throw in a poignantly ironical dissertation on life, on its uncharted aimlessness, and speak like Sherwood Anderson about the desires that stir in the heart. Speak like Remy de Gourmont and Dostoevsky and Stevie Crane, like Schopenhauer and Dreiser and Isaiah; speak like all the great questioners whose tongues have wagged and whose hearts have burned with questions. His honor will listen bewilderedly and, perhaps, only perhaps, understand for a moment the dumb pathos of your eyes. As it is, you were found, as the copper who reads the newspapers puts it, in a suspected flat. A violation of section 2012 of the City Code. Thirty days in the Bastile, Fanny. Unless his honor is feeling good. These eyes lifted to him will ask him questions on his way home from a banquet some night. "How old are you?" "Twenty." "Make it twenty-two," his honor smiles. "And you have nothing to say? About how you happened to get into this sort of thing? You look like a good girl. Although looks are often deceiving." "I went there with him," says Fanny. And she points to a beetle-browed citizen with an unshaven face. A quaint Don Juan, indeed. "Ever see him before?" A shake of the head. Plain case. And yet his honor hesitates. His honor feels something expand in his breast. Perhaps he would like to rise and holding forth his hand utter a famous plagiarism--"Go and sin no more." He chews a pen and sighs, instead. "I'll give you another chance," he says. "The next time it'll be jail. Keep this in mind. If you're brought in again, no excuses will go. Call the next case." Now one can follow Fanny. She walks out of the courtroom. The street swallows her. Nobody in the crowds knows what has happened. Fanny is anybody now. Still, one may follow. Perhaps something will reveal itself, something will add an illuminating touch to the incident of the courtroom. There is only this. Fanny pauses in front of a drug-store window. The crowds clutter by. Fanny stands looking, without interest, into the window. There is a little mirror inside. The city tumbles by. The city is interested in something vastly complicated. Staring into the little mirror, Fanny sighs and--powders her nose. THE AUCTIONEER'S WIFE An auctioneer must have a compelling manner. He must be gabby and stentorian, witheringly sarcastic and plaintively cajoling. He must be able to detect the faintest symptoms of avarice and desire in the blink of an eyelid, in the tilt of a head. Behind his sing-song of patter as he knocks down a piece of useless bric-a-brac he must be able to remain cool, remain calculating, remain like a hawk prepared to pounce upon his prey. Passion for him must be no more than a mask; anger, sorrow, despair, ecstasy no more than the devices of salesmanship. But more than all this, an auctioneer must know the magic password into the heart of the professional or amateur collector. He must know the glittering phrases that are the keys to their hobbies. The words that bring a gleam to the eye of the Oriental rug collector. The words that fire the china collector. The stamp collector. The period furniture collector. The tapestry enthusiast. The first edition fan. And so on. "Ladies and gentlemen, I desire your expert attention for a moment. I have here a curious little thing of exquisite workmanship said to be from the famous collection of Count Valentine of Florence. This delicately molded, beautifully painted candelabra has illuminated the feasts of the old Florentines, twinkled amid the gay, courtly rioting of a time that is no more. Before the bidding for this priceless souvenir is opened I desire, ladies and gentlemen, to state briefly----" * * * * * Nathan Ludlow is an auctioneer who knows all the things an auctioneer must know. His eye is piercing. His tongue can roll and rattle for twelve hours at a stretch. His voice is the voice of the tempter, myriad-toned and irresistible. It was evening. An auspicious evening. It was the evening of Mr. Ludlow's divorce. And Mr. Ludlow sat in his room at the Morrison Hotel, a decanter of juniper juice at his elbow. And while he sat he talked. The subjects varied. There were tales of Ming vases and Satsuma bargains, of porcelains and rugs. And finally Mr. Ludlow arrived at the subject of audiences. And from this subject he progressed with the aid of the juniper juice to the subject of wives. And from the subject of wives he stepped casually into the sad story of his life. "I'll tell you," said Mr. Ludlow. "Tonight I'm a free man. Judge Pam gave me, or gave her, rather, the divorce. I guess he did well. Maybe she was entitled to it. Desertion and cruelty were the charges. But they don't mean anything. The chief complaint she had against me was that I was an auctioneer." Mr. Ludlow sighed and ran his long, artist's fingers over his eagle features and brushed back a Byronic lock of hair from his forehead. "It was four years ago we met," he resumed, "in the Wabash Avenue place. I noticed her when the bidding on a rocking chair started. A pretty girl. And as is often the case among women who attend auctions--a bug, a fan, a fish. You know, the kind that stiffen up when they get excited. The kind that hang on your words and breathe hard while you cut loose with the patter, and lose their heads when you swing into the going-going-gone finale. "Well, she didn't get the rocking chair. But she was game and came back on a Chinese rug. I began to notice her considerably. My words seemed to have an unusual effect on her. Then I could see that she was not only the kind of fish that lose their heads at auctions, but the terrible kind that believe everything the auctioneer says. You know, they believe that the Oriental rugs really came from the harem of the caliph and that the antique bed really was the one in which DuBarry slept and that the Elizabethan tablecloth really was an Elizabethan tablecloth. They are kind of goofily romantic and they fall hard for everything and they spend their last penny on a lot of truck, you know. Not bad stuff and probably a good deal more useful and lasting than the originals would have been." * * * * * Mr. Ludlow smiled a bit apologetically. "I'm not confessing anything you don't know, I hope," he said. "Well, to go on about the missus. I knew I had her from that first day. I wasn't vitally interested, but when she returned six days in succession it got kind of flattering. And the way she looked at me and listened to me when I pulled my stuff--say, I could have knocked down a bouquet of paper roses for the original wreath worn by Venus, I felt so good. That's how I began to think that she was an inspiration to me and how I figured that if I could have somebody like her around I'd soon have them all pocketed as auctioneers. "I forget just how it was we met, but we did. And I swear, the way she flattered me would have been enough to turn the head of a guy ten times smarter than me and forty times as old. So we got married. That's skipping a lot. But, you know, what's it all amount to, the courting and the things you say and do before you get married? So we got married and then the fun started. "At first I could hardly believe what the drift of it was. But I hope to die if she wasn't sincere in her ideas about me as an auctioneer. I didn't get it, as I say, and that's where I made my big mistake. I let her come to the auctions and told her not to bid. But when I'd start my patter on some useless piece of 5-and l0-cent store bric-a-brac and give it an identity and hint at Count Rudolph's collection and so on, she was off like a two-year-old down a morning track. "I didn't know how to fix it or how to head her out of it. For a month I didn't have the heart to disillusion her. I let her buy. Damn it, I never saw such an absolute boob as she was. She'd pick out the most worthless junk I was knocking down and go mad over it and buy it with my good money. It got so that I realized I was slipping. I'd get a promise from her that she wouldn't come into the auction, but I never could be sure. And if I felt like cutting loose on some piece of junk and knocking it down with a lot of flourishes I knew sure as fate that the missus would be there and that she would be the fish that caught fire first and most and that I'd be selling the thing to myself. "Well, after the first two months of my married life I realized that I'd have to talk turkey to the missus. She was costing me my last nickel at these auctions and the better auctioneer I was the more money I lost, on account of her being so susceptible to my line of stuff. It sounds funny, but it's a fact. So I told her. I made a clean breast. I told her what a liar I was and how all the stuff I pulled from the auction stand was the bunk and how she was a boob for falling for it. And so on and so on. Say, I sold myself to her as the world's greatest, all around, low down, hideous liar that ever walked in shoe leather. And that's how it started. This divorce today is kind of an anti-climax. We ain't had much to do with each other ever since that confession." Mr. Ludlow stared sorrowfully into the remains of a glass of juniper juice. "I'll never marry again," he moaned. "I ain't the kind that makes a good husband. A good husband is a man who is just an ordinary liar. And me? Well, I'm an auctioneer." FOG PATTERNS The fog tiptoes into the streets. It walks like a great cat through the air and slowly devours the city. The office buildings vanish, leaving behind thin pencil lines and smoke blurs. The pavements become isolated, low-roofed corridors. Overhead the electric signs whisper enigmatically and the window lights dissolve. The fog thickens till the city disappears. High up, where the mists thin into a dark, sulphurous glow, roof bubbles float. The great cat's work is done. It stands balancing itself on the heads of people and arches its back against the vanished buildings. * * * * * I walk along thinking about the way the streets look and arranging adjectives in my mind. In the heavy mist people appear detached. They no longer seem to belong to a pursuit in common. Usually the busy part of the city is like the exposed mechanism of some monstrous clock. And people scurry about losing themselves in cogs and springs and levers. But now the monstrous clock is almost hidden. The stores and offices and factories that form the mechanism of this clock are buried behind the fog. The cat has eaten them up. Hidden within the mist the cogs still turn and the springs unwind. But for the moment they seem non-existent. And the people drifting hurriedly by in the fog seem as if they were not going and coming from stores, offices and factories. As if they were solitaries hunting something in the labyrinths of the fog. Yes, we are all lost and wandering in the thick mists. We have no destinations. The city is without outlines. And the drift of figures is a meaningless thing. Figures that are going nowhere and coming from nowhere. A swarm of supernumeraries who are not in the play. Who saunter, dash, scurry, hesitate in search of a part in the play. This is a curious illusion. I stop and listen to music. Overhead a piano is playing and a voice singing. A song-boosting shop above Monroe and State streets. A ballad of the cheap cabarets. Yet, because it is music, it has a mystery in it. The fog pictures grow charming. There is an idea in them now. People are detached little decorations etched upon a mist. The cat has eaten up the monstrous clock and people have rid themselves of their routine, which was to tumble and scurry among its cogs and levers. They are done with life, with buying and selling and with the perpetual errand. And they have become a swarm of little ornaments. Men and women denuded of the city. Their outlines posture quaintly in the mist. Their little faces say, "The clock is gone. There is nothing any more to make us alive. So we have become our unconnected selves." * * * * * Beside me in the fog a man stands next to a tall paper rack. I remember that this is the rack where the out-of-town papers are on sale. The papers are rolled up and thrust like rows of little white dolls in the rack. I wonder that this should be a newspaper stand. It looks like almost anything else in the fog. A pretty girl emerges from the background of fog. She talks to the man next to the rack. "Have you a Des Moines newspaper?" she asks. The man is very businesslike. He fishes out a newspaper and sells it. At the sight of its headlines the girl's eyes light up. It is as if she had met a very close friend. She will walk along feeling comforted now. Chicago is a stranger. Its fog-hidden buildings and streets are strangers and its crowds criss-crossing everywhere are worse than strangers. But now she has Des Moines under her arm. Des Moines is a companion that will make the fog seem less lonely. Later she will sit down in a hotel room and read of what has happened in Des Moines buildings and Des Moines streets. These will seem like real happenings, whereas the happenings that the Chicago papers print seem like unrealities. This is Dearborn Street now. Dark and cozy. People are no longer decorations but intimate friends. When it is light and one can see the cogs of the monstrous clock go round and the springs unwind one thinks of people as a part of this mechanism. And so people grow vague in one's mind and unhuman or only half-human. But now that the mechanism is gone, people stand out with an insistent humanness. People sitting on lunch-counter stools, leaning over coffee cups. People standing behind store counters. People buying cigars and people walking in and out of office buildings. They are very friendly. Their tired faces smile, or at least look somewhat amused and interested. They are interested in the fog and in the fact that one cannot see three feet ahead. And their faces say to each other, "Here we are, all alike. The city is only a make-believe. It can go away but we still remain. We are much more important than the big buildings." * * * * * I hear an odd tapping sound on the pavement. It is faint but growing nearer. In another moment a man tapping on the pavement with a cane passes. A blind man. And I think of a plot for a fiction story. If a terrible murder were committed in a marvelous fog that hid everything the chief of police would summon a blind man. And the blind man could track the murderer down in the fog because he alone would be able to move in the thick, obliterating mists. And so the blind man, with his cane tapping, tapping over the pavements and able by long practice to move without sight, would slowly close in on the murderer hemmed in by darkness. A newsboy cries from the depth of nowhere: "Paper here. Trains crash in fog. Paper." * * * * * A friend and I sat in an office. He has been dictating letters, but he stops and stares out of the window. His eyes grow speculative. He says: "Wouldn't it be odd if it were always like this? I think I'd like it better, wouldn't you? But I suppose they'd invent lights able to penetrate mist and the town would be as garish as ever in a few years. But I like the fog because it slows things up. Things are too damn fast to suit me. I like 'em slow. Like they used to be a century ago." We talk and my friend becomes reminiscent on the subject of stage coaches and prairie schooners and the days before there were railroads, telephones, electricity and crowds. He has never known such a time, but from what he has read and imagined about it--yes, it would be better. * * * * * When I come out it is mid-afternoon. The fog has gone. The city has popped back and sprawls triumphantly into space. For a moment it seems as if the city had sprung up in an hour. Then its sturdy walls and business windows begin to mock at the memory of the fog in my mind. "Fogs do not devour us," they say. "We are the ones who do the devouring. We devour fogs and people and days." Marvelous buildings. Overhead the sky floats like a gray and white balloon, as if it were a toy belonging to the city. DON QUIXOTE AND HIS LAST WINDMILL Sherwood Anderson, the writer, and I were eating lunch in the back room of a saloon. Against the opposite wall sat a red-faced little man with an elaborate mustache and a bald head and a happy grin. He sat alone at a tilted round table and played with a plate of soup. "Say, that old boy over there is trying to wigwag me," said Anderson. "He keeps winking and making signs. Do you know him?" I looked and said no. The waiter appeared with a box of cigars. "Mr. Sklarz presents his compliments," said the waiter, smiling. "Who's Sklarz?" Anderson asked, helping himself to a cigar. The waiter indicated the red-faced little man. "Him," he whispered. We continued our meal. Both of us watched Mr. Sklarz casually. He seemed to have lost interest in his soup. He sat beaming happily at the walls, a contagious elation about him. We smiled and nodded our thanks for the cigars. Whereupon after a short lapse, the waiter appeared again. "What'll you have to drink, gentlemen?" the waiter inquired. "Nothing," said Anderson, knowing I was broke. The waiter raised his continental eyebrows understandingly. "Mr. Sklarz invites you, gentlemen, to drink his health--at his expense." "Two glasses," Anderson ordered. They were brought. We raised them in silent toast to the little red-faced man. He arose and bowed as we drank. "We'll probably have him on our hands now for an hour," Anderson frowned. I feared the same. But Mr. Sklarz reseated himself and, with many head bowings in our direction, returned to his soup. "What do you make of our magnanimous friend?" I asked. Anderson shrugged his shoulders. "He's probably celebrating something," he said. "A queer old boy, isn't he?" * * * * * The waiter appeared a third time. "What'll it be, gentlemen?" he inquired, smiling. "Mr. Sklarz is buying for the house." For the house. There were some fifteen men eating in the place. Then our friend, despite his unassuming appearance, was evidently a creature of wealth! Well, this was growing interesting. We ordered wine again. "Ask Mr. Sklarz if he will favor us by joining us at our table for this drink," I told the waiter. The message was delivered. Mr. Sklarz arose and bowed, but sat down again. Anderson and I beckoned in pantomime. Mr. Sklarz arose once more, bowed and hesitated. Then he came over. As he approached a veritable carnival spirit seemed to deepen around us. The face of this little man with the elaborate black mustache was violent with suppressed good will and mirth. He beamed, bowed, shook hands and sat down. We drank one another's health and, as politely as we could, pressed him to tell us the cause for his celebration and good spirits. He began to talk. He was a Russian Jew. His name was Sklarz. He had been in the Russian army years ago. In Persia. From a mountain in Persia you could see three great countries. In Turkey he had fought with baggy-trousered soldiers and at night joined them when they played their flutes outside the coffee-houses and sang songs about women and war. Then he had come to America and opened a box factory. He was very prosperous and the factory in which he made boxes grew too small. So what did he do but take a walk one day to look for a larger factory. And he found a beautiful building just as he wanted. But the building was too beautiful to use for a factory. It should be used for something much nicer. So what did he do then but decide to open a dance-hall, a magnificent dance-hall, where young men and women of refined, fun-loving temperaments could come to dance and have fun. * * * * * "When does this dance-hall open?" Anderson asked. Ah, in a little while. There were fittings to buy and put up first. But he would send us special invitations to the opening. In the meantime would we drink his health again? Mr. Sklarz chuckled. The amazing thing was that he wasn't drunk. He was sober. "So you're celebrating," I said. Yes, he was celebrating. He laughed and leaned over the table toward us. His eyes danced and his elaborate mustache made a grotesque halo for his smile. He didn't want to intrude on us with his story, but in Persia and Turkey and the Urals he had found life very nice. And here in Chicago he had found life also very nice. Life was very nice wherever you went. And Anderson quoted, rather imperfectly, I thought: Oh, but life went gayly, gayly In the house of Idah Dally; There were always throats to sing Down the river bank with spring. Mr. Sklarz beamed. "Yes, yes," he said, "down the river benk mit spring." And he stood up and bowed and summoned the waiter. "See vat all the gentlemen vant," he ordered, "and give them vat they vant mit my compliments." He laughed, or, rather, chuckled. "I must be going. Excuse me," he exclaimed with a quick little bow. "I have other places to call on. Good-by. Remember me--Sam Sklarz. Be good--and don't forget Sam Sklarz when there are throats to zing down the river benk mit spring." We watched him walk out. His shoulders seemed to dance, his short legs moved with a sprightly lift. "A queer old boy," said Anderson. We talked about him for a half hour and then left the place. * * * * * Anderson called me up the next morning to ask if I had read about it in the paper. I told him I had. A clipping on the desk in front of me ran: "Sam Sklarz, 46 years old and owner of a box factory on the West Side, committed suicide early this morning by jumping into the drainage canal. Financial reverses are believed to have caused him to end his life. According to friends he was on the verge of bankruptcy. His liabilities were $8,000. Yesterday morning Sklarz cashed a check for $700, which represented the remains of his bank account, and disappeared. It is believed that he used the money to pay a few personal debts and then wandered around in a daze until the end. He left no word of explanation behind." THE MAN HUNT They were hunting him. Squads of coppers with rifles, detectives, stool pigeons were hunting him. And the people who had read the story in the newspapers and looked at his picture, they too, were hunting him. Tommy O'Connor looked out of the smeared window of the room in which he sat and stared at the snow. A drift of snow across the roofs. A scribble of snow over the pavement. There were automobiles racing through the streets loaded with armed men. There were crowds looking for a telltale face in their own midst. Guards, deputies, coppers were surrounding houses and peering into alleys, raiding saloons, ringing doorbells. The whole city was on his heels. The city was like a pack of dogs sniffing wildly for his trail. And when they found it they would come whooping toward him for a leap at his throat. Well, here he was--waiting. It was snowing outside. There was no noise in the street. A man was passing. One of the pack? No. Just a man. The man looked up. Tommy O'Connor took his face slowly away from the window. He had a gun in his pocket and his hand was holding it. But the man was walking away. Huh! If the guy knew that Lucky Tommy O'Connor was watching him from a window he'd walk a little faster. If the guy knew that Lucky O'Connor, who had busted his way out of jail and was being hunted by a million people with guns, was sitting up here behind the window, he'd throw a fit. But he didn't know. He was like the walls and the windows and the snow outside--quiet and peaceful. "Nice boy," grinned Tommy O'Connor. Then he began to fidget. He ought to go out and buy a paper. See what was doing. See what became of Mac and the rest of the boys. Maybe they'd all been nabbed. But they couldn't do him harm. On account nobody knew where he was. No pal. No dame. Nobody knew he was sitting here in the room looking at the snow and just thinking. The papers were probably full of cock-and-bull stories about his racing across the country and hiding in haystacks and behind barns. Kid stuff. Maybe he should ought to of left town. But it felt better in town. Some rube was always sure to pick out a stranger beating it down a empty road. And there was no place to hide. Long, empty stretches, where anybody could see you for a mile. Better in town. Lots of walls, alleys, roofs. Lots of things like that. No hare-and-hounds effect like in the country. But the papers were probably full of a lot of bunk. He'd take a walk later and buy a few. Better sit still now. There was nothing harder to find than a man sitting still. * * * * * Tommy O'Connor yawned. Not much sleep the night before. Well, he'd sleep tonight. Worrying wasn't going to help matters. What if they did come? Let them come. Fill up the street and begin their damn shooting. They didn't think Lucky Tommy was sucker enough to let them march him up on a scaffold and break his neck on the end of a rope. Fat chance. Not him. That sort of stuff happened to other guys, not to Lucky Tommy. Snowing outside. And quiet. Everybody at work. Funny about that. Tommy O'Connor was the only free man in the city. There was nobody felt like him right now--nobody. Where would he be exactly this time a week from now? If he could only look ahead and see himself at four o'clock next Monday afternoon. But he was free now. No breaking his neck on the end of a rope. If worst came to worst--if worst came to worst--O'Connor's fingers took a grip on the gun in his pocket. They were hunting him. Up and down the streets everywhere. Racing around in taxis, with rifles sticking out of the windows. Well, why didn't they come into this street? All they had to do was figure out: Here's the street Tommy O'Connor is hiding in. And that looks like the house. And then somebody would yell out: "There he is! Behind that window! That's him!" Why didn't this happen? * * * * * Christmas, maybe, he'd call on the folks. No. Rube stuff. A million coppers would be watching the house. But he might drop them a letter. Too bad he didn't have any paper, or he might write a lot of letters. To the chief of police and all the head hunters. Some more rube stuff, that. They could tell by the postmark what part of the city he was hiding in and they'd be on him with a whoop. Funny how he had landed in this room. No plans, no place in particular to head for. That was the best way. Like he'd figured it out and it turned out perfect. Grab the first auto and ride like hell and keep on changing autos and riding around and around in the streets and crawling deeper into the city until the trail was all twisted and he was buried. But he ought to shave his mustache off. Hell. What for? If they came whooping into the street they'd find him, mustache or no mustache. But what if he wanted to buy some papers? It was getting darker now. The snow was letting up. Just dribbling. Better if it would snow a lot. Then he could sit and have something to watch--snow falling on the street and turning things white. That was on account of his headache he was thinking that way. Eats might help, but he wasn't hungry. Scared? No. Just waiting. Hunters winding in and out like the snow that was falling. People were funny. They got a big thrill out of hunting a live man who was free in the streets. He'd be walking some day. Strolling around the streets free as any of them. Maybe not in town. Some other town. Take a walk down State Street. Drop in at a movie. Kid stuff. Walk over to Mac's saloon and kind of casually say "Hello, fellows." And walk out again. God, they'd never hang him. If the worst came to the worst--if the worst came to the worst--but they'd never hang him. * * * * * Dark now. But the guys hunting him weren't going to sleep. Lights were going on in the windows. Better light up the room. People might notice a dark window. But a lighted one would look all right. It was not snowing any more. Just cold. Well, he'd go out in a while. Stretch his legs and buy the papers and give them a reading. And then take a walk. Just walk around and take in the streets and see if there was anybody he knew. No. Rube stuff, that. Better stick where he was. Lucky Tommy walked around in the room. The drawn window blind held his eye. Wagons were passing. What for? Yes, and there was a noise. Like people coming. Turn out the light, then. He'd take a look. Tommy O'Connor peeled back the blind carefully. Dark. Lights in windows. Some guys on the corner. Hunting him? Sure. And they were coming his way. Straight down the street. They were looking up. What for? A gun crept out of Tommy O'Connor's pocket. He pressed himself carefully against the wall. He waited. The minutes grew long. But this was the hunt closing in. They were coming. Black figures of men floating casually down the street. All right--let them come. Lucky Tommy O'Connor's eyes stared rigidly out of the smeared window at a vague flurry of figures that seemed to be coming, coming his way. MR. WINKELBERG There was never a man as irritating as Winkelberg. He was an encyclopedia of misfortune. Everything which can happen to a man had happened to him. He had lost his family, his money and his health. He was, in short, a man completely broken--tall, thin, with a cadaverous face, out of which shone two huge, lusterless eyes. He walked with an angular crawl that reminded one of the emaciated flies one sees at the beginning of winter dragging themselves perversely along as if struggling across an illimitable expanse of flypaper. It was one of Winkelberg's worst habits to appear at unexpected moments. But perhaps any appearances poor Winkelberg might have made would have had this irritating quality of unexpectedness. One was never looking forward to Winkelberg, and thus the sight of his wan, determined smile, his lusterless eyes and his tenacious crawl was invariably an uncomfortable surprise. * * * * * I will be frank. It was Winkelberg's misfortune which first attracted me. I listened to his story avidly. He talked in slow words and there was intelligence in the man. He was able to perceive himself not only as a pain-racked, starving human, but he glimpsed with his large, tired eyes his relation to things outside himself. I remember he said, and without emotion: "There is nobody to blame. Not even myself. And if I cannot blame myself how can I blame the world? The city is like that. I am no good. I am done. Something worn out and useless. People try to take care of the useless ones and they would like to. There are institutions. I was kicked out of two of them. They said I was a faker. Somehow I don't appeal to charitably inclined people." Later I understood why. It was because of the man's smile--a feeble, tenacious grimace that seemed to be offering a sardonic reproof. It could never have been mistaken for a courageous smile. The secret of its aggravating quality was this: In it Winkelberg accused himself of his uselessness, his feebleness, his poverty. It was as if he were regarding himself continually through the annoyed eyes of others and addressing himself with the words of others: "You, Winkelberg, get out of here. You're a nuisance. You make me uncomfortable because you're poor and diseased and full of gloom. Get out. I don't want you around. Why the devil don't you die?" And the aggravating thing was that people looked at Winkelberg's smile as into a mirror. They saw in it a reflection of their own attitude toward the man. They felt that Winkelberg understood what they thought of him. And they didn't like that. They didn't like to feel that Winkelberg was aware that deep inside their minds they were always asking: "Why doesn't this Winkelberg die and have it over with?" Because that made them out as cruel, heartless people, not much different in their attitude toward their fellow men from predatory animals in their attitude toward fellow predatory animals. And somehow, although they really felt that way toward Winkelberg, they preferred not to believe it. But Winkelberg's smile was a mirror which would not let them escape this truth. And eventually Winkelberg's smile became for them one of those curious mirrors which exaggerate images grotesquely. Charitably inclined people, as well as all other kinds of inclined people, prefer their Winkelbergs more egoistic. They prefer that unfortunate ones be engrossed in their misfortunes and not go around wearing sardonic, philosophical smiles. * * * * * Winkelberg dragged along for a year. He was past fifty. Each time I saw him I was certain I would never see him again. I was certain he would die--drop dead while crawling across his flypaper. But he would appear. I would pretend to be vastly busy. He would sit and wait. He never asked alms. I would have been relieved if he had. Instead he sat and smiled, and his smile said: "You are afraid I am going to ask you for money. Don't worry. I won't ask you for money. I won't bother you at all. Yes, I agree with you, I ought to be dead. It would be better for everybody." We would talk little. He would throw out a hint now and then that perhaps I could use some of his misfortunes for material. For instance, the time his two children had been burned to death. Or the time he had fallen off the street car while in a sick daze and injured his spine for life, and how he had settled with the street car company for $500 and how he had been robbed on the way to the bank with the money two weeks later. I refused consistently this offer of "material." This offended Winkelberg. He would shake his head and then he would nod his head understandingly and his smile would say: "Yes, yes. I understand. You don't want to get involved with me. Because you don't want me to have any more claims on your sympathy than I've got. I'm sorry." Toward the end Winkelberg's visits grew more frequent. And he became suddenly garrulous. He wished to discuss things. The city. The various institutions. Politics. Art. This phase of Winkelberg was the most unbearable. He was willing to admit himself a social outcast. He was reconciled to the fact that he would starve to death and that everybody who had ever seen him would feel it had been a good thing that he had finally died. But this final plea came from him. He wanted nothing except to talk and hear words in order to relieve the loneliness of his days. He would like abstract discussions that had nothing to do with Winkelberg and the Winkelberg misfortunes. His smile now said: "I am useless, worn out and better off dead. But never mind me. My mind is still alive. It still thinks. I wish it didn't. I wish it crawled around like my body. But seeing that it does, talk to me as if it were a mind belonging to somebody else and not to the insufferable Winkelberg." I grew suspicious finally. I began to think there was something vitally spurious about this whole Winkelberg business. And I said to myself: "The man's a downright fake. If anybody were as pathetic and impossible and useless as this Winkelberg is he would shoot himself. Winkelberg doesn't shoot himself. So he becomes illogical. Unreal." * * * * * A woman I know belongs to the type that becomes charitable around Christmas time. She makes a glowing pretense of aiding the poor. As a matter of fact, she really does aid them, although she regards the poor as a sort of social and spiritual asset. They afford her the double opportunity of appearing in the eyes of her neighbors as a magnanimous soul and of doing something which reflects great credit upon her character. But, anyway, she "does good," and we'll let it go at that. I told this woman about Winkelberg. I became poignant and moving on the subject of Winkelberg's misfortunes, his trials, sufferings and, above all, his Spartan stoicism. It pleased me to do this. I felt that I was making some amends and that the thing reflected credit upon my character. So she went to the room on the South Side where Winkelberg sleeps. And they told her there that Winkelberg was dead. He had died last week. She was upset when she told me about it. She had come too late. She might have saved him. It was a curious thing--but when she told me that Winkelberg was dead I felt combatively that it was untrue. And now since I know certainly that Winkelberg is dead and buried I have developed a curious state of mind. I look up from my desk every once in a while expecting to see him. In the streets I sometimes find myself actually thinking: "I'll bump into him when I turn the corner." I have managed to discover the secret of this feeling. It is Winkelberg's smile. Winkelberg's smile was the interpretation of the world's attitude toward him, including my own. And thus whenever his name comes to mind his smile appears as if it were the thought in my head. And in Winkelberg's smile I hear myself saying: "He is better off dead." A SELF-MADE MAN "Over there," said Judge Sabath, "is a man who has been a juror in criminal cases at least a dozen times." His honor pointed to a short, thin man with a derby on the back of his head and a startling mustache, concealing almost half of his wizened face. The man was sitting a bit childishly on a window ledge in the hall of the Criminal Court building swinging his legs and chewing rhythmically on a plug of tobacco. "They let him go this morning while picking a jury for a robbery case before me," said the judge. "He tried to stay on, but neither side wanted him. You might get a story out of him. I think he's broken-hearted." * * * * * The short, thin man with the derby, swinging his legs from the window ledge said his name was Martin. "That's true," he said, "what the judge said. I been a juror fourteen times. I was on five murders and four big robberies and then I was on five different assorted kinds of crimes." "How do you like being a juror, Mr. Martin?" "Well, sir, I like it a lot. I can say that out of the fourteen times I been a juror I never lost a case." Mr. Martin aimed at the new cuspidor--and missed. "There's some jurors as loses nearly every case they're on. They give in first crack. But take the Whitely murder trial I was on. That was as near as I ever come to losing a case. But I managed to hang the jury and the verdict was one of disagreement. Whitely was innocent. Anybody could have told that with half an eye." "How long have you been serving on juries, Mr. Martin?" "Going nigh on twenty-three years. I had my first case when I was a young man. It was a minor case--a robbery. I won that despite my youth and inexperience. In those days the cases were much harder than now on account of the lawyers. The old-fashioned lawyer was the talkingest kind of a nuisance I ever had to deal with. He always reminded me of somebody talking at a mark for two dollars a week. "I don't refer to the orators. I mean the ones who talk during the case itself and who slow things up generally by bothering the witnesses to death with a lot of unnecessary questions. Although the orators are pretty bad, too. There's many a lawyer who has lost out with me on account of the way he made faces in the windup. One of my rules as a juror, a successful one, I might say, is, 'Always mistrust a lawyer who talks too fancy.'" * * * * * "Judge Sabath just said that they let you go in his court this morning." "H'm," snorted Mr. Martin. "That was the lawyer. He's mad at me because he lost a case two years ago that I was on. I won it and he holds a grudge. That's like some lawyers. They don't like the man who licks them. "But you were asking about the qualifications of an all-around juryman. I'll give 'em to you. First and foremost you want a man of wide experience in human nature. I spend most of my time in the courts when I ain't serving as juror studyin' human nature. You might say that all human nature is the same. But it's my experience that some is more so than others. "Well, when you know human nature the next step is to figure out about lawyers. Lawyers as a whole is the hardest nut the juror has to crack. To begin with, they're deceivin', and if you let them they'll take advantage of your credulity. There's Mr. Erbstein, for instance, the criminal lawyer. He's a pretty smart one, but I won a case from him only four years ago and he's never forgiven me. I was juror in a manslaughter trial he was trying to run. He thought himself pretty foxy, but when it came to a showdown I put it all over him. There was a guy who was foreman of the jury that time who said I had it all over Mr. Erbstein as an argufier and that my arguments made his look like ten cents. I won easily on five ballots and Mr. Erbstein has never forgave me. * * * * * "But I'll go on about the qualifications. First of all, I never read newspapers. Never. No juror should ought to know anything about anything that's going on. I found that out in my youth when I first started in. The first question they ask you is, 'What have you heard about this case and what have you read or said about it?' That's the first one. Well, the right answer is 'nothing.' "If you can say nothing and prove you're right they'll gobble you up as a juror. For that reason I avoid all newspapers, and right now I don't know what big crimes or cases have been committed at all. I have a clean, unprejudiced mind and I keep it that way. "Nextly," said Mr. Martin, trying a new sight on the cuspidor, "I don't belong to any lodges whatsoever. They're a handicap. Because if the defendant is a Mason and you are a Elk he would rather have a brother Mason be juror than a strange Elk. So I don't belong to any of them and I don't go to church. I also have no convictions whatsoever about politics and have no favorites of any kind in the matter of authors or statesmen or anything. What I try to do is to keep my mind clean and unprejudiced on all subjects." "Why do you like serving as a juror?" Mr. Martin stared. "Why?" he repeated. "Because it's every man's duty, naturally. And besides," he went on, narrowing his eyes into shrewd slits, "I've just been luckier than most people. Most people only get called a few times during their life. But I get called regularly every year and sometimes twice a year and sometimes four and five times a year for service. Of course, I ain't boasting, but the city has recognized my merits, no doubt, as a juror, knowing all the cases I've won, and it perhaps shows a little partiality to me for that reason. But I feel that I have earned it and I would like nothing said about it or any scandal started." "What do you think of this Taylor death mystery in Los Angeles, Mr. Martin?" "Ha, ha," said Mr. Martin, "there you're tryin' to catch me. You thought you could put that over on me without my seein' through it, didn't you? That's just the way the lawyers try to trap me when I'm sittin' on one of my cases. I ain't ever heard of this Taylor death mystery, not reading the papers, you see." "That's too bad, Mr. Martin. It's quite a story." Mr. Martin sighed and slipped from the window ledge, shaking down his wrinkled, high-water pants. "Yes," he sighed, a sudden wistfulness coming into his rheumy eyes. "Things have been pretty slow around here. Chicago used to be the place for a juror--none better. But I been thinkin' of going west. Not that I heard anything, mind you, about any of these cases." Mr. Martin glowered virtuously. "I never read the papers, sir, and have no prejudices whatsoever. "But I've just been feelin' lately that there are wider opportunities in the west for a man of my experience and record than are left around here." TO BERT WILLIAMS "Well," said Mr. Bert Williams, in his best "Under the Bamboo Tree" dialect, "If you like mah singin' and actin' so much, how come, you bein' a writer, you don't write somethin' about youah convictions on this subjeck? Oh! It's not youah depahtment! Hm! Tha's jes' mah luck. I was always the mos' unluckiest puhson who ever trifled with misfohtune. Not his depahtment! Tha'--tha's jes' it. I never seems to fall jes' exactly in the ri-right depahtment. "May I ask, without meanin' to be puhsonal, jes' what is your depahtment? Murder! Oh, you is the one who writes about murders and murderuhs foh the paper! Nothin' else? Is tha' so? Jes' murders and murderuhs and--and things like tha'? Well, tha' jes' shows how deceivin' looks is, fo' when you came in heah I says to mahself, I says, 'this gen'le-man is a critic of the drama.' And when I sees you have on a pair o' gloves I added quickly to mahself, 'Yes, suh, chances are he is not only a critic of the drama, but likewise even possuhbly a musical critic.' Yes, suh, all mah life I have had the desire to be interviewed by a musical critic, but no matter how hard I sing or how frequently, no musical critic has yet taken cognizance o' me. No, suh, I get no cognizance whatsoever. "Not meanin' to disparage you, suh, or your valuable depahtment. Foh if you is in charge o' the murder and murderuh's depahtment o' yo' paper possuhbly some time you may refer to me lightly between stabbin's or shootin's in such wise as to say, foh instance, 'the doomed man was listenin' to Mr. Williams' latest song on the phonograph when he received the bullet wound. Death was instantaneous, the doomed man dyin' with a smile on his lips. Mr. Williams' singin' makes death easy--an' desirable.' "What, suh? You is! Sam, fetch the gen'leman some o' the firewater, the non-company brand, Sam. All right, say when. Aw, shucks, that ain't enough to wet a cat's whiskers. Say when again. There, tha's better. Here, Sam. You got to help drink this. It's important. The gen'leman says if I will wait a little while, jes' a little while, he is goin' to alter his depahtment on the newspaper. Wasn't that it? Oh, I see. In the magazine. Very well. Here's to what you says about me some day in the magazine. An' when you writes it don't forget to mention somewhere along in it how when I was playin' in San Francisco and Sarah Bernhardt was playin' there, and this was years ago, don' forget to mention along with what you write about mah singin' and actin' that I come to mah dressing room one evenin', in Frisco, and there's the hugest box o' flowers you ever saw with mah name on it. An' I open it up and, boy! There plain as the nose on your face is a card among the flowers readin', 'to a fellow artist, from Sarah Bernhardt.' And--whilst we are, so to speak, on the subjeck--you can put in likewise what Eleanora Duse said o' me. You know who she is, I suppose, the very most superlative genius o' the stage, suh. Yes, suh, the very most. An' she says o' me when she went back to Italy, how I was the best artist on the American stage. "Artist! Tha' always makes Sam laugh, don't it, Sam, when he heahs me refuhed to as artist. An'--have another beaker o' firewater, suh. It's strictly non-company brand. An' here's how again to tha' day you speak of when you write this article about me. An', boy, make it soon, 'cause this life, this sinful theat'ical life, is killin' me fast. But I'll try an' wait. Here's howdy." * * * * * He didn't wait. And today a lazy, crooked grin and a dolorous-eyed black face drift among the shades in the Valhalla where the Great Actors sit reading their press notices to one another. The Great Actors who have died since the day of Euripides--they sit around in their favorite make-ups in the Valhalla reserved for all good and glorious Thespians. A company of ladies and gentlemen that would make Mr. Belasco's heart stop beating! The Booths and Barretts from antiquity down, the Mrs. Siddonses and Pattis, the Cyranos, Hamlets, buffoons and heroes. All of them in their favorite make-ups, in their favorite cap and bells, their favorite swords, their favorite doublet and hose--all of them sit around in the special Valhalla of the Great Actors reading their press notices to one another and listening to the hosannas of such critics as have managed to pry into the anterior heaven. And today Bert Williams makes his entrance. Yes, suh, it took that long to find just the right make-up. To get just the right kind of ill-fitting white gloves and floppy shoes and nondescript pants. But it's an important entrance. The lazy crooked grin is a bit nervous. The dolorous eyes peer sadly through the opening door of this new theater. Lawdy, man, this is got a Broadway first night backed off the boards. Rejane, Caruso, Coquelin, Garrick and a thousand others sittin' against the towering walls, sittin' with their eyes on the huge door within' to see who's a-comin' in now. All right, professor, jes' a little music. Nothin' much. Anything kind o' sad and fidgetylike. Tha's it, that-a-boy. There's no use worryin'--much. 'Member what Duse said as I was the greatest artist, an 'member how Sarah Bernhardt sent me roses in Frisco an' says, 'To a fellow artist'? Yes, suh, they can't do mo' than walk out on me. An' ah's been walked out on befo'. All right, professor. Tha's it. Now I'll stick my hand inside the door and wiggle mah fingers kind o' slow like. Jes' like that. An' I'll come on slow. Nothin' to worry about--much. * * * * * A wrinkled white-gloved hand moving slowly inside the door of the Valhalla. Sad, fidgety music. Silence in the great hall. This is another one coming on--another entrance. A lazy, crooked grin and a dolorous-eyed black face. Floppy shoes and woebegone pants. Bravo, Mr. Williams! The great hall rings with hand-clapping. The great hall begins to fill with chuckles. There it is--the same curious grin, the lugubrious apology of a grin, the weary, pessimistic child of a grin. The Great Actors, eager-eyed and silent, sit back on their thrones. The door of the Valhalla of Great Actors swings slowly shut. No Flo Ziegfeld lighting this time, but a great shoot of sunshine for a "garden." And the music different, easier to sing to, somehow. Music of harps and flutes. And a deep voice rises. Yes, I would have liked to have been there in the Valhalla of the Great Actors, when Bert Williams came shuffling through the towering doors and stood singing his entrance song to the silent, eager-eyed throng of Rejanes, Barretts and Coquelins-- Ah ain't ever done nothin' to nobody, Ah ain't ever got nothin' from nobody--no time, nohow. Ah ain't ever goin' t' do nothin' for nobody-- Till somebody-- MICHIGAN AVENUE This is a deplorable street, a luxurious couch of a street in which the afternoon lolls like a gaudy sybarite. Overhead the sky stretches itself like a holiday awning. The sun lays harlequin stripes across the building faces. The smoke plumes from the I. C. engines scribble gray, white and lavender fantasies against the shining air. A deplorable street--a cement and plate glass Circe. We walk--a long procession of us. It is curious to note how we adjust ourselves to backgrounds. In other streets we are hurried, flurried, worried. We summon portentous frowns to our faces. Our arms swinging at our sides proclaim, "Make way, make way! We are launched upon activities vital to the commonwealth!" But here--the sun bursts a shower of little golden balloons from the high windows. The green of a park makes a cool salaam to the beetle-topped traffic of automobiles. Rubber tires roll down the wide avenue and make a sound like the drawn-out striking of a match. Marble columns, fountains, incompleted architectural elegancies, two sculptured lions and the baffling effulgence of a cinder-veiled museum offer themselves like pensively anonymous guests. And we walk like Pierrots and Pierrettes, like John Drews and Jack Barrymores and Leo Ditrichsteins; like Nazimovas, Patricia Collinges and Messalinas on parole. * * * * * I have squandered an afternoon seduced from labors by this Pied Piper of a street. And not only I but everybody I ever knew or heard of was in this street, strutting up and down as if there were no vital projects demanding their attention, as if life were not a stern and productive routine. And where was the Rotary Club? Not a sign of the Rotary Club. One billboard would have saved me; the admonitions that "work is man's duty to his nation," that my country needed me as much in peace as in war, would have scattered the insidious spell of this street and sent me back to the typewriter with at least a story of some waiter in a loop beanery who was once a reigning prince of Patagonia. But there was no sign, no billboard to inspire me with a sense of duty. So we strutted--the long procession of us--a masquerade of leisure and complacency. Here was a street in which a shave and a haircut, a shine and a clean collar exhilarated a man with a feeling of power and virtue. As if there were nothing else to the day than to decorate himself for the amusement of others. There were beggars in the street but they only add by way of contrast to the effulgence of our procession. And, besides, are they beggars? Augustus Caesar attired himself in beggar's clothes one day each year and asked alms in the highways of Rome. * * * * * I begin to notice something. An expression in our faces as we drift by the fastidious ballyhoos of the shop windows. We are waiting for something--actors walking up and down in the wings waiting for their cues to go on. This is intelligible. This magician of a street has created the illusion in our heads that there are adventure and romance around us. Fauns, Pierrots, Launcelots, Leanders--we walk, expectantly waiting for our scenes to materialize. Here the little steno in the green tarn is Laïs of Corinth, the dowager alighting from the electric is Zenobia. Illusions dress the entire procession. Semiramis, Leda, and tailored nymphs; dryad eyes gleam from powder-white masks. Or, if the classics bore you, Watteau and the rococo pertness of the Grand Monarch. And there are Gothic noses, Moorish eyebrows, Byzantine slippers. Take your pick, walk up and down and wait for your cue. There are two lives that people lead. One is the real life of business, mating, plans, bankruptcies and gas bills. The other is an unreal life--a life of secret grandeurs which compensate for the monotony of the days. Sitting at our desks, hanging on to straps in the street cars, waiting for the dentist, eating in silence in our homes--we give ourselves to these secret grandeurs. Day-dreams in which we figure as heroes and Napoleons and Don Juans, in which we triumph sensationally over the stupidities and arrogances of our enemies--we think them out detail by detail. Sometimes we like to be alone because we have a particularly thrilling incident to tell ourselves, and when our friends say good-by we sigh with relief and wrap ourselves with a shiver of delight in the mantles of imagination. And we live for a charming hour through a fascinating fiction in which things are as they should be and we startle the world with our superiorities. * * * * * This street, I begin to understand, is consecrated to the unrealities so precious to us. We come here and for a little while allow our dreams to peer timorously at life. In the streets west of here we are what we are--browbeaten, weary-eyed, terribly optimistic units of the boobilariat. Our secret characterizations we hide desperately from the frowns of windows and the squeal of "L" trains. But here in this Circe of streets the sun warms us, the sky and the spaces of shining air lure us and we step furtively out of ourselves. And give us ten minutes. Observe--a street of heroes and heroines. Actors all. Great and irresistible egoists. Do we want riches? Then we have only to raise our finger. Slaves will attend with sesterces and dinars. A street of joyous Caligulas and Neros, with here and there a Ghengis Khan, an Attila. The high buildings waver like gray and golden ferns in the sun. The sky stretches itself in a holiday awning over our heads. A breeze coming from the lake brings an odorous spice into our noses. Adventure and romance! Yes--and observe how unnecessary are plots. Here in this Circe of streets are all the plots. All the great triumphs, assassinations, amorous conquests of history unravel themselves within a distance of five blocks. The great moments of the world live themselves over again in a silent make-believe. Here is one who has just swum the Hellespont, one who has subdued Cleopatra; here one whose eyes are just launching a thousand ships. What a street! The afternoon wanes. Our procession turns toward home. For a few minutes the elation of our make-believes in the Avenue lingers. But the "L" trains crowd up, the street cars crowd up. It is difficult to remain a Caesar or a Don Quixote. So we withdraw and our faces become alike as turtle backs. And see, the afternoon has been squandered. There were things which should have been done. I blush indignantly at the memory of my thoughts during the shining hours in the Avenue. For I spent the valuable moments conversing with the devil. I imagined him coming for me and for two hours I elaborated a dialogue between him and myself in which I gave him my immortal soul and he in turn promised to write all the stories, novels and plays I wanted. All I would have to do was furnish the paper and leave it in a certain place and call for it the next morning and it would be completed--anything I asked for, a story, novel or play; a poem, a world-shattering manifesto--anything. Alas, I am still in possession of my immortal soul! COEUR DE LION AND THE SOUP AND FISH For they're hangin' Danny Deever-- The voice of Capt. MacVeigh of the British army rose defiantly in the North La Salle Street hall bedroom. The herculean captain, attired in a tattered bathrobe, underwear, socks and one slipper, patted the bottom of the iron with his finger and then carefully applied it to a trouser leg stretched on an ironing board in front of him. Again the voice: For they're hangin' Danny Deever; You can hear the death march play, And they're ta ta ta da They're taking him away, Ta da ta ta-- The captain was on the rocks. _Sic transit gloria mundi_. Or how saith the poet, "The lion and the lizard keep the courts where Jamshid gloried and drank deep." Bust, was the captain. "Dying, Egypt, dying, ebbs the crimson life blood fast." Flatter than a hoecake was the captain. "Farewell, my bluebell, farewell to thee," sang the captain as the iron crept cautiously over the great trouser leg of his Gargantuan full-dress suit. African mines blown up. Two inheritances shot. A last remittance blah. Rent bills, club bills, grocery bills, tailor bills, gambling bills. "Ho, Britons never will be slaves," sang the intrepid captain. Fought the bloody Boers, fought the Irawadi, fought the bloody Huns, and what was it Lady B. said at the dinner in his honor only two years ago? Ah, yes, here's to our British Tartarin, Capt. MacVeagh. But who the devil was Tartarin? Never mind. "There's a long, long trail a-windin' and ta da ta ta ta tum," sang Capt. MacVeagh and he took up the other trouser leg. Egad, what a life! Not a sou markee left. Not a thin copper, not a farthing! "Strike me blind, me wife's confined and I'm a blooming father," sang Capt. MacVeagh, "For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the death march play----" * * * * * This was the last phalanx. This thing on the ironing board was Horatius at the bridge holding in check the hordes of false Tarquin. Everything gone but this. Not even a pair of pants or a smoking coat. Not a blooming thing left but this--a full-dress suit beginning to shine a bit in the rear. "The shades of night were falling fast when through an Alpine village passed"--egad, what a primitive existence. Like an Irunti in the Australian bush. Telling time by the sun. It must be approachin' six, thought the captain as his voice trailed off. Beautiful thought. "Mabel, little Mabel, with her face against the pane, sits beside the window, looking at the rain." That was Capt. MacVeagh of the British army, prisoner in a La Salle Street hall bedroom. No clothes to wear, nothing but the soup and fish. So he must sit and wait till evening came, till a gentleman could put on his best bib and tucker, and then--_allons!_ Freshly shaved, pink jowled, swinging his ebony stick, his pumps gleaming with a new coat of vaseline, off for the British Officers' Club! All day long the herculean captain sulked in his tent--an Achilles with a sliver in his heel. But come evening, come the gentle shades of darkness, and presto! Like a lily of the field, who spun not nor toiled; like a knight of the boulevards, this servant of the king leaped forth in all his glory. The landlady was beginning to lose her awe of the dress suit, the booming barytone and the large aristocratic pink face of her mysterious boarder. And she was pressing for back rent. But the club was still tolerant. "A soldier o' the legion lay dyin' in Algiers," chanted the captain, and with his shoulders back he strode into the wide world. A meal at the club, and gadzooks but his stomach was in arms! Not a bite since the last club meal. God bless the club! "Get a job?" repeated the captain to one of the members, "I would but the devil take it, how can a man go around asking for a job in a dress suit? And I'm so rotten big that none of my friends can loan me a suit. And my credit is gone with at least twelve different tailors. I'm sort o' taboo as a borrower. Barry, old top, if you will chase the blighter after another highball, I'll drink your excellent health." "There's a job if you want it that you can do in your dress suit," said his friend Barry. "If you don't mind night work." "Not at all," growled Capt. MacVeagh. "Well," said the friend, "there's a circus in town and they want a man to drive the chariot in the chariot race. It's only a little circus. And there's only three chariots in the race. You get $10 for driving and $25 a night if you win the race. And they give you a bloomin' toga to put on over your suit, you know, and a ribbon to tie around your head. And there you are." "Righto !" cried the captain, "and where is this rendezvous of skill and daring? I'm off. I'll drive that chariot out of breath." Capt. MacVeagh got the job. Capt. MacVeagh won the first race. Clad in a flapping toga, a ribbon round his forehead, the hero of the British army went Berserker on the home stretch and, lashing his four ponies into a panic, came gloriously down the last lap, two lengths ahead and twenty-five marvelous coins of the realm to the good. That night at the club Capt. MacVeagh stood treat. British wassail and what not. The twenty-five dollars melted pleasantly and the captain fell off in a happy doze as rosy fingered Aurora touched the city roof-tops. But, alas, the wages of sin! For the captain was not so good when he mounted his chariot the second night. A beehive buzzed in his head and huge, globular disturbances seemed to fill the air. And, standing waveringly on his feet as the giddy chariot bounced down the track, the captain let forth a sudden yell and sailed off into space. The chariot ponies and hero of the British army had gone crashing into the side lines. * * * * * "When they brought him to the hospital in the ambulance," explained the captain's friend, "they had taken the toga off him, of course, and the old boy was in his dress clothes. This kind o' knocked their eyes out, so what do they do but give him the most expensive suite in the place and the prettiest nurse and the star surgeon. And they mend and feed him up for two weeks. We all called on him and brought him a few flowers. The lad was surely in clover. "The hospital authorities had nothing to go on but this dress suit as evidence. And when the nurse asked him what he wanted done with the suit, saying it was a bit torn from the accident, MacVeagh waves his hand and answers, 'Oh, throw the blasted thing out of the window or give it to the janitor.' And she did. I always thought it quite a story." "But how did it end? What became of the captain when they found out he couldn't pay his bill and all that? And where's he now?" "You'll have to end the thing to suit yourself," said the captain's friend. "All I know is that after almost forgetting about MacVeagh I got a letter from him from London yesterday. A rather mysterious letter on Lady Somebody's stationery. It read something like this: 'The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Thanks for the flowers. And three cheers, me lad, for the British Empire.'" THE SYBARITE They had been poor all their lives. The neighbors said: "It's a wonder how the Sikoras get along." They lived in a rear flat. Four rooms that were dark and three children that were noisy. The three children used Wabansia Avenue as a playground. Dodging wagons and trucks was a diversion which played havoc with their shoes, but increased their skill in dodging wagons and trucks. The neighbors said: "Old man Sikora is pretty sick. It's a wonder where they'll get money to pay the doctor." Then old man Sikora, who wasn't so old (but poverty and hard work with a pick give a man an aged look), was taken to the county hospital. The Sikora children continued to dodge wagons and trucks and Mrs. Sikora went out three days a week to do washing. And the milkman and the grocer came around regularly and explained to Mrs. Sikora that they, too, had to live and she must pay her bills. Then the neighbors said: "Did you hear about it? Old man Sikora died last night in the hospital. What will poor Mrs. Sikora do now? They ain't got a thing." And old man Sikora was brought home because his widow insisted upon it. The neighbors came in and looked at the body and wept with Mrs. Sikora, and the children sat around after school and looked uncomfortably at the walls. And some one asked: "How you going to bury him, Mrs. Sikora?" "Oh," said Mrs. Sikora, "I'm going to have a good funeral." * * * * * There was an insurance policy for $500. The Sikoras had kept it up, scraping together the $10 premiums when the time came. Mrs. Sikora took the policy to the husband of a woman whose washing she had done. The husband was in the real estate business. "I need money to bury my man," she said. "He died last night in the hospital." She was red-eyed and dressed in black and the real estate man said: "What do you want?" When Mrs. Sikora explained he gave her $400 for the policy and she went to an undertaker. Her eyes were still red with crying. They stared at the luxurious fittings of the undertaker's parlors. There were magnificent palms in magnificent jardinières, and plush chairs and large, inviting sofas and an imposing mahogany desk and a cuspidor of shining brass. Mrs. Sikora felt thrilled at the sight of these luxuries. Then the undertaker came in and she explained to him. The neighbors said: "Are you going to Mr. Sikora's funeral? It's going to be a big funeral. I got invited yesterday." Wabansia Avenue was alive with automobiles. Innumerable relatives of Mr. and Mrs. Sikora arrived in automobiles, their faces staring with surprise out of the limousine windows as if they were seeing the world from a new angle. There were also neighbors. These were dressed even more impressively than the relatives. But everybody, neighbors and relatives, had on their Sunday clothes. And the unlucky ones who hadn't been invited leaned out of the windows of Wabansia Avenue and looked enviously at the entourage. There was a band--fifteen pieces. And there was one open automobile filled with flowers, filled to overflowing. The band stopped in front of the Sikora flat, or rather in front of the building, for the Sikora flat was in the rear and Mrs. Sikora didn't want the band to stop in the alley. Then the envious ones leaning out of the windows couldn't see the band and that would be a drawback. The band played, great, sad songs. The cornets and trombones sent a muted shiver through the street. The band stopped playing and the people leaning out of the windows sighed. Ah, it was a nice funeral! Inside the Sikora house four men stood up beside the handsome black coffin and sang. Mrs. Sikora in a voluminous black veil listened with tears running from her face. Never had she heard such beautiful singing before--all in time and all the notes sweet and inspiring. She wept some more and solicitous arms raised her to her feet. Solicitous arms guided her out of the flower-filled room as six men lifted the black coffin and carried it into the street. * * * * * Slowly the automobiles rolled away. And behind the open car heaped with flowers rode Mrs. Sikora. The dolorous music of the band filled her with a gentle ecstasy. The flower scents drifted to her and when her eyes glanced furtively out of the back window of the limousine she could see the procession reaching for almost a half block. All black limousines filled with faces staring in surprise at the street. And in front of the flower car in an ornamental hearse rode Mr. Sikora. The wheels of the hearse were heavily tired. They made no sound and the chauffeur was careful that his precious burden should not be joggled. Slowly through the loop the procession picked its way. Crowds of people paused to stare back at the staring ones in the automobiles and to listen to the--fine music that rose above the clamor of the "L" trains and the street cars and the trucks. The sun lay over the cemetery. The handsome black coffin went out of sight. The fifteen musicians began to play once more and Mrs. Sikora, weeping anew, allowed solicitous arms to help her back into the limousine and with a sigh she leaned back and closed her eyes and let herself weep while the music played, while the limousine rolled smoothly along. It was like a dream, a strange thing imagined or read about somewhere. * * * * * The neighbors sniffed indignantly. "Did you hear about Mrs. Sikora?" they said. These were the same ones who had leaned enviously out of the Wabansia Avenue windows. "She spent all her insurance money on a crazy funeral," the neighbors said, "and did you hear about it? The Juvenile Court is going to take her children away because she can't support them. The officer was out to see her yesterday and she's got no money to pay her bills. She spent the whole money--it was something like $2,000--on the funeral. Huh!" Mrs. Sikora, weeping, explained to the Juvenile Court officer. "My man died," she said, "and--and I spent the money for the funeral. It was not for myself, but for him I spent the money." It will turn out all right, some day. And in the meantime Mrs. Sikora, when she is washing clothes for someone, will be able when her back aches too much to remember the day she rode in the black limousine and the band played and the air was filled with the smell of flowers. DAPPER PETE AND THE SUCKER PLAY Dapper Pete Handley, the veteran con man, shook hands all around with his old friends in the detective bureau and followed his captors into the basement. Another pinch for Dapper Pete; another jam to pry out of. The cell door closed and Pete composed his lean, gambler's face, eyed his manicured nails and with a sigh sat down on the wooden cell bench to wait for his lawyer. "Whether I'm guilty of this or not," said Dapper Pete, "it goes to show what a sucker a guy is--even a smart guy. This ain't no sermon against a life of crime I'm pulling, mind you. I'm too old to do that and my sense of humor is workin' too good. I'm only sayin' what a sucker a guy is--sometimes. Take me." Dapper Pete registered mock woe. "Not that I'm guilty, mind you, or anything like that. But on general principles I usually keep out of the way of the coppers. Especially when there's been a misunderstanding concerning some deal or other. Well, how I happen to be here just goes to show what a sucker a guy is--even me." * * * * * Pressed for the key to his self-accusation, Dapper Pete continued: "I come straight here from Grand Island, Neb. I had a deal on in Grand Island and worked it for a couple of months. And after I finished there was trouble and I left. I knew there would be warrants and commotion, the deal having flopped and a lot of prominent citizens feeling as if they had been bilked. You know how them get-rich-quick investors are. If they don't make 3,000 per cent profit over night they raise a squawk right away. And wanna arrest you. "So I lit out and came to Chicago and when I got here some friends of mine tipped me off that there was considerable hunt for me. Well, I figured that the Nebraska coppers had let out a big holler and I thought it best to lay kind of low and keep out of trouble. That was only last week, you see. "So I get the bright idea. Layin' around town with nothin' to do but keep out of sight ain't the cinch it sounds. You get so sick and tired of your own company that you're almost ready to throw your arms around the first harness bull you meet. "But," smiled Dapper Pete, "I restrained myself." There was time out while Pete discussed the irresponsibility, cruelty and selfishness of policemen in general. After which he continued with his original narrative: "It was like this," he said. "I made up my mind that I would take in a few of the points of interest in the city I ain't ever got around to. Being a Chicagoan, like most Chicagoans I ain't ever seen any of our natural wonders at all. So first day out I figured that the place no copper would ever look for me would be like the Field Museum and in the zoo and on the beach and like that. "So, first of all, I join a rubberneck crowd in one of the carryalls with a megaphone guy in charge. And I ride around all day. I got kind of nervous owing to the many coppers we kept passing and exchanging courtesies with. But I stuck all day, knowing that no sleuth was going looking for Dapper Pete on a rubberneck wagon. "Well, then I spent three days in the Field Museum, eyeing the exhibits. Can you beat it? I walk around and walk around rubbering at mummies and bones and--well, I ain't kiddin', but they was among the three most interesting days I ever put in. And I felt pretty good, too, knowin' that no copper would be thinking of Dapper Pete as being in the museums. "Then after that I went to the zoo and, rubbered at the animals and birds. And I sat in the park and watched comical ball games and golf games and the like. And then I went on some of those boats that run between no place and nowhere--you get on at a pier and ride for a half hour and get off at a pier and have to call a taxi in order to find your way back to anywhere. You get me? "I'm tellin' you all this," said Dapper Pete cautiously, "with no reference to the charges involved and for which I am pinched and incarcerated for, see? But I thought you might make a story out of the way a guy like me with all my experience dogin' coppers can play himself for a sucker. "Well, pretty soon I pretty near run out of rube spots to take in. And then I think suddenly of the observation towers like on the Masonic Temple and the Wrigley Building. I headed for them right away, figuring to take a sandwich or so along and spend the day leisurely giving the city the once over from my eerie perch. "And when I come home that night and told my friends about it they was all excited. They all agreed that I had made the discovery of the age and all claimed to feel sorry they wasn't hiding out from the coppers, just for the sake of bein' able to lay low on top of a loop building. It does sound pretty good, even now. "I was on my fifth day and was just walking in on the Masonic Temple observation platform when things began to happen. You know how the city looks from high up. Like a lot of toys crawling around. And it's nice and cool and on the whole as good a place to lay low in as you want. And there's always kind of comical company, see? Rubes on their honeymoon and sightseers and old maids and finicky old parties afraid of fallin' off, and gals and their Johns lookin' for some quiet place to spoon." * * * * * Dapper Pete sighed in memory. "I am sitting there nibbling a sandwich," he went on, "when a hick comes along and looks at me." "'Hello, pardner,' he says. 'How's the gas mine business?' "And I look at him and pretend I don't savvy at all. But this terrible looking rube grins and walks up to me, so help me God, and pulls back his lapel and shows me the big star. "'You better come along peaceabul,' he says. 'I know you, Pete Handley,' just like that. So I get up and follow this hick down the elevator and he turns me over to a cop on State Street and I am given the ride to the hoosegow. Can you beat it?" "But who was the party with the star and why the pinch?" I asked Dapper Pete. That gentleman screwed his lean, gambler's face into a ludicrous frown. "Him," he sighed, "that was Jim Sloan, constable from Grand Island, Neb. And they sent him here about two weeks ago to find me. See? And all this rube does is ride around in rubberneck wagons and take in the museums and parks, having no idee where I was. He figured merely on enjoyin' himself at Nebraska's expense. "And he was just on the observation tower lookin' over the city in his rube way when I have to walk into him. Yes, sir, Pete Handley, and there ain't no slicker guy in the country, walkin' like a prize sucker right into the arms of a Grand Island, Neb., constable. It all goes to show," sighed Dapper Pete, "what a small world it is after all." WATERFRONT FANCIES Man's capacity for faith is infinite. He is able to believe with passion in things invisible. He can achieve a fantastic confidence in the Unknowable. Here he sits on the breakwater near the Municipal Pier, a fishpole in his hand, staring patiently into the agate-colored water. He can see nothing. The lake is enormous. It contains thousands of square miles of water. And yet this man is possessed of an unshakable faith that by some mysterious legerdemain of chance a fish, with ten thousand square miles of water to swim in safely, will seek out the little minnow less than an inch in length which he has lowered beside the breakwater. And so, the victim of preposterous conviction, he sits and eyes the tip of his fishpole with unflagging hope. It is warm. The sun spreads a brightly colored but uncomfortable woolen blanket over their heads. A tepid breeze, reminiscent of cinders, whirl idly over the warm cement. Strung along the pier are a hundred figures, all in identical postures. They sit in defiance of all logic, all mathematics. For it is easy to calculate that if there are a half million fish in Lake Michigan and each fish displaces less than five cubic inches of water there would be only two and a half million cubic inches of fish altogether lost in an expanse containing at least eight hundred billion cubic inches of water. Therefore, the chance of one fish being at any one particular spot are one in four hundred thousand. In other words, the odds against each of these strangely patient men watching the ends of their fishpoles--the odds against their catching a fish--are four hundred thousand to one. * * * * * It is therefore somewhat amazing to stand and watch what happens along the sunny breakwater. Every three minutes one of the poles jerks out of the water with a wriggling prize on the hook. "How are they coming?" we ask. "Oh, so, so," answers one of the fishermen and points mutely to a string of several dozen perch floating under his feet in the water. Thus does man, by virtue of his faith, rise above the science of mathematics and the barriers of logic. Thus is his fantastic belief in things unseen and easily disproved vindicated. He catches fish where by the law of probabilities there should be no fish. With the whole lake stretching mockingly before him he sits consumed with a preposterous, a fanatical faith in the little half-inch minnow dangling at the end of his line. The hours pass. The sun grows hotter. The piles of stone and steel along the lake front seem to waver. From the distant streets come faint noises. On a hot day the city is as appealing as a half-cooled cinder patch. Poor devils in factories, poor devils in stores, in offices. One must sigh thinking of them. Life is even vaster than the lake in which these fishermen fish. And happiness is mathematically elusive as the fish for which the fishermen wait. And yet-- An old man with a battered face. A young man with a battered face. Silent, stoical, battered-looking men with fishpoles. A hundred, two hundred, they sit staring into the water of the lake as if they were looking for something. For fish? Incredible. One does not sit like this watching for something to become visible. Why? Because then there would be an air of suspense about the watcher. He would grow nervous after an hour, when the thing remained still invisible, and finally he would fall into hysterics and unquestionably shriek. And these men grow calmer. Then what are they looking at, hour after hour, under the hot sun? Nothing. They are letting the rhythm of water and sky lull them into a sleep--a surcease from living. This is a very poetical thing for a hundred battered-looking men to attempt. Yet life may be as intimidating to honest, unimaginative ones as to their self-styled superiors. There are many types fishing. But all of them look soiled. Idlers, workers, unhappy ones--they come to forget, to let the agate eye of the lake stare them into a few hours of oblivion. But there is something else. Long ago men hunted and fished to keep alive. They fought with animals and sat with empty stomachs staring at the water, not in quest of Nirvanas but of fish. So now, after ages and ages have passed, there is left a vague memory of this in the minds of these fishermen. This memory makes them still feel a certain thrill in the business of pursuit. Even as they sit, stoical and inanimate, forgetful of unpaid bills, unfinished and never-to-be-finished plans--there comes this curious thrill. A mouth tugs at the little minnow. The pole jerks electrically in the hand. Something alive is on the hook. And the fisherman for an instant recovers his past. He is Ab, fighting with an evening meal off the coast of Wales, two glacial periods ago. His body quivers, his muscles set, his eyes flash. Zip! The line leaps out of the water. Another monster of the deep, whose conquest is necessary for the survival of the race of man, has been overcome. There he hangs, writhing on a hook! There he swings toward his triumphant foe, and the hand of the fisherman on the municipal breakwater, trembling with mysterious elation, closes about the wet, firm body of an outraged perch. * * * * * A make-believe hunt that now bears the name of sport. Yes, but not always. Here is one with a red, battered face and a curiously practical air about him. He is putting his fish in a basket and counting them. Two dozen perch. "Want to sell them?" He shakes his head. "What are you going to do with them?" He looks up and grins slowly. Then he points to his lips with his fingers and makes signs. This means he is dumb. He places his hand over his stomach and grins again. He is going to eat them. It is time to go home and do this, so he puts up his fishpole and packs his primitive paraphernalia--a tin can, a rusty spike, a bamboo pole. Here is one, then, who, in the heart of the steel forest called civilization, still seeks out long forgotten ways of keeping life in his body. He hunts for fish. The sun slides down the sky. The fishermen begin to pack up. They walk with their heads down and bent forward like number 7s. They raise their eyes occasionally to the piles of stone and steel that mark the city front. Back to their troubles and their cinder patch, but--and this is a curious fact--their eyes gleam with hope and curiosity. THE SNOB We happen to be on the same street car. A drizzle softens the windows. She sits with her pasty face and her dull, little eyes looking out at the dripping street. Her cotton suit curls at the lapels. The ends of her shoes curl like a pair of burlesque Oriental slippers. She holds her hands in her lap. Red, thick fingers that whisper tiredly, "We have worked," lie in her lap. A slavey on her day off. There is no mistaking this. Nineteen or twenty years old, homely as a mud fence; ungraceful, doltish, she sits staring out of the window and her eyes blink at the rain. A peasant from southeastern Europe, a field hand who fell into the steerage of a transatlantic liner and fell out again. Now she has a day off and she goes riding into the country on a street car. She will get off and slosh with her heavy feet through wet grass. She will walk down the muddied roads and drink in the odor of fields and trees once more. These are romantic conjectures. The car jolts along. It is going west. The rain continues. It runs diagonal dots across the window. Everybody out. This is the end of the line. I have gone farther than necessary. But there is the slavey. We have been talking. At least I talked. She listened, her doltish face opening its mouth, her little eyes blinking. She has pimples, her skin is muddied. A distressful-looking creature. Yet there is something. This is her day off--a day free from the sweat of labor--and she goes on a street car into the country. So it would seem that under this blinking, frowzy exterior desire spreads its wings. She has memories, this blousy one. She has dreams. The drizzle flies softly through the air. The city has disappeared. We walk down an incongruous stretch of pavement. It leads toward a forest or what looks like a forest. There are no houses. The sky asserts itself. I look up, but the shambling one whose clothes become active under water keeps her eyes to the pavement. This is disillusioning! "Here, slavey, is the sky," I think; "it becomes romantic for the moment because to you it is the symbol of lost dreams, or happy hours in fields. To me it is nothing but a sky. I have no interest in skies. But I am looking at it for you and enjoying it through your romantic eyes." But her romantic eyes are oblivious. They consult the rain-washed pavement before her and nothing else. Very well, there are other and nicer skies in her heart that she contemplates. This is an inferior sky overhead. We walk on. You see, I have been wrong. It is not green fields that lured the heavy feet of this slavey. She is not a peasant Cinderella. Grief, yes, hidden sorrow, has led her here. This is a cemetery. It rains over the cemetery. There is silence. The white stones glisten. They stand like beggars asking alms of the winding paths. And this blousy one has come to be close to one of the white stones. Under one of them lies somebody whose image still lives in her heart. She will kneel in the wet grass and her pasty little face will blink its dull eyes over a grave. Like a little clown in her curling cotton suit, her lumpy shoes, her idiotic hat, she will offer her tears to the pitiless silence of trees, wind, rain and white stones. "Do you like them there?" She asks. She points to a cluster of fancy headstones. "Do you?" I ask. She smiles. "Oh yes," she says. And she stops. She is admiring the tombstones. We walk on. It is incredible. This blousy one, this dull-eyed one has come to the cemetery on her day off--to admire the tombstones. Ah, here is drama of a poignant kind. Let us pray God there is nothing pathologic here and that this is an idyl of despair, that the lumpish little slavey sits on the rain-washed bench dreaming of fine tombstones as a flapper might dream of fine dresses. Yes, at last we are on the track. We talk. These are very pretty, she says. Life is dull. The days are drab. The place where she works is like an oven. There is nothing pretty to look at--even in mirrors there is nothing cool and pretty. Clothes grow lumpy when she puts them on. Boys giggle and call names when she goes out. And so, outcast, she comes here to the cemetery to dream of a day when something cool and pretty will belong to her. A headstone, perhaps a stately one with a figure above it. It will stand over her. She will be dead then and unable to enjoy it. But now she is alive. Now she can think of how pretty the stone will look and thus enjoy it in advance. This, after all, is the technique of all dreams. We grow confidential. I have asked what sort she likes best, what sort it pleases her most to think about as standing over her grave when she dies. And she has pointed some out. It rains. The trees shake water and the wind hurries past the white stones. "I will tell you something," she says. "Here, look at this." From one of her curled pockets she removes a piece of paper. It is crumpled. I open it and read: "In Case of Accident please notify Misses Burbley,--Sheridan Road, and have body removed to Home of Parents who are residants of Corliss Wisconsin where they have resided for twenty Years and the diseased is a only Daughter named Clara. Age nineteen and educated in Corliss public Schools where she Graduated as a girl but came to Chicago in serch of employment and in case of accident funeral was held from Home of the Parents, many Frends attending and please Omit flours...." "I got lot of them writ out," said Clara, blinking. "You wanna read more? Why I write them out? Oh, because, you can't tell, maybe you get run over and in accident and how they going to know who you are or what to do with the diseased if they don't find something?" Her thick red hands grew excited. She produced further obituaries. From her pocketbook, from her bosom, from her pockets and one from under her hat. I read them. They were all alike, couched in vaguely bombastic terms. We sat in the rain and I thought: "Alas, Clara is a bounder. A snob. She writes her own obituaries. Alive she can think of herself only as Clara, the slavey at whom the boys giggle and call names. But dead, she is the 'deseased'--the stately corpse commanding unprecedented attention. The prospect stirs a certain snobbishness in her. And she sits and writes her death notices out--using language she tries to remember from reading the funeral accounts of rich and powerful people." Clara, her hat awry, her doltish body sagging in the rain--shuffled down the dirt road once more. Her outing is over. Cinderella returns to the ashes of life. THE WAY HOME He shuffles around in front of the Clinton Street employment agency. The signs say: "Pick men wanted, section hands wanted, farm laborers wanted." A Mexican stands woodenly against the window front. His eyes are open but asleep. He has the air of one come from a far country who lives upon memories. There are others--roughly dressed exiles. Their eyes occasionally study the signs, deciphering with difficulty the crudely chalked words on the bulletin boards. Slav, Swede, Pole, Italian, Greek--they read in a language foreign to them that men are wanted on the farms in the Dakotas, in the lumber camps, on the roadbeds in Montana. Hard-handed men with dull, seamed faces and glittering eyes--the spike-haired proletaire from a dozen lands looking for jobs. But this one who shuffles about in a tattered mackinaw, huge baggy trousers frayed at the feet, this one whose giant's body swings loosely back and forth under the signs, is a more curious exile. His Mexican brother leaning woodenly against the window has a slow dream in his eyes. Life is simple to his thought. It was hard for him in Mexico. And adventure and avarice sent him northward in quest of easier ways and more numerous comforts. Now he hunts a job on a chilly spring morning. When the proper job is chalked up on the bulletin board he will go in and ask for it. He stands and waits and thinks how happy he was in the country he abandoned and what a fool he was to leave the white dust of its roads, its hills and blazing suns. And some day, he thinks, he will go back, although there is nothing to go back for. Yet it is pleasant to stand and dream of a place one has known and whither one may return. But this one who shuffles, this giant in a tattered mackinaw who slouches along under the bulletin signs asking for section hands and laborers, there is no dream of remembered places in his eyes. Dull, blue eyes that peer bewilderedly out of a powerful and empty face. The forehead is puckered as if in thought. The heavy jaws protrude with a hint of ferocity in their set. There is a reddish cast to his hair and face and the backs of his great hands, hanging limply almost to his knees, are covered with red hair. The nose of this shuffling one is larger than the noses in the city streets. His fingers are larger, his neck is larger. There is a curious earthy look to this shuffling one seldom to be seen about men in streets. He is a huge creature with great thighs and Laocoön sinews and he towers a head above his brothers in front of the employment office. He is of a different mold from the men in the street. Strength ripples under his tattered mackinaw and his stiff looking hands could break the heads of two men against each other like eggshells while they rained puny blows on his dull face. And yet of all the men moving about on the pavement in front of the Clinton Street bulletin boards it is this shuffling one who is the most impotent seeming. His figure is the most helpless. It slouches as under a final defeat. His eyes are the dullest. He stops at the corner and stands waiting, his head lowered, his shoulders hunched in and he looks like a man weighed down by a harness. * * * * * A curious exile from whose blood has vanished all memory of the country to which he belongs. A faraway land, ages beyond the sun-warmed roads of which his Mexican brother dreams as he stands under the bulletin boards. A land which the ingenuity of the world has left forever behind. This is a land that once reached over all the seas. For it was like this that men once looked in an age before the myths of the Persians and Hindus began to fertilize the animal soul of the race. In the forests north of the earliest cities of Greece, along the wild coasts tapering from the Tatar lands to the peninsula of the Basques, men like this shuffling one once ranged alone and in tribes. Huge, powerful men whose foreheads sloped back and whose jaws sloped forward and whose stiff hands reached an inch nearer their knees than today. This giant in the tattered mackinaw is an exile from this land and there is no dream of it left in his blood. The body of his fathers has returned to him. Their long, loose arms, their thick muscles and heavy pounding veins are his, but their voices are buried too deep to rise again in him. The mutterings of warrior councils, the shouts of terrible hunts are lost somewhere in him and he shuffles along, his sloping forehead in a pucker of thought as if he were trying to remember. But no memories come. Instead a bewilderment. The swarming streets bewilder him. The towering buildings, the noises of traffic and people dull his eyes and bring his shoulders together like the shoulders of some helpless captive. * * * * * He returns to the employment office and raises his eyes to the bulletin boards. He reads slowly, his large lips moving as they form words. In another day or another week he will be riding somewhere, his dull eyes gazing out of the train window. They will call him Ole or Pat or Jim in some camp in the Dakotas or along some roadbed in Montana. He will stand with a puny pick handle in his huge hands and his arms will rise and fall mechanically as he hews away along a deserted track. And his forehead will still be puckered in a frown of bewilderment. The thing held in his fists will seem like a strange toy. "Farm laborers in Kansas," says the bulletin board as the clerk with his piece of chalk re-enters the office. The Mexican slowly removes himself from the window and the contemplation of memories. Kansas lies to the south and to the south is the way home. He goes in and talks to the man behind the long desk. An hour later the clerk and his piece of chalk emerge. The exiles are still mooching around on the pavement and the shuffling one stands on the curb staring dully at the street under him. "Section hands, Alberta, Canada, transportation," says the new bulletin. There is no stir among the exiles. This is to the north. It is still cold in the north. But the shuffling one has turned. His eyes again trace the crudely chalked letters of the bulletin board. His lips move as he tells himself what is written. And then as if unconsciously he moves toward the door. Alberta is to the north and the voices that lie buried deep under the giant's mackinaw whisper darkly that to the north--to the north is the way home. THE PIG "Sofie Popapovitch versus Anton Popapovitch," cries the clerk. A number of broken-hearted matrons awaiting their turn before the bar of justice in the Domestic Relations Court find time to giggle at the name Popapovitch. "Silence," cries the clerk. Very well, silence. Anton steps out. What's the matter with Anton? An indignant face, its chin raised, its eyes marching defiantly to the bar of justice. Sofie too, but weeping. And a lawyer, Sofie's lawyer. Well, what's up? Why should the Popapovitches take up valuable time. Think of the taxpayers supporting this court and two Popapovitches marching up to have an argument on the taxpayers' money. Well, that's civilization. Ah, ah! It appears that Anton, the rogue, went to a grand ball and raffle given by his lodge. What's wrong with that? Why must Sofie weep over that? Women are incredible. He went to the grand ball with his wife, as a man should. A very fine citizen, Anton. He belongs to a lodge that gives grand balls and he takes his wife. Go on, says the judge, what happened? What's the complaint? Time is precious. Let's have it in a nutshell. This is a good idea. People spend a frightful lot of unnecessary time weeping and mumbling in the courts. Mrs. Popapovitch will please stop weeping and get down to brass tacks. Very well, the complaint is, your honor, that Mr. Popapovitch got drunk at the grand ball. But that wasn't the end of it. There's some more. A paragraph of tears and then, your honor, listen to this: Mr. Popapovitch not only got drunk but he took a chance on the raffle which cost one dollar and he won. But what did he win! Oh, oh! He won a pig. A live pig. That was the prize. A small, live pig with a ribbon round its neck. And, says Mrs. Popapovitch (there's humor in a long foreign-sounding name because it conjures up visions of bewildered, flat-faced people and bewildered, flat-faced people are always humorous), and, says she, they had been married ten years. Happily married. She washed, scrubbed, tended house. There were no children. Well, what of that? Lots of people had no children. Anyway, Anton worked, brought home his pay envelope O.K. And then he wins this pig. And what does he do? He takes it home. He won't leave it anywhere. "What!" he says, "I leave this pig anywhere? Are you crazy? It's my pig. I win him. I take him home with me." And then? Well, it's midnight, your honor. And Anton carries the pig upstairs into the flat. But there's no place to put him. Where can one put a pig in a flat, your honor? No place. The pig don't like to stand on carpets. And what pig likes to sleep on hard wood floors? A pig's a pig. And what's good for a pig? Aha! a pig pen. So, your honor, Anton puts him in the bathtub. And he starts down stairs with a basket and all night long he keeps bringing up basketfuls of dirt dug up from the alley. Dirt, cinders, more dirt. And he puts it in the bathtub. And what does the pig do? He squeals, grunts and wants to go home. He fights to get out of the bathtub. There's such a noise nobody can sleep. But Anton says, "Nice little pig. I fix you up fine. Nice little pig." And so he fills the bathtub up with dirt. Then he turns on the water. And what does he say? He says, "Now, little pig, we have fine mud for you. Nice fine mud." Yes, your honor, a whole bathtub full of mud. And when the pig sees this he gets happy and lies down and goes to sleep. And Anton sits in the bathroom and looks at the pig all night and says, "See. He's asleep. It's like home for him." But the next day Anton must go to work. All right, he'll go to work. But first, understand everybody, he don't want this pig touched. The pig stays in the bathtub and he must be there when he comes home. All right. The pig stays in the bathtub, your honor. Anton wants it. Tomorrow the pig will be killed and that'll be an end for the pig. Anton comes home and he goes in the bathroom and he sits and looks at the pig and complains the mud is dried up and why don't somebody take care of his pig. His damn pig. He brings up more dirt and makes more mud. And the pig tries to climb out and throws mud all over the bathroom. That's one day. And then there's another day. And finally a third day. Will Anton let anybody kill his pig? Aha! He'll break somebody's neck if he does. But, your honor, Mrs. Popapovitch killed the pig. A terrible thing, isn't it, to kill a pig that keeps squealing in the bathtub and splashing mud all day? But what does Anton do when he comes home and finds his pig killed? My God! He hits her, your honor. He hits her on the head. His own wife whom he loves and lives with for ten years. He throws her down and hollers, "You killed my little pig! You good for nothing. I'll show you." What a disgrace for the neighbors! Lucky there are no children, your honor. Married ten years but no children. And it's lucky now. Because the disgrace would have been worse. The neighbors come. They pull him away from his wife. Her eye is black and blue. Her nose is bleeding. That's all, your honor. A very bad case for Anton Popapovitch. A decidedly bad case. Step forward, Anton Popapovitch, and explain it, if you can. Did you beat her up? Did you do this thing? And are you ashamed and willing to apologize and kiss and make up? Anton, step forward and tell his honor. But be careful. Mrs. Popapovitch has a lawyer and it will go bad with you if you don't talk carefully. All right. Here's Anton. He nods and keeps on nodding. What is this? What's he nodding about? Did this happen as your wife says, Anton? Anton blows out his cheeks and rubs his workingman's hand over his mouth. To think that you should beat your wife who has always been good to you, Anton. Who has cooked and been true to you! And there are no children to worry you. Not one. And you beat her. Bah, is that a man? Don't you love your wife? Yes. All right, then why did you do it? Anton looks up surprised. "Because," says Anton, still surprised, "like she say. She kill my pig. You hear yourself, your honor. She say she kill him. And I put him in the bathtub and give him mud. And she kill him." But is that a reason to beat your wife and nearly kill her? It is, says Anton. Well, then, why? Tell the judge, why you were so fond of this pig, Anton. Ah, yes, Anton Popapovitch, tell the judge why you loved this little pig so much and made a home for him with mud in the bathtub. Why you dreamed of him as you stood working in the factory? Why you ran home to him and fed him and sat and looked at him and whispered "Nice little pig?" Why? God knows. But Anton Popapovitch can't explain it. It must remain one of the mysteries of our city, your honor. Call the next case. Put Anton Popapovitch on parole. Perhaps it was because..., well, the matter is ended. Anton Popapovitch sighs and looks with accusing eyes at his wife Sofie, with accusing eyes that hint at evidence unheard. THE LITTLE FOP This little caricature of a fop, loitering in the hotel lobby, enthralled by his own fastidiousness, gazing furtively at the glisten of his newly manicured nails and shuddering with awe at the memory of the puckered white silk lining inside his Prince of Wales derby--I've watched him for more than a month now. Here he comes, his pointed button shoes, his razor-edged trousers, his natty tan overcoat with its high waist band and its amazing lapels that stick up over his shoulders like the ears of a jackass, here he comes embroidered and scented and looking like a cross between a soft-shoe dancer and a somnambulist. And here he takes his position, holding his gloves in his hand, his Prince of Wales derby jammed down on his patent-leather hair. Observe him. This is a pose. He is living up to a fashion illustration in one of the magazines. Or perhaps he is duplicating an attitude of some one studied in a Michigan Avenue club entrance. His right arm is crooked as if he were about to place his hand over his heart and bow. His left arm hangs with a slight curve at his side. His feet should be together, but they shift nervously. His head is turned to the left and slightly raised--like a movie actor posing for a cigarette advertisement. And there he stands, a dead ringer for one of the waxen dummies to be seen in a Halsted Street Men's Snappy Furnishings Store. * * * * * I've watched him for a month, off and on. And his face still says nothing. His eyes are curiously emotionless. They appear suddenly in his face. He is undersized. His nose, despite the recent massage and powder, has a slight oleaginous gleam to it. The cheek bones are a bit high, the mouth a trifle wide and the chin slightly bulbous. As he blinks about him with his small, almost Mongolian eyes he looks like some honest little immigrant from Bohemia or Poland whom a malignant sorcerer has changed into a caricature fashion plate. This is, indeed, the legend of Cinderella and the fairy godmother with an ending of pathos. Yet, though his face says nothing, there is a provoking air to this little fop. His studied inanimation, his crudely self-conscious pose, his dull, little, peasant eyes staring at the faces that drift by in the lobby--these ask for translation. Why is he here? What does he want? Why does he come every evening and stand and watch the little hotel parade? Ah, one never sees him in the dining room or on the dance floor. One never meets him between the acts in the theater lobby. And one never sees him talking to anybody. He is always alone. People pass him with a curious glance and think to themselves, "Ah, a young man about town! What a shame to dissipate like that!" They sometimes notice the masterly way in which he sizes up a fur-coated "chicken" stalking thin-leggedly through the lobby and think to themselves: "The scoundrel! He's the kind of creature that makes a big city dangerous. A carefully combed and scented vulture waiting to swoop down from the side lines." Evening after evening between 6 o'clock and midnight he drifts in and out of the lobby, up and down Randolph Street and takes up his position at various points of vantage where crowds pass, where women pass. I've watched him. No one ever talks to him. There are no salutations. He is unknown and worse. For the women, the rouged and ornamental ones, know him a bit too well. They know the carefully counted nickels in his trousers pocket, the transfers he is saving for the three-cent rebate that may come some day, the various newspaper coupons through which he hopes to make a killing. All this they know and through a sixth sense, a curious instinct of sex divination, they know the necktie counter or information desk behind which he works during the day, the stuffy bedroom to which he will go home to sleep, the vacuity of his mind and gaudy emptiness of his spirit. They know all this and pass him up with never a smile. Yes, even the manicure girls in the barber shop give him the out-and-out sneer and the hat-check girls and even the floor girls--the chambermaids--all of whom he has tried to date up--they all respond with an identical raspberry to his invitations. But he asks for translation--this determined little caricature of the hotel lobby. A little peasant masquerading as a dazzled moth around the bright lights. Not entirely. There is something else. There is something of a great dream behind the ridiculous pathos of this over-dressed little fool. There is something in him that desires expression, that will never achieve expression, and that will always leave him just such an absurd little clown of a fop. * * * * * When the manicure girls read this they will snort. Because they know him too well. "Of all the half-witted dumbbells I ever saw in my life," they will say, "he wins the cement earmuffs. Nobody home, honest to Gawd, he's nothin' but a nasty little fourflusher. We know him and his kind." Fortunately I don't know him as well as the manicure girls do, so there is room for this speculation as I watch him in the evening now and then. I see him standing under the blaze of lobby lights, in the thick of passing fur coats and dinner jackets, in the midst of laughter, escorts, intrigues, actors, famous names. He stands perfectly still, with his right arm crooked as if he were going to place his hand over his heart and bow, with his left arm slightly curved at his side. Grace. This is a pose denoting grace. He got it somewhere from an illustration. And he holds it. Here is life. The real stuff. The real thing. Lights and laughter. Glories, coiffures, swell dames, great actors, guys loaded with coin. His little Mongolian eyes blink through his amusing aplomb. Here are gilded pillars and marbled walls, great rugs and marvelous furniture. Here music is playing somewhere and people are eating off gold-edged dishes. * * * * * And now you will smile at me, not him. Because watching him of evenings, on and off, a curious notion takes hold of my thoughts. I have noticed the race oddities of his face, the Mongolian eyes, the Slavic cheek bones, the Italian hair. A mixed breed, this little fop. Mixed through a dozen centuries. Fathers and mothers that came from a hundred parts of the earth. But down the centuries they had one thing in common. Servitude. The Carlovingian courts, the courts of the De Medici, the Valois, and long before that, the great houses that lay around the Roman hills. Dragged from their villages, east, west, north and south, they flitted in the trappings of servitude through the vast halls of tyrants, barons, Caesars, sybarites, debauchees. They were the torchbearers, the caitiffs, the varlets, the bathkeepers, the inanimate figures whose faces watched from the shadows the great orgies of Tiberius, the bacchanals of satraps, kings, captains and squires. And here their little great-great-grandson stands as they stood, the ghost of their servitude in his sluggish blood. He is content with his role of watcher as his people were content. These slightly grotesque trappings of his are a disguise. He wishes to disguise the fact that he is of the torchbearers, the varlets, the bathkeepers who produced him. So he imitates servilely what he fancies to be the distinguishing marks of his betters--their clothes, their manners, their aplomb. This accomplished, he is content to yield himself to the mysterious impulses and dreams that move silently through him. And so he takes his position beside his people--the mixed breeds dragged from their scattered villages--so he stands as they stood through the centuries, their faces watching from the shadows the gorgeousness and tumult of the great aristocrats. MOTTKA Since most of the great minds that have weighed the subject have arrived at the opinion that between poverty and crime there is an inevitable affinity, the suspicion with which the eye of Policeman Billings rested upon Mottka, the vender of roasted chestnuts, reflected creditably upon that good officer's grasp of the higher philosophies. Policeman Billings, sworn to uphold the law and assist in the protection of property, viewed the complications and mysteries of the social system with a simple and penetrating logic. The rich are not dangerous, reasoned Policeman Billings, because they have what they want. But the poor who have not what they want are, despite paradox and precedent, always to be watched closely. A raggedly dressed man walking in a dark, lonely street may be honesty itself. Yet rags, even when worn for virtue's sake, are a dubious assurance of virtue. They are always ominous to one sworn to protect property and uphold the law. There is a maxim by Chateaubriand, or perhaps it was Stendhal--maxims have a way of leaving home--which claims that the equilibrium of society rests upon the acquiescence of its oppressed and unfortunate. * * * * * In passing the battered chestnut roaster of the unfortunate Mottka, Policeman Billings was aware in his own way of the foregoing elements of social philosophy. Mottka had chosen for his little shop an old soapbox which a wastrel providence had deposited in the alley on Twenty-second Street, a few feet west of State Street. Here Mottka sat, nursing the fire of his chestnut roaster with odd bits of refuse which seldom reached the dignity of coal or even wood. He was an old man and the world had used him poorly. He was, in fact, one of those upon whom the equilibrium of the social system rests. He was unfortunate, oppressed and acquiescent. Arriving early in the forenoon he set up his shop, lighted his fire and took his place on the soapbox. When the lights began to wink out along this highway of evil ghosts Mottka was still to be seen hunched over his chestnut roaster and waiting. Policeman Billings strolling over his beat was wont to observe Mottka. There were many things demanding the philosophical attention of Policeman Billings. Not so long ago the neighborhood which he policed had been renowned to the four corners of the earth as the rendezvous of more temptations than even St. Anthony enumerated in his interesting brochure on the subject. And Policeman Billings felt the presence of much of this evil lingering in the brick walls, broken windows and sagging pavements of the district. It was after a number of days on the beat that Policeman Billings began to take Mottka seriously. There was something curious about the chestnut vender, and the eye of the good officer grew narrow with suspicion. "This man," reasoned Policeman Billings, "makes pretense of being a vender of roasted chestnuts. He sits all day in the alley between two saloons. I have never noticed him sell any chestnuts. And come to think of it, I have never seen more than a half-dozen chestnuts on his roasting pan. I begin to suspect that this old man is a fraud and that his roasting chestnuts is a blind. He is very likely a lookout for some bootlegger gang or criminal mob. And I will keep an eye on him." * * * * * Mottka remained unaware of Policeman Billing's attention. He continued to sit hunched over his roaster, nursing the little fire under it as best he could--and waiting. But finally Policeman Billings called himself to his attention in no uncertain way. "What's your name?" asked the good officer, stopping before the chestnut vender. "Mottka," answered Mottka. "And what are you doing here?" asked Policeman Billings, frowning. "I roast chestnuts and sell them," said Mottka. "Hm!" said Policeman Billings, "you do, eh? Well, we'll see about that. Come along." Mottka rose without question. One does not ask questions of an officer of the law. Mottka stood up and put the fire out and put the handful of chestnuts in his pocket and picked up his roaster and followed the officer. A half-hour later Mottka stood before the sergeant in the Twenty-second street station. "What's the trouble?" asked the sergeant. And Policeman Billings explained. "He claims to be selling chestnuts and roasting them. But I never see him sell any, much less do I see him roasting any. He's got about a dozen chestnuts altogether and I think he may bear looking into." "What about it, Mottka?" asked the sergeant. Mottka shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and smiled deprecatingly. "Nothing," he said, "I got a chestnut roaster I got from a friend on the West Side. And I try to make business. I got a license." "But the officer says you never roast any chestnuts and he thinks you're a fake." "Yes, yes," smiled Mottka; "I don't have so many chestnuts. I can't afford only a little bit at a time. Some time I buy a basket of chestnuts." "Where do you live, Mottka?" "Oh, on the West Side. On the West Side." "And what did you do before you roasted chestnuts?" "Me? Oh, I was in a business. Yes, in a business. And it failed. So I got the chestnut roaster. I got a license." "It seems to me I've seen you before, Mottka." "Yes, yes. A policeman bring me here before when I was on Wabash Avenue with my chestnuts." "What did he bring you in for?" "Oh, because he thinks I am a crook, because I don't have enough chestnuts to sell. He says I am a lookout for crooks and he brings me in." Mottka laughed softly and shrugged his shoulders. "I am no crook. Only I am too poor to buy more chestnuts." Policeman Billings frowned, but not at Mottka. "Here," said the good officer, and he handed Mottka a dollar. Three other upholders of the law were present and they too handed Mottka money. "Go and buy yourself some chestnuts, Mottka," said the sergeant, "so the officers won't be runnin' you in on suspicion of bein' a criminal." Now Mottka's chestnut roaster in the alley off State Street is full of chestnuts. A bright fire burns under the pan and Mottka sits watching the chestnuts brown and peel as they roast. And if you were to ask him about things he would say: "Tell something? What is there to tell? Nothing." "FA'N TA MIG!" Avast and belay there! Take in the topgallants, wind up the mizzenmast and reef the cleets! This is Tobias Wooden-Leg plowing his way through a high sea in Grand Avenue. Aye, what a night, what a night! The devil astride the jib boom, his tail lashing in the wind. "Pokker!" says Tobias, "fa'n ta mig. Hold tight and here we go!" The boys in the Elite poolroom stand grinning in the doorway. Old Norske Tobias is on a tear again, his red face shining with the memory of Stavanger storms, his beard bristling like a north cat's back. An Odin in caricature. They watch him pass. Drunker than a fiddler's wench. Drunker than a bootlegger's pal. Drunk as the devil himself and roaring at the top of his voice: "Belay, there! Hold tight and here we go!" Poor Tobias Wooden-Leg, the years keep plucking out his hairs and twisting his fingers into talons. Seventy years have squeezed him. And they have brought him piety and wisdom. They have taught him virtue and holiness. But the wind suddenly rises and comes blowing out of Stavanger again. The great sea suddenly lifts under his one good leg. And Tobias with his Bibles and his prayer books struggles in the dark of his Grand Avenue bedroom. The devil comes and sits on his window sill, a devil with long locks and bronze wings beside his ears and a three-pronged pitchfork in his hand. "Ho, ho!" cries this one on the window sill. "What are you doing here, Tobias? With the north wind blowing and the gray seas standing on their heads? Grown old, Tobias, eh? Sitting in a corner and mumbling over litanies." And it has always been like that since he came to Grand Avenue ten years ago. It has always turned out that Tobias takes off his white shirt and puts on his sailor's black sweater and fastens on his old wooden leg and follows the one on the window sill. * * * * * Avast and belay! The night is still young and a sailor man's abroad. The sergeant going off duty at the Chicago Avenue station passes and winks and calls: "Hello, Tobias. Pretty rough tonight." "Fa'n ta mig!" roars Tobias. "Hold tight." And he steers for Clark Street. And now the one on the window sill is gone and the storm grows quiet. And poor Tobias Wooden-Leg, the venerable and pious, who has won the grace of God through a terrific fight, finds himself again lost and strayed. Of what good were the prayers and the night after night readings in the old sea captain's Bible stolen forty years ago? Of what good the promises and tears of repentance, when this thing that seemed to rise out of forgotten seas could come and jump up on his window sill and bewitch him as if he were a heedless boy? When it could sit laughing at him until in its laugh he heard the sounds of old winds roaring and old seas standing on their heads, and he put on his black sweater--the moth-eaten badge of his sinfulness--and he put on his wooden leg and lifted out the handful of money from under the corner of the carpet? What good were the prayers if they couldn't keep him pious? Yes, that was it. And here the habitués along North Clark Street grin. For Tobias Wooden-Leg is coming down the pavement, his head hanging low, his beard no longer bristling and his soul on a hunt for a new God. A strong God. A powerful and commanding God, stronger than the long-locked, bronze-winged one of the window sill. They grin because this is an old story. Tobias is an old character. Once every two or three months for ten years Tobias has come like this with his head lowered searching for a new and powerful God that would keep him pious and that would kill the devil that seemed never to die inside his old Norske soul. So he had taken them all--a jumble of gods, a patchwork of religions. Every soapbox apostle in the district had at one time converted him. Holy Roller, Methodist, Jumper, Yogi, Swami, Zionite--he had bowed his head before their and a dozen other varied gods. And the missions in the district had come to know him as "the convert." He had been faithful to each of the creeds as long as he remained sober and as long as he sat in his room of nights reading in his Bible. But come a storm out of Stavanger, come a whistling under the eaves and a thumping of wind on the window pane and Tobias was off again. "He is not a good God!" Tobias would cry in his new "repentance." "His religion is too weak. The devil is stronger than Him. I want a stronger religion. Pagh, I want somebody big enough to kill this fanden inside me." The crowd around the soapbox evangelist is rather slight. The night is cold. The wind bites and the street has a dismal air. The evangelist stands around the corner from the old book store in whose windows thousands of musty volumes are piled like the bones of hermits. The man who owns this curious book store is a sun-worshipper. And the evangelist on the soapbox is a friend of his. The slight crowd listens. Peace comes from the sun. The sun is the source of light and of health. It is the eye of God. Terrible by day and watching by night. It is the fire of life. The slight crowd grins and the evangelist, his mind bubbling with a cabalistic jargon remembered out of musty books, tries to explain something that seems vivid in his heart but vague to his tongue. They will drop away soon because the night is cold and the evangelist a bit too nutty for serious attention. But here comes Tobias Wooden-Leg and some of the listeners grin and nudge one another. Tobias, with his voice hoarse and his blue eyes shining with wrath--wrath at himself and wrath at the God who had abandoned him, unable to cope with the one on the window sill. Tobias listens. Terrible by day and ever watchful by night. The King of Kings, the Great Majesty and secret symbol of the absolute. Tobias drinks in the jargon of the soapbox man and then shouts: "I'll join, I'll join! I want a strong God!" * * * * * So now Tobias Wooden-Leg is a sun-worshipper. The boys in the Elite poolroom will tell you all about it. How he walks the street at dawn with his head raised and bows every seven steps. And how in the evening he is to be seen standing at his window bowing to the sun going down. And how he has been around saying: "Well, I have found the big God at last. No more monkey business for me. Listen to what it says in the book about him." And how he will quote from the sea captain's Bible stolen forty years ago. But the boys also say: "Just wait." And they wink, meaning that another storm will blow up out of Stavanger in Norway and old Tobias will come plowing down the street again howling that fa'n ta mig the devil has him and that old Thor leaped on his window sill and tossed the all-powerful sun out of the sky with his hammer. FANTASTIC LOLLYPOPS They will never start. No, they will never start. In another two minutes Mr. Prokofieff will go mad. They should have started at eleven. It is now ten minutes after eleven. And they have not yet started. Ah, Mr. Prokofieff has gone mad. But Mr. Prokofieff is a modernist; so nobody pays much attention. Musicians are all mad. And a modernist musician, du lieber Gott! A Russian modernist musician! The medieval face of Mr. Boris Anisfeld pops over the rows of empty seats. It is very likely that Mr. Anisfeld will also go mad. For Mr. Anisfeld is, in a way, a collaborator of Mr. Prokofieff. It is the full dress rehearsal of "The Love for Three Oranges." Mr. Prokofieff wrote the words and music. Mr. Anisfeld painted the scenery. "Mees Garden weel be hear in a meenute," the medieval face of Boris whispers into the Muscovite ears of Serge. * * * * * Eleven-fifteen, and Miss Garden has arrived. She is armed, having brought along her heaviest shillalah. Mr. Prokofieff is on his feet. He takes off his coat. The medieval face of Mr. Anisfeld vanishes. Tap, tap, on the conductor's stand. Lights out. A fanfare from the orchestra's right. Last rehearsal for the world premier of a modernist opera! One winter morning years ago the music critics of Paris sat and laughed themselves green in the face over the incomprehensible banalities of an impossible modernist opera called "Tannhäuser." And who will say that critics have lost their sense of humor. There will unquestionably be laughter before this morning is over. * * * * * Music like this has never come from the orchestra pit of the Auditorium. Strange combinations of sounds that seem to come from street pianos, New Year's eve horns, harmonicas and old-fashioned musical beer steins that play when you lift them up. Mr. Prokofieff waves his shirt-sleeved arms and the sounds increase. There is nothing difficult about this music--that is, unless you are unfortunate enough to be a music critic. But to the untutored ear there is a charming capriciousness about the sounds from the orchestra. Cadenzas pirouette in the treble. Largos toboggan in the bass. It sounds like the picture of a crazy Christmas tree drawn by a happy child. Which is a most peculiar way for music to sound. But, attention! The curtain is up. Bottle greens and fantastic reds. Here is a scene as if the music Mr. Prokofieff were waving out of the orchestra had come to life. Lines that look like the music sounds. Colors that embrace one another in tender dissonances. Yes, like that. And here, galubcheck (I think it's galubcheck), are the actors. What is it all about? Ah, Mr. Prokofieff knows and Boris knows and maybe the actors know. But all it is necessary for us to know is that music and color and a quaint, almost gargoylian, caprice are tumbling around in front of our eyes and ears. And there is M. Jacques Coini. He will not participate in the world premier. Except in spirit. Now M. Coini is present in the flesh. He wears a business suit, spats of tan and a gray fedora. M. Coini is the stage director. He instructs the actors how to act. He tells the choruses where to chorus and what to do with their hands, masks, feet, voices, eyes and noses. The hobgoblin extravaganza Mr. Prokofieff wrote unfolds itself with rapidity. Theater habitués eavesdropping on the rehearsal mumble in the half-dark that there was never anything like this seen on earth or in heaven. Mr. Anisfeld's scenery explodes like a succession of medieval skyrockets. A phantasmagoria of sound, color and action crowds the startled proscenium. For there is no question but that the proscenium, with the names of Verdi, Bach, Haydn and Beethoven chiseled on it, is considerably startled. Through this business of skyrockets and crescendos and hobgoblins M. Coini stands out like a lighthouse in a cubist storm. However bewildering the plot, however humpty-dumpty the music, M. Coini is intelligible drama. His brisk little figure in its pressed pants, spats and fedora, bounces around amid the apoplectic disturbances like some busybody Alice in an operatic Wonderland. The opus mounts. The music mounts. Singers attired as singers were never attired before crawl on, bounce on, tumble on. And M. Coini, as undisturbed as a traffic cop or a loop pigeon, commands his stage. He tells the singers where to stand while they sing, and when they don't sing to suit him he sings himself. He leads the chorus on and tells it where to dance, and when they don't dance to suit him he dances himself. He moves the scenery himself. He fights with Mr. Prokofieff while the music splashes and roars around him. He fights with Boris. He fights with electricians and wigmakers. * * * * * It is admirable. M. Coini, in his tan spats and gray fedora, is more fantastic than the entire cast of devils and Christmas trees and lollypops, who seem to be the leading actors in the play. Mr. Prokofieff and Miss Garden have made a mistake. They should have let M. Coini play "The Love for Three Oranges" all by himself. They should have let him be the dream-towers and the weird chorus, the enchantress and the melancholy prince. M. Coini is the greatest opera I have ever seen. All he needed was M. Prokofieff's music and the superbly childish visions of the medieval Boris for a background. The music leaps into a gaudy balloon and sails away in marvelous zigzags, way over the heads of the hobgoblins on the stage and the music critics off the stage. Miss Garden beckons with her shillalah. Mr. Prokofieff arrives panting at her side. He bows, kisses the back of her hand and stands at attention. Also the medieval face of Mr. Anisfeld drifts gently through the gloom and joins the two. The first act of "The Oranges" is over. Two critics exchanging opinions glower at Mr. Prokofieff. One says: "What a shame! What a shame! Nobody will understand it." The other agrees. But perhaps they only mean that music critics will fail to understand it and that untutored ones like ourselves will find in the hurdy-gurdy rhythms and contortions of Mr. Prokofieff and Mr. Anisfeld a strange delight. As if some one had given us a musical lollypop to suck and rub in our hair. * * * * * I have an interview with Mr. Prokofieff to add. The interview came first and doesn't sit well at the end of these notes. Because Mr. Prokofieff, sighing a bit nervously in expectation of the world's premier, said: "I am a classicist. I derive from the classical composers." This may be true, but the critics will question it. Instead of quoting Mr. Prokofieff at this time, it may be more apropos merely to say that I would rather see and listen to his opera than to the entire repertoire of the company put together. This is not criticism, but a prejudice in favor of fantastic lolly-pops. NOTES FOR A TRAGEDY Jan Pedlowski came home yesterday and found that his wife had run away. There was supper on the table. And under the soup plate was a letter addressed to Jan. It read, in Polish: "I am sick and tired. You keep on nagging me all the time and I can't stand it any more. You will be better off without me. "Paula." Jan ate his supper and then put his hat and coat on and went over to see the sergeant at the West Chicago Avenue police station. The sergeant appeared to be busy, so Jan waited. Then he stepped forward and said: "My wife has run away. I want to catch her." The sergeant was lacking in sympathy. He told Jan to go home and wait and that the missus would probably come back. And that if she didn't he could get a divorce. "I don't want a divorce," said Jan. "I want to catch her." * * * * * But Jan went home. It was no use running around looking for her and losing sleep. And, besides, he had to be in court tomorrow. The landlord had left a notice that the Pedlowskis must get out of their flat because they didn't pay their rent. Before coming home Jan had arranged with the foreman at the plating works for two hours off, to be taken out of his pay. He could come to work at seven and work until half-past nine, then go to court and be back, maybe, by half-past eleven. So Jan went to bed. He put the letter his wife had left in his coat pocket, because he had a vague idea it might be evidence. He might show it to somebody and maybe it would help. It was snowing when Jan left the plating works in the morning to come to court. He arrived at the City Hall and wandered around, confused by the crowd of people pouring in and out of the elevators. But it was growing late and he only had two hours off. So Jan made inquiries. Where was the court where he should go? "Judge Barasa on the eighth floor," said the starter. Jan went there. A lot of people were in the court room. Jan sat down among them and looked like them--blank, uninterested, as if waiting for a train in the railroad station. One thing worried Jan. The two hours off. If they didn't call him he'd be late and the foreman would be mad. He might lose his job, and jobs were hard to get. It took five weeks to get this one. It would take longer now. But they called Jan Pedlowski and he came forward to where the judge sat. At first Jan had felt confused and frightened. He had worried about coming to court and standing before the judge. Now it seemed all right. Everybody was nice and businesslike. A lawyer said: "There's almost two months' rent due now. Eighteen dollars for the November rent and $27.50 for December." "Can you pay the rent?" the judge asked of Jan. Jan looked and blinked and tried to think of something to say. He could only think of "My wife Paula ran away last night. Here, she wrote this letter left me on the table when I come home last night." "I see," said the judge. "But what about the rent? If I give you until January 10, do you think you can pay it?" "I don't know," said Jan, rubbing his eyes. "I got job now, but they going to layoff after new year. If I have job I pay it all. I can pay $10 now." "Have you got it with you," asked the judge. "Yes," said Jan. "I was going to buy Christmas present for Paula, but she ran away." * * * * * Jan handed over the $10 and listened to the judge explain that he would be allowed to stay where he was until January 10 and have till then to pay his rent. When this was over he walked out, putting his hat on too soon, so that the bailiff cried: "Hats off in the courtroom." Jan grabbed his hat and grew red. Now he had almost a full hour and a half before going to the factory. It had taken less time than he thought. Jan started to walk. It was cold and the streets were slippery. He walked along with his hands in the frayed pockets of his overcoat and his breath congealing over his walrus mustache. His eyes were set and his face serious. Jan's thoughts were simple. Rent--Paula--jobs. Christmas, perhaps, too. But he walked along like anybody else in the loop. * * * * * Jan wandered as far as Quincy and La Salle streets. Here he stopped and looked around. It was beginning to snow heavier now. He stood still like a man waiting. And having nothing to do he took the letter his wife had left under the soup plate and read it again. When Jan had folded the letter up and started to walk once more his eyes suddenly lighted up. He turned and started to run and as he ran he cried: "Paula, Paula!" Some of the crowd moving on paused and looked at a stocky man with a heavy mustache running across the street and shouting a woman's name. The cabs were thick at the moment and it was hard running across. But Jan kept on, his overcoat flapping behind him and his short legs jumping up and down as he moved. A young woman with a cheap fur around her neck had stopped. There were others who paused to watch Jan. But this young woman was one of the few who didn't smile. She waited as if puzzled for a moment and then started to lose herself in the crowd. She walked swiftly ahead, her eyes anxiously on the corner. And in the meantime Jan came galumphing toward the curbing still crying: "Paula, Paula!" At the curbing, however, Jan came to a full stop. His toe had caught the cement and he shot forward, landing on his hands and chin. A crowd gathered around Jan and some one helped him to his feet. His chin was bleeding and his hands were scraped from hitting the cold pavement. He made no sign, however, of injury, but stood blinking in the direction the young woman with the cheap fur had gone. A policeman arrived and inquired sympathetically what was wrong. Jan brushed himself mechanically as the policeman spoke. Then he answered: "Nothing, I fell down." The policeman went away and Jan turned back to catch a Milwaukee Avenue street car. He stood on the corner waiting and fingering his bruised chin. He seemed to be getting impatient as the car failed to appear. Finally he thrust his hand inside his pocket and drew out the letter again. He held it without reading for an instant and then tore it up. When the car came Jan was still tearing up the letter, his thick fingers trying vainly to divide it into tinier bits. CORAL, AMBER AND JADE There are no gold and scarlet lanterns bobbing like fat little oriental Pierrots over this street. No firecracker colors daub its sad walls. Walk the whole length and not a dragon or a thumbnail balcony or a pigtail will you see. Instead, a very efficient, very conservative Chinatown and a colony of very efficient and very matter-of-fact Chinamen who have gradually taken possession of a small district around Twenty-second Street and Wentworth Avenue. A rather famous district in its way, where once the city's tenderloin put forth its red shadows. But now as you walk, the night stares evilly out of wooden ruins. Stretches of sagging, empty buildings, whose windows and doors seem to have been chewed away, an intimidating silence, a graveyard of crumbling little houses--these remain. And you see Venus, grown old and toothless, snoozing amid the debris of another day. Then the Chinamen begin. Lights twinkle. Clean-looking interiors and carefully washed store windows. Roofs have been hammered back in place, stairways nailed together again. The sagging walls and lopsided cottages have taken a new lease on life. Another of the innumerable little business districts that dot the city has fought its way into evidence. There are few oddities. Through the glass of the store fronts you see curiously immobile groups, men seated in chairs, smoking long pipes and waiting in silence. Strange fruits, foods, herbs, cloths, trinkets, lie on the orderly shelves around them. The floors look scrubbed and there is an absence of litter. It is all very efficient and very natural except for the immobility of the men in the chairs and the silence that seems to have descended on them. * * * * * A Chinese silence. And if you linger in the neighborhood you begin to feel that this is more Chinese than the gaudy dragons and the firecracker daubs and the bobbing paper lanterns of fiction. This night I am looking for Billy Lee. No. 2209 Wentworth Avenue, says Mr. Lee's card. We are to talk over some matters, one of which has already been made public, others of which may never be. He sits in his inner office, attired like a very efficient American business man, does Mr. Lee. We say hello and start the talk. In the rooms outside the inner office are a dozen Chinese. But there is no sound. They are sitting in chairs or standing up. All smoking. All silent. A sense of strange preoccupation lies over the place. Yet one feels that the twelve silent men are preoccupied with nothing except, possibly, the fact that they are Chinese. Mr. Lee himself is none too garrulous. We have been talking for several minutes when he becomes totally silent and after a long pause hands me a cablegram. The cablegram reads: "Hongkong--Ying Yan: Bandits captured Foo Wing and wife. Send $5,000 immediately. Signed: Taichow." * * * * * "I just received this," says Mr. Lee. "Ying Yan is my father. Foo Wing is my brother. His American name is Andrew Lee. He went to Hongkong ten months ago and was married. This is terrible. I am worried to death." Mr. Lee appears to sink into a studious calm. His eyes regard the cablegram stolidly. He remarks at length: "Bad news. This is very bad news." From outside comes a sudden singsong of Chinese. One of the twelve men has said something. He finishes. Silence resumes. There seems to be no answer. Mr. Lee puts the cablegram back in his pocket and some one knocks on the door. "Come in," says Mr. Lee. A Chinese youth enters. He carries a bundle. "Meet Mr. Tang," says Billy Lee. We shake hands and Mr. Tang begins talking in Chinese. Mr. Lee listens, nods his head and then holds out his hand for the bundle. "This is a very interesting event," says Mr. Lee in English. "Mr. Tang is just over from the Orient. He comes from north of China, from Wu Chang, where the revolution started, you know. He has with him a very interesting matter." Mr. Lee unwraps the bundle. He removes a long necklace made of curiously carved wooden beads, large balls of jade and pendants of silk and semi-precious stones. Next he removes a second necklace somewhat longer than the first. It is made of marvelously matched amber beads, balls of jade and pendants of coral. "A very interesting matter," says Mr. Lee. "Mr. Tang is son of a formerly very wealthy and high-born mandarin family. But his family has lost everything and Mr. Tang is here seeking an education in modern business. He has left of his family's wealth only these two things here. They are necklaces such as only mandarins could wear when they appeared before the emperor in court in the old days. "You see these have three pendants, so they show the mandarin was a gentleman of the third class under the emperor. They have been in Mr. Tang's family's possession for generations. You will notice this one of carved beads is made of beads which are formed from the pits of the Chinese olive. There are two hundred beads and on each is carved some figure or scene which in all represent the history of China." * * * * * Mr. Lee holds the two necklaces in his hand. Mr. Tang stands by silently. His eyes gaze at the beads. "Your father wore them at court?" inquires Mr. Lee in the manner of a host. Mr. Tang nods his head slowly and adds a word in Chinese. "He says his family wore them for generations," explains Mr. Lee. "Now the family is vanished and all that is left are these insignia of their nobility. And Mr. Tang wishes me to dispose of them for him so he may have money to go to school." Mr. Lee and Mr. Tang are then both silent. Mr. Lee slips one of the necklaces over his head. It hangs down over his American coat and American silk shirt in a rather incongruous way. But there seems to be nothing incongruous in the matter for Lee and Tang. Billy Lee with the necklace around his neck, the three mandarin pendants against his belt, looks at Mr. Tang and Mr. Tang bows and leaves. Our matters have been fully discussed and I follow a half-hour later. There are still twelve men in the room. They stand and sit and smoke. None speaks. I notice in the group the immobile figure of Mr. Tang. He is smoking an American cigarette--one of the twelve silently preoccupied residents of Chinatown who have gathered in Billy Lee's place to wait for something. MEDITATION IN E MINOR Well, well, well. The lady pianist will now oblige with something very refined. When in the name of 750,000 gods of reason will I ever learn enough to stay at home and go to bed instead of searching kittenishly for diversion in neighborhood movie and vaudeville houses? No. Wrong. The lady is not a pianist. She is merely an accompanist. She is going to accompany something on cares? They are no more than the ripples which one's ego a face! Two hundred and eighty-five years old, if a day. Aha! His nobs. A fiddler. "Silver Threads Among the Gold," and something fancy from the opera. And all dressed up in his wedding suit. The white tie is a bit soiled and the white vest longs mutely for the laundryman. And if he's going to wear a dress suit, if he insists upon wearing a dress suit, why doesn't he press his pants? But how did a man with a face like this ever happen to think he could fiddle? An English nobleman. Or maybe a Swedish nobleman. Hm! A very interesting face. A little bit touched with flabbiness. And somewhat soiled, intangibly soiled. Like an English nobleman or a Swedish nobleman who has stayed up all night drinking. And he holds his fiddle in an odd way. Like what? Well, like a fiddler. Like a marvelous fiddler. It hangs limply from his hand as if it were nonexistent. Kreisler holds his fiddle like that. A close-cropped blond mustache and the beginnings of a paunch. Nevertheless a very refined gentleman, a baron somewhat the worse for a night of bourbon. The idiotic orchestra, the idiotic orchestra! Did anybody ever hear such an idiotic orchestra? Three violins, one cello, one cornet, one flute and a drum all out of tune, all out of time. The prelude. And his nobs grins. Poor fellow. But who taught him how to hold a fiddle like that? We're off. An E minor chord from our friend at the piano. Hm, something classical. Ho, ho! Viotti. Well, well, here's a howdeedo. His nobs is going to play the concerto. Good-by, good luck and God bless him. If I was in bed, if I was in bed, I wouldn't have to listen to a refined gentleman with his swell pants unpressed murdering poor Viotti. A swell gentleman with his eyes carefully made up. I didn't notice his eyes before. All set, Paganini. Your turn. Let's go. Ah, that was a note! Well, well, well, his nobs can play. Hm! A cadenza in double stops! And the E minor scale in harmonics! Listen to the baron in the dirty white vest. The man's a violinist. Observe--calisthenics on the G string and in the second position. A very difficult position and easily faked. And when did Heifetz ever take a run like that? Up, down and the fingers hammering like thoroughbreds on a fast track. Pizzicato with the left hand and obbligato glissando! Hoopla! The fellow's showing off! And it isn't a Drdla souvenir or a vaudeville Brahms arrangement. But twenty years of practice. Yes, sir, there are twenty years and eight hours a day, every day for twenty years, in these acrobatics. There are twenty years, twenty years, behind this technique. And well-spent years. But tell me, Cyril, for whom is our baron showing off--for whom? Our baron with the soiled tie and the made-up eyes, fiddling coldly, elaborately for a handful of annoyed flappers, amused shoe clerks and bored home lovers sitting stolidly in the dark, waiting stolidly and defiantly to be diverted? Bravo! Five of us applaud. No, six. A gentleman in an upper box applauds with some degree of violence. And there is the orchestra leader--a dark-skinned, black-eyed, curly-headed youth, nodding and smiling. Next on the program? Ah, a ballad. A thing the cabaret ladies sing, "Do You Think of Me?" A faint smile on our baron's face. But the fiddle leaps into position as if for another cold, elaborate attack. It takes twenty years, twenty well-spent years to learn to hold a bow like that. Firmly, casually, indifferently as one holds a pencil between one's fingers. Admission 33 cents, including war tax. But this is worth--well, it is what the novelists call an illuminating experience. This gentleman of music whose fingers have for twenty years absorbed the souls of Beethoven and Sarasate, Liszt and Moussorgski, this aristocrat of the catgut is posturing sardonically before the three bored fates. He is pouring twenty years, twenty well-spent years, into a tawdry little ballad. Ah, how our baron's fiddle sings! And the darkened faces in front hum to themselves: "When you're flirt-ing with another, do you ever think--of--me." Yes, my tired-faced baron, there's a question. Do you? We, out front, all have our little underworlds in which we live sometimes while music plays and beautiful things come to our eyes. And yours? This tin-pan alley ballad throbbing liquidly from the strings of your fiddle--"When you're flirt-ing with another do you ever think--of--me?" Of the twenty years, the twenty well-spent years? Of the soul that your fingers captured? Of the dream that took form in your firm wrist? And now the chorus once more. In double stops. In harmonics. With arpeggios thrown in. And once more, largo. Sure and full. Sobbing organ notes, whimpering grace notes. Superb, baron! And done with a half smile at the darkened faces out front. The tired faces that blinked stolidly at Viotti. A smile at the orchestra leader who stands with his mouth open waiting as if the song were still in the air. Applause. All of us this time. More applause. Say this guy can fiddle, he can. Come on, baron, another tune. The tired faces yammer for another ditty. "Träumerei." All right, let her go, Paganini. And after that the "Missouri Waltz." * * * * * I will stay for the next show. I will stay for the three shows. And each time this magnifico will come out and make music. But better than that. I will go back stage and talk with him. I will ask him: "How does it happen, sir, that a man who can fiddle like you, a man who could play a duet with Kreisler--how does it happen you're fiddling in a neighborhood movie and vaudeville house?" And he will unfold a story. Yes, there's a story there. Something happened to this nobleman of the soiled white vest and the marvelous fingers. There was an occurrence in this man's life which would make a good climax for a second act. No, that would spoil the picture. To find out, to learn the clumsy mechanism behind this charming spectacle would take away. Better like this. The lady at the piano. Ah, indeed, the lady at the piano, a very elderly lady with a thin nose and hair that was once extremely beautiful, perhaps she had something to do with it? The orchestra pounds and scrapes away. And the movie jumps around and the heroine weeps, but somebody saves her. "Where there is no faith there cannot be true love," confesses the hero, folding her in his well-pressed arms. And that's that. Now our friend, the baron, again. No, better to leave. He has left his smile in the wings this time. He is very serious or perhaps very tired. Two times tonight to play. Too much--too much. My hat, and I will walk out on his nobs. And, anyway, Huneker wrote the story long ago. About a piano player in Coney Island that he called--what was it? Oh, yes, "A Chopin of the Gutter." TEN-CENT WEDDING RINGS A gloomy day and the loop streets grimace behind a mist. The electric signs are lighted. The buildings open like great fans in the half dark. The streets invite a mood of melodrama. Windows glint evilly. Doorways grin with rows of electric teeth. This, _Jonnerrvetter_! is the Great City of the old-time ten-twenty-thirty thrillers. The devourer of innocence, the strumpet of stone. I walk along humming a bar of villainous music, the "skeeter scale" that the orchestra used to turn turn turn taaaa-tum in the old Alhambra as the two dockwallopers and the leering Chinaman were climbing in through little Mabel's hall bedroom window to abduct her. Those were happy days for the drama, when a scoundrel was a scoundrel and wore a silk hat to prove it, and a hero was a two-fisted man, as anybody could tell by a glance at his marcelled hair and his open-at-the-throat shirt. Tum tum tum tum taaaa-tum. Pizzicato pianissimo, says the direction on the score. So we are all set for a melodrama. Here is the Great City back-drop. Here are the grim-faced crowds shuffling by under the jaundice glare of electric signs. And Christmas is coming. A vague gray snow trickles out of the gloom. A proper time for melodrama. All we need is a plot. Come, come now--a plot alive with villains and weeping maidens. Halto! The window of the 5--and 10-cent store! a tumble of gewgaws and candies and kitchen utensils. Christmas tree tinsel and salted peanuts, jazz music and mittens. The curtain is up. Egad, what a masterly scene. A kitchen Coney Island. A puzzle picture of isles, signs, smells, noises. Cinderella wandering wistfully in the glass-bead section looking for a fairy godmother. A clinking obbligato by the cash registers. The poor are buying gifts. This garish froth of merchandise is the back ground of their luxuries. This noisy puzzle-picture store is their horn of plenty. A sad thought and we'll dismiss it. What we want is plot. Perhaps the jazz-song booster singing out of the side of his mouth with tired eyes leering at the crowd of girls: "Won't You Let Me Love You If I Promise to Be Good?" And "Love Me, Turtle Dove." And "Lovin' Looie." And "The Lovin' Blues." All lovin'. Jazz songs, ballads, sad, silly, boobish nut songs--all about love me--love me. All about stars and kisses, moonlight and "she took my man away." There are telephones all over the walls and the song booster's voice pops out over the salted-peanut section, over the safety-pin and brassware section. A tinny, nasal voice with a whine and a hoarseness almost hiding the words. The cash registers clink, clink. "Are you waited on, madam? Five cents a package, madam." The crowds, tired eyed, shabbily dressed, bundle-laden, young, old--the crowds shuffle up and down, staring at gewgaws, and the love-me love songs follow them around. Follow them to the loose-bead counter where Madge with her Japanese puffs of hair, her wad of gum and her black shirtwaist that she keeps straightening out continually by drawing up her bosom and pressing down on her hips with her hands--where Madge holds forth. Tum tum tum tum taaaa-tum--halto! Here is our plot. Outside the pizzicato of the crowds, the Great City, shining, dragon-eyed, through the mist--the City That Has No Heart. And here under our nose, twinkling up at our eyes, a huge tray full of 10-cent wedding rings. End of Act One. Act Two, now--Madge, the sharp-tongued, weary-eyed young woman behind the counter. Love-me love songs in her ear and people unraveling, faces unraveling before her. Who buys these wedding rings, Madge? And did you ever notice anything odd about your customers? And why do you suppose they buy ten-cent wedding rings, Madge? "Just a moment," says Madge. "What is it, miss? A ring? What kind? Oh, yes. Ten cents. Gold or platinum just the same. Yes." Two giggling girls move off. And Madge, chewing gently on her wad of gum and smoothing her huge hair puffs out with the coyly stiffened palms of her hands, talks. "Sure, I get you. About the wedding rings. Sure, that's easy. We sell about twenty or thirty of them every day. Oh, mostly to kids--girls and boys. Sometimes an old Johnny comes in with a moth-eaten fur collar and blows a dime for a wedding ring. But mostly girls. "I sometimes take a second look at them. They usually giggle when they ask for the ring. And they usually pretend it's for somebody as a joke they're buying it. Or sometimes they walk around the counter for a half hour and get me nervous as a cat. 'Cause I know what they want and they can't get their gall up to come and ask for it. But finally they make the break and come up and pick out a ring without saying a word and hand over ten cents. "There was one girl no more than sixteen just this morning. She come here all full of pep and kidded about things and said wasn't them platinum wedding rings just too grand for words, and so on. Then she said she wanted a half-dozen of them, and was there a discount when bought in such quantity? I started wrapping them up when I looked at her and she was crying. And she dropped her sixty cents on the counter and said: 'Never mind, never mind. I don't want them. I can't wear them. They'll only make it worse.'" A middle-aged-looking man interrupts. "What is it, sir?" asks Madge. "Anything in rings? What kind?" "Oh, just plain rings," says the man with a great show of indifference, while his eyes ferret among the trinkets on the counter. And then, very calmly: "Oh, these will do, I guess." Two wedding rings, and he spent twenty cents. Madge follows him with her eyes. "That's it," she whispers, "usually the men buy two. One for themselves and one for the girl. Or if it's the girl that's buying them it's one for herself and one for her girl chum who's going with her and the two fellas on the party. Say, take it from me, these rings don't ever hear no wedding marches." * * * * * Back into the gloomy street again. A plot in our head, but who's the villain and who's the heroine and the hero? An easy answer to that. The crowd here--sad faced, tired-walking, bundle-laden. The crowd continually dissolving amid street cars and autos is the villain. A crowd of shoppers buying slippers for uncle and shawls for mother and mufflers for brother and some bars of soap for the bathroom. Buying everything and anything that fill the fan-shaped buildings with their glinting windows. Buying carpet sweepers and window curtains and linoleum. Pizzicato, pianissimo, professor--little-girl gigglers and hard-faced dock wallopers and slick-haired lounge lizards and broken-hearted ones--twenty a day they sidle up to Madge's counter, where the love me, love me songs razz the heavy air, and shoot a dime for a wedding ring. WHERE THE "BLUES" SOUND "That St. Louis woman Wid her diahmond rings, Pulls mah man 'round By her apron strings--" A voice screeches above the boom and hurrah of the black and white 35th Street cabaret. The round tables rock. Waiters careen. Balanced trays float at crazy angles through the tobacco smoke. Hats flash. Firecracker voices explode. A guffaw dances across a smear of faces. Congo gleams, college boy pallors, the smiles of black and white men and women interlace. A spotlight shoots its long hypotenuse upon the floor. In its drifting oval the entertainer, her shoulders back, her elbows out, her fists clenched and her body twisting into slow patterns, bawls in a terrifying soprano-- "If it waren't foh her powdah And her stohe bought hair. The man Ah love Would not have gone nowhere--" Listen for the tom-tom behind the hurrah. Watch for the torches of Kypris and Corinth behind the glare of the tungstens. This is the immemorial bacchanal lurching through the kaleidoscope of the centuries. Pan with a bootlegger's grin and a checked suit. Dionysius with a saxophone to his lips. And the dance of Paphos called now the shimmie. Listen and watch and through the tumult, rising like a strange incense from the smear of bodies, tables and waiters, will come the curious thing that is never contained in the vice reports. The gleam of the devil himself--the echo of some mystic cymbal note. Later the music will let out a tinny blaze of sound. Men and women will press together and a pack of bodies will sway on the dance floor. The tungstens will go out and the spotlight will throw colors--green, purple, lavender, blue, violet--and as the scene grows darker and the colors revolve a howl will fill the place. But on the dance floor a silence will fasten itself over the swaying bodies and there will be only the sound of feet pushing. The silence of a ritual--faces stiffened, eyes rolling--a rigid embrace of men and women creeping cunningly among the revolving colors and the whiplike rhythms of the jazz band. * * * * * "Lost souls," says the vice reports, and the vice reports speak with a calm and knowing voice. Women whose bodies and faces are like shells of evil; vicious seeming men with a rasp in their laughter. These are among those present. Aphrodite is a blousy wench in the 35th and State streets neighborhood. And her votaries, although they offer an impressive ensemble, are a sorry lot taken face by face. Izzy, who is an old timer, sits at a table and takes it in. Izzy's eyes and ears have learned to pick details in a bedlam. He can talk softly and listen easily through the height of the cabaret racket. The scene hits Izzy as water hits a duck's back. "Well," he says, "it's a good night tonight. The slummers are out in full force rubberin' at each other. Well, this is a funny world, take it from me. Me? Huh, I come here every night or so to have a little drink and look 'em over for a while. Ain't nothing to see but a lot o' molls and a lot of sucker guys. Them? Say, they never learn no better. Tough guys ain't no different from soft guys, see? They all fall for the dames just as hard and just as worse. There's many a good guy in this place that's been gave a tumble by them, see? "There, I got an idee he'd blow in tonight. He ain't missed a Saturday night for months. And he usu'lly makes it four or five times a week. That guy over there wit' the mop o' gray hair. Yeah, that's him. Well, he's the professor. I spotted him in the district a year or so ago. He had a dame wit' him who I know, see? A terrible broad. Say, maybe you've heard of him. His name is Weintraub. I picked it up from the dame he's goin' wit', see? He ought to be in your line. He was a reg'lar music professor before he come down. The leader of a swell orchestra somewhere in the east or in Europe, I guess. The dame don't know for sure, but she told me he was some baby on music. "Well, that's him there, see? He comes in like this and sits down near the band. Look at him. Do you make him? The way he's movin' his hands? See, he's leadin' the band. Sure"--Izzy laughed mirthlessly--"that's what the guy's doin'. Nuts, see? Daffy. He comes in here like that and I always watch him. He sits still and when the music starts up he begins wit' his hands. Ain't he the berries? "Now keep your eye on him. You'll see somethin' pretty quick. He's alone tonight. I guess the dame has shook him for the evenin'. Look, he's still conductin'. Ain't he rich? But he's got a good face, you might say. Class, eh? You'd know he was a musician. "I tell you I begin to watch him the first time I saw him. And from the beginnin' he's always conductin' when the band starts in. The dame is usu'lly wit' him and she don't like it. She tries to stop him, but he don't see her for sour apples. He keeps right on like now, beatin' time wit' his hands. Look, the poor nut's growin' excited. Daffy. Can you beat it? There he goes. See? That's on account of Jerry. Jerry's the black one on the end wit' the saxophone. Ha, Jerry always does it. "I told Jerry about this guy and Jerry tried it on him the first night. He pulled a sour one, you know, blew a mean one through the horn and his nobs nearly fell out of his seat. Like now. See, he's through. He won't conduct the band any more tonight. He's sore. No sir, he won't conduct such a lot of no-good boilermakers like Jerry. Can you beat it?" * * * * * Izzy's eyes follow a stoop-shouldered gray-haired man from one of the tables. A thin-faced man with bloodshot eyes. He walks as if he were half asleep. The crowd swallows him and Izzy laughs again without mirth. "He's done for the night. That's low down of Jerry. But Jerry says it gets his goat to see this daffy guy comin' in here night after night and leadin' the band from the table. So the smoke blows that sour note every time his nobs gets started on his conductin' and it always knocks his nobs for a gool. He never stays another minute, but lights out right away. "Look, there's his dame. The one wit' the green hat, sittin' wit' the guy with the cheaters over there. Yeah, that's her. I don't know why she ain't wit' him tonight. Prob'ly a lovers' quarrel." And Izzy grinned. "She's a tough one, take it from me. I don't know how she hooked the professor, but she did. She used to be swelled up about him. And once she got him a job in Buxbaum's old place, she told me, to work in the orchestra. But his nobs kicked. Said he'd cut his throat before playin' in a roughneck orchestra and who did she think he was to do such a thing? He says to her: I'm Weintraub--Weintraub, d'ye understand?' And he hauls off and wallops her one and she guve up tryin' to get him a job. It makes her sore to watch him sittin' around like tonight and conductin' the orchestra. She says it ain't because he's daffy, but on account of his bein' stuck up." The woman with the green hat had left her table. Izzy's shrewd eyes picked her out again--this time standing against a far wall talking to the professor, and the professor was rubbing his forehead and saying "No, no," with his hands. And now the entertainer was singing again: "Got de St. Louis Blues, jes' as blue as Ah can be, Dat man has a heart like a rock ca-ast in de sea, Or else he would not have gone so far away from me." VAGABONDIA Here they come. Five merry travelers in a snorting, dust-caked automobile. Wanderers, egad! Bowling rakishly across the country. Dusters and goggles and sunburn. Prairie nights have sung to them. Little towns have grinned at them. Mountains, valleys, forests and stars have danced across their windshield. The newspaper man stood watching them haul up to the Adams Street curb. His heart was tired of tall buildings and the endless grimace of windows. Here was a chariot out of another world. Motor vagabonds. Scooting into a city with a swagger to their dust-caked wheels. And scooting out again. The newspaper man thought, "The world isn't buried yet. There's still a restlessness left. Things change from triremes to motor boats, from Rosinante to automobiles. But adventure merely mounts a new seat and goes on. Dick Hovey sang it once: "I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay." The five merry travelers crawled out and stretched themselves. They doffed their goggles and slipped off their linen dusters and changed forthwith from a group of flying gnomes into five tired-looking citizens of California. Two middle aged women. Two middle-aged men and a son. One of the men said, "Well, we'll lay up here for awhile, I got a blister on my hand from the wheel." One of the women answered, "I must buy some hairpins, Martin." The newspaper man said to himself, "What ho! I'll give them a ring. Why not? A story of the modern wanderlust. Anyway, they're not averse to publicity seeing they've got two 'coast to coast' pennants on the back of their machine. What they've seen. Why they've journeyed. A tirade against the monotony of business. And I'll stick in one of Hovey's stanzas, the one that goes: "There's a schooner in the offing With her topsails shot with fire. And my heart has gone aboard her For the Islands of Desire." "You can say," said the spokesman of the wanderers, "that this is Martin S. Stevers and party. I am Mr. Stevers of the Stevers Linseed Oil Company in San Francisco. Here's my card." "Thanks," said the newspaper man, taking the card. "And now," spake on the spokesman of the wanderers, "what can I do for you?" Newspaper men are perhaps the only creatures who as a type never learn how to ask questions. An embarrassment caused by the stupidity of the gabby great whom they interrogate daily puts a crimp into their tongues. Their questions wince in anticipation of the banalities they are doomed to elicit. Their curiosity collapses under the shadow of the inevitable, impending bromide. Thus the newspaper man, wearily certain that regardless of what he asks or how he asks it, he will hear for answers only the clumsy asininities behind which the personalities, leaders and sacred white cows pompously attitudinize, gets so that he mumbles a bit incoherently. But here was a different case. Here were merry travelers with memories of wind-swept valleys and star-capped mountains to chatter on. So the newspaper man unearthed his vocabulary, tilted his hat a trifle and smiled invitingly. "Well," said he to the spokesman of the wanderers, "The kind of story I'd like to get would be a story about five people wandering across the country. You know. Hills, sunsets, trees and how those things drive away the monotony that fills up the hearts of city folk. What you enjoyed on the trip and the advantages of a rover over a swivel-chair statistician." An eloquence was beginning to skip around on the newspaper man's tongue. His heart, weary of tall buildings and the endless grimace of city windows, began to warm under the visions his phrases aroused. Then he paused. One of the women had interrupted. "Go on Martin, you can tell him all that. And don't forget about the lovely hotel breakfast room in Des Moines." Martin, however, hesitated. He was a heavy-set, large-faced man with expansive features almost devoid of expression. Suddenly his face lighted up. His hands jumped together and he rubbed their palms enthusiastically. "I see," he said with profundity. "I see." "Yes," breathed the newspaper man. "Well," said Mr. Stevers, "the first thing I'd like to tell you, young man, is about the car. You won't believe this, but we've been making twenty miles on a gallon, that is, averaging twenty miles on each and every gallon, sir, since we left San Francisco. Pretty good, eh?" On a piece of scratch paper the newspaper man obediently wrote, "twenty miles, gallon." "And then," went on the spokesman for the wanderers, "Our speed, eh? You'd like to know that? Well, without stretching the thing at all, and you can verify it from any of my party, we've averaged twenty-six miles an hour all the time out. I tell you the old boat had to travel some to do that." '"Twenty-six miles," scribbled the newspaper man, adding after it, "The man's an idiot." Mr. Stevers, unmindful, loosened up. The price of gasoline. The price of breakfasts. The condition of the roads. How long a stretch they had been able to do without a halt. How many hours a day he himself had stuck at the wheel. When he had finished the newspaper man bowed and walked abruptly away. * * * * * The newspaper man's thoughts form a conclusion. "It's true, then," he thought, "the world's becoming as stupid as it looks. People are drying up inside with facts, figures, dollar signs. This man and his party would have got as much out of their cross-country trip if they'd all been blindfolded and shot through a tunnel two thousand feet under the ground. Man is like an audience and he has walked out on mystery and adventure. The show kind of tired him. And got his goat. It would have been a good yarn otherwise, the motor vagabonds. I'd have ended with Hovey's verse: "I must forth again tomorrow, With the sunset I must be Hull down on the trail of rapture In the wonder of the sea." Mumbling the lines to himself, the newspaper man strode on through the crowded loop with a sudden swagger in his eyes. NIRVANA The newspaper man felt a bit pensive. He sat in his bedroom frowning at his typewriter. About eight years ago he had decided to write a novel. Not that he had anything particular in his mind to write about. But the city was such a razzle-dazzle of dreams, tragedies, fantasies; such a crazy monotone of streets and windows that it filled the newspaper man's thought from day to day with an irritating blur. And for eight years or so the newspaper man had been fumbling around trying to get it down on paper. But no novel had grown out of the blur in his head. * * * * * The newspaper man put on his last year's straw hat and went into the street, taking his pensiveness with him. Warm. Rows of arc lights. A shifting crowd. There are some streets that draw aimless feet. The blazing store fronts, clothes shops, candy shops, drug-stores, Victrola shops, movie theatres invite with the promise of a saturnalia in suspense. At Wilson Avenue and Sheridan Road the newspaper man paused. Here the loneliness he had felt in his bedroom seemed to grow more acute. Not only his own aimlessness, but the aimlessness of the staring, smiling crowd afflicted him. Then out of the babble of faces he heard his name called. A rouged young flapper, high heeled, short skirted and a jaunty green hat. One of the impudent little swaggering boulevard promenaders who talk like simpletons and dance like Salomes, who laugh like parrots and ogle like Pierettes. The birdlike strut of her silkened legs, the brazen lure of her stenciled child face, the lithe grimace of her adolescent body under the stiff coloring of her clothes were a part of the blur in the newspaper man's mind. She was one of the things he fumbled for on the typewriter--one of the city products born of the tinpan bacchanal of the cabarets. A sort of frontispiece for an Irving Berlin ballad. The caricature of savagery that danced to the caricature of music from the jazz bands. The newspaper man smiled. Looking at her he understood her. But she would not fit into the typewritten phrases. "Wilson Avenue," he thought, as he walked beside her chatter. "The wise, brazen little virgins who shimmy and toddle, but never pay the fiddler. She's it. Selling her ankles for a glass of pop and her eyes for a fox trot. Unhuman little piece. A cross between a macaw and a marionette." * * * * * Thus, the newspaper man thinking and the flapper flapping, they came together to a cabaret in the neighborhood. The orchestra filled the place with confetti of sound. Laughter, shouts, a leap of voices, blazing lights, perspiring waiters, faces and hats thrusting vivid stencils through the uncoiling tinsel of tobacco smoke. On the dance floor bodies hugging, toddling, shimmying; faces fastened together; eyes glassy with incongruous ecstasies. The newspaper man ordered two drinks of moonshine and let the scene blur before him like a colored picture puzzle out of focus. Above the music he heard the childishly strident voice of the flapper: "Where you been hiding yourself? I thought you and I were cookies. Well, that's the way with you Johns. But there's enough to go around, you can bet. Say boy! I met the classiest John the other evening in front of the Hopper. Did he have class, boy! You know there are some of these fancy Johns who look like they were the class. But are they? Ask me. Nix. And don't I give them the berries, quick? Say, I don't let any John get moldy on me. Soon as I see they're heading for a dumb time I say 'razzberry.' And off your little sugar toddles." "How old are you?" inquired the newspaper man abstractedly. "Eighteen, nosey. Why the insult? I got a new job yesterday with the telephone company. That makes my sixth job this year. Tell me that ain't going good? One of the Johns I met in front of the Edgewater steered me to it. He turned out kind of moldy, and say! he was dumb. But I played along and got the job. "Say, I bet you never noticed my swell kicks." The flapper thrust forth her legs and twirled her feet. "Classy, eh? They go with the lid pretty nice. Say, you're kind of dumb yourself. You've got moldy since I saw you last." "How'd you remember my name?" inquired the newspaper man. "Oh, there are some Johns who tip over the oil can right from the start. And you never forget them. Nobody could forget you, handsome. Never no more, never. What do you say to another shot of hootch? The stuff's getting rottener and rottener, don't you think? Come on, swallow. Here's how. Oh, ain't we got fun!" * * * * * The orchestra paused. It resumed. The crowd thickened. Shouts, laughter, swaying bodies. A tinkle of glassware, snort of trombones, whang of banjos. The newspaper man looked on and listened through a film. The brazen patter of his young friend rippled on. A growing gamin coarseness in her talk with a nervous, restless twitter underneath. Her dark child eyes, perverse under their touch of black paint, swung eagerly through the crowd. Her talk of Johns, of dumb times and moldy times, of classy times and classy memories varied only slightly. She liked dancing and amusement parks. Automobile riding not so good. And besides you had to be careful. There were some Johns who thought it cute to play caveman. Yes, she'd had a lot of close times, but they wouldn't get her. Never, no, never no more. Anyway, not while there was music and dancing and a whoop-de-da-da in the amusement parks. The newspaper man, listening, thought, "An infant gone mad with her dolls. Or no, vice has lost its humanness. She's the symbol of new sin--the unhuman, passionless whirligig of baby girls and baby boys through the cabarets." * * * * * They came back from a dance and continued to sit. The din was still mounting. Entertainers fighting against the racket. Music fighting against the racket. Bored men and women finally achieving a bedlam and forgetting themselves in the artifice of confusion. The newspaper man looking at his young friend saw her taking it in. There was something he had been trying to fathom about her during her breathless chattering. She talked, danced, whirled, laughed, let loose giggling cries. And yet her eyes, the part that the rouge pot or the bead stick couldn't reach, seemed to grow deader and deader. The jazz band let out the crash of a new melody. The voices of the crowd rose in an "ah-ah-ah." Waiters were shoving fresh tables into the place, squeezing fresh arrivals around them. The flapper had paused in her breathless rigmarole of Johns and memories. Leaning forward suddenly she cried into the newspaper man's ear above the racket: "Say this is a dumb place." The newspaper man smiled. "Ain't it, though?" she went on. There was a pause and then the breathless voice sighed. She spoke. "Gee!"--with a laugh that still seemed breathless--"gee, but it's lonely here!" THE INDESTRUCTIBLE MASTERPIECE "You come with me to the Art Institute today," said Max Kramm. "My friend Broun has an exhibition. You know Broun? Ah, I think he is today the greatest living artist. No, we will walk. It is only four or five blocks. And I tell you a story." A story from Max Kramm is worth attention even though it is hot and though the Boul Mich pavement feels like a stove griddle through the leather of one's shoes. For the Dante-faced Max, in addition to being one of the leading piano professors of the country, the billiard champion of the Chicago Athletic Club and the most erudite porcelain connoisseur in Harper Avenue, is one of the survivors of the race of raconteurs that flourished in the time of nickel cigars and the free lunch. "I have eight more lessons to administer today," sighed Max with a parting glower at the premises of the Chicago Musical College, "But when my old friend Broun has an exhibition I go." * * * * * "It was when we lived together in a studio in North Avenue," said Max. "Jo Davidson, Walter Goldbeck and the bunch, we all roomed together in the same neighborhood and we were poor, I can tell you. But young. And that makes up for a lot of things. "Broun and I, we room together in a little attic where I have a piano and he paints. Even in those days we all knew Frank Broun would be a great painter if he didn't starve to death first. And the chances looked even. "Well, there was Schneider, of course. You never heard of him, I'll bet you. No, he don't paint. And he don't sing and he don't play the piano. He was somebody much more important than such things. Schneider was the proprietor of a beer saloon in North Avenue. Where is he now, I wonder? Well, in those days he saved our life twice a day regularly. "Broun and I we keep alive for one whole year on Schneider's free lunch. Herring, pickles, rye bread, pepper beef, boiled ham, onions, pretzels, roast beef and a big jar full of fine cheese. And, I forgot, a jar full of olives and a dish of crackers. Oh, there was food fit for a king in Schneider's. You buy one glass beer, for five cents, and then you eat till you bust--for nothing. "You can't imagine what that meant to us in those days. Broun and I, we sometimes have so much as ten cents a day between us and on this we must live. So at noon we both go into Schneider's. Broun says, 'You want a drink, Max? I say, 'No, Frank.' Then I engage Schneider in talk while Broun makes away with a meal. Then Broun does the talking and it is my turn. "Well, it got so that the good Schneider finally points out to us one day. 'Max,' he says, 'and Frank, I tell you something. You boys owe me three dollars and you come in here and eat all your meals and you don't even pay for the one glass beer you buy any more. I am sorry, but your credit is exhausted.' "So you can imagine what Broun and I feel when we get home. No more Schneider's, no more food, and eventually we see ourselves both starving to death. "'Max' says Broun, 'I have an idea.' And he did. "Like all great ideas, it was simple. Broun figures that what we need to do is to convince Schneider we have wonderful prospects and so Schneider will give us back our credit. So Broun sits down that day and all day and most of the night he paints. I think it was the last canvas he had in the studio, too. And a big one. You know all of Broun's landscapes are big. "Well, he paints and paints, and when he is finished we take the picture to Schneider, the two of us carrying it. I tell Schneider that it is one of the old masters which we just received from Berlin from my father's studio. Then Broun says that Schneider must keep it in his place. It is too valuable to hang in our attic. Schneider looks at the picture and, it being so big, he half believes it. "Then Broun and I go to the bank and draw out our $10 which we have saved up for a rainy day. And we go down town and get the picture insured for $2,000. You can imagine Schneider. We bring the insurance gink out there and when he gives us the policy and we show it to Schneider--well, our credit is re-established. Herring, rye bread, roast beef, pickles and cheese once more. We eat. "Schneider is more proud of that picture than a peacock. And every day we drop in to see if it is all right and Broun always goes behind the bar and dusts it off a little and draws himself another drink. There is never any question any more of our credit. Don't we own a picture insured for $2,000? The good Schneider is glad to have such affluent customers, you can believe me. * * * * * "Well, things go on like this for some months. Then I am coming home one night with Broun and the fire engines pass us. So Frank and I we go to the fire. "It is Schneider's beer saloon. We see it a block off. Frank turns pale and he holds my arm and he whispers, 'Max, the picture! It is burning up!' "I look at Broun and I suppose I tremble a little myself. Who wouldn't? Two thousand dollars! 'Max,' says Broun, 'We go around the world together. And I saw a suit today and a cane I must have.' "But we couldn't talk. We walk slowly to the beer saloon. We walk already like plutocrats, arm in arm, and our faces with a faraway look. We are spending the two thousand, you can imagine. "The saloon is burning fine. Everything is going up in smoke. Broun and I, we hold on to each other. We see Jo Davidson running to the fire and we nod at him politely. Money makes a big difference, you know. "And then we hear a cry. I recognize Schneider and I see him break loose from the crowd. He runs back into the burning saloon, a fireman after him. Broun and I, we stand and watch. He is probably gone after one of his kids. But I count the kids who are all in the street and they are all there. "Then Schneider comes out and the fireman, too. And they are carrying something. Broun falls against the delicatessen store window and groans. And I close my eyes. Yes, it is the picture. "Schneider sees us and comes rushing. He is half burned up. But the picture is not touched. He and the fireman hand us the picture. As for me, I turn away and I lose command of the English language. "'You boys trusted me,' says Schneider, 'and I remembered just in time. I remembered your picture. I may not be an artist, but I don't let a masterpiece burn up. Not in my saloon. So I save it. It is the only thing I save out of the whole saloon.' And he wrings Broun's hand, and I say, 'thanks.' That night, all night long, I played Beethoven. The Ninth Symphony is good for feelings such as mine and Broun's." * * * * * It is cooler in the Art Institute and Max, smiling in memory of other days, looks at the Broun exhibition. "I could finish the story by telling you excitedly that this landscape here is the picture Schneider saved," he went on, pointing to one of the large canvases. "But no. It wouldn't be the truth. I have the picture home. It is not yet worth $2,000, but in a few years more, who knows? Maybe I have cause to thank Schneider yet." SATRAPS AT PLAY The elfin-faced danseuse puts it over. Her voice sounds like a run-down fifteen-cent harmonica. But that doesn't matter. Not at two a.m. in an all-night cabaret. You don't need a voice to knock us out of our seats. You need something else--pep. "I wanna be--in Tennuhsee," the elfin-faced one squeaks. And the ladies of the chorus grin vacuously and kick their pink tights. One, two, kick! One, two, kick! I wanna be--in Tennuhsee. One, two, kick! The third one on the other side looks all right. No, too fat. There's one. The one at the end. Pretty, ain't she? Who? You mean the one with the long nose? No, whatsamatter with you? The one with the eyes. See. She's bending over now. Some kid. Two a.m. outside. Dark streets. Sleepy chauffeurs dreaming of $10 tips. All-night Greek restaurants. Twenty-second Street has gone to bed. But we sit in the warm cabaret, devilishly proud of ourselves. We're a part of the gang that stays awake when the stars are out. And the elfin-faced one cuts loose. Attaboy, girlie! Legs shooting through the tobacco smoke. Eyes like drunken birds. A banjo body playing jazz capers on the air. It ain't art. But who the devil wants art? What we want are conniption fits. This is the way the soul of Franz Liszt looked when he was writing music. Mumba Jumba had a dream that looked like this one night when the jungle moon arched its back and spat at his black linen face. All right. Three a.m. Bring out the lions and the Christians now. The master of ceremonies is a fat man with little, ineffectual hands and a voice that bows and genuflects and throws itself politely worshipful at our feet. Amateur night, says the voice, and some ladies and gentlemen will seek to entertain us with a few specialties for our amusement. And will the ladies and gentlemen of the audience applaud according to the merit of each performer? For the one who gets the most applause, he or she will win the grand first prize of fifty bones. Attaboy! Will we applaud? Say, bring 'em out I Bring 'em out! Ah, here she is. A pale, trembling little morsel with frightened eyes and a worn blue serge skirt. The floor is slippery. "Miss Waghwoughblngsz," says the voice, "will sing for your entertainment." A terrified little squeak. A Mae Marsh grimace of courage. Good! Say, she's great! Look at her try to swing her body. And her arms have lost their joints. And she's forgotten the words. Poor little tyke. Throw her something. Pennies. While she's singing. See who can hit her. So we throw her pennies and nickels and dimes. They land on her head and one takes her on the nose. And her voice dies away like a baby bird falling out of a nest. And she stands still--jerking her mouth and the pennies falling all around her. And a cynical-looking youth bounces out and picks them up. Bravo! She tried to bow and slipped. Another round of applause for that. All right, take her away. What did she sing? What was the song that mumbled itself through the laughter and the rain of pennies? * * * * * Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sghsgbrszsg will endeavor to entertain you with a ballad for your amusement. That's fine. After three a.m. outside. Cold and dark. But nothing cold or dark about us. We're just getting started. Bring 'em out. Bring out the ballad singer. Ah, there's a lad for you. His shoes all shined and a clean collar on and his face carefully shaved at home. But his hands wouldn't wash clean. The shop grime lingers on his hands and in his broken nails. But his eyes are blue and he's going to sing. The boys at the shop know his songs. The noon hour knows them. But his voice sounds different here under the beating tungstens. It quavers. Something about Ireland. A little bit of heaven. He can't sing. If he was in his shirt sleeves and the collar was off and his face didn't hurt from the dull safety razor blade--it would sound better. But--pennies for him. Hit the singing boy in the eye and win the hand-painted cazaza. "A little bit of heaven called Ireland," is what he's singing. And the noises start. The pennies and nickels rain. Finis! Not so good. He sang it all the way through and his voice grew better and better. Take him away. We didn't like the way his eyes blazed back at us when the pennies fell. Not so good. Not so good. Here she is. Little Bertha, the Sewing Machine Girl. In the flesh. And walking across the slippery dance floor with her French heeled patent leathers wiggling under her. Bertha's the doodles. This is the way she stood at the piano at Sadie's party. This is the way she smiled at the errand boys and counter jumpers at Sadie's party. This is the way she bowed and this is the song she sang to them that they applauded so much. And this is too good to be true. Bravo six times. Dimes and quarters and a majestic half dollar that takes Bertha on the ear. Bravo eleven times. Bertha stands smirking and moving her shoulders and singing in a piping little shop-girl voice. Encore, _cherie!_ Encore! And it goes to Bertha's head. The applause and laughter, the lights and the pounding of the pennies falling out of heaven around her feet--these are too much for Bertha. She ends. Her arms make a gesture, a weak little gesture as if she were embracing one of the errand boys in a vestibule, saying good-night. A vague radiance comes over Bertha's face. Bravo twenty-nine times. The grand prize of fifty bones is hers. Wait and see if it ain't. More lions and more Christians. Bring 'em out. The sad-looking boy with the harmonica. He forgets the tune all the time and we laugh and hit him with pennies. The clerk with the shock of black hair who does an Apache dance, and does it well. Too well. And the female impersonator who does a can-can female dance very well. Much too well. Nobody wants them. We want Bertha, the Sewing Machine Girl. There was a thrill to her. The way she looked when the applause grew loud. The way her girl arms reached out toward something. As if we at the tables rolling around in our seats and laughing our heads off and all dressed up and guzzling sandwiches and ginger ale, as if we were something at a rainbow end. Bring her on again. Line 'em up. Now we'll applaud the one we liked the best. For his nobs who gargled the Irish ballad, two bravos. If he hadn't got mad at us. Or if he'd got madder and spat a little more behind the music that came from him. But he didn't. The first gal who died on the floor. Whose heart collapsed. Whose eyes went blank with terror. Nine bravos for her. There was a thrill to her. Bravos for the rest of them, too. But Bertha wins the hand-painted cazaza. Fifty bucks for Bertha. Here you are, Bertha. You win. Look, she's crying. That's all right, li'l girl. That's all right. Don't cry. We just gave you the prize because you gave us a thrill. That's fair enough. Because of all the geniuses who performed for our amusement and whom we bombarded with pennies you were the only one who threw out your arms and your eyes to us as if we were rainbow's end. MRS. SARDOTOPOLIS' EVENING OFF Mrs. Sardotopolis hurried along without looking into the store window. She was carrying her baby home from the doctor's office. The doctor said, "Hurry on. Get him home and don't buy him any ice cream on the way." Mrs. Sardotopolis lived in a place above a candy, book and notion store at 608 South Halsted street. It was late afternoon. Greeks, Jews, Russians, Italians, Czechs, were busy in the street. They sat outside their stores in old chairs, hovered protectingly over the outdoor knick-knack counters, walked lazily in search of iced drinks or stood with their noses close together arguing. The store windows glittered with crude colors and careless peasants' clothes. It was at such times as this, hurrying home from a doctor's office or a grocery store, that Mrs. Sardotopolis enjoyed herself. Her little eyes would take in the gleaming arrays of tin pans, calico remnants, picture books, hair combs and things like that with which the merchants of Halsted Street fill their windows. But this time Mrs. Sardotopolis had seven blocks to go to her home and there was no time for looking at things. Despite the heat she had carefully wrapped the baby in her arms in a shawl. * * * * * When Mrs. Sardotopolis got home there would be eight other children to take care of. But that was a simple matter. None of them was sick. When the eight children weren't sick they tumbled, shrieked and squealed in the dark hallway or in the street. Anywhere. Mrs. Sardotopolis only listened with half an ear. As long as they made noise they were healthy. So from day to day she listened not for their noise but to hear if any of them grew quiet. Joe had grown quiet. Joe was the baby, a year and a half, and quite a citizen. After several days Mrs. Sardotopolis couldn't stand Joe's quiet any more. His skin, too, made her feel sad. His skin was hot and dry. So she had hurried off to the doctor. There was hardly time in her day for such an errand. Now she must get home quickly. Mr. Sardotopolis and his three brothers would be home before it got dark. In the kitchen in the big pot she had left three chickens cooking. * * * * * A gypsy leaned out of a doorway. She was dressed in many red, blue and yellow petticoats and waists. Beads hung from her neck and her withered arms were alive with copper bracelets. "Tell your fortune, missus," she called. Mrs. Sardotopolis hurried by with no more than a look. Some day she would let the gypsy tell her fortune. It cost only twenty-five cents. But now there was no time. Too much to do. Her arms--heavy, tireless arms that knew how to work for fifteen hours each day--clung to the bundle Joe made in his shawl. But the doctor was a fool. What harm could ice cream do? When anybody was sick ice cream could make them well. So Mrs. Sardotopolis lifted Joe up and turned her eyes toward an ice cream stand. She stopped. If Joe said, "Wanna," she would buy him some. But Joe didn't seem to know what she was offering, although usually he was quite a citizen. So she said aloud, "Wanna ice cream, Joe?" To this Joe made no answer except to let his head fall back. Mrs. Sardotopolis grew frightened and walked fast. As she came near her home Mrs. Sardotopolis was leaning over the bundle in her arms, crying, "Joe! Joe! Do you hear, Joe?" The streets swarmed with the early evening crowds of men and women going home. In the cars the people stood packed as if they were sardines. A few feet from her door beside the candy and notion store Mrs. Sardotopolis stopped. Her heavy face had grown white. She raised the bundle closer to her eyes and looked at it. "Joe!" she repeated. "What's a matter, Joe?" The bundle was silent. So Mrs. Sardotopolis pinched it. Then she stared at the closed eyes. Then she seized the bundle and crushed it desperately in her heavy arms, against her heavy bosom. "Joe!" she repeated. "What's a matter, Joe?" The glazier sitting in front of his glassware store stood up and blinked. "Whatsamatter?" he asked. Mrs. Sardotopolis didn't answer, but stood in front of her house, holding the bundle in her arms and repeating its name. A small crowd gathered. She addressed herself to several women of her race. "I knew, before it come," she said. "He didn't want no ice cream." Mrs. Sardotopolis walked upstairs and laid the bundle down on the table. It lay without moving and Mrs. Sardotopolis stood over it without moving. Then she sat down in a chair beside it and began to cry. * * * * * When Mr. Sardotopolis and his three brothers came home from driving the wagon they found her still crying. "Joe is dead," she said. The other children were all properly noisy. Mr. Sardotopolis said, "I will call my sisters and mother." He went over, looked at the child that lay dead on the table and stroked its head. The sisters and mothers arrived. They took charge of the big pot with the three chickens in it, of the eight squalling little ones and of the silent bundle on the table. There were four sisters. As it grew dark Mrs. Sardotopolis found that she was sitting alone in a corner of the room. She felt tired. There was no use hugging the baby any more. Joe was dead. In a few days he would be buried. Tears. Yes, particularly since in a few months he would have had a smaller brother. Now Mrs. Sardotopolis was frightened. Joe was the first to die. She walked out of the house, down the dark hallway into the street. "It will do her good," said her mother-in-law, who watched her. In the street there was nothing to do. There were no errands to make. She could just walk. People were just walking. Young people arm in arm. It was a summer night in Halsted Street. Mrs. Sardotopolis walked until her eyes grew clearer. She took a deep breath and looked about her nervously. There was a gypsy leaning out of the doorway. Mrs. Sardotopolis stared at her. "Tell your fortune, missus," called the gypsy. Mrs. Sardotopolis nodded and entered the hallway. Her head felt dizzy. But there was nothing to do until tomorrow, when they buried Joe. With a curious thrill under her heavy bosom, Mrs. Sardotopolis held out her work-coarsened palm to the gypsy. THE GREAT TRAVELER Alexander Ginkel has been around the world. A week ago he came to Chicago and, after looking around for a few days, located in one of the less expensive hotels and started to work as a porter in a well-known department store downtown. A friend said, "There's a man living in my hotel who should make a good story. He's been around the world. Worked in England, Bulgaria, Russia, Siberia, China and everywhere. Was cook on a tramp steamer in the south seas. A remarkable fellow, really." In this way I came to call on Ginkel. I found him after work in his room. He was a short man, over 30, and looked uninteresting. I told him that we should be able to get some sort of story out of his travels and experiences. He nodded. "Yes," he said, "I've been all around the world." Then he became silent and looked at me hopefully. I explained, "People like to read about travelers. They sit at home themselves and wonder what it would be like to travel. You probably had a lot of experiences that would give people a vicarious thrill. I understand you were a cook on a tramp steamer in the south seas." "Oh, yes," said Ginkel, "I've been all over. I've been around the world." * * * * * We lighted pipes and Ginkel removed a book from a drawer in the dresser. He opened it and I saw it was a book of photographs--mostly pictures taken with a small camera. "Here are some things you could use," he said. "You wanna look at them." We went through the pictures together. "This one here," said Ginkel, "is me in Vladivostok. It was taken on the corner there." The photograph showed Ginkel dressed just as he was in the hotel room, standing near a lamp post on a street corner. There was visible a part of a store window. "This one is interesting," said Ginkel, warming up. "It was taken in the archipelago. You know where. I forget the name of the town. But it was in the south seas." We both studied it for a space. It showed Ginkel standing underneath something that looked like a palm tree. But the tree was slightly out of focus. So were Ginkel's feet. "It is interesting," said Ginkel, "But it ain't such a good picture. The lower part is kind of blurred, you notice." We looked through the album in silence for a while. Then Ginkel suddenly remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said. "There's one I think you'll like. It was taken in Calcutta. You know where. Here it is." He pointed proudly toward the end of the book. We studied it through the tobacco smoke. It was a photograph of Ginkel dressed in the same clothes as before and standing under a store awning. "There was a good light on this," said Ginkel, "and you see how plain it comes out." Then we continued without comment to study other photographs. There were at least several hundred. They were all of Ginkel. Most of them were blurred and showed odds and ends of backgrounds out of focus, such as trees, street cars, buildings, telephone poles. There was one that finally aroused Ginkel to comment: "This would have been a good one, but it got light struck," he said. "It was taken in Bagdad." * * * * * When we had exhausted the album Ginkel felt more at ease. He offered me some tobacco from his pouch. I resumed the original line of questioning. "Did you have any unusual adventures during your travels or did you get any ideas that we could fix up for a story," I asked. "Well," said Ginkel, "I was always a camera bug, you know. I guess that's what gave me the bug for travelling. To take pictures, you know. I got a lot more than these, but I ain't mounted them yet." "Are they like the ones in the book." "Not quite so good, most of them," Ginkel answered. "They were taken when I hadn't had much experience." "You must have been in Russia while the revolution was going on, weren't you?" "Oh, yes. I got one there." He opened the book again. "Here," he said. "This was in Moscow. I was in Moscow when this was taken." It was another picture of Ginkel slightly out of focus and standing against a store front. I asked him suddenly who had taken all the pictures. "Oh, that was easy," he said. "I can always find somebody to do that. I take a picture of them first and then they take one of me. I always give them the one I take of them and keep the one they take of me." "Did you see any of the revolution, Ginkel?" "A lot of monkey business," said Ginkel. "I seen some of it. Not much." The last thing I said was, "You must have come in for a lot of sights. We might fix up a story about that if you could give me a line on them." And the last thing Ginkel said was: "Oh, yes, I've been around the world." THUMBS UP AND DOWN Later the art jury will sit on them. The art jury will discuss tone and modelling, rhythm and chiaroscuro and perspective. And in the light of these discussions and decisions the art jury will sort out the masterpieces that are to be hung in the Chicago artists' exhibition and the masterpieces that are not to be hung. Right now, however, Louis and Mike are unwrapping them. Every day between nine and five Louis and Mike assemble in the basement of the Art Institute. The masterpieces arrive by the bushel, the truckload, the basketful. Louis unwraps them. Mike stacks them up. Louis then calls off their names and the names of geniuses responsible for them. Mike writes this vital information down in a book. * * * * * Art is a contagious business. Perfectly normal and marvelously wholesome-minded people are as likely to succumb to it as anybody else. It is significant that the Purity League meeting in the city a few weeks ago discussed the dangers which lay in exposing even decent, law-abiding people to art, any kind of art. The insidious influence of art cannot, as a matter of fact, be exaggerated. I personally know of a number of very fine and highly respected citizens who have been lured away from their very business by art. However, this is no place to sound the alarm. I will some day talk on the subject before the Rotary Club. To return to Louis and Mike. After Mike writes the vital information down in a book Louis carts the canvas over to a truck and it is ready for the jury room. When they started on the job Louis and Mike were frankly indifferent. They might just as well have been unwrapping herring cases. And they were exceedingly efficient. They unwrapped them and catalogued them as fast as they came. In three days, however, the workmanlike morale with which Louis and Mike started on the job has been undermined. They have grown more leisurely. They no longer bundle the pictures around like herring cases. Instead they look at them, try them this way and that way until they find out which way is right side up. Then they pass judgment. Louis unwraps them. I was standing by in the basement with Bert Elliott, who has submitted a modernistic picture of Michigan Avenue, the Wrigley Building and the sky, called "Up, Straight and Across." "'The Home of the Muskrat,'" Louis called. Mike wrote it down. "Wanna look at it, Mike?" "Yeah, let's see." Time out for critical inspection. "Say, this guy never saw a muskrat house. That ain't the way." "'Isle of Dreams,'" called Louis. "Hm! You can't tell which is right side up. I guess it goes like this." "No. The other," said Mike. "Try it on its side. There, I told you so. 'Isle of Dreams.' I don't see no isle." "Here's a cuckoo," called Louis, suddenly. "'Mist.'" "What?" "'Mist,' it says, only 'Mist,' Mike. I'll say he missed. It ain't no picture at all. That's a swell idee. Draw a picture in a fog and have the fog so heavy you can't see nothing, then you don't have to put any picture in. Can you beat it?" "Go on. Try another." "All right. Here's one. 'The Faithful Friend.' Now there's what I call a picture. I knowed a guy who owned a dog that looked just like this. A setter or something." "Go on. That ain't a setter. It's a spaniel." "You're cuckoo, Mike. Tell me it's a spaniel! Let's put it up ahead. It's probably one of the prize winners. Here's a daffy one. 'At Play.' What's at play? I don't see nothin' at play. Take a look, Mike." "It's a sea picture. There's the sea, the gray part." "You're nuts. Hennessey has a sea picture over the bar with some gals on the rocks. You know the one I mean. And if this is a sea picture I'm a orang-outang." "Well, Louis, it's probably a different sea. Can you imagine anybody sending a thing like that in? It ain't hardly worth the work of unwrapping it. Hurry up, Louis, we're way behind." "Well, take this, then. 'Children of the Ice.' Hm, I don't see no kids. I suppose this stuff here is the ice. But where's the kids?" "He probably means the birds over there, Louis." "If he means the birds why don't he say birds instead of children? Why don't he say 'birds of the ice'? What's the sense of saying 'children of the ice' when he means birds?" "Go on, Louis. Don't argue with me. Hurry up." "Here's some photographs." "Them ain't photographs, you nut. They're portraits." "Well, they look almost as good as photographs. 'My Favorite Pupil.' It's pretty good, Mike. See, there's the violin. He's a violin pupil. You can tell. Got it?" "Yeah. Bring on the next." * * * * * A silence came over Louis. He stood for several minutes staring at something. "Hurry up," called Mike. "It's getting late." "This is a mistake," called Louis. "Here's one that's a mistake." "How come, Louis?" "Well, look at it. You can see for yourself. The guy made a mistake." "What does it read on the back? Hurry, we can't waste no more time." "It reads 'Up, Down and Across' or something. It's a mistake though." Louis remained eyeing the canvas raptly. "It ain't finished, Mike. We ought to send it back." "Let's see, Louis." Time out for critical inspection. "You're right. It is a mistake. 'Up, Down and Across,' you said. Well, we'll let it ride. It's not our fault. What's the name of the guy?" "Bert Elliott," called Louis. A laugh followed. Louis turned to me and my friend. "You see this?" he said. "I get it now. That's the Wrigley Building over there. What do you know about that?" Louis seized his sides and doubled up. Mr. Elliott, beside me, cleared his throat and glanced apprehensively at his canvas. "I'll say it's the first one he laughed at," said Mr. Elliott, pensively. "He didn't laugh at any of the others. Look, he's still looking at it. That's longer than he looked at any of the others." "All right, Louis," from Mike. "Come on." "Ho, ho," Louis went on, "I'd like to see this guy Elliott. Anybody who would draw a picture like that. Hold your horses, Mike, here's another. 'The Faun." What's a faun, Mike? I guess he means fern. It looks like a fern." "It does that, Louis. But we'll have to let it go as a faun. It's probably a foreign word. Most of these artists are foreigners, anyway." Mr. Elliott and I left, Mr. Elliott remarking on the way down the Institute steps, "Ho, hum." ORNAMENTS Ornaments change, and perhaps not for the best. The scherzo architecture of Villon's Paris, the gabled caprice of Shakespeare's London, the Rip Van Winkle jauntiness of a vanished New York, these are ghosts that wander among the skyscrapers and dynamo beltings of modernity. One by one the charming blunders of the past have been set to rights. Highways are no longer the casual folderols of adventure, but the reposeful and efficient arteries of traffic. The roofs of the town are no longer a rumble of idiotic hats cocked at a devil-may-care angle. Windows no longer wink lopsidedly at one another. Doorways and chimneys, railings and lanterns have changed. Cobblestones and dirt have vanished, at least officially. Towns once were like improvised little melodramas. Men once wore their backgrounds as they wore their clothes--to fit their moods. A cap and feather, a gable and a latticed window for romance. A glove and rapier, a turret and a postern gate for adventure. And for our immemorial friend Routine a humpty-dumpty jumble of alleys, feather pens, cobblestones, echoing stairways and bouncing milk carts. * * * * * These things have all been properly corrected. Today the city frowns from one end to the other like a highly efficient and insanely practical platitude. Mood has given way to mode. An essential evolution, alas! D'Artagnan wore his Paris as a cloak. And perhaps Mr. Insull wears his Chicago as a shirt front. But most of us have parted company with the town. It is a background designed and marvelously executed for our conveniences. The great metronomes of the loop with their million windows, the deft crisscross of streets, the utilitarian miracles of plumbing, doorways, heating systems and passenger carriers--these are monuments to our collective sanity. But if one is insane, if one has inherited one's grandfather's characteristics as idler, loafer, lounger, dreamer, lover or picaroon, what then? Eh, one stays at home and tells it to the typewriter or, more likely, one gets run down, chewed up and bespattered while darting across State Street in quest of an invigorating vanilla phosphate. * * * * * Nevertheless--there's a word that speaks innate optimism, nevertheless, there are things which do not change as logically as do ornaments. Men and women, for instance. And although the town wears its mask of deplorable sanity and though Sunnyside Avenue seems suavely reminiscent of Von Bissing's troops goose-stepping through Belgium--there are men and women. One naturally inquires, where? Quite so, where are there men and women in the city? One sees crowds. But men and women are lost. One observes crowds answering the advertisements. The advertisements say, come here, go there. And one sees men and women devotedly bent upon rewarding the advertisers. Again, nevertheless, there are other observations to make. There are the taxicabs. Here in the taxicabs one may still observe men and women. Villon's Paris, Shakespeare's London and vanished New York, these are crowded into the taxicabs. In the taxicabs men and women still wear the furtive, illogical, questing, mysterious devil-may-care, wasterel adventure masks of their grandfathers' yesterdays. * * * * * What ho! A devilishly involved argument, that, when the taxicab owners plume themselves upon being the last word in the matter of deplorable efficiency, the ultimate gasp in the business of convenience! Nevertheless, although Mr. Hertz points with proper scorn to the sedan chair, the palanquin, the ox cart and the Ringling Brothers' racing chariots, we sweep a three-dollar fedora across the ground, raise our eyebrows and smile mysteriously to ourselves. For on the days when our insanities grow somewhat persistent there is a solace in the spectacle of taxicabs that none of the advertisements of Mr. Hertz or his; contemporaries can take away. For odds bodkins! gaze you through the little windows of these taxicabs. Pretty gals leaning forward eager-eyed, lips parted, with an air of piquing rendezvous to the parasols clutched in their dainty hands. Plump, heavy-jowled dandies reclining like tailored paladins in the leather cushions. Keen-eyed youths surrounded with heaps of bags and cases on a carefully linened quest. Nervous old women, mysteriously ragged creatures, rakish silk hats, bundles of children with staring fingers, strangely mustachioed and ribald-necked gentry. * * * * * A goodly company. A teasing procession for the eye and the thought. The cabs shoot by, caracoling through the orderly lines of traffic; zigzags of yellow, green, blue, lavender, black and white snorting along with a fine disdain. They speak of destinations reminiscent of the postern gate and the latticed window; of the waiting barque and the glowing tavern. Of the crowds on the pavements; of the crowds in the passenger cars, elevators, lobbies, one wonders little where they are going. Answering advertisements, forsooth. Vertebrate brothers of the codfish. But these others! Ah, one stands on the curb with the vanilla phosphate playing havoc with one's blood and wonders a hatful. These sybarites of the taxis are going somewhere. Make no doubt of that. These insanely assorted creatures bouncing on the leather cushions are launched upon mysterious and important enterprises. And these bold-looking jehus, black eyed, hard mouthed--a fetching tribe! A cross between Acroceraunian bandits and Samaritans. One may stare at a taxi scooting by and think with no incongruity of Carlyle's "Night of Spurs"--with Louis and his harried Antoinette flying the guillotine. And of other things which our inefficient memory prevents us from jotting down at this moment. But of other things. Journalism is incomplete without its moral or at least its overtones of morals. And we come to that now as an honest reporter should. Our moral is very simple. Any good platitudinarian will already have forestalled it. It is that the goodly company riding about in these taxicabs upon which we have been speculating are none other than these codfish of the pavements. The same, messieurs. A fact which gives us hope; briefly, hope for the fact that the world is not as sane as it looks and that, despite all the fine strivings of construction engineers, plumbers, advertisers and the like, men and women still preserve the quaint spirit of disorder and melodrama which once lived in the ornaments of the town. THE WATCH FIXER The wooden counter in front of Gustave is littered with tiny pieces of spring, tiny keys, almost invisible screws and odd-looking tools. Gustave himself is a large man with ponderous eyebrows and a thick nose. He stands behind his counter in the North Wells Street repair shop looking much too large for the store itself and grotesquely out of proportion with the springs, keys, screws and miniature tools before him. Attached to Gustave's right eye is a microscope. It is fastened on by aid of straps round his large head. When he works he moves the instrument over his eye and when he rests he raises it so that it sticks out of his eyebrow. Gustave is a watchmaker. When he was young he made watches of curious design. But for years he has had to content himself with repairing watches. Incased in his old-fashioned leather apron that hangs from his shoulders, the venerable and somewhat Gargantuan Gustave stands most of the day peering into the tiny mechanisms of watches brought into the old furniture shop. Gustave's partner is responsible for the furniture end of the business. As Gustave grows older he seems to lose interest in things that do not pertain to the delicate intricacies of watches. * * * * * I had a watch that was being fixed. Gustave said it would be ready in a half-hour. He slipped the microscope over his eye and, bending in his heavy round-shouldered way above the small watch, began to pry with his thick fingers. A pair of tiny pincers, a fragile-looking screwdriver and a set of things that looked like dolls' tools occupied him. We talked, Gustave answering and evading questions and offering comments as he worked. "Not zo hard ven you ged used to it," he said. "Und I am used to it. Vatches are my friends. I like to look into dem und make dem go. Yes, I have been vorking on vatches for a long time. Years und years. "No, I vas vunce in the manufagturing business. Long ago. It vas ven I vas married und had children. I come over from the old country den und I start in. Preddy soon ve had money to spare. Ve came oud here to Chicago und got a house. A very nice house. "My vife was a danzer in the old country. Maybe you have heard of her. But never mind. I had dis vatch factory over here by the river. Dat vas thirty years ago. Und we had a barn und horses. "But you know how it is! Vat you have today you don't have tomorrow. Not so? My vife first. The nice house und the children vasn't enough for her. She must danze also. I vas younger und my head vas harder den. Und I said, 'No.' Alzo she vent avay. Yes, she vent avay. Und der vas two kids. My youngest a girl und my oldest a boy." The microscope fastened itself closely to the inanimate springs and keys and screws. Gustave's thick fingers reached for a pair of baby pincers. And he continued now without the aid of questions in a low, gutteral voice: "Vell, business got bad und I gave up the factory. Und I starded in someding else. Den my youngest she died. Yes, dat's how it goes. First vun ding und den anoder ding. Und preddy soon you have nodings. "I tried to find my vife, but she vas hiding from me. Perhaps I vas hard headed in dem days. Ven you are young you are like dat. Now id is diff'rend. She iss dead und I am alive. Und if she had been my vife righd along she vould still be dead now. Alzo vat matter does it make? "Dat vas maybe tventy years ago or maybe more. Maybe tventy-five years ago. Dings got all mixed up and my businesses got vorse und vorse. Und den my son ran avay und wrides me he become a sailor. So I vas alone." "Dis vatch," sighed Gustave, "is very hard to figx. It iss an old vatch und not much good to begin vit. But I figx him. Vat vas ve talking aboud? Oh, my business. Yes, yes. It goes like dat. I don't hear from my vife und I don't hear from my son. Und my liddle vun iss dead. Und so I lose my fine house und the horses und everyding. "Preddy soon I got no job even und preddy soon I am almost a bum. I hang around saloons und drink beer und do noding but spend a little money I pick up now un den by doing liddle jobs. Ah, now I have it. It vas de liddle spring. See? Zo. Most of dese vatches iss no good vatsoever. Dey make vatches diff'rend now as dey used to. Chust vun minute or two more und I have him figxed so he don'd break no more for a vile. Und vat vas we talking aboud? "Ah, yes. Aboud how I drink beer und vas a bum. Dat's how it goes. Ven you are young you have less sense den ven you are old. Und I used to go around thinking I vould commit suicide. Yes, at night ven I vas all alone I used to think like dat. Everyding vas so oopside down und so inside oud. Vat's de use of living und vy go on drinking beer und becoming a vorse und bigger bum? "Yes, it goes like dat. Ven I vas rich und happy und had my factory und my vife und children und horses und fine house I used to think vat a fine place the vorld vas und how simple it vas to be happy. Und den ven everyding vent avay I vas chust as big a fool und I used to think how terrible the vorld vas und how unhappiness vas all you could get. * * * * * "Yes, ten years ago, it vas. I started in again. I started in on vatches again. I got a job figxing vatches und a friend says he vould give me a chance. Und here I am. Still figxing vatches. Dey are my friends. Inside dey are all broken. Dey have liddle tings wrong vid dem und are inside oud und oopside down und I figx dem. "I don' know vy, but figxing vatches made a new man from me. I don' think no more aboud my troubles und how oopside down and impozzible everyding is. But I look all de time into vatches und make dem go again. Yes, it iss like you say, a delicate business, und my fingers iss getting old for it, maybe. But I like dese liddle tools und all dese liddle things aboud a vatch I like to look at und hold und figx up. "Because it iss so simple. Ezpecially ven you get acquainted vid how dey run und vy dey stop. Und der are zo many busted vatches. Zo nice outside und zo busted inside. I can'd explain maybe how it iss. But it iss like dat. Ven I hold de busted vatches under the micgrozcope, I feel happy I don' know. Some time maybe somebody pick me up like I vas a busted vatch und hold me under a micgrozcope und figx me up until I go tick tick again. Maybe dat's vy. Here. All done." Gustave shifted the microscope up over his eyebrow and smiled ponderously across the counter. "Put it on," he said, "but be careful. Dat's how vatches iss busted alvays. By bumping und paying no attention to dem." SCHOPENHAUER'S SON Life, alas, is an intricate illusion. God is a pack of lies under which man staggers to his grave. And man--ah, here we have Nature's only mountebank; here we have Nature's humorous and ingenuous experiment in tragedy. And thought--ah, the tissue-paper chimera that seeks forever to devour life. It is the cult of the pessimist, the gentle malice of disillusion. And, like all other cults, it sustains its advocates. Thus, the city has no more debonairly-mannered, smiling-souled citizen to offer than Clarence Darrow. For years and years Mr. Darrow has been gently disproving the intelligence of man, the importance of life, and the necessity of thought. For years and years Mr. Darrow has been whimsically deflating the illusions in which man hides from the purposelessness of the cosmos. God, heaven, politics, philosophies, ambition, love--Mr. Darrow has deflated them time and again--charging from $1 to $2 a seat for the spectacle. This is nothing against Mr. Darrow--that he charges money sometimes. For years and years Mr. Darrow has been enlivening the intellectual purlieus of the city with his debates. And Mr. Darrow's debates have been always worth $1, $2 and even $5--for various reasons. It is worth at least $5 to observe at first hand what a cheering and invigorating effect Mr. Darrow's pessimism has had upon Mr. Darrow after these innumerable years. * * * * * The story concerns itself with a funeral Mr. Darrow attended a few years ago. It is at funerals that Mr. Darrow's gentle malice finds itself crowned by circumstances. For to this son of Schopenhauer death is a weary smile that is proof of all his arguments. This time, however, Mr. Darrow was curiously stirred. For there lay dead in the coffin a man for whom he had held a deep affection. It was Prof. George B. Foster, the brilliant theologian of the University of Chicago. During his life Prof. Foster had been a man worthy the steel of Mr. Darrow. Not that Prof. Foster was an unscrupulous optimist. He was merely an intellectual whose congenital tendencies were idealistic, just as Mr. Darrow's psychic and subconscious tendencies were anti-idealistic. And apart from this divergence of congenital tendencies Mr. Darrow and Prof. Foster had a great deal in common. They both loved argument. They both doted upon seizing an idea and energizing it with their egoism. They were, in short, ideal debaters. Whenever Mr. Darrow and Prof. Foster debated on one of the major issues of reason a flutter made itself felt in the city--even among citizens indifferent to debate. Indifferent or not, one felt that a debate between Prof. Foster and Mr. Darrow was a matter of considerable importance. Things might be disproved or proved on such an occasion. * * * * * They were to have debated on "Is There Immortality?" when Prof. Foster's death canceled the engagement. This was one of the favorite differences of opinion between the two friends. Mr. Darrow, of course, bent all his efforts on disproving immortality. Prof. Foster bent all his on proving it. Considerable excitement had been stirred by the coming debate. The death of the brilliant theologian put an end to it. Instead of the debate there was a funeral. Thousands of people who had admired the intellect, kindness and humanitarianism of Prof. Foster came to the memorial services held in one of the large theaters of the loop. Mr. Darrow came, his head bowed and grief in his heart. Friends like George Foster never replace themselves. Death becomes not a triumphant argument--an aloof clincher for pessimism, but a robber. There were speakers who talked of the dead man's virtues, his love for people, scholarship and the arts, his keen brain and his genius. Mr. Darrow sat listening to the eulogy of his dead friend and tears filled his eyes. Poor George Foster--gone, in a coffin; to be buried out of sight in a few hours. Then some one whispered to Mr. Darrow that a few words were expected of him. * * * * * It was Mr. Darrow's good-bye to his dear friend. He stood up and his loose figure and slyly malicious face wore an unaccustomed seriousness. The audience waited, but the facile Mr. Darrow was having difficulty locating his voice, his words. His eyes, blurred with tears, were still staring at the coffin. Finally Mr. Darrow began. His dear friend. Dead. So charming a man. So brilliant a mind. Dead now. He had been so amazingly alive it seemed incredible that he should be dead. It was as if part of himself--Mr. Darrow--lay in the coffin. The eulogy continued, quiet, sincere, stirring tears in the audience and filling their hearts with a realization of the grief that lay in Mr. Darrow's heart. Then slowly the phrases grew clearer. "We were old friends and we fought many battles of the mind," said Mr. Darrow. "And we were to have debated once more next week--on 'Is There Immortality?' It was his contention," whispered Mr. Darrow, "that there is immortality. He is gone now, but he speaks more eloquently on the subject than if he were still with us. There lies all that remains of my friend George Burman Foster--in a coffin. And had he lived he would have argued with me on the subject. But he is dead and he knows now, in the negation and darkness of death, that he was wrong--that there is no immortality--" Mr. Darrow paused. He had after many years won his argument with Prof. Foster. But the victory brought no elation. Mr. Darrow's eyes filled again and he turned to walk from the stage. But before he left the mourners sitting around him heard him murmur: "I wish poor George Foster had been right. There would be nobody happier than I to realize that his soul had survived--that there was still a George Foster. But--if he could come back now after the proof of death he would admit--yes, admit that--that there is no immortality." And Mr. Darrow with his head bowed yielded the platform to his inarticulate and vanquished friend and debater. WORLD CONQUERORS The hall is upstairs. A non-committal sign has been tacked over the street entrance. It discloses that there is to be a discussion this night on the subject of the world revolution. The disclosure is made in English, Yiddish and Russian. A thousand people have arrived. They are mostly west siders, with a sprinkling of north and south side residents. There seem to be two types. Shop workers and a type that classifies as the intelligentsia. The workers sit calmly and smoke. The intelligentsia are nervous. Dark-eyed women, bearded men, vivacious, exchanging greetings, cracking jokes. The first speaker is a very bad orator. He is a working-man. An intensity of manner holds the audience in lieu of phrases. He says nothing. Yet every one listens. He says that workingmen have been slaves long enough. That there is injustice in the world. That the light of freedom has appeared on the horizon. This, to the audience, is old stuff. Yet they watch the talker. He has something they one and all treasured in their own hearts. A faith in something. The workingmen in the audience have stopped smoking. They listen with a faint skepticism in their eyes. The intelligentsia, however, are warming up. For the moment old emotions are stirring in them. Sincerity in others--the martyr spirit in others--is something which thrills the insincerity of all intelligentsia. Suddenly there is a change in the hall. Our stuttering orator with the forceful manner has made a few startling remarks. He has said, "And what we must do, comrades, is to use force. We can get nowhere without force. We must uproot, overthrow and seize the government." Scandal! A murmur races around the hall. The residents from the north and south sides who have favored this discussion of world revolution with their uplifting presence are uneasy. Somebody should stop the man. It's one thing to be sincere, and another thing to be too sincere and tell them that they should use force. Now, what's the matter? The orator has grown violent. It is somebody in the back of the hall. Heads turn. A policeman! The orator swings his arms, and in his foreign tongue, goes on. "They are stopping us. The bourgeoisie! They have sent the polizei! But we stand firm. The police are powerless against us. Even though they drive us from this hall." The orator is all alone in his excitement. The audience has, despite his valorous pronouncements, grown nervous. And the policeman walking down the aisle seems embarrassed. He arrives at the platform finally. He hands a card to the orator. The orator glances at the card and then waves it in the air. Then he reads it slowly, his lips moving as he spells the words out. The audience is shifting around, acting as if it wanted to rise and bolt for the door. "Ah," exclaims the orator, "the policeman says that an enemy of the revolution has smashed an automobile belonging to one of the audience that was standing in front of the hall. The number of the automobile is as follows." He recites the number slowly. And then: "If anybody has an automobile by that number standing downstairs he better go and look after it." A substantial looking north sider arises and walks hurriedly through the hall. The orator decides to subside. There is a wait for the chief speaker, who has not yet arrived. During the wait an incident develops. There are two lights burning at the rear of the stage. A young woman calls one of the officials of the meeting. "Look," she says, "those lights make it impossible for us to see the speaker who stands in front of them. They shine in our eyes." The official wears a red sash across the front of his coat. He is one of the minor leaders among the west side soviet radicals. He blinks. "What do you want of me?" he inquires with indignation. "I should go and turn the lights out? You think I'm the janitor?" "But can't you just turn the lights off?" persists the young woman. "The janitor," announces our official with dignity, "turns the lights on and he will turn them off." Wherewith the Tarquin of the proletaire marches off. Two minutes later a man in his short sleeves appears, following him. This man is the janitor. The audience which has observed this little comedy begins to laugh as the janitor turns off the offending lights. The chief speaker of the evening has arrived. He is a good orator. He is also cynical of his audience. A short wiry man with a pugnacious face and a cocksure mustache. He begins by asking what they are all afraid of. He accuses them of being more social than revolutionary. As long as revolution was the thing of the hour they were revolutionists. But now that it is no longer the thing of the hour, they have taken up other hobbies. This appears to be rather the truth from the way the intelligentsia take it. They nod approval. Self-indictment is one thing which distinguishes the intelligentsia. They are able to recognize their faults, their shortcomings. Now the speaker is on his real subject. Revolution. What we want, he cries, is for the same terrible misfortune to happen in this country that happened in Russia. Yes, the same marvelous misfortune. And he is ready. He is working toward that end. And he wishes in all sincerity that the audience would work with him. Start a reign of terror. Put the spirit of the masses into the day. The unconquerable will to overthrow the tyrant and govern themselves. He continues--an apostle of force. Of fighting. Of shooting, stabbing and barricades that fly the red flag. He is sardonic and sarcastic and everything else. And the audience is disturbed. There are whispers of scandal. And half the faces of the intelligentsia frown in disapproval. They came to hear economic argument, not a call to arms. The other half is stirred. It is almost eleven. The hall empties. The streets are alive. People hurry, saunter, stand laughing. Street cars, store fronts, mean houses, shadows and a friendly moon. These are part of the system. Three hours ago they seemed a powerful, impregnable symbol. Now they can be overthrown. The security that pervades the street is an illusion. Force can knock it out. A strange force that lies in the masses who live in this street. The audience moves away. The intelligentsia will discuss the possibility of a sudden uprising of the proletaire and gradually they will grow cynical about it and say, "Well, he was a good talker." The orator finally emerges from the building. He is surrounded by friends, questioners. For two blocks he has company. Then he is alone. He stands waiting for a street car. Some of the audience pass by without recognizing him. The street car comes and the orator gets on. He finds a seat. His head drops against the window and his eyes close. And the car sweeps away, taking with it its load of sleepy men and women who have stayed up too late--including a messiah of the proletaire who dreams of leading the masses out of bondage. THE MAN FROM YESTERDAY "You'll not use my name," he said, "because my family would be exceedingly grieved over the notoriety the thing would bring them." Fifty or sixty or seventy--it was hard to tell how old he was. He looked like a panhandler and talked like a scholar. Life had knocked him out and walked over him. There was no money in his pocket, no food in his stomach, no hope in his heart. He was asking for a job--some kind of writing job. His hands were trembling and his face twitched. Despair underlay his words, but he kept it under. Hunger made his body jerked and his eyes shine with an unmannerly eagerness. But his words remained suave. He removed a pair of cracked nose-glasses and held them between his thumb and forefinger and gestured politely with them. Hungry, dirty, hopeless, his linen gone, his shoes torn, something inside his beaten frame remained still intact. There was no future. But he had a past to live up to. He was asking for a job. What kind of job he didn't know. But he could write. He had been around the world. He was a cosmopolite and a rhymester and a press agent and a journalist. He pulled himself together and his eyes struggled hard to forget the hunger of his stomach. "In the old days," he said, enunciating in the oracular manner of a day gone by--"ah, I was talking with Jack London about it before he died. Dear Jack! A great soul. A marvelous spirit. We were in the south seas together. Yes, the old days were different. Erudition counted for something. I was Buffalo Bill's first press agent. Also I worked for dear P. T. Barnum. I was his publicity man. "Doesn't the world seem to have changed, to you?" he asked. "I was talking to George Ade about this very thing. Strange, isn't it? George and I are old friends. Who? Dickie Davis of the Sun? Certainly--a charming fellow. Stephen Crane? Genius, my friend, genius was his. That was the day when O. Henry was in New York. There was quite a crowd of us. We used to foregather in some comfortable grog shop and discuss. Ah, life and letters were talked about a great deal in those days." * * * * * His voice had the sound of a man casually relating incidents of his past. But his eyes continued to shine eagerly. And between sentences there were curious pauses. The pauses asked something. "A most curious thing occurred the other evening," he smiled. "I had to pay for my oysters by writing a rhyme for the waiter." An anecdote by a dilettante, a gracefully turned plea worthy of M'sieur Bruinrmell. "You know, it grows more and more difficult to obtain employment. My wardrobe is practically gone." He glanced with apparent amusement at his weary-willie makeup. His hand moved tremblingly to his neck. "My collar is soiled," he murmured, apologizing with eyes that managed to smile, "and the other evening I lost my stick." Then the hunger and the hopelessness of the man broke through the shell of his manner. He needed a job, a job, a job! Something to do to get him food and shelter. His fingers tried to place the cracked nose-glasses back in position. "I would--pardon me for mentioning this--I would much rather sit with a man like you and discuss the phases of life and literature of interest to both of us. But I would write almost anything. I have written a great deal. And I have managed money. There was a time--" A look of pain came into his eyes. This was being vulgar and not in line with the tradition that his enunciation boasted. "I have known a great many people. I don't desire to bore you with talk of celebrities and all that. But I assure you, I have been somebody. Oh, nothing important or perhaps very worth while. I dislike this sort of thing, you know." Another smile twisted his lips. "But, when one is down to the last--er--to the last farthing, so to speak, one swallows a bit of his pride. That's more than an aphorism with me. To go on, I have handled great sums of money. I have traveled all over the world, I have eaten and spoken with men of genius all my life. My youth was a very interesting one and--and perhaps we could go somewhere for dinner and--and I could tell you things of writing men of the past that--that might appeal to you. Marvelous fellows. There was O. Henry and London and Davis and Phillips and Stevie Crane. I dislike imposing myself on you this way, but--if I didn't think you would be interested in a discussion with a man who--who admires the beautiful things of life and who has lived a rather varied existence I would not--" * * * * * The cracked nose-glasses were back in place and he had stopped short. Despair and hunger now were talking out of his eyes. They had come too close to his words. They must never come into his words. That would be the one defeat that would drive too deeply into him. Of the past, of the easygoing, charmingly garrulous past, all that was left to this nomad of letters was its manner. He could still sit in his rags as if he were lounging in the salon of an ocean liner, still gesture with his nose-glasses as if he were fixing the attention of a Richard Harding Davis across a bottle of Chateau Yquem. So he remained silent. Let his eyes and the twitching of his face betray him. His words never would. His words would always be the well-groomed, carefully modulated, nicely considerate words of a gentleman. He resumed: "So you have nothing. Ah, that's rather--rather disturbing. Just a moment--please. I don't mean to impose on you. Won't you sit down--so I will feel more at ease? Thank you, sir. Perhaps there is something in the way of a--of another kind of job. Anything about a theater, a newspaper office, a magazine, a circus, an hotel. I know them all. And if you could only keep an eye open for me. Thank you, sir. I am glad to see that men of letters are still considerate of their fellow craftsmen. Ah, you would have liked Jack London. Did you know him? You know, we live in an age of jazz. Yes, sir, the tempo is fast. Life has lost its andante. Materialism has triumphed. There is no longer room for the spirit to expand. Machines are in the way. Noises invade the sanctity of meditative hours." * * * * * It was cold outside the cigar store. The man from yesterday stepped into the street. He stood smiling for a moment and for the moment in the courteous friendliness of his rheumy eyes, in the mannerly tilt of his head there was the picture of a sophisticated gentleman of the world nodding an adieu outside his favorite chophouse. Then he turned. The mannerly tilt vanished. There was to be seen a man--fifty, sixty or seventy, it was hard to tell how old--shuffling tiredly down the street, his body huddled together and his shoulders shivering. THUMBNAIL LOTHARIOS Here's the low down, gentlemen. The Miserere of the manicurist. Peewee, the Titian-haired Aphrodite of the Thousand Nails has been inveigled into submitting her lipstick memoirs to the public eye. Peewee is the melting little lady with the vermilion mouth and the cooing eyes who manicures in a Rialto hotel barber shop. She is the one whose touch is like the cool caress of a snowflake, whose face is as void of guile as the face of the Blessed Damosel. There are others, scissor-Salomes and nail-file Dryads. Mr. Flo Ziegfeld has nothing on George, the head barber, when it comes to an eye for color and a sense for curve. But they are busy at the moment. The hair-tonic Dons and the mud-pack Romeos are giving the girls a heavy play. Peewee alone is at leisure. Therefore let us gallop quickly to the memoirs. * * * * * "H'm," says Peewee, "I'll tell you about men. Of course what I say doesn't include all men. There may be exceptions to the rule. I say may be. I hope there are. I'd hate to think there weren't. I'd get sad." Steady, gentlemen. Peewee's doll face has lost guilelessness. Peewee's face has taken on a derisive and ominous air. "I'll give you the low down," says she with a sniff. "Men? They're all alike. I don't care who they are or what their wives and pastors think of them or what their mothers think of them. I got them pegged regardless. Young and old, and some of them so old they've gone back to the milk diet, they all make the same play when they come in here. "And they're all cheap. Yes, sir, some are cheaper than others, of course. There's the patent-leather hair lounge-lizard. I hand him the fur-lined medal for cheapness. But I got a lot of other medals and I give them all away, too. "Well, sir, they come in here and you take hold of their hand and start in doing honest work and, blooey! they're off. They're strangers in town. And lonesome! My God, how lonesome they are! And they don't know no place to go. That's the way they begin. And they give your hand a squeeze and roll a soft-boiled eye at you. "Say, it gets kind of tiring, you can imagine. Particularly after you've been through what I have and know their middle names, which are all alike, they all answering to the name of cheap sport. Sometimes I give them the baby stare and pretend I don't know what's on their so-called minds. And sometimes when my nerves are a little ragged I freeze them. Then sometimes I take them up. I let them put it over. "You'd be surprised. Liars! They're all rich. The young ones are all bond salesmen with wealthy fathers and going to inherit soon. The middle-aged ones are great manufacturers. The old ones are retired financiers. You should ought to hear the lads when they're hitting on all six." * * * * * Peewee wagged a wise old head and her vermilion mouth registered scorn at 105 degrees Fahrenheit. A very cold light, however, kindled in her beautiful eyes. "Yes, yes, I've taken them up," she went on. "I've let them stake me to the swell time. Say, ten dollars to one that these manicured millionaires don't mean any more than the Governor's pardon does to Carl Wanderer. Not a bit. I don't want to get personal, but, take it from me, they're all after one thing. And they're a pack of selfish, mushy-headed tin horns with fishhook pockets, the kind you can't pull anything out of. "Well, to get back. About the first minute you get the big, come-on squeeze. Then next the big talk about being strangers in your town. Then next they open with the big, hearty invitations. Will you be their little guide? And ain't you the most beautiful thing they ever set eyes on! And say, if they'd only met you before they wouldn't be living around hotels now, lonesome bachelors without a friend. I forgot to tell you, they're all single. No, never married. Even some of the most humpbacked married men you ever saw, who come in here dragging leg irons and looking a picture of the Common People, they're single, too. I've seen them slip wedding rings off their fingers to make their racket stand up. "Then after they've got along and think they've got you biting they begin to get fresh. They tell you you shouldn't ought to work in a barber shop, a girl as beautiful as you. The surroundings ain't what they should be. And they'd like to fix you up. Yes, they begin handing out their castles in Rome or Spain or whatever it is. Cheap! Say, they are so cheap they wouldn't go on the 5- and 10-cent store counter. "Sometimes you can shame them into making good in a small way. But it's too much work. Oh, yes, they give tips. Fifty cents is the usual tip. Sometimes they make it $2.00. They think they're buying you, though, for that. * * * * * "As I was saying, the patent-leather hair boys are the worst. They're the ones who call themselves loop hounds. They know everybody by their first name and sometimes they've got all of $6.50 in their pocket at one time. And if you're out some evening with a friend--a regular fella, they pop in the next day and say, 'Hello, Peewee, who was that street sweeper I see you palling with last night? Oh, he wasn't! Well, I had him pegged either as a street sweeper or a plumber!" "That's their speed. And they come again and again. They never give up. They've got visions of making a conquest some day--on $1.50. And when a new girl comes into the shop--boy, don't the buzzards buzz! I came here six months ago and they started it on me. But I wasn't born yesterday. I'd been a manicure in Indianapolis. And they're just the same in Indianapolis as they are in Chicago. And they're just the same in Podunk. "Now, I'm not going to mention any names. But take your city directory and begin with Ab Abner and go right on through to Zeke Zimbo and don't skip any. And you'll get a clear idea about the particular gentlemen I'm talking about." * * * * * Peewee sighed and shook her head. "Are you busy?" inquired the head manicurist. "Not at all," said Peewee, "not at all." Peewee's biographer asked a final question. To which she responded as follows: "Well, I'll get married. Maybe. When I find the exception I was telling you about--the gentleman who isn't a stranger in town and in need of a little guide. There must be one of them somewhere. Unless they was all killed in the war." THE SOUL OF SING LEE The years have made a cartoon out of Sing Lee. A withered yellow face with motionless black eyes. Thin fingers that move with lifeless precision. Slippered feet that shuffle as if Sing Lee were yawning. A smell of starch, wet linen and steam mingles with an aromatic mustiness. The day's work is done. Sing Lee sits in his chair behind the counter. Three walls look down upon him. Laundry packages--yellow paper, white string--crowd the wall shelves. Chinese letterings dance gayly on the yellow packages. Sing Lee, from behind the counter, stares out of the window. The Hyde Park police station is across the way. People pass and glance up: Sing Lee, Hand Laundry, 5222 Lake Park Avenue. Come in. There is something immaculate about Sing Lee. Sing Lee has been ironing out collars and shirts for thirty-five years. And thirty-five years have been ironing Sing Lee out. He is like one of the yellow packages on the shelves. And there is a certain lettering across his face as indecipherable and strange as the dance of the black hieroglyphs on the yellow laundry paper. Something enthralls Sing Lee. It can be seen plainly now as he sits behind the counter. It can be seen, too, as he works during the day. Sing Lee works like a man in an empty dream. It is the same to Sing Lee whether he works or sits still. The world of collars, cuffs and shirt fronts does not contain Sing Lee. It contains merely an automaton. The laundry is owned by an automaton named Sing Lee, by nobody else. Now that the day's work is done he will sit like this for an hour, two hours, five hours. Time is not a matter of hours to Sing Lee. Or of days. Or even of years. The many wilted collars that come under the lifeless hands of Sing Lee tell him an old story. The story has not varied for thirty-five years. A solution of water, soap and starch makes the collars clean again and stiff. They go back and they return, always wilted and soiled. Sing Lee needs no further corroboration of the fact that the crowds are at work. Doing what? Soiling their linen. That is as final as anything the crowds do. Sing Lee's curiosity does not venture beyond finalities. * * * * * Sing Lee is a resident of America. But this is a formal statistic and refers only to the automaton that owns the hand laundry in Lake Park Avenue. Observe a few more formal facts of Sing Lee's life. He has never been to a movie or a theater play. He has never ridden in an automobile. He has never looked at the lake. Thus it becomes obvious that Sing Lee lives somewhere else. For a man must go somewhere in thirty-five years. Or do something. There is a story then, in Sing Lee. Not a particularly long story. Life stories are sometimes no longer than a single line--a sentence, even a phrase. So if one could find out where Sing Lee lives one would have a story perhaps a whole sentence long. "Mukee kai, Sing Lee." A nod of the thin head. "Business good?" Another nod. "Pretty tired, washing, ironing all day, eh?" A nod. "When are you going to put in a laundry machine?" A shake of the thin head. "When are you going to quit, Sing Lee?" Another shake of the thin head. "You're not very gabby tonight, Sing." A dignified answer to this: "I thinking." "What about, Sing Lee?" A faint smile. The smile seems to set Sing Lee in motion. It comes from behind the automaton. It is perhaps Sing Lee's first gesture of life in weeks. "You don't mind my sitting here and smoking a pipe, eh?" * * * * * The minutes pass. Sing Lee stands up. He turns on a small electric light. This is a concession. This done, he opens a drawer behind the counter and removes a little bronze casket. The casket is placed on the counter. Slowly as if in a deep dream Sing Lee lights a match and holds it inside the casket. A thin spiral of lavender smoke unwinds from its mouth. Sing Lee watches the spiral of smoke. It wavers and unwinds. A finger writing; an idiot flower. Then it opens up into a large smoke eye. Smoke eyes drift casually away. An odor crawls into the air. Sing Lee's eyes close gently and his thin body moves as he takes a deep breath. His eyes still closed, Sing Lee speaks. "You writer?" he murmurs. "Yes." "I too," says Sing Lee. "I write poem." "Yes? When did you do that?" "Oh, long ago. Mebbe year. Mebbe five years." Sing Lee reaches into the open drawer and takes out a large sheet of rice paper. It is partly covered with Chinese letters up and down. "I read you in English," says Sing Lee. His eyes remain almost shut. He reads: The sky is young blue. Many fields wait. Many people look at young blue sky. Old people look at young blue sky. Many birds fly. At night moon comes and young blue sky is old. Many young people look at old sky. "Did you write that about Chicago, Sing Lee?" "No, no," says Sing Lee. His eyes open. The smoke eyes from the incense pot drift like miniature ghost clouds behind him and creep along the rows of yellow laundry packages. "No, no," says Sing Lee. "I write that about Canton. I born in Canton many years ago. Many, many years ago." MRS. RODJEZKE'S LAST JOB Mrs. Rodjezke scrubbed the corridors of the Otis building after the lawyers, stenographers and financiers had gone home. During the day Mrs. Rodjezke found other means of occupying her time. Keeping the two Rodjezke children in order, keeping the three-room flat, near the corner of Twenty-ninth and Wallace streets, in order and hiring herself for half-day cleaning, washing or minding-the-baby jobs filled this part of her day. As for the rest of the day, no fault could be found with the manner in which Mrs. Rodjezke used that part of her time. At five-thirty she reported for work in the janitor's quarters of the office building. She was given her pail, her scrub brush, mop and bar of soap and with eight other women who looked curiously like herself started to work in the corridors. The feet of the lawyers, stenographers and financiers had left stains. Crawling inch by inch down the tiled flooring, Mrs. Rodjezke removed the stains one at a time. Eight years at this work had taken away the necessity of her wearing knee pads. Mrs. Rodjezke's knees did not bother her very much as she scrubbed. * * * * * In the evening Mrs. Rodjezke usually rode home in the street car. There were several odd items about Mrs. Rodjezke that one could observe as she sat motionless and staring in her seat waiting for the 2900 block to appear. First, there were her clothes. Mrs. Rodjezke was not of the light-minded type of woman that changes styles with the season. Winter and summer she wore the same. Then there were her hands. Mrs. Rodjezke's fingernails were a contrast to the rest of her. The rest of her was somewhat vigorous and buxom looking. The fingernails, however, were pale--a colorless light blue. And the tips of her fingers looked a trifle swollen. Also the tips of her fingers were different in shade from the rest of her hands. Another item of note was her coiffure. Mrs. Rodjezke was always indifferently dressed, her clothes looking as if they had been thrown on and pinned together. Yet her coiffure was almost a proud and careful-looking thing. It proclaimed, alas, that the scrubwoman, despite the sensible employment of her time, was not entirely free from the vanities of her sex. The deliberate coiling and arranging of her stringy black hair must have taken a good fifteen minutes regularly out of Mrs. Rodjezke's otherwise industrious day. These items are given in order that Mrs. Rodjezke may be visualized for a moment as she rode home on a recent evening. It was very hot and the papers carried news on the front page: "Hot Spell to Continue." Mrs. Rodjezke got off the car at 29th and Halsted streets and walked to her flat. Here the two Rodjezke children, who were 8 and 10 years old respectively, were demanding their supper. After the food was eaten Mrs. Rodjezke said, in Bohemian: "We are going down to the beach to-night and go in swimming." Shouts from the younger Rodjezkes. * * * * * When the family appeared on the 51st Street beach it was alive with people from everywhere. They stood around cooling off in their bathing suits and trying to forget how hot it was by covering themselves in the chill sand. Mrs. Rodjezke's bathing suit was of the kind that attracts attention these days. It was voluminous and hand made and it looked as if it might have functioned as a "wrapper" in its palmier days. For a long time nobody noticed Mrs. Rodjezke. She sat on the sand. Her head felt dizzy. Her eyes burned. And there was a burn in the small of her back. Her knees also burned and the tips of her fingers throbbed. These symptoms failed to startle Mrs. Rodjezke. Their absence would have been more of a surprise. She sat staring at the lake and trying to keep track of her children. But their dark heads lost themselves in the noisy crowds in front of her and she gave that up. They would return in due time. Mrs. Rodjezke must not be criticized for a maternal indifference. The children of scrubwomen always return in due time. * * * * * Mrs. Rodjezke had come to the lake to cool off. The idea of going for a swim had been in her head for at least three years. She had always been able to overcome it, but this time somehow it had got the better of her and she had moved almost blindly toward the water front. "I will get a rest in the water," she thought. But now on the beach Mrs. Rodjezke found it difficult to rest. The dishes weren't washed in the kitchen home. The clothes needed changing on the beds. And other things. Lots of other things. Mrs. Rodjezke sighed as the shouts of the bathers floated by her ears. The sun had almost gone down and the lake looked dull. Faintly colored clouds were beginning to hide the water. It was no use. Mrs. Rodjezke couldn't rest. She sat and stared harder at the lake. Yes, there was something to do. Before it got too dark. Something very important to do. And it wasn't right not to do it. The scrubwoman sighed again and put her hand against her side. The burn had dropped to there. It had also gone into her head. But that was a thing which must be forgotten. Mrs. Rodjezke had learned how to forget it during the eight years. * * * * * A girl saw it first. She was laughing in a group of young men from the hotel. Then she exclaimed, suddenly: "Heavens! Look at that woman!" The group looked. They saw a middle-aged woman in a humorous bathing costume crawling patiently down the beach on her hands and knees. Soon other people were looking. Nobody interfered at first. Perhaps this was a curious exercise. Some of them laughed. But the woman's actions grew stranger. She would stop as she crawled and lift up handfuls of water from the edge of the lake. Then she would start scratching in the sand. A crowd collected and the beach policeman arrived. The beach policeman looked down at the woman on her hands and knees. She had stopped and her face had grown sad. "What's the matter here?" the policeman asked of her. The woman began to cry. Her tears flooded her round worn face. "I can't finish it to-night," she sobbed, "not now anyway. I'm too tired. I can't finish it to-night. And the soap has floated away. The soap is gone." * * * * * Mrs. Rodjezke was taken up by the policeman with the two Rodjezke children, who had, of course, returned in due time. They cried and cried and the group went to the police station. "I don't know what's wrong with the poor woman," said the beach policeman to the Hyde Park police sergeant. "But she was moving up and down like she was trying to scrub the beach." "I guess," said the sergeant, "we'll have to turn her over to the psychopathic hospital." There's a lot more to the story, but it has nothing to do with Mrs. Rodjezke's last job. QUEEN BESS' FEAST Elizabeth Winslow, who was a short, fat woman with an amazing gift of profanity and "known to the police" as "Queen Bess," is dead. According to the coroner's report Queen Bess died suddenly in a Wabash Avenue rooming house at the age of seventy. Twenty-five years ago Queen Bess rented rooms and sold drinks according to the easy-going ideas of that day. But there was something untouched by the sordidness of her calling about this ample Rabelaisian woman. There was a noise about Queen Bess lacking in her harpy contemporaries. "Big-hearted Bess," the coppers used to call her, and "Queenie" was the name her employees had for her. But to customers she was always Queen Bess. In the district where Queen Bess functioned the gossip of the day always prophesied dismally concerning her. She didn't save her money, Queen Bess didn't. And the time would come when she'd realize what that meant. And the idea of Queen Bess blowing in $5,000 for a tally-ho layout to ride to the races in! Six horses and two drivers in yellow and blue livery and girls all dressed like sore thumbs and the beribboned and painted coach bouncing down the boulevard to Washington Park--a lot of good that would do her in her old age! But Queen Bess went her way, throwing her tainted money back to the town as fast as the town threw it into her purse, roaring, swearing, laughing--a thumping sentimentalist, a clownish Samaritan, a Madam Aphrodite by Rube Goldberg. There are many stories that used to go the rounds. But when I read the coroner's report there was one tale in particular that started up in my head again. A mawkish tale, perhaps, and if I write it with too maudlin a slant I know who will wince the worst--Queen Bess, of course, who will sit up in her grave and, fastening a blazing eye on me, curse me out for every variety of fat-head and imbecile known to her exhaustive calendar of epithets. Nevertheless, in memory of the set of Oscar Wilde's works presented to my roommate twelve years ago one Christmas morning by Queen Bess, and in memory of the six world-famous oaths this great lady invented--here goes. Let Bess roar in her grave. There's one thing she can't do and that's call me a liar. * * * * * It was Thanksgiving day and years ago and my roommate Ned and I were staring glumly over the roofs of the town. "I've got an invitation for Thanksgiving dinner for both of us," said Ned. "But I feel kind of doubtful about going." I inquired what kind of invitation. "An engraved invitation," grinned Ned. "Here it is. I'll read it to you." He read from a white card: "You are cordially invited to attend a Thanksgiving dinner at the home of Queen Bess, ---- Street and Wabash Avenue, at 3 o'clock. You may bring one gentleman friend." "Why not go?" I asked. "I'm a New Englander at heart," smiled Ned, "and Thanksgiving is a sort of meaningful holiday. Particularly when you're alone in the great and wicked city. I've inquired of some of the fellows about Queen Bess's dinner. It seems that she gives one every Thanksgiving and that they're quite a tradition or institution. I can't find out what sort they are, though. I suspect some sort of an orgy on the order of the Black Mass." At 2 o'clock we left our room and headed for the house of Queen Bess. * * * * * A huge and ornamental chamber known as the ballroom, or the parlor, had been converted into a dining-room. Ned and I were early. Six or seven men had arrived. They stood around ill at ease, looking at the flamboyant paintings on the wall as if they were inspecting the Titian room of some museum. Ned, who knew the town, pointed out two of the six as men of means. One was manager of a store. One was a billiard champion in a Michigan Avenue club. Gradually the room filled up. A dozen more men arrived. Each was admitted by invitation as we had been. Sally, the colored mammy of the house, took charge and bade us be seated. Some twenty men took their places about the long rectangular table. And then a pianist entered. I think it was Prof. Schultz. He played the piano in the ballrooms of the district. He came in in a brand-new frock coat and patent leather shoes and sat down at the ivories. There was a pause and then the professor struck up, doloroso pianissimo, the tune of "Home, Sweet Home." As the first notes carrying the almost audible words, "Mid pleasures and palaces" arose from the piano the folding doors at the end of the ballroom parted and there appeared Queen Bess, followed by fifteen of the girls who sold drinks for her. Queen Bess was dressed in black, her white hair coiffured like a hospital superintendent's. Her girls were dressed in simple afternoon frocks. Neither rouge nor beads were to be seen on them. And as the professor played "Home, Sweet Home" Queen Bess marched her companions solemnly down the length of the ballroom and seated them at the table. I remember that before the numerous servitors started functioning Queen Bess made a speech. She stood up at the head of the table, her red face beaming under her white hair and her black eyes commanding the attention of the men and women before her. "All of you know who I am, blankety blank," said Queen Bess, "and, blankety blank, what a reputation I got. All of you know. But I've invited you to this blankety blank dinner, hoping you will humor me for the afternoon and pretend you forget. I would like to see you enjoy yourselves at the banquet board, eat and drink what wine there is and laugh and be thankful, but without pulling any blankety blank rough stuff. I would like to see you enjoy yourselves as if you were in--in your own homes. Which I take it none of you gentlemen have got, seeing you are sitting here at the board of Queen Bess. "Now, gentlemen," she concluded, "if it's asking too much of you to forget, the fault is mine and not yours. And nobody will be penalized or bawled out, blankety blank him, for being unable to forget. But if you can forget, and if you can let us enjoy ourselves for an afternoon in a blankety blank decent and God-fearing way--God love you." And Queen Bess sat down. We ate and drank and laughed till seven o'clock that evening. And I remember that not one of the twenty men present used a profane word during this time; not one of them did or said anything that wouldn't have passed muster in his own home, if he had one. And that no one got drunk except Queen Bess. Yes, Queen Bess in her black dress got very drunk and swore like a trooper and laughed like a crazy child. And when the party was over Queen Bess stood at the door and we passed out, shaking hands with her and giving her our thanks. She stood, steadying herself against the door beam, and saying to each of us as she shook our hands: "God love you. God love you for bringing happiness to a blankety blank blank like old Queen Bess." THE DAGGER VENUS The great Gabriel Salvini, whose genius has electrified the populace of a thousand vaudeville centers, sat in his suite at the Astor Hotel and listened glumly to the strains from a phonograph. "What is the use?" growled the great Salvini. "It is no use. You listen to her." "New music for your act, signor?" "No, no, no. My wife. You hear her? She lie on the floor. The phonograph music play. The man call from the phonograph, 'one, two; one, two; one, higher; one, two.' And my wife, she lie on the floor and she kick up. She kick down. She roll over. She bend back. She bend forward. But it is no use." "Madam is reducing, then, signor?" "Bah! She kick. She roll. She jump. I say 'Lucia, what good for you to kick and jump when tonight you sit down and you eat; name of God, how you eat! Potatoes and more potatoes. Bread with butter on it. Meat, pie, cream, candy--ten thousand devils! She eat and eat until the eyes stick out. There is no more place to put. And I say, 'Lucia, you eat enough for six weeks every time you set down to the table.' I say, 'Lucia, look how the MacSwiney of Ireland go for thirty weeks without eating one bite.' Bah!" "It is difficult to make a woman stop eating, signor." "Difficult! Aha, but she must stop, or what become of me, the great Salvini, who have 200 medals? Look! I will show you from my book what they say of me. They say, 'Salvini is the greatest in his line.' They say, 'Here is genius; here is a man whose skill transcends the imagination.' So what I do if madam keep on growing fatter? Ah, you hear that music? It drive me crazy. I sit every day and listen. You hear her kick. Bang, bang! That's how she kick up she lie on the back. Ah, it is tragedy, tragedy!" I nodded in silence as the great Salvini arose and moved across the room, a dapper figure in a scarlet dressing gown and green silk slippers. He returned with a fresh load of cigarettes. I noticed his hands--thin, gentle-looking fingers, like a woman's. They quivered perceptibly as he lighted his smoke, and I marveled at this--that the wizard fingers of the great Gabriel Salvini should shake! "I tell you my story," he resumed. "I tell no one else. But you shall hear it. It is a story of--of this." And he clapped his hand despairingly over his heart. "I suffer. Name of God, I suffer every day, every night. And why? because! You listen to her. She still kick and kick and kick. And I sit here and think 'Where will it all end?' Another five pounds and I am ruined. "It is ten years ago I meet her. Ah, so beautiful, so sweet, so light--like this." And the great Salvini traced the wavering elfin proportions of the Lucia of his youth in the air with his hands. "And I say to her, 'My beloved, my queen, you and I will be married and we will work together and grow famous and rich.' And she say, 'Yes.' So we marry and begin work at once. I am in Milan, in Italy. And all through the honeymoon I study my Lucia. For my work is hard. All through the honeymoon I use only little stickers I throw at her. I begin that way. Five, six, seven hours a day we practice. Ah, so sweet and beautiful she is as she stand against the board and I throw the little stickers at her. She smile at me, 'Have courage, Salvini.' And I see the love in her eyes and am happy and my arm and wrist are sure. "Then I buy the knives to throw at her. I buy the best. Beautiful knives. I have them made for her special. For not a hair of my beloved's head must be touched. And we practice with the knives. I am then already famous. Everybody in Italy knows Salvini, the great knife thrower. They say, 'Never has there been a young man of such genius with the knives.' But I am only begin. * * * * * "Our début is a success. What do I say, 'Success!' Bah! It is like wildfire. They stand up and cheer. 'Salvini, Salvini!' they cry. And she, my beloved, stand against the board framed by the beautiful knives that fit exactly around her--to an inch, to a quarter inch, to a hair from her ears and neck. And she stand, and as they cheer for Salvini, the great Salvini, I see her smile at me. Ah, how sweet she is! How happy I am! "And so we go on. I train all the time. Soon I know the outline of my Lucia so well I can close my eyes and throw knives at her, and always they come with the point only a hair away from her body. I pin her dress against the board. Her arms she stretch out and I give her two sleeves of knives. And for five years, no for eight years, everything go well. Never once I touch her. Always I watch her eyes when I throw and her eyes give me courage. "But then what happen? Ah, ten thousand devils, she begin. She grow fat. One night I send a knife through the skin of her arm. I cannot go on with the act. I must stop. I break down and weep. For I love her so much the blood that comes from her arm drive me crazy. But I say, 'How did the great Salvini make such a mistake? It is incredible.' Then I look at her and I see something. She is getting fat. Name of God, I shudder. I say, 'Lucia, we are ruined. You get fat. I can only throw knives at you like you were, like we have studied together. You get fat. I must change my throw. I cannot!" * * * * * The great Salvini raised his shoulders in a despairing shrug. "Two years ago that was," he whispered. "She weigh one hundred fifty pounds when we marry. So pretty, so light she is. But now she weigh already two hundred pounds, and she is going up. She will not listen to me. "It is the eat, the eat, the terrible eat which do this. And every night when we perform I shiver, I grow cold. I stand looking at her as she take her place on the board. And I see she have grow bigger. Perhaps it is nothing to you, a woman grown bigger. But to Salvini it is ruin. "I throw the knife. Zip it goes and I close my eyes each time. I no longer dare give her the beautiful frame as before. But I must throw away. Because for eight years I have thrown at a target of 150 pounds. And my art cannot change. "Some day she will be sorry. Yes, some day she will understand what she is doing to me. She will eat, eat until she grow so fat that it is all my target that I mastered on the honeymoon. And I will throw the knife over. She will no longer be Lucia, and it will hit. Name of God, it will hit her and sink in." "Well, she will have learned a lesson then, signor." "She will have learned. But me, I will be ruined. They will laugh. They will say, 'Salvini, the great Salvini, is done. He cannot throw the knives any more. Look, last night he hit his wife. Twice, three, times he threw the knives into her.' _Sapristi!_ It is the stubbornness of womankind. "I will tell you. Why does she eat, eat, eat? Why does she grow fat? Because she no longer loves me. No, she do it on purpose to ruin me." And the great Salvini covered his ears with his hands as the phonograph continued relentlessly, "one, two, one, two, higher, two." LETTERS One of the drawers in my desk is full of letters that people have sent in. Some of them are knocks or boosts, but most of them are tips. There are several hundred tips on stories in the drawer. Today, while looking them over I thought that these tips were a story in themselves. To begin with, the different kinds of stationery and the different kinds of handwriting. You would think that stationery and handwriting so varied would contain varied suggestions and varied points of view. But from the top of the pile to the bottom--through 360 letters written on 360 different kinds of paper--there runs only one tip. And in the 360 different kinds of handwriting there runs only one story. * * * * * "There is a man I see almost every day on my way home from work," writes one, "and I think he would make a good story. There is something queer about him. He keeps mumbling to himself all the time." This tip is on plain stationery. "--and I see the old woman frequently," writes another. "Nobody knows who she is or what she does. She is sure a woman of mystery. You ought to be able to get a good story out of her." This tip is on pink stationery. "I think you can find him around midnight walking through the city hall. He walks through the hall every midnight and whistles queer tunes. Nobody has ever talked to him and they don't know what he does there. There is certainly a queer story in that man." This tip is written on a business letterhead. "She lives in a back room and so far as anybody knows has no occupation. There's something awfully queer about her and I've often wondered what the mystery about her really was. Won't you look her up and write it out? Her address is--" This tip is on monogrammed paper. "I've been waiting for you to write about the queer old man who hangs out on the Dearborn Street bridge. I've passed him frequently and he's always at the same place. I've wondered time and again what his history was and why he always stood in the same place." This tip is on a broker's stationery. "He sells hot beans in the loop and he's an old-timer. He's always laughing and whenever I see him I think, 'There's a story in that old man. There's sure something odd about him.'" This tip is on scratch paper. "I saw her first several years ago. She was dressed all in black and was running. As it was past midnight I thought it strange. But I've seen her since and always late at night and she's always running. She must be about forty years old and from what I could see of her face a very curious kind of woman. In fact, we call her the woman of mystery in our neighborhood. Come out to Oakley Avenue some night and see for yourself. There's a wonderful story in that running woman, I'm certain." This tip is signed "A Stenographer." They continue--tips on strange, weird, curious, odd, old, chuckling, mysterious men and women. Solitaries. Enigmatic figures moving silently through the streets. Nameless ones; exiles from the free and easy conformity of the town. If you should read these letters all through at one sitting you would get a very strange impression of the city. You would see a procession of mysterious figures flitting through the streets, an unending swarm of dim ones, queer ones. And then as you kept on reading this procession would gradually focus into a single figure. This is because all the letters are so nearly alike and because the mysterious ones offered as tips are described in almost identical terms. So the dim ones, the queer ones, would become a composite, and you would have in your thought the image of a single one. A huge, nebulous caricature--hooded, its head lowered, its eyes peering furtively from under shaggy brows, its thin fingers fumbling under a great black cloak, its feet moving in a soundless shuffle over the pavement. Sometimes I have gone out and found the "woman of mystery" given in a letter. Usually an embittered creature living in the memory of wrongs that life has done her. Or a psychopathic case suffering from hallucinations or at war with its own impulses. And each of them has said, "I hate people. I don't like this neighborhood. And I keep to myself." The letters all ask, "Who is this one?" But that doesn't begin to answer the question the letters ask, "Who is it?" * * * * * The story of the odd ones is perhaps no more interesting than the story that might be written of the letters that "tip them off." A story here, of the harried, buried little figures that make up the swarm of the city and of the way they glimpse mystery out of the corners of their eyes. Of the way they pause for a moment on their treadmill to wonder about the silent, shuffling caricature with its hooded face and its thin fingers groping under its heavy black cloak. In another drawer I have stored away letters of another kind. Letters that the caricature sends me. Queer, marvelous scrawls that remind one of spiders and bats swinging against white backgrounds. These letters are seldom signed. They are written almost invariably on cheap blue lined pad paper. There are at least two hundred of them. And if you should read them all through at one sitting you would get a strange sense that this caricature of the hooded face was talking to you. That the Queer One who shuffles through the streets was sitting beside you and whispering marvelous things into your ear. He writes of the stars, of inventions that will revolutionize man, of discoveries he has made, of new continents to be visited, of trips to the moon and of buried races that live beneath the rivers and mountains. He writes of amazing crimes he has committed, of weird longings that will not let him sleep. And, too, he writes of strange gods which man should worship. He pours out his soul in a fantastic scrawl. He says: "One is all. God looked down and saw ants. The wheel of life turns seven times and you can see between. You will sometime understand this. But now you have curtains on your eyes." Now that you have read all the letters the city becomes a picture. An office in which sits a well-dressed business man dictating to a pretty stenographer. They are hard at work, but as they work their eyes glance furtively out of a tall, thin window. Some one is passing outside the window. A strange figure, hooded, head down, with his hands moving queerly under his great black cloak. THE MOTHER She sat on one of the benches in the Morals Court. The years had made a coarse mask of her face. There was nothing to see in her eyes. Her hands were red and leathery, like a man's. They had done a man's work. A year-old child slept in her arms. It was bundled up, although the courtroom itself was suffocating. She was waiting for Blanche's case to come up. Blanche had been arrested by a policeman for--well, for what? Something about a man. So she would lose $2.00 by not being at work at the store today. Why did they arrest Blanche? She was in that room with the door closed. But the lawyer said not to worry. Yes, maybe it was a mistake. Blanche never did nothing. Blanche worked at the store all day. At night Blanche went out. But she was a young girl. And she had lots of friends. Fine men. Sometimes they brought Blanche home late at night. Blanche was her daughter. * * * * * The woman with the sleeping child in her arms looked around. The room was nice. A big room with a good ceiling. But the people looked bad. Maybe they had done something and had been arrested. There was one man with a bad face. She watched him. He came quickly to where she was sitting. What was he saying? A lawyer. "No, I don't want no lawyer," the woman with the child mumbled. "No, no." The man went back. He kept pretty busy, talking to lots of people in the room. So he was a lawyer. Blanche had a lawyer. She had paid him $10. A lot of money. "Shh, Paula!" the woman whispered. Paula was the name of the sleeping child. It had stirred in the bundle. "Shh! Mus'n't. Da-ah-ah-ah--" She rocked sideways with the bundle and crooned over it. Her heavy coarsened face seemed to grow surprised as she stared into the bundle. The child grew quiet. The judge took his place. Business started. From where she sat the woman with the child couldn't hear anything. She watched little groups of men and women form in front of the judge. Then they went away and other groups came. The lawyer had said not to worry. Just wait for Blanche's name and then come right up. Not to worry. "Shh, Paula, shh! Da-ah-ah-ah--" There was Blanche coming out of the door. She looked bad. Her face. Oh, yes, poor girl, she worked too hard. But what could she do? Only work. And now they arrested her. They arrested Blanche when the streets were full of bums and loafers, they arrested Blanche who worked hard. Go up in front like the lawyer said. Sure. There was Blanche going now. And the lawyer, too. He had a better face than the other one who came and asked. "And is this the woman?" The lawyer laughed because the judge asked this. "Oh, no," he said; "no, your honor, that's her mother. Step up, Blanche." What did the policeman say? "Shh! Paula, shh! Da-ah--" She couldn't hear on account of Paula moving so much and crying. Paula was hungry. She'd have to stay hungry a little while. What man? That one! But the policeman was talking about the man, not about Blanche. "He said, your honor, that she'd been following him down Madison Street for a block, talking to him and finally he stopped and she asked him--" "Shh! Paula, don't! Bad girl! Shh!" That man with the black mustache. Who was he? "Yes, your honor, I never saw her before. I walk in the street and she come up and talk to me and say, 'You wanna come home with me?'" "Blanche, how long has this been going on?" Look, Blanche was crying. Shh, Paula, shh! The judge was speaking. But Blanche didn't listen. The woman with the child was going to say, "Blanche, the judge," but her tongue grew frightened. "Speak up, Blanche." The judge said this. * * * * * She could hardly hear Blanche. It was funny to see her cry. Long ago she used to cry when she was a baby like Paula. But since she went to work she never cried. Never cried. "Oh, judge! Oh, judge! Please--" "Shh, Paula! Da-ah-ah-ah--" Why was this? What would the judge do? "Have you ever been arrested before, Blanche?" No, no, no! She must tell the judge that. The woman with the child raised her face. "Please, judge," she said, "No! No! She never arrested before. She's a good girl." "I see," said the judge. "Does she bring her money home?" "Yes, yes, judge! Please, she brings all her money home. She's a good girl." "Ever seen her before, officer?" "Well, your honor, I don't know. I've seen her in the street once or twice, and from the way she was behavin', your honor, I thought she needed watchin'." "Never caught her, though, officer?" No, your honor, this is the first time." "Hm," said his honor. Now the lawyer was talking. What was he saying? What was the matter? Blanche was a good girl. Why they arrest her? "Shh, Paula, shh! Mus'n't." She held the child closer to her heavy bosom. Hungry. But it must wait. Pretty soon. He was a nice judge. "All right," he said, "you can go, Blanche. But if they bring you in again it'll be the House of the Good Shepherd. Remember that. I'll let you go on account of her." A nice judge. "Thank you, thank you, judge. Shh, Paula! Goo-by." Now she would find out. She would ask Blanche. They could talk aloud in the hallway. "Blanche, come here." A note of authority came into the woman's voice. A girl of eighteen walking at her side turned a rouged, tear-stained face. "Aw, don't bother me, ma. I got enough trouble." "What was the matter with the policeman?" "Aw, he's a boob. That's all." "But what they arrest you for, Blanche? I knew it was a mistake. But what they arrest you for, Blanche? I gave him $10." "Aw, shut up! Don't bother me." The woman shrugged her shoulders and turned to the child in her arms. "Da-ah-ah, Paula. Mamma feed you right away. Soon we find place to sit down. Shh, Paula! Mus'n't. Da-ah-ah--" When she looked up Blanche had vanished. She stood still for a while and then, holding the year-old child closer to her, walked toward the elevator. There was nothing to see in her eyes. CLOCKS AND OWL CARS As they say in the melodramas, the city sleeps. Windows have said good-night to one another. Rooftops have tucked themselves away. The pavements are still. People have vanished. The darkness sweeping like a great broom through the streets has emptied them. The clock in the window of a real estate office says "Two." A few windows down another clock says "Ten minutes after two." The newspaper man waiting for a Sheffield Avenue owl car walks along to the next corner, listening for the sound of car wheels and looking at the clocks. The clocks all disagree. They all hang ticking with seemingly identical and indisputable precision. Their white faces and their black numbers speak in the dark of the empty stores. "Tick-tock, Time never sleeps. Time keeps moving the hands of the city's clocks around and around." Alas, when clocks disagree what hope is there for less methodical mechanisms, particularly such humpty-dumpty mechanisms as tick away inside the owners of clocks? The newspaper man must sigh. These clocks in the windows of the empty stores along Sheffield Avenue seem to be arguing. They present their arguments calmly, like meticulous professors. They say: "Eight minutes of two. Three minutes of two. Two. Four minutes after two. Ten minutes after two." Thus the confusions of the day persist even after the darkness has swept the streets clean of people. There being nobody else to dispute, the clocks take it up and dispute the hour among themselves. The newspaper man pauses in front of one half-hidden clock. It says "Six." Obviously here is a clock not running. Its hands have stopped and it no longer ticks. But, thinks the newspaper man, it is not to be despised for that. At least it is the only clock in the neighborhood that achieves perfect accuracy. Twice a day while all the other clocks in the street are disputing and arguing, this particular clock says "Six" and of all the clocks it alone is precisely accurate. In the distance a yellow light swings like an idle lantern over the car tracks. So the newspaper man stops at the corner and waits. This is the owl car. It may not stop. Sometimes cars have a habit of roaring by with an insulting indifference to the people waiting for them to stop at the corner. At such moments one feels a fine rage, as if life itself had insulted one. There have been instances of men throwing bricks through the windows of cars that wouldn't stop and cheerfully going to jail for the crime. But this car stops. It comes to a squealing halt that must contribute grotesquely to the dreams of the sleepers in Sheffield Avenue. The night is cool. As the car stands silent for a moment it becomes, with its lighted windows and its gay paint, like some modernized version of the barque in which Jason journeyed on his quest. * * * * * The seats are half filled. The newspaper man stands on the platform with the conductor and stares at the passengers. The conductor is an elderly man with an unusually mild face. The people in the car try to sleep. Their heads try to make use of the window panes for pillows. Or they prop their chins up in their palms or they are content to nod. There are several young men whose eyes are reddened. A young woman in a cheap but fancy dress. And several middle-aged men. All of them look bored and tired. And all of them present a bit of mystery. Who are these passengers through the night? And what has kept them up? And where are they going or coming from? The newspaper man has half a mind to inquire. Instead he picks on the conductor, and as the car bounces gayly through the dark, cavernous streets the mild-faced conductor lends himself to a conversation. "I been on this line for six years. Always on the owl car," he says. "I like it better than the day shift. I was married, but my wife died and I don't find much to do with my evenings, anyway. "No, I don't know any of these people, except there's a couple of workingmen who I take home on the next trip. Mostly they're always strangers. They've been out having a good time, I suppose. It's funny about them. I always feel sorry for 'em. Yes, sir, you can't help it. "There's some that's been out drinking or hanging around with women and when they get on the car they sort of slide down in their seats and you feel like there was nothing much to what they'd been doing. Pessimistic? No, I ain't pessimistic. If you was ridin' this car like I you'd see what I mean. "It's like watchin' people afterwards. I mean after they've done things. They always seem worse off then. I suppose it's because they're all sleepy. But standin' here of nights I feel that it's more than that. They're tired sure enough but they're also feeling that things ain't what they're cracked up to be. "I seldom put anybody off. The drunks are pretty sad and I feel sorry for them. They just flop over and I wake them up when it comes their time. Sometimes there's girls and they look pretty sad. And sometimes something really interestin' comes off. Once there was a lady who was cryin' and holdin' a baby. On the third run it was. I could see she'd up and left her house all of a sudden on account of a quarrel with her husband, because she was only half buttoned together. "And once there was a man whose pictures I see in the papers the next day as having committed suicide. I remembered him in a minute. Well, no, he didn't look like he was going to commit suicide. He looked just about like all the other passengers--tired and sleepy and sort of down." The mild-faced conductor helped one of his passengers off. "Don't you ever wonder what keeps these people out or where they're going at this time of night?" the newspaper man pursued as the car started up again. "Well," said the conductor, "not exactly. I've got it figured out there's nothing much to that and that they're all kind of alike. They've been to parties or callin' on their girls or just got restless or somethin'. What's the difference? All I can say about 'em is that you get so after years you feel sorry for 'em all. And they're all alike--people as ride on the night run cars are just more tired than the people I remember used to ride on the day run cars I was on before my wife died." The clock in a candy store window says "Three-twelve." A few windows down, another clock says "Three-five." The newspaper man walks to his home studying the clocks. They all disagree as before. And yet their faces are all identical--as identical as the faces of the owl car passengers seem to the conductor. And here is a clock that has stopped. It says "Twenty after four." And the newspaper man thinks of the picture the conductor identified in the papers the next morning. The picture said something like "Twenty after four" at the wrong time. It's all a bit mixed up. CONFESSIONS The rain mutters in the night and the pavements like dark mirrors are alive with impressionistic cartoons of the city. The little, silent street with its darkened store windows and rain-veiled arc lamps is as lonely as a far-away train whistle. Over the darkened stores are stone and wooden flat buildings. Here, too, the lights have gone out. People sleep. The rain falls. The gleaming pavements amuse themselves with reflections. I have an hour to wait. From the musty smelling hallway where I stand the scene is like an old print--an old London print--that I have always meant to buy and put in a frame but have never found. * * * * * Writing about people when one is alone under an electric lamp, and thinking about people when one stands watching the rain in the dark streets, are two different diversions. When one writes under an electric lamp one pompously marshals ideas; one remembers the things people say and do and believe in, and slowly these things replace people in one's mind. One thinks (in the calm of one's study): "So-and-so is a Puritan ... he is viciously afraid of anything which will disturb the idealized version of himself in which he believes--and wants other people to believe...." Yes, one thinks So-and-so is this and So-and-so is that. And it all seems very simple. People focus into clearly outlined ideas--definitions. And one can sit back and belabor them, hamstring them, pull their noses, expose their absurdities and derive a deal of satisfaction from the process. Iconoclasm is easy and warming under an electric light in one's study. But in the rain at night, in the dark street staring at darkened windows, watching the curious reflections in the pavements--it is different in the rain. The night mutters and whispers. "People," one thinks, "tired, silent people sleeping in the dark." Ideas do not come so easily or so clearly. The ennobling angers which are the emotion of superiority in the iconoclast do not rise so spontaneously. And one does not say "People are this and people are that...." No, one pauses and stares at the dark chatter of the rain and a curious silence saddens one's mind. Life is apart from ideas. And the things that people say and believe in and for which they die and in behalf of which they invent laws and codes--these have nothing to do with the insides of people. Puritan, hypocrite, criminal, dolt--these are paper-thin masks. It is diverting to rip them in the calm of one's study. Life that warms the trees into green in the summer, that sends birds circling through the air, that spreads a tender, passionate glow over even the most barren wastes--people are but one of its almost too many children. The dark, the rain, the lights, people asleep in bed, the wind, the snow that will fall tomorrow, the ice, flowers, sunlight, country roads, pavements and stars--all these are the same. Through all of them life sends its intimate and sacred breath. One becomes aware of such curious facts in the rain at night and one's iconoclasm, like a broken umbrella, hangs useless from one's hand. Tomorrow these people who are now asleep will be stirring, giving vent to outrageous ideas, championing incredulous banalities, prostrating themselves before imbecile superstitions. Tomorrow they will rise and begin forthwith to lie, quibble, cheat, steal, fourflush and kill, each and all inspired by the solacing monomania that every one of their words and gestures is a credible variant of perfection. Yes, tomorrow they will be as they were yesterday. But in this rain at night they rest from their perfections, they lay aside for a few hours their paper masks. And one can contemplate them with a curious absence of indignation or criticism. There is something warm and intimate about the vision of many people sleeping in the beds above the darkened store fronts of this little street. Their bodies have been in the world so long--almost as long as the stones out of which their houses are made. So many things have happened to them, so many debacles and monsters and horrors have swept them off their feet ... and always they have kept on--persisting through floods, volcanic eruptions, plagues and wars. Heroic and incredible people. Endlessly belaboring themselves with ideas, gods, taboos, and philosophies. Yet here they are, still in this silent little street. The world has grown old. Trees have decayed and races died out. But here above the darkened store fronts lies the perpetual miracle.... People in whom life streams as naïve and intimate as ever. * * * * * Yes, it is to life and not people one makes one's obeisance. Toward life no iconoclasm is possible, for even that which is in opposition to its beauty and horror must of necessity be a part of them. It rains. The arc lamps gleam through the monotonous downpour. One can only stand and dream ... how charming people are since they are alive ... how charming the rain is and the night.... And how foolish arguments are ... how banal are these cerebral monsters who pose as iconoclasts and devote themselves grandiloquently and inanely to disturbing the paper masks.... * * * * * I walk away from the musty smelling hallway. A dog steps tranquilly out of the shadows nearby. He surveys the street and the rain with a proprietary calm. It would be amusing to walk in the rain with a strange dog. I whistle softly and reassuringly to him. He pauses and turns his head toward me, surveying me with an air of vague discomfort. What do I want of him? ... he thinks ... who am I? ... have I any authority? ... what will happen to him if he doesn't obey the whistle? Thus he stands hestitating. Perhaps, too, I will give him shelter, a kindness never to be despised. A moment ago, before I whistled, this dog was tranquil and happy in the rain. Now he has changed. He turns fully around and approaches me, a slight cringe in his walk. The tranquillity has left him. At the sound of my whistle he has grown suddenly tired and lonely and the night and rain no longer lure him. He has found another companionship. And so together we walk for a distance, this dog and I, wondering about each other.... AN IOWA HUMORESQUE In a room at the Auditorium Hotel a group of men and women connected with the opera were having tea. As they drank out of the fragile cups and nibbled at the little cakes they boasted to each other of their love affairs. "And I had the devil of a time getting rid of her," was the motif of the men's conversation. The women said, "And I just couldn't shake him. It was awful." There was one--an American prima donna--who grew pensive as the amorous boasting increased. An opulent woman past 35, dark-haired, great-eyed; a robust enchantress with a sweep to her manner. Her beauty was an exaggeration. Exaggerated contours, colors, features that needed perspective to set them off. Diluted by distance and bathed by the footlights she focused prettily into a Manon, a Thaïs, an Isolde. But in the room drinking tea she had the effect of a too startling close-up--a rococo siren cramped for space. The barytone leaned unctuously across the small table and said to her with a preposterous archness of manner: "And how does it happen, my dear, that you have nothing to tell us?" "Because she has too much," said one of the orchestra men, laughingly. The prima donna smiled. "Oh, I can tell a story as well as anybody," she said. "In fact, I was just thinking of one. You know I was in Iowa last month. And I visited the town where I was born and lived as a girl--until I was nineteen. It's funny." Again the pensive stare out of the window at the chill-looking autumn sky and the sharp outlines of the city roofs. "Go on," her hostess cried. To her guests she added, in the social curtain-raiser manner peculiar to rambunctious hostesses, "if Mugs tells anything about herself you can be sure it'll be something immense. Go on, Mugs." Mugs is one of the nicknames the prima donna is known by among her friends. "We went to school together," the prima donna smiled, "John and I. And I don't think I've ever loved anybody as I loved him. He used to frighten me to death. You see, I was ambitious. I wanted to be somebody. And John wanted me to marry him. Somehow marriage wasn't what I wanted then. There were other things. I had started singing and at night I used to lie awake, not wanting to sleep. I was so taken up with my dreams and plans that I hated to lose consciousness. That's a fact. "Well, John grew more and more insistent. And one evening he came to call on me. I was alone on the porch. John was about twenty-three then. That was about twenty years ago. He was a tall, good-looking, sharp-faced young man with lively eyes. I thought him marvelous at the time. And he stood on the steps of the porch and talked to me. I never forgot a word he said. I have never heard anything so wonderful since." The barytone shrugged his shoulders politely and said "Hm!" "Oh, I know," smiled the prima donna, "you're the Great Lover and all that. But you never could talk as John did that evening on the porch--in Iowa. He stood there and said, 'Mugs, you're going to regret this moment for the rest of your life. There'll be nights when you'll wake up shivering and crying and you'll want to kill yourself. Why? Because you didn't marry me. Because you had your chance to marry me and turned it down. Remember. Remember how I'm standing here talking to you--unknown--a country boy. Remember that when you hear of me again.' "'What are you going to do?' I asked. "I'm going to be president of the United States,' he said. And he said it so that there was truth in it. As I looked at him standing on the steps I felt frightened to death. There he was, going to be president of the United States, and there was I, throwing the greatest chance in the world away. He knew I believed him and that made it worse. He went on talking in a sort of oracular singsong that drove me mad. "'I'm not asking you again. You've had your chance, Mugs. And you've thrown it away. All right. It'll not be said afterward that John Marcey made a fool of himself. Good-bye.'" * * * * * The prima donna sighed. "Yes," she went on, looking into her empty teacup; "it was good-bye. He walked away, erect, his shoulders high, his body swinging. And I sat there shivering. I had turned down a president of the United States! Me, a gawky little Iowa girl. And, what was worse, I was in love with him, too. Well, I remember sitting on the porch till the folks came home from prayer meeting and I remember going to bed and lying awake all night, crying and shivering. "I didn't see John Marcey again. I stayed only a week longer and then I came to Chicago to study music. My folks were able to finance me for a time. But I never forgot him. It was John who had started me for Chicago. And it was John who kept me practicing eight hours a day, studying and practicing until I thought I'd drop. "I was going to make good. When he became president I was going to be somebody. I wasn't going to do what he said I would, wake up cursing myself and remembering my lost chance. So I went right on working my head off and finally it was Paris and finally it was a job in London. And I never stopped working. "But the funny part was that I gradually forgot about John Marcey. When I had arrived as an opera singer he was entirely dead for me. But last month I visited my home town. I was passing through and couldn't resist getting off and looking up people I knew as a girl. My folks are dead, you know. "And when I walked down the street--the same old funny little Main Street--I remembered John Marcey. And, would you believe it, that same feeling of fear came back to me as I'd had that night on the porch when he made his 'remember' speech. I got curious as the devil about John and felt afraid to inquire. But finally I was talking to an old, old man who runs the drug-store on the corner of Main and Sixth streets there. I'd recognized him through the window and gone inside and shaken hands; and I asked him: "'Do you remember John Marcey?' "'Marcey--Marcey?' he repeated. 'Oh, yes. Old Marse. Why, yes. Sure.' And he kept nodding his head. Then I asked with my heart in my mouth, 'What's become of him?' And the old druggist who was looking out of his store window adjusted his glasses and pointed with his finger. 'There he is. There he is. Wait a minute. I'll call him.' "And there was John, my president of the United States, hunched over on the seat of a garbage wagon driving a woebegone nag down the street. I grabbed hold of the druggist and said, 'Don't, I'll see him later.' "Well, I couldn't stay in that town another minute. I hurried to the station and waited for the next train and kept thinking of John driving his garbage wagon, and his battered felt hat and his hangdog face until I thought I'd go mad. "That's all," laughed the prima donna, "That's my love story." And she stared pensively into the empty teacup as the barytone moved a bit closer and began: "I'll tell you about a Spanish girl I met in Prague that'll interest you--" THE EXILE The newspaper man told the story apropos of nothing at all. There was a pause in the talk among the well-dressed dinner guests. A very satisfied-looking man said: "Well, thank God, this radical excitement is over." Every one agreed it was fortunate and the newspaper man, an insufferably garrulous person, interjected: "That reminds me of Bill Haywood." "Oh, yes," said the hostess, "he was the leader of all that terrible thing, wasn't he?" "He was," said the newspaper man. "I knew him fairly well. I covered the I.W.W. trial in Judge Landis' court, where he and a hundred or so others were sent to prison." "What was the charge against them?" inquired the satisfied one. "I forget," said the newspaper man, "but I remember Haywood. The trial, of course, had something to do with the war. The war was going on then, you remember." "Oh, yes, indeed," exclaimed the hostess. "It will take a long time to forget the war." And her eyes brightened. * * * * * "You were going to tell us about the I.W.W. trial," pursued the hostess a few minutes later. "Oh, there's nothing much about that," said the newspaper man. "I was principally interested in Bill Haywood for a moment. You know they sent him to jail for twenty years or so. Anyway, that was his sentence." "The scoundrel ran away," said the very satisfied one. "Funny they should let a man as unprincipled and dangerous as Haywood slip through their hands after sending him to jail." "Yes, they let him escape to Russia, of all places," declared the hostess with indignation. "Where he could do the most harm. Oh, the government is so stupid at times it simply drives one furious. Or makes you laugh. Doesn't it?" "Yes, he skipped his bond or something," said the newspaper man, "and became an exile." The satisfied one snorted. "Exile!" he derided. "You don't call a man an exile who runs away from a country he has always despised and fought against?" "The last time I saw him," went on the newspaper man, as if he were unruffled, "was about four or five days before he disappeared. I was surprised to see him. I thought he was serving his time in jail. I hadn't been following the ins and outs and I wasn't aware he had got appeals and things and was still at large." "Yes," said the satisfied one, "that's the trouble with this country. Too lenient toward these scoundrels. As if they were entitled to--" "Justice," murmured the newspaper man. "Quite so. Our enemies are not entitled to justice. It is one of my oldest notions." "But tell us about what this Haywood said," pursued the hostess. "It must have been funny meeting him." "It was," said the newspaper man. "It was at the Columbia theater between acts in the evening. I had gone to see a burlesque show there. And between acts I was on the mezzanine floor. I went out to get a glass of water. "As I was coming back whom do I see leaning against the railing but old Bill Haywood. I hadn't seen him for about two years, I guess. But he hadn't changed an iota. The same crooked-lipped smile. And his one eye staring ahead of him with a mildly amused light in it. A rather striking person was Bill. I suppose it was because he always seemed so calm outside. "He remembered me and when I said hello to him he called me by name and I walked to his side. I started talking and said: 'Well, what are you doing here? I thought you were serving time in six jails.' "'Not yet,' said Haywood, 'but in a few days. The sentence starts next week.' "'Twenty years?' "'Oh, something like that.' * * * * * "Well," said the newspaper man, "I suddenly remembered that he was in a theater and I got kind of curious. I asked what he was doing in the theater and he looked at me and grinned. "'I'm all in," he said. 'Been going the pace for about a month now. Out every night. Taking in all the glad spots and high spots.' "This was so curious coming from Big Bill that I looked surprised. And he went on talking. Yes, sir, this Big Bill Haywood, the terror of organized society, was saying goodbye to his native land as if he were a sentimental playboy. He wasn't going to jail because by that time he had all his plans matured for his escape to Russia. "But he knew he was going to leave the country and perhaps never come back again. So he was making the rounds. "'I've been to almost every show in town,' he went on talking, 'all the musical comedies, all the dramas, all the west side melodramas. I've been to almost all the cafés, the swell ones with the monkey-suit waiters and the old ones I've known myself for years. I drew up a list of all these places in town about a month ago and I've been following a schedule ever since.' * * * * * "I asked him," said the newspaper man, "if he liked the plays he'd seen. Bill grinned at that. "'It ain't that,' said Bill. 'No, it ain't that. It's only seeing them. You know, there's nothing like these kind of things anywhere else in the world.' "And then the theater got dark and we said good-bye casually and went to our different seats. I didn't see Haywood again. About a week or so later I read the headline that he had fled the country. Nobody knew where he was, but people suspected. And then two weeks after that there was the story that he had reached Russia and was in Moscow. "Well, when I read that," said the newspaper man, "I remembered all of a sudden how he had stood leaning against the railing at the Columbia theater saying good-bye to something. Making the rounds for a month saying good-bye in his own way to all the places he would never see again. Kind of odd, I thought, for Bill Haywood to do that. That isn't the way Nietzsche would have written a radical. But Dickens might have written it that way, like Bill. "That's why whenever I see his name in print now," pursued the newspaper man, "I always think of the burlesque chorus on the stage kicking their legs and yodeling jazzily and Big Bill Haywood staring with his one eye, saying good-bye with his one eye. "Tell me he's not an exile!" laughed the newspaper man suddenly. ON A DAY LIKE THIS On a day like this, he says, on a day like this, when the wind plays cello music across the rooftops.... I think about things. The town is like a fireless, dimly lighted room. Yesterday the windows sparkled with sunlight. To-day they stare like little coffin tops. On a day like this, he says, on this sort of a day I walk along smoking a pipe and wonder what I was excited about yesterday. Then I remember, he says, that once it rained yesterday and I waited under the awning till it ended. I remember, he says, that once I walked swiftly down this street toward a building on the corner. It was vastly important that I reach this building. I remember, he says, that there were days I hurried down Clark Street and days I ran down Monroe Street. Now it is windy again. There is long silence over the noises of the street. The sky looks empty and old. * * * * * There were people gathered around an automobile that had bumped into the curbing. I stopped to watch them, he says. There was a man next to me with a heavy gray face, with loose lips and with intent eyes. There was another man and another--dozens of men--all of them people who had been hurrying in the street to get somewhere. And here they were standing and looking intently at an automobile with a twisted wheel. I became aware that we were all looking with a strange intensity at this automobile; that we all stood as if waiting for something. Dozens of men hurrying somewhere suddenly stop and stand for ten, twenty, thirty minutes staring at a broken automobile. There was a reason for this. Always where there is a machine at work, digging or hammering piles, where there is a horse fallen, an auto crashed, a flapjack turner, a fountain pen demonstrator; where there is a magic clock that runs, nobody knows how, or a window puzzle that turns in a drug-store window or anything that moves behind plate glass--always where there is any one of these things there are people like us standing riveted, attentive, unwavering. People on artificial errands, hurrying like obedient automations through the streets; stern-faced people with dignified eyes, important-stepping people with grave decision stamped upon them; careless, innocuous-looking people--all these people look as if they had something in their heads, as if there were things of import driving them through the streets. But this is an error. Nothing in their heads. They are like the fish that swim beneath the water--a piece of shining tin captures their eyes and they pause and stare at it. The broken automobile holds their eyes, holds them all riveted because--because it is something unordinary to look at, to think about. And there is nothing unordinary to look at or think about in their heads. * * * * * And I too, he says, on this day when the wind played cello music across the rooftops, stood in the crowd. We were all children, I noticed, more than that--infants. Open-mouthed infantile wonder staring out of our tired, gray faces. Men, without thought, men making a curious little confession in the busy street that they were not busy, that there is nothing in life at the moment that preoccupies them--that a broken automobile is a godsend, a diversion, a drama, a great happiness. I smoked my pipe, he says, and began to wonder again. Why did they stare like this? And at what? And who were these staring ones? And what was it in them that stared? I thought of this, he says. Dead dreams, and forgotten defeats stood staring from the curb at the broken automobile. Men who had survived themselves, who had become compliant and automatic little forces in the engine of the city--these were ourselves on the curb. And this is a weary thing to remember about the city. When I am tired, he says, and the plot of which I am hero, villain and Greek chorus suddenly vanish from my mind, I pause and look at something behind plate glass. A bauble catches my eye. Long minutes, half hours pass. There is a marvelous plentitude of baubles to look at. Machines digging, excavations, scaffoldings, advertisements, never are lacking. And at such times I begin to notice how many of us there are. The hurry of the streets is an illusion. The noises that rise in clouds, and the too-many suits of clothes and hats that sweep by--all these things are part of an illusion. The fact drifts through my tired senses that there is an amazing silence in the street--the silence inside of people's heads. Everywhere I look I find these busy ones, these energetic ones stopped and standing like myself before a bauble in a window, before a broken automobile. * * * * * Of people, authors always make great plots. Authors always write of adventures and intrigues, of emotions and troubles and ideas which occupy people. People fall in love, people suffer defeats, people experience tragedies, happinesses, and there is no end to the action of people in books. But here is a curious plot, he says, on a day like this. Here is a crowd around a broken automobile. The broken automobile has trapped them, betrayed them. They realize the broken automobile as a "practical" excuse to stop walking, to stop moving, to stop going anywhere or being anybody. Their serious concentration on the broken wheel enables them to pretend that they are logically interested in practical matters. Without which pretense it would be impossible for them to exist. Without which pretense they would become consciously dead. They must always seem, to themselves as well as to others, logically interested in something. Yes, always something. But the plot is--and do not misunderstand this, he cautions--that the pretense here around the broken automobile grows shallow enough to plumb. There is nothing here. Two dozen men standing dead on a curbing, tricked into confessional by a little accident. So I will begin a book tomorrow, he says, and empties his pipe as he talks, which will have to do with the make-believe of people in streets--the make-believe of being alive and being somebody and going somewhere. And saying this, this garrulous one walks off with a high whistle on his lips and a grave triumph sitting on his shoulders. JAZZ BAND IMPRESSIONS The trombone player has a straight part. He umpah umps with the conventional trombone fatalism. Whatever the tune, whatever the harmonies, trombone umpah umps regardless. Umpah ump is the soul of all things. Cadenzas, glissandos, arpeggios, chromatics, syncopations, blue melodies--these are the embroidery of sound. From year to year these change, these pass. Only the umpah ump remains. And tonight the trombone player plays what he will play a thousand nights from tonight--umpah ump. The bassoon and the bull fiddle--they umpah ump along. Underneath the quaver and whine of the jazz they beat the time, they make the tuneless rhythm. The feet dancing on the crowded cabaret floor listen cautiously for the trombone, the bassoon and the bull fiddle. They have a liaison with the umpah umps--the feet. Long ago they danced only to the umpah umps. There were no cadenzas, glissandos, arpeggios then. There was only the thumping of cedar wood on cedar wood, on ebony or taut deerskin. Civilizations have risen, fallen and risen again. Armies, gods, races have been chewed into mist by the years. But the thumping remains. The feet of the dancers on the cabaret floor keep a rendezvous with the ebony on the taut deerskin, with the cedar wood beating on cedar wood. * * * * * The clarinet screeches, wails, moans and whistles. The clarinet flings an obbligato high over the heads of the dancers on the cabaret floor. It makes shrill sounds. It raves like a fireless Ophelia. It plays the clown, the tragedian, the acrobat. A whimsical insanity lurks in the music of the clarinet. It stutters ecstasies. It postures like Tristan and whimpers like a livery-stable nag. It grimaces like Peer Gynt and winks like a lounge lizard, a cake eater. It is not for the feet of the dancers on the crowded cabaret floor. The feet follow the umpah umps. The thoughts of the dancers follow the clarinet. The thoughts of the boobilariat dance easily to the tangled lyric of the clarinet. The thoughts tie themselves into crazy knots. The music of the clarinet becomes like crazily uncoiling whips. The thoughts of the dancers shake themselves loose from words under the spur of the whips. They begin to dance, not as the feet dance. There is another rhythm here. The rhythm of little ecstasies whimpering. Thus the thoughts of the dancers dance--dead hopes, wearied ambitions, vanishing youth do an inarticulate can-can in the heads of the dancers on the cabaret floor. * * * * * The cornet wears a wooden gag in its mouth and a battered black derby hangs over its end. Umpah ump from the trombone, the bull fiddle and the bassoon. Tangled lyrics from the clarinet. And the cornet cakewalks like a hoyden vampire, the cornet whinnies like an odalisque expiring in the arms of the Wizard of Oz. Lust giggles at a sly jest out of the cornet. Passion thumbs its nose at the stars out of the cornet. The melody of jazz, the tin pan ghosts of Chopin, Tchaikowsky, Old Black Joe, Liszt and Mumbo Magumbo, jungle troubadour of the Congo, come whinnying out from under the pendant derby. The dancers on the cabaret floor close their eyes and grin to themselves. The cornet kids them along. When they grow sad it burlesques their sorrow. The cornet laughs at them. It leers like a satyr master of ceremonies at them. It is Pan in a clown suit, Silenus on a trick mule, Eros in a Pullman smoker. * * * * * Laugh, dance, jerk, wiggle and kid all you want--but the Lady of the Sea Foam whispers a secret. Aphrodite, become a female barytone, still takes herself very seriously. Aphrodite, alas, is always serious. She gurgles a sonorous plaint out of the saxophone. The cornet sneers at her. The clarinet sneaks up on her and tweaks her nose. The trombone, the bull fiddle and the bassoon ignore her altogether. And the dancers on the cabaret floor are too busy to dance to her simple wails. Yet there is no mistake. Aphrodite, the queen, abandoned by her courtiers and surrounded by this galaxy of mountebanks, is still Aphrodite. Big-bosomed, sleepy-eyed and sad lipped she walks invisible among the dancers on the cabaret floor and they listen to her voice out of the saxophone. The drums, the piano and the violin give her a fluttering drape. But there are things to be seen. This is not the Aphrodite of the Blue Danube waltz--but a duskier, more mystical lady. There are no roses on her cheeks, no lilies in her skin. She is colored like a panther flower and her limbs are heavy with taboo magic. But she is still imperial. In vain the mountebanks and burlesqueries of her court. Her lips place themselves against the hearts of the dancers on the cabaret floor. And she croons her ancient hymns. The hearts of the dancers give themselves to the saxophone. Their feet keep a rendezvous with the umpah umps. Their thoughts dance on the slack wire of the clarinet. Their veins beat time to the whinny of the derby wreathed cornet. The fiddles and the drums are partners for their arms and their muscles. But their hearts embrace shyly the Mother Aphrodite. Their hearts listen sadly and proudly and they almost forget to dance. * * * * * Midnight approaches. Enameled faces, stenciled smiles, painted eyes and slants of colored hats--these are the women. Careless, polite, suave, grinning--these are the men. The jazz band plays. The cabaret floor, jammed, seems to be moving around like a groaning turnstile. Bodies are hidden. The spotlight from the balcony begins to throw a series of colors. Melody is lost. The jazz band is hammering like a mad blacksmith. Whang! Bam! Whang! Bam! Nobody hears the music of the band. Bodies together move on the turnstile floor. This is the part of the feast of Belshazzar that the authorities censored in a Griffith movie. This is the description of Tiberius's court that the authorities suppressed. Here are the poems that hide on the forbidden shelves of the public library. The pulp of figures dissolves. The hammering band has finished. Men and women, grown suddenly polite and social, return to their tables. Citizens of a neighborhood, toilers, clerks, fourflushers, wives, husbands, gropers, nobodies, less-than-nobodies--watch and see where they go. Into the brick holes, into the apartment buildings. They pack themselves away like ants in an anthill. The nobodies--the gropers, husbands, wage-earners, fourflushers--but they made a violent picture a moment ago. Under the revolving colors of the floodlight and the hammering, whinnying music of the jazz band they became again the mask of Dionysus--the ancient satanical mask which nature slips over her head when in quest of diversion. NIGHT DIARY Where is the moon? Gone. This inferior luminary cannot compete with the corset ad signs and the ice cream ad signs that blaze in the night sky. We stand on a bridge that connects State Street and look at the river. There are night shapes. But first we see the dark water of the river and silver, gold and ruby reflections of the bridge lights. These hang like carnival ribbons in the water. The "L" trains crawl over the Wells Street bridge and the water below them becomes alive with a moving silver image. For a moment the reflection of the "L" trains in the river seems like a ghostly waterfall. Then it changes and becomes something else. What? The light reflections in the dark water are baffling. It is a game to stand on the bridge and make up similes about them. They look like this, like that, like something else. Like golden pillars, like Chinese writing, like monotonous exclamation points. There are boat shapes. The river docks bulge with shadows. The boat shapes emerge slowly from the shadows. These shapes, unlike the river reflections, do not suggest similes. They bulge in the darkness and their vanished outlines remind one of something. What? Of boats, of ships, of men. Men and ships. Little lanterns hang like elfin watchmen from the sterns of ships. The bulldog noses of tugboats sleep against the docks. High overhead the corset ad and the ice cream ad blaze, wink and go out and turn on so as to attract the preoccupied eyes of people far away. Then the bridges count themselves to the west. First bridge, second bridge, third bridge. Street cars, auto lights and vague noises jerk eerily over the bridges. The sleeping tugboats, launches and lake craft remind one of nothing at all except that there are engines. But as one stares at them they become secret. There is something mysterious about abandoned engines. It is almost as if one saw the bodies of men lying in shadows. Engines and men are inseparable. And these boats that sleep in the river shadows are parts of men. Amputations. The night shapes increase. There are buildings. They drift along the river docks. Dark windows and faded brick lines. Their rooftops are like the steps of a giant stairway that has broken down. Where is the moon? Here are windows to mirror its distant silver. Instead, the windows sleep. The nervous electric signs that wink and do tricks throw an intermittent glare over the windows. Do you know the dark windows of the city, you gentlemen who write continually of temples and art? Come, forget your love for things you never saw, cathedrals and parthenons that exist in the yesterdays you never knew. Come, look at the fire escapes that are stamped like letter Z's against the mysterious rectangles; at the rhythmic flight of windows whose black and silver wings are tipped with the yellow winkings of the corset and ice cream signs. The windows over the dark river are like an alphabet, like the keyboard of a typewriter. They are like anything you want them to be. You have only to wish and the dark windows take new patterns. Wall shapes arise. Warehouses that have no windows. Huge lines loom in the shadows. A vast panel of brick without windows rises, vanishes. Buildings that stand like playing blocks. The half-hidden shapes, the tracks of windows, the patterns of rooftops suggest things--fortresses, palaces, dungeons, wars, witches and cathedrals. But after watching them they lose these false significances. They suggest nothing. They are the amputations of men. Things, playthings men have left behind for the corset and the ice cream ads to wink at. And this is the real secret of their beauty. The night devours their meaning and leaves behind lines; angles, geometries, rhythms and lights. And these things that have no meaning, that suggest nothing, that are not the symbols of ideas or events--these become beautiful. There are several people standing on this bridge--loiterers. Their elbows rest on the railing, their faces are hidden in their hands. They stare into the scene. A hoarse whistle toots at Wells Street. Bells clang far away. There is a scurry of dim noises in the dark. Something huge moves through the air. It is a bridge opening. Its arms make a massive gesture upward. A boat is coming through, a heavy shape drifting among the carnival ribbons that hang down in the black water. * * * * * Noises that have different tones. Boat whistles, bridge bells, electric alarm tinglings and the swish of water like the sound of wood tapping wood. Lights that have different colors. The yellow of electric signs. Around one of them that hoists its message in the air runs a green border. The electric lights quiver and run round the glaring frame like a mysterious green water. Red, gold and silver pillars in the water. Gray, blue and black shadows; elfin lanterns, "L" trains like illuminated caterpillars creeping over Wells Street, waterfalls of silver, Chinese writing in ruby; black, lead and silver windows and a thousand shades of darkness from bronze to strange greens. All these are things that the loitering ones leaning on the bridge rail know. * * * * * How nicely the hoods of automobiles hide the twisted lines of the gas engines under them. Smooth as chariots, curved and graceful as greyhounds, pigeons, rabbits--the State Street begins after one passes odors. This is South Water Street. A swept, dusted and wonderfully silent street. White wings have scrubbed its worn body. But the odors deepen with the night. Farm odors, food odors--an aroma of decay surrounds them. By their smells one can almost detect the presence of chickens, eggs, oranges, cabbages, potatoes, plums and cantaloupes. A group of movie theaters holds carnival at the entrance to the loop. People hurry under electric canopies, dig in their pockets for dollar bills and buy tickets. The buildings sleep along the river. The boats wait in the shadows. Movie signs, crossing cops, window tracks and different colored suits of clothes; odors, noises, lights and a mysteriously tender pattern of walls--these lie in the night like a reward. We walk away with memories. When we are traveling some day, riding over strange places, these will be things we shall remember. Not words, but lines that mean nothing; and the scene from the bridge will bring a sad confusion into our heads. And we shall sit staring at famous monuments, battlefields, antiquities, and whisper to ourselves: "... wish I was back ... wish I was back...." THE LAKE The lake asks an old question as you ride to work or come home from work on the I. C. train. The train shoots along and out of the window the lake turns slowly like a great wheel. There is a curious optical illusion, as if the train were riding frantically on the rim of a great wheel and the wheel were turning in an opposite direction. Perhaps this illusion makes it seem as if the lake were asking an old question as you ride along its edge--"Where you going?" * * * * * People looking out of the train window seem to grow sad as they stare at the lake. But this does not apply to train riders alone. In the summer time there are the revelers on the Municipal Pier and the beach loungers and all others who sit or take walks within sight of the water. During the summer day the beaches are lively and the vari-colored bathing suits and parasols offer little carnival panels at the ends of the east running streets. As you pass them on the north side bus or on the south side I. C., the sun, the swarm of bathers smeared like bits of brightly colored paint across the yellow sand and the obliterating sweep of water remind you of the modernist artists whose pictures are usually lithographic blurs. * * * * * Yet winter and summer, even when the thousands upon thousands of bathers cover the sand like a shower of confetti and when there are shouts and circus excitements along the beach, people who look at the lake seem always to become sad. One wonders why. Perhaps it is because the inanimate sweep of the water, its hugeness and silence, make one forget the petty things and the greedy trifles which form the routine of one's day. And when one forgets these things one remembers, alas, something they pleasantly obscured by their presence. A dream, perhaps, buried long ago. A hope, an emotion successfully interred under the amiable rubbish the days have piled up. Then, too, there is the question, "Where you going?" And an answer to it that seems to come out of the long reaches of water--"Come with me--somewhere--nowhere." These thoughts play in people's minds without words. They are almost more a part of the lake than of their thinking, as if they were, in fact, lake thoughts. Another reason why people grow sad when they look at the water of the lake is perhaps that the lake offers them an escape from the tawdry, nagging little responsibilities of the day that go with being a citizen and a breadwinner. Not that it invites to suicide. Quite the reverse; it invites to living. To doing something that has a sweep to it; that has a swagger to it. To setting sail for strange ports where strange adventures wait. So, as the I. C. trains rush their thousands to work and home again the citizens and breadwinners let their imaginations gallop toward a faraway horizon. And these imaginations came galloping back again and the breadwinners are saddened--by a memory. Yes, they were for a moment rovers, egad! swashbucklers, gentlemen and ladies of fortune free of the rigamarole burdens that keep them on the I. C. treadmill. And now they are again passengers. Going to work. Going home to go to work again tomorrow. It is easy to think that this is the secret of the sad little grimace the lake brings to the eyes of the train riders. * * * * * This discourse is becoming a bit dolorous. But the subject rather requires an andante treatment. The city's press agents will tell you quite another story about the lake--about the "city's playground" and how conducive it is to healthful sport and joyous recreation. But, on the other hand, there is this other side, so to speak, of the lake. For the lake belongs to those familiar things that surprise people into uncomfortable silences. One could as easily write about the sky in this vein, since the lake, like the sky, challenges the monotony of people's lives with another monotony--the monotony of nature that seems to engulf, obliterate, reduce to puny proportions the routine by which people live and which, fortunately, they delude themselves into admiring. There is also the question of beauty. This is a delicate issue to introduce into one's daily reading and the reader's pardon is solicited with proper humiliation. And yet, there is a question of beauty, of soul states and aesthetic nuances involved in the consideration of the lake. Beauty by one definition is the sensatory excitement stirred in people by the rhythm of line, the vibration of color, the play of motion and the surprise of idea. It is usually a saddening effect that beauty produces and perhaps this is because beauty is something like an illumination that while admirable in itself throws into pathetic evidence all the ugly and unbeautiful things of one's life. In this somewhat involved aesthetic principle there is probably another hint at the causes of the sadness people show when they look at the lake. * * * * * Today the lake wears its autumn aspect. Out of the train window one sees a wedge of geese flying south or occasionally a lone bird circling like an endless note over the water. The waves look cold and their symmetrical crisscross makes one think of the chill, lonely nights that beckon outside the coziness of one's home windows. On summer days the lake is sometimes like a huge lavender leaf veined with gold. Sometimes it becomes festive and wears the awning stripes of cloud and sun. Or it grows serene and reminds one of a superb domesticity--as it lies pointed like a grate, arched like a saucer or the back of a sleeping kitten. But today its autumn is a bit depressing. It no longer lures toward strange adventure. Instead its grayness seems to say to one, "Stay away--stay away. Hide away in warm houses and warm overcoats. Men are little things--puny things." It is when one leaves the city and goes to visit or to live in another place where there is no lake that the lake grows y alive in one's mind. One becomes thirsty for it and dreams of it. One remembers it then as something that was almost an essential part of life, like a third dimension. In some way one associates one's day dreams with the lake and falls into thinking that there is something unfinished, sterile about living with no lake at one's elbow. * * * * * In a short while, a month or so, the lake will become a stage for melodrama. The people riding on its edge will stare into mists. They will watch the huge mist shapes rolling back and forth over the hidden water. The blue of the sky, the cold sun, the fog and the freezing water will become actors in a great play and the train windows will be little prosceniums inclosing the melodrama of winter. SERGT. KUZICK'S WATERLOO "Offhand," said Sergt. Kuzick of the first precinct, "offhand, I can't think of any stories for you. If you give me a little time, maybe I could think of one or two. What you want, I suppose, is some story as I know about from personal experience. Like the time, for instance, that the half-breed Indian busted out of the bridewell, where he was serving a six months' sentence, and snuck home and killed his wife and went back again to the bridewell, and they didn't find out who killed her until he got drunk a year later and told a bartender about it. That's the kind you want, ain't it?" I said it was. "Well," said Sergt. Kuzick, "I can't think of any offhand, like I said. There was a building over on West Monroe Street once where we found three bodies in the basement. They was all dead, but that wouldn't make a story hardly, because nobody ever found out who killed them. Let me think awhile." Sergt. Kuzick thought. * * * * * "Do you remember the Leggett mystery?" he inquired doubtfully. "I guess that was before your time. I was only a patrolman then. Old Leggett had a tobacco jar made out of a human skull, and that's how they found out he killed his wife. It was her skull. It come out one evening when he brought his bride home. You know, he got married again after killin' the first one. And they was having a party and the new bride said she didn't want that skull around in her house. Old Leggett got mad and said he wouldn't part with that skull for love or money. So when he was to work one day she threw the skull into the ash can, and when old Leggett come home and saw the skull missing he swore like the devil and come down to the station to swear out a warrant for his wife's arrest, chargin' her with disorderly conduct. He carried on so that one of the boys got suspicious and went out to the house with him and they found the skull in the ash can, and old Leggett began to weep over it. So one of the boys asked him, naturally, whose skull it was. He said it wasn't a skull no more, but a tobacco jar. And they asked him where he'd got it. And he begun to lie so hard that they tripped him up and finally he said it was his first wife's skull, and he was hung shortly afterward. You see, if you give me time I could remember something like that for a story. * * * * * "Offhand, though," sighed Sergt. Kuzick, "it's difficult. I ain't got it clear in my head what you want either. Of course I know it's got to be interestin' or the paper won't print it. But interestin' things is pretty hard to run into. I remember one night out to the old morgue. This was 'way back when I started on the force thirty years ago and more. And they was having trouble at the morgue owing to the stiffs vanishing and being mutilated. They thought maybe it was students carryin' them off to practice medicine on. But it wasn't, because they found old Pete--that was the colored janitor they had out there--he wasn't an African, but it turned out a Fiji Islander afterward. They found him dead in the morgue one day and it turned out he was a cannibal. Or, anyway, his folks had been cannibals in Fiji, and the old habit had come up in him so he couldn't help himself, and he was makin' a diet off the bodies in the morgue. But he struck one that was embalmed, and the poison in the body killed him. The papers didn't carry much on it on account of it not bein' very important, but I always thought it was kind of interestin' at that. That's about what you want, I suppose--some story or other like that. Well, let's see. * * * * * "It's hard," sighed Sergt. Kuzick, after a pause, "to put your finger on a yarn offhand. I remember a lot of things now, come to think of it, like the case I was on where a fella named Zianow killed his wife by pouring little pieces of hot lead into her ear, and he would have escaped, but he sold the body to the old county hospital for practicin' purposes, and while they was monkeying with the skull they heard something rattle and when they investigated it was several pieces of lead inside rattling around. So they arrested Zianow and got him to confess the whole thing, and he was sent up for life, because it turned out his wife had stabbed him four times the week before he poured the lead into her while she slept, and frightened him so that he did it in self-defense, in a way. "I understand in a general way what you want," murmured Sergt. Kuzick, "but so help me if I can think of a thing that you might call interestin'. Most of the things we have to deal with is chiefly murders and suicides and highway robberies, like the time old Alderman McGuire, who is dead now, was held up by two bandits while going home from a night session of the council, and he hypnotized one bandit. Yes, sir, you may wonder at that, but you didn't know McGuire. He was a wonderful hypnotist, and he hypnotized the bandit, and just as the other one, who wasn't hypnotized, was searching his pockets McGuire said to the hypnotized bandit, 'You're a policeman, shoot this highwayman.' And the hypnotized one was the bandit who had the gun, and he turned around, as Alderman McGuire said, and shot the other, unhypnotized bandit and killed him. But when he reported the entire incident to the station--I was on duty that night--the captain wouldn't believe it, and tried to argue McGuire into saying it was a accident, and that the gun had gone off accidentally and killed the unhypnotized bandit. But the alderman stuck to his story, and it was true, because the hypnotized bandit told me privately all about it when I took him down to Joliet. * * * * * "I will try," said Sergt. Kuzick, "to think of something for you in about a week. I begin to get a pretty definite idea what you want, and I'll talk it over with old Jim, who used to travel beat with me. He's a great one for stories, old Jim is. A man tan hardly think of them offhand like. You give me a week." And the old sergeant sank into his wooden chair and gazed out of the dusty station window with a perplexed and baffled eye. DEAD WARRIOR Do you want to see the dead warriors come back, the fallen army come back, crawling out of its million coffins and walking back across the sea and across the prairie; the waxen face of youth come out of its million graves and its uniform hanging from its limp frame? Do you want to see the war dead, the young ones ripped to pieces in the trenches standing like tired beggars at your back door, dead hands and dead eyes and wailing softly: "I was so young. I died so soon. All of us from all the countries who died so soon, we grow lonely on the other side. Ah, my unlived days! My uneaten bread! My uncounted years! They lie in a little corner and nobody comes to them!" It's a Jewish play called "The Dead Man" and every night in Glickman's Palace Theater on Blue Island Avenue a thousand men and women sit with staring eyes and watch this figure in its grave-clothes come dragging back like a tired beggar, come moaning back with the cry: "My unlived days! My uneaten bread! My uncounted years!" He stands between Hamlet and Peer Gynt, this strangely motionless one who has thrown the west side into an uproar. There is no drama around him. He is a dead young man in uniform walking slowly, limply through three acts. This is all one remembers--that his eyes were open and unseeing, that his arms hung like a scarecrow's and that the fingers of his hands were curled in and motionless. * * * * * They talk to him in the play. The scene is a Jewish village in Poland. The war has ended. Famine, disease and poverty remain. Refugees, dying ones, starving ones, huddle together in the dismantled synagogue. No one knows what has happened. The armies have passed. Flame and blood brightened the sky for a time. Now the little village lies cut off from the world and its people clutch desperately to the hem of life. No news has come. Wanderers stagger down the torn roads with crazy tidings and the old men of the synagogue sit shivering over their prayer books. A world has been blown into fragments and this scene is one of the fragments. Sholom Ash, who wrote this play, spent a time in villages abroad as a Jewish relief worker and he brought back this scene. A bedlam of despair, a merciless photograph that stares across the footlights for a half-hour. The story begins. There is a village leader in whose veins the will to live still throbs. He exhorts the shivering ones. There will be a wedding. He will give his daughter in marriage. There will be feasting. The dead are dead. The duty of the living ones is to live. Let the old women prepare food and the men will sing. Life will begin over and a new village will be built up. But the daughter hangs back. She talks of the young man whom she married and who went away to war. "He is dead, poor child," the father says. "No, no, he isn't dead. I dreamed he was still alive," she answers. But the festival starts. The starving ones sing in the broken synagogue. There will be a wedding. Life will begin. But there is something in the ruined doorway. A uniform stands in the doorway. A dark, waxen-faced young man who seems asleep, whose arms hang limp, whose fingers curl in. He comes forward and stands, a terribly idle figure. He is the young man. * * * * * They greet him. His bride weeps with joy. His aged mother presses his hands and weeps and murmurs in a whisper: "Oh, how changed he is!" The synagogue shouts and cries its welcome. But the young man's eyes stare and it would seem almost that he is dead. Then he talks. His voice has a lifeless sound, his words are like a child reciting sleepily. There is a gruesome oddity about him. But an old man explains. "They come back like that," he says. "There is one who came back who shrieks all night. And another who cannot remember anything." Yet how strangely he talks! Of a country from which he has come--on the other side, it lies. Hysterical questions arise. Is there food there, are there houses there, is there milk for children and synagogues in which to pray? There is everything one desires, he says. So the questions rise and the answers come--curious child answers. But why is he so pale and worn if the country whence he comes is so remarkable? Ah, because he was lonely. All who are in this country are like him--lonely for the homes they left so soon. For their people. All who are in the country whence he came sit and remember only the things of the past. Yes, that is all one does in this marvelous country--remember the things of the past, over and over again. * * * * * They will go with him. The miser who has hidden away his gold, the widow and her two orphans, the hungry ones and despairing ones--they will all go back with him. One comes out of the theater with a strange sense of understanding. The dead have spoken to one. It is never to be forgotten. The youth that was ripped to pieces in the trenches reached out his limp arms across a row of west side footlights and left a cry echoing in one's heart: "My unlived days! My uneaten bread! My uncounted years! They lie in a little corner waiting and no one comes to them." Propaganda? Yes, a curious undertone of propaganda. The war propaganda of the dead, older than the fall of Liege by a hundred centuries. The primitive propaganda of the world mourning for its lost ones. You will see the play, perhaps. Or you will wait until it is translated some day. But this month the west side is aglow with the genius of Sholom Ash and with the interpretative genius of Aaron Teitelbaum, who plays the dead man in uniform and who directed the production. I know of no performance today that rivals his. THE TATTOOER Here the city kind of runs over at the heel and flaunts a seven-year-old straw hat. Babylon mooches wearily along with a red nose dreaming in the sun, and Gomorrah leans against an ash can. It is South State Street below Van Buren. The ancient palaces of mirth and wonder blink with dusty lithographs. "Long ago," says Dutch, "yeh, long ago it was different. Then people was people. Then life was something. Then the tattooing business was a business. When the old London Musee was next door and everybody knew how to have a good time." The automatic piano in the penny arcade whangs dolorously into a forgotten tango. The two errand boys stand with their eyes glued on the interiors of the picture slot machines--"An Artist's Model" and "On the Beach at Atlantic City." A gun pops foolishly in the rear and the 3-inch bullseye clangs. In a corner behind the Postal Card Photo Taken in a Minute gallery sits Dutch, the world's leading tattooer. Sample tattoo designs cover the two walls. Dragons, scorpions, bulbous nymphs, crossed flags, wreathed anchors, cupids, butterflies, daggers and quaint decorations that seem the grotesque survivals of the mid-Victorian schools of fantasy. Photographs of famous men also cover the walls--Capt. Constantinus tattooed from head to foot, every inch of him; Barnum's favorites, ancient and forgotten kooch dancers, fire eaters, sword swallowers, magicians and museum freaks. And a two column article from the Chicago Chronicle of 1897, yellowed and framed and recounting in sonorous phrases ("pulchritudinous epidermis" is featured frequently) that the society folk of Chicago have taken up tattooing as a fad, following the lead of New York's Four Hundred, who followed the lead of London's most aristocratic circles; and that Prof. Al Herman, known from Madagascar to Sandy Hook as "Dutch," was the leading artist of the tattoo needle in the world. Here in his corner, surrounded by the molding symbols and slogans of a dead world, Dutch is rounding out his career--a Silenus in exile, his eyes still bright with the memory of hurdy-gurdy midnights. "Long ago," says Dutch, and his sigh evokes a procession of marvelous ghosts tattooed from head to toe and capering like a company of debonair totem poles over the cobblestones of another South State Street. But the macabre days are gone. The Barnum bacchanal of the nineties lies in its grave with a fading lithograph for a tombstone. Along with the fall of the Russian empire, the collapse of the fourteen points and the general dethronement of reason since the World's Fair, the honorable art of tattooing has come in for its share of vicissitudes. "Oh, we still do business," says Dutch. "Human nature is slow to decline and there are people who still realize that if you got a handsome watch what do you want to do to it? Engrave it, ain't it? And if you got a handsome skin, what then? Tattoo, naturally. And we tattoo in seven colors now where it used to be three, and use electricity. Do you think it's crazy? Well, you should see who I used to tattoo in the old days. Read the article on the wall. As for being crazy, what do you say about the man who spends his last 50 cents to get into a baseball game, and gets excited and throws his only hat in the air and loses it, and the man who sits all day and all night with a fishpole on the pier and don't catch any fish? Yes, like I tell the judge who picked us up one day in Iowa, you know how they do sometimes when you follow the carnival. And he asks me why I shouldn't go to jail, and if tattooing ain't crazy, and I says give me three minutes and I prove my case. And I begin with the Romans, and how they was the brightest people we knew, and how they went in for tattooing, and how Columbus was tattooed, and all the sailors that was bright enough to discover America was tattooed, also. Then I say, what if Charlie Ross was tattooed? Would he be lost to-day? And what if he had under his name the word Philadelphia? And in addition to that the date where he was born and his address and so on. Would he be lost then? 'You see,' I says, 'a man can't be tattooed enough for his own good,' and the judge says I win my case." * * * * * The automatic piano plays "Over There" and the shooting gallery rifles pop too insistently for a moment. Dutch contemplates a plug of fresh tobacco. Then he resumes. This time a more intimate tale--the story of his romance--a weird, grotesque amour with a gaudy can-can obbligato. "Long ago," Dutch whispers; "yeh, I knew all the girls. I tattoned them all. And I live in this street for thirty years now. But nobody is interested any more in what used to be. How this street has become different! Ach, it is gone, all gone. Everything. Tattooing hangs on a little. Human nature demand it. But human nature is dying likewise. Yeh, I ask you what would old Barnum say if he should come back and see me sitting here? Me, who was as good any day as Capt. Constantinus? I hate to think what. In those days talent counted. If you could sing or dance or tattoo it meant something. Now what does it mean? Look at the dancers and singers they have, and who is there that tattooes any more? It's all gone to smash, the whole world." * * * * * Now amid the popping of the rifles and the tinny whanging of the piano Dutch draws forth a final package. He unwraps a yellowed newspaper. Photographs. One by one he shuffles them out and arranges them on the broken desk as if in some pensive game of solitaire. There is Dutch when he was a boy, when he was a sailor, when he grew up and became a world famous tattooer. There is Dutch surrounded by queens of the Midway, Dutch with his arms debonairly thrown round the shoulders of snake charmers and other bizarre and vanished contemporaries. The photographs are yellowed. They make a curious collection. They make the soulless piano sound a bit softer. A "where are the snows of yesteryear" motif played on a can-can fife. Finally a modern photo in a folder, unyellowed. A smiling, wholesome faced girl. Here Dutch pauses in his game of solitaire and looks in silence. "My daughter," he says finally. "I sent her through college. Yeh, she's graduated now and has a fine job. I help her all I can. What? Is she tattooed?" The world's greatest tattoo artist bristles and glowers at the designs on the walls, frowns at the cupids, nymphs, anchors, dragons and butterflies. "I should say not," he mutters. "She don't belong in this street, not here. She's got a different life, and I help her all I can and she likes me. No, sir, in this street belongs only those who have a long memory. The new ones should start somewhere else. Not, mind you, that tattooing ain't good enough for anybody. But times have changed." The piano obliges with "The Blue Danube." A customer saunters in. Dutch is all business. The electricity is switched on. A blue spark crackles. Dutch clears his throat and slaps the customer proudly on the back. "Only a little more to go," he explains, "all over. Two more ships at sea and three dragons will do the job, Heinie. And then, h'm, you will get a job any day in any side show, I can guarantee you that." Heinie grins hopefully. THE THING IN THE DARK It has the usual Huron street ending. Emergency case. Psychopathic hospital. Dunning. But the landlady talked to the police sergeant. The landlady was curious. She wanted the police sergeant to tell her something. And the police sergeant, resting his chin on his elbow, leaned forward on his high stool and peered through the partition window at the landlady--and said nothing. Or rather, he said: "don't know. That's the way with people sometimes. They get afraid." This man came to Mrs. Balmer's rooming-house in Huron Street when it was spring. He was a short, stocky man with a leathery face and little eyes. He identified himself as Joseph Crawford, offered to pay $5 a week for a 12 by 12 room on the third floor at the rear end of the long gloomy hallway and arrived the next day at Mrs. Balmer's faded tenement with an equally faded trunk. Nothing happened. But when Mrs. Balmer entered the room the following morning to straighten it up she found several innovations. There were four kerosene lamps in the room. They stood on small rickety tables, one in each corner. And there was a new electric light bulb in the central fixture. Mrs. Balmer took note of these things with a professional eye but said nothing. Idiosyncrasies are to be expected of the amputated folk who seek out lonely tenement bedrooms for a home. * * * * * A week later, however, Mrs. Balmer spoke to the man. "You burn your light all night," said Mrs. Balmer, "and while I have no objection to that, still it runs up the electric light bill." The man agreed that this was true and answered that he would pay $1 extra each week for the privilege of continuing to burn the electric light all night. Nothing happened. Yet Mrs. Balmer, when she had time for such things as contemplation, grew curious about the man in the back room. In fact she transferred her curiosity from the Japanese female impersonator on the second floor and the beautiful and remarkably gowned middle-aged woman on the first floor to this man who kept four kerosene lamps and an electric bulb burning all night on the third floor. For some time Mrs. Balmer was worried over the thought that this man was probably an experimenter. He probably fussed around with things as an old crank does sometimes, and he would end by burning down the house or blowing it up--accidentally. But Mrs. Balmer's fears were removed one evening when she happened to look down the gloomy hallway and notice that this man's door was open. A gay, festive illumination streamed out of the opened doorway and Mrs. Balmer paid a social call. She found her roomer sitting in a chair, reading. Around him blazed four large kerosene lamps. But there was nothing else to notice. His eyes were probably bad, and Mrs. Balmer, after exchanging a few words on the subject of towels, transportation and the weather, said good-night. But always after that Mrs. Balmer noticed that the door remained open. Open doors are frequent in rooming-houses. People grow lonely and leave the doors of their cubby holes open. There is nothing odd about that. Yet one evening while Mrs. Balmer stood gossiping with this man in the doorway she noticed something about him that disturbed her. She had noticed it first when she looked in the room before saying hello. Mr. Crawford was sitting facing the portieres that covered the folding doors that partitioned the room. The portieres were a very clever ruse of Mrs. Balmer. Behind them were screwed hooks and these hooks functioned as a clothes-closet. Mrs. Balmer noticed that Mr. Crawford, as she talked, kept staring at the portieres and watching them and that he seemed very nervous. The next morning, when she was straightening up the room, Mrs. Balmer looked behind the portières. An old straw hat, an old coat, a few worn shirts hung from the hooks. There was nothing else but the folding-door and this was not only locked but nailed up. When two months had passed Mrs. Balmer had made a discovery. It had to do with the four kerosene lamps and the extra large electric bulb and the portières. But it was an irritating discovery, since it made everything more mysterious than ever in the landlady's mind. She had caught many glimpses of this man in the back room when he wasn't looking. Of evenings he sat with his door opened and his eyes fastened on the portières. He would sit like that for hours and his leathery face would become gray. His little eyes would widen and his body would hunch up as if he were stiffening. But nothing happened. Finally, however, Mrs. Balmer began to talk. She didn't like this man Crawford. It made her nervous to catch a glimpse of him in his too-brightly lighted room, sitting hour after hour staring at the portières--as if there was something behind them, when there was nothing behind them except an old hat and coat and shirt. She looked every morning. But he paid his rent regularly. He left in the morning regularly and always returned at eight o'clock. He was an ideal roomer--except that there never is an ideal roomer--but Mrs. Balmer couldn't stand his lights and his watching the portières. It frightened her. * * * * * Screams sometimes sound in a rooming-house. One night--it was after midnight--Mrs. Balmer woke up. The darkened house seemed filled with noises. A man was screaming. Mrs. Balmer got dressed and called the janitor. There was no doubt in her mind where the noises came from. Some of the roomers were awake and looking sleepily and frightenedly out of their doorways. Mrs. Balmer and the janitor hurried to the back room on the third floor. It was Crawford screaming. His door was closed, but it opened when the janitor turned the knob. Mr. Crawford was standing in front of the portières in the too-brightly lighted room and screaming. His arms, as if overcoming some awful resistance, shot out, and his hands seized the portières. With the amazing screams still coming from his throat, Mr. Crawford tore crazily at the portières until they ripped from the rod above the folding-door. They came down and the man fell with them. Over him, hanging on the "clothes-closet" hooks, were revealed an old straw hat, an old coat and a worn shirt. * * * * * "You see," said Mrs. Balmer to the police sergeant, "he was afraid of something and he couldn't stand the dark. And the portières always frightened him. But the doctor wasn't able to do anything with him. The doctor says there was some secret about it and that Mr. Crawford went crazy because of this secret. The only thing they found out about him was that he used to be a sailor." AN OLD AUDIENCE SPEAKS Tired, madam? That is nothing remarkable. So are we, whose faces you see from across the footlights, faces like rows of wilted plants in the gloom of this decrepit theater. We are all very tired. It is Saturday afternoon. For a little while yesterday there was spring in the streets. But now it has grown cold again. The wind blows. The buildings wear a bald, cheerless look. What are we tired about? God knows. Perhaps because winter is so long in passing. Or, perhaps, because spring will be so long in passing. Tired of waiting for tomorrow. So you dance for us. We have paid 50 cents each to see the show. This abominable orchestra is out of tune. The fiddles scrape, the piano makes clattering sounds. And you, madam, are tired. The gay purple tights, the gilded bodice, the sultana's toque, or whatever it is, do not deceive us. Your legs, madam, are not as shapely as they were once. And your body--ah, bodies grow old. Yes, we are not deceived, madam. You have come to us--last. There were others before us, others reaching far back, to whom you gave your youth. Others for whom you danced when your legs were, perhaps, like two spring mornings, and when your body was, perhaps, like a pretty laugh. * * * * * Here are the tired ones. From the South Clark and South State streets bed-houses. The kinds of faces that the smart movie directors hire as "types" for the underworld scenes or the slum scenes. It is Saturday afternoon and we walked up and down the street, looking at the lithographs outside the decrepit theater fronts. And when it got too cold to walk any farther we dropped in, forking out four bits for the privilege. And we expect nothing, madam. There will be no great music for us. And what scenery there is behind the footlights will be faded and patched. The jokes will be things that make no one laugh. And the dancers, madam, will be like you. Tired, heavy-faced dancers, whose legs flop, whose bodies bounce while the abominable orchestra plays. But it is warm where we sit. We half shut our eyes and tired little dreams come to us. And you, madam, going wearily through your steps, are the Joy of Life. Your hoarse voice, singing indecipherable words about dearie and honey and my jazz baby, your sagging shoulders layered with powder and jerking to the music, the rigid, lifeless grin of your cruelly painted lips--these things and the torn, smeared papier-mâché ballroom interior--these are the Joy of Life. Tired little dreams, worth almost the four bits. Do you remember other audiences, madam? As we remember other dancers? Do you recall the gay, dark glow of ornate auditoriums, and do you remember when you were young and there were many tomorrows? As we do? Oh, dearie, dearie, how mah heart grows weary, waitin' for mah baby for to come back home. Very good, madam. Although the voice is a bit cracked. Now dance. Lumber across the stage in your purple tights, wiggle around in your sultana's toque. That's the baby. And kick your legs at us as you exit. Ah, what a kick! But never mind. It is quite good enough for us. And--it reminds us. * * * * * We applaud. Does the noise sound ghastly? What is it we applaud? God knows. But applause is a habit. One applauds in a theater. How does it sound in the wings to you, madam, our applause? Rather meaningless, eh? And not interesting at all? Ah, we forgive you for that, for not feeling a great thrill at our applause. Nevertheless, it is a rather piquant thing, our applause. Considering how cold it is outside, how long winter is in passing. Considering how cheerless the buildings look. Put on the red ball gown and come out and crack jokes with the hop-headed-looking juvenile lead. Greetings, madam. How marvelous you look in this ball gown! Ah, indeed! You were walking down the street the other day and chanced to meet. Hm, we've heard that joke, but we'll laugh again. Matrimony. I'll tell you what marriage is. A lottery. Yes, we've heard that one, too. Accept our laughter, nevertheless. Your jokes, madam, are neither young nor refined. But--neither are we. And your wit is somewhat coarse and pointless. But so are we. And your voice is a trifle tired and cracked and loud. But so is our laughter. We are even, quite even, madam. If you were better once, so were we. If you remember sweeter laughter, why we remember more charming jests. Go on, Dolores, our lady of jokes, you're worth the four bits. * * * * * Now the street seems a bit colder because it was warmer in the theater. Where do we go from here? Up and down, up and down the old street. A very pleasant afternoon. Spent in laughter and applause. Once there was booze for a nickel and a dime. But it was found necessary to improve the morals of the nation. No booze today. That is quite a brave photograph of you outside the theater, madam. The Dancing Venus. If we had tears we would shed them. The Dancing Venus, indeed! We smile as you smiled yourself when you saw it for the first time. But--good-by. Master Francois Villon sang it all long ago. Yesterdays, yesterdays, here is a street of yesterdays. And we, the tired ones, the brutal-faced, bitter-eyed ones, the beaten ones--we walk up and down the cold street, peering at the cheerless buildings. Life takes a long time to pass. But without changing our bitter, brutal faces we bow this afternoon, madam, to the memory of you. We paid four bits to see you. Our Lady of Jokes, and in this cold, sunless street we grin, we smirk, we leer a salutation to your photograph and the phrase beneath it that laughs mockingly back at us--Oh, Dancing Venus! MISHKIN'S MINYON We were discussing vacations and Sammy, who is eleven years old going on twelve, listened nervously to his father. Finally Sammy spoke up: "I won't go," he bristled. "No, I won't if I gotta tell the conductor I'm under five. I ain't going." Sammy's father coughed with some embarrassment. "Sha!" said Feodor Mishkin, removing his attention from the bowl of fruit, "I see it takes more than naturalization papers to change a _landsmann_ from Kremetchuk." And he fastened a humorous eye upon Sammy's father. "It's like this," continued the Falstaffian one from Roosevelt Road: "In Russia where my friend here, Hershela comes from, that is in Russia of the good old days where there were pogroms and ghettos and _provocateurs_--ah, I grow homesick for that old Russia sometimes--the Jews were not always so honest as they might be. Don't interrupt me, Hershela. My friend here I want to tell a story to is a journalist and he will understand I am no 'antishemite' if I explain how it is that you want your son Sammy to tell the conductor he is under five." * * * * * Turning to me Mishkin grinned and proceeded. "The Jews, as you know, are great travelers," he said. "They have traveled more than all the other peoples put together. And yet, they don't like to pay car fare, in Russia, particular. I can remember my father, who was a good rabbi and a holy man. Yes, but when it came time to ride on the train from one city to another he would fold up his long beard and crawl under the seat. "It was only on such an occasion that my father would talk to a woman. He would actually rather cut off his right hand than talk to a woman in public that he didn't know. This was because Rabbi Mishkin, my father, was a holy man. But he was not above asking a woman to spread out her skirts so that the inspector coming through the train couldn't see him under the seat. "Of course, you had to pay the conductors. But a ruble was enough, not ten or twenty rubles like the fare called for. And the conductors were always glad to have Jews ride on their train because it meant a private revenue for them. I remember that the conductors on the line running through Kremetchuk had learned a few words of Yiddish. For instance, when the train would stop at a station the conductor would walk up and down the platform and cry out a few times--_mu kennt_. This meant that the inspector wasn't on the train and you could jump on and hide under the seats. Or if the inspector was on the train the conductor would walk up and down and yell a few times, _Malchamovis_! This is a Hebrew word that means Evil Angel and it was the signal for nothing doing. "The story I remember is on a train going but of Kiev," said Mishkin. "Years ago it was. I was sitting in the train reading some Russian papers when I heard three old Jews talking. They had long white beards and there were marks on their foreheads from where they laid twillum. Yes, I saw that they were holy men and pretty soon I heard that they were upset about something. You know what? I'll tell you. "For a religious Jew in the old country to pass an evening without a minyon is a sin. A minyon is a prayer that is said at evening. And to make a minyon there must be ten Jews. And they must stand up when they pray. Of course, if you are somewhere where there are no ten Jews, then maybe it's all right to say it with three or four Jews only. "So these holy men on the train were arguing if they should have a minyon or not because there were only three of them. But finally they decided after a theological discussion that it would be all right to have the minyon. It was dark already and the train was going fast and the three Jews stood up in their place at the end of the car and began the prayer. "And pretty soon I began to hear voices. Yes, from under nearly every seat. Voices praying. A mumble-bumble that filled the car. I didn't know what to make of it for a few minutes. But then I remembered. Of course, the car was full of rabbis or at least holy men and they were as usual riding with their beards folded up under the seats. * * * * * "So," smiled Mishkin, "the prayer continued and some of the passengers who were listening began to smile. You can imagine. But the three Jews paid no attention. They went on with the minyon. And now, listen, now comes the whole story You will laugh. But it is true. I saw it with my own eyes. "The prayer, like I told you, must be said standing up. At least it is a sin to say the last part of the prayer, particularly the 'amen,' without standing up. So as the prayer came towards its finish imagine what happened. From under a dozen seats began to appear old Jews with white beards. They crawled out and without brushing themselves off stood up and when the 'amen' finally came there were eleven Jews standing up in a group and praying. Under the seats it was completely vacant. "And just at this moment, when the 'amen' filled the car, who should come through but the inspector in his uniform with his lantern. When he saw this whole car full of passengers he hadn't seen before he stopped in surprise. And the finish of it was that they all had to pay their fare--extra fare, too. * * * * * "It is a nice story, don't you think, Hershela" Mishkin laughed. "It shows a lot of things, but principally it shows that a holy man is a holy man first and that he will sacrifice himself to an inquisition in Madrid or a train inspector in Kiev for the simple sake of saying his 'amen' just as he believed it should be said and just as he wants to say it." Sammy's father shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see how what you say has anything to do with what my son said," he demurred. "Sammy looks user more than five and what harm is there in saving $15 if--" Sammy interrupted with a wail. "I won't go," he cried. "No, if I gotta tell the conductor I'm under five I better stay home. I don't wanna go. He'll know I'm 'leven going on twelve." "All right, all right," sighed Sammy's father. "But you see," he added, turning to Mishkin, "it ain't on account of wanting to have a minyon that my son has such high ideas." SOCIABLE GAMBLERS "Yes, it do interfere with their game," said Bill Cochran, the deputy sheriff from Tom Freeman's office. He cut himself a slice of chewing tobacco and glanced meditatively out of the window of the Dearborn Street bastile. Whereat he repeated with gentle emphasis, "It do." A long rain was leaning against the walls of the county jail. A dismal yellowish gloom drifted up and down the street. Deputy Cochran, with an effort, detached his eye from the lugubrious scene of the rain and the day-dark and spoke up brightly. "But at that," said he, "I don't think their being doomed for to hang can be held entirely responsible for their losing. You see, I've made quite a study of the game o' rhummy, not to mention pinochle and other such games of chance, and if I do say so myself I doubt there's the man in Chicago, doomed for to hang or otherwise, who would find me an easy mark. Still, as I say, in the case of these gentlemen who you refer to--to wit, the doomed men as I have acted as death watch for--it do interfere with their game. There's no denying that." * * * * * Now the rain chattered darkly on the grated windows of the Dearborn Street bastile and Deputy Cochran tilted back in his chair and thought pensively and in silence of life and death and high, low, jack and the game. "They pick me out for the death watch on account I have a way with doomed men," he remarked at last, his voice modestly self-conscious. "Some of the deputies is inclined to get a bit sad, you know. Or to let their nerves go away with them. But me, I feel as the best thing to do in the crisis to which I refer is to make the best of it. "So when I sit in on the death watch I faces myself with the truth. I says to myself right away: 'Bill, this young feller here is to be hanged by the neck until dead, in a few hours. Which being the case, there's no use wasting any more time or thought on the matter.' So after this self-communication, I usually says to the young feller under observation by the death watch, 'Cheerio, m'lad. Is there anything in particular as you'd like to discuss.' "I was a bit thick with the Abyssinian prince, Grover Redding, you recall. The man spent the whole time we were with him praying at the top of his voice and singing hymns. Not that I begrudged the fellow this privilege. But if you've ever heard a man who's going to be hanged in a few hours try to pass the time in continual prayers shouted at the top of his voice you'll understand our predicament. "Then there was Antonio Lopez. I was death watch on him and a difficult task that was. The lad kept up his pretense that he fancied himself a rooster to the very end. He crouched on the chair on his feet and flapped his elbows like as they were wings and emitted rooster calls all night long. I tried to dissuade him and offered to play him any game he wished for any stake. But the only way he could reconcile himself to the approaching fatal dawn was to crow like a rooster. I thought to cheer him up toward the end by congratulating him on his excellent imitations, as I bore him no ill will despite he gave us all a terrible headache before the death march took him away." * * * * * Now the rain dropped in long, quick lines outside the window and the pavements below glowed like dark mirrors. Deputy Cochran, however, had become oblivious to the scene. His eyes withdrew themselves from the rain-dark and casually traced themselves over the memories his calling had left him. "There was Blacky Weed some years ago," he went on. "And Viana, the choir boy. And to come down to more recent incidents, Harry Ward, the 'Lone Wolf.' I played cards with them all and can truthfully say I won most of the games played to which I refer, with the exception of those played with the 'Lone Wolf,' hanged recently, if you recall. "I will say that the chief trouble with the doomed men as I have engaged in games of chance with is their inability to concentrate. Now cards, to be properly played, requires above all a gift of the ability to concentrate. Recognizing this I have always refused to play for money with the doomed as I have been watch over, saying to them when they pressed the matter, 'No, m'lad. Let's make it just a sociable game for the fun there's in it rather than play for money.' "There are others not so scrupulous," hinted Deputy Cochran. "Take for instance, the example of the newspaper man as was Eddie Brislane's friend and comforter. He was with him in the cell most of the time before the hanging, and two days before the aforesaid he paid Brislane $50 for a story to be printed exclusively in his paper. Then this newspaper man, which I consider unethical under the circumstances, played Brislane poker, and what with the doomed man's lack of concentration and his inability to take advantage of the turns of the game, therefore, this newspaper man won back his $50 and some few dollars besides. "As for me, I doubt whether all my card playing with these doomed men, successful though it has been, has ever brought me as much as a half dollar. No, as I said, sociability is the object of these games and all I aim for is to put the doomed man at his ease for the time being." * * * * * Deputy Cochian suddenly smiled, although before an impersonal air had marked his discourse. "There was the 'Lone Wolf,' as I mentioned," he continued. "A cold-blooded feller and a sinner to the end. But he was the best rhummy player as I have ever had the pleasure of matching skill with. Yes, sir, it was his ability for to concentrate. As I said, that is, the prime ability necessary and the 'Lone Wolf' had more concentration than any one I have matched skill with in or out of the jail. "That was an interesting evening we spent on the death watch for the 'Lone Wolf.' He regaled us for an hour or so telling us how he used to steal motor cars. Yes, sir, whenever the 'Lone Wolf' wanted a new car he just went out and took it. A cold-blooded feller, as I say. "Then he asked if I would mind playing him a game of rhummy and I answered, 'No, Harry. As you are aware, I am here to oblige. So we got out the deck and Harry insisted upon gambling. 'Make it a dollar a hand,' he said. But I would listen to none of that. We played eight games in all and he beat me six of them. Perhaps I was not at my best that night. But I never played against such a cold-blooded feller. He took a positive joy in winning his games and on the whole acted like a bum winner, making the most of his unusual good luck. I hold no grudge for that, however. But I feel that if we could have continued the play some other time I'd easily have finished him off." Now the sun was slowly recovering its place and the rain had become a light mist. Deputy Cochran seemed to regard this as a signal for a conclusion. "Summing the matter all up, pro and con," he offered, "it do interfere with their game a lot. But I lay this to the fact that they all fancy they're going to be reprieved and they keep waiting and listening for an announcement which will save them from the gallows. I've known some of them to lead a deuce thinking it was an ace and vice versa. But at that I can fully recommend a good, sociable game of cards as the best way for a doomed man to pass the few hours before the arrival of the fatal moment." RIPPLES It rains. People carry umbrellas. A great financier has promised me an interview. The windows of his club look out on a thousand umbrellas. They bob along like drunken beetles. Once in a blue moon one becomes aware of people. Usually the crowds and their endless faces are a background. They circle around one the way ripples circle around a stone that has fallen into the water. The torments, elation of others; the ambitions, defeats of others; the bedlam of others--who the piano. A cornet, probably. Or a ukulele. _Parbleu_, what creates in the plunge from youth to age. Here, then, under the umbrellas outside the great financier's club, are people. One must marvel. They pass one another without so much as a glance. To each of them all the others--the bedlam of others--are ripples emanating from themselves. The great quests and struggles going on and the million agonies and tumults beating in the veins of the world--ripples. Yes, vague and vaguer ripples which surround the fact that one is going to buy a pair of suspenders; which circle the fact that one is invited out for dinner this evening. * * * * * Ah, the smug and oblivious ones under umbrellas! It rains, but the umbrellas keep off the rain. The world pours its distinctions and elations over their souls, but other umbrellas, invisible, keep off distractions and elations. And each of them, scurrying along outside the window of the great financier's club, is an omniscient world center to himself. The great play was written around him, a blur of disasters and ecstasies, a sort of vast and inarticulate Greek chorus mumbling an obbligato to the leitmotif which is at the moment the purchase of a pair of suspenders or a dinner invitation for the evening. None so small under these umbrellas outside the window but fancies himself the center of the cosmos. None so stupid but regards himself as the oracle of the times. And they scurry along without a glance at one another, each innately convinced that his ideas, his prejudices, his ambitions, his tastes are the Great Standard, the Normal Criterion. Puritan, paranoiac, sybarite, katatoniac, hardhead, dreamer, coward, desperado, beaten ones, striving ones, successful ones--all flaunt their umbrellas in the rain, all unfurl their invisible umbrellas to the world. Let it rain, let it rain--calamities and ecstasies tipped with fire and roaring with thunder--nothing can disturb the terrible preoccupation of the plunge from youth to age. * * * * * The pavements gleam like dark mirrors. The office window lights chatter in the gloom. An umbrella pauses. The great financier is giving directions to his chauffeur. The directions given, the great financier stands in the rain for a moment. His eyes look up and down the street. What does he see? Ripples, vague and vaguer ripples, that mark his passage from the limousine into the club. He is wet. A servant helps him remove his coat. Then he comes to the window and sinks into a leather chair and stares at the rain and the umbrellas outside. The great financier has been abroad. His highly specialized mind has been, poking among columns of figures, columns of reports. He desired to find out if possible what conditions abroad were. For six months the great financier closeted himself daily with other great financiers and talked and talked and discussed and talked. But he says nothing. It is curious. The whole world and all its marvelous distractions seem to have resolved themselves into the curt sentence, "It rains." And somehow the great financier's faculty for the glib manipulation of platitudes which has earned him a reputation as a powerful economist seems for the moment to have abandoned him. His eyes remind one of a boy standing on tiptoe and staring over a fence at a baseball game. * * * * * The conversation finally begins. It runs something like this. It is the great financier talking. "Europe. Oh, yes. Quite a mess. Things will pick up, however." A long pause. The umbrellas bob along. One, two, three, four, five--the financier counts up to thirty. Then he rubs his hands together as if he were taking charge of a situation freshly arisen at a board of directors' meeting and says in a jovial voice: "Where were we? Oh, yes. The European situation. Well, now, what do you want to know in particular?" Ah, this great financier has columns of figures, columns of reports and columns of phrases in his head. Press a button and they will pop out. "Have a cigar?" the financier asks. Cigars are lighted. "A rotten day," he says. "Doesn't look as if it will clear up, either, does it?" Then he says, "I guess this is an off day for me. No energy at all. I swear I can't think of a thing to tell you about the European situation." He sits smoking, his eyes fastened on the scene outside the window. His eyes seem to be searching as if for meanings that withhold themselves. Yet obviously there is no thought in his head. A mood has wormed its way through the columns of figures, columns of reports, and taken possession of him. This is bad for a financier. It is obvious that the umbrellas outside are for the moment something other than ripples; that the great play of life outside is something other than an inarticulate Greek chorus mumbled as an obbligato for him alone. The great financier is aware of something. Of what? He shakes his head, as if to question himself. Of nothing he can tell. Of the fact that a great financier is an atom like other atoms dancing in a chaos of atoms. Of the fact that each of the umbrellas crawling past under his window is as important as himself. The great financier's ego is taking a rest and dreams naked of words crowd in to distract him. "We have in Europe a peculiar situation," he says. "England and France, although hitched to the same wagon, pull in different directions. England must build up her trade. France must build up her morale. These involve different efforts. To build up her trade England must re-establish Germany. To build up her morale France must see that Germany is not re-established and that it remains forever a beaten enemy." The great financier looks at his watch suddenly. "By Jove!" he says. "By Jove!" He has to go. He is sorry the interview was a failure. But a rotten day for thinking. Back into his raincoat. A limousine has drawn up. A servant helps him to dress. In a moment another umbrella has joined the crawl of umbrellas over the pavement. It rains. And a great financier is riding home to dinner. PITZELA'S SON "His name?" said Feodor Mishkin. "Hm! Always you want names. Is life a matter of names and addresses or is it something else?" "But the story would be better, Feodor, with names in it." The rotund and omniscient journalist from the west side muttered to himself in Russian. "Better!" he repeated. "And why better? If I tell you his name is Yankel or Berella or Chaim Duvit do you know any more than if I tell you his name is Pitzela?" "No. We will drop the matter. I will call him Chaim Yankel." "You will call him Chaim Yankel! And what for? His name is Pitzela and not Chaim Yankel." "Thanks." "You can go anywhere on Maxwell Street and ask anybody you meet do they know Pitzela and they will say: 'Do we know Pitzela? We know Pitzela all right.' So what is there to be gained by calling him Chaim Yankel?" "Nothing, Feodor. It was a mistake even to think of it." "It was. Well, as I was telling you before you began this interruption about names, he is exactly 110 years old. Can you imagine a man 110 years old? A man 110 years old is an unusual thing, isn't it?" "It is, Feodor. But I once knew a man 113 years old." "Ha! And what kind of a man was he? Did he dance jigs? Did he crack nuts with his teeth? Did he drink like a fish?" "No, he was an old man and very sad." "You see! He was sad. So what has he to do with Pitzela? Nothing. Pitzela laughs all day long. And he dances jigs. And he cracks nuts with his teeth. Mind you, a man 110 years old cracks nuts with his teeth! Can you imagine such a thing?" "No Feodor. It is amazing." "Amazing? Why amazing? Everything that happens different from what you know is amazing to you! You are very naïve. You know what naïve means? It is French." "I know what naïve means, Feodor. Go on about Pitzela." "Naïve means to be childish late in life. In a way you are like Pitzela, despite the difference in your ages. He is naïve. You know what he wants?" "What?" "This Pitzela wants to show everybody how young he is. That's his central ambition. He don't talk English much, but when you ask him, 'Pitzela, how do you feel today?' he says to you right back, 'Oi, me? I'm full o' pep.' Then if you ask him, 'How old are you, Pitzela?' he says: 'Old? What does it matter how old I am? I am just beginning to enjoy myself. And when you talk about my dying don't laugh too much. Because, you know, I will attend all your funerals. When I am 300 years old I will be burying your grandchildren.' And he will laugh. Do you like the story?" "Yes, Feodor. But it isn't long enough. I will have to go out and see Pitzela and describe him and that will make the story long enough." "It isn't long enough? What do you mean? I just begun. The story ain't about Pitzela at all. So why should you go see Pitzela?" "But I thought it was about Pitzela." "You thought! Hm! Well, you see what good it does you to think. For according to your thinking the story is already finished. Whereas according to me the story is only just beginning." "But you said it was about Pitzela, Feodor. So I believed you." "I said nothing of the sort. I merely asked you if you knew Pitzela. The story is entirely about Pitzela's son." "Aha! This Pitzela has a son. That's interesting." "Of course it is. Pitzela's son is a man 87 years old. Ask anybody on Maxwell street do they know Pitzela's son and they will tell you: 'Do we know Pitzela's son? Hm! It's a scandal." "The editor, Feodor, forbids me to write about scandals. So be careful." "This scandal is one you can write about. This Pitzela's son is such a poor old man that he can hardly walk. He has a long white beard and wears a yamulka and he has no teeth and one foot is already deep in the grave. If you saw Pitzela's son you would say: 'Why don't this dying man go home and sit down instead of running around like this?' "And why don't he?" "Why don't he? Such a question! He don't because Pitzela don't let him. Pitzela is his father and he has to mind his father. And Pitzela says: 'What! You want to hang around the house like you were an old man? You are crazy. Look at me, I'm your father. And you a young man, my son, act like you were my father. It's a scandal. Come, we will go to the banquet.' "What banquet, Feodor?" "Oh, any banquet. He drags him. He don't let him rest. And he says: 'You must shave off your beard. For fifteen years you been letting it grow and now it's altogether too long. How does it look for me to go around with a son who not only can't walk, but has a beard that makes him look like Father Abraham himself?'" "And what does Pitzela's son say?" "What can he say? Nothing. The doctor comes and tells him: 'You got to stay in the house. You are going out too much. How old are you?' And Pitzela's son shakes his tired head and says: 'Eighty-seven years old, doctor.' And the doctor gives strict orders. But Pitzela comes in and laughs. Imagine." "Yes, it's a good story, Feodor." "A good story! How do you know? I ain't come to the point yet. But never mind, if you like it so much you don't need any point." "The point, Feodor. Excuse me." "Well, the point is that Pitzela and the way he treats his son is a scandal. You know why? Because he uses his son as an advertisement. Pitzela's son, mind you, is so weak and old that he can hardly walk and he carries a heavy cane and his hands shake like leaves. And Pitzela drags him around all over. To banquets. To political meetings. To the Yiddish theater. All over. He holds him by the arm and brings him into the hall and sits him down in a chair. And Pitzela's son sits so tired and almost dead he can't move. And then Pitzela jumps up and gets excited and says: 'Look at him. A fine son, for you! Look, he's almost dead. Tell me if you wouldn't think he was my father and I was his son? Instead of the other way around? I ask you.'" "And what does Pitzela's son say, Feodor?" "Say? What can he say? He looks up and shakes his head some more. He can hardly see. And when the banquet talking begins he falls asleep and Pitzela has to hold him up from falling out of the chair. And when the food is done and the dessert comes Pitzela leans over and says to his son: 'Listen. I got a treat for you. Here.' And he reaches into his pocket and brings out a handful of hickory nuts. 'Crack them with your teeth,' he says, 'like your father.' And when his son looks at him and strokes his white beard and sighs, Pitzela jumps up and laughs so you can hear him all over the banquet hall. But the point of the story is that two weeks ago Pitzela went to his grandson's funeral. It was Pitzela's son's son and he was a man almost 70 years old. And it was a scandal at the funeral. Why? Because Pitzela laughed and coming back from the grave he said: 'Look at me, my grandson dies and I go to his funeral and if he had a son I would go to his, too, and I would dance jigs both times.'" PANDORA'S BOX A dark afternoon with summer thunder in the sky. The fan-shaped skyscrapers spread a checkerboard of window lights through the gloom. It rains. People seem to grow vaguely elate on the dark wet pavements. They hurry along, their eyes saying to one another, "We have something in common. We are all getting wet in the rain." The crowd is no longer quite so enigmatic a stranger to itself. An errand boy from Market Street advances with leaps through the downpour, a high chant on his lips, "It's raining ... it's raining." The rain mutters and the pavements, like darkened mirrors, grow alive with impressionistic cartoons of the city. Inside the Washington Street book store of Covici-McGee the electric lights gleam cozily. New books and old books--the high shelves stuffed with books vanish in the ceiling shadows. On a rainy day the dusty army of books peers coaxingly from the shelves. Old tales, old myths, old wars, old dreams begin to chatter softly in the shadows--or it may be the chatter of the rain on the pavement outside. The Great Philosophers unbend, the Bearded Classics sigh, the Pontifical Critics of Life murmur "ahem." Yes, even the forbidding works of Standard Authors grow lonely on the high shelves on a rainy day. As for the rag-tag, ruffle-snuffle crowd in motley--the bulged, spavined, sniffling crew of mountebanks, troubadours, swashbucklers, bleary philosophers, phantasts and adventurers--they set up a veritable witches' chorus. Or it may be the rain again lashing against the streaming windows of the book store. * * * * * People come in out of the rain. A girl without an umbrella, her face wet. Who? Perhaps a stenographer hunting a job and halted by the rain. And then a matron with an old-fashioned knitted shopping bag. And a spinster with a keen, kindly face. Others, too. They stand nervously idle, feeling that they are taking up valuable space in an industrial establishment and should perhaps make a purchase. So they permit their eyes to drift politely toward the wares. And then the chatter of the books has them. Old books, new books, live books, dead books--but they move carelessly away and toward the bargain tables--"All Books 30 Cents." Broken down best sellers here--pausing in their gavotte toward oblivion. The next step is the junk man--$1 a hundred. Pembertons, Wrights, Farnols, Websters, Johnstones, Porters, Wards and a hundred other names reminiscent more of a page in the telephone book than a page out of a literary yesterday. The little gavotte is an old dance in the second-hand book store. The $2-shelf. The $1-rack. The 75-cent table. The 30-cent grab counter. And finis. New scribblings crowd for place, old scribblings exeunt. The girl without an umbrella studies titles. A love story, of course, and only thirty cents. An opened page reads, "he took her in his arms...." Who would not buy such a book on a rainy day? * * * * * It rains and other people come in. A middle-aged man in a curious coat, a curious hat and a curious face. Slate-colored skin, slate-colored eyes behind silver spectacles. A scholar in caricature, an Old Clothes Dealer out of Alice in Wonderland. The rain runs from his stringy, slate-colored hair. He approaches the high shelves, thrusts the silver spectacles farther down on his nose. In front of him a curious row of literary gargoyles--"The Astral Light," "What and Where Is God?", "Man" by Dohony of Texas, "The Star of the Magi." Thin slate-colored fingers fumble nervously over the title backs. A second man, figure short, squat, red-faced, crowds the erratic scholar. A third. The rain is bringing them in in numbers. These are the basement students of the gargoyle philosophies, the gargoyle sciences, the gargoyle religions. Perpetual motion machine inventors, alchemists with staring, nervous-eyed medieval faces, fourth dimensionists, sun worshippers, cabalistic researchers, voodoo authorities--the old-book store is suddenly alive with them. They move about furtively with no word for one another, lost in their grotesque dreamings. * * * * * On a rainy day the city gives them up and they come puttering excitedly into the loop on a quest. The world is a garish unreality to them. The streets and the crowds of automatic-faced men and women, the upward rush of buildings and the horizontal rush of traffic are no more than vague grimacings. Life is something of which the streets are oblivious. But here on the gargoyle shelves, the high, shadowed shelves of the old book store--truth stands in all its terrible reality, wrapped in its authentic habiliments. Dr. Hickson of the psychopathic laboratory would give these curious rainy day phantasts identities as weird as the volumes they caress. But the old book store clerk is more kind. He lets them rummage. Before the rain ends they will buy "The Cradle of the Giants," "The Key to Satanism," Cornelius Agrippa's "Natural Magic," "The Astral Chord," "Occultism and Its Usages." They will buy books by Jacob Boehme, William Law, Sadler, Hyslop, Ramachaska. And they will go hurrying home with their treasures pressed close to them. Stuffy bedrooms lined with hints of Sabbatical horror, strewn with bizarre refuse; musty smelling books out of whose pages fantastic shapes rear themselves against the gaslights, macabre worlds in which unreason rides like a headless D'Artagnan; evenings in the park arguing suddenly with startled strangers on the existence of the philosophers' stone or the astrological causes of influenza--these form a background for the curious men whom the rain has drifted into the old book store and who stand with their eyes haunting the gargoyle titles. The rain brings in another tribesman--a famed though somewhat ragged bibliomaniac. His casual gestures hide the sudden fever old books kindle in his thought. Old books--old books, a magical phrase to him. His eyes travel like a lover's back and forth, up and down. He knows them all--the sets, the first editions, the bargains, the riff-raff. A democratic lover is here. But the clerk watches him. For this lover is an antagonist. Yes, this somewhat ragged, gleaming-eyed gentleman with the casual manner is a terrible person to have around in a second-hand book store on a rainy day. Only six months ago one of his horrible tribe pounced upon Sander's "Indian Wars," price 30 cents; value, alas, $150.00. Only two months ago another of his kidney fell upon a copy of Jean Jacques Rosseau's "Emile" with Jean's own dedication on the title page to "His Majesty, the King of France." Price 75 cents; value, gadzooks, $200. There will be nothing today, however. Merely an hour's caress of old friends on the high shelves while the rain beats outside. Unless--unless this Stevenson happens by any chance to be a "first." A furtive glance at the title page. No. The clerk sighs with relief as the Stevenson goes back on the shelf. It might have been something overlooked. * * * * * The rain ends. The old book store slowly empties. A troop of men and women saunter out, pausing to say farewell to the gaudily ragged tomes in the old book store. The sky has grown lighter. The buildings shake the last drops of rain from their spatula tops. There is a different-looking, well-linened gentleman thrusts his head into the old book store and inquires, "Have you a copy of 'The Investors' Guide'?" ILL-HUMORESQUE The beggar in the street, sitting on the pavement against the building with his pleading face raised and his arm outstretched--I don't like him. I don't like the way he tucks his one good leg under him in order to convey the impression that he is entirely legless. I don't like the way he thrusts his arm stump at me, the way his eyes plead his weakness and sorrow. He is a presumptuous and calculating scoundrel, this beggar. He is a diabolical psychologist. Why will people drop coins into his hat? Ah, because when they look at him and his misfortunes, by a common mental ruse they see themselves in his place, and they hurriedly fling a coin to this fugitive image of themselves. And because in back of this beggar has grown up an insidious propaganda that power is wrong, that strength is evil, that riches are vile. A strong, rich and powerful man cannot get into heaven. Thus this beggar becomes for an instant an intimidating symbol of perfections. One feels that one should apologize for the fact that one has two legs, money in one's pocket and hope in one's heart. One flings him a coin, thus buying momentary absolution for not being an unfortunate--i.e., as noble and non-predatory--as the beggar. * * * * * I do not like the way this beggar pleads. And yet after I pass him and remember his calculating expression, his mountebank tricks, I grow fond of him--theoretically. My thought warms to him as a creature of intelligence, of straightforward and amusing cynicisms. For this beggar is aware of me and the innumerable lies to which I lamely submit. I am the public to him--one of a herd of identical faces drifting by. And this beggar has perfected a technique of attack. It is his duty to sit on the pavement and lay for me and hit me with a slapstick labeled platitude and soak me over the head with a bladder labeled in stern white letters: "The Poor Shall Inherit the Kingdom of Heaven." And this he does, the scoundrel, grinning to himself as the blows fall and slyly concealing his enthusiasm as the coins jingle into his hat. I am one of those who labor proudly at the immemorial task of idealizations. I am the public who passes laws proclaiming things wrong, immoral, contrary to my "best instincts." Thus I have after many centuries succeeded in creating a beautiful conception--a marvelous person. This marvelous person represents what I might be if I had neither ambition nor corpuscles, prejudices nor ecstasties, greeds, lusts, illusions or curiosity. This marvelous person is the beautiful image, the noble and flattering image of itself that the public rapturously beholds when it stares into the mirror of laws, conventions, adages, platitudes and constitutions that it has created. A charming image to contemplate. Learned men wax full of stern joy when they gaze upon this image. Kind-hearted folk thrill with pride at the thought that life is at last a carefully policed force which flows politely and properly through the catalogued veins of this marvelous person. But my beggar in the street--ah, my beggar in the street knows better. My beggar in the street, maimed and vicious, sits against the building and wields his bladder and his slapstick on me. Whang! A platitude on the rear. Bam! A bromide on the bean! And I shell out a dime and hurry on. I do not like this beggar. * * * * * But I grow warm with fellowship toward him after I have left him behind. There is something comradely about his amazing cynicism. People, thinks this beggar, are ashamed of themselves for being strong, for having two legs, for not being poor, brow-beaten, cheek-turning humble mendicants. People, thinks this beggar, are secretly ashamed of themselves for being part of success. And their shame is inspired by fear. When they see me they suddenly feel uncertain about themselves. When they see me they think that reverses and misfortunes and calamities might overtake them and reduce them to my condition. Thinking this, they grow indignant for an instant with a society that produces beggars. Not because it produced me. But perhaps it might produce them--as beggars. And then remembering that they are responsible for my plight--they being society--they beg my pardon by giving me money and a pleading look. Oho! You should see the pleading looks they give me. Men and women pass and plead with me not to hit them too hard with my slapstick and bladder. They plead with me to spare them, not to look at them. And when they give me a dime it is a gesture intended to annihilate me. The dime obliterates my misfortunes. It annihilates my poverty. For an instant, having annihilated poverty and misfortune with a dime, the man or woman is happy. An instant of security strengthens his wavering spirit. * * * * * Thus my beggar whom I have grown quite fond of as I write. I would write more of him and of the marvelous person in me whom he is continually belaboring with his slapstick and bladder. But I remember suddenly a man in a wheel chair. A pale man with drawn features and paralyzed legs. It was at night in North Clark Street. Lights streamed over the pavements. People moved in and out of doorways. And this man sat in his wheel chair, a board on his lap. The board was laden with wares. Trinkets, pencils, shoestrings, candies, tacks, neckties, socks. And from the front of the board hung a sign reading, "Jim's Store--Stop and Shop." I remember this creature with a sudden excitement. I passed by and bought nothing. But after five days his face has caught up with me. A sallow, drawn face, burning eyes, bloodless lips and skinny hands that fumbled among the wares on his board. He was young. Heroic sentences come to me. "Jim's Store--" Good hokum, effective advertising. And a strange pathos, a pathos that my beggar with one leg and a pleading face never had. I do not like cynics. I like Jim better. I like Jim and his burning eyes, his skinny hands, his dying body--and his store. Fighting--with the lights going out. Sitting in a wheel chair with death at his back and despair crying from his eyes--"Come buy from me--a little while longer--I don't give up ... another week ... another month ... but I don't give up. I'm still on the turf.... Never mind my dying body ... business as usual ... business as usual.... Come buy from me ... little while longer ... a...." But I never gave a nickel to Jim. I passed up his store. I took him at his word. He was selling wares and I didn't want any. But my beggar with the one leg and the inward grin was selling absolutions.... And I patronized him. THE MAN WITH A QUESTION Late afternoon. An hour more and the city will be emptying itself out of the high buildings. Now the shoppers are hurrying home to get dinner on the table. A man stands on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Adams Street. Unwittingly he invites attention. A poorly dressed man, with a work-heavy face and coarsened hands. But he stands motionless. More than that, he is not looking at anything. His deep-set eyes seem to withhold themselves from the active street. In the sauve spectacle of the avenue his motionless figure is like an awkward faux pas in a parlor conversation. The newspaper man on his way to the I. C. station pauses to light his pipe and his eyes take in the figure of this motionless one. The newspaper man notices that the man stands like one who is braced against something that may come suddenly and that his deep-set eyes say, "We know what we know." There are other impressions that interest the newspaper man. For a moment the motionless one seems a blurred little unit of the hurrying crowd. Then for a moment he seems to grow large and his figure becomes commanding and it is as if he were surveying the blurred little faces of the hurrying crowd. This is undoubtedly because he is standing still and not looking at anything. * * * * * "Can I have a light, please?" The man's voice is low. A bit hoarse. He has a pipe and the newspaper man gives him a match. Ah, the amiable, meaningless curiosity of newspaper men! This one must ask questions. It is after work, but, like the policeman who goes to the movies with his club still at his side, he is still asking questions. "Taking in the sights?" The man, lighting his pipe, nods slowly. Much too slowly, as if his answer were fraught with a vast significance. "I like it myself," insinuates the newspaper man. "I was reading Junius Wood's article on Bill Shatov, who is running things now in Siberia. He quotes Bill as saying what he misses most in life now is the music of crowds in Chicago streets. Did you read that?" This is a brazen lead. But the man looks like a "red." And Bill Shatov would then open the talk. But the man only shakes his head. He says, "No, I don't read the papers much." Now there is something contradictory about this man and his curtness invites. He seems to have accepted the presence of the newspaper man in an odd way, an uncity way. After a pause he gestures slightly with his pipe in his hand and says: "Quite a crowd, eh?" The newspaper man nods. The other goes on: "Where are they going?" This is more than a question. There is indignation in it. The deepset eyes gleam. "I wonder," says the newspaper man. His companion remains staring in his odd, unseeing way. Then he says: "They don't look at anything, eh? In a terrible hurry, ain't they? Yeah, in a rotten hurry." The newspaper man nods. "Which way you going?" he asks. "No way," his companion answers. "No way at all. I'm standin' here, see?" There is a silence. The motionless one has become something queer in the eyes of the newspaper man. He has become grim, definite, taunting. Here is a man who questions the people of the street with unseeing eyes. Why? Here is one who is going "no way." Yet, look at him closely and there is no sneer in his eyes. His lips hold no contempt. There you have it. He is a questioning man. He is questioning things that no one questions--buildings, crowds, windows. And there is some sort of answer inside him. * * * * * "What you talking to me for?" The newspaper man smiles disarmingly at this sudden inquiry. "Oh, I don't know," he says. "Saw you standing still. You looked different. Wondered, you know. Just kind of thought to say hello." "Funny," says the motionless one. "I got a hunch you're a stranger in town." This question the companion answers. "Yeah, a stranger. A stranger. That's what I am, all right. I'm a stranger, all right. You got me right." Now the motionless one smiles. This makes his face look uncomfortable. This makes it seem as if he had been frowning savagely before. "What do you think of this town?" pursues the newspaper man. "Think of this town? Think? Say, I ain't thinking. I don't think anything of it. I'm just looking at it, see? A stranger don't ever think, now, does he? There, that's one for you." "When'd you come here?" "When'd I come here? When? Well, I come here this noon. On the noon train. Say, don't make me gabby. I never gab any." Nothing to be got out of this motionless one. Nothing but a question. A pause, however, and he went on: "Have you ever seen such a crowd like this? Hurrying? Hm! Some town! There used to be a hotel over here west a bit." "The Wellington?" "Yeah. I don't see it when I pass." "Torn down." "Hm!" The deep-set eyes narrow for an instant. Then the motionless one sighs and his shoulders loosen. His face grows alive and he looks this way and that. He starts to walk and walks quickly, leaving the newspaper man standing alone. * * * * * The newspaper man watched him. As he stood looking after him some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. "Specs" McLaughlin of the detective bureau. "Specs" rubbed his chin contemplatively and smiled. "Know that guy?" "Who?" "No; just bumped into him. How come?" "You might have got a story out of him," "Specs" grinned. "That's George Cook. Just let out of the Joliet pen this morning. Served fourteen years. Quite a yarn at the time. For killing a pal in the Wellington hotel over some dame. I guess that was before your time, though. He just landed in town this noon." The detective rubbered into the moving crowd. "I'm sort of keeping an eye on him," he said, and hurried on. GRASS FIGURES You will sometimes notice when you sit on the back porch after dinner that there are other back porches with people on them. And when you sit on the front steps, that there are other front steps similarly occupied. In the park when you lie down on the grass you will see there are others lying on the grass. And when you look out of your window you can observe other people looking out of their windows. In the streets when you walk casually and have time to look around you will see others walking casually and looking around, too. And in the theater or church or where you work there are always the inevitable others, always reflecting yourself. You might get to thinking about this as the newspaper reporter did. The newspaper reporter got an idea one day that the city was nothing more nor less than a vast, broken mirror giving him back garbled images of himself. The newspaper reporter was trying to write fiction stories on the side and he thought: "If I can figure out something for a background, some idea or something that will explain about people, and then have the plot of the story sort of prove this general idea by a specific incident, that would be the way to work it." Thus, when the reporter had figured it out that the city was a mirror reflecting himself, he grew excited. That was the kind of idea he had always been looking for. But at night in his bedroom when he started to write he hit a snag. He had thought he held in his mind the secret of the city. Yet when he came to write about it the secret slipped away and left him with nothing. He sat looking out of his bedroom window, noticing that the telephone poles in the dark alley looked like huge, inverted music notes. Then he thought: "It doesn't do any good to get an idea that doesn't tell you anything. Just figuring out that the city is a mirror that reflects me all the time doesn't give me the secret of streets and crowds. Because the question then arises: 'Who am I that the mirror reflects, and what am I? What in Sam Hill is my motif?'" * * * * * So the newspaper reporter decided to wait awhile before he wrote his story--wait, at least, until he had found out something. But the next day, while he was walking in Michigan Avenue, the idea he had had about the mirror trotted along beside him like some homeless Hector pup that he couldn't shake. He looked up eagerly into the faces of the crowd on the street, searching the many different eyes that moved by him for a "lead." What the newspaper reporter wanted was to be able to begin his fiction story by saying something like this: "People are so and so. The city is so and so. Everybody feels this and this. No matter who they are or where they live, or what their jobs are they can't escape the mark of the city that is on them." It was after 7 o'clock and the people in Michigan Avenue were going home or sauntering back and forth, looking into the shop windows, with nothing much to do. The street was still light, although the sun had gone. Hidden behind the buildings of the city, the sun flattened itself out on an invisible horizon and spread a vast peacock tail of color across the sky. In Grant Park, opposite the Public Library, men lay on their backs with their hands folded under their heads and stared up into the colors of the sky. The newspaper reporter stood abstractedly on the corner counting the automobiles that purred by to see if more taxicabs than privately owned cars passed a given point in Michigan Avenue. Then he walked across the street for no other reason than that there were for the moment no more automobiles to count. He stopped on the opposite pavement and stood looking at the figures that lay on the grass in Grant Park. * * * * * The newspaper reporter had been lying for ten minutes on his back in the grass when he sat up suddenly and muttered: "Here it is. Right in front of me." He sat, looking intently, at the men who were lying on the grass as he had been a moment before. And his idea about the city's being a mirror giving him back images of himself started up again in his mind. But now he could find out what these images of himself were. In fact, what he was. Whereupon he would have his story. Being a newspaper reporter there was nothing unusual in his mind about walking up to one of the figures and talking to it. For years and years he had done just that for a living--walked up to strangers and asked them questions. So now he would ask the men lying on their backs what they were lying on their backs for. He would ask them why they came to Grant Park, what they were thinking about and how it happened that they all looked alike and lay on their backs like a chorus of figures in a pastoral musical comedy. The first figure the newspaper reporter approached listened to the questions in surprise. Then he answered: "Well I dunno. I just came into the park and lay down." The second figure looked blank and shook its head. The reporter tried a third. The third figure grinned and answered: "Oh, well, nothing much to do and the grass rests you a bit." The reporter kept on for a few minutes, asking his questions and getting answers that didn't quite mean anything. Then he grew tired of the job and returned to his original place on the grass and lay down again and stared up into the colors of the sky. After a half-hour, during which he had thought of nothing in particular, he arose, shook his legs free of dirt and grass and walked away. As he walked he looked at the figures that remained. The arc lamps on the park shafts and on the Greek-like fountain were popping on and the avenue was lighting up like a theater with the footlights going on. "Funny about them," the newspaper reporter thought, eyeing the figures as he moved away; "they lie there on their backs all in the same position, all looking at the same clouds. So they must all be thinking thoughts about the same thing. Let's see; what was I thinking about? Nothing," An excited light came suddenly into the newspaper reporter's eyes. "I was just waiting," he muttered to himself. "And so are they." * * * * * The newspaper reporter looked eagerly at the street and the people passing. That was it. He had found the word. "Waiting." Everybody was waiting. On the back porches at night, on the front steps, in the parks, in the theaters, churches, streets and stores--men and women waited. Just as the men on the grass in Grant Park were waiting. The only difference between the men lying on their backs and people elsewhere was that the men in the grass had grown tired for the moment of pretending they were doing anything else. So they had stretched themselves out in an attitude of waiting, in a deliberate posture of waiting. And with their eyes on the sky, they waited. The newspaper reporter felt thrilled as he thought all this. He felt thrilled when he looked closely at the people in Michigan Avenue and saw that they fitted snugly into his theory. He said to himself: "I've discovered a theory about life. A theory that fits them all. That makes the background I'm looking for. Waiting. Yes, the whole pack of them are waiting all the time. That's why we all look alike. That's why one house looks like another and one man walking looks like another man walking, and why figures lying in the grass look like twins--scores of twins." * * * * * The newspaper man returned to his bedroom and started to write again. But he had been writing only a few minutes when he stopped. Again, as it had before, the secret had slipped out of his mind. For he had come to a paragraph that was to tell what the people were waiting for and he couldn't think of any answer to that. What were the men in the grass waiting for? In the street? On the porches and stone steps? They were images of himself--all "waiting images" of himself. Therefore the answer lay in the question: "What had he been waiting for?" The newspaper reporter bit into his pencil. "Nothing, nothing," he muttered. "Yes, that's it. They aren't waiting for anything. That's the secret. Life is a few years of suspended animation. But there's no story in that. Better forget it." So he looked glumly out of his bedroom window, and, being a sentimentalist, the huge inverted music notes the telephone poles made against the dark played a long, sad tune in his mind. 
47445	----	[Illustration: CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE.] Twenty Years a Detective IN THE WICKEDEST CITY IN THE WORLD. 20,000 ARRESTS MADE 12,900 CONVICTIONS ON STATE AND CITY LAWS 200 PENITENTIARY CONVICTIONS The Devil and the Grafter AND HOW THEY WORK TOGETHER TO DECEIVE, SWINDLE AND DESTROY MANKIND AN ARMY OF 600,000 CRIMINALS AT WAR WITH SOCIETY AND RELIGION BY CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE The World-Famous Criminologist and Detective "THE INCORRUPTIBLE SHERLOCK HOLMES OF AMERICA" After twenty years of heroic warfare and scores of hair-breadth escapes, in his unceasing battle with the devil and the grafter, Mr. Wooldridge tells in a graphic manner how Wildcat Insurance, Fake Mines and Oil Wells, Turf Swindlers, Home Buying Swindlers, Fake Bond and Investment Companies, Bucket Shops, Blind Pools in Grain and Stocks, Pool Rooms and Hand Books, Fake Mail Order Houses, ordinary Gambling Houses, Panel Houses, Matrimonial Bureaus, Fake Underwriting, Fake Banks, Collecting Agencies, Fake Medicine Companies, Clairvoyants, Fortune Tellers, Palmists and other criminals of all classes operate, and how their organizations have been broken up and destroyed by hundreds. THE WORK ALSO CONTAINS Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge's "Never-Fail" System _For Detecting and Outwitting All Classes of Grafters and Swindlers_ COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE. Chicago Publishing Co., 83-91 Plymouth Place, Chicago. PREFACE. In presenting this work to the public the author has no apologies to make nor favors to ask. It is a simple history of his connection with the Police Department of Chicago, compiled from his own memoranda, the newspapers, and the official records. The matter herein contained differs from those records only in details, as many facts are given in the book which have never been made public. The author has no disposition to malign any one, and names are used only in cases in which the facts are supported by the archives of the Police Department and of the criminal court. In the conscientious discharge of his duties as an officer of the law, the author has in all cases studied the mode of legal procedure. His aim has been solely to protect society and the taxpayer, and to punish the guilty. The evidences of his sincerity accompany the book in the form of letters from the highest officers in the city government, from the mayor down to the precinct captain, and furnish overwhelming testimony as to his endeavors to serve the public faithfully and honestly. No effort has been made to bestow self-praise, and where this occurs, it is only a reproduction, perhaps in different language, of the comments indulged in by the newspapers of Chicago and other cities, whose reporters are among the brightest and most talented young men in all the walks and professions of life. To them the officer acknowledges his obligations in many instances. Often he has worked hand-in-hand with them. They have traveled with him in the dead hours of the night, in his efforts to suppress crime or track a criminal, and have often given him assistance in the way of suggestions. He now submits his work and his record to the public, hoping it will give him a kindly reception. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Preface 7-8 Testimonials 11 Biography of the Author 27 Graft Nation's Worst Foe 51 The "Never-Fail" System to Beat the Get-Rich-Quick Swindles 112 The Best Rules for Health 116 Matrimonial Agents Coining Cupid's Wiles 119 The Great Mistake. Our Penal System is a Relic of Early Savagery 192 Vagrants, Who and Why 204 The Young Criminals and How They Are Bred in Chicago 230 Wiles of Fortune Telling 246 Wife or Gallows 267 A Clever Shop Lifter (Fainting Bertha) 272 Front 284 The Criminal's Last Chance Gone 288 Burglary a Science 311 Cell Terms for "Con" Men 341 Panel-House Thieves 348 Gambling and Crime 358 A Heartless Fraud 401 The Bogus Mine 409 A Giant Swindle 418 Quacks 426 Fabulous Losses in Big Turf Frauds 448 Fake Drug Vendors 462 Bucket-Shop 471 On "Sure Things." How to Learn Their Real Character 482 Huge Swindles Bared 487 The Social Evil 500 Suppress Manufacture and Sale of Dangerous Weapons 508 Getting Something for Nothing 517 Want Ad. Fakers 527 Millionaire Banker and Broker Arrested 533 Dora McDonald 551 Mike McDonald 581 PUBLISHER'S PREFACE. The two arch enemies of happiness and prosperity are the Devil and the Grafter. The church is fighting the Devil, the law is fighting the Grafter. The great mass of human beings, as they journey along the pathway of life, know not the dangers that lie in wait from these two sources. Honest themselves, credulous and innocent, they trust their fellow man. Statistics show that four-fifths of all young men and women, and nine-tenths of the widows are swindled out of the money and property that comes to them by inheritance. Every year thousands of laboring men spend their hard earnings and beggar their families by falling in traps laid for them. Thousands of innocent girls and women, struggling for a respectable livelihood, fall victims to the demons who traffic in human honor. The Grafters spend millions upon millions of dollars annually in advertising in America alone. There is not a Post Office in the land where every mail does not carry their appeals and thieving schemes; and they collect hundreds of millions of dollars annually from the trusting public. The State and National Governments spend millions of dollars a year in trying to catch and curb these grafters. Some of Satan's worst grafters are found in the church, working the brethren; and he has them by thousands in every walk of life. The object of this book is to protect the public by joining hands with the church and the government in their work against the Devil and the Grafter. The author reveals and exposes the Grafter with his schemes, his traps, his pitfalls and his victims. The reader of this book will be fortified and armed with knowledge, facts and law, that should forever protect him, his family and his friends from the wiles of the Grafters. It is with the confidence that this work fills an imperative need, and that it should be in the hands of every minister, every physician, every teacher and every mother and father in the land, that the author and publisher send it forth on what they believe to be a mission of good to the world. WORDS OF COMMENDATION. =From Chas. S. Deneen, Governor of Illinois:= "It is with pleasure that I am able to say that Detective Wooldridge has conducted all his cases with zeal and intelligence." =J. M. Longenecker, former State's Attorney, says:= "Mr. Wooldridge has thorough knowledge of evidence and is an expert in preparing a criminal case for trial. I have found him to be one of the most efficient officers in the Department." =R. W. McClaughrey, Warden of U. S. Prison at Leavenworth, Kans., Ex-Warden of Illinois State Penitentiary and Ex-Chief of Police of Chicago, says in a letter to the author:= "You were not only subject to bribes, but also frequently a target of perjurers and scoundrels of every degree. You came out from every ordeal unscathed, and maintained a character for integrity and fearlessness in the discharge of your duties that warranted the highest commendation. It gives me pleasure to make this statement." =J. J. Badenoch, Ex-General Supt. of Police, writing Mr. Wooldridge, says:= "Dear Sir--Before I retire from the command of the Police Department, I desire to thank you for your bravery and loyal service. The character of your work being such that bribes are frequently offered by the criminal class, it becomes necessary to select men of perfect integrity for the purpose, and I now know that I made no mistake in selecting you for this trying duty. It affords me great pleasure to commend you for your bravery and fidelity to your duties." =Nicholas Hunt, Inspector Commanding Second Division, says:= "I have known Clifton R. Wooldridge for the last ten years. As an officer he is par-excellent, absolutely without fear and with a detective ability so strongly developed it almost appealed to me as an extra sense. If I wanted to secure the arrest of a desperate man, I would put Mr. Wooldridge in charge of the case in preference to any one I know, as, with his bravery, he has discretion." =Geo. M. Shippy, Chief of Police, of Chicago, writing Mr. Wooldridge, says:= "Your heart is in the right place, and while I have always found you stern and persistent in the pursuit and prosecution of criminals, you were very kind and considerate, and I can truthfully say that more than one evil doer was helped to reform and was given material assistance by you." =Luke P. Colleran, Chief of Detectives, says:= "His book is most worthy and truthful and commendable; and I take pleasure in commending it to all." SHERLOCK HOLMES IN REAL LIFE. _From The Chicago Tribune of November 25, 1906._ "Chicago may be surprised to learn that it has a Sherlock Holmes of its own, but it has; and before his actual experiences in crime-hunting, the fictional experiences through which Poe, Doyle, and Nick Carter put their detectives pale into insignificance. His name is Clifton R. Wooldridge. "Truth is stranger even than detective fiction, and in the number of his adventures of mystery, danger and excitement he has all the detective heroes of fiction and reality beaten easily. "He has personally arrested 19,500 people, 200 of them were sent to the penitentiary; 3,000 to the house of correction; 6,000 paid fines; 100 girls under age were rescued from lives of shame; $100,000 worth of property was recovered; 100 panel houses were closed; 100 matrimonial bureaus were broken up. [Illustration: Disguised as a JEW IN THE GHETTO] "Wooldridge has refused perhaps 500 bribes of from $500 to $5,000 each. He has been under fire forty-four times. He has been wounded dozens of times. He has impersonated almost every kind of character. He has, in his crime hunting, associated with members of the '400' and fraternized with hobos. He has dined with the elite and smoked in opium dens. He has done everything that one expects the detective of fiction to do and which the real detective seldom does. "When occasion requires he ceases to appear as Wooldridge. He can make a disguise so quickly and effectively that even an actor would be astonished. Gilded youth, negro gambler, honest farmer or lodging house 'bum,' it requires but a few minutes to 'make-up,' to run to earth elusive wrong-doers." The pictures which appear here are actual photographs taken from life in the garb and disguises worn by the author in several famous cases. [Illustration: "HECK HOUSTON"--STOCK-RAISER FROM WYOMING In this garb the author makes himself an easy mark for the crooks and grafters of the Stock-Yard district. The hold-up man--the card-sharp--the bunco-steerer--the get-rich-quick stock-broker fall "easy game" to the detective thus disguised.] [Illustration: ASSOCIATING WITH THE STOCK AND BOND GRAFTERS Disguised as an Englishman who has money and is looking for a good investment, Mr. Wooldridge is easily mistaken for a "sucker." The trap is set. He apparently walks into it; but, in a few minutes, the grafter finds himself on the way to prison.] [Illustration: POLICY-SAM JOHNSON This is a favorite disguise of the author when doing detective duty among the lowest and most disreputable criminals. Unsuspectingly the crooks offer him all sorts of dirty work at small prices for assistance in criminal acts.] [Illustration: WE NEVER SLEEP Detectives disguised as tramps: "I am made all things to all men," says St. Paul. The Detective must also make himself all things to all men, that he may find and catch the rascals. To be up-to-date it is necessary to be able to assume as many disguises as there are classes of people among whom criminals hide.] [Illustration: POLICY-SAM JOHNSON SHOOTING CRAPS An illustration of the way the detective employs himself in the gambling dens. It is often necessary to play and lose money in these places that he may get at the facts. Observe that he is watching proceedings in another part of the room while he is throwing the dice.] [Illustration: SHADOWING ONE OF THE FOUR HUNDRED. Some of the most dangerous grafters in the world hobnob with the elite. Here we have our author in evening dress, passing as a man of society at a banquet of the rich, shadowing a "high-flyer" crook.] [Illustration: CRAPS AND CARDS The gambling house is a station on the road to crime. In proportion to population there are, perhaps, more negro gamblers than of any other race.] [Illustration: A LITTLE GAME IN THE ALLEY AT NOON Many boys and young men spend their noon hour in cultivating bad habits that lead to nights of gambling; and then come crimes to get money that they may gamble more.] [Illustration: A RESTING PLACE ON THE ROAD TO CRIME. The gilded saloon is the club-room of the crook. Here he hatches his plots; here he drinks to get desperate courage to carry them out; and here he returns when the crime has been committed to drown remorse and harden conscience.] [Illustration: YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE] [Illustration: A GAME OF POKER FOR "A SMALL STAKE" This is a clangorous stop. Many a ruined man traces his downfall to the day he began in youth to "bet" a little "to make the game interesting."] [Illustration: Emma Ford (Sisters) Pearl Smith Mary White, Flossie Moore FOUR FAMOUS NEGRO WOMEN GRAFTERS As confidence workers, highway robbers, and desperate criminals they were the terror of officers and courts. Together they stole and robbed people of more than $200,000.00. They were finally run to earth and put in prison. Our author followed one of them across the continent and back.] [Illustration: THE DESTINATION OF THE GRAFTER. "The way of the transgressor is hard." "Be sure your sin will find you out." The penitentiary is full of bright men who might have been eminently successful--an honor to themselves and a blessing to mankind, if they had only heeded the old adage--"Honesty is the best policy."] [Illustration: WOOLDRIDGE'S CABINET OF BURGLAR TOOLS. At the police headquarters in Chicago, one of the most attractive curios is the above cabinet of burglar-tools and weapons taken by the author from robbers and crooks during his eighteen years of service.] [Illustration: TURNING THE BOYS FROM CRIMINAL PATHS This is a photograph of the Juvenile Court in Chicago, where boys who commit crimes are tried and sent to the Reformatory, instead of to prison with hardened criminals. The author claims that our prison system is filling the country with criminals.] [Illustration] CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE AMERICA'S FOREMOST DETECTIVE. Clifton R. Wooldridge was born February 25, 1854, in Franklin county, Kentucky. He received a common school education, and then started out in the world to shift for himself. From 1868 to 1871, he held the position of shipping clerk and collector for the Washington Foundry in St. Louis, Missouri. Severing his connection with that company, he went to Washington, D. C., and was attached to the United States Signal Bureau from March 1, 1871, to December 5, 1872. He then took up the business of railroading, and for the following nine years occupied positions as fireman, brakeman, switchman, conductor and general yard master. When the gold fever broke out in the Black Hills in 1879, Mr. Wooldridge along with many others went to that region to better his fortune. Six months later he joined the engineering corps of the Denver & Rio Grande railroad and assisted in locating the line from Canon City to Leadville, as well as several of the branches. The work was not only very difficult, but very dangerous, and at times, when he was assisting in locating the line through the Royal Gorge in the Grand Canon of the Arkansas, he was suspended from a rope, which ran from the peak of one cliff to the other, with his surveying instruments strapped to his back. This gorge is fifty feet wide at the bottom and seventy feet wide at the top, the walls of solid rock rising three thousand feet above the level of the river below. The work was slow and required a great deal of skill, but it was accomplished successfully. Mr. Wooldridge went to Denver in 1880 and engaged in contracting and mining the following eighteen months. He then took a position as engineer and foreman of the Denver Daily Republican, where he remained until May 29, 1883. The following August he came to Chicago and took a position with the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul railway. In 1886, he severed his connection with the railroad and founded the "Switchman's Journal." He conducted and edited the paper until May 26th, when he was burned out, together with the firm of Donohue & Henneberry at the corner of Congress street and Wabash avenue, as well as many other business houses in that locality, entailing a total loss of nearly $1,000,000. Thus the savings of many years were swept away, leaving him penniless and in debt. He again turned his attention to railroading and secured a position with the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy railroad and had accumulated enough money to pay the indebtedness which resulted from the fire, when the great strike was inaugurated on that road in February, 1888. The strike included the engineers, firemen and switchmen, and continued nearly a year. On October 5th of that year Mr. Wooldridge made application for a position on the Chicago police force, and having the highest endorsements, he was appointed and assigned to the Desplaines Street Station. It was soon discovered that Wooldridge as a police officer had no superiors and few equals. Neither politics, religion, creed, color, or nationality obstructed him in the performance of his police duties, and the fact was demonstrated and conceded times without number that he could not be bought, bribed, or intimidated. He selected for his motto, "Right wrongs no man; equal justice to all." His superior officers soon recognized the fact that no braver, more honest or efficient police officer ever wore a star or carried a club. The mass of records on file in the police headquarters and in the office of the clerk of the municipal and criminal court demonstrate conclusively that he has made one of the most remarkable records of any police officer in the United States if not in the world. Mr. Wooldridge has seen twenty years of experience and training in active police work. Ten years of this time he was located in what is commonly known as the Levee district, a territory where criminals congregate and where crimes of all degrees are committed. BORN IN KENTUCKY. Mr. Wooldridge is therefore of Southern extraction. And in spite of the "big stick" which this terror of the grafters has carried for twenty years, he still "speaks softly," the gentle accent of the old South. But behind that soft speech there is a determined soul. The smooth-running accents of the South are in this case the velvet which hides the glove of iron. The following are some of the deeds of valor, work and achievements he has accomplished: AN UNPARALLELED RECORD. 20,000 arrests made by Detective Wooldridge. He keeps a record of each arrest, time, place and disposition of the case. 14,000 arrests made for violation State and city misdemeanors. 6,000 arrests made on criminal charges. 10,500 of these prisoners paid fines. 2,400 of these prisoners were sent to jail or the house of correction. 200 of these were convicted and sent to the penitentiary. 1,000 get-rich-quick concerns were raided and broken up. 60 wagon loads of literature seized and destroyed. A conservative estimate of the sum contributed annually by this highly civilized nation to "safe investment" and "get-rich-quick" concerns is $150,000,000. 300 poker, crap and gambling games raided and closed; $1,000,000 lost. 200 wine rooms closed up. These wine rooms were the downfall and ruination of hundreds of innocent girls. 185 wildcat insurance companies raided and closed. 2,500,000 bogus securities and 10 patrol wagon loads of books, papers and literature seized. These companies paid no losses, and there were, it is estimated, 1,000,000 persons who had taken out fire insurance policies in these wildcat companies. They had sustained fire losses and were not indemnified. The conservative estimated loss by these wildcat insurance companies is $10,000,000. $200,000 of lost and stolen property was recovered and returned to the owners by Detective Wooldridge. 129 slot machines seized and broken up; valued at $10,000. 130 policy shops raided and closed: $100,000 would be a conservative estimate of the amount lost by the players. 125 matrimonial agencies raided and broken up. 4,500,000 matrimonial letters seized and destroyed. 1,500,000 matrimonial agencies' stock letters seized and destroyed. 1,400,000 matrimonial stock photographs seized and destroyed. 500,000 photographs sent to the matrimonial agencies by men and women who were seeking their affinities seized and destroyed. 40 wagon loads of matrimonial literature seized and destroyed. 110 turf frauds raided and closed: $8,000,000 lost by the public. $20,000 bribe was offered Wooldridge by the turf swindlers to let them run, but he refused to take it. 105 panel houses raided and closed. $1,500,000 was stolen annually from 1889 to October, 1896. At that time there were 64 uniformed officers stationed in front of the panel houses. Detectives Wooldridge and Schubert were assigned to break them, which was accomplished in three weeks' time. 100 bucketshops raided and closed; $5,000,000 lost through them. July 31, 1900, Detective Wooldridge, in charge of 50 officers, arrested 415 men and landed them in the Harrison Street Police Station, and dismantled the following bucketshops: 10 and 12 Pacific avenue, 25 Sherman street, 14 Pacific avenue, 10 Pacific avenue, 210 Opera House Block, 7 Exchange court, 19 Lyric Building, and 37 Dearborn street. It was one of the largest and most sensational raids ever made in Chicago, and will be long remembered. 73 opium joints raided and closed; $100,000 spent, and hundreds of persons were wrecked and ruined by the use of opium. 75 girls under age rescued from a house of ill fame and a life of shame, and returned to their parents or guardians, or sent to the Juvenile School or the House of Good Shepherd. 50 home-buying swindles raided and closed; $6,000,000 lost. 48 palmists and fortune tellers raided and closed; $500,000 lost. 45 spurious employment agencies raided and closed; $200,000 lost. 40 bogus charity swindles raided and closed; $300,000 lost. 38 blind pools in grain and stock raided and closed; $500,000 lost. 35 bogus mail order houses raided and closed; $3,000,000 lost. 34 sure-thing gambling devices raided and closed; $2,500,000 lost. 33 fraudulent and guarantee companies raided and closed; $900,000 lost. 30 fraudulent book concerns raided and closed; $1,000,000 lost. 28 panel-house keepers were indicted and convicted. 15 owners of the property were indicted and convicted. This broke the panel-house keepers' backbone and they never recovered to resume business again. Emma Ford, sentenced to the penitentiary April 5, 1902, for five years. Pearl Smith, her sister, sentenced to the penitentiary June 19, 1893, for five years. Mary White, May 20, 1893, for two years. Flossie Moore, March 27, 1893, for five years. Seventy-five thousand dollars is said to have been stolen by her in eighteen months. $8,000 bribe was offered Detective Wooldridge to let Flossie Moore slip through his fingers. $3,000 bribe was offered by the same woman for the address of Sadie Jorden, who was an eye witness of the robbery of E. S. Johnson, a retired merchant, aged 74 years. 28 wire tappers were raided and closed. These men secured the quotations from the Board of Trade and pool rooms, and hundreds of thousands of dollars were secured from the speculators who were victimized; $200,000 lost. 27 dishonest collecting agencies raided and closed; $200,000 lost. 25 swindling brokers raided and closed; $800,000 lost. 23 lotteries raided and closed; $1,700,000 lost. $100 per month bribe to run his lottery was offered Detective Wooldridge, April 21, 1900, by J. J. Jacobs, 217 Dearborn street, who conducted the Montana Loan & Investment Co. He was arrested and fined $1,500 by Judge Chetlain, June 21, 1903. 22 promoters raided and closed; $1,000,000 lost. 22 salted mines and well companies raided and closed; $2,000,000 lost. 20 city lot swindles raided and closed; $1,000,000 lost. 20 spurious medicine concerns raided and closed; $300,000 lost. * * * * * $30,000 worth of poison and bogus medicines seized October 29, 1904, as follows: $12,000 worth of spurious medicines seized by Detective Wooldridge from Edward Kuehmsted, 6323 Ingleside avenue. $5,000 worth of spurious drugs seized from J. S. Dean, 6121 Ellis avenue. $2,500 worth of spurious drugs seized from Burtis B. McCann, 6113 Madison avenue. $500 worth of spurious drugs seized from J. N. Levy, 356 Dearborn street. $2,000 worth of spurious medicines seized from W. G. Nay, 1452 Fulton street. * * * * * 17 women arrested for having young girls under age in a house of prostitution. 16 fraudulent theater agencies raided and closed; $100,000 lost. 15 procurists of young girls for houses of ill fame and prostitution arrested and fined. $8,000 bribe offered Detective Wooldridge, September 27, 1895, by Mary Hastings, who kept a house of prostitution at 128 Custom House place. She went to Toledo, O., and secured six girls under age and brought them in the house of prostitution. One of the girls escaped in her night clothes by tying a sheet to the window. There were six in number, as follows: Lizzie Lehrman, May Casey, Ida Martin, Gertie Harris, Kittie McCarty and Lizzie Winzel. After Mary Hastings was arrested and she found out that she could not bribe Wooldridge she gave bonds and fled. Some months later she was again arrested, and the case dragged along for two years. The witnesses were bought up and shipped out of the state. The case was stricken off, with leave to reinstate. It is said it cost her $20,000. Four notorious negro women, footpads and highway robbers, arrested by Detective Wooldridge, whose stealings are estimated by the police to have been over $200,000. The following are the names of the women arrested: 5 mushroom banks raided and closed; $500,000 lost. Detective Wooldridge has been under fire over forty times, and it is said that he bears a charmed life, and fears nothing. He has met with many hair-breadth escapes in his efforts to apprehend criminals who, by means of revolver and other concealed weapons, tried to fight their way to liberty. He has impersonated almost every kind of character. He has in his crime hunting associated with members of the "400" and fraternized with hobos. He has dined with the elite and smoked in the opium dens; he has done everything that one expects a detective of fiction to do, and which the real detective seldom does. Wooldridge, the incorruptible! That describes him. The keenest, shrewdest, most indefatigable man that ever wore a detective's star, the equal of Lecocq and far the superior of the fictitious Sherlock Holmes, the man who has time and again achieved the seemingly impossible with the most tremendous odds against him, the man who might, had such been his desire, be wealthy, be a "foremost citizen" as tainted money goes, has earned the title given him in these headlines. And if ever any one man earned this title it is Clifton R. Wooldridge. It is refreshing to the citizenship of America, rich and poor alike, to contemplate the career of this wonderful man. It fills men with respect for the law, with confidence in the administration of the law, to know that there are such men as Wooldridge at the helm of justice. The writer of this article has enjoyed intimate personal association with the great detective, both in the capacity of a newspaper reporter, magazine writer and anti-graft worker. The ins and outs of the nature of the greatest secret service worker in Chicago, Clifton R. Wooldridge, have been to me an open book. And when I call him Wooldridge, the incorruptible, I know whereof I speak. I have seen him when all the "influences" (and they are the same "influences" which have been denounced all over the country of late) were brought to bear upon him, when even his own chiefs were inclined to be frightened, but no "influence" from any source, howsoever high, has ever availed to swerve him one inch from the path of duty. CANNOT BE BRIBED. He has been offered bribes innumerable; but in each and every instance the would-be briber has learned a very unpleasant lesson. For this man, who might be worth almost anything he wished, is by no means affluent. But he has kept his name untarnished and his spirit high through good fortune and through bad, through evil repute and good. Wooldridge does not know the meaning of a lie. A lie is something so foreign to his nature that he has trouble in comprehending how others can see profit in falsifying. It has been his cardinal principle through life that liars always come to a bad end finally. And he has seen his healthy estimate of life vindicated, both in the high circles of frenzied finance and in the low levels of sneak-thievery. TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF WORK DONE. But the most remarkable thing to me about Wooldridge is the work he has done. Consider for a moment the record which heads this article. Could anything shout forth the tremendous energy of the man in any plainer terms? There are men in the same line of work with Wooldridge, who have been in the service for the same length of time, who have not made one arrest where he has made thousands. Twenty thousand arrests in twenty years of service, a thousand arrests every year, on an average. A thousand get-rich-quick concerns, victimizing more than a million people, raided and put out of business; thirteen thousand one hundred convictions; hundreds upon hundreds of wine rooms, gambling houses, bucketshops, opium joints, houses of ill fame, turf frauds, bogus charity swindles, policy shops, matrimonial agencies, fraudulent guarantee companies, spurious medicine concerns, thieving theater agencies and mushroom banks brought to the bar of justice and made to expiate their crimes. That is the record of the almost inconceivable work done by Clifton R. Wooldridge on the Chicago police force. The figures are almost appalling in their greatness. It is hard for the mind to comprehend how any one man could have achieved all this vast amount of labor, even if he worked twenty-four hours a day all the time. And yet it is the bare record of the "big" work done by Wooldridge, aside from his routine. LIFE HISTORY OF WOOLDRIDGE. Detective Wooldridge from March, 1898, until April 5, 1907, was attached to the office of the General Superintendent of Police and worked out of his office. During that time over 1,200 letters and complaints were referred to him for investigation and action. April 5, 1907, Detective Wooldridge was relieved of this work and transferred, and crusade and extermination of the get-rich-quick concerns ceased. September 20, 1889, Detective Wooldridge was placed in charge of twenty-five picked detectives, who were placed in charge of the suppression of hand-books and other gambling in Chicago. He remained in charge of this detail for three years. On December 13, 1890, at the residence of Charles Partdridge, Michigan avenue and Thirty-second street, while three desperate burglars were trying to effect an entrance into the house, Detective Wooldridge espied them and in his attempt to arrest them was fired upon by the trio. One shot passed through his cap, clipping off a lock of his hair and grazing his scalp. The next shot struck him squarely in the buckle of his belt, which saved his life. NUMBERLESS HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPES. August 20, 1891, he met with another narrow escape at Thirtieth and Dearborn streets, while attempting to arrest Nathan Judd, a crazed and desperate colored man. Judd threw a brick at him, striking him over his left temple, and inflicting a wound two inches long. Judd was shot through the thigh, and afterwards was sent to the house of correction for one year. Detective Wooldridge, alone in a drenching rainstorm at 4 o'clock on the morning of June 23, 1892, at Michigan avenue and Madison street, intercepted three horsethieves and hold-up men in a buggy trying to make their escape. At the point of a revolver he commanded them to halt. As they approached him no attention was paid to him, or to what he was saying. Seizing the bridle of the horse, he was dragged nearly a block before the horse was checked. A twenty-pound horse weight was hurled at him by one of the robbers, which just missed his head. Another one of the robbers leaped upon the horse and rained blow after blow upon his head with the buggy whip. Detective Wooldridge shot this man in the leg; he jumped off the horse and made good his escape while Wooldridge was engaged in a desperate hand to hand encounter with the other two robbers. Wooldridge knocked both senseless with the butt of his revolver. They were taken to the police station and gave their names as John Crosby and John McGinis. Both were found guilty a month later and sent to the penitentiary by Judge Baker. SAVES WOMEN AND CHILDREN IN FIRE. March 4, 1892, Detective Wooldridge by his prompt and courageous actions, and the immediate risk of his own life, succeeded in rescuing from the Waverly Hotel (which was on fire), at 262 and 264 S. Clark street, two ladies who were overcome by smoke on the second floor of the burning building: also a lady and two children, aged two years and five months, respectively, from the fourth floor. This act was performed by tying a silk handkerchief around his mouth, and on his hands and knees crawling up the winding stairs to the fourth floor, where he found Mrs. E. C. Dwyer unconscious. Placing the two children in a bed quilt, he threw it over his shoulder, and seizing Mrs. E. C. Dwyer by the hand, dragged her down the stairs to a place of safety, where medical assistance was called. Sept. 21, 1902, Detective Wooldridge was placed in charge of the Get-Rich-Quick concerns with which Chicago was infested. He also had charge of the suppression of gambling at parks and other places of amusement, the inspection and supervision of picture exhibitions in penny arcades and museums, and the inspection and supervision of illustrated postal cards sold throughout the city for the purpose of preventing the exhibition, sale and circulation of vulgar and obscene pictures, the work of gathering evidence against and the suppression of dealers in "sure thing" gambling devices, viz., loaded dice, marked cards, roulette wheels, spindle faro layouts, card hold-outs, nickel slot machines and many other devices. Oct. 25, 1893, Detective Wooldridge had a narrow escape while trying to arrest Charles Sales, a desperate colored man, for committing a robbery at State and Harrison streets. Sales whipped out his gun and fired four shots at Wooldridge at short range; two of the shots passing harmlessly through his coat. Sales was arrested and given one year in the house of correction. RIDES TO STATION ON PRISONER'S BACK. June 6, 1894, Detective Wooldridge arrested Eugene Buchanan for committing a highway robbery at Polk and Clark streets. A few days prior he had held up and robbed Philip Schneider and kicked out one of his eyes. Buchanan was met in the alley between Clark street and Pacific avenue, where he resisted arrest and fought like a demon, using his hands, club and head. In the scuffle he ran his head between Wooldridge's legs and tried to throw him, but Wooldridge was to quick for him and fastened his legs around Buchanan's neck like a clam. Buchanan could not free himself. Wooldridge pulled his gun and placing it in the ear of Buchanan compelled him to carry him to the Harrison street police station on his shoulder. It was one of the most novel sights ever witnessed, and will be long remembered by those who saw it. Buchanan was convicted and sent to the penitentiary for three years. Upon his release he applied to Wooldridge to assist him in securing a position. Wooldridge took him to his home, fed him and secured employment for him with Nelson Morris & Co., where he remained three years. He afterwards committed a highway robbery in Washington Park and is now serving an indefinite term in the penitentiary. HANGS ON WINDOW SILL. May 16, 1895, Detective Wooldridge, accompanied by Officers Kern, O'Connor and Cameron, located Matt Kelly at 411 State street, who was wanted for a criminal assault. Kelly was a hold-up man, ex-convict and a notorious safe-blower, who several years prior to this shot two officers in St. Louis, Mo. Kelly was found behind locked doors on the second-floor and refused to open the doors. Detective Wooldridge went to the adjoining flat, opened a window and crawled along the ledge until he had reached Kelly's room; with a revolver in his mouth he pushed up the sash and was faced by Kelly and his wife. "Go back or I'll kill you," said Kelly as he pushed his revolver in Wooldridge's face. Wooldridge had meanwhile secured a good hold on the sill of the window, but was not in a position to defend himself. The Kelly woman tried her best to shove him off; she succeeded in loosening one of his hands, and for an instant Detective Wooldridge thought he would have to fall. With an almost superhuman effort Wooldridge broke in the window and covering Kelly with his own revolver ordered him to throw up his hands, which he did. He was taken to the police station and heavily fined. A PLOT TO KILL DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE. A dozen of the highwaymen and robbers on whom Wooldridge was waging a relentless warfare gathered together on the morning of July 4, 1895, and formed a plot to kill Wooldridge and get him out of the way. They concluded that the night of July 4, when everyone was firing off revolvers and celebrating, would afford the best opportunity. They imagined it would be an easy thing to shoot him from one of the windows or from a housetop while he was on duty patrolling his post, and no one would know where the shot came from, as there was shooting from every direction. An oath of secrecy was taken by all present, and lots drawn to see who was to do the deed. In all probability their plan would have been carried out had it not been for a colored woman, who was watching them and heard the whole plot, and who went with the information to the Harrison Street Police Station. Captain Koch and Lieutenant Laughlin were notified and upon investigation found the report to be true. They took immediate steps to protect Wooldridge by placing three additional officers in full uniform with him, and also placing six men in citizen's clothes on his post. Every man they met was searched for a gun; every crook, vagrant and thief that they could lay their hands on was placed under lock and key in the station, and by 11 o'clock that night there was no square in the city quieter than the one this officer patrolled, and in two weeks' time "Coon Hollow" and the whole neighborhood for half a mile in every direction had undergone the most remarkable change known to police history, and this change was apparent for a long time thereafter. February 11, 1896, Detective Wooldridge, while trying to arrest a panel-house keeper and three colored hold-up men at 412 Dearborn street, was fired upon by one of the trio, Kid White, the shot striking the bar of his watch chain, which was attached to the lower button of his vest. When the bar was struck the bullet was diverted from entering Wooldridge's stomach, and it glanced off and passed through his overcoat. DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE ROUGHLY HANDLED. In 1896 Wooldridge's fiercest fight came when he arrested George Kinnucan in his saloon at 435 Clark street. A dozen roughs, henchmen of Kinnucan, who were in the saloon at the time, came to the saloonkeeper's rescue. The officer was knocked down, his billy taken from him and himself beaten unconscious with it, and his face and head kicked into one mass of bruises. Through it all he managed to hang on to his revolver. This alone saved him. He finally managed to shoot Kinnucan through the hand and forearm, and a moment later a uniformed man burst in and evened up the battle. Six of the toughs were arrested, and Wooldridge was left alone by them for a long time. FINE WORK IN A THIEVES' RESORT. In the same year of 1896, Detective Wooldridge, disguising himself as a cheap thief, entered a Clark street criminals' resort and fraternized with thieves, murderers and vagabonds of all kinds, in order to obtain information, leading Wooldridge into the most amazing school of crime ever witnessed by a Chicago police officer. He was accepted in good faith as a proper sneak thief by the brotherhood, and for his benefit the "manager" of the den put his "pupils" through their "lessons." These lessons were in shoplifting, pocket picking, purse snatching and other forms of larceny requiring skill and deftness. When he had seen enough Wooldridge generously volunteered to "rush the growler" and went out--and called the patrol wagon. Twenty-three crooks were arrested this time. Each one of them swore he would have killed the detective had his makeup or conduct for an instant directed suspicion toward him. MAKES HIGH DIVE. November 20, 1896, Detective Wooldridge made a high dive. To offset his aerial stunt he took a high dive from the top of a building, landing on his head in a pile of refuse with such force as to go "in over his head" and stick there so tightly that it required the combined strength of two officers to pull him out by the legs. It was near Twelfth and State streets while pursuing two women across a roof that his remarkable stunt took place. The women jumped from the roof into a pile of refuse. They landed on their feet. Wooldridge came after them. He landed on his head. As he landed he grasped a woman with either hand, and held them until the arrival of his brother officers effected his release and their capture. But these are only humorous incidents, things to laugh over when the day's work is done. In the parlance of the detectives, they belong to "straight police work." As a direct antithesis to them is the story of the murder and the black cat, which is in real life a weirder and more startling affair than Poe's fantastic tale of the same subject. A black cat helped solve a murder in a way which puts a distinct strain on the credulity of the uninitiated. STORY RIVALS POE'S "BLACK CAT." A rich man had been murdered in a certain part of the city. He was in his library at the time of the crime. His family was in an adjoining room, yet none of them heard any noise, or knew what had been done until they found him lifeless on the floor. Investigation proved that he had been shot, but not with an ordinary weapon. The missile in his heart was a combination of bullet and dart, evidently propelled from a powerful air rifle or spring gun. But no clew was left by the perpetrator of the crime, and Wooldridge carried the strange missile in his pocket for several months before a single prospect of apprehending the murderer appeared. Then it was the black cat that did it. What strange coincidence or freak of fate it was that impelled the cat to literally lead the detective to a little pile of dirt in an alley that night Wooldridge never has attempted to explain. But lead him it did, and when he dug into the disturbed ground he found something entirely new in the gun line, the weapon that had discharged the fatal bullet in his pocket. Eventually he traced the gun to its inventor, and from there to the man who had purchased it, a young fellow named Johnson, and a supposed friend of the murdered man's family. The consequence was that this man proved to be the murderer. When arrested he at first denied his guilt, broke down under the sweatbox ordeal and confessed, and--killed himself in his cell next morning. For mystery and good fortune in bringing an apparently untraceable criminal to justice this incident perhaps has never been equaled in Chicago's police records. ON DUTY IN GREAT STRIKE. In 1900 Chicago's great building trade strike occurred in which 60,000 men were thrown out of employment. Many acts of violence were committed. Several men were killed and many maimed and injured. Detective Wooldridge was placed in charge of thirty picked detectives from the detective bureau with orders to suppress these lawless acts and arrest the guilty offenders. Through his vigilance and untiring efforts law and order were soon restored, and he was highly complimented by Chief of Police Joseph Kipley and the public press. Literally speaking, the darkest situation into which his experiences have led him was the tunnel by which inmates of Mattie Lee's famous resort at 150 Custom House place escaped when the place was raided. Mattie had decided that it was a nuisance to go to the station every time the police wanted to arrest her, so she had the tunnel dug. After that when the police called on her Mattie greeted them with an empty house and a sweet smile, while underground the inmates were crawling on their hands and knees to safety. Wooldridge found the tunnel and, crawling in, "snaked out" six colored men and women whom he found in the darkness. Versatility is a requisite with the successful detective. REMARKABLE WORK AS A RAGPICKER. May 28, 1905, perhaps, his appearance in the role of a ragpicker, which led to the arrest and conviction of two negro highwaymen, Henry Reed and Ed Lane, was his most daring and successful effort at disguise. Lane is at present serving a life sentence in Joliet for the murder of Robert Metcalfe. The assault and robbery of a contractor named Anderson was the occasion for Wooldridge's assumption of the guise of ragpicker. Anderson had described Lane so accurately that the detective was sure of recognizing him once he put his eyes upon him, but in those days a detective to go into the black belt looking for a criminal was to spread a wide alarm over the whole district. Consequently he "made up." A pair of large, worn overalls, a coat three sizes too large, a bunch of papers between his shoulder blades to give him a hunch back, burnt cork, a curly wig, a bag and a piece of telegraph wire, and the erstwhile shrewd-looking detective was in ten minutes the typical negro ragpicker who shambles up and down alleys on the south side in hope of picking up enough for his day's bread. While thus pursuing his way Wooldridge not only discovered the presence of Reed and Lane, but actually worked through the refuse in a garbage box upon which Lane was sitting quarreling with some confederates over the division of the previous night's spoils. He even went so far as to pick up an old coat which Lane had discarded. Thereupon Lane ordered him to get out of the alley or get his throat cut from ear to ear. Wooldridge went humbly out, and waited. HERO OF SOME FIERCE FIGHTS. Presently Lane and Reed appeared and went south on State street. Wooldridge followed, and at an opportune moment seized them both from behind. The fight that followed is historic. Only sheer luck and the threat to kill both antagonists on the spot if they did not cease resistance saved the detective's life. After knocking both men down with his billy he succeeded in holding them until a fellow officer came to his rescue. They were arrested and convicted June 25, 1905, and sent to the penitentiary for three years. May 19, 1906, Detective Wooldridge raided the following places: H. C. Evins, 125 S. Clark street; George Deshone, 64 N. Clark street; E. Manning Stockton, Bar & Co., 56 Fifth avenue, seizing some $30,000 worth of gambling paraphernalia. Disclosures of conditions which so seriously threatened the discipline of the United States army and navy that the secretaries of the two departments and even President Roosevelt himself were called upon to aid in their suppression. It was charged that a coterie of Chicago men engaged in making and selling these devices had formed a "trust" and had for years robbed, swindled and corrupted the enlisted men of the army and navy through loaded dice, "hold-outs," magnetized roulette wheels and other crooked gambling apparatus. CROOKED GAMBLING TRUST. The "crooked" gambling "trust" in Chicago spread over the civilized world, had its clutches on nearly every United States battleship, army post and military prison; caused wholesale desertions, and in general corrupted the entire defensive institution of the nation. TRY TO CORRUPT SCHOOLBOYS. Besides the corruption of the army, these companies are said to have aimed a blow at the foundation of the nation by offering, through a mail order plan, for six cents, loaded dice to schoolboys, provided they sent the names of likely gamblers among their playmates. This plan had not reached its full growth when nipped. But the disruption of the army and navy had been under way for several years and had reached such gigantic proportions that the military service was in danger of complete disorganization. Thousands of men were mulcted of their pay monthly. Desertions followed these wholesale robberies. The war department could not find the specific trouble. Post commanders and battleship commanders were instructed to investigate. The army investigation, confirmed after the raid and arrests, showed that the whole army had been honeycombed with corruption by these companies. Express books and registered mail return cards showed that most of the goods were sold to soldiers and sailors. DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE SECURES EVIDENCE IN NOVEL WAY. In August, 1890, complaints had been made at the Stanton Avenue Police Station for several weeks concerning the establishment of a disorderly house at 306 Thirty-first street, but try as they would uniformed officers were helpless so far as securing evidence enough to convict was concerned. Wooldridge at that time a uniformed man, was put in plain clothes and detailed on the case. One of the great stumbling blocks in the way of the police had been the high basement under the house, which made it impossible for any one to look in the windows of the flat without the aid of the ladder. As the presence of a ladder would arouse suspicion, the problem of viewing the inside of the flat was a difficult one. One thing the other men on the case had overlooked. This was the presence of a beam jutting out from the top of the building to which a rope, pulley, and barrel were attached, used as a means of lowering garbage and ashes from the second floor to the alley. Wooldridge saw the possibilities of the rope and barrel trick. Attaching to the rope a vinegar barrel with holes bored in it at convenient intervals, he awaited an opportune time, curled up in the barrel, and had himself drawn up to the level of the windows by two officers. The lowering and raising of the barrel being a customary thing in the building, excited no suspicion in the minds of those in the flat, and Wooldridge, with his sleuth's eye at one of the holes, saw what served to drive the place out of existence and secure the conviction of its keeper. ACTS AS VENDOR OF FIGHTING "CHICKENS." One of the last exploits of Detective Wooldridge before his completion of the twenty years of service, was the breaking up of the cock-fighting mains, which infested Chicago during the latter part of 1906 and the early part of 1907. The story savors of the burlesque. Wooldridge obtained information as to the whereabouts of a cock-fight which was to be pulled off. Then he sought out and purchased a pair of decrepit old roosters, that would not fight an English sparrow, bundled them into a sack and started for scene of action. Arrived in what he knew to be the neighborhood of the fight, he declared that he had been sent to deliver some "fightin' chickuns." He was directed to an old, abandoned building. Here he was admitted and left the antique roosters. Then he said he was going for more birds. Instead he went for a patrol wagon. And that was the end of the chicken fight. The trapping of the Wildcat Insurance companies furnishes one of the most dramatic chapters in the financial history of the United States, if not in the world. It involves millions of stolen dollars, brutal filching from the poor, heartless commercial brigandage and finally the running to earth and conviction of the ringleaders and promoters of the "WILDCAT INSURANCE COMPANIES" OF CHICAGO, by Detective Wooldridge. The police and postal authorities worked together. Two thousand eight hundred letters were sent out asking for information and gathering evidence. At the trial of Dr. S. W. Jacobs, on one of these cases, there were 200 witnesses present. Five of these witnesses were victims, and lived in tents. Three were living in wagons: One, Samuel James, of Westfield, Illinois, a carpenter, 64 years of age, had a wife and six children. He had built his house morning and evening. BRIBERY TACTICS OF NO AVAIL. James accomplished the end of his heart's desire. It cost him $900 and his health, for he was in the clutches of consumption when the cottage was finally paid for. Fearing lest the fruit of his life-work should be swept away by fire, James took out an insurance policy in one of Dr. S. W. Jacobs' Wildcat Insurance companies. The house burned down and he was not indemnified. With his wife and six little children James was forced to take shelter in a chicken coop, where they were living when the broken-hearted father came to Chicago as a witness against Dr. S. W. Jacobs. Twenty-five thousand dollars was tendered to an attorney to bribe Wooldridge in the case. The breaking up of the drug ring, however, was a delicate task. It was strongly backed financially, and it was aided and abetted throughout the United States by political rings galore. Chicago was the headquarters. A ten thousand dollar bribe was offered Detective Wooldridge, October 29, 1904, by the spurious medicine concerns to return their goods and stop the prosecution; this failed. Then false and malicious charges were filed with the Civil Service Commissioners against Wooldridge, which was taken up and the trial lasted nineteen sessions. Detective Wooldridge was exonerated by the entire board of commissioners, and complimented by the press and public-spirited citizens. Detective Wooldridge secured four indictments against the above four men, which was returned by the Cook county grand jury May 25, 1905. J. S. Dean turned state's evidence and assisted the prosecution. J. H. Carson promoted and run eighteen different matrimonial agencies. He was arrested eighteen times. He offered Wooldridge a bribe of $100 per month not to arrest him. This failed and he brought suit in the Superior Court against Wooldridge for $5,000 damages, thinking this would stop him. The next day after filing the suit he was arrested again, and was finally driven out of Chicago. From $10,000 to $20,000 has been offered at a time for his discharge or transfer by these get-rich-quick concerns. Every political pressure was brought to bear, but to no avail. Ex-Chief of Police Francis O'Neill, in his annual report of 1905, states that Detective Wooldridge accomplished more work in breaking up the get-rich-quick concerns in Chicago, in the year 1904, than the whole Chicago police department had in its lifetime. He did equally as much work, if not more, in the years of 1905, 1906 and 1907. The day is never too long nor the night too dark for Detective Wooldridge to find time to succor or save a young girl who has gone wrong or strayed from the path of rectitude. Detective Wooldridge, without fear or favor, for many years inaugurated crusades and waged wars against the hosts of criminal enterprise. Whenever a man or concern could not show a "clear bill of health" he forced him to "disinfect, depart, or submit to the quarantine of the county jail." By vigilance and hard work he succeeded in obtaining good results. Units, scores, and legions of fraudulent concerns have been exposed and driven out of existence. Owners of others, anticipating exposure, did not wait, but closed their places and fled. Many headquarters of contraband schemes have been raided and their promoters arrested, fined, and forced to cease operations. During that time retributive justice has been visited upon countless heads that were devoted to devising criminal schemes. Detective Wooldridge permits no creed, color, religion or politics to interfere with him in his sworn duty. He wants and exacts the truth, and a square deal for himself, and accords the same to his fellow men. He has never been known to wilfully persecute any man or to lie or strain a point to convict him, neither will he suffer the same to be done by any man if he can prevent it. Wooldridge's motto is equal justice to all--be sure you are right, then go ahead. JAMES P. WILSON. [Illustration: What Are YOU Going to Do About It?] GRAFT NATION'S WORST FOE. THE REIGN OF GRAFT. Recent Exposures That Show How Strongly It Is Intrenched. ARE YOU A GRAFTER? Those Shocked at Exposures May Not Be Clean Themselves. "A 'grafter' is one who makes his living (and sometimes his fortune) by 'grafting.' He may be a political boss, a mayor, a chief of police, a warden of a penitentiary, a municipal contractor, a member of a town council, a representative in the legislature, a judge in the courts, and the upper world may know him only in his political capacity; but if the under world has had occasion to approach him for purposes of 'graft' and found him corrupt, he is immediately classified as an 'unmugged grafter'--one whose photograph is not in the rogues' gallery, but ought to be. The professional thief is the 'mugged grafter'; his photograph and Bertillon measurements are known and recorded. The world of graft is whereever known and unknown thieves or bribetakers congregate. In the United States it is found mainly in the large cities, but its boundaries take in small county seats and even villages. A correct map of it is impossible, because in a great many places it is represented by an unknown rather than by a known inhabitant, by a dishonest official or an unscrupulous and wary politician rather than a confessed thief, and the geographer is helpless until he can collect the facts, which may never come to light. The most that one man can do is to make voyages of discovery, find out what he can and report upon his experiences to the general public. Within the last year or two it has become practically a synonym for a thief who filches public money and money of large enterprises. It has been so largely used in the public prints and periodicals, and more recently in books, that it has spread abroad; and London and Paris and Berlin, in referring to many American disclosures, adopt the word without any translation. So today no American word is better known either in this country or in Europe. When men in office take a bribe and give away what does not belong to them, it is more than the double crime of extorting and stealing; it is treason. Graft is the worst form of despotism. It is a usurpation of government by the forces of crime. There have been many virtuous kings and honest feudal lords, but the despotism of graft never founded its rule upon a semblance of the moral law. Graft in its highest personification is the king of the American nation in political, commercial and social life. GRAFT IS OVERLORD. Overlord of 80,000,000 people in the greatest republic of history, commanding his tens of millions of dollars annually as tribute to graft in a million of his impersonations--was Solomon in all his glory to be compared with this? Nine states in the union of forty-five states recently have declared that graft exposures have not been in their categories of political publicity for a year. They are Maine, North Carolina, Mississippi, Iowa, Michigan, Colorado, New York, Illinois and California. But who shall say what another six months may bring forth? [Illustration: 30 CENTURIES OF GRAFT LOOKS DOWN UPON ITS HEADLESS VICTIMS] In industrial, commercial and social life of the American people there is not a state in which King Graft has not his court and his following. In the capital of capitals at Washington for generations the powers of government as dreamed of for the republic have been superseded by King Graft time after time, and the impeachment of his princes, grand dukes and courtiers generally have not threatened his reign in future generations. SCORES OF PROUD NAMES SMIRCHED. Within the last few years names that have stood honored for a generation in financial, political and social life have been dragged down from high places perhaps as never before in America. The court of King Graft has been attacked and threatened as never before, and with greater showing. There is war in the open against this pretender king, and his legions everywhere are retiring behind their breastworks, broken but not defeated. Graft in its nakedness, has been exposed and the people are aroused, fearing that the grafter has sucked the life blood of the republic. What they have seen is but a glimpse of real conditions--the ulcer spots where the rottenness beneath has broken through--but they have seen enough to realize the peril and attack it. While the conditions revealed are astounding and alarming, they are signs of improvement. The nation is better than it was a decade ago, since tens of thousands of grafters have been stamped out, since the leaders of the greatest grafts of the land have been exposed to the withering light of contempt of all decent Americans. LIFE OF NATION IMPERILED. Also, born of the conditions, there has arisen a little army of leaders willing to engage the enemy and lead the people against the grafters. They have been raised up to meet the crisis of the nation's life, and with every blow they strike new recruits are joining them in the war against graft. They are still weak, and King Graft and his votaries are still strong, but during the last year the leaders have won some remarkable skirmishes and routed the grafters. [Illustration: WHICH ROAD SHALL HE TAKE? A GRAFTER IN EVERY ROAD. The Public stands at the crossing of the roads, wondering which way he shall go with his money. Wherever he turns he sees a grafter in the road before him. The labels on these seven grafters give the names of a few of those that beset every honest man's pathway. The grafters spend twenty million dollars a year advertising; and they swindle the people out of one hundred and sixty million dollars annually.] NATION, STATES AND CITIES AROUSED. Senators and congressmen at the national capital have been impeached, and indicted, and tried, and convicted of grafting. Bureau officials, as in the cotton scandal, the postoffice frauds, and other of the departments, and civil service exposes have been arraigned by their own democracy for traitor intrigues with King Graft, and have been beheaded. State senators, representatives, treasurers and the innumerable "small fry" of official life, together with the millionaire briber and his henchmen at state capitals, have been uncovered and convicted of debauching democracy in behalf of a pretender sovereign. Great cities have been shaken with the inquisitorial rounds of investigations. Philadelphia of Independence memories has been weighed in the balance and found wanting; in St. Louis the prosecutor governor, Folk, has stirred corruption to the depths; New York has been moved as it has not been since the overthrow of Tammany; Minneapolis has been cleansed; and the spectacular "graft hunt" in Milwaukee has been a lesson in "how to do it." Perhaps never before in the history of America have so many grafters been scattered to the winds, in hiding or locked behind the bars of prisons. PRESIDENT LEADS FOES OF GRAFT. But King Graft wears the crown of the pretender still, and there are few of his fighting enemies who are disposed to rest upon their arms in either truce or armistice. The war against graft is led by the president of the United States, who stands as the foremost foe of grafting--political, financial or social--in the world, and behind him is a phalanx led by Folk, Jerome, Riis, Lawson, Hadley, Miss Tarbell, Deneen, Monnett and others of their type, fighting the nation's most crucial battle. The grafters have declared that the objects of some of these men were selfish, but, no matter for what object they fight, they are routing the grafters in many fields and showing to the awakening public the peril of the situation; revealing to a commonwealth the worms gnawing at the vitals of the republic. FORCES OF GRAFT HARD PRESSED. Never were the forces of money and commercial and industrial power so bewildered and so uncertain of the way to turn as they are now. Graft, to their best interests, is still covertly a necessity to them, but covert graft never was so hard to keep covert, now that briber and the bribed are the common quarry of the law. The time was when the rich man who bought political power to his uses was unnamed, standing apart. The grafter legislator was the cause and the consequence. Beginning and ending with the corrupt official whose official place was grafted upon corruption, the official became immune from the consequences. "Grafting in this state never has cost the taxpayer a dollar," was one of the slogans of a machine government in its attempts to perpetuate that machine for the purposes of King Graft and his court. But this false philosophy slowly was undermined. Not only was it found that graft did cost money to the state, but it became a certainty that it was costing something even more valuable than money. Graft became the one object of the political seeker after office. The impersonal graft-giver was a hanger-on at lawmaking centers, and the political graft-seeker was insisting upon election or appointment to the machine positions. HIDEOUS PERIL IS REVEALED. The result, first, was a campaign upon the man who had the graft to dispense. He was sought out, and was found in high places. His lobbyists were more easily marked than was the principal. So the law and the law's executive began also to campaign against the lobbyists. Suddenly the "good fellow" at a state capitol who had with him the perquisites of good fellowship in graft measure found himself facing the interrogation: "What are you doing here?" The scope of the query has grown, and it is still growing, in some quarters even to the point of requiring the man who is elected to office to render the cost figure of his successful campaign. All over the country, and touching nearly every relation in official, commercial and financial life, men have been put on the griddle of publicity by courts and commissions, and with backs to the wall have been sitting in the witness chair, holding to the one surly response to an irritating, penetrating cross-examination: "Decline to answer on advice of counsel." But for all purposes of publicity have not these refusals to answer carried light enough? "The public be d----d!" was the original first utterance of the millionaire, designed to stop interrogations which would not down. "What are you going to do about it?" was the counter question of the political grafter who once was charged with grafting. "Where did he get it?" came to be a question of the politician for political purposes, and within a year the country has heard non-political bodies asking the same question of the millionaire philanthropist who has been trying to give it away. Under the growing interrogations of the time, names have been thrown from pedestals within a year as names never before were juggled by the fates. [Illustration: THE CAVE OF DESPAIR.] IDOLS COVERED WITH SLIME. Depew, once a candidate for nomination for the presidency, a United States senator still by some grace of toleration, and at one time referred to in European royal circles as a "representative American citizen." United States Senator Mitchell became a derelict, politically and socially. United States Senator Thomas C. Platt was wrecked in the wreckage. United States Senator Burton became blackened in the charges of graft. Depew is a name no longer to conjure with. Then followed a long list of the commercially and financially prominent civilians, blackened, and with such blackness as never to be white again by any of the old processes which once sufficed. Graft is still king. But, truer than of any other monarch, it may be repeated: "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." THE UNCONSCIOUS GRAFTER. It was a rhetorical and sensational sentence in which a recent speaker in this city declared that the worst grafter is the man who does not vote. But there is much more than a kernel of truth in the words. The citizens of a republic need constant stimulus to the fulfillment of the plainest duties of life. The better the working of the machinery of government, the less the average man is affected. He rarely feels the pressure of taxation. He lives in a generation from which no military service is demanded. He is permitted freedom of thought, speech and religion, and almost insensibly, as a result, he loses sight of the supreme obligation which is due his country. He forgets that that country, in time of public stress, may demand his time, his property and his life, drafting him for its armies if he does not wish to volunteer, governing him under martial law, which sets aside the usual privileges accorded him, and exercising over him, if need be, a tyranny ordinarily associated with despotism among the older peoples. The very fact that the American citizen does not often feel the exercise of the sovereign power, and is not called upon to pay the supreme obligation of service, makes him careless of his civic duties, when, it might be thought, he would feel the utmost gratitude for the privilege of living under such favoring conditions. This carelessness becomes chronic, and there is abundant need for the constant reiteration of the call to duty. If, then, a citizen is content to enjoy the comforts and the quiet of American life without rendering any return therefor, he may justly be called a grafter, and a grafter of that worst sort, who robs his benefactor. For, with duty faithfully performed by the citizen, public opinion is readily shaped, laws quickly secure enforcement, and public servants are kept clean and true. It all comes back at last to the individual citizen, upon whom must rest the responsibility for failure or success of government. It is easy enough to cry out against the grafter in official position who puts his hand into the public treasury. Perhaps, after all, the worst offender is the citizen who does not vote, who does not take a lively interest in the selection and election of his rulers, who fails to recognize the underlying obligation of service which his country has a just right to demand of him. WAR ON GRAFT JUST BEGINNING. But, thus far, only the beginning of the truth has been shown. There remains the senate of the United States, the railway companies, the Standard Oil Company, the great trusts, the multimillionaires, to be investigated. All of them now are in the limelight. The courts of law are under suspicion and must clear themselves by their acts, for undoubtedly the revelations of the last year have shaken the faith of the people in their judges. After these, the huge powers of the land, cleansed states, counties and cities must join the Augean stable-cleaning, for graft is everywhere. The fight against graft is only beginning, and it will end only when a new generation learns that honor is above money, and that "grafting" is the most disreputable form of theft. WHOLESALE SWINDLING GRAFTERS. A chain of stores in various cities for no other purpose than the obtaining of goods under false pretenses from wholesale merchants is the latest novelty in the swindling line. It has often been remarked that the originators of plans to dupe the public might coin their brains into cash without nearly the draft upon their originality that is called for by the devising of a swindling game. But the criminal instinct or incentive seems to lay its hold upon persons who might otherwise fill a leading and respected place in honorable avocations. The men who conceived the system of credit for goods to the value of many thousands of dollars, which they quickly disposed of in different cities by auction and attractive sales, closing up their stores and decamping when they had converted the credited stock into cash, were swindlers of unusual calibre. The police of several cities now have the task of unearthing the frauds and bringing them to justice. They may or may not succeed in so doing, as the scheme was craftily laid and carried out. A harvest of $100,000 as the returns for a daring exploitation of the credit system will be regarded, even by the gilt-edged among the robbing fraternity, as a fine stroke of craftsmanship. The ingenuity of these cormorants calls for constant readjustment of honest persons to the conditions created. The lesson of the so-called bargain-house fraud will be conned, and for a long time to come it may be practically impossible for the same scheme to be worked again. But the feature of such enterprises is that they are designed only for the one operation. After that they become worthless to their originators. RELIGIOUS GRAFT PAYS. "Fake" religion as a business may have a fanciful sound, but there are plenty of men, and women, too, in this day and age who have found it to be an extremely practical, well-paying proposition. The readiness with which a good share of the people are always anxious to receive any new religion, or an old religion revamped in new fashion, makes the road of the charlatan whose trade is the promulgation of a fake religion one strewn with roses and money. Women are principally his victims, although there are plenty of men with a penchant for adopting strange religions, and from them the faker manages to reap a harvest that makes the pay of the average minister look like the earnings of an office boy. While the manner of securing money through the cloak of a false new sect is generally so hidden that the votaries of the cult are never aware of its existence until after their leader is exposed, the main object is never lost sight of by the leader, and the main object is always, "Get the money." Out of the great mass of religions or NEW THOUGHT sects started each year in this country, it is declared that but extremely few are started with any idea other than that of separating a lot of people from their money. Occasionally there is a man who sincerely believes that he has discovered something new and precious in the way of a religion, and establishes a cult with the motive only to help people according to his own lights. But the mass of the new religions, sun worshipers, psychists, Brahmins, Hindus, theosophists, mystics, etc., are promoted with the same object in view as that of the old negro voodoo doctors--get the money. FINANCIAL YIELDS ARE LARGE. The financial yields of the new religions are incomparably higher than is the voodoo man's gain. His followers, who believe in black art and other foolish, old-fashioned things, are nearly always drawn from the poorer, even the indigent classes--classes that have but little to spend, even on a religion. But the East Indian religionist, or the sun worshiper, draws his clientele from the better classes, and his followers have the money to reward him in a way that is astounding. He dabbles not with the poor--neither, it must be confessed, entirely with the ignorant. His victims come from the upper walks of life, sometimes from near the top, and their name is legion. There is a Hindu who has now left this country to go back to spend the rest of his days in luxurious idleness, the while chuckling over the gullibility of the smart American people, who came here with a new religion and made a fortune. This man was an educated, cultured man of high caste. Sent at an early age to England to attend school, he returned to his native country at the age of 28, wise in the things of two worlds, that of his own and that of the occidentals. For a while he buried himself in the native life of a loathsome colony of Fakers. There he learned much of their religious style by rote, and, putting this along with a smattering of Buddhism, psychology and sun worship, he managed to appear in America with a new religion, fairly reeking with the essentials required by those who want mysticism served along with their religious beliefs. MYSTICISM DRAWS MANY CONVERTS. He had a new god, a new heaven and forty different and distinct ways of torturing one's self while worshiping his deity. Mortifying the flesh through fasting and self-denial, torturing one's self by standing with the hands above the head, etc., all were included in the new creed, besides such things as astral bodies and the other things that go with a new religion. He first held forth in a sumptuously furnished city flat, where he managed to draw to him a small gathering of the select who love to dabble in mysterious oriental affairs. The flat was a dream in itself, and when to it was added a tall, ascetic young Hindu, with the look of the fanatic burning brightly in his eyes, and mystic rites of a religious nature, the effect was irresistible; at least it proved to be to those foregathered under the tutelage of the young oriental. There were incense burnings and incantations galore. At first these things did not cost anything. No. The young mystic was simply working for the enlightenment of the world, working to spread light into the stygian darkness of the old and false dogmas and creeds. After those who flocked to his standard had been so thoroughly imbued with the sincerity of his teachings that his word was law to them, the money question came to the fore. He, the missionary, wanted nothing for himself--oh, no. But there was need for funds for the establishment of the cult in India. A school and home must be founded for the young devotees of the new religion in that country, a place where they could go and live and be trained in the tenets of the creed and prepared to go out in the world and teach. And it was for this that the Hindu had come to this country, to permit the chosen ones here to acquirement with the new deity by subscribing to the school fund. Since the beginning of things, when man first beheld the sun and bowed humbly before it, it has been the custom to heap offerings on the altar of worship. So the Hindu went back with funds enough to start half a dozen schools if he had been at all inclined that way, which he wasn't, and the people who were his followers are still living in the hope that he will return. AMERICAN FAKER GETS THE COIN. Then there is another kind of charlatan, the American fake religionist, of which, perhaps, there are just as many as of the foreigners with the weird doctrines of the orient. This type of faker is coarse compared with the soft-shod, incense-burning Hindu, but he "gets the money" without much trouble. He is generally a ranter as far as preaching goes. His methods are those of the shouter, his religion includes visitation of spirits, shaking of bodies and other manifestations of divine power. He boldly asks for contributions, not for a school to be established for the training of missionaries for his faith, but for the furtherance of his own work right here in this country. "It takes money to fight the devil," is a favorite cry with this type of sacrilegist. The stronghold of the religious faker is that the people who follow him believe in him implicitly. One faker recently proclaimed himself the son of God, come to revisit earth, and, when assailed by a paper for it, stood up in an audience of his believers and asked them who they thought him to be and how they regarded him. The answer was that he was the son of God, and his mission was to save all mankind from sin. It is obvious that, when a man with such a hold on a clique asks for money, it is sure to be forthcoming without question. At times he does not have to ask for it, one man of this kind having had money showered upon him at a meeting by the hysterical women of his flock. FAITH IN CHARLATAN STRONG. This man has operated in at least four sections of this country, has served a term in state's prison for alienating a wife's affections along with the husband's money, has been driven out of two towns by angry husbands; but now he is again in possession of a following which believes implicitly that through him, and through him only, is it possible to obtain eternal salvation. In appearance this man is a human shark, long-faced, thin of jaw and nose, and with a mouth that is nothing but a straight line cut in the face. In repose he might be taken for a shyster lawyer, but when he begins to speak and the artificial frenzy is burning in him it is easy enough to see why impressionable women may be drawn to him. Even a strong-willed man, observing his actions and the degree of enthusiasm in him, is apt to feel that he can be nothing other than sincere in his beliefs. But, if he is sincere, his sincerity runs only towards making of his beliefs a good business proposition, and avarice is one of his strongest points. The persistency with which women will take up and practice the cruelest of religious customs is evidenced by the manner in which a Chicago girl tortured and starved herself to death in an effort to obtain salvation through the mortification of the flesh. She was not of an ignorant type, either, as might be imagined, but fairly well educated and extremely intelligent, with running to intellectuality. But the thrall of a new religion got her in its power, and, believing she was sinful, she strove to cast out her sins and died in the attempt. It is seldom that pernicious practices of religion fakers carry persons to this extreme, but deranged mentalities, wrecked homes and depleted pocketbooks are of such frequent occurrence as to merit a wholesale crusade against this type of fraud, even without raising the question of religious scruples. PAWN TICKETS ON DIAMONDS. Another instance: Some working man or washing woman, having saved up a little money for a rainy day, reads an alluring advertisement in a newspaper that a party was looking for a small loan on valuable family jewelry and diamonds. The interest offered is much higher than that allowed by any savings bank. Diamonds, as everybody knows, are just as good as money and offer perfect security. In hopes of profiting a little more on their savings, such prospective victims respond to the advertisement. The party looking for the loan appears to be a well-dressed, smoothly-talking man, who represents himself to be the scion of a wealthy or aristocratic family temporarily in hard luck. He produces a pawn shop ticket, on the face of which appears that some pawn broker had advanced on certain diamonds a large sum of money, say $500. [Illustration: Two minds with but a single thought; Two heads that beat us all. ] Now, it is a matter of common knowledge that pawn brokers know their business, and that no pawn broker would advance more than one-third, or, at the highest, one-half of the actual value of the articles pledged. It is that common belief which the swindler makes, as it were, the psychic basis for his operations. The victim having once jumped at the conclusion that the diamonds offered as security must be worth at least $1,000 or thereabouts, the rest becomes easy. VICTIM ANXIOUS FOR INTEREST. The victim naturally considers a further loan on such diamonds of $200 or $250 a desirable risk. The offer of 10 per cent or more interest on the loan is another allurement which makes the transaction still more desirable. The pawn broker recognizes his ticket, and the diamonds, when redeemed, turn out to be worth considerably less than the amount which the broker was supposed to have advanced on them. The victim loses some more by redeeming the diamonds. Complaints by such victims have been coming thick and fast into the state's attorney's office in Chicago and other large cities. The conspiracy between the swindler and his accomplice, the pawn broker, is almost self-evident. In some instances indictments have been returned against the perpetrators of the fraud, but the prosecution could not succeed. The reason is obvious. On the face of the transaction everything seemed to be regular, and the defendants could not be made criminally responsible for an erroneous conclusion arrived at by the victims as to the business sagacity of the pawn broker or the probable value of the diamonds. And yet who would doubt, in view of the many identical complaints, that the plans in connection with the fraudulent transaction had been laid carefully in pursuance of a conspiracy to defraud the public? NEW LAW BADLY NEEDED. On the civil side of legal practice there is the writ of injunction to prevent threatened irreparable injury to property by one person to another. But in case of organized fraud upon the public in general our modern legislatures have not yet grown to the proper appreciation of the wise and ancient saying that comes from the orient, "The rat hole, not the rat, is the thief." Our laws punish the thief when caught, but leave the "hole" intact and ready to give shelter to other "rats." The authorities may know well the fraudulent character of a concern organized and existing for the express purpose of fleecing the public, and yet, in the absence of a complaining victim, they are absolutely helpless and unable to prevent victims from being ensnared by that concern. Suppose the legislature would enact a law making it a felony for persons to set in operation any scheme to defraud the public and fix adequate punishment for such offense, would not such a law enable the authorities to anticipate and prevent a great deal of that misery which is caused by organized frauds of all kinds and descriptions, to a class of people that least can afford it? POSTAGE STAMP GRAFTER. The postage stamp grafter is one of the most pestiferous of the "toucher" genus. He bobs up in offices, on the streets, in hotel lobbies, everywhere and at all times. Here is the song he sings: "I'm broke, mister, but I don't want any money. I am looking for work and have just answered an ad. in the paper, but, to tell the truth, I have only got a nickel, and if I break that to buy a postage stamp I can't get a cup of coffee. Just a 2-cent stamp is all I ask." It is too small a request to refuse, and besides there is a chance that the fellow may be telling the truth. Anyway, it is only a stamp. You produce the stamp, and may give the "toucher" several stamps so that he can answer more advertisements for work. A half day of industry at this scheme gives any competent "toucher" enough stamps to buy a little food, a good deal of drink and a night's lodging. There is no difficulty in disposing of stamps thus collected, for the salonkeepers and others that buy them--sometimes at a discount--know they have been given, and not stolen. "You are the third man that has tackled me for a stamp today," said a man in the lobby of a downtown hotel recently to a young man who "wanted to answer an advertisement for work." "Here, give me the letter; I'll stamp and mail it." Whereupon, to use the vernacular of his kind, the young man made a sensational "getaway" via the side entrance. Akin to the postage stamp scheme is the one of "touching" for three or some other odd number of pennies to make up the amount necessary "to send a telegram home for money." The "toucher" in this case usually admits frankly that he came to Chicago and got drunk, spending all his money. For victims he picks the men that look like they might sympathize with a fellow in his predicament. THE CLERK GRAFTER. It may or may not be so that a sucker is born every minute. Doubt as to the exactness of this has been expressed, the consensus of opinion being that the average runs higher than Barnum's estimate. But as to the natural increase of devious and various ways for making, or trying to make, suckers out of the world's inhabitants there can be little or no just doubt. A new one is born every time the old one gets stale. Here is the latest: The scene of operation, which is guaranteed to be harmless when performed, but sure to be painful when the reaction sets in, is a small office, store, or shop, any place where the total number of employees is small. Preferably it is a place where a young woman stenographer, clerk, or other worker is employed, and, preferably, the stenographer, clerk, etc., is of pleasing and attractive appearance. The more so the better, though this is not absolutely necessary. PLAYS ON TARDY VICTIM. In fact, the only condition actually necessary to the successful prosecution of this new game is that one of the employees come down to work later than others. This must be. The operator picks a morning when said employee is late in arriving at his or her place of employment. If the employee is a young woman stenographer, so much the better. Operator may be either male or female, but should be of prosperous appearance--sort of money-no-object appearance. "Is the Stool Pigeon in?" he inquires. Of course, he doesn't call this party "the Stool Pigeon," having first carefully informed himself as to the individual's Christian name and surname, so as to be in a position to rattle it off with becoming familiarity. "Not yet, but soon," replies the Fall Guy. He doesn't know that he's the Fall Guy, but he is, unless he happens to possess more than a human average of suspicion and wariness. FALL GUY TAKES BAIT. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Now, I wouldn't have come to deliver this package if he hadn't promised to be here at this moment. And he wanted it so badly--and I can't wait!" "That's too bad," says Mr. Fall Guy. "But that's all right; you may leave the package in my care and I'll see that he gets it the first thing he comes down." "So kind of you," purrs the operator. "The only difficulty in the way of that is that I must see him when I deliver it." Nothing coarse or abrupt, you will see; instead the smooth, purring round of the wheels that grind artistically and well. Here the operator begins to bite the under lip and look at the clock with clouded brows. "Hm! I can't wait, and he wanted it so much this morning!" SUCKER DIGS OUT COIN. Fall Guy being a friend of Stool Pigeon's (the operator has picked him because of that qualification), gets solicitous. "Well, there's a collection of a dollar on this package; that is all, really." If Fall Guy looks burdened with money the charge may be as high as $2.50. Hardly more than this. It may run as low as 25 cents. The package contains, according to the operator, anything from a pair of cuff buttons to a pair of shoes. And Fall Guy pays at least often enough to make the game worth playing for the operator. FLEECING INVALIDS AND CRIPPLES. This is a story of the most despicable graft extant. For, although it has been broken up in Chicago, it still flourishes in nearly every other large city in the country. It is not only despicable but it is heinous, fiendish, unspeakable. It is the sort of a thing that causes the blood of an honest man or of a manly rogue to boil, and long for a chance to clutch its inventor by the throat. It is the letter-copying scheme. Real criminals take chances on death, or the penitentiary, and on personal encounters with those whose money they unlawfully seek to acquire, but the vultures behind the "ads." promising lucrative work at home content themselves with mulcting helpless invalids, aged and infirm persons who seek to contribute to their own support and persons whom poverty has driven to desperation, and who see in the gilded promises of the cormorant an avenue of escape. The public is familiar with the advertisements which constantly are seen in the newspapers offering employment that will not necessitate canvassing, or peddling, and which can be done in the home with great profit. Occasionally the "ads." explain that the work is that of copying letters. [Illustration: AN ATTEMPT TO CATCH YOUR EYE] WRITE SMOOTH LETTERS. The victim answers the "ad." and in reply receives this stereotyped letter--the form is the same in every instance: ESTEEMED FRIEND: Replying to your application to write letters for us at your home during spare time, we beg to say that your writing is satisfactory, and we have decided to offer you the appointment. The work we give out is simply writing letters from a copy which we furnish, for which we pay you direct from this office at the rate of twenty dollars ($20.00) per thousand. You do not have to write any certain number of letters before receiving pay, and all letters you write you return to us. There is no mailing them to your friends, as most other advertisers who advertise for letter writers demand, neither is there any canvassing or selling anything, or anything else to mislead you; you simply write from a copy which we furnish, and we pay you direct. We are an old, reliable firm, always state plainly what is required, do exactly as we promise and treat our employes honestly. The work is easy; the letters to be written are the length of the ordinary business letter, and all we require is neatness and correctness. We furnish all materials free of charge, paper, etc., and prepay all costs of delivery to your home. You work only when you desire or have leisure time, and no one need know you are doing the work. We pay spot cash for all work done the same day as received. We use thousands of these letters for advertising our business, because we receive better results from using written letters than from plain printed circulars. We have a large number of people all over the country working for us, and if you desire to become one of our regular workers we request that you send us one dollar, for which we will send you our regular dollar package of goods you are to write about. This is all you are required to invest, there being no other payments at any further time, and this deposit is returned to you after doing work to the amount of two thousand letters. We are compelled to ask for this small deposit to protect ourselves against unscrupulous persons who do not mean to work and who apply out of idle curiosity. We also send you first trial lot of letter paper, copy of letter to be written (as we desire all letters to be written on our own letter paper), also instructions and all necessary information. After receiving the outfit you start to work immediately. More reliable workers are needed at once, and we guarantee everything to be exactly as represented. If you find anything different we will refund the amount invested. Fill out the enclosed blank and send it to us with one dollar or express or postoffice money order (stamps accepted), and we will immediately send everything, all expenses prepaid. You can start to work the same day you receive the outfit by simply following our plain instructions. Kindly reply at your earliest convenience. Fill out enclosed blank and direct your envelope carefully. Trusting to be favored with your prompt services, we remain, Very truly yours, LESLIE NOVELTY COMPANY, Per C. C. KENDALL. ROB BED-RIDDEN WOMEN. In their investigation of this sort of swindle the police discovered that almost invariably the victims were bed-ridden persons or women in straitened circumstances who were in frantic search of some means of keeping the wolf from the door. Many instances were found where some unfortunate had taken up a collection in the neighborhood in order to raise the necessary dollar to send for the "outfit." Persons were found who were actually starving and who had pawned their last possession to get the money that was to start them on the road to affluence. Of all the offices raided Detective Wooldridge did not find record of one instance where a victim had been able to keep the requirements of the swindlers. The supposed letter sent to be copied was generally about 800 words in length, full of words difficult to spell, of rude and complicated rhetorical construction and punctuated in a most eccentric manner. The task imposed was practically a life-time job, and even if anyone had fulfilled it there were a hundred loop-holes whereby the thieves could escape payment by declaring their specifications had not been heeded to the letter. The "outfit" consisted of a cheap penholder, a pen and a box of fake pills. Imagine the joyous anticipation with which a starving cripple would await the arrival of the "outfit" that was to give him the opportunity of prolonging existence! The bright hopes of the work-worn widow who expected by this genteel means to keep her little ones in bread! Think of the despair of both upon discovering they had paid out money so sadly needed--money which probably had been begged or borrowed--only to discover that they had been victimized instead of benefited! "OPERATORS" CRINGING COWARDS. Trembling, cringing, whining specimens of humanity were found in charge of each of these fakers' dens when Detective Wooldridge swooped down upon them. They were typical of their graft--small, mean, snake-like, cowardly. None among them was found who would bid defiance to the officers, who would resist intrusion by the law or who would go into court and fight. All were cheap and dirty in mind, loathsome, shrinking, snarling, but not daring to bite. Among those driven out of business by Detective Wooldridge were the Twain Novelty Company, the Leslie Novelty Company, the Illinois Industrial Company and Blackney & Company. "I have raided all classes of swindling institutions," said Wooldridge, "but it gave me more pleasure to run down these fellows than all the others put together. They did not dare try to get money out of people who could afford to lose it, or who were out in the world where they could talk with others of more experience. Their dupes were in almost every instance the most pitiable objects of the communities in which they lived. The facts disclosed by these raids were enough to fill the heart of the blackest grafter with indignation and a desire to trounce the perpetrators." SHARKS RUIN BUSINESS MEN. NEW LINE OF FINANCIAL GRAFT. A new loan shark, or self-styled "financial agent," who preys on the business man and manufacturer, robbing him of his money and business more relentlessly than the old-time loan shark ever dared with the helpless wage earner, has made his appearance in Chicago and says he has come to stay. [Illustration: MR. FIRST MORTGAGE; FIELD OF RISKY INVESTMENTS] Under the guise of discounting a manufacturer's accounts at his usual rate of discount, the "financial agent" secures his first hold on the struggling manufacturer, who sees the opportunity to enlarge his business by collecting cash for his merchandise as he sells it. But the first step with the "financial agent" means entering the portals of bankruptcy. The loan shark first finds for his victim an industrious, hard-working manufacturer or wholesaler, who by his push and perseverance has built a business beyond his capital, and approaches him. "You have a good business here," remarks the agent. "If your customers all paid cash it would be pretty easy sailing. Life would be one long, sweet song if everyone paid for goods as soon as they were ordered, wouldn't it?" OFFER OF CASH AROUSES INTEREST. Even the largest manufacturer in the country could not but accede to this. "I have been watching your business for some time with a great deal of interest," continues the suave grafter, "and I would be glad to discount your bills at the regular rate of discount, so it would cost you nothing and you would have an opportunity to double your business. "I presume you give the regular trade discount of 1 per cent a month for cash. On that I can save you a little money and help your credit materially. You receive 1 per cent a month on your purchases. "This you cannot take, as you are cramped for money, because your customers do not pay their bills promptly. Thus you lose 2 per cent a month by not buying and selling for cash." GETS $800 FOR $1,000. The manufacturer begins to see a thriving business on a cash basis without exposing his weakness, and agrees to allow the banker to discount his bills. "In the morning," begins the agent in explanation of his system, "you send us $1,000 worth of duplicate invoices of the goods which you shipped today, with shipping bills attached. You attach to the invoices a note for $1,000, so the account may be kept from the notes, and not from the invoices which we hold. In return for the note we will send you a check for $800, less our commission of 2 per cent a month, just what you are paying now because your business is not done on a cash basis. The $200, or 20 per cent, we have to deposit in the bank which loans us the money which we in turn pass to you. When any bills are paid we will refund your 20 per cent which we hold. Any bank compels us to have a representative in your store to look after our interests, as a matter of form. We will just appoint your bookkeeper--a matter of form entirely. Once a month we will send a man over to check up your books. He will see that none of our money has been overlooked." BEGINS TO SHOW HIS TEETH. All this sounds businesslike and plausible, and the arrangement runs smoothly for a time, probably six months, to allow the manufacturer time to sell all his open accounts to the financial agent. Then the loan shark sends in a statement of the account, and, if the manufacturer complains, begins to show his teeth. On the statement appears all money the manufacturer has received and in addition an extra charge for $50 a month to cover the services of their agent--the manufacturer's own bookkeeper. Also an additional charge of from 1 to 2 per cent for additional service rendered, although the agency has had absolutely nothing to do with the accounts beyond holding them as security. All overdue accounts are charged back to the manufacturer, and a request for a check to take them up immediately accompanies the statement. As few accounts, if allowed to mature at all, are received by a manufacturer on the exact day when due, the check called for often is a formidable one. The manufacturer is at his wits' end. He goes to the agency post haste and, after they find it is impossible to hold him up for a check, they say: "Oh, well, never mind, the bank--always the bank--is pressing us on those overdue accounts, but we can hold up the 20 per cent until these accounts are taken care of. That will be satisfactory, we are sure." [Illustration: DEBT] LOSES HIS 20 PER CENT. After this the manufacturer's chance of ever seeing anything more of his 20 per cent has vanished. Each day the agency trumps up some fictitious charge of stamps, new check books, extra labor, taxes, additional fees or other charges that could originate nowhere but in the brain of a financial crook. Finally the manufacturer finds he has nothing on his books but accounts belonging to the agency, on which he is paying carrying charges of from 5 to 10 per cent a month. The agency refuses to return his 20 per cent, which they claim has been charged off by the bank to take care of the overdue accounts. The victim, seeing the plight in which he is placed, demands an accounting and threatens legal proceedings. The agency in turn demands he give them an itemized statement of each account, which they have. They agree to check them up, and, if found correct, promise to give him a check for the 20 per cent which they hold. That night the light burns late over the bookkeeper's desk in the manufacturer's office. In the morning the statements go to the office of the loan shark, who says: "I'll have the auditor check them up and send you a check as soon as we find out everything is straight." TRADE STATEMENTS TO CUSTOMER. The manufacturer leaves the office. The loan shark gets busy with the statements, and stamps each of them: "This account has been transferred to Killem's Mercantile Company. You are notified to pay this account to no one else." These statements are mailed to the customers. When the manufacturer returns the loan shark greets him cordially and remarks: "Unfortunately one of my clerks mailed out a lot of your statements last night, but I guess that won't matter. He stamped on them that they had been transferred to us and sent them out as he does everyone else's. He didn't understand. I am sorry." As expected, the manufacturer, when he sees his business and confidence abused in this manner, flies into a rage. Then the suave agent takes the bull by the horns and issues his ultimatum. "Our bank"--always "our bank"--"thinks we are not getting all the money coming to us from your account. They demand that in the future you deposit all your checks with us. I am sorry, for I know everything is straight, but your using us as a bank will last but a few days. Everything will then run smoothly again." And unless some friend comes to the aid of the manufacturer the agency's prophecy comes true, and it does last but a little while. SHREWD BEGGAR GRAFT. Pretend to be Deaf, Dumb and Blind, Playing on Sympathy--How Philanthropy is Humbugged--Begging for Money to Reach Home--An Army of Frauds and Vagabonds--Mastering the Deaf Mute Language for Swindling Purposes--The Public Should be Careful in Disbursing Alms. Speech is so common, eyesight so precious, that he who would appeal for charity needs no better warrant than that he is dumb or blind. In an age when words are multiplied and golden silence is seldom found, the very fact that lips can give no utterance is so unusual that their mute assertion of misfortune is seldom questioned. There is nothing so pitiful in all the world as an asylum for the blind. There is nothing which so draws one to share the burdens of another as the appeal of him in whom the wells of speech are all dried up. We sympathize with illness, we grieve at the misfortune which visits our friends, we mourn with them when bereavement comes, but all these things are in the course of nature. They are sad, but they may be expected. But then a figure in health rises and asks for charity in the hushed language of the mute, philanthropy halts and humanity gives alms. But if the dumb can evoke assistance, assuring of sincerity and disarming doubt, how hushed is the questioning when the blind apply! How much stronger than speech or silence are the sightless eyes that stare unblinking at a darkened world! How sad is the fate of that man who was buried by demons when God cried out, "Let there be light"! But not every man is mute who stretches out his hand in silence. Laziness is such an awfully demoralizing vice that some who choose to beg a living and decline work are even base enough to feign a misfortune they ought to fear. Fellows who find the winter pinching and the ranks of vagabonds full to repletion arm themselves with a slate and pencil and haunt the public with appeals for help on the untrue claim that they are dumb. One of the most persistent beggars of this kind makes the rounds of residence districts with a printed card on which is stated the bearer's desire to reach his home in some distant city--the destination varies from time to time--together with a long-primer endorsement by a group of names which no one knows. The fraud always asks for some slight money offering--nothing can be too small--with which to assist him in the purchase of a ticket. Usually his paper shows that he needs but a very little more, and he asks one, by a series of pantomimic signs, to enroll his name, together with the sum advanced, in regular order on a blank list which he tenders with his touching appeal. He is so well drilled as never to be surprised into speech, and looks with such straight, honest eyes into the faces of the women, who form much the larger number of his victims, that they cannot question him and usually give up a dime or a quarter without a struggle. The beggar can readily collect a good day's wages in this manner, and it is a matter of surprise if he does not receive an invitation to partake of food three or four times a day. He never lets his list get full. However small a margin he may lack of having raised the sum needed to buy his ticket to his home, he never gets quite enough, for nothing is easier than to stop in some secluded spot and erase the names of his latest donors, thus proving to those on whom he shall presently call that their help is not only needed, but will so nearly end the necessity for continued appeals. This class of beggar never looks like a dissipated man, is always polite, and bears refusal in so noble a way that nine times out of ten the flinty-hearted women who refused him at the back door hurry through to the front and give the more generously that they have harbored suspicion. Another set of leeches have mastered the deaf mute language, and always ask with a pleading, painful face which meets you as your eyes lift from his written questions, if anyone in the house can talk with him. He supplements the penciled question and the eloquent glance of eyes trained by long use in the art with a few rapid passes of his hands, a few dexterous wavings of the fingers, in a language you have heard of and read about, but cannot understand. If the unexpected happens and a person be present who can converse with him, your beggar is sure of some entertainment, and the usual scene of one you know to be honest talking to one who may be equally so, and certainly seems needy, will almost infallibly wring from you the coveted assistance. It is like two minstrels at a Saxon court. You know your own has seen the holy land, though you have not, and as he tells you, this thread-bare guest talks familiarly and correctly of distant realms. That is all any one can know to a certainty, but you give him the benefit of the chance that he may be honest, and help him with such loose change as comes to hand. Time and again the pretended mutes have been detected in their imposture by men who pitied a misfortune and gave money at their homes in the morning to see it spent for drink by an arguing, contentious fellow in the evening. Some beggars even assume the appearance of blindness, and haunt the homes of comfortable people, led by a little girl and asking alms in the name of an affliction that is always eloquent of need. He will sometimes carry a small basket full of pencils, or other little trinkets, and glazes over his evident beggary with the appearance of sales. But he does not hesitate, once the money is in his hands, to ask his patron to give back the pencils, as he cannot afford to buy any more. These people can sometimes see as well as the child that seems to lead them, and yet their eyes, when they choose to assume their professional attitude, seem covered with a film through which no light can penetrate. The public should be chary in bestowing charity, and especially to able-bodied men who appear blind, deaf and dumb, or are still claiming to be victims of some recent disaster. Most any one who has charity to bestow can easily think of some deserving and honest unfortunate in their own neighborhood. PARALYTIC A BAD ACTOR. The most transparent fraud on the streets of the great cities is the pseudo-paralytic. At almost any street corner can be seen what purports to be a trembling wreck of a man. His legs are twisted into horrible shapes. The hand which he stretches forth for alms is a mere claw, seemingly twisted by pain into all sorts of distorted shapes, trembling and wavering. The arms move back and forth in pathetic twistings as if the pains were shooting up and down the ligaments with all the force of sciatica. The head bobs from side to side as if it were impossible to keep it still. And the words which come from the half-paralyzed mouth are a mere mumble of inarticulate sounds, as if the tongue, too, were suffering torture. A more pitiable sight than this could not be conjured up. And the extended hat of the victim of what seems to be a complication of St. Vitus dance, paralysis, sciatic rheumatism, and the delirium tremens, is always a ready receptacle for the pennies, nickels and dimes of the thoughtless. This is one side of the picture; now look on the other. It is dusk. Just that time of day when the lights are not yet brightening the streets, and when the sun has made the great tunnels between the sky-scrapers, ways of darkness. Detective Wooldridge is watching. He has been watching two of the deplorable fraternity for two hours. As the dusk deepens he sees them both arise, dart swiftly across the street and board a car. By no mere chance is it that they are both on the same car. The detective follows. Before a low saloon on the West Side the victims of innumerable diseases descend from the car, walking upright as six-year soldiers on parade. They enter the saloon. They seat themselves at a table behind an angle in the back which conceals them from the street. The detective loiters down to the end of the bar and watches. From every pocket, even from the hat rim, pours a pile of coins. The two sort out the quarters, the nickels, the pennies. The heaps are very evenly divided over two or three cheap whiskies or a couple of bottles of five-cent beer. Then the real finale comes. Detective Wooldridge gets busy, and a goodly portion of the spoil finds its way out of the hands of the sharpers in the way of a fine. But for every one of these paralytic frauds caught there are dozens, even scores, who get away unscathed. It is the estimate of the best detectives that not one in a thousand of these paralytic beggars is genuine. It is one of the most bare-faced cases of deception of the public which comes under the notice of the police. EASY MONEY FROM KIND HEARTS. Charity covers a multitude of sins, almost as many backs, and quite a bit of graft. Thoughtless giving is almost a crime. It serve to encourage idleness, and idleness is at the bottom of more crime than any other one thing, unless it is poverty. Here is a story, given in the words of the man himself, which shows how the charity graft is worked in a number of ways. It covers several fields, and is so dramatic that it is given as the best example of all-round charity grafting: "In experience in charitable work last summer I discovered some of these truths. It was the first time in all my life that I ever engaged in any charitable enterprise, and the needy that I sought to relieve was myself. "Any one will beg, borrow, or steal in the name of charity. They may be as personally honest as a trust magnate--and they would be horrified at the idea of begging or stealing for themselves, but charity makes them respectable. At least this is the theory I worked on. "I was broke and far from home. I decided that I would starve or steal rather than beg. Then a fellow I met accidentally put me on to a way of making a living. FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE HEATHEN. "He had a lot of literature either really from a big church, charitable organization, or fraudulently printed, and he explained to me that I was to sell these 25 cents a copy for the benefit of the heathen somewhere, or home missions. I was to get 25 per cent of the money resulting from such sales. "About a week later, when I had received $12 besides a little expense money from him. I discovered that he was keeping all the money. I took the rest of the literature and destroyed it. Three days later, when I was hungry, I rather regretted destroying it. "I joined a circus that was moving toward my home town in Western Iowa, intending to leave it there and quit being a tramp. I was then down in Eastern Pennsylvania. I was a canvas hand. We went west by a tortuous route, and I never could accumulate enough coin to pay my way home, so was forced to stick to the place for many weeks. "The second week one of the canvas hands came to me and asked me to circulate a subscription paper among the men for the benefit of one Will Turner, a member of the band, who, he said, had dropped off the train while running over from the last stop, and badly injured himself. GAVE THE MONEY TO CANVAS BOSS. "I circulated the paper. The man told me he already had collected from the band on another subscription paper, so I needn't go to them. The man subscribed over $40 to help Turner, and I gave the money and the paper to the canvas boss who asked me to make the collection. "He took it, and remarked gratefully that he would make it all right with me. I didn't catch the significance of the remark then. About a week after that the same canvas boss came again with another subscription paper for the benefit of John Kane, who, he said, was a gasoline lamp tender and had been horribly burned and taken to the hospital. He told me a graphic story of the accident that aroused all my sympathy. I took the paper and worked hard on it during the afternoon and evening performances, and, as it was the day after pay day, I collected nearly $100. WORKED THE GAME ONCE A MONTH. "I got a shock when I took the money to the canvas boss. He gave me $50 and said: "'That's your share. We'll work it again next pay day.' "Then I went at him, and we had quite a fight. We were both arrested, and at the hearing next morning I learned that he had been working the game with that same circus about once a month. There were so many with the outfit and so few of them knew each other by name, and accidents were so numerous, that no one suspected him. He had grown afraid to work it for himself and used me for a tool. "The show had pulled out and the boss and two others who had been arrested with us took the first train back to it. I used the $50 to pay my fine and get home, where I found work and honesty--and, as soon as possible, I sent to the chief horseman with the show $50, to be added to the fund for the benefit of the next person really hurt, telling him the entire story. He wrote that he had been among those who helped kick the canvas boss out of the car after he read my letter." IN NAME OF CHARITY. There are probably more "touches" perpetrated in Chicago by professionals in the name of charity than under any other guise. In this matter, more of the protection of honest charities than for the protection of the public, the police have taken a hand and done a great deal to weed out and punish the solicitors for fake charities. An imaginary home for epileptics was one of the favorite plans. There was a home for this class of unfortunates that was honestly run, and the peculiar sympathy enlisted by the mention of the word epilepsy was seized upon by dishonest schemers. Professional women solicitors were garbed as "nurses" and sent forth. They were mostly austere-looking women and silent. Their work of nursing epileptics was supposed to produce this austere silence. This supposed charity appealed with uncommon strength to most people because these "nurses" were supposed to be performing the most unpleasant work imaginable amidst the most grewsome surroundings. Large sums were collected in this way, the promoter keeping everything above the liberal commission paid to solicitors. [Illustration: RACHEL GORMAN] THIS ONE MADE FORTUNE. Rachel Gorman was the originator of the "nurse for epileptics" graft, and raked in thousands of dollars before she finally was rounded up by the police. Not one cent of all the money collected by her and her garbed and hired solicitors ever got past their pockets. In this case the most shining marks were selected. William Jennings Bryan was touched for $100. as was the Governor of Illinois, and many others. This money for imaginary epileptics came so easily that the Gorman woman confessed that it was almost a shame to take it. There is little excuse, however, for Chicago men and women allowing themselves to be talked out of money for charity. In no great city are the charity working forces better organized or better known. For virtually every form and case of need there is in Chicago a distinct form of honest, well-organized charity. This condition grew out of necessity, and promiscuous giving to "touchers" who plead as qualification charity cases is dying out as the public comes to know more of the comprehensive systems for the help of the worthy and unfortunate. It took the hotel detectives years to check the "toucher" with the fake bank account that operated largely in the hotel lobbies. Now he works in other places. He carries a bank book that has all the superficial marks of genuineness. He engages you in conversation, and at what he considers the right psychological moment, he drops a feeler like this: "It's h---- to be without money when you've got plenty, isn't it?" If you have met this type of "toucher" before, you instantly see it coming and chase off to a most important engagement. If not, you only can agree. Being without money when you have none is bad; being broke when you have money is worse. "Look here," says the "toucher," "here is my bank book. Look at this balance?" OFTEN WORTH THE PRICE. A glance seems to show that the bank owes your new acquaintance many thousands. He then tells how it happened, how he came to be without a cent when he was so far to the good with his banker. It's a complicated tale, too long to tell here. There are lost letters, the cashing of checks for friends and, confidentially, a touch of the pace that flattens bank accounts. By this time you see your finish. When you seek to escape you find yourself backed up to the wall with no chance to sidestep. The best you can do is to scale the original touch from $1 to 50 cents, thereby making 50 cents for yourself and 50 cents for the "toucher." To "stand for" all the "touches" that are made in Chicago one would require an income far in excess of that enjoyed by most. Those that are responded to are those in cases where the donor generously thinks that the "toucher" really needs the money. Probably in the vast majority of cases there is no delusion as to the fiction woven in order to drag forth the nickel, the dime, the quarter or the dollar. Often it is worth the price to hear the fiction. But after all one feels refreshed when a frank but hoarse and trembling hobo says: "Say, Mister, me t'roat is baked and me coppers sizzlin'. Gimme de price of a drink. Did you ever feel like jumpin' from de bridge fur lack of a stingy little dime fur booze?" Here, you feel, is no misrepresentation. Here you may invest a dime without feeling that you have been stung. RAFFLES BANK ROBBERY. One of the most annoying of small grafts is the raffle, as conducted for gain. It is bad enough to be held up for 25 cents or 50 cents for a ticket which entitles you to a chance on a rug or a clock when you reasonably are sure that the proceeds will go to charity, but no man likes to be fooled out of his small change by a cheap grafter, even if the grafter happens to need the money. A story is told of two printers who lived for a month on a cheap silver watch which they raffled off almost daily until they had "worked" nearly all the printing offices of any size in town. These typographical grafters are unworthy of the noble craft to which they belong. They pretended to be jobless on account of last year's strike, and unable to live with their families on the money furnished by the union. HOW SKIN RAFFLE IS WORKED. During the noon hour, or about closing or opening time, one of the men would saunter into a composing room and put up a hard luck story. He had an old silverine watch that he wanted to raffle off, if he could sell twenty tickets at 25 cents each. He usually managed to sell the tickets. About the time the drawing was to take place the confederate entered and cheerfully took a chance and won the watch without any difficulty. Thus, they had the watch and the $5 also. They would split the money, and on the first convenient occasion the raffle would be repeated at another place, and by some trick known to themselves the drawing was manipulated so that the confederate always won the watch. A South Side woman recently had 500 raffle tickets printed, to be sold at 10 cents each, the drawing to be on Thanksgiving day, for a "grand parlor clock," the proceeds to be for the benefit of a "poor widow." As the woman herself happens to be a grass widow, and as the place of the drawing could not be learned, neither could there be obtained a sight of the clock, it is not difficult to guess the final destination of $50 for which the tickets were sold. POPULAR GAME IN SALOONS. At many saloons and cigar stores there is a continuous raffle in progress for a "fine gold watch." It is well for those who buy chances to inspect the time piece with a critical eye. One of these watches was submitted to a jeweler by the man who won it. "It's what we call an auction watch," said the expert. "It is worth about 87 cents wholesale. The case is gilded, and the works are of less value than the movement of a 69-cent alarm clock. It was keep time until the brass begins to show through the plate, and it may not." One of the attractive forms of the raffle ticket game is valuing the tickets at from 1 cent up to as high as desired. The man who buys a chance draws a little envelope containing his number. If he is lucky and draws a small number he is encouraged to try again. This is a sort of double gamble, and many men cannot resist the temptation to speculate upon the chances, simply in order to have the fun of drawing the little envelopes. Of course, many of the raffles are for cases of genuine charity, and it is an easy way to raise a fund for some worthy object. Many a person would not accept an outright gift, even in case of sickness or death, will permit friends to raffle off a piano or a bicycle for a good round price in order to obtain a fund to tide him over an emergency. To buy tickets for this kind of a raffle is praiseworthy. RAFFLE IS LOTTERY BY LAW. But sharpers are not above getting money by the same means. If a strange man, or a doubtful looking woman, wants to sell you a chance for the benefit of "an old soldier," or a "little orphan girl," or a "striker out of work," it might pay you to investigate. But here is where the easy money comes in for the sharper. It is too much trouble to investigate, and the tender-hearted person would sooner give up the 10, 25 or 50 cents to an unworthy grafter than to take chances of refusing to aid a case of genuine need. Then, too, there is what might be called a sort of legitimate raffle business. Of course, the raffle is a lottery under the law, and, therefore, is a criminal transaction. But in many cases goods of known value, but slow sale, are disposed of through raffles, and the drawings conducted honestly. A North Side man disposed of an automobile in this way. It had been a good wagon in its day, though the type was old. He wanted to get a new one, and as the makers would not allow him anything in exchange for the old. He sold raffle tickets to the amount of $500, and the winner got a real bargain--the losers paying the bill. RAFFLES THAT ARE STEALS. A group of young men who wanted to build themselves a little club house in the Fox Lake region, resorted to a raffle that was almost a downright steal. They had the printer make them tickets, and each one went among his friends and organized a "suit club," selling chances for a $30 tailor-made suit. Of course those who invested understood that the suit probably would be worth about $18, but they were satisfied to help build the club house on that basis, and besides they thought they had a fair chance to get the suit. It was learned afterward by accident that there were twenty "series" of tickets sold by these young men, and instead of each series standing for a suit, only one drawing was held, and only a single suit made for the entire twenty series of tickets. In other words, they sold $500 worth of tickets for a $30 suit of clothes. They built their club house, however, and laughed at the man who kicked because he thought he did not get a square deal for the half dozen tickets he bought. They thought it was a good joke. GRAFT OF TRAIN BUTCHER EASY. In these days if anything gets past the up-to-date train butcher it isn't because the public knows any more than it did in Barnum's time. We get a customer every minute by the birth records. For a genuine, all-round, dyed-in-the-wool separator of coin from its proud possessor, the train butcher is the limit. Here is a word for word story by a train "butch" of how the thing is done. He excuses his tactics much the same way that the little rogue does who points out that the giant malefactors are doing the same thing, but "getting away with it." Enter Mr. Butch. "I got back yesterday from a two days' trip--out and in. I had $29.65 to the good, and the company satisfied, and nary a kick from the railroad. At one little place down the line, though, a railroad detective got aboard and tried to detect. "'Say, young feller,' he said to me, 'I saw you go through here yesterday lookin' pretty spruce, and I thought I'd better take a look through yer grips as you came back. What yer got in there?' "He kicked my grip, and I opened her up on the minute. He went through it like an old goat through a cracker barrel, but he didn't find anything--see? If he'd looked under the cushion of a seat in the smoker he might have found a whole lot of stuff that didn't look like a prayer meeting layout. WHAT WAS HIDDEN UNDER SEAT. "Say, I bet I had fourteen $2 gold watches, twenty gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me 15 cents apiece, one dozen books, tightly sealed in wrappers, that looked mighty interesting to the jay who couldn't see into the books, and yet who had to do it finally at $2 apiece, and, as a topper of it all, my three-book monte game. Did you ever see the game? "I've got a line of wild west books about two inches thick, each, and costing me 40 cents a volume. They've got some great pictures on the cloth covers, and maybe there's some hot stuff inside--I don't know. But here's my unparalleled offer: I pick out my man and lay these three volumes across his knees in the car seat and go after him with some of the warmest kind of air about their interest, the binding, and the illustrations. "You pay me for the set," I explain, "but in doing it I give you a chance to get the books for nothing and at the same time double your investment. HOW THREE BOOK MONTE IS PLAYED. "I take out three small, thin spelling books, cloth bound, all alike as the bindery and the presses can make them. Then, careless like, I take a $10 bill out of my pocket, fold it across in a sort of V-shape and slip it into the middle of one of the spelling books, so that just one corner will stick out, probably a quarter of an inch. Of course, I haven't seen it! Sometimes the man on the cars will try to say something about it, but I cut in and drown him out with easy talk till he gets the idea that he might as well have that ten and the books for five, and let it go at that. "But one corner all the time is torn off that bill, and about a quarter of an inch of that bill is sticking out of the center of one of the other books. Of course the jay hasn't seen that! SHOWS CORNER OF BILL. "Well, I begin and shuffle the books on the payment of the $5. As they are shuffled the corner of the bill that is still attached gets turned around next to me, while the corner that is torn off gets around next to the passenger, whom I have cornered in the seat in a way that he can't see everything that he really ought to see in order to save his money. When I hold out the three books for the drawing I am in a position where I couldn't possibly see the corner that sticks out, while he is where he can't see anything else. "And he draws the book with the corner sticking out! "I take it from him instantly, and hold it up with the bill corner at the bottom, flipping the leaves through from front to back and forward again. In the act the corner of the bill drops out on the floor, where he doesn't see. 'Not here,' I says. 'You made a bad draw. Here's the bill,' I says, taking up the book that holds it and turning to the $10 bill, just where it lies. He doesn't know how it all happened, but I console him that he has the three wild west books for his library when he gets home. ALL SUCKERS NOT IN DAY COACHES. "I don't find all these suckers in the day coaches--not on your life. I found two pretty boys in the smoking room of a sleeping car a week ago, and I had $7.50 from one of them and $5 from the other, and they didn't know a line about it till they got together after I had gone. "Friends of mine have kicked because I get $2, or $3, or $4 apiece for gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me $1.80 a dozen. But where is the kick. I know men who have paid $10 or $15 for glasses from an oculist when the glass was cut out of a broken window pane. I save such people money, don't I? "I am not out after the old farmer with hayseed in his hair and leaf tobacco in his mouth, chewing. There are a lot of gay chaps traveling these days who think they've got the bulge on the train butcher by a sort of birthright or something. They are after me, sometimes, till I can't go to sleep after I come in from a run. For instance, the other day a chap got into the train out of a little country town, intending to go to another little town twenty miles away without change of cars. He had $2 cash and a guitar when he got on the train, but I had both when he got off. He wasn't mad at all; he just didn't understand it. For that reason I'll see him again one of these days, and he will buck the game harder than he did the first time. The trouble is he wants to vindicate himself; he's one of these smart alecs that you couldn't down with a crowbar--he don't think! COUNTRY TOWN "SPORT" EASIEST MARK. "Just give me the dead-game sport as he comes from the country and the country town. He's as good as I want. It's a sort of charity to take his money away from him before he gets into real trouble with it. One of them thought he had me the other day when I tried to sell him a pair of my famous $4 glasses with the gold rims. His had silver, only, but he told me mine wouldn't show a full moon after dark. "I asked him to let me see his specs and he handed them over. I had a bit of wax out of my ear on the tip of my little finger. I touched each of the glasses with the wax, smearing them a little with it. That fixed his glasses for good, and don't forget it. You can't get ear wax off a pair of spectacles with anything yet invented; it's got a sort of acid that eats into the glass and won't ever clear up again. The fellow got hot about it, but I didn't know anything, of course, and finally sold him a pair of my $1.80 a dozen glasses for $1.50 cash, net. "O, some people are almost too easy--I get ashamed of my calling!" WOMEN VICTIMS OF OLD COUPON SCHEME. There is another moss-grown swindle, which, like hope, seems to "spring perennial" in the greater cities. This is the old-time coupon swindle. A suave young man appears at the door, inserts his foot in the crack, if you try to slam it in his face, and rapidly begins to explain that he has something to offer you for nothing. The housewife sighs with resignation, and admits the suave young man, thinking that she might as well get it over. But let the housewife herself talk. Here is the story of a good woman who was caught by one of these pettifogging grafters: "Since my husband died I have partly earned my living by renting furnished rooms. This seems to be the first thing a woman thinks of doing when she is left unprovided for, but it isn't a business of large profits, and few of us ever cut 'melons.' My furniture, of course, represented my 'plant,' and it was growing shabby. "That is, perhaps, why the glib agent got a hearing from me. He had a lovely proposition. Opening a catalogue he showed me pictures of beautiful pieces of furniture, made from expensive materials, just the kind that would make my rooms attractive and easy to rent. "'Now,' said he, 'I am soliciting subscriptions for a weekly paper. This paper will cost you 10 cents a number, and with each number you get a coupon. When you have accumulated sixty-eight coupons you can bring them to our wareroom and select any one of these elegant pieces of furniture.' "'Why,' said I, 'if these articles are as represented, I couldn't buy them at any store in town for three times what sixty-eight coupons would cost me--$6.80.' THE OLD "WAREROOM" TALE. "'Call at our wareroom, lady, before you sign the contract, and you will see they are just as described.' "Well, I saw the articles, and they were all they were said to be. They explained that they were practically giving them away in order to build up the circulation of the paper. Everything appeared to be all right, and I signed a contract. So did my widowed sister; so did some of my neighbors. "The paper was worthless, but I didn't care. Sometimes I would buy several copies of one issue so as to make haste toward getting my sixty-eight coupons. The time came when I went around to select my furniture. I selected it, all right--a handsome chiffonier. "'This chiffonier calls for 360 coupons,' said the man. "'Why, your agent told me I could have any of these pieces when I had accumulated sixty-eight coupons,' said I, dismayed. "'He couldn't have told you that,' said the man. 'Read your contract. You will see it says that when you have sixty-eight coupons you may select any one of these articles, but that means we will then hold the article for you until you have paid the rest. Why, we have goods here that call for 600 and 700 coupons.' "I saw how I had been swindled, and was furious. I told him what I thought of him and his business, and he offered to tear up my contract (which, it turned out, bound me to more than I had dreamed of), if I would pay him an additional $2.50. I refused. He said he would sue me if I didn't. I told him to go ahead. "Shortly afterward a constable served a summons on me to appear at a justice court at the other end of creation. I didn't go; and I don't know whether the concern got a judgment against me or not. "But I do know I haven't anything to show for the money I paid for those coupons." BOOK LOVERS EASY PREY OF FRAUDS. BOGUS ART WORKS FINE GRAFT. Some of our citizens are paying a high price for education in art and book swindles. People, generally, are becoming experts in detecting small frauds and attacks upon their pocketbooks, and are becoming wise to pious dodges that run into spiritualism, clairvoyance and fortune telling, but when a large, smooth scheme is broached, they get caught. It may be that we have concentrated our minds upon so many trifling schemes to part us from our money, that we have laid ourselves bare to big operators in big frauds like that perpetrated upon the Patten family of Evanston. The clever fakir reached for $40,000 in an "old book" game and came very near gathering in the pot. He did get $2,600, which was a very neat job. It appears that there is a wide-spread system under the operations of which Chicago book lovers, and others all over the country, have been bilked out of a sum estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars. The same system is applied to paintings by the "old masters," for which some Chicago men have paid fabulous sums, only to find them imitations. The expert frauds are geniuses in their peculiar calling, and would deceive the elect if listened to. A bright, smart, well groomed man with letters of introduction from high quarters, often forged, perhaps with a title, breaks into society and bides his time to make a big haul. The vanity and foibles of the high-steppers and nobility worshipers are pandered to with masterly skill, and then a mere suggestion of untold values in books or paintings is breathed in secret. Do the big fish bite? Some of them swallow the bait and it has to be cut out of them before they will give it up. It is becoming so easy to gull some people, that the crime should consist in the betrayal of innocence rather than in the successful fraud. While guillible people continue to parade their guillibility to the world, there will always be frauds to take advantage of them. If anybody doubts the fact that people can be easily defrauded, let him visit any old book store, antique furniture dealer, oriental rug concern, even junk shops. He will find an amazing army of faddists, who are willing to pay any exorbitant price for some cheap fraud because a gentlemanly man, or an opium-smoking Chinaman, tells him it is the real thing. When business is dull at the shops, agents visit front doors, back doors, or invade society with some bogus job of "art" works and realize enormous sums. MISERABLE LITTLE SHORT MEASURE THIEVES. In the Municipal Court in South Chicago three extremely mean swindlers have been fined $25 and costs. It is unfortunate that they could not have been sent to the Bridewell without the alternative of paying the fine. For these swindlers were coal dealers who robbed the poor that bought coal by the basket. They STOLE money from their customers, just as the short-measure milk trust conspirators robbed their patrons. We repeat that they ought to be in the Bridewell. Giving short measure is the dirtiest, smallest, most cowardly form of commercial rascality. The hold-up man who takes his life in his hand and robs on the public highway is a model of decency and courage as compared with the pitiful rascal who steals the pennies of the poor by selling coal or milk or any other necessity of life by short weight. Short weight is larceny. It ought to be treated as larceny by law. CRIME A FINE ART. Living by one's wits has become a fine art, and it is a profession that is more liberally patronized than any other by the present generation. One of America's leading detectives remarked that there were about seventy-five thousand people in a city the size of Chicago that would bear watching. There isn't a bank, insurance office, dry goods store, restaurant or hotel that does not employ men to watch their customers, and there is hardly a business house in the country that has not some system of watching its employes. Everybody at this day seems to be afraid of everybody else. [Illustration: (Learn to paint)] Professional criminals pride themselves quite as much upon their ability as men engaged in legitimate occupations. A thief, for instance, is as vain of his superiority over other thieves as a lawyer, politician, or clergyman might be whose talents had elevated him to a commanding position in the eyes of the people. And the talented thief is as much courted and sought after as the successful man in the honest walks of life. The other thieves will say: "He is a good man to know; I must make his acquaintance." But the thief who has earned a reputation is particular about the company he keeps, and is scornful in his demeanor toward another thief whom he does not consider his professional equal. Caste exists among criminals as well as among other classes. Men and women who are not living merely for today must be deeply interested in the efforts which practical philanthropists are making to discover the causes of crime and to remedy the mischievous conditions which now prevail to such an alarming extent. Hidden away to a considerable degree in the great mass of figures which came into being through the operations of the census bureau, are facts that should shock every good citizen. With all the warmth of eulogy the story of wonderful progress has been told again and again, but only a few references have been made to the abnormal growth of what may be termed by the criminal class. Forty years ago there was but one criminal to 3,500 good or reasonably good citizens. According to the last census the proportion was one in 786.5, an increase of 445 per cent in a period during which the population increased but 170 per cent. Never in the nation's history has educational work of all descriptions been nearly so active as at present, yet the increase in the number of those who were confined in penitentiaries and jails and reformatory institutions is almost twice as rapid as the growth of population. CITIES BREEDING SPOTS OF CRIME. The true explanation of this unsatisfactory state of things is not far to seek. It is almost entirely to be attributed to the growing tendency of the community to become concentrated in large cities. A highly concentrated population fosters lawless and immoral instincts in such a multitude of ways that it is only an expression of literal exactitude to call the great cities of today the nurseries of modern crime. Statistics of all kinds show this, but it can easily be ascertained without the aid of any figures. The aggregation of large multitudes within a very limited area must increase the chances of conflict, and consequently multiply the occasions for crime. A population in this crowded condition has also to be restrained and regulated at every turn by a huge network of laws, and as every new law forbids something which was permitted before, a multiplication of laws is inevitably followed by an increase of crime. The prevention of crime should be the great object with the philanthropist. The obvious remedy is, if possible, to aid the individual in overcoming the temptation to evil or to crime. The remedy must be general, gradual, and constant. It consists in religious, moral, intellectual, and industrial education of the children, especially of the poor and unfortunate and the weakling classes. The most certain preventive is the early incarnation of good habits in children, which, becoming part and parcel of their nervous organization, are an unconscious force when passion, perplexity, or temptation tend to make them lose self-control. Little can be expected from palliative remedies for social diseases so long as this educational remedy is not thoroughly carried out. AMERICA'S EDUCATED CRIMINAL CLASS. The great mass of the American people, aside from those who have had experience in hunting and shadowing criminals, labor under the popular delusion that the most daring criminals of today are a lot of tough, ignorant men, with little or no education at all, who would do almost anything else than work honestly for a living. If people would but stop to consider the subject a moment they would readily discover their error. There are, it is true, a large number of swindlers, thieves, pickpockets, thugs and criminals of a like class who have but a scant knowledge of books, or literature, but they are only to be found among the lower class of criminals. The most notorious criminals the world has ever produced have been men and women of high culture and refinement, well educated and thoroughly posted on all that is transpiring. It is this class of people who make the most successful, and at the same time most dangerous, criminals. It requires men of education to swindle, crack a safe, rob a bank, jewelry store or forge a paper. To be a successful confidence operator requires the man to be well educated in matters of all kinds, to be a fluent talker, a person of refinement and polite address, and a good judge of character. REFINED CRIMINALS MOST DANGEROUS. Criminal history shows that the most successful jobs are always planned and executed by men of education; the details of some of the great forgeries that have taken place, of the numerous bank robberies and burglar's exploits, all go to show the direction of a brain of no ordinary person, being proof positive that the persons planning the work possessed both education and talent. First class criminals are exceedingly hard to cope with, and are the most dangerous to handle by the officers. They do not generally do things in a rush or by halves. Great care is given to all the minor details of their work, and it often takes weeks and months before they are ready to put their plans into operation. They study all the possibilities of the job; the chances of success, and the way of escape in case of failure; how they can cover all traces of the work and throw the guilt or suspicion upon the more unfortunate of their class who have had reputations and who are likely to be brought up and possibly convicted on suspicion of being the guilty parties. Educated crooks are always to be feared, not only by the public against whom they are constantly devising ways and means to relieve of their valuables, but by detectives of a lesser grade. This class of crooks do not hesitate to sacrifice the detective if their desired ends can be successfully accomplished, while the detective finds it a task of no little moment to gain even the faintest clue to their operations. PRISON POOR CURE FOR CRIME. Locking a man up for committing a crime does not always cure him. It is now proven that affixed penalties to certain crimes accomplishes practically nothing, for it is based on a wrong principle. The length of confinement ought, confessedly, to be adjusted to the needs of the prisoner. He should not be discharged from his moral hospital until there is reasonable assurance that he is cured. He certainly should not be turned loose on society, on the mere expiration of a formal sentence, when it is known he will begin anew on his old life. Protection to society, as well as the reformation of the criminal, call for the retention of the latter until he can be trusted with his liberty, and affords proof that he is fitted to take his place in the world as a useful, law-abiding citizen. This system alone permits the fullest scope to reformatory methods, and leaves to the court the right of sentencing indefinitely, and to the tribunal which has to do with the prisoner's release, to say when there is reasonable ground for faith that if discharged he will not prove either a burden or menace to society. Where conduct and character afford no such grounds he should be incarcerated for life, just as we would retain hopeless lunatics in asylums. MACONOCHIE'S EXPERIMENT. This form of sentence was first put into operation in a modified form by Maconochie, at Norfolk Island, in 1836, with a success in the way of reformatory results from the start which was unequalled. Now the best authorities in penology in all countries not only commend it, but the opinion is fast becoming general that it is a necessary feature in every reformatory system of prison discipline. Of course it implies in prison management the highest wisdom and integrity, and especially the banishment of partisan politics therefrom. It makes the dominant idea of prison administration manhood-making, and not money-making. FACES PORTRAY CHARACTER. Every one knows that men's passions, propensities, and peculiarities, as well as their calling, are reflected in their faces. It is as impossible to disguise a face as a handwriting. When the expert comes the disguise is torn off and the face tells the true story of the spirit inside the body. One only needs to visit the penitentiary to realize how undeniably vice writes its sign manual on the features. It is not the drunkard only whose red nose, flabby cheeks and rheumy eyes betray him; it is the senualist whose vice is read in his lips, the knave whose propensity is revealed in the shape of his mouth; the man of violence is surrendered by his eyes. An experienced detective policeman, or a trained jailer seldom needs to ask the crime of which the prisoner was guilty. He can tell it by his face. It is quite evident that in the future the study of physiognomy is going to be pursued more vigorously than it has been. As a means of preventing crime it may prove invaluable. How constantly do we hear of men "falling from grace," as the phrase goes. Yet these men must have carried their crime in their faces for a long time. If any one had been able to read their features the mischief might have been averted. It is well known that every man's face is more or less stamped by the pursuit he follows. An experienced observer can generally detect a lawyer, or a doctor, or a merchant, or a clerk, or a mechanic, or a clergyman, by merely studying his face. The instinctive criminal is a social parasite. The conclusion is irresistible that he is organically morbid. He will proceed to any extreme, and life and property, separating him from the accomplishment of his wishes, are but barriers to be overcome. The occasional criminal is largely a negative creature, who yields himself when temptation and the stimulus of opportunity exceed his resistive power. The habitual and professional criminal represents degree rather than kind. Criminality is to him a profession, a fine art, and susceptible of division into specialties. CRIMINAL HEADS NOT EXTRAORDINARY. The average heads of criminals and those of ordinary people probably do not vary much in size. A large brain does not necessarily indicate great intelligence any more than a small one mental deficiencies, this being true, as little importance can be attached to the weight of brains of criminals. The weight of Oliver Cromwell's brain was 82.29 ounces; Lord Byron's, 79 ounces; Cuvier's, 64 ounces; Ruloff's (a thief and murderer), 59 ounces; adult idiot's, 54.95 ounces; Daniel Webster's, 53.50 ounces, and Gambetta's, that of the size of a microcephalic idiot. A face may either attract or repel; its lines indicate firmness and decision, or weakness and sensuousness. In physiognomy may be traced fineness or brutality, surfeit or privation, gentleness or irascibility; yet from a consideration of the face it is assuming too much to predicate the form of criminal tendencies, if any, on the subject. Criminal physiognomy is not yet an exact science. The practical criminologist regards criminality as bred in the bone and born in the flesh, and the ethology of crime to be looked for chiefly is in heredity and environment, using the word environment in its most liberal sense, ante and post-natal, and whatever cause, in whatever way, that exerts a deleterious influence upon nutrition and the functions of organic life, voluntary and involuntary. Little is being done in this country in criminal anthropology that can compare with the studies and researches that are being carried on in Italy, France, and Germany. The student unacquainted with the language of these countries pursues his studies at a disadvantage, owing to the paucity of literature in English upon the subject. The tide of crime is steadily rising. The level of criminality, it is well known, is rising, and has been rising during the whole of the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries, throughout the civilized world. Its prevention and cure is a perplexing study, and is engaging the thoughts and energies of the best intellects of the world. DETECTIVE CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE'S _"Never-Fail" System_ THE ONLY SURE WAY TO BEAT: TURF FRAUDS. WILD CAT INSURANCE. BOGUS SECURITIES, CONFIDENCE GAMES. CITY-LOT SWINDLES. HOME-BUYING SWINDLES. DISHONEST DEBENTURE BOND COMPANIES. FRAUDULENT PROMOTERS. "SALTED" MINING AND OIL WELLS COMPANIES. BUCKET SHOPS. BLIND POOLS IN GRAIN AND STOCKS. PANEL HOUSES. BOGUS MAIL ORDER HOUSES. POKER, FARO AND OTHER GAMBLING GAMES. MATRIMONIAL BUREAUS. COUNTERFEIT UNDERWRITERS. FRAUDULENT BOOK CONCERNS. DISHONEST COLLECTION AGENCIES. ADULTERATED MEDICINE DEALERS. WIRE TAPPERS. FAKE BROKERS. BOGUS CHARITIES. SPURIOUS EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES. SWINDLE PROMOTERS. MUSHROOM BANKS. CLAIRVOYANTS. FORTUNE TELLERS. PALMISTS. $1,000 REWARD WILL BE PAID TO ANYONE WHO USES DETECTIVE CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE'S NEVER-FAIL SYSTEM AND FAILS TO BEAT THE ABOVE SWINDLES. DO NOT RISK YOUR MONEY WITHOUT HAVING FIRST CAREFULLY INVESTIGATED THE CHARACTER OF THE ENTERPRISE IN WHICH YOU ARE INVITED TO BECOME FINANCIALLY INTERESTED. BE CONVINCED BEYOND ALL REASONABLE DOUBT THAT THE MEN CONNECTED WITH THE ENTERPRISE ARE ABOVE SUSPICION. IF THEIR PROBITY, INTEGRITY OR RELIABILITY CAN NOT BE ESTABLISHED BY PAST TRANSACTIONS IT IS CERTAIN THEIR HONESTY WILL NOT BE DISCLOSED BY FUTURE DEALINGS. DO NOT INVEST IN ANY COMPANY, CORPORATION, OR PRIVATE CONCERN UNTIL THE MANAGEMENT HAS FURNISHED INDISPUTABLE PROOF OF ITS ABILITY TO FULFILL EVERY PROMISE. LEAVE SPECULATION TO THOSE WHO CAN AFFORD TO LOSE. LARGE GAINS ON SMALL INVESTMENTS USUALLY EXIST ONLY IN THE IMAGINATION OF GULLIBLE INVESTORS AND UNSCRUPULOUS PROMOTERS. LARGE RISKS INCUR LARGE LOSSES. NO MAN WILL "LET YOU INTO A GOOD THING;" HE WILL KEEP IT FOR HIMSELF AND HIS FRIENDS. PROMOTERS ARE NOT IN BUSINESS TO MAKE MONEY FOR YOU, BUT "OUT OF YOU." CONTENT YOURSELF WITH LEGITIMATE INVESTMENTS AND SMALL BUT SAFE RETURNS. RATHER THAN SEEK GREAT PROFITS WITHOUT TOIL STRIVE FOR THE DESERVED FRUITS OF INDUSTRY. NO MAN WILL GIVE YOU A DOLLAR FOR FIFTY CENTS--UNLESS THE DOLLAR IS COUNTERFEIT. DO NOT PAY OUT YOUR OWN GOOD MONEY FOR ANOTHER MAN'S BOGUS DOLLARS. IF THE PROMOTER COULD DO ONE-HALF OF WHAT HE CLAIMS, HE WOULD NOT NEED YOUR MONEY, BUT SOON WOULD BE RICH BEYOND THE DREAMS OF AVARICE. DO NOT INVEST YOUR HARD-WON SAVINGS IN VANISHING AIR CASTLES. PROMISES WHICH PROCEED FROM A DESIRE TO GET YOUR MONEY ALWAYS MERIT SUSPICION. SUBJECT THEM TO THE MOST CAREFUL AND RIGID EXAMINATION. ADOPT THE BANKER'S RULE THAT: "ALL MEN SHOULD BE REGARDED AS DISHONEST UNTIL THEIR HONESTY IS PROVED," RATHER THAN THE SUCKER'S THEORY THAT "ALL MEN ARE HONEST." THE BANKER WILL END LIFE POSSESSED OF WEALTH WHILE THE CREDULOUS OPTIMIST WHOSE FAITH IS UNBOUNDED WILL WIND UP HIS DAYS "A POORER BUT WISER MAN." WHEN IN DOUBT DO NOTHING. IF A PROMOTER CAN NOT DISPEL YOUR DOUBTS HE IS NOT WORTHY OF YOUR CONFIDENCE. DO NOT FOLLOW SIREN CHANCE. SHE WILL LEAD YOU INTO THE ABYSS OF DESPAIR. BEWARE OF THE DICE; THERE IS BUT ONE GOOD THROW WITH THEM--THROW THEM AWAY. THEY WERE USED TO CAST LOTS FOR THE BLOOD-STAINED GARMENTS OF JESUS CHRIST; THEY ARE USED TO GAMBLE AWAY THE HONOR OF MEN. PLAY NOTHING, INVEST IN NOTHING, BUY NOTHING, TRUST NO MAN OR WOMAN UNTIL YOU HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THE ENTERPRISE IS LEGITIMATE BEYOND QUESTION. AVOID THE MISTAKE OF THAT GREATEST FOOL OF ALL FOOLS, THE MAN WHO THINKS HE IS TOO SMART TO BE FOOLED. YOU ARE NOT SHREWD ENOUGH TO BEAT ANY MAN AT HIS OWN GAME; HE HAS STUDIED ITS MANIPULATIONS; YOU ARE A NOVICE. DON'T LET ANYONE STAMPEDE YOU INTO DOING ANYTHING. THE "RUSH" ACT IS A FAVORITE TRICK OF GRAFTERS, FROM THE CHEAP CADGER WHO BORROWS SMALL CHANGE TO THE INVESTMENT BROKER WHO OFFERS AN OPPORTUNITY TO RISK A FORTUNE IN "THE CHANCE OF A LIFE-TIME" THAT MUST BE SNAPPED UP IMMEDIATELY OR LOST FOREVER. WHEN A MAN TRIES TO HURRY YOU INTO SPENDING YOUR MONEY PUT IT BACK IN YOUR POCKET AND KEEP YOUR HAND ON IT. USE CAUTION, REASON AND COMMON SENSE. DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE THEM DO UNTO YOU. MOST OTHERS WILL "DO" YOU IF YOU GIVE THEM A CHANCE. IF YOU ARE MARKED AS ONE OF THE GEESE READY FOR PLUCKING BY GET-RICH-QUICK SWINDLERS THEY WILL SEND YOU LITERATURE THROUGH THE MAILS. SAVE EVERY CIRCULAR, LETTER OR OTHER COMMUNICATION TOGETHER WITH THE ENVELOPES AND SEND THEM TO THE POSTOFFICE INSPECTOR IN THE TOWN FROM WHICH THEY WERE SENT. BE SURE TO SEND THE ENVELOPES WITH THE LITERATURE AS THE COMMUNICATIONS CANNOT BE ADMITTED AS EVIDENCE UNLESS THE ORIGINAL WRAPPERS OR ENVELOPES IN WHICH THEY WERE MAILED ARE OFFERED WITH THEM. THE POSTMASTER WILL INSTRUCT HOW TO FORWARD THE COMPLAINT. PROSECUTION OF THE SWINDLERS WILL SURELY FOLLOW. IF YOU ARE IN DOUBT ABOUT THE CHARACTER OF THE CONCERN WHICH INVITES YOU TO INVEST YOUR MONEY, CONSULT A LAWYER, BANKER OR REPUTABLE COMMERCIAL AGENCY. Intending investors should remember that: "SURE TIPS" are sure bait for sure fools. When you hear stocks have gone up and men who bought them cheap have sold them at high prices and gained fortunes suspect your informant. If he seeks to induce you to invest be assured he is a GET-RICH-QUICK grafter. Many swindlers wear the garb of respectability; they even cloak their rascality with piety. Many men accepted by the world as honorable members of society spend their lives living on the credulity of the ignorant, and when they die go to the grave followed by hordes of dupes who mourn their end. These swindlers await you at every turn; on the race-track; in the saloon; with the poker deck and the ivory dice; with watered stock and fraudulent bonds; with prayers on their lips and designs in their minds to defraud you. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN HONEST GAMBLER. Every gambling game is a dishonest scheme. You seek to get the other man's money without giving him anything in return. You are not entitled to one penny unless you give value in return. If you are in business you know that every promissory note, to be valid, must bear on its face two words, "value received." INDUSTRY, ENERGY, THRIFT! These are the dice that win. The lesson is hard to learn for the young. He has anxious days and feverish nights who risks at chance what should be devoted to the nobler ends of life; who "makes throws" on the green cloth; who watches the snake-like tape squirm out of the ticker; or gazes at a bunch of horses running around a ring. GIVE IT ALL UP AND ADOPT HONEST MEANS OF PROCURING WEALTH! The Best Rules for Health, Happiness and Success. THEY ARE WORTH THE ATTENTION AND THOUGHT OF ALL READERS. 1. Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. 2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself. 3. Never spend your money before you have earned it. 4. Never buy what you don't want because it is cheap. 5. Pride costs more than hunger, thirst and cold. 6. We seldom repent of eating too little. 7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. 8. How much pain the evils have cost us that have never happened. 9. Take things always by the smooth handle. 10. When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred. 11. Watch the small things. 12. Laziness is a vice--fight it. 13. Do your honest best--it pays. 14. Without self-respect you cannot gain respect. 15. Trickery's triumph is fleeting. 16. Remember that opportunity waits only on worth. 17. Cultivate love, loyalty and respect for work--especially your own work. 18. It is not enough to be honest and lazy. 19. Try to keep your mind clean--evil and success will not mix. 20. If responsibility confronts you, seize it. Do not throw it aside--responsibility represents opportunity. Some of these sayings will strike you as very old and lacking in novelty. But, old as these rules are, human beings have not yet learned to follow them. And they won't learn for many a long year. We shall not moralize about them all today, only one or two we want to emphasize. "Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly." If you work willingly, if you make yourself realize that willing effort is easy, AND THE ONLY KIND THAT MAKES YOU GROW AND SUCCEED, you will solve one of your big working problems. Did you ever see a small boy walking ahead of a band, with the music playing? And did you ever see the same small boy walking half the distance to get a newspaper for his father? Walking with the band rests him; it doesn't tire him at all, BECAUSE HE DOES IT WILLINGLY. And the other kind of walking takes the very heart out of him and makes him almost too tired to eat his dinner. It is exactly that way with all the work we do in this world. When you do things willingly, with the heart and the nerves and the brain acting with one another cheerfully, work is easy AND SUCCESS FOLLOWS. A willing FOOL may lag behind an unwilling man of intelligence. But even a willing fool is happier in the end than an unwilling one, and, all things being even, the employe working WILLINGLY will cease being an employe and have others working for him sooner than the other man. PRIDE COSTS MORE THAN HUNGER, THIRST AND COLD. This applies to all kinds of foolish vanity. It applies to the young man who never does anything, BECAUSE HE IS TOO PROUD TO DO WHAT HE HAS THE CHANCE TO DO. It applies to men and women who squander on dress and show the money that they need for more serious purposes. It applies to those that in old age have no money saved up, BECAUSE PRIDE SPENT THEIR MONEY AS FAST AS THEY GOT IT. The pride that keeps men honest, the pride that makes men truthful, never kept a man back or hurt him. The bad kind of pride is the pride which can be described as "the coward's pride." Men are foolishly and cowardly proud BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID OF WHAT OTHER MEN WILL THINK. Money that they cannot afford they spend helping other men to drink too much, BECAUSE THEY ARE ASHAMED TO BE THOUGHT STINGY OR MEAN. Men squander in keeping up appearances money that should be saved for another day, for a good business opportunity, because they are too cowardly to be guided by their own judgment, and ignore what others may THINK about them. Self-respect is one thing; foolish pride, vanity, moral cowardice, are very different. Get rid of them. All the advice from these 20 rules is good advice. The man who can keep his temper while he thinks--whether he count ten or a million--is a lucky man. A man in a rage is a man whose BRAIN IS NO LONGER WORKING. And the man whose brain isn't working is at the mercy of the man whose brain IS working. Worry about the FUTURE troubles is a curse with many men. It prevents their working well TODAY. Overeating, and especially eating at the wrong time, is a great evil in this country. If men would learn to eat heartily only when their day's work is done, WHEN THEIR MINDS MUST NO LONGER BE CONCENTRATED, THEY WILL SAVE THEIR STOMACHS AND ACCOMPLISH TWICE THE AMOUNT OF WORK IN THEIR LIVES. Read these rules over, and moralize on them for yourselves and for your children. COINING CUPID'S WILES. How Matrimonial Agencies Prey on the Public--Their Degeneration Into the Worst Forms of Crime. $1,000,000 Secured by These Get-Rich-Quick Schemers Discovered by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, Chicago's Famous Police Detective. 125 matrimonial agencies in Chicago raided and closed in the last five years. 4,500,000 matrimonial letters seized and destroyed. 1,500,000 matrimonial agencies' stock letters seized and destroyed. 1,400,000 matrimonial stock photographs seized and destroyed. 500,000 photographs sent to the matrimonial agencies by men and women who were seeking their affinities seized and destroyed. 40 wagon loads of matrimonial literature seized and destroyed. One of the most insidious forms of crime is the Matrimonial Agency. Seemingly harmless, or at most merely foolish, is the Matrimonial Agency at its inception. But step by step within the past few years we have seen the Matrimonial Agency turned into a volcano belching forth fraud, swindling, bigamy, desertion, and finally ghastly wholesale murder. We have seen the Matrimonial Agency sweep the whole range of the world of crime from the petty thieving of a Carson to the almost unbelievable horrors of the Gunness Farm. [Illustration: THE SORROWS OF CUPID "He Does Not See All the Rocks Ahead When He Brings Two Young People Together"--Beatrice Fairfax.] And this monster is hydra-headed. Stamp it out in one place and it immediately reappears in another. Send a "manager" to prison once, twice, ten times, and the minute the prison doors are open he is back at the old stand doing business. Something of the tremendous efforts being put forth to stamp out this evil may be gained from the headlines of this story, where the strenuous work of Detective Wooldridge of Chicago is summarized. Chicago has been and is today infested by a formidable community of matrimonial agencies who invade all ranks of life. They promote many specious schemes to lure the elusive dollar from the pockets of unwary victims. These operatives are sharp, smooth and unscrupulous--the most dangerous of criminal perverts. Were the census enumerators of the United States to compile a list of the "sucker" public the gullible ones would aggregate tens of millions. There is not a township in this great nation that does not contain its portion of confiding persons who are ready to believe anything, from the rankest catch-penny advertisement to a fallacy in theological dogma. They are willing to open up their hearts to unknown matrimonially inclined correspondents; to accept as gospel the incredible statements of impostors and to pay out money gained by hard toil for something which the reason of a child should tell them it is beyond the power of man to provide. They are easy prey alike to religious and political impostors and unscrupulous adventurers. Investigations for years past into the innermost secrets of swindlers, and the observations incidental to official experience disclosing how victims are drawn into the net of the grafter, impel the belief that the faith of many persons passes beyond the bounds of credulity into the domain of imbecility. Men and women who are engaged in promoting matrimonial agencies are guilty of crime. It is opposed to the fundamental principles of society. Such a practice should under no circumstances be tolerated. It is inconsistent with the highest ideals of what should constitute the proper marriage relations. HUMAN DERELICTS ARE DUPES. Human derelicts of a low mental caliber are the dupes of these matrimonial agencies. Few people know that such schemes as these are carried out. Few know that advertisements by men of wealth, women of culture and pretty widows who seek matrimonial alliances are merely means by which scoundrels get a revenue. MATRIMONIAL AGENTS' METHODS. To describe adequately the technicalities of the marriage agencies and bureau swindlers' methods would be impossible without presenting actual copies of documents necessary to the system. Early in the investigations the discovery was made that the scores of matrimonial agencies, "introduction bureaux" and "marriage clubs" were using practically the same literature. Few departed from the stereotyped plan for "pulling the suckers on." For the most part the prospectuses and "follow-up" letters were identical. As often happened, however, when a victim was "landed right" and ventured to Chicago from his distant rural retreat prepared to carry out in earnest the game that had been worked upon him in a spirit of mercenary recklessness, the methods of handling him were varied in respect to both finesse and effectiveness. Any person familiar with the uses of the typewriter easily could have discovered that the "personal" letters received from time to time were nothing more than circulars printed by the thousands. So vast was the number of the gullible that seldom, if ever, was an actual, bona fide letter sent in reply to those from the victims. Space was left at the top of the stock letters for the insertion of the name of the person to whom it was sent. In their haste the swindlers often begrudged the time necessary to change the "Dear Sir" to "Dear Miss" or "Dear Madam" when a woman was addressed on stationery intended for male clients. [Illustration: (Men on knees, arms stretched towards large image of a heart-shaped lady)] [Illustration: NOTICE! SHE'S ENGAGED BUT ENGAGEMENTS HAVE BEEN BROKEN SO HURRY BEFORE THE WEDDING BELLS HAVE RUNG.... GOING! GOING! THIRD AND LAST CALL!] NO TRUST HERE. The general uniformity of the literature was at first thought by me to indicate that the matrimonial agencies were banded together in a gigantic trust. But later I learned that as they increased in number the newcomers exhibited conscienceless audacity in copying the forms used by their predecessors. It was also found in some cases several matrimonial agencies were operated from one address and one or two men, or a man and his wife would represent half a dozen concerns by changing names and locations every thirty or sixty days. Because of these facts and the added fact that whoever compiled the original forms from which the others copied, realized, he was in an illegitimate business, the plagiarists were never prosecuted. Thus the buncombe administered to the suckers became uniform in phraseology. If a person desired to make assurance doubly sure for gaining wealth and marital bliss and he applied to several agencies at the same time, the same mail would bring him letters from each matrimonial agency with which he communicated, worded identically. They would be mimeograph copies, and the only difference in their appearance would be in the printed heading indicating the name of the agency. The name of the recipient would often be written at the top in ink different in color from the body of the letter. WORKING THE DOUBLE CROSS. The usual beginning is a small subscription fee paid for a "matrimonial" paper. This paper contains alleged descriptions of men and women, principally the latter, who are claimed by the publisher to be seeking wives or husbands through the matrimonial agency. The subscriber who becomes interested in any of the descriptions is made to pay a fee for more detailed information and alleged record of the financial circumstances of the person. There is sometimes an additional fee for a photograph. This picture may or may not be one of the person described, but that matters little. Almost any old photograph will serve the purpose. In all the raids made on matrimonial agencies collections of photographs have been found. That tens of thousands of otherwise intelligent men and women should either entrust pictures of themselves to an agency by which it is to be sent out to unknown persons, or should even begin such negotiations as those carried on through the matrimonial agency, is incomprehensible. The money derived in the aggregate from subscriptions to the matrimonial paper, the fees for particulars and those for photographs and miscellaneous "services" amount to large sums. With many of the agencies the services stop at this point, but many others undertake personal introductions of lonesome maids and widows to the invariably "honest and affectionate" bachelors and widowers, and when this is done there are other fees, depending altogether on how much the victims appear to be willing to stand. A large number have been found and suppressed in which there was but one lonesome maid or widow and one honest and affectionate bachelor or widower, the former being the woman accomplice of the manager of the agency and the latter the manager himself. They answer love-lorn correspondents of both sexes and select for victims those believed to have the most money. If the assistant to the manager is posing as the possible bride in the case the wife hunter must make satisfactory settlements with the manager for conducting the negotiations, and this amount, with that which the accomplice is able to secure from the victim, amounts often to a considerable sum. After the victim is separated from his money something happens to prevent the happy conclusion of the marriage negotiations. TWO WELL-DEFINED FORMS. There are two well-defined forms of the "matrimonial agent." The one is the man who openly runs an agency, who advertises "golden-haired young ladies, worth half a million dollars," "blue-eyed widows of languishing temperaments" and "wealthy farmers." It is through this class of "bureau" that the great crimes of the matrimonial business have been engineered. Hoch, Mrs. Gunness, Holmes and other arch-criminals made good use of this type. The other type is just the plain swindler. The man who works along the secondary lines, as they may be called, would scorn to be a matrimonial agent. He is either a reverend gentleman of the cloth, a minister to whom some languishing widow is looking for spiritual direction, and he thinks that she "needs she should get married," to quote the East Side phraseology; or he is a lawyer who has a wealthy client, who, not being a business woman, is incapable of running her own affairs, and he again thinks of marriage as a solution; or, again, he is "an employment agency." This secondary type is generally a cheap sort, grafting on the gullible for five or ten dollars, or even as high as $100. CONCRETE EXAMPLES. TYPE NO. 1. September 8, 1905, John H. Harris, 168 Hamlin avenue, editor and publisher of The Pilot, a marriage agency paper, and manager of a cheap mail order house, was raided and arrested by Detective Wooldridge. Among the letters seized were complaints from his patrons. They received no returns for money paid him, and averred his paper was being used to blackmail men and women. Complaints were also made that many of the names which appeared in the paper were not authorized, and other names attached to the order were forgeries. The following is the copy of a letter dated September 1, 1906, and is only one among hundreds of others sent out by the thousands by Harris. Many more thousands were sent through the mail to his sub-agents, who worked on a commission. This agent employed other agents, who started an endless chain by copying the letter and having the friends do likewise. Chicago. Ill., Sept. 1, 1905. Dear Sir: We have a very recent application from a brown-eyed widow of 41, medium size, musical, has no children. She informs us that she has recently come into possession of a fortune of over FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS, and that she wishes to marry an honest, affectionate gentleman. We also have a recent application from a pretty, blue-eyed lady of 20, who estimates her present means at FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS, and her inheritance at twenty thousand dollars. Her form is graceful, her education good, her disposition gentle and she desires a steady, honest husband. We believe she would start her husband in business. And to accommodate those ladies and quickly find a husband for them we make the following SPECIAL OFFER: Fill out the coupon at the bottom, and send it to us with one dollar (and six postage stamps) and enclose a sealed and stamped letter to either or both of the ladies referred to above. We will immediately mail your letter to the lady or ladies, and place your name on our books, and send you a certificate of membership for six months, and send you the full names and addresses of the handsome widow of means, and the handsome blue-eyed maiden of means, and also send you a list of names and addresses of other ladies of means and otherwise. And until you are married, or until the end of six months, we will, on or about the first of each month, mail you a list of descriptions, names and addresses of ladies of means and otherwise, without application from you or any expense to you. We have good reason to believe that either of the ladies mentioned above would make you a good wife, but if they do not meet your approval you can select one who will from the stream of ladies of means and otherwise who are constantly requesting us to secure husbands for them, which enables us to introduce you to those whom you would be pleased to meet with a view to marriage. Faithfully yours, JOHN H. HARRIS. _Pub. of The Pilot._ JOHN H. HARRIS, Chicago, Ill. Dear Sir: I herewith enclose $1.12 as full payment on the above offer. Name---- Postoffice---- Street, or Box No---- State---- United States Inspector of Mails at Chicago Postoffice R. W. McAfee compelled John H. Harris to furnish him with the names and addresses of the two women heiresses who were worth $40,000 and $500,000, respectively, who were just dying for the want of a good, kind husband to spend their money for them, and were seeking marriage through his paper and matrimonial agency. [Illustration: (Interest in Science; Marriage)] Harris gave the name of Mrs. H. R. Adams, at Huntington, Md., as the $40,000 woman and Jennie Ziehler, Lawrence, Mass., as the $500,000 woman. Upon investigation it was found that neither of the women was worth a dollar. The $500,000 woman was in the insane asylum. This letter, together with The Pilot, marriage paper and its printed advertisements, was plainly intended to draw the unwary and deprive the ignorant of their savings. John H. Harris then appealed to ex-Mayor Edward F. Dunne of Chicago, under the alias of A. Ingird, taxpayer, citizen and reputable business man, to have Detective Wooldridge stopped from further interfering with him or his business. Men who operate these frauds pretend to be honest and high-minded; by constant practice of their wiles upon others they develop self-deception and come to believe in their own honesty to such an extent that when questioned they assume a good counterfeit of honest indignation. Mayor Dunne upon investigation learned the large mass of evidence gathered, and ordered the investigation to go forward, which, resulted in the arrest and holding over of John H. Harris to the Grand Jury. COMMITS SUICIDE. These complaints and evidence were turned over to Colonel James Stuart, Chief Inspector of the Mails at the Chicago Postoffice, for further investigation. A fraud order was requested. On August 18, 1907, Mr. Harris committed suicide by blowing out his brains at 168 N. Hamlin avenue, Chicago, Illinois, after the mask had been pulled off and his methods exposed. One is unable to state whether John H. Harris is opening a mail order house, paper and marriage agency in the other world. When he left he did not leave word where he would make his next stop, but if he went to the other world, we are not informed that wireless telegraph or balloon companies have as yet perfected the lines of transportation or communication. Harris is a fairly representative and concrete expression of the regulation matrimonial agent. It was through such agencies as his that the great crimes eventually were pulled off. SECONDARY TYPES. But in the following letters we have an excellent example of the second type, the little grafter who wants anything you can give, from $5 to $100. From the text of the letters it will be observed that this man was operating as a minister, a lawyer and an employment agency at one and the same time, as the letters are all from one source. In the case of the lawyer this scoundrel was trading upon the name of Edward H. Morris, one of the foremost colored attorneys of the United States, a man universally respected and admired by men in all walks of life. When the fact of this trading on his name was brought to the real attorney's attention he was furious, and he cheerfully gave all the assistance in his power to Detective Wooldridge. This smooth one was afterward arrested in New Orleans, convicted and sent to prison for a term. Here follows the text of the letters: MATRIMONIAL AGENCIES' STOCK LETTERS UNDER THE GUISE OF MINISTRY. REV. JOSEPH SPENCER, 80 Madison Street. Manager of American Book Concern. Dealer in Religious Books. Chicago, Ill., July 26, 1905. MR. O. W. ZINK, Marshall, Mo. Dear Sir: For many years I have been a MINISTER of the GOSPEL and during that time I have not only performed hundreds of marriages, but have arranged many, and there are at the present time among my acquaintances some half dozen wealthy ladies, ranging in age from twenty to forty or fifty years, one of whom is the handsome widow whose photo I enclose herewith. She is worth, in actual cash and negotiable securities, fully $50,000, inherited from her worthy husband, who departed this life a year ago and, as she is without friends, relatives or children, her physician, a friend of mine, has on account of her utter loneliness advised her to marry, believing that marriage and change of scene will prove for her a blessing in disguise, and naturally she has turned to me, her spiritual adviser, in whom she has the utmost confidence. I have several times talked the matter over with her, and, knowing that she is very much averse to advertising, I have undertaken to introduce to her some gentleman who would make her a good husband, and to arrange a marriage for her. As her physician thinks it advisable for her to reside elsewhere than Chicago, I have been somewhat perplexed as to how to secure for her a suitable introduction and in my dilemma consulted a matrimonial agency and, after several conferences with them, I have decided to submit for your kind consideration my proposition and manner of procedure. I have studied the matter carefully, have gone thoroughly into your description and instructions as filed with the agency of which you are a member, and in my mind there is not the slightest doubt as to you two proving mutually suitable to each other. Of course, you cannot form the proper idea of her from the small photo enclosed, but in age, appearance, circumstances, etc., she is just what you have been seeking in a wife. She is in every respect a thoroughly good woman, unusually bright and intelligent, but knows nothing of business, and is in absolute need of a husband to look after her affairs, but, TO BE CANDID WITH YOU, I am getting along in years, and have a large family to support and as I only arrange a few marriages at intervals, I must necessarily have compensation adequate to the service I render. Now, I can, by recommending you personally, cause her to enter into a correspondence with you that will undoubtedly lead to your marriage, if you are still desirous of such a marriage, as I presume you are, from the fact that you are registered with a matrimonial agency. I will, for the consideration of $100, introduce you to her by letter and after you have exchanged three or four letters, will have you visit her at her expense, as you may mutually agree, if you will follow my simple instructions. I am not making you this proposition on the spur of the moment, for I have spent much time and thought before deciding to write you, and all I ask is that, AS AN EVIDENCE OF YOUR GOOD FAITH and to cover the immediate expense necessary thereto on my part (such as asking her to dinner with me a few times in order that I may during the good cheer that abounds at such times dwell at length upon the matter without any unnecessary delay), that you enclose me immediately upon receipt of this letter BANK DRAFT, REGISTERED LETTER, or EXPRESS MONEY ORDER, for $10; the balance, $90, you need not pay me until after you have married her and assumed the management of her affairs. Upon receipt of this small amount, $10, I will absolutely guarantee your marriage to her within sixty days and, if before that time you should feel that you do not care to pursue the matter to a conclusion, I will positively refund your money upon my honor as a MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. My standing in my profession is such that I could not do otherwise and, as I have stated before, there are several ladies to whom I could introduce you, now that I have really taken the matter up with you, but I consider you two really suited to each other, so will not go into further particulars. Trusting to hear from you AT THE VERY EARLIEST POSSIBLE MOMENT, I am, with assurance of my regards, Very respectfully, WANTED A RICH HUSBAND. Cedar Rapids, Iowa, July 15, 1905. REV. JOSEPH SPENCER, 80 Madison Street, Chicago, Ill. Dear Sir: You asked me in your letter to give you a description of the man that I would like to become acquainted with. I wish him to be as tall as I am, to have dark hair and a very good disposition. I would like him to be rich. His age to be about 45 years, also have a good education. I want him to be a temperate man, and to have a nice appearance, one who is lovely at home, and does not care for society and likes music. I do not care what his occupation is if he is honest. Hoping to hear from you soon, I remain Yours truly, MISS VERNIE ADAMS. Oshkosh, Wis., July 20, 1905. REV. JOSEPH SPENCER, Chicago, Illinois. Dear Sir: You asked me in your letter to give you a description of myself, which I take pleasure in doing: I am a young man 26 years of age, 5 feet 6 inches tall, weigh 140 pounds; blue eyes, red hair; I am strictly temperate, do not gamble; kind disposition, a farm hand; have no means; income $15 per month. I would be delighted to make the acquaintance of several of your prospective rich women who are seeking a husband. Send me a list of those who are worth from $50,000 to $75,000, also their photographs, whereby I can make a selection, and I will send you your fee of $5. I remain, Sincerely yours, THOMAS FLINN. MATRIMONIAL AGENCY UNDER THE GUISE OF AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. EDWARD MORRIS, Attorney-at-Law. 82 Madison Street. Trusts and Estates a Specialty. Chicago, Ill., Jan. 4, 1905. MR. GEO. FERLIN, Los Angeles, Cal. Dear Sir: I have during my professional career arranged many marriages for ladies of means, and at the present time have among my clients some ten or twelve wealthy ladies, ranging in age from twenty-five to fifty years, desirous of marriage, one of whom is the charming widow whose likeness I herewith enclose. She is worth $60,000 ($25,000 in ready cash, the balance in high-class tangible property inherited from her mother, recently deceased). She is alone and childless and her physician, on account of her bereavement, has recommended a marriage and change of scene, and in her dilemma she has consulted me, her legal adviser, and I, in turn, without her knowledge, appealed to a matrimonial agency with which I have for several years had business relations in a professional way. Out of the several names submitted to me I have, after much thought and deliberation, selected yours, and I beg that you will consider carefully my proposition and the fact that I am not in business for my health, but for revenue, together with a desire to please my clients and to give them value received. This lady, while unusually bright and intelligent, knows little of the ways of the world, and nothing of business, and, to be candid with you, needs a husband to manage her estates, and I can, by recommending you personally, cause her, through me as her attorney, to open negotiations with you for a marriage; so if you desire a wealthy wife, as I presume you do from the fact that you are registered with a matrimonial agency, I will, for the consideration of $100 introduce you to her, have you visit her at her expense, as you may mutually agree, and will absolutely guarantee your marriage to her within sixty days, if you will follow my instructions to the letter. All that I ask is, as an evidence of your good faith and to cover the immediate clerical expenses necessary thereto, you enclose me immediately upon receipt of this letter, BANK DRAFT OR MONEY ORDER for $10, the balance ($90) to be paid after marriage, and when I have caused her to place in your hands, or under your control, a goodly portion of her worldly possessions. Now, if you wish to accept my proposition, enclose me immediately the small retaining fee ($10) and promise me that you will follow carefully my instructions; otherwise do not write me, as I positively will not enter into further correspondence until you have engaged me as your attorney upon the lines I have laid down. If before the end of sixty days you feel that you do not care to pursue the matter to a conclusion I will refund your money. My standing as an attorney is ample evidence that I will faithfully carry out my contract. Remember that I have among my clients, as I have stated before, ten or twelve wealthy ladies to my certain knowledge desirous of marriage. Awaiting your immediate reply, I am Sincerely and professionally yours, EDWARD MORRIS. EDWARD MORRIS, Attorney-at-Law. Chicago. Ill., Jan. 11, 1905. MR. GEO. FERLIN. Los Angeles, Cal. Dear Sir: Your letter in reply to mine received, and I will say, that as a leading attorney, and a prominent member of the bar, I could not act for you until you have first retained me as your attorney in this matter, and sent me the small retaining fee of $10, as requested. [Illustration: OH! OH!! OH!!! AWFUL CONSTERNATION AT PIKES CROSSING! DIRECTORY GOWN IN TOWN. BY JIMMINEDDY!!]. Now, my dear sir, if you really mean business and really want to marry the charming and wealthy young widow in question, I see no earthly reason why you should hesitate for a single instant to retain my services in connection with this matter. You may give me good references, and I can give you the same, but that has no bearing on the case whatever. I cannot, as stated, do any business with you until you first enclose me this small retaining fee, as I must be in a position to truthfully state that you are my friend and client. You may have had unfortunate dealings with matrimonial agencies, but as an attorney in high standing, I am not to be compared with such concerns, and on receipt of your small retaining fee, I will guarantee to do my part and arrange a speedy marriage if you adhere strictly to my instructions. Trusting to hear favorably from you at once, I am, Yours very truly, EDWARD MORRIS. P. S. I do not ask for the balance of the $100 until after your marriage, and I have caused the lady to place in your hands or under your control a goodly portion of her worldly possessions. EDWARD MORRIS, Attorney-at-Law. Chicago, Ill., Jan. 23, 1905. MR. GEO. FERLIN, Los Angeles, Cal. Dear Sir: Your favor at hand with enclosure accepting my proposition. Now, I wish to assure you that everything you write to me will be treated in the strictest confidence, and I will say that it will be necessary for you to follow to the letter the instructions which I will from time to time give you. In order to break the ice, I would suggest that you address a letter to Mrs. Lucy Kline, in my care, briefly setting forth the fact that you are a friend and client of mine, and that as you are matrimonially inclined. I have advised you to open a correspondence with her. You can say to her that I have favored you with her photograph, and that same meets your approval, and that you would very much desire her acquaintance and what it may lead to. I have already taken up the matter with her, and she is expecting a letter from you, and in reply will send you her private address. I would advise you, after receiving her reply, not to write too often or too long letters. In other words, do not appear to be too anxious, for it must devolve upon me to bring you two together. The correspondence you may have with her is simply a preliminary introduction leading to the establishment of congenial relations and eventually, marriage. Important business prevents my writing a longer letter to you today, and in order that I may be prepared to take the matter up, I suggest that you write your letter so that it will reach my office in about one week from today. Yours truly, EDWARD MORRIS. MATRIMONIAL AGENCY UNDER THE GUISE OF EMPLOYMENT EXCHANGE. Positions for Men and Women. Commercial, Technical, Educational, Professional. Those Hardest to Find and Hardest to Fill. G. H. CANNON, Manager, Ohio Block. Chicago, Ill., Sept. 21, 1905. MRS. A. A. BURROWS, San Fran. Cal. Dear Madam: I am directed by a client for whom we transact much business, to submit you a proposition, which both he and I sincerely hope you will accept. He is a bachelor of middle age, of fine appearance, and is the owner of a large manufacturing plant, as well as of a magnificent residence, in which he lived until recently with his aged mother, who, greatly to his regret, departed this life some six months ago. Since her death he has felt the need of a woman's guiding hand in the management of his household affairs, and it is to offer you a position as his housekeeper that I am addressing you personally. I beg to state that attached to the position is a salary of $75 per month, your board, and an allowance of $25 per month for your clothing, and you will have full charge of his household expenses, including the employment and discharge of servants, consisting of a butler, two housemaids, driver, cook, etc. If you accept the position his carriage will be at your disposal at all times, and you will be the actual head of his household, with no restrains of any kind upon you. As I have stated, this client is a bachelor, and on account of his mother's determined opposition to his marriage during her lifetime, he has gone little in society, but since her death he has never ceased to feel the need of a woman's hand and presence in his home. His first thought was marriage, but after a lengthy talk with me he very cheerfully acquiesced in the suggestion that has led to the writing of this letter, and now to the point. I suggested that he allow me to secure for him a housekeeper who might possess the qualities he most desires in a wife, and then I consulted a matrimonial agency with that end in view. Your description seemed to fit so exactly his idea of true womanhood and appealed to him so strongly that his first impulse was to address you directly, but being of a sensitive and retiring disposition, he came to the conclusion that he should become thoroughly acquainted with you, and could not do better than allow me to carry out my original plan to make your acquaintance. To be candid with you, this position is a very lucrative one, and will undoubtedly lead to your marriage with this gentleman, if you see fit to accept the proposition, and for that reason I trust you will give it the consideration it deserves. As he secures the help necessary to the running of his large factory through this firm, of which I happen to be the manager, you cannot but understand that I am thoroughly acquainted with him, and am in a position to arrange this matter to your mutual satisfaction. It is a custom to charge a fee of $5, but in this instance we would make no charge at all, only our client, insists that we require our usual fee simply as an evidence of good faith, and that there may be no misunderstanding. If you accept the proposition I have submitted kindly fill out the enclosed form and return to us with EXPRESS MONEY ORDER or BANK DRAFT for $5, which amount will be returned to you as soon as you have taken charge of his household affairs, as your good faith will have then been proved. As soon as you can start for Chicago I will send you expense, free railroad transportation, and if, after your arrival here, you do not care to accept the position, a return ticket, etc., will be furnished you so that you will not be out one dollar of expense. This offer is made to you in the strictest confidence, and I sincerely trust you will so regard it, and not discuss it with any one, at least not until all the details have been arranged. No matrimonial agency in the world can do this for you, nor do I think such an opportunity will ever occur to you again, so kindly sign the enclosed form and return it to me immediately with the small fee necessary, or do not write me at all. No harm will have been done by having submitted the proposition to you, but if you cannot take immediate advantage of it, I simply will not correspond further in the matter. Trusting that you will see your way clear, and wishing you well, I am, Very sincerely, G. H. CANNON. [Illustration: OPINIONS DIFFER] The above are illustrations of the method. Cannon, Rev. Spencer and Attorney Edwards are all one and the same man. We now turn to a few special examples of differences of procedure among the various bureaux. A PERSISTENT OFFENDER. One of the most successful operators who ever invaded Chicago with matrimonial schemes was one John Carson, who, on April 8, 1908, was fined $1,000 and costs for misuse of the United States mails after he had plead guilty to the charge, which was preferred by Inspector Ketcham. Carson, at one time or another, operated no less than eighteen concerns of this nature. He was first discovered in 1902 in Chicago by Detective Wooldridge, operating no less than five matrimonial and fake concerns simultaneously. These concerns were: The Loretta Matrimonial Publishing Co., 98 Ogden Ave. The Unida Matrimonial Publishing Co., 408 Ogden Ave. Mr. John's Matrimonial Publishing Co., 565 West Madison St. Mr. J. C. Hills Matrimonial Agency, 565 West Madison St. The Chicago Mutual Securities Co., a Chicago Medicine concern, 567 W. Madison St. Carson evaded arrest and fled to St. Louis, where he was shortly afterward arrested by the postal authorities and sentenced to eighteen months in the State Penitentiary at Jefferson City, in addition to a fine of $500. BOBS UP AGAIN. In 1904 Carson bobbed up again in Chicago. Since that time his record is best given from a report made to Chief of Police John M. Collins by Detective Wooldridge, who repeatedly broke up Carson's games. The report, in part, is as follows: Feb. 9, J. H. Carson Woods' Advertising Agency, 62 Ada St. Goods confiscated; fined $25. March 9, 1904, J. H. Carson, Mill's Advertising Agency, 71 W. Lake St. Fined $15. May 4, 1904, J. H. Carson, alias J. H. Hayes, 408 Ogden Ave., raided. Literature seized and destroyed by order of court. May 4, 1904, J. H. Carson, alias J. H. Hayes, 255 Madison St., raided. Literature seized and destroyed by order of court. Nov. 15, 1904, J. H. Carson, alias J. W. Bessie, 480 Ogden Ave., raided. Arrested; released; writ of habeas corpus. Nov. 15, 1904, J. H. Carson, alias J. W. Bessie, 67 Flournoy St., raided. Arrested; released; writ of habeas corpus. Jan. 4, 1905, J. H. Carson and Oscar Wells, promoted and run the J. H. Hunter Matrimonial Agency, 164 East Randolph St. Oscar Wells was arrested and fined $50 by Justice John K. Prindiville. April 19, 1905, J. H. Carson and J. R. Ferguson, conducted the Jesse H. Lee Matrimonial Agency, 84 Washington St. Ferguson was arrested and fined $15 by Caverley. The literature seized and destroyed. TURNS CLAIRVOYANT. May 27, 1905, J. H. Carson conducted the Clay's American Bureau of Correspondence, 62 Ada St. He was arrested and fined $25 by Justice John K. Prindiville. The literature seized and destroyed. Aug. 21, 1905, J. H. Carson and J. R. Ferguson conduced the Ferguson Directory, a Matrimonial agency at 171 Washington St. This place was raided and Jesse R. Ferguson was arrested and fined $25 by Justice John K. Prindiville. May 27, 1905, J. H. Carson conducted the Jesse Lee Matrimonial Agency, 84 Washington St. He was arrested and fined $25 by Justice John K. Prindiville. Aug. 19, 1905, J. H. Carson was arrested for conducting a Chicago Matrimonial Agency at 171 Washington St. and 95 Fifth Ave., under the name of Prof. John C. Hall, Astrologist, Occult, Scientist, Clairvoyant, Medium, and Lifereader. With this record behind him this rascal actually had the nerve to bring suit for false arrest against Detective Wooldridge, but quite naturally, he failed to appear when the suit came up for trial. He has not been heard from since the fine imposed on April 8, 1908, by the Federal authorities. AGENTS OF THE UNDERWORLD A NEST OF POLE-CATS. But crime is not the only long suit of the Matrimonial Agency. Some of these miserable frauds have descended into the depths and wallowed in the slime of the ultimate shame. With unbelievable effrontery they have attempted to trade upon the basest instincts in human nature; they have attempted to coin the most abominable of the brute passions of men. Nothing can exceed the turpitude, the brazen shamelessness of the Matrimonial Agency, when it decides to go the limit. Attest the following from the literature of the New Era Advertising Agency and Introduction Bureau, Curtis, Clark & Co., Props., formerly located at 112 Clark street, Chicago. This abomination was raided by Detective Wooldridge and the following sample from one of the circulars seized shows the nature of the concern: "If you are willing to give your name and protection to one who has fallen and wishes again to enter the ranks of respectability, we have some young women who have led fast lives and accumulated considerable money, and want to marry some respectable man, settle down in a new place and be respected and respectable. THEY ARE HANDSOME, STYLISH, LIVELY AND FULL OF FUN: HAVE MONEY ENOUGH FOR BOTH. They will no doubt make good, loving and true wives for some good-natured fellow who is not particular about their past. Through our efforts several wealthy ladies of the demi-monde have married very poor men in return for their name and protection, given them a life of ease and luxury, and the opportunities are greater today than in the past, considering the fact that the world in general is anxious to lend a helping hand to those who have erred and wish to become respectable again." This pole-cat literature was being sent broadcast through the United States mails. In some way it evaded the inspectors until the 23rd of September, 1902, when Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge descended upon the nest of pole-cats, seized the literature, chased "Curtis, Clark & Co." out of Chicago, and made further evil-smelling operations impossible. These abominations are now practically impossible, thanks to the activity of the great police detective. But the above illustrations shows to what depths the marriage bureaus can descend, once they have become started on their infamous careers. November 26, 1902, Detective Wooldridge raided the Climax Matrimonial Agency, located at 418 LaSalle avenue, which is situated on the North Side, in one of the most fashionable places in Chicago. It was run not only as a matrimonial agency, but a matrimonial paper and mail order house. Among the literature seized was a circular containing a picture of the manager's wife, and of which he sent out over 300,000. which gave the description of her, which read as follows: SHERIFF DUPED--ATTEMPTS ROLE OF LOTHARIO. "I am 23 years of age, 5 feet 2 inches in height, weigh 120 pounds, have a turn-up nose, plain-looking and worth about $147,000. I desire to marry a good, honest, affectionate man. On our wedding day I will give my husband $5,500 in cash, and one year later, if we are still living together, I will make over to him $25,000 more. No milk-and-water man need answer." [Illustration: "GOT A GOOD HOME ALREADY PAID FOR, AN' MONEY IN DE BANK."] [Illustration: "DES A PLAIN LITTLE ONINTERESTIN' FAMBLY ROW."] One letter from a Mississippi sheriff shows that the officer of the law is willing to forsake bachelorhood for a woman who, though plain, advertises that on her wedding day she will give her husband $5,500. This is the gay Lothario's letter: Miss Ot--I take pleasure in answering your "ad" in the "Hour at Home." You stated in your "ad" you were worth $147,000, and would give the man that married you $5,500 on his wedding day. You say you are plain. I am good looking, so the people tell me, and if you correspond with me we may come to an understanding. I am willing to marry you if you give me proof you have the money, and will do all that you say in the "ad." I will do my best to make your life happy. Awaiting your reply, I remain. Yours truly, W. M. M., Sheriff. BIGAMY AND THE BUREAU. Where the Professional Bigamists Find Wives. The matrimonial agencies that have been investigated and suppressed by Detective Wooldridge and the postoffice authorities have disclosed an almost incredible phase of woman's nature. There are today in the United States no less than 50,000 women who have been married, robbed and deserted by "professional bigamists." This fact represent the most serious phase of the matrimonial agency swindle, for it is the history of nearly all noted bigamists that they secured their victims through the matrimonial agencies. Of the thousands who become subscribers to these agencies, however, comparatively few ever proceed far enough to encounter the tragic features of the swindle. It might be inferred from this that women are much easier to entice into matrimony than men. Probably, however, this is an untenable conclusion. When a woman does start on marrying bent, mere men fall before her like grain before the sickle. Miss Marion Rapp, arrested at Philadelphia, is known to have secured eight husbands in three years, and is suspected of having captured six or eight more. Miss Rapp is still young, and if her career had not been untimely cut off she might have made a record that would have done credit (or discredit) to her sex. [Illustration: PUTS A SNAFFLE BIT ON THE OLD MAN] The sad experiences of people who have been victimized by gay deceivers, male or female, perhaps contain a lesson to persons who carelessly contemplate matrimony. When a stranger proposes marriage at first sight it may possibly be well to take a look into his or her antecedents. This is not the most romantic way to proceed, but it is a way that may have a great practical advantage. It probably would be endorsed by every one of the 50,000 women in this country who are now looking for professional bigamists who married them and ran away with their cash. That the matrimonial agency business is not confined to Chicago and dupes of the system are found elsewhere than in rural communities and among the poor and humble is demonstrated by recent revelations in Europe. During one raid I seized a large quantity of literature in the offices of a swindling concern doing business under the name of Mason, Brown & Co. The "firm" advertised itself as the largest of its kind in the world and the only one "indorsed by press and public and patronized by royalty," adding that its "clients and representatives were to be found in every land." In extra large type the information was conveyed to the victim that he or she need not be ashamed to resort to the agency method in order to secure a life partner, as the royalty of Europe used this means exclusively in contracting marriages, especially in cases where American heiresses were sought as wives for titled but impecunious foreigners. When it was casually remarked during an examination of a wagon load of Mason, Brown & Company's advertising matter the reference to the titles and heiresses was the only true statement it contained, there were smiles of incredulity. American millionaires were said to be too shrewd and level-headed to enter into deals with marriage brokers when the life happiness of their fair and independent daughters is concerned. [Illustration: (Divorce Decrees; Spring)] It was but a short time after this conversation, however, that the following cablegram was published: THE CASE OF COUNT LARISCH. "Aug. 25th, 1905: The alleged attempt to blackmail Count Franz Joseph Maria Von Larisch Monnich out of 200,000 marks on a pre-nuptial note alleged to have been signed by the count, and the implication of army officers and members of the aristocracy in the marriage brokerage business, has caused more talk in high circles than anything which has happened since the elopement of Crown Princess Louise of Saxony." It is said the Kaiser had to take a hand in the matter, and insists that this business shall be stopped finally and effectively on the ground it is bringing the army and nobility into disrepute and ridicule. The harm done by these agencies is almost incalculable. Foolish women having money at their disposal fall easy victims to the many scheming scoundrels who make a practice of subscribing to the matrimonial agencies for the purpose of securing the addresses of prospective victims. As instances of the harm done by these matrimonial agencies the case of Johann Hoch, who married fifty women, and after securing all their money, either poisoned or deserted them. He was captured in New York City, January 30, 1905, after he had married a woman in Chicago, Mary Schultz, alias Brees, alias Bauman, poisoned her, then made love to her sister, married her, secured what money she had and deserted her. Hoch was brought back to Chicago, tried for murder, convicted and hung February 23 1906. This is a glaring example. [Illustration: IN CUPID'S WORKSHOP.] [Illustration: ROUTING HER THROUGH "Ten dollars extra, cabby. If you catch the train with her. She's my mother-in-law."] The case of Fredrick Carlton, indicted on two charges of grand larceny in Brooklyn, New York, July, 1905, is another. It is stated on what seems to be reliable authority this man made the acquaintance of women in various parts of the country through the medium of matrimonial advertisements, married them and decamped with their money at the first favorable opportunity. Still another: Dr. George A. Witzhoff, champion bigamist, arrested in Bristol, England, October, 1905, for bigamy and given a long term in prison. He was wanted in many cities in the United States. Witzhoff confessed to marrying and robbing thirty-two women. Most all of the women he married lived in the United States, and were secured through the matrimonial agencies. WITZHOFF'S CONFESSION--BOUGHT FIFTEEN WIVES FROM ONE AGENT--TAKES $4,000 FROM HIS FIRST WIFE. "Then, one night, after indulging in plenty of wine, she confessed she had a child in Pittsburg. I left her there, telling her I was going to bring her child, which was nine years old. Instead, I went to New York with her money ($4,000), and paid my friend part of his money, and started a practice as a dentist in Fourteenth street as Dr. A. R. Houser. I went to see a matchmaker. He introduced me to a widow of means. We got married in two weeks at the City Hall, New York. "She had all her money loaned away, so I was compelled to seek another one, as Sig. Badillo was hard after his balance of $1,000. "I went, to Philadelphia and got a Jewish matchmaker again on Fifteenth street and Fairmount avenue, and he introduced me to a Miss Jocker as Dr. A. Houser. "I got $800 from her. I paid Badillo $500 and left for Springfield, Mass., where a woman answered one of my ads. I inserted an 'ad.' as follows: "'A professional gentleman of nice appearance, aged thirty-two, desires the acquaintance of a sincere, affectionate lady, with some means; object, matrimony; triflers ignored. Give particulars in first letter. Address Busy Bee, the Journal.' [Illustration: (Man with many wives inside heart)] "I had about twelve answers to this advertisement, and I picked out a boarding house mistress, and ten days after she was Mrs. Westfield, and as she was a vulgar woman, I left her two days after. She had given me $500 before marriage. "I returned to New York to wife No. 2, and a week after I went to St. Louis and inserted an 'ad.' as previously, and got fifteen answers. There I selected a farmer's daughter and married her as Dr. Doesser. I married and left her all within a week. "I came to Detroit, and with her money, $350, I started a dental practice as A. Houser. In answer to my advertisements in a German paper, Mrs. Piser came. "We went to Toledo, O., five days after our first interview, and we got married. I left her six days after. "I came now to Pittsburg, as Dr. Wolfe, got a furnished room in Allegheny. In answer to an 'ad.' in a German paper a sexton's daughter answered, the ugliest I ever had. Three days after we went to the justice of the peace and got married." DESERTS WIFE AFTER THE FIRST DAY. "There I slept the first night, and the next morning I was on my way to Cleveland, and started a nice practice with the $150 I had left. I paid the balance to my friend, Badillo, and inserted an 'ad.' in the Plain-Dealer. "I had two answers to my 'ad.,' and selected a Mrs. Moore, a nurse, and a Mrs. Kreidman. I got from the nurse $100, and was making love to Mrs. Kreidman and Mrs. Moore, when I got a letter from wife No. 3, with whom I corresponded all the time, telling her I traveled for a firm. "So I left, and forgot that I left in Cleveland a paper under the tablecloth which had my address in Brooklyn. One morning (ten days after I left Cleveland) two detectives came to the house in Brooklyn and arrested me. As there was no bail for my offense (obtaining money under false pretenses), I returned to Cleveland a week later, and there I married a bad woman in jail, Mrs. Kreidman. "She gave $200 bond, but I left her four days after, as she was a bad woman. I slept one night at her house, and three days after I went to Chicago and went to see a matrimonial agent at 55 Washington street. IDENTIFIED IN CHICAGO; WEDDING STOPPED. "He introduced me to a nice Jewess, and her father gave me $400. I started an office on Fourteenth street, when a man from Philadelphia recognized me, and told her father, a rag dealer, that I was a married man, named Hausen, just in time to prevent the marriage. "I left Chicago as Dr. Weston and went to St. Louis, where I started an office in Olive street as Dr. A. Dresser, and there I advertised and selected from a number of letters that of a farmer's daughter that had $1,000, and married her (Katie). Six days after I left her and left America and went to Roumania, and married a girl, a Jewess, in Pitest, and lived in Roumania as Dr. F. A. Shotz. "Happy six months; I got 3,000 francs, and we left for Germany. There we had a quarrel, and she returned to her parents." Dr. Witzhoff further states that the number of all the girls and women he merely promised to marry and secured money from would reach over one hundred. One of the women Witzhoff married lived in Chicago, Ill. May 13, 1903, John J. Marietta (alias Homer C. Reid, Harold C. Mills, A. S. Anderson, C. H. Huston, C. B. McCoy, H. C. Jones, Harold C. Reed) was arrested through exposure by Laura E. Strickler, a beautiful young girl from Cincinnati, Ohio, who boarded at the Young Women's Association, Chicago. She had been lured to the Newport Hotel, 73 Monroe street, where he proposed marriage and attempted liberties. Miss Strickler became frightened, jumped from the second story window and was badly injured. Marietta married no less than six women, three of whom, Sophia Headley, Marie Butler and Flora Beals, appeared in court to prosecute him September 28. He was convicted. Judge Brentano's court of bigamy, and given five years in the Joliet penitentiary. [Illustration: TITLES ARE CONSIDERED GREAT ORNAMENTS "For as it was in the beginning, the American girl came over and energetically pursued the Lords."] [Illustration: (Men appealing to lady sitting on chair)] Marietta said he secured most of his wives through the marriage agency. Mills said to Miss Headley, after meeting her the second time: "How anxious are you to marry me? Make me an offer in cash of the sum you are willing to settle on me." "Three thousand dollars," she answered. "All right," he replied, "but you know I am from Missouri, you will have to show me." She gave him the $3,000 and they were married. At the time of his conviction Marietta had in the bank $25,000, said to have been secured in the above manner. [Illustration: (Man and two women in fancy clothes)] BREAKING INTO THE NOBILITY. HOW TITLED RAKES USE THE AGENCIES. The marriage bureau is not a distinctly American institution. They know the animal in Europe, only there the operators refer to themselves as marriage brokers, and are decidedly more careful than their American prototypes to steer clear of crime. The idea of marriage broking has thoroughly permeated the effete nobility of Europe. The broken-down "nobles," out at heels and buried under a mountain of debt, look to America for a rich heiress to whom their titles may be sold. For many years they looked to the brokers on their own side of the water to provide them with golden girls; but of late years they have been mixing with the American Matrimonial Agencies, sometimes to their sorrow, as attest the case of Count Larisch. WOES OF COUNT LARISCH. The story of the attempt on Count Larisch is not an unusual one. Briefly, the count, who is an Austrian, but who has estates in Prussia, was anxious to replenish his treasury by marrying an heiress. A syndicate composed of the men now under indictment, it is said, financed him. He set out to marry the daughter of Faber, the multi-millionaire pencil manufacturer of Nuremberg, giving his notes for $50,000, payable upon his marriage to Fraulein Faber. The venture was a failure, for Fraulein Faber did not care to become Countess Larisch. The noble fortune-hunter then went to America in quest of a bride. Whether it was on his own account, or under the auspices of another marriage syndicate, does not appear, though it is hinted the latter is the case. In any event, he was successful, and married Miss Satterlee, of Titusville, Pa. On his return the members of the first Faber syndicate demanded payment, and presented a note purporting to have been given by Larisch without the qualification that it was payable only after his marriage to the pencil manufacturer's daughter. Larisch, regarding the Faber affair a closed incident, and declaring the note presented a forgery, refused to pay. The matter got before the public prosecutor and the exposé resulted. LORD BERTIE CAVENDISH--CHAMPION MATRIMONIALIST. Oct. 24, 1905, Miss Gladys Simmons, Hot Springs, Ark., married Lord Bertie Cavendish after two days' acquaintance. He represented himself to be of noble birth, son of the late Marquis of Queensbury, and to have immense possessions in South Africa and Mexico, which he was unable to obtain on account of his banishment from England for serving against the British in the Boer war, due to the activity of British army officers against him. Miss Simmons' mother received information that her son-in-law's name was not Lord Bertie Cavendish, but Douglass. By photographs and further investigation his identity was established as that of an adventurer. Following is a partial list of his wives, several of whom have asked the court to grant them divorces: Miss Louisiana Hobbs, Lambert Point, Va., near Norfolk. Mrs. Mabel Duncan, Denver, Colo. Mrs. Scott, South Bend, Ind. Mrs. Beatrice E. Anderson, Fort Worth, Texas. MARKET FOR AMERICAN HEIRESSES. There has been more than one similar scandal involving members of the high nobility and rich American girls. It will be remembered last year there was a stir created by The broadcast announcement that Prince Hugo Von Hohenche-Oehringen, Prince Heinrich Von Hanan and Baron Berhard-Muenhausen, accused an Englishman, O'Brien, who was alleged to be the agent of Berlin marriage brokers, of attempted blackmail. [Illustration: IDLENESS, TITLES, MONEY, UNHAPPINESS, NOTORIETY, DIVORCE] Among the Americans whose names are said to be on the list of this marriage syndicate, without their personal knowledge or consent, are the Misses Angelica and Mabel Gerry, the Misses Nora and Fannie Iselin, the Misses Adeline and Electra Havemeyer, Mrs. Lewis Rutherford Morris, formerly Miss Katherine Clark, daughter of Senator Clark, of Montana; Mrs. Francis Burton Harrison, formerly Miss Mary Crocker, daughter of Mrs. George W. Crocker; Miss Dorothy Whitney, the Misses Beatrice and Gladys Mills, Miss Gwendolyn Burden, and the Misses Florence and Ruth Twombly. GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS ROUSED TO MANY FRAUDS BY THE MATRIMONIAL AGENCIES AND BUREAUX THROUGHOUT THE COUNTRY, "AGENCIES" TO PUT UNDER BAN THE SWINDLING OPERATIONS. MRS. JENNIE SCOTT, ARRESTED BY POSTAL INSPECTORS, TELLS SECRETS OF HER MATRIMONIAL AGENCY. The second blow has been struck against the affinity trust, of Chicago, and the second member of the alleged trust in Chicago, Mrs. Jennie Scott, a woman of many aliases, by Postoffice Inspector James E. Stuart. This woman was arrested at her home, at 214 Thirty-second street, her "Cupid shop," where she received thousands of letters, descriptions and photographs of affinity seekers from all over the United States and Canada. She received them in the name of "Glinn's International Corresponding Association," to join which from $2 to $5 was drawn from each affinity. Thousands joined. SAME LITERATURE USED AS IN MARION GREY CASE. Postoffice Inspectors A. E. Germer and Frank Sheron worked up the case against the woman and discovered that the same literature was used by this woman as was used by Marion Grey, convicted for the misuse of the mails in operating an affinity matching business at Elgin. There were some changes, however, in the method. This is shown in the literature sent out by this woman. Her literature explains to the affinities that the business is absolutely honest and above board, and must be kept so. Under "special reduced rates," she drew in hundreds of women clients, many of whom sent in their pictures. [Illustration: MRS. JENNIE SCOTT] [Illustration: TYPES OF "AFFINITIES" FOUND BY MARION GRAY, SKETCHED IN COURT WHERE BEAUTY IS ON TRIAL] Mrs. Scott operated also at 2208 Wabash avenue, where she had a room for receiving mail. She was known not only as Mrs. Scott, but as E. L. Glinn, Mrs. Jennie Call, Mrs. A. M. Harvey and Mrs. E. L. Glinn. She lived on Thirty-second street, with her young daughter. CLIENTS ALL WEALTHY; TAKE THEIR WORD FOR IT. Almost every client on the books of this marriage-fostering concern claimed to be worth from $5,000 to £1,000,000 sterling. Many of them were alleged to have large incomes. Some were said to have children and are not to be divorced, but still seek life partners. WITNESSES NEED A SHEPHERD. Then, from among the queer little party huddled together on the benches at the rear of the big court room--a helpless, shepherdless flock--Mr. Shirer began to call out his witnesses. First of the hungering souls who sought life companions through Mrs. Scott came Mrs. Mary Quinn, of Trenton, Ill., a short, dumpy little person of about thirty-five or forty, who was chiefly remarkable for the white hat she wore. "I saw the ad.," she whispered--it was with the greatest difficulty that Judge Bethea induced her to talk so she could be heard ten feet away--"and I answered it. They sent me back a circular and a photograph of a nice-looking fellow who was said to be rich. "I sent my $2 and wrote that I would like to get into correspondence with him. They sent me back word that he was corresponding with another lady just then, and didn't want any more names at present, but there was another one just as good. NICE LETTERS LACK RICH TONE. "I corresponded with him until three weeks before I remarried my divorced husband, last December. He wrote very nice letters, but he certainly didn't sound rich." "You got what you asked for, didn't you?" asked Mr. Murphy. "Oh, yes, I guess so; I'm not complaining." The uncomplainingness of the alleged victims is the odd feature of the case. [Illustration: JAIL FOR CUPID'S AID Marion Grey, Pretty Love Broker, Who Was Sentenced to a Year in Prison] Dr. Montgomery Porter, a graduate of the University of Arkansas, came all the way from his home in Pine Bluff, to say that he had answered one of Mrs. Scott's advertisements but had not paid the $5 fee, "which she charged the men members." Porter C. Dyer, a graduate of the Ohio State University, who lives in Austin, O., said that he paid the fee and was disappointed, "because the names sent were not those of refinement and culture, as promised in the circulars." Mrs. Flora Scott, a restaurant keeper at Middleport, O., tall and not particularly stylish, couldn't recall what any of the circulars said, but she was quite sure she hadn't landed a rich husband yet. SOUTHERN BEAUTY SENDS $2. The handsomest of the witnesses was Miss Avis Christenberry, a stately brunette from Memphis, who rather liked the looks of the rich young man's photograph used for bait and sent in $2. "They told me he was corresponding with some one else just then," she testified, "and I corresponded with two substitutes, but they didn't entertain me much." Wilson Schufelt, a real estate man, said that he had rented the matrimonial headquarters to "Mrs. A. M. Harvey" for a mail order house business. Mrs. Harvey got her mail under the names of Glinn and Hill, and when the postal authorities became interested in her she told Schufelt that her name was Jennie Scott. At her home, 214 East Thirty-second street, she is known as Mrs. Jennie Call. She was indicted under the name of Glinn. It was testified by E. J. Beach, superintendent of the Twenty-second street sub-postal station, that the matrimonial agency received from 50 to 200 letters every day. She was arraigned before Judge Bethea and found guilty, on April 25, 1908, and was sentenced to one year in the House of Correction, and was fined $500. THE HORRIBLE GUNNESS FARM. THE RIPENED FRUIT OF THE MATRIMONIAL AGENCY. But the giant blossom of this plant of hell is not bigamy, not swindling, not desertion; it is murder, wholesale, ghastly murder. For it is the matrimonial agency, nothing else, which is directly responsible for the unbelievable horrors of the Gunness Murder Farm, at Laporte, Ind., the revelation of the existence of which shocked the entire civilized world as it has not been shocked since the time of the Borgias. This wholesale murderess invariably lured her victims to their fate through advertisements in a "matrimonial paper," or through an agency. She would insert the usual stereotyped "ad." of the wealthy widow lady who desired a mate, but always a mate with money. Always being able to produce proof that she was well-to-do, it was an easy matter for her to persuade her victims to visit her at the Laporte farm. She invariably stipulated that they should bring a substantial sum with them. Arriving at the Gunness farm, the prospective suitors were invariably impressed with the evidences of wealth and luxury. After a stay of a few days, during which time the cunning murderess would find out how much money her victim had, and whether he could immediately procure more in the form of cash, the victim would be invited to supper and his food drugged. He would then be escorted to his room, where he would soon become unconscious. Chloroform was then administered, the body hurled through a chute to the basement, where it would be dismembered and placed in a gunnysack. The sack would then be taken out and buried in a convenient spot on the farm. It was an inquiry from the brother of one of the victims, Andrew Helgelein, which revealed the whole horrible affair. [Illustration: THE DEATH HARVESTER. A Crop on the Gunness Farm.] It is estimated that this woman, through the aid of the matrimonial agencies, murdered more people than any other human being that ever lived. She exceeded the records of the Benders, Holmes, and even those arch-assassins of the middle ages, the Borgias. LOMBROSO DISCUSSES MONSTER. Dr. Cesare Lombroso, of the University of Milan, the world's greatest criminologist, in discussing this woman, said: "In general the moral physiognomy of the born female criminal approximates strongly to that of the male. The female criminal is exceedingly weak in maternal feeling, inclined to dissipation, astute and audacious, and dominates weaker beings sometimes by suggestion, and at other times by muscular force; while her love of violent exercise, her vices and even her dress, increase her resemblance to the stronger sex. "Added to these virile characteristics are often the worst qualities of women; namely, an excessive desire for revenge, cunning cruelty, love of dress and untruthfulness, forming a combination of evil tendencies which often results in a type of extraordinary wickedness. Needless to say these different characteristics are not found in the same proportion in everybody. One criminal will be deficient in intelligence, but possessed of great strength, while another, who is weak physically, triumphs over this obstacle by the ability with which she lays her plans. "But when, by an unfortunate chance, muscular strength and intellectual force meet in the same individual, we have a female delinquent of a terrible type, indeed. "In short, we may assume that if female-born criminals are fewer in number than the males; they are usually much more ferocious. "What is the explanation? We observe that the normal woman is naturally less sensitive to pain than a man, and compassion is the offspring of sensitiveness. If the one be wanting, so will the other be. "We also find that women have many traits in common with children; that their moral sense is deficient; that they are revengeful, jealous, inclined to vengeances of a refined cruelty. "In ordinary cases these defects are neutralized by piety, maternity, want of passion, by weakness and an undeveloped intelligence. But when a morbid activity of the psychical centres intensifies the bad qualities of women, and induces them to seek relief in evil deeds; when piety and maternal sentiments are wanting, and in their place are strong passions, much muscular strength and a superior intelligence for the conception and execution of evil, it is clear that the innocuous semi-criminal present in the normal woman must be transformed into the born criminal more terrible than any man. "What terrific criminals would children be if they had strong passions, muscular strength and sufficient intelligence; and if, moreover, their evil tendencies were exasperated by a morbid intellectual activity! And women are big children; their evil tendencies are much more numerous and more varied than men's, but generally remain latent. When they are awakened and excited they produce results proportionately greater." LIST OF THE VICTIMS. Below is given a partial list of the victims of this inhuman monster, as it appeared in the Chicago American, Sunday, April 26, 1908: PARTIAL CATALOGUE OF MRS. GUNNESS' 180 VICTIMS. 1. Max Sorenson, Mrs. Gunness' first husband--whom she poisoned. 2. Peter S. Gunness, second husband, whom she killed with a meat axe. 3. Her infant child, whom she strangled to death. 4. Miss Justina Loeffler, of Elkhart, Ind., believed to have been married to Johann Hoch and sent by him to Mrs. Gunness to be murdered and buried. 5. Olaf Limbo, Norwegian farm hand. 6. Ole Budsberg, a hired man, from Iola, Wis. 7-9. Three well-known men of Fort Wayne, Ind., who have disappeared in the last two years. 10. A horse trader from Montana. 11. Jennie Olsen, eighteen years old, adopted daughter of Mrs. Gunness. 12. Henry Gurholt, left Scandinavia, Wis., on March 12, 1906, saying he was going to marry Mrs. Gunness. 13. George Bradley, forty years old, of Tuscola, Ill., went to La Porte, Ind., October 20 of last year. 14. Olaf Lindboe, farm laborer, of Chicago, employed by Mrs. Gunness. 15. Lee Porter, of Bartonville, Okla., quarreled with his wife and answered one of Mrs. Gunness' matrimonial "ads." 17. Crippled man from Medina, N. D. 18-20. Three children of Mrs. Gunness killed or burned in house--Myrtle, aged 11; Lucy, 9; Philip, 5. 21. Body of unidentified woman found in ruins of burned house. 22. Strange baby left last fall by man and woman, as told by Ray Lamphere, arrested as accomplice of Mrs. Gunness. 23. John O. Moe went to La Porte from Elbow Lake, Minn., day before Christmas, 1906, with $1,000. 24. Armat Hartoonan, wealthy Armenian rug merchant of Binghamton, N. Y., who went to La Porte in 1906 in answer to a matrimonial "ad." 25. Charles Neuberg, of Philadelphia, took $500 and went to visit Mrs. Gunness in June, 1906. 26. George Berry, of Tuscola, Ill., went to work for Mrs. Gunness July, 1905. He took $1,500, expecting to marry the widow. 27. John A. Lefgren, aged forty-eight, disappeared from the Chicago Club, and is believed to have gone to Mrs. Gunness' farm. 28. E. J. Tiefland, retired railroad man, of Minneapolis. 29-30. A Los Angeles college professor and wife--names not yet ascertained. 31. Andrew K. Helgelein, Aberdeen, S. D., ranchman, the last victim, whose fate led to the discovery of Mrs. Gunness' crimes. 32. Charles Edman, farm laborer, from New Carlisle, Ind. Took $3,000 in savings to Mrs. Gunness' home. 33. Frank Riedinger, young German farmer, of Delafield, Wis., went to La Porte in February, 1907. 34. Babe seen by a neighbor, Mrs. William Diesslen, which afterward disappeared. 35. Unknown young woman visitor, seen to go to Gunness house; never accounted for afterward. 36. Unknown man, a widower, and his young son, went to Mrs. Gunness' house a year ago--never seen again. One of the bodies found on farm was that of a small boy. 37-57. Twenty-one babies entrusted to Mrs. Gunness' care while she was running a "baby farm" on the outskirts of Chicago all disappeared mysteriously. 57-180. Other unknown men, women and babies, who went to Chicago and La Porte homes of Mrs. Gunness, and were never seen again, are estimated to bring the grand total of victims up to 180. This, then, is the crowning work of the matrimonial agency; this horrid burying ground of dismembered bodies, this ghastly charnel pit on an Indiana hillside. By their fruits ye shall know them. In the dread Gunness Farm behold the ripened fruit of the matrimonial agency. [Illustration: RIDES OUT OF THE CLUTCHES OF MATRIMONY] [Illustration: She Steers Him Straight for the Lily Pond.] IN LIGHTER VEIN. The Funny Side of the Matrimonial Business. There is necessarily the amusing side in all this miserable trading upon the affections of fools. Some of the letters sent in to the matrimonial agencies are little less than "screams." Imagine, if you can, a big, husky farmer, a collarless, coatless son of the Utah deserts, gushing forth that he "could live and die on love." Think of a staid and sober trained nurse who has arrived at the ripe age of forty pouring into the ears of the matrimonial agent that she "wants a man who is a flower," and also saying confidingly that she believes that she requires a few more years in which to prepare for the "solemn step." One who is 39 and dark, blushingly admits that she is a "young girl" of loving disposition, and, since love is the destiny of us all, prays for a husband of fifty or thereabouts. One who describes herself as "lively and frolicsome" frankly admits that she is out for the money and can get along without the love end of it at all. It is needless to say that this letter comes from the Pennsylvania Dutch regions. Here are a few of the gems: COULD LIVE AND DIE ON LOVE. Huntsville. Utah, Dec. 27. 1902. MRS. ELLEN MARION. Grant Works, Ill. My Dear Lady: I wish to beg your pardon if I appear rude in trying to personally introduce myself, but allow me to assure you that I am sincere in my quest for a kind friend, and it is nothing but the purest and holiest motives of the human heart that prompts the intrusion. I saw your advertisement in the Valley Farmer, and in it I seem to behold the image of an ideal lady, who is well worthy of the highest esteem and admiration from a true gentleman, and how happy and thankful should the man be who is so fortunate as to captivate the love and heart of so noble a prize. Among many others your advertisement to me seemed to be the most suitable and impressive. While it would not be within good taste to express a great love for you at present, yet I believe that I could come as near living and dying on love as the next one. My object in writing you is to find if there should be a chord within our natures that could be touched mutually to harmonize with the word love. I have been married and know of the joy and happiness of a kind and loving companion. Two years ago death robbed me of my greatest prize in life. Since then I have been baching it. I am tired of roughing it alone, and if there were only some one to meet me with a kind smile of approval I could work much harder and be a better man for it, and I do most earnestly and sincerely solicit your correspondence with a view to closer ties should our natures prove congenial. Should you feel inclined to favor me I would certainly feel highly flattered. NOT A FLIRT. Please do not rank me with the ordinary flirts and adventurers, for I assure you that I am honest in my intentions and would not mislead or advise anyone wrongfully. My age is thirty-seven, height five feet nine inches, weight 175 pounds, have a good moral character in every respect, honest and industrious, without any bad habits, total abstainer from liquor and tobacco, move in the best society, am of a quiet, kind and loving disposition. Home is the dearest place to me on earth and I know how to make it happy. I can appreciate and know the real value of a kind and loving wife, and the dear lady that becomes my wife will find in me a true and honest husband, a kind and loving companion, one whose greatest aim and object will be to make his home and loved ones happy. To you the above may have a smattering of self-praise and flattery, but the facts are wholly true, which I hope in due time will be fully demonstrated. Should you wish to hear further from me I shall be quite pleased to furnish any information desired. Anxiously awaiting your acquaintance, I am, Yours sincerely, JENS WINTER. With best wishes and compliments of the season. [Illustration: AROUND THE CLOCK WITH A "HOME HUSBAND"] LOVELORN WAILS. I want a man who is a flower, with love and affection oozing from all its petals. Maybe, however, I need a few more years' preparation for the most solemn of steps--matrimony. I admire a man of good physique, kind, gallant, conscientious, of good morals as can be expected nowadays, home-loving, and fond of children.--Application for a husband from Catherine M. Barnes, trained nurse, aged 40, Indianapolis. * * * * * Love is the destiny of us all. At times it seems it is going to side-track and pass us. Therefore, I ask you to help me to find a handsome man of 50 or over who has some money and can make more. I am a young girl of loving disposition; do not powder, except on special occasions; can cook, and know how to dress on nothing or little. I want love and fidelity. Do not send me the name of any traveling men. I am 39 and dark.--Miss Ella Miller, 837 Spring Garden street, Philadelphia. * * * * * Introduce me to a widow with money who wants a good entertainer and honest man. I have no funds, but don't tell her that. I play, sing and recite well.--Adam Werker, Glen Ellyn, Ill. HER IDEAL HUSBAND. "My ideal must be tall," suggests Miss Mary Hester, from Wayland, N. Y., "and a gentleman in every sense of the word. He must be of good standing socially and morally. He must be of temperate habits, kind, generous, affectionate, devoted--a man of ability, who would be a companion socially, intellectually and morally to a true, pure, devoted wife." She says she would ask for no more. [Illustration: (Letter, first part)] [Illustration: (Letter, second part)] [Illustration: (Second letter, first part)] [Illustration: (Second letter, second part)] [Illustration: "READ US 'BOUT WHUT DE FOLKS IN PITTSBURG AN' NEWPORT IS UP TO."] [Illustration: "I'D RUTHER BE MARRIED TO A WOMAN WHO WAS REFORMIN' THINGS OUTSIDE DE HOUSE DAN IN HIT."] THIS ONE IS REAL FRANK. Here is another letter from Reading, Pa: Dear Sir: I notice by Sunday's paper that you are looking for a wife. Now, strange to relate, I am looking for a husband. I don't know what your requirements are, but I do know mine, and the chief ones of them are money, a good home, less work and worry, and happiness. If love comes, too, I shall not object, although I have lived long enough to realize that there can be a sort of lukewarm happiness without love. Be that as it may, I judge my capacity is sufficiently large to satisfy the sort of a man I judge you to be. Now, for the next item of importance--myself. I am tall and slender, five feet six inches high, and quite "figuresque," as one of my girl friends tells me. I am of the Irish-American type; hair medium in shade and profuse as to quantity; deep-set, very bright gray eyes; good carriage, on account of which strangers often consider me haughty--an entirely erroneous idea. Am of a lively, frolicsome nature. I am full of fun, and no matter how black things are I always find something to laugh at. I am twenty-three years old, and decidedly domestic, that being, in fact, my only accomplishment. I am artistic only along some lines; have no musical talent and am not an artist, but I love both devotedly. Am very practical, in fact, and a good housekeeper. There is lots more I might tell you, but we will call this enough for the present. Should like to know something about you, and hope you will be as truthful and frank as I have been. Sincerely yours, MARY ANDERSON. ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES. A Matrimonial Agent Captures a Rich Husband and Retires from Business. Mamie Marie Schultz, a matrimonial agent, outwits the police and postal authorities after being raided and broken up, moves to other quarters, continues business, finds a rich man seeking a wife among her patrons and marries him. September 11, the German-American Agency, run by Mamie Marie Schultz, 3150 Calumet avenue, was raided by Detective Wooldridge, the literature seized and destroyed. Mamie Marie Schultz was fined $25 by Justice Hurley. The evidence obtained was submitted to the postal authorities for action. Mamie Marie Schultz fled to Oak Park, where she continued her matrimonial agency. After she moved to Oak Park she was notified "by order of the town board" to vacate, but she laughed at the order and enjoyed the newspaper notoriety she attained, for it only increased her business. It is said she made thousands of dollars out of her matrimonial agency. With a stealth that is characteristic of his art, Cupid has accomplished what Oak Park officials had been trying to do for two years. He has closed out the Oak Park matrimonial agency by making a victim of his promoter in that vicinity, Marie Schultz, manager of the matchmakers' concern. The postmaster, United States marshal and several of the town officers yesterday received letters signed "Mrs. J. D. Edwards," announcing that Marie Schultz "had been caught in her own net" and had deserted the village for a "palatial" home in Seattle, Wash., where her new husband, J. D. Edwards, is a wealthy lumber dealer. SWIFT COURTSHIP BY EDWARDS. Edwards, it is said, arrived in Oak Park on Tuesday, and after a whirlwind courtship this "Lochinvar who came out of the West" had won the whole matrimonial agency. "Marie," the name in which all her extensive advertising was done, has defeated the officials of Chicago, Oak Park, and even the United States postoffice inspector, in every effort they made to suppress her enterprise. To Postmaster Hutchinson she wrote requesting that all letters addressed to the agency be returned to the writers, as she didn't "want any more of their money." The postoffice force was burdened with the task of mailing back to some 500 lovelorn men and maidens the letters which had accumulated in "Marie's" postoffice box. But the bleatings of the overgrown calf from Utah, and the wails of the maiden lady who desires a "flower" for a mate are both eclipsed by the mushy outpourings of a Chicago business man. This fellow evidently possesses the artistic temperament. Not only is he moved to write prose poetry, "to bay the moon of love," but he insists on inserting illustrative sketches of an ardent wooing. He has forged the white heat of his passion, which evidently puts Ella Wheeler Wilcox at her fiercest to shame, into pictures. Here we behold him, hand in hand with his beloved, under the kindly stars. There, more prosaic, it is true, but still quite passionate, is the drawing room scene, with the lady seated on his knee. Behold the works of genius when love impels. THE FESTIVE FARM HAND FRIVOLS. Among the hundreds of applications for a wife Detective Wooldridge found one from Jacob C. Miller, of Martinsville. Pa. Miller filled out the application blank as follows: Q. Where born? A. Lancaster, Pa. Q. What language do you speak? A. English. Q. Nationality? A. White. Q. Weight? A. 130. Q. Color of eyes? A. Greenish blue. Q. Color of hair? A. Brown on a little patch. Q. Complexion? A. Fair. Q. Circumference of chest? A. 36 inches. Q. Circumference of waist? A. 36 inches. Q. Circumference of head (just above ears)? A. 13 inches. Q. Circumference of neck? A. Wear 15-1/2 collar. Q. Profession? A. Farm hand. Q. Income per year? A. Nothing. Q. Extent of education: common, high school or university? A. Common. Q. Do you use tobacco or liquor? A. I use a little tobacco, but no liquor. Q. How much real estate do you own? A. Nothing. Q. Do any of the pictures we have submitted to you suit, and will you marry? A. Yes, the one with the turned-up nose. Q. If we secured you a wife worth $250,000 would you be willing to pay us a small commission for our trouble? A. Yes. THE FAKER AND THE PRESS. SOME NEWSPAPERS ARE BUNCOED, WHILE OTHERS WILLINGLY ASSIST RASCALS. Strangely enough, the abomination known as the "matrimonial agency," bureau or what-not, has succeeded in hoodwinking the great American press to a certain extent. Advertisements appear in leading journals all over the country. Without this the great fraud could not exist ten minutes. There are numberless instances, we are quite sure, where the publishers have no suspicion that they are furthering the cause of scoundrels. In others, we regret to say, the motive for accepting these advertisements is traceable to nothing more or less than just the plain greed of the publisher. It is impossible for a private citizen to prophesy whether the entire power of the government of the United States can purify the columns of some of our greedy newspapers. [Illustration: HOW TO TRAIN A HUSBAND] These matrimonial agencies are frauds. The newspaper man knows this and takes their money for the advertisements, and becomes a messenger of a crime for a paltry sum, and if I were the District Attorney I would get busy and call the attention of the Postmaster General to these alleged newspapers for the purpose of shutting off their distribution through the mails. Here are a few samples of the ads appearing in the reputable daily press of the country: MATRIMONIAL AGENCIES' ADVERTISEMENTS FOR RICH WIVES AND HUSBANDS. They Appear in All the Leading Newspapers Throughout the Country. This is a very select list of ten ladies picked at random from our books by one of the leading newspaper reporters of this city, February 1, 1904: Minnesota Maiden--30 yrs., 5 ft. 2 in., weight 128 lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes; has $10,500. Missouri Maiden--28 yrs., 5 ft. 7 in., weight 150 lbs.; blonde, blue eyes, German; has $4,800. Pennsylvania Maiden--20 yrs., 5 ft. 4 in., weight 132 lbs.; light hair, blue eyes; will inherit $30,000, provided she is married on her 21st birthday. [Illustration: Can a Man or Woman Know Each Other Before Marriage? BEFORE. "When he was wooing her, Romeo devoted his time to thinking of delicate little attentions that he could pay Juliet, and of things he could do to make her happy." AFTER. On Christmas he is liable to shove a dollar or two at his wife, remarking: "Get yourself something. I don't know what you want, and I haven't time to fool with it."] [Illustration: "ONE HOUR OF IT IS WORTH LIVIN' FOR AN' DYIN' FOR."] [Illustration: "AN' DAT WOMEN'S CLUBS IS DE CAUSE OF ALL DE PO' LITTLE NEGLECTED CHILLEN."] Wisconsin Widow--49 yrs., 5 ft. 3 in., weight 130 lbs.; black hair, black eyes; no children; worth $15,000. Will marry elderly man. Indiana Maiden--29 yrs., 5 ft. 4 in., weight 122 lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes; pretty and worth $7,000. Would marry farmer. Illinois Maiden--21 yrs., 5 ft. 8 in., weight 140 lbs.; chestnut hair, blue eyes; worth $40,000; is a cripple. Will marry kind man who will overlook her misfortune. New Jersey Widow--28 yrs., 4 ft. 11 in., weight 150 lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes, one child; worth $35,000. Will marry and assist husband financially. Ohio Farmers Daughter--Orphan, 25 yrs., 5 ft. 7 in.; brown hair, gray eyes; has large farm. Alone, will marry immediately, farmer preferred. Montana Maiden--Half-breed Indian, age 25, 5 ft. 4 in., 130 lbs.; black hair, black eyes; has large ranch. Will marry honest white man. Illinois Bachelor Girl--Age 35, 5 ft. 7 in., 160 lbs.; black hair, brown eyes; owns fine estate, valued at thousands. Would marry gentleman of equal wealth. PENNSYLVANIA. Beautiful maiden lady, refined and well educated; American; blonde, age 37 years, height 5 ft. 4 in., weight 106 pounds; worth $30,000. NEBRASKA. Stylish young brunette, fond of society; American; age 28 years, height 5 ft. 3 in., weight 135 pounds; Baptist, and worth $25,000; income $3,000 a year. OHIO. Stately widow, age 49 years, handsome and remarkably well preserved; height 5 ft. 6 in., weight 160 lbs.; no children; worth $5,000; wants elderly husband. [Illustration: (Man and woman pointing at each other through heart)] KENTUCKY. Beautiful blonde Southern girl, educated and refined; age 21, height 5 ft. 2 in., weight 115 lbs.; American, and worth $10,000; wants nice-looking husband. Pretty little girl, age 19 years, height 5 ft. 3 in., weight 112 lbs.; American; worth $10,000. Says she is very anxious to marry. BOSTON, MASS. Fine-looking lady, age 37 years, height 5 ft. 3 in., weight 140 lbs.; American, Protestant, and worth $20,000. Young lady, blonde, age 25 years, weight 128 lbs., height 5 ft.; American, Methodist; income $720 a year; worth $25,000. CHICAGO, ILL. Maiden, age 26 years, height 5 ft. 4 in., weight 140 lbs.; Scotch, Protestant, Methodist; income $1,200 per year; worth $75,000. MONROE CO., PA. Young lady, age 23 years, very pretty, height 5 ft. 5 in., weight 150 lbs.; German, Methodist; worth $12,000. DOVER, N. H. Stylish, brown-eyed lady, age 24 years, height 5 ft. 6 in., weight 135 pounds; American, Methodist; worth $50,000. NEW YORK CITY. Young widow, age 32 years, height 5 ft. 5 in., weight 140 lbs.; Irish Catholic; worth $40,000. UTAH. Maiden lady, age not mentioned, height 5 ft., weight 120 lbs.; worth $35,000. And all this, ridiculous, murderous and otherwise, is all outside the pale of the law. The matrimonial agency is a crime _per se_. It is a criminal institution. It has been pronounced to be such by the best and foremost judges of the United States, Germany and Great Britain. Judge Klerbach, sitting in the case of a marriage broker at Goettingen, Germany, in 1903, declared that the marriage broker was a criminal in intent, from the very nature of his business. In the celebrated case of Alan Murray vs. Jeanie McDonald at Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1898, Justice Grahame pronounced from the judicial seat one of the most scathing arraignments of the marriage bureau ever delivered. "Leeches upon the body social, blood-suckers, destroyers of womanhood, abominations of the bottomless pit," were some of the phrases used by Justice Grahame in denouncing Murray. In the petty sessions at Tinahely, Ireland, Justice O'Gorman in May, 1905, is reported in the Wicklow People, a newspaper which has a wide circulation in the South of Ireland, as fiercely denouncing the marriage broker business. The Justice declared that the marriage broker was a wolf, "preying upon the weaknesses of humanity, a pander to the lowest instincts"; that he had no right to demand the interference of the law in his behalf, but rather that the law should always be exercised for the suppression of his nefarious traffic. SAME THING NEARER HOME. To get nearer home. In the Chicago American, February 12, 1903, Judge Neely, in the case of the State vs. Hattie Howard, declared from the bench that to "sell men and women in marriage is the height of crime." Judge Neely further said: "Men and women who engage in this business of promoting matrimony for money are guilty of crime. It is opposed to the fundamental principles of society. Such a practice should under no circumstances be tolerated. This practice should be stopped. The trade should be killed. The courts should make it their business to discourage this thing in a way that may be easily understood." Judge Kohlsaat, of Chicago, has inveighed against the practice in equally vehement terms. Judge Kohlsaat declares that "the Police Department of Chicago is entitled to great credit for what it has done in discouraging this business. I hope it will continue its vigilance until every promoter of marriages of this character has been compelled to leave the city. They should make such criminals give the city a wide berth." There, then, is the law. The business is a crime in its very nature. It leads to bigamy and wholesale murder. It is made the instrument of the thief, the swindler and the murderer. How much longer will the American people look with calmness upon these practices, upon these abominations, which make a stench of the very air of the great and free country in which we live? The answer is up to you. THE GREAT MISTAKE. OUR PENAL SYSTEM IS A RELIC OF EARLY SAVAGERY. Our whole penal system needs changing. It is a relic of barbarism, and stands a monument to the early savagery of the human race. How is it possible for a man or woman to lead an upright, useful life after they once come under the ban of the law? Society combines to hound them down. They are forbidden to place themselves on an equality with others by narrow, human prejudice--the "holier than thou" attitude of that portion of the public which has not yet been "found guilty." We are Pharisees, all, and sit in judgment on our fellowman, because we do not yet realize the mixture of evil and good that is in every man--none are exempt--only some are caught and punished. Men have come to us, desperate, despairing men, crying: "For God's sake, what are we to do? If we get a job someone will tell our employers we have 'done time,' and we are fired. If they find us on the street, we're arrested. Where can we go and what can we do?" A man may commit murder and not be a criminal, and yet a sneakthief is always a criminal and every burglar a potential murderer. Social conditions produce criminals. As well expect a rose to bloom in a swamp as human nature to flower in the slums. All our prisons are hotbeds of tuberculosis and most prison physicians hold their positions through political pull. In our opinion a greater distinction should be made between the penitentiary and house of correction. Petty misdemeanants should not be branded with the prison stigma. We also favor suspended sentence for first offenders. The crime and its punishment should be separated. At present the personal equation does not enter into the case when a judge imposes sentence. The man's environment, what leads him to break the law, and how best to help this particular man, all are questions that should be carefully considered before sentence is pronounced. INTELLIGENCE IN PUNISHING CRIME. A student of prison affairs once said that the prison population consists of two classes--people who never ought to have been sent to prison and people who never ought to be allowed to leave it. It is unfortunate that students interested in either one of these classes are too often apt to forget the importance of the other. There are many habitual criminals, weak persons readily giving way to temptation, who should not be classified as professionals. The professionals are only those who deliberately set about supporting themselves by crime. These are the ones who are among all criminals most unlikely to change their ways, and it was for their control that Detective Wooldridge suggested some years ago that after several convictions such criminals should be given a special trial to decide whether they were true professionals or not, and if they were, they should be imprisoned for life. If more attention were given to professional crime and if harsher methods were used in protecting society from it, the result would be merciful in the end--merciful both to the citizens protected from such crime and to the men who, as conditions now are, graduate every year into such careers. THE "SILENT SYSTEM" IS A CRIME AGAINST CRIMINALS. The penitentiary for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, at Philadelphia, in 1907, was the only prison in America conducted on what is known as the "silent system." In this grim edifice a man sentenced to twenty years imprisonment might pass all of that time buried from sight in his cell, seeing only his keeper, the chaplain, the doctor and the schoolmaster, and for twenty minutes in every six weeks he would be allowed to talk with a near relative. This man loses his identity the moment he enters the prison gates. A black cap is drawn over his head and he is led to a cell in one of the many corridors that radiate from the central tower like spokes from the hub of a wheel. He is known thereafter by a number. The cell in which he eats and sleeps and works is a little larger than the average prison cell, and more completely furnished--as it must hold his bed, his lavatory, his dishes and a place for eating, his work, his every possession, and such books as he may secure from the prison library. His front door opens on a corridor and is kept ajar on a heavy chain so the prison guards may watch him. His back door opens on a plot of ground about 8�10 feet. It is surrounded and cut off from all communication from every living human being by a brick wall. Only the watchman in the central tower and the birds that wing their way over the prison can see him in his little yard. Robinson Crusoe on his deserted island could not be more utterly lonely. In this tiny yard is a circular path worn smooth and pressed deep into the soil by the feet of despairing men--his predecessors. The prisoner is forbidden even the negative pleasure of going out into this God-forsaken walled plot of bare ground except for one hour a day. In his gloomy cell the prisoner drags out the "task" given him to escape insanity. He fears to be idle without the sound of a human voice in his ear or the sight of a human face to relieve his awful loneliness. To lengthen these "tasks" the State of Pennsylvania has provided primitive hand-looms, some 100 years old, and other discarded makeshifts of man's industrial infancy. Not for him has the world progressed beyond the caveman's day. Perhaps he is a skilled mechanic, a man accustomed to the swift play of machinery, the grip of tool on material. He is condemned to manufacture by primitive methods the clothes he wears to keep him from quite going mad. EXTREME METHODS FAULTY. As between the abominable "contract" and "lease" systems and this reversion to blind seclusion, is there no human method to be found of apportioning the convict's labor? Yet No. 99, locked away in his solitary cell in the Philadelphia prison, must toil laboriously, denying his brain and hand their cunning, with a pretense at occupation. He is not sharing in the world's work. He knows this child's play of making something that no one needs on an instrument left over from the twelfth century is futile and foolish. How shall he meet and battle with the great world of commerce and labor after twenty years of this? In what way is this make-believe fitting him for liberty? Some few in the Philadelphia prison escape the fate mapped out for them. There are 800 cells, and there are at present about 1,100 prisoners. Naturally, some must "double up." And then the regular domestic work of the institution must be done, tasks at which it would be impossible to keep prisoners separated or wholly silent. And so the "silent system" is not entirely silent. But, we protest, that is not the fault of the prison management, nor is it that of the good citizens who seventy-eight years ago devised and built this prison, the only one of its kind in America. Men are unfitted for after-life under the "silent system." They come out of prison at the end of their terms with shuffling gait and incoherent speech and unskilled hands. Cut off from all obligation to family or friends, the prisoner's whole spiritual nature is bound to deteriorate. Will he be a better citizen, a more loving father or husband or son, when he is released? The prison at Philadelphia is a model of cleanliness, management, discipline and sanitation. The warden, Charles C. Church, is humane and intelligent; the guards above the average in character. And yet Pennsylvania's crime against her criminal population is appalling. All she does for her unfortunate offender is to guard him securely, shelter him in cleanliness, feed and clothe him--and hold him against the day of his release. These are necessary things, but it is more necessary that the state turn back the criminal at least no worse than she found him when committed to her care. She could turn him out a better man morally, better equipped to gain a livelihood, in fair physical health, and certainly without mental taint or bias due to his imprisonment. JAILS MAKE 50,000 CRIMINALS A YEAR. If the jails and lockups in our country--4,000 or 5,000 in number--are in truth, as they have been often aptly termed, in most cases compulsory schools of crime, maintained at the public expense, we shall have from this quarter alone an accession to the criminal classes in each decade of perhaps 50,000 trained experts in crime. Surely, almost any change in dealing with the young, with the beginners in lawbreaking, would be an improvement on the prevailing system. Jails and prisons, so constructed and managed as to keep separate their inmates, would afford an adequate remedy for the evil. Until this can be done it would be far better to cut down largely the number of arrests and committals of the young. [Illustration: United States Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas; the best and most modern Penitentiary in the United States if not in the world.] "It is absurd to argue that life in the penitentiary is conducive to moral betterment, for all the conditions are against this cheerful theory. In jail a man meets criminals. The whole system makes for greater criminality on the release of the prisoner. He has time to plan fresh onslaughts on society. His incarceration further embitters him against the world. He looks with malicious envy on those who have escaped the punishment which he has had to suffer. When he is turned out of prison he is ready for further felonies--only now he has learned more caution, and for this reason he is more dangerous than he was when he entered the institution." When a man has served two prison sentences without being convinced of the futility of the attempt to live without honest work, it is evident that he has abandoned all idea of being a good citizen and has made up his mind to prey upon society. "Then," says Mr. Wooldridge, "moderate sentences having produced no good effect upon him, either to deter or reform, why should he not be taken permanently out of society and put where he cannot harm others or wrong himself by committing crime? No objection," he concluded, "can be found to this method." CRIME BASED ON SUGGESTION. The man who has declared war upon the world, as every man has done who is not reformed by two successive prison sentences, should be seized and permanently imprisoned. Modern thought does not sanction the literal translation of this idea, but that does not interfere with the possibility of carrying it out for the benefit of society. The world spends millions of dollars every year in the business of protecting itself against the criminal and in caring for him. But that is because no serious attempt has ever been made to solve the problem of crime. Crime is largely a matter of suggestion and therefore if all the habitual criminals in the country were segregated where their influence would no longer be able to exert itself, crime would not propagate itself so fast. The young men would not have presented to them so often or so forcibly the example which causes most of them to take the crooked path. Thus the expense of prevention would be enormously diminished at once. SUGGESTS GREAT PRISON FARM. With segregated criminals supporting themselves, as they might be made to do under our plan, the enormous cost of penitentiaries would at one step be done away with. A penal colony such as Mr. Wooldridge proposed would be placed in such a situation that the convicts could be compelled to raise every bit of food they put into their mouths and every bit of clothing they put upon their backs. Out in one of the western states or territories a reservation might be made of several thousand acres of land, around the rim of which the convicts could be made to build a great wall shutting themselves away from the rest of the world. On its surface would be built in the same way habitations for them, and they would live there, tilling the soil and manufacturing their necessities, until death. The time will come when this plan will be carried out. The law-abiding citizens of the United States will not continue forever to be taxed enormously for the support of a class of persons who are enemies of public order and decency. IMPROVING THE PUBLIC HEALTH. Can a nation be said to be civilized that spends billions of dollars every year in the detection and punishment of crime, and not one cent for the prevention and cure of disease, which kills thousands of persons who might otherwise have retained their health and strength? Suppose only a billion dollars a year, that now goes to the support of criminals in jails and penitentiaries, were to be saved by the establishment of a national penal colony where criminals would be made to support themselves; and suppose the billion dollars thus saved were to be spent on free hospitals and medical treatment, would the country not be much better off? Such a use of the money would result in cutting down the death rate in the United States at least one-half. The death rate in England, through the exercise of care and the assistance of the government, has been reduced from one-half to two-thirds in many diseases, and ten to twelve years have been added to the expectation of life between the ages of one year and forty-five years. A similar state of affairs should exist in this country, where the waste of life and health through preventable diseases is incalculable. Our enormous expense on account of criminals, most of which might be avoided if brains were really brought to bear upon the problem, will not always be endured. The future will force the criminal to support himself, and the money now expended on him will be devoted to the preservation of health and life among honest men, for the time will certainly come when free hospitals and medical service will be provided by the government for every citizen who needs them. ROAD WORK FOR CONVICTS. Criminology, on its humanitarian side, seeks new methods of employment for criminals. It seeks to regenerate convicted criminals morally, as well as care for their physical well-being. Indoor prison trades have a deadly monotony. In most cases they are carried on without sunlight, and with too little fresh air. Confinement within walls is alone a heavy punishment, but when allied with conditions that breed disease and possibly death, society exacts more than just retribution. Modern criminology leans toward both moral and physical care in allotting the daily tasks of criminals. It assumes that the state has no right to make the criminal a worse or a weaker member of society than when he entered the prison walls. This explains why most experts in criminology are strongly in favor of putting criminals to work at road-making. Here is employment in God's sunlight and air, where criminals can do useful work, and still be under watchful guard. They will be giving the state better highways, and at the same time escape the deadly indoor prison grind. Criminologists are studying a hundred speculative methods of benefiting the criminal. They all agree on one point--namely, that useful work in the open air is beneficial to the average criminal, morally and physically. If there can be a large benefit to the state, at the same time that the state is benefiting the criminal, there is a double advance along the lines of rational, humane treatment of criminals. The sordid idea that criminals should pay the cost of their own incarceration is secondary. And yet, in applying convict labor to the solution of the good roads problem in the United States, the public would get back at least a portion of the enormous drain on public revenues for the support of criminals. SOLVES "GOOD ROADS" PROBLEM. This is the only complete solution of the good roads problem. It is one that all farmers or other rural residents should insist upon. It is the one practical way of gridironing the states, old and new, with good roads. It is especially vital in the newer states, where the absence of good roads is the heaviest tax on industry that individual communities must suffer. It is far better for the criminals themselves that they should be employed in this useful outdoor labor. The greatest clog on the science of criminology is the aversion to breaking away from traditions. The housing of criminals in penitentiaries, where expensive idleness alternates with desultory forms of industry, has ceased to be a method abreast of the times. There is enormous waste in the orthodox prison systems. Get all able-bodied convicts into road-making for a single generation, and what would result? The productiveness of agricultural states would be vastly increased. Markets, for the average farmer, would be easier of access. Instead of virtual isolation for three or four months of the year, agricultural life would be more evenly balanced. The actual financial benefits to farmers would aggregate a vast total. In European countries, it took several generations to solve the good-roads problem. But they have solved it. The rural roads in the average European state or principality are a national blessing. They are not only a joy to transient travelers, but form the bulwark of agricultural industries. European governments have wisely considered no cost too great for good roads. As distances are immeasurably greater in America than in thickly settled European states, the good roads problem takes on a different aspect here. American roads are, on the average, worse than in any other civilized country. Therefore, they must be built up, slowly and patiently, perhaps, but with increasing energy as population grows denser. With European methods it would take a hundred years to give the western states good roads. With the convict labor, the problem would be solved in twenty years or less. This would suffice, at least, for a great national system of highways. EXTEND THE PAROLE SYSTEM. The fear is expressed that an extension of the parole system as regards adults would open a velvet path for criminals to continue preying upon society. There was a loud hue and cry raised against the idea as administered recently by one of our Municipal Court Judges. Still, there is no denying that there is a great deal of good resultant from this plan. It is a safe, sane and conservative one, especially so when in the hands of judges who can feel for the man who has committed his first offense. Chicago has some peculiar problems to contend with. It is the stopping off place for all traveling from south to north, and from north to south, and from west to east. Many of these transient visitors live a hand-to-mouth life. Oftentimes they are driven to crime by sheer force of necessity. Again, the father or son may be out of work, and chance may place in his way the opportunity to commit some petty theft, tempting him on to his first crime. If such offenders show signs of desiring to do better and are susceptible of reformation, they ought to be given another chance. On the other hand, those who are unmistakably guilty and evidence no signs of repentance should be punished without any undue delay. Many families have been driven to disgrace and ruin when their heads were sent to prison. Surely among these there were some who had manifested repentance and shown indications of a desire to be given another opportunity to start anew; surely had they but been shown lenience they might have proved good citizens and worthy of the confidence reposed in them. Of course, there are a lot of drawbacks to the parole system as it applies to juveniles in Chicago. But free from politics and in the hands of fair-minded, square-leading men it would prove a splendid scheme worthy of the highest praise. In its infancy it might look like a failure, but as time passed it would be perfected, so that in the long run it would prove a godsend to humanity. When a criminal returns from penitentiary or prison he is shunned by society; he is under the eternal vigilance of our police force--he is walked upon and pushed down. Finally, tired with trying to earn an honest living, he again resorts to crime. Probably had he been paroled he might have turned out a deserving citizen and the father of a happy family. VAGRANTS; WHO AND WHY. WHAT WILL WE DO WITH THE VAGRANT AND TRAMP? [Illustration: Raggles--"Why did yer refuse what she offered yer?" Weary--"Cause I never heard of it before and de name was too much for me. Why when she said 'chop suey' cold chills run down me back, 'cause dat word chop reminds me too much of de time when I had ter chop three cords of wood looking into de face of two shotguns."] The vagrant is the most elusive man among us. He is always with us, yet we can never locate him. No one wants him, yet we always send him to someone else. We make laws to get rid of him, but succeed only in keeping him a little longer in custody at our own expense. Most of us laugh at him and some of us cry over him by turns. We draw funny pictures of him in our newspapers and in our billboard advertisements, but we are really afraid of him. We blame the police for not keeping him off the streets, or at least out of sight, and yet we feed him at our own doors. We fear to meet him after dark, and nevertheless we give him a nickel or a dime to keep him in town over night. He is an object of charity, or a criminal, just as we happen to feel. He is sometimes the hero of our melodrama at the theater, who gets our tearful applause. At the same time he stands for all that we brand as mean and vile. We spend money lavishly to support him without work by charity, or imprison him in idleness by law. The problem is to understand vagrancy so well that we can deal with it on a large enough scale both to restore the vagrant to the working world or to keep him in custody, and to prevent the accidental or occasional vagrant from becoming a habitual mendicant. The English and European governments have dealt with their problems of vagrancy more effectively than we have. This is due to the fact that they have investigated the causes and conditions of vagrancy more widely than we, and dealt with it on a larger scale by uniform legislation and by more persistently following up the measures in which the public and private resources combine to treat the evil. TRAMP A RAILROAD PROBLEM. Thus the tramp cuts no figure as a railroad problem, much less menace, abroad. But with us it is the fact that railroads representing more than half the total mileage operated in the United States and Canada testify almost without exception to depredation, thieving, injuries, deaths, accidents to passengers or rolling stock, enormous aggregate costs to railroads or society, caused by the habitual illegal use of the railroads by vagrants. The number of "trespassers," from one-half to three-quarters of whom were vagrants, who are killed annually on American railroads exceeds the combined total of passengers and trainmen killed annually. Within four years 23,964 trespassers were killed and 25,236 injured, thus furnishing the enormous total of 49,200 casualties, with all the cost they involve. Only by the co-operation of the railroads with one another and of towns and cities with the railroads can this waste of life and property and this increasing peril to the safety of the traveling public be prevented. Much more stringent laws will have to be both enacted and enforced to prevent the trespassing, which puts a premium on vagrancy. One of the best effects of the strict prevention of free riding on railroads would be to keep boys from going "on the road" and becoming tramps. It is simply amazing to find little fellows of from 12 to 17 years of age, who have never been farther away from home than to some outlying freight yards, disappearing for several weeks and returning from Kansas City, or Cleveland, Omaha or New York, having all alone, or with a companion or two, beaten their way and lived by their wits while traveling half way across the continent. Once the excitement of the adventure is enjoyed, the hardship it costs does not seem so hard to them as the monotony of home or shop. The discipline of the United States navy has been the only regulation of this wandering habit which the writer has known to be successful. But the habit is more easily prevented than regulated. Massachusetts has taken the most advanced legislative action of all the states to this end. The Wabash and the New York Central railways suggest fine and imprisonment for trespassing upon railway tracks or rolling stock. BETTER LODGINGS FOR HOMELESS MEN. Far better provision for lodging homeless men must be made by cities in municipal lodging houses of their own, such as Chicago effectively conducts, and by far stricter public regulation and supervision of lodging houses maintained for profit or for charity. The anti-tuberculosis crusade shows that this supervision and regulation should be shared by the health authorities with the police. Within a period of five years 679 consumptives were taken from only a portion of Chicago's lodging house district to the Cook County Hospital, most of them in the most dangerously infectious stages of the disease. An investigator of Chicago's 165 cheap lodging houses and their 19,000 beds declares that "the unfortunate man forced to sojourn in them for a while may enter sound and strong and come out condemned to death." The New York City Charity Organization Society and the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor have rendered a country-wide public service in furnishing the report on "Vagrancy in the United States" by their joint agent, Orlando F. Lewis. It may well be the basis for better public policy here and everywhere. Startling figures and facts were presented at the State Conference of Charities and Corrections at Albany by Arthur W. Towne, secretary of the Illinois State Probation Commission, regarding the extent of vagrancy and the habits of tramps in this state. More than 31,000 persons, mainly vagrants, received free lodgings in New York State, in town and city lockups, during 1906, and the number in 1907 was larger. Seventy-five cities and towns thus provide for their wandering visitors. Half of these towns and cities also feed the wanderers free of charge. A large number of places give lodgings also to boys, many of them as young as 10 or 12 years, thus encouraging the wandering spirit that makes the later tramp. With only one slight exception, not a single town or city required any work at all from the lodgers in return for the lodging or the food provided, thus giving absolutely no incentive to the wanderer to work for his board or meals. It is urged that the system of allowing the police authorities to give these free lodgings, as well as the similar practice in some jails and almshouses, be abolished as a most direct encouragement to vagrancy, and that in their stead such free lodgings as are necessary should be furnished by the overseer of the poor, but only when repaid by some form of work, such as chopping wood or breaking stone. TRAMPS LIKE JAIL. Mr. Towne also brought out the fact that tramps like to go to jail in winter. Instead of considering a jail sentence for that part of the year as a form of punishment, they welcome it as a chance to keep warm and loaf at the public expense. Forty-three per cent of the commitment of tramps occurs between November 1 and February 1. In short, the jail or the penitentiary becomes a sort of winter vacation resort for tramps. Many chiefs of police with whom Mr. Towne communicated said that tramps in winter would ask to be sent to jail, and that if this were not done they would sometimes commit offenses for the express purpose of being arrested and sent there. It is declared to be significant that in the tramp's slang the word "dump" is applied to both lodging houses and jails. With a cold winter the number of vagrants in penitentiaries and jails increases. In 1906 there were more than 10,000 tramps and vagrants in penitentiaries and jails, while in 1904, which was a very cold winter, there were more than 14,000. On the average, about one-third of the prisoners are tramps and vagrants. This means that the public is annually paying several hundred thousand dollars for the avowed purpose of punishing men for vagrancy, but in reality it amounts only to furnishing a free place of winter rest. Most of the chiefs of police believe that jails and penitentiaries do little good, if any, in their treatment of tramps. Another fact is that the sentences for this class of offenders are too short to accomplish any results. About 85 per cent of the sentences are from only one to sixty days. [Illustration: THE TRAMP OF FICTION] [Illustration: Tore Purse from the Hobo.] [Illustration: (Tramp dropping bucket)] HOBOS CLASSIFIED BY RACES. In a vague way the veteran hobos, classified by the various nationalities, are fairly representative of the make-up of the whole American nation, in accordance with the number of hobos each nationality turns out. After taking into consideration the fact that certain parts of the United States are dominated by people of one nationality, and the bulk of tramps in that part of the country would necessarily come from that nationality, the following classification was given as doing justice to all: The Irish and British elements lead in the number of hobos. They are closely followed, however, by the German element. The nations of Eastern Europe, Poles, Bohemians, Hungarians and others, are next in line. Then follow, in smaller numbers, Scandinavians, French, Italians and Jews. The French come mostly from Canada, the Scandinavians from the northwest and the Italians from the largest cities in the country, like New York and Chicago, and also from the southern states. Here and there one finds a stray Servian or Bulgarian who drifted into trampdom and has never been able or has never cared to drift out of it again. Greeks are seldom found among tramps because they have not yet a "second generation" of Greeks to any extent in the United States. Chinese and Japanese likewise are not found in the hobo class. Of the negro race, many would not be averse to becoming professional tramps were it not for the risk which a negro tramp generally runs. A "stray negro," according to the hobos interviewed, is regarded with apprehension and is apt to be shot on mere suspicion. NEW FOREIGNER NOT A HOBO. You will hardly ever find a foreigner in the first five or ten years of his American life among tramps and hobos. "He may be near tramp, he may be apparently 'down and out,' but he is not a genuine hobo," said one of the men. "You will find plenty of foreigners in the lodging houses, plenty of them who starve and suffer, but they are not hobos. They have had hard luck, and now in their old age they live by doing two or three and some even one day's work a week. But they work more or less. They have not the parasitic philosophy of one who is a full-fledged hobo. They fall more in the class of European vagabonds, such as one finds in Germany or Russia. They work now and then; they have some trade, or know a smattering about a number of trades." The American hobo falls in an entirely different category from these. Work with him is said to be a disgrace. Neither does he relish crime much if he can get along without it. He will beg from door to door and will commit a crime only as a last resort. The hobo primarily has no will power, or rather, he destroys it. The majority of hobos became such because of their false conception of freedom and of wrong inter-relations between parents and children. Their parents have been held in many cases in semi-savage conditions by their landlords in the old world. When they come to America they naturally appreciate their freedom. They speak of it to their children. They are lax with them, and this spoils them. JEW RECRUIT IN TRAMPDOM. Polish tramps and tramps from other nations of Eastern and Southern Europe were declared to be more apt to turn to petty crimes when pressed to it by want. They are, however, according to statements of tramps, easily found out. They somehow are hasty in their actions, and just as they brandish their knives and pistols thoughtlessly they fall into the hands of the police simply and easily. The Jewish tramp was a rarity until recently. However, the large number of Jews which poured into this country from oppressed countries in Europe since 1881 have also furnished a "first generation," many of whose members have found their way to the barrel houses and slums of all large cities. The Jewish tramp, however, was declared to be entirely of the class of the petty criminal. Out of the penitentiary for some petty crime committed, or having been a go-between for thieves and the person who buys the goods stolen, the Jewish youth for the time being takes to trampdom. His commercial instinct, however, together with the wide system of charity which the Jews maintain in every city where they are found, soon enables him to get out of the hobo class. He becomes a trader of some sort and soon leaves the barrel house and his hobo companions behind him. TALKS OF THE TRAMP--WHY DILAPIDATED GENTLEMAN DOES NOT GIVE UP WANDERING AND SETTLE DOWN--LIKES THE CARE-FREE LIFE--MINGLES AMONG THE PEOPLE AND GETS TO KNOW THEM WELL--CHANGES IN COMMUNITY. "Why don't I give it up and settle down in city or village and become a respectable member of the community?" echoed the dilapidated gentleman as he pocketed his usual fee. "I have been asked that question a thousand times, it seems to me, and my answer has always been the same. I tramp as a profession, and I stand at the head of it. I like it. There's a good living in it. I come in contact with human nature at every turn. I am respectable as it is. The cities and villages are overcrowded, and the man who butts in has little chance of success. I have less to worry about and sleep more soundly than any business man in America. You newspaper fellers think you know it all, but you'd take a drop to yourselves if you were on the tramp for a month. You'd see more human nature with the bark on in that time than you can find on the East Side in New York in five years. "Say, now," continued the man, "can you name me one single newspaper in the state of New York that felt sure of Roosevelt's election as governor? No, you can't. I hit his majority within 2,000. Why? Because I was among the people and knew how they talked. Plenty of politicians and newspapers said he'd be elected as president when he ran, but no man or no newspaper came within a thousand miles of the popular majority. I don't say that I hit it, but I could have given pointers to a hundred editors. [Illustration: SHOWING A "MEMBER" GETTING INTO THE FIGHT LAST NIGHT. Roaming Rowley--"I've just gotter break inter that nice, warm jail fer de winter. Here goes dat old shell I found on de battlefield." (Bang! Flash! Boom!) "Yes, Mr. Sheriff, it wus me did it! I'm a desprit dynamiter and jail bird." Sheriff--"Git out of this township, quick! I won't have you blowin' up my nice, clean jail! Gwan, git!"] GET OUT AMONG THE PEOPLE. "Before the next national convention of either party meets I'll have tramped over three or four states, and I'll be ready to wager my life ag'in a nickel that I can name the victorious candidate. I'll wager that I can predict it far closer than any newspaper in the land. If you want to know what this country is thinking about, my boy, don't box yourself up in a sanctum and read a few exchanges. Get out and rub elbows with the people. It isn't the few big cities that settle the great political questions. It's the farmer and the villager, and they come pretty near being dead right every time. When I had tramped across seven counties of New York state I shouted for Hughes. A politician in Syracuse who heard me had me thrown out of a meeting and wanted the police to arrest me. I heard that he had a bet of $5,000 on another candidate and was predicting Hughes' defeat by 50,000. But enough of this. I'll switch off and tell you something that has hurt me for the last three or four years. BARNS NOW LOCKED. "Do you know that a few men, comparatively, have almost changed the nature of the country and village population? No, you don't, but you'll learn of it some day through some magazine writer who gathers up his points in the way I have. Time was when not one farmer in ten in the land locked his house or barn at night. Now ninety out of a hundred do it. When a stranger came along they welcomed him. When a man talked with them they accepted his statement. What they saw in the newspapers they believed without cavil. Well, they have got over all this. The patent medicine faker, the mine exploiter, the bucketshop man and the hundreds of other swindlers have destroyed the confidence of the farmer and villager in human nature. They have been bitten so often and so hard that they come to doubt if such a thing as honesty exists. They won't take a stranger's word for anything. They have got through believing that there is an honest advertiser. They have even become distrustful of each other. It has become the hardest kind of work to sell a windmill, piano or other articles direct. VICTIMS OF FAKERS. "You can't get out into the country and walk five miles without finding a victim of the fakers. The farmer has invested in bogus mines, bogus oil wells, bogus stock and bogus other things, and not only lost his money, but come to know that he was as good as robbed of it. The villager has been trapped the same way. It has hardened their hearts and given them the worst view of mankind. You can know nothing of this by telling, nor of the ruin wrought until you get among the people. "Up to a year or so ago it was seldom that a farmer turned me down. If he had nothing for me to do to earn a meal or lodging he would not turn me away. He most always took me on trust and had no fear that I was a rascal in disguise. It's all changed now. This last summer I was paddling the hoof in Connecticut and Massachusetts, making a sort of grand farewell tour, and it was hard work for me to even get a few apples of the farmers. They used to be full of 'chin' and gossip. They used to hold me for an hour in order to hear all the news. I found them last summer sullen and sulky and calling to me from the fields to move on. In other years the village landlord would set me at work in the stables or with a pail of whitewash in some of the rooms, and in that way I'd pay for my stay. I found a change there. HARDENED BY LOSSES IN "PROSPERITY" TIMES. "Three years ago, if you had started out for a day's tramp with me along a country road every farmer we met would have had a 'Howdy' for us, and perhaps stopped for a chin. You'd have heard whistling or singing from every man at work, and the farmer's wife would have called to you that she had some fresh buttermilk. Take such a tramp today and you'll find a tremendous change. I can't estimate the sum the farmers and villagers have been robbed of during the past years of prosperity, but it is something appalling for the whole country. As much and more has been taken out of victims in the cities, but the case is different. The man in the city doesn't pin his faith to an advertisement. He speculates on chance. He is where he can use the law, if needs be. If he loses here he goes at it to get even there. With the other class it is a dead loss, and the swindler can give them the laugh. Take almost any highway you will, leading through almost any state, and eight farmers out of ten have been made victims. Even the man who has not lost above $10 has been hardened by it. HIS FEELINGS HURT. "I said that this change hurt me, and so it does. You may be surprised to hear that anything can hurt the feelings of a tramp, but that is because you don't know him. He is looked upon as an outlaw in the cities, but ever since he took the road there has been a sort of bond between him and the dwellers outside. He has paid his way or been willing to. He has asked for little and done little harm. The newspapers have made thousands of farmers tell hard stories about the tramp, but it has been in the newspapers alone. The two have worked together harmoniously. "Have you got any idea of how the professional conducts himself on the road? No? Well, it won't happen once in a week that you will find one without a little money. It has been earned by hard work. When he stops at a farmhouse he offers to work for a meal. If there is no work he pays cash for what he gets. If he has been padding along for three or four days he will stop and work for half a week if the chance is offered him. In his work he keeps up with the hired man. He washes before he eats. He knows what forks are made for. He carries a clean handkerchief oftener than the man he works for. The average tramp can dress a chicken, kill a pig, empty and fill a straw bed, whitewash a kitchen, paint the house or fence, hoe corn, dig potatoes, run a cultivator, drive a team, split fence rails, dig a well, shingle a roof or rebuild a chimney. He is a handy man. He eats what he gets, sleeps where he is told to and brings the farmer a bigger budget of news than any two of his county papers. When his work is finished he slings his hook and is told to stop again. That's the tramp and that's the farmer just as they have been for the last forty years, and that's the reason I bemoan this change in the farmer. He has been victimized by men he thought were honest, he has been robbed where he trusted, and in changing his feelings toward mankind he must include the tramp, who has never wronged him. DRIVEN TO THE CITIES. "Take a walk and you will find those same green meadows, those same brooks, those same lambs, but you won't find Uncle Josh and Aunt Mary any more. A city like this seems a hard-hearted and cruel place, and you shiver at the idea of being dead broke. Let me just tell you that tramps are driven into the cities to recuperate. All the clothing I have had for the last five years has been begged in the city. All the money I have had has come from the dwellers therein. The only kind words I have heard have come from the hurly-burly. Makes you open your eyes, doesn't it? You are still clinging to the old-fashioned ideas of the country. "My friend, let me tell you something. There isn't today a harder man to deal with than the average farmer. There isn't a woman with less sentiment than his wife. There's been a mighty change in the last twenty years. Indeed, it is a change that was forced on the farmer to protect himself. In years gone by, in tramping over the highways, I have met lightning-rod men, windmill men, piano men, hay-fork men, commission men, peddlers, chicken buyers and horse traders. All were after the farmer. Each and every one intended to beat him, and did beat him. He was beaten when he sold his produce and he was beaten when he bought his goods. He was considered fair game all around. It was argued that his peaceful surroundings made him gullible, and I guess they did. [Illustration: Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadows sweet with hay; This heavy work upon the farm Gave Maud a very strong right arm. In Chicago just the other day She raked the muck heaps without pay. "Near food" and "curealls" went up in smoke. Maud deserves credit, and that's no joke. ] THINGS ARE CHANGED NOW. "Well, Uncle Josh and Aunt Mary died twenty years ago, and their children took hold. The babbling brook babbles for cash now. The green meadows mean greenbacks. The lambkins frisk, but they frisk for the dough. The watchdog at the gate can size up a swindler as well as a man. The farmer holds on until he gets the highest price, and the merchant who sells him shoddy has got to get up early in the morning. Say, now, but I'd rather start out to beat ten men in a city than one farmer. I'd rather be dead broke here than to have a dollar in my pocket out in the country. If taken ill here I'm sent to a free hospital; if taken sick in the country, the Lord help me. "I'm not blaming the farmer in the least. For a hundred years he was the prey for swindlers and was taken for a fool. If he's got his eyes opened at last and is taking care of himself, and I assure you that such is the case, then so much the better for him. It is the dilapidated gentleman who suffers most from this change. "Why is a sailor a sailor? Nineteen times out of twenty it is because he wants to rove the seas. Why is a tramp a tramp? Nineteen times out of twenty it is because he wants to rove the land. It is a nervous, restless feeling that he cannot withstand. He wants to get somewhere, and he is no sooner there than he wants to get somewhere else. The majority of them are sober men. They are as honest as the average. Not one in twenty will refuse to work for a meal or for pay. Not one in twenty commits a crime for which he should be jailed. You can't make statistics talk any other way. The whining, lying, vicious tramp has his home in the city and stays there. FARMERS DOWN ON TRAMPS. "It is the press of the country that has got the farmer down on the tramp. You may drive for fifty miles and interview each farmer as you come to him and you won't find five to say that a tramp ever caused them any trouble. In summer the tramp may steal a few apples or turnips. Anyone driving along the highway is free to do that. Should he steal an ax, shovel, plow, sheep, calf or break into the house and steal a watch or clothes, what is he going to do with his plunder? The instant he tries to realize on it he is nabbed. The tramp who entered a house and stole $50 in cash would be worse off than if he hadn't a cent. "I can walk into that bakery over there and say that I am hungry and the woman will give me a stale loaf. I can tackle most any man passing here for a dime for lodgings and get it. I can wander down most any residence street and raise a hat, a coat or a pair of shoes. How is it out in the country? We'll say I've hoofed it all day, making about fifteen miles. I've stopped to rest now and then and view the scenery. Don't you make any mistake about that scenery feature. If any art company wanted to publish a thousand views it couldn't do better than to ask the tramps where to find the best ones. For lunch I pull two turnips from a field. My drink is from a brook. Along about 6 o'clock I hunger for cooked victuals, and as it looks like rain I would like to get lodgings in a barn. I turn aside to a farmhouse. The farmer is washing his hands at the well to go in to supper. Out of the tail of his eye he sees me approaching, but he pays no heed until I stand before him and say: "'Mister, I can milk a cow, chop wood, mow weeds or hoe If you will give me supper and lodgings on the haymow I will work an hour at anything you wish.' [Illustration: "WHEN DID YOU GET OUT OF JAIL?" HE ASKS.] SUSPICIOUS OF CALLER. "'When did you get out of jail?' he asks. "'I have never been in jail.' "'But you look like a durned skunk who stole a pitchfork from me last year.' "'Last year I was in California.' "'Want to set my barn afire with your old pipe, do you?' "'I don't smoke.' "He stands and thinks a moment and then grudgingly tells me to take a seat on the kitchen doorsteps. The wife brings me out a stingy supper. There's an abundance on the table and part of it will go to the hogs, but she cuts me short, thinking to get ahead of me. I have cleared my plate in ten minutes and then I am set to work and buckle in until too dark to see longer. My bed is on the hay, and twice during the night the farmer comes out to see if I haven't stolen the shingles off the roof. In the morning if I want a meager breakfast I must put in a good hour's work for it. That means an hour and a half, and when I thank the farmer for his generosity and get ready to go on, he says: "'Goin', eh? Well, that's the way with you durned critters. I've filled you up and lodged you, and now you want to play the sneak on me.' "My friend, don't look for much sentiment in humanity these days, and don't look for a bit of it out in the country. You won't find it. The farmer can't afford it. He has been beaten by sharpers and squeezed by trusts until he has lost faith in everyone. He has buttermilk, but it's for sale, and before selling it to you he wants a certificate that you have never stolen a haystack or run away with a field of buckwheat." It was hard to suspect that the clean-cut, energetic and rapid-fire talker was a tramp, but when he produced credentials from one end of the country to the other, and promised and threatened to produce them from Brazil, Hungary, New Zealand and the Klondike regions to prove his statement, it had to be credited. "I'm A No. 1, the well-known hobo, tramp, author and traveler," he said, in a speed of diction that would have made the late lamented Pete Daily or Junie McCree green with envy. "Everywhere you've seen the marks 'A. No. 1,' on railroad fences, in railroad yards, or anywhere else, and you must have seen them if you've been over this country much; you'll know I've been there." HOBO LOOKS LIKE BUSINESS MAN. A No. 1 had uttered this sentence in almost one breath, and was proceeding with such rapidity that it was impossible to follow his flow of ideas. He was a medium-sized but lithe and powerfully built man, attired in a neat tailor-made brown suit, with highly polished shoes, and looking something like a prosperous business man in a small way. Under his arm he carried a pair of blue overalls, and as he laid them on the table he remarked: "My traveling rig." [Illustration: "Say, Jack, have some more nice hot coffee." "Gee, Bill, I was jus' thinkin' o' that myself. Talk about great minds--" "Come on, Jack, be game. Please have some more o' this nice turkey." "Turkey! Great Scott! When have I heard that word before? Hain't it a country out in Asia some place?" "No. Jack, turkey is vittles. You get it if you love your teacher. Better let me give you a few nice slivers off the breast." "Say, Bill, on the dead, you're sure generous, all right, all right. Here you are, sharin' your last turkey." "Old man, don't you know it's Thanksgivin' day? Don't you hear the bells ringin'? Do you reckon I'd dine alone on a day like this? No, siree, not much. Pass your plate fer some more o' this nice hot turkey, and some nice hot scolloped oysters, an' some o' these nice hot biscuits, an' some nice cranberry sauce, an'--" "There you go. Bill, robbin' yourself. You won't have any left." "O, there's plenty here. I like to see a man eat till he's plum foundered.... When I used to go home fer Thanksgivin' mother wasn't happy unless I et enough to stall a hired hand. If I didn't eat four helpin's of everything she thought I didn't like her cookin'. Had to try ever'thing--choc'late cake, turkey, sage dressin', hot gravy, mince pie, an'--" "Say. Bill, you might gimme a piece o' that mince pie while you're about it. I got a nice, cozy little place fer a piece o' mince pie." "Sure, Jack. I'll give you a whole quarter section. How do you like this celery? Awful hard to get good celery these days." "Yep, celery and servants. One's hard to get an' the other's hard to keep." "Say, Jack." "What?" "Shall we have our cigars and coffee here or in th' drawin' room?" "O, let's have James bring 'em in th' drawin' room."] "Maybe I don't look like a tramp to you," he continued, "but I'm the genuine article, not the tomato-can or barrel-house bum type, but a real, up-to-date, twentieth-century tramp who respects his profession. Why am I a tramp? Because I like it. When did I start? When I was 11 years old. What is my name? None but myself knows it. I call myself A No. 1 because I'm an A. No. 1 tramp." [Illustration: DID YA SEEN IT HEN? NAW--WHAT WAS IT? (HONK)] He had a most convincing way with him and proceeded to spin off a tale of his adventures which differed somewhat from the ordinary story that the average tramp will tell you; how he had been hounded by the police, or released from jail and couldn't get work, or had bad luck in business, being crushed out by the heartless trusts until he had to tramp or starve, ending up with an appeal for the "price of a bed, mister." "I've kept a record of the towns I've been in ever since I've been on the road," continued A. No. 1. "and up to date I've traveled 445,405 miles, and it's cost me just $7.61. Out of that distance there's been 92,000 miles of it by water. In 1906 I traveled 19,335 miles for 26 cents, and in the year 1907 I traveled between Stamford and West Haven, Conn. I jumped a street car and the conductor made me pay my fare. Oh, I always have a little money, and I'm honest, too, and that's saying a good deal for a tramp. Of course, once in a while I go hungry, but that's when I can't get a potato." [Illustration: "Dese awnings is handy t'ings. "Wot's de matter wit' fixin' one up on meself? "It would be a good umbreller---- "An' if a cop bothered yer---- "Youse could let de water off de top. "It makes a bully tent, or---- "A screen for yer fire. "But when it's windy---- "Yer wanter look out cause---- "Yer might go sailin'!"] "Is that your staple article of diet?" "No, I don't eat them except in restaurants," said A. No. 1, seriously. "Here is what I do with them." He pulled a good-sized tuber from his pocket, opened a large clasp knife and speedily had it peeled. Then he proceeded to cut and carve, and in about three minutes had fashioned a grotesque human face on the potato, the lines coarse, to be sure, but nevertheless well outlined. TRAMP AN ARTIST. "I make these and can carve anyone's face, and I can sell them anywhere from 25 cents to $2," said the tramp. "I'm the only man in this country who can do such work, and there's a demand for it everywhere I stop long enough to do it. I only stop to do it when I have to, so that I can get a little money for a meal and pay little expenses, although my living doesn't cost me much. Then, again, I never drink or smoke, so that item is cut off. They don't know so much about me in Chicago as in other places, because I never stopped here long enough to get acquainted; but they know me back East, all right, and out in the West." Then A. No. 1 paused long enough to draw his breath and showed a medal certifying that in 1894 he had hoboed his way across the continent in eleven days and six hours in company with the representative of an Eastern paper and had been given $1,000 for doing it. "That's how I first became famous," he said, "but I took good care of the money. I went and bought myself a lot in a graveyard at Cambridge Springs, Pa., so I could be buried respectably when I die, and I paid part of the premium on a sick benefit so that I can be taken care of in case I fall sick suddenly. I'm a member of the Chamber of Commerce of that town, too. I believe in looking out for A. No. 1, and that's why I've been so prosperous in the tramping way." Then A. No. 1 launched into a long and picturesque description of the ways of tramps in general and himself in particular. "I've always been particular about some things," said he, "and one is to keep clean. I find that in asking for a handout the man who looks up-to-date is the man who gets it. I always wear a suit of overalls when I'm tramping, for I find that it prevents me from being annoyed by watchmen in railroad yards. I am generally taken for an engineer. While I was down in a yard here in Chicago one man came and asked if I had a car lock, thinking I was a railroad man. I told him I did not have one and walked off. I have prevented a number of train wrecks, tramping about, probably at least one every year. The last one, as you see by this letter, was a few months ago. I saw a freight running along with a broken truck dragging. I jumped aboard and gave the warning, as you can see by this clipping. I have also been in a number of wrecks myself, and have never been injured. I always carry a little bottle of cyanide of potassium in my pocket so that in case I am ever fatally injured and in great agony I can take it and end all my trouble in about 20 seconds." COLONIES FOR TRAMPS. Teaching Vagrants a Trade. The vagrancy problem, growing so great in every part of the country, has caused the authorities of Massachusetts to make a trial of the German plan of farm colonies for quasi-criminals. Vagrants are sent to such farms under indeterminate sentences, forced to support themselves by honest labor and made to stay there until they give evidence that upon release they will become useful and self-respecting citizens. This is a modification of the penal colony idea, which is to send confirmed criminals to such a place for life. It is a great advance upon the plan in use in Chicago, which is to send vagrants to the Bridewell for a stipulated time and let them out again. While they are confined they are an expense to honest citizens, they acquire more extensive knowledge of crime, and when released they are less likely than they were beforehand to go to work and support themselves. The Massachusetts scheme promises well, so far as it goes. The trouble with it is that in this climate a farm provides work for only a small part of the year. From November to March other work would have to be found for inmates, and up to this time society has failed to agree upon any that would be satisfactory. Persons interested in charities and prison reforms are indorsing a plan for "tramp colonies," "forced colonies" and "free colonies." Into the one put criminals, or incurable tramps who are unwilling to work. The other would contain tramps who are unable to find work, neuropaths, cripples and those who are judged to be curable. Both kinds of colonies would be strictly agricultural, and their products would pay all expenses of operation and relieve the country of the enormous sums now required to be spent. But why confine this plan, admirable and satisfactory as it is, to tramps? Why not extend it so as to include criminals? Criminals cost honest taxpayers millions of dollars every year. Why not reorganize a system of confinement in such a way as to compel criminals to support themselves? But financial relief is not the only advantage. If habitual criminals--that is to say, criminals who have served two terms in the penitentiary, and then have committed another crime--were placed in a penal colony, remote from society and kept there for life, the moral tone of the country would at once be raised. The bad example of such men, which leads youths into crime, would be removed. The knowledge that there was no escape, that return was impossible, once an offender was sent to the penal colony, would deter many would-be criminals. The possibility that hardened criminals might propagate themselves would end. The penal colony is the one rational solution of the crime problem, which becomes more difficult and menacing each year. It will be adopted, sooner or later. THE YOUNG CRIMINAL HOW HE IS BRED IN CHICAGO. Chicago Raises Its Own Criminals. There is material in this subject for earnest thought. Men under twenty-five are responsible for 75 per cent of crimes committed in Chicago, and 50 per cent of robberies and burglaries are done by boys under nineteen. If that is true, then the idea many people have had that crimes in this city are mostly committed by a roving army of criminals, alien to Chicago and attracted hither by one cause or another, must be abandoned. If it is true, then Chicago itself is responsible for most crimes committed here. The men who are guilty have grown up in this environment, which has given them the evil impetus under which they act. The thought that Chicago boys are the criminals who terrorize the city, rob houses and flats, hold up citizens on the streets and assault women is distressing. It was much pleasanter to attribute these crimes to desperate men from elsewhere, descending upon Chicago like raiders and leaving the city again as soon as possible. But that is a misconception. We ourselves have reared most of our criminals. They are a Chicago product. They have received their notions of right and wrong here among us. We are responsible for them. What is the matter with Chicago? What are the elements in its life that breed criminals? What causes thousands of young boys to take up a criminal life? What must we do to change conditions? These are questions that should engage every good citizen in anxious endeavor to find answers to them. If we are to reform criminals and lessen crime, we must first learn how to reform our own city. PREVENTING CRIME BETTER THAN CURE. Instead of attempting to prevent crime, we wait until after the crime is committed, then burden ourselves with the expense of apprehending, trying, convicting and imprisoning the criminal. Our first duty is to adopt those measures that will prevent the further commission of crime. Among the problems of Chicago there is no one, perhaps, that is more baffling than that of the vicious boy. His years protect him from the rigors of the law, and it is a difficult matter to know just what to do with him. There are all sorts of organizations formed for his aid and his reformation. There is the Juvenile Court, for instance, and there are innumerable homes and shelters, and still the problem is not solved. The boy looms large in the public eye these days, when he is sent to prison for life for murder and spends long years in durance for burglary and other serious crimes. The story of the car-barn bandits and their tragic end is too recent to need more than a passing reference. The car-barn bandits met an ignominious death on the gallows. Rudolph Gamof will spend the remainder of his years behind prison bars and it is quite likely Alfred Lafferty will know what hard work means in Pontiac or some other such institution before he is once more at liberty. THE END OF THE GAMIN. It will be remembered that little Gavroche, the gamin in "Les Miserables," came to his death on a barricade in the streets of Paris. It was during the fatal insurrection of 1830. The lad allied himself with the insurrectionists and found he was in his element. He did prodigies of valor and was robbing the dead bodies of the enemy of cartridges when he was shot. Even after he had been shot once and had fallen to the earth he raised himself to a sitting posture and began to sing a revolutionary song. "He did not finish," says Hugo. "A second bullet from the same marksman stopped him short. This time he fell face downward on the pavement and moved no more. This grand little soul had taken flight." Thus it is to be seen that Hugo has made a hero of this lad. But what of the little gamins that throng Chicago's streets? Will they find any such glorious end? It is not likely. Jacob Leib is but 17 years old, and Alfred Lafferty, accused of twenty-three burglaries, is only 16. The John Worthy School is full of boys who have been gathered in by the police; the Junior Business Club, another reform organization, has a big membership, and the Juvenile Protective League is hard at work trying to do something to arrest the boy in his mad race to the reform school, prison and the penitentiary. In looking about for the causes of crime among boys I found that poverty, liquor, divorce, yellow newspapers, cigarettes and bad company played important parts. Certain streets of Chicago are schools of crime, where boys are taught the rudiments of larceny and soon become adepts. Hardened criminals use the more agile youths they find idle to do work they are unable to do. Certain sections of the city swarm with boys who are steeped in vice and crime and are in embryo the murderers, the burglars and the forgers of tomorrow. CHICAGO HAS HER CHILDREN. Turning again to the pages of "Les Miserables," the story of Gavroche, the gamin of Paris, may easily be found, and the tale of this youth is not far different from that of the "kid" of Chicago. Here is what Victor Hugo says of Gavroche in that section of his great novel called "Marius": "This child was muffled up in a pair of man's trousers, but he did not get them from his father, and a woman's chemise, but he did not get it from his mother. "Some people or other had clothed him in rags out of charity. Still he had a father and a mother. But his father did not think of him and his mother did not love him. "He was one of those children most deserving of pity, among all; one of those who have father and mother and who are orphans nevertheless. "This child never felt so well as when he was in the street. The pavements were less hard to him than his mother's heart. "His parents had dispatched him into life with a kick. He simply took flight. "He was a boisterous, pallid, nimble, wideawake, jeering lad, with a vicious but sickly air. He went and came, sang, played, scraped the gutters, stole a little, but like cats and sparrows. He had no shelter, no bread, no fire, no love. When these poor creatures grow to be men the millstones of the social order meet them and crush them, but so long as they are children they escape because of their smallness." This is a true picture of the urchin of Chicago. These tiny atoms of humanity are sponges that absorb all the filth, the vice, the sin and the crime of the streets. They pick up all that is evil and nothing that is good. They are nurtured at the breast of poverty and viciousness, and are reared on a diet of depravity and degradation. There is nothing they do not know of crime and of wickedness. They are thoroughly saturated with everything that is evil, unprincipled and debased. Is it any wonder, then, that the city brings forth an appalling annual crop of criminals? There may be heroes among the gamins in Chicago, but most of them are only heroes so long as they remain uncaught. When they fall into the hands of the police and are taken to jail they are sorry-looking heroes. And in the meantime the problem of the boy is still unsolved. GRADUATE OF THE STREETS. This, then, is a good specimen of the kind of boy the schools of the street graduate. From these petty classes of crime they go to the high school, the prison, where they are further grounded in the knowledge of wickedness, and as like as not return to Chicago once more, full-fledged criminals, ready for anything. But this is only one of hundreds of such cases that are brought to the attention of the police and the public every year. Most of the boys who come here are either orphans or half orphans. Drink has wrecked their homes, perhaps, and they are thrown out on the world to shift for themselves. If they get into bad company they soon make their appearance in the Juvenile Court or in jail. 10,000 BOYS WORSE THAN HOMELESS. A charitable worker who has come in touch with the young of the poorer districts, whence comes the tough lad, estimates that there are over 10,000 boys in Chicago who are worse than homeless. In other words, they are in direct line of becoming criminals or public charges, under the teaching of the trained criminal who makes the city his refuge. Anderson, the stickup youth who operated extensively on the north side, choosing women for his victims, is but 23 years old. The men who relieved Alderman C. M. Foell at the point of a gun are less than 20, and thus it goes down the line. They laugh at the efforts of the police to catch them. For the most part they live at home or with relatives, and in the neighborhoods are known as dissipated and tough boys, but not as hold-up men. With companions they sally out at night to isolated sections of the city where they know the police protection to be inadequate. They choose secluded spots offering the protection of darkness and lay in wait. Then, with plenty of time deliberately to stop the victim and take from him valuables, they operate until it is time for the policeman to be in the vicinity, or until the profits of the expedition are sufficient to satisfy their spirit of revelry and riot. SCHOOLS FOR PICKPOCKETS. There are numerous places in Chicago where boys are taught to become pickpockets. Poolrooms are gathering places for such young criminals and certain saloons of a low order harbor others. There is one saloon in West Madison street, for instance, not far from Canal street, where a lot of pickpockets are in the habit of congregating. They are young fellows for the most part and adepts in their particular field. They find a sort of home in this saloon, where they can get a big glass of beer and a generous free lunch for 5 cents. They are in and out of this place day and night and manage to keep out of the clutches of the law through their sleekness and cleverness. There is one young man in there at least who has made a good living by forging orders for goods. So far he has escaped detection. His method is to forge an order on some big business house and get certain goods. One day he got a lot of belting from a well-known firm on a forged order. He sold this later and realized $4.50 on the deal. This he spent freely in the saloon mentioned and made no bones of how he got the money. Others run out, snatch a pocketbook and make for cover. Later on they look up their cronies at the saloon and spend the money for beer and cheap whisky, and eat free lunch provided by the management. There are numerous other such places, more especially on South Clark near Van Buren street. Some of the saloons in that section are alive with young fellows who prey upon the public for a living. They do not always beg their way, either, for they often take a run out and stick up somebody, filch a purse or break into a store. When one of them has been up to some devilment his companions can usually detect it, for he will come back and be very flush for a few hours, or a few days, all depending, of course, upon how much he was able to steal. [Illustration: (Children outside junk shop)] MODERN BOYS ARE GAMBLERS. But it is not only in the slums that the tendencies of the modern boy may be studied. In the more respectable parts of town, in the vicinity of schools and in the neighborhood of churches may be seen evidences of what the youth of today think play. Time was when boys were content to play marbles. Some of them, of course, had the temerity to play for keeps. Others were taught it was wicked, and even at the risk of being called "sissy" refrained from disobeying their mothers. But now marbles are a thing of the past. As soon as spring comes boys want to shoot "craps." They want to play for money. They want to gamble. A visit to almost any school playground during recess or the noon hour will convince any person that the modern boy is a very wise youth. His conversation is not a well of English pure and undefiled by any manner of means. In the first place, his profanity is something shocking, and, in the next place, his knowledge of the world and its wickedness is thorough. There is nothing the modern schoolboy does not know. He is conversant with all sorts of vice and crime, even if he does not take an actual part in it. If this sort of thing obtains among schoolboys and youths of that class it is little wonder, then, that the boys of the slums are what they are. And the pictures is not overdrawn. The conversation of boys of ten and a dozen years will bring the blush of shame even to a grown man. Just how to cure all this is a question that is bothering a good many people. Societies are being organized right and left. Homes for boys are being established, schools are being started and other efforts are being made to reclaim the delinquents. It has been found that good playgrounds in the tenement districts have been beneficial. The boy is exuberant. He must let out some of his animal spirits. If he has a good place in which to play he will not be half as apt to get into mischief. REMEDIES SUGGESTED BY SOME. There are some who insist that moral suasion should be used at all times in an attempt to reform the juvenile. But this has been found to fall short in many instances in Chicago. Even the Juvenile Court, with all its benefits, is found to come somewhat short of doing everything for the vicious lad. It is found that boys who are herded together in penal institutions are inclined to leave such places much worse than when they entered. The bad boys dominate. The evil spreads and the good is suppressed. One bad boy is able to do much, while the influence of one good boy amounts to almost nothing. Those who have made a study of the matter aver that the only true solution of the boy problem is individual work. The lad's characteristics must be studied, the conditions under which he has been living must be scrutinized and all the influences that have been brought to bear upon his particular case must be looked into. Under these circumstances it would take a reformer for every dozen boys, and so far the money has not been forthcoming to support so many reformers, for even a reformer must live. A good many of the delinquent youths of Chicago have been reared in squalid surroundings and have been nurtured in filth and unloveliness. They have been surrounded from babyhood by poverty, drunkenness and depravity. These boys take to crime as naturally as a duck does to water. In order to reach boys and try to help them individually a movement is now on foot to form juvenile protective leagues in all parts of the city. One organization is now working in the vicinity of Halsted and Twenty-second streets to put a stop to race wars between school children. It is thought by some that this new movement will fill a long-needed want. It is admitted by those who have given the matter close study that something must be done. The records of the Juvenile Court and the books of the John Worthy School emphatically bear out this contention. FAILURE TO RULE CHILDREN MAKES CRIMINALS. What are you doing with your child's sense of right and wrong? Are you certain that you are not training a criminal, beginning with him at two years old? What is your boy at six years of age? Is he liar, thief--perhaps of insane ego as he was when he first toddled from his mother's arms? Inferentially President Roosevelt may have complimented you on the acquisition of a large family, but rather than this, has it occurred to you that the father and mother of one child, brought up in the light of wisdom, may be deliverers of mankind against the numerical inroads of the other type of parent? Insanity is the mental condition out of which it is impossible for the person of any age to recognize the rights of others in any form. This insanity may be due wholly to the overdevelopment of the primary ego in the child. At one year old the infant may be a potential criminal of the worst type. It lies to the mother by screaming as if in pain in order that she may be brought to its bedside. If the adult should steal personal property as this babe steals food wilfully, the penitentiary would be his end. Angered, this same babe might attempt murder in babyhood, the spirit fostered by the same selfish intolerance that is filling jails and crowding gallows traps. RESPECT RIGHTS OF OTHERS. Ego in the community life is the basis of all ill or all good, even to the dream of Utopia. The basis of all ill is the primary ego which is inseparable from the child until teaching has eliminated it. The basis of all good is that secondary ego which recognizes the rights of others. Morality--good--virtue--all that is considered desirable in the best type of citizenship develop out of the community life. Even in the lower orders of animals a greater intelligence marks the creatures that live community existences than is to be seen in the isolated creatures. And this is from the development of the secondary ego which exacts rights for others. The child has no knowledge of this secondary virtue save as it is taught it. The mother who, by responding out of a mistaken affection to every wail of the infant, encouraging all, no longer is susceptible to home influences in teaching the lesson. If this youth shall become entangled in the toils of the law and the mistaken parents intercede for him, gaining their ends in saving him from all punishment for his misdeeds, the boy receives through it only another selfish impetus toward more and greater offenses against society. REFORMATORY AFTER FIRST CRIME. Here in this first offense of magnitude sufficient to call for the intervention of the law the parents have their opportunity, if only they would see. The place for such a youth at this period is a reformatory in which are sufficient educational facilities and the strictest discipline, which in justice visits the full penalty of community transgressions upon the head of the offender. In this reformatory environment the offending one finds none of the intercessions that may have been made for him in his home. In sterner fashion than he ever dreamed before he discovers that as he transgresses the community laws he receives a full penalty for the offense. Young enough, he may be led to discover that his transgressions are not worth while. Too old for these teachings, he becomes the persistent lawbreaker, or, on the other hand, degenerates to the asylum for the insane. How intimately some of the fundamentals of training are associated with everyday lives in the home, and yet not recognized, is shown in the college life of the country. "Sophomore" is a class term in schools which needs interpreting. As a word, it is from the Greek, meaning "wise fool." Its application in the higher education is to the second-year "men"--to those students who are in that period of mental and physical stress after the age of fifteen is reached. In school parlance the word associates itself with the flamboyant youth who prates, and preaches, and struts, and lays down the law of all things as he sees it. Until twenty-five years old, indeed, the "Sophomoric" period is not fully passed. Broadly stated for all men, it may be reiterated that in the parents' failure to enforce the subjection of the selfish first nature in the child lies the seed of his destruction. Encouraging the infant to wail again when nothing ails it is already catering to this criminal ego. Later, when a parent humors its every whim, he is stunting its growth toward good citizenship. And later still, in that crisis in physical life, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five years, such a parent may awaken suddenly to a realization of the criminal which he has made. Ego in the child mind prompts it to take instantly anything which it desires and which it can take. Unchecked by training, this primary ego grows with that upon which it feeds. At two years old the child should have had its lessons in the rights of others administered in any way in which it can be reached, but always in all justice. Justice in this lesson should be the first consideration. At six years of age these lessons are of special significance. It is an age in the development of the child when they may be taught with especial emphasis, with lasting results. GUIDE CHILD OF FIFTEEN CAREFULLY. At fifteen years old a new condition arises in the life of the child. At this time the race condition and the individual condition are at war. It is at the beginning of this period that an unbridled, untrained youth may take his first step toward crime, simply because the primary ego in him has not been set toward the background by the lessons of his duty toward the rights of others. Here it is that the heedless, ignorant parents may come to the first realization of what his own sins of omission have been. If for any of the reasons suggested a youth's parents have not given him this necessary training in recognition of the rights of others, the age brings with it a condition making it impossible in ordinary cases for the parental conscience and home environment to avail. [Illustration: (DO IT NOW scenario)] For example, the fact that the boy becomes a thief, or burglar, indicates in any or many things that disregard for the rights of others which is destructive to all law and order. Properly handled in the home he would have been amenable to all of these conditions. Raise the child like a plant, care for it as you do for the rarest specimen of vegetation, bring it up in an atmosphere of love. Child raising and plant development are akin. If the child has but the smallest trace of some characteristic you desire to develop, take hold of it, care for it, surround it with proper conditions and it will change more certainly and readily than any plant quality. CHILD LIKE A PLANT. The child in nature and processes of growth is essentially the same as the plant, only the child has a thousand strings instead of but a few, as has the plant. Where one can produce one change for the betterment of the plant one can produce a thousand changes for the betterment of the child. Surround the child with the proper environment to bring out certain qualities and the result is inevitable. Working in the same way as one does with the plant, the development of the individual is practically unlimited. Take the common daisy and train it and cultivate it by proper selection and environment until it has been increased in size, beauty and productiveness at least four hundred fold. Do our educational methods do as much for our children? If not, where is the weakness? REAR CHILD IN LOVE. Have the child reared for the first ten years of its life in the open, in close touch with nature, a barefoot boy with all that implies for physical stamina, but have him reared in love. Take the little yellow California poppy and by selecting over and over again the qualities you wish to develop you have brought forth an orange poppy, a crimson poppy, a blue poppy. Cannot the same results be accomplished with the human being? Is not the child as responsive? THE GREATEST REFORM MOVEMENT OF THE DAY IS THE CHICAGO JUVENILE COURT. The statistics show conclusively that the operation of the Juvenile Court is an advance step in the treatment of the young and helpless. It shows that not only are the dependents helpless, but that the delinquents are helpless to extricate themselves from a life of idleness and crime, for most criminals are made, not born, and the sooner time is devoted to changing the environments of the young, the sooner will be solved the problem of criminology. ILLINOIS IN THE LEAD. Various claims have been put forth from time to time as to the State which was the first to inaugurate the Juvenile Court idea. The Juvenile Court Law went into effect July 1, 1899, and immediately the Juvenile Court was established. The Judges of the Circuit Court assigned one of their members to preside in the Juvenile Court. The law gave the court jurisdiction of all dependent and delinquent children who are under seventeen and eighteen years of age, and defines dependents and delinquents. The word "dependent" shall mean any child who for any reason is destitute or homeless or abandoned, or dependent upon the public for support, or has not proper parental care or guardianship, or who habitually begs or receives alms, or who is found living in any house of ill-fame or with any vicious or disreputable persons, or whose home, by reason of neglect, cruelty or depravity on the part of its parents, guardian or other persons whose care it may be, is an unfit place for said child, and any child under the age of ten years who is found begging, peddling or selling any article, or singing or playing any musical instrument upon the street, or giving any public entertainment, or who accompanies or is used in aid of any person so doing. The word "delinquent" shall mean any boy under seventeen or any girl under eighteen years of age who violates any law of this State or any city or village ordinance, or who is incorrigible, or who knowingly associates with thieves, vicious or immoral persons, or who is growing up in idleness or crime, or who knowingly frequents a house of ill-fame, or who knowingly patronizes any policy shop or place where any gaming device is or shall be operated. A boy of seventeen is at a period of life where he is neither a boy nor a man. In many cases he has the mind of the boy and the impulses of the savage; his ideals are force, and his ambitions that of the wild, erratic western rover. Why the wise head and steady hand of the court and probation officer should be withdrawn at this period is not explainable on any reasonable theory. It may be contended that a boy of seventeen years is too advanced in the knowledge of crime, but it can also be contended that the boy of fifteen years is too old in crime. Just what standard can be used to find the responsibility of a boy when measured by his age and physical proportions I am unable to discover. The only just standard is mental capacity. The Judge and probation officers, who are familiar with the boy, know his parents or guardians and his environments, should be allowed to exercise their judgment as to the moral responsibility of the boy, for there are many boys at fifteen who are more responsible for their acts than others at eighteen. In many cases where children were committed to an institution the parents were placed under the care of a probation officer and the number of failures to reform the parent are few. In cases where the parents are responsible for the dependency of existence those parents mean well, but they are unfitted for the duties they have assumed. The father thinks he has fulfilled his whole duty to his family when he provides food, shelter and clothing; the mother thinks she has fulfilled her whole duty when she does her house work and attends to the mending and washing. The children are masters of both parents before the parents take cognizance of the actual mental state of the child. What should be done when the boy's home is the case of his delinquency is to provide for him a place where every home impulse would be developed and where industry and economy would be practiced. He should live in this home under the jurisdiction of the court until he has reached his eighteenth year. What is said of the boys is equally true of the girls, and, in many cases, more important. Where the father is directly responsible for the downfall of the girl, the girl should not be allowed to return to her parental home. WILES OF FORTUNE TELLING. FORTUNE TELLERS HAVE EXISTED SINCE RECORDS OF EVENTS BEGAN TO BE KEPT. Some of Their Methods--Charlatans Have a Great Hold on the Poorer Classes of Big Cities, Much Alike--Schools of Crime Run Full Blast--Silly and Ignorant People Undone by Vicious and Wide-Open Fraud. War against the swindlers, impostors and blackmailers who operate in Chicago under the guise of clairvoyants, trance mediums, astro-psychics, palmists, magicians and fortune tellers, of whom there are about 1,500 in Chicago, should be driven out of the city and never allowed to return. There exist in Chicago a horde of these brazen frauds, who ply their trade in the most open and unblushing manner. Few of them are other than organized schools for the propagation of crime, injustice and indecencies that would make an unjailed denizen of the red light district blush to even mention. We particularly refer to the army of fortune tellers, clairvoyants, Hindoo fakers, mediums, palmists, hypnotists and other skillful artists, whose sole occupation is to rob and mislead the superstitious, foolish and ignorant. The business is a paying industry, realizing, it is said, an enormous sum of money every month in Chicago, all of which is obtained by false pretenses. Here is a very large field for police investigation. The practices of these people are of the most demoralizing tendency. Can there be anything worse than holding out love potions to married women to compel other women's husbands to love them? Those dens of iniquity offer their services and even actually aid in the procuring of abortions, and in showing how and where a good haul can be made by robbery or burglary. They bring together the depraved of both sexes. Many of them are purveyors to our brothels and stews. They flaunt their profession, their "spiritual mysteries," brazenly in public in our busy thoroughfares, even invading some of our hotels. They are the hotbeds of vice and crime, from the robbing of orphans to the deflowering of innocent girls. They fall into "trances" and call up spirits from the vaults of heaven, or elsewhere, to testify to their truth, and in the turn-up of an ace of spades they see a "dark lady" or a "dark gentleman" who is pining for you, and furnish the address of either. [Illustration: Famous Artist's Explanation of Scientific Ghost Upper Row (left) Real Ghost. (right) Marx's Imitation. Lower Row (left) Fake Ghost & drawings by von Marx Showing Make up] PANDERERS TO DEPRAVITY. Why these panderers to depravity in all its most hideous forms are permitted to continue their depredations among every rank of society without attracting the attention of "reformers" or the grand jury is something beyond the ken of human knowledge. And as a block is a small cityful in some parts of the town, the reading of palms, the casting of horoscopes and the looking into seeds of time through the backs of a greasy pack of thumb-marked, tear-stained cards is a profitable calling. Perhaps it should be explained that the tears are not shed by the prophets of the tenements, but by the patrons who go to the oracle to learn if they are to be dispossessed next month or if their ambitious children will sometime learn a little Yiddish, so that they may talk with their own parents in their own homes, are sources of information for the settlement workers and others who try to learn the hopes and fears and ambitions, the real life of such places. But the fortune tellers are the real custodians of the Ghetto's secrets. In their little back rooms, some of which are cluttered with the trash that suggests the occult to the believer, some as bare as the room of a lodger who has pawned the last stick of furniture, they hear confessions that court interpreters never have a chance to translate, and listen to tales of hard luck that are never told to the rabbis. [Illustration: Chair with open back stuffed with disguises] [Illustration: (Drawing of costumes)] [Illustration: Supposed "Medium" Sitting in the Chair.] PROGNOSTICATIONS ARE VAGUE. But they don't use the mails to drum up trade, and they have no barkers at the doorsteps to cajole the credulous to step inside to learn what the future has in store for them. And so, in a legal sense, they are guilty of no fraud. They are not very serious frauds in any sense, for their tricks are harmless and their prognostications are vague as the weather predictions of an almanac and as probable as the sayings of the cart-tail orators who hold forth at the street corners in campaign time. "About this time, look for cold winds, with some snow," sagely remarks the almanac writer, stringing the ten words of his prediction down the entire column of the month. "In a few years," says the fortune teller, solemnly, "you will have good friends and more money than you have now." "If you vote for this man," shrieks the cart-tail orator, "rents will be lower and the street cleaner and you will get jobs. The other ticket stands for graft and greed. Vote for it if you want your children to run in the streets, because there is no room for them in the schools." PREDICTS LIKE A SPELLBINDER. Like the spellbinder, the oracle frequently builds on the look-on-this-picture-and-then-on-that plan. "This is a strong line," mumbles the palmist. "You will meet a man with blue eyes who will help you, but beware of a man with dark hair." Sometimes the helper has light hair and the man to be avoided black eyes. But invariably the good friend of the future is blond and the devil is brunette. No seer would any more think of changing that color scheme than the writer of a melodrama would dare stage a villain who didn't have hair and mustache as black as night. That prediction is one of the traditions of the art, and no future has ever been complete without the dark and the light men or the dark and the light woman, as the case might be. One of the most famous of fortune tellers, a woman, died suddenly. She had been reading cards in the same house for forty years, and on the day of her funeral her house was crowded with mourners, whose future she had foreseen with so much shrewdness that not one of the 200 or more men and women who filed by the coffin, to view the body had any fault to find with the services she had rendered. On the contrary, they compared notes, each trying to pay the best tribute to the dead by telling the most wonderful story of her predictions. WARNED OF THE ENEMY. "I was sitting right in this room at that table where the flowers are today," said one mourner, "and she said to me: 'You have an enemy. It is here on this card where you can see it plainly. But here is a friend, a tall, light man, who will come between you and your enemy. Put your trust in the tall, light man, but keep away from a dark man. There is a dark-haired woman who pretends to be your friend, but lies about you.'" Compare that prediction of the oracle with this forecast of Daniel Defoe's famous deaf and dumb predictor, Duncan Campbell. "To Mme. S----h W----d; I see but one misfortune after the year of 1725. A black man, pretty tall and fat, seems to wish you no good. Never tell your secrets to any such persons, and their malice cannot hurt you." And that warning wasn't original when Mme. S----h W----d called at Duncan Campbell's lodging in London to learn what was what. No doubt it could be traced beyond Delphi. That's almost as safe a guess as to assume that Mme. S----h W----d was a Sarah Wood. She might have been a Wedd or a Weld, but that is doubtful. PREDICTIONS CHANGE LITTLE. So, although the seer of Randolph street and all the rest probably never heard of Duncan Campbell or Nostradamus, or of their predecessors at Delphi, they have kept the profession of forecasting remarkably free of innovations. "This art of prediction," reads Defoe's Life and Adventures of Duncan Campbell, "is not attainable any otherwise than by these three ways. 1. It is done by the company of familiar spirits and genii, which are of two sorts (some good and some bad), who tell the gifted person the things, of which he informs other people. 2. It is performed by the second sight, which is very various and differs in most of the possessors, it being only a very little in some, very extensive and constant in others; beginning with some in their infancy and leaving them before they come to years, happening to others in a middle age, to others again in an old age that never had it before, and lasting only for a term of years, and now and then for a very short period of time; and in some intermitting, like fits, as it were, of vision that leave them for a time, and then return to be strong in them as ever; and it being in a manner hereditary in some families, whose children have it from their infancy (without intermission) to a great old age, and even to the time of their death, which they even foretell before it comes to pass, to a day--nay, even to an hour. 3. It is attained by the diligent study of the lawful part of the art of magic." MAKE ENOUGH TO RETIRE. Nowadays the prophets see to it that their miraculous power does not depart from them for any cause whatsoever until their own palms have been crossed with enough silver to enable them to retire in comfort. A certain Fatima who told fortunes on Madison street for years removed her card from the front window and disappeared altogether. She had bought a farm up the state, where she is now living and raising fancy breeds of poultry. There is no mortgage on the farm, and the hens have grain three times a day. Just which one of Duncan Campbell's three methods a certain practitioner uses is not apparent, but he was one of the most noted and successful fortune tellers, and his men patrons set more store by what he said than in the promises of the district leaders. ANSWERS QUESTIONS FOR A DOLLAR. He has reduced his business to a fine system, and all the questions that anybody could possibly think of are set down in a book with numbers opposite them. And these books, printed in Yiddish, English and German, anticipate all the hopes and fears of the tenements. The questions, all of a strong local flavor, are all answered by the fortune teller off-hand for $1, notwithstanding the fact that they present some of the toughest problems that the philanthropists who support the Educational Alliance and the settlement houses have been trying for years to solve. To illustrate, take this group of questions under the general classifications "Home and Children": "Can I learn English?" "Can I make my son or daughter learn Yiddish?" "Shall my children play with Christians?" The book printed in Yiddish shows the most wear. It is divided under these heads: "Travel and Letters," "Love and Marriage," "Home and Children," "Business," "Work," "Luck and Losses." Some of the questions make interesting reading and supplementary to the reports and papers of the various Hebrew charity organizations. One of the more recent of these reports gave statistics of desertions of wives, and "other women" was put down as the cause in a large number of cases. MARRIED TWO WIVES; WHAT WILL HAPPEN? The first question in the fortune tellers book under "Travel and Letters" is, "Where did my husband elope to?" The identity of the other woman in the case seems to be secondary in importance to the whereabouts of the deserter. Under "Love and Marriage" are these questions, among many others: "Is my bride's dowry as big as she says it is?" "I have married two wives; what will happen?" "Shall I be married in court?" Those who are in doubt about work have many questions to select from, the list starting off like this: "Shall I be a letter carrier?" "Shall I be a conductor?" "Shall I be a street cleaner?" "Shall I be an actor?" "Shall I be a lady-figure?" A lady-figure is undoubtedly a cloak model. Under "Business" some of the questions are: "Shall I remain a peddler or keep a store?" "Shall I sue my partner?" "Will my partner sue me?" "Shall I take my wife into the store as a partner?" "Shall I take my husband into the store as a partner?" "Shall I buy the goods?" "Will the bank fail?" Under "Luck and Losses" are: "Was I robbed by friends or strangers?" "Does anybody look in my pockets nights?" "Will the landlord put me out?" ROOMFUL OF PATRONS. The deviser of these books keeps his office in a rear tenement open from early morning till late at night, and there is generally a roomful of anxious patrons awaiting their turns. At a single sitting, price $1, the man or woman who wants to know may select three questions. She puts the number corresponding to the questions on a slip of paper. The numbers do not run in regular order through the book or through any section of it. The slip of paper is kept concealed by the questioner, and later on, when she is in the actual presence of the oracle, she writes those numbers again on another slip of paper, hidden from the fortune teller by a book cover. She also writes her name on two pieces of paper, which she places in two Bibles, opened at random by the fortune teller after she has named any three words she happens to see on the page. GETS POINTERS FROM CUSTOMER. Then the books are closed, the soothsayer tells his customer what her name is (he is not often absolutely accurate in that part of the game), and then he begins to talk about the past and future in such a rambling, comprehensive way that he is almost sure to hit upon, directly or indirectly, the questions she has in mind. If he is too far off the trail he asks the woman from time to time if she understands him, and from her replies and questions gets a further clew as to just which three questions she had selected from the lists. Then the rest is simple. SPOOKS RAIDED. DETECTIVES WOOLDRIDGE AND BARRY DESCEND ON A WEST SIDE MEDIUM'S PLACE. Lively Fight Before the Officers Succeed in Making Arrests--One of the Number Set Upon and Severely Beaten Before Aided--Spectators at the Seance Take Part and the Row Becomes General--Search of the Premises Reveals a Systematic Plan to Deceive--Anger of the Dupes Turns to Chagrin at the Revelations Made by the Police. September 2, 1906, Catherine Nichols, Sarah Nichols and Jennie Nichols, 186 Sebor street, fake exponents of materialization of spirits and general "spook" grafters, were arrested, the seances raided and the game closed, by Detectives Wooldridge and Barry. The scene of the raid was a brick building at 184 Sebor street, which is just east of Halsted and a block south of Harrison street. The medium arrested was Miss Jennie Nichols, who, with her mother, Mrs. Catherine Nichols, and her sister, Sarah, had been gleaning a harvest of dollars from guillible residents, mostly of the West Side of the city, during the last two years. The establishment of the Nichols family occupies parts of two buildings, the mother and her two daughters living at 186 Sebor street, next door to 184. On the second floor of the latter address was located the hall which they used for their public seances. PLANS ARE WELL LAID. The raid was made on the authority of a warrant which was applied for by Miss Muriel Miller, a young woman who was induced by the blandishments of other mediums to come to Chicago from her home in Portland, Ore. Miss Miller, who is employed in a barber shop in Clark street, is slightly deaf. She became interested in Spiritualism, and thus came in touch with the Nichols' outfit. [Illustration: "SPIRIT PICTURES" OF WOMEN HELD AS BOGUS MEDIUMS, AND SCENE SHOWING FIGHT BETWEEN PUGILISTIC SPOOKS AND DETECTIVES. CATHERINE NICHOLS, JENNIE NICHOLS] She had written to another Chicago medium, and received letters in answer signed "Professor Venazo." It was explained to Miss Miller that the wonderful cures which the medium professed to be able to make were brought about while the patient was in a trance. In a letter which had been turned over to the police, "Professor Venazo," which is the name with which an accomplice of certain Chicago mediums signed such communications, explained that because of stress of business it would be impossible to undertake to cure Miss Miller of her deafness unless she was prepared to put up at least $50 in cash. The letter stated that if she would send to "Professor Venazo" $100 the medium would undertake to go to her home and cure her there. If she did not wish to pay that much money she could come to Chicago, pay the medium $50, and be cured "while in a trance." Detectives Barry and David Carroll were detailed to assist Wooldridge in serving the warrants and making the raid. DETECTIVES ATTEND SERVICE. Barry and Carroll planned to effect an entrance to the "seance." Inspector Revere was informed and asked to give a detail of six officers, who, headed by Detective Wooldridge, went to the hall on Sebor street. Barry and Carroll had preceded them and succeeded in convincing Jennie Nichols, who was the master of ceremonies, that they were interested in spiritualism and desired to witness the materializations. When they went to the hall, Detective Barry walked in and found twenty-eight or thirty others there before him. Jennie Nichols was busy arranging the spectators in seats. She took a great deal of care about placing them. Carroll and Barry entered and signed their names on the register. This was a book in which everyone who is admitted to a seance is requested to place his name and place of residence. Barry signed as "John Woods"; address, 142 Ashland boulevard. CALLING UP THE SPIRITS. When the seance opened Jennie Nichols conducted those who were in the hall through the main room and the one at the rear, before which the curtain was placed. Everything was all right, so far as Detectives Barry and Carroll could see. The cabinet from which the spirits were to come stood across one corner, and opposite it was a door leading into one of the two rooms in the rear of the hall. They examined the cabinet and the rooms carefully, but found everything all right. After they had been through everything the doors were locked and they returned to their seats, Miss Nichols making some other changes in the arrangements of the seats, and then the place was darkened. When the place had been made almost entirely dark, Jennie Nichols, the medium, began pacing back and forth in front of the curtain. She rubbed her hands over her head and eyes a number of times, and began to chant: "Come, O queen, O queen." When she began to call on the "queen" the spectators began to get excited. Most of them appeared to be thoroughly familiar with the proceedings, and several of them said: "Oh, I hope it's the king." Then the medium pulled a cord which was attached to a light enclosed in a sheet-iron case, the one small opening of which was covered with several thicknesses of green tissue paper. When she pulled the string the room became darker than ever. SPIRITS BEGIN TO MOVE. Before she began her incantations the medium had requested everyone present not to cross their feet, and to try to assist her to bring the spirits before them. She said that it would probably not be possible to bring a spirit for everybody, but that if all helped her, the spirits wanted by many in the audience would surely appear. Then she asked them all to sing "Nearer, My God, to Thee," which they did, and after a few more passes over her temples and in front of her eyes the spirit began to move. The detectives could see it, and they began to think they had been wrong in thinking there was nothing in spiritualism. It certainly appeared real. First one form would glide back and forth in front of the curtain, then an entirely different one would appear. Altogether there were spirits of about ten men and children materialized. As the apparitions moved slowly in front of the curtain, in the spectral light which made it impossible to detect more than a faint outline of the form, women rushed forward crying out that it was their husband, or their child, that they saw. They stretched out their hands to clasp the forms of their departed, but Jennie Nichols and her male assistant would take them by their hands and tell them they must not touch the spirit or it would fade away. You could get within six inches of the figures, and peer into the faces as they passed to and fro, but everyone was restrained from attempting to touch them. In the ghostly light of the room the closest inspection could not determine that the figures were frauds, so clever were they disguised. KEYS UP THE SPECTATORS. While the detectives were waiting for the materialization, a woman they knew entered the room. Barry put his handkerchief up to his face for fear she would recognize him. They wanted to know what was the matter with him, and Barry said that he guessed he had something in his eye. They wanted to take it out, and he had to put his handkerchief away. He thought he was discovered, but the woman, Mrs. Ella Hoobler, 319 West Madison street, said nothing about him. After they had arrested the Nichols woman, Mrs. Hoobler told Barry she had recognized him when she first entered the room, but she thought he was "bug" in the game, and said nothing. After about ten materializations of husbands and children had keyed the spectators up to a high pitch, Mrs. Hoobler asked for the spirit of her daughter, Helen. In a few minutes the figure of a young girl, clad in white from head to foot, appeared before the curtain. "Oh, Helen, my Helen!" Mrs. Hoobler exclaimed, rushing to the apparition. "Oh, mamma!" came the answer in a shrill falsetto voice. [Illustration: Medium's Paraphernalia Seized by Police in Raid.] Jennie Nichols and the big assistant seized Mrs. Hoobler's hands just as she was about to clasp what she believed to be the spirit of her daughter in her arms. "You must not touch it," Jennie Nichols told her, "or the spirit will go away." The poor, almost frantic woman kneeled before the apparition. Barry thought it was time to get busy, and he whispered softly to Carroll: "Watch out, there's going to be a pinch." Then he threw on the flashlight and whistled for the squad outside to come in. Just as he did this the "spook" in front of him looked so realistic that for the life of him he couldn't decide whether he was going up against a real spirit or not. But he took a chance and grabbed for it. Even when he had hold of it and knew it must be flesh and blood, it seemed so slimy, with the white stuff rubbed over it, that he felt his hair rising. Just about that time the medium outfit got busy. The big man who had been helping Jennie Nichols hold the hands of the people who were trying to grab the spirits of their dead hit Barry over the head with some sort of a club that knocked him to the floor. Jennie Nichols put out the light entirely, grabbed Barry's flashlight and began pounding him over the head with it. They went to the floor in a rough and tumble scrimmage, the crowd on top of them, yelling and screaming. In the next room Carroll was busy, too. He got hold of Mrs. Catherine Nichols, the mother, who had been helping with the show, and he was beset by spectators who were incensed because the seance had been broken up. WOOLDRIDGE TAKES A HAND. When Detective Wooldridge and his detail broke down the doors of the hall and made their entrance into the place it was pitch dark, and they had to strike matches before they could separate the combatants. After a semblance of order had been restored in the place the premises were searched, and a most astounding outfit of disguises discovered. Before this development the spectators, who had been held in the place, were very angry with the officers, saying that they had been attending the seances for the last two years; that they knew Jennie Nichols as a medium had shown them the spirits of their dead. When the officers produced Sarah Nichols, to whom Detective Barry had held when he seized the "spook," they discovered that she had been wearing a pair of sandal slippers with felt five inches thick for soles; a pair of men's black trousers and the white shroud and painted picture face of a young girl. Attached to a pole in front of her was a paper head, around which was a white shroud four feet in length. Those in attendance believed this image to be the spirit of a believer's dead relative. The "medium" had "spook" images of men, women and children, and could produce them as circumstances demanded. The light was turned up, and the contemptible imposition on credulity was exposed to twenty-six dupes, who had been paying $1 apiece for the privilege of attending meetings of the "spook" grafters for years. It was the greatest exposé of "spooks" that has been made in many years. A wagon load of masks, wigs, false whiskers, tin horns, gowns with safety pins in them, skulls and skeletons with cross-bones to match, were seized. WOMEN REFUSE TO TALK. At the station the women refused to talk. Sarah Nichols, the "spook," had donned a house dress before she was taken to the station. Jennie Nichols, the "medium," was dressed in a neat black gown of rich material. The mother appeared in a black skirt and a white shirtwaist. The latter is a gray-haired woman apparently about 50 years old. She wept copiously. Sarah Nichols also wept. In the scrimmage after the arrest her ear had been injured, and it was bleeding when the trio was booked at the station. Jennie Nichols was the most composed of all. She held a palm leaf fan in front of her face and above it twinkled a pair of shrewd blue eyes. As she and her relatives were led from the private room at Harrison street she even laughed, although her mother and her sister were in tears, and her victims were denouncing her for having robbed them, through their credulity, of hundreds of dollars, which many of them could ill afford to lose. WOOLDRIDGE MAKES GHOST WALK IN POLICE COURT. A "spook" sat on the bench with Justice Prindiville. He made ghosts walk and graveyards yawn. The "spook" was Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge. When Miss Sarah Nichols, "the ghost," Miss Jennie Nichols, "the trance medium," and Mrs. Catherine Nichols, mother of the other two known as the "overseer," appeared in court to answer to charges of obtaining money by false pretenses through spiritualistic seances, Detective Wooldridge crowded to the center of the stage. He bore a great board, on which were tacked white shrouds, grinning skulls and cross-bones, the costume of an Indian, and other instruments of the medium's trade. "For the benefit of the public at large," he said, addressing the court, "I ask permission to expose the methods of these fake spiritualists." The permission was given, and "Spook" Wooldridge took the wool sack. "SPOOK" WOOLDRIDGE DEMONSTRATES. He lit the punk with which the mediums were wont to light up the skull. He burned incense. He put on a white gown. "This is Carrie's garment," he said, pointing to where "Ghost" Carrie, twenty-four years old and buxom, stood. He went through the whole performance, save the grease paint. He started to daub his face with the stuff, which gave a ghostly hue, when the justice interrupted: "You needn't dirty your face, Friend Spook. You've scored your points already." The "Spook" had, indeed. Despite the exposures, many women and a few men who had come to hear the cases, expressed their devotion to the persons arrested and to the "cause." They finally became so demonstrative that Justice Prindiville ordered the court room cleared of the "devotees." "This is not a matinee, a spiritualists' meeting or a circus," said the Justice. "Let the devotees meet in the outer hall." Fifty women, of all ages and many conditions of life, stood with mouths wide open and eyes bulging as Wooldridge went through his performance. They were the victims of the Nichols women. Jennie Nichols and Sarah Nichols were fined $100 each. ARREST SOUTH SIDE MEDIUMS. To conclude the record of the day, Detectives Wooldridge and Barry, accompanied by two officers from the Cottage Grove station, visited a seance given by Clarence A. Beverly and Mrs. M. Dixon at Arlington hall, Thirty-first street and Indiana avenue. The officers bought tickets and awaited the performance. After a lecture on psychic problems by "Dr." Beverly and a programme of music rendered by children, "Dr." Dixon took the rostrum and went through a series of clairvoyant discoveries. Among the things which she professed to predict while in her "trance" was a prognostication which had not a little to do with the developments of the evening. After she had pointed out a number of persons in the audience and told what they had done or should do, she discovered Wooldridge and singled him out. "I see a man with glasses who has his hands crossed over his knees," she said. "I am governed by the spirit of John Googan, an Irishman. He gives you a message," pointing to Wooldridge, "and says that whatever John orders must be done." At this Wooldridge, arising from his seat, advanced to the rostrum. OFFICER SERVES PAPERS. "John Collins, chief of police, says, Mrs. Dixon, that I am to put you under arrest under a state warrant charging you with receiving money by a confidence game. I also have a warrant charging the same offense against Clarence A. Beverly. Dr. Beverly, please come forth." Dr. Beverly presented himself, and both he and Mrs. Dixon were taken to Harrison street, where strenuous efforts on their behalf on the part of "Dr." Harry H. Tobias, spiritual mental healer, with offices at 118 East Thirty-third street, and others, failed to procure them bonds. The arrest of Beverly and Mrs. Dixon was made on a warrant signed by Miss Miller, who had entered into correspondence with them from her home in Portland, Ore. The fee in Chicago was to have been $50, according to the letters she received from the mediums, as in the preceding instance. She borrowed money to come to Chicago, and had but $25 to pay the "healers." When she received no benefit from their treatment she made complaint and was threatened with violence, she alleges. Thereupon she laid her case before Chief Collins, resulting in the raid and the closing up of this place. Thus did the sleuth a-sleuthing vanquish the ubiquitous "spook," the "ghost," the "spirit," the re-incarnation, the Mahatma, the "sending," and all the hosts of the immaterial world, whose immaterialism was being converted into good hard material cash by the producers of the evanescent shapes from beyond the veil. Thus did Clifton R. Wooldridge and his able assistants make "spooking" a dangerous business in Chicago. WIFE OR GALLOWS? PREFERS HANGING TO LIVING WITH HIS WIFE. Hugo Devel prefers being hanged to living with his wife. Unable to escape her in any other way, lacking the courage or nerve to kill himself, and shuddering at the idea of life imprisonment with the woman he had promised to love and cherish, he confessed to a murder he did not commit, and was ready to go upon the gallows or to penal servitude for life in the stead of the real murderer. [Illustration: HE'D RATHER BE HANGED THAN LIVE WITH HIS WIFE.] Now he is free, and miserable, and in his home at Lubeck, in Germany. He is envying Franz Holz, who is awaiting the gallows. Devel admits sadly that he had a double purpose in wanting to die on the gallows. First, that he would escape his wife; and, second, that, by being hanged he would make it improbable that any other man should meet his fate--not his fate on the gallows, but his fate in having wedded Frau Devel. The case, which was cleared up by the Hamburg police, furnished a problem that would have defied the cunning of Sherlock Holmes and all his kindred analysts. Briefly stated, the facts in the case, which is the strangest one ever given to a detective department to solve, are these: WOMAN WAS ROBBED AND MURDERED. A few months ago a certain Frau Gimble, of Munich, was cruelly murdered by a man. The evident motive of the deed was robbery, and that the crime was planned and premeditated there was sufficient evidence. Every clew and circumstance pointed to Franz Holz. He was known to have been at or near the scene of the murder shortly before its commission. He knew the woman, and had knowledge that she kept a considerable sum of money in her home. He was known to have been without money for days prior to the murder, and immediately after the deed, and before the body was discovered, he had appeared with a quantity of money, made some purchases, bought drinks for acquaintances, and then disappeared. The police were on his trail within a short time after the finding of the body of the murdered woman. Holz had fled toward Berlin, and a warning was sent in all directions, containing descriptions of the fugitive. The awfulness of the deed attracted the more attention because of the locality and the ruthless and cruel manner of its commission. While the police were making a rapid search for the fugitive Holz, Hugo Devel, a well-to-do tradesman in Lubeck, surrendered himself to the police of his home town and confessed that he, and not Holz, had committed the crime. Devel had been in Hamburg at the time the crime was committed. His confession, which destroyed all the evidence and all the theories implicating Holz, staggered the detectives. DEVEL CONFESSES TO THE CRIME. Although apparently saved from a remarkable network of circumstantial evidence, and no longer wanted for the murder of the Gimble woman, the German police reasoned that Holz, if he had not fled because of that crime, must have fled because of some other crime. So the department, which has a name a couple of feet long, which in English would mean, "the department for finding out everything about everybody," kept on the trail. Meantime the police of Hamburg got possession of Devel and examined him. From the first they were uneasy. He confessed that he murdered the woman to get her money, and beyond that would not tell anything. It is not customary for the police to insist that a man who confesses that he is guilty of murder shall prove it, but there were facts known to the police which made them wonder how it was possible for Devel to have killed the woman. They used the common police methods, and made the prisoner talk. The more he talked the more apparent it became to the police that he was innocent, although he still claimed vehemently that he, and he alone, killed the Gimble woman. POLICE LEARN HE IS NOT GUILTY. Some of his statements were ridiculous. For instance, he did not know what quarter of the city the woman lived in. He did not know how she had been murdered. He said he climbed through a window and killed the woman. When pressed, he said the window was the dining-room window. In view of the fact that she was killed while working in a little open, outdoor kitchen when murdered, the police became satisfied that Devel was not the man, and ordered the pursuit of Holz resumed by all departments. The case even then was a remarkable one, and one which would have defied any theoretical detective. The police proved that it was impossible that Devel should be confessing in order to shield Holz--first, because he never knew Holz; and second, because the police had informed him that the real murderer was in custody, in order to discover a reason for his confession. It was suspected that Devel was partly insane and seeking notoriety. Everything in his life refuted that idea. He was a quiet, orderly citizen, who seldom read newspapers, and who neither was interested in crime or criminals. He owned a small business in Lubeck, attended to it strictly, drank little, and apparently was as sane as any one. SEARCHING FOR MOTIVE OF CONFESSION. The case worried the police officials. The absolute lack of reason for Devel's confession stimulated their curiosity. He was held in custody for weeks, and then the police gave up in despair, and, as Holz had been arrested and had confessed to everything, the release of Devel was ordered. The order of release proved the move that revealed the truth. When he was told that he was free to return home, Devel broke down and begged the police to keep him in prison, to hang him, to poison him, but not to send him home. In his agony he confessed that the only reason he confessed the murder was that he desired to get hanged, and that he preferred hanging to life with his wife. The hard-hearted police set him free--literally threw him out of the prison, and he returned to his wife in Lubeck. The following day he resumed charge of his business. An English correspondent visited Devel in his shop and made certain inquiries of him regarding the case. As the hanging editor would say, "the condemned man was nervous." He was afraid his wife would read what he said, but the correspondent finally got him to tell. "I desired to be hung," said Devel, mournfully. "Life is not worth the living, and with my wife it is worse than death. If I had been hanged no other man would marry my wife, and I would save them from my fate. Many times have I planned to kill myself to escape her. That is sin, and I lack the bravery to kill myself, besides. If they will not hang me I must continue to live with my wife." Devel states, among other things, that these are the chief grievances against married life in general, and his wife in particular: She was slender, and became fat and strong. She was beautiful, and became ugly and coarse. She was tender, and grew hard. She was loving, and grew virulent. She grew whiskers on her chin. She called him "pig." She wore untidy clothes, and her hair was unkempt. She refused to give him beer. Her breath smelled of onions and of garlic. She threw hot soup upon him. She continually upbraided him because there were no children. She scolded him in the presence of neighbors. She refused to permit him to bring his friends home. She came into his store and scolded him. She accused him of infidelity. She disturbed him when he slept in the garden on Sundays. She made him cook his own dinners. She spilled his beer when he drank quietly with friends. She told tales about him among the neighbors, and injured his business. She served his sausages and his soup cold, and sometimes did not have his meals for him when he came home. She did not make the beds nor clean the house. She took cards out of his skat deck. She talked continually, and scolded him for everything or nothing. She opened the windows when he closed them, and closed them when he opened them. She poured water into his shoes while he slept. She cut off his dachshund's tail. These things, he said, made him prefer to be hanged to living with her. Incidentally Holz, who is awaiting execution, expresses an earnest desire to trade places with Herr Devel. There is no accounting for tastes. A CLEVER SHOPLIFTER. DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE FINDS A FAIR CRIMINAL. While passing through the Fair, one of the largest retail dry goods establishments in Chicago, Detective Wooldridge noticed one of the cleverest shoplifters that ever operated in Chicago, Bertha Lebecke, known as "Fainting Bertha." She was standing in front of the handkerchief counter, where her actions attracted Wooldridge's attention, and he concluded to watch her. She called the girl's attention to something on the shelf and as she turned to get it Bertha's hand reached out and took a half dozen expensive lace handkerchiefs, which disappeared in the folds of her skirt. The act was performed so quickly and with such cleverness that it would have gone unnoticed unless one were looking right at her and saw her take the handkerchiefs. From the handkerchief counter she went to the drug department, where she secured several bottles of perfume. As she was leaving this counter she met a Central detective who had arrested her before for the same offense. He stopped a few yards from her to make some trifling purchases. She, thinking he was watching her, left the store. From the Fair she went to Siegel-Cooper's, another large dry goods store several blocks away. Detective Wooldridge followed her. She was seen to go from counter to counter, and from each one she succeeded in getting some article. As she was leaving the store she was placed under arrest by Detective Wooldridge and taken to the Police Station. When she was arrested she fainted, and a great crowd gathered around her, and many of the women cried and implored Detective Wooldridge not to arrest her, but he would not be moved by any of them to let her go free. [Illustration: "_FAINTING BERTHA_"] When she arrived at the Police Station she was searched, and beneath the folds of her skirt was found a strong waist pocket which looked like a petticoat. It consisted of two pieces of material gathered full at the top with a strong cord or puckering string run through, and sewed together around the edges. In front of this great bag was a slit two feet long opening from the top to within a few inches of the bottom. This petticoat was worn under the dress skirt. On each side of the outside skirt was a long slit concealed by the folds of the skirt, and with one hand she could slip the stolen articles in through the slit in the inside of her dress and into the petticoat bag to the opening in front. The capacity of the bag was enormous. She had stolen some $40 or $50 worth of goods when arrested. The following morning she was arraigned in the Police Court and heavily fined, and the goods were restored to the merchants. Bertha Lebecke, 27 years old, is conceded by Illinois state authorities to be the most troublesome person who ever crossed the state line from any direction at any time. Just how large a cash bonus the state treasury today might be willing to advance could it be assured of Bertha's deportation forever beyond the confines of Illinois is something difficult to estimate, but it is certain that in the asylums for the insane at Kankakee, Elgin and Bartonville, and in the state penitentiary at Joliet there are attendants on salaries who would make personal contributions to help swell the possible fund. Yet "Fainting Bertha" Lebecke is one of the prettiest, blondest, most delicate handed little bits of well-developed femininity that ever made a marked success in deceiving people of both sexes and all conditions in public, afterwards deceiving officials of jails, asylums and penitentiaries until bars and gates and frowning walls were as cobwebs before her. SLEEPS ALL DAY; MAKES NIGHT HIDEOUS. Gates of steel never have held her in jail or asylum. In the mightier penitentiaries she has made herself such an uncontrolled fury by night--sleeping calmly all day long and resting for the next seance--that penitentiary gates have opened for her in the hope of having her maintained as an asylum ward. After which "Fainting Bertha" has secured keys to asylum doors and gone her untrammeled way straight back to a police record which for years has shown her to be one of the most remarkable pickpockets, diamond snatchers and shoplifters of her time. Making such a nuisance of herself in the penitentiary as no longer to be tolerated in a refined convict community, she proves her madness. In the locked, barred, asylum she proves her cunning at escape. And, once more at liberty, the abandon with which she goes after personal property in any form, at any time and under any circumstances, proves her skill as a thief and her unbalance in the "get away." There is her escape from the asylum at Elgin on the night of December 25, 1904. Christmas eve she had fainted in the arms of an attendant and in the scurrying which followed had secured the keys to the gates. On the night of Christmas she went out of the Elgin asylum, boarded an electric car for Aurora and bought a railroad ticket to Peoria. STOLE $1,000 WORTH OF GOODS IN TWO DAYS. On the way to Peoria she relieved the conductor of $30 in bills, secreting them in her hat. In Peoria, within forty-eight hours, she had stolen a thousand dollars' worth of goods from stores, registered at three hotels under assumed names, and was in a chair car with a ticket for Omaha when the Peoria police had followed her easy tracks through the city. Perhaps the broadest, most easily identified track was that which she left in a barber shop in the National Hotel, where she appeared for an egg shampoo. Two eggs had been broken into her shiny hair when Bertha promptly fainted and rolled out of the chair. As a count of shop equipment showed nothing missing an hour later, the barber shop proprietor was at a loss as to the purpose of the faint. This girlish young woman, with the baby dimples and skin of peach and cream, the innocent blue eyes, and the smiles that play so easily over her face as she talks vivaciously and with keen sense of both wit and humor, is a study for the psychologist. There is no affectedness of speech--for the moment it is childishly genuine. She could sit in a drawing room and have half a dozen admirers in her train. But reform schools, asylums and penitentiaries are institutions through which this young woman has graduated up to that pinnacle of notorious accomplishment which today is centering upon "Fainting Bertha" Lebecke the official attentions of a great state. What to do with her is the question. KEPT AT SOUTH BARTONVILLE WITHOUT LOCKS. Dr. George A. Zeller, superintendent of the asylum for the incurable insane at South Bartonville, having fought for the care of Bertha in his institution, purposes to make her a tractable patient and willing to remain. He has the history of his institution back of him, from whose doors and windows he has torn away $6,000 worth of steel netting and steel bars. In the first place, "Fainting Bertha" will have nothing to gain by fainting at Bartonville; she is promised merely a drowning dash of cold water when she falls. She can secure no keys by fainting, for the reason that there are no keys to doors. A nurse, wideawake for her eight-hour nursing duty, is always at hand and always watchful. "Take away the show of restraint if you would have a patient cease fighting against restraint," is the philosophy of Dr. Zeller. "Human vigilance always was and always will be the greatest safeguard for the insane." If "Fainting Bertha" Lebecke were a grizzled amazon, even, she might be a simpler proposition for the state. She is too pretty and plump, however, to think of restraining by the harsher methods, if harsh methods are employed. She can pass out of a storm of hysterical tears in an instant and smile through them like a stream of sunshine. Or as quickly she can throw off the pretty little witticism and airy conceit of her baby hands and become a vixen fury with blazing blue eyes that are a warning to her antagonist. And at large, exercising her charms, she can become the "good fellow" to the everlasting disappearance of half a dozen different valuables in one's tie or pockets. HISTORY OF "FAINTING BERTHA." Bertha Lebecke says she was born in Council Bluffs, Ia., in 1880. Save for the trick of raising her brows while animated, thus wrinkling her forehead before her time, she might pass easily for twenty-three years of age. In these twenty-seven years, however, Bertha Lebecke has kept the institutions of four states guessing--to some extent experimenting. Her father was a cobbler, and there were five children, only one other of them living. The father is dead. The mother, with the one sister, is living in Council Bluffs. Seven asylums and one state's prison have held her--for a time; Kankakee three times and Elgin twice, with two escapes from each place credited to her childish cunning. But today the face of Bertha Lebecke in trouble anywhere in Christian civilization would draw helping funds for less than her asking. "Don't write that I am the awful creature that the papers have pictured me," she exclaimed, with a tragic movement of her little hands. "Oh, I have been a bad girl--I know that--but not as bad as they accuse me of being," burying her face in her arm. But in a moment she was sitting up, dry eyed, stitching on the bit of linen "drawn work" which she said was intended for Gov. Deneen at Springfield. CRITICISES THE LINEN PURCHASED BY THE STATE. "But what awful linen!" she exclaimed, holding it out to Dr. Zeller as she sat in a ward with twenty other women inmates regarded as among the hardest to watch and control among the 1,900 inmates of the great institution. "I'm surprised at you! Can't you buy better linen than that?" But while she talked and the doctor smiled, a small key fitting nothing in particular was laid by Dr. Zeller close at hand and it disappeared in ten seconds. Likewise a pencil from the doctor's pocket found its way almost unnoticed into "Fainting Bertha's" blonde hair. Her smiling face all turned to frowns when finally, one at a time, he took the key from her waist and the pencil from its hiding place in her hair. "Did you ever know a man named Gunther?" asked Dr. Zeller suddenly. "Yes--what of it?" she asked quickly, with a show of nervousness. "He is in the penitentiary." "Good! Good!" exclaimed the girl. "I'm delighted to hear it. He ought to have been there long ago, and he ought to stay there the rest of his life!" This was the man whom Bertha charged with responsibility for her first wrong step as a girl, sending her first to the Glenwood (Ia.) Home for the Feebleminded. Later she charges that this man taught her the fainting trick, by which she faints in the arms of a man or woman wearing jewelry or carrying money and in the confusion biting the stone from a pin and swallowing it, or with small, supple hand taking a purse from a pocket or a watch from its fob, perhaps with innocent eyes and dimpled face assisting the loser in the search for the missing valuable. BERTHA SAYS GUNTHER PROMISED TO MARRY HER. "That man Gunther promised to marry me," she said, lowering her voice. "He sent me out to steal and when I wouldn't do it he used to beat me when I came home. Do you wonder I'm what I am?" There was a burst of what might have been tears. Her face was buried and her figure shook with sobs. But in five seconds the dimpled face appeared again, dry eyed, and at a remark on the moment she turned toward her auditors, winking an eyelid slyly. "Fainting Bertha" Lebecke has almost lost consecutive track of the asylums and prisons in which she has been locked. From this Glenwood home for the feebleminded she was released. She got into trouble again and was sent to the Clarinda State Hospital for the Insane. Here, in the words of the superintendent, she was looked upon as a case of "moral imbecility, with some maniacal complications." Here an operation was performed, and, in the opinion of the superintendent, she was eligible to discharge soon afterwards as improved. St. Bernard's Asylum at Council Bluffs cared for her for a time, but she succeeded in escaping from it and was not returned. In Asylum No. 3 at Nevada, Mo., in spite of the close watch kept upon her, "Fainting Bertha" escaped several times, but was caught soon after and returned to the institution. On December 21, 1901, she was discharged as not insane and returned to Omaha, where she had lived for a time. Here Bertha remained about two years, acting as a maid of all work in households. Her experience in Chicago and Illinois is stranger than any fiction. MOST UNRULY PRISONER IN JOLIET. On a charge of shoplifting she was given an indeterminate sentence of one to ten years in the penitentiary at Joliet. Records of Joliet prison show her to have been the most unruly prisoner ever confined in that institution. Her conduct was such that Prison Physician Fletcher declared that she was insane and she was sent to the asylum at Kankakee. Twice she escaped from Kankakee, once, she says, with the aid of an employee of the institution, whom she refuses to name. This first escape was made within four months of her arrival at the institution; the second after a year. On her return to that institution for criminals her actions were such that the hospital authorities decided that she was not insane and sent her back to Joliet prison. On this second imprisonment "Fainting Bertha" showed what she could do in making herself impossible even in a prison. Her cell was in the north wing of the building, overlooking the street. She would appear in the window with her clothing torn to ribbons, shrieking that she was being murdered. According to prison officials, there was no language too impossible for her glib tongue. Her furies of temper caused her to heap unspeakable abuse upon matrons and guards alike. Deputy Warden Sims, responsible for order and discipline, says he has been abused by her beyond belief. Her plan was to sleep in daylight and make the whole night hideous with her screams and cries and unspeakable language. PENITENTIARY GLAD TO BE RID OF HER. As a last resort the tortured prison officials at Joliet, taking the diagnosis of Physician Fletcher, sent her to the care of Supt. Podstata at the Elgin asylum. There, after consultation of the asylum physicians, it was found that she should have been confined in an asylum for the feebleminded when she was younger; that, lacking this treatment, she had grown and developed such destructive tendencies that a hospital for the insane was the only haven for her. But Bertha escaped from the asylum, which has for its safeguards the lock and the steel bar. Locks and bars are nothing to "Fainting Bertha"! She was recaptured and returned, only that she might escape again on Christmas night, finding her way to Peoria, where her escapades in going through the town were marvels to the Peoria police. The conductor on the Peoria train from whom she took $30 has not claimed his money. But half a dozen stores in which she operated and the salesman from whose samples in the Fey Hotel she took hundreds of dollars worth of silks, jewelry, clothing and perfumes got back some of the plunder, which detectives found piled around her in a chair car in an Omaha train. The Peoria police locked her up, and while the charges rested Dr. Zeller, of the asylum for the incurable insane at South Bartonville, asked of Dr. Podstata and the penitentiary authorities the custody of "Fainting Bertha." Warden Murphy at Joliet was delighted at the idea. Supt. Podstata at Elgin was as greatly pleased. Dr. Zeller at South Bartonville Asylum for the Incurable Insane, receiving the young woman, was conscious of having a unique addition to the 1,929 other inmates of his barless cottages of detention. In the history of the South Bartonville asylum only one female inmate has escaped, and she was found dead soon afterwards in a ravine into which she had fallen. PALE BLUE COLOR SCHEME OF BERTHA'S WARD. "If Bertha escapes here it will be the test of vigilance as opposed to locks and steel bars," is the summing up of the situation by Dr. Zeller. Bertha is not wholly satisfied where she is. The food is not all she desires. She refers to her ward and its environment as "the dump." Yet her particular "dump" is decorated in pale blue--part of the color scheme of the asylum management,--the color scheme of her ward being adapted to her particular temperamental degree of insanity. But while Bertha has been gnawing diamonds from tie pins, one of her fraternity in ward classification has a record of gnawing the woodwork from at least a dozen other insane wards in as many institutions for the insane. How subtly conscious of her position "Fainting Bertha" may be on occasion was demonstrated the other day when it was arranged with Dr. Zeller that she should go with two nurses and the staff member in Peoria in order that her picture might be taken in a local gallery. DELIGHTED AT CHANCE OF GOING TO TOWN. With $9 to her credit in the asylum's system of personal accounts, Bertha wanted some of this sum for "shopping," but when it was refused she accepted the situation without particular protest. The idea of going uptown, five miles from South Bartonville, was delightful. Her spirits rose high at the idea, and when her nurses had brought her over to the administration building she dropped into the office chair occupied by Dr. Zeller, and in mock seriousness turned to the little group, asking what she could do for them. On the Pekin and Peoria electric road she was banked in next the window by her escorts, and was the pink of propriety until Peoria was reached, save as occasionally she turned backward toward the conductor and smiled. And invariably the conductor smiled in return! "Honey" was her designation of Nurse Quick. "I'm a perfect lady, ain't I, Honey?" she repeated a score of times on the trip. In the photographer's gallery the snap of the camera shutter brought a start from the object of the lens, and the first picture in six years, save as the police authority of the state had insisted that she pose for it. But after the ordeal at the photographer's Bertha wanted most of all a "square meal." Miss Quick knew of a restaurant where quiet prevailed and where there would be little incentive to Bertha to faint, and there the little party adjourned for the "square meal." Pie--apple or mince--was the dessert. TOOK PIE AND CANDY BACK "HOME." "You won't mind, honey, if I take a pie home, will you?" Miss Quick didn't mind at all. And not minding the pie, Miss Bertha promptly buttered four rolls liberally and included in the package a bunch of celery which had been left over after she had passed it around insistently, time and again. At the candy counter just outside the dining room Bertha balked amiably. "I don't like to presume on your good nature, but I know you won't object to a small box of candy?" she purred. The nurse didn't object to the 25-cent box; which was an inspiration to "Fainting Bertha." "But don't you think this is ever so much nicer?" The nurse had to admit that it was. It was a half-dollar box of mixed candies! "But I'm afraid it looks like imposing on your good nature just a little?" she smiled, as the cashier proceeded to wrap it up. "And you don't mind, honey?" to Miss Quick, who smiled indulgently, and with the pie, rolls, and celery in one hand and the box of candy in the other, Bertha started back to the Asylum for the Incurable Insane at South Bartonville, five miles away. DETENTION RECORD OF "FAINTING BERTHA." Asylum for the Feeble Minded, Glenwood, Ia. Discharged. Insane asylum, Glenwood, Ia. Discharged. Insane asylum, Nevada, Mo. Discharged after several escapes. St. Bernard's asylum, Council Bluffs, Ia. Discharged. Indeterminate sentence at Joliet penitentiary. Kankakee, Ill., Asylum for the Insane. Escaped. Kankakee, Ill., Asylum for the Insane. Escaped. Kankakee, Ill., Asylum for the Insane. Returned to Joliet penitentiary. Elgin, Ill., Asylum for the Insane. Escaped. Elgin, Ill., Asylum for the Insane. Escaped. Present address, Asylum for the Incurable Insane, South Bartonville, Ill. But even the genial Dr. Zeller and his barless windows and lockless prison proved in time to be enervating to such a restless being as "Fainting Bertha." So, during June, 1908, she made no less than three attempts to escape. She was, however, apprehended in each case before she reached Peoria, and returned to the asylum. The authorities declare that she was really playing for theatrical effect rather than from any desire to get away from Bartonville. Be that as it may, the fact remains that if she desires to get out of Bartonville she probably will, as she is the most resourceful criminal of her sex known to the authorities. FRONT. A good front is a distinct asset. A good front is made up of neat, clean clothes, on a clean body, the whole housing a clean mind. A man with clean clothes on a dirty body, or dirty clothes on a clean body, is not wanted anywhere in the business world; and there is no place in the heavens above or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth, that has room for the man with the dirty mind. But with the clean mind inside the clean body, and neat, simple, clean clothes on the outside of it, the young man has all the essentials of a good front. Anything more is superfluous and tends to make him ridiculous. Simplicity is the keynote. This moralizing on the value of front is suggested by observations and comparisons of the habits of certain Chicago millionaires, and the ways of some of their cheap clerks, the latter having exaggerated ideas of putting up a false appearance of prosperity. These comparisons were so striking that they attracted the attention of Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, and during the course of his regular work he found time to tabulate a little, with startling results. The detective found that there are in Chicago many young men living on very meager salaries, who have such exaggerated notions of the value of a prosperous appearance that they overshoot the mark, and frequently, as result of trying, as they think, to "look like a millionaire," they often succeed in looking very much like the famous animal with very long ears and a loud voice which one spoke to the prophet Baalam. [Illustration: (Man in top hat walking next to man in buggy)] "It is easy to distinguish the real millionaire," said the great detective, in discussing this subject. "If he wants to get anywhere in a great city and his automobile happens to be engaged, he takes the same means of getting there as does the toiler in the mills or factory; he walks, or he rubs elbows on the street cars with the laboring men, many of whom never know that they are brushing against the owner of millions." STANLEY FIELD'S BUGGY. "Stanley Field runs around town in a crazy old country buggy, just like a farmer. He took this method of going about when the great teamsters' strike was on, and he was a member of the Merchants' committee. "But I will bet you a good cigar that there are any number of little snippety ten-dollar clerks in the great establishment of which Stanley Field is the head, who would feel themselves eternally disgraced if they were seen in that buggy. "Not for little mister-ten-dollar clerk! No, sir. He must go out and spend three dollars for a cab if he wants to get down town to a theatre. It is just this silly pride that makes forgers and embezzlers. "My advice to young men would be, 'Keep your mind clean, your body clean and your clothes neat and clean. Never mind about fancy show. Men will respect you more if you follow this advice than they will if you squander money foolishly in the effort to put up a false front which deceives no one.'" Out of hundreds of cases which Wooldridge has run down, where embezzlement, forgery and theft, even of the pettiest sort, was at the bottom of the crime, the great detective declares that fully half of the cases had their origin in this silly attempt to appear something more than the real thing. Silly pride is a teacher of crime, and a sure school mistress she is. And the absurdity, the bally foolishness of it all, is that these pitiful attempts deceive no one. Every one knows solidity when they see it, just as they know sham when they see it. A self-respecting young man cannot afford to make of himself a sham, even by taking a cab when the millionaires walk or take the street car. FAKE PRIDE LEADS TO CRIME. On the other hand, many young men have plunged into a life of crime through over-spending their salaries, in the effort to convince every one who looked at them that they were on the directorate of the Standard Oil Company. Where the millionaire walks these silly young jackasses take a cab, and pay half a day's salary in order to ride two or three blocks. "I have seen John J. Mitchell, the president of the Illinois Trust and Savings Bank, and one of our foremost financiers, walk from the Northwestern station to the bank building, while right behind him a young donkey, who was working for $25 a week in that very bank, would pay a cabby a dollar to drive him the seven short blocks from that same station to the bank. "It is just such young pinheads as that who afterwards turn out to be our embezzlers, forgers and financial criminals." The man who has made a name which is known in every corner of the United States as an authority on all kinds of frauds, snorted his indignation as he thought of the silly bank clerk. Then he continued: "Does anybody ever see Arthur Meeker take a cab to ride a few blocks? Not on your life. He walks. So does Cyrus McCormick, Harold McCormick, R. Hall McCormick, Frank Lowden, and any number of the other men whose names stand at the top of Chicago finance. I see Frank Lowden on the Indiana avenue cars, the line I take myself, time after time. He is one of the most democratic of men." LAST CHANCE GONE. IDENTIFICATION BUREAU AIDED BY NATURE. The Criminal and the Crooked Members of the Human Race Have a New and Dangerous Enemy in the Finger Print Method of Identification. The last hope of the enemies of society, the habitual criminals, is gone. The Bertillon system sounded the death knell of the criminal so far as capture was concerned. The finger print system, as first set forth by Sir Francis Galton and elaborated by Sir Edward Henry, has made possible the absolute identification after capture. One of the first men to see the tremendous possibilities of the finger print system, as applied to the identification of suspects, was Detective Clifton E. Wooldridge of Chicago. Through his efforts and that of others equally interested in the exact identification of criminals, the Chicago Police Department established the finger print method of identification in 1905, as a Supplement to the Bertillon system which was established in 1887. The Bertillon system catches the suspect. The finger print system makes sure that he is the criminal. The Bertillon system, while a splendid thing for catching the thief, still left some loop-holes which needed strengthening. This was supplied by the finger print system. Like the man and woman referred to in Longfellow's Hiawatha it is a case of "useless each without the other." When the two systems are worked together there is absolutely no possible escape for the apprehended suspect. The Chicago Police Bureau of Identification is the second largest in the world, and contains over 70,000 pictures. [Illustration: Trunk Measurement, Head Length Measurement, Left Middle Finger Measurement, Right Ear Measurement. Measurement of the Stretch and the Left Foot. The Bertillon System of Identification by Measurement.] By combining the Bertillon measurements with the finger-print system the police department has woven a network of identification around the criminal which makes it practically an impossibility for him ever to disguise himself should he at any future time fall into the hands of the officials of the law. [Illustration: (Fingerprint form)] The finger print method was discovered about forty years ago by Sir William Herschell, then an English official in India. Sir Francis Galton, a Fellow of the Royal Society, was the first to systematize it, and the first to establish the fact that the papillary ridges of the fingers did not change through life. This was nearly twenty years ago. Sir Francis Galton made the calculation that the chance of any two sets of finger prints being the same is one in 16,400,000,000, and as an article from which the writer quotes states, "there are only 1,600,000,000 people in the world," its population would have to be increased ten times before two people were identical and means that a finger print as a mark of identification is practically infallible. PERFECTED IN LONDON. Sir Edward Henry, Chief Police Commissioner, London, England, is the man who perfected the system, as it is now used, classifying finger prints by signs and numerals, so that it is now considered perfect. The finger prints of women are the same as men, except in size, while the prints of negroes are the clearest and strongest, owing to the thickness of skin and moisture from perspiration, and it has not yet been demonstrated that finger prints are any indication of character. While quite a large number of cities and penal institutions in the United States have adopted and are now using the Bertillon system of criminal identification, it is to be regretted that it has not been more generally adopted by all cities of a population not less than 5,000, and by all penitentiaries, reformatories and county jails. Universally applied under competent instructors, nearly every professional criminal would, in a few years, be recorded, so that it would only become necessary to keep up with the new additions to the ranks of the criminal classes. It has been thoroughly established that the papillary ridges of fingers never change during life. From infancy to senility and until long after death no change ensues in the fingers. Though partially destroyed by injury, the original lines retain their pristine characteristics when healed. This is nature's method of identification, and no record can be found of the digits of two persons having exactly the same characteristics. Numerous instances could be cited of twins and triplets whose finger prints afforded the only means of distinguishing one from the other. [Illustration: MAGNIFIED FINGER PRINT The above is an enlarged print of a right index finger, which we classify as an Ulnar Loop. Loops on different fingers are not all alike, but vary in many important characteristics, so it is a very easy matter to distinguish one from another.] [Illustration: FINGER PRINT OUTFIT] INSTRUCTIONS FOR TAKING FINGER PRINTS. Instruments required: A piece of tin, ordinary printer's ink, and a 10-cent rubber roller are all the tools necessary for getting the impression. It requires no special training to take finger impression, and any rural constable can, with ten minutes' practice, take a set of good finger prints in five minutes. After having a week's practice he could take them in three minutes. SCOTLAND YARD METHOD. At Scotland Yard a metallic brace is in use for the purpose of forcing refractory prisoners to leave correct impressions upon the records. One application of this brace is persuasive enough to cause the culprit to hasten to comply with a request for his signature. A small slab stone is covered with ink, which is distributed with a sprayer, and the prisoner is compelled to place his fingers in the ink and then firmly implant them upon paper. On a regular prescribed form impressions are taken so that the flexure of the last joint shall be at a given point on the record. The digits are taken singly and then an imprint is made of all of them simultaneously. When the prisoner has finished imprinting the record he is called upon for his signature, and immediately underneath the name, as written by himself, an imprint is left of the right forefinger. For the edification of American police, Mr. Ferrier demonstrates that upon a sheet of paper you may sprinkle some charcoal dust and press it upon the paper with your thumb and then blow the dust off and the imprint of the digit will remain. MOST POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION. But this thumb print possibility in commercial papers has its greatest future in the positive identification which either thumb or finger print carries with it. Criminologists all over the world have satisfied themselves of the absolute accuracy of the finger print identification. It would be hard to figure just how many Constantines were arrested or kept under surveillance following the horrible murder in Chicago, the suspicions aroused by personal resemblances to the criminal's photograph and especially by the prominent gold tooth of the man. But in a criminal's finger print the merest novice anywhere in the world may take an ink impression of the fingers of the suspected criminal, and if these prints should be in the bureau of identification at Scotland Yard, with its 100,000 records of individuals, the man would be identified positively within half an hour--identified not only by the experts of the bureau, but an ordinary citizen would be an authority in attesting the proof. This is a suggestion of the absolute accuracy of identifications on commercial paper. At the present time traveling salesmen who spend much money and who wish to carry as little as possible of cash with them, have an organized system by which their bankable paper may be cashed at hotels and business houses over the country. APPLIED TO IMMIGRANTS. Major R. W. McClaughry, warden of the federal prison at Leavenworth, sees in the finger print system a possibility which might be taken cognizance of by the government at Ellis Island. With the millions of immigrants who have come and who still are to come to these shores, the finger print requirement would simplify many of the tangles of many kinds which result from this inrush of foreign population. Aside from the fact that many of this country's criminals are foreign born, it remains that civil identifications of such people are matters of great moment. Titles and estates have hung in the balance of incomplete identifications of persons who are claimants in the United States. Fifty years after a finger print is registered that same finger, or group of fingers, will prove the personality of the one registering. In case of accidents of many kinds one hand or the other is most likely to escape mutilation, and a post-mortem imprint of the fingers still is proof of identity. The finger print system is being taken up more rapidly than was the Bertillon, largely owing to the fact that police departments, recognizing that a scientific system gives far greater results and can in no way be compared with the old method of describing criminals, by color, age, height, weight, eyes, hair, etc., are more willing than formerly to intelligently investigate and test new methods. Under the Bertillon system it is contended that the bones of the human anatomy stop growing after the age of twenty-one years. In consequence measurements taken of juvenile offenders under that age are practically of little use, as they show too wide a variance with measurements taken in after years, and are not a certain source of identification. The identification from imprint taken from the finger tips of both hands can be recorded as soon as the child is born, and no matter at what time of life a record is again taken of the subject, absolute identification can be had, as the papillary ridges of the palmer surface of the finger tips present the same formation until death, and even though some of the fingers become mutilated, amputated or lost, sufficient prints would remain on the other fingers to produce identification. While it is claimed that the finger print system is sufficient unto itself for all identification, after working each system side by side for a number of years, I believe that both systems should be installed in all cities, penitentiaries, etc., especially as they both will be given an impartial and thorough test here, with the result that it will be the survival of both, or of the fittest. KEEP BAD MEN OUT OF SERVICE. In these government departments it is expected that the finger print records will serve to keep undesirable people out of the service, as well as to afford a complete method of identifying every member, or past member, in years to come. Both branches of the War Department, the army and navy, had first installed the Bertillon system, and within the last year the finger print system, thereby recognizing both, but apparently giving the finger print system the preference; owing to the many ways it can be applied in the service, and especially as to recording all enlisted men and to the identification of those who might be maimed or killed in battle, whose identity might be sought afterward, or to identify deserters; or if a soldier or sailor has lost his honorable discharge paper, he can go to any enlisting office, have his finger prints taken, his identity established, and new papers issued, thereby avoiding red tape or having about one dozen affidavits from different people to substantiate his claim. Not only as a means of detecting and identifying criminals may the finger print be used, but its usefulness in various ways is easily demonstrated. It is clearly within the range of possibility that the traveler a few years hence may be called upon to imprint an identifying finger mark upon his letter of credit or certified check. [Illustration: (Fingerprints on check.)] As a means of preventing-fraud or securing the signatures of those who cannot write, the finger print system is invaluable, as the mark may be easily forged, but the finger's impress can be only made by the proper party and cannot be duplicated by others. The thumb or finger tips will leave an imprint upon glass, polished metal or wood, owing to the moisture and natural oil oozing from the cuticle. It is a simple matter to procure such imprints when wanted, and they can be turned over to the authorities for identification of a suspect. SECURE PRINTS OF ALL CRIMINALS. If peace officers throughout the country would secure finger prints of all criminals passing through their hands and forward them to a central bureau it would facilitate the apprehension and identification of malefactors. As a preventive of repeating at elections, the finger print identification would serve an admirable purpose. When an elector registered he could leave an imprint of his fingers upon the registration book, and when he went to vote a glance at the registration list and comparison of the imprint made at the polls would readily establish his identity if the prints tallied. The natives of India decline to recognize the validity of any document beneath the signature of which is not imprinted a reproduction of the whorls or loops of the thumb of the signer, alleging that a person might deny his own signature, but that the finger prints afford incontrovertible evidence, as no two people can make the same impression with their thumbs upon paper. Upon opening an account with a bank in India the depositor leaves the impress of his right thumb upon the roll of depositors and none of his paper will be honored unless checks are thus imprinted. In the same country pensioners are compelled to imprint their thumbs upon receipts for pension money, and thus obviate the likelihood of other persons drawing the stipend rightfully belonging to the veteran. The best test of a system is its practical use and the results derived, and one of the most important matters is uniformity in all branches of work, classification, filing, size of cards, etc., so that, as the system becomes universal, it will be operated on identical lines in all countries. From my observation of the practical workings of the system, I believe that at New Scotland Yard, London, to be the best. FINGER PRINT SYSTEM FURNISHES COMPLETE IDENTIFICATION. In Paris a public house or saloon was broken into one morning, and it was found that the owner had been murdered and that apparently there was no clew to the murderer. On arriving at the saloon they found a table on which drinks had been served, and on which were found a number of glasses. On close investigation finger prints were discovered on each. Finger prints were also found on a knife by the side of the body and on a decanter. On comparison it was found that the prints were made by the same person. On causing the arrest of the different people who had been seen to visit the saloon they were finger-printed and a comparison made, with the result that the murderer was arrested and a confession obtained within ten days, followed by conviction. At New Scotland Yard, London, a little boy was brought in and two sets of his finger prints taken and filed away in separate steel deposit vaults. The boy was an orphan and an heir to a very large fortune in Africa. His finger prints were taken as a protection, so that if anything happened to him, or he disappeared, or he had to prove his identity to claim his estate, or provided he died and proof of the identity of the body was required, such proof could be shown with absolute certainty. An interesting case nearer home is that of a recent arrest in Chicago of a man that the authorities were convinced was a professional criminal, and from his accent and other indications they believed him to be an English professional crook. His Bertillon measurements and finger prints were taken at the Bureau of Identification by Captain M. P. Evans, superintendent of the bureau, and a copy of the photograph and finger prints given to Mr. William A. Pinkerton, of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. Mr. Pinkerton, who is a personal friend of Frank C. Froest, superintendent of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, London, mailed the finger prints to him without any other memorandum, data or the picture, simply making the test on the finger prints. He received a reply from Inspector Frank C. Froest, giving the name of the criminal, and a long record of some fourteen arrests and the picture, so as to authenticate the identification, and also a statement from Superintendent Froest that the identification was made inside of three minutes from a collection of over 70,000 records. The identification was absolutely correct. The prisoner, on being shown the letter, admitted his guilt. If a clerk handles papers or letters on his employer's desk, it is a very easy matter of detection. By means of a little syringe filled with a powder blown on the paper, the finger prints are reproduced with startling clearness. BROKEN GLASS PROVES GUILT. Some pieces of broken glass had been taken to Scotland Yard, four days previous to the Ward, Lock & Co. burglary. These fragments of glass had been picked up at the London City Mission, where a burglar had broken through a window and carried off a clock and other articles. No one could be connected with the crime after a most thorough detective hunt. The one remaining source was a bit of glass on which finger prints had been noticed. These were photographed and compared with the finger prints of all the recent records. Surprisingly enough, they corresponded exactly with those of the young clerk who had been found stealing books from the publishers' warehouse. Instead of being a clerk, he was a very adept young burglar. On this new evidence the prisoner was sentenced to twelve months at hard labor. About a month before this a similar case occurred in London. A man was arrested on Tower Hill carrying a pair of boots wrapped up in a brown paper. He said he had been employed to carry the parcel to Fenchurch Street Station. He was held on suspicion. Later in the day it was discovered that the boots had been stolen from a neighboring store, and that on the transom, which had been broken, there was a perfect imprint of a man's finger. Inspector Collins, superintendent of the finger print department at New Scotland Yard, examined the print and found it corresponded to the mark of the suspected man's left forefinger made on the brown paper parcel in which the boots were wrapped. The evidence was conclusive, the man pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to nine months at hard labor. About the same time another interesting case occurred in Staffordshire, England. There had been a wholesale burglary of a large jeweler's shop. The perpetrator had left distinct finger marks on a plate glass shelf in a window. These marks were photographed and sent to New Scotland Yard. They were identified as belonging to William Davis, a notorious burglar who had been confined at Wakefield prison in 1901. The man was hunted up. He was found living near the place of the recent robbery under the name of John McNally. He at first denied the recent offense, but afterward made a full confession. But for these tell-tale finger marks, he might have continued to ply his trade unsuspected under his new name, in a district where the local police did not know him. In one of the large banks where the finger print system was introduced, they make it a rule that when a depositor cannot read or write, he shall, in addition to making his mark in the old way on checks or documents, place the finger print of the thumb or index finger on them. IMPORTANT IN WILL CONTESTS. Finger prints are also used in the making of wills, so that while the signature of the testator may be contested, it is almost impossible to contest the signature of the fingers, for so long as the skin of the fingers of the dead person can be taken up, just so long can the finger print impression be obtained to verify the living imprint. It is only a question of time before all large transportation companies, like express and railways, whose employes handle packages of money or other valuables, will be required to place their finger prints on file, so that when money or valuables are missing the cover of the package will indicate who handled or tampered with it. HOW TO DETECT A FORGER. How to detect a forger as one of the cleverest of operating criminals has been solved by the "thumb print" method of identification now spreading through the rogues' galleries of the world. It is quite as interesting as the suggestion that through the same thumb print method in commercial and banking houses the forger is likely to become a creature without occupation and chirographical or other means of support. The system is not only a great aid in preventing the forgeries of commercial brigands, but the easiest of all means for a person in a strange city to identify himself as the lawful possessor of check, or note, or bank draft which he may wish to turn into cash at a banker's window. USED IN ANCIENT TIMES. A thousand years ago the Chinese were using the thumb print signatures in commercial business. Its practical adaptation today is explained at a glance in the check reproduced here, as it was filled out by Mr. McClaughry himself. In this check the design is that the maker of the check, before leaving home for a distant city, shall draw the check for the needed sum and, in the presence of the cashier of his bank, place one thumb print in ink somewhere over the amount of the check as written in figures. Thereupon the cashier of the bank will accept the check as certified by his institution. With this paper in his possession the drawer of the check may go from his home in New York to San Francisco, stranger to every person in the city, but at the window of any bank in that city, presenting his certified check to a teller who has a reading glass at his hand, the stranger may satisfy the most careful of banks by a mere imprint of his thumb somewhere else upon the face of the check. Had this simple thumb print been used in the Stensland bank, no handwriting expert would have been needed to establish the genuineness of any note under question. With the ink thumb print of the cashier of a bank placed on a bank draft over his signature and over the written amount of the draft, chemical papers and the dangers of "raising" or counterfeiting the draft would be an impossibility. The thumb prints of the secretary of the United States treasury, reproduced on the face of greenback, silver certificate and bank note of any series, would discourage counterfeiting as nothing else ever has done. SAFEGUARD ON SEALS OF LETTERS AND MONEY PACKAGES. As an aid in the transmission of sealed packages, the thumb print is invaluable. The print will determine absolutely whether the wax has been broken in transit, and it will also establish the identity of the person putting on the seal. Packages so protected have been left by train robbers where all other packages in the safe were taken. The thumb print was too suggestive of danger to make tampering with such packages safe. In the ordinary usage of the thumb print on bankable paper, the city bank having its country correspondents everywhere, often is called upon to cash a draft drawn by the country bank in favor of that bank's customer, who may be a stranger in the city. The city bank desires to accommodate the country correspondent as a first proposition. The unidentified bearer of the draft in the city, may have no acquaintance able to identify him. If he presents the draft at the window of the big bank, hoping to satisfy the institution and is turned away, he feels hurt. By the thumb print method he might have his money in a moment. IDENTIFYING STRANGERS. In the first place, even the signature of the cashier of the country bank will be enough to satisfy its correspondent in the city of the genuineness of the draft. Before the country purchaser of the draft has left the bank issuing the paper he will be required to make the ink thumb print in a space for that purpose. Without this imprint the draft will have no value. If the system should be in use, the cashier signing the draft will not affix his signature to the paper until this imprint has been made in his presence. Then, with his attested finger print on the face of the draft the stranger in the city may go to the city bank, appearing at the window of the newest teller, if need be. This teller will have at hand his ink pad, faced with a sheet of smooth tin. He never may have seen the customer before. He never may see him again. But under the magnifying influences of an ordinary reading glass he may know, past the possibility of doubt, that in the hands of the proper person named in the draft, the imprint which is made before him has been made by the first purchaser of the draft. SIGNING BONDS AND STOCKS. In the more important and complicated transactions in bank paper one bank may forward from the bank itself the finger print proofs of identity. The whole field of such necessities is open to adapted uses of the method. Notes given by one bank to another in high figures may be protected in every way by these imprints. Stock issues and institution bonds would be worthy of the thumb print precautions, as would be every other form of paper which might tempt either the forger or the counterfeiter. In any case, where the authenticity of the paper might be questioned the finger print would serve as absolute guarantee. In stenographic correspondence, where there might be inducements to write unauthorized letters on the part of some person with wrong intent, the imprint of finger or thumb would make the possibility of fraud too remote for fears. For, in addition to the security of signatures in real documents, the danger in attempting frauds of this kind is increased. The beauty of the finger print system is that there is absolutely no chance for error. The finger prints of the child of eighteen months will be the same as the finger prints of the man of eighty. No laceration, wound, or mutilation can disturb the essentials of the outline of the finger print. The only escape for the criminal is to cut off all of his fingers, and even then the toe prints would be as effective. As to the physical necessities in registering finger prints, they are simple and inexpensive. A block of wood faced with smooth tin or zinc the size of an octavo volume, a small ink roller, and a tube of black ink are all that is required. For removing the ink on the thumb or finger a towel and alcohol cleanser are sufficient. A tip impression or a "rolled" finger signature may be used. Only a few seconds are required for the operation. [Illustration: The Bertillon System of Identification Instruments used in the measurement of criminals by the Bertillon system of measurements.] OBJECTS TO HAVING FINGER IMPRESSIONS RECORDED. In one of our prisons recently, a man who had just been sentenced was brought up, and while he made no opposition to being measured by the Bertillon system, he objected strongly to having his finger impressions recorded. This caused the identification expert to be suspicious, and he submitted a duplicate record to the Scotland Yard police, in London, with the result that the man was at once identified as a murderer who had escaped from a prison in England, and was taken back there. When confronted with the English record, the convict at once admitted his identity. An express company lost a large sum of money which was being sent from one point to another in a sealed package. During transmission the seals were broken, the money abstracted and the package resealed with wax. At first the express company were absolutely unable to locate the thief, but later on it was discovered that in resealing the package, the thief had wet his finger and pressed it on the warm wax, leaving a distinct imprint. The finger impressions of all the agents through whose hands the package passed, were taken, with the result that the thief was easily identified, a confession obtained and the money recovered. A jewelry store was entered and valuable diamonds that were on display on glass trays in the windows were stolen. In doing this the thieves left the imprints of their fingers on the glass. An expert, on making investigation with a powerful magnifier, discovered the imprints and by a careful photographic process was able to reproduce them on paper. A research being made among a collection of 20,000 finger-print records revealed the fact that the prints left on the glass tray were those of a well-known professional burglar, whose record had been taken some two years previously, while undergoing sentence in State prison. As a result the man was arrested and, through him, his partner in the crime, resulting in a conviction and the recovery of most of the goods. The London police in investigating a burglary discovered in the pantry of a house a partly empty bottle of ale, which had been full the previous day. There were finger prints on the bottle, which was protected by a cardboard shield and taken to Scotland Yard, where the prints of the photograph, afterwards, were found to correspond with those of McAllister, who had just previously been released from jail. McAllister, on his arrest, in some way learned that they had his finger prints, and, realizing their value as evidence, made a circumstantial admission which led to the recovery of the goods and the conviction of his partner, Alexander Harley, on whose premises the property was found. A half-empty bottle of wine was discovered in the room of an old woman at Asnieres, France, she having been murdered. A close examination of the bottle revealed finger prints, which were submitted to M. Bertillon, the great identification expert, who caused large photographs to be made, and who, after research, declared they were the imprints of a hospital attendant named Gales, who has since been arrested, charged with the murder, and convicted. MURDER REVEALED BY FINGER PRINTS. Recently in London a murder was committed, and in order to destroy any chance of detection, the murderer took the tin of his shoe lace and cut the tips of his fingers in all directions. He was suspected of the crime and arrested. The officers found blood prints on the furniture and other things in the house where the murder was committed, and when the man's fingers healed his prints were taken and corresponded exactly with those discovered by the officers; conviction followed. Where large bodies of Chinese or negroes are employed on government or public work it is often difficult to stop men from representing themselves as being other men and signing the pay roll to obtain the wages due others. Nowadays the thumb print of each employee is taken and when he comes up to draw his money and there is any doubt as to his identity he makes a fresh imprint, which easily disposes of the matter. Rich men disposing of their property by will, in addition to their regular signature, also place the finger prints of both hands on the paper, thereby insuring the authenticity of the document. An easy way to protect a check is to put the thumb print where the figures are written in. Among the most noted of these is the case of Thomas Wilson, who a few years ago committed a burglary and most atrocious murder near Windsor, England. Besides the bludgeon with which he felled his unsuspecting victim, Wilson carried a lantern which was blackened by smoke, and, after accomplishing his design of robbery, the fiend took his departure. As he made his escape after the foul murder, Wilson picked up the smoke-begrimed lantern and left upon it an imprint of a thumb wet with the blood of his victim. SENT TO GALLOWS BY BLOODY THUMB PRINT. With the cunning of the criminal he covered his tracks, and as a last resort Chief Henry of Scotland Yard secured the lantern bearing the tell-tale print and resolved to try the efficiency of the ancient Chinese method of fixing responsibility by finger tracks. This astute detective had paid some attention to the fact that no two hands would leave a similar imprint, and, working upon this theory, he pursued a still hunt until he found a man whose right thumb made an imprint identical with that upon the lantern. When found, vigorous denial followed accusation, but measurements were drawn to such a fine point that the culprit finally confessed and expiated his heinous crime upon the gallows. Recently the perpetrator of an extensive burglary in the jewelry shop of Mr. Bickley, Lord Mayor of Staffordshire, England, left the imprint of his fingers upon a plate glass shelf. The shelf was sent to Scotland Yard and the finger-print record disclosed a duplicate in the records left by the digits of William Davis, well known to the authorities. When confronted with the mute evidences of guilt the culprit confessed. In a police court at London a few months ago a man appeared who declined to give any name or address. A detective thought he recognized him as John White, wanted for a jewel robbery some time before, though his facial appearance had changed and did not tally with photographs held by the police. However, the imprint left by his fingers when in custody before had not changed a particle and his identity was established. After the success attained in numerous instances the authorities at Scotland Yard decided to adopt the system and have now so perfected it that no malefactor who leaves a finger print can hope to escape ultimate punishment. Mr. Wm. A. Pinkerton, of the famous Pinkerton's National Detective Agency, and without doubt one of the greatest criminal experts, on his return from Europe, in an interview published recently, says: "During my visit at New Scotland Yard, London, I was greatly interested in the high state of efficiency which the finger print system of identification has reached in the police service of London. The Bureau of Finger Prints there is one of the most marvelous departments I ever examined. Identification of criminals has been reduced practically to a matter of bookkeeping. You get the finger print and then simply turn up your indexes, and you know your man at once. A criminal may shave or grow his beard, become stout or thin, alter his appearance to a considerable extent, but the one constant feature of his makeup is his finger prints. "The only safe way for criminals nowadays is to wear gloves when they go out on a job, for the impressions they leave of the fingers are found by detectives on glasses, newspapers, dusty tables, and the slightest impression of the fingers on a damp table or paper can, by the process in use at the Yard, serve as an adequate means of identification." GOVERNMENT TO KEEP WATCH ON CRIMINALS. The United States government at Washington, D. C., has established a criminal identification bureau, or what may be called an "Habitual Criminal Registry," for keeping the records of all men convicted of crimes against the federal laws, and also all indicted by grand juries of the United States courts. The bureau is to be under the supervision of the department of justice, and all prisons in the United States where government prisoners are or have been confined have been directed to send their records, consisting of photographs, Bertillon measurement cards and finger-print identification sheets immediately to the department of justice. This bureau is intended to be used for the identification of federal lawbreakers. It has been urged for some time by criminologists. Heretofore each prison in the United States has kept its own records, and a federal lawbreaker could serve a term in one prison and be freed without the fact ever becoming known that he had served a previous term for a similar offense in another penitentiary. Now all records are to be classified in Washington, and not in any of the federal jails or prisons. The Bertillon measurements, photographs and _finger prints_ of the convicts are to be taken and sent to the central bureau. Also, the records of all men suspected of being yeggmen, train or postoffice robbers are to be taken. Those held in federal jails under indictment, etc., are to be sent there. This bureau will ascertain the record of each man from the date he has, and if one not yet given trial proves to be an habitual criminal, this fact will be made known to the prosecuting attorney and the judge previous to the hearing, and if the man is convicted it will mean that he will be given the limit sentence. At the present time there are about 8,000 known criminals who violate the government laws, and a close tab is to be kept upon these in the future. It will go hard on a known criminal convicted in a United States court hereafter. BURGLARY A SCIENCE. Up-To-Date Professional Burglar Must Be Skilled in Latest Methods. ELECTRICITY NOW A FACTOR. It Has Taken the Place of Dynamite and the Jimmy in Advanced Safe Looting. Scientific Equipment of Burglar Includes High-Class Automobile. Jobs at Country Houses Usually Planned Far in Advance, and With Intimate Knowledge of Loot To Be Gained. [Illustration: _HOW BURGLAR UNLOCKS DOORS._ Unlocking a door is one of the easiest tasks of the professional burglar. His ingenuity defies the efforts of locksmiths to invent safety devices. The picture shows how an expert turns a key in the lock, and also a simple device to prevent this.] The up-to-date burglar must have a motor car, the use of which is only a part of his scientific equipment. That the modern burglar does not consider that he is properly equipped unless he possesses a motor car is an incontrovertible fact. House-breaking nowadays has been reduced to a science. The use of gloves renders detection by finger prints impossible. Besides, the modern burglar's tools are most scientifically made. The men who make it their business to manufacture these tools are first-class workmen. The majority of large country burglaries are planned for days in advance, and every detail is most carefully arranged. In some mysterious manner the word is conveyed to the gang that a visit will be made on a certain day, by a member of the household which it is intended to rob, to a jeweler's shop. The train is met at the terminus and the person followed to the jeweler's or wherever they go. When they enter the shop a man strolls in casually and makes some inquiries. While an assistant is attending to his supposed wants it is very easy for him to see what the person at the same counter is purchasing and, having obtained all the necessary information, the man leaves and imparts all his information to his confederates. Before a county ball or such function a visit to the jeweler's is often necessary to get the family diamonds, and the fact that this visit is going to be made is either communicated or anticipated, and the same system of following is put in operation. Equipped with all the desired information, the modern burglar then brings his motor car into operation. There is no tedious waiting for trains; he simply drives down to the "crib" and avoids the old-fashioned way of taking a train at a small wayside station, with the chances of being arrested on his arrival in the metropolis. If he is noticed on the road he is taken for a rich man touring in his car, and if a great social function is in progress he is regarded as a belated guest. The car is carefully stalled in an obscure place while the robbery takes place. The booty is subsequently placed in it and a quick trip back to town is made. The police are left practically without a single clew. Those members of the community who make a business, or a profession, rather, of burglary keep up with the march of science quite as closely as do people in a more legitimate calling. The burglar of today is a vastly differently equipped individual from the one of a generation ago. He must of necessity be an enterprising and daring man, and in addition to that if he would make a success of safe cracking in this twentieth century he must be something of a scientist as well. The great progress made in the manufacture of safes for the storage of valuables has brought about this revolution in the burglar's methods, and it is a regrettable fact to note that no matter how strong and secure safes may be made, the ingenuity of the scientific burglar is pretty sure to devise some method to overcome their security. The most recent development in the burglar's advancement is the use of electricity to open safes in place of the old-time jimmy and the more recent dynamite. OLD-TIME STRONG BOX. Years ago the old-fashioned strong box was considered quite an adequate protection for hoarded wealth and was the legitimate successor of the stocking in which the gold pieces were carefully stored and hidden away. The strong box of wood bound with iron and with ponderous locks proved but child's play for the burglar thoroughly intent upon obtaining its contents. Then came the more modern iron and steel safe, with its thick plates of highly tempered metal and ingeniously complicated time locks. Safe breakers have more than kept pace with improvement in safes, including time locks, chilled steel chests of eight or nine inches thicknesses and electric protective attachments. Their tools are made by some of the finest mechanics and inventive geniuses of the world. A full kit of the most approved modern safe workers' tools costs about $5,000. The modern burglar is like love in one respect; he "laughs at locksmiths." Yet he is not much of an artist, although he is rapidly improving. The simple tools of the burglars' trade indicate how easily the contrivances made to bar his progress are overcome. Yet these tools give no mark of great mechanical genius. They are as crude as the average burglar is. They are in keeping with his practices of force and brutality. The destructive power of the best pieces of handiwork is their main advantage, and doubtless an illustration of the house-breaker's stunted idea, that the best way to overcome obstacles is in all cases to break them down. The tools used by the burglar are supplied to him. They are made by men after his own heart, and who make for him what is most effective in his hands. No doubt there are smart men engaged in the business of defying law and setting the rights of honest people at naught. Some of the methods they employ might be used to their credit in a commendable industry. JIMMY IS NECESSARY. There are places where the jimmy is absolutely indispensable to the burglar. Front doors, which a house proprietor usually has doubly bolted and barred and supplied with improved locks, are the last apertures in the world a night marauder would seek to enter. It must be an amusing thing to the burglar, after noting the precautions taken to prevent his entrance by the street door, when he has walked through the skylight on the roof without the slightest resistance, or dropped through the coal-hole leading to the cellar from the sidewalk, to find that no doors bar his passage from there to the rooms above. Those are the popular ways of getting into many banks and business houses. The basement door, at the rear, if there is one, is another. In such case the jimmy is the magic wand that opens the way. It is more useful to the burglar than any half dozen of his other implements, and is the first thing he purchases when getting an outfit. How do safe burglars get their tools? Why, every man of any account in that line has what he calls "his man," who is a practical mechanic, and makes everything in the shape of jimmies, punches, etc., that the burglar uses. A safe blower's outfit consists of many curious tools, some of them being of special design for some particular class of work of which the owner is the originator. Scarcely any two men work alike, and some of the clever ones invent instruments to do a certain part of their work. When a well-known notorious crook was arrested several years ago in his room, the officers found one of the finest kits of burglars' tools that was ever brought into police headquarters. Talk about ingenuity--if that man had applied but one-third of the intelligence to a legitimate business that he had spent in devising tools for robbery, he would have been a millionaire today. Twenty years ago when burglars started out to rob a safe they filled a carpet sack with highly tempered drills, copper sledges, sectional jimmies, dark lanterns, powder and a fuse. On the way they stole a horse and wagon, filling the latter with the greater portion of the tools of a country blacksmith shop. They would work on the safe from four to six hours, and finally blow it open with a fine grade of ducking powder. Usually the shock would break all the glass in the building, arouse the town, and the burglars would often have to fight for their lives. In those days the men had to be big and powerful, because the work was extremely laborious. If the burglar was an ex-prize fighter or noted tough, so much the better, for he could make a desperate resistance in case he was caught in the act, or immediately after it. With the modern safe burglar it is almost totally different. Although much more skillful and successful than his predecessor, he is more conservative. He seldom runs his own head into danger, and therefore seldom endangers the head of a law-abiding citizen by permitting his head to come into contact with him or the job while it is under way. Every precaution is taken against being surprised, and it is seldom the robbery is discovered until the cashier's appearance the next morning. The modern safe burglar is an exceedingly keen, intelligent man. He can open a safe having all modern improvements in from ten minutes to two hours without the aid of explosives and by only slightly defacing the safe. Sometimes he leaves scarcely a mark. A first-class modern safe, whether large or small, generally has double outside and inside doors, with a steel chest in the bottom, forming really a safe within a safe, the inside being the stronger. The outside door is usually either "stuffed" or "skeleton." The inside one is made of eight or nine sheets, of different temper, of the finest steel. These sheets are bolted together with conical bolts having left-hand threads, after which the heads of the bolts are cut off, leaving what is virtually a solid piece of steel, which no drill can penetrate. The best locks are of the combination type, with time lock attachment. In many cities and town safes containing the valuables have an electric alarm attached. Any tampering with it will communicate the fact to the owners or the safe's guardian, which in cities is either an electric protective bureau or a central police station. A recent invention in France is a photographic attachment. As soon as the safe is touched this device will light an electric lamp, photograph the intruder and give the alarm at the electric protective company's office. As a consequence safe-breaking is going out of date in France, as the cleverest criminals have so far failed to find a way to circumvent the camera. The first thing considered by a gang of the finest experts is a desirable bank's location and the chances for getting safely away with the plunder. Every transportation facility is carefully considered. As the work is almost invariably done at the season of the year when wagon roads are impassible, railroad time tables are carefully considered. In these days of the telegraph and telephone the gang must be under cover in a large city or concealed with friends by the time the crime is discovered, which, at the utmost, is about six hours after the crime has been committed. From November 1 to March 1 is the safe burglar's harvest time, because then the nights are longest and the chances of detection less, as fewer people are on the streets and houses adjoining, being tightly closed to exclude the cold, exclude noises also. A man can, furthermore, carry tools in an overcoat without attracting attention, that he could not wear with a summer suit. The remainder of the year is spent in "marking" the most desirable banks for future operations. Four men, who compose the ordinary safe mob, will put up from thirty to forty "jobs" for a winter's work, allowing for all contingencies. From six to ten of these will be carried out. A bank safe will be broken into in a small town in Maine, and in ten days the gang will be operating in Texas. [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 1)] [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 2)] [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 3)] [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 4)] [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 5)] [Illustration: (Burglar blowing up safe, part 6)] Having decided on a bank, the habits of the cashier and other chief employees are carefully studied; but, above all, of those who visit the bank after working hours, chief of whom is the watchman, if the bank has one. If the watchman drinks, or spends time visiting women when he should be at the bank, the bank is an easy prey. Weeks, and sometimes even months, are spent in putting up a job of magnitude, and a number of smaller jobs are done to carry out one where the proceeds may run into the tens of thousands of dollars. Men visit the town who have a legitimate business as a "blind." They make all preliminary preparations. The greatest ingenuity is employed to obtain exact information, such as the evenings the cashier or teller is likely to visit the bank and the exact time. SCIENTIFIC BURGLARY. Burglars whose chief qualification is the mechanical ability to open bank vaults and safes and steal thousands of dollars in bonds or cash cannot be classed with those who break open a store door and filch a lot of buckets, brooms or dry goods. The man who makes the defects of a combination lock, safe or vault a study must have intelligence and mechanical knowledge equal to that of a man who draws a big salary for what he knows. Whenever any new combination lock is brought in the market for vault or safe use the scientific burglar obtains one, and by patient study discovers its weakness or defect, something which every safe or vault has. The combination of a safe or vault has often been learned by these burglars by obtaining an entrance to the banking house after banking hours, removing the dial of the combination and placing a sheet of tin foil behind it. Then, replacing the dial, the turning of the combination in opening or closing makes the impression of letters or numbers on the soft foil, which is removed by the burglar at the first chance he has to get into the banking house. Having the combination impressed on the tin foil, he and his accomplices open the vault or safe, secure the contents, and then often change or put out of order the combination, so the doors of the vault or safe cannot be opened for some hours after the regular time for opening, and then only by an expert of that particular safe company. This, of course, gives the thieves several hours of valuable time in which to effect their escape. The tools required by the mechanical burglar who forces open safes are the air pump, putty, powder, fuse, sectional jimmy, steel drills, diamond drills, copper sledges, steel-faced sledges (leather covered), lamp and blow pipe, jack screw, wedges, dynamite and syringe, brace with box slide, feed screw drills, steel punches, small bellows, blank steel keys, skeleton keys, nippers, dark lantern, twine and screw eyes. The latest, most dangerous set of tools manufactured is the second power in mechanics--the screw. The method of work with the screw is to first rig a brace, and then drill a hole in the safe, cut a thread in the hole and then insert a female screw. Then, with a long steel screw with a handle so long that two men can turn it, the screw is inserted in the female screw, and by turning it goes in until it strikes the back of the safe. Then either the back or the front must give way. In nearly all cases it is the latter, as that is the weakest, and it gives enough to insert the sectional jimmy, which the screw handle is part of. The jimmy is then inserted in the part forced out, and the safe is then torn asunder and its contents easily appropriated. This work is accomplished without much noise. INVENT NEW DEVICES. However, these new one-piece safes have not discouraged the malefactors. They have only suggested to them the creation of special appliances which enable them, without stopping to pick the lock, to remove from the side wall of the safe a circle of the metal large enough to allow of an arm to be put inside. One of the most important of these new devices for assisting the safe-crackers in their crime is formed of an iron hoop furnished with well-tempered steel teeth, which is fixed by means of a simple pivot on the safe after a screw worm has been previously driven in. The instrument is then turned on its pivot and plows a groove in the safe wall each time it revolves. Science has not left the burglar weaponless, however. The progress accomplished has merely compelled him to obtain higher qualifications, and in the continuous strife between the armor plate and the desperado who would pierce it the thieves have had hitherto the last word. For many years dynamite was their chief reliance, and then a product was discovered some years ago by a chemist, who gave it the name of "thermit," by which the cracksman was able to melt sheet metal, inches thick, with comparatively little trouble. MELTS HARDEST STEEL. This substance known as "thermit" is in current use for repairing, heating or soldering large pieces of metal and consists of a mixture of aluminum and oxide of iron, the latter being replaced, according to the requirement, by oxide of lead, peroxide of sodium or peroxide of barium. This composition is thoroughly mixed together, or is used in the form of cartridges or tablets, which ignite by means of a piece of magnesium fixed in the substance like a wick. The heat developed is more than sufficient to cause the hardest steel to melt. Although this process is rapid and silent and really marvelous from the point of view of the result obtained, it is not without much danger to those using it, for at the high temperature produced by it an inexperienced operator runs the risk of being seriously burned. In consequence the prudent and careful burglar uses accessories which render him secure against such accidents. He protects his eyes by means of heavy dark glasses, wears shields of aluminum over his hands and applies the mixture through a small hole in the bottom of a crucible. When the reaction takes place it lasts long enough to allow the operator to charge the crucible again and again in proportion as the melting of the metal plate is effected, thus making an opening of the desired size in the safe. It is a simple enough operation for a skilled burglar, but a very dangerous one for an amateur. TESTS WITH ELECTRICITY. But even this has been discounted by an experiment before a United States government commission, showing that electricity can be so applied as to give the scientific cracksman a greater field for operation than ever before. The experiment was made by an expert burglar, who, having retired from business after amassing a sufficient competency, was requested to favor the commission by contributing the light of his knowledge. He demonstrated that by the aid of electricity he could, within a short time, reduce safes of the highest repute to old iron. For this purpose he took out of his pocket a style in the form of retort carbon, similar to those used for arc lamps; a few yards of electric wire, black eyeglasses and a plate pierced in the middle. It was with this simple outfit he pierced in less than three minutes a circle of holes in a cast steel safe with walls one and a half inches thick. His method of procedure was simplicity itself. To the electric supply current of the chandelier overhead he connected two wires, one of which he fixed on the safe, and the other at the extreme of his carbon style. It was suitably insulated by a wooden handle. Then, having inserted this pencil in the hole of the plate, whose purpose was to protect him against the heat and light, he produced a voltaic arc of immense power between the point of his style and the wall of the safe, thus melting the metal with the greatest ease. SOME CONCRETE EXAMPLES. BURGLARS USE ACETYLENE FLAME TO OPEN SAFE DOOR. In Paris, January 4, 1908, burglars broke into the premises of Martin and Baume, colonial traders, at Marseilles, and stole money and goods to the value of $20,000. Most of their booty they took from a safe, the door of which they burnt through with an apparatus giving an acetylene flame of sufficient heat to melt the metal. The case recalls one at Antwerp recently, when the thieves melted a safe with a combined oxygen and acetylene flame. The police believe that the Marseilles burglars are past masters of the art, and that probably not more than a dozen possess such apparatus for melting safes. One or more of the burglars may probably have been employed at a motor factory, where acetylene lamps are in frequent use. In any case, even the finest lock or the best steel safe can't resist, if burglars take to using oxygen and acetylene lamps with blow-pipes. Safe manufacturers have a new problem to solve. THE BANK SNEAK. The bank sneaks of the country were formerly among the most troublesome criminals with whom the police had to deal. The money and jewelry stolen by them aggregated hundreds of thousands of dollars annually. The bank sneak is the cleverest of crooks, and as bold and daring as any of them. But modern police methods, the system of exchanging Bertillon photographs, and the organization of bankers' and jewelers' associations, together with perfect burglar alarm equipment, have combined to put him out of business, and his work nowadays is on a limited scale. During the past ten years not more than five good bank sneak games have been pulled off, while there has been a similar reduction in the raids on jewelry shops. The Bertillon photographs facilitate the identification of the sneak and the bankers' and jewelers' organization put up the money with which to pursue him remorselessly, and soon catch him. Concerning the bank sneak and his mode of operating: An expert professional bank "sneak" thief and his associates study the habits of all employes to determine when the greatest number are absent (which generally happens at the noon hour), decide how many confederates will be necessary to engage the attention of the remaining employes, while the sneak thief noiselessly enters a vault, teller's cage, or goes to a safe, and commits the robbery. Confederates are usually of good appearance, understand business methods, can discuss loans, mortgages, sale of securities, etc., long enough to allow the "sneak" to operate without discovery. A "sneak" thief, wearing rubber-soled shoes, will frequently pass within a few feet of the official or clerk in charge, enter a vault or teller's cage, or rob a safe or money drawer, without creating the slightest noise. A ruse to make the way clear for the "sneak" is for a confederate to drive in a carriage to the bank or store to be robbed, as a pretext exhibiting a crutch, or accompanied by a female, requesting some passer-by to ask the cashier or some other official to step out to the carriage, which usually occurs when few of the employes are in the place. Another device is to hold a large blue print of some property on which is pretended a loan is desirable, or a bundle of maps offered for sale, in such position that the view of the official being interviewed is obstructed, thereby covering the "sneak" and giving him opportunity to operate. Another more recent artifice is the telephone; the confederate of the "sneak" at an appointed minute "calls up" the bank and requests that the paying teller be sent to the 'phone, and there detains him in conversation while the "sneak" thief operates; confederates, as may be necessary, engaging the attention of other employes. CIRCUS DAY BRINGS A HARVEST. Many sneak robberies were formerly committed in medium-sized towns on circus days, while most of the employes were at windows or doors watching the circus parade. This offered "sneak" thieves the opportunity to enter the building by some unguarded door or window, or having, prior to the parade, concealed themselves in the bank or store, to commit the robbery while the parade is passing, virtually behind the backs of the employes. A favorite scheme, especially in savings banks, is for one thief to attract the attention of a customer who is counting money, to have a bill purposely dropped in front of him on the floor by the thief and, while he stoops down to pick it up, believing it part of his money, another thief steals the then unprotected money he, the customer, was counting. Often professional "sneak" thieves have posed as bank clerks or porters, wearing office coats or porter's uniforms and, when the opportunity presents itself, committed robberies of considerable magnitude. Some of the old-time "sneaks" used specially made steel instruments of various shapes to move packages of money from one section of the teller's cage to a point nearer the teller's window, so that it could be more readily extracted. This practice, while the utmost caution is necessary to avoid suspicion, has been quite successful. At times thieves have used large satchels or dress-suit cases to stand upon and, with a long wire hook, extracted money by reaching over the wire screen surrounding a paying teller's cage. A method sometimes used to commit money drawer or "till" robberies in stores is to select some innocent-appearing storekeeper, usually a foreigner, whom one of the thieves wearing a silk hat would approach, informing him that they had just made a wager that the hat would not hold more than a gallon of molasses, and requesting that the storekeeper measure a gallon of molasses into the hat at their expense, to decide the wager. BLINDING VICTIM WITH MOLASSES. Seeing the prospect of a sale, even if the wager was a peculiar one, the groceryman would concede to this request. The hat being partly filled, one of the thieves would place it quickly on the merchant's head, blinding him with the molasses, while they stole the contents of the money drawer. The "sneak" who commits the robbery, to be successful, usually is of small stature, active, alert and noiseless, as upon him mainly depends the success or failure of the venture. He must judge from the operations of his associates when the opportunity to commit the robbery has arrived. There are no signals or conversations between the confederates and the "sneak" designating the moment for him to act. He must decide this from observation of what his confederates have accomplished in preparing a safe way for him. If there is a suspicion or a discovery by employes, it devolves upon his confederates to do their utmost to confuse and obstruct the pursuers. I once asked an old-time professional "sneak" thief how he was first introduced into a band of first-class bank "sneaks." He explained that he was raised in a small village having a general store presided over by a widow; that she at times would go to the cellar for certain merchandise, leaving the store unguarded. This suggested to him how easy it would be to rob the money drawer during her absence in the cellar, which he afterward did, and which was his first successful "sneak" robbery. Afterward he stole from a small window in the same store, packages of chewing tobacco, pipes, etc., also occasionally again robbing a bakery of pies and cakes, and occasionally again robbing the "till." But one afternoon, before a Fourth of July, in attempting to steal some packages of fire-crackers and some loose torpedoes, a couple of the torpedoes dropped to the floor, causing an explosion and resulting in his discovery and arrest and final imprisonment. In jail he met with other criminals, and finally became one of them, joining with the first-class "sneak" band of professional criminals. This man for years was a most successful leader of "sneak" thieves, stealing fortunes, finally dying in prison and leaving a family in actual want. RARELY USE PISTOLS. Among the old-timers were some of the most remarkable criminals operating in any part of the world; their thefts requiring, in almost every instance, dexterity and great presence of mind, a quick eye and unflinching courage, yet few of these "sneaks" used firearms or weapons of any kind in the commission of their crimes. Among the younger element appear the names of the cleverest thieves of today, some of whom have operated extensively in this country and abroad. THE LORD BOND ROBBERY. One of the largest "sneak" robberies ever committed in the United States occurred late in the sixties, and has always been referred to as the "Lord bond robbery." Lord was a wealthy man, and had an office at 22 Broad street, New York City. He had invested $1,200,000 in 7-30 United States bonds, all being coupon bonds, payable to bearer, which any one with a knowledge of finance could easily dispose of at this time. A band of "sneak" thieves, consisting of "Hod" Ennis, Charlie Ross, Jimmie Griffin and "Piano" Charlie Bullard, planned to steal these bonds. Awaiting their opportunity until a morning arrived when Mr. Lord was absent from his office, they entered it when it was in charge of only two clerks. Bullard and Ross engaged these clerks in conversation, while Ennis "sneaked" into the vault, seized the tin box containing the bonds, and walked out with it. While these thieves were expert in their particular line, they did not fully understand the negotiating of the bonds, and for this called in George Bidwell, since renowned as the Bank of England forger, who went to England and disposed of a large part of them. The thieves were at the time suspected, and Ennis fled to Canada, but was subsequently extradited to the United States and convicted of a crime committed some time before. He was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. Charlie Bullard settled in Paris, but afterward returned to the United States, and with Adam Worth, successfully committed the Boylston Bank robbery, after which both returned to Paris and opened the celebrated American bar under the Grand Hotel, 2 Rue Scribe, which flourished for many years. Bullard afterward was arrested for an attempted bank burglary in Belgium, and was sentenced to prison for a long term. Bullard, Ross, Ennis and Worth all stole millions of dollars in their day and died poor. [Illustration: BLIND. JUSTICE--"I CAN'T SEE IT."] ONE MAN'S BOLD OPERATIONS. Another celebrated robbery was on January 7, 1878, of $500,000 in bonds and securities from the office of James H. Young, a banker and broker at 44 Nassau street, New York City, by "sneak" thieves headed by "Rufe" Minor, alias "Little Rufe," exceptionally clever in his line, and who had with him George Carson, Horace Hovan and "Billy" Marr. They were located at Petersburg, Va., on March 23, 1878, and found all of the stolen property in Minor's trunk. Minor was a Brooklyn-raised boy, small of stature, of good appearance and engaging manners, a most expert "sneak" leader, and was in his lifetime concerned in many great "sneak" robberies, among them being: $80,000 from the Commercial National Bank, Cleveland, Ohio, 1881; $12,000 in bonds from the Bank of Baltimore, Md.; $114,000 in bonds from the Erie County Savings Bank, in 1882; $73,000 from the Middletown Bank, Middletown, Conn.; $32,000 from the Detroit Bank, Detroit, Mich.; $70,000 from the Boston Safe Deposit Co., and $71,000 from the Guarantee Safe & Safety Deposit Co.'s vaults, Philadelphia, Pa. In Chicago, many years ago, a band of professional bank "sneaks" planned to rob the Subtreasury, then located in the Arcade Court. Philip A. Hoyne, a leading republican politician in those days, had an office in this building. He was also a candidate on the republican ticket for some local office. At a ball game "Joe" Parrish, a professional pickpocket and bank sneak, picked the pocket of a clerk. Among other articles found in the pocketbook was a key and the personal card of the clerk, which showed he was employed in the Subtreasury. Parrish imparted this information to Walter Brown, Sam Perry, Little Joe McCluskey and Jimmy Carroll, all members of a noted bank "sneak" band, then operating. HIRE A BAND TO HELP THEM. After several visits to the Arcade Court and trying the key in different doors, it was finally found to open a rear door to the Subtreasury office. On the day the robbery was planned to be committed, the thieves hired a brass band to play in the Arcade Court as a serenade to Candidate Hoyne, the plan of the thieves being to start cheering for Mr. Hoyne, expecting that the band and the cheering would attract the attention of the Subtreasury clerks from their desks to the windows, giving Little Joe McCluskey, the "sneak," an opportunity of using the key to the bank entrance, passing into the office at the back of the clerks and stealing as much money as he could carry. About the time the plans of the thieves were completed Mr. Pinkerton learned of them, and communicated with Elmer Washburn, then chief of the United States Secret Service at Washington. On the day the robbery was to occur the band appeared as arranged, the Arcade soon filled with people, and there was prolonged cheering for Mr. Hoyne. Not one clerk left his desk, and when McCluskey tried to open the door with the key he found it would not fit. Through precautions taken by Mr. Washburn, the lock had been changed and instructions given to all clerks to remain at their desks when the band played, which prevented what would have been a very heavy loss to the government. Owing to the way the information had been obtained, and not wishing to expose the source, no arrests were made. Walter Sheridan, known under many aliases, an accomplished "sneak" thief, was a Southerner by birth and of gentlemanly, dignified appearance. In addition to being a sneak, he was also a general all-round thief, counterfeiter and forger. IMPORTANCE OF BEING ON GUARD. One night in 1873, at Chicago, while Mr. Pinkerton was on his way home, he recalls seeing Walter Sheridan, "Philly" Pearson and Charlie Hicks on a street car. He followed them to the Chicago & Alton Railroad station, where he saw them purchase tickets for Springfield, Ill. The following day the vault of the First National Bank of Springfield was robbed of $35,000 by Pearson, while Sheridan engaged the attention of the bank officials, and Hicks remained on guard outside. Later Hicks was arrested, taken to Springfield, convicted and sentenced to eight years in Joliet prison. Pearson fled to Europe. Later Sheridan was arrested at Toledo, O., for this robbery, at which time Mr. Pinkerton identified him, and $22,000 of the stolen money was recovered. Sheridan was mixed up in a great many crimes, but in the last years of his life was looked upon as being cleverer as a first class bank "sneak" than in any other line, although he has been a successful leader of bands of note counterfeiters. "Billy" Coleman, undoubtedly one of the most expert "sneaks" of modern times, who, between 1869 and 1904 was arrested thirteen times, and who spent almost half of his lifetime in prisons, is now serving in the Auburn, New York, state prison, a four and one-half-year term for the theft of $30,000 worth of jewelry from a safe in the Clark Estate building at Cooperstown. The stolen jewelry belonged to Mrs. Ambrose Clark, a daughter-in-law of Mrs. Potter, wife of Bishop Potter. LOOKED LIKE COLEMAN'S WORK. Mrs. Clark arrived at Cooperstown to spend the summer only a few days before the robbery, and placed the jewelry in a safe in the Clark Estate building for safety. Investigation showed the thief had entered this building, which in many respects resembles a bank, at the noon hour, when all the employes were absent, opened the vault, the lock of which had been left on the half-turn, taking therefrom a tin box, which he carried to the cellar of the building and pried open with tools found on the premises, taking therefrom all the jewelry and also valuable papers. From descriptions of the thief we obtained from witnesses who had seen him loitering in the vicinity of the Estate office, and from the manner in which the robbery was committed, we believed it bore the earmarks of Coleman's work. Subsequent developments satisfied us that our conclusions were correct, and we caused Coleman's arrest, two weeks after the robbery, in New York, by Police Headquarters' detectives. The tin box left by the thief in the cellar was covered with blood. From this an incorrect inference was drawn, that the thief had cut his hands with one of the instruments used to open the box. A careful examination of Coleman showed no cuts or bruises of any kind, on any part of his person, from which blood would have flowed. The grand jury refused to indict him for the crime. On his release, knowing that Coleman had most mysterious ways of hiding the proceeds of his robberies, he was placed under surveillance, which continued for some time without result, but eventually he was traced and found quite early one morning, digging at the side of a building through the snow into the ground, whereupon he was re-arrested and, in uncovering the spot where he had been digging, most of the stolen jewelry was found in an ordinary fruit jar, buried in the ground about two feet. DIAMONDS BURIED IN JAR. In the jar were found several settings from which some of the diamonds were missing; sixty-nine of these were found in Coleman's home, hidden in a small pasteboard box in the earth at the bottom of a rubber plant jar, and one of the largest diamonds removed from the ring was found sewn in a ready-made four-in-hand necktie. After his second arrest Coleman acknowledged committing the robbery, and explained that a year previous he had made a tour through several New York State counties to locate a bank which would not be difficult to "sneak" in the daytime. He found the Clark Estate building in Cooperstown, which he believed was a bank. He visited it at that time, while the employes were absent, but did not obtain anything, although he made a note of it as an easy place to rob some time in the future. When he did commit the robbery, and did not find any money in sight, he picked up the tin box, little suspecting it contained a fortune in valuable jewelry. When Coleman was questioned about the blood stains on the tin box, he explained that, as the day of the robbery was very hot, and he had to work quick, in his great excitement his nose bled freely, covering the tin box as it was found. Coleman has been a professional bank "sneak" all his life, and in times past was renowned for entering bank vaults and paying-tellers' cages in the day time without being observed. He never used firearms, and there is no record of his having shed blood of anyone in the commission of a crime. After all of his years of successful stealing, he is again in Auburn (N. Y.) prison, without means. JOE KILLORAN'S SMOOTH WORK. "Joe" Killoran, alias "Joe" Howard, a rather picturesque type of criminal, came from good old New York stock, was a rather brainy planner of bank robberies, and was usually the one of a band to engage an employe in conversation while the "sneak" committed the robbery. Killoran had the appearance of a well-to-do business man, such as might negotiate a loan from the bank, representing himself as from some firm of brokers. He has frequently played the part of the sick man seated in the carriage with a crutch, and not able to go into the bank. He is notorious as escaping from the Ludlow Street jail, July 4, 1895, with Harry Russell and Charles Allen, then United States prisoners. He was in many "sneak" robberies in the United States, and one which I especially recall was the theft of $22,000 by him from the First National Bank, Plainfield, N. J., on July 2, 1895. He was accompanied by George Carson, "Sid" Yennie and Little Patsy Flannigan. Yennie, Carson and Killoran held the attention of the employes while Flannigan committed the robbery. After Killoran's escape from Ludlow Street jail he fled to Europe, and, strangely enough, met with an accident which necessitated the amputation of one of his legs, which made him in reality carry a crutch until those he operated with supplied him with a wooden leg. He was arrested about two years ago in New York City, decidedly broken in health, and was sent to Illinois to serve a term for robbing the government postoffice at Springfield. After his release he returned to Europe, and was, in September, 1905, arrested at Vienna for stealing $100,000 from a depositor in front of the paying teller's window in the bank in that city, and was, on March 19, 1906, sentenced to six years in an Austrian prison. It looks as though he had committed his last robbery, and that this crime will cause him to end his days in prison. THE HOTEL SNEAK. THE USE OF FALSE KEYS. "Hod" Bacon is an illustration of the professional "sneak" who confines his operations more particularly to the rooms of hotel guests. He works systematically and prepares his plans as the skilled detective works to capture the expert criminal. This thief frequently would follow a victim thousands of miles to commit a successful robbery. He would watch hotel guests continuously for several days, until he observed them purchase theater tickets or going out for the evening, first determining how many (if a family) occupied the apartment, and how many servants they had, and assuring himself before committing the robbery they were all absent. He enters the rooms with false keys, locks himself in, and works at his leisure; also unlocks, with false keys, the trunks, bureau drawers, etc., abstracting from them such valuables as he considers worth taking. He invariably takes from the ladies' trunks some ladies' wearing apparel, endeavoring to cast the suspicion that the theft was committed by a chambermaid or other employes in the hotel having access to the apartment. On one occasion Bacon robbed a traveling jewelry salesman's trunk in a Chicago hotel. Not satisfied with the valuable loot of jewelry he obtained, he stole the salesman's overcoat, after which he secured sleeping car passage from Chicago to Pittsburg via Pennsylvania railroad. On the same evening's train, it so happened that the salesman he robbed was then enroute east, and, peculiarly enough, had been assigned a berth opposite the thief, in the same car. After the train left Chicago, observing his stolen overcoat hanging in the thief's section, he telegraphed to Pittsburg, and on arrival of the train the thief was arrested, and identified as "Hod" Bacon. [Illustration: CASE OF TOOLS AND RELICS COLLECTED BY DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE CAPTURED BURGLARY IMPLEMENTS AT CENTRAL POLICE STATION] CELL TERMS FOR "CON" MEN. FOUR ARE SENTENCED FOR LONG "GRAFT" RECORDS. P. L. Tuohy, Philip Bulfer and L. E. Burnett Are Found Guilty of Systematic Fraud by Means of "Fake" Contracts--Their Clerk Is Fined $250--Many Poor People Appear As Witnesses on Fraudulent Employment Bureau Also Operated. June 11, 1907, one of the most persistent and systematic "confidence" gangs that ever operated in Chicago was broken up for a few years at least, when Patrick L. Tuohy, Philip Bulfer, L. E. Burnett, and J. C. Daubach were found guilty of obtaining money under false pretenses by a jury in Judge Ball's court. These men were organizers and managers of the Chicago Mercantile and Reporting Agency, with offices at 171 Washington Street. It was a "fake" employment agency with a side line of swindling by means of getting contracts on carbon paper. Bulfer, Tuohy and Burnett were sentenced to the penitentiary, while Daubach, who was only a clerk, was fined $250. The sentence in prison is from one to five years. TRIUMPH FOR WOOLDRIDGE. The conviction was a triumph for Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge who has followed the men for years. The raid which resulted in the present trial was made by Wooldridge and his men on February 11, 1906. Philip Bulfer. Bulfer's pedigree from his home town is interesting. Philip Bulfer was born and raised at Marshalltown, Iowa. His parents live there and have for forty years. The young man was educated, and when still a young man left for Omaha, Neb. There he started in business with his brother, and in a short course of time they were doing a good business, but finally broke up in a dispute with his brother, resulting in a "skin." Later on he became a messenger for some express company, operating on B. 7 M. in Nebraska, and he ran through the State of Iowa for a good many years. He left that job or was discharged. He left there anyway and finally came to Chicago and married a school teacher by the name of Mrs. Crary, from Goshen, Ind. After marriage he moved to Chicago Heights and edited a paper there for some time. Moved back to Chicago and became a reporter on the Chicago Times, and finally started in a loan shark business, loaning money at reduced rates and making it a business to fight loan sharks, loaning money on personal property, afterward going into court and enjoining them. He finally was arrested on many charges before Justice of the Peace Fred E. Eldred, at Logan Square, on charges of obtaining money by false pretenses, embezzlement, larceny and on many other counts. Was held to the grand jury and indicted in the case of Detrich, which was finally nolle prossed before Judge Stein, after making a settlement with Detrich, who promised not to prosecute and was taken care of so he could not be compelled to appear as a witness in the Criminal Court. This occurred about 1897 or 1898. He was also indicted one time for assault or attempt to kill Oscar or Frank Arnold. Another compromise was made. Many times he was arrested before different justices: Underwood, Wolff, Hogland, Woods, Prindiville, Caverly and many others. Cases were disposed of in some way. He was held to the grand jury many times, and finally was arrested charged with conspiracy to cheat and defraud a school teacher. Was indicted and had an accomplice--Theodore D. Courtney. He was convicted and sentenced for three years. Was taken to the penitentiary and there served as bookkeeper and tally-man for about five months. Later was released from the penitentiary on a writ of habeas corpus by Judge Farlin Q. Ball. Was taken to the county jail, his case being continued from time to time, meanwhile was obliged to remain in jail for about a year. Arrangements were made that if he gave evidence to indict John W. Ronksley, Thomas D. Courtney and Isaac A. Hartman, the State's Attorney's office would in some way be lenient with him, and this he did. He gave evidence that caused the indictment of the aforesaid persons. They were afterwards placed on trial. Ronksley was fined $100 and sentenced to six months in the county jail by Judge Horton. Hartman was indicted several times in the same proceeding and placed on trial before Judge Horton and was acquitted. Many indictments against Bulfer have been nolle prossed, due to a settlement of some kind. The records will show that they have been nolle prossed. The Detrich case will show dismissal for want of prosecution, but it was really on account of settlement having been made. After these defendants were convicted he was released without ever having a hearing on the habeas corpus matter and gained his liberty on account of the state losing jurisdiction. Since organizing the Landlords' Protective Association he was arrested on complaint of A. D. Smeyer before either Caverly or Prindiville at the Harrison Street Police Station and there discharged on account of no prosecution. It was brought about by a settlement. The arrest was made on account of his taking $3 appearance fee, which he should have paid and filed appearance in the Circuit Court in the case of Chicago Press, R. D. Smeyers vs. Barry Transportation Co. He was arrested a great many times for obtaining money by false pretenses from poor and ignorant people, who gave him $2 to get them a job, but he failed to do so. Patrick L. Tuohy was born in Ireland; came to Chicago about forty years ago and located in Rogers Park. He was a member of the School Board at one time. He is a politician. He is a professional bondsman and is manager of the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency, also an employment and collection agency and professional bond agency at 171 Washington street. They take a fee of from $2 to $3 and agree to get employment, but few are ever employed. This money is put into his pocket. He has been engaged in many questionable concerns. Among them he and his pals secured a charter for the United States Express Company and tried to shake down the company and prohibit them from doing business in the State of Illinois. The matter was taken into court and a Federal injunction issued against them. They have a habit of looking up firms, for instance, say the Blackenberg Express Company, and get someone to do business with them, then they will go in and see if they use a corporate title and force them to settle in some way. Bulfer and Tuohy were proprietors of the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency: Daubach was a clerk in the office and Burnett was a solicitor for the company. Bulfer was the apparent head of the concern--in fact the brains and dominating spirit. Tuohy's name appeared as manager on the letterheads of the company and he was plaintiff in all suits brought upon alleged contracts. Burnett, as solicitor, called upon small merchants and solicited accounts for collection upon representation that the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency would deduct 25 per cent in case of collection. If a merchant gave Burnett some bills to collect he (Burnett) would ask the merchant to sign his name on a piece of paper giving authority to the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency to collect. Or if a merchant upon whom Burnett called would say he had no bills, Burnett would secure his signature upon representation that he must show his company that he had called upon him and solicited. Each witness with but one exception testified that no contract was shown him and that he was not told by Burnett that in signing his name he was putting it to a contract to furnish the company with at least 25 valid claims during the next thirty days following and to pay the company a fee of $20. Louis Perlman, the complainant-witness in the case tried, testified that he gave Burnett a claim for $2 to collect and at the solicitation of Burnett signed his name to a paper giving authority (as explained by Burnett) to the company to collect. Nothing was said to him about a contract, but at the expiration of 30 days he received a letter from the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency, signed P. L. Tuohy, manager, that he was indebted to the company in the sum of $20. Upon calling at their offices to ascertain the cause of such indebtedness he was shown a contract signed by himself, agreeing to furnish the company 25 claims and obligating himself to pay $20 on that day. The victims were all men and women of the poorer classes, mostly small shopkeepers, and such tradesmen in the outlying districts. Perlman said that was the first time he had ever seen the contract, for when he signed his name at the request of Burnett there was no printing in sight and nothing was said about a contract. Although Perlman had given but one claim to the agent of the company, and that for the sum of $2, which had never been collected, he was threatened with suit by Bulfer when he called at the office of the company, and finally compromised by the payment of $5. No service had been rendered him whatever and yet he was compelled to give up $5 to have the alleged contract canceled. The state called about 17 witnesses, all of whom had similar experiences to that of Perlman. Several testified that they told Burnett they had no bills to give him, but at his request signed their names so that the company could know how many people he had called upon in the course of a day, and yet each was notified at the expiration of 30 days that he or she was indebted to the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency in the sum of $20, and each was compelled to pay from $5 to $12 to have the alleged contract canceled, although no service had been rendered to any of them. One witness testified that he had refused to compromise and he was sued before a justice of the peace friendly to the company and judgment was rendered against him for $20 and costs, amounting in all to $20.50, for which no services were performed and for which he got not the slightest return. Daubach was merely a clerk in the office, but when a victim called at the office in response to a letter signed by Tuohy, Daubach would tell him the amount must be paid, although the victim would declare to him no service had been rendered to him and that he had no knowledge that he had signed a contract. The victim would then ask to see Mr. Tuohy and Daubach would take him to Bulfer's desk and say, "This is Mr. Tuohy," and the victim would have to settle or submit to a judgment on the alleged contract at the hands of the justice of the peace friendly to the company. Although the indictment charged a conspiracy to obtain the signature of one Louis Perlman to a written instrument, the state introduced evidence, and rightfully so, to show similar acts of the conspirators. It was demonstrated clearly, by the evidence that Bulfer was the leading spirit of the conspiracy; that Tuohy's name appeared on the letterheads as manager and all letters sent to victims bore his signature; that Burnett got signatures by means of false pretenses, for each witness claimed that the "contract was covered up and they were shown just the part of the paper on which was the space for signature; and Daubach performed many acts in furtherance of the conspiracy. Bulfer and Tuohy did not go upon the witness stand. Burnett testified that he always showed the full contract to prospective clients, but was not called upon to explain its contents; he testified further that he received from the Chicago Mercantile & Reporting Agency $2.50 for each contract he brought in and he secured as high as six a day. Daubach testified that when the objectors came into the office and complained he would tell them they could compromise and get off cheaper and admitted turning them over to Bulfer when they asked for Tuohy. So that it appeared conclusively that each in his turn performed some act in furtherance of the conspiracy. The case was called for trial on the 6th of May, 1907, and was concluded on the 8th of May, 1907. The jury returned a verdict of guilty as to each and fixed the punishment of Bulfer, Tuohy and Burnett at imprisonment in the penitentiary, and fixed the punishment of Daubach at a fine of $250. PANEL HOUSE THIEVES. Among the many dangerous and curious characters who live by their wits in a great city none is more interesting to the outsider than the blackmailer. To the reader of sensational literature the ideal is a person who holds some great family secret which he turns into money at rapidly narrowing intervals. Although this character is generally overdrawn, no one familiar with city life pretends to doubt his existence. The blackmailer is a well known character in all large cities, and certainly the arch swindler of the day. Blackmailers are ever on the alert to learn anything detrimental to a person's character, and let them once obtain this, they fatten on it. Men's passions are taken advantage of by that particular class of thieves known as "badgers," and their operations are very rarely followed by exposure or punishment. A pretty woman is the bait used by these thoughtful rascals, who know full well that where a hundred men will resist a burglar, scarcely one will resist a robbery where disgraceful publicity must surely follow. Briefly the mode of procedure is as follows: A house is rented in a quiet side street, not far from the principal thoroughfare. One man, occasionally two men, run the house--that is, they do the actual stealing, while they have from three and often as high as a dozen women out on the street picking up the victims. MUST HAVE PRETTY WOMAN. The qualifications necessary for the woman to have is to be pretty, plump, wear good clothes, and understand the art of making herself attractive. It is an understood thing that she shares one-third the proceeds of the robbery. The house is arranged especially for the purpose. The rooms on each floor are fixed so that the door separating them has the panels cut out and put in again on hinges, and fastened with a small button not noticeable. The hinges are well oiled, and a small hole is bored through the door, so that the thief can see into the room, or hear any slight signal given by the woman. The house rented has a front and rear entrance, the latter for the thief or thieves, who always station themselves on a corner of the street near the house, by which the woman will always bring the victim, so her pal can see him. The woman goes out in the evening past the principal hotels and through the principal streets, never speaking to a man, but if she notices one who looks like a stranger and well-to-do, she will give him a coquettish glance and pass on, looking sideways to see if she is followed. If so, she will continue slowly, turning the first quiet street, until the man who follows her has a chance to overtake her. The chances are ten to one that he will address her. She will appear shy at first, and not inclined to speak, but after a short time she will talk, and after some conversation she will convey the idea to the man that she is a married woman; that her husband is out of town and no one is at home. If he will be discreet he may accompany her home, she says, and have a talk. The pair then walk to the house, passing the corner where the male accomplice is lying in wait, and the woman, pulling out her latch-key, will open the door; and the fly is in the parlor of the spider. The male thief waits a few moments, and then makes his way into the house through the rear. As soon as he enters he takes off his shoes and in his stocking feet stations himself in the adjoining room, and there bides his time. The woman is all smiles and affection. She betrays an affected nervousness, which makes her all the more attractive. She talks about the sudden fancy she took to the gentleman who was weak enough to be inveigled, and in a thousand and one ways manages to give the idea that he is, above all others, the very man she could love. All this time she is gradually disrobing, and at the expiration of about ten minutes she is ready to do her part in the robbery. MALE ACCOMPLICES GET BUSY. Meantime her male accomplice has put on his shoes. He goes around to the front of the house, opens the front door noisily, and, walking heavily, he knocks loudly at the room door, and calls out, "Mary!" or any name that may suggest itself. The woman will at once exclaim. "Oh, that is my husband! Dress yourself quickly, and be ready to go out as soon as I get him away from the room door." The victim will hastily put on his clothes, and as soon as the woman slips out and gives him the signal he escapes, only too glad not to be caught. Before he goes, however, and while he is talking to the woman, her pal has opened the panel, put his hand in all the victim's pockets--(his clothes having been put in front of the door), and nearly all his money is taken. A portion is left, so that he may not immediately discover his loss. Jewelry is never disturbed, as it would be missed at once. The favorite methods is to take out the middle of a roll of notes, if in a roll, or if in a pocket book, the bottom notes are removed, so that when the victim examines his purse hurriedly he will not discover that he has been robbed. If the amount stolen is large the house is vacated, and the woman skips the town for a time. The women who work for these badger houses work in one city for a time, then go to the next large city with a note to the chief who runs the house there. The women generally wear wigs, so in case the man reports his loss to the police he will, perhaps, describe a fair-haired woman, when perhaps her hair is black. A blonde wig is discarded, the case is fixed. A female badger and her lover may be poor and unable to rent a house. In this event they will rent a furnished room in a furnished-room house. The bolt on the door is fixed by simply taking out the screws from the nose of the bolt, and the screw holes are enlarged. The screws are well greased and then put back, the key taken out of the lock, so when the time comes for the thief in go in, as previously described, he pushes in the door easily and quietly, as the hinges are well oiled, and the victim is robbed while he is making violent love to the supposed "married woman." THE PHOTOGRAPHIC CATCH. Only a downright fool or egotist can become the victim of this scheme. He deserves to lose whatever he has if he is foolish enough to be taken in. The only way to protect yourselves against the work of these thieves is to mind your own business. The new panel and blackmail swindle called the "Photographic Catch" is one by which dupes are frightened into paying hush-money, and otherwise putting themselves in the hands of unscrupulous and designing people. The old panel game has been brought up to date and is being worked vigorously. This new swindle is one of the coolest "bluffs" ever attempted to be worked upon an unsuspecting person. The victim selected by the coterie of choice spirits who work this fraud is always a married man. The blackmailers learn about his habits, and if his wife and family have removed to the country they immediately set about landing him in their net. If the family remains in town the swindlers spot their man and wait until his wife and children go to the country or seashore, leaving him to "work himself to death" in the bad, wicked city. The bait used is a handsome young woman. She soon finds an opportunity to attract the attention of the victim, who is always a business man, generally of middle age and wealthy, for upon handsome but penniless clerks they do not waste a moment of their time. As soon as the intended victim has taken the bait he is enticed to some luxuriously furnished apartment. It makes not the slightest difference how long he may stay there, and it is not even important what he may do there. In the course of a day or two the victim is called upon at his place of business by a tall, well-dressed young man of gentlemanly manners, but with much firmness. This is one of the conspirators. He secures a private interview with his unsuspecting victim, and as soon as the door is closed he proceeds to outline his little game. He pulls from his pocket an alleged instantaneous photograph showing the victim in a compromising position, and for the sake of appearances, make some broad hints about his outraged feelings as a husband. It very soon develops that these outraged feelings can be assuaged by the payment of money, and the sum mentioned is always a large one. SCARE MONEY OUT OF VICTIM. The victim is thrown into a state of fright by threats of exposure liberally made by the conspirators, and freely "gives up" in order to put a stop to the matter. He gets a considerable reduction upon the original sum demanded by paying down the cash. Now, while this game is nearly always successful, it requires but a moment's reflection on the part of any intelligent man to see that it is a swindle, pure and simple, the exposure of which would put a stop to it. The payment of the money is compelled by displaying a photograph, with threats of sending it to the victim's wife. Anybody who knows anything about photography will see at once that such a photograph must be fraudulent. It is impossible to take an instantaneous photograph in a room without a flashlight. It is likewise impossible to photograph the interior of a room lighted by gas without a very long exposure, and generally extending over hours. No court of law would place any reliance upon an alleged instantaneous photograph, of the inside of a house professing to show people who were unconscious that they were being photographed. If any such picture were to be used as a means of establishing evidence in court it is not unlikely that the person so producing it would get into prison as an impudent impostor. The photograph which is used by the gang working this new panel game is, of course, a fraud made up by the conspirators. It is an easy enough thing for them to secure a picture of the interior of the room, showing another person. But in order to get the victim into the picture it is necessary that a photograph be taken of him elsewhere; probably in the street. Then his features are pasted on the photograph of the room, which is again placed before the camera and reproduced complete. No matter how skillfully such piecing is done, it always shows to the practiced eye, and any professional photographer can detect the fraud. With the guilty knowledge of such swindling in mind, the conspirators who impudently produce such pictures can easily be "turned down" by a brief explanation of their criminal proceedings and a threat to turn them over to the police. They confine their operations to gentlemen who have been indiscreet and who can be easily frightened into paying money to prevent a scandal. BLACKMAIL THE WIFE AS WELL. Blackmailing the wives of business men is carried on to quite an extent, and it is astonishing how many of them will pay blackmailers to hush up something that really amounts to nothing if the game were exposed. If you refuse to pay blackmail, that usually ends it. They want money, and when they fail to get it, the matter drops. The blackmailer operates on women in this manner: A man has an accomplice, a woman who passes as, and probably is, his wife. She is well educated, of refined appearance, and dresses fashionably and well. The two work together. As the summer season comes on the wives of business men, who cannot leave business themselves, start for eastern resorts and watering places, the woman blackmailer joins the exodus. She knows the people who are wealthy, and these she spots. She watches their every movement, and if the slightest indiscretion is committed it does not escape her eye. She knows the names, business, and homes of all the gentlemen they meet, and when and where they meet them. The season ended, the facts she has obtained are in the hands of the male partner, and he studies them. Selecting his victim, he arranges to meet her, as if by chance, usually in one of the leading retail establishments of the city where she resides. He approaches and addresses her with the greatest cordiality, expressing surprise at the unexpected meeting. She is generally surprised, and, of course, fails to recognize him. Then he uses the name of one of the gentlemen she has met in the east, recalls who introduced them, where the meeting occurred, and, in fact, all about it. Then she recalls it, or thinks she does, and it ends in her inviting him to call at her home. Here is the web quite complete. He calls, and, of course, when her husband is out, and may repeat the call several times. Then he springs the trap. During one of his visits a note arrives for the lady threatening disclosures unless paid, say, $100. Even if innocent of any wrong, the woman is alarmed and shows the blackmailer the note. He appears greatly alarmed also, declares that he is a married man, and that to have his visits known would ruin him. He argues that the money would better be paid. He has only $40 about him, but if the hostess will advance the balance of course she shall lose nothing. She does it, and is thereafter in the power of the blackmailer. "BOGUS DETECTIVE" GAME. A scamp, claiming to be a detective, often visits a reputable business man, having gained knowledge of indiscretion early in life. To hush it up they will demand from time to time money, under threats of exposure, thus causing the person to commit crime after crime to satisfy the heartless leech, who never stops until his victim is ruined. In a similar manner does the alleged detective blackmail a man who has committed a crime and who has been imprisoned for it. Upon his release the man may feel like reforming and becoming a good citizen if given the chance, but this the detective will not permit, for as soon as he notices the ex-convict he will say, "Look here, young fellow, you know my name and address, and when I am in of an evening I want you to come and see me or I'll have you run in." The fear of being "run in" forces the man who has a desire to do right to steal to satisfy the blackmailing demands of this corrupt class of people. If the ex-convict obtains employment he is worked in a similar manner, under threats of exposure to his employer, and so forced to steal, and then the smart detective will exclaim, "There is no reformation in that fellow; I knew he would steal. He will never stop." STOREKEEPER SCAMPS. One of the most contemptible of creatures is the storekeeper who has caught some one (who has the appearance of having money), stealing some trifling article, and will exclaim, "Here, here! I have had stolen three hundred dollars' worth of goods by some one, and if you will settle for all I have had stolen, I will let up on you, and not prosecute." These cowardly methods are simply mentioned to show to what depths of meanness some men will descend, and are not to be classed with the professional thief, with whom stealing is a trade. As to how the female blackmailer can be foiled, the remedy is obvious, and no man who possesses proper self-respect will ever become a victim. HOW FAKE "JOURNALISTS" WORK. The blackmailer first obtains some information about the early life of the person he intends to approach, and there are very few men who have not, in their youthful days, committed some indiscretion which might be brought against them after reaching maturer years. An escapade with a woman, or a mischievous boyish prank which proved more serious than was intended, are the usual indiscretions selected, and there can always be found plenty of gossips who are only too willing to relate full particulars. The information thus obtained is written up in a sensational style, and is taken to a cheap printing office, where it is put in type for a trifling cost. A slip, or what is known in a printing office as a "proof," is then printed, and armed with this the blackmailer pays a visit to the person he intends to fleece. He represents himself as being connected with a reputable newspaper, and says that he has been sent to get the "other side of the story," at the same time producing the slip on which is printed the startling tale, which, if made public, would in all probability seriously effect the social standing and the commercial integrity of the intended victim. In the majority of cases the person approached will at once inquire how much the newspaper would pay for such an article, and the reply usually is, "From twenty to twenty-five dollars." "Suppose I pay for the article instead of the newspaper?" says the victim, "and I give you fifty dollars, wouldn't that repay you for your trouble in writing the article?" This is just what the blackmailer has been waiting for. He hems and haws for awhile, so as not to appear too anxious, or for the purpose of getting a higher bid, but the interview usually winds up in his securing a sum of money to suppress the information. As he is leaving the house it may occur to the victim that as long as the story is known to the editor of the paper there may be a publication anyhow, and on this point he makes inquiry. "Oh," says the blackmailer, "there will be no danger of that. I will report that I have fully investigated the story, and that there is not a word of truth in it, and, of course, they will not dare to run the risk of being sued for heavy damages for printing it." FEW "BEATS" AMONG REPORTERS. There is no necessity for any man being victimized by the "newspaper beat." In the first place, no reputable newspaper ever puts a damaging story in type before every side of it has been thoroughly investigated. The very fact of a man exhibiting a "proof" is evidence that he is a fraud and has no newspaper connection. It can be said with truth that the repertorial profession of America has fewer "beats" in it than any other profession or business that can be mentioned. The majority of reporters are ambitious to gain higher positions, and it is a rare thing to find a man regularly connected with a newspaper descending to such trickery. If he is a genuine reporter he will exhibit his credentials, and should he be assigned to investigate a story that effects the standing of a respectable citizen, and be offered a bribe, he would undoubtedly publish that fact as an additional proof of the truth of what he has written. The treatment for this kind of a blackmailer is to kick him out of the house, and bid him do his worse. Depend upon it, the "scandal" will never become public. THE NEW YORK WAY. They watch some disreputable resort of the higher order until they see some respectable looking man or woman coming out of it. Suppose it is a woman, who may or may not have gone there for an improper purpose. The blackmailer follows her home, thus ascertaining her place of residence. The next day he calls upon her. He puts on an air of deep solemnity. "I am an agent," says he, "employed by a society to ascertain the character of certain suspected houses. I saw you enter one of them yesterday and know that you remained there more than an hour. You know its character, and I shall, therefore, subpoena you as a witness." Then he puts his hand in his inside pocket, as if to get the subpoena. Of course he hasn't any, but the woman usually faints about this time, and on her recovering is usually willing to take the jewels off her wrists and fingers, if she has no money, to buy her immunity from the subpoena. Once she makes a payment she is lost and has to continue it month after month, and year after year, till some kind of a scandal breaks out and she finds, with shame and sorrow, that her previous payments have only put off the evil day. GAMBLING AND CRIME. BEST CURE FOR GAMBLING: TEACH PUPILS IN SCHOOL LAWS OF CHANCE. Gambling Device Swindle Is Exposed in the Army and Navy--The Scope of Fraud Is World-Wide. There Is No Such Thing As An Honest Gambler--Suicides Are Common--Gambling Kings Go Broke, and Often Die in the Poorhouse--It Is a Hard, Cold, Brutal Road the Gambler Travels--It Ends Badly. We do not believe that many young men DELIBERATELY take up the gambler's career. They drift into it through weakness, temptation or accident. If any young man DOES imagine that in the gambler's life he can find more money, less work and more happiness than in honest living and honest work, he is the victim of a dangerous delusion. A most miserable creature is the gambler. He knows himself, and therefore he hates himself. No man can gamble and be honest, even with his friends, even with his family. The idea of the gambler is to get from another man what he has not earned from that man, giving nothing in exchange. And when a man spends his time trying to get away the money of others with no return he soon drifts into throwing aside ALL honesty, even the gambler's brand. The unsuccessful gambler is one of the worst of wrecks. He runs his little course of dissipation, dishonesty, cheating and swindling. He is over-matched and eliminated by the bigger, keener, self-controlled gambler, who eats him up as the big spider eats up the little spider. Hanging around saloons, begging for a little money with which to bet, doing the dirty work of the bigger gamblers--that is the fate of the little gambling cast-off. He is not worth talking about. [Illustration: THE FOOLISHLY HAPPY LIFE. ARTIST PALENSKE herewith forcefully presents the lamentable contrast of the man who delights to play poker when his boon companions call, and his other self when the wife pitifully and hopelessly pleads for money to meet household expenses. The "poker fiend" will lose his week's wages in a night. Sometimes, to boot, he loses money not his own, but he thinks it the part of the "game sport" if he hides his misfortunes behind the mask of a smile. "Be a good loser" is his never-failing motto. In the long run it is the neglected wife and family that are the REAL LOSERS.] The gambler's life is simply the life of a criminal. And, like every other successful criminal, the successful gambler has got to work very hard. What the burglar gets, what the pickpocket gets, what the gambler gets, is money painfully accumulated. The successful burglar, or pickpocket, or gambler must work hard and be forever on the alert. He must be remorselessly cruel in taking money from those that cannot stand the loss. He must be indifferent to all sense of decency, for he knows that he is robbing women and children. The criminal in ANY line, gambler or other, cannot be a self-indulgent man if he is to be successful. The young man who imagines that the gambler's life is a gay and easy one is badly mistaken. If he tries it he will live to envy ANY honest man who has a right to look other men in the face. WHY GAMBLING MAKES MEN COMMIT CRIMES. The statistics of crime prove beyond all cavil that gambling is the king's highway to fraud and theft. This is not merely because it loosens general morality and in particular saps the rationale of property, but because cheating is inseparably associated with most actual modes of gambling. This does not imply that most persons who bet are actually cheats or thieves; but persons who continue to be cheated or robbed, half conscious of the nature of the operations, are fitting themselves for the other and more profitable part if they are thrown in the way of acquiring a sufficient quantity of evil skill or opportunity. The "honor" of a confirmed gambler, even in high life, is known to be hollow commodity, and where there is less to lose in social esteem even this slender substitute for virtue is absent. What percentage of "men who bet" would refuse to utilize a secret tip of a "scratched" favorite or the contents of an illegally disclosed sporting telegram? The barrier between fraud and smartness does not exist for most of them. [Illustration: (Gamblers cheating at cards)] NO BASIS FOR LIVELIHOOD. Serious investigation of the gambling process discloses the fact that pure gambling does not afford any economic basis of livelihood, save in a few cases where, as at the roulette table or in a lottery, those who gamble know and willingly accept the chances against them. And even in the case of the roulette table the profits to the bank come largely from the advantage which a large fund possesses in play against a smaller fund; in the fluctuations of the game the smaller fund which plays against the bank is more than likely at some point in the game to be absorbed so as to disable the player from continuing his play. If a man with $5,000 were to play "pitch and toss" for $5 gold pieces with a number of men, each of whom carried only $50, he must, if they played long enough, win all their money. So, even where skill and fraud are absent, economic force is a large factor in success. TEMPTATION TO EMBEZZLE. Since professional gambling in a stock broker, a croupier, a bookmaker, or any other species involves some use of superior knowledge, trickery, or force, which in its effect on the "chance" amounts to "loading" the dice, the non-professional gambler necessarily finds himself a loser on any long series of events. These losses are found, in fact, to be a fruitful cause of crime, especially among the men employed in business where sums of money belonging to the firm are passing through their hands. It is not difficult for a man who constantly has in his possession considerable funds which he has collected for the employer to persuade himself that a temporary use of these funds, which otherwise lie idle, to help him over a brief emergency, is not an act of real dishonesty. He is commonly right in his plea that he had no direct intention to defraud his employer. He expected to be able to replace the sum before its withdrawal was discovered. But since legally a person must be presumed to "intend" that which is a natural or reasonable result of his action, an indirect intention to defraud must be ascribed to him. He is aware that his act is criminal as well as illegal in using the firm's money for any private purpose of his own. But in understanding and assessing the quality of guilt involved in such action, two circumstances which extenuate his act, though not the gambling habit which has induced it, must be taken into account. A poor man who frequently bets must sooner or later be cleared out and unable, out of his own resources, to meet his obligations. He is induced to yield to the temptation the more readily for two reasons. First, there is a genuine probability (not so large, however, as he thinks) that he can replace the money before any "harm is done." So long as he does replace it no harm appears to him to have been done; the firm has lost nothing by his action. HOW COMMERCE CONDONES CRIME. This narrower circumstance of extenuation is supported by a broader one. The whole theory of modern commercial enterprise involves using other people's money, getting the advantage of this use for one's self and paying to the owner as little as one can. A bank or a finance company is intrusted with sums of money belonging to outsiders on condition that when required, or upon agreed notice, they shall be repaid. Any intelligent clerk in such a firm may be well aware that the profits of the firm are earned by a doubly speculative use of this money which belongs to other people; it is employed by the firm in speculative investments which do not essentially differ from betting on the turf, and the cash in hand or other available assets are kept at a minimum on the speculative chance that depositors will not seek to withdraw their money, as they are legally entitled to do. In a firm which thus lives by speculating with other people's money, is it surprising that a clerk should pursue what seems to him substantially the same policy on a smaller scale? It may doubtless be objected that a vital difference exists in the two cases: the investor who puts his money into the hands of a speculative company does so knowingly, and for some expected profit; the clerk who speculates with the firm's money does so secretly, and no possible gain to the firm balances the chance of loss. But even to this objection it is possible to reply that recent revelations of modern finance show that real knowledge of the use to which money will be put cannot be imputed to the investor in such companies, and that, though some gain may possibly accrue to him, such gain is essentially subsidiary to the prospects of the promoters and managers of these companies. [Illustration: (Group of gamblers commuting)] WHEREIN SPECULATION DIFFERS. It is true that these are not normal types of modern business; they are commonly designated gambling companies, some of them actually criminal in their methods. But they only differ in degree, not in kind, from a large body of modern businesses, whose operations are so highly speculative, their risks so little understood by the investing public, and their profits apportioned with so little regard to the body of shareholders, as fairly to bring them under the same category. In a word, secret gambling with other people's money, on the general line of "heads I win, tails you lose," is so largely prevalent in modern commerce as perceptibly to taint the whole commercial atmosphere. Most of these larger gambling operations are either not illegal or cannot easily be reached by law, whereas the minor delinquencies of fraudulent clerks and other employes are more easily detected and punished. But living in an atmosphere where secret speculation with other people's money is so rife, where deceit or force plays so large a part in determining profitable coups, it is easy to understand how an employe, whose conduct in most matters is determined by imitation, falls into lax ways of regarding other people's money and comes in an hour of emergency to "borrow" the firm's money. This does not excuse his crime, but it does throw light upon its natural history. WHEN IT WILL CEASE. Publicity and education are, of course, the chief instruments for converting illegitimate into legitimate speculation, for changing commercial gambling into commercial foresight. This intelligent movement toward a restoration of discernible order and rationality in business processes, by eliminating "chances" and placing the transfer of property and the earning of industrial gains on a more rational foundation, must, of course, go with other movements of social and industrial reforms which aim simultaneously at the basis of reformation of the economic environment. Every step which places the attainment of property upon a sane rational basis, associating it with proportionate personal productive effort, every step which enables men and women to find orderly interests in work and leisure by gaining opportunities to express themselves in art or play under conditions which stimulate new human wants and supply means of satisfying them, will make for the destruction of gambling. GAMBLING DON'T PAY. Two-fifths of all the crimes committed every year are estimated to be attributable to race tracks. Five men have been convicted this year of stealing money from the United States postoffice, and every one of them confessed he lost the money at race tracks. The mania for gambling is growing stronger, and as it grows the defenses of honesty crumble away. What may be called gambling thieves are not so numerous in Chicago as in some other cities, for the reason that no race tracks are permitted to exist in Cook county. But there are many gambling swindlers in this city. A large proportion of the men in the county jail are there because gambling wrecked morals in them, and hardly a week passes that does not find at least one person before the courts charged with robbery because money was wanted to bet. This is not all of the injury that gambling does to the community. Because the state's attorney's office and the police have not suppressed gambling the city is full of sharpers who make their living out of men foolish enough to think that they can get rich by betting on horse races, faro or roulette. These sharpers are an organized band of law breakers, preying on society, disorganizing it as far as is possible, their whole existence a menace to decency and order. The passion for gambling can probably never be eradicated from human nature. But civilization should be able to prevent rogues and rascals from profiting by it in the way usual in Chicago. Professional gamblers--professional swindlers, should be sent to the penitentiary and kept there. There should be some means under the law to send all such to the penitentiary and keep them there. HOW TO END RACE-TRACK GAMBLING. Race-track gambling has unexpectedly become an issue of importance in New York, and widespread discussion of means to rid the city of its race tracks is taking place. Discussion, however, is unnecessary. The way to end the plague of betting on races is plain. Let the grand jury indict officials of the Western Union Telegraph Company for complicity in bookmaking and send them to jail. Without gambling race tracks would be deserted. Without the aid of the Western Union there would be no gambling worth mentioning. Strike at the Western Union and the race tracks would go out of existence. The Western Union Company is the one great encourager of gambling in this country. But for its reports of races, hundreds of thousands of young men would be saved from ruin every year. It is in partnership with sharpers who fleece the foolish. It shares their gains in payment for the use of its wires. The money that flows into its coffers from that source is taken by trickery from the public. The race track swindlers rob a man and hand over a part of their loot to the Western Union, because without the Western Union's assistance they could not have robbed him. [Illustration: Do they think about us at home? We air having such a good time hear a lone.] But for the Western Union Telegraph Company not a single race track would be in operation in the United States, for without the Western Union's aid race tracks would not be profitable. The way to stop race tracks gambling and drive race courses out of existence is to compel the Western Union to observe the law which forbids just such practices as those of which it is guilty every day. That can be done only by sending a few Western Union officials to jail and keeping them there until their company concludes to dissolve partnership with crooks. LEARN EARLY NOT TO GAMBLE; TEACH PUPILS LAW OF CHANCE. Mere driftwood on a restless wave; A shuttlecock that's tossed by Fate; Year follows year into the grave, Whilst thou dost cry, "Too late! Too late!" A life that's but a wintry day, Whilst chilling storms blow thee about; A tempter thou durst not say nay; A conscience long since put to rout. Who gets by play a loser is; The gambler stakes his very heart; What's prodigally won's not his; Who wagers takes the knave's foul part. Thou shouldst not steal nor covet what Another hath by labor earned; No man who hath with wisdom wrought But this base sport hath ever spurned. Why haggard thus thy fair, young face With vigils, passions, aimed at gain? Is this thy mission in this place-- This idleness which brings disdain? Be not a weakling, nor of wax; Let mind be master over thee; See that its shaping of thy acts Prepares thee for eternity! Art thou thy brother's keeper? Most emphatically, yes, if he be not sufficiently strong to refrain from doing that which is injurious to himself and those dependent upon him. PUBLIC LAX; GAMBLERS ACTIVE. When the law declares against gambling, and advertisement and sale of even "fair" gambling paraphernalia, why is it that the righteous majority, which would not stoop to this form of speculation, sits inertly by, allows crooked devices to be advertised and sold, permits hundreds of men to waste their time and substance, and dozens to blow out their brains as a consequence? Why do "good" men prate on "personal liberty," which is merely their way of washing their hands of the responsibility for good government. Does it eradicate the evil to say a man is a free moral agent and need not lose his money gambling unless he wants to; that "virtue is its own reward;" that "honesty is the best policy," or that taking without giving return is a sin? Would it not be better for this inactive majority of talkers to elect incorruptible men who can do something besides talk--men who would enforce the laws and provide heavy punishments for concerns which make gambling machines in which the unsuspecting have absolutely no chance to win? ARE WE FOLLOWING ROME TO THE PIT? Are we going the way of Greece and Rome? Is there a menace in the rapid increase of wealth in the United States? Are we allowing the moral tone of society to sink? The present tendency is toward speculation, even from childhood. In most cities the child barely able to walk can find slot machines in candy stores and drug stores from which he is made to believe he can get something for nothing. Is this the proper training to give children? Is it right to get something for which no return of money or labor is given? And is it right to thus lure children when adults know that their pennies more than pay for what they get--premiums and all? Children in school should be taught to calculate probabilities as a part of their course in elementary arithmetic. Then they would know better than to play slot machines or buy prize packages. And when they grew up they would shun the bookmaker, the lottery, and the roulette wheel. The ordinary gambler speculates partly because he loves the excitement and thrill of the game, but mainly, he will assure you, as he assures himself, he is buoyed up by the hope of winning. He does not stop to figure out his chances. If he sees a hundred to one shot he will play it, seeing only that by risking a dollar he has a chance to win a hundred. If he had been taught in school to see that really the chances were 200 to 1 against him, and that he was betting a dollar against fifty cents, he would keep his money in his pockets. Of course the man who plays the races knows the odds of the book are against him. He prides himself, however, that he is a wise reader of the "dope sheet," and that can overcome the odds by a superior cunning. He knows that he can't win on his luck, for this "breaks even" in the long run. FATE'S CARDS ALWAYS STACKED. But the man who plays against a machine, if he has taken the elementary course in the law of probabilities, can suffer under no delusions and cannot give himself any reasonable excuse. He is bound to lose. The odds on the machine are against him. And even if they were not, it is entirely likely that the machine would win. An old gambler contends that if a man matched pennies all day every day for a month against a purely mechanical device he would quit a heavy loser. The only way he could keep even would be to start out with "heads" or "tails," and then go away and leave the machine at work, never changing his bet. If he remained to watch the operation he would, be sure to lose his head and begin to "guess" against the relentless mechanism, and then he would lose. In the ordinary coin-paying slot machine, the dial shows alternate reds and blacks, interspersed here and there with quarters, halves and, perhaps, $1. The player wins 5 cents on the black, 20 cents on the quarter, 45 cents on the half, and 95 cents on the dollar. The dials differ, but suppose there are thirty reds, thirty blacks, ten quarters, five halves, and one dollar. The chances are against you, then, on the red or black, 46 to 30; on the quarter, 66 to 24; on the half, 71 to 24, and on the dollar, 75 to 19. Most players, it is said, prefer the larger sums as a hazard in the coin machines, although the probabilities against them are much greater. Again, they are dazzled by the chance of winning a large sum at a small risk. Really, they are betting their nickel against 3 cents on the red or black, and against 2 cents or less on the larger sums. CHILDREN THROW AWAY MONEY. If the children knew this they would not fool away their money in the machines when they go for a boat ride on the lake, and it is reasonable to suppose that grown men and women would beware of them if they had learned to figure chances when they were in school. In the penny machines in the cigar stores the probabilities are harder to figure. You play a cent in the machine, and if you get two pairs from a revolving pack of cards, always exposing the faces of five, you win a 5-cent cigar. In most of the machines you must get "jacks up or better" in order to win. Any poker player will bet you a chip on any deal that you will not have as good as a pair of trays, and the chances that you will have two pairs as good as jacks up must be at least twenty to one. Some of the machines consist of wheels of fortune which revolve from the weight of the penny dropped in the slot. In any event the child gets a penny's worth of goods, and there are chances to get two or five cents' worth. Gum machines give an alleged cent's worth of gum, with a chance for a coupon, which is good for a nickel's worth without extra charge. [Illustration: (Men playing slot machine)] How many steps is this apparently harmless form of amusement removed from the deceptive slot machines in cigar stores? And, in turn, how many steps are these cigar machines removed from those in the saloons? The boy who wins five cents worth in the candy store will take cigarette tobacco or a cigar, if the dealer be unprincipled. Next he tries for a cigar in a cigar store, and then for a cigar in a saloon. If he is lucky in the last named, he is asked to a friendly game of poker. Beyond asking if it is a pleasure to either lose to or win from a friend, and to express the opinion that even though the game be perfectly square, and there be no rake-off, it still remains true that the time lost, and money spent for drinks and cigars, far outweigh in value any pleasure that may be experienced. CONFEDERATES USED. Men who make a business of conducting and playing poker games stop at nothing to get the money. The expenses of running the place, and the free lunches, drinks and cigars dispensed must be paid for by some one, and the proprietor is not in business to lose money. The game in which there is no rake-off cannot possibly be square, and where there is a rake-off the odds against you are prohibitive, if you play fair. With seven men in a game of "draw," three of whom are "house" men, the amount which goes into the "kitty" nightly is usually about equal to the losses of the other cheat who dares not be found out. CHEATING DEVICE IN A SLOT MACHINE. Ordinarily the owners and saloonkeepers divide the winnings of all slot machines. In a fair machine the winnings fall into the receptacle A. Most of the money gambled by players found its way into this depository. It did not please the owner of this machine to share his profits equally with the saloonkeeper. The winning player was paid from the nickels which lined a zig-zag chute ending at C. The owner changed this scheme by inserting the secret bag B. Then he cut a hole in the chute at D. and arranged a spring which diverted one out of three nickels into B. As long as the chute was empty below the point of entrance of A the nickels kept on filling the zig-zag runway. [Illustration: Slot Machine Proves a Fraud.] When the machine was seized, in the box where all the gains were supposed to be, $60.20 was found. These two sums represented the total proceeds of a day. Confederates, mirrors, words, signs and hold-outs are used. A player dealing from a stacked deck will inform his confederate how many cards to draw by uttering a sentence containing that number of words. Men lounging behind a player will "tip off" his hand. Cards are marked in a manner imperceptible to the eye of the novice, and sometimes liquid refreshment is spilled on the table in front of the dealer, so that his opposite can read the reflections of the cards as they are dealt face downward across the board. The last-named scheme is used where the table has no covering. There are many who believe that talks of crookedness at card tables are only sermons by "goody-goodies," who know not whereof they speak. Let the following advertisement, recently sent broadcast over the country by a large concern located in the business center of one of America's largest cities, refute such claims: HOLD OUTS. "CORRESPOND WITH US BEFORE BUYING OF OTHERS." We have the finest line in the country, and every machine is made to get the money--not for ornament, and accuracy. Is as perfect as a watch. Works with a knee movement, and by a slight movement everything disappears. If they have played cards all their lives they will stand it. Our price only $125.00. The circular also mentioned dozens of other crooked devices at lesser prices, and contained illustrations showing how the machines work. Can there be any doubt these are used when concerns devote their entire time to manufacturing them and can get such high prices? [Illustration: FIG. 27.--Showing card held under the arm.] [Illustration: FIG. 28.--Ring Hold-out.] [Illustration: FIG. 20. '_Table-reflector._--Fastens by pressing steel spurs into under side of table. A fine glass comes to the edge of table to read the cards as you deal them off. You can set the glass at any angle or turn it back out of sight in an instant.'] [Illustration: (Reflector reflecting card)] The sleeve hold-out above mentioned, is made of a hair cloth sideway, about the same size as a deck of cards, with its narrow sides laid in fine, plaited folds, so that it will either lie flat or expand. This is sewed in the sleeve of the coat or shirt and reaches from the cuff to the elbow joint. One of the wide sides is sewn or pasted to the cuff, both ends being open. At the elbow a strap fits around the arm, to which is attached a metal tube that reaches down to the near end of the sleeve, with a pulley attached to the end. A short wide elastic is also attached to the strap, and to the elastic is fastened a metal clamp that holds the cards. A cord is attached to this clamp, which runs down and over the pulley, then back to the elbow through the metal tube, thence to the shoulder, through the clothing to the body, thence down through the loop at the heel, with a hook attached to the end. The cord passes through a flexible tube from the elbow to the ankle. This tube will bend easily, but will not flatten, and is attached to the clothing with string ties to keep it in line with the body. Its use is to prevent the cord from ticking or binding. To work this hold out the hook at the end of the cord is fastened to the loop of the shoe on the opposite foot. When the feet are spread apart the act causes the cord to draw the clamp referred to down through the sideway and to the near end of the sleeve. Any cards that are in it will reach into the palm of the hand, where they can be taken out or placed back into the clamp. By drawing the feet together again the cord relaxes, and the elastic will draw the clamp and the cards it contains back up the slideway to its place near the elbow. There are other similar hold-outs. Don't let them hold you up. MARKED CARDS. Marked cards are known among gamblers as "Paper," and are considered an article of utility in draw poker. The dealer, should he be a second dealer, will deal second to himself instead of reading the hand of his opponent's, thus giving himself a pair, two pair, threes or whatever he wishes. Marked cards are used by those who are not second dealers, as they are often able to fill a hand by holding a card in the hand to correspond to the card on the top of the pack, and in any case enabled to read opponent's hands and play accordingly. They are perhaps the greatest advantage to a professional second dealer, as by drawing a bob-tail card of any kind he can spoil the chances of an honest player, however, skillful. People at large are becoming aware of many of the schemes used in swindling, but so fast as the public becomes acquainted with a scheme, the shark invents something to take its place or practices the old one until he has it so fine under his manipulation it is hardly recognizable. A professional gambler is soon known. Even if he is never detected cheating, he is given credit for it. [Illustration: Caught Working the Sleeve Hold-out.] [Illustration: FIG. 31. Hold-outs.] CARDS MARKED WITH FINGER NAILS. This is a mark put on the cards during the progress of the game, with finger nail or thumb nail. It is put on so that the gambler may know just what his opponent holds. The ace is marked with a straight line or mark in upper right hand corner. The king, is a straight line about one-half inch long in the center of the card. The queen is a straight line a half inch longer than the king. The jack is a straight line about the center of the card. The ten spot is designated by a straight line or mark in the same position as the ace. The nine spot is a slanting line in position of king. The eight is a slanting line in position of queen. Seven is a slanting line in position of jack. The six is denoted by a straight line in position of ace, running across the card at right angles to the ace mark. The five is same as six in position of king. The four is the same as five and six in position of queen. The tray is same mark in position of jack. Deuce is a cross below the jack sign. The mark denoting the suit of the card is placed in the center of the top of the card. Hearts are designated by a perpendicular line at the center end of the card. Clubs are shown by a horizontal line in the same position. Diamonds are shown by a slanting line in the same position. And of course, as hearts, clubs and diamonds are marked, a card without a mark would be a spade. This is one of the most dangerous tricks, as it is done during the progress of the game, and unless some one knows something about it, it would never be detected. THE DOUBLE DISCARD. This is used by many of the gamblers, and is done through the neglect of the players. The man doing this will always draw three cards, no matter what he may hold in his hand. It is done by placing the cards he wishes to keep on top of the ones he wishes to discard, and laying them down beside him, ostensibly discarding them. As he is given his three cards he looks them over and has eight cards out of which to pick his hand. Suppose in his original hand he held three diamonds and a club; he places the three diamonds beside him and calls for three cards, holding one diamond and the club in his hand. When his cards are dealt him he has five cards out of which to pick two diamonds. He selects two cards and discards three cards; at the same time he picks up the three cards that he discarded first. Very few are expert enough to this trick without detection. CHECK SIGNS. This is a set of signs made with the use of checks. In making these signs a white check counts one, a piece of silver or a colored check counts five; often when colored checks or silver are not handy, matches are used instead. The count of checks corresponds to the size of the cards. One colored check would denote a pair of fives, or three fives, when used in a certain way, which I will endeavor to explain fully. Of course, all these different signs are used between two men, who are in league with each other in order to cheat a game. The first sign in this set is the sorting of cards, which means that the hand is no good. Should this sign not be given, the partner will look for the sign denoting what is held. When one man wishes to show that he has a pair, he holds the check or cards in the right hand, slightly to the left of his body. For instance, a white cheek held in the right hand, nearly in front of the heart, would denote that a pair of aces were held. Two checks, a pair of deuces, and so on to eleven, which signifies jacks; twelve, queens, and thirteen, kings. For two pair, the head pair is shown, the checks being held squarely in front. For instance, aces up would be shown by holding one white check up in front of the body. For three of a kind, the same sign is used, merely the check is held a little to the right of the body. Three colored and one white would signify that a straight was held; four colored and one white would signify that a flush was held; five colored and one white check would signify that a full house was held; six colored and one white would mean four of a kind; two colored checks, together in the palm of the hand, means a straight flush. USES TO WHICH A PACK OF CARDS MAY BE PUT. A pack of cards may be used as a Bible, a prayer book, and an almanac. As a Bible and prayer book, the ace should remind you that there is one God; the deuce, of the Father and Son; the tray, of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost; the four, of the four evangelists--Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; the five of the five virgins, who had filled and trimmed their lamps; the six, of the command to labor six days a week; the seven, of the seventh day, which God blessed and hallowed; the eight, of the eight righteous persons who were saved in the ark, Noah, his wife and three sons and their wives; the nine, of the nine lepers who were cleansed by our Savior and never thanked Him for it; the ten, of the ten commandments; the king, of the Great King Almighty: the queen, of Sheba, who visited Solomon; Solomon was the wisest man living, and she was as wise a woman as he was a man; the knave, of Judas Iscariot, who betrayed our Savior. As an almanac, count the spots, and you have three hundred and sixty-five, the number of days in a year. Count the cards, and you have fifty-two, the number of weeks in a year. Count the suits, and you have four, the number of weeks in a month. Count the face cards, and you have twelve, the number of months in a year. Count the tricks, and you have thirteen, and you have the number of weeks in a quarter. THE BILL HAND. You have often seen a lot of poker players playing with a lot of checks stacked up in front of them and a few bills or greenbacks spread out in front of them, between checks and themselves. A player having his checks in this manner needs watching, for it is easy to slide a full hand or four of a kind under those bills whenever an opportunity occurs. Whenever a good fat pot appears he can use this hand which he has under the bills by simply putting his hand on top of the bills and turning them over, which brings the good hand on top and poor ones under the bills. He always makes a practice of laying his cards down on the bills, and other players see it at different times and will think nothing of it. The only way to detect this is by missing the five cards out of the pack, and one has to be a expert to miss five cards out of fifty-two without counting them, and after playing a good hand in this way he must get rid of the deal hand, which is under the bills, in order to get ready to collect another hand for the next play. The principal thing about this work is to do it at the right time and with the right people. TOOTHPICK OR CIGAR SIGNS. A gambler will use a set of signs made with a cigar, pipe or toothpick to show his partner what he holds in his hand. The signs are as follows: The cigar, pipe or toothpick placed in the left side of the mouth signifies a pair. On the right side two pair; in the center of the month means threes. To signify that a straight is held the cigar is moved up and down with the fore finger. Working in the same manner with the first and second finger denotes a flush. With the third finger denotes a full house. With fourth finger means four of a kind. To show the size of the hand the fingers are placed on the cigar, pipe or toothpick in the following manner: Suppose a pair of aces are held, the cigar is placed in the left hand corner of the mouth and touched with the first finger of the right hand. Aces up or three aces can be shown in the same way. The first finger denoting aces, the second kings, the third queens and the fourth jacks. GAMBLING DEVICE SWINDLE IN ARMY AND NAVY. Scope of Fraud World-Wide--Soldiers and Sailors Victims of Contrivances. On May 19, 1906, Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, with ten men, swooped down on: H. C. Evans, 125 South Clark street; George De Shone, 462 North Clark street; Barr & Co., E. Manning Stockton, 56 Fifth avenue. The offices were raided and sure-thing gambling devices valued at $5,000 seized and destroyed. H. C. Evans was arrested and fined $200; George De Shone was arrested and fined $100, and E. Manning Stockton arrested and fined $25. Afterwards E. Manning Stockton was indicted, arrested and gave bonds, which he forfeited and then fled. Disclosure of conditions which so seriously threatened the discipline of the United States army and navy that the secretaries of the two departments, and even President Roosevelt himself, were called upon to aid in their suppression, were made in the Harrison Street police court following this arrest. It was charged that a coterie of Chicago men engaged in making and selling these devices had formed a "trust," and had for years robbed, swindled, and corrupted the enlisted men of the army and navy through loaded dice, "hold-outs," magnetized roulette wheels, and other crooked gambling apparatus. [Illustration: Electric Dice] [Illustration: The Way Some Cards Are Marked.] The "crooked" gambling "trust" in Chicago spread over the civilized world, had its clutches on nearly every United States battleship, army post, and military prison; caused wholesale desertions, and in general corrupted the entire defense of the nation. [Illustration: REWARD TO THE PARTY BRINGING BACK CHICAGO'S GAMBLING KINGS.--GRAND JURY.] TRY TO CORRUPT SCHOOL BOYS. Besides the corruption of the army, these companies are said to have aimed a blow at the foundation of the nation, by offering, through a mail order plan, for six cents, loaded dice to school boys, provided they sent the names of likely gamblers among their playmates. This plan had not reached its full growth when nipped. But the disruption of the army and navy had been under way for several years, and had reached such gigantic proportions that the military service was in danger of complete disorganization. Thousands of men were mulcted of their pay monthly. Desertions followed these wholesale robberies. The War Department could not find the specific trouble. Post commanders and battleship commanders were instructed to investigate. The army investigation, confirmed after the raid and arrests, showed that the whole army had been honey-combed with corruption by these companies. Express books and registered mail return cards showed that most of the goods were sold to soldiers and sailors. FORTS INFECTED BY EVIL. Fort Riley, Cavite, P. I., Manila, P. I., Honolulu, the Alaskan army posts, Fort Leavenworth, Fort Reno, Fort Logan, Columbus Barracks, Fort McPherson, were among the posts where hundreds of dollars worth of equipment was sent, and where thousands upon thousands of dollars a month was the booty obtained by the Chicago trust on a commission basis. Battleships in every squadron, the naval stations of this nation all through the world, navy yards, and other points where marines are stationed, have been loaded with the devices. It was found, upon investigation, that "cappers" were selected from the enlisted men. Agents, who ran the games on commission, were also found. These men, dazzled by financial prospects, deserted in droves. MANY VICTIMS SUICIDES. The men who were fleeced and had their small pay taken from them month after month, became reckless. Some ended as suicides. Hundreds became unruly and were subjected to guard-house sentences. They deserted in their despair. The conditions in the navy were even worse. Scores of the battleship crews would be in irons at a time. To the honor of the service, it was found that no officers had ever participated in the corrupting vocation. It was the rank and file who "fell for it," as the gamblers said. They became either tools or victims, to the extent, it was estimated, of 60 per cent. KING DEATH. AN AVERAGE OF 200 SUICIDES A YEAR AT MONTE CARLO--MANY BODIES ARE SECRETLY THROWN INTO SEA BY AUTHORITIES OF THIS, THE WORLD'S GREATEST GAMBLING HOUSE. PARIS, Nov. 20.--Three thousand known suicides and murders have been committed in Monte Carlo in the space of fifteen years. The known suicides average fully 200 a year, and some weeks there have been as many as three a day. The Casino authorities do everything to hush up scandals and news of tragedies. A large force of plain-clothes men are engaged to either prevent suicides or to hurry the body of the dead unfortunate out of the way. It is estimated that more than one-half of the tragedies of Monte Carlo are never heard of except by the Casino staff. The corpse is rushed quietly to the morgue--a secret morgue. Here it is kept some time to see whether relatives or friends are going to interfere or kick up a row. [Illustration: THE END OF THE ROAD] BODIES THROWN IN OCEAN. Every once in a while a small steamer slips out of the harbor at dead of night. Its cargo is secured at the secret morgue. At sea the bodies are thrown overboard, duly weighted, without toll of bell or muttered prayer. There are countless graves of unknown dead in the Monte Carlo cemetery. But these are only those whose death has become known to the public. The Casino authorities have a special bureau, whose duties are to relieve persons ruined at the tables. The ruined gambler can get from this bureau enough money to take him to his home, or to some spot far from Monaco. Few know of this, perhaps, or there would not be so many deaths. The "dead-broke" gambler is taken through many inner chambers and before stern-faced men, to whom he has to tell his history in detail. He is also confronted with the different croupiers, who testify as to whether he really lost as much as he may claim. BANISH THE DEAD BROKE. Then the wretched man has to sign a document banishing himself forever from Monaco. His name and particulars are written in the "black book," his photograph is taken and given to the doorkeepers and other officials to study, and then the man is taken to the railway station, a ticket bought, a few dollars given him, and an official escorts him as far as the frontier. Should he return it would not avail him. The police would turn him back again into France or Italy. It is related that an American who was "broke" and anxious to get back to the United States heard of this feature of Monte Carlo. He had not gambled there because he had no money, but he managed to make his way to Monte Carlo and demanded to see the authorities. He coolly asked for a steamer ticket to New York. Inquiries revealed that he had only just arrived in Monaco, and had never put a foot inside the Casino, but despite this the authorities gave him a steerage ticket to New York and saw him on his way. BONAPARTES BIG STOCKHOLDERS. There is also the case of an important Indian army officer who went broke. The authorities gave him first-class passage to Calcutta, and $250 expense money. He had lost several thousands. As much as $2,500 has been paid out to a big loser so that he could settle up his hotel bill and take himself and family home. Should such money be paid back the Casino might again welcome the man. The sums usually paid range from $25 to $200, and an average of 1,000 people a year apply for this relief. The profits of the Casino are immense. Last year they were $7,500,000, an increase of $760,000 over the previous year. Seventy per cent was paid to the shareholders. The majority of the shares are held by the Blanc family, the leading member of which is the Princess Marie Bonaparte, whose father was Prince Roland Bonaparte, and mother the daughter of M. Blanc, the founder of Monte Carlo. She is the wealthiest princess in the world, and was lately married to Prince George of Greece, who is an impecunious princeling and needs the money. PRINCE OWNS NO STOCK. The prince of Monaco has not a single share in the enterprise. But he derives his entire income from the sum paid him by the Gamblers' Company for the lease of Monaco. The prince is of especial interest to Americans, because of his American wife. She was Miss Alice Heine of New Orleans. When she married the prince she was a widow, the Dowager Duchess of Richelieu. The prince is a "divorced" man. He first married Lady Mary, the daughter of the Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, and a son and heir was born. But eleven years after the marriage the pair were so unhappy that an appeal was made to the pope. The Catholic church, of course, does not recognize divorces, but the pope issued a special pronouncement declaring his 11-year-old marriage invalid, for the reason that the Lady Mary's mother "over-persuaded her to marry." RECEIVES ENORMOUS INCOME. The prince, in return for the gambling concession, has been getting an annual income of a quarter of a million dollars and all the expenses of running the State of Monaco, including the maintenance of the army and the royal palace. He recently granted a further contract to the "Monaco Sea-Bathing Company," or to give the gambling concerns the full title "La Societé Anonyme des Bains de Mer et Cercle des Etrangers à Monaco." This concession now extends to 1947, and the annual income of the prince has been raised $100,000. Every ten years it will be raised an additional $50,000. In six years time the Casino will also have to pay him a lump sum down of $3,000,000. It is stated that the prince of Monaco is by no means in favor of the Casino, and that he abhors the gambling and the consequent scandal in his state, and that could he do so, he would at once stop it. But in the old original contract it was agreed that the concession should be extended to 1947, and the prince is not rich enough to break this contract and pay the indemnity which the law would quickly assess. GAMBLING KINGS GO BROKE; OFTEN DIE IN THE POORHOUSE. Some one has advanced the statement that every human being is a gambler at heart. Yet for a man to go into the business of establishing a card gambling house under modern conditions is to attempt one of the riskiest businesses in the world. Recently one of the most noted gaming-house keepers in the country seems to have suggested a further anomaly in the situation in his utterance in a court of record: "When I conduct a house on a 10 per cent basis of profit it is only a matter of time until my steady patron 'goes broke.'" In the face of this statement, however, the innocent layman may be still further at sea when it is recalled by old habitues of the gaming table that nearly every gambling king of modern history has finished close to the poorhouse and the potter's field! How is it possible that the gambler with the insidious, certain 10 per cent which inevitably wrecks the man who goes often enough to the green table almost invariably dies in poverty? MUST HAVE FORTUNE TO INVEST. Today it is the gambler king who at least has an ephemeral show to gain fleeting riches. But in order that these riches shall approach riches as they are measured in other businesses, the man who opens the gambling house must have a fortune for the investment. His outlawed business itself will make it certain that he pays the maximum rental or the highest price for the property which he chooses for occupancy. To sustain this he will need to seek out the wealthy patron who not only has money to lose, but who may have a certain influence which may tend toward immunity for keeper and player alike. The "establishment" will need to have the best cuisine and the best cellars, with palatial furnishings and a retinue of servants in full keeping. And somewhere money will be necessary in blinding officials to the existence of an institution which is visible to the merest tyro in passing along the street. A constitution of iron, the absence of a nervous system, the discrimination of a King Solomon and the tact of a diplomat are requisites for the successful gambling king. Considering the qualification of the man for such a place and the final ending of the gambling king's career, it might be a sociological study worth while to determine where, on a more worthy bent, such capacities in a man might land him. In real life, however, it must be admitted that the gambler king is looked upon in exaggerated light. Almost without exception the big gambler is posing always. Conventionality has demanded it of him. But for more than this, in order to command the following which he desires, he must have a certain social side which is not too prominent, but which with tact and judgment he may bring out on dress parade. To the layman the gambler is the dark, sinister figure pictured in melodrama. He bears the same relation to gambling that Simon Legree bore to the institution of slavery of fifty years ago. STORY OF ONE GAMBLER KING. One of the noted gamblers of his time in this country passed from laboring on the docks into the prize ring. When his ring work was ended the gambling house was an easy step onward in illegitimate fields. On the docks his reputation was not above a bit of "strong arm" work in separating a man from the money which the dock walloper wanted. Naturally, under the Queensberry rules, there were things in the ring which he could not do in overcoming an antagonist, and he learned to make concessions to fairness--which was education. Opening a gambling house that was adapted to the wants of a rich clientele, it was a necessity that he preserve this educational regard for his patrons, and that he should add to it. Soon he was in a position where it was imperative that his reputation for fair dealing be kept intact. He became the "gentleman gambler" whose "word" carried all the accepted concomitants of his gentleman's business. In the course of events he attained a high legislative office under the government. But it may be said for those who knew the man as a man, not one ever ceased to regard him at heart as the dock walloper, with the inherent and unreconstructed disposition to regard other men as legitimate prey. Had other conditions and circumstances made a card sharp of him, he would have held to the promptings of his nature. In the conduct of a gambling house of the first class, the gambling king needs for himself and for his patrons the assurance of uninterrupted play. Men of money and position will not go to a house where there is menace of a police raid. The small gambler may subsidize the policeman on the beat in which his house stands, but he cannot placate the whole Police Department. And even when it is thought that the gambler king is impregnable in his castle someone may break over the barriers and raid the place in the name of the law and order. [Illustration: (Gambler passing card to partner by foot)] [Illustration: (Man getting caught passing card)] Within a few years New York has given to the world some of the inside working of the gambling business. When Jerome raided the place of places which had been considered immune, the proprietor of the house was considered worth a million dollars. Before the litigation was done and the fine paid the gambler king was out $600,000, his "club-houses" were closed, and he had been branded officially as a common gambler, pursued in the courts for payment of lawyers' fees, which he designated as outrageous and a "shrieking scandal." Yet this man was of the type whose word had been declared as good as his bond. DICE, FARO AND ROULETTE. Dice, faro and roulette are the principal games of the gambling house and, considering these, the experienced player will tell you that he is suspicious of a "petey" in the dice box, a "high layout" in faro, and a "squeezed wheel" in roulette, in just the proportion that the gambling house keeper has not recognized that he cannot indulge them because of the fear of detection. The gambler holds to the gambler's view of the gambler--and it is not complimentary to the profession. That the gentleman gambler is justified in his attitude toward the gentleman player, too, has been shown in the New York revelations. There one gentleman player, loser to the extent of $300,000. compromised with the "bank" for 130 bills of $1,000 denomination. There a gentleman player who had lost $69,000 to the bank tried to compromise on $20,000, but was in a position where the bank could hold him. How much the gambler king may loan and lose in the course of a year scarcely can be approximated. The gambling debt is "a debt of honor," and even in business not all such debts are paid. Whether a borrowed debt or a debt of loss to the bank, this honor is the security, unless in emergency the gambler king discovers that he can blackmail with safety to his interests as a whole. In general, the gambler who is "on the square" operates on a 10 per cent basis for his bank. In addition there is the "unknown per cent" which is his at the end of the year. The roulette wheel, for example, presents to the player just one chance in thirty-seven of winning on a single play, while the winning on that play is paid in the proportion of only 34 to 1. MORE NERVE TO WIN THAN LOSE. The one great characteristic in human nature on which the gambler counts is the fact that it requires more nerve in a man to win than is required of him to lose! It is startling for the layman to be told that $5,000 in a night is a big winning for a player, while $5,000 is only an ordinary loss in a big establishment. This fact is based on subtle psychology. There are two types of players, one of which gambles when it is in a state of elation and the other when in a state of depression. With either of these types winning, it is a gambler's observation that the man who will play until he has lost $25,000 when luck hopelessly is against him cannot hold himself to the chair after he is $5,000 winner. Gamblers have made money--fortunes--in times past, only to be buried in the potter's field. There are several reasons assignable for this end. Extravagant living appeals to the gambler, and when he has left his own special line of gaming it does not appeal to him strongly as either pastime or means for recouping his fortune. If he turns to gaming at all it is likely to be in fields where he does not know the game. Sometimes he goes to the Board of Trade--sometimes to the stock market. Playing there he is without system and without knowledge of conditions. He is likely to bull the grain market two days after the weather conditions have assured the greatest grain crop in history. Once a gambler, always a gambler, is his condition; and it is only a matter of time until someone has a game which beats him out. IT'S UP TO YOU, YOUNG MAN. There are two trails in life, young man. One leads to height and fame, To honor, glory, peace and joy, And one to depths of shame; And you can reach that glorious height-- Its honors can be won-- Or you can grope in shame's dark night. It's up to you, young man. Stern duty guards the upper trail-- Exact obedience, too-- And he who treads it cannot fail To win if he be true. But tickle folly, gay with smiles, Rules o'er the other one, And leads to ruin with her wiles. It's up to you, young man. At parting of the trails you stand. At early manhood's gate; Your future lies in your own hand-- Will it be low or great? If now you choose the trail of Right. When you the height have won, You'll bask in Honor's fadeless light-- It's up to you, young man. A HEARTLESS FRAUD. SCHOOLS TO TEACH SHOW-CARD WRITING CATCH MANY VICTIMS AMONG THE POOR GIRLS. December 5, 1905, J. H. Bell, the proprietor of a SHOW-CARD COLLEGE at 21 Quincy St., was arrested and the place closed. Bell advertised for students to learn to write show-cards and signs. He is said to charge $1 for a course and to promise positions at large salaries as soon as the course is completed. After the course has been finished and the tuition paid Bell is declared to have refused to give the graduates employment on the ground that their work is unsatisfactory. A great many girls are attracted to the scheme, and sign contracts to pay Bell for the instruction in the belief that they will be benefited. Bell tells them that he has customers who will purchase all the cards they can make. They are to receive a few cents for each card as soon as they learn the business, but they are required to pay a fine of 2 cents for each card they spoil. "They are set to work painting gold borders such as are seen in the windows of the department stores, but the task is so difficult that only a finished artist can do the work. Bell has a woman accomplice who hustles into the office when it is filled with women and girls and tells how she makes from $25 to $30 a week painting cards. Her talk encourages the girls to keep on spoiling Bell's cards and increasing his income. SWINDLER JUMPS BAIL. "When taken before the court, Bell made a hard fight for freedom, but he was held to the Criminal Court on five charges of obtaining money under false pretenses. Bonds were placed at $300 in each case by Justice Prindiville. "He was unable to do the work he was requiring the girls to do, so when the grand jury saw through his scheme the five indictments were promptly returned. "J. H. Bell jumped his bail, fled to Minneapolis, where he conducted the same business. Here he was again arrested, fined and given so many hours to leave the city." Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was the next place Bell opened his Show-Card College. On the 28th of September, 1906, he was again arrested for operating a confidence game and fined $80. He then went to St. Louis, Mo., and opened an office in the Century Building, under the name of the Clark Institute. Charges of swindling women who applied to learn card-writing were made against him and he was arrested, but later released through some technicalities set up in the warrant of his arrest; also lack of evidence to support the charges made in the warrant. The newspapers published his swindling operations and on this account Bell threatened to sue both the publishers and the police officials. Detective Wooldridge located him through an article which appeared in the St. Louis paper, which gave a description of his Show-Card College, which was being carried on there. John M. Collins, General Superintendent of Police, sent Bell's picture and his Bertillon system of measurements to the Chief of Police in St. Louis, and requested him to make the arrest. On the following day John M. Collins. Superintendent of Police, Chicago. Illinois, received the following letter from E. P. Creecy, Chief of Police, St. Louis, Mo.: St. Louis, Mo., Dec. 22, 1906. JOHN M. COLLINS, ESQ. Superintendent of Police, Chicago, Ill. Dear Sir: Replying to your letter of Dec. 21, relative to J. H. Bell, wanted in your city for obtaining money by means of a confidence game, will say that W. H. Clark, office 354 Century Building, this city, was in the Court of Criminal Correction this morning charged with larceny by trick, and a _nolle prosequi_ was entered by the prosecuting attorney. He answers the description of Bell and is undoubtedly the same person, but I would suggest that you send someone to identify him before the arrest is made, as he is making a fight here on his case. Clark is carrying on the same kind of business here as he did in your city. Very respectfully, E. P. CREECY, Chief of Police. Detective Harry Harris of Chicago was sent to St. Louis to identify Bell, and swore that in his belief Clark was Bell. The detective department wanted the case continued until Friday, but Clark insisted upon immediate trial. Judge Sale held that the detective had not been positive enough in his identification. Detective Wooldridge arrived on the scene as Bell was leaving the court room after being discharged the second time by the court. Detective Wooldridge seized Bell and turned him over to a St. Louis police officer and filed a new affidavit of positive identification that Clark was Bell. His lawyer demanded an immediate trial, but Detective Wooldridge secured a two-day continuance to bring witnesses from Chicago to prove the identity of Bell. This so enraged the attorney that he turned upon Wooldridge and informed him that he would again free Bell and even offered to bet $200. He further stated that he had asked Governor Folk not to grant requisition papers for his client. Detective Wooldridge replied, "Do you remember Admiral George Dewey at Manila Bay who told Captain Gridley to fire when he got ready?" Wooldridge further told him he didn't care any more for him than the dew that dropped on the jackass' mane. Wooldridge told the attorney that Bell had defrauded over two hundred working girls in Chicago, Illinois, and that the Cook County grand jury had investigated the matter, and returned five indictments against Bell, and the Honorable Charles S. Deneen, Governor of the State of Illinois, had caused to be issued requisition papers for the arrest and apprehension of J. H. Bell, and he had made Detective Wooldridge a special messenger to go to St. Louis, Mo., and bring Bell to Chicago where he could be placed on trial to answer to the indictments that had been brought against him. Detective Wooldridge stated that he had come three hundred miles to perform that mission and he intended that Bell should return to Chicago with him. The attorney replied "he hardly thought the Honorable Governor Folk of Missouri would grant requisition papers on Bell." Detective Wooldridge told the attorney that he came for J. H. Bell and was fully determined to take him back to Illinois to stand trial and that he would cross the bridges as he came to them and burn them behind him. He told Bell's attorney if the Honorable Governor Folk refused to grant the first requisition papers, he would try on each of the other indictments asking for requisition papers. If this failed there was five forfeited bonds by which Bell could be brought back to the State of Illinois on extradition papers. If all this failed he had made arrangements to have him brought back by the strong arm of the United States Government, through an Inspector of Mails and United States Deputy Marshal for using the mails for fraudulent purposes. Wooldridge called up John M. Collins, General Superintendent of Police, Chicago, Ill., by the long distance telephone and requested the second set of requisition papers, certified copies of the five forfeited bonds, and that the bondsman be sent to St. Louis at once, which was done. Thirty minutes after he left Bell's angry attorney, Wooldridge was aboard a Missouri Pacific fast train, bound for Jefferson City, Mo., to see Honorable Jos. Folk and lay before him the reason why requisition papers should be granted. Arriving at Jefferson City at 10 P. M., the following morning (which was Sunday morning) he made a demand upon Jailer Dawson for the body of Bell. Jailer Dawson referred him to Judge Sale. Wooldridge found Judge Sale at his home, who, after examining his papers, found them all right and ordered the jailer to turn over Bell to Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge. Bell was again brought to the office of the Chief of Police and confronted by Wooldridge and Harris who arrested him. When J. H. Bell was arrested in Chicago December 5, 1905, Mr. Turner defended him and afterwards went on Bell's bond for $1,500. Bell was turned over to Wooldridge who slipped a pair of handcuffs on him as he was boarding a street car, landed him in East St. Louis, Ill., none too soon, as Bell's attorney had sent out a writ of _habeas corpus_ and would watch all trains and stop the detective from taking Bell from the State of Missouri. Wooldridge requested the Chief of Detectives to inform Bell's lawyer that both he and Bell were now in the State of Illinois and their address would be in Chicago, Ill., if he wished to see either of them. One of the police officers at East St. Louis overheard Bell tell his cell-mate he would make his escape before he reached Chicago, and told him to watch the newspapers the next day. This information was given to Wooldridge. Detective Wooldridge had tickets over the Chicago and Eastern Illinois Railroad. This train left at 11 P. M. at night and the first stop it made was twenty miles north on the Missouri side of the river. Wooldridge could not take his prisoner and board the train there on account of _habeas corpus_ writs for Bell. Officers were watching all trains expecting him to leave St. Louis. Wooldridge outwitted them by taking interurban street car, traveling some twenty-five miles in company with two officers whom the Chief of Police had sent along with him. Upon arriving at the station in a heavy rainstorm he found the agent had deserted his post and gone home. The headlight on the Eastern Illinois fast express train showed up in the distance. What was to be done to bring the train to a stop so that they could board it? At this important moment Wooldridge's eye rested upon a switch lamp under a switch only a few yards from him; with one leap across the track he secured the lamp and began to swing it across the track to and fro with a red light pointed towards the approaching train. This was a signal for the engineer to stop. But would the engineer see the signal in time, or would the rain which was beating down in torrents prevent the engineer from seeing the signal? It was an exciting few seconds to pass through. But the engineer did see the signal to stop, he blew one long blast of his whistle, reversed his engine, applied the air-brakes which brought the train to a stand-still right at the station door. A conductor and brakeman had alighted and run forward on the sudden stop of the train as they thought some accident had happened, inquired of Wooldridge what was the trouble. He replied, "Nothing but two passengers for Chicago." At this time he and Bell were aboard the train. The conductor told Wooldridge that he had no right to flag the train. Wooldridge told him that he had purchased two tickets to Chicago with the understanding that the train stopped there to let on and off passengers, furthermore the card stated that this train stopped there, and arriving there he found that the agent had abandoned his post and gone home, and he had taken it upon himself to act as station agent for the time being and stopping a train. He told the conductor that he had to be in Chicago the following morning as his business was urgent, furthermore he could not afford to stand there all night in the rain without shelter because the station agent had neglected to do his duty. On gaining admission to the car Bell was made comfortable: By turning two seats together he had two big pillows on which he might rest his head. Wooldridge then stooped down and unlaced Bell's shoes so he could rest his tired feet, he then called the porter and gave Bell's shoes to him with orders to shine them up and keep them until the detective called for them next morning. Wooldridge then reached down into his traveling bag, took out a pair of leg-irons which he placed around Bell's legs, and locked them securely. Bell made a protest and assured the detective that he would not give him any trouble or make any attempt to get away. Wooldridge told him the first law of human nature was self-protection and he was exercising that precaution in this case. Only a few weeks prior to this time an officer was returning from New York with a prisoner and neglected to take these precautions, dosed off into a little sleep, the train had just then stopped to take on coal, the prisoner only had handcuffs on, and in the twinkling of an eye passed the officer who was asleep and succeeded in getting off the train just as it started. His escape was not noticed by the officer until they had gone several miles; it was then too late, the bird had flown, and having money in his pocket found a man who filed the shackles off his hands. He made good his escape and the officer lost his job. After Bell had been securely shackled and made as comfortable as possible, Wooldridge turned two seats together on the opposite side of the car, never closed his eyes until they reached Chicago the following morning, taking Bell to the Bureau of Identification, had his measure and picture taken. He was then turned over to Cook County Sheriff. A few months later J. H. Bell was arraigned for trial and confronted by over thirty angry women, whom he had robbed, as witnesses. After a long trial he was found guilty of obtaining money under the confidence game. He asked for a new trial which was denied and on March the 9th, 1907, he was sentenced to Joliet Penitentiary for an indefinite time by Judge Brentano. His counsel asked for the arrest of judgment so he might have time to write up the record and present it to the Then the Bell luck, which could beat even detectives, broke Bell's way. Also the Bell honesty suffered a recrudescence. It so happened that while Bell was in the County Jail a plot was set on foot to make a big jail delivery. It was planned, and the plans seemed to have been well arranged, to smuggle enough dynamite into the jail to wreck even that formidable building. The plot was hatched by George Smith, Eugene Sullivan, Morris Fitzgerald and Alfred Thompson. On March 2, 1907, this precious crew had been arrested for robbing a mail wagon. They were apprehended and taken to the County Jail. There they hatched the plot for the introduction of the dynamite. Many other prisoners were admitted to their secret, among them Bell. Smith, who was as big and powerful as Bell was little and insignificant, threatened to choke Bell to death in his cell if he told of the dynamite plot. Bell's spirit appeared to be as big as the other man's body. This may have been due to the fact that he saw that "peaching" on his confederates was the only method of escape. Anyway Bell "peached." He told of the dynamite plot and the dynamite was seized. Dr. J. A. Wesener afterward declared that there was enough of it to have destroyed the whole building. It was so undoubtedly true that Bell had been of service to the state in revealing this plot that a plea for clemency was made for him and so he escaped the penalty for his crimes. But the experiences of Bell, and the fear of Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge had the salutary effect of putting a stop to the "Show-Card Writing" fraud in Chicago. THE BOGUS MINE. $100,000,000 EACH YEAR LOST BY INVESTMENTS IN FAKE MINING SCHEMES. To what extent investment swindlers have operated in Illinois will never be known, for some of them have so thoroughly covered up their transactions that it will be impossible to disclose them. This is especially true of a class of mining companies, the promoters of which remained in the background while their dupes were gathered in by seemingly respectable residents. These concerns operated by giving blocks of stock into the hands of unscrupulous men with good or fairly good reputations, and the latter disposed of it to such unsophisticated acquaintances as could be easily gulled. Gold and silver mines in Colorado, Nevada, and Utah furnished the basis for most of these swindles. Sometimes the company really had an old mine or claim that had been abandoned, sometimes it had a lease on some worthless piece of property that was "about to be developed," but frequently it had nothing more than its gaudy prospects and its highly decorated shares of stock to give in return for the money it received. Money-grasping church deacons were the favorite agents for these swindles and widowed women without business judgment their most common victims. It is estimated that in this country every year nearly $100,000,000 are taken out of the savings of people of limited means by financial fakers, especially mining and oil fakers. During the last five years Detective Wooldridge has observed the "financiering" of several thousand fake companies, each of which secured a great deal of money from ignorant people. Bands of swindlers repair to mining camps and establish branches there. They expend a few hundred dollars for shreds and patches of ground void of present or prospective value. They then form a mining corporation, place its capital stock at some enormous figure--a million, two or three million dollars--appoint themselves or some of their confederates, or even their dupes, directors, and sell the worthless claims to the company for a large proportion, or perhaps, all of the capital stock of the company. The stock must be disposed of with a rush. It must all go within a year or shorter time. When it is gone the suckers who get the stock for good money may take the property of the company. They always find an empty treasury, worthless claims, and the rosy pictures that led them astray, smothered in the fog. During the last five years the advertising columns of leading newspapers have been full of offers of mining stocks as "sure roads to fortune." Nearly all of these mining companies, into whose treasuries the public has paid millions, have either been abandoned or the properties have been sold for debts, and invariably they bring very little. The major portion of receipts of these companies from the sales of stock is stolen by their promoters. Official statistics of the mining industry show that out of each one hundred mines, only one has become a success from a dividend-paying point of view. About five earn a bare existence, while the balance turn out utter failures. PROMOTER'S WORD VALUELESS. Investors will do well to consider that stocks of mines which are only prospective are the most risky form of gambling. In buying stocks of the undeveloped mines offered to the public on the strength of statements the only substance of which is the imagination of promoters, one runs up against a sure-thing brace game. Don't take the promoter's word for it. When you wish to place money where it can work for you, don't bite at the first "good thing" you see advertised. It is to the interest of the man who wants to sell you stock to place it before you in the rosiest light. Otherwise he knows you would not buy it. If you want to buy stock, don't rely upon what the seller says, but consult others. Before consulting persons whom you think may be able to express an honest and intelligent opinion, ask the promoter to furnish you a statement of the condition of the company, showing its assets and liabilities, profits and losses, and an accurate description of its property. You will then be able to judge whether the company is over-capitalized; whether it is incumbered with debts (for debts may lead to a receivership), and if its earnings may lead to permanent dividends. Also ask for a copy of the by-laws of the company. If, with such information at your disposal, you cannot get a correct idea as to whether the stock is desirable or not, consult your banker or somebody else in your community who may be able to advise you. If some one offered you a mortgage on a certain piece of property, common sense would tell you to ascertain whether the property is sufficient surety for the loan, or if the title to the property is good and there are not prior incumbrances on it. The man who would buy a mortgage without ascertaining the value and condition of the surety, would be considered an idiot. Why not use the same precaution when buying stock? Don't believe what the promoter tells you about the value and prospects of the stock he wants to unload on you. Don't take it for granted the stock offered you will turn out a great money-maker and dividend-payer because the promoter tells you so. The promoter, generally a person from another city and entirely unknown to you, has no interest in you, but is prompted by his own selfish interest to sell you something which, in many cases, he himself would not buy. He may Offer you a good thing, but it is up to you to find it out. INVESTIGATION NECESSARY. In most cases, an intelligent investigation will prompt you to let alluring offers of great wealth for little money severely alone. The observation of the common-sense rules outlined above will save investors bitter disappointments and heavy losses. It is safe to say seventy-five per cent of the so-called "Mining, Plantation and Air Line" schemes and "Security" companies now paraded before the public in flaring advertisements in the daily papers, and through glittering prospectuses sent through the mails, are vicious swindles. Men who operate these frauds pretend to be honest and high-minded. By constant practice of their wiles upon others they develop self-deception and come to believe in their honesty to such an extent that when questioned, they assume a good counterfeit of honest indignation. Most of them do not own the furniture in the offices they occupy while swindling the public. It is a common practice for them to rent offices in national bank buildings and to furnish them with rich furniture bought on the installment plan, to make the necessary "front." They spend their cash capital for flaring advertisements, sell as much stock as they can induce the gullible public to buy, and then decamp, leaving unpaid bills for advertising, if they can get credit after their cash is exhausted, and their furniture bill unpaid. The absconding swindler is usually succeeded by an "agent" or "manager," who repudiates the bills against his rascally predecessor and continues the work of fleecing the gullible under some new title or by means of some new trick. KEEP LISTS OF SUCKERS. Every well-equipped fraudulent concern acquires the names and addresses of susceptible persons. Painstaking revisions of the lists made up of these names and addresses form an important part of the labor of the principals or employes. The lists grow as each advertisement brings inquiries from persons who, either through curiosity or desire to invest, write for particulars. Affiliated swindles operated in succession by a gang of "fakers" use the same list of "suckers." In affiliated swindles if the "sucker" does not succumb and remit his money on the inducements offered by one concern, his name is transferred to the lists of another, and he is then bombarded with different literature. Thus a man must pass through the ordeal of having dozens of tempting offers made him before he demonstrates that he is not a "sucker," or has not got the money. His name is then stricken from the list. There are so many "get-rich-quick" operators at present that competition between them has become strenuous. They are now infesting the entire country with local solicitors, who frequent saloons, hotels, and even residence districts, where victims are found in foreigners, ignorant servant girls and inexperienced widows. These solicitors get 50 per cent commission on all sales of stock. This fact in itself is evidence that the propositions are rank swindles. When the swindling operator finds things getting too hot he disappears from his office and bobs up in some new place with a new proposition. PECKSNIFFIAN TEARS DELUDE. A few attempts have been made to prosecute the swindlers, but for the most part the local officials have failed. In but few instances have the victims been able to give anything like intelligent statements of the representations made to them. Where the right sort of agents have been used the people who have lost their money have not awakened to the fraud passed upon them. A few Pecksniffian tears have deluded them into the belief that the swindlers as well as themselves were victims of some third party who is in another state and out of reach. Where cases have been brought to trial it has been a difficult matter for juries to understand how the persons aggrieved could have been caught with the sort of chaff thrown to them, and there has been little disposition to show charity for the victims. Then, too, the men hauled before the courts have always made it appear they were in the same boat with the complaining witness, and that the culprit was many, many miles away. So, usually, they have escaped. DIFFICULT TO CONVICT. Even in the most flagrant cases and where every advantage was taken of the ignorance, inexperience or trustfulness of the person deluded it has been difficult to bring the offense under the state statutes. It requires more than ordinary misrepresentation and lying to make out a criminal case, and under the rules of evidence which prevail it is almost impossible to overtake a cheat who has not put his misrepresentation into writing or made them in the presence of third parties. Where the swindlers have used the mails, however, it is not such a difficult matter to convict. The United States is scrupulously jealous of its postal service, and under its statutes every fellow who undertakes to utilize it for improper purposes can be brought to book. He can not hide behind some one in another state, for the federal jurisdiction is general and the other man can be brought in. Nor can he plead that the business was legally licensed in another state, or that its incorporation was regular. If it was a cheat and the mails were used in furtherance of its design, no corporate cloak thrown around it by any of the commonwealths can save the promoters. POWER OF UNCLE SAM. An example of the power of the federal authorities was given when Secretary of State Rose of Illinois was trying to keep the swindling investment companies out of the state. This was before the enactment of the present law regulating the licensing of corporations. A number of concerns had been formed in southern states, and they were insolently demanding licenses to do business in Illinois. The secretary of state was powerless under the Illinois statutes, but when the matter was called to the attention of the federal authorities they wiped out the whole lot of companies with a postal fraud order. WOOLDRIDGE FINDS SMOOTH SCHEME. Detective Wooldridge, in looking into many of these mining frauds, discovered one or two which proved quite a revelation even to the United States authorities. This was a system of "kiting" stocks, just as other fraud concerns have been known to kite checks. The method is very simple. James Johnson, of Indiana, is "roped in" by one of the smooth young men who operate for the schemers. James buys 500 or 1,000 shares in the Holy Moses mine, located in or near Goldfield, Reno, Rawhide, Cripple Creek, or some other well known mining camp. The "Holy Moses" is a hole dug in the side of a hill, and all that will ever come out of it is soil. But that part does not matter. Under certain strict laws now prevailing only so much stock can be issued even by the schemers. James Johnson holds his thousand shares for three months. By this time all the stock has run out and the firm is at the end of the rope, apparently; but no, they have found a way to stretch that rope. William Wilson, of Michigan, is clamoring for a thousand shares of the "Holy Moses." There is no stock to sell him, and if any more is printed and issued the waiting detectives will swoop down at once, for word has gone forth that the "Holy Moses" is a non-producer. How to get that thousand shares for Wilson is the problem. "HOLY MOSES" RISES? Aha; it is easy. A letter is drafted to James Johnson, bearing to him the gladsome news that "Holy Moses" has gone up, away up, and that the stock is mounting by leaps and bounds. Does James Johnson wish to sell his stock at a substantial advance? James Johnson does. Well, the philanthropic owners of the "Holy Moses" will put that stock on the market for him at once and send him the proceeds, if he will kindly send in his stock with authority for transfer in blank. The Indiana sucker bites at the bait and sends in his thousand shares to be sold. No sooner do they reach the office than they are immediately started off to Michigan to Wilson, after the precaution has been taken to remove Johnson's name from the face of the stock and substitute Wilson's. The authority for transfer in blank, and the fact that the transaction is a transfer of stock, is thus kept from Wilson. In due course of time a fat check from Wilson finds its way into the coffers of the "Holy Moses" promoters. And also, in due course of time, Johnson wants to know something about that sale. "HOLY MOSES" FALLS. He is met with the doleful news that while his stock was on the way to Chicago, or elsewhere, the stock in "Holy Moses" had experienced such a decided slump that it was impossible for them to sell it at a profit. If he desires, they will hold the stock for a raise, which they expect as soon as the present unfortunate financial panic has passed, or until industrials begin to go up. The drop in "Holy Moses" is not due to any slump in the production of the mine; far from it. It is only the unfortunate financial depression which is to blame, and there is no doubt but that "Holy Moses" will go up a-whooping very soon. Naturally Johnson bites again, and says hold the stock for that raise. Meanwhile the stock has been procured again from Wilson and sent to Baker, in Kentucky. And so on, indefinitely. It is only when some of the swindled ones become particularly savage that their stock is returned to them. And then it is not their original stock at all, but a new thousand shares which some sucker has sent in. One block of stock in one company was sold in this way in 1907 by a Chicago mining company, no less than twelve times. The activities of Detective Wooldridge afterward put this firm out of business, and the head promoter was arrested in the West by the federal authorities. It is well that all these facts should be taken into consideration by the public before investing in mining shares. FIRST PRINCIPLES IN MINING PURCHASES. Here are a few good leads to follow in buying mining stock. First make sure that there is a producing mine. Then make sure that the stock you get is not kited stock. But, above all, make sure of the responsibility, respectability and solidity of the firm from which you make the purchase. A GIANT SWINDLE. BANKS IN CHICAGO, NEW YORK AND LONDON BADLY FLEECED. Bogus Notes and Stock--Many Firms Are Victims--Prisoners Said to Have Practiced Frauds Under Titles of Corporations--Chicago, September 14, 1906, Detectives Wooldridge and John Hill Uncover the Fraud--Five Men Arrested. A remarkable story of swindling which, extended to many cities in America and to England, was disclosed, uncovering a gigantic forgery and check kiting plot as well as several fraudulent stock selling schemes. CHICAGO CONCERNS ARE VICTIMS. Banks and business concerns, especially in Chicago, suffered through the operations of the men. Their methods came to the attention of John Hill, Jr., connected with the Board of Trade, and Detective Wooldridge learned enough to convince them and the men behind institutions the objects of which were to obtain money fraudulently. Some of the places which have been mulcted are: Commercial National Bank, August 15; bogus note for $1,078. Stromberg, Allen & Co., printers, 302 Clark street; bogus note for $206. R. B. Padgham & Co., packing boxes, 59 Dearborn street; bogus note for $300. Matthew Hallohan, 42 River street, September 12; bogus note for $190. LOSES ALL OF SAVINGS. Julius Radisch, 2509 South Halsted street, a German who lost $700 in the wreck of the National Fireproofing Company, told the police of the unique methods used by Johnston in selling him the stock. He asserts that Johnston told him that the stock would pay at least 8 per cent dividends, and as proof of the prosperity of the company took him to the downtown district and showed him several skyscrapers which he claimed were owned by the corporation. Radisch also says that Johnston also pointed out a bank where he said the company had immense sums on deposit. The story told by Radisch is peculiarly a sad one, as the money lost by him in the crash of the Fireproofing company represented the savings of a lifetime of hard labor. Shortly after the discovery that his money was lost his wife died. [Illustration: _FORGED NOTES CAUSE FIVE ARRESTS_ $10,000 STOLEN FROM BANKS THROUGH PLOT OF SWINDLERS Prisoner accused as principal in mammoth swindling plot in which many banks are victims, and a facsimile of one of the notes by which money was obtained. _BOND USED BY THE SWINDLER._ GEORGE F. JOHNSON] ONE CAPITALIZED AT $1,000,000. The concerns most frequently used by the men in their transactions, the police say, were known as National Fire Proofing Company of New York and the Federal Trust Company of South Dakota. The fire proofing company was stated to be capitalized at $1,000,000 and the trust company at $100,000. Offices for each concern were at 1138 Broadway, New York. From there, it is charged, circulars and pamphlets were sent out to investors in all parts of the country, and it was also a practice of these concerns, it is alleged, to open accounts with banks and exchange bogus notes for good ones. SHERIFF IN CHARGE OF AFFAIRS. About one week before the arrest the concerns were placed in the hands of the sheriff of New York County, and, following this, it is declared, disclosures were made which hastened the arrest of the men involved. Banks and firms in Chicago, New York, Philadelphia and London, it is declared, are known to have suffered through the alleged operations of the men, who were aided by companions in the different cities. Most of the concerns, of which there are at least twelve, all declared to be fraudulent, are in Chicago. LIST OF BOGUS FIRMS. The following is a list of the concerns, the names of which have been learned by the police: National Fire Proofing Company, New York and Chicago. Federal Trust Company, New York and Chicago. Keystone Structure Cleaning Company, Philadelphia. McGuire, Johnston & Co., New York and Chicago. Hessley, Johnston & Co. Hessley & Johnston, Chicago. A. A. Hessley, Chicago. George F. Johnston, Chicago. C. F. McGuire, Chicago. F. L. Cunningham, Chicago. Chester E. Broughn, Chicago. Lincoln Gas Light & Coke Company, Lincoln, Neb. Another concern dealing with alleged spurious bonds of Custer County, Idaho, the police declare, was under the direction of these men. It was the old-time favorite method of kiting checks and drafts among the banks and private individuals of the city and country that was used, and there is no doubt that it proved successful in this instance. Although it is believed the men did not obtain great riches in their operations in Chicago, it would have been only a question of time when they would have become wealthy, so apparently easy was it for them to get funds. OPENED MANY BANK ACCOUNTS. Accounts in banks in Chicago and other cities were opened and then exchanges of checks were made among them. Only the over-boldness of their operations caused their downfall. An instance of their methods would be the following: The Federal Trust Company, one of their "paper" concerns, would deposit a check in a Chicago bank made by the Keystone Structure Cleaning Company of Philadelphia, another of their alleged firms. The check would be sent east for collection, and in a few days it would be returned marked "No funds." OFFER BOND IN A SETTLEMENT. Meanwhile the trust company had checked against its account, to which the Keystone Structure Cleaning Company's check had been credited. When the check was returned from the eastern bank the Chicago bank would notify the Federal Trust Company of the non-payment of it. The Chicago firm would then offer explanation and apologies and give a 5 per cent to concerns that cashed the checks. When they came back, the men who got the money were shocked beyond measure and at once offered stock and bonds of twice the face value of the money involved as security. This quieted the fears and enabled the schemers to go on. FIVE MEN ARE ARRESTED BY DETECTIVES WOOLDRIDGE AND BARRY. Five men were arrested by Detectives Wooldridge and Barry, charged with operating twelve concerns. The Commercial National Bank was one of the victims. The men arrested are as follows: Chester A. Broughn, broker, 218 LaSalle street. S. L. Cunningham, 56 years old. 1009 West Jackson boulevard. C. F. McGuire, 40 years old, arrested at the Great Northern Hotel. George F. Johnston, 36 years old, arrested at 185 Dearborn St. Alvin A. Hessley, 48 years old, arrested at 185 Dearborn St. TOOL TELLS TRUTH--USHER OF CHURCH IN CRIME CLOUD. At the age of 50 years, S. L. Cunningham, vestryman and Sunday School teacher and chief usher in the Jackson Boulevard Christian Church, has come to the conclusion that he is "just an old fool, after all." Mr. Cunningham was arrested recently on the charge of being one of a gang of forgers and "get-rich-quick" men who have been swindling Chicago and New York business houses and banks during the last few months. He says his only connection with the gang was in selling stock until a short time ago for the National Fireproof Paint Company, one of the concerns raided, and lending his bank account to George F. Johnston, said to have been one of the prime movers in the gang. Mr. Cunningham looks like a bishop. His hair is white and his appearance distinguished. His story is an illustration of the manner in which swindling concerns procure one or two men of weight and respectability in a community to act as their advance agents and establish confidence. As he sat on the white-pillared porch of his residence, surrounded by his wife and sympathetic neighbors and church members, his face in the gaslight showed the marks of grief through which he has passed since his arrest. CUNNINGHAM TELLS THE STORY. "Yes," he said, "we of the fold often go astray, but I am innocent. I have a Sunday School class of young girls that I am going to take out into Lincoln Park tomorrow. I hardly know what to say to them. I can't bear to think of taking my place as head usher on Sunday, although my pastor tells me to march down the aisle with my head erect. I am getting to be an old man, you see, and I have never wilfully wronged a person in my life." His voice trembled, but his wife laid her hand on his arm and he straightened up. "I know nothing of these men except Mr. Johnston," he said. "I was introduced to him by a friend of mine three months ago. I have sold stock and insurance for the last twenty years, and I thought he had a good thing in the National Fireproof Paint Company, so I started selling stock for him. I could not sell the stock, as I could not show enough assets, so I quit two weeks ago. I was a fool, and a dupe, all right. BANK ACCOUNT OVERDRAWN. "Johnston, a young man, told me he was hard up and asked to use my bank account at the Commercial National. I let him and endorsed his checks. My wife told me not to do it, but I thought he was all right then. Well, he overdrew the account, the check was protested, and when my name was found they arrested me. I never knew any of the other men, although I saw them around the office. They did too much whispering, and I thought it did not look well." Then, in a simple way, he went on to tell of his wife and his work in the church. He produced a letter from the pastor of his church, the Rev. Parker Stockdale: "This introduces Mr. Cunningham, a member of my church. He enjoys among us the reputation of a thorough gentleman and a conscientious business man. He is a highly respected and useful citizen. His honesty is beyond question." He also had a letter from Col. Jonathan Merriam, former United States pension agent, which was along the same lines. OFFER OF BRIBE ALLEGED. Broughn, the broker, is a man of a different stripe, according to Detective Barry, who arrested him. When he was informed of his arrest he is said by the detective to have replied: "Come down to the saloon next door. I will settle the case at once. Name your price." When arraigned before Justice Cochrane the cases were continued until September 24. All the men were released on $1,200 bonds each, with the exception of Broughn, whose bail was fixed at $800. The bonds were signed by a professional bondsman at the Harrison Street Police Station. C. F. McGuire forfeited his bond and fled to New York City, where he was apprehended and arrested by New York authorities at the request of John M. Collins, the Chief of Police. The information which led to his arrest was secured by Detective Wooldridge, WHO WAS MADE A SPECIAL MESSENGER BY CHARLES S. DENEEN, GOVERNOR OF ILLINOIS. C. F. McGuire was a powerfully built man, weighing 240 pounds and standing over 6 feet tall. He was turned over by the New York authorities to Detective Wooldridge, who slipped on him a pair of handcuffs and crossed over to Jersey City on a ferry, and from there took a section in a Pullman car on a fast train on the Pennsylvania Railroad. McGuire was put to bed in the upper berth, after he undressed. Detective Wooldridge told him he was bringing him back like a gentleman, but the first law of nature was self-protection. The detective then requested him to turn over all his clothes except his night shirt, which was done. Wooldridge then placed the clothes under the mattress in the berth below, which he was to occupy. He then took out a pair of leg irons, tied a strong cord to them, placed the leg irons on McGuire, threw the cord back behind the berth below, and this was tied to his hands after he had buttoned the berth curtains and pinned them with safety pins all the way down. The curtains were then stuffed in under his mattress. After all this was done Wooldridge then laid down with his clothes on and laid awake until morning, but managed to get some rest by laying down. Chicago was reached in safety. After taking McGuire to the bureau, where Bertillon measurements were taken and his finger prints recorded, he was turned over to the sheriff of Cook County. The trial was set, which lasted five days. Witnesses were brought from the banks in New York City and Philadelphia which had been victimized. February 7, 1908, found guilty. CHECK "KITERS" HEAVILY FINED--GEORGE F. JOHNSTON AND C. F. MCGUIRE ASSESSED $2,000 EACH. A jury in Judge Kersten's court later returned a verdict finding George F. Johnston and C. F. McGuire guilty of swindling and imposed a fine of $2,000 each. If the fine be not paid the defendants will be compelled to serve the amount at the rate of $1.50 a day in the Bridewell. Chester A. Broughn and A. H. Hessley entered pleas of guilty at the last minute and their cases will be disposed of later by Judge Kersten. State's Attorney John J. Healy and Assistant State's Attorney Barbour expressed themselves as pleased over the outcome of the trial. QUACKS. RASCALS WHO PREY UPON THE IGNORANT. The "Specialist," the "Optician," the "Doctors' College"; All Frauds. Blackmail Helps Medical Scamps--Poor Girls Victims of "Doctor" Thieves. The history of quacks and quackery includes some of the most glaring frauds ever perpetrated on a credulous people. In all ages of the world's history down to the present day, these humbugs have cut an important figure in their day and generation. They are numerous in almost every line of business, serving God when it pays them to do it, and assisting the devil when their interests demand it. In these pages I propose to deal with medical quacks only. The advent of every discovery in medicine, slight though it may be, has brought to the front a ring of pretenders in the healing art. These fellows catch the multitude. The poor, the ignorant and the credulous are their followers. It has been so in every age of the world's history. The man or woman with broken health will catch at every straw that offers hope of recovery, and so they drift from one quack to another, until ruined in fortune and oftentimes made worse in their physical ills, they at last pass to the silent home where the pain and joy the cunning and simplicity of the world are alike of insignificance. The desire to live lurks in the heart of nearly every human being. And no matter how wretched they may be, how poor in pocket, broken in spirit, whether suffering from real or imaginary ills, thirsting for relief, they have gone from quack to quack, giving of their meager savings for some vaunted elixir which in all probability only hastens their journey to the grave. One reason why quackery flourishes is the fact that medicine is not a science. Ask any honest physician and he will tell you the same. A drug that will help one person will have no effect on another. There are in the realm of medicine no such things as "cures." People who are sick recover, but they would do so whether they took "dope" or not. All disease is self-limited. The doctor who talks of curing smallpox, measles, typhoid fever, is a fool. Natures cures, not the doctor. People get well of these complaints, and many others who take no medicines and employ no physicians. PHYSIC TO THE DOGS. Followers of the late "Elijah Dowie" relegated physic to the dogs, where it properly belongs, and yet enjoyed good health. Mrs. Eddy's converts take no drugs, not even simple household remedies. Here is a body of people numbering millions, entirely repudiating physicians, yet their health is as good, if not better, than those who continually take drugs. Doctors make war on them. Why? It interferes with the medical graft. Don't think for a minute that advertising doctors are the only grafters in the medical profession. Many of them are bad, very bad, but there are men right here in Chicago, as well as other big cities, who never advertise in papers, yet they are as notorious swindlers, and will as quickly take advantage of the ignorant and credulous, as the man who flaunts his skill in the daily press. To fall into the hands of these fellows is to be despoiled in pocket and ruined in health. Operations that are uncalled for and not needed are performed almost daily. Only a short time ago I heard a doctor boast of having removed the ovaries of two thousand women. How many of these operations were actually necessary? Probably very few, but each case enriched him to the extent of several hundred dollars. Women more frequently than men are the victims of unscrupulous doctors. People do not often question the skill or the opinion of the fashionable physician; they take for granted the truth of all he may say, forgetting for the time that he has a pecuniary interest in the work that may possibly result in the death of the patient. UNNECESSARY OPERATIONS. How many people die from wholly unnecessary operations? Only the hospital records and the immediate friends of the patient can tell. These words are written to put people on their guard. Dishonest doctors are everywhere, especially in big cities. Chicago is full of them. They may be strictly ethical and affect to despise the advertiser. They do so, however, only from a business standpoint. They hate opposition, and somehow the advertising doctor manages to get a goodly share of the business, and is oftentimes the superior in skill in his particular line or specialty to his ethical brother. There are good doctors and bad ones, just as there are good and bad men in every walk and business of life. In my experience as a detective I have met with both kinds. In these pages I will deal with the advertising doctor only. I will do, and have done, what I can to drive the dishonest ones out of the business. The eye doctor, professing to cure blindness or other diseases of the eye without the knife, is one of the most dangerous and dishonest men in the medical profession. Chicago has its full quota of this form of quackery. There are two men in this city--Dr. M---- and Dr. O----, who are national advertisers. Both have been exposed in a recent New York weekly paper at the instigation of the American Medical Association. It is noteworthy, however, that this same paper accepted a full-page advertisement from Dr. O---- only a few months before the expose, thus deluding thousands of its readers. The price paid for one page and one issue was fifteen hundred dollars. This sum, paid to but one paper, will give the reader some idea of the vast expense to which the quack is put to place his name before the public in his effort to rob the blind. This same Dr. O---- pays out annually sixty thousand dollars for advertising alone. He employs twenty typewriters--mostly girls. The correspondence is handled entirely by the clerks, the doctor rarely ever seeing a letter. He employs but one assistant, a young man fresh from college. No personal interviews with patients are asked for or desired. It is a mail order business almost exclusively. Occasionally a patient comes to the city to see this great oculist. Dr. O---- himself is hardly ever in evidence. He spends most of his time in summer resorts and European capitals. The only medicine used is a solution of boric acid in water. The same can be bought at any drug store for a few cents. His charges are ten dollars per month. This man's mail is enormous. I have known him to take in twenty thousand dollars a month. One of the catchy lines in his advertisement says he cures crossed eyes without the use of the knife. This is true, but he uses scissors instead. Cross-eye can only be straightened by severing the muscles of the eye. All physicians know this, but the people do not; hence the success of this robber of the blind. Dr. O---- is a devout church member. He is one of the largest contributors to the Christian Church, to which he belongs. Nearly all church papers carry his advertisements, though they must know him to be a fraud of the first water. SLEEK AND UNCTUOUS CHURCH MEMBER. Personally he is sleek and unctuous, is always found among the godly, takes more interest in foreign missions than the every-day affairs of life, and fully expects to occupy a seat in the parquet of the New Jerusalem. The money wrung by the basest of false pretenses from his poor unfortunate blind victims, does not disturb his slumbers. If he has any conscience at all he fortifies himself with the thought that "Jesus will bear it all," and lets it go at that. Blind people, or those with failing eyesight, beware. A close second to the above-named grafter, and in the same nefarious business, is Dr. M----. This man's advertisements read very much like those of others in the same line of work. He also cures without the knife, but uses the scissors. His treatment is the same--boric acid and water. This can do no possible good except in slight inflammations. It cannot cure cataract. It may be set down as a truth (ask any honest physician) that cataract is incurable except by surgical operations. Yet these men continue to advertise its cure, claiming to have a specific remedy that will absorb it. Dr. M---- is wealthy, all made out of the blind. While other men are giving of their wealth to ease the lives of these poor unfortunates, they are being systematically robbed in the most heartless and shame-faced manner. Priceless is sight. A man or woman threatened with loss of it will give up their last dollar for a prospective cure. In this way these so-called "eye doctors" fatten on the credulity of their victims, doing them absolutely no good and quite often a serious injury. Dr. M---- is also a devout church member. He can be seen hanging over the pew of a fashionable West Side church every Sunday. There he is hailed as a good brother by his fellow members, many of whom are as great, if not as successful, a grafter as he is. They use the cloak of religion in which to serve the devil. THE "OPTICIAN" FAKE. In connection with this subject let me warn you of the existence of an army of "Opticians." These men are often swindlers of the first water. Their misrepresentations as to the money value of glasses amounts to grand larceny. They charge all the way from ten to seventy-five dollars for a pair of lenses that usually cost seventy-five cents each. There are honest men in the business, but beware of the grafter. There are many lesser lights engaged in the eye business, but the examples given above will serve to place you on your guard. Take no treatment by mail. Less can be done for the eye than any other organ of the body, unless it is the ear. Both are so complex in their anatomy and the symptoms so obscure that it is an impossibility to make a correct diagnosis without seeing the patient and using the best instruments that science can bring to the aid of the physician. CONSUMPTION CURES. A few years ago Dr. Koch, of Berlin, Germany, announced that he had discovered a cure for consumption. The same announcement has been made thousands of times before by more or less illustrious physicians. Dr. Koch's cure was a gas, requiring more or less elaborate apparatus. Several years' trial of this supposed cure convinced the medical profession, and Dr. Koch himself, that he was mistaken. He retracted his statements and acknowledged he had been in error. Yet in every large city of the country, Chicago, of course, included, there are established "Koch Institutes" for the cure of consumption. A more brazen fraud was never perpetrated on an ignorant public than the claims which these so-called institutes advertise. They are patronized chiefly by the poor--those who have been told by honest physicians that they are incurable. Having no means with which to take trips to the mountain or sea shore, they grasp at every quack medicine or institute that offers hope of recovery. I have visited the Chicago branch of this miserable fraud. Invalids who can scarcely walk are to be seen there daily inhaling mixtures of nauseous gases that have no more effect on the germ of consumption than a popgun on one of Uncle Sam's ironclads. By means of paid-for testimonials and a couple of "cappers," people from all parts of the country are brought here, oftentimes taking the last dollar of the family exchequer to pay for the so-called treatment. These frauds have been exposed time and again. However, a new crop of victims are gathered in every day and the game goes merrily on. HUMAN GHOULS. The human ghouls in the guise of doctors are meantime living in luxury, and fattening on the misfortunes of their already half-dead victims. You might ask why does not the law step in and protect the sick. If you had seen as much of the law as I have you would discover that it too frequently protects the doctors and not the patients. The men running this and other similar frauds are all licensed physicians, and have the authority of the great State of Illinois to pursue their calling. If you have consumption spend your money in getting good air, not dope. Drugs never yet cured consumption. That is the testimony of all honest doctors, and there are still a few of them left. THE MORPHINE CURE. Forty years ago Dr. C----, of Laporte, Indiana, a bricklayer by profession, conceived the idea of selling morphine as a cure for the opium habit. Morphine is the essence of opium, just as cocaine is the essence of the coca leaf. It was a brilliant idea and brought Dr. C---- (he afterward bought diplomas galore) a mint of money. C---- constructed himself a mansion in Laporte, which stands today, a splendid specimen of the builders' art. He was the first man to put on the market an opium cure. The poor wretches who are addicted to this habit would make any kind of a sacrifice for a cure. The whiskey habit is not a circumstance to the opium or morphine fiend. There is no habit which so enslaves the victim as the drug habit, and they are seldom cured. C---- ran along for many years with but few imitators. The many victims of morphine whom he has gathered into his net were pouring in their wealth until it amounted to thousands daily. As long as they took the C---- remedy they had no desire for morphine. The "remedy" contained morphine--more, usually, than they had been taking before. "Dr." C---- had thousands under treatment, but made no cures. At last the so-called remedy was analyzed and its true nature discovered. At once an army of imitators sprang into existence in all parts of the country, and morphine cure became as common as other cures. They all had and have as a basis opium or some of its salts. The extent of these drug addictions is hardly realized. Chicago alone has thirty thousand of these unfortunates, and the trade in opium and allied drugs is immense. ENCOURAGING THE MORPHINE HABIT. Many of these victims date their downfall from some sickness in which a physician prescribed the drug--perhaps to allay pain or produce sleep. When they recovered they found they still had to have it. The habit grew and finally fastened itself with such a deathlike grip that they were unable to shake it off, and so they totter through life, unfitted for anything except to beg, borrow or lend some of the dope. Men and women once high in the business and social world are frequently found in the police dock accused of some petty theft in order to satisfy their craving for these destructive drugs. Chicago has its quota of doctors who "cure" the morphine habit, but always in the way that "Dr." C---- did. Most of them are "fiends" themselves who eke out a living selling the drug to other victims in the form of a "cure." If by any chance you have contracted the habit steer clear of all so-called cures. The remedy is worse than the disease. THE CANCER CURE. One can hardly pick up a paper or magazine that does not carry the advertisement of Dr. B----, of Indianapolis, Ind., with branch institutes at Kansas City and other places. Dr. B----'s remedy is an oil for which he claims wonderful properties. In reply to an inquiry the doctor sends out a little book, filled with testimonials from grateful patients, dependent preachers and his fellow church members. The book tells you that the doctor has even built a church all by himself and maintains it at his own expense, even paying the salary of the pastor out of his own pocket. It will be noticed that all successful quacks appeal to the religious element of the community. A man who is really religious is honest; having no tinge of dishonesty himself, he suspects none in others. He therefore falls easily into the net of the charlatan. The quack knows this, hence his use of the religious press in which to exploit the virtues of his medicines. Does Dr. B---- cure cancer? Yes. There are seven varieties of cancer; two malignant, which all physicians agree are incurable, and five non-malignant, of which the wart and wen are good examples. Dr. B---- cures the non-malignant varieties only, and you can do the same yourself by the application of a few drops of glacial acetic acid to the growth once a day. This is the whole secret of the so-called cures wrought by these men. Dr. B---- never cured a genuine malignant cancer in his life, and never will until a specific is discovered that will combat it. He has grown very rich, is known as a public-spirited gentleman and to say aught against him in his native town is to bring down on one's head the wrath of the business community. Why? PATIENTS FROM EVERYWHERE. Dr. B---- has patients coming from all parts of the country. They bring and spend money at his sanitariums. It is "business," and I am only sorry to say that what is known as business is too often larceny. If you have a growth you do not understand, trust it to your family physician, if he is an honest man, rather than to one of the many cancer sharks that infest the country. THE RUPTURE CURE. This, when offered by mail, as it is in almost every magazine that accepts medical advertisements, is also a glaring fraud upon a most helpless class of people. While it is true that a well fitted truss will retain and often cure a rupture, yet the quacks who advertise the rupture cure propose to cure you by mail, then by application of a wonderful oil which they sell at ten dollars per bottle, they propose to close up the opening through which the rupture descends and effect a permanent cure. A few years back the surgical treatment of rupture was not always a success, hence people so afflicted had reason to avoid operations. Today the cure of rupture is not attended by any danger. Surgery has made many advances in the past few years. People who are ruptured should avoid any other means of cure than the operations. There are not less than twenty-five advertising specialists in Chicago who profess to cure rupture without operation. They only succeed in separating you from your money. My advice is not to go near them, lest you regret it. FEMALE DISEASES. It is well known among the readers of the daily press that all the advertisements of a medical nature addressed to women are meant to cover the nefarious business of the abortionist. The commissioner of health in a recent interview stated that not less than fifty thousand abortions are committed yearly in Chicago. It is well to state that only a small number of these are performed by the advertising abortionists. Most of them are the work of regular physicians. Indeed, in no other way could this immense destruction of infant life take place. I know of physicians here in Chicago who have and do no other business. I have in mind one palatial residence on Michigan avenue patronized exclusively by the rich. It is presided over by a strictly ethical physician. This man's fee is from one thousand to five thousand dollars. The poor content themselves with less pretentious places and prices. I know of physicians on the north side and the west side who do this work for five and ten dollars. They have as many as ten and twelve cases a day. Up to a few weeks ago all of the Chicago papers contained a list of advertisements under the classification of medical, about as follows: "Maternity Hospital--Ladies taken care of before and after confinement." "Mrs. Dr. B----, licensed midwife, takes ladies for confinement, etc." "Dr. Anna B---- Elegant home for ladies expecting confinement, etc." The above are only samples of a long list of advertisements of similar tenor which appeared daily in the Chicago press for twenty-five years. These advertisements attracted the attention of people in the country. They were not designed to attract city people. People residing here seldom patronize them on account of the high prices usually charged. They know cheaper doctors. Girl from the smaller towns and the farms are the ones sought. The girl applying for relief at any of these places was usually told that abortions were unlawful and dangerous to life. She was strongly advised to stay in the hospital, which offered perfect seclusion, until the full period when the child would be naturally born and without danger to either of them. This advice was generally accepted and the price agreed upon paid. This was always all the girl had with her, and the promise of more. The amount ranged from one hundred to five hundred dollars. The money paid over, the girl was shown to a pleasant room, and invited to make herself at home. There were always other girls there, usually under assumed names. They kept coming and going every few days. None remained longer than ten days. After the girl had been there a couple of days the madam announced that the doctor would call on her that day and make an examination, so as to approximate the time of baby's arrival. With a very small instrument the abortion was produced while making the examination, the patient knowing nothing of it. This is done so deftly that labor pains do not come on for sometimes two days afterwards. In ten days the patient is ready to leave the hospital. The fee having been paid, both parties are usually satisfied, and the girl, if she is wise, makes her misfortune a stepping stone to something better. If the amount paid has been too small to satisfy hospital funds, an effort is made to collect more, but usually not from the girl. The madam gets the patient's confidence and discovers, if she can, the man responsible for the girl's condition. A bill is then sent him for several hundred dollars. Should he ignore it or refuse to pay, he is politely told that the account will be placed in the hands of a lawyer in the town where he resides and the matter can be adjusted by a "jury of his fellow citizens." Imagine the consternation of some business man or church deacon in a small community over the receipt of such a letter. If guilty, and they are as a general thing, they take the next train for Chicago and pay the bill. Parties running these establishments are money makers. I know of one on West Adams street whose owner has made a fortune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all accumulated in twenty years. THE ELECTRIC BELT FRAUD. This is another one of the many humbugs that seem to have fastened themselves on the country. Chicago is the center for this as well as every other fake of a medical character. These belts are of the cheapest construction and are made at a cost of twelve and one-half cents each. They sell for anything, up to three hundred and even five hundred dollars. There may be virtue in electricity, properly applied, but there certainly is none in the belt. Dr. McL---- is located in Chicago, and has branch offices in almost every state in the union. He takes pages in the daily press to tell of the virtues of his belt. It cures everything from lumbago to corns. He usually pictures a man in a half-stooping position, holding his back with one hand, while with the other he is getting a belt from a sympathizing doctor. Dr. McL---- has made big money duping his fellow men. Recently he opened an office in the City of Mexico. There the government protects people somewhat from their own folly. A Mexican bought a belt, guaranteed to cure his disease: it failed. The doctor was promptly arrested for obtaining money under false pretenses. He was sent to jail, where he remained sixteen months. The offices were closed and have not since been reopened. The best evidence that electric belts are a useless article is to be found in the fact that physicians neither use nor prescribe them. They are an adjunct to quackery. THE VARICOCELE CURE. To begin with, varicocele is a surgical disease and is only cured by an operation. Yet the daily papers teem with advertisements offering cures by drugs, appliances and external washes. It is needless to say that all of these are fakers. Chicago has more than twenty specialists who profess to cure varicocele. Only two of them fulfill their promises. The rest take your money and render you no service. Nearly every paper advertises these men, such headlines as "Cured in Five Days," "Cured Without Pain." "Five-day varicocele cure" meets the eye of the reader on nearly every page. It is true that varicocele can be cured in five days; it can and is cured in one treatment, but always by surgical means. The headlines above are simply baits for the afflicted. The main idea of the so-called specialist is to get the victim into his office. Here he will tell him that he has two methods of cure. One is an operation, which necessitates the patient going to a hospital, remaining there for five days in order to effect the cure. The other is a suspensory and a liniment which, applied daily, will do just as well, but it requires three or four months to get the cure. The patient wishes, of course, to avoid an operation. He is always told there is some danger from the chloroform. He usually takes the "slow cure," parting at the same time with a good, fat fee, usually a good deal more than he would have had to pay a reputable man for an operation. At the end of the period fixed for the cure the patient finds himself no better and finally in disgust places himself in the hands of a man who does operate and is promptly cured. Among the many men engaged in the cure of varicocele is Dr. Mark K----, of Cincinnati and Denver. This man's advertisements adorn every page of papers that will take them. His fee is $2.00; his remedy a suspensory and a wash. Both are utterly useless. After you have paid your money your name or original letter is sold to someone in the same business. In a little while you are surprised to receive mail from all parts of the country--all wanting you to purchase a varicocele cure. This applies to vacuum pumps, the superior system, the Parisian system and other fakes of a like nature. They are all frauds. In the past few years I have raided their places many times, seized their literature, which is always obscene and indecent, and arrested the proprietors. The game, however, still goes on. THE "NERVOUS DEBILITY SPECIALIST." "Lost Manhood Restored" is probably the greatest of all medical grafts. These men succeed simply because of the total ignorance of the people on matters pertaining to the sexual system. If sexual physiology was a part of the studies in the public schools for pupils at the age of fourteen there would be no cases of nervous debility, and the "lost manhood" physician would have to seek other fields for the display of his talents. One of the saddest of all the habits that young men drop into at some period of their lives is the secret vice. Until quite lately prudery has prevented its proper discussion and about the only literature on the subject was to be found in that issued by advertising doctors who treat the effects. One thing is certain--no one ever acquired the habit by reading one of these "scare" or quack books. John Stuart Mill, in speaking of this vice, says: "The diseases of society can be no more checked or healed without publicly speaking of them than can those of the body." To ignore or deny the prevalence of the evil is sometimes honest ignorance, but is more often hypocrisy. A little scientific discussion on this subject is not out of place here. It will put young men on their guard against themselves, and cut off in some degree the income of that class of doctors who live on their credulity. So far as I have been able to trace its origin it has always been with us. According to Ovid, Horace and Aristophanes, it was a curse in ancient Greece and Rome. Even Hippocrates, the father of medicine 380 years before Christ, considered it a subject worthy of his pen. Of modern writers the greatest was Tissot, in 1760, who issued a classic on this subject whose object was to stay, if possible, the abuses and vices which threatened the ruin of the French people. Lurid as the little book distributed by specialists usually is, the effects of this vice depicted by Tissot puts them all into the shade. If not exactly scientific, it at least exerted a large moral influence which was beneficial in the then state of public and private morals. In the discussion of secret sin let us make it plain that the evil effects are not immediate, as is often thought and frequently taught by school teachers and writers. The brain is not palsied at once. Dementia, palsy and sudden death are not likely to occur. The erroneous idea that it does, accounts in a great measure for the terror, the bashfulness and the love of solitude exhibited by this class of sufferers. It is enough for the purpose of this article that in the course of physical decay, gray hair, baldness and enfeebled gait, weakness of the muscular and nervous system, in fact, a general lowering of the tone of the bodily health, appear. Life has been lived out with abandon, its energies have been overdrawn and its wheels have run down like the mainspring of a clock whose regulator has been lost. The sporty and fast life led by reckless youth is making him pay the penalty. And what is the penalty? Look at the daily papers, see the brazen medical advertisements, "Manhood Restored" staring at you from every page. These advertisements are costly. They run up into the thousands of dollars a month. One man, a doctor of Chicago, formerly paid the daily press eight thousand dollars a month for advertising; his "Lost Manhood, Varicocele and Hydrocele Cured" appeared in almost every paper in this city. And the people who needed the treatment paid the bills. So powerful was this man's influence that he was enabled to stave off undesirable legislation at Springfield. In this he was aided by the newspapers, who did not wish to lose this princely revenue from quack doctors. This doctor is still in business, but on a small scale compared to former times. Competition and the advent of more mendacious liars have reduced his income to more modest proportions than it once was. A MONUMENTAL SWINDLE. MEN who need treatment or advice concerning their health or any weakness or private disease should, before taking any treatment whatever, go to Dr. S. for consultation, examination and advice; free. DR. S.--Longest Established, Most Successful and Reliable Specialist in Diseases of Men, as Medical Diplomas, Licenses and Newspaper Records Show. Dr. S. first came to Chicago about the time of the World's Fair. His home office was supposed to be in Philadelphia. While Philadelphia has the reputation of being slow, yet the methods of Dr. S. were decidedly swift, so much so that he almost took the breath away from the Chicago specialists. He was the first to charge for medicine in addition to his fees. It is a well-known fact that a man having been under the treatment of Dr. S. for a week or a month never seeks the aid of another one. He has been cured? Not on your life. He has been robbed. I have known this "Doctor" to charge as much as one hundred dollars for two small bottles of dope. This is in addition to a fee of twenty-five to five hundred dollars. He always operates a "drug store" in connection with his office. The patient, having undergone an examination and having been thoroughly frightened, is told what the fee will be. This being paid, he is given a prescription and sent to the "drug store." This is so written that no other drug store can fill it. In a short time he is handed two or three small bottles, and on asking "how much" is told a sum varying from ten to one hundred and fifty dollars. Surprised and indignant, he hastens back to the "Doctor" and complains. He is told that the medicines are cheap at that price; that they are expensive drugs and very necessary in his case. If the patient has the money he pays it, resolving that he will have no more to do with Dr. S. If he lives in the country he is surprised the following week by getting notice from the express company that a C. O. D. package awaits him at the office. It is the second week's supply of medicine. Charges from twenty-five to ninety-eight dollars. He at once writes to the "Doctor" and says he doesn't want the stuff. The first supply has done him no good. It's too expensive and he can't afford to continue it. The "Doctor" writes back and says that he must pay for it. It will require three months to effect a cure, and the whole treatment has been prepared. If he does not take it the office will be subject to a loss of many hundreds of dollars. They also threaten him with a suit for the recovery of the amount. BLACKMAIL AN ADJUNCT. The poor victim, almost frightened to death at the prospect of exposure, usually compromises and pays all the money he can raise, taking the three months' "treatment" which he is assured has been specially prepared for his case. It is not an uncommon thing for Dr. S. to get several thousand dollars out of one patient. Men have been known to mortgage their farms to get out of the clutches of these cormorants. They never let go until the last dollar has been extracted from the poor patient. After his experience with Dr. S. he wants no more. He thinks that they are all alike and carefully avoids them in the future. Dr. S. himself is not in Chicago. He is said to live in Philadelphia. He operates offices in this city and several other places. Three men comprise the office staff--one man who "takes" the case, another a physician, usually a dummy engaged at a salary of fifteen to twenty dollars a week, and a druggist. The main guy of every medical quack office is the "case taker." He is always a "confidence man" skilled in the business. He plays upon the fears and credulity of his victims. He pictures the most dreadful fate awaiting the unfortunate patient. If a case of private disease, he knows that the patient will rot on his feet and become a charnel house of infection. If a "Lost Manhood" case, he pictures the horrors of impotency, a trusting girl deceived, a divorce, together with the scandals that precede and follow. The old Reliable B---- Doctors Cure Men--Men only. NO PAY UNTIL CURED. $5 FEE FOR CURE, $5. NEWLY CONTRACTED SPECIAL DISEASES. Consultation and Examination Free Whether You Take Treatment or not. Come to Expert Specialists. We cure Varicocele, Nervous Debility, Urethral Troubles, Blood Poison, Private Diseases, Phimosis, Piles, Skin Diseases, Rupture and other Wasting Diseases of Men. Call or send for free question list. Hours--Daily. 9 to 8; Sundays, 10 to 2. J. B. McG----, M. D., Medical Director. B---- MEDICAL INSTITUTE. Chicago, Ill. The above advertisement appears right along in the Chicago dailies. If Dr. S---- is the "Prince of swindlers" the B---- Medical Institute is a good second. It is owned and run by a Bohemian, who changed his name from an almost unpronounceable one to that of Hansen. He employs cheap doctors--mostly dope fiends--men who could not get employment elsewhere. His pay is about fifteen dollars per week. This man also runs a "dental" Institute where equally cheap dentists are employed. Both institutes rob the unsuspecting. Hansen was sued by a former patient and nearly four hundred dollars recovered, quite recently. The man was absolutely free from any disease, but was frightened into paying that amount to get rid of an imaginary one. He is a common, cheap, medical swindler. These are Positive Facts. MEN $10. CURES YOU. "DON'T PAY MORE." Under scientific treatment all diseases peculiar to men are thoroughly cured. Nervous Debility, Blood Poisoning, Lost Vitality, Prostatic, Bladder and Kidney Troubles, Varicocele, Hydrocele, Contracted Diseases, Urethral Obstruction, Male Weakness. Dr. C----'s Medical Offices are the most reliable and permanently established specialists in Chicago. See them before commencing treatment elsewhere. Advice, consultation and examination FREE. Dr. C---- MEDICAL OFFICES, Hours: 8 a. m. to 8 p. m. Sunday, 10 to 3 only. Chicago, Ill. SWINDLER A "DOPE" FIEND. The above advertisement is that of Dr. C----. C---- himself is out of the game. He is a dope fiend. A few months ago he narrowly escaped the penitentiary for taking $225 from a sixteen-year-old child. He was fined $200 in the Municipal Court, paid it and quit the business. Previously, however, he had sold the use of his name to Dick Williams, owner of several of the so-called medical offices along State street. Williams changes his doctors every few days, so that a patient hardly ever sees the same man twice. Each man makes an effort to "re-fee" the patient--that is, they try to extract more money in the way of fees, claiming that the other "doctor" did not grasp the severity of the case. It is not unusual for a patient to pay half a dozen fees in the same office before he drops onto the fact that he is being systematically robbed. The main object of advertising cheap is to get the people into the office and started on the treatment. Money is demanded at every visit and new "diseases" discovered as long as the credulity of the patient lasts. CONSULT DR. R---- A graduate and Regular Licensed Physician. Dr. R---- is qualified through twenty-one years of practical experience to give you the best medical advice and treatment in ALL DISEASES AND WEAKNESSES PECULIAR TO MEN. The oldest established and most reliable specialist, who sees and treats patients personally. Dr. R----'s Home Treatment Cures Weak Men. If you have Varicocele, Hydrocele, Weakness, Drains, Lost Vigor, Losses, Blood Poison, Kidney, Bladder or Any Chronic Nervous, Private or Urinary Disease, consult the reliable specialist, who will cure you quickly, permanently and cheaply. CONSULTATION FREE AND STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL, as the doctor never makes a professional charge unless you desire him to treat your case until cured. Remember, you see Dr. R---- personally. If you cannot call, write a description of your case and he will send you symptom blank and book, "VITAL FACTS FOR MEN," FREE. Dr. R---- is no better and no worse than others who have similar advertisements. They all practice the same game. He is not, however, on very friendly terms with other specialists. A few years ago when some adverse legislation was threatened at Springfield it was necessary to raise a fund to check it. R---- subscribed one hundred dollars, but never paid it. There must be honor even among thieves. I CURE IN FIVE DAYS VARICOCELE AND HYDROCELE without Knife or Pain. I want to cure every man suffering with Varicocele, Stricture, Contagious Blood Poison, Nervous Debility, Hydrocele or a disease peculiar to men. This liberal offer is open to all who have spent large sums of money on doctors and medicines without any success, and my aim is to prove to all those people who were being treated CONSULT DR. R---- by a dozen or more doctors, also without any success, that I possess the only method, by means of which I will cure you permanently. DON'T PAY FOR UNSUCCESSFUL TREATMENT, ONLY FOR PERMANENT CURE. I will positively cure diseases of the stomach, lungs, liver and kidneys, even though very chronic. PRIVATE DISEASES OF MEN cured quickly, permanently and with absolute secrecy. Nervous Debility, Weakness. Lost Vigor, Strains, Losses, Urinary Losses. DISEASES PECULIAR TO WOMEN--Pains in the Back. White Discharge and other ailments cured permanently. BLOOD POISON--And all kinds of skin diseases, like Pimples, Swollen Glands, Wasting Diseases, Lingering Diseases. CONSULTATION AND EXAMINATION FREE. CURE ONCE FOR ALL. DR. L. E. Z----, Chicago. Office Hours: 8 a. m. to 8 p. m. Sundays: 9 a. m. to 4 p. m. "I cure in five days." So says Dr. Z---- and several others in the same business. However, when you offer to take the five-day cure you are told it is an operation. "I have a slow cure," say the oily "doctors," "just as good, which requires three months." As the one operation itself is a little alarming, most men take the "slow cure." At the end of three or six months they find they have been victimized. They are no better, and often worse. JUST PLAIN FRAUD. Among other advertisers are Dr. L. R. W----, Dr. H. J. T---- and Dr. D----. The last named was recently arrested and held to the grand jury on the charge of defrauding a patient. It might be asked in the light of the above exposés of so-called specialists, are there no honest ones? Detective Wooldridge says yes, there are several in Chicago who deliver the goods. To any earnest seekers after the truth he will be glad to give the names of several men of whom he can say, "They do not misrepresent." FABULOUS LOSSES IN BIG TURF FRAUDS. "INVESTMENT" COMPANIES OF LAST FEW YEARS NETTED $10,162,000. This is a sad, sad story, because it is an obituary, the death notice of one of the meanest and most abominable frauds that has ever taken the hoarded pennies of children and working girls, the "late lamented" "turf syndicate." Several years ago the turf syndicate was in its glory. A poor girl, fresh from the old country, would scrub floors for a week or take in washing for a month in order to pour money into the pockets of these swindlers. Thanks to the efforts of Detective Clifton E. Wooldridge, of Chicago, and others, this particular fraud is now a thing of the past. [Illustration: (Horses racing)] But the enormity of this tremendous crime against the poor may be appreciated from a study of the following figures. Turf "investment" companies that have failed, absconded or have been driven to the wall by prosecutions during the last few years and the amount of money estimated to have been lost in the swindles give the following astonishing record: E. J. Arnold & Co. $ 4,000,000 John J. Ryan & Co., St. Louis, Mo. 1,500,000 Brolaski & Co., Chicago 200,000 Benedict & Co., Chicago 200,000 The Mid-Continent Investment Company, Chicago 150,000 The Mason-Teller Company, Chicago 50,000 The Douglas-Daly Company, R. S. Daly and N. C. Clark, Chicago 125,000 The Armstrong-Baldwin Turf Commission, J. P. McCann and O. L. Wells, Chicago 100,000 The Money-Maker, C. A. Pollock, manager, Chicago 15,000 Gulf Pacific Trust Co., F. Lehman and R. G. Herndon, Chicago, New Orleans and San Francisco 50,000 Investors' Profit-Sharing and Protective Association, Chicago 12,000 J. J. Shea & Company, Chicago 10,000 Standard Investment Bureau, Chicago and San Francisco 25,000 The Security Savings Society, W. R. Bennett, Chicago 1,500,000 The Investors' Protective Association, Frank E. Stone, Chicago 200,000 D. W. Moodey & Co., Chicago 50,000 Co-Operative Trust Co., L. M. Morrison, Chicago 150,000 Edward L. Farley & Co., Chicago 75,000 Inter-Ocean Commission Co., J. T. Mitchell, Chicago 75,000 Hugo Morris & Co., Chicago 50,000 Al Fetzer & Co., Co-Operative Turf Pools, Hammond, Ind. 500,000 Co-Operative Investment Association, L. H. Myers, New York 150,000 American Stock Co., W. M. Nichols, New York 100,000 Mutual Security Co., C. Dudrey, New York 100,000 Henshall, Bronner & Co., New York 75,000 W. W. O'Hara & Co., Cincinnati 50,000 Crawford & Co., New York 35,000 Paul Pry's Investments 70,000 The Belt Company, N. S. Goodsill, Hammond, Ind. 150,000 Drake, Allison & Co., Hammond, Ind. 175,000 McClellan & Co., John McClellan and John Murphy, proprietors, New Orleans, absconded 50,000 New York Co-Operative Company, New York 20,000 W. J. Keating Company, New York 20,000 The Fidelity Trust, Wm. J. Young, San Francisco 25,000 C. E. Cooper & Co., Cincinnati 15,000 C. E. Cooper & Co., Covington, Ky. 10,000 C. E. Collins & Co., George D. Jones and Charles Thompson, New York 30,000 ------------ Total $10,162,000 GIGANTIC TURF SWINDLE. Among the first of the get-rich-quick schemes into which the public poured millions was the "turf investment" concern. The "literature" of probably no other class of swindle was so plausible as this. The promise was to pay 5 and in some cases 10 per cent on the investment each week. The method by which the promise was to be fulfilled was this: The money invested was to be placed in a pool and used as capital in playing the races. A standard bet of a certain amount was to be made. If this wager was lost, enough money out of the pool was to be bet on the horse picked by the managers of the concern in the next race, to recoup the loss on the first race, win the amount set out to win on the first race, together with a like amount on the second race. If this wager was lost, the process was to be repeated on the next race, and so on until a wager was won. Each time there was a winning, a large enough sum would have been bet to recoup all losses on previous races and win a fixed amount on each of the races played. Some concerns claimed to play the favorite horses in the betting, others the second choices to win and others to bet according to "inside information" derived from horse owners and jockeys. Regardless of the variations of the scheme, the general plan was the same. The prospectuses, in a most plausible way, set forth the claim that "beating the races" was merely a matter of having a large enough capital at hand to continue the progressive betting plan. By the claim that horse racing was as legitimate a calling as dealing on the Board of Trade or Stock Exchange and possessed the additional advantage of being open to persons of small means, a strong appeal was made to the poor. Of course, none of the money that poured in ever was bet. Had 5 per cent a week on all the millions contributed by the public to this form of swindle been actually derived from the bookmakers, every penciler in the country would have been bankrupted in a month. The remarkable feature of the "turf" investment scheme is that this phase of the matter seemed never to occur to investors, and the other palpably impossible phases of the operators' claims were also overlooked in the effort to secure 260 per cent a year on the investment made. GET-RICH-QUICK SCHEMES. As in the horse swindles, the older investors were paid their dividends from funds sent in by new ones. No attempt was made to win dividends in the market. As the gullibility of the "suckers" became a little dulled, innovations to increase the plausibility of the schemes were made and new forms of bait devised. "Turf swindles" have flourished, while the victims, who number tens of thousands, dare not raise their voices in protest or complaint, well knowing that they would not only be the butt of ridicule in their community, but also that the world at large would rather rejoice at their losses, and courts and juries would probably waste little sympathy on them. Consequently the safest swindles operated today are those having race-track betting for their basis. In the latter part of 1902 there were upwards of twenty-five of these schemes in operation in the United States. New York City was the headquarters for about ten, and the balance were located in St. Louis, Chicago, New Orleans, San Francisco, Cincinnati and Brooklyn. Their prosperity was evidenced by the ability of managers to buy advertising space in the leading newspapers, to pay the printers for the most elaborate booklets, circulars, etc., and Uncle Sam for postage stamps, with which they were extremely liberal, usually sending a stamped envelope, for reply, to prospective investors. Extracts which I give below from the literature of five of these concerns offer a fair criterion for the whole mass which I have before me, and demonstrate the turf swindlers' method of extracting money from the unsophisticated. Fully 25 per cent of their "investors" are women, while the whole number who contribute to their scheme is made up of persons who would not be seen betting at a race track or pool room, but who have consciences that will permit them to make money "honestly or otherwise." [Illustration: WHO SAID I LOST TWENTY DOLLARS?] HERE ARE PLAUSIBLE ARGUMENTS. This is one argument of a firm of so-called "Expert Handicappers" of New York City, who bet on the races: "There has never been a week since we started in business when we did not pay a dividend. The smallest dividend we have ever paid for any one week was $6.50 for every $100 invested. We average about $9.50 per week on each $100." "An investment with us is safer and brings better returns than bookmaking or any other form of speculation." Here is an argument of a firm of so-called "Turf Commissioners" of San Francisco, which claimed to be betting on the races, guaranteeing 4 per cent weekly: "There is no kind of speculation that affords so great an opportunity for making money rapidly on a small capital as playing the races on a business-like and systematic basis. Our average weekly profits usually range from 4 to 8 per cent." Another argument, that of a so-called "Bookmaker" of St. Louis, who guarantees 5 per cent weekly dividends to investors: "We make books and allow the betting public to place the money. The man who bets has one horse running for him--the bookmaker has the rest. For this reason the odds are all in favor of the bookmaker and if he understands his business he is certain to make money." Argument of a firm of so-called "Turf Commissioners" of Chicago, who claim to make books on the races: "Our plan insures a steady income on a small capital, such as no other company offers, and far eclipses any mining, oil, or other stock investment." Argument of so-called racing stable concern of St. Louis, guaranteeing 3 per cent per week to investors of $50 and upward: "We have a large stable of race horses, which we run at all tracks, winter and summer; we make books wherever racing is conducted, and the proposition we manage pays so well because we know how to run it to that end." One of the variants of the old turf scheme is the venerable "Two-Horse Special," a fraud that is so old that its whiskers drag about its knees. Here is a sample of the two-horse literature: "MY TWO-HORSE SPECIAL PLAN." (Send this slip with remittance.) NO ACCOUNT RECEIVED OF LESS THAN $50. GEORGE F. STONE, Turf Specialist. Brooklyn, N. Y. I hand you ---- Dollars to be used by you in speculating for me, according to your TWO-HORSE WIRE plan of Turf Speculation. You are to play one-fifth of the amount of capital on each special, placing the money to win and also for place. You are to mail for me your selections each day, mailing the same NOT LATER than 1 P. M. You agree to operate the account, MAKING NO CHARGE until winnings equal capital invested. After that 20 per cent of all winnings you are to deduct, and send me the balance by money order, with statement, each week. I can close my account and withdraw any balance due me on demand. My liability is strictly limited to above amount. THE POLICE, AROUSED BY TURF SWINDLERS, RAID AND CLOSE UP THEIR PLACES. Detective Wooldridge led the officers on February 23, 1900, when the following concerns were raided and closed up: Co-Operative Trust Company, 80 and 84 Adam street. Turf Investment Company, 84 Adams street. Inter-Ocean Commission Company, 66 Wabash avenue. Security Savings Company, Madison street and Fifth avenue. Investors' Protective Association, 510 Realty Building. D. W. Moody, 182 and 184 Dearborn street. The papers, books and "big-dividend" circulars of these concerns filled several wagons. The police estimated that over $500,000 had been lost by the investors in these concerns, which, notwithstanding some of the high-sounding names adopted by them, were all turf swindlers. Raid after raid has resulted in practically ridding Chicago of these vampires, but they seem to thrive wherever they are permitted to exist. FAKE TURFMEN INDICTED. Gambling and Bookmaking Charged Against the "Get-Rich-Quick" Syndicates, Including Bennett's. True bills were voted against proprietors of "get-rich-quick" turf concerns by the grand jury. Indictments were returned in court, and capiases for the arrest of the accused persons placed in the hands of the sheriff. Those against whom bills were voted are: Frank E. Stone, alias Eddie Dunne, Security Savings Society, for bookmaking. W. R. Bennett, Security Savings Society, for bookmaking. W. I Bennett, Security Savings Society, for bookmaking. D. W. Moody, Security Savings Society, for bookmaking. Louis Morrison, alias L. M. Morrison, Co-Operative Trust Company, for bookmaking. Edwin E. Farley, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. Charles Carroll, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. J. W. Turner, alias J. W. Taylor, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. Miss S. Beck, stenographer for W. R. Bennett, for bookmaking. One puzzling feature of the prosecution of the turf people is that although the bills accuse them of keeping common gaming houses and operating poolrooms, officers and lawyers interested in the cases say the promoters of the concerns never really attempted to win their advertised profits by betting on the races. It has been alleged that not one of them speculated with deposits, but simply sent dividends back to investors out of their own money. It is now suggested that the accused persons will either have to admit they were gambling or confess that their alluring statements about winnings on the race tracks were glittering frauds. The turf swindle was prosperous until February, 1903, when the crash among the St. Louis contingent precipitated a "run" on all of the concerns then in operation. As it was not the policy of the swindlers to pay, they either closed their doors and fled or the police conveniently interfered with their business. Prior to the crash at St. Louis there were several notable failures and disappearances. On July 9, 1902, the Al Fetzer Co., of Hammond, Ind., "failed," and about a week prior Turf Commissioner W. W. O'Hara, of Cincinnati, absconded. Both of these events shattered many dreams of riches. In the Fetzer case heavy rains were said to have broken the sure-thing combination by which the company was to win fortunes from bookmakers on the race tracks. The amounts lost by the credulous investors in Fetzer's scheme, which, it was declared, "could not lose," reached into the hundreds of thousands. The towns that suffered the most were Hammond, Ind., and Appleton, Wis. It was reported that the people of the latter town had suffered to the extent of $50,000, and dozens of small cities are believed to have fared almost as badly. The clients of the concern in Appleton included a number of well-known business men and people of all classes. They lost from $25 to $200 each. A poor widow who had put in all her savings was left penniless and was obliged to seek aid from the city authorities. Fetzer conducted a large part of his business through the mails. He advertised extensively in the newspapers and found many who were willing to "play the game." Dividends of $5 a week for $100 invested were promised and were paid punctually up to about July 1, 1902. He said he had a system of playing the races that could not be beaten, and the success of the early investors convinced the doubting ones that his system was all right. The information of the "snap" spread rapidly and Fetzer's business increased accordingly. No one thought that dividends of 260 per cent were improbable when they read of the "long shots" that won races on the Chicago tracks. Fetzer attributed the downfall of his business to the rainy weather and said that he had been unsuccessful in picking "mudders." His system of betting, which was to make everyone rich by the end of the summer, went to pieces with each succeeding thunder shower, and the investors received the doleful information that the company had lost its own capital, as well as the money entrusted to it. An investigation into the affairs of O'Hara at Cincinnati revealed a state of affairs almost beyond belief. More than 4,000 letters which were received within a week after O'Hara's disappearance were opened. They were from every state in the country, and many were from Canada. Amounts from $5 to $500 in checks and mail and express orders were enclosed. The total amount of the money in the letters opened was $5,518, and Inspector Holmes stated that O'Hara got away with $7,500 which came in the mail the same week, making a total of over $12,000 for one week's business. O'Hara's books showed that from July, 1900, when he commenced operations, until he skipped out in June, 1902, he had received from credulous "investors" the enormous sum of $465,000. The inevitable crash came early in February, 1903, and the police and grand juries at Chicago, St. Louis, New York and other cities got busy, but the money had been transferred to the pockets of the swindlers, who had the choice of paying lawyers and possible fines or traveling in foreign climes until the excitement blew over. February, 1903, Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge raided and closed the following named turf investment companies in Chicago: H. B. Blackstone, E. J. Arnold, 95 Dearborn street. Harry Brolaski, "Brolaski & Co.," 356 Dearborn street. Henry Thompson, "Brolaski & Co.," 356 Dearborn street. Mattie Woodin, "Benedict & Co.," 225 Dearborn street. M. J. Beck, "Benedict & Co.," 225 Dearborn street. W. J. Mason, "Benedict & Co.," 225 Dearborn street. "Mid-Continent," 185 Dearborn street. PREY ON CHICAGO TEACHERS. From papers found in the Mid-Continent offices it appears this company had been doing a loan as well as an investment business. A letter addressed to Chicago school teachers invited deposits for investment on which 2-1/2 per cent monthly interest was guaranteed. If the teachers needed money it was offered them at 3 per cent a month. The company's methods and those of the banks were compared in the letter, to the disadvantage of the banks. Medical students, stenographers, maids in hotels, women of various classes, farmers in many sections of the country and hundreds of men in different employments in the city were disclosed as the dupes. The following telegram from St. Louis to a Chicago paper briefly outlines the situation on the second day of the raiding there: St. Louis, Mo., Feb. 11, 1903.--Runs were made on the E. J. Arnold Turf Investment Company, the International Investment Company, The Christie Investment Company and John J. Ryan & Co. yesterday by hundreds of men and women who during the last six months have invested their savings with these co-operative bookmaking concerns in the hope of enormous profits. The International and Christie companies paid all the stockholders who appeared, at first. Then they decamped. Arnold & Co., in accordance with their announcement which caused the panic among the "turf speculators" yesterday, refused to pay back any stock certificates, although still claiming to be perfectly solvent, and determined to pay the usual weekly dividends until affairs of the company are wound up. At the offices of John J. Ryan, owner of the Newport (Ky.) Race Track, a riot was averted by the presence of the police; and the excited investors, who were reminded that their stock certificates are payable only on thirty days' notice, went off in a state of rage and anxiety at once amusing and pitiful. HOW ARNOLD INSPIRED CONFIDENCE. Arnold was a wise one. He knew how to work the game. First he sent to New York and bought the famous race horse Gold Heels. This horse had won many of the great Eastern classics. He broke a tendon and was useless, but Arnold's investors did not know that. They would swear by Gold Heels. Then he caused his "bank" to issue a letter along the following lines: American Central Trust Company. Capital--$1,000,000. Surplus--$500,000. S. Schnurmacher, President. Wm. S. Simpson, First Vice-President. Joseph Wachtel. Second Vice-President. Franklin P. Hunkins, Third Vice-President. Edward Bauder, Secretary and Treasurer. DIRECTORS. Shepard Barclay, Edward Bauder, G. A. Bauder, John N. Drummond, Jr., Henry W. Gehner, Morris Glaser, Frank Griesedieck, G. A. Gurner, Franklin P. Hunkins, John D. Manley, H. I. Mills, John A. Nies, H. F. Powitzhy, Leo S. Rassieur, B. Schnurmacher, Wm. S. Simpson, Joseph Wachtel. St. Louis, Mo., May 15, 1902. TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: The firm of E. J. Arnold & Company, of this city, is one of our largest depositors, and we consider them amply responsible for every obligation they may assume. AMERICAN CENTRAL TRUST COMPANY, By EDWARD BAUDER, Sec'y & Treas. The disaster was brought about by the appointment of a committee by the Missouri legislature to investigate the "get-rich-quick" situation. St. Louis had become the haven of every conceivable class of swindlers, who swarmed there in such numbers that the legislature deemed it wise to look into the matter. What motive inspired it to take this action was a mystery. Sufficient, however, to observe that when it came to following out its own recommendation to pass laws that would drive the "get-rich-quick" companies of all kinds out of the state something stopped the legislation. The investigation of the "get-rich-quick" concerns in Missouri by the State Senate Committee resulted in an elaborate report, which was presented March 3, 1903. This report had the following to say of the turf investment companies: "These institutions are of modern origin. The pioneer in this field, especially in this state, seems to have been E. J. Arnold & Co. Then followed Ryan & Co., the International, The Christian Syndicate, Brolaski, Thomas Walsh, Maxim-Gay and others. "These concerns were presumably prosperous until the examination which was begun by the grand jury, instigated by the circuit attorney of St. Louis, Hon. Joseph W. Folk, and your present committee. When the crash came, company after company closed its doors or refused to pay back to depositors on demand, and upon examination of these companies, we found them to be mere shells, with little or no money or available assets on hand, and the millions of dollars handled by them either paid out in dividends, squandered and gambled away on race tracks, or absorbed by the officers and managers of the said companies. "The evidence discloses the fact that E. J. Arnold is supposed to be in Mexico, the books of said company being in the hands of the grand jury. So far as the search under legal process has developed, no assets of Arnold & Co., except a stock farm and stock thereon, office furniture and fixtures, and a few hundred dollars in cash, were found. "Ryan & Company claim that they have on hand $200,000, which has been attached and garnisheed, in the hands of the depositories, and the same process has been used to take possession of the real estate holdings and other personal property. "George A. Dice, inspector of the postoffice, in charge of the St. Louis department, testified that he had made an examination of E. J. Arnold & Co. and John J. Ryan & Co., and that on their showing Arnold & Co. had on hand $160,000 more assets than their liabilities; that two different examinations of these concerns were made by him and his deputies, and that in the last report of November and December, 1902, his report to the department recommended that they be cited to appear before the department and answer as to their liability for criminal use of the mails, and that so far as his report went they were notified that there was a case pending against them; that the ruling of the department was not in accordance with his recommendation; that from the evidence it appears that the department at Washington, by some process or other unknown to your committee, overruled the recommendations of the inspector, dismissed the cases pending against these companies, and they were allowed to proceed with their process of absorbing the people's money. Had the department at Washington acted promptly and properly upon the recommendation of the inspector, millions of dollars would have been saved to the people of the State of Missouri and other states. "In order to protect the people who are attracted by the fair promises and the payment of extraordinary profits or dividends, and to prohibit the improper and vicious misapplication and absorption of the money of the people who confide in the representation of investment companies, your committee recommends that a law be passed which will prohibit the doing of business by said turf investment companies or other like institutions in this state." If one should moralize on the turf swindles it would only be to repeat the old story--avarice. Nothing else explains why they are permitted to flourish and rob, and then a newspaper story and no more. Justice, blind and decrepit, is unable to scale the insurmountable barrier of the swindlers' "bank roll." But there is still hope, for from Washington we hear from day to day that another boodler has been landed in the grand jury net--thanks to President Roosevelt, who, if he knew all, would do more. When the last paragraph was written the finale had not been reached. But the strong arm of the federal government has at last been felt and the turf investment companies are no more. It is impossible for even the veriest sucker to be taken in by them any more, and their literature would be barred from the mails in an instant. It is all over with the turf investment companies. "_Requiescat in pace._" May they rest in peace. FAKE DRUG VENDORS. A MOST DANGEROUS FORM OF RASCALITY. Drugs Worth $30,000 Seized. War on Makers of Imitations of Medicines Begun by the Chicago Police in Charge of Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge. In all the history of fraud, imposture and graft, there is no story to parallel that of the "fake drug clique." There is no means of finding out how many thousands of lives are annually sacrificed in consequence of its nefarious practices, and the strong arm of the law while it can reach out and prevent further crime, can not call back to life those who have been offered up on the altar of greed. Sensational raids made in the effort to clear Chicago of its numerous "Fake" patent medicine concerns, occurred on the morning of Nov. 29, 1904. The raids followed a long conference between Chief of Police Francis O'Neill and Col. James E. Stuart, Chief Inspector of Chicago Postal Department, and for the first time in the history of the city, the Federal and City forces worked in unison. They decided that Chicago should be cleared of "Fake" Patent Medicine Concerns which for years had been using the mails to defraud hundreds of thousands of sick and weak persons. George G. Kimball, U. S. Inspector of Mails, and Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge were assigned to gather the evidence and prepare the cases for prosecution. The work was no easy task. Both officers went about the work of gathering the evidence in a thoroughly systematic manner. Inspector Kimball discovered the mails were employed extensively by the agents in disposing of their spurious drugs. Investigation proved that large orders were sent to small suburban towns and cities weekly. The correspondence, circulars and goods were secured. The breaking up of the drug ring, however, was a delicate task. It was strongly backed financially, and it was aided and abetted, throughout the United States, by political rings galore. Chicago was the headquarters, and it was natural that to the police department of this city, ever-famed for its hatred of "grafts" big and little, should fall the lot of exterminating the traffic. Detective Wooldridge gathered the information in Chicago, the names of the firms, location and the men who owned them. The men are charged with making and selling a spurious preparation of aristol, a product made in Germany, and valued as a substitute for iodoform. Their products were represented as genuine, were said to differ from those handled by the wholesale drug trade, only in the fact that they were imported from Canada and England instead of from Germany. Here are a few of the things discovered in the course of the investigation by Detective C. R. Wooldridge. The statements are printed from an interview with the great detective. "As we have progressed the work has broadened and grown to proportions never anticipated at the start. Among the goods seized were found boxes, the labels of which bore the chemical name and formula of trional, and which gave an exact description of the chemical and physical properties of trional and the medicinal indications of this drug. "On examination it was found that these boxes contained pure acetanilid. The dosage of drugs recommended upon the label was fifteen to twenty grains, and it was stated 'that night sweats of phthisis are promptly arrested by eight grains." "I am informed that it is within the professional knowledge of every druggist as well as every physician that the substitution, grain for grain, of acetanilid, for trional, is a most reprehensible fraud, which might cause the death of the patient to whom the drug was administered. "As indicating the commercial fraud connected with this substitution, it should be stated that the price charged for this drug by the defendants in this case, as shown by the price list, was 95 cents per ounce, commercial value of acetanilid is one and one half cents per ounce. "But by far the largest fraud found was in the counterfeit label business. There were 2,400 metal caps for bottles stamped with the name of a Swiss manufacturer. There were also labels purporting to be German or Swiss labels. A number of half filled bottles, waiting for the adulterants, showed conclusively the use to which these labels were to be put. "We were fortunate enough to find certain cards and bills in this place indicating that the makers of these metal caps and labels had never been nearer Switzerland or Germany than Clark and Harrison streets. Acting upon this information we secured evidence that these articles were made in Chicago and never imported. "These entire preparations including the mixing, boxing, labeling and placing upon the market was done by these parties here in Chicago, and the goods, much of it undoubtedly, placed in the hands of innocent purchasers, who were deceived by the external appearance of genuineness, into purchasing the adulterated and fraudulent goods, without analysis or investigation of any kind. "The great public, the individuals who use these drugs when prescribed by their physician, are themselves in total ignorance of the fact, not only that they have defrauded and cheated, but perhaps placed in jeopardy of their lives. "There were found among these boxes seized, certain receptacles which bore labels stating that aristol was contained therein. On examination by reputable chemists at the Columbus Laboratories, the powder in these boxes was found to be fullers earth, colored with oxide of iron, not containing a single trace of aristol. The aristol, which was quoted on the price lists as 'equal to Bayer's' was sold at 80 cents per ounce, at which almost a ton of fullers earth and oxide of iron could be purchased. "The evidence was procured and chemical tests made which proved the presence of alien matter in the prescriptions which called for pure drugs. In nearly 20 per cent of the samples obtained there was not even a trace of the drug called for in the prescription; Acetanilid as a substitute for trional-aristol, which is an antiseptic wash much used by surgeons. "Prescriptions were sent to 139 druggists signed by Dr. J. Scott Brown, calling for pure aristol. Dr. J. A. Wesener of the Columbus Laboratories conducted the tests. WHAT THE TEST SHOWED. (The results) Dr. Wesener showed the following: 23 prescriptions No trace of aristol 66 prescriptions 80 per cent impurity 10 prescriptions 20 per cent impurity 9 prescriptions 10 per cent impurity 31 prescriptions pure "Druggists have been misled into purchasing this substitute for aristol by unscrupulous salesmen, who have palmed off on them a substance which in many cases is nothing more than 'fuller's earth,' said Dr. Wesener. This stuff was sold to them cheap. "The druggist can have no excuse for selling this stuff, which is injurious, because it is an easy matter for him to test it to find out whether it is aristol or not. Aristol is soluble in either, and makes a dark brown solution. Some of the powder which we have obtained on these prescriptions is not soluble at all. We have not completed the chemical analysis of all the precipitates, but those which we have tried consist of chalk mixed with an iron oxide to give it the color, or some other mineral substance." The two leading imitations are as follows: Spurious preparation of aristol, and an imitation of triethylate which is a substitute for trional. Aristol sells at $1.85 an ounce and triethylate retails at $1.50 an ounce. The cost of manufacturing the two imitations is about 2 cents an ounce. DANGER TO THE PATIENT. "The adulteration of aristol is liable to be fraught with serious consequences to the patient. It is extremely dangerous to introduce a mineral substance into an open wound, and many surgeons who have used this adulterated antiseptic, having bought it in good faith for the pure drug, have been at a loss to know why the wounds have suppurated. It is possible this adulterated drug may have caused numberless cases of blood poison with consequent loss of life." HASTENED McKINLEY'S DEATH. It is even whispered that one of the products sold by this gang as a counterfeit of a standard article hastened the death of President William McKinley. The story goes that when the physicians sent to the nearest drug store for a certain kind of medicine they were given a substance which resembled it in every way but which was spurious. It is said the drug had exactly the opposite effect upon the president from what the doctors had reason to suppose it would have. Some there are who even declare that the application of the genuine article at that critical time would have saved the life of William McKinley. Otta G. Stoltz, druggist at 60 Rush street, Chicago, Ill., assisted by his porter, manufactured the spurious drugs in his basement for E. A. Kuehmsted. In manufacturing the standard remedy of aristol, he used fifty per cent of various ingredients, and fifty per cent of rosin. It was called "Thymistol, manufactured by the Mexican Chemical Company," and substituted for aristol. There was no such a company in Mexico. The goods, boxes and labels were made in Chicago, Illinois, and the stuff was sold to the druggists for one half the price of the genuine aristol. The gang was ostensibly engaged in selling to the retail drug trade infringements of a large number of patented drugs, manufactured in Germany. Their products were represented to be genuine, differing from those handled by the legitimate wholesale drug trade only in the fact that they were imported by them direct from Canada and England, thereby evading payment of royalty to the American patentees. As a matter of fact, the peddlers used the cry of monopoly under the patents merely as a pretext for ingratiating themselves with the retail druggists, and then foisted upon them many adulterated and spurious imitations of the imported preparations. The drugs imitated are standard medical preparations, dispensed on physician's prescription by every retail pharmacist. These remedies are in so general use that at least one-half the prescriptions written by physicians call for one or other of them. LETTER FROM EDWARD A. KUEHMSTED, THE PRINCIPAL DEALER IN SPURIOUS DRUGS; IT IS SELF-EXPLANATORY. Chicago, Ill., July 24, 1902. MR. M. R. ZAEGEL. Sheboygan, Wis. My Dear Mr. Zaegel: Although I have been selling bogus Phenacetine and a lot of other bogus goods for over three years. I have never had the pleasure of selling you any of them. I should very much like to do so, and feel that I can give you satisfaction both in goods and prices. Some time ago I perfected arrangements to get my supplies direct from Europe, where the supply is not so limited as in Canada, and I can do much better in price. The enclosed list gives my complete line. All items with prices attached I have in stock and can supply without delay. Other items are continually arriving. The prices I have made you are, I think, exceptionally low, and I trust they will induce you to give me a trial. Express charges I prepay. Trusting I may be favored with your valued orders, I am, Very respectfully, EDWARD A. KUEHMSTED. 6323 Ingleside Ave., Chicago, Ill. THE STATE LAWS COVERING THE FRAUDULENT ADULTERATION OF DRUGS AND MEDICINES FOR THE PURPOSE OF SALE, READS AS FOLLOWS. "Section 10, Chapter 38 of Hurd's Revised Statutes of Illinois for 1903. Whoever fraudulently adulterates, for the purpose of sale, any drug or medicine, or sells or offers or keeps for sale any fraudulently adulterated drug or medicine, knowing the same to be adulterated, shall be confined in the County Jail not exceeding one year, or fined not exceeding $1,000, and such adulterated drugs and medicines shall be forfeited and destroyed." After the great mass of evidence had been gathered it was submitted to the Chief of Police, Francis O'Neill, who instructed Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge to lay the matter before John K. Prindiville, Justice of Peace, and if he would issue warrants to go ahead and search the premises and make arrest. Desk Sergeant Mike White looked upon as an expert by the police Department drew the complaints and warrants which were duly signed and a detail of 20 picked men was assigned to Detective Wooldridge with instructions to go ahead, and on Oct. 29, 1904, they were divided into four squads and they swooped down on the five Medicine concerns at one time without giving them any warning. The following is a list of the parties arrested: W. G. Nay, alias S. B. Soper, 1452 Fulton street; over $2,000 worth of spurious stuff seized. Nay and wife arrested. Burtis B. M'Cann, alias George A. Barton, 6113 Madison avenue, $2,500 worth of stuff seized. McCann arrested. J. J. Dean, 6123 Ellis avenue; $5,000 worth of spurious medicines seized; Dean and wife arrested. J. N. Levy, 359 Dearborn street; $500 worth seized. Edward A. Kuehmsted, 6323 Ingleside avenue, and Isabella Kuehmsted were arrested; over $12,000 worth of spurious drugs were seized by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, Sergeant William M. McGrath, Sergeant Thomas Fitzpatrick, Officers Terence N. Kelly, Mathew J. Reilly, Michael O'Neill, Thomas Ready, Michael McGuire, August C. Dolan, Patrick Quinn, Thomas Daly, Bernard Conway. V. Goldberg, a partner of Edward Kuehmsted, appeared on the scene and tried to prevent the officers from taking the goods. He was locked up on the charge of disorderly conduct and on the following morning entered a plea of guilty before Justice John R. Caverly and was fined $1 and cost. John G. Campbell, alleged attorney for Edward A. Kuehmsted, appeared upon the scene and tried to force his way into the house while the drug was being removed. He also tried to prevent the officers from taking the drugs and threatened to whip them, pulled his coat off and assaulted Detective Wooldridge. He too was sent to the Harrison Street Station and locked up. The prisoners arrested in the raid were sent to the Harrison Street Police Station together with eleven wagonloads of drugs seized, which were valued at $30,000. Upon the arrival of the prisoners and the drugs, a United States warrant was served upon them, charging the defendants with using the mails to defraud, also a duces tecum subpoena was served for the drugs seized in the raid to be brought into the United States court forthwith, was served upon Detective Wooldridge, and other officers by United States Marshal. The two ex-convicts were Levy, who was also known under the aliases of Charles Meyers, R. Waldron, and R. Cassat and George Edwards. Under the latter name he served a year in Joliet. Hass was the other ex-convict. His Sing Sing number was B 5574. Yet under the administration of the law under the justice shop system these men, who sold chalk and water mixed with idorn oxides for an antiseptic, finally managed to get out of the clutches of the law on a compromise adjudication, concerning which the State's Attorney alone knew the details. Then the insolent vendors of fake drugs thought they saw a chance to get back at the officers of the law. They found a nice little loop-hole in the fact that when the raids were made a few chemicals, which were not contraband had been seized, in the rush and scurry of the raid. Therefore a suit was brought against Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, Charles M. Carr, editor of the N. A. R. D. Notes, a police publication, Henry D. Morton, Chief of Police Francis O'Neill, the Farbenfabriken Co. and Wooten. The suit called for heavy damages. After going over the evidence the court of first resort awarded damages of $1.00. Rather than be put to the cost of an appeal this $1.00 was paid by the defendants. But the business of vending fake drugs in the city of Chicago had been broken up and the city made unsafe for this most detestable class of swindlers, who prey upon the sick and wounded and endanger human life by the sale of their nostrums. "It was worth $1.00 to put the rascally crew out of business," said Detective Wooldridge afterward in discussing the matter. "It is surely worth a dollar to a man to know that he has been instrumental in saving thousands of human lives." And there the matter rested. BUCKET-SHOP. Every day the American people squander $100,000 in fictitious speculation in grain. There are 1,000 bucket shops operating in the United States at this time, their geographical distribution marked by the boundaries of the country. For each of these 1,000 shops an average of $100 a day gross income is necessary to meet its expenses, chief of which are for wire and ticker service and blackboard writers. Thus, in order that 1,000 of these shops may live and remain open, they must have $100 a day each, which, in a year of 300 days, means an income of $300,000,000 annually. Many of these bucket shops fail for lack of money, while others "fail" in order that they may keep the money of the investor. While $100,000 a day as the losses of the people in the illegitimate speculation in grain is very conservative, one must add another $100,000 a day as tribute which the gullible pay to the fake "get-rich-quick" and kindred sharper concerns of the country. "SPECULATION" AN UNMEANING TERM. Yet with this $100,000 a day going into the hopper of frenzied speculation of all kinds, Bradstreet's for the year 1907 showed business failures from speculation as one-eighth of 1 per cent of the total failures of the country. Whatever may be Bradstreet's definition of the word "speculation," as used in his lists, the word to the average business man who knows whereof he talks is as unmeaning as any other in the business dictionary. Suppose a man somewhere in a country town loses money in any speculative venture anywhere under the sun. If it is a few dollars only, he may not speak of it at all. If it is enough to embarrass him, perhaps he may have to speak. Under these circumstances the best possible thing to do is to explain that he lost it "on the Chicago Board of Trade." If he has no credit at stake in the matter, and is sore, he may yell murder over his losses "on the board." But hundreds of such men have lost their money in bucket shops, and scores of them have lost it at poker or some other gambling game. "BOARD OF TRADE" FALSELY BLAMED. Every little while a banker somewhere goes wrong with funds that are intrusted to him, and in the telling of the story the "Chicago Board of Trade" is the secret of his undoing. One of the marked cases of the kind was that of the Aurora banker who defalcated with $90,000, "lost on the Board of Trade." But when the story was run down it was discovered that his money was lost in a bucket shop in Hammond, Ind., which had been driven out of Chicago through the efforts of the Chicago Board. When $100,000, at a conservative estimate, every day, is lost by the American public in bucket shops, just the thing that such a shop is "in being" should be of economic interest and consideration. Within the knowledge of tens of thousands of citizens some acquaintance or person of whom they have had personal knowledge has gone "broke" in grain speculation. Yet to find a man who has lost his fortune on the race tracks or in a gambling den is not at all an easy task. Without a question the gambling losses in the bucket shop are more serious in consequences the country over than the losses in any other one kind of gaming, for the reason that the man who could afford to confess losses at horse racing or at cards may retain his character as a business man to a far greater extent by having lost at a "little flyer in grain." WHAT IS A BUCKET SHOP. I have frequently been requested to define bucket shops--a most difficult task, owing to the variety of disguises which they assume and the outward similarity which they bear to legitimate brokerage. The following definition covers the essential features of bucket shops from the standpoint of an expert. A bucket shop is an establishment conducted nominally and ostensibly for the transaction of a grain, cotton or stock exchange business. The proprietor, with or without the consent of the patron, takes one side of every deal that is made in his place, the patron taking the other, no article being bought or sold in any public market. Bucket shops counterfeit the speculative trading on exchanges. Continuous market quotations of an exchange are the essence, the very sinew of the gambling business carried on in a bucket shop, being used as dice are used, to determine the result of a bet. The market quotations posted in a bucket shop are exactly similar to those posted in a legitimate broker's office, but they are displayed for a different purpose. The broker posts the quotations for the purpose of showing what the market has been on the exchange as a matter of news. The bucket shop posts them as the terms upon which its patrons may make bets with the keeper. A bucket shop is destroyed if it loses its supply of quotations. Margins deposited with the bucket shop proprietor by the patrons are nothing but the patrons' stakes to the wager, and are appropriated by the proprietor when the fluctuations of the price on the exchange whose quotations are the basis of the bet, reach the limit of the deposit, one party (the proprietor) to the bet acting as stakeholder. The commissions charged by the bucket shopkeepers are odds in its favor, and necessary in order to maintain their pretense of being legitimate brokers making the transaction on an exchange. READY TO MAKE ALL DEALS. The bucket shop proprietor is ready to make all deals offered in any commodity that fluctuates in price. He may call himself banker and broker, or commission merchant, or disguise his business under the form of an incorporated enterprise or exchange. But he is still a common gambler. The interest of the proprietor of a bucket shop is at all times opposed to that of his patrons, as the profits of the shop are measured by the losses of the patrons. Bucket shops should not be confounded with the great public markets of the world, where buyer and seller, producer and consumer, investor and speculator meet in legitimate trade; for the pretended buying of millions of bushels of grain in bucket shops will not add a fraction of a cent to the price of the product of the farm, nor will the pretended selling of as much increase the supplies of the consumer or lessen the cost of his loaf a farthing. Nor should they be confounded with the offices of legitimate brokers which they endeavor to imitate in appearance. NAME COINED IN LONDON. The term "bucket shop," as now applied in the United States, was first used in the late '70s. It was coined in London fifty years ago, when it had absolutely no reference to any species of speculation or gambling. Beer swillers from the East Side (London) went from street to street with buckets, draining every keg they came across and picking up cast-off cigar butts. Arriving at a den they gathered for social amusement around a table and passed the bucket as a loving cup, each taking a "pull" as it came his way. In the interval were smoking and rough jokes. The den came to be called a bucket shop. Later the term was applied, both in England and the United States, as a byword of reproach to small places where grain and stock deals were counterfeited. Yet the bucket shop is a gambling den par excellence, with all the paraphernalia necessary for the deception of the unsuspecting. One may place a $10 bet in the bucket shop, pay a commission of 25 per cent to the "bucket shopper," who may so shuffle the "cards" that the bettor may have to lose, even after he has won. As an example: GAME NEATLY FIXED. The one thing absolutely necessary to the bucket shop are quotations, never from a legitimate board of trade, but through leased wires, or wire tappings, or from some other fake source. For the instant that the "quotations" cannot be written upon the blackboards the betting must cease. The bet of the customer is that before a certain grain drops off a point against him, it will advance a point or more in his favor, and the bucket shopper takes the bet, holding the stake himself. Frequently the bettor may realize that he has won a point, or two, or three, and may insist upon the bucket shop selling for him. Perhaps the victim lives at a distance from the shop and must write or wire his "broker." He wires for the "broker" to sell, and perhaps gets a message in reply to the effect that the market must go much better than that; that he refuses to sacrifice his patron's best interests in that way, and will hold on for the certain rise. In most cases this patron is immensely flattered, until within a few days the market is "off" again, wiping out not only his profits, but his original margins as well. HOW THE SUCKERS ARE SKINNED. Or if on a certain day the customer takes advantage of a rise in the commodity bet upon, and insists upon closing out the deal, it is most frequently settled by the bucket shop upon the lowest figure for the day. Occasionally, indeed, where a bucket shop keeper has allowed one or more customers to "win" a considerable figure from it through some untoward turn in figures, the whole shop closes up and disappears, leaving the victims no redress at law for the reason that they have left the money voluntarily in the hands of the sharpers. Occasionally the country branch office of one of these central bucket shops may clean out a town of its currency until the scarcity of money in the place may demoralize the every-day business of the town. That the man who tries to beat the bucket shop has an impossible task in front of him in investigating the $10 bet, the commonest in the shop. The man with the bill steps up to the window and asks to buy ten shares of American Sugar at $110 a share, paying 25 per cent out of the $10 as commission. Then, counting that the bucket shop might be as nearly straight as such an institution can be, remember that the decline of Sugar three-quarters of a point will wipe out the bettor's $10, while for him to win another $10, Sugar will have to advance to $111.25. In short, the customer is betting against a proposition which will lose him $10 if Sugar declines 75 cents, while to win $10 it must advance $1.25, in either case the bucket shop holding his money and taking 25 cents in tolls. OTHER "FAKES" "BOOST" THE GAME. In the machinations of the bucket shop interests and those of kindred concerns that are garnering this $100,000 a day from the American people, the fake trade journal has had much to do; the fake mercantile agency, reporting extravagantly upon the responsibility and wealth of the schemers, has played extensively upon the credulity of men and women; fake banks and bankers have come into existence for the completion of the work of the others, and have been by no means the least in the category of rascality; the whole aggregation has been lending back and forth the "sucker lists," which is an interchangeable lists of names and addresses of men and women who have "bitten" at one scheme and may be promising of a rise to another of different type under a new title. On file in the office of a Chicago man of affairs at the present moment is a series of interesting letters, which he shows occasionally to a friend. These letters are especially eloquent of a spirit of investment which is in the country today and which prompts the "biting" at almost any sort of flaunting announcement of quick riches. The letters are from a young man holding an official job under the government at Washington. BIG DIVIDEND PROMISES FALSE. The first letter is apologetic for reminding the addressee that he is an old friend of the writer's family; but it recites that the young man has about $200 in bank which he has saved from his salary, and which he is disposed to invest with a certain company if his friend in Chicago thinks the prospects are in line with good business and responsibility. Evidently the Chicago man does not regard the concern as dependable, for the next letter expresses thanks for saving the writer loss, but asks a further question of a concern that promises 20 per cent a month on cash investments in grain. The third letter, recognizing all that the old friend from Chicago has done, explains that he has only a fair salary from which it is hard to save much money, and this fact has led him to the necessity of considering an investment of his savings that promise large returns, and yet at the same time promise the maximum of safety. Having established his reasons for such ventures, he suggests to the friend: "Perhaps you can answer all I want to know in a single reply. 'Are any of these concerns promising dividends of 50 per cent and such to be depended on'?" And the Chicago man's letter, in substance, reads: "No!" "OUTSIDER" HAS NO CHANCE. Speculation, for the most part, as in the case of this young man, means for the average intelligence a possibility for placing money in a side line where quick and profitable returns may be expected, wholly independent of the person's occupation. To the man who knows what the best of the speculative market is, the necessity for all of the time and attention and best judgment of the speculator is imperative. It is a business in which only the best business methods succeed. On the boards of trade the commission merchants may be wholly apart from any risk in even the legitimate trading, taking the commission of one-eighth of a cent a bushel in buying and selling. On the Board of Trade of Chicago the designated leading speculative articles, in their order, are wheat, corn, oats, rye, barley, mess pork, lard, short ribs, live hogs and cotton. A year's grain crop may be 650,000,000 bushels of wheat, 2,500,000,000 bushels of corn, 900,000,000 bushels of oats, 150,000,000 bushels of barley, and 30,000,000 bushels of rye. Bucket shops have been condemned by statutes as criminal and pernicious in many states in the Union, but anti-bucket shop laws are rarely enforced by public servants whose duty it is to enforce them. Prosecutions thus far, except in Illinois, have been left to private citizens or associations for the suppression of gambling. The "bucket shop" has, within a few years past, sprung from comparative inconsequence into an institution of formidable wealth and threatening proportions. There are nearly a thousand in the United States. Every large city in the west has at least one. Having banded together in a strong combination they sneer at legislation. Opulent and powerful they scoff at antagonistic public opinion. ON LEVEL WITH LOTTERY AND FARO BANK. The "bucket shop," like the lottery and the faro bank, finds its profits in its customers' losses. If its patrons "buy" wheat and wheat goes up, the "bucket shop" loses. Many a bucket shop commission merchant would hardly know wheat from oats, and none of their grain and produce "exchanges" ever had a sample bag on its counters. Their transactions are wagers and their existence is an incitement to gambling under the guise of commercial transactions. The pernicious influences of the gaming house are, in the bucket shop, surrounded by the allurement of a cloak of respectability and the assumption of business methods. The legitimate exchange is a huge time and labor saving machine. Its benefits are universal. While its privileges are valuable they have been rendered so only by hard work, and its members are entitled to the protection of the state against thieves. The "bucket shop" is a thief. The quotations upon which the "bucket shop" trades are the product of the labor and intelligence and information of the exchange. The exchange gathers its news at great cost from all over the globe and disseminates it for public advantage. But its quotations should be its own property. They are the direct product of its energy, its foresight and its business sagacity. The "bucket shop," at no parallel cost, usurps the functions of the exchange and endeavors to secure for itself the returns for a labor performed by others. Were it to use honorable methods with its patrons it would be a dishonorable institution. Using the methods it does, the "bucket shop" is twice dishonored. As a matter of fact, all other forms of gambling or swindling are commonplace and comparatively innocent when compared to the "bucket shop" which has caused more moral wrecks, more dismantled fortunes and made more of the innocent suffer than any other agency of diabolism. Just why so brazen an iniquity in the guise of speculation should be allowed to exist it is difficult to explain. OPEN GAMBLING UNDER BAN. Open gambling has been placed under the ban of civic reform. While the policy shop, the lottery and other less dangerous methods of swindling have been effectively stamped out of most cities, the "bucket shop tiger" continues to rend the ambitions of young and old, dragging them down to forgery, embezzlement, suicide,--or that which is quite as bad,--broken spirit for legitimate endeavor. Under the circumstances the sympathy of the public should be with the movement to drive "bucket shops" out of business, to close them along with all other gambling institutions. It is time that something was done to check the growing evil of gambling on produce, cotton and stock exchange quotations. A beginning has been made, but the movement has not gone far enough. These excrescences on the body politic have multiplied rapidly and so dangerously near do they come to being popular that the mercantile community owes it to itself to apply the knife at once. Moreover, there is no form of gambling more disastrous to the player than "bucket shop" gambling. Its semi-respectability and likeness in many outward features to regular and reputable commission houses makes it the most insidious of all temptations to the young speculator and aspirant for wealth. It is the open door to ruin. [Illustration: THAT NEW LEAF] OPEN DOOR TO RUIN. Men do not blush at being seen in a "bucket shop" as they would if caught in a faro bank or poker room though they are drawn thither by the same passion for gambling that takes them to the regular gambling den. The "bucket shop" successfully carries on a worse swindling game than the "blacklegs." The wealth the chief "bucket shop" men of the country have acquired proves this. Men can be pointed out in Chicago, New York and other cities of the country who have amassed fortunes at the business while their thousands of victims are impoverished and ruined. Persons desiring to speculate or invest can avoid "bucket shops" and "fake" brokers by making a preliminary and independent investigation into the character of the broker and the merits of the enterprise. If they accept the statements and references of promoters of schemes without making such investigations they are not entitled to sympathy if they are robbed. Legitimate brokers do not resort to sensational advertising; they do not guarantee profits; nor do they solicit funds to invest on their judgment. The functions of a broker or commission merchant are to receive and execute the order of his customers. When he offers to do more (except in the way of giving market news, advice or conservative opinions) he should be avoided. Promoters of pools and syndicates and disseminators of advance information should be carefully avoided. ON "SURE THINGS." HOW TO LEARN THEIR REAL CHARACTER. The cleverness and boldness with which the up-to-date investment swindler plies his craft are almost incredible. Wherever you find a fraudulent scheme you will find both of these elements present in some degree--but the comparative proportion of one to the other is generally determined by the element of time of operation. For example, if the projectors of a scheme are old hands at the game and have established records of the wrong sort, then the idea of quick results is not only attractive, but often imperative. There are many "old offenders" in the profession of investment swindling who have been convicted and have "done time" in jails and penitentiaries, but have not yet learned to prefer straight to crooked finance. Men of this character realize that a "quick getaway" is a cardinal essential of success; they must complete the transaction and get in the harvest before there is time for the public to wake up and do any investigating. The length to which the bolder spirits in this class will go almost surpasses credibility. Here is an example, discovered by Detective Wooldridge of Chicago, of the tricks to which they will resort in order to create the impression of having the backing of men or institutions of strength and character: Through introduction by social friends, the local representative of an investment scheme was able to open a checking account with a banking and trust company in a big city--a company of such high standing that it is very widely known outside of financial circles and among people of small means. Its endorsement was worth "ready money" to any enterprise, and the fact was keenly appreciated by the "fiscal agents" of the Brite & Fair Bonanza Company. After the opening of his personal checking account the fiscal agent lost no time in cultivating the acquaintance of the trust officer of the banking institution, which did a very large business in the discharge of trusts. One day the depositor came to this officer and explained that he had a very simple little trust which he wished to have executed. Finding it necessary to leave the city for a few days, he wished to provide for the delivery of a sealed package, containing "valuable papers," to a man whose name and personal description was given. The person to call for the package would leave a certified check, in the amount of $1,000, which was to be placed to the credit of the "fiscal agent" of the Brite & Fair Bonanza Company, whose business connections were unknown to the trust officer of the banking and trust company. ALL "BRITE & FAIR." Weeks later the trust officer was astonished to receive from an old personal friend, who was knocking about in the west, a circular of the Brite & Fair Bonanza Company, in which the big trust company was designated as "trustee" for the "B. & F." stocks. As the friend who forwarded the circular knew something of the wildcat nature of the Brite & Fair enterprise, his comments on the folly of the bank's accepting such a "trust" had an edge on them. When the matter was investigated it was found that the whole plot had been carefully concocted and worked up; that the circulars had been printed and put in directed envelopes ready for mailing in advance of the placing of the so-called "trust," and that when the trust officer of the solid financial institution had given his receipt for the "sealed package said to contain valuable papers," a telegram had been sent by the "fiscal agent" to "mail out trustee circulars." The man in this scheme, of course, believed that, as the circulars were being mailed out into a territory about a thousand miles from the city in which the banking and trust company was located, the trust officer who had been imposed upon would never hear of the misuse of his receipt for a "dummy" package which actually contained certificates of the mining company's stock. Why did the men who worked this scheme to steal the moral support of the big trust company go to so great pains to get it? Because fake investment operators have found it profitable to take every precaution to give the color of legality to their acts, they have found it profitable to hire shrewd legal pilots to tell them just how far they may go in a given direction without running upon the reefs of the United States postoffice's "fraud order" or upon the rocks of a "conspiracy" prosecution. DODGE UNCLE SAM AND CONSPIRACY LAWS. Take it in the incident above related: Had these men been prosecuted for falsely using the name of the trust company or for obtaining money by misrepresentation (the claim that the trust company was acting as trustee for the Brite & Fair securities), an able lawyer could have made out of the "trust" to transfer a package of unknown contents a very plausible defense. Again, the mining company was able to make valuable use of the trust company's receipt for the package by having fac similes of the receipt printed and distributed among solicitors for the stock who were canvassing persons not at all familiar with legal documents--and who, under the statements and arguments of the agent, would see in the receipt an acknowledgment that this great trust company and its millions were behind the securities of the Brite & Fair Company. This brings us straight to the practical point in the matter. Never go into an investment until you first find out for yourself, by direct and first-hand investigation, what the "references" named in the literature or advertising matter of the company have to say about it, and how much the references themselves amount to. WILDCATS GIVE GOOD REFERENCE. Promoters of wildcat investment enterprises have used hundreds of names as references which they had not the shadow of right to use--calculating that persons credulous enough to be interested in the proposition would also be credulous enough to say, "These references will speak well enough for the enterprise, else their names would not be given out for this purpose," and to act without making any inquiries of them. Again, some man of prominence and great faith may have been, at the start, a believer in the enterprise and willing to say, within certain limitations, that he believed the venture could be made a success if conducted according to certain plans and under given restrictions. This does not signify that he will continue to retain that confidence or that he is willing to be understood as giving the venture his unqualified endorsement, or to say to the public which respects his name and position: "Come and share this enterprise with me; put your money into it, for it's a good thing." Detective Wooldridge, who has examined many of these concerns, desires to place special emphasis upon the crafty use which these companies make of the names and services of reputable "trust" companies. He uses the word "services" because a trust company may execute a "trust" in connection with bonds, stocks, property or securities without really assuming any general financial or moral responsibility for those securities or without becoming a sponsor for them. In a word, the trust company may engage to act as an escrow agent to see that a certain technical transaction is completed, and nothing more. That means this: The trust company consents to hold the stakes between two parties, but without the slightest responsibility as to the value of those stakes or what may be done with them after the stipulations as to the conditions precedent to delivery have been fulfilled. Because a trust company acts as the trustee of a certain bond issued there is no warrant for a prospective investor to feel that the resources of the trust company are in any sense behind these deeds as a guarantee of values. Another word of caution: Whenever you see the name of an educator, a pastor or a popular politician, or any other leader having a hold on the sentiment of a community used in connection with an investment offering, look into it carefully and take no step until the person mentioned has been questioned directly by you. HUGE SWINDLES BARED. Officers of Four Underwriting and Guarantee Companies Arrested by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge. Charges Are Bogus Underwriting and Fraudulent Inspection of Properties. All the officers of the four biggest underwriting and guarantee companies in the west, with headquarters in Chicago, were arrested. They were charged with having engineered the boldest and most comprehensive swindle ever exposed in this country. [Illustration: GETT, RICH & CO. PROMOTERS OF "GOOD THINGS"] The following are the names of the men arrested for running The Central State Underwriting and Guarantee corporation room 1306, Tribune building: W. H. Hulbert, H. B. Hudson, Francis Owings, M. J. Roughen, W. H. Todd, were arrested for running a confidence game. W. H. Todd jumped his bond and fled to St. Louis, Mo., where he was apprehended and brought back by Detective Wooldridge. $300,000,000 CAPITAL. The book of the Central State Underwriting and Guarantee corporation had promoted 300 corporations and companies which were capitalized at $300,000,000. Stock bonds were issued which was guaranteed by this company. This company further agreed to sell these bonds and stocks to raise the money to financier these companies. The complaint was made by the Compensating Pipe Organ Company, through C. V. Wisner. The firm is located at Battle Creek, Mich. W. H. Todd & Co. was employed by the Pipe Organ Company to make a bond issue of $150,000. The brokerage firm, he said, demanded a 1 per cent deposit, amounting to $1,500. This was paid, according to Wisner's complaint, and Todd & Company undertook to deposit the money with another underwriting company. Then, he asserts, the bond issue was never made, and Todd & Company failed to repay the $1,500. The firm conducts a banking, brokerage and underwriting business at room 803, 112 Dearborn street. DID HEAVY BUSINESS. Rare oriental rugs, the most costly tables and chairs, and elaborate grandfather clocks, together with an amazing amount of polished brass work and plate glass, were found in each of the imposing offices raided by the deputy marshals. The Central States Underwriting & Guarantee Company did a business commensurate with the costly environment. The books of the concern show that from February 1, 1903, to August 5, 1906, 643 corporations throughout the United States paid money to the Central States concern, and the aggregate amount paid was $340,000. [Illustration: AT LAST!] Advertisements were placed in all the leading papers throughout the country, circulars were distributed broadcast with propositions that capital could be obtained for corporations and manufacturing enterprises by addressing this company. The officers of corporations replying to these advertisements would be asked to call at the Chicago offices of the companies. The brokers acquainted with the scheme would then introduce the corporation officials to alleged capitalists who represented they had available capital to finance business propositions, and would buy the underwritten stock, provided the corporation officers would have them underwritten by responsible guarantee companies. It is asserted that these alleged capitalists would then advise that the work be done by the Central States Underwriting & Guarantee Company, the American Corporation & Securities Company, or the National Stock & Guarantee Company of San Francisco. SCHEME OF THE COMPANY. The brokers in the alleged fraudulent transactions would represent to the proposed victim that they would get no returns for their work unless they actually sold the stocks, and that they would be content with a commission of from one-half to 1 per cent on such stock as they sold. They assured the victims that there could be no doubt that the stock underwritten would be sold, as the capitalists to whom the victims had been introduced would be certain to buy them. The brokers would then take the men seeking the underwriting to the offices of the guarantee companies and arrange for guaranteeing the bonds on payment of a fee of 1 per cent of the amount of underwriting. The men arrested never entered into a proposition on which less than $100,000 was involved, and that they, in some cases, obtained $5,000,000 worth of stock to underwrite. Detective Wooldridge secured proof that the application fee which was paid by the officers of the corporations to the underwriting companies was always divided among those companies and the fraudulent brokers who had sent the corporation's officers to the supposed underwriters. THE GUARANTEE CO. METHODS. The Guarantee Company system is a new phase of "promotion" that has come to the surface during the past two years, but which, through police and legal investigation, has about reached its limit. A strictly legitimate guarantee company is modeled much after the Fidelity and Insurance Bond corporations. They issue secured bonds for all necessary business purposes, and are reputable and responsible. About 1903 a promotion gang in Chicago stole the name "Guarantee," and half a dozen fake guarantee companies were started. In all the phraseology of tricky finance there is no word so overworked as "guarantee." And this means that experience has proved it to be highly effective in the hooking of "suckers." Depend upon it, that no word or phrase achieves marked popularity in the literature of the "small investments" appeal which has not demonstrated its rare effectiveness as an agency of deception; the phrase that does not draw the money is promptly thrown out by these shrewd fishers of men, who check up their returns as accurately and systematically as the most legitimate mail order business. If the small investors of this country could reach anything like a fair knowledge of just how much and how little there is in each of these appealing "catch words" in each phrase, the plausibility of which has been scientifically tested, they would be well on the way toward being able to protect themselves against the cleverest and most convincing of these appeals. Perhaps the writer can do the public more service in analyzing a few of these "star phrases" than by any amount of denunciation of the wildcat schemes and schemers which deserve as harsh a characterization as any man can frame. [Illustration: RURAL RESIDENTS CANNOT BE TOO PROMPT IN TYING DOWN THEIR PROPERTY.] But, to return to the word "guarantee," which has attained first rank in the terminology of the investment trickster, there is scarcely a circular, folder or advertisement, or any other piece of literature put out by the pot hunters of small savings which does not display the word "guarantee" in big type, and with reiterated emphasis. If this institution chances to be of a financial character itself, rather than a mining, oil or industrial concern, the word "guarantee," or its twin, "security," will be found incorporated in the name chosen for the company. Get a list of 100 wildcat investment schemes which are dead beyond hope of resurrection, and it is a safe prediction that one-half the names will contain the word "guarantee" or "security." These two words are as common to the eye in the graveyard of fake investment schemes as is that of Smith, Jones or Brown in any country cemetery; they adorn practically every other tombstone in the last resting place of defunct financial frauds. The question of the value of either of these words in the title of a corporation or concern is disposed of by the statement that there is no legal restriction in the choice of names of companies; the organizers are as free to name their flimsy creation "The Rock of Gibraltar Guarantee Security Company" as the parent is to saddle a weak, under-sized male child with the name of Samson. And, as a rule, there is as much license or propriety in giving the name of the mighty enemy of the Philistines to a stunted boy as there is for applying the name "guarantee" or "security" to a company which is brought into being for the purpose of going out after the savings of the "small investor." Why? Because the companies which are really warranted in making either of these words a part of their corporate name do not have to go into the highways and hedges and beat the bushes for their business; it comes to them by force of their "financial strength." They have no need to drum it up. GOOD ADVICE ON "GUARANTEE." However, scores of oil, mining and investment companies which do not use either of these clever catchwords in their corporate titles cannot be charged with undervaluing the "pulling power" of such phrases; in their literature this kind of bait is employed with the greatest skill and plausibility. One of the most common ways in which this idea is dressed is this: "We guarantee you, under all conditions and at all times, to get you, without cost to yourself, the highest market price for your holdings." This sounds very assuring; it carries with it a protective and almost paternal atmosphere and seldom fails to inspire in the trusting investor the feeling that there is a strong hand always ready to take the investment off his shoulders the moment it threatens to become a burden. This particular phrase is especially fortunate and typical, by way of illustration, for the reason that it couples with the word "guarantee" another term which is a warm favorite with the word artists of the get-rich-quick studies. I allude to the phrase, "highest market value." Wherever either of these clever signals to credulity is displayed the possible investor should invariably remember these points: =First--A guarantee is never stronger than the guarantor.= =Second--A security only has a "market value" in the fair and true sense of the term where a large demand for it meets a large supply; there, and there only, exists an active market and a genuine "market value."= Let these two propositions (which any reputable banker or broker will tell you are axiomatic) be considered separately. There is no virtue in the word "guarantee." If this simple fact could have been firmly fixed in the minds of the small investors of this country they would have been saved the loss of millions of dollars since our present period of wonderful prosperity began. In these days of highly perfected business organization the process of finding out the responsibility of any financial or business concern has been reduced to an exact science and made available to all. Is it reasonable to suppose, under these conditions, that any company or corporation which cannot stand on its own feet can get any responsible concern to guarantee its bonds or other so-called securities? Never! Such a supposition is absurd on the face of it, and an instance where it has been done is not, so far as is known, to be found in actual practice. Dig down under the "guarantee" of the company which asks you to invest your savings and what do you find? That if you do invest you and your fellow victims are really your own guarantors; that the financial strength of the concern is really the money which you and your associates pour into it; that its only financial life blood comes from the purses of the small investors, and that when the stream of vitality from this source begins to dry up, the services of the financial undertaker are in near and inevitable demand. Reduced to its last analysis, the blacktype declaration of a "guarantee" in the literature of the "get-rich-quick" concern simply means that it has something to sell you. Generally, it is also an invitation to you to pay in advance for the flowers to adorn your own financial funeral. As to the other pet phrase, "highest market value," or market value of any kind, for that matter, a very few words will suggest the situation: Excepting where a very large demand meets an insufficient supply in a free, open and comparatively unmanipulated market, where sales are regularly made of record and those records command the respect and confidence of the legitimate financial public, there is no "market value" save that which is arbitrarily made by the broker. He is the market; he makes the price by the simple process of "thumbs up" or "thumbs down." The man who is on the "sucker" list of a wildcat concern receives an announcement that "all indications point to the conclusion that next week the stock of the Honor Bright Company will sell at not less than five points advance of the present price." The next week he gets notice that the prediction of an advance had proved true. If he is unsophisticated enough he receives the announcement with solemn credulity and credits the author of the promotion literature with great acumen and shrewd prophetic powers. He figures up the profits he would have made on the advance and condemns himself for not heeding the "confidential" advice to "buy quick." What he does not consider is the fact that he is dealing with a fictitious market, where the seller simply makes up his mind how much he will advance the stock in question and then, when the time comes, marks it up and makes the announcement of the "sharp advance." This trick is turned not only for the purpose of getting a larger price per share, but mainly to tickle the cupidity of hesitating investors and making sales which otherwise could not have been made. In order to understand how these companies operate, the actual experience of one victim will serve to explain the whole system. A country manufacturer, rated at $50,000, read an advertisement in a financial journal about as follows: "Capital Supplied--We have the means of furnishing any amount of capital for any meritorious industrial proposition. Address Lock Box XX, Chicago." The manufacturer wrote he wanted to raise $100,000 to increase his business, and offered to put in all his effects, stock and good will. He received a letter asking him to come to Chicago and visit the firm, which, for convenience, shall be described as "Cold Cash & Co." He did so. Cash received him in an elegant office with open arms. The manufacturer there re-stated his necessities. The affable broker informed him his proposition was a fine one, and said he could have the desired $100,000 within thirty days. "What would be the broker's fee?" he inquired. Only 5 per cent when $100,000 was in the hands of the manufacturer. Certainly an alluring prospect. But how was the money to be raised? The manufacturer was to incorporate his business for $200,000, and the broker would sell half of its capital stock at par. As the delighted "sucker" was about to leave the broker's office the latter, in the most off-hand manner, said: "Oh, by the way, Mr. Manufacturer, what arrangements have you made to guarantee your capital stock?" "Guarantee it? I don't understand you," replied the victim. "Bless you!" said the broker, "modern methods demand that all stock be guaranteed--quite the new order of things. We couldn't sell a share of stock nowadays unless it was guaranteed." "Explain!" "I will. You go to some guarantee company and have them agree to guarantee the payment of the principal of each share of stock sold at thirty years. Don't you see that makes your stock as solid as a government bond? "The guarantee company takes a certain portion of the proceeds of the stock, invests it for thirty years. With interest and compound interest, in 1935 the stock has accumulated its par sum. It is a beautiful system." DO BOOMING BUSINESS. "Very plausible, but where are these guarantee companies?" "Why, there are The National, The States, and The Industrial. We hear The States is doing a booming business. Go and see them. They are at such a number." The victim went to the richly furnished suite of offices occupied by the guarantee company and met its dignified "president," to whom he explained the purpose of his visit. "Very good," said that official. "We will accept your risk. We will issue you an option agreeing within one year to issue you bonds against your stock as sold, you to pay us an advance fee of $1,000." The "sucker" demurred. He had only $500 spare cash. The president suggested that as the broker would make a liberal commission out of the deal he might put up the other $500. The manufacturer 'phoned the broker, who promptly agreed to pay one-half of the fee. The broker gave the victim a worthless check for $500, which he gave, together with $500 of his own good money, into the hands of the "guarantee" company. The company thereupon issued a certificate, or option, for bonds that were never called for because the broker never sold any of the stock. The victim went home loaded down with promises. The broker "strung" him along for a month or two, but sold no stock. Finally the manufacturer realized he was buncoed. The broker and the "guarantee" company divided the $500, and proceeded to find other suckers. March 17, 1906, E. C. Talmage, who conducted the National Underwriting & Bond Co., of San Francisco, Cal.; the Pacific Underwriting & Trust Co., of San Francisco, Cal.; the Imperial Bond & Trust Co., of New Jersey City, New Jersey; the International Trust Co., of Philadelphia; the Chicago National Bonding Co., of Chicago, at 52 Dearborn street; E. C. Talmage; E. S. Barnum, 103 Randolph street; and M. J. Carpenter, of the First National bank, were arrested. George D. Talmage, another member of the firm located at Kansas City, Mo., was afterwards arrested and brought to Chicago, charged with obtaining money under the confidence game. The warrants on which they were arrested were taken out by E. J. Denison and Rev. Peter A. Baart, a Methodist minister of Marshall, Mich., who were officers of the La Vaca mines and mills, of Joplin, Mo. Rev. Mr. Baart first went to E. C. Talmage. Talmage sent him to E. S. Barnum to have the stock guaranteed. Barnum charged him a fee of $500 and agreed to sell the bonds, which he failed to do. They just simply divided this fee between them and made no effort to float the bonds. Among the persons alleged to have suffered losses are the following: Victoria A. Toole, 396 55th street $500 Dr. C. J. Grey, 103 State street 250 Miss Frances Mason, sister of Hon. W. E. Mason 1,000 A. C. Nelson, 1057 Addison avenue 150 J. W. Wilson, Opera House block 100 G. G. Eustis, Melrose, Ia. 100 Lalorena Gold and Copper Mining Company 100 Wortham Bros. Company 150 Golden Ranch Sugar and Cattle Company 9,000 Frank McCuddy, Clinton, Ia. 7,500 Dr. E. Hall and J. Brown 125 E. C. Talmage, S. D. Talmage and E. S. Barnum were indicted by the Cook county grand jury. George D. Talmage fled to Kansas City, Mo., where he conducted a branch office in the same business. He was arrested at Kansas City, Mo., on request of the chief of police of Chicago, for operating the confidence game. Extradition papers were secured and Detective Wooldridge brought him back. When his father's office was raided, at 52 Dearborn street, a number of letters was seized, among them were several written from George D. Talmage, at Kansas City, Mo. The following extracts are taken from George D. Talmage's letter to his father: "Saw old Blank today. He was easy. Inclosed find his check for $1,000"; and, "When I mentioned bonds to old Tightwad he fell over backwards and swallowed a set of false teeth." One from a town in Kansas is said to have read: "Nothing doing in this joint. The people here wouldn't buy gold dollars for 90 cents." One letter which reflected particularly upon the cupidity of our K. C., U. S. A. citizens, runs: "I am giving it to these little Kansas City suckers strong. I expect to be able to send you $1,000 the last of the week." E. C. Talmage, George D. Talmage and E. S. Barnum were placed on trial before Judge Brentano for swindling the Rev. Peter A. Baart, Marshall, Mo., out of $500. E. S. Barnum was discharged and the Talmages found guilty. A new trial was secured for George D. Talmage. His father, E. C. Talmage, on May 10, 1907, was sentenced to an indefinite term in the Joliet penitentiary. THE SOCIAL EVIL. The treatment of the social evil is one of the most difficult problems with which society has ever been confronted. Until society is thoroughly regenerated and the consequent purity, both of manhood and womanhood, has become a permanent fact, illicit relationship between man and woman will exist. The attraction of the sexes is as mighty as it is mysterious. No legislation will weaken its inherent force. The man who can come forward with a cure for this great curse is, I fear, yet to be born. [Illustration: (People running by heart)] In common with other vices the so-called "social evil" is as old as mankind, and it will probably remain as long as vice and sin are found in the human heart. Its complete eradication will, perhaps, never be accomplished solely through the process of law, yet it seems to me that the law and its administrators should not lessen their efforts to destroy this evil. In Norway, and in Switzerland, are the conditions most favorable to virtue and independence, the absence of extreme wealth and poverty. Both countries are comparatively isolated from the rest of the world. In Switzerland, as well as Norway, there is an absence of large masses pent up together in cities, the population being distributed in small numbers about the country. Sir John Bowring, sent from England to investigate Swiss society, found that "a drunkard is seldom seen, and illegitimate children are rare." As a people these Swiss are a testimonial to the doctrine of equal distribution of wealth and temperate habits as preventive of immorality. AMERICA FOLLOWS OLD LINES. The history of the United States is the history of all countries as regards prostitution. The population is made up of all nations, civilized and semi-civilized. In the majority of cases poverty is the greatest incentive to prostitution. Permanent prostitution has a numerical relation to the means of occupation. At the present time in all parts of the United States the lower strata of men and women are deprived of the results of their labor except in quantities barely sufficient to retain life in their bodies. They are huddled together indiscriminately as to sex, in close, crowded quarters, so that the ordinary delicacies of life cannot be practiced even if there should be a desire. The chiefest and often the only form of pleasure within their reach is that given by nature for the purest and best use in life, but which comes to be the veriest debauchery. Children and youth growing up among adults, depraved because no ray of light was shed to show the way for moral and physical uplifting, must naturally imbibe the miasma of social impurity. From the very cradle through life their influence is to further degrade themselves. On the other hand are the extreme rich, who, not being compelled to labor for sustenance, spend their time and money in selfish enjoyment. In contrast with the extreme poor, they have every possibility to cultivate the good in themselves, but will not, and it grows pale and sickly among the rank weeds of their selfishness. Chiefly, among self-gratifications, are social evil habits, especially on part of the men of wealth. Their manner of life, the food they eat, creates a fictitious force which must expend itself. They may have a chivalrous regard for the women of their class, but consider all women below them to be legitimate prey. Relying on their wealth to insinuate themselves into the good graces of young women by supplying them with such things as will gratify vanity, the offspring of rich parentage find fascination in pursuit of their object. When she is at last won, and her virtuous scruples overcome, she is thrown aside like the wilted flower which has yielded all its perfume. The brothel is open to receive all such, particularly if she be handsome of face or form. ONLY BURNED ORPHAN ASYLUM. New York, Chicago, St. Louis, any great city will furnish examples by the thousands. Where one girl enters this life from choice (through sensuality inherited from the lust of her father, no doubt), ninety-nine are sucked into its whirlpool by force of circumstances. The young woman who is a clerk is paid an amount which will barely cover the cost of living. She is expected to dress well, and if she protests that she can not, is told to rely on some "gentleman friend" for other expenses. Likewise in factories and shops. Only she who is protected by home associations, and whose labor is done to add to the general home comfort, can hope to escape, and then not always. The grim, irrefutable facts in connection with the thrusting of the working girl into prostitution by the wealthy owners of department stores, was never better expressed than in a recent story by O. Henry, in McClure's Magazine. Henry dreamed that he had been dead a long while, and that he had finally arrived at the Judgment Day. An Angel policeman was haling him before the Great Court of Last Resort. As he was forced into the waiting room the Angel policeman asked him kindly if he belonged with a certain crowd which he saw near him. The members of this coterie were dressed in frock coats, gray trousers, spats, patent leather shoes, and all of them boasted of high silk hats. "Who are they?" asked the trembling Henry. "Oh, they are the men who ran big department stores and paid their poor girls five dollars a week in order that they themselves might belong to clubs, go to Europe and own fine residences and automobiles," replied the angel. "Not on your life," replied Henry. "I'm only the feller that murdered a blind man for his pennies and burned down the orphan asylum. I don't belong with that bunch." With the present system of government, each year tends to annihilate the middle class, in which lies a nation's strength. "Ill fares the Hand, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay." While extreme poverty exists on the one hand, and extreme wealth on the other, it would be as plausible to dam up Niagara Falls as to stop prostitution by legislating against it. The current, checked in one course, is bound to break out in another, and with all its pent-up force. Human life, like the river, is bound to flow in the channel of the least resistance. Nature planned the association of the sexes as surely and as inevitably as any other of her laws. Whenever her laws are trespassed upon in any way there is suffering. The wretched conditions of the poor and the perverted natures of the wealthy turn sex association into social evil. GIVE ALL HONEST CHANCE. Giving to all young men and women honest means of livelihood with extra times and resources for the cultivation of their talents and their better selves, honorable marriage would be preferred to prostitution in nearly every case. [Illustration: THE PACE THAT KILLS] There is no hope for moral purification among the wealthy until such time as they will use their time and talents in useful work. An enormous field for missionary work would be for some one of ability to convert the wealthy world to the religion of useful work. As a self-evident truth, no able-bodied person has the right to live off the labor of another person. Instead of the many working to the last notch of human endurance that the few may live in luxury and idleness, there should be labor for all, and enough for all. Money, however, is without love, or patriotism, or kindness--is all-powerful, and is fawned upon, and catered to by those possessing it in limited quantities. The remedy for prostitution, as well as other evils, lies in the hands of the American people themselves, if they only knew it. Just a few years of intelligent voting and legislating for better conditions for the many, instead of for the few extremely wealthy, would tend to overcome all injustice and inequality. The social evil would be weeded out because people would then have time to obey the injunction, "Know Thyself." AVERAGE EVIL LIFE VERY SHORT. According to statistics the average life of a prostitute is four years after entering the maelstrom of such a career. The life is never such as to be recommended even by its followers. It is moral as well as physical death when followed, and is well-nigh impossible to escape once having bowed to its seeming fascination. As to the libertine, he "sells himself for what he buys." He may enjoy pleasure, but not happiness. Happiness comes from within, in the consciousness of doing right. Pleasures come from without, in the gratification of self. In addition to the hollowness of the enjoyment in the lives of prostitute and libertine, is always the danger of loathsome disease which tortures body and brain, lowering them in their own minds. It is about the only ill in the category that does not command sympathy, but it should. The evils of drunkenness, theft, or prostitution are on the same basis as far as the "necessity" for their existence. All are more or less the result of a badly adjusted economic condition of whatever nation. They can be reduced to a minimum, if not eradicated, by removing the cause. ARGUMENT AGAINST SEGREGATION. The first and most convincing argument against the segregation of vice is found in the fact that the law expressly condemns crime of all kinds and requires its relentless prosecution in order to effect its destruction. Besides, vice districts would shortly become breeding spots for the propagation of crime of every kind. Here would be attracted the criminal classes from all parts of the country, because here they would be protected by the very law which they violate. Not only would the inhabitants of such districts regard themselves within the law, but others, who now fear to enter these resorts because of the probability of arrest and public exposure, would patronize the district, armed with the knowledge that non-arrest was a certainty and exposure highly improbable. The locality and extent of such districts would soon become a matter of common information, and young men would thus find easy access to disreputable resorts which otherwise they might never find. EVIL NOT NECESSARY. Many advance the argument that the evil is a necessary one and must be tolerated, else the safety of virtuous women upon our streets would be seriously threatened and imperiled. The fallacy and absurdity of this contention is proved by the conditions which exist in many of the large cities of Great Britain and Canada, where houses of ill-fame are practically unknown, and where women are as safe as in cities where the segregation of vice prevails. This result has been obtained by persistent effort on the part of officials whose duty it is to suppress and punish crime. Such a condition can never be secured here if districts are established where this particular form of vice may flourish with the tacit approval of our public officers. Surely we in Chicago are not willing to admit that which has been done elsewhere cannot be done here. Chicago could not legally license or regulate this evil, for our state law forbids license. The moral sentiment of our people is also against it. Several years or so ago, when a resolution was introduced into the city council looking toward segregation, medical examination and license, a vigorous protest was made by the Chicago Woman's Club, the Evanston Woman's Club, and other such organizations. The good women of Chicago will not tamely submit to such additional degradation of their wronged sisters. NOBLER WOMANHOOD THE GOAL. Chicago women are working hard to protect innocent women from lives of infamy and to help the repentant to a nobler womanhood. If there were men working among their own sex with equal devotions there would be a lessening of the social evil. If physicians would teach men the safety of chastity and the horrors of licentiousness, if preachers would train their guns against impurity, if popular clubs would expel licentious men, if the mayor would order the arrest of every person, man or woman, found in these houses, apparently so well known to the police, and have such arrests continued night after night, these methods would cause a marked lessening of the social evil. The police of Chicago have done much in recent years to make it a better city. To them is due the credit more than to anyone else for better conditions in our moral life. If they are encouraged and allowed to work out these problems in their own practical way they will do more for our city's good than all the theoretical reformers combined. Many conditions ought not to exist, but they must and will remain for the present. Your reformer, so-called, writes and pleads for the ideal. The police force deals with what is and knows best what can be done. SUPPRESS MANUFACTURE AND SALE OF DANGEROUS WEAPONS--THEY ARE A CONSTANT MENACE TO LIFE AND GOOD ORDER. MADE SOLELY FOR UNLAWFUL USE--ENGENDER CRIME, INCREASE ACCIDENTS AND MAKE SUICIDE EASY--CARRYING CONCEALED WEAPONS A VICIOUS AND INEXCUSABLE HABIT.] [Illustration: LAW TO REGULATE SALE OF FIREARMS] The "lid" should be put upon deadly weapons--pistols, revolvers, dirk knives, brass knuckles--not merely to hide them, but to prevent their manufacture and sale. While serving as police officer I could not fail to observe that substantially all of the crimes committed with the pistol or revolver resulted from the practice of carrying the weapon upon the person. There would be a controversy in a bar-room, on the street or elsewhere, followed by a fight and ending with a shooting by someone present who had the weapon conveniently concealed upon his person. But for the presence of the weapon on the scene there would have been no shooting. I recall but one case where the defendant left the scene of the controversy to procure a weapon. Murder committed by lying in wait or with premeditation for any length of time is extremely rare. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the crime is committed on the spur of the moment. Statistics furnished by the police department show startling facts. Citizens do not realize the number of persons who are either wounded or killed every year by shooting with the revolver. One can hardly pick up a metropolitan paper without finding an account of a shooting, either by accident or design. We have laws forbidding the carrying of concealed weapons, which are to a certain extent effective, but to a very small extent, because it is practically impossible to search every man on the street--and keep him searched. The law, no matter how rigidly enforced, can do but little substantial good. We must also consider other deadly weapons, such as dirk knives and brass knuckles. So far as these are concerned, they are manufactured solely to be used as instruments of crime. The brass knuckle is never used as a weapon of defense, but always as one of offense. The dirk knife has no use other than as a weapon to be used against human beings. It is not used either in war or for any domestic purpose. So far as the revolver is concerned, it has no proper use anywhere in the world. It is carried either as a weapon of offense or defense; but as a weapon of defense it is only possibly effective when there is a revolver in the hands of the antagonist. If he has none, none is needed for defense. An attack made upon a man at close quarters by the use of a sandbag or any other weapon in the hands cannot be met practically with a revolver. There is no time or opportunity for its use. The proposition is therefore sound that, if no one carried a pistol for offense, none would be needed for defense. Shotguns and rifles are used in hunting, but not the revolver. The ordinary revolver of commerce, the one which a man can carry concealed, has no use in modern warfare. There is no legitimate use anywhere for such a weapon. September, 1907, officials of the New York police department, acting under Commissioner Bingham's orders, took 5,000 revolvers out to sea beyond Sandy Hook and threw them overboard. The literary secretary of the commissioner said it reminded him of the Doges who used to wed the sea with rings. If the New York ceremony was not so richly symbolical it certainly was vastly more sensible. These revolvers were the results of eighteen months of police seizures. Some of them were automatic weapons in the $28 class, and others were of the common variety used by small boy initiates in crime. Together they were worth at least $15,000. Not so very long ago New York City held an auction sale every year just before the Fourth of July at which all confiscated weapons were sold. Thereby Fourth of July killings were made easy and cheap, and crime at all other times of the year was encouraged, for most of the weapons went to pawnbrokers and second-hand dealers, who put them back in the hands that would use them worst. The police have one instance of a revolver that to their knowledge came back into their possession four times in this way. It is wise to destroy these weapons, but consider how little good is accomplished compared with what might be accomplished by original control of the sale of weapons. The city sacrifices the $15,000 or something less which it might have got for these weapons, but if it would take $15,000 and spend it vigorously in regulating the sale of weapons, in licensing and perhaps heavily taxing all dealers, in requiring the keeping of complete records of sales and in prosecuting all persons carrying concealed weapons, it would accomplish very much more to the same end. Chicago is a city in which unlimited laxity is allowed dealers in pistols. The way is made easy for the criminal who wants to arm himself. Despite the successful experience of other cities in regulating the sales of weapons, the council is reluctant to give the city a stronger ordinance. Suicide with the revolver is a favorite method of self-destruction with men. Press the muzzle against the head or heart, a slight pressure of the forefinger--instant oblivion follows. The bandit who holds up the railroad train and robs the passengers almost invariably uses a revolver. With this small weapon he terrorizes and robs an entire trainload of travelers. The vicious carry pistols with criminal intent, but there is also a very large class, which might be designated as a "weak" class, which carries the pistol without any criminal intent, but under the influence of a fascination for the handling of deadly weapons. Among certain classes of negroes it is the habit to carry pistols or other deadly weapons to balls, parties or other places where they congregate, and they carry them, apparently, to a certain extent, as a matter of ornament, something on the principle of our gentlemanly forefathers of a few hundred years ago, who considered no full-dress equipment complete without the rapier. The very fact that these weapons are present leads to brawls and quarrels, which result only too frequently in killing, or an attempt to kill. It is dangerous to put into the hands of a weak person a weapon which may carry death and destruction by the small pressure of the finger. The very handling of such weapons seems to breed the desire to use them. The situation is something similar to that of a man who gazes over the brink of a precipice and to whom there comes an almost irresistible desire to throw himself over. There would be some force in the argument that the law-abiding citizen has the right to carry a revolver to protect himself from thugs if his pistol were any real protection; but it is not. The attack from the thug on the highway comes so suddenly and unexpectedly that there is rarely an opportunity to use a weapon in defense; and, even if it should occasionally happen that a man would be at a disadvantage because he had no pistol, this loss to the community is outweighed a thousand to one by the evils which follow its use. Why should we permit men to manufacture and sell instruments of crime--weapons which are designed for no other purpose? We do have laws which prevent the free sale of poisons, based upon the fact that poisons may be used as a means of self-destruction or in the destruction of others. But we have no safeguards against the purchase and use of these other deadly agencies. A brilliant display of deadly weapons may be found in any first-class hardware store, one which is peculiarly tempting to the young, the weak and the vicious. Pawnshops are heavily stocked with weapons of this character. There are a hundred places on the streets of Chicago, particularly on Clark and State streets, where may be found in cases standing in front of stores a display of brass knuckles, dirks and revolvers, which can be purchased at a very small price--and without restrictions of any kind. Yet they are purchased, almost exclusively, to be used as instruments of crime. Experience has demonstrated that the laws which forbid the carrying of concealed weapons are not effective; and it is not possible that, in the very nature of things, they can be entirely so. There is only one sure and effective way of preventing the criminal use of these deadly weapons--that is, to make it impossible for men to get hold of them. This can be done only by forbidding their manufacture and sale. The State, in the exercise of its police power, has authority to pass laws of this character. I submit that it is the duty of the community to demand the passage of such laws. There seems to be no answer to this proposition when you consider that these articles are not manufactured to sell for any legitimate purpose, and that to deprive men of the privilege of manufacturing and selling deadly weapons does not, in any degree, deprive the community of anything which may be of any real use or benefit. It is the duty of the State to prevent as well as to punish crime and to protect its weak and vicious citizens, so far as it can, from the temptation to do wrong. We would not tempt men to steal by affording them easy opportunities for theft, especially if we knew that they were either weak or wicked. And yet, we make absolutely no effort to keep deadly weapons out of dangerous hands. We do attempt to forbid their concealment. Practically this attempt is a failure and, in effect, we permit men to carry deadly weapons which may be successfully concealed until the very moment they are brought into use. A great deal of the lurid literature has grown up around the pistol. The cowboy with his gun play has always been an attractive character in fiction. No doubt there is a time in the pioneer life of a community when there seems to be some excuse for the use of the revolver. But a dispassionate view of this subject, having in mind the welfare of a settled, organized State, every part of which is pervaded by law and within its restraining influence, points to the conclusion that the time has come to legislate revolvers, dirks and brass knuckles out of existence. QUEERS THE TOWN. The elaborate display of revolvers, dirks and brass knuckles in shop windows creates a most unfavorable impression on visitors. Many travelers like to walk to their hotels for the exercise after the long journey from the east. They get their first impression of Chicago from a walk up Clark or State street. On all sides they see revolvers, bludgeons, sandbags and slung-shots. "Ah! This is the West at last," say many. "Now look out for Indians and grizzy bears." Upon Chicagoans who witness these exhibitions of criminal tools daily the effect is most depressing. It makes them think that civilization is still far off. In New York there is an ordinance forbidding pawnshops to display such weapons in the window. The accidental shootings, alone, caused by the careless handling of pistols, would justify a law preventing their manufacture and sale. What possible benefit can be suggested to offset the evils which we have spoken of? Certainly the idea of individual liberty cannot be carried to the extent of making it the duty of a State to afford a man the facilities for the commission of crime. There is no right involved in the matter which is worthy of respect. Let me give you a few illustrations: A negro carried his revolver with him to a ball. This was customary. During a lull in the dance, while talking with his companions--men and women--he pulls out this revolver and shows it around for the admiration of his friends. He is under the impression that it is not loaded. He places it playfully at the head of his sweetheart, pulls the trigger, and she drops dead. That chamber happened to be loaded. It was determined to be a case of wanton carelessness on his part and he was sentenced to two years in the penitentiary. Why should a man like that be allowed to carry a pistol at all? Under what possible circumstances could he use it in any legitimate way? A few months ago the cashier in a bank, a valuable citizen, in a neighboring town, sat down at his desk in a despondent moment. He opened the drawer, saw the revolver lying there, and, overcome by an irresistible impulse, he placed the muzzle to his head, pulled the trigger and--he is a dead man! There is not one chance in a thousand that this man would either have taken poison, with its lingering agonies, cut his throat, hung himself or jumped off the bridge. The other day, in the country near by, a man with his hands in his pockets stepped up to a wagon standing in front of his door and said to the driver: "You made an insulting remark about me to my wife a few weeks ago. Will you apologize?" The driver replied: "I do not know that I made such a remark." "Well," the man replied, "your time has come." He pulled out his pistol, which he had held concealed all the time in his hand, and fired the shot; the driver of the wagon fell over the dashboard--dead. Here, without warning, without the slightest ground to expect such an act, the man, who might, under any other circumstances, have had some possible chance for defense, was hurled into eternity, apparently, to gratify the mere desire to kill. A few nights ago a lone robber boarded a railroad train and with a revolver compelled the conductor and porter to walk through the car in front of him and demanded of the passengers that they surrender their money and jewels--which the passengers promptly proceeded to do. The entire train was held up by a single pistol, a thing which would be absolutely impossible with any other weapon. A revolver enables the highwayman to use one of his hands free, which he could not if he had either a shotgun or a rifle. And so it goes. Instance after instance is within the recollection of everyone where crime is made possible by the easy possession of this deadly weapon--the revolver. The point I wish to emphasize is, that there is no legitimate use for the revolver anywhere in the world; no reason for its existence; no legitimate use for the dirk knife or the brass knuckles. All these things are manufactured and sold as instruments of crime. And, although their deadly use is familiar to everybody, yet we seem to take it for granted that the right to manufacture and sell them and the right to own them are rights which the law is bound to protect. We seek only to impose a restriction that is vain and ineffective. Pistol carrying is an American habit; one which is comparatively infrequent abroad, and there is in Europe--particularly in England--compared with us, a proportionately small fraction of shooting affairs. Even policemen in London do not carry revolvers. It is time for us to take this evil seriously in hand and effect a cure, which, to be effective, must be radical. I favor a law restricting the display and sale of firearms. Carrying a loaded revolver concealed ought to be made a felony. For carrying a concealed weapon--firearm, dirk, brass knucks, razor, knife, etc.--the penalty cannot be too severe. I would cut out the fine and make the penalty for carrying a concealed weapon three to twelve months in the Workhouse and from two to five years in the penitentiary. A severe penalty would help the police to break up this criminal habit. It would help to tame the ex-convict who returns to a life of crime. It would aid in overcoming the influence of the cheap novel among light-minded youth. Sale of weapons which can be concealed on the person ought to be restricted to officers of the law. If permits are issued at all, they ought to be given by a responsible officer of the law. Concealed weapons are the cause of a large per cent of the crimes committed in which weapons are used. There were many arrests for carrying concealed weapons in the last official year. Thousands of people carry them. Every man with a concealed weapon, unless he has a right to carry it to serve the public peace, is a danger to the citizens of Chicago. Men who carry concealed weapons imagine they would protect themselves with them; often they would, but more often the weapons serve no good purpose. Make the law against promiscuous sale and carrying of concealed weapons so severe that it will be necessary for the officers of the law only to carry them. GETTING SOMETHING FOR NOTHING. HOW THE WORTHLESS CERTIFICATE WORKS. Stock Transfers From Worthless Stock to Worthless Stock a Game That Fools the Uninitiated. How the Rhodus Boys Worked the Old "Come-On." One of the most open frauds, one which should not for a minute have deceived any investor in "securities" and things, was unearthed by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, and the results of his work were shown in Chicago when Thomas Rhodus and Birch F. Rhodus were indicted by the federal grand jury. The Central Life Securities Company in Chicago was apparently a sound concern. The managers were always careful to keep money in the bank and any insinuation that this was not a sound company was immediately refuted by bankers who were handling the Rhodus money. But Detective Wooldridge had seen so much of "guaranty" and "security" that he was suspicious of all companies which made this name a rallying point in their literature. Also the Rhodus brothers seemed to be using the same old catch-words which had beguiled men into the fake underwriting schemes. So the detective was not impressed by "security" or "guarantee." He proceeded to investigate the record of the Rhodus brothers. And ere the great scandal began to open out and assert itself, Wooldridge found that the Rhodus brothers had been in the lottery business in Denver in 1889 and 1890. Now it does not conduce to belief in the soundness of a firm to find that its managers have been common, cheap lottery workers. So Wooldridge went into the record. In the course of his examinations he discovered that the Chicago Independent in January, 1899, contained the following notice: In 1889 and 1890, Thos. Rhodus and Birch F. Rhodus were operating the Denver Lottery Company, later called the Denver State Lottery. The following are extracts from the Chicago Independent, January, 1899, number: "The attention of the postoffice authorities was attracted to this scheme by seeing circulars of the Denver Lottery Company about August 20, 1890, saying, 'All remittances to be addressed to A. C. Ross & Co.,' who were none other than Thomas F. Rhodus, Jr. Ross, or Rhodus, Jr., was arrested by postoffice authorities October 5, 1889, fined $100 and costs, which was paid November, 1889. A. C. Johnson, alias A. C. Ross, alias Thomas F. Rhodus, Jr., was arrested March, 1890, and was at that time running what was called the Denver State Lottery Company, having changed its name from Denver Lottery Company. They kept arresting him daily for over forty days. The federal grand jury found five indictments, with over one hundred counts, against A. C. Johnson, alias Thomas Rhodus, Jr., for fraudulent use of the United States mails. He then changed his business to the name of Bank of Commerce. Was arrested several times, and then sold out, or pretended to do so, to Birch F. Rhodus. TRYING THEIR HAND AT LIFE INSURANCE. "The Western Mutual Life Association of this city has been weighed in the balance by the Missouri and Michigan State Insurance Commissioners and found wanting. An examination of the concern by these officials, made as of August 31, 1898, has recently been reported upon. On that date a deficiency of assets under the most favorable showing of $55,635.36 was shown to exist. In other words, the association was impaired that amount. "President Thomas F. Rhodus and Vice-President Birch F. Rhodus each received a salary of $10,000 a year, and there seems to have been a handsome expense allowance besides. Secretary Charles S. Johnson received $7,000 annually; Second Vice-President John B. Kirk, of James S. Kirk & Co., and Treasurer J. V. Clarke, President of the Hibernian Bank, under an arrangement, the annual sum of $27,000." The facts here cited were disclosed by the investigation made by the Insurance Commissioners mentioned above. The association did not long survive this incident, and its assets were soon taken over by the Illinois Life Insurance Company. When the records of these men are considered, it is believed that the boldness of their operations, the ease with which they have obtained the endorsement of representative business men in Chicago and elsewhere for their various schemes, and the way in which, unchecked, they have personally profited from their operations in the name of legitimate business, are absolutely without a parallel in the history of this city. Any number of stockholders in the different companies stand ready to testify to the correctness of the foregoing. Every company started and operated by these men appears to have been exploited for the sole benefit of themselves. The stockholders have, with a few insignificant exceptions, lost every dollar invested. This was the opening gun in the Rhodus campaign. When Detective Wooldridge began boring in he found that in addition to the Central Life Securities Company (whatever that might mean), the Rhodus brothers were promoting the moss-grown mining proposition, and that the Mina Grande Mining Company, with certain holes in the ground located in the State of Sonora, Mexico, was also a Rhodus Company. The Mercantile Finance Company, which was capitalized at the sum of $1,000 in the State of Maine, Maine being almost as easy as New Jersey as a corporation state, was the basis for the manipulation of all the other companies. Even Maine would not stand for a big capitalization of penniless adventurers, so to make the capitalization bug the services of the Mina Grande and the State of Sonora, where things are still easier than in Maine, were called in and the capitalization of the Mina Grande was rated at $2,000,000. This did not look nice to the detective. There was too much hunting of easy ground. He bored in further. Then he discovered the true inwardness of the situation. Around Joplin, Webb City, Carterville and other cities in Southwest Missouri, are certain very fine lead and zinc mines. Joplin is the first zinc producing city in the world. It has been known as such for a number of years. The lead from this district is second only in output to that of Leadville, Colo. Here was another easy chance. Of course any one who knew anything at all about the lay of the land in Jasper County, Mo., knew that all the possible lead and zinc lands had been snapped up years ago; that "Pat" Sullivan of Joplin had been a political boss on the strength of his turning monopolist of the very districts which produced the lead and zinc. But the public did not know it. At least not the great, gullible public. They only knew that Jasper County was full of lead and zinc and they in some way formed the conclusion that the whole county was underlaid with the precious metals. Therefore it was easy for the Rhodus "companies" to start the "Independent Zinc Securities Company," bore a few holes in the ground which would produce fish-worms and black ants and nothing else, and "transfer the stock of the 'Mina Grande' to the 'Independent Zinc'." This only was used as a safeguard where a stockholder of Mina Grande began to get peevish because the holes in the hillsides of Sonora produced nothing. But the Rhodus game was not yet complete. The Mercantile Finance Company, with its thousand-dollar capitalization in the State of Maine, might get into difficulties transferring stock to the "Independent Zinc," because somebody might know enough about Jasper County to realize that there was not enough lead in that county outside the control of the lead trust to make a small-sized pea. Therefore it needed another company to "transfer" the peevish stockholder to. So the Mexican Development Company was formed by the Mercantile, the capital of the new company being $1,000,000, and its assets 90,000 shares of the "Mina Grande" stock, the par value of which would not buy a cigarette paper. The literature of the new company also carried the literature of the "Mina Grande," with a glowing account of how the new company was going to turn Mexico upside down and enrich the whole world from the scorpion holes in the Sonora hillsides. The stockholders in the Mexican Development are still waiting for returns on their investment. But the American people were getting wise to the mining game, even when the magic name of Jasper County was used. So to supplement Mexico and Jasper County the Mercantile Finance Company, the old reliable thousand-dollar concern, organized in rapid succession the Boise King Placers Company, which was going to wash fortunes out of the inoffensive mud of Idaho rivers, the Moose Creek Placer Company, which had the same end in view, the American Fibre Company, which had about as much fibre about it as a paper candy box, The Illinois Finance Company (frenzied finance, all right), The Indiana Securities Company, which "secured" the money of the investor, but secured nothing else, The Minnesota Securities Company, and then with a great play to the galleries, The Finance Company of America. From one to another of these absolutely bankrupt and worthless concerns the investor was thrown back and forth like a shuttlecock. If he was sore on Independent Zinc he got American Finance. If he became convinced that American Finance was worthless paper he got Idaho mud in the shape of "Moose Creek Placers." Interest-bearing bonds with coupons attached were floated on a number of these companies and sold largely through the mails. Just here Uncle Sam, urged on by reports made to the Chicago Postoffice Inspectors by Wooldridge, took a hand. When Wooldridge began boring in the bankers and other influential friends of the Rhodus people, who had been wise enough to get good political affiliations as an adjunct to their business, became extremely busy and influences were brought to bear to call Wooldridge off the case, because he was the most feared man in America on a fraud game. Wooldridge accepted the recall gracefully, but immediately stepped over the way to the Federal Building, and called upon Postoffice Inspector William Ketcham, who is acknowledged by everyone in the secret service of the United States and the general public to be the shrewdest, most astute, and most indefatigable man in the service of the United States Government. Wooldridge convinced the great inspector that there was something doing in the "Rhodus" line. Ketcham complimented Wooldridge highly on the manner in which he had gathered the data together. Then Ketcham got busy himself. When two such men as Wooldridge and Ketcham get busy it is not long until the explosion comes. Nor was it long coming in the Rhodus case. First came the receivership of the Central Life Securities Company. And here another big man and an incorruptible one got into the game--none other than John C. Fetzer, founder of the "Fetzer System" of receiverships that receive for the victims of defunct concerns, in place of and for the receiver. This man was fresh from the great Stensland Bank fraud, where as receiver he had paid 72 cents on the dollar and wound up a record receivership in less than one year, whereas the usual time taken in such cases was ten years. [Illustration: With some of the water out of her food, All profits milked out, too, With little to eat and going dry, What is the poor beast to do? ] When Fetzer's name appeared as receiver there was dismay in the Rhodus camp. The triple combination was enough to frighten anyone, especially where the guilty conscience was a factor. Fetzer immediately went to work. He called in his fighting aids. He told Ketcham and Wooldridge to "keep it up." When the Rhodus people began to give evasive answers before the Referee in Bankruptcy, it was a short step, with the information which had been gathered, to bring the matter before the Federal Grand Jury. And the indictments of the Rhoduses followed. The investigation of the Rhodus manner of doing business showed that the shrewd manipulators of fish-worm holes and scorpion nests had not neglected the feminine element. The treasurer of the old thousand-dollar stand by hailing from the pine tree state, the Mercantile Finance Company, was Mary C. Scully, who had been with the Rhodus gang since 1894. Katherine T. Scully, a very young woman, who had recently appeared on the scene, was listed as treasurer of the good old "thousand-dollar" medium. She came into the secretaryship as a result of a shuffle of officers of the Rhodus companies, the shuffle of officials being found to be as necessary as that of the shuffled stock. It was also found that the Rhoduses came to Chicago about 1894 and organized the Western Mutual Life Association. This company had a stormy career and was finally merged into the Illinois Life Insurance Co. The methods of the Rhoduses were severely criticised in connection with this company and all confidence in it was destroyed. Prior to coming to Chicago, Thomas and Birch F. Rhodus operated a lottery at Denver, Colo., and in 1889 came in conflict with the Federal authorities. Indictments are on record against them and it is claimed that they used various aliases. Thomas Rhodus was convicted at Denver in November, 1889, and fined. During the past four or five years the Mercantile Finance Co. has offered the stock of numerous mining schemes, none of which has shown any merit, but were officered and owned by the Rhoduses and their associates. The methods employed to sell stock in these enterprises were (according to bills filed in court by the persons victimized) those of the ordinary swindler, and a close study of the schemes and the manner in which they are floated leads to the conclusion that the Rhoduses are not entitled to any confidence. At the time of going to press the Rhodus brothers are still under indictment. The tangle in their affairs seems to show conclusively that the matter will be long and bitterly fought, but the facts that have come to light make matters look very dark for the manipulators of the moss-grown stock-kiting game. Samples of the literature secured by Wooldridge and Ketcham prove very enlightening to the general public as to the methods of the Rhodus' and kindred concerns. Here are a few of them: "It is a rule of this company," one pamphlet of the company reads, "not to act as fiscal agent for any corporation unless this company is prominently represented in the management, so as to be able to protect the interests of our clients." ASSURANCE GIVEN INVESTORS. The cover of the pamphlet bears the assurance: "Are your interests protected? They are if made through the Mercantile Finance Company. Avoid risk of loss; make certain of gain." On another page is a list of high-class railroad stocks to the amount of $100,000 which the company is declared to be the possessor of in addition to assets in stocks, mortgage loans, cash on hand and other collateral. Careful reading of the pamphlet, however, shows that these stocks are not a part of the exchange list. An explanation of the system, which probably will be a part of the testimony submitted to the grand jury in conjunction with the tales of luckless investors, as printed, is: "Its plan is to create profits for its customers by aiding in the intelligent development and working of legitimate mining enterprises. Through this system its customers become careful and conservative investors. Furthermore, they are given an opportunity to participate in the vast wealth created in these industries, having at the same time such assurance against loss as would not otherwise be possible. It is a rule of this company never to handle as a fiscal agent stock in any property until after a careful and thorough examination has been made. It rejects those properties which do not come up to the high standard required. This accomplishes for the customers what the individual investor by himself, unaided, cannot afford to do, for his own investment is usually too small to justify his having this done on his own account. PURCHASES "GUARANTEED." "The Mercantile Finance Company positively guarantees to allow its customers the privilege of exchanging any stock purchased from it for stock of any other company which may be in the said guarantee fund. Such exchange may be made and repeated as often as desired during a period of five years following the date of the original purchase." The tremendous activity of Inspector Ketcham, ably assisted by Wooldridge, has been at the bottom of the exposure of this whole abominable swindle. But this is by no means the first case in which these two men have joined hands and caused an upheaval in pseudo-financial circles. These two men first began to work together in the famous Wild Cat Insurance raids. These raids furnish one of the most dramatic chapters in the financial history of the United States if not of the world. The Wild Cats had stolen millions of dollars. Their methods involved brutal filchings from the poor, heartless commercial brigandage and finally the running to earth and conviction of the ringleaders and promoters of the concerns. The work was all done by Wooldridge and Ketcham. It would be improper to close the story of the great Rhodus frauds without some mention of Attorney Patrick H. O'Donnell, who, by his wise counsel and careful review of the matters submitted in evidence, materially assisted the two men who had most to do with the unearthing of the frauds. WANT AD. FAKERS. THE PETTY DOLLAR SWINDLERS PUT OUT OF BUSINESS IN CHICAGO BY DETECTIVE CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE. The cheap little grafter who takes dollars, dimes, nickels and pennies from the poor, while not exactly a great financier, is one of the smoothest propositions with which secret service men and federal inspectors are confronted. His main hold is on the public press, because he operates through the seemingly innocuous want advertisement. The statements of some advertisers may be taken literally; some should be taken with caution, and some should not be taken at all. In the postoffice department at Washington, in the files of the assistant attorney general, one may study the methods of the black sheep of the advertising fold against whom fraud orders have been issued. A fraud order is an order directed to a postmaster forbidding him to deliver letters to a certain person or concern or to cash money orders for them. If a man swindles his neighbor without using the mails the postoffice department will not interfere with him, although the police may, but if he attempts to make Uncle Sam a party to the swindle, the old gentleman lets loose on him a horde of postoffice inspectors, who not only put a stop to the business, but frequently put the swindler himself behind the bars. The department issues year in and year out an average of one fraud order a day, and an examination of the reports of the inspectors who have investigated these cases is apt to convince one that the long-accepted estimate that there is a sucker born every minute is much too low. The schemes most commonly employed are here set forth. HOME WORK SCHEME CATCHES MANY. The chance to earn a few dollars a week without leaving home appeals to many women whose household duties occupy the greater part of their daylight hours. Unfortunately the work-at-home scheme catches not only the woman whose object is merely to earn a little pin money and who in many cases can afford to lose a dollar or two without suffering any hardship as a consequence, but it gathers in as well the working girl eager to add to her scanty earnings by engaging in some remunerative work at home. The work-at-home scheme is operated in a variety of ways, but the underlying principle is the same in all cases. Sometimes the work to be done consists in embroidering doilies or in making lace, and in other cases it consists in filling in with gilt paint price tickets printed in outline. In all cases the work is described as easy, the advertisements assuring the reader that experience is unnecessary. In all cases, too, the victim is obliged to buy, from the promoters of the scheme, "materials" or a lace-making machine or some other object before she is given any work. The following description of a scheme against which a fraud order was issued last May will make clear the methods pursued by all fakers of the work-at-home class. The advertisement in this case reads as follows: Home Work, $9 to $15; No Canvassing. $5 to $6 weekly working evenings; experience unnecessary. Inclose stamps for instructions, sample, etc. Address B. Wilson & Co., 603 Walnut street, Philadelphia, Pa. MONEY CHARGED FOR FAKE "OUTFITS." To those who reply to this advertisement a circular letter is sent stating that the work required consists in filling in with bronze paint store-window price tickets printed in outline, one of which, partly filled in, is inclosed as a sample. [Illustration: If you don't know just where to go Or how to do the thing that you May have in mind--or if you find That you can't rise--then advertise, A "Business Chances" ad advances Your desires to many buyers-- And our Want Ads, if you use them, Bring so many--you can choose them. ] The circular states that the work is easily done, requires no previous experience, and that all that is necessary, is to do the work in a neat manner. Two dollars and a half a hundred is offered for tickets filled in as described, and the prospective victim is assured that she can easily gild at least 100 tickets a day. She will require an "outfit," of course, the cost of which is generously put at the remarkably low price of $1.10. In return for her $1.10 the victim receives a handful of window tickets, a small bottle of bronze paint, and a brush for applying it--the actual value of the articles furnished, including postage, being fully covered by the extra 10 cents. The worst is yet to come. When the woman, having parted with her money and having spent her time in filling in the handful of tickets sent her, returns them, at her own expense, she receives, not a check in payment for the work done, but a circular letter stating that her work is "unsatisfactory." She may possess the talent of a Rosa Bonheur and a department store ticket writer rolled into one, but she will never succeed in selling a cent's worth of bronzed price tickets to the fakers who sold her the "outfit." Their business is not to buy but to sell, and her fate is not to sell but to be sold. Similar to the work-at-home scheme is what may be described as the letter-writing dodge. The following is a typical advertisement of its class: LADIES--Earn $20 per hundred writing short letters. Stamped envelope for particulars. Gem Manufacturing Company, Cassopolis, Mich. When the woman anxious to earn an honest penny replies to this ad. she receives the following letter: Dear Madam: We pay at the rate of $20 per hundred or 20 cents for each letter sent us in accordance with our printed circular of instructions, and make remittances to you of all money earned by you at the end of each week. The letter which we send you to copy contains only eighty words, and can be written either with typewriter or with pen and ink, as you prefer, and you can readily see that you can write a number of letters during your leisure time each day. You do not pay us one penny for anything, except $1 for the instructions and for packing and mailing the Ideal Hoodwinkem which we send you. There is no canvassing connected with the work, and if you follow our instructions you can earn good wages from the start. When the victim sends her dollar for the instructions and for the Ideal Hoodwinkem (or whatever the name of the article the fakers are selling happens to be), she discovers that the 20 cents is not to be paid merely for writing a letter. Oh, no! The 20 cents will be paid only for such letters as induce some other woman to part with a dollar for one of "Our Ideal Hoodwinkems." The following letter, which is sent after the unsuspecting one's dollar has been safely salted down, lays bare the true inwardness of the scheme: Dear Madam: We herewith hand you trial blanks, also copy of letter which you are to write. You are to send these letters out to ladies, and for every letter which you write and send out and which is returned to us with $1 inclosed for one of our Ideal Hoodwinkems, with your number on the letter, we will send you a cash commission of 20 cents. It is needless to say that the fakers do not expect their victim to be so stupid as to send out the letters on the terms indicated. The object of the plan is accomplished when "dear madam" parts with her dollar for the letter of instructions and the Hoodwinkem, which would be dear at 10 cents. A SMOOTH SCHEME. One of the simplest and most effective schemes for hooking new "suckers" was adopted by a Dearborn street "investment" concern. This consisted in sending to a prospective victim a check for $100, made payable to some other man, and accompanied by a brief letter telling that recipient would find inclosed his weekly dividend on his investment of $1,000. Of course the marked "sucker" knew nothing of the deal, and, believing a mistake had been made would return the check and letter. He at once received in reply an apologetic letter, stating that the first letter and check had been inserted in the wrong envelope through the carelessness of a clerk, it having been the intention to mail to the recipient a circular instead of another man's check for dividends. It was enough. Ten per cent a week was not to be resisted. The "sucker" almost invariably opened negotiations on his own initiative and was landed. FINANCIAL "JOURNAL" FRAUDS. The multiplicity of these schemes led to the establishment of the "financial paper," designed, according to the publisher's statement, to guard investors against get-rich-quick frauds. To the police these papers are known as "special form papers." The editor comprises the staff. The contents consist of financial matter usually stolen from reputable journals, a formidable array of financial advertising, and, most important, "reports" on investment concerns. For a consideration the "special form" paper tells its readers that the "Cotton Mutual Investment Company" is sound and reliable. The manager of the "Cotton Mutual" buys as many copies of the paper as he wants, as it has no regular time of publication, and can be run off in any quantity at any time with the article boosting the "Cotton Mutual." The get-rich-quick manager then sees to it that the paper finds its way into the hands of his "sucker list," or list of names of persons whom he hopes to be able to induce to "invest." Therefore, when reading want ads. in the newspapers, consider carefully the nature of the promises made. If they are too rosy, too high-flown, have nothing to do with that ad. or the man who inserted it. You may depend upon it that it is a fake. There are no great armies of persons walking about this country seeking to give away something for nothing. MILLIONAIRE BANKER AND BROKER ARRESTED. Ramifications of the Bucket Shop System Revealed by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge. George T. Sullivan, the millionaire stock, bond, grain and cotton broker at 159-161 LaSalle street, Chicago, Illinois, was arrested May 23, 1906, with 60 inmates. Twelve patrol wagon loads of books, records and papers were seized and carted off to the Harrison Street Police Station. Mr. Sullivan at the time had one of the finest, best-equipped offices in Chicago, which was located in the Traders' Building, opposite the Chicago Board of Trade. He occupied several floors, and they were very elaborately furnished. Part of the third floor was used as a telegraph office, where forty men were constantly at work at the telegraph keys. His private telegraph wires reached from the Atlantic to the Pacific ocean, and from the Gulf of Mexico to the British possessions in the north. Mr. Sullivan paid to the Western Union Telegraph Company for the privilege of using their wires and services $150,000 per year. Mr. Sullivan had 111 branch offices, located in the principal cities of the United States. Each of these branch offices evidently was equipped with all the paraphernalia used in the bucketshop, and was in charge of one of Mr. Sullivan's representatives. Mr. Sullivan owned the entire equipments of the offices and dictated the policy and work to each manager, which had to be carried out to the letter. The following is a list of the branch offices and locations which were operated by Mr. Sullivan: [Illustration: GEORGE T. SULLIVAN] [Illustration: OFFICES OF GEORGE T. SULLIVAN AFTER THE RAID] LIST OF BRANCH OFFICES. The Sullivan letterhead gives branch offices in the following cities: Altoona, Pa., Arcola, Ill.; Aurora, Ill.; Avoca, Ia.; Boston, Mass.; Buda, Ill.; Burlington, Ia.; Cambridge, Ill.; Chicago, Ill.; Cleveland, O.; Davenport, Ia.: Decatur, Ill.; Des Moines, Ia.; Detroit, Mich.; Earlville, Ill.; Effingham, Ill.; Elkhart, Ind.; Fairfield, Ind.; Fostoria, O.; Fort Madison, Ia.: Galesburg, Ill.; Geneseo, Ill.; Gibson City, Ill.; Goshen, Ind.; Grand Rapids, Mich.; Greenville, Ill.; Grinnell, Ia.; Iowa City, Ia.; Ivesdale, Ill.; Johnstown, Pa.; Kalamazoo, Mich.; Keokuk, Ia.; Kewanee, Ill.; Lancaster, Pa.; Mansfield, Ill.; Mattoon, Ill.; Michigan City, Ind.; Milwaukee, Wis.; Monmouth, Ill.; Monticello, Ill.; Morris, Ill.; Mount Pleasant, Ia.; New Castle, Pa.; New York, N. Y.; Niles, O.; Omaha, Neb.; Peoria, Ill.; Pittsburg, Pa.; Plano, Ill.; Princeton, Ill.; Racine, Wis.; Roberts, Ill.; Saybrook, Ill.; South Bend, Ind.; Sheffield, Ill.; St. Louis, Mo.; Tolono, Ill.; Tiffin, O.; Toledo, O.; Tuscola, Ill.; Waukegan, Ill.; Wyanet, Ill. EXCLUSIVE OFFICES FOR LADY SPECULATORS. Chicago--225 Dearborn street, National Life Building, 16 Imperial Building, 51 Dexter Building, 84 Adams street, South Chicago--9138 Commercial avenue. Mr. Sullivan had his correspondents and solicitors in all of the leading stock, bond, grain and cotton markets of most of the foreign countries. On May 23, 1903, he was doing a business of from $300,000 to $500,000 per year. His weekly expenses ran from $15,000 to $20,000. Mr. Sullivan advertised extensively in the leading newspapers throughout the United States and in foreign countries. Many of his advertisements would cover an entire page. These advertisements brought him many inquiries from persons either through curiosity or desire to invest, saying nothing of the cash customers secured. [Illustration: SULLIVAN'S RED LETTER TIPS ] Mr. Sullivan made special effort to buy or acquire every mailing list to be found in the entire country which had been used by other fraudulent and get-rich-quick concerns. It is said that he had secured over 20,000 names, which he had on his mailing list. These men were bombarded from day to day with his literature and his _red-letters_, giving the forecast of the market. These letters were very ingeniously gotten up by himself and a clairvoyant fortune teller named Madame Dunbar. His methods were absolutely devoid of even a pretense of sound business ethics, sensationalism and red ink being his only stock in trade. The class of literature and telegrams he sent broadcast and regardless of expense is well illustrated by the following: Telegram sent January 1, 1903, to hundreds of persons throughout the country: "Am going to run three-cent turn in May wheat. Let me act for you heavy. I will take loss if any. Mail three-cent margin. George T. Sullivan." In his "Red Letter" of May 18 he makes the following statement: "There is only one thong about this wheat, and that is, a bull market is at hand; and those who buy cannot lose, and if they buy on my advice and buy quickly, I will pay the loss if there should be any." He had four offices in Chicago aside from his main office, these being designated by him as "Exclusive Offices for Lady Speculators." When about to open one of these offices he addressed a circular letter to the wives of many prominent citizens announcing the opening of same. The first paragraph of this letter reads as follows: "I have opened superbly appointed offices on the ground floor of the National Life Building, Room 120, where I accept accounts from ladies of $100 or upwards for marginal speculation in stocks, bonds, grain and cotton. "George T. Sullivan." George T. Sullivan, who frequently signs himself "Red Letter Sullivan," is by occupation a telegraph operator. He was first heard of in Boston during the year 1899 and the early part of 1900. ON THE "OIL EXCHANGE." On May 17, 1900, Sullivan was admitted as a member of the Consolidated Stock and Petroleum Exchange of New York and under the firm name of Sullivan & Sullivan advertised extensively and had a system of wires through New England. It was noticed that his business on the exchange was very small and upon the complaint of a customer his trading methods were investigated, with the result that on the 11th of October he was adjudged guilty of obvious fraud or false pretenses and expelled from membership in the exchange. He made some threats of a suit against the exchange, but the firm of Sullivan & Sullivan failed in November and nothing was heard of him in New York. His customers and correspondents never received any statements of their accounts and Sullivan fled the state. He seems to have come direct to Chicago, and was employed for several months by bucketshops and private-wire houses as a telegraph operator. In the fall of 1901 he associated himself with E. F. Rowland, ostensibly to do a commission business in stocks, grain and cotton. His methods of advertising were extremely lurid, and he flooded the country with literature and letters printed in red ink. The employee, Sullivan, soon forced Rowland out of business and continued under the name of Rowland until the first of January, 1903, when by degrees he had worked the name of Sullivan into prominence and the name of Rowland had gradually been eliminated from his signs and literature. REASONS WHICH CAUSED INVESTIGATION, RAID AND ARREST. The raid by Detective C. R. Wooldridge on the Lincoln Commission Company, a race track scheme, in the Portland Block, 115 Dearborn street, May 14, 1903, developed the peculiar relations between this concern and Sullivan, and the police department was somewhat astounded to find among the papers of the Lincoln Commission Company conclusive evidence, in the shape of telegrams and correspondence, proving that Sullivan's agents on his private wires were acting as the agents of the turf scheme, and that the employees and private wires of the Sullivan concern were used in common by the Lincoln Commission Company with the consent and approval of Sullivan. More than twenty of Sullivan's agents were posting in his various offices the tips sent out by the Lincoln Commission Company and accepting bets which were transmitted over Sullivan's wires to be placed ostensibly by the Lincoln Commission Company on the horses which they tipped off as sure winners. The mixing up of a turf scheme with a so-called grain and stock business was something new to the police, and Detective Wooldridge prosecuted the investigation, and, upon becoming fully acquainted with Sullivan's methods, concluded that he was not only running a bucketshop, but was interested in the turf scheme to a greater extent. The evidence gathered in the raid on the Lincoln Commission Company fully established the fact. The Cook County Grand Jury was in session at the time and the evidence was presented to them. Detective Wooldridge was ordered to make a full investigation and report to them, which he did. The Grand Jury instructed Wooldridge to lay the matter before the General Superintendent of Police, Francis O'Neill, and say: "The Grand Jury requested immediate action should be taken by the police to enforce the state law, which was being violated." Wooldridge submitted the case to Chief O'Neill. He asked if Wooldridge had secured the necessary evidence to prove that Sullivan was conducting an illegitimate business. He was answered in the affirmative. WOOLDRIDGE'S RAID. On the morning of May 23, 1903, ten picked detectives were secured from the Detective Bureau to accompany Wooldridge in the raid on George T. Sullivan, which turned out to be one of the largest as well as one of the most sensational raids and arrests that had occurred in Chicago for years. Sullivan did an extensive business. The offices of the company which were raided were elaborately furnished, and there was a complete assortment of tickers, blackboards and like paraphernalia. At the time of the raid the offices were crowded, the operations on the open board and the Board of Trade being remarkably exciting. The officers who assisted Wooldridge in the raid were Detective Sergeants Howe, Mullen, Quinn, Qualey, Miskel, McLaughlin, Weber, Flint and McLane. OFFICES FILLED WITH PATRONS. It was at 10 o'clock in the morning, when the largest throng of speculators can be found in the offices at 259-261 LaSalle street, opposite the Board of Trade, that Wooldridge and his men swooped down on the place and proclaimed "every one there a patron of a bucketshop and under arrest." The wildest excitement prevailed. Telegraph operators, messenger boys, pit men and persons of every station in life were caught. Some of the traders, thinking of their wives and children, pleaded frantically for their freedom. Some attempted to force their way from the betting rooms, but, meeting with armed resistance, they desisted. "I don't belong here," said one man, indignantly. "I only dropped in here to see a friend." His plea was unavailing. Another man, attired in a frock coat and a silk hat, attempted to bribe one of the detectives. "I can't have it get out that I was arrested," said he. "State your price and I will give it to you gladly." [Illustration: He'll have to act faster, or somebody will slip between his fingers.] The only persons allowed to escape were three women stenographers, who fled through a rear window. Advertising matter, private correspondence, telephones, tickers, telegraph instruments and everything of consequence was seized and loaded into twelve patrol wagons and taken to the Harrison Street Police Station. Four hundred and twenty telegraph wires were cut which connected Sullivan's bucketshops in Chicago and through the country. It took the Western Union Telegraph Company two weeks to get the wires in working order. NAMES OF PRISONERS ARRESTED. At the Harrison Street Police Station those arrested in the raid gave their names as follows: G. T. Sullivan, W. D. Hart, John Conway, L. J. Hoff, Charles Barth, William Wilson, E. E. Matwell, J. A. Hogadorn, E. L. Wilson, T. N. Lamb, R. J. Brennan, Ralph Cunningham, Fred Boller, John Whitmar, E. F. Black, John A. Manley, Ernest Gerard, John Lawson, J. K. West, George Rodger, Henry Miller, J. A. Crandall, Y. R. Pearson, George Wilson, Harry Van Camp, George T. Kelly, J. P. Morgan, Joseph Cohen, Butler Coleman, Arthur McLane, George Frederick, A. L. Kramer, M. J. Franklin, Edward O'Connell, Oren Mills, W. H. Kelley, O. S. Reed, F. Foley, I. J. Kennedy, Robert Delaney, Joseph Bowers, John Black, L. Frederick, B. C. Cover, George Johnson, G. Weightman, H. C. Boder, Samuel E. Brown, Joseph Smith, C. E. Tracy, W. Jones, J. W. Kennedy, John P. Garrison, Al. Dewes, Elmer C. Huntley, T. A. Duey. CROWD GATHERS. The fact that a raid was being made became known outside the offices and in a short time several thousand persons gathered. Crowds peered through the windows and doors. The Chicago Open Board of Trade is directly across the alley in the rear of Sullivan's offices, and business there was at a standstill for a time. The traders gathered about Sullivan's offices and remained until the last prisoner had been taken away in the patrol wagon. Sullivan himself was in his private office when the raid was made. Wooldridge broke open the door and faced the man at the desk. "You are under arrest, Mr. Sullivan," said the detective. Sullivan grew pale and then reached his hand to the telegraph instrument which stood on the table. He started to work it. "Stop that!" ordered Wooldridge. But Sullivan continued. Wooldridge made a leap for the trader and forced him away from the instrument. But the trader was not to be thwarted. He reached over the detective's shoulder, and again the click began. Wooldridge then seized the instrument and hurled it into the desk. "Cut all telephone and telegraph wires," was the order given by Wooldridge, and the frenzied occupants of the place were thrown into terror. There was a mad rush for the door, but the detectives stood in the way. Every inducement was offered the policemen, but efforts failed. Then Sullivan claimed that he had an injunction issued by Judge Elbridge Hanecy forbidding the police from raiding his place. "I have an injunction from Judge Hanecy to stop you!" yelled Sullivan. "Show me the injunction, then," replied Wooldridge, "and I will obey it. If not, I am an officer of the court and have warrants here charging you with keeping a bucketshop and gambling house." The injunction which Sullivan claimed to have was found by the police in one of his drawers in blank form, without any signature, together with the following letter to one of his managers: May 19, 1903. MR. CHARLES A. WARREN, New York. Dear Mr. Warren: Your friend Wooldridge was in all day Monday. We had four detectives here all day investigating my guarantee plan, and they showed up again today and held several conversations with Miss Lorentzen before we realized who they were. It looks like they were trying to make a case. In looking up the injunction papers, find you neglected to change them to read The George T. Sullivan Company and The George T. Sullivan Elevator & Grain Co. I took them to Morris and he rehearsed them, patched them, etc., and they are now ready to play ball with. Morris is very busy and it looks as if we might need someone else on the scene of action to watch things. Hope you arrived O. K., and with best wishes, I remain, Yours very truly, GEORGE T. SULLIVAN. However, it was not until 11 o'clock and more than an hour after the raid had been made that Attorney Edward Morris filed the injunction bill in the Circuit Court. The injunction was finally issued by Judge Abner Smith at 12:30 o'clock. It restrained Chief O'Neill and Detectives Hertz and Wooldridge from interfering in any way with the property contained in the offices occupied by the concern or cutting the telegraph wires leading to them. It is represented in the bill that the company has offices at 259 LaSalle street, Bush Temple of Music, 60 LaSalle street, 16 Imperial Building and 84 Adams street; but the damage had already been done. Sullivan was practically out of business, and was being bombarded and seized by a horde of infuriated patrons who demanded their money, entrusted to him to invest. Sullivan could not return the money, as he had spent it and was bankrupt. "RED LETTER" WELL KNOWN. PATRONS TOLD THEY WOULD NOT LOSE IF ADVICE WAS FOLLOWED. In Sullivan's office the detectives found great quantities of advertising matter. This matter was thoroughly gone over in the search for evidence against the grain and stock broker. Pile after pile of Sullivan's "red letter" circulars were found. Sullivan's "red letter" was issued daily, and printed in red ink. The circulars were written in a manner characteristic of all the advertisements, printed matter and correspondence to patrons. In telegrams to patrons and the "red letters" Sullivan often made the proposition that he would make good all loss sustained by patrons while they were making purchases upon his advice. The detectives were somewhat surprised when they saw at the top of the circular in bold, red type that "four exclusive offices for lady speculators" were being operated in Chicago, one in South Chicago and one in St. Louis. The addresses given for the Chicago offices were 225 Dearborn street, 159 LaSalle street, 260 Clark street and 84 Adams street. Women speculators of South Chicago had the opportunity of making their purchases at 9138 Commercial avenue. Wooldridge was asked by the press what justification he had in making the raids, and by whose orders they were made. He said that he raided the Lincoln Commission Company at 115 Dearborn street, May 14, 1903, which was conducting a turf investment company, and found that George T. Sullivan was operating the same in connection with his bucketshop; that George T. Sullivan and 60 inmates were arrested, and eleven wagon loads of books, letters, papers and records taken to the Harrison Street Police Station. Wooldridge said that he had evidence to indict them on 50 charges, and he intended to deliver the goods, and he would not be pulled off by any man in the State of Illinois. Wooldridge immediately took steps to get his evidence in shape. He called on John Hill, Jr., who had charge of the Board of Trade quotations and who was an expert on bucketshop methods. Wooldridge, Hill and two clerks went to work gathering evidence for the trial; eleven wagon loads of books, papers, letters and records had to be gone through, which was done in the most careful, systematic manner. They worked from 2 p. m. until 12 o'clock and the evidence gathered was placed in a vault. After they had secured something to eat in a nearby restaurant and taken two hours' sleep, they resumed their work, which was carried on until 7 o'clock Sunday morning. This evidence which was secured was locked up in another vault for safe keeping. After they had eaten their breakfast they resumed work again and worked until 6 p. m. This evidence gathered was placed in another vault. After they had eaten their supper they resumed work again and worked until 1 o'clock Sunday night, when they succeeded in going through every scrap of paper which was seized in the raid. This evidence gathered was placed in another vault. The placing of this evidence in different vaults was for the purpose of preventing George T. Sullivan or any of his friends from securing it on a writ of replevin. Wooldridge slept until 5 o'clock, then went to the residence of Charles S. Deneen, State's Attorney. Arriving at his house and finding that he had not arisen from bed, Wooldridge pulled up a settee which he found on the veranda and placed it in front of his door where it would be impossible for him to get out of his house without first awaking Wooldridge. Wooldridge laid down and went fast asleep and was found there when State's Attorney Deneen was making his departure next morning for his office. Wooldridge, upon being aroused from his sleep, told Mr. Deneen of the raid made and the evidence gathered and showed him some 10 or 15 telegrams from reputable Board of Trade men who were worth over $20,000,000 collectively. The substance of the telegrams was as follows: "Officer Clifton R. Wooldridge: We are informed that you raided George T. Sullivan's bucketshop. You have done your duty and been criticised and assailed for doing it. My name is ---- and my attorneys name is ---- and we are at your service night or day, without any expense to you." Mr. Deneen asked Wooldridge how soon he would be ready to present his evidence to the Grand Jury. Wooldridge replied that he had two cases already prepared before he made the raid and would be ready in six hours with a number of additional cases. Mr. Deneen told Wooldridge to accompany him to his office, which was done. He called Assistant State's Attorneys Albert C. Barnes, F. L. Barnett and Howard O. Sprogle and instructed them to assist Wooldridge in preparing the cases for the Grand Jury and give him a clean road just the minute he was ready. They were further instructed to give him all the assistance and advice he should need in the matter. The special complaints were drawn, the telegraph wires became busy and at 10 o'clock Wooldridge and witnesses went before the Grand Jury and George T. Sullivan was indicted for keeping a bucketshop and common gaming house. George T. Sullivan was also active from Saturday until Monday morning. He had prepared writs of replevin and warrants for larceny for Wooldridge and officers who were with him. Wooldridge was called up over the telephone by Sullivan's friends and offered a bribe of $5,000 if he would release and turn over the books, letters and records which were seized in the raid, so Sullivan could resume business. This offer was refused by Wooldridge and the matter reported to the State's Attorney. Sullivan then resorted to sending various friends and powerful politicians for the paraphernalia seized. Still Wooldridge turned a deaf ear to their requests and entreaties. Wooldridge was a very busy man at the County Court Building on Monday. Before the George T. Sullivan bucketshop raid and the indictment before the Grand Jury, Wooldridge had the case of J. J. Jacobs, manager of the Montana Mining, Loan & Investment Company, which was a lottery, on trial before Judge Chetlain. While in the courtroom he was informed by officers that they had a writ of replevin for the goods seized in Sullivan's bucketshop; that they also held warrants for Wooldridge and the officers who were with him, but if he would surrender the goods seized they declared the warrants would not be served and there would be no trouble. Wooldridge called on the State's Attorney and informed him of the demand made upon him. State's Attorney Deneen called the officers in his office and told them that Wooldridge was there in attendance in the court and he would not permit the warrants to be served on him until after court adjourned. Further, he had instructed Wooldridge not to turn over any of the property. Sullivan during the meantime had learned that there was an indictment against him by the Grand Jury and withdrew the order for serving of the warrants. He was indicted, convicted and paid a $500 fine. After the police had secured the evidence, his books, letters and records were returned to him. He tried to start up in business again; also to get other parties interested with him who had money, but in this he failed. He was forced to refund $150,000 to his patrons who had advanced money to him to speculate in grain and stock. He expected financial assistance and hoped to resume business, but nothing materialized. There were thousands of other creditors throughout the country who were not so fortunate in obtaining a settlement. These creditors combined and forced him into bankruptcy. He was then cited in the United States Court for violating a federal injunction. He quietly folded his tent at night and left Chicago without leaving his address. He was next heard of in England six months later. All traces of him were lost until, in August, 1907, at Pittsburg, Pa., he was arrested for running a bucketshop. George T. Sullivan, of George T. Sullivan & Co., brokers, with offices in the Bijou Building, Pittsburg, and was arraigned before Magistrate F. J. Brady at Central Police Station, charged with a misdemeanor and violating a city ordinance. SULLIVAN HAS RECORD. The misdemeanor was based on Sullivan's doing business without being properly registered at Harrisburg, and he was charged with violating a city ordinance for running a brokerage office without taking out a city license. He was held, for court in $1,000 bail on the misdemeanor charge and was fined $25 on the other. George T. Sullivan, the Napoleon of frenzied finance, cut a large figure in Chicago. From a telegraph operator in the pool rooms and bucketshops at a salary of $18 per week, he acquired enough in the short space of two years to own and operate the largest bucketshop in the United States. He soared high in the money circles, but at last was brought crashing to the earth, a financial wreck. He was convicted of keeping a bucketshop and gambling house. He went bankrupt, hounded to death by his creditors, many of whom he had wrecked. He was cited to appear in the United States Court for violating an injunction, and warrants had been sworn out by the postal authorities for using the mails to defraud the public. He took his freight from Chicago to new fields of pasture. Wine, women and high financing brought his downfall. [Illustration: DORA McDONALD.] DORA McDONALD. MILLION-DOLLAR GAMBLER'S WIFE ARRESTED FOR MURDER. Webster Guerin Murdered February 21, 1906--The Arrest of Dora McDonald for the Murder by Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge and J. F. Daugherty a Few Minutes After the Tragedy. Spectacular Case--Battle Bitterly Waged. Important Dates in Mrs. McDonald's Life Tragedy. Important dates in the trial of Mrs. Dora McDonald: February 21, 1907--Webster Guerin shot to death in room 703, Omaha Building, where he was closeted with Mrs. Dora McDonald. March 5, 1907--The Coroner's jury returned an open verdict, failing to find Mrs. McDonald responsible for Guerin's death. March 30, 1907--Mrs. McDonald released from the County Jail under bonds of $50,000. August 9, 1907--Michael McDonald died, reconciled to his first wife through the efforts of the church. August 12, 1907--"Mike" McDonald's funeral, one of the largest ever known, held. January 20, 1908--Mrs. McDonald placed on trial before Judge Brentano. January 25, 1908--Jury completed and sworn. February 11, 1908--The jury returned a verdict of not guilty. [Illustration: Judge Theodore Brentano Webster S. Guerin Assistant State's Attorneys Edwin S. Day and William A. Rittenhouse Sam Berkley Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge Col. James Hamilton Lewis and P. H. O'Donnell Michael C. McDonald Dora McDonald] The murder of Webster Guerin occurred on the morning of February 21, 1906, at his office, room 703 Omaha Building, 134 Van Buren street. Detectives Clifton R. Wooldridge and J. P. Daugherty were on their way to see Guerin about a complaint made against him when they ran into the shooting. They had been there before, but were not able to find the man. Under the name of Fisher, Guerin had another office in the same building. The complaint was from Mrs. G. Boynton, 903 East Fifty-fifth street, who said she had been forced into buying a picture frame through the promise of the managers of the Harrison Art Studio that they would enlarge the picture free of charge. Upon reaching the building Detectives Wooldridge and Daugherty heard a pistol shot ring out which sounded as if coming from the upper story of the building. Springing into the elevator, they soon reached the top floor, where they were directed to room 703, where a number of the tenants of the building had already gathered. Stretched upon the floor lay the body of Webster Guerin with the blood oozing from his mouth and a bullet wound from a 32-caliber revolver on the left side, just above the heart; the bullet had passed through his lungs and caused a hemorrhage; from his mouth came nearly one-half gallon of blood. When Wooldridge and Daugherty reached the side of Guerin he was past human aid. NO WITNESSES OF KILLING. There were no witnesses of the killing of Guerin. He was in his office with Mrs. Dora McDonald. Several persons heard a shot, and a moment later the glass door was broken and the head of Mrs. McDonald came out. The condition of the studio, in room 703 of the Omaha Building, shows that a violent quarrel took place between Guerin and Mrs. McDonald. Mrs. McDonald left her residence shortly after breakfast. She arrived at the building about 11:45 o'clock. Guerin expected her, for he told his office boy, Thomas Hanson, who lives at 265 West Ohio street, to leave the room and not come back until 1 o'clock. Before the boy left the room Mrs. McDonald entered and the two immediately began quarreling, it is said. Guerin shouted to Hanson to leave and nothing more was heard until the shooting at 11:50 o'clock. [Illustration: Persons and Places Involved in the Killing of Crayon Artist Guerin by Mrs. "Mike" McDonald. MRS. M. C. McDONALD WEBSTER S. GUERIN ROOM IN OMAHA BUILDING IN WHICH SHOOTING OCCURRED. DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE IN CHARGE. THE McDONALD RESIDENCE 4501 DREXEL BOUL.] Lorenzo Blasi, who lives at 73 West Ohio street, and who is employed in room 608 of the same building, heard the shot and the sound of breaking glass. He was in the corridor on the seventh floor. He hurried to the scene and on the way heard the glass breaking again and a woman screaming: "He shot himself! He shot himself!" WOMAN CUT BY BROKEN GLASS. When Blasi reached the studio he found Mrs. McDonald with her head partly thrust through the broken glass. Her face was bleeding from cuts. In her hand she held a revolver. She was trying to break more of the glass with her revolver and escape. A moment later Eric Allert and Charles B. Williams, who work across the corridor, rushed out to Blasi's aid. Mrs. McDonald was pulled through the door and the revolver was secured. In the office, men found Guerin lying dead in the room leading off from the main part of the office. A torn picture and some hatpins were on the floor. There were finger marks on her throat. When Dora McDonald recovered consciousness she shrieked: "Oh, God! Get a doctor; he has shot himself." Where the revolver may have been at that time it was difficult to say. Several witnesses said that it was lying at the right side of Guerin, who was dying. Others said that the woman held it in her hand, waving it above her head as she screamed out: "He has shot himself." Who this strong, handsomely garbed woman was who had either witnessed a suicide, committed a murder or participated in an accident no one knew, but she was hurried off to the police station by Detective Wooldridge. "Daddy, oh, daddy, forgive me!" she kept screaming out. She was recognized, however, and it was found that "Daddy" could be none other than the big gambler and political boss, Mike McDonald. So they sent for Mike, and he gathered into his arms the woman who in that moment broke his heart and sent him to his grave in sorrow. An inquest was begun before Coroner Peter J. Hoffman in the Harrison Street Station on March 1, 1906. After five days an open verdict was returned, in which the jurors declared themselves unable to determine the cause of the death of Guerin. The Coroner's jury consisted of the following named persons: Joseph Willis, 43 Cass street; Frank O. Borhyar, 6142 Madison avenue; William Merker, 263 Seminary avenue; William C. Hollens, 6418 Rhodes avenue; David A. Smith, 3843 California avenue; George F. Cram, 4166 Drexel boulevard. On March 16, Municipal Judge Newcomer went to the jail hospital, where Dora McDonald, still in bed, was formally arraigned and held on a charge of murder. Two weeks later she was indicted by the Grand Jury. All of the evidence so gathered was embodied in the report of the Coroner, and the names of the witnesses were thereto attached, all of which were made public at the time. The State and the defense secured a copy of the same. MYSTERY TOO MUCH FOR CORONER. All the additional evidence and the preparation of the case was made by the State's attorneys, William H. Rittenhouse. Edwin S. Day, Frank Comerford, City Police Attorney, and other officers. All the names of new witnesses (some twelve or fifteen in number) and the evidence were concealed from Detective Wooldridge, and at no time was he present, or did he hear to what the witnesses would testify. Therefore, he had no knowledge of any new facts when the case was called for trial. The mystery of Guerin's death proved too much for a Coroner's jury. More than two weeks after the artist was slain the Coroner's panel returned an open verdict. It merely found that Guerin had died from a bullet wound in a manner which the jury was unable to determine. This same verdict Colonel Lewis sought to introduce at the trial in Judge Brentano's court. Such a move was new in criminal annals, and it was some time before the court decided that it should be ruled out. Mrs. McDonald was meantime transferred to the County Jail from the Harrison Street Station. She was broken in health and a confirmed invalid. Two persons, however, were faithful to her, Mike McDonald and Miss Amanda Beck, her nurse. FRIENDS GET BUSY QUICKLY. A few hours after the tragedy of Webster Guerin all the influences and machinery at the command of Mike McDonald were brought to bear to save the life of Dora McDonald. A. S. Trude, one of the greatest criminal attorneys in Chicago, was employed, besides several other noted lawyers, to defend Dora McDonald. Mike McDonald's political friends soon became active. Everything was done to gather evidence in Dora McDonald's case, and everything was done that could be done to suppress any evidence that was injurious to her. There was one witness who was greatly feared, and that was Detective Clifton R. Wooldridge, who made the arrest. Several days after the shooting A. S. Trude, Mike McDonald's attorney, met Wooldridge in the Criminal Court and shook hands with him. He said that he was very glad that Wooldridge was interested in the case for one reason, for he knew he would get a square deal. He also stated that there was another reason why he was sorry that Wooldridge was in the case, because he had too many eyes and too many feet to be on the opposite side of any case in which he (Trude) was interested. This view was shared by Mike McDonald and his friends, who became active to get Wooldridge out of the way. Mike McDonald first paid a visit to John M. Collins, then General Superintendent of Police, and one of his warm personal friends, and Frank Comerford, City Police Attorney. What occurred in that office will never be known, unless Collins chooses to make a statement, as McDonald has since died. Detective Wooldridge was called to the office of John M. Collins, General Superintendent of Police, and told not to talk to any newspaper men or anyone else about the McDonald case. He was further told not to make himself too officious, and not to be too active in the case. Several days later he was again called to Chief Collins' office and told that Frank Comerford, then acting as City Police Attorney, and a warm friend of Mike McDonald's, was to take charge of the case, so that he need not bother himself further with the matter. Mr. Comerford became very active, securing the names of all the witnesses and all evidence to which they would testify, together with other facts. All this matter eventually found its way into the hands of the defense long before the trial. Mike McDonald and his friends thought that Wooldridge would become active again in the case. Therefore Mike proceeded to get busy himself. No one seems to know the ins and outs of the case, but it is nevertheless a fact that soon after the election of April, 1907, Wooldridge was transferred from the office of the General Superintendent of Police, where he had served since 1889, to the Cottage Grove Avenue Station. No reason was assigned for this transfer. GUERIN'S LIFE STORY. Webster Guerin, who lived at 655 West Harrison street, was well known on the West Side, where he was born thirty years ago. He kept a haberdashery on West Madison street a few years before the murder, but left it to go to California. On his return he went into the picture business. Guerin was a tall, splendid-looking fellow more than six feet in height. Guerin was known at the offices in the Omaha Building as Louis Fisher, and it was under that name that he operated the Harrison Art Company. DORA MCDONALD DIVORCED WIFE OF "SAM" BARCLAY. Dora McDonald, 35 years old, was the divorced wife of "Sam" Barclay, a former professional ball player and Chicago saloonkeeper. They had one son, Harold Barclay, who was later legally adopted by "Mike" McDonald, and who was at school in Florida at the time of the murder. He was 15 years old. She had separated from Barclay shortly prior to her divorce and had been on the stage for a short time under the name of Mme. Alberta. She was married to Mike McDonald a week after her divorce and was taken by him to his home at Harrison street and Ashland avenue. BEAUTY OF WEST SIDE. Dora McDonald was one of the beauties of the West Side in her day, and many admirers hovered about her threshold. The lights of the midnight hours charmed her then, and she dashed off to marry Sam Barclay, a professional baseball player. Into that home came Michael Cassius McDonald. He was a gambler and a politician and a man of great wealth. For the second time his wife had left him; run away, people said, with a man who had been a guest at their home. Mike was lonesome. He saw the bride of Sam Barclay and loved her. He dined with her, and perhaps he paid for her divorce trial. At least she separated from Barclay and when Mike went a-wooing again he won this pretty woman. In a west side home of some pretensions Mike established his new wife. He thought so much of her that he sent his sons away when she could not agree with them. He gave her money and finery and servants and carriages, and thought that she ought to be happy. BOY OF 14 ENTERS. Webster Guerin lived across the street. He was a boy of attractive manners and he won the affection of Dora McDonald. Slander gives one reason for that affection; the woman gives another. STOLE HIM AS A BOY, SLEW HIM AS A MAN, SAYS ARCHIE GUERIN. Archie Guerin, Webster Guerin's brother, told how Mrs. Dora McDonald had taken a violent fancy to Webster when he was a boy of 14, and Archie 13, or thereabouts; how she would meet them on their way home from school and whisk Webster into the mansion, keeping him two, three or four hours; how she used to waylay Webster on his way home from church; how she followed him through the years until she got the notion that he was falling in love with Avis Dargan; how she put detectives on the boy's trail and sat for hours in a cab opposite the Omaha Building to see whether Miss Dargan entered; how she threatened to shoot him; how she would break out into wild and vehement declarations of her love, wailing that she "worshiped every hair of his head," and that she would kill him before she would lose him. How she came into the studio on the day Webster was shot, asserting that she had "told that old slob everything" (meaning her husband), and said she was going to New York; how Webster had replied that he was "through with her," to which she retorted, "I am not through with you; do you think I would kill myself without first putting a bullet into your head?" How Mrs. McDonald had requested him to leave the studio, and how he had refused to do so until Webster joined his request to hers; how Archie and the two boys employed in the studio had gone away and left them to act out the tragedy by themselves behind doors that were closed and locked; how Archie had gone to the Windsor Clifton Hotel to meet Harry Feldman, with whom he had a business appointment; how Feldman had become alarmed when he heard that Mrs. McDonald and Webster were alone in the studio, urging Archie to call Webster on the telephone; how he and Archie stepped to the 'phone, called up the studio, and after a gruff "hello" from a policeman got back the staggering news: "Your brother has been murdered." MIKE MCDONALD DELUDED BY WIFE. "Mike" seemingly was deluded. He may have had suspicions of his wife, but his suspicions seem to have been quieted by the woman. Even when Guerin followed her to California she dared to wire Mike: "Web Guerin is coming; fear I shall be compromised; shall I come back?" It was such a frank admission that the gambler urged her to have mettle. "Stick," he sent back word. "Don't let anyone bluff you." Things went on this way until the morning of February 21, 1906. Then something happened, the climax occurred and Guerin was shot. PROVIDES FOR THE DEFENSE. After the arrest of his wife, "Mike" McDonald announced that he believed in her integrity and declared he would spend every cent of his fortune to save her. The former gambling dictator was almost 70 years old and his health was failing rapidly. Four months after the event he was taken to the St. Anthony de Padua Hospital, where he remained until his death, August 9, 1907. McDonald was still passing to his death when there crept into his room a little, white-haired woman who had come from Newark, N. J. There she was known as Mrs. Grashoff and a great charity worker, especially in the interest of fallen girls in the Crittenden homes. Years before Mike McDonald had called her his first wife. DRAMATIC MEETING OF MCDONALD AND FIRST WIFE. By the laws of the church she was still his wife, no matter what the years had brought forth. So Mike took her hand and held it and spoke softly to her in a breath of full forgiveness and passed away. Without the door sat the woman whom he had called his wife--Dora, whom he had won from a husband and to whom he had been faithful until he stepped to the brink of his grave. This was the last straw that crushed the spirit of Dora McDonald. The body of Webster Guerin was removed to McNally & Duffy's undertaking rooms at 516 Wabash avenue. Detective Wooldridge took up the work of gathering the evidence and prepared the case for the Coroner and Grand Jury. The Grand Jury indictment placed Dora McDonald seemingly beyond the pale of bail, but Mike worked assiduously and finally secured her release from prison on $50,000 bonds. Then Mike became ill and died in St. Anthony's Hospital. Before he gave way to his broken heart McDonald drew up a will. He set aside a defense fund with which the woman might be given adequate chance for freedom in the court, and left her "such rights and only such rights as she may be entitled to as widow." TRIAL BEGINS. Mrs. McDonald was put on trial January 20. The jury was completed January 25 and the taking of testimony began at once. The case of the State was made as complete as possible and the defense began an exhaustive array of testimony. The defense, however, came to a surprisingly sudden end. It had been feared that Mrs. McDonald might not live through the trial and there was every desire to have a verdict before she might give way to heart trouble. The case was heard before Judge Theodore Brentano, and it lasted twenty-one days. Dora McDonald was represented by Colonel James Hamilton Lewis, Chief Assistant Patrick H. O'Donnell, Attorneys Benjamin M. Shaffner, Frank R. Cain, Gabriel Norden, Clarence Shaffner and Forest G. Smith. [Illustration: LOVE TRAGEDY JURY HARRY CORCORAN. JOSEPH KOEHLY. ARNE PETERSON. CHARLES R. JOHNSON. HERBERT R. GARN. CHARLES M'GRATH. HUGH H. FULTON. GEORGE W. MILLER. ROLAND F. GRAHAM. JAMES J. NOONAN. OTTO H. NELSON. JOHN C. ANDERSON. ] The State was represented by Assistant State's Attorneys William A. Rittenhouse and Edward S. Day. NAMES OF THE JURY. Harry Corcoran, Joseph Koehy, Arne Peterson, Hugh H. Fulton, George W. Miller, Roland F. Graham, James J. Noonan, Otto H. Nelson, Charles R. Johnson, Herbert R. Garn, Charles McGrath, John C. Anderson. PACKED COURTROOM. With the courtroom packed to the doors and several hundred men and women struggling to gain admission, the actual trial of Mrs. Dora McDonald, widow of Mike McDonald, commenced. Assistant State's Attorney Edward S. Day made an opening statement of the case. Trembling and his eyes flashing, he pointed a finger at Mrs. Dora McDonald and in a ringing voice denounced her as the murderess of Guerin. "Dora McDonald became acquainted with Guerin, who was about 14 years old. His parents lived a short distance from the McDonald home. "A friendship between Mrs. McDonald and the boy began, which his mother and other relatives later tried to end. Three years later the McDonalds removed to the Drexel boulevard home, but the intimacy of Webster Guerin and Mrs. McDonald continued. "At any event, as time passed on, dealing meantime gently with the woman and developing Web into a young man of more than six feet in height, the two were seen frequently together. Relatives of both testified that the two kissed each other; that at times Mrs. McDonald grew jealous, in all apparent intent, over him; that she wrote poems and set them to music to show what seemed to be the very depths of a despairing heart. "The woman was insanely jealous over him." "He had wandered out from her love into the light of other women's eyes. Driven to distraction by the thought that the boy she had taught to love had grown up to love another, she murdered him." "No," said the defense. "This woman was the victim of blackmail. First she had been hounded until she gave way to the big youth, and then she had paid him money from her hoard in the hope that she might free herself of him." Testimony on the blackmail point was clouded by the maze of recrimination, but the State could not deny that Mrs. McDonald had on several occasions given the young man money with which to leave the city, but that each time he had returned "broke" within a few days. Mr. Day's denunciation of Mrs. Dora McDonald was bitter, but the defendant appeared to take no notice of what the lawyer was saying. Dora McDonald sat quietly as if in a trance; the bitterness of failure, the weariness of defeat, was expressed in every flutter of her purple-shadowed eyelids as she came before the bar to answer for the murder of Webster Guerin, January 20, 1907. Dora McDonald presented a pathetic appearance before the jury. She was dressed all in black. Not a single bit of lace or white relieved the somber effect of her funereal widow's garb. In arranging her hair Mrs. McDonald exhibited a novel idea. The long, deep-auburn strands were braided into one plait and this was wound over her temples in a single coil and fastened with coral pins. In its unaffected artlessness Mrs. McDonald's entry into the courtroom and her removal of her hat as she sank into her chair was an act of almost girlish grace. Her long black cloak, satin lined, was thrown carelessly on a chair. When she had removed her hat and cloak she looked squarely into the faces of the jury. DRAMATIC SCENE IN COURTROOM. The face that was turned piteously toward the jury was deeply lined with the furrows of physical and mental suffering. The eyes drooped constantly, and there were times when she closed them for a full minute. Every movement of the lips or eyelids, every arrangement of dress and costume, was either studiously planned or pathetically dramatic. The weariness and bitterness were marked in the droop of her mouth, in the perplexed wrinkling of her forehead, in the stoop of her shoulders, in the relaxation of her hands, lying heavily on the table before her. A long, long line of battles she has behind her, with her good name torn to shreds in the fight; and nobody can guess at the scars and open wounds in her soul. No matter how great may have been her fault, how untrammeled her impulses and wishes, how wild and defiant her spirit toward the law and society, now she is a tired, broken woman, who has lost the day. BLOOM GONE FROM CHEEK. There are many who say that the beauty of which Dora McDonald was once so proud has departed entirely. The eyes were heavy, the skin no longer showed the pink of health, but was a dead white, her figure had fallen away until she was almost emaciated, but there was a beauty in her sadness and despair that the triumphant woman never possessed. She seldom looked at the veniremen, nor did she appear to be following the questions put to them. Occasionally she glanced at a possible juror as he stepped up to be sworn, but for the most part she sat with her head resting on her hand, or looking ahead at some mental vision. Is it the face of young Webster Guerin she sees, as he lay dead, or the face of old "Mike" McDonald as he smoothed her hair and loaded her with caresses? Is it remorse for a crime, or longing and grief for a dead admirer? Or is it despair for a wasted life, a hopeless future, a thousand lost opportunities? NO MADNESS IN HER EYES. If the defense expected to utilize the plea of insanity it would have had some difficulty in inducing a jury to believe that Mrs. McDonald was greatly deranged. There was no gleam of madness in her eyes. They were dark-circled and languid, but not at all staring or strange. She seemed unusually self-poised and collected. Without any artifices of dress or cosmetics, without any gleam of gaiety or vivacity, it was not impossible to understand why this woman wielded the great influence in the lives of three men that she did. In the first place, her features were regular and fine. Her eyebrows were delicately penciled and her eyes large and dark. TRACES OF SIREN LEFT. The contour of her cheeks was soft and round. But one can imagine, in happier days, that there was a captivating play of expression, an esprit, a beauté de diable, that would be particularly fascinating to a man like old "Mike" McDonald. And upon such a woman would the self-made man, the gambler, uncultivated and rough, fast approaching old age, delight to heap luxury and adoration, as there is no doubt "Mike" McDonald did. And is it not easy to imagine that such a woman would have a powerful attraction for a young man, with her sophistication and experience matched against his ignorance? And now one of the men is dead of a broken heart, and the other struck down in the very first flush of his youth, and the instrument of pleasure and destruction stands at the end of a shattered life. Until a jury should decide, in so far as human fallibility may decide, just whether or how Dora McDonald shot down Webster Guerin, that victim of tangled love and jealousy, a waiting city hung expectant on every incident bared since the day that the artist toppled before a pistol ball in his studio with a woman of furs and furbelows standing sobbing above him. A "SAPPHO" AND "SALOME." A "Sappho" in a grimy city she was called because her heart was touched by the strength of youth; a "Salome" because she planted a kiss on his dying lips, but whether she was victim or vampire, sinner or sinned against, was solely for the jury to say. Cries of blackmail, of bribery, of frenzied jealousy, of shameless love and daring intrigue, rang around the courtroom for the long days of the trial, but for the jury it was only to look behind the locked door of the artist's studio and see whether the revolver with which Guerin was shot down was held by the woman or the young man; whether there was malice or accident or self-destruction, and what the motive for either might be. The shot that sounded his death was the climax to an attachment--guilty or not, as the case might be--that began when Dora McDonald was a wonderfully beautiful and younger woman, the wife of a wealthy gambler, and the lady of a mansion, and Webster Guerin was a mere lad, just old enough to doff short trousers for manly attire. Affection, money and attention were lavished on the young man by this woman. At banquet board and in the theater box they passed their hours together. Of this there was no dispute. The sole question was whether the woman gave way to the lure of a boy, or whether the boy was importuned by the woman; whether in after years that boy blackmailed that same woman, or whether she loved him to a distraction that brought the madness of jealousy and the revolver. And what of the love attachment? the police wondered. But as they delved a little they unearthed strange and tender things, but nothing more strange than poems written by the woman and apparently dedicated to the youth. The tragedy of a soul was bared when Assistant State's Attorney Day read to the jury poems of passion found in the reticule taken from Mrs. McDonald on her arrest. The State regarded the declarations contained in the verse as disclosing a dual motive of murder and suicide, and introduced them as circumstantial evidence. One entitled "Mistakes" was written on the day of the Guerin love tragedy. Here is the first one read: TRAGEDY OF A SOUL IN POEMS OF PASSION BY DORA MCDONALD. Put the word "finish" down by my name: I played for high stakes, but I lost the game; I played for life, for honor and love: Well, I am not the first mortal who has lost all. I have made up my mind to care not a bit; Let honor and love sink to the bottomless pit. Pull down the curtains, bring in the lights, Put from my memory horrible sights Of treachery where there should have been love, Of red blood where should have been whiteness of dove; The past, the present and the future are done: How different, O God! had it been had I won. WRITTEN AS TRAGEDY APPROACHED. We are drifting apart, Though from no change of heart: But we cannot agree, And the end we can see, So the bonds of our love we will sever; And I wonder if we Will, alas! too late see That our happiness lay in each other. For when soul finds its mate It is often too late To struggle and fight against conquering fate. And what does it mean? This parting, I ween; I'll leave you, but, well. Neither heaven nor hell Will make me forget you. Nor save you should I find Another holds the place that was and is mine. POEM WRITTEN ON DATE OF THE GUERIN TRAGEDY. This poem, entitled "Mistakes," is dated February 21, 1907. 11:20 a. m.: Said he: "Where is my sin? I'm only as men have ever been. I'm not so bad, I'm not so good, And I'd be as you'd have me if only I could. But you are strong and good and brave. Surely for me a road you can pave, A road which shall be my happiness, my very soul save. After all, it's for you and you only that I crave." She waited a moment, then came her reply: "To the old adage, that women are weak, you can give the lie. Not only you, others as well, All through life have the same tale to tell. I didn't mean to do it--I didn't, I swear, But you can forgive me; your loss I cannot bear. Can I forgive you? Well, that's not so clear, Though you certainly were to me very dear. I think, after all, now that I am awake. I think it was I who made the mistake. I thought of you ever as a flower rare. With whom other flowers could not even compare. Alack and alas! I find, after all, You are only a sunflower, of which there are many, Who take all the elements have to give And give nothing that creates or causes happiness to live." "KILL ME IF YOU WILL," SHE SAYS IN A VERSE. Another of Mrs. McDonald's poems, written on the day of the killing, is as follows: Kill me if you will, for all is well. I know that to Satan your soul you can't sell, And I've saved you from everlasting hell. I had lifted you up, when, lo! I found Slowly but surely you were dragging me down. Out of space thus came a warning Soft and clear as the breath of the morning. PEARLS BEFORE SWINE. Have you learned the old saying of pearls before swine? I gave every pearl that ever was mine. I've nothing more to give. And it's hardly worth while for me to live. More blessed to give than receive, they say. I followed that teaching in my poor way. I wanted returns, I'll have to confess, And I had to be cool, and firm and brave, For I knew 'twas my duty your soul to save. And I've set your feet on the path of right, And from now till the end you shall see but the light And turn from it to pitfalls and terrors of night. Turn to the right, to the wrong you may sway. From black imps' vile rottenness I've snatched you away, And though I fall slain at your feet with a moan, I care not, for evil from you has flown; And, by all the glory of God above, I've proven the strength of a weak woman's love, And I thought my pearls would bring love that was blessed. I did so want love that was loyal; 'Twas more to me than a diadem royal. But I found too late that I was wrong, That love but existed in hopes and in song. What became of those pearls of mine? Oh, nothing! I just threw my pearls to the swine. ANOTHER POEM OF PASSION. I waged a battle fierce and long, I fought to know the right from wrong. Did I succeed? I cannot tell, Yet when I met sin I knew full well That fight's not over. 'Tis scarcely begun, And I struggle again to win, one by one, Steps on the ladder that mounts to great deeds, Where the path to the right unfailingly leads. As I gazed at the battlefield, flooded with gore, Where the path to the right unfailingly bore, I knew that the wounds came from contact with sin. 'Twas demons let loose that float in the air; But the fight's worth the while, for when Misery and heartaches shall all pass away Right has full sway. The reading of the poems was followed intently by the big crowd in Judge Brentano's courtroom. Mrs. McDonald appeared uninterested. From poetry the step was easy into song. Accomplished and educated as Dora McDonald was, with time hanging, sometimes, heavy on her hands, what more natural than that she should set her verses to music of her own composing? NEVER AGAIN. (Song written, composed and published by Mrs. Michael C. McDonald.) 'Twas only a story of a woman's love, a tale that has often been told. She gave a love that knew no bounds; the rest of the story is old. Again he had strayed, and this time had made a mistake she could never forget; In a voice that was dense with a grief intense she mournfully did say: I gave you sweetest love, you gave me naught but pain; Oh, I forgave you more than once but to be hurt again. This time it means the end, for I could never forget. I shall never see you again, although I love you yet. With tears in his eyes the man replied: "I know that I have gone astray; Remorse will last till life is passed; forgive me, don't send me away. Oh, let me atone, live for you alone; just once more have pity on me." But, bowing her head, with its look of one dead, she softly but firmly said: I gave you sweetest love, etc. The mother of the woman, an aged orthodox Hebrew, never went near Dora McDonald until the trial was nearly done, though that same old woman bent her knees as she day and night raised her voice to Jehovah in lamentations. Ill health, mental and physical, followed. All the sorrows of a shattered life befell her. SOUGHT VINDICATION TO SPARE HER AGED MOTHER. For Dora McDonald, life had been lived when Guerin died. It mattered not after that whether she went to the gallows or to freedom. But for one reason she would not have cared a whit whether her case was fought before a jury or not. The one reason was vindication that her mother might be spared something of shame. The vindication, however, was sought at a costly price--the price of a life and heart and love bared to a gaping world. It was an expensive effort to wash off the stain of an indictment. At the trial Assistant State's Attorneys Edward S. Day and William H. Rittenhouse wrangled with their own witnesses and tried one after another to have them testify to things they never saw or heard. They attacked Inspector John Wheeler, Officer J. G. S. Peterson, Thomas F. McFarland, Detective Wooldridge, Police Matron Elizabeth Belmont, Charles Freudenberg, an old soldier 60 years old, and threatened him with an indictment; Louis Jacobs, Lorenzo Blasi, Herman Hanson and Charles B. Williams. All of those accused except Detective Wooldridge considered the fulminations of Attorneys Day and Rittenhouse a good joke. They regarded them as the vaporings of temporarily disordered intellects, minds that had become rattled by a case which was too big for them. Owing, however, to the peculiar position in which he was placed as the officer who made the arrest, Wooldridge was forced to take cognizance of the matter. Wooldridge denied the statements made against him and branded them as malicious lies manufactured out of whole cloth. He asked for a hearing before the Civil Service Board, which was granted to him after the trial was over. It was fully shown at the investigation how Wooldridge had been treated in the matter, and the motive for his transfer; it was also shown that he knew no new facts, neither did he meet or know any witnesses except those who had testified to the Coroner and Grand Jury. The motives for his transfer and the reports were fully uncovered and exposed. Detective Wooldridge was exonerated by the entire Board of Civil Service Commissioners. Day and Rittenhouse simply sewed up the case in criminations and recriminations. Assistant State's Attorneys Day and Rittenhouse were outgeneraled, outclassed and whipped, and wanted to throw the blame for the acquittal of Dora McDonald on the Police Department and failed. They did everything but try the case. STRONG DEFENSE BY LEWIS. Colonel Lewis said that the State had not denied that the revolver with which Guerin was shot was his own. He called for the weapon and showed the jury how Guerin might have shot himself if Mrs. McDonald, in her struggle with him, had merely pushed the revolver around in the palm of his hand. Again he called for the blood-stained coat that Guerin wore when he was killed. It was too good an opportunity to be overlooked by the fine dramatic eye of the Colonel. "You remember the speech of Mark Anthony," he said; "how he produced a tremendous effect with the robe of the great Cæsar? I will not ask for more than the robe that this Cæsar wore." Thereupon he spread out the grewsome relic on the railing on the jury box to show what he said were powder marks. In his mind, there was no doubt about how the tragedy worked out. Guerin, enraged and terrified when Mrs. McDonald told him that she had told her rich and influential husband everything, attacked her. He got the revolver out of his drawer, probably to frighten her. Mrs. McDonald, half choked, saw it gleam and pushed it away from her. STRIKES HARD AT ARCHIE GUERIN. More striking than the beautiful imageries and the wealth of quotation from ancient and modern authors with which the Colonel embellished his speech was his strong play upon "that fifteen minutes," which, according to his interpretation of the evidence, elapsed between the time the boys in Guerin's studio were ejected and the time when Archie came out, leaving his brother and Mrs. McDonald alone, behind locked doors. "There need be nothing else in this case for you," exclaimed the speaker, "than this fifteen minutes unaccounted for. Archie Guerin knew what was going on there, and before God he should tell, but he did not. He hurried away and cleared the corridors. Nervous and confused, he hunted up Harry Feldman in the Windsor-Clifton Hotel, so that if anything happened, he could say: "'I didn't do it. You know I didn't, Feldman. I was right here with you.'" O'DONNELL MOVES TO TEARS. There were wet eyes in the courtroom as the real Dora McDonald was brought to life in the closing address of Mr. O'Donnell. The bickerings and the charges and the abuse that had made the courtroom like a pothouse brawl all day were forgotten. The woman's black clad figure and her white, despairing face became the living picture of the world-old tragedy of the judgment and the problem of pardon. "The tragedy was in that room," said Mr. O'Donnell, pointing to a plat of room 703 of the Omaha building, "and no one knows how the life of Guerin was ended. "I am not going to place a wreath upon the brow of this woman. She is not all that a man would wish his wife to be. She has traveled the devious pathways and her eyes have fallen upon the shifting scenes of life. "The Sabbath is coming on. Her ancestral people lit the candles at sundown last night. Somewhere in this city a light is burning where a Jewish mother is praying and hoping for her erring daughter. You are approaching the moment when you must do your great duty. You are here only to say whether she killed Guerin with a criminal intent in her heart. QUOTES THE GOSPEL. "A daughter of Israel coming to judgment. She may have been wayward, but we are not here to judge her past life. In a temple of Jerusalem many years ago the Saviour of us all stood before the multitude and they brought him a woman and said: "'She has been taken in sin and she must die.' And he said: "'Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.' And they walked away and left him with the woman. Then the Master said to the woman: "'Go and sin no more.' "Let us pass judgment upon this woman as the Son of Man passed it upon the woman of old that we may expect mercy when we stand at last where the fallen woman of Jerusalem stood." Mr. O'Donnell created a scene of profound dramatic features when he based his contention that Guerin blackmailed Mrs. McDonald upon a letter written by Guerin. He called the ghost of Guerin to take the witness stand and testify against the state's attorneys. ACQUITTAL CREATES THRILLING SCENES. These were the scenes which attended the rendition of the Dora McDonald verdict: "Bring in the jury," said Judge Brentano, as he dropped into the big leather-upholstered chair behind the bench. Bradley was waiting for the word at the door to the Judge's right. Looking very solemn and sphinx-like, the twelve men filed in and took their usual places. At the same time Mrs. McDonald came through the corridor from the custodian's room, accompanied by her nurse, Miss A. K. Beck. Miss Beck was trembling, but there was not a tremor in Mrs. McDonald's hands or a movement of the facial muscles to indicate that she felt the least excitement. Attorney Norden pulled out her armchair for her and pushed it under her again as she sat down. Every man in the courtroom felt a choke in his throat, but if Mrs. McDonald felt it she gave no evidence of it. "Gentlemen," said the judge, turning toward the jury, "have you agreed upon a verdict?" At first there was no answer, and the judge had to repeat the question. That interval was like a lapse of a week or a month. Mrs. McDonald, who had not been asked to rise, sat facing the jury and looking straight at them. She considered it only polite to keep awake and to forego those beloved "dreams" of hers in honor of the verdict, whatever it might be. SUSPENSE FRIGHTFUL. "Have you agreed upon a verdict?" repeated Judge Brentano, a little impatiently. "We have," replied the foreman, Hugh H. Fulton, rising and displaying a paper which he held in his right hand. "Let the Clerk of the Court read it." A. J. Harris, the Clerk, was already in front of the railing to receive the paper. He took it to his desk, and holding it under an incandescent lamp, for the courtroom was dark, he read, in a loud voice: "We, the jury, find the defendant, Dora McDonald, not guilty." It was as though you had touched a match to a pile of gunpowder. The people in the courtroom seemed to explode. They did not cheer, or applaud, or shout, and yet they appeared to be doing all of them. The tension was broken and a sort of bubbling effervescence took its place. MCDONALD JURORS TELL OF THE VERDICT. "The jury found Mrs. McDonald innocent because they could not feel sure that she did not act in self-defense, and, following the instructions of the court, gave her the benefit of the doubt." This was the opinion voiced by Juror Charles McGrath. Mr. McGrath said that the jury presumed the defendant sane, and that the matter of possible insanity was not considered at any time. "I think that the jury attached a great deal of importance to the testimony of Dr. McNamara," continued Mr. McGrath. "He was the only physician that had made a thorough physical examination of the defendant subsequent to Guerin's death. We especially paid a great deal of attention to that portion of his testimony that told of the marks found on Mrs. McDonald's neck, indicating that she had been choked. This evidence, taken with that relative to the finding of the hairpins on the floor, showed that there had been a struggle, and the court had instructed us that if we found that there had been a struggle we would be justified in finding a verdict of acquittal. "Although I, perhaps, ought to speak only for myself, I will say that I do not think that the members of the jury were much impressed with the expert testimony." Another juror said that those favoring an acquittal based their arguments largely on the fact that most of the evidence in the case was circumstantial, and that there was no absolute proof that Mrs. McDonald fired the fatal shot at all, and that if she did it was not shown that it was not in self-defense. "It was mostly by argument along these lines that the conviction men were won over, one by one," said this juror. "The subject of the unwritten law was not gone into at all." WOMAN SERENE AS VERDICT IS READ. Dora McDonald, in a state of serenity and composure that is baffling even to those who are nearest her, was surrounded after her acquittal by friends and relatives, who were weeping for very joy at her acquittal. She seemed quite unconcerned about it all, but when they took her to one side and asked her how she felt about it, she said, in the amazingly simple way she has: "I am pleased. Do you want me to tell you the five reasons why?" They said yes, and though she lost herself several times in the attempt, for she was very tired--these were the reasons she gave: 1--Because no Jewish woman could ever do a deed like that of which I had been accused. 2--Because it removes the stigma from dad's (Michael C. McDonald's) name. 3--Because of my boy. 4--Because of my darling old mother. 5--Please believe it, last and least--absolutely least of these--because of myself. "The only real disappointment to me is that dad did not live to hear that verdict, and that is my bitterest disappointment." It had been the belief generally among those who followed the case that the woman would not outlive the verdict long, no matter what it might be. The original plans were that she would be sent to a sanitarium in case of acquittal. She herself is said to have planned that if let go she would make a journey to Jerusalem, and there end her days in prayer with her chosen people, in an effort to blot out her past. "Life can never have any more meaning for her," Colonel Lewis said when the jury first retired. "No matter what the verdict, it is of little consequence to her, though she will die happier, maybe, if she is acquitted." In Jerusalem there is what is known as the "Wall of the Wailing of the Jews." In the Valley of Tyron, at the foot of Mount Moriah, on which now stands the Mosque of Omar, but where formerly the Temple of Solomon stood, there are five enormous stones built into the foot of the hill. A little courtyard beside these stones, which Solomon laid as the foundations of his Temple, is set aside for the Jewish race. Each Friday this courtyard is filled with Jews wailing for the sorrows of Israel. Every type of Jew, from the hunted Russian to the wealthy American, may be found there, reading from the Book of Lamentations, and sending the cry of sorrow to the skies. It was here that Dora McDonald proposed to weep out her ruined life. But no, it is not the Place of Wailing in Jerusalem to which Dora McDonald has gone. Hard as it is to believe of the woman who so bravely passed through this tremendous ordeal, she has stooped, stooped lower than one would believe humanly possible. She has returned to the stage. She is now engaged in attempting to have a play based upon the tremendous tragedy of her life placed on the boards in New York. She is attempting to lay bare to the gaping audiences of cheap theatres the sores upon her soul. She has been calloused to publicity to such an extent that she now hungers for the public eye. She has placed herself in the same class with the lepers outside the walls of Jerusalem who display their horrid sutures and demand a penny before they replace the bandages. To this petty end has come this greatest and most spectacular of modern trials, this heart-shaking romance of love and life. [Illustration: THE VAMPIRE FROM THE PAINTING BY BURNE-JONES] The Vampire. After Painting by SIR ED. BURNE-JONES Verses by RUDYARD KIPLING. A fool there was and he made his prayer-- (Even as you and I.) To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair-- (We called her the woman who did not care) But the fool he called her his lady fair-- (Even as you and I.) Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste-- And the work of our head and hand Belong to the woman who did not know-- (And now we know that she never could know) And did not understand. A fool there was and his goods he spent-- (Even as you and I.) Honor and faith and a sure intent-- (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant) But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you and I.) Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost-- And the excellent things we planned Belong to the woman who didn't know why-- (And now we know she never knew why) And did not understand. The fool was stripped to his foolish hide-- (Even as you and I.) Which she might have seen when she threw him aside-- (But it isn't on record the lady tried) So some of him lived but the most of him died-- (Even as you and I.) But it isn't the shame, and it isn't the blame That sting like a white hot brand-- It's coming to know that she never knew why-- (Seeing at last she could never know why) And could never understand. MIKE McDONALD. "King of Gamblers," Supreme in His Day, Relentless Nemesis of Old "Clark Street Gang," Brings His Gray Hairs to Grave With Broken Heart. Rises From Newsboy to Gambling King and Becomes Millionaire. Mike McDonald's career in Chicago has been spectacular and sensational to a degree. The present-day generation in Chicago cannot appreciate what the name Michael C. McDonald meant twenty years ago in Chicago. There is not a single man today in Chicago, or in any city in America who occupies relatively the position that Mike McDonald did in the old days in Chicago. He never held office, but he ruled the city with an iron hand. He named the men who were to be candidates for election; he elected them; and then, after they were in office, they were merely his puppets. While in recent years Michael C. McDonald has shown little activity in Chicago political and sporting circles, living quietly at Drexel boulevard and Forty-fifth street, in a costly mansion, his name twenty years ago was a power in both. Born in 1840 in Niagara county, New York, he came to Chicago in 1854 and was a newsboy with John R. Walsh and other pioneers, in the city's infancy. Before the war a business venture took him to New Orleans, and when the south began to become inflamed he returned to Chicago with enough money to purchase the sample room of the Richmond House, Michigan avenue and South Water street. Here a spectacular career began. McDonald became the big gambler of all the host of gamblers that were then growing rich in Chicago. He also became one of the leaders in the democratic organization. He made money hand over fist. [Illustration: Michael C. McDonald's wheel of fortune, showing his progress from bootblack to gambling king, and the woman's face that brought him to the tragic present, causing him to exclaim: "My riches have brought me only sorrow."] BEGINS LIFE AS "CANDY BUTCHER." Mike McDonald began life as a "candy butcher" on railroad trains before the war. He sold peanuts and popcorn and mysterious packages not to be opened on the train, and fine gold watches at $3.75 apiece. Mike ran on many different railroads, although it must be said for the sake of truth that his customers were often very sorry to board a train and find that the energetic little candy butcher who had sold them jewelry on the last trip they had made had left and gone over to some other railroad. Mike's old customers used to beg him to return to them. They even dared him to come back. PATRIOTIC FOR A PRICE. The candy butcher made money and saved it, and during the war he settled down in Chicago. Mike was very patriotic. He sent many men around to the enlistment offices, especially when big bounties were offered for volunteers. The trouble with the gallant soldiers that Mike put into the service was that after they got their bounty money they lost their enthusiasm and faded from view, like an evanescent mist. Mike made much money out of his bounty-jumpers, but lost a good deal of it gambling. At this time he trained with "Tip" Farrell, Charley Miller, John Sutton and Matt Duffy, who figured more or less in the police records of that time. Sutton was shot and killed in front of Pete Page's saloon, on Clark street, in 1864. Toward the close of the war McDonald and a notorious St. Paul crook lost $600 in the famous game that Colonel Cameron was running in Chicago. McDonald found out that the cards were stocked against him, and it discouraged him with having anything more to do with poker playing from the front of the table. Colonel Cameron had taught him, at the expense of $600, that the money in gambling was in running the game, not playing it. From that day Mike McDonald never gambled. He straightway opened his own game. With Dave Oaks he started a game of faro at 89 Dearborn street. It was a nice, little, modest game, with only those two as the entire crew of the place. They took turn alternate days as dealer and roper in. The suckers who played the game used to complain frequently that the firm of Oaks & McDonald worked sleight-of-hand tricks with the faro deck, and the unkind police used to raid the game every day. SOLVED GAMBLING PROBLEM. This frequent raiding cut frightfully into the profits of the enterprising firm of Oaks & McDonald, and set the junior member thinking again. He had already solved the great problem that it is better to run a brace game than to play one, but he found there were thorns even in running a game. Therefore he set to work to discover how these thorns could be removed. The thorns that beset his career as a gambler were the police. But the police acted under instructions from the chief of police. The chief of police acted under instructions from the administration. Therefore, McDonald figured out that he would have to control the administration. So he straightway blossomed out as a politician, and grew in importance until finally he ruled Chicago, and realized the great ambition of his life, to make and unmake things like chiefs of police, with a curt nod of his head. ONCE RULED ALL CHICAGO. Mike McDonald never got over his hatred for the police that was born in the days when they used to raid his little game at 89 Dearborn street. He probably would have abolished the police department entirely when he finally found himself on the throne of Chicago, had it not been that he found the police useful in making the other fellows behave, while he could do as he pleased. And then, it was such a joy to make the police bend the knee and acknowledge him as Lord and Master. Generally the superintendents of police knew what was expected of them before they accepted the office, but once in a while one of them had foolish notions about duty and law, and had to be taught his place. Poor old Simon O'Donnell, when he became superintendent of police, in the days when Mike McDonald ran "The Store" and ruled Chicago, got the idea, because of numerous complaints of many patrons of the gambling games in "The Store," that the place should be raided. So he raided it. It was a most impious act. It was like laying hands on the Ark of the Covenant. Superintendent Simon O'Donnell lost his job so quickly it made his head ache, and William J. McGarigle, whom McDonald afterward made warden of the county hospital, and who was indicted and convicted of boodling, was installed as superintendent of police in place of the simple-minded Mr. O'Donnell. Mike McDonald's hatred and contempt for the police is preserved in a joke that the few minstrel companies still left on earth continue to cherish as one of their best beloved jests. It originated with McDonald. One day, when he was in the zenith of his power, a man came into "The Store" with a subscription list. "The boys are raising a little money, Mike," said the man. "We'd like to have you give something. We are putting our names down for $2 a piece." "What's it for?" asked Mike, suspiciously. "Why," answered the man, considerably confused, "We're burying a policeman." "Fine," said Mike. "Here's $10; go and bury five of 'em." NEAR TO PENITENTIARY. While Mike was running the place at 89 Dearborn street he became involved in an affair that put him in jail for three months and made the portals of the penitentiary loom up largely across his path. It looked for a time as if his career was about to be nipped in the young bud. In 1869 Charles Goodwin, assistant cashier of the Chicago Dock Company, was found to be a defaulter to the extent of $30,000. He fled from Chicago and went to California, but in a few months came back and surrendered himself to the authorities. He testified that McDonald had lured him into the game at 89 Dearborn street, where he had played and lost his money in a series of brace games that lasted during a period of several weeks. At first he lost a few hundred dollars, and he was persuaded to go back to the Dock company's office and get money out of the safe in order that he could return the next evening and win back the money he had lost. He never won anything back, but kept getting in deeper. At length the poor, deluded victim was told to make a big haul and skip the town. He made a last pull at the strong box for $15,000 or $18,000, and his friends at 89 Dearborn street let him play one last farewell game, at which they took the trouble to see that the boy should not be bothered in his flight from justice by lugging a big bag full of money around with him. CASE FINALLY "FIXED." McDonald was arrested, and the Dock company also proceeded against him civilly, as it was not certain he could be held on a criminal charge owing to the guarded manner in which he had conducted his operation. McDonald was put under bail of $60,000, and, being unable to supply it, remained in jail for several months. Things were finally "fixed" all right, though. A few days before his trial he was released from jail, John Corcoran and Alderman Tom Foley going on his bail bond. The trial was a farce. All the gamblers, "con" men, bunko steerers and strong-arm men in Chicago lined up in court and told how the defaulting clerk had begged to be permitted to play the brace game, with tears in his eyes, and that most of his money had been spent on wine, women and song. The jury solemnly declared McDonald innocent. The expense of his trial on the charge of stealing the Dock company's $30,000 had made McDonald poor, and he had to get out and do a little "hustling." Soon after his release from the county jail John Donaldson, a California gambler and a high roller, made a winning in McDonald's place of $2,200 at poker. He took the money back to the hotel with him and was robbed of it and $500 besides before he had been in bed ten minutes. A cracksman by the name of Travers was convicted of the crime. Donaldson used to go to Joliet every day or two to interview Travers. Finally he came back from Joliet and never ate nor slept until he had run McDonald down. Tweaking his nose he shouted: "Travers has confessed. You are a thief. You are a coward. Within twenty minutes after I was robbed you were dividing my $2,700 with Travers and his pal." McDonald did not deny the charge or strike back at Donaldson, as the latter apparently hoped he would. Donaldson was a slight man, almost dead with consumption, but he was famous as a man killer, and while with one hand he tweaked McDonald's nose, the other hand was jammed down in his coat pocket, and McDonald knew that if he made a move or said a word he was a dead man. Donaldson's hatred for McDonald became a mania with him. He was a doomed man, anyhow, and he wanted to kill McDonald before he went. So for the three years before death finally claimed him he would drag himself about the streets until he could stand in front of his enemy and slap him in the face and curse him, and beg him to raise his hand or say a word, or give him the slightest pretext for killing him. It was a great relief to McDonald when grim death finally claimed Donaldson. RISES IN HIS PROFESSION. After the fire McDonald opened a place on State street, in partnership with Nick Geary, a celebrated thief, who was subsequently killed in Philadelphia. McDonald next moved to the West Side, and was taken in by John Dowling, who gave him a third interest in his game in consideration of indemnity against police interference, McDonald's political star at this time being on the rise. The firm cleared $100,000 in less than a year. [Illustration: (gambling with skeleton)] About this time McDonald formed a partnership with Harry Lawrence and Morris Martin, and for four or five years they had supreme control of the bunko business. None others could work excepting those who took the trouble to see the firm of McDonald, Martin & Lawrence. Among the gang who worked under the protection of the firm were Tom Wallace, John Wallace, "Snitzer, the Kid," John Martin, "Snapper Johnny," "Kid Miller," "Sir James" Arlington, or Gannon, "Appetite Bill," and "Hungry Joe." There is no telling how much money these individuals took away from the unsuspecting public, but it is estimated at over $1,000,000. Of this, 20 per cent went to the police, 40 per cent to the roper, and 40 per cent to the firm. The latter furnished straw bail, witnesses and juries, and other protection, and the confidence gangs reported to it and received orders. In 1875 "White Pine" Martin shot and killed "Sir James" Gannon in front of "The Store" while quarreling over the division of the proceeds of some job. THRONE IN "THE STORE." The firm of McDonald, Lawrence and Martin had opened up the resort known as "The Store" on Clark street, on the northwest corner of Monroe street, where the Hamilton Club stands today. The first floor was operated as a saloon, and the floors above as gambling rooms. After public sentiment became aroused over the bunko business of the firm, Lawrence and Martin drew out, leaving McDonald to run "The Store" alone. "The Store" was the most famous place in Chicago in those days. It was not only the rendezvous of all the sporting men, politicians and denizens of the underworld in Chicago, but it was virtually the city hall, for from his little office in "The Store" McDonald managed the affairs of the city. Every form of gambling known flourished on that wonderful second floor. The most expert manipulators of cards that ever dealt a second or shifted a cold deck sat behind the tables. They were Clif Doherty, Frank Gallon, Billy Tyler, Charles Winship and George Noyse. High-ball poker, in which the roller holds the high ball in his fist and rolls it to the cappers continuously, and faro, with fifty-three cards in the deck, so that the odd could be dealt, were said to have always prevailed in "The Store." "There never was an honest card dealt in the place," is the epitaph one old-time gambler has written on its dead proprietor. Big as the place was, it was always crowded. McDonald is said to have coined a very common phrase when, on one occasion, one of his dealers protested against putting in more tables and increasing the size of the gambling rooms. "I tell you, Mike," he said, "we won't have enough players to fill up all the games." "Ah, don't worry," McDonald is said to have replied, "there's a sucker born every minute." In politics McDonald's first great triumph was when he elected Colvin mayor on the democratic ticket. Then he put the elder Harrison in the mayoralty chair, and after that he had plain sailing. His control lasted during the entire Harrison administration of eight years. In all that time there was no bigger man in Chicago than Mike McDonald. The only time he met with a serious set-back was in 1882, when he tried to elect William J. McGarigle, then chief of police, sheriff of Cook county. THE BIG COURTHOUSE "JOB." Another disappointment of McDonald's political career was when he got a bill past the county commissioners and city aldermen authorizing Harry Holland to paint the outside of the City Hall and County Building with a mixture which was guaranteed to prevent the stone from decaying. Holland applied his marvelous preparation, but when the time came to pay the bill a newspaper man, John J. Lane, who died only the other day in St. Louis, had dug up evidence tending to show that Holland's preparation was nothing but water and chalk, and not quite so efficacious in preventing the decay of stone as prune juice or ice cream would have been, but much cheaper. The county has never yet paid the $80,000 that Holland wanted for the job on the county building. After the close of the Harrison administration a new day began in Chicago. The independent voter broke the power of party bosses. Mike McDonald's rule was broken. He could no longer do what he pleased with city administrations and be unofficial chief of police. He bowed pleasantly to the inevitable, and stepped down and out. He was wise in that he saw the handwriting on the wall, and gracefully submitted instead of "kicking against the pricks" and wasting his time and his money, as did other gamblers and sports, who were finally crushed out simply because they could not recognize that new conditions and new men had come. McDonald quit every sphere of his old life and went into business. It was he who, with William Fitzgerald, built the first elevated road in town, the Lake street "L." Then, in 1891, he thought he would like to be an editor. He bought control of the Globe, a daily morning paper, and ran it for over two years. It was not a financial success, and finally McDonald gave it up. "I guess I was never cut out for a literary man," was his laughing remark. "There are other things I know more about." DOMESTIC LIFE ROUGH. A great deal has been said about McDonald's domestic unhappiness, but it was not until his body had been buried that the truth was known. His first wife was Mary Noonan, whom he married in the days when "The Store" was the sporting and political Mecca of Chicago. It was a great scandal in the community later when she suddenly disappeared, and it was reported that she had run away with "Billy" Arlington, a minstrel man. It was the greater shock because her devotion and loyalty to McDonald had been the talk of the town. One time she had stood, with a pistol, in her husband's gambling house, and defied the police when they raided the place under instruction of some blundering chief of police, who did not realize that he was toying with the lightning when he laid violent hands on anything that belonged to McDonald. Mary McDonald had held her ground at the door in "The Store," and declared she would shoot the first policeman that attempted to enter. She was as good as her word, and one of the officers was carried to a hospital with a bullet through his arm. Mrs. McDonald, through her husband's pull, was never prosecuted. McDonald went to San Francisco and brought his wife back and installed her in the house he had built at Ashland avenue and Harrison street, considered in those days a veritable palace. McDonald gave it out to the world that he had built the mansion for his wife, and his taking her back after she was reputed to have run away with another man was accepted as a wonderful instance of his great-heartedness and magnanimity. SAM BARCLAY TELLS "HOW MIKE MCDONALD'S COIN WON DORA AWAY." "Sam" Barclay (Harry is supposed to have been his baptismal name) was one of the great ball players of the long ago, and the shadows of the drama that wrecked his life are, therefore, interwoven with the world of sport, and even with the career of Charles Comiskey, "the master of the White Sox." Barclay, a trim and graceful fellow, came into prominence twenty years ago and played with Pittsburg and St. Louis. At St. Louis he was under the command of Comiskey, who therefore knew him well, and was always interested in his doings. On two or three occasions quarrels over the contracts of Sam Barclay nearly wrecked organized base ball. He was a wonderful second baseman, and one of the fastest and most scientific players of the day. In 1889 Barclay's knee went back on him, and, while he regained full use of the leg, he was never fast enough to play his former game. He also began to take on flesh, and was glad to retire from the diamond. [Illustration: HOME MCDONALD BUILT FOR HIS FIRST WIFE HARRISON ST. AND ASHLAND BLD.] OPENS SALOON IN CHICAGO. Coming to Chicago, Barclay opened a saloon on West Madison street. Back in 1894, West Madison, from Halsted to Elizabeth, was the real red-light district, full of saloons and concert halls. Barclay's place was the headquarters of revelry, but Sam himself kept a good name for personal honesty and unbounded generosity to his friends. When the red-lights went out on Madison street, Sam leased a saloon at 15 North Clark, where for some time he held the same kind of sway he had maintained west of the river. This place was ultimately lost, and he went over in Garfield park district, without much success. "Sam" Barclay, former husband of Mrs. "Mike" McDonald II, 451 West Lake street, freely discussed his life with Mrs. McDonald. It was an interesting story, in which he told of Mrs. McDonald's attempt to commit suicide once in Kansas City, of brawls in his saloon, the "Half Moon," and of how "Mike" McDonald, assisted by "Bunk" Allen, lured his wife away from him. Here is what he said: "They have printed stories that are not true about this case. Mrs. McDonald's mother was a Mrs. Feldman, who at one time lived at 619 Harrison street. At the time I knew her Mrs. Feldman had been divorced from her husband and he was living in the Ghetto. LIKELY LAD OF 200 POUNDS. "It was in '89 that I met Dora. I was in the Kansas City ball team, and was a likely lad. I weighed 200 pounds, trained down, and it was a good man who was able to floor me. "Dora came to visit her brother-in-law in Kansas City. He is Dick Vaughn, and a very good 'pal' of mine. I met her there at his house. "We took a liking to each other, so I used to have her in the best seat every day at the games when we played on home grounds. "And she never was slow, I tell you, of giving me credit when I made a double play or lined out a hot one. NOTHING LIKE REAL LOVE. "Well, the season came to a close. I liked the kid, but I didn't feel nothing like real love for her. I was going to leave Kansas City, and nothing was said about taking her with me. I noticed that big tears came in her eyes when I told her, but she didn't say much. That night they sent for me. They told me that Dora was dying. "I got to Vaughn's house and found her unconscious. She had taken laudanum, the doctor said. She was in a stupor. The first chance I got, I asked her what was the matter, and she said to me, as the tears rolled down her cheeks: "'I don't want to be left alone.' "That, you know, touched me. We got married. I've got the license right here. It was all doped up by a fellow in the Washingtonian Home, who thought he owed a lot to me. He certainly did some fine pen and ink decorating with birds, and shadings and such things. "So, after I quit the national game, I went into the saloon business at 292 West Madison street, first, and then started the 'Half Moon.' "I'll tell you the truth about how Dora met Mike McDonald. She went to McVicker's theater one day with Harry Summers, who is now treasurer of the Illinois theater. "Dora was with Mrs. Elliott. She used to be a model in Ryan's store, at Madison and Peoria streets. Summers introduced Dora to Mike McDonald, and that's the way they started. DAY OF HARRISON FUNERAL. "Well I remember the time--it was on the day that Carter Harrison's funeral went past the house, at 319 Washington boulevard, where we were living at that time. "'I met an old gentleman today who has lots of money,' Dora said to me, as we looked out of the window. "'It's funny how a man gets up in the world and then loses it all when he's laid away in the narrow box,' I said, keeping my eyes on the hearse. "I was thinking, then, but not about what my wife said. Afterward the words came to me, but I didn't realize the meaning of her expression or what it had in store for me then. DEEP GAME WELL PLAYED. "A few years passed. They went quick, then. Money made the time fly, and Dora certainly was a spender. Then one night they pulled off the game that was to separate us and give Mike McDonald a young wife. "I was boozy with wine. Bill Hoffman and 'Bunk' Allen were masters of the ceremonies. They bundled me in a cab and drove me to a place on Wood street. Detectives came in, and my wife, too, and they there and then laid the basis of the divorce suit which ended the game between Dora and I." Barclay then told of a fight in his saloon, in which one man was almost killed and another badly wounded. Then he said: "That's how they wound up the 'Half Moon.' Jimmy Quinn said he was my friend, but he stabbed me in the back. I was getting too strong in politics, so he got me and I was put down and out." Barclay had seemed perfectly happy with her, but one night when he was living in rooms over his saloon at 15 North Clark street he learned that Mike McDonald had come into her life, and it was not long before the ball player's romance was ended. WIFE GETS DIVORCE. Mrs. Barclay obtained a divorce--with McDonald's money, so Barclay always said--and the ball player was left alone. The blow proved his utter undoing. Barclay lost ambition and energy. He spent hours in his rooms, gazing mutely at a huge crayon portrait of his wife, taken a year before she left him, and he seemed to have no desire or ability left for business. SECOND WEDDING IN MILWAUKEE. Mrs. Barclay was married to McDonald in Milwaukee. At the time she was in the chorus of the Chicago Opera House. Her mother is Mrs. Fanny Feldman, 338 South Marshfield avenue. She has two brothers, Harry and Emil Feldman, both known in West Side political circles. Harry Feldman was employed in the city clerk's office during William Loeffler's term. When McDonald took his new wife to his house on Ashland boulevard there was a red-hot family row. Guy, the elder of the two sons of McDonald, had a pitched battle with her, and the fight was carried into the street. The boy was victorious at first, but his father sided with the stepmother, and eventually the boy left home. Harold Barclay, 10 years old, Mrs. McDonald's son by her first marriage, was adopted by McDonald, and with his two sons, Cassius and Guy McDonald, has an equal share in the estate. INDUCES HUSBAND TO DISINHERIT SON. Shortly after her marriage to McDonald, Dora became angry at her husband's son, Harley. The latter objected to his father contracting further matrimonial alliances, and did not hesitate to say so. Mrs. McDonald prevailed upon her husband to disinherit the son, and later, of her own initiative, caused the arrest of the young man. The charge was threats against her life. The case came up at the old Armory police court, and the young man was placed under bonds to keep the peace. The breach between father and son is said never to have healed. Young McDonald went into the sign painting business soon after the episode. Guy married Miss Pearl Flower, and lives in Chicago. Mrs. McDonald once had Guy McDonald arrested on the charge of writing threatening and obscene letters. The case was hotly fought in the United States court. A juryman, and warm personal friend of Mike McDonald, saved him from conviction, which would have carried with it a penitentiary sentence. THE STING AND CURSE OF ILL-GOTTEN MONEY. "Mike" McDonald, the king of gamblers, was buried like a king of men. There were flowers, tears, friends, orations and processions. But as clothes are not, neither is a funeral, an index to character--nor even is the obituary column. Strangers, reading the story of the last day above the sod of McDonald's body, might has thought that Chicago had lost a leading good citizen. They were told that McDonald had amassed wealth, but they were not told how he got it. They read of the great men whom he had befriended, but they were not told of the men whom he had ruined. They were not told that Mike McDonald living, had violated the laws of the land, of society and of the home. "Mike" McDonald died worth a million dollars. A young man beginning life, familiar only with the post-mortem, story of McDonald, and seeing no condemnation of his method of getting rich, might feel encouraged to hold to the idea that the accumulation of money bars all criticism for the way it is acquired. Though the publicity of cold type has put no brand on the dead McDonald, the story of "Mike" McDonald's life and fortune is not yet finished. Suppose he did die worth a million dollars, whom will it benefit? What good will it do? There will be a fight in every dollar, a quarrel in every penny. There will be a strife among men and women over this fortune. Much of it will go to lawyers to defend a woman charged with murder. Much more of it will go to other lawyers who will try to break his will. As McDonald's money was ill-gotten, so will it be spent to no good purpose. In a few years McDonald will be forgotten except by those whom in life he ruined. His fortune will be gone. No one will remember him for the good he did, if he did any good. Let not "Mike" McDonald's success in securing money encourage you to follow his method. If you, young man, had an opportunity of entering a gambling venture, with a certainty of securing for yourself a fortune of a million dollars, you would be a fool to take advantage of that opportunity. There is nothing in the life of even a successful gambler worth imitating and nothing that he does worth admiring. "Mike" McDonald may have been better than the ordinary class of gamblers, but the occasional good deeds that men of his character do are always exaggerated. Ninety-nine gamblers out of a hundred that amass fortunes die paupers. The money that a few accumulate, even as McDonald did, is, as a rule, a curse to those that inherit it. But if McDonald had sense--and we believe he did have sense--in the closing years of his life he cursed the day when he started on a career that wrecked him, socially and morally, and left him in his dying hour a bankrupt in everything but the possession of a few hundred thousand dollars, which he could not take beyond the grave. And what has happened after McDonald's death, and what will happen in the courts of law, will prove to men that ill-gotten money carries a sting to its possessor and a curse to those who inherit it. WIFE NO. 1, WIDOW; NO. 2, REPUDIATED. BURIAL OF "MIKE" MCDONALD SERVES TO OPEN NEW CHAPTER IN HIS TROUBLES--OLD SCANDALS DENIED. MARY NOONAN NOW CLAIMS INNOCENCE AND FIGHTS TO PROVE DIVORCE ILLEGAL. The grave out at Mount Olivet that closed over the body of "Mike" McDonald refused a final sanctuary to the life-tragedy of the political boss and millionaire gambling king. The same hand of death that closed his eyes on his triumphs and afflictions raised the curtain on an unforseen last act in this drama of Chicago life. In this new part of the plot Mrs. Dora Feldman McDonald, who turned the old gambler's head and broke his heart through the shooting of Webster Guerin, appears as a wife solemnly repudiated in death-bed rites. At the same time Mrs. Mary Noonan McDonald, the divorced and exiled first wife, steps upon the scene to cleanse her name of the scandals to which it has been linked for twenty years. While the two wives and the relatives stood before the coffin it came out that McDonald, shortly before his death at St. Anthony de Padua hospital, had uttered a formal repudiation of his second marriage, in the presence of the Rev. Maurice J. Dorney, pastor of St. Gabriel's Catholic Church, and several witnesses, in the persons of hospital attendants. This having been done, McDonald was permitted the last sacraments of the church and burial under the Roman ritual. FIRST WIFE DENIES CHARGES. As the second wife passed under the ban, the first one came forward to claim that of which she had been dispossessed by human passion. Sitting in her apartment last night at the Vincennes hotel, Vincennes avenue and Thirty-sixth street. Mary Noonan McDonald gave her version of the romance and tragedy that have measured forty years of her life. "For the sake of my two boys, it is now my duty to tell the world the truth about the slanders with which my name has been blackened," she said. "I am not perfect, and I have done things for which I am sorry, but I am guiltless of the charges with which I have been hounded about the world for twenty years. This I can prove, and to do so I shall remain in Chicago as long as necessary." REPUDIATION OF SECOND WIFE. It was after the solemn requiem mass over McDonald's body in the Church of the Presentation that the Rev. Father Dorney consented to tell the story of the gambler's dying repudiation of his second wife. "I told 'Mike' McDonald before his death," said Father Dorney, "that in the eyes of the Roman Catholic church there was no such thing as divorce; that he had but one wife, the mother of his children--Mary Noonan. I told him he must publicly repudiate this other woman, and only when he said he did so could he receive the last sacraments, penance, holy eucharist, and extreme unction. "Although he was critically ill, he said, firmly, that he would do as the church wished: that he was sorry for his sins, and he wanted to receive the last sacraments. Then, in the presence of witnesses, as is required, he made the repudiation. Later he went to confession, but what he told there I can never reveal. "Afterwards the other woman, Dora Feldman, came to see him at the hospital, but if he was conscious he never recognized her. He was true to his promise, true to his resolution to put her out of his life." CHURCH NOT INTERESTED IN WILL. Father Dorney's attention was called to the fact that McDonald probably had left a considerable portion of his estate to his second wife. "I suppose he did, but this is a legal matter in which the church is not interested. Mike McDonald and Mary Noonan were legally married in the eyes of the law, and the church, in a Catholic church edifice. We never recognize divorce. Of course, we know it is impossible at times for men and women to live together, and the church permits them to reside apart, but remarriage is impossible as long as both of the parties are still alive. "McDonald never remarried in the eyes of the church, because his first wife was not dead. By his actions with Dora Feldman he gave great scandal, but before his death he repented of it. If Dora Feldman followed Mike McDonald to his grave, she could not do so from an ecclesiastical standpoint, and in my sermon this morning when I referred to the wife of the dead man I meant Mary Noonan McDonald, the mother of his children." MRS. MARY MCDONALD CHANGED. No greater contrast could be conceived than that between the woman reputed to have deserted her husband in turn for a renegade French priest and a minstrel, and the woman who rose to greet the interviewer who called at the Vincennes hotel for Mrs. Mary Noonan McDonald. Twenty years of sorrow have left snow white hair that still crowns her head with the same wealth as that of younger days, and twenty years of struggle to support herself have dulled the fire of those gray eyes that once looked over a smoking revolver with which the girl wife held at bay the police raiders of her husband's gambling house. But the slender figure appeared as erect as ever, though standing forth with an added frailty beside her stalwart, brown-faced son, Guy, and her face, though pale and sad, scarcely confessed to her 60 years of age. [Illustration: MARY NOONAN McDONALD, MICHAEL C. McDONALD, MRS. MICHAEL C. McDONALD] This is the woman who began her career in Chicago as the helpmate of an old-time gambling king, and is ending her days in the work of rescuing wayward girls; this is the woman who was driven to abandon the name of McDonald and bury her identity for the last fifteen years under the alias of Mrs. Grashoff, holding communication only with her children and secretly visiting Chicago periodically to see them. TELLS HER STORY AT LAST. "It is sixteen years since I have talked to a newspaper reporter," said Mrs. Mary Noonan McDonald. "Again and again have I been besought to tell my story, but long ago I determined to remain silent until after the death of Mr. McDonald. For the sake of my children's relations with their father I held my peace, and now, for the sake of my children's name, I have decided to give my story to the world. "The lies that have been printed about me for the last twenty years are but a feeble testimonial of the tremendous power wielded by Mr. McDonald and his friends. None knows better than I how he made and unmade public officials, set judges on the bench, determined public politics in the old days, and fought his enemies with a ruthlessness that made him feared far and wide. When I became his enemy, I, too, began to feel his power, as it was manifested in the public press. "The lies have multiplied day by day, but I have so far refused to answer them. Only during the last week the papers have said that Dora McDonald, who ruined Mike McDonald's life, and I, met at the bedside of the dying man. We have never met. The only time I ever saw her was in a Providence (R. I.) hotel, ten years ago, where I was stopping while at a convention of charities. We sat at the same table, and I heard her say to a girl with her that I looked like Guy's mother. Then I knew who she was. I have not seen her since, not even at the grave today, though I was told she was there." Guy McDonald interposed to explain that his stepmother had not been allowed to attend the funeral service at the church, being taken directly to the cemetery. SAYS CHARGES WERE INVENTED. "The statement I want to make to the world," resumed Mrs. McDonald, "is that all the stories told of my conduct at the time I was separating from Mr. McDonald, are absolutely false, and were maliciously invented and circulated. The trouble between my husband and me grew out of his brutality. He was a big, red-blooded man, but when under the influence of liquor he was rough and disorderly. He often struck me at such times, and mistreated me in other cruel ways. "I finally came to the conclusion that I could stand the life no longer. So I ran away. But I went alone, and not with Billy Arlington, the minstrel, as the story was told afterwards. I went to San Francisco and visited with friends, and while there I met Arlington. He was only a casual acquaintance, and I never saw him after I left San Francisco. I went from there to Cincinnati, and thence to New York, with friends. We stopped at the Gilsey house, and there William Pinkerton, Al Smith, the old-time gambler, who had a resort at 86 Clark, and Mr. McDonald, coaxed me to come back home. "But it was not long before the old trouble began again. Mr. McDonald was extremely abusive when in liquor, and Mr. A. S. Trude will tell you that I went to his office one day and asked him to get me a divorce. He tried to smooth matters over, and succeeded for a time. NO CHAPEL IN HOUSE. "Then we went to live in the new house at 308 Ashland avenue. There my troubles began afresh, and grew until 1888. The newspaper stories have dwelt at great length on insinuations of my conduct with a priest for whom I was said to have built a chapel in my house. Nothing could be more preposterous on the face of it, as any Roman Catholic will tell you. The church does not sanction the erection of altars, the giving of communion, and the receiving of confessions in private homes. Dispensations for temporary masses can be obtained in rare instances. "There was a priest named Father Price, from Asheville, N. C., who was raising money for his church in Chicago. We gave a recital that netted him $500, after which he was a guest for two weeks at our house. "He obtained a dispensation to say mass a few times, and did so before a temporary saint's altar set on a bureau. When he departed the altar went with him, and that is as close as we ever came to having a private chapel in our house. "The French priest with whom I was said to have eloped was Father Moysant. He never said a mass in our house, and I never knew him except as one of the priests of the parish who were entertained frequently by Mr. McDonald. LEAVES HUSBAND; GOES TO SISTER. "I did not run away with Father Moysant or any other person, the fact being that, unable to stand Mr. McDonald's treatment, I left his house in the fall of 1887 and went to live with Mrs. Peter McGuire, whose house stood on the site of the present Studebaker building. I begged Mr. McDonald to let my boys come to me, but he refused. At the end of three weeks I went to New York alone, sailed for Havre, still alone, and went to visit my sister, Mrs. Catherine Phillpot, who lived in Paris. "I remained there eleven months and returned to New York. At the Fifth Avenue hotel, where I stopped, I found Pinkerton detectives, hired by Mr. McDonald, watching me. I complained to Mr. Philips, the house detective, of the annoyance, as he will tell you. I was traveling under the name of Armstrong, my mother's maiden name--she was English and my father, Irish, you know. The annoyance of the detectives became so great that I returned to Paris on the same boat on which I had come to America. That was the middle of October, 1888. "After six months with my sister in Paris I returned directly to Chicago. When I arrived I found my daughter dead and with my own hands I buried her baby the next day. I found also that I had been divorced by Mr. McDonald in proceedings before Judge Jamieson, though no notice ever was served on me." PAWNS HER DIAMONDS. Mrs. McDonald spread out her ringless fingers significantly, and continued: "I went to a pawnbroker that day and sold my diamond rings, ear-rings, and cross, and with the proceeds opened a rooming house at 1235 Wabash avenue. Mr. McDonald often came to see me and dine there, and it looked as if there might be a reconciliation. But soon after that he met Dora Barclay, and from that time we were friends no longer, but bitter enemies. "The reputation of my house was ruined by the arrest of Mike Coleman, alias Charles Wilson, the safe-blower, who had lived there a few weeks, and at first I thought Mr. McDonald was behind this plot to ruin me. I went to the Animosa, Pa., penitentiary, saw Coleman, and learned that Mr. McDonald was innocent. But after that a story was started that I lived with Coleman for years. I never saw him after that time at the penitentiary. "After the World's Fair I removed to St. Louis and started a boarding house at 2686 Locust street. But soon Mr. McDonald's detectives were hounding me there, the newspapers began to print stories of our troubles, and my business was ruined. DRIVEN TO HIDE IDENTITY. "I saw that if I was to live peacefully I must bury my identity, and so, assuming the name of Mrs. Grashoff, I went to New York, and obtained employment with the Board of Charities at Fourth avenue and Twenty-third street, of which Mr. Van Vordenberg was the head. For fifteen years I have been in charitable work. I founded the Destitute Old Ladies' Home at Paterson, N. J., and at present my work is with the Crittenden Rescue Homes for Unfortunate Girls. It is not the least solace for my many misfortunes that I have been able to save many girls from continuing their wayward careers. "So much for the lies circulated about me for twenty years. I never saw Father Price after he left Chicago, nor Father Moysant after I went to Mrs. McGuire's. Both are living, so far as I know, but where, I do not know." But the records show, according to Mrs. Mary McDonald, that her husband repented of the wrongs he had heaped upon her, and called her to his bedside when he was dying, acknowledging her as his wife, and begging her forgiveness. They were reunited, and a few days later McDonald died. OPPOSED BY DOCUMENTS. For Mrs. Dora McDonald, on the other hand, an entirely different case is made out by her attorney, Colonel James Hamilton Lewis. He said that he had procured new evidence in the shape of affidavits and sworn statements of witnesses in the suit for divorce brought by "Mike" McDonald against Mary C. McDonald in 1889, and letters in the handwriting of Mary McDonald, and others. The divorce bill, according to Colonel Lewis, was filed in the Superior Court of Cook County on September 11, 1889. In the complaint, McDonald alleged that he married his first wife November 20, 1870, and lived with her until May 1, 1889. He alleged misconduct in the complaint, naming Joseph Moysant, or Father Moysant, a renegade priest, and gave dates and places of alleged misconduct. He also alleged that Mrs. McDonald had fled to France with Moysant, and that she was not a resident of Chicago, or the State of Illinois. JOINT LETTERS IN EVIDENCE. Letters were offered in evidence which were alleged to have come from Mrs. McDonald to women friends. Some of these are said to have been signed Mrs. J. Moysant, and to have been partly in the handwriting of Mrs. McDonald and partly in the handwriting of Moysant. These letters are said to have shown that Mrs. McDonald had a knowledge of the divorce suit pending against her. An attempt was also made to prove that Mrs. McDonald was deeded certain property by McDonald in connection with the divorce proceedings, and that she negotiated and disposed of that property in part, thus, acquiescing in the terms of possession and establishing the legality of the divorce. Mrs. Mary McDonald, now a white-haired woman upward of sixty, declares that she has brought suit to establish her legal status as the widow of "Mike" McDonald for the sake of her two sons, Guy and Cassius, for whom she desires to clear her name of any stain. Her petition for an injunction restraining the trustees of the estate from paying to Mrs. Dora McDonald any money as dower rights was heard by Judge Barnes on November 18. The contest was long and bitter between the attorneys. Crimination and recrimination flew thick and fast. In the end, however, Judge Barnes decided that the divorce of Mike McDonald from Mary Noonan McDonald was legal, that the law could not go back of the records, and that, therefore, Mary Noonan McDonald was not entitled to any share of the McDonald estate. But the sordid contest over the ill-gotten money of the gambling king was not yet at end. Dora McDonald failed to pay her attorney's fees, and the estate was again brought into the courts on an injunction obtained by James Hamilton Lewis, who threatens to throw the estate into involuntary bankruptcy. Thus the long battle over tainted gain goes on. Let those who think gambling an easy way to wealth and power read aright the lesson of the life of Mike McDonald; one continual tissue of law-breaking, imprisonment, divorce, scandal upon scandal, murder, adultery, leaving a name covered over and associated with all vileness, all the mud and slime of society, to go down to the grave with a broken heart. Is that an alluring spectacle? Is such a life worth living? Who would emulate it? [Illustration: The DEVIL and THE GRAFTER] HAVE YOU READ The Devil and the Grafter And how they work together to Deceive, Swindle and Destroy Mankind. A Thrilling and Graphic Story of Truth Stranger than Fiction. How a great army of 600,000 criminals in America, under the influence, guidance and leadership of Satan wage continued war with justice, law, society and religion. BY Clifton R. Wooldridge The World's Great CRIMINOLOGIST AND DETECTIVE After twenty years of heroic warfare and scores of hair breadth escapes, in which he suffered wounds and bruises by the hundreds, and baffled death so often that his criminal enemies declare "he leads a charmed life." Mr. Wooldridge, while still "in the harness," has given this volume to the public with the belief that he is sending forth a book with a mission of good to the world. No man in all our country is so feared by evil doers of all classes as the author of this revelation of the ways and wiles of wicked men and women, who graft and swindle, rob and corrupt their fellows in defiance of law and justice. "The Incorruptible Sherlock Holmes of America" is the title by which Mr. Wooldridge is favorably known. Hundreds of times large and tempting bribes have been offered him by wealthy criminals; thousands of dollars at a time might have been his for a "wink" at a nefarious practice, or for the loosing of his hold upon a rich criminal's wrist. But like Cæsar's wife, he stands "above suspicion." He is still a poor man, but deeply and earnestly studying the science of criminology, laboring and lecturing for the cure of crime by wise laws and scientific means--declaring himself to be the enemy of crime, but the friend of the criminal, whose disease of crime he believes can be cured, and that it is his mission to help the world suppress crime and find out the way for its elimination. With an aim so lofty, and a motive so pure, the good people of every religion, all trades, all professions and all classes are in hearty sympathy, and the circulation of this book will not only serve to warn the people against the snares and pitfalls of the Devil and the Grafter (into which thousands of new victims fall and one hundred and sixty millions of dollars of the people's money are lost every year), but it will tend to make Grafting impossible and turn the Grafters into honest, legitimate channels and good citizenship. This Book should be in the Hands of Every Minister, every doctor, every student, every teacher, farmer, business man, mechanic and laborer, every wife and widow--statistics show that ninety widows out of every hundred are swindled out of what their husbands leave them. It should be in the reach of all, male and female, for there is not a postoffice in all the land where the mail, every time it comes, does not bring the alluring literature of the Grafter to swindle or tempt the unwary. PRICE CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED $1.00 [Illustration: HANDS UP! IN THE WORLD OF CRIME] HANDS UP IN THE WORLD OF CRIME OR 12 YEARS A DETECTIVE by CLIFTON R. WOOLDRIDGE Chicago's Famous Detective A BOOK OF Thrilling descriptions about the capture of Bandits, Robbers, Panel House Workers, Confidence Men and hundreds of other criminals of all kinds. TELLS IN GRAPHIC MANNER How Criminals of all classes operate, illustrations showing arrests of Murderers, Safe Blowers, Diamond Thieves, Procuresses of Young Girls, etc., etc. The contents of this book is a narrative of the authors twelve years' experience on the Chicago police force. His long and successful experience with the criminal classes justly fitted him for the work of bringing before the public in presentable form the many and interesting features of a detective's life. In detail he tells the story of his life, and without coloring of any kind produces an accurate account of his twelve years' experience, many times under fire; his famous efforts to apprehend criminals, who, by means of revolvers and other conceivable methods tried to fight their way to liberty. =The book contains over 500 pages=, is profusely illustrated from specially drawn pictures and photographs of desperate criminals and law-breakers, such as murderers, highwaymen, safe blowers, bank robbers, diamond thieves, burglars, porch climbers, shop lifters, bicycle thieves, box car thieves, lottery swindlers, gamblers, women footpads, panel-house thieves, confidence men, pickpockets, procuresses of young girls for immoral purposes, women gamblers, levee characters, etc. This great production is not a ponderous volume filled with dry statistics, but made up of thrilling accounts which depict the most noteworthy incidents in the lives of criminals in large cities. During Detective Wooldridge's service on the force he has made 20,000 arrests, secured 125 penitentiary convictions, recovered $75,000 worth of lost and stolen property, which was returned to its rightful owners; seventy-live girls under age were rescued by him from houses of ill-fame and a life of shame and returned to their parents or guardians or sent to the Juvenile School or House of the Good Shepherd. It is well known in police circles that Detective Wooldridge has refused at many different times, bribes of from $500 to $4,000; $10,000 was offered for his discharge or transfer from the levee district by criminals against whom he had waged a warfare. _He has letters from Carter H. Harrison, the mayor, three state's attorneys, eight chiefs of police, three assistant chiefs, six inspectors, nine lieutenants, six police justices and others too numerous to mention, which testimonials are printed in the book together with their autographs. The book contains all the General Superintendents of Police of Chicago from 1855 to 1901._ Detective Wooldridge has a wonderful record in police annals. PRICE CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED $1.00 PAPER, ILLUSTRATED 50c Transcriber's Notes Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected. Some illustrations have descriptions added for the benefit of the plain text version readers. Title Page: Changed "COVICTIONS" to "CONVICTIONS." (Orig: 200 PENITENTIARY COVICTIONS) Title Page: Changed "CRIMINAL" to "CRIMINALS." (Orig: AN ARMY OF 600,000 CRIMINAL AT WAR WITH SOCIETY AND RELIGION) Table of Contents: Added listings for the last 15 chapters. Changed "Wails" to "Wiles" and "Tellers" to "Telling" to match the chapter title: "Wiles of Fortune Telling." (Orig: Wails of Fortune Tellers) Page 28: Changed "acomplished" to "accomplished." (Orig: it was acomplished successfully.) Page 28: Changed "connetion" to "connection." (Orig: he severed his connetion with the railroad) Page 32: Women's names omitted in original book after the sentence: (Orig: The following are the names of the women arrested:) Page 38: Changed "rerevolver" to "revolver." (Orig: he pushed his rerevolver in Wooldridge's face.) Page 46: Changed "Woolridge" to "Wooldridge." (Orig: One of the last exploits of Detective Woolridge) Page 51: Opening quotes retained; no closing quotes in original. (Orig: "A 'grafter' is one who makes his living (and sometimes his fortune) by 'grafting.') Page 71: Retained "salonkeepers," possible typo for "saloonkeepers." (Orig: salonkeepers and others that buy them) Page 92: Changed "phychological" to "psychological." (Orig: what he considers the right phychological moment,) Page 97: Changed "knowns" to "knows." (Orig: it isn't because the public knowns any more than) Page 110: Retained "senualist;" possibly a typo for "sensualist." (Orig: it is the senualist whose vice is read in his lips,) Page 114: Changed "POSSSESED" to "POSSESSED." (Orig: THE BANKER WILL END LIFE POSSSESED OF WEALTH) Page 115: Changed "OFERED" to "OFFERED." (Orig: IN WHICH THEY WERE MAILED ARE OFERED WITH THEM.) Page 125: Changed "allegitimate" to "illegitimate." (Orig: he was in an allegitimate business,) Page 134: Changed "weathy" to "wealthy." (Orig: ten or twelve weathy ladies,) Page 136: Changed "Los Angelese" to "Los Angeles." Page 137: Changed "is" to "it." (Orig: give it the consideration is deserves.) Page 140: Retained "Caverley," possible typo for "Caverly." (Orig: was arrested and fined $15 by Caverley.) Page 173: Changed "shoudl" to "should." (Orig: to find if there shoudl be a chord) Page 203: Changed "vigliance" to "vigilance." (Orig: he is under the eternal vigliance of our police) Page 222: Changed "snoke" to "smoke." (Orig: I don't snoke.) Page 240: Changed "nof" to "not." (Orig: "Sophomoric" period is nof fully passed.) Page 283: Changed "Dicharged" to "Discharged." (Orig: Insane asylum, Nevada, Mo. Dicharged after several escapes.) Page 294: Changed "indentification" to "identification." (Orig: the finger print indentification.) Page 296: Changed "lot" to "lost." (Orig: sailor has lot his honorable discharge paper) Page 301: Changed "rougues" to "rogues." (Orig: spreading through the rougues' galleries) Page 347: Opening quotes retained; no closing quotes in original. (Orig: each witness claimed that the "contract was covered up and they were shown just the part of the paper on which was the space for signature; and Daubach performed many acts in furtherance of the conspiracy.) Page 351: Changed "slighest" to "slightest." (Orig: It makes not the slighest difference) Page 360: Changed "is" to "it." (Orig: This is not merely because is loosens general morality) Page 370: Changed "cildhood" to "childhood." (Orig: toward speculation, even from cildhood.) Page 373: Changed "nickle's" to "nickel's." (Orig: good for a nickle's worth) Page 378: Retained "sideway," possible typo for "slideway." (Orig: clamp referred to down through the sideway) Page 382: Sentence possibly missing "do" after "to." (Orig: Very few are expert enough to this trick without detection. Page 387: Changed "sailers" to "sailors." (Orig: the goods were sold to soldiers and sailers.) Page 406: Changed "torents" to "torrents." (Orig: the rain which was beating down in torents) Page 408: Incomplete sentence in original book. (Orig: His counsel asked for the arrest of judgment so he might have time to write up the record and present it to the) Page 419: Changed "mammonth" to "mammoth." (Orig: Prisoner accused as principal in mammonth swindling plot) Page 462: Changed "numerious" to "numerous." (Orig: clear Chicago of its numerious "Fake" patent medicine) Page 465: Changed "Lavatories" to "Laboratories." (Orig: Columbus Lavatories conducted the tests.) Page 465: Retained "either," possible typo for "ether." (Orig: Aristol is soluble in either, and makes a dark brown) Page 467: Changed "sppply" to "supply." (Orig: I have in stock and can sppply without delay.) Page 468: Changed "Sargeant" to "Sergeant." (Orig: Desk Sargeant Mike White) Page 471: Retained original 300,000,000 but the math is incorrect. Page 494: Changed "felling" to "feeling." (Orig: the trusting investor the felling that there is a strong hand) Page 514: Retained "grizzy," possible typo for "grizzly." (Orig: look out for Indians and grizzy bears.) Page 563: Retained Joseph Koehy/Koehly variations. Page 565: Changed "answr" to "answer." (Orig: to answr for the murder of Webster Guerin) Page 568: Changed "women" to "woman." (Orig: Dora McDonald was a wonderfully beautiful and younger women) Retained spelling variations: R. W. McClaughrey and R. W. McClaughry. 
50302	----	(http://mormontextsproject.org) THE RISE AND FALL OF NAUVOO. BY ELDER B. H. ROBERTS, AUTHOR OF "OUTLINES OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY," "A NEW WITNESS FOR GOD," "THE MISSOURI PERSECUTIONS," "THE GOSPEL," "SUCCESSION IN THE PRESIDENCY," ETC. SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH: THE DESERET NEWS, PUBLISHERS. 1900. PREFACE. THE RISE AND FALL OF NAUVOO is a companion volume and stands in historical sequence to "The Missouri Persecutions." It was written with the same object in view, _viz._, "To place in the hands of the youth of the Latter-day Saints a full statement of the persecutions endured by the early members of The Church in this last dispensation; * * * that they may be made acquainted with the sacrifices which their fathers have made for the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ." And I indulge the same hope with reference to this book that I did with respect to "The Missouri Persecutions," _viz._, that by "becoming acquainted with the story of the sufferings of the early Saints, the faith of the Gospel will become all the more dear to the hearts of their immediate posterity, and all the youth of Zion, for many generations to come." [1] THE AUTHOR. Footnotes 1. See Preface to "The Missouri Persecutions." CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I. Nauvoo CHAPTER II. The Reception of the Exiles in Illinois CHAPTER III. Commerce-Land Purchases CHAPTER IV. "As Flies in the Ointment" CHAPTER V. Political Agitation CHAPTER VI. A Day of God's Power CHAPTER VII. Departure of the Twelve for England CHAPTER VIII. The "Times and Seasons" CHAPTER IX. An Appeal to the General Government for Redress of Grievances CHAPTER X. Orson Hyde's Mission to Jerusalem CHAPTER XI. Death's Harvest in Nauvoo--Return of Prodigals CHAPTER XII. John C. Bennett CHAPTER XIII. Renewal of Hostilities by Missouri CHAPTER XIV. Founding a City CHAPTER XV. The Nauvoo Legion CHAPTER XVI. Reconstruction of Quorums--the Nauvoo House and the Temple CHAPTER XVII. The Conference of April 6th, 1841 CHAPTER XVIII. Prophet's Trial at Monmouth CHAPTER XIX. Events of the Summer of 1841 CHAPTER XX. Introduction of the New Marriage System CHAPTER XXI. Camp Followers--Bankruptcy CHAPTER XXII. Suspicions of Treachery CHAPTER XXIII. Attempted Assassination of Governor Boggs CHAPTER XXIV. The Prophet's Trial at Springfield--Missouri Again Thwarted CHAPTER XXV. Incidents of the Trial and Acquittal CHAPTER XXVI. Doctrinal Development at Nauvoo--Interpretation of the Scriptures CHAPTER XXVII. Doctrinal Development at Nauvoo--the Kingdom of God and the Resurrection CHAPTER XXVIII. Doctrinal Development--Prophecies CHAPTER XXIX. Doctrinal Development at Nauvoo--of the Being and Nature of God CHAPTER XXX. Doctrinal Development at Nauvoo--Miscellaneous Items CHAPTER XXXI. The Prophet Arrested on Missouri's old Charge CHAPTER XXXII. Minor Matters in the New Move Against the Prophet CHAPTER XXXIII. Political Perplexities--Joseph Smith a Candidate for President of the United States CHAPTER XXXIV. The Projected Movement to the West CHAPTER XXXV. The Standard of Peace CHAPTER XXXVI. "In Peril Among False Brethren" CHAPTER XXXVII. Compliance with the Demands of Governor Ford CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Martyrdom CHAPTER XXXIX. Confusion--Choosing a Leader CHAPTER XL. The Trial of the Murderers CHAPTER XLI. The Exodus--the Fall of Nauvoo APPENDIX I. Correspondence Between Joseph Smith and John C. CALHOUN APPENDIX II. Clay's Letter to Joseph Smith and the Latter's Reply APPENDIX III. Joseph Smith's Views of the Power and Policy of the Government of the United States APPENDIX IV. An Account of the Martyrdom of Joseph Smith, by President John Taylor INTRODUCTION. Once in an ancient city, * * * Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right hand a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and the homes of the people. But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty-- Ruled with an iron rod.--_Evangeline_. QUEEN ANNE'S war was brought to a close by the treaty of Utrecht, in 1713. By this treaty the French province, Nova Scotia, was ceded by France to England; and, of course, the inhabitants, nearly exclusively French, and numbering some three thousand, became subjects of Great Britain. Less than half a century later, when the French and Indian war broke out, the French population had increased to eighteen thousand--outnumbering the English three to one. In fact the presence of the English amounted to nothing more than a military occupation of the peninsula. These French peasants, usually called Acadians, had brought under cultivation large tracts of land; owned about sixty thousand head of cattle; had built neat cottage homes, established peaceful hamlets, and lived in a state of plenty, but great simplicity. They were reputed to be a peaceable, industrious, and amiable race; governed mostly by their pastors, who exercised a paternal authority over them. Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers-- Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day, and the hearts of their owners; There the richest were poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. When the French and Indian war broke out, these people were quietly cultivating their farms, and manifested no warlike disposition. Still, the deputy governor of the province, Lawrence by name, pretended to fear an insurrection, should the French in Canada attempt an invasion of Acadia. Therefore when General Braddock met in council with the colonial governors at Alexandria, Lawrence urged the assembly to do something to overawe the French, and strengthen the English authority. A plan to humiliate the Acadians was decided upon, and placed in the hands of the infamous deputy governor, Lawrence, and Colonel Monckton to execute. A fleet of forty vessels with three thousand regular troops on board, left Boston in May, 1755, and after a successful voyage anchored in Chignecto Bay. Landing their troops, they besieged Fort Beau-Sejour, which had been erected by the French, on the isthmus connecting Nova Scotia with New Brunswick. After a feeble resistance the fort capitulated, and in less than a month, with the loss of only twenty men, the English had made themselves masters of the whole country. The inglorious campaign was ended, but the fact still existed that the obnoxious Acadians outnumbered the English; and the question remained as it was before the invasion. The deputy governor convened a council "to consider what disposal of the Acadians the security of the country required." The result of the deliberations was this: The security of the country required the banishment of the entire French population! Lawrence and his associates soon invented a scheme which furnished an excuse for carrying into effect this infamous order. An oath of allegiance was formulated to which the Acadians as consistent Catholics could not subscribe, without doing violence to their consciences. They refused to take the oath, but declared their loyalty to the English government. This they were told was insufficient. At one fell stroke they were adjudged guilty of treason, and the surrender of their boats and firearms demanded. To these acts of tyranny the Acadians submitted. They even offered to take the oath first required of them, but the deputy governor said the day of grace was past; that once having refused to take it, they must now endure the consequences. Their lands, houses and cattle were declared forfeited: their peaceful hamlets were laid waste; their houses given to the flames; the fruits of years of honest industry and strict economy were wantonly destroyed, and the people driven to the larger coast towns. In one district two hundred and thirty-six houses were burned to the ground at once. Part of the inhabitants who had escaped to the woods beheld all they possessed wickedly destroyed by bands of marauders, without making any resistance until their place of worship was wantonly set on fire. Exasperated by this unhallowed deed, they rushed from their hiding places, killed about thirty of the incendiaries, and retreated to the woods. To render this scheme of tyrannical banishment completely effective, further treachery was necessary. In each district the people were commanded to meet at a certain place and day on important business, the nature of which was carefully concealed from them, until they were assembled and surrounded by English troops; then the inhuman edict of banishment was announced to the heart-broken peasants. Very little time was allowed them for preparation. In mournful crowds they were driven to the beach. Women with white faces pressed their babes to their hearts; children dumb with terror clung to their parents; the aged and the infirm as well as the young and strong shared the common fate. At the large village of Grand Pre, when the moment for embarkation arrived, the young men, who were placed in the front, refused to move; but files of troops with fixed bayonets forced obedience. As soon as they were on board the British shipping, heavy columns of black smoke ascending from Grand Pre announced to the wretched Acadians the destruction of their lovely village. The embarkation of these peasants, and the burning of Grand Pre is thus described by Longfellow: Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children Left on the land, extending their arms with wildest entreaties. * * * * * * * * * * * Suddenly rose from the South a light, as in Autumn the blood red Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon Titan-like, stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together; Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lie in the road stead. Columns of shining smoke uprose and flashes of flame were Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. Then as the winds seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred housetops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, "_We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand Pre_." The property which had before escaped the hands of the spoilers was now laid waste on the plea of discouraging the return of the exiles, who, through their blinding tears, saw the land of their homes and their hopes fade from view. No preparations had been made for their settlement elsewhere; nor did they receive any compensation for their property from which they were forced, or that had been wickedly destroyed. In a starving and penniless state, they were put ashore in small groups at different points along the coast of New England, where many of them perished through the hardships they endured. A pathetic representation of their wrongs was addressed to the English government, and by reference to solemn treaties made between them and the provincial government, they proved their banishment to be "as faithless as it was cruel." "No attention, however," says Marcus Wilson, "was paid to this document, and so guarded a silence was preserved by the government of Nova Scotia upon the subject of the removal of the Acadians, that the records of the province make no allusion whatever to the event." After the close of the French and Indian war, France ceded all her possessions in Canada to victorious England. The case of the Acadians was again brought before the English government, but no compensation was ever allowed them for the outrages committed against them. The property of which they were ruthlessly plundered was never restored. They were allowed to return to the province, and, on taking the customary oaths, could receive lands; but of the eighteen thousand that were banished, less than two thousand returned: Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language. Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. For such atrocious acts as these, we find no apologist among our historians. On every hand they meet with execration. Such wanton cruelty--such palpable violations of human rights are stains upon the escutcheon of the nation that permits them to be perpetrated within her borders. It is quite generally supposed that such atrocious crimes as this against the French peasants of Acadia are only to be met with in former ages or among non-Christian countries. But in writing the history of the Rise and Fall of Nauvoo--strange as it may appear, and almost past believing--it is my task to relate events which have taken place in the nineteenth century, in this age of boasted enlightenment and toleration, that shall make the expulsion of the French peasants from Acadia pale in comparison with them; events which have occurred in the United States, the boasted asylum for the oppressed of all nations; events which would be more in keeping with the intolerance of the dark ages and the cruelty of Spain, during the reign of the inquisition, than in this age and in this nation. What events are these that so thunder in the index? Such deeds as outrage humanity, and well-nigh destroy one's confidence in human governments; mock justice; deride the claims of mercy; and pull down the wrath of an offended God upon the people who perform them, and upon the government which allows them to go unwhipped of justice. Listen to the history of the Rise and Fall of Nauvoo. THE RISE AND FALL OF NAUVOO. CHAPTER I. NAUVOO. THE history of the Rise and Fall of Nauvoo is worthy the attention of the readers of this book because its story is connected with one of the most important religious movements of this or any other age; and with the life and death of one of the world's greatest and most unique characters, the Prophet Joseph Smith. It is worthy of the reader's attention because the religious institution founded under God by this man--the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints--survives him, and presents to the world the greatest religious wonder of the age, a right conception of which cannot be formed without a knowledge of this Nauvoo period of the history of The Church; a period which is essentially a formative one, especially in regard to what may be considered the higher and more complex doctrines of Mormonism. It was in Nauvoo that Joseph Smith reached the summit of his remarkable career. It was in Nauvoo he grew bolder in the proclamation of those doctrines which stamp Mormonism as the great religion of the age. It was in Nauvoo that Joseph Smith's life expanded into that eloquent fullness which gives so much promise of what that man will be in eternity. It was in Nauvoo he contended against a world of opposition; against the power of falsehood and misrepresentation; against priestcraft; against corruption in high places; from here he corresponded with statesman, and rebuked demagogues; from here he went to martyrdom--to seal his testimony with his blood. And after his death, it was from here his people fled to the wilderness in the most remarkable exodus of modern times. The Church fled into the wilderness--not, however to be hidden from the world, but to be lifted up on high as an ensign to the nations, to be as a city sitting upon a hill that cannot be hid, but on the contrary, from its lofty eminence challenges the attention of the world. In Illinois, as in Missouri, the religious toleration guaranteed in the Constitutions of both the State of Illinois and of the United States--religious toleration, at once the boast and pride of Americans, and also the test of true enlightenment and the highest civilization--this vaunted toleration was in Nauvoo put to the test and found wanting. That is, before the exodus of The Church from Nauvoo, it became evident that a people accepting what to their neighbors was a singular faith, and one that was unpopular withal, could not live in peace among their fellow-citizens of other faiths, and hence the exodus, not only from Nauvoo but from the entire State of Illinois and also from the United States. The Latter-day Saints, in a word, were expatriated from the United States, [1] and sought an asylum in the wilderness, and among tribes of savages. From whence, after half a century, that same Church emerges, enlarged, prosperous, more firmly rooted in safety and in strength of faith than ever before--a greater enigma to the religious world than when it made its exodus from Illinois. All these things have a relation to Nauvoo, for The Church had a sort of second birth there, which makes the Rise and Fall of Nauvoo a theme of peculiar interest to those interested in what the world calls Mormonism, and who is not or should not be interested in a religious movement of such proportions, of such pretensions and of such achievements in the face of such opposition as it has met? * * * * * * Nauvoo, then, its rise and its fall, is to be the subject of my discourse. The word Nauvoo comes from the Hebrew, and signifies beautiful situation; "carrying with it also," says the prophet Joseph Smith, "the idea of rest." And, indeed, the location of the city is beautiful. No sooner does one come in view of it than he exclaims, "It is rightly named!" The city, or at least the marred remains of it, stands on a bold point around which sweeps the placid yet majestic "Father of Waters"--the Mississippi. The city is at least half encircled by that noble stream. From its banks the ground rises gradually for at least a mile where it reaches the common level of the prairie that stretches out to the eastward, farther than the eye can reach, in a beautifully undulating surface, once covered by a luxuriant growth of natural grasses and wild flowers, with here and there patches of timber; but now chequered with meadows, and, at the time of my visit, in 1885, with fields of waving corn. Opposite Nauvoo, on the west bank of the river, the bluffs rise rather abruptly, almost from the water's edge, and are covered, for the most part, with a fine growth of timber. Nestling at the foot of one of the highest of these bluffs, and immediately on the bank of the river, is the little village of Montrose, to which I shall have occasion to refer in these pages. Back of these bluffs before mentioned, roll off the alternate prairie and woodlands of Iowa. Between Montrose and Nauvoo, and perhaps two thirds of the distance across the river from the Illinois side, is an island, from three-fourths of a mile to a mile in length, and from fifty to one or two hundred yards in width, having its greatest extent north and south. Nauvoo is situated just at the head of what are usually called the Des Moines Rapids, about one hundred and ninety miles above St. Louis. These rapids were a serious obstacle to the navigation of the Mississippi at this point, in an early day, as in the season of low water they could not be passed by the steamboats plying the river. This difficulty of late, however, has been obviated by the general government building a fine canal, running parallel with the west bank of the river, from Keokuk to Montrose, a distance of twelve or fifteen miles. I was unable to learn the cost of the construction, but judge it must have required at least several millions of dollars. Such is the location of Nauvoo; such its immediate surroundings. It now remains for me to relate the events which led to the establishment of a thriving city on the site we have briefly described; how it was converted from a sickly wilderness to the most desirable section of the great State of Illinois; and then how, through acts of injustice and treachery, some of its principal founders were murdered and the rest of its inhabitants cruelly driven from the city by mob violence into the wilderness; and how the city sank from its prosperous condition, to become the semi-desolate place it is today; and, what is of more importance, to trace the development of that faith taught by Joseph Smith, which is destined to become, and indeed now is, one of the world's great religions. Footnotes 1. When the Mormon Pioneers arrived in the Salt Lake valley, that whole intermountain region still belonged to the republic of Mexico. CHAPTER II. THE RECEPTION OF THE EXILES IN ILLINOIS. IN what is properly a companion volume to this--"The Missouri Persecutions"--I have told how the Latter-day Saints were driven from Missouri under a threat of extermination from the executive of that State, Lilburn W. Boggs. When fleeing from Missouri, where they had suffered so much from mob violence, and from the State government officials, the Mormon exiles crossed the Mississippi into the State of Illinois, at the point near where the city of Quincy is located--in fact, at the Quincy Ferry. Their destitute condition, together with the injustice they had suffered in Missouri--the spectacle of a people in free America being driven from their homes and exiled from one of the States of the American Union because of religious beliefs--aroused the indignation and excited the sympathy of the people of Quincy and vicinity. A kind reception was given to the exiles by the people of this section of Illinois, one very similar to that given to many of the same people by the inhabitants of Clay County, when a cruel persecution had driven some twelve hundred of them from their homes in Jackson County, Missouri, five years before. [1] The Democratic Association of Quincy was especially active in the interests of the exiles. In the month of February a meeting was called by this association to inquire into the situation of the Mormon exiles. At this first meeting all that was done was to pass a resolution, to the effect that the people called Latter-day Saints were in a situation requiring the aid of the people of Quincy. A committee of eight was appointed to call a general meeting of both citizens and Mormons, and to receive a statement from the latter of their condition, with a view to relieving their necessities. The committee was instructed to get the Congregational church in which to hold the next meeting, but the directors having in charge that building would not allow it to be used for that purpose. I speak of this to show the kind of charity existing in the breasts of some pretended followers of Him who taught that charity was the crowning virtue. Failing to secure the church, the second meeting was held in the courthouse. At this meeting the special committee appointed at the first meeting reported its labors. The committee had received statements from Sidney Rigdon and others in relation to the expulsion of the Mormons from Missouri, and suggested a series of resolutions setting forth that the exiled strangers were entitled to the sympathy and aid of the people of Quincy; That a numerous committee, composed of individuals from every part of the town, be appointed to allay the prejudices of the misguided citizens of Quincy, and explain that it was not the design of the exiled Saints to lower the wages of the laboring classes, but to secure something to save them from starvation; That a standing committee be appointed to relieve, so far as in their power, the wants of the destitute and homeless; and to use their utmost endeavors to procure employment for those who were able and willing to labor. The report closed by saying:-- We recommend to all the citizens of Quincy that in all their intercourse with the strangers, they use and observe a becoming decorum and delicacy, and be particularly careful not to indulge in any conversation or expression calculated to wound their feelings, or in any way to reflect upon those who, by every law of humanity, are entitled to our sympathy and commiseration. This good work begun by the Democratic Association was continued by them, and substantial assistance was given to the suffering Saints through their exertions. At a subsequent meeting of the association the following resolutions were adopted: That we regard the right of conscience as natural and inalienable, and the most sacredly guaranteed by the Constitution of our free government; That we regard the acts of all mobs in violation of law; and those who compose them individually responsible, both to the laws of God and man, for every depredation committed upon the property, rights, or life of any citizen; That the inhabitants upon the western frontier of the State of Missouri, in their late persecution of the people denominated Mormons, have violated the sacred rights of conscience and every law of justice and humanity; That the governor of Missouri, in refusing protection to this class of people, when pressed upon by a heartless mob, and turning upon them a band of unprincipled militia, with orders encouraging their extermination, has brought a lasting disgrace upon the State over which he presides. Thus with expressions of sympathy and material aid did the people of Quincy assist the exiles and bid them hope for better days. Nor was this kindly feeling confined to the people of Quincy and vicinity; it extended throughout the State; and especially was it exhibited by some of the leading men thereof, including Governor Carlin, Stephen A. Douglas, Dr. Isaac Galland and many others. Footnotes 1. Missouri Persecutions, Chapter xiv. CHAPTER III. COMMERCE--LAND PURCHASES. IN the fall of 1838 a brother by the name of Israel Barlow left the State of Missouri under the exterminating order of Governor Boggs. By missing his way, or, what is more likely, directed by the hand of a kind Providence, he did not leave the State by the same route as the great body of his people, but taking a northeasterly course, struck the Des Moines River a short distance above its mouth, in the Territory of Iowa. He was without food and destitute of clothing. Making his wants known to the people living in that locality, they kindly supplied him with food and raiment. To them he related the story of the persecution of the Latter-day Saints in Missouri, and how his people, poor and destitute as himself, were fleeing from the State _en masse_. His relation of the sufferings of the Saints, and the cruelties heaped upon them by their heartless persecutors, enlisted the sympathies of his hearers, and they gave him letters of introduction to several gentlemen, among which was one to Dr. Isaac Galland, a gentleman of some influence living at Commerce, a small settlement on the banks of the Mississippi, in Illinois, and which afterward became the site of Nauvoo. Dr. Galland owned considerable land in Commerce, and he wrote the Saints located in Quincy that several farms could doubtless be rented in his locality, and that perhaps some fifty families could be accommodated at Commerce. In addition to this offer of lands made to The Church, another and a previous one had been made of twenty thousand acres, between the Des Moines and the Mississippi rivers. This tract could have been purchased at two dollars per acre, to be paid in twenty annual payments without interest. A conference was convened at Quincy in February, and the advisability of making the purchase and settling the Saints in a body came up for consideration. It was decided by the conference that it was not advisable to locate lands at that time. Subsequently, however, on the ninth day of March, the Saints having received further offers of land in Illinois and Iowa, called another public meeting and appointed a committee to go and examine the lands offered. In Iowa, the people and officers of the Territory expressed a kindly feeling toward the exiled Saints. The governor of Iowa--Robert Lucas--had known the Saints in Ohio, and testified to Dr. Galland that the Mormon people, when they were in Ohio, were good citizens, and he respected them as such now, and would treat them accordingly, should they, or any part of them, decide to settle in his Territory. The statement is made in answer to a letter of inquiry on the subject of the Mormons settling in Iowa. He wrote to Dr. Isaac Galland as follows: EXECUTIVE OFFICE, IOWA, BURLINGTON March, 1839. DEAR SIR--On my return to this city, after a few weeks' absence in the interior of the Territory, I received your letter of the 25th ultimo, in which you give a short account of the sufferings of the _people called Mormons_, and ask "whether they could be permitted to purchase lands, and settle upon them, in the Territory of Iowa, and there worship Almighty God according to the dictates of their own consciences, secure from oppression," etc. In answer to your inquiry, I would say, that I know of no authority that can constitutionally deprive them of this right. They are citizens of the United States, and are entitled to all the rights and privileges of other citizens. The 2nd section of the 4th Article of the Constitution of the United States (which all are solemnly bound to support), declares that the "citizens of each State shall be entitled to all the privileges and immunities of citizens of the several States." This privilege extends in full force to the Territories of the United States. The first Amendment to the Constitution of the United States declares that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." The Ordinance of Congress of the 13th July, 1787, for the government of the Territory northwest of the river Ohio, secures to the citizens of said Territory, and the citizens of the States thereafter to be formed therein, certain privileges which were, by the late Act of Congress organizing the Territory of Iowa, extended to the citizens of this Territory. The first fundamental Article in that Ordinance, which is declared to be forever unalterable, except by common consent, reads as follows, to-wit: "No person demeaning himself in a peaceable and orderly manner, shall ever be molested on account of his mode of worship, or religious sentiments in said Territory." These principles, I trust, will ever be adhered to in the Territory of Iowa. They make no distinction between religious sects. They extend equal privileges and protection to all; each must rest upon its own merits, and will prosper in proportion to the purity of its principles, and the fruit of holiness and piety produced thereby. With regard to the peculiar people mentioned in your letter, I know but little. They had a community in the northern part of Ohio for several years; and I have no recollection of ever having heard in that State of any complaints against them from violating the laws of the country. Their religious opinions, I consider, has nothing to do with our political transactions. They are citizens of the United States, and are entitled to the same political rights and legal protection that other citizens are entitled to. The foregoing are briefly my views on the subject of your inquiries. With sincere respect, I am your obedient servant, ROBERT LUCAS. To ISAAC GALLAND, Esq., Commerce, Illinois. This communication Dr. Galland sent to the Quincy _Argus_, accompanied by the following note: COMMERCE, ILLINOIS, April 12, 1839. MESSRS. EDITORS:--Enclosed I send you a communication from Governor Lucas of Iowa Territory. If you think the publication thereof will in any way promote the cause of justice, by vindicating the slandered reputation of the people called Mormons, from the ridiculous falsehoods which the malice, cupidity and envy of their murderers in Missouri have endeavored to heap upon them, you are respectfully solicited to publish it in the _Argus_. The testimony of Governor Lucas as to the good moral character of these people, I think will have its deserved influence upon the people of Illinois, in encouraging our citizens in their humane and benevolent exertions to relieve this distressed people, who are now wandering in our neighborhoods without comfortable food, raiment, or a shelter from the pelting storm. I am, gentlemen, very respectfully, Your obedient servant, ISAAC GALLAND. In conversation with Dr. Galland, Isaac Van Allen, Esq., attorney-general for the same Territory (Iowa), gave him to understand that he would, so far as within his power, protect the Mormon people from insult and injury. It was these assurances of sympathy and protection which led to a reconsideration of the conclusion of the former conference, and the appointment of a committee to examine the lands offered. But little or nothing was ever done by this committee. On the twenty-second of April, 1839, the Prophet Joseph joined the exiled Saints at Quincy. After a cruel imprisonment of over five months, he had escaped from his persecutors while en route from Liberty prison, Clay County, to Columbia, Boone County, to which he and his companions in prison had taken a change of venue for trial. The guards got drunk and were evidently willing for their prisoners to escape. At any rate, the Prophet, in stating the circumstance in his history, says: "We thought it a favorable opportunity to make our escape; knowing that the only object of our enemies was our destruction; and likewise knowing that a number of our brethren had been massacred by them on Shoal Creek, amongst whom were two children; and they had sought every opportunity to abuse others who were left in the State; and that they were never brought to an account for their barbarous proceedings, but were winked at and encouraged by those in authority. We thought that it was necessary for us, inasmuch as we loved our lives, and did not wish to die by the hand of murderers and assassins; and inasmuch as we loved our families and friends, to deliver ourselves from our enemies." And so the Prophet and his companions escaped and arrived in Quincy as already stated. I need not stop to undertake a description of the scenes of this exiled people welcoming their youthful Prophet into their midst, after such trials as they had passed through, in which the strength of each man's soul and love for his brethren had been tested. The Saints had seen their Prophet and his fellow prisoners betrayed into the hands of a merciless enemy, and knew that a court-martial of the Missouri State militia had condemned him and his companions to be shot in the public square at Far West. They had seen him and his fellow-prisoners torn away from their parents and families, and their people, under circumstances the most distressing. They had been told by the haughty commander-in-chief of the mob militia forces which invested Far West--General Clark--that the doom of their leaders was sealed, and they need not expect, nor even let it enter into their hearts that they would be permitted to see them again. Many of them had seen him chained like a felon, standing before unjust judges, whose hearts were filled to overflowing with hatred towards him. Contrary to every principle of justice, he had been sent to languish in prison in the midst of his enemies; while they themselves, with bursting hearts and blinding tears, were compelled to sign away their lands and homes at the muzzle of the musket and flee from the Christian State of Missouri, under the exterminating order issued by Governor Boggs. Yet in all these trials, from the dangers of the murderous militia camps, from the malice of corrupt courts, and the injustice of drunken juries, and at last from the prison's gloom, a kind Providence had delivered him, and he was again in their midst, again with them to still their fears and direct their movements. His presence was the signal for action. He arrived in Quincy on the 22nd of April. The day following he spent in greeting his friends, and receiving visits from the brethren; but on the twenty-fourth he called and presided over a conference, at which, in connection with Bishop Knight and Alanson Ripley, he was appointed to go to Iowa to select a place for the gathering of the exiled Saints. The conference also advised the brethren, who could do so, to go to Commerce and locate in Dr. Galland's neighborhood. On the first of May the committee purchased a farm of one hundred and thirty-five acres, for which they agreed to pay five thousand dollars; also another and a larger farm of Dr. Galland for nine thousand dollars. The committee desired that these farms should be deeded to Alanson Ripley, but Sidney Rigdon, manifesting a rather sour disposition, said that no committee should control any property that he had anything to do with. So the purchase made of Dr. Galland was deeded to Sidney Rigdon's son-in-law, G. W. Robinson, with the understanding that he should deed it to The Church as soon as it was paid for according to the contract. This was the first purchase of lands made in Commerce. The place is thus described by Joseph: "When I made the purchase of White and Galland, there was one stone house, three frame houses, and two blockhouses, which constituted the whole city of Commerce." This small collection of houses was immediately on the banks of the river, and scattered between them and what afterwards became the south part of the city of Nauvoo, were one stone and three log houses. It was one of these humble dwellings that Joseph moved into on the tenth of May, 1839. Back some distance from the river, however, were other dwellings scattered over the country, one of which was the home of Daniel H. Wells, a justice of the peace for the district of Commerce, and who afterwards became a prominent Church leader, one of the counselors, in fact, in the First Presidency of The Church. Later, when referring to the purchase of lands about Commerce, the Prophet Joseph said: The place was literally a wilderness. The land was mostly covered with trees and bushes, and much of it was so wet that it was with the utmost difficulty that a footman could get through, and totally impossible for teams. Commerce was unhealthy, very few could live there; but believing that it might become a healthy place by the blessing of heaven to the Saints, and no more eligible place presenting itself, I considered it wisdom to make an attempt to build up a city. Having spoken of the first purchase of lands at Commerce, it may not be amiss here to say that subsequently more extensive purchases were made of Dr. Galland and Messrs. Hubbard, Wells, Hotchkiss and others. Considerable difficulty and embarrassment to Joseph personally and to The Church in general arose over misunderstandings about the Hotchkiss land purchase. Hotchkiss sold to Joseph for The Church upwards of five hundred acres of land in Commerce, for which he was to receive fifty-three thousand five hundred dollars, half to be paid in ten years, and the remainder in twenty years. This amount was secured to Hotchkiss & Company by two notes, one payable in ten years and the other in twenty, signed by Joseph Smith, Hyrum Smith and Sidney Rigdon. The difficulty connected with this extensive land purchase arose from some exchanges that were made of property in the east, by some of the Saints, for its equivalent in value in land out of the Hotchkiss purchase in Commerce; the matter, however, was finally amicably settled. The terms on which Dr. Galland let The Church have lands were extremely advantageous to the Saints. He sold at a reasonable rate, and on long credit, that the people might not be distressed in paying for the inheritance they purchased. In addition to the first purchase, he exchanged lands with the Saints in the vicinity of Commerce for lands in Missouri, to the value of eighty thousand dollars. And he gave them a good title to the same. He is described as a man of literary attainments and extensive information and influence. All of which he used for the good of the exiled Saints in giving them a standing among his friends. Finally he joined The Church, thus casting his lot with the exiled people he had assisted, and from that time until his death, partook of their joys and their sorrows; shared their fortunes and reverses. In addition to these land purchases, The Church made others; some of them even more extensive than those already mentioned. The village of Nashville, in Lee County, Iowa, and twenty thousand acres of land adjoining, was bought, though upon what terms the purchase was made cannot be learned. Another purchase also in Iowa was made by Bishop Knight, and a settlement was started there called Zarahemla, which was opposite Nauvoo. This place was organized into a stake [1] of Zion, but in January, 1842, the stake organization was discontinued; though Zarahemla continued as an organized branch of The Church. Stakes of Zion in the following year were organized at Lima, in Illinois; also at Quincy, in Adams County, for the benefit of the Saints who continued there. Another stake was organized at Columbus, in Adams County, Illinois, known as Mount Hope stake; besides these stakes, branches of the Church were organized in various parts of Lee County, Iowa, and Adams and Hancock counties, Illinois. But as Nauvoo rose from the swamps and underbrush of Commerce, and, under the industry and enterprise of the Saints, and the blessings of a kindly disposed Providence, developed into a healthy, beautiful and prosperous commercial and manufacturing city, these stake organizations in the surrounding country were discontinued, and Nauvoo became the one great gathering place of the Saints. Footnotes 1. A stake of Zion is a territorial division of The Church that embraces several wards or branches. The stake is presided over by a president, who must be a High Priest, assisted by two counselors, also High Priests. There must also be in each stake of Zion a high council, consisting of twelve High Priests, over which council the presidency of the stake preside. This high council constitutes the judicial power (ecclesiastical) of the stake, to which appeals lie from the bishops' courts. CHAPTER IV. "AS FLIES IN THE OINTMENT." HAVING described the site of Nauvoo, and related the circumstances connected with its establishment as a gathering place of the Saints, it is necessary to return to the consideration of some events which occurred at Quincy during the sojourn of the Saints at that place. Paul, in his day, told the Hebrews that all were not Israel that were of Israel: so all were not Saints that flocked into Quincy with the exiles from Missouri; many of them were altogether unworthy of the association of the people of God. These preyed upon the hospitality of the people of Quincy to such an extent, that The Church by action of a conference authorized Elder John Taylor, then one of the Twelve Apostles, and who afterwards became President of the Church, to write the following letter, which was printed in the Quincy _Argus_: In consequence of so great an influx of strangers, arriving in this place daily, owing to their late expulsion from the State of Missouri, there must of necessity be, and we wish to state to the citizens of Quincy and the vicinity, through the medium of your columns, that there are many individuals among the numbers who have already arrived, as well as among those who are now on their way here, who never did belong to our Church, and others who once did, but who, for various reasons, have been expelled from our fellowship. Among these are some who have contracted habits which are at variance with principles of moral rectitude (such as swearing, dram-drinking, etc.,) which immoralities the Church of Latter-day Saints is liable to be charged with, owing to our amalgamation under our late existing circumstances. And as we as a people do not wish to lay under any such imputation, we would also state, that such individuals do not hold a name or a place amongst us; that we altogether discountenance everything of the kind, that every person once belonging to our community, contracting or persisting in such immoral habits, have hitherto been expelled from our society; and that such as we may hereafter be informed of, we will hold no communion with, but will withdraw our fellowship from them. We wish further to state, that we feel laid under peculiar obligations to the citizens of this place for the patriotic feelings which have been manifested, and for the hand of liberality and friendship which was extended to us, in our late difficulties; and should feel sorry to see that philanthropy and benevolence abused by the wicked and designing people, who under pretense of poverty and distress, should try to work up the feelings of the charitable and humane, get into their debt without any prospect or intention of paying, and finally, perhaps, we as a people be charged with dishonesty. We say that we altogether disapprove of such practices, and we warn the citizens of Quincy against such individuals who may pretend to belong to our community. I have given this letter _in extenso_, because it bears upon its face the evidence of the honesty of The Church, and its disposition to treat the people of Illinois, who had so nobly and kindly received its members in the days of their distress, with candor. It also tells us of a class even then in The Church, who by the vileness of their lives gave some coloring to the charges subsequently so unjustly made against the whole Church; a class who brought upon The Church reproach; an unrighteous, apostate element, which lingered with The Church for the sake of advantage--the bane of the body religious. CHAPTER V. POLITICAL AGITATION. ABOUT this time, too, the good feeling entertained toward the Saints by the people of Quincy and vicinity was not a little endangered through the unwise course of Lyman Wight. He began the publication of a series of letters in the Quincy _Whig_, in which he laid the responsibility of the outrages perpetrated against the Saints in Missouri upon the Democratic party, implicating not only the Democrats of Missouri, but indirectly the National Democratic party. This gave much dissatisfaction to members of that party in the vicinity of Quincy, a number of whom had been very active in assisting the Saints; and some of the leading men approached prominent brethren, who still remained in Quincy, and desired to know if The Church sustained the assertions of Lyman Wight. Elder R. B. Thompson wrote a letter to President Joseph Smith on the subject, in which he protested against the course taken by Lyman Wight, because of the influence it was having on many of those who had so nobly befriended the Saints in the day of their distress. Besides, it was altogether unjust, for no particular political party in Missouri was responsible for the cruelty practiced towards the Saints. Those who were in the mobs which robbed them of their homes, burned their houses, ran off their stock, and who whipped, murdered and finally drove the people from the State of Missouri, were made up of individuals of every shade of political faith, and of every religion, and many of no religion whatever. It was unfair, then, under these circumstances, that the responsibility should be laid at the charge of any one party or sect of religion. So that Wight's course was not only doing much mischief, but was also unjust. To counteract the evil effect of Lyman Wight's communication to the _Whig_, Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon and Hyrum Smith, then the presiding quorum of the Church, published a letter in the _Whig_, from which I make the following quotation: We have not at any time thought there was any political party, as such, chargeable with the Missouri barbarities, neither any religious society, as such. They were committed by a mob, composed of all parties, regardless of difference of opinion, either political or religious. The determined stand in this State, and by the people of Quincy in particular, made against the lawless outrages of the Missouri mobbers by all parties in politics and religion, have entitled them equally to our thanks and our profoundest regards, and such, gentlemen, we hope they will always receive from us. * * * We wish to say to the public, through your paper, that we disclaim any intention of making a political question of our difficulties with Missouri, believing that we are not justified in so doing. Lyman Wight was a bold, independent-spirited man; inclined to be self-willed and refractory. No one could control him; and even counsel or advice was usually disregarded--except it was from Joseph Smith. A few years subsequent to the time of which I am now writing, Lyman Wight himself said: "Joseph Smith is the only man who ever did control me; he is the only man who ever shall." But to Joseph's words Lyman Wight gave respectful attention, and bent his own strong will to comply with the wishes of the Prophet. He himself was a master spirit, and could apparently bring himself to acknowledge but one to whom he was willing to yield his own judgment and his own will, and that one was Joseph Smith. It is said by those acquainted with him, that in the Prophet's hands his spirit was as pliable as that of a child. It was one of Joseph's peculiar characteristics to be able to control men--men, too, who were themselves master spirits; who were themselves naturally leaders; and it is seldom, indeed, that such characters are willing to take a second place. But in the presence of Joseph they seemed naturally to accord him the leadership. He was a leader even among master spirits; a leader of leaders; and it may not be amiss here to briefly inquire into the apparently mysterious influence which the Prophet exerted over the minds of others, by reason of which he controlled them, since this particular instance in which Lyman Wight figures, illustrates it. In reply to the letter of R. B. Thompson, Joseph admitted that the course of Wight was unfair, and said: The Church was not willing to make of their troubles a political question; but he also said that he considered it to be "the indefeasible right of every free man to hold his own opinion in politics and religion;" and therefore would have it understood that, as an individual, Lyman Wight had the right to entertain and express whatever opinion he pleased in regard to their troubles in Missouri; only intimating that care should be taken not to set forth individual views as the views of The Church. In writing to Lyman Wight on the subject, Joseph did not upbraid him, nor peremptorily order him to discontinue the publication of his letters, or retract them, but he informed him that the matter had been considered in a council of The Church, and that the result was that his course was disapproved. But Joseph took occasion to express his confidence in Wight's good intentions, and said: Knowing your integrity of principle, and steadfastness in the cause of Christ, I feel not to exercise even the privilege of counsel on the subject, save only to request that you will endeavor to bear in mind the importance of the subject, and how easy it might be to get a misunderstanding with the brethren concerning it; and though last, but not least, that whilst you continue to go upon your own credit, you will steer clear of making The Church appear as either supporting or opposing you in your politics, lest such a course may have a tendency to bring about persecution on The Church, where a little wisdom and caution may avoid it. I do not know that there is any occasion for my thus cautioning you in this thing, but having done so, I hope it will be well taken, and that all things shall eventually be found to work together for the good of the Saints. * * * With every possible feeling of love and friendship for an old fellow-prisoner and brother in the Lord, I remain, sir, your sincere friend. Throughout this whole affair it will be observed that Joseph starts out with the idea that every individual is absolutely free and independent as to entertaining views and in giving expression to them, both in politics and religion, so long as he makes no one else responsible for them; that in correcting Lyman Wight, he does it by appealing to the man's reason, and by pointing out the possible result of his course, which may be avoided by a little discretion; while the whole communication breathes such a spirit of confidence in the man he is correcting, and love for him as an "old fellow-prisoner," that it was altogether irresistible. And this is the secret of Joseph's power to control his brethren. There was no petty tyranny in his government. He was above that. Every right he claimed for himself, he accorded to others; while his mildness in correcting errors and his unbounded love for his brethren knit them to him in bands stronger than steel. It was ever his method to teach correct principles and allow men to govern themselves. CHAPTER VI. A DAY OF GOD'S POWER. DURING the summer of 1839 the Saints who had been driven from Missouri continued to gather at Nauvoo and settle on the lands which had been purchased by The Church authorities. The violent persecution they had passed through in Missouri had well nigh wrecked the people. They had been stripped of their earthly possessions, until they were reduced to the most abject poverty. And the exposure and hardships endured made them an easy prey to the malaria that infected Nauvoo and vicinity. Another thing which doubtless contributed to make them unable to resist the ravages of disease, was the fact that a period of relaxation was following the intense excitement under which they had lived for more than two years. The spirit has such power when it is once thoroughly aroused, that for a time it so braces up the body as to make it almost impregnable to disease and unconscious of fatigue. But this cannot continue long. It wears out the body; and as soon as the excitement is removed, then comes the period of relaxation and the body sinks down from sheer exhaustion. Such was the condition of the exiled Saints who came flocking into Nauvoo, in the summer of 1839. They had reached a haven of rest. The fearful strain on the nervous system under which they had labored during the mobbings in Missouri and their flight from that State was removed; and they fell down in Nauvoo exhausted, to be a prey to the deadly malaria prevalent in that locality. Such was their condition on the morning of the 22nd of July. Joseph's house was crowded with the sick whom he was trying to nurse back to health. In his door-yard were a number of people camped in tents, who had but newly arrived, but upon whom the fever had seized. Joseph himself was prostrate with sickness, and the general distress of the Saints weighed down his spirit with sadness. While still thinking of the trials of his people in the past, and the gloom that then overshadowed them, the purifying influence of God's Spirit rested upon him and he was immediately healed. He arose and began to administer to the sick in his house, all of whom immediately recovered. He then healed those encamped in his door-yard, and from thence went from house to house calling on the sick to arise from their beds of affliction, and they obeyed and were healed. In company with P.P. Pratt, Orson Pratt, John Taylor, Heber C. Kimball, and John E. Page, he crossed the river to Montrose, and healed the sick there. One case is mentioned by all who have written on the subject as being very remarkable. This was the case of Elijah Fordham. He was almost unconscious and nearly dead. Bending over him, the Prophet asked the dying man if he knew him, and believed him to be a servant of God. In a whisper he replied that he did. Joseph then took him by the hand, and with an energy that would have awoke the dead, he commanded him in the name of Jesus Christ to arise from his bed and walk. Brother Fordham leaped from his bed, removed the bandages and mustard plasters from his feet, dressed himself, ate a bowl of bread and milk, and accompanied the Prophet to other houses on his mission of love. All day the work continued; and to the Saints who witnessed the remarkable manifestation of God's power in behalf of the sick, the twenty-second day of July, 1839, is remembered with gratitude to Almighty God, who through the demonstration of His power that day, gave an indisputable witness to the world that He was with Joseph Smith, and had authorized him to speak in the name of Jesus Christ. To the Saints it was a testimony that God was with them; for they witnessed a fulfillment of God's ancient promise to His people, viz.-- Is any sick among you? Let him call for the Elders of the Church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil, in the name of the Lord: and the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up. [1] And again: These signs shall follow them that believe: In My name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; * * * they shall lay hands on the sick and they shall recover. [2] These ancient promises to God's people had also been renewed to the Latter-day Saints in modern revelations to the Church through the Prophet Joseph himself: As I said unto mine apostles I say unto you again, that every soul who believeth on your words, and is baptized by water for the remission of sins, shall receive the Holy Ghost; and these signs shall follow them that believe. In my name they shall do many wonderful works: In my name they shall cast out devils; In my name they shall heal the sick; In my name they shall open the eyes of the blind, and unstop the ears of the deaf; and the tongue of the dumb shall speak; and if any man shall administer poison unto them it shall not hurt them. * * * But a commandment I give unto them, that they shall not boast themselves of these things, neither speak them before the world. [3] Again, I say, to the Saints who witnessed the demonstration of God's power on the 22nd of July, 1839, in the healing of the sick in fulfillment of these promises ancient and modern, it was a witness to them that God was with them and with their Prophet. Footnotes 1. James v: 14, 15. 2. Mark xvi: 17. 3. Doc. & Cov., Sec. lxxxiv. The revelation was given in September, 1832. CHAPTER VII. DEPARTURE OF THE TWELVE FOR ENGLAND. A REVELATION had been received by the Prophet Joseph on the eighth of July, 1838, in which a commandment was given to fill up the quorum of the Twelve Apostles by ordaining John Taylor, John E. Page, Wilford Woodruff, and Willard Richards to take the places of those who had fallen through apostasy. The following spring "let them depart," said the revelation, "to go over the great waters, and there promulgate my Gospel, the fullness thereof, and bear record of my name. Let them take leave of my Saints in the city of Far West, on the twenty-sixth day of April next, on the building spot of my house." By the twenty-sixth of April, the day set for them to take leave of the Saints to start on their mission, nearly all the members of The Church had been driven from Far West. I have already related, however, in "The Missouri Persecutions" how five of the Apostles and several who were to be ordained returned by different routes to Far West, met with a few of the Saints there and fulfilled the mandates of this revelation, notwithstanding the boasts of the mob that it should fail. [1] For some time the Apostles who started from the public square at Far West for England were detained to aid in settling the Saints at Nauvoo, but the latter part of the summer of 1839 found them making every exertion to continue their journey. Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor were the first of the quorum to leave Nauvoo for England. Elder Woodruff at this time was living at Montrose, and was rowed across the river in a canoe by Brigham Young. On landing, he lay down to rest on a side of sole leather, near the post office. While there Joseph came along and said: "Well, Brother Woodruff, you have started on your mission?" "Yes, but I feel and look more like a subject for the dissecting room than a missionary," was the reply. "What did you say that for?" asked Joseph. "Get up and go along, all will be well with you." Shortly afterwards Elder Woodruff was joined by Elder Taylor, and together they started on their mission. On their way they passed Parley P. Pratt, stripped, bareheaded and barefooted, hewing some logs for a house. He hailed the brethren as they passed and gave them a purse, though he had nothing to put in it. Elder Heber C. Kimball, who was but a short distance away, stripped as Elder Pratt was, came up and said: "As Brother Parley has given you a purse, I have a dollar I will give you to put in it." And mutually blessing each other, they separated to meet again in foreign lands. On the twenty-ninth of August, Parley P. Pratt and his brother Orson started for England, leaving Nauvoo in their own carriage. On the fourteenth of the following month Brigham Young left his home at Montrose and started for England. He had been prostrated for some time by sickness, and at the time of starting on his mission was so feeble that he had to be assisted to the ferry, only some thirty rods from his house. All his children were sick, and he left his wife with a babe but ten days old, and in the poorest of circumstances, for the mobs of Missouri had robbed him of all he had. After crossing the river to the Nauvoo side, Israel Barlow took him on a horse behind him and carried him to the house of Elder Heber C. Kimball, where his strength altogether failed him, and he had to remain there for several days, nursed by his wife, who, hearing that he was unable to get farther than Brother Kimball's, had crossed the river from Montrose to care for him. On the eighteenth of the month, however, Brigham, in company with Heber C. Kimball, made another start. A brother by the name of Charles Hubbard sent a boy with a team to take them a day's journey on their way. Elder Kimball left his wife in bed shaking with ague, and all his children sick. It was only by the assistance of some of the brethren that Heber himself could climb into the wagon. "It seemed to me," he remarked afterwards in relating the circumstance, "as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at the thought of leaving my family in such a condition, as it were, almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could scarcely endure it." "Hold up!" said he to the teamster, who had just started. "Brother Brigham, this is pretty tough, but let us rise and give them a cheer." Brigham, with much difficulty, rose to his feet, and joined Elder Kimball in swinging his hat and shouting, "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Israel!" The two sisters hearing the cheer came to the door--Sister Kimball with great difficulty--and waved a farewell; and the two Apostles continued on their journey without purse, without scrip, for England. The departure of Elders George A. Smith, Reuben Hedlock, and Theodore Turley was but little less remarkable. They were feeble in health, in fact, down with the ague. Before they were out of sight of Nauvoo their wagon upset, and spilled them down the bank of the river. Elders Smith and Turley were unable to get up, not because of any injuries they had received, but because of their illness. Elder Hedlock helped them into their wagon and they resumed their journey. They had not proceeded far when they met some gentlemen who stopped their team and said to the driver: "Mr., what graveyard have you been robbing?" There mark being elicited by the ghostly appearance of the Elders _en route_ for England. Thus in sickness and poverty, without purse and without scrip, leaving their families destitute of the comforts of life, with nothing but the assurances of the people, who were as poor as themselves, that they should be provided for, the Twelve turned their faces toward Europe, to preach the Gospel to the highly civilized peoples of the world. Shaking with the ague, and then burning up with the fever; now in the homes of the wealthy, then in the hovels of the poor; now derided by the learned and self-styled refined, and now welcomed by the poor of this world who rejoiced in the message they bore--they journeyed on, never looking back, nor complaining of the hardships through which they were called to pass for the Master's sake. They had ringing in their ears the words of Jesus: "He that loveth father or mother, houses or lands, wives or children more than he loveth me is not worthy of me." And again they had the promise: "There is no man that hath left houses, or parents, or brethren, or wife, or children for the kingdom of God's sake, who shall not receive manifold more in this present time, and in the world to come life everlasting." With this warning and this promise before them, they made their way by different routes, but at last met in England, where an effectual door was opened for the preaching of the Gospel, and thousands with joy embraced the truth. These men went out weeping, bearing precious seed; they returned in time bringing their sheaves with them, and had joy in their harvest. And what shall separate these men who endured so much for the Gospel's sake, from the love of God? "Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" "Nay, in all these things they shall be more than conquerors through Him that loved them." Footnotes 1. Missouri Persecutions, Chapter XLVIII. CHAPTER VIII. THE "TIMES AND SEASONS." THE power of the press in sustaining the work he had begun, was early recognized by Joseph Smith and his associates; and it was this recognition of its powers which led him to establish, as early as possible, a paper that would be under the control of The Church, voice its sentiments and defend its principles. The Church had been organized but eighteen months, and its membership was very small when a conference held in Ohio authorized the purchase of a press, and instructed W. W. Phelps to begin the publication of a paper in Independence, Missouri. In June, 1832, the first number of that paper, the _Evening and Morning Star_, was published. The following year the _Evening and Morning Star_ press was broken and the type scattered by the mob, which collected at Independence to drive the Saints from Jackson County. The press and the book-binding property were never again restored to The Church, though the _Star_ afterwards reappeared in Kirtland, edited by Oliver Cowdery. Another periodical was also published in Kirtland called _The Saints' Messenger and Advocate_, the first number of which appeared in December, 1833. This periodical was superseded in a few years--1837--by the _Elders' Journal_. But when Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon had to flee from Kirtland for their lives, in the spring of 1838, the press and type on which the _Journal_ was printed were removed to Far West. Here an effort was made to re-issue the _Journal_, Sidney Rigdon being appointed editor. But again the assembling of angry mobs hindered the work. And the night that General Lucas' mob-militia force surrounded Far West, this press and type were buried in the dooryard of a brother by the name of Dawson. The form for a number of the _Elders' Journal_ was buried, with the ink on it, in the hurry to get it safely hidden from the enemy. It remained in its grave until taken up by Elias Smith, Hyrum Clark and some others, and taken to Commerce, where, in the fall of 1839, it was set up in a cellar, through which a spring of water was running, and on it was published the _Times and Seasons_. This periodical was issued first as a sixteen page monthly, but afterwards became semi-monthly. Its first editor and manager was Don Carlos Smith, the youngest brother of Joseph Smith, who learned the printer's art in the office of Oliver Cowdery, and at the time he took charge of the _Times and Seasons_ was but twenty-four years of age. His associate was Ebenezer Robinson. The paper was first issued in November, 1839. Don Carlos Smith continued to act as editor of this paper until his death, which occurred on the seventh of August, 1841. Ebenezer Robinson then became the editor and Elder Robert B. Thompson was appointed to assist him. The manner in which the paper was conducted was very unsatisfactory to The Church authorities, and the Twelve Apostles took charge of it with Elders John Taylor and Wilford Woodruff as its managers, and President Joseph Smith as editor-in-chief. It was conducted by these parties for about a year, when the Prophet Joseph resigned the editorial chair, and Elder John Taylor was assigned to the position of chief editor, and kept that place until the discontinuance of the publication, in consequence of the Saints being driven from Nauvoo. It was a valuable means of communication for The Church authorities, as they were enabled to reach the Saints through its columns notwithstanding their scattered condition; and in its pages are collected the principal historical events which occurred in the early days of The Church; which, in connection with the principles and doctrine expounded by its editors, and the communications from the Prophet, make it of inestimable value to the student of Church history or the development of Church doctrine. CHAPTER IX. AN APPEAL TO THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT FOR REDRESS OF GRIEVANCES. IT will be remembered by those who have read "The Missouri Persecutions," that Sidney Rigdon was released from prison in Liberty, Missouri, before Joseph and the other brethren escaped. On his arrival in Quincy, his position as one of the presidents of The Church, his education and eloquence, gave him the attention of the leading citizens of Quincy, and particularly enlisted the sympathy of Governor Carlin, of Illinois. By coming in contact with him, and relating the cruelties practiced against the Saints in Missouri, he conceived the altogether fanciful and utterly impracticable idea of impeaching the charter of Missouri on an item in the Constitution, viz: "that the general government shall give to each State a republican form of government." And it was his point to prove that such a government did not exist in Missouri. His plan was to present the story of the Saints' wrongs to the governors of the respective States, before the assembly of the several legislatures, and induce as many of them as possible to bring the case before the legislatures in their messages. Another part of the plan was to have a man at each State capital armed with affidavits that would give the necessary information to the legislatures. After the action of the State legislatures the case was to be presented to the national Congress for its consideration and action. To carry out his plans George W. Robinson was appointed to take affidavits and collect general information bearing on the subject, and Sidney Rigdon himself secured letters of introduction to the governors of several States and to the President of the United States from Governor Carlin, of Illinois, and Governor Robert Lucas, of Iowa. On the fifth of May, 1839, however, at a conference of The Church held near Quincy, Joseph Smith presiding, the gigantic and fanciful scheme conceived by Sidney Rigdon was considered and somewhat reduced of its unwieldy proportions by the conference simply resolving: That this conference send a delegate to the city of Washington to lay our case before the general government; and that President Rigdon be the delegate: and that Colonel Lyman Wight be appointed to receive the affidavits which are to be sent to the city of Washington. Here the matter rested for a time through the inactivity of President Rigdon, whose ardor in the work of God about this time began to wane. In consequence of the inactivity and lack of interest manifested by Sidney Rigdon in going to Washington to present the case of the Latter-day Saints _vs_. the State of Missouri to the President and Congress of the United States, at a High Council meeting, held at Commerce on the twentieth of October, 1839, the Prophet Joseph was appointed to be the delegate to Washington, and a few days later Sidney Rigdon and Elias Higbee were appointed by the same council to assist him in this mission. As a contrast between the two men, Sidney Rigdon and Joseph Smith, I call attention to the fact that after his appointment to go to Washington to petition the general government for a redress of grievances, in behalf of the Saints, Sidney Rigdon had allowed nearly six months to pass away without doing anything; but the ninth day after Joseph was appointed to this mission he was found leaving Commerce with a two-horse carriage, accompanied by Rigdon, Higbee and Orin P. Rockwell, _en route_ for Washington. The Prophet was always prompt in action. There were no tedious delays in anything he under took; no letting "I dare not wait upon I would, like the old cat 'i the adage." His motto for the commencement of his career had been, "When the Lord commands, do it." And it was pretty much the same thing when a council of the Priesthood, or himself individually, had determined upon any particular course of action, he at once set himself about performing it. The mission for the city of Washington passed through Springfield, the capital of the State of Illinois, on their journey, and here met with Dr. Robert D. Foster, who afterwards, as we shall see, became prominently connected with events at Nauvoo. Elder Rigdon being ill, Dr. Foster administered medicines to him, journeying with Joseph's party for several days for that purpose. At last, however, Elder Rigdon became so weak that it became necessary to leave him near Columbus, Ohio; and Orin P. Rockwell and Dr. Foster remained with him, while Joseph and Judge Higbee continued their journey to Washington. It was during this journey, too, that Joseph met another man destined to perform a prominent part in the drama enacted at Nauvoo. This was William Law, whom Joseph's party met at Springfield, Illinois. He was then leading a small company of Saints from Canada to Nauvoo. Joseph's company remained several days at Springfield, and he preached there several times, staying at the home of James Adams, the probate judge of that county. Judge Adams treated the Prophet with the kindness of a father. An incident occurred as the party approached Washington which borders on the domain of the romantic, or perhaps may be considered to enter directly into it. The coachman stopped his horses in front of one of the many public houses they passed _en route_, to get his grog, when the horses took fright, and dashed down the road at break-neck speed. The passengers, as might be expected, became terror-stricken, and one woman in her excitement tried to throw her babe out of the window; she was prevented, however, by Joseph, who calmed her fears, and persuaded the rest of the passengers to keep their seats. He then opened the door of the coach and succeeded in climbing up the side of the vehicle, and reaching the driver's seat. Gathering up the reins, he stopped the horses before any accident occurred either to coach or passengers. It is needless to say that Joseph's heroism drew from his fellow-passengers their warmest expressions of admiration and gratitude. No terms were sufficiently strong to convey their admiration of his daring. Among the passengers were several members of Congress who proposed mentioning the incident to Congress, for they believed that body would reward Joseph's conduct by some public act. With this object in view they asked for his name, and were doubtless dumbfounded to learn that they had been saved from their imminent peril by the courage of the Mormon Prophet. At any rate the profusion of thanks and admiration was stayed, "and," says Joseph, "I heard no more of their praise, gratitude or reward." Need one stop to moralize on the littleness of man when he allows prejudice to dictate his action instead of reason? It was on the twenty-eighth of November, 1839, that Joseph and Judge Elias Higbee arrived in Washington, and took up their abode at an unpretentious boarding house, on the corner of Missouri and Third Streets. They were very much cramped on account of means, as the people they represented were poor in this world's goods, and unable to supply the means necessary to enable their delegates to indulge in the luxurious style of living usually adopted by those who go to the seat of government on special missions. The day following his arrival, Joseph obtained an interview with President Martin Van Buren, who had been elected to the presidency by the Democratic party. I give Joseph's own account of this visit to President Van Buren, that our readers may judge of the impression he made upon the Prophet, and what the Prophet thought of Congress generally: On Friday, the twenty-ninth, we proceeded to the house of the President. We found a very large and splendid palace, surrounded with a splendid enclosure, decorated with all the fineries and elegancies of the world. We went to the door and requested to see the President, when we were immediately introduced into an upper apartment, where we met the President, and were introduced into his parlor, where we presented him with our letters of introduction. As soon as he had read one of them, he looked upon us with a kind of half frown and said: "What can I do? I can do nothing for you! If I do anything, I shall come in contact with the whole State of Missouri." [1] I cannot determine whether it was on the occasion of this visit that President Van Buren made use of the expression, "Your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you," or whether he so expressed himself at some subsequent meeting. But under date of February 6th, 1840, Joseph remarks, in speaking of his mission to Washington: During my stay I had an interview with Martin Van Buren, the President, who treated me very insolently, and it was with great reluctance he listened to our message, which, when he heard, he said: "Gentlemen, your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you. If I take up for you, I shall lose the vote of Missouri." His whole course went to show that he was an office-seeker, that self-aggrandizement was his ruling passion, and that justice and righteousness were no part of his composition. As this language is somewhat different to that reported by Joseph on the occasion of his first visit to the President, I am inclined to the opinion that the language attributed to him in the latter quotation was used at some subsequent meeting to the first. I again quote from Joseph's letter to Hyrum: Now we shall endeavor to express our feelings and views concerning the President, as we have been eye-witness to his majesty. He is a small man, sandy complexion, and ordinary features, with frowning brow, and considerable body, but not well proportioned as to his arms and legs, * * * and in fine, to come directly to the point, he is so much of a fop or a fool (for he judged our cause before he knew it), we could find no place to put truth into him. We do not say the Saints shall not vote for him, but we do say boldly, that we do not intend he shall have our votes. Joseph speaks very highly of the senators and representatives from Illinois, who rendered him some considerable assistance in getting a hearing before a congressional committee, but he was not favorably impressed with congressmen or their conduct on the whole. He says: For a general thing there is but little solidity and honorable deportment among those who are sent here to represent the people, but a great deal of pomposity and show. * * * There is such an itching disposition to display their oratory on the most trivial occasions, and so much etiquette, bowing and scraping, twisting and turning, to make a display of their witticism, that it seems to us rather a display of folly and show, more than substance and gravity, such as becomes a great nation like ours. However, there are some exceptions. After the meeting with the President, a meeting with the Illinois delegation in Congress was arranged, to take into consideration the best means of getting the wrongs of the Saints before Congress. This meeting took place on the sixth of December. A Mr. Robinson of that delegation, whether a member of the House or Senate I do not know, took a stand against the Saints presenting any claims to be liquidated by the United States; but Joseph contended against him, and presented the constitutional rights of the people, and Mr. Robinson promised to reconsider the subject, and at the meeting the next day it was decided that a memorial and petition be drawn in concise form and presented by Judge Young, who had taken a lively interest in the cause of the Saints. At this stage of the proceedings, Joseph and Judge Higbee learned that it was necessary to have more positive testimony on the subject in hand, so that they sent to Nauvoo and a very large number of affidavits were taken and forwarded to Washington to sustain the statements to be presented to Congress. The petition presented to Congress related the outrages committed against the Saints at considerable length, from the commencement of difficulties in Jackson County, in the autumn of 1833, until their final expulsion from the State in the winter of 1838-9; and made emphatic the infamy of Governor Boggs' exterminating orders, which gave the coloring of authority for the action of the State mob-militia. They said in their statement of wrongs that if given an opportunity they could prove every allegation they made against the State of Missouri. And that "neither the Mormons as a body, nor as individuals of that body, had been guilty of any offense against the laws of Missouri, or of the United States: but their only offense had been their religious opinions." In conclusion the petition represents that for the wrongs endured-- The Mormons ought to have some redress; yet how and where shall they seek and obtain it? Your Constitution guarantees to every citizen, even the humblest, the enjoyment of life, liberty and property. It promises to all their religious freedom, the right to worship God beneath their own vine and fig tree, according to their own conscience. It guarantees to all the citizens of the several States the right to become citizens of any one of the States, and to enjoy all the rights and immunities of the citizens of the State of his adoption. Yet of all these rights have the Mormons been deprived. They have, without a cause, without a trial, been deprived of life, liberty and property. They have been persecuted for their religious opinions. They have been driven from the State of Missouri at the point of the bayonet, and prevented from enjoying and exercising the rights of citizens of the State of Missouri. It is the theory of our laws, that for the protection of every legal right, there is a legal remedy. What, then, we would ask, is the remedy for the Mormons? Shall they appeal to the legislature of the State of Missouri for redress? They have done so. They have petitioned, and these petitions have been treated with silence and contempt. Shall they apply to the federal courts? They were, at the time, citizens of the State of Missouri. Shall they apply to the courts of the State of Missouri? Whom shall they sue? The order for their destruction, their extermination, was granted by the executive of the State of Missouri. Is not this a plea of justification for the loss of individuals, done in pursuance of the order? If not, before whom shall the Mormons institute a trial? Shall they summon a jury of the individuals who composed the mob? An appeal to them were in vain. They dare not go to Missouri to institute a suit, their lives would be in danger. For ourselves we see no redress, unless it be awarded by the Congress of the United States. And we here make our appeal as _American citizens_, as _Christians_, and as _men_--believing the high sense of justice which exists in your honorable bodies, will not allow such oppression to be practiced upon any portion of the citizens of this vast republic with impunity, but that some measure which your wisdom may dictate, may be taken, so that the great body of people who have been thus abused, may have redress for the wrongs which they have suffered. The statement of wrongs and petition for their redress was introduced into the Senate by Judge Young, and referred to the committee on judiciary of which General Wall was chairman. At this stage of the proceedings Joseph left Washington and went to Philadelphia, where he labored in the ministry among the Saints; but Judge Elias Higbee was left in Washington to look after the interest of the petitioners before the Senate committee. The subject was held under advisement and discussed occasionally, until the fourth of March, 1840, when the committee reported. That report was of a character to crush forever the hopes of obtaining, at the hands of the general government, any redress for the outrages perpetrated against them in Missouri. The report said that after full examination and consideration, the committee unanimously concurred in the opinion: "That the case presented for their investigation is not such a one as will justify or authorize any interposition of this government." They stated that the wrongs complained of were not alleged to have been committed by officers of the United States; that the charges were all against the citizens and authorities of the State of Missouri; that the petitioners were citizens or inhabitants of Missouri; that the grievances complained of were committed within the territory of Missouri; and for these reasons the Senate judiciary committee did "not consider themselves justified in inquiring into the truth or falsehood of facts charged in the petition." The committee represented that if the charges were true, then the petitioners must seek redress in the courts of judicature, either of Missouri or of the United States, whichever might have jurisdiction in the case. "Or," said the report, "the petitioners may, if they see proper, apply to the justice and magnanimity of the State of Missouri--an appeal which the committee feel justified in believing will never be made in vain by the injured or oppressed." The report said that it could not be presumed that a State wanted either the power or lacked the disposition to redress the wrongs of its own citizens, committed within its own territory, "whether they proceed from the lawless acts of her officers or any other person." The report closed by asking the passage of the following resolution: _Resolved_, That the committee on the judiciary be discharged from the further consideration of the memorial in this case; and that the memorialists have leave to withdraw the papers which accompany their memorial. The resolution was passed without dissent, and thus the appeal to Congress for redress of the outrages committed against the Saints by Missouri ended. At a conference of The Church held in April following, a number of resolutions were adopted, regretting and condemning the action of the Senate judiciary committee, and approving the course pursued by their delegation to Congress, Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon and Elias Higbee, and requesting them to continue their exertions to obtain redress for a suffering people as opportunities became more favorable for such efforts, and if at last all hopes of obtaining satisfaction for the injuries done us be entirely blasted, that they then "appeal our case to the Court of Heaven, believing that the Great Jehovah, who rules over the destiny of nations, and who notices the falling sparrows, will undoubtedly redress our wrongs, and ere long avenge us of our adversaries." Footnotes 1. Letter to Hyrum Smith, Dec. 5, 1839. CHAPTER X. ORSON HYDE'S MISSION TO JERUSALEM. THOSE who have read "The Missouri Persecutions," will remember the disaffection of Orson Hyde at Far West, and the statements he made in connection with Thomas B. Marsh against The Church, in the autumn of 1838--that time when men's hearts were failing them for fear, and death and destruction were rife; when even strong hearts grew faint and brave cheeks were blanched. Well, as stated in the account of his disaffection, like Peter of old, this modern Apostle wept bitterly for his error, returned to The Church, was forgiven; and during the conference held at Commerce in April, 1840, he was called to go on a mission to Jerusalem. It appears that Elder Hyde in a heavenly vision saw himself on the Mount of Olives blessing the land for the return of the people of Judah, hence, that he might be obedient to the vision, he was appointed to go to that land for the purpose mentioned. In the letter of appointment, which the Prophet gave him, occurs the following passage: The Jewish nation have been scattered abroad among the Gentiles for a long period; and in our estimation the time of the commencement of their return to the Holy Land has already arrived. * * * It is highly important, in our opinion, that the present views and movements of the Jewish people be sought after, and laid before the American people for their consideration, their profit and their learning. On the 15th of the same month that Elder Hyde was called, he left his family at Nauvoo and started for Jerusalem without purse or scrip. The next day he met with John E. Page, who subsequently to the conference at which Orson Hyde had been called, was appointed to go with him to the Holy Land. They traveled through several States together, preaching as they went. In the city of Cincinnati they succeeded in raising up a large and prosperous branch of The Church; and while Elder Page remained in Cincinnati to strengthen the Saints, Elder Hyde made his way to New York. These labors consumed the summer of 1840, and in January, 1841, the word of the Lord came to the Prophet Joseph saying that he was not well pleased with the long delays of his servants in starting on their mission to Jerusalem, and they were requested to hasten their departure. In the meantime, however, Elder Page had lost the spirit of his appointment and had no disposition to go, but Orson Hyde on the receipt of this reproof set sail at once from New York for England. It is not our design to follow him through all his meanderings in Europe, or relate his trials or his perils in crossing the mighty seas, and passing through states in which war was raging. He succeeded in reaching the Holy City some time in October, and on the twenty-fourth of that month, 1841, early in the morning, was seated on the Mount of Olives, as he had seen himself in vision; and wrote the prayer he had to offer in behalf of the Jews and their city, which had been for so long a time trodden down of the Gentiles. In that prayer he referred to the prophecies of God's servants in relation to the Jews and Jerusalem, and asked that all might be fulfilled. He called for the richest blessings of heaven upon the Jews; he blessed, by virtue of his Priesthood, the city, the land, and all the elements, to the end that Judah might be gathered, Jerusalem rebuilt, and become an holy city, that the Lord's name might be glorified in all the earth. At the conclusion of his prayer, he says: On the top of the Mount of Olives, I erected a pile of stones, as a witness according to ancient custom. On what was anciently called Mount Zion, where the temple stood, I erected another, and used the rod according to the prediction upon my head. Just what he meant by saying that he had used the rod "according to prediction on his head," I have been unable to learn, except that it was a rod with which he had measured the city. I have called the attention of my readers to this mission of Elder Hyde's to Jerusalem, because it doubtless has a greater significance than most people would be inclined to give it. The rebuilding of Jerusalem is regarded by Mormonism as of as much importance as the establishment of Zion; the gathering of the dispersed of Judah is as much a part of the great latter-day work as the reassembling of the other tribes of Israel; and the commencement of that work was made by Elder Hyde, when by the authority of his apostleship, he consecrated that land to the return of the house of Judah, to inhabit it, and rebuild their city according to the predictions of their prophets. It may be somewhat beyond the scope of this chapter to call attention to it, but surely it will be of interest to the reader to know that this apostolic mission and blessing upon the Holy Land has not been fruitless, but blessings as a result are flowing unto it, and the Jews are beginning to return to it. At the time of Apostle Hyde's visit and ceremonies on the Mount of Olives, but very few Jews were in the city or in Judea. As late as twenty years ago the consular reports show that there were not more than fifteen or twenty thousand Jews in all Jerusalem. But in a popular magazine for August, 1896, under the editorial caption--"The Plan for a Hebrew Nation"--the magazine said: A movement of which Americans hear very little, but which may have an important effect upon the history of the coming century, is going forward upon the shores of the Mediterranean. This is the return of the Jews to their ancient home in Palestine--the Zionite movement it is called. For hundreds of years there has been talk of the Jew returning to Jerusalem. Through all his years of oppression and wandering, this vision of his native land has been held before his eyes by certain of his teachers. But it is only in the last twelve years, since the renewal of persecution in Russia, that the idea has taken shape. There are now more than four thousand colonists in Palestine. At Jaffa the schools are Hebrew, the ancient language being spoken altogether, and a Hebrew literature is being developed. The works of the great English, French and German authors are being translated, and writers of their own race are being encouraged. The Zionite movement is backed by the influence of the Rothschilds and other great Jewish families and societies, and as we see its stirring in every country, we can believe it only requires a great popular leader to make it one of the important movements in history. That it is not purely religious, but racial, is proven by the co-operation of Rabinowitz, the Christian Jew who became so well known here during the World's Fair Congress. There is already one Jewish Christian colony in Palestine. * * * As a Jewish state, Palestine might well become a country that would claim consideration among the family of nations. If the Zionite continues to grow, such a result is almost assured. During the same month, namely, in its impression of August 11th, 1896, the St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_ published the following: Only two decades ago there were not more than fifteen or twenty thousand Jews in Jerusalem. At that [time] no houses were to be found outside the walls of the city. Since then many changes have taken place and the Hebrew population--mainly on account of the increase of the Jewish immigration from Russia--now stands at between sixty and seventy thousand. Whole streets of houses have been built outside the walls on the site of the ancient suburban districts, which for hundreds of years have remained deserted. It is not, however, only in Jerusalem itself that the Jews abound, but throughout Palestine they are buying farms and establishing themselves in a surprisingly rapid manner. In Jerusalem they form at present a larger community than either the Christian or the Mohammedan. CHAPTER XI. DEATH'S HARVEST IN NAUVOO--RETURN OF PRODIGALS. DURING the summer of 1840, death reaped a rich harvest in Nauvoo. Before his ruthless stroke fell many worthy Saints who had been connected with The Church from the time it was founded. Among the first to fall was Bishop Edward Partridge. He died on the twenty-seventh of May, in the forty-sixth year of his age. He was the first Bishop in The Church, and in that capacity had presided over the Saints who gathered to Zion, in Jackson County, Missouri, during the years 1831-33. Joseph described him as a "pattern of piety," and the Lord himself declared that he was like Nathaniel of old--his heart was pure before him, and he was without guile. His life was indeed an eventful one. He was called from his merchandising, and became a preacher of righteousness. Much, in fact all, of his riches fell into the hands of the mobs of Jackson County, in the autumn of 1833, and upon his meek and uncovered head fell a double portion of their fury. Five years later, he passed through those trying times experienced by the Saints in their exodus from the State of Missouri, under the exterminating order of the infamous Governor Boggs; and at that time, he again saw the fruits of his industry fall a prey to the rapacity of his relentless enemies. Stripped of his earthly possessions and broken in health, he reached Commerce, but the trials through which he passed had proven too much for his constitution, which was never robust, and he passed away, a victim to the intolerance and religious bigotry of this generation. In September of the same year Father Joseph Smith, Patriarch to The Church, and father of the Prophet Joseph, was "gathered to his final home," in the sixty-ninth year of his age. He was baptized on the sixth day of April, 1830, and was one of the six who organized The Church on that date. Indeed he was the one who first received the testimony of his son after the angel Moroni visited him on that memorable night of September 21, 1823; and it was he who first exhorted his prophet son to be faithful and diligent to the message he had received. He endured many persecutions on account of the claims made by his son Joseph to being a prophet of God; for Joseph's declarations that he had received heavenly visions and revelations together with a divine commission to preach the Gospel of Christ, not only brought upon himself the wrath of the ungodly, but involved his whole family in the persecutions which followed him throughout his life. Of these things, however, his father never complained, but endured all things patiently, and with true heroism, and ever supported his son in carrying out the counsels of Heaven. He was born on the twelfth of July, 1771, in Topsfield, Massachusetts; and was the second of the seven sons of Asahel and Mary Smith; his forefathers being among those who early came from England to Massachusetts. He was a large man, ordinarily weighing two hundred pounds, was six feet two inches tall, and well proportioned, strong and active; and he stood unbowed beneath the accumulated sorrows and hardships he had experienced during his nearly three score and ten years of sojourn in this life. The exposures, however, that he suffered in the exodus from Missouri brought on him consumption, of which he died. His was an unassuming nature--noted mostly, perhaps, for its sincerity and unwavering integrity. He was a child of nature, and one of nature's noblest; his life had been spent in parts remote from the busy marts, where "wealth accumulates and men decay," and he had passed through his probation on earth without being corrupted by the evil influences of luxury or enervating civilization. He was a type of men, so well described by one of our poets, in the following lines: Simple their lives--yet theirs the race When liberty sent forth her cry, Who crowded conflicts deadliest place, To fight--to bleed--to die; Who stood on Bunker's heights of red, By hope through years were led-- And witnessed Yorktown's sun Shine on a nation's banner spread, A nation's freedom won! Such was the character of the first Patriarch of The Church in this dispensation. Another circumstance of interest in Nauvoo during this eventful summer of 1840 was the return of a number of prodigals to The Church. I have already stated the case of Orson Hyde. Frederick G. Williams was dropped from his position as counselor to the Prophet in November, 1837, and in March, 1839, was excommunicated at a conference in Quincy, Illinois. At the April conference in 1840, however, he came before the assembled Church and "humbly asked forgiveness, and expressed his determination to do the will of God for the future." He was forgiven by the Saints but was never restored to his former position in the First Presidency. About the time Thomas B. Marsh and Orson Hyde fell during the trying scenes in Missouri, W. W. Phelps and Oliver Cowdery left The Church. Elder Phelps was a man who had been of great service to The Church and to the Prophet in a literary way, though some of his work in that line was marred by pedantic verbosity, and pretension to a knowledge of ancient languages which was not justified by any extended acquaintance he had of them. Still, he it was who in the early rise of The Church gave the cast to very much of The Church literature, and, as I remarked, he had been useful to The Church and the Prophet in the capacity of an editor and writer. During the summer of 1840 he began to feel his way back from his apostasy into The Church. He had seen his folly and began to tremble at the gulf which opened at his very feet to devour him. He felt debased and humbled, and most piteously begged to be forgiven and taken back in the confidence of his brethren and the Saints. So interesting are the circumstances connected with his return that I give _in extenso_ the letters which passed between himself and the Prophet. W. W. PHELPS' LETTER TO JOSEPH SMITH. DAYTON, OHIO, June 29, 1840. BROTHER JOSEPH--I am alive, and with the help of God I mean to live still. I am as a prodigal son, though I never doubt or disbelieve the fullness of the Gospel. I have been greatly abused and humbled, and I blessed the God of Israel when I lately read your prophetic blessing on my head, as follows: "The Lord will chasten him because he taketh honor to himself, and when his soul is greatly humbled he will forsake the evil. Then shall the light of the Lord break upon him as at noonday, and in him shall be no darkness," etc. I have seen the folly of my way, and I tremble at the gulf I have passed. So it is, and why I know not. I prayed and God answered, but what could I do? Says I, "I will repent and live, and ask my old brethren to forgive me, and though they chasten me to death, yet _I will die_ with them, for their God is my God. The _least place with them_ is enough for me, yea it is bigger and better than all Babylon." Then I dreamed that I was in a large house with many mansions, with you and Hyrum and Sidney, and when it was said, "Supper must be made ready," by one of the cooks, I saw no meat, but you said there was plenty, and showed me much, and as good as I ever saw; and while cutting to cook, your heart and mine beat within us, and we took each other's hand and cried for joy, and I awoke and took courage. I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me. Like the captain that was cast away on a desert island; when he got off, he went to sea again, and made his fortune the next time--so let my lot be. I have done wrong, and am sorry. The beam is in my own eye. I have not walked with my friends according to my holy anointing. I ask forgiveness in the name of Jesus Christ of all the Saints, for I will do right, God helping me. I want your fellowship; if you cannot grant that, grant me your peace and friendship, for we are brethren, and our communion used to be sweet, and whenever the Lord brings us together again, _I will make all the satisfaction on every point that Saints or God can require_. Amen. W. W. PHELPS. Elders Hyde and Page, _en route_ for the east on their mission to Jerusalem, met with Phelps at Dayton, and at his request these brethren added the following to his communication: Brother Phelps requests us to write a few lines in his letter, and we cheerfully embrace the opportunity. Brother Phelps says he wants to live; but we do not fell ourselves authorized to act upon his case, but have recommended him to you; but he says his poverty will not allow him to visit you in person at this time, and we think he tells the truth. We therefore advise him to write, which he has done. He tells us verbally, that he is willing to make any sacrifice to procure your fellowship, life not excepted, yet reposing that confidence in your magnanimity that you will take no advantage of this open letter and frank confession. If he can obtain your fellowship, he wants to come to Commerce as soon as he can. But if he cannot be received into the fellowship of The Church, he must do the best he can in banishment and exile. Brethren, with you are the keys of the Kingdom; to you is power given to "exert your clemency, or display your vengeance." By the former you will save a soul from death, and hide a multitude of sins: by the latter you will forever discourage a returning prodigal, cause sorrow without benefit, pain without pleasure, ending in wretchedness and despair. But former experience teaches that you are workmen in the art of saving souls; therefore with the greater confidence do we recommend to your clemency and favorable consideration, the author and subject of this communication. "Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely." Brother Phelps says he will, and so far as we are concerned, we say he may. In the bonds of the covenant, ORSON HYDE, JOHN E. PAGE. To this piteous appeal from one who had wandered far from the fold, and who had been torn by the thorns, the Prophet wrote a most worthy reply--a reply which clearly indicates that the spirit of the Master burned brightly in the breast of the servant. JOSEPH SMITH'S LETTER TO W. W. PHELPS. NAUVOO, HANCOCK CO., ILLINOIS, July 22, 1840. DEAR BROTHER PHELPS--I must say that it is with no ordinary feelings I endeavor to write a few lines to you in answer to yours of the 29th ultimo; at the same time I am rejoiced at the privilege granted me. You may in some measure realize what my feelings, as well as Elder Rigdon's and Brother Hyrum's were, when we read your letter--truly our hearts were melted into tenderness and compassion when we ascertained your resolves, etc. I can assure you I feel a disposition to act on your case in a manner that will meet the approbation of Jehovah, (whose servant I am) and agreeably to the principles of truth and righteousness which have been revealed; and inasmuch as longsuffering, patience and mercy have ever characterized the dealings of our Heavenly Father towards the humble and penitent, I feel disposed to copy the example, cherish the same principles, and by so doing be a savior of my fellow men. It is true, that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior--_the cup of gall, already full enough_ for mortals to drink, was indeed _filled to overflowing_ when _you_ turned against us. One with whom we had oft taken sweet counsel together, and enjoyed many refreshing seasons from the Lord--"had it been an enemy, we could have borne it." "In the day that thou stoodest on the other side, in the day when strangers carried away captive his forces, and foreigners entered into his gates, and cast lots upon Far West, even thou wast as one of them; but thou shouldest not have looked on the day of thy brother, in the day that he became a stranger, neither shouldest thou have spoken proudly in the day of distress." However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Father has been done, and we are yet alive, for which we thank the Lord. And having been delivered from the hands of wicked men by the mercy of our God, we say it is your privilege to be delivered from the powers of the adversary, be brought into the liberty of God's dear children, and again take your stand among the Saints of the Most High, and by diligence, humility, and love unfeigned, commend yourself to our God, and your God, and to The Church of Jesus Christ. Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal. Your letter was read to the Saints last Sunday, and an expression was taken, when it was unanimously-- _Resolved_, That W. W. Phelps should be received into fellowship. "Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, For friends at first are friends again at last." Yours as ever, JOSEPH SMITH, JR. Some time after this, when laying out work for the brethren to do, in a sudden burst of kindness he said to his secretary: Write Oliver Cowdery, and ask him if he has not eaten husks long enough. If he is not almost ready to return, be clothed with robes of righteousness, and go up to Jerusalem. Orson Hyde hath need of him. A letter was written accordingly, but the Prophet's generous tender of forgiveness and fellowship called forth no response from Oliver Cowdery, once the second Elder of The Church, and the first to make public proclamation of the Gospel to the world. Subsequently, however, he did return, namely in 1848. It may not be amiss here to call the attention of the reader to a peculiarity of Mormonism, which is illustrated, not only by this case of Phelps, but by a multitude of other cases of the same character; and that is: whenever the religion of the Latter-day Saints--the Gospel of Jesus Christ--takes hold of men, and conviction of its truth has struck deep into the human soul, they may through transgression lose the fellowship of the Saints and of The Church; they may wander out upon the hills and through the deserts, away from the fold, but they can never forget the sweet communion of the Spirit of God, which they enjoyed before their fall; nor can they forget the fact that they once knew that Mormonism was true. The recollection of those things operates upon the mind, and not infrequently leads to a sincere repentance; and it has often happened, in the experience of The Church, that men who through transgression turned away from the truth, after thorns have torn their flesh, and the wild briar stripped them of their covering, they return and humbly beg to be re-admitted into their Father's house. Lucifer-like, they cannot forget the heights from which they fell, they cannot all forget the splendor of that glory and the happiness of that peace they enjoyed in God's Kingdom, and wicked indeed must that heart become, that these recollections will not lead to repentance. May not they have so far transgressed that they cannot repent, and are beyond even the desire for forgiveness? Are they not the sons of perdition? Thank God, their numbers are few! Again, those who fall away from Mormonism carry with them the evidences of that fall. Unbelievers say to Mormons, "Come out of the darkness of your superstitions into God's sunlight of freedom"--but when one looks upon the fate, the condition and experience of those who have denied the faith, he receives small encouragement to obey the summons. Seldom indeed are they prospered even in the affairs of this world, and the canker-worm gnawing within, writes upon their faces the anguish of heart which their lying lips deny. They smile, but smiling suffer; the heart still beats, but brokenly lives on; and who so blind that he would exchange the peace, the joy, the holy aspirations and assurances which the Gospel brings, for the unrest, the gloom, darkness, uncertainty and fearfulness, which forever haunt the mind of the apostate? Only those who would exchange the glorious light of heaven for the murky blackness of hell. CHAPTER XII. JOHN C. BENNETT. ABOUT this time, there were other characters which had become attracted to The Church, and who became prominent in the events which occurred at Nauvoo. Among them was Dr. John C. Bennett, described as "a man of enterprise, extensive acquirements, and of independent mind, one calculated to be of great benefit to The Church." His attention had been attracted to the Mormon people during their persecutions in Missouri. At that time he was brigadier-general of the "Invincible Dragoons" of Illinois, and wrote to the leaders of The Church in the hours of their deepest distress, proffering to go to their assistance with all the forces he could raise in Illinois, as his bosom swelled with indignation at the treatment the Saints received at the hands of the cruel but cowardly Missourians. That proffered service, however, was not accepted; doubtless because the Saints depended for vindication of their reputation, and redress of their wrongs, upon the officers of the State and Nation, rather than upon adventurers who offered their service to wage war upon their enemies. But after the Saints began gathering at Commerce, he again expressed a desire to connect his fortunes with theirs. As this man may properly be regarded as the "Benedict Arnold" of The Church at Nauvoo, I shall take the liberty of now noting a few expressions in his first letters to Joseph the Prophet, which, if they fail to adorn a tale, they will at least point a moral. When he contemplated joining his fortunes with The Church at Commerce, he held the position of quartermaster-general in the militia of the State of Illinois, a position he did not wish to resign. Indeed he expressed a desire to hold the position for a number of years. He was also a physician with an extensive practice, and sent extracts from the Louisville _Courier-Journal_ which gave evidence of high standing in his profession. Writing of these things to Joseph, he said: I do not expect to resign my office of quartermaster-general of the State of Illinois, in the event of my removal to Commerce, unless you advise otherwise. I shall likewise expect to practice my profession, but at the same time your people shall have all the benefit of my speaking power, and my untiring energies in behalf of the good and holy faith. In a communication following the one from which I make the above quotation he said: You are aware that at the time of your most bitter persecution, I was with you in feeling, and proffered you my military knowledge and powers. The egotism of the man plainly appears in these expressions, and manifests a spirit that is altogether at variance with the humility required by the Gospel, and doubtless that self-importance laid the foundation of his subsequent fall. While Joseph extended a hearty welcome to the doctor to come to Nauvoo, he by no means held out very flattering inducements to him, as may be seen by Joseph's letters to him in answer to those of Bennett's, expressing his determination to join the Saints at Commerce. He said: I have no doubt that you would be of great service to this community in practicing your profession, as well as those other abilities of which you are in possession. Though to devote your time and abilities in the cause of truth and a suffering people, may not be the means of exalting you in the eyes of this generation, or securing you the riches of this world, yet by so doing you may rely on the approval of Jehovah, "that blessing which maketh rich and addeth no sorrow." * * * Therefore, my general invitation is, let all who will come, come and partake of the poverty of Nauvoo, freely. I should be disposed to give you a special invitation to come as early as possible, believing you will be of great service to us. However, you must make your own arrangements according to your circumstances. Were it possible for you to come here this season to suffer affliction with the people of God, no one will be more pleased to give you a cordial welcome than myself. Surely this was frank enough, and ought to have dispelled from the doctor's mind, if at that time such ideas lurked there, all thoughts of winning worldly fame, or gratifying vain ambition, by linking his fortunes with those of The Church of Jesus Christ. CHAPTER XIII. RENEWAL OF HOSTILITIES BY MISSOURI. IT would appear that Hatred's hunger is never fed; it seems to possess an appetite which is insatiable, and can never feel at ease so long as the object of its detestation remains within its reach; and even when that object is removed beyond the immediate power of Hatred to do it harm, as the dragon of the apocalypse when he could not follow the woman he had persecuted into the wilderness, cast out of his mouth a flood of water after her to destroy her--even so Hatred, when baffled in his efforts to destroy his victims, sends out floods of falsehood to overwhelm them by infusing his own venom into the breasts of others; that that destruction which he could not bring to pass himself, might be brought about by another. Such was the course of hate-blinded Missouri towards the Saints of God, whom she had driven beyond her borders. Seeing that she had not destroyed them, but that they were now upon the eve of enjoying an era of prosperity such as they had never enjoyed while within her borders, she employed all her cunning to incite the hatred of the citizens of Illinois against them. But this was not easy of accomplishment; and at first, the misrepresentations of a State that had been guilty of such outrages as those committed by Missouri against the Latter-day Saints, had but little weight in Illinois. Finding that their accusations against the people whom they had so wronged had little or no effect, an effort was made to give coloring to their statements; and stolen goods were conveyed from Missouri to the vicinity of Commerce, so that when they were found, suspicion might rest upon the people in whose neighborhood the stolen articles were discovered. Nor did their outrages stop at this. But doubtless being emboldened by reason of the general government's refusing to make any effort to redress the wrongs of the Saints, a company of men led by William Allensworth, H. M. Woodyard, Wm. Martin, J. H. Owsely, John Bain, Light T. Lait and Halsay White, crossed over the Mississippi to Illinois, at a point a few miles above Quincy, and kidnapped Alanson Brown, James Allred, Benjamin Boyce and Noah Rogers; and without any writ or warrant of any character whatever, they dragged them over to Missouri, to a neighborhood called Tully, in Lewis County. These unfortunate men were imprisoned for a day or two in an old log cabin, during which time their lives were repeatedly threatened. At one time Brown was taken out, a rope placed around his neck, and he was hung up to a tree until he was nearly strangled to death. Boyce at the same time was tied to a tree, stripped of his clothing and inhumanly beaten. Rogers was also beaten, and Allred was stripped of every particle of clothing, and tied up to a tree for the greater part of the night, and threatened frequently by a man named Monday, exclaiming: "G--d d--n you, I'll cut you to the hollow." He was finally, however, released without being whipped. After they had received this inhuman treatment, their captors performed an act purely Missourian in its character, that is, they gave them the following note of acquittal: TULLY, MISSOURI, July 12, 1840. The people of Tully, having taken up Mr. Allred, with some others, and having examined into the offenses committed, find nothing to justify his detention any longer, and have released him. By order of the committee. H. M. WOODYARD. As soon as the people of Commerce and vicinity were informed of this outrage, Gentiles as well as Mormons were loud in their condemnation of it, and at once a mass meeting was called, and resolutions were adopted, expressing their unqualified indignation, and calling upon the governor of Illinois to take the necessary steps to punish those who had committed this outrage, and by vindicating the law, give the Missourians to understand there was a limit beyond which their deeds of violence must not pass. D.H. Wells, not then a member of The Church, and George Miller were appointed a committee to wait upon Governor Carlin, and lay the case before him. For this purpose they repaired to Quincy, and at the recital of the cruelties practiced upon the men who were the victims of the Missourians, the governor's wife, who was present at the interview, was moved to tears, and the governor himself was greatly agitated. He promised to counsel with the State attorney, who by law was made his adviser, and promised to take such steps as the case seemed to require, and the law to justify. Just what was done by Governor Carlin, however, I am unable to learn; but one thing is certain, and that is, the guilty parties were never brought to justice, nor even to a trial--indeed it may be that even then the love which Governor Carlin once had for the Saints, and which at last became dead, had begun to grow cold. Scarcely had the excitement occasioned by the kidnapping of Allred and his associates subsided, when Governor Boggs of Missouri made a requisition on Governor Carlin, of Illinois, for the persons of Joseph Smith, Jr., Sidney Rigdon, Lyman Wight, P.P. Pratt, Caleb Baldwin and Alanson Brown, as fugitives from justice. Governor Carlin granted the requisition--was it another case of Herod and Pilate being made friends over the surrender of God's Prophet? But fortunately when the sheriff went to Commerce with his requisition, Joseph and his brethren were not at home, and could not be found; so that the officers returned without them. These men were not fugitives from justice, no process had ever been found against them, the governor himself had connived at their escape from the hands of the officers charged with the duty of conducting them from Liberty, Clay County, to Boone County; [1] and these men did not feel disposed to try again "the solemn realities of mob law in Missouri." These circumstances gave the Saints to understand that their peace in their beautiful situation on the banks of the placid, grand, old Mississippi was not to be without alloy; the goal of their final triumph and rest had not been reached. These incidents were a premonition of danger; they were indeed the few drops of rain which sometimes precede the storm, but a kind Providence shut out from their vision how fierce that storm would be, or how would they have had the courage to meet it? Footnotes 1. Missouri Persecutions, Chapter XLVII. CHAPTER XIV. FOUNDING A CITY. MEANTIME Commerce had become Nauvoo. The city of Nauvoo was incorporated by act of the legislature of Illinois, on the fourteenth of December, 1840. The charter granted on that date described the boundaries of the city, but gave to the citizens--whom it erected a body corporate and politic--the right to extend the area of the city whenever any tract of land adjoining should have been laid out into town lots and recorded according to law. The city council was to consist of a mayor, four aldermen and nine councilors to be elected by the qualified voters of the city. The first Monday in February was appointed for the first election of officers. The charter granted to the citizens of Nauvoo the most plenary powers in the management of their local affairs. Indeed, about the only limit placed upon their powers was, that they do nothing inconsistent with the constitution of the United States, and the State constitution of Illinois. But inside of those lines they were all powerful to make and execute such ordinances as in the wisdom of the city council were necessary for the peace, good order, and general welfare of the city. It afterwards became a question in the State as to whether or not powers too great had not been granted the city government--but of that I shall have occasion to speak further on. The leading men of the State appeared not only willing but anxious to grant the privileges of this city government to the Saints. S. H. Little, of the upper house of the State legislature, especially stood by the Saints, and pleaded for their rights; together with Messrs. Snyder, Ralston, Moore, Ross and Stapp; while Mr. John F. Charles, the representative to the lower house from the district in which Nauvoo was located, manfully discharged his duties to the Nauvoo portion of his constituents, by using all his energy to secure them their city government. An incident connecting Abraham Lincoln with the passage of this charter may not be without interest. The State of Illinois was at that time divided into two political parties, Whigs and Democrats. Both parties were friendly to the Saints, who considered themselves equally bound to both parties for acts of kindness. Lincoln was a Whig, and in the November election his name was on the State electoral ticket as a Whig candidate for the State legislature. But many of the people of Nauvoo, wishing to divide their vote, and to show a kindness to the Democrats, erased the name of Lincoln, and substituted that of Ralston, a Democrat. It was with no ill feeling, however, towards Mr. Lincoln that this was done, and when the vote was called on the final passage of the Nauvoo charter, he had the magnanimity to vote for it; and congratulated John C. Bennett on his success in securing its enactment. The Saints rejoiced in the prospects of liberty secured to them by their city government, and of it Joseph said: I concocted it for the salvation of The Church, and on principles so broad, that every honest man might dwell secure under its protecting influences, without distinction of sect or party. An inspection of the charter will bear out this opinion of it, for while it was "concocted for the salvation of The Church," it by no means secured that salvation by trespassing upon the rights of others, but by recognizing the rights of the Saints to be equal to the rights of other citizens. Nor was it intended that Nauvoo should be an exclusive city for people of the Mormon faith; on the contrary, all worthy people were invited to come and assist to build it up and partake of its liberty and anticipated prosperity. An official proclamation, issued over the signatures of Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon and Hyrum Smith, who then constituted the First Presidency of The Church, contains the following passage: We wish it likewise to be distinctly understood, that we claim no privileges but what we feel cheerfully disposed to share with our fellow-citizens of every denomination, and every sentiment of religion; and therefore say, that so far from being restricted to our own faith, let all those who desire to locate in this place (Nauvoo) or the vicinity, come, and we will hail them as citizens and friends, and shall feel it not only a duty, but a privilege to reciprocate the kindness we have received from the benevolent and kind-hearted citizens of the State of Illinois. And as an earnest of the intention, so far as the Saints were concerned, of carrying out in practice these liberal sentiments and extending equal rights to people of all religious persuasions, among the first acts of the city council was the passage of the following ordinance, introduced by Joseph Smith: SECTION I. Be it ordained by the city council of the city of Nauvoo that the Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, Latter-day Saints, Quakers, Episcopalians, Universalists, Unitarians, Mohammedans, and all other religious sects and denominations, whatever, shall have free toleration and equal privileges in this city; and should any person be guilty of ridiculing and abusing, or otherwise deprecating another, in consequence of his religion, or of disturbing or interrupting any religious meeting within the limits of this city, he shall, on conviction before the mayor or municipal court, be considered a disturber of the public peace, and fined in any sum not exceeding five hundred dollars, or imprisoned not exceeding six months, or both, at the discretion of said mayor and court. The second section made it the duty of all municipal officers to notice and report any violation of the law--and in fact, of any other law of the city--to the mayor; and the municipal officers were authorized to arrest all violators of this law, either with or without process; so that the fullest religious liberty was secured to all sects, and all religions, and to people of no religion at all if any such there should be. Under such an ordinance, people could worship Almighty God according to the dictates of their consciences, without fear of molestation from any one; but they were restrained from interfering with the religion or mode of worship of their fellows--they were told, in a manner, that their liberties ended where those of other people commenced. On the first of February, 1841, the first election for members of the city council took place, as provided by the city charter. John C. Bennett was chosen mayor; William Marks, Samuel H. Smith, D. H. Wells, and N. K. Whitney, aldermen; Joseph Smith, Hyrum Smith, Sidney Rigdon, Chas. C. Rich, John T. Barnett, Wilson Law, Don C. Smith, J. P. Greene and Vinson Knight, councilors. On the third of the month the city council was organized, by appointing the following officers: marshal, H. G. Sherwood; recorder, James Sloan; treasurer, R. B. Thompson; assessor, James Robinson; supervisor of streets, Austin Cowles. Mayor Bennett, the same day, delivered his inaugural address. After making several recommendations to the council relative to the establishment of an educational institution, a militia, the enactment of a temperance ordinance, and other measures affecting the manufacturing and commercial interests of the city; and further recommending that the protecting aegis of the corporation be thrown around every moral and religious institution of the day, which was in any way calculated to ennoble or ameliorate the condition of the citizens, he concluded his speech in these words: As the chief magistrate of your city, I am determined to execute all State laws, and city ordinances passed in pursuance of law, to the very letter, should it require the strong arm of military power to enable me to do so. As an officer, I know no man; the peaceful, unoffending citizen shall be protected in the full exercise of all his civil, political and religious rights, and the guilty violator of the law shall be punished without respect to persons. The first act of the city council, after its organization, was to express its gratitude for its privileges and powers conferred upon the city by its charter. For this purpose the following resolution was introduced by Joseph Smith, and adopted: _Resolved_, by the city council of the city of Nauvoo, that the unfeigned thanks of this community be respectfully tendered to the governor, council of revision, and legislature of the State of Illinois, as a feeble testimonial of their respect and esteem of noble, high-minded, and patriotic statesmen; and as an evidence of gratitude for the signal powers recently conferred--and that the citizens of Quincy be held in everlasting remembrance for their unparalleled liberality and marked kindness to our people, when in their greatest state of suffering and want. The next move was to pass a temperance ordinance, which practically made Nauvoo a prohibition city--that is, so far as prohibitory ordinances prohibit. CHAPTER XV. THE NAUVOO LEGION. THE Nauvoo charter proper really contained two other charters, viz: One for the establishment of a university within the limits of the city "for the teaching of the arts and sciences, and learned professions," and another for the organization of an independent military body to be called the "Nauvoo Legion." An ordinance was passed on the third of February, in relation to the university, appointing a chancellor and board of regents. A site for a building was selected, and plans of the structure were drawn, but that was as far as the matter went, as the city had no funds with which to proceed with the work of construction. An ordinance was also passed on the above date authorizing the organization of the Nauvoo Legion. The original provision in the Nauvoo charter establishing this military body provided that the city council might organize the inhabitants of the city, subject to military duty under the laws of the State, into an independent body of militia; and a subsequent amendment to the charter extended the privilege of joining the Legion to any citizen of Hancock County, who might by voluntary enrollment desire to do so; and in that event he was to have all the privileges to be enjoyed by members of that organization. The charter provided that the officers of the Legion should be commissioned by the governor; and that the members thereof be required to perform the same amount of military duty as the regular militia of the State; they were to be at the disposal of the mayor in executing the laws and ordinances of the city, and the laws of the State; and also at the disposal of the governor for the public defense, and the execution of the laws of the State and of the United States; and were entitled to their proportion of the public arms; but were exempt from all military duty not specified in these provisions. The commissioned officers of the Legion were constituted its court-martial, which was its law-making department; but no law inconsistent with either the Constitution of the United States or the State of Illinois was to be enacted by this court. The privilege of organizing the citizens of Nauvoo, and as many of the citizens of Hancock County as might desire to unite with them, into an independent military body, was highly gratifying to the people of Nauvoo, but more especially so to Joseph Smith, who, in speaking of it, in a proclamation to the Saints scattered abroad, said: The Nauvoo Legion embraces all our military power, and will enable us to perform our military duty by ourselves, and thus afford us the power and privileges of avoiding one of the most fruitful sources of strife, oppression and collision with the world. It will enable us to show our attachment to the State and Nation, as a people, whenever the public service requires our aid, thus proving ourselves obedient to the paramount laws of the land, and ready at all times to sustain and execute them. The city ordinance provided that the Legion should be divided into two cohorts, the horse troops to constitute the first cohort, and the infantry the second. The commander-in-chief of the Legion was to be known as the lieutenant-general, who was also made the reviewing officer and president of the court-martial and Legion. His staff was to consist of two principal aides-de-camp with the rank of colonel of cavalry; and a guard of twelve aides-de-camp with the rank of captain of infantry; and a drill officer, with the rank of colonel of dragoons, to be the chief officer of the guard. The second officer was a major-general, to act as the secretary of the court-martial and Legion. His staff consisted of an adjutant; surgeon-in-chief, a cornet, quartermaster, paymaster, commissary, and chaplain; all to hold the rank of colonel of cavalry; besides these, there were to be in his staff, a surgeon for each cohort, quartermaster sergeant, sergeant-major, and a chief musician--with the rank of captain of light infantry; and two musicians with the rank of captain of infantry. Besides these officers there were created by the ordinance an adjutant and inspector-general; and a brigadier-general to command each cohort. The staff of each brigadier-general consisted of an aide-de-camp with the rank of lieutenant-colonel of infantry, and when not otherwise in service, these brigadiers had access to the staff of the major-general. The ordinance organizing this body of militia provided that the court-martial should adopt for the Legion, so far as practicable, the discipline, drill, uniform, rules and regulations of the United States army. And a law passed by the court-martial shortly after its organization, required all male citizens within the limits of Nauvoo, between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, excepting such as were exempted from service under the laws of the United States, to perform military duty under the penalty of being fined for absence from general parades, as follows: generals, twenty-five dollars; colonels, twenty dollars; captains, fifteen dollars; lieutenants, ten dollars; and musicians and privates, five dollars. For absence from company parades--of course without good reason for the absence--the fines were fixed at these rates: commissioned officers, five dollars; non-commissioned officers, three dollars; and musicians and privates, two dollars. The first election of officers of the Legion took place on the fourth of February, 1841; and resulted in Joseph Smith being unanimously chosen lieutenant-general; John C. Bennett, major-general; Wilson Law, brigadier-general of the first cohort; and Don Carlos Smith, brigadier-general of the second cohort. The staffs of the respective generals were chosen from the leading citizens of Nauvoo, some of whom were not members of the Mormon Church. There were but six companies at the time the Legion was organized, in February, 1841, but in September following, the number of men had increased to one thousand four hundred and ninety; and at the time of the Prophet Joseph's death, some three years later, the Legion numbered about five thousand. With such strict regulations, accompanied by a natural enthusiasm for military display, and drilled by competent military officers, it is not to be wondered at if the Legion became the best body of militia in the State of Illinois. It excited the jealousy and envy of the rest of the militia in the surrounding counties, and all the laudable efforts of the Legion to become an efficient body of militia, with a view of assisting in the execution of the State and National laws, if occasion should require, were construed by their enemies to mean a preparation for rebellion, and the establishment and spread of the Mormon religion by conquests of the sword, as, it is alleged, Mohammed established his religion. Thus the forming of an independent body of militia, enabling the Saints to perform their military duty by themselves, which the Prophet fondly hoped would remove "one of the most fruitful sources of strife, oppression and collision with the world," and which he further hoped would give the Saints, as a people, an opportunity of showing their attachment to the State and Nation, whenever the public service required their aid--by the misrepresentation of their enemies, was made one of the principal rocks of offense, and was used to excite the apprehensions and prejudices of the good people of Illinois. The people of the United States have always been jealous of military power, and hence have been careful in forming their political institutions to subordinate the military to the civil authority, except in times of actual war; and, therefore, notwithstanding the very good intentions of the Saints at Nauvoo, it was a very easy matter for their enemies to excite the prejudice and awaken the fears of the people of Illinois by pointing to the existence of this elaborate and efficient military organization with its frequent musters and parades, and captained by a great religious leader, whom, notwithstanding his virtues and the uprightness of his intentions--they had come to regard as a wild, religious fanatic, prepared to go to what lengths they knew not in the promulgation of his religion. Hence that which was to be a bulwark to the city, and a protection to the Saints, was transformed by their enemies into an occasion of offense, and an excuse for assailing them. CHAPTER XVI. RECONSTRUCTION OF QUORUMS--THE NAUVOO HOUSE AND THE TEMPLE. In the meantime important changes in The Church organization were pending. An important revelation was received on the nineteenth of January, 1841, [1] which provided for filling the vacancies in the several quorums and a reconfirmation of all the authorities of the Church. Hyrum Smith, who had stood in the position of counselor to his brother Joseph, since the apostasy of F. G. Williams and his expulsion from The Church, on the seventh of November, 1837--was appointed to succeed his father as Patriarch to The Church; to hold the sealing blessings of The Church, even the Holy Spirit of promise, whereby the Saints are sealed up unto the day of redemption, that they may not fall, notwithstanding the day of temptation that might come upon them. He was also appointed a prophet, seer, and revelator, as well as Joseph with whom he was to act in concert, and from whom he was to receive counsel. The Prophet was to show unto him the keys whereby he might ask and receive, "and be crowned with the same blessing and glory and honor and priesthood, and gifts of the priesthood that once were put upon him that was my servant Oliver Cowdery." Joseph Smith was given, as the presiding Elder of The Church, to be a translator, a revelator, a seer and prophet. Sidney Rigdon was admonished of his neglect of duty, and of his lack of faith; he was told, however, if he would repent of his sins, and stand in his place and calling, he might continue to act as counselor to Joseph, and the Lord promised to heal him, and make him powerful in testimony. The reason for this admonition, as one may judge from the spirit of it, was that he to whom it was given had become sour in his feelings toward the work of God. His ardor was cooling, and his zeal, which at times had been inordinate, seemed now to be oozing out of his disposition. William Law, whom, it will be remembered, Joseph first met when _en route_ for Washington--Law then leading a small company of Saints to Nauvoo from Canada--was appointed to fill the vacancy in the First Presidency made by the appointment of Hyrum Smith to the office of Patriarch. And such blessings and spiritual powers were pronounced upon him by the Lord, as seldom falls to the lot of man. On condition of his faithfulness he was to have power to have the sick, cast out devils, be delivered from those who administered unto him poison, and the serpent that might lay hold upon his heel; "And what if I will," said the Lord, "that he should raise the dead, let him not hold his voice." Brigham Young was appointed the president of the Twelve Apostles, and liberty was given to appoint another man to fill the vacancy made in the quorum through the death of David W. Patten, who was killed by the mob, at the battle of Crooked River, in Missouri. The High Council for Nauvoo was named, and a presidency given to the High Priests; the seven presidents of the Seventies were appointed; and all the quorums of the Priesthood both in the Melchisedek and Aaronic divisions were set in order, so far as the appointment of presidents was concerned. Besides setting the Priesthood in order, the Lord in this revelation required that a house should be built to His name; "a house worthy of all acceptation; that the weary traveler may find health and safety while he contemplates the word of the Lord;" and the Prophet Joseph and his family were to have a right of permanent residence in it. It was to be known as the "Nauvoo House," and built unto the name of the Lord. The possession of individual stock was to range from fifty dollars to fifteen thousand dollars; no person being allowed to put in less than fifty, nor more than fifteen thousand. And it was specially provided that none but those who believed in the Book of Mormon and the revelations of God were to be permitted to hold stock in the house. In addition to this commandment to build the Nauvoo House, the Lord told the Saints that there was not a place found on the earth to which He might come and restore that which was lost, or which he had taken away, even the fullness of the Priesthood; nor was there a baptismal font upon the earth where the Saints might be baptized for the dead. The doctrine of baptism for the dead had been made known to the Saints some time previous to this, and the ordinance had been performed in the Mississippi and other convenient places; but this is an ordinance of God's house, and cannot be acceptable to Him when performed elsewhere, only in the days of the poverty of His people. And as more prosperous times had dawned upon The Church, the Saints were required to build a temple to the name of the Most High; and they were further told that they were granted sufficient time to build a temple, and if they failed to build it at the expiration of that appointed time, they should be rejected as a Church together with their dead. To show to The Church the importance of erecting this temple, the Lord reminded them how He had commanded Moses to build a tabernacle, that the children of Israel could bear with them into the wilderness, that those ordinances might be revealed which had been hidden from before the foundation of the world. Therefore said the Lord-- Let this house be built unto my name that I may reveal mine ordinances therein, unto my people. For I design to reveal unto my Church things which have been kept hid from before the foundation of the world, things that pertain to the dispensation of the fullness of times; and I will show unto my servant Joseph all things pertaining to this house, and the Priesthood thereof. * * * And ye shall build it on the place where you have contemplated building it, for that is the spot which I have chosen for you to build it. The location which the Saints had contemplated as the site for the temple was on a bold eminence overlooking the river, the landscape on the Iowa side, and all the surrounding country for miles around. It was not only by far the noblest site in Nauvoo for a temple, but ideal in its fitness. Footnotes 1. Doctrine and Covenants, Section 124. CHAPTER XVII. THE CONFERENCE OF APRIL 6TH, 1841. THE sixth of April, 1841, was a memorable day in the history of Nauvoo. That day the corner stones of the great temple which God by revelation had commanded His people to build were to be laid. To the Prophet Joseph the day must have been a veritable gleam of sunshine amid the constantly renewing storms of his eventful career. It was a beautiful day, clear and balmy--propitious for the exercises to take place. Early in the morning there was a hurrying to and fro in the streets of militiamen, for the presence of sixteen uniformed companies of the Nauvoo Legion was to add brightness and interest to the imposing ceremonies. A great procession was formed and marched to the temple site. Here the Legion was formed in a hollow square surrounding the excavations made for the foundation of the temple and enclosing the officers of the Legion, choir, citizens and prominent Elders of The Church who were to lay the corner stones of that structure. Sidney Rigdon was the orator of the occasion; and, doubtless owing to the recent admonition he had received in the revelation from the Lord--to which reference has been made--he was aroused from his lethargy for the time. At any rate, on this occasion he spoke with his old fervor and eloquence. He reviewed the trials of the past, the blessings they then enjoyed, the brightening prospects of the future, and dwelt at some length upon the importance of building temples, and the labor to be performed in them. At the conclusion of the oration, at the direction of the First Presidency, the architects lowered the southeast cornerstone to its place, and Joseph Smith said: This principal corner-stone in representation of the First Presidency, is now duly laid in honor of the great God; and may it there remain until the whole fabric is completed; and may the same be accomplished speedily; that the Saints may have a place in which to worship God, and the Son of Man have where to lay His head. To which Sidney Rigdon added: May the persons employed in the erection of this house be preserved from all harm while engaged in its construction, till the whole is completed, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Even so, amen. Thus were laid the corner-stones of the Nauvoo Temple, amid the rejoicing of the Saints; and even strangers forgot their prejudices and joined with hearty good will, as interested spectators of the proceedings. "Such an almost countless multitude of people," says one enthusiastic account of the scenes of the day, written at the time, "moving in harmony, in friendship, in dignity, told with a voice not easily misunderstood, that they were a people of intelligence, and virtue, and order; in short, that they were Saints; and that the God of love, purity and light, was their God, their exemplar and director; and that they were blessed and happy." While on this subject, I quote the instructions on temple building from the history of the Prophet: If the strict order of the Priesthood were carried out in the building of temples, the first stone will be laid at the southeast corner, by the First Presidency of The Church. The southwest corner should be laid next. The third, or northwest corner next; and the fourth or northeast corner the last. The First Presidency should lay the southeast corner-stone, and dictate who are the proper persons to lay the other corner-stones. If a temple is built at a distance, and the First Presidency are not present, then the quorum of the Twelve Apostles are the proper persons to dictate the order for that temple; and in the absence of the Twelve Apostles, then the presidency of the stake will lay the southeast corner-stone. The Melchisedek Priesthood laying the corner-stones on the east side of the temple, and the Lesser Priesthood those on the west side. During the remaining days of the conference, opened with such splendid ceremonies, the Saints were instructed in principle and doctrine, the quorums of the Priesthood were arranged in their proper order and the important questions of business put to each quorum separately and voted upon; especially the names of those whom God had appointed and reappointed to fill the respective positions alluded to in the revelation above quoted. Besides this, the several charters of Nauvoo, the Legion, University, Agricultural and Manufacturing Association, Nauvoo House Association, etc., were read and accepted by the people. Lyman Wight was sustained to fill the vacancy in the quorum of the Twelve. John C. Bennett was presented in connection with the First Presidency as assistant President until Sidney Rigdon's health should be restored. Everything necessary for the welfare, happiness and prosperity of the Saints was considered, and preparations made to push the work of God forward in all its departments. The conference lasted from Wednesday morning until Sunday night; and is one of the most important ever held by The Church. Indeed the circumstances surrounding the Saints at the time were of a character to bid them hope that Nauvoo would be to them "a safe retreat." The friendship of nearly all of the leading men of the State; the universal sympathy felt by the people of Illinois for the victims of Missouri's fury; the action of the State legislature in granting the several charters noted in chapter fifteen--all supported the hopes entertained. CHAPTER XVIII. PROPHET'S TRIAL AT MONMOUTH. EARLY in the summer of 1841, an event happened which threatened the peace of the inhabitants of Nauvoo. When busily intent in the performance of some labor, or duty, or even when in pursuit of pleasure, how often it happens that we work on, or enjoy our pleasure in the bright sunshine, without ever thinking of storms, until a sudden clap of thunder startles us, and looking up we see that dark clouds have arisen above the horizon; the bright skies are rapidly becoming overcast--a storm is impending! So it was with the Saints at Nauvoo concerning the matter of which we speak. It fell upon them as unexpectedly as falls a thunderbolt from a cloudless sky. It occurred in this manner: When Hyrum Smith and William Law started on the mission to the Eastern States, to which they were appointed by the revelation of January 19, 1841, Joseph accompanied them as far as Quincy; and when returning to Nauvoo he stopped at Heberlin's hotel, on Bear Creek, some twenty-eight miles south of that city. While here a sheriff's posse under the direction of Thomas King, sheriff of Adams County, accompanied by an officer from Missouri, arrested him on a requisition from the governor of the State of Missouri. The warrant upon which the arrest was made was the one issued by the authorities of Missouri early in September, 1840; an effort to serve which was made on the fifteenth of that month, but the officers failed in their errand, as the brethren wanted, viz: Joseph Smith, Jr., Sidney Rigdon, Lyman Wight, P. P. Pratt, Caleb Baldwin and A. Brown were not in Nauvoo, that is, they evaded arrest, as already related in a former chapter. The complaint on which the requisition of the governor of Illinois was based charged that these men were fugitives from justice; and they were wanted in Missouri to answer to the old charges of "theft, arson and murder," supposed to have been committed in Caldwell and Daviess counties in the summer and fall of 1838. What made Joseph's arrest more a matter of surprise to him was, that only a few hours previous to its being made, he had been in company with Governor Carlin at the latter's residence, and was treated with the greatest respect and kindness; yet not one word was said by the governor about the requisition made by Missouri for his arrest. Joseph returned to Quincy in company with the sheriff's posse and secured a writ of _habeas corpus_ from Charles A. Warren, master in chancery. The same evening, Saturday, June 5th, Judge Stephen A. Douglass arrived in Quincy, and appointed the hearing on the writ to take place the following Tuesday, at Monmouth, Warren County. In the meantime the news of Joseph's arrest reached Nauvoo and created no little excitement. A party of seven men, under the leadership of Hosea Stout, left Nauvoo for Quincy, Sunday morning, in a skiff, to render the Prophet any assistance in their power, and prevent if possible his enemies taking him to Missouri. They struggled against a head-wind all day, but reached Quincy at dusk, only to learn that Joseph had gone to Nauvoo in charge of Sheriff King and another officer; there was nothing for them to do but to return. Sheriff King was taken sick at Nauvoo, but Joseph nursed him with all the tenderness of a brother, and the day following Monday, started for Monmouth, accompanied by a large number of the leading men of Nauvoo, and the sheriff, whom Joseph cared for personally during the journey of seventy-five miles. The party arrived at Monmouth on Tuesday, but at the request of the State attorney, who claimed he was not prepared on the case, the hearing was postponed until the next day. The appearance of Joseph in Monmouth caused considerable excitement. He was invited to preach, but thought it best, as he was a prisoner, not to do so; but he appointed Amasa Lyman to preach in the court room on Wednesday evening. The prejudice of the people of Monmouth was as excessive as it was blind. They employed at their own expense several attorneys to assist the prosecution, and declared that if there were any lawyers in the district who would even undertake the defense of the Prophet, they never need look to the people of that county again for political favors. But there were strong men in attendance at the court, men not to be frightened by such threats, and whose souls despised the petty minds that could frame them; Joseph, therefore, was ably defended by Messrs. Charles A. Warren, Sidney H. Little, O. H. Browning, James H. Ralston, Cyrus Walker, and Archibald Williams. The pleadings of the lawyers for the defense were peculiarly affecting, since all of them were more or less acquainted with the condition of the Saints when they fled from the violence of Missourians to Illinois. O. H. Browning had seen several of these companies of Saints in their flight and could trace them by the blood left in their footprints on the snow; his recital of their sufferings moved Judge Douglass, most of the officers of the court and the spectators to tears. One of the brethren present who wrote an account of the trial for the Nauvoo papers says: He [Mr. Browning] concluded his remarks by saying, To tell the prisoner to go to Missouri for a trial was adding insult to injury, and then said: "Great God! Have I not seen it? Yes, my eyes have beheld the blood-stained traces of innocent women and children, in the dreary winter, who had traveled hundreds of miles barefoot, through frost and snow, to seek a refuge from their savage pursuers. 'Twas a scene of horror, sufficient to have enlisted the sympathy of an adamantine heart. And shall this unfortunate man, whom their fury has seen proper to select for sacrifice, be driven into such a savage land, where none dare to enlist in the cause of justice? If there was no other voice under heaven ever to be heard in this cause, gladly would I stand alone, and proudly spend my latest breath in defense of an American citizen." The lawyers for the prosecution, according to Joseph's own account, acted honorably and confined themselves to the merits of the case, excepting two--Messrs. Knowlton and Jennings. They made an appeal both to the passions and prejudices of the people, and sought to create an excitement over the matter. Judge Douglass, however, was impartial in his rulings, and doubtless one officer of the court--the sheriff of Warren County--thought him severe in his efforts to protect the prisoner. The court room was densely packed and the judge ordered the sheriff to keep the spectators back; but this he neglected and the judge fined him ten dollars. In a few minutes the order to keep the spectators from crowding the prisoner and witnesses was repeated, and the sheriff told the court that he had ordered a constable to do it. "Clerk," said Judge Douglass, "add ten dollars more to that fine." This was effectual, the sheriff after that did his duty. Joseph claimed in this case that he was unlawfully held a prisoner, and he could prove that the indictment upon which he was arrested had been obtained by fraud, bribery and duress. This line of defense, however, raised the question as to whether the court had the right to inquire into the merits of the case. A long debate between opposing counsel followed. But it will be remembered that an attempt to arrest Joseph on the requisition from the governor of Missouri had been made in September previous; and it appears that after the fruitless effort to make the arrest, the sheriff of Hancock County returned the writ; and the defense claimed that after the return of the writ to the executive, the defendant could not be again legally arrested upon it. It was upon this point that the court set Joseph at liberty. Following is Judge Douglass' decision on this point: The writ being once returned to the executive by the sheriff of Hancock County was dead, and stood in the same relationship as any other writ which might issue from the circuit court, and consequently the defendant cannot be held in custody on that writ. On the other point in the case--as to whether evidence in the case was admissible--the judge withheld his opinion for further consideration, as the question was a grave one, involving the future conduct of the States in their relationship with each other; but on the ground that the writ was void, dead by reason of a former return being made on it by the sheriff of Hancock County, he ordered the discharge of the prisoner. And Missouri was again foiled in her designs upon the life of the Prophet. At the conclusion of the trial Joseph ordered dinner for his company, which numbered by that time some sixty men. "And when I called for the tavern bill," says Joseph, "the unconscientious fellow replied, 'only one hundred and sixty dollars.'" Some time after this, in September following, Joseph sent the costs of this trial to the sheriff of Adams County, of which the following is a copy: NAUVOO, September 30, 1841. _To the Deputy Sheriff of Adams County_: The following is a statement of my expenses, costs and liabilities, consequent upon my arrest and trial while in your custody, to-wit: To amount of fees to Esquires Ralston, Warren & Co...$250.00 To Esquires Little, Williams, Walker and Browning...$100.00 To seven days for self, horse and carriage, @$5.00 per day...$35.00 To money spent during that time consequent upon arrest...$60.00 To twelve witnesses...$240.00 ____________ $685.00 To which was added this note: DEAR SIR.--You will please take such measures as to put me in possession of the above amount, which is justly due me as above stated; to say nothing of false imprisonment and other expenses. * * * Receive my respects, etc. JOSEPH SMITH. With the exception of the difficulty just considered, the summer of 1841 glided pleasantly by, bringing to the busy inhabitants of Nauvoo many occasions of social and spiritual enjoyment. CHAPTER XIX. EVENTS OF THE SUMMER OF 1841. NAUVOO was the most promising and thrifty city in Illinois, and the fame thereof extended throughout the nation, due, in part, of course, to the peculiar religion of its inhabitants. Strangers from far and near made it a point to visit Nauvoo, and the peace, sobriety, industry and public spirit of the citizens challenged their admiration, whatever views they might entertain respecting their religion. A large bowery was constructed just west of the temple site where the people assembled for worship. Here the Prophet Joseph preached some of his most powerful discourses, and taught his people in the doctrine of the heavenly kingdom; and not infrequently it happened that Fools who came to mock, remained to pray. The Saints never intended to make either their city or the Nauvoo Legion exclusively Mormon. [1] On the contrary, the people at Nauvoo expressed a willingness to unite with their fellow-citizens in every good work and enterprise, and tolerate religious differences. Indeed, repeated invitations were sent out to the honorable men, not only of the State of Illinois, but of the United States, to men of capital and of influence and of integrity, asking them to come to Nauvoo, and assist in building up a glorious city. In July, Sidney H. Little, of the State senate, was killed by leaping from his carriage while his horse was unmanageable; and that the "Saints might mourn with those who are called to mourn," the eighteenth day of July was set apart as a day of fasting among the people of Nauvoo. By thus manifesting a feeling of sympathy and interest, they sought to cultivate peace and good-will among their fellow-citizens, and a number of honorable, and some of them influential men, while not accepting the faith of the Saints, became friendly disposed towards them, and associated with them in various business transactions. But the good-will of the Saints was not very generally reciprocated by the people of Illinois; and there were, even at that early date, envyings and bitterness manifested by those who were jealous of the prosperity and increasing power of the Mormons in Nauvoo and vicinity. The same spirit existed to some extent in Iowa as will be seen by the following occurrence: General Swazey, in command of the militia of Iowa, Territory, invited Joseph and Hyrum Smith and General Bennett to attend the parade of the militia of that Territory at Montrose. The invitation was accepted, and General Swazey received his visitors courteously, and so did the militia. But during a recess in the exercises taken at noon, a Mr. D. W. Kilburn tried to create a disturbance by circulating the following note among the troops: Citizens of Iowa--The laws of Iowa do not require you to muster or be reviewed by Joe Smith or General Bennett; and should they have the impudence to attempt it, it is hoped that every person having a proper respect for himself, will at once leave the ranks. The facts are that these militia companies were not mustered by Joseph's order, nor did he expect to review them. He had simply accepted General Swazey's invitation to witness the movements of the troops as other spectators were doing, and neither Joseph nor Hyrum was in uniform. General Swazey had been several times invited to attend the drills and reviews of the Legion at Nauvoo, and he had simply returned the courtesy to the officers of the Legion. Kilburn's effort, however, to create a disturbance was not successful, though the papers of the State commented upon it, and some of them began to whisper that it was Joseph's ambition to build up a military church and extend his faith, "Mohammed-like," by the sword. Early in the summer of 1841, in fact in the month of May, Joseph called upon the Saints everywhere to come into Hancock County, that there might be a concentration of effort to build up Nauvoo. The proclamation closed with these words: Let it therefore be understood that all the stakes excepting those in this county (Hancock) and in Lee County, Iowa, are discontinued; and the Saints instructed to settle in this county as soon as circumstances will permit. The Twelve Apostles, whose departure from Nauvoo on their missions to England under very trying circumstances, was related in a former chapter, returned during the summer, after accomplishing one of the most successful and remarkable missions in modern times. They were a tower of strength to Joseph, and he was not long in availing himself of their valuable support. At a special conference convened in Nauvoo on the sixteenth of August, 1841, Joseph said: The time had come when the Twelve should be called upon to stand in their place next to the First Presidency; and attend to the settling of emigrants and the business of The Church at the stakes, and assist to bear off the kingdom victoriously to the nations. [2] And he at once turned over to their management many of the temporal affairs, with which he had been perplexed, and devoted himself more exclusively to spiritual labors. One of the most pleasing events that happened, during the summer of which I write, was the visit of the Indian chief Keokuk to Nauvoo. He was accompanied by Kiskukosh, Appenoose and about one hundred chiefs and braves of the Sac and Fox tribes, together with their families. They were brought over from the Iowa side on the ferry and two large flat boats. The band and a detachment of the Legion met them at the landing, but as soon as Keokuk failed to recognize Joseph among those who had come to bid him welcome, he refused to land or allow any of his party to go ashore until Joseph made his appearance. The arrangement had been made for the band and the detachment of the Legion to lead the dusky visitors to the grove where the Saints held their meetings; and there Joseph would have joined them. But Keokuk seemed to have his own ideas in relation to the etiquette to be observed at his reception, and waited until the Prophet met him at the landing and bade him welcome to Nauvoo. At the grove Joseph addressed the Indians at some length, upon what the Lord had revealed to him concerning their fore-fathers, and recited to them the glorious promises contained in the Book of Mormon respecting themselves, the despised remnants of a once splendid race. How their hearts must have glowed and their eyes brightened as they listened to the young Prophet relate the story of their forefathers' rise and fall, and the bright promises held out to them of redemption from their fallen state! In conclusion Joseph counseled them to cease killing each other, and warring with other tribes or with the whites. To Joseph's speech Keokuk replied: I have a Book of Mormon at my wigwam that you gave me a number of moons ago. I believe you are a great and good man. Keokuk looks rough, but I am a son of the Great Spirit. I have heard your advice. We intend to quit fighting, and follow the good talk you have given us. After the "talk," they were feasted by the Saints with good food and dainties and melons. At the conclusion of the feast, they gave a specimen of their war dance to entertain the spectators, and then returned to the Iowa side of the river to their encampment. Thus passed away the summer of 1841; and by the first of October--the date fixed for the semi-annual conference--the early autumn frosts had tinged the forest leaves with purple and gold, giving to the splendid scenery about Nauvoo an additional charm. President Joseph Smith was not present at the opening of the conference. He had that morning gone to assist in laying the corner-stone of the Nauvoo House which the Saints by revelation had been commanded to build; [3] and the conference was opened by President Brigham Young. The principal subject brought before the people at this conference was the redemption of the dead, and building the temple. This matter appeared to impress itself upon the mind of Joseph with great force, and nothing, apparently, gave him more delight than to explain its importance to his people. Up to this time many baptisms for the dead had been performed in the river, but it was now announced that no more baptisms for the dead should be attended to, until it could be done in the font of the Lord's house, for thus had the Lord commanded. The Saints, however, were not long denied the privilege of performing this work of baptism for their dead, as on the eighth of November, following the conference, a temporary baptismal font had been completed and dedicated in the basement of the temple. [4] On the occasion of the angel Moroni's first appearance to Joseph Smith, in 1823, he repeated to the young Prophet the words of Malachi, recorded in the fourth chapter of the Book of Malachi, the fifth and sixth verses, though quoting somewhat differently from the language of King James' translation, as follows: Behold, I will reveal unto you the Priesthood, by the hand of Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord; and he will plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers; if it were not so, the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming. In fulfillment of this promised visitation, in April, 1836, Elijah the prophet appeared to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery and said: Behold, the time has fully come, which was spoken by the mouth of Malachi, testifying that he (Elijah) should be sent before the great and dreadful day of the Lord come, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse. Therefore the keys of this dispensation are committed into your hands, and by this ye may know that the great and dreadful day of the Lord is near, even at the doors. And now when something like peace had come to The Church, and settled conditions obtained, the Prophet of God began to unfold the doctrine of salvation for the dead--the application of those principles of salvation to past generations who had lived upon the earth when neither the Gospel nor divine authority to administer its ordinances were among men. In addition to the main idea of this doctrine which he taught with such great power, the following gems are gathered from his teachings at this conference, chiefly relating to the same subject: The proclamation of the first principles of the Gospel, was a means of salvation to men individually, and it was the truth and not men that saved them; but men by actively engaging in rites of salvation substantially became instruments in bringing multitudes of their kindred into the Kingdom of God. [And hence] he presented baptism for the dead as the only way by which men can appear as saviors on Mount Zion. * * * The difference between an angel and a ministering spirit: the one [the first] is a resurrected or translated body with its spirit ministering to embodied spirits; the other a disembodied spirit visiting and ministering to disembodied spirits. * * * Jesus Christ became a ministering spirit (while his body was laying in the sepulchre) to the spirits in prison, to fulfill an important part of his mission, without which he could not have perfected his work or entered into his rest. After his resurrection he appeared as an angel to his disciples. * * * Translated bodies cannot enter into rest until they have undergone a change equivalent to death. * * * Translated bodies are designed for future missions. * * * The angel which appeared to John on the Isle of Patmos was a translated or resurrected body. * * * Jesus Christ went in body after his resurrection to minister to translated and resurrected bodies. * * * It is no more incredible that God should _save_ the dead than that he should raise the dead. * * * There is never a time when the spirit is too old to approach God. * * * All are within the reach of pardoning mercy, who have not committed the unpardonable sin, which hath no forgiveness, neither in this world, nor in the world to come. There is a way to release the spirit of the dead; that is by the power and authority of the Priesthood--by binding and loosing on earth. This doctrine appears glorious, inasmuch as it exhibits the greatness of divine compassion and benevolence in the extent of the plan of human salvation. This glorious truth is well calculated to enlarge the understanding, and to sustain the soul under troubles, difficulties, and distresses. For illustration, suppose the case of two men, brothers, equally intelligent, learned, virtuous and lovely, walking in uprightness and in all good conscience, so far as they had been able to discern duty from the muddy stream of tradition, or from the blotted page of the book of nature. One dies and is buried, having never heard the Gospel of reconciliation; to the other the message of salvation is sent, he hears and embraces it, and is made the heir of eternal life. Shall the one become a partaker of glory, and the other consigned to hopeless perdition? Is there no chance for his escape? Sectarianism answers, none! none! none!!! Such an idea is worse than atheism. The truth shall break down and dash in pieces all such bigoted Pharisaism; the sects shall be sifted, the honest in heart brought out, and their priests left in the midst of their corruption. * * * This doctrine presents in a clear light the wisdom and mercy of God in preparing an ordinance for the salvation of the dead, being baptized by proxy, their names recorded in heaven, and they judged according to the deeds done in the body. This doctrine was the burden of the Scriptures. Those Saints who neglect it, in behalf of their deceased relatives, do it at the peril of their own salvation. The dispensation of the fullness of times will bring to light the things that have been revealed in all former dispensations; also other things that have not been before revealed. * * * Another interesting feature of the conference was the report made by the Prophet of The Church property in his charge as trustee-in-trust for The Church. He also took occasion to report the amount of his own earthly possessions, of which the following is a copy: Old Charley, a horse given to him several years before in Kirtland; two pet deers; two old turkeys and four young ones; an old cow given to him by a brother in Missouri; old Major, a dog; his wife, children, and a little household furniture! Surely his earthly possessions did not far exceed those of Him who had not where to lay His head! Footnotes 1. The Legion is not, as has been falsely represented by its enemies, exclusively a Mormon military association, but a body of citizen soldiers organized (without regard to political preferences or religious sentiments) for the public defense, the general good, and the preservation of law and order--to save the innocent, unoffending citizens from the iron grasp of the oppressor, and perpetuate and sustain our free institutions against misrule, anarchy and mob violence; no other views are entertained or tolerated.--_Joseph Smith_. From an official letter published May 4, 1841. 2. Minutes of special conference, Aug. 16, 1841. Millennial Star, Vol. xviii, page 630. 3. Doctrine and Covenants, Section 124. 4. The font was constructed of pine timber, and put together of staves tongued and grooved, oval shaped, sixteen feet long east and west, and twelve feet wide, seven feet high from the foundation, the basin four feet deep; the moulding of the cap or base was formed of beautiful carved wood in antique style, and the sides were finished with panel work. There were steps leading up and down into the basin in the north and south sides, guarded by side railings. The font stood upon twelve oxen, four on each side and two at each end, their heads, shoulders and forelegs projecting out from under the font. They were carved out of pine plank, glued together, and copied after the most beautiful five-year-old steer that could be found in the country. * * * The oxen and ornamental mouldings of the font were carved by Elder Elijah Fordham, from New York. * * * The font was inclosed by a temporary frame building sided up with split oak clap-boards, with a roof of the same material, but was so low that the timbers of the first story of the temple were laid above it. The water was supplied from a well thirty feet deep in the east end of the basement. This font was built for the baptism for the dead until the temple could be completed, when a more durable one was to take its place.--_Millennial Star_, Volume XVIII, 744. CHAPTER XX. INTRODUCTION OF THE NEW MARRIAGE SYSTEM. ANOTHER matter of very great importance, and one which has exercised a great influence upon the course of events in the history of The Church--and especially upon the events of this Nauvoo period--belongs to the spring and summer of 1841; and many things of our history will be all the plainer if the matter referred to be considered now. I refer to the introduction, in practice, of the marriage system which afterwards obtained in The Church. The chief and greatest feature of this marriage system--celestial marriage it is called by The Church, because it is the marriage system that obtains in celestial worlds--is the eternity of the marriage covenant. "Until death us do part" is usually the mutual covenant of man and woman in the orthodox "Christian" marriage ceremony. [1] That is, the marriage covenant is understood among "Christians" generally as being a matter that pertains to time only, the contract obligations ending with death. But this celestial marriage system of The Church regards the incident of death not at all, but makes the covenant of marriage for time and for all eternity; a covenant which is sealed and ratified by that power of the Priesthood in the administrator which binds on earth and it is bound in heaven. [2] That is, the covenant of marriage holds good through time and will be in effect and of binding force in and after the resurrection. In other words this marriage system regards man as enduring eternally, and formulates his marriage covenants in harmony with that view of him. Of course this contemplates the continuation of the marriage state in eternity. Not only the spiritual and intellectual companionship, but all the relations of the wedded state, with the joys of parentage--the power of endless lives being among the means of man's exaltation and glory. That this is a view of marriage quite distinct from the usual "Christian" view, goes without saying. It throws a new light upon man's future existence. It destroys the vagueness which through nearly all ages like a mystic pall has hidden the glory and exaltation destined for man in the future eternities of God. It should be said, in this connection, that the revelations of God to Joseph Smith even before this marriage system was made known, held out to man the hope of a tangible future existence in a resurrected, immortal body of flesh and bones quickened by the spirit, and clothed with the glory of immortal youth. The future life was to be a reality, not a land of shadows; his heavenly home was to be upon the earth, after it had become sanctified and made a celestial sphere. His relations with his kindred and friends were to be of a nature to satisfy the longings of the human heart for society, for fellowship; and needed only the revelation of this marriage system to complete the circle of his promised future felicity. For grant to man in his resurrected state a real, tangible existence; an immortal youth that knows no pain or sickness or disease; the power to "hive" knowledge and wisdom as the centuries, the millenniums and eternities roll by; grant him the power to build and inhabit; to love and be loved; and add to that the power of endless lives--the power and privilege to perpetuate his race under an eternal marriage covenant--grant this, and the future happiness, exaltation and glory of man stands revealed as being absolutely without limitations, and far greater and beyond in majesty anything within our power to conceive in our present state of semi-dullness. I say that the primary principle of the marriage system of The Church is the eternity of the marriage covenant; but owing to the fact that the system also includes the doctrine of a plurality of wives, the importance and grandeur of the doctrine of the eternity of the marriage covenant to a very great extent has been lost sight of in the discussion of and the popular clamor concerning the plurality feature of this new marriage system. The revelation making known this marriage doctrine came about in this way: First it should be stated--and it is evident from the written revelation itself, which bears the date of July 12th, 1843, [3]--that the doctrine was revealed and the practice of it began before the partial [4] revelation now in the Doctrine and Covenants was written. As early as 1831 the rightfulness of a plurality of wives under certain conditions was made known to Joseph Smith. In the latter part of that year, especially from November 1831, and through the early months of 1832, the Prophet with Sidney Rigdon as his assistant was earnestly engaged at Hiram, a village in Portage County, near Kirtland, Ohio, in translating the Jewish scripture. [5] It must have been while engaged in that work that the evident approval of God to the plural marriage system of the ancient patriarchs attracted the Prophet's attention and led him to make those inquiries of the Lord to which the opening paragraphs of the written revelation refer, viz:-- Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my servant Joseph, that inasmuch as you have inquired of my hand, to know and understand wherein I, the Lord, justified my servants Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; as also Moses, David and Solomon, my servants, as touching the principle and doctrine of their having many wives and concubines: behold! and lo, I am the Lord thy God, and will answer thee as touching this matter. The doctrine revealed at that time to the Prophet, however, was not to be made known to the world; but Joseph did make known what had been revealed to him to a few trusted friends, among whom were Oliver Cowdery and Lyman E. Johnson, the latter confiding what the Prophet had taught him to Orson Pratt, his missionary companion. With these and a few other exceptions, perhaps, the knowledge of the truth and righteousness of this principle of the future marriage system of The Church was locked up in the bosom of the Prophet of God. About 1840, however, the Prophet began to be moved upon to make known the doctrine to others. He taught the principle to Joseph Bates Noble for one, as early as the fall of 1840. According to the affidavit of Noble, given before James Jack, a notary public, in and for the county of Salt Lake, Utah, in June, 1869, Joseph Smith declared to Noble that "he had received a revelation from God on the subject, and that an angel of the Lord had commanded him (Joseph Smith) to move forward in the said order of marriage; and further, that the said Joseph Smith requested him (Joseph B. Noble) to step forward and assist him in carrying out the said principle." This same man Noble gives the following affidavit with reference to the introduction of the practice of this principle by Joseph Smith, the Prophet: Territory of Utah, County of Salt Lake, ss Be it remembered that on this 26th day of June, A. D. 1869, personally appeared before me, James Jack, a Notary Public in and for said county, Joseph Bates Noble, who was by me sworn in due form of law, and upon his oath saith, that on the fifth day of April, A. D., 1841, at the City of Nauvoo, County of Hancock, State of Illinois, he married or sealed Louisa Beaman, to Joseph Smith, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, according to the order of celestial marriage revealed to the said Joseph Smith. (Signed) JOSEPH B. NOBLE. Subscribed and sworn to by the said Joseph Bates Noble the day and year first above written. JAMES JACK, Notary Public. The introduction of the practice of plural marriage by the Prophet then began even before the return of the Twelve from England. On their return Joseph soon began to teach the principle to them, and urged upon them the importance of putting it into practice. The dread with which the doctrine was regarded, the prejudices against it in the hearts of those faithful men who accepted it as a revelation from God through the Prophet, are all illustrated in the reflections and testimony of Elder John Taylor, one of the Twelve at that time, and subsequently the President of the Church. And here let me repeat what I said in his biography some years ago: "The world never made a greater mistake than when it supposed that plural marriage was hailed with delight by the Elders who were commanded of the Lord to introduce its practice in this generation. They saw clearly that it would bring additional reproach upon them from the world; that it would run counter to the traditions and prejudices of society, as, indeed, it was contrary to their own traditions; that their motives would be misunderstood or misconstrued. All this they saw, and naturally shrunk from the undertaking required of them by the revelation of God." And now Elder Taylor:-- Joseph Smith told the Twelve that if this law was not practiced, if they would not enter into this covenant, then the Kingdom of God could not go one step further. Now, we did not feel like preventing the Kingdom of God from going forward. We professed to be the Apostles of the Lord, and did not feel like putting ourselves in a position to retard the progress of the Kingdom of God. The revelation says that "All those who have this law revealed unto them must obey the same." Now, that is not my word. I did not make it. It was the Prophet of God who revealed that to us in Nauvoo, and I bear witness of this solemn fact before God, that he did reveal this sacred principle to me and others of the Twelve, and in this revelation it is stated that it is the will and law of God that "all those who have this law revealed unto them must obey the same." I had always entertained strict ideas of virtue, and I felt as a married man that this was to me, outside of this principle, an appalling thing to do. The idea of going and asking a young lady to be married to me when I had already a wife! It was a thing calculated to stir up feelings from the innermost depths of the human soul. I had always entertained the strictest regard of chastity. I had never in my life seen the time when I have known of a man deceiving a woman--and it is often done in the world, where, notwithstanding the crime, the man is received into society and the poor woman is looked upon as a pariah and an outcast--I have always looked upon such a thing as infamous, and upon such a man as a villain. * * * Hence, with the feelings I had entertained, nothing but a knowledge of God, and the revelations of God, and the truth of them, could have induced me to embrace such a principle as this. We [the Twelve] seemed to put off, as far as we could, what might be termed the evil day. Some time after these things were made known unto us, I was riding out of Nauvoo on horseback, and met Joseph Smith coming in, he, too, being on horseback. * * * I bowed to Joseph, and having done the same to me, he said: "Stop;" and he looked at me very intently. "Look here," said he, "those things that have been spoken of must be fulfilled, and if they are not entered into right away the keys will be turned." Well, what did I do? Did I feel to stand in the way of this great, eternal principle, and treat lightly the things of God? No. I replied: "Brother Joseph, I will try and carry these things out." So indeed he did, for within two years, in Nauvoo, he married Elizabeth Haigham, Jane Ballantyne and Mary A. Oakley. After this the testimony is abundant that plural marriage as well as marriage for eternity was abundantly practiced in Nauvoo, [6] though the revelation which made its rightfulness known was not written until July 12th, 1843. I have remarked in the opening of this chapter that the consideration of this subject at this period of Nauvoo's history would aid the reader to understand more clearly many things in the subsequent events we have to relate. It is to be observed first of all that this principle of plural marriage had to be introduced secretly; first, because of the traditions and prejudices of the Saints themselves; and, secondly, because of the advantage that their enemies surrounding them would have when once the doctrine was publicly proclaimed. This enforced secrecy, then, which a reasonable prudence demanded, gave rise to apparent contradictions between the public utterances of leading brethren in The Church and their practice. Wicked men took advantage of the situation and brought sorrow to the hearts of the innocent and reproach upon The Church. Some, possessed of a zeal without wisdom, knowing of this doctrine, hastened without authority to make public proclamation of it and had to be silenced, as, for instance, a number of Elders who were reproved by Hyrum Smith for preaching this doctrine at a branch of The Church at China Creek, near Nauvoo; [7] and later one Hiram Brown who did the same thing in Lapeer County, Michigan; for which he was disfellowshiped from The Church and notified by Joseph and Hyrum to attend the conference in April of that year to give a further account of his proceedings. [8] Then again there were others who falsely taught that the Prophet approved of promiscuous intercourse between the sexes, and that there was no sin in such relations so long as they were kept secret and brought no scandal upon the community. This afforded villains their opportunity, and such men as John C. Bennett; the Laws, Wilson and William; Dr. Foster; the young Higbees, Chancy L., and Francis M.; and others, to reap their harvest of wickedness. There was necessarily enough of mystery in the movements of the Prophet and his faithful brethren connected with the matter of plural marriage to give something of color to the false statements of these wretches, and hence many otherwise good people were deceived. The duty of the Prophet and his associates, however, to denounce this wickedness that had crept into The Church was not shirked by the leading Elders of The Church. The Prophet was bold in his denunciation of the evil and snatched the masks from the faces of corrupt men, and did all in his power to protect the innocent from the deceptions of the vicious, though it pluck down upon his own head the vengeful wrath of the ungodly. With this situation in mind I am sure the reader will better appreciate the many complications which follow. In order that the reader who is a stranger to Mormonism may see how far the principle of the eternity of the marriage covenant and the plural marriage system of The Church is removed from the sensuality that is often attributed to it, I quote _in extenso_, in concluding this chapter, the revelation which justifies and authorized it: Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my servant Joseph, that inasmuch as you have inquired of my hand, to know and understand wherein I, the Lord, justified my servants Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; as also Moses, David and Solomon, my servants, as touching the principle and doctrine of their having many wives and concubines: Behold! and lo, I am the Lord thy God, and will answer thee as touching this matter: Therefore, prepare thy heart to receive and obey the instructions which I am about to give unto you; for all those who have this law revealed unto them must obey the same; For behold! I reveal unto you a new and everlasting covenant; and if ye abide not that covenant, then are ye damned; for no one can reject this covenant, and be permitted to enter into my glory; For all who will have a blessing at my hands, shall abide the law which was appointed for that blessing, and the conditions thereof, as were instituted from before the foundation of the world; And as pertaining to the new and everlasting covenant, it was instituted for the fullness of my glory; and he that receiveth a fullness thereof, must and shall abide the law, or he shall be damned, saith the Lord God. And verily I say unto you, that the conditions of this law are these:--All covenants, contracts, bonds, obligations, oaths, vows, performances, connections, associations, or expectations, that are not made, and entered into, and sealed, by the Holy Spirit of promise, of him who is anointed, both as well for time and for all eternity, and that too most holy, by revelation and commandment through the medium of mine anointed, whom I have appointed on the earth to hold this power, (and I have appointed unto my servant Joseph to hold this power in the last days, and there is never but one on the earth at a time, on whom this power and the keys of this Priesthood are conferred,) are of no efficacy, virtue or force, in and after the resurrection from the dead; for all contracts that are not made unto this end, have an end when men are dead. Behold! mine house is a house of order, saith the Lord God, and not a house of confusion. Will I accept of an offering, saith the Lord, that is not made in my name! Or, will I receive at your hands that which I have not appointed! And will I appoint unto you, saith the Lord, except it be by law, even as I and my Father ordained unto you, before the world was! I am the Lord thy God, and I give unto you this commandment, that no man shall come unto the Father but by me, or by my word, which is my law, saith the Lord; And everything that is in the world, whether it be ordained of men, by thrones, or principalities, or powers, or things of name, whatsoever they may be, that are not by me, or by my word, saith the Lord, shall be thrown down, and shall not remain after men are dead, neither in nor after the resurrection, saith the Lord your God; For whatsoever things remain, are by me; and whatsoever things are not by me, shall be shaken and destroyed. Therefore, if a man marry him a wife in the world, and he marry her not by me, nor by my word; and he covenant with her so long as he is in the world, and she with him, their covenant and marriage are not of force when they are dead, and when they are out of the world; therefore, they are not bound by any law when they are out of the world; Therefore, when they are out of the world, they neither marry nor are given in marriage; but are appointed angels in heaven, which angels are ministering servants, to minister for those who are worthy of a far more, and an exceeding, and an eternal weight of glory; For these angels did not abide my law, therefore they cannot be enlarged, but remain separately and singly, without exaltation, in their saved condition, to all eternity, and from henceforth are not Gods, but are angels of God, for ever and ever. And again, verily I say unto you, if a man marry a wife, and make a covenant with her for time and for all eternity, if that covenant is not by me, or by my word, which is my law, and is not sealed by the Holy Spirit of promise, through him whom I have anointed and appointed unto this power--then it is not valid, neither of force when they are out of the world, because they are not joined by me, saith the Lord, neither by my word; when they are out of the world, it cannot be received there, because the angels and the Gods are appointed there, by whom they cannot pass; they cannot, therefore, inherit my glory, for my house is a house of order, saith the Lord God. And again, verily I say unto you, if a man marry a wife by my word, which is my law, and by the new and everlasting covenant, and it is sealed unto them by the Holy Spirit of promise, by him who is anointed, unto whom I have appointed this power, and the keys of this Priesthood; and it shall be said unto them, ye shall come forth in the first resurrection; and if it be after the first resurrection, in the next resurrection; and shall inherit thrones, kingdoms, principalities, and powers, dominions, all heights and depths--then shall it be written in the Lamb's Book of Life, that he shall commit no murder whereby to shed innocent blood, and if ye abide in my covenant, and commit no murder whereby to shed innocent blood, it shall be done unto them in all things whatsoever my servant hath put upon them, in time, and through all eternity, and shall be of full force when they are out of the world; and they shall pass by the angels, and the Gods, which are set there, to their exaltation and glory in all things, as hath been sealed upon their heads, which glory shall be a fullness and a continuation of the seeds for ever and ever. Then shall they be Gods, because they have no end; therefore shall they be from everlasting to everlasting, because they continue; then shall they be above all, because all things are subject unto them. Then shall they be Gods, because they have all power, and the angels are subject unto them. Verily, verily I say unto you, except ye abide my law, ye cannot attain to this glory; For straight is the gate, and narrow the way that leadeth unto the exaltation and continuation of the lives, and few there be that find it, because ye receive me not in the world, neither do ye know me. But if ye receive me in the world, then shall ye know me, and shall receive your exaltation, that where I am, ye shall be also. This is eternal lives, to know the only wise and true God, and Jesus Christ, whom he hath sent. I am he. Receive ye, therefore, my law. Broad is the gate, and wide the way that leadeth to the deaths, and many there are that go in thereat; because they receive me not, neither do they abide in my law. Verily, verily I say unto you, if a man marry a wife according to my word, and they are sealed by the Holy Spirit of promise, according to mine appointment, and he or she shall commit any sin or transgression of the new and everlasting covenant whatever, and all manner of blasphemies, and if they commit no murder, wherein they shed innocent blood--yet they shall come forth in the first resurrection, and enter into their exaltation; but they shall be destroyed in the flesh, and shall be delivered unto the buffetings of Satan unto the day of redemption, saith the Lord God. The blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, which shall not be forgiven in the world, nor out of the world, is in that ye commit murder, wherein ye shed innocent blood, and assent unto my death, after ye have received my new and everlasting covenant, saith the Lord God; and he that abideth not this law, can in no wise enter into my glory, but shall be damned, saith the Lord. I am the Lord thy God, and will give unto thee the law of my Holy Priesthood, as was ordained by me, and my Father, before the world was. Abraham received all things, whatsoever he received, by revelation and commandment, by my word, saith the Lord, and hath entered into his exaltation, and sitteth upon his throne. Abraham received promises concerning his seed, and of the fruit of his loins,--from whose loins ye are, namely, my servant Joseph,--which were to continue so long as they were in the world; and as touching Abraham and his seed, out of the world they should continue; both in the world and out of the world should they continue as innumerable as the stars; or, if ye were to count the sand upon the sea shore, ye could not number them. This promise is yours, also, because ye are of Abraham, and the promise was made unto Abraham; and by this law are the continuation of the works of my Father, wherein he glorifieth himself. Go ye, therefore, and do the works of Abraham; enter ye into my law, and ye shall be saved. But if ye enter not into my law ye cannot receive the promise of my Father, which he made unto Abraham. God commanded Abraham, and Sarah gave Hagar to Abraham to wife. And why did she do it? Because this was the law, and from Hagar sprang many people. This, therefore, was fulfilling among other things, the promises. Was Abraham, therefore, under condemnation? Verily, I say unto you, Nay; for I, the Lord, commanded it. Abraham was commanded to offer his son Isaac; nevertheless, it was written, thou shalt not kill. Abraham, however, did not refuse, and it was accounted unto him for righteousness. Abraham received concubines, and they bear him children, and it was accounted unto him for righteousness, because they were given unto him, and he abode in my law, as Isaac also, and Jacob did none other things than that which they were commanded; and because they did none other things than that which they were commanded, they have entered into their exaltation, according to the promises, and sit upon thrones, and are not angels, but are Gods. David also received many wives and concubines, as also Solomon and Moses my servants; as also many others of my servants, from the beginning of creation until this time; and in nothing did they sin, save in those things which they received not of me. David's wives and concubines were given unto him, of me, by the hand of Nathan, my servant, and others of the prophets who had the keys of this power; and in none of these things did he sin against me, save in the case of Uriah and his wife; and, therefore he hath fallen from his exaltation, and received his portion; and he shall not inherit them out of the world; for I gave them unto another, saith the Lord. I am the Lord thy God, and I gave unto thee, my servant Joseph, an appointment, and restore all things; ask what ye will, and it shall be given unto you according to my word: And as ye have asked concerning adultery--verily, verily I say unto you, if a man receiveth a wife in the new and everlasting covenant, and if she be with another man, and I have not appointed unto her by the holy anointing, she hath committed adultery, and shall be destroyed. If she be not in the new and everlasting covenant, and she be with another man, she has committed adultery; And if her husband be with another woman, and he was under a vow, he hath broken his vow, and hath committed adultery, And if she hath not committed adultery, but is innocent, and hath not broken her vow, and she knoweth it, and I reveal it unto you, my servant Joseph, then shall you have power, by the power of my Holy Priesthood, to take her, and give her unto him that hath not committed adultery, but hath been faithful; for he shall be made ruler over many; For I have conferred upon you the keys and power of the Priesthood, wherein I restore all things, and make known unto you all things in due time. And verily, verily I say unto you, that whatsoever you seal on earth, shall be sealed in heaven; and whatsoever you bind on earth, in my name, and by my word, saith the Lord, it shall be eternally bound in the heavens; and whosesoever sins you remit on earth shall be remitted eternally in the heavens; and whosesoever sins you retain on earth, shall be retained in heaven. And again, verily I say, whomsoever you bless, I will bless, and whomsoever you curse, I will curse, saith the Lord; for I, the Lord, am thy God. And again, verily I say unto you, my servant Joseph, that whatsoever you give on earth, and to whomsoever you give anyone on earth, by my word, and according to my law, it shall be visited with blessings, and not cursings, and with my power, saith the Lord, and shall be without condemnation on earth, and in heaven; For I am the Lord thy God, and will be with thee even unto the end of the world, and through all eternity; for verily, I seal upon you your exaltation, and prepare a throne for you in the kingdom of my Father, with Abraham your father. Behold, I have seen your sacrifices, and will forgive all your sins; I have seen your sacrifices, in obedience to that which I have told you; go, therefore, and I make a way for your escape, as I accepted the offering of Abraham, of his son Isaac. Verily, I say unto you, a commandment I give unto mine handmaid, Emma Smith, your wife, whom I have given unto you, that she stay herself, and partake not of that which I commanded you to offer unto her; for I did it, saith the Lord, to prove you all, as I did Abraham; and that I might require an offering at your hand, by covenant and sacrifice; And let mine handmaid, Emma Smith, receive all those that have been given to my servant Joseph, and who are virtuous and pure before me; and those who are not pure, and have said they were pure, shall be destroyed, saith the Lord God; For I am the Lord thy God, and ye shall obey my voice; and I give unto you my servant Joseph, that he shall be made ruler over many things, for he hath been faithful over a few things, and from henceforth I will strengthen him. And I command mine handmaid, Emma Smith, to abide and cleave unto my servant Joseph, and to none else. But if she will not abide this commandment, she shall be destroyed, saith the Lord; for I am the Lord thy God, and will destroy her, if she abide not in my law; But if she will not abide this commandment, then shall my servant Joseph do all things for her, even as he hath said; and I will bless him and multiply him and give unto him an hundred-fold in this world, of fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, houses and lands, wives and children, and crowns of eternal lives in the eternal worlds. And again, verily I say, let mine handmaid forgive my servant Joseph his trespasses; and then shall she be forgiven her trespasses, wherein she has trespassed against me: and I, the Lord thy God, will bless her, and multiply her, and make her heart to rejoice. And again, I say, let not my servant Joseph put his property out of his hands, lest an enemy come and destroy him; for Satan seeketh to destroy; for I am the Lord thy God, and he is my servant; and behold! and lo, I am with him, as I was with Abraham, thy father, even unto his exaltation and glory. Now, as touching the law of the Priesthood, there are many things pertaining thereunto. Verily, if a man be called of my Father, as was Aaron, by mine own voice, and by the voice of him that sent me: and I have endowed him with the keys of the power of this Priesthood, if he do anything in my name, and according to my law, and by my word, he will not commit sin, and I will justify him. Let no one, therefore, set on my servant Joseph; for I will justify him; for he shall do the sacrifice which I require at his hands, for his transgressions, saith the Lord your God. And again, as pertaining to the law of the Priesthood: If any man espouse a virgin, and desire to espouse another, and the first give her consent; and if he espouse the second, and they are virgins, and have vowed to no other man, then he is justified; he cannot commit adultery, for they are given unto him; for he cannot commit adultery with that that belongeth unto him and to no one else; And if he have ten virgins given unto him by this law, he cannot commit adultery, for they belong to him, and they are given unto him, therefore is he justified. But if one or either of the ten virgins, after she is espoused, shall be with another man; she has committed adultery, and shall be destroyed; for they are given unto him to multiply and replenish the earth, according to my commandment, and to fulfill the promise which was given by my Father before the foundation of the world; and for their exaltation in the eternal worlds, that they may bear the souls of men; for herein is the work of my Father continued, that he may be glorified. And again, verily, verily I say unto you, if any man have a wife, who holds the keys of this power, and he teaches unto her the law of my Priesthood, as pertaining to these things, then shall she believe, and administer unto him, or she shall be destroyed, saith the Lord your God, for I will destroy her; for I will magnify my name upon all those who receive and abide in my law. Therefore, it shall be lawful in me, if she receive not this law, for him to receive all things, whatsoever I, the Lord his God, will give unto him, because she did not administer unto him according to my word; and she then becomes the transgressor; and he is exempt from the law of Sarah, who administered unto Abraham according to the law, when I commanded Abraham to take Hagar to wife. And now, as pertaining to this law, verily, verily I say unto you, I will reveal more unto you, hereafter; therefore, let this suffice for the present. Behold, I am Alpha and Omega. Amen. Footnotes 1. See The Book of Common Prayer, Church of England, article, Solemnization of Matrimony. 2. Jesus said unto Peter: I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.--Matt. xvi: 19. 3. See Doc. and Cov. Sec. 132: 52. 4. _Ibid_, verse 66. 5. See Millennial Star, Vol. XIV. (Supplement) pp 80, 83; also pp. 114 and 116 same volume. Doc. and Cov. Sec. 76: 11-16. 6. See a collection of affidavits on this subject in the Historical Record, Andrew Jenson, compiler; and also affidavits in Succession in Presidency, 2nd edition. 7. See Times and Seasons for March, 1844. 8. See Times and Seasons for February 1st, 1844. CHAPTER XXI. CAMP FOLLOWERS.--BANKRUPTCY. AMONG the most despicable occupations that men engage in, that of camp follower holds a front rank. By plundering the dead, by the practice of extortion upon the living, by taking advantage of the license and reign of terror that follows in the wake of an army, the camp follower plunders the terrified people, not unfrequently claiming to be authorized by the commanders of the army, in order to be more successful in his rapine. Thus he seeks to enrich himself upon the misfortunes and terrors of others and at the expense of the reputation of armies and their commanders. More loathsome are such characters than the vultures that hover about the fields made red by human gore, to glut themselves upon the festering, swollen bodies of the dead. Yet more to be despised than the camp follower is that man who will attach himself to a religious association with a view of profiting in schemes of villainy; and when discovered in his crimes throws the responsibility of his evil doing upon the leaders of said association, claiming that his crimes have been taught to him as a part of his religion! Such men are wholesale character assassins, for by their deeds virtuous communities are brought into disrepute, and reproach is cast upon their religion. Some such characters had attached themselves to the Saints in Nauvoo and vicinity, and gave a coloring to the charges that were made against The Church, to the effect that the leaders thereof sanctioned stealing, so long as it was practiced on the Gentiles--those not belonging to The Church. Such were the rumors given out by some members of The Church engaged in this infamous business. On the eighteenth of November a nest of such vipers was uncovered at Ramus, near Nauvoo; and they were promptly excommunicated from The Church by the Apostles, who were holding a conference at the place on the date above mentioned. Both Joseph and Hyrum took advantage of the occasion to make affidavits before proper officers of the law to the effect that they had never given their sanction to such infamous doctrine as that attributed to them; [1] and the Twelve Apostles in an epistle to the public disavowed ever sanctioning the crime of theft. Hyrum in his affidavit says: I hereby disavow any sanction, or approbation by me of the crime of theft, or any other evil practice in any person or persons whatever, whereby either the lives or property of our fellow-men may be unlawfully taken or molested; neither are such doings sanctioned or approbated by the First Presidency or any other persons in authority or good standing in The Church, but such acts are altogether in violation of the rules, order and regulations of The Church, contrary to the teachings given in said Church, and the laws of both God and man. In a public declaration to which Joseph appended his affidavit, the Prophet said: It has been proclaimed upon the housetops and in the secret chamber, in the public walks and private circles throughout the length and breadth of this vast continent, that stealing by the Latter-day Saints has received my approval; nay, that I have taught them the doctrine, encouraged them in plunder, and led on the van--than which nothing is more foreign from my heart. I disfellowship the perpetrators of all such abominations; they are devils and not Saints, totally unfit for the society of Christians or men. It is true that some professing to be Latter-day Saints have taught such vile heresies, but all are not Israel that are of Israel; and I want it distinctly understood in all coming time, that The Church over which I have the honor of presiding, will ever set its brows like brass, and its face like steel, against all such abominable acts of villainy and crime. Nor were the Twelve less forcible in denouncing this iniquity. In an epistle printed at the same time with the above they said: We know not how to express our abhorrence of such an idea, and can only say it is engendered in hell, founded in falsehood, and is the offspring of the devil; that it is at variance with every principle of righteousness and truth, and will damn all that are connected with it. * * * We further call upon The Church to bring all such characters before the authorities, that they may be tried and dealt with according to the law of God and delivered up to the laws of the land. About this time, too, there were gangs of robbers operating up and down the Mississippi river from which the Saints suffered, as many of their horses and cattle were stolen; but more serious injury arose from the fact that the acts of these robbers were attributed to the Saints themselves, and did much to prejudice the minds of the public against them. In the month of December the attempt to build up the town of Warren, located one mile south of Warsaw, was abandoned. As early as the fall of 1839 Daniel S. Witter, a man owning a sawmill at Warsaw, held out inducements to the First Presidency of The Church to settle at or in the vicinity of Warsaw, but the location where the Saints built up Nauvoo was considered preferable. Still Witter, Aldrich, Warren, and others continued to solicit the authorities of The Church to make an attempt to build up a city near Warsaw; and finally, in the spring of 1841, an agreement was entered into between The Church authorities and Witter, Warren and Aldrich--owners of the school section located just south of Warsaw--by which any of the Saints settling on this school section, already surveyed into town lots and called Warren, were to have certain privileges granted them. In September, Willard Richards was located at Warsaw and made what preparations he could to receive settlers. Some few families of Saints gathered there, and in November two hundred and four emigrants from England were counseled to locate in that vicinity. But no sooner had preparations to build up the place been made than the citizens of Warsaw attempted to form an anti-Mormon association, and manifested other symptoms of an unfriendly character. They raised the rents--Mr. Witter himself raised one dollar per barrel on flour, while Aldrich forbade the people using the old wood on the school section. These unfriendly demonstrations led to the abandonment of the enterprise of building up Warren, and the Church authorities promptly advised the Saints who had located there to remove to Nauvoo. The winter of 1841-2 was a busy one for Joseph and those who labored with him as his scribes. He read the proof-sheets of the Book of Mormon previous to its being stereotyped; and prepared that concise yet admirable historical sketch of the Rise and Progress of the Church, together with a summary of the principles it teaches--now known as the Articles of Faith--for Mr. Wentworth of Chicago, who was writing a history of Illinois. He also prepared for publication his translation of the Book of Abraham from Egyptian papyrus, and which in its importance as a record of the ancient saints brought to light in this age, stands only second to the Book of Mormon. The Egyptian papyrus came into the possession of the Prophet through one Michael H. Chandler, who was travelling through Ohio exhibiting several Egyptian mummies and rolls of papyrus that were found in the coffin containing the mummies. Chandler claimed to have obtained the Egyptian treasures as a bequest from an uncle who had traveled in Egypt. But it matters little how Chandler came into possession of the mummies; the Saints in Kirtland purchased them, and the two rolls of papyrus proved to be the writings of Abraham and of Joseph who was sold into Egypt; and the record of Abraham, at least in part, was translated and published by the Prophet. Its importance is of the character above stated. [2] These labors, together with instructing the Saints, attending debating schools, laboring in the city council, and organizing and instructing women's Relief Societies, occupied the attention of the Prophet until the opening of spring. Meantime Nauvoo had been rapidly building up. Work on the temple and Nauvoo House was being pushed with considerable vigor; and many neat cottages had taken the place of the rude temporary cabins that had been constructed to shelter the people until their industry could win better homes. The population in the spring of 1842 was between eight and ten thousand. The stream of emigration from the British mission by that time had commenced to flow in and the new citizens assisted in no small degree to increase the prosperity of this central gathering place of the Saints. But The Church had passed through a long period of disaster. Time and again the early members of The Church had been driven away from their homes, and while their faith in their religion remained unshaken, these frequent drivings and mobbings stripped them of their property and of course ruined their financial schemes; and though their prospects at Nauvoo began to brighten, the people were constantly plagued by the presentation of old claims upon them, their creditors making small or no allowance for the disasters which had overtaken them. This was a constant draft upon their resources and a great hindrance to the growth of Nauvoo. Finally, as a means of protection against unreasonable, importunate creditors, a number of the leading brethren, among them the Prophet Joseph, took advantage of the bankrupt law. Under this law any one owing a certain amount more than he was able to pay, made out a schedule of his property and likewise of his debts, and placed both in the hands of an assignee, who paid his creditors whatever percentage of his debts his property amounted to; and the assignor could start again without being compelled to pay any of the old claims held against him previous to his declared insolvency. In whatever light this action on the part of the brethren may appear at first sight, an examination into all the circumstances will reveal the fact that as a means of self-protection it became absolutely necessary. They were financially down, and before they could rise to their feet, inexorable creditors were upon them to take away their substance. If it is possible for an individual or a company to be justified in taking advantage of the bankrupt law, then the Mormon leaders were. There was no effort on the part of those who took advantage of the bankrupt law to defraud their creditors. To parties with whom Joseph had contracted for lands, he wrote that he still considered his contracts with them as good; and in the case of the Hotchkiss purchase he proposed to renew the contract. This step placed the brethren beyond the power of their unjust creditors, and necessity compelled the action. Footnotes 1. Times and Seasons for December, 1841. 2. Those who would know more of this ancient record are referred to the Pearl of Great Price where they will fund the translation of it; and for a pretty full consideration of its claims to being a genuine ancient record, and an inspired book, the reader is referred to "The Divine Authenticity of the Book of Abraham," by Elder George Reynolds. CHAPTER XXII. SUSPICIONS OF TREACHERY. AS early as January, 1842, Joseph, as lieutenant-general of the Legion, issued orders for a general military parade and review of the Legion to take place on the seventh of May following. A subsequent order, issued in April, marking out the programme for the day's exercises, contained the following clause: At three o'clock p. m. the cohorts will separate and form in line of battle, the brigadiers assume their respective commands, and General Law's command [cavalry] will make a descent upon that of General Rich's [cohort C, infantry] in order of sham battle. The lieutenant-general had invited the consolidated staff of the Legion to partake of a _repast militaire_ on the occasion, at his house. On the morning of the day appointed for the drill and review two thousand troops were in the field; and an immense concourse of spectators, both of Saints and strangers. Such was the interests taken in the movement of the people of Nauvoo, that a number of the prominent men of the State within reach of the city attended the review. Judge Stephen A. Douglass adjourned the circuit court, then in session at the county seat, Carthage, in order to attend. As soon as the lieutenant-general heard of the presence of Judge Douglass, he sent him an invitation to attend the military dinner given at his house, which the judge accepted. It was a glorious day, passing off without noise or disorder; and even the strangers expressed themselves as highly satisfied with what they had witnessed. But even during the brightest days clouds will sometimes drift across the sun's disc: so in the moments of man's supreme happiness, it often occurs that shadows arise to alarm his fears, and remind him how fleeting are the joys of this life-- Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between; Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms, are all that he may hope for. So was it with the principal founder of Nauvoo on the day of the sham battle. When the respective cohorts were drawn up in line of battle, facing each other, Major-General John C. Bennett rode up to General Smith and asked him to lead the charge of the first cohort, but Joseph declined. He next asked him to take a position in the rear of the cavalry without his staff during the engagement, but against this Captain A. P. Rockwood, the commander of Joseph's life guard, objected, and Joseph with his staff chose his own position. Of this incident--and it is for this reason that I have referred to this parade and sham battle--Joseph remarks: If General Bennett's true feelings towards me are not made manifest to the world in a very short time then it may be possible that the gentle breathings of that Spirit which whispered to me on parade that there was mischief in that sham battle, were false; a short time will determine the point. Let John C. Bennett answer at the day of judgment, Why did you request me to command one of the cohorts, and also to take my position without my staff, during the sham battle on the seventh of May, 1842, where my life might have been forfeited and no man have known who did the deed? This is about the first intimation that we have in any of The Church records of John C. Bennett's disaffection towards Joseph or The Church. Two years before he had come to Nauvoo--then Commerce--filled with that fiery zeal "for the holy faith" which is only known to the newly-made convert. He was a man of considerable learning and ability, and devoted himself assiduously to bring to pass the prosperity of Nauvoo. He was of great service to Joseph as a lieutenant, and the Prophet was wont to say of him that he was about the first man he had about him who could do exactly what he wanted done, the way it should be done, and who would do it at once. In training the Legion and assisting in the drafting of the Nauvoo and other charters, he had rendered invaluable service; and had he possessed qualities of heart equal to those of his mind, he was calculated to have been a valuable acquisition to the city of Nauvoo. Nor am I willing to believe that his motives in uniting himself with The Church were altogether evil, notwithstanding his life previous to his joining The Church was immoral. I am quite willing to believe that when he came to the Saints it was his determination to reform and win for himself an honorable standing among his fellow-men; but the evil habits he had contracted were too strong for his will, and he sought the gratification of his lusts which led to his fall. Soon after he settled at Nauvoo, he paid his addresses to a respectable young lady of the city, and she, believing him to be an honorable man, accepted them, and he promised to marry her. In the meantime, however, Joseph had received information from the vicinity of Bennett's former residence to the effect that the doctor was a wicked man, and that he had a wife and several children in McConnellsville, Morgan County, Ohio--a thing the doctor had kept concealed. Learning this, Joseph persuaded him to discontinue his attentions to the young lady; but he soon renewed them; whereupon Joseph threatened to expose him if he did not desist, which, to all appearances, had the desired effect. Being foiled in his advances toward this young lady, and finding that Joseph stood like a lion in his path to prevent the accomplishment of his evil designs and protect the unsuspecting, he drew around him a covering of hypocrisy, carefully concealed his movements from the Prophet, and proceeded to teach some women, who only knew him as an honorable man, that promiscuous intercourse of the sexes was a doctrine believed in by the Latter-day Saints, and that there was no harm in it. In his first efforts he was unsuccessful; but in his subsequent advice, in the same line, he told them that Joseph and others of The Church authorities both sanctioned and practiced this wickedness, saying that the Prophet only denounced such things so vehemently in public, because of the prejudice of the people and the trouble it might create in his own house. In this manner he succeeded in overcoming the scruples of some of his dupes, and seduced several females. Nor did the evil end here. Bennett induced other men to adopt his evil practices; among them Francis M. and Chauncy L. Higbee. These men repeated the assertions made by the doctor, and thus the evil spread, and the reputation of the Prophet was being undermined. But evils of this character cannot long be practiced without coming to light, and Doctor Bennett, finding that his corruption was about to be uncovered, began to prepare for the shock. When confronted with positive evidence that it was known that he had a wife and family, and that his seductions were also known, he attempted suicide by taking poison, and resisted the administration of antidotes, but he was rescued from this fate in spite of himself. Before his evil course was known, arrangements were made to run the doctor for representative from the district in which Nauvoo was included, to the State legislature. But one day Joseph met the doctor in the presence of Squire Wells, and addressed him in substance as follows: "Doctor, I can sustain you no longer. Hyrum is against you, the Twelve are against you, and if I do not come out against sin and iniquity I shall myself be trodden under foot as a Prophet of God." That sentence sounded the death knell to the standing of Dr. Bennett in Nauvoo. Joseph had clung to him in the hope of reforming him, but that could no longer be expected; and when the Prophet let go his hold upon him, there was nothing could avert his downfall. On the nineteenth of May Bennett resigned his position as mayor and Joseph was elected to that office. On this occasion, and before the whole city council, Joseph asked Doctor Bennett if he had anything against him, to which the doctor replied: I know what I am about, and the heads of The Church know what they are about, I expect; I have no difficulty with the heads of The Church. I publicly avow that if any one has said that I have stated that General Joseph Smith has given me authority to hold illicit intercourse with women he is a liar in the face of God. Those who have said it are damned liars; they are infernal liars. He never either in public or private gave me any such authority or license, and any person who states it is a scoundrel and a liar. * * * I intend to continue with you, and hope the time may come when I may be restored to full confidence and fellowship, and my former standing in The Church, and that my conduct may be such as to warrant my restoration, and should the time ever come that I may have the opportunity to test my faith, it will then be known whether I am a traitor or a true man. _Joseph_--Will you please state definitely whether you know anything against my character, either in public or private. _Doctor Bennett_--I do not. In all my intercourse with General Smith in public and in private he has been strictly virtuous. In addition to this statement before the city council, Doctor Bennett made affidavit before Squire Wells to the same effect as the above. On the twenty-sixth of May, the case of Bennett came up in the Masonic lodge, of which the doctor was a member, as were also nearly all the principal men of Nauvoo. In the presence of one hundred of the fraternity, he confessed his licentious practices, and acknowledged that he was worthy of the severest chastisement, yet he pleaded for mercy, and especially that he might not be published in the papers. So deep, apparently, was his sorrow, that Joseph pleaded for mercy in his behalf, and he was forgiven as a Mason; but previous to this, the First Presidency of The Church, the Twelve and the Bishop had sent a formal notice to him that they could not fellowship him as a member of The Church, but they withheld the matter from publication, at his earnest solicitation, because of his mother. John C. Bennett, however, had fallen too far to recover from the effects of his deep transgression. He suddenly left Nauvoo, and soon afterward was found plotting with the enemies of the Saints for the destruction of The Church. By this time the Masonic lodge found that he was an expelled Mason, and had palmed himself off on the Nauvoo lodge as a Mason in regular standing, consequently he was disfellowshiped from the Nauvoo lodge, and was also cashiered by the court-martial of the Nauvoo Legion; and thus plucked of all his glory, he was left to wander as a vagabond and an outcast among men. After he so suddenly left Nauvoo, he again said that the Prophet Joseph had authorized and encouraged sexual wickedness, and when confronted with his own affidavit, which declared Joseph to be a virtuous man, and a teacher of righteousness, and upright both in his public and private character, he claimed that he was under duress when he made that affidavit. But Squire Wells, before whom he had qualified to make his sworn statement, went before a justice of the peace, and made affidavit that during the time that this development of his wickedness was going on, and he making statements favorable to Joseph and The Church, that-- During all this time, if he (Doctor Bennett) was under duress or fear, he must have had a good faculty of concealing it; for he was at liberty to go and come when and where he pleased, so far as I am capable of judging. Squire Wells further testifies in the same statement: I was always personally friendly with him, after I became acquainted with him. I never heard him say anything derogatory to the character of Joseph Smith, until after he had been exposed by said Smith on the public stand in Nauvoo. So soon as it was learned that the doctor had left Nauvoo, and was operating for the destruction of The Church, the whole case was published in the Nauvoo papers, and his corruption made known to the world. Those whom he had involved in his vile snares, both men and women, were brought before the proper tribunals of The Church; some of them were disfellowshiped, and others who sincerely repented were forgiven. The only description I have seen of Doctor Bennett is given in the Essex County _Washingtonian_, published in Salem, Massachusetts, and that is contained in the issue of the fifteenth of September, 1842. According to that description he was a man five feet nine inches high, well formed, black hair sprinkled with grey, dark complexion, a rather thin face, and black, restless eyes. The fall of Doctor Bennett added another evidence to the fact that neither natural nor acquired attainments, however brilliant they may be, can secure one a safe standing in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, when not accompanied with righteousness of life. Moreover, experience has proven that to brilliancy of intellect highly cultivated, may be added inspired dreams, visions, the revelations of God, and the visitation of angels--and yet, if the daily life and conversation runs not hand in hand with righteousness, these things furnish at best but an insecure foundation on which to stand. CHAPTER XXIII. ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF GOVERNOR BOGGS. It was rumored in Nauvoo about the middle of the month of May, 1842, that ex-Governor Boggs, of Missouri, had been assassinated by an unknown hand, at his residence in Independence, Jackson County, Missouri. The ex-governor, however, did not die from the wounds he received, but recovered in the course of several days. The assault made upon him by his enemy, whoever he might be, occurred on the sixth of May, in the year above named. He was seated in a room by himself, when some person discharged a pistol loaded with buckshot, through the adjoining window. Three of the shot took effect in his head--one of which, it was said, penetrated his brain. His son, hearing the shot, burst into the room and found him in a helpless condition. The pistol from which the shot was fired was found under the window, and there, too, were the footprints of the would-be assassin. No sooner was the news of the affair heard than speculation was rife as to the parties who had perpetrated the deed; and in consequence of the infamous part taken by Boggs in driving the Saints from the State of Missouri, during the period that he was governor, it was not long before "Joe Smith and the Mormons" were accused of the deed. The Quincy _Whig_, in its issue of May 21st, said: There are several rumors in circulation in regard to the horrid affair; one of which throws the crime upon the Mormons, from the fact, we suppose, that Mr. Boggs was governor at the time, and in no small degree instrumental in driving them from the State. Smith, too, the Mormon Prophet, as we understand, prophesied a year or so ago, his death by violent means. Hence, there is plenty of foundation for rumor. To this statement the Prophet Joseph wrote a reply and sent it to the editor of the _Whig_, Mr. Bartlett: DEAR SIR--In your paper of the 21st inst., [May] you have done me manifest injustice, in ascribing to me a prediction of the demise of Lilburn W. Boggs, Esq., ex-governor of Missouri, by violent hands. Boggs was a candidate for the State senate, and, I presume, fell by the hand of a political opponent, with his hands and face yet dripping with the blood of murder; but he died [1] not through my instrumentality. My hands are clean and my heart pure, from the blood of all men. As soon as Boggs recovered sufficiently, he went before Samuel Weston, a justice of the peace at Independence, and one of the characters that some of my readers of "The Missouri Persecutions" will remember as taking part in driving the Saints from their homes in Jackson County--before him Boggs made affidavit that he had reason to believe, from evidence and information then in his possession, that "Joseph Smith, the Mormon Prophet, was accessory before the fact of the intended murder," and therefore applied to Thomas Reynolds, governor of Missouri, to make a demand on the governor of Illinois, to deliver Joseph Smith up to some person authorized to receive him on behalf of the State of Missouri, to be dealt with according to law. Governor Reynolds promptly granted the request and made the demand on the governor of Illinois for the surrender of Joseph to one E. R. Ford, who was appointed the agent of Missouri to receive him. In making the demand, Governor Reynolds said: Whereas it appears * * * that one Joseph Smith is a fugitive from justice, charged with being accessory before the fact, to an assault with intent to kill, made by one O. P. Rockwell, on Lilburn W. Boggs, in this State [Missouri]; and is represented to the executive department of this State as having fled to the State of Illinois; Now, therefore, I, * * * do by these presents demand the surrender and delivering of the said Joseph Smith, etc., etc. We have given this extract for the requisition _verbatim_, because, in the first place, the affidavit of Boggs, upon the strength of which Governor Reynolds made his demand for the surrender of Joseph Smith, does not claim that he was a fugitive from justice, or that he had fled from the State of Missouri to Illinois; but on the contrary, the affidavit says that he was a "citizen or resident of Illinois," hence the statement of fact in the affidavit was not sufficient to justify the demand for Joseph Smith to be surrendered to Missouri. A person resident in a State may not be delivered up to the authorities of another State for alleged offenses, unless it is represented that he has fled from the State making the demand for his surrender, to escape from justice. This charge was not made by Boggs in his affidavit, which was Governor Reynolds' only authority for making the demand. But in what Boggs failed, Governor Reynolds made up; and upon his own responsibility, charged in his demand on Illinois that Joseph Smith was "a fugitive from justice," and had "fled to Illinois;" a statement that was at once untrue, and wholly gratuitous on the part of the executive of Missouri, and proves him to be a willing persecutor of the innocent. Secondly, it was this assumption on the part of Reynolds that did much towards making the demand on Illinois void. But more of this anon. Governor Carlin, of Illinois, respected the demand of Missouri, and issued a warrant for the arrest of O. P. Rockwell as principal and Joseph Smith as accessory before the fact, in an assault with intent to kill, upon ex-Governor Boggs. The papers were placed in the hands of the deputy sheriff of Adams County, who, with two assistants, at once repaired to Nauvoo, and on the eighth of August, 1842, arrested the above named parties. There was no evasion of the officers, but the municipal court of Nauvoo, at once, on the application of the parties arrested, issued a writ of _habeas corpus_, requiring the officers having the prisoners in charge, to bring them before that tribunal, in order that the legality of the warrant under which they were arrested might be tested. This the sheriff refused to do, as he claimed that the municipal court had no jurisdiction in the case, but he left the prisoners in the care of the city marshal, without, however, leaving the original writ upon which alone they could be held; and the deputy sheriff and his assistants returned to Quincy; the prisoners being turned loose to go about their business. During the absence of the deputy sheriff, Joseph had secured a writ of _habeas corpus_ from the master in chancery, as it was questionable if the municipal court of Nauvoo had the authority to issue such writs in cases arising under the laws of the State or the United States. [2] The officers returned from Quincy on the tenth, but in the interim it had been decided by Joseph and his friends, that the best thing for himself and Rockwell to do under the excitement of public sentiment then existing was to keep out of the way for a season; so that the officers were unable to find them on their return. Joseph crossed the river and stayed at his uncle John's house for a few days, in the settlement called Zarahemla; but on the night of the eleventh of August, he met by appointment his brother Hyrum, Rockwell, his wife Emma and several other friends at the south point of the island that stands midway in the river between Nauvoo and Montrose. It had been rumored that the governor of Iowa had also issued a warrant for the arrest of Joseph and Rockwell, where-upon it was decided that it would be better for them to remain on the Illinois side of the river. Subsequent events, however, proved that this rumor was a false one. Joseph was rowed up the river by a Brother Dunham to a point near the home of a Brother Derby. Rockwell had been set ashore and had proceeded to the same point on foot, where he built a fire on the bank of the river, that Dunham might know where to land. At Derby's, the Prophet remained in hiding for some time, and Rockwell went east, remaining for several months in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. From his place of concealment, Joseph directed the movements of the people at Nauvoo, and managed his own business through faithful agents, who met with him occasionally. Emma spent considerable of her time with him, and beguiled the loneliness of those weary hours of inactivity that he, whose life is the synonym for activity, had to endure. During those days of exile, one gets a glimpse of the Prophet's private life and character, that in part explains the mystery of his power and influence over his friends and his people:--it was his unbounded love for them. Speaking of the meeting with his friends in the night at the island, in the account he gives of it in the Book of the Law of the Lord, he says: How glorious were my feelings when I met that faithful and friendly band, on the night of the eleventh [of August], on the island at the mouth of the slough between Zarahemla and Nauvoo. With what unspeakable delight, and what transports of joy swelled my bosom, when I took by the hand, on that night, my beloved Emma--she that was my wife, even the wife of my youth, and choice of my heart. Many were the vibrations of my mind when I contemplated for a moment the many scenes we had been called to pass through, the fatigues and the toils, the sorrows and sufferings, and the joys and the consolations, from time to time, which had strewed our paths and crowned our board. Oh, what a commingling of thoughts filled my mind for the moment!--and again she is here, even in the seventh trouble--undaunted, firm and unwavering--unchangeable, affectionate Emma! Of his brother Hyrum on the same occasion he says: There was Brother Hyrum, who next took me by the hand--a natural brother. Thought I to myself, Brother Hyrum, what a faithful heart you have got! Oh, may the Eternal Jehovah crown eternal blessings upon your head, as a reward for the care you have had for my soul! Oh, how many are the sorrows we have shared together! and again we find ourselves shackled by the unrelenting hand of oppression. Hyrum, thy name shall be written in the Book of the Law of the Lord, for those who come after to look upon, that they may pattern after thy works. [3] So he goes on to call the faithful by their names and record their deeds of love manifested towards himself, and pronounces his blessings upon them; and if, as one of old said, "We know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren"--surely Joseph Smith possessed that witness--he loved his brethren better than his life! Some of the brethren proposed that Joseph should go up to the pine woods of Wisconsin, where a number of the brethren were engaged in getting out timber for the Temple and Nauvoo House, until the excitement should subside in Illinois. Of this proposition, Joseph said in a letter to Emma: My mind will eternally revolt at every suggestion of that kind. * * * My safety is with you if you want to have it so. * * * If I go to the pine country, you shall go along with me, and the children; and if you and the children go not with me, I don't go. I do not wish to exile myself for the sake of my own life. I would rather fight it out. It is for your sakes therefore that I would do such a thing. This plan, however, was abandoned. Footnotes 1. It was then supposed that Boggs was dead. It was not until several days later that the news of his recovery reached Nauvoo or Quincy. 2. I say "questionable" as representing the views of the Prophet's friends. As a matter of fact, in my judgment, there could be no question about the municipal court having no such power. And if the letter of the Nauvoo charter justified the idea that the municipal court possessed any such power to interrupt the process of the State and United States courts, it was a manifest defect in the wording of the charter, a solecism that would render that part of the charter void. 3. Some years before this, in December, 1835, Joseph said of Hyrum: "I could pray in my heart that all men were like my brother Hyrum, who possesses the mildness of a lamb, and the integrity of a Job, and in short, the meekness and humility of Christ; and I love him with that love that is stronger than death, for I never had occasion to rebuke him, nor he me."--Mill. Star, vol. VX. P. 521. CHAPTER XXIV. THE PROPHET'S TRIAL AT SPRINGFIELD--MISSOURI AGAIN THWARTED. It appears that Joseph had resolved to submit no longer to the injustice he had suffered from the hands of the people of Missouri. It was rumored that the officers on leaving Nauvoo, breathed out threats of returning with sufficient force to search every house in the city and vicinity; and Sheriff Ford, the agent of Missouri, threatened to bring a mob against the Mormons, if necessary to arrest the Prophet. Hearing these rumors, Joseph exchanged several letters with William Law, who had been recently elected major-general of the Legion, _vice_ John C. Bennett, cashiered; in which he admonished him to have all things in readiness to protect the people in their rights, and not for one moment to submit to the outrages that were threatened. "You will see, therefore," said he, in a letter written on the fourteenth of August, to Law, "that the peace of the city of Nauvoo is kept, let who will, endeavor to disturb it. You will also see that whenever any mob force or violence is used, on any citizen thereof, or that belongeth thereunto, you will see that force or violence is immediately dispersed, and brought to punishment, or meet it, and contest it at the point of the sword, with firm, undaunted and unyielding valor; and let them know that the spirit of old Seventy-six, and of George Washington yet lives, and is contained in the bosoms and blood of the children of the fathers thereof. If there are any threats in the city, let legal steps be taken against them; and let no man, woman or child be intimidated, nor suffer it to be done. Nevertheless, as I said in the first place, we will take every measure that lays in our power, and make every sacrifice that God or man could require at our hands, to preserve the peace and safety of the people without collision." To these sentiments there was a willing response of acquiescence on the part of the major-general, and he pledged himself to faithfully carry out Joseph's orders, provided the emergency for doing so should arise. After a little, however, the excitement began to subside; and as Joseph's hiding place at Derby's was discovered by a young man who suddenly came upon him and his kind host while they were walking out in the woods for exercise, the Prophet moved quietly into the city, staying first at the house of one friend a day or two, and then removing to that of another. In the meantime the case was plainly placed before Governor Carlin; and the course that Joseph had taken fully vindicated by letters written to him by Emma his wife, who displayed no mean ability in the correspondence she opened up with the governor, which so nearly concerned the peace of her family. She directed the attention of the governor to the fact that Joseph had not been in the State of Missouri for some three or four years--that if her husband had been accessory before the fact, to the assault upon ex-Governor Boggs, the crime, if committed at all--which she stoutly averred was not the case--was done in Illinois, and there was no law to drag a man from a State where the crime was committed, into a State where it had not been committed, for trial; and as her husband had not been in the State of Missouri for several years previous to the assault on Boggs, he could not have fled from the justice of that State, and therefore ought not to be given up under the fugitive-from-justice law. Letters from many prominent citizens of Nauvoo were also sent to the governor; and the Female Relief Society called his attention to the threat of mob violence and invasion from Missouri, and asked that sufficient military protection might be given to insure the peace and safety of Nauvoo. All these things the governor treated lightly, and claimed that the only excitement that existed was with the Mormon people at Nauvoo, and nowhere else; and there was no need, he insisted, of taking the precautions hinted at by the people; though when talking on another subject he unwittingly remarked that persons were offering their services every day either in person or by letter, and held themselves in readiness to go against the Saints whenever he should call upon them; but he never had the least idea of calling on the militia, neither had he thought it necessary. He maintained that the proper thing for Joseph to do was to give himself up to the authorities of Missouri for trial, and he had no doubt that he would be acquitted. Judge Ralston asked him how he thought Mr. Smith would go through the midst of his enemies without being subject to violence; and how after his acquittal, he would be able to return to Illinois. To that proposition the governor could give no satisfactory answer, but made light of the whole matter. And in spite of all the protests sent in by the people of Nauvoo, he made a proclamation that as Joseph Smith and O. P. Rockwell had resisted the laws, by refusing to go with the officers who had them in custody, and had made their escape, he offered a reward of two hundred dollars for each or either of those "fugitives from justice." Governor Reynolds also offered a reward for their arrest, three hundred dollars for each one or either of them. Joseph continued to remain in the city and moved about cautiously, attending to his business. A tide of popular prejudice had set in of such proportions that it seemed that it would overwhelm the Saints. It had been created largely through the misrepresentations of John C. Bennett, and Joseph at once determined to counteract it if possible. He ordered that a special conference be called to meet on the 29th of August, to appoint Elders of The Church to go through the State of Illinois and the east to flood the country with the truth in relation to Bennett's character. The conference was called, and in the interim documents and affidavits were prepared that the brethren might be armed with proofs in relation to the facts respecting Bennett and his misrepresentations. The conference convened on the day appointed and Hyrum Smith addressed them on the mission that many of them were expected to take. At the conclusion of his remarks, Joseph suddenly stepped into the stand to the great joy of his people, many of whom thought he had gone to Washington, and others to Europe. His appearance created great cheerfulness and animation among the people. Joseph, naturally impulsive, was overjoyed to again stand before the Saints. He addressed them in more than his usual spirited manner and called upon the brethren to go through the States taking documents with them, "to show to the world the corrupt and oppressive conduct of Boggs, Carlin and others, that the public might have the truth laid before them." In response to this call to sustain the Prophet's character, three hundred and eighty Elders volunteered their services, and announced their willingness to go immediately. For several days after the conference the Prophet continued about home, but it being revealed to him that his enemies were again on the move to take him; he found it necessary to drop out of sight. It was during this time of hiding that he wrote those instructions respecting baptism for the dead, contained in the 127th and 128th sections of the Book of Doctrine and Covenants. But notwithstanding his enemies were on the watch for him, he now and then visited his home; and on the occasion of paying one of these visits to his family he nearly fell into the hands of the officers. He was at dinner with his family at the "Mansion," when Deputy Sheriff Pitman, of Adams County, and an assistant suddenly presented themselves at the door. Fortunately John Boynton, who was present, saw them first and went to the door to meet them. They asked him if Joseph Smith was present, to which he gave an evasive answer, saying that he had seen Joseph that morning, but did not say he had seen him since. During this conversation the Prophet stepped out of the back door, ran through the corn in his garden and so to the house of Bishop N. K. Whitney. Emma now engaged the sheriff in conversation. He said he wanted to search the house. She asked if he had a search warrant, to which he answered in the negative; but insisted on searching the house nevertheless, and as she knew that Joseph had escaped, she did not refuse. Of course the search was fruitless. It was reported that a party of fifteen left Quincy with the sheriff the day before, and that they rode all night expecting to reach Nauvoo before daylight, surround the "Mansion," and capture Joseph. But in the night they got scattered and did not meet again, nor did Sheriff Pitman reach Nauvoo until about noon, when he made the effort above detailed. About the first of October, Elder Rigdon and Elias Higbee were in Carthage, and from a conversation with Judge Douglass, they learned that Governor Carlin had purposely issued an illegal writ for the arrest of Joseph, thinking he would go to Carthage to be acquitted on _habeas corpus_ proceedings before Judge Douglass; when an officer of the State would be present with a legal writ and serve it upon him immediately, and thus drag him to Missouri. The plot, however, was discovered in time to thwart it, and Joseph, in company with Elder John Taylor, Wilson Law and John D. Parker, left Nauvoo for the home of Elder Taylor's father, about a day and a half's ride from Nauvoo, and there the Prophet remained for about a week. Meantime, through Major Warren, master in chancery, Joseph's case was presented to Justice Butterfield, of Chicago, and United States attorney for the district of Illinois. He wrote out an elaborate review of the case in which he claimed that Joseph could be released on a writ of _habeas corpus_; that he would have the right to prove that he was not in Missouri at the time the alleged crime was committed--that of necessity, if he was guilty of the crime with which he was charged, he must have committed it in Illinois, and therefore was not a fugitive from justice--and the governor of Illinois had no right to surrender him to the authorities of Missouri as such. Mr. Butterfield contended that a warrant for the action of the governor of a State, in delivering up a person to the authorities of another State, was found in that clause of the Constitution which says: A person charged in any State with treason, felony or other crime, who shall flee from justice, and be found in another State, shall, on demand of the executive authority of the State from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the State having jurisdiction of the crime. (Constitution, Article 4; Section 2.) Mr. Butterfield insisted that it was unnecessary to inquire into the laws that had been enacted by Congress on the subject, since: Congress has just so much power and no more than is expressly given by the said clause in the Constitution. "What persons, then," he inquires, "can be surrendered up by the governor of one State to the governor of another?" First: He must be a person charged with treason, felony or other crime. It is sufficient if he be charged with the commission of crime, either by indictment found or by affidavit. Second: He must be a person who shall flee from justice, and be found in another State. It is not sufficient to satisfy this branch of the Constitution, that he should be "charged" with having fled from justice. Unless he has actually fled from the State, where the offense was committed, into another State, the governor of this State has no jurisdiction over his person and cannot deliver him up. Mr. Butterfield reviewed the subject of _habeas corpus_ writs and their operations both in England and the United States, and quoted a number of cases from the courts of New York, and the action of the executives of the several States to support the principles he contended for, and concluded his communication in these words: I would advise that Mr. Smith procure respectable and sufficient affidavits to prove beyond all question that he was in this State [Illinois] and not in Missouri at the time the crime with which he was charged was committed, and upon these affidavits, apply to the governor to countermand the warrant he has issued for his arrest. If he should refuse so to do, I am already of the opinion that, upon that state of facts, the supreme court will discharge him upon _habeas corpus_. Joseph acted upon this advice, and sent agents with all the necessary papers to Springfield and applied to Governor Ford--Carlin's term of office in the meantime having expired--to revoke the writ and proclamation of ex-Governor Carlin for his arrest. The supreme court being in session, Governor Ford submitted the petition and all the papers pertaining thereto for their opinion, and they were unanimous in their belief that the Missouri writ was illegal, but were divided as to whether it would be proper for the present executive to interfere with the official acts of his predecessor, and therefore Governor Ford refused to interfere; but said, in a personal letter addressed to the Prophet: I can only advise that you submit to the laws and have a judicial investigation of your rights. If it should become necessary, for this purpose to repair to Springfield, I do not believe that there will be any disposition to use illegal violence towards you; and I would feel it my duty in your case, as in the case of any other person, to protect you with any necessary amount of force, from mob violence whilst asserting your rights before the courts, going to and returning. This reply was endorsed by Mr. Butterfield and James Adams, in whom Joseph had great confidence; and in conformity with the advice, Joseph was arrested by Wilson Law, on Carlin's proclamation. Application was made at Carthage for a writ of _habeas corpus_ to go before the court at Springfield. No writ could be obtained at the court in Carthage, as the clerk had been elected to the State senate; but an order for such writ was issued on the master in chancery, and with that document Joseph, in the company of his brother Hyrum, John Taylor and others, and in charge of Wilson Law, started for Springfield, where they arrived in the afternoon of the thirtieth of December, 1842. Judge Pope had continued his court two or three days in order to give Joseph's case a hearing, and in the first interview the judge had with him, agreed to try the case on its merits, and not dismiss it on any technicality. The deputy sheriff of Adams County was present, but refused at first to say whether he had the original writ or not; but finally King, his associate, admitted he had it. Fearing that it was the object of these men to hold the original writ until after proceedings had concluded on the arrest made by virtue of Governor Carlin's proclamation, and thus create more trouble, a petition was made to Governor Ford to issue a new writ, that the case might come up on its merits, which was granted, and Joseph was arrested by Mr. Maxey, and a writ of _habeas corpus_ was issued by the court; but as several days must elapse before a hearing could be had, Joseph was placed under $4,000 bonds, Wilson Law and General James Adams being his bondsmen. At last the day of trial came on and the attorney-general of the State made the following objection to the jurisdiction of the court: 1. The arrest and detention of Smith, was not under or by color of authority of the United States, or of any officer of the United States, but under and by color of authority of the State of Illinois, by the officer of the State of Illinois. 2. When a fugitive from justice is arrested by authority of the governor of any State, upon the requisition of the governor of another State, the courts of justice, neither State nor Federal, have any authority or jurisdiction to inquire into facts behind the writ. These points were ably argued _pro_ and _con_ by Mr. Butterfield for the defense, and the attorney-general for the State. After giving a patient hearing, the court gave its opinion, saying in relation to the first objection, that, "The warrant on its face purports to be issued in pursuance of the Constitution and laws of the United States, as well as of the State of Illinois;" and therefore the court had jurisdiction. "The matter in hand," said Judge Pope, "presents a case arising under the second section of article IV of the Constitution of the United States, and an act of Congress of February 12th, 1793, to carry it into effect. The Constitution says: 'The judicial power shall extend to all cases in law or equity arising under this Constitution, the laws of the United States, and treaties made, and which shall be made under their authority.'" Therefore, on that line of reasoning, the judge concluded the court had jurisdiction. As to the second objection--the right of the court to inquire into facts behind the writ--the judge held it unnecessary to decide that point, as Smith was entitled to his discharge, for defect in the affidavit on which the demand for his surrender to Missouri was made. To justify the demand for his arrest the affidavit should have shown, "First, that Smith committed a crime; second, that he committed it in Missouri. And it must also appear 'that Smith had fled from Missouri.'" None of these things the affidavit of Boggs did, and the judge held that it was defective for those reasons, and added: The court can alone regard the facts set forth in the affidavit of Boggs as having any legal existence. The mis-recitals and over-statements in the requisition and warrant are not supported by oath and cannot be received as evidence to deprive a citizen of his liberty, and transport him to a foreign State for trial. For these reasons, Smith must be discharged. And Joseph had scored another victory over his old enemies in Missouri. CHAPTER XXV. INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL AND ACQUITTAL. DURING the trial, excitement at times ran high and threatened to break out into acts of violence. When Joseph first made his way through the throng about the court-house, some one in the crowd recognized him, and exclaimed: "There goes Smith now!" "Yes," said another, "and a fine looking man he is, too." "And as damned a rascal as ever lived!" put in a third. Hyrum Smith, overhearing the last remark said: "And a good many ditto!" "Yes," said the person addressed, "ditto, ditto, G--d d--n you, and every one that takes his part is as d--d a rascal as he is." "I am that man;" shouted Wilson Law, "and I'll take his part!" Whereupon both parties prepared for a fight; but Mr. Prentice, the marshal, interfered and quelled the disturbance; and the excitement soon quieted down. During the progress of the trial the Prophet had good opportunity of associating with some of the leading men of the State, among them the judges of the supreme court, and Governor Ford, who ventured to caution the Prophet to have nothing to do with electioneering in political contests; a thing, the Prophet said in reply, he had never done. Governor Ford also told him that he had a requisition from the governor of Missouri for the arrest of himself and others on the old charge of treason, arson, etc., but he happened to know that the charges were dead. The State legislature was also in session and consequently there was a general gathering of the principal men of Illinois, and the Prophet extended largely his circle of acquaintances among them. The time occupied by the trial kept Joseph and his party over one Sunday in Springfield, and the use of the hall of representatives was tendered him in which to hold religious services. The use of the hall was accepted and Orson Hyde preached in the forenoon, and Elder John Taylor in the afternoon; the services being largely attended by members of the legislature. It required several days to make the journey from Springfield to Nauvoo, and the Prophet's party suffered no little from the extreme coldness of the weather. The news of Joseph's triumph had preceded him, and as his party approached the city, of which he was the chief founder, the people turned out almost _en masse_ to bid him welcome to his home; and though there was little or none of the pomp and circumstance and splendor that attend the welcome of a king by his subjects, yet never did king receive more hearty or sincere welcome from his people than did Joseph from the citizens of Nauvoo. The day following his return home the Prophet issued invitations to the Twelve Apostles and their wives and other leading citizens to attend a feast at his house in honor of his release from his enemies. The Twelve at the same time issued a proclamation inviting the Saints in Nauvoo to unite with them in dedicating Tuesday, the seventeenth of January, 1843, as "a day of humiliation, fasting, praise, prayer and thanksgiving before the Great Eloheim," because of the deliverance He had wrought out for His servant. The Bishops were instructed to provide suitable places in their respective wards for the people to meet in, and one or more of the brethren who had been with Joseph at Springfield, would be present to relate what had happened. Although to relate here the circumstances that befell the man who was accused as the chief actor in the assault upon ex-Governor Boggs--O. P. Rockwell--takes us beyond many events of which we desire to speak, we think it proper to record how, after spending several months in the eastern States, he returned to St. Louis where he was recognized by Elias Parker, who made affidavit that he was the O. P. Rockwell advertised for in the papers, and on the fourth of March, 1843, was arrested by Mr. Fox, and taken to Independence for trial. Rockwell wrote from his prison in Independence to Bishop N. K. Whitney, for bail, which was fixed at five thousand dollars; but as the court in Missouri would only take some responsible person resident in Missouri, bail could not be secured for him. I have not the space to give a detailed account of all Rockwell's adventures and sufferings during his weary imprisonment of nearly eight months. He suffered much cruelty in prison life, and when his case came before the grand jury there wasn't sufficient evidence to justify an indictment against him. But in the meantime he had made an effort to escape, and was held on a charge of jail-breaking, for which, when he came to be tried, he was sentenced to five minutes' imprisonment, though they kept him for several hours while an effort was made to trump up new charges against him. One incident occurred during Rockwell's imprisonment that we can not pass without notice. Sheriff Reynolds made an effort to induce him to go to Nauvoo, and as the Prophet Joseph had great confidence in him, Reynolds' proposition was that he should drive Joseph in a carriage outside of Nauvoo, where the Missourians could capture him; and then, as to himself, he could either remain in Illinois, return to Missouri or go where he pleased. "You only deliver Joe Smith into our hands," said Reynolds, "and name your pile." "I will see you all damned first, and then I won't," replied Rockwell. After meeting with many adventures he arrived in Nauvoo on an evening when there was a social party in progress at the Prophet's house. In the midst of the festivities Joseph observed a rough-looking man with long hair falling down over his shoulders, staggering among his guests as if intoxicated, and the suspicion arose at once that he was a Missourian. Joseph quietly spoke to the captain of police who was present, and told him to put the stranger out. A struggle ensued, and during its progress the Prophet had a full view of the man's face, and at once recognized his devoted friend O. P. Rockwell. It is needless to say he was given a hearty welcome or that the story of his adventures among the Missourians contributed no little to the enjoyment of the evening, though some portions of his narrative were so burdened with accounts of his sufferings and the cruelties practiced towards him, that they were calculated to produce sorrow rather than joy. But these feelings were banished by the fact that he was now delivered out of them all, and honorably discharged in fulfillment of the prophecy uttered by Joseph shortly after he heard of Rockwell's arrest in St. Louis, nearly a year before. The party which had been so rudely yet so pleasantly interrupted, proceeded, no one enjoying it more than the "long-haired stranger." A few days, only, after the departure from Springfield of the Prophet and his party, John C. Bennett arrived there. The measures he then set on foot, and which produced, ultimately, what very nearly became serious results, may be judged from the following letter addressed to Sidney Rigdon and Orson Pratt, under date of January 10, 1843: DEAR FRIENDS--It is a long time since I have written to you, and I should now much desire to see you; but I leave tonight for Missouri, to meet the messenger charged with the arrest of Joseph Smith, Hyrum Smith, Lyman Wight and others, for murder, burglary, treason, etc., etc., and who will be demanded in a few days on new indictments found by a grand jury of a called court on the original evidence, and in relation to which a _nolle prosequi_ was entered by the district attorney. New proceedings have been gotten up on the old charges, and no _habeas corpus_ can then save them. We shall try Smith on the Boggs case, when we get him into Missouri. The war goes bravely on; and although Smith thinks he is now safe, the enemy is near, even at the door. He has awoke the wrong passenger. The governor will relinquish Joe up at once on the new requisition. There is but one opinion on the case, and that is, nothing can save Joe on the new requisition and demand, predicated on the old charges on the institution of new writs. He must go to Missouri; but he will not be harmed if he is not guilty; but he is a murderer, and must suffer the penalty of the law. Enough on this subject. I hope that both of your amiable families are well, and you will please to give to them all my best respects. I hope to see you soon. When the officer arrives I shall be near at hand. I shall see you all again. Please write me at Independence immediately. This letter was handed by Orson Pratt to Joseph, and was read by him to Sidney Rigdon and the company which gathered at the Nauvoo Mansion to celebrate the Prophet's release by a feast, to the discomfiture of Sidney Rigdon, who of course was averse to having it known that he held any correspondence with Bennett. The action of Orson Pratt in this matter paved the way for his return to his position in The Church, for he had been suspended from his quorum in the Priesthood, having been led to oppose the counsels and falsely accuse the Prophet, in consequence of the misrepresentations and malicious schemes of John C. Bennett. But after the above incident, he was re-baptized by the Prophet and received back into the quorum of the Apostles in full confidence and fellowship. Meantime Nauvoo was growing. At this period--the winter of 1843--her inhabitants are variously computed from twelve to sixteen thousand. Her public buildings, chiefly the Temple and the Nauvoo House, were progressing rapidly. More pretentious buildings were being erected, and new additions to the original town plat were made, and the city, early in December, 1842, had been divided, ecclesiastically, into ten wards, and Bishops were appointed by the High Council to preside over each. The city council was active in passing ordinances to meet the growing necessities of a rapidly increasing population, looking especially to the cleanliness, health and morality of the city. In February, 1843, Joseph was elected a second time to be mayor, and all things considered, Nauvoo was rapidly approaching the high water mark of her prosperity. CHAPTER XXVI. DOCTRINAL DEVELOPMENT AT NAUVOO--INTERPRETATION OF THE SCRIPTURES. AFTER the effort of the Prophet's enemies to drag him into Missouri on the charge of being an accessory before the fact in an attempt upon the life of ex-Governor Boggs, Nauvoo was granted a blessed season of peace, lasting from January, 1843, to the month of June following. It is well to note the circumstance, for Nauvoo had few such periods. Peace is essential to the growth of cities. Commerce flees from strife; and trade sinks into decay where conflicts distract the people. Nauvoo was favorably located and no city in the inland-West gave better promise of becoming an important center of domestic commerce, manufactures, and inland and river trade. With peace it could easily have become the rival of St. Louis or Chicago; and Kansas City and Omaha as outfitting points for the great West might scarcely have been known. In addition to being a center of trade, manufactures and domestic commerce, the presence of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would have made it a shrine, a gathering place for the faithful from all parts of the world, and an educational center also; for already the charters were secured and the faculty chosen for a great university; and the keen interest which the Prophet and his followers had ever manifested in education gave every promise that Nauvoo in time would be one of the prominent centers of higher education in the United States. The peace essential to this material and educational growth, however, was not granted to Nauvoo. Sectarian bitterness against the religion of the Prophet and his followers was too deep-rooted; political jealousy was too strong; and hence strife, plots, threats of violence, actual violence, rumors of invasions from Missouri, hints of assistance from mobs in Illinois, the frequent arrest of the founder of the city, the false reports that went abroad concerning its inhabitants--all combined to blight the growth which otherwise might have been hoped for from Nauvoo's favorable position and early development. But this lull referred to in that all but incessant storm which beat upon the uncovered head of Joseph Smith from the time he announced to the world a revelation from God until this period of grace--from January, 1843, to the June following--was employed by him to good advantage in the matter of the doctrinal development of The Church. It was in this period that he unfolded the doctrines which most distinguish The Church, which under God he had founded, from the sectarian churches founded by men. Unfortunately we do not have _verbatim_ reports of his discourses during this period. Most of them were reported in long-hand by Willard Richards, his confidential friend and secretary, and Wilford Woodruff, one of the Twelve Apostles and noted among other things for daily journalizing events passing under his observation. But these reports are not _verbatim_, and there doubtless exist many verbal inaccuracies, and often the impression of the idea left upon the mind of the reporter rather than the idea itself. But notwithstanding some verbal inaccuracies that may exist, and even the statement of the impression of ideas for the ideas themselves, still these long-hand reports of the discourses of the Prophet, stand among the most valued documents of our annals. Without strict regard to the chronological order in which occur his discourses, conversations, letters, and revelations quoted in the following pages of the chapters devoted to doctrinal subjects, I wish to present the substance of his teachings within the period named. THE FUNCTIONS OF THE PRIESTHOOD TO BLESS. To Orson Hyde, one of the Twelve, somewhat given to prophesying calamities and speaking with severity to those slow to receive his words, the Prophet took occasion to say in a council meeting of the Twelve: I told Elder Hyde that when he spoke in the name of the Lord, it should prove true; but he must not curse the people--rather bless them. A remark which at once recognizes the power of that Priesthood held by Orson Hyde--even though he curse the people--but he more especially points out the fact that the chief function of that Priesthood is to bless and not curse. THE SCRIPTURES AND THEIR INTERPRETATION. Occasionally the Prophet expounded the Scriptures, and in this he was most happy: not so much on account of his knowledge of ancient languages--though that knowledge, when his opportunities for acquiring it are taken into account, was surprisingly extensive--as from that divine inspiration which so mightily rested upon him at times. Of the Bible itself the Prophet said: I believe the Bible as it read when it came from the pen of the original writers. Ignorant translators, careless transcribers, or designing and corrupt priests have committed many errors. As an example of the errors which had crept into the holy record he put in contrast the following: It repented the Lord that he had made man on the earth.--Genesis v: 6. God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man that he should repent.--Numbers xxiii: 19. His exegesis, which at once harmonizes the conflicting passages, and satisfies the understanding, is as follows: It ought to read: It repented _Noah_ that God had made man. This I believe, and then the other quotation [meaning the second] stands fair. If any man will prove to me by one passage of holy writ one item I believe to be false, I will renounce and disclaim it as far as I have promulgated it. In like manner he set the following passage right, Hebrews VI: 1-6. The first principles of the Gospel, as I believe, are, _Faith, Repentance, Baptism_ for the remission of sins, with the promise of the _Holy Ghost_. Look at Hebrews VI: 1, for contradictions! "Therefore _leaving_ the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection." If a man _leaves_ the principles of the doctrine of Christ, how can he be saved in the principles? This is a contradiction. * * * I will render it as it should be: "Therefore _not_ leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection, not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith towards God," etc. In like manner he pointed out a solecism in the Lord's prayer. It reads in our common version: _Lead_ us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, etc. In contrast with this may be placed the statement of James: Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, _neither tempteth he any man_.--James 1: 13. Then why pray to God the Father-- And lead us not into temptation? The Prophet's exegesis was: The passage should read: And _leave_ us not--or, suffer us not to be led, into temptation, for thine is the kingdom, etc. Again, in a public discourse he dealt with the following passage: Among those that are born of women, there hath not arisen a greater prophet than John the Baptist: nevertheless, he that is _least_ in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. Taking up the first part of the question, viz: the greatness of John, he thus expounded it: Firstly, he [John] was trusted with a divine mission of preparing the way before the face of the Lord. Whoever had such a trust committed to him before or since? No man. Secondly, he was intrusted with the important mission, and it was required at his hands to baptize the Son of Man. Whoever had the honor of doing that? Whoever had so great a privilege and glory? Whoever led the Son of God into the waters of baptism, and had the privilege of beholding the Holy Ghost descend in the form of a dove, or rather in the sign of a dove, in witness of that administration? * * * Thirdly, John at that time was the only legal administrator in the affairs of the kingdom there was then on earth and holding the keys of power. The Jews had to obey his instructions or be damned by their own laws, and Christ Himself fulfilled all righteousness in becoming obedient to the law which He had given to Moses on the mount, and thereby magnified it and made it honorable, instead of destroying it. The son of Zachariah wrested the keys, the kingdom, the power, the glory, from the Jews, by the holy anointing and decree of heaven; and these three reasons constitute him the greatest Prophet born of women. Taking up the second part of the subject--"He that is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he," [i. e., greater than John]--it was made easy to understand in the following manner: How was the least in the kingdom of heaven greater than he [John]? In reply, I ask who did Jesus have reference to as being the least? Jesus was looked upon as having the _least_ claim in all God's kingdom, and was _least_ entitled to their credulity as a Prophet, as though he had said: "He that is _considered_ the least among you, is greater than John--that is myself." Explaining the matter of interpretation itself, he said: What is the rule of interpretation? Just no interpretation at all. Understand it precisely as it reads. I have a key by which I understand the Scriptures. I inquire, what was the question which drew out the answer or caused Jesus to utter the parable? * * * To ascertain its meaning, we must dig to the root and ascertain what it was that drew the saying out of Jesus. While this was said especially in relation to the parable of the prodigal son, it may well be given a wider application; and it will be found a great aid in arriving at the truth of many supposedly hard sayings of the Scriptures. But while this key or rule of interpretation was doubtless of great service to the Prophet in his study of the scriptures, he was helped in another and a more important way to understand them; to understand them in a manner which I cannot explain better than by quoting a passage with which he dealt at an earlier date than the period with which I am now dealing, but which is of such moment and helps to illustrate the work we find him doing at Nauvoo during this interim of peace, that we can well afford to stop and consider it. As early as 1831 the Prophet with Sidney Rigdon set about the task of bringing forth a new and inspired translation of the Bible. Their work extended also into the year 1832. On the 16th day of February of that year, they came, in the course of their work, to the twenty-ninth verse of the fifth chapter of John's Gospel, speaking of the resurrection of the dead, concerning those who shall hear the voice of the Son of Man, and shall come forth, and which in our common version stands: And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation. But to the Prophet it was given: * * * And shall come forth: they who have done good in the resurrection of the just, and they who have done evil, in the resurrection of the unjust. Then follows upon this rendering of the passage by the Spirit, a revelation concerning the future state of man and the different degrees of glory which he will inherit, the like of which is not to be found elsewhere in all that is written among the children of men; and which, in part, I quote. Reverting to the passage as given by the Spirit, the Prophet says: Now this caused us to marvel, for it was given unto us of the Spirit; and while we meditated upon these things, the Lord touched the eyes of our understandings and they were opened, and the glory of God shone round about; THE VISION OF THE SON'S GLORY. And we beheld the glory of the Son, on the right hand of the Father, and received of his fullness; And saw the holy angels, and they who are sanctified before his throne, worshiping God, and the Lamb, who worship him for ever and ever. And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him, this is the testimony last of all, which we give of him, that he lives; For we saw him, even on the right hand of God, and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father-- That by him and through him, and of him the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God. THE FALL OF LUCIFER. And this we saw also, and bear record, that an angel of God who was in authority in the presence of God, who rebelled against the Only Begotten Son, whom the Father loved, and who was in the bosom of the Father--was thrust down from the presence of God and the Son, And was called Perdition, for the heavens wept over him--he was Lucifer, a son of the morning. And we beheld, and lo, he is fallen! is fallen! even a son of the morning. And while we were yet in the Spirit, the Lord commanded us that we should write the vision, for we beheld Satan, that old serpent--even the devil--who rebelled against God, and sought to take the kingdom of our God, and his Christ, Wherefore he maketh war with the saints of God, and encompasses them round about. And we saw a vision of the sufferings of those with whom he made war and overcame, for thus came the voice of the Lord unto us. Thus saith the Lord, concerning all those who know my power, and have been made partakers thereof, and suffered themselves, through the power of the devil, to be overcome, and to deny the truth and defy my power-- They are they who are the sons of perdition, of whom I say that it had been better for them never to have been born, For they are vessels of wrath, doomed to suffer the wrath of God, with the devil and his angels in eternity; Concerning whom I have said there is no forgiveness in this world nor in the world to come, Having denied the Holy Spirit after having received it, and having denied the Only Begotten Son of the Father--having crucified him unto themselves, and put him to an open shame. These are they who shall go away into the lake of fire and brimstone, with the devil and his angels, And the only ones on whom the second death shall have any power; Yea, verily, the only ones who shall not be redeemed in the due time of the Lord, after the sufferings of his wrath; For all the rest shall be brought forth by the resurrection of the dead, through the triumph and the glory of the Lamb, who was slain, who was in the bosom of the Father before the worlds were made. And this is the gospel, the glad tidings which the voice out of the heavens bore record unto us, That he came into the world, even Jesus, to be crucified for the world, and to bear the sins of the world, and to sanctify the world, and to cleanse it from all unrighteousness; That through him all might be saved whom the Father had put into his power and made by him, Who glorifies the Father, and saves all the works of his hands, except those sons of perdition, who deny the Son after the Father has revealed him; Wherefore, he saves all except them they shall go away into everlasting punishment, which is endless punishment, which is eternal punishment, to reign with the devil and his angels in eternity, where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched, which is their torment; And the end thereof, neither the place thereof, nor their torment, no man knows, Neither was it revealed, neither is, neither will be revealed unto man, except to them who are made partakers thereof: Nevertheless I, the Lord, show it by vision unto many, but straightway shut it up again; Wherefore the end, the width, the height, the depth, and the misery thereof, they understand not, neither any man except them who are ordained unto this condemnation. And we heard the voice, saying, Write the vision, for lo! this is the end of the vision of the sufferings of the ungodly! OF THOSE WHO INHERIT THE CELESTIAL GLORY. And again, we bear record, for we saw and heard, and this is the testimony of the gospel of Christ, concerning them who come forth in the resurrection of the just; They are they who received the testimony of Jesus, and believed on his name and were baptized after the manner of his burial, being buried in the water in his name, and this according to the commandment which he has given, That by keeping the commandments they might be washed and cleansed from all their sins, and receive the Holy Spirit by the laying on of the hands of him who is ordained and scaled unto this power, And who overcome by faith, and are sealed by the Holy Spirit of promise, which the Father sheds forth upon all those who are just and true. They are they who are the church of the first born. They are they into whose hands the Father has given all things-- They are they who are Priests and Kings, who have received of his fullness, and of his glory, And are Priests of the Most High, after the order of Melchisedek, which was after the order of Enoch, which was after the order of the Only Begotten Son; Wherefore, as it is written, they are Gods, even the sons of God-- Wherefore all things are theirs, whether life or death, or things present, or things to come, all are theirs and they are Christ's and Christ is God's; And they shall overcome all things; Wherefore let no man glory in man, but rather let him glory in God, who shall subdue all enemies under his feet-- These shall dwell in the presence of God and his Christ for ever and ever. These are they whom he shall bring with him, when he shall come in the clouds of heaven, to reign on the earth over his people. These are they who shall have part in the first resurrection. These are they who shall come forth in the resurrection of the just. These are they who are come unto Mount Zion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly place, the holiest of all. These are they who have come to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of Enoch, and of the first born. These are they whose names are written in heaven, where God and Christ are the judge of all. These are they who are just men made perfect through Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, who wrought out this perfect atonement through the shedding of his own blood. These are they whose bodies are celestial, whose glory is that of the sun, even the glory of God, the highest of all, whose glory the sun of the firmament is written of as being typical. THOSE OF THE TERRESTRIAL GLORY. And again, we saw the terrestrial world, and behold and lo, these are they who are of the terrestrial, whose glory differs from that of the church of the first born, who have received the fullness of the Father, even as that of the moon differs from the sun in the firmament. Behold, these are they who died without law, And also they who are the spirits of men kept in prison, whom the Son visited, and preached the gospel unto them, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, Who received not the testimony of Jesus in the flesh, but afterwards received it. These are they who are honorable men of the earth, who were blinded by the craftiness of men. These are they who receive of his glory, but not of his fullness. These are they who receive of the presence of the Son, but not of the fullness of the Father; Wherefore they are bodies terrestrial, and not bodies celestial, and differ in glory as the moon differs from the sun. These are they who are not valiant in the testimony of Jesus; wherefore they obtain not the crown over the kingdom of our God. And now this is the end of the vision which we saw of the terrestrial, that the Lord commanded us to write while we were yet in the Spirit. THOSE WHO INHERIT THE TELESTIAL GLORY. And again, we saw the glory of the telestial, which glory is that of the lesser, even as the glory of the stars differs from that of the glory of the moon in the firmament. These are they who received not the gospel of Christ, neither the testimony of Jesus. These are they who deny not the Holy Spirit. These are they who are thrust down to hell. These are they who shall not be redeemed from the devil, until the last resurrection, until the Lord, even Christ the Lamb shall have finished his work. These are they who receive not of his fullness in the eternal world, but of the Holy Spirit through the ministration of the terrestrial; And the terrestrial through the ministration of the celestial; And also the telestial receive it of the administering of angels who are appointed to minister for them, or who are appointed to be ministering spirits for them, for they shall be heirs of salvation. SUMMARY OF THE GREAT VISION. And thus we saw in the heavenly vision, the glory of the telestial, which surpasses all understanding, And no man knows it except him to whom God has revealed it. And thus we saw the glory of the terrestrial, which excels in all things the glory of the telestial, even in glory, and in power, and in might, and in dominion. And thus we saw the glory of the celestial, which excels in all things--where God, even the Father, reigns upon his throne for ever and ever; Before whose throne all things bow in humble reverence and give him glory for ever and ever. They who dwell in his presence are the church of the first born, and they see as they are seen, and know as they are known, having received of his fullness and of his grace; And he makes them equal in power, and in might, and in dominion. And the glory of the celestial is one, even as the glory of the sun is one. And the glory of the terrestrial is one, even as the glory of the moon is one. And the glory of the telestial is one, even as the glory of the stars is one, for as one star differs from another star in glory, even so differs one from another in glory in the telestial world; For these are they who are of Paul, and of Apollos, and of Cephas. These are they who say they are some of one and some of another--some of Christ and some of John, and some of Moses, and some of Elias, and some of Esaias, and some of Isaiah, and some of Enoch; But receive not the gospel, neither the testimony of Jesus, neither the prophets, neither the everlasting covenant. Last of all, these all are they who will not be gathered with the saints, to be caught up unto the church of the first born, and received into the cloud. These are they who are liars, and sorcerers, and adulterers, and whoremongers, and whosoever loves and makes a lie. These are they who suffer the wrath of God on the earth. These are they who suffer the vengeance of eternal fire. These are they who are cast down to hell and suffer the wrath of Almighty God, until the fullness of times when Christ shall have subdued all enemies under his feet, and shall have perfected his work, When he shall deliver up the kingdom, and present it unto the Father spotless, saying--I have overcome and have trodden the wine-press alone, even the wine-press of the fierceness of the wrath of Almighty God. Then shall he be crowned with the crown of his glory, to sit on the throne of his power to reign for ever and ever. But behold, and lo, we saw the glory and the inhabitants of the telestial world, that they were as innumerable as the stars in the firmament of heaven, or as the sand upon the sea shore, And heard the voice of the Lord, saying--these all shall bow the knee, and every tongue shall confess to him who sits upon the throne for ever and ever; For they shall be judged according to their works, and every man shall receive according to his own works, his own dominion, in the mansions which are prepared, And they shall be servants of the Most High, but where God and Christ dwell they cannot come, worlds without end. This is the end of the vision which we saw, which we were commanded to write while we were yet in the Spirit. But great and marvelous are the works of the Lord, and the mysteries of his kingdom which he showed unto us, which surpasses all understanding in glory, and in might, and in dominion, Which he commanded us we should not write while we were yet in the Spirit, and are not lawful for man to utter; Neither is man capable to make them known, for they are only to be seen and understood by the power of the Holy Spirit, which God bestows on those who love him, and purify themselves before him; To whom he grants this privilege of seeing and knowing for themselves; That through the power and manifestation of the Spirit, while in the flesh, they may be able to bear his presence in the world of glory. And to God and the Lamb be glory, and honor, and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. CHAPTER XXVII. DOCTRINAL DEVELOPMENT AT NAUVOO--THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE RESURRECTION. IT should be remembered that the preaching of Alexander Campbell, the founder of the "Church of the Disciples," or "Christians," had a widespread influence in the western States of the Union, including Illinois. Among other things taught by him in his public ministry was that the baptism of John was not identical with Christian baptism, and that the Kingdom of God was not set up in the earth until after the Son of God was glorified and the day of Pentecost was come. It was perhaps because of the very extended acceptance of these views throughout the West which led the Prophet to make the following comprehensive remarks about the baptism of John and the Kingdom of God. OF JOHN'S BAPTISM. Some say the Kingdom of God was not set up until the day of Pentecost, and that John did not preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins; but I say, in the name of the Lord, that the Kingdom of God was set up on the earth from the days of Adam to the present time. * * * As touching the Gospel and baptism that John preached, I would say that John came preaching the Gospel for the remission of sins; he had his authority from God, and the oracles of God were with him, and the Kingdom of God for a season seemed to rest with John alone. * * * John was a priest after the order of Aaron and had the keys of that Priesthood, and came forth preaching repentance and baptism for the remission of sins, but at the same time cries out, "There cometh one after me more mighty than I, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose;" and Christ came according to the words of John, and he was greater than John, because He held the keys of the Melchisedek Priesthood and Kingdom of God, and had before revealed the Priesthood to Moses; yet Christ was baptized by John to fulfill all righteousness. * * * [John] preached the same Gospel and baptism that Jesus and the Apostles preached after him. The endowment was to prepare the disciples for their mission unto the world. OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD. Whenever there has been a righteous man on earth unto whom God revealed His word and gave power and authority to administer in His name, and where there is a priest of God--a minister who has power and authority from God to administer in the ordinances of the Gospel and officiate in the Priesthood of God--there is the Kingdom of God; and in consequence of rejecting the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Prophets whom God had sent, the judgments of God have rested upon peoples, cities and nations, in various ages of the world, which was the case with the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, which were destroyed for rejecting the Prophets. * * * Whenever men can find out the will of God, and find an administrator legally authorized from God, there is the Kingdom of God; but where these are not, the Kingdom of God is not. All the ordinances, systems and administrations on the earth are of no use to the children of men, unless they are ordained and authorized of God; for nothing will save a man but a legal administration; for none other will be acknowledged either by God or angels. * * * * * * Some say the Kingdom of God was not set up until the day of Pentecost, and that John did not preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins; but I say, in the name of the Lord, that the Kingdom of God was set up on the earth from the days of Adam to the present time. * * * Now I will give my testimony. I care not for man. I speak boldly and faithfully, and with authority. How is it with the Kingdom of God? Where did the Kingdom of God begin? Where there is no Kingdom of God, there is no salvation. What constitutes the Kingdom of God? Where there is a Prophet, a Priest, or a righteous man unto whom God gives His oracles, there is the Kingdom of God; and where the oracles of God are not, there the Kingdom of God is not. In these remarks I have no allusion to the kingdoms of the earth. We will keep the laws of the land; we do not speak against them; we never have, and we can hardly make mention of the State of Missouri, of our persecutions there, etc., but what the cry goes forth that we are guilty of larceny, burglary, arson, treason, murder, etc., etc., which is false. We speak of the Kingdom of God on the earth, not the kingdoms of men. * * * But, says one, the Kingdom of God could not be set up in the days of John, for John said the Kingdom was at hand. But I would ask if it could be any nearer to them than to be in the hands of John? The people need not wait for the day of Pentecost to find the Kingdom of God, for John had it with him, and he came forth from the wilderness, crying out "Repent ye, for the Kingdom of Heaven is nigh at hand," as much as to say, "Out here I have got the Kingdom of God, and I am coming after you; and if you don't receive it, you will be damned," and the Scriptures represent that all Jerusalem went out unto John's baptism. There was a legal administrator, and those that were baptized were subjects for a king; and also the laws and oracles of God were there, therefore the Kingdom of God was there, for no man could have better authority to administer than John, and our Savior submitted to that authority Himself by being baptized by John, therefore the Kingdom of God was set up on the earth even in the days of John. * * * Again, he says, "Except ye are born of the water and of the Spirit, ye cannot enter into the Kingdom of God; and though the heavens and earth should pass away, my words should not pass away." If a man is born of water and of the Spirit, he can get into the Kingdom of God. It is evident the Kingdom of God was on earth, and John prepared subjects for the Kingdom, by preaching to them and baptizing them, and he prepared the way before the Savior, or came as a forerunner, and prepared subjects for the preaching of Christ, and Christ preached through Jerusalem on the same ground where John had preached, and when the Apostles were raised up, they worked in Jerusalem and Jesus commanded them to tarry there until they were endowed with power from on high. Had they not work to do in Jerusalem? They did work and prepared a people for the Pentecost. The Kingdom of God was with them before the day of Pentecost, as well as afterwards. It is evident from all this that, speaking broadly, with the Prophet the Kingdom of God was the government of God on earth and in heaven--whether that government was manifested through the authority of a single individual or a complete system of ecclesiastical or national government. This is, however, speaking broadly, not to say loosely; and in the same manner that the subject is spoken of in holy scripture where the phrases _Kingdom of God, Kingdom of Heaven, the Church of Christ, Church of God, the Church_, etc., are often used interchangeably and indiscriminately to represent in a general way that divine institution which God in whole or in part from time to time establishes to help man in the matter of his salvation. But it is proper for the reader to know that Joseph Smith when speaking strictly recognized a distinction between "The Church of Jesus Christ" and the "Kingdom of God." And not only a distinction but a separation of one from the other. The Kingdom of God according to his teaching is to be a political institution that shall hold sway over all the earth; to which all other governments will be subordinate and by which they will be dominated. Of this Kingdom Christ is the King; for He is to reign "King of Kings" as well as "Lord of Lords." While all governments are to be in subjection to the Kingdom of God, it does not follow that all its members will be of one religious faith. The Kingdom of God is not necessarily made up exclusively of members of the Church of Christ. In fact the Prophet taught that men not members of The Church could be, not only members of that Kingdom, but also officers within it. It is to grant the widest religious toleration, though exacting homage and loyalty to its great Head, to its institutions, and obedience to its laws. On the other hand the Church of Christ is purely an ecclesiastical organization, comprising within its membership only those who have embraced the Gospel of Jesus Christ; who inwardly have accepted its principles in their faith, and outwardly have received the rites and ceremonies it prescribes. Of this Church Jesus Christ is the Head, since He is to be "Lord of Lords" as well as "King of Kings." The Church is peculiarly Christ's. It bears His name. It is composed of members who, while not behind others in doing Him homage, as the head of the Kingdom of God, accept Him as more than the King of Kings--they accept Him as Lord--as Lord of Lords, as Redeemer--Savior--God. But the Church of Christ, precious as it is; beloved by its great Head; in the harmony of its truth, perfect; in the beauty of its holiness, passing all praise; in its power of salvation, absolute--yet the Church of Christ will doubtless stand under the protecting aegis of the Kingdom of God in common with other systems of religion, enjoying only such rights as will be common to all. And while the Church of Christ will enjoy to the full her privileges, promulgate her faith without let or hindrance, make known the truth she holds and her saving grace and power, and manage her own affairs--yet she will not usurp the prerogative of the Kingdom of God, nor interfere with those outside the pale of her jurisdiction--outside of her membership. Such, in substance, was the teaching of the Prophet on this subject. Not publicly, or at least not very publicly; but he taught the foregoing in the counsels of the Priesthood as many testify, and effected an organization as a nucleus of the Kingdom above referred to of which some who were not in The Church were members. It will be understood, then, that what I have quoted from the Prophet's discourses on the subject of the Kingdom of God is spoken broadly; in a sense which recognizes the Kingdom of God simply as the government of God on earth or in heaven; and whether represented by a single individual holding divine authority, or a regular system of government; and which, loosely, may be and is applied to the Church of Christ, or some part thereof. THE GLORIOUS COMING OF THE SON OF GOD. It was this year, 1843, that the speculations of William Miller fixed upon for the glorious coming of the Son of God, to reign with His Saints on the earth for a thousand years. Though Mr. Miller was but a religious enthusiast, yet his teachings and his deductions from the prophecies of Daniel and John the Revelator created no little stir throughout the United States, and many thousands of people were looking for the appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ, expecting the resurrection of the dead to begin, and the promised reign of righteousness to follow. The agitation concerning this great event naturally led to many inquiries being submitted to the Prophet concerning it, and he did not hesitate to boldly cross the statements of Mr. Miller on the subject, and contradict his deductions based upon the predictions of the prophets. Joseph Smith stood at the head of the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times, and he knew too well the then present status of the work of God to be deceived into believing that the time for the coming of the Son of God had arrived. The great preliminary work which is to precede that great event had not been accomplished, and until that work was done the Prophet knew that Jesus would not come in the clouds of heaven in power and great glory. It was reported in the Chicago _Express_ that one Hyrum Redding had actually seen the promised sign of the coming of the Son of Man, concerning which Joseph in a communication to the _Times and Seasons_ said: Mr. Redding may have seen a wonderful appearance in the clouds one morning about sunrise, (which is nothing very uncommon in the winter season,) he has not seen the sign of the Son of Man, as foretold by Jesus; neither has any man, nor will any man, until after the sun has been darkened and the moon bathed in blood; for the Lord hath not shown me any such sign; and as the prophet saith, so it must be: "Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but He revealeth His secret unto His servants the prophets." (See Amos, III, 7.) Therefore hear this, O earth. The Lord will not come to reign over the righteous, in this world, in 1843, nor until everything for the Bridegroom is ready. Referring again to the subject, some time later, he said, in a public discourse-- I was once praying very earnestly to know the time of the coming of the Son of Man, when I heard a voice repeat the following: "Joseph, my son, if thou livest until thou art eighty-five years old, thou shalt see the face of the Son of Man; therefore let this suffice, and trouble me no more on this matter." I was left thus without being able to decide whether this coming referred to the beginning of the millennium or to some previous appearing, or whether I should die and thus see His face. I believe that the coming of the Son of Man will not be any sooner than that time. On still another occasion the Prophet said: Were I going to prophesy I would say the end will not come in 1844, 5 or 6, or in forty years. There are those of the rising generation who shall not taste death until Christ comes. I was once praying earnestly upon this subject, and a voice said unto me, "My son, if thou livest until thou art eighty-five years of age, thou shalt see the face of the Son of Man." I was left to draw my own conclusion concerning this: and I took the liberty to conclude that if I did live to that time, He would make His appearance. But I do not say whether He will make His appearance or I shall go where He is. I prophesy in the name of the Lord God, and let it be written, The Son of Man will not come in the clouds of heaven till I am eighty-five years old. [He] then read the fourteenth chapter of Revelations, 6th and 7th verses: "And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people, saying with a loud voice, Fear God and give glory to him for the hour of his judgment is come." And Hosea 6th chapter, after two days, etc.,--2,520 years; which brings it to 1890. The coming of the Son of Man never will be--never can be till the judgments spoken of for this hour are poured out; which judgments are commenced. Paul says: "Ye are children of the light and not of the darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief in the night." It is not the design of the Almighty to come upon the earth and crush it, and grind it to powder, but He will reveal it to His servants the prophets. Judah must return, Jerusalem must be rebuilt, and the Temple, and water come out from under the Temple, and the waters of the Dead Sea be healed. It will take some time to build the walls of the city and the Temple, etc., and all this must be done before the Son of Man will make His appearance. There will be wars and rumors of wars, signs in the heaven above and on the earth beneath, the sun turned into darkness and the moon to blood, earthquakes in divers places, the seas heaving beyond their bounds; there will appear one grand sign of the Son of Man in Heaven. But what will the world do? They will say it is a comet, a planet, etc. But the Son of Man will come as the sign of the coming of the Son of Man which will be as the light of the morning cometh [coming] out of the east. I would again remind the reader that these reports of remarks and discourses of the Prophet's are imperfect, having been written in long-hand, and in part from memory and therefore really are only synopses of what was said. I call attention to this at this point because the imperfections in construction of the above are very apparent, so also the fact that the report in this case is very much abbreviated. Still the substance--the great facts concerning the work to precede the coming of the Son of Man, and the prediction that the Son of Man will not come until that work is performed, are all there, and that is the important thing. Of the appearance of the Savior when He does come, the Prophet said; When the Savior shall appear, we shall see Him as He is. We shall see that He is a man like ourselves, and the same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory, which glory we do not now enjoy. OF THE RESURRECTION. No less interesting were the Prophet's teaching on the subject of the resurrection of the dead. To a remark of Elder Orson Pratt's to the effect that a man's body changes every seven years, the Prophet replied: There is no fundamental principle belonging to a human system that ever goes into another in this world or in the world to come. I care not what the theories of men are. We have the testimony that God will raise us up, and He has the power to do it. If any one supposes that any part of our bodies, that is, the fundamental parts thereof, ever goes into another body he is mistaken. Speaking of the desirability of an honorable burial, and of living and dying among friends in connection with the resurrection, the Prophet said at the funeral services held in honor of Lorenzo D. Barnes, who had died while on a mission to England: I believe those who have buried their dead here, their condition is enviable. Look at Jacob and Joseph in Egypt, how they required their friends to bury them in the tomb of their fathers. See the expense which attended the embalming and the going up of the great company to the burial. It has always been considered a great calamity not to obtain an honorable burial; and one of the greatest curses the ancient prophets could put on any man was that he should go without a burial. * * * * * * * * * I would esteem it one of the greatest blessings if I am going to be afflicted in this world, to have my lot cast, where I can find brothers and friends all around me. But this is not the thing I referred to: it is to have the privilege of having our dead buried on the land where God has appointed to gather His Saints together, and where there will be none but Saints, where they may have the privilege of laying their bodies where the Son of Man will make His appearance, and where they may hear the sound of the trump that shall call them forth to behold Him, that in the morn of the resurrection they may come forth in a body, and come up out of their graves and strike hands immediately in eternal glory and felicity, rather than be scattered thousands of miles apart. There is something good and sacred to me in this thing. The place where a man is buried is sacred to me. This subject is made mention of in the Book of Mormon and the Scriptures. Even to the aborigines of this land, the burying places of their fathers are more sacred than anything else. When I heard of the death of our beloved Brother Barnes, it would not have affected me so much if I had the opportunity of burying him in the land of Zion. * * * I have said, Father, I desire to die here among the Saints. But if this is not Thy will, and I go hence and die, wilt Thou find some kind friend and bring my body back, and gather my friends who have fallen in foreign lands, and bring them up hither, that we may all lie together. * * * * * * * * * * * If tomorrow I shall be called to lie in yonder tomb, in the morning of the resurrection let me strike hands with my father, and cry, "My father, father!" and he will say, "My son, my son!" as soon as the rocks rend and before we come out of our graves. And may we contemplate these things so? Yes, if we learn how to live and how to die. When we lie down we contemplate how we may rise up in the morning: and it is pleasing for friends to lie down together, locked in the arms of love, to sleep and wake in each others' embrace and renew their conversation. * * * * * * Would you think it strange if I relate what I have seen in vision in relation to this interesting theme? Those who have died in Jesus Christ may expect to enter into all that fruition of joy, when they come forth, which they possessed or anticipated here. So plain was the vision, that I actually saw men, before they had ascended from the tomb, as though they were getting up slowly. They took each other by the hand, and said to each other, "My father, my son, my mother, my daughter, my brother, my sister." And when the voice calls for the dead to rise, suppose I am laid by the side of my father, what would be the first joy of my heart? To meet my father, my mother, my brother, my sister and when they are by my side, I embrace them, and they me. It is my meditation all the day, and more than my meat and drink, to know how I shall make the Saints of God comprehend the visions that roll like an overflowing surge before my mind. * * * Lay hold of these things, and let not your knees or joints tremble, nor your heart faint; and then what can earthquakes, wars and tornadoes do? Nothing. All your losses will be made up to you in the resurrection, provided you continue faithful, by the vision of the Almighty I have seen it. * * * More painful to me are the thoughts of annihilation than death. If I had no expectation of seeing my father, mother, brothers, sisters and friends again, my heart would burst in a moment, and I should go down to my grave. The expectation of seeing my friends in the morning of the resurrection cheers my soul and makes me bear up against the evils of life. It is like their taking a long journey, and on their return we meet them with increased joy. God has revealed His Son from the heavens, and the doctrine of the resurrection also, and we have a knowledge that those we bring here God will bring up again clothed upon and quickened by the Spirit of the Great God, and what mattereth it, whether we lay them down, or we lay down with them, when we can keep them no longer? Then let them sink down like a ship in a storm--the mighty anchor holds her safe. So let these truths sink down in our hearts, that we may even here begin to enjoy that which shall be in full hereafter. Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna to Almighty God, that rays of light begin to burst forth upon us even now! GOD'S AND ANGELS' TIME. In answer to the question, "Is not the reckoning of God's time, angels' time, prophets' time and man's time according to the planet on which they reside?" I answer, yes. But there are no angels who minister to this earth but those who belong or have belonged to it. The angels do not reside on a planet like this earth; but they reside in the presence of God, on a globe like a sea of glass and fire, where all things for their glory are manifest--past, present and future, and are continually before the Lord. THE EARTH IN ITS SANCTIFIED STATE. The following is an entry in his journal: Saturday, 18th of February [1843.] While at dinner I remarked to my family and friends present, that when the earth was sanctified and became like a sea of glass, it would be one great Urim and Thummim and the Saints could look in it and see as they are seen. Later in public, on the same subject, he said: The place where God resides is a great Urim and Thummim. This earth in its sanctified and immortal state, will be made like unto crystal and will be a Urim and Thummim to the inhabitants who dwell thereon, whereby all things pertaining to an inferior kingdom or all kingdoms of a lower order, will be manifest to those who dwell on it; and this earth will be Christ's. Then the white stone mentioned in Revelation II: 17, will become a Urim and Thummim to each individual who receives one, whereby things pertaining to a higher order of kingdoms, will be made known, and a white stone is given to each of those who come into the celestial kingdom, whereon is a new name written, which no man knoweth save he that receiveth it. The new name is the key word. CHAPTER XXVIII. DOCTRINAL DEVELOPMENT--PROPHECIES. THIS period under consideration was rich in prophecies. The boldness of Joseph Smith's predictions was startling; but it is to be remarked that they have been fulfilled as fast as the wheels of time have brought them due. A PREDICTION UPON THE PRESENT GENERATION. I prophesy, in the name of the Lord God of Israel, anguish and wrath and tribulation and the withdrawing of the Spirit of God from the earth await this generation, until they are visited with utter desolation. This generation is as corrupt as the generation of the Jews that crucified Christ; and if He were here today and should preach the same doctrine He did then, they would put Him to death. I defy all the world to destroy the work of God, and I prophesy they never will have power to kill me till my work is accomplished, and I am ready to die. PROPHECY ON WAR. I prophesy in the name of the Lord God, that the commencement of the difficulties which will cause much bloodshed previous to the coming of the Son of Man will be in South Carolina. It may probably arise through the slave question. This a voice declared to me while I was praying very earnestly on the subject, December 25th, 1832. These remarks were made in April, 1843, at a place called Raymus, near Nauvoo; and the incidental reference to what a voice had declared to him respecting the war to begin in South Carolina, is doubtless an allusion to the more formal prophecy on that great subject, and which I consider of so much importance that while it does not strictly belong to the period under consideration, I give it _in extenso_, as connected with the lesser prophecy quoted above. PROPHECY ON THE WARS OF THE LAST DAYS. Verily, thus saith the Lord, concerning the wars that will shortly come to pass, beginning at the rebellion of South Carolina, which will eventually terminate in the death and misery of many souls. The days will come that war will be poured out upon all nations, beginning at that place; For behold, the Southern States shall be divided against the Northern States, and the Southern States will call on other nations, even the nation of Great Britain, as it is called, and they shall also call upon other nations, in order to defend themselves against other nations; and thus war shall be poured out upon all nations. And it shall come to pass, after many days, slaves shall rise up against their masters, who shall be marshalled and disciplined for war: And it shall come to pass also, that the remnants who are left of the land will marshal themselves, and shall become exceeding angry, and shall vex the Gentiles with a sore vexation; And thus with the sword, and by bloodshed, the inhabitants of the earth shall mourn; and with famine, and plague, and earthquakes, and the thunder of heaven, and the fierce and vivid lightning also, shall the inhabitants of the earth be made to feel the wrath, and indignation and chastening hand of an Almighty God, until the consumption decreed, hath made a full end of all nations; That the cry of the saints, and of the blood of the saints, shall cease to come up into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, from the earth, to be avenged of their enemies. Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the Lord come; for behold it cometh quickly, saith the Lord Amen. I do not hesitate to refer to this prophecy as one of the boldest, most forceful and remarkable ever uttered by a prophet of God in either ancient or modern times; and its exact and minute fulfillment to be read in the history of the United States and other countries is as astonishing as the prediction is bold. [1] This prophecy was given in December, 1832; and the Elders in those days, at least a number of them, carried manuscript copies of it with them on their missionary journeys, and frequently read it to their congregations in various parts of the United States. In Volume XIII of the _Millennial Star_, published in 1851, pages 216, 217, is an advertisement of a new publication to be called the _Pearl of Great Price_. In the announced contents is named this revelation of December, 1832, on war, with the statement that it had "never before appeared in print." Subsequently, but in the same year, 1851, the _Pearl of Great Price_ with this prophecy in it, word for word as it is here quoted, was published by Franklin D. Richards, in Liverpool, England. There are copies of the first edition still extant. PREDICTION THAT THE SAINTS WOULD REMOVE TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS AND BECOME A GREAT PEOPLE. No less remarkable perhaps was the Prophet's great prediction of the sixth of August, 1842, given in his history under that date and published in the _Millennial Star_, [2] concerning the removal of the Latter-day Saints to the Rocky Mountains, then a thousand miles beyond the frontiers of the United States; but of which I shall not say more here as it is to receive consideration in a subsequent chapter. PROPHECY UPON THE HEAD OF STEPHEN A. DOUGLASS. In the daily journal of Wm. Clayton, who at the time the following prophecy was made was private secretary of the Prophet, and almost his constant companion--under date of May 18th, 1843, occurs the following entry concerning a visit with the Prophet to Judge Douglass at Carthage: Dined with Judge Stephen A. Douglass, who is presiding at court. After dinner Judge Douglass requested President Joseph to give him a history of the Missouri persecutions; which he did in a very minute manner for about three hours. He also gave a relation of his journey to Washington City, and his application in behalf of the Saints to Mr. Van Buren, the President of the United States, for redress, and Mr. Van Buren's pusillanimous reply: "Gentlemen, your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you," and the cold, unfeeling manner in which he was treated by most of the senators and representatives in relation to the subject, Clay saying, "You had better go to Oregon," and Calhoun shaking his head and solemnly saying, "It's a nice question; a critical question, but it will not do to agitate it." The judge listened with the greatest attention, and then spoke warmly in deprecation of the conduct of Governor Boggs and the authorities of Missouri, who had taken part in the extermination, and said that any people that would do as the mobs of Missouri had done ought to be brought to judgment; they ought to be punished. President Smith, in concluding his remarks, said that if the government which received into its coffers the money of citizens for its public lands, while its officials are rolling in luxury at the expense of its public treasury, cannot protect such citizens in their lives and property, it is an old granny anyhow, and I prophesy, in the name of the Lord God of Israel, unless the United States redress the wrongs committed upon the Saints in the State of Missouri and punish the crimes committed by her officers, that in a few years the government will be utterly overthrown and wasted and there will not be so much as a potsherd left, for their wickedness in permitting the murder of men, women and children and the wholesale plunder and extermination of thousands of her citizens to go unpunished, thereby perpetrating a foul and corroding blot upon the fair fame of this great republic, the very thought of which would have caused the high-minded and patriotic framers of the Constitution of the United States to hide their faces with shame. _Judge, you will aspire to the presidency of the United States; and if you ever turn your hand against me or the Latter-day Saints you will feel the weight of the hand of the Almighty upon you; and you will live to see and know that I have testified the truth to you, for the conversation of this day will stick to you through life. He appeared very friendly and acknowledged the truth and propriety of President Smith's remarks_. This prophecy was published in Utah, in the _Desert News_ of September 24th, 1856; and afterwards in England in the _Millennial Star_ of February, 1859. It is well known that Douglass did finally aspire to the Presidency of the United States, that he was nominated by a confident, aggressive party in 1860; and it is also known that in the elections of that year that party which had controlled the destinies almost uninterruptedly for forty years became demoralized; that Abraham Lincoln was triumphantly elected, receiving one hundred and eighty electoral votes, while Mr. Douglass received but 12; that Mr. Douglass some six weeks later died a disappointed not to say heart-broken man. All this is known, but it is not so generally known that on the twelfth of June, 1857, about one year after the prediction of his friend Joseph Smith was published in the _Desert News_, in Utah, he most cowardly betrayed the people of that friend and united with their enemies in a most unjustifiable assault upon them, and in the fervor of his eloquence and to gain the favor of the populace, he cried out against them-- The knife must be applied to this pestiferous, disgusting cancer which is gnawing into the very vitals of the body politic. It must be cut out by the roots, and seared over by the red hot iron of stern and unflinching law. * * * Repeal the organic law of the Territory, on the ground that they are alien enemies and outlaws, unfit to be the citizens of a Territory, much less to ever become citizens of one of the free and independent States of this confederacy. [3] He little dreamed that in these utterances he was sealing his own political doom, and leaving on record an event that was to stand as a monument to the inspiration of Joseph Smith. Footnotes: 1. For the consideration of the fulfillment of this prophecy the reader is referred to the writer's "New Witness for God," ch. XXIII. 2. Vol. xix, page 630. 3. The speech is published in the _Missouri Republican_ for June 18, 1857. For a more complete consideration of the prophecy, the reader is referred to the author's "New Witness for God," chapter xxii. CHAPTER XXIX. DOCTRINAL DEVELOPMENT AT NAUVOO--OF THE BEING AND NATURE OF GOD. WHEN Joseph Smith in 1820 declared that he had in open vision seen God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ standing together above him in the air, surrounded by a glorious brilliancy of light which defied all description, and that God the Father pointed to Jesus and said: "_Joseph, this is my beloved Son, hear Him_"-- it is quite evident that new ideas pertaining to God were about to be promulgated among men. The facts of this vision were quite at variance with the orthodox notions entertained about the Godhead. It is quite true that Christians talked about the Father and the Son, and as for the latter they had to concede that He was in the form of man, and remains so to this day, as they have no reason to believe that the all-glorious resurrected body of flesh and bones with which Jesus ascended to His Father has been dissolved and become incorporeal; but no orthodox Christian believed that the Father and the Son of the Scriptures were two distinct and separate individuals--a conclusion which this very first vision of the Prophet's forces upon the understanding if it is believed. The anthropomorphism of the vision is also too emphatic for the orthodox conception of God; for notwithstanding the Scriptures teach that man was created in the image of God; [1] and that Jesus Christ was the express image of His Father's person [2]--and certainly Jesus was in the form of man--yet the Christian orthodoxy gave such explanations of these facts of Scripture that they accepted not at all the idea that God the Father was a personage like unto man in form and as distinct as to His person from His Son Jesus Christ as is any father and son among men. The orthodox creed of the Godhead is as follows: We believe in one God, the Father Almighty, the maker of all things visible and invisible; and in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Son of God begotten of the Father, only begotten (that is) of the substance of the Father; God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God; begotten, not made; of the same substance with the Father, by whom all things are made, that are in heaven and that are in earth; who for us men, and for our salvation, descended and was incarnate, and became man; suffered and rose again the third day, ascended into the heavens and will come to judge the living and the dead; and in the Holy Spirit. But those who say there was a time when He [the Son] was not, and that He was not before He was begotten, and that He was made out of nothing or affirm that He is of any other substance or essence, or that the Son of God was created, and mutable, or changeable, the Catholic Church doth pronounce accursed. This is the creed of St. Athanasius, formulated at the Council of Nice, A.D. 325, and is universally accepted by orthodox Christians. The explanation of the creed as given by Athanasius will also be of interest: We worship one God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity; neither confounding the persons, nor dividing the substance. For there is one person of the Father, another of the Son, and another of the Holy Ghost. But the Godhead of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost is all one: The glory equal, the majesty co-eternal. Such as the Father is, such is the Son, and such is the Holy Ghost. The Father uncreate, the Son uncreate, and the Holy Ghost uncreate. The Father incomprehensible, the Son incomprehensible. The Father eternal, the Son eternal, and the Holy Ghost eternal. And yet these are not three eternals, but one eternal. As also there are not three incomprehensibles, nor three uncreated, but one uncreated and one incomprehensible. So likewise the Father is Almighty, the Son Almighty, and the Holy Ghost Almighty, and yet there are not three Almighties, but one Almighty. So the Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is God, and yet there are not three Gods, but one God. It is of course apparent at a glance that the first great revelation to Joseph Smith declared facts in relation to the nature of God--His personality--the fact that the Father was distinct from the Son--the fact that the there were two--or a plurality of Gods--which are at variance with the orthodox creed on the subject of Deity. This truth he continued to unfold from time to time, though the fullness and climax respecting this doctrine was reached at Nauvoo; and as it is the teachings of the Prophet and not a defense of them which I here wish to exhibit, I quote his own words: GOD'S DISTINCT PERSONALITY. The Father has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as a man's, the Son also, but the Holy Ghost has not a body of flesh and bones, but is a personage of spirit. Were it not so the Holy Ghost could not dwell in us. A man may receive the Holy Ghost, and it may descend upon him and not tarry in him. THE HOLY GHOST A PERSONAGE. The sign of the dove was instituted before the creation of the world, a witness of the Holy Ghost, and the devil cannot come in the sign of a dove. The Holy Ghost is a personage, and is in the form of a personage. It does not confine itself to the form of a dove, but in the sign of a dove. The Holy Ghost cannot be transformed into a dove; but the sign of a dove was given to John to signify the truth of the deed, as the dove is an emblem or token of truth and innocence. IGNORANCE AS TO THE CHARACTER OF GOD. It is necessary for us to have an understanding of God Himself in the beginning. There are but a very few beings in the world who understand rightly the character of God. The great majority of mankind do not comprehend anything, either that which is passed, or that which is to come, as it respects their relationship to God. They do not know neither do they understand the nature of that relationship, and consequently, they know but little above the brute beast, or more than to eat, drink and sleep. This is all man knows about God or His existence, unless it is given by the inspiration of the Almighty. WHAT KIND OF A BEING GOD IS. I want to ask this congregation, every man, woman and child, to answer the question in their own heart, what kind of a being God is. * * * God Himself was once as we are now, and is an exalted man, and sits enthroned in yonder heaven! That is the great secret. If the veil was rent today and the great God who holds this world in its orbit, and who upholds all worlds and all things by His power, was to make Himself visible, I say, if you were to see Him today, you would see Him like a man in form--like yourselves in all the person, image and very form as a man, for Adam was created in the very fashion, image and likeness of God, and received instruction from and walked, talked and conversed with Him, as one man talks and communes with another. * * * It is the first principle of the Gospel to know for a certainty the character of God and to know that we may converse with Him as one man converses with another, and that He was once a man like us; yea that God Himself, the Father of us all, dwelt on an earth, the same as Jesus Christ Himself did, and I will show it from the Bible. PLURALITY OF GODS ESTABLISHED BY THE LANGUAGE OF GENESIS. I shall comment on the very first Hebrew word in the Bible; I will make a comment on the very first sentence of the history of creation in the Bible--_Berosheit_. I want to analyze the word. _Baith_--in, by, through and everything else. _Rosh_--the head. _Sheit_--Grammatical termination. When the inspired man wrote it he did not put the _baith_ there. An old Jew without any authority added the word: he thought it too bad to begin to talk about the head! It read first, "The head one of the Gods brought forth the Gods." That is the true meaning of the words. _Baurau_ signifies to bring forth. If you do not believe it, you do not believe the learned man of God. Learned men can teach you no more than what I have told you. Thus the head God brought forth the Gods in the grand council. * * * The head God called together the Gods and sat in grand council to bring forth the world. The grand councilors sat at the head in yonder heavens and contemplated the creation of the worlds which were created at that time. * * * In the beginning, the head of the Gods called a council of the Gods, and they came together and concocted a plan to create the world and people it. Later in dwelling on the same subject he said: I will show from the Hebrew Bible that I am correct, and the first word shows a plurality of Gods, and I want the apostates and learned men to come here and prove to the contrary, if they can. An unlearned boy must give you a little Hebrew. _Berosheit baurau Eloheim ait aushamayeen uenhau auratis_, rendered by King James' translation: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." I want to analyze the word _Berosheit_. _Rosh_, the head; _sheit_, a grammatical termination. The _Baith_ was not originally put there when the inspired man wrote it, but it has been since added by an old Jew. _Baurau_ signifies to bring forth; Eloheim is from the word _Elio_, God, in the singular number, and by adding the word _heim_, it renders it Gods. It read first, "In the beginning the head of the Gods brought forth Gods," or as others have translated it, "The head of the Gods called the Gods together." SUSTAINED BY JOHN THE REVELATOR. President Joseph Smith read the third chapter of Revelations, and took for his text first chapter, sixth verse: "And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen." It is altogether correct in the translation. Now you know that of late some malicious and corrupt men have sprung up and apostatized from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they declare that the Prophet believes in a plurality of Gods, and lo and behold! we have discovered a very great secret, they cry: "The Prophet says there are many Gods, and this proves that he has fallen." * * * I will preach on the plurality of Gods. I have selected this text for that express purpose. I wish to declare I have always, and in all congregations when I have preached on the subject of the Deity, it has been the plurality of Gods. It has been preached by the Elders fifteen years. I have always declared God to be a distinct personage, Jesus Christ a separate and distinct personage from God the Father, and the Holy Ghost was a distinct personage and a Spirit; and these three constitute three distinct personages and three Gods. If this is in accordance with the New Testament, lo and behold, we have three Gods anyhow, and they are plural, and who can contradict it? BY THE TESTIMONY OF PAUL. Our text says: "And hath made us kings and priests unto God and _his Father_." The Apostles have discovered that there were Gods above, for Paul says God was the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. * * * John was one of the men, and the Apostles declare they were made kings and priests unto God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. It reads just so in the Revelation. Hence the doctrine of a plurality of Gods is as prominent in the Bible as any other doctrine. It is all over the face of the Bible. It stands beyond the power of controversy. "A wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err therein." Paul says there are Gods many and Lords many. I want to set it forth in a plain and simple manner, but to us there is but one God--that is _pertaining_ to us, and He is in all and through all. But if Joseph Smith says there are Gods many and Lords many, they cry, "Away with him, and crucify him, crucify him!" Mankind verily say that the Scriptures are with them. Search the Scriptures, for they testify of things that these apostates would gravely pronounce blasphemy. Paul, if Joseph Smith is a blasphemer, you are. I say there are Gods many, and Lords many, but to us only one; and we are to be in subjection to that one, and no man can limit the bounds or the eternal existence of eternal time. * * * Some say I do not interpret the Scriptures the same as they do. They say it means the heathen's gods. Paul says there are Gods many and Lords many, and that makes a plurality of Gods, in spite of the whims of all men. Without a revelation I am not going to give them the knowledge of the God of heaven. You know and I testify that Paul had no allusion to the heathen gods. I have it from God, and get over it if you can. I have a witness of the Holy Ghost, and a testimony that Paul had no allusion to the heathen gods in the text. BY THE PHILOSOPHY OF ABRAHAM. I want to reason a little on this subject. I learned it by translating the papyrus which is now in my house. I learned a testimony concerning Abraham, and he reasoned concerning the God of heaven. "In order to do that," said he, "suppose we have two facts; that supposes another fact may exist--two men on the earth, one wiser than the other, would logically show that another who is wiser than the wiser one may exist. Intelligences exist one above another, so that there is no end to them. If Abraham reasoned thus: If Jesus Christ was the Son of God, and John discovered that God, the Father of Jesus Christ, had a Father, you may suppose that He had a Father also. Where was there ever a son without a father? And where was there ever a father without first being a son? Whenever did a tree or anything spring into existence without a progenitor? And everything comes in this way. Paul says that which is earthly is in the likeness of that which is heavenly. Hence, if Jesus had a Father, can we not believe that He had a Father also? I despise the idea of being scared to death at such doctrine, for the Bible is full of it. BY THE TESTIMONY OF JESUS. I believe all that God ever revealed, and I never hear of a man being damned for believing too much; but they are damned for unbelief. They found fault with Jesus Christ because He said He was the Son of God, and made Himself equal with God. They say of me like they did of the Apostles of old, that I must be put down. What did Jesus say? "Is it not written in your law, I said, ye are Gods? If he called them Gods unto whom the word of God came, and the Scripture cannot be broken, say ye of him whom the Father has sanctified and sent into the world, Thou blasphemest, because I said I am the Son of God?" It was through Him that they drank of the spiritual rock. Of course He would take the honor Himself. Jesus, if they were called Gods unto whom the word of God came, why should it be thought blasphemy that I should say I am the Son of God? [3] HOW GOD CAME TO BE A GOD. We have imagined and supposed that God was God from all eternity. I will refute that idea, and will take away the vail, so that you may see. * * * The Scriptures inform us that Jesus said, "As the Father hath power in Himself, even so hath the Son power"--to do what? Why, what the Father did. The answer is obvious--in a manner to lay down His body and take it up again. Jesus, what are you going to do? To lay down My life as My Father did and take it up again. Do you believe it? If you do not believe it you do not believe the Bible. Here then is eternal life, to know the only wise and true God, and you have got to learn to be Gods yourselves, and to be kings and priests to God, the same as all Gods have done before you, namely, by going from one small degree to another, and from a small capacity to a great one; from grace to grace, from exaltation to exaltation, until you attain to the resurrection of the dead and are able to dwell in everlasting burnings, and to sit in glory as do those who sit enthroned in everlasting power. THE APPOINTMENT OF GODS. The Scriptures are a mixture of very strange doctrines to the Christian world, who are blindly led by the blind. I will refer to another Scripture. "Now," says God, when He visited Moses in the bush, (Moses was a stammering sort of a boy like me,) God said, "Thou shalt be a God unto the children of Israel." God said, "Thou shalt be a God unto Aaron, and he shall be thy spokesman." I believe those Gods that God reveals as Gods to be sons of Gods, and all can cry, "Abba Father!" Sons of God who exalt themselves to be Gods, even from before the foundation of the world and are the only Gods I have a reverence for. THE APPOINTMENT OF OUR GOD. The head of the Gods appointed one God for us; and when you take a view of the subject, it sets one free to see all the beauty, holiness and perfection of the Gods. All I want is to get the simple, naked truth, and the whole truth. THE ONENESS OF GOD--IN WHAT IT CONSISTS. Many men say there is one God; the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost are only one God! I say that is a strange God anyhow--three in one, and one in three! It is a curious organization. "Father, I pray not for the world, but I pray for them which Thou hast given me." "Holy Father, keep through Thine own name those whom Thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are." * * * I want to read the text to you myself: "I am agreed with the Father and the Father is agreed with Me, and we are agreed as one." The Greek shows that it should be "agreed." "Father, I pray for them which Thou hast given me out of the world, and not for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word, that they all may be agreed as Thou, Father, art agreed with me, and I with Thee, that they also may be agreed with us--" and all come to dwell in unity, and in all glory and everlasting burnings of the Gods; and then we shall see as we are seen, and be as our God, and He as His Father. OF MAN AND HIS IMMORTALITY. The doctrines which Joseph Smith taught respecting God were also calculated to have an effect on his teachings respecting man, and that it did so is evident from the following: I have another subject to dwell upon which is calculated to exalt man. * * * It is associated with the subject of the resurrection of the dead, namely, the soul--the mind of man--the immortal spirit. Where did it come from? All learned men, and doctors of divinity say that God created it in the beginning; but it is not so: the very idea lessens man in my estimation. I do not believe the doctrine. I know better. Hear it, all ye ends of the world, for God has told me so, if you don't believe me, it will not make the truth without effect. * * * We say that God Himself is a self-existent being. Who told you so? It is correct enough, but how did it get into your heads? Who told you that man did not exist in like manner upon the same principles? God made a tabernacle and put a spirit into it, and it became a living soul. [Refers to the old Bible.] How does it read in the Hebrew? It does not say in Hebrew that God created the spirit of man. It says, "God made man out of earth and put into him Adam's spirit, and so became a living body." * * * I am dwelling on the immortality of the spirit of man. Is it logical to say that the intelligence of spirits is immortal, and yet that it had a beginning? The intelligence of spirits had no beginning, neither will it have an end. That is good logic. That which has a beginning may have an end. There never was a time when there were not spirits, for they are co-equal with our Father in heaven. THE PROPHET'S VIEWS ON IMMATERIALITY AND ON CREATION. There is no such thing as immaterial matter. All spirit is matter, but it is more fine or pure, and can only be discerned by purer eyes. We cannot see it; but when our bodies are purified, we shall see that it is all matter. * * * You ask the wise doctors why they say the world was made out of nothing, and they will answer, "Don't the Bible say He created the world?" And they infer from that word _create_ that it must be made out of nothing. Now the word create came from the word _baurau_, which does not mean to create out of nothing; it means to organize, the same as man would organize material and build a ship. Hence we infer that God had materials to organize the world out of--chaos--chaotic matter, which is element, and in which dwells all the glory. Elements had an existence from the time He [God] had. The pure principles of elements can never be destroyed, they may be organized and reorganized, but not destroyed. They had no beginning, and can have no end. In order to present a more complete view of the importance of man as connected with the work of his redemption, his future exaltation and glory, as taught by the Prophet, I quote two discourses of his preached in Nauvoo some time previous to the period under consideration. The first is an excerpt from remarks of the Prophet made in reply to certain questions about the Priesthood and other subjects; the second is from an article presented by him at the October conference of 1840: I. The Priesthood was first given to Adam; he obtained the First Presidency, and held the keys of it from generation to generation. He obtained it in the creation, before the world was formed, as in Gen. 1, 20, 26, 28. He had dominion given him over every living creature. He is Michael, the Arch-Angel, spoken of in the Scriptures. Then to Noah, who is Gabriel; he stands next in authority to Adam in the Priesthood; he was called of God to this office, and was the Father of all living in his day, and to him was given the dominion. These men held keys first on earth, and then in heaven. The Priesthood is an everlasting principle, and existed with God from eternity, and will to eternity, without beginning of days or end of years. The keys have to be brought from heaven whenever the Gospel is sent. When they are revealed from heaven it is by Adam's authority. Daniel VII, speaks of the Ancient of Days; he means the oldest man, our Father Adam, Michael; he will call his children together and hold a council with them to prepare them for the coming of the Son of Man. He (Adam) is the father of the human family, and presides over the spirits of all men, and all that have had the keys must stand before him in this grand council. This may take place before some of us leave this stage of action. The Son of Man stands before him, and there is given Him glory and dominion. Adam delivers up his stewardship to Christ, that which was delivered to him as holding the keys of the universe, but retains his standing as head of the human family. The spirit of man is not a created being; it existed from eternity, and will exist to eternity. Anything created cannot be eternal; and earth, water, &c., had their existence in an elementary state, from eternity. Our Savior speaks of children and says, their angels always stand before my Father. The Father called all spirits before Him at the creation of man, and organized them. He (Adam) is the head and was told to multiply. The keys were first given to him, and by him to others. He will have to give an account of his stewardship and they to him. The Priesthood is everlasting. The Savior, Moses, and Elias, gave the keys to Peter, James, and John, on the mount, when He was transfigured before them. The Priesthood is everlasting--without beginning of days or end of years; without father, mother, &c. If there is no change of ordinances, there is no change of Priesthood. Wherever the ordinances of the Gospel are administered, there is the Priesthood. How have we come at the Priesthood in the last days? It came down, in regular succession. Peter, James, and John had it given to them, and they gave it to others. Christ is the great High Priest; Adam next. Paul speaks of The Church coming to an innumerable company of angels--to God, the Judge of all--the spirits of just men made perfect; to Jesus, the Mediator of the new covenant, &c., (Heb. III, 23.) I saw Adam in the valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman. He called together his children and blessed them with a patriarchal blessing. The Lord appeared in their midst, and he (Adam) blessed them all, and foretold what should befall them to the latest generation. (See D. C., sec. III, pars. 28, 29.) This is why Abraham blessed his posterity; he wanted to bring them into the presence of God. They looked for a city, &c. Moses sought to bring the children of Israel into the presence of God, through the power of the Priesthood, but he could not. In the first ages of the world they tried to establish the same thing; and there were Eliases raised up who tried to restore these very glories, but did not obtain them; but they prophesied of a day when this glory would be revealed. Paul spoke of the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times, when God would gather together all things in one, &c.; and those men to whom these keys have been given, will have to be there; and they without us cannot be made perfect. These men are in heaven, but their children are on earth. Their bowels yearn over us. God sends down men for this reason. (Matt. XIII, 41.) And the Son of Man shall send forth His angels, &c. All these authoritative characters will come down and join hand in hand in bringing about this work. II. In order to investigate the subject of the Priesthood, so important to this, as well as every succeeding generation, I shall proceed to trace the subject as far as I possibly can from the Old and New Testaments. There are two Priesthoods spoken of in the Scriptures, viz., the Melchisedek and the Aaronic or Levitical. Although there are two Priesthoods, yet the Melchisedek Priesthood comprehends the Aaronic or Levitical Priesthood, and is the grand head, and holds the highest authority which pertains to the Priesthood, and the keys of the Kingdom of God in all ages of the world to the latest posterity on the earth, and is the channel through which all knowledge, doctrine, the plan of salvation, and every important matter is revealed from heaven. Its institution was prior to "the foundation of this earth, or the morning stars sang together, or the Sons of God shouted for joy," and is the highest and holiest Priesthood, and is after the order of the Son of God, and all other Priesthoods are only parts, ramifications, powers, and blessings belonging to the same, and are held, controlled, and directed by it. It is the channel through which the Almighty commenced revealing His glory at the beginning of the creation of this earth, and through which He has continued to reveal Himself to the children of men to the present time, and through which He will make known His purposes to the end of time. Commencing with Adam, who was the first man, who is spoken of in Daniel as being the "Ancient of Days," or in other words, the first and oldest of all, the great grand progenitor of whom it is said in another place he is Michael, because he was the first and Father of all, not only by progeny, but the first to hold the spiritual blessings, to whom was made known the plan of ordinances for the salvation of his posterity unto the end, and to whom Christ was first revealed, and through whom Christ has been revealed from heaven, and will continue to be revealed from henceforth. Adam holds the keys of the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times; i. e., the dispensation of all the times, have been and will be revealed through him from the beginning to Christ, and from Christ to the end of all the dispensations that are to be revealed: Ephesians, 1st chap., 9th and 10th verses, "Having made known unto us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure which he has purposed in himself: that in the dispensation of the fullness of times, he might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are on earth in him." Now the purpose in Himself in the winding up scene of the last dispensation is that all things pertaining to that dispensation should be conducted precisely in accordance with the preceding dispensations. And again: God purposed in Himself that there should not be eternal fullness until every dispensation should be fulfilled and gathered together in one, and that all things whatsoever, that should be gathered together in one in those dispensations unto the same fullness and eternal glory, should be in Christ Jesus; therefore He set the ordinances to be the same forever, and set Adam to watch over them, to reveal them from heaven to man, or to send angels to reveal them: Hebrews I, 14,. "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to those who shall be heirs of salvation?" These angels are under the direction of Michael or Adam, who acts under the direction of the Lord. From the above quotation we learn that Paul perfectly understood the purposes of God in relation to His connection with man, and that glorious and perfect order which He established in Himself, whereby He sent forth power, revelations, and glory. God will not acknowledge that which He has not called, ordained and chosen. In the beginning God called Adam by His own voice. See Genesis 3rd Chapter, 9th, 10th v., "And the Lord called unto Adam and said unto him, Where art thou? And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, and hid myself." Adam received commandments and instruction from God; this was the order from the beginning. That he received revelations, commandments and ordinances at the beginning is beyond the power of controversy; else how did they begin to offer sacrifices to God in an acceptable manner? And if they offered sacrifices they must be authorized by ordination. We read in Gen. 4th chap., 4th v., that Abel brought of the firstlings of the flock and the fat thereof, and the Lord had respect to Abel and to his offering. And, again. Hebrews XI, 4th, "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts; and by it he being dead, yet speaketh." How doth he yet speak? Why, he magnified the Priesthood which was conferred upon him, and died a righteous man, and therefore has become an angel of God by receiving his body from the dead, holding still the keys of his dispensation; and was sent down from heaven unto Paul to minister consoling words, and to commit unto him a knowledge of the mysteries of Godliness. And if this was not the case, I would ask, how did Paul know so much about Abel, and why should he talk about his speaking after he was dead? Hence, that he spoke after he was dead must be by being sent down out of heaven to administer. This, then, is the nature of the Priesthood; every man holding the presidency of his dispensation, and one man holding the presidency of them all, even Adam; and Adam receiving his presidency and authority from the Lord, but cannot receive a fullness until Christ shall present the Kingdom to the Father, which shall be at the end of the last dispensation. Footnotes 1. Genesis I, 26, 27. 2. Heb., I, 3. 3. I think in this last sentence the report is imperfect. The Prophet doubtless meant to represent Jesus as still talking, that is, as if the Prophet had said--_Jesus continues:_ "If they were called," etc. CHAPTER XXX. DOCTRINAL DEVELOPMENT AT NAUVOO--MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS. In this chapter I quote the sayings and instructions of the Prophet on a variety of topics, uttered principally within the period under consideration--from January to June 1843--though there are some exceptions. THE VARIOUS KINDS OF BEINGS IN HEAVEN. There are two kinds of beings in heaven, viz: Angels who are resurrected personages, having bodies of flesh and bones. For instance, Jesus said, "Handle me and see, for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as you see me have." Second, the spirits of just men made perfect, they who are not resurrected, but inherit the same glory. HOW TO DETERMINE THE NATURE OF AN ADMINISTRATION. When a messenger comes, saying he has a message from God, offer him your hand, and request him to shake hands with you. If he be an angel, he will do so, and you will feel his hand. If he be the spirit of a just man made perfect he will come in his glory, for that is the only way he can appear. Ask him to shake hands with you, but he will not move, because it is contrary to the order of heaven for a just man to deceive; but he will still deliver his message. If it be the Devil as an angel of light, when you ask him to shake hands, he will offer you his hand but you will not feel anything; you may therefore detect him. These are three grand keys whereby you may know whether or not any administration is from God. THE PROPHET'S VIEW ON THE CREEDS OF MEN. I cannot believe in any of the creeds of the different denominations, because they all have some things in them I cannot subscribe to, though all of them have some truth. I want to come up in the presence of God, and learn all things; but the creeds set up stakes and say, "Hitherto shalt thou come, and no further," which I cannot subscribe to. THE PROPHET ON FRIENDSHIP. Friendship is one of the grand fundamental principles of "Mormonism" to revolutionize and civilize the world, and cause wars and contentions to cease, and men to become friends and brothers. Even the wolf and the lamb shall dwell together; the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and young lion, and the fatling; and a little child shall lead them; the bear and the cow shall lie down together, and the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp and the weaned child shall play on the cockatrice's den, and they shall not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountain, saith the Lord of hosts. It is a time-honored adage that love begets love. Let us pour forth love--show forth all kindness unto all mankind and the Lord will reward us with everlasting increase; cast our bread upon the waters, and we shall receive it after many days, increased to a hundredfold. ON THE POWER OF THE WORD OF GOD. Every word that proceedeth from the mouth of Jehovah has such an influence over the human mind--the logical mind--that it is convincing, without other testimony. Faith cometh by hearing. If ten thousand men testify to a truth you know, would it add to your faith? No. Or will ten thousand testimonies destroy your knowledge of a fact? No. I don't want any one to tell me I am a prophet, or attempt to prove my word. THE PROPHET ON THE LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE AND THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES. It is one of the first principles of my life and one that I have cultivated from my childhood, having been taught it by my father, to allow every one the liberty of conscience. I am the greatest advocate of the Constitution of the United States there is on the earth. In my feelings I am always ready to die in the protection of the weak and oppressed in their just rights. The only fault I find with the Constitution is, it is not broad enough to cover the whole ground. Although it provides that all men shall enjoy religious freedom, yet it does not provide the manner in which that freedom can be preserved, nor for the punishment of government officers who refuse to protect the people in their religious rights, or punish those mobs, States or communities who interfere with the rights of people on account of their religion. Its sentiments are good, but it provides no means of enforcing them. It has but this one fault. Under its provision, a man or people who are able to protect themselves can get along well enough, but those who have the misfortune to be weak or unpopular are left to the merciless rage of popular fury. The Constitution should contain a provision that every officer of the government who should neglect or refuse to extend the protection guaranteed in the Constitution should be subject to capital punishment; and then the President of the United States would not say "Your cause is just but I can do nothing for you;" governors issue exterminating orders; or judges say, "The men ought to have the protection of law, but it won't please the mob; the men must die anyhow to satisfy the clamor of the rabble; they must be hung, or Missouri be damned to all eternity." Executive writs could be issued when they ought to be, and not be made instruments of cruelty to oppress the innocent, and persecute men whose religion is unpopular. THE PROPHET'S COMMENT ON GOOD MEN. I do not think there have been many good men on the earth since the days of Adam; but there was one good man and His name was Jesus. Many persons think a prophet must be a great deal better than anybody else. Suppose I would condescend--yes, I will call it condescend--to be a great deal better than any of you, I would be raised up to the highest heavens, and who should I have to accompany me? I love that man better who swears a stream as long as my arm, yet deals justice to his neighbors and mercifully deals his substance to the poor, than the long, smooth-faced hypocrite. I do not want you to think I am very righteous, for I am not. God judges men according to the use they make of the light which He gives them. THE PROPHET'S ESTIMATE AND DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF. I am like a huge, rough stone rolling down from a high mountain, and the only polishing I get is when some corner gets rubbed off by coming in contact with something else, striking with accelerated force against religious bigotry, priest-craft, lawyer-craft, doctor-craft, lying editors, suborned judges and jurors, and the authority of perjured executives, backed by mobs, blasphemers, licentious and corrupt men and women, all hell knocking off a corner here and a corner there. Thus I will become a smooth and polished shaft in the quiver of the Almighty, who will give me dominion over all and every one of them, when their refuge of lies shall fail, and their hiding place shall be destroyed, while these smooth polished stones with which I come in contact become marred. * * * I am a rough stone. The sound of the hammer and chisel was never heard on me until the Lord took me in hand. I desire the learning and wisdom of heaven alone. I have not the least idea, if Christ should come to the earth and preach such rough things as He preached to the Jews, but that this generation would reject Him for being so rough. OTHER WORLDS THAN OURS AND THEIR REDEMPTION. Commenting on Revelation v: 13--"And every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, heard I saying, Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever"--the Prophet said: I suppose John saw beings there of a thousand forms, that had been saved from ten thousand times ten thousand earths like this, strange beasts of which we have no conception; all might be seen in heaven. The grand secret was to show John what there was in heaven. John learned that God glorified Himself by saving all that His hands had made, whether beasts, fowls, fishes or men, and He will gratify Himself with them. THE PROPHET'S DEFINITION OF THE WORD MORMON. Before I give a definition, however, to the word Mormon, let me say that the Bible, in its widest sense, means good, for the Savior says, according to the Gospel of John, "I am the good shepherd," and it will not be beyond the common use of terms to say that good is among the most important in use, and though known by various names in different languages, still its meaning is the same, and is ever in opposition to bad. We say from the Saxon good; the Dane god; the Goth goda; the German gut; the Dutch goed; the Latin bonus; the Greek kalos; the Hebrew tob, and the Egyptian mon. Hence, with the addition of more, or the contraction mor, we have the word Mormon, which means, literally, more good. MAKE YOUR CALLING AND ELECTION SURE. Commenting on II Peter I, 5-10, and also verse 19, the Prophet said: Now there is some grand secret here, and keys to unlock the subject. Notwithstanding the Apostle exhorts them to add to their faith virtue, temperance, etc., yet he exhorts them to make their calling and election sure. And though they had heard an audible voice from heaven bearing testimony that Jesus was the Son of God, yet he says we have a more sure word of prophecy, whereunto ye do well that ye take heed as unto a light shining in a dark place. Now, wherein could they have a more sure word of prophecy than to hear the voice of God saying, "This is my beloved Son?" etc. Now for the secret and grand key. Though they might hear the voice of God and know that Jesus was the Son of God, this would be no evidence that their election and calling was made sure; that they had part with Christ, and were joint heirs with Him. They then would want that more sure word of prophecy, that they were sealed in the heavens and had the promise of eternal life in the kingdom of God. Then, having this promise sealed unto them, it was an anchor to the soul, sure and steadfast. Though the thunder might roll and the lightning flash and earthquakes bellow, and war gather thick around, yet this hope and knowledge would support the soul in every hour of trial, trouble and tribulation. Then knowledge through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is the grand key that unlocks the glories and mysteries of the Kingdom of heaven. THE VALUE OF AGED MEN IN COUNCIL. The way to get along in any important matter is to gather unto yourself wise men, experienced and aged men, to assist in council in all times of trouble. Handsome men are not apt to be wise and strong-minded; but the strength of a strong-minded man will generally create coarse features, like the rough, strong bough of the oak. You will always discover in the first glance of a man, in the outline of his features, something of his mind. SALVATION--IN WHAT IT CONSISTS. Salvation is nothing more nor less than to triumph over all our enemies and put them under our feet. And when we have power to put all enemies under our feet in this world, and a knowledge to triumph over all evil spirits in the world to come, then we are saved as in the case of Jesus, who was to reign until he had put all enemies under His feet, and the last enemy was death. DESIRABILITY OF POSSESSING EARTHLY TABERNACLES. Now, in this world mankind are naturally selfish, ambitious and striving to excel one above another, yet some are willing to build up others as well as themselves. So in the other world there are a variety of spirits. Some seek to excel. And this was the case with Lucifer when he fell. He sought for things which were unlawful. Hence he was cast down, and it is said he drew away many with him, and the greatness of his punishment is that he shall not have a tabernacle. This is his punishment. So the Devil, thinking to thwart the decree of God by going up and down in the earth seeking whom he may destroy--any person that he can find that will yield to him, he will bind him, and take possession of the body and reign there, glorying in it mightily, not thinking that he had gotten a stolen tabernacle, and by and by some one having authority will come along and cast him out and restore the tabernacle to its rightful owner. But the devil steals a tabernacle because he has not one of his own, but if he steals one, he is always liable to be turned out of doors. OF THE SPIRITS IN PRISON. I will say something about the spirits in prison. There has been much said by modern divines about the words of Jesus (when on the cross) to the thief, saying, "This day shalt thou be with me in paradise." King James' translation makes it out to say paradise. But what is paradise? It is a modern word, it does not answer at all to the original word that Jesus made use of. Find the original of the word paradise. You may as easily find a needle in a haymow. Here is a chance for battle, ye learned men. There is nothing in the original word in Greek from which this was taken that signifies paradise, but it was, "This day thou shalt be with me in the world of spirits: then I will teach you all about it and answer your inquiries." And Peter says he went out and preached to the world of spirits (spirits in prison, 1st Peter, 3rd chapter, 19th verse), so that they who would receive it could have it answered by proxy by those who live on the earth. * * * Hades, the Greek, or Sheol, the Hebrew, these two significations means a world of spirits. Hades, Sheol, paradise, spirits in prison, are all one, it is a world of spirits. The righteous and the wicked will go to the same world of spirits until the resurrection. "I do not think so," says one. If you will go to my house any time, I will take my lexicon and prove it to you. The great misery of departed spirits in the world of spirits, where they go after death, is to know that they come short of the glory that others enjoy, and that they might have enjoyed themselves, and they are their own accusers. THE PERSISTENCE OF OBTAINED INTELLIGENCE. Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection, and if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come. There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundation of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated, and when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated. THE DESIRABILITY AND POWER OF KNOWLEDGE. If we get puffed up by thinking that we have much knowledge, we are apt to get a contentious spirit, and correct knowledge is necessary to cast out that spirit. The evil of being puffed up with correct [though useless] knowledge is not so great as the evil of contention. Knowledge does away with darkness, suspense and doubt, for these cannot exist where knowledge is. * * * In knowledge there is power. God has more power than all other beings, because He has greater knowledge, and hence He knows how to subject all other beings to Him. He has power over all. * * * It is not wisdom that we shall have all knowledge at once presented before us, but that we should have a little at a time; then we can comprehend it. * * * Add to your faith knowledge, etc. The principle of knowledge is the principle of salvation. This principle can be comprehended by the faithful and diligent; and every one that does not obtain knowledge sufficient to be saved will be condemned. The principle of salvation is given us through the knowledge of Jesus Christ. CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROPHET ARRESTED ON MISSOURI'S OLD CHARGES. IF it should be asked what class of men can do the State the most harm, or the church most mischief, the universal answer would be--_traitors_! So patent is the correctness of the statement, that we deem it unnecessary to inquire into the reasons that lead to the conclusion. What state has perished but by traitor's hands? What patriot suffered, but by a traitor's perfidy? And so, as we proceed, we shall see that it was principally through the schemes of traitors that Nauvoo's budding prospects were blighted, and her virtuous people driven into the wilderness. It will be remembered that in a former chapter a letter written by John C. Bennett to Sidney Rigdon and Orson Pratt is reproduced, in which he stated that he was then _en route_ for Missouri for the purpose of getting out an indictment against Joseph for treason against that State, said to have been committed during the troubles at Far West, in the fall of 1838. Whether Bennett went to Missouri or not I cannot say, but through his influence the old charge of treason was revived, and an indictment found at a special term of the circuit court for Daviess County, Missouri, on the fifth of June, 1843; and on the thirteenth of the same month Governor Reynolds issued a requisition on the governor of Illinois for Joseph Smith, and appointed Joseph H. Reynolds the agent of Missouri to receive the Prophet from the authorities of Illinois. Accordingly the warrant for the arrest was placed in the hands of Harmon T. Wilson by Governor Ford, of Illinois, and Wilson and Reynolds started to find the Prophet. In the meantime Joseph's friends were not inactive. The day before Governor Ford issued the warrant for the apprehension of the Prophet, he incidentally mentioned to Judge James Adams that a requisition had been made by Missouri for the arrest of Joseph, and that he should issue it the next day; where-upon Judge Adams dispatched an express from Springfield to Nauvoo with this information. The express arrived in Nauvoo on the sixteenth of June; but three days before, Joseph with Emma had left Nauvoo to visit Emma's sister, a Mrs. Wasson, living near Dixon in Lee County, a little more than two hundred miles north of Nauvoo. On the arrival of the messenger from Judge Adams, Hyrum Smith at once dispatched Stephen Markham and William Clayton to Joseph with the information. They left Nauvoo about midnight of the eighteenth, and sixty-six hours later arrived at Wasson's, having ridden two hundred and twelve miles in that time, changing horses only once and that near the end of the journey. Shortly after the arrival of Clayton, a Mr. Southwick of Dixon rode out to Inlet Grove, where Mr. Wasson lived, to inform Joseph that a writ was out for him, and for his pains and interest the Prophet paid him twenty-five dollars, though he had already been informed by Clayton and Markham. After the receipt of this information, however, Joseph concluded to remain where he was, for, if he started for home, he might meet the officers where he had no friends, and be run over into Missouri among his enemies. Just how the officers Wilson and Reynolds came to know of the whereabouts of Joseph is not known. But at any rate they went directly to Dixon, nearly killing their horses by hard driving. At the village of Dixon they represented themselves as Mormon Elders, wanting to see the Prophet. They succeeded in hiring a man with a two-horse team to drive them out to Wasson's. On the way they passed William Clayton, who had been sent by Joseph to see if he could learn anything of the movements of the officers at Dixon. But as the sheriffs were disguised, Clayton did not recognize them. The officers arrived at Wasson's and found Joseph walking down the path leading to the barn. They sprang upon him like wild beasts upon their prey, presenting their pistols, and Reynolds exclaimed--"G-- d-- you, sir, if you stir, I'll shoot!" and this with slight variations he kept repeating. Joseph asked them what was the meaning of all this, for they attempted to serve no process, and to their oft-repeated threats of violence, which they sought to make emphatic with blood-curdling oaths, the Prophet bared his breast and told them to shoot, if they desired to, for he had endured so much oppression that he was weary of life. By this time Stephen Markham arrived on the scene, and immediately started to the Prophet's assistance, despite the threats of the officers to shoot him if he advanced another step. Nor did the brave man check his advance until Joseph cautioned him not to resist the officers of the law. Reynolds and Wilson, with much rudeness and many unnecessary imprecations, hustled their prisoner into the wagon they had hired in Dixon, and were for starting off without giving the prisoner a chance to say one word to his friends, bid his wife or children good-by, or even get his hat and coat. But Markham, regardless of the threats of the officers to shoot him, seized the team by the bits and said there was no law requiring an officer to take a man to prison without his clothes, and held on until Emma could bring out Joseph's hat and coat. All this time they had served no process on their prisoner, and had repeatedly thrust the muzzles of their pistols against his sides until he was badly bruised by the uncalled-for violence. Joseph shouted to Markham as he was driven away, to go to Dixon and obtain a writ of _habeas corpus_, but as the horse Markham rode was jaded, and the officers ordered their driver to whip up, they kept up with him, and both parties went into the town together. The sheriffs thrust their prisoner into a room in a tavern kept by Mr. McKennie, and ordered fresh horses to be ready in five minutes. Joseph told them he wanted to obtain counsel. "G-- d-- you, you shan't have counsel, one more word and G-- d-- you, I'll shoot you!" was the brutal answer. Just then, however, a man passed the window and to him Joseph shouted, "I am falsely imprisoned here, and I want a lawyer." Presently Lawyer Southwick, the gentleman who a few days before had rode out to Wasson's to inform the Prophet that a writ was out for him, came to the house, but only to have the door slammed in his face, and be denied admittance. Another lawyer, Shepherd G. Patrick, tried to gain admission to the prisoner but met with the same treatment as the first. But at last, through the influence of a Mr. Sanger and a Mr. Dixon, owner of the hotel building where the Prophet was detained a prisoner, Reynolds was given to understand that his prisoner must have a fair trial, and all the protection the laws afforded him. A writ of _habeas corpus_ was sued out before Mr. Chamberlain, the master in chancery, who lived some six miles from Dixon, made returnable before Hon. John D. Caton, judge of the ninth judicial circuit at Ottawa. Before starting for Ottawa, however, Joseph learned that Cyrus Walker, Esq., was in the vicinity on an electioneering tour, he being the Whig candidate for Congress from that district; and the Prophet attempted to secure his services in his defense, as he was the greatest criminal lawyer in that part of Illinois. Walker, however, refused to engage in his defense unless Joseph would agree to vote for him at the coming election, and the Prophet promised him his vote. Writs were sued out before the justice of the peace against Reynolds and Wilson for making threats against the lives of Markham and Joseph; and another writ for a violation of the law in relation to writs of _habeas corpus_; and still another, this time from the circuit court of Lee County, for private injuries, false imprisonment, claiming $10,000 damages. Whether or not the sheriffs were released from the first writ, I cannot learn; but on the last writ they were held in $10,000 bonds, and as they could get no bondsmen this side of Missouri, they were taken in charge by the sheriff of Lee County, and were under the necessity of obtaining a writ of _habeas corpus_ themselves. So that while Joseph was the prisoner of Reynolds and Wilson, pending the hearing on the writ of _habeas corpus_ he had sued out, they were prisoners under the same circumstances, in charge of the sheriff of Lee County. And in this manner all started for Ottawa for a hearing on the several writs before Judge Caton. The whole company left Dixon on the twenty-fourth of June, and the same day arrived at Pawpaw Grove, a distance of thirty-two miles. The arrival of the Prophet and party at Pawpaw Grove created no little excitement, and the next morning the people gathered into the largest room in the hotel, and insisted upon hearing the Prophet preach. To this Sheriff Reynolds objected and said to the people, "I wish you to understand this man (pointing to Joseph) is my prisoner, and I want you should disperse." At this an old gentleman by the name of David Town spoke up and said: You damned infernal Puke, [1] we'll learn you to come here and interrupt gentlemen! Sit down there, pointing to a very low chair, and sit still. Don't open your head till General Smith gets through talking. If you never learned manners in Missouri, we'll teach you that gentlemen are not to be imposed upon by a nigger-driver. You cannot kidnap men here. There's a committee in this grove that will sit on your case; and, sir, it is the highest tribunal in the United States, as _from its decision there is no appeal_. Old Mr. Town was lame and carried with him a heavy, hickory walking stick with which he emphasized the significant parts of his speech by striking the end of it on the floor. It had the desired effect on Reynolds, who humbly took his seat, while the Prophet without an interruption addressed the company for about an hour and a half on the subject of marriage. At this point it was learned that Judge Caton was absent in the State of New York, hence the party returned to Dixon, and the officers made returns on the respective writs of _habeas corpus_ by endorsing thereon--"Judge absent." New writs, however, were sued out, and at Markham's request, the one in behalf of Joseph was made to read: "Returnable before the nearest tribunal in the Fifth judicial district authorized to hear and determine writs of _habeas corpus_"--and thereby hangs a tale, as the sequel will show. Arrangements were made with a Mr. Lucien P. Sanger, who was in the stagecoach business, to take the respective prisoners to Quincy, a distance of two hundred and sixty miles, to obtain a hearing on the several writs before Judge Stephen A. Douglass. _En route_ for Quincy, Joseph convinced his lawyers and Sheriff Campbell, of Lee County, and others, that the municipal court of Nauvoo had the right to try cases under writs of _habeas corpus_, and since the writ that he had sued out and served on Reynolds of Missouri was made "returnable before the nearest tribunal in the Fifth judicial district authorized to hear and determine writs of _habeas corpus_," he insisted on being taken to Nauvoo for a hearing. He prevailed, too, and for that place the now large party directed its course. Footnotes 1. A common nick-name for Missourians in those days. CHAPTER XXXII. MINOR MATTERS IN THE NEW MOVE AGAINST THE PROPHET. IT now becomes necessary to note a few minor events that occurred. As soon as the sheriffs started for Dixon with Joseph in their power, Emma Smith had her carriage made ready and at once started for Nauvoo with her children, in order to set some scheme or other on foot looking to her husband's deliverance. Joseph, when arriving at Dixon a prisoner, dispatched William Clayton with a message to his brother Hyrum telling what had befallen him, and requesting that assistance be at once sent to him. Clayton boarded the steamer _Amaranth_, at Rock Island, and arrived in Nauvoo about two o'clock in the afternoon of Sunday, the twenty-fifth of June. Meeting was in progress when Hyrum stepped into the stand and interrupted the proceedings, by announcing that he wanted to meet with the brethren at the Masonic Hall. The quiet of the Sabbath was immediately changed into excitement, and the brethren rushed to the hall in such numbers that not one-fourth could gain admittance, so the meeting was adjourned to the green, where a hollow square was formed about Hyrum, who related the story Clayton had told him respecting the capture of his brother, and called for volunteers to go to his assistance, and see that he had his rights. Immediately three hundred offered their services and from them a company was selected such as was needed; and before sunset, one hundred and seventy-five men were in the saddle under command of Generals Wilson Law and C. C. Rich, _en route_ for Peoria. Before the company left Nauvoo Elder Wilford Woodruff opened a barrel of gunpowder and invited every man that was going to the assistance of the Prophet to fill his flask or powder horn. The company was well armed and well mounted, and presented rather a formidable appearance. Besides sending out this company to find and protect his brother, Hyrum sent about seventy-five men on the steamer _Maid of Iowa_, a small steamboat purchased by the people of Nauvoo some months before, and placed under the command of Captain Dan Jones. The company was to go down the Mississippi to the mouth of the Illinois river, thence up that stream as far as Peoria; for it was expected that Joseph was being conveyed to Ottawa, and it was feared by Hyrum that an attempt would be made when the party approached the Illinois river to convey Joseph to one of the crafts plying between Peoria and St. Louis and so take him to Missouri. Hence this company on the _Maid of Iowa_ was instructed to take the course mentioned, and to examine the steamboats they met, and if they learned that the Prophet was a prisoner on any one of them, they were to render whatever assistance might be within their power. The command under Brothers Law and Rich divided and subdivided in going through the country, and on the twenty-seventh a small company under the command of Captain Thomas Grover met Stephen Markham, whom Joseph had dispatched to find the brethren that he suspected had been sent from Nauvoo to his assistance; Markham had instructions to meet the Prophet with any company of brethren he might find at Monmouth. Near Monmouth, and before the arrival of the main body of Joseph's friends, Reynolds and Wilson planned a scheme of going into that town, raising a mob and taking the Prophet by force into Missouri. The plot failed, however, as it was overheard by P. W. Conover, and Sheriff Campbell took both Wilson and Reynolds into his immediate custody. These men had a strong dislike of going to Nauvoo, as they feared they would never leave the place alive. But the Prophet pledged his word that no harm should befall them. As the friends of Joseph kept dropping in singly, or in squads, the fear of his enemies increased. Reynolds made special inquiries as to whether "Jem Flack" was in the company, and on being answered in the affirmative, he exclaimed, as he turned deathly pale, "I am a dead man!" for he had given Flack a deadly provocation. When Flack rode up, however, the Prophet called him up to him and strictly charged him that whatever insult he had received from Reynolds, not to injure a hair of his head, since he had given his word of honor that he should not be injured; and Flack agreed to let him alone. Before noon of the thirtieth, Joseph's company, which now numbered about one hundred and forty, approached Nauvoo. Word had previously been sent in as to the probable time of his arrival, and the people prepared to give him a royal reception. Hyrum Smith and Emma, accompanied by the brass band and a long train of carriages, met the Prophet's company a mile and a half north of the city, and received him. The enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. The Prophet met his brother and wife with a fond embrace; from the latter, only a few days before, he had been torn away in the most arbitrary and cruel manner, and their reunion was a joy indeed. Joseph now mounted his favorite horse, "Old Charley," and with Emma riding proudly at his side, and surrounded by his body guard, he led the procession into the city, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the people, the firing of musketry and cannon, and the lively strains of the band. At the gate of the Mansion stood the Prophet's mother, with tears of joy rolling down her aged cheeks, to welcome her son, whom she had seen so many times in the hands of his enemies. Here, too, his children flocked about him and welcomed him with unreserved, childish delight. The vast crowd that had gathered in front of the Mansion appeared unwilling to leave without some word from their revered leader. When he observed this, he mounted the fence, thanked them and blessed them for their kindness to him, and told them he would address them in the grove, near the temple, at four o'clock. A company of fifty sat down at the Prophet's table to partake of the feast provided, and Wilson and Reynolds, who had treated him so inhumanly when he was in their power, were placed at the head of the table, and waited upon by Emma with the utmost regard for their comfort, though they had denied her speech with her husband, and were not even willing that she should take to him his hat and coat. Gall to them indeed must have been the kindness of the Prophet and his wife, whom but a few days before they had treated with such harshness. In the afternoon, several thousand people assembled at the grove, and at four o'clock, the Prophet addressed them in an animated speech of considerable length, in which he related to them his adventures while in the power of his enemies, and contended that the municipal court had the right to hear cases arising under writs of _habeas corpus_. In the course of his speech he allowed himself to be carried away by the fervor of his eloquence beyond the bounds of prudence; a circumstance, however, that will create no astonishment when the excitement and the indignation under which he was laboring, and that arose out of sense of outraged justice and humanity is taken into consideration. Under such circumstances and from such temperaments as that of the Prophet, we shall look in vain at such times for dispassionate discourse, and more than human must that man be, who, under the accumulated wrongs of years of oppression, can always confine his speech, when recounting those wrongs, within the lines that cold, calculating wisdom would draw. The speech, however, was doubtless one of the most characteristic that we have of the Prophet, and for that reason I give it _in extenso_, as reported by Elders Willard Richards and Wilford Woodruff. It should also be remarked that the report was made in long-hand, and doubtless there exist many imperfections in it, and it should only be regarded as a synopsis of his speech: The congregation is large. I shall require attention. I discovered what the emotions of the people were on my arrival at this city, and I have come here to say, "How do you do?" to all parties; and I do now at this time say to all, "How do you do?" I meet you with a heart full of gratitude to Almighty God, and I presume you all feel the same. I am well--I am hearty. I hardly know how to express my feelings. I feel as strong as a giant. I pulled sticks with the men coming along, and I pulled up with one hand the strongest man that could be found. Then two men tried, but they could not pull me up, and I continued to pull, mentally, until I pulled Missouri to Nauvoo. But I will pass from that subject. There has been great excitement in the country since Joseph H. Reynolds and Harmon T. Wilson took me; but I have been cool and dispassionate through the whole. Thank God, I am now a prisoner in the hands of the municipal court of Nauvoo, and not in the hands of Missourians. It is not so much my object to tell of my afflictions, trials, and troubles as to speak of the writ of _habeas corpus_, so that the minds of all may be corrected. It has been asserted by the great and wise men, lawyers, and others, that our municipal powers and legal tribunals are not to be sanctioned by the authorities of the State; and accordingly _they_ want to make it lawful to drag away innocent men from their families and friends, and have them put to death by ungodly men for their religion! Relative to our city charter, courts, right of _habeas corpus_, etc., I wish you to know and publish that we have all power; and if any man from this time forth says anything to the contrary, cast it into his teeth. There is a secret in this. If there is not power in our charter and courts, then there is not power in the State of Illinois, nor in the Congress or Constitution of the United States; for the United States gave unto Illinois her constitution or charter, and Illinois gave unto Nauvoo her charters, ceding unto us our vested rights, which she has no right or power to take from us. All the power there was in Illinois she gave to Nauvoo; and any man that says to the contrary is a fool. The municipal court has all the power to issue and determine writs of _habeas corpus_ within the limits of this city that the legislature can confer. This city has all the power that the State courts have, and was given by the same authority--the legislature. I want you to hear and learn, O Israel, this day, what is for the happiness and peace of this city and people. If our enemies are determined to oppress us and deprive us of our constitutional rights and privileges as they have done, and if the authorities that are on the earth will not sustain us in our rights, nor give us that protection which the laws and Constitution of the United States and of this State guarantee unto us, then we will claim them from a higher power--from heaven,--yea, from God Almighty! I have dragged these men here by my hand, and will do it again; but I swear I will not deal so mildly with them again, for the time has come when _forbearance is no longer a virtue_; and if you or I are again taken unlawfully, you are at liberty to give loose to blood and thunder. But be cool, be deliberate, be wise, act with almighty power; and when you pull, do it effectually--make a _sweepstakes_ for once! My lot has always been cast among the warmest-hearted people. In every time of trouble, friends, even among strangers, have been raised up unto me and assisted me. The time has come when the vail is torn off from the State of Illinois, and its citizens have delivered me from the State of Missouri. Friends that were raised up unto me would have spilt their life's blood to have torn me from the hands of Reynolds and Wilson, if I had asked them, but I told them no, I would be delivered by the power of God and generalship; and I have brought these men to Nauvoo, and committed them to her from whom I was torn, not as prisoners in chains, but as prisoners of kindness. I have treated them kindly. I have had the privilege of rewarding them good for evil. They took me unlawfully, treated me rigorously, strove to deprive me of my rights, and would have run with me into Missouri to have been murdered, if Providence had not interposed. But now they are in my hands; and I have taken them into my house, set them at the head of my table, and placed before them the best which my house afforded; and they were waited upon by my wife, whom they deprived of seeing me when I was taken. I have no doubt but I shall be discharged by the municipal court. Were I before any good tribunal, I should be discharged, as the Missouri writs are illegal and good for nothing--they are "without form and void." But before I will bear this unhallowed persecution any longer--before I will be dragged away again among my enemies for trial, _I will spill the last drop of blood in my veins, and will see all my enemies_ IN HELL! To bear it any longer would be a sin, and I will not bear it any longer. Shall we bear it any longer? [One universal "NO!" ran through all that vast assembly, like a loud peal of thunder.] I wish the lawyer who says we have no powers in Nauvoo may be choked to death with his own words. Don't employ lawyers, or pay them money for their knowledge, for I have learnt that they don't know anything. I know more than they all. Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel. He that believeth in our chartered rights may come here and be saved; and he that does not shall remain in ignorance. If any lawyer shall say there is more power in other places and charters with respect to _habeas corpus_ than in Nauvoo, believe it not. I have converted this candidate for Congress [pointing to Cyrus Walker, Esq.,] that the right of _habeas corpus_ is included in our charter. If he continues converted, I will vote for him. I have been with these lawyers, and they have treated me well; but I am here in Nauvoo, and the Missourians too. I got here by a lawful writ of _habeas corpus_ issued by the master of chancery of Lee County, and made returnable to the nearest tribunal in the fifth judicial district having jurisdiction to try and determine such writs; and here is that tribunal, just as it should be. However indignant you may feel about the high hand of oppression which has been raised against me by these men, use not the hand of violence against them, for they could not be prevailed upon to come here, till I pledged my honor and my life that a hair of their heads should not be hurt. Will you all support my pledge, and thus preserve my honor? [One universal "YES!" burst from the assembled thousands.] This is another proof of your attachment to me. I know how ready you are to do right. You have done great things, and manifested your love towards me in flying to my assistance on this occasion. I bless you, in the name of the Lord, with all the blessings of heaven and earth you are capable of enjoying. I have learnt that we have no need to suffer as we have heretofore: we can call others to our aid. I know the Almighty will bless all good men; He will bless you; and the time has come when there will be such a flocking to the standard of liberty as never has been or shall be hereafter. What an era has commenced! Our enemies have prophesied that we would establish our religion by the sword. _Is it true?_ No. But if Missouri will not stay her cruel hand in her unhallowed persecutions against us, I restrain you not any longer. I say in the name of Jesus Christ, by the authority of the Holy Priesthood, I this day turn the key that opens the heavens to restrain you no longer from this time forth. I will lead you to the battle; and if you are not afraid to die, and feel disposed to spill your blood in your own defense, you will not offend me. Be not the aggressor: bear until they strike you on one cheek; then offer the other, and they will be sure to strike that; _then defend yourselves_, and God will bear you off, and you shall stand forth clear before His tribunal. If any citizens of Illinois say that we shall not have our rights, treat them as strangers and not friends, and let them go to hell and be damned! Some say they will mob us. Let them mob and be damned! If we have to give up our chartered rights, privileges, and freedom, which our fathers fought, bled, and died for, and which the Constitution of the United States and of this State guarantee unto us, we will do it only at the point of the sword and bayonet. Many lawyers contend for those things which are against the rights of men, and _I can only excuse them because of their ignorance_. Go forth and advocate the laws and rights of the people, ye lawyers! If not, don't get into my hands, or under the lash of my tongue. Lawyers say the powers of the Nauvoo charter are dangerous; but I ask, is the Constitution of the United States or of this State dangerous? No. Neither are the charters granted unto Nauvoo by the legislature of Illinois dangerous, and those who say they are are fools. We have not enjoyed unmolested those rights which the Constitution of the United States of America and our charters grant. Missouri and all wicked men raise the hue and cry against us, and are not satisfied. Some political aspirants of this State also are raising the hue and cry that the powers in the charters granted unto the city of Nauvoo are dangerous; and although the general assembly have conferred them upon our city, yet the whine is raised--"Repeal them--take them away!" Like the boy who swapped off his jack-knife, and then cried, "Daddy, daddy, I have sold my jack-knife and got sick of my bargain, and I want to get it back again." But how are they going to help themselves? Raise mobs? And what can mobocrats do in the midst of Kirkpatrickites? No better than a hunter in the claws of a bear. If mobs come upon you any more here, dung your gardens with them. We don't want any excitement; but after we have done all, we will rise up, Washington-like, and break off the hellish yoke that oppresses us, and we will not be mobbed. The day before I was taken at Inlet Grove, I rode with my wife through Dixon to visit my friends, and I said to her, "Here is a good people." I felt this by the Spirit of God. The next day I was a prisoner in their midst, in the hands of Reynolds, of Missouri, and Wilson, of Carthage. As the latter drove up, he exclaimed, "Ha, ha, ha! By G--, we have got the Prophet now!" He gloried much in it, but he is now our prisoner. When they came to take me, they held two cocked pistols to my head, and saluted me with, "G-- d-- you, I'll shoot you! I'll shoot you, G-- d-- you,"--repeating these threats nearly fifty times, from first to last. I asked them what they wanted to shoot me for. They said they would do it, if I made any resistance. "Oh, very well," I replied, "I have no resistance to make." They then dragged me away, and I asked them by what authority they did these things. They said, "By a writ from the governors of Missouri and Illinois." I then told them I wanted a writ of _habeas corpus_. Their reply was, "G-- d-- you, _you shan't have it_." I told a man to go to Dixon, and get me a writ of _habeas corpus_. Wilson then repeated, "G-- d-- you, _you shan't have it:_ I'll shoot you." When we arrived at Dixon, I sent for a lawyer, who came; and Reynolds shut the door in his face, and would not let me speak to him, repeating, "G-- d-- you, I'll shoot you." I turned to him, opened my bosom, and told him to "shoot away. I have endured so much persecution and oppression that I am sick of life. Why, then, don't you shoot and have done with it, instead of talking so much about it?" This somewhat checked his insolence. I then told him that I _would_ have counsel to consult, and eventually I obtained my wish. The lawyers came to me and I got a writ of _habeas corpus_ for myself, and also a writ against Reynolds and Wilson for unlawful proceedings and cruel treatment towards me. Thanks to the good citizens of Dixon, who nobly took their stand against such unwarrantable and unlawful oppression, my persecutors could not get out of the town that night, although, when they first arrived, they swore I should not remain in Dixon five minutes, and I found they had ordered horses accordingly to proceed to Rock Island. I pledged my honor to my counsel that the Nauvoo city charter conferred jurisdiction to investigate the subject; so we came to Nauvoo, where I am now a prisoner in the custody of a higher tribunal than the circuit court. The charter says that "the city council shall have power and authority to make, ordain, establish and execute such ordinances not repugnant to the Constitution of the United States, or of this State, as they may deem necessary, for the peace, benefit, and safety of the inhabitants of said city." And also that "the municipal court shall have power to grant writs of _habeas corpus_ in all cases arising under the ordinances of the city council." The city council have passed an ordinance "that no citizen of this city shall be taken out of this city by any writ, without the privilege of a writ of _habeas corpus_." There is nothing but what we have power over, except where restricted by the Constitution of the United States. "But," says the mob, "what dangerous powers!" Yes--dangerous, because they will protect the innocent and put down mobocrats. The Constitution of the United States declares that the privilege of the writ of _habeas corpus_ shall not be denied. Deny me the writ of _habeas corpus_, and I will fight with gun, sword, cannon, whirlwind, and thunder, until they are used up like the Kilkenny cats. We have more power than most charters confer, because we have power to go behind the writ and try the merits of the case. If these powers are dangerous, then the Constitution of the United States and of this State are dangerous; but they are not dangerous to good men: they are only so to bad men who are breakers of the laws. So with the laws of the country, and so with the ordinances of Nauvoo: they are dangerous to mobs, but not to good men who wish to keep the laws. We do not go out of Nauvoo to disturb anybody, or any city, town, or place. Why, then, need they be troubled about us? Let them not meddle with our affair, but let us alone. After we have been deprived of our rights and privileges of citizenship, driven from town to town, place to place, and State to State, with the sacrifice of our homes and lands, our blood has been shed, many having been murdered, and all this because of our religion--because we worship Almighty God according to the dictates of our conscience, shall we longer bear these cruelties which have been heaped upon us for the last ten years in the face of heaven, and in open violation of the Constitution and laws of these United States and of this State? God forbid it. _I will not bear it_. If they take away my rights, I will fight for them manfully and righteously until I am used up. We have done nothing against the rights of others. You speak of lawyers. I am a lawyer, too; but the Almighty God has taught me the principle of law; and the true meaning and intent of the writ of _habeas corpus_ is to defend the innocent and investigate the subject. Go behind the writ, and if the form of one that is issued against an innocent man is right, he should not be dragged into another State, and there be put to death, or be in jeopardy of life and limb, because of prejudice, when he is innocent. The benefits of the Constitution and laws are alike for all; and the great Eloheim has given me the privilege of having the benefits of the Constitution and the writ of _habeas corpus_; and I am bold to ask for this privilege this day; and I ask, in the name of Jesus Christ and all that is sacred, that I may have your lives and all your energies to carry out the freedom which is chartered to us. Will you all help me? If so, make it manifest by raising the right hand. [There was a unanimous response, a perfect sea of hands being elevated.] Here is truly a committee of the whole. When at Dixon, a lawyer came to me as counsel. Reynolds and Wilson said I should not speak to any man, and they would shoot any man who should dare to speak to me. An old, grey-headed man came up and said I should have counsel, and he was not afraid of their pistols. The people of Dixon were ready to take me from my persecutors, and I could have killed them, notwithstanding their pistols; but I had no disposition to kill any man, though my worst enemy--not even Boggs. In fact, _he_ would have more hell to live in the reflection of his past crimes than to die. After this, I had lawyers enough, and I obtained a writ for Joseph H. Reynolds and Harmon T. Wilson, for damage, assault, and battery, as well as the writ of _habeas corpus_. We started for Ottoway, and arrived at Pawpaw Grove, thirty-two miles, where we stopped for the night. Esquire Walker sent Mr. Campbell, sheriff of Lee County, to my assistance, and he came and slept by me. In the morning, certain men wished to see me, but I was not allowed to see them. The news of my arrival had hastily circulated about the neighborhood, and very early in the morning the largest room in the hotel was filled with citizens, who were anxious to hear me preach, and requested me to address them. Sheriff Reynolds entered the room and said, pointing to me, "I wish you to understand this man is my prisoner, and I want you should disperse. You must not gather around in this way." Upon which, a aged gentleman, who was lame and carried a large, hickory walking-stick, advanced towards Reynolds, bringing his hickory upon the floor, and said, "You damned infernal puke, we'll learn you to come here and interrupt gentlemen! Sit down there, (pointing to a very low char,) and sit still. Don't open your head till General Smith gets through talking. If you never learned manners in Missouri, we'll teach you that gentlemen are not to be imposed by a nigger-driver. You can _not_ kidnap men here, if you do in Missouri; and if you attempt it here, there's a committee in this grove that will sit on your case. And, sir, it is the highest tribunal in the United States, _as from its decision there is no appeal_." Reynolds, no doubt, aware that the person addressing him was at the head of a committee who had prevented the settlers on the public domain from being imposed upon by land speculators, sat down in silence, while I addressed the assembly for an hour and a half on the subject of marriage, my visitors having requested me to give them my views of the law of God respecting marriage. My freedom commenced from that hour. We came direct from Pawpaw Grove to Nauvoo, having got our writ directed to the nearest court having authority to try the case, which was the municipal court of this city. It did my soul good to see your feelings and love manifested towards me. I thank God that I have the honor to lead so virtuous and honest a people--to be your leader and lawyer, as was Moses to the children of Israel. Hosannah! _Hosannah!!_ HOSANNAH!!! to Almighty God, who has delivered us thus from out of the seven troubles. I commend you to His grace; and may the blessings of heaven rest upon you, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen. President Smith then introduced Mr. Cyrus Walker to the assembled multitude, and remarked to him, "these are the greatest dupes, as a body of people, that ever lived, or I am not as big a rogue as I am reported to be. I told Mr. Warren I would not discuss the subject of religion with you. I understand the Gospel and you do not. You understand the quackery of law, and I do not." Mr. Walker then addressed the people to the effect that, from what he had seen in the Nauvoo city charter, it gave the power to try writs of _habeas corpus_, etc. After which, President Smith continued as follows: "If the legislature have granted Nauvoo the right of determining cases of _habeas corpus_, it is no more than they ought to have done, or more than our fathers fought for. Furthermore if Missouri continues her warfare, and to issue her writs against me and this people unlawfully and unjustly, as she has done, and to take away and trample upon our rights, I swear, in the name of Almighty God, and with uplifted hands to Heaven, I will spill my heart's blood in our defense. They shall not take away our rights; and if they don't stop leading me by the nose, I will lead them by the nose, and if they don't let me alone, I will turn up the world--I will make war. When we shake our own bushes, we want to catch our own fruit. The lawyers themselves acknowledge that we have all power granted us in our charters that we could ask for--that we had more power than any other court in the State; for all other courts were restricted, while ours was not; and I thank God Almighty for it. I will not be rode down to hell by the Missourians any longer; and it is my privilege to speak in my own defense; and I appeal to your integrity and honor that you will stand by and help me according to the covenant you have this day made." In the meantime, a requisition was made on Sheriff Reynolds, to bring his prisoner before the municipal court of Nauvoo, that the validity of the writ, by virtue of which he held him, might be tested. Reynolds refused to recognize the summons of the court; therefore, his prisoner petitioned the court for a writ of _habeas corpus_ to be directed to Sheriff Reynolds, commanding him to bring his prisoner before said court, and there state the cause of his capture and detention, in order that the lawfulness of his arrest might be inquired into. Reynolds complied with the attachment, and the Prophet was delivered into the charge of the city marshal. The next day, the municipal court held a session, William Marks, acting chief justice, D. H. Wells, N. K. Whitney, G. W. Harris, Gustavus Hills and Hiram Kimball, associate justices. When Joseph was on trial for this same offense before Judge Douglass, on a writ of _habeas corpus_ in 1841, as already related in a previous chapter, the court refused to enter into the consideration of the merits of the case, as the judge doubted whether on a writ of _habeas corpus_ he had a right to go behind the writ and inquire into the merits of the case. The same point was avoided by Judge Pope in the hearing Joseph had before him on a similar writ, when charged with being accessory before the fact in an assault upon the life of ex-Governor Boggs. But the municipal court had no such scruples, and at once proceeded to try the case _ex parte_, on its merits; and Hyrum Smith, P. P. Pratt, Brigham Young, G. W. Pitkin, Lyman Wight and Sidney Rigdon were examined as witnesses. Their affidavits before that court concerning events that happened to the Saints in Missouri, afford the most circumstantial, reliable, and exhaustive data for the history of The Church while in that State that has ever been published. After hearing the testimony of these witnesses, and the pleading of counsel, the court ordered that Joseph Smith be released from the arrest and imprisonment of which he complained, for want of substance in the warrant by which he was held, as well as upon the merits of the case. At the conclusion of the trial the citizens of Nauvoo held a mass meeting and passed resolutions thanking the people of Dixon and vicinity, and of Lee County generally, for the stand they had taken in defense of the innocent, and in favor of law and justice. A copy of the proceedings of the municipal court of Nauvoo, and of all the papers connected with the case were immediately sent to the governor, as also were affidavits from leading counsel and gentlemen from Dixon, as to the treatment of Wilson and Reynolds, that the governor and the world might know that they had not been injured. We may conclude the account of this adventure of Joseph's by saying that about a year afterwards, a jury in Lee County awarded forty dollars damages, and costs, against Wilson and Reynolds, for false imprisonment and abuse of the Prophet--a verdict which, while it confirms the unlawful course of those officers, and the fact that their prisoner was abused, insults justice by awarding such an amount for damages. At the time of this action before the municipal court of Nauvoo, it was a question in Illinois whether said court had the authority to hear and determine writs of _habeas corpus_ arising from arrests made by virtue of warrants issued by the courts of the State or of the governor, as in the foregoing case; or whether the clause in the city charter granting the right of issuing such writs was not confined to cases arising from arrests made on account of the violation of some city ordinance. The clause in the charter giving to the municipal court the power to issue writs of _habeas corpus_ was as follows: The municipal court shall have power to grant writs of _habeas corpus_ in all cases arising under the ordinances of the city council. And in addition there was the general welfare provision, which provided that the City council shall have power and authority to make, ordain, establish and execute such ordinances not repugnant to the Constitution of the United States, or of this State, as they may deem necessary for the peace, benefit and safety of the inhabitants of said city. It was maintained on the part of those who believed that the municipal court had the right to issue writs of _habeas corpus_ against process issued from the State courts that all the power there was in Illinois she gave to Nauvoo, and that the municipal court had all the power within the limits of the city that the State courts had, and that power was given by the same authority--the legislature. A number of lawyers of more or less prominence in the State professed to hold the same views; but little reliance can be put in the support they bring to the case, since they were seeking political preferment and would, and did, in their interpretations of the powers granted by the charter, favor that side of the controversy most likely to please the citizens of Nauvoo. Governor Ford, too, at the time, gave a tacit approval of the course taken by the municipal court in issuing the writ of _habeas corpus_, though he afterwards became very pronounced in his opposition to the exercise of such powers. It occurred in this way: As soon as Joseph was liberated, Sheriff Reynolds applied to Governor Ford for a posse to retake him, representing that the Prophet had been unlawfully taken out of his hands by the municipal court of Nauvoo. The governor refused to grant the petition. Subsequently the governor of Missouri asked Governor Ford to call out the militia to retake Joseph, but this he also refused to do, and gave as a reason that "no process, officer, or authority of the State had been resisted or interfered with," and recited how the prisoner had been released on _habeas corpus_ by the municipal court of Nauvoo. The governor acted in this instance with perfect knowledge of what had taken place, for the petition and statement of Reynolds were in his possession as were also complete copies of all the documents, which contained the proceedings before the municipal court of Nauvoo; and in addition to these sources of information, the governor had dispatched a trusted, secret agent, a Mr. Brayman, to Nauvoo who investigated the case and reported the result to him. On the other hand it was contended that the grant in the charter was intended by the legislature only to give the power to the municipal court to issue writs of _habeas corpus_ in cases of arrest for violation of city ordinances, and that giving power to the municipal court to test the warrants or processes issued from the State courts, was never contemplated by the legislature, and that the passage of any ordinance by the city council that would bring about or authorize any such unusual proceeding was an unwarranted assumption of power, utterly wrong in principle and consequently subversive of good government. But whatever opinion may be entertained on the point under consideration, there can be no question but what upon the broad principles of justice the Prophet Joseph ought to have been set free. The State of Missouri had no just claims upon him. He had been arrested and several times examined on these old charges now revived by the personal malice of John C. Bennett, and after being held a prisoner awaiting indictment and trial for five months, so conscious were the officers of the State that they had no case against him that they themselves connived at his escape. After such proceedings to demand that he be dragged again into Missouri among his old enemies was an outrage against every principle of justice. CHAPTER XXXIII. POLITICAL PERPLEXITIES--JOSEPH SMITH A CANDIDATE FOR PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. THE events related in the last two chapters occurred on the eve of an election for United States representatives, State and county officers. The Whig and Democratic parties were so divided in Illinois that the citizens of Nauvoo held the balance of power in the congressional district where they were located, and also in the county. Whichever party they voted with, as they voted unitedly, gained the election. This circumstance brought to the people of Nauvoo many concessions, and caused the candidates of both political parties to fawn at their feet. It was a case where "Bell boweth down, and Nebo stoopeth." But we shall see that it also brought with it serious difficulties that contributed in no small degree to hasten the fall of Nauvoo; and yet it was a situation forced upon the Saints rather than a policy deliberately chosen by them. The Prophet himself has given the very best explanation of the enforced necessity of the Saints voting unitedly while in Illinois, and I here quote that explanation: With regard to elections, some say all the Latter-day Saints vote together and vote as I say. But I never tell any man how to vote, or who to vote for. But I will show you how we have been situated by bringing a comparison. Should there be a Methodist society here and two candidates running for office, one says, "If you will vote for me and put me in governor I will exterminate the Methodists, take away their charters, etc." The other candidate says "If I am governor, I will give all an equal privilege." Which would the Methodists vote for? Of course they would vote _en masse_ for the candidate that would give them their rights. Thus it has been with us. Joseph Duncan said, if the people would elect him, he would exterminate the Mormons and take away their charters. As to Mr. Ford he made no such threats, but manifested a spirit in his speeches to give every man his rights; hence The Church universally voted for Mr. Ford, and he was elected governor. [1] In the election above referred to a circumstance occurred which greatly intensified the political bitterness. It will be remembered that Cyrus Walker refused to assist Joseph when under arrest at Dixon, unless he would pledge him his vote in the then pending election. This Joseph did and Walker was satisfied that he would go to Congress, as he expected that Joseph's vote would bring to him the entire vote of Nauvoo, which would insure his election; and so expressed himself to Stephen Markham. But the day before election, which was Sunday, Hyrum told Joseph that the Spirit had manifested it to him that it would be to the best interests of the people to vote the Democratic ticket, including Mr. Hoge, the Democratic candidate for Congress. Joseph made that announcement in a public meeting, but in addressing the people he said: I am not come to tell you to vote this way, that way, or the other. In relation to national matters I want it to go abroad to the whole world that every man should stand on his own merits. The Lord has not given me a revelation concerning politics. I have not asked Him for one. I am a third party, and stand independent and alone. I desire to see all parties protected in their rights. Referring to what Hyrum had communicated to him he said: I never knew Hyrum to say he ever had a revelation and it failed. Let God speak, and all men hold their peace. Joseph kept his pledge personally, and voted for Cyrus Walker; but the Democratic ticket was overwhelmingly successful in Nauvoo. It ought to be said here in justification of the course of the people of Nauvoo, that very good evidence existed to the effect that the whole difficulty connected with the arrest of Joseph at Dixon on the old Missouri charges of "treason, arson," etc, etc., was a political scheme planned with a view of securing the Mormon vote for the Whig party. The _Illinois State Register_ in July published the following on the subject of the arrest of the Prophet at Dixon, to justify the charge it made that the whole affair was but a Whig plot to secure the Mormon vote: The public is already aware that a demand was lately made upon the governor of this State for the arrest of Joseph Smith, and that a writ was accordingly issued against him. We propose now to state some of the facts, furnishing strong grounds of suspicion that the demand which was made on the governor here was a manoeuvre of the Whig party. 1st. A letter was shown to a gentleman of this city, by the agent of Missouri, from the notorious John C. Bennett to a gentleman in one of the western counties of that State, urging the importance of getting up an indictment immediately against Smith, for the five or six years old treason of which he was accused several years ago. 2nd. This charge had been made once before, and afterwards abandoned by Missouri. It is the same charge on which Smith was carried before Judge Douglass and discharged two years ago. After that decision, the indictment against Smith was dismissed, and the charge wholly abandoned. 3rd. But in the letter alluded to, Bennett says to his Missouri agent, Go to the judge, and never leave him until he appoints a special term of court; never suffer the court to adjourn until an indictment is found against Smith for treason. When an indictment shall have been found, get a copy and go immediately to the governor, and never leave him until you get a demand on the governor of Illinois for Smith's arrest; and then dispatch some active and vigilant person to Illinois for a warrant and let him never leave the governor until he gets it; and then never let him come back to Missouri without Smith. 4th. A special term of the circuit court of Daviess County, Missouri, was accordingly called on the 5th day of June last. An indictment was found against Smith for treason five years old. A demand was made and a writ issued, as anticipated, by the 17th of the same month. 5th. Bennett it is well known has for a year past been a mere tool in the hands of the Whig junto at Springfield. He has been under their absolute subjection and control, and has been a regular correspondent of the _Sangamo Journal_, the principal organ of the Whig party. He has been a great pet of both the _Journal_ and the junto; and that paper has regularly announced his removals from place to place, until latterly; and within the last year has published more of his writings than of any other person, except the editor. 6th. Cyrus Walker, a short time after his nomination, as the Whig candidate for Congress in the 6th district, made a pilgrimage to Nauvoo, for the purpose of currying favor with the Mormons, and getting their support. But in this he was disappointed and dejected; and it was generally believed that, failing to get the Mormon vote, he would be beaten by his Democratic opponent. 7th. Let it be also borne in mind that the treason of which Smith was accused was five or six years old; that it had been abandoned as a charge by Missouri; that the circuit court of that State sat three times a year; that Smith was permanently settled at Nauvoo, no person dreaming that he would leave there for years to come; that they might have waited in Missouri for a regular term of the court, if the design was simply to revive a charge of treason against Smith, with a perfect assurance that he would always be found at home, and be as subject to arrest at one time as another. But this delay did not suit the conspirators as it would put off an attempt to arrest Smith until after the August election. Let it be borne in mind also that the agent of Missouri, after he had obtained the custody of Smith at Dixon, refused to employ a Democratic lawyer, and insisted upon having a Whig lawyer of inferior abilities, simply upon the ground as he stated, that the Democrats were against him. Let it also be borne in mind that Cyrus Walker, the Whig candidate for Congress, miraculously _happened_ to be within six miles of Dixon when Smith was arrested, ready and convenient to be employed by Smith to get him delivered from custody; and that he was actually employed and actually did get Smith enlarged from custody; and withal let it be remembered that John C. Bennett is the pliant tool and pander of the junto at Springfield; and that he was the instigator of an unnecessary special term in Missouri, on the 5th day of June last, for the purpose of getting Smith indicted. We say let all these facts be borne in mind, and they produce a strong suspicion, if not conviction, that the whole affair is a Whig conspiracy to compel a Democratic governor to issue a writ against Smith, pending the congressional elections, so as to incense the Mormons, create a necessity for Walker's and perhaps Browning's professional services in favor of Smith, to get him delivered out of a net of their own weaving, and thereby get the everlasting gratitude of the Mormons and their support for the Whig cause. (_Illinois State Register_, quoted in History of Joseph Smith, Millennial Star, vol. XXI, p. 762.) Such a plot coming to the knowledge of Joseph and the citizens of Nauvoo would certainly justify them in voting against the perpetrators of such an outrage. Of course it cannot be denied that Cyrus Walker was justified in believing that the vote of Joseph Smith pledged to him at Dixon, and which by him was made a condition precedent to his coming to the assistance of Joseph, was understood as meaning something more than the individual vote of the Prophet, nor do I think the Prophet censurable for using any means at his command under the circumstances to deliver himself from the hands of his enemies. But if afterwards the people of Nauvoo learned--as they evidently did--that a plot had been laid to ensnare them, to secure their vote though it involved the liberty, and perhaps the life of their Prophet-leader, they were justified in casting their votes against the men guilty of such perfidy. This sudden and unexpected change in the vote of the citizens of Nauvoo, stirred up to the very depths the enmity of the defeated political party; and when, shortly after the election, R. D. Foster, who had been elected school commissioner, and G. W. Thatcher, who had been elected clerk of the commissioner's court for the county, appeared at the courthouse in Carthage to take the oath of office, and file their bonds, an attempt was made to keep them from doing so; and the court was threatened with violence if the Mormons were permitted to qualify. They qualified, nevertheless; whereupon a call was issued for an anti-Mormon meeting to convene in Carthage on the following Saturday, August the 19th, to protest against the Mormons holding office. The people of Carthage and vicinity assembled at the appointed time, organized with a chairman, Major Reuben Graves; and a secretary, W. D. Abernethy; and a committee of nine to draft resolutions. After listening to speeches by Valentine Wilson, Walter Bagby and others, the meeting adjourned to meet again on the sixth of September. To enumerate the crimes alleged against the Saints in general and in particular against Joseph Smith, in the preamble to the resolutions adopted at their second meeting, would be drawing up a list of all the crimes that ever threatened the peace, happiness, prosperity and liberty of a nation. They resolved that from recent movements among the Mormons, there were indications that they were unwilling to submit to the ordinary restrictions of law; and therefore concluded that the people of Illinois must assert their rights in some way. That while they deprecated anything like lawless violence, they pledged themselves to resist all wrongs the Mormons should inflict upon them in the future--"peaceably if they could, but forcibly if they must." They called upon all good and honest men to assist in humbling the pride of that "audacious despot," Joseph Smith; pledged themselves to raise a posse and take him if the authorities of Missouri made another demand for him; that it might not be said of them, that they allowed the most outrageous culprits "to go unwhipped of justice." They agreed to support no man of either political party who should truckle to the Mormons for their influence, and finally Resolved that when the government ceases to afford protection, the citizens of course fall back upon their original inherent right of self-defense. One of the principal movers in these meetings was Walter Bagby, the county collector, with whom Joseph had some difficulty in relation to the payment of taxes. In the dispute that arose Bagby told Joseph he lied, and for this insult Joseph struck him, and would doubtless have thrashed him soundly but for the interference of Daniel H. Wells. From that time on, Bagby became the relentless enemy of Joseph and the inspirer of these meetings at Carthage; and afterwards went to Missouri where he conferred with the Prophet's old enemies, and brought about that concerted action between the Missourians and the anti-Mormons of Illinois which resulted finally in his assassination. Later in the fall, acts of violence began to be perpetrated upon the Mormon people who lived at a distance from Nauvoo; and threats of violence were frequent. In December of the year of which I am now writing--1843--a member of The Church living near Warsaw, by the name of Daniel Avery, and his son Philander, were kidnapped by Levi Williams, of Warsaw, John Elliot and others, and run across the Mississippi to Missouri, where for several weeks Daniel Avery was kept a prisoner in Clark County, while one Joseph McCoy was hunting up witnesses to prove that he had stolen a mare from him. Philander Avery escaped and returned to Illinois; but his father remained a prisoner, and suffered great cruelty at the hands of his captors. Finally, however, he was released by writ of _habeas corpus_, and went to Nauvoo where he made affidavit as to his treatment. Wild rumors abounded also as to what the Missourians intended to do; and some of the letters from Missouri that fell into Joseph's hands, through friends of his, threatened Illinois with invasion, and for a season it would seem that a border war was inevitable. Joseph was careful to keep Governor Ford informed as to all acts of violence perpetrated upon his people, and especially as to the threats of the Missourians respecting an attack, and went so far as to tender the services of the Legion to repel any attempted invasion of the State should it occur. Governor Ford, however, refused to believe there was any danger in the threats, and therefore would detail no portion of the Legion, or of the other State militia, to be ready for such an assault. A petition signed by nearly all the citizens of Nauvoo, asking the governor to issue no more warrants at the demand of Missouri for the arrest of Joseph Smith on the old charges, was presented to the executive, but the governor refused to give the people any encouragement that he would favorably entertain their suit. In the meantime another important event began to take shape. As the time of the presidential election was now approaching the probable candidates for the office began to be discussed. It was well known that the vote of the citizens of Nauvoo would be important, as it would most likely determine whether Illinois would go Whig or Democratic. The political friends of John C. Calhoun at Quincy, early perceived the importance of securing their favor, and began to work for it. A Colonel Frierson, of Quincy, the political friend of John C. Calhoun, expressed great sympathy for the Saints because of the injustice and persecution they had received at the hands of Missouri, and intimated to Brother Joseph L. Heywood that the Hon. B. Rhett, a representative from South Carolina to the United States Congress, and also a political friend to Mr. Calhoun, had expressed a willingness to present to Congress a memorial for a redress of wrongs suffered by the Saints in Missouri; but was careful to intimate to Brother Heywood, and through him to the citizens of Nauvoo, that he supposed that Mr. Calhoun would be a more acceptable candidate to them than Mr. Van Buren. Colonel Frierson afterwards went to Nauvoo, met in council with the leading citizens, and drafted a memorial to Congress; a copy of which he took with him to Quincy to obtain signers, but I think it never reached the House of Representatives. The incident, however, suggested to the Prophet the propriety of addressing letters to each of the candidates for the presidency--five in number, viz.,--John C. Calhoun, Lewis Cass, Richard M. Johnson, Henry Clay and Martin Van Buren--to ascertain what policy they would adopt respecting the Saints and redressing the wrongs done them by Missouri. Only two out of the number, however, gave a reply. They were Calhoun and Clay. The former was of the opinion that the general government possessed such limited and specific powers, that the Missouri troubles did not come within its jurisdiction. As to his treatment of the Latter-day Saints, as the Constitution and the laws of the Union made no distinction between citizens of different religious creeds, he should make none; but so far as the executive was concerned all should have the full benefit of both, and none should be exempted from their operation. [2] Clay partially disclaimed being a candidate for the presidency, but said if he ever entered into that high office, he must do so free and unfettered, with no guarantees but such as might be drawn from his whole life, character and conduct. But he was careful to say, that he had watched the progress of the Saints, and sympathized with them in their sufferings under injustice, which had been inflicted upon them; and thought that they, in common with other religious communities, should enjoy the security and protection of the Constitution and laws. To these letters the Prophet Joseph wrote scathing replies. The particular portion of Calhoun's answer with which he dealt, was that which claimed that the general government had no jurisdiction in the case of the Saints and Missouri, and handled rather severely the senator's doctrine of the limited powers of the general government. [3] In reply to Henry Clay he dealt chiefly with his "no pledge nor guarantee" doctrine, only such as could be drawn from his whole life, character and conduct; and drew such a picture of that statesman's past conduct, that the Kentucky senator could not feel flattered withal, to say the least; and in good round terms he denounced the subterfuges of politicians, and demanded of the nation justice in behalf of his afflicted people. In reading this correspondence one cannot but think that the Prophet is unnecessarily harsh of expression, and some phrases we cannot help but feel are certainly unworthy of him. The faults of these letters, however, are not so much the fault of the individual as the fault of the times. Those were days when moderation in language was certainly not characteristic of the political literature of the times. Personal abuse often seems to have been mistaken for argument, and severity of expression was often thought to out-weigh reason. One other thing should be remembered also, and that is the Prophet Joseph very largely depended upon others for the expression, for the literary form of those ideas which he advanced, and these secondary persons yielded too often to the spirit of the times in what they set down as coming from the Prophet. When it was ascertained that from none of the candidates in the field, the citizens of Nauvoo could hope for assistance in obtaining justice for the wrongs they suffered in Missouri, Joseph allowed a convention at Nauvoo to put his name in nomination for the office of president; and he published his "Views on the Powers and Policy of the Government of the United States," a document of great strength and one which excited considerable comment from the press of the country, very much of which was favorable. In this document the Prophet-candidate reviews the growth and development of the American government until it reached the "_Acme_ of American glory, liberty, and prosperity" under the administration of General Jackson; and then the beginning of its decline under the "withering touch of Martin Van Buren." He advocated prison reform. Advised the people of the south to petition their respective legislatures to abolish slavery by the year 1850, or now, "and save the abolitionist from reproach and ruin, infamy and shame." He recommended the payment of a reasonable price to the slave-holders of the south for their slaves, to be paid by the surplus revenue, arising from the sale of public lands, and reduction in the wages paid to congress-men. The southern people, said he, are hospitable and noble. They will help to rid so free a country of every vestige of slavery, whenever they are assured of an equivalent for their property. He recommended more economy in the national and state governments, and more equality among the people. For the accommodation of the people he proposed the establishment of a national bank, with branches in each State, the directors thereof to be elected yearly by the people; and the profits arising from the business to be used as revenue, in defraying the expenses of government, the profits from the branch banks, being used in the respective States where they existed; and those arising from the parent institution by the general government; and reduce taxation to the extent of the net profits of these institutions. In the light of the experience he and the Latter-day Saints had passed through in Missouri, he advocated the idea of giving the president full power to send an army to suppress mobs, "and appealed to the States to repeal that relic of folly," which made it necessary for the governor of a State to make a demand of the president for troops in case of invasion or rebellion. "The governor himself," he goes on to say, "may be a mobber; and instead of being punished, as he should be, for murder or treason, he may destroy the very lives, rights and property he should protect." He favored the annexation of Texas, and the extension of the authority of the United States over contiguous territory on the west, and said: When a neighboring realm petitioned to join the Union of the Sons of Liberty, my voice would be, _come_--yea, come Texas, come Mexico, come Canada, and come all the world; let us be brethren, let us be one great family, and let there be a universal peace. [4] On the seventeenth of June, 1844, a State convention was held at Nauvoo, which ratified the views of Joseph on the "Powers and Policy of the Government," passed a series of resolutions inviting all men of all parties to assist in the work of reforming the government, and in a formal manner putting in nomination General Joseph Smith for President of the United States, and Sidney Rigdon for vice-president. James Arlington Bennett, of New York, was asked to take the second place on the ticket first; but, he being of foreign birth, was not eligible. Then the position was offered to Colonel Solomon Copeland, but for some reason he did not accept; so the next choice was Sidney Rigdon, who by that time had removed from Nauvoo to Pennsylvania. Arrangements were entered into, to hold a national convention in New York on the thirteenth of July following, and preparations were made for an active campaign in favor of the Prophet-nominee; but before the time for the national convention had arrived, the standard bearer of the new party of reform, Jeffersonian Democracy, [5] free trade and sailors' rights, fell pierced by assassins' bullets--the victim of a cruel mob. Of course Joseph had no hope that he would be elected to the presidency, but by becoming a candidate, he gave the citizens of Nauvoo an opportunity to act consistently with their views of what ought to be done for the general good of the nation, and at the same time, avoid the wrath of the political parties in the State of Illinois by affiliating with neither of them in the ensuing election; for whenever they voted with one of those parties the other became enraged and _vice versa_. Doubtless the best reasons for, and the best justification of, this movement on the part of the people of Nauvoo is to be found in an editorial article from the _Times and Seasons_ for February, 1844--with which I close this chapter: WHO SHALL BE OUR NEXT PRESIDENT? This is an inquiry which to us as a people is a matter of the most paramount importance, and requires our most serious, calm, and dispassionate reflection. Executive power, when correctly wielded, is a great blessing to the people of this great commonwealth, and forms one of the firmest pillars of our confederation. It watches the interests of the whole community with a fatherly care; it wisely balances the other legislative powers when overheated by party spirit or sectional feeling; it watches with jealous care our interests and commerce with foreign nations, and gives tone and efficacy to legislative enactments. The President stands at the head of these United States, and is the mouth-piece of this vast republic. If he be a man of an enlightened mind and a capacious soul,--if he be a virtuous man, a statesman, a patriot, and a man of unflinching integrity,--if he possess the same spirit that fired the souls of our venerable sires, who founded this great commonwealth, and wishes to promote the universal good of the whole republic, he may indeed be made a blessing to the community. But if he prostrates his high and honorable calling to base and unworthy purposes,--if he makes use of the power which the people have placed in his hands for their interests to gratify his ambition, for the purpose of self-aggrandizement or pecuniary interest,--if he meanly panders with demagogues, loses sight of the interest of the nation, and sacrifices the Union on the altar of sectional interests or party views, he renders himself unworthy of the dignified trust reposed in him, debases the nation in the eyes of the civilized world, and produces misery and confusion at home. "When the wicked rule the people mourn." There is perhaps no body of people in the United States who are at the present time more interested about the issue of the presidential contest than are the Latter-day Saints. And our situation in regard to the two great political parties is a most novel one. It is a fact well understood that we have suffered great injustice from the State of Missouri, that we petitioned to the authorities of that State for redress in vain, that we have also memorialized Congress under the late administration, and have obtained the heartless reply that "Congress has no power to redress your grievances." After having taken all the legal and constitutional steps that we can, we are still groaning under accumulated wrongs. Is there no power anywhere to redress our grievances? Missouri lacks the disposition, and Congress lacks both the disposition and power (?); and thus fifteen thousand inhabitants of these United States can with impunity be dispossessed of their property; have their houses burned, their property confiscated, many of their numbers murdered, and the remainder driven from their homes and left to wander as exiles in this boasted land of freedom and equal rights: and after appealing again and again to the legally constituted authorities of our land for redress, we are coolly told by our highest tribunals, "We can do nothing for you." We have paid hundreds of thousands of dollars into the coffers of Congress for their lands, and they stand virtually pledged to defend us in our rights, but they have not done it. If a man steals a dollar from his neighbor, or steals a horse or a hog, he can obtain redress; but we have been robbed by wholesale, the most daring murders have been committed, and we are coolly told that we can obtain no redress. If a steamboat is set on fire on our coast by foreigners, even when she is engaged in aiding and abetting the enemies of that power, it becomes a matter of national interference and legislation; or if a foreigner, as in the case of McLeod, is taken on our land and tried for supposed crimes committed by him against our citizens, his nation interferes, and it becomes a matter of negotiation and legislation. But our authorities can calmly look on and see the citizens of a country butchered with impunity: they can see two counties dispossessed of their inhabitants, their houses burned, and their property confiscated; and when the crys of fifteen thousand men, women and children salute their ears, they deliberately tell us that we can obtain no redress! Hear it, therefore, ye mobbers! Proclaim it to all the scoundrels in the Union! Let a standard be erected around which shall rally all the renegadoes of the land: assemble yourselves and rob at pleasure; murder till you are satisfied with blood; drive men, women and children from their homes: there is no law to protect them, and Congress has no power to redress their grievances; and the great father of the Union (the President) has not got an ear to listen to their complaints. What shall we do under this state of things? In the event of either of the prominent candidates, Van Buren or Clay, obtaining the presidential chair, we should not be placed in any better situation. In speaking of Mr. Clay, his politics are diametrically opposed to ours. He inclines strongly to the old school of Federalists, and as a matter of course would not favor our cause; neither could we conscientiously vote for him. And we have yet stronger objections to Mr. Van Buren on other grounds. He has sung the old song of Congress--"Congress has no power to redress your grievances." But did the matter rest here, it would not be so bad. He was in the presidential chair at the time of our former difficulties. We appealed to him on that occasion, but we appealed in vain, and his sentiments are yet unchanged. But all these thing are tolerable in comparison to what we have yet to state. We have been informed from a respectable source that there is an understanding between Mr. Benton, of Missouri, and Mr. Van Buren, and a conditional compact entered into, that if Mr. Benton will use his influence to get Mr. Van Buren elected, Van Buren, when elected, shall use his executive influence to wipe away the stain from Missouri by a further persecution of the Mormons, and wreaking out vengeance on their heads, either by extermination or by some other summary process. We could scarcely credit the statement; and we hope yet for the sake of humanity, that the suggestion is false: but we have too good reason to believe that we are correctly informed. If, then, this is the case can we conscientiously vote for a man of this description, and put the weapon in his hands to cut our throats with? We cannot. And however much we might wish to sustain the Democratic nomination, we cannot--we will not vote for Van Buren. Our interests, our property, our lives, and the lives of our families are too dear to us to be sacrificed at the shrine of party spirit and to gratify party feelings. We have been sold once in the State of Missouri, and our liberties bartered away by political demagogues, through executive intrigue, and we wish not to be betrayed again by Benton and Van Buren. Under these circumstances, the question again arises, Whom shall we support? General Joseph Smith--a man of sterling worth and integrity and of enlarged views--a man who has raised himself from the humblest walks in life to stand at the head of a large, intelligent, respectable and increasing society, that has spread not only in this land, but in distant nations,--a man whose talents and genius are of an exalted nature, and whose experience has rendered him in every way adequate to the onerous duty. Honorable, fearless, and energetic, he would administer justice with an impartial hand, and magnify and dignify the office of Chief magistrate of this land; and we feel assured that there is not a man in the United States more competent for the task. One great reason that we have for pursuing our present course is, that at every election we have been made a political target for the filthy demagogues in the country to shoot their loathsome arrows at. And every story has been put into requisition to blast our fame from the old fabrication of "walk on the water" down to "the murder of ex-Governor Boggs." The journals have teemed with this filthy trash, and even men who ought to have more respect for themselves--men contending for the gubernatorial chair have made use of terms so degrading, so mean, so humiliating, that a Billingsgate fisherwoman would have considered herself disgraced with. We refuse any longer to be thus bedaubed for either party. We tell all such to let their filth flow in its own legitimate channel, for we are sick of the loathsome smell. Gentlemen, we are not going either to "murder ex-Governor Boggs, nor a Mormon in this State for not giving us his money," nor are we going to "walk on the water," nor "drown a woman," nor "defraud the poor of their property," nor send "destroying angels after General Bennett to kill him," nor "Marry spiritual wives," nor commit any other outrageous act this election to help any party with. You must get some other persons to perform these kind offices for you for the future. We withdraw. Under existing circumstances, we have no other alternative; and if we can accomplish our object, well: if not, we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that we have acted conscientiously, and have used our best judgment. And if we have to throw away our votes, we had better do so upon a worthy rather than upon an unworthy individual, who might make use of the weapon we put in his hand to destroy us with. Whatever may be the opinions of men in general in regard to Mr. Smith, we know that he needs only to be known to be admired; and that it is the principles of honor, integrity, patriotism, and philanthropy that have elevated him in the minds of his friends; and the same principles, if seen and known, would beget the esteem and confidence of all the patriotic and virtuous throughout the Union. Whatever, therefore, be the opinions of other men our course is marked out, and our motto from henceforth will be--GENERAL JOSEPH SMITH. Footnotes 1. History of Joseph Smith, Mill. Star, vol. xxi, p. 668. The remarks were made at a public meeting soon after the Prophet's release by the municipal court of Nauvoo from the custody of Reynolds and Wilson. 2. See Appendix I. 3. See Appendix II. 4. See Appendix III. 5. The fifth resolution adopted at the Nauvoo convention read as follows: _Resolved_, that the better to carry out the principles of liberty and equal rights, Jeffersonian Democracy, free trade, and sailors' rights, and the protection of person and property, we will support General Joseph Smith for the President of the United States at the ensuing election. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE PROJECTED MOVEMENT TO THE WEST. AS an evidence that the Prophet entertained no thought of success in his candidacy for the office of Chief Executive, we may mention the fact that, during the time that vigorous preparations were being made for the presidential canvass, he was setting on foot a scheme for taking the body of The Church into the west to settle Oregon. On the twentieth of February, 1844, the Prophet in his journal says: "I instructed the Twelve Apostles to send out a delegation, and investigate the location of California and Oregon, and hunt out a good location, where we can remove to, after the temple is completed, and where we can build a city in a day, and have a government of our own, get up into the mountains, where the devil cannot dig us out, and live in a healthy climate, where we can live as old as we have a mind too." In accordance with that instruction, the Twelve called the council on the twenty-first, and Jonathan Dunham, Phinehas H. Young and David Fullmer volunteered to go; and Alphonzo Young, James Emmett, George D. Watt, and Daniel Spencer were called to go. Subsequently a memorial was drawn up by the Prophet, asking Congress to pass an enactment, authorizing him to raise a company for the purpose of establishing colonies in that vast, unsettled section of the country in the far West, known under the general name of Oregon. At that time there was no particular government existing in the region to which the names Oregon and California were loosely given. Nor was it certain whether that country would fall into the possession of England or the United States, as the northern boundary line question was then unsettled, and England and the United States held the country by a treaty of joint occupancy. As the Prophet preferred having an assurance of protection from the government on his enterprise, he asked Congress to pass the act before alluded to. Orson Pratt and John E. Page, two of the Twelve, went to Washington in the interest of this scheme, and urged its consideration among the Congressmen. Subsequently, in April, 1844, Orson Hyde was sent to Washington in the interest of the same great project; and through the influence of Mr. Hoge, Representative to Congress from the district in which Nauvoo was included. Mr. Hardin, and Stephen A. Douglass, succeeded in approaching a number of members of Congress on the subject but received small encouragement, as Congressmen then, as now, were extremely cautions in engaging in anything affecting their reputation and prospects for political preferment for the future. But however much these men objected to advocating anything which looked like favoring openly the scheme of the Prophet, they all concurred in affirming that he had the right to lead his people to Oregon to settle, and the government would protect them. Stephen A. Douglass remarked, that if he could command the following that Mr. Smith could, he would resign his seat in Congress, to go to the West. On this subject Orson Hyde made two exhaustive reports to the Prophet in letters from Washington, which I here insert: WASHINGTON, April 25th, 1844. HON. SIR,--I take the liberty to transmit through you to the council of our Church the result of my labors thus far. I arrived in this place on the 23rd instant, by way of Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and New Jersey. I found Elder Orson Pratt here, Elder Page having been called home to Pittsburgh on account of his wife's ill health. Elder O. Pratt has been indefatigable in his exertions in prosecuting the business entrusted to his charge. His business has been before the Senate, and referred to the committee on the judiciary; and the report of said committee is not yet rendered, which is the cause of his delay in writing to you. Yesterday we conversed with Messrs. Hoge, Hardin, Douglass, and Wentworth, and last evening we spent several hours with the Hon. Mr. Semple They all appear deeply interested in the Oregon question, and received us with every demonstration of respect that we could desire. Mr. Hoge thought that the bill would not pass, from the fact that there already exists between England and America a treaty for the joint occupancy of Oregon, and that any act of our Government authorizing an armed force to be raised, and destined for that country, would be regarded by England as an infraction of that treaty, and a cause of her commencing hostilities against us. But my reply was, These volunteers are not to be considered any part or portion of the army of the United States, neither acting under the direction or authority of the United States; and, said I, for men to go there and settle in the character of emigrants cannot be regarded by our Government as deviating in the least degree from her plighted faith, unless she intends to tamely submit to British monopoly in that country. Mr. H., said he would present the memorial, if we desired it. I thanked him for his kind offer, but observed that I was not yet prepared for the bill to be submitted, but wished to elicit all the facts relative to the condition of Oregon, and also advise with many other members relative to the matter; and we could better determine then how the bill should be introduced. We do not want it presented and referred to a standing committee, and stuck away with five or ten cords of petitions, and that be the last of it; but we want the memorial read, a move made to suspend the rules of the house, and the bill printed, etc. Mr. Wentworth said--"I am for Oregon anyhow. You may set me down on your list, and I will go for you if you will go for Oregon." Judge Douglass has been quite ill, but is just recovered; he will help all he can; Mr. Hardin likewise. But Major Semple says that he does not believe anything will be done about Texas or Oregon this session, for it might have a very important effect upon the presidential election; and politicians are slow to move when such doubtful and important matters are likely to be affected by it. He says that there are already two bills before the house for establishing a territorial government in Oregon, and to protect the emigrants there; and now he says, Were your bill to be introduced, it might be looked upon that you claimed the sole right of emigrating to and settling that new country to the exclusion of others. He was in favor of the Oregon being settled, and he thought the bills already before the house would extend equal protection to us; and equal protection to every class of citizens was what the government could rightly do; but particular privileges to any one class they could not rightly do. I observed that the bill asked for no exclusive rights. It asks not for exclusive rights in Oregon, neither do we wish it. Other people might make a move to Oregon, and no prejudices bar their way, and their motives would not be misinterpreted. But, said I, Missouri knows her guilt; and should we attempt to march to Oregon without the government throwing a protective shield over us, Missouri's crimes would lead her first to misinterpret our intentions, to fan the flame of popular excitement against us, and scatter the firebrands of a misguided zeal among the combustible materials of other places, creating a flame too hot for us to encounter--too desolating for us to indulge the hope of successfully prosecuting the grand and benevolent enterprise we have conceived. We have been compelled to relinquish our rights in Missouri. We have been forcibly driven from our homes, leaving our property and inheritances as spoil to the oppressor; and more or less in Illinois we have been subject to the whims and chimeras of illiberal men, and to threats, to vexatious prosecutions, and lawsuits. Our government professes to have no power to help us, or to redress the wrongs which we have suffered; and we now ask the government to protect us while raising our volunteers. And when we get into Oregon we will protect ourselves and all others who wish our protection. And after subduing a new country, encountering all its difficulties and hardships, and sustaining the just claims of our nation to its soil, we believe that the generosity of our government towards us will be equal to our enterprise and patriotism, and that they will allow us a grant or territory of land, which will be both honorable in them and satisfactory to us. This, he says, is all very just and reasonable. But still he thinks that Congress will take no step in relation to Oregon, from the fact that his resolution requesting the President of the United States to give notice to the British government for the abolition of the treaty of joint occupation was voted down; and while that treaty is in force, our government dare do nothing in relation to that country. This resolution was introduced by Mr. Semple to pave the way for the passage of those bills in relation to a territorial government in Oregon. All our members join in the acknowledgement that you have an undoubted right to go to Oregon with all the emigrants you can raise. They say the existing laws protect you as much as law can protect you; and should Congress pass an additional law, it would not prevent wicked men from shooting you down as they did in Missouri. All the Oregon men in Congress would be glad if we would go to that country and settle it. I will now give you my opinion in relation to this matter. It is made up from the spirit of the times in a hasty manner, nevertheless I think time will prove it correct:--That Congress will pass not act in relation to Texas or Oregon at present. She is afraid of England, afraid of Mexico, afraid the presidential election will be twisted by it. The members all appear like unskillful players at checkers--afraid to move, for they see not which way to move advantageously. All are figuring and playing round the grand and important questions. In the days of our Lord the people neglected the weightier matters of the law, but tithed mint, rue, anise, and cummin; but I think here in Washington they do little else than tithe the _mint_. A member of Congress is in no enviable situation: if he will boldly advocate true principles, he loses his influence and becomes unpopular; and whoever is committed and has lost his influence has no power to benefit his constituents, so that all go to figuring and playing round the great points. Mr. Semple said that Mr. Smith could not constitutionally be constituted a member of the army by law; and this, if nothing else, would prevent its passage. I observed that I would in that case strike out that clause. Perhaps I took an unwarrantable responsibility upon myself; but where I get into a straight place, I can do no better than act according to what appears most correct. I do not intend the opinion that I have hastily given shall abate my zeal to drive the matter through, but I have given the opinion for your benefit, that your indulgence of the hope that Congress will do something for us may not cause you to delay any important action. There is already a government established in Oregon to some extent; magistrates have been chosen by the people, &c. This is on the south of the Columbia. North of that river the Hudson Bay Company occupy. There is some good country in Oregon, but a great deal of sandy, barren desert. I have seen a gentleman who has been there, and also in California. The most of the settlers in Oregon and Texas are our old enemies, the mobocrats of Missouri. If, however, the settlement of Oregon and Texas be determined upon, the sooner the move is made the better; and I would not advise any delay for the action of our government, for there is such a jealousy of our rising power already, that government will do nothing to favor us. If the Saints possess the kingdom, I think they will have to take it; and the sooner it is done the more easily it is accomplished. Your superior wisdom must determine whether to go to Oregon, to Texas, or to remain within these United States, and send forth the most efficient men to build up churches, and let them remain for the time being; and in the meantime send some _wise_ men among the Indians, and teach them civilization and religion, to cultivate the soil, to live in peace with one another and with all men. But whatever you do, don't be deluded with the hope that government will foster us, and thus delay an action which the present is the most proper time that ever will be [in which to accomplish it.--R.] Oregon is becoming a popular question; the fever of emigration begins to rage. If the Mormons become the early majority, others will not come; if the Mormons do not become an early majority, the others will not allow us to come. Elder Pratt is faithful, useful, and true; he has got the run of matters here very well, and is with me in all my deliberations, visitings, &c. Major Semple goes with us this evening to introduce us to the President, and to view the White House. My heart and hand are with you. May heaven bless you and me. As ever, I am ORSON HYDE. To the council of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Also the following letter:-- WASHINGTON, April 26, 1844. DEAR SIR,--Today I trouble you with another communication, which you will please have the goodness to lay before our council. We were last evening introduced to the President at the White House by the politeness of Major Semple, where we spent an hour very agreeably. The President is a very plain, homespun, familiar, farmer-like man. He spoke of our troubles in Missouri, and regretted that we had met with such treatment. He asked us how we were getting along in Illinois. I told him that we were contending with the difficulties of a new country, and laboring under the disadvantageous consequences of being driven from our property and homes in Missouri. We have this day had a long conversation with Judge Douglass. He is ripe for Oregon and the California. He said he would resign his seat in Congress if he could command the force that Mr. Smith could, and would be on the march to that country in a month. I learn that the eyes of many aspiring politicians in this place are now upon that country, and that there is so much jealousy between them that they will probably pass no bill in relation to it. Now all these politicians rely upon the arm of our government to protect them there; and if government were to pass an act establishing a territorial government west of the Rocky Mountains there would be at once a tremendous rush of emigration; but if government pass no act in relation to it, these men have not stamina or sufficient confidence in themselves and their own resources to hazard the enterprise. The northern Whig members are almost to a man against Texas and Oregon; but should the present administration succeed in annexing Texas, then all the Whigs would turn round in favor of Oregon; for if Texas be admitted, slavery is extended to the south; then free States must be added to the west to keep up a balance of power between the slave and the free States. Should Texas be admitted, war with Mexico is looked upon as inevitable. The Senate have been in secret session on the ratification of the treaty of annexation; but what they did we cannot say. General Gaines, who was boarding at the same house with Judge Douglass, was secretly ordered to repair to the Texan frontier four days ago, and left immediately. I asked Judge D. if he did not speak loud for annexation. He says, no. Santa Anna, being a jealous, hot-headed pate, might be suspicious the treaty would be ratified by the Senate, and upon mere suspicion might attempt some hostilities, and Gaines had been ordered there to be on the alert and ready for action if necessary. Probably our navy will in a few days be mostly in the Gulf of Mexico. There are many powerful checks upon our government, preventing her from moving in any of these important matters; and for aught I know, these checks are permitted, to prevent our government from extending her jurisdiction over that territory which God designs to give to His Saints. Judge Douglass says he would equally as soon go to that country without an act of Congress as with; 'and that in five years a noble State might be formed; and then, if they would not receive us into the Union, we would have a government of our own.' He is decidedly of the opinion that congress will pass no act in favor of any particular man going there; but he says if any man will go, and desires that privilege, and has confidence in his own ability to perform it he already has the right, and the sooner he is off the better for his scheme. It is the opinion here among politicians that it will be extremely difficult to have any bill pass in relation to the encouragement of emigration to Oregon; but much more difficult to get a bill passed designating any particular man to go. But all concur in the opinion that we are authorized already. In case of a removal to that country, Nauvoo is the place of general rendezvous. Our course from thence would be westward through Iowa, bearing a little north until we came to the Missouri river, leaving the State of Missouri on the left, thence onward till we come to the Platte, thence up the north fork of the Platte to the mouth of Sweetwater river in longitude 107 45' W., and thence up said Sweetwater river to the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, about eleven hundred miles from Nauvoo; and from said South Pass in latitude 42 28' north to the Umpaque and Klamet valleys in Oregon, bordering on California, is about 600 miles, making the distance from Nauvoo to the best portions of Oregon 1,700 miles. There is no government established there; and it is so near California that when a government shall be established there, it may readily embrace that country likewise. There is much barren country, rocks, and mountains, in Oregon; but the valleys are very fertile. I am persuaded that Congress will pass no act in relation to that country, from the fact that the resolution requesting the President to give notice to the British government for the discontinuance of the treaty of joint occupation of Oregon was voted down with a rush; and this notice must be given before any action can be had, unless Congress violates the treaty; at least so say the politicians here. Judge Douglass has given me a map of Oregon, and also a report on an exploration of the country lying between the Missouri river and the Rocky Mountains on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte rivers, by Lieutenant J. C. Fremont, of the corps of topographical engineers. On receiving it I expressed a wish that Mr. Smith could see it. Judge D. says it is a public document, and I will frank it to him. I accepted his offer, and the book will be forthcoming to him. The people are so eager for it here that they have even stolen it out of the library. The author is Mr. Benton's son-in-law. Judge D. borrowed it of Mr. B. I was not to tell anyone in this city where I got it. The book is a most valuable document to any one contemplating a journey to Oregon. The directions which I have given may not be exactly correct, but the book will tell correctly. Judge D. says he can direct Mr. Smith to several gentlemen in California who will be able to give him any information on the state of affairs in that country; and when he returns to Illinois, he will visit Mr. Smith. Brother Pratt and myself drafted a bill this morning, and handed it in to the committee on the judiciary from the Senate, asking an appropriation of two million dollars for the relief of the sufferers among our people in Missouri in 1836-9, to be deposited in the hands of the city council of Nauvoo, and by them dealt out to the sufferers in proportion to their loss. We intend to tease them until we either provoke them or get them to do something for us. I have learned this much--that if we want Congress to do anything for us in drawing up our memorial, we must not ask what is right in the matter, but we must ask what kind of a thing will Congress pass? Will it suit the politics of the majority? Will it be popular or unpopular? For you might as well drive a musket ball through a cotton bag, or the Gospel of Christ through the heart of a priest, case-hardened by sectarianism, bigotry, and superstition, or a camel through the eye of a needle, as to drive anything through Congress that will operate against the popularity of politicians. I shall probably leave here in a few days, and Brother Pratt will remain. I go to get money to sustain ourselves with. I shall write again soon, and let you know what restrictions, if any, are laid upon our citizens in relation to passing through the Indian territories. I shall communicate everything I think will benefit. In the meantime if the council have any instructions to us, we shall be happy to receive them here or at Philadelphia. John Ross is here; we intend to see him. It is uncertain when Congress rises. It will be a long pull in my opinion. As ever, I am, Yours sincerely, ORSON HYDE. Elder Pratt's best respects to the brethren. An event soon afterwards took place in the House of Representatives before the Prophet's petition was introduced, which put at rest all hopes of Congress doing anything at that time in relation to the Oregon territory. A resolution was introduced giving Great Britain notice that the treaty of joint occupancy of that country was at an end, but it was promptly voted down. That virtually served public notice that the Oregon question was not to be reopened by Congress, at least not until the conclusion of the presidential election. Sufficient may be gathered from what is set down in the above, to prove that the mind of the Prophet Joseph was bent on establishing his people in the West--somewhere in the Rocky Mountains--so soon as they could complete the temple. The subject began to take possession of his mind wholly. Some eighteen months before his formal appeal to Congress, for the privilege of settling with his people in the far West, under the protecting aegis of the general government, _viz_., on the sixth of August, 1842, he prophesied, that his people would continue to suffer much persecution, and at last be driven to the Rocky Mountains. This is the prophecy as it stands in the Prophet's journal: Saturday, sixth, [August]. Passed over the river to Montrose, Iowa, in company with General Adams, Colonel Brewer, and others, and witnessed the installation of the officers of the Rising Sun Lodge, of Ancient York Masons, at Montrose, by General James Adams, Deputy Grand Master of Illinois. While the Deputy Grand Master was engaged in giving the requisite instruction to the Master elect, I had a conversation with a number of brethren in the shade of the building on the subject of our persecutions in Missouri, and the constant annoyance which has followed us since we were driven from that State. I prophesied that the Saints would continue to suffer much affliction and would be driven to the Rocky Mountains, many would apostatize, others would be put to death by our persecutors, or lose their lives in consequence of exposure or disease, and some of you will live to go and assist in making settlements and build cities, and see the Saints become a mighty people in the midst of the Rocky Mountains. [1]--_Millennial Star, Vol. xix, page 630_. As persecution in Illinois grew more relentless, and mobocrats more bold, until the whole horizon appeared black, and threatening with hatred toward the citizens of Nauvoo, the Prophet told them repeatedly it was "light in the west." Footnotes 1. See the author's work, "Succession in the Presidency," where the subject is more exhaustively considered. CHAPTER XXXV. THE STANDARD OF PEACE. MEANTIME the people of Nauvoo, with the Prophet as chief mover in the matter, sought to establish peaceful relations with their neighbors. Armed conflict with surrounding peoples, or with any people, was no part of the policy of Joseph Smith; and no part of the work that he had in hand. It is true that it may be said of the work he introduced, as Jesus said of the work which He began by His personal ministry that it brought not peace but a sword; [1] in each case, however, "the sword" has been found in the hands, not of those who have accepted the Gospel, but in the hands of those who have rejected it, and opposed it, and made war upon it. Early in the history of the work brought forth by Joseph Smith the Lord commanded His servants to "renounce war and proclaim peace;" [2] and true to this spirit of the work the Prophet especially sought for peace. In the _Warsaw Signal_ of the 14th of February Governor Ford published the following letter to the citizens of Hancock County, in the hope, evidently, of quelling the threatening storm: SPRINGFIELD, January 29, 1844. DEAR SIR,--I have received the copy of the proceedings and resolutions of a meeting of the citizens of Hancock County, which you did me the honour to send me. I have observed with regret that occasions have been presented for disturbing the peace of your county; and if I knew what I could legally do to apply a corrective, I would be very ready to do it. But if you are a lawyer or at all conversant with the law, you will know that, I as a governor, have no right to interfere in your difficulties. As yet, I believe that there has been nothing like war among you; and I hope that all of you will have the good sense to see the necessity of preserving peace. If there is anything wrong in the Nauvoo charters, or in the mode of administering them, you will see that nothing short of legislative or judicial power is capable of enforcing a remedy. I myself had the honor of calling the attention of the Legislature to this subject at the last session; but a large majority of both political parties in that body either did not see the evil which you complain of, or, if they did, they repeatedly refused to correct it. And yet a call is made upon me, to do that which all parties refused to do at the last session. I have also been called upon to take away the arms from the _Mormons_, to raise the militia to arrest a supposed fugitive, and in fact to repeal some of the ordinances of the city of Nauvoo. Hancock County is justly famed for its intelligence; and I cannot believe that any of its citizens are so ignorant as not to know that I have no power to do these things. The absurd and preposterous nature of these requests gave some color to the charge that they are made for political effect only. I hope that this charge is untrue: for, in all candor, it would be more creditable to those concerned to have their errors attributed to ignorance than to a disposition to embroil the country in the horrors of war for the advancement of party ends. But if there should be any truth in the charge, (which God forbid) I affectionately entreat all the good citizens engaged in it to lay aside their designs and yield up their ears to the voice of justice, reason and humanity. All that I can do at present is to admonish both parties to beware of carrying matters to extremity. Let it come to this--let a state of war ensue, and I will be compelled to interfere with executive power. In that case also, I wish, in a friendly, affectionate, and candid manner, to tell the citizens of Hancock County, _Mormons_ and all, that my interference will be against those who shall be the first transgressors. I am bound by the laws and Constitution to regard you all as citizens of the State, possessed of equal rights and privileges, and to cherish the rights of one as dearly as the rights of another. I can know no distinction among you except that of assailant and assailed. I hope, dear sir, you will do me the favor to publish this letter in the papers of your county, for the satisfaction of all persons concerned. I am, with the highest respect, Your obedient servant, THOMAS FORD. To this letter three days later the Prophet-mayor made the following response in the _Nauvoo Neighbor_, under the caption PACIFIC INNUENDO. The very candid, pacific and highly creditable _advice_ which Governor Ford has done himself the honor to address to "the citizens of Hancock County, 'Mormons and all,'" and which appears in the _Warsaw Signal_ of the 14th instant, is, like the balm of Gilead, well calculated to ease the pain which has troubled the heads and hearts of the Carthagenians, Warsawvians and other over-jealous bodies for _weal and woe_. It certainly must be admitted, on all hands, that Governor Ford has exalted himself as a mediator, patriot, lawyer, governor, peacemaker, and friend of all, not only to magnify the law and make it honorable, but also in pointing out the _path of peace_. Such is what the Latter-day Saints have ever sought at the hands of those in authority; and with an approving conscience clear as the crystal spring, and with a laudable intention warm as the summer zephyr, and with a charitable prayer mellow as the morning dew, it is now our highest consolation to hope that all difficulties will cease, and give way to reason, sense, peace and goodwill. The Saints, if they will be humble and wise, can now _practice_ what they _preach_, and soften by good examples, rather than harden by a distinct course of conduct, the hearts of the people. For general information, it may be well to say that there has never been any cause for alarm as to the Latter-day Saints. The Legislature of Illinois granted a liberal charter for the city of Nauvoo; and let every honest man in the Union who has any knowledge of her say whether she has not flourished beyond the most sanguine anticipations of all. And while they witness her growing glory, let them solemnly testify whether Nauvoo has _wilfully injured_ the country, county or a single individual _one cent_. With the strictest scrutiny publish the facts, whether a particle of law has been evaded or broken: virtue and innocence need no artificial covering. Political views and party distinctions never should disturb the harmony of society; and when the whole truth comes before a virtuous people, we are willing to abide the issue. We will here refer to the _three late dismissals_ upon writs of _habeas corpus_, of Joseph Smith, when arrested under the requisitions of Missouri. The first, in June, 1841, was tried at Monmouth, before Judge Douglass, of the fifth judicial circuit; and as no exceptions have been taken to that decision by this State or Missouri, but Missouri had previously entered a _nolle prosequi_ on all the old indictments against the "Mormons" in the difficulties of 1838, it is taken for granted _that that decision was just_. The second, in December, 1842, was tried at Springfield before Judge Pope in the United States District Court; and from that honorably discharged, as no exceptions from any source have been made to those proceedings, it follows as a matter of course _that that decision was just_! And the third, in July, 1843, was tried at the city of Nauvoo, before the municipal court of said city; and as no exceptions to that discharge have been taken, and as the governor says there is "evidence on the other side to show that the sheriff of Lee County _voluntarily_ carried Mr. Reynolds (who had Mr. Smith in custody,) to the city of Nauvoo without any coercion on the part of any one" it must be admitted _that that decision was just_! But is any man still unconvinced of the justness of these strictures relative to the two last cases, let the astounding fact go forth, that _Orin Porter Rockwell_, whom Boggs swore was the principal in his assassination, and accessory to which Mr. Smith was arrested, _has returned home, "clear of that sin_." In fact, there was not a witness to get up an indictment against him. The Messrs. Averys, who were unlawfully transported out of this State, have returned to their families in peace; and there seems to be no ground for contention, no cause for jealousy, and no excuse for a surmise that any man, woman or child will suffer the least inconvenience from General Smith, the charter of Nauvoo, the city of Nauvoo, or even any of her citizens. There is nothing for a bone of contention! Even those ordinances which appear to excite the feeling of some people have recently been _repealed_; so that if the "intelligent" inhabitants of Hancock County want peace, want to abide by the governor's advice, want to have a character abroad grow out of their character at home, and really mean to follow the Savior's golden rule, "_To do unto others as they would wish others to do unto them_," they will be still _now_, and let their own works praise them in the gates of justice and in the eyes of the surrounding world. Wise men ought to have understanding enough to conquer men with kindness. "A soft answer turns away wrath," says the wise man; and it will be greatly to the credit of the Latter-day Saints to show the love of God, by now kindly treating those who may have, in an unconscious moment, done them wrong; for truly said Jesus, "_Pray for thine enemies_." Humanity towards all, reason and refinement to enforce virtue, and good for evil are so eminently designed to cure more disorders of society than an appeal to "arms," or even _argument_ untempered with _friendship_ and the "one thing needful," that no vision for the future, guideboard for the distant, or expositor for the present, need trouble any one with what he ought to do. His own good, his family's good, his neighbor's good, his country's good, and all good seem to whisper to every person--the governor has told you what to do--_now do it_. The Constitution expects every man to do his duty; and when he fails the law urges him; or, should he do too much, the same master rebukes him. Should reason, liberty, law, light and philanthropy now guide the destinies of Hancock County with as much sincerity as has been manifested for her notoriety or welfare, there can be no doubt that peace, prosperity and happiness will prevail, and that future generations as well as the present one will call Governor Ford a peacemaker. The Latter-day Saints will, at all events, and profit by the instruction, and call upon honest men to help them cherish all the love, all the friendship, all the courtesy, all the kindly feelings and all the generosity that ought to characterize _clever people_ in a clever neighborhood, and leave candid men to judge which tree exhibits the best fruit--the one with the most clubs and sticks thrown into its boughs and the grass trodden down under it, or the one with no sticks in it, some dead limbs and rank grass growing under it; for by their signs ye can know their fruit, and by the fruit ye know the trees. Our motto, then, is _Peace with all_! If we have joy in the love of God, let us try to give a reason of that joy, which all the world cannot gainsay or resist. And may be, like as when Paul started with recommendations to Damascus to persecute the Saints, some one who has raised his hand against us with letters to men in high places may see a light at noonday, above the brightness of the sun, and hear the voice of Jesus saying, "_It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks_." Intelligence is sometimes the messenger of safety. And, willing to aid the governor in his laudable endeavors to cultivate peace and honor the laws, believing that very few of the citizens of Hancock County will be found in the negative of such a goodly course; and considering his views a kind of manifesto, or olive leaf, which shows that there is rest for the soles of the Saints' feet, we give it a place in the _Neighbor_, wishing it God speed, and saying, _God bless good men and good measures!_ And as Nauvoo has been, so it will continue to be, a good city, affording a good market to a good country; and let those who do not mean to try the way of transgressors, say "_Amen_." In addition to this in a note to the editor of the _Neighbor_, he advised that he take no further editorial notice of the fulminations of the editor of the _Warsaw Signal_ against the people of Nauvoo, but recommended that the advice of Governor Ford be honored, and that friendship and peace be cultivated with all men. The Prophet went further than this. He tendered the olive branch of peace even to Missouri. He dictated the following to W. W. Phelps which was published under the title-- A FRIENDLY HINT TO MISSOURI. One of the most pleasing scenes that can transpire on earth, when a sin has been committed by one person against another, is, _to forgive that sin_; and then, according to the sublime and perfect pattern of the Savior, pray to our Father in heaven _to forgive also_. Verily, verily, such a friendly rebuke is like the mellow zephyr of summer's eve--it soothes, it cheers and gladdens the heart of the humane and the savage. Well might the wise man exclaim, "A soft answer turneth away wrath;" for men of sense, judgment, and observation, in all the various periods of time, have been witnesses, figuratively speaking, that _water, not wood, checks the rage of fire_. Jesus said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God." Wherefore, if the nation, a single state, community, or family ought to be grateful for anything, _it is peace_. Peace, lovely child of heaven!--peace, like light from the same great parent, gratifies, animates, and happifies the just and the unjust; and is the very essence of happiness below, and bliss above. He that does not strive with all his powers of body and mind, with all his influence at home and abroad, and to cause others to do so too, to seek peace and maintain it for his own benefit and convenience, and for the honor of his State, nation, and country, has no claim on the clemency of man; nor should he be entitled to the friendship of woman or the protection of government. He is the canker-worm to gnaw his own vitals, and the vulture to prey upon his own body; and he is, as to his own prospects and prosperity in life, a _felo-de-se_ of his own pleasure. A community of such beings are not far from hell on earth, and should be let alone as unfit for the smiles of the free or the praise of the brave. * * * * * * So much to preface this friendly hint to the State of Missouri; for, notwithstanding some of her private citizens and public officers have committed violence, robbery, and even murder upon the rights and persons of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, yet compassion, dignity, and a sense of the principles of religion among all classes, and honor and benevolence, mingled with charity by high-minded patriots, lead me to suppose that there are many worthy people in that State who will use their influence and energies to bring about a settlement of all those old difficulties, and use all consistent means to urge the State, for her honor, prosperity, and good name, to restore every person she or her citizens have expelled from her limits, to their rights, and pay them all damage, that the great body of high-minded and well-disposed Southern and Western gentlemen and ladies--the real peacemakers of a western world, will go forth, good Samaritan-like, and pour in the oil and wine, till all that can be healed are made whole; and, after repentance, they shall be forgiven; for verily the Scriptures say, "Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repents, more than over ninety-and-nine just persons that need no repentance." * * * * * * When you meditate upon the massacre at Haun's mill, forget not that the constitution of your State holds this broad truth to the world, that none shall "be deprived of _life, liberty, or property_, but by the judgment of his peers or the law of the land." And when you assemble together in towns, countries, or districts, whether to petition your legislature to pay the damage the Saints have sustained in your State, by reason of oppression and misguided zeal, or to restore them to their rights according to Republican principles and benevolent designs, reflect, and make honorable, or annihilate, such statute law as was in force in your State in 1838,--viz., "If twelve or more persons shall combine to levy war against any part of the people of this State, or to remove forcibly out of the State or from their habitations, evidenced by taking arms and assembling to accomplish such purpose, every person so offending shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary for a period not exceeding five years, or by a fine not exceeding five thousand dollars, and imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding six months." Finally, if honor dignifies an honest people, if virtue exalts a community, if wisdom guides great men, if principle governs intelligent beings, if humanity spreads comfort among the needy, and if religion affords consolation by showing that charity is the first, best, and sweetest token of perfect love, then, O ye good people of Missouri, like the woman in Scripture _who had lost one of her ten pieces of silver_, arise, search diligently till you find the lost piece, and then make a feast, and call in your friends for joy. With due consideration, I am the friend of all good men, JOSEPH SMITH. Nauvoo, Ill., March 8, 1843. Surely this was going as far in the interests of peace as men or God could require him to go; but alas! there was to be no peace. Footnotes 1. Matt. x: 34-40. 2. August, 1833, Doc. & Cov. Sec. xcviii. CHAPTER XXXVI. "IN PERIL AMONG FALSE BRETHREN." THE winter of 1843-4 was big with events affecting the destinies of Nauvoo. During that winter were set on foot conspiracies which culminated in the destruction of Nauvoo. Men who stood nearest to the Prophet Joseph, and who were bound in honor to defend his life, not bare the knives that were to strike him down, combined together in secret covenant for his overthrow. Owing to the constant efforts of the Prophet's enemies in Missouri, to capture him and drag him to Missouri where he might be murdered with impunity, the force of police in Nauvoo was increased by the appointment of forty night-guards to patrol the city. These made it less convenient for the conspirators, who worked, as men ever do when engaged in such business--in the darkness. The night guards several times came in contact with men moving about the city in a manner which, to say the least, was suspicious; and soon complaints were made by these same parties that the city government was arbitrary and oppressive; they claimed that these night-watchmen threatened their peace and even started rumors that Joseph had appointed them for the purpose of intimidation. Among others who complained of the appointment of night-watchmen was William Marks, president of the Nauvoo stake. Joseph, in the course of a speech made at a meeting of the city council at the time of the appointment of the special watchmen, referred to the danger of invasion from Missouri and incidentally remarked: "We have a Judas in our midst." This gave great offense to both William Marks and the Law brothers. The Prophet in his journal, when speaking of the circumstance, says: "What can be the matter with these men? Is it that the wicked flee when no man pursueth, that hit pigeons always flutter, that drowning men clutch at straws, or that Presidents Law and Marks are absolutely traitors to The Church, that my remarks should produce such excitement in their minds? Can it be possible that the traitor whom Porter Rockwell reports to me as being in correspondence with my Missouri enemies is one of my quorum [the First Presidency]? The people in the town were astonished, almost every man saying to his neighbor, 'Is it possible that Brother Law or Marks is a traitor, and would deliver Brother Joseph into the hands of his enemies in Missouri?' If not what can be the meaning of all this? The righteous are bold as a lion." [1] In the spring of 1844, the Prophet was apprised by two young men, Denison L. Harris and Robert Scott, the latter living in the family of William Law, of a secret movement then on foot to take his life, and the lives of several other leading men of The Church; among them the Prophet's brother, Hyrum. These young men were invited to the secret meetings by the conspirators, but before going, conferred with the Prophet, who told them to go, but to take no part in the proceedings of these wicked men against himself. They carried out his advice, and at the risk of their lives attended the secret meetings three times, and brought to Joseph a report of what they had witnessed. [2] In addition to the testimonies of these young men was that of M. G. Eaton, who expressed a willingness to make affidavit that there was a plot laid to kill Joseph Smith and others, and would give the names of those who had concocted it. There was also one A. B. Williams who said the same thing. These men went before Daniel H. Wells, at the time a justice of the peace, and made affidavit that such a plot as I have spoken of existed. In their statements they named as leaders of the movement, Chauncey L. Higbee, R. D. Foster, Joseph H. Jackson, and William and Wilson Law. These names correspond with those given by the young men before alluded to, except they also name Austin Cowles, a member of the High Council, at Nauvoo, as one of the active and leading conspirators. These statements were shortly confirmed by the action of the conspirators themselves, as they soon came out in open as well as secret opposition to the leading Church authorities; and in March a number of them were excommunicated for unchristianlike conduct. Among the number was William Law, a member in the First Presidency, his brother Wilson Law; the Higbee brothers, Chauncey L., and Francis M., and Dr. Robert D. Foster. An effort was made by these apostates to organize a church after the pattern of the true Church, by the appointment of apostles, prophets, presidents, etc., but it failed miserably, their following was insignificant. These men were desperately wicked; in addition to gross licentiousness they were guilty of theft and of counterfeiting money. They brought much reproach upon the city of Nauvoo, since their crimes were traced to her borders, and that fact went far towards undoing the city's reputation abroad. But though these men at one time, and indeed up to the time of their excommunication, held high official positions in The Church and the city, their wickedness was not sustained either by The Church laws or by the members of The Church, or citizens of Nauvoo. It was known that there existed a band of desperate men within the city, and these parties were suspected, but it required some time to obtain proof sufficiently positive to act upon; and where the counterfeiting was done was never learned. The mask having at last fallen from the faces of this coterie of men, they joined with the avowed enemies of the Saints outside of Nauvoo, and openly advocated the repeal of the city charter, which but a short time before they had assisted to obtain. They violated on several occasions the city ordinances, resisted the city officers, and threatened the life of the mayor. These disturbances led to the arrests and trials before the municipal court, from which the accused generally appealed to the circuit courts; and retaliated by counter arrests of the city authorities for false imprisonment, defamation of character, etc. In all these cases the power of the municipal courts to grant writs of _habeas corpus_ was freely exercised, and released the city authorities, as the actions were malicious, and without sufficient cause on which to base the complaints. Thus the affairs of Nauvoo became more and more complicated, and the bitterness constantly increased. At last the disaffected parties imported a press into the city and proposed publishing a paper to be called the _Nauvoo Expositor_. It avowed its intention in the prospectus it published to agitate for the repeal of the Nauvoo charter, and also announced that since its position in the city of the Saints afforded it opportunities of being familiar with the abuses that prevailed, its publishers intended to give a full, candid and succinct statement of facts as they really existed in the city of Nauvoo, regardless of whose standing in the community might be imperiled. The proprietors of the paper were the band of conspirators already named, and Sylvester Emmons was employed as editor. The first, and indeed the only number of the _Expositor_ was published on the seventh day of June, 1844, and contained a most scandalous attack upon the most respectable citizens of Nauvoo. It at once filled the entire city with indignation, and the city council immediately took into consideration what would be the best method of dealing with it. The result of the council's meditations was this: Blackstone declared a libelous press a nuisance; the city charter gave to city authorities the power to declare what should be considered a nuisance and to prevent and remove the same; therefore it was _Resolved_, by the city council of the city of Nauvoo, that the printing office from whence issues the _Nauvoo Expositor_ is a public nuisance, and also all of said _Nauvoo Expositors_, which may be or exist, in said establishment; and the mayor is instructed to cause said printing establishment and papers to be removed without delay, in such manner as he may direct. On receiving this order the mayor issued instructions to the city marshal to destroy the press without delay, and at the same time gave orders to Jonathan Dunham, acting Major-General of the Nauvoo Legion, to assist the marshal with the Legion if called upon to do so. The marshal with a small force of men appeared before the _Expositor_ printing establishment, informed one or more of the proprietors of the character of his mission, and demanded entrance into the building to carry out his instructions from the mayor. This was denied and the door locked; whereupon the marshal broke in the door, carried out the press, broke it in the street, pied the type and burned all the papers found in the office, and then reported to the mayor, who sent an account of these proceedings to the governor of the State. This act enraged the conspirators to a higher pitch of desperation. They set fire to their buildings and then fled to Carthage, the county seat of Hancock County, with the lie in their mouths that their lives were in danger in Nauvoo, and that they were driven away from their homes. Fortunately the police discovered the flames started by these incendiaries in time to extinguish them, so that they failed to have the smoking ruins of their own houses to support their story; but their misrepresentations spread like wild-fire and inflamed the public mind, already blinded with prejudice against the people of Nauvoo, to a point which made violence almost certain. Francis M. Higbee made a complaint before Thomas Morrison, a justice of the peace, against Joseph Smith and all the members of the Nauvoo city council for riot committed in destroying the anti-Mormon press. The warrant issued by the justice was served by Constable Bettisworth upon Joseph Smith at Nauvoo. It required him and the others named in the warrant to go before the justice issuing the warrant, "_or some other justice of the peace_." Joseph called the attention of the constable to this clause in the writ, and expressed a willingness to go before Esquire Johnson, or any other justice of the peace in Nauvoo. But Bettisworth was determined to take Joseph to Carthage before Justice Morrison, who had issued the writ. Joseph was equally determined not to go, and petitioned the municipal court for a writ of _habeas corpus_ which was granted, and under it the prisoner was honorably discharged. The other parties mentioned in the writ followed his example and were also discharged. Meantime indignation meetings were held first at Warsaw, and afterwards in Carthage. The men who had used their uttermost endeavors, for more than two years to incite the people to acts of mob violence against the Saints, had now a popular war cry--"unhallowed hands had been laid upon the liberty of the press." "The law had ceased to be a protection to lives or property in Nauvoo!" "A mob at Nauvoo, under a city ordinance had violated the highest privilege in the government; and to seek redress in the ordinary mode would be utterly ineffectual." Therefore those in attendance upon these meetings adopted resolutions announcing themselves at all times ready to co-operate with their fellow-citizens in Missouri and Iowa to exterminate, _utterly exterminate_ the wicked and abominable Mormon leaders, the authors of their troubles. Committees were appointed to notify all persons in the respective townships suspected of being the "tools of the Prophet to leave immediately, on pain of _instant vengeance_." And it was further recommended that the adherents of Joseph Smith as a body, be "driven from the surrounding settlements into Nauvoo; that the Prophet and his miscreant adherents should then be demanded at their hands; and, if not surrendered, a war of entire extermination should be waged to the entire destruction, if necessary for the mob's protection, of his adherents; and to carry out these resolutions every citizen was called upon to arm himself." The mass meeting at Carthage, which had adopted the Warsaw resolutions was in full blast when the news arrived of the failure of Constable Bettisworth, to drag the Prophet into their midst. This increased the excitement, and poured more gall into the cup of bitterness. It was resolved that the "riot" in Nauvoo was still progressing, and of such a serious character as to demand executive interference; and therefore two discreet citizens were appointed to go to Springfield and lay the case before Governor Ford. But this appeal to the executive was not to interfere with the resolutions before passed--active preparations for the extermination of the Mormons were to be continued. The authorities at Nauvoo also dispatched trusty messengers to Governor Ford with truthful accounts of their proceedings, both as regards the destruction of the press and their action in refusing to accompany Constable Bettisworth to Carthage, that he might not be misled by a false representation of the case, or influenced by the thousand and one falsehoods that had been set on foot by the enemies of the Saints. Both parties then appealed to the executive of the State: the mob for assistance to carry out their murderous designs, and to give their proceedings a coloring of lawful authority, and the citizens of Nauvoo for protection against the combinations of their avowed enemies bent upon, and publicly pledged to their extermination. Without waiting the issue of this appeal, however, the mob forces in Carthage, Warsaw and other localities began active operations by sending their committees to the settlements of the Saints outside of Nauvoo, and threatening them with destruction if they did not accept one of three propositions: first, deny that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God, and take up arms and accompany the mob to arrest him; second, gather up their effects and forthwith remove to the city of Nauvoo; third, give up their arms and remain quiet until the pending difficulties should be settled by the expulsion of their friends. Usually a few days were given the people to consider these propositions, which were utilized by the people in conferring with the Prophet, to know what he advised under the circumstances. The advice given, in its general purport was to yield up none of their rights as American citizens to the demand of mobocrats, but to maintain their rights wherever they were strong enough to resist the mob forces, and when they were not strong enough, retreat to Nauvoo. Besides the reports which came to Nauvoo from the Saints who were threatened, the air was filled with rumors of mob forces collecting on every hand. Great excitement was reported to exist in upper Missouri, the part of that State from which the Saints had been driven but six years before; and it was reported that the Missourians were going over into Illinois in large numbers to assist the anti-Mormons in and around Carthage. That arms and ammunition were sent over the Mississippi to the mob, is quite certain; and it is also known that Walter Bagley, the tax-collector for Hancock County, had spent some time in Missouri as an anti-Mormon agent and agitator; seeking to bring about a concerted action between the old enemies of the Saints, and those of like ilk in Illinois. While these hostile preparations were being made for his destruction, and the extermination of his people, those at all acquainted with the temperament of the Prophet Joseph, might well know that he was not idle. He kept an efficient corps of clerks busy copying reports and affidavits of threatened violence and insurrection, and sent them to the governor, whom he petitioned to come to Nauvoo and in person investigate the causes of the disturbance. Information was also sent to the President of the United States, acquainting him with the prospects of an insurrection, and an invasion of Illinois by Missourians, and asking him for protection. Nor was Joseph and his associates neglectful of anything that would have a tendency to allay the excitement. Jesse B. Thomas, judge of the circuit in which Hancock County was located, advised him to go before some justice of the peace of the county and have an examination of the charges specified in the writ issued by justice Morrison of Carthage, and that would take away all excuse for a mob, and he would be bound to order them to keep the peace. Some advised the Prophet to go to Carthage, but that he emphatically refused to do. But he and all others named in justice Morrison's warrant went before Squire Wells, a non-Mormon justice of the peace, and after a thorough investigation of the case were acquitted. In addition to these movements, a mass meeting was held in Nauvoo, at which John Taylor was chairman. Pacific resolutions were adopted, denying the misrepresentations of the apostates, and appointing men to go to the neighboring towns and settlements to present the truth to the people and allay excitement. These men were authorized to say that the members of the city council charged with riot and the violation of law, were willing to go before the circuit court for an investigation of their conduct in respect to the _Nauvoo Expositor_, and refused not to be bound over for such a hearing. But when this announcement was made and it was learned that Judge Thomas had advised this course to allay excitement, the mob threatened that a committee would wait upon the judge and give him a coat of tar and feathers for giving such advice. These pacific measures appearing to have little or no effect, and active preparations for hostilities continuing on the part of the enemy, Nauvoo was placed under martial law; the Legion was mustered into service, and Joseph in person took command of it. He was in full uniform when he appeared before the Legion, and mounting an unfinished frame building near the Mansion, he took occasion to address the Legion and the people for about an hour and a half; during which time he reviewed the events that had brought upon Nauvoo the issue that confronted them. To dispel any illusion that any of them might have that he was the only one threatened, he said: It is thought by some that our enemies would be satisfied by my destruction, but I tell you as soon as they have shed my blood, they will thirst for the blood of every man in whose heart dwells a single spark of the spirit of the fullness of the Gospel. The opposition of these men is moved by the spirit of the adversary of all righteousness. It is not only to destroy me, but every man and woman who dares believe the doctrines that God hath inspired me to teach to this generation-- Words which subsequent events will prove to have been prophetic. He also said: We have forwarded a particular account of all our doings to the governor. We are ready to obey his commands, and we expect that protection at his hands which we know to be our just due. We may add also, that when a petition was sent to the governor to come to Nauvoo in person to investigate the cause of the disturbance, the service of the Legion was tendered him to keep the peace. But that Joseph had come to a settled determination to maintain the rights of the people at all hazards, and submit no longer to mob violence, may be clearly understood from the spirit of these extracts from the speech made to the Legion on the occasion of his taking command of it. We are American citizens. We live upon a soil for the liberties of which our fathers periled their lives and split their blood upon the battlefield. Those rights so dearly purchased shall not be disgracefully trodden under foot by lawless marauders without at least a noble effort on our part to sustain our liberties. Will you stand by me to the death, and sustain at the peril of our lives, the laws of our country, and the liberties and privileges which our fathers have transmitted unto us, sealed with their sacred blood? (Thousands shouted aye!) It is well. If you had not done it, I would have gone out there, (pointing to the west) and would have raised up a mighty people. I call upon all men from Maine to the Rocky Mountains, and from Mexico to British America, whose hearts thrill with horror to behold the rights of free men trampled under foot, to come to the deliverance of this people from the cruel hand of oppression, cruelty, anarchy and misrule to which they have long been made subject. * * * I call upon God and angels to witness that I have unsheathed my sword with a firm and unalterable determination that this people shall have their legal rights and shall be protected from mob violence, or my blood shall be split upon the ground like water, and my body be consigned to the silent tomb. While I live, I will never tamely submit to the dominion of cursed mobocracy. There was much more of a like tenor, but this is sufficient to show the determination of the Prophet not to submit to the mobs then rising about him; and the people warmly seconded his resolution. At this juncture Joseph requested his brother Hyrum to take his family and go with them to Cincinnati. But Hyrum demurred and said, "Joseph, I can't leave you!" Joseph, turning to a number of brethren present, said: "I wish I could get Hyrum out of the way, so that he may live to avenge my blood, and I will stay with you and see it out." But Hyrum Smith was not the kind of man to leave his brother now that the hour of his severest trial had come upon him. His noble nature revolted at the thought, and though the spirit had doubtless whispered Joseph that his life and that of Hyrum's would be sacrificed in the impending crisis, his pathetic words, "Joseph, I can't leave you!" bear testimony to the nobility of the soul that uttered them, and is a witness to the strength of those bonds of love that bound him to his younger brother. Moreover, in consequence of the Prophet's premonitions of his approaching martyrdom, he had ordained his brother Hyrum to succeed him in the presidency of The Church; and hence this consideration as well as his affectionate regard for him as a brother doubtless led him to try to get Hyrum out of harm's way. [3] Word was sent to Brigham Young, then on a mission in the eastern States, to return to Nauvoo, and to communicate with the other Apostles and request them also to return to Nauvoo, as likewise all the Elders, and as many more good, faithful men as felt disposed to accompany them, to assist the Saints. Thus every effort was being put forth by the people of Nauvoo to resist oppression and maintain their rights. Footnotes 1. Millennial Star, volume xxii: page 631. This Wm. Marks afterwards was prominent among those who induced the Prophet to come back and deliver himself up to his enemies after the Prophet had started west. After the Prophet's death he joined the apostate James J. Strang in his attempt to lead The Church, and still later was a principal factor in bringing into existence the "Josephite" or "Reorganized Church." See the author's work on "Succession in the Presidency of The Church." 2. A full account of this conspiracy written by Horace Cummings was published in the Contributor, vol. v. 3. "If Hyrum had lived he would not have stood between Joseph and the Twelve, but he would have stood for Joseph. Did Joseph ordain any man to take his place? He did. Who was it? It was Hyrum. But Hyrum fell a martyr before Joseph did."--_Brigham Young_, in a speech at the October conference at Nauvoo, 1844. In _Times and Seasons_, Vol. v. p. 683. CHAPTER XXXVII. COMPLIANCE WITH THE DEMANDS OF GOVERNOR FORD. IN the midst of these preparations, a message was received from Governor Ford, stating that he had arrived in Carthage in the interests of peace, and hoped to be able to avert the evils of war by his presence; and that he might the better judge of the situation he asked that well-informed and discreet persons be sent to him at Carthage, where he had established for the time his headquarters. This request of the governor's was gladly complied with on the part of the people of Nauvoo; and John Taylor and Dr. J. M. Bernhisel were appointed to represent their version of the situation, and for that purpose were furnished with a copy of the proceedings of the city council, and the affidavits of a number of citizens bearing on the subjects that would likely be discussed. These representatives of the citizens of Nauvoo, found the governor surrounded by their enemies--the Laws, Fosters, and Higbees, besides others living at Warsaw and Carthage. The only audience given to Messrs. Taylor and Bernhisel was in the presence of these parties, by whom they were frequently interrupted in the most insulting manner, and the parties insulting and abusing them were unchecked by Governor Ford. After the governor had heard the statements of these gentlemen and read the documents presented by them, he sent a written communication to the mayor, Joseph Smith, in which he said that by destroying the _Expositor_ press, the city council of Nauvoo had committed a gross outrage upon the laws and liberties of the people, and had violated the Constitution in several particulars. He also claimed that the municipal court of Nauvoo had exceeded its authority in granting writs of _habeas corpus_. He accepted the statement of the mob at Carthage that Joseph Smith refused to be tried by any other court than the municipal court of Nauvoo, although he had before him the most positive proof that Joseph was willing to go before any justice of the peace in Hancock County, except Justice Morrison of Carthage, where an angry mob had collected, and were threatening his destruction, and since the warrant was made returnable to the magistrate who issued it, or any other justice in the county, the Prophet expressed a willingness to go before any other justice, but very properly refused to go to Carthage. He was even willing to be bound over to appear in the circuit court to answer for the part he took in abating the _Expositor_ press as a nuisance. Yet in the face of these facts--in the face of the fact that all the parties charged with riot had appeared before D. H. Wells, a justice of the peace and a non-Mormon, and after investigation were acquitted--yet the governor charged the members of the city council with refusing to appear before any other than the municipal court of Nauvoo for an investigation. He demanded that the mayor and all persons in Nauvoo accused or sued submit in all cases implicitly to the process of the courts and to interpose no obstacles to an arrest, either by writ of _habeas corpus_ or otherwise. And in the case of the mayor and a number of the city council charged with riot, he required that they should be arrested by the same constable, by virtue of the same warrant, and tried before the same magistrate, whose authority he insisted had been resisted. "Nothing short of this," he added, "can vindicate the dignity of violated law, and allay the just excitement of the people." Messrs. Taylor and Bernhisel called his attention to the state of excitement in Carthage, and informed him that there were men there bent on killing the Prophet, and that to ensure his safety it would be necessary for him to be accompanied by an armed force which would doubtless provoke a collision. In answer to this the governor advised them to bring no arms, and pledged his faith as governor, and that of the State, to protect those who should go to Carthage for trial. He also made the same pledge in his written communication to Joseph. The conduct of the governor in thus adopting the reports of the enemies of the citizens of Nauvoo, and menacing the city with destruction, if his arbitrary commands were not complied with, created no small amount of astonishment in Nauvoo. Joseph, however, wrote a courteous reply, corrected the governor's errors, and also represented that the city council of Nauvoo had acted on their best judgment, aided by the best legal advice they could procure; but if a mistake had been made they were willing to make all things right; but asked that the mob might be dispersed, that their lives might not be endangered while on trial. Relative to going to Carthage, however, Joseph pointed out the fact that the governor himself in his written communication had expressed his fears that he could not control the mob; "in which case," he went on to say, "we are left to the mercy of the merciless. Sir, we dare not come for our lives would be in danger, and we are guilty of no crime." On a hasty consultation with his brother Hyrum, Dr. Richards, and Messrs. Taylor and Bernhisel, after the return of the latter from their conference with Governor Ford it was decided that Joseph should proceed to Washington and lay the case before President Tyler, and he informed Governor Ford of this intention in the letter above referred to. That plan, however, at a subsequent council meeting was abandoned; as Joseph received an inspiration to go to the West, and all would be well. He said to the trusted brethren in that council: The way is open. It is clear to my mind what to do. All they want is Hyrum and myself; then tell everybody to go about their business, and not collect in groups, but scatter about. There is no danger; they will come here and search for us. Let them search; they will not harm you in person or in property, and not even a hair of your head. We will cross the river tonight and go away to the West. This was between nine and ten o'clock on the night of the twenty-second of June, and preparations were at once entered into to carry out this impression of the Spirit. W. W. Phelps was instructed to take the families of the Prophet and his brother to Cincinnati; and that night O. P. Rockwell rowed Joseph, Hyrum and Dr. Richards over the Mississippi to Montrose, and then returned with instructions to procure horses for them and make all necessary preparations to start for "the great basin in the Rocky Mountains." About ten o'clock the next day the governor's _posse_ arrived in Nauvoo to arrest Joseph, but not finding him it returned to Carthage, leaving a man by the name of Yates to watch for the Prophet's appearing. This man said that if the mayor and his brother were not given up, the governor had expressed a determination to send his troops into the city and guard it until they were found, if it took three years. At this crisis, some of Joseph's friends instead of rendering him all possible assistance to escape from his enemies, complained of his conduct as cowardly and entreated him to return to Nauvoo and not leave them like a false shepherd leaves his flock when the wolves attack them. The parties most forward in making this charge of cowardice were Reynolds Cahoon, L. D. Wasson and Hiram Kimball. Emma Smith, his wife, also sent a letter by the hand of Reynolds Cahoon, entreating him to return and give himself up, trusting to the pledges of the governor for a fair trial. Influenced by these entreaties to return, and stung by the taunts of cowardice from those who should have been his friends, he said: "If my life is of no value to my friends, it is of none to myself." And after a brief consultation with Rockwell and his brother Hyrum, against his better judgment, and with the conviction fixed in his soul that he would be killed, he resolved to return; and crossed over the river that evening to Nauvoo. His first act after arriving in the beautiful city of which he was the chief founder, was to send word to the governor, by the hand of Theodore Turley and Jedediah M. Grant that he would be ready to go to Carthage as early on the morrow as his (the governor's) _posse_ could meet him--provided he could be assured a fair trial, and his witnesses not be abused. That message was delivered to the governor, and he decided at once to send a _posse_ to escort Joseph and his party to Carthage; but through the influence which Wilson Law, Joseph H. Jackson and others of like character had over him, he changed his good intention of sending a _posse_, and ordered Joseph's messengers to return that night with orders to him to be in Carthage the next day by ten o'clock without an escort; and he threatened that if Joseph did not give himself up by that time, Nauvoo would be destroyed. Owing to the jaded condition of their horses the messengers did not reach Nauvoo until daylight of the twenty-fourth. After the orders of the governor were delivered, the faithful brethren who reported them began to warn the Prophet against trusting himself in the hands of his enemies, but he stopped them and would not hear them further--he had decided on his course. Early on the morning of the twenty-fourth Joseph and the members of the city council, against whom complaints had been made before Justice Morrison, accompanied by a few friends, started for Carthage to give themselves up. As they passed the temple, the party paused, and the Prophet looked with admiration upon the noble edifice and the glorious landscape, which everywhere from that spot greets the eye, and then said: "This is the loveliest place, and the best people under the heavens; little do they know the trials that await them!" On the outskirts of the city they passed the home of Squire D. H. Wells, who at the time was sick. Joseph dismounted and called to see him. At parting the Prophet said to him cheerfully: "Squire Wells, I wish you to cherish my memory, and not think me the worst man in the world, either." About ten o'clock the party arrived within four miles of Carthage and there met a company of sixty mounted militiamen under the command of Captain Dunn, on their way to Nauvoo with orders from Governor Ford to demand the State arms in possession of the Nauvoo Legion. It was on the occasion of meeting these troops that Joseph uttered those prophetic words: "_I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer's morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men. I shall die innocent, and it shall yet be said of me--he was murdered in cold blood_." At the request of Captain Dunn he countersigned the governor's order for the State arms. But the captain prevailed upon him to return to Nauvoo and assist in collecting the arms, promising that afterwards the militia under his command should escort himself and party into Carthage, and he would protect them even at the risk of his own life, to which his men assented by three hearty cheers. It is supposed that Captain Dunn feared the people in Nauvoo might become exasperated and resent the indignity offered them in demanding the surrender of the State arms. Hence his anxiety to have Joseph return. A message was sent to the governor informing him of this new move. The arms were collected without any difficulty, though the people unwillingly surrendered them, since disarming them and allowing their enemies who had vowed their extermination to keep their arms, smacked of treachery; but the order of the governor and of their Prophet-leader was complied with. The arms were taken to the Masonic Hall and stacked up, Quartermaster-General Buckmaster receiving them. This demand for the State arms stirred the fiery indignation of Squire Wells to the very depths of his soul. He arose from his bed of sickness and carried what State arms he had--a pair of horse-pistols--to the appointed place, and threw them at the feet of Officer Buckmaster with the remark, "There's your arms!" Then as he glared at the officer, he said: "I have a pair of epaulets at home, and I have never disgraced them, either," and, too full of righteous wrath for further speech, he walked away. The arms collected, Captain Dunn thanked the people for their promptness in complying with the demands of the governor, and promised them that while they conducted themselves in such a peaceable manner they should be protected. The company of militia accompanied by Joseph and his party started for Carthage about six o'clock in the evening. Passing the Masonic Hall where a number of the citizens of Nauvoo still lingered, having been attracted there to witness the surrender of the State arms, the Prophet Joseph raised his hat and said: "Boys, if I don't come back, take care of yourselves. I am going like a lamb to the slaughter." When the company was passing his farm Joseph stopped and looked at it for a long time. Then after he had passed he turned and looked again, and yet again several times. His action occasioned some remarks by several of the company, to which, in reply he said: "If some of you had such a farm, and knew you would not see it any more, you would want to take a good look at it for the last time." It was midnight when the party entered Carthage, but a militia company encamped on the public square--the Carthage Greys--were aroused and gave vent to profane threats as the company passed, of which the following is a specimen: "Where's the d--n Prophet?" "Stand away, you McDonough boys, [1] and let us shoot the d--n Mormons!" "G--d d--n you, old Joe, we've got you now!" "Clear the way, and let us have a view of Joe Smith, the Prophet of God. He has seen the last of Nauvoo, we'll use him up now!" Amid such profanity and abuse, and violent threats, much of which was overheard by Governor Ford, the Prophet's party proceeded to Hamilton's hotel, which it entered and took quarters for the night. Under the same roof were sheltered the wicked apostates of Nauvoo, J. H. Jackson, the Foster brothers, the Higbees and the Laws, besides other desperate men who had sworn to take the life of the Prophet. The crowd which had followed the Nauvoo party from the public square still hung round the Hamilton House yelling and cursing, and acting like ravenous beasts hungry for their prey. Governor Ford pushed up a window and thus addressed them: "Gentlemen, I know your great anxiety to see Mr. Smith, which is natural enough, but it is quite too late tonight for you to have that opportunity; but I assure you, gentlemen, you shall have that privilege tomorrow morning, as I will cause him to pass before the troops upon the square, and I now wish you, with this assurance, quietly and peaceably to return to your quarters." In answer to this there was a faint "Hurrah, for Tom Ford," and the crowd withdrew. They could afford to wait. God's servants were in the hands of the merciless. Footnotes 1. Captain Dunn's company was composed chiefly of men from McDonough County, hence the remark. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE MARTYRDOM. EARLY in the morning following their entrance into Carthage, Joseph, his brother Hyrum and the other members of the Nauvoo city council named in the warrant of arrest sworn out by the Higbees, voluntarily surrendered themselves to constable Bettisworth. Shortly afterwards the Prophet was again arrested by the same constable on a charge of treason against the State and people of Illinois, on the oath of Augustine Spencer. Hyrum was arrested on a similar charge, sworn out by Henry O. Norton. And thus the difficulties thickened. Soon after the second arrest, Governor Ford presented himself at their rooms at the Hamilton house, and requested Joseph to accompany him, as he desired to present him to the troops, to whom he had promised the night before a view of the Prophet. The troops had been drawn up in two lines and Joseph and Hyrum linking arms with Brigadier-General Miner R. Deming passed down them, accompanied by their friends and a company of Carthage Greys. They were introduced as General Joseph and General Hyrum Smith. The Carthage Greys, a few minutes before, at the headquarters of General Deming, had revolted and behaved in an uproarious manner, but were pacified by the governor, and accompanied him, General Deming and the Prophet and his party to where the other troops were drawn up in line. Here they again revolted because the Brothers Smith were introduced to the troops from McDonough County as "Generals" Smith. Some of the officers of the Carthage Greys threw up their hats, drew their swords and said they would introduce themselves to "the d--ned Mormons in a different style." They were again pacified by the governor, who promised them "full" satisfaction. But they continued to act in such an insubordinate manner that General Deming put them under arrest, [1] but afterwards released them without punishment. Shortly after this episode with the Carthage Greys, a number of the officers of other militia companies and other gentlemen curious to see the Prophet crowded into the hotel. Joseph took occasion to ask them if there was anything in his appearance to indicate that he was the desperate character his enemies represented him to be. To which they replied, "No, sir, your appearance would indicate the very contrary, General Smith; but we cannot see what is in your heart, neither can we tell what are your intentions." "Very true, gentlemen," quickly replied the Prophet, "you cannot see what is in my heart, and you are therefore unable to judge me or my intentions; but I can see what is in your hearts, and will tell you what I see. I can see that you thirst for blood, and nothing but my blood will satisfy you. It is not for crime of any description that I and my brethren are thus continually persecuted, and harassed by our enemies, but there are other motives, and some of them I have expressed, so far as relates to myself; and inasmuch as you and the people thirst for blood, I prophesy in the name of the Lord that you shall witness scenes of blood and sorrow to your entire satisfaction. Your souls shall be perfectly satiated with blood, and many of you who are now present shall have an opportunity to face the cannon's mouth from sources you think not of, and those people that desire this great evil upon me and my brethren shall be filled with sorrow because of the scenes of desolation and distress that await them. They shall seek for peace and shall not be able to find it. Gentlemen, you will find what I have told you will come true." [2] The members of the Nauvoo city council under arrest for riot, in destroying the _Expositor_ press, were taken before R. F. Smith, justice of the peace and also captain of the Carthage Greys. It will be remembered perhaps that Governor Ford had told Joseph, in a communication referred to in the last chapter, that nothing but his appearing before Justice Morrison, who issued the writ against him would vindicate the majesty of the law, but now the prisoners were at Carthage where Justice Morrison lived, and could have appeared before him, and were willing to do so, they were taken before another justice. In order to avoid increasing the excitement, the prisoners admitted there was sufficient cause to be bound over to appear at the next term of the circuit court for Hancock County. The bonds amounted to seven thousand five hundred dollars. Justice Smith dismissed his court without taking any action on the charge of treason under which the Brothers Smith were still held; but about eight o'clock the same evening, Constable Bettisworth appeared at their lodgings at the Hamilton House and insisted on their going to jail. The Prophet demanded to see the copy of the mittimus which was at first denied; but upon his counsel--Messrs Woods & Reid--informing the constable that the accused were entitled to a hearing before a justice, before they could be sent to jail, to the surprise of all present he produced a mittimus, issued by Justice R. F. Smith. It stated that Joseph and Hyrum Smith were under arrest charged with treason; "and have been," so the paper read, "brought before me, a justice of the peace, in and for said county, for trial at the seat of justice hereof, which trial has been necessarily postponed, by reason of the absence of material witnesses." Now, this mittimus, so far as it related to the prisoners appearing before Justice Smith was an infamous falsehood, "unless," as Lawyer Reid says, in the account he published of these proceedings--"unless the prisoners could have appeared before the justice _without being present in person or by counsel_!" The same representation of the case was made to me by Lawyer James W. Woods, who, at the time was associated with Mr. Reid as the Prophet's counsel, whom I met in the summer of 1880, in Iowa, and from whom at that time I received a detailed account of the proceedings. Joseph and his counsel and his friends protested most vigorously against this unlawful proceeding, but to no avail. R. F. Smith finding his mittimus unlawful, appealed to the governor as to what he should do; to which the governor answered: "You have the Carthage Greys at your command." That hint was sufficient. What the _justice_ had illegally begun, the same person as _captain_ must with unlawful force consummate! Yet when this same governor was appealed to for protection against this unhallowed as well as unlawful proceeding, he expressed himself as being very sorry the circumstance had occurred, but he really could not interfere with the civic powers! Elder John Taylor went to the governor and reminded him of his pledges of protection. Elder Taylor expressed his dissatisfaction at the course taken, and told the governor that if they were to be subject to mob rule, and to be dragged contrary to law to prison, at the instance of every scoundrel whose oath could be bought for a dram of whisky, his protection availed very little, and they had miscalculated the executive's promises. In the meantime a drunken rabble had collected in the street in front of the Hamilton House, and Captain Dunn with some twenty men came to guard the prisoners to the jail. The Prophet's friends stood by him in these trying times and followed him through the excited crowd in the direction of the jail. Stephen Markham walked on one side of the Prophet and his brother Hyrum and Dan Jones on the other, and with their walking sticks kept back the rabble, which several times broke through the guard, while Elder Taylor, Willard Richards and John S. Fullmer walked behind them. The jail was reached in safety and the prisoners given in charge of Mr. George W. Stigall, who first put them into the criminal's cell, but afterwards gave them the more comfortable quarters known as the "debtors' apartment." When night came the prisoners and their friends stretched themselves out on the floor of the old jail--and so passed the night of the twenty-fifth. Governor Ford represents in his "History of Illinois," that these men were placed in prison to protect them from the rabble, [3] but says not a word about the protests of the prisoners against being thrust into jail, or the illegal means employed in putting them there. In the forenoon of the twenty-sixth, a lengthy interview took place between Governor Ford and Joseph in which the whole cause of the trouble was reviewed, the causes leading up to the destruction of the _Expositor_ press, calling out the Legion on which the charge of treason was based, and all other affairs connected with the difficulties. Governor Ford condemned the action of the city council, but the course pursued by that body was ably defended by Joseph, and showed that even if they had been wrong in following the course they had taken, it was a matter for the courts to decide and not a thing for mobs to settle. In conclusion the Prophet told the Governor that he considered himself unsafe in Carthage, as the town was swarming with men who had openly sworn to take his life. He understood the governor contemplated going to Nauvoo, accompanied by the militia, to investigate certain charges about counterfeiting the United States currency, and if possible secure the dies and other implements used in manufacturing it, and Joseph demanded his freedom that he might go with him. The governor promised him that he should go. [4] The false mittimus on which Joseph and Hyrum Smith were thrust into prison, ordered the jailor to keep them in custody, "until discharged by due course of law." But on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth, Frank Worrell appeared before the jail in command of the Carthage Greys and demanded that the prisoners be delivered up to the constable to be taken before Justice R. F. Smith for trial. Against this proceeding the jailor protested, as the prisoners were placed in his keeping until "discharged by due course of law," and not at the demand of a constable or military despot. But by threats amounting to intimidation, Worrell compelled the jailor against his conviction of duty to surrender the prisoners to him. Meantime a mob had gathered at the door of the jail and seeing that things had assumed a threatening aspect, the Prophet stepped into the crowd, locked arms with one of the worst mobocrats, and with his brother Hyrum on the other arm, and followed by his faithful friends, proceeded to the court house. He had been unlawfully thrust into prison, and as illegally dragged out of it and exposed to imminent danger among his worst enemies. The counsel for the Brothers Smith asked for a continuance until the next day as they were without witnesses, not having been notified when they would come to trial. A continuance was granted until noon the next day. A new mittimus was made out and the prisoners committed again to prison--their old quarters. But after the prisoners were again lodged in jail, and without consulting either them or their counsel, Justice R. F. Smith changed the time of trial from noon on the twenty-seventh until the twenty-ninth. This change was made in consequence of a decision reached by Governor Ford and his military council to march all his troops into Nauvoo, except a company of fifty of the Carthage Greys that would be detailed to guard the prisoners. So Mr. R. F. Smith, acting, it will be remembered, in the double capacity of a justice of the peace and captain of the Carthage Greys, as a justice altered the date of the return of the subpoenas and excused the court until the twenty-ninth; that as a captain of a company of militia he might attend the military train entering Nauvoo in triumph! The evening of the twenty-sixth was spent very pleasantly by the prisoners and their friends--John Taylor, Willard Richards, John S. Fullmer, Stephen Markham and Dan Jones. Hyrum occupied the principal part of the time in reading accounts from the Book of Mormon of the deliverance of God's servants from prison, and in commenting upon them, with a view, doubtless, of cheering his brother Joseph, since the Prophet had expressed himself as having a presentiment of uneasiness as to his safety, that he had never before experienced when in the hands of his enemies. Late at night all retired to rest except Willard Richards, who by the flickering flame of a tallow candle continued his work of writing out some important documents. Joseph and Hyrum occupied the only bedstead in the room, and their friends lay side by side on the mattresses spread out on the floor. Sometime after midnight a single gun was fired near the prison. Elder Richards started in his chair, and Joseph rose from the bed where he had been lying, and stretched himself out on the floor between Fullmer and Jones. "Lay your head on my arm for a pillow, Brother John," said the Prophet to Fullmer as he kindly placed his arm under that person's head. Soon all became quiet, except in a low tone Fullmer and the Prophet continued to talk of presentiments the latter had received of approaching death. "I would like to see my family again," said he, "and I would to God that I could preach to the Saints in Nauvoo once more." Fullmer tried to cheer him by saying he thought he would have that privilege many times. Again all was silent, and everybody apparently asleep. But Joseph turned to Dan Jones and was heard to say, "Are you afraid to die?" To which the one addressed said: "Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think death would have many terrors." And then the Prophet said: "You will yet see Wales"--his native land--"and fill the mission appointed you, before you die." [5] So passed away the night preceding the day which saw enacted that tragedy which robbed earth of two of the noblest men that ever lived upon it. As the morning light struggled through the windows of Carthage jail, the prisoners and their friends awoke, and the Prophet required Dan Jones to go down stairs and enquire of the guard about the gun that was fired in the night, what the meaning of it was, etc. Jones went accordingly, and found Frank Worrell in command of the guard and the answer he received to his inquiry was this: "We have had too much trouble to get old Joe here to let him ever escape alive, and unless you want to die with him, you had better leave before sun down; and you are not a d--n bit better than him for taking his part; and you'll see that I can prophesy better than old Joe, for neither he nor his brother, nor anyone who will remain with them, will see the sun set today." This answer Jones related to Joseph, who told him to go to the governor at once and report the words of the guard. On his way to the governor's quarters at the Hamilton House, Jones passed a crowd of men who were being addressed by a person unknown to him. He paused long enough to hear these words: "Our troops will be discharged this morning in obedience to orders, and for a sham we will leave the town; but when the governor and the McDonough troops have left for Nauvoo this forenoon, we will return and kill those men if we have to tear the jail down," (applause.) These words and what the captain of the guard said were faithfully reported to Governor Ford, in reply to which he said: "You are unnecessarily alarmed for the safety of your friends, sir, the people are not that cruel." Angered at such an answer the following conversation occurred: _Jones_. The Messrs. Smith are American citizens, and have surrendered themselves to your excellency upon your pledging your honor for their safety; they are also master Masons, and as such I demand of you the protection of their lives. If you do not this, I have but one more desire, and that is, if you leave their lives in the hands of those men to be sacrificed-- _Governor Ford_. What is that, sir? _Jones_. It is that the Almighty will preserve my life to a proper time and place, that I may testify that you have been timely warned of their danger. The governor manifested some excitement during this conversation, turning pale at the Masonic warning Jones gave him. The effect, however, was but momentary. Jones returned to the jail after his conversation with the governor, but was denied admission. He then returned to the governor to secure a pass; and arrived at the square just as that officer was disbanding the militia. It is customary when the militia has been called together to assist in execution of the laws, or to suppress an insurrection, to dismiss the respective companies in charge of their several commanders to be marched home and there be disbanded. But in this instance the governor disbanded all the troops, except the Carthage Greys whom, it appears, he had selected to guard the jail, and the McDonough troops who were to accompany him to Nauvoo. Governor Ford himself, in his history of Illinois, represents that there were about twelve or thirteen hundred of the militia at Carthage and some five hundred at Warsaw. As the disbanded militia left the square, they acted in a boisterous manner, shouting that they would only go a short distance from town. and then come back and kill old Joe and Hyrum as soon as the governor was far enough out of town. Dan Jones called the attention of the governor to these threats, but he ignored them. I suppose these are the threats of which Governor Ford himself speaks in his history of these unfortunate events, when he says: I had heard of some threats being made, but none of an attack upon the prisoners whilst in jail. These threats seemed to be made by individuals not acting in concert. They were no more than the bluster which might have been expected, and furnished no indication of numbers combining for this or any other purpose. It will be remembered that Governor Ford expressed a determination to march with all his forces into Nauvoo, and Joseph having heard of this, in the interview at the jail before alluded to, expressed a desire to accompany him, and the governor promised him he should go. This promise the governor failed to keep because a council of his officers convinced him that to take the Prophet with him to Nauvoo "would be highly inexpedient and dangerous." Indeed the whole plan of marching all his forces into Nauvoo, was abandoned. The expedition had been formed for the purpose of striking terror into the hearts of the citizens of Nauvoo, by a display of military force in their midst, and to satisfy the wishes of the anti-Mormons. Speaking of this projected semi-invasion of Nauvoo and the preparations made for the start, Governor Ford says: I observed that some of the people became more and more excited and inflammatory the further the preparations were advanced. Occasional threats came to my ears of destroying the city and murdering or expelling the inhabitants. I had no objection to ease the terrors of the people by such a display of force, and was most anxious also to search for the alleged apparatus for making counterfeit money; and in fact to inquire into all the charges made against that people, if I could have been assured of my command against mutiny and insubordination. But I gradually learned to my entire satisfaction that there was a plan to get the troops into Nauvoo, and there to begin the war, probably by some of our own party, or some of the seceding Mormons, taking advantage of the night to fire on our own force, and then lay it on the Mormons. I was satisfied that there were those amongst us fully capable of such an act, hoping that in the alarm, bustle and confusion of a militia camp, the truth could not be discovered, and that it might lead to the desired collision. [6] Such are the reasons assigned by Governor Ford for abandoning his plan of marching all his forces into Nauvoo. If he could persuade himself to believe that he had those under his command, who would resort to the means he himself alludes to in the foregoing, to bring about a collision with the citizens of Nauvoo; and that he was fearful that his whole command would mutiny when once in the city of the Saints, it is unfortunate for the fame of Governor Ford that his fears could not be aroused for the safety of his prisoners, who were left at the mercy of those same militia forces, of which he himself was distrustful, the only barrier between them and the fury of this mob-militia being a guard made up of their bitterest enemies. To satisfy the anti-Mormons the governor told them he would take a small force with him and go in search of counterfeiting apparatus and would make a speech to the citizens of Nauvoo, detailing to them the consequences of any acts of violence on their part. _En route_ for Nauvoo, however, some of his officers expressed fears that the Smiths would be killed, and the governor informs us that he reduced his forces, leaving part of his command on the way, and pushed with all speed for Nauvoo; that he might make a speech to the people there and return to Carthage that night, giving up the idea of remaining several days to search for counterfeiting apparatus and making inquiries into the charges against the Mormon people. Leaving him to pursue to his journey to Nauvoo, I return to note the events which took place at the jail. Cyrus H. Wheelock visited Carthage jail early on the morning of the 27th, and when he departed for Nauvoo to secure witnesses and documents for the impending trial on the charge of treason, he left with the prisoners an old-fashioned, pepper-box revolver. Before leaving Carthage, however, he went to Governor Ford, (he leaving Carthage before the governor started,) and expressed his fears for the safety of the prisoners. He then started for Nauvoo, but with a heavy heart. Dan Jones was sent to Quincy by the Prophet with a letter to lawyer O. H. Browning, applying for his professional services in the pending trial. The letter was handed to Jones by A. W. Babbitt, the former not being allowed to enter the jail after leaving it in the morning. The mob being informed by the guard of the letter, set up the cry that Joe Smith was sending an order by Jones to the Nauvoo Legion to come and rescue him. A crowd surrounded Jones and demanded the letter but the fearless Welshman refused to give it up; whereupon some were in favor of forcing it from him, but there was a disagreement in the crowd about that, and while they were discussing the point, Jones mounted his horse and rode away. Stephen Markham being seen on the streets in the afternoon, a number of the Carthage Greys captured him, put him on his horse and forced him out of town at the point of the bayonet, notwithstanding he held a pass from the governor to go in and out of the jail at pleasure. This left but Elders Richards and Taylor with the Prophet and his brother in the prison. They passed the afternoon in pleasant conversation, reading and singing. Elder Taylor sand a hymn entitled "A poor wayfaring man of grief:" a peculiarly plaintive piece of poetry, and admirably suited to their circumstances: A poor wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on the way, Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer, Nay. I had not power to ask His name, Whereto He went or whence He came, Yet there was something in His eye That won my love, I knew not why. Once when my scanty meal was spread, He entered, not a word He spake; Just perishing for want of bread, I gave Him all, He blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again; Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with eager haste, The crust was manna to my taste. I spied Him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock; His strength was gone, The heedless water mocked His thirst, He heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran and raised the suff'rer up; Thrice from the stream He drained my cup, Dipped, and returned it running o'er; I drank and never thirsted more. 'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter-hurricane aloof; I heard His voice abroad, and flew To bid Him welcome to my roof. I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest, And laid Him on my couch to rest, Then made the earth my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found Him by the highway side; I roused His pulse, brought back His breath, Revived His spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment--He was healed; I had myself a wound concealed, But from that hour forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart. In prison I saw Him next, condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn; The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honored Him 'mid shame and scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for Him would die; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will!" Then in a moment to my view, The stranger darted from disguise; The tokens in His hands I knew, The Savior stood before mine eyes. He spake, and my poor name He named, "Of Me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall thy memorial be, Fear not, thou didst them unto Me." Late in the afternoon Mr. Stigall, the jailor, came in and suggested that they would be safer in the cells. Joseph told him they would go in after supper. Turning to Elder Richards the Prophet said; "If we go to the cell will you go in with us?" _Elder Richards_. "Brother Joseph, you did not ask me to cross the river with you [referring to the time when they crossed the Mississippi, _en route_ for the Rocky Mountains]--you did not ask me to come to Carthage--you did not ask me to come to jail with you--and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free." _Joseph_. "But you cannot." _Richards_. "I will, though." This conversation took place a little after five o'clock, and very soon afterwards the attack was made on the jail. It appears that a crowd came from the direction of Warsaw that evidently had an understanding with the Carthage Greys and the members of that company on guard at the jail, since the latter, without question, had but blank cartridges in their guns; and the attack was made under the very eyes of the rest of the company encamped but two or three hundred yards away on the public square, and they made no effort whatever to prevent the assaults on the prison. The guard at the jail played their part well. They fired blank shots at the advancing mob, or discharged their pieces in the air. They were "overpowered" (?), and the prison was in the hands of an infuriated mob. A rush was made for the room where the prisoners were lodged, and a shower of lead was sent in through the door and the windows from those on the outside. As no account that I could possibly write would equal that given by an eye-witness of the whole transaction, I here quote entire the account of the tragedy by Elder Willard Richards, as it appeared in the _Times and Seasons_ soon after the event, under the caption, TWO MINUTES IN JAIL. A shower of musket balls was thrown up the stairway against the door of the prison in the second story, followed by many rapid footsteps. While Generals Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Mr. Taylor and myself, who were in the front chamber, closed the door of our room against the entry at the head of the stairs, and placed ourselves against it, there being no lock on the door, and no catch that was unsealable. The door is a common panel, and as soon as we heard the feet at the stair's head, a ball was sent through the door, which passed between us, and showed that our enemies were desperadoes and we must change our position. General Joseph Smith, Mr. Taylor and myself sprang back to the front part of the room. General Hyrum Smith retreated two-thirds across the chamber directly in front of and facing the door. A ball was sent through the door which hit Hyrum on the side of his nose, when he fell backwards, extending at full length without moving his feet. From the holes in his vest (the day was warm and no one had their coats on but myself) pantaloons, drawers, and shirt, it appeared that a ball must have been thrown from without through the window, which entered the back of his right side, and passing through, lodged against his watch, which was in the right vest pocket, completely pulverizing the crystal and face, tearing off the hands and mashing the whole body of the watch. At the same instant the ball from the door entered his nose. As he struck the floor he exclaimed emphatically, "_I am a dead man_." Joseph looked towards him and responded, "_Oh dear! Brother Hyrum_," and opening the door two or three inches with his left hand, discharged one barrel of a six-shooter (the pistol left him by C. H. Wheelock) at random in the entry, from whence a ball grazed Hyrum's breast, and entering his throat passed into his head, while other muskets were aimed at him as some balls hit him. Joseph continued snapping his revolver round the casing of the door into the space as before, three barrels of which missed fire, while Mr. Taylor with a walking stick stood by his side and knocked down the bayonets and muskets, which were constantly discharging through the doorway, while I stood by him ready to lend any assistance, with another stick, but could not come within striking distance without going directly in front of the muzzles of the guns. When the revolver failed, we had no more firearms, and expected an immediate rush of the mob, and the doorway full of muskets half way in the room, and no hope but instant death from within. Mr. Taylor rushed into the window, which is some fifteen or twenty feet from the ground. When his body was nearly on a balance, a ball from the door within entered his leg, and a ball from without struck his watch, a patent lever, in his vest pocket near his left breast, and smashed it into "pie," leaving the hands standing at five o'clock, sixteen minutes, and twenty-six seconds, the force of which ball threw him back on the floor, and he rolled under the bed which stood by his side, where he lay motionless, the mob continuing to fire upon him, cutting away a piece of flesh from his left hip as large as a man's hand, and were hindered only by my knocking down their muzzles with a stick; while they continued to reach their guns into the room, probably left handed, and aimed their discharge so far round as almost to reach us in the corner of the room to where we retreated and dodged, and there I commenced the attack with my stick. Joseph attempted as a last resort to leap the same window from which Mr. Taylor fell, when two balls pierced him from the door, and one entered his right breast from without, and he fell outward exclaiming, "_O Lord, my God_!" As his feet went out of the window my head went in, the balls whistling all round. He fell on his left side a dead man. At this instant the cry was raised, "_He's leaped the window_," and the mob on the stairs and in the entry ran out. I withdrew from the window thinking it no use to leap out on a hundred bayonets, then round Gen. Smith's body. Not satisfied with this, I again reached my head out of the window, and watched some seconds to see if there were any signs of life, regardless of my own, determined to see the end of him I loved. Being fully satisfied that he was dead, with a hundred men near his body and more coming round the corner of the jail, and expecting a return to our room, I rushed toward the prison door at the head of the stairs, and through the entry from whence the firing had proceeded, to learn if the doors into the prison were open. When near the entry Mr. Taylor cried out "_Take me_!" I pressed my way until I found all doors unbarred, returning instantly, caught Mr. Taylor under my arm, and rushed up the stairs into the dungeon, or inner prison, stretched him on the floor and covered him with a bed in such a manner as not likely to be perceived, expecting an immediate return of the mob. I said to Mr. Taylor, "This is a hard case to lay you on the floor, but if your wounds are not fatal, I want you to live to tell the story." I expected to be shot the next moment, and stood before the doors awaiting the onset. There was, however, no further onset made on the jail. Three minutes after the attack was commenced, Hyrum Smith lay stretched out on the floor of the prison dead, Elder Taylor lay not far from him savagely wounded, the Prophet was lying by the side of the well curb, [7] just under the window from which he had attempted to leap, the plighted faith of a State was broken, its honor trailed in the dust, and a stain of innocent blood affixed to its escutcheon which shall remain a disgrace forever. When it was known that the Prophet was killed, consternation seemed to seize the mob and they fled, for the most part, in the direction of Warsaw, in the utmost confusion. Such wild confusion reigned in Carthage that it was nearly midnight before Elder Richards could obtain any help or refreshments for Elder Taylor. At last the wounded man was taken to the Hamilton House and his wounds dressed. The bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were also taken to the same place and laid out. Meantime Governor Ford had gone to Nauvoo, where he arrived some time in the afternoon. Several thousands assembled to hear his speech, that he went there to deliver; and he insulted them, by assuming that all that their worst enemies had said of them was true, and threatened them with most dire calamities. He himself in his history of Illinois, says the people manifested some impatience and anger when he referred to the misconduct alleged against them by their enemies; and well they might, for baser falsehoods were never put in circulation to slander a people. The governor was invited to stay all night, but he refused and left the city about 6:30 in the evening for Carthage, his escort riding full speed up Main street performing the sword exercise; they passed the temple, and so left the city. Three miles out of governor and his escort met George D. Grant and David Bettisworth riding toward Nauvoo like madmen with the sad news of the death of Joseph and Hyrum. The governor took them back with him to Grant's house, one and one half miles east of Carthage, that the news might not reach Nauvoo until he had had time to have the county records removed from the court house, and warn the people of Carthage to flee, as he expected an immediate attack from the Nauvoo Legion, and that the whole country would be laid waste. After being taken back to Carthage, George D. Grant mounted another horse and rode that night with the awful news to Nauvoo. On the arrival of Governor Ford at Carthage the following note was addressed to Mrs. Emma Smith and Major-General Dunham of the Nauvoo Legion, dated Midnight, Hamilton House, Carthage: The governor has just arrived; says all things shall be inquired into, and all right measures taken. I say to all citizens of Nauvoo--My brethren, be still, and know that God _reigns. Don't rush out of the city_--don't rush to Carthage--stay at home and be prepared for an attack from Missouri mobbers. The governor will render every assistance possible--has sent orders for troops, Joseph and Hyrum are dead, will prepare to move the bodies as soon as possible. The people of the county are greatly excited, and fear the Mormons will come out and take vengeance. I have pledged my word the Mormons will stay at home as soon as they can be informed, and no violence will be on their part, and say to my brethren in Nauvoo, in the name of the Lord, be still; be patient, only let such friends as choose come here to see the bodies. Mr. Taylor's wounds are dressed, and not serious. I am sound. WILLARD RICHARDS. After the note was prepared the governor wrote an order to the people of Nauvoo to defend themselves, and then about one o'clock in the morning went out on the public square and advised all present to disperse, as he expected the Mormons would be so exasperated that they would burn the town. Upon this the people of Carthage fled in all directions, and the governor and his _posse_ took flight in the direction of Quincy; but there was no uprising and violence on the part of the Saints. The next day the bodies of the murdered men were taken to Nauvoo. About one mile east of the temple, on Mullholland street, they were met by the people in solemn procession, under the direction of the city marshal. Neither tongue nor pen can ever describe the scene of sorrow and lamentation which was there beheld. The love of Joseph and Hyrum for the Saints was unbounded, and it had begotten in the people an affection for them that was equally dear and unselfish. They lived in the hearts of the Saints, and thousands would have laid down their lives willingly to have saved theirs. With their beloved and trusted leaders thus brutally snatched from them; under such circumstances of cruelty and official treachery, imagine, if you can, the mingled feelings of sorrow and righteous indignation that struggled in every heart, and sought expression! Arriving at the Mansion, the bodies were taken into it to be prepared for burial; and Elder Willard Richards and others addressed some eight or ten thousand of the people in the open air. The Saints were advised to keep the peace. Elder Richards stated that he had pledged his honor and his life for their conduct. When the multitude heard that, notwithstanding the sense of outraged justice under which they labored, and this cruel invasion of the rights of liberty and life--in the very midst of their grief and excitement, with the means in their right hands to wreak a terrible vengeance, they voted to a man to trust to the LAW to deal with the assassins, and if that failed them, they would call upon God to avenge them of their wrongs! History records few actions so sublime as this; and it stands to this day a testimony of the devotion of the Latter-day Saints to law and order, the like of which is not paralleled in the history of our country, if in the world. Footnotes 1. The manner of this incident about the revolt of the Carthage Greys is thus related in Gregg's History of Hancock County: "It seems that after the McDonough regiment had been disbanded, and were about to return home, they expressed a desire to see the prisoners, [Joseph and Hyrum]. The wish was reasonable, and as the easiest mode of gratifying it, they were drawn up in line, and General Deming with the two prisoners, one on each arm, and the Greys as an escort, passed along the line of troops, Deming introducing them as General Joseph Smith and General Hyrum Smith, of the Nauvoo Legion. The Greys not aware that this was done at the request of the McDonough men, and not satisfied to be made an escort to such a display, exhibited signs of dissatisfaction, and finally gave vent to their feelings by hisses and groans. As a punishment for this offense they were afterward ordered under arrest. In the meantime there was great excitement in the company. As a detachment of the troops was being detailed for the purpose of putting the general's order into execution the officer in command of the Greys addressed them a few words and then said: 'Boys will you submit to an arrest for so trifling an offense?' 'No!' was the unanimous response. 'Then load your pieces with ball,' was the sullen order. In the meantime some explanations had been made, which permitted General Deming to countermand the order of arrest, and the Greys were quietly marched back to their encampment." This account says nothing of the fact that it was generally known, that the night before, Governor Ford had promised all the troops a view of Generals Smith, and the Greys had been in revolt at General Deming's headquarters before the party including Joseph and Hyrum reached the McDonough troops. Moreover, I was informed by Colonel H. G. Ferris, when in Carthage in 1885, investigating these matters, that when word arrived in that place that Joseph Smith would surrender himself to the authorities, if the governor would pledge him protection and a fair trial, the governor made a speech to the mixed multitude of troops and citizens in which he stated the proposition of the Smiths, and wanted to know if they would sustain him in pledging them protection to which they responded in the affirmative. There was some talk, too, of sending the Greys as a posse to escort the Smiths into Nauvoo. Against this proceeding General Deming protested and told Governor Ford that the pledge of protection made by the crowd and the troops was not to be depended upon, it was insincere, and that the lives of the Smiths were not to be trusted to the Greys. The governor however disregarded the warning of General Deming. Colonel Ferris was present at this meeting.--_B. H. R._ 2. In view of the great civil war which a few years later desolated the land it is clear that the above utterance was prophetic. 3. Ford's History of Illinois, p. 338. 4. For this conversation in _extenso_ as reported by Elder John Taylor who was present, see Appendix IV. 5. This prediction was fulfilled. Elder Dan Jones went on a mission to Wales starting on the 28th of August, 1844, in company with Wilford Woodruff, and performed a most wonderful mission in his native land. 6. Ford's History of Illinois, page 340. 7. It is said that after Joseph fell by the well curb under the window from which he attempted to leap, he was set up against that curb and Colonel Levi Williams ordered four men to fire at him, which they did. It is then said that a ruffian bareheaded and barefooted, his pantaloons rolled up above his knees and his shirt sleeves above his elbows, approached the dead Prophet bowie-knife in hand with the intention it is supposed of severing the head from the body. He had raised his hand to strike, when a light so sudden and powerful flashed upon the bloody scene that the mob was terror-stricken. The arm of the would-be mutilator of the dead fell powerless at his side, the four muskets of those who fired at him fell to the ground, while their owners stood like marble statues unable to move, or join their companions in the hurried and confused retreat they were then making, and Colonel Williams had to call upon some of the retreating mob to carry them away. The history is based upon the statements of Wm. M. Daniels,--Blackenberry and a Miss Graham, but how far their statements are correct I have no means of judging. When at Carthage I became acquainted with W. R. Hamilton, son of the Mr. Hamilton who kept the Hamilton House, referred to several times in these pages, and who just previous to the murder of the Prophet and his brother had been enrolled as a member of the company of Carthage Greys. At the time of the attack on the jail he was on the public square and at once ran in the direction of the jail and was in full view of it all the time. He saw the Prophet appear at the window and half leap and half fall out of it. After which the mob fled precipitously. According to his statement there was no such an occurrence as setting the body against the well, etc. He claims to have been about the first who went to the body of the murdered man, and afterwards rendered some assistance in removing Elder Taylor and the bodies of the martyrs to his father's house. It is worthy of note that nothing of all this is recorded by Willard Richards, and it smacks too much of the fanciful. There is too much deliberation in it to believe it to be the action of a mob.--_R_. CHAPTER XXXIX. CONFUSION--CHOOSING A LEADER. THE Saints at Nauvoo were now as sheep without a shepherd. They had never contemplated such a crisis as this. That their Prophet would be taken from them had not entered their minds, although in the closing days of his career he had frequently spoken of his fate if again he should fall into the hands of his enemies. On the twenty-second of June, five days preceding his death, at the conclusion of the consultation with several of Nauvoo's leading citizens, and at which time it was decided that the safest thing for himself and Hyrum to do was to go West, he remarks in his journal: "I told Stephen Markham that if I and Hyrum were ever taken again we should be massacred, or I was not a Prophet of God." When the cowardly appeal made to him by false friends to return to Nauvoo, after he had crossed the Mississippi on his way to the West, was under consideration by himself and a few friends, he said to his brother, Hyrum Smith: "Brother Hyrum, you are the oldest, what shall we do?" Hyrum replied, "Let us go back and give ourselves up, and see the thing out." "If you go back," replied the Prophet, "I shall go with you, but we shall be butchered." Then again, after it was determined to adopt the course suggested by Hyrum, and the party was on the way to the river where they were to take boats for the Nauvoo side, the Prophet lingered behind the rest of the party talking with O. P. Rockwell. Those in advance shouted to them to come on. Joseph replied, "It is no use to hurry, for we are going back to be slaughtered." On arriving at Nauvoo, Hyrum, too, seemed to have been impressed with a sense of their approaching fate, for on the morning of the twenty-fourth of June, when the first start was made for Carthage, he read the following significant passage in the Book of Mormon, and turned down the leaf upon it: And it came to pass that I prayed unto the Lord that he would give unto the Gentiles grace, that they might have charity. And it came to pass that the Lord said unto me, if they have not charity it mattereth not unto you, thou hast been faithful; wherefore thy garments are clean. And because thou hast seen thy weakness, thou shalt be made strong, even to the sitting down in the place which I have prepared in the mansions of my father. And now I * * * * bid farewell unto the Gentiles; yea and also unto my brethren whom I love, until we shall meet before the judgment seat of Christ, when all men shall know that my garments are not spotted with your blood. [1] I have already quoted the pathetic words of the Prophet on meeting Captain Dunn's company of militia four miles out from Carthage, when he said: "I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer's morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God and towards all men. I shall die innocent, and it shall yet be said of me--He was murdered in cold blood." I have also related the circumstance of his lingering to look at his farm as he left Nauvoo for the last time, and clearly intimated that he would never see it again. But notwithstanding these very plain intimations concerning his approaching death, the Saints apparently could not comprehend them. They did not sense them; and when his death so sudden and pitiful did come, it scarcely seemed possible to them that it had taken place. They were unprepared for it, and, as I say, were now like sheep without a shepherd. Sidney Rigdon, the Prophet's first counselor, was in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. He had removed from Nauvoo to Pittsburg, notwithstanding in a revelation [2] from God he had been required to make his home in Nauvoo, and stand in his office and calling of counselor and spokesman to the Prophet. The truth is that from the expulsion of the Saints from Missouri in 1838-9, Sidney Rigdon had been of but little service either to the Church or to the Prophet as a counselor. He was a man of admitted ability as an orator, but lacked discretion; a man of fervid imagination, but of inferior judgment; ambitious of place and honor, but without that steadiness of purpose and other qualities of soul which in time secure them. In the early years of The Church he suffered much for the cause of God, but he also complained much; especially was this the case in respect to the hardships endured in Missouri, and subsequently of his poverty and illness at Nauvoo. This habit of complaining doubtless did much to deprive him of the Spirit of the Lord; for at times it bordered upon blasphemy. More than once he was heard to say that Jesus Christ was a fool in suffering as compared with himself! Having lost, in part at least, the Spirit of the Lord, his interest in The Church and its work waned, and after the settlement at Nauvoo he was seldom seen in the councils of the Priesthood. Moreover, it was known that he was in sympathy and even in communication with some of the avowed enemies of Joseph, among others with that arch traitor, John C. Bennett, who was plotting the overthrow of both Joseph and The Church. It was doubtless these considerations which led Joseph to make an effort to get rid of Sidney Rigdon as counselor at the October conference in 1843. On that occasion the Prophet represented to The Church that such had been the course of Sidney Rigdon that he considered it no longer his duty to sustain him as his counselor. Hyrum Smith, however, pleaded the cause of his fellow-counselor, and so strongly urged the Saints to deal mercifully with Sidney Rigdon, that when the question of sustaining him was presented to the conference, the Saints voted in his favor. "I have thrown him off my shoulders, and you have again put him on me," said Joseph. "You may carry him, but I will not." And so confident was he that Sidney Rigdon would continue to fail in the performance of his duty, that he ordained Elder Amasa Lyman to succeed him, both as counselor and spokesman. "Some of the Elders did not understand how Elder Lyman could be ordained to succeed Elder Rigdon, as The Church had voted to try him another year. Elder Joseph Smith was requested to give an explanation. Why, said he, by the same rule that Samuel anointed David to be king over Israel, while Saul was yet crowned. Please read the sixteenth chapter of first Samuel. Elder Smith's explanation, though short, proved a quietus to all their rising conjectures." [3] Notwithstanding all his fair promises of amendment, Sidney Rigdon continued neglectful of his high duties, and if for a time his old-time enthusiasm revived--as it seemed to at the April conference following, it was as the flickering flame of a tallow dip only--not the steady rays of the ever-shining sun. He longed to return to the East; and notwithstanding the word of the Lord commanding him to make his home at Nauvoo, he frequently talked with Joseph about going to Pittsburg to live, and finally obtained his consent to go there, and take his family with him, and, as I said before, he was there when the martyrdom occurred. William Law, who had been the Prophet's second counselor, was in open apostasy and rebellion against him. He had been and was the associate of a corrupt band of men bent on the destruction of the Prophet. Prompted by a spirit of mercy, the April conference of 1843 had passed without taking action against either William Law, or any of the other apostates; but on the eighteenth of April, at a council of the Priesthood, when six of the Twelve Apostles were present, William Law and several other apostates were excommunicated from The Church; and later William Law undertook the organization of a church after the pattern of the Church of Christ, but it was a miserable failure. The Twelve Apostles were nearly all absent in the Eastern States on missions; and although messengers were sent to call them to Nauvoo immediately after the Prophet's martyrdom, it would be some time before they could arrive. So that it was a time of general anxiety and depression. It was in the midst of such circumstances as these that Sidney Rigdon arrived in Nauvoo and demanded that he be appointed "guardian" of The Church. He ignored the members of the quorum of the Twelve who were in the city--Elders Willard Richards, John Taylor and Parley P. Pratt; he conferred with Elder William Marks, president of the stake of Nauvoo, and at once began agitating the question of appointing a "guardian" to The Church. He arrived in Nauvoo on Saturday, the third of August; next day he harangued the Saints, who assembled in the grove near the temple, upon the necessity of appointing a "guardian" to build up The Church to the martyred Prophet, and in the afternoon meeting urged William Marks to make a special appointment for the Saints to assemble on the following Tuesday for that purpose. Elder Marks was in sympathy with Sidney Rigdon, but for some reason he refused to make the appointment for Tuesday, but made it for Thursday, the eighth of August. This was a most fortunate circumstance, since a sufficient number of the Twelve to make a majority of that quorum arrived on the evening of the sixth, and, of course, they were in time to be present at the meeting to be held on the eighth. The day previous to that meeting, however--the seventh of August--the Twelve called a meeting of the high council and high priests, before which they called on Sidney Rigdon to make a statement of his purposes and relate the revelation he claimed to have received at Pittsburg, which prompted his journey to Nauvoo. In substance he replied that the object of his visit was to offer himself to the Saints as a "guardian;" that it had been shown to him in vision at Pittsburg, that The Church must be built up to Joseph the martyr; that all the blessings the Saints could receive would be through their late Prophet; that no man could be a successor to Joseph; that The Church was not disorganized, though the head was gone; that he had been commanded to come to Nauvoo and see that The Church was governed properly, and propose himself to be a "guardian" to the people. [4] To this Elder Brigham Young replied: I do not care who leads this Church, even though it were Ann Lee; but one thing I must know, and that is, what God says about it. I have the keys and the means of obtaining the mind of God on the subject. * * * Joseph conferred upon our heads all the keys and powers belonging to the Apostleship which he himself held before he was taken away, and no man nor set of men can get between Joseph and the Twelve in this world or in the world to come. How often has Joseph said to the Twelve, I have laid the foundation and you must build thereon, for upon your shoulders the Kingdom rests. [5] The next day was the one appointed by Sidney Rigdon for The Church to assemble and choose a "guardian." The attendance was large, as intense interest had been awakened upon the subject to be considered. Sidney Rigdon addressed the assembly, setting forth his claim to the "guardianship" of The Church. He had full opportunity to present his case and for one hour and a half spoke without interruption; but despite his reputation as an orator, he failed to convince the Saints that he was sent of God. As soon as Sidney Rigdon had closed his speech, Elder Brigham Young arose and made a few remarks. It was on that occasion that he was transfigured before the people, so that through him the Saints heard the voice and felt the presence of their departed leader. George Q. Cannon, who was present on that occasion, says: If Joseph had risen from the dead and again spoken in their hearing, the effect could not have been more startling than it was to many present at that meeting, it was the voice of Joseph himself; and not only was it the voice of Joseph which was heard but it seemed in the eyes of the people as if it were the very person of Joseph which stood before them. A more wonderful and miraculous event than was wrought that day in the presence of that congregation, we never heard of. The Lord gave His people a testimony that left no room for doubt as to who was the man chosen to lead them. They both saw and heard with their natural eyes and ears, and the words which were uttered came, accompanied by the convincing power of God, to their hearts, and they were filled with the Spirit and with great joy. There had been gloom, and in some hearts, probably, doubt and uncertainty, but now it was plain to all that here was the man upon whom the Lord had bestowed the necessary authority to act in their midst in Joseph's stead. On that occasion Brigham Young seemed to be transformed, and a change such as that we read of in the scriptures, as happening to the Prophet Elisha, when Elijah was translated in his presence, seemed to have taken place with him. The mantle of the Prophet Joseph had been left for Brigham. * * * The people said one to another: "The spirit of Joseph rests on Brigham;" they knew that he was the man chosen to lead them and they honored him accordingly. * * * As far as our observation went (we were only a boy at the time) the people were divided into three classes from the time of the death of Joseph up to this meeting of which we speak. One class felt clearly and understandingly that President Brigham Young was the man whose right it was to preside, he being the president of the Twelve Apostles, and that body being, through the death of Joseph and Hyrum, the presiding quorum of The Church. Another class were not quite clear as to who would be called to preside, but they felt very certain that Sidney Rigdon was not the man. They did not believe that God would choose a coward and traitor to lead His people, to both of which characters they believed Rigdon had a claim. The third class, and we think its members were few, was composed of those who had no clear views one way or the other. They were undecided in their feelings. * * * With very few exceptions, then, the people returned to their homes from that meeting filled with great rejoicing. All uncertainty and anxiety were removed. They had heard the voice of the shepherd and they knew it. In the journal of Elder William C. Staines, of that date, the following statement is recorded: Brigham Young said: "I will tell you who your leaders or guardians will be. The Twelve--I at their head!" This was with a voice like the voice of the Prophet Joseph. I thought it was he, and so did thousands who heard it. This was very satisfactory to the people, and a vote was taken to sustain the Twelve in their office, which, with a few dissenting voices, was passed. President Wilford Woodruff, describing the event, says: When Brigham Young arose and commenced speaking * * * if I had not seen him with my own eyes, there is no one that could have convinced me that it was not Joseph Smith; and anyone can testify to this who was acquainted with these two men. [6] The remarks of Elder Young, during which he was transfigured before the people, closed the forenoon meeting. When in the afternoon The Church again assembled Elder Young addressed them at some length on the subject of appointing a leader for The Church, representing the claims of the Twelve as the quorum having the right to act in the absence of the late Prophet-President. Following are some quotations from a summary of his speech taken down at the time: For the first time in my life, for the first time in your lives, for the first time in the Kingdom of God in the nineteenth century, without a prophet at our head, do I step forth to act in my calling in connection with the quorum of the Twelve, as Apostles of Jesus Christ unto this generation--Apostles whom God has called by revelation through the Prophet Joseph, who are ordained and anointed to bear off the keys of the Kingdom of God in all the world. * * * If any man thinks he has influence among this people, to lead away a party, let him try it, and he will find out that there is a power with the Apostles, which will carry them off victorious through all the world, and build up and defend The Church and Kingdom of God. * * * If the people want President Rigdon to lead them, they may have him; but I say unto you that the Quorum of the Twelve have the keys of the Kingdom of God in all the world. The Twelve were appointed by the finger of God. Here is Brigham, have his knees ever faltered? Have his lips ever quivered? Here is Heber, [7] and the rest of the Twelve, an independent body, who have the keys of the Priesthood--the keys of the Kingdom of God--to deliver to all the world; this is true, so help me God. They stand next to Joseph, and are as the First Presidency of The Church. * * * You must not appoint any man at our head; if you should, the Twelve must ordain him. You cannot appoint a man at our head; but if you do want any other man or men to lead you, take them and we will go our way to build up the Kingdom in all the world. * * * Brother Joseph, the Prophet, has laid the foundation for a grand work, and we will build upon it; you have never seen the quorums built one upon another. There is an almighty foundation laid, and we can build a kingdom such as there never was in the world; we can build a kingdom faster than the devil can kill the Saints off. Now if you want Sidney Rigdon or William Law [8] to lead you, or anybody else, you are welcome to them; but I tell you in the name of the Lord, that no man can put another between the Twelve and the Prophet Joseph. Why? Because Joseph was their file leader, and he has committed into their hands the keys of the Kingdom in this last dispensation, for all the world; don't put a thread between the Priesthood and God. [9] Elder Amasa Lyman spoke in support of the Twelve; and then Sidney Rigdon was granted the privilege of speaking; he declined personally, but called on Elder W. W. Phelps to speak in his behalf. Elder Phelps, while evidently having some sympathy with Elder Rigdon, supported the claims of the Twelve. After further discussion Elder Young arose to put the question as to whether The Church would sustain the Twelve or Sidney Rigdon: I do not ask you to take my counsel or advice alone, but every one of you act for yourselves; but if Brother Rigdon is the person you want to lead you, vote for him, but not unless you intend to follow him and support him as you did Joseph. * * * And I would say the same of the Twelve, don't make a covenant to support them unless you intend to abide by their counsel. * * * I want every man before he enters into a covenant, to know what he is going to do; but we want to know if this people will support the Priesthood in the name of Israel's God. If you say you will, do so. [10] Elder Young was then about to put the question to the assembled quorums as to whether they wanted Elder Rigdon for a leader, when, at the request of the latter, the question on supporting the Twelve as the presiding quorum in The Church was first put in the following manner: Do The Church want, and is it their only desire, to sustain the Twelve as the First Presidency of this people? * * * If The Church want the Twelve to stand as the head of this Kingdom in all the world, stand next to Joseph, walk up into their calling, and hold the keys of this Kingdom--every man, every woman, every quorum is now put in order, and you are now the sole controllers of it--all that are in favor of this in all the congregation of the Saints, manifest it by holding up the right hand. (There was a universal vote.) If there are any of a contrary mind--every man and every woman who does not want the Twelve to preside, lift up your hands in like manner. (No hands up.) This supersedes the other question, and trying it by quorums. [11] This disposed of Sidney Rigdon. He had full opportunity to present his case before The Church. The Saints had full opportunity and liberty to vote for him had they wanted him for their leader; but they rejected him and sustained the Twelve. Footnotes 1. Book of Mormon, Ether, Chap. xii. 2. Doc. & Cov., Sec. cxxiv, 103-106. 3. Tract on Sidney Rigdon, by Jedediah M. Grant, pp. 15, 16. 4. History of Joseph Smith, Millennial Star, Volume xxv, page 215. 5. History of Joseph Smith, Millennial Star, Volume xxv, page 215. 6. The above remark of President Woodruff's is taken from a testimony of his following a discourse on the subject of Priesthood and the right of succession, delivered by the writer.--_Deseret Evening News_, March 12, 1892. 7. Heber C. Kimball. 8. William Law had been a counselor to the Prophet Joseph, but was found in transgression and apostasy, had been excommunicated, and was among those who brought about the martyrdom at Carthage. 9. Millennial Star, volume xxv: pages 216, 231-32-33. 10. Millennial Star, volume xxv: page 264. 11. That is, whether The Church wanted to have Sidney Rigdon for a "guardian" or leader. CHAPTER XL. THE TRIAL OF THE MURDERERS. MEANTIME there was considerable excitement in Hancock County, since the mob party were determined to elect officers who would screen the murderers of the Prophets. The Saints were equally determined to vote for those whom they believed would sustain law and order; and the following were put forward as candidates for the county and district offices and elected: M. R. Deming, sheriff; D. H. Wells, coroner; George Coulson, commissioner; J. B. Backenstos and A. W. Babbitt, representatives. The account of the trial of the miscreants charged with the murder of the Prophet I take from Gregg's "History of Hancock County," beginning at page 328: TRIALS AND ACQUITTALS. At the October [1844] term of the Hancock Circuit Court--present Jesse B. Thomas, judge; William Elliott, prosecuting attorney; Jacob B. Backenstos, clerk; General Minor R. Deming, sheriff. The following is the grand jury: Abram Lincoln, Jas. Reynolds, Th. J. Graham, Wm. M. Owens, Ebenezer Rand, Th. Brawner, Ralph Gorrell, Brant Agnert, Martin Getter, Wm. Smith, Th. Gilmore, Benj. Warrington, Reuben H. Loomis, Samuel Scott, Jas. Ward, Samuel Ramsy, Th. H. Owen, David Thompson, John J. Hickok. Abraham Golden, E. A. Bedell and Geo. Walker excused for cause. Samuel Marshall refused to serve, and fined $5.00. The court began its session on Monday the 21st. There had been rumors industriously circulated that the old citizens intended to rally and interpose obstacles in the way of the court and considerable anxiety was felt. The judge in his charge to the grand jury alluded to this rumor and said he was glad to see that no such demonstration was made. He charged them to do their duty in the case likely to come before them and leave the consequences. His charge gave general satisfaction. There was a rumor that a lot of Mormons and Indians were encamped near the town and this rumor occasioned considerable uneasiness. Orders were issued to investigate. The facts turned out to be that a number of Mormons had come down from Nauvoo to attend court, and had gone into camp to save expense. As to the Indians it was ascertained that a company of them had gone through the county on their way to Iowa, for some purpose unknown; but the two facts had no connection with each other. On Tuesday the grand jury began their work, and on Saturday about noon they brought into court two bills of indictment against nine individuals--one for the murder of Joseph Smith and the other for the murder of Hyrum Smith. The persons indicted were as follows: Levi Williams, Jacob C. Davis, Mark Aldrich, Thomas C. Sharp, Wm. Voras, John Wills, Wm. N. Grover,--Gallaher and--Allen. Murry McConnell, Esq., of Jacksonville by special appointment of the governor was present assisting Mr. Elliot in the prosecution. Messrs. Bushnell and Johnson of Quincy and Calvin A. Warren, and perhaps others appeared for the defendants. Immediately on announcement of the indictments most of the defendants appeared and asked for an immediate trial. This Mr. McConnell objected to on the grounds of not being ready. His witnesses before the grand jury had departed without being recognized, and besides, Mr. Elliot had gone. It was finally agreed that the causes should be postponed until next term, and that no _capias_ should issue from the clerk in the interim if the defendants would pledge themselves to appear at the time. Agreed on--a compact which was afterwards violated by the prosecution. Subpoenas were asked for by the prosecution for between thirty and forty witnesses, among whom were William M. Daniels and Brackenberry, the two miracle men, and John Taylor, Mrs. Emma Smith and Governor Ford. On May 19, 1845, court again met in special term at Carthage. Present, Richard M. Young, judge; James H. Ralston, prosecuting attorney; David E. Head, clerk; and R. H. Deming, sheriff. The cause of the people _vs_. Williams _et al_ coming up, Messrs. Williams, Davis, Aldrich, Sharp and Grover appeared and were admitted to bail on personal recognizance in the sums of $5,000.00 jointly and severally. Josiah Lamborn of Jacksonville as assistant prosecuting attorney and William A. Richardson, O. H. Browning, Calvin A. Warren, Archibald Williams, O. C. Skinner and Tho. Morrison for defendants. Motion of defendants to quash the array of jurors for first week, on account of supposed prejudice of county commissioners who selected them and of the sheriff and deputies was sustained. Also motion for the appointment of elisors for the same cause, and absence of corner from county. The array was set aside, and Tho. H. Owen and Wm. D. Arbenethy appointed elisors for the case. These gentlemen had a thankless and arduous duty to perform. Usually it is not difficult to find men willing to sit on juries; in this case few were willing to try the experiment of going into court, with the almost certainty of being rejected by one or the other party, and the position was not an enviable one, if taken. Ninety-six men were brought into court before the requisite panel of 12 was full. The following are names of the jurors chosen: Jesse Griffiths, Joseph Jones, Wm. Robertson, William Smith, Joseph Massey, Silas Griffiths, Jonathan Foy, Solomon J. Hill, James Gittings, F. M. Walton, Jabez A. Beebe, Gilmore Callison. The trial lasted till the 30th when the jury was instructed by the court and after a deliberation of several hours returned a verdict of _not guilty_. Instructions to the jury had been asked by both parties, the following among a list of nine asked by defendants' counsel, were given, and probably had most influence on the verdict. "That where the evidence is circumstantial admitting all to be proven that the evidence tends to prove, if then the jury can make any supposition consistent with the facts, by which the murder might have been committed without the agency of the defendants, it will be their duty to make that supposition, and find defendants not guilty. "That in making up their verdict, they will exclude from their consideration all that was said by Daniels, Brackenberry and Miss Graham. [Witnesses, see note, p. 319.] "That whenever the probability is of a definite and limited nature whether in proportion of 100 to 1 or 1,000 to 1 or any rate is immaterial, it cannot be made the ground of conviction, for to act upon it in any case would be to decide that for the sake of convicting many criminals, the life of one innocent man might be sacrificed [Starkie 508.]" Same defendants, for murder of Hyrum Smith were requested to enter into recognizance of $5,000 each (with fourteen sureties) to the June term, 1845. At said term case was called, and Elliot and Lamborn not answering, the cause was dismissed for want of prosecution and defendants discharged. Colonel John Hay, in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for December, 1869, published an article on this subject. Although but a mere boy at the time of this trial he had within his reach sources of correct information. (He was a member of the State department subsequently.) He says: "The case was closed. There was not a man on the jury, in the court, in the county, that did not know the defendants had done the murder. But it was not proven, and the verdict of not guilty was right in law. * * * The elisors presented 99 men before 12 were found ignorant enough and indifferent enough to act as jurors." The fact is, the trial amounted to nothing more than a farce. The law had been outraged, the honor of the State betrayed, her plighted faith was shamefully broken, and there was not virtue enough in the people to demand its vindication. Nor is this at all an exaggerated statement of the matter. The governor of Illinois himself--Thomas Ford--admits all that is here said. Of the atrocious deed itself and his determination to bring the murderers to justice he says: _I had determined from the first that some of the ringleaders in the foul murder of the Smiths should be brought to trial. If these men had been the incarnation of Satan himself, as was believed by many, their murder was a foul and treacherous action, alike disgraceful to those who perpetrated the crime, to the State, and to the governor, whose word had been pledged for the protection of the prisoners in jail, and which had been so shamefully violated; and required that the most vigorous means should be used to bring the assassins to punishment_. [1] Speaking of the trial, Governor Ford says: Accordingly, I employed able lawyers to hunt up the testimony, procure indictments, and prosecute the offenders. A trial was had before Judge Young in the summer of 1845. The sheriff and panel of jurors, selected by the Mormon court, were set aside for prejudice, and elisors were appointed to select a new jury. One friend of the Mormons and one anti-Mormon were appointed for this purpose; but as more than a thousand men had assembled under arms at the court, to keep away the Mormons and their friends, the jury was made up of these military followers of the court, who all swore that they had never formed or expressed any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the accused. The Mormons had one principal [1] witness who was with the troops at Warsaw, had marched with them until they disbanded heard their consultations, went before them to Carthage, and saw them murder the Smiths. But before the trial came on, they induced him to become a Mormon; and being much more anxious for the glorification of the Prophet than to avenge his death, the Mormons made him publish a pamphlet giving an account of the murder; in which he professed to have seen a bright and shining light descend upon the head of Joe Smith to strike some of the conspirators with blindness; and that he heard supernatural voices in the air confirming his mission as a Prophet! Having published this in a book, he was compelled to swear to it in court, which of course destroyed the credit of his evidence. This witness was afterwards expelled by the Mormons, but no doubt they will cling to his evidence in favor of the divine mission of the Prophet. [2] Many other witnesses were examined who knew the facts, but under the influence of the demoralization of faction, denied all knowledge of them. It has been said, that faction may find men honest, but it scarcely ever leaves them so. This was verified to the letter in the history of the Mormon quarrel. The accused were all acquitted. During the progress of these trials, the judge was compelled to permit the courthouse to be filled and surrounded by armed bands who attended court to browbeat and overawe the administration of justice. The judge himself was in a duress, and informed me that he did not consider his life secure any part of the time. The consequence was that the crowd had everything their own way; the lawyers for the defense defended their clients by a long and elaborate attack upon the governor; the armed mob stamped with their feet and yelled their approbation at every sarcastic and smart thing that was said, and the judge was not only forced to hear it, but to lend it a kind of approval. [3] And now in conclusion, as promised in the footnote on this page, I quote the statement of the martyrdom as vouched for by The Church, and published in the book of Doctrine and Covenants: To seal the testimony of this book and the Book of Mormon, we announce the martyrdom of Joseph Smith the Prophet, and Hyrum Smith the Patriarch. They were shot in Carthage jail, on the 27th of June, 1844, about five o'clock p. m., by an armed mob, painted black--of from 150 to 200 persons. Hyrum was shot first and fell calmly, exclaiming, "I am a dead man!" Joseph leaped from the window, and was shot dead in the attempt, exclaiming, "O Lord, my God!" They were both shot after they were dead in a brutal manner and both received four balls. John Taylor and Willard Richards, two of the Twelve, were the only persons in the room at the time; the former was wounded in a savage manner with four balls, but has since recovered; the latter, through the providence of God, escaped, "without even a hole in his robe." Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more (save Jesus only,) for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it. In the short space of twenty years, he has brought forth the Book of Mormon, which he translated by the gift and power of God, and has been the means of publishing it on two continents; has sent the fullness of the everlasting gospel which it contained to the four quarters of the earth; has brought forth the revelations and commandments which compose this Book of Doctrine and Covenants, and many other wise documents and instructions for the benefit of the children of men; gathered many thousands of the Latter-day Saints, founded a great city; and left a fame and name that cannot be slain. He lived great, and he died great in the eyes of God and his people, and like most of the Lord's anointed in ancient times, has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood--and so has his brother Hyrum. In life they were not divided, and in death they were not separated! When Joseph went to Carthage to deliver himself up to the pretended requirements of the law, two or three days previous to his assassination, he said, "I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer's morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men. I SHALL DIE INNOCENT, AND IT SHALL YET BE SAID OF ME--HE WAS MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD." The same morning, after Hyrum had made ready to go--shall it be said to the slaughter? Yes, for so it was,--he read the following paragraph, near the close of the fifth chapter of Ether, in the Book of Mormon, and turned down the leaf upon it:-- "And it came to pass that I prayed unto the Lord that he would give unto the Gentiles grace, that they might have charity. And it came to pass that the Lord said unto me, if they have not charity, it mattereth not unto you, thou hast been faithful; wherefore thy garments are clean. And because thou hast seen thy weakness, thou shalt be made strong, even unto the sitting down in the place which I have prepared in the mansions of my Father. And now I * * * bid farewell unto the Gentiles; yea and also unto my brethren whom I love, until we shall meet before the judgment-seat of Christ, where all men shall know that my garments are not spotted with your blood." The testators are now dead, and their testament is in force. Hyrum Smith was 44 years old; February, 1844, and Joseph Smith was 38 in December, 1843; and henceforward their names will be classed among the martyrs of religion; and the reader in every nation will be reminded that the "Book of Mormon," and this book of Doctrine and Covenants of the Church, cost the best blood of the nineteenth century to bring them forth for the salvation of a ruined world: and that if the fire can scathe a _green tree_ for the glory of God, how easy it will burn up the "dry trees" to purify the vineyard of corruption. They lived for glory; they died for glory; and glory is their eternal reward. From age to age shall their names go down to posterity as gems for the sanctified. They were innocent of any crime, as they had often been proved before, and were only confined in jail by the conspiracy of traitors and wicked men; and their _innocent blood_ on the floor of Carthage jail, is a broad seal affixed to "Mormonism" that cannot be rejected by any court on earth; and their _innocent blood_ on the escutcheon of the State of Illinois, with the broken faith of the State as pledged by the governor, is a witness to the truth of the everlasting Gospel, that all the world cannot impeach; and their _innocent blood_ on the banner of liberty, and on the _magna charta_ of the United States, is an ambassador for the religion of Jesus Christ, that will touch the hearts of honest men among all nations; and their _innocent blood_, with the innocent blood of all the martyrs under the altar that John saw, will cry unto the Lord of hosts, till He avenges that blood on the earth. Amen. Footnotes 1. Ford's History of Illinois, page 367. 2. This the "Mormons," however, have not done; and no well informed "Mormon," regards the story as being vouched for in any authoritative way by The Church. The only authoritative account of the sad martyrdom of the Prophets for which The Church stands responsible is that published in the Doctrine and Covenants, section cxxxv (and which is published at the close of this chapter); and in that account the element of the miraculous enters not at all. 3. Ford's History of Illinois, pages 367, 368. CHAPTER XLI. THE EXODUS--THE FALL OF NAUVOO. IT is thought by some that our enemies would be satisfied with my destruction; but I tell you that as soon as they have shed my blood, they will thirst for the blood of every man in whose heart dwells a single spark of the spirit of the fullness of the Gospel. The opposition of these men is moved by the spirit of the adversary of all righteousness. It is not only to destroy me, but every man and woman who dares believe the doctrines that God hath inspired me to teach in this generation. Such were the words of the Prophet Joseph Smith to the Nauvoo Legion on the eighteenth of June, 1844. And the action of the old citizens of Hancock and the surrounding counties subsequent to the murder of the Prophet, prove how truly inspired were the words we have quoted. For no sooner did they discover that the work which Joseph had begun refused to die with him, than they renewed hostilities, and sought by every means their wicked hearts could devise to harass and destroy those who devoted their energies to the consummation of the work which had been started. The mockery of a trial given those who had murdered the Prophets, emboldened the enemies of the Saints, for they saw justice powerless to vindicate outraged law, and that with impunity they could prey upon the citizens of Nauvoo, whom, it would seem, their hatred had selected for a sacrifice. Thieves and blacklegs generally, saw the opportunity of having their crimes charged upon an innocent people, and established themselves in the vicinity of Nauvoo, though principally on the Iowa side of the river, and all the thefts and acts of violence committed by those renegades were charged up to the account of the citizens of Nauvoo, and too gladly believed by the people in the surrounding counties. Not only were the charges of theft and robbery made against the Sainst, but they were also accused of hiding from justice any and all criminals who came into their midst--that Nauvoo, in short, was a rendezvous for outlaws, counterfeiters and desperate men generally. These charges led the city council on the thirteenth of January, 1845, to investigate the allegations and a series of resolutions were adopted stating that the charges of theft for the most part were fabrications of their enemies bent on ruining the reputation of the city, and defied those who made the charges to sustain with proof a single case where the citizens of Nauvoo had screened criminals from justice. The council also extended an invitation to all who had reasons to believe that their stolen property was concealed in Nauvoo to come and make diligent search for it, and pledged them the assistance of the council. To hunt out crime and put away everything that could give rise to even a suspicion of concealing criminals, the mayor was authorized to increase the force of police if necessary to five hundred; and the people were called upon to redouble their diligence in preventing criminals from coming among them, and all such persons as soon as discovered were to be given up to the officers of the law. The next day the action of the city council was submitted to the citizens of Nauvoo, and they approved of it. Fifty delegates were chosen and sent into the surrounding counties to disabuse the public mind relative to the false accusations made against the Saints, and to ask their co-operation in ridding the country of the counterfeiters and thieves which infested it. But all these efforts were fruitless. The falsehoods of their enemies outweighed the truths of the Saints, and prejudice more cruel than hell itself hardened the hearts of the people of Illinois against the appeals of the citizens of Nauvoo, and made them deaf to all entreaties for justice. Twice during the summer of 1845, Governor Ford himself went to Nauvoo to investigate these charges against her people; and when he came to deal with the "Mormon troubles," in his message to the legislature that fall, after speaking of the charges made, he said: Justice, however, requires me to say that I have investigated the charge of promiscuous stealing, and find it to be greatly exaggerated. I could not ascertain that there were a greater proportion of thieves in that community than in any other of the same number of inhabitants, and perhaps if the city of Nauvoo were compared with St. Louis, or any other western city, the proportion would not be so great. The prejudice, not to say bitterness, of Governor Ford against the Saints would rob his statement of any suspected exaggeration favorable to them. Nor is Governor Ford's voice the only one which vindicates the character of the citizens of Nauvoo. The deputy sheriff of Hancock County exonerated the Mormon people from any participation in the thefts perpetrated in the surrounding country. He testified that stolen property was brought through the country _via_ Nauvoo, passed over the river to the Iowa side and taken into the interior, where it was concealed. He also stated that there were some five or six persons in Nauvoo who were assisting in this nefarious business, but said he, "they are not Mormons nor are they fellowshiped by them." Notwithstanding all this, misrepresentation so far succeeded in poisoning the minds of the public and the leading men in the State, that in January, 1845, the city charter of Nauvoo and the charter of the Legion were both repealed, and thus the protecting aegis of the city government was snatched away from her citizens, when most they needed it, and left them exposed to the fury of their enemies. Of this act of punic faith on the part of the State legislature, the State attorney, Josiah Lamborn, in a letter to Brigham Young, said: I have always considered that your enemies have been prompted by political and religious prejudices, and by a desire for plunder and blood, more than for the common good. By the repeal of your charter, and by refusing all amendments and modifications, our legislature has given a kind of sanction to the barbarous manner in which you have been treated. Your two representatives exerted themselves to the extent of their ability in your behalf, but the tide of popular passion and frenzy was too strong to be resisted. It is truly a melancholy spectacle to witness the law-makers of a sovereign State condescending to pander to the vices, ignorance and malevolence of a class of people who are at all times ready for riot, murder and rebellion. Senator Jacob C. Davis was one among those who had been indicated for the murder of Joseph and Hyrum, and of him the attorney-general said: Your senator, Jacob C. Davis, has done much to poison the minds of members against anything in your favor. He walks at large in defiance of law an indicated murderer. If a Mormon was in his position, the senate would afford no protection, but he would be dragged forth to jail or the gallows, or be shot down by a cowardly and brutal mob. In the meantime the Twelve Apostles, sustained by the Saints, put forth every exertion to carry out the designs of their martyred Prophet respecting Nauvoo. The Nauvoo House was hurried on, and the walls were growing rapidly under the constant labor of the masons. Work, too, was vigorously prosecuted at the temple. At the time of Joseph's death that edifice was but one story high, yet on the twenty-fourth of May, 1845, about six o'clock in the morning the cap-stone was laid amid the general rejoicing and shouts of "Hosanna" from the assembled thousands of the Saints. As President Brigham Young finished laying the cap-stone he stood upon it and said: The last stone is laid upon the temple, and I pray the Almighty in the name of Jesus to defend us in this place, and sustain us until the temple is finished and we have all got our endowments. The whole congregation then following the motion of President Young shouted as loud as possible: Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna! to God and the Lamb! Amen! Amen! and Amen! [1] "So let it be, thou Almighty God," solemnly concluded President Young. Thus the world began to understand that Mormonism was not born to die with its earthly leaders. And it began to be whispered that the Prophet Joseph dead was even more potent than when living. His testimony had been sealed with his blood, and it gave to his life and his labors an additional sanctity in the eyes of his followers, as well as making it more binding upon the world. Seeing then the continued prosperity of Nauvoo and her citizens, the people in the vicinity of that city and in the surrounding counties again commenced hostilities, if, indeed, it may be said that they had ever ceased. The enormity of the murder at Carthage jail had checked them temporarily; for an instant the torch and assassin's knife had dropped from their nerveless hands and they stood aghast, at that deed of blood. But seeing the work the murdered Prophet had started surviving his fall, they took up again the weapons of fell destruction and rushed once more upon their victims. Early in September, 1845, mobbing the scattered families of the Saints began in earnest. A meeting was held by anti-Mormons near what was called the "Morley settlement," to devise means of getting rid of the Mormons. During the meeting guns were fired at the house where it was held, and the assault charged upon the Saints, though most likely it was done by some of their own party--that they might have an excuse for their meditated acts of violence upon the people of Nauvoo. Such was the general belief at the time; and Governor Ford in his "History of Illinois," speaking of this circumstance, says: In the fall of 1845, the anti-Mormons of Lima and Green Plains, held a meeting to devise means for the expulsion of the Mormons from their neighborhood. They appointed some persons of their own number to fire a few shots at the house where they were assembled; but to do it in such a way as to hurt none who attended the meeting. The meeting was held, the house was fired at, but so as to hurt no one; and the anti-Mormons suddenly breaking up their meeting, rode all over the country spreading the dire alarm, that the Mormons had commenced the work of massacre and death. [2] The attack was made upon the Morley settlement, and on the eleventh of the month twenty-nine houses were burned down, while their occupants were driven into the bushes where men, women and children laid drenched with rain, anxiously awaiting the breaking of day. Speaking of this outrage, the editor of the Quincy _Whig_, Mr. Bartlett, said: Seriously, these outrages should be put a stop to at once; if the Mormons have been guilty of crime why punish them, but do not visit their sins upon defenseless women and children. This is as bad as the savages. * * * It is feared that this rising against the Mormons is not confined to the Morley settlement, but that there is an understanding among the antis in the northern part of this [Adams] and Hancock counties to make a general sweep, burning and destroying the property of the Mormons wherever it can be found. If this is the case, there will be employment of the executive of the State, and that soon. * * * Still later news from above [referring to Hancock County] was received late on Monday night. The outrages were still continued. The flouring mill, carding machine, etc., of Norman Buel, a Mormon, one mile and a half west of Lima is now a heap of ashes. Colonel Levi Williams, of Green Plains has ordered out his brigade, it is said to aid the anti-Mormons. The anti-Mormons from Shuyler [county] and the adjoining counties, are flocking in and great distress of life and property may be expected. Heaven only knows where these proceedings will end. It is time the strong arm of power was extended to quell them. [3] In the midst of the exciting scenes which followed, the sheriff of Hancock County, Mr. J. B. Backenstos proved himself a friend to law and order. He did all in his power to arrest the spread of violence and called upon all law-abiding citizens to act as a _posse comitatus_, but announced it as his opinion that the citizens of Nauvoo had better take no part in suppressing the mob-violence, since that might lead to a civil war. At the same time he told the people of Hancock, that "the Mormon community had acted with more than ordinary forbearance, remaining perfectly quiet, and offering no resistance when their dwellings, their buildings, stacks of grain, etc., were set on fire in their presence. They had forborne until forbearance was no longer a virtue." His vigorous efforts were making headway against the violators of the law; but in consequence of some parties who had sought his life, while acting in his official capacity, being killed, he was arrested [4] by General John J. Hardin and placed on trial for murder; after which mob-violence went unchecked of justice. In the midst of these tumultuous scenes a mass meeting of the citizens was convened at Quincy on the twenty-second of September. It was generally known that the Prophet Joseph had contemplated going west with the main body of The Church, and it was one of the objects of this meeting to appoint a committee to confer with The Church authorities and learn what their present intentions were as to leaving the State. It was expressed as the opinion of that meeting that the only basis upon which the Mormon troubles could be settled would be the removal of that people from Illinois. "It is a settled thing," said Mr. Bartlett, editor of the Quincy _Whig_, in his issue following the meeting of the above date-- It is a settled thing that the public sentiment of the State is against the Mormons, and it will be in vain for them to contend against it; and to prevent bloodshed, and the sacrifice of many lives on both sides, it is their duty to obey the public will, and leave the State as speedily as possible. That they will do this we have a confident hope--and that too, before the last extreme is resorted to--that of force. We are sorry to say that many of the leading men of Quincy, principally prominent members of the bar, who before had been kindly disposed towards the citizens of Nauvoo, now turned against them, and became the advocates of violence, and lent the weight and influence of their characters to the support and spread of mob-law. Among such we are sorry to publish Major Warren and O. H. Browning, the latter having defended the Prophet Joseph on more than one occasion when unjustly charged with crime before the courts of the country. His burning words of eloquence, in reciting the wrongs of the Saints, when cruelly expelled from Missouri, would, one would think, have enlisted the sympathy of adamantine hearts; and now to see him leagued with those bent upon bringing about a repetition of these sorrows, is an event to be truly deplored. In answer to the Quincy committee to state what their present intentions were relative to leaving the State, the Twelve handed them the following communication: NAUVOO, September 24, 1845. _Whereas_, a council of the authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, at Nauvoo have this day received a communication from Messrs. Henry Asbury, John P. Robins, Albert G. Pearson, P. A. Goodwin, J. N. Ralston, M. Rogers and E. Congers, committee of the citizens of Quincy, requesting us to communicate in writing our disposition and intention at this time, particularly with regard to removing to some place where the peculiar organization of our Church will not be likely to engender so much strife and contention as unhappily exists at this time in Hancock and some of the adjoining counties; _And, whereas_, said committee have reported to us the doings of a public meeting of the citizens of Quincy on the twenty-second inst., by which it appears there are some feelings concerning us as a people, and in relation to which sundry resolutions were passed, purporting to be for the purpose of maintaining or restoring peace to the country; _And, whereas_, it is our desire and ever has been, to live in peace with all men, so far as we can, without sacrificing the right to worship God according to the dictates of our own consciences which privilege is granted by the Constitution of these United States; and, whereas, we have time and again, been driven from our peaceful homes, and our women and children have been obliged to live on the prairies, in the forests, on the roads and in tents, in the dead of winter, suffering all manner of hardships--even to death itself--as the people of Quincy well know; the remembrance of whose hospitality, in former days, still causes our hearts to burn with joy, and raise the prayer to heaven for blessing on their heads; and, whereas, it is now so late in the season that it is impossible for us, as a people, to remove this fall without causing a repetition of like sufferings; and, whereas, it has been represented to us from other sources than those named, and even in some communications from the executive of the State, that many of the citizens of the State were unfriendly to our views and principles; and, whereas, many scores of our homes in this country have been burned to ashes without any justifiable cause or provocation, and we have made no resistance, till compelled by the authorities of the county so to do, and that authority not connected with our Church; and, whereas, said resistance to mobocracy, from legally constituted authority, appears to be misunderstood by some, and misconstrued by others, so as to produce an undue excitement in the public mind; and, whereas, we desire peace above all earthly blessings; _Therefore_, we would say to the committee above mentioned, and to the governor, and all the authorities and people of Illinois, and the surrounding States and Territories that we propose to leave this county next spring, for some point so remote, that there will not need be any difficulty with the people and ourselves, provided certain propositions necessary for the accomplishment of our removal shall be observed, as follows, to-wit: That the citizens of this and surrounding counties, and all men, will use their influence and exertion to help us to sell or rent our properties, so as to get means enough that we can help the widow, the fatherless and the destitute to remove with us, That all men will let us alone with their vexatious law-suits so that we may have time, for we have broken no laws; and help us to cash, dry goods, groceries, etc., to good oxen, beef cattle, sheep, wagons, mules horses, harness, etc., in exchange for our property, at a fair price, and deeds given on payment, that we may have means to accomplish a removal without the suffering of the destitute to an extent beyond the endurance of human nature. That all exchange of property shall be conducted by a committee, or by committees of both parties; so that all the business may be transacted honorably and speedily. That we will use all lawful means, in connection with others to preserve the public peace while we tarry; and shall expect, decidedly, that we be no more molested with house-burning, or any other depredations, to waste our property and time, and hinder our business. That it is a mistaken idea, that we have proposed to leave in six months, for that would be so early in the spring that grass may not grow nor water run; both of which would be necessary for our removal. But we propose to use our influence, to have no more seed time and harvest among our people in this county after gathering our present crops; and that all communications be made to us in writing. By order of the council, BRIGHAM YOUNG, President. W. RICHARDS, Clerk. The Quincy committee reported to the citizens of that city, the propositions of The Church authorities, which were regarded as satisfactory in part, but thought they were not so full or decisive as was necessary. The mass meeting to which they reported, however, accepted the propositions and decided to recommend the people in the surrounding counties to do the same. "But," said one of the resolutions: We accept it [the proposition of The Church authorities] as an unconditional proposition to remove. We do not intend to bring ourselves under any obligation to purchase their property or furnish purchasers for the same, but we will in no way hinder or obstruct them in their efforts to sell; and will expect them to dispose of their property, and remove at the time appointed. _Resolved_, that it is now too late to attempt the settlement of the difficulties in Hancock County upon any other basis than that of the removal of the Mormons from the State. _Resolved_, that whilst we shall endeavor, by all the means in our power, to prevent the occurrence of anything which might operate against their removal, and afford the people of Nauvoo any grounds of complaint, we shall equally expect good faith upon their part; and if they shall not comply with their own proposition, the consequence must rest upon those who violate faith. And we now solemnly pledge ourselves to be ready at the appointed time to act, as the occasion may require, and that we will immediately adopt a preliminary military organization, for prompt future action, if occasion should demand it. _Resolved_, that in our opinion, the peace of Hancock County cannot so far be restored as to allow the desired progress to be made, in preparing the way for the removal of the Mormons, while J. B. Backenstos remains sheriff of said county: and that he ought to resign said office. Of the first of these resolutions Josiah B. Conyers, the author of "A Brief History of the Hancock Mob," says with just indignation and sarcasm: The first one, in our opinion, is unique. They accepted and recommended to the people of the surrounding counties to accept an unconditional proposition to remove. But understand, Mr. Mormon, though we accept it and recommend the surrounding counties to do so, likewise, (reprobate you, unconditionally) we do not intend to bring ourselves under any obligation to purchase your property, or to furnish purchasers; but we will be very kind and obliging, and will in no way, hinder or obstruct you in your efforts to sell, provided, nevertheless, this shall not be so construed as to prevent us from running off the purchaser. But we expect this small favor of you, viz., that you must dispose of your property, and leave at the appointed time. [5] This mass meeting closed its business by arranging a plan for adopting a preliminary military organization for prompt future action, if occasion should demand. On the first and second of October an anti-Mormon convention assembled at Carthage, in which nine counties, those immediately surrounding Hancock, were represented. A committee on evidence, was appointed, on which Archibald Williams, one of the Saints' bitterest enemies, was chairman. It was its business to collect evidence in relation to the depredations of the Mormons. The chairman made a report to which were appended a number of affidavits, charging various crimes on the people of Nauvoo. It is needless to say that the whole thing was an _ex patre_ affair, and sustained by the men who had assisted in the murder of Joseph and Hyrum Smith; and it was upon their evidence the convention acted. The convention adopted the course followed by the mass meeting at Quincy--that is, it agreed to accept the propositions of The Church authorities, to remove, in the same spirit they were received at Quincy, and proceeded to prepare a preliminary military organization to act with promptitude, provided the Saints did not remove. The convention also, _Resolved_, that it is expected as an indispensable condition to the pacification of the county, that the old citizens be permitted to return to their homes unmolested by the present sheriff (Backenstos,) and the Mormons, for anything alleged against them; any attempt on their part to arrest or prosecute such persons for pretended offenses, will inevitably lead to a renewal of the late disorder. O. H. Browning moved the following: _Resolved_, that the Hon. W. N. Purple, judge of this judicial circuit court be requested not to hold a court in Hancock County this fall; as, in the opinion of this convention, such court could not be holden without producing a collision between the Mormons and anti-Mormons, and renewing the excitement and disturbances which have recently affected said county. And thus those guilty of mob violence and house burning were to be protected by the Carthage convention from prosecution before the courts; and those who might have the temerity to prosecute them and vindicate the law, were threatened by a renewal of that same lawless violence! Where, then, proud State of Illinois, was your majesty! Your honor! Can you answer? If you, out of very shame, cannot look up and reply, history answers for you, and tells you it was trailed in the dust, under the very feet of as vile a set of traitors as ever brought shame to their country! And where was your virtuous populace, the true watch and guard of a State's honor? Alas, they were blinded by the falsehoods prompted by malice and envy, and started on foot to shield the guilty murderers of innocence, or quelled by the bold front of a traitorous but successful mob. In the meantime every exertion was made by the citizens of Nauvoo, to be ready for the great exodus in the spring. The temple had been so far completed that a conference was held in it on the sixth of October, and committees appointed to negotiate the sale of property and attend to other branches of business. Nauvoo presented a busy scene in those days. Men were hurrying to and fro collecting wagons and putting them in repair; the roar of the smith's forge was well nigh perpetual, and even the stillness of night was broken by the steady beating of the sledge and the merry ringing of the anvil. Committees were seeking purchasers of real estate and converting both that and personal property into anything that would be of service to those just about to plunge into an unknown and boundless wilderness. But while these efforts were being put forth on the part of the people of Nauvoo, to fulfill their agreement with the mob forces, the conditions of removal on the part of the old settlers were frequently violated; and instances of mob violence were almost every day occurrences. The people, who were making preparations to leave the farms, gardens and homes they had redeemed from the wilderness, were constantly threatened with destruction by the hostile demonstrations of their heartless neighbors. To give an earnest of the intentions of the Mormons to leave the State where they had suffered so much, and to thereby remove all occasion for the implacable wrath of their enemies, that was so impatient that it could not wait for the springtime to come, for the sacrifice of its victims, the Twelve and the High Council, with about four hundred families, crossed the Mississippi on the ice, on the eleventh of February, 1846, and were soon lost to view in the wilderness of Iowa. Others continued to follow as fast as they could make ready, until by the latter part of April, the great body of The Church at Nauvoo had gone. But now, purchasers for their property failed those who remained. The people surrounding Nauvoo saw no need of purchasing that which inevitably must become theirs. The result was that it became impossible for this remnant, consisting for the most part, of the destitute, the aged, infirm and sick, to remove. And surely a people who had still any faith left in humanity, would be justified in the belief that these could remain until an asylum was found for them by their friends, who had already gone in search of new homes. But in this, be it said, to the shame of Illinois, they were deceived. In the hardened hearts of their enemies, however, there was no mercy, even for the helpless; no pity for the sick or destitute. In their enemies' veins the milk of human kindness had dried up. During the preparations for the exodus, Major Warren had been stationed with a small military force in Hancock, to keep the peace; but about the middle of April he received orders to disband his force on the first of May, as that was adjudged by "the public expectation," to use a phrase of Major Warren's, when the last of the Mormons should have left the State. So soon as it was understood that there were still left in Nauvoo a number of Mormons who would likely remain through the summer to continue their efforts to dispose of property, an uproar was raised in the surrounding counties, meetings were held and resolutions adopted, demanding that they leave at once, under threats of extermination. When the governor saw this new furore breaking out, he countermanded the order for Major Warren to disband his forces, and commanded him to hold his position and to preserve the peace until he received further orders. The new impetus given to mob violence, however, was not to spend its force without perpetrating some outrage, and a number of cowardly attacks were made upon Mormons. On the eleventh of May, Major Warren found it necessary to issue a circular from which I quote the following: The undersigned again deems it his duty to appear before you in a circular. It may not be known to all of you, that the day after my detachment was disbanded at Carthage, I received orders from the executive to muster them into service again, and remain in the county until further orders. I have now been in Nauvoo with my detachment a week and can say to you with perfect assurance that the demonstrations made by the Mormon population, are unequivocal. They are leaving the State, and preparing to leave, with every means that God and nature has placed in their hands. * * * The anti-Mormons desire the removal of the Mormons; this is being effected peaceably and with all possible dispatch. All aggressive movements, therefore, against them at this time, must be actuated by a wanton desire to shed blood, or to plunder. * * * A man of near sixty years of age, living about seven miles from this place, was taken from his house a few nights since, stripped of his clothing, and his back cut to pieces with a whip, for no other reason than because he was a Mormon, and too old to make successful resistance. Conduct of this kind would disgrace a horde of savages. * * * To the Mormons I would say, go on with your preparations and leave as fast as you can. Leave the fighting to be done by my detachment. If we are overpowered, then recross the river, and defend yourselves and property. To those busy trying to raise mob forces, principally Squire M'Calla and Colonel Levi Williams, Major Warren gave warning that a previous order to the effect that not more than four armed men, other than State troops, should assemble together, would be enforced; and that any mob which assembled would be dispersed; his force or the mob would leave the field in double quick time. This had the effect of quieting matters down for a season, but only until Major Warren's detachment was disbanded. A meeting was held at Carthage on the sixth of June, to make preparations for celebrating the fourth of July, the nation's natal day. It was suggested at that meeting that, as all the Mormons had not left the State, the people of Hancock County could not be considered free; and under those circumstances, they ought not to celebrate the fourth with the usual rejoicings. The meeting was therefore adjourned to meet on the twelfth, for the purpose of taking into consideration why it was that all Mormons had not left the city of Nauvoo. That happened to be the day fixed by the governor on which to raise volunteers for the Mexican war, which, in the meantime, had broken out; so that there was considerable excitement among the militia of Hancock County, and the mob leaders doubtless thought the time propitious for making a demonstration against the few Saints still remaining in Nauvoo. A large body of men were found willing to march into Nauvoo, but it was learned that the new citizens who had purchased much of the property of the now exiled people, were unwilling to allow the mob forces to enter the city, and meeting with this unexpected opposition, the mob forces marched to Golden's point, distant from Nauvoo some five or six miles down the river. At this juncture, Stephen Markham returned to Nauvoo from the camp of the Apostles for some Church property; but it was rumored that he had returned with a large body of men, and as Markham's name was a terror among the enemies of the Saints, the mob took to flight, though no one was in pursuit. It was a case of the wicked fleeing when no man pursued. The committee at Quincy having control of the mob forces, either chagrined by the cowardice of those who had collected at Golden's point, or appalled at the prospect of innocent blood being found upon their skirts, retired from the position which had been assigned them. This disorganized the mob and they dispersed to their homes, but agreed to assemble again at the call of their leaders; and laid an injunction upon the Mormons in Nauvoo not to go outside of the city limits, except in making their way westward. This order of the mob was disregarded by a party of new citizens and a few Saints who went into the country several miles, to harvest a field of grain. While engaged in their work, they were surrounded by a mob and captured. They were robbed of their arms, stripped of their clothing, and cruelly beaten with hickory goads. This outrage created intense excitement in Nauvoo, and the new citizens and Saints made common cause in bringing the perpetrators of it to justice. But while the parties accused of the crime were under arrest in the hands of the officers, a second party, consisting of P. H. Young and his son, Richard Ballantyne, James Standing and Mr. Herring were kidnapped, and held by their tormentors fourteen days, during which time they were constantly threatened with death. They finally escaped, however, and returned to Nauvoo. The parties accused of making the assault on those in the harvest field, took a change of venue to Quincy, but whether they were ever brought to trial or not, I cannot learn, but think they were not. Among those arrested for attacking the party of harvesters was Major M'Calla; and in his possession was found a gun taken from the party. The gun was recognized by several persons, among whom was Wm. Pickett, and taken from him. The mobbers then and there made out a charge of stealing, and got out warrants for the arrest of Pickett, Furness and Clifford. Pickett, it would seem, had incurred the hatred of the mob, and they desired to get him into their power. Word was brought to him by a friend that the warrant was merely a subterfuge to get him into the hands of his enemies; consequently, when one John Carlin, a special constable from Carthage, undertook to arrest him, he asked if he would guarantee his safety; being answered in the negative, he resisted the officer and would not be taken. Though it is claimed that afterwards, in company with several friends he went before the magistrate of Green Plains, who, it was said, issued the warrant for his arrest. But as he had no record of the warrant he refused to put him under arrest. The other parties accused were acquitted on examination. The mob now, however, saw an opportunity to accomplish their full purpose of destroying the city of Nauvoo. An officer had been resisted by a citizen, and his fellow citizens approved his course! "Nauvoo was in rebellion against the laws!" Carlin issued a proclamation calling upon the citizens to come as a _posse comitatus_, to assist him in executing the law. And to his clarion call, There was mounting in hot haste. The old mob forces were soon assembled at Carthage, and the command given to Captain Singleton. The citizens of Nauvoo petitioned the governor for protection, and he sent to them Major J. R. Parker, with a force of ten men from Fulton County, and also authorized him to take command of such forces as might volunteer to defend the city against any attacks that might be threatened. He was also empowered "to pursue, and in aid of any peace officer with a proper warrant, arrest the rioters who may threaten or attempt such an attack, and bring them to trial;" and to assist with an armed posse any peace officer in making an arrest, and with a like force to guard the prisoners, during the trial, and as long as he believed them in danger of mob violence. The commission bears date August 24, 1846. Thus equipped, Major Parker went to Nauvoo and issued a proclamation calling upon the mobs then collecting, "_in the name of the people of Illinois, and by virtue of the authority vested in him by the governor of the State to disperse_." The issue, then, was no longer between the mob forces and the Mormons; it was between the recognized authority of the State and this lawless banditti. Major Parker also announced that he was authorized and prepared to assist the proper officers in serving any writs in their hands. In answer to this proclamation Carlin issued a counter one to the effect that if he met with resistance from Parker, he would consider his detachment as a mob, and proceed accordingly. To which Parker replied, if the forces under Carlin undertook to enter Nauvoo, he would treat them as a mob. Parker also wrote to Singleton, and expressed a desire to bring about a settlement of the difficulty without shedding blood. To this communication Singleton replied that in Parker's proposition he saw nothing looking to the expulsion of the remnant of the Mormon people left in Nauvoo, and "that is," said he "a _sine qua non_ with us." It will be remembered that Carlin's professed object in calling for a posse was to arrest William Pickett; but now something more is demanded--the immediate removal of the Mormons, the surrender of Nauvoo, etc. Singleton concluded his terms to Parker, the representative of the governor of the State, in these words: When I say to you, the Mormons must go, I speak the mind of the camp and the country. They can leave without force or injury to themselves or their property, but I say to you, sir, with all candor, _they shall go_--they may fix the time within sixty days, or I will fix it for them. At this juncture a committee of one hundred, which had been appointed by the citizens of Quincy, arrived on the scene, to act--ostensibly--as mediators, to bring about a peaceful solution of the trouble, but one cannot help thinking their true mission was to insidiously carry out the project of the mob. But I leave the reader to draw his own inference respecting that; when he hears the terms proposed by that committee, and which all classes of citizens in Nauvoo, seeing no alternative, accepted: The terms offered were that the Mormons move out of the city, or disperse within sixty days. A force of twenty-five to remain in the city during that time, half the expense of maintaining them was to be paid by the people of Nauvoo; for which amount they were to give bond; that the Mormons surrender their arms, which should be returned to them after they left the State; that as soon as those arms were surrendered, the forces under Singleton were to disperse; that all hostilities cease between the respective parties as soon as the agreement was accepted. The singularity about this agreement is that not one word is said about giving up Pickett, to arrest whom the forces under Singleton were ostensibly called out. Does it not reveal the fact that the Pickett episode was merely a ruse--a pretext for gathering a mob to sack Nauvoo and drive away the Mormons? This proposed settlement, however, was rejected by the mob forces. It did not sufficiently gratify their implacable hatred. They did, in very deed, as the Prophet Joseph foretold his people they would, thirst for the blood of every man in whose heart dwelt a single spark of the spirit of the fullness of the Gospel. But when the mob rejected these terms, Singleton and other leaders left them; saying the Mormons had done all that could be required of them. On the retirement of Singleton and others, the command of the mob was given to Thomas S. Brockman, a Campbellite preacher, known familiarly as "Old Tom," among his followers. He at once went into active preparations for bombarding the city; and with a force of more than one thousand men, and six pieces of cannon, took up a position about one mile east of the city, in a cornfield just at the head of Mulholland street; and not far from the house of Squire D. H. Wells. From this position Brockman issued the terms upon which he would grant peace. The terms he offered were much more outrageous than those proposed by the Quincy committee, and therefore were rejected by the people of Nauvoo, both by Mormon and non-Mormon. Brockman addressed his insolent terms of peace to "the commanding officer of Nauvoo, and the trustees of the Mormon Church." The "commanding officer" was Major Clifford, who had succeeded Major Parker in that position. He was vested with the governor's commission as Parker had been, and it was to this representative of Illinois' executive that the demand of Brockman to surrender the city, and stack his arms, was addressed; so that he and his mob forces were pitted against the laws and lawful authority of the State, and we shall see, as we proceed, how mobs were more powerful than the State authorities; or rather, how the lawful authorities of the State were so lost to all sense of shame, so recreant to the trust reposed in them, so neglectful of the honor and dignity of the State, that they permitted their own representatives to be driven in disgrace from the field by the mob led by Brockman: and furthermore, those same authorities were so lost to every principle of humanity, that they permitted the helpless and unoffending people to be driven from their homes out into the wilderness to perish from exposure. The citizens of Nauvoo were not willing to allow Brockman's mob to enter the city without making some effort to prevent him; and although their forces numbered not more than three or four hundred, they presented a determined front to the mob. They converted some steam-boat shafts into cannon--five pieces in all--and threw up some fortifications on the north of Mulholland street, facing the mob's camp. These works were under command of Captain Lamareux. On the south of of Mulholland street, the companies of Gates and Cutler were stationed. On September 10th, 11th, and 12th, there was some desultory firing on both sides, without much advantage being gained. On the thirteenth, however, the mob-forces advanced in solid column, making a desperate effort to reach Mulholland street, the principal street leading into Nauvoo from the east. If the onset was desperate, the resistance was equally determined. The main shock of the conflict was sustained for a time by Gates' and Cutler's companies, and they must inevitably have been overpowered by the superior numbers of the mob, had not Squire Wells come up with Lamareux's company to reinforce them. The doughty squire had ridden across an open field exposed to the fire of the enemy, to where Lamareux's company lay behind their fortifications. He called upon them to advance at once to check the approach of the mob. There was one brave spirit who needed no second call to perform his duty. That was William Anderson, captain of what was known as the "Spartan Band." He leaped from behind the trenches and calling on his men to follow, started for the front. The rest of Lamareux's company did not so readily respond, and manifested a disposition to retreat rather than advance. Squire Wells, observing this, and seeing Anderson and his few brave followers rushing headlong into the conflict, raised in his stirrups, and swinging his hat, shouted: "Hurrah for Anderson! Who wouldn't follow the brave Anderson!" This rallied their spirits, and they followed the squire to the front, where they were soon firing at the enemy as steadily as their comrades. The mob forces by this time had nearly reached Mulholland street, but now they recoiled from the rapid firing of the reinforcements and beat a retreat to the house of a Mr. Carmichael, but a short distance from Squire Wells' house. Here they waited until wagons came from their camp, and putting their dead and wounded into them, returned to where they were encamped in the morning. The number of killed and wounded of the mob has never been ascertained, as the facts were kept concealed. The intrepid Anderson and his equally brave son, a lad not more than fifteen years of age fell in the engagement; and one Morris was killed while crossing a field by a cannon ball. Negotiations were now renewed, and the citizens of Nauvoo, seeing that the State authorities rendered them no assistance, but permitted even their own authority to be braved by a lawless mob, and knowing that they would eventually be overpowered, accepted the following terms of settlement, in order to stop the further effusion of blood:-- 1. The city of Nauvoo will surrender. The force of Colonel Brockman to enter and take possession of the city tomorrow, the seventeenth of September, at three o'clock p. m. 2. The arms to be delivered to the Quincy committee, to be returned on the crossing of the river. 3. The Quincy committee pledge themselves to use their influence for the protection of persons and property from all violence, and the officers of the camp and the men pledge themselves to protect all persons and property from violence. 4. The sick and helpless to be protected and treated with humanity. 5. The Mormon population of the city to leave the State or disperse as soon as they can cross the river. 6. Five men, including the Trustees of The Church, and five clerks, with their families (Wm. Pickett not one of the number) to be permitted to remain in the city, for the disposition of property, free from all molestation and personal violence. 7. Hostilities to cease immediately, and ten men of the Quincy committee to enter the city, in the execution of their duty as soon as they think proper. These terms of capitulation were signed on the part of the citizens of Nauvoo, by Almon W. Babbitt, Joseph L. Heywood and John S. Fullmer; and on the part of the mob by Thomas S. Brockman and John Carlin; and by Andrew Johnson on behalf of the Quincy committee. The rest of my story is soon told. There was a hasty flight of the "Mormon" population and a number of the new citizens who had assisted in the defense of Nauvoo. They left their homes without being able to carry with them anything for their comfort. The sick, aged and infirm, together with the youth, without regard to sex or condition, shared the same fate; they had to lie out on the Mississippi bottoms where many perished through exposure, and beyond all doubt, all would have famished from hunger, had not their camp been filled with innumerable flocks of quail, so tame that women and children caught hundreds of them in their hands, and thus was the cry of hunger relieved, by what would generally be regarded as a miraculous occurrence. [6] Brockman and his forces entered the city, and once in, he insolently violated every condition of the treaty of surrender. But lest I should be charged with inaccuracy--for such events as I am recording seem almost too much to believe--I quote from the report made by Mr. Brayman to Governor Ford. Mr. Brayman had acted as the Governor's agent, for some time, in a secret capacity from the commencement of the difficulties at Nauvoo, and the following abstract is from an elaborate report he gives of the final struggle for the defense of the city. Moreover, the fact that I have never seen this matter reproduced in any of our books encourages me to insert it here: The force of General Brockman marched into the city at three o'clock. From fifteen hundred to two thousand men marched in procession, through the city, and encamped on the south side, near the river. The march was conducted without the least disorder or trespass upon persons or property. The streets were deserted--the obnoxious persons had left the city, leaving but little to provoke the resentment of the victors. But a few Mormons remained in the city, and these were hastening their preparations for crossing the river as soon as possible. On my return from Carthage to the city, about noon, I learned that the Quincy committee had closed its labors at sunrise and had left for home, leaving a sub-committee to complete the reception and delivery of the arms of those Mormons who had not yet departed. I also learned that in addition to the duty General Brockman had assumed, under the treaty, of superintending the removal of the Mormons from the State, he had issued an order for the expulsion from the State, of all who had borne arms in defense of the city against his force, and all who were in any manner identified with the Mormons. It could scarcely be believed that such an order in such palpable and gross violation of the unanimous pledge which had been signed by the officers, agreed to by the whole force, and endorsed by the Quincy committee, had been given. But on applying to General Brockman, I learned that such an order had been given, and would be executed. This order was rigorously enforced throughout the day, with many circumstances of the utmost cruelty and injustice. Bands of armed men traversed the city, entering the houses of citizens, robbing them of arms, throwing their household goods out of doors, insulting them, and threatening their lives. Many were seized and marched to the camp, and after military examination, set across the river, for the crime of sympathizing with the Mormons, or the still more heinous offense of _fighting in the defense of the city, under command of officers commissioned by_ YOU, [Governor Ford], and instructed to make that defense. It is, indeed, painfully true, that many citizens of this State, have been driven from it by an armed force, because impelled by our encouragement, and a sense of duty, they have bravely defended their homes and homes of their neighbors from the assaults of a force assembled for unlawful purposes. In the face of the pledge given to protect persons and property from all violence, (excepting of course Mormon persons and property), it may be estimated that nearly one half of the new citizens of Nauvoo have been forced from their homes and dare not return. Thus far, these citizens have appealed in vain for protection and redress. It remains yet to be seen whether there is efficacy in the law, power in the executive arm, or potency in public opinion sufficient to right their grievous wrongs. It is disgraceful to the character of the State, and a humiliation not to be borne, to permit a military leader, acting without a shadow of lawful authority, but in violation of law and right, not only to thwart the will of the executive, but to impose upon citizens the penalty of banishment, for acting under it. [7] Was this arch traitor, Brockman, hung for his treason against the State? No; nor even tried or questioned, neither he nor his followers. Perhaps it was thought that an investigation might reveal the fact to the world that many high officials, and chief among them the governor of the State, had been engaged in an unlawful conspiracy to drive from Illinois an innocent community, whose rights they had not the moral courage to defend against the fierce attacks of lawless mobs, whose hands were crimson in the blood of innocence; and who repeatedly trampled the honor and dignity of the State under their feet. After a time the most of the new citizens returned to the homes they had purchased for little or nothing from the now exiled founders of the beautiful city. But Nauvoo never prospered under its new masters. Out of sympathy for those who had redeemed it from a wilderness, and some portions of it from a swamp, its fields and gardens refused to yield in their strength to the industry of other hands. Its decline was as rapid and disastrous as its rise had been sudden and glorious. A French communistic society had purchased considerable property in the deserted city, and into their hands passed the splendid temple the Saints at such sacrifice had erected. Externally, the building had been completed in the spring of 1846, even to the gilding of the angel and the trumpet at the top of the spire. During the winter of 1845-6 various rooms of the temple were dedicated for ordinance work, and there hundreds of the faithful Saints received their endowments--the sacred mysteries of the faith. The main court of worship was also prepared; and on the evening of April 30th, 1846, the building was privately dedicated, Joseph Young, the senior president of the First Council of Seventy, offering the dedicatory prayer. On the first of May, 1846, under the direction of Apostles Orson Hyde and Wilford Woodruff, the edifice was publicly dedicated, according to the order of the Holy Priesthood, revealed through the Prophet Joseph Smith. The temple was always a source of envy to the enemies of the Saints, and it was feared that if it continued to stand it would be a bond between its exiled builders and the city from which they had been cruelly driven, and an inducement for them to return. On the tenth of November, 1848, an incendiary, therefore, set it on fire, and the tower was destroyed, and the whole building so shattered, that on the twenty-seventh of May, 1850, a tornado blew down the north wall. I was informed by M. M. Morrill, who at the time of my visit was mayor of Nauvoo, and, by the way, one who had assisted in its defense when attacked by the mob, that one Joseph Agnew, confessed to being the incendiary. Finally all the walls were pulled down and the stone hauled away for building purposes, until now, not one stone stands upon another. Even the very foundation has been cleared away, and the excavation for the basement filled up and the site covered with inferior buildings. At the time of my visit, in the summer of 1885, the population of Nauvoo numbered about seventeen hundred, nine-tenths of whom were Germans. The principal occupation is grape-growing, vineyards covering some portions of the city plat, which was once the principal business center. The whole place has a half-deserted, half-dilapidated appearance, and seems to be withering under a blight, from which it refuses to recover. Such is the fate of Nauvoo, which once promised to be the first city of Illinois, and beyond all question would have been so had there existed sufficient virtue and honor in that State to have protected its founders in their rights. * * * * * * * Still stands the forest primeval; but under the Shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs And languages. The quotation connects me with my introduction, and reminds me that I have completed the task proposed in these pages. But in the fate which overtook the survivors of the Acadian peasant-exiles from Nova Scotia, and the Mormons exiles from Illinois, the former fails altogether to suggest the faintest hint of a parallel. Only along the shores of the mournful and mystic Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom, Finishes the story of the Acadian exiles. Not so the story of the exiles from Illinois. They did not perish in exile, nor did merely a handful of them, broken in spirits as in fortunes return to live silent and sad on the site of their former homes. The Mormon exiles were not broken and scattered--they remained a people; beyond their exile they were destined to have a glorious history. Their faith in their religion was not shattered. Their church was not disrupted. Their hearts were not turned against their prophets. Their spirits were not blighted nor their hearts bowed down beyond the power of recovery; nor their fortunes so blasted that they could not hope for prosperity--for God was with them. The institution--The Church--brought into existence, and its doctrines developed amid so much of spiritual tempest and pursued so relentlessly by mob violence, and which may be said to have had a second birth at Nauvoo, and to have received sanctification from the martyrdom of her earthly founder--The Church which these exiles bore with them into the western wilderness was not born to die. Whatever might be the fate of The Church and the Saints in other dispensations of the Gospel, God had now introduced the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times, in which He has decreed that all things in Christ shall be gathered together in one--even in Him. [8] A dispensation in which the salvation of man and the redemption of the earth itself shall be consummated. And the earth and men made ready for the all glorious reign of truth and righteousness so long promised by God and His prophets. Hence The Church was not destroyed; and the people who fled with her to the wilderness did not perish. The blinding storms of sleet and rain which enveloped their principal companies as in melancholy trains they penetrated the wilderness of the then territory of Iowa, might easily have been taken for God's curtain rung down upon the most melancholy scene in America's history--the scene of a people in free America--the boasted asylum for the oppressed, where religious freedom is guaranteed by express constitutional provision--fleeing from the worst forms of oppression--the oppression of mob violence invoked in Illinois to crush their religious faith. But the curtain so rung down was not upon the final act. The hand of God again rolled it up; and when He did, it was to reveal to the world the exiles as the redeemers of desert wastes; the planters of cities; the builders of temples, the founders of States; and for themselves and for their religious faith so entrenched, so strengthened, so enlarged that the world shall never, while the earth itself remains, or sun or stars endure be rid of that faith founded--under God--by JOSEPH SMITH, THE PROPHET-MARTYR OF NAUVOO. Footnotes 1. Wm. Clayton's journal, under date of May 24, 1845. 2. Ford's History of Illinois, p. 406. 3. The Hancock Mob, p. 4, by J. B. Conyers, M. D. 4. He was acquitted at his trial which took place at Peoria. 5. Hancock Mob, Conyers, pp. 13, 14. 6. The condition of the exiled Saints at this period is graphically described by General Thomas L. Kane, see appendix-- 7. The Hancock Mob, by J.B. Conyers, M. D., pages 73, 74. 8. Eph. 1: 9, 10. APPENDICES. APPENDIX I. CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN JOSEPH SMITH AND JOHN C. CALHOUN. HON. JOHN C. CALHOUN. DEAR SIR,--As we understand you are a candidate for the Presidency at the next election; and as the Latter-day Saints (sometimes called Mormons, who now constitute a numerous class in the school politic of this vast republic,) have been robbed of an immense amount of property, and endured nameless sufferings by the State of Missouri, and from her borders have been driven by force of arms, contrary to our national covenants; and as in vain we have sought redress by all constitutional, legal, and honorable means, in her courts, her executive councils and her legislative halls; and as we have petitioned Congress to take cognizance of our sufferings without effect, we have judged it wisdom to address you this communication, and solicit an immediate, specific and candid reply to "_What will be your rule of action relative to us as a people_," should fortune favor your ascension to the chief magistracy? Most respectfully, sir, your friend, and the friend of peace, good order, and constitutional rights, JOSEPH SMITH. In behalf of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. FORT HILL, 2ND DECEMBER, 1843. SIR,--You ask me what would be my rule of action relative to the Mormons or Latter-day Saints, should I be elected President; to which I answer, that if I should be elected, I would strive to administer the government according to the Constitution and the laws of the Union; and that as they make no distinction between citizens of different religious creeds, I should make none. As far as it depends on the executive department, all should have the full benefit of both, and none should be exempt from their operation. But as you refer to the case of Missouri, candor compels me to repeat what I said to you at Washington, that, according to my views, the case does not come within the jurisdiction of the federal government, which is one of limited and specific powers. With respect, I am, &c., &c., J. C. CALHOUN. Mr. Joseph Smith. NAUVOO, ILLINOIS, JANUARY 2, 1844. SIR,--Your reply to my letter of last November, concerning your rule of action towards the Latter-day Saints, if elected president, is at hand; and that you and your friends of the same opinion relative to the matter in question may not be disappointed as to me or my mind upon so grave a subject, permit me, as a law-abiding man, as a well-wisher to the perpetuity of constitutional rights and liberty, and as a friend to the free worship of Almighty God by all, according to the dictates of every person's own conscience, to say _I am surprised_ that a man or men in the highest stations of public life should have made up such a fragile "view" of a case, than which there is not one on the face of the globe fraught with so much consequence to the happiness of men in this world or the world to come. To be sure, the first paragraph of your letter appears very complacent and fair on a white sheet of paper. And who, that is ambitious for greatness and power, would not have said the same thing? Your oath would bind you to support the Constitution and laws; and as all creeds and religions are alike tolerated, they must, of course, all be justified or condemned according to merit or demerit. But why--tell me why are all the principal men held up for public stations _so cautiously careful_ not to publish to the world that they _will judge a righteous judgment_, law or no law? for laws and opinions, like the vanes of steeples, change with the wind. One Congress passes a law, another repeals it; and one statesman says that the Constitution means this, and another that; and who does not know that all may be wrong? The opinion and pledge, therefore, in the first paragraph of your reply to my question, like the forced steam from the engine of a steam-boat, makes the show of a bright cloud at first; but when it comes in contact with a purer atmosphere, dissolves to common air again. Your second paragraph leaves you naked before yourself, like a likeness in a mirror, when you say that, "according to your view, the federal government is one of limited and specific powers," and has no jurisdiction in the case of the Mormons. So then a State can at any time expel any portion of her citizens with impunity, and, in the language of Mr. Van Buren, frosted over with your gracious "_views of the case_," though the cause is ever so just, Government can do nothing for them, because it has no power. Go on, then, Missouri, after another set of inhabitants (as the Latter-day Saints did,) have entered some two or three hundred thousand dollars' worth of land; and made extensive improvements thereon. Go on, then, I say; banish the occupants or owners, or kill them, as the mobbers did many of the Latter-day Saints, and take their land and property as spoil; and let the legislature, as in the case of the Mormons, appropriate a couple of hundred thousand dollars to pay the mob for doing that job; for the renowned senator from South Carolina, Mr. J. C. Calhoun, says the powers of the federal government are so _specific and limited that it has no jurisdiction of the case!_ O ye people who groan under the oppression of tyrants!--ye exiled Poles, who have felt the iron hand of Russian grasp!--ye poor and unfortunate among all nations! come to the asylum of the oppressed; buy ye lands of the general government; pay in your money to the treasury to strengthen the army and the navy; worship God according to the dictates of your own consciences; pay in your taxes to support the great heads of a glorious nation: but remember a "_sovereign State_" is so much more powerful than the United States, the parent government, that it can exile you at pleasure, mob you with impunity, confiscate your lands and property, have the legislature sanction it,--yea, even murder you as an edict of an emperor, _and it does no wrong_; for the noble senator of South Carolina says the power of the federal government is _so limited and specific that it has no jurisdiction of the case!_ What think ye of _imperium in imperio?_ Ye spirits of the blessed of all ages, hark! Ye shades of departed statesmen listen! Abraham, Moses, Homer, Socrates, Solon, Solomon, and all that ever thought of right and wrong, look down from your exaltations, if you have any; for it is said, "In the midst of counsellors there _is safety;_" and when you have learned that fifteen thousand innocent citizens, after having purchased their lands of the United States and paid for them, were expelled from a "sovereign State," by order of the governor, at the point of the bayonet, their arms taken from them by the same authority, and their right of migration into said State denied, under pain of imprisonment, whipping, robbing, mobbing, and even death, and no justice or recompense allowed; and, from the legislature with the governor at the head, down to the justice of the peace, with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other, hear them all declare that there is no justice for a Mormon in that State; and judge ye a righteous judgment, and tell me when the virtue of the States was stolen, where the honor of the general government lies hid, and what clothes a senator with wisdom. O nullifying Carolina! O little tempestuous Rhode Island! Would it not be well for the great men of the nation to read the fable of the _partial judge;_ and when part of the free citizens of a State had been expelled contrary to the Constitution, mobbed, robbed, plundered, and many murdered, instead of searching into the course taken with Joanna Southcott, Ann Lee, the French Prophets, the Quakers of New England, and rebellious niggers in the slave states, to hear both sides and then judge, rather than have the mortification to say, "Oh, it is _my_ bull that has killed _your_ ox! That alters the case! I must inquire into it; _and if, and if_-- If the general government has no power to reinstate expelled citizens to their rights, there is a monstrous hypocrite fed and fostered from the hard earnings of the people! A real "bull beggar" upheld by sycophants. And although you may wink to the priests to stigmatize, wheedle the drunkards to swear, and raise the hue-and-cry of--"Impostor! false prophet! G-- d-- old Joe Smith!" yet remember, if the Latter-day Saints are not restored to all their rights and paid for all their losses, according to the known rules of justice and judgment, reciprocation and common honesty among men, that God will come out of His hiding place, and vex this nation with a sore vexation: yea, the consuming wrath of an offended God shall smoke through the nation with as much distress and woe as independence has blazed through with pleasure and delight. Where is the strength of government? Where is the patriotism of a Washington, a Warren, and Adams? And where is a spark from the watch-fire of '76, by which one candle might be lit that would glimmer upon the confines of Democracy? Well may it be said that one man is not a state, nor one state the nation. In the days of General Jackson, when France refused the first installment for spoliations, there was power, force, and honor enough to resent injustice and insult, and the money came; and shall Missouri, filled with negro-drivers and white men stealers, go "unwhipped of justice" for tenfold greater sins than France? No! verily, no! While I have power of body and mind--while water runs and grass grows--while virtue is lovely and vice hateful, and while a stone points out a sacred spot where a fragment of American liberty once was, I or my posterity will plead the cause of injured innocence, until Missouri makes atonement for all her sins, or sinks disgraced, degraded, and damned to hell, "where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." Why, sir, the power not delegated to the United States and the States belong to the people, and Congress sent to do the people's business have all power; and shall fifteen thousand citizens groan in exile? O vain men! will ye not, if ye do not restore them to their rights and two million dollars' worth of property, relinquish to them (the Latter-day Saints,) as a body, their portion of power that belongs to them according to the Constitution? Power has its convenience as well as inconvenience. "The world was not made for Caesar alone, but for Titus too." I will give you a parable. A certain lord had a vineyard in a goodly land, which men labored in at their pleasure. A few meek men also went and purchased with money from some of these chief men that labored at pleasure a portion of land in the vineyard, at a very remote part of it, and began to improve it, and to eat and drink the fruit thereof,--when some vile persons, who regarded not man, neither feared the lord of the vineyard, rose up suddenly and robbed these meek men, and drove them from their possessions, killing many. This barbarous act made no small stir among the men in the vineyard; and all that portion who were attached to that part of the vineyard where the men were robbed rose up in grand council, with their chief man, who had firstly ordered the deed to be done, and made a covenant not to pay for the cruel deed, but to keep the spoil, and never let those meek men set their feet on that soil again, neither recompense them for it. Now, these meek men, in their distress, wisely sought redress of those wicked men in every possible manner, and got none. They then supplicated the chief men, who held the vineyard at pleasure, and who had the power to sell and defend it, for redress and redemption; and those men, loving the fame and favor of the multitude more than the glory of the lord of the vineyard, answered--"Your cause is just, but we can do nothing for you, because we have no power." Now, when the lord of the vineyard saw that virtue innocence was not regarded, and his vineyard occupied by wicked men, he sent men and took the possession of it to himself, and destroyed these unfaithful servants, and appointed them their portion among hypocrites. And let me say that all men who say that Congress has no power to restore and defend the rights of her citizens have not the love of the truth abiding in them. Congress has power to protect the nation against foreign invasion and internal broil; and whenever that body passes an act to maintain right with any power, or to restore right to any portion of her citizens, it is the SUPREME LAW OF THE LAND; and should a State refuse submission, that State is guilty of _insurrection or rebellion_, and the President has as much power to repel it as Washington had to march against the "whisky boys at Pittsburg," or General Jackson had to send an armed force to suppress the rebellion of South Carolina. To close, I would admonish you, before you let your "_candor compel_" you again to write upon a subject great as the salvation of man, consequential as the life of the Savior, broad as the principles of eternal truth, and valuable as the jewels of eternity, to read in the eighth section and first article of the Constitution of the United States, the _first, fourteenth_, and _seventeenth_ "specific" and not very "limited powers" of the federal government, what can be done to protect the lives, property, and rights of a virtuous people, when the administrators of the law and law-makers are unbought by bribes, uncorrupted by patronage, untempted by gold, unawed by fear, and uncontaminated tangling alliances--even like Caeser's wife, not only _unspotted, but unsuspected!_ And God, who cooled the heat of a Nebuchadnezzar's furnace or shut the mouths of lions for the honor of a Daniel, will raise your mind above the narrow notion that the general government has no power, to the sublime idea that Congress, with the President as executor, is as almighty in its sphere as Jehovah is in His. With great respect, I have the honor to be Your obedient servant, JOSEPH SMITH. Hon. ("Mr.") J. C. Calhoun, Fort Hill, S. C. APPENDIX II. CLAY'S LETTER TO JOSEPH SMITH AND THE LATTER'S REPLY. ASHLAND, November 15, 1843. DEAR SIR:--I have received your letter in behalf of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, stating that you understand that I am a candidate for the presidency, and inquiring what will be my rule of action relative to you as a people, should I be elected. I am profoundly grateful for the numerous and strong expressions of the people in my behalf as a candidate for President of the United States; but I do not so consider myself. That must depend upon future events and upon my sense of duty. Should I be a candidate, I can enter into no engagements, make no promises, give no pledges to any particular portion of the people of the United States. If I ever enter into that high office, I must go into it free and unfettered, with no guarantees but such as are to be drawn from my whole life, character and conduct. It is not inconsistent with this declaration to say that I have viewed with a lively interest the progress of the Latter-day Saints; that I have sympathized in their sufferings under injustice, as it appeared to me, which has been inflicted upon them; and I think, in common with other religious communities, they ought to enjoy the security and protection of the Constitution and the laws. I am, with great respect, your friend and obedient servant, H. CLAY. To Joseph Smith, Esq. NAUVOO, ILL., May 13, 1844. SIR:--Your answer to my inquiry, "What would be your rule of action towards the Latter-day Saints, should you be elected President of the United States?" has been under consideration since last November, in the fond expectation that you would give (for every honest citizen has a right to demand it,) to the country a manifesto of your views of the best method and means which would secure to the people, _the whole people_, the most freedom, the most happiness, the most union, the most wealth, the most fame, the most glory at home, and the most honor abroad, at the least expense. But I have waited in vain. So far as you have made public declarations, they have been made, like your answer to the above, soft to flatter, rather than solid to feed the people. You seem to abandon all former policy which may have actuated you in the discharge of a statesman's duty, when the vigor of intellect and the force of virtue should have sought out an everlasting habitation for liberty; when, as a wise man, a true patriot, and a friend to mankind, you should have resolved to ameliorate the lawful condition of our _bleeding_ country by a mighty plan of wisdom, righteousness, justice, goodness and mercy, that would have brought back the golden days of our nation's youth, vigor and vivacity, when prosperity crowned the efforts of a youthful republic, when the gentle aspirations of the sons of liberty were, "We are one!" In your answer to my questions last fall, that peculiar tact of modern politicians declaring, "_If you ever enter into that high office, you must go into it free and unfettered; with no guarantees but such as are to be drawn from your whole life, character and conduct_," so much resembles a lottery-vendor's sign, with the goddess of good luck sitting on the car of fortune, a-straddle of the horns of plenty, and driving the merry steeds of beatitude, without reins or bridle, that I cannot help exclaiming--O frail man, what have you done that will exalt you? Can anything be drawn from your _life, character or conduct_ that is worthy of being held up to the gaze of this nation as a model of _virtue_, charity and wisdom? Are you not a lottery picture, with more than two blanks to a prize? Leaving many things prior to your Ghent treaty, let the world look at that, and see where is the wisdom, honor and patriotism which ought to have characterized the plenipotentiary of the only free nation upon the earth? A quarter of a century's negotiation to obtain our rights on the north-eastern boundary, and the motley manner in which Oregon tries to shine as American territory, coupled with your presidential race and some-by-chance secretaryship in 1825, all go to convince the friends of freedom, the golden patriots of Jeffersonian democracy, free trade and sailors' rights, and the protectors of person and property, that an honorable war is better than a dishonorable peace. But had you really wanted to have exhibited the wisdom, clemency, benevolence and dignity of a great man in this boasted republic, when fifteen thousand free citizens were exiled from their own homes, lands and property, in the wonderful patriotic State of Missouri, and you then upon your oath and honor occupying the exalted station of a Senator of Congress from the noble-hearted State of Kentucky, why did you not show the world your loyalty to law and order, by using all honorable means to restore the innocent to their rights and property? Why, sir, the more we search into your character and conduct, the more we must exclaim from Holy Writ, "The tree is known by its fruit." Again: this is not all. Rather than show yourself an honest man, by guaranteeing to the people what you will do in case you should be elected president, "you can enter into no engagement, make no promises, and give no pledges as to what you will do. Well, it may be that some hot-headed partisan would take such nothingarianism upon trust; but sensible men and even _ladies_ would think themselves insulted by such an evasion of coming events! If a tempest is expected, why not prepare to meet it, and, in the language of the poet, exclaim-- Then let the trial come; and witness thou If terror be upon me,--If I shrink Or falter in my strength to meet the storm When hardest it besets me. True greatness never wavers; but when the Missouri compromise was entered into by you for the benefit of _slavery_, there was a mighty shrinkage of _western honor_; and from that day, sir, the sterling Yankee, the struggling Abolitionist, and the staunch Democrat, with a large number of the liberal-minded Whigs, have marked you as a _black-leg_ in politics, begging for a chance to _shuffle_ yourself into the Presidential chair, where you might deal out the destinies of our beloved country for a _game of brag_ that would end in--"_Hark from the tombs a doleful sound_." Start not at this picture: for your "whole life, character and conduct" have been spotted with deeds that cause a blush upon the face of a virtuous patriot. So you must be contented in your lot, while crime, cowardice, cupidity or low cunning have handed you down from the high tower of a statesman to the black-hole of a gambler. A man that accepts a challenge or fights a duel is nothing more nor less than a murderer; for Holy Writ declares that, "_Whose sheds man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed:_" and when in the renowned city of Washington the notorious _Henry Clay_ dropped from the summit of a Senator to the sink of a scoundrel to shoot at that chalk-line of a Randolph, he not only disgraced his own fame, family and friends, but he polluted the _sanctum sanctorum_ of American glory; and the kingly blackguards throughout the whole world are pointing the finger of scorn at the boasted "asylum of the oppressed," and hissing at American statesmen as _gentlemen vagabonds and murderers_, holding the olive branch of peace in one hand and a pistol for death in the other! Well might the Savior rebuke the heads of this nation with "_Wo unto you scribes, Pharisees, hypocrites!_" for the United States Government and Congress, with a few honorable exceptions, have gone the way of Cain, and must perish in their gainsayings, like Korah and his wicked host. And honest men of every clime, and the innocent, poor and oppressed, as well as heathens, pagans and Indians, everywhere, who could but hope that the tree of liberty would yield some precious fruit for the hungry human race, and shed some balmy leaves for the healing of nations, have long since given up all hopes of equal rights, of justice and judgment, and of truth and virtue, when such polluted, vain, heaven-daring, bogus patriots are forced or flung into the front rank of Government to guide the destinies of millions. Crape the heavens with weeds of wo, gird the earth with sack-cloth, and let hell mutter one melody in commemoration of fallen splendor! for the glory of America has departed, and God will set a flaming sword to guard the tree of liberty, while such mint-tithing Herods as Van Buren, Boggs, Benton, Calhoun and Clay are thrust out of the realms of virtue as fit subjects for the kingdom of fallen greatness. _Vox reprobi, vox Diaboli_! In your late addresses to the people of South Carolina, where rebellion budded, but could not blossom, you "renounced ultraism," "high tariff," and almost banished your "banking system" for the more certain standard of "public opinion." This is all very well, and marks the intention of a politician, the calculations of a demagogue, and the allowance for leeings of a shrewd manager, just as truly as the weathercock does the wind when it turns upon the spire. Hustings for the South, barbecues for the West, confidential letters for the North and "American System" for the East. Lull-a-by baby upon the tree top, And when the wind blows the cradle will rock. Suppose you should also, taking your "whole life, character and conduct" into consideration, and, as many hands make light work, stir up the old "Clay party," the "National Republican party," the "High Protective Tariff party," and the late coon-skin party, with all their paraphernalia, _ultraism, ne plus ultraism, sine qua non_, which have grown with your growth, strengthened with your strength, and shrunk with your shrinkage, and ask the people of this enlightened republic what they think of your powers and policy as a statesman; for verily it would seem, from all past remains of parties, politics, projects and pictures, that you are the _Clay_; and the people the _potter_; and as some vessels are marred in the hands of the potter, the natural conclusion is that _you are a vessel of dishonor_. You may complain that a close examination of your "whole life, character and conduct" places you, as a Kentuckian would pleasantly term it, "in a bad fix." But, sir, when the nation has sunk deeper and deeper into the mud at every turn of the great wheels of the Union, while you have acted as one of the principal drivers, it becomes the bounden duty of the whole community, as one man, to whisper you on every point of government, to uncover every act of your life, and inquire what mighty acts you have done to benefit the nation, how much you have tithed the mint to gratify your lust, and why the fragments of your raiment hang upon the thorns by the path as signals to _beware_. But your _shrinkage_ is truly wonderful! Not only your banking system and high tariff project have vanished from your mind "like the baseless fabric of a vision," but the "annexation of Texas" has touched your pathetic sensibilities of national pride so acutely, that the poor Texans, your own _brethren_, may fall back into the ferocity of Mexico, or be sold at auction to British stock-jobbers, and all is well. For "I," the old Senator from Kentucky, and fearful it would militate against my interest in the north to enlarge the borders of the Union in the south. Truly "a poor wise child is better than an old foolish king who will be no longer admonished." Who ever heard of a nation that had too much territory? Was it ever bad policy to make friends? Has any people ever become too good to do good? No, never. But the ambition and vanity of some men have flown away with their wisdom and judgment, and left a croaking _skeleton_ to occupy the place of a noble _soul_! Why, sir, the condition of the whole earth is lamentable. Texas dreads the teeth and the nails of Mexico. Oregon has the rheumatism, brought on by a horrid exposure to the heat and cold of British and American trappers. Canada has caught a bad cold from extreme fatigue in the patriot war. South America has the headache cause by bumps against the beams of Catholicity and Spanish Sovereignty. Spain has the gripes from age and inquisition. France trembles and wastes under the effects of contagious diseases. England groans with the gout, and wiggles with wine. Italy and the German States are pale with the consumption. Prussia, Poland, and the little contiguous dynasties, duchies and domains, have the mumps so severely, that "the whole head is sick, and the whole heart is faint." Russia has the cramp by lineage. Turkey has the numb palsy. Africa, from the curse of God, has lost the use of her limbs China is ruined by the queen's evil, and the rest of Asia fearfully exposed to the small-pox, the natural way, from British peddlers. The islands of the sea are almost dead with the scurvy. The Indians are blind and lame; and the United States, which ought to be the good physician with "balm from Gilead" and an "_asylum for the oppressed_," has boosted and is boosting up into the council chamber of the Government a clique of political gamblers, to play for the old clothes and old shoes of a sick world, and "_no pledge, no promise to any particular portion of the people_" that the rightful heirs will ever receive a cent of their Father's legacy. Away with such self-important, self-aggrandizing and self-willed demagogues! Their friendship is colder than polar ice, and their profession meaner than the damnation of hell. O man! when such a great dilemma of the globe, such a tremendous convulsion of kingdoms shakes the earth from centre to circumference; when castles, prison-houses, and cells raise a cry to God against the cruelty of man; when the mourning of the fatherless and the widow causes anguish in heaven; when the poor among all nations cry day and night for bread, and a shelter from the heat and storm; and when the degraded black slave holds up his manacled hands to the great statesmen of the United States, and sings-- "O liberty, where are thy charms, That sages have told me are sweet?" And when fifteen thousand free citizens of the high-blooded republic of North America are robbed and driven from one State to another without redress or redemption, it is not only time for a candidate for the presidency to pledge himself to execute judgment and justice in righteousness, law or no law; but it is his bounden duty as a man, for the honor of a disgraced country, and for the salvation of a once virtuous people, to call for a union of all honest men, and appease the wrath of God by acts of wisdom, holiness, and virtue! "The fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." Perhaps you may think I go too far with my strictures and innuendos, because in your concluding paragraph you say "it is not inconsistent with your declarations to say that you have viewed with a lively interest the progress of the Latter-day Saints, that you have sympathized in their sufferings under injustice; as it appeared to you, which has been inflicted upon them, and that you _think_, in common with all other religious communities, they ought to enjoy the security and protection of the Constitution and the laws." If words were not wind, and imagination not a vapor, such "views" "_with a lively interest_" might coax out a few Mormon votes; such "sympathy" for their suffering under injustice might heal some of the sick yet lingering amongst them, raise some of the dead, and recover some of their property from Missouri; and finally, if thought was not a phantom, we might, in common with other religious communities, "_you think, enjoy the security_ and _protection of the Constitution and laws_." But during ten years, while the Latter-day Saints have bled, been robbed, driven from their own lands, paid oceans of money into the treasury to pay your renowned self and others for legislating and _dealing_ out equal rights and privileges to those _in common with all other religious communities_, they have waited and expected in vain! If you have possessed any patriotism, it has been veiled by your _popularity_, for fear the Saints would fall in love with its charms. Blind charity and dumb justice never do much towards alleviating the wants of the needy; but straws show which way the wind blows. It is currently rumored that your _dernier resort_ for the Latter-day Saints is to migrate to Oregon or California. Such cruel humanity, such noble injustice, such honorable cowardice, such foolish wisdom, and such vicious virtue could only emanate from Clay. After the Saints have been plundered of three or four millions of land and property by the people and powers of the _sovereign_ State of Missouri--after they have sought for redress and redemption, from the county court to Congress, and been denied through religious prejudice and sacerdotal dignity--after they have builded a city and two temples at an immense expense of labor and treasure--after they have increased from hundreds to hundreds of thousands, and after they have sent missionaries to the various nations of the earth to gather Israel, according to the predictions of all the holy prophets since the world began, that great plenipotentiary, the renowned secretary of state, the ignoble duelist, the gambling senator, and Whig candidate for the presidency, _Henry Clay_, the wise Kentucky lawyer, advises the Latter-day Saints to go to Oregon to obtain justice and set up a government of their own. O ye crowned heads among all nations, is not Mr. Clay a wise man, and very patriotic? Why, great God! to transport 200,000 people through a vast prairie, over the Rocky Mountains, to Oregon, a distance of nearly two thousand miles, would cost more than _four millions!_ or should they go by Cape Horn in ships to California, the cost would be more than _twenty millions!_ and all this to save the United States from inheriting the disgrace of Missouri for murdering and robbing the Saints with impunity! Benton and Van Buren, who make no secret to say that if they get into power they will carry out Boggs' exterminating plan to rid the country of the Latter-day Saints, are "Little nipperkins of milk," compared to "Clay's" great aquafortis jars. Why, he is a real giant in humanity! "Send the Mormons to Oregon, and free Missouri from debt and disgrace!" Ah! sir, let this doctrine go to-and-fro throughout the whole earth--that we, as Van Buren said, know your cause is just, but the United States government can do nothing for you, because it has no power. "_You must go to Oregon, and get justice from the Indians!_" I mourn for the depravity of the world; I despise the hypocrisy of Christendom; I hate the imbecility of American statesmen; I detest the shrinkage of candidates for office from pledges and responsibility; I long for a day of righteousness, when "He whose right it is to reign shall judge the poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth;" and I pray God, who hath given our fathers a promise of a perfect government in the last days, to purify the hearts of the people and hasten the welcome day. With the highest consideration for virtue and unadulterated freedom, I have the honor to be, Your obedient servant, JOSEPH SMITH. Hon. Henry Clay, Ashland, Ky. APPENDIX III. JOSEPH SMITH'S VIEWS OF THE POWERS AND POLICY OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES. BORN in a land of liberty, and breathing an air uncorrupted with the sirocco of barbarous climes, I ever feel a double anxiety for the happiness of all men, both in time and in eternity. My cogitations, like Daniel's have for a long time troubled me, when I viewed the condition of men throughout the world, and more especially in this boasted realm, where the Declaration of Independence "holds these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;" but at the same time some two or three millions of people are held as slaves for life, because the spirit of them is covered with a darker skin than ours; and hundreds of our own kindred for an infraction, or supposed infraction, of some over-wise statute, have to be incarcerated in dungeon glooms, or suffer the more moral penitentiary gravitation of mercy in a nutshell, while the duelist, the debauchee, and the defaulter for millions, and other criminals, take the uppermost rooms at feasts, or, like the bird of passage, find a more congenial clime by flight. The wisdom which ought to characterize the freest, wisest, and most noble nation of the nineteenth century, should, like the sun in his meridian splendor, warm every object beneath its rays; and the main efforts of her officers, who are nothing more or less than the servants of the people, ought to be directed to ameliorate the condition of all, black or white, bond or free; for the best of books says, "God hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth." Our common country presents to all men the same advantages, the same facilities, the same prospects, the same honors, and the same rewards; and without hypocrisy, the Constitution, when it says, "We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America," meant just what it said without reference to color or condition, _ad infinitum_. The aspirations and expectations of a virtuous people, environed with so wise, so liberal, so deep, so broad, and so high a charter of _equal rights_ as appear in said Constitution, ought to be treated by those to whom the administration of the laws is entrusted with as much sanctity as the prayers of the Saints are treated in heaven, that love, confidence, and union, like the sun, moon, and stars, should bear witness, (For ever singing as they shine,) "_The hand that made us is divine_." Unity is power; and when I reflect on the importance of it to the stability of all governments, I am astounded at the silly moves of persons and parties to foment discord in order to ride into power on the current of popular excitement; nor am I less surprised at the stretches of power or restrictions of right which too often appear as acts of legislators to pave the way to some favorite political scheme as destitute of intrinsic merit as a wolf's heart is of the milk of human kindness. A Frenchman would say, "_Presque tout aimer richesses et pouvoir_." (Almost all men like wealth and power.) I must dwell on this subject longer than others; for nearly one hundred years ago that golden patriot, Benjamin Franklin, drew up a plan of union for the then colonies of Great Britain, that _now_ are such an independent nation, which, among many wise provisions for obedient children under their father's more rugged hand, had this:--"They have power to make laws, and lay and levy such general duties, imports, or taxes as to them shall appear most equal and just, (considering the ability and other circumstances of the inhabitants in the several colonies.) and such as may be collected with the least inconvenience to the people, rather discouraging luxury than loading industry with unnecessary burdens." Great Britain surely lacked the laudable humanity and fostering clemency to grant such a just plan of union; but the sentiment remains, like the land that honored its birth, as a pattern for wise men _to study the convenience of the people more than the comfort of the cabinet_. And one of the most noble fathers of our freedom and country's glory, great in war, great in peace, great in the estimation of the world, and great in the hearts of his countrymen, (the illustrious Washington,) said in his first inaugural address to Congress--"I behold the surest pledges that as, on one side, no local prejudices or attachments, no separate views or party animosities will misdirect the comprehensive and equal eye which ought to watch over this great assemblage of communities and interests, so, on another, that the foundations of our national policy will be laid in the pure and immutable principles of private morality, and the pre-eminence of free government be exemplified by all the attributes which can win the affections of its citizens and command the respect of the world." Verily, here shine the virtue and wisdom of a statesman in such lucid rays, that had every succeeding Congress followed the rich instruction, in all their deliberations and enactments, for the benefit and convenience of the whole community and the communities of which it is composed, no sound of rebellion in South Carolina, no rupture in Rhode Island, no mob in Missouri expelling her citizens by executive authority, corruption in the ballot boxes, a border warfare between Ohio and Michigan, hard times and distress, outbreak upon outbreak in the principal cities, murder, robbery, and defalcation, scarcity of money, and a thousand other difficulties, would have torn asunder the bonds of the Union, destroyed the confidence of man with man, and left the great body of the people to mourn over misfortunes in poverty brought on by corrupt legislation in an hour of proud vanity for self-aggrandizement. The great Washington, soon after the foregoing faithful admonition for the common welfare of his nation, further advised Congress that "among the many interesting objects which will engage your attention, that of providing for the common defense will merit particular regard. To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace." As the Italian would say--"_Buono aviso_." (Good advice.) The elder Adams, in his inaugural address, gives national pride such a grand turn of justification, that every honest citizen must look back upon the infancy of the United States with an approving smile, and rejoice that patriotism in their rulers, virtue in the people, and prosperity in the Union once crowned the expectations of hope, unveiled the sophistry of the hypocrite, and silenced the folly of foes. Mr. Adams said, "If national pride is ever justifiable or excusable, it is when it springs not from _power_ or riches, grandeur or glory, but from conviction of national innocence, information and benevolence." There is no doubt that such was actually the case with our young realm at the close of the last century. Peace, prosperity, and union filled the country with religious toleration, temporal enjoyment, and virtuous enterprise; and grandly, too, when the deadly winter of the "Stamp Act," "Tea Act," and other _close communion_ acts of royalty had chocked the growth of freedom of speech, liberty of the press, and liberty of conscience, did light, liberty, and loyalty flourish like cedars of God. The respected and venerable Thomas Jefferson, in his inaugural address, made more than forty years ago, shows what a beautiful prospect an innocent, virtuous nation presents to the sage's eye where there is space for enterprise, hands for industry, heads for heroes, and hearts for moral greatness. He said, "A rising nation spread over a wide and fruitful land, traversing all the seas with the rich productions of their industry, engaged in commerce with nations who feel power and forget right, advancing rapidly to destinies beyond the reach of mortal eye,--when I contemplate these transcendent objects, and see the honor, the happiness of this beloved country committed to the issue and auspices of this day, I shrink from the contemplation, and humble myself before the magnitude of the undertaking." Such a prospect was truly soul-stirring to a good man. But "since the fathers have fallen asleep," wicked and designing men have unrobed the government of its glory; and the people if not in dust and ashes, or in sackcloth have to lament in poverty her departed greatness while demagogues build fires in the north and the south, east and west to keep up their spirits _till it is better times_. But year after year has left the people to _hope_ till the very name of _Congress_ or _State Legislature_ is as horrible to the sensitive friend of his country as the house of "Bluebeard" is to his children, or "Crockford's Hell of London" to meek men. When the people are secure and their rights properly respected, then the four main pillars of prosperity--viz., agriculture, manufactures, navigation, and commerce, need the fostering care of government; and in so goodly a country as ours, where the soil, the climate, the rivers, the lakes, and the sea coast, the productions, the timber, the minerals, and the inhabitants are so diversified, that a pleasing variety accommodates all tastes, trades, and calculations, it certainly is the highest point of supervision to protect the whole northern and southern, eastern and western, center and circumference of the realm, by a judicious tariff. It is an old saying and a true one, "If you wish to be _respected_, respect yourselves." I will adopt in part the language of Mr. Madison's inaugural address--"To cherish peace and friendly intercourse with all nations, having corresponding dispositions; to maintain sincere neutrality towards belligerent nations; to prefer in all cases amicable discussion and reasonable accommodation of differences to a decision of them by an appeal to arms; to exclude foreign intrigues and foreign partialities, so degrading to all countries, and so baneful to free ones; to foster a spirit of independence too just to invade the rights of others, too proud to surrender our own, too liberal to indulge unworthy prejudices ourselves, and too elevated not to look down upon them in others; to hold the union of the States as the basis of their peace and happiness; to support the Constitution, which is the cement of the Union, as well in its limitations as in its authorities; to respect the rights and authorities reserved to the States and to the people as equally incorporated with and essential to the success of the general system; to avoid the slightest interference with the rights of conscience or the functions of religion, so wisely exempted from civil jurisdiction; to preserve in their full energy the other salutary provisions in behalf of private and personal rights, and of the freedom of the press,"--so far as intention aids in the fulfillment of duty, are consummations too big with benefits not to captivate the energies of all honest men to achieve them, when they can be brought to pass by reciprocation, friendly alliances, wise legislation, and honorable treaties. The government has once flourished under the guidance of trusty servants; and the Hon. Monroe, in his day, while speaking of the Constitution, says, "Our commerce has been wisely regulated with foreign nations and between the States. New States have been admitted into our Union. Our territory has been enlarged by fair and honorable treaty, and with great advantage to the original States; the States respectively protected by the national government, under a mild paternal system against foreign dangers, and enjoying within their separate spheres, by a wise partition of power, a just proportion of the sovereignty, have improved their police, extended their settlements, and attained a strength and maturity which are the best proofs of wholesome laws well administered. And if we look to the condition of individuals, what a proud spectacle does it exhibit! On whom has oppression fallen in any quarter of the Union? Who has been deprived of any right of person or property?--who restrained from offering his vows in the mode which he prefers to the divine Author of his being? It is well known that all these blessings have been enjoyed in their fullest extent; and I add, with peculiar satisfaction, that there has been no example of a capital punishment being inflicted on any one for the crime of high treason." What a delightful picture of power, policy, and prosperity! Truly the wise man's proverb is just--"_Sedaukauh teromain goy, veh-ka-sade le-u-meem khahmaut_." (Righteousness exalteth a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people.) But this is not all. The same honorable statesman, after having had about forty years' experience in the government, under the full tide of successful experiment, gives the following commendatory assurance of the efficacy of the _Magna Charta_ to answer its great end and aim--_to protect the people in their rights_. "Such, then, is the happy government under which we live; a government adequate to every purpose for which the social compact is formed; a government elective in all its branches, under which every citizen may by his merit obtain the highest trust recognized by the Constitution, which contains within it no cause of discord, none to put at variance one portion of the community with another; a government which protects every citizen in the full enjoyment of his rights, and is able to protect the nation against injustice from foreign powers." Again, the younger Adams, in the silver age of our country's advancement to fame, in his inaugural address (1825), thus candidly declares the majesty of the youthful republic in its increasing greatness:--"The year of jubilee, since the first formation of our union, has just elapsed: that of the Declaration of Independence is at hand. The consummation of both was effected by this Constitution. Since that period, a population of four millions has multiplied to twelve. A territory, bounded by the Mississippi, has been extended from sea to sea. New States have been admitted to the Union, in numbers nearly equal to those of the first confederation. Treaties of peace, amity, and commerce have been concluded with the principal dominions of the earth. The people of other nations, the inhabitants of regions acquired, not by conquest, but by compact, have been united with us in the participation of our rights and duties, of our burdens and blessings. The forest has fallen by the ax of our woodsman. The soil has been made to teem by the tillage of our farmers. Our commerce has whitened every ocean. The dominion of man over physical nature has been extended by the invention of our artists. Liberty and law have marched hand in hand. All the purposes of human association have been accomplished as effectively as under any other government on the globe, and at a cost little exceeding, in a whole generation, the expenditures of other nations in a single year." In continuation of such noble sentiments, General Jackson, upon his ascension to the great chair of the chief magistracy, said, "As long as our government is administered for the good of the people, and is regulated by their will, as long as it secures to us the rights of person and property, liberty of conscience, and of the press, it will be worth defending; and so long as it is worth defending, a patriotic militia will cover it with an impenetrable _aegis_." General Jackson's administration may be denominated the _acme_ of American glory, liberty, and prosperity; for the national debt, which in 1815, on account of the late war, was $125,000,000, and being lessened gradually, was paid up in his golden day, and preparations were made to distribute the surplus revenue among the several States; and that august patriot, to use his own words in his farewell address, retired, leaving "a great people prosperous and happy, in the full enjoyment of liberty and peace, honored and respected by every nation of the world." At the age, then, of sixty years, our blooming republic began to decline under the withering touch of Martin Van Buren! Disappointed ambition, thirst for power, pride, corruption, party spirit, faction, patronage, perquisites, fame, tangling alliances, priestcraft, and spiritual wickedness in _high places_, struck hands and revelled in midnight splendor. Trouble, vexation, perplexity, and contention, mingled with hope, fear, and murmuring, rumbled through the Union and agitated the whole nation, as would an earthquake at the center of the earth, the world heaving the sea beyond its bounds and shaking the everlasting hills; so, in hopes of better times, while jealousy, hypocritical pretensions, and pompous ambition were luxuriating on the ill-gotten spoils of the people, they rose in their majesty like a tornado, and swept through the land, till General Harrison appeared as a star among the storm-clouds for better weather. The calm came, and the language of that venerable patriot, in his inaugural address, while descanting upon the merits of the Constitution and its framers, thus expressed himself:--"There were in it features which appeared not to be in harmony with their ideas of a simple representative democracy or republic. And knowing the tendency of power to increase itself, particularly when executed by a single individual, predictions were made that, at no very remote period, the government would terminate in virtual monarchy. "It would not become me to say that the fears of these patriots have been already realized. But as I sincerely believe that the tendency of measures and of men's opinions for some years past has been in that direction, it is, I conceive, strictly proper that I should take this occasion to repeat the assurances I have heretofore given of my determination to arrest the progress of that tendency, if it really exists, and restore the government to its pristine health and vigor." This good man died before he had the opportunity of applying one balm to ease the pain of our groaning country, and I am willing the nation should be the judge, whether General Harrison, in his exalted station, upon the eve of his entrance into the world of spirits, _told the truth, or not_, with acting President Tyler's three years of perplexity, and pseudo-Whig-Democrat reign to heal the breaches or show the wounds, _secundum artem_ (according to art). Subsequent events, all things considered, Van Buren's downfall, Harrison's exit, and Tyler's self-sufficient turn to the whole, go to show, as a Chaldean might exclaim--"_Beram etai claugh beshmayauh gauhah rauzeen_." (Certainly there is a God in heaven to reveal secrets.) No honest man can doubt for a moment but the glory of American liberty is on the wane, and that calamity and confusion will sooner or later destroy the peace of the people. Speculators will urge a national bank as a savior of credit and comfort. A hireling psuedo-priesthood will plausibly push abolition doctrines and doings and "human rights" into Congress, and into every other place where conquest smells of fame, or opposition swells to popularity. Democracy, Whiggery, and cliquery will attract their elements and foment divisions among the people, to accomplish fancied schemes and accumulate power, while poverty, driven to despair, like hunger forcing its way through a wall, will break through the statutes of men to save life, and mend the breach in prison glooms. A still higher grade of what the "nobility of nations" call "great men" will dally with all rights, in order to smuggle a fortune at "one fell swoop," mortgage Texas, possess Oregon, and claim all the unsettled regions of the world for hunting and trapping; and should an humble, honest man, red, black, or white, exhibit a better title, these gentry have only to clothe the judge with richer ermine, and spangle the lawyer's finger with finer rings, to have the judgment of his peers and the honor of his lords as a pattern of honesty, virtue, and humanity, while the motto hangs on his nation's escutcheon--"_Every man has his price!_" Now, O people! people! turn unto the Lord and live, and reform this nation. Frustrate the designs of wicked men. Reduce Congress at least two-thirds. Two senators from a State and two members to a million of population will do more business than the army that now occupy the halls of the national legislature. Pay them two dollars and their board per diem (except Sundays). That is more than the farmer gets, and he lives honestly. Curtail the officers of government in pay, number, and power; for the Philistine lords have shorn our nation of its goodly locks in the lap of Delilah. Petition your State legislatures to pardon every convict in their several penitentiaries, blessing them as they go, and saying to them, in the name of the Lord, _Go thy way, and sin no more_. Advise your legislators, when they make laws for larceny, burglary, or any felony, to make the penalty applicable to work upon roads, public works, or any place where the culprit can be taught more wisdom and more virtue, and become more enlightened. Rigor and seclusion will never do as much to reform the propensities of men as reason and friendship. Murder only can claim confinement or death. Let the penitentiaries be turned into seminaries of learning, where intelligence, like the angels of heaven, would banish such fragments of barbarism. Imprisonment for debt is a meaner practice than the savage tolerates, with all his ferocity. "_Amor vincit omnia_." (Love conquers all.) Petition, also, ye goodly inhabitants of the slave States, your legislators to abolish slavery by the year 1850, or now, and save the abolitionist from reproach and ruin, infamy and shame. Pray Congress to pay every man a reasonable price for his slaves out of the surplus revenue arising from the sale of public lands and from the deduction of pay from the members of Congress. Break off the shackles from the poor black man, and hire him to labor like other human beings; for "an hour of virtuous liberty on earth is worth a whole eternity of bondage." Abolish the practice in the army and navy of trying men by court-martial for desertion. If a soldier or marine runs away, send him his wages, with this instruction, that _his country will never trust him again; he has forfeited his honor_. Make HONOR the standard with all men. Be sure that good is rendered for evil in all cases; and the whole nation, like a kingdom of kings and priests, will rise up in righteousness, and be respected as wise and worthy on earth, and as just and holy for heaven, by Jehovah, the Author of perfection. More economy in the national and state governments would make less taxes among the people; more equality through the cities, towns, and country, would make less distinction among the people; and more honesty and familiarity in societies would make less hypocrisy and flattery in all branches of the community; and open, frank, candid decorum to all men, in this boasted land of liberty, would beget esteem, confidence, union, and love; and the neighbor from any State or from any country, of whatever color, clime, or tongue, could rejoice when he put his foot on the sacred soil of freedom, and exclaim, The very name of "_American_" is fraught with _friendship!_ Oh, then, create confidence, restore freedom, break down slavery, banish imprisonment for debt, and be in love, fellowship, and peace with all the world! Remember that honesty is not subject to law. The law was made for transgressors. Wherefore a Dutchman might exclaim--"_Ein cherlicher name ist besser als Reichthum_." (A good name is better than riches.) For the accommodation of the people in every State and Territory let Congress show their wisdom by granting a national bank, with branches in each State and Territory, where the capital stock shall be held by the nation for the mother bank, and by the States and Territories for the branches; and whose officers and directors shall be elected yearly by the people, with wages at the rate of two dollars per day for services; which several banks shall never issue any more bills than the amount of capital stock in her vaults and the interest. The net gain of the mother bank shall be applied to the national revenue, and that of the branches to the States' and Territories' revenues. And the bills shall be par throughout the nation, which will mercifully cure that fatal disorder known in cities as _brokerage_, and leave the people's money in their own pockets. Give every man his constitutional freedom, and the President full power to send an army to suppress mobs, and the States authority to repeal and impugn that relic of folly which makes it necessary for the governor of a State to make the demand of the President for troops, in case of invasion or rebellion. The governor himself may be a mobber; and instead of being punished, as he should be, for murder or treason, he may destroy the very lives, rights, and property he should protect. Like the good Samaritan, send every lawyer, as soon as he repents and obeys the ordinances of heaven, to preach the Gospel to the destitute, without purse or scrip, pouring in the oil and the wine. A learned priesthood is certainly more honorable than "_an hireling clergy_." As to the contiguous territories to the United States, wisdom would direct no tangling alliance. Oregon belongs to this government honorably; and when we have the red man's consent, let the Union spread from the east to the west sea; and if Texas petitions Congress to be adopted among the sons of liberty, give her the right hand of fellowship, and refuse not the same friendly grip to Canada and Mexico. And when the right arm of freemen is stretched out in the character of a navy for the protection of rights, commerce and honor, let the iron eyes of power watch from Maine to Mexico, and from California to Columbia. Thus may union be strengthened, and foreign speculation prevented from opposing broadside to broadside. Seventy years have done much for this goodly land. They have burst the chains of oppression and monarchy, and multiplied its inhabitants from two to twenty millions, with a proportionate share of knowledge keen enough to circumnavigate the globe, draw the lightning from the clouds, and cope with all the crowned heads of the world. Then why--oh, why will a once flourishing people not arise, phoenix-like, over the cinders of Martin Van Buren's power, and over the sinking fragments and smoking ruins of other catamount politicians, and over the windfalls of Benton, Calhoun, Clay, Wright and a caravan of other equally unfortunate law doctors, and cheerfully help to spread a plaster and bind up the _burnt, bleeding wounds_ of a sore but blessed country. The Southern people are hospitable and noble. They will help to rid so free a country of every vestige of slavery, whenever they are assured of an equivalent for their property. The country will be full of money and confidence when a national bank of twenty millions, and a State bank in every State, with a million or more, gives a tone to monetary matters, and make a circulating medium as valuable in the purses of a whole community, as in the coffers of a speculating banker or broker. The people may have faults, but they should never be trifled with. I think Mr. Pitt's quotation in the British parliament of Mr. Prior's couplet for the husband and wife, to apply to the course which the king and ministry of England should pursue to the then colonies of the _now_ United States, might be a genuine rule of action for some of the _breath-made_ men in high places to use towards the posterity of this noble, daring people:-- Be to her faults a little blind; Be to her virtues very kind. We have had Democratic Presidents, Whig Presidents, a pseudo-Democratic-Whig President, and now it is time to have _a President of the United States;_ and let the people of the whole Union, like the inflexible Romans, whenever they find a _promise_ made by a candidate that is not _practiced_ as an officer, hurl the miserable sycophant from his exaltation, as God did Nebuchadnezzar, to crop the grass of the field with a beast's heart among the cattle. Mr. Van Buren said, in his inaugural address, that he went "into the Presidential chair the inflexible and uncompromising opponent of every attempt, on the part of Congress, to abolish slavery in the district of Columbia, against the wishes of the slave holding States, and also with a determination equally decided to resist the slightest interference with it in the States where it exists." Poor little Matty made this rhapsodical sweep with the fact before his eyes, that the State of New York, his native State, had abolished slavery without a struggle or a groan. Great God, how independent! From henceforth slavery is tolerated where it exists, constitution or no constitution, people or no people, right or wrong: _Vox Matti--Vox Diaboli_ ("the voice of Matti"--"the voice of the Devil.") And, peradventure, his great "sub-treasury" scheme was a piece of the same mind. But the man and his measures have such a striking resemblance to the anecdote of the Welshman and his cart-tongue, that when the Constitution was so long that it allowed slavery at the capitol of a free people, it could not be cut off; but when it was so short that it needed a _sub-treasury_ to save the funds of the nation, _it could be spliced!_ Oh, granny, granny, what a long tail our puss has got! (As a Greek might say, _Hysteron proteron_, (the cart before the horse)). But his mighty whisk through the great national fire, for the presidential chestnuts, _burnt the locks of his glory with the blaze of his folly_! In the United States the people are the government, and their united voice is the only sovereign that should rule, the only power that should be obeyed, and the only gentlemen that should be honored at home and abroad, on the land and on the sea. Wherefore, were I the President of the United States, by the voice of a virtuous people, I would honor the old paths of the venerated fathers of freedom; I would walk in the tracks of the illustrious patriots who carried the ark of the government upon their shoulders with an eye single to the glory of the people and when that people petitioned to abolish slavery in the slave States, I would use all honorable means to have their prayers granted, and give liberty to the captive by paying the Southern gentlemen a reasonable equivalent for his property; that the whole nation might be free indeed! When the people petitioned for a national bank, I would use my best endeavors to have their prayers answered, and establish one on national principles to save taxes, and make them the controllers of its ways and means. And when the people petitioned to possess the Territory of Oregon, or any other contiguous territory, I would lend the influence of a chief magistrate to grant so reasonable a request, that they might extend the mighty efforts and enterprise of a free people from the east to the west sea, and make the wilderness blossom as the rose. And when a neighboring realm petitioned to join the union of the sons of liberty, my voice would be _come_--yea, come, Texas; come, Mexico; come, Canada; and come, all the world: let us be brethren, let us be one great family, and let there be a universal peace. Abolish the cruel custom of prisons (except certain cases), penitentiaries, courts-martial for desertion; and let reason and friendship reign over the ruins of ignorance and barbarity; yea, I would, as the universal friend of man, open the prisons, open the eyes, open the ears, and open the hearts of all people, to behold and enjoy freedom--unadulterated freedom; and God, who once cleansed the violence of the earth with a flood, whose Son laid down His life for the salvation of all His Father gave Him out of the world, and who has promised that He will come and purify the world again with fire in the last days, should be supplicated by me for the good of all people. With the highest esteem, I am a friend of virtue and of the people. JOSEPH SMITH. Nauvoo, Illinois, Feb. 7, 1844. APPENDIX IV. AN ACCOUNT OF THE MARTYRDOM OF JOSEPH SMITH, BY PRESIDENT JOHN TAYLOR. BEING requested by Elders George A. Smith and Wilford Woodruff, Church historians, to write an account of events that transpired before, and took place at, the time of the martyrdom of Joseph Smith, in Carthage jail, in Hancock County, State of Illinois, I write the following, principally from memory, not having access at this time to any public documents relative thereto farther than a few desultory items contained in Ford's "History of Illinois." I must also acknowledge myself considerably indebted to George A. Smith who was with me when I wrote it, and who, although not there at the time of the bloody transaction, yet, from conversing with several persons who were in the capacity of Church historians, and aided by an excellent memory, has rendered me considerable service. These and the few items contained in the note at the end of this account are all the aid I have had. I would further add that the items contained in the letter, in relation to dates especially, may be considered strictly correct. After having written the whole, I read it over to the Hon. J. M. Bernhisel, who with one or two slight alterations, pronounced it strictly correct. Brother Bernhisel was present most of the time. I am afraid that, from the length of time that has transpired since the occurrence, and having to rely almost exclusively upon my memory, there may be some slight inaccuracies, but I believe that in the general it is strictly correct. As I figured in those transaction from the commencement to the end, they left no slight impression on my mind. In the year 1844, a very great excitement prevailed in some parts of Hancock, Brown and other neighboring counties of Illinois, in relation to the Mormons, and a spirit of vindictive hatred and persecution was exhibited among the people, which was manifested in the most bitter and acrimonious language, as well as by acts of hostility and violence, frequently threatening the destruction of the citizens of Nauvoo and vicinity, and utter annihilation of the Mormons and Mormonism, and in some instances breaking out in the most violent acts of ruffianly barbarity. Persons were kidnapped, whipped, persecuted and falsely accused of various crimes; their cattle and houses injured, destroyed, or stolen; vexatious prosecutions were instituted to harass and annoy. In some remote neighborhoods they were expelled from their homes without redress, and in others violence was threatened to their persons and property, while in others every kind of insult and indignity were heaped upon them, to induce them to abandon their homes, the County or the State. These annoyances, prosecutions and persecutions were instigated through different agencies and by various classes of men, actuated by different motives, but all uniting in the one object--prosecution, persecution and extermination of the Saints. There were a number of wicked and corrupt men living in Nauvoo and its vicinity, who had belonged to the Church, but whose conduct was incompatible with the Gospel; they were accordingly dealt with by the Church and severed from its communion. Some of these had been prominent members, and held official stations either in the city or Church. Among these were John C. Bennett, formerly mayor; William Law, counselor to Joseph Smith; Wilson Law, his natural brother, and general in the Nauvoo Legion; Dr. R. D. Foster, a man of some property, but with a very bad reputation; Francis and Chauncey Higbee, the latter a young lawyer, and both sons of a respectable and honored man in the Church, known as Judge Elias Higbee, who died about twelve months before. Besides these, there were a great many apostates, both in the city and county, of less notoriety, who for their delinquencies, had been expelled from the Church. John C. Bennett and Francis and Chauncey Higbee were cut off from the Church; the former was also cashiered from his generalship for the most flagrant acts of seduction and adultery; and the developments in the cases were so scandalous that the High Council, before which they were tried, had to sit with closed doors. William Law, although counselor to Joseph, was found to be his most bitter foe and maligner, and to hold intercourse, contrary to all law, in his own house, with a young lady resident with him; and it was afterwards proven that he had conspired with some Missourians to take Joseph Smith's life, and was only saved by Josiah Arnold and Daniel Garn, who, being on guard at his house, prevented the assassins from seeing him. Yet, although having murder in his heart, his manners were generally courteous and mild, and he was well calculated to deceive. General Wilson Law was cut off from the Church for seduction, falsehood, and defamation; both the above were also court-martialed by the Nauvoo Legion, and expelled. Foster was also cut off I believe, for dishonesty, fraud and falsehood. I know he was eminently guilty of the whole, but whether these were the specific charges or not, I don't know, but I do know that he was a notoriously wicked and corrupt man. Besides the above characters and Mormonic apostates, there were other three parties. The first of these may be called religionists, the second politicians, and the third counterfeiters, black-legs, horse-thieves and cut-throats. The religious party were chagrined and maddened because Mormonism came in contact with their religion, and they could not oppose it from the scriptures. Thus like the ancient Jews, when enraged at the exhibition of their follies and hypocrisies by Jesus and His apostles, so these were infuriated against the Mormons because of their discomfiture by them; and instead of owning the truth and rejoicing in it, they were ready to gnash upon them with their teeth, and to persecute the believers in principles which they could not disprove. The political party were those who were of opposite politics to us. There were always two parties, the Whigs and Democrats, and we could not vote for one without offending the other; and it not unfrequently happened that candidates for office would place the issue of their election upon opposition to the Mormons, in order to gain political influence from the religious prejudice, in which case the Mormons were compelled, in self-defense, to vote against them, which resulted almost invariably against our opponents. This made them angry; and although it was of their own making, and the Mormons could not be expected to do otherwise, yet they raged on account of their discomfiture, and sought to wreak their fury on the Mormons. As an instance of the above, when Joseph Duncan was candidate for the office of governor of Illinois, he pledged himself to his party that, if he could be elected, he would exterminate or drive the Mormons from the State. [1] The consequence was that Governor Ford was elected. The Whigs, seeing that they had been out-generaled by the Democrats in securing the Mormon vote, became seriously alarmed, and sought to repair their disaster by raising a crusade against the people. The Whig newspapers teemed with accounts of the wonders and enormities of Nauvoo, and of the awful wickedness of a party which could consent to receive the support of such miscreants. Governor Duncan, who was really a brave, honest man, and who had nothing to do with getting the Mormon charters passed through the Legislature, took the stump on this subject in good earnest, and expected to be elected governor almost on this question alone. The third party, composed of counterfeiters, black-legs, horse-thieves and cut-throats, were a pack of scoundrels that infested the whole of the western country at that time. In some districts their influence was so great as to control important State and County offices. On this subject Governor Ford has the following: "Then, again, the northern part of the State was not destitute of its organized bands of rogues, engaged in murders, robberies, horse-stealing and in making and passing counterfeit money. These rogues were scattered all over the north, but the most of them were located in the counties of Ogle, Winnebago, Lee and De Kalb. "In the County of Ogle they were so numerous, strong, and well organized that they could not be convicted for their crimes. By getting some of their numbers on the juries, by producing a host of witnesses to sustain their defense, by perjured evidence, and by changing the venue of one County to another, by continuances from term to term, and by the inability of witnesses to attend from time to time at distant and foreign Counties, they most generally managed to be acquitted." [2] There was a combination of horse-thieves extending from Galena to Alton. There were counterfeiters engaged in merchandising, trading, and store-keeping in most of the cities and villages, and in some districts, I have been credibly informed by men to whom they have disclosed their secrets, the judges, sheriffs, constables, and jailors, as well, as professional men, were more or less associated with them. These had in their employ the most reckless, abandoned wretches, who stood ready to carry into effect the most desperate enterprises, and were careless alike of human life and property. Their object in persecuting the Mormons was in part to cover their own rascality, and in part to prevent them from exposing and prosecuting them; but the principal reason was plunder, believing that if they could be removed or driven they would be made fat on Mormon spoils, besides having in the deserted city a good asylum for the prosecution of their diabolical pursuits. This conglomeration of apostate Mormons, religious bigots, political fanatics and black-legs, all united their forces against the Mormons, and organized themselves into a party, denominated anti-Mormons. Some of them, we have reason to believe, joined The Church in order to cover their infamous practices, and when they were expelled for their unrighteousness only raged with greater violence. They circulated every kind of falsehood that they could collect or manufacture against the Mormons. They also had a paper to assist them in their nefarious designs, called the _Warsaw Signal_, edited by a Mr. Thomas Sharp, a violent and unprincipled man, who shrunk not from any enormity. The anti-Mormons had public meetings, which were very numerously attended, where they passed resolutions of the most violent and inflammatory kind, threatening to drive, expel and exterminate the Mormons from the State, at the same time accusing them of every evil in the vocabulary of crime. They appointed their meetings in various parts of Hancock, M'Donough, and other counties, which soon resulted in the organization of armed mobs, under the direction of officers who reported to their headquarters, and the reports of which were published in the anti-Mormon paper, and circulated through the adjoining counties. We also published in the _Times and Seasons_ and the _Nauvoo Neighbor_ (two papers published and edited by me at that time) an account, not only of their proceedings, but our own. But such was the hostile feeling, so well arranged their plans, and so desperate and lawless their measures, that it was with the greatest difficulty that we could get our papers circulated; they were destroyed by postmasters and others, and scarcely ever arrived at the place of their destination, so that a great many of the people, who would have been otherwise peaceable, were excited by their misrepresentations, and instigated to join their hostile or predatory bands. Emboldened by the acts of those outside, the apostate Mormons, associated with others, commenced the publication of a libelous paper in Nauvoo, called the _Nauvoo Expositor_. This paper not only reprinted from the others, but put in circulation the most libelous, false, and infamous reports concerning the citizens of Nauvoo, and especially the ladies. It was, however, no sooner put in circulation than the indignation of the whole community was aroused; so much so, that they threatened its annihilation; and I do not believe that in any other city of the United States, if the same charges had been made against the citizens, it would have been permitted to remain one day. As it was among us, under these circumstances, it was thought best to convene the city council to take into consideration the adoption of some measures for its removal, as it was deemed better that this should be done legally than illegally. Joseph Smith, therefore, who was mayor, convened the city council for that purpose; the paper was introduced and read, and the subject examined. All, or nearly all present, expressed their indignation at the course taken by the _Expositor_, which was owned by some of the aforesaid apostates, associated with one or two others. Wilson Law, Dr. Foster, Charles Ivins and the Higbees before referred to, some lawyers, storekeepers, and others in Nauvoo who were not Mormons, together with the anti-Mormons outside of the city, sustained it. The calculation was, by false statements, to unsettle the minds of many in the city, and to form combinations there similar to the anti-Mormon associations outside of the city. Various attempts had heretofore been made by the party to annoy and irritate the citizens of Nauvoo; false accusations had been made, vexatious lawsuits instituted, threats made, and various devices resorted to, to influence the public mind, and, if possible, to provoke us to the commission of some overt act that might make us amenable to the law. With a perfect knowledge, therefore, of the designs of these infernal scoundrels who were in our midst, as well as those who surrounded us, the city council entered upon an investigation of the matter. They felt that they were in a critical position, and that any move made for the abating of that press would be looked upon, or at least represented, as a direct attack upon the liberty of speech, and that, so far from displeasing our enemies, it would be looked upon by them as one of the best circumstances that could transpire to assist them in their nefarious and bloody designs. Being a member of the city council, I well remember the feeling of responsibility that seemed to rest upon all present; nor shall I soon forget the bold, manly, independent expressions of Joseph Smith on that occasion in relation to this matter. He exhibited in glowing colors the meanness, corruption, and ultimate designs of the anti-Mormons; their despicable characters and ungodly influences, especially of those who were in our midst. He told of the responsibility that rested upon us, as guardians of the public interest, to stand up in the defense of the injured and oppressed, to stem the current of corruption, and, as men and Saints, to put a stop to this flagrant outrage upon this people's rights. He stated that no man was a stronger advocate for the liberty of speech and of the press than himself: yet, when this noble gift is utterly prostituted and abused, as in the present instance, it loses all claim to our respect, and becomes as great an agent for evil as it can possibly be for good; and notwithstanding the apparent advantage we should give our enemies by this act, yet it behooved us, as men, to act independent of all secondary influences, to perform the part of men of enlarged minds, and boldly and fearlessly to discharge the duties devolving upon us by declaring as a nuisance, and removing this filthy, libelous, and seditious sheet from our midst. The subject was discussed in various forms, and after the remarks made by the mayor, every one seemed to be waiting for some one else to speak. After a considerable pause, I arose and expressed my feelings frankly, as Joseph had done, and numbers of others followed in the same strain; and I think, but am not certain, that I made a motion for the removal of that press as a nuisance. This motion was finally put, and carried by all but one; and he conceded that the measure was just, but abstained through fear. Several members of the city council were not in The Church. The following is the bill referred to: _Bill for Removing of the Press of the_ "_Nauvoo Expositor_." [3] Resolved by the city council of the city of Nauvoo, that the printing-office from whence issues the _Nauvoo Expositor_ is a public nuisance; and also of said _Nauvoo Expositors_ which may be or exist in said establishment; and the mayor is instructed to cause said establishment and papers to be removed without delay, in such manner as he shall direct. Passed June 10th, 1844. GEO. W. HARRIS, President _pro tem_. W. RICHARDS, Recorder. After the passage of the bill, the marshal, John P. Greene, was ordered to abate or remove, which he forthwith proceeded to do by summoning a posse of men for that purpose. The press was removed or broken, I don't remember which, by the marshal, and the types scattered in the street. This seemed to be one of those extreme cases that require extreme measures, as the press was still proceeding in its inflammatory course. It was feared that, as it was almost universally execrated, should it continue longer, an indignant people might commit some overt act which might lead to serious consequences, and that it was better to use legal than illegal means. This, as was foreseen, was the very course our enemies wished us to pursue, as it afforded them an opportunity of circulating a very plausible story about the Mormons being opposed to the liberty of the press and of free speech, which they were not slow to avail themselves of. Stories were fabricated, and facts perverted; false statements were made, and this act brought in as an example to sustain the whole of their fabrications; and, as if inspired by Satan, they labored with an energy and zeal worthy of a better cause. They had runners to circulate their reports, not only through Hancock County, but in all the surrounding counties. These reports were communicated to their anti-Mormon societies, and these societies circulated them in their several districts. The anti-Mormon paper, the _Warsaw Signal_, was filled with inflammatory articles and misrepresentations in relation to us, and especially to this act of destroying the press. We were represented as a horde of lawless ruffians and brigands, anti-American and anti-republican, steeped in crime and iniquity, opposed to freedom of speech and of the press, and all the rights and immunities of a free and enlightened people; that neither person nor property were secure: that we had designs upon the citizens of Illinois and of the United States, and the people were called upon to rise _en masse_, and put us down, drive us away, or exterminate us as a pest to society, and alike dangerous to our neighbors, the State, and commonwealth. These statements were extensively copied and circulated throughout the United States. A true statement of the facts in question was published by us both in the _Times and Seasons_ and the _Nauvoo Neighbor;_ but it was found impossible to circulate them in the immediate counties, as they were destroyed in the post-offices or otherwise by the agents of the anti-Mormons, and in order to get the mail to go abroad, I had to send the papers a distance of thirty or forty miles from Nauvoo, and sometimes to St. Louis (upward of two hundred miles), to insure their proceeding on their route, and then one-half or two-thirds of the papers never reached the place of destination, being intercepted or destroyed by our enemies. These false reports stirred up the community around, of whom many, on account of religious prejudice, were easily instigated to join the anti-Mormons and embark in any crusade that might be undertaken against us: hence their ranks swelled in numbers, and new organizations were formed, meetings were held, resolutions passed, and men and means volunteered for the extirpation of the Mormons. On these points Governor Ford writes: "These also were the active men in blowing up the fury of the people, in hopes that a popular movement might be set on foot, which would result in the expulsion or extermination of the Mormon voters. For this purpose public meetings had been called, inflammatory speeches had been made, exaggerated reports had been extensively circulated, committees had been appointed, who rode night and day to spread the reports and solicit the aid of neighboring counties, and at a public meeting at Warsaw resolutions were passed to expel or exterminate the Mormon population. This was not, however, a movement which was unanimously concurred in. The county contained a goodly number of inhabitants in favor of peace, or who at least desired to be neutral in such a contest. These were stigmatized by the name of Jack-Mormons, and there were not a few of the more furious exciters of the people who openly expressed their intention to involve them in the common expulsion or extermination. "A system of excitement and agitation was artfully planned and executed with tact. It consisted in spreading reports and rumors of the most fearful character. As examples: On the morning before my arrival at Carthage, I was awakened at an early hour by the frightful report, which was asserted with confidence and apparent consternation, that the Mormons had already commenced the work of burning, destruction, and murder, and that every man capable of bearing arms was instantly wanted at Carthage for the protection of the county. "We lost no time in starting; but when we arrived at Carthage we could hear no more concerning this story. Again, during the few days that the militia were encamped at Carthage, frequent applications were made to me to send a force here, and a force there, and a force all about the country, to prevent murders, robberies, and larcenies which, it was said, were threatened by the Mormons. No such forces were sent, nor were any such offenses committed at that time, except the stealing of some provisions, and there was never the least proof that this was done by a Mormon. Again, on my late visit to Hancock County, I was informed by some of their violent enemies that the larcenies of the Mormons had become unusually numerous and insufferable. "They admitted that but little had been done in this way in their immediate vicinity, but they insisted that sixteen horses had been stolen by the Mormons in one night near Lima, and, upon inquiry, was told that no horses had been stolen in that neighborhood, but that sixteen horses had been stolen in one night in Hancock County. This last informant being told of the Hancock story, again changed the venue to another distant settlement in the northern edge of Adams." [4] In the meantime legal proceedings were instituted against the members of the city council of Nauvoo. A writ, here subjoined, was issued upon the affidavit of the Laws, Fosters, Higbees, and Ivins, by Mr. Morrison, a justice of the peace in Carthage, the county seat of Hancock, and put into the hands of one David Bettesworth, a constable of the same place. _Writ issued upon affidavit by Thomas Morrison, J. P., State of Illinois, Hancock County, ss_. "The people of the State of Illinois, to all constables, sheriffs, and coroners of said State, greeting: "Whereas complaint hath been made before me, one of the justices of the peace in and for the county of Hancock aforesaid, upon the oath of Francis M. Higbee, of the said county, that Joseph Smith, Samuel Bennett, John Taylor, William W. Phelps, Hyrum Smith, John P. Greene, Stephen Perry, Dimick B. Huntington, Jonathan Dunham, Stephen Markham, William Edwards, Jonathan Holmes, Jesse P. Harmon, John Lytle, Joseph W. Coolidge, Harvey D. Redfield, Porter Rockwell, and Levi Richards, of said county, did, on the tenth day of June instant, commit a riot at and within the county aforesaid, wherein they with force and violence broke into the printing office of the _Nauvoo Expositor_, and unlawfully and with force burned and destroyed the printing press, type and fixtures of the same, being the property of William Law, Wilson Law, Charles Ivins, Francis M. Higbee, Chauncey L. Higbee, Robert D. Foster and Charles A. Foster. "These are therefore to command you forthwith to apprehend the said Joseph Smith, Samuel Bennett, John Taylor, William W. Phelps, Hyrum Smith, John P. Greene, Stephen Perry, Dimick B. Huntington, Jonathan Dunham, Stephen Markham, William Edwards, Jonathan Holmes, Jesse P. Harmon, John Lytle, Joseph W. Coolidge, Harvey D. Redfield, Porter Rockwell, and Levi Richards, and bring them before me, or some other justice of the peace, to answer the premises, and farther to be dealt with according to law. "Given under my hand and seal at Carthage, in the county aforesaid, this 11th day of June, A. D. 1844. "THOMAS MORRISON, J. P." (Seal.) [5] The council did not refuse to attend to the legal proceedings in the case, but as the law of Illinois made it the privilege of the persons accused to go "or appear before the issuer of the writ, or any other justice of the peace," they requested to be taken before another magistrate, either in the city of Nauvoo or at any reasonable distance out of it. This the constable, who was a mobocrat, refused to do; and as this was our legal privilege we refused to be dragged, contrary to law, a distance of eighteen miles, when at the same time we had reason to believe that an organized band of mobocrats were assembled for the purpose of extermination or murder, and among whom it would not be safe to go without a superior force of armed men. A writ of _habeas corpus_ was called for, and issued by the municipal court of Nauvoo, taking us out of the hands of Bettesworth, and placing us in the charge of the city marshal. We went before the municipal court and were dismissed. Our refusal to obey this illegal proceeding was by them construed into a refusal to submit to law, and circulated as such, and the people either did believe, or professed to believe, that we were in open rebellion against the laws and the authorities of the State. Hence mobs began to assemble, among which all through the country inflammatory speeches were made, exciting them to mobocracy and violence. Soon they commenced their depredations in our outside settlements, kidnapping some, and whipping and otherwise abusing others. The persons thus abused fled to Nauvoo as soon as practicable, and related their injuries to Joseph Smith, then mayor of the city, and lieutenant general of the Nauvoo Legion. They also went before magistrates, and made affidavits of what they had suffered, seen and heard. These affidavits, in connection with a copy of all our proceedings were forwarded by Joseph Smith to Mr. Ford, then governor of Illinois, with an expression of our desire to abide law, and a request that the governor would instruct him how to proceed in the case of arrival of an armed mob against the city. The governor sent back instructions to Joseph Smith that, as he was lieutenant general of the Nauvoo Legion, it was his duty to protect the city and surrounding country, and issued orders to that effect. Upon the reception of these orders Joseph Smith assembled the people of the city, and laid before them the governor's instructions; he also convened the officers of the Nauvoo Legion for the purpose of conferring in relation to the best mode of defense. He also issued orders to the men to hold themselves in readiness in case of being called upon. On the following day General Joseph Smith, with his staff, the leading officers of the Legion, and some prominent strangers who were in our midst, made a survey of the outside boundaries of the city, which was very extensive, being about five miles up and down the river, and about two and a half back in the center, for the purpose of ascertaining the position of the ground, and the feasibility of defense, and to make all necessary arrangements in case of an attack. It may be well here to remark that numbers of gentlemen, strangers to us, either came on purpose or were passing through Nauvoo, and upon learning the position of things, expressed their indignation against our enemies, and avowed their readiness to assist us by their counsel or otherwise. It was some of these who assisted us in reconnoitering the city, and finding out its adaptability for defense, and how to protect it best against an armed force. The Legion was called together and drilled, and every means made use of for defense. At the call of the officers, old and young men came forward, both from the city and the country, and mustered to the number of about five thousand. In the meantime our enemies were not idle in mustering their forces and committing depredations, nor had they been; it was, in fact, their gathering that called ours into existence; their forces continued to accumulate; they assumed a threatening attitude, and assembled in large bodies, armed and equipped for war, and threatened the destruction and extermination of the Mormons. An account of their outrages and assemblages was forwarded to Governor Ford almost daily; accompanied by affidavits furnished by eye-witnesses of their proceedings. Persons were also sent out to the counties around with pacific intentions, to give them an account of the true state of affairs, and to notify them of the feelings and dispositions of the people of Nauvoo, and thus, if possible, quell the excitement. In some of the more distant counties these men were very successful, and produced the salutary influence upon the minds of many intelligent and well-disposed men. In neighboring counties, however, where anti-Mormon influence prevailed, they produced little effect. At the same time guards were stationed around Nauvoo, and picket guards in the distance. At length opposing forces gathered so near that more active measures were taken; reconnoitering parties were sent out, and the city proclaimed under martial law. Things now assumed a belligerent attitude, and persons passing through the city were questioned as to what they knew of the enemy, while passes were in some instances given to avoid difficulty with the guards. Joseph Smith continued to send on messengers to the governor, (Philip B. Lewis and other messengers were sent.) Samuel James, then residing at La Harpe, carried a message and dispatches to him, and in a day or two after Bishop Edward Hunter and others went again with fresh dispatches, representations, affidavits, and instructions; but as the weather was excessively wet, the rivers swollen, and the bridges washed away in many places, it was with great difficulty that they proceeded on their journeys. As the mobocracy had at last attracted the governor's attention, he started in company with some others from Springfield to the scene of trouble, and missed, I believe, both Brothers James and Hunter on the road, and, of course, did not see their documents. He came to Carthage, and made that place, which was a regular mobocratic den, his headquarters; as it was the county seat, however, of Hancock County, that circumstance might, in a measure, justify his staying there. To avoid the appearance of all hostility on our part, and to fulfill the law in every particular, at the suggestion of Judge Thomas, judge of that judicial district, who had come to Nauvoo at the time, and who stated that we had fulfilled the law, but, in order to satisfy all he would council us to go before Esquire Wells, who was not in our Church, and have a hearing, we did so, and after a full hearing we were again dismissed. The governor on the road collected forces, some of whom were respectable, but on his arrival in the neighborhood of the difficulties he received as militia all the companies of the mob forces who united with him. After his arrival at Carthage he sent two gentlemen from there to Nauvoo as a committee to wait upon General Joseph Smith, informing him of the arrival of his excellency, with a request that General Smith would send out a committee to wait upon the governor and represent to him the state of affairs in relation to the difficulties that then existed in the county. We met this committee while we were reconnoitering the city, to find out the best mode of defense as aforesaid. Dr. J. M. Bernhisel and myself were appointed as a committee by General Smith to wait upon the governor. Previous to going, however, we were furnished with affidavits and documents in relation both to our proceedings and those of the mob; in addition to the general history of the transaction, we took with us a duplicate of those documents which had been forwarded by Bishop Hunter, Brother James, and others. We started from Nauvoo in company with the aforesaid gentlemen at about 7 o'clock on the evening of the 21st of June, and arrived at Carthage about 11 p. m. We put up at the same hotel with the governor, kept by a Mr. Hamilton. On our arrival we found the governor in bed, but not so with the other inhabitants. The town was filled with a perfect set of rabble and rowdies, who, under the influence of Bacchus, seemed to be holding a grand saturnalia, whooping, yelling and vociferating as if Bedlam had broken loose. On our arrival at the hotel, and while supper was preparing, a man came to me, dressed as a soldier, and told me that a man named Daniel Garn had just been taken prisoner, and was about to be committed to jail, and wanted me to go bail for him. Believing this to be a ruse to get me out alone, and that some violence was intended, after consulting with Dr. Bernhisel, I told the man that I was well acquainted with Mr. Garn, that I knew him to be a gentleman, and did not believe that he had transgressed law, and, moreover, that I considered it a very singular time to be holding courts and calling for security, particularly as the town was full of rowdyism. I informed him that Dr. Bernhisel and myself would, if necessary go bail for him in the morning, but that we did not feel ourselves safe among such a set at that late hour of the night. After supper, on retiring to our room, we had to pass through another, which was separated from ours only by a board partition, the beds in each room being placed side by side, with the exception of this fragile partition. On the bed that was in the room which we passed through I discovered a man by the name of Jackson, a desperate character, and a reputed, notorious cut-throat and murderer. I hinted to the doctor that things looked rather suspicious, and looked to see that my arms were in order. The doctor and I occupied one bed. We had scarcely laid down when a knock at the door, accompanied by a voice announced the approach of Chauncey Higbee, the young lawyer and apostate before referred to. He addressed himself to the doctor, and stated that the object of his visit was to obtain the release of Daniel Garn; that Garn he believed to be an honest man; that if he had done anything wrong, it was through improper counsel, and that it was a pity that he should be incarcerated, particularly when he could be so easily released; he urged the doctor, as a friend, not to leave so good a man in such an unpleasant situation; he finally prevailed upon the doctor to go and give bail, assuring him that on his giving bail Garn would be immediately dismissed. During this conversation I did not say a word. Higbee left the doctor to dress, with the intention of returning and taking him to the court. As soon as Higbee had left, I told the doctor that he had better not go; that I believed this affair was all a ruse to get us separated; that they knew we had documents with us from General Smith to show to the governor; that I believed their object was to get possession of those papers, and, perhaps, when they had separated us, to murder one or both. The doctor, who was actuated by the best of motives in yielding to the assumed solicitude of Higbee, coincided with my views; he then went to Higbee, and told him that he had concluded not to go that night, but that he and I would both wait upon the justice and Mr. Garn in the morning. That night I lay awake with my pistols under my pillow, waiting for any emergency. Nothing more occurred during the night. In the morning we arose early, and after breakfast sought an interview with the governor, and were told that we could have an audience, I think, at ten o'clock. In the meantime we called upon Mr. Smith, a justice of the peace, who had Mr. Garn in charge. We represented that we had been called upon the night before by two different parties to go bail for a Mr. Daniel Garn, whom we were informed he had in custody, and that, believing Mr. Garn to be an honest man, we had now come for that purpose, and were prepared to enter into recognizances for his appearance, whereupon Mr. Smith, the magistrate, remarked that, under the present excited state of affairs, he did not think he would be justified in receiving bail from Nauvoo, as it was a matter of doubt whether property would not be rendered valueless there in a few days. Knowing the party we had to deal with, we were not much surprised at this singular proceeding; we then remarked that both of us possessed property in farms out of Nauvoo in the country, and referred him to the county records. He then stated that such was the nature of the charge against Mr. Garn that he believed he would not be justified in receiving any bail. We were thus confirmed in our opinion that the night's proceedings before, in relation to their desire to have us give bail, was a mere ruse to separate us. We were not permitted to speak with Garn, the real charge against whom was that he was traveling in Carthage or its neighborhood: what the fictitious one was, if I knew, I have since forgotten, as things of this kind were of daily occurrence. After waiting the governor's pleasure for some time we had an audience; but such an audience! He was surrounded by some of the vilest and most unprincipled men in creation; some of them had an appearance of respectability, and many of them lacked even that. Wilson, and, I believe, William Law, were there, Foster, Frank and Chauncey Higbee, Mr. Mar, a lawyer from Nauvoo, a mobocratic merchant from Warsaw, the aforesaid Jackson, a number of his associates, among whom was the governor's secretary, in all, some fifteen or twenty persons, most of whom were recreant to virtue, honor, integrity, and everything that is considered honorable among men. I can well remember the feelings of disgust that I had in seeing the governor surrounded by such an infamous group, and on being introduced to men of so questionable a character; and had I been on private business, I should have turned to depart, and told the governor that if he thought proper to associate with such questionable characters, I should beg leave to be excused; but coming as we did on public business, we could not, of course, consult our private feelings. We then stated to the governor that, in accordance with his request, General Smith had, in response to his call, sent us to him as a committee of conference; that we were acquainted with most of the circumstances that had transpired in and about Nauvoo lately, and were prepared to give him all information; that, moreover, we had in our possession testimony and affidavits confirmatory of what we should say, which had been forwarded to his excellency by Messrs. Hunter, James, and others, some of which had not reached their destination, but of which we had duplicates with us. We then, in brief, related an outline of the difficulties, and the course we had pursued from the commencement of the trouble up to the present, and handing him the documents, respectfully submitted the whole. During our conversation and explanations with the governor we were frequently, rudely and impudently contradicted by the fellows he had around him, and of whom he seemed to take no notice. He opened and read a number of the documents himself, and as he proceeded he was frequently interrupted by, "that's a lie!" "that's a God damned lie!" "that's an infernal falsehood!" "that's a blasted lie!" etc. These men evidently winced at the exposure of their acts, and thus vulgarly, impudently, and falsely repudiated them. One of their number, Mr. Mar, addressed himself several times to me while in conversation with the governor. I did not notice him until after a frequent repetition of his insolence, when I informed him that "my business at that time was with Governor Ford," whereupon I continued my conversation with his excellency. During the conversation, the governor expressed a desire that Joseph Smith, and all parties concerned in passing or executing the city law in relation to the press, had better come to Carthage; that, however repugnant it might be to our feelings, he thought it would have a tendency to allay public excitement, and prove to the people what we professed, that we wished to be governed by law. We represented to him the course we had taken in relation to this matter, and our willingness to go before another magistrate other than the municipal court; the illegal refusal of our request by the constable; our dismissal by the municipal court, a legally constituted tribunal; our subsequent trial before Squire Wells at the instance of Judge Thomas, the circuit judge, and our dismissal by him; that we had fulfilled the law in every particular; that it was our enemies who were breaking the law, and, having murderous designs, were only making use of this as a pretext to get us into their power. The governor stated that the people viewed it differently, and that, notwithstanding our opinions, he would recommend that the people should be satisfied. We then remarked to him that, should Joseph Smith comply with his request, it would be extremely unsafe, in the present excited state of the country, to come without an armed force; that we had a sufficiency of men, and were competent to defend ourselves, but there might be danger of collision should our forces and those of our enemies be brought into such close proximity. He strenuously advised us not to bring our arms, and _pledged his faith as governor, and the faith of the State, that we should be protected, and that he would guarantee our perfect safety_. We had at that time about five thousand men under arms, one thousand of whom would have been amply sufficient for our protection. At the termination of our interview, and previous to our withdrawal, after a long conversation and the perusal of the documents which we had brought, the governor informed us that he would prepare a written communication for General Joseph Smith, which he desired us to wait for. We were kept waiting for this instrument some five or six hours. About five o'clock in the afternoon we took our departure with not the most pleasant feelings. The associations of the governor, the spirit he manifested to compromise with these scoundrels, the length of time that he had kept us waiting, and his general deportment, together with the infernal spirit that we saw exhibited by those whom he had admitted to his counsels, made the prospect anything but promising. We returned on horseback, and arrived at Nauvoo, I think, at about eight or nine o'clock at night, accompanied by Captain Yates in command of a company of mounted men, who came for the purpose of escorting Joseph Smith and the accused in case of their complying with the governor's request, and going to Carthage. We went directly to Brother Joseph's, when Captain Yates delivered to him the governor's communication. A council was called, consisting of Joseph's brother, Hyrum, Dr. Richards, Dr. Bernhisel, myself, and one or two others. We then gave a detail of our interview with the governor. Brother Joseph was very much dissatisfied with the governor's letter and with his general deportment, and so were the council, and it became a serious question as to the course we should pursue. Various projects were discussed, but nothing definitely decided upon for some time. In the interim two gentlemen arrived; one of them, if not both, sons of John C. Calhoun. They had come to Nauvoo, and were very anxious for an interview with Brother Joseph. These gentlemen detained him for some time; and, as our council was held in Dr. Bernhisel's room in the Mansion House, the doctor lay down; and as it was now between 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning, and I had had no rest on the previous night, I was fatigued, and thinking that Brother Joseph might not return, I left for home and rest. Being very much fatigued, I slept soundly, and was somewhat surprised in the morning by Mrs. Thompson entering my room about 7 o'clock, and exclaiming in surprise, "What, you here! the brethren have crossed the rive some time since." "What brethren?" I asked. "Brother Joseph, and Hyrum, and Brother Richards," she answered. I immediately arose upon learning that they had crossed the river, and did not intend to go to Carthage. I called together a number of persons in whom I had confidence, and had the type, stereotype plates, and most of the valuable things removed from the printing office, believing that, should the governor and his force come to Nauvoo, the first thing they would do would be to burn the printing office, for I knew they would be exasperated if Brother Joseph went away. We had talked over these matters the night before, but nothing was decided upon. It was Brother Joseph's opinion that, should we leave for a time, public excitement, which was then so intense, would be allayed; that it would throw on the governor the responsibility of keeping the peace; that in the event of an outrage, the onus would rest upon the governor, who was amply prepared with troops, and could command all the forces of the State to preserve order; and that the act of his own men would be an overwhelming proof of their seditious designs, not only to the governor, but to the world. He moreover thought that, in the east, where he intended to go, public opinion would be set right in relation to these matters, and its expression would partially influence the west, and that, after the first ebullition, things would assume a shape that would justify his return. I made arrangements for crossing the river, and Brother Elias Smith and Joseph Cain, who were both employed in the printing office with me, assisted all that lay in their power together with Brother Brower and several hands in the printing office. As we could not find out the exact whereabouts of Joseph and the brethren, I crossed the river in a boat furnished by Brother Cyrus H. Wheelock and Alfred Bell; and after the removal of the things out of the printing office, Joseph Cain brought the account books to me, that we might make arrangements for their adjustment; and Brother Elias Smith, cousin to Brother Joseph, went to obtain money for the journey, and also to find out and report to me the location of the brethren. As Cyrus H. Wheelock was an active, enterprising man, and in the event of not finding Brother Joseph I calculated to go to Upper Canada for the time being, and should need a companion, I said to Brother Cyrus H. Wheelock, "Can you go with me ten or fifteen hundred miles?" He answered, "Yes." "Can you start in half an hour?" "Yes." However, I told him that he had better see his family, who lived over the river, and prepare a couple of horses and the necessary equipage for the journey, and that, if we did not find Brother Joseph before, we would start at nightfall. A laughable incident occurred on the eve of my departure. After making all the preparations I could, previous to leaving Nauvoo, and having bid adieu to my family, I went to a house adjoining the river, owned by Brother Eddy. There I disguised myself so as not to be known, and so effectually was the transformation that those who had come after me with a boat did not know me. I went down to the boat and sat in it. Brother Bell, thinking it was a stranger, watched my moves for some time very impatiently, and then said to Brother Wheelock, "I wish that old gentleman would go away; he has been pottering around the boat for some time, and I am afraid Elder Taylor will be coming." When he discovered his mistake, he was not a little amused. I was conducted by Brother Bell to a house that was surrounded by timber on the opposite side of the river. There I spent several hours in a chamber with Brother Joseph Cain, adjusting my accounts; and I made arrangements for the stereotype plates of the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants, to be forwarded east, thinking to supply the company with subsistence money through the sale of these books in the east. My horses were reported ready by Brother Wheelock, and funds on hand by Brother Elias Smith. In about half an hour I should have started, when Brother Elias Smith came to me with word that he had found the brethren; that they had concluded to go to Carthage, and wished me to return to Nauvoo and accompany them. I must confess that I felt a good deal disappointed at this news, but I immediately made preparations to go. Escorted by Brother Elias Smith, I and my party went to the neighborhood of Montrose, where we met Brother Joseph, Hyrum, Brother Richards and others. Dr. Bernhisel thinks that W. W. Phelps was not with Joseph and Hyrum in the morning, but that he met him, myself, Joseph and Hyrum, W. Richards and Brother Cahoon, in the afternoon, near Montrose, returning to Nauvoo. On meeting the brethren I learned that it was not Brother Joseph's desire to return, but that he came back by request of some of the brethren, and that it coincided more with Brother Hyrum's feelings than those of Brother Joseph. In fact, after his return, Brother Hyrum expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with the course taken, and said he felt much more at ease in his mind than he did before. On our return the calculation was to throw ourselves under the immediate protection of the governor, and to trust to his word and faith for our preservation. A message was, I believe, sent to the governor that night, stating that we should come to Carthage in the morning, the party that came along with us to escort us back, in case we returned to Carthage, having returned. It would seem from the following remarks of General Ford that there was a design on foot, which was, that if we refused to go to Carthage at the governor's request, there should be an increased force called for by the governor, and that we should be destroyed by them. In accordance with this project, Captain Yates returned with his _posse_, accompanied by the constable who held the writ. The following is the governor's remark in relation to this affair: "The constable and his escort returned. The constable made no effort to arrest any of them, nor would he or the guard delay their departure one minute beyond the time, to see whether an arrest could be made. Upon their return they reported that they had been informed that the accused had fled, and could not be found. I immediately proposed to a council of officers to march into Nauvoo with the small force then under my command, but the officers were of the opinion that it was too small, and many of them insisted upon a further call of the militia. Upon reflection I was of the opinion that the officers were right in the estimate of our force, and the project for immediate action was abandoned. "I was soon informed, however, of the conduct of the constable and guard, and then I was perfectly satisfied that a most base fraud had been attempted, that, in fact, it was feared that the Mormons would submit, and thereby entitle themselves to the protection of the law. It was very apparent that many of the bustling, active spirits were afraid that there would be no occasion for calling out an overwhelming militia force, for marching into Nauvoo, for probable mutiny when there, and for the extermination of the Mormon race. It appeared that the constable and the escort were fully in the secret, and acted well their part to promote the conspiracy." [6] In the morning Brother Joseph had an interview with the officers of the Legion, with the leading members of the city council, and with the principal men of the city. The officers were instructed to dismiss their men, but to have them in a state of readiness to be called upon in any emergency that might occur. About half past six o'clock the members of the city council, the marshal, Brothers Joseph and Hyrum, and a number of others, started for Carthage, on horseback. We were instructed by Brother Joseph Smith not to take any arms, and we consequently left them behind. We called at the house of Brother Fellows on our way out. Brother Fellows lived about four miles from Carthage. While at Brother Fellow's house, Captain Dunn, accompanied by Mr. Coolie, one of the governor's aides-de-camp, came up from Carthage _en route_ for Nauvoo with a requisition from the governor for the State arms. We all returned to Nauvoo with them; the governor's request was complied with, and after taking some refreshments, we all returned to proceed to Carthage. We arrived there late in the night. A great deal of excitement prevailed on and after our arrival. The governor had received into his company all of the companies that had been in the mob; these fellows were riotous and disorderly, hallowing, yelling, and whooping about the streets like Indians, many of them intoxicated; the whole presented a scene of rowdyism and low-bred ruffianism only found among mobocrats and desperadoes, and entirely revolting to the best feelings of humanity. The governor made a speech to them to the effect that he would show Joseph and Hyrum Smith to them in the morning. About here the companies with the governor were drawn up in line, and General Demming, I think, took Joseph by the arm and Hyrum (Arnold says that Joseph took the governor's arm), and as he passed through between the ranks, the governor leading in front, very politely introduced them as General Joseph Smith and General Hyrum Smith. [7] All were orderly and courteous except one company of mobocrats--the Carthage Grays--who seemed to find fault on account of too much honor being paid to the Mormons. There was afterwards a row between the companies, and they came pretty near having a fight; the more orderly not feeling disposed to endorse or submit to the rowdyism of the mobocrats. The result was that General Demming, who was very much of a gentleman, ordered the Carthage Grays, a company under the command of Captain Smith, a magistrate in Carthage, and a most violent mobocrat, under arrest. This matter, however, was shortly afterward adjusted, and the difficulty settled between them. The mayor, aldermen, councilors, as well as the marshal of the city of Nauvoo, together with some persons who had assisted the marshal in removing the press in Nauvoo, appeared before Justice Smith, the aforesaid captain and mobocrat, to again answer the charge of destroying the press; but as there was so much excitement, and as the man was an unprincipled villain before whom we were to have our hearing, we thought it most prudent to give bail, and consequently became security for each other in $500 bonds each, to appear before the County Court at its next session. We had engaged as counsel a lawyer by the name of Wood, of Burlington, Iowa; and Reed, I think, of Madison, Iowa After some little discussion the bonds were signed, and we were all dismissed. Almost immediately after our dismissal, two men--Augustine Spencer and Norton--two worthless fellows, whose words would not have been taken for five cents, and the first of whom had a short time previously been before the mayor in Nauvoo for maltreating a lame brother, made affidavits that Joseph and Hyrum Smith were guilty of treason, and a writ was accordingly issued for their arrest, and the constable Bettesworth, a rough, unprincipled man, wished immediately to hurry them away to prison without any hearing. His rude, uncouth manner in the administration of what he considered the duties of his office made him exceedingly repulsive to us all. But, independent of these acts, the proceedings in this case were altogether illegal. Providing the court was sincere, which it was not, and providing these men's oaths were true, and that Joseph and Hyrum were guilty of treason, still the whole course was illegal. The magistrate made out a mittimus, and committed them to prison without a hearing, which he had no right legally to do. The statue of Illinois expressly provides that "all men shall have a hearing before a magistrate before they shall be committed to prison;" and Mr. Robert H. Smith, the magistrate, had made out a mittimus committing them to prison contrary to law without such hearing. As I was informed of this illegal proceeding, I went immediately to the governor and informed him of it. Whether he was apprised of it before or not, I do not know; but my opinion is that he was. I represented to him the characters of the parties who had made oath, the outrageous nature of the charge, the indignity offered to men in the position which they occupied, and declared to him that he knew very well it was a vexatious proceeding, and that the accused were not guilty of any such crime. The governor replied, he was very sorry that the thing had occurred; that he did not believe the charges, but that he thought the best thing to be done was to let the law take its course. I then reminded him that we had come out there at his instance, not to satisfy the law, which we had done before, but the prejudices of the people, in relation to the affairs of the press; that at his instance we had given bonds, which we could not by law be required to do to satisfy the people, and that it was asking too much to require gentlemen in their position in life to suffer the degradation of being immured in a jail at the instance of such worthless scoundrels as those who had made this affidavit. The governor replied that it was an unpleasant affair, and looked hard; but that it was a matter over which he had no control, as it belonged to the judiciary; that he, as the executive, could not interfere with their proceedings, and that he had no doubt but that they would immediately be dismissed. I told him that we had looked to him for protection from such insults, and that I thought we had a right to do so from the solemn promises which he had made to me and to Dr. Bernhisel in relation to our coming without guard or arms; that we had relied upon his faith, and had a right to expect him to fulfill his engagements after we had placed ourselves implicity under his care, and complied with all his requests, although extrajudicial. He replied that he would detail a guard, if we required it, and see us protected, but that he could not interfere with the judiciary. I expressed my dissatisfaction at the course taken, and told him, that, if we were to be subject to mob rule, and to be dragged, contrary to law, into prison at the instance of every infernal scoundrel whose oaths could be bought for a dram of whiskey, his protection availed very little, and we had miscalculated his promises. Seeing there was no prospect of redress from the governor, I returned to the room, and found the constable Bettesworth very urgent to hurry Brothers Joseph and Hyrum to prison, while the brethren were remonstrating with him. At the same time a great rabble was gathered in the streets and around the door, and from the rowdyism manifested I was afraid there was a design to murder the prisoners on the way to jail. Without conferring with any person, my next feelings were to procure a guard, and seeing a man habited as a soldier in the room, I went to him and said, "I am afraid there is a design against the lives of the Messrs. Smith; will you go immediately and bring your captain; and, if not convenient, any other captain of a company, and I will pay you well for your trouble?" He said he would, and departed forthwith, and soon returned with his captain, whose name I have forgotten, and introduced him to me. I told him of my fears, and requested him immediately to fetch his company. He departed forthwith, and arrived at the door with them just at the time when the constable was hurrying the brethren down stairs. A number of the brethren went along, together with one or two strangers; and all of us, safely lodged in prison, remained there during the night. At the request of Joseph Smith for an interview with the governor, he came the next morning, Thursday, June 26th, at half past 9 o'clock, accompanied by Colonel Geddes, when a lengthy conversation was entered into in relation to the existing difficulties; and after some preliminary remarks, at the governor's request, Brother Joseph gave him a general outline of the state of affairs in relation to our difficulties, the excited state of the country, the tumultuous mobocratic movements of our enemies, the precautionary measures used by himself (Joseph Smith), the acts of the city council, the destruction of the press, and the moves of the mob and ourselves up to that time. The following report is, I believe, substantially correct: _Governor_--"General Smith, I believe you have given me a general outline of the difficulties that have existed in the country in the documents forwarded to me by Dr. Bernhisel and Mr. Taylor; but, unfortunately, there seems to be a great discrepancy between your statements and those of your enemies. It is true that you are substantiated by evidence and affidavit, but for such an extraordinary excitement as that which is now in the country there must be some cause, and I attribute the last outbreak to the destruction of the _Expositor_, and to your refusal to comply with the writ issued by Esquire Morrison. The press in the United States is looked upon as the great bulwark of American freedom, and its destruction in Nauvoo was represented and looked upon as a high-handed measure, and manifests to the people a disposition on your part to suppress the liberty of speech and of the press. This, with your refusal to comply with the requisition of a writ, I conceive to be the principal cause of this difficulty; and you are moreover represented to me as turbulent, and defiant of the laws and institutions of your country." _General Smith_--"Governor Ford, you, sir, as governor of this State, are aware of the persecutions that I have endured. You know well that our course has been peaceable and law-abiding for I have furnished this State ever since our settlement here with sufficient evidence of my pacific intentions, and those of the people with whom I am associated, by the endurance of every conceivable indignity and lawless outrage perpetrated upon me and upon this people since our settlement here; and you know yourself that I have kept you well posted in relation to all matters associated with the late difficulties. If you have not got some of my communications, it has not been my fault. "Agreeably to your orders, I assembled the Nauvoo Legion for the protection of Nauvoo and the surrounding country against an armed band of marauders; and ever since they have been mustered I have almost daily communicated with you in regard to all the leading events that have transpired; and whether in the capacity of mayor of the city, or lieutenant general of the Nauvoo Legion, I have striven, according to the best of my judgment, to preserve the peace and to administer even-handed justice; but my motives are impugned, my acts are misconstrued, and I am grossly and wickedly misrepresented. I suppose I am indebted for my incarceration to the oath of a worthless man, who was arraigned before me and fined for abusing and maltreating his lame, helpless brother. That I should be charged by you, sir, who know better, of acting contrary to law, is to me a matter of surprise. Was it the Mormons or our enemies who first commenced these difficulties? You know well it was not us; and when this turbulent, outrageous people commenced their insurrectionary movements I made you acquainted with them officially, and asked your advice, and have followed strictly your counsel in every particular. Who ordered out the Nauvoo Legion? I did, under your direction. For what purpose? To suppress the insurrectionary movements. It was at your instance, sir, that I issued a proclamation calling upon the Nauvoo Legion to be in readiness at a moment's warning to guard against the incursions of mobs, and gave an order to Jonathan Dunham, acting major-general, to that effect. "Am I, then, to be charged with the acts of others? and because lawlessness and mobocracy abound, am I, when carrying out your instructions, to be charged with not abiding law? Why is it that I must be made accountable for other men's acts? If there is trouble in the country, neither I nor my people made it; and all that we have ever done, after much endurance on our part, is to maintain and uphold the Constitution and institutions of our country, and to protect an injured, innocent, and persecuted people against misrule and mob violence. "Concerning the destruction of the press to which you refer, men may differ somewhat in their opinions about it; but can it be supposed that after all the indignities to which they have been subjected outside, that people could suffer a set of worthless vagabonds to come into their city, and, right under their own eyes and protection, vilify and calumniate not only themselves, but the character of their wives and daughters, as was impudently and unblushingly done in that infamous and filthy sheet? "There is not a city in the United States that would have suffered such an indignity for twenty-four hours. Our whole people were indignant, and loudly called upon our city authorities for a redress of their grievances, which, if not attended to, they themselves would have taken into their own hands, and have summarily punished the audacious wretches as they deserved. The principle of equal rights that has been instilled into our bosoms from our cradles as American citizens forbids us submitting to every foul indignity, and succumbing and pandering to wretches so infamous as these. But, independent of this, the course that we pursued we consider to be strictly legal; for, notwithstanding the result, we were anxious to be governed strictly by law, and therefore we convened the city council; and being desirous in our deliberations to abide by law, we summoned legal counsel to be present on the occasion. Upon investigating the matter, we found that our city charter gave us power to remove all nuisances. Furthermore, after consulting Blackstone upon what might be considered a nuisance, it appeared that that distinguished lawyer, who is considered authority, I believe, in all our courts, states among other things that 'a libelous and filthy press may be considered a nuisance, and abated as such.' Here, then, one of the most eminent English barristers, whose works are considered standard with us, declares that a libelous and filthy press may be considered a nuisance; and our own charter, given us by the Legislature of this State, gives us power to remove nuisances; and by ordering that press to be abated as a nuisance, we conceived that we were acting strictly in accordance with law. We made that order in our corporate capacity, and the city marshal carried it out. It is possible there may have been some better way, but I must confess that I could not see it. "In relation to the writ served upon us, we are willing to abide the consequences of our own acts, but are unwilling, in answering a writ of that kind, to submit to illegal exactions, sought to be imposed upon us under the pretense of law, when we knew they were in open violation of it. When that document was presented to me by Mr. Bettesworth, I offered, in the presence of more than twenty persons, to go to any other magistrate, either in our city, in Appanoose, or any other place where we should be safe, but we all refused to put ourselves into the power of a mob. What right had that constable to refuse our request? He had none according to law; for you know, Governor Ford, that the statute law in Illinois is, that the parties served with the writ 'shall go before him who issued it, or some other justice of the peace.' Why, then, should we be dragged to Carthage, where the law does not compel us to go? Does not this look like many others of our persecutions with which you are acquainted? and have we not a right to expect foul play? This very act was a breach of law on his part, an assumption of power that did not belong to him, and an attempt, at least, to deprive us of our legal and constitutional rights and privileges. What could we do, under the circumstances, different from what we did do? We sued for, and obtained a writ of _habeas corpus_ from the municipal court, by which we were delivered from the hands of Constable Bettesworth, and brought before and acquitted by the municipal court. After our acquittal, in a conversation with Judge Thomas, although he considered the acts of the party illegal, he advised that, to satisfy the people, we had better go before another magistrate who was not in our Church. In accordance with his advice, we went before Esquire Wells, with whom you are well acquainted; both parties were present, witnesses were called on both sides, the case was fully investigated, and we were again dismissed. And what is this pretended desire to enforce law, and wherefore are these lying, base rumors put into circulation but to seek, through mob influence, under pretense of law, to make us submit to requisitions which are contrary to law and subversive of every principle of justice? And when you, sir, required us to come out here, we came, not because it was legal, but because you required it of us, and we were desirous of showing to you, and to all men, that we shrunk not from the most rigid investigation of our acts. We certainly did expect other treatment than to be immured in a jail at the instance of these men, and I think, from your plighted faith, we had a right so to expect, after disbanding our own forces, and putting ourselves entirely in your hands. And now, after having fulfilled my part, sir, as a man and an American citizen, I call upon you, Governor Ford, to deliver us from this place, and rescue us from this outrage that is sought to be practiced upon us by a set of infamous scoundrels." _Governor Ford_.--"But you have placed men under arrest, detained men as prisoners, and given passes to others, some of which I have seen," _John P. Greene, City Marshal_.--"Perhaps I can explain. Since these difficulties have commenced, you are aware that we have been placed under very peculiar circumstances; our city has been placed under a very rigid police guard; in addition to this, frequent guards have been placed outside the city to prevent any sudden surprise, and those guards have questioned suspected or suspicious persons as to their business. To strangers, in some instances, passes have been given to prevent difficulty in passing those guards; it is some of these passes that you have seen. No person, sir, has been imprisoned without a legal cause in our city." _Governor_--"Why did you not give a more speedy answer to the posse that I sent out?" _General Smith_.--"We had matters of importance to consult upon; your letter showed anything but an amiable spirit. We have suffered immensely in Missouri from mobs, in loss of property, imprisonment, and otherwise. It took some time for us to weigh duly these matters; we could not decide upon matters of such importance immediately, and your posse were too hasty in returning; we were consulting for a large people, and vast interests were at stake. We had been outrageously imposed upon, and knew not how far we could trust any one; besides, a question necessarily arose, How shall we come? Your request was that we should come unarmed. It became a matter of serious importance to decide how far promises could be trusted, and how far we were safe from mob violence." _Colonel Geddes_.--"It certainly did look, from all I have heard, from the general spirit of violence and mobocracy that here prevails, that it was not safe for you to come unprotected." _Governor Ford_.--"I think that sufficient time was not allowed by the posse for you to consult and get ready. They were too hasty; but I suppose they found themselves bound by their orders. I think, too, there is a great deal of truth in what you say, and your reasoning is plausible, but I must beg leave to differ from you in relation to the acts of the City Council. That Council, in my opinion, had no right to act in a legislative capacity, and in that of the judiciary. They should have passed a law in relation to the matter, and then the Municipal Court, upon complaint, could have removed it; but for the City Council to take upon themselves the law-making and the execution of the law, is, in my opinion, wrong; besides, these men ought to have had a hearing before their property was destroyed; to destroy it without was an infringement on their rights; besides, it is so contrary to the feelings of American people to interfere with the press. And, furthermore, I cannot but think that it would have been more judicious for you to have gone with Mr. Bettesworth to Carthage, notwithstanding the law did not require it. Concerning your being in jail, I am sorry for that; I wish it had been otherwise. I hope you will soon be released, but I can not interfere." _Joseph Smith_.--"Governor Ford, allow me, sir, to bring one thing to your mind that you seem to have overlooked. You state that you think it would have been better for us to have submitted to the requisition of Constable Bettesworth, and to have gone to Carthage. Do you not know, sir, that that writ was served at the instance of an anti-Mormon mob, who had passed resolutions, and published them, to the effect that they would exterminate the Mormon leaders? And are you not informed that Captain Anderson was not only threatened but had a gun fired at his boat by this said mob in Warsaw when coming up to Nauvoo, and that this very thing was made use of as a means to get us into their hands; and we could not, without taking an armed force with us, go there without, according to their published declarations, going into the jaws of death? To have taken a force with us would only have fanned the excitement, and they would have stated that we wanted to use intimidation; therefore, we thought it the most judicious to avail ourselves of the protection of the law." _Governor Ford_.--"I see, I see." _Joseph Smith_.--"Furthermore, in relation to the press, you say that you differ from me in opinion. Be it so; the thing, after all, is only a legal difficulty, and the courts, I should judge, are competent to decide on that matter. If our act was illegal, we are willing to meet it; and although I cannot see the distinction that you draw about the acts of the City Council, and what difference it could have made in point of fact, law, or justice between the City Council, acting together or separate or how much more legal it would have been for the Municipal Court, who were a part of the City Council, to act separately instead of with the councilors, yet, if it is deemed that we did a wrong in destroying that press, we refuse not to pay for it; we are desirous to fulfill the law in every particular, and are responsible for our acts. You say that the parties ought to have a hearing. Had it been a civil suit, this of course, would have been proper; but there was a flagrant violation of every principle of right--a nuisance; and it was abated on the same principle that any nuisance, stench, or putrefied carcass would have been removed. Our first step, therefore, was to stop the foul, noisome, filthy sheet, and then the next in our opinion would have been to have prosecuted the man for a breach of public decency. And, furthermore, again let me say, Governor Ford, I shall look to you for our protection. I believe you are talking of going to Nauvoo; if you go, sir, I wish to go along. I refuse not to answer any law, but I do not consider myself safe here." _Governor_.--"I am in hopes that you will be acquitted, and if I go I will certainly take you along. I do not, however, apprehend danger. I think you are perfectly safe either here or anywhere else. I can not, however, interfere with the law. I am placed in peculiar circumstances and seem to be blamed by all parties." _Joseph Smith_.--"Governor Ford, I ask nothing but what is legal; I have a right to expect protection, at least from you; for, independent of law, you have pledged your faith and that of the State for my protection, and I wish to go to Nauvoo." _Governor_.--"And you shall have protection, General Smith. I did not make this promise without consulting my officers, who all pledged their honor to its fulfillment. I do not know that I shall go tomorrow to Nauvoo, but if I do I will take you along." At a quarter past ten o'clock the governor left. At about half past twelve o'clock, Mr. Reed, one of Joseph's counsel, came in, apparently much elated; he stated that, upon an examination of the law, he found that the magistrate had transcended his jurisdiction, and that having committed them without an examination, his jurisdiction ended, that he had him upon a pin hook; that he ought to have examined them before he committed them, and that, having violated the law in this particular, he had no further power over them; for, once committed, they were out of his jurisdiction, as the power of the magistrate extended no farther than their committal, and that now they could not be brought out except at the regular session of the Circuit Court, or by a writ of _habeas corpus;_ but that if Justice Smith would consent to go to Nauvoo for trial, he would compromise matters with him, and overlook this matter. Mr. Reed further stated that the anti-Mormons, or mob, had concocted a scheme to get out a writ from Missouri, with a demand upon Governor Ford for the arrest of Joseph Smith, and his conveyance to Missouri, and that a man by the name of Wilson had returned from Missouri the night before the burning of the press for this purpose. At half past two o'clock Constable Bettesworth came to the jail with a man named Simpson, professing to have some order, but he would not send up his name, and the guard would not let him pass. Dr. Bernhisel and Brother Wasson went to inform the governor and council of this. At about twenty minutes to three Dr. Bernhisel returned, and stated that he thought the governor was doing all he could. At about ten minutes to three Hyrum Kimball appeared with news from Nauvoo. Soon after Constable Bettesworth came with an order from Esquire Smith to convey the prisoners to the court-house for trial. He was informed that the process was illegal, that they had been placed there contrary to law, and that they refused to come unless by legal process. I was informed that Justice Smith (who was also captain of the Carthage Grays) went to the governor and informed him of the matter, and that the governor replied, "You have your forces, and of course can use them." The constable certainly did return, accompanied by a guard of armed men, and by force, and under protest, hurried the prisoners to the court. About four o'clock the case was called by Captain Robert F. Smith, J. P. The counsel for the prisoners called for subpoenas to bring witnesses. At twenty-five minutes past four he took a copy of the order to bring the prisoners from jail to trial, and afterwards he took names of witnesses. Counsel present for the State; Higbee, Skinner, Sharp, Emmons, and Morrison. Twenty-five minutes to five the writ was returned as served, June 25th. Many remarks were made at the court that I paid but little attention to, as I considered the whole thing illegal and a complete burlesque. Wood objected to the proceedings in total, in consequence of its illegality, showing that the prisoners were not only illegally committed, but that, being once committed, the magistrate had no further power over them; but as it was the same magistrate before whom he was pleading who imprisoned them contrary to law, and the same who, as captain, forced them from jail, his arguments availed but little. He then urged that the prisoners be remanded until witnesses could be had, and applied for a continuance for that purpose. Skinner suggested until twelve o'clock next day. Wood again demanded until witnesses could be obtained; that the court meet at a specified time, and that, if witnesses were not present, again adjourn, without calling the prisoners. After various remarks from Reed, Skinner, and others, the court stated that the writ was served yesterday, and that it will give until tomorrow at twelve m. to get witnesses. We then returned to jail. Immediately after our return Dr. Bernhisel went to the governor, and obtained from him an order for us to occupy a large open room containing a bedstead. I rather think that the same room had been appropriated to the use of debtors; at any rate, there was free access to the jailer's house, and no bars or locks except such as might be on the outside door of the jail. The jailer, Mr. George W. Steghall, and his wife, manifested a disposition to make us as comfortable as they could; we ate at their table, which was well provided, and, of course, paid for it. I do not remember the names of all who were with us that night and the next morning in jail, for several went and came; among those that we considered stationery were Stephen Markham, John S. Fullmer, Captain Dan Jones, Dr. Willard Richards, and myself. Dr. Bernhisel says that he was there from Wednesday in the afternoon until eleven o'clock next day. We were, however, visited by numerous friends, among whom were Uncle John Smith, Hyrum Kimball, Cyrus H. Wheelock, besides lawyers, as counsel. There was also a great variety of conversation, which was rather desultory than otherwise, and referred to circumstances that had transpired, our former and present grievances, the spirit of the troops around us, and the disposition of the governor; the devising for legal and other plans for deliverance, the nature of testimony required; the gathering of proper witnesses, and a variety of other topics, including our religious hopes, etc. During one of these conversations Dr. Richards remarked: "Brother Joseph, if it is necessary that you die in this matter, and if they will take me in your stead, I will suffer for you." At another time, when conversing about deliverance, I said, "Brother Joseph, if you will permit it, and say the word, I will have you out of this prison in five hours, if the jail has to come down to do it." My idea was to go to Nauvoo, and collect a force sufficient, as I considered the whole affair a legal farce, and a flagrant outrage upon our liberty and rights. Brother Joseph refused. Elder Cyrus H. Wheelock came in to see us, and when he was about leaving drew a small pistol, a six-shooter, from his pocket, remarking at the same time, "Would any of you like to have this?" Brother Joseph immediately replied, "Yes, give it to me;" whereupon he took the pistol, and put it in his pantaloons pocket. The pistol was a six-shooting revolver, of Allen's patent; it belonged to me, and was one that I furnished to Brother Wheelock when he talked of going with me to the east, previous to our coming to Carthage. I have it now in my possession. Brother Wheelock went out on some errand, and was not suffered to return. The report of the governor having gone to Nauvoo without taking the prisoners along with him caused very unpleasant feelings, as we were apprised that we were left to the tender mercies of the Carthage Grays, a company strictly mobocratic, and whom we knew to be our most deadly enemies; and their captain, Esquire Smith, was a most unprincipled villain. Besides this, all the mob forces, comprising the governor's troops, were dismissed, with the exception of one or two companies, which the governor took with him to Nauvoo. The great part of the mob was liberated, the remainder was our guard. We looked upon it not only as a breach of faith on the part of the governor, but also as an indication of a desire to insult us, if nothing more, by leaving us in the proximity of such men. The prevention of Wheelock's return was among the first of their hostile movements. Colonel Markham then went out, and he was also prevented from returning. He was very angry at this, but the mob paid no attention to him; they drove him out of town at the point of the bayonet, and threatened to shoot him if he returned. He went, I am informed, to Nauvoo for the purpose of raising a company of men for our protection. Brother Fullmer went to Nauvoo after witnesses; it is my opinion that Brother Wheelock did also. Some time after dinner we sent for some wine. It has been reported by some that this was taken as a sacrament. It was no such thing; our spirits were generally dull and heavy, and it was sent for to revive us. I think it was Captain Jones who went after it, but they would not suffer him to return. I believe we all drank of the wine, and gave some to one or two of the prison guards. We all of us felt unusually dull and languid, with a remarkable depression of spirits. In consonance with those feelings I sang a song, that had lately been introduced into Nauvoo, entitled, "A poor, wayfaring man of grief," etc. The song is pathetic, and the tune quite plaintive, and was very much in accordance with our feelings at the time, for our spirits were all depressed, dull and gloomy, and surcharged with indefinite ominous forebodings. After a lapse of some time, Brother Hyrum requested me again to sing that song. I replied, "Brother Hyrum, I do not feel like singing;" when he remarked, "Oh, never mind; commence singing, and you will get the spirit of it." At his request I did so. Soon afterwards I was sitting at one of the front windows of the jail, when I saw a number of men, with painted faces, coming around the corner of the jail, and aiming towards the stairs. The other brethren had seen the same, for, as I went to the door, I found Brother Hyrum Smith and Dr. Richards already leaning against it. They both pressed against the door with their shoulders to prevent its being opened, as the lock and latch were comparatively useless. While in this position, the mob, who had come up stairs, and tried to open the door, probably thought it was locked, and fired a ball through the keyhole; at this Dr. Richards and Brother Hyrum leaped back from the door, with their faces towards it; almost instantly another ball passed through the panel of the door, and struck Brother Hyrum on the left side of the nose, entering his face and head. At the same instant, another ball from the outside entered his back, passing through his body and striking his watch. The ball came from the back, through the jail window, opposite the door, and must, from its range, have been fired from the Carthage Grays, who were placed there ostensibly for our protection, as the balls from the fire-arms, shot close by the jail, would have entered the ceiling, we being in the second story, and there never was a time after that when Hyrum could have received the latter wound. Immediately, when the balls struck him, he fell flat on his back, crying as he fell, "I am a dead man." He never moved afterwards. I shall never forget the deep feeling of sympathy and regard manifested in the countenance of Brother Joseph as he drew nigh to Hyrum, and, leaning over him, exclaimed, "Oh! my poor, dear brother Hyrum!" He, however, instantly arose, and with a firm, quick step, and a determined expression of countenance, approached the door, and pulling the six-shooter left by Brother Wheelock from his pocket, opened the door slightly, and snapped the pistol six successive times; only three of the barrels, however, were discharged. I afterwards understood that two or three were wounded by these discharges, two of whom, I am informed, died. I had in my hands a large, strong hickory stick, brought there by Brother Markham, and left by him, which I had seized as soon as I saw the mob approach; and while Brother Joseph was firing the pistol, I stood close behind him. As soon as he had discharged it he stepped back, and I immediately took his place next to the door, while he occupied the one I had done while he was shooting. Brother Richards, at this time, had a knotty walking-stick in his hands belonging to me, and stood next to Brother Joseph, a little farther from the door, in an oblique direction, apparently to avoid the rake of the fire from the door. The firing of Bother Joseph made our assailants pause for a moment; very soon after, however, they pushed the door some distance open, and protruded and discharged their guns into the room, when I parried them off with my stick, giving another direction to the balls. It certainly was a terrible scene: streams of fire as thick as my arm passed by me as these men fired, and, unarmed as we were, it looked like certain death. I remember feeling as though my time had come, but I do not know when, in any critical position, I was more calm, unruffled, energetic, and acted with more promptness and decision. It certainly was far from pleasant to be so near the muzzles of those fire-arms as they belched forth their liquid flames and deadly balls. While I was engaged in parrying the guns, Brother Joseph said, "That's right, Brother Taylor, parry them off as well as you can." These were the last words I ever heard him speak on earth. Every moment the crowd at the door became more dense, as they were unquestionably pressed on by those in the rear ascending the stairs, until the whole entrance at the door was literally crowded with muskets and rifles, which, with the swearing, shouting and demoniacal expressions of those outside the door and on the stairs, and the firing of the guns, mingled with their horrid oaths and execrations, made it look like Pandemonium let loose, and was, indeed, a fit representation of the horrid deed in which they were engaged. After parrying the guns for some time, which now protruded thicker and farther into the room, and seeing no hope of escape or protection there, as we were now unarmed, it occurred to me that we might have some friends outside, and that there might be some chance of escape in that direction, but here there seemed to be none. As I expected them every moment to rush into the room--nothing but extreme cowardice having thus far kept them out--as the tumult and pressure increased, without any other hope, I made a spring for the window which was right in front of the jail door, where the mob was standing, and also exposed to the fire of the Carthage Grays, who were stationed some ten or twelve rods off. The weather was hot, we all of us had our coats off, and the window was raised to admit air. As I reached the window, and was on the point of leaping out, I was struck by a ball from the door about midway of my thigh, which struck the bone, and flattened out almost to the size of a quarter of a dollar, and then passed on through the fleshy part to within about half an inch of the outside. I think some prominent nerve must have been severed or injured, for, as soon as the ball struck me, I fell like a bird when shot, or an ox when struck by a butcher, and lost entirely and instantaneously all power of action or locomotion. I fell upon the window-sill, and cried out, "I am shot!" Not possessing any power to move, I felt myself falling outside of the window, but immediately I fell inside, from some, at that time, unknown cause. When I struck the floor my animation seemed restored, as I have seen it sometimes in squirrels and birds after being shot. As soon as I felt the power of motion I crawled under the bed which was in a corner of the room, not far from the window where I received my wound. While on my way and under the bed I was wounded in three other places; one ball entered a little below the left knee, and never was extracted; another entered the forepart of my left arm, a little above the wrist, and, passing down by the joint, lodged in the fleshy part of my hand, about midway, a little above the upper joint of my little finger; another struck me on the fleshy part of my left hip, and tore away the flesh as large as my hand, dashing the mangled fragments of flesh and blood against the wall. My wounds were painful, and the sensation produced was as though a ball had passed through and down the whole length of my leg. I very well remember my reflections at the time. I had a very painful idea of becoming lame and decrepit, and being an object of pity, and I felt as though I would rather die than be placed in such circumstances. It would seem that immediately after my attempt to leap out of the window, Joseph also did the same thing, of which circumstance I have no knowledge only from information. The first thing that I noticed was a cry that he had leaped out of the window. A cessation of firing followed, the mob rushed down stairs, and Dr. Richards went to the window. Immediately afterwards I saw the doctor going towards the jail door, and as there was an iron door at the head of the stairs adjoining our door which led into the cells for criminals, it struck me that the doctor was going in there, and I said to him, "Stop, doctor, and take me along." He proceeded to the door and opened it, and then returned and dragged me along to a small cell prepared for criminals. Brother Richards was very much troubled, and exclaimed, "Oh! Brother Taylor, is it possible that they have killed both Brother Hyrum and Joseph? it cannot surely be, and yet I saw them shoot them;" and, elevating his hands two or three times, he exclaimed, "Oh Lord, my God, spare thy servants!" He then said, "Brother Taylor, this is a terrible event;" and he dragged me farther into the cell, saying, "I am sorry I can do no better for you," and, taking an old, filthy mattress, he covered me with it, and said, "That may hide you, and you may yet live to tell the tale, but I expect they will kill me in a few moments." While lying in this position I suffered the most excruciating pain. Soon afterwards Dr. Richards came to me, informed me that the mob had precipitately fled, and at the same time confirmed my worst fears that Joseph was assuredly dead. I felt a dull, lonely, sickening sensation at the news. When I reflected that our noble chieftain, the prophet of the living God, had fallen, and that I had seen his brother in the cold embrace of death, it seemed as though there was a void or vacuum in the great field of human existence to me, and a dark, gloomy chasm in the kingdom, and that we were left alone. Oh how lonely was that feeling! How cold, barren and desolate! In the midst of difficulties he was always the first in motion; in critical positions his counsel was always sought. As our prophet he approached our God, and obtained for us his will; but now our prophet, our counselor, our general, our leader was gone, and amid the fiery ordeal that we then had to pass through, we were left alone without his aid, and as our future guide for things spiritual or temporal, and for all things pertaining to this world or the next, he had spoken for the last time on earth! These reflections and a thousand others flashed upon my mind. I thought, Why must the good perish, and the virtuous be destroyed? Why must God's nobility, the salt of the earth, the most exalted of the human family, and the most perfect types of all excellence, fall victims to the cruel, fiendish hate of incarnate devils? The poignancy of my grief, I presume, however, was somewhat allayed by the extreme suffering that I endured from my wounds. Soon afterwards I was taken to the head of the stairs and laid there, where I had a full view of our beloved and now murdered Brother Hyrum. There he lay as I had left him; he had not moved a limb; he lay placid and calm, a monument of greatness even in death; but his noble spirit had left its tenement, and was gone to dwell in regions more congenial to its exalted nature. Poor Hyrum! he was a great and good man, and my soul was cemented to his. If ever there was an exemplary, honest, and virtuous man, an embodiment of all that is noble in the human form, Hyrum Smith was its representative. While I lay there a number of persons came around, among whom was a physician. The doctor, on seeing a ball lodged in my left hand, took a penknife from his pocket and made an incision in it for the purpose of extracting the ball therefrom, and having obtained a pair of carpenter's compasses, made use of them to draw or pry out the ball, alternately using the penknife and compasses. After sawing for some time with a dull penknife, and prying and pulling with the compasses, he ultimately succeeded in extracting the ball, which weighed about half an ounce. Some time afterwards he remarked to a friend of mine that I had "nerves like the devil," to stand what I did in its extraction. I really thought I had need of nerves stand such surgical butchery, and that, whatever my nerves may be, his practice was devilish. This company wished to remove me to Mr. Hamilton's hotel, the place where we had stayed previous to our incarceration in jail. I told them, however, that I did not wish to go; I did not consider it safe. They protested that it was, and that I was safe with them; that it was a perfect outrage for men to be used as we had been; that they were my friends; that it was for my good they were counseling me, and that I could be better taken care of there than here. I replied, "I don't know you. Who am I among? I am surrounded by assassins and murderers; witness your deeds! Don't talk to me of kindness or comfort; look at your murdered victims. Look at me! I want none of your counsel nor comfort. There may be some safety here; I can be assured of none anywhere," etc. They G-- d-- their souls to hell, made the most solemn asseverations, and swore by God and the devil, and everything else that they could think of, that they would stand by me to death and protect me. In half an hour every one of them had fled from the town. Soon after a coroner's jury were assembled in the room over the body of Hyrum. Among the jurors was Captain Smith, of the Carthage Grays, who had assisted in the murder, and the same justice before whom we had been tried. I learned of Francis Higbee as being in the neighborhood. On hearing his name mentioned, I immediately arose and said, "Captain Smith, you are a justice of the peace; I have heard his name mentioned; I want to swear my life against him." I was informed that word was immediately sent to him to leave the place, which he did. Brother Richards was busy during this time attending to the coroner's inquest, and to the removal of the bodies, and making arrangements for their removal from Carthage to Nauvoo. When he had a little leisure, he again came to me, and at his suggestion I was removed to Hamilton's tavern. I felt that he was the only friend, the only person, that I could rely upon in that town. It was with difficulty that sufficient persons could be found to carry me to the tavern; for immediately after the murder a great fear fell upon all the people, and men, women, and children fled with great precipitation, leaving nothing nor anybody in the town but two or three women and children and one or two sick persons. It was with great difficulty that Brother Richards prevailed upon Mr. Hamilton, hotel-keeper, and his family, to stay; they would not until Brother Richards had given a solemn promise that he would see them protected, and hence I was looked upon as a hostage. Under these circumstances, notwithstanding, I believe they were hostile to the Mormons, and were glad that the murder had taken place, though they did not actually participate in it; and, feeling that I should be a protection to them, they stayed. The whole community knew that a dreadful outrage had been perpetrated by those villains, and fearing lest the citizens of Nauvoo, as they possessed the power, might have a disposition to visit them with a terrible vengeance, they fled in the wildest confusion. And, indeed, it was with very great difficulty that the citizens of Nauvoo could be restrained. A horrid, barbarous murder had been committed, the most solemn pledge violated, and that, too, while the victims were, contrary to the requirements of the law, putting themselves into the hands of the governor to pacify a popular excitement. This outrage was enhanced by the reflection that our people were able to protect themselves against not only all the mob, but against three times their number and that of the governor's troops put together. They were also exasperated by the speech of the governor in town. The whole events were so faithless, so dastardly, so mean, cowardly, and contemptible, without one extenuating circumstance, that it would not have been surprising if the citizens of Nauvoo had arisen _en masse_, and blotted the wretches out of existence. The citizens of Carthage knew they would have done so under such circumstances, and, judging us by themselves, they were all panic-stricken, and fled. Colonel Markham, too, after his expulsion from Carthage, had gone home, related the circumstances of his ejectment, and was using his influence to get a company to go out. Fearing that when the people heard that their prophet and patriarch had been murdered under the above circumstances they might act rashly, and knowing that if they once got roused, like a mighty avalanche they would lay the country waste before them and take a terrible vengeance--as none of the Twelve were in Nauvoo, and no one, perhaps, with sufficient influence to control the people, Dr. Richards, after consulting me, wrote the following note, fearing that my family might be seriously affected by the news. I told him to insert that I was slightly wounded. _Willard Richards' Note from Carthage Jail to Nauvoo_. [8] "Carthage jail, 8 o'clock 5 min. p. m., June 27th, 1844. "Joseph and Hyrum are dead. Taylor wounded, not very badly. I am well. Our guard was forced, as we believe, by a band of Missourians from 100 to 200. The job was done in an instant, and the party fled towards Nauvoo instantly. This is as I believe it. The citizens here are afraid of the 'Mormons' attacking them; I promise them no. W. RICHARDS. "N. B.--The citizens promise us protection; alarm guns have been fired. "JOHN TAYLOR." I remember signing my name as quickly as possible, lest the tremor of my hand should be noticed, and the fears of my family excited. A messenger was dispatched immediately with the note, but he was intercepted by the governor, who, on hearing a cannon fired at Carthage, which was to be the signal for the murder, immediately fled with his company, and fearing that the citizens of Nauvoo, when apprised of the horrible outrage, would immediately rise and pursue, he turned back the messenger, who was George D. Grant. A second one was sent, who was treated similarly; and not until a third attempt could news be got to Nauvoo. Samuel H. Smith, brother to Joseph and Hyrum, was the first brother I saw after the outrage; I am not sure whether he took the news or not; he lived at the time in Plymouth, Hancock County, and was on his way to Carthage to see his brothers, when he was met by some of the troops, or rather mob, that had been dismissed by the governor, and who were on their way home. On learning that he was Joseph Smith's brother they sought to kill him, but he escaped, and fled into the woods, where he was chased for a length of time by them; but, after severe fatigue, and much danger and excitement, he succeeded in escaping, and came to Carthage. He was on horseback when he arrived, and was not only very much tired with the fatigue and excitement of the chase, but was also very much distressed in feelings on account of the death of his brothers. These things produced a fever, which laid the foundation for his death, which took place on the 30th of July. Thus another of the brothers fell a victim although not directly, but indirectly to this infernal mob. I lay from about five o'clock until two next morning without having my wounds dressed, as there was scarcely any help of any kind in Carthage, and Brother Richards was busy with the dead bodies, preparing them for removal. My wife Leonora started early the next day, having had some little trouble in getting a company or a physician to come with her; after considerable difficulty she succeeded in getting an escort, and Dr. Samuel Bennet came along with her. Soon after my father and mother arrived from Oquakie, near which place they had a farm at that time, and hearing of the trouble hastened along. General Demming, Brigadier General of the Hancock County Militia, was very much of a gentleman, and showed me every courtesy, and Colonel Jones also was very solicitous about my welfare. I was called upon by several gentlemen of Quincy and other places, among whom was Judge Ralston, as well as by our own people, and a medical man extracted a ball from my left thigh that was giving me much pain; it lay about half an inch deep, and my thigh was considerably swollen. The doctor asked me if I would be tied during the operation; I told him no; that I could endure the cutting associated with the operation as well without, and I did so; indeed, so great was the pain I endured that the cutting was rather a relief than otherwise. A very laughable incident occurred at the time; my wife Leonora went into an adjoining room to pray for me, that I might be sustained during the operation. While on her knees at prayer, a Mrs. Bedell, an old lady of the Methodist association, entered, and, patting Mrs. Taylor on her back with her hand, said, "There's a good lady, pray for God to forgive your sins, pray that you may be converted, and the Lord may have mercy on your soul." The scene was so ludicrous that Mrs. Taylor knew not whether to laugh or be angry. Mrs. Taylor informed me that Mr. Hamilton, the father of the Hamilton who kept the house, rejoiced at the murder, and said in company that "it was done up in the best possible style, and showed good generalship;" and she further believed that the other branches of the family sanctioned it. These were the associates of the old lady referred to, and yet she could talk of conversion and saving souls in the midst of blood and murder: such is man and such consistency. The ball being extracted was the one that first struck me, which I before referred to: it entered on the outside of my left thigh, about five inches from my knee, and, passing rather obliquely towards my body, had, it would seem, struck the bone, for it was flatted out nearly as thin and large as a quarter of a dollar. The governor passed on, staying at Carthage only a few minutes, and he did not stop until he got fifty miles from Nauvoo. There had been various opinions about the complicity of the governor in the murder, some supposing that he knew all about it, and assisted or winked at its execution. It is somewhat difficult to form a correct opinion; from the facts presented it is very certain that things looked more than suspicious against him. In the first place, he positively knew that we had broken no law. Secondly. He knew that the mob had not only passed inflammatory resolutions, threatening extermination to the Mormons, but that they had actually assembled armed mobs and commenced hostilities against us. Thirdly. He took those very mobs that had been arrayed against us, and enrolled them as his troops, thus legalizing their acts. Fourthly. He disbanded the Nauvoo Legion, which had never violated law, and disarmed them, and had about his person in the shape of militia known mobocrats and violators of the law. Fifthly. He requested us to come to Carthage without arms, promising protection, and then refused to interfere in delivering us from prison, although Joseph and Hyrum were put there contrary to law. Sixthly. Although he refused to interfere in our behalf, yet, when Captain Smith went to him and informed him that the persons refused to come out, he told him that he had a command and knew what to do, thus sanctioning the use of force in the violation of law when opposed to us, whereas he would not for us interpose his executive authority to free us from being incarcerated contrary to law, although he was fully informed of all the facts of the case, as we kept him posted in the affairs all the time. Seventhly. He left the prisoners in Carthage jail contrary to his plighted faith. Eightly. Before he went he dismissed all the troops that could be relied upon, as well as many of the mob, and left us in charge of the "Carthage Grays," a company that he knew were mobocratic, our most bitter enemies, and who had passed resolutions to exterminate us, and who had been placed under guard by General Demming only the day before. Ninthly. He was informed of the intended murder, both before he left and while on the road, by several different parties. Tenthly. When the cannon was fired in Carthage, signifying that the deed was done, he immediately took up his line of march and fled. How did he know that this signal portrayed their death if he was not in the secret? It may be said some of the party told him. How could he believe what the party said about the gun signal if he could not believe the testimony of several individuals who told him in positive terms about the contemplated murder? He has, I believe, stated that he left the "Carthage Grays" there because he considered that, as their town was contiguous to ours, and as the responsibility of our safety rested solely upon them, they would not dare suffer any indignity to befall us. This very admission shows that he did really expect danger; and then he knew that these people had published to the world that they would exterminate us, and his leaving us in their hands and taking of their responsibilities was like leaving a lamb in charge of a wolf, and trusting to its humanity and honor for its safe-keeping. It is said, again that he would not have gone to Nauvoo, and thus placed himself in the hands of the Mormons, if he had anticipated any such event, as he would be exposed to their wrath. To this it may be answered that the Mormons did not know their signals, while he did; and they were also known in Warsaw, as well as in other places; and as soon as the gun was fired, a merchant of Warsaw jumped upon his horse and rode directly to Quincy, and reported "Joseph and Hyrum killed, and those who were with them in jail." He reported further that "they were attempting to break jail, and were all killed by the guard." This was their story; it was anticipated to kill all, and the gun was to be the signal that the deed was accomplished. This was known in Warsaw. The governor also knew it and fled; and he could really be in no danger in Nauvoo, for the Mormons did not know it, and he had plenty of time to escape, which he did. It is said that he made all his officers promise solemnly that they would help him to protect the Smiths; this may or may not be. At any rate, some of these same officers helped to murder them. The strongest argument in the governor's favor, and one that would bear more weight with us than all the rest put together, would be that he could not believe them capable of such atrocity; and, thinking that their talk and threatenings were a mere ebullition of feeling, a kind of braggadocio, and that there was enough of good moral feeling to control the more violent passions, he trusted to their faith. There is, indeed, a degree of plausibility about this, but when we put it in juxtaposition to the amount of evidence that he was in possession of, it weighs very little. He had nothing to inspire confidence in them, and everything to make him mistrust them. Besides, why his broken faith? why his disregard of what was told him by several parties? Again, if he knew not the plan, how did he understand the signal? Why so oblivious to everything pertaining to the Mormon interest, and so alive and interested about the mobocrats? At any rate, be this as it may, he stands responsible for their blood, and it is dripping on his garments. If it had not been for his promises of protection, they would have protected themselves; it was plighted faith that led them to the slaughter; and to make the best of it, it was a breach of that faith and a non-fulfillment of that promise, after repeated warning, that led to their death. Having said so much, I must leave the governor with my readers and with his God. Justice, I conceive, demanded this much, and truth could not be told with less; as I have said before, my opinion is that the governor would not have planned this murder, but he had not sufficient energy to resist popular opinion, even if that opinion led to blood and death. It was rumored that a strong political party, numbering in its ranks many of the prominent men of the nation, were engaged in a plot for the overthrow of Joseph Smith, and that the governor was of this party, and Sharp, Williams, Captain Smith, and others were his accomplices, but whether this was the case or not I do not know. It is very certain that a strong political feeling existed against Joseph Smith, and I have reason to believe that his letters to Henry Clay, were made use of by political parties opposed to Mr. Clay, and were the means of that statesman's defeat. Yet, if such a combination as the one referred to existed, I am not apprised of it. While I lay at Carthage, previous to Mrs. Taylor's arrival, a pretty good sort of a man, who was lame of a leg, waited upon me, and sat up at night with me; afterwards Mrs. Taylor, mother and others waited upon me. Many friends called upon me, among whom were Richard Ballantyne, Elizabeth Taylor, several of the Perkins family, and a number of the brethren from Macedonia and La Harpe. Besides these, many strangers from Quincy, some of whom expressed indignant feelings against the mob and sympathy for myself. Brother Alexander Williams called upon me, who suspected that they had some designs in keeping me there, and stated that he had, at a given point in some woods, fifty men, and if I would say the word he would raise other fifty, and fetch me out of there. I thanked him, but told him I thought there was no need. However, it would seem that I was in some danger; for Colonel Jones, before referred to, when absent from me, left two loaded pistols on the table in case of an attack, and some time afterward, when I had recovered and was publishing the affair, a lawyer, Mr. Backman, stated that he had prevented a man by the name of Jackson, before referred to, from ascending the stairs, who was coming with a design to murder me, and that now he was sorry he had not let him do the deed. There were others also, of whom I heard, that said I ought to be killed, and they would do it, but that it was too damned cowardly to shoot a wounded man; and thus, by the chivalry of murderers, I was prevented from being a second time mutilated or killed. Many of the mob, came around and treated me with apparent respect, and the officers and people generally looked upon me as a hostage, and feared that my removal would be the signal for the rising of the Mormons. I do not remember the time that I stayed at Carthage, but I think three or four days after the murder, when Brother Marks with a carriage, Brother James Allred with a wagon, Dr. Ells, and a number of others on horseback, came for the purpose of taking me to Nauvoo. I was very weak at the time, occasioned by the loss of blood and the great discharge of my wounds, so when my wife asked me if I could talk I could barely whisper, no. Quite a discussion arose as to the propriety of my removal, the physician and people of Carthage protesting that it would be my death, while my friends were anxious for my removal if possible. I suppose the former were actuated by the above-named desire to keep me. Colonel Jones was, I believe, sincere; he had acted as a friend all the time, and he told Mrs. Taylor she ought to persuade me not to go, for he did not believe I had strength enough to reach Nauvoo. It was finally agreed, however, that I should go; but it was thought that I could not stand riding in a wagon or carriage, they prepared a litter for me; I was carried down stairs and put upon it. A number of men assisted to carry me, some of whom had been engaged in the mob. As soon as I got down stairs, I felt much better and strengthened, so that I could talk; I suppose the effect of the fresh air. When we got near the outside of the town I remembered some woods that we had to go through, and telling a person near to call for Dr. Ells, who was riding a very good horse, I said, "Doctor, I perceive that the people are getting fatigued with carrying me; a number of Mormons live about two or three miles from here, near our route, will you ride to their settlement as quick as possible, and have them come and meet us?" He started off on a gallop immediately. My object in this was to obtain protection in case of an attack, rather than to obtain help to carry me. Very soon after the men from Carthage made one excuse after another until they had all left, and I felt glad to get rid of them. I found that the tramping of those carrying me produced violent pain, and a sleigh was produced and attached to the hind end of Brother James Allred's wagon, a bed placed upon it, and I propped up on the bed. Mrs. Taylor rode with me, applying ice and ice-water to my wounds. As the sleigh was dragged over the grass on the prairie, which was quite tall, it moved very easy and gave me very little pain. When I got within five or six miles of Nauvoo the brethren commenced to meet me from the city, and they increased in number as we drew nearer, until there was a very large company of people of all ages and both sexes, principally, however, men. For some time there had been almost incessant rain, so that in many low places on the prairie it was from one to three feet deep in water, and at such places the brethren whom we met took hold of the sleigh, lifted it, and carried it over the water; and when we arrived in the neighborhood of the city, where the roads were excessively muddy and bad, the brethren tore down the fences, and we passed through the fields. Never shall I forget the difference of feeling that I experienced between the place that I had left and the one that I had now arrived at. I had left a lot of reckless, bloodthirsty murderers, and had come to the City of the Saints, the people of the living God; friends of truth and righteousness, thousands of whom stood there with warm, true hearts to offer their friendship and services, and to welcome my return. It is true it was a painful scene, and brought sorrowful remembrance to mind, but to me it caused a thrill of joy to find myself once more in the bosom of my friends, and to meet with the cordial welcome of true, honest hearts. What was very remarkable, I found myself very much better after my arrival at Nauvoo than I was when I started on my journey, although I had travelled eighteen miles. The next day as some change was wanting, I told Mrs. Taylor that if she could send to Dr. Richards, he had my purse and watch, and they would find money in my purse. Previous to the doctor leaving Carthage, I told him that he had better take my purse and watch, for I was afraid the people would steal them. The doctor had taken my pantaloons' pocket, and put the watch in it with the purse, cut off the pocket, and tied a string around the top; it was in this position when brought home. My family, however, were not a little startled to find that my watch had been struck with a ball. I sent for my vest, and, upon examination, it was found that there was a cut as if with a knife, in the vest pocket which had contained my watch. In the pocket the fragments of the glass were found literally ground to powder. It then occurred to me that a ball had struck me at the time I felt myself falling out of the window, and that it was this force that threw me inside. I had often remarked to Mrs. Taylor the singular fact of finding myself inside the room, when I felt a moment before after being shot, that I was falling out, and I never could account for it until then; but here the thing was fully elucidated, and was rendered plain to my mind. I was indeed falling out, when some villain aimed at my heart. The ball struck my watch, and forced me back; if I had fallen out I should assuredly have been killed, if not by the fall, by those around, and this ball intended to dispatch me, was turned by an overruling Providence into a messenger of mercy, and saved my life. I shall never forget the feelings of gratitude that I then experienced towards my Heavenly Father; the whole scene was vividly portrayed before me, and my heart melted before the Lord. I felt that the Lord had preserved me by a special act of mercy; that my time had not yet come, and that I had still a work to perform upon the earth. (Signed), JOHN TAYLOR. Footnotes 1. See his remarks as contained in his History of Illinois, page 269. 2. Ford's History of Illinois, page 246. 3. _Deseret News_, No. 29, Sept. 23, 1857, p. 226. 4. Ford's History of Illinois, page 330, 331. 5. _Deseret News_, No. 30, September 30, 1857, page 233. 6. Ford's History of Illinois, page 333. 7. The _Deseret News_ gives the following account of Joseph and Hyrum Smith's passing through the troops in Carthage: "CARTHAGE, June 25, 1844. "Quarter past nine. The governor came and invited Joseph to walk with him through the troops. Joseph solicited a few moments' private conversation with him, which the governor refused. "While refusing, the governor looked down at his shoes, as though he was ashamed. They then walked through the crowd, with Brigadier General Miner R. Demming, and Dr. Richards, to General Demming's quarters. The people appeared quiet until a company of Carthage Grays flocked round the doors of General Demming in an uproarious manner, of which notice was sent to the governor. In the meantime the governor had ordered the McDonough troops to be drawn up in line, for Joseph and Hyrum to pass in front of them, they having requested that they might have a clear view of the General Smiths. _Joseph had a conversation with the governor for about ten minutes, when he again pledged the faith of the State that he and his friends should be protected from violence_. "Robinson, the postmaster, said, on report of martial law being proclaimed in Nauvoo, he had stopped the mail, and notified the postmaster general of the state of things in Hancock County. "From the general's quarters Joseph and Hyrum went in front of the lines, in a hollow square of a company of Carthage Grays. At seven minutes before ten they arrived in front of the lines, and passed before the whole, Joseph being on the right of General Demming and Hyrum on his left, Elders Richards, Taylor and Phelps following. Joseph and Hyrum were introduced by Governor Ford about twenty times along the line as General Joseph Smith and General Hyrum Smith, the governor walking in front on the left. The Carthage Grays refused to receive them by that introduction, and some of the officers threw up their hats, drew their swords, and said they would introduce themselves to the damned Mormons in a different style. The governor mildly entreated them not to act so rudely, but their excitement increased; the governor, however, succeeded in pacifying them by making a speech, and promising them that they should have 'full satisfaction.' General Smith and party returned to their lodgings at five minutes past ten."--_Deseret News, No. 35, Nov. 4, 1857, page 274_. 8. _Deseret News_, No. 38, Nov. 25, 1857, p. 297. 
59617	----	by The Internet Archive. Transcriber Note Text emphasis denoted by _Italics_. WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING [Illustration: "'Toinette!' I whispered, 'I would call you by a dearer name than that!'" [Page 386]] [Illustration] WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING A Tale of the Illinois Country By RANDALL PARRISH _With six pictures in full color and other decorations by Troy and Margaret West Kinney_ [Illustration] Third Edition Chicago A. C. McClurg & Co. 1904 [Illustration] Copyright By A. C. McClurg & Co. 1904 Published March 36, 1904 Second Edition, April 20, 1904 Third Edition, July 2, 1904 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London All Rights Reserved University Press John Wilson and Son Cambridge. U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A Message from the West 1 II. The Call of Duty 9 III. A New Acquaintance 19 IV. Captain Wells of Fort Wayne 33 V. Through the Heart of the Forest 41 VI. From: the Jaws of Death 54 VII. A Circle in the Sand 66 VIII. Two Men and a Maid 77 IX. In Sight of the Flag 86 X. A Lane of Peril 95 XI. Old Fort Dearborn 105 XII. The Heart of a Woman 119 XIII. A Wager of Fools 133 XIV. Darkness and Surprise 141 XV. An Adventure Underground 150 XVI. "France wins, Monsieur!" 161 XVII. A Contest of Wits 171 XVIII. Glimpses of Danger 182 XIX. A Conference and a Resolve 191 XX. In the Indian Camp 201 XXI. A Council of Chiefs 212 XXII. The Last Night at Dearborn 224 XXIII. The Death-Shadow of the Miamis 236 XXIV. The Day of Doom 248 XXV. In the Jaws of the Tiger 261 XXVI. The Field of the Dead 269 XXVII. A Ghostly Vision 278 XXVIII. An Angel in the Wilderness 292 XXIX. A Soldier of France 306 XXX. The Rescue at the Stake 314 XXXI. A Search, and its Reward 325 XXXII. The Pledge of a Wyandot 337 XXXIII. An Intervention of Fate 347 XXXIV. A Stumble in the Dark 358 XXXV. The Battle on the Shore 368 XXXVI. In the New Gray Dawn 378 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "'Toinette!' I whispered, 'I would call you by a dearer name than that!'" Frontispiece "The obsequious darkey was deliberately combing out his long hair" Facing page 56 "There was a rustle of paper, and Heald read slowly: 'Evacuate the post if practicable'" 192 "She had reined her horse back against a wheel of the halted wagon" 268 "'You shall not torture this man--he is a soldier of France!'" 313 "'Don't, John! The savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe'" 338 "I saw a dot upon the map, and a housefly's filmy wing-- They said 'twas Dearborn's picket-flag, when Wilderness was King. * * * * * I heard the block-house gates unbar, the column's solemn tread, I saw the Tree of a single leaf its splendid foliage shed To wave awhile that August morn above the column's head; I heard the moan of muffled drum, the woman's wail of fife, The Dead March played for Dearborn's men just marching out of life; The swooping of the savage cloud that burst upon the rank And struck it with its thunderbolt in forehead and in flank, The spatter of the musket-shot, the rifles' whistling rain,-- The sandhills drift round hope forlorn that never marched again." --_Benjamin F. Taylor._ When Wilderness Was King CHAPTER I A MESSAGE FROM THE WEST Surely it was no longer ago than yesterday. I had left the scythe lying at the edge of the long grass, and gone up through the rows of nodding Indian corn to the house, seeking a draught of cool water from the spring. It was hot in the July sunshine; the thick forest on every side intercepted the breeze, and I had been at work for some hours. How pleasant and inviting the little river looked in the shade of the great trees, while, as I paused a moment bending over the high bank, I could see a lazy pike nosing about among the twisted roots below. My mother, her sleeves rolled high over her round white arms, was in the dark interior of the milk-house as I passed, and spoke to me laughingly; and I could perceive my father sitting in his great splint-bottomed chair just within the front doorway, and I marked how the slight current of air toyed with his long gray beard. The old Bible lay wide open upon his knee; yet his eyes were resting upon the dark green of the woods that skirted our clearing. I wondered, as I quaffed the cool sweet water at the spring, if he was dreaming again of those old days when he had been a man among men. How distinct in each detail the memory of it remains! The blue sky held but one fleecy white cloud in all its wide arch; it seemed as if the curling film of smoke rising from our chimney had but gathered there and hung suspended to render the azure more pronounced. A robin peeked impudently at me from an oak limb, and a roguish gray squirrel chattered along the low ridge-pole, with seeming willingness to make friends, until Rover, suddenly spying me, sprang hastily around the corner of the house to lick my hand, with glad barkings and a frantic effort to wave the stub of his poor old tail. It was such a homely, quiet scene, there in the heart of the backwoods, one I had known unchanged so long, that I little dreamed it was soon to witness the turning over of a page of destiny in my life, that almost from that hour I was to sever every relation of the past, and be sent forth to buffet with the rough world alone. There were no roads, in those days, along that valley of the upper Maumee,--merely faint bridle-paths, following ancient Indian trails through dense woods or across narrow strips of prairie-land; yet as I hung the gourd back on its wooden peg, and lifted my eyes carelessly to the northward, I saw a horseman riding slowly toward the house along the river bank. There were flying rumors of coming Indian outbreaks along the fringe of border settlements; but my young eyes were keen, and after the first quick thrill of suspicion I knew the approaching stranger to be of white blood, although his apparel was scarcely less uncivilized than that of the savage. Yet so unusual were visitors, that I grasped a gun from its pegs in the kitchen, and called warningly to my mother as I passed on to meet the new-comer. He was a very large and powerful man, with a matted black beard and an extremely prominent nose. A long rifle was slung at his back, and the heavy bay horse he bestrode bore unmistakable signs of hard travelling. As he approached, Rover, spying him, sprang out savagely; but I caught and held him with firm grip, for to strangers he was ever a surly brute. "Is this yere Major Wayland's place?" the man questioned, in a deep, gruff voice, reining in his tired horse, and carelessly flinging one booted foot across the animal's neck as he faced me. "Yes," I responded with caution, for we were somewhat suspicious of stray travellers in those days, and the man's features were not pleasing. "The Major lives here, and I am his son." He looked at me intently, some curiosity apparent in his eyes, as he deliberately drew a folded paper from his belt. "No? Be ye the lad what downed Bud Eberly at the meetin' over on the Cow-skin las' spring?" he questioned, with faintly aroused interest. I blushed like a school-girl, for this unexpected reference was not wholly to my liking, though the man's intentions were evidently most kind. "He bullied me until I could take no more," I answered, doubtfully; "yet I hurt him more seriously than I meant." He laughed at the trace of apology in my words. "Lord!" he ejaculated, "don't ever let that worry ye, boy. The hull settlement is mighty glad 'twas done. Old Hawkins bin on the p'int o' doin' it himself a dozen o' times. Told me so. Ye're quite a lad, ain't ye? Weigh all o' hundred an' seventy, I'll bet; an' strong as an ox. How old be ye, anyhow?" "Twenty," I answered, not a little mollified by his manner. "You must live near here, then?" "Wal, no, but been sorter neighbor o' yourn fer a month er so back; stoppin' up at Hawkins's shebang, at the ford, on the Military Road, visitin'; but guess I never met up with none o' your folks afore. My name's Burns, Ol' Tom Burns, late o' Connecticut. A sojer from out West left this yere letter fer yer father at Hawkins's place more nor a week ago. Said as how it was mighty important; but blamed if this wasn't the fust chance he's hed to git it over yere sence. I told him I'd fetch it, as it wasn't more nor a dozen miles er so outer my way." He held out a square paper packet; and while I turned it over curiously in my hand,--the first letter I had ever seen,--he took some loose tobacco from an outside pocket and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe. My mother rolled my father's chair forward into the open doorway, and stood close behind him, as was her custom, one arm resting lightly upon the quaintly carved chair-back. "What is it, John?" she questioned gently. Instantly aroused by her voice, I crossed quickly over and placed the packet in my father's thin hands. He turned it over twice before he opened it, looking at the odd seal, and reading the superscription carefully aloud, as if fearful there might be some mistake: "Major David Wayland, Along the Upper Maumee. Leave at Hawkins Ford "Important. on Military Road." I can see him yet as he read it, slowly feeling his way through the rude, uneven writing, with my mother leaning over his shoulder and helping him, her rosy cheeks and dark tresses making strange contrast beside his pain-racked features and iron-gray hair. "Read it aloud, Mary," he said at last. "I shall understand it better. 'Tis from Roger Matherson, of whom you have heard me speak." My mother was a good scholar, and she read clearly, only hesitating now and then over some ill-written or misspelled word. At Fort Dearborn, near the head of the Great Lake. Twelfth June, 1812. My Dear Old Friend: I have come to the end of life; they tell me it will be all over by the morrow, and there remains but one thing that greatly troubles me--my little girl, my Elsa. You know I have never much feared death, nor do I in this hour when I face it once more; for I have ever tried to honor God and do my duty as both man and soldier. David, I can scarcely write, for my mind wanders strangely, and my fingers will but barely grasp the pen. 'Tis not the grip of the old sword-hand you knew so well, for I am already very weak, and dying. But do you yet remember the day I drew you out of the rout at Saratoga, and bore you away safely, though the Hessians shot me twice? God knows, old friend, I never thought to remind you of the act,--'twas no more than any comrade would have done,--yet I am here among strangers, and there is no one else living to whom I may turn in my need. David, in memory of it, will you not give my little orphan child a home? Your old comrade, upon his death-bed, begs this of you with his final breath. She is all alone here, save for me, and there is no blood kin in all the world to whom I may appeal. I shall leave some property, but not much. As you love your own, I pray you be merciful in this hour to my little girl. Your old comrade, Roger Matherson. This had been endorsed by another and bolder hand: Captain Roger Matherson, late of the Massachusetts Continental Line, died at this fort, of fever, fourteenth June, 1812. His daughter is being cared for by the ladies of the garrison. Nathan Heald, Capt. First Regt. Inf., Commanding. The tears were clinging to my mother's long lashes as she finished the reading; she was ever tender of heart and sympathetic with sorrow. My father sat in silence, looking far off at the green woods. Presently he took the paper again into his hands, folded it carefully in the old creases, and placed it safely away between the Bible leaves. I saw my mother's fingers steal along the arm of the chair until they closed softly over his. "The poor little lamb!" she said gently. My father's old sword hung over the fireplace, and I saw his glance wander toward it, as something seemed to rise choking in his throat. He was always a man who felt deeply, yet said but little; and we both knew he was thinking about the old days and the strong ties of comradeship. The stranger struck flint and steel to light his pipe; the act instantly recalled my father to the demands of hospitality. "Friend," he said, speaking firmly, "hitch to the stump yonder, and come in. You have brought me sad news enough, yet are no less welcome, and must break bread at our board. John," and he turned toward me, "see to friend Burns's horse, and help your mother to prepare the dinner." Out in the rude shed, which answered as a kitchen during summer weather, I ventured to ask: "Mother, do you suppose he will take the little girl?" "I hope so, John," she answered, soberly; "but your father must decide himself. He will not tell us until he has thought it all out alone." CHAPTER II THE CALL OF DUTY It was upon my mind all through that long afternoon, as I swung the scythe in the meadow grass. I saw Burns ride away up the river trail soon after I returned to work, and wondered if he bore with him any message from my father. It was like a romance to me, to whom so few important things had ever happened. In some way, the coming of this letter out of the great unknown had lifted me above the narrow life of the clearing. My world had always been so small, such a petty and restricted circle, that this new interest coming within its horizon had widened it wonderfully. I had grown up on the border, isolated from what men term civilization; and I could justly claim to know chiefly those secrets which the frontier teaches its children. My only remembrance of a different mode of life centred about the ragged streets of a small New England village, where I had lived in earlier childhood. Ever since, we had been in the depths of the backwoods; and after my father's accident I became the one upon whom the heavier part of the work fell. I had truly thrived upon it. In my hunting-trips, during the dull seasons, I learned many a trick of the forest, and had already borne rifle twice when the widely scattered settlements were called to arms by Indian forays. There were no schools in that country; indeed, our nearest neighbor was ten miles distant as the crow flies. But my mother had taught me, with much love and patience, from her old treasured school-books; and this, with other lore from the few choice volumes my father clung to through his wanderings, gave me much to ponder over. I still remember the evenings when he read to us gravely out of his old Shakespeare, dwelling tenderly upon passages he loved. And he instructed me in other things,--in honor and manliness, in woodcraft, and many a pretty thing at arms, until no lad in the settlements around could outdo me in rough border sport. I loved to hear him, of a boisterous winter night,--he spoke of such matters but seldom,--tell about his army life, the men he had fought beside and loved, the daring deeds born of his younger blood. In that way he had sometimes mentioned this Roger Matherson; and it was like a blow to me now to hear of his death. I wondered what the little girl would be like; and my heart went out to her in her loneliness. Scarcely realizing it, I was lonely also. "Has he spoken yet?" I questioned anxiously of my mother, as I came up to the open kitchen door when the evening chores were done. "No, John," she answered, "he has been sitting there silently looking out at the woods ever since the man left. He is thinking, dear, and we must not worry him." The supper-table had been cleared away, and Seth, the hired man, had crept up the creaking ladder to his bed under the eaves, before my father spoke. We were all three together in the room, and I had drawn his chair forward, as was my custom, where the candle-light flickered upon his face. I knew by the look of calm resolve in his gray eyes that a decision had been reached. "Mary," he began gravely, "and you, John, we must talk together of this new duty which has just come to us. I hardly know what to decide, for we are so poor and I am now so helpless; yet I have prayed earnestly for guidance, and can but think it must be God's will that we care for this poor orphan child of my old friend." My mother crossed the room to him, and bent down until her soft cheek touched his lips. "I knew you would, David," she whispered, in the tender way she had, her hand pressing back his short gray hair. "She shall ever be unto us as our own little girl,--the one we lost come back to us again." My father bent his head wearily upon one hand, his eyes upon the candle flame, his other hand patting her fingers. "It must be all of ten years," he said slowly, "since last I had word of Roger Matherson. He was in Canada then, yet has never since been long out of my mind. He saved my life, not once alone, as he would seem to remember, but three separate times in battle. We were children together in the blue Berkshire hills, and during all our younger manhood were more than brothers. His little one shall henceforth be as my own child. God hath given her unto us, Mary, as truly as if she had been born of our love. I knew that Roger had married, yet heard nothing of the birth of the child or the loss of his wife. However, from this hour the orphan is to be our own; and we must now decide upon some safe means of bringing her here without delay." He paused. No one of us spoke. His glance slowly wandered from the candle flame, until it settled gravely upon my face as I sat resting on a rude bench fitted into the chimney corner. He looked so intently at me that my mother seemed instantly to interpret his thought. "Oh, surely not that, David?" she exclaimed, pleadingly. "Not John?" "I know of no other fit messenger, little woman," he answered soberly. "It has indeed troubled me far more than all the rest, to decide on this; yet there is no one else whom I think equal to the task. John is a good boy, mother, and has sufficient experience in woodcraft to make the journey." "But the savages!" she insisted. "'Tis said we are upon the verge of a fresh outbreak, stirred up by this new war with England, that may involve the settlements at any time. You know Burns told you just now,--and he is an old scout, familiar with the West,--that British agents were active along the whole border, and there was great uneasiness among the Indian tribes." "There is serious promise of danger, 'tis true," he admitted, a flash of the old fire in his eyes. "Yet that is scarce likely to halt David Wayland's son. Indeed, it is the greater reason why this helpless orphan child should be early brought to our protection. Think of the defenceless little girl exposed alone to such danger! Nor have we means of judging, Mary, of the real seriousness of the situation to the north and west. War between the nations may very likely arouse the spirit of the savages, yet rumors of Indian outbreak are always on the lips of the settlers. Burns himself was upon his return westward, and did not seem greatly troubled lest he fail to get through. He claimed to live at Chicagou Portage, wherever that may be. I only know it is the extreme frontier." My mother did not answer; and now I spoke, my cheeks aflame with eagerness. "Do you truly mean, sir, that I am to go in search of the little girl?" I asked, barely trusting my own ears. "Yes, John," my father replied gravely, motioning me to draw closer to his chair. "This is a duty which has fallen to you as well as to your mother and me. We can, indeed, but poorly spare you from the work at this season; yet Seth will be able to look after the more urgent needs of the farm while you are absent, while he would prove quite useless on such a mission as this. Do not worry, Mary. Friend Burns is well acquainted with all that western country, and he tells me there is scarcely a week that parties of soldiers, or friendly Indians, do not pass along the trail, and that by waiting at Hawkins's place for a few days John will be sure to find some one with whom he may companion on the long journey westward. He would himself have accompanied him, but must first bear a message to friends at Vincennes. It is now some weeks since Roger Matherson died, and we shall prove unworthy of our trust if we delay longer in sending for his daughter." Though my mother was a western woman, patient and long habituated to sacrifice and peril, still her eyes, fixed upon my face, were filled with tears, and the color had deserted her cheeks. "I know not why it should be so, David," she urged softly; "but in my heart I greatly fear this trip for John. Yet you have ever found me ready to yield wherever it seemed best, and I doubt not you are right in your decision." At any other time I should have gone to her with words of comfort and good cheer; but now my ambition was so aroused by this impending adventure as to permit me to think of nothing else. "Is it so very far, father, to where I must go?" I questioned, eagerly. "Where is this Fort Dearborn, and how am I to journey in reaching there? 'Tis no garrison of which I have ever heard." "Bring me the map your mother made of this country, and the regions to the westward," he said. "I am not over clear in regard to the matter myself, although friend Burns, who claims to know all that country, gave me some brief description; but I found him most chary of speech." I got the map out of the great square cupboard in the corner, and spread the paper flat upon the table, placing knives at each corner to hold it open. I rolled his chair up before it, and the three of us bent our heads over the map together, our faces glowing in the candle flame. It was a copy made by a quill from a great government map my mother had seen somewhere in her journeying westward; and, though only a rude design, it was not badly done, and was sufficiently accurate for our purpose. Much of it was still blank; yet the main open trails had been traced with care, the principal fords over the larger streams were marked, and the various government posts and trading settlements distinctly located and named. Searching for the head of the Great Lake, we were not long in discovering the position of the fort called Dearborn, which seemingly was posted upon the western shore, nearly opposite another garrison point at the mouth of the St. Joseph river. We were able to trace with clearness the military road that had been constructed northward from Fort Wayne, our nearest government post; but the map failed to exhibit evidence of any beaten track, or used trail, leading westward and around the head of the lake. There were numerous irregular lines which denoted unnamed streams, but by far the larger portion of the territory extending to the west beyond Fort Wayne had been simply designated as "forest land" and "unexplored." "Friend Burns tells me there is a trail used by both troops and savages, which he has traversed several times," my father explained, as he lifted his eyes from the map; "but it is not over plain, nor easily followed, as communication with the Fort is mostly maintained by means of the waterways to the northward. The overland journey, however, will prove speedier, besides being less liable to disaster for one unaccustomed to boats. How soon can John be ready, mother?" Her voice trembled, and I felt the pressure of her hand upon my sleeve. "It will take all of the morrow, David, to prepare his clothing properly," she replied, with the patient resignation of the frontier. "There is much that will need seeing after." "Then John will start the next dawn. You had best ride the brown colt, my son; he is of good breed, and speedy. Seth shall accompany you until you find suitable companionship at Hawkins's. He will bring back word of how you started, and that knowledge will greatly comfort your mother." He paused, and held out his thin hands. "You go upon this strange journey willingly, my son?" "Yes, father." "You will be both kind and thoughtful with Roger Matherson's little girl?" "She shall be to me as my own sister." I felt the confiding clasp of his fingers, and realized how much to him would be a successful termination of my journey. "Kiss your mother, John," he said, a trustful look coming into his kindly eyes. "We must all be astir early on the morrow." Beneath the rived shingles of my little room, under the sloping roof, how I turned and tossed through those long night hours! What visions, both asleep and awake, came to me, thronging fast upon my heated brain, each more marvellous than its fellow, and all alike pointing toward that strange country which I was now destined by fate to travel! Vague tales of wonder and mystery had come floating to me out of that unknown West, and now I was to behold it all with my own eyes. But marvellous as were my dreams, the reality was to be even more amazing than these pictures of boyish imagination. Had I known the truth that night, I doubt greatly whether I should have had the courage to face it. At last the gray dawn came, stealing in at the only window, and found me eager for the trial. CHAPTER III A NEW ACQUAINTANCE I drew rein upon the upper river bank, before we finally plunged into the dark woods beyond, and glanced back. I had to brush the gathering tears from my eyes before I could see clearly; and when I finally rode away, the picture of that dear old home was fixed in my memory forever. Our house stood near the centre of an oak opening,--a little patch of native prairie-land, with a narrow stream skirting it on one side, and a dense fringe of forest all about. The small story-and-a-half cabin of hewn logs, with its lean-to of rough hand-riven planks, fronted to the southward; and the northern expanse of roof was green with moss. My father sat in the open doorway, his uplifted hand shading his eyes as he gazed after us; while my mother stood by his side, one arm resting upon the back of his chair, the other extended, waving a white cloth in farewell. Rover was without, where I had bidden him remain, eagerly watching for some signal of relenting upon my part. Beyond stood the rude out-buildings, silhouetted against the deep green. It was a homely, simple scene,--yet till now it had been all the world to me. With a final wave of the hand, I moved forward, until the intervening trees, like the falling of a curtain, hid it all from view. Seth was astride the old mare, riding bareback, his white goat-like beard hanging down his breast until it mingled with her mane, while his long thin legs were drawn up in the awkward way he had. He was a strange, silent, gloomy man, as austere as his native hills; and we rode on with no exchange of speech. Indeed, my thoughts were of a nature that I had no wish to share with another; so it was some time before the depth of loneliness which oppressed my spirits enabled me to feel even passing interest in the things at hand. "I'd hate like thunder ter be a-goin' on your trip, Maester John," volunteered Seth at last, solemnly turning on the mare's broad back to face me. "And why?" I asked, wonderingly; for the man's rare gift of silence had won him a certain reputation for deep, occult knowledge which I could not wholly ignore. "It will bring me the sight of some wonderful country, no doubt." His shrewd gimlet eyes seemed fairly to pierce me, as he deliberately helped himself to tobacco from a pouch at his waist. "Wal, that may all be, Maester John; but I've heerd tell ther is some most awful things goes on out yonder," and he swung his long arm meaningly toward the west. "Animyles sich as don't prowl raound yere, man-yeatin' snakes as big as thet tree, an' the blood-thirstiest salvages as ever was. An' arter a while ther ain't no more trees grows, ther Ian' is thet poor, by gosh! jist a plumb dead levil er' short grass, an' no show ter hide ner nuthin'." "Were you ever there, Seth?" I questioned with growing anxiety, for I had heard some such vague rumors as these before. "Me? Not by a dinged sight!" he replied, emphatically. "This yere is a long way further west thin I keer 'bout bein'. Ol' Vermont is plenty good 'nough fer this chicken, an' many's ther day I wish I was back ther. But I hed a cousin onct who tuk ter sojerin' 'long with Gineral Clarke, an' went 'cross them ther prairies ter git Vincennes frum the British. Lor'! it must a' bin more ner thirty year ago! He tol' me thet they jist hed ter wade up ter ther neck in water fer days an' days. I ain't so durn fond o' water as all thet. An' he said as how rattlesnakes was everywhere; an' ther Injuns was mos' twice es big es they be yere." "But Clarke, and nearly all of his men, got back safely," I protested. "Oh, I guess some on 'em got back, 'cause they was an awful lot in thet army, mighty nigh two thousand on 'em, Ephriam said; but, I tell ye, they hed a most terrible tough time afore they did git hum. I seed my cousin whin he kim back, an' he was jist a mere shadder; though he was bigger ner you whin he went 'way." "But Fort Dearborn is much farther to the north. Perhaps it will be better up there." "Wuss," he insisted, with a most mournful shake of the head, "a dinged sight wuss. Ephriam said es how the further north ye wint, the tougher it got. He saw an Injun from up near the big lake--a Pottamottamie, or somethin' like thet--what was nine fut high, an' he told him es how the rivers in his kintry was all full o' man-eatin' critters like snakes, an' some on 'em hed a hundred legs ter crawl with, an' cud travel a dinged sight faster ner a hoss. By gosh! but you bet I don't want none on it. Your father must 'a' been plum crazy fer ter sind ye way out ther all 'lone,--jist a green boy like you. What ye a-goin' fer, enyhow?" I explained to him the occasion and necessity for my trip, but he shook his head dubiously, his long face so exceedingly mournful that I could not remain unaffected by it. "Wal," he said at length, carefully weighing his words, "maybe it's all right 'nough, but I've got my doubts jist the same. I'll bet thet ther gal is jist one o' them will-o'-the-wisps we hear on, an' you never will find her. You'll jist wander 'round, huntin' an' huntin' her, till ye git old, or them monsters git ye. An' I'll be blamed if ever I heerd tell o' no sich fort as thet, nohow." Seth was certainly proving a Job's comforter; and I was already sufficiently troubled about the final outcome of my adventure. Hence my only hope of retaining any measure of courage was to discountenance further conversation, and we continued to jog along in silence, although I caught him looking at me several times in a manner that expressed volumes. We camped that night in the dense heart of some oak woods, beside a pleasant stream of clear, cool water. Late the following evening, just as the sun was disappearing behind the trees, our wearied horses emerged suddenly upon the bank of a broad river, and we could discern the dim outlines of Hawkins's buildings amid the deepening shadows of the opposite shore. Upon one thing I was now fully determined. Seth should start back with the first streak of the next dawn. His long face and dismal croakings kept me constantly upon nettles, and I felt that I should face the uncertain future with far stouter heart if he were out of my sight. Firm in this resolve, I urged my horse to splash his reluctant way through the shallows of the ford; and as our animals rose on the steep bank of the western shore, we found ourselves at once in the midst of a group of scattered buildings. It seemed quite a settlement in that dim light, although the structures were all low and built of logs. The largest and most centrally located of these was evidently the homestead, as it had a rudely constructed porch in front, and a thin cloud of smoke was drifting from its chimney. As I drew nearer, I could perceive the reflection of a light streaming out through the open doorway. No one appeared in answer to our shouting,--not even a stray dog; and, in despair of thus arousing the inhabitants, I flung my rein to Seth, and, mounting the doorstep, peered within. As I did so, a shiny, round, black face, with whitened eyes and huge red lips, seemed to float directly toward me through the inner darkness. It was so startling an apparition that I sprang back in such haste as nearly to topple over backward from the steps. Heaven alone knows what I fancied it might be; indeed, I had little enough time in which to guess, for I had barely touched the ground,--my mind still filled with memories of Seth's grotesque horrors,--when the whole figure emerged into view, and I knew him instantly for a negro, though I had never before seen one of his race. He was a dandified-looking fellow, wearing a stiff white waistcoat fastened by gilded buttons, with a pair of short curly mustaches, waxed straight out at the ends; and he stood there grinning at me in a manner that showed all his gleaming teeth. Before I could recover my wits enough to address him, I heard a voice from within the house,--a soft, drawling voice, with a marked foreign accent clinging to it. "Sam," it called, "have you found either of the scoundrelly rascals?" The darkey started as if shot, and glanced nervously back over his shoulder. "No, sah," he replied with vigor, "dat Mistah Hawkins am not yere, sah. An' dat Mistah Burns has gone 'way fer gud, sah. But dar am a gemman yere, sah,--" "What!" came a surprised ejaculation that caused the negro to jump, and I heard a chair overturned within. "A gentleman? Sam, don't deceive me! For the love of Heaven, let me see him. May I be bastinadoed if it hasn't been three months since my eyes beheld the last specimen! Sam, where was it I saw the last one?" "Montreal, sah." "By Saint Guise! 'tis gospel truth," and the speaker strode forward, candle in hand. "Here, now, you ace of spades," he cried impatiently, "hold the flame until I bid this paragon of the wilderness fit welcome in the name of Hawkins, who strangely seems to have vanished from the sylvan scene. Alas, poor Hawkins! two gentlemen at one time, I greatly fear, will be the death of him. Would that his good friend Burns might be with him on this festive occasion. Ye gods, what a time it would be!" As the black hastily reached out for the candle-stick, his erratic master as quickly changed his mind. "No," he muttered thoughtfully, drawing back within the hall; "'tis far more fit that such formal greeting should occur within, where the essentials may be found with which to do full courtesy. I will instead retire. Sam, bid the gentleman meet me in the banquet hall, and then, mark you, thou archfiend of blackness, seek out at once that man Hawkins in his hidden lair, and bid him have ample repast spread instantly, on pain of my displeasure. By all the saints! if it be not at once forthcoming I will toast the scoundrel over his own slow fire." "Seth," I said to my staring companion, as soon as I could recover from my own surprise, "find a place for the horses somewhere in the stables, and come in." "Where is your master to be found?" I questioned of the black, whose air of self-importance had been resumed the moment he was left alone. "Second door to de right, sah," he answered, gazing curiously at my deer-skin hunting-shirt as I pressed by. I had little difficulty in finding it, for all that the way was totally dark, as the fellow within was lustily carolling a French love-song. I hung back for a moment, striving vainly to distinguish the words. Without pausing to make my presence known, I opened the door quietly, and stepped within. The room was not a large one, though it occupied the full width of the house; and the two lighted candles that illumined it, one sitting upon a table otherwise bare, the other occupying the rude dresser in the far corner, revealed clearly the entire interior. The sole occupant of the room sat upon a corner of the table, one foot resting on the floor, the other dangling carelessly. Hardly more than a year my elder, he bore in his face the indelible marks of a life vastly different. His features were clear-cut, and undeniably handsome, with a curl of rare good-humor to his lips and an audacious sparkle within his dark eyes. His hat, cocked and ornamented in foreign fashion, lay beside him; and I could not help noting his long hair, carefully powdered and arranged with a nicety almost conspicuous, while his clothing was rich in both texture and coloring, and exhibited many traces of vanity in ribbon and ornament. Within his belt, fastened by a large metal clasp, he wore a pearl-handled pistol with long barrel; and a rapier, with richly jewelled hilt, dangled at his side. Altogether he made a fine figure of a man, and one of a sort I had never met before. If he interested me, doubtless I was no less a study to him. I could see the astonishment in his eyes, after my first entrance, change to amusement as he gazed. Then he brought a white hand down, with a smart slap, upon the board beside him. "By all the saints!" he exclaimed, "but I believe the black was right. 'Tis the face of a gentle, or I know naught of the breed, though the attire might fool the very elect. Yet, _parbleu!_ if memory serves, 'tis scarcely worse than what I wore in Spain." He swung down upon his feet and faced me, extending one hand with all cordiality, while lips and eyes smiled pleasantly. "Monsieur," he said, bowing low, and with a grace of movement quite new to me, "I bid you hearty welcome to whatsoever of good cheer this desert may have to offer, and present to you the companionship of Villiers de Croix. It may not seem much, yet I pledge you that kings have valued it ere now." It was a form of introduction most unfamiliar to me, and seemed bristling with audacity and conceit; but I recognized the heartiness of his purpose, and hastened to make fit response. "I meet you with much pleasure," I answered, accepting the proffered hand. "I am John Wayland." The graceful recklessness of the fellow, so conspicuous in each word and action, strongly attracted me. I confess I liked him from his first utterance, although mentally, and perhaps morally as well, no two men of our age could possibly be more unlike. "Wayland?" he mused, with a shrug, as if the sound of the word was unpleasant. "Wayland?--'tis a harsh name to my ears, yet I have heard it mentioned before in England as that of a great family. You are English, then?" I shook my head emphatically; for the old wounds of controversy and battle were then being opened afresh, and the feeling of antagonism ran especially high along the border. "I am of this country," I protested with earnestness, "and we call ourselves Americans." He laughed easily, evidently no little amused at my retort, twisting his small mustache through his slender fingers as he eyed me. "Ah! but that is all one to me; it is ever the blood and not the name that counts, my friend. Now I am French by many a generation, Gascon by birth, and bearing commission in the Guard of the Emperor; yet sooth, 'tis the single accursed drop of Irish blood within my veins that brings me across the great seas and maroons me in this howling wilderness. But sit down, Monsieur. There will be both food and wine served presently, and I would speak with you more at ease." As he spoke he flung himself upon a low settee, carelessly motioning me toward another. "On my word," he said, eying me closely as I crossed over to the bench, "but you are a big fellow for your years, and 'tis strength, not flabby flesh, or I know not how to judge. You would make a fine figure of a soldier, John Wayland. Napoleon perchance might offer you a marshal's baton, just to see you in the uniform. _Parbleu!_ I have seen stranger things happen." "You are now connected with the French army?" I questioned, wondering what could have brought him to this remote spot. "Ay, a Captain of the Guard, yet an exile, banished from the court on account of my sins. _Sacre!_ but there are others, Monsieur. I have but one fault, my friend,--grave enough, I admit, yet but one, upon my honor, and even that is largely caused by that drop of Irish blood. I love the ladies over-well, I sometimes fear; and once I dared to look too high for favor." "And have you stopped here long?" "Here--at Hawkins's, mean you? Ten days, as I live; would you believe I could ever have survived so grievous a siege?" and he looked appealingly about upon the bare apartment. "Ten days of Hawkins and of Sam, Monsieur; ay! and of Ol' Burns; of sky, and woods, and river, with never so much as a real white man even to drink liquor with. By Saint Louis! but I shall be happy enough to face you across the board to-night. Yet surely it is not your purpose to halt here long?" "Only until I succeed in joining some party travelling westward to the Illinois country." "No! is that your aim? 'Tis my trip also, if Fate be ever kind enough to bring hither a guide. _Sacre!_ there was one here but now, as odd a devil as ever bore rifle, and he hath taken the western trail alone, for he hated me from the start. That was Ol' Burns. Know you him?" "'Twas he who brought the message that sent me here; yet he said little of his own journey. But you mention not where you are bound?" "I seek Fort Dearborn, on the Great Lake." "That likewise is to be the end of my journey. You go to explore?" "Explore? Faith, no," and he patted his hand upon the bench most merrily. "There are but two reasons to my mind important enough to lure a French gentleman into such a hole as this, and send him wandering through your backwoods,--either war or love, Monsieur; and I know of no war that calleth me." Love, as he thus spoke of it, was almost an unknown term to me then; and, in truth, I scarcely grasped the full significance of his meaning. "You seek some lady, then, at Fort Dearborn?" I asked, for his tone seemed to invite the inquiry. "Ay!" with quickened enthusiasm; "'tis there Toinette has hidden herself for this year or more,--Toinette, on my word as a French soldier, the fairest maid of Montreal. I have just discovered her whereabouts, yet I shall win her ere I traverse these trails again, or I am not Villiers de Croix." "I travel thither to bring back a little orphan child with me," I explained simply, in response to his look, "and will most gladly aid you where I can." Before he could answer, Hawkins, a gaunt, silent frontiersman, together with Sam, entered the room, bearing between them our evening meal. CHAPTER IV CAPTAIN WELLS OF FORT WAYNE We tarried at the table a considerable time,--not because of any tempting variety in the repast, as the food furnished was of the coarsest, but for the sake of companionship, and because we discovered much of passing interest to converse about. De Croix had travelled widely, and had seen a great variety of life both in camp and court. He proved a vivacious fellow, full of amusing anecdote,--a bottle of rich wine drawn from his own private stock so stimulating his imagination that I had little to do but sit and listen. Yet he contrived to learn from me,--how, I hardly know, the simple story of my life, and, indeed, assumed a certain air of patronizing superiority, boasting unduly of his wider experience and achievements in a way that somewhat nettled me at last, as I began to comprehend that he was merely showing off his genteel graces the better to exhibit his contempt for my provincial narrowness. I did not permit this really to anger me, for our views upon such matters were totally different, and I could not help feel admiration for the brilliant and audacious fellow. The black waited upon us while we ate and drank, moving noiselessly across the rough floor, so keenly observant of his master's slightest wish as to convince me the latter possessed a temper which upon occasion burst its bounds. Yet now he was surely in the best of humors; and with the coming of our second bottle, after the remains of the repast had been removed, he sang several love-songs in his native tongue, the meaning of which I could only guess at. "Saint Guise!" he exclaimed at last, flinging one booted foot over the table corner. "You are a very sphinx of a fellow. You deny being English, yet you have all the silence of that nation. I am hungry, Monsieur, for the sweet sound of the French tongue." "'Tis a language of which I know little," I answered, striving to speak pleasantly, although his manner was becoming less and less to my liking. "I have met with your _coureurs de bois_ in plenty, and picked up sufficient of their common phrases to enable me to converse on ordinary themes with them; yet I confess I find it difficult to follow your speech." _"Canaille,"_ he returned, in tone of undisguised contempt, "Canadian half-breeds, the very offscourings of our people. _Sacre!_ but you should know us at home, Monsieur,--we are the conquerors of the world!" I wish I could picture to you how he said this. Simple as it now reads, he made it vital with meaning. The insolent boast was uttered with such a swagger that my face instantly flushed, and he noted it. "Is it not true, Monsieur?" he asked quickly, his own blood heated by the wine. "I tell you, the whole of Europe has trembled, and will again, at the nod of our Napoleon. Why, even over here we had to come with our legions to help you repel the red-coats. Saint Guise! but it was the Frenchmen who made you a nation." "Ay! but only that they might revenge themselves upon England," I retorted blindly, "and the force sent merely hurried a result already inevitable; yet we gave you a slight touch of our own quality in '98 that stung a bit, I warrant." "Bah! a ship or two. 'Twas well for you that our army was so closely engaged elsewhere, or the story would have a different ending." We were both of us upon our feet by this time, glaring at each other across the board, our faces hot with the ill-restrained passion of youth. A word more from either would surely have precipitated matters; but before it could be spoken the door leading into the hallway was hurriedly flung aside, and, without apology for the intrusion, two men strode forward into the glare of light. "Serve supper here, Hawkins," commanded the first, his back still turned toward us. "Anything you may chance to have in the house,--only let there be little delay." He was a tall, dark-featured man, smoothly shaven, as swarthy as an Indian, with stern dark eyes, thick coarse hair, and an abrupt manner born of long command. His companion, of lighter build and younger face, was attired in a travel-stained uniform of blue and buff; but he who was evidently the leader was so completely wrapped within the folds of a riding-cloak as to reveal nothing of rank other than his unmistakable military presence and bearing. Turning from the door, he swept a penetrating glance over us, loosening the clasp of his cloak as he did so. "I regret having thoughtlessly interrupted your quarrel, gentlemen," he said brusquely, "but this appears to be the sole excuse for a public-room in the place. However, my services are at your command if they be desired in any way." De Croix laughed, perfectly at his ease in a moment. "'Tis scarce so serious," he explained lightly. "A mere interchange of compliments over the respective merits of our nations in war." The stranger looked at him intently, and with some manifest disapproval. "And yours, no doubt, was France," he said shortly. De Croix bowed, his hand upon his heart. "I have worn her uniform, Monsieur." "I thought as much, and fear my sympathies may be altogether with your antagonist in the controversy. Yet what's the use of wasting life like that? Surely there is fighting enough in this world of ours for such young blades, without inventing cause for quarrel. Come, sit down once more, and join with us in whatsoever cheer our landlord may provide." As he spoke, he flung aside his cloak, revealing beneath merely the well-worn dress of a frontiersman, with an army sword-belt buckled about the waist. "Come, Walter," he called to his companion, who remained standing, "there is to be no touch of ceremony here to-night. Gentlemen, I am Captain Wells, formerly of the army, now Indian agent at Fort Wayne; and this is Sergeant Jordan." The Frenchman bowed gracefully, and extended a card across the table. The other glanced at it carelessly. "Ah! De Croix; pleased to meet you. Think I heard some of our officers speak of seeing you a month ago at Detroit,--McBain or Ramsey, I have forgotten which." "I recall a game of cards with a Lieutenant Ramsey, a rather choleric Scotchman, with a magnificent capacity for strong whiskey." The Captain turned inquiringly toward me, and I hastened to name myself. "Wayland, did you say?" he asked, with deepened interest. "'Tis not a common appellation, yet I once knew a Major by that name in Wayne's command." "My father, sir," I asserted proudly. With quick impulsiveness he extended his hand. "As noble a soldier as I have ever known," he exclaimed heartily. "I served with him in two campaigns. But what are you two young fellows doing here? for it would be hard to conceive of a more disheartening place of residence. Surely, De Croix, you are not permanently located in this delightful spot?" "The saints forbid!" ejaculated the other, with an expression of horror that caused the younger officer to smile. "Yet I have already survived ten days of it. We seek to join some party bound westward, either to Fort Dearborn or beyond." The elder officer smiled gravely, as his stern eyes wandered thoughtfully over our faces in the candle-light. "You will scarcely find those who go beyond," he said, at last, slowly. "That is our extreme frontier; and even this post, I hear it rumored, is to be abandoned shortly. Indeed, I am now proceeding thither, hoping to escort a niece safely eastward because of that very probability. I can offer you naught save companionship and guidance upon the journey; yet if you needs must go, you may ride with us and welcome. But 'tis my first duty to advise you strongly against it." "You look for trouble?" I asked, for his words and manner were grave. "I am not one easily alarmed," he answered, scanning our faces as we fronted him; "but I have lived long among the Indians, and know them well. This new war with England will not pass without atrocities along the border, and in my judgment we are now on the eve of a general uprising of the savages. It will surely come with the first news of British success, and 'tis the fear of reverses at Dearborn that has hurried me westward. You, sir," and he turned toward me, "are young, but it is evident you have been bred to the frontier, so you will realize what it may mean to us if we be caught in the Illinois country by such an uprising." I bowed, deeply impressed by his earnestness. "I have, indeed, seen something of savage warfare, and know much of its horror," I replied stoutly. "Yet what you say of the possible future only makes more urgent my duty to press on." "And you?" he asked De Croix. "Faith, Captain," was the instant reply, "it is the gentle hand of love which leads me westward, and never yet did a true Frenchman hesitate in such a quest because danger lurked between." Wells smiled grimly. "Then my conscience is left clear," he exclaimed heartily; "and if you ride with me to death, 'tis of your own choosing. However, glad enough we have cause to be thus to gain two more fighting men. I have a party of Miamis travelling with me, and I doubt not there will be ample work for all before we return. Here comes supper; let us eat, drink, and be merry, even though to-morrow it be our fate to die. 'Tis the best border philosophy." CHAPTER V THROUGH THE HEART OF THE FOREST We lingered long over the wine,--for that which De Croix had furnished proved excellent, and greatly stimulated our discourse. Yet, I must confess, it was drunk chiefly by the Frenchman and Jordan; for Wells barely touched his glass, while I had never acquired a taste for such liquor. De Croix waxed somewhat boastful, toward the last; but we paid small heed to him, for I was deeply interested in Captain Wells's earlier experiences among the savages, which he related gravely and with much detail. Jordan proved himself a reckless, roistering young fellow, full of high spirits when in liquor; yet I formed an impression that he stood well in his commander's favor, for the latter warned him kindly to be more abstemious. However late it may have been when we finally sought rest, we were early astir the next morning. I despatched Seth upon his return journey to the farm, bearing under his girdle as cheerful a note of farewell as I could frame; and then, though it was scarce later than sun-up, the rest of us were fairly upon the westward trail. There were in the party thirty Miami Indians, strong, lusty-looking warriors, most of them. The larger portion of them travelled in our advance, under command of one of their chiefs; a smaller detachment acting in similar manner as a rear-guard. The white men, as well as the negro, who controlled a pack animal heavily laden with his master's baggage, were on horseback; and it pleased me greatly,--for I was young and easily flattered,--to have Captain Wells rein in his horse at my side as soon as we were safely across the ford, leaving the Frenchman either to companion with Jordan or ride alone. I looked at De Croix curiously, as he moved forward with slow carelessness in our front, for he had kept the entire company waiting outside the house for half an hour in the gray dawn while he curled and powdered his hair. Doubtless this was what so disgusted Wells, whose long black locks were worn in a simple queue, tied somewhat negligently with a dark cord. I almost smiled at the scowl upon his swarthy face, as he contemplated the fashionably attired dandy, whose bright-colored raiment was conspicuous against the dark forest-leaves that walled us round. "I have heard it claimed these gay French beaux fight well when need arises," he commented at last, thoughtfully; "but 'tis surely a poor place here for flaunting ribbons and curling locks. Possibly my fine gentleman yonder may have occasion to test his mettle before we ride back again. Sure it is that if that time ever comes he will not look so sweet." "You make me feel that we go forward into real peril," I said, wondering that he should seem so fearful of the outcome, "Have you special reason?" "The Miamis have already been approached by Indian runners, and their young men are restless. It was only because I am the adopted son of Big Turtle, and a recognized warrior of their tribe, that these have consented to accompany me; and I fear they may desert at the first sign of a hostile meeting," he answered gravely. "There is an Indian conspiracy forming, and a most dangerous one, involving, so far as I can learn, every tribe north of the Ohio. Now that war with England has actually been declared, there can no longer be doubt that the chiefs will take sides with the British. They have everything to gain and little to lose by such action. The rumor was at Fort Wayne, even before we left, that Mackinac had already fallen; and if that prove true, every post west of the Alleghanies is in danger. I fear that death and flame will sweep the whole frontier; and I frankly acknowledge, Wayland, my only hope in this expedition is that, by hard travel, we may be able to reach Chicagou and return again before the outbreak comes. Tom Burns, an old scout of Wayne's, and a settler in that country, was at Fort Wayne a month since with an urgent message from the commandant at Dearborn. I tell you frankly, it will be touch and go with us." "Chicagou?" I questioned, for the word was one I had heard but once before and was of an odd sound. "Ay! old Au Sable called it the Chicagou portage long before the fort named Dearborn was ever established there. 'Tis the name the French applied to a small river entering the Great Lake from the west at that point." "Have you journeyed there before?" "Once, in 1803. I held Indian council on the spot, and helped lay out the government reservation. 'Tis a strange flat country, with much broken land extending to the northward." Little by little our conversation lapsed into silence; for the narrow trail we followed was a most difficult one, and at times taxed our ingenuity to the utmost. It led through dense dark woods, fortunately free from underbrush, skirted the uncertain edges of numerous marshes in the soft ooze of which the hoofs of our horses sank dangerously, and for several miles followed the sinuous course of a small but rapid stream, the name of which I have forgotten. There were few openings in the thick forest-growth, and the matted branches overhead, interlaced with luxuriant wild vines, so completely shut out all vestige of the sun that we toiled onward, hour after hour, in continuous twilight. What mysterious signs our guides followed, I was not sufficiently expert in woodcraft to determine. To my eyes,--and I sought to observe with care,--there was nowhere visible the slightest sign that others had ever preceded us; it was all unbroken, virgin wilderness, marked only by slow centuries of growth. The accumulation of moss on the tree-trunks, as well as the shading of the leaves, told me that we continued to journey almost directly westward; and there was no perceptible hesitancy in our steady progress, save as we deviated from it here and there because of natural obstacles too formidable to be directly surmounted. We skirted immense trees, veritable monarchs of the ages, hoary with time, grim guardians of such forest solitudes; climbed long hills roughened by innumerable boulders with sharp edges hidden beneath the fallen leaves, that lamed our horses; or descended into dark and gloomy ravines, dank with decaying vegetation, finally halting for a brief meal upon the southern edge of a small lake, the water of which was as clear and blue as the cloudless August sky that arched it. The sand of the shore where we rested was white as snow, yet De Croix had his man spread a cloak upon it before he ventured to sit down, and with care tucked a lace handkerchief about his throat to prevent stray crumbs from soiling the delicate yellow of his waistcoat. "One might fancy this was to be your wedding day, Monsieur," observed Wells, sarcastically, as he marked these dainty preparations, and noted with disgust the attentive negro hovering near. "We are not perfumed courtiers dancing at the court of Versailles." De Croix glanced about him carelessly. "_Mon Dieu_, no," he said, tapping the lid of a richly chased silver snuff-box with his slender fingers. "Yet, my dear friend, a French gentleman cannot wholly forget all that belongs to the refinements of society, even in the heart of the wilderness. Sam, by any foul chance did you overlook the lavender water?" "No, sah; it am safe in de saddle-bags." "And the powder-puff, the small hand-mirror, and the curling-iron?" "I saw to ebery one ob dem, sah." De Croix gave a deep sigh of relief, and rested back upon the cloak, negligently crossing his legs. "Captain," he remarked slowly and thoughtfully, "you've no idea the trouble that negro is to me. Would you believe it? he actually left my nail-brush behind at Detroit, and not another to be had for love or money this side of Montreal! And only last night he mislaid a box of rouge, and, by Saint Denis! I hardly dare hope there is so much as an ounce of it in the whole party." "I rather suspect not," was the somewhat crusty reply; "yet if a bit of bear's grease could be made to serve your turn, we might possibly find some among us." "I know not its virtue," admitted the Frenchman gravely; "yet if it reddens the lips it might be useful. But that which I had came from the shop of Jessold in Paris, and is beyond all price." We were ten days upon this forest journey, from the time of our crossing the Maumee; and they were hard days, even to those of us long habituated to the hardships of border travel. Indeed, I know few forms of exertion that so thoroughly test the mettle of men as journeying across the wilderness. There are no artificial surroundings, either to inspire or restrain; and insensibly humanity returns to natural conditions, permitting the underlying savage to gain ascendency. I have seen more than one seemingly polished gentleman, resplendent with all the graces of the social code, degenerate into a surly brute with only a few hours of such isolation and the ceaseless irritation of the trail. Yet I must acknowledge that De Croix accepted it all without a murmur, and as became a man. His entire plaint was over the luxuries he must forego, and he made far more ado about a bit of dust soiling his white linen than about any real hardship of the march. 'Tis my memory that he rather grew upon us; for his natural spirits were so high that he sang where others swore, and found cause for amusement and laughter in much that tested sorely even the Indian-like patience of Wells. He was like a boy, this gayly perfumed dandy of the French court; but beneath his laces and ribbons, his affectations and conceits, there hid a stout heart that bade him smile where other men would lie down and die. He companioned mostly with Jordan as we journeyed, for Wells never could become reconciled to his mincing ways; yet I confess now that I began to value him greatly, and longed more than once to join with the two who rode in our advance, cheering their wearisome way with quips of fancy and snatches of song. He knew it too, the tantalizing rascal, and would frequently send back a biting squib over his shoulder, hoping thus to draw me away from the silent grim-faced soldier beside whom I held place. It was truly a rough and wild journey, full enough of hardship, and without adventure to give zest to the ceaseless toil. I know now that we made a wide detour to the southward, trusting thus to avoid any possible contact with prowling bands of either Pottawattomies or Wyandots, whom our friendly Miamis seemed greatly to dread. This took us far from the regular trail, rough and ill-defined as that was, and plunged us into an untrodden wilderness; so that there were times when we fairly had to cut our way through the twisted forest branches and tangled brakes of cane with tomahawks and hunting-knives. We skirted rocky bluffs, toiled painfully over fallen timber, or waded ankle deep in softened clay, in the black gloomy shadows of dense woods which seemed interminable, meeting with nothing human, yet constantly startling wild game from the hidden coverts, and feeling more and more, as we advanced, the loneliness and danger of our situation,--realizing that each league we travelled only added to the length and peril of our retreat if ever disaster came or Fort Dearborn were found deserted. Captain Wells, naturally grave and silent from his long training among savages, grew more and more reticent and watchful as we progressed, riding often at my side for hours without uttering a word, his keen eyes warily searching the dark openings upon every hand as if suspecting that each spot of gloom might prove the chosen place for an ambuscade. Our Indian allies moved like shadows, gliding over the ground noiselessly; and the occasional outbursts of merriment from De Croix and his equally reckless companion grew gradually less frequent, and appeared more forced. The constant and never-ending toil of our progress, the depressing gloom of the sombre primeval forest on every side of us, the knowledge of possible peril lurking in each league of this haunted silence, weighed upon us all, and at last closed the lips of even the most jovial of our number. It was the tenth day, as I remember,--though it may have been later, for I have no writing to guide me concerning dates,--when we emerged into a broad valley, treeless save for a thin fringe of dwarfed growth skirting the bank of a shallow stream which ran almost directly westward. I cannot describe how sweet, after our gloomy journey, the sunlight appeared, as we first marked it play in golden waves over the long grass; or the relief we felt at being able to gaze ahead once more and see something of the country that we were traversing. 'Twas like a sudden release from prison. Our jaded horses felt with us the exhilaration of the change, and moved with greater sprightliness than they had shown for days. As the sun began its circle downward, vast rolling hills of white and yellow sand arose upon the right of our line of march, huge mounds, many of them, glistening in the sunshine, some jagged at the summit, others rounded as if by art, so unusual in form and presence that I ventured to address our leader regarding them, as he rode with his head bent low and a far-off look in his eyes. "The sand?" he questioned, glancing up as if startled at the sound of my voice. "Why, it has been cast there by the stormy waves of the Great Lake, my lad, and beaten into those strange and fantastic shapes by the action of the wind. Doubtless 'tis the work of centuries of storms." "Are we, then, so close to the lake?" I asked eagerly,--for I had never yet seen so large a body of water, and his description fired my imagination. "'Tis but just beyond those dunes yonder, and will be still nearer when we come to camp. Possibly you might reach the shore before dark if you exercise care,--for there is danger of becoming lost in that sand desert. Those hills seem all alike when once you are among them." "What is it that so greatly disturbs your Miamis?" I ventured to ask, for I had been noticing for some time that they were restless and travelling poorly. "They have been counselling now for two hours." He glanced aside at me in apparent surprise. "Why, boy, I thought you were bred to the border; and can you ask me such a question? Do you observe nothing, like that fine gentleman yonder? What have we been following since first we entered this valley?" "An old Indian trail." "True," he exclaimed, "and one that has been traversed by a large war-party, bound west, within twelve hours." "How know you this?" "By a hundred signs far plainer than print will ever be to my eyes. In faith, I thought those fellows out yonder would have summoned me to council long ere this, instead of threshing it out among themselves. They are bolder warriors than I deemed, though they will doubtless revolt in earnest when we camp. We shall have to guard them well to-night." As he paused, his eyes fixed anxiously upon our Indian allies, De Croix began to hum a popular tune of the day, riding meanwhile, hat in hand, with one foot out of the stirrup to beat the time. Then Jordan caught up the refrain, and sang a verse. I saw one or two of the older Indians glance around at him in grave displeasure. "The young fools!" muttered Wells, uneasily. "I shall enjoy seeing if that French popinjay keeps all of his fine airs when the hour for stern work comes." He lifted his voice. "Jordan!" The young soldier instantly ceased his song, and turned in his saddle to glance back. "The time has come when I must insist on less noise, and more decorum upon the march," Wells said sternly. "This is not Fort Wayne, nor is our road devoid of danger. Captain de Croix, I shall have to request you also to cease your singing for the present." There was that in his voice and manner which forbade remark, and we rode on silently. I asked: "But you have not explained to me how you learned all this of which you spoke?" "By the use of my eyes, of course. It is all simple; there are marks beside the beaten trail, as well as in its track, which prove clearly the party ahead of us to be moving westward, that it travelled rapidly, and was certainly not less than a hundred strong, with ponies and lodge-poles. Not more than a league back we passed the evidences of a camp that had not been deserted longer than twelve hours; and when we crossed the river, a feather from a war-bonnet was lying in the grass. These are small details, yet they tell the story. That feather, for instance, was dropped from a Pottawattomie head-dress, and no doubt there are warriors among those Indians yonder who could name the chief who wore it. It simply means, my lad, that the savages are gathering in toward Dearborn, and we may reach there all too late." "Is the way yet long?" and my eyes sought the horizon, where the sun hung like a red ball of fire. "We should be there by the morrow," he answered, "for we are now rounding the head of the Great Lake. I wish to God I might see what fate awaits us there." Young and thoughtless as I was in those days, I could not fail to realize the depth of feeling which swayed this stern, experienced man; and I rode on beside him, questioning no more. CHAPTER VI FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH I think it must be in the blood of all of New England birth to love the sea. They may never have seen it, nor even heard its wild, stern music; yet the fascination of great waters is part of their heritage. The thought of that vast inland ocean, of the magnitude and sublimity of which I had only the vaguest conception, haunted me all that afternoon; and I scarcely removed my eyes from those oddly constructed mounds of drifted sand, striving vainly to gain, through some depression between them, a fleeting glimpse of the restless waters that had helped to shape them into such fantastic forms. As the sun sank, angry red in our faces, presaging a storm, the course of the little stream we had been following drew in closer toward these grotesque piles, and the trail we followed became narrower, with the sluggish current pressing upon one side and that odd bank of gleaming sand upon the other. In a little open space, where quite a carpet of coarse yellowish grass had found lodgment, beneath the protecting shadow of a knot of cottonwoods, we finally made camp, and proceeded to prepare our evening meal. Determined to strike north through those guarding sand-dunes, and reach the shore of the lake if possible before final darkness fell, I hastily crowded my pockets with food, and looked eagerly around for some congenial companion. Captain Wells, whom I should have preferred to be with me, was deep in conference with one of the Miami chiefs, and not to be disturbed; Jordan had seemingly been detailed to the command of the night-guard; so, as a last resort, I turned aside and sought De Croix. I found him seated cross-legged on a blanket beneath one of the cottonwoods, a silver-backed mirror propped against a tree-butt in his front, while the obsequious darkey was deliberately combing out his long hair and fashioning it anew. The Frenchman glanced up at me with a welcoming smile of rare good-humor. "Ah, sober-face! and have you at last mustered courage to break away from the commander of this most notable company?" he cried mockingly. "'Tis passing strange he does not chain you to his saddle! By Saint Guise! 'twould indeed be the only way in which so dull a cavalier would ever hold me loyal to his whims. Friend Wayland, I scarce thought you would ever thus honor me again; and yet, 'tis true, I have had an ambition within my heart ever since we first met. 'Tis to cause you to fling aside those rough habiliments of the wilderness, and attire yourself in garments more becoming civilized man. Would that I might induce you, even now, to permit Sam to rearrange those heavy blond locks _à la Pompadour_. Bless me! but it would make a new man of you." "Such is not at all my desire, Monsieur," I answered, civilly. "I came now merely to learn if you would walk with me through these dunes of sand before the daylight fades." He looked out, idly enough, across that dreary expanse of desolation, and shrugged his shoulders. "Use the other powder, Sam, the lighter colored," he murmured languidly, as if the sight had wearied him; "and mind you drop not so much as a pinch upon the waistcoat." Then he lifted his eyes inquiringly to mine. "For what?" he asked. "To look forth upon the Great Lake. Captain Wells tells me 'tis but a brief and safe walk from here to the shore-line." "The lake?--water?" and the expression upon his face made me smile. "_Mon Dieu_, man! have you become crazed by the hard march? What have I ever said in our brief intercourse that could cause you to conceive I care greatly for that? If it were only wine, now!" [Illustration: "The obsequious darkey was deliberately combing out his long hair."] "You have no desire to go with me, then?" "Lay out the red tie, Sam; no, the one with the white spots in it, and the small curling-iron. No, Monsieur; what you ask is impossible. I travel to the west for higher purpose than to gaze upon a heaving waste of water. _Sacre!_ did I not have a full hundred days of such pleasure when first I left France? My poor stomach has not fairly settled yet from its fierce churning. Know ye not, Master Wayland, that we hope to be at this Fort Dearborn upon the morrow, and 'tis there I meet again the fair Toinette? Saints! but I must look my best at such a time, not worn and haggard from tramping through the sand. She was ever a most critical maid in such matters, and has not likely changed. 'Tis curled too high upon the right brow, you black imp! and, as I live, there is one hair you have missed entirely." Realizing the uselessness of waiting longer, I turned my back upon his vanity, and strode off alone. It is not my nature to swerve from a purpose merely because others differ in desires; and I was now determined to carry out my plan. I took one of the narrow depressions between two mounds of sand and plunged resolutely forward, endeavoring to shape my course as directly northward as the peculiarities of the path would admit. To my mind, there was little to fear from the hostile Indians, as every sign proved them to be hastening westward in advance of us; while I was too long accustomed to adventure to be easily confused, even in the midst of that lonely desolation. I soon found the walking difficult; for I sank to the ankles with each step, while the soft sliding sand rolled beneath me so as to yield no solid foothold. The irregularity of the mounds continually blocked my passage, and caused me to deviate in direction, so that I grew somewhat bewildered, the entire surface bearing such uniformity of outline as to afford little guide. Yet I held to my original course fairly well, for I could pilot somewhat by the dim north star; and it was not long before my alert ears caught the pounding of surf along the shore-line. Much encouraged, I pressed forward with greater rapidity, ignoring the lanes between the dunes, and clambering over the mounds themselves in my eagerness to reach the lake before the complete closing down of night. At last I topped a particularly high ridge that felt solid to the feet; and as I did so the wind came, hard and biting, against my face. There, just below me, not fifty feet away, were rolling the great waves, white-capped and roaring, pounding like vast sledges upon the anvil of the sand. My entire being thrilled at the majestic sight, and for the moment I forgot everything as I gazed away across those restless, heaving waters, seemingly without limit, stretching forth into the dim northward as far as the eye could reach, until water and sky imperceptibly met and blended. Each advancing wave, racing toward the beach, was a white-lipped messenger of mystery; and the vast tumultuous sea, rolling in toward me out of that dark unknown, with its deep voice of thunder and high-bursting spray, breathed the sublimest lessons of the Infinite to my soul. It awed, impressed, silenced with the sense of its solemn power. No dream of ocean grandeur had ever approached the reality now outspread before me, as this vast inland sea tossed and quivered to the lashing of the storm-wind that swept its surface into fury. To the left and right of where I stood motionless, curved the shore-line, a seemingly endless succession of white shining sand-hills, with the sloping shingle up which the huge breakers tossed and rolled in continuous thunder and foam, rising, breaking, receding, chasing each other in gigantic play. How savagely strong it all looked! what uncontrollable majesty lived in every line of the scene! The very suggestion of tremendous power in it was, to my imagination, immeasurably increased by its unutterable loneliness, its seemingly total absence of life; for not a fin rose above the surface, not a wing brushed the air overhead. The sun, sinking slowly behind the rim of sand, shot one golden-red ray far out into that tumbling waste, forming a slender bridge of ever-changing light that seemed to rest suspended upon the breaking crests of the waves it spanned. Then, gradually, stealthily, silently, the denser curtain of the twilight drew closer and closer, and my vista narrowed, as the shadows swept toward me like black-robed ghosts. I turned about reluctantly, to retrace my steps while the dim light yet lingered. Some unseen angel of mercy it must have been that bade me pause, and led me gently down the steep bank to the water's edge, where the sharp spray lashed my cheeks. If this be not the cause, then I know not why I went; or why, once being there, I should have turned to the right, and rounded the edge of the little bay. Yet all of this I did; and God knows that many a time since I have thanked Him for it upon my knees. I saw first the thing bobbing up and down behind a bare wave-washed rock that lifted a hoary crown close beside the water's edge. A branch from off some tree, I thought, until I had taken a half-dozen curious steps nearer, and felt my heart bound as I knew it to be a boat. My first thought, of course, was of hostile Indians; and I swept the sand-hills anxiously for any other sign of human presence. The world about me was soundless except for the ceaseless roaring of the waves, and there was not even a leaf within my sight to flutter. I crept forward cautiously, seeing no footprints on the smooth sand, until my searching eyes rested upon a white hand, dangling, as if lifeless, over the boat's gunwale. Forgetting everything else in the excitement of this discovery, I sprang hastily forward and peered within the boat. It was an awkward and rudely-formed water-craft, with neither mast nor oars, yet of fair size, broad-beamed and seaworthy. In the forward part lay the body of a woman; curled up and resting upon the boat's bottom, the head buried upon the broad seat so that no face was visible, with one hand hidden beneath, the other outstretched above the rail. So huddled was her posture that I could distinguish few details in the fading light; yet I noted that she wore a white upper garment, and that her thick hair flowed in a dense black mass about her shoulders. For a moment I stood there helpless, believing I gazed upon death. She either moved slightly, or the waves rocked the boat so as to somewhat disturb her posture. That semblance of life sent my blood leaping once more within my veins, and I leaned over and touched her cautiously. "Oh, go away! Please go away!" she cried, not loudly, but with a stress of utterance that caused me to start back half in terror. "I am not afraid of you, but either take my soul or go away and leave me." "For whom do you mistake me?" I asked, my hand closing now over hers. "For another devil come out of the black night to torture me afresh!" she answered, never once moving even to my touch. "Ah, what legions there must be to send forth so many after the soul of one poor girl! 'Tis not that I shrink from the end. Death! why, have I not died a hundred deaths already? Yet do I trust the Christ and Mother Mary. But why does the angel of their mercy hold back from me so long?" Was she crazed, driven mad by some extremity of suffering at which I could only guess? That oarless boat, beached amid the desolation of sand and the waste of water, alone told a story to make the heart sick. I hesitated, not knowing what I had best say. She lifted her head slowly, and gazed at me. I caught one glimpse of a pale young face framed in masses of black dishevelled hair, and saw large dark eyes that seemed to glow with a strange fire. "You,--you cannot be a devil also," she said, stammeringly. "You do not look like those others,--are you a man?" I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance. "Yet you are not of the garrison,--not of Dearborn. I have never seen your face before. Yet you are surely a man, and white. Holy Mother! can it indeed be that you have come to save me?" "I am here to serve you by every means in my power," I answered soberly, for the wildness of her speech almost frightened me. "God, I truly think, must have led me to you." Her wonderful eyes, questioning, anxious, doubtful, never once left my face. "Who are you? How came you here?" "I am named John Wayland," I replied, striving to speak as simply as might be, so that she would comprehend, "and form one of a small party travelling overland from the east toward the Fort. We are encamped yonder at the edge of the sand. I left the camp an hour ago, and wandered hither that I might look out upon the waters of the Great Lake; and here, through the strange providence of God, I have found you." She glanced apprehensively backward over her shoulder across the darkened waters, and her slight form shook. "Oh, please, take me away from it!" she cried, a note of undisguised terror in her voice, and her hands held out toward me in a pitiful gesture of appeal. "Oh, that horrible, cruel water! I have loved it in the past, but now I hate it; how horribly it has tortured me! Take me away, I beg,--anywhere, so that I can neither see nor hear it any more. It has neither heart nor soul." And she hid her face behind the streaming hair. "You will trust me, then?" I asked, for I had little knowledge of women. "You will go with me?" She flung the clinging locks back from her eyes, with an odd, imperious gesture which I thought most becoming, holding them in place with one hand, while extending the other frankly toward me. "Go with you? Yes," she replied, unhesitatingly. "I have known many men such as you are, men of the border, and have always felt free to trust them; they are far more true to helpless womanhood than many a perfumed cavalier. You have a face that speaks of honor and manliness. Yes, I will go with you gladly." I was deeply impressed by her sudden calmness, her rapid repression of that strange wildness of demeanor that had at first so marked her words and manner. As I partially lifted her from the boat to the sand, she staggered heavily, and would have fallen had I not instantly caught her to me. For a single moment her dark eyes looked up confidingly into mine, as she rested panting against my shoulder, and I could feel her slender form tremble within my arms. "You are ill--faint?" I questioned anxiously. She drew back from me with all gentleness, and did not venture again to attempt standing entirely without support. "I am ashamed so to exhibit my weakness," she murmured. "I fear I am greatly in need of food. What day is this?" "The twelfth of August." "And it was the night of the tenth when I drifted out of the mouth of the river. Ever since then I have been drifting, the sport of the winds and waves." "Sit you down here, then," I commanded, now fully awakened to her immediate need. "The sand is yet warm from the sun, and I have food with me in my pockets." CHAPTER VII A CIRCLE IN THE SAND I have since thought it almost providential that my food supply was so limited; for, after first asking me if I had eaten all I required, she fell upon it like a famished thing, and did not desist until all was gone. A threatening bank of dark cloud was creeping slowly up the northern sky as we were resting, but directly overhead the stars were shining brilliantly, yielding me sufficient light for the study of her face. She was certainly less than my own age by two or three years, a girl barely rounding into the slender beauty of her earliest womanhood, with hints of both in face and form. She was simply dressed, as, indeed, might naturally be expected in a wilderness far removed from marts of trade; but her clothing was of excellent texture, and became her well in spite of its recent exposure, while a bit of rather expensive lace at the throat and a flutter of gay ribbons about the wrists told plainly that she did not disdain the usual adornments of her sex. And this was quickly shown in another way. She had not yet completed her frugal meal when her mind reverted to her personal appearance, and she paused, with heightened color, to draw back her loosened hair and fasten it in place with a knot of scarlet cord. It was surely a winsome face that smiled up at me then. "I feel almost guilty of robbery," she said, "in taking all this food, which was no doubt intended for your own supper." "Merely what chanced to be left of it," I answered heartily. "Had I so much as dreamed this stretch of sand was to yield me such companionship, I should have stinted myself more." An expression of bewildered surprise crept into her eyes as I spoke. "Surely you are not a mere _coureur de bois_, as I supposed from your dress," she exclaimed. "Your expression is that of an educated gentleman." I smiled; for I was young enough to feel the force of her unconscious flattery. "I believe I can prove descent from an old and honorable race," I said; "but it has been my fortune to be reared in the backwoods, and whatever education has come to me I owe to the love and skill of my mother." My frankness pleased her, and she made no attempt to disguise her interest. "I am so glad you told me," she said simply. "My mother died when I was only ten, yet her memory has always been an inspiration. Are you a Protestant?" This unexpected question took me by surprise; yet I answered unhesitatingly, "Yes." "I was educated at the Ursuline Convent in Montreal. It was my mother's dearest wish that I should take the vows of that order, but I fear I am far too frivolous for so serious a life. I love happy things too well, and the beautiful outside world of men and women. I ran away from the Sisters, and then my father and I voyaged to this country, where we might lead a freer life together." "Here?" and I glanced questioningly about me into those darkening shadows which were momentarily hemming us in more closely. "To Fort Dearborn," she explained. "We came by boat through the straits at the north; and 'twas a trip to remember. My father brought out goods from Canada, and traded with the Indians. I have been in their villages. Once I was a week alone with a tribe of Sacs near Green Bay, and they called me the White Queen. I have met many famous warriors of the Wyandots and Pottawattomies, and have seen them dance at their council. Once I journeyed as far west as the Great River, across leagues and leagues of prairie," and her face lighted up at the remembrance. "Father said he thought I must be the first white woman who had ever travelled so far inland. We have been at Dearborn for nearly a year." She rose to her feet, and swept her eyes, with some anxiety, around upon dim mounds of sand that appeared more fantastic than ever in the darkness. "Had we not better be going?" she asked. "There is surely a storm gathering yonder." "Yes," I answered, for I had not been indifferent to the clouds steadily banking up in the north. "Yet you have not told me your name, and I should be most glad to know it." The girl courtesied mockingly, as though half inclined to laugh at my insistence. "What is a name?" she exclaimed. "'Tis not that for which we greatly care. Now I--I am simply Mademoiselle Antoinette,--at least, so most of those I care for call me; and from now on, the very good friend of Master John Wayland." I was deeply conscious that I blushed at her words and manner; but with it there arose an instant query in my mind: could this be the fair Toinette whom De Croix sought so ardently? I greatly feared it; yet I resolved I would not mention his name to her. "It has a decided French sound," I stammered. She laughed at my tone, with a quick shrug of her shoulders. "And pray, why not, Monsieur? Have you such a prejudice against that great people that you need speak of them with so glum a voice? Ah, but if I must, then I shall endeavor to teach you a higher regard for us." "That may not prove so hard a task," I hastened to assure her; "though I was surprised,--you speak English with so pure an accent that I had not dreamed you other than of my own race." "My father was of English blood," she answered more gravely; "but I fear you will find me quite of my mother's people, if ever we come to know each other well. But hark! that was surely thunder! We have loitered too long; the storm is about to break." It was indeed upon us almost before she ceased speaking. A sudden rush of wind sent my hat flying into the darkness, and whipped her long black hair loose from its restraining knot. I had barely time to wrap my hunting-jacket closely around her shoulders, when the rain came dashing against our faces. I drew her unresistingly around the edge of the nearest sand-pile; but this supplied poor protection against the storm, the wind lashing the fine grit into our faces, stinging us like bits of fire. I tried to excavate some sort of cave that might afford us at least a partial shelter; but the sand slid down almost as rapidly as I could dig it out with my hands. "Oh, let us press on!" she urged, laying her hand upon my arm in entreaty. "We shall become no wetter moving, and your camp, you said, was only a short distance away." "But are you strong enough to walk?" And as I leaned forward toward her, a quick flash of vivid lightning, directly overhead, lit both our faces. I marked she did not shrink, and no look of fear came into her eyes. "I am quite myself once more," she answered confidently. "It was despair and loneliness that so disheartened me. I have never been timid physically, and your presence has brought back the courage I needed." There was a natural frankness, a peculiar confidence, about this girl, that robbed me of my usual diffidence; and as we struggled forward through the dampening sand, her dress clinging about her and retarding progress, I dared to slip one arm about her waist to help in bearing her along. She accepted this timely aid in the spirit with which it was offered, without so much as a word of protest; and the wind, battering at our backs, pushed us forward. "Oh, that troublesome hair!" she exclaimed, as the long tresses whipped in front of our faces, blinding us both. "I have never before felt so much like sacrificing it." "I beg that you will not consider such an act now," I protested, aiding her to reclaim the truants, "for as I saw it before the darkness fell, your hair was surely worthy of preservation." "You laugh at me; I know I must have been a far from pretty sight." "Do you wish me to say with frankness what I thought of your appearance under such disadvantages?" She glanced at me almost archly, in the flash of lightning that rent the sky. "I am really afraid to answer yes,--yet perhaps I am brave enough to venture it." "I have never been at court, Mademoiselle, and so you may not consider my judgment in such matters of much moment; but I thought you rarely beautiful." For a moment she did not attempt to speak, but I could distinctly feel the heaving of her bosom as I held her hard against the assault of the wind, and bent low hoping to catch an answer. "You are sincere and honest," she said at last, slowly, and I felt that the faint trace of mockery had utterly vanished from her soft voice. "'Tis manifest in your face and words. You speak not lightly, nor with mere empty compliment, as would some gilded courtiers I have known; and for that reason I do value your opinion." "You are not angry at my presumption?" "Angry?--I?" and she stopped and faced me, holding back her hair as she did so. "I am a woman, Monsieur; and all women, even those of us hidden here in the wilderness, like best those who admire them. I do not know that I am as beautiful as you say, yet other men have often said the same without being pressed for their opinion. No, I am not angry,--I am even glad to know you think so." "And you surely do know?" I insisted, with a courage strange to me. "Yes," she answered, but her eyes fell before my eagerness; "you are not one who has yet learned to lie, even to women. 'Tis a relief to know there are such men still in the world." We had come to a full halt by this time. "Do you have any idea where we may be?" she asked, peering anxiously about, and perhaps glad to change the tone of our conversation. "I cannot note a landmark of any kind. These sand-hills seem all alike." "I believe we have kept to the southward, for we have merely drifted with the storm; but I confess my sole guidance has been the direction of the wind, as these sand-lanes are most confusing. If there were the slightest shelter at hand, I should insist upon your waiting until the rain was over." "No, it is better to go on. I am now wet to the skin, and shall be warmer moving than resting on this damp sand." We must have been moving for an hour, scarcely speaking a word, for the severe exertion required all our breath. The rain had ceased, and stars began to glimmer amid the cloud-rifts overhead; but I knew now that we were lost. She stopped suddenly, and sank down upon the sand. "I am exhausted," she admitted, "and believe we are merely moving about in a circle." "Yes," I said, reluctantly; "we are wasting our strength to no purpose. 'T will be better to wait for daylight here." It was a gloomy place, and the silence of those vast expanses of desolate sand was overwhelming. It oppressed me strangely. "Let me feel the touch of your hand," she said once. "It is so desperately lonely. I have been on the wide prairie, at night and alone; yet there is always some sound there upon which the mind may rest. Here the stillness is like a weight." Possibly I felt this depressing influence the more because of my long forest training, where at least the moaning of limbs, fluttering of leaves, or flitting of birds brings relief to the expectant senses; while here all was absolute solitude, so profound that our breathing itself was startling. The air above appeared empty and void; the earth beneath, lifeless and dead. Although neither of us was cowardly of heart, yet we instinctively drew closer together, and our eyes strained anxiously over the black sand-ridges, now barely discernible through the dense gloom. We tried to talk, but even that soon grew to be a struggle, so heavily did the suspense rest upon our spirits, so oppressed were we by imaginings of evil. I remember telling her my simple story, gaining in return brief glimpses of her experiences in Canada and the farther West. She even informed me that orders had been received, the day before she became lost upon the lake, to abandon Fort Dearborn; that an Indian runner--whom she named Winnemeg had arrived from General Hull at Detroit, bringing also news that Mackinac had fallen. "Doubtless your absence has greatly worried them also," I said. "Oh, no; none of them knew my plight. Possibly some may miss me, but they will naturally suppose I have been at Mr. Kinzie's house all this time. I have been there often for weeks together, and they have frequently urged me to take shelter with them. You see it is far safer there than at the Fort, for even the most hostile Indians remain on friendly terms with Mr. Kinzie and his family. He has been there so many years, and is so just a man in his dealings with them. 'Tis really strange to see how he leaves his house unguarded, while the garrison at the Fort is almost in a state of siege. It makes it hard to realize how imminent is the danger. Yet they are terribly alarmed at the Fort, and I fear with cause. Even Mr. Kinzie feels the situation to be critical. There were fully three hundred Pottawattomie warriors encamped without the Fort two days ago; and they were becoming bold and impudent,--one chief even firing his gun in Captain Heald's office, thinking to frighten him into furnishing them with liquor." "But the Fort is strong?" I asked. "It is capable of resisting an attack?" "I should suppose so," she answered, hesitatingly; "but that is not a matter upon which a girl may judge. I fear, however, all is not harmony among its defenders. I know that Captain Heald and Ensign Ronan do not agree, and I have heard bitter words spoken by other officers of the garrison." I thought she did not care to speak more about this matter, and we drifted off upon other topics, until I felt her head sink slowly down upon my shoulder, and knew she slept. I sat there still, pillowing her tenderly upon my arm, when the gray light of the dawn stole slowly toward us across the ridges of sand and revealed the upturned face. CHAPTER VIII TWO MEN AND A MAID The emotion I felt was new and strange to me; for though I had known little of young women, yet as I looked upon her in that dim light of dawn I found myself wondering if I already loved this strange girl. Fair as her face certainly was, its beauty rendered even more striking by the pallor of her late exposure and the blackness of her dishevelled hair, it was her frankness and confidence which most appealed to me. She had held all my thoughts through the long hours of watchfulness as I sat there quietly, feeling the rise and fall of her regular breathing, and thrilled by the unconscious caress of stray tresses as they were blown against my cheek. How she trusted me, stranger though I was! Yet it was through no lack of knowledge of the great world of men, for this young girl had known court gallants and rough soldiery, soft-spoken courtiers and boastful men-at-arms. So the night through I dreamed of what might be; and when the light finally came slowly reddening the eastern sky, I feasted my eyes unchecked upon that sweet upturned face, and made a rash vow that I would win her heart. I was still mirroring her image in my memory, forgetful of all else,--the broad white brow, the long dark lashes resting in such delicate tracery against the smooth velvet of the cheek now slightly flushed, the witching pink of the ear, the softly parted lips between which gleamed the small and regular teeth of ivory, the round white throat swelling ever so slightly to her breathing, when a sudden shout of surprised recognition aroused me from my reverie, and I looked up to see Jordan topping the sand-bank in our front, and waving his hand to some one beneath him and out of sight. "See here, De Croix!" he cried, excitedly, "the prodigal has had good cause to lag behind. He has found the lost fairy of this wilderness." Before I could relieve myself of my burden,--for the mockery of his words angered me,--the French man appeared at his side, and glanced down where his companion's finger pointed. For a moment he gazed; then he murmured a sharp French oath, and strode heavily down the sand-bank. There was a look in his face that caused me to lay the girl's head back upon the sand and rise hastily. The sudden movement awoke her, and her dark eyes looked up in startled confusion. By this time I had taken a quick step forward, and faced De Croix. "This lady is under my protection," I said, a bit hotly, not relishing the manner of his approach, "and any disrespect from either of you will be unwarranted." He paused, evidently surprised at my bold front, and his lip curled contemptuously. "Ah, my young game-cock!" he ejaculated, surveying me curiously. "So you have spurs, and think you can use them? Well, I have no quarrel with you, but perchance I may have more reason to be the protector of this young lady than you suppose. Stand aside, Monsieur." She had risen from the sand, and now stood erect beside me. I saw Jordan grinning in great enjoyment of the scene, and that De Croix's eyes were full of anger; but I would not stir. In my heart I felt a dull pain at his words, a fear that they might prove too true; but I remained where I was, determined to take no step aside until she herself should judge between us. "Will you stand back, Monsieur?" he said, haughtily, dropping his hand upon the hilt of his rapier, "or shall I show you how a gentleman of France deals with such impertinence?" If he thought to affright me with his bravado, he reckoned ill of my nature, for I have ever driven badly; my blood seems slow to heat, though it was warm enough now. "If the lady wishes it, you may pass," I answered shortly, my eyes never leaving his face. "Otherwise, if you take so much as another step I will crush every bone in your body." He saw I meant it, but there was no cowardice in him; and the steel had already flashed in the sunlight to make good his threat, when she touched me gently upon the shoulder. "I beg you do not fight," she urged. "I am not worthy, and 'tis all unneeded. Captain de Croix," and she swept him a curtsey which had the grace of a drawing-room in it, "'tis indeed most strange that we should meet again in such a spot as this. No contrast could be greater than the memory of our last parting. Yet is there any cause for quarrel because this young gentleman has preserved my life?" De Croix hesitated, standing half-poised for attack, even his glib tongue and ready wit failing as she thus calmly questioned him. Indeed, as I later learned, there was that of witchery about this young girl which held him at bay more effectually than if she had been a princess of the royal blood,--a something that laughed his studied art to scorn. She noted now his hesitancy, and smiled slightly at the evidence of her power. "Well, Monsieur, 'tis not often that your lips fail of words," she continued, archly. "Why is it I am made the subject of your quarrel?" The slight sarcastic sting in her voice aroused him. "By all the saints, Toinette!" he exclaimed, striving to appear at his ease, "this seems a poor greeting for one who has followed you through leagues of forest and across oceans of sand, hopeful at the least to gain a smile of welcome from your lips. Know you not I am here, at the very end of the world, for you?" "I think it not altogether unlikely," she replied with calmness. "You have ever been of a nature to do strange things, yet it has always been of your own sweet will. Surely, Monsieur, I did never bid you come, or promise you a greeting." "No," he admitted regretfully, "'tis, alas, true"; and his eyes seemed to regain something of their old audacity. "But there was that about our parting,--you recall it, Toinette, in the shadow of the castle wall?--which did afford me hope. No one so fair as you can be without heart." She laughed softly, as though his words recalled memories of other days, pressing back her hair within its ribbon. "Such art of compliment seems more in place at Montreal than here. This is a land of deeds, not words, Monsieur. Yet, even though I confess your conclusion partially true, what cause does it yield why you should seek a quarrel with my good friend, John Wayland?" "You know him, then?" he asked, in quick astonishment. "Know him! Do you think I should be here otherwise? Fie, Captain de Croix, that you, the very flower of the French court, should express so poor a thought of one you profess to respect so highly!" He looked from one to the other of us, scarce knowing whether she were laughing at him or not. _"Sacre!"_ he exclaimed at last. "I believe it not, Mademoiselle. The boy would have boasted of such an acquaintance long before this. You know him, you say, for how long?" "Since yester even, if you must know. But he has a face, Monsieur, a face frank and honest, not like that of a man long trained at courts to deceive. 'Tis for that I trust him, and have called him friend." "You may rue the day." "No, Captain de Croix," she exclaimed, proudly. "I know the frontiersmen of my father's blood. They are brave men, and true of heart. This John Wayland is of that race." And she rested one hand lightly upon my arm. The motion, simple as it was, angered him. "You ask why I sought quarrel," he said sternly. "'Twas because I suspected this uncouth hunter had wronged you. Now I understand 'twas of your own choice. I wish you joy, Mademoiselle, of your new conquest." I felt the girl's slight form straighten, and saw his bold eyes sink beneath the flame of her look. "Captain de Croix," and every sentence stung like the lash of a whip, "those are cowardly words, unworthy a French gentleman and soldier. Did you leave all your courtesy behind in Montreal, or dream that in this wilderness I should cringe to any words you might speak? You wish the truth; you shall have it. Three days ago, through an accident, I drifted, in an oarless boat, out from the river-mouth at Fort Dearborn to the open lake. None knew of my predicament. A storm blew me helpless to the southward, and after hours of exposure to danger, and great mental anguish, I was driven ashore amid the desolation of this sand. This comrade of yours found me scarce alive, ministered to my sore need, protected me through the hours of the night, stood but now between me and your ribaldry, counting his life but little beside the reputation of a woman. He may not wear the latest Paris fashions, Monsieur, but he has proved himself a man." "I meant not all I said, Toinette," he hastened to explain. "You will forgive, I know, for I was sorely hurt to find that some one else had done the duty that was plainly mine. Surely no rude backwoodsman is to come between us now?" She glanced from the one to the other, with true French coquetry. "Faith, I cannot tell, Monsieur," she said, gayly; "stranger things have happened, and 'tis not altogether fine clothes that win the hearts of maidens on this far frontier. We learn soon to love strength, and the manly traits of the border. On my word, Monsieur, this John Wayland seems to have rare powers of body; I imagine he might even have crushed you, as he said." "Think you so?" he asked, eying me curiously. "Yet 'tis not always as it looks, Mademoiselle." It came so quickly as to startle me. I was wondering at the smile that curled his lips, when he sprang upon me, casting his arms around my waist, and twining one leg about mine. The shock of this sudden and unexpected onset took me completely by surprise, and I gave back sharply, scarce realizing his purpose, till he had the under-hold, and sought to lift me for a throw. 'Twas my weight alone that saved me, together with the rare good fortune that I had been leaning upon my gun. As the breath came back to me, we locked grimly in a fierce struggle for the mastery. I had felt the straining grip of strong arms before, but De Croix surprised me, he was like steel, quick of motion as a wild-cat, with many a cunning French wrestling trick that tried me sorely. I heard a quick exclamation of surprise from the girl, a shout of delighted approval from Jordan, and then there was no sound but the harsh trampling of our feet and the heavy breathing. De Croix's effort was to lift me to his hip for a throw; mine, to press him backward by bodily strength. Both of us were sadly hindered by the sliding sand on which we strove. Twice I thought I had him, when my footing failed; and once he held me fairly uplifted from the ground, yet could not make the toss. 'Twas a wild grapple, for when we had exhausted all the tricks we knew, it came to be a sheer test of physical endurance. Then, for the first time, I felt myself the master,--though he was a man, that gay French dandy, and never did my ribs crack under the pressure of a stronger hand. But I slowly pressed him back, inch by inch, struggling like a demon to the last, until I forced his shoulders to the sand. For a moment he lay there, panting heavily; then the old frank and easy smile came upon his lips. "Your hand, monsieur," he said; "that is, if it yet retains sufficient strength to lift me." Upon his feet he brushed the sand from out his long hair, and bowed gallantly. "I have done my very best, Mademoiselle, 'Tis defeat, but not disgrace, for I have made your giant puff to win. May I not hope it has won me restoration to your good graces?" CHAPTER IX IN SIGHT OF THE FLAG It would have been impossible not to respond to his sparkling humor and good nature, even had the girl been desirous of doing otherwise. From the first I felt that she liked this reckless courtier, whose easy words and actions made me realize more deeply than ever my own heaviness of thought and wit. As he stood there now, bowing low before her, his clothing awry and his long hair in disorder from our fierce contest, she smiled upon him graciously, and extended a hand that he was prompt enough to accept and hold. "Surely," she said mockingly, "no maid, even in the glorious days of chivalry, had ever more heroic figures to do battle for her honor. I accept the _amende_, Monsieur, and henceforth enroll you as knight at my court. Upon my word," and she looked about at the desolate sand-heaps surrounding us, "'tis not much to boast of here; nor, in truth, is Dearborn greatly better." She paused, drawing her hand gently from his grasp, and holding it out toward me. "Yet, Captain," she continued, glancing at him archly over her shoulder, "I have likewise another knight, this wood ranger, who hath also won my deep regard and gratitude." De Croix scowled, and twisted his short mustache nervously. "You put a thorn beside every rose," he muttered. "'Twas your way in Montreal." "A few hundred miles of travel do not greatly change one's nature. Either at Dearborn or Montreal, I am still Toinette. But, Messieurs, I have been told of a camp quite close at hand,--and yet you leave me here in the sand to famish while you quarrel." The tone of her voice, while still full of coquetry, was urgent, and I think we both noted for the first time how white of face she was, and how wearily her eyes shone. The Frenchman, ever ready in such courtesies, was the first to respond by word and act. "You are faint, Toinette," he cried, instantly forgetful of everything else, and springing forward to give her the aid of his arm. "I beg you lean upon me. I have been blind not to note your weakness before. 'Tis indeed not a long walk to our camp from here,--yet, on my life, I know nothing of where it lies. Jordan," he added, speaking as if he were in command, "lead back along the path we came. _Sacre!_ the old bear was gruff enough over the delay of our search; he will be savage now." I know not how Jordan ever found his way back, for the sliding sand had already obliterated all evidences of former travel; but I walked sullenly beside him, leaving De Croix to minister to the needs of the girl as best he might. I felt so dull beside his ready tongue that, in spite of my real liking for the fellow, his presence angered me. 'Tis strange we should ever envy in others what we do not ourselves possess, ignoring those traits of character we have which they no less desire. So to me then it seemed altogether useless to contend for the heart of a woman,--such a woman, at least, as this laughing Toinette,--against the practised wiles of so gay and debonair a cavalier. I steeled my ears to the light badinage they continued to indulge in, and ploughed on through the heavy sand at Jordan's heels, in no mood for converse with any one. We came upon the camp suddenly, and discovered Captain Wells pacing back and forth, his stern face dark with annoyance. At sight of me, his passion burst all restraint. "By God, sir!" he ejaculated, "if you were a soldier of mine, I would teach you what it meant to put us to such a wait as this! Know you not, Master Wayland, that the lives of helpless women and children may depend upon our haste? And you hold us here in idleness while you wander along the lake-shore like a moonstruck boy!" Before I could answer these harsh words, the girl stepped lightly to my side, and standing there, her hand upon my arm, smiled back into his angry eyes. I do not think he had even perceived her presence until that moment; for he stopped perplexed. "And am I not worth the saving, Monsieur le Capitaine," she questioned, pouting her lips, "that you should blame him so harshly for having stopped to rescue me?" His harsh glance of angry resentment softened as he gazed upon her. "Ah! was that it, then?" he asked, in gentler tones. "But who are you? Surely you are not unattended in this wilderness?" "I am from Fort Dearborn," she answered, "and though only a girl, Monsieur, I have penetrated to the great West even farther than has Captain Wells." "How know you my name?" "Mrs. Heald told me she believed you would surely come when you learned of our plight at the Fort, it was for that she despatched the man Burns with the message,--and she described you so perfectly that I knew at once who you must be. There are not so many white men travelling toward Dearborn now as to make mistake easy." "And the Fort?" he asked, anxiously. "Is it still garrisoned, or have we come too late?" "It was safely held two days ago," she answered, "although hundreds of savages in war-paint were then encamped without, and holding powwow before the gate. No attack had then been made, yet the officers talked among themselves of evacuating." For a moment the stern soldier seemed to have forgotten her, his eyes fastened upon the western horizon. "The fools!" he muttered to himself, seemingly unconscious that he spoke aloud; "yet if I can but reach there in time, my knowledge of Indian nature may accomplish much." He turned quickly, with a sharp glance over his military force. "We delay no longer. Jordan, do you give this lady your horse for to-day's journey, and go you forward on foot with the Miamis. Watch them closely, and mark well everything in your front as you move." "But, Captain Wells," she insisted, as he turned away, "I am exceedingly hungry, and doubt not this youth would also be much the better for a bit of food." "It will have to be eaten as you travel, then," he answered, not unkindly, but with all his thought now fixed on other things, "for our duty is to reach Dearborn at the first moment, and save those prisoned there from death, and worse." I shall always remember each detail of that day's march, though I saw but little of Toinette save in stolen glances backward, Wells keeping me close at his side, while De Croix, as debonair as ever, was her constant shadow, ministering assiduously to her wants and cheering her journey with agreeable discourse. I heard much of their chatter, earnestly as I sought to remain deaf to it. To this end Wells aided me but little, for he rode forward in stern silence, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. During the first few hours we passed through a dull desolation of desert sand, the queerly shaped hills on either side scarcely breaking the dead monotony, although they often hid from our sight our advance scouts, and made us feel isolated and alone. Once or twice I imagined I heard the deepening roar of waves bursting upon the shore-line to our right, but could gain no glimpse of blue water through those obscuring dunes. We were following a well-worn Indian trail, beaten hard by many a moccasined foot; and at last it ran from out the coarser sand and skirted along the western beach, almost at the edge of the waves. 'Twas a most delightful change from the cramped and narrowed vision that had been ours so long. Our faces were now set almost directly northward; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the noble expanse of water heaving and tumbling in the dazzling sunlight. Indeed, there was little else about our course to attract attention; the shore in front lay clear and unbroken, bearing a sameness of outline that wearied the vision; each breaking wave was but the type of others that had gone before, and each jutting point of land was the picture of the next to follow. To our left, there extended, parallel to our course of march, a narrow ridge of white and firmly beaten sand, as regular in appearance as the ramparts of a fort. Here and there a break occurred where in some spring flood a sudden rush of water had burst through. Glancing curiously down these narrow aisles, as we rode steadily onward, I caught fleeting glimpses of level prairie-land, green with waving grasses, apparently stretching to the western horizon bare of tree or shrub. At first, I took this to be water also; until I realized that I looked out upon the great plains of the Illinois. The Captain was always chary of speech; now he rode onward with so stern a face, that presently I spoke in inquiry. "You are silent, Captain Wells," I said. "One would expect some rejoicing, as we draw so close to the end of our long journey." He glanced aside at me. "Wayland," he said slowly, "I have been upon the frontier all my life, and have, as you know, lived in Indian camps and shared in many a savage campaign. I am too old a man, too tried a soldier, ever to hesitate to acknowledge fear; but I tell you now, I believe we are riding northward to our deaths." I had known, since first leaving the Maumee, that danger haunted the expedition; yet these solemn words came as a surprise. "Why think you thus?" I asked, with newly aroused anxiety, my thoughts more with the girl behind than with myself. "Mademoiselle Toinette tells me the Fort is strong and capable of defence, and surely we are already nearly there." "The young girl yonder with De Croix? It may be so, if it also be well provisioned for a long siege, as it is scarce likely any rescue party will be despatched so far westward. If I mistake not, Hull will have no men to spare. Yet I like not the action of the savages about us. 'Tis not in Indian nature to hold off, as these are doing, and permit reinforcements to go by, when they might be halted so easily. 'Twould ease my mind not a little were we attacked." "Attacked? by whom?" He faced me with undisguised surprise, a sarcastic smile curling his grim mouth. His hand swept along the western sky-line. "By those red spies hiding behind that ridge of sand," he answered shortly. "Boy, where are your eyes not to have seen that every step we have taken this day has been but by sufferance of the Pottawattomies? Not for an hour since leaving camp have we marched out of shot from their guns; it means treachery, yet I can scarce tell where or how. If they have spared us this long, there is some good Indian reason for it." I glanced along that apparently desolate sand-bank, barely a hundred feet away, feeling a thrill of uneasiness sweep over me at the revelation of his words. My eyes saw nothing strange nor suspicious; but I could not doubt his well-trained instinct. "It makes my flesh creep," I admitted; "yet surely the others do not know. Hear how the Frenchman chatters in our rear!" "The young fool!" he muttered, as the sound of a light laugh reached us; "it will prove no jest, ere we are out of this again. Yet, Wayland," and his voice grew stronger, "the red devils must indeed mean to pass us free,--for there is Fort Dearborn, and, unless my sight deceive me, the flag is up." I lifted my eyes eagerly, and gazed northward where his finger pointed. CHAPTER X A LANE OF PERIL We passed a group of young cottonwoods, the only trees I had noted along the shore; and a few hundred feet ahead of us, the ridge of sand, which had obscured our westward view so long, gradually fell away, permitting the eye to sweep across the wide expanse of level plain until halted by a distant row of stunted trees that seemed to line a stream of some importance. As Captain Wells spoke, my glance, which had been fixed upon these natural objects, was instantly attracted by a strange scene of human activity that unfolded to the north and west. The land before us lay flat and low, with the golden sun of the early afternoon resting hot upon it, revealing each detail in an animated panorama wherein barbarism and civilization each bore a conspicuous part. The Fort was fully a mile and a half distant, and I could distinguish little of its outward appearance, save that it seemed low and solidly built, like a stockade of logs set upon end in the ground. It appeared gloomy, grim, inhospitable, with its gates tightly closed, and no sign of life anywhere along its dull walls; yet my heart was thrilled at catching the bright colors of the garrison flag as the western breeze rippled its folds against the blue background of the sky. But it was outside those log barriers that our eyes encountered scenes of the greatest interest,--a mingling of tawdry decoration and wild savagery, where fierce denizens of forest and plain made their barbaric show. No finer stage for such a spectacle could well be conceived. Upon one side stretched the great waste of waters; on the other, level plains, composed of yellow sand quickly merging into the green and brown of the prairie, while, scattered over its surface, from the near lake-shore to the distant river, were figures constantly moving, decked in gay feathers and daubed with war-paint. Westward from the Fort, toward the point where a branch of the main river appeared to emerge from the southward, stood a large village of tepees, the sun shining yellow and white on their deer-skin coverings and making an odd glow in the smoke that curled above the lodge-poles. From where we rode it looked to be a big encampment, alive with figures of Indians. My companion and I both noted, and spoke together of the fact, that they all seemed braves; squaws there may have been, but of children there were none visible. Populous as this camp appeared, the plain stretching between it and us was literally swarming with savages. A few were mounted upon horses, riding here and there with upraised spears, their hair flying wildly behind them, their war-bonnets gorgeous in the sunshine. By far the greater number, however, were idling about on foot, stalwart, swarthy fellows, with long black locks, and half-naked painted forms. One group was listening to the words of a chief; others were playing at la crosse; but most of them were merely moving restlessly here and there, not unlike caged wild animals, eager to be free. I heard Captain Wells draw in his breath sharply. "As I live!" he ejaculated, "there can be scarce less than a thousand warriors in that band,--and no trading-party either, if I know aught of Indian signs." Before I could answer him, even had I any word to say, a chief broke away from the gathering mass in our immediate front, and rode headlong down upon us, bringing his horse to its haunches barely a yard away. He was a large, sinewy man, his face rendered hideous by streaks of yellow and red, wearing a high crown of eagle feathers, with a scalp of long light-colored hair, still bloody, dangling at his belt. For a moment he and Captain Wells looked sternly into each other's eyes without speaking. Then the savage broke silence. "Wau-mee-nuk great brave," he said, sullenly, in broken English, using Wells's Indian name, "but him big fool come here now. Why not stay with Big Turtle? He tell him Pottawattomie not want him here." "Big Turtle did tell me," was the quiet answer, "that the Pottawattomies had made bad medicine and were dancing the war-dance in their villages; but I have met Pottawattomies before, and am not afraid. They have been my friends, and I have done them no wrong." He looked intently at the disguised face before him, seeking to trace the features. "You are Topenebe," he said at last. "True," returned the chief, with proud gravity. "You serve me well once; for that I come now, and tell you go back,--there is trouble here." Wells's face darkened. "Have I ever been a coward," he asked indignantly, "that I should turn and run for a threat? Think you, Topenebe, that I fear to sing the death-song? I have lived in the woods, and gone forth with your war-parties; am I less a warrior, now that I fight with the people of my own race? Go take your warning to some squaw; we ride straight on to Dearborn, even though we have to fight our way." The Indian glanced, as Wells pointed, toward the Fort, and sneered. "All old women in there," he exclaimed derisively. "Say this to-day, and that to-morrow. They shut the gates now to keep Indian on outside. No trade, no rum, no powder,--just lies. But they no keep back our young men much longer." His face grew dark, and his eyes angry. "Why you bring them?" he asked hotly, designating our escort of Miamis, already shrinking from the taunts of the gathering braves. "They dog Indians, bad medicine; they run fast when Pottawattomie come." "Don't be so certain about that, Topenebe," retorted Wells, shortly. "But we cannot stop longer here; make way, that we may pass along. Jordan, push on with your advance through that rabble there." The Indian chief drew his horse back beside the trail, and we moved slowly forward, our Indian guides slightly in advance, and exhibiting in every action the disinclination they felt to proceed, and their constantly increasing fear of the wild horde that now resorted to every means in their power, short of actual violence, to retard their progress. As they closed in more closely around us, taunting the Miamis unmercifully, even shaking tomahawks in their faces, with fierce eyes full of hatred and murder, I drew back my horse until I ranged up beside Mademoiselle Antoinette, and thus we rode steadily onward through that frenzied, howling mass, the girl between De Croix and me, who thus protected her on either side. It was truly a weary ride, full of insult, and perchance of grave peril had we faced that naked mob less resolutely. Doubtless the chiefs restrained their young men somewhat, but more than once we came within a hair's-breadth of serious conflict. They hemmed us in so tightly that we could only walk our horses; and twice they pressed upon Jordan so hard as to halt him altogether, bunching his cowardly Miamis, and even striking them contemptuously with their blackened sticks. The second time this occurred, Captain Wells rode forward to force a path, driving the spurs into his horse so quickly that the startled animal fairly cut a lane through the crowded savages before they could draw back. Naught restrained them from open violence but their knowledge of that stern-faced swarthy soldier who fronted them with such dauntless courage. Hundreds in that swarm had seen him before, when, as the adopted son of a great war-chief of the Miamis he had been at their side in many a wild foray along the border. "Wau-mee-nuk, the white chief," passed from lip to lip; and sullenly, slowly, reluctantly, the frenzied red circle fell back, as he pressed his rearing horse full against them. How hideous their painted faces looked, as we slowly pushed past them, their lips shrieking insult, their sinewy hands gripping at our stirrups, their brandished weapons shaken in our faces. With firm-set lips and watchful eyes I rode, bent well forward, so as best to protect the girl, my rifle held across my saddle pommel. Twice some vengeful arm struck me a savage blow, and once a young devil with long matted hair hanging over his fierce eyes thrust a sharpened stake viciously at the girl's face. I struck with quick-clinched hand, and he reeled back into the mass with a sharp cry of pain. My eyes caught the sudden dazzle, as De Croix whipped out his rapier. "Not that, Monsieur!" I cried hastily, across her horse's neck. "Use the hilt, not the blade, unless you wish to die." He heard me above the clamor, and with a quick turn of the weapon struck fiercely at a scowling brave who grasped at his horse's rein. He smiled pleasantly across at me, his fingers twisting his small mustache. "'Tis doubtless good advice, friend Wayland," he said, carelessly, "but these copper-colored devils are indeed most annoying upon this side, and I may lose my temper ere we reach the gate." "For the sake of her who rides between us, I beg that you hold in hard, Monsieur," I answered. "'T would be over-much to pay, I imagine, for a hot brain." I glanced at her as I spoke, scarcely conscious even then that I had removed my eyes from the threatening mob that pressed me, though I know I must have done so, for I retain the picture of her yet. She rode facing me, although her saddle was of the old army type with merely a folded blanket to soften its sharp contours, and her foot could barely find firm support within the narrow strap above the wooden stirrup. She sat erect and easily, swaying gently to the slow step of the horse. Her face was pale, but there was no evidence of timidity in her dark eyes, and she smiled at me as our glances met. "You are surely a brave girl, Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, unable to restrain my admiration. "'Tis a scene to try any nerves." "Yet almost worth the danger," she returned softly, "to realize what men can be in such stress of need. You are the real--Beware of that half-breed, Monsieur!" Her last words were a quick warning, yet my eyes were already upon the fellow, and as he dodged down, knife in hand, to aim a vicious lunge at the forward leg of her horse, I brought the stock of my rifle crunching against his shoulder. The next instant we had passed over his naked body as he lay gasping in the trail. "See!" she cried, with eagerness. "The gates are opened!" We were possibly a hundred yards from the southern front of the stockade, when I glanced forward and saw the level ground between a seething mass of savage forms, so densely wedged together as to block further progress. I could see hundreds of brown sinewy arms uplifted from a sea of faces to brandish weapons of every description, and marked how the Miamis cowered like whipped curs behind the protection of Wells's horse, while close beside him stood Jordan, erect and silent as if on parade, a rifle grasped in his hands, his head bare, a great welt showing redly across his white forehead. A little party, hardly more than twenty infantrymen, marched steadily out from the open gateway of the Fort. The first file bore bayonets fixed upon their guns, and the naked savages fell slowly back before the polished steel. It was smartly done, and it thrilled my blood to note with what silent determination that small band of disciplined men pressed their way onward, passing through the threatening mass of redskins as indifferently as if they had been forest trees. A young, smooth-faced fellow, wearing a new officer's uniform, led them, sword in hand, a smile of light contempt upon his lips. "Clear the space wider, Campbell!" he said sternly, to the big corporal at his side. "Swing your files to left and right, and push the rabble out of the way." They did it with the butts of their guns, laughing at the brandished knives and tomahawks and the fierce painted faces that scowled at them, paying no apparent heed to the taunts and insults showered from every side. There were some stones thrown, a few blows were struck, but no rifle-shot broke the brief struggle. The young officer strode forward down the open space, and fronted our advance. "I presume this is Captain Wells, from Fort Wayne?" he said, lifting his cap as he spoke. "It is," was the reply, "and I am very glad to find that you still hold Fort Dearborn." The other's frank and boyish face darkened slightly, as if at an unpleasant memory. "'Tis no fault of some," he muttered hastily; then he checked himself. "We are glad to greet you, Captain Wells," he added, in a more formal tone, glancing about upon us, "and your party. I am Ensign Ronan, of the garrison; and if you will kindly pass between my guard lines, you will find Captain Heald awaiting you within." Thus we rode freely forward, with the guarding soldiery on either side of us, their faces to the howling savages; we passed in at the great southern gate, and halted amid the buildings of old Fort Dearborn. CHAPTER XI OLD FORT DEARBORN It makes my old head dizzy to recall the events of that hour across the years that have intervened. Possibly I, as I write these words, am the only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of a dream. That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation, for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages that hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops that guarded our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim impression. Yet the glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment, together with the sub sequent experiences that came to me, have indelibly impressed each detail of the rude Fort upon my memory. It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early day the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores of others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the north, forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications against Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among the others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its small garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the heart of the great wilderness. The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great Lake from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the river Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time French trading-post had stood, although the latter had been deserted for so long that no remnant of it yet lingered when the Americans first took possession, and its site remained only as a vague tradition of those Indian tribes whose representatives often visited these waters. The earliest force despatched by the government to this frontier post erected here a simple stockade of logs. These were placed standing on end, firmly planted in the ground and extending upward some fifteen feet, their tops sharpened as an additional protection against savage assailants. This log stockade was built quite solid, save for one main entrance, facing to the south and secured by a heavy, iron-studded gate, with a subterranean or sunken passage leading out beneath the north wall to the river, protected by a door which could be raised only from within. The enclosure thus formed was sufficiently large to contain a somewhat restricted parade-ground, about which were grouped the necessary buildings of the garrison, the quarters for the officers, the soldiers' barracks, the commandant's office, the guard-house, and the magazine. These rude structures were built in frontier style, of cleaved logs, and with one exception were but a single story in height, so that their roofs of rived shingles were well below the protection of the palisade of logs. Besides these interior buildings, two block-houses were built, each constructed so that the second story overhung the first, one of them standing at the southeast and one at the northwest corner of the palisaded walls. A narrow wooden support, or walk, accessible only from one or the other of these block-houses, enabled its defenders to stand within the enclosure and look out over the row of sharpened logs. At the time of our arrival the protective armament of this primitive Fort, besides the small-arms of the garrison, consisted of three pieces of light artillery, brass six-pounders of antique pattern, relics of the Revolution. Outside the Fort enclosure, only a few yards to the west along the river bank, stood the agency building, or, as it was often termed, "goods factory," built for purposes of trading with the Indians, so that it would not be necessary to open the Fort to them. This agency building was a rather large two-story log house, not erected for any purposes of defence. Along the southern side of the stream, in both directions, the soldiers had excavated numerous root-houses, or cellars, in which to store the products of their summer gardens,--these excavations fairly honeycombing the bank. Such was Fort Dearborn in August of the fatal year 1812. It stood ugly, rude, isolated, afar from any help in time of need. Its nearest military neighbor lay directly across the waters of the Great Lake, where a small detachment of troops, scarcely less isolated than itself, garrisoned a similar stockade near the mouth of the river Saint Joseph. To the westward, the vast plains, as yet scarce pressed by the adventurous feet of white explorers, faded away into a mysterious unknown country, roamed over by countless tribes of savages; to the northward lay an unbroken wilderness for hundreds of leagues, save for a few scattered traders at Green Bay, until the military outpost at Mackinac was reached; to the eastward rolled the waters of the Great Lake, storm-swept and unvexed by keel of ship, an almost unsurpassable barrier, along whose shore adventurous voyagers crept in log and bark canoes; while to the southward alternating prairie and timber-land stretched away for unnumbered leagues the Indian hunting-grounds,--broken only by a few scattered settlements of French half-breeds. From the walls of the Fort the eye ranged over a dull and monotonous landscape, nowhere broken by signs of advancing civilization or even of human presence. A few hundred yards to the east the waves of Lake Michigan broke upon the wide, sandy beach, whence the tossing waters stretched away in tumultuous loneliness to their blending with the distant sky. Southward, along the shore of the lake, the nearly level plain, brown and sun-parched, soon merged into rounded heaps of wind-drifted sand, barely diversified by a few straggling groups of cottonwoods. To the westward extended the boundless prairie, flat and bare as a floor, except where the southern fork of the little river cut its way through the soft loam, and gave rise to a scrubby growth of cottonwood and willow; while northward, across the main body of the river, the land appeared more rugged and broken, and somewhat heavily wooded with oak and other forest trees, but equally devoid of evidences of habitation. In all this wide survey from the little knoll on which the Fort stood, five houses only were visible. These were built roughly of logs in the most primitive style of the frontier, and, with a single exception, were now deserted by their occupants, who had retreated for safety to the stockade of the Fort. The single exception was the larger and more ambitious dwelling standing on the north bank of the river, occupied by John Kinzie and his family, himself an old-time Indian trader, whose honesty and long dealing with the savages had made him confident of their friendship and fidelity. At one time, however, so threatening had become the strange bands that flocked in toward Dearborn, as crows to a feast, he also deserted his home, and, with those dependent upon him, sought refuge within the Fort walls; but, influenced by the pledge of the Pottawattomies, and believing that safety lay in trusting to their friendship, they had returned to their own house. The other cabins were scattered to the westward of the stockade, close to the river bank. These dwellings had been occupied by the families of Ouilmette, Burns, and Lee, respectively; while the last named owned a second cabin, built some distance up the south branch of the river, and occupied by a tenant named Liberty White. The prospect was in truth depressing to one accustomed to other and more civilized surroundings. A spirit of loneliness, of fearful isolation, seemed to hover over the restless waters upon the one hand, and those vast silent plains on the other; sea and sky, sky and sand, met the wearied eye wherever it wandered. The scene was unspeakably solemn in its immensity and loneliness; while irresistibly the thought would wander over those fateful leagues of prairie and forest that stretched unbrokenly between this far frontier and the few scattered and remote settlements that were its nearest neighbors. It was not until some time later that these sombre reflections pressed upon me with all their force. After the excitement of our first boisterous greeting was over, and I found opportunity to lean across the top of the guarded stockade and gaze alone over the desolate spectacle I have endeavored to describe, I could feel more acutely the hopelessness of our situation and the danger threatening us from every side. But at the moment of our entrance, all my interest and attention had been centred upon the scenes and persons immediately about me. It was my first experience within the stockaded walls of an armed government post. The scene was new to my young senses, and, in spite of the excitement that still heated my blood, I looked upon it with such absorbing interest as to be forgetful for the moment even of the fair girl who rode in at my side. The dull clang of the heavy iron-bound gate behind us was a welcome sound after the fierce buffetings of our perilous passage; yet it only partially shut off the savage howlings, while above the hideous uproar came the sharp reports of several guns. But the instant bustle and confusion within scarcely allowed opportunity to notice this disorder; moreover, there had come to us a sense of safety and security,--we were at last within the barriers we had struggled so long to gain. However the savage hordes might rage without, we were now beyond their reach, and might take breath again. Our little party, closely bunched together, with Wells and the timorous Miamis at its head, surged quickly through between the bars, and came to a halt in an open space, evidently the parade-ground of the garrison, the bare earth worn smooth and hard by the trampling of many feet. A tall flag-pole rose near the centre, and the wavering shadow of the banner at its top extended to the eastern edge of the enclosure. Out from the log-houses which bordered this enclosure there came a group of people to welcome us,--officers and soldiers, women neatly dressed and with bright intelligent faces, women of rougher mould attired in calico or deer-skin, hardy-looking men in rude hunter's garb, picturesque French voyageurs wiry of limb and dark of skin, an Indian or two, silent, grave, emotionless, a single negro, and trailing behind them a number of dirty, delighted children, and dogs of every breed and degree. It was a motley gathering, and appeared almost like a multitude as it hurried forth into the open parade-ground, and surged joyfully about us, all eager to welcome us to Dearborn, and hopeful that we brought them encouragement and relief. We were of their own race, a link between them and the far-distant East; and our coming told them they were not forgotten. The odd commingling of tongues, the constant crowding and scraps of conversation, the volley of questioning from every side, was confusing and unintelligible. I could gain only glimpses here and there of what was going on; nor was I able to judge with any accuracy of the number of those present. I looked down upon their appealing, anxious faces, with a sad heart. In some way the sight of them brought back thoughts of the savage, howling mob without, clamoring for blood, through which we had won our passage by sheer good-fortune; of those leagues of untracked forest amid whose glooms we had ploughed our way. I thought of these things as I gazed upon the helpless women and children thronging about me, and my heart sank as I realized how great indeed was the burden resting upon us all, how frail the hope of safety. Death, savage, relentless, inhuman death in its most frightful guise with torture and agony unspeakable, lurked along every mile of our possible retreat; nor could I conceive how its grim coming might long be delayed by that palisade of logs. We were hopeless of rescue. We were alone, deserted, the merest handful amid the unnumbered hordes of the vast West. Swift and terrible as this conception was when it swept upon me, it grew deeper as I learned more fully the details of our situation. Just in front of where I lingered in my saddle, the crush slightly parted, and I noticed a tall man step forward, a fair man, having a light beard slightly tinged with gray, and wearing the undress uniform of a captain of infantry. A lady, several years his junior, stood at his side, her eyes bright with expectancy. At sight of them, Captain Wells instantly sprang from his horse and hastened forward, his dark face lighted by one of his rare smiles. "Captain," he exclaimed, clasping the officer's hand warmly, and extending his other hand in greeting to the lady, "I am glad indeed to have reached you in time to be of service; and you, my own dear niece,--may we yet be permitted to bring you safely back to God's country." I was unable to catch the reply of either; but I noted that the lady flung her arms about the speaker's neck and kissed his swarthy cheek. Then Captain Wells spoke more loudly, so that his words reached my ears. "But, Heald," he said, "what means all this litter of garrison equipment lying scattered about? Surely you have no present intention to leave the Fort, in face of that savage mob out yonder?" "'Tis the orders of General Hull," was the low and somewhat hesitating response, "and the Pottawattomie chiefs have pledged us escort around the head of the lake. But this is no place to discuss the matter. As soon as possible I would speak with you more fully in my office." The look of undisguised amazement upon Wells's face startled me; and as I glanced about me, wondering whom I might take counsel with, I was astonished to note the horse that Toinette had ridden standing with empty saddle. De Croix, negligently curling his mustache between his slender fingers, gazed at me with a blank stare. "Where is Mademoiselle?" I questioned anxiously, as he remained silent. "Surely she was with us as we came in!" "Pish! of course," he returned carelessly; "if she chooses to dismount and rejoin her friends, what has that to do with John Wayland? Cannot the girl so much as move without your permission, Monsieur?" The words were insolent, not less than the manner that accompanied them. Instantly there flashed upon me the thought that this Frenchman sought a quarrel with me; but I could conceive no reason there for, and was not greatly disposed to accommodate him. "'Twas no more than curiosity that urged my question," I answered, assuming not to notice his bravado. "I was so deeply interested in other things as to have forgotten her presence." "Something no lady is ever likely to forgive," he interjected. "But what think you they propose doing with us here?" As if in direct answer to his question, the young officer who had met us without now elbowed his way through the throng, until he stood at our horses' heads. "Gentlemen," he said, with a quick glance into our faces, "dismount and come within. There is but little to offer you here at Dearborn, we have been cut off from civilization so long; but such as we possess will be shared with you most gladly." De Croix chatted with him in his easy, familiar manner, as we slowly crossed the parade; while I followed them in silence, my thoughts upon the disappearance of Toinette and the Frenchman's sudden show of animosity. My glance fell upon the groups of children scattered along our path, and I wondered which among them might prove to be Roger Matherson's little one. At the entrance of one of the log-houses fronting the parade, a rather ambitious building of two stories, if I remember rightly, with a narrow porch along its front, an officer was standing upon the step, talking with a sweet-faced woman who appeared scarce older than seventeen. "Lieutenant Helm," said Ronan, politely, "this is Captain de Croix, of the French army." He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward me. "I believe I have failed to learn your name?" "I am simply John Wayland," I answered, and, with a glance at my face, Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand. "We are greatly pleased to welcome you both," he said earnestly, but with a grave side-glance at his young wife, "though I fear we have little to offer you except privation and danger." "How many have you in the garrison?" I questioned, my eyes upon the moving figures about us. "It looks a crowd, in that narrow space." "They are all there who are able to crawl," he said, with a grave smile. "But in this case our numbers are a weakness. In the garrison proper we have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four non-commissioned officers and privates. To these may be added twelve settlers acting as militiamen, making a total defensive force of seventy men. But fully twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and totally unfit for active duty; while we are further burdened by having under our protection twelve women and twenty children. It almost crazes one to think of what their fate may be." "Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages," broke in De Croix, "and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions. Saint Guise! I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet with plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have already greeted me here, 'twill not prove so bad for a few weeks." Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely thoughtful, wandered back to me. "We are to evacuate the Fort," he said quietly. "Evacuate?" echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing. "'Tis a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave peril. Does such decision come from a council?" "There has been no council," broke in Ronan, hastily. "The commander has not honored his officers by calling one. Such were the orders as published on parade this morning." He would have added more, but Helm warned him by a sudden look of disapproval. "I understand," he explained quietly, "that the instructions received from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald was left no discretion in the matter." "I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders," exclaimed the Ensign hotly, "and we all know it means death." Helm faced him sternly. "A soldier's first duty is obedience," he said shortly, "and we are soldiers. Gentlemen, will you not come in?" CHAPTER XII THE HEART OF A WOMAN As I sat in the officers' quarters, listening to the conversation regarding existing conditions at the Fort and the unrest among the Indians of the border, my thoughts kept veering from the sudden and ungracious disappearance of Mademoiselle to the early seeking after that hapless orphan child for whose sake I had already travelled so far and entered into such danger. Evidently, if I was to aid her my quest must be no longer interrupted. With characteristic gallantry, De Croix had at once been attracted toward Lieutenant Helm's young and pretty bride, and they two had already forgotten all sense of existing peril in a most animated discussion of the latest fashionable modes in Montreal. I was not a little amused by the interest manifest in her soft blue eyes as she spoke with all the art of a woman versed in such mysteries, and at the languid air of elegance with which he bore himself. Meanwhile, I answered as best I might the flood of questions addressed to me by the two officers, who, having been shut out from the world so long, were naturally eager for military news from Fort Wayne and from the seat of government. As these partially ceased, I asked: "Has a date been set for the abandonment of the Fort?" "We march out upon the fifteenth," was Helm's reply, "the day after to-morrow, unless something occurs meanwhile to change Captain Heald's plans. I confess I dread its coming, much as I imagine a condemned man might dread the date of his execution," and his grave eyes wandered toward his young wife, as if fearful his words might be overheard by her. "There are other lives than mine endangered, and their peril makes duty doubly hard." "Lieutenant," I said, recalled to my own mission by these words, "I myself am seeking to be of service to one here,--the young daughter of one Roger Matherson, an old soldier who died at this post last month. He was long my father's faithful comrade in arms, and with his dying breath begged our care for his orphan child. It has come to us as a sacred trust, and I was despatched upon this errand. Can you tell me where this girl is to be found?" Before he could frame a reply, for he was somewhat slow of speech, his wife, who had turned from De Croix, and was listening with interest to my story, spoke impulsively. "Why, we have been wondering, Mr. Wayland, where she could have gone. Not that we have worried, for she is a girl well able to care for herself, and of a most independent spirit. She disappeared very suddenly from the Fort several days ago; we supposed she must have gone with my mother when Mr. Kinzie took his family back to their home." "With Mr. Kinzie?" I questioned, for at that moment I could not recall hearing the name. "May I ask where that home is?" "He is the very good step-father of my wife, and one she loves as truly as if he were her own father," answered Helm, warmly; "a man among a thousand. Mr. Kinzie is an Indian trader, and has been here for several years, if indeed he be not the first white settler, for old Pointe Au Sable was a West Indian mulatto. His relations with these savages who dwell near the Great Lake, and especially those of the Pottawattomie and Wyandot tribes, are so friendly that he has felt safe to remain with his family unguarded in his own home. They have always called him Shaw-nee-aw-kee, the Silver-man, and trust him as much as he trusts them. He is, besides, a great friend of Sau-ga-nash, the half-breed Wyandot; and that friendship is a great protection. His house is across the river, a little to the east of the Fort; it can easily be seen from the summit of the stockade. But we have had no direct communication for several days; the orders have been very strict since the gates were closed. It is not safe for our soldiers to venture outside except in force, and neither Kinzie nor any of his family have lately visited us. Doubtless they feel that to do so might arouse the suspicion of their Indian friends." "But are you sure they are there, and safe? And do you believe the one I seek will be found with them?" "Smoke rises from the chimney, as usual, and there was a light burning there last evening. We do not know certainly that your friend is there, but think such is the case, as she was extremely friendly with a young French girl in their employ named Josette La Framboise." I sat in silence for some time, thinking, and neglectful of the conversation being carried on around me by the others, until we were called to supper by the soldier who officiated as steward for the officers' mess. I remember many details of the situation, as they were frankly discussed in my presence while we lingered at the table; yet my own reflections were elsewhere, as I was endeavoring to determine my duty regarding the safety of her whom I had come so far to aid. Surely, my first object now must be to ascertain where she was, in order to be at her service when the hour for departure came. Nor had I any time to spare, if we were to march out on the fifteenth. I cannot describe, at this late day, how strangely my allegiance wavered, in that hour, between the unknown, unseen girl, and the fair, vivacious Toinette. My heart drew me toward the one, my clear duty to the other; and I could see no way out of the dilemma except to find Elsa Matherson without delay, in order that the two should be close together where, as need arose, I could stand between them and whatever of evil impended. I fear I was an indifferent guest, for I was never nimble of tongue, and that night I was more silent than usual. However, De Croix most effectually hid my retirement by his rare good-humor and the sparkling badinage with which he concentrated all attention upon himself, and was consequently soon in the happiest of moods. I know not how the fellow succeeded in working the miracle, but he sat at the board, upon Mrs. Helm's left hand, powdered and curled as if he were gracing a banquet at the Tuileries. His ruffled shirt, glittering buckles, and bright blue waistcoat, were startling amid such homely surroundings; while his neatly folded handkerchief of lace exhaled a delicate perfume. Deeply as I was immersed in my own thoughts and plans, I could not help admiring his easy grace, and more than once forgot myself in listening to his marvellous tales and witty anecdotes. He was detailing a recent scandal of the French court, passing delicately over its more objectionable features, when I grasped the opportunity to slip unobserved from the room into the open of the parade-ground. It proved a dark night without, but the numerous lights in the surrounding buildings, whose doors and windows were open, sufficiently illumined the place, so that I found my way about with little difficulty. A group of soldiers lounged at the open door of the guard-house, and I paused a moment to speak with one, a curly-headed lad, who sat smoking, his back resting easily against the logs. "Are the outer gates ever opened at night?" I asked. He glanced up at me in surprise, shading his eyes to be assured of my identity before speaking. "Scarcely either day or night now, sir," he replied, respectfully, "but between sunset and sunrise they are specially barred, and a double guard is set. No one can pass except on the order of Captain Heald." "In which direction is the Kinzie house?" He pointed toward the northeast corner of the stockade. "It is just over there, sir, across the river. You might see the light from the platform; beyond the shed yonder is the ladder that leads up into the block-house." Thanking him, I moved forward as directed, found the ladder, and pushed my way up through the narrow opening in the floor of the second story. The small square room, feebly lighted by a single sputtering candle stuck in the shank of a bayonet, contained half a dozen men, most of them idling, although two were standing where they could readily peer out through the narrow slits between the logs. All of them were heavily armed, and equipped for service. They looked at me curiously as I first appeared, but the one who asked my business wore the insignia of a corporal, and was evidently in command. "I wish to look out over the stockade, if there is no objection. I came in with Captain Wells's party this afternoon," I said, not knowing what their orders might be, or if I would be recognized. "I remember you, sir," was the prompt response, "and you are at liberty to go out there if you desire. That is the door leading to the platform." "The Indians appear to be very quiet to-night." "The more reason to believe them plotting some fresh deviltry," he answered, rising to his feet, and facing me. "We never have much to disturb us upon this side, as it overhangs the river and is not easy of approach; but the guard on the south wall is kept pretty busy these last few nights, and has to patrol the stockade. The Indians have been holding some sort of a powwow out at their camp ever since dark, and that's apt to mean trouble sooner or later." "Then you keep no sentry posted on the platform?" I asked, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "Not regularly, sir; only when something suspicious happens along the river. There's nobody out there now excepting the French girl,--she seems to be fond of being out there all alone." The French girl? Could it be possible that he meant Toinette? I was conscious of a strange fluttering of the heart, as I stepped forth upon the narrow foot-way and peered along it, searching for her. I could distinguish nothing, however; and as I slowly felt my way forward, testing the squared log beneath me with careful foot and keeping hold with one hand upon the sharpened palisades, I began to believe the corporal had been mistaken. The door, closing behind, shut off the last gleam of light, and I was left alone in utter darkness and silence, save for the low rumble of voices within the Fort enclosure, and the soft plashing below where the river current kissed the bank at the foot of the stockade. I had gone almost the full length of that side, before I came where she was leaning against the logs, her chin resting upon one hand, her gaze turned north ward. Indeed, so silent was she, so intent upon her own thought, I might have touched her unnoticed in the gloom, had not the stars broken through a rift in the cloud above us, and sent a sudden gleam of silver across her face. "Mademoiselle," I said, striving to address her with something of the ease I thought De Croix would exercise at such a moment, "I meant not to intrude upon your privacy, yet I am most glad to meet with you once more." She started slightly, as though aroused from reverie, and glanced inquiringly toward me. "I supposed my visitor to be one of the guard," she said pleasantly; "and even now I am unable to distinguish your face, yet the sound of the voice re minds me of John Wayland." "I am proud to know that it has not already been forgotten. You deserted me so suddenly this afternoon, I almost doubted my being welcome now." She laughed lightly, tapping the ends of the logs with her finger-tips. "Have you, then, never learned that a woman is full of whims, Monsieur?" she questioned. "Why, this afternoon your eyes were so big with wonder that they had forgotten to look at me. Truly, I spoke to you twice to aid me from the saddle; but you heard nothing, and in my desperation I was obliged to turn to the courtesy of Captain de Croix. Ah, there is a soldier, my friend, who is never so preoccupied as to neglect his duty to a lady." "It was indeed most ungallant of me," I stammered, scarce knowing whether she laughed at me or not. "Yet my surroundings were all new, and I have not the training of DC Croix in such matters." "Pah! 'tis just as well. I am inclined to like you as you are, my friend, and we shall not quarrel; yet, with all his love for lesser things, your comrade has always shown himself a truly gallant gentleman." I made no answer to these flattering words, for I felt them to be true; yet no less this open praise of him, falling from her lips, racked me sorely, and I lacked the art to make light of it. "The soldiers in the block-house tell me you come here often," I ventured at last, for the dead silence weighed upon me. "You have never seemed to me like one who would seek such loneliness." "I am one whom very few wholly comprehend, I fear, and surely not upon first acquaintance," she answered thoughtfully, "for I am full of strange moods, and perhaps dream more than other girls. This may have been born of my early convent training, and the mystic tales of the nuns; nor has it been lessened by the loneliness of the frontier. So, if I differ from other young women, you may know 'tis my training, as well as my nature, that may account for it. I have led a strange life, Monsieur, and one that has known much of sadness. There are times when I seek my own thoughts, and find liking for no other company. Then I come here, and in some way the loneliness of water and plain soothe me as human speech cannot. I used to love to stand yonder by the eastern wall and gaze out over the Great Lake, watching the green surges chase each other until they burst in spray along the beach. But since I went adrift in the little boat, and felt the cruelty of the water, I have shrunk from looking out upon it. Monsieur, have you never known how restful it sometimes is to be alone?" "My life has mostly been a solitary one," I answered, responding unconsciously to her mood, and, in doing so, forgetting my embarrassment. "It is the birthright of all children of the frontier. Indeed, I have seen so little of the great world and so much of the woods, that I scarcely realize what companionship means, especially that of my own age. I have made many a solitary camp leagues from the nearest settlement, and have tracked the forest alone for days together, so content with my own thought that possibly I understand your meaning better than if my life had been passed among crowds." "Ah! but I like the crowds," she exclaimed hastily, "and the glow and excitement of that brighter, fuller life, where people really live. It is so dull here,--the same commonplace faces, the tiresome routine of drill, the same blue sky, gray water, and green plains, to look upon day after day. Oh, but it is all so wearisome, and you cannot conceive how I have longed again for Montreal and the many little gaieties that brighten a woman's world. There are those here who have never known these happier things; their whole horizon of experience has been bounded by garrison palisades; but 'tis not so with me,--I tasted of the sweet wine once, when I was a girl, and the memory never leaves me." "Yet you are often happy?" "'Tis my nature, Monsieur, a legacy of my mother's people; but I am not always gay of heart when my lips smile." "And the coming of the French gallant has doubtless freshened your remembrance of the past?" I said, a trifle bitterly. "It has indeed," was her frank admission. "He represents a life we know so little about here on the far frontier. To you, with your code of border manliness, he may appear all affectation, mere shallow in sincerity; but to me, Captain de Croix represents his class, stands for the refinements of social order to which women can never be indifferent. Those were the happiest days of my life, Monsieur; and at Montreal he was only one among many." She was gazing out into the black void as she spoke, and the slowly clearing skies permitted the star-light to gleam in her dark eyes and reveal the soft contour of her cheek. "You do not understand that?" she questioned finally, as I failed to break the silence. "I have no such pleasant memory to look back upon," I answered; "yet I can feel, though possibly in a different way, your longing after better things." "You realize this sense of loneliness? this absence of all that makes life beautiful and worth the living?" "Perhaps not that,--for life, even here, is well worth living, and to my eyes the great sea yonder, and the dark forests, are of more interest than city streets. But in one sense I may enter into your meaning; my thought also is away from here,--it is with a home, scarcely less humble than are our present surroundings, yet it contains the one blessing worth striving after--love." "Love!" she echoed the unexpected word almost scornfully. "'Tis a phrase so lightly spoken that I scarce know what it may signify to you. You love some one then, Monsieur?" and she looked up at me curiously. "My mother, Mademoiselle." I saw the expression upon her face change instantly. "Your pardon," she exclaimed, hastily. "'Twas not the meaning I had thought. I know something of such love as that, and honor you for thus expressing it." "I have often wondered, since first we met, at your being here, seemingly alone, at this outermost post of the frontier. It seems a strange home for one of your refinement and evident delight in social life." "'Tis not from choice, Monsieur. My mother died when I was but a child, as I have already told you. I scarce have memory of her, yet I bear her name, and, I am told, inherit many of her peculiarities. She was the daughter of a great merchant at Montreal, and the blood of a noble family of France flowed in her veins. She gave up all else to become my father's wife; nor did she ever live to regret it." Her voice was so low and plaintive that I hesitated to speak; yet finally, as she ceased, and silence fell between us, I asked another question: "And 'twas then you voyaged into this wilderness with your father?" "I have never since left him while he lived," she answered softly, her head resting upon her hand. "But he also has gone now, and I merely wait opportunity to journey eastward." "He was a trader, you told me once?" "A soldier first, Monsieur; a true and gallant soldier, but later he traded with the Indians for furs." I felt that she was weeping softly, although I could see but little, and I leaned in silence against the rough logs, gazing out into the black night, hesitating to break in upon her grief. Then a voice spoke rapidly at the farther end of the stockade, and a sudden glow of light shot like an arrow along the platform. I turned quickly, and there in the open doorway, clearly outlined against the candle flame, stood De Croix. CHAPTER XIII A WAGER OF FOOLS "It looks a narrow walk, my friend," he said rather doubtfully, peering forward with shaded eyes, "and 'tis dark as Erebus; yet gladly will I make the venture for hope of the reward." The door closed behind him, shutting off the last vestige of light; and we, with our eyes accustomed to the gloom, could mark his dim outline as he advanced toward us. His actions belied his words, for he moved with all his accustomed jauntiness along the uncertain foot-way, barely touching the top of the palisades with one hand to guide his progress. He was almost upon the girl before he perceived either of us; and then his earliest words surprised me into silence. "Ah, Toinette!" he cried eagerly, "I fear I must have kept you waiting over-long; yet I was with Mrs. Helm,--a most fair and charming bride,--and scarce noted the rapid passage of time." "I naturally supposed it was a woman," she answered, with what I interpreted as a strained assumption of indifference, "as that has ever been your sufficient reason for breaking faith with me." "Do not interpret it so, I beg," he hastened to implore. "Surely, my being a few moments in arrears is not a matter sufficiently serious to be called a breakage of faith. I do assure you, Toinette, you were never once absent from my thought." "Indeed?" she exclaimed incredulously, and with an echo of suppressed laughter in her voice. "Then truly you are far more to be commiserated on this occasion than I, for in truth, Monsieur de Croix, I have not missed you over-much. I have enjoyed most excellent company." "The mysterious spirits of the starry night?" he questioned, looking out into the darkness, "or the dim figures of your own imagination?" "Very far from either," she retorted, with a laugh; "a most substantial reality, as you are bound to confess. Master Wayland, is it not time for you fitly to greet Captain de Croix? He may deem you lax in cordiality." I can perceive now how dearly the laughing witch loved to play us one against the other, hiding whatever depth of feeling she may have had beneath the surface of careless innocence, and keeping us both in an uncertainty as aggravating as it was sweet. I could not read the expression upon De Croix's face in the gloom, yet I saw him start visibly at her almost mocking words, and there was a trace of ill-suppressed irritation in his voice. "Saint Guise! 'Twas for that, then, he left us so mysteriously," he exclaimed, unconsciously uttering his first thought aloud. "But how knew he you were to be here?" Before she could answer, I spoke, anxious to relieve her of embarrassment; for 'twas ever my nature to yield much without complaint. "As it chances, Captain de Croix, she did not know," I said, standing back from the palisades where he could see me more clearly. "I left the table below with no thought of meeting Mademoiselle, and came out on this platform for a different purpose. As you know, I am visiting Dearborn upon a special mission." "Ah, true," and I could feel the trace of relief in his voice as he instantly recalled my story. "You also sought a girl in this wilderness,--may I ask, have you yet found trace of her?" I heard Mademoiselle move quickly. "A girl?" she asked in surprise. "Here, at Dearborn?" "She was at Dearborn until very lately, but they tell me now I must seek for her at the Kinzie house, It was for the purpose of marking its position from the Fort that I came up here." For a moment no one of our voices broke the strained silence. I was troubled by this knowledge of a pre-arranged meeting between these two, yet felt it was nothing with which I had a right to interfere. This careless French girl, whom I had known for scarcely two days, was not one to be easily guided, even had I either reason or excuse for attempting it. "'Tis strange," she said, musingly, "that she has never so much as spoken to me about it; yet she was always shy of speech in such matters." "Of whom do you speak, Toinette?" questioned De Croix. "Of Master Wayland's young friend with the Kinzies," she answered, the old sprightliness again in her voice. "I know her very well, Monsieur,--a dear, sweet girl,--and shall be only too glad to speed you on to her. Yet 'tis not so easy of accomplishment, hemmed in as we are here now. Yonder is the light, Master Wayland; but much of peril may lurk between. 'Tis not far, were the way clear; indeed, in the old days of peace a rope ferry connected Fort and house, but now to reach there safely will require a wide detour and no little woodcraft. There were patrols of savages along the river bank at dusk, and it is doubtful if all have been withdrawn." I looked as she pointed, and easily distinguished the one glittering spark that pierced the darkness to the north and east. I wondered at her earlier words; yet they might all be true enough, for I knew nothing of this Elsa Matherson. Before I could question further, De Croix had interfered, eager, no doubt, to be rid of me. "Upon my soul!" he exclaimed recklessly, "if I could voyage here from Montreal to win but a smile, it should prove a small venture for our backwoods friend to cover yonder small distance. _Sacre!_ I would do the deed myself for one kiss from rosy lips." I have wondered since what there was about those words to anger me. It must have been their boastful tone, the sarcasm that underlay the velvet utterance, which stung like salt in a fresh wound. I felt that from the summit of his own success he durst laugh at me; and my blood boiled instantly. "You are wondrous bold, Monsieur," I retorted, "when the matter is wholly one of words. I regret I cannot pledge you such reward, so that I might learn how you would bear yourself in the attempt." He stared at me haughtily across the shoulder of the girl, as if doubting he heard aright. "You question my courage to venture it?" "It has been my experience that the cock that crows the loudest fights the least." "Oh, hush, Messieurs!" broke in Mademoiselle, her voice showing suppressed amusement. "This platform is far too narrow to quarrel upon; and, besides, the condition of the wager is most easily met,--that is, if my lips be deemed of sufficiently rosy hue." I know I stood with opened mouth, so astounded by these mocking words as to be stricken dumb; but not so De Croix. The audacity of his nature made eager response to the bold challenge. "Do you mean what you say, Toinette?" he asked, striving to gain a view of her face in the darkness. "Do I? And pray, why not?" she questioned lightly. "One kiss is not so very much to give, and I shall never miss it. 'Tis duller here than at Montreal, and no doubt 'twill greatly interest me to witness the race. Surely it will prove a better way to end your foolish quarrel than to shoot each other. But come, Messieurs, why do you hesitate so long? is not the prize enough?" He bowed gallantly, and took her hand. "'Twould be the ransom of a king," he answered; "though first I wish to know the terms of this contest more clearly." She looked out into that silent and lonely night, her eyes upon the distant gleam, and instinctively our glances followed hers. It was a dull desolation, with no sound, no movement, in all the black void. The stars gleamed dull on the water of the river beneath us, and we could dimly see the denser shadow of the opposite shore; beyond this, nothing was apparent save that distant candle flame. What lay between,--what strange obstruction of land, what ambushed foes,--neither of us had means of knowing. We could simply plunge into the mystery of it blindfolded by the fates. Yet to draw back now would brand either of us forever with the contempt of her who had challenged us so lightly. "'Tis all simple enough," she said at last, her eyes glowing with quick excitement. "The goal is yonder where that light glows so clearly, though I warn you the longest way round may prove the surest in the end. To the one of you who reaches there first and returns here, I am to give one kiss as a measure of reward. I care not how it may be accomplished,--such minor matters rest with your own wits." "But the young girl we seek," he insisted; "must she also be brought here upon the return?" "Pish! what care I what may be done with the girl? Besides, she is far safer from the savages there than she would be here." I saw De Croix lean far out over the sharpened palisades and peer downward. The movement gave me instantly a thought of his purpose, and, unnoticed, I loosened the pistol-belt about my waist and silently dropped it upon the platform. Whatever desperate chance he might choose to take, I was determined now to equal. "Doth the water of the river come to the very foot of these logs?" he asked, unable to determine in the darkness. "No, Monsieur, the earth slopes downward for some feet, yet the current is at this bank, and gives much depth of water at the shore." "But of what width is the strip of earth between?" "Perhaps the length of a tall man." "Saint Guise! 'tis well I thought to ask!" he explained jauntily. "And now, Mademoiselle, if you will but kindly hold this coat and sword, I shall strive to show you how highly I value the prize offered, and what a French gentleman can do for love." I fully grasped his purpose now, and even as he turned toward her, holding out the valuables he hesitated to lose, I scaled the low barrier in my front, planted my feet firmly between the pointed stakes, and sprang boldly into the darkness. CHAPTER XIV DARKNESS AND SURPRISE It was a greater distance to the water than I had supposed, but I struck at last fairly enough, and went down until I thought I should never come up again. As I rose to the surface and shook the moisture from my face and ears, a light laugh rang out high above me, and Mademoiselle's clear voice cried mockingly: "The backwoodsman has taken the first trick, Monsieur." I saw De Croix's body dart, like a black arrow, far out into the air, and come sweeping down. He struck to my left, and a trifle behind me; but I waited not to learn just how. With lusty strokes I struck out for the north shore. It was a hard swim, for my deerskins held the water like so many bags, and the current, though not rapid, was sufficiently strong to make me fight valiantly for every foot of way. I came out, panting heavily, upon a low bank of soft mud, and crept cautiously up under the black shadow of some low bushes growing there. I took time, as I rested, to glance back, hoping thus to learn more of the direction I should follow; for the Kinzie light was no longer visible, and my struggle with the current had somewhat bewildered me. I neither saw nor heard anything of De Croix; but the flame of the candle gleaming through the narrow slits of the block-house told me clearly where it stood, while a wild yelling farther to the southward convinced me that our Indian besiegers were yet astir and concocting some fresh deviltry at their camp. With a half-uttered prayer that they might all be there, I hastily pressed the water from my soggy clothes and plunged forward into the unknown darkness. A big cottonwood, as from its shape I judged it to be, rose against the stars in my front,--a dim outline swaying slightly in the westerly wind, and I took it as my first guide-mark, moving over the rough unknown ground as rapidly and silently as possible. The soft moccasins I wore aided me greatly, nor were there many trees along the way to drop twigs in the path to crackle under foot; yet I found the ground uneven and deceptive, rifted with small gullies, and more or less bestrewn with stones, against which I stumbled in the darkness. I was too thoroughly trained in the stern and careful school of the frontier not to be cautious at such a time, for I knew that silence and seeming desolation were no proof of savage desertion; nor did I believe that Indian strategy would leave the north of the Fort wholly unguarded. Any rock, any black ravine, any clump of trees or bushes, might well be the lurking-place of hostiles, who would only too gladly wreak their vengeance upon any hapless straggler falling into their hands. I was unarmed, save for the long hunting-knife I carried in the bosom of my shirt; but my thought was not of fighting,--it was to get through without discovery. To De Croix I gave small consideration, save that the memory of the wager was a spur to urge me forward at greater speed. The place was strangely, painfully still; even the savage yelling of the distant Indians seemed to die away as I advanced, and nothing broke the oppressive silence but an occasional flutter of leaves, or my own deep breathing. I had gone, I take it, half or three-quarters of a mile, not directly north, but circling ever to the eastward, seeking thus to reach the house from the rear, when I came to a sharp break in the surface of the land, somewhat deeper and more abrupt than those before encountered. It seemed like a cut or ravine made by some rush of water lakeward; and, as I hesitated upon the edge of it, peering across and wondering if I had better risk the plunge, my eyes caught the blaze of the Kinzie light scarce a hundred yards from the opposite bank of the ravine. Assured that I was headed right, I stepped off with a new confidence that, for the moment, conquered my usual prudence,--for the steep bank gave way instantly beneath my weight. I grasped vainly at the edge, fell heavily sidewise, and rolled like a great log, bruised and half-stunned, into the black gorge below. I remember gripping at a slender bush that yielded to my touch; but all the rest was no more than a breathless tumble, until I struck something soft at the bottom,--something that squirmed and gripped my long hair savagely, and pushed my head back with a grasp on the throat that nearly throttled me. It was all so sudden, so unexpected, that for the moment I was helpless as a child, struggling merely from the natural instinct of preservation to break free. I could perceive nothing, the darkness was so intense; yet as I gradually succeeded in getting my hands loose, I wound them in long coarse hair, pressed them against bare flesh, heard deep labored breathing close to my face, and believed I was struggling with a savage. It was a question of mere brute strength, and neither of us had had the advantage of surprise. I could feel the sharp prick of my own knife as he hugged me to him, but I dare not reach for it, and I held his arms so tightly that he lay panting and struggling as if in a vise. It was an odd fight, as we turned and tossed, writhed and twisted among those sharp pointed rocks like two infuriated wild-cats in the dark, neither venturing to break hold for a blow, nor having breath enough in our bodies for so much as a curse. My adversary struck me once with his head under the chin, so hard a blow that everything turned red before me; and then I got my knee up into the pit of his stomach and caused him to quiver from the agony of it; yet the fellow clung to me like a bull-terrier, and never so much as whined. It was never my nature to yield easily, and I felt now this struggle was to cost his life or mine; so I clinched my teeth, and sought my best to push back the other's head until the neck should crack. But if I was a powerful man, this other was no less so, and he fought with a fierce and silent desperation that foiled me. We dug and tore, gouged and struck, digging our heels into the soft earth in a vain endeavor to gain some advantage of position. My cheek, I knew, was bleeding from contact with a jagged stone, and I was fast growing faint from the awful tension, when I felt his arms slip. "My God!" he panted. "The devil has me!" So startled was I by these English words, that I loosed my grip, staring breathlessly through the darkness. "Are you white?" I gasped, so weakened I could scarce articulate. For a moment he did not answer, but I could hear his breath coming in gasps and sobs. Then he spoke slowly, his voice hoarse from exertion. "By the memory of Moses! I was once,--but that squeeze must have turned me black, I'm thinkin'. An' ye're no Injun?" "Not so much as a feather of one," I retorted. "But that is what I took you to be." We were both sitting up by this time, he with his back against the bank, both of us panting as if we could never regain our breath, and eagerly seeking to see each other's features in the gloom. Any attempt at conversation was painful, but I managed at last to stammer: "You must be a whalebone man, or I'd have broken every rib in your body." "An' I'm not a bit sure ye didn't," was the response, uttered between puffs. "'Twas the worst grip ever Ol' Tom Burns had squeeze him,--an' I've felt o' bars mor' nor oncet. Who may ye be, anyhow, stranger? an' for what cause did ye jump down yere on me?" There was a trace of growing anger in his tone, as remembrance of the outrage returned to his mind, which caused me to smile, now that I could breatheless painfully. It seemed such a ludicrous affair,--that dark struggle, each mistaking the purpose and color of the other. "My name is Wayland," I made haste to explain, "and I left the Fort but now, hoping by this roundabout route to reach the Kinzie place and return under cover of darkness. I slipped on the edge of the bank up yonder, and the next thing I knew we were at it. I can assure you, friend, I supposed myself in the arms of a savage. You say your name is Burns?" "Ol' Tom Burns." "What? It is not possible you are the same who brought a message to Major Wayland on the Maumee?" "I reckon I am," he said, deliberately. "An' be you the boy I met?" "Yes," I said, still doubtful. "But how came you here?" "Wal, here's whar I belong. I've bin a sorter huntin' an' trappin' yer'bouts fer goin' on nine year or so, an' I built a shanty to live in up yonder by the forks. I hedn't much more nor got home frum down east, when the Injuns burnt thet down; an' sence then I ain't bin much o' nowhar, but I reckon'd I'd go inter ther Fort to-morrow and git some grub." He spoke with a slow, deliberate drawl, as if not much accustomed to converse; and I pictured him to myself as one of those silent plainsmen, so habituated to solitude as almost to shun companionship, though he had already let drop a word or two that made me deem him one not devoid of humor. Suddenly I thought of De Croix. "Has any one passed here lately?" I asked, rising to my feet, the old emulation throbbing in my veins. "A white man, I mean, going north." "Wal," he answered slowly, and as he also stood up I could make out, what I had not noted in our previous meeting, that he was as tall as I, but spare of build; "I ain't seen nuthin', but some sort o' critter went ploughin' down inter the gulch up yonder, maybe ten minutes 'fore ye lit down yere on me. Dern if I know whether it were a human er a bar!" "Will you show me the nearest way to the Kinzie house?" "I reckon I'll show ye all right, but ye bet ye don't git me nigher ner a hundred foot o' the door," he returned seriously. "John Kinzie's a mighty good man, stranger, but he an' Ol' Tom Burns ain't never hitched worth a cent." We climbed silently, and came out together upon the top. A slight beam of light crept along through the open door of the log house just in front of us, and for the first time I caught a fair view of my companion. He was a tall, gaunt, wiry fellow, typical in dress and manner of his class, the backwoodsmen of the Southwest, but with a peculiarly solemn face, seamed with wrinkles, and much of it concealed beneath a bushy, iron-gray beard. We eyed each other curiously. "Dern if ever I expected ter meet up with ye agin in no sich way as this," he said shortly. "But thet's the house. Be ye goin' ter stay thar long?" "No," I answered, feeling anxious to have his guidance back to the Fort, "not over five minutes. Will you wait?" "Reckon I may as well," and he seated himself on a stump. No one greeted me at the house, not even a dog; though I could see figures moving within. Either the occupants felt that an assumption of confidence was their best security, or experienced no fear of Indian treachery, for I rapped twice before there was any response. A young girl, with a face of rare beauty and a pair of roguish black eyes, peered out curiously. At sight of a stranger she drew back slightly, yet paused to ask: "Did you wish to see some one here?" "I am seeking for a young girl," I answered, wondering if this could possibly be she, "and they told me at the Fort I should probably find her here. May I ask if you are Elsa Matherson?" For a moment she looked out at me, as if I might be an escaped lunatic. Then she turned her face over her shoulder toward those within. "Mr. Kinzie," said she, "here's another man looking for Elsa Matherson." CHAPTER XV AN ADVENTURE UNDERGROUND A heavily-built man in shirt-sleeves, with a strong, good-humored face, and a shock of gray hair, appeared beside the girl in the doorway. "'Tis not the same scamp I that kissed you, Josette," he exclaimed, after examining me intently in the dim light, "but I doubt not he may prove of similar breed, and it behooves you to be careful where you stand." "Has De Croix been here?" I questioned, scarcely deeming it possible he could have outstripped me in our race through the night. "I know not the rascal's name," was the reply, in the man's deep voice, "but certain I am there was one here scarce ten minutes agone asking after this same Matherson girl. Saint James! but she must have made some sweet acquaintances, judging from the looks of her callers! Josette has been rubbing the fellow's kiss off her lips ever since he caught her unawares." "He was a dandified young fellow?" I urged, impatient to be off, yet eager to be sure. The girl laughed lightly, her roguish eyes ablaze with merriment. "He might be sometime, Monsieur," she cried, evidently glad to talk, "but to-night he reminded me of those scare-crows the farmers near Quebec keep in their fields; a little chap, with a bit of turned-up mustache, and a bright eye, but rags,--gracious, such rags as he wore!" 'Twas De Croix, there could be no doubt of it,--De Croix, torn and dishevelled by his mad rush through the darkness, but with no shred of his reckless audacity gone. There was naught left, me now but to race back upon his trail, hopeful for some chance that might yet allow me to come in first on the return journey. In my throat I swore one thing,--the graceless villain should never collect his reward at both ends of his journey. He had already stolen the sweets from Josette's red lips, but he should never claim those of Mademoiselle. I lingered for but a single question more. "But this Elsa Matherson,--she is not here, then?" "No," returned Mr. Kinzie, somewhat gruffly, "and has not been since the closing of the gates of the Fort. I think you are a parcel of mad fools, to be chasing around on such an errand; yet humanity leads me to bid you come in. There is not a safe foot of ground to-night for any strange white man within three hundred miles of Dearborn." I glanced about me into the black shadows, startled at his solemn words of warning. Away to the southward a faint glimmer told of the location of the Fort; farther to the west, a sudden blaze swept up into the sky, reflected in ruddy radiance on the clouds, and the thought came to me that the savages had put torch to the deserted cabin on the south branch of the river. "No doubt 'tis true," I answered hastily; "yet, whatever the danger may be, I must regain the stockade before dawn." I saw him step forward, as if he would halt me in my purpose; but, wishing to be detained no longer, my thoughts being all with De Croix and Mademoiselle, I turned away quickly and plunged back into the darkness. "You young fool!" he called after me, "come back, or your life will be the forfeit!" Without so much as answering, I ran silently in my moccasins to the spot where I had left Ol' Tom Burns. He sat upon his stump, motionless, apparently without the slightest interest in anything going on about him. "Ol' Kinzie was gol-dern polite ter ye, sonny," he commented. "Reckon if an Injun was a scalpin' me right on his front doorstep he'd never hev asked me ter walk inside like that! He an' me sorter drew on each other 'bout a year ago, down at Lee's shebang; an' he don't 'pear ter fergit 'bout it." "Show me the nearest safe passage to the Fort," I said, interrupting him, almost rudely. He got up slowly, and cast his eyes with deliberation southward. "Oh, thar ain't no sich special hurry, I reckon," he answered with an exasperating drawl. "We'll be thar long afore daylight,--perviding allers we don't hit no Injuns meantime,--an' the slower we travel the less chance thar is o' thet." "But, friend Burns," I urged, "it is a racing matter. I must reach there in advance of another man, who has already been here ahead of me." "Sol sorter reckoned from what I heerd; but ye needn't rip the shirt off ye on thet account. The feller can't git in thar till after daylight, nohow. Them sojers is too blame skeered ter open the gates in the dark, an' all the critter'll git if he tries it will be a volley o' lead; so ye might just as well take it easylike." The old man's philosophy seemed sound. De Croix would certainly not gain admittance until he could make himself known to the guard, and, carefully as the stockade was now patrolled, it was hardly probable he would be permitted to approach close enough for identification during the night. De Croix was no frontiersman, and was reckless to a degree; yet his long training as a soldier would certainly teach him a measure of caution in approaching a guarded fort at such a time. "Tis doubtless true," I admitted, "yet I shall feel safer if we push on at once." "Ye called the feller De Croix, didn't ye?" he asked. "Is it the French dandy as was at Hawkins's?" "Yes," I answered, "and I guess you don't care much to help _him_." Burns wasted no breath in reply, but moved forward with noiseless step. Glancing back, I could clearly perceive Kinzie framed in the light of his open door. The vivacious French lass stood beside him, peering curiously out across his broad shoulders. Then we sank into the blackness of the ravine, and everything was blotted from our sight. Burns evidently knew the intricacies of the path leading to the Fort gate, for I soon felt my feet upon a beaten track, and stumbled no more over the various obstacles that rendered my former progress so uncertain. My guide moved with excessive caution, as it seemed to me, frequently pausing to peer forward into the almost impenetrable darkness, and sniffing the night-air suspiciously as if hoping thus to locate any lurking foes when his keen eyes failed in the attempt. So dark was it that I had almost to tread upon his heels in order to follow him, as not the slightest sound came from his stealthy advance. As he surmounted the steeper inclines of land, I was able to perceive him dimly, usually leaning well forward and moving with the utmost caution, his long rifle held ready for instant use. As we drew nearer the river,--or where I supposed the river must be, for I could distinguish but little of our position,--he swerved from the footpath we were following, and the way instantly grew rougher to our feet. "Reckon we'd better hit the crick a bit below the Fort," he muttered, over his shoulder; "less likely ter find Injuns waitin' fer us thar." "You think there are savages on this shore?" He turned partially, and peered at me through the darkness. "I never heerd tell as Injuns was fools," he answered briefly. "In course thar's some yere, an' we're almighty likely ter find 'em." On the bank of the river, which I could see dimly by the faint light of a star or two that had broken through the cloud-rifts, he paused suddenly, sniffing the air like a pointer dog. "The gol-dern fools!" he muttered, striking his rifle-butt on the ground with an expression of disgust. "They've gone and done it now!" "Done what?" I questioned, almost guessing his meaning as a pungent odor assailed my nostrils. "That smells like rum!" "'Tis rum. Dern if ever I see whar the A'mighty finds so many blame idjits ter make sojers of! Them ar' fellers in the Fort wern't in tight 'nough pickle, with a thousand savages howlin' 'bout 'em, so they've went an' poured all their liquor inter the river! If I know Injun nature, it jist means the craziest lot o' redskins, whin they find it out, ever was on these yere plains. I bet they make thet fool garrison pay mighty big fer this job!" "You mean the destruction of the liquor will anger them?" "Anger? It'll drive 'em plum crazy,--they'll be ravin' maniacs! It's the hope o' spoils thet's held 'em back so long. They've wanted the Fort to be 'vacuated, so as they could plunder it,--thet's been the song o' the chiefs to hold their young men from raisin' ha'r. But come, sonny, thar's nothin' gained a-stayin' here, an' dern me if I want ter meet any Injun with thet thar smell in the air. I don't swim no river smellin' like thet one does. We'll hev ter go further up, I reckon, an' cross over by the ol' agency buildin'." We crept up the edge of the stream, keeping well in under the north bank, and moving with the utmost caution, for the chances were strong that this portion of the river would be closely watched by the redskins. We met with no obstacle, however, nor were we apparently even observed from the stockade, as we slowly passed its overhanging shadow. I could distinguish clearly its dark outlines, even making out a head or two moving above the palisades; but no hail of any kind rang out across the intervening water, and we were soon beyond the upper block-house, where a faint light yet shone. We could see the dim shape of the two-story factory building, looking gloomy and deserted on the south shore. Burns lay flat at the water's edge, studying the building intently; and his extreme caution made me a bit nervous, although I could scarcely determine why, for I had thus far marked not the slightest sign of danger. "I reckon we'll hev ter risk it," he said at length, as he bound his powder-horn upon his head with a dark cloth. "Come right 'long arter me, and don't make no splashin'." He slipped off so silently that I scarcely knew he was gone, until I missed the dark outline of his figure at my side. With all possible caution, I followed him. The current was not strong, but I partially faced it, and struck out with a long, steady stroke, so that my progress, as nearly as I could judge, was almost directly across the stream. Burns had been completely lost to my sight, although as I looked along the slightly glistening water I could see for some distance ahead. I remember a black log bearing silently down upon me, and how I shrank from contact with it, fearful lest it might conceal some human thing. Soon after it had swirled by, my feet touched the shelving bank, and I crept cautiously up into the overhanging shadow. Burns was there, and had already reconnoitred our position; for my first knowledge of his presence came when he slowly lowered himself down the bank until he lay close beside me. "They're thar," he said, soberly. "Thought most likely they wud be." "Indians?" I asked, doubtfully,--for I had an impression the factory might be garrisoned by some of our own people. "Sure; I heerd as how the sojers hed been drawed in, an' naturally reckoned the Injuns wouldn't be over-long findin' it out. 'Nother fool thing fer the sojers ter dew." He paused, listening intently. In the silence, above the slight sound of the running water, I felt sure I could distinguish voices speaking not far distant. "It's no place yere ter stay," he whispered, his lips close at my ear. "Reckon best thing we kin dew now is to find one o' the sojers' root-caves somewhar along the bank, an' crawl in thar till daylight. The Injuns ain't so likely to bother us when the guards kin see 'em from the Fort. They don't want no out-'n'-out fuss, to my notion, till they kin git inter the stockade for good. Creep 'long yere with me, sonny, an' 't won't be far till I find a hole somewhar thet'll hide us fer awhile anyhow." We crawled slowly along, snake-fashion, at the edge of the river, for perhaps thirty feet, our movements hidden by the high and slightly overhanging bank at our left. The night was so dark that Burns relied more upon feeling than sight to guide him. At last he stopped suddenly. "Here's one o' 'em," he said. "Crawl along in, sonny; thar's lots o' room after ye go a foot er two." It was the merest hole dug into the bank, roughly lined with irregular bits of rock, which opened out into quite a cellar about a yard from the surface. The air within felt somewhat chill and damp, as I put my head cautiously down the narrow opening; but there seemed no cause for fear, and I crept nimbly forward, feeling my way as I advanced along the rude mud walls. I could hear Burns behind me on his hands and knees, puffing slightly as he squeezed through the small aperture that led into the larger chamber. I had advanced perhaps two yards without reaching the end of this odd underground apartment, when suddenly, and directly in my front, there sounded a deep, hollow, unearthly groan. The sound was so terrifying that I stopped with chilled blood and beating heart, gripping my knife-hilt and peering forward into the dark as frightened as ever I was in my life. I heard Burns gasp and half turn; then, before I could move, even had I dared venture such a thing, an instantaneous flash lit up the black interior. I caught one confused glimpse of a huge object, topped with a head of tumbled hair, of two flapping wings stretching out upon either side, and then the impenetrable curtain of the dark hid everything once more. Sweat bathed me in cold drops; nor could I have moved a limb to save my life. Behind me Burns was muttering what might have been a prayer; when the thing groaned again, a hollow, awful moan, thrilling with agony, that sent me grovelling upon my face as nearly dead as one could well be and yet breathe and know. CHAPTER XVI "FRANCE WINS, MONSIEUR!" For the moment, every muscle of my body seemed paralyzed. I distinctly heard the creature moving in my direction, and I backed away violently, actuated only by the thought of instant escape into the open air. But Burns blocked the solitary passage. "Back out of here, for God's sake!" I managed to exclaim through parched lips. "That devil-thing is coming this way!" He struggled desperately in the darkness, tugging madly at some obstacle, an oath smothered on his lips. I waited and listened, every nerve on edge. "Dern it all, but I can't!" he groaned at last. "My blame ol' gun hes got wedged, and won't give an inch." Then a half-smothered laugh rippled out of the gloom just in front of me. "Heaven protect me, but it's Wayland!" came a voice, and the laughter broke into a roar of merriment. "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! This will be the death of me!" The voice, choked and muffled as it was, sounded strangely hollow in that dark cave; yet it had a familiar tone. So surprising was the situation, that I could only stare into the black void, speechless. It was Burns who realized the need of action. "Whoever the dern fool is," he growled, his voice hoarse with anger, "choke the wind out of him, or his blame howling will bring every Injun on the river yere!" "De Croix!" I exclaimed quickly, aroused to recollection by the seriousness of the situation, "stop that infernal racket, or the two of us will throttle you!" He puffed and gurgled, striving his best to smother the sense of ludicrousness that mastered him. To me there was small cause for merriment; the supreme terror of those moments merged into hot anger at the deception, and I crept forward eager to plant my hand upon the rascal's throat. "What French mockery is this?" I exclaimed, my hand hard upon his arm. "Think you, Captain de Croix, that you can play such tricks in this wilderness, and not be made to pay for them?" I felt him tremble under my fierce grasp; yet it was not from fear, for my words only served to loosen his laughter once more. Burns now broke in, shoving the barrel of his long rifle forward over my shoulder till he struck the Frenchman a blow that effectually silenced him. "You chattering ape!" he said, growling like an angry bear, "another yawp like that, and I'll blow a hole clean through you! Now, you French ninny, tell us what this means, an' be quick about it if ye want ter save yer hide!" De Croix did not answer, but he ceased to laugh, and panted as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Another impatient movement by Burns led me to speak up hastily in his defence. "Wait," I said, laying my grasp upon his gun, "he has no breath left with which to make reply. 'Tis the French gallant who raced with me, the same whom you met at Hawkins's Ford; and no doubt he felt good reason to play the ghost here in this dark pit." "Ay," panted De Croix painfully, "I truly thought the savages were upon me, and sought to frighten them by the only means I could devise. Sacre! but you hit me a sore blow in the ribs! If I have frightened you, 'twas no worse than the terror that took me at your entrance here." For a time none spoke, and no sound, save De Croix's labored breathing, broke the silence. Burns had turned slightly, and I knew was listening intently for any sound without. Apparently satisfied that the noise made by us had not been overheard, he asked in his old deliberate drawl: "How in thunder, Mister Parly-voo, did ye git up thet thar combination, anyhow?" I heard the Frenchman chuckle, and pinched him as a warning to be careful. He answered, in his reckless, easy way: "'Twas all simple enough behind the scenes, Messieurs. I but took some old sacking discovered here, and used it as a robe, standing my hair well on end; and a flash of powder made the scene most realistic. The thing indeed worked well. I would I had a picture of Master Wayland's face to show Toinette!" This chance mention of her name recalled me to myself. The undecided wager was yet to be won, and the night was now nearly spent. There came to me a sudden determination to risk a rush through the darkness to the Fort gates, rather than chance any further defeat at the hands of this rash gallant. Yet prudence bade me question somewhat further before I ventured upon so mad a deed. "No doubt 'twas most happy from your point of view, Monsieur. From ours, it was less so; and instead of laughing, you might better be thanking your lucky stars that you did not pay more dearly for such folly. But what brought you here? Why have you failed to reach the stockade?" _"Sacre!"_ he muttered carelessly, "but I had a fierce enough run for it as it was. Why did I not reach the stockade? Because, my friend, I am no real ghost to be invisible in the night, nor am I a bird to fly. 'Twas in the shadow of that big building yonder that I ran into a nest of those copper-colored fiends, and 'twas nip and tuck which of us won, had I not, by pure good luck, chanced to stumble into this hole, and so escape them. Perchance they also thought me a ghost, who knows? But, be that as it may, they were beating the river bank for me in the flesh, when you came creeping here." We lay flat on the floor, the three of us, our eyes fastened upon the faint light that began to stream in through the entrance. I could hear Burns muttering to himself, as is often the way with men who lead lives of solitude; and every now and then De Croix would shake silently at the recollection of what had just occurred. I minded neither of them, but chiefly planned how best I might outwit De Croix and win the prize offered by Mademoiselle. The promise of dawning day was in the outer air, too dim as yet to render our faces visible. Suddenly the slight draft of air veered, and swept a tiny breath of smoke into my nostrils. It came so quickly that I scarcely realized its significance until Burns scrambled to his knees with a growl. "God! the devils have run us to cover!" he cried, sullenly. "They have started a fire to smoke us out!" It hardly needed a moment to prove this true; the thin smoke grew more and more dense, filling the narrow entrance until we lay gasping for breath. De Croix, ever the most impulsive, was the first to act. _"Parbleu!"_ he gasped, pulling himself forward with his hands. "Better Indians than this foul air! If I die, it shall at least be in the open." To remain longer cooped in that foul hole was indeed madness; and as soon as I could I followed him, rolling out of the entrance to the water's edge, fairly sick with the pressure upon my lungs, and caring so little what the end might be, provided I might first attain one breath of pure air, that before I gained strength to resist I was prisoner to as ill-looking a crew of savages as ever my eyes encountered. The villains triced us firmly with thongs of skin, and sat us up against the bank like so many puppets, dancing about before us, snapping their dirty fingers in our faces, and treating us to all manner of taunts and insults. 'Twas done so quickly as to seem a dream, had I not smarted so sorely from the blows dealt me, and my limbs chafed where the tight cords were drawn. I recall glancing aside at Burns; but his seamed and puckered face remained emotionless, as the red devils rolled him over till he stared straight up at the sky, now gray with coming dawn. The sight of De Croix almost set me laughing, which won for me a kick from the brute who had me in special charge. The Frenchman was surely no court dandy now; his fancy clothing clung to him in rags, while the powder-flash within the cellar had blackened his face and made sad havoc with his gay mustache. He endeavored to smile at me as our eyes met, but the effort produced only what seemed like a demoniac grin. "'Tis a hard life, Monsieur," I could not forbear remarking, "and will hardly remind you of Versailles." His form stiffened in its bonds, as if the words spurred his memory of other days. "A French soldier smiles at fate, wherever it overtakes him," he answered, a touch of pride in his voice. "Besides, the game is not played out,--I may yet prove the first one in. But see! if I mistake not, here comes the chief of all these devils." The new-comer strode down the high bank alone, and was greeted noisily by our captors. It was the same Indian that had halted Captain Wells the day previous; and he looked us over with a contemptuous sneer that curled his lips and transformed the whole expression of his hideously painted face. I noted that he paid but small heed to either De Croix or myself, contenting his vengeance with sharp kicks at our prostrate bodies; but as he came to Burns, he paused, bending down till he could peer into the old borderer's upturned face. "Bah! I know you," he said, brokenly. "You Ol' Burns. Stake down in village for you." The old man neither moved his head nor gave the slightest sign that he had heard. "Squaw eat heart," went on the Indian, prodding him with his stick; "feed bones to dog. All white men go that way now,--Ol' Burns first." "Topenebe," was the quiet reply, as the victim rolled over until he half-sat against the bank, "I had the pleasure o' kickin' ye once down on the Kankakee, an' should be mighty glad ter do it agin. I reckon as how ye don't feel over friendly ter me, but ye're simply wastin' yer breath tauntin' me. Any time yer derned old fire is hot, I'm ready to dance." These calm words angered the warrior, and he spat at him; then he turned and grunted an order in his own language. With blows of their sticks the Indians got us on our feet; but when they sought to drive us up the steep bank to the prairie, Ol' Burns balked and absolutely refused to move. "Not one dern step, Topenebe," he swore grimly, "with these yere things on my legs. I'm no pony ter be hobbled, an' blame if I'll jump 'long fer any red skin. Ye kin carry me, if ye ain't too lazy; but, by thunder! thar'll be no walkin' till ye cut them bonds." Blows, curses, and threats failed alike to budge the old man. He simply sat down and smiled grimly at them; and we followed his example, dimly perceiving there must be a purpose in it. Sheer obstinacy wins many a battle, and when we went up the bank our lower limbs were free, although to my mind we were as hopelessly bound as ever. Not so with Burns. I chanced to press close to him, as we came out upon the prairie, and he muttered a quick word into my ear. "See how they herd us in the shade of the Agency! They are not yet ready to let the sojers know whut they're re'lly up to. Not an Injun will go beyond thet line long enough to be seen. Be ready to run fer it as soon as I say 'Go,' an' tell the Frenchman." I succeeded in making De Croix understand, by means of the mongrel French at my command, which seemed not to be intelligible to the savages; and we moved forward at as slow a gait as our vigilant guards permitted, with every muscle tense for the coming strain. We were bunched together, with no pretence of order on the part of our captors; indeed, they seemed to be of various minds over what was to be done with us, though Topenebe exercised sufficient control over his mongrel followers to compel at least partial obedience to his orders. We tramped along to the west of the factory, the walls of which shut off all view of the Fort, a half-dozen of the savages about us, while the chief stalked on a few feet in advance. We had almost reached the southwestern corner of the big Agency building, and Topenebe had already taken a step to the right, carefully keeping the log-walls as a protection between our movements and the eyes of the garrison, when Burns, shaking off the Indians nearest him, bounded suddenly forward and struck Topenebe with his head, hurling the fellow by his side over backward as he passed. "Run for the gate!" he yelled. Like an arrow from the bow, I shot around the Agency corner, and raced for the stockade, De Croix, running like a deer, barely a foot behind me. I never dreamed, in that moment of intense action, that Burns was not also coming,--that he had deliberately sacrificed himself in order to hold back the savages and give us the better chance for life. Behind arose the sound of struggle, but there was no indication of pursuit, and as I rounded the end of the stockade the lower gate swung open just before me and I glanced back, half pausing as I realized the old borderer had not followed us; then some one tripped me, and I fell headlong. With a sudden rush, De Croix swept by. "France wins, Monsieur!" he cried back in mocking triumph, as I staggered to my knees. CHAPTER XVII A CONTEST OF WITS Though I was never of hasty or violent temper, it was quite as well that I failed to gain a sight of De Croix as I passed the posts and the sentry clanged the gate behind me. The Frenchman's scurvy trick would have heated cooler blood than mine; nor was my spirit soothed by the harsh fall I suffered. But De Croix had not waited; nowhere along the bare sunlit parade was he visible. I saw nothing but a squad of grinning soldiers lounging beside the barracks, until Captain Wells, issuing from the guard-house door, caught sight of me and came forward. "Back, are you, Master Wayland?" he said gruffly, and 'twas easy to see he did not approve of my escapade. "I scarcely thought to see you here again with so full a head of hair, after I learned of your mad wager. Providence must indeed take special care of fools. Have the redskins captured our French friend?" "He entered a step in my advance." A gleam of amusement played over his swarthy face. "Ah, and so you let him win!" he exclaimed; "he, a mere voyager from the courts, unused to forest play! Such remissness deserves the guard-house, at the very least. Come, how happened it that this gay sprig outfooted you?" "'Twas but a trick," I retorted, aroused by these contemptuous words, "and one I shall make him pay well for. But I pray you cut these bands and set me free." I think he had not noticed them before; but now, as he quickly drew his knife across the deer-skin thongs, his whole expression changed. "'Tis Indian tying," he said earnestly; "you have been in the hands of the savages?" "Ay!" and the memory of it instantly brought back the recollection of the sacrifice that had won us our freedom. "There were three of us taken at daylight on the river bank, beyond the factory building. De Croix and I escaped through the efforts of one who is still a prisoner, and marked for torture." Many were gathering about us by this time, anxious to learn whatever news I brought from without; but it was Captain Heald himself who now pushed his way through the throng until he fronted me. "Who was it?" he asked, sharply. "We have lost no men!" "His name is Burns, sir. I ran across him just back of the Kinzie house." "Burns? Ol' Tom Burns?" "Yes, sir." Heald laughed, a look of evident relief on his haggard features. "We shall not have to worry much as to his fate," he said, turning toward Wells. "You remember the fellow, William? He was one of Mad Anthony's scouts, and came west with you in 1803 when you first held council here." The other nodded, a twinkle of pleasant recollection in his eyes. "Remember him?" he repeated. "I am not likely ever to forget him. He it was who brought me your message at Fort Wayne a month ago. My sympathies in this case are entirely with the Indians. There are likely to be things happening when Ol' Tom is around, unless he has lost his versatility and nerve in recent years. Come, my lad, give us the details of the story, for it must be worth the hearing if Ol' Burns played a leading part. He is as full of tricks as a dog of fleas." I repeated the story briefly, for I was now eager to be away before De Croix could dress and claim his wager. I knew well the conceited coxcomb would never seek the presence of Mademoiselle until he had shed the rags he wore on entering the Fort. I remember yet that throng of faces, anxious yet amused, peering over each other's shoulders to get a better view of me as I talked, and constantly augmented as the word passed quickly about the garrison that we had safely returned from our midnight adventures. "You will send aid to him?" I questioned, as I concluded, my eyes fixed appealingly upon Captain Heald. "Not I," was the prompt and decisive rejoinder. "No soldier of this command shall leave the stockade until the hour for our final departure. The fellow had a chance to come in here with the others before the gates were closed, but was obstinate as a mule, and must now take the consequences. But you need not worry about Ol' Tom, my boy; he'll circumvent those red devils in some way, you may rest assured, nor would he even thank us for interference. I have no force with which to control the horde of savages that surround us here. A clash of arms would be their excuse for immediate attack, and might mean death and torture to the whole garrison. Our only hope lies in being permitted to pass out without armed collision; and to do this requires that we ignore such hidden deeds. 'Twas a mad prank of yours last night, and might have involved us all in common ruin. Go this time free, except for these words of censure; for you are not directly under my orders. Another such attempt, subversive of all discipline, and the gates of Dearborn will be closed against you." These harsh expressions stung me, but I felt them in a measure merited, and made no reply. "'Twas but the act of a boy, Heald," interposed Wells kindly, resting his hand upon my shoulder, "and you will find the lad well worth having when time of trial comes." I slipped away through an opening in the curious throng, and hastened across the open parade toward the mess-room. I felt dust-covered and bruised from my rough experiences, and hoped to discover opportunities for a bath. The building called the mess-room was long, running nearly half the length of the stockade, built like the others of logs, two stories in height, and containing a number of rooms. The single flight of stairs, opening just within the porch, was exceedingly rude, and built without any protecting rail. I hesitated a moment when fairly within the entrance, scarce knowing which way to turn in search of what I sought; but as I waited there, a light step sounded upon the bare floor above, and glancing up, with quickened beat of the heart, my eyes caught the soft drapery of a woman as she stepped on the upper stair. I could scarcely have retreated had I wished to do so, though I realized instantly who it was, and drew back against the wall, so that she came down, singing lightly to herself, without noticing my presence until we were face to face. It was a picture to touch the heart of any man, and abide forever in the memory. I saw the sunlight as it streamed through an upper window along the rough log wall and flecked her white dress with ever-changing spots of quivering gold, and, as she drew nearer to my standing-place, played softly amid the masses of her dark-brown hair, giving it a tinge of glory. How daintily fair she was! how archly sweet looked the clear girlish face under the coquettish sweep of the broad hat! and with what unconscious grace she moved down the rude stairway, one white hand steadying her against the brown logs, the other gathering her draperies so close that I could not be blind to the daintily slippered foot that shyly peeped below the petticoat of ruffled silk. I may not have loved her then as I learned to do in later days, but my heart throbbed riotously at her presence, and I stood forgetful of all else. As she turned aside at the foot of the stairs, she saw me, and the color deserted her face, only to return instantly in deeper volume, while her tell-tale eyes hid themselves behind long lashes. "And are you indeed returned, Master Wayland?" she asked quickly, conquering her first emotion with a proud uplifting of her head. "You surprised me greatly. I think I first mistook you for a ghost come back to haunt me for having despatched you on so perilous a quest. You cannot know how I have been scolded for doing such a thing; yet surely you would have gone, even if I had failed to encourage it." "Perhaps so, Mademoiselle," I answered, hoping I might lead her to speak with greater seriousness; "but it was the hope of the reward that spurred me forward." "Ah, of course," she said deliberately ignoring her own offer, and with a reckless toss of her head, "you sought a fair girl for whose sake you have travelled far. Pray tell me, Monsieur,--I am so curious to know,--do you truly think Josette fairer than I?" She spoke so lightly, smiling softly into my eyes, that I hardly detected the faint tinge of regretful sarcasm in her low voice. "Josette, you ask me? Why, Josette is indeed a most charming girl, Mademoiselle; but to my mind there can be no comparison between her and you, for you are the fairest woman I have ever known." Her dark eyes were full upon me, and I saw her parted lips move as if she would speak. But no words came, and we stood there silent except for the nervous tapping of her foot against the floor. Her look of seriousness changed into a smile. "By my faith, but you pay compliments with so grave a countenance, Monsieur, that I hardly know how to receive them. Most men whisper such things with a light laugh, or a twinkle of the eye, and I know their words to be empty as bubbles of air. But you, why, you almost make me feel you are in earnest." "And I am," I interrupted, longing to seize her hand as I knew De Croix would have done, and pour forth the words that burnt upon my lips. "I have not been privileged to see much of the great outside world, Mademoiselle,--the world of courts and cities,--nor do I know how lovely its women may be; but no ideal formed in dreams satisfies me as you do. I know naught of idle compliments, nor the graces of a courtier; but my words are from the heart." "I do truly believe and trust you, John Wayland," and she gave me her hand. "But let us talk of this no longer. My vanity is already more than satisfied by your frank and honest speech. And so you found Josette?" "Yes," I answered, scarce noting what it was I said, so puzzled was I by her quick retreat. "And that meeting, perchance, was so pleasant that it has taken your thought from all else? It must indeed be so, or why is it that Master Wayland doth not claim of me the stake of the wager?" "Because," I stammered, greatly embarrassed by her roguish questioning eyes, "I fear it has not been fairly won." "Not fairly won?" she echoed, puzzled by my tone and manner. "Surely you have made the trip, and the terms were plain. Really, Monsieur, you do not think I would withhold so small a reward from the winner?" "But there was another,--the prize was destined for him who came back first." "And has Captain de Croix returned also?" "We arrived together, Mademoiselle, but it was his good fortune to be earliest through the gate." 'Twas good to see how her face lit up with the amusement this reply afforded her. "Pish! but you are in truth the most marvellous man I ever knew. 'Tis good to meet with such open honesty; and when did maid ever have before so unselfish a cavalier to do her honor? Monsieur, I greatly doubt if Captain de Croix will prove so thoughtful when his hour comes." "You are right, Toinette," broke in a voice at my back. "I know not what Master Wayland may be yielding up so easily, but, like the Shylock of your William Shakespeare, I am here to claim my pound of flesh." I wheeled and faced him, standing firmly between his approach and the girl, my blood instantly boiling at the familiar sound of that drawling voice. "I have refused to accept from Mademoiselle what I had not fairly earned," I said, with quiet emphasis, "and so, no doubt, will you." There was that about my words and action that astonished him, and for the moment his old audacity was gone as he swept a puzzled glance over our faces. I have often reflected upon the contrast we must have presented to her sight as we stood there,--for De Croix had donned his best attire, and was once again resplendent in frills and ribbons, with heavily powdered hair. "Oh, most certainly, what I have not earned," he said at length, "but the kiss promised is surely mine by every right, as I was the first in." "'Twas done by a most scurvy trick." "Poof! what of that? 'Tis the same whether the goal be won by wit and strategy, or mere fleetness of foot. Toinette will make no such fine distinction, I warrant you." "Mademoiselle," and I turned toward the smiling girl, who seemingly enjoyed our interchange of compliments, "what may have been your understanding of this wager?" "Why," she answered slowly, endeavoring to recall the details to mind, "Captain de Croix declared he would willingly make the trip for a touch of rosy lips, and In a spirit of venture I promised that whichever of you two first completed the journey and returned here should obtain such reward." "There, 'tis plain enough," he cried, stroking his mustache complacently, "and I have won." "Most surely you have," I retorted, "and the reward has already been given you." "Been given?" she questioned, "and by whom?" "The girl Josette." She looked from the one to the other of us, puzzled for a brief moment at the odd situation. Then, as her eyes settled upon De Croix's flushed and angry face, she laughed gaily, even as she daintily drew aside her skirts to pass us by. "Pish, Monsieur!" she cried, shaking her finger at him, "I doubt it not. No, you need not deny it, for 'tis but one of your old-time tricks, as I knew them well at Montreal. 'Twould be no more than right were I even now to reward Master Wayland, for he hath truly won it,--yet for that I will delay awhile." And with a flash of her dark eyes that held us speechless, she was gone. CHAPTER XVIII GLIMPSES OF DANGER If any trace of anger held place in my heart, it utterly vanished as I noted the bewildered surprise with which De Croix gazed after Mademoiselle's departing figure. _"Sacre!"_ he exclaimed presently, turning toward I me, his face flushed, and forgetful of all his well-practised graces. "'Twas an unworthy trick, Master Wayland, and one I am not likely to forget." "'Twas a moment ago," I answered, in great good-humor at his discomfiture, "that you claimed wit was as important a factor as fleetness of foot in the winning of a race. I did no more than illustrate your theory, Monsieur." The humor of it failed to touch him, and there was a direct menace in his manner which caused me to fall back a step in the narrow passage and front him warily. "No boor of the woods shall laugh at me!" he exclaimed, his eyes aflame with passion, "be the cause love or war. What mean all these sly tricks of speech and action?--this hurried message to the ear of Mademoiselle? By my faith, you did not even pause to wash the dust from off your face before you sought her company. 'Tis strange such intimacy could spring up between you in so short a time! But mark you this, Master Wayland, once and for all; I have not voyaged here from Montreal to be balked in my plans by the interference of an uncouth adventurer. I give you now fair warning that if you ever step again between Toinette and me, naught but the decision of steel shall end our quarrel." That he was indeed in deadly earnest, and indulged in no vain threat, I well knew; his passion was too strongly painted on his face. My own temper rose in turn. "I hear your words, Monsieur," I returned coldly, "and care no more for them than for a child's idle boasting. There is naught between Mademoiselle and me that the whole world might not know. We are good friends enough, but if by any chance love should be born from that friendship, no French gallant, though he sport a dozen swords, shall come between us. Win her if you can by reckless audacity and lavishness of perfume, but dream not to frighten me away from her presence by the mutterings of bravado. I am the son of a soldier, Monsieur, and have myself borne arms in battle." "You will fight, then?" "With pleasure, whenever the occasion arises," I replied slowly, struggling hard to keep back more bitter words. "But I see none at present, and, if I mistake not, all our skill at arms will soon be needed to save this girl, as well as ourselves, from savage hands." I know not how we would have parted, for 'twas evidently his wish to goad me on to fight; and there are times when passion overwhelms us all. But at that moment I heard the soft rustle of a dress, and wheeled to face the fair young wife of Lieutenant Helm. It was plain she had been weeping; but De Croix, ever quicker than I in such matters, was first to accost her in words of courtesy. A pretty face to him was instant inspiration. "We bow to you, Madame," he exclaimed with excessive gallantry, doffing his hat till it swept the stairs; "your corning makes the very sunshine a brighter gold." "I trust it may bring peace as well," she answered, striving to smile back at him, although trouble yet shadowed her sweet face; "surely my ears caught the sound of harsh words." "A slight misunderstanding, which will hardly grow to any serious end," he protested. "I trust not, gentlemen, for the time is come when we women at Dearborn surely need you all to protect us. Our case already appears desperate." "Has something new occurred," I questioned anxiously, "that makes you more alarmed?" Her eyes, grown strangely serious once more, swept our faces. "You may neither of you comprehend this in its full meaning as clearly as I do," she returned gravely, "for I am frontier-bred, and have known the Indian character from childhood. We have long been acquainted, in my father's family, with many of the chiefs and warriors now encamped around us. We have traded in their villages, lived with them in their smoke-stained tepees on the great plains, and trusted them as they showed faith in us. You, I learn," and she looked at me more intently, "were at my father's house no later than last night. In spite of rumors of war and tightly guarded Fort gates, you found his door wide open to whosoever might approach, with never a dog to bark at an intruder, be he white or red. This is because the Silver-man has always dealt fairly with the Indian, and won his respect and gratitude in return. Now, in time of peril this trader dares to believe in their good faith toward him and his. 'Tis because of this I know so well all that is going on without, and have been able to inform Captain Heald of much his scouts were unable to discover. From the first there have been two factions among the savages gathered yonder; and whether we live or die may depend upon which counsel prevails among them that of peace or that of war. Until within an hour I have hoped it might be peace,--that the older chiefs would hold their young men in control, and the red wampum be not seen at Dearborn. Twenty minutes ago one of the noblest advocates of peace,--a Pottawattomie warrior named Black Partridge,--sought interview with Captain Heald, and his words have shown me how desperate indeed has our situation become." "He threatened?" broke in De Croix, his hand upon his sword-hilt. "Nay, Monsieur, 'tis not the way of an Indian, nor is Black Partridge one to indulge in vain words. I have known him long; in childhood I sat upon his knee, and believe him so friendly to the whites that naught but a sense of duty could move him otherwise. Yet, as I say, he came just now to the commandant of this garrison, and returned a medal once given him by the government. It was done sadly, and with deep regret,--for I overheard his speech. He said: 'Father, I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. Our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy.'" She stopped, her agitated face buried in her hands, and neither of us spoke. The solemnity of her words and manner were most impressive. "You feel, then, that the die is cast?" asked De Croix, all lightness vanished from his voice. "I believe we march forth from these walls to our death to-morrow." "But why," I protested, "should you, at least, take part in such hazard? Your father's family, you tell us, will be safe from attack. Surely, that home might also prove your refuge?" The little woman, with the face of a girl, looked up at me indignantly through her tears. "Lieutenant Helm marches with the troops," she answered quietly, "and I am his wife." I retain no memory, at this late day, of what conversation followed. I know that De Croix in his easy carelessness about the future, sought to laugh at her fears and restore a feeling of hopefulness; but all my thoughts were elsewhere, upon the grave dilemma in which we found ourselves, and my duty to these helpless ones upon every side. I must have left the two standing there and conversing, though just how I moved, and why, is dim to me. I recall crossing the bare parade, and noting the company that formed the little garrison drawn up in the shadow of the south stockade. At any other time I should have paused in interest, for military evolutions always attracted my attention; but then I had no sense other than that of mental and physical exhaustion from the hours of toil and lack of rest. Owing to my absence the night before, no quarters had been assigned me; but finding the barracks of the troops unoccupied, and yielding to imperative need, I flung myself, without undressing, upon a vacant bunk, and lay there tossing with the burden of intense fatigue. And then how the thoughts I sought to banish thronged upon me! No effort of my will could shut them out. I went over again and again the quarrel with De Croix, the incidents of the night, the solemn words of Mrs. Helm. Little by little, each detail clear and absolute, there unrolled before my mind's view the picture of our situation. I saw it as a frontiersman must, in all its grim probabilities. The little isolated Fort was cut off from all communication, held by a weakened garrison. Hope of rescue there was none. Without were already gathered hundreds of warriors attracted by rumors of war and promise of pillage; and these were growing in number and increasing in ferocity each day. I had ridden through them once, when their mood was only to annoy, and realized with a shudder of horror what it would mean to face them in our retreat, with all restraint of their chiefs removed. I thought of those long leagues of tangled forest-land stretching between us and the nearest border settlements, of ambuscades, of constant and harassing attack on the ever-thinning column as we fought for each foot of the way. Once my mind dwelt for an instant upon the quiet home I had left on the banks of the Maumee; as my eyes filled at the memory I drove it from me, for the present necessity was all too stern to permit indulgence in such weakness. 'Twas of the women and children I thought most, and their probable fate if we failed to win a passage. The half-framed thought of such a possibility made my heart throb with dread apprehension, as I set my lips together in firm resolve. What had become of Roger Matherson's orphan child? 'Twas indeed strange that I could gain no trace of the little girl. At the Fort they said she was with the Kinzies, at Kinzies' they told me she was at the Fort. It was, as Seth had prophesied, like seeking after a will-o'-the-wisp; yet surely she must be in the flesh somewhere. My plain duty was to find her at once; and I resolved to take up the task anew that day, and question every one I met till some trace yielded to my persistency. However, I needed first to sleep; but as I resolutely closed my eyes, there came gliding into my memory another face,--an arch, happy face, with softly rounded cheeks and dark laughing eyes, a face that mirrored a hundred moods, and back of them all a sweet womanly tenderness to make every mood a new and rare delight. Toinette! never before was woman's name so pleasant to my lips. Ignorant as I was in mysteries of the heart, I knew not clearly whether I loved her, though this I knew beyond cavil,--no savage hand should ever touch her while I lived; and if I had to fight each step of the path from that accursed spot to Wayne, I swore within my heart she should come safe through. Her gentle memory was with me when all the rest yielded to the drowsy god, and in sheer exhaustion I slept--to dream. CHAPTER XIX A CONFERENCE AND A RESOLVE "To my mind, the risk would be extreme; and I greatly doubt the wisdom of the step." "But, William, what other alternative offers us any hope?" "I confess I know not, for your last mistake has greatly aggravated the situation." I sat up hastily, for seemingly these words were spoken at the very side of the bunk on which I lay. As I glanced about me I saw the room was vacant; so I knew the conference thus accidentally overheard must be taking place in an adjoining apartment. I was thoroughly awake when Captain Heald's voice spoke again. "You say a mistake,--what mistake?" he questioned, as though aggrieved. "I have done no more than simply obey the orders of my superior officer." "That may be true," broke in the gentler tones of Lieutenant Helm, "but of that we are unable to judge, for not one of your officers has been privileged to see those orders." "You shall see them now. If I have been remiss in taking you into my confidence in these grave matters, it has been because of certain malcontents in the garrison with whom I hesitated to confer." There was a rustle of paper, and Heald read slowly. I failed to distinguish the opening words, but as he reached the more important portion of the document his utterance grew deeper, and I heard distinctly this sentence: "Evacuate the post if practicable, and in that event distribute the property belonging to the United States in the Fort, and in the factory or agency, to the Indians in the neighborhood." There was a pause as he concluded. Captain Wells spoke first. "To my mind, these orders are not positive, and leave much to your discretion. Who brought the message, and when?" "A Wyandot named Winnemeg. He reached here on the ninth." "I have heard the name, and believe him worthy of confidence. Did you advise with him?" [Illustration: "There was a rustle of paper, and Heald read slowly: 'Evacuate the post if practicable.'"] "Ay! Though he had no oral message from General Hull, he counselled immediate evacuation. I also felt such action to be wise; but things were in such condition within the Fort,--so large a number of helpless women and children to be provided for, and so heavy a proportion of the garrison on the sick-list,--that I found it impossible to act promptly. The Indians gathered so rapidly without, and assumed so hostile a manner, that I thought it suicidal to attempt a march through the wilderness, encumbered as we should be, without some positive understanding with their chiefs." "I can easily comprehend all this, and that you have sought to act for the best," was Wells's comment; "but I fail to realize how you hoped to appease those same Indians by the wanton destruction last night of the liquor thrown into the river. It was done in direct opposition to the orders you have just read, and is bound to increase the hatred of the savages. You may be sure they are not ignorant of the contents of your despatch, and must resent the destruction of property they consider their own." "'Twas done upon the advice of two of their leading chiefs." "Indeed! Which two?" "Topenebe and Little Sauk." "The two biggest devils in that whole Pottawattomie camp, and the head and front of their war-party! Their purpose is clear enough to my mind, and seamed with treachery. Well, Heald, from my knowledge of Indian nature I must say that whoever goes forth now to confer with yonder redskins has a desperate mission; but if you are still determined upon such a conference, I will take my chances with you. 'Tis given unto man but once to die." "No, William," replied Captain Heald, with more firmness. "It is your part to remain here in protection of your niece, my wife; and if my own officers refuse to volunteer in this service, I shall go forth alone to meet the chiefs. It is my duty as commandant." "Two of your officers are here," said Wells, "and they can probably answer for themselves. Ensign Ronan is not present." "He is acting as officer of the day," returned Heald, somewhat stiffly, "and is therefore not eligible for such service. Perhaps one of the officers here present possesses courage enough for the venture?" Apparently neither cared to express himself, after such an insinuation. At last one, whose voice I recognized as that of Surgeon Van Voorhis, gave utterance to his refusal. "As the only medical officer of the garrison, I feel justified in declining to go upon so desperate an expedition," he said gravely. "It would expose not only my own life to unnecessary peril, but the lives of many others as well." "And what say you, Lieutenant Helm? Have you also personal scruples?" I could detect a tremor in the younger officer's voice, as he answered promptly. "Captain Heald has before this seen me in time of danger," he said quietly, "and can have no reason for ascribing cowardice to me. But I will frankly say this, sir, and with all respect to my commanding officer, I believe such conference as now proposed with the hostile Indians yonder, at this late day, to be perfectly useless, and that every hour's delay since the receipt of orders to evacuate the post has only tended to increase our danger and lessen our hope of escape. I feel now that our only chance of safety lies in defending this stockade against attack until a rescue party from the East can reach us. I have a young wife among the women of this garrison; to her I owe allegiance, as well as to the flag I serve. Feeling as I do, Captain Heald, as a soldier I will obey any command you give, and will go forth upon this mission if ordered to do so, either in your company or alone; but I cannot volunteer for such service. I believe it to be foolhardy, and that whoever undertakes it goes forth to almost certain death." "Then I shall go alone," said Heald, sternly; "nor do I look forward to any such disastrous ending to so open a mission of peace." "Wait," broke in Wells, impulsively. "I have a final suggestion to make, if you are resolved to go. There rode in my party hither a rattle-brained gallant, bearing a French commission, who ought to prove sufficiently reckless to lend you his companionship. Faith! but I think it may well suit the fellow. Be sides, if he wore his French uniform it might have weight with the reds." "Who is he?" asked Heald, doubtfully. "I seem not to have memory of him." "He calls himself Captain Villiers de Croix, and holds commission in the Emperor's Guard." Scarcely were the words spoken when I was on my feet, all vestige of sleep gone from my eyes. De Croix was hardly a friend of mine, since late developments, but he had been my comrade for many a league of hard forest travel, and I was unwilling to have him carelessly sacrificed in a venture regarding the danger of which he knew nothing. Besides, I counted on his sword to aid in the defence of Mademoiselle. I understood thoroughly the desperate chances of Indian treachery that lay before such a commission as was now proposed. It was rash in the extreme; and only the terrors of our position could sanction such an experiment. The savages that hemmed us in were already in an ugly mood, and fully conscious of their power. To go forth to them, unarmed and uninvited, as Captain Heald coolly proposed doing, was to walk open-eyed into a trap which treachery might snap shut at any time. It was not my purpose to halt De Croix, nor to stand between him and any adventure he might choose to undertake; but I could at least warn him, in a friendly spirit, of the imminent danger such a thing involved. With this thought in mind, I ran hastily across the open parade into the officers' mess-hall, hoping I might find him loitering there. To my hasty glance, the place appeared deserted; and I drew back, wondering where to turn next in search. As I hesitated on the threshold, the low voice of Mademoiselle fell upon my ear; and at that moment she emerged from behind the curtain which divided the officers' quarters. "May I hope you are seeking me?" she asked, graciously; "for it has been most lonely here all day, even Captain de Croix seems to have forgotten my existence." "It was De Croix I sought," I answered, somewhat nettled by her prompt reference to him; "and doubtless you are well able to give me trace of him." She studied me keenly, marking an angry note in my voice that I sought vainly to disguise. "Forever a quarrel?" she said, regretfully. "Do you know, Master Wayland, I had thought better of you. Surely it is not your nature to be a brawler, and always seeking opportunity to show the strong hand! What has Captain de Croix done now to make you seek him so vengefully?" "'Tis not in quarrel," I explained,--I fear with ill grace, for her words in his defence were little inclined to mollify me. "You may indeed have so poor conception of me as to misinterpret my coming; yet in truth I seek De Croix in friendship, hoping that I may by a chance word serve him." "Indeed! what danger threatens, that he needs to be warned against?" I hesitated; for, now that my blood had somewhat cooled, my mission seemed a bit foolish. "I insist upon knowing," she continued haughtily, her eyes full upon mine, "or I shall believe you sought him for hostile purpose, and would deceive me by fair words." "Mademoiselle," I answered gravely, "you do me wrong. Only a few moments ago I chanced to overhear a discussion, by the officers of this Fort, regarding a commission to go forth and hold council with the Indians. Captain Heald is determined upon such a course; but none will volunteer to accompany him, because of the grave danger of savage treachery. The Frenchman's name was mentioned as one reckless enough to join with such a party; and I sought to warn him ere he accepted blindly. He is hardly a friend of mine,--yet it seems no more than fair that he should know the full measure of his peril before saying 'yes.'" She came impulsively forward, with quickly extended hand, her face aglow. "You are indeed a true heart, John Wayland, and have shamed me rightly. I know well the deceit and treachery of Indian nature, and can understand the peril such a party would run. Promise me that you will prevent Captain de Croix from becoming one of them." "I?" I exclaimed in perplexed surprise; "I can do no more than warn him." "But you must do more!" she cried imperatively. "He will surely go if asked. A warning such as you propose would only stir his blood. I beg you to use your wits a little, so that he may know nothing of it." I looked at her, deeply hurt by the interest so openly displayed. "You are wondrously aroused for the Frenchman's safety, Mademoiselle!" "Yes, though not as you may fancy. Captain de Croix came here for my sake, even though no word of mine gave him reason for doing so. For this reason I could never forgive myself if harm befell him on such a journey. 'Twould be as if I had lured him to his death. So 'tis for my sake, not his, that I ask the favor." I leaned against the log wall and thought quickly, her anxious eyes never leaving my face. There came into my mind a conviction that the girl really loved him; and this made the struggle harder for me to serve him. Nor did I see clearly how it could well be done, save through a sacrifice of myself, such as I had never intended. "Surely," she urged, "your wits will conceive some way in which it may be done?" "Yes," I answered, eager now to hide my own feeling from her; "'tis not hopeless. You desire that he be kept within the Fort, ignorant of this commission?" "I do; 'tis the only way." "Very well, it shall be done, Mademoiselle. No, I need no thanks from you. Only do this simple thing, which, I am sure, you will find no hardship,--keep Captain de Croix from any possible contact with others for an hour. Your eyes will prove sufficient, no doubt, to enchain him that long; if not, use other measures." "But what will you do?" "That does not count. 'Tis the result, not the means, that must content you. I have my plan, and it will work; but I cannot stay here longer to discuss it. Only do your part well, and I pledge you the safety of De Croix." I left her standing there, the light of questioning still in her eyes; but I wished mainly to be safely away, where I might hide my own sudden heart-ache in the energy of action. CHAPTER XX IN THE INDIAN CAMP It cut me deeply to think that this girl would willingly sacrifice me to save the French gallant from injury, and an anxiety to escape her presence before I should speak words I might always regret caused me to leave with scant ceremony. Yet I was none too soon; for scarce had I stepped without the door when I met Lieutenant Helm ascending the steps. "Ah, Wayland!" he said, catching sight of me, "do you happen to know where I am most likely to find Captain de Croix?" "He is scarcely to be disturbed at present, unless the matter be truly urgent," I replied, my plan hastily sketched in mind. "Have you arranged a banquet in honor of the Frenchman?" "No such good fortune," was the grave response. "Captain Heald desires his company upon an immediate mission to the Pottawattomie camp." "Oh, is that all? Well, Captain de Croix will hardly be found sufficiently recovered from his late adventure to enter upon another one so early. 'Tis in my thought he either sleeps or is prinking himself for more pleasant conquests. But why worry him? In my judgment, no poorer choice could be made for so serious a task as you propose. He is a mere French courtier,--brave enough, and rash, I grant, yet without knowledge of Indian ways and treachery. Might not I answer better as his substitute?" "You?" "Ay! and why not? I am frontier-bred, long trained in woodcraft and savage ways, and surely far better fitted for such a task than is this petted darling of the courts. Were it a flirtation, now, the post might be truly his." "'Tis true, you would be my choice; but do you realize the peril involved?" "Fully, my friend, yet scarce think it so desperate as you imagine. It is my judgment the savages yonder are seeking bigger game than so small a party would afford, and will therefore allow us to go free. However, if it should prove otherwise," and I spoke the words with a sore heart as I recalled what had just occurred, "I am a lone man in the world, and to such an one death is not so terrible, even at Indian hands. Come, I will go with you to confer with Captain Heald, and offer him my services. He can do no more than refuse." Helm offered no further objection, doubtless feeling it useless in my venturesome mood; and we crossed the parade together without speaking. Captain Wells was the first to see me as we entered, and some instinct told him instantly of my purpose. "Ah, Wayland, my boy! I have been troubled lest you might chance to hear of our plight, and jump in. Come now, lad! 'twas not you we sent after, nor can we use you in so grave a matter." "And pray, why not?" I questioned, a little touched by this evidence of kindness, yet firmly determined to keep my pledge to Mademoiselle. "I am a better man for such deeds than the Frenchman, and am eager to go." "So this is not your Captain de Croix?" said Captain Heald, eying me curiously. "Saint George! but he is a big fellow,--the same who made the race last night, or I mistake greatly. And what is this man's name?" "It is John Wayland," I answered, anxious to impress him favorably; "a frontiersman of the Maumee country, and fairly skilled in Indian ways. I have come to volunteer my services to go with you." "You are anxious to die? have the spirit of a Jesuit, perchance, and are ambitious of martyrdom?" "Not unusually so, sir, but I think the danger overrated by these gentlemen. At least, I am ready and willing to go." "And so you shall, lad!" cried the old soldier, striking a hand upon his knee. "You are of the race of the long rifles; I know your kind well. Not another word, William! here is a man worth any twenty of your French beaux strutting with a sword. Now we start at once, and shall have this matter settled speedily." The earliest haze of the fast-descending twilight was hovering over the level plain as we two went forth. In the west, the red tinge of the sun, which had just disappeared below the horizon, lingered well up in the sky. Against it we could see, clearly outlined in inky blackness, the distant Indian wigwams; while to the eastward the crimson light was reflected in fantastic glow upon the heaving surface of the lake. For a moment we paused, standing upon the slope of the mound on which the Fort was built, and gazed about us. There was little movement to arrest the eye. The dull, dreary level of shore and prairie was deserted; what the more distant mounds of sand or the overhanging river banks might hide of savage watchers, we could only conjecture. Seemingly the mass of Indian life, which only the day before had overflowed that vacant space, had vanished as if by some sorcerer's magic. To me, this unexpected silence and dreary barrenness were astounding; I gazed about me fairly bewildered, almost dreaming for the moment that our foes had lifted the long siege and departed while I slept. Heald no doubt read the thought in my eyes, for he laid a kindly hand upon my sleeve and pointed westward. "They are all yonder, lad, at the camp,--in council, like enough. Mark you, Wayland, how much farther to the south the limit of their camp extends than when the sun sank last night? Saint George! they must have added all of fifty wigwams to their village! They gather like crows about a dead body. It has an ugly look." "Yet 'tis strange they leave the Fort unguarded, so that the garrison may come and go unhindered. 'Tis not the usual practice of Indian warfare." "Unguarded? Faith! the hundreds of miles of wilderness between us and our nearest neighbor are sufficient guard. But dream not, my lad, that we are unobserved; doubtless fifty pair of skulking eyes are even now upon us, marking every move. I venture we travel no more than a hundred yards from the gate before our way is barred. Note how peaceful the stockade appears! But for the closed gates, one would never dream it the centre of hostile attack. Upon my word, even love-making has not deserted its log-walls!" I lifted my eyes where he pointed, and even at that distance, and through the gathering gloom, I knew it was De Croix and Mademoiselle who overhung those eastern palisades in proximity so close. The sight was as fire to my blood, and with teeth clinched to keep back the mad utterance of a curse, I strode beside Captain Heald silently down the declivity to the deserted plain below. It is my nature to be somewhat chary of speech, and to feel deeply and long; but if I doubted it before, I knew now, in this moment of keen and bitter disappointment, that my heart was with that careless girl up yonder, who had sent me forth into grave peril apparently without thought, and who cared so little even now that she never lifted her eyes from the sparkling water to trace our onward progress. Anger, disappointment, disgust at her duplicity, her cruel abuse of power, swept over and mastered me at the moment when I realized more deeply than ever my own love for her, and my utter helplessness to oppose her slightest whim. No Indian thongs could bind me half so tightly as the false smiles of Toinette. Plunged into this whirlpool of thought, I moved steadily forward at Captain Heald's shoulder, unconscious of what might be taking place about us, and for the moment indifferent to the result of our venture. But this feeling was not for long. Scarcely had our progress taken us across the front of the deserted agency building, and beyond the ken of the sentinels in the Fort, when a single warrior rose before us as from the ground, and blocked the path. He was a short, sturdy savage, bare to the waist save for a chain of teeth which dangled with sinister gleam about his brawny throat, and, from the wide sweep of his shoulders, evidently possessed of prodigious strength. He held a gun extended in front of him, and made a gesture of warning impossible to misapprehend. "What seeks the White Chief?" he questioned bluntly. "Does he come for peace or war?" The query came with such grave abruptness that Heald hesitated in reply. "Never since I have been at Dearborn have I sought war," he replied at last. "Little Sauk knows this well. We travel now that we may have council of peace with the chiefs of the Pottawattomies. See!" and he held up both empty hands before the Indian's eyes, "we are both unarmed, because of our trust in the good faith of your people." Little Sauk uttered a low grunt of disapproval, and made no motion to lower his threatening rifle. "Ugh! You talk strong! Did any Pottawattomie send to White Chief to come to council?" "No," admitted Heald. "We come because it is the wish of the Great Father of the white men down by the sea that we talk together of the wrongs of the red men, and make proposals of peace between us. There is no cause for these rumors of war, and the Great Father has heard that the Pottawattomies are dissatisfied, and it has made him sad." The Indian looked from one to the other of us in the growing darkness, and made a gesture of contempt. "The real Great White Father wears a red coat, and is friend to the Pottawattomie," he said with dignity. "He no lie, no shut Indian out of Fort, no steal furs, no throw rum in river. Who this man, White Chief? He no soldier,--he long-knife." "Yes, he is a frontiersman, and came to the Fort yesterday with Wau-me-nuk, bringing word of greeting from the Great Father to the Pottawattomies. He goes now with me to council. May we pass on to your camp?" For a moment Little Sauk did not answer, stepping closer in order that he might better scan my features. Apparently satisfied by the keen scrutiny, he turned his broad back upon us and strode off with contemptuous dignity. "Come," he said shortly; and without further word we followed across that dim plain and through the thickening darkness. The Indian's step was noiseless, and his figure cast the merest shadow; but as we moved onward others constantly joined us, stalking out of the black night like so many phantoms, gliding silently in their noiseless moccasins across the soft grass, until fully a dozen spectral forms hedged our pathway and kept step to every movement. It was a weird procession, through the shifting night-shadows; and although I could catch but fleeting glimpses of those savage faces and half-naked forms, the knowledge of their presence, and our own helplessness if they proved treacherous, caused my heart to throb till I could hear it in the painful silence like the beat of a drum. Now and then a guttural voice challenged from the darkness, to be instantly answered by those in advance, and another savage glided within our narrowed vision, scanned us with cruel and curious eyes, and fell in with the same silent, tiger-like tread of his fellows. It was not long that we were compelled to march thus, the gathering warriors pressing us closer at each step; and it was well it proved so soon ended, for the grim mockery set my nerves on edge. Yet the change was hardly for the better. Just before reaching the spot where the river forked sharply to the southward, we came to the upper edge of the wigwams, and into a bit of light from their scattered fires. There rushed out upon us a wild horde of excited savages, warriors and squaws, who pushed us about in sheer delirium, and even struck viciously at us across the shoulders of our indifferent guard, so that it was only by setting my teeth that I held back from grappling with the demons. But Heald, older in years and of cooler blood, laid restraining hands upon my arm. "'Tis but the riff-raff," he muttered warningly. "The chiefs will hold them back from doing us serious harm." As he spoke, Little Sauk uttered a gruff order, and the grim warriors on our flank drove back the jeering, scowling crowd, with fierce Indian cursing and blows of their guns, until the way had been cleared for our advance. We moved on for two hundred yards or more, the maddened and vengeful mob menacing us just beyond reach of the strong arms, and howling in their anger until I doubted not their voices reached the distant Fort. We came to a great wigwam of deer-skin, much larger than any I had ever seen, with many grotesque figures of animals sketched in red and yellow paint upon the outside, and clearly revealed by the blazing fire without. A medicine-man of the tribe, hideous with pigment and high upstanding hair, sat beating a wooden drum before the entrance, and chanting wildly to a ferocious-looking horde of naked savages, many bleeding from self-inflicted wounds, who danced around the blaze, the leaping figures in the red glare making the scene truly demoniacal. Little Sauk strode through the midst of them, unheeding the uproar, and flung aside the flap of the tent. "White Chief and Long Knife wait here," he said sternly. "Come back pretty soon." There was nothing to be seen within, excepting some skins flung carelessly upon the short trodden grass. We sat down silently upon these, gazing out through the narrow opening at the blazing fire and the numerous moving figures constantly crowding closer about the entrance, both of us too deeply immersed in thought to care for speech. The black shadows upon the tepee cover told me that guards had been posted to keep back the rabble from intrusion, and once I saw signs of a brief struggle in front when the swarm had grown too inquisitive and were forced back with scant ceremony. The weird dance and incantation continued; and although I knew but little of the customs of the Pottawattomies, there was a cruel savagery and ferocity about it which I felt held but little promise of peace. "'Tis the war-dance," whispered Heald in my ear, "and bodes ill for our purpose. See! the red wampum is in the fellow's hand." As I bent forward to catch the gleam of it in the flames, a new figure suddenly flitted past our narrow vista, between us and the wild circle of dancers. It was a woman, attired in fanciful Indian dress; but surely no Pottawattomie squaw ever possessed so graceful a carriage, or bore so clear a face. "Captain!" I ejaculated eagerly. "Did you see that white woman there, with the long skirt and red hair?" "Ay!" he answered as though he scarce had faith in his own eyes. "I marked not the color of her hair, but I saw the lass, and, by Saint George! she looked to me like old Roger Matherson's daughter." CHAPTER XXI A COUNCIL OF CHIEFS I was on my feet in an instant, forgetful of everything excepting my duty to this girl whom I had come so far to find, and who now was plainly a prisoner in Indian hands. At the entrance of the tepee, a scowling warrior pushed me roughly back, pretending not to understand my eager words of expostulation, and, by significant gesture, threatening to brain me with his gun-stock if I persisted. A slight return of reason alone kept me from striking the fellow down and striding over his prostrate body. While I stood struggling with this temptation, Captain Heald grasped me firmly. "Are you mad, Wayland?" he muttered, dragging me back into the dark interior of the tepee. "For God's sake, don't anger these fellows! Think of all the helpless lives depending on the success of our errand here! What is the girl to you?" "I will wait," I answered, calmed by his earnestness, and ashamed of my boyish impetuosity; "but I am here at Dearborn seeking this young woman, whom I had supposed rather to be a young child. Her father was my father's dearest friend, and wrote us from his death-bed asking our protection for her." "You are Major Wayland's son,--I remember the circumstances now, and that I endorsed such a letter. 'Tis most strange. This girl disappeared from Dearborn some days ago. Mrs. Heald heard the matter discussed among the ladies of the garrison, and then all supposed her to be at John Kinzie's in company with Josette La Framboise; yet I would almost have sworn I saw her again, and not two hours ago, within the Fort. By Saint George! the glimpse I got just now makes me doubt my own eyesight. She was ever an odd creature,--but what can bring her here, walking so freely about in this camp of vengeful savages?" I could not answer him; the mystery was beyond my clearing. Only, if this was the Elsa Matherson for whom I had sought so long, surely God had in some way led me on to find her; nor should any peril turn my quest aside. I had hardly time for this resolve, ere the flap of the tepee was held back by a dark hand, and in grimly impressive silence warrior after warrior, plumed, painted, and gaudily bedecked with savage ornaments, stalked solemnly within, circled about us without sign of greeting, and seated themselves cross-legged upon the bare ground. The uplifted door-skin permitted the red flames from without to play freely over their stern, impassive faces, and shone back upon us from their glittering eyes. It was an impressive scene, their stoical demeanor breathing the deep solemnity of the vast woods and plains amid which their savage lives were passed; nor could one fail to feel the deep gravity with which they gathered in this council of life or death. To them it was evident that the meeting was of most serious portent. I saw only two faces that I recognized in that red ring,--Topenebe and Little Sauk. I knew, however, it was probable there were some great chiefs among that company; and I marked especially two, one with long white hair, and a tall, slender, rather young fellow, having two wide streaks of yellow down either cheek. The Indians sat motionless, gazing intently at us; and I swept the entire dark circle of scowling faces, vainly endeavoring to find one hopeful glance, one friendly eye. Open hatred, undisguised distrust, implacable enmity, were stamped on every feature. Whatever our plea might be, I felt convinced that the chiefs were here only to carry out their own purposes and make mock of every offering of peace. After several moments of this painful silence, the chief with the long white hair deliberately lighted a large pipe drawn from his belt. It was curiously and grotesquely fashioned, the huge bowl carved to resemble the head of a bear. He drew from the stem a single thick volume of smoke, breathed it out into the air, and solemnly passed the pipe to the warrior seated upon his right. With slow deliberation, the symbol moved around the impassive and emotionless circle, passing from one red hand to another, until it finally came back to him who had first lighted it. Without so much as a word being uttered, he gravely offered it to Captain Heald. I heard, and understood, the quick sigh of relief with which my companion grasped it; he drew a breath of the tobacco, and I followed his example, handing back the smoking pipe to the white-haired chief without rising, amid the same impressive silence. The Indian leader spoke for the first time, his voice deep and guttural. "The Pottawattomies have met in council with the White Chief and the Long Knife," he said soberly, "and have smoked together the peace-pipe. For what have the white men come to disturb Gomo and his warriors?" I gazed at him with new interest. No name of savage chief was wider known along the border in those days, none more justly feared by the settlers. He was a tall, spare, austere man, his long coarse hair whitened by years, but with no stoop in his figure. His eyes, small and keen, blazed with a strange ferocity, as I have seen those of wild-cats in the dark; while his flesh was drawn so closely against his prominent cheek-bones as to leave an impression of ghastliness, as of a corpse suddenly returned by some miracle to life. With dabs of paint across the forehead, and thin lips drawn in a narrow line of cruelty, his face formed a picture to be long remembered with a shudder. It was easy enough to see that Captain Heald felt uncertain how far to venture in his proposals, though he spoke up boldly, and with no tremor in his voice. His long frontier experience had taught him the danger that lay in exhibiting timidity in the face of Indian scorn. "Gomo," he said firmly, "and you other Chiefs of the Pottawattomies, there has never been war between us. We have traded together for many seasons; you have eaten at my table, and I have rested by your fires. We have been as brothers, and more than once have I judged between you and those who would wrong you. I have remembered all this, and have now come into your camp through the night, without fear and unarmed, that I might talk with you as friends. Am I not right to do this? In all the time I have been the White Chief at Dearborn, have I ever done wrong to a Pottawattomie?" He paused; but no warrior made reply. A low guttural murmur ran around the line of listeners, but the bead-like eyes never left his face. He went on: "Why should I fear to meet the Pottawattomies, even though word had come to me that their young men talk war, and seek alliance with our enemy the red-coats? The Chiefs have seen war, and are not crazed for the blood of their friends. They will restrain such wild mutterings. They know that the White Father to the east is strong, and will drive the red-coats back into the sea as he did when they fought before. They will ally themselves with the strong one, and make their foolish young man take up arms for their friends." Still no one spoke, no impassive bronze face exhibited the faintest interest. It was as if he appealed to stone. "Is this not so?" "The White Chief has spoken," was the cold reply. "His words are full of eloquence, but Gomo hears nothing that calls for answer. The White Chief says not why he has come and demanded council of the Pottawattomies." A low murmur, expressive of approval, swept down the observant line; but no man among them stirred a muscle. "I came for this, Gomo," said Heald, speaking now rapidly, and with an evident determination to trust all in a sentence and have it over with, for it was clear the savages were in no mood for diplomatic evasion: "to ask your guidance and protection on our march eastward on the morrow. I come to the Pottawattomies as friends; for I fear we may meet with trouble on the way, from roving bands of Wyandots and Miamis, and we are greatly burdened by our women and children. It is to ask this that I and the Long Knife are here." "You say the White Father is strong, and will drive the red-coats into the sea: did he at Mackinac?" "There was treachery there." "Ugh! Why, if White Father so strong, you leave Fort and go way off?" "Because just now I can serve him better elsewhere; but we shall come again." "My young men have rumor that Detroit go like Mackinac." "It is untrue; your young men bring false news." Gomo turned and looked about him upon the expectant warriors; and, as if the glance was an invitation to free speech, one sitting half-way across the circle asked gruffly: "Why you pour out rum, if you love Pottawattomie?" "Because I am only the White Chief at Dearborn," returned Heald, facing the questioner, "and, like Peesotum who asks, have higher chiefs elsewhere whom I must obey. What they tell me I have to do." "White Chief lies!" was the short, stern answer. "Winnemeg brought no such word." So furious were the many dark, glowering faces, that I braced myself, thinking the next moment would be one of struggle for life or death; but Gomo held them motionless with a wave of his hand. He rose slowly to his feet, and faced us with grave dignity. "It is true, as Peesotum says," he said impressively. "The White Chief has used a double tongue to the Red man; yet we will deal fairly with him, for he has come to us in peace. White Chief, there is to be war between us; 'tis the will of our young men, and the red wampum has passed among our lodges and the lodges of our brothers the Wyandots. Yet when you unlock the gates we will go forth with you and your people, around the sweep of the water. Such is the will of the Great Spirit, and the decision of the Pottawattomie in council of chiefs." Heald looked about upon the scowling circle with disbelief so clearly expressed in his eyes, that Gomo, reading it, turned to his warriors and called upon them one by one to say if he spoke the truth. I heard him speak thus to Little Sauk, Black Bird, Topenebe, Mankia, Pipe Bird, Peesotum, and Ignance; and each answered with the low grunt of assent. He fixed his eyes upon the younger Indian who had already attracted my attention by the manliness of his face as well as the yellow stripes that disfigured him. "And you, Black Partridge?" "I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans," was the grave response. "I have no more to say." I confess these words chilled me, as I recalled their meaning; and Heald half rose to his feet as though he would protest, but not a stolid face among the warriors changed in expression. Gomo drew his robes more closely about his gaunt figure in simple but impressive dignity. "Doth Shaw-nee-aw-kee go east also with the white men?" he asked. "I have not of late conferred with the Silver-man. He has been at his own lodge, and doubtless you may know his purpose better than I." "We wish him to stay. He good man; Pottawattomie's friend." The Indian stood motionless, his eyes watching keenly the expression of each face. He added slowly: "The White Chief hears the promise of the Pottawattomies. It is enough. He can go forth in peace upon the morrow, with all his warriors, squaws, and pappooses, and the people of my nation will walk with them as guards. It is our pledge; we will counsel no longer." At a simple commanding gesture of his long arms, the circle melted away through the narrow opening as silently as it had gathered, the dark figure of each warrior silhouetted for an instant against the red glare of the fire, before it suddenly disappeared in the darkness beyond. At last Little Sauk alone stood between us and the blaze. "Come," he commanded gruffly, "White Chief go back to his people." Enclosed by that same phantom guard of savages, we passed out through the limits of the camp; but now the rabble paid not the slightest heed to our presence. Our mission known, and no longer a mystery, they treated us with the stolid indifference of Indian contempt. I walked with eyes alert upon either side of our path for another glimpse of that girlish figure that I had seen before so dimly; but we traversed nearly the full length of the tepee rows before I saw any one that at all resembled her. Even then, I was far from certain, until the sudden leaping up of a dying fire reflected on her crown of auburn hair, and set my heart to throbbing. "Little Sauk!" I cried, in my excitement clutching his naked arm, "who is that white girl yonder, and how comes she here?" The startled Indian sprang aside, flinging me from him with a violence that showed his giant strength. "No white girl," he protested, vehemently. "Pottawattomie." "No Pottawattomie has hair like the sunset," I retorted. "Come, I would speak with the girl." For an instant I saw the bead-like eyes of the savage glittering in the darkness and wandering where I pointed. He faced me doggedly. "Long Knife leave Indian maid alone," he said grimly. "Long Knife go Fort; no talk." I was in a mood to resist the fellow's dictation, and reckless enough of consequences at that moment to take the chance; but Heald interfered. "You can serve her far better, lad, in that way," he muttered hastily. "We shall not always be two to twelve." With teeth gritted to keep back the fierce anger that shook me, I strolled sullenly on, not even venturing to glance back lest I should give way. It was thus we reached the Fort gate, and entered, leaving our dusky escort to slink back into the night. An anxious crowd met us. It was Wells who questioned first. "So those devils have let you go unharmed? What answer made the savages?" "They pledge us safe convoy around the head of the lake." "They do? Who spoke the words of the pledge?" "Old Gomo himself, and it was ratified by each of the chiefs in turn." "They are lying dogs,--all but one of them. What answered Black Partridge?" Heald made no response; and Wells wheeled impetuously to me. "Come, lad, the truth,--what reply did Black Partridge make to this Indian mummery?" "He said, 'I have already spoken to the White Chief in his own wigwam, and given back the medal of the Americans, and have nothing more to say.'" For a moment the old Indian soldier stared at me, his stern face fairly black with the cloud in his eyes. He brought his clinched hand down hard against the log wall. "By God! it is treachery!" he exclaimed fiercely, and turned and walked away. CHAPTER XXII THE LAST NIGHT AT DEARBORN It was evident that preparations were even then well under way for retreat the following morning. Trunks and boxes, together with various military stores and arms, strewed the sides of the parade-ground; farther back, a number of wagons, partially filled, stood waiting the remainder of their loads. Men and women were hastening back and forth, and children were darting through the shadows, their little arms piled high with bundles, and making play, as children ever will, of what was to prove an awful tragedy. A large fire, burning brightly before the deserted guard-house, cast its ruddy glow over the animated scene, checkering the rude walls with every passing shadow. I noticed, as I slowly pushed my way along, that the soldiers worked seriously, with few jests on their lips, as if they realized the peril that menaced them; while many among the women, especially those of the humbler sort, were rejoicing over the early release from garrison monotony, and careless of what the morrow might bring of danger and suffering. A few steps from the gate, I paused for a moment that I might watch their flitting figures, the incessant bustle being a positive relief after the dull and ghostly silence without. My mind,--though I strove to cast the thought aside,--was still occupied with the mystery of Elsa Matherson; but the more I dwelt upon it, the less I was able to penetrate the secret of her strange presence in the Indian camp, or devise any scheme for reaching her. The ache in my heart made me dread to meet again with Mademoiselle Toinette, lest I should utter words of reproach which she did not deserve; for, sad as such a confession was, I had to acknowledge that she had a perfect right to protect the man she loved, even at my cost. Nor did I greatly desire to run upon De Croix. I knew his temper fairly well, and doubtless by this time he had learned the story of my interference, and would be in fit mood for a quarrel. Still, as seems often to be the case at such a time, before I had taken a dozen steps away from the gate, I met him face to face. It was a jaunty picture he made in the glare of the fire, the fine gentleman sauntering lazily about with hat of bleached straw pushed rakishly upon his powdered hair, and a light cane dangling at his wrist, as fashionably attired as if he were loitering upon the boulevards of an August evening, his negro man a yard behind, bearing a silken fan which flashed golden in the radiance. At sight of him, I stopped instantly, ready enough to resent attack if that had been his purpose, though anxious to avoid violence for the sake of Mademoiselle. But he merely laughed as he surveyed me critically, swinging his bamboo stick as if it were a whip-lash. "_Parbleu_, Master Wayland!" he said, seeming in rare good-humor, "I this moment learned of your safe return. 'Twould have been an excellent joke had the savage found excuse to retain you out yonder, to form a part of one of their delightful entertainments! Fit revenge, indeed, for the foul deceit you played upon me!" "Think you so, Monsieur?" for his easy words relieved me greatly. "It would have been one less arm for our defence." "With safe convoy guaranteed by the Indian chiefs, that loss would make small odds," he replied carelessly. "But, truly, that was a most scurvy trick you played to gain the wager which was offered me. But for the happy ending, I should be sorely tempted to break this cane across your shoulders in payment therefor." "Indeed!" I said; "the act might not be as easily accomplished as you imagine. But what mean you by happy ending? Had the savages roasted me over a slow fire, I should hardly be here for the pleasure of your chastisement." He laughed lightly, his eyes wandering carelessly over the throng of figures in front of us. "Saint Guise! I thought not about your predicament, but rather of the happiness which came to me in the society of Mademoiselle. In faith, she was most gracious with her favor. 'Tis thus you did me a great kindness, friend, and have won my gratitude." The words were as stinging as he meant them to be, for I marked his quick glance into my face. So I held my resentment well in check, and smiled back at him, apparently unconcerned. "Then we are again even, Monsieur," I returned quietly, "and can start anew upon our score. But why should I remain here to discuss matters of such small import, with all this work unfinished which fronts strong men to-night? I will break my long fast, and turn to beside these others." He seemed to have further words to say; but I minded him not, and pushed past, leaving him to saunter where he willed, accompanied by his black satellite. If I could not win Mademoiselle, as I now felt assured from his boastful speech I could not, I might at least work for her greater safety and comfort; and there was much I could do to help in burying my own disappointment. For all that, it was a night to live long in the memory,--that last night we spent at Dearborn. It remains a rare jumble in my mind,--its varied incidents crowding so fast upon each other as to leave small room for thought regarding any one of them. Without, the dim black plain stretched away in unbroken solemnity and silence; nor did the sentinels posted along the walls catch glimpse of so much as a skulking Indian form amid the grass and sand. A half-moon was in the sky, with patches of cloud now and then shadowing it, and in the intervals casting its faint silver over the lonely expanse and tipping the crest of the waves as they crept in upon the beach. The great Indian village to the westward was fairly ablaze with fires; while the unending procession of black dots that flitted past them, together with the echo of constant uproar, showed that the savages were likewise astir in eager preparation for the morrow. We could hear the pounding of wooden drums, mingled with shrill yells that split the night-air like so many war-missiles. Only those above, upon the platform, could mind these things; for the bustle within the enclosure below continued unabated until long after midnight. The report of our mission spread rapidly, and the pledge of protection given by the chiefs greatly heartened the men, so that they worked now with many a peal of laughter and careless jest. The women and children, ever quick to feel the influence of the soldiers, responded at once to this new feeling of confidence, which was encouraged by the officers, however they may have secretly doubted the good-faith of the savages. So the children tumbled about in the red glare of the flames, the soldiers swung their traps into the waiting wagons with good-natured badinage, their brawny breasts bare and glistening with sweat in the hot night; while, as the hour grew late and discipline sensibly relaxed, the women danced in the open and sang songs of home. It was hard enough to realize what it all meant,--what hardship and suffering and death lay just before these rejoicing people; what depths of cruel treachery and murder lurked for them so few hours away. We did not suspect it then; not even those among us who had long learned the deceit of Indian nature could unroll the shadowing veil of that morrow and reveal the forthcoming tragedy of those silent plains. I remember that, doubtful as I felt about the future, I could look on with interest at the busy scene, and that more than once a smile lay upon my lips. What an odd variety of figures that congested place disclosed! what strange life-histories were having their culmination there! I saw Ensign Ronan, young, slender, smooth of face, appearing scarce more than a boy, his short fatigue-jacket buttoned to the throat in spite of the heat, hurrying here and there in his enthusiasm, ever upon his lips some happy phrase to take the sting from his word of command. Lieutenant Helm, calm but observant of every detail, moved in and out among the busy throng, every now and then stealing aside to speak a word of encouragement to his young wife, who stood watching by the mess-room door. There was quite a bevy gathered there, officers' wives for the most part, gazing in mingled interest and apprehension upon the scene. I marked among them Josette, who had come in that evening with the Kinzies; and as I drew yet nearer the group, a sudden blazing up of the fire yielded me a glimpse of Mademoiselle, and I turned hastily away, unwilling still to greet or be greeted by her. Gaunt frontiersmen stalked about, having little to save and nothing to do, with the inevitable long rifle held in the hollow of the arm; Captain Wells's Miamis skulked uneasily in dark corners, or hung over the embers to cook some ration yet unused, their dark skins and long coarse hair a reminder to us of the hostiles who watched without. Captain Heald, in company with Captain Wells and John Kinzie, the latter conspicuous by his white beard, stood long in deep converse near the barracks, leaning against the black logs. I felt the two latter were urging some change of plan; but in the end Wells left in vexation, almost in anger, striding across the parade-ground to the northern block-house. In the shadow of the south stockade, some one was softly playing upon a violin, the sweet notes stealing up through the wild hubbub in strains of silvery sound. Close upon one side of the fire, forgetful of the heat in their deep interest, two young soldiers were engrossed in a game of cards, while a group of comrades commented freely on the fortunes of the play. Scarcely a yard distant, a grizzled old sergeant,--a veteran of the great war, no doubt,--bent above a book held open upon his knee, the shape of which bespoke a Bible; while on the other side a bevy of children were romping with their dogs or playing with sharp knives in the hard ground. A woman over by the gate lifted a sweet contralto voice in an old-time love-song, and had hardly lilted the opening line before others joined her, making the night resound to the tender melody. I saw the soldiers pause in their work to beat time, and marked the dark forms of the sentries above on the palisades as they leaned over to listen, every heart set throbbing with the memory of days gone by. "Man is indeed a strange animal," said a voice beside me, and I turned to greet Ensign Ronan. "He can sing, laugh, and jest, in death's very teeth." "'Tis better, surely, than to cry," I commented. "But these do not so much as dream of death; the pledge of the Pottawattomies has brought renewed hope." "Yes, I know; though I confess I have little faith in it. And there will be plenty of danger about us before we see Fort Wayne, even if they pass us in safety around the lake. There will be leagues of travel through hostile territory. That," he added, "is, to my mind, the only sensible way of preparation for the morrow." He pointed to the old sergeant seated beside the fire with his Bible; and I glanced into his boyish face with no little surprise. "Some remark Surgeon Van Voorhis made caused me to deem you indifferent in such matters." "No doubt," he said, dryly. "If one does not subscribe to the creeds, he is written down a heretic. I have laughed at folly, and so have won the reputation of being an unbeliever. Yet, Wayland, if we ride forth to a savage death to-morrow, no one will meet it with more faith in Christ than I. The years indeed have not left me spotless, but I have never wavered from the great truths my mother taught me. I know not the future, lad, but I believe there is ever mercy for the penitent." In an instant my own thought spanned the leagues of forest to my distant home; and I choked back a sob within my throat. "It is our mothers' love that makes us all better men," I said gravely. "And whatever may befall us upon the morrow, that God of whom they taught us will be true." "The words are spoken in the right spirit," he returned, soberly, "and have the soldier ring I like best to hear. If it chance that we both come forth from this venture in life, I should be most glad to know you better." I was deeply touched by his open, manly spirit, and especially impressed with his frank adherence to the Christian faith, something too uncommon in that day along the border. "'Tis rather my wish to begin friendship before that time of trial," I said eagerly, and with extended hand. "We shall fight the better for it when the hour for fighting comes; and if it be God's will to guide us safely through the wilderness, a friendship thus cemented in peril will have the strength of comradeship." The young man's strong and thoughtful face lighted up; but his eyes were resting upon the form of the sentry above us, and he did not speak. "Ronan," I questioned, somewhat doubtfully, "I have long wished to ask you the cause of the friction that apparently exists between Captain Heald and the officers of this garrison; but have felt it none of my business. I cannot but realize you are not in his good graces, although he appears to me to be a brave and capable man." "He is both," was the instant and manly reply; "for all that, he has constantly turned for counsel in military matters to others than his own officers,--why, I know not, unless he considered us unworthy of his confidence. Instead of confiding his orders to us, and asking judgment upon his plans, he has been swayed from the beginning by Indian advice; and it is only natural for us to resent such unjust and discourteous treatment. Moreover, each move thus far made has proved to be a mistake, and we must suffer from them in silence and without remedy." "He does indeed seem strangely headstrong," I admitted reluctantly, recalling to mind the words uttered in the room beyond my bed; "but surely his conference with the chiefs has resulted well, and is proof of his good judgment." The young officer turned quickly and faced me, his eyes full of emotion. "That remains to be decided," he exclaimed. "Such old frontiersmen as Captain Wells and John Kinzie say that pledge only hides black treachery. They urged him most earnestly, for an hour to-night, to reconsider his decision, and give up the immediate evacuation of the post. But he fully believes he can put faith in those lying, murderous hounds out yonder. So certain is Kinzie of trouble, that he has sworn to march forth with us, sending his family away by boat, in hope that his influence may hold back the savages from open attack; while Wells declares that he will ride forth with blackened face, as becomes a Miami who goes to certain death in battle. These men are no fools, no strangers to savage warfare and Indian deceit,--yet in spite of their warning, Captain Heald persists in driving us forth into the very fangs of the wolves. Brave! ay, he is indeed brave to the point of rashness; but this bids fair to be a fatal bravery to all of us who must obey his orders." The intense bitterness of these words shocked me and held me dumb,--the more so, as I could not be insensible to their truth. As I lifted my eyes, I beheld, crossing the parade through the mass of equipment scattered here and there, De Croix and Mademoiselle. With a half-muttered excuse, I drew hastily back into the protecting shadow of the stockade; and as they slowly passed, I heard him jesting lightly, and saw her laughing, with a side-glance up at his face. With these words of warning from Ronan's lips yet ringing in my ears, such reckless thoughtlessness of the danger encircling us astounded me; and I drew farther back, less willing than ever to make one of them. Deep in my heart, I knew this was no time for careless laughter or happy jest. CHAPTER XXIII THE DEATH-SHADOW OF THE MIAMIS It was after midnight when I finally ceased my labors, feeling I had performed my fair share of the hard work of preparation. By this time everything was comparatively quiet within the stockade enclosure; the wagons were piled with all that could be loaded before morning, and many of the wearied soldiers had flung themselves upon the ground to snatch what rest they might before the early call to march. The women and children had disappeared, to seek such comfort as was possible amid the ruins of their former quarters; and only the sentries remained alert, pacing their solemn rounds on the narrow walk overlooking the palisades and the silent plain without. Physically wearied as I was, my mind remained intensely active, and I felt no desire for sleep. I do not recall that I gave much thought to the perils of our situation. One grows careless and indifferent to danger,--and in truth I looked forward to no serious trouble with the Indians upon the morrow's march through the sand-dunes; not that I greatly trusted to those reluctant pledges wrung from the chiefs, but because I felt that if properly handled in that open country our force was of sufficient fighting strength to repel any ordinary attack from ill-armed savages, my long border experience rendering me a bit disdainful of Indian courage and resourcefulness. So it was that my restless mind dwelt rather upon other matters more directly personal. I could not put away the thought of the half-seen girl flitting about amid the dusk of the Pottawattomie camp, especially as Captain Heald had declared her to be Elsa Matherson. I was surprised to discover that she I sought, instead of being a mere child, was a woman grown; for in this we were all deceived by the words of her father. What did she there, passing with such apparent freedom from restraint among those fierce warriors? and how was I ever to reach her with any hope of rescue, even if she desired it? There was evidently a mystery here which I could never solve through idle musing; and yet I could but ask myself where lay my graver duty,--beside this single woman, who seemingly needed no defender, or with the many helpless ones who must march forth on the morrow on that long and dangerous passage through the wilderness? Indeed, what hope could I cherish of aiding the young girl, if I now deserted these others, and endeavored alone to penetrate that Indian camp in search of her? Then came another thought. It was of Mademoiselle. It was this that effectually halted me. To whomsoever else she might have given her heart, she was still the one for whom I was most glad either to live or die; and in spite of De Croix, I would ride at her side on the morrow, within striking distance of any prowling hostile. Let the Matherson girl wait; my arm belonged first of all to the defence of Mademoiselle. Busied with these thoughts, and endeavoring to adjust this decision with my conscience, I passed out upon the platform, that I might look forth once more upon the moonlit waters of the lake. There were a few dim figures to be seen, leaning over the logs; but I supposed them to be members of the night-guard, and, feeling no desire for companionship, I halted in a lonely spot at the northeastern corner of the stockade. How desolate, how solemnly impressive, was the scene! To the north all was black in the dense night, the shadows of the scattering trees obscuring the faint glow of the moon and yielding little of detail to the searching eye. Even the single ray of light which the evening previous had blazed forth as a friendly beacon from the Kinzie home, was now absent. I could vaguely distinguish the dim outlines of the deserted house in the distance, and noticed a large boat moored close to the bank beneath the Fort stockade, doubtless the one in which the fugitives expected to venture out upon the lake on the morrow. It was the wide stretch of water, gleaming like silver, that fascinated me, as it always did in its numberless changing moods. What unutterable loneliness spoke to the soul in those unknown leagues of tossing sea! how far the eye wandered unchecked, searching vainly for aught to rest upon other than glistening surge or darkling hollow! The mystery of the ages lay unexpressed in those tossing billows, sweeping in out of the black east, making low moan to the unsympathetic and unheeding sky. Deeper and deeper the spirit of unrest, of doubt, of brooding discontent, weighed down upon me as I gazed; life seemed as aimless as that constant turmoil yonder, a mere silver-tinted heaving, destined to burst in useless power on a shore of rock, and then roll back again into the mighty deep. I leaned over the palisades, sunk deep in revery of home, recalling one by one the strange incidents of the last month that had so curiously conspired to cause a total upheaval of my life; and for the moment I grew oblivious of my surroundings. A mere lad, knowing little of himself and less of life, had ridden westward from the Maumee; a man, in thought and character, leaned now over that beleaguered stockade of Dearborn. I was recalled to actualities by a light touch on the sleeve of my shirt, and a half-laughing, half-petulant voice at my elbow. "Well, Master Laggard! do I not show you great honor in thus seeking you out, after your avoidance of me all these hours?" I glanced aside into the fair face and questioning eyes, noting at the same time that De Croix stood only a step beyond her in the shadows. "I have been very busy, Mademoiselle," I tried to explain; "it has been a time when every strong hand was needed." "Fudge!" was the indignant rejoinder. "Did I not perceive you loitering more than once to-night,--though each time I drew near, hopeful of a word of greeting, it was to behold you disappear as if by magic? Do I flatter you by thus showing my interest? Yet 'twas only that I might have explanation, that I sought you thus. Come, confess that you feared my just resentment for going forth on so perilous a trip without telling me of your plans." "'Twas not altogether that," I answered, for dissembling was never an easy task for me, "as I only did what I believed would most please you. Nor have I anything to regret in my action, now that we have thus gained the pledge of the Pottawattomies for protection upon the march." She watched me closely as I spoke, and I wondered if she realized ever so dimly the impulse of loving service that had inspired my deed. Whether 'twas so or not, her whole mood quickly changed. "I must admit you are a constant puzzle to me, John Wayland, yet rather an interesting one withal. For instance, here is Josette, who did assure me but an hour ago that your very name was unknown to her, although, if memory serves, you asserted only yesterday that you were seeking her from the Maumee country. Perhaps, sir, you can explain the contradiction?" "It was not altogether as you have stated it, Mademoiselle," I stammered, confused by the directness of her attack. "I said nothing of knowing this Josette, and you have deceived yourself in the matter. I came here seeking a young girl, 'tis true, but found no trace of her until a few hours ago, most curiously, in the heart of that Indian camp yonder." "You found her there? How strange!" "Most strange indeed, Mademoiselle, especially as she appeared to enjoy perfect liberty among the savages." "You spoke with her?" "Not a word; it was only a glimpse I caught of her in the firelight, and when I sought to go to her the warriors interfered and forced me back. But Captain Heald, who saw her at the same time, assured me 'twas the one I sought." "'Tis small wonder, then, you could stand here at my very side so long, and yet see me not, or remain indifferent to my presence," she said, drawing slightly back. "Come, Captain de Croix, let us walk to the other corner of the stockade, and leave Master Wayland to dream of his mysterious beauty undisturbed." "You misapprehend me," I cried, awakened by her words, but more by De Croix's smile. "She has no such hold upon my memory as that, for until to-night I had supposed her a mere child. I knew not you were upon the platform, believing the forms I saw in the gloom to be those of the night-guard. What dark figure is that, even now leaning over the logs yonder?" It was De Croix's deeper voice that made answer. "'Tis Captain Wells; and we found him in no mood for conversation. Seemingly he hath small faith in the pledges of the chiefs." "My own hope rests far more upon our skill at arms, Monsieur," I answered directly; "for I have known Indian treachery all my life. They may keep faith with us to-morrow, for John Kinzie has great influence with them for good; nevertheless, I shall oil my gun carefully before riding forth." It was in his eyes to make reply; but before it could come the girl between us uttered a cry so piercing that it set us gazing where her finger pointed out across the lake. "Look there, Messieurs! Did ever mortal behold so grewsome a sight before? What means the portent?" It is before me now, in each grim, uncanny detail,--though I know well that my pen will fail to give it fit description, or convey even feebly a sense of the overwhelming dread of what we saw. Nature has power to paint what human hand may never hope to copy; and though, as I now know well, it was no more than a strange commingling of cloud and moon in atmospheric illusion, still the effect was awe-inspiring to a degree difficult of realization within the environments of peace and safety. To us, it appeared as a dreadful warning,--a mysterious manifestation of supernatural power, chilling our blood with terror and striking agony into our souls. Up from the far east had rolled an immense black cloud, rifted here and there by bars of vivid yellow as electric bolts tore it asunder. Moonlight tipped its heavy edges with a pale spectral gleam; and as it swiftly rose higher and higher into the sky, blotting out the stars, it seemed to dominate the entire expanse, hovering over us menacingly, and assuming the shape of some gigantic monster, with leering face and cruel mouth, bending forward as if to smite us with huge uplifted hand. Perchance our tensioned nerves may have exaggerated the resemblance, but nothing more horribly real have my eyes ever beheld. For a moment I cowered, like a nerveless craven, behind the logs, gazing up at that awful apparition, that mocking devil's-face, as a man fronts death in some terrible and unexpected form. It seemed as if the breath of the creature must be pestilence, and that it would smite us gasping to earth, or draw us helplessly struggling within its merciless clutch. A prayer trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered, for I could only stare upward at the mighty, crawling thing now overshadowing us, my arms uplifted in impotent effort to avert the crushing blow. I could hear the girl sob where she had sunk upon the platform, and caught one glimpse of De Croix, his face yellow in the weird glare as he stared in speechless terror out over the water, his hands clutching the palisades. It was Captain Wells, who had been standing near us, who first found voice. "Tis the Death-Shadow of the Miamis!" he cried, in choked accents, striding toward us along the narrow plank, and pointing eastward. "I knew it must come, for our doom is sealed." What centuries of Indian superstition rested behind the fateful utterance, I know not; but facing that horrible spectre as we did, his words held me in speechless awe. In the blood of us all such terrors linger to unman the bravest; and for the moment such fright and panic swept me as I have never known before or since. I, who have laughed at death even in the hour of torture, sank in deadly agony before that mystery of light and shadow, as if it indeed foreshadowed the wrath of the Great Spirit. The sobs of Mademoiselle recalled me somewhat to myself, and led me to forget my own terror that I might help to relieve hers. "I beg you, fear not," I urged, though my voice trembled and my lips were dry. "Come, Mademoiselle," and I found her hand and clasped it, feeling the touch a positive relief to my unstrung nerves, "look up and see! the cloud is even now breaking asunder, and has already lost much of its form of terror. Mind not the words of Captain Wells; he has been raised among the Indians, and drunk in their superstitions. De Croix, arouse yourself, and help me to bring courage to this girl." He drew back from his grip on the palisades, as if, by sheer power of will, he forced his fascinated eyes from the cloud-bank, shivering like a man with an ague fit. "_Sacre!_ did ever human eyes behold so foul a thing!" he cried, his voice shaking, his hand shading his face. "'Twill haunt me till the hour I die." "Bah! 'Twill all be forgotten with return of daylight," I was quick to reply; for had found relief in action, and could perceive already that the clouds were becoming shapeless and drifting rapidly southward in a great billowy mass. "Do not stand there moping like a day-blind owl, but aid me to make Mademoiselle see the foolishness of her fears." The sting of these words moved him more than a blow would have done; but as he knelt beside her, I noted there was little of the old reckless ring in his voice. "'Tis indeed true, Toinette,--'twas but a cloud, and has already greatly changed in aspect. 'Twill be no more than cause for laughter when the sun gilds the plain, and will form a rare tale to tell to the gallants at Montreal. Yet, Saint Guise! 'twas grewsome enough, and my knees quake still from the terror of the thing." Mademoiselle was as brave and cool-headed a girl as ever I knew; but so thoroughly had she been unnerved by this dreadful happening, that it was only after the most persistent urging on our part that she consented to be led below. There, at the foot of the ladder, I stepped aside to permit De Croix to walk with her across the parade; but she would not go without a word of parting. "Do not think me weak and silly," she implored, her face, still white from the terror, upturned to me in the moonlight. "It was so spectral and ghastly that I gave way to sudden fear." "You need no excuse," I hastened to assure her. "When the thing frightened De Croix and me, and even set so old a soldier as Captain Wells to raving, it was no wonder it unnerved a girl, however brave she might prove in the presence of real danger. But you can sleep now, convinced it was naught but a floating cloud." She smiled at me over her shoulder, and I watched the pair with jealous eyes until they disappeared. I noticed Captain Wells standing beside me. "You thought I raved up yonder," he said gravely; "to-morrow will prove that my interpretation of the vision was correct." "You believe it a prophecy of evil?" "It was the warning of the Great Spirit--the Death-Shadow of the Miamis. Never has it appeared to men of our tribe except on the eve of great disaster, the forerunner of grave tragedy. We ride forth from these gates to death." It was plain that no amount of reasoning could change his Indian superstition; and with a word more of expostulation I left him standing there, and sought a place where I might lie down. Already the numbing sensation of supernatural fear had left me, for in the breaking up of that odd-formed cloud I realized its cause; and now the physical fatigue I felt overmastered all else. I found a quiet corner, and, with a saddle for a pillow, was soon fast asleep. CHAPTER XXIV THE DAY OF DOOM Fifteenth August, 1812. My hand trembles and my pen halts as I write the words; for the memory of those tragic hours, far distant as they are now, over masters me, and I see once again the faces of the dead, the mutilated forms, the disfigured features of the hapless victims of savage treachery. Were I writing romance merely, I might hide much of detail behind the veil of silence; but I am penning history, and, black as the record is, I can only give it with strict adherence to truth. I dread the effort to recall once more the sad incidents of that scene of carnage, lest I fail to picture it aright; but I can tell, and that poorly, only of what I saw within the narrowed vista of my personal experience, where the fate of the day found me. Out of the vortex of so fierce and sudden a struggle, the individual, battling madly for his own life, catches but hasty and confused glimpses of what others may do about him or in other portions of the field; and there has been much recorded in what men call the history of that day's battle, about which I know nothing. Nor shall I attempt to tell much more than the simple story of what befell me and those who faced the danger close at my side. In spite of the early bustle around me, incident to the preparations for departure, I slept late, stupefied by intense fatigue. The sun was already high, painting with gold the interior of the western wall of the stockade, when some unusual disturbance aroused me, so that I sat up and looked about, scarce realizing for the moment where I was. The parade was alive with moving figures; and I instantly marked the cheery look on the faces of those nearest me, as if the entire garrison rejoiced that the hour for departure had at last arrived. The northern half of the little open space was filled with loaded wagons of every description, to which horses, mules, and even oxen, were being rapidly hitched; while women and children were clambering in over the wheels, perching themselves upon the heaps of camp accoutrements, and rolling up the canvas coverings in order that they might the better see out and feel the soft refreshment of the morning air. The officers of the post were moving here and there among the throng of workers, grave of face, yet making no effort to curb the unusual gaiety of the enlisted men. For the time, all reins of discipline seemed relaxed. The few settlers and plainsmen who had gathered within the Fort for protection looked on stolidly, either lying in the shade of the log wall or lounging beside their horses already equipped for the trail; while the Miamis were gathered restlessly about their breakfast fires, their faces unexpressive of emotion, as usual, although many among them had blackened their cheeks in expectation of disaster. Evidently the hour fixed upon for our final desertion of Fort Dearborn was close at hand; and I hastened to seek opportunity for a bath and breakfast. I do not recall now, looking back after all these years upon the events of that day, any dreading of the future, or serious thought of the coming ordeal. The bustle of excitement about me, the high spirits of the men, were like a tonic; and I remembered only that we were east-bound once more, and my chief concern was to be ready to ride out promptly with the column. It could not have been far from nine o'clock when every preparation was completed, and the echoing bugle called the laggards from their quarters into the open parade. The officers, already mounted, rode about quietly, assigning each driver and wagon to position in the marching column, and carefully mustering the troops. The many sick of the garrison were brought forth from the barracks in their blankets, and gently lifted to places beside the women and children in the loaded wagons; while the men fit for active duty fell in promptly along the southern wall, the right of their slender column resting opposite the barred entrance. I was assigned to ride with the rear-guard beside the wagons, in company with the few settlers and fifteen of the Miamis under command of Sergeant Jordan. Captains Heald and Wells, the latter with face blackened so that at first glance I scarcely recognized him, took position at the head of the waiting column in front of the closed gates, and they sat there on their horses, facing us, and watching anxiously our rather slow formation. John Kinzie joined them, his features grave and careworn, a long rifle in his hands; while the ladies of the garrison, plainly dressed for the long and hard journey, came forth from their several quarters and were assisted to mount the horses reserved for them. De Croix accompanied Mademoiselle, attired as for a gay pleasure-ride in the park, and gave her his gloved hand to step from into the saddle, with all the gallantry he might have shown a queen. I knew this was no boy's play before us now; and, crushing back my natural diffidence, I spurred my horse boldly forward until we ranged up beside her, even venturing to uncover in polite salute. Never did I see her look fairer than beneath the shade of the wide-brimmed hat she had donned to keep the hot sun from her clear cheeks; nor was there the slightest vestige of last night's terror lurking in the laughing eyes that flashed me greeting. "I surely know of one sad heart amid this gay company," she exclaimed, "for while we rejoice at being once more bound for civilization, Master Wayland looks most truly mournful; doubtless his thought is with her who has turned Indian for a time." Her careless bantering tone nettled me; but I was quick enough to answer, having no wish to awaken her fears as to the safety of our journey. "'Tis true, Mademoiselle. I dislike greatly to leave in peril one I have journeyed so far to seek; nor can I banish from my mind the thought that perhaps I am failing in my duty toward her. Yet surely you have small cause for complaint, as I have, instead, deliberately chosen to ride here at your side, in order that I may be near to defend you should occasion arise,--provided always that my presence shall meet your wishes and approval." She bowed as best she could in her high-peaked saddle, shooting a mischievous glance from me to the unconcerned and self-satisfied face of the Frenchman. "I am indeed most gratified and happy, Monsieur, thus to feel myself the object of such devotion; but I greatly fear you will prove but a poor companion on the journey if you wear so glum a look. Captain de Croix is full of wit and good-humor this morning, and has already cheered me greatly with reminiscences of happier days." "Indeed?" I said, looking at the fellow curiously. "He has quickly forgotten the baleful portent of last night. I thought the daylight would yield him new heart." "And why not? 'Twas but a cloud, as all of us know now,--though I confess it terrified me greatly at the time. You yourself seem not even yet to have wholly shaken off its terror." "'Tis not the supernatural that so troubles me," I rejoined. "As you may perceive yonder, Captain Wells rides forth with blackened face to what he deems to be certain death. I acknowledge, Mademoiselle, that I look forward to a serious clash of arms before we are rid of the redskins, in spite of their pledges; and shall therefore keep close beside you, hopeful that my arm may show you better service than my tongue before nightfall." Her eyes had grown grave as she listened; for I spoke with soberness, and there crept into them a look that thrilled me. Before either could speak again, Ensign Ronan rode up beside me. "Wayland," he questioned anxiously, "what is this I hear about a strange portent in the eastern sky last night? Saw you anything terrifying there?" "'Twas no more serious than a cloud which chanced to assume the form of a monster, and its aspect was most terrifying until we understood the nature of its formation. Then it became merely an odd memory to weave a tale about. Mademoiselle here saw it, and remains in most excellent spirits nevertheless." He lifted his hat to her, and stared hard at De Croix, who barely nodded to his greeting. "By Heavens!" he exclaimed, as if much relieved, "it seemed to me as if Nature had conspired with those red demons yonder to sap our courage, when first I heard the rumor. I am so convinced that there is trouble afoot, that my nerves are all a-tingle at such mystery." "Are the savages gathering without?" "Ay! they are in mass of hundreds, awaiting us at the foot of the mound, and have been since daybreak. See! the sentries are being called down, and the men are at the gate levers. I must be back at my post." He held out his hand, and I clasped it warmly, feeling my heart go out instantly to the brave, impetuous lad. "You ride this day with the rear-guard," he said, lingering as if loath to go, "and my duty lies with the van. We may not chance to meet again, but the God we spoke about together last night will strengthen our hearts to meet their duty. It matters not where men die, but how. Good-bye, Mademoiselle! Captain de Croix, I wish you a most pleasant journey." With doffed hat, he struck spurs into his nettle-some horse, and was gone; while the ringing notes of the bugle called the waiting column to attention. I watched with deepening interest all that was taking place before me. The heavy log-gates were unbarred, swung slowly inward, and left unguarded. Captain Heald uttered a single stern word of command, and Captain Wells, with a squad of his Miamis pressing hard at his horse's heels, rode slowly through the opening out into the flood of sunshine. Captain Heald and Mr. Kinzie, side by side, with Mrs. Heald mounted upon a spirited bay horse a yard in their rear, followed close; and then to Lieutenant Helm's grave order the sturdy column of infantrymen, heavily equipped and marching in column of fours, swept in solemn curve about the post of the gate, and filed out through the narrow entrance. The regular tramp-tramp, the evident discipline, and the confident look of the men, impressed me. While I was watching them, the small garrison band began suddenly to play, and the smiling soldier faces clouded as they glanced around in questioning surprise. "Saint Guise!" ejaculated De Croix, uneasily; "it is the Dead March!" I marked the sudden look of terrified astonishment in Mademoiselle's eyes, and dropped my hand upon hers where it rested against the saddle-pommel. Ensign Ronan spurred swiftly back down the column, with an angry face, and hushed the ill sound by a sharp order. "Another tune, you fool, or none at all!" he said, peremptorily. "The foul fiend himself must have assumed charge of our march to-day." As the column marched away, the groaning wagons one by one fell into line behind it, until at last our own turn came, and De Croix and I, each with a hand upon the bridle-rein of Mademoiselle's spirited horse, rode between the gate-posts out to where we had full view of that stirring scene below. It was a fair, bright morning, with hardly so much as a fleecy white cloud in all the expanse of sky; glorious sunlight was flashing its prismatic colors over a lake surface barely ruffled by the faintest breeze. Never did Nature smile more brightly back into my eyes than then, as I gazed out over the broad plain where the glow of the summer reflected back in shimmering waves from the tawny prairie and glittering sand. With all its desolation, it was a picture to be treasured long; nor has a single detail of it ever left my memory. How vast the distances appeared through that clear, sun-illumined atmosphere, and how pronounced and distinctive were the varied colors spread to the full vista of the eye, contrasts of shine and shadow no human brush, however daring, would venture to depict on canvas. A primitive land this, idealized by distance, vast in its wide, sweeping plains, its boundless sea, its leagues of glistening sand, and, bending over all, the deepest, darkest arch of blue that ever mirrored so fair a picture of the wilderness. Scattered groups of cottonwood trees, the irregular mounds and ridges of sand, the silvery ribbon of river, merely emphasized the whole, and gave new meaning to what might else have been but sheer desert waste. I knew little then of what other years had seen within these solitudes and within the circle of my view; yet scraps of border legend came floating back into memory, until I recalled the name of many an old-time adventurer,--La Salle, Joliet, Marquette the Jesuit,--who must have camped beside that very stream out yonder. The column had halted as our last laggards cleared the gate; and for a moment we rested in silence upon the side of the slope, while the long line was being re-arranged for travel. The Indians, in seemingly disorganized masses, were already enveloping the head of the column with noisy clamor, and Wells was having difficulty in holding his Miami scouts to their proper position. A few scattered and skulking savages,--chiefly squaws, I thought at the time,--were stealthily edging their way up the slope of the slight rise, eager to begin the spoliation of the Fort as soon as we had deserted it. Wild and turbulent as was the scene, I perceived no alarming symptoms of hostility, and turned toward Mademoiselle with lighter heart. Her dark eyes were full of suppressed merriment as they encountered mine. "I thought you would sit there and dream all day," she said pleasantly; "and I hardly have the heart to blame you. 'Tis indeed a fair scene, and one I almost regret leaving, now that the time to do so has come. Never before has its rare beauty so strongly appealed to me." "'Tis the great distance outspread yonder which renders all so soft to the eye," I answered, glad to reflect her mood; "yet Captain de Croix and I know well 'tis far less pleasant travelling over than to look at here. We think of the swamps, the forests, the leagues of sand and the swift rivers which will hinder our progress." "I hardly imagine," she murmured softly, "that Captain de Croix is guilty of wasting precious time in reflection upon aught so trivial this morning. He has been conversing with me upon the proper cut of his waistcoat, and I am sure he is too deeply engrossed in that subject to give heed to other things." I glanced at him and smiled as my heart glowed to her gentle sarcasm, for surely never did a more incongruous figure take saddle on a western trail. By what code of fashion he may have dressed, I know not; but from his slender-pointed bronze shoes to his beribboned hat he was still the dandy of the boulevards, his dark mustaches curled upward till their tips nearly touched his ears, and a delicately carved riding-whip swinging idly at his wrist. He seemed to have already exhausted his powers of conversation, for he remained oblivious of our presence, fumbling with one yellow-gloved hand in the recesses of a saddle-bag. "By Saint Denis, Sam!" he exclaimed, angrily, to his black satellite, "I can find nothing of the powder-puff, or the bag of essence! _Parbleu!_ if they have been left behind you will go back after them, though every Indian in this Illinois country stand between. Come, you imp of darkness, know you aught of these?" "Dey am wid de pack-hoss, Massa de Croix," was the oily answer. "I done s'posed you wouldn't need 'em till we got thar." "Need them! Little you know the requirements of a gentleman! Saint Guise! Why, I shall want them both this very day! Ride you forward there, and see if they cannot be picked out from among the other things." "See, Monsieur!" cried Mademoiselle suddenly, one hand pressing my arm, while she pointed eagerly with the other, "there goes the boat with Mistress Kinzie and her children! That must be Josette in the bow, with the gay streamer about her hat. She did wish so to ride with us, but Mr. Kinzie would not permit it." The boat had but just cleared the river-mouth, and was working off-shore, with half a dozen Indians laboring at the oars. "Yet Josette has by far the easiest passage, as we shall learn before night," said I, watching their progress curiously. "I imagine you will soon be wishing you were with them." "Never, Master Wayland!" she cried, with a little shudder, and quick uplifting of hands to her face as if to shut out the sight. "Memory of the hours when I was last on the lake is still too vivid. I have grown to dread the water as if it were an evil spirit. See! the column resumes its march, and the savages are moving beside us as might a guard of honor." It was as she had said. The long, hard journey had begun; and slowly, like some great snake torpid with a winter's sleep, the crawling column drew forward. We at the rear rode down the incline and out upon the level plain, every step an unconscious advance toward battle and death. CHAPTER XXV IN THE JAWS OF THE TIGER We chatted carelessly about many things, as we rode slowly onward, our unguided horses following those in advance along the well-marked trail close beside the water along the sandy beach. Mademoiselle was full of life and bubbling over with good-humor; while De Croix, having found the essentials of his toilet safe, grew witty and light of speech, even interesting me now and then in the idle words that floated to my ears,--for he managed to monopolize the attention of the young girl so thoroughly that after a little time I sat silent in my saddle, scarce adding a word to their gay tilt, my eyes and thought upon the changing scene ahead. I know not why, as I reflect calmly upon the incidents of that morning, I should have grown so confident that the savages meant us fair; yet this feeling steadily took possession of me, and I even began to regret that I had not stayed behind in quest of her for whom I had come so far. Surely it was hopeless for me to dangle longer beside Mademoiselle, for De Croix knew so well the little ins and outs of social intercourse that I was like a child for his play. Moreover, it was clear enough that the girl liked him, or he would never presume so to monopolize her attention. That she saw through much of his vain pretence, was indeed probable; her words had conveyed this to me. Nevertheless, it was plain she found him entertaining; he was like a glittering jewel in that rough wilderness, and I was too dull of brain and narrow of experience to hope for success against him in a struggle for the favor of a girl so fair and gay as this Toinette. I thought the matter all out as I rode on through the sunlight, my eyes upon the painted savages who trooped along upon our right in such stolid silence and seeming indifference, my ears open to the light badinage and idle compliments of my two companions. Yes, it would be better so. When the Indians left the column at the head of the lake, I would invent some excuse that might allow me to accompany them on their return, and I would remain in the neighborhood of the Fort until Elsa Matherson had been found. Just in front of us, a large army wain struggled along through the yielding sand, drawn by a yoke of lumbering oxen. The heavy canvas cover had been pushed high up in front, and I could see a number of women and children seated upon the bedding piled within, and looking with curious interest at the stream of Indians plodding moodily beside the wheels. Some of the little tots' faces captivated me with their expression of wide-eyed wonder, and I rode forward to speak with them; for love of children is always in my heart. As I turned my horse to draw back beside Mademoiselle, my eyes rested upon the stockade of the old Fort, now some little distance in our rear; and to my surprise it already swarmed with savages. Not less than five hundred Indians,--warriors, all of them, and well armed,--tramped as guards beside our long and scattered column, yet hundreds of others were even now overrunning the mound and pouring in at the Fort gates, eager for plunder. I could hear their shouting, their fierce yells of exultation, while the grim and silent fellows who accompanied us never so much as glanced around, although I caught here and there the glint of a cruel, crafty eye. The sight made me wonder; and I swung my long rifle out from the straps at my back down across the pommel of my saddle, more ready to my hand. The trail we had been following now swerved nearer the lake, deflected somewhat by a long high ridge of beaten sand, separating the shore from the prairie. Here the two advancing lines of white and red diverged, the Indians moving around to the western side of the sand-ridge, while Captain Wells and his Miami scouts continued their march along the beach. There was nothing about this movement to awaken suspicion of treachery, for the beach at this point had narrowed too much for so great a number moving abreast, and it was therefore only natural that our allies should seek a wider space for their marching, knowing they could easily reunite with us a mile or so below, where the beach broadened again. Their passing thus from our sight was a positive relief; and so quiet did everything become, except for groaning wheels and the heavy tread of horses, that Mademoiselle glanced up in surprise. "Why, what has become of the Indians?" she questioned. "Have they already left us?" I pointed to the intervening sand-ridge. "They move parallel with us, but prefer to walk upon the prairie-grass rather than these beach pebbles. For my part, I would willingly dispense with their guard altogether; for in my judgment we are of sufficient strength to defend ourselves." "Ay, strong enough against savages," interposed De Croix, his eyes upon the straggling line ahead; "yet if by any chance treachery was intended, surely I never saw military formation less adapted for repelling sudden attack. Mark how those fellows march out yonder!--all in a bunch, and with not so much as a corporal's guard to protect the wagons!" I was no soldier then, and knew little of military formation; but his criticism seemed just, and I ventured not upon answering it. Indeed, at that very moment some confusion far in front, where Captain Wells led his scouts, attracted my attention. We must have been a mile and a half from the Fort by this time, and I recalled to memory the little group of trees standing beside the trail where we had halted on our journey westward to enjoy our earliest glimpse of Dearborn. At first I could make out little of what was taking place ahead; then suddenly I saw the squad of Miamis break hastily, like a cloud swept by a whirling wind, and the next instant could clearly distinguish Captain Wells riding swiftly back toward the column of infantry, his head bare, and one arm gesticulating wildly. In a moment the whole line came to a startled and wondering pause. "What is it?" questioned Mademoiselle anxiously, shading her eyes. "Have the Indians attacked us?" "God knows!" I exclaimed, clinching my rifle firmly. "But it must be,--look there!" Wheeling rapidly into line, as if at command, although we could hear no sound of the order, the soldiers poured one quick volley into the sand-ridge on their right, and then, with a cheer which floated faintly back to us, made a wild rush for the summit. This was all I saw of the struggle in front,--for, with a cry of dismay, the Miamis composing the rear-guard broke from their posts beside the wagons and came running back past us in a panic of wild terror. I saw Sergeant Jordan throw himself across their line of flight, striking fiercely with his gun, and cursing them for a pack of cowardly hounds; but he was thrown helplessly aside in their blind rush for safety. "Wayland! De Croix!" he shouted, staggering to his knees, "help me stop these curs, if you would save our lives!" It was a fool thing, yet in the excitement I did it, and De Croix was beside me. Two or three of the settlers on foot rallied with us, and together we struck so hard against those cowering renegades that for the moment we held them, though their fear gave them desperation difficult to withstand. I recall noticing De Croix, as he pressed his rearing horse into the huddled mass, lashing at the faces of the fellows mercilessly with his riding-whip, as if thinking Mademoiselle would admire his reckless gallantry. A wild yell, with the mad thrill of the war-whoop in it, suddenly assailed our ears; the Miamis broke to the left like a flock of frightened birds, and my startled glance revealed a horde of naked Indians, howling like maniacs, and with madly brandished weapons, pouring over the sand-ridge not thirty feet away from us. With a shout of warning, which was half a curse at my own mad folly, I drove the spurs deep into my horse's side in a vain endeavor to fling myself between them and the girl. Hardly had the startled animal made one quick plunge, when we were locked in that human avalanche as if gripped by a vise of steel. A dozen dark hands grasped my bridle or clutched at me, their swarthy faces fierce with blood-lust, the eyes that fronted me cruel with passion and inflamed by hate. I heard shots not far away; but we were all too closely jammed to do more than fight in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with club and knife. The saddle is a poor place from which to swing a rifle, yet I stood high in my wooden stirrups and struck madly at every Indian head I saw, battering their faces till from the very horror of it they gave slowly back. I won a yard--two yards--three,--my horse biting viciously at their naked flesh, and lashing out with both fore-feet like a fiend, while I swept my gun-stock in a widening circle of death. For the moment, I dreamed we might drive them back; but then those devils blocked me, clinging to my horse's legs in their death agony, and laughing back into my face as I struck them down. Once I heard De Croix swearing in French beside me, and glanced around through the mad turmoil to see him cutting and hacking with broken blade, pushing into the midst of the _mêlée_ as if he had real joy in the encounter. While I thus had him in view, a knife whistled through the air, there was a quick dazzle in the sunlight, and he reeled backward off his horse and disappeared in the ruck below. Never in a life of fighting have I battled as I did then, feeling that I alone might hope to reach her side and beat back these foul fiends till help should come to us. The stock of my rifle shattered like glass; but I swung the iron barrel with what seemed to me the strength of twenty men, striking, thrusting, stabbing, my teeth set, my eyes blurring with a mist of blood, caring for nothing except to hit and kill. I know not now whether I advanced at all in that last effort, though my horse trod on dead bodies. Only once in those awful seconds did I gain a glimpse of Mademoiselle through the mist of struggle, the maze of uplifted arms and striking steel. She had reined her horse back against a wheel of the halted wagon, and with white face and burning eyes was lashing desperately with the loaded butt of her riding-whip at the red hands which sought to drag her from the saddle. The sight maddened me, and again my spurs were driven into my horse's flanks. As he plunged forward, some one from behind struck me a crushing blow across the back of the head, and I reeled from my saddle, a red mist over my eyes, and went hurling face downward upon the mass of reeling, tangled bodies. [Illustration: "She had reined her horse back against a wheel of the halted wagon."] CHAPTER XXVI THE FIELD OF THE DEAD The fierce plunging of my horse in his death agony, and his final pitching forward across my prostrate body, were doubtless all that saved my life. Yielding to their mad desire for plunder, the savages scattered when I fell, and left me lying there for dead. I do not think I quite lost consciousness in those first moments, although everything became blurred to my sight, and I was imprisoned by the weight above me so that the slightest effort to move proved painful; indeed, I breathed only with the greatest difficulty. But I both heard and saw, and my mind was intensely occupied with the rush of thought, the horror of all that was going on about me. How I wish I might blot it out,--forget forever the hellish deeds of those dancing devils who made mock of human agony and laughed at tears and prayers! It was plain, as the wild cries of rejoicing rose on every side, that the Indians had swept the field. The distant sound of firing ceased, and I could hear the pitiful cries of women, the frightened shrieks of children, the shrill note of intense agony wrung from tortured lips. Close beside me lay a dead warrior, his hideously painted face, with its wide, glaring, dead eyes, so fronting me that I had left only a narrow space through which to peer. Within that small opening I saw murder done until I closed my eyes in shuddering horror, crazed by my own sense of helplessness, and feeling the awful fate that must already have befallen her I loved. God knows I had then no faintest wish to live; nor did I dream that I should see the sun go down that day. Death was upon every side of me, in its most dreadful forms; and every cry that reached my ears, every sight that met my eyes, only added to the frightful reality of my own helplessness. The inert weight of the horse stifled me so that I drew my short breath almost in sobs; nor did I dare venture upon the slightest attempt at release, hemmed about as I was by merciless fiends now hideously drunk with slaughter. Once I heard a man plead for mercy, shrieking the words forth as if his intensity of agony had robbed him of all manliness; I saw a young woman fall headlong, the haft of a tomahawk cleaving open her head, as a brawny red arm gripped her by the throat; a child, with long yellow hair, and face distorted by terror, ran past my narrow outlook, a naked savage grasping after her scarcely a foot behind. I heard her wild scream of despair and his shout of triumph as he struck her down. Then I lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the multiplying horrors of that field of blood. It is hard to tell how long I lay there, or by what miracle of God's great mercy I had escaped death and mutilation. It was still day, the sun was high in the heaven, and the heat almost intolerable, beating down upon the dry and glittering sand. I could distinguish no sound near at hand, not even a moan of any kind. The human forms about me were stiffening in death; nor did any skulking Indian figures appear in sight. From away to the northward I could hear the echo of distant yelling; and as I lay there, every faculty alert, I became more and more convinced that the savages who had attacked us had withdrawn, and that I alone of all that fated company was preserved, through some strange dispensation of Providence, for what might prove a more terrible fate than any on that stricken field. With this thought there was suddenly born within me a fresh desire for life, a mad thirsting after revenge on those red demons whose merciless work I had been compelled to see. Yet if I hoped to preserve my life, I must have water and air; a single hour longer in my present situation could only result in death. Fortunately, such relief, now that I felt free to exert myself and seek it, was not so difficult as it had seemed. The heavy horse rested upon other bodies as well as my own, so that, little by little, I succeeded in dragging myself out from beneath his weight, until I was finally able to lift my head and glance cautiously about me. I pause now as I sit writing, my face buried in my hands, at the memory of that dreadful field of death. I cannot picture it, nor have I wish to try. I took one swift glimpse at the riven skulls, the mangled limbs, the mutilated bodies, the upturned pleading faces white and ghastly in the sunlight, the women and children huddled in heaps of slain, the seemingly endless line of disfigured, half-stripped bodies stretching far down the white beach; then I fell upon my face in the sand, sobbing like a baby. O God, how could such deeds be done? How could creatures shaped like men prove themselves such fiends, such hideous devils of malignity? It sickened me with horror, and I shrank from those dead bodies as if each had been a grim and threatening ghost. Necessity presently overcame the dread possessing me; and slowly, seeking to see no more than I must of the awful scenes about me, I struggled to my knees, and peered around cautiously for signs of skulking Indians. Not a living creature was near enough to observe me. To the northward the savages were swarming about the Fort, and it was evident that they had left everything to search for plunder. My uncovered head throbbed under the hot sun, and my hair was thick with clotted blood; scarce a hundred feet away was the blue lake, and on my hands and knees I crawled across the beach to it, forgetful of everything else in my desire to roll in the cool sweet water. I realized that it would be far safer for me to remain there until darkness shrouded my movements; but I felt so revived by the touch of the water that the old desire for action overcame considerations of personal safety. Before night came I must somehow gain possession of a rifle, with powder and ball; and I must discover, if possible, the fate of Mademoiselle. I cannot describe how, like a frightened child, I shrank from going again amid those mutilated corpses. I started twice, only to crawl back into the water, nerveless and shaking like the leaf of a cottonwood. I knew it must be done, and that the sooner I attempted it the safer would be the trial; so at last, with set teeth and almost superhuman effort, I crept up the beach among the silent, disfigured dead once more. With little trouble I found the wagon against which I had seen Mademoiselle draw back her horse in that last desperate defence. It was overturned, scorched with flame, its contents widely scattered; while about it lay the bodies of men, women, and children. A single hasty glance at most of these was sufficient; but a few were so huddled and hidden that I was compelled to move them before I thoroughly convinced myself that Mademoiselle was not there. I finally found her horse, several rods away, lying against the sand-ridge; but she whose body I sought with such fond persistency was not among those mangled forms. Faint and sick from the awful scene, with head throbbing painfully, I sank down upon a slope of sand where I was able to command a clear view in either direction, and thought rapidly. I was alone with the dead. Of all those lying silent before me, none would stir again. Not a savage roamed the stricken field,--though doubtless they would again swarm down upon it as soon as the sacking of the Fort had been completed. I must plan, and plan quickly, if I would preserve my own life and be of service to others. And life was worth preserving now, for there was a possibility,--faint, to be sure, yet a possibility,--that Toinette still lived. How the mere hope thrilled and animated me! how like a trumpet-sound it called to action! She had told me once of friendships between her and these blood-stained warriors; of weeks passed in Indian camps on the great plains, both with her father and alone; of being called the White Queen in the lodges of Sacs, Wyandots, and Pottawattomies. Perchance some such friendship may have intervened to save her, even in that fierce _mêlée_, that carnival of lust and murder. Some chief, with sufficient power to dare the deed, may have snatched her from out the jaws of death, actuated by motives of mercy,--or, more likely still, have saved her from the stroke of the tomahawk for a far more terrible fate. This was the thought that brought me again to my feet with burning face and tightly clinched teeth. If she lived, a helpless prisoner in those black lodges yonder, there was work to be done,--stern, desperate work, that would require all my courage and resourcefulness. Firm in manly resolve, and rendered reckless now of contact with the dead, I crept back among the bodies in eager search for gun and ammunition. For a long time I sought vainly; the field had been stripped by many a vandal hand. At last, however, I turned over a painted giant of a savage whose head had been crushed with a blow, and beneath him discovered a long rifle with powder-horn half filled. As I drew it forth, uttering a cry of delight at my precious find, my eyes fell upon a pair of bronze boots, with long narrow toes, protruding from beneath a tangled mass of the slain. It was no doubt the tomb of De Croix; and without so much as a thought that he could be alive, I drew the bodies off him and dragged his form forth into the sunlight. Merciful Heaven! his heart still beat,--so faintly, indeed, that I could barely note it with my ear at his chest. But life was surely there, and with a hasty glance about to assure me that I was unobserved, I ran to the lake shore. I returned with hat full of water, with which I thoroughly drenched him, rubbing his numbed hands fiercely, and thumping his chest until at last the closed eyes partially opened, and he looked up into my anxious face, gasping painfully for breath. His lips moved as I lifted his head in my arms; and I bent lower, not certain but he was dying and had some last message he would whisper in my ear. "Wayland," he faltered feebly, "is this you? Lord, how my head aches! Send Sam to me with the hand-mirror and the perfumed soap." "Hush!" I answered, almost angry at his flippant utterance. "Sam is no doubt dead, and you and I alone are spared of all the company. Do you suffer greatly? Think you it would be possible to walk?" "I have much pain here in the side," he said slowly, "and am yet weak from loss of blood. All dead, you say? Is Toinette dead?" "I know not, but I have not found her body among the others, and believe her to be a prisoner to the savages. But, come, De Croix," I urged, anxiously, "we run great risk loitering here; there is but one safe spot for us until after dark,--yonder, crouched in the waters of the lake. The Indians may return at any moment to complete their foul work; and for us to be found alive means torture,--most likely the stake, and will remove the last hope for Mademoiselle. Think you it can be made if you lean hard on me?" _"Sacre!_ 'twill not be because I do not try, Master Wayland," he answered, his voice stronger now that he could breathe more freely, and with much of his old audacity returned. "Help me to make the start, friend, for every joint in my body seems rusty." His face was white and drawn from agony, and he pressed one hand upon his side, while perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. But no moan came from his set lips; and when he rested a moment on his knees, looking about him upon the dead, a look of grim approval swept into his eyes. "Saint Guise, Wayland," he said soberly, "'twas a master fight, and the savages had it not all their own way!" It made me sick to hear such boasting amidst the horror that yet overwhelmed me, and I drew the fellow up to his feet with but little tenderness. "God knows 'tis sad enough!" I answered, shortly. "Come, there are parties of Indians already straying this way from the Fort yonder, and it behooves us to get in hiding." He made the distance between us and the water with far less difficulty than I had expected, and with a better use of his limbs at each step. In spite of vigorous protest on his part, I forced him out from the shore until the water entirely covered us, save only our faces; and there we waited for the merciful coming of the night. CHAPTER XXVII A GHOSTLY VISION The touch of the water brought renewed life to De Croix. This was shown by the brighter color stealing into his cheeks, as well as by the more careless tone that crept into his voice. The lake proved shallow for some considerable distance off shore, and I compelled the Frenchman to wade with me southward, and as far out as we dared venture, until we must have reached the extreme limit of the field of massacre. Indeed, I fully believed we had passed beyond the point where the attack had first burst upon Captain Wells's Miamis; for I could perceive no sign of any bodies lying opposite us against the white background of sand. As the night drew on, squads of savages wandered over the scene of slaughter, despoiling the stiffening corpses, and taking from the wagons whatever might suit their fancy. Yet we were now so far removed that we could distinguish little of their deeds, although the sound of their voices echoed plainly enough across the water to our ears. As time passed, the numbness that had paralyzed my brain, either from the cruel blow that felled me or the terrible shock my nerves had experienced, gradually passed away, and our situation became more vivid to my mind. I thought again of all who had gone forth that morning filled with hope and life. I had, it is true, known none of them long, but there were many in that ill-fated company who had already grown dear to me, and one was among them who I now knew beyond all question was to remain in my heart forever. I recalled the faces one by one, with some tender memory for each in turn. I thought of the brave Captain Wells, with his swarthy face, and Indian training, who had proved himself so truly my friend for my father's sake; of Captain Heald, the typical bluff soldier of the border, ready to sacrifice everything to what he deemed his duty; of Lieutenant Helm, grave of face and calm of speech, always so thoughtful of his sweet girl bride; and of young Ronan, loyal of heart and impetuous of deed, whose frank manliness had so drawn me to him. And now all these brave, true comrades were dead! Only five or six hours ago I had spoken with them, had ridden by their side; now they lay motionless yonder, stricken down by the basest treachery, their poor bodies hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. I could scarcely realize the awful truth; it rested upon me like some horrible dream, from which I knew I must soon awaken. But it was Mademoiselle,--Toinette, with the laughing eyes and roguish face, which yet could be so tender,--whose memory held me vibrating between constant dread and hope. Living or dead, I must know the truth concerning her, before I felt the slightest consideration for my own preservation. If I lived, it should be for her sake, not mine. Plan after plan came to me as I stood there, my face barely raised above the water level, praying for the westering sun to sink beneath the horizon. Yet all my plans were so vague, so visionary, so filled with difficulties and uncertainties, that at last I had nothing practical outlined beyond a firm determination in some way to reach the Indian camp and there learn what I could of its black secrets. I wondered whether this rash hare-brained Frenchman would aid or hinder such a purpose; and I glanced aside at him, curious to test the working of his mind in such a time of trial. "Saint Guise!" he exclaimed, marking my look, but misinterpreting it; "the sun has gone down at last, and there seems a chill in the air where it strikes my wet skin. It is in my thought to wade ashore, Master Wayland, and seek food for our journey, as I can perceive no savages near at hand." "It will be safer if we wait here another half-hour," I answered, almost inclined to smile at the queer figure he cut, with his long, wet hair hanging down his shoulders. Then I added, "What journey do you contemplate?" He gazed at me, his face full of undisguised amazement. "What journey? Why, Mon Dieu! to the eastward, of course! Surely you have no wish to linger in this pleasant spot?" "And is that the way of a French soldier?" I asked, almost angrily. "I thought you made the journey westward, Monsieur, for the sake of one you professed greatly to admire; and now you confess yourself willing to leave her here to the mercy of these red wolves. Is this the way of it?" I spoke the words coolly, and they cut him to the quick. His face flushed and his eyes flashed with anger; yet I faced him quietly, though I doubt not I should have felt his hand upon me had we been better circumstanced for struggle. "How know you she lives?" he asked sullenly, eying the rifle I still held across my shoulder. "I do not know, Monsieur, except that her body is not upon the field yonder; but I will know before I leave, or give my life in the search. And if you really loved her as you professed to do, you would dream of nothing less." "Love her?" he echoed, his gaze upon the sand, now partially obscured in the descending twilight. _"Sacre!_ I truly thought I did, for the girl certainly has beauty and wit, and wove a spell about me in Montreal. But she has become as a wild bird out here, and is a most perplexing vixen, laughing at my protestations, so that indeed I hardly know whether it would be worth the risk to stay." Hateful and selfish as these words sounded, and much as I longed to strike the lips that uttered them so coolly, yet their utterance brought a comfort to my heart, and I stared at the fellow, biting my tongue to keep back the words of disgust I felt. "So this is the measure of your French gallantry, Monsieur! I am sincerely glad my race holds a different conception of the term. Then you will leave me here?" "Leave you? _Sacre!_ how could I ever hope to find my way alone through the wilderness? 'Twould be impossible. Yet why should we stay here? What can you and I hope to accomplish in so mad a search amid all these savages? You speak harsh words,--words that under other conditions I should make you answer for with the sword; but what is the good of it all? You know I am no coward; I can fight if there be need; yet to my mind no help can reach Toinette through us, while to remain here longer is no less than suicide." I saw he was in earnest, and I felt there was much truth in his words, however little they affected my own determination. "As you please, Monsieur," I answered coldly, turning from him and slowly wading ashore. "With me 'tis not matter for argument. I seek Mademoiselle. You are at perfect liberty either to accompany me or to hunt for safety elsewhere, as you wish." I never so much as glanced behind, as I went up the beach, now shrouded in the swift-descending night; but I was aware that he kept but a step behind me. Once I heard him swear; but there was no more speaking between us, until, in the darkness, I stumbled and partially fell over a dead body outstretched upon the sand. "A Miami, judging from the fringe of his leggings," I said briefly, from my knees. "One of the advance guard, no doubt, brought down in flight. 'Tis good luck, though, De Croix, for the fellow has retained his rifle. Perchance if you be well armed also, it may yield you fresh courage." _"Parbleu!_ 'tis not courage I lack," he returned, with something of his old-time spirit, "but I hate greatly to yield up a chance for life on so mad an errand. More, Master Wayland, had this firearm been in my hands when you flouted me in the water yonder, your words should not have been so easily passed over." The stars gave me a dim view of him, and there was a look in his face that caused me to feel it would be best to have our trouble settled fully, and without delay. "Monsieur," I said sternly, laying my hand upon his shoulder, and compelling him to front me fairly, "I for one am going into danger where I shall require every resource in order to preserve my life and be of service to others. I have already told you that I care not whether you accompany me or no. But this I say: we part here, or else you journey with me willingly, and with no more veiled threats or side looks of treachery." "I meant no harm." "Then act the part of a man, Monsieur, and cease your grumbling. The very life of Mademoiselle may hang upon our venture; and if you ever interfere or obstruct my purpose, I will kill you as I would a dog. You understand that, Monsieur de Croix; now, will you go or stay?" He looked about him into the lonely, desolate shadows, and I could see him shrug his shoulders. "I go with you, of course. _Sacre!_ but I have small choice in the matter; 'twould be certain death otherwise, for I know not east from west in this blind waste of sand." I turned abruptly from him, and strode forward across the sand-ridge out into the short prairie-grass beyond, shaping my course westward by the stars. However revengeful the Frenchman might feel at my plain speaking, I felt no hesitancy in trusting him to follow, as his life depended upon my guidance through the wilderness. My mind by this time was fairly settled upon our first movement. The only spot that gave promise of a safe survey of the Indian camp, where doubtless such prisoners as there were would be held, I felt sure would be found amid the shadows of the west bank of that southerly stream along which the lodges were set up. From that vantage point, if from any, I should be able to judge how best to proceed on the perilous mission of rescue. While we were feeling our way forward through the darkness, a great burst of flame soared high into the northern sky, the red light radiating far abroad over the prairie, until even our creeping figures cast faint shadows on the level plain. "Saint Guise! They have set fire to the Fort!" exclaimed De Croix, halting and gazing anxiously northward. "Ay, either to that or to the agency building," I answered. "It was not there I expected to find the prisoners, but rather hidden among those black lodges yonder whence all the shouting comes. 'Tis torture, De Croix, which has so aroused those devils; and it will soon enough prove our turn to entertain them, if we linger long within this glare." "You have a plan, then?" "Only a partial one at present,--'tis to put the safeguard of the river between us and those yelling fiends. Beyond that it will all be the guidance of God." The stream proved to be a narrow one, and the current was not swift. We crossed it easily enough, without wetting our stock of powder, and found the western bank somewhat darkened by the numerous groups of small stunted trees that lined it. I moved with extreme caution now, for each step brought us in closer proximity to those infuriated tribesmen who were holding mad carnival in the midst of their lodges. I felt sure that our pathway along the western shore was clear, for the most astute chief among them would hardly look for the approach of enemies from that quarter; but I was enough of a frontiersman not to neglect any ordinary precautions, and so we crept like snakes along at the water's edge, under the shadow of the bank, until much of the wild scene in the village opposite was revealed to our searching eyes. It was a mad saturnalia, half light, half shadow, amid which the fierce figures of the painted warriors passed and repassed in drunken frenzy, making night hideous with savage clamor and frenzied gesticulations. I would have crept on farther, seeking a place for crossing unobserved, had not De Croix suddenly grasped me by the leg. As I turned, the play of the flames from across the water struck upon his white face, and I could read thereon a terror that held him motionless. "For Christ's sake, let us go!" he urged, in an agonized whisper. "See what those demons are about to do! I fear not battle, Wayland, as you know; but the scene yonder unmans me." It is hard for me to describe now what then I saw. The entire centre of the great encampment was brightly lit by a huge blazing fire, around which hundreds of Indians were gathered, leaping and shouting in their frenzy, while above the noise of their discordant voices we could distinguish the flat notes of the wooden drum, the dull pounding of which reminded me of the solemn tolling of a funeral bell. What atrocities had been going on, I know not; but as we gazed across at them in shuddering horror, forth from the entrance of a lodge a dozen painted warriors drove a white man, stripped to the waist, his hands bound behind him. As he stumbled forward, a bevy of squaws lashed him with corded whips. I caught one glimpse of his face in the light of the flames; it was that of a young soldier I recalled having seen the evening before within the Fort, playing a violin. He was a brave lad, and although his face was pale and drawn by suffering, he fronted the crazed mob that buffeted him with no sign of fear, his eyes roving about as if still seeking some possible avenue of escape. Once he sprang suddenly aside, tripping a giant brave who grasped him, and disappeared amid the lodges, only to be dragged forth a moment later and pushed forward, horribly beaten with clubs at every step. On a sudden, that shrieking, undulating crowd fell away, and we could see the young man standing alone, bound to a stake, his body leaning forward as if held to its erect posture merely by the bonds. The limp drooping of his head made me think him already unconscious, possibly dead from some chance fatal blow; but as the flames burst out in a roar at his feet, and shot up, red and glaring, to his waist, he gave utterance to one terrible cry of agony, and it seemed to me I gazed fairly into his tortured eyes and could read their pitiful appeal. Twice I raised my rifle, the sight upon his heart,--but durst not fire. No consideration of my own peril held back the pressure of the trigger,--'twas the remembrance of Mademoiselle. It was beyond my strength of will to withstand such strain long. "Come," I groaned to De Croix, my hands pressed tightly over my eyes to shut out the sight, "it will craze us both to stay here longer, nor dare we aid the poor fellow even by a shot." He lay face downward on the soft mud of the bank, and I had to shake him before he so much as moved. We crept on together, until we came out through the thick bushes into the open prairie, and faced each other, our lips white and our bodies shaking with the horror of what we had just seen. "Mon Dieu!" he faltered, "'twill forever haunt me." "It has greatly undone me," I answered, striving to control my voice, for I felt the necessity of coolness if I hoped to command him; "but if we would save her from meeting a like fate, we must remain men." "Then, for God's sake, find some spot where I may rest for an hour," he urged. "My brain seems reeling, and I fear it will give way if I remain in sight or sound of such horrors." In spite of all I had seen, it was still my desire to creep in among the deserted lodges while darkness shrouded the outermost of them; but I felt that some safe hiding-place must first be found for my companion. To attempt to take him with me while in such a nervous state would be only to invite disaster. "De Croix," I asked, "know you if the Indians have destroyed the house that stood by the fork of the north river, where the settler Ouilmette lived?" "I marked it through Lieutenant Helm's field-glass yesterday. 'Tis partially burned, yet the walls still stand." "Then 't will serve us most excellently to hide in, for there will be naught left within likely to attract marauders. Think you that you could find it through the night?" He looked at me, and it was easy to see his nerves were on edge. "Alone?" he gasped brokenly. "My God, no!" There was seemingly no way out of it, for it would have been little short of murder to leave him alone on that black prairie, nor would harsh words have greatly mended matters. We were fully an hour at it, creeping cautiously along behind the scattered bushes until we passed the forks and swam the river's northerly branch. The action did him good, and greatly helped to steady my own nerves, as the uproar of the savages died steadily away behind us. At last we came out upon a slight knoll, and found ourselves close beside the low charred walls of what remained of Ouilmette's log-cabin. 'Twas a most gloomy and desolate spot, but quiet enough, with never the rustle of a leaf to awake the night, or startle us. "Have you got back your nerve, Monsieur?" I asked, as we paused before the dark outline, "or must I also help you to explore within?" "'Tis not shadows that terrify me," he answered, no doubt thoroughly ashamed of his weakness, and eager to make amends; "nor is it likely that anything to affright me greatly is behind these walls." I lay prone in the grass at the corner of the cabin, my eyes fixed upon the distant Indian village, where I could yet plainly distinguish numberless black figures dodging about between me and the flames; while further to the east, the greater blaze of the Fort buildings lighted up, in a wide arc, the deserted prairie. I gave little consideration to De Croix's exploit,--indeed, I had almost forgotten it, when suddenly the fellow sprang backward out of the open door, a cry of wild terror upon his lips, and his hands outstretched as if to ward off some unearthly vision. "Mon Dieu!" he sobbed hoarsely, falling upon his knees. "'Twas the face of Marie!" CHAPTER XXVIII AN ANGEL IN THE WILDERNESS He acted so like a crazed man, grovelling face downward in the grass, that I had to hold him, fearful lest his noise might attract attention from our enemies. "Be quiet, De Croix!" I commanded sternly, my hand hard upon him, my eyes peering through the darkness to determine if possible the cause for his mysterious fright. "What is it that has so driven you out of your senses?" He half rose, staring back at the black shadow of the dim doorway, his face white as chalk in the star-light and faint glare of the distant fires. "'Twas the face of a dead woman," he gasped, pointing forward, "there, just within the door! I saw her buried three years ago, I swear; yet, God be merciful! she awaited me yonder in the gloom." "Pish!" I exclaimed, thoroughly disgusted at his weakness, and rising to my feet. "Your nerves are unstrung by what we have been through, and you dream of the dead." "It is not so!" he protested, his voice faltering pitifully; "I saw her, Monsieur,--nor was she once this day in my thought until that moment." "Well, I shall soon know if there is a ghost within," I answered shortly, determined to make quick end of it. "Remain here, while I go into the house and see what I can find." For a moment he clung to me like a frightened child; but I shook off his hands a bit roughly, and stepped boldly across the threshold. That was an age when faith in ghostly visitations yet lingered to harass the souls of men. I confess my heart beat more rapidly than usual, as I paused an instant to peer through the shadowy gloom within. It was a small, low room, with a litter of broken furniture strewing the earthen floor; but the log-walls were quite bare. The flicker of the still blazing Fort illuminated the interior sufficiently to enable me to make out these simple details, and to see that the place was without living occupant. There was only one other apartment in the building, and I walked back until I came upon the door which separated the two, and flung it open. As I did so I thought I saw a shadow, the dim flitting of a woman's form between me and the farther wall; but as I sprang hastily forward, grasping after the spectral vision, I touched nothing save the rough logs. Twice I made the circuit of that restricted space, so confident was I of my own eye-witness; but I found nothing, and could only pause perplexed, staring about in wonder. It occurred to me that my own overtaxed nerves were at fault, and that if I was to accomplish anything before daylight I must say nothing likely to alarm De Croix further. "Come, Monsieur!" I said, as I came out and shook him into attention, "there is naught within more dangerous than shadows, or perchance a rat. Nor have I any time longer to dally over such boyishness. I had supposed you a soldier and a brave man, not a nerveless girl to be frightened in the dark. Come, there is ample hiding-space behind the walls, and I purpose leaving you here to regain some measure of your lost courage while I try a new venture of my own." "Where go you?" "To learn if I may gain entrance to the Indian camp unobserved. There can be no better time than while they are occupied yonder." He looked uneasily about him into the dark corners, shuddering. "I would rather go with you," he protested, weakly. "I have not the heart to remain here alone." "Nevertheless, here you stay," I retorted shortly, thoroughly exasperated by his continued childishness; "you are in no spirit to meet the perils yonder. Conquer your foolishness, Monsieur, for I know well 'tis not part of your nature so to exhibit fear." "'Tis naught alive that I so shrink from; never have I been affrighted of living man." "True; nor have I ever found the dead able greatly to harm. But now I go forth to a plain duty, and you must wait me here." I did not glance back at him, although I knew he had sunk dejected on a bench beside the door; but with careful look at the priming of my rifle, I stepped forth into the open, and started down the slight slope leading to the river. A fringe of low, straggling trees hid my movements from observation by possible watchers along the southern bank; nor could I perceive with any definiteness what was going on there. The fires had died down somewhat, and I thought the savage yelling and clamor were considerably lessened. I confess I went forward hesitatingly, and was doubtful enough about the outcome; but I saw no other means by which I might hope to locate Mademoiselle definitely, and I valued my own life now only as it concerned hers. The selfish cowardice of De Croix if cowardice it truly was served merely to stir me to greater recklessness and daring, and I felt ready to venture all if I might thereby only pluck her from the grasp of those red fiends. As I crept through the fringe of bushes which lined the bank, my eyes were on the darkened upper extremity of the Indian camp, and all my thoughts were concentrated upon a plan of entrance to it. I may have been somewhat careless, for I had no conception of any serious peril until after I had crossed the stream, and it certainly startled me to hear a voice at my very elbow,--a strange voice, beautifully soft and low. "You have the movement of an Indian; yet I think you are white. What seek you here?" I turned quickly and faced the speaker, my rifle flung forward ready for action. The light was poor enough there amid the shadows, yet the single glimpse I had told me instantly I faced the mysterious woman of the Indian camp. For a moment I made no response, held speechless by surprise; and she questioned again, almost imperatively. "I asked, why are you here?" "I am one, by the grace of God, spared from the massacre," I answered blindly. "But you?--I saw you within the Indian camp only last night. Surely you are not a savage?" "That I know not. I sometimes fear the savage is part of all our natures, and that I am far removed from the divine image of my Master. But I am not an Indian, if that is what you mean. If to be white is a grace in your sight, I am of that race, though there are times when I would have been prouder to wear the darker skin. The red men kill, but they do not lie, nor deceive women. I remember you now,--you were with the White Chief from Dearborn, and tried to approach me when Little Sauk interfered. Why did you do that?" Her manner and words were puzzling, but I knew no better way than to answer frankly. "I sought Elsa Matherson,--are you she?" The girl--for she could certainly have been little more--started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face. "Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?" "I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship." "Here?" "At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan." "How strange! how very strange indeed! 'Tis a small world. Elsa Matherson! and at Dearborn?" Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,--or what might be the secret of these strange expressions? "Then you are not the one I seek?" She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light. "I have not said who I may be," she answered evasively. "Whatever name I may once have borne was long ago forgotten, and to the simple children about me I am only Sister Celeste. 'Tis enough to live by in this wilderness, and the recording angel of God knows whether even that is worthy. But I have been waiting to learn why you are here, creeping through the bushes like a savage! Nor do I believe you to be altogether alone. Was there not one with you yonder at the house? Why did he cry out so loudly, and fall?" "He imagined he saw a ghost within. He claimed to have recognized the face of a dead woman he once knew." "A dead woman? What is the man's name? Who is he?" "Captain de Croix, an officer of the French army." She sighed quickly, as if relieved, one hand pressed against her forehead, and sat thinking. "I know not the name, but it seems strange that the chance sight of my face should work such havoc with his nerves. Spoke he not even the name of the woman?" "I think he cried some name as he fell, but I recall it not." "And you? You are only seeking a way of escape from the savages?" For a moment I hesitated; but surely, I thought, this strange young woman was of white blood, and seemingly an enthusiast in the religion I also professed, and I might safely trust her with my purpose. "I am seeking entrance within the encampment, hoping thus to rescue a maiden whom I believe to be prisoner in the hands of the Indians." "A maiden,--Elsa Matherson?" "Nay, another; one I have learned to love so well that I now willingly risk even torture for her sake. You are a woman, and have a woman's heart; you exercise some strange power among these savages. I beg you to aid me." She sat with clasped hands, her eyes lowered upon the grass. "Whatsoever power I have comes from God," she said solemnly; "and there be times, such as now, when it seems as if He held me unworthy of His trust." "But you will aid me in whatever way you can?" "You are sure you love this maiden?" "Would I be here, think you, otherwise?" She did not answer immediately, but crept across the little space separating us until she could look more closely into my face, scanning it earnestly with her dark eyes. "You have the appearance of a true man," she said finally. "Does the maid love you?" "I know not," I stammered honestly, confused by so direct a question. "I fear not; yet I would save her even then." I felt her hand touch mine as if in sudden sympathy. "Monsieur," she spoke gravely, "love has never been kind to me, and I have learned to put small trust in the word as it finds easy utterance upon men's lips. A man swore once, even at the altar, that he loved me; and when he had won my heart he left me for another. If I believed you were such a man I would rather leave this girl to her fate among the savages yonder." "I am not of that school," I protested earnestly. "I am of a race that love once and forever. But you, who are you? Why are you here in the midst of these savages? You bear a strange likeness to her I would save, but for the lighter shade of your hair." She drew back slightly, removing her hand from mine, but with gentleness. "It would do you little good to know my story," she said firmly. "I am no longer of the world, and my life is dedicated to a service you might deem sacrifice. Moreover, we waste time in such idle converse; and if it be my privilege to aid you at all, I must learn more, so as to plan safely." "You have the freedom of the camp yonder?" "I hardly know," she responded sadly. "God has placed in my poor hands, Monsieur, a portion of His work amid those benighted, sin-stained creatures there. Times come, as now, when the wild wolf breaks loose, and my life hardly is safe among them. I fled the camp to-night,--not from fear, Christ knows, but because I am a woman, and too weak physically to bear the sight of suffering that I am helpless to relieve. It is indeed Christ's mercy that so few of your company were spared to be thus tortured; but there was naught left for me but prayer." She stooped forward, her hands pressed over her eyes as though she would shut out the horror. "Yet know you who among the whites have thus far preserved their lives?" I urged, in an agony of suspense. "Were any of the women brought alive to the camp?" "It was my fortune to see but one; nor was I permitted to approach her,--a sweet-faced girl, yet she could not be the one you seek, for she wore a wedding-ring. She was saved through the friendship of Black Partridge, and I heard that she is a daughter of the Silver-man." "Ay! Mrs. Helm! Thank God! But was she the only one?" "Truly, I know not; for I was forced away from sight of much that went on. Little Sauk has a white maiden hidden in his lodge, who was brought from the battle. I have not seen the girl, but know this through others who were angry at his good-fortune." "Could we reach there, think you, unobserved?" She rose, and gazed anxiously across the stream, her face showing clear and fair in the faint light of those distant fires, while I caught the glimmer of a pearl rosary about her white throat and marked a silver crucifix resting against her breast. "It will be life itself you venture in such an attempt," she said softly, "even its loss through torture; yet 'tis a deed that might be done, for the Indians are fairly crazed with blood and liquor, and will pay small heed to aught save their heathen orgies." "Then let us venture it." She turned slightly and looked at me intently, her dark eyes filled with serious thought. "Yes, we will go," she responded at last, slowly. "If through God's grace we may thus preserve a life, it will be well worthy the sacrifice, and must be His desire." For another moment we waited there silently, standing side by side, gazing anxiously across the dark water, and listening intently to the varied discordant sounds borne to us on the night air. I know not what may have been in her thought; but upon my lips there was a silent prayer that we might be safely guided in our desperate mission. I wondered still who this strange young woman could be, so surrounded by mystery, a companion of savages, and still gentle and refined in word and manner. I dare not ask again, nor urge her confidence; for there was that of reserve about her which held me speechless. I glanced aside, marking again the clear pure contour of her face, and my look seemed instantly to arouse her from her reverie. "I expect little trouble until we near the centre of the camp," she said, thoughtfully. "'Tis dark amid the northern lodges, and we shall meet with no warriors there unless they be so far gone in intoxication as to be no longer a source of danger. But come, friend, the longer we tarry the less bright grows the hope of success." A slender bark canoe rested close beneath the bank, and she motioned me into it, grasping the paddle without a word, and sending the narrow craft with swift, silent strokes across the stream. The other shore was unprotected; so, hesitating only long enough to listen for a moment, much as some wild animal might, she crept forward cautiously into the black lodge-shadows, while I instantly followed, imitating as best I could her slightest movement. We met no obstacle to our advance,--not even the snarls and barkings of the innumerable curs, usually the sleepless guardians of such encampments of savages. I soon saw that as we crept around lodge after lodge in our progress, the light of the blazing fires in our front grew constantly brighter and the savage turbulence more pronounced. At last the girl came to a sudden pause, peering cautiously forward from beneath the shadow of the lodge that hid us; and as I glanced over her shoulder, the wild scene was revealed in each detail of savagery. "'Tis as far as you will dare venture," she whispered, her lips at my ear. "I know not the exact limit of our progress, but the lodge of Little Sauk lies beyond the fire, and I must make the rest of the distance alone." "But dare you?" I questioned uneasily. "Will they permit even you to pass unharmed?" She smiled almost sadly. "I have many friends among them, blood-stained as they are, and little as I have accomplished for the salvation of their souls. I have been with them much, and my father long held their confidence ere he died. I have even been adopted into the tribe of the Pottawattomies. None are my enemies among that nation save the medicine-men, and they will scarce venture to molest me even in this hour of their power and crime. Too well they know me to be under protection of their chiefs; nor are they insensible to the sanctity of my faith. Ay, and even their superstition has proved my safeguard." The expression of curiosity in my eyes appealed to her, and as if in answer she rested one hand upon her uncovered head, the hair of which shone like dull red gold in the firelight. "You mean that?" I asked, dimly recalling something I had once heard. She shook the heavy coiled mass loose from its bondage, until it rippled in gleaming waves of color over her shoulders, and smiled back at me, yet not without traces of deep sadness in her eyes. "'Tis an Indian thought," she explained softly, "that such hair as mine is a special gift of the Great Spirit, and renders its wearer sacred. What was often spoken most lightly about in other days has in this dread wilderness proved my strongest defence. God uses strange means, Monsieur, to accomplish His purpose with the heathen." She paused, listening intently to a sudden noise behind us. "Creep in here, Monsieur," she whispered, quickly lifting an edge of the skin-covering of the lodge. "A party is returning from the Fort, perchance with more prisoners. Lie quiet there until I return; it will not be long." I crawled through the slight opening into that black interior, turning to hold open the flap sufficiently to peer forth once more. I knew not where she vanished, as she faded away like a shadow; but I had hardly secured refuge, when a dozen painted warriors trooped by, shouting their fierce greeting. In the midst of them, half-stripped, and bleeding as if from freshly inflicted wounds, staggered a white man; and as the firelight fell full upon his haggard face, I recognized De Croix. CHAPTER XXIX A SOLDIER OF FRANCE What followed was so extraordinary and incredible that I hesitate to record it, lest there be those who, judging in their own conceit, and knowing little of savage Indian nature, may question the truth of my narration. Yet I am now too old a man to permit unjust criticism to swerve me from the task I have assumed. The extreme of misery that overwhelmed me at the moment when I beheld my comrade driven forward like a trapped beast to a death by torture, found expression in a sudden moan, which, fortunately for me, was unnoted amid the shouts of greeting that arose around the fire when those gathered there caught sight of the new-comers. Instantly all was confusion and uproar; a scene of savage debauchery, unrelieved by a redeeming feature or a sign of mercy. It was as if poor De Croix had been hurled, bound and gagged, into a den of infuriated wolves, whose jaws already dripped with the blood of slaughter. Gleaming weapons, glaring and lustful eyes, writhing naked bodies, pressed upon him on every side, hurling him back and forth in brute play, every tongue mocking him, in every uplifted hand a weapon for a blow. The fierce animal nature within these red fiends was now uppermost, fanned into hot flame by hours of diabolical torture of previous victims, in which they had exhausted every expedient of cruelty to add to the dying agony of their prey. To this, fiery liquor had yielded its portion; while the weird incantations of their priests had transformed the most sober among them into demons of malignity. If ever, earlier in the night, their chiefs had exercised any control over them, that time was long since past; and now the inflamed warriors, bursting all restraint, answered only to the war-drum or made murderous response to the superstition of their medicine-men. The entire centre of the encampment was a scene of drunken orgy, a phantasmagoria of savage figures, satanic in their relentless cruelty and black barbarity. Painted hundreds, bedecked with tinkling beads and waving feathers, howled and leaped in paroxysms of fury about the central fire, hacking at the helpless bodies of the dead victims of earlier atrocities, tearing their own flesh, beating each other with whips like wire, their madly brandished weapons flashing angrily in the flame-lit air. Squaws, dirty of person and foul of mouth, often more ferocious in appearance and cruel in action than their masters, were everywhere, dodging amid the writhing bodies, screaming shrilly from excitement, their long coarse hair whipping in the wind. Nor were they all Pottawattomies: others had flocked into this carnival of blood,--Wyandots and Sacs, even Miamis, until now it had become a contest for supremacy in savagery. 'Twas as if hell itself had opened, to vomit forth upon the prairie that blood-stained crew of dancing demons and shock the night with crime. A dead white man,--the poor lad whose early torture we had witnessed,--his half-burnt body still hanging suspended at the stake, was in the midst of them, a red glare of embers beneath him, the curling smoke creeping upward into the black sky from about his head like devil's incense. In front of this hideous spectacle, regardless of the mutilated body, sat the ferocious old demon I had seen the evening previous, his head crowned with a bison's horns, his naked breast daubed with red and yellow figures to resemble crawling snakes, his face the hideous representation of a grinning skull. Above all other sounds rang out his yells, inciting his fellows to further atrocities, and accompanied by the dull booming of his wooden drum. It was into this pack of ravening beasts that poor De Croix staggered from the surrounding shadows; and they surged about him, clamoring for place, greeting their new-found victim with jeers and blows and hoots of bitter hatred, viciously slashing at him with their knives, so that the very sight of it turned me sick, and made me sink my head upon my arms in helplessness and horror. A sudden cessation in the infernal uproar led me to peer forth once more. They had dragged the charred and blackened trunk of the dead soldier down from the post where it had hung suspended, and were fastening De Croix in its place, binding his hands behind the support, and kicking aside the still glowing embers of the former fire to give him space to stand. It was brutally, fiendishly done, with thongs wound about his body so tightly as to lift the flesh in great welts, and those who labored at it striking cruel blows at his naked, quivering form, spitting viciously into his face, with taunting words, seeking through every form of ferocious ingenuity to wring from their helpless victim some sign of suffering, some shrieking plea for mercy. Once I marked a red devil stick a sharpened sliver of wood into the Frenchman's bare shoulder, touched it with fire, and then stand back laughing as the bound victim sought vainly to dislodge the torturing brand. Whatever of shrinking fear De Croix may have exhibited an hour before, however he may have trembled from ghostly haunting and been made coward by contact with the dead, he was a man now, a soldier worthy of his uniform and of his manhood. Merciful God! but it made my heart swell to see the lad, as he faced those dancing devils and looked coolly into the eyes of death. His face was indeed ghastly white in the fire-glow, save where the red stains of blood disfigured it; but there was no wavering in the bold black eyes, no cowardly shrinking from his fate, no moan of weakness from between his tightly pressed lips. Scarce could I think of him then as being the same gentle exquisite that rode on the westward trail in powdered hair and gaudy waistcoat, worrying lest a pinch of dust might soil his faultless linen,--this begrimed, blood-stained, torn figure, naked to the waist, his small-clothes clinging in rags from his thighs, his head bare and with long black locks streaming to his shoulders. Yet it was now, not then, he won my respect and honor. Once I saw him strain desperately at the cords in a mad endeavor to break free, his flashing eyes on the demons who were torturing him beyond endurance. Well I knew how he longed to lay hand on any weapon, and thus die, battling to the end; had he succeeded, I doubt not I should have been at his side, forgetful of all else in the struggle. The deer-skin thongs, as unyielding as iron, held him fast. I ground my teeth and dug my nails into the earth to hold me from leaping forward in hopeless attempt at rescue, as a huge brute struck him savagely with clinched hand across the lips. Suddenly, as if in response to some low spoken order, the jostling horde fell aside from before him, leaving a narrow space unoccupied. I had no time to wonder at this movement before a tomahawk, whirling rapidly and flashing like a ruby in the red glare, went hurling forward, and buried its shining blade deep in the post an inch from the prisoner's head, the handle quivering with the force of impact. Again and again, amid yells of derision and encouragement, they threw, twice bringing token of blood from the grazed cheek and once cleaving the ear nearest me as if by a knife-blow. In spite of all, De Croix sneered at them, mocked their efforts, taunted them with their lack of skill, no doubt seeking to infuriate them and cause the striking of a merciful death-blow. I trembled as I gazed, held there by a fascination I could not overcome, shading my eyes when I saw an arm uplifted to make a cast, and opening them in dread unspeakable as I heard the dull impact of the blow. Never in my life have I seen such marvellous nerve as this French gallant displayed in those awful moments; standing there motionless, with never a tremor, no twitching of a muscle, his scornful eyes following the deadly steel, his lips jeering at the throwers, as he coolly played the game whose stake was death. At last some savage cast from farther back amid the mass of howling contestants; I failed to see the upraised hand that grasped the weapon, but caught its sudden gleam as it sped onward, and De Croix was pinned helpless, the steel blade wedging his long hair deep into the wood. A dozen screaming squaws now hustled forward the materials for a fire; I saw branches, roots, and leaves, piled high about his knees, and marked with a shudder the film of blue smoke as it soared upward ere the flame caught the green wood. Then suddenly some one kicked the pile over, hurling it into the faces of those who stooped beside it; and the fierce clamor ceased as if by magic. I staggered to my knees, wondering what it could mean,--this strange silence after all the uproar. Then I saw. Out from the shadows, as if she herself were one, the strange girl who had been my companion glided forward into the red radius of the flame, and faced them, her back to De Croix. Never shall I fail to recall her as she then appeared,--a veritable goddess of light fronting the fiends of darkness. With cheeks so white as to seem touched with death, her dark eyes glowed in consciousness of power, while her long, sweeping tresses rippled below her waist, gleaming in a wild red beauty almost supernatural. How womanly she was, how fair to look upon, and how unconscious of aught save her mission! One hand she held before her in imperious gesture of command; with the other she uplifted the crucifix, until the silver Christ sparkled in the light. "Back!" she said clearly. "Back! You shall not torture this man! I know him. He is a soldier of France!" [Illustration: "You shall not torture this man he is a soldier of France!'"] CHAPTER XXX THE RESCUE AT THE STAKE The word uttered by the strange woman was one to conjure with even then in the Illinois country. Many a year had passed since the French flag ruled those prairies, yet not a warrior there but knew how the men of that race avenged an injury,--how swift their stroke, how keen their steel. I watched the startled throng press closely backward, as if awed by her mysterious presence, influenced insensibly by her terse sentence of command, each dusky face a reflex of its owner's perplexity. Drunken as most of them were, crazed with savage blood-lust and hours of remorseless torture of their victims, for the moment that sweet vision of womanly purity held them motionless, as if indeed the figure of the Christ she uplifted before their faces had taught them abhorrence of their crimes. But it was not for long. To hundreds of those present she was merely an unknown white woman; while even to those who knew her best, the Pottawattomies, she appeared only as one who came to balk them of their revenge. They may have held her person inviolate amid their lodges, and even have countenanced her strange teaching; but now she had ventured too far in attempting thus to stand between them and their victim. They held back a single moment, halted by her fearlessness, rendered cowardly by vague superstitions regarding her religious power; but after the first breathless pause of dumb astonishment and irresolution, voice after voice arose in hoarse cries of rage and shouts of disapproval. There was a surging forward of the straining red line, while in their front howled and gesticulated the hideous old medicine-man, his painted face distorted by passion, eager to grasp this auspicious moment to cast down forever one who had sought to end his superstitious rule among the tribe. I marked how she drew back as they advanced, retreating step by step,--not, in deed, as if she feared them, but rather as if some definite purpose led her movement. Her eyes never wavered, her hand still uplifted the gleaming cross, as she retreated slowly, until she stood directly before De Croix, where he hung helplessly staring at her with an expression of fear in his face strangely at variance with his late show of desperate courage. "Back!" she cried again, but now in a deeper and fuller voice that sounded like a clear-toned bell above the uproar. "I tell you I will kill this man with my own hand before I permit you to put further torture upon him!" An instant only did this threat halt the gathering rush. Some one voiced an Indian insult, and there came a fierce surging forward, although no warrior among them seemed eager to lead in the attack. I saw the woman lift her hand, and caught the glimmer of a steel blade; and even as I sprang erect, partially flinging aside the obstructing flap of the lodge, an Indian, stalking silently forth from the shadows, faced the mob, standing motionless within a foot of the desperate girl, and with his back toward her. One glance at that tall thin figure, the stern face, the long white hair, told me it was the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, Gomo; and I sank back trembling from the reaction of that moment's strain. His words were calm, deliberate, commanding; but the angry roar with which they were greeted made me fear the horde he faced so resolutely was now beyond control. He smiled, his thin lips curling in derision as he gazed with contempt into the threatening faces pressing closer upon every side. "Fear not," he murmured aside to the watchful woman, and resting one hand upon her arm. "Cut loose the prisoner!" She turned instantly to her task, while he spoke briefly the names of his chiefs; and as each was called in turn, a warrior came from among the mass and silently stood beside him. A dozen came forth thus, stalwart, grim-faced braves, many with fresh scalps dangling at their belts. Gomo now spoke again, using the French tongue, that all present might better grasp his meaning. "Brothers," he said gravely, "this squaw is Pottawattomie. She was adopted by our people and lives in our lodges. Pottawattomies are friends to Frenchmen; there is no war between us. Why should Wyandots and Sacs wish to burn a Frenchman?" For a moment no one ventured to reply; the mob stood halted now, robbed of its leaders and its courage, even the noisy medicine-man silenced before this stern array of protecting chiefs. Loose as was Indian discipline and tribal authority, even in drunkenness those desperate warriors dared not openly disregard such a display of power. "Have the Pottawattomies spoken well?" questioned the old chief, sternly, "or have our words wronged our brothers?" A giant of a fellow, whose broad face and huge head seemed disproportionate even to his big body, his long coarse hair profusely ornamented with shells and beads flashing gaudily in the firelight, pushed his way out from among the silent mass. "Gomo, the great war-chief of the Pottawattomies, has spoken well," he said in a deep voice that rolled like distant thunder. "The Wyandots did not know; they war not with Frenchmen, nor harm the women of the Pottawattomies. The Great Spirit hath made us brothers, and we have smoked together the pipe of peace." Gomo moved forward with Indian dignity, and exchanged solemn greeting with the new-comer. "It makes the hearts of the Pottawattomies light to hear the words of Sau-ga-nash," he said gravely. Then he turned and waved his hand to his clustered warriors. "Release the Frenchman, and place him for safety in the council lodge. Pass the woman free. It is the will of our chiefs." The council lodge! I glanced about me apprehensively; surely this must be the same tepee in which Captain Heald and I had met the chiefs! There were no signs of ordinary Indian occupancy, and now as I looked about me the firelight from without revealed clearly the shading of those grotesque figures I recalled as having been sketched upon the outer covering. So it was here that De Croix was to be confined! I crept back hastily, dropping into place the loosened flap through which I had been peering. A skin or two were lying on the grassy floor; and I grasped the larger of these, drawing it over me while I rolled as closely as possible against the farther wall, hoping desperately that no Indian guards would be posted within. The uproar outside continued, as if there were still opposition to the commands of the chiefs; but presently, as I peeped through a hole in the skin held over me, I perceived a sudden flash of light as the flap covering the entrance was drawn aside. I saw a number of dark hands thrust within, a savage face or two peering for a moment about the darkened interior; but to my inexpressible relief only one body was thrust inside, with such violence, however, as to cause the man to fall face downward at full length. The next instant the lodge was again wrapped in utter darkness. By God's mercy I remained undiscovered, and was alone with De Croix. For a short time, assured as I was of this fact, I did not venture to creep from my place of concealment, or make my presence known to my companion. What ears might be listening, I knew not; nor dared I trust too much to the Frenchman's already overtaxed nerves. He did not move from the position where he fell; but I could hear him groan and sob, with now and then a broken ejaculation. Without, the yelling and uproar grew perceptibly less, although an occasional outburst gave evidence that the carousal was not wholly ended. Finally I pushed back the robe that covered me, now grown uncomfortably warm, and crept cautiously toward the place where I knew him to be lying. It was intensely dark, and I was still fearful lest he might cry out if I startled him. "De Croix," I whispered, "make no alarm; I am Wayland." "Wayland!" I could mark the amazement in his tone, as he instantly sat upright, peering through the gloom in the direction whence my voice came. _"Mon Dieu!_ You are here? You saw all of it?" "Ay," I answered, reaching out and groping in the darkness until I grasped his hand. "You have had a hard time, my lad; but the worst is over, and hope remains for us both." He shuddered so violently I could feel the spasm shake his body. "'Twas not the dying," he protested; "but did you see her, Wayland? Merciful God! was it really a living woman who stood there, or a ghost returned from the other world to haunt me and make living worse than death?" "You mean the sister who interposed to save you?" I asked. "' She was as truly alive as either of us. Think you she is not a stranger?" He groaned, as if the confession was wrung from him by the terror of eternal torment. _"Mon Dieu!_ She is my wife!" "Your wife?" "Ay, my wife,--Marie Faneuf, of Montreal." "But how comes she here, Monsieur, living in the Pottawattomie camp? And how comes it that you sought another in this wilderness, if you were already long wedded?" "Saint Guise! but I cannot tell you," and his voice shook with the emotion that swept him. "'Tis like a black dream, from which I must yet awaken. She died, I swear she died; the sisters told me so at the convent of the Ursulines, whither she fled to escape my unkindness,--for I did her wrong; and I stood by the grave as the body they called hers was lowered into the ground. For all these years have I thought it true; yet the girl yonder was Marie. But you, Wayland,--know you aught of her?" "Only that she guided me hither in search of Mademoiselle. On the way we conversed, and she let me know that she had dedicated her life to the service of these Indians, seeking to save their souls." "'Tis like enough; she was ever half a nun, and most religious. Yet made she no mention of me, and of my crying out at the house?--for I must indeed have seen her there!" "She asked me your name, Monsieur, and when I told her she said she recalled it not. Knew she you by some other?" He did not answer, though I could mark his heavy breathing, as if he strove with himself for mastery. Nor did I speak again, eager as I now was to arrange some plan for the future; for this man was certainly in no condition to counsel with. I know not how long I may have rested there in silence, seeking vainly in my own mind for some opening of escape, or means whereby I might communicate with Mademoiselle. Would the strange woman forget me now, or would she venture upon a return with her message? If not, I must grope forward without her, hampered as I should be by this unnerved and helpless Frenchman. Outside, the noise had almost wholly ceased,--at least, close to where we were,--and I could perceive that a slight tinge of returning day was already in the air, faintly revealing the interior of the lodge. As I sat thus, drifting through inaction into a more despairing mood, the rear covering of the tepee moved almost imperceptibly, and I turned hastily to seek the cause, my heart in my throat lest it prove an enemy, perhaps some stealthy savage still seeking the life of De Croix. It was far from being light as yet, but there was sufficient to show me the faint outline of a woman's figure. The Frenchman had seemingly heard nothing; and I rose quickly and faced her eagerly. "You have found her?" I questioned anxiously. "I beg you tell me that she yet lives!" "Hush! you speak too loud," was the low reply. "The one you seek is, I think, confined within the lodge of Little Sauk, and thus far remains unharmed. I have not been able to reach her, but she has been described to me as young, with dark hair and eyes, and as having been dragged from a horse near the rear of the column. Think you she is the one you seek?" "I do indeed!" I cried, in a rapture of relief. "Where is this lodge in which they hold her?" She hesitated to answer, as if she somewhat doubted my discretion. "It is the third from the fire, in the row west of this," she said at last. "But it is already daylight, and you must lie hidden amid these skins until another night, when I will strive to aid you. You will be safe here, if you only keep hidden; and I have brought with me food for you both." I had quite forgotten De Croix, in my eagerness to learn news of Mademoiselle; but now I realized he had risen to his knees, and was gazing at our visitor through the dim shadows as if half fearful even yet that she was but a spectre. In that gray dawn his face was ghastly in its whiteness,--the dark lines under his eyes, his matted hair, and the traces of blood upon his cheek, yielding a haggardness almost appalling. "Marie!" he sobbed, catching his breath between the words as if they choked him, "Marie, in God's name, speak one word to me!" I saw the girl start, looking around at him with eyes widely opened, yet with an expression in them I could not fathom; it was neither hatred nor love, though it might easily have been sorrow. "Marie," he urged, rendered despairing by her silence, "I have done you wrong, great wrong; but I thought you dead. They told me so,--they told me it was your body they buried. Will you not speak a word of mercy now?" Dim as the light was, I saw her eyes were moist as she gazed down upon him; but there was no faltering in her voice. "You were right, Monsieur le Marquis," she said slowly, "Marie Faneuf is dead. It is only Sister Celeste who has aided in the preservation of your life in the name of the Master. Make your acknowledgment to the Mother of Christ, not to me, for such mercy." I knew not when she passed out, or how; but we were alone once more, and De Croix was lying with his face buried in the short grass. CHAPTER XXXI A SEARCH, AND ITS REWARD I slept at last, soundly, for several hours, lying well hidden behind the skins at the back of the lodge. There seemed nothing else to do; for poor De Croix had no thought other than that of the woman who had just left us, and I was exhausted by hours of excitement and toil. He was asleep when I awoke, lying just as I had left him, his face still buried in the short trodden grass that carpeted the floor. It was so quiet without that I listened in vain for a sound to indicate the presence of Indians. Silence so profound was in strange contrast with the hideous uproar of the preceding night, and curiosity led me finally to project my head from beneath the lodge covering and gain a cautious glimpse of the camp with out. The yellow sunshine of the calm summer afternoon rested hot and glaring on the draped skins of the tepees, and on the brown prairie-grass, trampled by hundreds of passing feet. I could perceive a few squaws working lazily in the shade of the trees near the bank of the river; but no other moving figures were visible. Several recumbent forms were within my sight, their faces toward the sun, evidently sleeping off the heavy potations of the night. Otherwise the great encampment appeared completely deserted; there were no spirals of smoke rising above the lodge-poles, no gossiping groups anywhere about. It was plain enough to me. Those of the warriors capable of further action were elsewhere engaged upon some fresh foray, while the majority, overcome by drinking, were asleep within their darkened lodges. Surely, daylight though it was, no safer moment could be expected in which to establish communication with Toinette. With night the camp would be again astir; and even if I succeeded in reaching her at some later hour it would leave small margin of darkness for our escape. Every moment of delay now added to our grave peril, and there was much planning to be done after we met. Possibly I should have waited, as I had been told to do; but it was ever in my blood to act rather than reason, and I am sure that in this case no cause remains for regret. I must confess that my heart beat somewhat faster, as I crept slowly forth and peered cautiously around the bulging side of the big lodge I had just left, to assure myself no savages were stirring. It was not that I greatly feared the venture, nor that a sense of danger excited my nerves; but rather the one thought in my mind was that now my way lay toward Mademoiselle. How would she greet me? Should I learn my fate from her tell-tale eyes, or by a sudden gleam of surprise in her lovely face? These were the reflections that inspired me, for a new hope had been born within me through the forced confession of De Croix. There was little danger of exposure while I advanced through the shelter of the lodges, for I was always under partial cover. But I waited and watched long before daring to pass across the wide open space in the centre of which the fire had been kindled. The torture-post yet stood there, black and charred, while the ground beneath was littered with dead ashes. The bodies of three white men, two of them naked and marked by fire, lay close at hand, just as they had been carelessly flung aside to make room for new victims; yet I dared not stop to learn who they might have been in life. The sight of their foul disfigurement only rendered me the more eager to reach the living with a message of hope. I moved like a snake, dragging my body an inch at a time by firmly grasping with extended hands the tough grass-roots, and writhing forward as noiselessly as if I were stalking some prey. There were times when I advanced so slowly it would have puzzled a watcher to determine whether mine was not also the body of the dead. At length, even at that snail's rate of progress, I gained the protection of the tepees upon the other side of the camp, and skulked in among them. The lodge just before me, blackened by paint and weather, must be the one I sought. I rested close within its shadow, striving to assure myself there was no possibility of mistake. As my eyes lifted, I could trace in dim outline the totem of the chief faintly sketched on the taut skin: it was the same I had noted on the brawny breast of Little Sauk. Never did I move with greater woodland skill, for I felt that all depended upon my remaining undiscovered; a single false move now would defeat all hope. Who might be within, concealed by that black covering, was a mystery to be solved only by extremest caution. Inch by inch I worked the skin-covering of the tepee entrance up from the ground, screwing my eye to the aperture in an effort to penetrate the shrouded interior. But the glare of the sun was so reflected into my eyeballs, that it left me almost blind in the semi-gloom beneath that dark roof, and I could distinguish no object with certainty. Surely, nothing moved within; and I drew myself slowly forward, until half my body lay extended upon the beaten dirt-floor. It was then that I caught a glimpse of a face peering at me from out the shadows,--the face of Toinette; and, alas for my eager hopes of surprising her heart and solving its secrets! the witch was actually laughing in silence at my predicament. The sight made my face flush in sudden indignation; but before I could find speech, she had hastily accosted me. "Good faith, Master Wayland! but I greet you gladly!" she said, and her soft hand was warm upon mine; "yet it truly caused me to smile to observe the marvellous caution with which you came hither." "It must have been indeed amusing," I answered, losing all my vain aspirations in a moment under her raillery; "though it is not every prisoner in an Indian camp who could find like cause for merriment." Her eyes grew sober enough as they rested inquiringly on my face, for all that they still held an irritatingly roguish twinkle in their depths. "It was the expression upon your face which so amused me," she explained. "I am not indifferent to all that your coming means, nor to the horrors this camp has witnessed. More than that, you appear to me like one risen from the dead. I have truly mourned for you, John Wayland. I lost all power, all desire for resistance, when I saw you stricken from your horse, and often since my eyes have been moist in thoughts of you. No doubt 'twas but the sudden reaction from seeing you again alive that made me so forgetful of these dread surroundings as to smile. I beg you to forgive me; it was not heartlessness, but merely the way of a thoughtless girl, Monsieur." It had been impossible for me to resist her cajolery from the beginning; and now I read in her eyes the truth of all she spoke. "There is naught for you to forgive, Mademoiselle," I answered, drawing myself wholly within the tepee and resting on my knees. "But are you quite alone here, and without guards?" "For the present, yes. Little Sauk has been gone from the camp for some hours. They watch me with some care at night, yet of what use can their guarding be? If I should get without the lodge, escape would be hopeless for a girl like me. But now tell me about yourself. Are you also prisoner to the Indians? Surely I saw you struck down in that mad _mêlée_. 'Twas then I lost heart, and gave up every hope of rescue." "No, I am not a prisoner, Mademoiselle. I fell, stunned by a blow dealt me from behind, but was saved from capture by the falling of my horse across my body. I am here now of my own will, and for no other purpose than to save you." "To save me! Oh, Monsieur! it would make me blush really to think I ranked so high in your esteem. Was it not rather that other girl you came to seek,--the one you sought so far through the wilderness, only to find hidden in this encampment of savages? Tell me, Monsieur, was she by any chance of fate the heroine who last night plucked Captain de Croix from the flames of torture?" "You know, then, of his danger and deliverance?" I said, not feeling eager to answer her query. "'Twas a most brave and womanly act." "A strange exercise of power, indeed, Monsieur," and she looked directly into my eyes; "and the savages tell me she claimed to have knowledge of him." Surely I had a right to relate the whole story of De Croix's confession; yet somehow I did not deem it the manly thing to do. Rather, I would let her learn the truth in God's own time, and from other lips than mine. Perchance she would respect me more in the end for keeping silence now. But in this decision I failed to consider that hasty words of explanation might naturally lead her to believe the existing friendship mine instead of his. "We met her across the river in the darkness last night," I answered. "At my request, she acted as my guide into the Indian camp." The expression in her eyes puzzled me; nor could I interpret the sudden flush that lent color to her cheeks. "You are frank, Monsieur," she said quietly, "and doubtless 'tis better so. But the strange situation of this young woman has much of romance about it, and interests me greatly. How chances she to be here? Surely she cannot be of Indian blood?" "She holds connection with some sisterhood of the Church, as I understand, and has lived for some time amid the Pottawattomies, seeking to win the heathen to Christ." "A Catholic?" she asked, her eyes brightening with deeper interest. "Such is my understanding, though in truth she never said as much to me. Indeed, we spoke little, Mademoiselle, for our path was in the midst of peril, even before the capture of poor De Croix upset all our plans." "Doubtless," she answered with a slight trace of sarcasm in the soft voice. "But Captain de Croix,--he was not seriously injured, I trust? Where have the savages confined him? And know you what they in tend as to his future?" "He will forever bear some scars, I fear," I answered, wondering dully at the calmness of her inquiry. "I have just left him sleeping quietly in the council tent. Know you anything of what fate has befallen other of our friends of the garrison?" Her eyes grew sad. "Only what little I have learned through the taunting of my own captor," she answered, her voice trembling. "Captain Wells is dead, together with Ensign Ronan and Surgeon Van Voorhees. Both Captain Heald and his wife were sorely wounded, and they, with Lieutenant Helm, are prisoners somewhere in the camp; but the Lieutenant's wife is safe with the Silver-man's family across the river. The Indians hold these in hope of ransom, and wreak their vengeance upon the common soldiers who were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands alive. Yet few, I think, survived the massacre." "You have doubtless guessed aright. I noted with what fearful spirit of revenge the savages dealt with some of their captives, while sparing others. Surely you, for instance, have met with but little hardship thus far at the hands of Little Sauk?" She glanced up at me, with a touch of the old coquettishness in her dark eyes and a quick toss of her head, while one white hand smoothed her soft hair. "Think you then, Monsieur, I do not look so ill?" In spite of every effort at control, my heart swept into my eyes; she must have read the swift message, for her own drooped instantly, with a quick flutter of long lashes against her cheeks. "I have already told you how greatly I admire you," I faltered, "and you make no less fair a picture now." "Then I shall not tempt you to add to your compliment," she hastily responded, rising to her feet, "for I like loyalty in a man better than mere gallantry of speech. You ask me about Little Sauk. He holds me for ransom, although Heaven knows 'twill prove but waste of time, for I am aware of no one in all the East who would invest so much as a dollar to redeem me from Indian hands. Yet such is his purpose, as told to me this morning." "Perchance, then," I urged, doubtfully, "you may prefer remaining quietly here rather than risk the peril of trying to escape?" She looked at me keenly, as if in wonder at my words; and I could see that her eyes were moistening with the sudden rush of feeling. "You are either dull of comprehension, John Wayland," she said, a bit pertly, "or else you understand me less than any man I ever knew. If I seem brave and light of heart amidst all this horror, 'tis merely that I may not utterly break down, and become an object of contempt. I feel, Monsieur, I am not devoid of heart nor of the finer qualities of womanhood. Prefer to remain here? Holy Mother of Christ! It would be my choice to die out yonder on the prairie, rather than stay here in these Indian lodges. There is no peril I would not face joyfully, in an effort to escape from this place of torture and barbarity. I confess that an hour ago I cared not greatly what my end might be; I had lost heart and hope. But now your coming, as of one risen from the dead, has brought back my courage." "You will go, then, whenever and wherever I say?" She stepped forward with her old frank confidence, resting both hands in mine, her eyes upon my face. "Out yonder in the night, and amid the sand, John Wayland," she said earnestly, "I remember saying I would travel with you whithersoever you wished. I know you far better now than I did then, and I hesitate not at taking upon myself the same vow." What power then sealed my lips, I know not. Doubtless there is a fate in such matters, yet 'tis strange the light of invitation in her eyes did not draw me to lay bare my heart. In naught else had I a drop of coward blood within my veins; while here I hesitated, fearful lest her pleading face might change to sudden roguishness, and she laugh lightly at the love that held my heart in thrall. Truly, the witch had puzzled me so sorely with her caprices, her quick change of mood, her odd mixture of girlish frankness and womanly reserve, that I knew not which might prove the real Toinette,--the one to trust, or the one to doubt. So I stood there, clasping her soft hands in mine, my heart throbbing, yet my tongue hesitating to perform its office. But at last the halting words came in a sudden, irrepressible rush. "Toinette!" I cried, "Toinette! I could forget all else,--our danger here, the horrors of the night just passed, the many dead out yonder,--all else but you." She gave a sudden startled cry, her affrighted eyes gazing across my shoulder. I wheeled, with quick intuition of danger; and there, just within the entrance of the tepee, the flap of which he had let fall behind him, in grave silence stood an Indian. CHAPTER XXXII THE PLEDGE OF A WYANDOT A single glance told me who our unwelcome visitor must be. That giant body, surmounted by the huge broad face, could belong to none other than the Wyandot, Sau-ga-nash,--him who had spoken for the warriors of his tribe before the torture-stake. He stood erect and rigid, his stern, questioning eyes upon us, his lips a thin line of repression. With a quick movement, I thrust the girl behind me, and faced him, motionless, but with every muscle strained for action. The Indian spoke slowly, and used perfect English. "Ugh!" he said. "Who are you? A prisoner? Surely you cannot be that same Frenchman we helped entertain last night?" "I am not the Frenchman," I answered deliberately, vainly hoping his watchful eyes might wander about the lodge long enough to yield me chance for a spring at his throat, "though I was one of his party. I only came here to bring comfort to this poor girl." "No doubt she needs it," he replied drily, "and your way is surely a good one. Yet I doubt if Little Sauk would approve it, and as his friend, I must speak for him in the matter. Do you say you are also a prisoner? To what chief?" "To none," I answered shortly, resolved now to venture all in a trial of strength. He read this decision in my eyes, and stepped back warily. At the same instant Toinette flung her arms restrainingly about my neck. "Don't, John!" she urged, using my name thus for the first time; "the savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!" I saw the weapon as she spoke, and saw too the angry glint in the fellow's eye as he thrust the muzzle menacingly forward. As we stood thus, glaring at each other, a sudden remembrance made me pause. "Sau-ga-nash"?--surely it was neither more nor less than a Wyandot expression signifying "Englishman." That broad face was not wholly Indian; could this be the half-breed chief of whom I had so often heard? 'Twas worth the chance to learn. "You are Sau-ga-nash?" I asked, slowly, Toinette still clinging to me, her face over her shoulder to front the silent savage. "A chief of the Wyandots?" [Illustration: "Don't John! The savage has a gun hidden beneath his robe!"] He moved his head slightly, with a mutter of acquiescence, his eyes expressing wonder at the question. "The same whom the Americans name Billy Caldwell?" "'Tis the word used by the whites." I drew a quick breath of relief, which caused Mademoiselle to release her grasp a little, as her anxious eyes sought my face for explanation. "Recall you a day twelve years ago on the River Raisin?" I asked clearly, feeling confident now that my words were no longer idle. "An Indian was captured in his canoe by a party of frontiersmen who were out to revenge a bloody raid along the valley of the Maumee. That Indian was a Wyandot and a chief. He was bound to a tree beside the river bank and condemned to torture; when the leader of the rangers, a man with a gray beard, stood before him rifle in hand, and swore to kill the first white man who put flint and steel to the wood. Recall you this, Sau-ga-nash?" The stolid face of the listening savage changed, the expression of revengeful hostility merging into one of undisguised amazement. "That which you picture has not left my memory," he answered gravely. "Nor the pledge you gave to that white captain when he brought you safely to Detroit?" I queried, eagerly. "Nor the pledge. But what has all this to do here?" "Only, Sau-ga-nash, that I am Major David Wayland's son." The Indian sprang forward, his eyes burning fiercely; and thinking his movement to be hostile, I thrust the girl aside that I might be free to repel his attack. But he did not touch me, merely peering eagerly into my face with a keen questioning look that read my every feature. "You have the nose and forehead," he reflected aloud; "yes, and the eyes. Before the Great Spirit, I will redeem my pledge; a chief of the Wyandots cannot lie." He paused, and I could mark the varied emotions that swayed him, so deeply was he moved by this strange discovery. Unconsciously my hand clasped Mademoiselle's, for now I felt that our fate hung on his decision. "'Tis a hard task, Master Wayland," he admitted at length, almost wearily, "but for your father's sake it shall be done. I see only one way for it, and that by water. Know you anything about the management of boats?" "Only as I have paddled upon the Maumee," I answered, doubtfully, "although I handled a small sail when a mere boy in the far East." "'Twill suffice if the fair weather hold, as is likely at this season. At least it may be risked. The land trails are crowded by Indians from far-off tribes, hastening hither in hope of fight and spoils. More than a hundred came in to-day, painted for war, and angry because too late. You could not escape encountering such parties, were you to flee by trail eastward; nor would they show mercy to any white. The Silver-man has returned to his home north of the river; but 'tis all that we who are friendly to him can do to keep these warriors from attacking even there. 'Tis the Indians from far away that make the trouble; and these grow more numerous and powerful each day. We keep a guard at the house to save the Silver-man and his family; and were more whites to seek refuge there, we should lose all control. There is still safety at the mouth of the Saint Joseph River, and 'tis there you must go. The venture must be made to-night, and by water. Is it known to any Indian that you are alive and within this camp?" "To none." "That is well; we can work best alone. Now listen. At midnight, Master Wayland, a boat, pre pared for the trip, will await you, hidden under the ruins of the Agency building. The river flows under the flooring deep enough for the purpose, and I will place the boat there with my own hand. Beyond that, all must rest upon your own skill and good fortune. You will wait here," and he glanced about anxiously for some means of concealment, "lying behind those robes yonder, until the hour." "Here?" I questioned, thinking instantly of my duty to De Croix. "But I would first have speech with the Frenchman. He is my friend, Sau-ga-nash. Besides, I have left my rifle in the council lodge." The face of the savage darkened, and his eyes gleamed ominously as they roamed questioningly from my face to Toinette's. "I said you were to stay hidden here," he answered shortly, his tone showing anger, and his hand pointing at the robes. "Many of the sleeping Pottawattomies are again astir without, and you could not hope to gain the council lodge undiscovered. What care I for this Frenchman, that I should risk my life to save him? I pledge myself only to Major Wayland's son; and even if I aid you, it is on condition that you go alone." "Alone, say you?" and I rested my hand on Mademoiselle's shoulder. "I would die here, Sau-ga-nash, and by torture, before I would consent to go one step without this girl." The half-breed scowled at me, drawing his robe about him in haughty indifference. "Then be it so," he said mockingly. "'Tis your own choice. I have offered redemption of my pledge." I started to utter some harsh words in answer; but before I could speak, Toinette pressed her soft palm upon my lips in protest. "Refuse him not," she murmured hastily. "'Tis the only chance; for my sake, do not anger him." What plan her quick wit may have engendered, I did not know; but I yielded to the entreaty in her pleading eyes, and sullenly muttered the first conscious lie of my life. "I accept your terms, Sau-ga-nash, harsh as they are." He looked from one to the other of us, his face dark with distrust and doubt. "You are not mine to dispose of," he said sternly to the trembling girl, who visibly shrank from his approach, and clung once more to me. "You are prisoner to Little Sauk; nor will I release one thus held by the Pottawattomies. They and the Wyandots are brothers. But I trust you, and not the word of this white man. Pledge me not to go with him, and I will believe you." She glanced first at me, then back into the swarthy, merciless face. Her cheeks were white and her lips trembled, yet her eyes remained clear and calm. "I give you my word, Sau-ga-nash," she said quietly. "While I am held as prisoner by Little Sauk, I will not go away with John Wayland." Little as I believed these words to be true at the time, the sound of them so dulled me with apprehension that I could only stare at her in speechless amazement. It seemed to me then as if the power of reason had deserted me, as if my brain had been so burdened as to refuse its office. I recall that Toinette almost compelled me to lie down against the farther side of the lodge, placing a pile of skins in front of me and assuming a position herself where she could occasion ally reach across the barrier and touch me with her soft hand. No doubt she realized the struggle in my mind, for she spoke little after the departure of the half-breed, as if anxious to permit me to figure out the future for myself. Little by little I faced it, and came to an irrevocable decision. It was to be Toinette or nothing. While it might be true that she was in no immediate danger, and possibly could be safely ransomed if I once escaped to civilization, yet the risk of such venture and delay was too great; nor would my love abide so vast a sacrifice on her part. I thought to say this to her; but there was a look of firm decision in her sweet face, as her dark eyes met mine, that somehow held me silent. I felt that in her own heart she must already know what action I would choose, and the final moment would prove sufficient test for her evident determination. Reassured here, my thoughts turned to De Croix; but that was useless. I could send no message to him; he was no longer in especial peril, and perhaps would not willingly desert his newly found wife even to escape the savages. Nay, it was to be Toinette and I, now and forever. I do not clearly remember at this day what it was we spoke about in the brief whispering that passed between us while we waited there. Neither of us felt like voicing our real thoughts, and so we but dissembled, making commonplaces fill the gaps between our silences. The night found us undisturbed, and it shut down so darkly within the narrow confines of the lodge that I lost all trace of her presence, but for an occasional movement or the sound of her low voice. Without, the rapidly increasing noise indicated a return of many savages to the camp, until at last a fire was kindled in the open space, its red flame sending some slight illumination where we were, but not enough to reveal the interior of the lodge. An Indian brought the girl some food, entering and leaving without uttering a sound; and we two ate together, striving to speak lightly in order to make the coarse meal more palatable. Suddenly I became aware of a faint scratching upon the skin of the lodge, at my back. At first I supposed it to be some wild animal, or possibly a stray dog; but the regularity of it showed a purpose of some kind. Could it be De Croix? Or was it the half-breed with some secret message he dared not deliver openly? I lifted the lodge covering slightly, and placed my lips to the aperture. "Is some one there?" I whispered cautiously "Who is it?" "I am Sister Celeste," came the immediate low reply. "Are you the white man I guided?" "Ay," I answered, rejoicing at this rare good for tune, "and I beg you to listen to what I say. There will be a boat awaiting us beneath the old Agency building at midnight. You must be there with De Croix." "De Croix?" "Yes; I know not if that be his name to you, but I mean the Frenchman whose life you saved. Will you take him thither at midnight, together with the rifle I left in the council lodge?" For a moment she did not answer. Doubtless it was a bitter struggle for her thus to agree even to meet the man again. At last she made reply, although I could plainly mark the faltering of her voice. "The man of whom you speak shall be there," she said, "unless some accident make it impossible." As I drew back my head, and sat upright, Mademoiselle spoke questioningly. "With whom were you conversing just now, Monsieur?" "The young woman of whom we have spoken so often," I answered thoughtlessly. "She has pledged herself to bring De Croix to the meeting-place." "Indeed!" she exclaimed, with accent so peculiar I knew not how to interpret it. "It almost makes me desire to form one of your party." CHAPTER XXXIII AN INTERVENTION OF FATE "Form one of our party?" I echoed, believing I must have misunderstood her words. "Surely, Mademoiselle, you cannot mean that you take your promise to the half-breed so seriously as voluntarily to remain in captivity?" "Yes, but I do, Monsieur!" and the tone in which she said it was firm with decision. "The Indian asked my pledge in all solemnity, and has gone away trusting to it. My conscience could never again be clear did I prove false in such a matter. You also made a pledge, even before mine was given; was it not your purpose to abide by it?" "No," I answered, a bit shortly. "I merely agreed to his proposition at your expressed desire that I should, and because I believed you had framed some plan of escape. Have you such small respect for me, Mademoiselle, as to think I could consent to leave you here alone and at the mercy of these red fiends? Have I risked my life in coming here for no other end than this?" I felt her reach her arm across the pile of skins lying between us, and grasp my hand within her own. "But, dear friend, you must!" she said, pleadingly, her softly modulated voice dwelling upon the words as if they came hard. "Truly you must, John Wayland, and for my sake as well as your own. I am comparatively safe here,--safe at least from actual physical harm, so long as the savages dream that the sparing of my life will yield them profit. You have no right to remain in such peril as surrounds you here, when by so doing you benefit no one. You have father and mother awaiting in prayer your safe return to them yonder on the Maumee; while I,--I have no one even to ask how sad my fate may be. Think you that because I am a girl I must therefore be all selfishness? or that I would ever permit you thus to sacrifice yourself unnecessarily for me? No, no, Monsieur! I will remain prisoner to Little Sauk, for my sacred word has been pledged; and you must go, because there are others to whom your life is of value. Nor need you go empty-handed, for the one you have sought so far and long seems now ready enough to travel eastward with you." Scarcely had her voice ceased, leaving me struggling to find fit words to change her mad decision, when a rough hand flung back the entrance flap, and the naked body of an Indian, framed for a single instant against the light, lurched heavily through the opening. Even that brief glimpse told me the man had been drinking to excess; while for the moment, as I huddled down closer behind my robes, I was unable to make out his identity. "Where white woman?" he ejaculated gruffly, as he paused, blinded by the darkness. "Why she not come help me?" His quick ear evidently caught the slight rustle of the girl's skirt as she rose hastily to her feet, for with a muttered Indian oath the savage lurched forward. I could scarcely make out the dimmest shadow of them in the dense gloom, yet I seemed to know that he had grasped her roughly, though not the slightest sound of fear or pain came from her lips. "Ugh! better come!" he muttered, a veiled savage threat growling in his tone. "You my squaw; cook in my lodge; get meal now." "But where? and how?" she asked, her voice trembling perceptibly, yet striving to placate him by a seeming willingness to obey. "I have nothing here to cook, nor have I fire." "Indian squaw no talk back!" he retorted angrily. "This way I show white squaw to mind chief!" I heard plainly the brutal blow he struck her, though even as she reeled back she managed to stifle the scream upon her lips, so that it was barely audible. With one bound I was over the barrier of robes and clutching with tingling fingers for the brute. I touched his feathered head-dress at last, and he must have supposed me his helpless victim, for with a grunt of satisfaction he struck once again, the blow meeting my shoulder, where he judged in the dark her face would be. "White squaw mind now--" I had him gripped by the throat before he ended, and we went down together for a death-struggle in the darkness, from which each realized in an instant both could never rise again. My furious grip sobered him, and he made desperate efforts to break free, struggling vainly to utter some cry for rescue. Once I felt him groping at his waist for a knife; but I got first clasp upon its hilt, though I twisted helplessly for some minutes before I could loosen his hold at my wrist so as to strike him with the blade. His teeth closed upon my hand, biting deep into the flesh like a wild-cat, and the sharp sting of it yielded me the desperate strength I needed to wrench my hand free, and with one quick blow the knife I clutched cut deep into his side, so that I could feel the hot blood spurt forth over my hand. I held him in a death grip, for I knew a single cry meant ruin to all our plans, until the last breath sped, and I knew I lay prostrate above a corpse. It had been so swift and fierce a contest that I staggered half-dazed to my feet, peering about me as if expecting another attack. I was steadied somewhat by the sound of a low sob from the darkness. "'Tis well over with, Toinette," I murmured hastily, my voice trembling from the strain that still shook me. "Oh, John! John Wayland! And you are truly unhurt of the struggle?" It was scarcely her voice speaking, so agitated was it. "Have you killed him?" "Yes," I answered, finding my way cautiously toward her, and speaking in whispers. "I had no other choice. It was either his life or yours and mine. Knew you the savage?" "It was Little Sauk," she replied, clinging to me, and growing somewhat calmer from my presence. "Oh, what can we do now?" "There remains but one thing, and that is to accept the chance that Providence has given us. There remains no longer a shadow of excuse for your staying here, even by your own reasoning. You are no longer prisoner to Little Sauk. Your pledge has been dissolved by Fate, and it must be God's will that you go forth with me. What say you, Mademoiselle?" And I crushed her hands in mine. I could feel her slight form tremble as I waited her reply, and believed she peered across my shoulder through the darkness, imagining she saw the dead Indian's form lying there. "Do you truly wish it?" she questioned at last, as though warring with herself. "Think you she would greatly care?" 'Tis a strangely perverse thing, the human mind. As there dimly dawned upon me a conception of her meaning,--a knowledge that this seemingly heart-free girl cared enough for me to exhibit such jealousy of another,--I would not undeceive her by a word of explanation. "I certainly do wish it," was my grave answer, "nor does it greatly matter what the desire of any other may be. This is not an invitation to a ball, Mademoiselle. I beg you answer me; will you go?" She looked toward me, wondering at my words. "Yes," she said simply. "Has the time come?" "I have no certain means of knowing; but it cannot be far from the hour, and we shall be much safer without." I took the Indian's knife with me, wiping the long blade upon the pile of skins, and placing it convenient to my hand within the bosom of my hunting-shirt. It was dark enough back of the lodge away from the glare of the fires, and we rested there well within the shadow, for some time, while I scanned the surroundings and planned as best I might our future movements. "Was it from dread of venturing once more upon the water that you held back so long?" I asked her, seeking rudely to delve into the secret of her reserve. "Have you ever found me of cowardly heart, Monsieur?" she questioned in return, parrying with quick skill, "that you should think any bodily terror could hold me back? If I had reasons other than those already given, they were worthy ones." "You are not afraid of the perils before us?" "No," she answered; "my heart beats fast, but 'tis not from fear." Only a few scattered lodges had been raised to the eastward of where we were, nor did these show any signs of life. We crept forward with painful slowness, partially hiding our movements by following a shallow, curving gully, until we had gained the extreme limits of the encampment, where we crawled out into the gloom of the surrounding prairie. Not until then did either of us venture to stand erect, or advance with any degree of freedom. Directly ahead of us there was nothing by which I could safely guide our course. The flat sameness of the plain offered no landmarks, while the night sky was so thickly overcast as to leave no stars visible. Nor was there light of any kind, save that of the fires in the camp we had just left. I hesitated to risk the open prairie thus unaided, lest we should wander astray and lose much valuable time; so, although it measurably increased our peril of encountering parties of savages, I turned sharply northward, keeping the bright Indian fires upon our left, and groping forward through the gloom toward where I knew the main branch of the river must lie. It was neither the time nor place for speech. I held her hand closely while we moved onward silently, carefully guarding each step lest by mischance it should bring betrayal. Once, after we had reached the river and were moving eastward again, a party of Indians passed us, coming so silently out of the black void, in their soft moccasins, that I had barely time to hold her motionless before they were fairly upon us. I counted nine of them, moving rapidly in single file, like so many black ghosts. We waited with wildly throbbing hearts, listening for fear others might follow in their trail. We were almost beside the walls of the factory building before either of us was aware of its proximity. Even then, as I lay prone on the earth and studied its dim outlines, they possessed nothing of familiarity, for the high-pitched roof had fallen in and carried with it the greater portion of the upper walls, leaving a mere shell, shapeless and empty. I rested there, gazing at it, and wondering how best we might proceed to find our way beneath where the boat was to be moored, when I felt Mademoiselle's fingers press my arm warningly. Scarcely a yard away, on a ridge of higher ground, two dim figures came to a sudden pause. "I perceive naught of the presence of your friends as yet, Monsieur," spoke a soft voice, "but I will remain until certain of the outcome." "Then your decision is unchanged?" asked the other, in deeper accent, full of earnest pleading. "All is to be over between us from this hour? And you deliberately choose to devote your life to the redemption of these savages?" "We have discussed all this at length, Monsieur le Marquis, as we came along, and, as you fully know, my choice is made beyond recall. I am here to serve you to-night, because it seems to be a duty given unto me by some strange Providence; and I have relied upon your courtesy to make it as little unpleasant as possible. I pray you, beseech me no more. The girl I once was lives no longer; the woman I now am has been given a special mission by God, too sacred to be cast aside for aught that earth has to offer her of happiness. We part in kindness, Monsieur,--in friendship even; but that which was once between us may never be again." There was no answer; even the reckless audacity of a courtier was silenced by that calm final dismissal. It was Mademoiselle who spoke in swift whisper, her lips at my ear. "Speak! who is she?" "The woman of whom you have heard so often,--the missionary in the Indian camp." "Yes, I know," impatiently; "but I mean her name?" "She calls herself Sister Celeste; I have indeed heard mention of another, but it abides not in my memory." "You deceive me, Monsieur; yet I know, and will speak with her," was the quick decision. "Mother of God! 'tis a voice too dear ever to be forgotten." She was beside them with a step, seeming no doubt a most fair vision to be born so instantly of the night-shadows. "Marie Faneuf!" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I know not by what strange fortune I meet you here, but surely you will not refuse greeting to an old friend?" The girl drew hastily back a step, as if her first thought was flight; but ere such end could be accomplished, Mademoiselle had clasped her arm impetuously. "Marie!" she pleaded, "can it be possible you would flee from me?" "Nay," returned the other, her voice trembling painfully, as she struggled to restrain herself. "It is not that. Dear, dear friend! I knew you were among the few saved from Dearborn. The American hunter told me, and ever since have I tried to avoid you in the camp. 'Twas not for lack of the old love, yet I feared to meet you. Much has occurred of late to make the keeping of my vow most difficult. I have been weak, and grievously tempted; and I felt scarce strong enough, even though protected by prayers, to withstand also my deep love for you." Their voices insensibly merged into French, each speaking so rapidly and low that I could get little meaning of it. Then I noted De Croix, half lying upon the ground, his head hidden within his hands. With sudden remembrance of the work before us, I touched his shoulder. "Come below, Monsieur, and help me search for the boat," I said, kindly, for I was truly touched by his grief. "It will help clear your mind to have some labor to accomplish." "I dare not, Wayland!" he answered hoarsely, and the face he uplifted toward me was strangely white and drawn. "I must stay with her; I dare not leave her again alone, lest she escape me once more. She is mine, truly mine by every law of the Church,--my wife, I tell you, and I would die here in the wilderness rather than permit her longer to doom herself to such a fate as this." His words and manner were so wild they startled me. Surely, in his present frame of mind he would prove useless on such a mission as that before us. "Then remain here, Monsieur!" I said, "and do your best to win her consent to accompany us. No doubt Mademoiselle will aid you all that is in her power." CHAPTER XXXIV A STUMBLE IN THE DARK Gloomy as the hole was, there was no help for it. I could perceive nothing below, not even my hand when held within a foot of my eyes; nor had I the slightest previous knowledge of the place to guide me, even had not the fire ruins above effectually blocked every passage-way with fallen debris. Listening however intently, my ears could distinguish only the faint lapping of the river as it crept about the log piling on which the house had been built; but beyond this dim guidance, I had to feel my way forward with extended hands and groping feet. Swinging to my back the rifle that De Croix had brought, and casting an inquiring glance backward at the little group huddled upon the bank, almost invisible even at that short distance, I grasped the piling nearest me and slid down into the unknown darkness. My feet found solid earth, although as I reached out toward the left my moccasin came in contact with water, which told me at once that only a narrow path divided the steep bank of the excavation from the encroaching river. The floor above was originally low, so that I could easily touch the heavy supporting beams; and I had felt my way scarcely a yard before coming in contact with a serious obstruction, where the weakened floor had sagged so as almost to close the narrow passage. This caused me to wade farther out into the water, testing each step carefully as I followed the sharp curving of the shore-line. I had no fear of meeting any living enemy within that silent cave, my sole doubt being as to whether the half-breed chief had fulfilled his promise and brought the boat, my gravest anxiety to discover it early and get my party safely away before the Indian encampment learned the truth. I must have reached the apex of the little cove, moving so cautiously that not a ripple of the water revealed my progress, and feeling for each inch of way like a blind man along city streets, when my knee suddenly struck some obstacle, and seeking to learn what it might be, I muttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving as I touched the unmistakable sides of a boat. It was a lumping, awkward craft, rudely fashioned, yet of a seeming length of keel and breadth of beam that set my heart beating with new joy, as I wondered if it was not the same craft in which the Kinzie family put forth upon the lake the morning of the massacre. This seemed very likely, for there could hardly be two such boats at hand, where the Indian water-craft were slender, fragile canoes, poorly fitted for serious battle with lake waves. Doubtless this was the only vessel Sau-ga-nash could find suitable for the venture, or he would never have chosen it for the use of a single man, as it was of a size to require the services of several paddles. Yet the thought meant much; for this very lack of water-craft was likely to render pursuit by the baffled savages impossible, if only once we got fairly away from the shore. With these reflections driving swiftly through my brain, I ran one hand hastily along the thwarts of the boat, seeking to discover if paddles had been provided, or even a sail of any kind. I touched a coil of rope, a rude oar-blade so broad as to seem unwieldy, a tightly rolled cloth,--and then my groping fingers rested on the oddest-feeling thing that ever a startled man touched in the dark. It was God's mercy I did not cry out from the sudden nervous fit that seized me. The thing I touched had a round, smooth, creepy feeling of flesh about it, so that I believed I fingered a corpse; until it began to turn slowly under my hand like a huge ball, the loose skin of it twitching yet revealing no human features to my touch. Saint Andrew! but it frightened me! I knew not what species of strange animal it might prove to be, nor whence its grip or sting might come. Yet the odd feeling of it was strangely fascinating,--I could not let it go; the damp flesh-like skin seemed to cling to my fingers in a horrible sort of magnetism that bound me prisoner, the cold perspiration of terror bursting from every pore, even as my other hand, trembling and unnerved, sought in my shirt for the knife of Little Sauk. As I gripped the weapon, the thing began to straighten out, coming up in the quick odd jerks with which some snakes uncoil their joints after the torpidity of winter. My hand, finding naught to grasp, slipped from the smooth round ball, and as it fell touched what seemed an ear, and then a human nose. "Merciful God! 'tis a man!" I gasped, in astonishment and yet relief, as I closed upon his throat, madly determined to shut off his wind before he could give alarm. "Cuss the luck!" he gasped hoarsely, and I let go of him, scarcely able to ejaculate in my intense surprise at that familiar voice. "Burns? For Heaven's sake, Burns! can this indeed be you?" For an instant he did not speak, doubtless as greatly perplexed as I at the strange situation. "If ye're Injun," he ventured at last gravely, "then I'm a bloody ghost; but if by any chance ye're the lad, Wayland, which yer voice sounds like, then it's Ol' Tom Burns as ye're a-maulin' 'round, which seems ter be yer specialty, a-jumpin' on unoffensive settlers in the dark, an' a-chokin' the life outer them." The growling tone of his voice was growing querulous, and it was evident that his temper, never quite childlike, had not been greatly improved by his late experiences as an Indian captive. "But Burns, old friend!" I persisted heartily, my courage returned once more, "it was surely enough to stir any man to violence to encounter such a thing in the dark! What in Heaven's name has happened to leave you with such a poll? What has become of your hair and beard? Is their loss a part of Indian torture?" There was a low chuckle in the darkness, as if the old rascal were laughing to himself. "Injun nuthin!" he returned with vehemence. "Thet's jist my way of sarcumventin' the bloody varmints. I shaved the hull blame thing soon as ever they let me loose, an' then played loony, till thar ain't no Injun 'long the shore as 'd tech me fer all the wampum in the Illini country. 'Tain't the fust time I saved my scalp by some sech dern trick. I tell ye, it's easy 'nough ter beat Injuns if ye only know how. By snakes! I'm sacred, I am,--specially teched by the Great Spirit. I tell ye, ter be real loony is dern nigh as good in an Injun camp as ter hev red hair like thet thar little Sister Celeste with the Pottawattomies. She knows her business, you bet; an' so does Ol' Burns know him!" His mention of her name instantly recalled me to the little group waiting above us, and doubtless already worried at my prolonged absence. "Burns," I interrupted, "this is no time for reminiscences. I am here seeking some means of escape out of this place of horror. What were you doing down here?" "Sorter contemplatin' a sea v'yage," he said, dryly. "'Twas rec'mended by my doctor fer the growth o' my har. So, snoopin' 'round yere in the dark, an' not over fond o' Injun com'any, I found this yere boat. Jest got in ter see how 'twas fixed, when ye jumped down yonder. Reckon I'd kinder like ter wet 'er up an' see wot she's like." "Good! so would I. This boat was placed here for that very purpose. Now listen. The young woman you just mentioned, that Indian missionary with the auburn hair, is above yonder, together with another young white girl rescued from the massacre, and the Frenchman, De Croix. We have come here, on pledge of a half-breed chief that this boat would be ready for our escape. And we have no time to waste, for we may be followed at any moment." "They ain't seen ye stealin' outer the camp?" "No, but in doing it I was compelled to kill Little Sauk, and the others may find his body at any time." For a moment the sly old borderer made no response, and I knew he was quietly turning over the complicated situation in his own mind preparatory to intelligent action. I heard him step from the boat into the shallow water. "All right, lad! I understand," he said heartily, his former indifference vanished. "Derned if I wouldn't jist as soon leave that Parley-Voo behind; but I'm with ye, an' I reckon Ol' Burns'll give them thar redskins another dern good jolt. Take hold here, boy, an' we'll run this yere man-o-war outside, where we kin ship the rest o' her crew." The back-water rippling among the old piling was shallow, but the boat had little aboard and floated free, so that we worked it forward with little difficulty until we succeeded in rounding the slight promontory and held its bulging sides close against the mud wall. Leaving Burns to keep it in place, I crept silently up the bank. "Come!" I whispered, making my way to the side of Mademoiselle more by instinct than sight. "The boat we sought is here and ready! I have even found a boatman to aid us, in the form of Ol' Burns, who, you remember, aided De Croix and me at the time of our famous race. Let us waste no more of the night here, but do the rest of your talking in greater safety on the water." They came with me down to the edge of the stream without a word of protest. I had taken Mademoiselle in my arms and lifted her slight form into the boat, when she turned suddenly, as if by an unrestrainable impulse, and held out her hands toward the dim figure of the silent girl who yet remained motionless several feet away. "Marie!" she said, anxiously, "it may be wrong of me to urge it, but I beg you to think again in this grave matter. Surely such horrible massacre as you have witnessed must absolve you from your vow, and yield you freedom to return eastward with those you love." The other did not respond to this passionate appeal, but stood facing us silent as a statue. "What mean you, Mademoiselle?" I asked. "Will not this Sister Celeste consent to leave the Indians?" "Nay, she has made a sacred vow of religion which binds her to this sacrifice. I implore you, John Wayland, urge her to go with us! 'Tis but waste of her life here. She is an old schoolmate of mine, and 't will be hard to leave her alone in this wilderness. Captain de Croix, she was far from being a stranger to you in those other days at Montreal,--will you not add your entreaties to ours?" I saw him step forward toward that quiet bowed figure, and she straightened perceptibly, even in the darkness, as he drew near. His words were in French, and spoken so low I missed their meaning; yet we all heard plainly her calm answer, while marking the faltering accents of her lips. "Dear, dear friend!" and I felt her eyes, blinded by tears, were seeking out Mademoiselle through the gloom, "it breaks my heart to answer you nay in this hour of sore trial to us both. Yet my vow to God is more sacred than any earthly friendship; nor could peace ever again abide in my heart were I to break the vow so lightly. My duty is here, be it for life or death; and here I must abide until the Master sets me free." Then, addressing De Croix, she continued sadly, "No, Monsieur, the sense of duty that presses upon me and yields me such strength is beyond your comprehension. I bid you go back to that world of light and gaiety you have always loved so fondly, and think no more of me. To you I am, even as you have supposed, a dead woman, yet happier far in this sad exile than I ever was in that gilded social cage where men laugh while they break the hearts that trust them. My Indians are indeed cruel, but there is a deeper cruelty than that of bloodshed, and I prefer the open savagery of the woods and plains to things I have known in city life. So it must be good-bye, Monsieur!" I was looking directly at her when she uttered these last words of dismissal, yet as she ended she vanished into the black night beyond, I knew not how. A moment before, two figures had been standing there, De Croix's and hers; and although my eyes never once wavered, suddenly there remained but one, that of De Croix, peering forward with bent body as if he also knew not how or when the girl had vanished from his side. I was staring yet, half believing it was but a trick of my eyes, when suddenly, like phantoms from the mist, a half-dozen naked figures topped the high bank before me. It was the work almost of a second. I caught Burns's low cry of warning from where he sat watching within the boat. "Run!" I shouted to De Croix. "To the boat, quick! The savages are upon us!" He made no motion, and I grasped him. Rarely have I laid so heavy a hand on one in friendship; but I lifted him from off his feet and flung him bodily into the boat's bottom, scarce waiting till he struck before I had my shoulder against the stern to send the craft free from shore. I know not what mischance caused it, whether I slipped upon a stone or tripped over a hidden root; but as I shoved the boat far out into the dark current of the river, instead of springing after it, as I had meant to do, I toppled and plunged headlong down at the edge of the stream. CHAPTER XXXV THE BATTLE ON THE SHORE What followed was long a famous story on the border, and I have even read it written out most carefully in books purporting to tell the history of those troublous times. None of them have it as I recall the details of the incident, although it all occurred so rapidly that I myself can hardly tell just how 'twas done. I know that I scrambled again to my knees, resting half in the water, my purpose being to fling myself into the river in an effort to regain the boat. But it was already out of sight in the dense gloom, while not the slightest sound reached me for guidance. Beyond this, I had no time for much save action. Above me, upon the high bank not three yards away, I saw several Indian forms peering over; and then others, three or four, I am uncertain which, sprang lightly down within a yard of where I crouched in waiting. My father gave me a frontier maxim once, which ran, "If you must fight, strike first, and strike hard." The words flashed in my memory, and I put them to the test straightway. These prowling savages were apparently unaware of my predicament; their sole thought was with the boat floating away lakeward down the stream. At all cost, they must be blocked in any purpose of pursuit. These were the thoughts that darted through my brain like fire through stubble. How many opposed me, how desperate would be the struggle, were matters of which I did not stop to think. I could at least busy them until the fugitives were safe; after that, it was God's affair, and theirs. My rifle was wet and useless from my recent tumble; but before the group at the water's edge even saw me I was fairly upon them, striking fiercely with my gun-stock, and two savages went down, shrieking from pain and surprise, before so much as a return blow reached me. It was not a noisy battle; from the outset it was too fierce and rapid for any waste of breath. Never did I need my strength of body more, nor did the long training of my father come in better play. I made that long rifle-barrel both club and sword, knife and axe in one, striking, thrusting, clubbing, in the mad fury with which desperation bids a man battle for his life. I had no thought to live, but was determined that if I went down to earth many a painted savage should lie there with me. The enshrouding darkness proved a friendly help; for as I backed in closer against the bank, I gained a fair view of my opponents, while keeping myself more hidden. Again and again they charged upon me, joined now by the others from above; but the circling iron I swung with tireless arms formed a dead-line no leaping Indian burst through alive. Once a hurtling tomahawk half buried itself in my shoulder; a long-knife, thrown by a practised hand, pierced the muscles of my thigh, and stuck there quivering, till I struck it loose; and twice they fired at me, the second shot tearing the flesh of my side, searing it like fire. Yet I scarcely realized I was touched, so fiercely was the battle-blood now coursing through my veins, so intense the joy with which I crushed them back. I grew delirious, feeling the rage to slay sweep over me as never before, giving me the crazed strength of a dozen men, until I lost all sense of defensive action, and sprang forth into their midst as might an avenging thunderbolt from the black sky. Never had I swung flail in peaceful border contest as I did that murderous iron bar in the dark of the river-shore, driving them back foot by foot against the high bank which held them helpless victims of my wrath. I struck again and again, my teeth set together in bulldog tenacity, my breath coming in gasps, the streaming blood from a deep cut over my eyes half blinding me, yet guided by fierce instinct to find and smite my foes. I trod on limp bodies, on writhing forms, and felt my weapon clash against iron rifle barrels and clang upon uplifted steel; but nothing stopped me, no cry of terror, no plea for mercy, no clutching hand, no deadly numbing blow. God knows the story of that fight,--how long it lasted, by what miracle 'twas won. To me it is--and was--little more than a dim haze of strange leaping figures, of fierce dark faces, of maddened cries of hate, of uplifted hands, of dull-clashing weapons. I seemed to see it all through a red fog whence the blood dripped, and I lost consciousness of everything save my unswerving duty to strike hard until I fell. At last out from the maelstrom of that wild _mêlée_ but a single warrior seemed to face me; and some instinct of the fight caused me to draw back a pace and wipe the obscuring blood away, that I might see him better. It came to me that this was to be the end, the final duel which was to decide that midnight battle. He and I were there alone; and the stars bursting through the clouds gave me faint view of him, and of those dark, silent forms that lined the shore where they had fallen. A chief, a Pottawattomie, this much I knew even in that hasty shrouded glance. Writers of history affirm my opponent was Peesotum, the same fierce warrior whose cruel hand slew the brave Captain Wells and wrenched his still beating heart from out the mutilated body. All I realized then were his broad sinewy shoulders, his naked brawny body, his eyes ablaze with malignant hate. He was the first to close, his wild cry for vengeance piercing the still night; and before I knew it, the maddened savage was within the guard of my rifle-barrel, and we were locked in the stern grapple of death. It was knife to knife, our blades gleaming dull in the dim light of the stars, each man gripping the uplifted wrist of the other, putting forth each last reserve of strength, each cunning trick of fence, to break free and strike the ending blow. Back and forth we strove, straining like two wild animals, our moccasined feet slipping on the wet earth, our muscles strained, and sinews cracking with intensity of effort, our breath coming in labored gasps, our bodies tense as bowstrings. Such merciless strain could not endure forever, and, strong as I was in those young days, the savage was far stronger and less exhausted by the struggle, so that inch by inch he pressed me backward, battling like a demon, until I could see the cruel gleam of his eyes as I gave slowly down. It was God who saved me, for as I fell I struck the sharp shelving of the bank, and the quick stoppage swung the savage to one side and below me, so that, even as he gave vent to an exulting yell of triumph, wrenching his hand loose from my weakening clasp to strike the death-blow, I whirled and forced him downward, his face buried in the stream. Those who write history say the rescuing warriors discovered him alive. I know not; but this I swear,--I held him there until every struggle ceased, until answering yells from the westward told me others were already close at hand, and then, breathless and trembling from the struggle, blinded by blood and faint from wounds, I sprang forward into the night-shadows, dimly conscious that my sole hope for escape lay lakeward. I ran but feebly at first, skirting the partially destroyed stockade of the old Fort, with its litter of debris, and stumbling constantly in the darkness over the obstructions that lined the river bank. As my breath returned, and I somewhat cleared my eyes of blood, I saw better; and at last ran from the darker soil on to the white sand of the beach. There were now many stars in the sky, with the moon struggling feebly to break through the haze; but to my anxious glance nothing was visible upon the water. Surely the boat must have floated to the river-mouth by this time,--surely the force of the current would have accomplished that; nor was it likely that Ol' Burns would draw far away from shore until assured of my fate. The wild shouting told me that savages from the camp had already found their dead. A moment more would place them on my trail, hot for revenge; and there was no course left me but to take the water, before their keen eyes found me out. I waded out, seeking thus to get far enough from shore to baffle their search, when suddenly a quick spark of light winked from the blackness in front of me. Surely it could be nothing less than a signal, the swift stroke of flint on steel,--no doubt in the faint hope it would prove a beacon to me in my need. Desperate as the chance was, it was still a chance, and to my mind the only one. I glanced behind; a dim figure or two dotted the white sand, and my heart lifted a silent prayer to God for guidance. A second later I was beyond my depth, breasting the unknown waters, swimming steadily toward the place where that mysterious spark had glimmered. Once again it flashed, the barest glimpse of light through the intense gloom; and I pressed on with new vigor, certain now it was a real beacon. But I was so weakened by wounds and spent from exertion, and such desperate work is swimming fully clad, that my progress proved slow; and twice I was compelled to pause, paddling slowly on my back, in the buffeting of the waves, in order to gain strength to renew the struggle. I almost lost heart in the black loneliness, as the swirling water swept me back and confused me with its ever-tossing motion. Once I went down from sheer weakness, choking in a cloud of spray that swept my face; and doubtless I should have let the struggle end in despair even then, had not the spark leaped up once more through the deep haze; and this time so close was it that my ears caught the clashing of the flint and steel. With the new hope of life thus given me, I pushed grimly forward, using the silent Indian stroke that never tires, my eyes at the surface level where the light of the moon glimmered feebly. At last I saw it,--the black lumpy shadow of the boat. I must have splashed a little in my weakness and excitement, for I plainly perceived the figure of a man hastily leap to his feet, with an oar-blade uplifted threateningly above his head. "Don't strike, Burns!" I managed to cry aloud. "It's Wayland." The next moment, with scarce so much as a breath remaining in my battered body, I laid hand upon the boat's side, and clung there panting and well-nigh spent. I felt his hands pressed under my arms, and then, with the exercise of his great strength, he drew me steadily up, inch by inch, until I topped the rail, and fell forward into the bottom of the boat. An instant I rested thus, with tightly closed eyes, my head reeling, my breath coming in sobs of pain, every muscle of my strained body throbbing in misery. Scarcely conscious of what was being done about me, I could still realize that arms touched my neck, that my head was gently lifted to a softer resting-place, and that a hand, strangely tender, brushed back from my forehead the wet tangled hair. The touch was thrilling; and I unclosed my wearied eyes, looking up into the sympathetic face of Mademoiselle. The faint moonlight rested upon it gently, touching her crown of hair with silver; and within the dark depths of her eyes I read clearly the message I had waited for so long. "Toinette!" I murmured, half conscious. She bowed her head above me, and I felt a sudden plash of tears that could not be restrained. "Do not try to speak now, John!" she whispered softly, her finger at my lips. "I can only thank the good God who has brought you back to me." I made no effort to say more; I could only lie in silence and gaze up at her, pressing the hands resting so frankly within my own. Indeed, we needed no words in that hour; our hearts had spoken, and thenceforward we were one. Suddenly the heavy boat lurched beneath us, to some quick impetus that sent a shudder through every inch of it; and I heard a heavy splash alongside, which instantly brought me upright, anxiously grasping the rail. "May Heaven help him!" cried Burns excitedly, and pointing out at the black waters. "The Frenchman has gone overboard!" "Overboard?" I echoed, striving to regain my feet. "Did he fall?" "Fall? No; it was a dive off the back seat here. Save me! but he went into it like a gull." We sought for him long and vainly, peering over those dark swirling waters, calling his name aloud, and striking flint on steel in hope to guide him by the spark. Nothing appeared along the rolling surface, no answering cry came from the black void; De Croix had disappeared into the depths, as desperate men go down to death. Suddenly, as I leaned over, sick at heart, peering into the dimness, Toinette drew near and touched me softly. "Let us not mourn," she said, in strange quietness. "No doubt 'tis better so." "How?" I questioned, shocked at her seemingly heartless words. "Surely you cannot rejoice at such a loss?" "'Tis not a loss," she answered firmly, and the soft moon-rays were white upon her face. "He has only gone back to her we left behind; it was the beckoning hand of love that called him through the waters. Now it is only ours to pray that he may find her." CHAPTER XXXVI IN THE NEW GRAY DAWN My anxious glance wandered from the face I so dearly loved, out where those dark restless waters merged into the brooding mystery of the black night. How unspeakably dreary, lonely, hopeless it all was! Into what tragic unknown fate had this earliest comrade of my manhood been remorselessly swept? Was all indeed well with him? or had the Nemesis of a wrong once done dealt its fatal stroke at last? The voices of the night were silent; the chambers of the great tossing sea hid their secret well. Had this gallant and reckless young soldier of France, this petted courtier of the gayest court in Europe, whose very name and rank I knew not, succeeded in his desperate deed? Had he reached yonder blood-stained shore, lined with infuriated savages, and found safe passage through them to the side of the woman he had once called wife, and then forgotten? Or had he found, instead, the solemn peace of death amid the swirling waters of this vast inland sea, so many leagues to the westward of that sunny land he loved? These were the thoughts that shook me, as I leaned out above the rail, her dear hand always on my shoulder. Never have the circling years found voice, nor the redeemed wilderness made answer. "Possibly it might be done," I admitted slowly. "'Tis scarce farther than I swam just now, and he is neither weary nor wounded." We all realized it was a useless peril to remain there longer, and I sat at the helm and watched, while Burns, who developed considerable knowledge in such matters, fitted the heavy sail in place. With the North Star over the water for our guidance, I headed the blunt nose of the boat due eastward into the untracked waters. I confess that my memory was still lingering upon De Croix, and my eyes turned often enough along our foam-flecked wake in vague wonderment at his fate. It was Mademoiselle who laid hand softly on my knee at last, and aroused my attention to her. "Why did you tell Sister Celeste that you came to Dearborn seeking Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, her clear eyes intently reading my face. "I had even forgotten that I mentioned it," I answered, surprised at this query at such a time. "But it is strictly true. While upon his death-bed Elsa Matherson's father wrote to mine,--they were old comrades in the great war,--and I was sent hither to bring the orphan girl eastward. I sought her as a brother might seek a sister he had never seen, Mademoiselle; yet have failed most miserably in my mission." "How failed?" "In that I have found no trace of the girl, and beyond doubt she perished in the massacre. I know not how, but I have been strangely baffled and misled from the first in my search for her, and it was all to no purpose." For the first time since I had fallen dripping into the boat, a slight smile was visible in the dark eyes fronting me. "Why hid you from me with such care the object of your search?" "I hid nothing, Mademoiselle. We spoke together about it often." "Ay, indeed you told me you sought a young girl, and your words led me to think at first it must be Josette, and later still the Indian missionary. But not once did you breathe the name of the girl in my ears. The dwellers at Dearborn were neither so many nor so strange to me that I could not have aided you in your search." "You knew this Elsa Matherson?" "I am not so sure of that, Master Wayland," she returned gravely, her eyes wandering into the night. "Once I thought I did, but she has changed so greatly in the last few days that I am hardly sure. A young girl's life is often filled with mystery, and there are happenings that turn girlhood to womanhood in a single hour. Love has power to change the nature as by magic, and sorrow also has a like rare gift. Do you still greatly wish to find this Elsa Matherson?" "To find her?" and I gazed about me incredulously into those flitting shadows where the waves raced by. "Ay, for I have dreamed of her as of a lost sister, and it will sadly grieve those at home to have me return thus empty-handed. Yet the thought is foolishness, Mademoiselle, and I understand not why you should mock me so." She drew closer, in the gentle caressing way she had, and found my disengaged hand, her sweet face held upward so that I could mark every changing expression. "Never in my useless life was I farther removed from any spirit of mockery," she insisted, soberly; "for never before have I seen the presence of God so clearly manifest in His mysterious guidance of men. You, who sought after poor Elsa Matherson in this wilderness, looking perchance for a helpless orphan child, have been led to pluck me in safety out from savage hands, and yet never once dreamed that in doing so you only fulfilled your earlier mission." I stared at her, grasping with difficulty the full significance of her speech. "Your words puzzle me." "Nay, they need not," and I caught the sudden glitter of tears on her lashes; "for I am Elsa Matherson." "You? you?" and I crushed her soft hand within my fingers, as I peered forward at the quickly lowered face. "Why, you are French, Mademoiselle, and of a different name!" She glanced up now into my puzzled face, a bit shyly, yet with some of the old roguishness visible in her eyes. "My mother was indeed French, but my father was an American soldier," she said rapidly, as if eager to have the explanation ended. "You never asked my name, save that one night when we first met amid the sand, and then I gave you only that by which I have been most widely known. None except my father ever called me Elsa; to all others I was always Toinette. But I am Roger Matherson's only child." It was clear enough now, and the deception had been entirely my own, rendered possible by strange chances of omission, by rare negligence of speech--aided by my earlier impression that she whom I sought was a mere child. "And 'twas Sister Celeste who told you whom I sought?" I asked, for lack of courage to say more. "Yes, to-night, while we waited for you beside the ruins of the old factory. Oh, how far away it all seems now!" and she pointed backward across the waters. "Poor, poor girl! Poor Captain de Croix! Oh, it is all so sad, so unutterably sad to me! I knew them both so well, Monsieur," and she rested her bowed head upon one hand, staring out into the night, and speaking almost as if to herself alone; "yet I never dreamed that he was a nobleman of France, or that he had married Marie Faneuf. She was so sweet a girl then,--and now to be buried alive in that wilderness! Think you that he truly loved her?" "I almost have faith that he did, Mademoiselle," I answered gravely. "He was greatly changed from his first sight of her face, though he was a difficult man to gauge in such matters. There was a time when I believed him in love with you." She tossed her head. "Nay," she answered, "he merely thought he was, because he found me hard to understand and difficult of conquest; but 'twas little more than his own vanity that drew him hither. I trust it may be the deeper feeling that has taken him back now in face of death to Marie." "You have indeed proved hard to understand by more than one," I ventured, for in spite of her graciousness the old wound rankled. "It has puzzled me much to understand how you so gaily sent me forth to a mission that might mean death, to save this Captain de Croix." It was a foolish speech, and she met it bravely, with heightened color and a flash of dark eyes. "'Twas no more than the sudden whim of a girl," she answered quickly, "and regretted before you were out of sight. Nor did I dream you would meet my conditions by such a sacrifice." "You showed small interest as you stood on the stockade when we went forth!" "You mean when Captain de Croix and I leaned above the eastern palisades?" "Ay, not once did your eyes wander to mark our progress." Her eyes were smiling now, and her face archly uplifted. "Indeed, Master Wayland, little you know of the struggles of my heart during that hour. Nor will I tell you; for the secrets of a girl must be her own. But I marked each step you took onward toward the Indian camp, until the night hid you,--the night, or else the gathering tears in my eyes." The sudden yawing of the boat before a gust of wind drew my thought elsewhere, and kept back the words ready upon my tongue. When once more I had my bearings and had turned back the plunging bow, she sat silent, deep in thought that I hesitated to disturb. Soon I noted her head droop slightly to the increased movement of the boat. "You are worn out!" I said tenderly. "Lean here against me, and sleep." "Indeed, I feel most weary," was her drowsy reply. "Yes, I will rest for a few moments." How clear remains the memory of those hours, while I sat watchful of the helm, her head resting peacefully on my lap, and all about us those lonely tossing waters! What a mere chip was our boat in the midst of that desolate sea; how dark and dreary the changeless night-shadows! Over and over again I pictured the details of each scene I have here set forth so poorly, to dream at the end of a final home coming which should not be alone. It was with heart thankful to God, that I watched the slow stealing upward of the gray dawn as the early rays of light crept toward us across the heaving of the waters. It was typical of all I had hoped,--this, and the black shadows fleeing away into the west. Brighter and brighter grew the crimsoning sky over the boat's bow, where Burns lay sleeping, until my eyes could distinguish a far-off shore-line heavily crowned with trees. I thought to rouse her to the glorious sight; but even as I glanced downward into the fair young face, her dark eyes opened in instant smile of greeting. "'Tis the morning," she said gladly, "and that dark, dark night has passed away." "For ever, Mademoiselle; and there is even a land of promise to be seen out yonder!" She sat up quickly, shading her eyes with her hand as she gazed with eagerness toward where I pointed. "Think you we shall find shelter and friends there?" "The half-breed chief said there were yet white settlers upon the Saint Joseph, Mademoiselle; and the mouth of that river should be easily found." She turned toward me, a slight frown darkening her face. "I wish you would not call me Mademoiselle," she said slowly. "It is as if we were still mere strangers; and you said Elsa Matherson was to be as your sister." I bent over her suddenly, all my repressed love glowing in my face. "Toinette!" I whispered passionately, "I would call you by a dearer name than that,--by the dearest of all dear names if I might, for you have won my heart in the wilderness." For a single instant she glanced shyly up into my face, her own crimson at my sudden ardor. Her eyes drooped and hid themselves behind their long lashes. "Those who sent you forth seeking a sister might not thus wish to welcome Elsa Matherson," she said softly. "'Tis a venture I most gladly make," I insisted, "and would seal it with a kiss." Her eyes flashed up at me, full of sudden merriment. "The unpaid wager leaves me helpless to resist, Monsieur." The soft haze of Indian summer rested over the valley of the Maumee. We rode slowly along the narrow winding trail that hugged the river bank; for our journey had been a long one, and the horses were wearied. Burns was riding just in advance of Toinette and me, his cap pulled low over his eyes, his new growth of hair standing out stiff and black beneath its covering. Once he twisted his seamed face about in time to catch us smiling at his odd figure, and growled to himself as he kicked at his horse's flanks. It was thus we rounded the bend and saw before us the little clearing with the cabin in the centre of its green heart. At sight of it my eyes grew moist and I rested my fingers gently upon the white hand that lay against her saddle-pommel. "Fear not, dear heart!" I whispered tenderly. "It is home for both alike, and the welcome of love awaits you as well as me." She glanced up at me, half shyly as in the old way, and there was a mist of tears clinging to the long lashes. "Those who love you, John, I will love," she said solemnly. It was Rover who saw us first, and came charging forth with savage growl and ruffled fur, until he scented me, and changed his fierceness into barks of frantic welcome. Then it was I saw them, even as when I last rode forth, my father seated in his great splint chair, my mother with her arm along the carved back, one hand shading her eyes as she watched our coming. This is not a memory to be written about for stranger eyes to read, but as I turned from them after that first greeting, their glances were upon her who stood waiting beside me, so sweet and pure in her young womanhood. "And this, my son?" questioned my father kindly. "We would bid her welcome also; yet surely she cannot be that little child for whose sake we sent you forth?" I took her by the hand as we faced them. "You sent me in search of one whom you would receive even as your own child," I answered simply. "This is Roger Matherson's daughter, and the dear wife of your son." What need have I to dwell upon the love that bade her welcome? And so it was that out of all the suffering and danger, forth from the valley of the shadow of death, Toinette and I came home. THE END ==================================================== _Uniform with "When Wilderness Was King"_ Each with six full-page pictures in color and other decorations by the Kinneys, $1.50 The striking appearance of these volumes is due to the appropriate character of the type, initials, end-papers, etc., and to the wonderful pictures in color. ---------------------------------------------------- By OTTILIE A. LILJENCRANTZ The Ward of King Canute _A Romance of the Danish Conquest_ A stalwart and beautiful tale a fine, big thing, full of men's strength and courage and a girl's devotion, the atmosphere of great days and primitive human passions.--_Philadelphia. Ledger._ THIRD EDITION The Thrall of Leif the Lucky _A Story of Viking Days_ A tale which moves among stalwart men, and in the palaces of leaders.--_New York Mail and Express._ One of the best constructed historical romances that has appeared in America in some years.--_Brooklyn Eagle_. The atmosphere of the old days of fighting and adventure glows in the book.--_Springfield Republican._ SIXTH EDITION ---------------------------------------------------- A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers ==================================================== * * * * * Transcriber Notes All illustrations were positioned so as to not split paragraphs. Minor typos corrected.